Cavendon Hall Part 11

She had led a quiet, sheltered life within her own family, and never been exposed to the world, and was inexperienced in every way ... and then she had been a.s.saulted in the most savage and cruel manner.

How shocked and frightened she must have been, and still was, if the truth be known. She had been courageous and strong, and that told him just how much of an Ingham she truly was. He was proud of her stoicism.

Charles sighed under his breath, thinking of the worst possible scenario. She could easily have been murdered after the rape; that man, whoever he was, could have ended up killing her to protect himself.

Every time he thought of this his mind froze at the mere idea of it, and now he pushed the thought away once more.

They were lucky she was still alive, that the rapist had not taken that ultimate step and killed her. Fortunately her facial beauty was unmarred. She had begun to recover physically, if not mentally; obviously that would take time, and she would need very special care. He and Felicity would give her all of the help she needed, as would Charlotte and Alice.

Apparently Alice had been stalwart and wise in her handling of the dreadful situation she had stumbled into accidentally, on that fateful Sat.u.r.day in May. And, as it turned out, it had been most propitious for them. Alice had found out first and clamped down on it. Now they would protect Daphne, nurture her, until the baby's birth.

And what to do about the baby? When all was said and done, the child was part Ingham, blood of his blood through Daphne. He closed his eyes, let his thoughts float.

Who had raped her? It seemed unlikely that it was a stranger, some man who had wandered onto the estate and randomly attacked her, and then fled.

When he had mentioned Julian Torbett to her, Daphne had dropped her head, looking down at her clasped hands in her lap, and she had wept. At that moment, as he now looked back, he had genuinely believed she had been acquiescing, silently naming Julian.

Julian Torbett. Charles focused his mind on the young man. He had always appeared meek, gentle, even a little wishy-washy, as Felicity put it. How would he have found the nerve to force Daphne into a s.e.xual act?

The answer came to him quite suddenly. The meekest of men often found enormous inner strength and purpose in order to gain something they longed for. Frustration, desire, love, and l.u.s.t could be forged together to become a powerful force. Had this happened on that May day? He did not know. He would never know. But it occurred to him now that Julian was the most likely candidate, the man who had done this to Daphne. Well, he was dead and buried. And that was that. They had to cope with the reality.

According to Charlotte, Daphne would be able to pick up her life in February of 1914, as if nothing had happened. If they followed the plans Charlotte had made. It would be their secret.

Daphne would come back from her sojourn in Europe, where she would have acquired lots of new knowledge about history and art; a new language, French; and that special kind of chic that was totally Parisian. She would have a new wardrobe of clothes from the best couture houses in Paris, and she would be launched as a debutante, just as they had always planned. She would be presented at Court to the king and queen, and he and Felicity would give her a coming-out ball. And she would marry the son of a duke.

Charlotte had told them everything could be fixed, and he trusted Charlotte Swann. He always had. His father had relied on her judgment for years, and so had he. Whenever he looked back, he realized how much he had depended on her in his childhood.

He knew she would not accept his lunch invitation when he had asked her earlier. That was too formal. But she would come to tea, because it was more casual. She wasn't a servant, and she wasn't an aristocrat, she was a loyal retainer. In between, in a sense, and she was aware of her place.

Charles took out his watch, glanced at it. Then he stood up, and walked away from the little enclave of rocks, taking the moorland path back to the house. As he did so he ran across two of the woodsmen walking together along a lower ridge, and he raised a hand, waved. They waved back.

Ever since the morning meeting with Charlotte he had fully understood why there were so many of his woodsmen roaming the property these days. Percy Swann, the head gamekeeper, had told him recently that there were rumors of poachers on the estate. That was not true. Charlotte had thrown up protection for the entire family by making sure the outside workers were everywhere. That was now patently obvious to him. He approved of her actions; the presence of his employees gave him comfort.

Walter Swann was waiting for Charles when he hurried into the dressing room adjoining his bedroom a short while later.

"I'm afraid I'm running late, Swann. Has the countess gone down for tea?"

"Yes, m'lord, about ten minutes ago. Lady Gwendolyn arrived a little earlier than expected."

Charles nodded as Walter helped him off with his tweed jacket. "As usual," he muttered, shaking his head knowingly. "My aunt is always afraid of missing something, hence her overdone punctuality. She's been doing it for years."

"Hanson gave me a message for you, m'lord. Mr. Hugo Stanton telephoned from London. Hanson gave me the number." Walter handed Charles a piece of paper; Charles glanced at it and put it on the chest of drawers.

"I'd better get dressed first," Charles said, walking over to the bathroom. Over his shoulder, he added, "I'll wear a gray suit, Walter, and would you be good enough to select a suitable tie, please?"

"Right away, m'lord," Walter replied, and went over to the wardrobe.

In the bathroom Charles washed his hands and face, and then stared at himself. He thought he looked strained, and immediately reminded himself to relax, and to behave in the most normal way. He couldn't help wondering why Hugo was telephoning him. Hopefully he might be canceling his trip. Now that would be a bit of good news for a change. The thought of Hugo's impending visit was upsetting, especially under the present circ.u.mstances. Any houseguest would be a nuisance at the moment. He wasn't going to cancel Hugo's planned visit; with luck, Hugo himself might do that.

DeLacy sat down on the small sofa next to Miles. She said, "It's a lovely tea today, isn't it? And Mama seems so much better."

"That's true," Miles answered, glancing around the room. In the Ingham family, he was the most observant of anyone and he missed nothing. He had already made a note of his mother's mood. She had gone from being worried and concerned about his aunt all week, to a woman who was now laughing and smiling far too much. She, who was never frivolous, now appeared to be just that. Miles frowned and glanced over at Daphne. She, too, had improved. Her demeanor was calm, she was no longer moping or looking weepy. As for his father, he was positively genial.

Extremely intelligent and clever for his age, Miles decided they were not behaving normally. He couldn't help wondering why they were so different this afternoon. What was going on? He couldn't even hazard a guess.

"Penny for your thoughts," DeLacy said, nudging him. "You're very preoccupied. What's the matter?"

"Nothing, Lacy, honestly. I was just thinking about the supper dance next Friday. I can't say I'm looking forward to it," he improvised.

"Oh, please, don't be stuffy, Miles. It's fun. And I'll dance with you, and Diedre and Daphne will too. Then you'll escape all those giggling girls who swoon all over you."

"No, they don't!" he shot back, and then blushed. "Stop teasing me. I don't like it, and you know that. Anyway, I'm not interested in any of those silly females from the local families. I don't understand why they're even invited."

"Because Mama and Papa understand that they have to give a few social events in the spring and early summer. Don't forget, we are the premier family in Yorkshire."

"I saw Harry Swann this afternoon, and I promised him that we'd all go fishing in the Skell next Sat.u.r.day," Miles announced, moving on, changing the subject. "We can have a picnic in the bluebell woods. I know you and Ceci will enjoy it. Isn't that a grand idea?" Miles smiled at her, wanting to be affable, and a good brother. DeLacy was his favorite sister; also, he didn't want to arouse her suspicions about the family. He knew how curious she was, always poking her nose into everybody's business.

DeLacy exclaimed, "That will be nice!" Her attention had been caught by the parlor maid, Peggy Swift, who was standing in the hall just outside the yellow sitting room. She was edging closer to the footman, Gordon. DeLacy had to stifle a giggle. They thought no one could see them.

To avoid the sight of the two of them flirting, DeLacy jumped up and went over to sit with Daphne. She was looking wonderful this afternoon, wearing a lime-green silk afternoon dress. DeLacy thought it must be the latest model from Mrs. Alice, and the color was perfect. "Is that a new frock?" she asked, gazing at her sister admiringly. "It really suits you, Daphne."

"No, it's not new. Mrs. Alice made it for me last year, I only wore it once."

"Look at Peggy flirting with Gordon," DeLacy whispered, catching sight of them again.

Daphne followed the direction of her gaze. "I don't think she's flirting, is she?" Daphne said softly, feeling the need to defend Peggy. Seeing the young woman with her baby had touched Daphne's heart, and she had felt sorry for the girl's predicament. "I think they're probably checking if they should serve more food." Daphne smiled at DeLacy. "The white evening gown looks beautiful, brand new, Lacy. Cecily did a fantastic job, created something quite extraordinary."

DeLacy smiled back, thrilled to have this news, and thought of the ink blotches. She pushed the bad memory away, and began to talk to Daphne about the coming supper dance, and what they would wear on Sat.u.r.day night.

Across the room, Charlotte was seated next to Guy Ingham, and she was enjoying being with him. She was glad she had come to tea. She usually had a good time, mainly because the teas were more relaxed than the family dinners, which were formal and far too long. And often a little pretentious.

Guy, who usually managed to make her laugh, did so now when he said in a conspiratorial whisper, "Aunt Gwendolyn just informed me she has found the most suitable girl for me. She is going to introduce me to her at the supper dance next weekend. You can bet she will be as ugly as sin, but an heiress with a vast fortune at her disposal."

Once her laughter had subsided, Charlotte remarked, "Lady Gwendolyn does try hard to be the matchmaker, and let's face it, she does manage to dig up heiresses, that's absolutely true." There was a pause, and then Charlotte asked, "But what happened to Violet Lansing? I thought you were rather taken with her, Guy. At least that's the impression you gave me at Easter." She sat back in the chair, gazing at him. He was special to her; she had known him since he was born. Now she noticed that his face had suddenly changed. His expression was unexpectedly sorrowful, his light blue eyes stricken.

After a moment, taking a deep breath, Guy said, sotto voce, "It was brought to my attention that Violet wasn't quite suitable for the heir to an earldom." He sighed heavily. "I was on the verge of ... well, becoming rather involved with her, and just caught myself in time. So I let the situation..." He shrugged, and went on softly, "... just drift until it drifted away. I felt the need to be kind to Violet. I didn't want to hurt her."

Guy sat back, and then offered Charlotte a warm smile. "No point in bashing my head against steel. That's not going to do any good. They didn't want her in my life."

"I'm so sorry," Charlotte murmured, then touched his arm lightly. "You'll meet someone who is exactly right in every way. One day. You'll see, it will happen."

"I know. That's what Papa said to me. But there will never be anybody like Violet..." He allowed his sentence to trail off, knowing his life had been settled for him long ago. So why belabor the point about his lost love ... probably the love of his life.

Charlotte was about to sympathize with him, when Diedre came and sat down next to Charlotte. Addressing Guy, she asked, "Did Papa say anything about the London season? Or aren't we going up to town this year?"

"I don't know, and frankly, Didi, I don't care," her brother answered. "I personally love it here at Cavendon in the summer. The tennis, the cricket, the swimming, the fishing, the supper dances and summer entertaining. And the shooting when it starts on the Glorious Twelfth."

"But we're always here for the Glorious Twelfth in August. That's a given. I'm talking about now, Guy, July," Diedre protested.

Guy said, "I don't think we'll be going to London this year. At least not as a family, for the season. Because Aunt Anne is too ill, and Mama doesn't want to be too far away. At least that's what Daphne told me."

"Oh, what does old Daphers know, she's only interested in how she looks."

Guy threw his sister an odd look, wondering why she was being mean, and changed the subject. He started to talk about Hugo Stanton, who was coming to visit them soon, asking Charlotte a lot of questions about Hugo, whom she had known years ago.

There was a sudden explosion of noise as a small figure, intent on making her presence felt, came rushing into the room, exclaiming, "I've come to tea, Papa! I can, can't I? I have to be at the party."

At the sight of Dulcie flying across the floor as fast as her little feet would carry her, Charles jumped up from the sofa where he was sitting with his aunt. He immediately grabbed hold of his youngest child and swept her up into his arms. She had been about to entangle herself in the feet of the parlor maid, Mary, who was carrying a tray of fresh tea sandwiches over to Hanson, waiting near one of the tea trolleys.

"There we are, my darling," Charles murmured, holding Dulcie against his chest. "Yes, you're going to have tea. But first, how would you like to come with me to make an important telephone call?"

"Oh yes, Papa, I would. Can I speak on the teffolone?"

Everyone laughed, enjoying the antics of the pretty, if somewhat boisterous, child. Charles laughed too as he hurried off to the library, relieved he had managed to avert an accident with the maid.

He placed Dulcie in his desk chair, and said, "Now be a good girl, darling, and once I have made the telephone call we will go back and have tea. You'd like a piece of jam roll, wouldn't you? And strawberries and cream?"

"Ooh, yes, Papa. I'll be a good girl," Dulcie told him, smiling up at him brightly. She loved Papa and she was glad she was here with him. Now her sisters would know she was his favorite. She settled back against the leather chair, still smiling broadly, her little face radiant.

Picking up the telephone, Charles asked the exchange for the London number on the piece of paper. A moment or two later, an operator was announcing that this was Claridge's Hotel on the line. He asked for Mr. Hugo Stanton.

A moment later a masculine voice said, "h.e.l.lo. Stanton speaking."

"Your cousin Charles here, Hugo. I received your message of earlier, and called you back as soon as I could."

"How wonderful to hear your voice after all these years!" Hugo exclaimed, sounding genuinely pleased. "I telephoned you because I was hoping I might be able to change the date of my visit to Yorkshire."

For a moment Charles was taken aback, but he said evenly, "Yes, of course. When would you prefer to come?"

"I was wondering, and rather hoping, that you would agree to this coming Friday. For a few days, as we'd always planned."

Charles, somewhat startled, hesitated before saying, "I think it will be all right, Hugo. I must warn you, we have a supper dance this weekend. If that does not disturb you, I think the change will be suitable. I must check with Felicity, of course. However, I don't see why not, old chap," he finished, wanting to be cordial.

"Thank you, Charles. And by the way, I do like to dance, so I'll dance for my supper, so to speak. I would just like to add that I don't usually do this sort of thing, change dates. However, I have just been informed I must attend an important meeting in Zurich that very weekend I was due to come to Yorkshire. The dates clash, I'm afraid."

"I do understand, I a.s.sure you. These things happen occasionally. No problem at all. It's white tie, of course. I will telephone you tomorrow morning to confirm everything with you."

"Thank you so much, Charles, and I can't wait to come back to Cavendon. Good night."

"Good night," Charles answered, and put the receiver down. He then picked up Dulcie and left the library.

She exclaimed, "You didn't let me speak."

"I know. I'm sorry, Dulcie, the man was in a hurry. So now we can go and have jam roll and strawberries and cream. Scrumptious."

From the doorway of the yellow sitting room, holding Dulcie in his arms, Charles announced, "Now listen to this bit of news, all of you."

Everyone turned to stare at him.

"I just spoke to Hugo Stanton and he's arriving here next Friday afternoon instead of later in July."

"How wonderful!" Aunt Gwendolyn exclaimed. "I can't wait to see him again."

"Someone new to dance with, Papa!" DeLacy cried.

Felicity asked, "How did this come about, Charles?"

"Hugo telephoned earlier, when I was out walking. I just spoke to him. He's staying at Claridge's Hotel. And he has a conflict with dates. It is all right, isn't it? Next weekend?"

"Yes. It's not a problem. And DeLacy is correct. It will be nice to have a new guest, and especially a cousin we haven't seen for so long. He can dance with all the young ladies, as Lacy suggested. And perhaps some of the older ones, too."

Twenty-two.

"Want to go out for a stroll?" Gordon Lane asked, smiling at Peggy. "I feel like a cig, and a breath of air."

She smiled back. "Why not? I'll just tell Cook."

Gordon nodded. He took off his tie, waistcoat, and jacket, hung them on a peg, and pushed the packet of cigarettes and matches into a trouser pocket.

"Cook says it's all right," Peggy told him, coming back into the servants' hall. "But she says not to stay out too long. She'll wait for us." Peggy grinned. "Mrs. Jackson says she doesn't want Hanson locking us out."

"And he would too, the silly old b.u.g.g.e.r."

"Gordon, be careful," Peggy hissed, taking off her cap and ap.r.o.n and hanging them on another peg. "Come on, let's have that stroll before he arrives on the scene and stops us."

The two of them went out of the back door, and Gordon, taking hold of Peggy's hand, said, "Let's walk down to the bluebell woods. I'll have a cig, and then we'll walk back. Half an hour at the most. All right with you?"

She nodded. "I don't want to go into the woods, though, Gordon. It's scary in there in the dark."

He looked down, grinning at her. "You've got me to protect you, my la.s.s, and anyway it's not so dark tonight. Look at that there full moon shining down on us. Romantic, eh?"

Peggy was silent for a moment, then she said quietly in a firm voice, "I won't do it, Gordon. I hope you understand that. I don't mind a bit of a cuddle and a few kisses, but that's all."

"I know. You're always telling me that. Just a kiss and a cuddle, then. Anyway, we can't be outside for too long, we don't want to get locked out. Then we'd have to sleep in the stables."

Peggy just smiled, said nothing.

They walked on in silence, lost in their own thoughts. They had no way of knowing it, but they were thinking about each other.