Barbara Bradford - The Cavendon Women

Dorothy Pinkerton, née Swann, aged 43, cousin of Charlotte and the Swanns. She lives in London and is married to Howard Pinkerton, a Scotland Yard detective. She works with Cecily at Cecily Swann Couture.

Mr Henry Hanson, Butler

Mrs Agnes Thwaites, Housekeeper

Miss Susie Jackson, Cook (niece of Nell, who has retired)

Mr Gordon Lane, Head footman

Mr Ian Melrose, Second footman

Miss Jessie Phelps, Head housemaid

Miss Pam Willis, Second housemaid

Miss Connie Layton, Third housemaid

Mr Tim Hartley, Chauffeur

Miss Margaret Cotton, the nanny for Lady Daphne’s children, usually addressed as Nanny or Nan.

Miss Nancy Pettigrew, the governess, usually addressed as Miss Pettigrew. The governess is not at Cavendon in the summer. The children are not in school.

A stately home such as Cavendon Hall, with thousands of acres of land, and a huge grouse moor, employs local people. This is its purpose for being, as well as providing a private home for a great family. It offers employment to the local villagers, and also land for local tenant farmers. The villages surrounding Cavendon were built by various earls of Mowbray to provide housing for their workers; churches and schools were also built, as well as post offices and small shops at later dates. The villages around Cavendon are Little Skell, Mowbray and High Clough.

There are a number of outside workers: a head gamekeeper and five additional gamekeepers; beaters and flankers who work when the grouse season starts and the Guns arrive at Cavendon to shoot. Other outdoor workers include woodsmen, who take care of the surrounding woods for shooting in the lowlands at certain times of the year. The gardens are cared for by a head landscape gardener, and five other gardeners working under him.

The grouse season starts in August, on the Glorious Twelfth, as it is called. It finishes in December. The partridge season begins in September. Duck and wild fowl are shot at this time. Pheasant shooting starts on 1 November and goes on until December. The men who come to shoot are usually aristocrats, and always referred to as the Guns, i.e., the men using the gun.

‘The little world of childhood with its familiar surroundings is a model of the greater world. The more intensively the family has stamped its character upon the child, the more it will tend to feel and see its earlier miniature world again in the bigger world of adult life.’

Carl Jung, The Theory of Psychoanalysis (1913)

Cecily Swann knew it well, this path. She had walked it all of her life, and it was an old familiar. Lifting her head, she looked up at the grand house towering above her on top of the hill. Cavendon Hall. One of the great stately homes of England, it was the finest of all in Yorkshire.

The house was her destination this morning, as it had been so often when she was growing up. Her parents and her brother Harry lived in Little Skell village, at the edge of Cavendon Park, just as their ancestors had done. For over one hundred and seventy years, in fact.

It was a lovely Friday morning in the middle of July, and there was no hint of rain today. The sunshine streamed down, bathing the house in that crystalline northern light which gave the exterior its soft, peculiar sheen at different times of day.

Cecily glanced about as she walked on. She had half expected to see Genevra loitering here. But there was no sign of the gypsy girl. The Romany wagons were visible on the hill at the far end of the fields; Genevra’s family still lived on the 6th Earl’s land – that was a given. He had always permitted it; she supposed they would stay there forever.

But so much else had changed. Cavendon Hall looked the same, but it wasn’t what it used to be. It was a different place; in fact, many things were different now. The Great War had changed everything. And everyone. As her father, Walter, was forever saying, the good old days were over, and nothing would ever be the same again. And his words were only too true.

Thankfully, her father and her brother had come back safely from the Great War, but Guy Ingham, the heir to the Mowbray earldom, had not. He had died for his country fighting in France, and was buried there alongside his comrades in arms.

They had all mourned him, every person in the three villages around Cavendon, as well as his family. Not because he was the heir, but because he had been one of the nicest of young men. Now it was Miles who would one day inherit the earldom and everything that this entailed.

Miles Ingham.

Her heart tightened at the thought of him. He had been her constant companion throughout her childhood, her best friend and later her sweetheart. She had loved him with all of her being; she still did. And he had told her many times that he felt the same, and that one day they would be married. But that had not happened.

Miles had been forced to marry another girl. A suitable girl. Clarissa Meldrew, the daughter of Lord Meldrew. The right kind of girl, who would give Miles an aristocratic heir. That was the way it was with the gentry: future heirs dominated their lives and their destinies.

Cecily came to a stop as a sudden thought struck her. After a moment, she veered to her left and headed in the direction of the rose garden. She needed a few moments to think, and anyway she was too early for her meeting.

A few seconds later, she was pulling open the heavy oak door and going down the steps. It was a fragrant spot, this old walled garden, filled with the scent of late-blooming roses. She breathed in the heady smell as she sat down on a wrought-iron garden seat. This spot had always been a haven of peace and beauty.

Holding herself completely still, she closed her eyes, wondering why she had agreed to do this – to help Miles manage the events planned by the Earl for the family reunion. It was probably the most stupid thing she had ever done in her life.

Only if you are stupid, she told herself. Obviously Aunt Charlotte thinks you are capable of handling a difficult situation, or she wouldn’t have asked you to help out.

Her aunt’s voice echoed in her mind as she went back to the discussion they’d had a week ago. She remembered her aunt’s words very well. ‘Lady Daphne is the only one capable of managing the weekend with Miles, but she has so much on her hands, what with running Cavendon and five children underfoot. I personally would appreciate it if you would help him, Ceci.’

She thought now of the way she had tried to wriggle out of it, not liking the idea at all. She had muttered something about one of his other sisters being better at that job. But her aunt had batted her objections away with a dismissive wave of her hand. ‘There might be difficulties, Ceci, and we need someone strong like you. Someone who can be tough, if needs be.’

Well, she could be tough, she knew that. But mostly she would have to be tough with herself. And with Miles Ingham.

She had not had a conversation with him for the last six years. They’d spoken, the odd times they had run into each other, here at Cavendon, or waved, but that was all. Six years ago she had vowed never to let him near her again, and her aunt had nodded her approval when she had confided in Charlotte.

‘I’ll walk alone and devote myself to my career as a fashion designer,’ Cecily had said, and Charlotte had looked pleased, and relieved. Unexpectedly, Charlotte had asked her to help Miles out now, and it puzzled Cecily. Actually she had no choice.

Cecily sighed, and sat up straighter. She owed Charlotte Swann everything. It was her aunt who had backed her fashion business, presented her with her first shop in the Burlington Arcade, made her career possible. And it was Charlotte’s money which had originally funded the venture. They became business partners, and they still were, and worked extremely well together.