Barbara Bradford - Cavendon Hall

‘I’ll see you at home tonight,’ Alice said, and went down the stairs to the bedroom floor. Walter followed her, and squeezed her arm affectionately, before they went in different directions. DeLacy was already halfway down the main staircase, on her way to tea.

Alice unlocked the door to Daphne’s bedroom, went inside, and quickly locked it behind her. Daphne was nowhere in sight. Alice noticed the small pile of clothes folded up on a chair. She went to examine them. The blouse was badly ripped; Alice thought she could mend it. As for the jacket, the back was smeared with green streaks from the grass, and splotches of mud. The skirt was in the worst condition, with dirty patches, grass and bloodstains. She could clean them successfully. She had good products and special methods.

Carefully, Alice folded them up again, and finally picked up the underskirt. There was blood on it, and some other damp patches. Alice bent her head and sniffed, and then turned away, grimacing. Her worst fears had been confirmed. A man had attacked Lady Daphne out in the woods, no two ways about it. That male smell clung to the underskirt. Carefully, she folded it and put it under the pile, shaking her head.

Alice sat down heavily in the chair. She felt as if a lump of lead was lodged in her chest. Her mind floundered for a moment, and her heart went out to Daphne, so sweet, so lovely. Whoever had done such a thing to a seventeen-year-old innocent girl should suffer the severest punishment. She wondered then if any of the woodsmen or gardeners had seen anything; several Swanns worked on the outside at Cavendon. Walter would have to ask them if they had noticed anything untoward this afternoon.

A moment later the bathroom door opened and Lady Daphne came out in her robe. She smiled at Alice, but then the smile instantly faltered. ‘I hoped I hadn’t bruised my face, but there’s a mark, here, on the cheekbone,’ Daphne said anxiously, touching her face. ‘How will I explain it to Mama and Papa, Mrs Alice?’

Alice hurried across the room, peered at her face. ‘It’s not so bad, Lady Daphne. I think it can be covered up with a few touches of powder and rouge. And you fell, remember, and if you fell forward then you would easily hit your face on a rock, a tree trunk or roots. You’ll explain it that way. What about the rest of you, m’lady?’

‘Just bruises, nothing broken. Did you see DeLacy and Cecily?’

‘Yes, they were in the sewing room. I told them you’d tripped and fallen. DeLacy assumed it was in the woods, because she said you’d gone to Havers Lodge to see Julian Torbett this afternoon.’

‘That’s true. I went to tell him his fiancée could come to the big ball. Obviously DeLacy heard me telling Father after lunch that I was going there.’

‘By the way, DeLacy has gone down to tea to join your great-aunt and your father. Walter brought a message from His Lordship. What about you? Do you want to join them, m’lady?’

Daphne shook her head. ‘I think I should rest. I’m hoping I’ll be able to go down for dinner later, but for now …’ Her voice trailed off.

Alice nodded, ‘Yes, stay and have a rest. I’d get into bed if I were you, m’lady. If it’s all right with you, I will tell Walter to inform your father that you’re resting after trying on dresses most of the day. I’ll say you’re a bit tired.’

Daphne inclined her head. ‘Thank you, Mrs Alice. I’d appreciate that. And thank you … for everything.’

Lady Gwendolyn Ingham Baildon stood in the centre of the great entrance foyer at Cavendon Hall, glancing around, a beatific smile on her face. She had been in London for the past week, and this was her first visit since her return to Yorkshire two days ago.

To her, Cavendon was the most sublime place. There was nowhere else like it, and only here did she experience a feeling of euphoria, a sense of genuine happiness and contentment. So many memories, so many emotions were wrapped up in this house; her entire life had been spent here.

The smile lingered as her eyes rested on the oil paintings of her ancestors, which lined the wall above the grand curving staircase. Looking down at her were her parents. Her beautiful mother, Florence, wife of Marmaduke, the 4th Earl, her father. Next to her father was a striking portrait of her brother, David, the handsomest of men. He had been the 5th Earl, and next to him was a lovely oil painting of his wife, Constance, who had died far too young. She sighed to herself. Her own husband, Paul Baildon, had died young; she had been a widow for a very long time.

Turning away, Lady Gwendolyn walked across the hall in the direction of the small, yellow sitting room, where afternoon tea had been served for years.

Gwendolyn had been born in this house seventy-two years ago, and brought up here with David and their sister Evelyne. She knew every nook, cranny, corner and secret hiding place. In fact, there wasn’t much she didn’t know about Cavendon and the Ingham family. Well, that was not exactly true. She was ignorant about any number of things, as was her nephew Charles.

A small, amused smile struck her face fleetingly. Only the Swanns knew everything, and what they knew had been passed down from one generation to the next. There were notebooks filled with endless records, so she had been told once, and this information had come from the best source – a Swann, no less.

Ah well, Gwendolyn said under her breath, what would we have done without the Swanns? And they’re on our side, thank God, stand sentinel beside us. She would trust a Swann with her life if she had to.

Her nephew was the only occupant of the yellow sitting room, and he jumped up, came towards her once he saw her appear in the doorway.

After kissing her cheek, he said, ‘It’s lovely to see you back at Cavendon, Aunt Gwendolyn.’

‘Thank you, Charles, I feel the same.’ She glanced around. ‘Am I the first?’

‘Yes, actually, you are. I’m afraid our ranks are a bit diminished today. Felicity is still in Harrogate, visiting Anne, and Diedre accompanied her. But DeLacy will be joining us.’

At that moment Hanson glided into the room and, after greeting Lady Gwendolyn, he addressed the Earl. ‘Do you wish tea to be served immediately, m’lord?’

‘Yes, Hanson, thank you. But perhaps you could send a message to Lady DeLacy to come down.’

‘I took the liberty of doing that a short while ago, my lord.’

Charles nodded. ‘Thank you, Hanson. Very astute of you. I’m afraid punctuality is not her strong suit.’

As Hanson left the room, Gwendolyn said, ‘Isn’t Daphne joining us as well, Charles?’

‘I don’t think so. Apparently she has been busy with dress fittings for most of the day, and feels tired. She has asked to be excused.’

‘Sorry I’m late, Papa!’ DeLacy cried as she came racing into the room, a bright smile on her face. She ran over to her great-aunt, kissed her on the cheek, and then went to kiss her father.

‘You are coming to the supper dances and the big ball, aren’t you, Great-Aunt Gwendolyn?’ DeLacy asked, a moment later, sitting down next to her. ‘It’s never the same when you’re not present.’

‘How nice of you to say so, Lacy, and of course I plan to come, my dear. I’ve always thought the entertaining we do at Cavendon at that time of year, in the summer months, was the best, the most fun.’ Leaning slightly closer, she said in a low voice, ‘Please do try to avoid sky blue this season, darling. The obvious is rather boring, you know?’

DeLacy stared at her, saw the amusement flickering in the deep-blue eyes, and began to giggle. ‘I will certainly do that,’ she answered, still laughing, and then glanced at the door as the two footmen came in, both pushing laden tea trolleys, followed closely by Hanson, as always present to make sure nothing was amiss or went wrong.