Cavendon Hall (36 page)

After a few moments of silence, Jill said, “I want to thank you again for arranging for me to see Cavendon’s collection of antique silver. Your father was most gracious and informative.”

“Hugo told me you collected Regency and Georgian silver, Jill, and I knew you would enjoy seeing the Paul Storr pieces.”

“I did, especially those gorgeous candlesticks, which were made in 1815. I have always admired his work. He was one of the great master silversmiths, wasn’t he?”

“He was. I reminded Papa to show you the impressive silver bowl, that Queen Anne monteith by William Denny. He was another of the great English silversmiths, a century before Storr.”

“I know. I made a note of that later. The monteith was crafted in 1702, your father told me. The earl is very knowledgeable about silver, probably more than anyone I’ve ever met.”

Daphne smiled. “And just about everything else at Cavendon. My father considers himself the custodian of all this…” Daphne paused, swept out an arm, added, “The house, all of its contents, the land, the grouse moor. Everything as far as the eye can see. He always says he’s keeping it intact, and in perfect condition, for the next generation, and generations after that. As for his knowledge, this was passed down from his father, the fifth earl, and Papa will pass it on to Guy … that’s how it works. Father to son, the next heir, and so on—”

“Here we are!” Hugo exclaimed, interrupting Daphne, walking onto the terrace with Marty. “I’m afraid I’ve got to break this up, ladies. Gregg is waiting at the front with the Rolls-Royce, to whisk you off to the railway station.”

*   *   *

Later that afternoon, as they were walking from the South Wing to the yellow sitting room in the East Wing, for afternoon tea, Daphne suddenly stopped and took hold of Hugo’s arm.

He also came to a standstill, and looked at her. “What is it?”

“Something’s been bothering me for a few weeks, since the christening … do you think I offended Diedre when I didn’t ask her to be a godmother to Alicia?”

Hugo exclaimed, “No, of course not! None of your sisters were asked, so how could she take offense?”

Daphne couldn’t help laughing. “Dulcie’s only five years old, so she could hardly be a godmother.”

Laughing with her, he replied, after a moment, “I think you made the right choices. Lavinia and Vanessa will do their duty to Alicia, and let’s face it, they are grown-ups.”

“Not Lavinia, according to Papa; he’s forever announcing she’s childish.”

“I know, but he doesn’t really mean it … not
actually.
You’re worrying about Diedre because she’s been away for weeks, but it was that kind of trip, you know. Paris, Rome, Berlin, Vienna. The whole works. The Grand Tour. Anyway, if it still bothers you when you have your next baby, you can ask her then.”

Daphne nodded. “Yes, how right you are, and you always manage to make me feel better, Hugo.” She stood on tiptoe and kissed his cheek. “And you were right to ask Guy and your cousin Mark to be her godfathers.”

*   *   *

Hanson was decanting a bottle of red wine in the little pantry next to the dining room, when Gordon Lane suddenly appeared at his side.

“Excuse me, Hanson, but could I have a quick word with you, please?”

“Can’t we speak later, Lane? As you can see, I am decanting a very good bottle of Pommerol.”

“I know, and I’m sorry, but there’s never a chance to ask a question. You’re so busy, Mr. Hanson. It won’t take but a second. It’s important.”

Hanson, conscious of the serious tone in the footman’s voice, turned around. “Very well then. What is it?”

“As you know, Peggy Swift and I are engaged, and we’d like to get married soon, Mr. Hanson. In August, if that’s all right with you?”

Hanson nodded. “You’re asking for a day off, I presume?”

“Yes, for the two of us, Mr. Hanson. Do I have to go to Mrs. Thwaites to ask about Peggy’s day off?”

“No, no, that won’t be necessary, Lane. Why don’t you take the first Saturday in August, and I’ll have a word with Mrs. Thwaites later. You and Swift worked very well this weekend, and I was particularly pleased with the way you looked after Mr. and Mrs. Handelsman. Will you be marrying in the village church?”

“I expect so, Mr. Hanson, and thank you very much. It’ll make Peggy happy, knowing we can now set a date.”

“Congratulations,” Hanson said, and turned back to the funnel he was using to pour the wine into the decanter.

*   *   *

Dulcie hummed to herself as she went through the conservatory and down the little hill, heading for the bluebell woods. She had been longing to pick bluebells for Alicia all day, but had not found the opportunity until now. When Nanny was preparing the bath for her and putting out her nightclothes she was usually preoccupied, and Dulcie seized the moment.

It was only six-thirty and still light. The child strode into the woods determinedly, her eyes darting from side to side, until she saw a patch of the flowers, and ran toward them, a happy smile on her face. She bent down and began to pick the bluebells, and then suddenly stopped. Next to her hand was a big black shoe.

Glancing up, Dulcie saw a man standing there, staring down at her. She had never seen him before. As she straightened up, he said, “Why, if it isn’t little Dulcie.”

“Lady Dulcie,” she said. “And who are you?”

“I’m the Bluebell Man,” he answered, and grinned at her.

Dulcie frowned. “I’ve never heard of you. And this is my father’s land.”

“I know. And he’s the one who appointed me the Bluebell Man,
Lady
Dulcie.” He stared at the flowers in her hand. “That’s not a nice enough bunch. Come with me. I can take you to the best patch in the wood.”

Dulcie hesitated. She was not afraid of the man but she was wary all of a sudden. Before she could step back, he snatched her hand in his, and said, “Let’s hurry. We must get the best before it gets too dark to see.”

“I think I have enough,” Dulcie exclaimed, and tried to break free of him, but he held her hand tightly in his. She tugged; he wouldn’t let go.

The man was about to walk off with her when he heard the sound of a gun being cocked. He let go of Dulcie’s hand and ran. He rushed forward, crashing through the bushes, disappearing into the woods.

A moment later Dulcie was looking up at Percy Swann, the head gamekeeper, who was standing there with a rifle in his hands.

She smiled at him. “Hello, Mr. Percy. I didn’t like that man. He wanted to take me to another bluebell patch. But I wouldn’t go.”

“You did the right thing, Lady Dulcie. Come along, I’ll take you home.” He bent down, picked her up in his arms, and carried her back to the house, holding the rifle in one hand.

It didn’t take him long to get to the conservatory. The hue and cry had already started, and he saw the enormous relief flooding the earl’s worried face as he put Dulcie down on the ground.

She ran toward her father, exclaiming, “I went to pick bluebells for Alicia, Papa, and Mr. Percy came and sent the funny man away. And then he carried me home.” She smiled at Percy and said, “Thank you.”

Felicity was as white as chalk, also worried. She came forward and took hold of Dulcie’s hand. Looking at Percy, her red-rimmed eyes full of gratitude, she said, “My thanks, Mr. Swann. It’s a good thing you were down there.” She hurried away with Dulcie, who was still clutching the bluebells. The weeping nanny trailed after them, unable to quell her tears.

Pulling himself together, Lord Mowbray said, “What exactly happened, Percy?”

“I always patrol the area near the bluebell woods while it’s still light. I’ve been doing so since last year, when there were rumors of poachers. I was walking up from the lake when I spotted Lady Dulcie going into the woods by herself. I ran hell for leather, m’lord. As I went into the bluebell woods I saw a man holding Lady Dulcie’s hand, about to lead her away. I surprised him. I cocked the trigger, and he heard it, as I knew he would. He took off, ran into the woods. I lifted her up and brought her home.”

“Did you recognize the man?”

“I didn’t, your lordship. He had muttonchop whiskers and was wearing a flat cap, so it was impossible to see much of his face. He was badly dressed. Tallish though, a man with long legs and long arms.”

“Disguised perhaps?” Charles asked.

“Maybe, m’lord. I think it would’ve been hard for anyone to identify him. Muttonchop whiskers cover most of the face.” Percy Swann shook his head. “I suppose I could have run after him, but I wouldn’t have caught him, and I thought it was better to get Lady Dulcie home.”

“You did the right thing. Miss Charlotte insists the bluebell woods in particular are watched by your outdoors team. Why do you think that is, Swann?”

“Because they are quite dense in parts and also they’re at the end of our property on that side of Cavendon land. Once the woods end there’s that dirt road that separates our land from the Havers land, and the land belonging to Lord Judson.”

Charles said, “We need a barbed-wire fence, don’t we?”

“I think we should build a very high wall, if you don’t mind me saying so, Lord Mowbray. With barbed wire along the top.”

“That would block entry to the woods from the road. What about the rest of the property?”

“We should build more walls where there are gaps, which is where they are needed.”

“Parts of Cavendon on the perimeters have always been open, but times have changed. I think we’d better make our lands safer than they are. I’ll talk to the estate manager tomorrow. He can make the plans and carry them forward. And thank you, Swann, I dread to think what might have happened to Lady Dulcie if you hadn’t been around.”

“It’s a good thing I was on my rounds, m’lord. Well, I’ll say good night.”

“Good night, Swann, I’m extremely grateful to you,” Charles replied. Charles left the conservatory and went upstairs to the nursery floor, fuming inside. He found Felicity in the nursery, talking to the nanny, Maureen Carlton, who was still in tears.

Instructing her to come outside into the corridor, he informed her she had been in dereliction of her duties, and that he could no longer employ her. He added that she had until tomorrow at noon to leave Cavendon.

Felicity came out and joined him, and together they went downstairs to the main bedroom floor. Once alone in Felicity’s bedroom, Charles said, “She had to go. She has no brains. I can’t have any child of ours put at risk because of another person’s stupidity.”

“I agree, Charles,” she answered, and added, “I was about to give her notice myself when you arrived.” Felicity sat down in a chair, feeling nauseous. “Thank goodness Dulcie doesn’t understand, and she’s sitting happily in the bathtub.” She shook her head. “I can’t bear to think what might have happened if Percy Swann hadn’t been out there in the grounds.”

“She would have been abducted,” Charles replied in a terse voice. And he shuddered when he considered the harm that could have been done to little Dulcie, his Botticelli angel. It didn’t bear thinking about. Later, he couldn’t help wondering who the trespasser was. He also knew he had no way of ever finding out, much to his frustration.

*   *   *

Charles excused himself, went into his dressing room, and removed his jacket. He put on his silk dressing gown and returned to Felicity’s bedroom.

To his surprise, she was still sitting in the chair, had not changed from her dinner dress. And now she had her head in her hands.

When she looked up he was taken aback. There was a bleak expression on her face. She had obviously had one of those sudden mood swings which had frequently been occurring lately.

“What is it?” he asked from the doorway, reluctant to intrude on her when she was like this.

“This is your fault, Charles. You have been lax in securing this estate,” she said in a low, flat voice. “It needs proper armed guards, not woodsmen. Dulcie might have been taken, raped, and murdered tonight.”

He was flabbergasted, and exclaimed, “It was one of my
armed
men who found her, and very quickly. She’s safe because of Percy Swann, and you said so yourself. You praised him, Felicity. His armed teams are all over the estate, and have been for a long time. And we’re doing repairs to the walls tomorrow.”

Taking a step forward, he said quietly, “This has been terribly upsetting for both of us, for everyone here, in fact. And frightening, I know that. I know how distressed you were, but the estate is safe now, and it will be even safer.”

When she made no response, he added, “I don’t want you to become upset again. Dulcie is safe, and always will be safe from now on.”

“I’ve never worried about Dulcie, because you’ve got all your devoted Swann women here. I know full well they keep an eye on her just to stay in your good graces.”

Annoyed though he was by this comment, he did not want to bicker with his wife. She seemed like a stranger to him these days. There was an unbelievable change in her that puzzled him and he could not help wondering at times what had actually caused this. She was certainly not the woman he had married.

Turning, walking back to the door of his dressing room, he said in a level voice, “I’ll be back in a moment. And then perhaps we can draw a line under this … be more relaxed with each other. Like we used to be. Perhaps I can share your bed tonight, darling.”

“I don’t think so,” she said in that same lifeless, flat tone of voice.

Charles frowned. “Why not? What’s wrong?” he asked.

She told him.

Forty-seven

T
he story of Dulcie wandering off into the bluebell woods, and her near abduction by a stranger on the property, sent a shock wave through Cavendon. By eight o’clock that Sunday evening the news had even traveled to the village of Little Skell.

Before he went home, Percy Swann went to see his aunt Charlotte, who as matriarch of the Swann family was always informed first about everything that happened at Cavendon. And then she wrote it up in the record book. At least that was the assumption everyone made.

Charlotte’s face broke into a smile when she answered the knock on her front door, opened it, and saw Percy standing there. Like his older brother Walter, Percy was a good-looking young man, tall, athletic, and strong. Although he was thirty-three, he appeared younger, as did Walter and Charlotte as well. It seemed to be a Swann trait, and one they were all happy to be endowed with. Percy, despite his age, was the head gamekeeper and ran the grouse moor and grounds with enormous skill and much love. He had been born on the estate and he knew every inch of it. He was a great marksman and had never missed a target yet, was known affectionately as “the Perfect Shot” by his fellow workers.