The Cavendon Women (11 page)

The answer came to her immediately. Only someone in politics and someone with access to the top brass at the War Office.

Staring into the distance, she thought of those friends who were connected to politics. She knew Lucy Baldwin quite well, had been at her wedding to Stanley in 1892. But she could hardly go to the prime minister's wife with this.

Winston.
Of course! Not only was he a good friend, he had just the right temperament to get involved. He would relish it, in fact. But how could she ask him at this particular time? Once again, Winston Churchill was in the middle of the fray, dealing with the coal strike for Baldwin. Perhaps—

“Excuse me, Lady Gwendolyn,” Mrs. Pine said, intruding on Lady Gwendolyn's thoughts, coming down the steps into the garden. “Lady Lavinia is here. She apologizes for being early for lunch.”

Pushing herself to her feet, Lady Gwendolyn said, “That's perfectly all right, Mrs. Pine. I was just about to come inside anyway.”

*   *   *

Lavinia was waiting for her in the parlor, and as she turned around to greet her aunt, Gwendolyn was struck by the tiredness etched on her niece's face. “Are you feeling all right, Lavinia?” Lady Gwendolyn asked. “You look a little under the weather, my dear.”

“I'm tired. I didn't sleep well last night.” A faint smile lingered on Lavinia's face as she followed her aunt across the room.

Sitting down in a chair opposite her, Lavinia went on, “I'm afraid the unexpected news that I was going to attend a wedding on Sunday, my brother's wedding at that, rather startled me. It also upset me.”

Lady Gwendolyn simply nodded, made no comment. She had fully intended to chastise her niece over lunch today, for being rude to Charles yesterday. But now she changed her mind.

As she studied Lavinia's face, she realized there was something else radically wrong with her. In fact she thought her niece might be ill. She looked pale, wan, and her blond beauty had faded somewhat. I'd better not chide her at this moment, she decided. “We were all surprised, except for Miles and Daphne, who knew about it all along. But I'm happy for Charles, and delighted he is marrying Charlotte.”

Staring at her aunt, raising a blond brow, Lavinia exclaimed, “I know you are! And I must admit, I was taken aback yesterday, when you voiced that opinion about this unfortunate union. He's marrying out of his class. He'll be ostracized.”

“Don't be ridiculous!” a voice exclaimed from the doorway.

Lavinia's sister glided into the parlor.

Drawing to a standstill next to her aunt, Vanessa said, “I'm not late, am I, Aunt Gwendolyn? Hello to you, Lavinia. I'm afraid you're going to have to join the multitudes who are cheering on the sidelines. Otherwise
you'll
be the one who is ostracized … you'll be sent to Coventry.” Bending over her aunt, she kissed her cheek, then seated herself on a nearby sofa.

Vanessa couldn't help thinking how elegant and distinguished Lady Gwendolyn looked. Long ago her abundant blond hair had turned to silver. Now it was pure white, and beautifully styled as usual. Her blue eyes sparkled brightly this morning, and there was no hint that she was eighty-six. She looked much younger and was agile of mind and body.

Lady Gwendolyn smiled at Vanessa, glanced across at Lavinia. Two sisters entirely different in personality and character. She knew which one she had always preferred: Vanessa, liberal-minded, ready to accept people on face value, and in step with the times they were living in. The 1920s, not the 1800s.

Lavinia, throwing her sister an icy look, asked, “And what about you, Vanessa? When are we about to hear that you are finally getting married?”

Vanessa began to laugh. “Oh, I don't know, I'm not sure I'm ready to do that yet,” she answered casually, still laughing.

“Is there a nice young man in your life, darling?” Lady Gwendolyn asked. “And if indeed there is, who is he? I would love to know.”

“His name is Richard Bowers, and he's very nice. And the next time you come to London we'll have dinner, or lunch, whichever you prefer, Aunt Gwendolyn.”

“I'll be up in town next week. We must meet. That would be lovely. Is he by any chance related to the Barnards?”

“His mother Valerie is a Barnard,” Vanessa answered. “I think you know her, Aunt.”

“I do indeed. We're acquaintances, but not close friends. She is a very nice woman.”

*   *   *

It was during lunch that Vanessa mentioned that Daphne had shown her the guest list for the wedding earlier. “I was happy to see Hugo's cousin Mark Stanton is coming, and so is Paul Drummond. Also a number of—”

“Who is Paul Drummond?” Lavinia cut in, staring across the table at Vanessa. “I've never heard of him. He must be a new friend.”

“No, actually he's not. Paul Drummond is an American. He has worked with Hugo for many years,” Vanessa explained. “Paul runs the New York end of Hugo's business, and since he happens to be in London at the moment, Charles wanted him to come.”

“An American! That explains it perfectly. I can assure you none of Charles's close friends will be there. How could he invite them when he's not marrying an aristocrat?”

Vanessa, appalled by Lavinia's comment, said slowly in a firm tone, “Stop harping on about the aristocracy. It's falling apart. It has been since the end of the war. Because of high taxes imposed by the government. No men to till the fields, run the factories, or go down the mines. All dead on the blood-sodden fields of France, including our nephew, Guy. Half of Charles's friends are busy trying to stay afloat, keep their stately homes running, and many are not succeeding. Do you really believe they're concerned about Charles's new wife? Not one iota. They're trying to save their skins. So shut up about Charles marrying out of his class. I, for one, think you're totally out of line.”

Lavinia sat back in her chair, gaping at Vanessa, astonishment washing over her face. For once in her life she was speechless, shaken by her sister's verbal attack.

Seizing the moment, Vanessa continued, “Everyone said it was the war to end all wars. But what the Great War actually did was end the British Empire. Nothing is the same anymore. England's stone broke. The landed gentry are being diminished. The workingman is looking for a fair deal. There is the General Strike, in case you haven't noticed, and the coal strike. The country's spinning on its heels, and talk of a depression is constant. And you're going on about
class
. Just grow up, Lavinia. Join the world we're living in today.”

Lavinia remained speechless, even more shocked by her sister's attitude and her angry words.

Lady Gwendolyn studied Vanessa, and then nodded. “Well put, my dear. I'm afraid I do have to agree with you.” Focusing on Lavinia, she continued, “No one likes change, certainly not I, but times
have
indeed changed, Lavinia. And we must all change with them, keep in step. And that includes you.”

Lavinia had become paler than ever, and she replied in a low, slightly nervous voice, “Why are you both so annoyed with me? It's the truth.”

There was a small silence. No one spoke. And then a moment later, Mrs. Pine came into the dining room with the parlormaid, and they served the dessert.

Vanessa, wishing to change the subject, smiled at the housekeeper, and said, “I do love cr
è
me caramel, Mrs. Pine. It's my favorite.”

The housekeeper merely smiled and nodded.

Once they were alone again, Lady Gwendolyn sat up straighter in her chair, and peered at Vanessa and then at Lavinia. Both of them knew a pronouncement was coming and they sat perfectly still, did not utter a word or touch their food.

After a long moment, Lady Gwendolyn said in a steely voice, which was also as smooth as silk, “Because I am matriarch of this family, its oldest and most senior member, I can break the rules and make the rules.” She paused, took a sip of water, and shifted slightly in her chair.

Her voice had a little less steel and more silk to it when she explained, “I am making a new rule. Since I am most approving of my nephew's choice, this will be the last time a pejorative word will be uttered about Charlotte.
Ever.
By anyone. On Sunday she will become the Countess of Mowbray. She will be treated with the respect she deserves, and which she has actually earned through a life of devotion to this family. Charlotte has been a boon to us all. And frankly your brother would be dead by now if it were not for her.”

Still the sisters said nothing.

Lady Gwendolyn was fully aware that she had got her point across to them. Vanessa was relaxed, at ease, whilst Lavinia looked shaken. Picking up her spoon, Lady Gwendolyn tasted the cr
è
me caramel, then she said quietly, scrutinizing Lavinia, “Are you all right, my dear? I hope my words haven't upset you too much.”

“No, not at all, Aunt Gwendolyn,” Lavinia answered, her voice still low, but steady. “And I'm sorry if I offended you, Aunt. It won't happen again. Surely you must know that I love my brother, and I do want what's best for Charles.” Lavinia stopped, took a deep breath, and finished. “I am fully aware that Charlotte is devoted to him, and we do owe her a lot.”

Lady Gwendolyn offered Lavinia a warm smile. “I am very glad to hear those sentiments.”

Wow! Vanessa thought, pushing down the laughter bubbling inside. Wow oh wow! I never thought I'd hear anything like this from Lavinia's mouth. She's always been jealous of Charlotte, ever since we were children growing up together. She was constantly in a sulk because Charles treated Charlotte like his best friend. And she hated it when they called each other Charlie.

 

Sixteen

They had arranged to meet at the gazebo, situated halfway between Little Skell Manor and Charlotte's house at the edge of the village. After lunch, once Vanessa and Lavinia had departed, Lady Gwendolyn set off to keep her appointment.

She walked slowly along the path, as usual wanting to savor the beauty of Cavendon. For her it was the one
true
place on this planet, the place she was happiest and the most content.

Gwendolyn Ingham Baildon had been born at Cavendon, had grown up there. When she was twenty she had married Paul Baildon in the small church on the estate. She and Paul had had a wonderful ten years together, and then he had died, quite suddenly, after a botched operation for appendicitis.

It should not have happened. He had been far too young to die, and she had been devastated by the loss, as had everyone else. At thirty she had become a widow, and she had been a widow for fifty-six years. Paul had been buried in the cemetery alongside her ancestors, such a long time ago now.

They had never been lucky enough to have children, but the memories were there, to be recalled at will, and mulled over … they were almost living things, so vivid in her mind and in her heart.

As she strolled along, Gwendolyn glanced around. The park at Cavendon was always beautiful whatever the time of year, but today it was spectacular. It was a perfect July afternoon, the bright sun shining in the light blue sky, everything so green and verdant. The great oaks were ancient sentinels along the path, their thick branches forming canopies of dark leaves high above, offering cool shade in this warm weather.

Within minutes she saw the gazebo ahead. Charlotte was standing on the steps waiting for her.
Charlotte Swann.
A remarkable woman. She had known her since the day she had been born, fifty-eight years ago, and there was a certain closeness and friendship between them; they were comfortable with each other, but then Charlotte never overstepped the line, was never out of place, and Gwendolyn was open-minded and without an ounce of snobbishness in her character.

Charlotte, her face full of smiles, said, “Good afternoon, m'lady.”

“Hello, Charlotte, my dear.” Lady Gwendolyn took the hand being offered, and mounted the few steps.

After ushering her over to a white wicker chair, Charlotte said, “I'm glad you suggested meeting here. Cecily and Miles are still going over details for the weekend, and Mrs. Alice is finishing my packing. I'm afraid it's a bit busy at the house.”

“I rather thought there would be quite a lot of activity around you, and this seemed the most suitable spot to meet for a quiet chat. We'll be undisturbed.”

Charlotte sat down at the table. “What did you wish to speak to me about, Lady Gwendolyn?”

“I'm sure Charles has already told you how delighted I was to hear his news at tea yesterday. However, I did want to tell you that myself, and to congratulate you. I'm very happy you are marrying Charles, Charlotte. I have something for you.”

Lady Gwendolyn opened her handbag and took out a package wrapped in blue silk and tied with white ribbon. She placed it in front of Charlotte.

A moment later Charlotte found herself holding a brooch in her hands. It was made of gold, designed in the image of a swan. The gold was carved to look like feathers on a plump body, and around the swan's long neck there was a narrow band of diamonds. The swan's eyes were made of small sapphires, its beak formed of slivers of mother-of-pearl and ebony.

“It's beautiful, Lady Gwendolyn!” Charlotte exclaimed. “Thank you so much. I can see it's old.”

“Very old, in fact,” Lady Gwendolyn replied. “The worn box is obviously ancient. There's no jeweler's mark or name on the pin, or on the box, but it is so beautifully crafted it must have come from a fine shop.”

Charlotte nodded, touched by this gesture on Lady Gwendolyn's part. Her eyes filled. After a moment, clearing her throat, she said, “I shall treasure it always.” She glanced down at the brooch. “May I ask who gave it to you?”

“My mother,” Lady Gwendolyn answered, without hesitation. “The brooch has been passed down for years. I decided you should have it. You're about to become an Ingham, and you are a Swann. A fitting token from an old woman who thinks the world of you.”