The Cavendon Women (13 page)

“And so do I. Will you promise me the first dance?”

“I will. Every dance for the rest of my life.”

 

Eighteen

In all the years he had worked at Cavendon Hall, Hanson had never heard such a raucous noise coming from the servants' hall. Much laughter, voices raised. A din to end all dins.

He moved swiftly on silent feet, hurrying down the corridor, and paused just before he reached the door. It was ajar, and he could hear everything clearly.

Never in his life had he actually eavesdropped, but he was doing so at this moment. He had a need to know what this was about. The laughter had ceased. A woman's voice echoed.

“And Vanessa was right angry, that she was, and she told Lavinia off, told her to stop talking about class. Lavinia's against this marriage, I can tell you that. As for Lady Gwendolyn, she's all for it. I don't understand why. I mean, Charlotte Swann's a nobody and—”

Outrage bubbled inside Hanson. He moved with speed, threw open the door, and strode inside. Those sitting there were rendered speechless by his sudden and unexpected arrival. There was total silence. Everyone gaped at him, taken by surprise. They were also fearful.

His rage was most apparent as his eyes swept over the group assembled. It was composed of Ian Melrose, the second footman; Tim Hartley, the earl's chauffeur; the head housemaid, Jessie Phelps; and the two other housemaids, Pam Willis and Connie Layton.

They were all seated at the long oak table, having their tea. And at the far side of the table sat Adelaide Pine, Lady Gwendolyn's housekeeper, who had been hired by Mrs. Thwaites, before she was taken sick, to help out that evening.

“I see you've made yourself at home, Mrs. Pine. Holding court here. And speaking out of turn, it seems to me,” Hanson snapped in an icy voice, focusing on her.

She flinched under his dark and angry gaze, but remained silent, knowing it was better to keep quiet.

Hanson's eyes swept around the room again, and he continued, “Never, in the thirty-eight years I've worked here, have I heard such a hullabaloo coming from the servants' hall.”

He stared at Mrs. Pine. “And your behavior is outrageous, madam. Nobody, but nobody, gossips about the family I serve. Under their noses, in their own home, no less. In their great house, one of the greatest stately homes in the whole of England. I will not stand for it! Do you hear me, Mrs. Pine? And it goes for you lot, too. If any of you ever utters one word of gossip about this family we serve, you will be dismissed instantly, and there will be no references given. Now, all of you, finish your tea and make haste; prepare for your evening duties. It's going to be a busy night.”

Cowering in their chairs, some of them cursing Mrs. Pine under their breath, the staff was silent, did not dare move a muscle. As for Mrs. Pine, she was unusually pale.

Hanson gave Mrs. Pine a withering look, and said in that same icy voice, “Come with me, Mrs. Pine. I will speak with you in my office.”

Without another word, he swung around and left the room. After a moment's hesitation, Mrs. Pine got up and went out, then followed Hanson down the corridor, quaking.

When he reached his study, Hanson opened the door wide, and said, “Inside, please.” He stepped aside, so that she could enter first.

Hanson closed the door behind him and leaned against it for a moment, staring at the woman who had so affronted him.

She stared back, a nervous tic making her mouth twitch. She knew she was in serious trouble.

He said, “I will not tolerate gossip in this house. You overstepped the mark, and you will collect your things and leave immediately. You cannot work here this evening.” He went across to his desk and stood behind it, glowering.

Mrs. Pine nodded, and began to walk to the door. She said, “You're not going to say anything to Lady Gwendolyn, are you, Hanson?”

“No, not at the moment. But once the marriage of the earl has taken place, I shall indeed speak to her ladyship. She must know what happened here today, Mrs. Pine. It's my duty to inform her. You live and work in her home. What she does is her decision.”

“But I didn't mean any harm—” she began.

Hanson cut her off sharply. “Gossip can be very harmful. It has been known to destroy people. And those who gossip are extremely dangerous, in my opinion. All they do is cause trouble for others. But not here, they won't, not
anywhere
here at Cavendon. This place is sacrosanct and under my watchful eye.” He paused. “If I were you I would resign.”

Without another word, Adelaide Pine shot through the door, and banged it hard behind her.

Staring at the door, Hanson shook his head, and then moved with speed, returning to the servants' hall to take charge.

It was quiet when he went in. He noticed that the chauffeur had disappeared, and so had the second footman. The three housemaids were clearing the dishes.

Addressing the head housemaid, Hanson said, “Jessie, come over here, and let us sit down together for a moment. I need to speak with you.”

“Yes, Mr. Hanson,” she responded, her voice quiet. She joined the butler at the oak table.

He said, “How could you let that happen, Jessie?”

“What do you mean?” she asked, frowning, not understanding at first.

“Why didn't you stop that woman spouting off the way she did? Gossiping about the marriage of the earl and Miss Charlotte. Not a good idea, Jessie. She didn't speak nicely about them, now did she?”

“She'd said much more before you came rushing in. And I did try to stop her, Mr. Hanson. She just wouldn't shut up.” Jessie hesitated, and then added softly, “I thought she was a bit malicious, Mr. Hanson, to be honest.”

“Yes, she was, from what I heard. But how could you laugh? I heard the laughter as I came down the corridor.”

“Oh, we weren't laughing at anything
she
said. A few minutes earlier, Tim had been telling us about his brother's wedding a few weeks ago, and how so many things went wrong. He was a real comedian, like in a variety show.
He
made us laugh, not Mrs. Pine, Mr. Hanson.”

Hanson simply nodded his understanding.

Jessie said, “It was after that she started to talk about the wedding again, the earl's wedding, I mean. She repeated what she'd heard at lunch, and we just listened; we were taken aback.”

Hanson stood up. “As the head housemaid, Jessie, I expect you to be in charge of the other maids. Speak out if something untoward happens. And put your foot down. We must have decorum at all times.”

“Yes, sir, I will.”

“I'm going upstairs to the South Wing, to check on the tables Lane and Peggy are setting.” At the door he turned around. “Where's Melrose?”

“He went to change his clothes for the evening shift, Mr. Hanson.”

“I think you and the other maids must do that also, Jessie. Time is running.”

*   *   *

Hanson's anger dissipated the moment he hurried into the pale green sitting room in the South Wing. Lady Daphne was standing there with a huge smile on her face, and Gordon Lane and Peggy were with her, also looking pleased. Thoughts of Mrs. Pine no longer existed in his head, that ugliness pushed away at once.

“Hanson, just come and look at the room, now that Gordon and Peggy have brought out the small chairs and several love seats. Isn't it a lovely place for everyone to gather tonight? Thanks to Harry's garden as well.” As she spoke she gestured to the privet hedges and the banks of flowers that gave the room a sense of summer and the outdoors. “It's magical, isn't it?”

“You're correct, m'lady,” Hanson replied. “Harry's outdone himself … it's just beautiful, and so unique.”

“Come with me to the pink dining room, Hanson. Lead the way, Gordon and Peggy,” Lady Daphne instructed, hurrying out.

They trooped into the pink dining room, where Gordon and Peggy had already set the two circular dining tables. Under the crystal chandelier, crystal and silver glittered in the bright light, and the silver bowls of colorful flowers were the perfect finishing touches on the tables.

After walking around both tables, inspecting them, Hanson nodded his approval. “Well done, the two of you,” he said, glancing at Gordon and Peggy, smiling at them. “Perfection, not a thing out of place.”

At this moment the unexpected arrival of Dulcie made everyone turn around, and Daphne said, “You look excited. What's happened, darling?”

“Good news! Vanessa asked me to come and tell you that Richard Bowers is definitely coming. He'll be here in time for dinner. He's already on the train from London. And I just ran into Mark Stanton; Hugo was showing him to his room. Apparently he caught an earlier train than planned.”

“I'm glad to hear that. And also that Richard Bowers is confirmed. No need to rearrange the table, Hanson.”

“Yes, m'lady.”

Daphne looked at Hanson and then at the Lanes. She said, “Thank you. I'm able to relax and leave it all to you.” Taking hold of Dulcie's arm, she went on, “I need to have a word with you. Let's go to the conservatory.”

“Excuse me, Lady Daphne, but shall I put Mr. Bowers in the Chinese bedroom?” Hanson asked.

“What a good idea. It's spacious and charming, I'm sure he'll be comfortable there.”

Daphne and Dulcie left the pink dining room, and as they walked out of the South Wing, Daphne said, “What's he like? Richard Bowers, I mean. You said you've met him several times. Are they very taken with each other?”

“Yes. He's lovely, and has a lot of quiet charm,” Dulcie answered. “And he's good-looking, but not flashy good-looking, more normal, a bit like Papa, in a way.”

Daphne smiled. “I hope he's as nice as Papa. I think he must be, because Vanessa is a good judge of character.”

“Talking of character, Diedre's different, Daphers. She's been very warm toward me.”

“I'm glad to hear that, and I think she has changed. To be honest, I always found her prickly, but her attitude appears to have improved. So, getting back to Richard Bowers … is it serious between them?”

“I think so.” Dulcie was thoughtful, then added, “I'm sure it is now … bringing him to meet Papa is significant.”

 

Nineteen

She had expected it to happen and it did. They closed ranks on her, shut her out of the inner circle.

She wasn't shunned, they didn't exactly send her to Coventry, as it was called. In fact, they were civil, greeted her when she went into the pale green sitting room on Saturday evening.

But it had vanished, that familial warmth, that sense of inclusion, the shared inner knowledge that they were a clan, special, different, a unique tribe. They were the Inghams, and there was nobody like them in the whole world.

It was the ice in the blue eyes that said it all.

Lavinia was well aware she had blundered badly, had made a grave error speaking to Charles the way she had. Her brother was the Sixth Earl of Mowbray, the head of the family, one of the premier earls of England, and she had criticized him, questioned his judgment. Worst of all, she had verbally demeaned the woman he adored and was about to marry. A good woman, one who had devoted her life to this family. Her heart tightened, and there was an ache in the pit of her stomach as she walked across the room; she was fully aware there would be no reversal, no acceptance in the inner circle ever again. Not for her. She had been stupid, and regretted it, but there was nothing she could do. She was in no-man's-land. And there she would stay.

Lavinia stood admiring the extraordinary garden which had been created near the windows, calming herself, when she became aware that someone stood immediately behind her. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw that it was Mark Stanton, the cousin of Hugo, who looked more like a brother in appearance.

“Good evening, Lady Lavinia,” he said, smiling, coming forward, adding, “What an enormous amount of talent went into the creation of this … work of art. Because that's what it is. Somebody with a fantastic eye for color and flowers certainly had a big hand in the making of it.”

Relieved that it was Mark, and not an Ingham, Lavinia smiled at him, her natural charm surfacing. “It was Harry Swann. He has always had a marvelous flair for gardening, but now he's learning about estate management, you know. He's got good ideas, and I think he can really help to modernize the running of the estate.”

“So Hugo mentioned to me recently—” Mark broke off. There was a sudden flurry of excitement near the doorway, and both he and Lavinia looked across the room.

Vanessa stood there, tall, graceful, and elegant, holding the arm of a good-looking man. The entire room was smiling at them as Vanessa led Richard Bowers forward, to be introduced to her family.

Miles, Cecily, and Dulcie hung back, allowing the others to meet him first. Dulcie said, “I feel such a fool. I thought Richard was an artist, or owned an art gallery, or something like that, mostly because he knew so much about art. But I got it all wrong. Art is merely his hobby.” Dropping her voice, Dulcie added, “You'll never guess what he does.”

“So tell us, don't keep us in suspense,” Miles said.

“He's a policeman … just imagine, we've got a posh copper in our midst, and who knows, maybe it's forever.”

“Who's a posh copper?” Diedre asked, joining them, staring at Dulcie with interest.

“Richard Bowers, Aunt Vanessa's new gentleman friend. Papa told me earlier that he's with Scotland Yard.”

Diedre gaped at her sister, and remained silent. Any mention of Scotland Yard brought memories of Maxine's untimely death rushing back. She held herself still, pushing dire thoughts of that tragic event aside. She was trembling inside.

“I wonder why Vanessa never told me when I was staying with her,” Dulcie muttered to herself, baffled yet again, as she had been earlier in the day.