“Daphne has outshone herself tonight, Felicity,” Gwendolyn said admiringly. “She looks wonderful, and her dress has caused quite a sensation. She only has to breathe and it shimmers. And this is certainly one time I’m not going to complain that it’s blue.”
Felicity shot back, “You can’t, because it’s also got green and turquoise beads in it. It was mine, you know. I had it made in Paris. I always thought it was a rather special piece of haute couture, and I kept it for that reason. Luckily, it fit Daphne perfectly.”
Both women gazed at Daphne dancing with her father. Charles enjoyed dancing, and it showed. He moved around the ballroom gracefully, and Daphne was in perfect step with her father. Because they were tall, they looked wonderful together, and seemed to be enjoying themselves.
A silence fell between the two women, and Felicity fell down into her thoughts. Her eyes were focused on Daphne, and for a few moments she was totally mesmerized by the girl’s incredible beauty. Unexpectedly her heart clenched when she thought of the rape, and her daughter’s terrible dilemma. Their dilemma. They were in this together, the three of them. She was also thankful the Swanns were in the background, to help in any way they could. Daphne needed as much support as possible, and they would all give it to her, get her through. Hopefully her reputation would not be damaged in any way, and she would be able to pick up her life in the early part of 1914.
A rush of overwhelming guilt about many things made Felicity slide further down into herself. This awful guilt invaded her frequently, because she knew she had been overly preoccupied with her sister’s illness, and another dire and disturbing problem. She had neglected her family. And yet deep inside herself she knew she couldn’t have prevented the rape; she wasn’t outside in the bluebell woods when Daphne was so brutally attacked.
She and Charles had seized on the suggestion that Julian Torbett was to blame, and Daphne had done nothing to dissuade them otherwise. And yet Felicity had her doubts, and so did Charles. She had always thought Julian was a bit wishy-washy, and slightly feminine in certain ways.
She stifled a sigh. And what did it matter now? Julian was dead. And if it was some other man who had assaulted her, he was long gone. Far away.
In her opinion, her daughter might easily have been spotted by a poacher, a stranger on the estate … Aunt Gwendolyn was saying something to her, and Felicity let the thought go.
“I’m sorry, my dear, I didn’t quite catch that,” she said, turning to Gwendolyn.
“I was asking you if you thought Diedre might be unhappy in some way?”
Frowning, Felicity asked, “Why do you say that?”
“It’s just that she has a way of saying odd things,” Lady Gwendolyn murmured, and lowered her voice. “Rather mean things. And often people do that when they are discontented.”
“She’s always been a little acerbic, you know, that’s just her way.”
Lady Gwendolyn gave Felicity a long, pointed look and said, “I hope it isn’t a trait she has inherited from me. I’ve always been rather acerbic myself, and often had my knuckles rapped for it, I might add.”
Before Felicity could answer, Hugo appeared in front of them, looking impossibly handsome in his white tie and tails. “Can I steal my aunt away, Felicity?”
“Of course,” she answered, and smiled as he led Gwendolyn onto the dance floor. She couldn’t help thinking how graceful and elegant Gwendolyn looked in her purple evening gown and her amazing array of diamonds. Her back was straight and she stepped out with confidence, held in the arms of her nephew.
I hope I’m like her when I’m seventy-two, Felicity thought, and slipped back into her distressing ruminations. One of her main concerns was keeping her own secrets, as well as keeping the secret about Daphne’s pregnancy. She realized much of that would have to do with her clothes. They would conceal a lot. Tonight had been the best time for her to wear the slender column of beads, whilst she was still as thin as a reed.
“Mama, may I have this dance, please,” Guy said, stepping closer to her, offering her his hand.
“But of course, I’d love it,” she replied, and stood up, let him lead her onto the floor and whirl her into a waltz.
* * *
Hugo found he could not sleep. He had tossed and turned in his bed for two hours, and finally, in frustration, he got up, put on his dressing gown and slippers, and went downstairs to the library. After switching on the light, he went over to the drinks table and poured himself a large cognac.
After returning to his bedroom, he sat down near a window and sipped the brandy, thinking about Daphne. He was a sophisticated man of the world, and he had certainly behaved as one tonight. He had been the epitome of polished charm and good manners, attentive to all of the women, not only to Daphne. He had danced with them and with her. She had been pleasant and warm. And he had been totally in control of himself. No more schoolboy reactions. However, he did have one reaction to her he did not let show. He had fallen in love with her, and he wanted her for the rest of his life.
Hugo was smart enough to know the situation had to be handled properly and with discretion. He would speak to Charles within the next few days, to ascertain what the situation was with his daughter. He needed to know if she was spoken for.
After another few swallows of the brandy, Hugo stood up to take off his dressing gown. As he did so, he happened to glance out of the window, and then stepped closer. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing. There were flames in the stable block. A fire. My God, the horses, he thought, and rushed out of his room to raise the alarm.
Twenty-seven
Hugo was horrified when he reached the stable block. The first stall, with Diedre’s brass nameplate on it, was empty except for bales of hay. It was the hay which was burning furiously, the flames shooting up into the night sky, turning it red.
In the next stall, Daphne’s horse, Greensleeves, was panicked, rearing up on her hind legs, thrashing at the stall door with her front hooves. The horse was terrified, and Hugo knew he must release it at once. The horse’s nostrils were flaring, and there was froth on her mouth.
In the process of trying to lift the latch, Hugo burnt his fingers on the hot metal, but hardly noticed. Someone had wedged a piece of wood behind the latch, to keep it in place. Unable to move the wood, Hugo pulled off a shoe, and began striking at the latch with the heel, until it flew up and the door sprang open. Swiftly, Hugo stepped to one side as Greensleeves galloped out furiously and headed down the yard toward the meadows.
Immediately, Hugo ran to the next stall, where DeLacy’s horse, Dreamer, was also panicked and rearing up on its back legs. He released the latch, opened the door, and another horse sped away, heading after Greensleeves.
As he moved on to the third stall, he heard Charles shouting, “Miles, get the fire extinguishers! Guy, pull out the pump and hose. We’ve got to stop the fire spreading! Walter, help him.”
Charles ran up to Hugo. “Thanks for that warning. If you hadn’t seen the blaze all of this would have soon burnt to the ground.”
“I couldn’t sleep, and got up. Lucky, wasn’t it? When I saw the flames, everything I knew from my childhood rushed back to me. I knew I had to get here as fast as possible to save the horses.”
Charles nodded, and then, when he saw Hanson running into the yard, followed by two footmen, he cried, “Please rescue Dulcie’s little Shetland pony in the stall here, Hugo. I’ll get Hanson and the footmen to free the horses on the other side of the yard. We must move them into the meadows for their safety.”
“Shall I take the pony into the fields?” Hugo asked.
“Good idea,” Charles shouted over his shoulder, already on his way to give Hanson and the footmen their instructions.
* * *
Within three hours all of the flames had died down, most of the stalls had been hosed and cleaned out, and the burnt and wet hay removed. Most importantly, none of the horses had been hurt, or injured in any way.
The stable boys, who
lived in the annex near the estate offices at the far end of the stable block, had arrived soon after the fire started. Awakened by the furor, they had quickly come tumbling and running onto the scene. And they had done their fair share of work. Eventually, the horses had been led back to the yard, carefully examined, and then put in their stalls where they were watered and fed.
As the stable lads sat drinking their mugs of hot sweet tea and eating bacon sandwiches, they talked amongst themselves, wondering aloud how the fire had started. It had been huge. Hanson, Walter, and the two footmen were doing the same thing in the servants’ hall. The fire was a mystery to them all; therefore it stayed in their minds.
* * *
Once they had cleaned themselves, and changed their clothes, Charles, Guy, and Miles went down to the dining room for breakfast, where they found Hugo nursing a burnt hand. He had wrapped a towel around his fingers, but he kept anxiously looking at the burns, a frown on his face.
“Come on, old chap, let me take a look at that hand,” Charles said, striding over to his cousin at the other side of the dining table.
“It’s nothing serious, Charles, but it does sting a bit, I must admit.” He lifted the towel.
Charles nodded. “Wilson, Felicity’s lady’s maid, is a very good first-aid person. Miles, do me a favor, and go down to the kitchen. Ask Wilson to please come up and look at Hugo’s hand. I think she will have the right salve and a bandage.”
“Right away, Papa.”
“You’ll be fine in a couple of days,” Charles murmured. “They’re only surface burns. However, you were lucky.”
Hugo merely nodded. After a moment, he said, “I can’t fathom how that fire started … that hay wasn’t merely smoldering, it was really burning … like a great bonfire. You don’t think it was arson, do you?”
For a moment Charles was startled, and he sat up straighter, stared at Hugo. “It hadn’t crossed my mind. Why do you bring it up?”
“I thought of it when I was changing in my room. You see, Charles, I burnt my fingers on the metal latch, which was hot from the fire. The latch on the stall door wouldn’t open, and when I looked closer I saw a piece of wood wedged behind the latch. I had to take off my shoe and use it as a hammer, to get the wood out. Only then could I open the stall door.”
Charles gazed at him. A worried expression had now settled on his face. His brows drew together in a frown, and he shook his head. “Now why would anybody do that? A latch doesn’t have to be so tightly shut. The horse isn’t going to leave the stall. And you of all people should know that only too well. You grew up in the yard of your father’s stud in Middleham.”
“That’s why I wondered about the wedge. Which then led me to the thought of arson. Do you think you ought to call the police?”
“Perhaps I’d better, if only because of the insurance. Anyway, a fire must be reported.”
Twenty-eight
Inspector Michael Armitage of the West Riding Police and his sidekick, Sergeant Tim Pollard, were standing in the stable yard with the Earl of Mowbray, surveying the stall where the fire had started.
“I wasn’t the first on the scene, Inspector,” Charles explained. “It was my cousin, Hugo Stanton. He was the one who saw the flames from his bedroom window, and he literally banged on my door, shouted ‘fire,’ and ran straight out here. Ah, here he is now.”
When Hugo came to a standstill next to Charles and the policemen, Charles introduced the three men to each other, and said to Hugo, “I was just explaining that you were the first on the scene.”
“That’s right,” Hugo agreed. “This particular stall was on fire, or rather, I should say a large bale of hay was burning furiously. Fortunately, the stall was empty. But there was a horse in the adjoining stall.”
“And so you released the horse before doing anything else, am I right about that, Mr. Stanton?”
“You are, Inspector. Greensleeves, the horse in this stall…” He moved toward the second stall, indicated it, and continued. “… the horse had been spooked, she was up on her hind legs, frightened out of her wits.”
He told the inspector how he’d discovered a piece of wood wedged behind the latch, and had knocked it out with his shoe. “I didn’t quite understand that, why it was there, since a horse isn’t going to move out of a stall, even if the door is open. I grew up in a professional yard, my father’s, and naturally I was puzzled. I suddenly wondered if the fire had been caused by arson. Perhaps someone with a grudge against the family? A person who had purposely trapped that horse.”
“I see what you mean. Tell me, Mr. Stanton, did you smell anything when you arrived, petrol perhaps? Anything like that?”
“No, nothing. Just the stench of burning hay. Do you agree with me that it might have been arson, Inspector?”
“In one sense I do, because I can’t quite fathom how hay would burst into flames of its own accord. Someone might have been out here in the stables, of course, having a smoke, and thrown the match away. Carelessly. But then I don’t think a smoldering match would start that kind of huge fire.” He turned to the earl, and said, “From what you told me earlier, it was a big blaze before you got here, Lord Mowbray.”
“Almost out of hand, and the second stall had already caught fire when I arrived with Walter Swann, my valet, and my sons. They tackled the fire with extinguishers and the water pumps, and when the butler and the footmen came we were able to control it.”
“No strangers seen on the property, Lord Mowbray?”
Charles shook his head. “Not the kind you mean, Inspector. However, we gave a supper dance last night, and we did have a number of guests. Approximately fifty friends. Naturally they came here in chauffeur-driven cars.”
“So, in a way, there were strangers on the estate. The chauffeurs,” Inspector Armitage asserted.
“That’s correct,” Charles replied. “But I seriously doubt that one of them came into the stable block and started a fire.”
“Where were the motorcars parked, m’lord?” Sergeant Pollard asked politely.
“Mostly at the front of the house, and down the front drive. However, there were fewer cars than you might think. You see, our fifty guests were mostly made up of married couples, and some brought their daughters. So there were a number of people in most of the motorcars.”
“I understand, m’lord,” Pollard answered.
Charles and Hugo walked around the yard with the two policemen, answering any questions they asked. But it was soon obvious that the professionals were at a dead end, just as Charles and Hugo had been earlier that morning. Quite simply there were no real clues which could point to arson. How the fire had started was a mystery, as it had been right from the beginning.
* * *
Hugo was sitting on the terrace, reading The Times, when suddenly Daphne was standing there next to him, as if she had walked up to him in silken slippers, so quietly had she arrived.
“I hope I’m not interrupting you, Hugo,” she said in her soft, light voice.
“No, no, not at all,” he answered, putting the paper down, pushing himself to his feet.
“I just wanted to thank you again for saving Greensleeves. Father gave her to me, and I love her,” Daphne explained, and then glanced at his bandaged left hand. “Does it hurt very much?”
He shook his head. “No, just a few burned fingers, nothing too bad. They’ll be healed in a couple of days, according to Dr. Shawcross. Please, sit down for a moment, won’t you?”
Smiling at him, she did so, settled back in the chair next to his. “I am in your debt. If ever you need anything, you must let me know.”
I need you. Marry me. Be my wife … Those were the sudden thoughts running through his head, but he did not turn them into words. Instead he said, “There is one thing I would like you to help me with, Daphne.”
She leaned forward slightly, and said swiftly, “Please, tell me what it is. Of course I’ll help you, Hugo.”
The scent of her freshly washed golden hai
r, the hint of roses emanating from her skin, the very closeness of her, made him feel weak. If he had to stand up at this moment, he knew he wouldn’t be able to. He was also unable to speak. He simply stared into her deep blue eyes, smiling at her, and feeling dizzy, almost light-headed.
“What is it?” she asked. “Are you all right?”
He nodded, and before he could stop himself, he blurted out, “It’s you, Daphne. You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever set eyes on.” A small smile flickered on his mouth, and lifting his hands in a helpless gesture, he said in a jocular manner, “I am your devoted slave and always will be.”
His joking tone and his exaggerated words made her laugh out loud, and she exclaimed, “Oh don’t be silly, Hugo! I’m just another girl, and there are several of us in this house.”
Leaning toward her, wanting to breathe in the intoxicating scent of her yet again, he said, “I’ll tell you a secret … it’s Dulcie who’s really enslaved me.”
This comment made her laugh even more, and then she murmured, “You haven’t told me what you want me to help you with.”
“Ah yes, that’s perfectly true.” Adopting a more serious tone, he explained, “Last night Aunt Gwendolyn told me there is a house I should see nearby, that I should go there this afternoon. And I was wondering if you would accompany me? I think a second pair of eyes is always necessary, and most helpful, especially when looking at bricks and mortar. Don’t you agree?”
“I do indeed, and I will certainly come with you. What is it called?”
“Whernside House, and it was the home of Lady Muschamp, widow of a local politician and member of Parliament. She died, a few months ago. Her daughter told Aunt Gwendolyn she would sell to me, if I wanted it.”
Daphne had a beatific expression on her face when she said, “I have only been there twice, but it is one of the most beautiful houses in Yorkshire. Not too far away from Cavendon, about twenty minutes in the motorcar. Have you checked that Gregg can take you there this afternoon?”
Cavendon Hall Page 17