“There was never one iota of gossip about my father and Charlotte, and you are fully aware of that.”
Felicity stood up. “I must go to bed now.”
He also rose. “Can I sleep in your bed tonight, or do you want to be alone?”
She offered him a small smile. “You know you are always welcome in my bed,” she lied, trying not to show her dismay.
Not quite true, he thought, as he took her hand in his. Not lately anyway. He had been constantly spurned in the last six months, and had genuinely endeavored to understand. He couldn’t entirely blame it on her worry about her sister. He sensed that she was no longer interested in the intimate side of their marriage. Why this was so he had no idea. It puzzled him.
* * *
Felicity got into bed and turned out the bedside lamp. Charles also turned out a lamp, and as usual he strode to the window, drew back the draperies. There was a full moon tonight and it flooded the room with its silvery light.
Climbing into bed next to her, Charles put his arms around his wife and held her close. After a moment he bent over her and kissed her cheek, then found her mouth. She responded to his kisses, and this pleased him, and he began to touch her breasts lightly, murmuring how much he loved her.
Felicity was silent, held herself still, waiting for him to take her to him, to make love to her. And then it would be over and she would be in peace.
He did not do that, and she was filled with relief. She did not desire him anymore, but fought desperately to conceal this lack of interest in him. For her own preservation at this moment.
As he continued to kiss and caress her, Charles recognized that he was unable to make love to Felicity. He was impotent. For a moment, he panicked and then pushed that ridiculous feeling aside. He was, very simply, worn out, plagued by all the events of late. That was what this failure was all about.
After a few moments, he said softly, against her hair, “I’m so sorry, darling. Like you, I’m totally exhausted.”
“It’s perfectly all right,” she murmured. “Good night, Charles.”
“Good night, darling,” he answered.
* * *
Charles was unable to sleep.
He lay awake for several hours. Finally, he slipped out of bed and went through his dressing room into his bathroom. Turning on the light, he stared at himself in the mirror, shaking his head in bafflement.
He could not understand why he had not been able to get an erection tonight. It had never happened to him before. Was he suddenly impotent? On a permanent basis? How could that be? He was only forty-four years old.
He closed his eyes for a moment as an awful thought occurred to him. Had her rejection of him all these months had a disastrous effect on him? He had no answer for himself.
Still troubled, even disturbed, he left the bathroom and went into his own bedroom. He would sleep alone tonight, as he mostly had lately. He had a busy day on the estate tomorrow.
Thirty-four
Charlotte sat at the Georgian desk near the window in her living room, making notes for her meeting tomorrow with Charles. They were to go over some of the old estate books; he had also explained that he wished to hire more men from the villages, and encourage tenanted farmers to work the land.
This had pleased her. She cared as much about their people as he did, and employment was important in Little Skell, Mowbray, and High Clough.
That was the true reason for the existence of a landed estate and a great house owned by a titled aristocrat: employment for the local people, not only on the land but in the house. Housekeepers, maids, cooks and butlers, footmen and lady’s maids; and on the outside, gamekeepers, beaters, gardeners, and tenant farmers who worked the land around their villages. It was a whole world unto itself, something like a fiefdom.
Putting the notes aside, Charlotte took a sip of cognac and savored it. She preferred brandy to the scotch Alice and Walter occasionally liked, which was why she served it to them when they visited her, if they asked for it.
She glanced at the photograph of David in its silver frame. She took it out of the desk drawer every night and placed it here on the desk, where she could constantly look at it. She missed him, and at times wept for him. He had died too young.
When she had seen his coffin being lowered into his grave, she had wanted to throw herself onto it, wrap her arms around it, and be buried with him. She had even contemplated suicide, because she had nothing to live for without him.
She had not killed herself, because she saw that as an act of weakness, and she prided herself on being strong. Also, she had promised David she would look after Charles, help him whenever he needed it. And she had promised to remain at Cavendon.
“I need my devoted Swanns on the estate, where they belong, and you in particular,” he had said to her before he died. “Then I will be able to rest in peace.”
And so she had stayed here … but where would she have gone? This was the only place on earth for her, where she had been so happy. And he was buried here.
Charlotte jumped up in surprise, when there was a quick knock on the door, and Alice came straight in. She was earlier than Charlotte had expected her, and in her haste she forgot to return the photograph to the drawer. She never had it on display. It was only on the desk when she was alone.
“You look tired, Alice,” Charlotte said, walking over to the sideboard. “Would you like a scotch?”
“Thank you,” Alice said, and sat down in one of the two armchairs. As Charlotte poured the drink, Alice looked across at the desk, and immediately saw the photograph of David Ingham, the fifth earl. She was surprised it was not in the drawer.
Miraculously, there had never been any gossip about the two of them, yet Alice had known everything about their relationship. All that messing around between the Inghams and the Swanns had gone on for 160 years.
They were intertwined and involved in every possible way. So why would it be different in this day and age? It would always happen. They couldn’t help themselves, couldn’t resist each other. In fact, they didn’t even try. The Ingham men were fatal to the Swann women, and vice versa.
That was why she must get Ceci away from here, when she was old enough. Miles Ingham and Cecily Swann were too bound up in each other, far too close, joined at the hip. At the moment they were too young to become intimate, but they would eventually if they weren’t separated. Walter agreed with her, and so did Charlotte. It had to be done.
Handing Alice the tumbler of scotch, Charlotte sat down next to her. “Cheers,” she said.
“Cheers,” Alice murmured, as they clinked glasses. “I think I might need a second one of these.” She shook her head and groaned. “I’ve been sewing all day. Those clothes Ceci designs for Daphne are beautiful, but they take a lot of work.”
“I realize that. They’re engineered, in my opinion. I can’t believe her talent, Alice, she’s only twelve and yet she has an amazing ability as a designer. She’s like … a child prodigy.”
“That’s right,” Alice answered, and then glanced across at the silver-framed photograph again, but made no reference to it. She went on, “I’m glad you telephoned Dottie. In a couple of years Ceci will be old enough to go to London.”
“Yes,” Charlotte agreed, and followed her gaze, caught sight of the photograph and realized her mistake. “I know what you’re thinking. Ceci will leave here, I promise.”
“Thank you. Now, I’ll have another scotch, if you don’t mind.” Alice went over to pour it for herself.
Once Alice was settled in the chair again, Charlotte announced, “I had a meeting with the earl this morning, and he gave me some interesting news. That’s why I wanted to see you this evening.”
Alice looked at her alertly. “Go on then! Tell me! Don’t keep me in suspense.”
“Before Hugo left for Zurich, he went to see Charles. He told him he had fallen in love with Daphne, that he wanted permission to court her. If she was not already spoken for. He confessed to Charles
that it was love at first sight.”
“So Ceci was right.” Alice beamed at Charlotte. “And did the earl give his permission?”
“No. He said it was up to Daphne. Her decision.”
“I hope to God she says yes. It’s a gift from heaven, isn’t it? Hugo coming here when he did, I mean.”
“It is. And I believe Daphne is sensible enough to go along with it. She did tell me she thinks Hugo is nice, that she likes him.”
“But that’s not love, is it? It’s just not the same thing. You’ve got to want that particular man so much, you can’t see straight. You must have him, be with him all the time. You must feel you can’t live without him. That’s being in love.” Alice stared at Charlotte, waiting for a response.
But Charlotte was silent, merely stared back at Alice, her expression enigmatic.
Finally Alice said, “Certainly you know what I’m talking about. You wanted David so much you were crazed. And you devoted most of your life to him in the end. And from the age of seventeen.”
“True. I can’t deny it.” There was a pause, a hesitation, then she added, “But only the Swanns knew.”
“That’s right. Because we protected you always. Not only you, but the earl as well. That’s the reason there was never any gossip about you.” Alice took a small swig of the scotch, added, “Listen to me, Charlotte, we’ve got to try and influence Daphne. Don’t you think that’s right? Drop hints, say nice things about Hugo.”
“Daphne’s smart, rather clever in her own way, and much brighter than most people realize. She’ll see through that at once. So we must be subtle, Alice.”
“Oh, I know that. There’s another thing, Charlotte. Daphne might just fall in love with Hugo, without any prompting from us. After all, he’s an extremely attractive man, and there’s something about him that’s appealing, engaging. Let’s not forget he’s an Ingham. And you know better than anybody what the Ingham men are like, the effect they have on women. There’s just something about them.”
Charlotte smiled. “It’s called fatal charm, Alice.”
* * *
Not far from Charlotte’s house in Little Skell village, down near the lake in the park at Cavendon, Peggy Swift and Gordon Lane were taking a stroll.
It was a beautiful July night, with a bright full moon floating high in the sky. It silvered the surface of the lake, spread a sheen across it.
The fact that they were in the park troubled Peggy; they were not supposed to be there. This was the private domain of the Ingham family, not like the bluebell woods and the meadows where anyone could roam.
“We’re trespassing, Gordon,” she whispered at one moment. “Hurry up and finish your cig, and then we can go back to the house.”
“What about a kiss and a canoodle, then? Am I not getting that tonight, Peg?”
“Yes, you are, but we must be quick, and I’m not going to do it, you know. Not that. Until we’re married.”
“I know! I know! I’ll be respectful, Miss Swift. Right up until the day you’re Mrs. Lane.” He dropped his tab end and ground it into the gravel path with his foot. “Come on, Peg, let’s go into that there boathouse for a couple of minutes.”
“We’d be trespassing more than ever,” Peggy protested, always afraid of authority.
“Aw, come on, love, just for a bit,” Gordon pleaded.
Reluctantly, and against her better judgment, Peggy allowed Gordon to lead her over to the boathouse. When he turned the knob, the door opened, and they went inside. There was no light switch, but the room was not too dark, because of the moonlight streaming in. Gordon spotted a candle stub in a saucer on the window ledge, pulled out a box of Swan Vestas, and struck a match. The candle flickered as he brought the flame to it.
“Not too bad, Peg. At least we can see a little bit. Oh, look, over there, a pile of ropes. A perfect spot to sit.”
“A bit grim,” Peggy spluttered, slightly indignant, but nonetheless, she sat down on the ropes with him.
Immediately, and as usual, Gordon was kissing her, pulling her closer, smoothing his hand over her breasts, then opening her blouse, touching her skin. He was exciting her, arousing her, as he always did, and she was floundering.
He whispered against her neck, “I promise you, I won’t force you. But can I just touch you, Peg? Please.”
“I want you to, Gordon, but I think we should leave. We’re servants, we’re not supposed to be in the park, never mind in the boathouse. If we’re not careful, we’ll get the sack.”
“It’s late. Everybody’s gone to bed, believe me they have. Come on, just for a few minutes.” As he spoke he gently moved her back against the pile of ropes, and lifted her skirt, began to caress the top of her leg, her thigh, and beyond.
Gordon kissed her face, found her mouth. He knew he couldn’t get enough of her. But he had promised not to force her into anything against her will, and he kept his word. She was too important to him; he didn’t want to lose her.
Eventually they both sat up, and Peggy whispered, “Gordon Lane, aren’t you the naughty boy! A proper little devil.”
He grinned at her. “The devil you love, though.”
“That’s the truth, my lad.” Peggy straightened her skirt, fastened her blouse, and patted her hair. At that moment the candle sputtered and died on them.
“The room’s gone dark,” Peggy said in a low voice. “I don’t like the dark, Gordon.”
“I know that, love. But I can’t help it. The candle went out, and the moon’s gone behind a cloud. Wait a minute, I’ll strike another match, and then we can find our way out of here.”
“That’s a relief,” Peggy said, looking over at the window. “It’s really black outside without the light of the moon.”
Gordon struck the match, held it up. Peggy screamed. There was a man’s face at the window.
“What the hell’s the matter with you?” Gordon asked.
“There’s a man outside, staring through the window at us.”
Gordon swung around to face the window, only to discover there was no one there. “I think you must be seeing things,” he said, frowning at her.
Peggy scrambled to her feet, and so did Gordon. She said, “Somebody’s seen us in here. I saw his face. I did.”
“Oh my God. Then we’re in trouble.” Grabbing hold of her hand, he led her toward the door. “We’d better go and face the music.”
When they went outside, somewhat cautiously, they discovered they were entirely alone.
“Are you sure—” Gordon began, and stopped. Just ahead of them he saw a tall man running off, making for the far side of the lake.
“Course I’m sure,” Peggy exclaimed indignantly. “I know what I saw and I’m not daft in the head. Look! He’s running down there.”
“I know. I just saw him,” Gordon said in a low voice.
“It was a tramp,” Peggy announced.
Gordon peered at her. “Why do you say that? You only caught sight of him for a second.”
“His face was dirty, and he had something strange wrapped around his head. It was like some old rags.”
Gordon made a face. “I don’t like the idea of somebody odd roaming around this park, it’s too close to the house. And the family. We’d best get back there, Peg, before bloody old Hanson goes on his nightly prowl.”
As they ran together through the park, holding hands, Peggy couldn’t help but think about the last time they had been to the bluebell woods, where there had been a Peeping Tom. Now they had just seen another one at the boathouse window. Someone was watching them, and it frightened her.
Thirty-five
The water gardens at Cavendon had been created in the eighteenth century and were truly beautiful. They were located on lower ground at the back of the West Wing of the house, and now, as she walked down the hill toward them, Daphne thought how tranquil this part of the parkland was.
Halfway down the small hill, she came to the platform which had been built by an earlier countess long ago. A
large chunk of the hill had been dug out like a cave, granite slabstones laid, and a resting spot created. There was a stone bench on the flagstones, and Daphne sat down for a moment, staring at the lovely scene below.
Manicured lawns stretched across the valley floor. In the center, straight ahead, there was a large ornamental pond, and from this pond four canals branched out like spokes in a wheel. The wheel effect was emphasized by a circular canal that surrounded the long canals and the central pond. And farther down were flowering bushes and another ornamental pond with a fountain, shooting water into the sky this afternoon.
Even as a child she had loved to come here, and had likened the main water garden to a giant wheel set in the middle of the green lawns. Water lilies floated on the ornamental pond, and there were statues placed on various parts of the lawns; at one end stood the Temple of the Moon. The lawn behind the Temple of the Moon was edged with beech trees, and the effect was spectacular. Eternal Serenity was the name which had been given to the water gardens when they were finished a century ago, and she thought it was indeed serene.
Earlier this morning, Daphne had written a short note to Hugo, asking him to meet her here at three o’clock, adding that he should keep the meeting a secret.
She had sealed the note in an envelope, and left it on the chest of drawers in the blue bedroom. He had been due to arrive at two o’clock today, and he had been on time. Through the window she had seen her father and Dulcie greeting him on the front steps of Cavendon.
Rising, Daphne went on down the slope to the gravel path, and then followed the narrow flagstones that led directly to the Temple of the Moon.
There were two white-painted, carved wooden chairs inside, and she sat down on one, then glanced at the fob watch pinned to her pale green chiffon blouse. It was fifteen minutes to three, so she settled back, her thoughts concentrated on Hugo, and what she would say to him.
She had not told anyone about this meeting, because she had decided she must take her destiny into her own hands. She would do it alone, make her own life.
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