“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
The 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.
Within a second Charlotte knew that something wasn’t quite right on the estate, simply because Percy would not have disturbed her on a Sunday evening unless there was some sort of issue.
As was her way, she did not question him, simply ushered him into the parlor, went over to the sideboard, and asked if he would like a drink.
“Thanks, Aunt Charlotte, I wouldn’t say no to a scotch, providing you’re going to join me.”
“I will indeed,” she answered, and poured the liquor into two glasses.
Once she had handed him the drink, and they had touched glasses, they sat down opposite each other. There were a few moments of silence as they both took sips of the scotch, and then Charlotte said, “Is there something amiss on the estate, Percy? Or is this a social visit?”
He told her everything in great detail, described the stranger on the estate, and confided the earl’s plan to build a high wall at the end of the bluebell woods, and wherever there were gaps.
Charlotte had turned paler than ever as she listened to him, and her stomach had lurched when she realized that if Percy hadn’t shown up at exactly the moment he had, Dulcie would have been taken. When she picked up her glass she noticed that her hand was shaking.
After steadying herself, she said, “I am breaking a confidence now, Percy, but I know it will remain between us. Peggy Swift and Gordon Lane, who are engaged, as you know, occasionally went for a stroll late at night. Mostly in the bluebell woods. Peggy told Lady Daphne that she, in particular, felt they were being watched by a Peeping Tom. The reason she confided in her ladyship was because she was troubled someone was wandering around Cavendon. Peggy gave her permission to tell me.”
Percy had listened to her attentively and now said, “It has to be a stranger to these parts, someone who has moved to a town nearby, because I know every Tom, Dick, and Harry in all of the earl’s three villages.” Percy sat back in the chair, sipping his drink, and then said swiftly, “I know one thing, it’s not any of the gypsy lads. They keep to themselves, and always have. It’s only their sister Genevra that roams around, but she’s harmless enough.”
“Oh yes, I know that. The Romany family is happy to live on this land with the earl’s permission.”
“This is not a poacher roaming about, Aunt Charlotte. This is someone with criminal intent, someone out to hurt people, in my opinion,” he told her, his voice grim.
Charlotte closed her eyes, and a shiver ran through her. “Oh, please don’t say that, Percy. It worries me so much when I think that there’s danger lurking out there in the park or in the woods … it’s always been so safe here.”
“It is safe, Aunt Charlotte, please don’t worry. I’ve always got my lads out ’til it gets dark.” Percy paused, his eyes narrowing slightly, and then he said, “Please tell Lord Mowbray that he has to have a curfew, something like that anyway. He has to tell the family they can’t go wandering about in the grounds at night. Hanson should be instructed to tell the staff the same thing.”
“I will explain, of course, but it’s an awful thing to have to do. To have a curfew, I mean. This is Cavendon Hall, for goodness’ sake.”
“I know, but it’s a necessity. When I was walking back to the village, it occurred to me that I could get a band of the lads together, and we could lay in wait in the woods every night. But I do believe I frightened the chap off when I cocked the rifle. He realized I had a gun.”
“And thank God you did!” Charlotte exclaimed.
“So you will talk to the earl, won’t you?”
“I will, I promise. I’m sure he’ll want to discuss it anyway. I will actually be working with him tomorrow morning, so he will no doubt bring the matter up.”
Percy nodded. “I did think about putting traps down, but what if a small animal was caught and not the trespasser?”
“No, don’t do that, Percy. It will only hurt the wildlife. I doubt he’ll come back knowing there’s a man with a rifle waiting for him.”
Much later, after Percy had gone home to his wife, Edna, and his waiting supper, Charlotte went upstairs and opened the safe in the cupboard. She took out the record book for 1914, and wrote in de
tails of her meeting with Percy. As she put the record book away, she noticed the dark blue one at the bottom of the pile, and pulled it out, as she often had before.
Taking it over to a chair, she sat down and opened it to the page she had read countless times before, intrigued by the one entry. It had been written thirty-seven years ago.
In mine own hand. July 1876
I loveth my ladie. Beyond all.
The swann fits the ingham glove tight.
I have lain with her. She is mine.
She gives me all. I got her with child.
Oh our joy. The child dead in her belly.
Destroyed us. She left me. She came
back to me. My nights are hers
again. ’Til the day I die. M. Swann.
For years Charlotte had endeavored to fathom out which of the Ingham women had been the lover of M. Swann. She was quite certain this particular Swann was Percy’s father, Mark, for he had been the patriarch of the Swanns in those years.
Sighing, she closed the book, went and put it away, locked the safe. Secrets, she thought. So many secrets between the Swanns and the Inghams … intertwined for all time. And once she had also been part of it, hadn’t she? Living a secret life.
* * *
Charlotte found she was unable to sleep. Finally, she got up, put on a dressing gown, and went downstairs. She boiled a cupful of milk, made herself some soothing Ovaltine, and took it into the parlor. She went and sat by the window, her favorite spot. There was a full moon tonight, and the garden beyond the French doors was glossed over with a silver sheen.
Her garden looked beautiful in the moonlight and everything was peaceful out there, the tall sycamores and oaks a towering wall of green darkness at the end of the lawn.
But it wasn’t peaceful out there, was it? Not anymore. There was a stranger lurking around the parkland and the woods. It was unthinkable that this was happening at Cavendon, and she couldn’t quite fathom it out. No one else could, she was sure. The only reason she could come up with was that there was some sort of vendetta going on, someone with a hatred for the family, or a grudge against them, out to do them no good. If it was not that, it was a sexual pervert doing this, one who preyed on women and little girls.
Shuddering at the thought of Dulcie being taken away, sexually assaulted and probably murdered, Charlotte took a few swallows of the hot Ovaltine and hunched into the chair. Eventually she calmed down, and sat thinking as clearly as possible, endeavoring to sort out the myriad thoughts rushing through her mind.
Begin at the beginning, she told herself, and she did.
The first incident was a year ago, last May. Daphne was raped in the bluebell woods. Was she raped by the stranger? Or by Julian Torbett, as she claimed? Why would she lie?
To protect her parents? They had seized on the idea of it being Julian, because she had gone to see him that day. But what if that wasn’t the truth? Wasn’t it far better to let her mother and father believe it was Julian, a well-born young man, rather than a dubious stranger from God knows where? On the other hand, Daphne was so honest and honorable, Charlotte couldn’t imagine her lying.
Yes, I can, she suddenly decided. To protect Charles. Daphne was extremely close to her father, adored him, and had gone along with all of his elaborate plans for her … marrying the son of a duke, and all of that … their shared dreams.
If the stranger had raped her, he had done so to hurt her and the family. To bring the Inghams down perhaps, if she got pregnant from the rape? Then there had been the fire in the stables. Daphne’s horse Greensleeves had been targeted. It had obviously been arson.
Charles and Hugo believed that, and so did she. Not to mention the West Riding Police. They had even interviewed every chauffeur who had been at the supper dance that night. Their aim was to ascertain if any of the men had gone up to the stables to smoke and left a smoldering tab end around. But none of the drivers had, so they said.
According to Peggy Swift, she and Gordon Lane had been watched when they were canoodling in the bluebell woods and the boathouse. Mary Ince, the maid who had recently left, confided in Peggy that she had been surprised by a man in the woods. A man who had attempted to grab her without success.
And now, earlier this evening, a strange-looking man had tried to take Dulcie. It had to be the same man. There weren’t a bunch of trespassers moving around the estate, of that she was certain.
But what to do about it? Make Cavendon safer than it was. But according to Percy, that was going to be set in motion tomorrow. High walls and barbed wire. She sighed, loathing the idea, and thinking how much the fifth earl would have loathed it too.
On the other hand, the Ingham family had to be protected. And perhaps now the Swanns needed help to do that, in the world they lived in today. Nothing was the same anymore.
Forty-eight
Charles Ingham, the Sixth Earl of Mowbray, was upset, angry, and exhausted.
He was exhausted because he hadn’t slept a wink all night, had lain awake in his bed, restlessly tossing and turning. He was upset because he knew his marriage was at an end, and had been for a very long time. And he was angry with himself for not taking charge of his household over a year ago.
Rising early, he had shaved, taken a bath, and dressed rapidly. Now at eight-thirty he was on his way downstairs for breakfast, knowing full well he was in a foul mood.
Waiting for a moment when he arrived at the bottom of the staircase, he took a deep breath, straightened his shoulders, and walked across the grand entrance foyer toward the dining room, calming himself, taking full control of his emotions. A smile slipped easily onto his face.
Hanson was waiting for him when he walked into the room. As always the butler’s demeanor was pleasant, his quiet authority intact.
“Good morning, Lord Mowbray,” Hanson said, immediately pulling out the chair at the head of the table for the earl.
“Morning, Hanson, and thank you. I suppose I’m the first this morning.”
“Not exactly, m’lord. Lady Daphne popped in about forty-five minutes ago, to tell me that she and Mr. Hugo would join you for breakfast around nine. Then she went upstairs with Nurse Willis. Shortly after, they took Lady Dulcie to the South Wing, where Nurse Willis was going to give her breakfast and look after her until Lady Daphne is free.”
“I’m pleased to hear that, Hanson. I must say Lady Daphne thinks of everything. I’m happy the child is safely away from the nanny. I want her out of here by noon, Hanson, make sure of that. Miss Carlton is incompetent, to say the least.”
“Yes, she is, and I’ll deal with it, m’lord. What can I serve you this morning?”
“I’d like a cup of tea first, and then perhaps some of Cook’s scrambled eggs and bacon. I must admit I’m feeling hungry this morning, Hanson. I didn’t really eat dinner last night.”
“I’m not surprised, m’lord. Not with all the goings-on yesterday. Frightening, really, and upsetting.”
“That’s right. Oh, and Hanson, I believe her ladyship will take breakfast in bed this morning. Wilson told me she’s still asleep.”
“Yes, my lord.” Hanson poured tea for the earl, and stepped over to the sideboard where the silver chafing dishes were lined up. A moment later he placed the plate of food in front of Charles.
“Thank you, Hanson.”
The butler nodded and retreated into his pantry behind the dining room.
Charles ate slowly, and soon began to feel better with the warm food inside him. Dinner had been somewhat chaotic last night, after the near-abduction of Dulcie.
He himself had been beside himself, and slowly, over the evening, he had begun to realize how stupidly he had behaved with Felicity in the past. She had been an absentee mother for most of last year, devoting herself totally to her sister, and he had done nothing about it. He had understood her concern for Anne, and had offered her his full support. But it had been to the detriment of his children. Well, his daughters, anyway. His sons, thankfully, were away, being
educated at Eton and Oxford.
It still rankled that his wife had not been there for Daphne when she had needed her the most, after the rape. Felicity had jumped at the idea of Daphne marrying Hugo, without giving a single thought to Daphne’s own desires, her happiness. She had just wanted to get rid of the problem as fast as she could.
Dulcie had been neglected, left to her own devices, and had been in the hands of a nanny who was stupid, had been unsupervised, and was extremely careless.
Diedre, who was the eldest, and capable of looking after herself, had spent more time with their mother than the others.
DeLacy, forever with Cecily, had at least had Alice to deal with her clothes for the summer season, and probably other matters as well, if the truth be known. Certainly it was Alice who had helped and supported Daphne after the rape. And there was always Charlotte in the background, reliable, devoted, involved with the family, and ready to look after his girls, if need be. Once again, thank God for the Swanns, he thought.
Charles chastised himself now. He should have put his foot down long ago, not been quite so sympathetic and understanding of Felicity’s almost abnormal devotion to her sister. In point of fact, she had put Anne before their children, and he had allowed that to happen.
As for his marriage, it was over. Felicity had informed him of that last night, taking him by surprise.
Distressed, exhausted, and anxious after the terrible incident involving Dulcie, he had needed to share his thoughts and feelings with his wife. He had made the assumption she would want that too, under the circumstances, and because of the child’s close call. And so he had asked her to let him share her bed. He hadn’t even been thinking of making love, only of comfort and affection, and sharing their thoughts.
She had rejected him in the coldest manner and he had been shocked, thrown off balance by her words, her tone of voice.
He could hear her voice reverberating in his head. “Our marriage is over, Charles,” she had said. “I cannot share my bed with you. Or be intimate with you ever again.”
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