Cavendon Hall

by Barbara Taylor Bradford

  Hugo cocked the trigger, stared into Torbett’s eyes. “I am going to shoot you.”

  “Please, Lieutenant, please,” Crocker pleaded. He loved and admired his company leader and wanted to prevent a ruinous action taking place. The head of their platoon was a unique man. True blue. The best. He didn’t want his life in ruins after the war.

  Torbett shouted, “She was always tempting me! It wasn’t my fault. She was flirtatious. Leading me on.”

  “You liar. What a vile creature you are,” Hugo replied in a dangerous voice. “You went looking. For her. For other women. Even little girls. You were the trespasser always roaming the Ingham estate. I know that for a fact. You were recognized.”

  Torbett was still shaking. He moaned, “I didn’t mean any harm.” He was on the verge of tears.

  “But you did harm, you frigging bastard! What were you going to do with the child? Tell me the truth. And I won’t kill you. Just for that information, Torbett, I’ll let you live.”

  “Nothing. I wasn’t going to do anything to her. Just take her to the bluebells. I was going to let her go.”

  “You fucking liar! You weren’t. You were going to rape that child, just as you raped her sister. You deserve to die.”

  “Please, Lieutenant, put the gun down,” Crocker said in a quiet, steady voice. He did not dare go near the lieutenant for fear of startling him. Just moving closer might make him pull the trigger, which was already cocked.

  Hugo did not answer. Torbett was snivelling.

  “He’s not worth it, sir,” Crocker went on in a calm voice. “Just put the gun away. Think of your lady, sir. Please, please, don’t do this. Think of your children. Lieutenant, don’t sink to his level. Rise above this coward. Please, sir.”

  Hugo remained standing close to Torbett, staring intently into the other man’s face. The revolver was pressed to Torbett’s temple. And Hugo’s face was set in determined lines. There was unremitting fury in his eyes.

  Crocker spoke once again. “For God’s sake, please, don’t do this, Lieutenant Stanton. They’ll fucking court-martial you if you kill him. Think, sir, please think. Remember you’re an officer and a gentleman. And remember your lady, how much you love Lady Daphne?”

  Hearing Daphne’s name brought Hugo up sharp.

  He had to go home to her. What would she do without him? She needed him. His children needed him. Charles needed him. Very slowly Hugo Stanton lowered his arm, held the gun pointing to the ground.

  “Let go of his arm, sir,” Crocker instructed.

  Hugo did so.

  A look of relief surfaced on Torbett’s face, but his eyes were still filled with fear.

  “Run, Torbett!” Crocker shouted. “Run for your life. Go on! Run down the trench. Find another unit.”

  Torbett did as instructed. He turned, leapt away from the sergeant and his lieutenant. He ran for his life and into death.

  Hugo turned around and peered at his sergeant. “Thank you, Crocker. You brought me to my senses.” Hugo’s brows came together, and his eyes narrowed as he looked down the trench. “But you’ve sent him the wrong way. You’ve sent him into the German lines. Our other units are back there, behind us. You sent him the wrong way.”

  “No, I didn’t, sir,” Crocker answered very calmly. “I sent him the right way. I sent him into hell, Lieutenant, which is where he belongs.”

  At that moment the German guns started to roar in a great crescendo. Hugo and Crocker swung to face the German lines. There was a huge deafening roar as bombs began to explode farther down in their trench. And the machine-gun fire started its inevitable rat-a-tat.

  “Well, he’s a goner, sir. Torbett’s just been blown to smithereens,” Crocker announced. He took hold of his lieutenant’s arm and led him back to headquarters.

  * * *

  The Yorkshire Regiment stayed on in Ypres. In August came the rains, turning the area into a sea of mud. Hugo’s division moved closer to Passchendaele, where it soon grew worse. The earlier bombings in the region had ruined the drainage system of the Flanders lowlands, and all of the British divisions were trapped in the mud. So were the Germans. It was a strange standoff.

  One afternoon Crocker said, “I just want to tell you this, sir. It’s been an honor to serve under you. I’ve never met a man like you before. A true officer and a gentleman. And I just want to thank you for being so good to the lads. And for leading us so well.”

  Hugo was touched by Crocker’s words but somewhat puzzled. He asked, “Are you leaving me, Sergeant? Joining another platoon?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Then why are you thanking me? You sound as if you’re saying good-bye.”

  “In a way, I am, sir. Because I don’t think we’re going to get out of this bleeding mud alive. We’re going to drown in it.”

  Hugo shook his head. “No, we’re not, Sergeant. Remember what you said about thinking of my lady. That’s what I do every day. And I’m going home to her.”

  * * *

  In April of 1917 the United States had declared war on Germany, joining the Allies in their battle against the Axis Powers. They had the manpower to build and train an army, but it took them months to do this. Finally, they were well prepared. American troops and armaments were shipped off to the Western Front to the relief of Churchill and the government.

  This reinforcement for the British and their Allies turned the tide of war. The Americans had a massive and destructive impact on the German army, and by the summer of 1918 they held the upper hand in the war. Success was in the air, boosting morale and reenergizing the fighting men.

  By October of 1918 the Germans knew they had lost the Great War. In November they surrendered to the Allies in a railway carriage in the Forest of Compiègne in France. It was at 11 A.M. on the 11th day of the 11th month that the war to end all wars was finally over.

  * * *

  There was rejoicing all over, and sorrow as well. Many soldiers went home relatively intact. Many others were wounded. Others were left behind, thousands and thousands of them mown down in the line of duty.

  Hugo Stanton was lucky, and so was Sergeant Crocker. They were on the same British battleship that took them safely home to the country they loved and had fought so valiantly for. Hugo could hardly wait to see his beloved Daphne.

  Walter Swann and his son, Harry, returned to Cavendon and the waiting arms of Alice, and Gordon Lane to Peggy Swift. And many of the men from all three Cavendon villages also returned safely, and were welcomed with open arms by their families.

  The Honorable Guy Ingham did not return. He had died at Verdun and was buried in some far corner of a foreign field. Charles was filled with grief for Guy, and mourned him. But he was comforted by Miles, who had not passed the physical because of poor eyesight, and had not gone to war. Charles had his heir to the earldom. The Ingham line was safe.

  Part Five

  A MATTER OF CHOICE

  September 1920

  And so it began: the most relentless

  pursuit of success and fame ever

  embarked upon, the most grinding

  and merciless work schedule ever

  conceived and willingly undertaken

  by a young woman.

  —Emma Harte: A Woman of Substance

  Remember me when I am gone away,

  Gone far away into the silent land;

  When you can no more hold me by the hand,

  Nor I half turn to go, yet turning stay.

  Remember me when no more, day by day,

  You tell me of our future that you planned;

  Only remember me; you understand

  It will be late to counsel then or plan.

  —Christina Rossetti

  Fifty-seven

  The evening gown was breathtaking. It was made of different shades of blue chiffon, from indigo to delphinium, cornflower to sky blue, and a final grayish-blue tone that emphasized the vivid blueness of the other shades. From a molded bodice and a tight waist were layered pe
tals of chiffon, which fell down to mid-calf length. And each petal had a handkerchief point.

  Dorothy Swann Pinkerton, Cecily’s aunt, kept nodding her head and beaming. Finally, she said, “It’s extraordinary, Ceci, a dream of a dress. You’ve outdone yourself.”

  Cecily nodded, looking pleased, and said, “Thank you.” She then turned to DeLacy. “You look so beautiful, Lacy, you really do. And I’m glad I had the shoes dyed sky blue, because they look so … light, as light as air.”

  “I can’t thank you enough for making something so special for me, Ceci. You’re a genius.”

  “I don’t know about that, but I know what suits women, and you in particular.”

  At nineteen Lady DeLacy Ingham was a ravishing blonde, effervescent and slightly scatterbrained. She was fun-loving and forever rushing around Mayfair, caught up in the social whirl of London society, eyeing the young men and flirting with them.

  Her best friend, Cecily Swann, who was also nineteen, was now a blossoming fashion designer with a tiny shop in South Audley Street. She was serious, hardworking to the point of obsession, driven by enormous ambition to succeed and to fulfill her childhood dream. She was sincere and loyal; honesty and integrity were the keynotes of her character.

  “Wherever it is you’re going on Friday, m’lady, you’ll be the belle of the ball,” Dorothy said.

  “Thank you, Dorothy, but it’s not a ball. I’m going to Miles’s engagement party.”

  Cecily stared at DeLacy, unable to believe what she was hearing. But DeLacy sounded serious and Cecily knew it must be true. An icy chill swept through her and unexpectedly she began to shake. She took a step closer to the chair and held on to it in order to steady herself; her legs had turned to jelly. It wasn’t possible! How could Miles be engaged? He was hers, and she was his, and they belonged to each other. Vaguely, in the distance, she heard her aunt asking who the lucky young woman was.

  “Clarissa Meldrew,” DeLacy answered, and grinned at Cecily. “Don’t you remember, we all used to call her Mildew.”

  Cecily did not respond. She could not. Her mouth was dry and her throat was choked with sobs.

  Dorothy noticed Cecily had gone as white as chalk and looked stricken, and for a moment she didn’t know what to do, what to say. How stupid DeLacy had been, to blurt something out like that, and so bluntly, thoughtlessly!

  Something suddenly dawned on DeLacy, and she cried, “You didn’t know! Miles didn’t tell you! Oh my God, Cecily. I’m so sorry I was the one to break this news. I can see you’re … a bit upset.”

  “No, he didn’t tell me,” Cecily managed to say in a low, tight voice. After a moment, she added, “He asked me to marry him.”

  DeLacy stared at her. “You mean when you were all of twelve. Am I not correct?”

  Cecily nodded. Then added in a whisper, “And also not too long ago.”

  DeLacy was shaking her head. “Whatever made you think he could marry you, Ceci? He’s the heir to the earldom. He has to marry an aristocrat, not an ordinary girl like you. He has to have aristocratic children to carry on the Ingham line.”

  Cecily stood there without saying a word. Her heart had turned to ice, and she was frozen in the spot where she stood, unable to move.

  Dorothy Swann Pinkerton was in a fury, but she did not want to upset Cecily further. So she held her tongue, and gave Lady DeLacy her hand, helped her step down from the platform. “I think you should change into your own clothes, m’lady. I will pack the gown and the shoes, and then you can be off. We’re closing in about ten minutes. I don’t mean to rush you, but we have an appointment on the outside, you see.”

  “Oh yes, of course, Dorothy. And perhaps you’ll be kind enough to send the dress by messenger.”

  “Oh dear, Lady DeLacy, Tim has left our employment. We don’t have a messenger boy at the moment. I’m afraid you will have to carry the box yourself.”

  A few minutes later, Dorothy was ushering DeLacy out of the shop. On the doorstep DeLacy swung around, and waved. “See you later, Ceci. And thanks again for the gorgeous frock.”

  In the street Dorothy flagged down a taxi, opened the door, helped DeLacy into it, and then shoved the box in after her. She gave her a cold smile, and slammed the cab door very hard.

  Once she was inside the shop again, Dorothy locked the door, and went to Cecily, who still stood next to the chair, hanging on to it to steady herself, looking as if she was on the verge of fainting.

  “Are you all right, lovey?” Dorothy asked, knowing full well that she wasn’t. “Sit down, and I’ll make us a cup of tea.”

  Cecily shook her head. “I’ll be all right in a few minutes, I really will. Don’t bother with the tea.”

  “I’m going to tidy up. I’ll send Flossie home, and then we’ll go to our appointment with Charlotte.”

  “Yes,” Cecily said automatically, but she looked as if she wasn’t listening. And she wasn’t.

  A little later there was a loud knocking on the door. Cecily managed to rouse herself from the chair. She went to open the front door, and found Miles standing there. “Hello, Ceci,” he said, and walked inside before she could stop him.

  Dorothy had heard the knocking and came out from the small sewing room behind the fitting area. When she saw Miles she nodded to him, then turned around and fled.

  Miles attempted to take hold of her arm, but Cecily shrugged him off and stood staring at him. “When were you going to tell me?”

  He knew what she meant. Immediately he said, “Today. That’s why I’m here. I was going to ask you to come out for tea. I needed to talk to you about my problems.” His eyes swept over her and he was not only aware she knew, but that she was hurt beyond belief.

  “Who told you?” he asked, leaning against the chair.

  “DeLacy. But that doesn’t matter. What matters is that you didn’t tell me, Miles.”

  “Look, Ceci, this was forced on me. I know you might not believe me, but it was. I can’t help it. I suppose it comes with being who I am. But I didn’t want this—” Quite unexpectedly his voice broke, and he began to blink rapidly.

  She saw the tears in his eyes, and looked away, so that he wouldn’t see that she was crying.

  “There has to be a way we can work something out—”

  “Never!” she shouted, cutting him off. “I will not become your mistress.”

  “I wasn’t going to suggest that. I wasn’t, Ceci. I love you. I’ve always loved you, and I could never demean you. I was thinking that maybe, after a few years, once I’ve got an heir, I could leave. Get a divorce—”

  “You know that’s not going to happen. Don’t be stupid, it won’t. Miles, if you do love me, as you say, then you must leave now. Immediately. I just can’t continue this conversation. Please do that for me. Walk out and let me keep my dignity.”

  It was almost impossible for him to leave her. It was like tearing a limb off. But he did. He didn’t say another word, nor did he try to touch her or embrace her. He walked out of the shop and closed the door behind him very quietly.

  * * *

  Although she did not know it, he half stumbled along South Audley Street, like a man deranged, tears streaming from his eyes as he made for his father’s house in Grosvenor Square. He let himself inside with his key and got to his room without anyone seeing him.

  Locking his bedroom door, Miles threw himself onto the bed. He howled into his pillow, trying to smother his sobs. He had just given up the only person in this world who truly mattered to him, other than his father. The only woman he had ever loved, and whom he would love for the rest of his life. He knew he was entering a loveless marriage and he dreaded it. But he had been brought up to do his duty to the family. There was no way out.

  As he lay there on his bed, his face pushed into the pillow, he experienced genuine physical pain. The pain of losing Cecily Swann was actually something he could feel in his bones. And he knew it would never leave him, that aching yearning, that longing for her. It would remain with
him for the rest of his life.

  Fifty-eight

  Cecily had managed to regain her equilibrium somewhat, and she and Dorothy agreed to walk to Burlington Arcade in Piccadilly. They were meeting Charlotte there at five o’clock, and it was Dorothy who had suggested they walk. She explained that fresh air would do them both good, and most especially Cecily.

  “Where are we actually meeting Charlotte?” Cecily asked as they walked into the arcade from the Piccadilly entrance.

  “Just a bit further along. Not far. She wants you to see some special windows. Windows she thought might interest you.”

  “Oh all right, why not,” Cecily replied, endeavoring to get the image of Miles out of her head without success.

  “Here we are,” Dorothy suddenly exclaimed, sounding excited. She took hold of Cecily’s arm and led her to the double-fronted large shop, which had two windows, one on either side of the door.

  “Just look at this, isn’t it chic?” Dorothy murmured. Drawing Cecily to the left window, she added, “Less is more.” In the window was a simple French ballroom chair on which sat a hat … a bit of nothing, a frou-frou. Black lace and a black flower. In the second window on the right, a mannequin was draped with yards of scarlet silk which fell in a pool on the floor of the window. Next to this pool of fabric was a pair of scarlet shoes.

  “There’s nothing valuable in the windows, I realize that, but they’re certainly striking,” Cecily said, studying both of them, intrigued.

  “I agree,” Dorothy answered, and went on. “Look up, lift your head.”

  Cecily did so and gasped. “Oh Dorothy! Oh my goodness!”

  Written in white across the black name board above the door and windows was a name. CECILY SWANN. Also in white paint, and at each end of her name, was a white swan. They faced each other.

  The door of the shop opened and Charlotte was standing there, smiling hugely. “Do you like it, Ceci?” she asked, taking hold of her hand, drawing her inside the shop.

  “How could I not? And it’s such a huge surprise, Aunt Charlotte. When ever did you do all this?”