“I understand. I like Bryan. He’s an awfully nice man and such a good actor.” She laughed. “I rather thought we might be getting yet another actor in the family, actually. Alicia and he seem like a good fit. What do you think?”
“I hope they make it permanent. He’s a fine chap—”
“Hello, Aunt Ceci!” Alicia exclaimed as she floated into the room, looking lovely in a summer frock of checked lilac-and-purple cotton which Cecily had given her last year.
“I’m so glad you both came up,” Cecily replied, smiling at her niece.
“About our mother,” Alicia began, and then stopped abruptly when she saw Charlie shaking his head, warning her off.
Looking at his sister, Charlie said, “I’ve already apologized to Aunt Cecily, and she fully understands about Mother being exhausted, Alicia. There’s no problem here.”
“There certainly isn’t!” Cecily exclaimed. “I know Daphne will come back, sooner than we think, and everything will normalize. Cavendon is her home, and Hugo’s and yours. This is where you all belong.”
“Goodness me, am I late?” Aunt Charlotte asked from the doorway, walking in, coming to join them near the fireplace.
“I think we were a bit early,” Charlie replied, standing up to greet the dowager countess. He went over to Charlotte, escorted her into the room; Alicia joined him, welcoming her as well.
They all sat together talking for a few minutes, when Charlie suddenly focused on Cecily and asked quietly, “Isn’t Greta here? I thought she was coming to see you today?”
“She is at Cavendon, yes, Charlie. She and Dottie are here for a meeting about changes we’re planning in my business. My mother invited them both to lunch.” A faint smile played around Cecily’s mouth, then she laughed as she added, “As you well know, Elise and Victoria are close friends, and my mother is forever wanting news of her little evacuee, whom she and my father love very much. She’s like a second daughter to them.”
“I’ve no doubt Greta is getting quizzed at this very moment. I know how Mrs. Alice feels,” Charlie answered. “But she has nothing to worry about. Victoria is doing well, and because Elise works in the reporter’s room at the Mail, I get constant updates all the time.” The mischievous grin he was well known for suddenly surfaced. “Surely you must realize by now that both girls treat me like their big brother.”
“More like their great hero,” Cecily shot back, knowing how the two young women felt about Charlie. They were in awe of him, almost worshipful.
“You know, Aunt Ceci, the next time you want to have some of your clothes photographed, you ought to use Victoria,” Charlie said. “I’ve seen some of her pictures and she’s extremely talented. Paloma is very proud of Victoria’s talent, which she helped to nurture. She thinks she will go far.”
“That’s a very good thought. I’ll keep it in mind.”
At this moment the door opened again and Eric entered the library. Looking at Cecily, he said, “Lunch is served, Lady Mowbray. His lordship is waiting for you in the dining room.”
* * *
It was one of those lunches where everyone was friendly, warm, and chatting to each other continually. Obviously, they were happy to be with family.
Charlotte sat at the right of Miles, and was engaged in a long conversation with David, the heir, while Miles was questioning Alicia about her new film, due to start soon.
Walter and Venetia were focused on Charlie, wanting to know what it was like to work on a newspaper, asking questions. And Gwen was taking every ounce of Cecily’s attention.
“Can I help you design the clothes?” the eight-year-old was begging her mother. “You said I was very good at sketching.”
“Yes, you are, my darling,” Cecily replied, not wanting to discourage her youngest child, who was indeed talented when it came to drawing. “I shall be starting the new collection in a week. You can help me to do my research.”
Gwen gazed up at her mother, a smile of adoration flooding her face. “Oooh,” she sighed. “Thank you, Mummy. What will I research with you?”
“The gardens … the ones designed by Uncle Harry. That’s going to be my theme for the summer clothes of 1950.”
“A garden collection,” Gwen said.
Cecily stared at her intently, and then laughed. “Why, of course it will be a garden collection. I shall call it ‘A Summer Garden.’ You see, you’ve helped me already, Gwen.”
* * *
Deep within the inner recesses of her mind, Cecily knew that Miles would be angry with her when she gave him the bad news. Not because she didn’t have the money to give him for the estate taxes, or that her business was in trouble. He would be angry because she hadn’t confided in him earlier, shared her worries.
Miles expected her to tell him everything. He had been that way since their childhood, wanting every piece of her, every little bit, every thought, every feeling. Even when they were apart, after his forced marriage to Clarissa, she was aware he was still involved with her emotionally, in love with her. She knew because everyone told her he asked questions about her constantly. “He’s very possessive of you,” her brother had once told her. “He’d control your life from a distance if that were at all possible.”
At the time she had not been impressed. In fact, she had been angry, disdainful of Miles when answering Harry. And she had made sure she never ran into Miles at Cavendon, or anywhere else for that matter. She believed he would want her as his mistress if she so much as gave him a half smile.
Now she looked down the table at him, staring at him with intensity. He noticed her fixed scrutiny as he turned away from Alicia and picked up his glass of water.
He smiled at her, love suffusing his face.
She smiled back.
Their eyes locked and for a moment neither could look away from the other.
It was always like that between them … their love was profound and everlasting. They had their quarrels and disagreements, and sometimes became angry with each other, but their little spats were over in a very short time, and about nothing of great importance, in actuality.
What she had to tell him was important. She decided to take a whole different approach, and she would do it tonight. After dinner, they usually had a little quiet time together in their upstairs sitting room before they went to bed. Her thoughts continued to turn about this matter through the latter part of the lunch, and by the time it was over she was fully prepared, everything in place in her mind. She was armed and ready to deal with him.
Once everyone had left the table, and gone off to do other things, Cecily went downstairs to the kitchen, heading for Eric’s office. She found him behind his desk, and he jumped up at once, welcomed her, pulled out the chair so she could sit down.
“Thank you for the notes about the wine cellar and the stock, Eric,” Cecily began. “I am going to mention the possibility of an auction in passing, to Miles tonight. However, Aunt Charlotte will take it up with him later in more detail. Along with several other things.”
“Perhaps she should be the one to mention the idea of paying guests during the grouse season,” Eric suggested, throwing her a quizzical look. “I did ask Percy if he could make a few inquiries and find out which aristocratic families are inviting Guns who pay for the privilege of shooting at a stately home.”
“That was a good move, and knowing that others are doing it would perhaps influence Miles.”
Eric said, “About the wooden box up in the main attic, milady. I took the liberty of opening it, and bringing down the contents. They are paintings which belonged to Lady DeLacy, from her flat in London. I took them to Lady Diedre’s old room and stacked them in there.”
“Thank you very much, Eric.” She gave him a small smile, which faltered, then added, “It was thoughtful of you not to take them to Lady DeLacy’s room—” She broke off, blinking back unexpected tears, swallowing hard, pushing back a sudden rush of emotion.
“It struck me that having them there would have been too
much for you to bear … a neutral room seemed the best under the circumstances,” Eric explained. He knew how close they had been, understood it might be painful.
“It was. Some are by Travers Merton, aren’t they?”
“Yes, and very beautiful.” Eric unlocked the top drawer of his desk, and took out an envelope, handed it to her across the desk. “This is the key for the new steamer trunk you bought. Actually, there are two keys, milady, and you should put both of them in your private safe in your bedroom. Better they’re locked up.”
“I will do that. Aunt Charlotte kept the Swann record books under lock and key all of her life, and I must do the same. And thank you again for helping me to fit so many notebooks into the trunk. It was quite a task.”
“And an amazing record of the Swann family, and the Inghams, and things that happened to them over the centuries. Full of secrets, too, I’ve no doubt.”
If only you knew, Cecily thought, you’d never believe it. But she remained silent. After a moment, she went on, “Now that Lady Daphne has gone to Zurich for an indefinite period, I think Ted can relax a little, concentrate on repairs more than redecorating, Eric.”
“I agree. By the way, the bedrooms not in use are all closed. I’ve put dust sheets over the antiques in the North and East Wings, attics as well. But obviously the South Wing is open. Even though Lady Daphne and Mr. Hugo are away, I’m sure their children will be coming up for weekends.”
“Two are already here,” Cecily answered. “And quite right, Eric, the South Wing has always been Lady Daphne’s home since she married Mr. Hugo, and their children grew up there. We must welcome them always.”
* * *
After discussing the menus, wines, and activities for the next few days, Cecily left Eric to go about his duties. She took the back staircase up to the bedroom floor, which went through the conservatory, and walked along the corridor to Diedre’s bedroom. This was no longer used since Diedre now lived at Skelldale House with her husband, Will Lawson, and her son, Robin.
She hesitated for a moment before going in, and then took a deep breath and did so. Eric had arranged the paintings around the room, propped up against chairs, the desk, and a chest of drawers. Several had been placed on a sheet on top of the bed.
The one which instantly caught her eye was the portrait of DeLacy which Travers had painted years ago, commissioned by Lawrence Pierce to give to DeLacy’s mother one Christmas before the war.
It leaned against the legs of a chair, and Cecily went to it immediately, picked it up, and placed it in the chair.
She stepped back to view the painting, and her heart missed a beat. She caught her breath in surprise. It was so lifelike; it seemed as if DeLacy were sitting right there in front of her. The painting was magnificent. Travers had captured something unique in DeLacy, a delicate beauty, a certain fragility, and yet her bright blue eyes sparkled with life and energy.
This painting of Lacy had hung in the former countess’s sitting room in her house in London. After her death, the Four Dees had not taken very many of their mother’s possessions, since they were all estranged from her.
Now Cecily remembered how DeLacy had asked her sisters if she could have the painting of herself. It was one of the last paintings ever executed by Travers Merton, and, of course they had said she could.
Cecily felt a cold chill running through her and shivered involuntarily. Gooseflesh sprang up on the back of her neck and her arms … memories of that horrendous night were suddenly at the front of her mind.
The night Travers had died in his studio, with DeLacy beside him in his bed. Not understanding at first that he was dead, she had called Cecily for help. Cecily, in turn, had phoned Eric. They had gone together to rescue her from the scene, recognizing from DeLacy’s hysterics that something was wrong.
They had been flummoxed, not known what to do. Finally they had phoned Uncle Howard at Scotland Yard, who had come to their rescue, taken the matter into his hands, and dealt with the problem.
It was Howard and Cecily who had puzzled everything out later. They had come to the conclusion that Travers had been murdered by Lawrence Pierce. He had injected Travers with potassium chloride, which stops the heart. But by then Pierce was dead himself.
For a few moments, Cecily was totally mesmerized by the painting, and then she went over to the chair, picked it up, and took it down the corridor to their upstairs sitting room. She knew it was hers to keep. DeLacy had left it to her in her will, along with the other paintings by Travers Merton, which DeLacy had inherited from him.
Last night she had mentioned the large box of paintings in the attic to Miles, and he had immediately recalled that they had been willed to her. In their pain and misery after DeLacy’s death in the war, Miles and Cecily had been far too beleaguered and grief-stricken to even think about her possessions, most of which had been brought from DeLacy’s flat in Mayfair and stored in the attic at Cavendon. Where they had remained untouched, until now.
Once Cecily was in the sitting room, she moved a large blue-and-white vase from a chest, and put DeLacy’s portrait in its place. Then she took several books, placed them in front of the painting to stop it from sliding.
“There you are, my darling Lacy,” she said under her breath. “Now I can see your face every day for the rest of my life, my lovely.”
Eight
“I wish you had confided in me, Ceci,” Aunt Charlotte said, her voice growing more sympathetic as she added, “You’ve obviously been going through an awful time with all of your many worries, and unfortunately on every level.”
Leaning back in the armchair, Cecily made a moue. “It’s been hellish, to be honest.”
“I can just imagine. But remember what Churchill said, in reference to that. ‘If you are going through hell, keep going.’ It does work, you know.”
Laughing, Cecily nodded, remarked, “He also had another saying which I’ve always loved. KBO. Which stands for ‘keep buggering on.’ And that’s what I’ve tried to do. But I am glad we had the meeting with Dottie and Greta this morning. They are very dedicated to the business. And it’s given me more incentive than ever.”
“I know that.” Rising, Charlotte walked over to the window, looked out at the park for a few moments, lost in her thoughts.
They were in Charlotte’s upstairs parlor, a small room that Cecily had always liked. It was restful, tastefully decorated in soft green velvet and silk fabrics at the windows and on the love seat and chairs, with a dark rose carpet on the floor. She knew that many of Charlotte’s favorite things were gathered together here, meaningful mementos of her life, and photographs of loved ones, mostly Inghams when they were children. There were also pictures of her and other Swanns.
Turning around, Charlotte caught Cecily unawares and noted the oddest look on her face. She asked quickly, “What is it? You seem puzzled. Or are you bemused? You’re wearing a very strange expression.”
“Am I? Well, I was just thinking how much your life has been tied up with Cavendon. And with two of its earls … how you stepped in and helped to bring up Dulcie, looked after all of them really, when their mother, Felicity, ran off with that awful Lawrence Pierce.”
“What else could I do? I loved them, you see … the Four Dees. And I loved their father, although no one knew that at the time, except me.”
“You’ve been the protector and mainstay of this family, and in so many different ways … we all owe you a lot, Aunt Charlotte,” Cecily said, her voice full of sincerity.
“Nobody owes me anything, except perhaps to be courteous and hear me out, when I’ve something compelling or important to say.”
“That’s absolutely true. Do you now need to tell me something?”
“Not especially, Ceci dear. It’s just when I was gazing out at the park I thought how beautiful it was and so well worth saving. But Miles must do that. Not you.”
“He is trying, you must know that. However, he does have a huge task.” Cecily blew out air and sat up stra
ighter. “It’s those taxes that are killing. We have income from some investments, and from the house and garden tours, and the shops and café. But that money pays the wages of staff and helpers.”
“I realize that. Look, I want to talk to Miles about the taxes. I think I have a plan that will help him.” As she spoke, Charlotte walked across the room. Cecily couldn’t help thinking how really well she looked today, more like a woman in her early seventies than her eighties.
Sitting down, Charlotte explained, “If Miles agrees, I am going to introduce him to Lesley Parrish, the managing director of my bank in Harrogate. I believe Parrish will give Miles a loan for the taxes, if I become the guarantor. I thought of it as we were listening to Greta and Dottie, when we were drinking our lemonade earlier this morning.”
“It’s wonderful of you to suggest this, Aunt Charlotte. I’m not sure Miles will agree, though. You know how proud he is.”
“He can’t afford to be proud at this particular moment in time! He needs help. And it isn’t coming from you. Not ever again, in fact. I won’t permit it. As it is, you’ve worked miracles for this family.”
“If Miles says he’ll meet Mr. Parrish, will he agree, do you think?” Cecily asked swiftly, a brow lifting.
“Well, yes, I believe he would. Because we’ve got some financial backup now, possibilities of making real money.”
“What do you mean?” Cecily sounded surprised.
“The wine auction for one thing. Because I’m going to push that through, no matter what. There is a good point I’ll make to Miles. It’s this. Half of that stock might have turned already, because we’ve had it for years. So now is the time to rescue what’s left. There is also the idea of tycoons from America, and anywhere else for that matter, coming to shoot and paying for it. Let’s turn privilege into profit. That is going to be my motto from now on. And he might have to sell one or two paintings from the Long Gallery.”
Secrets of Cavendon Page 6