“The money from the sale of my two factories in Leeds went into the Swann business bank account today. And I want us to toast Emma Harte.”
Miles gaped at her, taken by surprise. “You never told me she was involved,” he exclaimed. “Did she buy them from you?”
“Only one, to use for her ready-made line, Lady Hamilton Clothes; the prices are reasonable and that collection still sells well. A friend of hers in the men’s clothing industry in Leeds bought the other factory. So, here’s to Emma.”
“To Emma Harte! Your good friend and savior.”
“To Emma. My hero,” Cecily said, her eyes aglow.
They touched glasses and took a sip. Cecily continued, “We’ve managed it again, Miles, pulled off all sorts of deals, things that have kept Cavendon afloat. We’re a good combination, aren’t we? A Swann and an Ingham usually do make it happen. Like our forefathers Humphrey Ingham and James Swann.”
Miles laughed. “Except they weren’t married as we are.”
“Obviously not. They were highly heterosexual men. However, they were joined at the hip. And then some. Like family.” She paused, then added, “In fact, very intertwined.”
Miles took another sip of the cognac and put the balloon down on the table, staring at her. “You say that in the strangest way. What are you getting at?”
“I want to show you something and also tell you a story.”
“What kind of story?” he asked, suddenly intrigued, noticing the excitement on her face.
“A story Aunt Charlotte and I figured out. Separately first and later together … through the record books.”
“You’re going to tell me secrets from the Swann record books? Isn’t that forbidden?” It was obvious he was somewhat shocked.
“Supposedly. And I think they had their good reasons in those days, because there was a lot to hide at the beginning of our mutual family story. Genuine secrets.”
“The Inghams kept record books too, but I’ve never had time to look.” Miles shook his head. “I left that to Aunt Charlotte, and she never confided anything.”
“I know. She told me she thought you weren’t interested at all.”
“Aren’t you breaking an oath? Telling me these Swann secrets?”
“I don’t think so, because they’re Ingham secrets as well.”
“Swanns make an oath to protect Inghams,” Miles muttered. “Loyalty Binds Me. Remember?”
“I do indeed. I took that oath. It is also the Ingham family motto. And I am now an Ingham, so I think I can confide in you. Anyway, does anybody care about those days these days?” she asked, starting to laugh.
“I suppose not. Tell me the story.”
“You know the facts about both how Humphrey Ingham and James Swann worked together in the seventeen hundreds, and the resulting earldom for Humphrey and all that, so I will go straight to the story. Come on, we have to go to the staircase portrait gallery.”
Cecily jumped up, offered her husband her hand, pulled him to his feet.
Miles was further intrigued as she led him up the main double staircase to the top landing, where they stopped in front of the first painting. “You know who this is, don’t you?” she said.
“Of course I do, silly girl. It’s Humphrey, the first earl, who started it … our line, I mean. I know all of them actually.”
“Aunt Charlotte thinks your father looked like Humphrey. Do you?”
“As a matter of fact, yes. I always have. My father resembled him in certain ways. They had the same eyes, brows, and forehead.” Miles glanced at her, seemingly still puzzled since he was frowning.
Cecily smiled knowingly and moved on. “And this is Marmaduke, the second earl, and that’s where the story really begins.”
“With Marmaduke? Humphrey’s son and heir?”
“He was illegitimate.”
Flabbergasted, Miles shook his head. “Oh come on, that can’t be! How could he have been illegitimate? Humphrey was married to Marie, before he became an earl … She was his mother.”
“No, she wasn’t. She couldn’t conceive. However, Humphrey was Marmaduke’s biological father. He was born here, and he was brought up here by Humphrey. And nobody ever questioned anything. James Swann saw to that … he took care of anything … awkward, shall we say? They were hand in glove those two, partners in everything.”
“So there was never any question of Marmaduke’s legitimacy?”
“None at all. Charlotte told me that in the Ingham records there is some sort of paper, an ancient birth certificate. Humphrey and Marie are listed as parents of the child, but Charlotte thinks it looks doctored.”
“Why are you so sure this is true?” Miles now asked.
“From working it out. Not together, but separately, as I just said. We came to the same conclusion. Take a look at Marmaduke again, Miles, a long hard look. Tell me who he reminds you of?”
Miles moved closer to the portrait, then took out his glasses and peered at it again. “Harry! He looks like your brother. Well, I’ll be damned.”
He let his voice trail off, swung his head, and looked at his wife. “Are you trying to tell me that the mother of Marmaduke was a Swann?”
“Yes. And it’s true. Sarah Swann Caxton was James’s sister, a young widow with two children by her late husband. But it was Humphrey she loved, and she bore Elizabeth first, before Marmaduke. Come over here, Miles. Take a look at Humphrey’s only daughter.”
He did as she asked and knew at once she was correct. In different clothes and with a modern hairdo, the woman in the portrait could easily have been mistaken for Cecily at twenty or so. “She’s like you,” he murmured, swiveling to face her. “And I notice the portrait is by Romney, a great portraitist at the time. Humphrey must have loved her a lot.”
“He also loved her mother. Sarah Swann Caxton was the love of his life, but he was married to Marie when Elizabeth was born,” Cecily explained.
“I wonder why Countess Marie put up with the situation? Any ideas, Ceci?”
“Here’s the thing, she was seven years older than Humphrey. She couldn’t conceive, and may well have felt terribly guilty. So she brought up his daughter as her own. A lot of women had to do a lot of things they didn’t like in those days. It’s called playing the game.”
“And Marmaduke as well. Oh, wait a minute, she died in childbirth, didn’t she? Marie, I mean. I remember my father mentioning that to me once.”
Shaking her head, Cecily replied, “No. I told you, she couldn’t conceive. Here’s the thing, Miles. Some months before Marmaduke was born, Marie began to have a swollen stomach. So much so everyone believed her to be pregnant. Except she wasn’t, she had a malignant tumor, more than likely cancer. And she did die, just before Sarah gave birth to Marmaduke.”
“What luck that was!” Miles stared at Cecily. “That wasn’t anything your ancestor James Swann could manipulate, that’s for sure.”
“You’re right. Let’s go downstairs, darling, to the Long Gallery. I want us to look at the portraits of James Swann and his family. As you know, they’re hanging there near the East Wing, where James and Anne lived all their lives. Apparently on Humphrey’s insistence, from what I understand from the record books. He needed James with him at all times.”
“What are you inferring?”
“Nothing. Don’t be daft! They were extremely close, intimate friends, bonded. Remember, it was pretty lonely out here in the eighteenth century, not any other aristocratic families around to socialize with. So the two of them were obviously reliant on each other. Also, they traveled the world together, went to London on business all the time.”
“I get it,” Miles answered and zeroed in immediately when they reached the East Wing. He stood in front of the portrait of Sarah Swann Caxton, James’s sister and mother of Humphrey’s children.
A true Swann, by God! And another slightly different version of the Swann he was married to, whom he loved with all his heart.
Cecily came and stood next to him. He put his a
rm around her shoulders, held her close, and suddenly, unexpectedly, he choked up. How bound together she and he were, by history, by the past.
After a moment, he said softly, “At the top of the staircase are the Inghams and down here are the Swanns. Think of it, Ceci, the two of us have their genes. We’re a mixture of both families, you and I.”
“I thought the same thing the other day, Miles. It seems they found each other irresistible.”
“And still do,” he said, pulling her even closer to him.
“It never stopped, you know.”
“What do you mean?”
“The fornication continued over the centuries.”
“Are you serious? Is there more to this story?”
“Yes.” She hesitated, then said, “Great-Aunt Gwendolyn, after she was widowed, had a long romantic love affair with my grandfather Mark Swann. And they had a child, who died. But then they had another one, called Margaret.”
Miles peered at her, obviously so shocked he was speechless. Recovering himself, he said, “No, not Great-Aunt Gwen. I don’t believe you. Come on, admit it, Ceci. This is a joke.”
“No, it’s not. Let’s go back to the library and finish our cognac, and I’ll tell you all about your great-aunt and my grandfather.”
Twenty-eight
Shifting white clouds raced across a bright blue sky and the sun was shining, but it was windy up on the moors at High Skell.
Victoria huddled into her camel hair coat and readjusted her scarf, sat down on the flat rock within the alcove created by the giant megaliths. This spot was somewhat protected.
She had come up there to think, sort out her muddled thoughts, but at this moment, she was distracted by the view. Cavendon Hall and the park looked magnificent in the afternoon sunlight, and she only wished Christopher could see it. He liked natural beauty. But that would not be possible. He himself had joked that he couldn’t climb rocks.
Christopher Longdon.
He was never out of her thoughts; she was infatuated with him. Actually, it was more than that. She had fallen for him. Hard. But what to do about him? And what did he feel for her? That last question she could answer. He was smitten. Could they have a physical relationship?
She had been startled last Friday at Biggin Hill. When he stood up on crutches, to be photographed next to a Spitfire with Noel and his former wing commander, he had appeared to be steady on his right leg.
Not only that, she had noticed that he was tall, at least five eleven. But then she had only ever seen him sitting down until that moment.
Rory had said he was partially paraplegic, but she didn’t know what that meant exactly, and she felt shy about asking Christopher.
On the other hand, there was a wonderful sense of ease between them, a compatibility she had never experienced before. They were alike in many ways. Perhaps she could bring it up with him.
At the sound of footsteps, Victoria glanced around and saw Alicia approaching. She was also wrapped up in a warm coat and scarf. Alicia waved.
Victoria waved back and stood up. The two women embraced and sat down together on the flat rock. Victoria was struck at once by Alicia’s pallor, and she seemed taut, very tense. Maybe she was missing Adam, who was still in New York. Alicia had mentioned that to her when she had arrived at Cavendon last night. She never filmed at weekends, and had arrived with Charlie.
After a moment, Alicia asked, “How did your shoot go with Christopher Longdon?”
“Very well, actually. We went down to Biggin Hill, where he was stationed during the war. Noel Jollion came and Christopher’s former wing commander as well. Plus a few other fliers. I got some fabulous shots.”
“Have you got any with you? I’d love to see some of them.”
“No, I don’t. I only finished developing them on Tuesday, then they went to Tony del Renzio, the art director. And I came up here on Wednesday. But I can show them to you next week, and I might even have the magazine proofs of your shoot as well.”
“Gosh, that would be wonderful! And I know Adam’s dying to see them.” Alicia sighed, and a sad expression settled on her face as she said this.
Victoria noticed at once. Leaning closer, she asked, “Is everything all right with you and Adam?” When Alicia was silent, Victoria said, “You look so sad.”
After a moment or two, Alicia responded, “Everything’s all right, I’m fairly sure of that. It’s just that he’s been a little angry with me. He tried to get hold of me the other evening, when he was first in New York. I was out with Charlie. He didn’t believe me; he thought I was with another man. In the end, he accepted my story, which is the truth, Victoria. But I’ve now realized something … Adam’s got a jealous disposition, and he’s possessive.”
“Perhaps any man would feel that way about you, Alicia,” Victoria murmured softly. “You are very beautiful, you know, and a famous actress.”
Alicia gave her a long stare and began to laugh hollowly. “Adam doesn’t think I’m a famous actress … he says he’s going to make me a big star.”
Victoria was so taken aback by this comment, she couldn’t answer for a few seconds, and then she said pithily, “Perhaps he’s just trying to make himself seem more important in your eyes.”
“I always knew you were a smart girl,” Alicia exclaimed. “As Mrs. Alice would say, there are no flies on you.” She let out a long sigh again. “Men are difficult at times, and they’re certainly not one little bit like women. We’re as different as chalk and cheese. I sometimes think they’re actually quite dumb.”
Nodding, Victoria said, “Aunt Alice has another saying about men, and women, for that matter. She often told me not to forget that men are stupid and women are fools. And we probably are. But not all men are stupid.”
Victoria started to chuckle, and Alicia joined in. Like Victoria, she adored Alice Swann, who had always been devoted to her mother, Daphne, and to her. Alicia also knew that Alice loved Victoria as if she were her own child.
The two women became quiet, were lost in their own thoughts for a few minutes. Eventually Alicia turned to look at Victoria. “So, talking of men, what is Britain’s greatest war hero like?”
“Charismatic, good-looking, warm and friendly. Very lovely, really. And he’s kind. We got on like a house on fire.”
“It sounds like it,” Alicia remarked, staring hard at Victoria, instantly noticing the sparkle in her eyes, the radiance which suddenly filled her face. “Oh dear, no! You’ve gone and fallen for him.”
“No I haven’t!” Victoria protested at once, not wanting anyone at Cavendon to know about her feelings for Christopher Longdon. “I’m just trying to explain what an unusual man he is.”
“And not dumb or stupid like all the others?” Alicia said this teasingly. “It’s written all over your face, my girl.”
“What is?” Victoria asked challengingly.
“Your emotions, that’s what. The hero has captivated you.” There was a moment or two of silence, and suddenly Alicia realized that Christopher Longdon was a man in a wheelchair.
Clearing her throat, not wanting to probe too much, Alicia began carefully, “Forgive me if I’m wrong, but isn’t Christopher Longdon a paraplegic?”
“Not exactly,” Victoria answered. “Rory, his personal assistant, told me he was only partially a paraplegic. Whatever that means.”
Alicia looked off into the distance, her eyes resting on the rim of the moors, her expression reflective. Finally, she turned to look at Victoria. “Do you know if you can have a physical relationship with him?”
“I don’t know, Alicia. I was actually thinking about it when you arrived. I came up here to go over everything in my mind.”
“As did I myself. We both know this place of old. I, from my grandfather, who often brought me here to see the view. And you came with Mrs. Alice, for the same reason. But it does happen to be a perfect place to sort out your mixed-up thoughts.”
Alicia stood up. “Come on, Victoria. I think you and I bet
ter have a little talk about the facts of life. In my bedroom though, which is a much warmer place than up here in the wind.”
“I did take biology at Harrogate College,” Victoria volunteered as she and Alicia walked away from the giant megaliths.
“And have you had any … practice?” Alicia asked.
Victoria remained silent.
“Have you ever made love with a man?”
“Well…” Victoria began, and paused, then added in a low voice, “Not exactly.”
Whatever does that mean? Alicia wondered, and groaned inside. Mrs. Alice would be furious with her if she knew that Victoria was about to learn about sexual intimacy from her.
* * *
Victoria sat in front of the blazing fire in Alicia’s bedroom, waiting for Alicia to come back.
She had gone down to the dining room in the South Wing to find a bottle of brandy and two glasses. “We need warming up,” she said as she disappeared a moment or two after they had entered the room.
Glancing around, Victoria nodded approvingly to herself. She had always admired this particular bedroom. The walls were painted the palest of green, and that color made a perfect background for the green-and-pink draperies at the two windows and on the draped and quilted headboard. They were the only two colors in the room and they played well together. It was spacious, not cluttered up with lots of bric-a-brac.
“Here I am, armed with the booze,” Alicia exclaimed as she walked in, closing the door with her foot. Placing the bottle and glasses on her Georgian desk in the window area, she poured two drinks and glided over to the fireside, handed Victoria a shot glass.
“I couldn’t find the brandy balloons,” Alicia said. “These will have to do. Go on, just gulp it down in one swallow. That’s the best way to feel the warmth from it.”
“I’ve not often had brandy,” Victoria told her, but swallowed half of it swiftly, then put the glass down on a nearby table, coughing. When she recovered, she said, “That’s got a bite to it.”
“It does the trick, though.” Alicia sat back in her chair. “I want to talk about you first, Victoria, so that I can advise you. And I do believe you need a bit of help in certain ways.”
Secrets of Cavendon Page 21