Secrets of Cavendon

by Barbara Taylor Bradford

  “They’re all back in the trunk in the attic.”

  “Are you sure it’s locked? Perhaps you should go to the attic and check.”

  “Please stop worrying, Aunt Charlotte. Who on earth would be interested in those old record books?”

  “You never know,” Charlotte murmured. “And now I think I shall go and freshen up. It’s almost noon.”

  “And I must go and find my little Gwen.”

  After a moment Adam heard the library door close, and he relaxed, replaying their conversation in his head. Daphne had been in some sort of trouble around the time of Alicia’s birth. It was obviously such a big secret the old aunt was genuinely worried about it leaking. Alicia was born in January of 1914, that he knew. Was there something wrong about Alicia’s birth? Could she be illegitimate? No, that couldn’t be. On the other hand, anything was possible.

  Rising, Adam limped along the terrace, having decided to enter the house through the front door. But wild thoughts were whirling around in his head.

  After all, it was good old Jack Trotter who had taught him that knowledge is power. Jack had drilled it into him, in fact.

  Wow. Now that I have information like this in my hand I’m in clover. There was no one he could question about Alicia’s birth. That was obvious. However, he could read the record book. Which was in the trunk. In the attic. All he needed were his tools to open the lock.

  He must plan everything carefully. The way he had done in the past.

  Part Five

  DIFFERENT PERCEPTIONS

  1950

  You can never plan the future

  by the past.

  —Edmund Burke (1729–1797)

  Thirty-five

  Alicia sat at the desk in the conservatory at Cavendon, making notations on a pad regarding the script for Dangerous.

  She had just finished reading the first rewrite by Margo Littleton and Jeffrey Cox, and it was certainly an improvement on the original. But she believed it needed much more work.

  Putting her pen down, she sat back in the chair, staring out of the window. It was a cold, dreary sort of day, the sky leaden, the trees bereft of leaves. A typical February day.

  “February,” she murmured under her breath. How can it be February of 1950? Where have the last few months gone? They had just flown by, disappeared in a flurry of work, finishing the movie, having the wrap party, a dull Christmas and New Year. Then Adam going off to New York to see his backers, coming back moody and distracted. She had long suspected he might be having problems with them. When she suggested this he had practically bitten her head off. Not like him. He was mostly warm and loving. And occasionally a bit erratic. She also knew now how possessive he was of her. And jealous.

  She thought about what Charlie had said in October of last year … Adam was a man in love and his behavior was normal. But was it? A number of incidents flitted through her mind, and then she pushed them away. Why dwell on them? His better traits far outweighed his little outbursts. She thought of these as childlike tantrums, best ignored.

  There were notes she had made about another script called Revenge, which she had read last week. Opening the desk drawer, she shuffled through papers and soon found the notes.

  As she took them out she caught sight of a piece of her mother’s stationery. It was white with a blue edge and had the family crest engraved at the top of the sheet. Pushing the drawer closed, she shook her head, filling up with unexpected dismay.

  She still felt extremely hurt that her parents hadn’t bothered to come home to see her and meet Adam. Even though they might not want to return to Cavendon, they could have visited her in London for a few days.

  When she had phoned them to tell them she had become engaged, they had congratulated her, yet they hadn’t invited her to bring Adam to Zurich, either, if only for a day.

  Was her mother still harboring resentment about what she called the commercialization of Cavendon by Cecily? Or offended that she and Charlie came up here most weekends? Perhaps their parents viewed this as disloyalty on their part. All were possibilities.

  Alicia loved her mother and father and had placed Daphne on a pedestal as a child. She thought her mother to be the most beautiful woman in the world and her father the knight in shining armor, protecting their mother and them.

  And yet, now when she looked back, there had been other little things over the years—a certain coldness in her mother at times, lack of attention, small slights, a decided preference for her brother Charlie, undoubtedly her mother’s favorite. Alicia understood that, understood the mother-son syndrome, and was not troubled by it. Neither were her other siblings.

  She loved Charlie too, admired and respected him. They had been close since they were small, and this had never changed.

  They were comrades in arms, as Charlie liked to call them, battling their way through the Ingham clan, finding their own places, standing tall, fully aware they were members of a distinguished family. They knew all about loyalty and duty and what was expected of them.

  Sometimes, when she was little, and her mother had scolded her, or been inattentive, Alicia had run to her grandfather Charles Ingham, the sixth earl.

  They had bonded; the small child and the older man had become even closer over the years of her growing up. They understood each other, were on the same wavelength, and she had been devastated when he had died.

  “My ilk,” he would say to her, putting an arm around her as she stood by his chair. “And I’m so glad you’re of my ilk.”

  Putting aside her thoughts of her family, Alicia read her notes and realized from her jottings how much she had loved this script on the first reading. Months ago Adam had told her he thought it could be a film noir, in Hitch’s style. And she agreed. Alfred Hitchcock was his favorite director, and hers.

  The clicking of heels on the stone floor of the conservatory made her look up from the script. Cecily was hurrying toward her, a smile on her face.

  “Here you are. I’ve been looking for you all over. I’ve just had a letter from Dulcie, and she and James and the children will be going to New York in March, finally sailing home to England. For good,” Cecily said. “Apparently the film is finished. They’ve put their house up for sale. And they’re busy packing.”

  “Oh, I’m so happy, Ceci, thrilled to have this news. I’ve missed them so much, but then we all have. And you’re sure it’s for good?” Alicia raised a brow.

  “Absolutely. James misses the theater, as you well know, and he wants to tread the boards again. That was the way Dulcie put it. Good news, right?”

  “It is. Felix and Constance are no doubt pleased. They miss him a lot. Just think, they discovered James when he was about fifteen or something like that.”

  “I know what you mean. He’s almost like a son to them.” Cecily shivered. “It’s a bit chilly in here, Alicia. Come to my little parlor. We can have a cup of coffee or tea and chat for a bit.”

  * * *

  The sketches of clothes were the first thing Alicia noticed when she walked into Cecily’s parlor, which she used as an office, located next to the dining room.

  “Ceci, these are wonderful!” she cried, rushing forward. She stood gazing at the drawings, struck by their uniqueness, their enormous stylishness.

  “I’m glad you like them,” Cecily said, joining her. “They’re some of my designs for the summer. We’re putting these six dresses into work this week.”

  “They’re very different, eye-catching, and I like this new length, just that bit longer, but so graceful, and you know I adore evening gowns with bouffant skirts. Adam will be as taken with them as I am. He told me he would like to buy some new clothes for me. From your next collection.”

  “How nice of him, and very generous. He’s such a lovely man. We’re really happy for you, Alicia,” Cecily said. “And what a contrast he is to Bryan Mellor. So much more charming and personable. Whatever happened to Bryan?”

  “He went off to do a Shakespeare tour in Austral
ia and not a word since,” Alicia said, shrugging, obviously indifferent and over him completely.

  “Is Adam coming for the weekend?” Cecily asked, walking over to the fireplace, standing with her back to it, warming herself. “That was another reason I was looking for you.”

  “Yes, he is. He’s been back from New York for a week now and he is much more rested. These trips are killing, what with the time change and all that.”

  “I can well imagine. Diedre and Will won’t be here. They’re going to Geneva for the weekend.”

  Alicia stared hard at Cecily and asked, “Have they ever heard from my parents? Or gone to see them when they’ve been in Geneva before?”

  “Not to my knowledge, Alicia. In fact, no one has heard from Daphne and Hugo.” Cecily frowned. “You look troubled all of a sudden. Is something wrong?”

  “I was thinking about my parents earlier, wondering why they’ve never bothered to come and meet Adam.”

  “I realized that, and so does Miles. But I don’t think Daphne feels too friendly toward us. Me, in particular. And she won’t come to Cavendon for a long time, in my opinion. She never showed up for Christmas, which would have been a good time to put an end to this difficult situation.” Cecily let out a long sigh, shaking her head and looking baffled.

  “She probably thinks Charlie and I are being disloyal because we’re siding with you.” There was a pause before Alicia added, “Do you think my mother might be ill?”

  “It has crossed my mind, and Miles has brought that up to me, as well. Have you mentioned this to your father?”

  “Not exactly. Anyway, he would never tell me, or any of us. He’s so adoring of our mother, totally devoted. He tries to protect her from everything.”

  “I know that. When he met her, it was love at first sight, adoration, in fact. And that’s the way it’s been ever since,” Cecily remarked.

  “Nothing will change. But if she is ill, I think it would be important to tell his children, don’t you?” Alicia sat down in a chair, throwing Cecily a quizzical look.

  “Well, yes, of course, you ought to know,” Cecily agreed. “But Hugo is very stubborn. Try not to worry too much about them, Alicia. If your mother were really and truly ill, he would inform you. I do know when she left she was worn out, very tired.” Cecily crossed the room and sat down on the sofa. “Cavendon has been her passion all of her adult life, and keeping it looking beautiful her true vocation. She overdid it, I believe, and exhaustion can be debilitating.”

  There was a knock on the door, and Eric came in. “Would you like any refreshments, your ladyship? Miss Alicia?”

  Cecily smiled at him. “I was about to ring for you. I’d love a cup of coffee, what about you, Alicia?”

  “The same, please,” Alicia answered, looking across at Eric, who gave her a warm smile and disappeared.

  “God knows what I would do without him,” Cecily confided in a lowered tone. “Eric has kept this house running like clockwork. He’s certainly given me time to devote myself to designing and my business. He’s a treasure. And so is Peggy. Now, what was I saying?”

  Not wanting to focus on her parents again, Alicia now decided to open up a new subject and asked, “What do you think about Christopher Longdon?”

  “That he’s a marvelous man!” Cecily exclaimed. “My parents were extremely surprised when Victoria told them she was getting engaged to him, but the minute they met him they fell under his spell. In fact, we all did.”

  Alicia smiled, so proud of Victoria and how she had handled it all. “And that spread in Elegance Magazine was fantastic,” Alicia remarked. “I think Victoria really outdid herself. I was rather touched by some of the photographs she took, especially the one in his childhood bedroom with his old rocking horse and teddy bear. She told me it was a last-minute shot and that they managed to squeeze it in.”

  “There’s no question that she’s a talented young woman, and the pictures she took of you are beautiful, Alicia. That was another outstanding spread in the magazine. Miles and I, we’re so pleased you did it at Cavendon and not in London. Good publicity for us for the house tours this spring.”

  A moment later Eric returned with the tray of coffee. Placing it on a side table, he filled the cups and passed them to Cecily and Alicia.

  After thanking him, Cecily said, “Mr. Fennell will be coming this weekend, Eric, but not Lady Diedre and Mr. Lawson. I also think Mr. Charlie will be here.” She glanced at Alicia. “He will, won’t he?”

  “Yes,” Alicia answered. “As a matter of fact, he’ll be driving up with Mr. Fennell.”

  Once they were alone, Cecily said, “Christopher Longdon has been rather helpful to Miles. He’s sent several veterans to see him, and Miles and Harry recently hired them. They and their families have just moved into empty farms in Mowbray, and Harry will train them to run the farms. Much-needed work for them and certainly very helpful to us.”

  Alicia nodded. “I think the veterans charity Christopher has started is so marvelous; it’s just rotten how our former soldiers are treated. I sent the charity a check and so did Adam.”

  “That was good of you, darling.”

  Cecily sat drinking her coffee, her thoughts on Alicia. She was such a kind and loving person, always wanting to help others when she could.

  Cecily would never forget how devoted her niece had been to the sixth earl, her grandfather, as he was growing older. A memory came rushing back, of Alicia returning to Yorkshire to be with him, instead of going to Berlin on the family trip.

  Alicia had explained that she had promised to spend time with him that summer, and she had kept her promise. Nineteen thirty-eight, Cecily thought. It was in 1938. So long ago now.

  * * *

  Later that week, on Friday afternoon, Charlie and Adam arrived at Cavendon at three o’clock, well in time for afternoon tea in the yellow drawing room.

  This was a tradition Adam loved, enjoying the relaxing atmosphere of it, the food, the bonhomie. Minding his manners as usual, he had brought his hostess a present, which he put on the hall table for Cecily to open later. It was a large box of her favorite chocolates from Fortnum and Mason.

  Alicia was relieved to see that he was in a happy mood and had obviously had an enjoyable journey with Charlie, who was also in good spirits.

  Annabel had come up the evening before, and Alicia had pumped her youngest sibling about their parents. But Annabel was seemingly just as mystified as Alicia. Yes, their mother’s behavior was odd, but no, she didn’t think their mother was ill. The twins visited regularly and had not mentioned anything out of the ordinary, Annabel had confided.

  Now Annabel was playing the piano for Aunt Charlotte when Alicia, Charlie, and Adam went into the yellow drawing room. Miles and Cecily were the last to arrive.

  “Where’s Gwen?” Alicia asked Cecily, glancing around. “She told me earlier she would see me for tea.”

  “She’s down in the kitchen with Cleopatra. The cat’s not feeling well, she says,” Cecily explained. “But it’s not anything serious, I’m sure.”

  “Harry thinks she might have eaten something she found outside that’s disagreed with her,” Miles interjected. “The cat will be fine.”

  Aunt Charlotte said, “Thank you, Adam, for sending me that lovely book on great cathedrals of the world. It was so thoughtful of you. I’m enjoying the many gorgeous photographs.”

  “My pleasure, Aunt Charlotte,” Adam responded, smiling at her. Then, looking across at Annabel, who was still playing, he turned to Alicia and said in a low voice, “Your sister is extremely talented. She ought to be on a concert stage.”

  “Yes, she wanted to do that once,” Alicia whispered. “I’ll tell you later.”

  Thirty-six

  Adam Fennell was in his element.

  He was thrilled to spend most weekends in this grand stately home, waited on by servants, in his own mind playing the lord of the manor.

  The real lord of the manor, Miles Ingham, the Seventh Earl of Mow
bray, had welcomed him cordially and liked him a lot. The entire family liked him, much to his great satisfaction.

  This place suited him. He was where he belonged. And where he would live for the rest of his life. With his beautiful Alicia. He had hoped that this weekend they could have set the wedding date, but she had been reluctant to do so until they had been to Zurich to see her parents.

  It had been a carefree weekend, and last night the dinner had been festive. But then the family always seemed to make Saturday nights special, full of enjoyment for everyone.

  For the last few months, Adam had been creating a routine for himself, getting up sometimes in the middle of the night, going downstairs to the library, where he would sit and read a book.

  The second time he did this disappearing act, Alicia soon came looking for him. He had explained that he was suffering from insomnia, needed to move about the house, read a bit in the library in order to finally go back to bed and fall asleep. She had said she understood and had never come to look for him again.

  Now at last Adam felt sure of himself, confident that he could finally go up to the attic safely, open the trunk with his set of burglary picks, and read the record book for 1913.

  The more he thought about it the more he was certain that this was the relevant year. The summer of 1913. Nine months before Alicia’s birth in January of 1914. There was obviously a huge and perhaps dangerous secret connected to her birth, because Aunt Charlotte had been so concerned about that particular record book.

  Adam was nosy, needed to know everything about everybody. And he had not forgotten the conversation he had overheard months earlier when he was out on the terrace, massaging his cramped leg.

  Since Cavendon was a huge house, he had done a lot of roaming around for weeks on end, poking about in many rooms without drawing attention to himself. In fact, he had never stopped snooping surreptitiously.

  He pushed himself up on his elbow and looked down at Alicia. She was in a deep sleep.