Secrets of Cavendon

by Barbara Taylor Bradford

  He glanced at his watch. It was one o’clock. The perfect time to go up to the attic. The entire household would be fast asleep by now. He did not drink, but the Inghams did, and a lot of wine had been consumed by them during and after dinner.

  Slipping out of bed, Adam found his dressing gown, put his feet in his slippers, and left Alicia’s room quietly. He crossed the corridor to his bedroom, where he had left the lamps on when he had gone to Alicia.

  He went straight to his briefcase in the walk-in closet, took the key for it out of a jacket hanging on the rod, and opened the briefcase. There they were—his set of burglary keys and picks, plus a flashlight. These he put in his dressing gown pocket and left the room.

  Adam made his way to the short hall, crossed into the West Wing in a few steps, and opened the door which led up to the attic. He knew his way, knew exactly where the trunk stood, because he had done dry runs several times in the last few months.

  Deciding it was all right to turn on the attic light, he did so, bent over the trunk and picked the lock swiftly in his usual experienced way. Finally, he lifted the lid, and within seconds he was holding the black leather book. The white label on it had the years written across it in black ink: 1913 and 1914.

  Opening the book, he began to leaf through it swiftly, but discovered it was written in a peculiar way. Far better to take it back to his room than endeavor to read it up here, he decided. Closing and relocking the trunk, he turned off the light and went back down the stairs.

  Much to his horror his right leg suddenly cramped up, and as he tried to ease it with his right hand, he slipped, fell halfway down the stairs. Somehow he managed to break his fall by clinging to the banister with his right hand. His left clutched the record book to his chest.

  Adam lay very still on the stairs, listening, wondering how much noise he had made. Not a lot, he decided and, continuing to listen for a moment, he realized the house was quiet. There was total silence around him.

  Finally, the cramp stopped, and pushing himself to his feet, he went on down the stairs and opened the door. As he stepped into the corridor, he found himself staring at Aunt Charlotte, whose bedroom door faced the one going up to the attic.

  There she was, staring back at him from the doorway, obviously as shocked as he was. She looked from his face to the book in his hand, recognized it and opened her mouth to say something.

  Instinctively, Adam rushed her, pushing her back into the room, closing the door behind him with his foot.

  “What are you doing with that book?” she demanded.

  He did not speak, simply pushed her once again, until she was in the middle of the floor. He gripped her arm tightly with his right hand.

  She tried to grab the book, almost got it, then unexpectedly it flew out of his hand, skidded across the rug. Struggling with him, endeavoring to shake him off, Charlotte staggered slightly, almost lost her balance.

  Adam immediately took advantage, pushed her even harder with both hands. She fell backward and hit her head on the brass fender. He gasped when she opened her eyes and stared up at him, tried to speak. Cautiously, he bent over to her. But her eyes had closed.

  Was she dead? He had no idea. What he did know was that if she lived she would expose him. All of his plans, made so carefully over several years, would be ruined. He would be ruined. Finished.

  Bending over her more closely, Adam grasped the lapels of her woolen dressing gown and lifted her up. He noticed her eyes remained closed. He suddenly let go of her and she fell back; her head struck the fender hard once more.

  Where was that record book? His eyes scanned the floor and finally he saw it underneath a chair. He ran over and grabbed it, took it over to a chest near the door.

  Returning to Aunt Charlotte, he picked up her limp arm, found her wrist, felt for a pulse. There wasn’t one. A small sigh of relief escaped. He was safe.

  Adam took the record book off the chest and went out into the corridor. In his haste to get back to his room in the South Wing, he did not notice that the door to the back staircase at the other end of the corridor was slowly closing. He had no idea that someone had seen him leaving Aunt Charlotte’s room.

  * * *

  It was Peggy Swift Lane, the housekeeper, who discovered Aunt Charlotte’s body on Sunday morning. When she knocked on the dowager countess’s door at nine o’clock, and then walked in as she always did, Aunt Charlotte’s body was in her direct line of vision.

  She ran forward, understanding immediately that something terrible had happened. Bending over Aunt Charlotte, she realized that she was dead. Just to be sure, Peggy touched her cheek lightly with one finger. It was cold.

  Tears welled in Peggy’s eyes, and she stifled a sob. She had known Charlotte Swann Ingham since she was a young girl, working here as a maid at Cavendon.

  Straightening, Peggy hurried out of the room and ran down the corridor, took the back staircase. Once she was in the pantry behind the dining room, Peggy motioned to Eric, whom she could see in the dining room, where most of the family were having breakfast.

  Looking down the room at Peggy, Eric noticed her stricken face and nodded to her. A moment later he was in the pantry, asking her what was wrong. She told him. A look of sorrow swept across his face, and he gasped, then instantly took control of himself.

  “I’d better ask his lordship to leave the table,” he murmured. “Wait out there in the corridor. Better still, go to the library.”

  Steadying himself, Eric walked down the dining room and spoke to Miles quietly. “There’s an urgent matter, your lordship. Could you please leave the table and come with me?”

  Miles looked up at Eric, saw the seriousness on his face, and nodded. He excused himself to the others and left the room.

  “What is it, Eric?” Miles asked once they were in the small hallway. “Obviously there’s something terribly wrong by the look on your face.”

  “Yes, m’lord. There’s been a dreadful accident, involving the dowager countess. Please, m’lord, could you come to the library? Peggy is waiting to speak to you. She will give you the details. I don’t know them. She just came downstairs to tell me.”

  Instantly Miles felt a rush of apprehension, and he almost ran to the library, where Peggy was standing stiffly in the middle of the room, looking shocked and bereft.

  “What’s wrong, Peggy?” he asked, hurrying to her, followed by Eric, who stood to one side, wanting to know himself what had actually happened.

  “It’s the dowager countess, your lordship. I went to wake her this morning, at nine as always, and I found her on the floor near the fireplace. She’s had a terrible accident…” Tears welled and Peggy struggled to keep her voice steady. “She must have fallen when she got up during the night.”

  Miles felt his chest tighten and swallowed hard as his throat thickened. He knew that Aunt Charlotte was dead, even though neither of them had been able to actually say those words.

  In as steady a voice as he could muster, he asked, “Aunt Charlotte is dead, isn’t she, Peggy?”

  “Yes,” was the only word Peggy could get out. She had begun to shake, and the tears ran down her cheeks.

  Eric, also shaken, was as white as bleached bone. He said, “Should I go and ask Lady Cecily to join us, your lordship?”

  “Yes, you’d better do that, Eric, and with your usual discretion. Once her ladyship has been told, the four of us will go upstairs.”

  As Eric hurried off, Miles looked at Peggy, frowning, “None of the maids will go into Aunt Charlotte’s room yet, will they?”

  “Oh no, Lord Mowbray. Never. I have always personally looked after the dowager, ever since she married your father, excuse me, the sixth earl.”

  Miles nodded and walked over to the window, looked out, blinked back the tears. Charlotte had so loved his father, all of them, actually. He and his sisters had been like her own children.

  He heard Cecily’s high heels clicking against the marble floor of the grand hall even before she came in
to the library, and he hurried across the library to the doorway.

  Eric was ushering her in, and then he closed the door behind them firmly, stood next to it.

  “Something’s happened, hasn’t it?” Cecily said, rushing to Miles, noting the mistiness in his eyes, the graveness of his expression.

  “Yes, Ceci, it has. This morning, when Peggy went in to awaken Aunt Charlotte, she found her lying on the floor near the fireplace. She must have fallen during the night … a terrible accident.”

  “Oh no,” Cecily said, clutching his arm, her voice suddenly breaking. “She’s dead. She is, isn’t she, Miles?”

  “I’m afraid so, darling.”

  Cecily turned to Peggy. “You’re sure she’s dead, Peggy? Did you touch her?”

  “Yes, your ladyship. She was ice-cold.”

  “Rigor mortis has probably set in already,” Miles said, his voice thick. “Let us now go upstairs. Leave the others to finish breakfast.”

  Once they were in the bedroom, Miles went and knelt down next to Aunt Charlotte’s body. He felt her wrist. No pulse, obviously. Why had he done that? Just to be certain, he thought. Just to be certain. We never wanted you to leave us, he said to her in his head.

  Cecily joined him, knelt down next to Aunt Charlotte and touched her cheek gently, then rested her head against his shoulder. Tears were damp on her face.

  Miles touched Cecily’s shoulder and then stood up, looked across at the bed, and went over to Eric and Peggy. “It’s quite obvious what happened. She got out of bed during the night, tripped and fell.”

  Eric nodded. “She wasn’t showing her age, but she did tell me her legs ached at times, m’lord.”

  Miles let out a sigh, nodded. “Eric, would you please ring Dr. Ottoway, at his home in Mowbray. Tell him what’s happened. Ask him to come here as soon as possible. Give him my apologies for not calling myself, but I must inform the rest of the family about Aunt Charlotte’s death.”

  “Yes, your lordship. I’ll go and do that immediately.”

  Cecily said, “What about Aunt Charlotte? We can’t leave her lying here on the floor, can we? Surely not. Shouldn’t we lift her up? Among us, we could do it, and put her on the bed.”

  “But of course we must do that!” Miles exclaimed. “How thoughtless of me. She’d hate it if anyone saw her in such an undignified position on the floor.”

  Thirty-seven

  Before going downstairs to inform the family of the tragic death of the dowager countess, Miles and Cecily went into the small sitting room which opened off their bedrooms.

  Cecily rushed into his arms immediately, and they held each other tightly, endeavoring to be comforting. They both wept, filled with sorrow about their beloved Aunt Charlotte. She was another Swann who had devoted her life to the Inghams and to Cavendon.

  Charlotte had loved two Ingham men; she had married one, Miles’s father, and been a mother to his children after his first wife had left him.

  In a sense, Charlotte had been a mother to the many Swanns who lived in the surrounding villages, and she was the matriarch to both families, a situation which had never occurred before.

  Finally they drew apart, and Cecily said, “I hate it that Aunt Charlotte was alone, Miles. I do wish someone had been there with her, holding her hand.”

  “It was probably a quick death,” Miles replied softly, his heart heavy with grief. “She must have stumbled, fallen backward, hit her head on the edge of the fender. But I know what you mean, darling, and now we must plan a funeral to honor her and celebrate her life. Her long life, eighty-one years, such a grand age, Ceci.”

  “Yes, it was. And a life she so much enjoyed and lived to the fullest.”

  Miles said, “Well, we’d better pull ourselves together. I have to go down and tell the others what’s happened. We both did a hasty disappearing act and they must be wondering why by now.”

  “I think you’re right.” Cecily found a handkerchief in her jacket pocket and wiped her eyes. “Once everyone here knows, I must ring my parents.”

  “I know that. And I must phone Dulcie, Diedre, and Daphne. I doubt that Dulcie can make it back from Los Angeles in time, but Diedre will return at once from Geneva, that I know. As for Daphne, I can’t hazard a guess. My sister is rather strange these days.”

  “Will you hold the funeral in three days, Miles? Not wait for Dulcie and James?”

  “That is the Ingham tradition, Ceci. We bury our dead in three days. And then have a week of mourning together. The immediate family, that is.”

  “Let’s go downstairs before I really start crying.”

  Miles took hold of her hand and whispered, “Be brave, Ceci.” He kissed her cheek. “We will have each other, thank God.”

  When they arrived in the doorway of the dining room, everyone stared at them, worried looks on their faces. It was Charlie who asked, “What’s happened, Uncle Miles? Something bad, I suspect.”

  Miles nodded. “Yes. Let us go into the library so that I can explain.”

  Miles and Cecily walked across the great hall and into the library. The others followed behind.

  Miles now remembered how his father had always gone and stood in front of the fireplace when he had something important to announce, and so he did that. I’m following the tradition, he thought. Then he asked Cecily to sit in the chair nearest to him.

  Once everyone was seated, Miles said in a low, serious tone, “I’m afraid I have some very sad and distressful news to impart. Aunt Charlotte seemingly had an accident during the night. I’m so sorry to have to tell you that she died.”

  There was a loud unified gasp and a voice cried, “No! No!”

  Miles realized it was his niece Annabel who had spoken and was now starting to cry quietly, hunched over in a chair.

  “What exactly happened?” Charlie asked, his eyes suddenly moist, his voice wobbling.

  “It looks as if she got out of bed during the night and had a bad fall,” Miles explained. “It was Peggy who found her near the fireplace this morning. Our supposition is that she hit her head against the edge of the brass fender. I have sent for Dr. Ottoway, who will be here shortly to examine her body and provide the necessary death certificate.”

  Charlie nodded, tears welling again. He groped for a handkerchief in his pocket. “I think I’d better telephone my mother and father in Zurich, don’t you, Uncle Miles?”

  “I do indeed, Charlie. Speak to them, break the news gently, and explain that I will call them later. I must ring Diedre in Geneva and Dulcie in America. And do ask your parents to come to the funeral.”

  Annabel was still weeping, patting her eyes constantly with her hankie. She was obviously so upset, Cecily got up, went to comfort her niece. “I loved Aunt Charlotte,” Annabel whispered to Cecily, holding on to her tightly, endeavoring not to start sobbing. “She always wanted me to play the piano for her, and I counted on her for so many things. She was like a grandmother to me. I shall miss her so much, Aunt Ceci.”

  “We all will, darling,” Cecily answered. “And now we must be brave, bury her with honor and dignity as she deserves.”

  Alicia was in shock, her face pale, her eyes bright with tears. Her voice shook when she asked, “When will you have the funeral, Uncle Miles?”

  “In three days,” he replied quietly. “That is our family tradition.”

  Startled, Alicia exclaimed, “But Dulcie and James will never make it here in time.”

  “I’m sure they won’t. However, as I just said, that is the Ingham family tradition. Three days. And it still holds. It will always hold. I must get in touch with all of our children, the family’s children, at university and boarding school, tell them to come home at once.”

  Charlie, wanting to be helpful, said, “Is there anything else I can do for you, Uncle Miles?”

  “Yes, Charlie, there is. You could telephone the local undertakers for me, before you ring your parents. Explain what has happened and tell them we need their services. Thanks for offering,
Charlie. I’m grateful.” He also knew it was good to keep everyone busy, so they didn’t wallow around too much in their grief.

  “What can I do?” Alicia asked, wiping her fingertips across her damp face, pulling herself together, reminding herself she was an Ingham woman. A woman warrior.

  “I think Cecily and Alice might need help with the flowers for the church.” Miles glanced at his wife.

  “We will, Miles,” Cecily interjected. Then, looking into Annabel’s face, she went on, “Annabel, can you advise Uncle Miles about the music for the church service? You and Aunt Charlotte shared your musical tastes and favorites.”

  “Yes, I will,” Annabel answered. “And I would like to play the piano in the church for the service.”

  “Can’t I do anything?” Adam asked. “Everyone seems to suddenly have a job. But not me.”

  Miles said, “Perhaps you and Alicia can make a list of who will be attending the funeral other than the Inghams and the Swanns. For example, Felix and Constance Lambert loved Aunt Charlotte and will want to come, I’m sure. Perhaps you would contact them for me.”

  “We will do that, of course,” Adam answered. “And I want to offer you my condolences, Miles. I’m so sorry that Aunt Charlotte died. She was such a lovely lady.”

  * * *

  Dr. Ottoway arrived with one of his nurses, and Cecily took them upstairs to Aunt Charlotte’s bedroom. After explaining how Peggy had found the dowager countess on the floor near the fireplace earlier that morning, she left them to do the examination.

  Going to her little parlor, she phoned her mother and very gently broke the news to Alice. She heard her mother choking back her tears, and asked, “Do you want me to come to be with you, Mam? For a while?”

  “No, no, Cecily, I will walk up to Cavendon. I want to see Charlotte before the undertakers remove the body. When will they arrive?”

  “I don’t know. Miles asked Charlie to phone them. Why don’t you and my father come up now? We can be together, have a bite of lunch later.”

  “I couldn’t eat a thing—” Alice stopped short, and she began to sob.