Secrets of Cavendon

by Barbara Taylor Bradford

  Charlie said, “We wanted to surprise you, Father, and you too, Mother.”

  By this time Lady Daphne had risen, and she was full of smiles as she went to kiss Charlie and then her daughter. “You look lovely, Alicia, and so springlike in your pink suit.”

  “Thank you,” Alicia murmured, and followed her parents, who were returning to their chairs.

  Charlie and Alicia sat down on a love seat opposite them. It was Charlie who spoke first.

  He said in a level, easy tone of voice, “We wanted to come and see you anyway, wondering how you were. But we also do have another purpose.” He looked from his mother to his father, and continued, “We would like to ask you a couple of questions, because Alicia and I have heard some disturbing rumors, comments, if you will, about Alicia’s birth.”

  Alicia, watching her mother intently, saw how taken aback she was by Charlie’s remarks. Also, Alicia couldn’t get over how well Daphne looked. Relaxed, rested, her beauty in full bloom, even though she was now in her early fifties. Well enough to travel to Charlotte’s funeral, Alicia thought, unexpectedly fuming inside, wondering why her mother had ducked it. Charlotte had been such a close friend. When her mother had left Cavendon, Alicia had been certain she had Parkinson’s disease. Obviously she had been wrong.

  Hugo, as surprised as Daphne, said, “I’m not sure I’m understanding you, Charlie. What kind of rumors?”

  Before Charlie could answer, Alicia exclaimed, “I’ve been told you’re not my biological father. Is that true?”

  The shock flooding Lady Daphne’s face was palpable, and Hugo’s loving expression had changed to one of absolute horror. Neither of their parents spoke, simply gaped at them.

  “It’s a lot of nonsense,” Hugo finally answered vehemently, shaking his head. “I am your father, Alicia.”

  Alicia stared at her mother, said in a demanding voice, “Is Hugo telling the truth? Is he my father? Or did you have a lover who made you pregnant?”

  Her gaze went to Hugo, and she continued in the same hard voice, “And then you came along, the knight in shining armor, and married her swiftly to save the Ingham name. Is that the way it really was, Father?”

  All of the color had left Hugo’s face. He was extremely pale and trembling slightly, when he exclaimed angrily, “Whoever it is who has told you this is lying. I am your father.”

  Although Alicia had grave doubts about Fennell’s story and had come to Zurich with an open mind, believing Hugo was indeed her father, there was something about her mother that now annoyed Alicia.

  Her mother’s apparent good health? The fact that she hadn’t come to the funeral? Or was it that look on her face?

  Alicia frowned, stared hard at Daphne, saw a certain smugness there. Perhaps that was it. She looked so pleased with herself and unaffected by the world around her, it seemed.

  “I want the truth from you, Mother. I think I deserve to know who fathered me.”

  After a long silence, Lady Daphne began to speak, waving her hand at Hugo as he tried to interrupt her.

  “Listen to me, Alicia, and try to understand what I am saying. When you plant seeds in a garden, that’s an easy task. But once the seeds begin to grow, you have to tend them, nurture them, look after them, cherish them even, and—”

  “I don’t want to know about gardens,” Alicia cut in harshly. “Tell me who planted his seed in you?”

  Charlie said, “Please, Alicia, calm down! Don’t become so angry when you don’t know anything at all. Be nice.”

  “It’s all right, Charlie,” Lady Daphne said quietly. “I shall tell your sister what she needs to know. It is her right.”

  Taking a deep breath, she plunged in. “I was seventeen. Young, innocent, inexperienced. I had no boyfriends. But I did have a friend called Julian Torbett, who lived nearby. One spring afternoon I went over to visit him, but he had gone out. I returned to Cavendon through the woods. I was halfway home when I felt something hit the middle of my back. It was as if a huge sack of potatoes had struck me. I fell forward, hard, hit my face on some rocks, and then rough hands turned me over. I was staring up at a huge man, bundled in thick clothes. His face and head were wrapped in a dark scarf. I could hardly see his eyes even. He tore my jacket and blouse. And then he raped me. Before he left me, he told me if I ever told anyone I was raped in the Cavendon woods, he would have my mother and Dulcie killed.”

  Lady Daphne paused, took a deep breath. No one spoke. They knew she had not finished her story.

  At last she said, “I lay there unable to move. I felt bruised and broken. He had handled me so roughly, and I was in total shock. A short while later, gentle hands were touching my face, saying my name softly. I realized it was Genevra, the Gypsy girl. She helped me to straighten my clothes the best she could, then led me out of the woods, half carrying me, in fact. It had started to rain, and she wiped my face with her scarf and patted my hand, soothed me. Before she left me, she said I should tell everyone I had fallen. She repeated that several times. Later, I realized she had been witness to my assault.”

  Charlie was aghast and he glanced at Alicia and then at Daphne. He said, “What a horrendous thing to happen to you, Mother. However could you bear such a shocking and heinous assault? How did you manage to recover?”

  “With the help of Alice Swann and Charlotte. Only the Swanns knew, no one else; not even my parents. But when I realized I was pregnant, they had to be told. Again it was Alice and Charlotte who saw me through that ordeal. Charlotte also came up with a plan to take me abroad to have the baby. But that didn’t become necessary. Because Hugo Stanton, my father’s cousin, came back to Cavendon after a long absence. He fell in love with me, as I did with him. And that’s the full story.”

  Lady Daphne sat back in her chair; tears glistened in her blue eyes and she groped for a handkerchief in her pocket.

  “Not quite the whole story,” Hugo said, his voice now firm and confident. “I did fall in love at first sight with the beautiful Lady Daphne, and sought Charles’s permission to court his daughter. He asked her, and she agreed to my courtship. However, she did tell me about the rape, and what had happened to her in the woods at Cavendon. She thought I should know that she was carrying another man’s child. She also explained that she would not give up the child for adoption, because it was hers and an Ingham.”

  He looked across at Alicia, and finished softly, “She loved you even before you were born, Alicia, and she wanted you, and I knew she would never let you go. You were her child. Please understand that. And I agreed the child she was carrying would be ours.”

  Touched though she was by her mother’s harrowing story, realizing her mother had been a victim of a terrible crime, she couldn’t help saying, “But why didn’t either of you tell me the truth? When I was old enough to know. I would have understood.”

  Hugo said, “Perhaps you would have, you’re very bright and intelligent, a true Ingham in every way. But why burden you with it? Why burden your mother with reliving it?”

  Standing up, Hugo went over to Alicia, took her hands, and pulled her to her feet. Gazing into her face, so like her mother’s, he confided, “Only a few minutes after you were born, I held you in my arms, and I saw the tiny little puffs of blond hair, the blue eyes, and I fell in love all over again. With you. I’ve loved you all of your life. You know, darling, any man can so easily and quickly plant his seed in a woman. But it’s what he does after the child is born that makes him a true father. A good father. Or a bad father. I have tried to be a good father to you, and I think I succeeded. I hope so.”

  Alicia saw the bright tears in Hugo’s eyes, and she welled up herself. She took a step forward and went into his outstretched arms. They stood there together, holding on to each other tightly until their tears finally stopped.

  Once Alicia was calmer, Hugo released her. She walked over to her mother, sat down in a chair, reached out, took Daphne’s hand in hers. “I’m sorry I spoke so rudely, so harshly. I really am. And now that I k
now your story I think you must have been very brave to go through what you did. I have just two questions, if you would answer them.”

  “I will try, darling.”

  “Who was the man who did that to you?”

  “I knew that it was Richard Torbett, the brother of my friend Julian. But I never told anyone, except your father. And he kept my secret.”

  “Is he still out there? Is he alive?”

  “No, he’s not alive. Your father happens to know he was killed in the trenches in France in the First World War.”

  Hugo joined them. Looking from Alicia to Charlie, he asked, “You will stay for lunch, won’t you? It would make us both so happy.”

  Taking charge before Alicia could do that, Charlie exclaimed, “We’d love to stay for lunch, wouldn’t we, Alicia?”

  She simply nodded her head, continued to hold her mother’s hand very tightly, beginning to understand so much about her parents and their life together.

  Forty-two

  Charlie walked along the corridor to the Features Department at the Daily Mail, where Elise Steinbrenner now worked, and knocked on Elise’s door, then walked straight in.

  She was sitting at her desk, looked up, and smiled brightly when she saw him. “Hello, Charlie.”

  He grinned at her, and asked, “How are you, Ducks? Liking the new job, I hope.”

  “I do, and I don’t know why you call me Ducks.”

  “It’s an affectionate term, maybe Cockney, and I like it, don’t you?”

  “Since it’s you saying it, yes.”

  Charlie sat down in a chair, and said, “I need your help. Urgently. Are you busy with a special feature at the moment?”

  “Jimmy has given me a series to do. About different aspects of the upcoming Festival of Britain next year. The building that’s going on now, like the South Bank, the repairing of the bomb sites in cities, that sort of thing. But I can help you. What do you need?” She had swiveled her chair, sat staring at him, her eyes questioning.

  “I’d like you to do some research, look for anything you can find on Adam Fennell and—”

  “Alicia’s fiancé?” she exclaimed, cutting in. “Why him?” Elise stared at Charlie, her expression puzzled.

  “He’s no longer her fiancé. She broke off her engagement to him this past weekend. Keep that under your hat, will you, please? For the moment anyway. Fennell hasn’t accepted it very well.”

  “Do you think he might be troublesome? He seemed like a nice enough chap when I met him at Greta’s house.”

  “He’s so charming he could sell ice to the Eskimos, as the saying goes. Although I prefer the expression ‘charm the pants off any woman.’ I think he might be a bit of a lothario. I also suspect he’s—” Charlie stopped, grimaced, and finished, “A bit touched in the head. I don’t think he’s dangerous, mind you, but you never really know about anyone, do you?”

  “No, you don’t. You and I see a lot, since we’re journalists. We’re not crime reporters, but we are on the inside of everything. And it’s a dangerous world out there.”

  “To be correct about this, perhaps you ought to tell Jimmy Maze you’re helping me out,” Charlie suggested.

  “It’s not a problem, honestly, Charlie. Jimmy’s nice, easygoing, and he likes me. That’s why he got me moved up here to work in Features. And he’d do anything in the world for you, Charlie.”

  “This is what I need. As much as you can get on Fennell. Where he comes from. Where he went to school. And university. How he got started in the film business. Who his backers are. In the past, and now. I do know a few things. For instance, he worked for Sir Alexander Korda for a couple of years. Then again, he often goes to New York. If anyone asks you why you’re doing a story on him, say it’s because Broken Image, his latest movie, is coming out in a few months. That’s your basic cover.”

  “I get it. Just in case Adam Fennell smells a rat?”

  “Correct.”

  “I’ll start here, in the Clippings Library, look in the folders, see what’s already been written about him.”

  “Thanks, Elise. If you have to go out anywhere, take cabs, make your life easier. I’ll cover your expenses on this, obviously.”

  Rising, he walked across the room, kissed her on the cheek, gave her a cheery grin, and went back to his own office.

  Seating himself at his desk, Charlie thought about Fennell and the four thousand pounds he and Alicia had given him. There was no doubt in his mind that Fennell would come back, asking for more. Blackmailers were like that. Even if he had it, he wouldn’t give Fennell any more money. But he didn’t have it. And neither did Alicia. They now had to go into their savings to pay their bills.

  He glanced at his watch. It was noon. He must leave immediately, take a cab to the Savoy Hotel and the Grill Room. That was where he was meeting Inspector Howard Pinkerton of Scotland Yard. Uncle Howard to them all, and married to a Swann, Aunt Dottie, who worked with Cecily and Greta Chalmers.

  * * *

  Charlie had asked for a quiet corner table in the Grill Room of the Savoy Hotel, and the maître d’, who knew him well, had been most obliging. He had arrived in the courtyard of the Savoy at exactly the same moment Howard had been alighting from his cab. They had laughed about their good timing as they shook hands, and went into the lobby together.

  Now they were seated at that quiet corner table, each enjoying a dry martini, and catching up on family matters and on Charlie’s career as a historian.

  “I’m certainly looking forward to reading your book on Dunkirk,” Howard said, “I think that’s going to be a big seller. Very timely: five years after the end of the war. Anyway, cheers again, Charlie, and lots of luck with the book. Now, you said you needed to tell me something important. So out with it. How can I be of help?”

  “Do you mind if we order first, Uncle Howard? The story’s a bit … complicated, shall we say.”

  “That’s fine with me, and I know what I’m having. Their wonderful roast beef on the trolley.”

  “And to start?”

  “Oysters. I can’t resist those Colchesters.”

  Charlie nodded. “I’ll have the same.” He beckoned to a hovering waiter and gave their order. Turning to Howard, he then asked, “Would you like wine with lunch?”

  Howard shook his head. “One martini for me. That’s my limit. It’s my day off, but I don’t like to drink too much at lunchtime.”

  “I’m with you there.” Charlie took a sip of the martini, then again turning slightly on the banquette, he looked intently at Howard and said, “I know you’re not a Swann, but you’re married to one. I would like to have the same confidentiality the other Inghams have with the Swanns. Can you do that?”

  Howard nodded. “I know you had to ask that, Charlie, but it goes without saying that I’ll keep all of your confidences. I had that arrangement with Great-Aunt Gwen, you know. Or perhaps you don’t know. And she and I solved many Ingham family problems together. So, what’s this all about?”

  Charlie filled him in regarding the broken engagement, the strange behavior of Adam Fennell, and the suspicion both he and Alicia harbored about Fennell’s mental state. Then he explained that Fennell had come up with a preposterous story about Alicia’s birth and Hugo not being her biological father. He then mentioned Fennell’s threat about giving the tale to a scandal sheet to blacken the Ingham name. “Headlines galore” was the way Charlie put it.

  Finally, taking his courage in both hands, Charlie confessed that he and Alicia had paid Fennell off to the tune of four thousand pounds.

  Howard had listened with intense concentration and, even after hearing about the blackmail payment, he had remained silent. Now he was running all the information through his well-trained mind. After a few swallows of the martini, he said, “I do wish you hadn’t done that. Paid him off. But you did, so that’s that. He may very well come to you again. Blackmailers usually do. If he does, make a date with him, and let me know. I’ll be there and I’ll soon scare th
e hell out of him. So, why did you pay him, Charlie?”

  “I know how damaging newspaper stories can be, especially in a sleazy scandal sheet. I’m also aware that mud sticks, no matter what. And there was gossip years ago, when my father returned to Cavendon. We all know the legendary story of how he fell in love with my mother instantly, and she with him. And that they married very quickly, too quickly for some of the women, I’m afraid. They probably thought Hugo had made her pregnant.”

  “I know all that, and I suppose even a bit of old gossip can be blown out of proportion, made to seem like something else entirely. So let us focus on Fennell. What do you know about him?”

  Charlie laughed hollowly and exclaimed, “Not very much. In fact, I would go so far as to say nothing at all. Other than that he’s charming, plausible, good-looking, a bit of a dandy, and apparently he’s been rather successful in the film business. Alicia fell for him, and we all took to him, and look where we are now.”

  “The victims of a clever con man, I suspect.” Howard shook his head. “I’ll be at the Yard the rest of the week, and I’ll do a bit of digging, see if I can find anything on him. Anything criminal, that is.”

  “That’s very good of you, Uncle Howard, thank you. I just want to protect Alicia.”

  Glancing at Charlie swiftly, Howard threw him an odd look. “Do you think Fennell is dangerous?”

  “I don’t know. However, he can act very strangely.”

  “Tell me everything you can think of about him, give me a profile of him. You’re a brilliant newspaperman, you can do that easier than most.”

  Charlie filled him in as well as he could. Between the oysters and the roast beef he racked his brain, endeavoring to remember every little detail he had noticed about Adam Fennell, however small or insignificant it might seem.

  Eventually he stopped and said, “That’s about it, Uncle Howard.”

  “You’ve just given me the profile of a psychopath,” Howard announced grimly.