Secrets of Cavendon

by Barbara Taylor Bradford

  The other guests who couldn’t fit into the small library had gone upstairs to the sitting room, where coffee and liqueurs were being served.

  Victoria looked across at Alicia, saw that she liked Alex, and that he felt the same way. The two of them were chatting amiably and laughing a lot, when Alicia stepped back, drawing closer to the bookshelves.

  Her blond hair was longer now, and as she moved her body, tossed back her hair, it became entangled with the three roses in the glass vase. As she tried to free her hair from the roses, she knocked the glass vase onto the floor, then drew her hair around her neck and pulled out the three roses, with Alex helping her.

  When he picked up the glass vase and straightened, he found himself staring at a framed photograph on the shelf, which until that moment had been hidden by the vase of roses.

  Alex drew closer, stared at the picture, and exclaimed, “Why is that man in this photograph with the Inghams?”

  Alicia followed his gaze and gasped, wondering why that picture was still here in Greta’s house. It had been taken at Cavendon the first weekend Fennell had visited them. She was also in it, as were Cecily, Miles, and Charlie.

  She gaped at Alex and said, “Do you know Adam Fennell?”

  “So that’s what he’s calling himself now, is it?”

  Charlie, who had heard this exchange, was on his feet instantly. He stepped over to the bookshelf, said to Alex, “What can you tell us about him? He’s caused us a great deal of trouble.”

  The room was suddenly silent, and Charlie said to Alex, “Let’s find a private spot. Come on, Alicia.”

  Victoria said, “What’s the matter? Is something wrong?”

  “No, no, it’s nothing, Vicki. I think Alex might be able to help us, that’s all. Be back in a few minutes.” Charlie took the framed photograph off the shelf, stuck it under his arm.

  The three of them left the library. Charlie said, “Let’s go upstairs to Greta’s bedroom. It’ll be quiet in there. I need you to speak to Uncle Howard, Alex. I’ll get him, and Elise as well. Alicia, take Alex into Greta’s bedroom, please. I’ll join you in a moment.”

  She simply nodded, went on up the stairs. Alex hurried after her, asking, “How do you know that chap? He’s bad news.”

  “Charlie will explain,” Alicia muttered, stunned that Alex Poniatowski knew Fennell; knew his real name, by the sound of it.

  * * *

  Greta told Charlie it was perfectly all right for him to take Elise and Uncle Howard into her bedroom, because of something they had been working on, and which had come up urgently and unexpectedly.

  Once the three of them joined Alicia and Alex, Charlie said, “What’s Adam Fennell’s real name, Alex?”

  “Fred Hicks. How do you know him? He’s the worst, a real con man. And God only knows what else.”

  Taking a deep breath, Alicia said, “He was the associate producer of my last film. We became involved, got engaged. For a few months he was my fiancé, but I broke it off recently.”

  “I can only say it’s your good luck to have done that. He’s a criminal.”

  Howard said, “How do you know this chap, Hicks?”

  “I was in the Polish Division of the British Army during the war, and I had a very good friend, Giles Saunders, who was in the regular British Army. A career officer. We knew each other through our families. Anyway, I met this chap, Hicks, through my friend Giles, because they were in the same platoon for a time. He’d cheated us both in various ways, and just when we were about to do something about it, he killed an officer and went AWOL.”

  “He murdered an officer?” Howard stared at Alex. “Was he ever caught and charged? What about the Military Police? Didn’t they catch him? Arrest him?”

  “They’re still looking for him, I believe. Giles would know, he’s still in the army, and now with the Military Police, in fact.”

  “Then you must let him know at once,” Howard said.

  “I will. But where is Hicks? Do you know? Or has he gone on the run again?”

  “He’s disappeared into thin air,” Charlie said, and handed the photograph to Alex. “Are you certain that this is Hicks?”

  “I am. He looks different, younger than he did in nineteen forty, oddly enough, and his hair is slicker. He’s become a bit of a dandy. Despite the many changes in his appearance, I know it’s him. And we have to deal with him, don’t we? Before he causes more trouble. Now, tell me why you’re after him?”

  “It’s like this,” Howard said. “Charlie was worried about Fennell, who was angry with Alicia when she broke off with him. Charlie thought he might be dangerous. So we met, he told me various things, and I decided I should get involved. I am explaining this so you understand this is now an official Scotland Yard investigation, and not a family checkout by Uncle Howard.”

  “I understand, Inspector,” Alex answered, realizing the gravity of the situation.

  “You cannot discuss anything I tell you with anyone. It’s highly confidential.”

  Alex nodded. “I realize the need for that. You have my word.”

  “To continue. I went up to Cavendon to check the bedroom Fennell had used. Took my fingerprint boys with me. Just in case. You never know when you might need them.”

  “Did you want to compare them with someone’s?” Alex asked.

  “I didn’t have anyone’s. Not at first. It was a lucky break that Fennell forgot his favorite fountain pen. We got a beautiful set of his prints off the pen, and there were no other prints on it. Later, when we compared the prints from the pen to those from other rooms, we knew exactly where he’d been in the house.”

  “The pen nailed him,” Alex said. “You could check which rooms he had been in quite easily.”

  “Exactly,” Howard replied. “Charlie suspected Fennell had discovered a family secret from a leather record book kept in a trunk in the attic. Cecily says someone broke into the trunk, read the record book, and then put it back. She thinks Aunt Charlotte, who always read in bed, might have heard a noise and gone to look in the corridor. You see, the door to the attic is opposite her bedroom.”

  Alex nodded. “She saw Fennell with the record book. Is that your conclusion?”

  “Yes. We all believe that, in fact. Fennell probably pushed her back into her bedroom, and they may have had a struggle. In any case, Aunt Charlotte ended up dead, I’m afraid,” Howard finished.

  “I remember Victoria telling me that Aunt Charlotte had had an accident, had fallen in the night and hit her head on a brass fender.” Alex looked at Howard intently. “Do you think he bashed her head in with something? Then placed her against the fender to make it look like a fall?”

  “It’s possible. We found Fennell’s prints on a chest and on a wooden chair in her bedroom, Alex. So he was definitely in there. We also found his prints on the record book.”

  “So he’s murdered for a second time,” Alex exclaimed. “I’ll get in touch with my friend with the Military Police tomorrow morning, first thing. I think the two of you should meet.”

  “Thanks, and I will inform Interpol.”

  Charlie said, “Perhaps we ought to go back to the party. They’ll be wondering what’s going on. Right, Elise?”

  She smiled. “Yes, and I just want to say that this bit of important news has been the icing on the cake.”

  * * *

  Elise was surprised that nothing much had happened regarding the Fennell investigation in the last couple of weeks.

  She, Charlie, and Howard were no wiser than they had been before Alex Poniatowski told them Fennell’s real name. They were all frustrated.

  One good thing had happened, again thanks to Alex. He had suddenly remembered about ten days ago that Fred Hicks had once had a brother called Andy who had died.

  Alex had suggested to Howard that Fennell might have stolen his brother’s identity when he left the army. He needed a birth certificate in order to get a passport, and he couldn’t use his own because he had gone AWOL.

 
She knew that Howard had immediately informed the Military Police, who were still hunting for Fred Hicks, and Interpol as well. Once more, it was a waiting game.

  In the meantime, Elise had been busy with her work on the paper; she was also redecorating her flat, which is where Alistair and she would live after they were married in September.

  They had made that late date so that their wedding didn’t collide with Victoria’s. She was marrying Christopher in May.

  Elise sat up straighter in the chair, suddenly realizing she had a fitting at Swann in Burlington Arcade at five o’clock today. Cecily had designed Victoria’s gown and hers. She was the only bridesmaid, with little Lady Gwen as the flower girl.

  She was picking up her bag and reaching for her jacket, when her door flew open and Charlie rushed in looking excited. “They’ve found him, Elise! Interpol has found Fred Hicks, aka Adam Fennell, and he’s—”

  “Been arrested!” she cut in, her eyes shining. “Thank God for that. Now we can all breathe easier, and most especially Alicia.”

  “We can indeed,” Charlie agreed. “But Interpol hasn’t arrested him, Elise. They found his dead body in a back street in Naples. Shot execution style, with a bullet in the back of his head.”

  Elise was flabbergasted. “What else did Uncle Howard tell you?”

  “He doesn’t have too many more details at the moment. He’s awaiting a full report. He’s going to call me again in a few hours.”

  “Why on earth was Fennell in Naples?” She frowned. “That’s an odd place for him to be.”

  “Not at all. According to Uncle Howard, Interpol had been tipped off by an informer that a man called Josh Miniver, an Englishman, was dealing drugs with the Cosa Nostra, the Italian Mafia. Seemingly, Fennell double-crossed the capo di tutti capi, the tsar of a vast criminal empire in Italy. Bad judgment on his part. Interpol recognized who the chap called Miniver really was, because they had Fennell’s picture to go on.”

  “They also identified him by his fingerprints, didn’t they?”

  Charlie grinned. “As Alex said, nailed by a fountain pen. Apparently, Fennell was hooked up with some Italian countess in Rome, and living the high life.”

  “Just imagine … he called himself Miniver, no doubt because of all those wartime films starring Greer Garson. What a dope.”

  “And a psychopath, according to Howard,” Charlie replied. “For Alicia, it’s a new beginning, I hope.”

  Forty-five

  Lady Daphne had finally come back to Cavendon with her husband, Hugo Ingham Stanton. They had arrived on Monday, May 15th, and the last two days had been easy and affectionate, with no mention of Daphne’s angry departure. Her brother, Miles, and Cecily had been welcoming.

  In a sense, it’s like I’ve never been away, Daphne thought now as she walked around the new gardens Harry had created last summer.

  They looked beautiful. Every single thing looked beautiful. And the rooms she had so lovingly decorated and cherished had been left untouched. Nothing had been changed, and for that she was truly grateful. Her hard work over the years had not been lost, had not been in vain.

  Glancing at her watch, she realized she should make her way to the walled rose garden in Cavendon Park. She had asked Cecily to meet her there at three o’clock. “Just for a little chat,” she had said to her yesterday. “I have a few things to share with you.”

  Cecily had accepted at once and had added, “You’ve made my mother so happy that you decided to come to Victoria’s wedding, Daphne. And I’m happy, too, that you’re here.”

  The moment she and Hugo had arrived, they had been struck by Victoria’s beauty. In the last ten months, the girl had matured, become a young woman, and Daphne knew Alice loved her like a daughter.

  The little evacuee, so shy, so wary, had blossomed like a flower in Harry’s gardens. And here she was, about to marry Britain’s great war hero in ten days’ time. God bless her, Daphne thought. She’s always been a good girl, thoughtful and kind.

  When Daphne went down the steps into the rose garden, she noticed that some of the early spring roses had already bloomed, and their scent was so familiar she almost started to cry … so many memories here in this garden, everywhere at Cavendon.

  She had been born here, grown up here, lived all her married life here. And then she had run away from it all. She should never have abandoned this place, or the people who lived here. She had been wrong. She must make it right.

  Daphne saw Cecily coming down the steps and waved. Her heart tightened when she noticed the touches of gray in that glorious russet hair, the fine lines around Cecily’s eyes. Not many, just a few, and she looked wonderful for her age. She had celebrated her forty-ninth birthday the first week of May; she herself was fifty-three, and she didn’t look so bad, either. We’ve weathered the years well, she and I. And we’ve been through so much together. I hope she can forgive me for the way I behaved last year.

  The moment she sat down next to her on the garden seat, Daphne knew that Cecily harbored no animosity toward her. She was smiling and there was the glow of happiness in her eyes.

  Daphne said, “Look, I brought this to show you, Ceci.” As she spoke, she pointed to the linen shopping bag, opened it, and ruffled the envelopes inside.

  Cecily stared at her, a surprised look on her face. “Are those the notes and cards I sent you over the months you’ve been away?”

  “Yes, and I read every one, and wept, and loved you more and more, and grieved because I’d treated you badly. I’m sorry, Cecily, that I judged you so harshly.”

  “I never knew whether you’d received them or not, because you never replied. But I hoped you had. You’re not giving them back to me, are you?” Cecily’s voice had suddenly risen, was touched with alarm.

  “Of course I’m not,” Daphne exclaimed, pulling the linen bag closer to her. “I reread them all the time. I just wanted you to know how important they’ve been to me, and still are.”

  “Diedre and Dulcie are thrilled that you’re here, and they can’t wait to see you this weekend,” Cecily said, her voice warm and loving.

  Daphne nodded, sat back against the seat and looked around the garden, and then up at Cavendon, the great house on the hill.

  Turning to face her sister-in-law, she said, “It’s lasted for almost two hundred years, and that’s what you’re doing, endeavoring to make it last longer, keep it safe forever. I understand that now.”

  Cecily nodded, and frowned slightly when she saw tears glistening on Daphne’s lashes. She was about to speak, when Daphne took hold of her hand, brought it to her lips, and kissed it lightly, affectionately.

  After a moment, Daphne said, “I’ve come back to Cavendon … to die. If you’ll let me stay.”

  “Daphne! Daphne! Whatever are you saying? What do you mean?” Cecily cried, filling with sudden fear on hearing these words. Her throat thickened, and she shook her head. “Please tell me what you mean?” Her voice was broken with tears.

  “I have cancer. It’s very bad, Ceci. I have about six months at the most, and I do want to die here. This is my home, where I’ve lived always … please say I can stay.”

  “Oh my God, Daphne, of course you can stay! I thought you’d come back to stay forever. I would never keep you away, you’ve helped to make Cavendon what it is. You belong here. Oh, please, tell me we can get new doctors for you. We must try to cure you. I don’t want you to die. Oh, Daphne, Daphne, I love you…”

  Tears were sliding down Cecily’s cheeks. She was in shock, could hardly believe this conversation was happening, and she began to shake.

  Daphne moved closer to her and put her arms around her. “There’s nothing anyone can do, Cecily. We’ve seen the best doctors in Switzerland. None better anywhere, I’m sure … the facts are the facts, and I must accept them.”

  Cecily was heartbroken, unable to stop weeping. Daphne held her tightly, endeavoring to soothe her, comfort her, calm her—this woman she had known all her life. Eventually, the sobbi
ng stopped, and Cecily tried to pull herself together.

  Sitting up, releasing Daphne, Cecily found her handkerchief and wiped her eyes. “How long have you known?” she asked, once she was feeling steadier.

  “I began to feel unwell about last October, and we went to see my doctor. He told me, and put me on the best medicine, and it worked for a while. But not anymore.” Daphne paused, swept her hands across her damp face. “That’s why we didn’t come at Christmas. I just felt too ill.”

  “But why didn’t you tell me? Or Miles?” Cecily looked deeply into her face. “We would have come to see you and Hugo. You must know how much we love you both. You’re our family, and differences should never get in the way of our feelings for each other. We must stand together in adversity.”

  “I didn’t want to burden you.”

  “Is that why you stayed away from Aunt Charlotte’s funeral?” Cecily ventured softly.

  “It is. I felt unwell again, and it was better just to remain in Zurich. I’m sorry, perhaps I should have told you then. Please forgive me.”

  “Daphne, darling Daphne, there’s nothing to forgive. Not about anything. And you will stay here by my side and I will look after you, take care of you. I promise. And truly there’s nothing to forgive, because you’ve never done anything wrong.”

  “Thank you, Ceci. There is something else we must discuss, and this is very serious. No one must know I have cancer, and that I’m dying. No one at all.”

  Cecily was startled by this statement, and exclaimed, “But I must tell Miles; he’s your brother, the head of the family.” She shook her head vehemently, her face troubled.

  Daphne took a deep breath and plunged in. “I honestly don’t want anyone to know. Only Hugo and you. I don’t want everybody worrying, fussing, and sympathizing with me. I want to live the last months I have on earth as if I am in normal health. I don’t want my children to know.”

  “Oh Daphne, I’m not sure it’s right to keep this from them.”

  “Cecily, listen to me. This is the one last wonderful thing you can do for me. And that is to protect me. Let me have those few happy months. Please.”