The Cavendon Women

by Barbara Taylor Bradford

  Alice understood exactly what her husband was thinking with just one glance at his face. “They’ve both rendered you speechless, haven’t they, Walter?” She said this with a warm but knowing look. “I do believe it’s a grand day for the Swanns.”

  “It is indeed,” he agreed, then walked over and kissed Cecily on her cheek. “Congratulations, you’ve outdone yourself.”

  Turning to Charlotte, he continued. “And you, Aunt Charlotte, are without a doubt the most beautiful Countess of Mowbray I’ve ever seen. Congratulations to you, too.”

  “I’m not a countess yet.”

  “You will be shortly, and you’re going to knock their socks off.”

  The three women laughed, and Cecily announced, “We must go.”

  Walter offered his arm to the bride. “I’m thrilled I’m the one to give you away.” Glancing across at Cecily, he added, “Now I understand why you’ve had a tarpaulin laid from the end of the stable yard up to the church. To protect the hem of the dress and the pale blue shoes.”

  Cecily nodded. “Correct. But it wasn’t my idea, actually, Father. Miles thought of it when I told him Aunt Charlotte must walk to the church because I didn’t want her to crease her gown sitting in a car.” Now hurrying across the grand entrance hall where Walter had been waiting, she added, “And now it’s time to take that walk. Come on, all of you, let’s go to the church.”

  * * *

  The small church stood on a rise behind the stable block. It had been built when Cavendon Hall was erected and was made of the same stone.

  Charlotte was well aware how meaningful it was to the Inghams and the Swanns, who had worshipped God here, held their christenings, marriages, and funerals in this sacred place.

  As she stood at the top of the nave, clinging to Walter’s arm, its ancient history seemed to wrap itself around her, and comfortingly so. The past was the present … immutable. Those long gone were part of them, had made them who they were, and there was something reassuring to her about their lineages, the way they were bound together …

  She glanced up at the high-flung ceiling, crossed with dark beams, and then her eyes lighted on the marvelous stained-glass windows, their brilliant jewel colors glittering in the bright July sunlight filtering through. They depicted long-dead Inghams resplendent in their armor, bearing their shields. Proud and valiant men.

  The church had a timelessness to it. She knew it would stand forever, defying the passage of time, would be a place of sanctity and comfort for those who would worship there in the future long after she was gone.

  Suddenly she became aware of the cold, and shivered, as she usually did here. Then she took a deep breath and settled herself. The air smelled of mildew and dust. But today the mustiness was overlaid with the intense scent of flowers, every kind of flower, it seemed to her.

  Her eyes roamed swiftly; she noticed the tall urns of blossoms running along each wall on either side of the nave, and the altar was a mass of roses in tall vases, and was breathtaking. She was certain this was Harry’s work. Still, there was no doubt in her mind that Miles and Cecily had been behind this profuse floral display. They so wanted to make this day special for her and Charles.

  For a few seconds Charlotte got lost in her thoughts. Earlier she had looked in the cheval mirror and seen another woman. And, in fact, she was exactly that. In a few minutes her life would change. She would become a woman who had just taken on enormous responsibilities as the wife of the sixth earl.

  She knew it was her duty to help Charles uphold the honor of the Ingham name; support the entire family; protect this great stately home, its three villages, and the villagers who lived there; and do everything in her power to ensure the Ingham bloodline. She would not shirk these duties; she welcomed them.

  The pressure of Walter’s hand on hers increased, and she glanced at him. At the same moment she became aware of low-level noises … the rustling of clothes, whispers, hurried voices, a few coughs and clearing of throats, the murmur of the bridesmaids behind her. Suddenly Mrs. Parkington began to play the first strains of the wedding march on the organ.

  “It’s time,” Walter whispered, and began to slowly lead her down the middle aisle.

  Charlotte fell into step with him.

  She carefully avoided looking from side to side and smiling at those seated in the pews. Instead she stared straight ahead, her eyes focused intently on Charles Ingham.

  He was standing at the altar with Miles, waiting for her, a look of anticipation on his face … that face she had known and loved all of her life. As familiar to her as her own. As she drew closer, he began to smile, and he was still smiling when Walter put her hand in his, then stepped back and away from the altar.

  They stood together in front of the vicar, who began the marriage ceremony. It seemed to Charlotte that the words rushed by, and that she answered by rote, as did Charles. And then, quite unexpectedly, there were gold wedding rings on their fingers and they were pronounced man and wife. And Charles was holding her in his arms, telling her how much he loved her.

  Charlotte felt slightly dazed when, a few seconds later, they were walking down the aisle together, arm in arm and clinging to each other.

  When they stepped out of the church and into the sunlight, they saw a sea of smiling faces. The grass lawns on each side of the stone path were filled with villagers, who had come to wish them well.

  They threw confetti and rose petals and cheered Charles and Charlotte. Someone began to sing, “Here comes the bride.” And there was a lot of clapping and cheering once again. No one doubted how much they cared for the couple who had just been married. The sixth earl could do no wrong in their eyes and he deserved his new countess.

  Laughing in the rain of rose petals, Charles and Charlotte walked down the path, across the tarpaulin, and onto the terrace. All of a sudden they found themselves entirely alone, standing in the pale green sitting room of the South Wing.

  Charles took her in his arms and kissed her, and she kissed him in return, and then they stood apart and simply stared at each other. Both looked slightly stunned.

  “The deed is done,” Charles finally said. “No going back now. You’re finally actually mine.” Then he added, the sound of wonder in his voice, “Thank you for making all my dreams come true, my darling.”

  “And thank you, Charles, for doing the same for me. I—” She broke off as Miles and Cecily came rushing into the room, smiling but also looking very purposeful.

  After they congratulated them, Miles announced briskly, “I’m afraid we must now go to the yellow drawing room, Papa; the photographer is waiting for us there. The wedding pictures have to be taken before lunch. Right now, in fact.”

  “Of course,” Charles said, taking hold of Charlotte’s hand.

  Charlotte was delighted that Cecily appeared to be more relaxed when she was with Miles, and he had grown more cheerful, less tense and anxiety-ridden. And she now believed everything would be fine, would work out the way she had hoped. All would be well with the Inghams.

  She was wrong. Things were not going to be fine. Storm clouds were gathering over Cavendon and trouble was brewing.

  Part Two

  DECEPTIONS REVEALED

  September 1926

  I expect to pass through this world but once; any good thing, therefore that I can do, or any kindness that I can show to my fellow creature, let me do it now; let me not defer or neglect it, for I shall not pass this way again.

  —Proverbial saying

  Love comforteth like sunshine after rain.

  —William Shakespeare

  Twenty-two

  James Brentwood jumped out of the cab when it came to a standstill, slammed the door shut, pressed far too much money into the cabbie’s hand, and rushed into Brown’s Hotel.

  He was late for an appointment, which irked him. He enjoyed his reputation for never being late; nor did he wish to be stopped by passersby eager to congratulate him. Many had already done so in the last week. He w
asn’t displeased by shows of affection from the public; in fact, he rather enjoyed hearing their praise, but, very simply, he was in a hurry this afternoon.

  James slowed his pace as he strode across the hotel’s front lobby, began to walk in a more sedate manner. Smiles and whispers of congratulation from the various staff members floated around him. He nodded and smiled and murmured his thanks, as always gracious, his charm surfacing naturally, as it usually did. He was a man blessed with enormous charisma, and good looks.

  James Brentwood, called Jamie by his family and close friends, was one of England’s most renowned actors, a living legend at the age of thirty-three, acclaimed by critics and the public alike. A week ago it had been announced that he was to receive the most prestigious award from the Critics’ Circle, an important group in the world of classical theater. Ever since then congratulations had been flowing in, and the press coverage was endless.

  When he reached the lovely formal drawing room where afternoon tea was being served, James saw that it wasn’t too full, and this pleased him. He hovered in the entrance for a few seconds, his dark brown eyes glancing around, seeking his agent and manager.

  Felix Lambert, seated in a discreet corner reading a piece of paper, knew at once that James had arrived. The room had gone suddenly quiet. Silence reigned. And there was a sense of excitement in the air.

  Looking up, Felix watched the actor walking forward, noticed how men threw curious glances at him, the women more adoring looks. He smiled inwardly. Not bad for the docker’s lad from the East End, he thought, and instantly had a picture in his mind’s eye of the young Jimmy Wood he had met. Jimmy had been fifteen at the time, bursting with tremendous talent and charisma even at that tender age.

  Felix and his wife, Constance, had discovered Jimmy at Madame Adelia Foster’s Drama School for Children. Constantly on the lookout for new young talent, they always went to Adelia’s annual summer concert.

  What guts, nerve, and confidence the boy had shown, Felix thought now. Jimmy had walked out onto the empty stage, dressed only in tights, a jerkin, and a single piece of armor—a metal breastplate. He had stood and done one of the great Shakespearean speeches from Henry IV, quite an undertaking for any actor. Jimmy had mesmerized and intoxicated the entire audience, who couldn’t stop clapping at the end.

  That evening Felix and Constance had told Jimmy they thought he should attend the Royal Academy of Dramatic Art, and explained that they were certain they could get him accepted. Jimmy had obviously liked the idea, but had swiftly pointed out that they had to speak to his three sisters, Ruby, Dolores, and Faye, who were in control of his career, and of his life, actually.

  A few days later they all met. The three sisters had not needed any persuasion, because they understood that RADA was a big step up the ladder to stardom for their beloved Jimmy, the apple of their eyes. That he would be a star was a foregone conclusion in the Wood family. Felix had come to realize this at once. Jimmy was their hero, their rescuer, the bringer of good fortune to their little clan.

  “You have a weird look on your face,” James said when he arrived at the table.

  Felix jumped up, laughed as they embraced each other. He said, “I was watching you navigate the room, looking for all the world like the great star you are, and remembering little Jimmy Wood from the docks that first night I met him all those years ago.”

  “I often think of that night, and how lucky I was you and Constance were there at Madame Adelia’s children’s theater. You changed my life, you know.”

  “It would have happened anyway. You were loaded with talent, had everything you needed to walk onto a stage and take total command of it. By the way, I’ve ordered the full tea for both of us. I missed lunch and you always eat at this time before going to work.”

  “Thanks, and I am rather hungry myself.” Settling back in the chair, James said, “What’s all this about a musical, of all things? I couldn’t believe my ears when you phoned me this morning.”

  “It’s a thought I had the other day, when I had lunch with Mortimer Jackson. He’s just come back from New York, and he’d been spending time with Jerome Kern. Kern told him he was trying to buy a new novel, by the writer Edna Ferber. It’s called Show Boat, and Kern thinks it would make a sensational musical. He would write the music, and he’s managed to get Oscar Hammerstein the second to agree to write the book and lyrics. They want to produce it on Broadway sometime in 1927, about a year from now. Then they would bring it to the West End. That’s when I jumped in, and suggested you for the lead when that happened.”

  “Good God, Felix, that’s a long way off! What am I going to do in between? You know I soon get itchy feet.”

  “I know, and you do only have a few months left in Hamlet at the Old Vic. This last year has been wonderful for you, Jamie, but frankly I’m surprised you’re not bored with Hamlet by now.”

  “Some days I am; then when I walk the boards something extraordinary happens … I can’t help myself. I just become Hamlet again, throw myself into the part.” He grinned at Felix. “Funny, mate, init, but I ain’t got no choice,” he added, reverting to Cockney.

  A waiter arrived with teapots; plates of small finger sandwiches, scones, strawberry jam and clotted cream; and all the paraphernalia of afternoon tea. They fell into silence until the waiter poured the tea then left.

  James said, “You can tell Mortimer Jackson I might well be interested when he has the show up and running on Broadway. Then I’ll go over to New York to see it, and give him my answer.”

  Felix chortled. “Very clever, me lad, very clever.”

  James merely smiled, and glanced around the room again as several people came in. It was then that he saw the two women seated in the other corner. At once, he recognized Olive Wilson, lady’s maid to Felicity Pierce. He had no idea who the other woman was, but she looked familiar. He was frowning when he turned back to Felix and reached for another cucumber sandwich.

  Felix said, “The beautiful blonde caught your eye, did she?”

  “Not really, although she is very beautiful. I know the other woman. Well, I don’t actually know her, but she works for Felicity Pierce. I’ve bumped into her when I’ve been at Felicity’s house at dinner parties. Her name is Wilson, and she’s Felicity’s lady’s maid.”

  Felix, glancing across at Olive Wilson, nodded. He studied James for a moment before saying, “I hope you don’t see much of Lawrence Pierce. He’s got the most unsavory reputation, Jamie. He even offers friends his widow’s gym for an illicit rendezvous, and then asks if he can come and join in. Or at least watch them having a go.”

  James was gaping at Felix. “What’s a widow’s gym, for heaven’s sake?”

  “Never heard the expression before?”

  “No, I haven’t, I’m afraid.”

  “A widow’s gym is a man’s secret flat or set of rooms, where he takes his women. Widows, spinsters, married women, very young women, sometimes very young girls. He takes them through his form of gymnastics, they say. He’s known for throwing orgies also. It might be better not to be seen in his company too often, Jimmy lad.”

  “I agree. In fact, I’d heard quite a few strange things about him, and I’ve steered clear. He’s never been my cup of tea. I’ve never liked him, actually.”

  “I can’t imagine why Felicity stays with him. She’s a wealthy woman in her own right, so I’m told. She’s in control.”

  “I think she is wealthy, through her late father. He left her a fortune, according to Pierce. I’ve also been led to believe that once he’s bedded a woman she’s his for life. Something about his technique between the sheets and ecstasy.”

  Felix shook his head. “Remind me, if ever I need special surgery, to avoid Mr. Lawrence Pierce. It seems to me he might be burning the candle at both ends, and that he might have shaking hands in the morning … hands not quite perfect for surgery.”

  James chuckled, and then began to talk about 1927, and what he would do after Hamlet finally closed
its long run in December.

  * * *

  “I’m so glad you telephoned me on Wednesday, Lady Daphne, and thank you for inviting me to tea. I was hoping to hear from you, even thinking of getting in touch with you myself,” Olive Wilson said.

  “It must have been mental telepathy,” Daphne answered warmly, smiling at her. “Certainly you’ve been on my mind a lot.”

  A worried frown knotted Olive’s brows, and she said quickly, “I know I promised to come to Cavendon by the end of September, but I don’t think I can, m’lady.”

  “My mother won’t accept your resignation now, is that it?”

  Olive shook her head. “Oh no, she did accept it months ago. But as I told you on the phone, she’s not well, Lady Daphne, and I’d like to see her back on her feet before I leave Charles Street.”

  “I didn’t realize she was that ill. What’s wrong?” Daphne was suddenly worried, thinking of the rumors about Lawrence Pierce.

  “She caught a bad cold in Monte Carlo, and it’s turned into bronchitis,” Olive explained. “But her doctor says she’s making good progress after a few days spent in bed here. I’m sorry I can’t come just yet, m’lady.” Olive Wilson hesitated, and then asked, “That is why you phoned me, isn’t it?”

  “Actually, it’s not. I wanted to ask you something rather important, Wilson, and confide in you about a problem.” Leaning forward, Daphne murmured in a low tone, “I know you must handle my mother’s jewelry, and I was wondering if you had come across a ruby-and-diamond tiara and a ruby-and-diamond bracelet, as well as Cartier diamond earrings and a diamond bow brooch?”

  “Yes, of course I have, Lady Daphne, not that she’s been wearing the tiara lately, only the bow brooch and diamond earrings.” Olive stared at her, saw the concern in her blue eyes. “What’s the matter, m’lady? I know there’s something wrong … terribly wrong.”