Secrets of Cavendon: A gripping historical saga full of intrigue and drama. Barbara Taylor Bradford
been invalided out of the Air Force were startlingly beautiful and had drawn many visitors.
Miles joined her on the steps, putting his arm around her. ‘I missed you at breakfast. As adorable and entertaining as our children are, they can hardly take your place, my love.’
‘I needed to get to my desk, go over the latest figures Aunt Dottie sent up from London. Before going to the meeting.’
‘Bloody hell! I’d forgotten about the Saturday morning meeting,’ Miles exclaimed, sounding annoyed.
Cecily gave him a nod and grimaced.
Miles said, ‘Come on then, madam, buck up at once! Gird on your sword and prepare to do battle. You have no alternative, you know. The die is cast!’
‘Indeed it is.’ She laughed. ‘I’m off,’ she added, ‘there won’t be a battle, maybe a bit of grumbling, and whining, but that’s all.’ She blew him a kiss.
‘I know that. Still, just think, next week we’ll be all alone with our little brood and Aunt Charlotte. The rest of the family will have gone off on their holidays, thank God.’
‘Like you, I can’t wait,’ she replied, and left him standing on the steps of the annexe. She made her way across the stable yard, heading for the terrace which ran along the back of the house, facing Cavendon Park.
When she stepped onto the terrace a few seconds later, her three sisters-in-law and aunt had not yet arrived for their regular weekly catch-up. She sat down in a wicker chair, her gaze resting on the lush park which flowed to the edge of Little Skell village.
On the left side of the park was the lake where the two white swans floated, a matched pair, bonded for life, as were all swans. It had been the first Earl, Humphrey Ingham, who had decreed there must always be swans at Cavendon to honour his liegeman, James Swann.
The spectacular view had not changed over the many years, not since the 1700s, in fact, when the house had first been built. But everything else had. Things were different now … nothing was the same any more. Anywhere.
Cecily sat drifting with her thoughts, thinking of the last four years. In 1945, when the war had ended in victory, the euphoria of the public had been high. Unfortunately, that sense of pride, triumph and relief had soon drifted off, and the rot had set in. The country was broke, the Great British Empire was creeping away, disappearing into nothingness, and everyone grumbled, complained and couldn’t wait for things to get better. They didn’t. The worst thing of it was that Churchill was out of office; the Labour Party had won the election and Clement Attlee had been made Prime Minister.
City councils without funds were unable to function properly. Bomb sites, great gaping holes in the ground, eyesores in every big city, had been left untouched for lack of money and materials. It was the same with ruined buildings; there were piles of rubble everywhere, making everyone miserable because they were constant reminders of the war. And the country was still suffering rationing on much of the food and day-to-day goods they needed.
It seemed to Cecily that Britain had just stood still. Now, in 1949, she hoped things were improving: people were becoming more optimistic once more and there was a sense of cheerfulness in the air. Princess Elizabeth’s wedding eighteen months earlier had helped lift the country’s spirits.
On the other hand, Britain was still a country mostly made up of old men, women and children. Hundreds of thousands of young men had not returned from battle, had died in foreign lands. She knew how much this had affected Cavendon. They were a large estate and had lost many of their young men from the tenant farms and the villages, the families devastated by loss for the second time in a generation. And Cavendon was an agricultural estate that needed sturdy men to till the land, harvest the crops, tend the cattle and sheep.
Miles said they were lucky that two of the Land Army girls had stayed on, and were running several of the tenant farms; by advertising in local newspapers, Harry had managed to hire three families to move into tenant farms in the nearby villages of Mowbray and High Clough.
Hearing voices, Cecily swung around and immediately stood up. Through the French doors she saw Aunt Charlotte, who was talking to Eric Swann, head butler at Cavendon.
Cecily went into the library to greet her aunt, exclaiming, ‘Good morning, I didn’t expect you to come today, Aunt Charlotte.’ Like her, her great-aunt was a Swann who’d married an Ingham – though in Charlotte’s case not until later in life. Now the Dowager Countess of Mowbray, the older woman retained the poise and upright bearing she’d had from girlhood. Her face was lined with her years now, and her hair white.
‘Hello, Ceci – and why not? It’s the last of the meetings for the summer. I should be here.’
Looking across at Eric, Cecily said, ‘I see you’ve brought in coffee, Eric. I’d love a cup, please. And what about you, Aunt Charlotte?’
‘Yes, of course, I’ll join you. We can have a chat before the others get here.’
‘Right away, my lady,’ Eric said, and turned to the tray on the table.
Charlotte walked over to the fireplace and sat down, and beckoned for Cecily to join her. ‘There is something I must tell you … privately.’
But before she could say anything else, the door of the library opened and Lady Diedre came in. The eldest of the Ingham sisters, she was an elegant woman of fifty-six, her blonde hair now streaked with grey, but dressed as usual in the most up-to-date fashions. Today she wore the chic, wide-leg trousers she adored, teamed with a relaxed silk blouse.
Cecily raised her eyebrows at Charlotte. Their private conversation would have to wait. She stood up to welcome her sister-in-law. Diedre was widely regarded as the brains of the siblings, having worked for years at the War Office. She didn’t suffer fools gladly, but her razor-sharp intelligence always livened up any gathering. Cecily gave her an affectionate kiss and pointed her towards the coffee.
She was followed by Lady Dulcie, the youngest Ingham sister, now in her early forties. Dulcie might be slightly plumper and a mother of three, but she was still the baby of the family in all of their eyes. As they got themselves settled, Diedre leaned across to Cecily and said, ‘I just want to congratulate you on the success of the gift shop. You’ve done a marvellous job, and certainly the income from it is proving very useful.’
‘Thank you,’ Cecily answered, and smiled gratefully at her. It was Diedre who was usually the peacemaker when any problems arose and squabbles started. ‘I honestly had no idea people would be interested in so many small things related to Cavendon.’
As Dulcie sat down, Cecily turned towards her.
‘How long will you be away in Hollywood?’ she asked. ‘Miles said James has two films to make for MGM under his old contract.’
‘Yes, that’s correct, but I think we’ll be back in time for Christmas. At least that’s what we’re planning. Also, James wants to do a play in the West End next year.’
‘That’s good to know,’ Cecily said. ‘Christmas wouldn’t be the same without you.’ She adored her glamorous sister-in-law, who remained as funny and down-to-earth as she’d always been, despite her husband’s Hollywood success.
At this moment the door opened and Daphne, the last of the Ingham sisters, stepped into the room. Cecily blinked with surprise. It was obvious that her sister-in-law was dressed for travelling rather than the weekend at Cavendon.
Walking forward, Daphne greeted them coolly. ‘I just came to say goodbye. I’m not staying for the meeting.’ She looked around at the other women, her face set. ‘Nobody listens to me anyway.’
Cecily recoiled in shock. Daphne was, to all intents and purposes, the chatelaine of Cavendon. Ever since her mother had left them, she’d run the place; she’d lived here all her life.
A wry smile twisted Daphne’s mouth briefly, and she went on. ‘Hugo and I are leaving very shortly. We wish to have supper with the children in London this evening. Then we are