Cavendon Hall. Barbara Bradford Taylor
and she was his favourite; he rather liked her cheekiness.
Lady Gwendolyn was also amused, and it showed on her face when she stood up. ‘Thank you, Charles and Felicity, I must go back to the manor, to rest. London was rather hectic, you know.’
‘May I walk back with you, Great-Aunt Gwendolyn?’ Diedre asked, also standing.
‘Of course, my dear. I would enjoy the company.’
‘May I come, too?’ DeLacy jumped to her feet, and looked at Diedre pleadingly.
On the verge of refusing this request, Diedre instantly changed her mind. ‘You can come with us, if you wish.’ DeLacy might as well know the truth, the way things are, Diedre thought, as they trooped out of the yellow sitting room together. She’s old enough to know how hard life can be, and what we are facing: the imminent death of our mother’s sister; a bereavement in the family, which will make Mama more upset than ever.
Once they were alone, Felicity went and sat on the sofa with Charles; leaning closer to him she said, ‘I have bad news … Anne is dying.’
A look of astonishment crossed his face, and his brows drew together in a frown. ‘How can that be? You told me she was better! That she had said she was all right. You went to have a celebratory lunch with her today.’
‘That’s what I thought it was. She told me on Friday that she had seen her doctors, that they had given her the results of the last tests. And then she added she was all right. The problem is, she didn’t mean it the way I took it.’
‘How did she mean it?’
‘That she was all right, because at last she knew what the outcome of her illness was going to be, and how long she has to live.’
Charles cringed at these words. He took hold of his wife’s hand, held it tightly. His expression was one of compassion. ‘I’m so sorry, so very sorry, Felicity. For Anne and for you, darling.’ He gazed at her intently, took in the beauty of her delicately wrought face, surrounded by a halo of red-gold hair, and looked deeply into her light green eyes, and he felt himself choke up with emotion. He knew how much this bad news would affect her.
Felicity edged even closer to him. He put his arms around her and held her against him, fighting back the tears. His sister-in-law, Anne Sedgewick, was a woman of intelligence, kindness and humour. And an extraordinary artist. Her glorious, still-life oil paintings had become collectors’ items over the years, and she was now famous for her work. This aside, she was a lovely woman, and one of great depth, whom he cared about enormously. He wanted to ask how long she had, but he didn’t dare. His nerve had left him.
Felicity drew away from him, and looked up into his face. She said, ‘I’m so sorry I put it so bluntly, Charles. I just didn’t know how to break the news to you, since you believed we were celebrating her recovery at lunch today … I felt I just had to say it, and without any frills.’ Tears flooded her eyes, and she began to weep.
Bending over her, Charles held her close once more, and wept himself. And so wrapped up were they in their pain and grief, neither of them saw Hanson silently gliding away, shooing the two footmen ahead of him, using his discretion as he inevitably did.
Upstairs at Cavendon, in her darkened room, Daphne lay curled up in a ball in her bed. Sorrowing and bereft, she had cried until she had no tears left in her. And finally she had slept, exhausted from the assault on her body and on her senses.
Now that she was awake, her mind was racing with all kinds of worried thoughts, and raw anxiety had surfaced. She had no idea how to deal with the situation she found herself in. She could not confide in anyone, because of Richard Torbett’s threat. Also, Mrs Alice had told her to tell no one, to trust no one, except her parents and the Swanns. She did not have the nerve to tell her parents, and she felt sure Mrs Alice already knew what had happened. She had guessed when she saw the stained clothes, and took them away.
Right from the start of the attack in the bluebell woods, Daphne believed the man was going to murder her, after he had raped her. He had not killed her. But he had taken her life. And left her with nothing of value. Her virginity had been destroyed and so had her chance of becoming the wife of the son of a duke. Or wife of anybody, for that matter.
Her future was meaningless now … there was nothing left for her. There was only bleakness in store. And loneliness.
Harry Swann, Cecily’s fifteen-year-old brother, had her full attention, and she was listening to him closely, impressed by his knowledge.
‘And so,’ he said, ‘it was Richard Neville, the Earl of Warwick, who put Edward Plantagenet on the throne of England, and when he was very young. Only eighteen. Imagine that!’ he ended in an excited voice.
‘You certainly learned your history well, Harry,’ Cecily responded, giving her much-adored brother a warm smile. ‘No wonder you were top of your class when you were at school.’
Harry grinned at her. ‘The Earl of Warwick lived at Middleham Castle. We once went there, if you remember, with Aunt Charlotte. Do you think we could go up there again sometime? Would she take us? It’s such an historic place. And history is my hobby.’
‘It’s not very far away. We can ask her tomorrow when we go to tea. Perhaps she’ll go with us in the summer.’
Harry nodded, bent his fair head, ate his baked apple in silence, savouring it. Ever since childhood, it had been his favourite dessert. The two of them were in the kitchen of their home, finishing supper.
Sitting back in her chair, watching him, Cecily couldn’t help thinking that he looked older than his age, perhaps because of the intelligence in those light grey eyes, and his serious nature. And also his build. Like his father, he was tall; certainly there was no mistaking that Harry was a Swann. Not only because of his looks, but his bearing, his self-confidence, and his natural charm as well.
Cecily was aware that he had always been diligent, and he was quick, clever, and articulate. She knew he would go far in life, given the opportunity. Aunt Charlotte had told her the same thing: they were in agreement about his abilities and his talent as a landscape gardener, working with his cousin Bill at Cavendon.
Suddenly, he glanced up at her, asked, ‘When is Miles coming home from Eton? For the summer, I mean.’
‘I don’t know, but it’ll be soon. By the end of the month.’
‘I hope we can all go fishing one weekend. What do you think, Ceci?’
‘Yes, we’ll go fishing, and bird watching, and we’ll have picnics in the woods. DeLacy will come with us.’
‘We always have fun together,’ Harry said.
‘Now then, how are you both doing?’ Alice asked, sounding as cheerful as usual when she came hurrying into the kitchen. But her heart was heavy with worry about Daphne, and she felt unsettled, at odds with herself. She could not get the girl’s predicament out of her mind.
‘We’ve enjoyed our supper, Mam. Haven’t we, Ceci? The cottage pie was nice, and thanks for my baked apple.’
Alice stood looking at them, filled with sudden joy. They were her adored children. She knew they were special, each in their own way, at least to her and Walter. They would have good lives. She smiled at them, picked up their empty plates and carried them to the sink. As she began to run the tap water she thought once more of Lady Daphne, and sadness flooded through her. She simply couldn’t bear to think of her pain.
‘We’ll help you, Mam!’ Cecily jumped up and so did Harry, and the three of them washed and dried the dishes together. They chatted to their mother about what they would do the next day with Walter. Their father had tomorrow off, as he did every other Sunday. This was a privilege given to any Swann who was the Earl’s valet.
Much