The Cavendon Women. Barbara Bradford Taylor
be ostracized.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous!’ a voice exclaimed from the doorway.
Lavinia’s sister glided into the parlour.
Drawing to a halt next to her aunt, Vanessa said, ‘I’m not late, am I, Aunt Gwendolyn? Hello to you, Lavinia. I’m afraid you’re going to have to join the multitudes who are cheering on the sidelines. Otherwise you’ll be the one who is ostracized … you’ll be sent to Coventry.’ Bending over her aunt, she kissed her cheek, then seated herself on a nearby sofa.
Vanessa couldn’t help thinking how elegant and distinguished Lady Gwendolyn looked. Long ago her abundant blonde hair had turned to silver. Now it was pure white, and beautifully styled as usual. Her blue eyes sparkled brightly this morning and there was no hint that she was eighty-six. She looked much younger and was agile of mind and body.
Lady Gwendolyn smiled at Vanessa and glanced across at Lavinia. Two sisters entirely different in personality and character. She knew which one she had always preferred: Vanessa, liberal-minded, ready to accept people on face value, and in step with the times they were living in. The 1920s, not the 1800s.
Lavinia, throwing her sister an icy look, asked, ‘And what about you, Vanessa? When are we about to hear that you are finally getting married?’
Vanessa began to laugh. ‘Oh, I don’t know, I’m not sure I’m ready to do that yet,’ she answered casually, still laughing.
‘Is there a nice young man in your life, darling?’ Lady Gwendolyn asked. ‘And if indeed there is, who is he? I would love to know.’
‘His name is Richard Bowers, and he’s very nice. And the next time you come to London we’ll have dinner, or lunch – whichever you prefer, Aunt Gwendolyn.’
‘I’ll be up in town next week. We must meet. That would be lovely. Is he by any chance related to the Barnards?’
‘His mother Valerie is a Barnard,’ Vanessa answered. ‘I think you know her, Aunt.’
‘I do indeed. We’re acquaintances, but not close friends. She is a very nice woman.’
It was during lunch that Vanessa mentioned that Daphne had shown her the guest list for the wedding earlier. ‘I was happy to see Hugo’s cousin, Mark Stanton, is coming, and so is Paul Drummond. Also a number of—’
‘Who is Paul Drummond?’ Lavinia cut in, staring across the table at Vanessa. ‘I’ve never heard of him. He must be a new friend.’
‘No, actually he’s not. Paul Drummond is an American. He has worked with Hugo for many years,’ Vanessa explained. ‘Paul runs the New York end of Hugo’s business and, since he happens to be in London at the moment, Charles wanted him to come.’
‘An American! That explains it perfectly. I can assure you none of Charles’s close friends will be there. How could he invite them when he’s not marrying an aristocrat?’
Vanessa, appalled by Lavinia’s comment, said slowly in a firm tone, ‘Stop harping on about the aristocracy. It’s falling apart. It has been since the end of the war. Because of high taxes imposed by the government. No men to till the fields, run the factories or go down the mines. All dead on the blood-sodden fields of France – including our nephew, Guy. Half of Charles’s friends are busy trying to stay afloat, keep their stately homes running, and many are not succeeding. Do you really believe they’re concerned about Charles’s new wife? Not one iota. They’re trying to save their skins. So shut up about Charles marrying out of his class. I for one think you’re totally out of line.’
Lavinia sat back in her chair, gaping at Vanessa, astonishment washing over her face. For once in her life she was speechless, shaken by her sister’s verbal attack.
Seizing the moment, Vanessa continued, ‘Everyone said it was the war to end all wars. But what the Great War actually did was end the British Empire. Nothing is the same any more. England’s stony broke. The landed gentry are being diminished. The working man is looking for a fair deal. There was a General Strike, in case you didn’t notice, and the coal strike. The country’s spinning on its heels, and talk of a Depression is constant. And you’re going on about class. Just grow up, Lavinia. Join the world we’re living in today.’
Lavinia still remained speechless, even more shocked by her sister’s attitude and her angry words.
Lady Gwendolyn studied Vanessa, and then nodded. ‘Well put, my dear. I’m afraid I do have to agree with you.’ Focusing on Lavinia, she continued, ‘No one likes change, certainly not I, but times have indeed changed, Lavinia. And we must all change with them, keep in step. And that includes you.’
Lavinia had become paler than ever, and she replied in a low, slightly nervous voice, ‘Why are you both so annoyed with me? It’s the truth.’
There was a small silence. No one spoke. And then a moment later, Mrs Pine came into the dining room with the parlour maid, and they served the dessert.
Vanessa, wishing to change the subject, smiled at the housekeeper, and said, ‘I do love crème caramel, Mrs Pine. It’s my favourite.’
The housekeeper merely smiled and nodded.
Once they were alone again, Lady Gwendolyn sat up straighter in her chair, and peered at Vanessa and then at Lavinia. Both of them knew a pronouncement was coming and they sat perfectly still, not uttering a word or touching their food.
After a long moment, Lady Gwendolyn said in a steely voice, which was also as smooth as silk, ‘Because I am matriarch of this family, its oldest and most senior member, I can break the rules and make the rules.’ She paused, took a sip of water, and shifted slightly in her chair.
Her voice had a little less steel and more silk to it when she explained, ‘I am making a new rule. Since I am most approving of my nephew’s choice, this will be the last time a pejorative word will be uttered about Charlotte. Ever. By anyone. On Sunday she will become the Countess of Mowbray. She will be treated with the respect she deserves, and which she has actually earned through a life of devotion to this family. Charlotte has been a boon to us all. And frankly your brother would be dead by now if it were not for her.’
Still the sisters said nothing.
Lady Gwendolyn was fully aware that she had got her point across to them. Vanessa was at ease, whilst Lavinia looked shaken. Picking up her spoon, Lady Gwendolyn tasted the crème caramel, then she said quietly, scrutinizing Lavinia, ‘Are you all right, my dear? I hope my words haven’t upset you too much.’
‘No, not at all, Aunt Gwendolyn,’ Lavinia answered, her voice still low, but steady. ‘And I’m sorry if I offended you, Aunt. It won’t happen again. Surely you must know that I love my brother, and I do want what’s best for Charles.’ Lavinia stopped, took a deep breath, and finished. ‘I am fully aware that Charlotte is devoted to him, and we do owe her a lot.’
Lady Gwendolyn offered Lavinia a warm smile. ‘I am very glad to hear those sentiments.’
Wow! Vanessa thought, pushing down the laughter bubbling inside. Wow oh wow! I never thought I’d hear anything like this from Lavinia’s mouth. She’s always been jealous of Charlotte, ever since we were children growing up together. She was constantly in a sulk because Charles treated Charlotte like his best friend. And she hated it when they called each other Charlie.
They had arranged to meet at the gazebo, situated halfway between Little Skell Manor and Charlotte’s house at the edge of the village. After lunch, once Vanessa and Lavinia had departed, Lady Gwendolyn set off to keep her appointment.
She walked slowly along the path, as usual wanting to savour the beauty of Cavendon. For her it was the one true place on this planet, the place she was happiest and most content.
Gwendolyn