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He glanced at the wine list, written by His Lordship earlier today. He smiled to himself. As usual, Lord Mowbray had chosen his own particular favourites, but the Pouilly-Fuissé was a good choice for the fish, and the Pomerol would be perfect with the main course.
The Earl had made a note on the card, suggesting Hanson select the champagne himself. This would be served with the dessert, and he immediately thought of Dom Pérignon, but he would go to the wine cellar later. Perhaps something else might catch his eye.
Rising, Hanson walked over to the window and looked out at the blue sky. It was a lovely day, very sunny, and he hoped the weather would last for the next few days. But, come to think of it, rain wouldn’t dampen anything, he decided. Happiness didn’t get diluted by rain.
Hanson was excited that the Earl had decided to have this family reunion, the first in six years, and delighted he had picked the middle of July.
It smacked of old times, when all was well in the world and they gave the big summer dances, always a hit with everyone in the county. But the county wasn’t invited tomorrow, just the family.
The last time there had been a reunion was the marriage of Miles to Clarissa Meldrew, a lovely affair, but everything had later gone askew for those two. He felt extremely sorry for Miles, who did not deserve the treatment meted out to him by Miss Meldrew.
Aristocrat my foot, he thought, with a flash of snobbery mingled with anger. Nouveau riche, he muttered to himself, and the title very new, given for some kind of business endeavour. Hardly a match for the heir to the earldom of Mowbray, centuries old, created in the mid 1770s. Miles’s pedigree is bred in the bone, and he’s to the manner born, Hanson thought, and she’s a nobody. Certainly she’s shown that to the world. And with bells on. Sometimes he wondered what that young woman would do next to upset Miles.
Henry Hanson, who was now sixty-four, had worked at Cavendon Hall for thirty-eight years. The stately home and the Ingham family were the be-all and end-all of his life, and he was devoted to both.
He had arrived here in 1888, when he was twenty-six, hired by the famous butler, Geoffrey Swann, who had seen great potential in him. He had started as a junior footman, and risen through the ranks, well trained by his mentor.
When Geoffrey Swann had died rather suddenly, ten years later in 1898, the 5th Earl, David Ingham, had asked him to take over as butler. He had done so with great alacrity, and never looked back. The 5th Earl had trusted him implicitly, and so did his son, Charles Ingham, the 6th Earl. He had proved their faith in him many times.
So much so, the Earl had recently confided in him, explained the real reason for this reunion with his children and the rest of the family. Hanson was sworn to secrecy, and he would tell no one, as the Earl well knew.
Hanson was aware that Lady Daphne and Mr Hugo also knew what this reunion was all about, and no doubt the Swanns did too. They usually were aware of everything, and that was the way it had been forever … since the time of James Swann, liegeman to Humphrey Ingham, who became 1st Earl of Mowbray and built Cavendon Hall.
The Swanns were true blue, in Hanson’s opinion, and he had a lot of time for them. And whatever would the Inghams have done without them? God only knew. He, personally, was grateful for their existence.
Turning away from the window, Hanson decided he would go to the wine cellar, look at the different champagnes. Dom Pérignon was undoubtedly the best, though. He would also look in on Cook, reassure her about Saturday’s dinner. She was a wonderful cook, had inherited the culinary talents of her aunt, Nell Jackson. Tomorrow there would be nineteen people for dinner, and she understood she had to be deft, prompt, swift and on her toes the entire time. She was a capable young woman, but she had told him last week she was concerned about the big dinner. He knew she would be fine, do well, but now he must go and give her a boost.
Hanson went out of his office, thinking about Nell, Susie’s aunt. He had been sorry to see her retire, but after standing on a stone kitchen floor for hours on end, day in, day out, cooking for the Inghams for the best part of her life, she had started to have problems with her legs. They were always swollen and red and painful, and she had backache, which troubled her greatly.
In the end, retirement had been the only solution, but she still lived in Little Skell village and had stayed in touch with them.
There was a lot of the Jackson flair around Cavendon because of Susie. Nell’s niece was like her in every way, not only in her cooking; although she was taller than her aunt, more heavily built, and a comedian at times, making all of them laugh.
‘Mr Hanson! Hello!’ she exclaimed as he strode into the kitchen a moment later. ‘You’ve arrived just in time for a cup of tea. And how about a few sweet biscuits?’
‘Thank you, Cook, I wouldn’t say no,’ he murmured, and sat down. ‘I just wanted to pop in to tell you to stop worrying about tomorrow evening. You’ll manage very well. I have no doubts about you, Susie. And you know the footmen and the maids are well trained, they’ll help you no end.’
She laughed, poured tea into two cups. ‘That’s what Auntie Nell said this morning. I went down to the village to have a word with her, and she was very reassuring.’ Susie smiled at him and added, ‘Can you believe it? She said I was a far better cook than she’d ever been. That I was really a chef and that, if I went to London, I would easily get a job at the Ritz.’
‘I think she’s right,’ Hanson answered, genuinely sincere. Nell had been a good cook, with long experience, but Susie was more inventive and imaginative with food, which put her in a different category altogether.
They sipped their tea and munched on their biscuits in silence for a few seconds, before Susie threw Hanson a questioning look. ‘We’re not looking for any maids, are we, Mr Hanson?’
He stared at her, frowning. ‘Why do you ask?’
‘Because my friend, Meg Chalmers, has just lost her job. She’s been a maid at Fullerton Manor for quite a few years. Now the family is closing the manor, throwing dustsheets on the furniture and locking the house up. For an indefinite period. They’re going to stay at their London residence. They’ve let all of the staff up here go, and everyone’s down in the dumps and desperately looking for work.’
Hanson felt as if he had just been hit in the stomach with a sledgehammer. He had heard that the Fullertons were in a bad way, but had not realized how bad. Yet another aristocratic family feeling the pinch, going under, he thought, and then said quietly, ‘No, we’re not hiring at the moment, Cook,’ and left it at that.
Whatever anybody else thought, he knew that Cavendon was still safe. Lady Daphne had assured him of that. Nonetheless, he did worry a lot, even though he knew she would never lie to him. Lately there had been a lot of penny-pinching and cuts, and Lady Daphne had discovered a new phrase. ‘We’re on a budget, Hanson.’ When he heard those words he cringed.
But Lady Daphne and Mr Hugo were clever, and now that they were involved in the running of Cavendon there was a great deal of efficiency. Not that His Lordship was inefficient, but his heart attack, which had felled him last year, had slowed him down.
Mr Hugo had insisted on taking matters into his own hands, and so had Miles. They all worked well together, made a good team.
Last year, Miles had turned to him for guidance, and he had been happy to explain certain matters to do with the house. In fact, he had given him what turned out to be a short course on the house, and the many valuable possessions in it. All were exceedingly precious, from the paintings and the silver to the magnificent antiques.
The paintings in the Long Gallery included some extraordinary masterpieces, such as those by Constable, Gainsborough and Lely. These three great portraitists had painted the Ingham ancestors, and there were also Canalettos, Van Dykes, and Rembrandts. ‘Another safety net the earlier Inghams provided us with,’ Lady Daphne had said to Miles one afternoon last week. He had looked at her askance. ‘Would we ever sell any?’ he had asked, sounding slightly aghast. Hanson remembered now how she had answered in a low voice, ‘If we have to, we will.’
He himself had jumped in and exclaimed: ‘It will never come to that, surely not, Lady Daphne.’ And he had flashed her a warning signal with his eyes.
Understanding him immediately, she had smiled at her brother and murmured, ‘However, things are improving, and Hugo has sold some of our Wall Street investments, so we have money in the bank.’ She had then turned to Hanson, and said, ‘Let’s continue our little tour of the house, go up to the attics, and Miles can view the rare antiques stored there.’
‘About the Sunday luncheon,’ Susie said, rousing Hanson from his reverie.
He nodded, and replied at once. ‘Buffet style, as we decided, Cook. We always served the food that way when we had the summer cotillions. Lovely evenings they were. Well, not to digress. Lady Daphne’s menu is a good guideline for you, but you can add other dishes if you wish. Perhaps cold poached salmon, asparagus and smoked salmon, dishes like that.’
They went on talking for a few moments, and then finally Hanson left the kitchen, made his way to the wine cellar to select the champagne for tomorrow’s dinner. Definitely Dom Pérignon.
EIGHT
The light knocking made Diedre sit up straighter at the desk. She called, ‘Come in,’ and looked at the door expectantly.
It was Dulcie who appeared in the entrance to her bedroom, and for a second Diedre was astonished by her appearance. The girl bore a strong resemblance to how Daphne had looked when she was eighteen – was actually her spitting image. All blonde and golden and blue-eyed … well, they all had blue eyes, of course. But here was the most gorgeous girl she had ever seen, except for her sister Daphne at the same age.
Smiling hugely, Diedre got up and walked across the room to put her arms around Dulcie; she gave her a big bear hug, held her close for a moment, then stepped away.
Dulcie was astonished by this gesture from her sister, who had scared the life out of her when she was a child.
Diedre smiled at her once again, added, ‘I haven’t seen you for almost two years; you’ve become a true beauty, Dulcie. You look so much like Daphne when she was your age, it’s quite startling.’
Even more taken aback, Dulcie could only nod. After a split second, she found her voice. Peering at her eldest sister, she said, ‘What happened to you, Diedre? You were always the mean sister, saying very nasty things to me. Unkind things. Have you been taking nice pills?’
Diedre stared at her, and then began to laugh. ‘You seem to have taken a leaf out of Great-Aunt Gwendolyn’s book—’
‘No, yours!’ Dulcie shot back swiftly, cutting her off. ‘Definitely yours … there’s nothing quite like learning at the knee of the master, is there?’
‘Too true,’ Diedre replied, laughter still echoing in her voice. Years ago she would have taken umbrage at Dulcie’s attitude and comments. But not now. The death of her lover had changed her, given her a different approach to life. She was much kinder and nicer. Intense grief had taught her a lot about people, and about herself. Death had softened her; loss had taught her compassion.
Now Diedre said, ‘I must have been really mean to you when you were little. I was, wasn’t I?’
‘I’ll say!’ Dulcie answered sharply, walking into the bedroom and sitting down in a chair near the oriel window. ‘I couldn’t do right for doing wrong, as far as you were concerned. You were nasty, said some really rotten things. You called me a little madam, for one thing.’
Diedre shook her head, shocked to hear this. ‘How terrible, so awful of me actually. I must have been going through some strange stage myself.’
‘I doubt it, because you were always like that. Truly mean. At least to me. But, in a way, you toughened me up, and that’s served me well,’ Dulcie replied in her normal blunt manner. ‘However, there was no reason for you to be so cruel. I was only five. Just a little girl,’ she finished in a sharp tone.
‘I’m so very sorry, Dulcie,’ Diedre said, her voice filled with sincerity as she sat down at her desk and looked across at her sister. ‘I can’t bear the thought I treated you badly. That I was mean, unkind. Will you accept my apology? Can we be friends?’
‘I suppose so. It all depends on how you treat me now, you know. I won’t stand for any of that old nonsense.’
Diedre wanted to laugh at her outspokenness, but she swallowed hard and said, ‘I promise I won’t verbally abuse you. Or upset you in any way.’
‘All right.’ Dulcie now gave her a pointed look. ‘Why are you being so nice to me?’
‘Because I like you. No, I love you. You’re my sister, after all, and we should all stick together, be close. Closer than we’ve been in the past.’
Dulcie was still wondering what this was about. She exclaimed, ‘That’s an odd thing for you to say. You used to behave as if I was a poisonous snake.’
A look of chagrin flowed across Diedre’s face, and she felt a tightening in her chest. How could she have behaved in such a dreadful way towards her baby sister? It was suddenly incomprehensible to her. And then it hit her. She had been unhappy at that time, at odds with the family, and she had taken it out on a child. Shame filled her, rendered her silent. She had been a mean-spirited woman, it seemed, and she was saddened.
After a moment, Dulcie said, ‘You’re looking morose. What is it? Is there something wrong, Diedre?’
There was such concern in her sister’s voice, Diedre felt even worse, and she did not answer. After a short silence she finally said, ‘I am feeling very ashamed of myself for treating you the way I did … After all, you were only a child, as you’ve just reminded me.’
‘Perhaps you were a little jealous because Papa spoiled and pampered me.’
‘You might be right,’ Diedre concurred. Thirteen years ago she had faced many problems in the family; jealousy one of them.
‘I was his favourite and still am,’ Dulcie now announced, giving Diedre a hard stare.
With a faint smile, Diedre replied, ‘He’s clever, our darling father, and he always has been. He makes each of his four daughters feel special – that each one of us is his favourite and the one he loves the most. And, in fact, he loves us all equally.’
‘True. More than I can say about Felicity. She was no mother to me. She’s an odd one. Everyone says it’s because she’s under the influence of the knife-wielding Lawrence Pierce … that she’s so strange these days, I mean. What do you think? And is he really a blond Adonis, with the glamorous looks of a matinee idol jumping around a stage in the West End?’
Diedre burst out laughing. ‘My goodness, what colourful language you use, Dulcie. You’re certainly a chip off two old blocks: mine and Aunt Gwendolyn’s.’
‘Am I supposed to take that as a compliment?’ Dulcie asked, a blonde brow lifting.
‘Our great-aunt would think it was. I have a feeling she’s rather proud of her way with words, even if she’s a bit tart at times. As I often am myself.’
‘So be it. Have you ever met Felicity’s little playfellow?’
‘Once or twice, in the early days of their relationship, just after the war started. And yes, he is very good looking, loaded with charm, but full of himself. He’s a brilliant surgeon, everyone says that. But doctors like him, who save lives and perform miracles of a sort, are egomaniacs. They think they’re to be revered on bended knee.’
‘I’ve heard that before, and the quote about being God is always attributed to you, Diedre, if you care about such things.’
‘I don’t, and you were a neglected child, in my opinion – at least you were neglected by Felicity. Others loved you very much and took care of you in her absence. Still, our mother was behaving in a weird way in those days, and her mind was elsewhere.’
‘I can well imagine exactly where it was. On the scalpel-happy doctor. And a certain part of his anatomy.’
Diedre stared at her, pushed back a chuckle, and asked, ‘Have you ever thought of being a writer, Dulcie?’
‘Occasionally, but I’m studying art history … I love paintings, and occasionally I’ve thought I might open an art gallery when I grow up.’
‘I think you’re grown up now. And that’s a great idea. In the meantime, has DeLacy arrived yet?’
‘She has, and I heard her crying a short while ago. I went into her bedroom and comforted her. I think she regrets her divorce, but I told her to buck up and get ready. So she pulled herself together, and said she was glad to be here with all of us … “in the middle of the clan Ingham” was the way she put it.’
‘Shall I go and see her? She is all right, isn’t she?’
‘She is, I’m sure of that. She was focusing on what to wear when I left her room, so you don’t have to go and see her.’
‘And why did you come to see me? Since I was so horrid to you?’
Dulcie walked across to Diedre, stood in front of her. She said, ‘I wanted to find out if you still frightened me. I was relieved to discover you don’t. And, listen, we can be friends now. After all, we are sisters …’ She let her sentence drift away, and went to the door, opened it. ‘I’m going to go and get ready.’
‘I shall too, Dulcie. I’ll see you downstairs,’ Diedre answered, feeling better than she had in a long time. Her chat with Dulcie had cleared the air.
Also, she was very taken with her youngest sister, the baby of the family. She had been a pretty child, and had grown up to be a true beauty. She had a glamour about her, with her flowing blonde hair, worn shoulder length. Her face was soft; her full mouth, high cheekbones and arched brows gave her a strong look of Daphne at the same age.
She’s got it all, Diedre thought, walking over to the wardrobe to take out a frock. She’ll go far, our little Dulcie.
NINE
Anger had replaced DeLacy’s tears, as she discarded dress after dress, throwing them on the bed, a look of disgust on her face. There was nothing in her wardrobe here at Cavendon that she liked; they were old frocks, out-of-date for the most part, and not so flattering any more, she was sure of that.
She stood glaring at them scattered across her bed, when there was a knock on the door. Before she had a chance to speak, Miles walked in.
‘I came to see what you were doing. My God, DeLacy, you’re not even ready!’ he exclaimed, slightly annoyed.
‘Only because I’ve nothing to wear,’ she wailed, staring at her brother. ‘I brought several things for the evening, but I didn’t bother about day frocks …’ Her voice trailed off helplessly.
Miles came over to the bed and started to examine the dresses. Finally, he picked out a pale grey and white silk afternoon frock with a full skirt, a square neckline and flowing sleeves. ‘This looks quite stylish. I’d wear this if I were you.’
‘That’s a funny expression to use, Miles, since you’re a man. But no doubt you like it because it’s an old Cecily Swann frock.’
He nodded, and smiled knowingly. ‘Of course it is; her style is inimitable. That’s why she’s the success she is today.’ He noticed DeLacy’s mouth tighten, and he knew the reason why. Cecily and DeLacy were no longer friends, and had not been for years.
He glanced at his watch. ‘Come on, put this on. It’s really beautiful, Lacy, and certainly it doesn’t look dated. With some jewellery, it’ll look quite different. Smart.’
DeLacy sighed. ‘I suppose I have no option. All right, I’ll wear it. But I don’t have time to ring for Pam and wait for her to come up. You’ll have to help me.’ As she spoke, DeLacy picked up the dress and hurried into the bathroom. ‘Wait for me, Miles, please, don’t leave.’
‘I’ll be here,’ he promised. He strolled over to the window and glanced out. In the distance he could see the lake and the two swans floating across the water. It had been his ancestor, Humphrey Ingham, who had decreed there would forever be swans at Cavendon, in recognition of James Swann, who had been his liegeman all those years ago, and the truest friend Humphrey had ever had. And they’ve been true ever since, Miles thought. For more than one hundred and seventy years …
‘Here I am!’ DeLacy cried, sounding more cheerful and swinging around. ‘If you could do the buttons for me, Miles. Then all I have to do is put on a string of pearls and earrings, and I’m ready.’
He did as she asked, saying as he did, ‘You look beautiful, and the dress is lovely. By the way, I think you and Cecily should make up, become friends again.’
‘I’ve tried. Many times; even asked her aunt Dorothy to let me buy clothes there. But I’ve been rejected every time. They just don’t give an inch.’
‘Maybe Ceci will relent, if I ask her,’ Miles murmured, fastening the last button. ‘I’ll talk to her later today.’
‘She’s here!’ DeLacy exclaimed as she turned around to face him, surprise in her eyes. ‘And she’s talking to you?’ DeLacy was astonished.
‘Yes, actually, she is,’ Miles answered carefully.
‘I can’t believe it! I thought she would never speak to you again. Why didn’t you tell me she was going to be here?’
Miles sighed. ‘I’ve been far too busy; I wasn’t keeping it from you. But please, Lacy, hurry up. We mustn’t keep Papa waiting.’
‘Just another second, and do let’s go downstairs together. I won’t be a moment.’ As DeLacy spoke she hurried over to her dressing table, took out a string of pearls, put them on, began to look for the earrings that matched.
Miles said, ‘I shall talk to Cecily later this afternoon, and perhaps I can persuade her to relent, now that six years have passed. Perhaps she’ll agree to a rapprochement. Do you want me to do that?’
‘Yes, I do, Miles, as long as there are no recriminations, or anything like that … I mean the placing of blame, I’ve been blamed enough of late.’
‘By Simon, you mean?’ her brother asked, looking across the bedroom at her.
‘Oh yes, and yes, and yes! Long ago, I discovered he loves to whine. And he’s doing it now, moaning and groaning that the failure of our marriage is all my fault.’
‘Is it?’ he asked.
DeLacy swung around to face him, shaking her head. ‘Maybe. Or maybe it’s his … to tell you the truth it’s nobody’s fault. It just happened … it’s the way it is. And I know I can’t remarry him as he wants me to. I simply can’t, Miles.’
‘You don’t have to protest to me. I know exactly what you mean. When a relationship doesn’t work it’s hell on earth.’
Although Miles had told DeLacy she looked beautiful, he was nonetheless worried about her. She was much thinner, and had a gauntness about her. Yes, her face was still delicate, beautifully proportioned, but her shorter hair did not really suit her. He was not particularly enamoured of these sleek, cropped hairdos; he found them masculine. He thought he could get Cecily to become Lacy’s friend again, and she would influence his sister. As they walked downstairs together, he made up his mind to help DeLacy through this difficult period of her life. Fragile though she was at this moment, he knew she was strong. After all, she was an Ingham.
TEN
The library door was closed, but Hanson opened it without even knocking, and walked in. The Earl was expecting him.
Charles Ingham was sitting at his desk. He looked up and nodded at the sight of the butler. ‘I’m assuming all my daughters and sisters have arrived, Hanson?’
‘That is so, m’lord,’ Hanson answered, walking forward. ‘The young ladies are in their rooms, and I have spoken to Lady Gwendolyn. I told her tea will be at four thirty today, and I’ve given the same information to Lady Vanessa, as you requested. She is also in her suite. Apparently Lady Lavinia was with Lady Gwendolyn when I telephoned, and the message was relayed to her, Your Lordship.’