The Cavendon Women (6 page)

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 pieces, such as those by Constable, Gainsborough, and Lely. These three great portraitists had painted the Ingham ancestors; there were also wonderful Canalettos, Van Dycks, 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. Hugo has sold some of our Wall Street investments, and we have a good cash flow again.” 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.”

Yes, she was clever, Lady Daphne, and Miles had been soothed because of her calmness and positive attitude.

“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 P
é
rignon.

 

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 Daphne when she was eighteen, was actually her spitting image. All blond 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 toward her. When she came to a stop, she put her arms around Dulcie, and 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, adding, “I haven't seen you for almost two years, and 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 madame, 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 Dulcie's 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, what had brought it on. 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 toward 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 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 favorite, 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 favorite, and the one he loves the most. And, in fact, he does. 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 matin
e
e idol jumping around a stage in the West End? A man so well endowed no woman can resist him?”

Diedre burst out laughing. “My goodness, what colorful 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 blond 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 God and untouchable. And also 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. Please tell me.”

Dulcie stood up, walked across to Diedre, and 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, opening 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. She knew this was because of her chat with Dulcie. There had been a clearing of the air.

Also, she was very taken with her youngest sister, the baby of the family, Dulcie. She had been a pretty child, and had grown up to be a true beauty. She had a glamour about her, with her flowing blond 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 anymore, 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 gray-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 jewelry, 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, 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 liege man hundreds of years ago, and the truest friend Humphrey had ever had. And they've been true ever since, Miles thought. For more than one hundred seventy years …