Secrets of Cavendon: A gripping historical saga full of intrigue and drama

Percy, younger brother of Walter, aged 68. Head gamekeeper at Cavendon.

Edna, wife of Percy, aged 69. Does occasional work at Cavendon.

Joe, their son, aged 48. Works with his father as assistant head gamekeeper.

Bill, first cousin of Walter, aged 63. Head landscape gardener at Cavendon. He is widowed.

Ted, first cousin of Walter, aged 74. Head of interior maintenance and carpentry at Cavendon. Widowed.

Paul, son of Ted, aged 50, working with his father as an interior designer and carpenter at Cavendon. Single.

Eric, brother of Ted, first cousin of Walter, aged 69. Head butler at Cavendon Hall. Single.

Charlotte, aunt of Walter and Percy, aged 81. Now Dowager Countess of Mowbray. Charlotte is the matriarch of the Swann and Ingham families. She is treated with great love and respect by everyone. Charlotte was the secretary and personal assistant to David Ingham, the 5th Earl, until his death. She married the 6th Earl in 1926, who predeceased her during World War II.

Dorothy Pinkerton, née Swann, aged 66, cousin of Charlotte. She lives in London and is married to Howard Pinkerton, 66, a Scotland Yard detective. She works with Cecily at Cecily Swann Couture in London.

CHARACTERS BELOW STAIRS

Mr Eric Swann, Head butler

Mrs Peggy Swift Lane, Housekeeper

Mrs Lois Waters, Cook

Miss Mary Lowden, Head housemaid

Miss Vera Gower, Second housemaid

Mr Philip Carlton, Chauffeur

OTHER EMPLOYEES

Miss Angela Chambers, nanny for Cecily’s daughter Gwen, addressed as Nanny or Nan.

THE OUTDOOR WORKERS

A stately home such as Cavendon Hall, with thousands of acres of land, and a huge grouse moor, employs local people. This is its purpose for being, as well as providing a private home for a great family. It offers employment to the local villagers, and also land for local tenant farmers. The villages surrounding Cavendon were built by various earls of Mowbray to provide housing for their workers; churches and schools were also built, as well as post offices and small shops at later dates. The villages around Cavendon are Little Skell, Mowbray and High Clough.

There are a number of outside workers: a head gamekeeper and five additional gamekeepers; beaters and flankers who work when the grouse season starts and the Guns arrive at Cavendon to shoot. Other outdoor workers include woodsmen, who take care of the surrounding woods for shooting in the lowlands at certain times of the year. The gardens are cared for by a head landscape gardener, and five other gardeners working under him.

The grouse season starts in August, on the Glorious Twelfth, as it is called. It finishes in December. The partridge season begins in September. Duck and wild fowl are shot at this time. Pheasant shooting starts on the 1 November and goes on until December. The men who come to shoot, usually aristocrats, are always referred to as the Guns, i.e., the men using the gun.

PART ONE (#ubfa72f98-2818-56d8-8e80-be087e6c7d93)

A Rip in the Fabric 1949 (#ubfa72f98-2818-56d8-8e80-be087e6c7d93)

Yesterday’s weaving is as irrevocable

as yesterday.

I may not draw out the threads, but I

may change my shuttle.

Muriel Strode-Lieberman,

My Little Book of Life

ONE (#ubfa72f98-2818-56d8-8e80-be087e6c7d93)

Cecily Swann Ingham, the 7th Countess of Mowbray, was on the steps of the office annexe, looking out across the stable block, her eyes focused on Cavendon Hall perched high on the hill in front of her.

It was a lovely June morning, and the luminous light particular to the north of England cast a sheen across the soaring roof and chimney tops, which appeared to shimmer under the clear, bright sky.

How glorious the house looks today, she thought: stately, grand, strong and safe. She smiled wryly to herself. It wasn’t safe at all, in her opinion. Not in reality.

Sadly, as grand as the house looked this morning, it was facing serious trouble once more in its long life, and she was genuinely worried about its future, the future of the entire estate, including the grouse moor, as well as the Ingham family itself.

Cecily sighed, closed her eyes, shutting out the view. Cavendon had bled them dry for years, and taken an enormous amount of their time. They had each made huge sacrifices for it, and all of them had at one time or another poured money into the bottomless pit it had become, particularly Cecily herself.

Opening her eyes, straightening, she wondered how on earth they would manage to stave off the encroaching trouble, which was slowly but steadily moving forward to engulf them. If she was truthful with herself, she had to admit she had no idea. For once in her life she felt entirely helpless, unable to create a foolproof plan of action.

The clatter of hooves cut into her worrisome thoughts, and she opened her eyes. Her brother, Harry, was crossing the cobbled stable yard, accompanied by Miles, who walked alongside the horse.

Her husband spotted her, raised his hand in greeting, smiled at her – that special smile reserved for her alone. Her heart tightened at the delighted look that crossed his face, because he had seen her unexpectedly.

Harry waved; she waved back, and watched her brother leave the yard. He was off on his Saturday morning rounds of the entire estate. Harry revelled in his job as the estate manager and had made such a huge difference in numerous ways. The new gardens he had created after he had 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.