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

‘Seven!’ Walter exclaimed. ‘You’re forgetting Aunt Charlotte.’

‘Seven, then, but I’m glad it’s just us,’ Venetia murmured, looking at her father, whom she adored. ‘Don’t you think so, Daddy?’

Miles swallowed the sudden laughter bubbling inside, and nodded, ‘It’s a change,’ he answered noncommittally.

Before Cecily could make a comment, Gwen said, ‘I agree with you, Venetia. Now that the cousins have left, I only have you to boss me around.’

‘I never boss you,’ Venetia protested, her voice rising indignantly.

‘Yes, you do,’ Walter shot back, smiling at Gwen, as usual in cahoots with her. ‘You think you’re the bee’s knees.’

Gwen said, ‘The American cousins are very bossy.’

‘They’re not American,’ Venetia corrected her sharply. ‘They just live there part of the year.’

‘They’re still bossy!’ Gwen exclaimed. ‘Like you.’

‘Don’t be a big baby,’ Venetia began, and stopped abruptly when she saw the look on her father’s face.

Miles said, ‘Enough of this. We’re going to be here alone together all summer, and we should enjoy ourselves at the moments when we have visitors. No more squabbling. Or I’ll take your mother on a holiday, and leave you all to fend for yourselves.’

Cecily smiled to herself, sneaking a look at Gwen, who had flushed bright red. Her youngest child might look like her, with her features, her russet-brown hair, but she reminded Cecily of Dulcie when she had been Gwen’s age. Spirited, independent and able to defend herself. Cecily had no worries about Gwen, or who she would become when she grew up. Most decidedly her own woman. A warrior woman like her aunt.

Later that morning, Cecily went down to Hanson’s old office, now occupied by Eric Swann. Her face was thoughtful as she tapped on the door, opened it and looked inside. ‘Can I come in?’

‘Of course,’ Eric exclaimed, jumping up, going forward to greet her.

‘This room always reminds me of Hanson,’ Cecily said as she sat down in the chair Eric had pulled out for her.

‘I know what you mean,’ Eric replied, sitting down at his desk, facing Cecily. ‘I haven’t touched a thing. When I was installed here, I felt this place was sacrosanct.’

‘I know we had a frank talk and went over all the routines on Monday, after Lady Daphne … left for Zurich,’ Cecily began, ‘but I have a couple of questions, Eric.’

‘I’ll answer them as best I can, m’lady.’

‘I know that the public visit all the main reception rooms in the East and North Wings, and the Long Gallery where all the paintings are on display. And a couple of dining rooms in those wings. But obviously they don’t go upstairs to the bedrooms. Or do they?’

Eric shook his head. ‘No, they don’t. Just the rooms you mentioned.’

‘I think we should close up the North and East Wings, only on the upper floors, of course. Why keep them open to be dusted and cleaned all the time? Why not cover the furniture in sheets? We don’t use the rooms much, if at all these days. Let’s close them off.’

‘I’ve often thought the same thing,’ Eric answered. ‘It would certainly take a burden off the maids, and make them available to do other things. More help for Peggy too.’

‘Hanson used to keep a log of the wine cellar and our stock. I’m sure you’ve kept it up to date,’ Cecily said.

‘I have indeed. It’s essential to know what we have.’

‘It’s rather a lot, isn’t it?’

‘Enormous, Your Ladyship, and it worries me sometimes.’

‘Why?’

‘I’m afraid that some of the wine might turn. Go off. The Fourth, Fifth and Sixth Earls purchased a great deal of vintage wines over the years. Quantities. Now not enough wine is drunk here, even when the entire family is in residence.’

‘I know that. I was thinking of bringing a wine expert up from London, to do an inventory. And perhaps we could auction off some of the vintage wines.’

Eric gaped at her, a startled expression flashing across his face. ‘Do you think His Lordship would agree?’ he asked, his voice going up an octave.

‘I’m not sure. But an expert opinion is worth listening to, and I’m sure His Lordship would take advice, especially if an expert thought the wine might turn. That would be such a waste. I think it’s worth a try.’

‘I agree about getting an opinion, but I still think His Lordship might balk at an auction,’ Eric persisted.

‘Perhaps.’ She gave her second cousin a long, thoughtful look, and said in a very low voice, ‘When I talk to Miles in a certain way, he always listens, Eric, and we could use the money. We’re strapped for cash.’

‘I know that, Your Ladyship. Which brings me to something else. There’s a large wooden box in the attic, which I happened to look in yesterday, when I was installing the new trunk for the Swann record books. There are some paintings in the box. By Travers Merton …’ Eric paused, knowing the sensitivity involved, and finished quietly, ‘I think they belonged to Lady DeLacy.’

‘He did give her some paintings,’ Cecily began, and stopped, staring at Eric. Their eyes locked and they exchanged knowing looks, both of them remembering the night Travers had died. Together they had gone to Travers’s studio to rescue DeLacy, to take her away from that terrible scene.

It took Cecily a moment to settle her flaring memories, and she noticed that Eric was struggling for composure himself. It had been such a bad night. Poor DeLacy’s life had not always been a happy one.

Cecily said, ‘Those paintings are very valuable, but I’m not sure who they belong to in the family. I will have to seek out DeLacy’s will. I know where it is.’

‘When I saw them yesterday I thought they had come from Lady DeLacy’s flat in London. They seemed familiar,’ Eric confided.

‘She probably left them to Miles. Or to the Cavendon Restoration Fund,’ Cecily murmured, thinking out loud. ‘How strange to think she might come to our help after her death – but lovely, in a way.’

FIVE (#ulink_a4858894-f74a-528b-b5a2-a974addda0ab)

The four women sat together in the gazebo in Cavendon Park. It was a warm morning, but the position of the gazebo near a shady old oak tree and its open walls made it a cool and pleasant spot for their meeting.

It was Friday, the first day of July, and Cecily Swann Ingham had named it D-Day in her mind. She was going to set about finding a way forward for her troubled business and she knew she had a hard fight on her hands. Nonetheless, she understood she had to win. She had no other choice. Failure would be a catastrophe in many different ways.

As she glanced at the three women she smiled inwardly. They were of various ages, well-dressed women, whom some might dismiss as being normal, ordinary, and probably not particularly interesting. She knew differently.

Each one of them, like her, was full of ideas and ambitions. They had nerves of steel and an iron will. They were her mainstay. With them at her side she knew she couldn’t lose. They made the best team. A winning team.

Her eyes flicked to Aunt Charlotte, born a Swann, an Ingham by marriage. Her father’s aunt, Charlotte had lent Cecily the money to start up by herself all those years ago.

Aunt Dottie, also a Swann, was now sixty-six, but like Charlotte she looked much younger and was in great health. Married to a Scotland Yard detective, she’d been Cecily’s advisor and helper since the very first day they had opened their little shop.

Then there was Greta Chalmers, her personal assistant, with whom she had bonded the first day they had met, when Greta had been a young widow. Greta, now forty-two, had worked by her side for many years and they had never been out of step. They were always on the same wavelength, had the same goals, and similar attitudes about life. Taking a deep breath, Cecily beamed her brightest smile, and then glanced at Dottie and Greta. ‘Thanks for coming up last night, and for listening to me gabbing on ad infinitum.’ She turned to the Dowager Countess sitting next to her, and added, ‘And I’m glad you insisted on being here, Aunt Charlotte. After all, without you, there might not have been a business called Cecily Swann Couture.’

‘Oh yes, there would!’ Charlotte shot back encouragingly. ‘You would have eventually done it on your own, Ceci dear. I just helped to make it all happen a little bit quicker.’

‘I’m jumping right into the deep end,’ Cecily announced. ‘We all know Cecily Swann Couture is in real trouble, and could go down at any moment. I have bad debts, but I don’t want to declare bankruptcy. I want to make a lot of good moves very quickly, and they will have to be drastic if I’m going to pull out of this mess.’

‘We’re here to help you,’ Aunt Dottie assured her. ‘And as you suggested last night, we must speak the truth to you, no holds barred. I have certain ideas, and so does Greta, and what we do must be drastic. There’s no other way.’