Glancing around, DeLacy asked no one in particular, “Where did those shots come from?” And then she went to join her father, who was kneeling next to Julian.
The earl shook his head. “I’ve no idea, DeLacy. But we never have guns out at this time of year.” He felt Julian’s pulse. It was faint but it was there. The young man was deathly white, and Charles noticed that the gash on his forehead was deep, bloody. His eyes were closed; blood was splattered on his fair hair. He was still, very still indeed, hardly breathing. Charles was filled with sudden fear for the young man. The fall had been bad, awkward, and his legs were skewed, looked as if they were broken.
Percy Swann was suddenly back with them, panting from running hard. “Our lads weren’t shooting, m’lord. None of our men have guns out here. I’m not sure where those shots came from, m’lord.”
“Torbett land,” Daphne interjected, certainty ringing in her voice. Half turning, she pointed behind her. “Definitely back there.” She couldn’t help thinking it was Richard Torbett up to his tricks. Then she looked down at Julian, and was struck by his total inertness, his extreme pallor. She was suddenly afraid for him. She knew he was in a bad way. Her chest tightened, and anxiety flared in her as she wondered if he would recover. She doubted it. He looked so … damaged. He lay there like a broken doll.
The earl said, “I don’t think we should move Mr. Julian, Swann. Or carry him away. It could be dangerous to do so. He’s lying in a funny way. His neck could be broken, or his spine. If I remember correctly, don’t we have some sort of makeshift stretcher at Cavendon?”
“We do, Lord Mowbray. It was made for Sir Redvers Andrews, when he had a heart attack on the grouse moor last August. And it’s still there in the cellars, as far as I know. I can get it, m’lord, and be back in a few minutes with some of the woodsmen.”
“Thank you, Swann. Have Hanson make a phone call to Dr. Shawcross. He should tell the doctor we need an ambulance. Mr. Torbett will have to be taken to hospital. Harrogate’s the nearest.”
“Right-o, m’lord,” Percy answered, and began to move away.
Daphne said, “Papa, Swann should take my horse, it’s faster riding than running, surely.”
“Good idea, Daphne. Take her ladyship’s horse, Swann,” the earl said.
DeLacy was kneeling on the ground next to her father, and she now asked in a concerned tone, “Do you think Julian is going to die, Papa?” She thought he might actually be dead already, but didn’t dare say that out loud.
“I’ve absolutely no idea. I pray to God not. He took a terrible, very hard fall. He must have damaged his spine, and he must have a bad head injury. Look at all the blood on the grass. He’s certainly unconscious.”
“I know,” DeLacy said. As her sister spoke, Daphne walked back to Madge. Always kind and thoughtful, she knew she must offer some sort of comfort to the young woman, who was still sitting on her horse, as if frozen in place. She was like a statue. Her face was the color of chalk, and looked unnatural. It was stark against her vivid auburn hair.
Touching her on the arm, Daphne said gently, “Can you dismount, Madge? Or do you need my father to help you?”
Madge gazed at Daphne and, observing her sympathetic expression, she began to weep. Tears rolled down her cheeks. “I don’t need help, I can manage now. But I’ll need help later … of that I’m quite sure.” She threw Daphne a sorrowful look, shaking her head in disbelief.
After she had managed to dismount somewhat awkwardly, Madge and Daphne walked back to the earl and DeLacy. They were still kneeling on the grass, their eyes riveted on Julian, who looked like a corpse to them.
Madge crouched down next to her fiancé. She touched his face, smoothed her hand over his brow. “It’s me, Julian,” she said, drawing closer. “I’m here, my darling, I’m here for you.”
He did not answer her. She began to weep, and Daphne comforted her as best she could.
Even though Percy Swann, the woodsmen, and Hanson, as well as the other staff at Cavendon, moved with great swiftness and efficiency, it was two hours before Julian Torbett arrived at the hospital in Harrogate. He had suffered a fractured skull and a broken back, but he was still alive. By six o’clock that same evening he was dead, having never regained consciousness.
* * *
The funeral of Julian Baxter Torbett was held at Ripon Cathedral by his family four days later. The great families of Yorkshire were in attendance, and other friends came in droves.
The Earl and Countess of Mowbray, their three oldest daughters, and other Inghams were present, seated at the front of the cathedral.
The women were dressed in black from head to toe, and all wore hats, some with veils. It was Lady Daphne Ingham who had chosen a large-brimmed hat with a black tulle veil, one which totally obscured her face. She made sure she was seated between her father and mother in the pew, where she felt totally protected and safe.
Not once did she look at the Torbetts.
At the end of the service, accompanied by her sisters Diedre and DeLacy, she paid her condolences to Julian’s mother, and to Madge. And then the three of them left the cathedral, crowded out by everyone else, Diedre later explained.
She felt sad that her childhood friend had died the way he had, and so young, but she had no feelings at all for the Torbetts, except hatred, of course, for the rapist in that family.
Part Two
THE LAST SUMMER
July–September 1913
There has fallen a splendid tear
From the passion-flower at the gate.
She is coming, my dove, my dear;
She is coming, my life, my fate.
—Alfred, Lord Tennyson
O Lyric Love, half angel and half bird,
And all a wonder and a wild desire.
—Robert Browning
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.
—W. B. Yeats
Fifteen
“Is there something wrong with Daphne?” Miles Ingham asked, looking across at Cecily, giving her one of his very direct stares. “Everyone in the family I’ve asked says that she’s perfectly fine, but I don’t think she is. In fact, I know she’s not.”
Cecily moved her position slightly on the thick car rug spread out on the ground, silent for a moment, then she shrugged. “She does seem sort of distant … far away. But I don’t think there’s anything wrong with her. Honestly.”
Miles sighed. “I believe you, because we’ve always told each other the truth. You know I’m close to her, Ceci, and she’s just not herself. Whatever anyone says.” He poured lemonade into two old silver mugs, forced on him by Cook, who didn’t like the family using glasses outside, because of previous accidents.
He handed one of the mugs to Cecily, who thanked him. Miles took a long swallow of the lemonade, then reached for a cucumber sandwich. His mind was racing. He had been home from Eton for almost a week, and he had known the instant he’d arrived at Cavendon that his sister was troubled. He had even wondered if she was ill. There was a listlessness about her, she was paler than usual, and she appeared preoccupied. When he’d questioned her, she had vehemently denied there was anything wrong. But he wasn’t convinced.
Miles and Cecily were sitting under a large sycamore tree in a glade at the edge of the bluebell woods, having one of their special picnics. It was a beautiful morning in mid-June, and all was well at Cavendon. At least on the surface. The family was coping with Anne Sedgewick’s fatal illness, and the sudden unexpected death of Julian Torbett, which had been so upsetting to them.
Daphne’s horrendous experience had remained a secret known only to the Swanns, and was, therefore, buried deep. Her parents didn’t even know that Daphne had “fallen” in the woods. Daphne had kept quiet and so had DeLacy. Cecily, a Swann, knew not to utter one word about it.
With Miles home from Eton and Guy from Oxford, the entire fam
ily was in residence. Normally they would all have been at the London house for the summer season, but the countess had asked the earl if they could remain in Yorkshire for the summer. She was concerned about her sister, and wanted to be nearby in case she was needed.
The earl, who adored his wife and wanted to please her, had agreed. They had not even gone up to London for Royal Ascot Week in June.
Suddenly, Miles said, “Do you think that perhaps she’s so quiet because of Julian’s death? Surely not, Ceci. After all, they were only chums, and childhood chums at that.” He frowned, threw her a puzzled look. “She can’t be grieving, can she?” Miles, at fourteen, was unusually insightful for his age, and had always understood that Daphne had no interest in Julian.
“No, of course not, don’t be silly. She’s sad, but no more than you or me…” Ceci stopped abruptly, looked off into the distance.
Miles probed, “What is it? I know that look on your face only too well.”
“It’s just that … well, she had a fall in the woods a few weeks ago. She was worried about a bad bruise on her face. It got better quickly, but she didn’t want your father to know. Daphne kept quiet about her fall, so it must be our secret, Miles. Promise me.”
“I promise. Cross my heart and hope to die. I understand about her problem, you know. Father has his heart set on her marrying the son of a duke, and she’s acutely aware of her great beauty. But then who isn’t. Anyway, she wouldn’t want Papa to know she’d fallen. He’d chastise her for being careless. He’s drilled it into her for years that her beauty is her greatest asset.”
“That must be a big responsibility for her to carry,” Cecily muttered, making a face.
Miles nodded. “It’s made Daphne cautious, very careful. She knows she can’t damage her face, or any part of her body.” He looked at Cecily with his warm, steady gaze, added in a lower voice, “You’re beautiful, too, Ceci.” Leaning across the food in the middle of the car rug, he kissed her on the cheek. “And you’re my special girl. You are, aren’t you?”
Whenever he kissed her like this, or spoke in this affectionate manner, Cecily turned bright pink, and she did so now, really blushing. Looking at him from under her long, dark eyelashes, she whispered, “Yes, and you’re my special boy, aren’t you?”
He offered her a loving smile, nodded, and finished his sandwich.
Cecily picked up the silver mug, which she knew Hanson had relegated to the kitchen because it was dented. She drank some of the lemonade, and then glanced at the crest engraved on the side. “Loyalty binds me,” she said. She knew that motto by heart; she had heard it all her life.
Miles smiled at her, his blue eyes full of admiration for Cecily, whom he had grown up with and couldn’t imagine being away from for very long. He heard a faint noise and glanced behind him. Footsteps were coming down the path, and he wondered who it was. He sat up, fully alert.
It was Genevra who appeared, and came to a sudden stop the moment she saw them, obviously taken by surprise.
“Aw, liddle Miss Swann. And Master Ingham himself, come a courtin’.” She laughed, pirouetted, drew closer to them, peering at Miles. Suddenly she asked, “The Lady Daphne? How be she?”
Miles simply stared at her, speechless, not knowing how to answer her.
Cecily jumped to her feet. “What do you mean, Genevra?” she demanded.
“Be she better?” Genevra asked.
“She’s not better, because she’s not been ill!” Cecily exclaimed sharply, glaring at her.
“I know that, liddle Cecily.”
The gypsy girl looked from Cecily to Miles. She held his gaze for the longest moment, and she saw the light around him, saw his destiny in a flash. Immediately her eyes settled on Cecily, and her heart leapt when she caught a glimpse of her future, as she had only a month ago.
Without saying anything, Genevra turned around and walked away. She stood for a moment, when she came to the edge of the bluebell woods, gazing up at Cavendon sitting there high on the hill. Her eyes swept over its glittering windows; the sheen on its walls was like a coating of silver. Blinking in the intense brightness, she closed her eyes.
When she opened them a moment later, the great house looked dark, ominous, and the future was so clearly visible to her she was startled. A shiver ran through her. Nothing had been so clear to her ever before.
Genevra, the Romany girl with the gift of sight, ran into the fields, tears blinding her as she ran. She could not change anything. What was meant to be was meant to be. Que sera sera.
Sixteen
Alice Swann walked down the corridor to Lady Daphne’s bedroom, carrying three lovely summer frocks for her. They had been altered to fit her, were freshly ironed, and Alice hoped they would bring a smile to her face, cheer her up.
Over the last week Alice had become concerned about the seventeen-year-old, who seemed lost, helpless, and lacking in enthusiasm for anything, even everyday, simple things.
Arriving at the room, Alice knocked, and when there was no answer she turned the knob, only to discover the door was firmly locked. Drawing closer to it, she said in a low, urgent voice, “Lady Daphne, it’s me, Mrs. Alice. Please let me in. I have your dresses.”
When there was no sound, Alice knocked again, rapping a little harder. There were muffled sounds from behind the door and finally she heard the key being turned. The door was opened just a crack, and Alice slipped in swiftly. When she saw the state Daphne was in, she was alarmed and locked the door immediately.
The girl was standing there, looking forlorn and somewhat disheveled. She had obviously been crying and her eyes were red rimmed, her hair rumpled, and her clothes seemed to have been thrown on without much care.
“Whatever is it, Lady Daphne?” Alice asked as she walked across to her.
Daphne said nothing, simply stared blankly at Alice, her face a picture of dismay. She started to say something, and stopped abruptly.
Alice showed her the dresses. “Look, Lady Daphne, the summer chiffons. They’re ready for parties coming up. You’ll look lovely in them, I’m certain of that.”
“Thank you,” Daphne whispered, and immediately fell silent again.
Walking across to the wardrobe, Alice put them inside, sliding the hangers onto the rail, and closing the door. She returned to the middle of the room, and firmly took hold of the young woman’s elbow, ushered her over to the sofa.
“Please sit down, Lady Daphne, and tell me what’s the matter. You know I will help you if I can, and you know you can trust me.”
Daphne became distressed. Tears began to run down her pale cheeks, splashing onto her hands clasped in her lap. Alice noticed at once that she was trembling, and there was such a stricken look in her eyes Alice was afraid. Something was terribly, terribly wrong. Her heart plummeted, and she hoped to God her worst fear wasn’t about to come true. Pulling a side chair over, Alice sat down in it, and reached out, took hold of Daphne’s hand, held it tightly in hers.
Her voice was low, gentle, when she said, “Take a deep breath, Lady Daphne, and tell me why you are so troubled.”
Lady Daphne Ingham, second daughter of the Earl of Mowbray, the family’s great beauty of whom so much was expected, whom everyone believed would one day marry a duke’s son, could not speak. For days she had been in a stunned state of disbelief, hardly able to function, and now she was running out of excuses for spending so much time alone in her room. She did not know what to do, or where to turn, except to Mrs. Alice, who had told her not to trust anyone except her parents and the Swanns. But she could not go to her parents. That was unthinkable.
Endeavoring to control her swimming senses, Daphne groped for the handkerchief in her pocket and dried her eyes. She looked at Alice Swann, and nodded, but once again she discovered she could not speak. The words just wouldn’t come out. She was unable to say them.
Leaning closer to the young woman, Alice murmured, sotto voce, “Are you pregnant?”
Daphne drew back swiftly, staring at Ali
ce, a terrified expression settling on her face. She began to shake uncontrollably. Tears swam in her bright blue eyes. Suddenly she began to sob. Then unexpectedly she reached out to Alice, who pulled her closer, held her tightly in her arms, endeavoring to calm her, fully understanding the girl’s dilemma.
Daphne whispered, “I’ve missed two periods, and I’m now sick every morning.”
Oh my God, Alice thought, this is a disaster. Whatever are we going to do? An earl’s daughter pregnant out of wedlock. That was ruinous to any family, and the grander the family the worse it was. The Inghams would be shattered when they found out. Charlotte, she thought, I’ve got to go to Charlotte. Only she can work this out, help the earl and the countess. They trust her implicitly, and she’s very clever, brilliant in certain ways.
Releasing Daphne from her tight embrace, Alice said, “This is a dreadful problem, you know that as well as I do. But I think we can prevent a huge disaster for the family if we handle it correctly.”
“What do you mean?” Daphne asked, patting her eyes with her hankie. “Handle it how? My … condition is not going to go away.”
“No, it isn’t, but there are ways to conceal the condition, shall we say. Ways to make certain things … invisible.”
Daphne bit her lip, shaking her head. “My parents are going to be furious, Papa in particular—”
“Let’s not think about that at this exact moment, Lady Daphne,” Alice cut in. “Just leave things to the Swanns for the moment. I have to speak to Charlotte. She will come up with a plan, I promise you. In the meantime, I want you to do something for me, and for yourself. And it’s very important.”
“What do you wish me to do, Mrs. Alice? I’ll do anything if it helps.”
“I want you to take charge of yourself. And at once. Now. This afternoon. I want you to put up a front, and a good one at that.”
Frowning, Daphne said, “I’m not sure I understand.”
“You’ve always been a good little actress when we’ve put on the family plays over the years. I want a performance. The performance of your life. You must behave as normally as possible, and look extremely beautiful. Radiant, in fact. You have to fool your family. They must not think that anything is wrong, or that you’re ill or unhappy. You can’t mope around, or remain in your room. Otherwise they’ll become suspicious, wonder about your health.”