Secrets of Cavendon: A gripping historical saga full of intrigue and drama. Barbara Taylor BradfordЧитать онлайн книгу.
collection,’ Gwen said.
Cecily stared at her intently, and then laughed. ‘Why, of course it will be a garden collection. I shall call it Autumn Garden. You see, you’ve helped me already, Gwen.’
Deep within the inner recesses of her mind, Cecily knew that Miles would be angry with her when she gave him the bad news. Not because she didn’t have the money to give him for the estate taxes, or because her business was in trouble. He would be angry because she hadn’t confided in him earlier, shared her worries.
Miles expected her to tell him everything. He had been that way since their childhood, wanting every piece of her, every little bit, every thought, every feeling. Even when they were apart, after his unhappy marriage to Clarissa, she was aware he was still involved with her emotionally, in love with her. She knew because everyone told her he asked questions about her constantly. ‘He’s very possessive of you,’ her brother had once told her. ‘He’d control your life from a distance if that were at all possible.’
At the time she had not been impressed. In fact, she had been angry, disdainful of Miles when answering Harry. And she had made sure she never ran into Miles at Cavendon, or anywhere else for that matter. She believed he would want her as his mistress if she so much as gave him a half smile.
Now she looked down the table at him, staring at him with intensity. He noticed her fixed scrutiny as he turned away from Alicia and picked up his glass of water.
He smiled at her, love suffusing his face.
She smiled back.
Their eyes locked and for a moment neither could look away from the other.
It was always like that between them … They had their quarrels and disagreements, and sometimes became angry with each other, but their little spats were over in a very short time, and about nothing of great importance, in actuality.
What she had to tell him was important. She decided to take a wholly different approach, and she would do it tonight. After dinner, they usually had a little quiet time together in their upstairs sitting room before they went to bed. Her thoughts continued to turn about this matter through the latter part of the lunch, and by the time it was over she was fully prepared, everything in place in her mind. She was armed and ready to deal with him.
Once everyone had left the table, and gone off to do other things, Cecily went downstairs to the kitchen, heading for Eric’s office. She found him behind his desk, and he jumped up at once, welcomed her, pulled out the chair so she could sit down.
‘Thank you for the notes about the wine cellar and the stock, Eric,’ Cecily began. ‘I am going to mention the possibility of an auction, in passing, to Miles tonight. However, Aunt Charlotte will take it up with him later in more detail. Along with several other things.’
‘Perhaps she should be the one to mention the idea of paying guests during the grouse season,’ Eric suggested, throwing Cecily a quizzical look. ‘I did ask Percy if he could make a few enquiries and find out which aristocratic families are inviting Guns who pay for the privilege of shooting at a stately home.’
‘That was a good move, and knowing that others are doing it would perhaps influence Miles.’
Eric said, ‘About the wooden box up in the main attic, m’lady. I took the liberty of opening it, and bringing down the contents. They are paintings which belonged to Lady DeLacy, from her flat in London. I took them to Lady Diedre’s old room and stacked them in there.’
‘Thank you very much, Eric.’ She gave him a small smile, which faltered, then added, ‘It was thoughtful of you not to take them to Lady DeLacy’s room …’ She broke off, blinking back unexpected tears, swallowing hard, pushing back a sudden rush of emotion.
‘It struck me that having them there would have been too much for you to bear … a neutral room seemed the best under the circumstances,’ Eric explained. He knew how close they had been, understood it might be painful.
‘Some are by Travers Merton, aren’t they?’
‘Yes, and very beautiful.’ Eric unlocked the top drawer of his desk, and took out an envelope, handing it to her across the desk. ‘This is the key for the new steamer trunk you bought. Actually, there are two keys, m’lady, and you should put both of them in your private safe in your bedroom. Better they’re locked up.’
‘I will do that. Aunt Charlotte kept the Swann record books under lock and key all her life, and I must do the same. And thank you again for helping me to fit so many notebooks into the trunk. It was quite a task.’
‘And an amazing record of the Swann family, and the Inghams, and things that happened to them over the centuries. Full of secrets, too, I’ve no doubt.’
If only you knew, Cecily thought, you’d never believe it. But she remained silent. After a moment, she went on, ‘Now that Lady Daphne has gone to Zurich for an indefinite period, I think Ted can relax a little, concentrate on repairs more than redecorating, Eric.’
‘I agree. By the way, the bedrooms not in use have all been closed. I’ve put dustsheets over the antiques in the North and East Wings, attics as well. But obviously the South Wing is open. Even though Lady Daphne and Mr Hugo are away, I’m sure their wing should be open. After all, their children will keep coming up for weekends.’
‘Two are already here,’ Cecily answered. ‘And quite right, Eric, the South Wing has always been Lady Daphne’s home since she married Mr Hugo, and their children grew up there. We must welcome them always.’
After discussing the menus, wines and activities for the next few days, Cecily left Eric to go about his duties. She took the back staircase up to the bedroom floor, and walked along the corridor to Diedre’s bedroom, not used since Diedre had moved to Skelldale House with her husband Will Lawson and her son Robin. Cecily was due to have a cup of tea with Aunt Charlotte but had taken a quick diversion.
She hesitated for a moment before going in, and then took a deep breath and did so. Eric had arranged the paintings around the room, propped up against chairs, the desk, and a chest of drawers. Several had been placed on a sheet on top of the bed.
The one which instantly caught her eye was the portrait of DeLacy which Travers had painted years ago, commissioned by Lawrence Pierce to give to DeLacy’s mother one Christmas before the war.
It leaned against the legs of a chair, and Cecily went to it immediately, picked it up and placed it on the chair.
She stepped back to view the painting, and her heart missed a beat. She caught her breath in surprise. It was so lifelike; it seemed as if DeLacy were sitting right there in front of her. The painting was magnificent. Travers had captured something unique in DeLacy, a delicate beauty, a certain fragility, and yet her bright blue eyes sparkled with life and energy.
This painting of DeLacy had hung in the former Countess’s sitting room in her house in London. After her death, the Four Dees had not taken very many of their mother’s possessions, since they were all estranged from her.
Now Cecily remembered how DeLacy had asked her sisters if she could have the painting of herself. It was one of the last paintings ever executed by Travers Merton, and of course, they had said she could.
Cecily felt a cold chill running through her and shivered involuntarily. Goose flesh sprang up on the back of her neck and her arms; memories of that horrendous night were suddenly at the front of her mind.
The night Travers had died in his studio, with DeLacy beside him in his bed. Not understanding at first that he was dead, she had called Cecily for help. Cecily, in turn, had phoned Eric. They had gone together to rescue her from the scene, recognizing from DeLacy’s hysterics that something was wrong.
They had been flummoxed, not known what to do. Finally they had phoned Uncle Howard at Scotland Yard, who had come to their rescue, taken the matter into his hands, and dealt with the problem.
For a few moments, Cecily was totally mesmerized by the painting, and then she went over to the chair, picked it