There was a long silence. “So be it,” he said at last.
“Speak to Lavinia; tell her I would love to see her, be friends. I’ll take her to lunch, or she can come here, whichever she prefers. Mark, please tell her I am truly on her side. That I will pray for her.”
“Thank you,” Mark responded, feeling as if a great weight had been lifted now that he had the matriarch of the Inghams on his side.
Lady Gwendolyn ventured, “I wonder if I can ask you something now?”
“But of course, anything. How can I be of help?”
“I heard a rather strange thing … that certain aristocrats who are having financial problems are opening their stately homes to the public, to have guided tours. Have you heard of this?”
“As a matter of fact, I have. Well, a sort of whiff of it. I know John Bailey slightly. He’s the chairman of the National Trust, which was founded mostly to protect open spaces. But now the Trust is talking about helping to preserve country houses and gardens. Not a bad thing, in my opinion.”
“I suppose the guided tours do make money?” Lady Gwendolyn threw him a questioning glance.
“I think so. If you wish, I could endeavor to find out more.”
“I would like that, Mark. But please, let’s keep this between us. Don’t mention it to anyone, not even Lavinia.”
“You have my word.”
* * *
After Mark Stanton left, looking more cheerful than when he had arrived, Lady Gwendolyn went back to her Georgian desk. For a long time she stared at her notebook, but did not pick up her pen. Instead her thoughts took over, and she sat staring out of the window, lost in contemplation.
It had started to rain but she barely noticed it. Her mind was on Lavinia. Knowing her niece the way she did, she realized that Lavinia would not want to be a burden to Mark. It was the way she was made, the Ingham way, actually.
The man plainly loved her, very much so. Surely his love, kindness, and devotion would help her through this terrible ordeal. Perhaps I can make her see this more clearly, she thought, sighing under her breath, filled with love and compassion for her niece.
Lady Gwendolyn fully understood how hurtful it must be for Lavinia to have been cut out of the inner circle of the family. She had been in the center of it all of her life. On the other hand, Lavinia had said things about Charlotte which weren’t acceptable. Everyone had been shocked and highly offended by those awful remarks.
A thought struck her. Maybe Lavinia’s illness, and the pain she was most likely suffering, had been responsible for the curious nastiness she had displayed. Whatever Lavinia was, she had never been a mean or unkind person. Quite to the contrary.
Now she wondered how she would manage to persuade the family to relent. Only telling them the truth. They would have to know that Lavinia was ill, suffering from cancer. Mark had agreed to that; understanding there was no other way, he had given her his permission to reveal the truth.
Slowly it came to her. A plan. She would have to make a point of speaking to every member of the family, but alone. One by one. They would fall in line, she hoped and prayed. She had to be persuasive.
She knew that Lavinia needed a little tender loving care at this time in her life … surely the last part of her life.
Tears suddenly flooded Lady Gwendolyn’s eyes, and she wept inconsolably for her niece, no longer able to hold them back. Far too young to be struck down like this, far too young to die. Unable to stem the tears, she rose and went into her bedroom, closed the door, and lay down on the bed. And she continued to weep into her pillow as if her heart would break.
Eventually she calmed herself, got off the bed, and went into the bathroom. She wiped her eyes, washed her face, combed her hair, and put on fresh lipstick. She always wore lipstick in defiance of her age. And life.
Returning to the parlor, she sat down at the old desk and wrote her notes, answered letters, and made several phone calls.
Life must go on, she reminded herself. Later today she would be having tea with Diedre, and then Inspector Pinkerton was coming to see her. With new information about Diedre’s problem. She must be on her toes, on top form to deal with them both.
Thirty-four
“Dulcie! I didn’t expect to see you here,” Diedre exclaimed as she entered Cecily Swann Couture in the Burlington Arcade and closed the door behind her.
“Oh, hello, Diedre. I’m working here for a while. You see, I will soon be opening my own shop, or rather, an art gallery. Ceci’s teaching me the ropes, you know, how to handle customers, all that sort of thing.”
Diedre was genuinely surprised. “Opening an art gallery! Goodness, that’s awfully ambitious of you, darling. Do you think Papa will approve?”
“I hope so. But it won’t be opening until next year, when I’ve finished my art history course. In the meantime, I’m making my plans and raising capital.”
“Capital?” Diedre was even more startled, and a brow lifted eloquently.
“Yes. I have to have funds. To run the art gallery. Cecily has already given me quite a lot of money, and even Great-Aunt Gwen hinted that she might put something up. What about you, Diedre? Do you want to throw in a few quid?”
Diedre laughed; Dulcie had that effect on her these days. “I don’t know. How much are we talking about?” There was a pause, then she said, “I might. What’s your idea of a few quid?”
“A thousand. Or even two thousand. Pounds.”
“Good God! You can’t be serious.”
“Of course I’m serious. This is a business I’m opening, not a silly game I’m playing. Anyway, that amount would certainly expunge the last vestiges of dislike I’ve harbored for you all these years. Let’s not forget, you made my life hell when I was little. Sometimes you even frightened me to death. Two thousand pounds is about right to settle the matter, don’t you think?” Dulcie grinned at her cheekily.
Diedre was gaping at her youngest sister, and then she began to chuckle once again, thinking what a nerve Dulcie had. No, it was spunk. And she couldn’t help but admire that. Dulcie was an original, no doubt about it.
“So, are you going to invest with me? You’ll get shares. And I do intend to make money. Pots of it.”
“You’re still a little brat, do you know that? But yes, I will invest with you. Not to clear my reputation with you, but because I admire your ambition. And I also love you. How about three thousand pounds? Is that all right?”
Dulcie jumped up and down, laughing, flung her arms around Diedre, and hugged her tightly. “Thank you, thank you, and your bad reputation has now been expunged from my mind. Forever. I harbor only abiding love for you.”
Swallowing her laughter, Diedre said, “If it’s not a rude question, how much did Cecily invest?”
“Ten thousand pounds,” Dulcie replied truthfully, and endeavoring not to look smug. “She said she would give me more, if and when I need it.”
“Ceci must believe in you, and now so do I.” Diedre opened her bag, took out her checkbook, and asked, “Who shall I make this payable to?”
“Me. Cecily’s in the process of forming a company for me. In the meantime, it will go into the escrow account. Next week I shall acknowledge your investment properly, and send a letter.”
“I understand,” Diedre murmured, realizing that Cecily Swann had been diligent when advising her little sister about business.
At this moment Dorothy Swann Pinkerton came out from the back office, smiled when she spotted Diedre, and came to greet her with cordiality. “Cecily’s waiting for you on the next floor, Lady Diedre, whenever you wish to come upstairs. I think you’re going to love the outfits she’s picked out for you.”
“I’m sure I will, thank you, Dorothy. I shall come now.”
Looking at her sister, Dulcie asked, “Can we have tea together later, Diedre?”
“Oh dear, we can’t. I’m sorry, Dulcie. I’m going to visit Great-Aunt Gwendolyn when I leave here.”
Diedre followed Dorothy up t
he stairs to the showroom. And she couldn’t help thinking that Dulcie could be really incorrigible at times. But no one ever took offense, because she made them laugh.
* * *
DeLacy was adding up her checkbook and doing paperwork at her desk when the phone rang. She answered it at once, to discover Lawrence Pierce on the other end of the line.
“I hope I’m not disturbing you, DeLacy,” he said, sounding extremely friendly.
“Not at all,” DeLacy answered. “How is Mama?”
“So much better, my dear. And I’m happy to tell you that Travers Merton is currently finishing a painting, and will soon be available to paint you. He took my word for it that you are a very, very beautiful woman and worth painting. I told him that he must put all his great talents to work.”
DeLacy smiled to herself, enjoying this unexpected compliment. She said, “Oh, I’m so glad. I think it was a lovely idea of yours, Lawrence. And Mama will be surprised; I haven’t told a soul.”
“Please don’t,” he said swiftly. “I don’t want it to get back to her. Now, Merton wants to have a meeting with you, but he’s not available this week because he’s finishing that other portrait. And neither am I. So sorry about that.”
“That’s all right. I know you’re in enormous demand, Lawrence, a great surgeon like you. We all understand how brilliant you are.”
“Thank you, my dear. However, I’m going to Paris tomorrow. I have to attend a medical conference, a very important one, where I will be giving the main lecture. I shan’t come back until Saturday. So let us make an appointment to meet with Merton next week. When are you available?”
DeLacy flicked through the pages of her engagement book. “I could be free on Wednesday or Thursday.”
“I’d better make it Thursday, just in case I get delayed in Paris. Let me give you Travers Merton’s address in Chelsea. And shall we say six o’clock?”
“Oh, you want me to meet him in the evening, do you?”
Suddenly catching a hint of reserve and anxiety in her voice, Lawrence Pierce explained, “That is Merton’s preference, actually. He is painting during the day, you see, because of the light. He thought it would be nice to have a drink, a toast to the beautiful Lady DeLacy with champagne, was the way he put it. How does that sound?”
“Lovely, thank you, Lawrence.”
“Do you wish me to escort you next Thursday?”
“Oh no, that’s all right. But thank you. I will go there by myself, and meet you there. What is the address?”
He gave it to her, and said, “Until next week, then.” Lawrence hung up after murmuring a good-bye.
DeLacy sat staring at the phone, suddenly feeling nervous about the whole idea of sitting for the painting, although she wasn’t really sure why. Travers Merton was famous, had an extraordinary reputation. Was it Lawrence? His friendliness?
Pushing these thoughts away, she realized that she had most important news for Daphne. But how to explain to her sister how she had got information about Lawrence Pierce and his trip to Paris? She couldn’t say Wilson told her, because Wilson was in close contact with Daphne. Perhaps she should simply telephone her mother and suggest a visit later this week. It was the only thing she could do unless she confided about the portrait.
Before she lost her nerve, DeLacy dialed her mother’s house in Charles Street. It was Ratcliffe, the butler, who answered, and he put her through to her mother immediately.
“Hello, Mama,” DeLacy said. “How are you?”
“I’m much better, DeLacy, and I’m actually up and about. It was so nice to see you, darling.”
“Mama, I was hoping I could come again this week. I have a present for you, and Daphne is longing to see you, and to bring the baby. Annabel is two now, and gorgeous. Please say we can come. Daphne’s missed you, and as you know, I have.” DeLacy held her breath and crossed her fingers.
There was a moment of silence before Felicity said, “Why does Daphne want me to meet Annabel? She has refused in the past.”
“The child is two now, and is in London for the first time since she was born, Mama. What a treat for her and for you. Please say yes.”
Felicity, aware that Lawrence would be in Paris, doing God knows what, seeing another woman no doubt, made a sudden decision. “You always have good ideas, DeLacy. Why not? I’d love to end this estrangement with Daphne, and meet my newest granddaughter. Let us do it. Be friends again.”
“Shall we come around four o’clock on Thursday, Mama?”
“That will be fine.” There was a pause, then Felicity said, “How lovely of you to buy something for me, DeLacy. What is it?”
“I’m not telling you, Mama,” she answered, laughing. “I want it to be a surprise.”
Once they had hung up, DeLacy reached for the phone again, anxious to speak to Daphne, tell her about the date she had just made. They would get the jewels back at last. Now it was imperative that they finalized the details of the plan.
* * *
It was early afternoon when Diedre left the Burlington Arcade shop. She cut quite a swath as she crossed the street and went into Fortnum & Mason, the famous old department store on Piccadilly.
Tall, slender, and elegant, with a shapely head of shining blond hair, she drew numerous glances. Being a beautiful young woman, and chicly dressed, women admired her style, whilst men looked after her longingly, wondering who she was. Somebody. No doubt about that.
Once she entered the store, Diedre headed directly to the chocolate counter at the far end of the food department on the ground floor. She bought a large box of her great-aunt’s favorite milk chocolates, and once it was packed in a shopping bag, she walked over to the lift and went up to the lingerie floor.
Her intention was to buy beautiful peignoirs, nightgowns, and cami-knickers, which were Paul’s favorite.
Paul. How lucky she was to have found him. He had been right under her nose for ages, and yet they had never spent any time together until her father’s wedding.
As Diedre looked at the beautiful chiffon and silk nightgowns she put a hand on her stomach. She could feel nothing at this stage. Yet she was positive she was carrying Paul’s child. The mere idea of this frightened her. She would know tomorrow after the doctor’s appointment. And she would be facing a dilemma if she was with child.
The scandal would infuriate her father. He loathed scandal. She suspected he was guilty about divorcing her mother, who had her own scandal after running away with Lawrence Pierce when they were both still married. And now Miles was separated and seeking a divorce.
Deep down Diedre knew she would have to tell Paul immediately. She had a strong feeling he was in love with her, and certainly she was deeply involved with him on an emotional level. But would he marry her? She had no answer to that. And what would she do? And then there was her job at the War Office. She loved it and always had. Now there was that rumor about her, another bit of nastiness hanging over her head. And what if someone knew all about her past? Told Paul? She pushed that thought away.
After buying a pale blue silk nightgown and peignoir, she left the store, took a cab to her office in Whitehall. Once inside, she locked the door, sat down in her chair, and put her head on her desk. She felt the tears pricking behind her eyes, but blinked them back. What help was crying? It solved nothing.
A baby. The thought terrified her, because she was single, yet the idea of having a child also thrilled her. She had never imagined this would happen. And if she really was pregnant, part of her would be jubilant. In the inner recesses of her mind she had always wanted a child.
Thirty-five
“Thank you for agreeing to see me earlier than we planned, Lady Gwendolyn,” Inspector Howard Pinkerton said as he walked into the hallway of the Mount Street flat at two o’clock instead of six.
Lady Gwendolyn shook his hand. “No problem at all, Inspector. My next appointment is not until four. Do come into the parlor.”
“Thank you, m’lady,” he answered, and ha
nded his wet trench coat and hat to the housekeeper.
Once they were seated, facing each other in front of the fire, Lady Gwendolyn asked the Scotland Yard detective if he would like tea or coffee, or maybe something stronger.
“A cup of tea would do the trick, m’lady,” Howard answered. “It’s turned a bit chilly, and thank you.”
Lady Gwendolyn rang the bell on the wall, and a moment later Mrs. Fontaine appeared in the doorway. “Yes, m’lady?”
“Could we have a pot of tea for two and some sweet biscuits, please, Mrs. Fontaine?”
“Of course, m’lady.” The housekeeper hurried off.
Inspector Pinkerton started to speak at once. Lady Gwendolyn usually wanted information instantly. Clearing his throat, he said, “Life is funny in certain ways, m’lady. By that I mean things can happen quite unexpectedly, and they often solve a problem just by chance.”
“Correct. And that happened to you, Inspector?”
“It did indeed. This past Sunday, Dorothy and I drove down to see my cousin Patsy, who lives in Bath. And quite out of the blue, she mentioned a name I knew … Johanna Ellsworth, the cousin of Alfie Fennell, the two people involved in the rumor about Lady Diedre.”
Leaning forward, her eyes riveted on the detective, Lady Gwendolyn asked, “Why did her name come up in Bath?”
“My cousin likes to paint. She’s an amateur, of course. Although she’s good, mind you. She belongs to a group of local women, and men, who take painting trips. They go to local places, and sometimes abroad. My cousin happened to mention that next spring she was going to France with the group, and that the trip had been planned by Johanna Ellsworth, who was the founder of the group.”
“You discovered something of importance, didn’t you, Inspector?”
“I’ll say. I didn’t want to make a fuss, alarm Patsy in any way. I just asked a few casual questions. I discovered, in due course, that Johanna Ellsworth had had a half brother, who had been killed in the Great War. His name was Ralph Palmer. I inquired if he’d been married to Laura Upton Palmer, and my cousin answered in the affirmative. Naturally she wanted to know how I knew Laura. Fortunately I had an explanation at my fingertips. I said I’d been looking at an open case, that of the death of Maxine Lowe, and that Laura Upton Palmer had been a friend of hers. Patsy knows I often dig around in cases that are still open, so my explanation worked. I just let the matter go.”