The Cavendon Women by Barbara Taylor Bradford
Howard liked to think of himself as a man of progress, and he was a big fan of Henry Ford. Although recently he had come to realize that Mr. Ford’s invention had created the heavy traffic he sometimes had to confront on the roads these days. And no doubt the skies would soon be full of airplanes, he decided, thinking about those adventurous young men attempting to fly the Atlantic.
It seemed to Howard that 1926 was a spectacular year, with so many new and diverse things to deal with and enjoy, as well as the many changes in society. “The Roaring Twenties” they were now calling this era. And so it was, as well as the Jazz Age, yet another name people used. Nightclubs, cafés, and parties. Young women in shorter and shorter skirts, who had become independent and sexually liberated. They smoked, drank, and drove motorcars, and even had careers. He liked the changes and the new names for this era. They were apt, and he considered progress important, and to be welcomed. He thought of himself as a modern man.
Taking out his pocket diary, Howard turned the pages until he came to today’s date, Friday, September 3. There was only one notation on the page.
At six o’clock he was to meet with Lady Gwendolyn to discuss her great-niece Lady Diedre. After once again checking the exact number of the flat in Mount Street, Howard put the diary back in his pocket. He could walk there in three minutes.
Howard had set out early from Scotland Yard, in order to have this half hour alone in the park. It gave him that bit of quiet time he needed to consider the upcoming meeting with the matriarch of the Ingham family.
He liked Lady Gwendolyn, found her open and outgoing, a most approachable woman who was highly intelligent. These were the reasons which had led him to agree to help her sort out Lady Diedre’s problems; he would do a bit of investigating on his own time, he had told her.
He had found out a great deal; some of the things he learned had genuinely surprised him. He was positive they would surprise Lady Gwendolyn as well.
Suddenly, he wondered how much he ought to tell Lady Gwendolyn at this moment in time. He still had several people to speak to, and he also wanted to assess a number of files he had read at the Yard.
These had to do with the death of Lady Diedre’s friend Maxine Lowe. He had been taken aback to discover that those files were inadequate, lacking information, at least in his opinion. It was a dead-end case, with no leads. Yet the case had never been closed; he had found this odd the other day, and he still thought that.
Settling himself comfortably on the iron garden seat, Howard closed his eyes, mentally focusing on the Lowe case, puzzled by several aspects of it.
In doing this, Howard Pinkerton was in his element … analyzing. He was considered to be the most brilliant detective at Scotland Yard, and over the years had moved up through the ranks very rapidly. He was one of their very best—most probably the best.
To work at Scotland Yard had always been his childhood dream. He had made sure he knew its entire history, and had committed everything to memory by the time he was ten years old. He was much encouraged by his clever father, who was proud of his talented child.
If anyone asked Howard a question about Scotland Yard when he was growing up, he would immediately explain that it was the headquarters of the Criminal Investigation Department of London’s Metropolitan Police Force. The CID. He would even reveal that it was named after the short street where the building stood, on the site of a twelfth-century palace, of all things. He would tell anyone who would listen that the palace had been the residence of the Scottish kings when they visited London centuries before; that it had become the center for the police force in 1829, but sixty-one years later, in 1890, new quarters had been built for the CID, on the Thames Embankment. New Scotland Yard it was called, but few people ever used that name, Howard would tell them.
Howard’s father, Lionel Pinkerton, was clerk to a famous barrister with chambers in Gray’s Inn at the Inns of Court. Lionel was a man who made it his business to be on good terms with everybody. He believed that courtesy, charm, and general helpfulness were vital, and that being accommodating, whilst offering a wealth of knowledge, paved the way to success. And he was right. When it came time to get his beloved son into Scotland Yard, he did so with ease.
Opening his eyes, Howard sat up on the bench. Something about Maxine’s death, which had troubled him, was unexpectedly very plain to see. Leaving the park, he made his way to Mount Street. He glanced at his watch. It was just six o’clock. Straightening his back, striding out, he braced himself to meet Lady Gwendolyn, wondering how she would react to some of the strange information he was about to impart.
Twenty-four
“I’m not understanding you, Inspector Pinkerton,” Lady Gwendolyn said, peering at Howard. He was seated opposite her in front of the fire in the drawing room of her Mount Street flat. “Are you saying there is no rumor?”
“No, I’m not, Lady Gwendolyn,” Howard answered swiftly. “There is a rumor … that Lady Diedre might have problems at the War Office, regarding her job. However, it’s what I would call more of a whisper.” Clearing his throat, he added, “I think her friend Mr. Fennell might have exaggerated a bit.”
“Why on earth would he do that? It sounds rather strange.”
“Not really, m’lady. I think a whisper about someone can become more, just through repetition. Things get left out, other things are added. I’ve only inquired at a lower level in the hierarchy. Quite frankly, I prefer not to draw attention to Lady Diedre unnecessarily.”
“I like your way of thinking, Inspector, and your discretion,” Lady Gwendolyn answered, and sat back in her chair. “Have you any thoughts about who could have started this … whisper, as you call it?”
“No, I don’t. I do have an opinion, though. I’m not so sure the rumor is emanating from someone who works with Lady Diedre.”
“Are you suggesting that the rumor was started by a person in her private life?” Lady Gwendolyn raised an eyebrow questioningly, sounding surprised.
“I am, yes. The colleague of Lady Diedre I talked to was dismissive about the little rumor, as he called it. He spoke in glowing terms about your great-niece, confided that the top brass at the War Office think her work is exemplary. I doubt she has any enemies there, your ladyship.”
“That’s lovely to know,” Lady Gwendolyn replied, and then frowned. “However, it is rather ghastly to think that a friend of Diedre’s may be trying to hurt her.”
Howard said, “I agree. However, I do think we must consider that possibility. Do you know many of her friends, Lady Gwendolyn?”
“I don’t. I only ever met Maxine Lowe, who died in rather strange circumstances. I’m sure you know all about that, Inspector Pinkerton.”
“I do,” he replied. “Although it wasn’t my case.”
After a moment’s thought, Lady Gwendolyn said, “Are we perhaps bashing our heads against a brick wall, Inspector?”
“I don’t think so. With a little more poking around I might find out who is attempting to frighten Lady Diedre, because that is what this is all about, I suspect.”
“Then we are in agreement,” Lady Gwendolyn murmured.
“Did you ever meet Laura Upton Palmer, my lady?”
“No, I didn’t. Nor have I ever heard of her. Is she a friend of Diedre’s?”
“No, not anymore, I am afraid. Unfortunately she died about six years ago. It was very tragic, she was so young.”
Shocked, Lady Gwendolyn sat up with a sudden jerk, staring at Howard. “Another friend of my great-niece died! Oh my goodness. Not in peculiar circumstances, I hope. Then there would be something really amiss, I do believe.” There was a moment’s pause, before Lady Gwendolyn asked, “How did the young lady die?”
“Mrs. Palmer died of leukemia, m’lady.”
“I see. Why did you bring her name up, Inspector?”
“It occurred to me you might have met her, m’lady. Maxine Lowe, Lady Diedre, and Laura Upton Palmer were great friends, best friends. In 1914, just before the war,
Lady Gwendolyn was shaking her head. “Diedre never mentioned Laura Upton Palmer to me, and she and I are rather close. How odd that she did not confide in me. I might have been able to comfort her. Oh dear, how sad for her. Diedre must have been so upset, losing two close friends like that and in just a few years.”
“I’m sure she was, and from what I gather, she was especially grief-stricken about Mrs. Palmer’s death, and probably still is, I think.”
Lady Gwendolyn, nobody’s fool, was studying Howard intently, and after a moment, she asked, “Is there an implication behind those words, Inspector Pinkerton?”
Howard shifted slightly in his chair, and did not answer for a few seconds, wondering how to properly proceed.
Lady Gwendolyn was still focused on him, and now her eyes narrowed. “I am a woman of a certain age, Inspector, and I have seen and heard so very many things in my long life. Nothing you tell me could possibly shock me.”
Staring back at her, he thought: What a wily old bird she is, and then said, “I realize that, your ladyship.” He took a deep breath and jumped in. “Lady Diedre and Mrs. Palmer eventually were more than just friends; they became … romantically involved.”
“Are you saying that Lady Diedre and Mrs. Palmer were lesbians, and lovers?”
“I am.”
For a moment, Lady Gwendolyn did not respond. Finally she said in a very steady voice, “Perhaps that’s why my great-niece never mentioned Laura, or introduced me to her. However, wasn’t Laura a married woman?”
“She was married to Ralph Palmer.” Understanding that Lady Gwendolyn was taking everything in her stride, and very calmly, Howard decided to continue. “Mrs. Palmer left her husband for Lady Diedre. In turn, Lady Diedre broke off her relationship with Austin Morgan. I’m sure you remember that the family believed she was about to get engaged to him.”
Lady Gwendolyn sat very still, indeed remembering everything about that possible engagement. She knew Austin Morgan’s father, who had been one of her oldest friends. And his only son had been killed in the Great War, and Rodney Morgan had never really recovered from his sorrow. He’d grieved for Austin until the day he died.
Now, looking across at Howard, an expression of puzzlement in her blue eyes, she asked, “I suppose we must accept that my great-niece and Laura would be considered bisexual? Isn’t that so?”
“It is, Lady Gwendolyn.”
“I would say we had two rejected, angry men seeking to hurt Diedre. However, Austin Morgan was killed in the Great War. Could Ralph Palmer be out for revenge?”
“He too died in the war, Lady Gwendolyn.”
“So that theory doesn’t work. I would like to get to the bottom of this situation. Obviously Diedre doesn’t have any idea who might be endeavoring to harm her with Chinese whispers, so there’s no point talking to her. What do you think we should do, Inspector?”
“Keep digging. I do know that Mrs. Palmer had a sister, or perhaps it was a cousin, who helped to care for her when she first became ill. I ought to look into family ties, Lady Gwendolyn. Perhaps a relative may have information that helps.”
“You’re right, Inspector. For example, did Laura have a brother? Someone who wants to hurt my great-niece? Or maybe Ralph’s family want to punish Lady Diedre, probably in the belief that she ruined Ralph’s marriage.”
“I shall work on the matter on my day off next week, m’lady. We’ll solve this riddle. Trust me.”
“I do, Inspector. I truly do.”
* * *
Once Inspector Howard Pinkerton had left, Lady Gwendolyn went into the small parlor which opened off her bedroom. She immediately picked up the telephone and dialed Vanessa’s number, then seated herself at the small writing desk.
After the third ring, the phone was answered, and it was Vanessa herself at the other end of the line.
“It’s Aunt Gwendolyn,” she said in her warmest voice. “I just wondered how you were, my dear, and whether or not your official engagement to Richard was imminent.”
“How nice of you to phone me, Aunt Gwen. Actually, Richard and I are planning to announce it next week. In The Times, of course.”
“That’s wonderful news, congratulations, my dear. I would like to give an engagement party for you, Vanessa, unless someone else has already offered to do that.”
“Oh my goodness, Aunt Gwen! That’s so kind of you, and I know Richard would like that as much as I would. Thank you.”
“Then it shall be done. I just need to have a date from you, and then we will plan the party together. Now tell me, how is Lavinia? Is she feeling any better?”
“She is, from what I gather. That little romance, which started at Charles’s wedding, is still going strong … with Mark Stanton, you know.”
“Oh yes, I do remember. Daphne pointed that out to me. She also said that Diedre and Paul Drummond appeared to be somewhat attracted to each other that same evening.” Gwendolyn forced a chuckle, and asked, “Did that romance blossom too?”
“I saw Daphne for lunch yesterday, and she told me that Diedre had been out with Paul several times. But she didn’t know if it was anything more than a friendship. It would be nice if Diedre had met the right man at long last.”
She spoke for a short while longer with Vanessa before hanging up. She was pleased she had all the information she needed to understand what was happening in the family.
Gwendolyn remained seated at her French bureau plat, staring out of the window, thinking about Diedre. She came to the conclusion that she must get Diedre married off, no matter what. That would be Diedre’s salvation, and secure her future. But was Paul Drummond the right man?
Her thoughts stayed with her great-niece, whom she had always loved, almost as if she were her own daughter. They were alike in various ways, of similar build and coloring, and, of course, Diedre had the same acerbic wit, and was ready to offer her opinions as boldly as she herself usually did.
Although she had managed to conceal her feelings, Gwendolyn had been somewhat startled by Howard Pinkerton’s revelations about Diedre and Laura Upton. However, being nonjudgmental, she was not concerned with Diedre’s love affair with Laura. What saddened her was that Diedre had not trusted her enough to confide after Laura’s untimely death. At the time she must have needed love and support in her sorrow. How isolated and alone she must have felt, and then again after Maxine’s sudden death, and the strange circumstances surrounding it.
Gwendolyn’s thoughts went to Paul Drummond, who handled Hugo’s business in New York. She had met him with Hugo and Daphne. He was a fine man, likable, and full of charm. Anyone whom Hugo valued as much as he did Paul had her stamp of approval.
She reached for the phone, having the sudden compulsion to telephone Diedre, but changed her mind. She must let things take their natural course. In the meantime, she would start to make plans for Vanessa’s engagement party.
Twenty-five
They sat together at a table near a window overlooking the Thames. The dining room at the Savoy was busy, and as Miles glanced around he saw that everyone was smartly dressed, especially the women, who wore stylish gowns and jewels. It was quite a glittering evening this particular Friday.
But to him there was not one woman in this room who could compare to Cecily. She was lovelier than ever tonight, her complexion peaches-and-cream perfect, her dark hair burnished with auburn lights. She wore a gray lace frock, with silver threads running through the weave, and crystal drop earrings that sparkled like her lavender-gray eyes. She was incomparable.
“Miles, you’re staring at me so hard, as if you’d never seen me before,” she murmured, smiling at him, shaking her head.
“I know … it’s because I d
At this moment the waiter stepped over to the table and refilled their champagne flutes. Miles picked up his glass and so did Cecily. “Here’s to you. And me. And us,” he said, clinking the rim of his flute against hers.
She smiled at him and took a sip of champagne.
He held his breath for a moment as he saw the orb of the full moon floating high in the dark sky, just immediately above her head. He couldn’t help exclaiming, “Someone’s hung the moon for you tonight, Ceci. It’s shining right above you.”
She turned her head to look through the window, saw it for herself. And felt a cold shiver run through her. She recalled what Genevra had said to her once years ago:
Full moon shines on glass.
Shines on water.
Shines on you.
She had asked the gypsy girl many times what she meant, but Genevra would never explain.
He gazed at her, reached out, and took her hand in his. After a moment, he murmured, “It’s so nice, just sitting here like this, listening to Carroll Gibbons and his romantic music … I could sit here forever.”
Cecily leaned back in her chair, studying him, thinking that he looked less tense. Certainly he was more relaxed tonight, even though the meeting had gone badly with Clarissa. And especially since he had believed his wife would agree to a divorce. For some reason, she had believed the opposite. Poor Miles, she thought. Six years of hell, with nothing to show for it. A bleak future ahead without his freedom.
No, it doesn’t have to be bleak, she suddenly thought. Aunt Charlotte was right. He was only doing his duty when he married Clarissa, doing what had been planned for him since before he had been born.