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Yet they had a style, a genuinely unique style of their own. Genevra’s style, Cecily called it. The paintings were bold, commanding, caught the eye at once. But it was the shimmering look of the bright colours, the odd sheen on the canvas that captivated everyone, and at once.
Cecily had soon found out that Genevra had been painting since her childhood. Her brother Gervaise had encouraged her, and when she was older he had bought her canvases and oil paints when he could afford them. She was totally self-taught, a natural and gifted artist.
Cecily had instantly asked if she could buy one of them. Genevra had refused that day. Instead she had offered her a painting as a gift. In the end, Cecily had chosen one that was evocative, and very meaningful to her. The painting showed a corner of the high wall in the rose garden, and a profusion of late-blooming roses, a fusion of many different pinks and faded reds against a portion of the grey stone wall.
Genevra came down the steps to greet Cecily; as always she did a little bob, a sort of curtsey, as she took Cecily’s outstretched hand in hers.
‘I put out a chair, Mrs Miles,’ Genevra said, indicating the wooden chair.
‘Thank you,’ Cecily murmured, and sat down.
Genevra returned to her place on the steps.
Cecily stared at Genevra, frowning. She thought she looked a bit pinched, tired. ‘You haven’t been sick again, have you?’ she asked worriedly. She had not seen her for ten days.
Genevra smiled faintly. ‘No. Not sick. Good.’
‘You look a bit peaked to me.’
‘I’m not sick, liddle Ceci,’ Genevra muttered, eyeing her knowingly. ‘I’ll be first ter knows that. Then I’ll tell yer, and yer’ll be the second ter knows. Not dying. Not yet.’
‘Don’t be cross. I care for you, Genevra.’
‘Aye, I knows that, Mrs Miles.’
‘I’m going away on Monday with Miles. We’re going to visit Lady Daphne and Mr Hugo in Zurich. If you need anything whilst I’m gone, my mother will help you.’ She smiled at her. ‘You just have to go and see her.’
Genevra nodded. ‘Yer going on holiday. Mrs Alice tell me that.’
‘Just for two weeks. Miles needs a rest …’ Cecily’s voice trailed off. She had suddenly noticed a strange look on Genevra’s face. ‘What is it? Is there something wrong?’
‘The sight. It just comes over me. Yer knows that.’
Cecily nodded, remained quiet. After all these years, she knew she had to be still. And mute.
‘Yer’ll have ter be brave, liddle Ceci, as yer’ve allus been. There’ll be deaths. War is coming. Big war. Bad times. Terrible things coming.’ The Romany woman halted, closed her eyes. After a moment she opened them, added, ‘Yer’ll rule at Cavendon. I’ve allus knowed that.’
‘Why now?’ Cecily asked, a frown settling on her face.
‘What do yer mean?’ Genevra sat staring at Cecily.
‘Why are you telling me this now? Usually you’re rather secretive, not always so open.’
‘Cos I knows yer believe me, tek me predictions as truth … understand ’em.’
‘I do, yes, that’s true, Genevra.’
‘The future. Yer’ll have that, Ceci. And yer will rule.’
‘With Miles?’
Genevra did not answer, staring up at Cavendon Hall, towering on the hill high above them. The golden house, shimmering in the sunshine. A blessed house.
‘When you sound strange like this I don’t really understand what you mean,’ Cecily protested, returning Genevra’s hard stare.
‘Bad times are coming.’
‘Do you mean the war?’
Genevra inclined her head. ‘Life. Hard times. Bad times. Death, destruction, sorrow, pain. Much suffering. All coming.’
Turning her head, Genevra looked at Cavendon once more. Unexpectedly, tears filled her eyes. The golden sheen which usually gilded the walls had vanished. It was no longer golden. It was doomed. The great stately home was covered in shadows … shadows growing darker and darker. In her mind’s eye she saw huge black clouds floating around its rooftop. She heard thunder; there were streaks of white lightning.
After a while, Genevra finally opened her eyes, said in a low tone, ‘Turmoil. Chaos.’ She shook her head, became silent, and wiped the tears from her face with her fingertips.
There was a long silence.
Genevra smiled faintly. ‘Swanns rule.’
Cecily said, ‘Cavendon has been lucky over the past few years. The luck will last, won’t it? Nothing will change, will it?’
‘It allus does. Good luck. Bad luck.’ Genevra shook her head, and leaned forward, her gaze penetrating. ‘It comes. It goes. Nobody knows … Luck belongs ter nobody … luck belongs ter life. Nowt yer can do about it, liddle Ceci. Do yer understand me?’
‘I do, Genevra, and I thank you.’
THREE (#ulink_7770566e-a524-5bdd-8d56-da9e2ba34663)
When the front door suddenly flew open, Alice sat up with a start, and then instantly jumped to her feet as Cecily walked in, a huge smile on her face. Hurrying forward, Cecily took hold of her mother and kissed her, hugged her close.
‘Sorry I’m late, Mam,’ she said, and then turned and closed the door behind her.
‘I was just doing paperwork; no problem, Ceci,’ Alice murmured, and mother and daughter walked into the room together. They sat down in two armchairs facing each other, and Alice said, ‘You look bonny today, love, but pale pink has always suited you.’
‘I know, and thanks. You look pretty good yourself, Mam.’
‘Of course I do, I’m wearing a dress my daughter made for me. I like it, and it’s comfortable and cool on a hot day like this.’
‘I’ve made another version of it, also in cotton,’ Cecily confided. ‘It’s a sort of wrap dress, almost like a robe, and it ties at one side. I’m doing the same style for the winter collection made of light cashmere. I’ll bring you several when they’re ready.’
‘Thank you, love, you’re always so thoughtful.’
‘Don’t be silly, you’re my mother, you can have anything you want from me. Anyway, when we spoke on the phone yesterday you said you were making a plan. But for what?’
‘I came up with an idea. Creating a communal allotment for the village. I went straight to Charlotte and asked her for a field. And she asked the Earl, and he agreed it was a wonderful idea, very practical, and he immediately gave me a field.’
Alice nodded as she finished her sentence, looked a little pleased with herself. ‘That’s how it came about, and it was as simple as that … just asking.’
Alice stood up and beckoned to Cecily. ‘Come over to my desk, and pull up a chair. I want to show you my plan.’
Within seconds the two of them were sitting side by side at Alice’s desk, where her Women’s Institute papers were spread out, along with the detailed plan of the field that was going to be the communal allotment. This would be planted and tended by the women who wished to do this work.
Turning to Alice, Cecily said, ‘It is a practical idea. Food will be a problem if war comes.’
‘When it comes,’ Alice corrected.
‘Too true,’ Cecily agreed, and then said in a slightly odd tone, ‘you could just as easily have asked Miles for a field, or even your son. Harry does run the estate with Miles, you know.’
‘You’re right, I could have done that, Ceci. But I don’t think that would have been the correct thing. The Sixth Earl is still the Sixth Earl; he’s not dead yet, and it is his land. I thought it only proper to approach him, via Charlotte.’
‘I understand now, Mam,’ Cecily answered, offering Alice a warm smile.
Looking down at the large sheet of paper, she saw how cleverly the field had been designed to work as an allotment.
Each square patch was marked, and the name of the vegetable to be grown there written in. ‘Potatoes, carrots, parsnips,’ Cecily read out. ‘Onions, sprouts, cabbage, cauliflower …’ She stopped, suddenly laughing, and shook her head. ‘You’re a master planner, Mother! Harry must get his talent for gardening and landscaping from you.’
‘Goodness me, he’s much cleverer than I am,’ Alice murmured, and turned in her chair. She gave her daughter a knowing look. ‘Did you manage to speak to Harry? You know … about that … person.’
Shaking her head, Cecily replied in a low voice, ‘No, I didn’t. We were supposed to have a chat earlier this afternoon.’
‘His affair with that scandalous woman has started to leak out!’ Alice exclaimed, her tone suddenly turning angry. ‘He thinks it’s a big secret, but it isn’t, and your father now knows about it. He’s furious. You know how much His Lordship abhors scandal. And scandal is about to flare around your brother.’
‘I agree with everything you’re saying, Mother, but he is a grown man. Forty years old to be exact. He’ll tell me it’s none of my business.’
‘But you will speak to him?’ Alice sounded anxious, and there was a concerned look in her eyes.
‘I will, I promise. I’ll do it tomorrow morning,’ Cecily reassured her mother.
Alice nodded, and pursed her lips. Her voice was more even and steady when she said, ‘He ought to know better than to get involved with her. Pauline Mallard is a married woman. Furthermore, she’s an American heiress, a socialite, living the high life in London and New York. And now in Harrogate. But I suppose you know all this.’
‘Well, yes, I do, Mam.’
‘In the end she’ll make a fool of him, you’ll see. And, not only that, she’s a lot older than he is.’
‘But rather beautiful, I hear. A stunning redhead,’ Cecily interjected.
‘And rather promiscuous … that’s what I hear,’ Alice shot back, obviously wanting to have the last word.
‘After Genevra gave me the message, she said something rather odd right out of the blue. She told me not to say anything to Harry about the woman. I was really taken aback. Genevra then added that she would drop him, that she was not his destiny, some other woman was.’
Alice stared at her. ‘How could Genevra know about Pauline Mallard? Do you think he brought her here to the house? And that Genevra saw them together?’
‘No, I’m sure not. However, I was struck by the way she said it, so sure of her sight, as she calls it, her visions of the future. And then there was her use of the word “destiny”.’ Cecily’s voice was puzzled.
She cleared her throat, and went on slowly, ‘Genevra has her own particular speech pattern, Mam. It’s jerky, rather staccato, and mostly her sentences are composed of small words. So I found it curious that she even knew a word like destiny, since she doesn’t read.’
‘Oh but she does!’ Alice exclaimed.
‘Are you sure?’
‘Of course. I taught her.’
Cecily was so surprised she gaped at Alice. ‘When did you do that and why didn’t you ever tell me?’
‘It never occurred to me. It was just sort of … happenstance. After you’d gone off to live with Aunt Dorothy and Uncle Howard in London, I’d dropped off some of your old dresses for her. She came over to thank me, and asked about you. She was very intense, and it struck me then that she had a strong connection to you, Ceci, and was concerned about you and your wellbeing. I showed her some of those first little stories about your designs in the fashion magazines. That’s when she confessed she couldn’t read. I taught her. She learned to read at my knee.’
‘How lovely of you to do that.’ Cecily was impressed and it showed on her face.
‘She was very appreciative.’ Alice hesitated for a few moments before finally asking, ‘Did you ever feel there was this … connection between you, Cecily?’
‘I did. I still do. She told me twenty-five years ago that Swann will rule. So yes, there is this connection between us.’
‘What did she actually say twenty-five years ago?’ Alice asked, filled with curiosity.
‘It wasn’t actually what she said … I ran into her one day on the dirt road. She took a long twig and drew a square with a bird perched on top of it in the dirt. I asked her what it meant, and she wouldn’t tell me. Then she said it was nowt, nothing, and skipped off.’
‘And today she told you what it meant?’
‘No, she didn’t. I sort of figured it out years ago. The square represented Cavendon Hall and the bird a swan. What she was saying in the drawing was that the Swanns and the Inghams would link up.’
Alice did not respond for a moment and then murmured quietly, ‘She couldn’t have known then that your life would turn out the way it did. That you, a Swann, would marry the son of an earl. So there must be something to her claim to have the sight, to have the ability to foresee the future. You believe her predictions, don’t you?’
‘Yes. I have always believed them, and I always will.’ Cecily took hold of her mother’s hand. ‘She’s proved it to me. She gave us a piece of paper at our wedding. Swann Rules, it said, with the drawing next to it.’
After Cecily left, Alice went out to the garden, carrying her watering can. As she moved around the beds, giving the flowers water, her thoughts remained on the Swanns and Inghams.
Blood. It was her three grandchildren who had the mixed blood: Ingham and Swann. Like Cecily, she sometimes wondered if there really had been other members of the two families who had produced an offspring. Or maybe two. She had no idea.
Only Charlotte Swann Ingham would know that. She had the record books that dated back for centuries, locked up in a safe, a safe now at Cavendon Hall. It was in her dressing room. After telling her this, Charlotte had handed her a sealed envelope, and told her the new code for the safe was inside. ‘Please give it to Cecily and tell her to lock it up,’ Charlotte had then instructed her, and this Alice had done.
Putting the watering can down, lowering herself on to the garden seat, Alice sat for a moment or two looking out towards the moors. It was the end of July on Sunday, the first day of August on Monday. That was when the heather would start to bloom; within a week or two the moors would look like a rolling sea of lavender.
David, Cecily’s first son, had eyes the colour of the moors, the lavender eyes so unique to the Swanns. Otherwise, he was the spitting image of his father, Miles, with his features. Walter had them too, but he had also inherited Cecily’s colouring and her chiselled features. As for five-year-old Venetia, she was a true Ingham through and through, with her golden hair and bright blue eyes. Alice smiled to herself, thinking how much Venetia resembled Lady Dulcie when she had been the same age.
Grandchildren. They were very precious, and she would love to have more. Harry wanted a family. He had said that a few months ago. He would like to be married, he had confided, so he could have a child – several children, in fact.
He had the makings of a good father; there was no doubt in her mind about that. But Pauline Mallard, believed to be forty-eight, was certainly past the child-bearing age. A spurt of anger erupted in Alice. Instantly, she pushed it away. She wasn’t going to dwell on that woman.
Within a few seconds her natural compassion overcame her anxiety about Harry, and her annoyance with him. She suddenly felt a rush of sympathy for her son.
FOUR (#ulink_0c21333a-9658-5232-8e2d-099ab02af9bf)
Greta Chalmers put the receiver down and let her hand rest on it for a moment. She felt as if she had a tight band around her chest and tears brimmed in her green eyes. She swallowed them back and blinked a few times.
She had never heard her father sounding so despairing and morose, and she knew the reason why. He saw no way out of his predicament, no solution to his dilemma. At the end of their conversation he said, ‘I’m trapped. We’re trapped. There’s nothing anybody can do, liebling.’ After telling her he loved her, that they all loved her, he had hung up.
And she loved them: her father, her stepmother, Heddy, her half-sister, Elise, and half-brother, Kurt. They lived in Berlin but, being Jewish, they had now come to realize that they must leave as soon as possible, escape the dangers of the monstrous Third Reich. They wanted to come to England; they knew they had a home with her until they found a place of their own. They had passports but no visas, no travel papers. They were stuck, as her father had just said.
Greta’s mind raced. So many ideas were jostling around for prominence. She glanced at her watch. It was now almost three thirty and Cecily would be coming back into the office at any moment. Taking control of herself as best she could, Greta let go of the phone, sat up straighter, arranged the collar of her cotton dress, and smoothed one hand over her dark brown hair.
