The Cavendon Women (24 page)

“Oh,” she answered, surprised. “What is it?”

“A portrait of you, DeLacy. Which would be painted by Travers Merton. Have you heard of him?”

“He's very famous. A fantastic artist. But why me? Why not one of my sisters?”

“In many ways you are the closest to her, DeLacy. You must be aware of that.”

“No, I'm not.”

“Diedre is somewhat aloof and always was. Daphne was your father's … possession, in a certain sense. And always was. And by the time she had Dulcie, she had met me…” He wisely let his voice peter off, said no more.

“Perhaps you're right, and if you think my mother would want a portrait of me, I would be willing to sit for it.”

“Thank you, DeLacy, I am glad. Obviously, I must now get in touch with Merton, and commission him to do the portrait. I am sure he will be thrilled. He enjoys painting beautiful women. Don't forget this is a secret, so your mother mustn't know. Otherwise, it won't be a surprise.”

“I understand. Just one question, Lawrence. If Mr. Merton agrees to paint me, will it be immediately? Oh, and where would he do it?”

“If he's available, I will ask him to start as soon as possible, and I imagine you would have to go to his studio to sit. That is the usual procedure.”

“I understand.”

“You are going to be in town for a while, aren't you, DeLacy?”

“Yes, I am.”

“That's good, and I will be in touch by the end of this week.”

*   *   *

Dulcie sat in Cecily's office at the main shop in the Burlington Arcade. “The reason I want to work here for a while is because I want to open my own shop one day.”

She had taken Cecily by surprise, who exclaimed, “Your own shop? Selling what?”

“It would be a gallery, really, and I would be offering paintings, objects of art, and certain pieces of antique furniture.”

“You're just finishing your art history course. So why do you want to go into commerce?” Cecily asked.

“Because I want to work. I don't want to lead a life of indolence and social boredom. And I want to make money, to be self-supporting.” Dulcie said this in such a firm voice, and sounded so determined, she had gained Cecily's entire attention.

“That's very admirable of you, but what will your father say?”

“I don't know. When I told Daphne, she was a little shocked; she warned me that Great-Aunt Gwendolyn would be horrified.” Dulcie laughed, and made a face. “I'm not so sure Daphers is right. I think Great-Aunt Gwendolyn might well approve; she's a good sport.” A little sigh escaped, and Dulcie added, “Cavendon is a thief, you know. It steals the money Hugo makes on the family investments. So I want to help.”

Cecily digested these remarks, and was silent for a moment. She had long known things were not the same at Cavendon Hall, and that money was short. So many different elements had depleted its finances. Finally, she said carefully, “Are you saying that Cavendon is now
really
in trouble?”

“No, no, I'm not. But there is a big overhead. That's why Daphne keeps making the cuts. You know, getting rid of the two footmen and the cook here at Grosvenor Square. And she's forever telling Hanson we're on a budget. And we're managing. I just want to be useful, help out if I can.”

“I understand. How will you find your product? The paintings and furniture? That might be difficult, and you do need some sort of inventory,” Cecily said.

Dulcie leaned forward, and explained, “The attics here in London, and at Cavendon Hall, are jammed with paintings, objects, and antiques. I'm going to use those for the gallery, and find other things as I go along.”

“Will your father allow that?”

“I intend to persuade him. And I can be very persuasive.”

Cecily turned and looked at the door as it opened; Dorothy stood there. “You'll never guess who's just arrived,” she said, sounding especially pleased.

“Don't make me guess.”

“It's Lady Diedre, and she has Paul Drummond in tow. They wish to see you. Shall I send them up?”

“Of course.” Cecily rose and walked into the middle of her office. Glancing at Dulcie, she asked, “Is that relationship serious?”

“Nobody seems to know. Diedre is secretive, and not a bit confiding at all. Perhaps because she doesn't know herself how she feels.”

A moment later, Diedre and Paul came into the office, and Cecily walked over to greet them, kissing Diedre on the cheek and shaking Paul's hand.

“How nice to see you,” she said.

Diedre said, “Paul so admires your dresses. He wants to give me one as a present. Can we look at some?”

“How lovely,” Cecily said. “Let's go down to the next floor, and we'll show you the Winter Collection. I know there are things you will like, and which will suit you.”

Diedre smiled at her, and then at Paul. “This is such a treat,” she said to him.

Dulcie took hold of Cecily's arm and whispered, “Can I please work here for a while? Learn the ropes?”

Cecily put an arm around Dulcie's shoulders, full of affection for her. “You can start right now,” she answered. “Come with me.”

*   *   *

Travers Merton stood staring at Lawrence Pierce, who had just arrived at his studio in Chelsea. “Obviously, you're not slicing into someone's flesh today,” he said, grinning at his closest friend. “So, what brings you over here? Just a social visit, Pierce? Or what? Knowing you as well as I do, I have the distinct feeling it might be about a woman.”

Lawrence Pierce did not respond. He walked across the studio and leaned against the mantelpiece, his expression neutral. The studio was a spacious room with big windows at one end, and filled with perfect light. Just the kind of light a painter required, and couldn't properly work without.

Finally, Pierce said, “I have a commission for you, Merton. If you're interested.”

“Depends what it is, old boy. I hope it's not another nude of one of your women. I'm a bit sick of those, and where the hell do you keep them? I've often wondered that.”

Travers Merton said this in such an odd voice Lawrence Pierce couldn't help but be amused. He smiled. “You've made good money with me. And what I do with the paintings is none of your business.”

“How about a spot of bubbly to seal the deal?” Travers said.

“Why not? I don't have surgery tomorrow. I was thinking of a night out on the town. Are you free? Want to go slumming with me? We might duck into a couple of places we both know well, find a few fancy women to heat up our loins.”

Travers Merton burst out laughing. “You do have the oddest expressions. In the meantime, let me get a bottle of bubbles to cheer us on our way. You know I'll come with you. I enjoy sharing your escapades.”

There was a small flat attached to the huge studio, and Travers went into the kitchen, opened a bottle of Dom P
é
rignon, and filled two champagne flutes. Only the best for Lawrence Pierce, he thought, be it wine, women, or song … more like orgies, he added to himself, and chuckled.

A second or two later he was handing a flute of champagne to the famous surgeon, and couldn't help thinking what beautiful hands he had. He'd noticed them before, but they seemed unusually elegant today. Perfect for wielding a scalpel, and also to be painted. He suddenly had the idea of doing that: pale hands clasped, resting on black velvet. He would do it, and give the painting to his friend. Travers knew it would please Pierce, who had quite an ego.

The two men touched their glasses, said cheers, and took a swallow. Lawrence Pierce had a reflective look on his face when he said, “I do want you to do a painting for me, Merton. Of my wife's daughter, Lady DeLacy Ingham.”

Travers looked at him swiftly. “Not a nude, then?”

Pierce said nothing, swilled some of the champagne. “No, not a nude,” he answered at last. “A portrait. For Felicity. A surprise gift for Christmas, if you can have it finished by then.”

The painter nodded, intrigued, and asked, “What does Lady DeLacy look like? Does she resemble Felicity?”

“No. None of her daughters do. They're all Inghams through and through. And DeLacy is the most beautiful woman I've ever seen in my life. Glorious. Golden hair, the deepest of blue eyes, and a perfect complexion. There's something about her that is quite … intoxicating. Wait until you set eyes on her, Merton; you'll be startled. She'll knock your socks off.” Lawrence turned to face the artist, and chuckled.

Travers stared at Lawrence. “Does she do that to you, old chap? Knock your socks off? Is that why you're bringing her here? To me. To soften her up for you? Like I've done so many times in the past? Teach a few tricks? Because I'll be delighted to romp with her. And I'll paint her as well.”

“Nothing like that, Travers, just paint her portrait. You see, this one is forbidden. She's my stepdaughter, for God's sake.”

“Scruples?
You?
Come off it, my lad. I wouldn't trust you alone with any woman anywhere. You're insatiable.”

“Not this one, Travers.
Understood?
” He stared the artist down, and then a slow smile spread across his face. “But you can court Lucy, if you wish. It's all over between us, and I know she's been hot to trot with you for quite a while.”

“How do you know that?”

“She's told me. Many times.”

“Then why don't we go to see her later?”

Lawrence Pierce shook his head. “I feel like going out on the town tonight. And if you think about it, you do too.”

“I have to admit you're right,” Travers Merton said, smiling in anticipation.

 

Thirty-two

Lady Gwendolyn realized, quite unexpectedly, that she was going to be rather busy today, and it was only Tuesday. Starting in the late afternoon yesterday, she had received phone calls from two of her great-nieces, and Mark Stanton, all of them asking to see her today. And then this morning, quite early, Inspector Pinkerton had phoned to tell her he had information for her. And that he needed to speak to her in person.

Staring at herself in the mirror on her dressing table, Lady Gwendolyn put on pearl earrings, adjusted the pearl brooch on her navy blue jacket, and then nodded to herself. She looked businesslike, yet without being too severe in appearance, and this pleased her.

Rising, she walked out and went into the small parlor where she preferred to receive visitors.

Lady Gwendolyn, nobody's fool, fully understood that her great-nieces were running to her for advice of some kind because Charles was still in Zurich. Otherwise they would have sought out their father. Nonetheless, it pleased her that they came to her, the matriarch of the family. She was looking forward to seeing them.

As for Mark Stanton, he no doubt wanted to speak to her about Lavinia. She couldn't help wondering how serious that relationship was. And she was curious, too, about Howard Pinkerton's visit later in the afternoon, eager to know what he had found out.

Glancing around the room, she was pleased to see that her housekeeper had a fire blazing in the hearth and had put fresh flowers in the vases. The parlor was her favorite room. It had a handsome Georgian desk, overflowing bookshelves, and comfortable overstuffed sofas and chairs. A mellow room, with its antique pieces set against deep rose walls; this was the most predominant color, repeated in the heavy brocade draperies at the tall windows, and in the fabrics used for the sofas and chairs.

Since it was a gloomy, overcast day, Lady Gwendolyn went around turning on the pale pink silk-shaded lamps, and then sat down to wait for Dulcie, who was usually on time. As the carriage clock on the mantelpiece struck ten, the doorbell was ringing.

A few moments later Dulcie came rushing into the parlor, a huge smile on her face. “Good morning, Great-Aunt Gwendolyn!” she cried, kissing her aunt on the cheek.

“Hello, my dear. The parlor is very cozy on this dull morning. In a moment Mrs. Fontaine will bring us tea. Or would you prefer coffee?”

“Tea is fine, thank you,” Dulcie answered. She sat down on the opposite sofa, and said, “I came to test the waters with you, Great-Aunt Gwendolyn. Before I speak to Papa. I don't want to go romping around on a project of mine, and then find out I've blundered into a bog like a blind bull, and am sinking fast.”

Lady Gwendolyn shook her head. “My goodness, Dulcie, your language does get colorful at times. So what is it you wish to discuss? A project, you said.”

Leaning forward, clasping her hands together, Dulcie fastened her eyes on her great-aunt, and said, “I will be finished with my art history course at the end of November, and I know what I would like to do. But I wanted to pass it by you first, because Daphne said you wouldn't approve. Which means Papa might not either.”

“And what do you wish to do, my dear?”

“I want to open a shop. Oh, dash, I shouldn't call it that, Cecily said. Let me correct myself. I want to open an art gallery. What do you think?”

“Cecily's correct, it is certainly better to call it that. A ‘shop' resonates of tradespeople, don't you think?”

“I do now.”

Lady Gwendolyn was about to say she thought Dulcie was a bit young to start a business, then instantly changed her mind. Telling an Ingham they were too young to do something was always a mistake. They were headstrong. Anyway, Dulcie would be nineteen soon. She said, “Do you have a business partner? Someone who will run this gallery with you?”

“I have a financial partner, and that's Ceci. She's putting up a good deal of money, and will advise me.”

“That's very admirable of her. And she does have a good head on her shoulders. She must believe you can pull this off.”

“I can. But I need your help with Papa. You see, I think he will object to another aspect of my project.”