Cavendon Hall (7 page)

Once, her mother had called the tops of the tall trees a “shady canopy” where their branches interlocked, and Daphne had used that phrase ever since. Bits of blue sky were visible today and long shafts of sunlight filtered through that lovely leafy canopy above her.

Their land was beautiful and she knew how lucky they were to live on it. Just to the left of these woods were the moors that stretched endlessly along the rim of the horizon. Implacable and daunting in winter, they were lovely in the late summer when the heather bloomed, a sea of purple stretching almost to the sea.

But as a family most of their time outdoors had been spent in the woods, where they had picnics in the summer. “Because of the shade, you know,” Great-Aunt Gwendolyn would explain to their guests. She was a genuine stoic, the way she cheerfully trudged along with them, determined never to miss the woodland feasts or any of their other activities. And the ball was her favorite event, one she would not miss for the world, she would say, explaining she never had, since being a young woman. “I was always the belle of the ball, you know,” she would add.

Daphne’s thoughts settled on the summer ball. For a split second, she thought of the ink stains, and the image of herself in the gown was spoiled. Then almost in an instant it was gone, obliterated. She was absolutely confident Cecily would make the gown as good as new, and she
would
wear it after all.

Over lunch, DeLacy had told their father about the terrible accident with the ink, which had been her fault. He had been understanding, and he had not chastised DeLacy. Although he had said she should have known better than to play around with a valuable gown.

The one thing he had focused on was the way Cecily had behaved, how she had been willing to take the blame to protect DeLacy. “She is a true Swann, instantly ready to stand in front of an Ingham. Remember our motto, DeLacy,
Loyalty binds me
. It is their motto as well. The Inghams and the Swanns are linked forever.”

It is true, Daphne thought. It always has been thus and it always will be. And then she stared ahead as the trees thinned, and she found herself crossing the road and walking onto Torbett land.

*   *   *

Daphne approached Havers Lodge from the back of the house, and she couldn’t help thinking how glorious it looked today. Its pale, pinkish bricks were warm and welcoming in the sunlight. The Elizabethan architecture was splendid, and there were many windows and little turrets, as there always were in traditional Tudor houses. And some privet hedges were cut in topiary designs.

The long stretch of manicured lawn was intersected by a path of huge limestone paving stones, which led up to the terrace. Once she reached this, she turned the corner on the right, and walked toward the front door. It was made of heavy oak, banded in iron.

She had only dropped the iron knocker once when the door opened. Williams, the Torbetts’ butler, was standing there, and he smiled when he saw her.

“Lady Daphne! Good afternoon. Will you come in, please, m’lady.”

She inclined her head. “Thank you. Good afternoon, Williams.”

After he had closed the door, he said, “Shall I tell Mrs. Torbett you are here? Forgive me, but is she expecting you, my lady?”

“No, she’s not, Williams. I stopped by to see Mr. Julian. If you would be so kind as to let him know I’m here.”

“Oh dear! He’s gone out, Lady Daphne. He didn’t say how long he’d be. But he didn’t go riding. I saw him walking.”

Daphne gave the butler a warm smile. “Just tell him I was here, Williams. And please ask him to come over to Cavendon in the next few days. It’s nothing important, just an invitation I want to extend.”

“I will, m’lady.” The butler walked her to the door and saw her out, and he couldn’t help thinking she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Going to marry a duke’s son, she was. At least, that was what he had heard.

Nine

D
aphne had been walking along the woodland path for only a few minutes when she heard a strange rustling sound. Looking around, she saw nothing unusual, and simply shrugged and went on at her usual pace. Squirrels playing, she thought, and then came to a sudden stop when she saw the heron at the edge of the stream, standing high on its tall legs in the shallow water. It was such an elegant-looking bird.

A smile of delight flitted across her face. This was such an odd place for it to visit. She couldn’t help wondering why it kept coming back, but then perhaps it liked the stream and the woodland setting. Maybe it feels at home—

This thought was cut off when something hard struck her back, just between her shoulder blades. She pitched forward, hitting her head against a log as she fell to the ground. She lay still for a moment, stunned and overcome by dizziness. Realizing she had been attacked by someone, she endeavored to stand up; she managed to get onto her knees, was about to scramble to her feet, when she was unexpectedly pinned to the ground from behind, and with brute force.

She struggled to free herself but the weight on top of her was heavy, and then she was suddenly turned over somewhat roughly, and laid on her back.

Daphne stared up at her attacker, the man who was pinning her down with such strong arms. He had wrapped a dark gray scarf around his head and face, and all she could see were his eyes. They were hard, cruel, and because of the scarf she had no idea who he was. And she was terrified.

Understanding that she had no chance of escaping him, she began to shake, apprehension overwhelming her. In one last valiant effort, she pushed at him hard, but it was impossible to throw him off.

When he brought his hand close to her neck, she cringed and held herself still. She thought he was going to strangle her. Instead he ripped the front of her blouse and bent over her; he found her breasts, began to fondle and then pinch one of them harder and harder. He hurt her, and she screamed. This he immediately stopped by putting his hand over her mouth. With the other he lifted her skirt.

Rigid with fear, knowing there was no escaping him, understanding his intentions, Daphne snapped her eyes shut and prayed to God he would not kill her when he was finished with her.

He raped her.

The wild, rampaging man forced himself on her again and again. He was hurting her; pain flowed through her and she felt as though her insides were being ripped apart. She knew that to scream again would be useless, and gritted her teeth, turned her head to one side, straining away from him. There was nothing else she could do … except to shut it out.

All of a sudden the man began to move against her very quickly, shuddering and gasping. With a long groan he finally stopped moving, fell against her, all of his weight on her. And his body went limp.

In that instant Daphne seized the moment. She reached up, grabbed at the scarf around his face, tugged at it hard. When it came away, and she saw his face, she gaped at him in astonishment, horror, and disbelief.

The man who had just raped her was Richard Torbett, Julian’s older brother. Still stunned by the violent attack, aghast that someone she knew had done this to her, she was unable to speak.

As for Torbett, he was infuriated that his identity had been revealed. Bright color flooded his face as anger took hold of him.

He leaned down, brought his head close to hers. Against her ear, he hissed, “Speak of this to anyone and
they
will be killed. Your baby sister and your mother. I know men who’ll do the job for a few pounds. Not one word. Understand?”

Shock and genuine fear rendered Daphne speechless. She could only nod.

He pushed himself to his feet, stood looking down at her. “Remember, keep your mouth shut.”

Daphne closed her eyes. She heard him rustling through the bushes, obviously not wanting to be seen on the path. She felt as though her whole body had been bludgeoned. And so she lay very still, trying to breathe normally, hoping to get her strength back, wondering if she would be able to walk. She wasn’t even sure she could get up. Tears seeped from underneath her eyelids and trickled down her cheeks, as she continued to lie there dazed, unable to focus, hurting all over. He would not return, of that she was certain. He had taken what he wanted.

*   *   *

Daphne felt a gentle finger on her face, smoothing away the tears, and then a voice was saying her name. “Lady Daphne, Lady Daphne.”

She opened her eyes and saw the gypsy girl kneeling next to her, looking concerned.

“Genevra,” Daphne said, endeavoring to sit up.

The girl offered her hand, and helped Daphne into a sitting position. She said, “Come on … let’s go, m’lady. Dark clouds. Mebbe rain.”

With a bit of effort, Daphne managed to get to her feet, and immediately straightened her clothes, pulling her jacket around her torn blouse. Genevra handed Daphne her hat, which had fallen off in the struggle, and she put it on her head. Then she limped back to Cavendon, helped by Genevra all the way. When they came to the end of the woods, Genevra stopped, and gave Daphne a penetrating look. She said, “Yer fell down, my lady.”

Daphne stared at her, puzzled. She frowned at the gypsy girl.

Genevra said again, “Yer fell down, Lady Daphne. That’s wot ’appened ter yer.”

Daphne nodded. “I fell down,” she repeated, and realized immediately that Genevra had witnessed the attack on her. She shriveled inside at the thought, a shocked look on her face.

The Romany nodded, swung around, and pointed toward Cavendon on the hill. “Go, Lady Daphne, go on! There yer’ll be safe.” She smiled, raced off, heading for the long meadow.

Daphne watched her go, feeling grateful to her. I didn’t even thank her for helping me home, she chastised herself, annoyed at her thoughtlessness. On the other hand, she was still reeling from what had occurred, her horrific violation, stunned that she had been attacked by one of her own kind, an aristocrat, no less, who had known her all of her life.

Ten

G
enevra had been right. It began to rain. Daphne felt the first drops on her forehead as she arrived at Cavendon. Avoiding both the kitchen and the front doors, having no desire to run into anyone, she slipped into the house through the conservatory. Only she and her mother used this room, and her mother was in Harrogate today.

Once she was inside the house, Daphne experienced an enormous sense of relief. She also wondered how she had managed to climb the hill. Walking had been difficult. It struck her that she would have never made it through the woods if not for the gypsy girl’s help. Genevra had supported her, held her upright all the way.

Crossing the terra-cotta tiles of the conservatory floor, Daphne went up the back staircase. Halfway, she had to sit down on a step for a moment. Her back hurt, and she was sore and bruised. What she needed was a hot bath to ease her aching body. She must also calm herself, take control of her swimming and troubled senses, come to grips with what had happened. She was filled with fear, as well as horror-struck by what had been done to her with such force and cruelty.

Taking a few deep breaths, she finally rose and continued up the narrow staircase. When she finally stepped out into the bedroom corridor, she found herself standing in front of DeLacy and Cecily. Both girls had their arms full of summer frocks, and Alice was immediately behind them.

“Daphne!” DeLacy cried, when she saw her sister. “Whatever’s happened? You look as if you’ve been pulled through a hedge backwards!”

Cecily was also gaping at Daphne, looking startled, but she did not utter a word.

Filled with dismay, her heart sinking, Daphne remained silent. She had been taken by surprise, and was flustered, rooted to the spot. Cringing inside, she shrank closer to the wall.

It was Alice Swann who immediately took charge. She had noticed Daphne’s disheveled appearance at once, knew something was terribly amiss, and was alarmed by Daphne’s stricken expression.

Turning to the girls, she said, “Please take the frocks upstairs to the sewing room.” She smiled at DeLacy. “And why don’t you try on a few of them, m’lady? You and Cecily can decide which ones you like the best. I will join you shortly.”

They did as she suggested, knowing it was best not to say anything, and they did not linger a moment longer.

Daphne had begun to edge toward her bedroom; Alice hurried over to her. Putting her hand underneath Daphne’s elbow, she gently guided her inside.

After closing the door behind them, Alice stood there, not only wondering what had happened to Daphne, but seeking a diplomatic way to approach the matter.

Although Daphne was trying to disguise the fact, Alice noticed that her blouse was torn and the jacket sleeve ripped at the shoulder.

It was Daphne who spoke first. In a shaking voice, she whispered, “Something happened—” She was unable to continue. She turned around and collapsed on a chair, her entire body shaking.

An exceedingly observant woman, Alice took in everything: Daphne’s dazed and troubled state, the bleakness in her blue eyes, the trembling mouth, the aura of fear surrounding her. It was obvious she was in shock, and Alice could not help anticipating the worst.

Her eyes swept over the earl’s daughter. Her clothes were in a mess, not only torn, but there were grass stains and dirty marks on the skirt, mud on the jacket, and, as she peered closer, she thought she spotted blood on the skirt. Her chest tightened in apprehension.

Walking across the floor, she said softly, “Something bad happened, didn’t it, Lady Daphne?” When Daphne did not answer, Alice said, “Am I correct, my lady?”

Daphne could not speak. She attempted to hold herself still, but the shaking would not stop. She wanted to confide in Mrs. Alice, just for the relief of it, but she did not dare tell her the truth. Not after Richard Torbett’s terrifying threat to have Dulcie and her mother killed. The mere thought of this brought tears to Daphne’s eyes, and she started sobbing as if her heart would break.

Alice ran to her, knelt down at her feet, and took hold of her hands. “Lady Daphne, I am here to help you. Don’t be afraid to cry. Let it all out. Tears help to release the tension.” She reached into her jacket pocket and gave Daphne a clean white handkerchief. Alice waited quietly, kneeling next to the young woman, wanting to give her support, and a measure of comfort, if that were possible.