Free Cavendon Hall by Barbara Taylor Bradford Page A

them. The blouse was badly ripped; Alice thought she could mend it. As for the jacket, the back was smeared with green streaks from the grass, and splotches of mud. The skirt was in the worst condition, with dirty patches, and stains from grass and blood. She could clean them successfully. She had good products and special methods.
    Carefully, Alice folded them up again, and finally picked up the underskirt. There was blood on it, and some other damp patches. Alice bent her head and sniffed, and then turned away, grimacing. Her worst fears had been confirmed. A man had attacked Lady Daphne out in the woods, no two ways about it. That male smell clung to the underskirt. Carefully, she folded it and put it under the pile, shaking her head.
    Alice sat down heavily in the chair. She felt as if a lump of lead was lodged in her chest. Her mind floundered for a moment, and her heart went out to Daphne, so sweet, so lovely. Whoever had done such a thing to a seventeen-year-old innocent girl should be horsewhipped. She wondered then if any of the woodsmen or gardeners had seen anything; several Swanns worked on the outside at Cavendon. Walter would have to ask them if they noticed anything untoward this afternoon.
    A moment later the bathroom door opened and Lady Daphne came out in her robe. She smiled at Alice, but then the smile instantly faltered. “I hoped I hadn’t bruised my face, but there’s a mark, here, on the cheekbone,” Daphne murmured, touching her face. “How will I explain it to Mama and Papa, Mrs. Alice?”
    Alice hurried across the room, peered at her face. “It’s not so bad, Lady Daphne. I think it can be covered up with a few touches of powder and rouge. And you fell, remember, and if you fell forward then you would easily hit your face on a rock, a tree trunk, or roots. You’ll explain it that way. What about the rest of you, m’lady?”
    “Just bruises, nothing broken. Did you see DeLacy and Cecily?”
    “Yes, they were in the sewing room. I told them you’d tripped and fallen. DeLacy assumed it was in the woods, because she said you’d gone to Havers Lodge to see Julian Torbett this afternoon.”
    “That’s true. I went to tell him his fiancée could come to the big ball. Obviously DeLacy heard me telling Father after lunch that I was going there.”
    “By the way, DeLacy has gone down to tea to join your great-aunt and your father. Walter brought a message from his lordship. What about you? Do you want to join them, m’lady?”
    Daphne shook her head. “I think I should rest. I’m hoping I’ll be able to go down for dinner later, but for now…” Her voice trailed off.
    Alice nodded. “Yes, stay and have a rest. I’d get into bed if I were you, m’lady. If it’s all right with you, I will tell Walter to inform your father that you’re resting after trying on dresses most of the day. I’ll say you’re a bit tired.”
    Daphne inclined her head. “Thank you, Mrs. Alice. I’d appreciate that. And thank you … for everything.”

 
    Eleven
    L ady Gwendolyn Ingham Baildon stood in the center of the great entrance foyer at Cavendon Hall, glancing around, a beatific smile on her face. She had been in London for the past week, and this was her first visit since her return to Yorkshire two days ago.
    To her, Cavendon was the most sublime place. There was nowhere else like it, and only here did she experience a feeling of euphoria … a sense of genuine happiness and contentment. So many memories, so many emotions were wrapped up in this house … her entire life had been spent here.
    The smile lingered as her eyes rested on the oil paintings of her ancestors which lined the wall above the grand curving staircase. Looking down at her were her parents. Her beautiful mother, Florence, wife of Marmaduke, the fourth earl, her father. Next to her father was a striking portrait of her brother, David, the handsomest of men. He had been the fifth earl, and next to him was a lovely oil painting