The Belvedere Legacy

By Marjorie Estes

This is the story of a house that enchants those who enter its doors. Where love, passion and deceit are born. In South-Eastern England, this beautiful country Tudor mansion is haven to the Chandler family, whose lives are shattered by two wars - World War I & World War II. A Saga of two brothers: Gavin, inspired by love of his country enlists in the Great War. And Charles, whose enduring passion for his home is driven to deception. Pulled in different directions by inescapable forces - a fortune coveted, a brother betrayed. Who will possess the Belvedere Legacy?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Sep 20, 2010
• ISBN: 9781453553442

Marjorie Estes

For the last twenty years America has been my home. In person and over the phone, I still get the same question: “Your accent, where are you from?” ..England, Ireland, Wales - and my answer is the same: “From a British Commonwealth country.” I grew up on a farm, consequently, I attended boarding schools from age five. My favourite hobby was reading books of all kinds - Shakespeare, Sir Arthur Canon Doyle, Historical, Romance and mystery. Fascinated by people’s faces - I paint portraits in oils. Above my desk, hangs my first oil portrait.

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Copyright © 2010 by Marjorie Estes.

Library of Congress Control Number:       2010911593

ISBN:         Hardcover                               978-1-4535-5342-8

                   Softcover                                 978-1-4535-5343-5

                   Ebook                                      978-1-4535-5344-2

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

The Publisher acknowledges the Copyright Holder of the

Individual Works as follows:

Belvedere

Copyright © 2007 By Marjorie Alison Estes

The Belvedere Legacy

Copyright © 2010 by Marjorie Alison Estes

This book was printed in the United States of America.

To order additional copies of this book, contact:

Xlibris Corporation

1-888-795-4274

www.Xlibris.com

[e-mail]

74572

This book is dedicated to my Dearest Parents Miriel

and Noel Bowen, whose love and devotion to their family

inspired this novel.

Contents

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

CHAPTER THIRTY

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

CHAPTER FORTY

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

jpg.jpg

I should like to thank the following

for permission to use images for the cover page:

Simon Howden/Free Digital Photos.net (Country Manor)

For extracts from Wellman’s Miscellany 1870, as follows:

Norman MacLeod Courage Brother 1857

CHAPTER ONE

It was cold and pitch black that night when Nigel Chandler lay dying in his bed. The year was 1899. His wife Anna Louise Chandler, seated in a chair placed beside his bed, stroked his forehead gently. Then, abruptly she sprang from the chair beside his bed and ran to their bedroom window on the second floor. She lifted the curtains and peered out into the darkness, straining to see if the doctor could, by some miracle be on his way. There were few stars to light up the skies. The wind howled through the eves of the sprawling two storey mansion making an eerie sound, and the rain drops beat heavily against the window panes. A flash of lightening lit up the array of old oaks that lined the driveway that led to the house in Kent, England. It seemed to Anna that the fury of the heavens had been unleashed. Anna Louise dropped the curtains of the bedroom window, and swinging around into the room, she moved slowly towards the bed. She shivered uncontrollably.

Several hours ago, it had been a bright, sunny day, when unexpectedly the skies became overcast and Anna Louise could see streaks of lightening illumining the sky. Then, she heard the clap of thunder which had made her jump. Nigel was moaning softly. He lay in their four-poster bed, his face pale and emaciated. During the time it had taken for her to cross the room to the window and return, the blood had leaked out from his aquiline nostrils, across his cheeks, behind his ears and disappeared into the white mane of hair which had not been cut since his illness. It collected in a bright red pool—startling against the stark white pillows. The hopeless despair Anna felt was for him, knowing that there was nothing she could do to stop the inevitable. She took the damp cloth from the bowl which lay beside the glass lamp. Her hands were shaking. Gently she wiped his face with the cloth. The linen cloth became saturated with Nigel’s blood, but the bleeding appeared to have stopped. She dropped the cloth into the basin and gently touched his cheek with her fingers.

They will never get here in time to help Nigel, she found herself whispering. The roads are too dangerous in this weather, Nigel is dying and there is nothing we can do to save him. An anguish came over her. Sitting by his bed, crouched over beside him, she now held his hand. Anna felt Nigel convulsively tighten his grip on her hand and his eyes flew open. He stared straight ahead as a heartbreaking, agonized whisper escaped his lips:

Anna, my head, Oh the pain! Then she saw the tormented expression on his face change. I’m going, I’m going, he whispered. He appeared almost to smile, and then he was still. The tears rolled down her face as she reached down and kissed his forehead. The lamplight flickered across her face, showing the distress reflected there. She remained by his bedside for some time, remembering their lives together. Reluctantly, removing her hand from his, she slowly stood up. At that moment she was alone in the room with her memories of her past with Nigel, and the tide of darkness flowed softly into the room and the comfort of his presence was gone for ever.

There was a knock at the door. A frown creased her forehead. ‘There is much to be done,’ she thought. Wiping away the tears with a handkerchief, she swiftly crossed the room towards the door. When Anna opened the door, it was Crystin her daughter who stood there.

Mama, how is Father? she said tentatively.

He is gone, said Anna.

Crystin entered the room quietly, and walking towards her father’s bed, she knelt beside him, and taking his hand she held it against her cheek. Dear Papa, goodbye! And as Crystin gently lowered his hand, one could see the tears rolling down her face. Anna Louise approached her daughter, and taking her hand helped her to stand up. Her hands reached out and encircled her daughter’s shoulders. They embraced for a moment, acquiring strength and solace from each other. Reluctantly, she withdrew her arms.

Let us go and tell the others, Anna said softly. Her eyes searched Crystin’s face which appeared pale and drawn, and with a look of panic her daughter exclaimed:

What will we do now that Papa is gone? He always took care of us.

Come Crystin, We must be strong for the others. You are the eldest now that Jane has gone to London. Let us go downstairs now. All will be well.

Anna had been left with five young children and a large farm of one thousand acres to care for. She was tall and slim with long black hair which she wore in a bun on the nape of her neck. The funeral for Nigel would be in four days and Charles and Gavin should be arriving from boarding school the next morning. Charles, the elder, was at sixteen years mature for his age. Anna’s four eldest were from a previous marriage; Jane, Crystin, Charles and Marianne; but Gavin was Nigel’s child. ‘How shall I tell the children that their father had left no will and that Gavin as his only child would inherit Belvedere? One day I shall have to explain, especially to Gavin his obligations to care for his brother and his sisters. And, who will manage the property?’ she thought anxiously.

The following day, Crystin and Marianne waited with their mother for the boys’ arrival from boarding school for the funeral. Anna Louise composedly glanced from one child to the next. Crystin sat by the window. She was tall, with long, wavy dark brown hair which almost touched her waist. She was seventeen, and beautiful, with a rare beauty which was a delight to behold. Marianne was fourteen. She was medium height and plump, with a sturdy body, unusual energy, and she was always gay and laughing. ‘I shall have to find husbands for them,’ thought Anna. The painful silence was broken when they heard the clatter of hooves on the cobbled driveway, as the horse drawn carriage swiftly came up the driveway. The boys had arrived! When they had all gathered in the drawing room, Anna looked at her children lovingly.

My dear children, your father is gone, but he loved you all very much. Somehow, we will have to learn to manage without him. Come here Charles, she said patting the sofa beside her. And when Charles was seated, Anna Louise continued: This is not what we had planned for you Charles, but you can not attend Harrow. We need you here to care for the property.

Anna could see that this upset Charles considerably. His face grew pale, and his lips were tightly compressed. She never could discern whether he had wanted to cry or whether he was exceedingly angry. After explanations had been made, that it was no longer financially possible, Charles seemed to settle down. The funeral had been set for the coming Saturday. Meanwhile, Gavin’s eyes filled with tears, but he bit his trembling lips and clenched his hands and said nothing.

The day of the funeral was bright and sunny. The church was full with the villagers and some family had come from afar to attend. Reverend Martin Gibson, who had come over from Wales and had joined their community as clergyman, had been in the parish instead of visiting the adjoining parishes, which he did once a month. In the left pew facing the pulpit was Anna Louise Chandler and her five children. In the pew adjacent to them was the new family who had bought the adjoining property. It was John Farrington and his parents. Behind them were the O’Mealleys whose property was close by and who had been friends of the Chandlers for generations. Most of the villagers who had come to pay their last respects to Squire Nigel Chandler, whom they had loved and respected, filled the pews. It was a short service. Afterwards, all the family members and some of their closest friends gathered in their home.

At first, there was a deep silence, as if they were all remembering Nigel and then suddenly, everyone began to talk. Large and rectangular in shape, the drawing room held everyone comfortably. The walls were painted beige, and on these walls hung portraits of the ancestors of Nigel Chandler. The ceiling had brown wooden beams depicting the Tudor architecture that was evident throughout the house. Servants brought in h’oeur-d’oerves on silver platters. Drinks were transported on silver trays held high by expert butlers. The beautiful arrays of flowers, arranged in crystal vases, placed on Irish Linen tablecloths over mahogany tables brightened the atmosphere.

The McDonalds had come. They were Nigel’s mother’s family. They were originally from Scotland. Everyone remembered Nigel with affection, and some with love. Nigel had been the typical son of a clergyman. His father had been Reverend Ian Chandler, who, the older family members still remembered, and whose painting hung on the wall. It hung beside a portrait of his wife Gina Chandler. There was much reminiscing, and several hours later the children were told to go to bed. Reluctantly, they left, led by Jane, the eldest child, who had arrived that day from London. Jane was plain, tall and angular. Her straight black hair was held in a bun at the back of her head. She was a direct contrast to Crystin, who was tall and beautiful in black, which showed up the luxurious beauty of her hair and the delightfully enchanting woman she had become. The younger children, pale and somber in their sorrow followed slowly.

It was not long before the guests began departing. Carriages drew up at the front entrance. Anna stood by the entrance to the drawing room and beside her stood Fiona McDonald. Each guest went up to Anna to express their regret at Nigel’s passing, and offers to help should the need arise. Finally, they were all gone. The house had been locked up and the last servant had gone to their quarters in the small cottage behind the manor house. Anna was left alone in the drawing room. Slowly she climbed the stairs. Anna was weary. She could barely lift her feet to go along the many steps. Anna felt she might faint. As she walked towards her room, she experienced a bewildering sense of loss, knowing that Nigel would never be there with her to share her days. Once in bed, sleep eluded her. Anna’s thoughts flitted from her first meeting with Nigel, and then throughout their years together, and finally, her last night with him as he lay dying. She lay tossing from side to side, and then, at last she fell asleep from sheer exhaustion.

Six weeks had gone by. Charles was getting a thorough training from Horace, the overseer on all aspects of running the property. Ever since Charles could remember, as early as age eight, he would ride a pony and follow his father around the property, keeping his eyes and ears open and learning all he could. Charles understood at an early age that he was not his father’s favorite and that even though he was his mother’s firstborn son; to Nigel Chandler, he was only a step-son and thus Gavin, his half brother was the chosen one, his step-father’s only successor, heir to what his father owned; the property known as Belvedere. Somehow, Gavin had never seemed interested in the estate. They had both been sent to Winfield Grammar School, which was the small private boarding school for boys that was closest to their home. But, Gavin had taken his lessons very seriously. At ten he was still a child, tall for his age with light brown hair, which was blond at the temples. Charles had enjoyed being at boarding school, and when he had heard that he would no longer be going to Harrow, his heart sank. Charles knew however, that although he had yearned to be on the campus of Harrow, it was just as good to be staying on the land he loved.

Two months later, Crystin, who was no longer going to boarding school, was sitting in the library, thinking of the tall stranger she had met at the railway station, and who had come to her father’s funeral, when Charles walked in.

Crystin, Mama has invited our new neighbor for dinner, his name is John Farrington. He is a Pharmacist, and his family bought the small farm next to ours. He has two sisters, but they are not back from France.

Such a lovely idea, Charles, Crystin replied, smiling. Now you will both have some male companionship since Gavin is still in school.

You must be quite bored with no one but mother to talk to. Jane is quite wrapped up in being a tutor with the Mitchell family in London, said Charles. Well, I’ll see you at dinner Crystin. And, with a wave of the hand, in the direction of Crystin, Charles left the room.

Crystin climbed the stairs that led to her suite of rooms. Her bedroom was large with a four poster mahogany bed. Beside it was her bedside table, and there was a large dressing table opposite. Two large Tudor windows were draped with velvet curtains, through which she could look out on the landscape she loved. Rolling hills with large oak trees were closest to the house and in the distance to the left were cattle roaming the pasture land. To the right were the orchards planted with her favorite fruit trees—both apples and pears. A clear fountain of water gushed from the ground, then, it entered a large tank which was located in the area between the pastures and the orchards. Her father had told them how this spring water originated from a river far up in the hills within their property line. A never ending mountain stream, cool and clear. With tears in her eyes Crystin could still hear his voice saying:

Crystin, this stream is a blessing to us from God. It gives us clear spring water to drink, it blesses our orchards, our cattle and our home. That is why we have built this concrete shelter on three sides, and I have left one side lower than the others so that from the house I can look out and see the water and know that all is well. I have called that piece of land with the river Springplain.

Crystin turned away from the windows. She missed her father terribly, but knew that she would hold him in her heart for ever. Then, her thoughts turned to the plans for the evening. Her father would approve of John, she thought. She quickly changed into her nightgown and climbed into bed. In no time she was fast asleep.

That evening, Crystin took special care in her dressing. She luxuriated in the scented bath water in her tub. Then, later she brushed her glorious, wavy, brown hair that had reddish highlights at each temple. Her eyes were deep brown and her lashes were long and black against her pale skin. Her dress was made of deep sky blue velvet and she blushed when she saw herself in the long mirror.

‘I am beautiful,’ thought Crystin. ‘No one has told me but I know it.’ Suddenly, Crystin became excited and confident. The thought of that tall dark stranger made her cheeks warm. ‘I must go now,’ she thought and as Crystin left her room and came to the head of the stairs, she heard voices—both her mother and the neighbor’s.

As Crystin descended the steps, Charles entered the foyer, and looking up at her, he said:

Do hurry Crystin, you have been keeping us waiting.

She was dressed in the height of fashion, with a narrow waist and a wide skirt. Charles waited impatiently at the bottom of the steps and gestured to her to go before him. They walked quickly into the drawing room. John had his back to the entry door, but Anna Louise Chandler looked up, hearing them at the door, and her expression changed to one of pleasure and pride.

Ah, Crystin, she said. Do come in. She paused. Mr. Farrington brought you home about three months ago when our driver suddenly became ill, remember? He and his family are our new neighbors. Mr. Farrington, this is Crystin, my daughter.

John had turned around and for a moment he stared at Crystin as if mesmerized, and then suddenly he moved forward and gallantly kissed the hand that Crystin had extended. He is handsome, and impeccably dressed in dinner attire; tall and dark with wavy black hair, broad-shouldered and slim, he must have been at least six-feet tall she thought.

It is indeed a pleasure to see you again Miss Chandler, and it is an honor to be invited to your home for dinner, John Farrington said, smiling.

Crystin experienced emotions that were totally unfamiliar to her. He was so handsome and physically appealing. When he kissed her hand she felt the shock go through her—a shiver of delight, which brought a blush to her cheeks.

It is nice to see you again Mr. Farrington. I have not been able to thank you properly for bringing Marianne and myself home, but tonight, after dinner, I shall play the piano and sing for you, that will be my thanks," said Crystin.

The butler came into the drawing room. Staying a respectful distance at the door, he announced: Pardon me, Mistress Chandler, Donald said, Dinner is served.

They left the room led by Charles and Anna Chandler, and Crystin with John Farrington followed.

The dining room was large, with beige walls and cedar wood ceilings. The dining table was a deep rich mahogany, with a captain’s chair at the head of the table and matching mahogany Windsor chairs lined the sides of the table. It could seat fourteen comfortably. The silver candelabra shone gleaming—almost white as the candles flickered their romantic light on the dinner set before them. Hanging on the walls were landscape paintings in oils.

During dinner, they talked about the neighboring property and of John Farrington’s desire to open a drug store in the village. He was at thirty-eight a pharmacist, and he had studied at Cambridge and in Prussia. His interests, he said, was in the study of herbs and their natural healing powers.

I have bought a store in the village and am in the process of acquiring the herbs and pharmaceutical supplies necessary to run a drug store. I shall be ready to open it in two months, he said, smiling engagingly at Crystin.

After dinner, Anna Louise Chandler and her family with their guest adjourned to the drawing room, and Crystin went to the piano which she loved to play. When Crystin began to play The Blue Danube, by Johann Strauss; John Farrington’s breath almost caught in his throat. ‘I am going to win this exquisitely beautiful, talented girl as my wife,’ he thought.

He had an excuse to stare at her as she played; her slender throat, her shoulders and the swell of her breasts as she sang. He had not been able to forget her since their first meeting. Never had he desired any woman as much as he desired her.

The evening passed quickly. It was now ten o’clock. His hostess had stood up. John knew it was time to leave. John Farrington stood up and said: Mrs. Chandler, thank you for a lovely evening. I am honored that you invited me to your home.

Suddenly, a clap of thunder, followed by lightening flashing brightly across the room startled them. A rapid, loud onslaught of hail hitting the side of the house motivated John to stride across the room, going to the wide Tudor windows, and looking out he could see marble sized hail, beating down against the window panes and bouncing off onto the grass surrounding the house. The hail was heavy and fierce, and remained on the lawn in clumps. The heavens seemed to be opening, he thought. The lightening was becoming more frequent. John turned around. He could see Crystin shiver in fright. Her face had grown pale. There was a loud clap of thunder and then the rain was now pouring down in heavy sheets. They could all hear its sound as it beat against the house. The wind, with its powerful force bent the tree limbs in a terrible frenzy. The sound of the wind as it twirled through the eaves of the house was making a frightening, eerie sound.

‘I’ll never make it home now in weather like this,’ John thought.

This is a heavy thunderstorm, Anna Louise said. You will have to wait till it lessons, Mr. Farrington.

They sat in the drawing room, talking. And, after an hour, when the rains had not abated, Anna Louise stood up and said:

Mr. Farrington, this rain makes it impossible for you to go home safely. I suggest you spend the night. I will have Martha prepare the rooms in the East Wing. We are all tired and should go to bed. When your rooms are ready the housekeeper will come and tell you. It will not be long, and then Charles can show you to your room. I’ll say good night then, and Crystin can come with me.

John Farrington accepted the invitation with reluctance. Thank you, Mrs. Chandler, it seems I have no choice. John gave a half smile.

Good nights were exchanged all around, and the ladies left the room.

It seemed just a few minutes and the housekeeper, Mrs. Moss was at the drawing room door telling them that the guest rooms were ready. Charles and John were relieved, because by now they too were tired.

Charles stood up, saying: It has been a great evening Mr. Farrington, sorry it had to end this way, but I will show you the way to your rooms.

I know the family at home will understand the reason they haven’t seen me come home is because of the storm. Thank you and your family for a lovely evening.

Charles led the way out of the room, down the hall to a flight of stairs which led to the east wing. He climbed the stairs two at a time. When John caught up with him he said, pointing:

The rooms on the right are your rooms. The first door on the right leads to a small sitting room and your bedroom is adjoining, with your dressing room at the back. I will see you tomorrow at breakfast then, Mr. Farrington. Breakfast is at eight. Then Charles turned as he saw John entering his room and he started back down the hall for the stairs.

It was still raining when Crystin climbed into bed. She immediately fell asleep. Not so their guest, John tossed and turned unable to fall asleep for a long time. He was excited, reliving the events of the evening and his memories of the beauty of Crystin. The next day during breakfast, it was still raining—not the heavy thundering and wind storms of the previous evening, but a slow unrelenting drizzle. Anna Louise still wore black, and she appeared paler and thinner than ever. Anna had been thinking of her husband’s last hours. She still felt an awful pain and helpless anger at the situation of his last hours. However, when she had joined them for breakfast, she, smiling at her guest said:

I do hope you slept well Mr. Farrington. I am going to rest today, because I barely slept last night. The children will entertain you. Both Charles and Crystin will be delighted to have company and Charles will get a holiday from the property.

She smiled lovingly at her children and took her place at the table. They both smiled back at their mother. John had stood up when his hostess had come into the room. He said:

It is a comfortable suite over in the east wing Mrs. Chandler. Thank you for your kind hospitality.

They were all gathered in the breakfast room which was much smaller than the dining room. The breakfast table could seat ten comfortably. The side board was laden with dishes with a choice of fruits, both pears and strawberries and whipped cream. There was a choice of scrambled eggs with ham and or kidneys and liver with bacon strips and toast and marmalade. Each person had helped themselves to their own choice of breakfast. After breakfast, the Chandlers and their guest went to the library. Following a short interlude Anna Chandler got up. The men stood up also.

Mr. Farrington, I’ll be leaving you all now. I am sure you will have a great deal to talk about. Crystin, do let me know when it stops raining. I will come back later, she said.

Crystin got up and walked toward her mother. Gently, she took her arm and together they walked toward the door. Kissing her mother on the cheek, Crystin said:

I will come up and see how you are doing Mama. They smiled at each other and Anna left the room while Crystin went back to join Charles and John.

There was a lively discussion on the subject of cows and sheep and the correct pastures for each. Charles was intent on deliberating the ways in which cows could be made to provide increasing quantities of milk, and for sheep to produce healthier coats of wool. All with the ultimate objective of higher yearly earnings and thus increased profitability. Crystin listened intently. Several hours later she got up and left the room. Charles and John were so involved with their conversation that they did not notice her leaving.

Several hours later, lunch was served in the dining room and when they were all seated, the butler brought in the silver dishes which contained cold cuts of turkey and ham, potato salad and blueberry muffins. There was a fresh garden salad and lemonade. John looked at Anna Louise and said:

"Mrs. Chandler, Charles seems very able to manage the property, even at his age. It must be a relief to know that