Even so, Charles had seen the accident. It had happened very quickly and took everyone by surprise. Janus, a superbly handsome black beast, had taken fright at a snarling Alsatian dog which appeared out of nowhere, snapping at the heels of the horse, with its young female owner charging behind it, shouting its name and waving her arms frantically in the air. Janus, on approaching the hedge he was about to jump, had veered sharply to the right to avoid the dog but William was distracted, lost his seat and fell heavily, breaking his neck on the hard ground which had seen no rain for a few weeks. He died instantly. Anne, riding not far behind, had seen everything. She galloped Juno recklessly to the side of her husband who was surrounded by other members of the hunt who reached him before her. They included a surgeon from Leeds Infirmary who was examining William and then looked up at Anne, sorrowfully shaking his head. Anne almost fell from the saddle and knelt down by her husband, her cries of anguish heard clearly by everyone on the hunting field and leaving Charles stricken by the sheer horror of the scene; the loss of his father and the grief of his mother. He had never known such pain in his short life, and would never forget that day as long as he lived.
The Duke was brought home and Charles heard the sound of his mother crying hysterically in her bedroom later that night. It was the only time he had heard her cry, never before that day and not since. She was utterly grief-stricken but with great fortitude had taken over the duties of her husband with stoicism and a deep determination to keep the estate running well until it was time for Charles to take over. She did a sterling job, even with the trauma of having to raise funds to pay the death duties from her husband’s demise and then during the war years when the house had been used as a hospital. She kept everything going to the best of her ability, gaining deep respect from all the staff, villagers, her friends and acquaintances. The patients and staff from the hospital years when she had worked tirelessly to make sure all the injured servicemen were as comfortable and well cared for as they possibly could be, all loved her and even to this day, she kept in a touch with a number of them and invited them to tea if they were in the area.
However, after losing her husband so suddenly and tragically, she gave up riding and didn’t mount a horse again. Janus and Juno were kept in luxury for the remainder of their lives, along with little Noddy as Charles decided he would never get on the back of a horse again either. The animals were occasionally ridden by guests but Anne was never tempted back into the saddle. It wasn’t that she had lost her nerve but the pleasure of roaming the countryside with her husband was no more and she found the idea of doing it without him too distressing to contemplate. It was after the war that she then turned her full attention to helping various animal charities with rescuing horses and sometimes cats and dogs, providing her with a much-needed focus and fulfilling a need to be of more use than just fundraising.
Charles watched his mother sipping her Darjeeling tea. The colour was gradually returning to her cheeks and her breathing was normal. Charles’s tension subsided and he settled back to listen to her account of how and why the two piebalds had been placed in her care. Then the telephone on his desk buzzed, indicating his secretary, Susan Armitage, who was in her office in the ante-room next to the library, required his attention.
“I’m really sorry to interrupt, Your Grace, but I have a reporter from the Daily Mail on the telephone. He wants to talk to you urgently and is insistent that it is private and refuses to advise me what it is about. Did you want to take the call or should I get rid of him?”
“Very intriguing Susan,” Charles replied, smiling. It wasn’t often a member of the press wanted to talk to him. “Put him through. I expect it’s something and nothing … you know how these people like to make a drama out of very little.”
Anne looked up enquiringly, wondering if it was anything to do with the two new horses. The RSPCA were looking for the gypsies who had dumped them and were publicising their plight.
“Good morning, Mr. Wright,” said Charles when Susan had told him the caller’s name and put him through. “What can I do for you?”
Watching her son’s face gradually tighten with anger, Anne felt a rising sense of alarm, realising quite quickly that this conversation was nothing to do with horses. It was obviously far more serious.
Charles listened to the reporter who was eagerly requesting the Duke of Canleigh’s reaction to the Duchess’s impropriety with a young man in a London park. Tight-lipped, Charles said nothing, just listened as he was informed which paper was running the story and what it contained.
Anne jumped when Charles ended the call abruptly and slammed the telephone back into its receiver.
“I don’t believe that woman,” he exclaimed, angrily pacing the room and pushing his fingers through his hair. “I told her to be discreet. I told her
