Читать книгу Heirs of Ravenscar - Barbara Taylor Bradford - Страница 18

ELEVEN

Grace Rose finished wrapping the last of her Christmas presents in gold paper, tying the gauzy gold ribbon into a lavish bow. After adding a small spray of gold-painted holly and a bunch of tiny gold bells, she put it to one side on the table. Then, very neatly, she wrote on the small gift card: To dearest Bess, with much love from Grace Rose. Once she had tied the card onto the ribbon she sat back, regarding her handiwork.

There were nine presents all beautifully wrapped and ready to be sent off to Ravenscar. Six of them were for her half sisters and brothers, and three were for her adult relatives, Aunt Cecily, Aunt Elizabeth and Uncle Ned.

Uncle Ned. Her father. She loved him the most except for her parents, Vicky and Stephen Forth. They had adopted her, brought her up since she was four years old … fourteen years of love and devotion they had given her, and they had given her a life, one that was truly wonderful, and which she wouldn’t have had without them.

In her mind Grace Rose associated Vicky and Stephen with love, for that is what she had received from them, and continued to receive unstintingly. They had never demanded anything in return but she had responded to them with utter devotion, love and obedience.

Within the first few weeks of her arrival in this house the three of them had become as close as any parents and a child could be. And right from the beginning she had fallen into their ways, had adapted easily to their lifestyle, been comfortable in their world of courtesy, good manners, cosseted comfort, and undeniable wealth and privilege.

There were moments, like right now, when she thought about the courage they had shown … they had been so very brave to take her in, make her their daughter.

She, the urchin child, existing on the streets of Whitechapel, living in an old cart, alone, scared witless and forever hungry. An urchin child dressed in ragged boys’ clothes, which were far too big, and covered in grime and dirt. A little girl who had been thrown away without a second thought, until Amos Finnister had found her and taken her to Lady Fenella and Vicky Forth at Haddon House. The three of them, and Stephen as well, had saved her life. She shuddered to think about what would have happened to her if Amos had not gone into that cul-de-sac on that particular night to eat his meat pies. And found her. She might not have lived to see the year out.

Rising, Grace Rose stood up and went over to the looking glass which hung above the fireplace in the parlour, staring at her reflection. What she saw quite pleased her, even though she didn’t think of herself as being beautiful; she now decided that she looked attractive. She especially liked her red gold hair, which she thought of as her best asset. It fell to her shoulders in curls and waves, and was constantly admired by everyone. Her eyes were unusual, very, very blue, and she knew – everyone knew – that she looked exactly like Edward Deravenel. Even her slender nose, rounded chin and broad forehead were inherited from him.

Grace Rose had first met him fourteen years ago, in this house, when he had rushed into the library looking for Amos and Neville Watkins. The minute she set eyes on him her heart had done a little leap inside her, and she felt a lovely surge of happiness. It was him. Her father, looking just the way her mother had described him to her. Tabitha had told her he was strong and tall like a tree in the forest, with eyes as blue as the sky above, and hair the colour of the autumn leaves. She had recognized him.

She had smiled at him and he had smiled back, and she knew deep down inside herself that she was his, and he was hers, and there would always be something special and unique between them. And it had been so.

Her thoughts swung to Tabitha … her first mother. A little sigh escaped her. She was still perplexed about her mother’s fate; Tabitha had gone away one day and never come back, and she had gone out into the streets, running as fast as her little legs would carry her. Her need to escape that hovel of a house had propelled her as far away as possible.

Now she knew as much as Vicky and the others knew about Tabitha James. Her first mother had been born Lady Tabitha Brockhaven, the daughter of an Earl; she had fallen in love with her music teacher, Toby James, and had eloped with him. But they had never had any children together. She had come along later, fathered by Uncle Ned when he was only a boy, then her mother had moved and had lost touch with Edward Deravenel.

Vicky, her adoptive mother, had told her about her background, given her all the facts that were available when she was fourteen, at which time Vicky had believed she was old enough to know everything. But even Vicky had admitted rather sadly that it was not very much.

‘It’s all right, Mother,’ Grace Rose had responded at the time. ‘I’m glad to know who Tabitha really was, but you and Stephen are my parents and that’s more than enough for me. And Uncle Ned has always acknowledged that he’s my biological father.’

Grace Rose turned her back to the fireplace and stood warming herself for a few minutes, thinking about Edward Deravenel. He had always been honest and straight forward with her. He had taught her so many things over the years, imbued in her a sense of honour and fair play, told her about justice, and taught her to have integrity in all things. ‘And here is something else,’ he had said quite recently. ‘Follow your own dreams. Don’t put them aside for anyone or anything. Because sometimes people and events will … betray you. Be your own person, Grace Rose, go your own way, and always be true to yourself.’ That day last summer she had promised him she would do as he said.

He was coming to the dinner party tonight, and she was excited that he would be one of the guests. He was bringing Mrs Shaw. She liked Jane Shaw, who was a beautiful, gracious, gentle person. And she fully understood why this woman was Uncle Ned’s mistress. He needed a woman to be nice to him. She had often noticed, when she was at Ravenscar for holidays in the summer, that Aunt Elizabeth could be mean to him, unkind really. And she shouted at him, which frightened the younger children. Another thing she had noticed was that Aunt Elizabeth paid more attention to the two boys than the little girls. Bess, her very dear friend, had confided that her mother was really only interested in the two boys because they were ‘the heir and the spare’. There were times when Grace thought that Bess was not particularly attached to her mother, and this saddened her. Having a loving mother was the most wonderful thing.

It seemed to her, all of a sudden, that Elizabeth Deravenel was not well liked in the family; certainly Aunt Cecily disliked her, she had picked up on that ages ago, when she was much younger. Grace Rose loved Cecily Deravenel her grandmother, if unacknowledged as such.

‘Well, there you are, Grace Rose,’ Vicky exclaimed, pushing open the door of the parlour. Glancing over at the table she then nodded approvingly. ‘I see you’ve wrapped a lot of presents, darling. Good girl.’

Grace Rose beamed at Vicky. ‘I have, Mother, all of those which you are sending off to Ravenscar. Is Fuller going to take them to the post office tomorrow?’

‘Actually, he isn’t, after all. Uncle Ned just telephoned me about something, and in passing I asked him if he would mind taking them, if we packed them up in a small case, of course, and he said he would be happy to do so. We can do that job after lunch. In the meantime, I have some very good news for you.’ Vicky waved the letter she was holding, and continued, ‘My friend Millicent Hanson has written back to say she will be delighted to have you to stay with her next spring and summer. Therefore you will be able to attend some of the courses at Oxford.’

‘Oh, how wonderful! Thank you, Mother, for writing to her. I’m so happy.’

Edward was in a foul mood, and he knew exactly why. He was blazing mad with George, and for some reason he was finding it hard to rid himself of the anger. Usually he managed to toss things off, especially things which had to do with George’s bad behaviour. This mess with the gambling debts was another matter entirely.

In the first place, there was the question of honour. George had been brought up properly, as a gentleman, and ought to know better than to leave debts of this nature unpaid. It was a disaster for his reputation, and also damaging to the family name.

Leaning back in the chair, closing his eyes, he asked himself why George hadn’t paid the clubs immediately. Was he short of money? Edward doubted that. He earned a good salary here at Deravenels, received quarterly director’s fees, and his wife Isabel had a huge allowance from her mother. Nan Watkins was a millionairess many times over, and had been extremely generous to Isabel and George. Actually, in his opinion, they had money to burn. On the other hand, thirty thousand pounds owed to one club and five thousand each owed to two other clubs were hefty sums. Forty thousand pounds.

Then there was the matter of the drinking. It had startled Edward to hear that George was considered an alcoholic. He hadn’t realized it had gone that far. As for the drugs, he wasn’t certain about that at all. But who knows, he now thought. Perhaps he is on something addictive, other than the drink.

Edward accepted that George would have to be dealt with very sternly when he returned from Scotland, and he also decided that George was going to pay back the forty thousand pounds he had just laid out. He had no intention of funding his brother’s bad gambling habits; quite suddenly he wondered if he could have George’s memberships to the clubs cancelled. Or perhaps he could have George banned. How he wasn’t sure, but it might be worth a try. And he would put the fear of God into George after Christmas. Yes, he was going to deal with a lot of things in the new year, he had made that decision days ago.

Now he must throw off this foul mood. Immediately. He had to push a smile onto his face and go across the street to Rules. He didn’t want to put a damper on the lunch he was giving for his special colleagues at Deravenels. It was almost Christmas, the first Christmas they would be able to celebrate properly, because finally they were at peace. There would be a few faces missing at the lunch: Rob Aspen and Christopher Green, who had died in France fighting for their country. They would be remembered fondly by everyone, himself most especially.

Rising, Edward went over to the cupboard where the safe was housed, and opened it. He stood there for a moment, and then he made a decision. He took out two large envelopes, locked the safe, went back to his desk and placed the envelopes in a drawer. This he locked. Pocketing the key, he went to get his overcoat and scarf. It was almost one o’clock. Time to go.