Читать книгу Heirs of Ravenscar - Barbara Taylor Bradford - Страница 20
ОглавлениеGrace Rose had been given the task of entertaining Mrs Shaw while her parents and Uncle Ned had some sort of business meeting in the library.
She was glad they had asked her to keep Jane Shaw company because she really liked her. There was something about her that was intriguing and special; also, Grace Rose knew that Jane Shaw liked her in return, and there was a certain ease between them.
That this woman was truly lovely to look at was obvious; that she was charming, kind and extremely intelligent a bonus, Grace Rose thought, impressed by her knowledge of art and sculpture, her willingness to answer questions whenever Grace Rose asked. Jane knew a great deal about certain artists and their work, most especially the French Impressionists and Post-Impressionists, and she was happy to share.
The two of them were seated in the yellow drawing room, chatting generalities. At one moment, Grace Rose couldn’t help thinking that Jane Shaw looked perfect in this perfect room tonight. She was wearing a most elegant and fashionable sapphire-blue velvet dress, and sapphire earrings which exactly echoed the particular blue in some of the fabrics her mother had chosen for the room. She ought to be painted in here, Grace Rose thought, and it should be called Portrait in Blue.
After another brief discussion about a recent art exhibition at a well-known gallery in Chelsea, with Jane doing most of the talking, they fell silent. But it was a compatible silence, not awkward at all; the two of them were comfortable with each other and had been since they had first met some years before.
Looking across at Grace Rose, Jane took the lead again, and murmured, ‘I hear you love your studies, and your uncle told me you are extremely dedicated and disciplined. He thinks that’s admirable, and so do I.’ Settling back in the French bergère, Jane took a sip of champagne and then smiled warmly at the younger woman.
Grace Rose nodded, her face full of eagerness. ‘I’ve always loved school, Mrs Shaw, and I’m really happy today because it will soon be possible for me to live at Oxford with a friend of Mother’s, and attend courses at the University.’
‘That’s wonderful! Congratulations! History is your subject, isn’t it?’
‘Yes. At this moment I’m particularly interested in France, and in French kings.’
‘What an extraordinary coincidence. I’ve always been partial to French history, and although the English are not supposed to like Napoleon Bonaparte, I must confess I’ve always had a sneaking admiration for him. In many ways he was a genius.’
‘And probably the greatest general the world has ever known,’ Grace Rose remarked.
‘Except when he invaded Russia,’ Jane pointed out, eyeing her young companion acutely.
‘That’s true … but it was mostly the weather that scuttled him,’ Grace Rose replied. ‘I was thinking in terms of strategy when I said he was the greatest.’
‘I understand, and many agree with you. But tell me, which particular king intrigues you the most?’
‘To be honest, I’m more taken with the mistresses of kings. You see, that’s what I’m studying at the moment. Mistresses. I find them fascinating –’ Grace Rose broke off, remembering that Jane Shaw was Uncle Ned’s mistress. She chastised herself silently for having embarked on such a controversial subject. ‘Oh, dear, I’m so … s-s-sorry,’ she stammered, looking chagrined, and then flushed in embarrassment.
Jane couldn’t help laughing when she saw the woebegone expression on her face, and reaching out she patted her arm, said very softly, ‘Don’t apologize, my dear, I know you know that I am Uncle Ned’s mistress.’
‘Yes,’ Grace Rose replied, nodding. ‘The whole world knows –’ She broke off again, looking even more flustered than ever, and cleared her throat.
‘I’m very sorry, Mrs Shaw, I keep saying the wrong thing. I don’t mean to give offence.’
‘And you haven’t, I promise. Tell me why you love mistresses so much that you want to study them?’
Suddenly feeling undeterred, realizing Jane was obviously interested to hear her opinion, she rushed on. ‘Those I’ve been reading about are all extraordinary women. They played such enormous roles in history. Most were influential in politics and government, whilst caring about their kings, and what they did says so much about the times they lived in. We learn from them. Their relationships were usually about power. In most instances, I think.’
‘Absolutely!’ Jane exclaimed. ‘And money. And position. As well as social ascendency, and, in another sense, social acceptance and supremacy.’
‘I love mistresses, I mean as a subject,’ Grace Rose continued. ‘They’re much more interesting to read about than most of the queens. Frequently, the king cared more for his mistress than his wife.’
Struck by the girl’s openness, and an unusual honesty that was quite breathtaking, Jane began to chuckle, her expression amused. After a moment, she asked, ‘And which mistress are you concentrating on at the moment, Grace Rose?’
‘Diane de Poitiers, the mistress of Henri II of France. She met him when he was a little boy, only twelve. This was just after he had come back to France, after being held in captivity by the Spaniards. He was a hostage, along with his brother, while his father went free. He was depressed and shy at the time, and she befriended him. Actually, she became his protectress, and was very kind to him, a steady influence. She mothered him quite a lot, too. I believe that she made him feel safe and secure. That was important to him, I think.’
‘Yes, you’re right, it probably was.’
‘Diane seduced him when he was seventeen,’ Grace Rose announced. ‘She was twenty years older than he was, but he never left her. She was his mistress for his entire life. He died before she did, but when he was alive he doted on her, much more than on his queen.’
‘Ah yes, the famous Catherine de Medici. A woman scorned at the outset of her marriage. Henri II was too preoccupied with Diane, I do believe, to be bothered with his wife.’
‘You seem to know quite a lot about Diane, Mrs Shaw.’
‘Yes, I do,’ Jane answered and a small smile flickered at the corners of her mouth, her eyes twinkling with amusement.
Grace Rose felt her own mouth twitch and she began to laugh softly. And Jane Shaw laughed with her. And it was at that moment that these two women bonded forever. The mistress and the illegitimate daughter. Outsiders, in a certain sense, and yet so close to this most dominant man in their lives, closer than most others whom he knew and cared about.
Grace Rose shifted slightly on the sofa, and remarked, ‘Then you must know that Henri II gave Diane the crown jewels. Just imagine that. And also that most palatial of châteaux, Chenonceaux.’
‘I did know that, yes. And I’m also aware that she held her power for almost thirty years. Yet she was wonderfully kind to the king’s whole family, to the queen when she was desperately ill, and Diane virtually brought up the royal children.’
‘And those children happened only because Diane persuaded the king to visit his wife’s bed, pointing out that he needed an heir.’
‘My goodness, Grace Rose, you’ve done your research well. Diane is your favourite, is she?’
‘Yes, but there’s one other mistress whom I admire, and would have liked to have known.’
‘And who may I ask is that?’
‘Agnès Sorel,’ Grace Rose told her. ‘She was the mistress of Charles VII in 1444. He was so smitten with Agnès that he made her his official mistress. By that I mean he created an actual official position, and for the first time in French history. Maîtresse en titre –’
‘And who is the maîtresse en titre?’ Edward asked from the doorway, striding into the room, a look of considerable amusement on his face. Although the two women did not know it, he had been standing there listening to them for several minutes.
Grace swung her hand, and exclaimed, ‘Oh, goodness! Uncle Ned! I was just explaining to Mrs Shaw that I am currently studying mistresses.’ Once again she instantly became flustered, and hurried on, ‘What I mean is – er – er French mistresses, I mean the mistresses of kings –’
‘But only French kings apparently. Are you not interested in English kings and their mistresses?’ He chuckled. ‘Too dull, I suspect, the English, eh?’
‘Oh, no, not at all. I know a lot about English kings. There was Charles II and Nell Gwynne, and –’
‘Yes, my dear, I know, I was just teasing you.’ He walked over to the sofa, stood behind her, his hands resting on her shoulders affectionately, whilst looking across at Jane quizzically.
Jane smiled at him. ‘I was thoroughly enjoying our discussion,’ she murmured with warmth and genuine sincerity. ‘Grace Rose is going to be a marvellous historian, Ned. She has all the right instincts. She’s obviously not afraid of research, and she has a nose for sniffing out the truth, I think. None of us were around to witness events hundreds of years ago, so historians have to weigh the written evidence, go with their instincts.’
‘I have always been impressed,’ he murmured, obviously pleased by Jane’s comments. He remained standing where he was, for a moment lost in his thoughts.
Jane caught her breath; seeing them together like that in such close and intimate proximity was tremendously revealing. There was no doubt whose daughter she was – that red-gold hair and the brilliant blue eyes. And they both had the same pink and cream complexion. Yes, Grace Rose was Ned’s spitting image and the vividness, the vibrancy of their looks was startling.
I want to make her my friend, Jane thought all of a sudden. And I will be her friend, protective of her if that is necessary. And that way, no matter what happens, I will always have a little bit of Ned.
Vicky said, from the doorway, ‘Everyone seems to be arriving at once! Come along, Grace Rose, I hear Fenella and Amos in the foyer.’
‘Go along,’ Edward said, standing away from Grace Rose. ‘Go and greet your old friends.’
‘Oh yes, I will!’ she cried and jumped up.
Edward watched her go, and then he turned to Jane. He walked over to her, pulled her to her feet, kissed her on the cheek, led her to the fireplace. ‘She takes one’s breath away with her bluntness, I’m afraid. I hope she didn’t say the wrong thing, or embarrass you?’
‘Of course not. Frankly, I found her refreshing.’ Jane hesitated, and then murmured in a low voice, ‘I would like to get to know her better, Ned.’
‘Then you shall,’ he promised.
‘There isn’t anything wrong, is there? I mean you’re not ill are you, Ned?’ Vicky asked sotto voce, looking at him intently.
He was seated on her right at the circular dinner table, and he glanced at her swiftly. ‘Of course not. I’m in perfect health. Why do you ask?’
‘Because you decided to give us those documents tonight. It was so unexpected, Ned, out of the blue. I can’t help, well … worrying, wondering if things are all right with you.’
He leaned to her and said quietly, ‘I suppose the war and the flu pandemic have affected me a little, in the sense that they’ve made me realize I’m mortal like everyone else. When one is very young, one thinks that life is endless, that we’ll all live forever. But, sadly, that’s not true. We’re all vulnerable.’
Now Ned flashed her his most brilliant smile. ‘I’m truly not ill, Vicky, dear. I don’t intend to keel over for donkey’s years, and I promise you there’s only one reason I’ve given you and Stephen the documents. And that’s because you should have them in your possession as her parents. That’s all there is to it. Also, I’ve been rather efficient lately, and these last few weeks I’ve been putting a lot of my other personal business in order.’
Vicky nodded, leaned back in her chair, filled with relief. She gave him a warm and loving smile. ‘You’ve been so good about her all these years, and good to her. Just as you’ve been good to everyone you care about.’
‘I just try to do my bit, the best way I can, that’s all,’ he answered with a light shrug of his broad shoulders, and then he turned to speak to Fenella who had asked him a question about Young Edward and his health.
With the worry about Ned now totally erased from her mind, Vicky relaxed completely, and glanced around the table. She saw that everyone was having a good time, enjoying being together. Fuller had just served the Sole Colbert a few moments before, and there were several comments about how delicious it was, and she was pleased they liked Cook’s food.
After a moment, she realized Jane Shaw was trying to get her attention, and she asked, ‘Is everything all right, Jane? You are enjoying the fish, aren’t you?’
Jane smiled. ‘It’s delicious, and I just wanted to say how special your table looks tonight, Vicky, with all your beautiful china and silver. You know how much I love your little red box, as you call it.’
‘Thank you. Everybody does – I suppose it’s cosy, intimate, rather a nice place to be on a wintry night.’
Smiling, Jane nodded, and went back to her food.
Vicky eyed the room which she had decorated about five years ago, just before the war, flattered by Jane’s comments. It was a little red box, with crimson silk brocade covering the walls and hanging at the windows, the Victorian chairs around the table covered in a deeper red velvet, the Turkish carpet underfoot a mélange of reds, pinks and navy blue. The fire burning brightly and the many candles in their tall silver candlesticks added to the warmth, intimacy and elegance of the room on this cold December night.
Vicky usually gave this dinner party every year, just before Christmas. And even during the war she had kept up the tradition. It was always the same people who came, old friends and relatives. It struck her suddenly how clannish they all were, but then the Deravenel family in particular had always been somewhat addicted to their family and oldest friends. All of their lives they had been intertwined with other branches of the family, and most especially the Watkins clan, who were their first cousins. She supposed it was because of shared beliefs and ideals, a particular philosophy, a way of life that drew them into each other’s orbit. And loyalty and friendship and constant support were essential elements in their relationship.
She thought of her sister-in-law Kathleen, not present tonight because she had a cold. She was Ned’s cousin, sister of the late Neville and Johnny Watkins, both killed in that awful car crash at Ravenscar four years ago. She missed her presence. When he had arrived tonight Will had told her that Kathleen was really quite sick. ‘But not Spanish flu,’ he had added swiftly, observing the look of apprehension crossing her face, ‘Just a heavy cold.’ Will loved and adored Kathleen, and it had always been a very solid marriage, much to Vicky’s gratification.
Fenella’s voice brought her out of her reverie, and she looked across at her old friend, who was saying, ‘How is Charlie feeling, Amos?’
‘He’s relieved he’s safely home, happy that the war’s over, Lady Fenella, and he sends his best to you, to everyone. But he has been wounded, has a really bad leg injury and he limps, uses a cane. But at least they saved his leg. Also, one side of his face is scarred. I’m afraid it was burned.’ Amos shook his head, looking suddenly worried. ‘However, he is very cheerful, I must admit, and looking forward to doing something else in the theatre, perhaps producing or writing.’
‘Is he that badly scarred?’ Fenella asked, frowning, all of her attention on Amos.
‘As I said, it’s only one side of his face that was burned. And the scars are still healing. He told me he might be able to do something about it later, once he’s really better. There are apparently new methods for treating burns.’
‘Yes, that’s true,’ Grace Rose interjected. ‘Actually, skin-grafting and that kind of special surgery goes back to ancient times.’
‘I didn’t know that!’ Vicky exclaimed. ‘You’re a fountain of knowledge, darling.’
Fenella had a thoughtful expression on her face when she looked across the table, said to Vicky, ‘Jeanette Ridgely made a remark to me the other day when she came to help out at Haddon House. Her son was an officer at the front, and he’s home now, also wounded. She said he wished there was somewhere wounded soldiers could go, to have some sort of relaxation and recreation, talk to other Tommies. He said that was what his men needed. A place more like Haddon House than a public house, where inevitably many of the men just got drunk.’
‘That’s an interesting idea.’ Vicky glanced at the others, raising a brow. ‘Don’t you agree?’
‘Yes, I do,’ Stephen answered, always ready to back his wife in her projects.
Fenella nodded. ‘We could talk to her next week, if you like, Vicky, I know she’s volunteered to do two days at Haddon House. I think such a place would be quite marvellous for the wounded men who are now coming home.’
‘Like a club,’ Stephen suggested, sounding enthusiastic. ‘Not the many working men’s clubs that have sprung up all over, more like a recreation centre, don’t you think?’
Will nodded. ‘A place where they could meet up with other solders, have refreshments, play cards, read … somewhere to go, to get them out of the house, from under the feet of their wives or mothers.’
‘It’s an excellent idea, in my opinion.’ Edward addressed Fenella and continued. ‘If you decided to do it, Fenella, I’ll certainly write a cheque, give you a donation to such a cause.’
‘Why thank you so much, Ned, but I hadn’t really thought of doing it, not until this moment anyway. But we’ll see.’
‘I’ll match Ned,’ Will promised.
‘Count me in,’ Stephen announced. ‘We must show appreciation to our wounded, they risked their lives for us, and you know damned well the government won’t do much to help the returning wounded.’
‘Well, how lovely of you all,’ Fenella murmured, thinking of the way she and her aunt had started Haddon House years ago. They created a safe haven for abused women and much to their satisfaction it had done wonders in the East End, saved many helpless women from terrible fates.
Vicky glanced at the door. ‘Ah, here is Fuller with the main course.’
Fuller and two parlour maids came into the dining room, carrying large tureens of lamb stew. Once everyone was served they departed, although Fuller returned within seconds to pour the red claret into the fine crystal goblets.
‘Your dinners are always the best,’ Edward said at one moment, turning to Vicky. ‘I’ve loved this stew of yours for years.’
Vicky inclined her head, pleased. ‘Thank you,’ she said with a smile. After a moment she added, ‘If we did open such a place for wounded soldiers, shouldn’t we have a canteen? To serve a good lunch to them every day.’
‘I can see this project, which was only just suggested a minute ago, is growing in magnitude,’ Will murmured, staring at his sister. ‘The first thing you must do, Fenella, and you too Vicky, is sit down and figure out what such a place is going to cost. Certainly before you do anything else.’
‘Of course you’re right, Will,’ Fenella agreed. ‘In fact, I must do quite a lot of thinking first, before we get to that stage. We’re very busy at Haddon House. We’d need quite a few helpers for such a project …’ Her voice trailed off.
‘I know we’d soon have lots of volunteers,’ Vicky said in a confident voice.
Edward laughed. ‘Always the optimist, my dear Vicky.’
After dinner, when everyone was drinking coffee and liqueurs in the drawing room, Amos edged towards Edward.
Edward, attuned to Amos after all these years, gave him a quick glance and inclined his head. Excusing himself to Stephen, he took several steps in Amos’s direction.
‘What is it, Amos? You look as if you need to speak to me, and quite urgently.’
‘I do need to have a word, sir, but it’s not urgent. I can speak with you tomorrow morning, if you’d prefer.’
‘I can’t tomorrow morning, I’m afraid,’ Edward answered, remembering the appointment Jane had made for them to view the Renoir painting. ‘How about now? Shall we step outside into the hall?’
‘Yes, Mr Edward, if that’s all right.’
‘It’s fine.’ He went over to Stephen, who now stood near the window, and muttered, ‘Finnister needs a word with me. Excuse me for a moment, will you?’
‘Of course.’
Following Amos out, Edward said, ‘Too much staff clearing up out here. Let’s step into the library.’
‘Good idea, sir.’
Once they were ensconced in the library overlooking the garden, Edward asked, ‘What’s on your mind? You look worried.’
‘No, I’m not worried. It’s like this, sir. Last night I had dinner with Charlie at the Ritz, and he went to say hello to another officer, who’d just come into the restaurant. A major he’d been in two different hospitals with. When he returned to the table I asked him who the man was, and he said he was a friend by the name of Cedric Crawford.’
Edward was so startled to hear this name from the past he simply gaped at Amos for a moment, genuinely dumbfounded. Finally, he said, ‘The Cedric Crawford who lived with Tabitha James? Is that who you mean? Well, I suppose you do: after all it’s quite an unusual name.’
‘That’s right, sir, and I don’t think there are two of them.’
‘So you’re obviously planning to do something about this, knowing you as well as I do, Amos.’
‘I’m taking them both to dinner tomorrow. I hope to establish his identity at least.’
‘And then what?’
‘I thought I would ask him about Tabitha James.’
‘Will he tell you the truth? We both agreed she wasn’t murdered, because if she had been the police would have been involved at the time, whatever Grace Rose said when you found her. After all, she was only four.’
‘I’m hoping he can tell me what Tabitha’s fate really was, and also where she’s buried. I think that would be a good thing for Grace Rose to know, Mr Edward. Set her mind at rest.’
‘She’s talked about this to you, hasn’t she?’ Edward murmured, as perceptive as always, and understanding Grace Rose as well as he did.
‘Yes, she has. I’ve even taken her down to Whitechapel at different times, with Mrs Vicky’s permission of course. And naturally she’s been to Haddon House over the years. Nothing’s ever been hidden from her. Mrs Vicky has always believed in telling her the truth.’
‘And rightly so. It would’ve been silly to keep things a secret.’ A reflective look settled in Edward’s eyes for a moment, and he stood holding the brandy balloon, staring into its amber depths. At last he said, ‘Find out what you can, Amos. It will be quite interesting to hear what he has to say. But don’t expect too much, because perhaps he doesn’t know much of anything. After all, he could have left her. Or she could have left him … it’s all something of a mystery … and one we might never fathom.’
