Читать книгу The Complete Ravenscar Trilogy: The Ravenscar Dynasty, Heirs of Ravenscar, Being Elizabeth - Barbara Taylor Bradford - Страница 35

EIGHTEEN

‘I’m so sorry I wasn’t able to attend the lunch yesterday,’ Will Hasling said, his gaze fixed on Edward, who was sitting opposite him in the hansom cab. ‘As I explained to you, I had to be in Leicestershire to meet with the family solicitors. About the legacy my aunt left me.’

‘So you said,’ Edward replied, then added, ‘I hope it was a decent inheritance.’

Will laughed. ‘Very decent indeed, Ned. Really generous. I was her only nephew, and as I told you, she never married, so there were no children. I was her sole heir. Anyway, I couldn’t get back to London until last night. How was the lunch with Neville and Oliveri?’

‘It went very well,’ Edward responded. ‘I was very impressed with this man Amos Finnister. He’s the private investigator Neville is using. I think he’s going to prove invaluable to us. He’s already dug up a lot of dirt, and, most importantly, he discovered that Henry Grant was incarcerated in two insane asylums. Finnister’s convinced Grant is actually insane.’

‘Good God!’ Will exclaimed, sitting up straighter, his amazement written across his startled face. ‘That is interesting news, and certainly it works in our favour.’

‘Yes, it does. Finnister has to make an attempt to get the medical records, because, as Oliveri pointed out, the board of Deravenels will only be convinced of his insanity by such records. They’ll want proof in order to believe.’

‘If then,’ Will muttered, ‘you know the place is riddled with his friends. They’ll defend him any way they can, do whatever it takes to keep him in power.’

‘Maybe they won’t be able to do that,’ Edward answered, and in a low, rapid voice began to tell Will about the lunch, and everything that had been said. And ultimately agreed upon.

Once Ned had finished speaking, Will sat back against the seat, looking thoughtful for a few moments, and then he shook his head. ‘Certainly this Amos Finnister chap has handed you a number of lethal weapons…such as the possibility to blackmail, circulate bad propaganda, those kind of things, but stealing the records might not be quite so easy.’

‘Neville assured me that if anyone can do it, it’s Finnister. Or rather, some of the men he employs. I get the impression they’re professional thieves.’

‘Well I certainly trust Neville’s judgement. By the way, have you told him I would like to work at Deravenels, once you’ve taken over?’

Edward began to laugh. ‘Another confident soul, I see, not even questioning the outcome. And yes, I have told him, and he was delighted. He even wondered aloud if you would consider working for him at the moment, until you could join me, and I said I would ask you.’

‘Neville wants me to work for him? Good God! But look here, Ned, what would I do?’ Will Hasling’s expression was one of total puzzlement.

‘Chiefly, you would be…my boon companion,’ Edward explained. ‘Except you wouldn’t be able to accompany me to work, to Deravenels. However, he does want you to be with me at all other times. He’s got a bee in his bonnet about my safety, even though Amos Finnister assured him they wouldn’t dare make a move against me, physically that is, at the moment. Finnister says that the fire in Carrara and those terrible deaths have brought attention to the Grants. There’s a lot of gossip going around about the tragedy, and about the Grants, too. Look, Will, Neville feels I shouldn’t be wandering around town alone, and he thinks you’re the best person to be at my side.

‘But he doesn’t have to employ me to do that, Ned! Surely he understands about our friendship.’

‘Of course he does. I suppose he wanted to put you on his payroll because he thinks you have to earn a living—’

‘That’s no longer necessary, because of the money my aunt has left me. It’s not a great fortune, Ned, but it’s enough to keep me quite comfortably, and my father still gives me a small allowance.’

Edward nodded, and said swiftly, ‘I hope you’re not offended by his offer of money.’

‘Don’t be silly, and the answer by the way is yes. I will certainly be your boon companion—that’s not work, it’s total pleasure.’

Both young men laughed, and then Will’s face changed, became solemn when he said in a serious voice, ‘Rest assured that I will protect you. With my life. And always. Because like Neville, I believe the Grants will eventually try to get you in some way. And I don’t want my best friend dead…I want him alive.’

Edward nodded, gave Will a somewhat wry smile. ‘And your friend wants to stay alive, I can assure you of that.’ There was a moment’s pause before Ned continued, ‘I’m certainly glad my mother decided to come to London, I’ve worried about them, especially the children. I’ll be much happier having them at Charles Street with me. Even though it is perfectly safe at Ravenscar. It’s well protected by its location, and the locals are devoted to us. Still, I have been concerned about them being there without me.’

‘That I understand, Ned, and you never know in life.’ Will sighed. ‘You just never know what might happen.’ He looked out of the window for a second, and then bringing his steady gaze back to Edward, he asked, ‘Do you think your mother was afraid there? Is that why she’s coming back to town today? Do you think she considered herself vulnerable at Ravenscar?’

‘No, I don’t, in all honesty. I know she’s always felt safe there, but from what she said on the telephone, last night, she became lonely in Yorkshire without my father. Also, she had previously engaged John Pennington to tutor the boys, and Perdita Willis to act as Meg’s governess for the next few months. For those reasons she wanted to return to London. Mind you, Will, she did say they have all missed me.’

‘She’s done the right thing, coming back, and I feel better myself, having you all in one place,’ Will confided, and then exclaimed, ‘Well, here we are, Ned, King’s Cross station!’

A moment later the two men were alighting from the hansom cab. Swinton, the butler, was getting out of a second hansom just behind them, and he came to join Edward and Will.

‘I shall go and round up some porters, sir,’ Swinton announced. ‘Mrs Deravenel told me there would be a quantity of luggage.’

Edward nodded. ‘Mr Hasling and I will go to the usual barrier and wait there, Swinton.’

‘Right-o, sir.’

Striding out, Edward and Will hurried through the railway station to the platform where the morning train from York would be pulling in within the space of the next few minutes or so.

It was a cold Sunday afternoon, and the two men were heavily bundled up in thick winter overcoats and woollen scarves. The two of them, tall, handsome and well dressed, stood out in the crowd, and it occurred to Will that Edward Deravenel would always stand out anywhere, because of his height and looks and that head of burnished red-gold hair. How to make him invisible? he asked himself. He had no answer. Yet he did know one thing, and it had troubled him for some time.

He was well aware that as soon as the battle between the cousins began in earnest, Ned would be a moving target. How strange to think of murder…they lived in a civilized country, in a civilized age…and yet he knew that dark powers were at work. Even Cecily Deravenel had said that to Edward.

Of all the Deravenels, Edward was the most vulnerable because he could grab the seat of power and take over the company, whereas his two brothers were far too young, just little boys. He is the true threat to the Grants, Will thought, and on the back of his neck his hackles rose.

God help us all when it starts, Will thought, and his mind began to race as he wondered again how he would be able to keep Ned safe. There was no obvious way at this moment, except to surround him with a phalanx of bodyguards. Which Ned wouldn’t tolerate. But Neville would, and Neville would pay.

Will’s thoughts were interrupted by Edward, who leaned closer to him. ‘I went to Belsize Park last night, hoping to see Lily,’ he confided. ‘The housekeeper told me she had gone to the country for the weekend. Is she with Vicky in Kent, Will?’

‘Yes, she is. They were planning to return tomorrow.’

‘I hope she’s not angry with me, I didn’t get a chance to see her last week, I was so preoccupied with Deravenels.’

‘Did you leave her a note yesterday?’

‘I did.’

‘Then she’ll be fine, Ned.’ Will looked at his friend, and told him in a lowered voice, ‘She really loves you.’

‘And I love her.’

‘It can’t go anywhere, though. Now can it?’

‘Nowhere at all, Will. But I do want to continue seeing her, for the moment. She’s a great comfort to me.’

‘We all need a little comfort at times,’ Will agreed.

At this moment train whistles began to blow and the York train came chugging along, rumbling towards the barrier at Platform Five where the two men were standing.

Edward noticed Swinton, followed by the two porters with luggage wagons, heading down the platform, and within minutes, through the billowing clouds of steam and smoke, he spotted his mother. She was elegantly dressed in black, surrounded by his siblings. He saw her greet Swinton, and watched her as she indicated the suitcases and trunks being unloaded and placed on the platform.

A moment later, his two brothers became aware he was waiting and they raced along the platform like greyhounds. The two boys were flinging themselves at him, and at Will, and they were unexpectedly entangled in a mass of young arms and legs. And then there was Meg arriving, looking so beautiful and sedate, followed by his mother, who was smiling at him.

Edward knocked on the door of the parlour and waited, entered the room only when his mother called, ‘Come in, Edward.’

She was seated at her small, kidney-shaped desk in the bay window, and glanced up as he closed the door behind him.

‘Peace reigns at last!’ she exclaimed, shaking her head, sighing. ‘I thought George would never stop chattering. And that Will would never leave.’

Walking towards her, Edward sat down in the chair facing the desk, and exclaimed, ‘Yes, George was unusually garrulous, and as for Will outstaying his welcome, that was all my fault, Mother. I did invite him to have tea with us, and it somehow got out of hand, just seemed endless and rather rowdy, I’m afraid. I’m so sorry.’ He studied her for a moment, then asked quietly, ‘Are you not feeling well?’

Cecily Deravenel gave him a long puzzled look, frowning. ‘I’m perfectly fine, Ned, thank you. And please don’t misunderstand—I like Will. No, let me correct myself, I love him, and you know very well he’s been like a member of this family for years. The only reason I became so impatient was because I needed to be alone with you, and you seemed so embroiled with the children and Will.’

He laughed. ‘Yes, my brothers were all over me like chickenpox.’

She smiled, her love for her eldest son written all over her face. Cecily leaned forward, fixed her soft blue-grey eyes, so like Richard’s, on him intently. ‘The reason I came to London today, instead of in a few weeks’ time, was to see you, Ned, and bring you this.’ She patted a small package wrapped in silk, which was on the desk.

‘What is it?’ he asked curiously, eyeing the odd-looking red bundle.

‘The famous missing notebook,’ she replied a little triumphantly.

‘I can’t believe it! I thought that was lost forever! However did you find it? Where was it?’ His excitement was apparent, his blue eyes sparkling.

‘In the priest hole.’

‘The priest hole. There’s a priest hole at Ravenscar?’

‘Yes, there is,’ she answered, and proceeded to tell him what had happened the day before, and explained the history of the old hiding place. When she had finished, she removed the red silk scarf, handed him the notebooks, and added, ‘There is a second book, Ned, full of jottings by your father. Most illuminating, I think, and it will be more useful to you than the actual notebook.’

As he took the two black leather books from her he seemed puzzled by this comment, and asked, ‘But why would that be? I mean, Oliveri said my father always had his nose in the notebook.’

‘Perhaps he did, but only your father understood what he was writing in it. I don’t. It’s full of numbers which seem quite meaningless. However, perhaps Oliveri will understand, or perhaps you yourself will. Your father spent a lot of time talking to you about Deravenels over the years.’

‘Yes he did, but he never spoke to me about numbers, Mother.’ Ned opened the smaller notebook, and began to read, scanned several pages, and then shook his head. ‘I see what you mean, I’m baffled, too. There are sentences here and there, as you no doubt saw, but I don’t have a clue as to their meaning. Oh, here’s a line that makes some sense. He wrote this…“Necessary to talk to my compadre about two and eleven”.’ Edward glanced up, gazed at Cecily and shrugged his shoulders. ‘What on earth can that mean?’

‘I have absolutely no idea, Ned. I wondered when I read the sentence yesterday if it might be Oliveri he was referring to as his compadre.’

‘Perhaps. But it could be anybody, you know. However, do I have your permission to show the notebook to Oliveri?’

‘Of course. And as I said, I think you will find the second book much more fascinating, and it is going to help you achieve your goals.’

Edward jumped up restlessly, began to move away from the desk, obviously excited about the find, and anxious to delve into the pages. At the door, he swung around. ‘Thank you for bringing the books to London, Mother, and so promptly.’

‘It seemed the safest way to get them to you.’

Edward took the stairs two at a time, rushing to his room. Once inside he locked the door, not wishing to have any intrusions from his younger brothers. They had been so excited to see him, so happy, he half anticipated a visit from one of them, or both. He was glad they were here in London, being so attached to them, but at this moment he wanted total privacy, peace and quiet to read the notebook and the slightly larger book, which looked like a diary to him. From the way his mother had spoken, he believed the diary contained information about Deravenels, Henry Grant and his cronies. And Margot Grant. The look on his mother’s face, the intonations in her voice, had indicated this to him. He knew how much she hated the Lancashire faction, the usurpers, as she referred to them with great bitterness.

Settling himself in front of the fire, Edward put the diary on the floor, and looked at the notebook first, quickly flipping the pages.

Lines and lines of numbers, page after page; an occasional written comment that was meaningless, although he did realize that the comment usually referred to a number. The numbers two, eleven, thirty-one, and twenty-nine recurred a lot. Unable to decipher the notebook, not understanding what the numbers referred to, Edward impatiently put it on a side table and bent down to retrieve the diary.

After scanning the many pages swiftly, he sat back and turned to page one, the beginning of his father’s jottings.

There was no date at the top of the page, so he had no idea when his father had started to write this, except that the condition of the diary told its own story, in a sense. The ink was black, unfaded, the white page crisp, new looking, certainly.

Edward began to read, filled with eagerness and not a little trepidation.

‘I am at my wit’s end. I do not know what to do about Margot Grant. She is worse than ever, and I worry about Harry. My cousin is not a bad man, nor is he evil, like his wife. Actually, Henry is just a poor soul, out of his depth. We were such good friends when we were younger, spent much time together, and I was not only loyal to him, but a devoted cousin, his close friend, just as he was mine.

The trouble with Henry is that he has always been the most pious of men, entangled with priests, full of devotion, wanting only to mingle with the clergy, and he made them his companions, listened to them, took their advice. And he loved to go to church, to study the Bible. His thoughts were always on God, not business, and it is still that way. Deravenels never really meant anything special to him. Nor does it now. Oh yes, he was, and is, proud to be the chairman, sitting in the seat once occupied by his magnificent father, and his grandfather before that. But he did not want to run the company, cannot run it, and he knows that now. He is not capable of it. This is the reason I call him the absentee landlord.

He is a vague, distracted, lazy man; contemplating God is his favourite pastime, and so he lets the Frenchwoman do his job, at least he permits her to give orders to John Summers and James Cliff. They are devoted to her, but they do not follow her guidelines. They dismiss her orders. They are far too clever and smart for that, oh yes. Especially Summers. He takes after his late father—like him he is a handsome man, personable, intelligent. And ambitious. He means to take more and more power, I know that.

I worry about Henry because he’s no match for her, or for them. He’s daft in the head, I believe. It has come back, the dementia, the illness which so incapacitated him seven years ago. For one year he was like a zombie; he was wandering around, as if in catatonic shock, or in a trance. Until they put him in an asylum for the insane. For treatment. But they lied to all of us in the company, said he was in a religious retreat.

Long before his marriage to the Frenchwoman he made me his heir, because he knew full well I was the true heir, and the board asked me to take charge when he was put away. Put in a padded cell. And I did. I executed my duties well. Then, suddenly, he was back. He had made a remarkable recovery. And I stepped aside, which was only right.

Within days she gave birth to her son, Edouard. Her heir. But was he Harry’s heir? Was he really his son? I doubt it; many doubt it. Henry Grant has always been a monk, lived like a monk. In every way. And the dates were doubtful. Everyone said so.

I was never her enemy, not in the beginning. But she has always treated me as one, and over the years she has been foul, vicious to me and mine. And she has succeeded in turning me into her enemy. What a fool she is.

And I fear for Henry, fear for his welfare. She has such dynastic ambitions. For her son. For herself. For John Summers.

I have no proof, but I do believe he warms her bed at night, as his late father did before him. And surely her son is his half-brother. So Edouard does not have a drop of Deravenel blood in him. Does he?’

Edward sat back, holding the book on his knee, staring into the flames, his thoughts racing.

First of all, his father had confirmed Amos Finnister’s story that Henry Grant had been in and out of insane asylums. Well, at least once, according to this diary. But wasn’t his father also saying that his cousin had always been as mad as a hatter…daft in the head, those were his father’s words.

Turning the page, Edward began to read once more, and then he realized that his father was now only writing about Ravenscar, and his great love for his ancestral home.

He scanned the pages swiftly, genuinely wanting to know what his father had to say, yet anxious and impatient to move on to more important entries.

There it was, a new entry on a new page, and the date was written very clearly: September the first 1902. Almost a year and a half ago.

Holding the book tightly, Edward read his father’s words rapidly; from the very first line he felt an unexpected tingle of anticipation and excitement.

‘I have made my mind up. I am going to do something at last. I shall no longer procrastinate. I shall gather all of my notes together, notes made over the years, and I shall prepare my case. And I do have a case to present to the board of directors. Long, long ago, my ancestors made a new rule—that any director of Deravenels, whether a board member or a junior director, could present a case to them if he had a serious grievance against the company. I do. I have a complaint against Henry Grant. He is allowing Deravenels, one of the greatest trading companies in the world, to be run into the ground. By himself, a man who is daft in the head. I have the proof. I shall use it. I will assert myself. I will take what is mine to take. They cannot refuse to hear me. It is my right as a director, and as a Deravenel, which is even more important. I am going to fight them. I hope I shall win. I think I shall win. The board must remain neutral, and they know this; I believe there is enough neutrality among them to permit justice and fair play to prevail. I must find my copy of the company rules; all of those old documents are important. For back-up. The board won’t deny my petition to speak, but it is always a good idea to be prepared.’

There was not a single doubt in Edward’s mind that his father had given him powerful weapons to fight the Grants; first, he had confirmed that Henry Grant was a damaged man, mentally deficient and unable to properly run the company. Edward knew enough about the company rules to know that Deravenels could not under any circumstances be run by ‘stand-ins’, as his mother usually called Grant’s cronies. There was that fact, to begin with; now there was the old company rule that gave a director the right to present a case to the board.

Obviously, his father had never done what he’d vowed to do. But he would. By God, he would.

Edward continued to read the diary for another hour, finding a lot more information that would be useful to them. But as far as he was concerned he had already found the most important.

Later that evening, Edward and his mother discussed his father’s diary. They were both in agreement that he had some potent weapons in his hands now.

She promised to find the old documents amongst which were the company rules; he told her all about Amos Finnister and his discoveries.

They made their plans.