Читать книгу The Ravenscar Dynasty - Barbara Taylor Bradford - Страница 11

FOUR

Cecily Deravenel was known for her stoicism and iron-willed self-control, but both had vanished. Edward became acutely aware of this when he found his mother in her private suite of rooms upstairs.

After knocking on the door, he had walked straight in without waiting for her assent, knowing instinctively that she needed him, needed his comforting presence.

His mother was seated on a love seat close to the fire, in the small parlour which adjoined her bedroom, staring into the flames. When she turned her head, gave him a direct look, he saw at once her ravaged face, the bloodshot eyes, the despair surrounding her, totally enveloping her like a caul. Her grief was so apparent, so acute, he forgot his own for a moment, and hurried to her, alarm touching his face.

Sitting down next to her on the love seat he put his arms around her and drew her close to him.

Cecily resisted, out of habit really, but only for a split second, and then she collapsed against him, holding onto him, weeping as if her heart was breaking. And it was, he was certain of that.

Edward had never had trouble understanding this elegant and regal woman who appeared so aloof and oddly remote to many people. He had been privy to her true self since his childhood, and he knew how gentle and loving her heart was, how deeply she loved his father, and he himself and her other children. She had never been anything but an understanding wife and mother and was sympathetic, sensitive to everyone’s needs, a constant and loyal ally to her family. And she was a compassionate woman, ready to help anyone in need, and especially those who worked on the estate who adored her, called her an angel.

His mother cherished her relationship with her brother, and depended on him. Aside from their strong filial relationship as siblings, Rick handled her financial affairs and managed the fortune which had been left to her by their father, Philip Watkins, the late industrialist.

Now the two most important mature men in her life—her husband and her brother—had been ripped away from her in an instant, and with a terrible and frightening suddenness. Her life had changed so abruptly, so unexpectedly it took one’s breath away; all of their lives had changed, in fact, and nothing would ever be the same again. Not for his mother, not for him and his siblings.

Neville Watkins had become head of the Watkins family; and he himself was suddenly head of the Deravenel clan, the Yorkshire branch. What this actually meant troubled him enormously…Total responsibility for the family, for everything their father had taken care of all his life, plus their stake in the Deravenel Company. Ned was not quite sure how he would manage to juggle all of this, being at university, and also unfamiliar with the workings of the company.

On the other hand, Neville was thirty-two, married, with two small daughters, a seasoned man-of-the-world, a brilliant businessman held in very high regard by his peers, whilst he himself was not yet nineteen, considered a boy by most. Nor was he as experienced as his cousin and certainly he did not have his wisdom. At least not yet.

Nonetheless, he and Neville Watkins would have to pick up the pieces carefully and take charge of their families, endeavour to bring all of their lives back to normal as soon as possible. Ned was fully aware that this would take a certain amount of time. There was a mourning period to get through, and many adjustments to be made. He also accepted that he had a lot to learn, and very rapidly, if he was to handle things properly and for the good of everyone. A balancing act, he thought. It will be a balancing act on a tightrope.

And he must keep a cool head at all times. That was implicit. He was aware that there was now only one person he could trust, apart from his mother, and that was Neville Watkins. His cousin and he were bound together as never before, and Ned knew he needed him, needed his guidance and support if he was going to succeed…

His mother’s voice broke into his thoughts when she said, ‘I’m so sorry, Ned, for giving into my grief. However, I’m afraid I really can’t help it. Do forgive me.’

‘Mother, there’s nothing at all to forgive!’ he exclaimed swiftly, looking into her tear-stained face, taking out a handkerchief and gently dabbing her wet cheeks. ‘It’s vital to let your grief come out. Bottling it up doesn’t help. It’s a natural thing to grieve, you know. And it’s very necessary if one is to come to terms with it. People who push grief inside become ill.’

‘Yes, you’re correct,’ she responded. ‘We have difficult times ahead, but we must find a way to keep going, lead normal lives if we can. I have the children to think about, their welfare to consider. They are going to need me, Ned, and they will certainly need you, too, although I think you are truly going to have your hands full with other things.’

Nodding, Edward stood up. ‘We ought to go and speak to them, if you’re feeling a little better. We don’t want one of the servants to accidentally blurt out the news—’

‘They know, Ned. I’ve already spoken to them,’ Cecily cut in, looking up into his blue eyes. ‘Naturally they have taken it extremely badly. As I knew they would. I came in here a few moments ago in an effort to pull myself together. I was trying to calm myself when you walked in. And yes, we had better go and comfort them, reassure them that everything will be all right.’

‘Are you sure you’re up to it now?’ he asked, eyeing her.

Cecily’s voice quavered slightly as she answered, ‘I believe so, yes, Ned. I must come with you, it is vitally important for their wellbeing.’

He gave her his hand; she took it and rose. Together they left the room. Slowly they climbed the stairs leading up to the nursery floor which the younger children still used.

The moment he saw his mother George leapt up from the chair where he was seated and rushed to her, flinging himself against her body so hard she staggered slightly. He wrapped his arms around her, needing her protection, approbation and love. ‘Oh, Mama, why did it happen? Why? Why?’ he wailed, tears filling his smokey-green eyes. ‘WHY?’ he demanded in a louder voice, his young face full of grief and anger intermingled. ‘I want to know why Papa and Edmund are not coming back. Please tell me, Mama.’

‘If I knew I would of course tell you, George,’ Cecily softly responded, holding the boy closer, glancing down at him, her heart full. She smoothed her hand over his blond hair and went on, ‘None of us quite understand yet what happened, George. Ned is going to find out if he can, and then he will tell us.’

Turning to face his brother, George asked a little plaintively, ‘You will, won’t you, Ned?’

‘I will indeed…As soon as I know, you’ll be the next.’ Edward drew closer to his mother and brother and put his arms around them both protectively, holding them close to him for a few moments. Suddenly he became aware of Meg standing near the window sobbing; George’s volubility and Meg’s weeping only served to make him conscious of Richard’s absolute quietness, the pool of stillness surrounding him. The youngest of his siblings was huddled in a chair at the far end of the room, his face the colour of bleached bone, the light grey eyes almost black in the dimming light of late afternoon. The boy looked so sorrowing Edward felt heartsick.

Moving away from his mother, who was still holding George, Edward hurried across to Richard. He stared down at the youngest member of the family, and noticed at once that the pinched, drained look of earlier had settled on the child’s face yet again.

‘Don’t be afraid, Dick,’ Edward murmured softly, leaning down to the boy. ‘I’ll look after you.’

Richard nodded and struggled to his feet. Gazing up at his adored Ned, he whispered, ‘I want to know everything, like George. I want to know about Papa and Edmund.’ Tears came into his eyes and he said in a trembling voice that was almost inaudible, ‘I said Edmund could be impatient…I wish I hadn’t said that.’

‘I understand, but it’s all right, Dick, really it is.’ Reaching out, he pulled the youngster into his arms and held him tightly, stroking his dark head. ‘I will keep you safe. Always.’

‘You do promise?’ the boy whispered.

‘I do promise. And you must try to be brave and help Mama.’

‘I will, Ned. I promise, too.’ He hesitated and then asked, ‘Are you going to Italy?’

‘Yes, I have to, and Cousin Neville is coming with me. We’ll find out everything, and then I’ll tell you.’

‘You will come back, won’t you, Ned?’ Richard asked, his voice tremulous, his eyes suddenly awash with tears.

‘Of course I’ll come back…Ravenscar is my home, and you’re here, aren’t you? I shall always come back to you, Little Fish.’

Richard nodded, and glanced at Meg. ‘She’s been crying a long time.’

‘I shall go to her at once, perhaps I can console her.’

A moment later Edward was holding his sister in his arms, trying to calm her, soothe her, give her comfort.

Meg wept against his shoulder for a while, and then finally, taking deep breaths, she managed to gain control of herself. Slowly her shoulders stopped heaving and the sobs lessened. When she lifted her hands to her face and wiped away the tears with her fingertips, Edward saw at once the anguish in her eyes. The whole family had been totally bludgeoned by the tragic news Neville had brought earlier in the afternoon. They would be a long time recovering, if they ever did.

Edward said quietly to Meg, tilting her face to his, ‘Our Mother needs you at this terrible time, Meggie darling. You must endeavour to be strong for her, help her with George, and especially with Richard, who suffers in silence, as you well know.’

Meg could only nod, not trusting herself to say a word. She had been extremely close to her father and Edmund, and the pain she had suffered since hearing of their deaths had seared through her like a hot iron. She was well aware that she would never be that carefree young girl again and would mourn them for the rest of her life. She felt she had grown old in a few minutes.

After a while, taking more deep breaths she said, ‘How long will you be gone?’

Edward shook his head, his eyes suddenly bleak. ‘I don’t honestly know. A week, perhaps two, I just don’t know how long it will take to—’ He broke off abruptly. He had been about to wonder aloud how long it would take to bring the bodies back to Ravenscar. And then he had realized he simply could not mouth those words.

Edward could not sleep. All manner of troubling thoughts jostled for prominence in his mind, each one of them more dire than the other, and yet he did not seem able to focus on any problem in particular.

When he had come up to bed, an hour or two ago, he had believed that in the quiet and peacefulness of his bedroom he would be able to quickly sort everything out in his head, but this had not happened. And sleep had remained elusive as his busy mind had raced and raced.

Sighing, he tossed back the bedclothes in exasperation and got up. After putting on his thick woollen dressing gown, he padded over to the fireplace and threw two more logs into the grate. Instantly, sparks flew up the chimney, the fresh logs began to crackle, and in the sudden burst of bright firelight he saw that the carriage clock on the mantel read one-thirty. He was surprised how late it was.

After stepping into his slippers, Edward pulled a wing chair closer to the fire and sat down, his mind still churning. This day had been the worst of his life, one he would never forget. Sorrowful and grieving, his mother and the other children had sat at the dining table with him and Neville, not touching their food. None of them had eaten, and not much conversation had taken place either. Each and every one of them was too stunned and shattered by the news of the tragedy that had so diminished their family, and Neville’s as well.

Eventually his mother had shepherded the children up to their rooms; she had returned a short while later, had invited Neville and himself to join her in her sitting room just off the Long Hall. They had dutifully followed her, glancing at each other questioningly as they hurried behind her.

Within minutes, Jessup, the butler, had brought them a tray of brandy balloons and a decanter of cognac, placed it on a side table and departed. Ned and Neville had been the only ones to pour a drink for themselves; his mother had declined as she usually did.

Once the three of them were settled in front of the fire, Cecily had seemed reflective for a short while, and then she had looked at Ned intently. ‘I know you and Neville must go to Italy,’ she had begun, and then hesitated before continuing. ‘I just want to caution you to be scrupulously careful. And you also, Neville. Pay attention, and don’t leave anything to chance.’

They had both immediately promised her they would be on their guard at all times, and would look after each other.

Nodding her understanding, Cecily had then told them in a low, subdued voice, ‘There are powers at work here we know nothing about. We must all be alert and very, very cautious.’

‘What do you mean, Mother?’ Edward had swiftly asked, frowning.

‘I can’t give you a proper explanation, I simply know that I have this instinctive feeling of…danger.’

‘I never ignore a woman’s intuition,’ Neville had murmured. ‘It is usually infallible.’

Cecily had gone on: ‘And you, Ned, will have to go to work at Deravenels, and as soon as possible when you return.’

Startled, he had literally gaped at her for a split second. ‘Am I not to return to Oxford then?’ he had asked.

‘No, you cannot. Your father is dead. You are, by the rules of primogeniture, his heir. So you must now go to work at Deravenels. That is the family rule…when the heir of a Deravenel is over sixteen or reaches sixteen, he must take his deceased father’s place. Obviously, not in the same capacity, in this instance as the assistant managing director, but somewhere a little way down the ladder. But the heir must go into the company, he has no choice. It has always been that way.’

‘I understand. Now that you’ve mentioned it, I do recall Father explaining about this old family rule several years ago.’

Neville had then volunteered, ‘And remember what I said earlier, Ned, I will help you any way I can.’

All he could do was nod. His mother had turned to face Neville. ‘When do you plan to leave Ravenscar?’ she had asked somewhat abruptly.

‘Tomorrow morning. My carriage will take us to York, and we will then proceed to London on the afternoon train.’ His cousin had paused for a moment, taken a swallow of the brandy, and finished, ‘Once in London I shall make plans for us to leave for the Continent on Friday or Saturday.’

‘I would appreciate it, Neville, if you would kindly stay in touch with me, and you, too, Edward.’

They had both promised they would.

At this juncture his mother had pushed herself to her feet, and they had also jumped up. At the doorway she had swung her hand and said, very quietly, ‘This has been the most horrendous day for everyone, and I must go and make certain that the children are resting quietly…there have been far too many tears today, and so much heartbreak.’

Left alone he and his cousin had talked for a while longer, mostly about their imminent travel plans, and then they had gone upstairs to retire for the night. Now Edward stared into the flames, thinking about his father’s death.

Revenge. Edward turned the word over and over in his mind. Neville truly believed that deadly factions within the Deravenel Company had hired someone to get rid of his father. However, Edward knew that Neville had nothing concrete to go on, no hard evidence; it was pure supposition on his part, a supposition tied to what Neville called his gut instinct.

Edward was well aware that his father had been complaining and grumbling about the way the company was run for a number of years, and of late his voice had become louder, more strident and insistent. His father’s chief target was Henry Deravenel Grant, who had descended down the Lancashire line of the House of Deravenel. Henry was chairman of the board, and his father’s cousin. ‘An absentee landlord,’ his father had called him disparagingly, along with a number of other choice names.

But would Henry’s colleagues resort to foul play? Edward wondered. They could have quite easily rendered Richard Deravenel useless by restricting his power in the company. Or they could have forced him into retirement.

Sitting back in the chair, closing his eyes, Edward pondered on these matters for a long time, but he did not have any answers for himself. None at all. What’s more, additional questions flew into his head, and again all of them were unanswerable. One question, in particular, stood out…why had his father gone to Italy to look into problems at the marble quarries in Carrara? Surely that was a job for Aubrey Masters, head of the Mining Division. And why had Edmund, Uncle Rick and Thomas been killed if his father was the target? He was truly baffled, and it suddenly struck him that he would remain in a state of bafflement until he arrived at Carrara and started asking pertinent questions of the local authorities, as well as the manager of their quarries. Only then perhaps would he have a better understanding of the fire, the cause of it, and the manner in which his family had died.

As he continued to gaze into the roaring flames, Edward remembered that he had not looked in his father’s desk. He had meant to do so earlier, but he had become so distracted by the children’s plight, their sorrow and their need for him, it had slipped his mind. Rising, he hurried out of his bedroom and along the corridor, quickly went down the wide staircase into the Long Hall.

Within seconds he was turning on the lights in his father’s spacious study and striding over to the desk positioned near the window. He knew exactly where the key was hidden; some time ago his father had shown him the hiding place. ‘Just in case you ever need to get into my desk when I’m not here,’ his father had explained.

Kneeling down in front of the mahogany Georgian partner’s desk, Edward pushed his head and shoulders into the space between the sets of drawers and reached his hand towards the back for the key. It hung on a hook on the section of the desk just beyond the knee space.

Slowly, carefully, Edward searched each drawer. His father had been meticulous, and everything was neatly placed. But he came up with nothing of any importance. There were no notes, no records, no diaries, and no files on anything to do with his father’s work or the Deravenel Company. Everything in the desk was innocuous, personal, and of very little consequence.

Sitting back in the chair, feeling frustrated, Edward let his eyes roam around the study, thinking of his father, and how much he had loved this particular room at Ravenscar. Every piece of furniture in it he had chosen himself and placed; he noted his father’s collection of ancient coins, the many photographs of the family in silver frames, and his treasured books. The Moroccan-bound volumes were carefully arranged in low shelves placed against one of the long walls.

And then there were the portraits…the paintings of so many Deravenels, from long ago to the present. Guy de Ravenel, the founder of their dynasty, his likeness somewhat faded now in the extremely old painting. And, on the other wall, there was the recently-completed portrait of his father, commissioned by his mother and hung there by her only a few weeks ago. As he stared at his father’s image a lump came into Edward’s throat. He swallowed hard, pushing back the incipient tears. How he would miss him.

His eyes continued to another wall, and he spotted a couple of Deravenel Turners from Wales, along with portraits of the Deravenel Grants from Lancashire. The Grants might spell trouble, but certainly the Turners were relatively docile, and there were not many of them left, only two or so he believed. That line had dribbled down to nothing. Well, that was how his father had put it…

A rustling sound, followed by a faint cough, brought Edward’s eyes to the door. He was startled to see his brother Richard standing there, bundled up in his woollen dressing gown, staring at him.

‘What on earth are you doing up at this hour, Little Fish? It’s the middle of the night!’ In a flash Edward was on his feet, hurrying across the room to his small brother, concerned for him. Leading him over to the fireplace, Edward went on, ‘It’s very late for you to be up, old chap.’ He sat down, brought Richard close to him.

‘I couldn’t sleep. I went to your bedroom, Ned, but you weren’t there.’ Looking into his face intently, Richard frowned, and asked, ‘You will come back, won’t you?’

‘I certainly will, I promised, didn’t I?’

‘Yes. But you see, well, Ned, I don’t think George and I are old enough to look after Mama and Meg…but you are. So you have to come home.’

‘I understand what you’re saying, and I’ll be home in a flash, don’t you worry. Once I’ve done my business in Italy I’ll be back. But you know, Dick, I have a feeling that the two of you could keep an eye on things for me, couldn’t you? Or should I say four eyes?’

Richard forced a smile, but his slate-grey eyes were sad. ‘I suppose so.’

Funny how his eyes look more blue at times, Edward thought. Then they become the colour of wet slate, and sometimes they even turn black. They reflect his moods, I suppose. ‘Come along, old chap, let’s go upstairs,’ he suggested. ‘It’s time we both went to sleep, don’t you think?’

Richard simply nodded. Taking hold of Ned’s hand, he allowed himself to be led out of the study, across the Long Hall and up the wide staircase. It was only when they came to the first-floor landing that Richard tugged on Edward’s hand. ‘Could I sleep with you tonight, Ned? Like I did when I was really, really little and afraid of the dark?’

‘It will be my very great pleasure to share my bed with you,’ Ned exclaimed, smiling down at the eight-year-old boy, understanding that Richard needed to feel protected, safe and secure tonight. There had been so much pain and hurt and sorrow today.

Edward found himself the recipient of a wide and happy smile from his youngest brother, a smile that touched his heart profoundly.