The Ravenscar Dynasty by Barbara Taylor Bradford
‘Yes,’ Ned murmured, ‘it is…’ He decided to say no more.
Ever since he had returned to Ravenscar, Edward had lain awake at night, finding it hard to fall asleep. Nothing was different tonight. The moment he had closed his eyes his mind had begun to work, numerous worrying thoughts jostling for prominence, and sleep was, once more, elusive.
There was a full moon visible through the window, and it was coating everything in the room with a light layer of silver. Earlier he had opened the window and in the past hour the weather had grown colder than ever. It was always chilly at night here on the North Sea, even in summer, and he realized it must be bitter outside for the room to have grown this icy. The wind was blowing the curtains, and they were billowing out like the sails of a ship.
Jumping out of bed, he went to close the casement, then walked over to the fireplace, threw another log onto the glowing embers. The log instantly flared and crackled, sparks flew up the chimney, and he knew that within minutes the room would be much warmer. Struggling into his woollen dressing gown and fastening the belt, he found his slippers, seated himself in a chair, pulled it closer to the hearth. His busy thoughts swirled in his head as he hunched down, leaned forward to warm his hands.
Unexpectedly, a small smile flickered on his mouth and was almost instantly gone…it was the first time he had been even faintly amused since Lily’s death…The look on Neville’s face this afternoon had been quite priceless. He had known instantly that his cousin was flabbergasted about Lily’s will, even if he had taken the news in his stride.
Resting his head on the back of the chair, Edward closed his eyes, and thought of Lily; her generosity to him had been astounding. He heard her solicitor’s voice echoing in the inner recesses of his mind, as Mr Jolliet had read from the will made three months before. ‘If a child or children of mine do not survive me, and if I am not married, I do give and bequeath to my friend Edward Thomas Deravenel all of my worldly goods, as listed herein, and with the exception of…’ And then Mr Jolliet had read out the other bequests and the recipients.
Oh Lily, Lily, if only you were here, he thought, his heart contracting. How I miss you, and how I wish I had told you just how much I cared for you. I did love you, Lily, I truly did, and with all of my heart. His thoughts drifted; he fell down into himself.
Catastrophe lurks around every corner…life comes at you hard, to hit you in the face. Life is full of surprises, some of them good but most of them… catastrophic. That is what my mother asked me… has no one ever told you that life is catastrophic? Well, I know now that it is. That is the way it has always been, my cousin Johnny says, and that what matters most is the way one handles catastrophes and heartaches, the pain of it all. He told me the other day that I cannot let Lily’s death get me down. That I have to keep my eyes on the goal: On Deravenels, he means. And he is right, just as Neville is, too. I am glad it has now all come to a head. Glad that the board have accepted my request to bring a complaint against Henry Grant. I am well prepared for the board meeting. I have re-read my father’s notes, gone through all of the Deravenel papers, made my own notes, committed them to memory wherever necessary.
Neville and I have met with Hugh Codrill, the famous barrister, and he has reviewed everything for us, all of the medical papers Amos acquired, the medical reports and analyses. He has recommended a highly reputable law firm, solicitors with whom we have met, and who will advise me. No one can go to the meeting with me. Neville, Johnny and Will are not part of the company and therefore cannot be present. But I have Alfredo Oliveri, Rob Aspen and Christopher Green. The three of them happen to be board members, and they are on my side.
Oliveri explained to me that after I have presented my case, the board will take a recess, discuss everything, and return to meet with me within two hours. At that time they will tell me if I have a genuine case or not. If I don’t, then nothing more can happen. If they agree that I have a strong complaint, due cause, they will confer between themselves for several days, in order to make an ultimate decision. I will be summoned to a second meeting with them, and they will pass judgement. That is the procedure, and it has been in place for hundreds of years. Oliveri and Aspen have helped me to keep my spirits up. They are strong, loyal, level headed.
My cause is just. I must not lose. My father and my brother died at the hands of the Grants, so did Uncle Rick and my cousin Thomas. And Lily and my unborn child. I keep saying to myself that I want revenge. But what I really want is justice for those who died. My cause is right. Henry Grant has given up his power to John Summers and his wife, Margot Grant. And over sixty years ago his grandfather was the usurper.
I am the true heir.
I aim to win.
There was a light tapping on the door, and it brought Edward out of his reverie. Sitting up, he pushed himself to his feet and strode across the room.
Standing outside in the shadowy corridor was his youngest brother, shivering in his dressing gown, pale faced, his slate-grey eyes grown dark, almost black, genuine worry shadowing them.
‘Good Lord, Little Fish! What are you doing here at this hour?’ As he spoke Edward grabbed Richard and pulled him into his arms, then swept him into the room.
‘I’m worried,’ Richard murmured, his voice low, subdued.
‘Come here, sit on my knee, and let’s get ourselves warm. And you can tell me why a boy like you should be worried. After all, you have a mother and a big brother to look after you.’
Climbing onto Edward’s knee, Richard settled himself against Edward’s broad chest, and explained, ‘I’m not worried for me, I am worried for you. George told me that your friend died, your lady friend, that is, and that you were broken-hearted. Is that true, Ned, are you broken-hearted and devastated? That’s what George says.’
‘And I wonder where Mr Know-It-All-George gets his information? Not from me, I can assure you of that, Tiddler.’ Edward hugged his brother, and then tilted his face upward. ‘I’m going to be all right, my lad, and thank you for your concern. You mustn’t worry about me any longer. Don’t listen to George. I can look after myself, and I say again, I will be fine.’
‘Do you promise me that, Ned?’
‘I do promise you that, Richard.’
‘I want you to know that I am here, if you need me,’ Richard now announced, looking up at his brother adoringly. ‘I will always be here, as long as we both shall live. I want you to know that I will stand by you no matter what, especially when you have the fight with the man from Deravenels.’ Richard frowned. ‘Who is the man you have to fight?’
‘I have to fight Henry Grant and the men who are on his side within Deravenels. His associates. But we are not going to…well, it’s not a physical fight, with our hands up, going at each other, like in a boxing match. It’s not that kind of fight at all.’
‘What is it then?’ Richard asked.
Edward told him slowly, and carefully, explaining everything, and once Richard had nodded his understanding, Edward slid his brother off his knee and stood up. ‘Now, let’s go down to the kitchen and raid Cook’s larder. We’ll have a midnight snack and then you can share my bed if you wish, Little Fish.’
His answer was the radiant smile of Richard’s face.
FORTY-ONE
Ripon
Nan Watkins turned on her side sleepily, reaching out for Neville. He was not there; instantly she opened her eyes, saw the bedclothes thrown back, and her gaze flitted across to the windows in their bedroom.
Neville was standing at one of them, gazing out. Tall, erect, and very very still, his stance suggested he was deep in thought.
There was a full moon tonight and it filled the room with clear, bright light, made everything perfectly visible. His face, in profile, was vividly illuminated, and as she usually did she thought how handsome he was. Her heart fluttered inside her. He was her whole life; without him she would be nothing, would barely exist. She genuinely loved her daughters; but her husband came first: he always had.<
There had been other women before her, but none since their marriage. He had told her this countless times, but she would have known it even if he had not said a word. Neville adored her, was always sexually potent, and he spent most of his free time with her. There was also something else…his character.
Neville had never played the field. He had always been attached to one, and only one. Yes, he had moved on frequently, yet he had remained faithful when in a relationship. In fact, he was the total opposite of his cousin Ned in that respect, who seemed able to handle several women at once. Such a talent was missing in her husband.
Nan compressed her lips, remembering her conversation with Neville the other day. She now must correct herself on the long-held assumption that Ned was the proverbial swordsman. According to Neville, Ned had been faithful to Lily Overton. Poor woman, Nan thought, dying like that, so tragically. And she had been young, in her thirties.
Long ago she had seen another accident with a landau, but fortunately no one had been killed. Her father had always warned her that they could be dangerous carriages if driven at high speed, and her father had rarely been wrong.
Stretching her long legs, moving up in the bed, she settled against the headboard. It rattled slightly, and Neville swung around at once on hearing the noise.
When he saw her sitting up, leaning against the mound of white pillows, he said softly, ‘Oh darling, I awakened you.’
‘No you didn’t,’ she responded, and stared at him, realizing she desired him, needed him. She stretched out her arms, and he came to her, sat down on the bed, leaned to her. Putting her arms around his neck, she whispered against his hair, ‘I have such a hunger for you…I long for you, and need you. Make love to me, Neville…Perhaps tonight is the night to make that son and heir you crave.’
‘It is you I crave, my dearest heart.’
Within seconds they lay naked in each other’s arms.
He kissed her face, her eyelids, her neck, and swiftly moved his head down to her breasts, kissing them, smoothing his hand over them. Sliding down the bed, he now ran his hand over her flat stomach, down her thigh, until it came to rest between her legs. When he touched her most intimate part she moaned softly, and whispered, ‘Please, darling, please.’ And so he brought his tongue to her, kissing her womanhood until she shivered in ecstasy.
He took her to him swiftly, entering her with urgency and his own overwhelming need, plunging deep inside her until she cried out. ‘Now, Neville, now, oh please, now,’ and when she began to cleave to him and shudder excessively he threw off all his constraints and came with her when she came.
Together they lay joined for a long time. He did not want to leave her, and she wanted him to stay where he was. He rested his head against her face, and they drifted in a gentle haze, saying nothing, simply enjoying the aftermath of their lovemaking.
Eventually Nan spoke. ‘You once said I am the only one now. Is that true?’
He smiled against her cheek. ‘Don’t you trust me?’
‘I do!’ she cried, and tried to sit up.
Neville held her down on the pillow, kept her body under his. ‘I know you do, and you can be certain there is no other woman for me, my Nan. Why should I want anyone else when I have you? These perfect breasts, your long shapely legs, your slender, elegant body. And you do have such a lovely face. Not to mention this miraculous part of you.’ He slipped out of her and slid his fingers inside her, and within minutes brought her to ecstasy again.
‘I think you might have made me pregnant tonight, darling,’ Nan said a short while later, staring at him.
Neville had rolled off her, and was propped up next to her sharing her pillow. ‘I hope so,’ he answered, ‘but it doesn’t really matter in the long run, Nan. I can well manage without an heir.’
‘You’re thinking of Richard, aren’t you? He’s becoming your surrogate son, isn’t he? He’s spending so much time here with you.’
‘Not really…No, Nan, he isn’t becoming my son. I just like the boy.’
‘And George? What of him?’
‘George is rather strange, I must admit. An enigma to me. I sometimes think he might not be very trustworthy, do you know that?’
‘But he’s always so charming…’ Her voice trailed off.
‘Let us not mistake personality for character, my darling.’
‘You’re worried about something, Neville, something important. I know you are. I saw it in your eyes over dinner. And then when I saw you standing at the bedroom window, staring out, I was fairly sure you had burdens…things on your mind.’
Pushing himself up on his elbow, looking down at her, Neville shook his dark head. ‘I cannot hide a thing from you, can I?’
‘No, I don’t suppose you can. I know you so well.’ She looked into his light turquoise eyes, saw his love for her shining there, but almost instantly those eyes darkened, were suddenly shadowed over. ‘There is something wrong.’
Neville sighed, continued to look into her face. He rarely burdened her down with business, but somehow she always instinctively knew when to question him, like tonight. Sighing once again, he said in a low, concerned voice, ‘I’m worried about Edward and the board meeting at Deravenels in a few days. It might not go quite as well as we expected after all.’
‘Why is that?’ Nan cried, astonished, her eyes full of alarm.
‘The telephone call I took tonight was from Amos Finnister.’
She nodded.
‘He had hoped that two of his men would be able to persuade three board members from the Grant faction to resign, and—’
‘Why would they do that?’
‘Because Amos Finnister had information about them that would be ruinous to them on all levels if made public. Unfortunately, they haven’t quite responded in the way he wanted.’
‘And if they don’t resign?’
‘They will vote against Ned at the meeting, and he could lose his chance to bring his case against Grant to the board.’
‘What are you going to do?’
‘I shall have to find some sort of weapon which will bring them around to our way of thinking…otherwise it will be a disaster.’
FORTY-TWO
London
Vicky finished pinning her hair on top of her head, arranged the curls at the front and added the two tortoise-shell combs on either side at the back to hold everything in place. She stared at herself in her dressing-table mirror for a moment, decided she was looking so much better, for the first time in several weeks. Since the incident in the park, in fact.
A brunette with hazel eyes and a creamy complexion, Vicky Forth had a lovely face which drew much of its quiet loveliness from the calm and tranquillity which dwelt there.
Smoothing her hand over the high guipure lace collar of her cream blouse with its leg o’mutton sleeves, she clipped on pearl earrings, then, holding onto the dressing table, she levered herself up. Her leg was still in plaster, somewhat cumbersome, but she had learned to manoeuvre herself around the house, including mounting the stairs, and descending them. She was rather proud of herself and her new-found agility and skill despite the cast.
Glancing at the clock on the white marble mantelpiece, she realized she had an hour to waste before Nanny and Amos brought Grace back from Harrods, where they had gone to have lunch and to do some special shopping. It was supposedly a secret from her, and she was amused that Grace and Nanny had managed to talk Amos into the expedition. She guessed the outing was to buy her a small gift for her upcoming birthday.
Vicky left her bedroom and went out into the corridor, heading for the staircase. Holding onto the polished mahogany bannister, she went up the stairs carefully, clutching her long cream-coloured gabardine skirt, lifting it so she wouldn’t trip.
When she entered Grace’s bedroom she smiled to herself. The child had a penchant for neatness. Everything was in its place, exactly where it should be, and, of course, there was her mother’s photograph, propped up on the small
Picking it up, Vicky carried it back into the playroom which adjoined the bedroom and seated herself at the circular table. The photograph needed a frame and yesterday Stephen had gone to the silver shop they patronized and found one which was the right size and not overly ornate. Vicky took it out of the box, removed its wooden back covered in dark blue velvet, and attempted to fit the photograph in, then realized it was rather bulky. The velvet-covered back would not sit correctly and she was unable to fasten it down with the side clips.
Vicky took her spectacles out of her skirt pocket, opened the case, and put them on, examined the photograph. She realized for the first time that it was made of quite thick paper, heavier stock, and had a mount around it which framed the actual picture. The discoloured mount was spotted here and there and Vicky decided the spots had been made by water. No doubt the mount had been damaged when Grace had dragged the cloth bag around. Suddenly she noticed the faint lines on the mount, lines which had been made by a frame, no question about that.
She stared at Mam’s face, as she always thought of her, and nodded to herself. She had been a very pretty woman indeed. Turning the photograph over, Vicky noticed that the brown paper backing was coming away from the picture at the edges, peeling on several corners. She decided it needed new backing, and began to pull on one corner of the brown paper. It loosened but was not quite as easy to remove as she thought. Suddenly she was afraid of damaging the photograph; Grace would be hysterical if anything happened to this one genuine memento of her mother, and to Vicky that was quite understandable.