Heirs of Ravenscar (14 page)

N
anny stood in the middle of the wood-panelled parlour in the nursery, counting the chairs around the circular table where the children ate their meals. She counted seven and stopped.

‘There's a chair missing,' she announced, surveying her brood. ‘Where is it? Does anyone know?'

‘It went away,' Cecily announced non-committally, quickly glancing at the fireplace.

‘And where did it go?' Nanny asked, her eyes narrowing slightly.

‘Don't know,' Cecily muttered.

‘I see. Well, well, well, do chairs walk away by themselves, I wonder? I don't think so. So who took it?'

‘Bess,' a little voice piped up, and Nanny's brown eyes swooped down on Ritchie.

‘Thank you. And where is Bess, Mary? You always know everything, so, where did Bess go?'

Mary sat straighter in her chair, puffing up with a hint of
sudden pride. ‘When she put me in charge, she said she was going to see Father. Is he dead?'

Cecily gaped at her elder sister and promptly burst into tears.

Nanny went to her at once, bent over her comfortingly and said, ‘No, he's not dead. Just a bit hurt.' Straightening herself, she glared at Mary and exclaimed, ‘You mustn't say such things. Don't upset the younger ones, Mary dear. You know they take everything you say
very
seriously.'

‘Yes, Nanny. Sorry, Nanny. Not suitable.'

Nanny made no further comment, hurried into the adjoining nursery and said to Madge, ‘Please keep an eye on them. I'll be back in a moment.'

‘I'll be right 'ere, Nanny, don't yer worry,' the nursemaid replied, fussing with the baby's lacey dress as she placed her in the bassinet.

Although she rushed down the corridor, Nanny took the stairs more slowly as she descended to the main bedroom floor. Her name was Joan Madley and she was a splendid down-to-earth no-nonsense Yorkshire woman who had spent her life looking after other people's children. Everyone knew she was the best nanny in the world, with the finest reputation.

As she stepped onto the landing, she spotted Bess at once. She was standing outside her father's bedroom door, and with her was Young Edward, who was seated in the missing chair.

‘Children, you must come back to the nursery with me at once!' Nanny cried. ‘The others are waiting for you … it's time for your morning snack.'

‘We're waiting for the doctor to come out,' Bess said in a subdued voice. ‘He's going to tell us how badly Father hurt himself when he fell down.'

‘I understand. But we can't stay here. I promise you we'll know very quickly. Your mother, or your grandmother, will come to tell us immediately.'

‘Grandmama says I'm a blessing in disguise,' Young Edward announced rather proudly.

‘And what –' Nanny began.

‘No, no,' Bess cut in swiftly. ‘She didn't say
you
were a blessing in disguise, she said your bronchitis was. Because if you hadn't got it, then Dr Leighton wouldn't have been arriving here this morning to see you. And just when Papa fell down the garden steps. Very convenient, his coming then, so Grandma said.'

Young Edward appeared to be crestfallen when he answered. ‘But it's the same thing, isn't it?' He glanced at the nanny. ‘I like being a blessing.'

‘And so you should, and you are, my pet. Everyone knows that. But let's not …
camp
outside Papa's door, it's really, well, it's really rather common and it won't do. It's not suitable.' She reached out and took his small hand in hers and he dutifully slid out of the chair. Looking up at her, he asked in a worried voice, ‘He's not going to die, is he?'

‘No, of course not! Don't be a silly goose. He's probably just a bit bruised.'

‘Do you go to live with the angels when you die, Nanny?'

‘Let us not have all this talk about dying, Young Edward,' Nanny answered in a brisk voice. ‘It's exceptionally
morbid
. Nobody's dying around here, least of all your father. He's young and strong.'

Bess beamed at her. ‘He's not going to die because … it's … not suitable,' the nine-year-old girl said, using Nanny's favourite expression, and started to laugh.

Nanny and Young Edward laughed with her and Nanny took the chair and they went back to the nursery floor for their morning snack.

‘You don't know how lucky you've been, Mr Deravenel,' Dr Leighton said, putting his stethoscope and other instruments back in his black leather bag. ‘You could have killed yourself, you know. Taking a fall like that, with your weight and height, you could easily have broken your neck. Or done something equally fatal.' The doctor shook his head. ‘I'm surprised you have no serious injuries, hardly any injuries at all.'

‘I'm just as surprised. When I felt myself slipping I tried desperately to break my fall, and I think that's when I twisted my arm and shoulder. But it's so amazing, Dr Leighton. I seem to have got off with only a few scratches.' Edward pushed himself a bit further up on the pillows, and added, ‘I expect I'll be badly bruised tomorrow, though.'

The doctor nodded. ‘Later today, I should think. Your back in particular will be sore, and you'll be very much aware of that shoulder. But it's not broken, thank God. You've got off scot-free, I'm glad to say.'

As he turned to leave, he noticed Edward's clothes thrown on the sofa, and remarked, ‘Lucky thing you were wearing your riding togs. The leather boots protected your legs, they surely did.'

‘It was also lucky you were coming here to see Young Edward. Lucky for me, that is. Thanks so much for attending to me at once.'

‘No problem, and your son was so much better on Christmas Eve I wasn't too worried about him today. But I decided I'd come over anyway, since my wife and I are still at The Lodge with the Dunbars. Eric Dunbar and I studied medicine together, and his parents like us to come over from Scarborough for the weekend, whenever we can. They think we cheer him up.'

‘How is Eric doing?' Edward asked, swinging his legs to the floor. ‘I heard he was back from the front and had some bad injuries.'

‘He lost a leg, actually. But as he says, as long as he's still
got two arms he can practise as a doctor when he's really better. It's amazing how brave and cheerful he is.
Amazing
.'

‘All of the wounded are,' Edward murmured, and instantly thought of Fenella. She was coming to tea today and he decided he would talk to her further about the idea of creating the recreation centre.

Peter Leighton paused in the doorway. ‘I want you to take it easy, Mr Deravenel. You're going to feel a bit tender for a few days, and all over, I suspect. Also, that headache of yours will linger. Just keep on taking the aspirins, and rest. No hectic activity. And one other thing – if you feel at all ill, whether it's a pain in your extremities or your back or head, or nausea, whatever it is you must telephone me at the Dunbars. I shall pop in tomorrow morning anyway, just to check on you. But remember, I am only twenty minutes away.' He walked to the door, and added, ‘And now I think I had better go and look for my young patient. I'll find Jessup downstairs, no doubt?'

‘Yes, you will, and my wife is bound to be waiting for you in the library. She will take you to see the boy. He's most likely in the nursery. And thanks again, Leighton, for being so caring and diligent.'

Cecily Deravenel had been badly shaken, and even now, in the middle of the afternoon, she was still experiencing a sort of aftershock. That was the only way she could describe it to herself.

Her eldest son could have so easily been seriously injured or even killed this morning. He could have suffered a broken neck, a broken back, or some kind of fatal head injury. Anything was possible when one took that kind of tumble down a steep flight of flagstone steps.

And how unexpectedly it had happened, just like that, in the blink of an eye. That was the most frightening thing. Here one moment, gone the next.

Cecily was kneeling in a pew at the front of the centuries-old Deravenel private chapel up behind the house. She had come there a short while before to offer grateful thanks to God for protecting her son. Now, still holding her rosary, she murmured additional prayers of thanks for all of her blessings, which were many, and the safety of all of her children.

Soon her thoughts returned to Edward, and for a moment or two she dwelt on the conversation she had had with him over breakfast, when he had spoken of wanting to change the rules, and so ensure that there was always a Deravenel at the head of Deravenels.
Even if it was a woman
. She wondered if he could possibly sway the board, persuade them to add the new rule which would favour the female sex. She had no answer for herself. She hoped it would come to pass.

A small sigh escaped Cecily's lips, and she sat staring at the beautiful carved altar with the figure of Christ on the cross as its centrepiece. What an uncanny coincidence that had been this morning – he had been speaking about his heirs and then within the space of a few minutes Ned had rushed outside and fallen down, almost killed himself.
Unbelievable
.

If anything happened to Ned, something untimely when he was still in his prime, there would be a vacuum at Deravenels. No head of the company. Young Edward would probably not be of the right age to take over. Cecily knew in her heart of hearts that Edward would never favour George, never in a million years. It would be Richard who would come to power, who would safeguard the trading company, until Young Edward was old enough to take over as managing director in his uncle's place.

Poor George. There was something about him that had always touched her heart and made her his defender. It was odd how he had always run to her as a child, run to her as if he needed protection from the world, physically clinging to her even during his early teens. And she had responded to his need in the way a mother would, with love and reassurances that she would protect him, that he would be safe.

But she knew he wouldn't be safe forever … she had long had a premonition of a bad destiny, had known within herself that George was fated. It seemed to her that he tumbled into trouble constantly, trouble he brought on himself. He had a dreadful way of putting his foot in it, a knack of enraging Edward, and she fully understood why
he
ended up in a fury with his younger brother. At the same time, she felt sympathy for George … It struck her that he was something of a bumbler … making a mess without meaning to do harm … upsetting people … causing them terrible hurt. There had even been moments over the years when she had believed George was truly self-destructive.

Not long ago he had antagonized his mother-in-law, and she had heard all about it from Nan Watkins herself. Nan had come to visit her at the Charles Street house in London several months ago, and had poured out her woes. Nan had suggested in no uncertain terms that George was something of a wastrel, and that he was wasting
her
money, inasmuch as it was George who was spending the large allowance she gave to Isabel.

She still remembered how startled she had been, and also irritated with George. Nan had been good to her daughter and son-in-law, who apparently was abusing her goodwill and her generosity.

That day Cecily had tried to console Nan, who was genuinely upset, and had suggested she talk to George in a firm, no-nonsense way. ‘You just have to make him see sense,'
Cecily had finished. ‘Or cancel the allowance you give Isabel, force George to support his wife and live within his means.' Nan had agreed, and left it at that.

Cecily now wondered what had happened, since Nan had never confided in her again. George, her charming and handsome son, was a bumbler, a wastrel, half-witted at times, and quite incorrigible, really. Yet he was her son, and she did love him. Just as she loved Edward and Richard, but somehow these two seemed much more capable of taking care of themselves …