Heirs of Ravenscar (27 page)

‘A cheque?' She frowned, looked bemused, as she still gazed up at him. ‘But I can't possibly take money from you, Mr Deravenel. I can't take anything from you. You see, I don't know you.'

‘I know you don't. I'm just an acquaintance, I realize that. Also, I'm aware of your upbringing, your royal background.
But I am going to give you the cheque, and you will take it – to please me. As I said,
it is a gift
. I want nothing from you, nothing at all …' He looked down at her and started to dance again, moving her around the floor. ‘That's not true,' he went on. ‘I do want to see a smile on your face, and I want a letter from you when you have found your sister-in-law and niece. When you have found them I shall come and meet them, wherever it is that you all are.'

‘I don't know what to say,' she began and abruptly stopped, filled with bewilderment and uncertainty, startled by the generosity of this man.

‘Come and sit here alone with me for a moment,' Edward suggested, and promptly led her off the floor to a small table in a corner. Once they were seated, he took the envelope from the inside pocket of his jacket and handed it to her without a word.

She stared down at the envelope in her hands for a long moment, and then reluctantly opened it, took out the cheque. She gasped quite audibly, and exclaimed in a low voice, ‘But I can't take this, Mr Deravenel! It's far too much money. Oh, my goodness –' She put it back in the envelope and handed it to him.

He refused to take it, shook his head, glanced at her evening bag on the table. ‘Put it in there, in your bag. Cash it tomorrow and make your plans.'

‘But I can't take it.
Five thousand pounds
, Mr Deravenel. It is far too much.'

‘Think of it like this … I haven't properly celebrated my luck since striking oil … this is
my
way of celebrating … helping
you
to find your family. So please indulge me, celebrate with me, and for me. Now, let us go and join Ismet, toast each other with a glass of pink champagne.'

Natasha put the cheque away, but still with reluctance; they stood up together, and as she turned, she said softly,
‘Thank you. Thank you so very much, Mr Deravenel.' And he saw the tears glistening in her smokey eyes. She placed her hand on his arm and continued, ‘Thank you is not enough… I'll never forget this extraordinary gesture, this enormous kindness you have shown me. Never as long as I live, and I will never forget you for doing this for me. You have been so very generous.'

Later, it pleased Edward when he saw her obvious happiness as the evening progressed. He was not at all accustomed to seeing her smiling and laughing, nor had he ever heard the excitement and sudden energy in her mellifluous voice. There was a sparkle about her that was startling, and gratifying especially to him. He had given her hope.

He had done one small good deed, had perhaps helped to turn a woman's life around, and just because he had given her the money to go and look for those she loved, who had been lost to her since 1917. Now she could go and seek her family whom she yearned for.

Her beauty was very evident tonight. She wore a bluish-grey chiffon dress that was fluid and floated around her gracefully as she danced with Ismet. With her blonde hair, smokey eyes, and refined features she was most arresting. Tall, slender and lissom, there was something special about her. Elegance, culture, breeding, those were the words that sprang to mind, yet there was much more to her than these things. Then it struck Ned most forcibly. She carried herself with an air of immense dignity, and she was regal in her bearing. And why wouldn't she be? She was a Romanov, a former member of the Imperial Royal Family of Russia. Cousin of one of the world's great autocrats, the late Tsar Nicholas, who had been murdered with his family in Ekaterinburg.

And here she was tonight, in Constantinople with them. A princess down on her luck, a victim of catastrophic events
– the upheaval of her country and her life, the death of her brother and the mysterious disappearance of his wife and child. Her home gone, a way of life lost forever. And yet to his credit he had not run away from her in fright, because of her catastrophes. Instead he had done her a good turn.

All of a sudden Edward thought, if only everything were this simple, how easy life would be. My life in particular; but usually things are much more complicated.

He was soon to find out exactly how complicated his life truly was.

‘I
don't know whether you realize it, but George is drinking again, and rather a lot these days,' Elizabeth said from the doorway, looking across the room at Edward.

He was seated in a chair near the French windows in the library of their house in Aldington. He put down the book he was reading, took his glasses off and stared at her. ‘Yes, I noticed that when I returned from Constantinople. But George has always been given to excesses, you know.' Edward shook his head, and his face hardened slightly. ‘However, he does have a rather strong sense of his own self-preservation, don't you think?'

‘I suppose he does,' Elizabeth agreed, walking into the room, sitting down opposite Edward. ‘But what are you getting at? I don't quite understand you.'

‘George overdoes things, and then he stops all of a sudden, pulls himself together. He … sort of pulls back, and starts being a good boy, behaving himself. It's as if he has a demon … telling him things.'

Elizabeth answered, ‘On the contrary, Edward, it is
George
who is
telling
things these days.'

His interest immediately caught, Edward straightened in the chair and gave his wife a swift glance through narrowed eyes. ‘What
exactly
are you getting at?'

‘He's gossiping. It was my friend Olivia Davenport who told me,' Elizabeth explained. ‘She was at a dinner party the other night, and she said George was muttering something about you not being legitimate, and therefore you were not the rightful heir to Deravenels. That he was the rightful heir. Some such silly nonsense.'

Edward was completely taken aback, and he gaped at her, then spluttered, ‘Nonsense it is!' Once again he was irritated with George. And then suddenly very angry. ‘That's some old rubbish put about years ago by the Lancashire Grants! Scandal-mongering they were, making digs at my father, wanting to embarrass him, diminish him, making him look like a cuckold. George should know better.'

Edward sprang to his feet, walked across the room, his sudden anger turning into genuine fury. ‘George is so stupid. And it is quite scandalous of him to impugn the reputation of a woman like Cecily Deravenel.
His own mother
, for God's sake! What can he be thinking of? If I could get my hands on him right now I'd give him a thrashing he would never forget.'

Edward's fury with his brother had taken complete hold of him, and he was beside himself. How could George make their mother out to be a faithless wife who bore another man's child?

Aware that Ned's temper had got the better of him, Elizabeth stood up, went over to him and took hold of his arm. ‘Come and sit down, Ned. I do agree with you. He's being awfully malicious about his mother – your mother – and you have to make him stop.'

‘
Obviously
.' Ned allowed himself to be led back to the sofa, where they sat down together.

His wife went on, ‘He's trying to diminish
you
, in his usual treacherous way. But he's doing it in an extremely hurtful manner, as far as your mother is concerned. It's hard to think he'd stoop so low.'

Edward nodded, settled back on the sofa, and managed to calm himself. He did not want to spoil the day, or disturb the tranquillity that abounded in this house at the moment. Elizabeth was being sweet, caring, and loving, and there had been no cross words between them for a long time. He was relieved to live in a calm atmosphere, and was enjoying this summer holiday by the sea with the children and his mother.

He glanced at Elizabeth, and said in a low, urgent voice, ‘We mustn't say anything to her. I don't want her upset. My mother mustn't know.'

‘I understand. But it's quite awful when you think about it – she's always been so protective of George, standing up for him, defending him, all of his life. He's betrayed her as well as you.'

‘That's what's so galling about this!' Ned declared.

Elizabeth started to say something then stopped abruptly.

‘What were you about to tell me?' he asked, giving her a long, questioning look.

‘Well … actually, other things were said that evening. Last week actually. By your brother. Olivia said he made some remarks to her husband. You know him, Ned. He's Roland Davenport, the famous barrister.'

‘Oh yes, he's a brilliant chap. So, what did brother George say to Roland?'

‘He said your children were bastards, too, like you, and that I was not your legal wife. Although Roland was startled and annoyed with George, he decided to laugh it off, since it didn't make sense. He told your brother he'd had
too much to drink. He apparently added, and very sternly, that George had better watch himself, watch what he said about you, or he might find himself in serious trouble.'

Elizabeth paused, then finished in a rush of words, ‘Seemingly George muttered something about Greenwich, or Norwich, perhaps both places, I'm not sure now. And there was also mention made of a man, Olivia said she couldn't remember the name. She and her husband thought George was really in his cups, behaving in the most dreadful way. Her husband said he was being a reprehensible cad. They also think he was talking rubbish, like many drunks so often do.'

Edward did not utter a word.

He sat absolutely still. He felt the blood draining out of him, and he was so stunned he was unable to think clearly. Shock seemed to freeze him, and he sat there without moving a muscle. For a split second he was floundering; then he told himself to think.
Think. Think
. Questions flew into his mind. What did George actually know? How could he know anything? Who could have told him something? It was so long ago …

‘What's wrong, Ned?' Elizabeth exclaimed, her voice rising shrilly. She stared at him anxiously. ‘You've gone as white as chalk. Are you ill?'

Knowing he must behave in the most normal way, Edward tried to pull himself together. And then a lifetime of self-control, absolute discipline, suddenly kicked in. He forced a smile, and, clearing his throat, he said with a short laugh, ‘I don't know what happened, darling, I really don't. I felt a bit dizzy all of a sudden, sort of lightheaded. That's all it was, nothing serious, really.' Relaxing his taut body, smiling at her warmly, he added, ‘It may have been anger. Anger with George. That he can speak at dinner parties, in public, about our mother in the way he has makes me livid.'
‘Yes, of course, that's it!' She nodded and got up. ‘I'm going to go and ask Cook to make tea for us. Would you like something to eat? Perhaps you're also hungry.'

He shook his head, gave her another relaxed smile. ‘No, but the tea would be wonderful.'

As Elizabeth hurried out Edward sat back on the sofa and closed his eyes. He had no idea what he was going to do about this matter. However, he did know one thing for certain. His brother George had gone too far and he had to be stopped. Immediately. He had become far too dangerous. He had to be removed.

The following morning Edward Deravenel went to London. It was not unusual for him to do this, since he went back and forth all the time when the family was staying at the house in Kent, rather than at Ravenscar. As he walked out to the car in the driveway with Elizabeth, he said, ‘I must attend the meeting with Oliveri, regarding the marble quarries. I know you understand that. Hopefully, I'll get back in a couple of days. And certainly by Friday.'

‘All right. Do try to be here for the weekend, Ned. The children are going to miss you for the next few days.'

The words had hardly left her mouth when Bess came running out into the driveway, followed by Mary and Young Edward.

‘Oh, Papa, why are you going up to town?' Bess cried, taking hold of his arm. ‘You promised you would stay all week.'

Smiling down at her, smoothing a hand over Young Edward's head, he said to them all, ‘Business calls, unfortunately. But just think of this… I shall have a chance to visit Harrods. I'm sure I can find those things you have asked me for
lately. Something for all of you. How does that sound, children?'

They all three hugged him, and he kissed Elizabeth on the cheek, and stepped into the Rolls. Just before he closed the door, she said softly, ‘Do something about George when you're in town, won't you, Ned?'

‘I certainly will,' he promised, meaning it.

The moment Edward arrived at Deravenels on the Strand, he sent for his two key executives.

‘I have to do something about George,' Edward said, looking from Will Hasling to Alfredo Oliveri. ‘He has been spreading vicious rumours, casting aspersions on my mother's character and her virtue, by saying I am illegitimate and not the true heir of my father. Therefore I'm not entitled to run Deravenels. He's talking too much, and he has to be stopped.'

Neither Will nor Alfredo appeared to be surprised by this statement, and Will said, ‘I'd heard he was being vicious again. And yes, you must put a stop to it. He's unconscionable, Ned, I just hope the gossip hasn't come to your mother's ears. She would be devastated.'

‘So do I. And actually, I think perhaps it hasn't. Elizabeth heard it the other day from Olivia Davenport, the wife of the well-known barrister, and they don't move in our circles. Apparently, George was at a dinner party and spouting this nonsense, but I understand the Davenports just laughed it off. Afterwards, Roland Davenport warned George, cautioned him to be careful what he said.'

‘I've always said he's a dangerous drunk,' Alfredo murmured, shaking his head; a grim expression settled on his face. ‘In fact, I think he's grown worse since Isabel's death. Too much time on his hands, that's the problem.'

Edward stared at Alfredo. ‘But he does come in to the office every day, doesn't he? Because –'

‘Oh, you'd have known if he didn't! Because I would have told you,' Will interjected. ‘I keep my eye on him all the time. He comes in all right, but he doesn't do very much. He's a lazy bugger, if you ask me, and he's a wastrel in every sense of the word – wasting time, wasting money, wasting people.'

‘How do we stop him talking about my mother?'

‘Put the bloody fear of God into him, if you ask me. That's how!' Will exclaimed.

‘That's easier said than done,' Alfredo remarked, looking directly at Will. ‘He doesn't scare easily, and there's something totally dense about him. He doesn't seem to get it, doesn't seem to realize when he's doing wrong. He's very –
nonchalant
about his behaviour.'

Edward sat up straighter in the chair and threw a sharp look at Alfredo. ‘It's funny you should say that. There have been times in the past when I've thought George wasn't all there, that he had a screw loose.'

‘I keep telling you he's three bricks short of a full load,' Will pointed out, sounding impatient.

‘But that just means not very bright. I am going beyond that. I'm beginning to wonder if he's … well, if he's actually mentally unbalanced.'

‘You could send him away … put him in an insane asylum,' Alfredo suggested. ‘A few weeks in a straitjacket would do him good, in my opinion.'

Edward had to laugh at this comment and Alfredo's dour expression. ‘You're right there, but I am very serious about his mental state. He just seems to be, well, so careless about his behaviour, saying the things he does, acting like a lout, falling down drunk – so I've heard anyway.'

‘It's an odd thing,' Will said slowly, in a reflective tone.

‘It's as if he isn't aware of the damage he causes. He almost seems quite oblivious to everyone and just bumbles along, wreaking havoc.'

‘That's what I'm getting at,' Edward said, nodding in agreement. ‘Now tell me, how
do
we shut him up?'

‘I don't know that we can … how on earth can we muzzle him?' Alfredo asked Ned, then added, ‘There's only one solution, you know. He has to be put away, in a mental hospital; or he has to be
sent
away. He can't remain in London, it'll only get worse, because he's eaten up with jealousy and envy of you, and you know only too well that he has betrayed you so many times in the past.'