Heirs of Ravenscar (36 page)

‘Yes, Nanny, he said he would. In the meantime, we must look after Father the way we always do when he gets bronchitis.'

Nanny nodded sagely. ‘Yes, we'll do our best. It seems to run in the family,' she murmured, thinking of Young Edward, who was prone to it, just as his father was.

‘I want to see Papa,' Anne announced, giving Bess an imploring look. ‘Can I?
Please
. I want to give him a kiss – he likes my kisses, he told me.'

‘A little later, darling,' Bess said in her most authoritative voice. ‘Father is resting now … you know he's not well.'

‘But he promised me a threepenny bit for Good Friday. That's today,' the eight-year-old pointed out.

‘If he promised, he'll keep his promise, Anne, but later.' She glanced at Katharine, who was four, and Bridget, who was a year younger, and added, ‘Everyone will get a threepenny bit for Good Friday. From Papa. I promise.'

Her three younger siblings beamed at her, and she broke into a smile as she studied them for a moment. They were all blondes, and beautiful, just like their brothers and their other sister Cecily.

Katharine now looked at her through those alluring turquoise eyes of hers, and announced, ‘We're having hot cross buns for tea, Nanny says so.'

‘I shall come and join you,' Bess promised.

‘And Papa?' Katharine asked eagerly.

‘We'll see.' As she spoke Bess looked across at Nanny and shook her head.

B
ess was sitting by the side of her father's bed, in the bedroom of his house in Berkeley Square. Yesterday, Easter Sunday, he had insisted on returning to London. His health having improved since Good Friday, he had explained that he much preferred to be in town, and so Broadbent had driven them up in the late afternoon.

Now, as she glanced at him, Bess had to admit that he did look a bit better; his colour was more normal, his eyes were less glazed, and the feverishness was diminishing, for which she was most thankful.

Looking at her thoughtfully, Edward said, ‘Thank you for reading
The Times
to me, Bess. Now, there's something I wish to explain to you.'

Sitting up straighter in her chair, his eldest daughter was immediately alert. ‘What is that, Father?' Her curiosity was aroused because he sounded serious.

Pulling open the drawer in the bedside table, he took out
a piece of paper and handed it to her. ‘First, I would like you to read this.'

She did as he asked, and then focused her clear blue eyes on him. ‘The numbers here, they're a combination … for your safe, aren't they?'

‘Good girl! For the safe in my dressing room here, and for the one at Ravenscar. Those numbers open
both
safes, it was so much easier to make one sequence. I want you to open the safe here and take out the manila envelope on the top shelf.'

Jumping up, she hurried across her father's bedroom, taking the piece of paper with her. A moment later she was back, carrying the large envelope. After handing it to him, she returned to the chair.

Edward held the envelope for a moment, then placed it on the bed, and said, ‘These papers are for you, Bess. To keep. They are the rules of the company, of Deravenels, updated by me in 1918. You must remember when I had that fall on the terrace at Ravenscar that year … at Christmas?'

‘Of course I do, Father.'

‘I was very lucky that day, you know. I could have been rather seriously injured, broken my back or my neck. I could even have been killed. Fortunately, I wasn't. What that fall did was alert me to the truth … that I am vulnerable, just like anyone else. I started to think about the rules of Deravenels, and I decided I must have them changed. I was delighted when the board went along with me. And what the new rules in the envelope explain is that a woman who is
born
a Deravenel can inherit the company, run it as managing director. Understand?'

‘Yes, I do. But what about the male heir? Doesn't he come first?'

‘
Absolutely
. But what if something happened to me and
your brothers at the same time? What if we had some kind of accident and died? Or what if both boys were together, had an accident and were killed? One never knows what life is going to bring, Bess. And so I got to thinking, as I said, and I realized that after your brothers, you would be the heir to Deravenels. And so I studied the old rules, drafted some new ones, and took them to the board at our annual board meeting in January of 1919. They were immediately approved by my fellow board members, and registered.'

‘The rest of the board agreed that
a woman
could run Deravenels?' Bess exclaimed. ‘I can hardly believe that!'

‘Well, we are living in modern times now, you know. It's already 1926. Anyway, if I should die, or if your brothers die, or are in any way incapacitated, then you immediately become my heir. In other words, if you are the only one left standing, Bess,
you
, as my eldest child, are the next in line and will inherit
everything
, including Deravenels. Apart from the trusts I have created for your sisters, and your mother, of course. Grace Rose also has her own trust. And you do, too, and that remains intact no matter what.'

For a moment Bess was flabbergasted, and then as the implications set in, she exclaimed tremulously, ‘But you're not going to die, Papa! And the boys are not going to die! Please don't talk about you all dying. It upsets me.'

‘I know it does, but we must be practical, businesslike, there's too much at stake. I want to safeguard the company. I must. I built it into everything it has become today.
I must
protect Deravenels for future Deravenels
. That is what this conversation is about.'

He now handed his daughter the manila envelope, and explained, ‘Along with the company rules, there is my cheque made out to you, Bess, for five thousand pounds. I want you to telephone Aunt Vicky, when she gets back from Kent later this week. She will take you to her bank, where
you will open an account and rent a safety deposit box. The cheque –'

‘Father, it's too
much
. A fortune.'

‘The cheque will enable you to open an account, and it will be there for you for any emergencies you might have one day. Explain you want it to be in an interest-earning account, all right?'

Bess, at a loss for words, simply nodded.

‘And no doubt you realize the safety deposit box is for the papers in the envelope?'

‘Yes, Father, of course.'

‘Please read them later.'

‘I will.'

‘Another point. Endeavour to commit the sequence of numbers to memory if you can, and then destroy the piece of paper.'

‘Yes, I will.'

He smiled at her. ‘Don't look so worried, darling, nothing's going to happen to me for a very long time, or to your brothers. I'm merely being my usual efficient self, that's all.'

Bess nodded, not trusting herself to speak. Her father's talk of accidents and death and dying troubled her tremendously. A little silence fell between them for a moment, but she finally said, ‘You did improve quickly, Father, but you must still take care. I hope you're not thinking of going to Deravenels on Tuesday. You're not, are you?'

‘Not even I am that foolish. No, I'll do as Dr Lessing says, and remain in bed with my cough mixture and my Friars' Balsam handy.' Edward sat back against the pile of pillows; he always felt better sitting upright when he had bronchitis. He seemed to cough much less in that position.

Bess rose, and picking up the envelope she glided across the room, heading for her father's safe, saying as she did,
‘I'd better lock these away until I can take them to the bank later this week.'

‘That's a good idea.'

She came back and stood next to the bed, looking down at Edward; all of a sudden a smile appeared on her face, dislodging her grave expression. ‘I think I'll go downstairs and talk to Cook, Father. I want to know what she is making for your dinner. Do you fancy anything special?'

‘I'm not all that hungry, Bess. Something light. He leaned his head on the pillows. ‘I feel tired. Would you wake me in an hour, my dear?'

‘Yes, I will.' She hurried out of the room, heading for the kitchen.

Edward watched her go, thinking what a unique young woman she had become. She was beautiful as a child, but now a new loveliness had settled over her. She seemed to him to have an inner light, a radiance that frequently took his breath away. Bess still had his vivid colouring, the red-gold hair, the startlingly blue eyes. But her face was now much more like her mother's; she had Elizabeth's elegant bone structure, delicate features, her classical beauty. He was very proud of Bess, and in so many different ways. He trusted her implicitly; she had always been more his child than her mother's. In fact, it seemed to him that Bess had been instinctively wary of her mother for years.

As she shut the door behind her, Edward closed his eyes, fell down into himself, his thoughts running on. He did not sleep. All manner of things rushed through his mind … George, his brother, was suddenly there, clear as day inside his head. Beautiful boy, handsome man. Too young to die … there was Neville now, his cousin and mentor whom he had revered … he also had died too soon. That ghastly accident at Ravenscar … so long ago now … twelve years. His beloved Johnny, Neville's brother, dying there with Neville
on the beach at Ravenscar … he remembered their youth together, growing up in Yorkshire, riding across the moors. They had loved the moors best in August and September; it was then the heather bloomed, a sea of purple … wave upon wave of brilliant colour undulating under the light breeze … the moors … implacable … wild, empty spaces filled with silence and solitude … he had never felt lonely there … the moors flung up against the uncertain northern sky were home to him …

Unexpectedly, his thoughts swung to Amos Finnister. Last year, in Paris, Grace Rose had been worried about him, and so he had spoken to Amos when he returned to London. There had been no hesitation when he asked Amos if something was troubling him. He had unburdened himself at once. Edward could hear his voice now, low and sorrowful. ‘It's about your brother, Mr George,' Amos had confided. ‘Oliveri and I, well, we feel it's our fault he's dead, sir. You see, we told Vincent Martell about that old saying, you know, the one referring to Thomas à Becket … when King Henry said something like, “Who will rid me of this turbulent priest?” and how some of the king's henchmen had gone off and murdered Thomas in the cathedral on behalf of the king. Oliveri and I have always believed, ever since then, that Vincent loosened the wedges that held the barrels in place. He sort of … well, he kind of indicated that he had. And we've felt responsible since that time, and guilty. We never meant harm, but perhaps he thought we were giving him a hint.'

Edward recalled now how he had reassured Amos that day, explained that it was not his fault, nor Oliveri's, and that George had brought everything on himself. Later, Amos had confided that Vincent Martell had grown to genuinely hate George, in the most virulent way, because his brother was saying such dreadful things about him. Nothing could
ever be proved, of course, nor did he want to prove it. In any case, Vincent had cancer and was very ill at this moment, more than likely dying.

My fault … If anyone's to blame, I am. I left it too long … should have reined George in years before, held him responsible for his actions, not been so quick to forgive … not taken him back … perhaps if I'd controlled him, handled it better, he would be alive today … Mama always got to me, convinced me to be kind, begged me to help George, to let bygones be bygones. His mother had not forgiven him yet, he knew that … she thought he was a murderer, had said that to him one day … ‘you killed my son' … she had thrown those words at him … at the time he had thought, ‘But I'm your son also'. He had not said this to her … sometimes, like now … he wished that he had …

Downstairs in the library, Bess was seated at her father's desk, speaking on the telephone to Will Hasling. ‘Father is better, honestly, Uncle Will, please do believe me. I'm telling you the truth.'

Listening carefully, paying attention to every word, Will now said, ‘I'm just checking to be sure that all is well, and I also wanted you to know that we are coming back up to town tonight. So if you do need to get in touch with me, you'll find me at the house in London.'

‘Thanks for letting me know, Uncle Will.'

‘Oh, and Bess, there is one other thing … have you told your mother that your father is ill, that he has bronchitis again?'

Bess gripped the phone a little harder, frowning to herself. ‘No, I haven't. Father didn't ask me to telephone her. Do you think I should have?'

‘No, no, I'm sure it's not necessary,' Will said swiftly. ‘If you say your father is a little better tonight, perhaps there's no point.' As he said these words, Will experienced that odd feeling once again; he had that peculiar flash of foreboding he'd had on Friday, and he made up his mind to get in touch with Anthony Wyland, who was in Rome with his sister Elizabeth. In his bones he knew they should be told.

‘Uncle Will, are you there?' Bess was saying.

‘Yes, yes, I am, Bess. Give your father my best love, and tell him I'll come and see him tomorrow.'

Bess hung up the telephone and sat staring at it for the longest moment, still frowning. Was her father not as well as he seemed? She couldn't help wondering that … because why had Will Hasling asked her if she had talked to her mother in Rome? Did Will know more than she did? Was there something really wrong with her father? If not, why his concern? Well, he was her father's best friend, his colleague in business.

Bess went out of the library and ran upstairs; she flew down the corridor to her father's bedroom, tapped on the door and hurried in. To her surprise, he was sitting up in bed.

‘I came to wake you up, Father,' she said, suddenly filled with relief, ‘and here you are, already awake.'

A smile flickered. ‘What has Cook got in store for me tonight?'

‘Hot chicken broth with noodles, grilled sole with parsley sauce and mashed potatoes. It sounds delicious.'

‘Hardly. More like a menu for a sick man.'

‘I shall have supper with you, Papa, up here on a tray. Is that all right?'