Barbara Taylor Bradford – The Ravenscar Dynasty (страница 9)

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.