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.
THIRTY-TWO
Kent
‘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 chanc
e 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.’
Edward nodded, but made no comment.
‘Think of all the bad things he’s done to you over the years,’ Will said. ‘He sided with Neville Watkins, got involved in the intrigue with Louis Charpentier. Then he ran off with Isabel Watkins without so much as a by your leave. He was hand in glove with Neville for years, conspiring, plotting, and only came crawling back to you when he saw Neville was about to sacrifice him, and move on. All in all, he’s not shown much loyalty to you… his own brother and his employer. He is dangerous, Ned, you were absolutely right when you said that.’
‘I would rather deal with a clever enemy than an enemy who’s a fool. That spells trouble,’ Alfredo announced. ‘George is big trouble, and he’ll never change. That is the nature of the beast.’
‘If we sent him away, exiled him, so to speak, where would we send him?’ Will asked, his eyes on Edward. ‘And anyway, how do we know he’ll go?’
‘Oh, he’ll go all right, when I’ve finished with him!’ Edward exclaimed. ‘As to where he’d go, I don’t know. The three of us should analyse that.’
‘He would have to be sent out of the country,’ Alfredo answered in a firm voice. ‘You can’t just send him to the provinces. He must be sent out of England.’
‘What do you have in mind?’ Will asked.
‘In order to make sure he went in a peaceful way, he would have to be made to think he was getting a promotion,’ Alfredo volunteered. ‘You know what I mean… “We need you to go and run the sugar mills in Cuba, George, nobody can bring that company back up to scratch except you.” That kind of thing. We need to give him a bag of toffees when we send him away, and lots of praise. Otherwise, he’ll put up a fight, he just won’t go.’
‘Do you really mean Cuba?’ Edward asked, looking puzzled.
Alfredo grimaced. ‘Not especially. I’d like to see him closer to home and on hand, so we can make quick checks on him anytime we wish. He could go to the Paris office, couldn’t he?’ Alfredo instantly shook his head. ‘I can see by your face that that’s not feasible.’
‘Nowhere’s feasible really, because he’s useless,’ Edward replied. ‘I believe we should come up with a reason to send him … somewhere, though. Anywhere, actually, that’s my thought. I just can’t think of any other way to get rid of him.’
‘There’s always murder,’ Alfredo Oliveri said with a somewhat ghoulish smile.
Staring at Alfredo askance, Edward exclaimed, ‘I can’t kill my brother!’
‘What if someone else did it for you?’
‘Do you have some clever idea?’ Will asked, his eyes on Oliveri.
‘I haven’t given it much thought,’ was Alfredo’s response. But, in fact, he had.
THIRTY-THREE
Kent
Edward was finding it hard to sleep. He tossed and turned for hours, and then finally got up, put on his dressing gown and slippers and went downstairs.
The house was still; everyone was asleep. He turned on a small lamp in the library and looked at the carriage clock on the mantelpiece. It was two thirty already.
Opening the French doors, he stepped out onto the terrace, and stood for a moment staring up at the sky. It was a black velvet night, with a handful of stars thrown up onto the black velvet. They glittered like diamond chips. The moon was a silver sliver, a half moon that looked as if it had been carefully hung there by one of those Hollywood chaps, it was so perfectly in place.
The air was mild, warm even, and he caught a faint whiff of the sea; salt was coming up off the Romney Marsh. He knew if he walked down the long garden path he would come to the strip of land where the children loved to play; from that vantage point he would see the Dungeness lighthouse, its beams of light making giant silver shafts across the sea. He loved it on the marsh, but he was not in the mood to go there toni
ght; in fact he was not tempted at all.
He was troubled, burdened down, and his mind kept turning to Natasha Troubetzkoy and her terrible plight. Then, she had had no one. He had given her hope by making a gift of money to her, so that she could go and search for her relatives. But she might not find them. They might not even be alive.
In 1917 her life had changed because of the Revolution in her country. Her life had been turned upside down. Her home, all of her possessions, her clothes, her jewels, and her money, had disappeared, had vanished just like that in the blink of an eye. Because she had had to run away to save herself. She had fled, become a homeless refugee seeking shelter and a way to earn a living.
She had said to him one evening in Constantinople, ‘My world became topsy turvy. My life as I knew it was savagely taken away from me by the Bolsheviks. I can never get it back, nothing will ever be the same.’
And nothing will ever be the same for me, Edward thought, sitting down on the garden seat, still staring at the dark sky, thinking of the past … his past. And of Elinor Burton.
The beautiful, bewitching Ellie. Once his lover. Oh, God, what a stupid fool he had been all those years ago. Why had he made that committment to her? Now his life could so easily be ruined, just as Natasha’s had been ruined by a different kind of catastrophe.
That was what it was … catastrophe. It was hanging over his head like a blade ready to drop. His marriage, his children, his business, all those things he held dear were in jeopardy. It was his own fault. There was no one else to blame but himself. Well, there was George, babbling all over the place and being treacherous. His brother should have been taken in hand years ago; that was his fault, too. He had been too lenient, too forgiving.
After George had run off with Isabel, both of them far too young to marry, his mother had begged him to be kind to George, to forgive him. She had also pleaded with him to give George a job at Deravenels when he had finally fallen foul of Neville’s plottings.
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