An array of silver tureens were lined up on hot plates, and he lifted the lids, saw a selection of mouth-watering food: grilled sausages, kidneys, bacon, mushrooms, and tomatoes, as well as scrambled eggs, and kippers. ‘Good Lord, Cook has done us proud!’ he exclaimed, and taking a plate he selected grilled tomatoes and sausage and came back to the table.
Just as he was sitting down next to his mother, Jessup came hurrying in, bringing hot toast and a fresh pot of tea on a silver tray. ‘Good morning, sir,’ Jessup said, and brought the small tray to the table, placed both next to Edward.
‘Good morning, Jessup,’ Edward murmured. ‘Splendid day, isn’t it?’
‘Yes, sir, it is. Very sunny and clear, no sea fret this morning. But it’s chilly, Mr Deravenel, as usual.’ The butler now brought glass dishes of butter and strawberry jam and set them next to the toast rack.
Edward nodded, took a piece of hot toast, spread butter on it, saying as he did, ‘Are we ready for Boxing Day, Jessup? Is everything in place?’
‘Oh yes indeed, sir. Cook’s done up some lovely boxes of tasty food for the estate staff – turkey, ham and beef, pork pies and Christmas cakes; and Mr Pettigrew has filled the money boxes with sovereigns.’
Edward nodded. ‘Excellent. I don’t like to neglect the estate workers, they deserve to be well taken care of, Jessup. And look here, you might want to add a bottle of wine to each of the boxes prepared for the tenant farmers. They’re a good lot.’
‘I will, sir.’ Jessup looked at Edward’s mother and asked, ‘Do you need anything else, Mrs Deravenel? Can I get you something more?’
‘No thank you, Jessup.’ She took a small card from her jacket pocket, and handed it to him. ‘Here are the menus for Cook for lunch and dinner today. Oh, and please tell her that Lady Fenella is coming for tea this afternoon. The usual afternoon tea will be fine, Jessup, and please remind Cook that Lady Fenella has always loved her mince pies.’
‘Yes, Madam.’ Jessup hurried out.
‘I’d forgotten about Fenella,’ Edward said, turning to his mother. ‘She’s coming with Mark Ledbetter, isn’t she?’
‘Yes. I know you cancelled all the festivities, Ned, but she did so want to come over this afternoon, I didn’t have the heart to say no.’
‘It’s not a problem for me, Mother, really not. And I cancelled the houseguests because Young Edward was ill. Anyway, I’m thrilled with his progress, he’s so much better. And Fenella’s presence isn’t going to affect him.’
He sipped his tea, then continued, ‘I need to go over something with you, but we can do it later.’
Cecily groaned. ‘You always do that, you know, say you want to discuss something, and then immediately put it off, until later you say. Just as your father did. Tell me now, Ned, please don’t procrastinate.’
‘I want you to take the company papers out of your vault at Charles Street. I need to look them over.’
Cecily sat up straighter on the chair, staring at him, her brows drawing together in a frown. ‘Is there something wrong? Is there a problem, Ned?’
He shook his head. ‘No, not at all, Mother. I just need to look at the company rules.’
‘I see.’ She opened her mouth, shut it, and pondered for a moment before saying to him slowly. ‘Is there a problem with that relative of Henry Grant’s – Henry Turner, the fellow who lives in France? The Grants are not breathing down our necks again, are they?’
‘No, no, of course not! And as for Henry Turner, he’s a youngish chap, about seventeen or eighteen. No trouble for us. He’s been living in France for years, not sure what he does. But he has no claim on Deravenels, if that is what you’re intimating, Mama.’
‘I’m not intimating anything, actually, but I do know that some years ago he was heard to say he was Henry Grant’s true heir.’
Amused, Ned laughed, then cut into one of the sausages. ‘Heir to what, though? As I just said, he has no claim to Deravenels. Besides, he’s a rather dubious heir, if you ask me. His father was Henry Grant’s half brother, so Henry Grant was his half uncle, I believe.’ Edward started to laugh again.
Cecily shook her head. ‘Yes, you are right in everything you say, darling, but as you are well aware, he who laughs last laughs the longest. You are sure this fellow Turner doesn’t have any plots up his sleeve?’
‘Don’t be silly, Mother. Now, allow me to explain something. I want to look at the company rules for a very specific reason. I want to know whether I can change one of the rules.’
‘I doubt that you can!’ she exclaimed, leaning closer to him, searching his face. ‘And what rule do you want to change, anyway?’
‘The rule pertaining to who is eligible to inherit Deravenels.’
‘What do you mean? It’s the first born of the current chairman! Or, as in your case, managing director. Young Edward is your heir, and then Ritchie, if Young Edward has predeceased him.’
‘I understand that – just as I was my father’s heir. But things can happen, life is unpredictable, and I want to be sure that if there is no male Deravenel to inherit after me, that a female can inherit.’
‘A woman run Deravenels! My God, Edward, what are you thinking of! I can’t imagine the Deravenels board sanctioning that! Good heavens, no! And don’t forget there is a board of directors, you are a little bit hampered, you know.’
‘I do know. But times are changing. And also life is truly unpredictable, as I just said. So I would like to know that Bess can inherit, if she is the only Deravenel old enough to step into my shoes, if there is no male heir.’
‘Why wouldn’t there be a male heir?’ Cecily suddenly looked nervous, her face taut.
‘I’m quite certain there will be, but what if something terrible should happen to the boys?’ Edward shook his head, gave her a long look. ‘I remember very well what you said to me one day, here at Ravenscar. “Has nobody ever told you that life is catastrophic, Edward?” Those are the exact words you uttered that day, fourteen years ago, when you told me my father and brother, my uncle and my cousin had all been killed in Italy.’
Cecily was silent, and then she slowly nodded. ‘Yes, it’s true. I did say that.’ She sat back in her chair. ‘Perhaps there is some way to change the rule about women. It’s very old, of course, but there are some people who would say that it is now antiquated, truly out of date.’ Cecily closed her eyes for a moment, thinking; when she opened them she smiled at her eldest son. ‘I have a feeling that you could actually do it, pull it off, providing the board went along with you.’
A sense of relief surged through him, and he said softly, ‘I can be very persuasive, Mother, very persuasive indeed.’
‘Oh, I know that only too well, you don’t have to tell me,’ she replied, and gave him a sharp look.
There was a sudden racket outside; a dog was barking, a child was crying, and someone was shouting. He thought it might be Bess. Then he heard Mary screaming, ‘No! No! Stop it!’
Edward jumped up, exclaiming, ‘What in God’s name is going on out there?’ He opened the French doors of the breakfast room, stepped out on the terrace, and ran down the steps leading through the tiered garden. In his anxiousness for his children, his haste to get to them, Edward did not notice the steps were covered in ice, and he slipped, falling hard, rolled down the flagged steps, unable to stop himself. When he reached the bottom, near the patch of lawn at the edge of the cliffs, he did not move, lay perfectly still.
‘Father! Father!’ Bess shouted, and ran towards him, at the same time calling out, ‘Mary! Mary! Fetch Jessup. Find Nanny. Go on, go! Do as I say.’
‘What about the dog?’ Mary cried tearfully.
‘Give the leash to Cecily. Just go!’
Now reaching Edward, the nine-year-old girl knelt down on the ground next to him, touching his face. ‘Father, Father. Open your eyes.’ Edward groaned, but no words left his mouth.
‘Father, Father,’ Bess said again, panic rising in her. ‘Please speak to me.’
Stil
l he did not answer her. She took hold of his hand, waiting for Jessup, and praying her father was not dead.
NINETEEN
Nanny 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.
Heirs of Ravenscar Page 14
