Heirs of Ravenscar

by Barbara Taylor Bradford

  ‘I think perhaps you’re right, Will. I know that George wants to be me, to run Deravenels, to own Ravenscar, to have all that I have … money, power, privilege … and he would certainly make a deal with the devil. Henry Turner. My mother mentioned him over Christmas, and I suppose the name has stayed in my head. George is treacherous by nature. You know that as well as I do. He’s not to be trusted.’

  ‘You’ve got to do something about him, Edward,’ Will now said in a low tone, adding, ‘and immediately.’

  ‘But what? That is the question.’

  ‘Send him travelling as Oliveri suggested.’

  ‘Not on your life!’ Edward answered. ‘I have to keep him right under my nose, where I can see him, hear him at all times. That’s the only solution.’

  ‘So, that settles George then. Shall we order lunch?’ Will suggested, smiling for the first time that morning. But his smile hid his true feelings. Having George before his eyes did not mean that Edward would be safe from harm. George Deravenel was a born schemer, a troublemaker, greedy and ambitious. As long as he was around at Deravenels, working in the company, Ned was vulnerable. Will knew he had to watch Ned’s back. And so must Amos. There was trouble brewing. Will could sense it, almost smell it …

  Twenty-Three

  Grace Rose stood at the edge of the grave, staring at the white marble headstone. Engraved in gold at the head of the stone were the words Rest in peace & love. Underneath, also engraved in gold letters, was the name: Tabitha ‘Lucy’ Lawford. And below that, a single line which read: The beloved of Sebastian Lawford. Died 1904.

  There was no doubt in Grace Rose’s mind that this was the burial place of her birth mother. She had no recollection of Sebastian Lawford, nor had the name Cedric Crawford rung a bell with her when Amos had mentioned it over the years. But Tabitha was such a unique name, she surely knew this genuinely was her mother’s grave.

  Then again, when Amos had visited the hospital recently and looked at the records, and later the death certificate, he had seen the notation that Tabitha Lawford had been laid to rest in the Brady Street Cemetery in Whitechapel. This was the area where the hospital was located, and where they had lived. Her memory of those early days was vague; she had been such a little girl, and she barely remembered Tabitha. She was also aware that if she had not been in possession of the photograph of Tabitha, she would not even have been able to see her mother’s visual image in her mind’s eye.

  As she stood there, flanked by Amos Finnister and Edward Deravenel, Grace Rose understood quite clearly that she felt no emotion for the person buried here, because she had no recollection of her. All she was experiencing was a terrible aching sadness for Tabitha, a young woman who had obviously been led by her heart and not her head, which in turn had pushed her into a downward spiral and a life of sickness and despair.

  Her mother was Vicky Forth, in her heart and in her mind. It was she who had brought her up for the past thirteen years, who had loved and nurtured her, made her what she was today – educated, cultured, well mannered, and self confident, a young woman with a sense of her own selfworth, and of her rightful place in the world. A young woman of breeding and gentility.

  Turning her head, Grace Rose looked up at Edward Deravenel, her real father. She did not blame him for her mother’s downfall; he had been but a boy when he had become involved with Tabitha when she was in her twenties.

  Ever since discovering she was his daughter, he had shown her love, treated her with kindness, gentleness, and made her understand how much he cared about her and her welfare. And he had acknowledged her to the world, made no secret of their relationship as father and daughter, even to his own family. She was proud to be part of him, and part Deravenel, to have his bloodline, even though she thought of Stephen Forth as her father. After all, Vicky’s husband had helped to bring her up, been a true father to her in the best sense of that word.

  And then there was Amos Finnister, who stood on the other side of her. What a good soul he had been all those years ago when he had found her living in a decrepit old cart in Whitechapel, a little ragamuffin of a boy who, to everyone’s surprise, turned out to be a girl.

  Grace Rose smiled inwardly, imagining everyone’s astonishment when her feminine little body and red-gold curls had been revealed. Of course Amos could have left her to her own devices, gone on his way after sharing those delicious meat pies. But he hadn’t. He had been a responsible and caring human being, and had taken her to the only place he knew she would be safe: Haddon House. Here she had fallen straight into the loving hands of Vicky and Fenella Fayne.

  Amos had cared about her ever since then, remembering every birthday, Christmas and special event all these years, bringing presents, and a lot of love to her. Somehow he had managed to cleverly piece together Tabitha’s story and had isolated the places of significance in her last days on this earth. And here she was today, because of Amos, looking at her mother’s final place of rest.

  Suddenly Edward said, ‘Are you all right, Grace Rose?’

  Looking up at him she murmured, ‘Yes, I am, Uncle Ned.’ There was a slight pause before she added, ‘But I can’t really remember her.’

  ‘Well, it was long ago, you know, and you were just a little girl of about five when Amos found you.’ ‘I can see her face in my head, but I know that’s because I have the photograph,’ Grace Rose admitted.

  ‘I realize that,’ Edward answered. ‘She was very beautiful, you know, much more beautiful than she looks in the picture. And a sweet person, a loving young woman, very gentle …’ He let the rest of his sentence go.

  Amos said, ‘You know where she rests, Grace Rose, and so you must have a sense … of resolution, don’t you?’

  ‘I do, Amos, I do. I worried what had become of her. I sometimes even thought she was still alive and that one day she would come and claim me.’ She shook here head. ‘How could I have ever thought that?’

  ‘It was a normal thought,’ Amos reassured her. ‘And quite logical. You didn’t know where she had gone …’ He lifted his hands helplessly, shrugged. ‘So why wouldn’t you believe she was still alive somewhere, and one day come to find you.’

  ‘Yes,’ was all Grace Rose said, and stepped closer to the headstone, touched the flowers she had brought, which were on the grave. ‘It’s a good thing Mother insisted I bring a vase for these, isn’t it, Amos?’

  ‘It is indeed.’

  She reached out, put a gloved hand on his arm. ‘Thank you, Amos, thank you for everything … for all the good things you’ve done for me, for as long as I can remember.’

  He merely smiled at her, his dark eyes full of love.

  ‘And you too, Uncle Ned, thank you for your love and kindness, and for never denying me or my birthright.’

  A lump came into Edward’s throat, and he put his arm around the eighteen-year-old. Touched by her words, he murmured in a husky voice, ‘You’re part of me, Grace, and that I would never deny …’

  Within minutes Grace Rose and the two men were hurrying out of the Brady Street Cemetery, heading for Edward’s Rolls-Royce which was parked nearby. As they approached, Broadbent, Edward’s chauffeur, was getting out of the car, opening the door to the backseats.

  ‘We’ll return to Mrs Forth’s, please, Broadbent,’ Edward said, and ushered Grace Rose and Amos into the back of the car, quickly got inside after them.

  It was one of those bitterly cold, grey January days with a drizzling rain that seemed to penetrate the bones. Not such a nice day to visit a cemetery, Edward thought, as he settled in the back seat, but then when is it ever nice? The weather really didn’t have anything to do with it. These occasions were always sad, filled him with melancholy. He knew that this was not only to do with Tabitha, but rather all of the other deaths which had caused him great sorrow … his father and his brother Edmund, Uncle Rick and his cousin Thomas, and those other two cousins he had grown up with and loved: Neville and Johnny Watkins. And he still missed Rob Aspen and Christopher Gree
n, who had been so important to him – vital executives at Deravenels who had died so bravely in the War.

  Edward pulled himself out of his sorrowful thoughts as Grace Rose announced, ‘I shall come back from time to time, to leave flowers, Uncle Ned.’

  ‘Yes, you should do that, whenever you feel the need.’ He took hold of her hand, squeezed it, and added, ‘My mother constantly reminds me that life is for the living, Grace Rose, and you must remember this too. It is important to occasionally think of those we loved who have died, but we must also live for today, and the future, not look back too much, you know.’

  ‘I understand,’ she murmured, and then taking a deep breath, she went on in a more spirited voice, ‘I am so happy I’m going to be a bridesmaid at Lady Fenella’s marriage, and that you’ve given your permission for Bess, Mary and Cecily to be bridesmaids as well. Mother told me we’re going to wear pale blue taffeta dresses and wreaths of cornflowers on our heads.’

  He smiled at her. ‘I can’t wait to see my bunch of golden-haired beauties walking down the aisle behind Fenella. I shall be so proud of the four of you. And you’ll certainly make a pretty picture.’

  She laughed, and leaned forward, looked at Amos sitting on the other side of Edward. ‘Mother told me that you are coming to the wedding, too, Amos. Won’t it be a wonderful day?’

  ‘It will indeed,’ Amos responded, glad to see the happy smile on her face after the mournful expression she had worn at the graveside. The terrible worry she had struggled with for years had now been alleviated, obliterated finally. Thankfully, she no longer believed Tabitha James was going to suddenly appear and snatch her away from Vicky and Stephen Forth. He knew that this had become part of the girl’s problem, as well as her concern about what had really happened to her mother – Mam, as she had called her – who had just disappeared into thin air.

  A silence fell between them for a short while, until Edward looked at Amos and said cryptically, ‘The matter we were dealing with yesterday should be completed today after all, if you don’t mind popping into the office later, after tea with Mrs Forth. I’d like you to retrieve the item from the bottom drawer and all of the papers from the top middle drawer. I fully intend to go to the office very early tomorrow, Amos, at about seven o’clock. We could have a meeting, just the two of us perhaps, at that time?’

  ‘No problem, sir, and I will pop in tonight, as you suggest,’ Amos answered, full of relief that he had been given permission to remove the gun. The thought of a firearm in the office filled him with alarm, especially since it was in the desk of George Deravenel, who was so erratic.

  The three of them were silent after this, and when they did speak it was about trivial, unimportant things. The Rolls-Royce pushed its way through the traffic in the East End, as Broadbent drove it steadily towards Piccadilly and on to Kensington where the Stephen Forths lived.

  The moment Grace Rose saw Vicky standing waiting for them in the drawing room she flew across the carpet towards her. Vicky, smiling warmly, opened her arms and held Grace Rose tightly as she came into them, knowing how nervous the girl had been about this visit to the cemetery.

  Grace Rose clung to her for a few seconds, and then finally pulled away, looked into Vicky’s beloved face, and said, ‘I’m all right, Mother, truly I am. I’m glad I went there because I know where Mam is now, and I’ll never worry about her again.’

  ‘That makes me happy, Grace Rose, and certainly there are no reasons for you to look back and be troubled. You can forge ahead, think of Oxford and the future.’

  ‘Yes, I can, and I will. I told Uncle Ned that sometimes I will go and take flowers to her grave …’ She let the rest of her sentence drift off.

  Vicky nodded. ‘That’s a really splendid idea, and I shall come with you, and so will your father. Won’t you, Stephen?’

  Smiling broadly, Stephen Forth walked over to Grace Rose and Vicky. ‘I will indeed. And we would have gone with you today, darling. But you didn’t seem to want that.’

  Grace Rose turned to him, kissed his cheek. ‘I felt I had to be grown up about it, that’s all,’ she murmured, and laughed, her happiness apparent and contagious.

  Stephen laughed with her, then hurried to greet Edward and Amos who were walking into the drawing room together.

  As he always did wherever he was, Edward Deravenel strode over to the fireplace and stood with his back to it. ‘It’s very damp and chilly out there, good to be here in this lovely room of yours, Vicky, and I wouldn’t say no to that cup of tea.’

  ‘Then you shall have it at once,’ she replied and glided out, returning a moment later. ‘It’ll be here in three shakes of a lamb’s tail,’ she reported, grinning at him, then turning to Amos said, ‘I’m sure you’re looking forward to a cup of tea also, aren’t you, Amos?’

  ‘I am indeed, Mrs Vicky. There’s nothing worse than English drizzle, it dampens the spirit as well as the topcoat.’

  ‘That it does,’ Vicky agreed, laughing, and sat down on the sofa.

  Stephen joined Edward in front of the fire, and confided after a moment, ‘I saw Churchill the other day, at the club. Looking well, and in good spirits again, thank heavens.’

  ‘Glad to hear it. What’s Winston going to do? Did he tell you?’ Edward asked, his curiosity apparent.

  ‘He’s still going to be a Member of Parliament, I’m certain of that. There’ll be an election this year, you know, but Lloyd George is safe, and I’m absolutely certain Winston will win his seat at Dundee once again,’ Stephen answered, full of confidence, his voice positive.

  ‘I have to agree with you there.’ Edward nodded emphatically, then compressed his mouth. ‘Pity he got blamed for Gallipoli. It was not entirely all his fault, in my opinion.’

  ‘That’s true, Ned. But look here, he was First Lord of the Admiralty at the time, and he did conceive the naval attack on the Dardanelles.’ Stephen stopped, shaking his head, and finished, ‘But then what can one expect? You know only too well what politicians are like, and Churchill does have his enemies. But then, don’t we all, old chap?’

  ‘All too true, Stephen, but my money has always been on Churchill. I have enormous respect and admiration for him, as do a lot of people I know. We’ve not heard the last of him, mark my words, and he’ll turn out to be a godsend to this country of ours one day, you’ll see.’ They continued to talk politics, standing near the fire.

  Before long, Fuller and the parlour maid came into the drawing room pushing tea trolleys laden with food. They were soon busy serving everyone cups of tea, small finger sandwiches, hot scones with strawberry jam and clotted cream from Devon. And everyone exclaimed on how delicious the food was.

  Friends for years, the Forths and Edward chatted about many worldly things, while Amos and Grace Rose sat together on a sofa, sipping tea, and talking about her move to Oxford in the not-too-distant future.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  ‘You’ve certainly recovered rather quickly from your bout of bronchitis, haven’t you? Quite remarkable,’ Edward said in an icy voice, staring across the desk at his brother George. ‘It was my understanding that this ailment lasted for a month. At the very least.’ Edward’s eyes raked over the other man.

  ‘It was a cold,’ George mumbled, looking down at his hands, unable to meet Edward’s direct and very fixed scrutiny.

  ‘How fortunate for you,’ Edward murmured, and leaned back in the chair, still studying his brother. After a moment he went on, ‘Tell me about your adventures in Scotland.’

  ‘Not much to tell.’

  ‘Oh, but I beg to differ, George. I think there’s a lot to tell. When you telephoned me on the Friday before Christmas, the twentieth of December to be precise, you reported that the deal was well underway, and said also that you did not foresee any problems.’

  ‘I didn’t.’

  ‘They just came along, did they? One by one, is that it?’ Edward’s voice, though soft, echoed with sarcasm. When George made no response, and still avoided his gaze,
Edward probed, ‘What about the distilleries? You visited them the following day, so I understand from MacDonald. Were you not impressed?’

  Hearing this particular word, and not smart enough to pick up on Edward’s scathing tone, George exclaimed, ‘That’s it … I wasn’t impressed. No, no, not at all, and the price was all wrong anyway.’

  ‘Really. That’s extremely interesting. And tell me, how was your Christmas? I know you went to MacDonald’s country house in the Lammermuir Hills. Did you and Isabel and the children enjoy yourselves?’

  ‘Oh, it was all right, a bit dull actually.’ ‘I see. Is that why you left earlier than expected? On Boxing Day?’

  ‘No, no, we left on Boxing Day because Nan was ill. Isabel wanted to get back to Yorkshire, to see her mother, to make sure she was all right.’

  ‘But Nan has tons of servants, and her cousin’s husband is a doctor in Ripon. Surely there were plenty of people to keep an eye on her, look after her.’

  George shook his head, swiftly averted his face.

  ‘Hubris!’ Edward cried, banging his hand down so hard on the top of his desk that the crystal inkpots rattled on the silver tray and George flinched, suddenly aware of his brother’s roaring anger. Fear punched him in the stomach. He swallowed and tried to speak, but discovered he had completely lost his voice.

  ‘Look at me when I’m speaking to you, damn you!’ Edward shouted, suddenly jumping up, his face cold, his fury spiralling. ‘It’s quite plain to see that you’ve not had bronchitis, but indeed you are ill. You’re suffering from hubris. In fact, you’ve got a bad case of it.’

  Baffled, and still at a loss for words, George gaped at his brother, wondering what he meant, and growing increasingly nervous.

  A grim smile played around Edward’s mouth, and leaning forward over the desk, he snapped, ‘Obviously you don’t know what hubris means. It’s from the Greek, and it denotes overweening pride, enormous presumption. It also means flying in the face of the gods, tempting the gods with arrogance.’