Edward sighed. ‘She’s never been a strong person. Like her late sister Isabel, Anne has a poor constitution. Strange, isn’t it, that Neville’s daughters would be such delicate little creatures, when their father was so robust and strong.’
‘It is, yes.’
‘I can’t wait for tomorrow.’ Edward’s eyes lit up. ‘The girls are coming back from Kent with Nanny. I’m really looking forward to seeing my little beauties.’ Edward looked across at Bess, sitting on the sofa near the fireplace. Turning to his best friend, he said softly, ‘My daughter has been wonderful. She hasn’t stopped running after me, doing things for me, and for days now. I do think I have to take Ince’s advice and let him hire a nurse. It’s all too much for Bess, don’t you think?’
Will looked at Edward alertly, searchingly, and asked, ‘You think you need a nurse, do you, Ned?’
‘Not in the sense you mean, no. I’m not feeling any worse, Will. But I can’t have my daughter acting as one, now can I?’
‘I suppose not. Do you want me to get in touch with Ince tomorrow morning, ask him to send someone to the house?’
‘If you would, please. There’s something else –’ Edward stopped, hesitated, lay staring at Will intently but saying nothing.
‘What is it?’
‘It’s a question, actually. I never told you this, but last year I spoke to Finnister … about George’s death. Grace Rose had alerted me to the fact that he was worried. She didn’t know why. When I questioned him he said he and Oliveri were concerned, and felt guilty about George’s death. He explained that they had told Vincent Martell about that old saying and Amos then confided that he and Oliveri thought that perhaps Martell had loosened those wedges under the barrels in the wine vault himself.’
‘He was suggesting that Martell created a situation to injure George?’
‘Yes, he did indeed suggest that.’
‘But Ned, that’s murder!’
‘I know … and murder is something I’ve always worried about. I’ve asked myself a thousand times if George was murdered. It haunts me these nights when I can’t sleep. Tell me, Will, what is your opinion? Was my brother murdered?’
Will thought that Finnister was more than likely correct, that Martell had indeed taken matters into his own hands, because of the foul things George had been saying about his brother. On the other hand, he had no proof and he did not want to upset Edward further. He wanted to squash the idea. And so he lied, when he said, ‘I don’t believe it’s true, no, not at all. For one thing, why would Martell murder George? Yes, your brother slandered you in the worst way, constantly. But you know, Martell is pragmatic, he wouldn’t pay much attention to George’s words. He would simply ignore him, go about his own business.’
‘I’m not so sure …’
Will leaned closer to Edward and murmured sotto voce, ‘Believe this, Ned, hear my words. Martell would not risk wasting hundreds of barrels of fine Beaujolais wine. As I just said, he is very practical, and he loves the vineyard and everything about it.’
A faint smile struck Edward’s mouth, and he nodded. After a moment, he said, ‘But enormous hatred can cloud a man’s judgement.’
‘That’s true. However, forget Martell. You must put George’s death out of your mind, stop dwelling on it. Please, forget about Amos’s suspicions for your own peace of mind, Ned.’
‘As always, you’re right … You have never told me anything but the truth. I don’t know what I would have done without you all these years, Will. I really don’t.’
For the first time in days Edward Deravenel slept a dreamless sleep that night. No ghosts came to torment him; they left him alone. He rested peacefully.
The following morning he appeared to be much better, and even Dr Ince commented on his improved health. After examining him, the doctor said, ‘A nurse is waiting downstairs. Her name is Margery Arkright, and I’ve hired her to look after you at the request of Mr Hasling. May I now bring her upstairs to meet you, Mr Deravenel?’
‘Yes, and thank you, Ince. I’m sure Hasling explained that I’ve been relying on Bess far too much. It’s not fair to her.’
‘He did explain, and you are correct: better to have a professional. Why burden your daughter? Excuse me for a moment.’
Within minutes the doctor had returned with Nurse Arkright, a pleasant-looking woman in her thirties. After they had been introduced, Edward said, ‘Perhaps you should make yourself at home in my adjoining dressing room, Nurse Arkright. There are chairs and a sofa in the room, and a desk. You’ll be perfectly comfortable, and nearby if I need you.’
‘Thank you, Mr Deravenel,’ she said, and followed the doctor who was walking towards the dressing room, beckoning her to follow.
That night Bess was unable to sleep. Several times she got up and went down to her father’s bedroom on the floor below. Each time she looked in on him he appeared to be sleeping soundly, and Nurse Arkright would look up, put a finger to her lips, then mouthed silently, ‘All is well.’
Around three o’clock Bess ventured downstairs again, and once more the nurse reassured her that her father was sleeping soundly. Returning to her bedroom, she finally dozed off. Some time later, just as dawn was breaking and daylight was seeping in through the curtains, Bess awakened with a start. She sat up and turned on the bedside lamp, saw from the clock that it was almost five in the morning. As she struggled into her dressing gown and stepped into her slippers, she felt that strange but now familiar sense of unease invading her. Her father needed her, she was quite positive of that.
Rushing down the stairs, she saw Nurse Arkright coming out of her father’s room, and she hissed, ‘Nurse! Is something wrong?’
The nurse beckoned to her, stood waiting next to Edward’s door.
‘I was on my way to your room. Your father has been calling for you, Miss Bess. And for Lily. He suddenly woke up about fifteen minutes ago. He was feverish. I believe he’s had a heart attack. A bad one. Come with me.’
Bess was terribly frightened when she saw her father’s face. He had black smudges under his eyes and he was extremely pale, paler than she had ever seen him. How gaunt he was, and drawn around the mouth. Then she noticed the tremor in his hands resting on the sheet. She was stunned, and more afraid than ever.
Kneeling down at his bedside, she took hold of his hand and whispered, ‘Papa, it’s me, Bess. I am here.’
He did not respond for a while and then he suddenly opened his eyes. She saw how sunken they were, as if they had been pushed back into his head, and they were red-rimmed. He did not speak, but he tightened his grasp on her hand.
Bess said again, ‘Papa, it’s me. I am here to help you. It’s Bess.’
‘I’m so sorry, so very, very sorry, Bess.’
Whatever had happened to him in the last few hours he was, nonetheless, lucid, and she knew he had recognized her. ‘There’s no reason for you to be sorry, Papa,’ she whispered, staring into his tired face. ‘We’ll have you better very soon.’
‘Forgive me … I don’t want to leave you …’
‘Please, Father, don’t say that. There is nothing to forgive. And you can’t leave us, we love you so much.’ Tears were seeping out of her eyes and rolling down her face, splashing onto their hands clasped together. ‘Oh, Papa, please try, fight.’
‘I’m tired … the pain in my chest …’
‘Papa, oh Papa, whatever will we do without you?’
Suddenly he seemed to revive. He opened his eyes wider and looked into hers … brilliant blue impaling brilliant blue. And he said in a calm voice, very clearly, ‘You’ll be fine, my Bess … look after them all for me …’ He smiled at her, and it was that irresistible smile of his, like no other in the world, the smile she would never forget as long as she lived.
Bess laid her head on his chest, wrapped her arms around him, and held him close. Her grief knew no bounds.
A few minutes later she heard a faint noise and lifted her head. Her mother was standing at the entranc
e of the dressing room, staring at her. ‘Bess,’ Elizabeth said in a trembling voice. And then again, ‘Bess …’
‘He’s dead,’ Bess whispered in a hoarse voice full of tears. ‘My father is dead.’
Elizabeth stepped forward, walking unsteadily towards the bed. Her face was frozen with fear, her eyes filled with tears.
It was Friday the ninth of April, 1926. Edward Deravenel had died of a massive heart attack just nineteen days before his forty-first birthday on April twenty-eighth.
Three sons she had buried here at Ravenscar. First Edmund, then George, and now Edward.
It was Tuesday the thirteenth day of April in the year of Our Lord 1926, and as she watched his coffin being lowered into his grave Cecily Deravenel felt as though her heart was breaking yet again. Tears ran down her cheeks unchecked as she stood there engulfed by sorrow.
Her darling Ned was gone from her forever. She had only one son left, her youngest child, Richard. He was absent today, delayed on the Continent by his wife’s sudden illness. How devastated Richard must be. He had so adored his eldest brother.
Now Cecily wished, and with all her heart, that she had spoken to Ned more openly, had made sure he truly understood that she did not blame him for George’s death. No one was to blame, except perhaps George himself. Regrettably she had said nothing to Ned, and so he had gone to his grave without knowing how she truly felt.
Cecily lifted her head, her eyes settling on Ned’s widow, Elizabeth: pale as death, her great beauty dimmed by her pain and sadness. Bright sunlight broke through the leaden clouds and suddenly the children’s red-gold curls were like burnished halos around their innocent young faces. Cecily, Anne, Katharine, Bridget, Young Edward and Little Ritchie were clustered together looking bewildered, and next to them were Bess and Grace Rose, standing guard over them like sentinels, endeavouring to control their own grief.
Cecily heard a muffled sob, turned to Will Hasling, took hold of his arm affectionately; she had always thought of him as another son, and wished to comfort him. He, too, was burdened down with sorrow. Close to him were Mr Finnister and Mr Oliveri; and like Will’s, their faces were wet with tears. When grown men wept so openly and without a hint of shame, the depth of their love showed, and she knew how much they had cared for her son.
‘Ashes to ashes, dust to dust,’ Father O’Connor was intoning, and as handfuls of earth clattered down onto Ned’s coffin she felt her heart tightening; she swayed slightly, and then Will’s arm went around her, supported her. Looking up at him, Cecily whispered, ‘The children, those little children – they will be lost without Ned.’
‘I shall look after them,’ Will promised softly, bending his head to hers. And Cecily was comforted, knowing that indeed he would. She had always trusted Will. Yes, everything would eventually be alright.
But she was wrong. Trouble, the likes of which the Deravenels had never known before, was about to begin.
FORTY-FOUR
‘What in God’s name do you think you’re doing, Richard?’ Will Hasling asked, keeping his voice steady, controlled, even though he was furious. He stared at Edward’s brother, now the new head of the company.
Richard, sitting behind Edward’s old desk in his late brother’s office, looked up and returned Will’s stare. ‘I’m not sure what you’re referring to, Will.’
Will stood in the doorway which linked his office to Richard’s, put in twenty-one years ago by Edward Deravenel, so that he and Will had easy access to each other.
Now stepping forward, walking towards Richard’s desk, Will said, ‘I just heard you’ve sacked Anthony Wyland, that he’s actually already gone.’ His eyes narrowed, and he asked, ‘Why?’
‘As the head of this company I don’t owe anyone an explanation, not even you. However, you’ve heard the old saying, haven’t you? A new broom sweeps clean.’
‘And that’s what you’re doing, is it? Sweeping clean, getting rid of a talented executive who’s a decent, honest and loyal man, who’s worked for this company for years, and done a lot of good things for it. I must admit I’m startled, to say the least.’
‘Don’t be startled, Will,’ Richard shot back in a cold voice. ‘Instead, get used to changes. There are going to be a lot around here, and sooner than you might think.’
‘Don’t start tampering with Deravenels, Richard!’ Will exclaimed. ‘Your brother set it up in an extraordinary way. It runs smoothly, efficiently and very successfully the way it is. Ned made sure of that. Leave things the way they are, otherwise you might regret it.’
‘Are you threatening me?’ Richard straightened in his chair, his face tense.
Recoiling slightly, taken aback by the icy stare, imperious tone and the question itself, Will shook his head. ‘Don’t be ridiculous, Dick. Of course I’m not threatening you. I’m simply advising you.’
‘I don’t need your advice. I know what I’m doing. I’ve worked for this company for years, or have you forgotten that?’
‘No, I certainly haven’t. Nor have I forgotten that you have always run the Northern division of Deravenels. You haven’t been running it worldwide, and that’s a different thing entirely.’
‘Are you suggesting I’m not capable of being the chief executive worldwide?’
‘Certainly not! Ned always trusted you, spoke highly of you, and your abilities. That’s why he named you to run Deravenels until his eldest son is old enough to take over and take charge. Ned added that codicil to his Last Will and Testament, and that’s good enough for me. Look, let’s get back to Anthony … I just don’t understand why you have let such an important executive go.’
‘I let him go because he’s a Wyland, and I’ve never trusted them. In fact, I never understood why my brother gave him a job in the first place.’ Richard let out a short, dry laugh. ‘I shouldn’t say that. I do know. He was forced to give Wyland a job because of that bitch of a wife of his. Elizabeth pushed Ned into it. There’s no other explanation.’
‘I don’t really know anything about that. I only know that Wyland has been running the financial and banking divisions of the company brilliantly. Won’t you reconsider your decision?’
‘No, I won’t, why should I? Just because you want me to reinstate him. Good God, I’m surprised at you, Will. I thought you hated the Wylands as much as we all have all these years. Gone over to their side, have you?’
‘I didn’t know they had a side, actually,’ Will answered, holding himself in check. ‘As for Anthony, he’s a bloody good chap, truly reliable and honourable. You should trust him. Ned did.’
‘More fool he. No, I won’t change my mind.’
Will shook his head, worry settling on his face. ‘I don’t know who you’ll find to replace him, I really don’t.’
‘I already have,’ Richard announced, a small smile flashing.
Taken aback though he was, Will nevertheless kept his face neutral and still. ‘Who are you going to appoint?’
‘Alan Ramsey – and he’s already been appointed. Actually, Will, he’s sitting in Wyland’s old office at this very moment. I move quickly, once I’ve made up my mind.’
‘So I see.’ Will nodded, and added, ‘Ramsey’s a good man.’
‘You don’t have to tell me that. He’s been one of my best friends since childhood. I’d trust him with my life.’
Will half turned, took several steps towards the door.
Richard said, ‘There’s one other thing, Will.’
‘Yes?’ Will halted, turned, stared at Richard.
‘I would like to know why you arranged Ned’s funeral before I got back from Constantinople? My God, my brother was dead and buried within only a few days. I think it should have been delayed until I was here in England.’
‘It had nothing to do with me, I can assure you of that.’ Will came back into the room, stood in front of the desk, and continued quietly, ‘I suggest you speak to your mother about Ned’s funeral. In fact, it would behove you to do so, and she will probably tell you that s
he was annoyed with you because you didn’t make it back sooner. She couldn’t understand why it took you so long. That is what she said to Kathleen. My wife also told me that your mother was extremely put out with all of us, Ned’s wife included, because no one saw fit to make sure Ned was given Extreme Unction. She thought it was appalling that no one had thought to bring a priest to Ned’s bedside.’
‘And I’d like to know why one wasn’t brought to him as well?’
‘Because none of us knew he was dying, that’s why! Can you imagine how enraged Edward Deravenel would have been if one of us had done that? Especially since Dr Ince was not alarmed, and thought he was on the mend. Only Ned knew the true state of his health, and he kept the truth from us all.’
‘I’m glad at least that he’s buried in the family cemetery at Ravenscar.’
‘Where else would he be buried? But as I said, Richard, your mother took over, she was in charge of everything. If you have any bones to pick about Ned’s burial, then I think you ought to go to her.’
‘Thanks for that tip,’ Richard responded, sounding sarcastic.
Will decided to make no other comments, glanced at his watch, and exclaimed, ‘I’m running late. I’d best be off. And I’ll be happy to meet Alan Ramsey whenever you wish.’
‘I’ll arrange it.’
Will nodded, went back into his own office and closed the door.
He stood leaning against it, letting out a deep breath. He was angry and shaking. Jumped-up young pup, he thought. Richard is exactly the way Finnister said he is: arrogant, self-satisfied, and a know-it-all to boot. He’s hungry for power, ambitious beyond belief. Will shivered, even though it was a warm June day. Someone just walked over my grave, he thought, and felt the hackles rise on the back of his neck.
Walking across to his desk, Will picked up the phone and dialled Oliveri’s extension. When Oliveri answered, Will said softly, ‘If you have a lunch date you must cancel it immediately. I have to see you, and also Finnister. I’ll step by his office, and then I’ll leave the building with him. You leave ten minutes later.’
Heirs of Ravenscar Page 35
