‘And you picked up with her again, is that what you’re about to tell me?’
Edward gave his mother a direct look, and nodded. ‘Yes, I did.’
Cecily frowned, shaking her head, and then said slowly. ‘But Ned, you must have been very young.’
He bit his lip, and didn’t answer for a moment, then took a deep breath, blew out air. ‘When Tabitha lived in Scarborough, when I first met her, I was thirteen…she seduced me at the age of thirteen. Later, when I saw her in Whitby, I was fourteen.’
Although she was appalled to hear how young he had been when he had come to know a woman intimately, at the same time Cecily realized that her eldest son was not like most men. First of all he was tall and strapping, and had been extremely well developed as a boy of thirteen. And he had appeared much older than his true years, not only in his appearance but also in his demeanour. Ned had always been rather grown up for his age, more sophisticated than other boys of the same age.
Leaning forward, Cecily now put her hand on Edward’s arm and her gaze was full of understanding. ‘How old were you when Grace Rose was born?’ she asked softly.
‘I must have been fifteen, Mother. I did try to stand by Tabitha as best I could.’ A faint smile flickered and he said in a subdued voice, ‘There wasn’t too much I could do…about giving her money. I didn’t have any. But I would ask Cook for a picnic every time I rode over to see Tabitha, which was often. So I did provide food for her during her pregnancy.’
Cecily closed her eyes again, asking herself why children never came to their parents when they had problems, whatever those problems were. But she knew the answer. They were afraid to confide. And rightly so. If Ned had come to them, told them of the predicament he was in, he would have been sent away to boarding school instead of being tutored at Ravenscar. So he had struggled on his own, done his best.
‘Are you all right, Mother?’ Ned asked, looking at her worriedly.
‘Yes, Ned, I am,’ she murmured, and opened her eyes.
He searched her face. ‘I tried to be responsible, you know.’
She nodded. ‘Then the baby was born…and what happened?’
‘If you remember, I had bronchitis when I was fifteen, and was really quite ill for some weeks. When I finally got better, I rode over to Whitby. Tabitha was gone. In fact, other people lived in the cottage. I made inquiries, and apparently the sister-in-law had died and Tabitha had gone to London. That was all I knew.’
‘I see. You must have been upset, weren’t you?’
‘I was. Yes. But I told myself that Tabitha was in her twenties and capable. I thought she had probably gone to stay with a friend in London. She once told me she had a schoolfriend who lived in Chelsea.’
‘And so you got on with your life, I presume.’ Cecily raised a brow quizzically.
‘There wasn’t anything else I could do,’ Ned replied.
‘And then one day you met your child. With Vicky. Am I correct?’
‘You are. I was struck at once by Grace Rose’s looks, and so was Will. But we never actually discussed it. He never asked me if she was mine.’
‘Not even Vicky? Didn’t she spot the curious resemblance?’
‘I think she did, Mother, but the circumstances were so strange. The way Finnister had found the child in a cart in Whitechapel threw everyone off. So I believe. How could that child be mine? Vicky thought Grace’s colouring was just a peculiar coincidence. She told me that later.’
‘Once the birth certificate had been found, and the note, of course everything was out in the open. Is that the way it was?’ Cecily stared at her son again.
‘Let’s just say six people knew…Vicky, Stephen, Fenella, Finnister, and Will. And me. You see, Tabitha had named me as the father in the note, asking that I be contacted. There was a lock of my hair inside the note.’
‘And your address? Was that not given?’ Cecily wondered aloud.
‘Just Ravenscar, that’s all.’
‘But no one ever did find the note to contact you, am I not correct? Because no one ever removed the brown paper from the photograph until Vicky did.’
‘You are correct, Mother. Actually, I didn’t know much myself. I told Vicky that Tabitha had gone to London and disappeared from my life.’
‘You mentioned Fenella a short while ago. How did she come into it?’
‘Fenella knows Whitby rather well, as it turns out. Although she grew up in Tanfield, she and her brother were taken to Whitby every summer by their nanny when they were children. For their seaside holidays. She was going up to Yorkshire to stay with her father, just after the note was found, so she decided to do a bit of detective work in Whitby. She went over there, talked to Tabitha’s former neighbours, as well as the local trades people, and she found out two things. That Tabitha James wasn’t who she said she was—by that I mean her background was quite different than most people realized. She was seemingly the only daughter of a titled family, and had run off with her music teacher, Toby James. Fenella was also given a name. Sophie Fox-Lannigan. This woman was seemingly the old schoolfriend of Tabitha’s, who lived in Chelsea.’
‘Goodness me! Who would ever have thought that Fenella would be such a clever detective, and go to all that trouble.’ Cecily was impressed, and showed it.
‘Actually, you don’t really mean that, Mother, if you think about it. Of course Fenella would want to help. And just think of the way she runs Haddon House. That’s who she is, you know, a very caring person.’
‘That’s true. She’s also very inquisitive. Fortunately.’ Cecily threw Edward a knowing look, and continued, ‘And I suppose Fenella went to see this lady, Sophie Fox-Lannigan, to ascertain what she knew.’
‘She did indeed look up Mrs Fox-Lannigan. Tabitha’s old friend still lived in Chelsea. Unfortunately, Sophie didn’t know too much. She told Fenella that Tabitha had stayed with her and her husband for a few months, and had then gone off with a man she had met through friends of the Fox-Lannigans. He was a former guards officer, and a gambler, by the name of Cedric Crawford.’
‘And Fenella found him. Is that it?’
‘No. Mrs Fox-Lannigan told Fenella that Tabitha had ended up living with Crawford in Whitechapel, in a terrible hovel of a place. Mrs Fox-Lannigan had gone to see her a few times, taking money and food, and begging her to leave this man. But Tabitha seemed fearful of Crawford, and wouldn’t budge. Sophie was so troubled she kept going back, and one day when she went to see Tabitha in Whitechapel, she had disappeared. All of them had. Gone. Just like that, without a trace.’
‘What a dreadful way for poor Tabitha to end up. She was never found, I suppose?’
‘No. And obviously Crawford had flown the coop, disappeared into oblivion. Probably after Tabitha died. The child originally said to Amos Finnister that the man had killed her mother. But we have no proof of that.’
‘This man Crawford pushed Grace Rose out onto the streets once her mother was gone, of that I’m positive.’
‘More than likely he did,’ Ned agreed.
‘Who was she really? Tabitha?’
‘She was the daughter of the Earl of Brockhaven, and therefore had a title in her own right. Before she married Toby James she was Lady Tabitha Brockhaven.’
‘Has anyone been in contact with her family?’
‘There is no family left, Mother. The Earl and Countess had no sons, only Tabitha. She was the only child. Now the Earl and Countess are dead, the title is extinct. They were rather an impoverished family, according to Mrs Fox-Lannigan.’
‘I see. How sad…what terrible lives people do have.’ Cecily shook her head sorrowfully. ‘We all of us suffer such hardships at times and in such different ways.’
Edward Deravenel, at this precise moment, thought of the word catastrophe, and instantly pushed it away. He looked off into the distance, and then, finally turning back to his mother, he murmured, ‘That’s more or less the whole story…except for one thing. Sophie Fox-Lannigan had a small trunk belong
ing to Tabitha. Once Tabitha and Grace had disappeared she simply put it in the attic of her house, loth to throw it out. She mentioned this trunk to Fenella, who remembered a key in Grace’s cloth bag.’
Cecily nodded. ‘I know what you’re going to tell me…the key in the bag fit the trunk. It did, didn’t it, Ned?’
‘It did.’
‘And what did the trunk contain?’
‘Notes from me to Tabitha. Letters from her father, begging her to come home, letters that said all was forgiven. A few bits of jewellery, not worth very much. Odds and ends that Vicky will give to Grace Rose when she’s old enough to have them.’
‘And what does the child know, Ned? Does she know you are her real father?’
‘No, no, not at all! I would never do that to Stephen Forth and Vicky. They adore the child. We discussed it at length, and I was the one who asked them to allow things to remain exactly as they were. No big revelations. I did say I would like to be part of Grace Rose’s life…but only as Uncle Ned. Also, you should know that now I am head of Deravenels, and have money, I have created a trust for Grace Rose. However, she mustn’t know anything about my being her natural father. It’s the best way, Mother, really it is. No one gets hurt.’
‘I absolutely agree with you, Ned. You have done the right thing…Despite what some people might think, you always do. In your own way.’ Cecily gave him a loving smile that had a hint of pride in it. ‘And so Grace Rose is…seven years old. Am I right?’
‘Yes, you are. She was four when Finnister found her, but because she’s tall, like I am, Fenella was always convinced that she was five, perhaps older. Naturally, the birth certificate confirms her age.’
‘Thank you for telling me the story of Grace Rose. Now, perhaps we should go and find some of our family members, take part in the wedding tea.’ Rising, Cecily walked towards the stone steps, followed by her son. As they went down the steps together she told him, ‘I’d like to see Grace Rose again, Ned. A little later. Just to talk to her for a short while.’
‘I think that’s a good idea, Mother. You should get to know her.’
They made their way to the larger terrace where the two families and guests were starting to gather, and were looking for their seats.
Neville came striding towards Ned and his mother, exclaiming, ‘There you both are! We wondered what had happened to you.’
‘Just catching up,’ Cecily remarked, smiling at Neville, wondering suddenly how much her nephew knew.
‘You look perfectly beautiful, Aunt Cecily,’ Neville said as he led his aunt toward her place at the family table. ‘This lovely delphinium blue suits you enormously.’
‘Why thank you, Neville, and I must congratulate you and Nan. You are giving the most beautiful wedding I have been to in a very, very long time. It’s superb, and the idea of a garden party was inspired.’
A few minutes later Neville drew Edward aside, and said, in a low, confiding tone, ‘Are you sure you don’t want to come with me on Monday, to Paris to meet Louis?’
Oh, so it’s Louis now, Edward thought, but said, ‘Thanks, but no thanks, Neville. It’s your deal, and I think you should be the one to follow it through. Close it.’
‘Very well. Consider it done,’ Neville answered with a bright smile, placing a hand on Edward’s shoulder. ‘We make the best team, you and I.’
Much later, after all of the wedding speeches had been made, and toasts drunk, the dancing began in the Great Hall. Many of the guests flocked inside, while others walked around the gardens, enjoying the beautiful evening.
It was then that Cecily Deravenel went in search of Vicky. She found her sitting at one end of the Great Hall with her husband Stephen.
‘Vicky darling, may I have a word with you?’ Cecily asked as Vicky looked up and smiled as she approached.
‘But of course, Mrs Deravenel. Excuse me for a moment, Stephen.’
He had risen when Cecily had come to stop in front of them, and now he smiled at her. ‘It’s a lovely day, isn’t it, Mrs Deravenel?’
‘It is, Stephen, and a lovely wedding. I’m glad our families are joined.’
Taking hold of Vicky’s arm, Cecily quickly led her to the far end of the Great Hall, and out into a courtyard that opened off it. ‘Vicky, I know everything,’ Cecily began, wanting to get to the point at once. ‘Ned told me everything about Grace Rose. Just now, this afternoon.’
‘I always thought that you, more than anyone else, would notice the extraordinary resemblance between Ned and the child once you saw Grace Rose.’
‘I did. But I thought it might just be a coincidence.’
Vicky smiled, nodded. ‘Coincidence plays such an important part in our lives, doesn’t it? And sometimes lives are built entirely on ifs…If Fenella hadn’t opened Haddon House, Amos Finnister wouldn’t have known where to take Grace…and if he hadn’t worked for Neville he wouldn’t have known me…and on and on, so many ifs in all of our lives.’
‘Yes, indeed, it’s amazing at times. Could we go and find Grace Rose? I would love to look at her again, Vicky, just hold her…’ Cecily’s voice trailed off.
‘Yes, yes, let us go and find her!’ Vicky exclaimed enthusiastically. Cecily Deravenel had had so many terrible things happen to her, so many losses in the last few years, Vicky wanted her to have a moment of joy now.
They hurried back to the centre of the Great Hall, where people were dancing. Music filled the air, and the sound of voices and of laughter swirled around them. The evening was just getting started. Supper would be served at eight.
Grace spotted Vicky first, and came running to her. The child’s beautiful face was full of smiles. She came to a stop and said, ‘I’ve been dancing with Richard…he swirled me around and around, Mumma. It was fun.’
Vicky laughed. ‘You remember this lady, don’t you, Grace? You met her earlier with Uncle Ned.’
Grace nodded, and offered Cecily Deravenel a small, shy smile.
Cecily bent down, took hold of Grace’s hand. ‘I forgot to tell you something, Grace Rose…I am Uncle Ned’s mother, and I want you to call me Aunt Cecily. Will you do that?’
The child nodded. ‘I love Uncle Ned! He’s my friend.’
‘Can I be your friend?’ Cecily asked.
‘Oh yes,’ Grace Rose answered solemnly, staring at Cecily.
And then suddenly, much to Cecily’s surprise, and Vicky’s too, Grace moved closer to Cecily Deravenel, put her plump little arms around her neck and nuzzled Cecily’s cheek, as if they were old friends.
Cecily held the little girl tightly in her arms, and thought: This is my grandchild, my first grandchild, and I can never claim her as mine. But I can surely love Grace Rose. I can surely do that.
FIFTY
Whenever she came to stay at Thorpe Manor, her nephew Neville and his wife Nan gave Cecily the room which had been hers when she was a child and a young woman, growing up here. This had been her father’s favourite residence of all the houses he owned, perhaps because he himself had been born and grown up at the manor.
Philip Watkins had spent a great deal of time here in Ripon with his wife and children after he had inherited the manor from his father Edgar, who in turn had inherited it from his father; in fact, the house had been in the Watkins family for centuries, and they were the squires in this little village in the Dales.
Cecily loved this old place, with its well-proportioned, airy rooms filled with light from the many leaded windows, the highly-polished wood floors, the carved fireplaces, the funny little nooks and crannies, eccentricities so frequently found in Tudor architecture.
The reception room which Cecily liked the best was the Great Hall. Large and rather long, stretching almost the entire length of the house, it had a soaring brick fireplace and a unique carved overmantle, a beamed ceiling and tall mullioned windows.
Now, as she sat in the window seat in her bedroom, Cecily’s thoughts went back to the evening which had only just ended an hour ago…the dancing in the Gre
at Hall, the elegant supper in the formal dining room, and the continuation of the dancing later. It had been an effortless evening, one full of music, merriment, and laughter, and Neville and Nan had been superb hosts. It seemed to Cecily that everyone had enjoyed themselves, and guests had stayed late.
Leaning her dark head against the window, she gazed out at the gardens. There was a large full moon tonight, a June moon, and its radiant silvery light gave the garden a magical look.
She sighed to herself. How often she had sat here as a young girl, dreaming of romance and marriage, of starting a family of her own. So long ago, at least so it seemed to her now.
Thoughts of her husband crept into her mind, but she instantly pushed them away. She could not bear that particular pain tonight, the pain of his loss, and the loss of her son Edmund, her brother Rick and her nephew Thomas…the bride’s young brother…all should have been here today…
Cecily, always self-contained and protective of herself, allowed these unhappy thoughts to slide away, fully aware of her responsibilities. There were still two young sons to take care of, George and Richard, and Meg, her darling Meg, eighteen now and beautiful.
She smiled as she thought of Meg as she was a few hours ago. How lovely she had looked, how happy she had been, dancing mostly with Edward. He had captured her for many dances, and the eighteen-year-old had been in her element with her brother, whirling around the Great Hall, light as air, her eyes sparkling.
Edward. The story of Grace Rose had captivated her; she had been fascinated, touched and appalled, all at the same time. Of course Edward had always been impulsive, yet also loyal to family and friends, caring of them, and brilliant in so many different ways. But impulsive, yes. And easily tempted by women. Women threw themselves at him shamelessly. They had done so even when he was only twelve and thirteen. She had noticed it, as had his father; they had endeavoured to ignore it. Too much temptation had always been put in Ned’s way.
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