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Dizziness overwhelmed him, and he flopped back against the pillows, but he did not have enough strength to lift his legs back onto the bed. He was not quite certain how long he lay sprawled like this, half in and half out of the bed. Perhaps twenty minutes or more. All of a sudden he felt a waft of cool air as the door opened, and he was filled with relief. The nurse at last.
‘Good heavens, Mr Deravenel! What on earth are you doing?’ a very masculine voice exclaimed, and a split second later the owner of the voice was bending over him, looking concerned.
‘Are you all right?’ the man asked in a kindly tone.
‘Yes. Just felt a trifle dizzy…when I tried to get out of bed.’
‘I’m not surprised. Come along, let me lift your legs into the bed for you.’ As he spoke the man proceeded to get him settled properly. Once this was accomplished, he explained, ‘I’m Michael Robertson, by the way. Your doctor, Mr Deravenel.’
‘So I’ve gathered,’ Edward answered, attempting to smile. He guessed the doctor was about forty or thereabouts, dark haired, pleasant-looking and wearing a white coat over his dark suit. A stethoscope dangled around his neck. He had an air of competence about him.
‘Am I badly hurt?’ Edward asked at last, a brow lifting.
Noting the anxiousness echoing in his patient’s voice, Dr Robertson was quick to reassure him. ‘I believe you are out of danger. You were brought in here unconscious last night. You had concussion. But you appear to be much better. How does your head feel? Any pain? Headache?’
‘No, not a headache, but my head does feel…well, sort of topheavy. And my face is sore.’
‘Were you hit in the face, Mr Deravenel?’
‘No. But the blows to my back and shoulders were very hard, and I fell forward. My face grazed the pavement. I remember being hit on the head. I obviously passed out. However, I don’t think I have any other injuries. Or do I?’
‘No, you don’t. Not as far as we can tell.’
‘So I can go home today?’
‘I don’t think so, Mr Deravenel. I need to keep you here for a few days. Under observation. Just to be on the safe side. I want to be absolutely certain we haven’t missed anything.’
Edward was silent for a moment, and then he asked, ‘Has my mother been informed that I am here?’
‘She has indeed. She was here at the hospital, in fact, but I understand from Mr Watkins that your mother and Mrs Watkins have gone to your home to have food prepared for you. They will return with a hamper very shortly. In the meantime, your cousin is very anxious to talk to you. Are you able to see him now? Or would you prefer to wait a little longer?’
‘No, no, I’m really perfectly all right. Dr Robertson. I would like to see him. And let me thank you for looking after me so well.’
The doctor nodded, and stepped closer to Edward. Bending over him, Michael Robertson put the stethoscope in his ears and listened to Edward’s heartbeat. Then he shone a small flashlight in his eyes, and finally placed a cool hand on Edward’s forehead. He appeared pleased, well satisfied. He nodded to himself, gave Edward a brief smile and hurried out.
‘What I don’t understand is how I got here,’ Edward murmured, giving Neville a close look, frowning slightly. ‘And how did you find out? Was my wallet still on me? My name and address are in it, you know. But thieves would have taken the wallet, surely?’
‘Indeed they did,’ Neville replied swiftly, pulling the chair closer to the bed, and he lowered his voice when he added, ‘but thieves they weren’t, I’m convinced of it. However, more about all that in a moment, Ned. Since you patronize an excellent Savile Row tailor a small piece of tape with your name on it is always stitched on the reverse side of the pocket which is on the inside of your jacket. That was how you were identified by the police, who brought you to the hospital. But actually there’s another story…I mean about the way I was informed that you had been injured and were here.’
Staring up at Neville, his eyes startlingly blue in his bruised face, Edward appeared puzzled. ‘Do tell me, I’m filled with curiosity.’
A faint rueful smile flitted across Neville’s mouth. ‘With my permission, Finnister has had one of his operatives following you…keeping an eye on you. You were attacked by two heavily-built men last night. Finnister’s man was outnumbered, and there was nothing he could do to help you…except run off looking for the police. Once he had ascertained you were still alive, of course.’
‘He saw the attack, did he?’
‘From a distance. He also noticed a stranger stop you, and later he saw the same man conferring with the two bruisers…before they all made a dash for it.’ Neville shook his head. ‘Odd, don’t you think, that your father and mine, and my brother, died from fatal blows to the head.’
Edward closed his eyes for a moment, and when he opened them they were stark. He pushed himself up on the pillows, staring into Neville’s face. ‘Same modus operandi, is that what you’re saying?’ he muttered bleakly.
‘Yes. There is no doubt in my mind that you were attacked by men working for the Grant faction. They’re obviously having you followed, just as Finnister was. It was a good thing he took that precaution because his man reported in to him quickly, and Finnister telephoned me as soon as he knew. I, in turn, informed your mother.’
Edward remained silent, turning everything over in his mind, and at last he said softly, ‘I know you’re going to suggest that I have a proper bodyguard, several men, presumably, to look after me, and you will not receive any argument from me, Cousin. Will can now go on your staff, until he works with me at Deravenels, and you and Amos can seek out the other men.’
‘Thank you, Ned, for being so sensible. I know what a nuisance it’s going to be, but unfortunately it is necessary. I cannot permit anything to happen to you.’ Neville reached out, grasped his cousin’s hand in his and held on to it tightly. ‘We are partners, we are in this together. I promise you I will be your rock.’
‘And I will be yours, Neville, there for you should you ever need me.’ He laughed and then instantly grimaced. ‘When I move my face it hurts like hell. But I was going to say…not that you will ever need me.’
‘Ah, don’t say that, do not tempt Providence…we never know when life is going to come and hit us in the face. Catastrophe is ever present, a spectre that usually lurks behind every corner. For someone.’
Edward felt an involuntary shiver run down his spine on hearing these words, but he remained silent. The hackles rose on the back of his neck.
Neville released his cousin’s hand and sat straighter in the chair. ‘I have a good thought, Ned. It occurred to me earlier that my brother could come to London. Johnny and Will and you have often made a good threesome…you are old sparring partners.’
‘Indeed we are, and Johnny has always been so very special to me. All my life. But can you spare him?’
‘Yes, I think so. The managers of the northern offices have all been well trained. By us both. Anyway, my brother needs a change. It will do him good to be here in London…and I am sure we can find a place for him later. At Deravenels.’
‘Again, if you can spare him,’ Edward responded, laughter sparkling in his bright blue eyes. Johnny Watkins was close to his heart.
‘We will have to retaliate, you know,’ Neville announced.
Edward stared at the other man. ‘How?’
‘I don’t know. Yet. Don’t you worry about it. Something will come to me. In due time. There’s no hurry.’
There was a sudden sharp knock on the door, and it opened swiftly, with a burst. And before Edward could catch his breath his mother and Nan, his brothers and sister were rushing into the room, followed by Will Hasling.
Neville jumped up, and went to his aunt, led her forward to the bed, while his wife, Nan, shushed the children, just as Margaret was doing. ‘George, do calm down,’ Meg told her younger brother, hanging onto his hand. Richard, of course, was silent and worried. His genuine concern shadowed those blue-grey eyes. He could not bear that his adored Ned was hurt.
Cecily clutched her son’s hand. ‘Ned, oh Ned, your head. Your poor bruised face. You took such a beating.’ She shook her head, and she, who was usually so controlled, discovered her eyes were filling with tears.
‘Not too much damage done, Mother. The doctor says I’m perfectly fine. Please try not to worry. I’ll be up and out of here very quickly,’ Ned told her, and then looked over at Richard, beckoned for him to come forward. ‘I’m alive and well, Little Fish. I do promise you.’
For the first time that day Richard smiled, and ran to the bedside, took hold of Ned’s other hand. ‘Mama told us you were set upon by thieves, Ned.’
‘Were you frightened?’ George asked. He had wriggled free of Meg’s grasp and was now standing next to Richard by the bed.
‘No, he wasn’t! Of course he wasn’t!’ Richard exclaimed, glancing over his shoulder at his brother. ‘Ned is never afraid, are you, Ned?’
‘I didn’t have time to be, as it so happens,’ Ned responded, his voice full of affection for his younger siblings.
Meg joined her brothers, and gazing down at Ned, she asked, ‘Is there anything you need, other than the food Mama and Aunt Nan have brought?’
‘To come home to your loving care, Meg darling. But Dr Robertson has suggested I stay here. Overnight. Just to be sure that…my old noggin is in working condition.’
‘Is there some problem with your head injuries?’ his mother asked, her voice rising, alarm flaring on her face.
‘No, Mother. It’s just a precaution. You know very well how hospitals are.’ Turning his head, his eyes met Will’s, and he said, ‘Thanks for coming, old chap. And what’s that you’re carrying?’
‘A picnic, Ned. Swinton’s put together quite a lavish spread, at least so I’m told. I asked the ward nurse if she could find a small table, so I can unpack it, and she was happy to oblige. Oh, here she is now.’
Later that afternoon, after they had had their merry picnic, everyone left except for Neville and Will Hasling. They wanted to stay with Edward because there were important matters to discuss, and also because the police were coming to ask Edward a few questions. Neville felt they should be with him during the police interview.
Neville had just finished explaining everything in detail to Will, and asked him to join his staff, when Dr Robertson entered the room. He was accompanied by a uniformed policeman and a detective.
Once they had all been introduced, the plainclothes policeman stepped forward, and asked, ‘Would you mind telling us exactly what happened to you, Mr Deravenel, please? We do have a police report from the local constable on the beat in Belsize Park, but that’s about it. Nothing much at all, sir.’
‘Of course, Inspector Laidlaw, I’m glad to do so,’ Ned answered. ‘I’d been visiting a friend in Belsize Park Gardens, in the late afternoon. I did stay for supper, and I was therefore longer than I’d planned. I left about nine o’clock, and walked up to the main road, seeking transportation. The problem was there were no hansom cabs around. I was surprised. However, there was nothing much I could do about it, and I decided to walk. I was heading for Primrose Hill, where I thought I would probably find a hansom. I was stopped at one point by a pedestrian, who asked me directions to Hampstead. It was when I was speaking with him that I was struck from behind. First across the shoulders and then on my head. I fell forward. And passed out. That’s all I know, Inspector. Until I woke up here today.’
Inspector Laidlaw compressed his lips together. ‘Not much to go on, sir, I’m afraid, but it’s the truth, nevertheless. The pedestrian who asked directions, can you describe him?’
‘Medium height, light eyes, ordinary face. Wearing a cloth cap, a muffler, oh, and a worn looking overcoat. Nondescript sort of chap, actually. I thought at the time that he looked…a bit down on his luck.’
‘What about his accent? Can you pinpoint it?’
‘Oh yes, certainly. A Londoner. Born and bred.’
Nodding his head, the inspector put away his notebook. ‘I understand your wallet was taken, Mr Deravenel, but nothing else. Not even your gold pocket watch or your gold cufflinks. So, my question to you, sir, is this…was it really a robbery? Or was the attack on you…well, let’s say, a personal attack?’
‘Good Lord, Inspector, how on earth would I know!’ Ned exclaimed, looking properly askance.
‘Any enemies, Mr Deravenel?’
‘None, as far as I know.’
‘I understand, sir. Well, it looks as if we’ve hit a brick wall, so to speak. If you do recall anything, anything at all, please get in touch with me, sir.’
‘I certainly will, Inspector.’
TWENTY-TWO (#)
John Summers, usually a patient and self-contained man, was agitated. He paced up and down the floor of his office at Deravenels, filled with a mixture of frustration and anger. Unable to sleep the night before, he had risen at dawn and come here earlier than usual. None of his colleagues had yet arrived, therefore he could not question them or confront them. Hence his frustration.
Last evening, just before dinner, he had been informed that Edward Deravenel had been physically attacked and was in hospital, badly injured. His seething anger sprang from this unwelcome news.
He did not need problems at this moment, and an injured Deravenel was indeed a problem. If any of his people were involved they would pay heavily for it.
Finally, he stopped pacing, and walked across to the windows, looked down into the Strand. Even though it was not yet nine o’clock the traffic was heavy…horse-drawn carriages, horse-drawn omnibuses, hansom cabs, a few handcarts being pushed, and lots of pedestrians hurrying along, all jostling together, a mass of humanity on the move on this sunny March morning.
Turning away, John Summers went over to his desk and sat down. Steepling his fingers, he gazed out into the large and handsomely furnished room, thinking about the consequences of the attack on Deravenel. The prospect of retaliation alarmed him.
At twenty-eight, John Summers was an attractive man with a pleasant, clean-cut face. Very English in looks, he had a fair complexion, brown hair and light-grey eyes. Slender, almost wiry, and athletic, he was just above average height. John dressed well, but in a most conservative manner which reflected, in a sense, his conservative outlook on life.
He was Henry Grant’s man, always had been, as was his father before him. In fact, the Summers family had been allied to the Deravenel Grants of Lancashire for over two hundred years. And now John Summers ran Deravenels. There was no one else to take on the burdens of this vast global company. Henry Grant was a bewildered, absent-minded man these days, pious and harmless, yet far too involved with monks and priests for his own good. Certainly he understood nothing about business now, even though he had in the past.
Henry’s French wife, Margot, liked to think she was in charge, but this was a figment of her imagination. She was not shy in coming forward with advice and ideas, many of them ridiculous; John allowed her to rant on, but he paid very little attention to her ravings and edicts, yet was clever enough not to let her know this.
Margot Grant. Beautiful, even beguiling to most men, and dangerous. He sat up straighter in the chair. Could she be behind the attack on Edward Deravenel? Was she? He sincerely hoped not.
John did not like Deravenel. He was too fleshily handsome, far too glamorous, oozing charisma and friendly bonhomie. But he was not stupid or soft. Summers knew instinctively that Deravenel had steel in his bones, unlike most other people at Deravenels who thought of him as lazy and a playboy. Not Ned, oh no. He liked women, the good life. But he was driven, ambitious, and strong, a man who was determined to win, no matter what.
That was why Summers was afraid of him. And even more afraid of Deravenel’s cousin. Neville Watkins. A great magnate, a man of wealth. Cold, hard and ruthless when it came to business. They made a matchless team, in John’s opinion, and he loathed the idea that they were ranged against him. Warriors, the two of them, and hellbent on winning. He had to stop them in their tracks, and very soon.
Restlessly, John rose and went out of his office, wandered along the corridor, heading for the reception room at the far end. When he went in a few seconds later, he switched on the crystal chandeliers and glanced around. Hanging on the walls were a collection of portraits of the men who had steered this company over the centuries. Mostly they were Deravenels from Yorkshire; only two Grants hung there—Henry’s father and grandfather. Until sixty years ago the Deravenels of Ravenscar had dominated this company. And that was what Edward Deravenel wanted again. As did Neville Watkins.
Leaving the reception room, John flung open the door of the elegant dining room, his eyes scanning the handsome antiques and priceless paintings which hung on the red brocade-covered walls. So many magnificent luncheons and dinners had been given here for important clients, politicians and foreign guests over the years. But not lately…it was not possible to put Henry Grant on parade because of his mental instability. And, ostensibly at least, it was Henry who was head of the company…to the outside world.
Retracing his steps down the long corridor, John now considered going to the first floor where many of the heads of the various divisions had their offices. Perhaps Aubrey Masters was already here; he could question Masters, find out what he knew, if anything. A reliable ally.
Instantly John changed his mind. Taking out his pocket watch he glanced at it, nodded to himself. In a short while his secretary would arrive, along with the women telephonists and typists, the clerks and other members of the general staff. And certainly by ten o’clock the key executives would be behind their desks.
Although he had managed to calm himself, John felt a sudden flare of apprehension. He did not need problems like the Edward Deravenel matter…there were already too many problems in the company to deal with as it was. Trouble loomed. And yet he had to investigate the attack on Deravenel, get to the bottom of it. He must put a stop to this sudden…violence.
‘What in God’s name is wrong with you?’ John Summers demanded, looking from James Cliff to Jack Beaufield, and then more pointedly at Andrew Trotter. ‘You’re all laughing about the attack on Edward Deravenel, enjoying this…catastrophe! For that is indeed what it is! When what you should be doing is steeling yourself for a powerful retaliation. Are you such fools that you don’t understand what’s going to happen?’
‘Nothing, nothing at all,’ Andrew Trotter answered, a grin still lingering on his long, saturnine face. ‘That arrogant young pup got a whipping and so what! Hopefully it will teach the little bugger a lesson. Teach him a few manners.’
At this moment there was a knock on the door, and Aubrey Masters hurried in, looking both harried and apologetic at the same time. ‘So sorry I’m late, the Strand is jammed with traffic this morning, worse than ever.’
‘That’s perfectly all right, Masters, do come in and sit down.’
Aubrey Masters took a seat, and then glanced around at his colleagues. Instantly he detected the tension in the room. ‘What’s wrong, gentlemen?’ he asked, frowning.
Summers told him about the Deravenel incident, and then finished, ‘I want to know who amongst you is behind the attack. And I will find out, whatever it takes.’ Now John’s eyes settled on James Cliff. ‘You’re not saying anything at all this morning. So unlike you. Please tell me what you know?’
‘Oddly enough, I don’t know a damned thing,’ Cliff answered in a mild voice. ‘I truly don’t.’
‘Really,’ John answered swiftly, giving him a cold look. ‘Usually you’re not squeamish…about anything, just so long as it serves your purpose.’
‘For this company, not my own purpose,’ Cliff shot back, and smiled a trifle smugly. ‘You know very well I am absolutely devoted to Deravenels, and work for its success. And there’s no reason to drip acid on me today, I’m not involved in this bit of…violence.’ Swinging his head, Cliff looked at Jack Beaufield. ‘Come on, do confess. You and the lady have been rather cosy lately, wouldn’t you say?’
Jack Beaufield’s face tightened at this act of treachery, and a small vein started throbbing on the side of his temple. He said, in an icy voice, ‘I had nothing to do with the attack on Ned Deravenel. In fact, no one in this room did. However, Cliff is right in that I have been…sequestered, shall we say, with the lady of the house, this house, and more than usual. She is behind it, Summers. She asked me to hire someone to teach Deravenel a lesson. But I refused. It is my belief she managed it all on her own. It is not so difficult to hire thugs.’
John Summers sat back in his chair and let his eyes roam over the men sitting across the desk from him. Finally his glance settled on Aubrey. He said slowly, ‘Now, Masters, you know everything that goes on here, because everyone confides in you. Can you throw any light on the matter?’
‘Actually, no, I can’t. But I do believe Margot Grant has it in for Deravenel. They had some sort of… run-in, I suppose one could call it. I think she was determined to clip his ears. Well, that was the expression I heard around the office.’
‘Since several fingers have been pointed in that particular direction I shall have to have a word with the lady when she comes in today, if she does come in, that is.’
‘She’s already here,’ Aubrey announced. ‘I just saw her, going into her office. Well, into Henry’s office.’
John Summers jumped up. ‘Let us adjourn, gentlemen. Please excuse me.’ Without waiting to hear another thing, Summers hurried out of his office and strode down the corridor.
When he came to the chairman’s office he went in without knocking, and immediately stopped short. Margot Grant was sitting behind the giant-sized Georgian partner’s desk, whilst her husband Henry lay stretched out on a sofa near the window.
Taken by surprise at the sight of Henry Grant looking somewhat dishevelled, and certainly unwell, John nonetheless recovered himself at once. Always the gentleman, he said pleasantly, ‘Good morning, Margot.’ And then hurrying over to the sofa, he went on, ‘And good morning to you, sir. How’re you feeling?’
‘Not too badly off, John,’ Henry answered in a somewhat feeble voice. ‘How’re you? And how is your father?’
