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Edward stood in the doorway of the library, hesitating, not wishing to enter.
It was far too dark, darker than usual, and this was not normal. It wasn’t like his mother not to have the electric lights blazing; she loved sunshine and brightness, which was why she had had the electricity installed in the first place.
Only two small lamps were turned on in the vast room, even though it was late afternoon and gloomy as dusk descended outside. The shadow-filled room seemed decidedly odd to him, off-kilter. Unexpectedly, he was filled with sudden unease, felt a sense of desolation, and even of foreboding enveloping him.
Opening the door wider, he finally went inside, peering ahead in the dim light. He could make out his mother standing next to a high-backed wingchair at the far end; behind her, wrapped in shadow, a figure lurked, stood staring out of the window, his back to the room. Edward couldn’t discern who it was.
Slowly he approached his mother, his mind racing, every one of his senses alerted to trouble. Fear, he decided, fear is present here, and the hackles rose on the back of his neck at this unexpected and irrational thought.
Taking a deep breath, he murmured, ‘You wanted to see me, Mother.’
She said nothing.
Stepping over to the fireplace, Edward switched on a lamp standing on a small occasional table, turned to his mother. He noticed how dark her eyes were and huge in her face, and how they were filled with apprehension.
Alarmed, he stared at her more intently, waiting. Now he realized her face was without expression, wiped blank, or so it seemed to him, and it looked as if it had been carved from stone. She was very pale, all the colour had drained away.
‘What has happened? What is it?’ he pressed, his voice sharp, rising and filling with urgency.
A shudder rippled through her and Cecily reached out, gripped the back of the chair as if to steady herself, her knuckles gleaming whitely in the faint glow from the lamp.
Edward felt that fear spreading out from her, touching him, and he asked again, ‘What’s wrong?’
In a rush of words she said in a low, tense voice, ‘It’s your father…there’s been an accident. A fire. Your father…and Edmund.’ She stopped, choked up, finished bleakly, ‘They’re both dead, Edward.’ Her voice broke, but she somehow managed to keep a strong hold on her emotions. In a wavering voice, she managed to say, ‘My brother and your cousin Thomas…they, too, were killed in the fire.’
Stupefied, disbelieving, Edward gaped at her. He found it hard to take it in, couldn’t quite comprehend what she was saying. He was frozen to the spot where he stood, unable to move or speak.
The figure near the window turned around and walked forward. Immediately Edward realized it was his cousin Neville Watkins, eldest son of Rick and brother of young Thomas.
‘I brought the bad news, Ned,’ Neville announced, his voice thick with emotion. The cousins clasped hands for a moment, and Neville exclaimed, ‘It was I who brought death and sorrow here!’
Edward shook his head vehemently. ‘No! It’s just not possible,’ he cried. ‘Not my father. Not Edmund. Not Uncle Rick and Tom. It simply can’t be, not our family gone like that in the blink of an eye.’
Cecily’s heart clenched at the sight of Edward’s pale and stricken face, the tears welling in his eyes; his devastation was palpable to her. Although she shared his overwhelming pain and sorrow, his utter disbelief that this tragedy had occurred, at this moment she thought only of her son. ‘How can I comfort you?’ she asked, shaking her head helplessly. Tears began to seep out of her eyes, slid down her cheeks unchecked.
Edward did not respond. He was rendered speechless by the news. She knew he was in shock just as she was herself.
It was then that Cecily Deravenel uttered the words Edward would never forget for the rest of his life. ‘Oh, Ned, Ned, has no one ever told you that life is catastrophic?’
For a long moment he was transfixed, staring at her, and then he swung around and rushed out of the library without saying a word. All he knew was that he had to get away, escape this death-laden room. He had the desperate need to be alone in his terrible grief.
Edward half stumbled across the Long Hall, making for the double doors that led to the garden. Once he was outside he fled down the paved path, through the tiered gardens, past the lawns until he at last arrived at the ruined battlements of the old stronghold on the promontory at the edge of the cliffs.
The sea fret had lifted. It had begun to snow and the tiny crystalline flakes stuck to his face, his burnished hair. He barely noticed. He was oblivious to the weather in his anguish.
Ned stood in the small, round enclosure which had once been a watchtower looking out over the North Sea. He pressed his face against the cold stones, his mind in a turmoil. How could they be dead? His father, his brother, his uncle and his cousin. It didn’t seem possible. And it certainly didn’t make sense…how had they all died together? Where had they been? When had it happened? Tragedy had struck not once but four times.
Papa is dead. And Edmund. Only seventeen…my lovely brother, so special, so full of promise for the future. And Tom, cousin Tom, with whom he had grown up. And Uncle Rick, the only other senior member of their closely-knit families, whom everyone depended on. They had all been constant, loyal to each other.
Papa and Edmund. Oh, God, no. His throat closed and tears flooded his eyes as grief finally engulfed him.
A bit later he heard a step on the cold stones, felt a warm cloak go over him, a comforting arm slip around his shoulders.
‘Weep, grieve, let it come out, Ned,’ Neville Watkins murmured against his ear. ‘As I did last night.’
Within moments the two cousins went inside and stood conferring in the Long Hall. ‘When did you receive the news?’ Edward asked. ‘And who was it that contacted you?’
‘Aubrey Masters from Deravenels,’ Neville answered. ‘He telephoned me last night as soon as he heard what happened in Carrara. He thought it better that Aunt Cecily and you and the children were told in person by me, rather than receiving a telephone call from him or a telegram. Much too impersonal, he said. I told him he had done the right thing.’ Neville’s face was deathly white and taut as he continued, ‘However, I had to come to grips with my own grief and my mother’s distress before coming over to Ravenscar. I left Ripon as soon as I was up to it today, and came by carriage this afternoon. I hope you don’t think I delayed too long.’
‘Neville, of course I don’t! You’re as grief-stricken about your father and brother as I am about mine.’
‘We must go to Florence,’ Neville now said. ‘And then to Carrara, Ned. We have to arrange for their bodies to be brought home for proper burial here in Yorkshire. And we must do some detective work whilst we are there.’
Edward did not respond for a split second and then he murmured quietly, ‘You obviously don’t think it was an accident, do you?’ His voice trailed off, and his eyes locked with Neville’s.
‘No, I don’t think it was an accident. I am relatively certain it was somehow planned, not sure how.’
‘You’re suggesting foul play, perhaps?’
‘I am, Cousin.’
‘My father was a target, is that what you are intimating?’
‘Yes, I am, Ned.’
For a moment or two Edward did not speak, as he sifted this information. Finally he asked, ‘Where was the fire?’
‘At a hotel our fathers and brothers were lodging in. Other people were killed, too, by the way.’
‘Oh, my God, how terrible. Do you believe Henry Grant is behind it?’
‘Not Grant personally,’ Neville answered, looking reflective. ‘In my opinion he’s a doddering fool. However, I consider that French wife of his to be a clever woman in certain ways, and capable of double dealing. And so are his subordinates. They’re a dangerous lot, capable of anything.’
‘What did you mean by foul play, Neville?’
‘Just that. If so, we must avenge the deaths of your father and mine and our brothers. I think your father may have been silenced because he has been making too much of a fuss lately about his role at Deravenels. He’s been persistently reminding the current management that he is the one who really should be chairman, and that the Lancashire Deravenel Grants stole the company, grabbed the top jobs and took control of the overall management. It happens to be the truth but none of them like to hear it. And so they targeted your father to shut him up and retain control. That’s the long and short of it, in my opinion. I think you must do something about this, Ned, and I am here to help you. I shall back you all the way, and I shall protect your back at all times.’
Edward nodded. ‘Thank you, Neville, thank you. We shall make our plans later, but now I feel I have to go to my mother, to comfort her, and then we must give the other children this tragic news.’
FOUR (#u02ba055c-10FF-11e9-9e03-0cc47a520474)
Cecily Deravenel was known for her stoicism and iron-willed self-control, but both had vanished. Edward became acutely aware of this when he found his mother in her private suite of rooms upstairs.
After knocking on the door, he had walked straight in without waiting for her assent, knowing instinctively that she needed him, needed his comforting presence.
His mother was seated on a love seat close to the fire, in the small parlour which adjoined her bedroom, staring into the flames. When she turned her head, gave him a direct look, he saw at once her ravaged face, the bloodshot eyes, the despair surrounding her, totally enveloping her like a caul. Her grief was so apparent, so acute, he forgot his own for a moment, and hurried to her, alarm touching his face.
Sitting down next to her on the love seat he put his arms around her and drew her close to him.
Cecily resisted, out of habit really, but only for a split second, and then she collapsed against him, holding onto him, weeping as if her heart was breaking. And it was, he was certain of that.
Edward had never had trouble understanding this elegant and regal woman who appeared so aloof and oddly remote to many people. He had been privy to her true self since his childhood, and he knew how gentle and loving her heart was, how deeply she loved his father, and he himself and her other children. She had never been anything but an understanding wife and mother and was sympathetic, sensitive to everyone’s needs, a constant and loyal ally to her family. And she was a compassionate woman, ready to help anyone in need, and especially those who worked on the estate who adored her, called her an angel.
His mother cherished her relationship with her brother, and depended on him. Aside from their strong filial relationship as siblings, Rick handled her financial affairs and managed the fortune which had been left to her by their father, Philip Watkins, the late industrialist.
Now the two most important mature men in her life—her husband and her brother—had been ripped away from her in an instant, and with a terrible and frightening suddenness. Her life had changed so abruptly, so unexpectedly it took one’s breath away; all of their lives had changed, in fact, and nothing would ever be the same again. Not for his mother, not for him and his siblings.
Neville Watkins had become head of the Watkins family; and he himself was suddenly head of the Deravenel clan, the Yorkshire branch. What this actually meant troubled him enormously…Total responsibility for the family, for everything their father had taken care of all his life, plus their stake in the Deravenel Company. Ned was not quite sure how he would manage to juggle all of this, being at university, and also unfamiliar with the workings of the company.
On the other hand, Neville was thirty-two, married, with two small daughters, a seasoned man-of-the-world, a brilliant businessman held in very high regard by his peers, whilst he himself was not yet nineteen, considered a boy by most. Nor was he as experienced as his cousin and certainly he did not have his wisdom. At least not yet.
Nonetheless, he and Neville Watkins would have to pick up the pieces carefully and take charge of their families, endeavour to bring all of their lives back to normal as soon as possible. Ned was fully aware that this would take a certain amount of time. There was a mourning period to get through, and many adjustments to be made. He also accepted that he had a lot to learn, and very rapidly, if he was to handle things properly and for the good of everyone. A balancing act, he thought. It will be a balancing act on a tightrope.
And he must keep a cool head at all times. That was implicit. He was aware that there was now only one person he could trust, apart from his mother, and that was Neville Watkins. His cousin and he were bound together as never before, and Ned knew he needed him, needed his guidance and support if he was going to succeed…
His mother’s voice broke into his thoughts when she said, ‘I’m so sorry, Ned, for giving into my grief. However, I’m afraid I really can’t help it. Do forgive me.’
‘Mother, there’s nothing at all to forgive!’ he exclaimed swiftly, looking into her tear-stained face, taking out a handkerchief and gently dabbing her wet cheeks. ‘It’s vital to let your grief come out. Bottling it up doesn’t help. It’s a natural thing to grieve, you know. And it’s very necessary if one is to come to terms with it. People who push grief inside become ill.’
‘Yes, you’re correct,’ she responded. ‘We have difficult times ahead, but we must find a way to keep going, lead normal lives if we can. I have the children to think about, their welfare to consider. They are going to need me, Ned, and they will certainly need you, too, although I think you are truly going to have your hands full with other things.’
Nodding, Edward stood up. ‘We ought to go and speak to them, if you’re feeling a little better. We don’t want one of the servants to accidentally blurt out the news—’
‘They know, Ned. I’ve already spoken to them,’ Cecily cut in, looking up into his blue eyes. ‘Naturally they have taken it extremely badly. As I knew they would. I came in here a few moments ago in an effort to pull myself together. I was trying to calm myself when you walked in. And yes, we had better go and comfort them, reassure them that everything will be all right.’
‘Are you sure you’re up to it now?’ he asked, eyeing her.
Cecily’s voice quavered slightly as she answered, ‘I believe so, yes, Ned. I must come with you, it is vitally important for their wellbeing.’
He gave her his hand; she took it and rose. Together they left the room. Slowly they climbed the stairs leading up to the nursery floor which the younger children still used.
The moment he saw his mother George leapt up from the chair where he was seated and rushed to her, flinging himself against her body so hard she staggered slightly. He wrapped his arms around her, needing her protection, approbation and love. ‘Oh, Mama, why did it happen? Why? Why?’ he wailed, tears filling his smokey-green eyes. ‘WHY?’ he demanded in a louder voice, his young face full of grief and anger intermingled. ‘I want to know why Papa and Edmund are not coming back. Please tell me, Mama.’
‘If I knew I would of course tell you, George,’ Cecily softly responded, holding the boy closer, glancing down at him, her heart full. She smoothed her hand over his blond hair and went on, ‘None of us quite understand yet what happened, George. Ned is going to find out if he can, and then he will tell us.’
Turning to face his brother, George asked a little plaintively, ‘You will, won’t you, Ned?’
‘I will indeed…As soon as I know, you’ll be the next.’ Edward drew closer to his mother and brother and put his arms around them both protectively, holding them close to him for a few moments. Suddenly he became aware of Meg standing near the window sobbing; George’s volubility and Meg’s weeping only served to make him conscious of Richard’s absolute quietness, the pool of stillness surrounding him. The youngest of his siblings was huddled in a chair at the far end of the room, his face the colour of bleached bone, the light grey eyes almost black in the dimming light of late afternoon. The boy looked so sorrowing Edward felt heartsick.
Moving away from his mother, who was still holding George, Edward hurried across to Richard. He stared down at the youngest member of the family, and noticed at once that the pinched, drained look of earlier had settled on the child’s face yet again.
‘Don’t be afraid, Dick,’ Edward murmured softly, leaning down to the boy. ‘I’ll look after you.’
Richard nodded and struggled to his feet. Gazing up at his adored Ned, he whispered, ‘I want to know everything, like George. I want to know about Papa and Edmund.’ Tears came into his eyes and he said in a trembling voice that was almost inaudible, ‘I said Edmund could be impatient…I wish I hadn’t said that.’
‘I understand, but it’s all right, Dick, really it is.’ Reaching out, he pulled the youngster into his arms and held him tightly, stroking his dark head. ‘I will keep you safe. Always.’
‘You do promise?’ the boy whispered.
‘I do promise. And you must try to be brave and help Mama.’
‘I will, Ned. I promise, too.’ He hesitated and then asked, ‘Are you going to Italy?’
‘Yes, I have to, and Cousin Neville is coming with me. We’ll find out everything, and then I’ll tell you.’
‘You will come back, won’t you, Ned?’ Richard asked, his voice tremulous, his eyes suddenly awash with tears.
‘Of course I’ll come back…Ravenscar is my home, and you’re here, aren’t you? I shall always come back to you, Little Fish.’
Richard nodded, and glanced at Meg. ‘She’s been crying a long time.’
‘I shall go to her at once, perhaps I can console her.’
A moment later Edward was holding his sister in his arms, trying to calm her, soothe her, give her comfort.
Meg wept against his shoulder for a while, and then finally, taking deep breaths, she managed to gain control of herself. Slowly her shoulders stopped heaving and the sobs lessened. When she lifted her hands to her face and wiped away the tears with her fingertips, Edward saw at once the anguish in her eyes. The whole family had been totally bludgeoned by the tragic news Neville had brought earlier in the afternoon. They would be a long time recovering, if they ever did.
Edward said quietly to Meg, tilting her face to his, ‘Our Mother needs you at this terrible time, Meggie darling. You must endeavour to be strong for her, help her with George, and especially with Richard, who suffers in silence, as you well know.’
Meg could only nod, not trusting herself to say a word. She had been extremely close to her father and Edmund, and the pain she had suffered since hearing of their deaths had seared through her like a hot iron. She was well aware that she would never be that carefree young girl again and would mourn them for the rest of her life. She felt she had grown old in a few minutes.
After a while, taking more deep breaths she said, ‘How long will you be gone?’
Edward shook his head, his eyes suddenly bleak. ‘I don’t honestly know. A week, perhaps two, I just don’t know how long it will take to—’ He broke off abruptly. He had been about to wonder aloud how long it would take to bring the bodies back to Ravenscar. And then he had realized he simply could not mouth those words.
Edward could not sleep. All manner of troubling thoughts jostled for prominence in his mind, each one of them more dire than the other, and yet he did not seem able to focus on any problem in particular.
When he had come up to bed, an hour or two ago, he had believed that in the quiet and peacefulness of his bedroom he would be able to quickly sort everything out in his head, but this had not happened. And sleep had remained elusive as his busy mind had raced and raced.
Sighing, he tossed back the bedclothes in exasperation and got up. After putting on his thick woollen dressing gown, he padded over to the fireplace and threw two more logs into the grate. Instantly, sparks flew up the chimney, the fresh logs began to crackle, and in the sudden burst of bright firelight he saw that the carriage clock on the mantel read one-thirty. He was surprised how late it was.
After stepping into his slippers, Edward pulled a wing chair closer to the fire and sat down, his mind still churning. This day had been the worst of his life, one he would never forget. Sorrowful and grieving, his mother and the other children had sat at the dining table with him and Neville, not touching their food. None of them had eaten, and not much conversation had taken place either. Each and every one of them was too stunned and shattered by the news of the tragedy that had so diminished their family, and Neville’s as well.
Eventually his mother had shepherded the children up to their rooms; she had returned a short while later, had invited Neville and himself to join her in her sitting room just off the Long Hall. They had dutifully followed her, glancing at each other questioningly as they hurried behind her.
Within minutes, Jessup, the butler, had brought them a tray of brandy balloons and a decanter of cognac, placed it on a side table and departed. Ned and Neville had been the only ones to pour a drink for themselves; his mother had declined as she usually did.
Once the three of them were settled in front of the fire, Cecily had seemed reflective for a short while, and then she had looked at Ned intently. ‘I know you and Neville must go to Italy,’ she had begun, and then hesitated before continuing. ‘I just want to caution you to be scrupulously careful. And you also, Neville. Pay attention, and don’t leave anything to chance.’
They had both immediately promised her they would be on their guard at all times, and would look after each other.
Nodding her understanding, Cecily had then told them in a low, subdued voice, ‘There are powers at work here we know nothing about. We must all be alert and very, very cautious.’
‘What do you mean, Mother?’ Edward had swiftly asked, frowning.
‘I can’t give you a proper explanation, I simply know that I have this instinctive feeling of…danger.’
‘I never ignore a woman’s intuition,’ Neville had murmured. ‘It is usually infallible.’
