The Complete Ravenscar Trilogy: The Ravenscar Dynasty, Heirs of Ravenscar, Being Elizabeth

Oliveri. Instantly, Cecily thought of the Italian, who had apparently been a close colleague of her husband’s, and was obviously so willing to help them in any way he could. Would he know what the numbers meant?

Meg interrupted her thoughts when she said, ‘Mother, George did take my album, whatever he says. He grabbed it and ran around the room with it.’

‘I did not,’ George cried, his anger surfacing.

‘George, tell me the truth. Did you do what Meg says?’ Cecily asked, her tone icy.

‘No, I didn’t,’ he began, and then his voice faltered under his mother’s fixed and sharp scrutiny.

‘I’m asking you for the final time,’ Cecily informed him.

‘I only…wanted to…have a look at the stamps,’ he muttered, sounding guilty, looking shamefaced, and he blushed as his mother held him away from her by his shoulders, stared into his eyes.

‘I will not tolerate lying, George. Now, apologize to your sister.’

‘I’m sorry,’ he mumbled without looking around at Meg.

‘Please, Meg, come forward. That’s right, stand next to George. Now George, turn to your sister and say you are sorry and shake her hand. And Meg, you must apologize, too.’

The two of them did as she asked without any further argument.

Cecily said, ‘Well, George, you’re not hurt, apparently, none the worse for wear, so do stop whining. Please.’

The old nursery playroom at Ravenscar was entirely panelled in dark wood. Except for the gaping hole made when George had fallen, it looked perfectly in order. But Cecily understood that part of the panelling might easily be fragile. After all, it was centuries old and some woods did rot with the passing of time.

Ravenscar had been built in the Elizabethan period, almost four hundred years ago, which was when a priest hole had been created behind a wall which adjoined the fireplace. During the early part of Elizabeth Tudor’s reign there had been religious persecution after the Catholic risings in the north, and many renowned Catholic families like the Deravenels had built priest holes in which to hide priests in the event of sudden surprise, such as the unexpected arrival of soldiers.

Bending down, Cecily felt the wood around the hole which George had made, and a few pieces instantly crumbled in her hand. It was a little fragile, and George, a sturdy boy, had obviously fallen hard against the panelling.

Stepping away from the damaged wall, she tried to recall where, all those years ago, her husband had hammered in the nails, and she was gratified when she had no trouble remembering. Six feet up from the baseboard, at the top of the second panel a couple of feet away from the fireplace…that was exactly where he had nailed the small door shut.

Taking a chair from around the circular table in the middle of the room, Cecily pulled it over to the fireplace wall. Tall and athletic, she was agile. Lifting her long black skirt, she climbed onto the chair, and reaching up she felt around for the nails. They weren’t there anymore, just as she had suspected. She could actually feel the little holes where the nails had been; they had been darkened over with varnish, or dark boot polish, and quite recently. There was no question in her mind that Richard had pulled them out, just as he had hammered them in place not very long after the first baby, Anne, came into the world.

Stepping cautiously off the chair, Cecily hurried to the fireplace and picked up the poker. Leaning forward, squinting in the bright firelight blazing up the chimney, focusing her eyes intently, she finally spotted the tiny metal lever set in the lower part of the brick fireback. It was hardly visible, covered in soot, and difficult to find even when someone knew exactly where to look for it, as she did.

Lifting the poker she brought it downward, struck the tiny lever, and instantly the panel, no longer nailed shut, slowly swung open, became a door.

After replacing the poker, Cecily went to the priest hole and manoeuvred herself inside through the small door. She was quite startled to find the space relatively clean. Obviously her husband had swept out the dust whenever it was that he had finally opened the priest hole for the first time in years.

Cecily’s main target was the chest; it took only a moment to locate the locked drawer, which she managed to pry open with a pair of scissors.

The drawer slid out easily, and she experienced a sense of satisfaction and a rush of hope. She had known full well that there would be something inside the locked drawer, something put there for safety by her husband, and indeed there was. It was a second black leather notebook. This one was slightly larger than the first which Richard had discovered; it had her husband’s initials embossed in gold in the bottom corner, and her hand trembled as she reached for it, opened it and began to read. Her excitement grew and grew as she stood there in front of the nursery fire, scanning the pages.

She did not read for long. She had read enough for the moment to know how important it was for Edward to have this. Hurrying downstairs, she went immediately to the small sitting room which adjoined her bedroom and seated herself at the desk.

Placing her hands across the top of the private diary, for that was what it was, she stared off into the distance, thinking. This book had to go to Edward as quickly as possible; how to get it there? She did not want to post it to him, fearing that it might get lost. She could send Jessup up to town with it. A sealed package was safe from prying eyes. Or perhaps she should take it herself? On the other hand, she didn’t want to leave her children here alone. She could take them with her, of course. What to do…what to do?

PART TWO

Golden Boy

Edward & Lily

‘Very tall of personage, exceeding the stature almost of all others, comely of visage, pleasant and broad breasted.’

Polydore Vergil

‘He had courage, determination and resourcefulness, which he used to his own advantage, and was pragmatic, generous, witty and ruthless when the occasion demanded it.’

Alison Weir

‘She walks in beauty, like the night

Of cloudless climes and starry skies; And all that’s best of dark and bright Meet in her aspect and her eyes; Thus mellow’d to that tender light Which heaven to gaudy day denies.’

Lord Byron

FIFTEEN

Kent

‘What to do? What to do?’ Lily murmured, staring at Vicky. ‘Please tell me what to do, because I really don’t know.’

Vicky Forth put down her coffee cup and sat back in the chair, contemplating her friend for a second or two, and then, shaking her head, she answered softly, ‘I don’t think there is anything you can do at the moment, my dear. You must let the matter rest, and just wait.’

‘That’s the hardest part, you know, waiting. Waiting for him to send a note by messenger, or put a letter in the post, or just arrive on my doorstep, as he so often does. This total silence all week is rather unusual, I must admit. I have to think he is still angry with me, perhaps he even wants to break it off?’

‘I doubt that. He’s much too much enamoured of you, Lily. I know he was a trifle put out with you last weekend; on the other hand, he seemed to calm down later. Also, there’s another thing. Edward doesn’t bear a grudge, he never has. Very simply, he’s just not made that way…it’s not part of his nature.’

‘If you say so then I must believe you, Vicky, and it cheers me up a little. This whole week without a word from him has been nerve-wracking, seemed like an eternity.’

‘And it would, since that’s all you’ve focused on, waiting for a word from Ned. I know for a fact he’s been busy. It was his first week at Deravenels, remember.’

‘Will told you he’s been busy with work? Is that what you’re saying?’

‘Absolutely. Will hasn’t seen him either. Seemingly, Ned has kept to himself. He dropped Will a note saying he was trying to work out the way the company runs, and that Will shouldn’t expect to see him until next week, that is the coming week.’

A smile flitted across Lily’s face and her eyes sparkled. ‘Thank you for telling me this, it makes it easier, knowing that I’m not the only one he’s ignoring. Obviously his best friend is going through the same thing.’

Vicky began to laugh, stood up, walked across the small morning room at Stonehurst Farm where the two women were having morning coffee on this windy Saturday. ‘If I’m picking up the correct vibrations from my darling brother, I think he has better fish to fry,’ she remarked as she brought the coffee pot over to the table. ‘Would you care for another cup?’

Lily shook her head. ‘No, thanks anyway.’

After filling her own cup, Vicky placed the silver pot on the table and sat down, looking thoughtful. Stirring her coffee and taking a sip, she went on, ‘I do believe Will has a new lady in his life.’

Lily stared at her, obviously taken by surprise. ‘Really! How odd that Ned hasn’t mentioned it to me—after all, they are so close, those two. So he must know.’

‘I doubt that Ned would say anything to anyone…he’d consider it Will’s business. He’s not the kind of person to gossip.’

‘Edward’s an odd duck though, in some ways, don’t you think?’

Vicky frowned, not quite understanding what Lily meant by this comment. She gave her friend a questioning look.

As if reading her mind, Lily exclaimed, ‘What I mean is he seems much older than his actual age. Also, he certainly has a penchant for seeking out older women. I know for a fact that he had a flirtation with his mother’s secretary, a widow.’

‘He does have a weakness for older women, and most especially widows, but don’t complain, Lily. After all, you’re his favourite, so do be happy.’

‘I am happy, although a little worried at the moment.’

‘Oh, darling, don’t be concerned. You haven’t heard from him this week because he’s only just stepped into his father’s shoes and gone into the family business.’

‘It’s not his absence or his silence that’s really worrying me,’ Lily murmured, leaning closer across the table, ‘but something else altogether.’ Dropping her voice, she now confided, ‘I am afraid I might be pregnant, having his baby.’

This was the last thing Vicky had expected to hear and for a moment she was speechless, and then sitting up straighter in her chair, she asked in a quiet tone, ‘Are you sure?’

Shaking her elegant blonde head, Lily answered swiftly, ‘No, not yet. But I have…missed…a month. Last month. I have to wait and see what happens…I’m due in ten days.’ Taking a deep breath, Lily added, ‘Before you say it, I know he won’t marry me if I am expecting. And I wouldn’t want him to, I’m much too old for him. Anyway, I think it goes without saying that Ned is not really marriage material. He’s too much of a Lothario. At the moment. And Edward Deravenel of Deravenels is undoubtedly expected to make a brilliant marriage one day, when the time is right.’

Vicky nodded. ‘What you say is true, but what on earth are you going to do if you are carrying his child? There are doctors who…well, you know, terminate unwanted pregnancies. But I think that might be a dangerous course to take.’

‘Oh, I agree with you! And I would never go that route! Believe me, I wouldn’t.’

‘So what will you do?’ Vicky pressed, filled with sudden concern.

‘I would have the baby, there’s nothing else to do, if you think about it.’

Vicky was silent for a moment, biting her lip. ‘You would have the baby and bring it up yourself, is that what you’re saying?’

‘Yes.’ Lily nodded. ‘I would have it, and keep it.’

‘But Lily, darling, think of the scandal. What will you say? Tell people? And who will you name as the father?’

‘Well, I hadn’t actually thought of all that, not in great detail. No, I definitely haven’t puzzled all that out yet. But I don’t suppose I would name Edward. Why would I want to cause trouble for him? After all, I do love him, Vicky, very much. And I do understand that he can never marry me, for a variety of reasons not only because of our age differences. But I think…well, you know, I do think I would like to have his baby, and I know I’d enjoy bringing up his child.’

‘What lovely sentiments, Lily,’ Vicky murmured, smiling at her friend. ‘And I’m perfectly certain Ned would help you financially.’

‘Oh, but I don’t want money from him, Victoria! How could you think such a thing, for Heaven’s sake? My goodness, I have plenty of money from my late husbands…money to burn, in fact. So why would I burden Ned with something like that? Especially since he never has any money of his own. Well, hardly any. He did tell me once that his father had been as poor as a church mouse. The money in the family comes from his late grandfather, Philip Watkins.’

‘Yes, I’m aware of that.’ Vicky sat quite still, ruminating for a few seconds, and then she nodded to herself and gave Lily a loving smile, her expression one of affection and warmth. ‘I must say, you’re a most unusual woman, Lily Overton, quite remarkable, in fact.’

‘Thank you.’ Lily rose, walked over to the window, stood looking out towards Romney Marsh, yet seeing only Ned in her mind’s eye. She did love him to distraction, but there was no future for them, not in the long run. She would remain his mistress for as long as he wanted her, she had always known that about herself. She was utterly devoted to him. He was, in a way, a great gift to her, one she had never expected in this life. She had never known such passion or ecstasy before Ned. He had brought her to the height of fulfilment, pleasured her and loved her, introduced passion and sexual excitement to her life. And she knew that in his own way he truly cared about her. And that in itself was enough. Her two marriages had been affectionate, and, of course, she had fulfilled her marital duties. However, lovemaking with her late husbands had been tepid, lacklustre. She was grateful to them in many ways, grateful for the comfort and protection they had provided. Ultimately, they had made her a very wealthy woman, and in so doing had given her total independence.

Swinging around, she said slowly, ‘I can well afford to raise a child, Vicky, and that’s what I am going to do. Bring up Ned’s child. In the country. That would be the easiest and the most comfortable place to be. Perhaps here in Kent. Somewhere near here, near you. What do you think?’

‘I agree with you, of course I do. Far better to be down here than up in town, where everyone tittle-tattles and pries. And you know I am here, my dear, I’ll do anything I can to help.’

Lily walked over to Vicky, gave her a quick embrace and sat down at the table. ‘Thank you, Vicky, I’m lucky to have you as a friend. But I might not be pregnant at all, you know.’

Vicky merely smiled, and thought: I’m certain you are. There’s a bloom on you and you look wonderful. And Edward Deravenel, almost nineteen, is undoubtedly as virile as any man could ever be.

Vicky awakened with a start. She had slept so deeply she was totally disoriented, at a loss, befuddled, wondering where she was, what time of day it was. As she glanced around, shaking off that deep, almost drugged sleep she realized she was in front of the fire in her bedroom, stretched out on the small sofa. The carriage clock on the mantelshelf told her that it was almost noon.

Pushing herself up, she swung her legs to the floor and waited for a moment until her head cleared. She had come up here just before eleven and fallen asleep as she had been reading The Times. There it was on the floor at her feet. She must have been extremely tired to have slept like that, and for almost an hour. But the truth was she had had a restless night.

Leaning back against the cut-velvet cushions, she thought of Lily. She, too, had retreated to her bedroom. Vicky wondered if she was feeling all right, and knew at once she need not worry about her friend, or feel guilty and responsible as she had earlier. Yes, she had been the one to introduce Lily to Edward Deravenel, but she hadn’t forced them into bed with each other. That had been their choice and theirs alone.

It was an old story…a story as old as time itself.

A woman meets a man. They are irresistibly drawn to each other, unable to turn away because the attraction is so strong, overpowering. The woman becomes the man’s mistress and inevitably it is she who ends up mired in problems. Never the man. He retains his wife, or if he is not married, has other mistresses, and in a sense he is free as a bird, and does as he wishes.

Well, perhaps that wasn’t really fair. And men were not always to blame. In fact, as her brother Will had once said, it takes two. Dear Will. He was so kind and loving. Was there a new woman in his life? She wasn’t sure but hoped that there was.

She sometimes wondered if his genuine devotion to Ned was too all-consuming, took up too much of his time. But then he was a grown man and he had to lead his own life. A couple of her friends had once hinted, rather meanly, at a more complex relationship between her brother and Ned, but there was nothing strange or queer about it. They were not homosexuals, though they did spend all their free time together. And they did indeed love each other—like brothers and best friends.

Now she asked herself how Ned would react when he found out that Lily was carrying his child. If, in fact, this was the case. He would care, of course he would, and he would be devoted to Lily. Until the child was born. And then he would walk away, if he hadn’t already done so before the birth. She had known Edward Deravenel for a very long time and she understood him. He did not wish to be encumbered; freedom was his choice.

Did men always have to have a mistress? She was absolutely certain her first husband Miles had been true to her. Certainly it had been a marriage of enormous passion, sexual attraction and commitment. When he had died of a heart attack so unexpectedly she had been devastated, believed her life had been shattered forever. Some years later Stephen had come along. They had fallen madly in love, something she had never anticipated. This, too, was a strong marriage, much like her first, especially when it came to the bedroom and the sexual side of their life together. She would be glad when he returned from New York. She missed him, missed his sense of humour, his loving attention, his brilliant mind.

Leaning down, Vicky picked up The Times, turning to the inside pages…to the Court Circular. There were mentions of royal engagements during the week. Queen Alexandra had gone there…the king had been here…all of their weekly public appearances carefully chronicled.

King Edward VII. Son of Queen Victoria, a middle-aged man before he reached the throne. A man who was now seemingly giving his name to the new era, a man who loved the high life, food and drink, and dancing the night away, a man who perhaps preferred his mistress Mrs Keppel to his wife, Queen Alexandra.

Well, kings were notorious when it came to their mistresses, weren’t they? Diane de Poitiers sprang into her mind…now there was a clever woman, a mistress who had reigned supreme. Her influence over Henry II of France had lasted to the end of his life. Diane had somehow managed to maintain friendly relations with the Queen, Catherine de’Medici, whilst totally eclipsing her. A clever manipulator when it came to politics and politicians, Diane had been a true survivor.

Her thoughts about royal mistresses fled, when she saw the photograph of Madame Marie Curie at her small laboratory in Paris. There she was with her husband, Pierre. They had isolated radium in 1902, and last year this brilliant couple had shared the Nobel Prize in Physics with Henri Becquerel. The caption said she was being considered for a university post. Marie Curie was a woman Vicky admired…she admired all those women who went out into the world and did impressive things. The women warriors she called them.

Glancing at the carriage clock again, Vicky jumped up. She must go downstairs to the kitchen and see how Cook was progressing with lunch. No time for daydreaming.

When Vicky went into the kitchen a few minutes later she saw that Cook had everything under control and rolling along in her usual efficient way. Florry, the young woman who came up from the village to help, was beating eggs in a bowl, and she glanced up, smiled cheerily at the sight of Vicky.

Vicky smiled back, nodding, and then said, ‘I see all is very much in order in here, as usual, Mrs Bloom, so I’ll just leave you to it.’

‘That’s right, Mum, I’m on schedule, right on time, that I am. The cheese soufflé will be ready at one-thirty, as you requested, and there’s no problem with the roast chicken. Fortunately, the bird won’t spoil.’

‘I’ll make sure we sit down at one twenty-five, Mrs Bloom, never fear. Your soufflé is quite safe, it won’t drop if I’ve anything to do with it.’

Mrs Bloom glanced over her shoulder at Vicky, and chuckled.

Vicky hurried out and walked across the hall and into the dining room. It was cosy and welcoming with the fire burning brightly in the grate, and there was the smell of beeswax and pine cones, intermingled with the hint of smoke and the faint scent of ripening apples in the air. It was a mixture of those unique and lovely country smells which never failed to remind Vicky of Compton Hall, the Hasling family seat where she and Will had grown up. That lovely old manor house had always been redolent with the perfume of burning wood, mellow fruit, baking bread, and the sweet scent of homemade honey. She thought of their late mother with a rush of affection, a woman who had turned that ancient pile of stones into a welcoming home where children were loved and cosseted.

Slowly Vicky began to set the table for lunch, selecting a linen cloth with embroidered edges, crystal water tumblers, knives and forks and linen napkins, and as she moved around she thought of her dear friend Lily Overton.

Lily had been very brave earlier that morning when she had discussed her plans, explained what she would do if she was pregnant after all. She did have only three choices, Vicky was acutely aware of this. Lily could try to get a termination, a risky business, in more ways than one; she could have the child and give it up for adoption immediately, a miserable, heartbreaking prospect; or she could keep it and bring it up herself.

Lily had elected to do the latter, and Vicky couldn’t blame her. She would manage very well, in Vicky’s opinion, because she was practical by nature, a good organizer, and fortunately she had her own money, was not dependent on anyone.

That was the key, the money. It protected her and the child.

Having a child out of wedlock was like committing suicide for most women who found themselves in that terrible situation in this day and age. An enormous stigma was attached to illegitimacy, and unless a woman was protected by the man involved she was doomed. Even in this new Edwardian era, which was more relaxed than in Queen Victoria’s time, the stigma remained. Despite the fun-loving antics of the aristocracy and the licentiousness which was so prevalent today, beneath that carefree, glittering façade there remained prudery, snobbery, discrimination, class distinction and—