‘But who?’ Elizabeth probed.
‘We were never really sure who it could be. It was a mystery. Then Bess and I began to focus on a man called Jack Buckley. He was a Deravenel cousin, but with strong ties to the Grant side of the family, and, actually, he sort of straddled the fence, since he was married to Bess’s aunt Katharine, her mother’s sister. We thought he had a foot in all camps, and he was certainly a bit power-hungry, to say the least.’
‘Did he benefit when Henry Turner took over Deravenels?’
‘Not a lot, no. He died rather suddenly a year later of a heart attack,’ Grace Rose told her.
‘What about Richard’s murder? Could this man Jack Buckley have killed him?’
‘To be truthful, Elizabeth, that’s another possibility your grandmother and I discussed. Still, there was nothing we could do. We didn’t have a shred of evidence about anything, and remember, we were just a couple of young women of no importance … we knew no one would listen to us. And anyway, there was no one we felt we could talk to, you know. No one we really trusted.’
Grace Rose glanced at the door when it opened. Louisa came in pushing a trolley, and from it she served small lamb chops with mixed vegetables and then offered gravy and mint sauce.
‘Thank you, Louisa, this looks delicious,’ Grace Rose murmured. ‘And please leave the mint sauce, will you? You know how I love to slather it on everything.’
‘Oh, so do I!’ Elizabeth exclaimed, smiling at her aunt, and picked up her knife and fork. She had enjoyed the smoked salmon, and now cut into the lamp chop, realizing how ravenously hungry she had been when she arrived here. A banana and a glass of milk wasn’t much of a dinner every night, she decided, vowing to change her bad eating habits.
‘You don’t mind talking about the past, do you, Grace Rose?’ Elizabeth looked at her aunt quizzically, her expression affectionate. She was truly fond of her, and did not wish to cause her discomfort.
Grace Rose smiled. ‘No, of course I don’t. Actually, the past seems much clearer to me than the present, if you want the truth. I can easily recall things that happened over forty years ago but not yesterday.’ She chuckled. ‘Perhaps that’s because the past is more important to me, more interesting than my life is today. Mind you, I’m happy to be alive and kicking, Elizabeth. I don’t want to go yet, you know. I’ve still too much damage to do.’
Elizabeth joined in her laughter, then said, ‘So I don’t suppose you’d mind talking about your sisters. I’ve often wondered what happened to the younger Deravenel daughters.’
‘Didn’t Harry ever speak about his aunts?’
‘No, and when I asked him he just pushed my questions aside.’
‘I don’t think your father was particularly interested in them. Well, let me see … Bridget, the youngest, became a nun, and she was very contented in her vocation. Cecily married an older man, and wasn’t happy at all. She remarried after his death.’ Grace Rose’s faded blue eyes twinkled as she added, ‘He was good looking, charming, a toy boy, as they say today. She moved away, and I suppose lived happy ever after. Anne and Katherine also married nice ordinary men, and went to live in the country. We kept in touch with Christmas cards, but lived entirely different lives, and eventually we began to drift away, especially after Bess’ death. She was the one who had tried to hold us all together.’
‘Was she happy, do you think? My grandmother?’
‘Happy? Such a complex word. Was Bess happy? Hard question to answer. Let me put it this way, she wasn’t unhappy.’ Once again Grace Rose stared off into the distance, as if staring back into the past, seeing things, seeing people she loved who were long gone.
Watching her closely, Elizabeth realized she looked suddenly sad, bereft, and a shadow touched her aunt’s face. Reaching out, putting a hand on her aunt’s arm, she asked in concern, ‘Are you all right?’
Grace Rose nodded. ‘Oh, yes, I’m fine, my dear. Now, to answer you. I don’t think your grandmother had an ecstatic marriage. You see, Henry Turner was a little dull; plodding, I suppose is the best way to describe him. What I do know is that he did love Bess, he treated her kindly, was absolutely faithful. I always felt she was disappointed that he did not allow her to become involved with Deravenels in any way. She loved the company, and it was hers, and she was so bright, such a smart woman, she could have been a great help to him. To be truthful, there were other disappointments, too. She had seven children but only four lived, and then Arthur, the eldest, died when he was about fifteen. Such a shock. She was grief-stricken, everyone was. That’s when she focused all of her attention on your father, spoiled him. Mind you, Harry had always been very close to her. I believe she saw Edward Deravenel in him.’
‘Yes, I know, she often compared him to his grandfather. He told me that when his mother died he felt so lost without her. I’m not sure that he really liked his father.’
‘I’m not either. However, they got on all right. Poor Bess, she was too young to die, far too young at thirty-seven. I was devastated when I lost her, she had been my best friend for most of my life.’
Elizabeth’s eyes had not left Grace Rose’s lined, old face, and whilst her voice had been steady, even strong, her rheumy eyes had suddenly filled with tears. Again reaching out, touching her arm, Elizabeth apologized. ‘I’m sorry. Don’t cry. I didn’t mean to upset you, asking you about the past. Sorry, so very sorry, Grace Rose.’
Forcing a smile, the old woman exclaimed, ‘I’m all right, really! I love my memories … what would an old lady do without her memories of the past? But come, Elizabeth, let’s talk about the present. What’s been happening at Deravenels?’
‘Well, I think we’ve solved the problem about Mary’s rash investment with Philip Alvarez.’
‘Oh, do tell me everything.’
And Elizabeth did.
That evening Elizabeth had the sudden urge to look at some of the old photograph albums her father had given her. ‘You’ll be more interested in these than either Edward or Mary,’ he had said, offering her one of his sly grins. ‘Mary’s not interested in my English past, only her mother’s Spanish ancestors. As for Edward, he’s mostly concerned with his studies. Mind you, that’s most commendable.’
And so the stack of albums had become hers. Turning the pages of one of them, she concentrated on a series of snaps taken at Ravenscar in the 1920s. My God, there was Grace Rose, with whom she’d lunched that day. Grace Rose, a young woman, and with her was Bess Deravenel, her grandmother. But who was the man standing between them? Peering at the spidery writing on the picture she realised it was the famous – infamous? – Richard Deravenel. She studied it for a moment, then put the album down, settled herself more comfortably on the sofa.
Richard Deravenel. Good man maligned? Or kidnapper and murderer? Which had he been? She could not judge the man; still, Grace Rose had told her today that she and her grandmother had believed in his innocence. ‘But you see, he had his enemies,’ Grace Rose had said. ‘And he was murdered by them.’
But the entire family had enemies, Elizabeth now thought, Deravenels and Turners alike. Did their fame and wealth and prestige engender such jealousy and hatred in some? She knew the answer to that question.
Do I have my enemies? More than likely. And who are they? She shivered and pulled her sweater around her shoulders. As yet I don’t know, but I’ll soon find out. They’ll give themselves away. Elizabeth shivered again. She must be on her guard.
PART TWO
Love Won’t Wait
‘My true love hath my heart and I have his,
By just exchange one for the other given.
I hold his dear, and mine he cannot miss,
There never was a better bargain driven.’
Sir Philip Sidney
‘How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.
&n
bsp; I love thee to the level of every day’s
Most quiet need, by sun and candlelight.’
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
SEVENTEEN
‘Ithink these might have been dungeons once.’ Robert glanced at Elizabeth, and shone the flashlight around the large cellar at the bottom of the flight of stone steps in the basement at Ravenscar.
‘You could be right,’ she answered, feeling for the switch on the wall, flipping it down. Instantly the enormous cellar was flooded with bright light. ‘I’ve often thought that myself, because deeper inside the basement there are several vaults with heavy metal doors that have small windows to look inside. But my father never told me they were dungeons, and he was always giving me interesting snippets about Ravenscar.’
‘I’d hate to be incarcerated down here,’ Robert announced. ‘It’s as cold as hell, and I’m certainly glad you told me to wear a heavy sweater and my Barbour. It’s bloody icy, actually.’
‘I know, but we’ll only be ten minutes or so. Come on, my lad, let’s get cracking. The really big cellar, known as vault number ten, is straight ahead.’
‘Ten as in the best?’ He raised a brow, grinning.
She laughed. ‘Probably. I know there’s a lot of jewellery in leather boxes from Cartier, Boucheron, Mauboussin, Garrard, Asprey, Harry Winston, Tiffany, you name it. There’re French Auboussin carpets and tapestries, and naturally loads of silver and gold plate. Kat was astonished and so were Blanche and Thomas Parrell who came to help her look at everything and do inventories. They all agree the stuff should go to auction, and I’m sure they’re right. Kat’s done a good job, actually.’
‘Mrs Efficiency, that’s our Kat, and I’m pleased she’s taking care of this, because you certainly don’t have time.’
‘True. Here’s the vault.’ Elizabeth came to a standstill in the main corridor and handed him a big iron key. ‘You open it, Robin, Kat told me the lock’s a bit stiff.’
‘It probably needs a spot of oil.’ Taking the key from her, Robert struggled with the lock for a few moments, finally turned the key, then twisted the iron handle on the door. It creaked open as he pushed his shoulder against it.
Stepping inside, he flipped the light switch, and even though the bulb in the ceiling was dim they could see that the vault was enormous. ‘Good God, this looks like the Bank of England! Do you have more keys for these other doors in here?’
‘Yes.’ She handed him a ring of keys, each one numbered. As they went around opening the doors, they discovered rooms lined with shelves on which were stacked every kind of valuable.
Elizabeth beckoned to Robert when she spotted the layers of jewellery boxes piled high in one of the rooms. ‘I can’t believe all this. My God, such indulgence!’ She took half a dozen boxes off a shelf and carried them out of the room, explaining to Robert, ‘Kat wants me to look at every piece of jewellery, and make decisions about its fate. I think it’s a good idea to take everything to the dining room, don’t you? We’ll sort it out there.’
‘We can’t start looking at it here, that’s for sure. First of all the lights are dim, and it’s also far too cold. We’re both going to catch pneumonia if we linger.’
‘Come on then, start moving it out of the vault. We’ll put it at the bottom of the stone staircase, lock up down here, and retreat to the warmth of the dining room.’
‘And we’ll ask Lucas to make some tea or soup.’ Robert followed her into the smaller vault, filled his arms with jewellery boxes, and added, ‘We’re going to need a hot drink.’
Elizabeth said, ‘Lucas and Marta drove into Scarborough to do some shopping, but I can make the tea.’
‘Oh, don’t worry about that now, let’s just keep moving the boxes, and get upstairs.’
Despite their speed, it took them another half hour to take the leather boxes of every size and shape to the stone stairs.
Even Robert Dunley, who was rarely surprised at anything, was astounded at the number of jewel cases they had retrieved. Once they had moved everything out and he had locked the inner doors, and the door of vault ten, he said, ‘I think the quickest way to get this stuff upstairs is to put them into large dustbin bags, and if there aren’t enough we can use pillowcases.’
‘Very clever, Robin! Go to the top of the class.’
Elizabeth sat on the loveseat in the library as close to the roaring fire as possible. She was shivering, felt as if the freezing cold climate in the basement had penetrated her bones, turned her into a block of ice.
After stacking the fire with plenty of extra logs and turning up the central heating, Robert had disappeared. Now, as she sat hunched over, literally trying to breathe in the heat from the flames, she heard his step, swiftly turned her head.
He came into the room carrying a shot glass in each hand. ‘I know you don’t like booze, but I want you to drink this.’ Coming to a standstill next to her, he handed her the glass.
She stared at it and then at him. ‘What is it?’
‘Calvados.’
‘Why do you have brandy in a shot glass?’
‘Don’t ask questions, just drink it down like this.’ He brought the shot glass to his mouth and tossed the brandy back. He looked startled as he put the glass on the coffee table. ‘God, that took my breath away! Lethal stuff it is, but it does the trick. Drink it quickly, it’s the only way to go.’
She nodded and did as he said, then shuddered and reared back slightly. ‘Blimey, it is lethal.’
‘It’ll warm the cockles of your heart.’
She smiled at him, shaking her head, laughter dancing in her eyes.
‘What is it?’ He gave her a long, penetrating stare.
‘You used to say exactly that when Kat forced me to drink her vegetable soup and I balked.’
‘I must’ve been a very wise little boy.’
‘Old-fashioned in a way,’ she murmured and gazed into the fire. ‘And you always said it as if you believed it.’
‘I did, and I do. Calvados will warm you right through to your rib cage.’ He noticed then that she was still shivering and he went and sat down next to her on the loveseat. Putting his arms around her, he pulled her close to him. ‘What you need is a little of my body heat.’ With one hand he rubbed her arm, then drew her closer and held her even tighter, wrapping both his arms around her. ‘You’ll be fine in a minute or two, you’ll see. Scientists have proved that one of the best cures for hyperthermia in a person is someone else’s body heat.’
Especially yours, Elizabeth thought, discovering how much she enjoyed being in his arms. He was tall and strong and robust, in glowing health, and she felt his vitality and energy flowing into her. She sneaked a surreptitious look at him, then closed her eyes, leaned against his broad chest … remembering … remembering her sailor man. How like him Robin was, with his dark hair and soulful eyes, although Robin’s were darker in hue. But his height, his build were the same, and he had the same long legs and athletic body as Tom Selmere. But then this sort of man was her type, wasn’t it? She was always attracted to men like Robert Dunley … her Robin, her lovely, loving Robin … her best friend … her family … the man she loved … oh, my God …
Elizabeth held herself very still, hardly daring to breathe. The man she loved. Why had she thought that, so suddenly … out of the blue? No, not out of the blue at all. She had loved him for a long time, she had just never admitted it to herself. Suddenly she was feeling unexpectedly breathless, excited, filled with longing for him. I want him … I want him to be mine … he is mine, isn’t he? No, he’s not … he will be. He must be … he belongs to me, doesn’t he? It was then she thought of his wife … the wife he never spoke of … seemingly hardly ever saw … the wife she had long ago decided to forget … and she had succeeded in forgetting her …
Amy … the young girl he had married eight or nine years ago, in the first flush of his youthful masculinity … the wife he must surely have outgrown … she knew he had outgrown her …
�
�Are you all right?’ Robert asked, drawing away from her, looking down, then lifting her face with his hand so that he could see her expression better.
‘I’m perfect,’ she answered in a small voice. ‘Why?’
‘You suddenly went quite still, very quiet.’
‘I was just … relaxing, and feeling warmer.’ Hot and bothered and sexually aroused was more like it, she thought, and she struggled to extricate herself from him, jumped up, startling him in the process. ‘Lucas left lunch for us. I’d better go and warm it!’ Her voice was unusually brisk, and she swung away from the fireplace, almost ran out of the library.
For a moment Robert was nonplussed by her sudden and hasty departure. He wanted to chase after her but he needed a moment to settle himself. He had an erection, and inside he was shaking, felt suddenly totally undone. He had wanted her for a long time now, since he had started to visit Ravenscar almost a year ago, plotting and planning with her and Cecil, preparing for the future of Deravenels, waiting for Mary to die. All these months he had managed to keep a tight control over himself, never placed himself in a position where he might be tempted to … seduce her, make love to her, take possession of her as he had yearned to do. How long he had loved her, almost all of his life, since he had been an adoring little boy in short trousers.
She had looked so white a while ago, had been chilled to the bone, and in his attempts to make her feel better he had managed to get himself sexually aroused. You poor fool you, he thought, mentally castigating himself.
The one thing about Harry Turner that Elizabeth had always admired was that when he started a project he usually finished it in record time, and to perfection.
She thought about her father as she whizzed around the kitchen preparing lunch. When she was eleven and back in Harry’s good graces, she had told him that the kitchen here at Ravenscar was not only old-fashioned but that it didn’t work efficiently any more.
Being Elizabeth Page 14