Heirs of Ravenscar

by Barbara Taylor Bradford

  Nanny nodded and glanced at Katharine and Bridget, the two youngest children, dubbed the Little Dumplings by their brothers.

  Bess picked up on Nanny’s worried glance and went over to the two girls, who were sitting at the nursery parlour table having their milk and sliced fruit.

  Four-year-old Katharine lifted her face to be kissed, and clung to Bess’s arm as she bent over her. ‘Where are the boys?’ she whispered.

  ‘Not far away, darling, I’m sure of that,’ Bess answered, and held the child close.

  Moving around the table a moment later, she hugged three-year-old Bridget and kissed her cheek, murmured, ‘I’ll be back in a few minutes, all right?’

  ‘Yes, Bess,’ Bridget said.

  Downstairs again, Bess decided she must telephone her uncle at Deravenels, and she returned to her father’s office and did so. It was his secretary who answered, and when Bess asked for him, Eileen told her he was out at a meeting in the City.

  Bess thought for a second, wondering if she should explain the reason for her call, decided not to. ‘Please ask him to telephone me, Eileen. I’m at Ravenscar and I need to speak to him. Urgently.’

  The beach was empty.

  Bess could see that as she hurried down the flight of steps cut into the cliff face. Once her feet touched the shingle she ran to the outcropping of rocks which sheltered the Cormorant Rock from her line of vision. She was a little out of breath and slowed to a walk as she rounded the outcropping and finally stood in front of the famous rock. Below it, the dark sea lapped around its base, swirling and frothing as it usually did all year round.

  Dropping her eyes to the shingle, Bess covered the area, searching for what? She did not know … something that might give her a clue to what had happened. But there was nothing. It was only when she lifted her head and glanced up that she saw the fishing hut on the higher moorland. Its door was swinging back and forth in the wind. Why was it open? Or course, Young Edward. He had obviously unlocked it earlier.

  Climbing up the path, Bess reached the hut, went inside and looked around. There were always four fishing boats stored here. Two large and two small. Now there were only three … one large and two small. Obviously her brothers had taken one of the larger boats. She looked at the names of the boats still there … Sea Dog, Meg O’ My Heart and Macbeth. It was the Lady Bess which was missing, the boat named for her by her father. She stood very still, her heart tightening in her chest. If they had gone out in it, on the North Sea, they could easily have had an accident. And drowned.

  The rest of her energy seeped out of her at the mere idea of this. She leaned against the door jamb for several minutes, trying to calm herself. Then she turned, went outside, closed the door of the hut and locked it. She put the key back in her pocket, continuing down the path, filled with dismay.

  Once she stepped onto the shingled beach she looked everywhere again. There was no boat; nor any signs of one being dragged. But then there never was any sign of that … because of the shingle.

  Deflated and troubled, Bess climbed the steps to the moorland and headed home to Ravenscar, praying that her little brothers had gone off somewhere, and that they would soon return. Or be found.

  ‘I’ve been down to the beach, Grandmother,’ Bess explained, sitting down in the library. ‘There’s nothing … no clues as to what might have happened.’

  ‘I see.’ Cecily Deravenel’s tense white face and the hint of fear in her blue-grey eyes signalled her apprehension.

  Afternoon tea had been brought in as usual, but her cup was still full, had not been touched, and her plate was empty. She had found it impossible to drink or eat. ‘Richard telephoned you, Bess. I told him the boys were missing. If the boys are not found by tonight, he said he will come to Ravenscar at once.’

  ‘I’m glad of that, Grandmother. I did speak with Aunt Fenella, and she had Mark Ledbetter phone me. He is sending the Scarborough police, who have the local jurisdiction. But he explained he wanted the York police here as well, because they have a much larger force … more men.’

  Cecily brought her hand to her eyes for a split second. She said in a low, trembling voice, ‘Where can they be, Bess? Oh, where can they be?’

  By six o’clock that evening the house, grounds and beach at Ravenscar were filled with the local police searching everywhere. Inspector Wallis from the Scarborough police station had arrived later and talked to Bess and everyone else, and so had Chief Inspector Allison from York. Like Bess and her grandmother, and the entire staff at Ravenscar, these two senior detectives were baffled.

  The disappearance of the two little boys was a mystery. The biggest mystery they had ever encountered.

  FIFTY

  Amos Finnister had driven all night from London, and now as he headed up the driveway and into the stable block at Ravenscar he felt a great sense of relief that he had finally arrived.

  He parked his car in the cobbled stable yard, and walked over to the back door of the house, following the instructions Bess had given him the night before.

  He raised his hand to grasp the brass door knocker, but the door instantly opened and Bess was standing there. ‘Good morning, Amos,’ she said, opening the door wider.

  ‘Morning, Bess,’ he replied, and stepped into the corridor, closing the door behind him. ‘Any news?’

  She shook her head. ‘Sadly, no. Come and have some break fast. Jessup is waiting for us, and Cook has everything ready.’

  ‘That’s very nice, thank you.’

  'You must be tired and hungry after your long journey.’

  ‘A bit,’ he said as they crossed the Long Hall and went down towards the morning room.

  Jessup was standing in the doorway, and he stepped forward to meet them, his face cheering up considerably at the sight of Amos Finnister. ‘Good morning, Mr Finnister,’ he exclaimed, and ushered them inside the room. ‘Miss Bess has been waiting anxiously for you, as we all have. And you must be exhausted, it’s a long way from London.’

  He smiled at the butler, whom he had always liked, and said, ‘It’s nice to see you, Jessup, and to tell the truth, it’s not bad driving at night. The roads are empty, and I made good time.’

  The butler led Amos to the sideboard where, as usual, there was a selection of hot dishes as well as cold. ‘What can I help you to, sir?’ Jessup asked, lifting the lids of various silver serving dishes. ‘Here we have sausages and bacon, in this dish kidneys, here are tomatoes, and there are kippers, if that’s your preference. And we do have scrambled eggs as well, but Cook will make fried eggs for you, if you wish.’

  ‘Sausages and bacon, and perhaps a grilled tomato, Jessup, thanks. That will be fine.’

  Amos went back to the table and sat down opposite Bess, whilst Jessup put the food he had chosen on a plate and took it to Amos, who thanked him.

  ‘Your usual, Miss Bess?’ the butler asked, and when she nodded he hurried to the sideboard, returned a moment later with grilled tomatoes. Within minutes he had brought hot toast and butter to the table, along with a selection of jams, and poured breakfast tea for them.

  When they were alone, Bess said, ‘The two local detectives said this is the biggest mystery they’ve ever had to confront, Amos.’

  ‘It is indeed a mystery, Bess, and a very worrying one. Tell me again about the fishing hut. You said the door was swinging open.’

  ‘Yes, it was, that’s why I noticed it. Because the door was banging in the wind. I knew at once that Young Edward must have left it open. I went up, looked around the hut, and realized that a large fishing boat was missing.’

  ‘The Lady Bess, you said?’

  ‘Yes. Father named it for me.’

  ‘It’s good to have a name –’ Amos stopped abruptly, annoyed with himself. He could have bitten his tongue off.

  Bess said, ‘In case of wreckage, that’s what you mean, isn’t it, Amos? A name helps to identify a boat that’s gone down.’

  He nodded, looking regretful. ‘I’m afraid so.’
/>
  ‘Don’t be upset … I’ve thought of that myself.’ She shook her head and suddenly her vivid blue eyes, so like her father’s, filled with tears. She tried to blink them away; her throat was choked up, and her heart ached.

  ‘Oh, Bess, my dear,’ Amos said, his heart going out to her. He stood up, made a move towards her.

  She shook her head. ‘No, no, it’s all right, I’m all right. Tears don’t help.’ She took a handkerchief out of her pocket and patted her eyes. As she put the handkerchief back in her cardigan pocket her fingers touched the key. ‘Oh, and Amos, the key was in the lock, so I locked the door of the hut. And look, I still have the key on me.’ She held it up, showed it to him.

  ‘I brought my fingerprinting kit, so I will try and lift any prints off it later, Bess. In the meantime, take me through everything again, the way you told me on the telephone last night.’

  ‘Cook, there’s a reeght queer looking man in t’yard,’ Polly said, peering out of the window in the kitchen.

  Cook swung around, a wooden spoon in her hand, frowning at the new kitchen maid. ‘Wot’s that, lass? Wot are you saying?’

  ‘T’man, outside. Come on,’ ave a look.’

  Mrs Latham stepped over to the window and saw at once what Polly meant. There was indeed an odd-looking man in the stable yard, and he was now heading towards the back door.

  Putting down the wooden spoon, wiping her hands on a kitchen towel, Cook straightened her white cap and hurried out of the kitchen and down the corridor. She had opened the door and was on the doorstep as the man approached.

  When he came to a standstill in front of her, she knew at once what he did. There was such a strong smell of fish on him she recoiled, and immediately realized he was probably one of the local fishermen, either from the village of Ravenscar, or perhaps from Scarborough nearby.

  He touched his cap politely with one hand, and said, ‘Mornin’, mum, is t’maister at ’ome?’

  ‘No, afraid not. What can I be doin’ for yer?’ Cook asked, immediately dropping into the local dialect.

  The man pursed his lips together, and then grimaced. ‘T’was maister I wus ’oping ter see. I’ve summat ter tell ’im.’

  Cook shook her head. ‘I can’t be pullin’ him out of an hat, like a Jack rabbit, now can I? The master is away. Best be telling me, get it off yer chest right quick. I’ve got work ter do.’

  ‘It’s abart t’little lads, Deravenel lads, them that’s got lost.’

  On hearing this Mrs Latham stiffened at once, and stared harder at the fishermen. Her eyes narrowed. ‘If yer knows summat yer’d best be telling me … come on, then, let’s have it.’

  ‘T’was like this … I saw ’em fishin’ at Cormorant Rock. Then I spotted a fishin’ boat goin’ in ter that bit of shingled beach. I sees t’man in boat pullin’ it up, draggin’ it across beach.’

  ‘And then what?’

  ‘Nuthin’, I was fishin’ … I rowed out, seekin’ fish, scarce they wus yesterday. Lookin’ fer haddock I wus.’

  ‘Wait here … don’t go away. I’ll be back in half a tick.’

  The man nodded, and Cook moved off down the corridor at great speed, seeking Jessup. When she found him in the butler’s pantry, she told him quietly about the fisherman, passed on the information he had given her, finishing, ‘I must give him a shilling, or summat like that, Jessup, for his trouble. It is helpful information I hopes?’

  ‘Perhaps. Please go and keep the fisherman talking, Cook. Don’t let him go away. I’m going to ask Mr Finnister to speak to him.’ So saying, Jessup disappeared; Cook went hurrying off to the back door.

  ‘Hang on a minute, please. The butler’s gone fetch a person … of authority. Yer from round here then?’

  ‘… Bin livin’ ’ere all me life. Tom Roebottom’s me name.’

  ‘Just call me Cook, everyone does.’

  Jessup came back with Finnister and Bess. Swiftly, Cook stepped to one side to allow Finnister to come outside onto the step to talk to the man.

  ‘My name’s Finnister,’ Amos said. ‘And I understand you have some information about the two little boys who disappeared from the beach at Ravenscar yesterday afternoon. Can you tell me what you know please? It’s vitally important.’

  The fisherman told the same story he had recounted to Cook. When he had finished, Amos said, ‘Did you see him speaking to the little boys? Or with them?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘But you did see the man land on the beach, saw him pull his boat up?’

  ‘Aye. Pulled it over t’shingle, he did, left it near them big rocks.’ Tom paused. ‘Then he sat down.’

  ‘And that’s all you saw?’

  ‘Aye. I rowed out. Went ter deeper waters. I wus seeking haddock.’

  ‘Can you describe the man? Were you close enough to get a good look at him?’

  The fisherman shook his head. ‘I wus too far out fer a close look. A big man, aye. Broad, strong. T’was a big fishin’ boat.’

  ‘How many fishermen could it hold?’

  Tom Roebottom shrugged. ‘Five, mebbe six.’

  ‘I understand. Here’s a very important question. Did you see the man leave the beach in his fishing boat?’

  ‘No. I wus out in t’deep waters. Far out.’

  ‘I see. Tell me something …’ Finnister paused and asked, ‘What’s your name, by the way?’

  ‘Tom … Roebottom, sir.’

  Finnister thrust out his hand. ‘Nice to meet you, Tom, and thanks for coming up to the house with this information.’

  They shook hands; Tom nodded respectfully.

  Amos studied him for a moment, then asked, ‘What made you come here, Tom? You must have thought that seeing the man was important, did you?’

  ‘Aye. It wus me wife, Betty, she saw t’police all over yesterday, and she told me them boys wus missin’. When I come ter thinkin’, I told Betty. It wus me wife, she tells me to come up ter see t’maister.’

  ‘Well, thank you very much, I’m grateful,’ Amos said, and pulled out some coins.

  Tom said, ‘No, I don’t want nuthin’. I wus just doin’ me duty. Mr Deravenel, Mr Edward, that is, he allus been good ter us in t’village. Died too young.’ He shook his head. ‘Mebbe it’s naught, seein’ that man. Thought I’d best tell Mr Richard, like me wife said.’

  Bess stepped forward. ‘I’m Mr Edward’s daughter, Tom, and it’s my brothers who have vanished. Thank you for coming to the house. I’m grateful … we all are.’

  Amos knew almost at once that they would find nothing on the beach, no clues, no traces of the boys, or anyone else for that matter. It was the shingle that was the problem, and also the incoming and the outgoing tides. The beach, composed of pebbles, shells and fossils, was washed several times a day by the sea … it was therefore pristine.

  Once they had tramped down to the Cormorant Rock, and looked around there, Bess led him up to the fishing hut on the ledge. She had given him the key earlier, and he had attempted to life off fingerprints but without much success. Too many people had handled the key lately.

  Standing in the doorway together, Bess pointed out the three remaining fishing boats … Meg O’ My Heart, Sea Dog and Macbeth, explaining, ‘Father only kept four boats here, but lots of extra oars.’

  ‘So I see,’ Amos answered, and poked around in the hut for a few minutes. Again, he found nothing at all helpful – or suspicious. Turning to her, he now said, ‘Tom, the fisherman, told us that he had seen a man dragging a boat across the shingle, who had then placed it near the outcropping of rocks. Let’s go and look there, shall we?’

  Bess quickly agreed, and minutes later they were back on the shingle beach, heading to the giant rocks that sheltered one side of the Cormorant Rock.

  It was a blue-sky day, sunny and without any breeze … a pretty day. Neither of them really noticed the weather, however, so intent were they on their quest. The piercing cries of the gulls made Amos lift his head at one moment, and he saw, high in the sky, the
most elegant birds swooping and soaring against the pale sky. ‘What are those white birds?’ he asked, turning to Bess.

  ‘Kittiwakes,’ she answered. ‘There are hundreds of them here – they live in the cliffs, they actually nest there. Aren’t they beautiful with their black wing tips and yellow bills?’

  Amos nodded. ‘They’re beautiful, yes indeed.’ He stopped abruptly, and pointed down at the shingle where they were now standing. ‘Look at this, Bess. I believed Tom when he said the man he’d seen landing then dragged the boat across the beach … look how this shingle is scuffed. And you can see the indentations the boat’s rim made as it was dragged.’

  ‘Yes, I do see it. Tom Roebottom was very observant.’

  ‘Yes.’ Straightening up, Amos suddenly let out a long heavy sigh, and Bess glanced at him swiftly, but did not say a word.

  It was Amos who eventually murmured, ‘I know we won’t find a thing here … even if we look forever. I might as well confess to you, Bess, I believe your brothers were taken off this beach yesterday. By whom, and for what reason, I don’t know.’

  Bess stood staring at him, her eyes clouded with pain, her mouth trembling slightly. ‘I have to agree with you … do you think it was the fellow Tom saw landing here?’ She tried to hold herself still, wanting to keep her self-control intact.

  ‘I’m afraid I do. Also, Tom said the boat could hold five fishermen. Your brothers are just two little boys. It was big enough to hold them and the man.’

  ‘But who would want to take them?’ she asked, her voice wobbling.

  ‘I don’t know. I can’t explain it. I wish I could. When is your uncle arriving?’

  ‘In time for lunch, so he told me last night. He is very keen on aeroplanes, and he has chartered one to bring him here with Mark. A lot of people are starting up charter companies, he told me, and explained he found one he liked the sound of, because the owners are two former pilots from the Great War. They actually can land their plane at a new airfield near Scarborough.’