The Ravenscar Dynasty

by Barbara Taylor Bradford

  ‘He was very preoccupied, Inspector,’ Rob volunteered. ‘And I agree with Oliveri in that I myself thought he was in a good humour on Monday, and certainly normal in everything he did.’

  Inspector Laidlaw nodded. ‘It’s probably all very simple really. No doubt he did have a heart condition he was hiding from his wife and everyone here at his place of work. He must have gone to Dr Springer for that reason, who put him on digitalis. The other night he more than likely misjudged the dose, took too much.’

  ‘Is there going to be an inquest?’ Edward asked.

  ‘Oh yes, of course, sir. It will be held next week according to the coroner.’ Standing up, Inspector Laidlaw thanked them for their cooperation. ‘I’ll be in touch with you, gentlemen, as soon as I have more information.’

  Edward left his office with the Inspector and escorted him down the corridor in the direction of the grand staircase. As they walked along side by side, Edward said, at one moment, in a low voice, ‘There is the possibility he committed suicide, isn’t there?’

  ‘Yes, indeed, Mr Deravenel.’

  ‘I didn’t know Aubrey Masters well, but he didn’t strike me as the kind of man who would misjudge the amount of medication he should take. He was rather precise,’ Edward confided in the same quiet voice. ‘And yet he did take an overdose, didn’t he?’

  The policeman nodded, and murmured in an equally low tone, ‘If you have any more thoughts or information to pass on, you can reach me at Scotland Yard, Mr Deravenel.’

  When Edward walked back into his office a few minutes later, Alfredo and Rob were laughing hilariously.

  ‘What’s the joke?’ he asked, and then began to laugh himself. When he finally sobered, Edward said, ‘Honestly, Aspen, I thought I was going to explode. There you were, mincing your words, trying to be careful around the Inspector, being ever so discreet. You could have just come out with it and said Masters couldn’t get an erection. The Inspector was striving to suppress his own laughter. I saw that immediately.’

  Alfredo pulled out his handkerchief and wiped his eyes. ‘You sounded like your own maiden aunt, Aspen.’

  ‘I know,’ Rob admitted, looking chagrined. ‘It was foolish of me, but I was simply trying to say what I had to say without being—bloody vulgar.’

  ‘Inspector Laidlaw’s one of the boys, a good sport, I can tell you that,’ Edward remarked, grinning again. ‘I think he would have appreciated a good laugh, in fact.’

  Alfredo walked over to the window and looked down into the Strand for a moment, then swung his head and said to Edward, ‘I think Masters might have committed suicide, because of the skimming. You and I both think he might be involved in that, and so does Aspen, by the way.’

  Rob, who was leaning against the desk nonchalantly, nodded his head. ‘It’s bound to come to light in the next few months—unless there’s a real cover-up, unless they make it go away. It’ll be miraculous if they do.’

  ‘You’re correct in that,’ Ned answered, and went and sat down behind his desk. ‘I told Inspector Laidlaw that I’ll be in touch if anything comes to mind, so put your thinking caps on, my lads, and think hard. I’d like to help Laidlaw, if I can. He’s a nice chap.’

  Alfredo said, ‘I couldn’t believe it when the Inspector asked if Masters had another woman. Can you imagine that—Aubrey Masters and a lady of the night.’

  ‘Please don’t,’ Ned muttered, grimacing. ‘It’s certainly not something I want to think about, I can tell you that. Masters was rather a strange duck in my opinion, and also quite ghastly, actually.’

  Rob chuckled. ‘You’re right, and it’s certainly hard to envision him as a ladies’ man, even when the lady isn’t a lady. Think of that.’

  ‘God forbid!’ Ned exclaimed.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  He paused, his hand on the knob of the library door, listening acutely, wondering if he had been mistaken. No, he had not. He could hear someone sobbing, but he hesitated for a moment before entering. He was not sure who was in there but whoever it was sounded extremely upset.

  Quietly, Edward opened the door and looked into the long, elegant room. In the dim light the dark green walls looked even darker at this early hour. Nevertheless, he saw his sister at once. Meg was bent over the mahogany reading table, her head down on her arms, weeping as if her heart would break.

  He experienced a swift rush of love and concern for the fifteen-year-old girl, and went into the room, closing the door softly behind him.

  Although he was tall and well built, Edward moved lightly and with grace; he was halfway across the floor on silent feet before Meg lifted her head and saw him.

  Instantly, she jumped up and flew across the room, threw herself against his body. His arms went around her; he held her tightly, close to him, protectively.

  Quietly, in a low, loving voice he attempted to soothe her, stroked her hair. Like many large men, Edward Deravenel was gentle, tender, and especially so with women and his younger siblings.

  Within a few minutes her heaving abated, slowed to a few gasps, and bending over her, he lifted her chin and looked into her eyes. ‘Too many tears for such a beautiful girl as you, Meg. Now, what’s this all about, my love? Why were you crying so hard?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ she began, her voice faltering, and shook her head. ‘I’m worried, I suppose—’ She broke off, compressed her lips and the tears welled again, fell down her cheeks unchecked.

  ‘And perhaps a little frightened, I suspect.’ Leaning into her, Edward wiped the tears from her face with his fingertips, kissed her forehead. Then he pulled a handkerchief out of his jacket pocket, and offering it to her, he told her, ‘Come along, blow your nose, and let’s go and sit over there and have a little chat.’

  She nodded, took his handkerchief, did as he asked, and walked back to the circular reading table. Edward followed her, glancing around the room, thinking how peaceful and quiet it was on this sunny Saturday morning.

  The walls were covered in a dark-green damask fabric, this colour offset by the white painted woodwork, ceiling mouldings, the door, the white marble fireplace, and the line of white-painted bookcases. These were filled with hundreds of volumes collected by his forebears. With its dark-green silk draperies, red leather chairs, Oriental rugs and a Chesterfield sofa covered with paisley-patterned fabric, it was a masculine room, yet not oppressively so.

  Edward pulled out a chair next to Meg, and sat down. ‘Tell me what’s troubling you, sweetheart. Perhaps I can help.’

  ‘I suppose you were right when you said I was frightened, Ned. Such terrible things have happened lately…too many for one family to bear. Papa and Edmund murdered, Uncle Rick and Thomas as well, then the attack on you. You could have been killed, all those blows to your head.’ A deep sigh rippled through her before she added, ‘It’s as if the Grants are trying to kill off all the men in our line, render us helpless by turning us into a family of women.’

  Edward’s blood ran cold as she said this, but nonetheless, he smiled at her and teased, ‘You and Mother are my Amazons, my warrior queens. Neither of you is helpless, Meg. Just the opposite.’ He said this in a mild tone, then when he noticed her frown he continued, ‘I’m not trying to make light of what you’re saying. A lot has happened, but remember bad things do happen to everyone at different times. Life is very hard, you know, and often comes back to hit one in the face. The most important thing is learning how to survive, to fight back, to hold one’s own. That’s what we must all do.’

  ‘I know, I must be brave,’ she murmured. ‘I’ll try.’ She stared at her brother intently. ‘I worry about George and Richard, and you, too, Ned, about your safety.’

  ‘Listen to me, Meg darling. None of the Grants are going to destroy me. I’m going to get them first, don’t you know?’ He grinned at her, his bright blue eyes full of sparkle. ‘As for George and Richard, the Grants wouldn’t go after children.’ As these words left his mouth he knew, with a sinking feeling, that they would if they had to in order
to pursue their cause.

  Wanting to calm her, he insisted, ‘You’re quite safe, Meg, you and the boys, here in this house with Mother and the staff. And me. Don’t forget, I live here, too.’

  ‘You go to work with them, and they could hurt you again.’

  ‘Yes, I do work at Deravenels during the day, and I go out at night, but now I have two bodyguards…Will and Johnny. Anyway, I seriously doubt that the Grants will attempt anything in the very near future. They would be very foolish if they did.’

  ‘I hope they won’t. I love you, Ned, and so do George and Richard.’ She smiled. ‘He adores you, your Little Fish.’

  ‘Yes, I know, and I feel the same about him, about all of you, and really, you mustn’t worry about the Grants.’

  ‘When will they stop hurting us?’

  ‘Soon.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘We’ll make them stop. Neville and I will put an end to them.’

  ‘Why have they been doing bad things to us?’

  ‘It’s a long story. Basically though for money and power. They stole those things from us, from our line of the family, sixty years ago, and they are desperately trying to hang onto that power. But they are going to lose it, and lose it to us. We are going to reclaim what is ours by rights.’

  The fifteen-year-old looked at him, her eyes shining. ‘Do you promise me, Ned?’

  ‘I do indeed promise you, Margaret, and I want you to put these worries about the Grants out of your head. You must promise me that.’

  ‘I do promise.’ Leaning back in the chair, she murmured in a quavering voice, ‘I miss Papa and Edmund.’

  ‘So do I, and I truly understand your pain, your grief, Meg. I want to tell you something.’ Ned leaned closer, said sotto voce, ‘I carry them in my heart. Always. And you must do that, too. It helps to hold onto them and the memories of being with them, of having them in our lives.’

  Slowly she nodded her head. ‘I will do that. And I know I’ll never forget them.’ She reached out, took his hand in hers, clung to it.

  ‘I promise I will always protect you,’ Ned reassured her.

  ‘And I will stand by you,’ she responded, meaning this. And she was to prove her loyalty some years later, and it was a loyalty that never wavered.

  ‘We’re going to be fine, the entire family is going to be all right. Trust me, the Grants will fall into oblivion.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘I told you, soon. However, I see you want me to be more specific. Neville thinks we’ll oust them in a few months. By the summer, he says, I’ll be running Deravenels. Now, Meg, tell me about your days here. Are you enjoying being in London?’

  ‘I prefer Ravenscar. I wish we were there now.’

  ‘Well, we’re going there for Easter, how about that, my girl?’

  ‘Did Mama tell you this?’

  ‘No, she didn’t. I just decided it now, on the spur of the moment. So it’s our secret, for the time being. Now, tell me about Perdita Willis…do you like her as much as you did last year?’

  ‘Yes, I do. More, really. She loves botany as much as I do and she’s teaching me such a lot of new, interesting things. I was studying a special book before I became sad and started to cry. I want you to look at it, you’ll see how lovely the illustrations are.’ She pulled the large book towards her, and confided, ‘I found this in the library at Ravenscar, and I was fascinated by it. So is Richard. He keeps saying that it’s his, that it belongs to him.’

  ‘Why is that?’ Edward asked, looking somewhat amused at the idea of his Little Fish asserting himself.

  ‘Because it does have his name on it.’ Opening the book, she showed Ned the name inscribed on the faded bookplate on one of the front end papers. In beautiful copperplate it announced: Richard Deravenel: His Book.

  Looking down at the page Meg was showing him, Edward realized at once how old the book was. Very early Victorian, he thought. It was undoubtedly a gem. At that moment Edward remembered the story of the boy who died, and he exclaimed, ‘There was another Richard Deravenel, other than Father, many years ago. And that is his name on the bookplate, I feel sure. He died when he was about your age, Meg, of typhoid fever, I think. His full name was Richard Marmaduke Deravenel. This did belong to him, there’s no doubt in my mind. It must have been his.’

  Edward turned the page and looked at the front. ‘What an odd title,’ he exclaimed. ‘Fatal Flowers…how very weird.’ He glanced at his sister a little quizzically.

  ‘It’s about flowers that are deadly, so poisonous they can kill. There are lots of them, Ned, growing in everybody’s gardens. But please do look at the pictures, they’re so lovely.’

  ‘More than lovely, Meg,’ Ned remarked as he turned the leaves of the book. ‘These watercolours are simply superb, of the highest quality indeed.’

  Edward stared at the two pages now open in front of him. He stiffened. There was a painting of the tall and elegant foxglove on the left, and on the right the name of the flower in bold letters:

  THE FOXGLOVE (DIGITALIS)

  He read the heading again, hardly able to believe his eyes. Digitalis, he read once more, and then dropped his eyes to the details of the flower written below. Startled and excited, Edward’s eyes widened as he read:

  The common foxglove grows in almost every Victorian garden. It is a flower beloved by all. Tall and graceful, it has many other names such as fairy thimbles, fairy gloves, fairy bells, and dead man’s thimbles, because its flowers do resemble the fingers of ‘fairy gloves’. The curious names originated here in the British Isles where our ancient people believed that the small spots on the bell of the flower were the fingerprints of fairies, hence the name ‘folks gloves’, meaning the gloves of the little folks. The elegant and colourful foxglove is often referred to as ‘dead man’s thimbles’ because of its shape and the poison it contains. The Latin genus, Digitalis, refers to finger or thimble. This beautiful natural ornament for the Victorian garden, so graceful, so tall, is fatal if eaten.

  Oh, my God. Edward sat there motionless, frozen in the chair, continuing to stare down at the book, unwilling to lift his head at this moment. He knew that Meg was anxious for his opinion of the book, wanted to talk about it with him. Whereas he wanted to think. Was that how Aubrey Masters had died? Had he eaten foxgloves? Had they been ingested with his vegetarian dinner? An accident? Suicide? Murder? Which was it?

  His brain raced. If Masters had been murdered, then who had done it? And how had the perpetrator managed to put foxgloves in his food?

  ‘Ned, Ned,’ Meg exclaimed, ‘what is it? Why are you so interested in the foxglove in particular?’

  Finally he lifted his head and forced a smile. ‘Because it’s so strange, isn’t it, that a thing of such beauty is so deadly. Now I understand the title of the book.’

  Will Hasling was waiting for Edward in the library of White’s, the gentleman’s private club in Whitehall where he and his father were members. Arguably the most famous club in London, many believed it was the first to open its doors, that it had begun as a chocolate house in 1693, and that Pope and Swift were among its regulars. Certainly it was a male bastion where members could go to eat, drink, smoke, gamble, play billiards and read. Women were barred. None of them really wanted to go anyway, preferring the men in their lives to have places where they could be left to their own devices.

  Whilst waiting for his friend, Will had been perusing The Times, but he had now read enough, and took it back to the table where the newspapers were always placed after use.

  As he swung around to return to his chair Edward came rushing into the room, but slowed his steps when he noticed a couple of older members present. Usually the club was deserted on weekends with everyone in the country.

  ‘So sorry I’m late,’ Edward said, clasping Will’s arm.

  ‘No problem, but shall we go in for lunch? I’m positively ravenous.’

  ‘Let’s do that.’

  The two young men left the librar
y, crossed the grand entrance foyer with its marble floor and dark mahogany furniture and went into the dining room.

  After they were seated and had each ordered a glass of champagne, Will looked at Edward, said, ‘This is a nice surprise. I didn’t expect to see you today, especially since we’re invited to have lunch with Neville and Nan tomorrow.’

  ‘I know, but apart from us and Johnny, there’ll be Nan and their girls, my mother and my siblings. It’s going to be a family Sunday lunch with all the trimmings, and frankly I don’t think we’ll have a chance to speak privately.’

  ‘So what’s on your mind, Ned? Is something troubling you?’

  ‘I wouldn’t say troubling, more like tantalizing.’

  ‘I’m not sure what you mean by that?’

  ‘Did your mother have foxgloves growing in her garden when you were a child?’

  ‘Yes she did, and there are still foxgloves growing at Compton Hall.’ Will appeared puzzled when he asked, ‘But what are you getting at?’

  ‘She was growing Digitalis, and it is still growing in the flower gardens.’

  Totally nonplussed, Will shook his head. ‘Come on, Ned, you’re not talking sense.’

  Swiftly, with precision, Ned told him all about the book from Ravenscar, and what he had discovered that morning about the common foxglove.

  ‘Foxglove leaves and seeds are very poisonous indeed, and I think that somehow they got into Aubrey Masters’ food. Because nobody really believes he has a heart condition, now do they?’

  ‘No, they don’t,’ Will answered and paused as the waiter arrived with their flutes of champagne. Once alone, touching his glass to Edward’s, Will murmured, ‘Cheers.’

  Edward went on quickly, ‘I telephoned Neville this morning to discuss the matter with him but he had gone to the country for the day with Nan. So I’ll mention it tomorrow before lunch, if that’s at all possible.’

  There was a moment of silence, and the two men exchanged looks.