The Ravenscar Dynasty

by Barbara Taylor Bradford

  Once all the dirt had been washed away, Vicky told the child to sit down in the bath again, and she obediently did as she was told. Vicky, peering at the girl’s head, muttered, ‘I’m going to need the disinfectant, please, Fenella.’

  A moment later Fenella brought a bottle of disinfectant and a large jar of soft liquefied soap, then went to get a comb and towels.

  ‘Cover your face with your hands, please,’ Vicky said to the girl, who did so. Vicky explained, ‘I’m about to wash your hair and I don’t want you to get soap in your eyes.’

  At the end of an hour the most beautiful child stood before them dressed in a white flannel nightgown. Her hair had been towelled hard and was almost dry as Vicky brushed it, marvelling at it as she did so. It was a wonderful golden-red, and fell in curls and waves around her lovely face. The other remarkable thing about her was the colour of her eyes. They were an unusual deep blue, almost the shade of cornflowers.

  Although Amos had been taken aback to see Mark Ledbetter at Haddon House, his surprise was mostly due to the hour more than anything else. Usually Lady Fenella had gone home by this time, but as Vicky Forth had said, they were there tonight because of an emergency. And perhaps this was the reason Ledbetter was present as well. But not necessarily.

  Amos was well aware that the Chief Inspector knew Lady Fenella and her spinster aunt, Lady Philomena Howell. Ledbetter’s mother was a close friend of Lady Philomena’s; the two women had come out together as debutantes years ago.

  He had always liked Mark Ledbetter, had known him for over seventeen years, actually since Ledbetter had started at Scotland Yard. At twenty-two he had been a dashing young aspiring detective, Amos a copper on the beat. They had met in the East End on a strange murder case, and had always got on well since that time.

  Mark, who had gone into Fenella’s office, returned to the great room carrying two cups. He was a tall, slender, pleasant looking man, with dark wavy hair and warm brown eyes and at thirty-nine, fit and athletic. With a brilliant mind, superior intelligence and dedication to work, he had quickly moved up the ladder at the Yard.

  Amos studied him as he strode over to the fireplace, asking himself yet again why a man with Mark’s looks, Cambridge education, aristocratic forebears and a wealthy mother would want to be a policeman. He had once asked Mark that question and the younger man had answered that he wanted to help people in despair. Perhaps that philosophy explained his interest in Haddon House, and the support he gave it.

  As he came to a standstill Mark said to Amos, with a grin, ‘I’ve just stolen some of Lady Fenella’s brandy, but I’m perfectly certain she won’t mind.’ As he handed the cup to Amos and sat down in the other leather armchair, he added, ‘She keeps a bottle in her office…for medicinal purposes or emergencies. I need this tonight, and I’m sure you do, too.’

  With a nod, Amos took the cup. ‘I do. Thank you, and good health, Chief.’ Amos took a swallow of the brandy, felt its warmth immediately.

  ‘Cheers,’ Ledbetter murmured and tasted the cognac himself, then sat for a moment, looked down into the cup, his expression thoughtful.

  After a moment, Amos cleared his throat and asked in a quiet tone, ‘What was the emergency here tonight? If you don’t mind me asking, Chief? Obviously something serious to bring you here.’

  Mark glanced at Amos and pressed his lips together for a moment. ‘I’m here by chance, actually. I was at a meeting with Lady Fenella and Hugh Codrill, the barrister. We were discussing ways to improve Haddon House, raise additional funds. Codrill had come along at my request, just to help…well, kick a few ideas around, to be honest.’

  Mark paused, took a drink, went on, ‘We were still at her house on Curzon Street when she received a telephone call from Mrs Barnes, who was here doing the cooking. Anyway, to continue. A local woman had been brought in by two other women…neighbours. The woman was badly battered around the face, and appeared to be almost unconscious. The nurse on duty at the time was Clara Foggarty, and she was baffled and worried. She thought the woman might have concussion, and asked Mrs Barnes to contact Lady Fenella. I came along because I was worried.’

  ‘And where is the poor woman now? Here? Or at the hospital?’

  ‘Oh, at the hospital, of course. I immediately sent for an ambulance, and they took her away at once. I was pretty certain that there was concussion. We were just about to leave here and go home when you arrived with the little chap.’ Mark shook his head, a sorrowful look sliding onto his face. ‘I wish there was more we could do for these destitute boys living on the streets. Despite all the wonderful work done by Dr Barnardo’s and others, there are plenty of them out there still. Too numerous to count.’

  ‘I know that, sir. I used to think mudlarks and urchins and all the little street thieves had disappeared finally, been rehabilitated. But I’m not so sure. I can’t help thinking it’s as bad now as it was when Charles Dickens was writing about them.’

  ‘That wasn’t so long ago, you know—’ Mark stopped abruptly, and his expression changed. He looked across the room towards the kitchen door, bafflement flooding his face.

  Amos followed the direction of his gaze, his eyes widening in amazement as he stared at Lady Fenella and Mrs Worth. Both were ushering a little girl into the room. A beautiful girl at that, with amazing golden-red hair. Oh, my God. The girl was clutching the cloth bag. It couldn’t be…she wasn’t the boy, was she? It wasn’t possible.

  Almost as if she had read his mind, Vicky said, ‘Look what emerged from underneath all the dirt and grime, Mr Finnister. This lovely girl who had been wearing a boy’s clothes—a disguise. From what she told me, her mother dressed her like that most of the time. More than likely to protect her, I should think.’

  Jumping up, smiling hugely, Amos came across the floor, stood in front of the two women and the child. He reached out, touched the child’s glorious red hair, and murmured, ‘Will you tell me your name now, little one?’

  ‘Mam…she call me her liddle rosebud,’ the girl answered, gazing up at him through her brilliant blue eyes. Her face was serious, her eyes suddenly sad.

  ‘That’s a pretty name indeed,’ Amos answered, smiling at her, then lifting his head, looking at Vicky, he raised a brow questioningly.

  Vicky bent down to the child’s level. ‘But that isn’t your real name, is it?’

  ‘Dunno…’ The child’s voice trailed off and she looked bewildered.

  Vicky noticed that the girl’s hands had tightened on the bag and she wondered what was inside. Possibly information they needed, something which might explain who she was. How to get the bag away from her? It was an impossible task.

  Fenella now knelt down in front of the girl, and said slowly, ‘I am Fenella. And this,’ she glanced up at Vicky, ‘is Vicky. And the gentleman who found you is Amos. Over there is Mark. And you are…who? Tell me your name so we can call you by it.’

  The little girl shook her head and then addressed Vicky, ‘Rosebud…Mam say.’

  Vicky smiled at her and knelt down on the floor next to Fenella, gazed at the child through eyes that were warm and tender. ‘All right then, that will be your name. We shall call you Rose. Do you like that?’

  The child nodded. A faint smile flicked and was gone.

  Vicky reached for the bag, saying, as she did, ‘Let me lock this up for you, to keep it safe.’

  ‘Naw! Naw!’ the girl cried and clutched it even tighter.

  ‘That’s all right, don’t cry,’ Vicky murmured, ‘come, let us go and have another cup of cocoa.’

  An hour later, after the little girl had been put to bed, still clutching the cloth bag, Fenella and Vicky sat with Mark and Amos discussing the situation.

  ‘We cannot put that lovely little girl into an orphanage,’ Vicky announced at one moment, shaking her head. ‘I won’t allow it. She’s far too beautiful and vulnerable. Something bad will happen to her. I feel it in my bones.’

  There was a moment’s silence, and then Fenella exclaimed, �
��She must stay here. There’s no real reason why she can’t, you know. Perhaps you can make some discreet inquiries in the area, Amos? Find out whether a little girl has gone missing.’

  ‘I will, Lady Fenella, but I doubt very much that anyone will claim her. I think she told the truth when she said her mother was dead and that she had been tossed out onto the street. If only we had a name—’ Amos’s voice trailed off and he shrugged helplessly.

  ‘If only,’ Mark muttered, shaking his head. ‘I tend to agree with you, Amos, about her mother. And certainly with Mrs Forth and Lady Fenella. Of course she must stay at Haddon House until we decide what’s best for her. Are we all agreed on this course?’

  The three of them said they were.

  Vicky found herself filling with relief. The little girl they now called Rose was safe. For the moment.

  THIRTY-TWO

  Ravenscar

  Richard had pestered and then begged to go fishing all morning. Finally, after lunch, Edward had succumbed to his entreaties and taken him down to the beach.

  Even though it was the middle of April and sunny, there was a high wind blowing across the North Sea and it was raw and icy, lashing at their cheeks and making their noses red.

  ‘It’s a good thing Meg wrapped you up well, Dickie boy,’ Edward said, staring at his brother, who was fumbling with his fishing rod. It was obvious that his woollen gloves were in the way, but somehow Richard was managing.

  Edward smiled at the way Meg had protected the boy against the weather. She was always worrying about her beloved younger brother, and today she had cocooned Richard in layers of clothing, had added, as a final touch, a red scarf wrapped around his head and neck. She had placed a red knitted cap on top of the scarf, completely covering his head.

  She would have cocooned him in the same way if Ned had allowed it, but, of course, he had not let her get anywhere near him. However, he had seen the wisdom in wrapping a woollen scarf around his head, copying the way she had used one on Richard to protect his ears. But instead of a red woollen cap with a pompom on top, Ned wore a tweed cap over his grey scarf, which was more sedate.

  They crunched along together in their Wellington boots, making for a spot Ned preferred for fishing. The beach was a shingle bed of rock where old fossils were often found, along with pretty shells and all manner of odd sea specimens dredged in by the tides, and seaweed.

  They did not talk much as they tramped ahead, both of them lost in their own thoughts. Edward was thinking of Lily, wondering how she was, what she was doing, and Richard was congratulating himself, overjoyed that he had managed to get Edward all to himself. George was always hanging around these days, trying to curry favour with their elder brother. But he didn’t really succeed; Ned held back, and Richard was beginning to ask himself why.

  Suddenly Richard cried, ‘Look, Ned! The Cormorant Rock!’ Before Edward could restrain him the boy had started to run along the beach hell for leather. A worried frown struck Edward’s face, and he held his breath, praying the boy wouldn’t go sprawling.

  Within minutes Richard had reached the Cormorant Rock and was already clambering over the smaller rocks to get to it. Then in a flash, there he was, standing on top of it. Triumphant, grinning, waving to Ned, beckoning to him.

  His elder brother waved back and trudged on, remembering how their father had brought him here with his brother Edmund all those years ago. It was from his father that he had learned some of the local fishermen’s lore…Cormorant Rock was so called because the cormorants would emerge from the waves to stand on that one particular rock, with their wings outstretched, drying them.

  His father had always said that he couldn’t understand why a species of bird that spent a great amount of time in the sea had not evolved efficient waterproofing like so many other marine birds had. He constantly muttered that it was a mystery of nature, quite unfathomable.

  Arriving at the cluster of rocks, Edward climbed up to join his brother, and when he was standing next to him on this perch high above the frothing, foaming sea he said, ‘Just be careful, my Little Fish. I don’t want to be…fishing you out, have you on the end of my line instead of a plump little cod.’

  Richard laughed, his eyes dancing. ‘Yes, this is the place for cod! Papa told me that, and he also said that if you want to catch haddock you must take a boat out a mile from the shore. That is where all the haddock are.’

  ‘That’s right,’ Ned replied, and pushed away the sudden image of Edmund, at the age of ten, saying almost the same words. He snapped his eyes shut to obliterate the image of Edmund’s innocent young face, and then opened them almost at once.

  ‘Let’s put out our lines, Tiddler,’ Ned said to his youngest sibling, and cast his line into the sea as he spoke.

  Richard followed suit. They stayed there for over an hour, caught only a few fish. Freezing cold, their eyes watering, their faces bright red from the wind, they finally abandoned Cormorant Rock to the cormorants and headed back along the beach. Their destination was the steps cut into the cliff face. These would lead them up to the lowest part of the moorland that flowed down to the North Sea.

  As they climbed slowly towards the low stretch of moorland, Richard chattered away to Edward, interrupting his thoughts, which were mostly about Deravenels and those who currently ran it. The boy was forcing Ned to pull himself out of his sudden and rather reflective mood.

  ‘Ask me questions about sea lore,’ Richard requested at one moment, staring up at Edward, tugging at his arm.

  Understanding that he would have to comply, Edward nodded, and remembered that this was a game they had played with their father only last summer.

  Taking a deep breath, stifling the rush of unexpected and sudden emotions, Edward finally said, ‘All right then, let’s do just that, Little Fish. Let’s see how sharp your wits are today.’

  ‘Very sharp,’ Richard shot back.

  ‘What is the one thing you must not do with a ship or a boat?’

  ‘Change its name!’

  ‘Correct. But why is that so, Little Fish?’

  ‘Because it’s unlucky to change the name of a sailing vessel.’

  ‘Very good indeed, Dick. Now here’s another…what were Admiral Nelson’s last words?’

  ‘Kiss me, Hardy.’

  ‘Clever lad, that you are. Now, which was Nelson’s greatest battle?’

  ‘Trafalgar.’

  ‘That’s it and Waterloo is another one. What else do sailors consider unlucky, especially when they’re out at sea?’ This was something of a tricky question, and Edward wondered if Richard had remembered what it was, that it was partially a joke amongst sailors.

  ‘Mermaids! And I know I’m right. Edmund told me this…never take mermaids on board. Yes, he told me that lastsummer—’ The boy’s voice faded away and he fell silent, his eyes grown dark, the colour of slate. He fell down into his sadness, didn’t say much for a while, and then he murmured, ‘I thought of Edmund, Ned, and that made me want to cry. I miss him…do you?’

  ‘Very much,’ Ned answered, and hoisted the fishing basket higher on his shoulder. It contained the cod, which were not heavy, but the leather strap kept slipping. ‘Let’s keep going with the game, my lad,’ he went on, asked, ‘When you go up the gangplank of a British battleship, what’s the first thing you see when you step onto the deck?’

  ‘A plaque that says, Fear God. Honour the King.’

  ‘You have an excellent memory, Dickie. I know Father taught you a great deal of this stuff, didn’t he?’

  ‘Yes, and he said he would have liked to have been a sailor in the Royal Navy. I think I would, too.’

  ‘Talking of the Navy, what do you do when you unexpectedly see a sailor?’

  ‘Touch his collar for luck.’

  Edward began to laugh, and through his chuckles he murmured, ‘I think I’m actually running out of things to ask you about sea lore, do you know that?’

  ‘It’s all right, Ned, we’re almost at the top of the s
teps. Are we going to give the fish to Cook? Perhaps she’ll make it for supper.’

  ‘Perhaps, although I think the cod are going to end up as fish cakes, because they are quite small, you know.’

  It was Will Hasling who greeted them when they went back into the stable yard. He was standing at the back door waiting for them and he waved, and exclaimed, ‘Do you two have a big catch then?’ He was grinning from ear to ear, and seemed anxious to talk to Edward.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ Edward asked, as they went inside the house together. ‘You look excited.’

  ‘Not really excited, but well, sort of relieved, perhaps that’s the best way to describe my feelings.’

  ‘Do tell me,’ Edward answered, putting the fishing basket down along with his rod, struggling out of the cap and scarf and layers of clothes, then helping Richard to do the same.

  ‘Neville telephoned whilst you were out. Apparently Oliveri has had a telegram from his contact in Delhi. It looks as if his little team out there have come up with just the evidence we need. David Westmouth is going to send it all in a series of telegrams—seemingly that’s the quickest way.’

  ‘Thank God we’ve heard from the fellow at last, I’d almost given up on him,’ Edward replied, and this good news brought a smile to his face. ‘Now, Tiddler,’ he remarked, turning to Richard. ‘Here’s the catch of the day. Take it along to the kitchen and tell Cook it’s our present to her. If she wants to keep the cod for herself, she can. Will you tell her that?’ Lifting the fishing basket, Edward placed the strap on Richard’s shoulder. ‘Oh, and do me a favour, please, Little Fish. Ask her to please send hot tea and crumpets to the library, will you, my boy?’

  Richard nodded. ‘’Course I will, Ned.’