Heirs of Ravenscar. Barbara Taylor Bradford
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me.’
‘Gambling debts! Why am I going to get hit with them, for God’s sake? He can bloody well pay his own gambling debts,’ Edward exclaimed, his voice rising angrily.
‘Let me start at the beginning,’ Will said. ‘A few days ago my brother told me there was gossip out on the street about George’s gambling, whoring, and drug-taking –’
‘He’s taking drugs?’ Edward shouted, his face turning red as the fury erupted. Although he was blessed with an affable nature and was calm most of the time, Edward did have a famous temper that struck terror in everyone. ‘I’ll have his guts for garters!’ he shrilled, jumping up, his temper getting the better of him. ‘And why does he have debts in the first place? I’ll skin him alive, the little sod! Bringing dishonour to our name. A gentleman takes care of his obligations, and he’s well aware of that.’
‘You know what George is,’ Oliveri murmured softly. ‘And I have a suggestion to make …’ Oliveri paused, staring hard at Edward.
‘Go on, then, tell me,’ Edward snapped, and immediately shook his head. ‘I’m very sorry, Oliveri, I’m not angry with you. Do excuse me.’ He sat down.
‘Don’t have to explain, I understand. Getting back to the bad lad, I think we should send him off on a few trips, get him out of London, and away from all the temptations of the flesh, etcetera.’ Alfredo sat back, eyeing Edward, his expression serious.
‘Where can we send him?’ Will asked, glancing at Alfredo swiftly, frowning.
‘First of all, if the deal with Ian MacDonald proceeds, he can take charge of it, and he’ll be back and forth to Edinburgh for quite a while. Otherwise, he can go to Spain, which was neutral during the war: travel is still relatively easy. He could look into the Jimenez situation. They do want to sell their sherry business, remember.’ His gaze still fixed on Will, Alfredo finished, ‘They make the best sherry in the world, let’s not forget that.’
‘George certainly won’t,’ Edward interjected. ‘I should think he’ll jump at a job like that. But it’s a good idea, keeping him travelling, I mean. But what’s this about drugs, Will? And what is he taking?’
‘Howard didn’t know, but he’s promised to find out for me. I suspect it’s either cocaine, or possibly he visits those opium dens in Chinatown, down Limehouse way.’
‘Bloody fool!’ Edward shook his head, stood up again, paced for a moment, and then he addressed Will. ‘You said Amos has investigated all this, knows more.’
‘He does. I spoke to him earlier. I’d asked him to do a bit of digging for me yesterday, and he did find out a few things last night. I told him to come in around ten thirty –’ Will stopped at the sound of a loud knock on the door. ‘I’m sure this is him.’
‘No doubt,’ Edward agreed, and called out, ‘Come in!’
‘Good morning,’ Amos said to the room at large; they greeted him in return. Hurrying over to the desk, he waited until Edward was seated behind it before taking the empty chair at the other side.
‘What did you find out?’ Edward asked.
‘The promissory notes are held by three clubs. Starks, The Rosemont, and the Gentleman’s Club. Starks is owed the most money, and Julian Stark is personally holding the notes. I heard last night from one of my contacts that he is going to come and see you himself, to demand payment.’
‘Is he now? Well, we must forestall him. He’s a big gossip. Do you know how much my brother owes Stark?’
Amos nodded. ‘I do. Thirty thousand pounds.’
Edward was flabbergasted, and his face paled. ‘What an idiot he is!’ he cried, his rage surfacing.
‘Don’t lose your temper again,’ Will murmured in soothing tones. ‘He ain’t worth it, Ned, and it’s only money.’
Endeavouring to calm himself, Edward muttered, ‘It’s the principle.’ Then he addressed Alfredo. ‘I’m going to write a personal cheque for that amount, a cashier’s cheque, and I’d like you and Finnister to take it to Julian Stark after lunch. I know you won’t mind doing that, will you? And get those promissory notes.’
‘That’s not a problem, we can handle this bit of business in a few minutes.’ Oliveri glanced at Finnister. ‘Isn’t that so?’
Amos nodded, then looked over at Edward. ‘The other two gambling clubs are each holding notes for five thousand pounds.’
‘I see.’ Edward was livid, and his anger showed on his face which had now lost all of its colour completely, was paler than ever. ‘I’ll write those two cheques as well, and you can drop them off, can’t you, Amos? Oliveri?’
‘Yes, and I’ll get the promissory notes,’ Amos replied and Oliveri nodded.
There was a sudden silence in the office. Will thought a pin dropping would be like a bomb going off, and he held himself perfectly still, waiting for a further explosion from Ned. But he said nothing. Nor did anyone else speak.
Forty thousand pounds was a fortune, Will thought, turning over the amount in his mind. How had George Deravenel managed to lose so much? Drink? Drugs? Total stupidity? Well he was stupid. Will had always known that. A pretty boy, spoiled by his mother and sister Meg before she had married and gone to live in France. George. All that silky blond hair, those unusual turquoise blue eyes. But dumb yes … beautiful and dumb. Poor eyesight, couldn’t pass the test to join the army. He thought he was Ned, or, more correctly, thought he could be his big brother. That was not possible. Edward was brilliant; he couldn’t hold a candle to him. George was his own worst enemy, Will understood this. He was always heading for trouble of his own making.
Will looked at Amos, as Edward was saying, ‘So tell me, what did you find out about the drugs, Amos?’
‘I went to a lot of clubs late last night, and I think the drug-taking has been exaggerated,’ Amos explained. ‘He might have tried reefers at times, also cocaine, but I don’t believe it’s a problem. Liquor is. He drinks a lot. He’s on the road to becoming an alcoholic.’
‘Just as I thought.’ Edward nodded. ‘Thank you, Amos, for sniffing around. I’m going to have to decide what to do with Master George, when he returns to London.’ He gave the three men a warm smile. ‘But I’m not going to let him spoil Christmas. Lunch at Rules at one o’clock, and please, gentlemen, I don’t want any discussion about this matter in front of Richard.’
Grace Rose finished wrapping the last of her Christmas presents in gold paper, tying the gauzy gold ribbon into a lavish bow. After adding a small spray of gold-painted holly and a bunch of tiny gold bells, she put it to one side on the table. Then, very neatly, she wrote on the small gift card: To dearest Bess, with much love from Grace Rose. Once she had tied the card onto the ribbon she sat back, regarding her handiwork.
There were nine presents all beautifully wrapped and ready to be sent off to Ravenscar. Six of them were for her half sisters and brothers, and three were for her adult relatives, Aunt Cecily, Aunt Elizabeth and Uncle Ned.
Uncle Ned. Her father. She loved him the most except for her parents, Vicky and Stephen Forth. They had adopted her, brought her up since she was four years old … fourteen years of love and devotion they had given her, and they had given her a life, one that was truly wonderful, and which she wouldn’t have had without them.
In her mind Grace Rose associated Vicky and Stephen with love, for that is what she had received from them, and continued to receive unstintingly. They had never demanded anything in return but she had responded to them with utter devotion, love and obedience.
Within the first few weeks of her arrival in this house the three of them had become as close as any parents and