The Complete Ravenscar Trilogy: The Ravenscar Dynasty, Heirs of Ravenscar, Being Elizabeth. Barbara Taylor Bradford
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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.
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