The Complete Ravenscar Trilogy: The Ravenscar Dynasty, Heirs of Ravenscar, Being Elizabeth. Barbara Taylor Bradford
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I, sitting in this beautiful house in Chelsea, living in the greatest, most influential, and biggest capital city in the entire world. London. Centre of a great Empire, the greatest there has ever been. We are a prosperous, innovative, industrious nation. We are influential around the world. Money is plentiful. London—in fact the whole country—is flourishing. And we are a kindly, humane race by nature. So, you tell me why the rookeries exist.’
‘I wish I could. I’ve often asked myself that, and I’ve come up with no real answers. There are people who try to help such as Dr Barnardo, who started the homes for waifs and strays. He has been most successful. Other open-handed wealthy people, women in particular, have done much to alleviate terrible situations, and then there’s the home Lady Fenella and her aunt started for destitute women. Mind you, I understand what you’re saying…why doesn’t the government do something? Am I right?’
‘Exactly. It’s so appalling, it makes me feel sickened, and ashamed, and now I truly understand why my sister has wanted to work with Lady Fenella and has given her money for Haddon House.’ He smiled. ‘By helping those much less fortunate she has found the child she has dreamed about. As for Rose, she must have a guardian angel watching over her.’
‘And she has a few angels here,’ Amos pointed out, some of the tension leaving him. He went on, with a sudden warmth, ‘Not only Lady Fenella, Mrs Forth and Mr Forth, but also Hugh Codrill. He has arranged everything in the most proper and legal way. Your sister and her husband have nothing to worry about, from what I understand. No one can take Rose from them now. She’s their child, and she will have a good life.’
‘I want you to do something,’ Margot Grant said, glancing at John Summers. ‘We must retaliate. I know they are responsible for Aubrey’s death. Jean, chéri, s’il vous plaît …’
Reining in his black stallion, John Summers stared back at Margot, who also reined in her horse. She gazed into his face, a face that she had come to love, and whispered, ‘I have a terrible foreboding…les choses mauvais—’ She left her sentence unfinished.
There was a moment’s silence. The two of them had been riding along Rotten Row in Hyde Park for the past half hour, and now under the spreading branches of the trees they rested their horses. It was warm on this May Saturday, a beautiful spring day.
John let out a small sigh, and murmured, ‘How can I possibly retaliate? I’ve nothing to go on. I can hardly accuse Edward Deravenel of murdering Aubrey Masters. The police say he died an accidental death, it’s not even suicide. They’ve dismissed the idea of murder. I must admit I’m torn, Margot darling…part of me thinks that Aubrey died because of his own carelessness, his strange eating habits. Yet another part tells me it has been a most convenient death for Edward Deravenel and his clique within the company. So yes, I’m suspicious, like you, but I must be careful what I do, for your sake as well as mine.’
Margot nodded and suddenly smiled at him. Her face became radiant in the sunlight filtering through the leafy branches, and his breath caught in his throat for a moment. How beautiful she was this morning; her black hair was pulled back in a chignon, and she wore a jaunty royal-blue bowler hat with a tiny spotted veil. The crisp white linen jabot brought a touch of femininity to her tailored royal-blue riding jacket which she wore with a long matching skirt and boots. Her black eyes were luminous in her pale oval-shaped face, and she beguiled and tempted him as always. Margot held a fatal attraction for him, and there were times when he asked himself why he had allowed himself to become so involved with her. For besotted he was. Like father, like son, he thought, and pushed those implications away from him.
Reaching out, resting her gloved hand on his arm, Margot said, ‘I know you think Edward Deravenel is an amiable, pleasant young man with little in his empty head except chasing women. But I think you misjudge him, John.’
Shaking her head, her eyes piercing his, she added, ‘I see him differently, ah yes, I do. Very much so. He is clever. And he uses his lighthearted personality to conceal his ruthlessness.’
‘You’ve said that before, my dear, and I must say I do see it. I’m not dismissing Deravenel as empty-headed, no, not at all.’
‘What I have seen is the way he has charmed his colleagues at Deravenels, at least those who have always had a leaning towards the Deravenels of Yorkshire. Such as Alfredo Oliveri and Rob Aspen. They appear to hang on his words. And what of Oliveri? You promoted him to be head of the mining division, and this, too, worries me. He has too much power now.’
John laughed. ‘Oliveri is doing an excellent job,’ he answered crisply, although he was himself more than ever suspicious of Oliveri’s true loyalties. Changing the subject adroitly, he asked, ‘How is Henry? You have kept him in the country for quite a while now.’
‘You were the one who told me not to bring him to the office. That he was looking frail and ill. So yes, he is resting in the country.’ Her black eyes suddenly danced and she smiled invitingly. ‘Perhaps we can have lunch together…I can prepare a pique-nique.’
‘What about your staff?’ he asked, raising a brow eloquently.
‘I have given them the day off…the weekend off, in all truth, John.’
‘I see,’ he murmured, and could not keep the smile off his face. ‘So, we have a whole weekend at our disposal?’
‘Mais oui.’ Glancing around, seeing no one in sight, she leaned into him and kissed his cheek, whispered in his ear what she planned for that afternoon.
He did not respond, merely stared at her.
They set off at a walk, continuing down Rotten Row. Margot’s brain was whirling, filled with so many thoughts. But the most important was how to persuade John Summers to take revenge against Edward Deravenel. She was convinced he and his colleagues were behind the death of Aubrey Masters, one of Henry’s true followers.
The Saturday lunch at Neville’s house had become something of a ritual. Whenever they were all in London the six men met there to review their progress and enjoy a pleasant meal together.
The six of them stood in the handsome library, savouring an apéritif before going into the dining room. Edward Deravenel, as always, loomed over them, looking taller than ever, and even more handsome, if that were possible. He was talking earnestly to his cousin Johnny, who was listening attentively.
Edward had embarked on a discussion about libraries and books, and was confiding that one day, when he had a house, and money, he planned to have a library of his own.
‘Like this one, perhaps?’ Johnny asked. ‘Except for the one at Ravenscar, I don’t know of any other that is more beautiful, or better in any way.’
‘That’s true,’ Edward agreed, and then turned at the sound of Neville’s voice. His cousin had closed the library door, and was asking them to come and sit down near the fireplace.
They all did so at once, curious to know what Neville was going to say. For it was quite obvious he intended to speak; he took up a stance in front of the fireplace, without a fire today because it was mild weather.
‘I am happy to announce that we are almost ready to confront the Grants and their gang, and to bring them down. At long last,’ Neville said. ‘After sixty years of ruling the roost at Deravenels they will be hounded out of office.’
‘I do sincerely hope God is listening to you, Neville,’ Edward remarked, staring hard at his cousin. ‘Because whilst I believe we should strike them soon, I do want us to win.’
‘Oh, we will win,’ Neville assured him, with a bright, confident smile. ‘Finnister has everything ready.’ Neville glanced questioningly at the private investigator, who nodded and stood up.
‘I