The Complete Ravenscar Trilogy: The Ravenscar Dynasty, Heirs of Ravenscar, Being Elizabeth. Barbara Taylor Bradford
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young face filled with pleasure and his slate-grey eyes shone. ‘Do you promise me, Ned?’
‘I do, Dick, I do promise you.’
The eight-year-old visibly relaxed, his tense body growing slack as he leaned against Edward in a companionable way, fully at ease with him, as he had been since his toddler days. ‘Things are not the same when you’re not at home…I do miss you so.’
‘I know how you feel, I miss you too, Tiddler, but I’m not all that far away. Perhaps I could write to you occasionally.’
‘Oh, Ned, would you? How wonderful to have a real letter from you every week.’
Edward began to chuckle. ‘I didn’t say every week. But look here, Dick, it’s not as if you’re a boy alone when I’m at university. Meg is around, and you have George. Also, Edmund will be at home with you.’
‘Yes, I know,’ Richard answered in an uncertain voice. ‘I love Edmund, but he’s so busy, and sometimes he seems a bit…impatient.’
‘I know he’s a very busy fellow indeed.’ Edward laughed, added, ‘Doing what I don’t know. But George is all right with you, isn’t he?’
‘Oh, yes.’
Glancing at him swiftly, Edward asked, ‘Does George bully you too much? Tell me the truth, I don’t want you to lie to me.’
Richard stared at his brother askance, and exclaimed, ‘I never lie, and I wouldn’t fib to you. George doesn’t bully me.’
‘I’m glad to hear it, but I do recognize that at times he can become over-zealous, shall we say, about certain things.’
‘I can defend myself.’ There was a sudden flash of pride, a defiant tilt to Richard’s dark head.
‘I know you can. After all, I taught you.’ Edward gave him a light punch on the arm and stood up. He glanced out of the window, noticed how the sea mist was now obscuring everything; even the battlements at the bottom of the garden far below had been obliterated this afternoon.
Turning, Ned strode across the floor, went back to the table where the large box stood. He put in another volume and then checked it off on his list.
Richard, watching him from the distance of the window seat, asked, ‘Will Edmund go to Oxford one day?’
‘I expect so, and George, too, and you yourself, Dickie boy. When you’re old enough. That’s what Papa wants, that we all should be Oxford-educated. Does that suit? Would you like to go? To be an undergraduate?’
‘Oh, yes, I really would. Why does everyone call it the city of dreaming spires?’
‘Because there are so many churches and buildings with spires and they look beautiful in the light.’
‘It’s very old, isn’t it? Meg told me it was.’
‘It is indeed. Twelfth century.’
‘Can I come and visit you one day, Ned? Please. I would like to see everything at Oxford. Will you take me to see everything?’
‘Of course, old chap, and especially the Bodleian, that’s my favourite.’
‘What is it, Ned, the Bodleian?’
‘A library, a very lovely and very ancient library.’
‘Oh, I’d love to see it! Meg told me that in the Civil War Oxford was the Royalist capital, and that it was besieged by Cromwell’s parliamentarians, but it wasn’t hurt by them.’
‘That’s correct.’ There was a knock on the door and Edward called, ‘Come in.’
The door opened and Jessup, the butler, entered, inclining his head. ‘Master Edward, please excuse me.’
‘Yes, Jessup?’
‘Your mother wishes to speak with you. She’s awaiting you in the library.’
‘Thank you, Jessup. You may tell her I shall be down in a few minutes.’
‘Mrs Deravenel did ask me to say that it was a matter of some urgency, Master Edward.’
‘Very well. Then I shall come right away.’
The room wasn’t quite right. There was something curiously wrong about it.
Edward stood in the doorway of the library, hesitating, not wishing to enter.
It was far too dark, darker than usual, and this was not normal. It wasn’t like his mother not to have the electric lights blazing; she loved sunshine and brightness, which was why she had had the electricity installed in the first place.
Only two small lamps were turned on in the vast room, even though it was late afternoon and gloomy as dusk descended outside. The shadow-filled room seemed decidedly odd to him, off-kilter. Unexpectedly, he was filled with sudden unease, felt a sense of desolation, and even of foreboding enveloping him.
Opening the door wider, he finally went inside, peering ahead in the dim light. He could make out his mother standing next to a high-backed wingchair at the far end; behind her, wrapped in shadow, a figure lurked, stood staring out of the window, his back to the room. Edward couldn’t discern who it was.
Slowly he approached his mother, his mind racing, every one of his senses alerted to trouble. Fear, he decided, fear is present here, and the hackles rose on the back of his neck at this unexpected and irrational thought.
Taking a deep breath, he murmured, ‘You wanted to see me, Mother.’
She said nothing.
Stepping over to the fireplace, Edward switched on a lamp standing on a small occasional table, turned to his mother. He noticed how dark her eyes were and huge in her face, and how they were filled with apprehension.
Alarmed, he stared at her more intently, waiting. Now he realized her face was without expression, wiped blank, or so it seemed to him, and it looked as if it had been carved from stone. She was very pale, all the colour had drained away.
‘What has happened? What is it?’ he pressed, his voice sharp, rising and filling with urgency.
A shudder rippled through her and Cecily reached out, gripped the back of the chair as if to steady herself, her knuckles gleaming whitely in the faint glow from the lamp.
Edward felt that fear spreading out from her, touching him, and he asked again, ‘What’s wrong?’
In a rush of words she said in a low, tense voice, ‘It’s your father…there’s been an accident. A fire. Your father…and Edmund.’ She stopped, choked up, finished bleakly, ‘They’re both dead, Edward.’ Her voice broke, but she somehow managed to keep a strong hold on her emotions. In a wavering voice, she managed to say, ‘My brother and your cousin Thomas…they, too, were killed in the fire.’
Stupefied, disbelieving, Edward gaped at her. He found it hard to take it in, couldn’t quite comprehend what she was saying. He was frozen to the spot where he stood, unable to move or speak.
The figure near the window turned around and walked forward. Immediately Edward realized it was his cousin Neville Watkins, eldest son of Rick and brother of young Thomas.
‘I brought the bad news, Ned,’ Neville announced, his voice thick with emotion. The cousins clasped hands for a moment, and Neville exclaimed, ‘It was I who brought death and sorrow here!’
Edward shook his head vehemently. ‘No! It’s just not possible,’ he cried. ‘Not my father. Not Edmund. Not Uncle Rick and Tom. It simply can’t be, not our family gone like that in the blink of an eye.’
Cecily’s heart clenched at the sight of Edward’s pale and stricken face, the tears welling in his eyes;