The Ravenscar Dynasty. Barbara Taylor Bradford
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decision to stay put. He was standing just behind the barrier, the best place of all, he knew that, and certainly Edward would spot him immediately.
Naturally, it was hard to miss Edward Deravenel. He was so handsome, so tall he towered over everyone and stood out most markedly in any crowd. And there was no mistaking Edward’s cousin.
Neville had always had a taste for fine clothes and was beautifully attired in the latest and most stylish fashions on all occasions. His reputation for being a bit of a dandy had preceded him for years; there were even those who referred to him as the Edwardian Beau Brummell.
Tonight Neville wore a black Homburg hat, in the jaunty style favoured by King Edward, and a black overcoat with an astrakhan collar. It was stylish, elegant and obviously it had been impeccably tailored in one of Savile Row’s best establishments.
Although he was not as tall as his cousin, Neville was, nonetheless, a striking, good-looking man, and he held himself regally, walked as if he owned the world.
In a sense, he probably did, now that his father was dead. He would inherit the many companies which his grandfather had left to Rick Watkins, and which Rick had run most successfully for some years. But this aside, Neville was a prosperous man in his own right; his vast fortune came from his own efforts, and there was too the fortune his heiress wife Anne had brought to the marriage as her dowry. Will knew that he was considered to be one of the most important magnates in England.
People standing in front of Will hurried off to greet those travellers they were meeting, and he found himself looking straight down the emptying platform. Edward caught sight of him, and a quick flash of a smile glanced across his handsome face.
Will waved, and went to the gate, clasped Edward’s hand as he came through.
Neville nodded, thrust out his own hand, and then when the greetings were over the three men moved towards the entrance to the railway station which also led out to the street.
‘Good of you to come, Will. I suppose you’ve spoken to Swinton?’ Edward spoke quickly, raised an eyebrow.
Will nodded. ‘I went to the Mayfair house today, to find out when you were returning from Yorkshire. Swinton told me the horrendous news. Ned, I’m so very, very sorry. This is such a terrible tragedy…’
‘Yes,’ Ned said laconically.
Turning to Neville, Will went on, ‘Please accept my condolences, Neville. I know you’re as heartsick as Ned.’
‘Thank you, Will,’ Neville responded a little brusquely, and cleared his throat. ‘Did you come in a hansom?’
‘Yes, I did. The driver’s waiting for me.’
‘My carriage will be outside. Would you care to ride with us, or do you prefer to make use of the cab which brought you?’
‘I’d like to come with you and Ned, naturally,’ Will answered. ‘I’ll pay the driver off, he’ll be happy to pick up another fare here at the station.’
By this time they had reached the exit where several private carriages were waiting, along with a number of hansom cabs. Will glanced around until he found the one he had come in; he hurried over to pay the driver while Neville and Edward showed the porter where to put the luggage.
Within a very short while the three men were seated comfortably in Neville’s elegant carriage, being driven across London, heading for Mayfair and the town house in Charles Street where the Deravenels lived.
After making desultory conversation for a few minutes, all three men fell silent, and Will, who was sitting opposite Edward and Neville in the carriage, soon began to realize that both had drifted into their own thoughts.
And with good reason, Will decided: they both have a great deal to think about and to deal with. Several times he was on the verge of saying something and then instantly bit back the words. He was reluctant to intrude on the privacy they appeared to need, and on their grief. Their expressions were sorrowful, and Edward, who was usually filled with vivacity, was positively sombre; Neville’s face was closed, bore no expression at all, except for his eyes. And they were cold, pale blue ice.
Will leaned back against the padded seat of the carriage, lost in his own mental meanderings for a short while. He noticed through the window that the light fog had deepened but was not yet so thick that the driver couldn’t make his way. He closed his eyes, drifting, the only sound the clatter of the horses’ hooves on the road.
A little later Will opened his eyes and saw at once that Edward was studying him intently. Edward said, ‘I hope, Will, that you will join me for a light supper, and you, too, Neville?’
Before Will could say a word, Neville shook his head. ‘I do believe I should get back to Chelsea. I must attend to our travel plans, but thank you, Edward.’
Edward glanced at Will. ‘And what about you, my friend?’
‘Of course I’ll dine with you, Ned, and I’ll help you in any way I can.’
Edward and Will sat in front of the fire in the small parlour of the Mayfair townhouse, each of them nursing a cognac. Edward was recounting everything he knew about the fire, and the tragic deaths of his family, and when he finally finished, he added, ‘However, Neville believes they were deliberately removed. He’s suggesting foul play.’
Will, who had been listening attentively to everything Edward had to say, sat bolt upright in the chair. Momentarily stunned, he gaped at Edward, and then exclaimed, ‘Ned, that’s preposterous—’ Will cut himself off abruptly. Leaning forward, he fixed his eyes on Edward intently, and in a quieter voice, added, ‘Perhaps it’s not so preposterous, after all. There has been bad blood between your father and his cousin Henry Grant for years. Is that what Neville is suggesting? That Henry Grant got rid of your father because he feared him, feared that he would endeavour to take over Deravenels?’
Edward nodded. ‘That’s the gist of it. But of course Neville doesn’t mean Henry, but his subordinates, and he doesn’t have anything pertinent or concrete to go on, as of this moment. It’s what he calls a gut feeling, an instinct. And you know very well that Neville is a masterful businessman of no mean talent, and he has great psychological insight into people.’ Edward sighed. ‘He’s convinced he is right in this assumption, and I can’t argue with him. It seems to me he’s correct. And so we are going to Italy to investigate what actually happened. Really happened. Maybe we will find something, maybe we won’t. And once we’ve finished checking the facts, we will bring the bodies back for burial. We plan to leave for Florence on Friday, actually, by way of Paris.’
‘Where was the fire in Florence?’ Will asked, wondering why he had not read about it in The Times. After all, Florence was the greatest Renaissance city in the world, and a fire anywhere there would be bound to make news.
‘It wasn’t in Florence, Will. The fire was in Carrara, in the hotel where they were staying. My father had gone to Carrara to look into a problem with our marble quarries. Edmund had begged to go with Father, because he’d never been to Italy, and Uncle Rick and Thomas asked if they might accompany them, because my uncle was eager to buy sculpture and art for his house. Naturally Florence was a very tempting place to visit.’
‘I understand,’ Will answered, and then hesitated for a moment, looking down into the amber liquid in his glass, his expression thoughtful. After a second, he asked, ‘Could I come with you and Neville, Ned? I think I might be of some help, useful to you, and if you don’t think I can do anything special for you, do remember I can give you moral support. I’m very good at that, don’t you know.’
A smile flitted briefly across Edward’s mouth, and was instantly gone. He glanced across at Will, his