The Complete Ravenscar Trilogy: The Ravenscar Dynasty, Heirs of Ravenscar, Being Elizabeth

‘It’s a long story. Basically though for money and power. They stole those things from us, from our line of the family, sixty years ago, and they are desperately trying to hang onto that power. But they are going to lose it, and lose it to us. We are going to reclaim what is ours by rights.’

The fifteen-year-old looked at him, her eyes shining. ‘Do you promise me, Ned?’

‘I do indeed promise you, Margaret, and I want you to put these worries about the Grants out of your head. You must promise me that.’

‘I do promise.’ Leaning back in the chair, she murmured in a quavering voice, ‘I miss Papa and Edmund.’

‘So do I, and I truly understand your pain, your grief, Meg. I want to tell you something.’ Ned leaned closer, said sotto voce, ‘I carry them in my heart. Always. And you must do that, too. It helps to hold onto them and the memories of being with them, of having them in our lives.’

Slowly she nodded her head. ‘I will do that. And I know I’ll never forget them.’ She reached out, took his hand in hers, clung to it.

‘I promise I will always protect you,’ Ned reassured her.

‘And I will stand by you,’ she responded, meaning this. And she was to prove her loyalty some years later, and it was a loyalty that never wavered.

‘We’re going to be fine, the entire family is going to be all right. Trust me, the Grants will fall into oblivion.’

‘When?’

‘I told you, soon. However, I see you want me to be more specific. Neville thinks we’ll oust them in a few months. By the summer, he says, I’ll be running Deravenels. Now, Meg, tell me about your days here. Are you enjoying being in London?’

‘I prefer Ravenscar. I wish we were there now.’

‘Well, we’re going there for Easter, how about that, my girl?’

‘Did Mama tell you this?’

‘No, she didn’t. I just decided it now, on the spur of the moment. So it’s our secret, for the time being. Now, tell me about Perdita Willis…do you like her as much as you did last year?’

‘Yes, I do. More, really. She loves botany as much as I do and she’s teaching me such a lot of new, interesting things. I was studying a special book before I became sad and started to cry. I want you to look at it, you’ll see how lovely the illustrations are.’ She pulled the large book towards her, and confided, ‘I found this in the library at Ravenscar, and I was fascinated by it. So is Richard. He keeps saying that it’s his, that it belongs to him.’

‘Why is that?’ Edward asked, looking somewhat amused at the idea of his Little Fish asserting himself.

‘Because it does have his name on it.’ Opening the book, she showed Ned the name inscribed on the faded bookplate on one of the front end papers. In beautiful copperplate it announced: Richard Deravenel: HisBook.

Looking down at the page Meg was showing him, Edward realized at once how old the book was. Very early Victorian, he thought. It was undoubtedly a gem. At that moment Edward remembered the story of the boy who died, and he exclaimed, ‘There was another Richard Deravenel, other than Father, many years ago. And that is his name on the bookplate, I feel sure. He died when he was about your age, Meg, of typhoid fever, I think. His full name was Richard Marmaduke Deravenel. This did belong to him, there’s no doubt in my mind. It must have been his.’

Edward turned the page and looked at the front. ‘What an odd title,’ he exclaimed. ‘Fatal Flowers…how very weird.’ He glanced at his sister a little quizzically.

‘It’s about flowers that are deadly, so poisonous they can kill. There are lots of them, Ned, growing in everybody’s gardens. But please do look at the pictures, they’re so lovely.’

‘More than lovely, Meg,’ Ned remarked as he turned the leaves of the book. ‘These watercolours are simply superb, of the highest quality indeed.’

Edward stared at the two pages now open in front of him. He stiffened. There was a painting of the tall and elegant foxglove on the left, and on the right the name of the flower in bold letters:

THE FOXGLOVE (DIGITALIS)

He read the heading again, hardly able to believe his eyes. Digitalis, he read once more, and then dropped his eyes to the details of the flower written below. Startled and excited, Edward’s eyes widened as he read:

The common foxglove grows in almost every Victorian garden. It is a flower beloved by all. Tall and graceful, it has many other names such as fairy thimbles, fairy gloves, fairy bells, and dead man’s thimbles, because its flowers do resemble the fingers of ‘fairy gloves’. The curious names originated here in the British Isles where our ancient people believed that the small spots on the bell of the flower were the fingerprints of fairies, hence the name ‘folks gloves’, meaning the gloves of the little folks. The elegant and colourful foxglove is often referred to as ‘dead man’s thimbles’ because of its shape and the poison it contains. The Latin genus, Digitalis, refers to finger or thimble. This beautiful natural ornament for the Victorian garden, so graceful, so tall, is fatal if eaten.

Oh, my God. Edward sat there motionless, frozen in the chair, continuing to stare down at the book, unwilling to lift his head at this moment. He knew that Meg was anxious for his opinion of the book, wanted to talk about it with him. Whereas he wanted to think. Was that how Aubrey Masters had died? Had he eaten foxgloves? Had they been ingested with his vegetarian dinner? An accident? Suicide? Murder? Which was it?

His brain raced. If Masters had been murdered, then who had done it? And how had the perpetrator managed to put foxgloves in his food?

‘Ned, Ned,’ Meg exclaimed, ‘what is it? Why are you so interested in the foxglove in particular?’

Finally he lifted his head and forced a smile. ‘Because it’s so strange, isn’t it, that a thing of such beauty is so deadly. Now I understand the title of the book.’

Will Hasling was waiting for Edward in the library of White’s, the gentleman’s private club in Whitehall where he and his father were members. Arguably the most famous club in London, many believed it was the first to open its doors, that it had begun as a chocolate house in 1693, and that Pope and Swift were among its regulars. Certainly it was a male bastion where members could go to eat, drink, smoke, gamble, play billiards and read. Women were barred. None of them really wanted to go anyway, preferring the men in their lives to have places where they could be left to their own devices.

Whilst waiting for his friend, Will had been perusing The Times, but he had now read enough, and took it back to the table where the newspapers were always placed after use.

As he swung around to return to his chair Edward came rushing into the room, but slowed his steps when he noticed a couple of older members present. Usually the club was deserted on weekends with everyone in the country.

‘So sorry I’m late,’ Edward said, clasping Will’s arm.

‘No problem, but shall we go in for lunch? I’m positively ravenous.’

‘Let’s do that.’

The two young men left the library, crossed the grand entrance foyer with its marble floor and dark mahogany furniture and went into the dining room.

After they were seated and had each ordered a glass of champagne, Will looked at Edward, said, ‘This is a nice surprise. I didn’t expect to see you today, especially since we’re invited to have lunch with Neville and Nan tomorrow.’

‘I know, but apart from us and Johnny, there’ll be Nan and their girls, my mother and my siblings. It’s going to be a family Sunday lunch with all the trimmings, and frankly I don’t think we’ll have a chance to speak privately.’

‘So what’s on your mind, Ned? Is something troubling you?’

‘I wouldn’t say troubling, more like tantalizing.’

‘I’m not sure what you mean by that?’

‘Did your mother have foxgloves growing in her garden when you were a child?’

‘Yes she did, and there are still foxgloves growing at Compton Hall.’ Will appeared puzzled when he asked, ‘But what are you getting at?’

‘She was growing Digitalis, and it is still growing in the flower gardens.’

Totally nonplussed, Will shook his head. ‘Come on, Ned, you’re not talking sense.’

Swiftly, with precision, Ned told him all about the book from Ravenscar, and what he had discovered that morning about the common foxglove.

‘Foxglove leaves and seeds are very poisonous indeed, and I think that somehow they got into Aubrey Masters’ food. Because nobody really believes he has a heart condition, now do they?’

‘No, they don’t,’ Will answered and paused as the waiter arrived with their flutes of champagne. Once alone, touching his glass to Edward’s, Will murmured, ‘Cheers.’

Edward went on quickly, ‘I telephoned Neville this morning to discuss the matter with him but he had gone to the country for the day with Nan. So I’ll mention it tomorrow before lunch, if that’s at all possible.’