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

Within a few minutes the two women were taking jugsful of hot water from the set-pot and filling the bathtub on the floor in the middle of the room. ‘Come along,’ Vicky said to the boy. ‘You have to have a bath now.’

The boy remained standing near the door, a fierce look on his face.

She went on, with a warm smile, ‘We must wash all the dirt away.’ She smiled again and beckoned to the child.

He remained stock still, clutching his cloth bag next to his little body. He was totally mute.

Finally, Vicky said to Fenella, ‘I’d better start undressing him.’ Walking over to the boy, she knelt down in front of him. ‘We’re not going to hurt you, child,’ she reassured him in a gentle voice. ‘We only wish to make you clean.’

Once again he seemed mesmerized by her, stared into her eyes, and taking advantage of his momentary distraction she whipped the big flat cap off his head before he had a chance to stop her or fight her.

The boy gasped, and so did Vicky and Fenella.

Masses of red curls were tied up in bunches all over his head.

The child began to tremble and hugged the bag tighter. Tears came, slid down the dirt-covered cheeks, making little channels.

Vicky and Fenella exchanged glances, and Vicky asked quietly, ‘Are you a little girl?’

At first the child did not answer and then after a long moment there was a nod. ‘Yes,’ she whispered, her voice barely audible.

The two women were stunned momentarily, and Fenella came over and knelt down next to Vicky. ‘Do you have a name, little girl?’ she asked, observing her acutely.

The girl shook her head.

‘Will you help us? Will you let us undress you so we can wash your beautiful auburn hair, and also bathe you? We want to make you clean and pretty.’

The child nodded, put the cloth bag on the floor and stood on one end of it with both feet. Then she began to untie the filthy muffler around her neck. Vicky helped her to take off the torn jacket, the grubby shirt underneath, and, finally, the old boots were removed. The trousers came off next, but with some difficulty since one foot had to remain on the bag at all times.

Once the little girl was stripped naked, Vicky led her over to the tin bath in the middle of the floor.

Fenella said to her softly, not wanting to frighten the girl, ‘I’m afraid I will have to take that bag from you, but only whilst you are having your bath. Otherwise it will get wet.’

The child shook her head frantically, clung to the bag.

Pointing to the large hook where the bath had been hanging, Fenella said, ‘I shall put it over there on that hook, where you can see it. And you can have it back when you’ve been washed.’

‘Naw!’ the girl cried. ‘It’s me fings.’

She was looking at Fenella, and once again Vicky acted swiftly. She snatched the bag away from the girl in one deft movement. The child instantly cried out.

Vicky placated her, ‘Don’t cry. I’m not taking your things.’

She hurried across the floor and put the bag on the hook. ‘There! You can see it all the time. Now, get into the bath, please.’

Vicky’s sudden rather firm and commanding voice seemed to have the desired effect. The little girl stepped into the bath and sat down with a splash. Vicky rolled up the sleeves of her blouse, leaned over the girl and began to untie the bits of dirty string. Within minutes, a cascade of auburn hair hung around the girl’s face.

Taking a face cloth, Vicky dipped it in the water and began to wash the girl’s face, removing the dirt. Then she tackled her body, asking the girl to stand up in the tub to ease the process. She did so, and Vicky washed her thoroughly. As she did this she noticed a few old bruises on the girl’s body, but they might easily have been caused by sleeping rough in the streets. They did not look serious. The child was thin, but not emaciated, and much smaller than she had appeared when dressed. Vicky realized that the clothes had all been too big for her, and they were a boy’s clothes, not a girl’s.

Once all the dirt had been washed away, Vicky told the child to sit down in the bath again, and she obediently did as she was told. Vicky, peering at the girl’s head, muttered, ‘I’m going to need the disinfectant, please, Fenella.’

A moment later Fenella brought a bottle of disinfectant and a large jar of soft liquefied soap, then went to get a comb and towels.

‘Cover your face with your hands, please,’ Vicky said to the girl, who did so. Vicky explained, ‘I’m about to wash your hair and I don’t want you to get soap in your eyes.’

At the end of an hour the most beautiful child stood before them dressed in a white flannel nightgown. Her hair had been towelled hard and was almost dry as Vicky brushed it, marvelling at it as she did so. It was a wonderful golden-red, and fell in curls and waves around her lovely face. The other remarkable thing about her was the colour of her eyes. They were an unusual deep blue, almost the shade of cornflowers.

Although Amos had been taken aback to see Mark Ledbetter at Haddon House, his surprise was mostly due to the hour more than anything else. Usually Lady Fenella had gone home by this time, but as Vicky Forth had said, they were there tonight because of an emergency. And perhaps this was the reason Ledbetter was present as well. But not necessarily.

Amos was well aware that the Chief Inspector knew Lady Fenella and her spinster aunt, Lady Philomena Howell. Ledbetter’s mother was a close friend of Lady Philomena’s; the two women had come out together as debutantes years ago.

He had always liked Mark Ledbetter, had known him for over seventeen years, actually since Ledbetter had started at Scotland Yard. At twenty-two he had been a dashing young aspiring detective, Amos a copper on the beat. They had met in the East End on a strange murder case, and had always got on well since that time.

Mark, who had gone into Fenella’s office, returned to the great room carrying two cups. He was a tall, slender, pleasant looking man, with dark wavy hair and warm brown eyes and at thirty-nine, fit and athletic. With a brilliant mind, superior intelligence and dedication to work, he had quickly moved up the ladder at the Yard.

Amos studied him as he strode over to the fireplace, asking himself yet again why a man with Mark’s looks, Cambridge education, aristocratic forebears and a wealthy mother would want to be a policeman. He had once asked Mark that question and the younger man had answered that he wanted to help people in despair. Perhaps that philosophy explained his interest in Haddon House, and the support he gave it.

As he came to a standstill Mark said to Amos, with a grin, ‘I’ve just stolen some of Lady Fenella’s brandy, but I’m perfectly certain she won’t mind.’ As he handed the cup to Amos and sat down in the other leather armchair, he added, ‘She keeps a bottle in her office…for medicinal purposes or emergencies. I need this tonight, and I’m sure you do, too.’

With a nod, Amos took the cup. ‘I do. Thank you, and good health, Chief.’ Amos took a swallow of the brandy, felt its warmth immediately.

‘Cheers,’ Ledbetter murmured and tasted the cognac himself, then sat for a moment, looked down into the cup, his expression thoughtful.

After a moment, Amos cleared his throat and asked in a quiet tone, ‘What was the emergency here tonight? If you don’t mind me asking, Chief? Obviously something serious to bring you here.’

Mark glanced at Amos and pressed his lips together for a moment. ‘I’m here by chance, actually. I was at a meeting with Lady Fenella and Hugh Codrill, the barrister. We were discussing ways to improve Haddon House, raise additional funds. Codrill had come along at my request, just to help…well, kick a few ideas around, to be honest.’

Mark paused, took a drink, went on, ‘We were still at her house on Curzon Street when she received a telephone call from Mrs Barnes, who was here doing the cooking. Anyway, to continue. A local woman had been brought in by two other women…neighbours. The woman was badly battered around the face, and appeared to be almost unconscious. The nurse on duty at the time was Clara Foggarty, and she was baffled and worried. She thought the woman might have concussion, and asked Mrs Barnes to contact Lady Fenella. I came along because I was worried.’

‘And where is the poor woman now? Here? Or at the hospital?’

‘Oh, at the hospital, of course. I immediately sent for an ambulance, and they took her away at once. I was pretty certain that there was concussion. We were just about to leave here and go home when you arrived with the little chap.’ Mark shook his head, a sorrowful look sliding onto his face. ‘I wish there was more we could do for these destitute boys living on the streets. Despite all the wonderful work done by Dr Barnardo’s and others, there are plenty of them out there still. Too numerous to count.’

‘I know that, sir. I used to think mudlarks and urchins and all the little street thieves had disappeared finally, been rehabilitated. But I’m not so sure. I can’t help thinking it’s as bad now as it was when Charles Dickens was writing about them.’

‘That wasn’t so long ago, you know—’ Mark stopped abruptly, and his expression changed. He looked across the room towards the kitchen door, bafflement flooding his face.

Amos followed the direction of his gaze, his eyes widening in amazement as he stared at Lady Fenella and Mrs Worth. Both were ushering a little girl into the room. A beautiful girl at that, with amazing golden-red hair. Oh,my God. The girl was clutching the cloth bag. It couldn’t be…she wasn’t the boy, was she? It wasn’t possible.

Almost as if she had read his mind, Vicky said, ‘Look what emerged from underneath all the dirt and grime, Mr Finnister. This lovely girl who had been wearing a boy’s clothes—a disguise. From what she told me, her mother dressed her like that most of the time. More than likely to protect her, I should think.’

Jumping up, smiling hugely, Amos came across the floor, stood in front of the two women and the child. He reached out, touched the child’s glorious red hair, and murmured, ‘Will you tell me your name now, little one?’

‘Mam…she call me her liddle rosebud,’ the girl answered, gazing up at him through her brilliant blue eyes. Her face was serious, her eyes suddenly sad.

‘That’s a pretty name indeed,’ Amos answered, smiling at her, then lifting his head, looking at Vicky, he raised a brow questioningly.

Vicky bent down to the child’s level. ‘But that isn’t your real name, is it?’