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

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; his devastation was palpable to her. Although she shared his overwhelming pain and sorrow, his utter disbelief that this tragedy had occurred, at this moment she thought only of her son. ‘How can I comfort you?’ she asked, shaking her head helplessly. Tears began to seep out of her eyes, slid down her cheeks unchecked.

Edward did not respond. He was rendered speechless by the news. She knew he was in shock just as she was herself.

It was then that Cecily Deravenel uttered the words Edward would never forget for the rest of his life. ‘Oh, Ned, Ned, has no one ever told you that life is catastrophic?’

For a long moment he was transfixed, staring at her, and then he swung around and rushed out of the library without saying a word. All he knew was that he had to get away, escape this death-laden room. He had the desperate need to be alone in his terrible grief.

Edward half stumbled across the Long Hall, making for the double doors that led to the garden. Once he was outside he fled down the paved path, through the tiered gardens, past the lawns until he at last arrived at the ruined battlements of the old stronghold on the promontory at the edge of the cliffs.

The sea fret had lifted. It had begun to snow and the tiny crystalline flakes stuck to his face, his burnished hair. He barely noticed. He was oblivious to the weather in his anguish.

Ned stood in the small, round enclosure which had once been a watchtower looking out over the North Sea. He pressed his face against the cold stones, his mind in a turmoil. How could they be dead? His father, his brother, his uncle and his cousin. It didn’t seem possible. And it certainly didn’t make sense…how had they all died together? Where had they been? When had it happened? Tragedy had struck not once but four times.

Papa is dead. And Edmund. Only seventeen…my lovely brother, so special, so full of promise for the future. And Tom, cousin Tom, with whom he had grown up. And Uncle Rick, the only other senior member of their closely-knit families, whom everyone depended on. They had all been constant, loyal to each other.

Papa and Edmund. Oh, God, no. His throat closed and tears flooded his eyes as grief finally engulfed him.

A bit later he heard a step on the cold stones, felt a warm cloak go over him, a comforting arm slip around his shoulders.

‘Weep, grieve, let it come out, Ned,’ Neville Watkins murmured against his ear. ‘As I did last night.’

Within moments the two cousins went inside and stood conferring in the Long Hall. ‘When did you receive the news?’ Edward asked. ‘And who was it that contacted you?’

‘Aubrey Masters from Deravenels,’ Neville answered. ‘He telephoned me last night as soon as he heard what happened in Carrara. He thought it better that Aunt Cecily and you and the children were told in person by me, rather than receiving a telephone call from him or a telegram. Much too impersonal, he said. I told him he had done the right thing.’ Neville’s face was deathly white and taut as he continued, ‘However, I had to come to grips with my own grief and my mother’s distress before coming over to Ravenscar. I left Ripon as soon as I was up to it today, and came by carriage this afternoon. I hope you don’t think I delayed too long.’

‘Neville, of course I don’t! You’re as grief-stricken about your father and brother as I am about mine.’

‘We must go to Florence,’ Neville now said. ‘And then to Carrara, Ned. We have to arrange for their bodies to be brought home for proper burial here in Yorkshire. And we must do some detective work whilst we are there.’

Edward did not respond for a split second and then he murmured quietly, ‘You obviously don’t think it was an accident, do you?’ His voice trailed off, and his eyes locked with Neville’s.

‘No, I don’t think it was an accident. I am relatively certain it was somehow planned, not sure how.’

‘You’re suggesting foul play, perhaps?’

‘I am, Cousin.’

‘My father was a target, is that what you are intimating?’

‘Yes, I am, Ned.’

For a moment or two Edward did not speak, as he sifted this information. Finally he asked, ‘Where was the fire?’

‘At a hotel our fathers and brothers were lodging in. Other people were killed, too, by the way.’

‘Oh, my God, how terrible. Do you believe Henry Grant is behind it?’

‘Not Grant personally,’ Neville answered, looking reflective. ‘In my opinion he’s a doddering fool. However, I consider that French wife of his to be a clever woman in certain ways, and capable of double dealing. And so are his subordinates. They’re a dangerous lot, capable of anything.’

‘What did you mean by foul play, Neville?’

‘Just that. If so, we must avenge the deaths of your father and mine and our brothers. I think your father may have been silenced because he has been making too much of a fuss lately about his role at Deravenels. He’s been persistently reminding the current management that he is the one who really should be chairman, and that the Lancashire Deravenel Grants stole the company, grabbed the top jobs and took control of the overall management. It happens to be the truth but none of them like to hear it. And so they targeted your father to shut him up and retain control. That’s the long and short of it, in my opinion. I think you must do something about this, Ned, and I am here to help you. I shall back you all the way, and I shall protect your back at all times.’

Edward nodded. ‘Thank you, Neville, thank you. We shall make our plans later, but now I feel I have to go to my mother, to comfort her, and then we must give the other children this tragic news.’

FOUR (#u02ba055c-10FF-11e9-9e03-0cc47a520474)

Cecily Deravenel was known for her stoicism and iron-willed self-control, but both had vanished. Edward became acutely aware of this when he found his mother in her private suite of rooms upstairs.

After knocking on the door, he had walked straight in without waiting for her assent, knowing instinctively that she needed him, needed his comforting presence.

His mother was seated on a love seat close to the fire, in the small parlour which adjoined her bedroom, staring into the flames. When she turned her head, gave him a direct look, he saw at once her ravaged face, the bloodshot eyes, the despair surrounding her, totally enveloping her like a caul. Her grief was so apparent, so acute, he forgot his own for a moment, and hurried to her, alarm touching his face.

Sitting down next to her on the love seat he put his arms around her and drew her close to him.