Heirs of Ravenscar (45 page)

B
ess sat at the bedside of her aunt, Anne Deravenel, holding her hand, trying to comfort her. Anne had been ill for some weeks now, ever since their child Little Eddie had died, suddenly and unexpectedly of an appendicitis. Anne and Richard had been demented, out of their minds with grief, and inconsolable. And Anne had fallen apart, taken to her bed. Richard, too, was grief-stricken, but he was now managing to cope. Deravenels kept him busy.

Suddenly Anne turned her head and looked directly into Bess's eyes, said in a low voice, ‘I can't stop thinking about April the ninth, the day Little Eddie died at Ravenscar. Why did God take him from us on that day? The same day Ned died a year ago? To the very day, Bess. Was God punishing Richard?'

Bess leaned closer, staring at her aunt, her bright-blue eyes widening in surprise. ‘What do you mean, Aunt Anne? Why would God be punishing Uncle Richard?'

Anne lay there on the pillows, pale and wan, and remained
silent, now regretting those words, aware of the shock and surprise on her niece's face. Bess had probably misunderstood her.

‘What did you mean?' Bess pressed, baffled and frightened by the statement of a moment ago.

Anne looked up at Bess, and smiled faintly. ‘Richard did
insist
the boys come to Ravenscar to be with us and Little Eddie. That weekend when we went to my mother's house, we left them alone, and later Richard went to London. They were left unattended, Bess, except for Nanny and the staff. People are saying bad things about Richard, saying that he was negligent, and therefore he is responsible for their disappearance … but he wasn't. He loved the boys. And who could possible imagine that they would not be safe at Ravenscar, and that a bad person would come and take them from the beach?'

Anne began to weep, and Bess bent over her, gave her a clean handkerchief, murmuring gently, ‘Please don't cry, Anne, don't upset yourself so. You must try and get better. Uncle Richard needs you, he's grieving just as you are, for Little Eddie. Let me go downstairs and ask Cook to make us a pot of tea. Do you think you could eat something?'

Anne wiped her eyes, and shook her head. ‘I'm not hungry, I'm really not.' Her eyes focused on the clock on the bedside table, and she went on softly, ‘Goodness, look at the time. It's already six o'clock. Richard will soon come home from Deravenels.'

‘Why don't you try to get up, Anne, to have dinner with Richard tonight. It would cheer him up.'

‘I don't think I can … maybe I will feel better tomorrow.'

Bess, looking at her, couldn't help thinking she was wasting away. Anne hardly ever ate, and because she barely ever got out of bed she was suffering from weakness in her legs. Atrophy, Bess thought, and pushed away that ghastly thought.

At this moment the door flew open and her uncle was suddenly standing in the doorway. He appeared tired and drained, but he pushed a smile onto his face as he walked across the room. ‘Bess, it's lovely to see you here. Thank you for coming to be with Anne, you're so good to her.'

‘I've been here all afternoon,' Bess replied, smiling at him. They had always been close and she was genuinely fond of him. ‘I've been trying to persuade Aunt Anne to get up for dinner.'

‘And why not?' He came to the side of the bed, and bent down, moved Anne's pale blonde hair away from her face tenderly, kissed her cheek. Looking down at her, he continued, ‘Do come downstairs, my love. You don't have to dress, and I'll carry you. It would be so nice to dine with you tonight.'

Anne's eyes were full of adoration for him when she answered, ‘I will take a cat nap. I promise I'll come down later.' Her eyes moved to Bess, and she smiled at her niece. ‘Stay for supper, darling Bess. You can help me dress later perhaps.'

‘Of course I'll help you, Aunt Anne,' Bess answered, and turning to her uncle she added, ‘I'll go downstairs now, leave the two of you alone together.'

Bess went outside into the garden of her uncle's Chelsea house, walked across the wide terrace and down to the wall that fronted onto the River Thames.

Resting her elbows on the wall, she looked down the river. For years Amos had entertained her and Grace Rose with the lore of the Thames; she had grown to love it as much as he did, and so did Grace Rose. There were a few small boats on it, on this late afternoon in May, and she couldn't help thinking of the
Lady Bess
.

What had happened to that fishing boat? It was obvious that her brothers had taken it to the beach. But had they actually taken it out onto the water? Had they got into trouble and drowned? Or had the man Tom Roebottom had seen simply tied their fishing boat to his own when he had taken the boys with him?

Not so long ago she had asked Amos this question, and he had nodded, and explained, ‘If I were abducting two boys, of course I would take their boat with me … The missing boat, the
Lady Bess
, has created doubts in people's minds. They think the boys may well have drowned at sea.' Then she had asked Amos what
he
believed, and he had said he thought her brothers had been taken, but had no idea what their fate had been.

Bess sighed as she thought of that conversation with Amos. She tended to agree with him … no one knew what had happened to her brothers. That was the cruellest thing of all, not knowing. They had been missing almost a year. Today was the last day of May in 1927. She was eighteen, having celebrated her birthday in March … and Grace Rose was already twenty-seven. They were good friends and spent a great deal of time together; Grace Rose had been a true sister to her and like another daughter to Elizabeth, and Bess appreciated this.

‘I've been looking all over for you,' Richard was saying, coming down the garden path towards her.

Bess swung around, a smile striking her mouth, and she answered, ‘I'm hiding in plain sight, Uncle Richard.'

‘Thank you again, Bess darling,' he said as he came to her, and leaned an arm on the wall, looking at her intently. ‘You do help to cheer Anne up. She seems so weak, very listless, but the doctor can't find anything wrong with her.' He shook his head, his face strained.

‘She's sick from grief,' Bess murmured.

He was silent for a long moment, and then he said in a voice that was a whisper, ‘Dying of a broken heart, perhaps.'

‘Perhaps,' Bess agreed, and took hold of his hand, squeezed it. ‘I know how you fret about Anne, you worry yourself sick, but I'll come as much as I can to see her.'

Richard placed his hand over hers. ‘Thank God for
you
. You do her good. And you do me good, too. Whatever would I do without you, dearest Bess.' He brought her hand to his mouth and kissed her fingers. ‘You are our treasure.'

Leaning forward, Bess kissed him on the cheek. ‘I want to help you both as much as I can. I love you both, Richard. And what is a family for otherwise?'

He gave her a curious look, and said, ‘Sometimes I wonder, and most especially about ours.'

He stared off into the distance, as if seeing something she could not see. His eyes were a pale, bluish grey at this moment, and with his dark hair and sculpted face she realized yet again how much he looked liked her grandmother, his mother. Richard Deravenel had inherited the looks of the Watkins's side of the family. He was not as tall and staggeringly handsome as her father, and his colouring was totally different. Yet he was a good-looking man, and there were times when he reminded her of her father.

It really was a peculiar thing that his seven-year-old son Little Eddie had died on the same day her father had died one year earlier. She thought of Anne's words; they puzzled her.

She suddenly blurted out, ‘Uncle Richard, why do people say such terrible things about you?'

He swung his head away from the river, and gaped at her, startled. His face was changing before her eyes. His mouth became taut, his eyes, pale blue a moment ago, now turned darker, became slate grey in colour.

‘I don't know, Bess,' he said at last in a puzzled voice. ‘I
really don't … I'm as baffled as you are. I didn't take your brothers. Why would I? Anyway, I was in London, as you well know. But I suppose there are those who think I arranged for them to be kidnapped … killed? But I'm not responsible for this crime, Bess, if there has been one. You must believe that.'

‘I do. I know you loved the boys, and I know how loyal you always were to my father … I can't imagine you touching a hair on their heads … they looked so much like him.'

Tears came into Richard's eyes and he took hold of her hand again. ‘Look at me, Bess, please. Please look at me. I swear to God I did not harm Edward and Ritchie.
You must
believe me
.'

Bess, gazing into his eyes, saw the sincerity reflected there, heard the truth ringing in his voice and she knew he was not lying. She believed him even though there were those who were saying scurrilous things about him. She had known him all of her life and she trusted him absolutely. He was her father's brother, her father's favourite, and her father had truly loved Richard.

‘I do believe you,' she said finally. ‘I trust you with my life, and my sisters' lives.'

‘Thank you, Bess. Thank you for having faith in me.' He turned to look at the river, and so did she, and he put his arm around her shoulders and they watched the Thames flowing by, lost in their own thoughts. But both of them were thinking of the future.

Amos Finnister stood in the library of the house in Berkeley Square. As everyone else did when they came into this beautiful room, he was staring up at the painting by Renoir hanging above the fireplace. It reminded him of Bess and
Grace Rose. And that was why Mr Edward had bought it in the first place, he was quite sure of that.

‘Hello, Mr Finnister,' Elizabeth said.

He swung around to face her. ‘Good evening, Mrs Deravenel.'

Elizabeth glided forward into the room, and shook his outstretched hand, and they walked together towards the chairs near the fireplace.

‘Thank you for coming,' Elizabeth said, as she sat down. ‘I wanted to talk to you about Deravenels.'

‘I thought that was probably why you'd asked me to come. But I don't have a lot to report, Mrs Deravenel. If I had I'd have been in touch.'

‘I know, you've been very good, Mr Finnister, very helpful this past year. And Mr Oliveri as well. Is he coming, by the way?'

‘Yes, he is. He was delayed at Deravenels, but he should arrive within the next few minutes or so.'

‘I'm glad. I wondered how things were at the Paris office.'

‘Very well, as I understand it. But, of course, Oliveri can fill you in better about that, since he deals with them on a constant basis.'

She nodded, clasping her hands together. And what is happening here in London?' She raised an arched blonde brow, and asked, ‘Have there been any more sackings?'

‘Several, yes, I'm afraid. And Mr Richard has made a few other changes.'

‘But the company is all right, isn't it?' she asked, worry suddenly clouding her pale-blue eyes. She brought a hand to her neck nervously. ‘He's not ruining it, is he?'

‘That would be hard to do, Mrs Deravenel. Mr Edward – well, he made it
very safe
.'

‘Madam, excuse me, Mr Oliveri has arrived,' Mallet said from the doorway of the library.

‘Oh, thank you, please show him in, Mallet.'

Elizabeth rose to greet Alfredo as he came hurrying in, apologizing profusely for being
late. ‘Oh, that's all right,' she reassured him, shaking his hand. ‘Please sit down here
with us. Oh, and do excuse me, I'm being rather rude not offering you anything. Would you
like a drink, Mr Finnister? And what about you, Mr Oliveri.'

Both men declined politely, and Elizabeth leaned back in the chair, and said, ‘I was just discussing Deravenels with Mr Finnister, and he was assuring me that whatever my brother-in-law does, the company will always be safe because of the way my husband set it up.'