Heirs of Ravenscar (35 page)

‘Yes, of course I am. Why do you ask?'

‘You seemed somewhat quiet this evening over dinner. I thought that perhaps you were worrying about Amos.'

‘No, I wasn't. Actually I was thinking about something else entirely. As for Amos, I have a feeling I know what's
troubling him, and I'll talk to him the moment we get back to London.'

‘So what was preoccupying you?' she asked, seating herself opposite him.

‘I was mentally reviewing the meeting I had in the office today, that's all.'

‘Was it a good meeting?'

‘
I
think it was, yes.' He shook his head. ‘I met with … an interesting man … Henry Turner, in fact.'

Jane gaped at him. ‘The heir of Henry Grant?'

‘Yes.'

‘But why? He's the enemy!'

‘I wouldn't say that. In fact, he's rather a mild-mannered young man, and actually very intelligent. Even a little serious-minded, I would go so far as to say.'

‘But why did you meet with him?'

‘He actually had written to me, and requested a meeting several weeks ago, and that was one of the reasons I wanted to come to Paris,' Edward explained, rising, walking over to the drinks' tray. He picked up the bottle of Napoleon brandy and poured himself a measure in a balloon, and asked, ‘Would you like some of this, Jane?'

‘No, thanks. Oh, why not … yes, I will, please,' she said.

A moment later he strode back to the chairs, handed her the brandy balloon and sat down.

‘He wanted to meet because he wants a job. With Deravenels in Paris. He was working with Louis Charpentier, but seemingly they have had a number of quarrels and disagreements. Also, Henry feels the way I did years ago. He doesn't want to have his bride chosen for him. And Charpentier was endeavouring to get Henry married off to his niece Louise.'

‘But you once told me Charpentier's niece was his heir.'

‘That's perfectly true, darling, you're right. But Henry is not interested in marrying her, heiress or not. So he left Louis Charpentier's employ, and decided I might take pity on him and take him in.'

‘Why do you say
take pity
? Doesn't he have any money?'

‘He's not too badly off, but he strikes me as the sort of man who
wants
to work, needs to work. And since he and his mother Margaret Beauchard hold a lot of Deravenel stock he decided he wanted to work for the company that he has a stake in … the family company.'

‘Is he related to you? Is he a Deravenel, Ned?' Jane asked. ‘I thought he was from Grant's side.'

‘That's true, he is, but don't forget Grant's full name was Henry Deravenel Grant of the Lancashire Deravenel Grants, and he was descended from the original founder of the dynasty, Guy de Ravenel. As am I. He and I were cousins.'

‘So where
exactly
does Henry Turner fit in?'

‘Henry Turner's father, the late Edmund Turner, was the half-brother of Henry Grant – they had the same mother, but different fathers. Edmund Turner was not a Deravenel, but Margaret Beauchard Turner, Edmund's wife and Henry Turner's mother, can trace her line right back to Guy de Ravenel, and that's the other family connection. It is Grant's shares they hold, because Henry Turner is the last heir of Grant. All the others are now dead.'

‘
Have
you given him a job?' Jane asked quietly, a worried expression crossing her face.

‘I have, yes, here at the Paris office. He's going to be doing general things at first. I haven't placed him in a division as such.'

‘But
why?
Isn't this a dangerous move?'

‘No, it isn't, trust me, darling. Henry Turner knows there is no way he can challenge me for Deravenels. It's mine and
he knows it. He doesn't have the experience, enough shares or clout to mount any kind of takeover ever, or
coup
, if you want to call it that. He just wants a job.'

‘Well, of course, you know best, Ned,' Jane said finally. Although she meant this, trusted Ned's business judgement and acumen, she was wary of Henry Turner and this move. And she was to remember this conversation in the not-too-distant future, and be filled with regret for not exercising more influence on Edward. And for not being more forceful with him about her concerns. But by then it was too late.

I lingered round them, under that benign sky: watched the moths flutter among the heath and harebells; listened to the soft wind breathing through the grass; and wondered how anyone could ever imagine unquiet slumbers for the sleepers in that quiet earth.

Emily Brontë

Wuthering Heights

‘W
hat's wrong with your father, Bess?' Will
Hasling asked, after greeting her, embracing her with affection. Stepping back, Will peered
into her face. It was pale and filled with worry. ‘He merely had a head cold a few days ago.
What happened?'

‘His cold turned into bronchitis, as it so often does with him. I think it's a family weakness … a weak chest, I mean. That's why I telephoned you, Uncle Will, he seems so poorly.'

‘I'm glad you did, and I'm certainly glad I decided to come down to Kent last night.'

As they walked across the entrance foyer of Waverley Court, heading towards the staircase, Bess went on, ‘I think you know that my mother went to Rome for Easter. She took Cecily and the two boys with her. I didn't want to go with them, and now I'm relieved I stayed here, so that I can look after my father.'

‘I'm assuming you've telephoned the doctor?'

‘Yes, he'll be here very soon. Faxton and I have been
treating Father the best we can. He's been inhaling Friars' Balsam, and taking his cough mixture. I do think that's helped.'

As the two of them came up the last few stairs and onto the landing, they saw Faxton emerging from Edward's bedroom.

Will asked, ‘How is Mr Deravenel, Faxton?'

‘He's about the same, sir.'

‘As soon as the doctor arrives, please send him up.'

‘Yes, of course, Mr Hasling.'

Bess went into her father's room first, exclaiming, ‘Papa, here is Uncle Will!'

Edward, who was propped up in bed against piles of white linen pillows, gave Will a faint smile, and half raised a hand. ‘I can't believe this,' he said in a low, hoarse voice. ‘I had to cancel Rome. I wasn't well enough, and I was so looking forward to it.'

‘I know you were,' Will replied, pulling up a chair to the side of the bed and sitting down, scrutinizing Ned intently. ‘But you're better off here, getting yourself well, rather than traipsing around Rome. Your health is important. And by the way, who's gone with Elizabeth and the children?'

‘Anthony took my place. He doesn't mind travelling with his sister. And the girls' new governess, Miss Coleman, has gone along as well as Elizabeth's maid …' He stopped, found a handkerchief in his pajama pocket, began to cough into it. After several minutes the hacking cough finally subsided and he leaned back, looking exhausted.

Eventually, when Ned seemed more settled, Will said, ‘Do you need a glass of water, Ned?'

‘Hot tea with lemon,' he answered. He looked across at Bess, asked in a whisper, ‘Can you get it, darling?'

‘Of course, Father, and do you want something, Uncle Will?'

‘Yes, please, Bess, the same. Thank you.'

She nodded, then hurried across the room.

Once they were alone, Will said, ‘You're awfully pale, Ned. I wish there was something I could do. I feel helpless.'

‘Dr Lessing's a good chap,' Ned responded quietly. ‘He'll fix me up in no time at all. But I do feel wretched. I took my boys fishing at Ravenscar last weekend, and caught a cold then. It was chilly out on the North Sea, and very windy, and it poured with rain. We got drenched. But still, they enjoyed it, so it was worth it.' He took a deep breath, added, ‘I'll have to get better before I can come to work, Will.'

‘Don't worry about Deravenels, for goodness sake. It runs like clockwork, you've set it up that way. Everything is in good order … you have made it so streamlined and efficient, and we do have the best executives in the world.'

‘I know we do …' Edward closed his eyes for a moment or two. He felt weary, and yet there were so many different thoughts running through his head. Urgent things to do.

Will sat perfectly still, watching him, almost guarding over him; he was extremely worried, alerted to trouble. He had never seen Edward Deravenel look as ill as this. He had told Ned his face was white, but to Will it seemed almost grey, and he was very feverish. Reaching out, Will placed his hand on Ned's, which lay on top of the sheet.

Edward immediately opened his eyes and looked straight at Will, stared into his eyes. ‘You've been my dearest friend always, Will. My very best friend and ally –' His voice petered out weakly.

Will did not like the sound of this statement; to him it smacked of a farewell, or some such thing, and he frowned. ‘I still
am
your dearest friend, as you are mine, and we'll be friends for a long time.' He suddenly pushed a grin onto his face. ‘We're only in our forties, Ned, we've a good stretch ahead of us yet.'

Edward smiled at him. ‘We do, indeed, and I for one still have a lot of damage to do.'

At this moment the door opened and Bess came in, followed by one of the maids, and behind the maid was Dr Ernest Lessing. He was the local country doctor the family used when they were at the house in Kent.

Will stood up, turned to the doctor, whom he knew, and greeted him cordially. ‘How are you, Dr Lessing?'

‘Very well, thank you, Mr Hasling,' he answered, and then he stepped up to the bed, put his black bag on a chair, took out his stethoscope. He looked at Edward for a long moment, and then said quietly, ‘Good morning, Mr Deravenel. Bronchitis again, eh?'

‘Afraid so, Lessing. I'm prone to it, so it seems to me.'

Nodding, drawing closer to the bed, the doctor put the stethoscope in his ears and listened to Edward's chest. After a moment or two, he said, ‘I'm afraid I'll have to get you up on the edge of the bed. I need to check your lungs.'

‘No problem.' Edward struggled to sit straighter, and Will and the doctor helped to get him totally upright. Will unbuttoned Ned's pyjama top for him and slipped it off his broad shoulders.

While the doctor examined Edward, Will walked over to the seating area at the far end of the bedroom, where the maid had deposited the tray. Bess was sitting watching the doctor, but brought her eyes to Will's, and whispered, ‘He'll be all right, Uncle Will. Father has the constitution of an ox and always shakes off these bouts of bronchitis, pulls through them quickly.'

‘Yes, I know that.' Will now reached for the cup of lemon tea, dropped in a lump of sugar
and stirred it; he sat drinking it for a few moments. Quite unexpectedly he felt
unusually
worried all of a sudden and he asked himself why he was feeling so …
fearful
for Ned. Bess had spoken the truth, her
father did have a good constitution, was rarely
ill, and Ned had been vigorous, energetic and strong for as long as he had known him. Yet
Will was inordinately troubled, and was unable to explain this acute sense of foreboding to
himself. It was an odd kind of unease.

Will came out of his reverie when he heard Dr Lessing saying to Ned, ‘It's as you thought, Mr Deravenel, you've got a bad case of bronchitis, which is why you've been having trouble breathing. Your air passages are infected. But you'll be all right. Just continue inhaling the Friars' Balsam, and take the cough suppressant. I'll send more over to you later today. You need rest and lots of liquids.'

Ned eyed the doctor and murmured, ‘Then nothing's changed, Dr Lessing.' He tried to force a smile, wanting to make light of it.

‘That's true, it hasn't. I'll come to see you tomorrow, Mr Deravenel. Rest comfortably in the meantime.' The doctor left, after saying goodbye to Will and Bess, adding that he would see himself out.

Bess brought the cup of lemon tea to her father, and Edward sipped some of it then placed the cup on his bedside table. ‘I feel quite tired, Will. I think I'd like to have a nap.'

‘Then that's what you must do. I'll be off, but if you need me I can be back in ten minutes, Ned.'

‘I'll be fine.'

‘I'll go downstairs with you.' Bess looked at her father and said in a soft voice, ‘I'll look in on you later, Papa. Rest now.'

Edward gave her a faint smile and closed his eyes.

As they went down the staircase together, Will suddenly stopped, took hold of Bess's arm. ‘You must promise to phone
me, day or night, if he becomes worse, or if you need me for anything at all.'

‘I promise, Uncle Will. But I know the doctor's right. And anyway, Father does recoup quickly, soon gets over bronchitis if he sticks to the regime.'

‘Who's here in the house, Bess? Other than Faxton?' Will asked as they continued down the stairs. ‘Cook, I assume, and the maids. But where are your little sisters, the ones who haven't gone to Rome?'

‘Here with Nanny in the nursery at this moment. Anne
was
invited to go with Mother and the others, because she's eight, but not Katharine and Bridget, Mother says they're too little. But Anne didn't want to go, Uncle Will: she likes to mother her sisters. She misses Little Georgie, she's never stopped grieving for him. Or for Mary.'

Will nodded. Ned's third son, Little Georgie, had died in 1922, four years ago now, when he was just two years old. He was another child they had lost in infancy, like baby Margaret who had passed on several years earlier. But then Ned and Elizabeth had been fortunate to have two more children after these deaths, Katharine in 1922, who had helped them to get over the sad loss of Little Georgie, and then Bridget in 1923, who was now three years old. Mary, their second-born daughter, had died last year, quite prematurely of rheumatic fever, much to their immense sorrow. She had been fifteen.

Will sighed, shook his head as they walked across the entrance hall towards the front door.

Bess, looking at him quickly, asked, ‘What is it, Uncle Will?'

‘I was just thinking what a lucky couple your parents are, in so many ways. Just think how many children they've been fortunate to have – ten altogether and only two of them died in infancy, and then Mary of course. That's quite a remarkable achievement, in my opinion.'

‘Yes, it is.' A hint of sadness crept into her voice when she said softly, ‘I miss Mary very much. She was close to me, and we were close in age.'

‘I know you miss her. We all do. Although it doesn't make it any easier for me to say this to you, because you'll grieve for Mary for a long time, you must take consolation in your other brothers and sisters.'

‘I do, and they're all rather beautiful to look at too, just like Mary was, and sweet. Really good children.'

‘I think this brood is quite a remarkable achievement for your parents, and obviously the Deravenels are a fertile family. I expect you'll have a big family when you grow up and get married,' Will told her.

‘
I
certainly don't want ten children!' she exclaimed, sounding horrified at the idea, and grinned when she saw the look of amusement on his face. ‘And I
am
grown up, Uncle Will. Have you forgotten I'm now seventeen?'

‘And in charge,' he added succinctly. ‘That's what you forever announced when you were a little girl. “I'm in charge”, you used to say to me. And you know what, Bess? I believed you.'

Bess found Nanny on the nursery floor of Waverley Court, where there was a parlour, bathrooms, a baby nursery, and bedrooms for the children, as well as for Nanny, and Madge, the assistant nanny.

Going into the comfortable, cosy parlour, Bess found Nanny sitting at the table holding a cup of tea, whilst her three little sisters were drinking glasses of milk. There was a plate of sliced fruit on the table, Nanny's antidote to sweet biscuits and chocolate fingers, which they all adored and Nanny frowned upon. ‘Too much sugar,' she was forever saying, wagging a finger.

‘There you are, Bess,' Nanny said, putting her cup down. ‘How is your father?'

‘He's not too badly, Nanny, and it's bronchitis, as we all thought. The doctor just left.'

‘I saw his car through the window, and Mr Hasling's as well.'

‘Uncle Will went home, but he'll come back if we need him for anything.'

‘Will Dr Lessing make a visit to your father tomorrow, Bess?'