Heirs of Ravenscar (41 page)

‘I will sir, and now you rest easy. You'll be all right once we get you to the hospital. I'll call Mrs H. from there.'

Will closed his eyes and passed out again.

Amos Finnister and Alfredo Oliveri were shown to a waiting room at Guy's Hospital, and as they sat waiting to hear about Will Hasling's condition they talked about the way he had so suddenly and unexpectedly become ill enough to collapse.

‘Collapsed – all my eye and Betty Martin,' Finnister muttered, giving Alfredo a pointed look. ‘There was blood on the carpet in Mr Edward's office, and falling onto a good Axminster is hardly going to make him bleed. He was either hit with something, or fell against a piece of furniture and then moved.'

Alfredo nodded, knowing better than to argue. It was Finnister who had been the policeman, and a good one, not he. ‘What are you suggesting, Amos? That our new boss is responsible?'

‘I am that. I just hope that Mr Will is going to be all right.'

An hour later one of the doctors finally emerged, came to report that Mr Hasling had suffered a head injury and concussion. He told them it had been decided to keep him in the hospital overnight for observation.

Oliveri looked at the doctor and asked, ‘May we see him?'

‘Not at the moment, I'm afraid. We are still doing tests.'

‘I believe Mr Hasling suffered a head wound, didn't he?' Finnister said. ‘I mean a wound that bled, correct?'

‘That's true, sir, yes. We've been wondering about that. We think when he fell he struck his head on something hard. That's the only explanation.'

‘Yes, I understand,' Finnister told the doctor, and then he and Oliveri left the hospital.

As it turned out, Will Hasling made a quick recovery, and several days after
being taken to Guy's he was getting ready to go home. On Saturday, June the twelfth, the day
he was leaving, he complained of feeling ill. An hour later he suffered a massive cerebral
hemorrhage which proved fatal.

Amos Finnister, as heartbroken as everyone else, was never able to find out
exactly
what happened between Will Hasling and Richard Deravenel that day in the office. But, forever after, he blamed Richard for Will Hasling's untimely death. And so did everyone else. It was a black mark against Richard, and it was to haunt him.

T
he two boys walked down the steps cut into the cliff face, which led from the moorland to the shingled beach at Ravenscar, carrying their fishing rods. They were heading for their favourite spot on the beach, the Cormorant Rock.

The very first time they had gone fishing with their father, he had told them that this was the best place to fish, and to prove it to them he had caught several cod that day. Ever since then they had loved coming here to try their luck.

Young Edward was carrying the fishing basket, and he hoped it was going to be full by the time they returned to the house. He had promised Cook he would bring her a good catch, and she, in turn, had promised to make them fried fish for their dinner. He liked Mrs Latham, just as much as his father had. She was getting on now in years, so his grandmother kept saying, but his father had not wanted to send her off into retirement. ‘She's only fifty-nine and in wonderful health,' his father had kept saying recently, just before he had
died, and when Grandmother had continued to murmur about replacing Cook, his father simply walked away, refusing to listen. Mrs Latham was there for life, according to Papa. He understood why his father had so liked Cook; she was motherly and warm, and very kind to everyone, and she made special things for them that were delicious. And, like Mrs Collet at the house in Kent, she helped him when he had toothache, which was very often these days.

Young Edward pushed the strap of the fishing basket back on his shoulder, and trudged along with Little Ritchie, glancing around as they headed down towards the big outcropping of rocks where the famous Cormorant was located. The beach was totally deserted today, but there were a number of fishing boats out at sea, and in the distance he could see the fishermen casting their lines.

Even though it was a sunny August morning, it was as cool as it always was at Ravenscar even in the height of summer. There was a constant wind blowing off the North Sea, and for that reason Nanny had bundled them up in warm fisherman's wool jerseys over their flannel shirts, with their trousers tucked into their Wellington boots. As a precaution, in case it rained, she had made them put on their dark-green, rainproof jackets.

Little Ritchie, gazing up at him, said, ‘Can we look for fossils, seaweed and seashells later, Ed? I promised the Little Dumplings I'd bring them back some treasures.'

‘Of course we can, Ritch,' he answered, smiling lovingly, looking down at his little brother, who was now ten. ‘I'll help you, in fact.'

‘I wish Nanny had let them come with us, I don't know why she thinks it's wrong for girls to go fishing, do you?'

‘I suppose she thinks it's not proper, not dignified,' Young Edward answered. ‘You know what Nanny's like –'

‘Not suitable,' Little Ritchie interrupted, doing a high-pitched
imitation of Nanny, using her favourite phrase, and laughing with glee as he did.

Young Edward smiled at him indulgently, and put an arm round his brother's shoulders. ‘She also thinks it's dangerous because of the way we scramble over the rocks. She thinks Bridget and Katharine might hurt themselves.'

‘We should have never let Nanny come to the beach with us last week, then she would have never known about our rock-climbing.'

‘That's true.' Young Edward fell silent; the two brothers walked on, not needing to chatter, quite happy and compatible in each other's company. They were very similar in appearance, with their blond curls and blue eyes, but at twelve, going on thirteen, Young Edward was the taller of the two. They had inherited their mother's classically beautiful features, and had a strong look of their sister Bess.

As they drew closer to the Cormorant Rock, Little Ritchie suddenly announced, ‘I'm hungry. Shall we have something to eat before we go fishing?'

‘Why not?' Young Edward put down the fishing basket, and opened the lid, took out the package of hot sausage rolls Cook had given them a short while before. As he unwrapped the greaseproof paper he exclaimed, ‘Golly, they're still warm!'

The two boys sat down on the shingle near the rocks and leaned back against them, munching on the warm sausage rolls which they loved.

‘We could've brought Little Eddie fishing with us, if he hadn't gone to Ripon with his mother, to see his grandmother. He's been longing to stand on the Cormorant, he told me so.'

‘He can come with us next week … when he gets back from Thorpe Manor, if you want. I know he'll enjoy it … He's a nice little chap, don't you think? Ritch?'

His brother nodded, and then frowned, shaking his head. ‘Why do they have to call us Little Ritchie and Little Eddie, and you Young Edward? I think it's daft.'

Young Edward burst out laughing, more at the disdainful tone than the words. A moment later, he explained, ‘It's because
you
are named for Uncle Richard; and to differentiate between you, Grandmother added Little to your name, so everyone would understand. Now, Little Eddie is named for our father, as I am, so I get to be Young Edward, and he's stuck with Little Eddie. To identify us properly. It's a bit confusing, especially for other people outside the family.'

‘I understand. But when I grow up I'm going to get rid of the word
little
, and very quickly. I shall just call myself Ritchie, and you can be Edward, without the young part, because father is dead –' Little Ritchie broke off and turned to his brother, and asked in a quavery voice, ‘Why did Father have to die? He was young, Ed. I heard Mother saying that to Uncle Anthony … “He was too young to die,” she said. So
why
did he?'

Young Edward felt a rush of overwhelming sadness and his throat tightened with emotion. He couldn't speak for a moment, and then he said softly, ‘He was ill with bronchitis, then he had a heart attack … but I told you that before, Ritch.' Staring down at his younger brother, he saw the tears in his eyes, and he put his arms around him, held him close. ‘Don't cry, Ritch. We have to be strong, brave boys, Bess told us. And remember, she's coming to Ravenscar this afternoon to stay with us for a week. We'll have a good time with her.'

‘Oh, I know! That makes me happy,' Little Ritchie exclaimed, rubbing his damp eyes with his knuckles and visibly cheering up.

Once they had each finished their sausage rolls, the two boys walked on, making for the fishing hut, which their father had built on a concrete ledge on top of a small stretch
of moorland slightly above sea level. They walked up the narrow path from the beach, and Young Edward took the key for the hut out of his jacket pocket, once they got there. When the door was open both boys went inside, and looked around at the various boats. Young Edward began to pull out one of the larger rowing boats.

‘What are you doing, Ed?' Little Ritchie asked, his eyes wide. ‘Are we going fishing … on the North Sea?'

‘That's where the haddock are, Father told us that.'

‘He also told us not to go out there without him,' Little Ritchie pointed out.

‘I know, but it's a sunny day, the weather's good, and especially for haddock. I bet
there's a lot of fish out there.'

‘Probably not,' Little Ritchie answered, suddenly glum, but he helped his brother to carry the boat down to the beach. ‘Do you really want to go out?' he asked after a moment.

Young Edward hesitated, murmured, ‘Well, I'd better think about it, at least for a little bit, watch the sky, see if the weather changes, it's so uncertain here in Yorkshire. I must be careful.'

‘That's a very
good
idea! Now, Ed, let's go to the Cormorant.'

‘I'll race you!' Young Edward cried.

The two of them ran down the beach, carrying their rods, and shouting, ‘Whooppee! Whooppee!', their voices carried by the wind.

The Cormorant Rock was large and wide, certainly big enough for the two boys to stand on together, and they did so, casting their lines, their bright young faces shining with optimism.

The man rowed in, moving smoothly across the steel-grey sea, helped by the wind behind his back. He would reach the beach quicker than he had previously thought. Not a bad day to be out at sea, he decided, a good day for fishing certainly. Clear sky, no sign of bad weather. And a sunny day to boot. I wonder if I'll catch any fish? Perhaps a couple of little ones at least.

His fishing boat, called the Gay Marie, was quite large and strongly-made and could hold half a dozen fishermen, as it sometimes had. It really required two men to row, but he was well-built, with a broad chest and massive arms. He was managing the boat well, and within ten minutes he was drawing close to the shoreline. The man rowed on determinedly, filled with powerful energy. The moment he spotted the edge of the beach he placed the oars in the boat, jumped out into the shallows, glad he was wearing wellington boots. First he pushed the boat up onto the sand, then he dragged it across the shingle and finally positioned it under the outcropping of rocks.

Sitting down near the boat, he took out his cigarettes, brought a match to one and began to smoke, the morning sun warm on his face.

Not far away was the Cormorant Rock where Young Edward and Little Ritchie were standing, angling for cod. Little Ritchie was excited when he finally caught one, and a moment later his brother was also lucky. ‘Whooppee!' they shouted again, filled with happiness and pride at their success.

After another hour Young Edward was convinced they had caught the only fish in the water today, and he also noticed that his little brother was getting tired. Afraid that Ritch might easily fall into the water or, worse, onto the
rocks, and hurt himself, he said, ‘We'd better go, Ritch. This is pointless. All the villagers come to the Cormorant, and the waters here are probably depleted.'

Little Ritchie nodded. ‘But I don't think we should go out there,' he said, indicating the vast expanse of the North Sea. ‘Papa would be angry.'

‘Yes, I know he would. So we won't go out for haddock. Come on, let's get down off the Cormorant –'

‘What have we got here? A couple of spry young fishermen, I see,' the man declared, staring at the two handsome blond boys and grinning.

‘Hello!' Young Edward said, smiling back. ‘We've caught two fish, haven't we, Ritch?'

Little Ritchie nodded, his innocent young face as bright as a button. ‘We
have
! Two nice cod.'

‘That's what I hope to do. Catch two nice little fish. Do you think I will?'

‘I don't know,' Young Edward answered, jumping down from the rock and then helping his brother, holding his hand.

‘Probably not,' Little Ritchie added, and also dropped down onto the beach.

‘We'll just have to see, won't we?' the man murmured, and smiled at them again.