The Ravenscar Dynasty by Barbara Taylor Bradford
‘I hope it’s a boy, and I’m sure you do, don’t you?’
Edward nodded, then gave a small shrug. ‘A boy would be nice, but I know one will come along eventually, if not this time. We are a very fertile family, and so are the Wylands. And we both want a big family.’
The waiter came and cleared away their fish plates, and they fell silent until they were alone again. Edward then leaned across the dinner table, and said, ‘Earlier I was talking to Neville about Elizabeth, Mother.’
Cecily appeared startled by this remark, and she frowned. ‘Is there something wrong, Ned?’
‘No, no, but I knew he of all people would give me a very straight answer, and I wanted to know why it is that everyone in the family dislikes my wife.’
Cecily was more astounded than ever, and murmured after a moment’s reflection, ‘But why didn’t you ask me? After all, I’m your mother.’
‘I wanted to get a man’s opinion,’ he answered lamely, and made a face. ‘I should have asked you first, though, you’re right. Do forgive me. So, why do people hate her?’
‘Oh Ned, really, I do think the word hate is an exaggeration, and overly strong, darling. The family don’t hate her, that’s a silly statement.’
‘So how do they feel?’
‘Some feel overwhelmed by her, others are intimidated, they don’t all feel the same way, you know.’
‘What about you?’ He gave her a long, questioning look. ‘You’re going to say you are the mother-in-law, and therefore shouldn’t answer, but give me your opinion, won’t you?’
‘I don’t hate your wife, Ned, in fact, I’ve been getting along quite nicely with her lately. However, I suppose I was initially upset when you married her, mainly because I felt you had married…beneath you. I never thought she was good enough for you.’
‘I suppose you still think that?’
‘In certain ways, not others,’ she said diplomatically, not wanting to drive a wedge between her son and his wife. It was a turbulent relationship as it was. And with Elizabeth now pregnant with their third child, this was not the time to create problems for her eldest son.
Edward was silent.
Taking a deep breath, Cecily continued, ‘She’s very beautiful, and she has managed to keep her looks and her figure despite the child-bearing. Therefore, she looks wonderful wherever she goes and does you credit. She’s the perfect hostess for you, she entertains well, and she manages to find the right staff. Somehow you’ve taught her how to run a grand home smoothly. All these things are commendable in my opinion.’
‘Those things are true, yes. You mentioned the pros. Tell me the cons.’
‘There’s still that haughtiness, Ned. It’s remained in place, and people do occasionally take exception to it. She’s not Queen Mary, after all.’
He grinned. ‘No, Elizabeth is much more decorative, wouldn’t you say?’
Cecily started to laugh. ‘You’re correct. But I’m sure King George thinks his wife is beautiful, and certainly she’s elegant.’
Several waiters came to the table, one of them pushing the meat trolley, and the two of them waited for the Angus beef to be carved, topped with gravy, and placed in front of them.
‘I’m famished,’ Edward said, cutting the meat. ‘I just remembered, I didn’t have time to go out for lunch today. This is delicious, Mother, isn’t it?’ He looked across at her, a brow lifting.
‘It is. By the way, are you inviting Grace Rose to Bess’s birthday party?’
‘As a matter of fact, we are.’
‘So Elizabeth is all right with that, is she, Ned?’
‘Very much so, believe it or not. Of course, no one at home other than Elizabeth knows Grace Rose is mine. Still, Elizabeth is not at all stiff or cold, and she makes Grace Rose feel at home, and certainly she’s always been cordial with Vicky.’
‘I’m glad to hear it.’
‘There’s something else I need to ask you about, Mother.’
‘Then ask me, darling. You said you had a family matter to discuss, when you invited me for dinner.’
‘It’s about George, actually. At Christmas he mumbled something to me about not wanting to remain at Oxford, that he preferred to come and work with me at Deravenels. I said I’d discuss it with you. What is your feeling about it?’
‘I’m not surprised he wants to leave Oxford. You know as well as I do that George is not the best student. He’ll be nineteen this year, and perhaps we ought to try to persuade him to stay on…’ She paused, shook her head. ‘Whether he will do that I just don’t know.’
‘I don’t either, he’s always been a law unto himself, old George has.’ Edward sighed. ‘He seems to think that because I went to work at nineteen he should do the same, but my circumstances were awfully different.’
Cecily remained silent, not wanting to let her mind go back to that terrible January eight years ago, when her husband and son, brother and nephew had died in Carrara. She couldn’t bear the pain.
Ned told her, ‘I’m hearing the same song from Richard, too. He wants to leave Eton and come to Deravenels. To be my personal secretary, he says.’
‘Now why doesn’t that surprise me?’ Cecily remarked with a warm smile, thinking of her last child. ‘He’s always worshipped you.’
‘And been extremely loyal to me as well,’ Edward murmured. He shook his head. ‘I know Richard doesn’t really like Elizabeth, but at least he makes an effort to be civil, even cordial. However, George is the bitter end, quite ghastly at times, rude, and he loathes my wife. I can’t imagine why. He doesn’t even know her very well.’
‘If only she could be less…cold, I think that’s the best word to use. Not so grand, so…proud.’
‘I do love her,’ Edward said, staring across the table at his mother. ‘And she loves me. Of course there are problems…at times, but then all married couples have problems on occasion.’
‘I hope you’re not…leaving her alone too much in the evenings,’ Cecily began, and then hesitated, wondering whether she should continue, say more. She was on thin ice with this, she was well aware.
Her son saved her the trouble of continuing when he exclaimed quietly, ‘I don’t have a mistress, Mother, if that’s what you’re thinking, and I haven’t been straying. I promise you that.’
Cecily simply stared hard at him eloquently.
Laughter bubbled in his throat, and then he said, ‘I know you don’t believe me, but I’m quite reformed.’
‘For how long?’ she asked before she could stop herself.
‘I don’t know,’ he admitted, and gave her a regretful look.
The butler let Edward into his house on Berkeley Square. ‘Evening, Mallet,’ he said as he shrugged out of his overcoat and handed it to the other man. ‘Mrs Deravenel asleep, is she?’
‘Yes, sir, I believe so.’
‘Right-o. Pour me a cognac please, Mallet, and put it in the library. I’ve some work to do before I go to bed.’
‘Certainly, sir.’
‘And you can lock up and retire yourself,’ Edward added as he moved toward the staircase.
‘Thank you, sir. And goodnight, sir.’
‘Goodnight, Mallet.’
Edward climbed the stairs two at a time, and went quietly down the corridor to Elizabeth’s bedroom. Opening the door as gently as possible, he went in. Much to his surprise she was sitting up in bed, the Illustrated London News in her hands.
She glanced at him and smiled. ‘How was your mother?’
‘Very well and she sends you her best.’
‘Did she say if she’s coming to the birthday party for Bess?’
‘She didn’t, but she mentioned it, and I’m sure she’s coming, sweetheart. What grandmother would miss the third birthday celebration of her little granddaughter?’
Elizabeth nodded. ‘I hope I’m there. I feel as big as a whale tonight…I might well give birth tomorrow and not March, as the doctor says I will.’
He bent down, kissed her lightl
A moment later he came back into Elizabeth’s bedroom wearing a silk robe over his shirt and trousers. ‘I have to go downstairs and work for a while, darling. So don’t stay awake, I’ll be quite a while.’
‘But you will sleep here with me tonight, won’t you, Ned?’ she asked. ‘I do miss you when you use your own bedroom.’
‘If you’re sure I won’t disturb you in your condition.’
‘No, no, I prefer it when you’re by my side.’
‘Then I’ll be here…when I’ve finished my work.’
He went out into the corridor and climbed the staircase to the next floor, the nursery floor. Again he crept across the landing, not wanting to awaken the nanny, and quietly opened the door to the girls’ room. There was a tiny night light burning on a chest-of-drawers, and he could see that his daughters were fast asleep in their narrow beds. He went over, looked down at Bess; her red-gold hair was just like his and it tumbled all over her pillow. He smiled to himself, and glanced at Mary. The two-year-old was as blonde as Elizabeth, and very pretty. Fast asleep and sucking her thumb.
‘Sweet dreams, my sweethearts,’ he whispered, and crept out.
Before going downstairs Edward returned to his own bedroom, moving quietly so as not to disturb Elizabeth. He took a piece of paper out of his jacket and put it in his trouser pocket. God forbid Elizabeth found it. Not that she would know what it actually meant. But he had no wish to inflame her in any way.
Although he had remained with her, there had been times when he had felt like walking out, leaving her for good. She was difficult to live with, especially when something came over her and she went berserk. Like the scene she created with Richard a few months ago, when he had come into the library at Ravenscar to find her behaving like a harridan with his brother. At this moment he could see her in his mind’s eye: her face twisted with fury, Richard looking puzzled, as if he had been taken by surprise in some way, and didn’t understand her anger.
‘What’s going on?’ he had demanded, staring at Elizabeth, going to Richard and putting his arm around his youngest brother.
‘He knows what’s going on,’ Elizabeth had shouted. ‘Ask him.’
‘You sound like a fish wife,’ he had snapped at her, and looked at Richard. ‘Is there something you want to tell me, Dickie?’
‘I was taking a book out of the library, and Elizabeth became angry, I’m not sure why, except she said I couldn’t take books. That the books belonged to her children, not to anyone else.’
‘Are you going insane?’ he had demanded of his wife, a cold anger taking hold of him. ‘My brother can have anything in this house. Absolutely anything. Do you understand that? And you’re not to scream and shout at him the way you do. My God, you’re like a virago. Mind your manners, woman.’
He recalled that look on her face so easily, a look of hauteur, and of pride. ‘I merely said I didn’t want it to get lost, that’s all, Ned. The book is part of the leather bound sets of Shakespeare’s tragedies, extremely valuable.’
‘I don’t give a damn if they’re worth a million pounds. You’re not going to inflict your ill humour and temper on my family. And that goes for all of them, not only Richard. You are cold and mean with them, and I won’t have it, do you hear?’
She had nodded, turned on her heel and walked out of the library, and he had sat with Richard for a while, comforting him. His brother frequently suffered at Elizabeth’s hands. She liked to torment the boy, possibly because she was jealous of the relationship, jealous of his love.
Edward sighed, closed the door of the armoire, walked across his bedroom, looked at himself in the mirror on the chest of drawers. The bruise on his temple had faded, was almost invisible now. Ten days ago it had been purple, and he had told everyone he had walked into a door. In reality, Elizabeth had thrown a heavy glass paperweight at him during another of her temper tantrums. Even though he had dodged when she had hurled it at him it had glanced across his temple, and left the bruise.
He remembered now how he had sat down heavily, holding his head. She had come to him, of course, full of apologies, worried that she had injured him, and she had. He had thrown off her hand on his arm, pushed her away as he had risen, and gone into the bathroom to examine himself. Now he glanced at the small writing desk where the paperweight sat. It could have killed him. She had been standing in this very room, going through the pockets of his jackets and trousers, looking for God knows what, evidence of infidelity he supposed. They had had one of their worst rows and she had thrown the paperweight, and if he hadn’t been swift he might well be dead.
Shaking his head, Edward turned away from the mirror, and slipped out of his bedroom, went slowly downstairs. She was a bitch at times, no two ways about it. She had led him quite a dance since their marriage. And yet she could come to him, wheedle herself into his good graces again, suffuse him with passion and sensuality in bed, and make her peace with him. For a while at least. She would never change, he knew that now. And neither would he. He stayed with her because of the two girls, and because he wanted a family life. She was tranquil now, but he never quite knew when she would explode, start a quarrel with him, or insult his relations.
Ah well, he thought. So be it.
Mallet had not only poured him a large cognac and placed it on his desk, but the butler had also stoked the fire. It was burning brightly up the chimney and looked as if it would burn on for hours.
Striding over to his desk, Ned sat down and shuffled the papers, looking for the notes he had made several days before. After months of digging he and Alfredo Oliveri had finally found the money Aubrey Masters had skimmed from their diamond mines in India, and hidden. Well, to be honest, he and Oliveri had not found it, the remarkable Amos Finnister had. When they had finally come up empty-handed after years of investigating, Finnister had decided to have Mildred Masters followed. It had been the widow woman who had eventually led them to her accounts—in various banks in the suburbs of London. Who would have thought of looking there? To avoid prosecution she had surrendered the accounts which contained the stolen Deravenel funds.
Edward had invested the cash, six years ago now, and from his recent notes he saw that he had quadrupled the money. He clipped the notes to the latest balance sheets, and closed the folder.
He went through another pile of papers, initialled many so that his secretary could file them away, and
then he sat back in his chair, glancing around the library.
He nodded to himself, liking this room, remembering how he had planned the library so carefully, wanting it to be perfect. Johnny had helped him, had given him some ideas. But in the end he had not copied either the Red Library at Thorpe Manor, which was far too red for him, nor his mother’s library swathed in dark green and white. Instead, he had used wood panelling.
The room was lined with silver birch, and had burgundy-leather bound books from floor to ceiling on either side of the intricately carved fireplace. Above the fireplace was one of his favourite paintings, an oil by Alfred Sisley called Le Givre, and painted in 1872. It was a wintry landscape of bare trees and snow-covered moors, which reminded him so much of Ravenscar.
Bookshelves made of silver birch lined the other walls, and there were touches of dark burgundy in the heavy brocade curtains at the windows, and the sofa and armchairs upholstered in a similar burgundy velvet, while the floor was covered with a valuable Oriental carpet patterned in dark reds, blues and greens.
The house had been finished by the time he had married Elizabeth; fortunately, she had never wanted to change anything, sharing his taste for opulence, luxury, extravagant fabrics and mellow antiques. He remembered now how relieved he had been at the time.
He was also relieved that she had been relatively peaceful through this pregnancy. But
Rising, Edward walked across the room with his brandy balloon, and sat down in one of the big armchairs near the fire. After a few swallows of the Napoleon he put the glass down, reached into a trouser pocket and took out the note delivered to him at the office that afternoon.
He read it again: I am now free. That was all it said.
Leaning forward, he threw it into the fire and watched it curling into black shreds.
He had left his office immediately and gone directly to South Audley Street. Jane Shaw was waiting for him in her drawing room. She had known he would come at once, and had sent her staff out on various errands, given the housekeeper the afternoon off. He had sat with her in that room which he had always liked when he had owned the house, and sipped a cup of tea, and she had told him that she was now divorced at last from Bryan Shaw.
‘I am not asking anything from you,’ she had told him, ‘except to go back to the way we were the first year we met. If you still want to. I don’t expect you to change your life in any way. I just wanted you to know that I am free now, Ned.’
‘No, you’re not,’ he had murmured, going and sitting next to her on the sofa. ‘You’re mine now, Jane, just as I am yours. For as long as you’ll put up with me.’
‘For as long as you want to be with me,’ she had answered, and smiling softly she had said in a low, sincere voice, ‘You know I will be discreet, never cause you a moment’s embarrassment, nor make any demands. So, do we have a bargain?’
‘We do indeed have a bargain,’ he had replied. And they sealed their bargain by going upstairs to his old bedroom, now hers, where they had made love, filled with relief that they were finally back together. Their separation had been painful.