The Ravenscar Dynasty (13 page)

To Will, the Marsh was mysterious, a magical kind of place with its wild, blowing grasses and winding paths, its perpetual mists which rose at dusk and floated
over the landscape, obscuring everything. And at this particular twilight hour the salty smell of the sea was carried in on the light breeze, reminding everyone how close the English Channel was.

In olden days the locals had latched their windows at this time of day, believing that the mists caused the ague; others had fastened their shutters tight because they were certain ghosts were at large on the Marsh.

Vicky generally laughed at these old wives' tales which were still told to whomever would listen, and when it came to the mention of ghosts she usually muttered under her breath to Will, ‘More like the local smugglers winding their way inland from the sea, hauling their tobacco, their wines and brandy from France.' He agreed with her, fully believed the smugglers still plied their dubious trade here.

This afternoon, as he strode along the flagged path which led from the back terrace to the gardens, he could not help thinking how beautiful the landscape was even on this cold February Saturday. It was growing late, was almost dusk already, and the grey sky of early afternoon had changed, darkened, and was filled with rafts of fiery red and purple along the horizon. Or was that the sea? Some of the low-lying Marsh beyond the gardens was well below sea level, and frequently it seemed to him that the sea in the distance was high in the sky. A most curious illusion.

‘Will, Will! Wait for me!'

He swung around at the sound of Ned's voice, and stood waiting as his friend hurried down the path at a fast pace.

‘Why didn't you ask me to come for a walk with
you?' Ned demanded, peering at Will. ‘Or did you feel like being alone? Am I intruding?'

Linking his arm through Ned's, Will shook his head, drew closer to his friend as they walked on together. ‘I thought I'd better leave you to your own devices after lunch. You seemed so upset this morning, and were rather silent at lunchtime.'

‘I was, and with good reason, don't you think?'

‘Yes, I do. Anyway, I knew you were up in your room alone, since Lily and Vicky took the horse and trap into the village after you disappeared. I just saw them coming back and so I ducked out here.'

‘For a man who doesn't like rural life, who protests so much about country living, and who prefers the gaiety, bright lights and razzle dazzle of London, you certainly seem rather attached to Stonehurst,' Ned remarked, sneaking a surreptitious glance at Will as they headed down the path together.

‘I
have
grown attached to it, actually, perhaps because I helped Vicky bludgeon it into shape, and because we shared something rather special, a unique relationship during that time, just after Miles died. I was fourteen or fifteen, thereabouts, and we worked well together and we bonded. She has always reminded me that I helped her to combat her grief. But to be honest, Ned, I wouldn't want to live in the country permanently. I like to visit Vicky because we're so close. I'm also fascinated by the Marsh. There's something curious about that land out there that spells mystery to me.'

Ned laughed. ‘Ah yes, I do understand. It appeals to the young adventurous lad that still exists inside you…stories of smugglers, and baccy and brandy-running, and
God knows what else. But I understand what you mean, and I also appreciate that the Romney Marsh has a genuine history to it.' Peering ahead as they came to the edge of the lawns, Ned added, ‘And there's romance there, too…a fair wind for France tonight, and all that, eh?'

Will had the good grace to smile, knowing full well that Ned was teasing him. ‘Well, perhaps you're right, perhaps that's so, the romance of it,' he agreed. Then he changed the subject. In a concerned voice he said, ‘You are all right now, Ned, aren't you?'

‘I suppose I am. However, I must admit I thought Lily was being as thick as a plank earlier today. And like you, Will, I have always considered her to be, well, rather smart, a clever woman.'

‘I agree, I mean about her being somewhat dense this morning. On the other hand, I believe she's intelligent, bright. She's also thirty-two and an experienced woman of the world, wouldn't you say? But you know, I remember now that Vicky once told me Lily thinks she's an expert on the law, knows a lot about legalities, legal proceedings and such, because she was married to a solicitor for a number of years. Obviously she believes she's got one up on all of us, that
she
is
the
expert.'

Ned said, in a soft but emphatic voice, ‘I've really tried to place my grief in its own place, deep within myself. It is
there
, and it always will be, but it's buried now, deep in my heart. I have had to do this in order to go on, Will. I must concentrate on the present and the future. My past and those tragic deaths will always be with me. However, I cannot allow feelings of grief to dominate me. I must move forward, and I know
you
understand this, Will.'

‘I do, and yes, I think that Lily did probe too much. But she wasn't trying to hurt you
intentionally
, she was just being…assertive and she probably thought she was showing concern.' He lifted his shoulders in a shrug. ‘After all, she's a woman, and who on earth can understand those adorable but tantalizing creatures, understand what they do and say? Not I, for one.'

Edward was silent. The two men walked on, content to be in each other's company. They were, in a sense, like brothers, and their bond of friendship was true and strong. It would last a lifetime, though neither of them knew that.

When they had left the lawns behind and were standing close to the seafront, Will suddenly murmured, ‘Fair wind for France indeed, Ned. Just look over there, the lights of the French coastline are shining very brightly, are so
visible
. What a marvellously clear bright night it is.'

‘With no mist off the Marsh,' Ned responded. ‘And soon there'll be a full moon, mark my words. Not a good night for our smugglers.'

‘You're right. But listen, did you know that the Romney Marsh is as famous for its smugglers as the Cornish coast?'

‘I did.' Now turning slightly to the right, Ned continued, ‘Let's go and sit on that wall for a moment or two. I need to talk to you about something.'

Will nodded his assent. Bundling their scarves and coats around themselves, the two men sat down, staring out towards the encroaching sea. All of a sudden it had grown truly dark; the stars glittered, and far off, in the distance, the Dungeness lighthouse flashed, its wide
beams bouncing off the water onto the land and back onto the water.

Knowing that Edward Deravenel would speak in his own time, and only when he was ready, Will waited, wondering what this was about.

At last Ned said, ‘What of Oxford, Will? You haven't gone back there to continue your studies. You're long overdue.'

‘Oh, but I'm not going back.'

‘Not ever?' Ned's surprise was evident in his tone of voice.

‘That's correct. I went up to Oxford, saw everyone, bade my farewells, after I had explained my reasons for not finishing my education.'

‘And your father? Isn't he angry?' Ned probed curiously.

‘He was, but only momentarily. You know, the old man gave up on
me
a long time ago, and I suppose he knew it was futile to argue with me because my mind was made up.'

‘Did you go to Leicestershire to see him?'

Will shook his head. ‘It just so happened my father was in town on business last week, and we dined at his club. He was annoyed at first, and it was a bit of a sticky wicket for me, but in the end he came around to my way of thinking. He agreed I could lead my life as I wanted, and he actually wished me well. He was a brick really, Ned, since he hasn't withdrawn my monthly allowance.'

‘That
was
generous of him,' Ned murmured. Frowning, he then asked, ‘But, Will, what are your plans? Do you still wish to join a firm in the City?'

‘No, I don't…' Will's voice trailed off, and he sat quietly for a moment or two, then continued, ‘I would like to work alongside you, Ned, if that would be at all possible.'

Startled, Edward turned to stare at his friend. ‘At
Deravenels?
Is that what you mean?'

Will nodded.

‘I don't have a job myself, not yet at any rate. So I can't very well give you one, old chap.'

‘The day will come when you can. I'm prepared to wait,' Will responded. ‘If I know you and Neville Watkins as well as I think I do, I won't have to wait very long.'

‘You sound positive about our success,' Ned muttered.

‘I don't doubt it for one moment.'

Ned now said, ‘I have to present myself there next week, and, frankly, I quite dread it. I know the top brass will simply greet me, give me an office and let me rot, doing nothing, twiddling my thumbs. That's their modus operandi. But I have other ideas, and, for one thing, I'm certainly going to demand my father's office. I'm not going to let them stick me in a poky little room in the back.'

‘That's the spirit!' Will exclaimed. ‘You
must
have your father's old office. Start the way you mean to go on, that's my advice.'

‘I most certainly will do that.'

‘Is it agreed then?' Will asked. ‘About me working with you?'

‘If you wish to work at Deravenels it would certainly please me, but I can't tell you exactly when that would be.'

‘As I said, I'll wait.'

‘Why?' Ned asked a short while later, as they started walking up the path, going back to the farmhouse. ‘Why are you so keen on Deravenels?'

‘Because I believe I can be of use to you, and because I want to be with you, Ned, working with you. Now, to change the subject, what are you going to
do
about Lily?'

‘Why nothing,' Ned answered swiftly, pausing, turning to Will, staring at him in the moonlight. ‘I'm going to walk back into the farmhouse and be as cordial and nice as I possibly can be. After all, there's no point in flogging a dead horse, is there? Anyway, knowing Vicky, she probably put Lily straight, wouldn't you say?'

‘I would indeed,' Will answered, pleased that Ned had decided to be his old charming self. His charm had somehow disappeared of late. Perhaps things would become normal again. He felt a ripple of worry then, wondering why he would think things were going to be
normal
. They weren't. Not at all. Their world was about to go mad.

Neville Watkins was about to meet three men, each one of them very different. As he walked back and forth along the back portico of his Chelsea house he thought about them. He was well aware that each would bring something unique to the meeting; what they said, and what was ultimately agreed upon, would change many lives, some for the worse, others for the better.

As Neville turned and headed back along the paving stones a door suddenly flew open and a child stepped out. It was his small daughter Anne, and as soon as she saw him she ran towards him, her little feet flying down the walkway. She was waving and crying out, ‘Papa! Papa! Here I am!'

Laughing, he hurried forward, caught her in his arms and swung her up, held her close to his chest. ‘Hello, my little sweetheart,' he said against her glossy light brown hair. ‘You should be wearing a coat, you know, my pet. You'll catch a chill in this cold weather.'

‘But the sun is shining, Papa,' she answered, staring into his eyes.

‘It's still February, Anne.'

‘The flowers are coming out,' she countered, pointing to the snowdrops and purple and yellow crocuses peeping up out of the dark earth of the borders set around the lawn. ‘Spring flowers Mama says.'

‘They are indeed. However, we must go inside, where it's warmer. And you and I, well, we shall see each other later.'

‘Mama says Ned is coming. Will he bring Richard with him?'

‘I don't think so, sweetheart, not this morning. We are having a business meeting.'

‘Today is Saturday, Papa,' she said, sounding reproachful.

He grinned at her. ‘I know,' he answered, and suddenly recognized the disappointment in her eyes. Her face had changed, become sad, he thought.

‘You like your cousin, don't you?'

She nodded.

By this time Neville had reached the door, and putting her down he ushered her into the house, stepped inside after her. Before they had even moved across the central gallery he heard his wife's footsteps on the polished wood floor. He always recognized them: only she in the household walked with such determination. Slap, slap, slap, her feet went, coming down hard on the wood, and a moment later she was entering the gallery. ‘Ah, there you are my little one,' Anne Watkins exclaimed when she spotted her namesake. ‘I've been looking all over for you.'

‘She came out in search of me,' Neville remarked, walking across the gallery to his wife, putting his hand on her shoulder affectionately. ‘She was really looking
for young Dick, though, I do believe.' He smiled at her, his eyes full of love. ‘You know how attached she is to him, Nan, she's his shadow whenever he's staying at Thorpe Manor with us.'

Anne Watkins, known as Nan all of her life, nodded and reached out, took hold of her daughter's hand. ‘She's been attached to him since she took her first steps, and stumbled into his arms…arms that were certainly on the ready to catch her.'

Neville was silent for a moment, looking intently at his wife, his face suddenly growing thoughtful, his eyes narrowing. ‘A good thing it is Richard she has adopted, taken into her heart and not the other one. I never quite know about
him
…the middle one, that is.'

‘What do you mean?' Nan asked. She looked slightly puzzled, as if she were unsure of his question, its meaning.

‘The breeding is there, but not the stamina.'

‘You sound as if you're talking about horseflesh.'

Neville threw back his head and laughed uproariously, highly amused by his wife's comment. But then she frequently amused him with her remarks, brought laughter to his eyes. Shaking his head, he said at last, ‘Touché, my dear.'

Nan glanced at him sideways, smiling, flirting with him, and then, looking down at her youngest daughter, she murmured, ‘Come along, Anne, it's back to the nursery for you. Miss Deidre is waiting to give you and Isabel a painting lesson.'

‘I am here,' a small voice said, and another pretty child came dancing into the gallery, her fair hair gleaming in the sunlight filtering in through the many leaded
windows. She moved towards her father, pirouetting, showing off her skills as a budding dancer. ‘Good morning, Papa,' she said as she finally came to a standstill.

Bending down, Neville kissed her cheek, hugged her to him, then, holding her away, he gave her a warm smile and told her, ‘Aren't you the graceful one, Isabel. I am very impressed with your talent.'

She smiled and bobbed her head prettily, and asked, ‘Is Georgie coming with Ned, Papa? Mama told me Ned would be here for lunch today.'

‘That's true, darling, Ned is coming to have lunch with me. However, it is actually about business. And no, Georgie isn't going to be here, and neither is Dick. You'll have to see your little gentlemen friends another day.'

‘Oh.' She pouted a little and shook her curls. ‘I thought we could play together…' She let her voice trail off as she caught the warning look in her mother's eye, saw the stern expression settling on Nan's face.

Nan said, ‘I will talk to Aunt Cecily later, and perhaps we can arrange something. Perhaps—'

‘Cecily's still in Yorkshire,' Neville interrupted, shaking his head, pursing his lips. ‘She decided to stay at Ravenscar for a little longer before coming up to London.' He gave a light shrug. ‘I do believe she's trying to settle herself down, come to grips with…things.'

‘As is your mother also. I do understand, Neville, it's only to be expected.'

‘Go along, my sweethearts,' Neville told his girls. ‘Go up to the nursery for your painting lesson. I need to spend a few moments with your mother.'

‘Yes, Papa,' they said dutifully and in unison, and ran out together, heading for the grand staircase at the end of the gallery.

Taking hold of her arm, Neville led his wife into the nearby library and closed the door behind them. Turning her to face him, he said in a low voice, his eyes full of concern, ‘I'm afraid Cecily and my mother aren't doing too well at the moment. They are still in shock, I think. After all, the deaths were so unexpected and so sudden. There has to be a period of adjustment, and of grieving.'

Nan nodded her head vigorously, ‘Of course, of course, Neville. I don't know why the girls are so focused on the two youngest Deravenels at the moment. I really have no clue at all.'

‘Well, Anne for one has always been like a little puppy trailing after Richard; as for Isabel, she's seemed to gravitate to George. Although
that
doesn't particularly please me. Still, there's nothing strange, darling, they've known those boys all their lives, grown up together, and after the week we just spent in Yorkshire, and being with them so much at Ravenscar, I think they're missing their little playmates. That's quite understandable, isn't it?'

‘Yes, I suppose so.' Standing on tiptoe she kissed his cheek, and led him out of the library. ‘I must go and spend a few minutes with them, my dear, show my interest in their painting lesson.'

‘I know, I know.' He watched her walking off down the long gallery, thinking how beautiful she was in her rather refined and delicate way. She was the only woman he had ever loved; there had been others, but they had been merely sexual liaisons. His sweet Nan was the love of his life. They were extremely happy
together, he and she, and the only thing that caused him the odd moment of regret at times was the lack of an heir. He longed for a son; Nan had had several miscarriages, and she had not yet conceived again. At least not so far. The sudden terrible yearning for a boy child surfaced for a split second, and then he pushed it away. He was a lucky man…he counted his blessings. And Nan and he were still young enough to have many more children…

Once Nan had disappeared up the staircase, Neville turned around and went outside again. He began to walk up and down along the portico, his thoughts now on business and the impending arrival of his three guests.

The first he expected was his cousin Edward Deravenel. He was very anxious to see him, to listen to what he had to say, and to report. Ned had been working at the Deravenel offices in the Strand for the past week. They had spoken briefly, and he had received several enigmatic notes from Edward, but nothing of real importance had been conveyed. This had been puzzling, and he was somewhat baffled. But he trusted Ned in all things, and especially trusted his judgement, and it was obvious to Neville that Edward was being discreet. Far better to talk in the privacy of his house than on the telephone, and he was well aware how easily notes could get lost, fall into the wrong hands, or be stolen.

Alfredo Oliveri would be the second to come to see him. Oliveri was in London, ostensibly on Deravenel
business, but he had really come to see
them
…Ned and himself. Oliveri had made his loyalty and devotion to the Yorkshire Deravenels known when they were in Carrara, and to have him on their side was an immense bonus. He was well trusted in the company, and part of the old guard, having worked for them for over twenty years. Although he might not exactly be a member of the inner circle he certainly knew a lot, which could only be useful to them.

Neville had made a plan, and the secret to its success was information; he knew only too well that information was power. The more Oliveri was able to tell him about everyone and everything in the company the more
he
was likely to succeed.

His last guest for lunch was Amos Finnister.
Amos
. He turned the name over in his mind; he had known Amos for twelve years and employed him for ten. He was a private investigator and the best in that line of business, as far as Neville was concerned.

Amos Finnister ran his own firm, which had only one client—Neville Watkins. And it was Neville who actually owned the detective agency through several straw men. This arrangement worked well for both of them.

Now Neville smiled to himself as he continued to think about Amos. Taking the man under his wing all those years ago had been a brilliant piece of strategy on his part. Amos was diligent, logical and persistent, like a dog with a bone when it was necessary. Calm and cool, whatever the circumstances, or the pressure he was under, he was loyal, discreet, and on call night or day. He had a clever knack of picking men to work for him who had similar characteristics to himself.

One of the things Neville considered of unquestionable value were the contacts Amos had…in all walks of life. This was one of the main keys to being a successful private investigator.

Before he had left for Italy with Edward and Will Hasling, Neville had given Amos a list of names, for the most part people who worked at Deravenels and were known adherents of Henry Grant, and, therefore, more than likely to be enemies of Edward.

Now, since returning to London, he was more convinced than ever that his cousin needed genuine protection; he had been made truly aware of that by Alfredo Oliveri. But from whom
exactly?

Who were the real wielders of power at Deravenels? Margot Grant, obviously, and John Summers. But Grant himself?

Maybe. Maybe not. He was a weak man, a trifle lazy, ready to pass on the burdens of business to his wife, who was keen to grab those so-called burdens as fast as she could. And naturally there were others who were against Edward, simply because he was the son of Richard Deravenel, the true heir to the company.

Amos would find out, if he hadn't already; Neville could not wait to see him.

I have to triumph, Neville told himself, as he struck out towards the end of the garden. When he came to the ancient stone wall that fronted onto the River Thames he leaned against it, staring out into the distance. It was a slow moving river today, black as ink, and the sky above had suddenly changed. The pale blue had curdled, become a mix of grey and a strange bluish green.

It's going to rain after all, he decided, lifting his eyes to the sky. And this thought had hardly surfaced when he felt the first drops of cold rain on his upturned face.

Swinging about, Neville hurried up through the garden and went into the house, crossed the central gallery, deposited his overcoat in the hall closet, all this accomplished in the space of a few minutes.

He made his way back to the library, a large and elegantly appointed room, his favourite in the lovely old house that dated back to the Regency period. He had always thought of the library as his haven, one which closed him off from the ugliness of the world outside.

A fire blazed in the hearth and the softly-shaded lamps had all been turned on during his absence in the garden, giving the room a welcoming, roseate glow. He realized he had grown slightly chilled outside, and he went and stood with his back to the fire, warming himself, thawing out.

His mind was alive with ideas and plans. He
was
going to put Ned in the seat of power, however long it took him. And he himself would be the one to wield the power.