The Ravenscar Dynasty (16 page)

Her thoughts about royal mistresses fled, when she saw the photograph of Madame Marie Curie at her small laboratory in Paris. There she was with her husband, Pierre. They had isolated radium in 1902, and last year this brilliant couple had shared the Nobel Prize in Physics with Henri Becquerel. The caption said she was being considered for a university post. Marie Curie was a woman Vicky admired…she admired all those women who went out into the world and did impressive things. The women warriors she called them.

Glancing at the carriage clock again, Vicky jumped up. She must go downstairs to the kitchen and see how Cook was progressing with lunch. No time for daydreaming.

When Vicky went into the kitchen a few minutes later she saw that Cook had everything under control and rolling along in her usual efficient way. Florry, the young woman who came up from the village to help, was beating eggs in a bowl, and she glanced up, smiled cheerily at the sight of Vicky.

Vicky smiled back, nodding, and then said, ‘I see all is very much in order in here, as usual, Mrs Bloom, so I'll just leave you to it.'

‘That's right, Mum, I'm on schedule, right on time, that I am. The cheese soufflé will be ready at one-thirty, as you requested, and there's no problem with the roast chicken. Fortunately, the bird won't spoil.'

‘I'll make sure we sit down at one twenty-five, Mrs Bloom, never fear. Your soufflé is quite safe, it won't drop if I've anything to do with it.'

Mrs Bloom glanced over her shoulder at Vicky, and chuckled.

Vicky hurried out and walked across the hall and into the dining room. It was cosy and welcoming with the fire burning brightly in the grate, and there was the smell of beeswax and pine cones, intermingled with the hint of smoke and the faint scent of ripening apples in the air. It was a mixture of those unique and lovely country smells which never failed to remind Vicky of Compton Hall, the Hasling
family seat where she and Will had grown up. That lovely old manor house had always been redolent with the perfume of burning wood, mellow fruit, baking bread, and the sweet scent of homemade honey. She thought of their late mother with a rush of affection, a woman who had turned that ancient pile of stones into a welcoming home where children were loved and cosseted.

Slowly Vicky began to set the table for lunch, selecting a linen cloth with embroidered edges, crystal water tumblers, knives and forks and linen napkins, and as she moved around she thought of her dear friend Lily Overton.

Lily had been very brave earlier that morning when she had discussed her plans, explained what she would do if she
was
pregnant after all. She did have only three choices, Vicky was acutely aware of this. Lily could try to get a termination, a risky business, in more ways than one; she could have the child and give it up for adoption immediately, a miserable, heartbreaking prospect; or she could keep it and bring it up herself.

Lily had elected to do the latter, and Vicky couldn't blame her. She would manage very well, in Vicky's opinion, because she was practical by nature, a good organizer, and fortunately she had her own money, was not dependent on anyone.

That was the key, the money. It protected her and
the child
.

Having a child out of wedlock was like committing suicide for most women who found themselves in that terrible situation in this day and age. An enormous stigma was attached to illegitimacy, and unless a woman was protected by the man involved she was doomed.
Even in this new Edwardian era, which was more relaxed than in Queen Victoria's time, the stigma remained. Despite the fun-loving antics of the aristocracy and the licentiousness which was so prevalent today, beneath that carefree, glittering façade there remained prudery, snobbery, discrimination, class distinction and—

‘I shocked you earlier, didn't I?'

Vicky almost jumped out of her skin. Swinging around, she exclaimed, ‘Goodness, Lily! You did give me a start. I didn't hear you coming down the hall.'

‘I'm sorry,' Lily apologized. ‘But I
did
shock you, didn't I?'

‘No, you didn't, actually.
Surprised
me, yes.'

‘I've made up my mind not to think about it, for the moment at least…it
could
be a false alarm, you know.'

Vicky nodded. ‘That's a wise decision.' She fell silent as Lily came to stand next to the fireplace. Vicky couldn't help thinking what a beautiful woman she was, with her perfect pink-and-white complexion, green eyes and blonde hair. Her features were sculpted, very even and smooth, and she looked much younger than her years. No wonder Edward Deravenel was so smitten with her…what man wouldn't be?

Margot Grant came in from the garden, and took off her coat, hung it in the armoire, and went into the dining room. She stopped dead in her tracks, staring at the room in horror. What had happened here?
Mon Dieu
! The mahogany dining table had been pushed up against one of the end walls, the twelve antique dining chairs
arranged in four rows of three, like the pews in a church, and the table itself had been transformed into some strange homemade altar. And above the table, hanging on the wall, was the crucifixion of Christ. How had Henry managed to nail it up there? she asked herself.

A terrible dismay swept over her, and she did not move for a moment, her mind churning. Henry was off on one of his mad jaunts again, filled with religious fervour, revelling in the belief that he was a monk, and that he had his own church where he preached to a congregation. That there wasn't one present never seemed to bother him at all.

But he wasn't here preaching to the empty chairs now. So where was he? Terrified that he might have wandered out of the garden of their Ascot home, gone onto the main road, she swung around and rushed out into the garden. Shading her eyes from the sunlight, she looked around frantically, calling his name, ‘Henry! Henry! Where are you?'

He did not respond to her calls, and she began to search for him. Within the space of a few minutes she saw him flitting through the trees in a small copse at the end of the lawn. Her heart sank. He was wearing the dark brown monk's robe again, and carrying a wooden cross. As she drew closer, she heard him singing, off key as usual.

Margot felt nauseous. He was stark raving mad, there was no question about that. What if someone found out how truly crazy he was? And that he had been in asylums? She might have to put him there again.
Mon
Dieu
!
Mon Dieu
!

‘Henry, Henry, chéri!' she exclaimed as she moved
into the copse of trees. ‘Come along, let us go inside. It is cool today.'

He turned around, gaping at her, his eyes vacant. ‘Daughter in Christ,' he mumbled. ‘Daughter in Christ, good morrow to you.'

Swallowing her distaste, pushing her spiralling anger to one side, Margot took hold of his arm, and murmuring cajoling words she led him out of the copse, across the lawn and into the house.

Once she had manoeuvred him into his bedroom, she swung on her heels, left his room and locked the door behind her. What a pious, mentally disturbed old fool he was. One thing was absolutely essential. She now had to keep him hidden from the world until he became himself again.

Margot Grant shook her head as she went downstairs. It was better when he went into catatonic shock. At least then he sat in a chair all day not moving, not speaking.

Edward Deravenel came striding into the library of Neville's Chelsea house, bringing with him a rush of energy, vitality and the most obvious exuberance. Ned's feeling better, Neville thought, putting the grief behind him. He's ready and able to move forward. He was pleased for his young cousin, and relieved at the change in his demeanour.

There was a smile on Edward's face, an apology on his lips. ‘Sorry to be late. I'm afraid I had trouble finding a hansom cab this morning.'

‘There's no problem, Edward,' Neville murmured, coming forward to greet his cousin. After they had quickly embraced, Neville stepped away, seated himself in a chair near the fireplace.

Edward chose to stand, propped himself against the mantelpiece, and asked, ‘What time are the others due to arrive?'

‘Alfredo Oliveri will be here in about ten minutes, Amos Finnister fifteen minutes after that.'

‘You haven't really explained who Amos Finnister is,' Edward remarked, looking across at Neville, an eager
expression settling on his face. ‘All you said is that he has worked for you for some years, that you trust him implicitly, and that he will be invaluable to me.'

‘He will indeed, I've no doubt. But you'll soon understand about Finnister. Before they arrive please tell me about the past week. Your notes were rather enigmatic, and you were not at all forthcoming when you telephoned.'

Edward nodded, explained, ‘There wasn't a lot to tell you, and quite frankly it was a God-awful week. And I loathe Aubrey Masters. I'm putting Oliveri in his place, making him head of the mining division, if we win.'

‘
When
we win, but do continue.'

‘Masters is bumptious, argumentative and full of his own importance. And basically he's as thick as a plank. I'm more certain than ever that he's there purely because of Grant family connections. Anyway, he was going to give me the worst office in the entire building until I put up a huge fight. I insisted on my father's office, which is the tradition, and he wouldn't hear of it. I went at him hammer and tongs but he was absolutely bloody-minded about it. Obdurate. Finally he brought John Summers in to mediate, and much to Aubrey's shocked surprise Summers agreed with me. Aubrey was furious, but John Summers is his superior at Deravenels. I won. I got my father's old office.'

‘So John Summers was on your side, was he?'

‘I wouldn't exactly say
that
!' Edward shot back, throwing his cousin a pointed look. ‘However, he did insist that I was to be given Father's old office, just brushed aside Masters's objections. After that he disappeared. I never saw him again last week. He went to Wales, so I was told.'

‘Did Aubrey Masters give you anything to do?'

‘Not a damn thing. I was left to twiddle my thumbs. I went to the office every morning, and was greeted fairly cordially by almost everyone, except for Masters, of course, who was extremely grumpy, almost to the point of rudeness, in fact. However, I will say this, the other men treated me with the utmost civility, and that was that. Then they just ignored my presence.'

‘I see. Mmmm. Well, I'm not surprised. They're accepting you because they have no alternative. You have every right to be there. That's the company rule…the son steps into the father's shoes, gets his office, becomes a junior director although not on the board, and then works his way up through the ranks. However, they've sort of rendered you ineffectual, simply by not passing on work for you to do. Clever in a sense; on the other hand, it's rather ridiculous of them in the long run. It's so transparent, as transparent as glass.'

‘I agree. However, dull and boring though it was I did learn a few things.'

Neville leaned forward, looked at Edward intently. ‘About what?'

Edward answered, ‘For one thing, about the current state of morale at Deravenels at this moment. It happens to be very low, and quite a few employees believe the company is not only in the doldrums but more than likely in the red. I also managed to ascertain that there are a couple of people who are in our camp, so to speak. And I have begun to understand a little bit about the workings of the company. Also, I now recognize its vastness, how truly enormous it actually is. I have always known, obviously, that it is one of the biggest trading
companies in existence today. But Neville, until you're actually faced with it on a day-to-day basis one doesn't really understand completely what
global
means. In the case of Deravenels it is just that…the whole bloody world.'

‘First things first,' Neville responded. ‘Who told you about the morale of the employees?'

‘I picked up on the low morale almost immediately, just through chatting to people. Oliveri had steered me in the right direction, pushed me towards those employees he thought might be friendly, who think Henry Grant should be removed. And they were the same ones who muttered about the company being in the red, and not what it once was,' Edward told him. ‘As far as the vastness is concerned, Father had always drilled
that
into me, told me there was no other company like ours. But it was only when I stood in front of that huge map in his office and counted the little red flags he had placed there that I
really
understood. Deravenels covers the
world
…we seem to be in every country.'

‘Almost, yes.' Neville leaned back in his chair, brought his long fingers together in an arc, thinking for a moment, and then he said quietly, ‘What you've told me is very good news. A company with low morale, because of bad management I presume, and one which is also in the red is very,
very
vulnerable, Ned. It can be picked off and taken over.
By us
. Of that I am absolutely sure. This is the most heartening information, and it certainly corroborates everything Alfredo has muttered about lately.'

Harrison, the butler, knocked, and opened the door. ‘Excuse me, sir, Mr Oliveri has arrived.'

Neville nodded, rose, and walked across the room to greet Alfredo Oliveri, who was being ushered in by the butler.

After shaking hands, the two men walked over to Edward, who hurried to greet Oliveri. They had become friends in Carrara, and in the past week in London that friendship had been carefully cemented.

Neville said, ‘Would either of you care for a drink?'

Both men shook their heads, and Edward murmured, ‘Perhaps a glass of wine at lunch, but nothing now, thank you.'

Alfredo indicated his agreement, then went on. ‘In my considered opinion, and after a lot of chit-chat at the office, I realize you may have more supporters and friends than enemies at Deravenels, Mr Edward. That may surprise you, but I feel sure that I am right.'

Both Edward and Neville appeared taken aback, and then Edward said, ‘I did note that several of the men you introduced me to were exceptionally cordial, Alfredo, but I just assumed I had mostly
enemies
there—'

‘Oh you do have
some
,' Alfredo cut in, ‘those who are cronies of Henry Grant, whose fathers have been allied on his side, usually because of
their
fathers and old loyalties. Let's not forget, that particular faction of the Deravenel family has been in control for sixty years now. A long time.'

‘Far too long,' Neville murmured, giving Edward a knowing look.

Edward asked, ‘Who
are
my friends within the company? I'd like to know their names.'

Oliveri pulled a piece of paper out of the inside pocket of his jacket, opened it, and began to read: ‘Rob
Aspen, David Halton, Christopher Green, Frank Lane. Those men are well disposed to you for sure. They've made that perfectly clear to me this week, and of their own volition, I might add. I also believe that Sebastian Johnson and Joshua Kennett are favourable, would be in your corner. Certainly those two have long been dissatisfied with current management, have begun to grumble, and a lot more loudly, about the company being mismanaged.'

‘I know that John Summers is my enemy, and also Aubrey Masters,' Edward began and fixed his eyes on Alfredo. ‘So who else has me in their sights?'

‘James Cliff, who's exceptionally close to Summers and also very chummy with Margot Grant, as is Summers. Then I would add Andrew Trotter, Percy North, Philip Dever and Jack Beaufield. Several of those men are on the board, because of their fathers' connection to the Grants over many years. But, of course, your friends Rob Aspen, David Halton and Frank Lane are board members as well.'

‘It looks as if it's fairly evenly balanced,' Neville interjected, sounding pleased. ‘The thing is, we must try and win more of the men over, don't you think, Oliveri?'

‘Absolutely, and don't forget,
I
am on your side as well, even though I'm in Italy part of the time. But you can always count on me. And I'll come at once if you need me to be in London.'

‘That reminds me of something,' Edward said, smiling at Alfredo. ‘When we win this war I shall get rid of Aubrey Masters immediately. And I am offering you his job now, Oliveri. It would please me if you'd take it.'

Alfredo chuckled. ‘Talk of self-confidence! You
certainly have it. I agree with you, we
will
win, and of course I'll take the job. Thank you. I've wanted to move to London for several years now. I even discussed it with your father, at one point, and he agreed with me that I should really be here. But naturally nothing ever happened.

‘What about your wife? Would she mind moving?' Neville asked.

‘No, not at all. She's English, as you know, and whilst she loves Italy as much as I do, I know she would welcome a change.' Alfredo smiled at them. ‘It's a deal as far as I'm concerned.'

‘The news you've brought us today is a real boost, to say the least,' Neville remarked to Alfredo, nodding his head in affirmation of his words. ‘We must
all
gather as much information as we can, in order to mount a case against Henry Grant. That is imperative. Information will prove to be our greatest weapon, you'll see, and when Amos Finnister arrives we'll hear what he has discovered. Ah, here he is now,' Neville exclaimed, jumping up, going to greet Amos, who hovered in the doorway with the butler.

After the two men shook hands, Neville said, ‘Edward, come and meet my good friend, Amos Finnister…This is my cousin, Edward Deravenel, and my other guest is Alfredo Oliveri, whom I've mentioned to you.'

Amos greeted them pleasantly, and the four men sat down in a grouping of chairs near the fireplace. Neville took charge of the meeting and explained. ‘Before we went to Italy, I talked to Mr Finnister, and asked him to start digging in Henry Grant's backyard, and also in
anyone else's backyard, if he thought it was appropriate to do so. I want to know everything there is to know about our enemies within Deravenels, and Finnister is undoubtedly the best private investigator there is in London—if not in the whole of England.'

Amos smiled faintly, looking at Neville, his gaze steady. ‘I don't know if I would go as far as that, Mr Watkins.'

‘But I would. Now, what have you dug up? Lots of dirt, I hope.'

‘Not so much dirt as facts, sir, which are more important in the long run, wouldn't you say? First off, I'd like to say this…In my opinion Henry Grant is not simply pious, scholarly and religious, as everyone claims he is. I believe him to be so seriously unstable, it's more than likely he's actually quite insane. I discovered that he has been in two different mental institutions in the last few years. And no, they were not
retreats
, as was claimed at the time. They
were
insane asylums.'

There was a moment of silence, and then Edward said in a low tone, ‘Oddly enough, my father once said to me that he thought Henry was extremely unbalanced, but he never took it any further than that, never said anything else. Not to me.'

‘Good God!' Neville looked at Edward and then at Amos, obviously aghast. ‘Surely that's enough of a reason to have him removed from the chairmanship of Deravenels, isn't it?' He stared hard at Ned, his eyes full of questions.

‘Listen,' Alfredo cut in, ‘I've heard it said he was off his rocker, a doddering fool, loopy, nutty…words like
that were used about him. But yes, if he
was
in an asylum it suggests much worse, doesn't it?'

‘It does,' Ned finally said. ‘And I think you're right, Neville, insanity would justify removal from the board and from the company. And not just at Deravenels either, at any company. Nobody would disagree with you, it's common sense, pure and simple.'

‘If I might suggest something,' Amos murmured. ‘Perhaps no one ever really believed he was seriously mentally disturbed, perhaps everyone thought he was just an…ineffectual sort of chap, and left it at that, let him be.'

‘Maybe,' Neville agreed. ‘Otherwise he would have been removed promptly, by Summers and his gang, we can be certain of that.'

Alfredo stood up, paced in front of the fire for a few seconds, and then turning to Neville he said, ‘I must tell you, this news is lethal, it really is. And it's a huge weapon for us.' Turning to Amos, he asked, ‘Do you have
proof
? Hearsay and innuendo won't be enough to convince the Deravenel board. We must have absolute proof that he was in two asylums, at different times, presumably. Otherwise, they'll laugh in our faces.'

‘Proof
does
exist, Mr Oliveri, but I don't actually have that proof in my hands at this moment I'm afraid,' Amos replied.

‘But could you get it?' Neville asked, giving Amos a sharp look.

‘Oh, yes, course I could, Mr Watkins. But you do understand I'd have to have it…
stolen
. I would have to get…one of my
contacts
, so to speak, a
specialist
in that area, if you get my drift, to break into the two different asylums and pinch their records.'