The Complete Ravenscar Trilogy: The Ravenscar Dynasty, Heirs of Ravenscar, Being Elizabeth - Barbara Taylor Bradford

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his heart.

      ‘We will have to retaliate, you know,’ Neville announced.

      Edward stared at the other man. ‘How?’

      ‘I don’t know. Yet. Don’t you worry about it. Something will come to me. In due time. There’s no hurry.’

      There was a sudden sharp knock on the door, and it opened swiftly, with a burst. And before Edward could catch his breath his mother and Nan, his brothers and sister were rushing into the room, followed by Will Hasling.

      Neville jumped up, and went to his aunt, led her forward to the bed, while his wife, Nan, shushed the children, just as Margaret was doing. ‘George, do calm down,’ Meg told her younger brother, hanging onto his hand. Richard, of course, was silent and worried. His genuine concern shadowed those blue-grey eyes. He could not bear that his adored Ned was hurt.

      Cecily clutched her son’s hand. ‘Ned, oh Ned, your head. Your poor bruised face. You took such a beating.’ She shook her head, and she, who was usually so controlled, discovered her eyes were filling with tears.

      ‘Not too much damage done, Mother. The doctor says I’m perfectly fine. Please try not to worry. I’ll be up and out of here very quickly,’ Ned told her, and then looked over at Richard, beckoned for him to come forward. ‘I’m alive and well, Little Fish. I do promise you.’

      For the first time that day Richard smiled, and ran to the bedside, took hold of Ned’s other hand. ‘Mama told us you were set upon by thieves, Ned.’

      ‘Were you frightened?’ George asked. He had wriggled free of Meg’s grasp and was now standing next to Richard by the bed.

      ‘No, he wasn’t! Of course he wasn’t!’ Richard exclaimed, glancing over his shoulder at his brother. ‘Ned is never afraid, are you, Ned?’

      ‘I didn’t have time to be, as it so happens,’ Ned responded, his voice full of affection for his younger siblings.

      Meg joined her brothers, and gazing down at Ned, she asked, ‘Is there anything you need, other than the food Mama and Aunt Nan have brought?’

      ‘To come home to your loving care, Meg darling. But Dr Robertson has suggested I stay here. Overnight. Just to be sure that…my old noggin is in working condition.’

      ‘Is there some problem with your head injuries?’ his mother asked, her voice rising, alarm flaring on her face.

      ‘No, Mother. It’s just a precaution. You know very well how hospitals are.’ Turning his head, his eyes met Will’s, and he said, ‘Thanks for coming, old chap. And what’s that you’re carrying?’

      ‘A picnic, Ned. Swinton’s put together quite a lavish spread, at least so I’m told. I asked the ward nurse if she could find a small table, so I can unpack it, and she was happy to oblige. Oh, here she is now.’

      Later that afternoon, after they had had their merry picnic, everyone left except for Neville and Will Hasling. They wanted to stay with Edward because there were important matters to discuss, and also because the police were coming to ask Edward a few questions. Neville felt they should be with him during the police interview.

      Neville had just finished explaining everything in detail to Will, and asked him to join his staff, when Dr Robertson entered the room. He was accompanied by a uniformed policeman and a detective.

      Once they had all been introduced, the plainclothes policeman stepped forward, and asked, ‘Would you mind telling us exactly what happened to you, Mr Deravenel, please? We do have a police report from the local constable on the beat in Belsize Park, but that’s about it. Nothing much at all, sir.’

      ‘Of course, Inspector Laidlaw, I’m glad to do so,’ Ned answered. ‘I’d been visiting a friend in Belsize Park Gardens, in the late afternoon. I did stay for supper, and I was therefore longer than I’d planned. I left about nine o’clock, and walked up to the main road, seeking transportation. The problem was there were no hansom cabs around. I was surprised. However, there was nothing much I could do about it, and I decided to walk. I was heading for Primrose Hill, where I thought I would probably find a hansom. I was stopped at one point by a pedestrian, who asked me directions to Hampstead. It was when I was speaking with him that I was struck from behind. First across the shoulders and then on my head. I fell forward. And passed out. That’s all I know, Inspector. Until I woke up here today.’

      Inspector Laidlaw compressed his lips together. ‘Not much to go on, sir, I’m afraid, but it’s the truth, nevertheless. The pedestrian who asked directions, can you describe him?’

      ‘Medium height, light eyes, ordinary face. Wearing a cloth cap, a muffler, oh, and a worn looking overcoat. Nondescript sort of chap, actually. I thought at the time that he looked…a bit down on his luck.’

      ‘What about his accent? Can you pinpoint it?’

      ‘Oh yes, certainly. A Londoner. Born and bred.’

      Nodding his head, the inspector put away his notebook. ‘I understand your wallet was taken, Mr Deravenel, but nothing else. Not even your gold pocket watch or your gold cufflinks. So, my question to you, sir, is this…was it really a robbery? Or was the attack on you…well, let’s say, a personal attack?’

      ‘Good Lord, Inspector, how on earth would I know!’ Ned exclaimed, looking properly askance.

      ‘Any enemies, Mr Deravenel?’

      ‘None, as far as I know.’

      ‘I understand, sir. Well, it looks as if we’ve hit a brick wall, so to speak. If you do recall anything, anything at all, please get in touch with me, sir.’

      ‘I certainly will, Inspector.’

       TWENTY-TWO

      John Summers, usually a patient and self-contained man, was agitated. He paced up and down the floor of his office at Deravenels, filled with a mixture of frustration and anger. Unable to sleep the night before, he had risen at dawn and come here earlier than usual. None of his colleagues had yet arrived, therefore he could not question them or confront them. Hence his frustration.

      Last evening, just before dinner, he had been informed that Edward Deravenel had been physically attacked and was in hospital, badly injured. His seething anger sprang from this unwelcome news.

      He did not need problems at this moment, and an injured Deravenel was indeed a problem. If any of his people were involved they would pay heavily for it.

      Finally, he stopped pacing, and walked across to the windows, looked down into the Strand. Even though it was not yet nine o’clock the traffic was heavy…horse-drawn carriages, horse-drawn omnibuses, hansom cabs, a few handcarts being pushed, and lots of pedestrians hurrying along, all jostling together, a mass of humanity on the move on this sunny March morning.

      Turning away, John Summers went over to his desk and sat down. Steepling his fingers, he gazed out into the large and handsomely furnished room, thinking about the consequences of the attack on Deravenel. The prospect of retaliation alarmed him.

      At twenty-eight, John Summers was an attractive man with a pleasant, clean-cut face. Very English in looks, he had a fair complexion, brown hair and light-grey eyes. Slender, almost wiry, and athletic, he was just above average height. John dressed well, but in a most conservative manner which reflected, in a sense, his conservative outlook on life.

      He was Henry Grant’s man, always had been, as was his father before him. In fact, the Summers family had been allied to the Deravenel Grants of Lancashire for over two hundred years. And now John Summers ran Deravenels. There was no one else to take on the burdens of this vast global company. Henry Grant was a bewildered, absent-minded man these days, pious and harmless, yet far too involved with monks and

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