My God, she’s fantastic, Elizabeth thought, as she followed Grace Rose across the foyer. I hope I’m like her when I’m an old lady. No sign of osteoporosis or a widow’s hump here. Her aunt was tall, erect, and well dressed. She’s also got all her marbles, and all her ducks in a row, Elizabeth decided, filled with admiration for the ninety-six-year old.
Once they were seated at the table in a handsomely furnished dining room, decorated in a mélange of fir-green and white, Grace Rose picked up their interrupted conversation.
‘I’m delighted you’re having this auction, Elizabeth. It’s very enterprising of you indeed. It’s rather silly to hoard unwanted things, useless really, in my opinion. Everything should fetch a good price, and most especially the art.’
At this moment Louisa appeared, served them plates of smoked salmon with thin slices of brown bread and butter, and lemon wedges. To Grace Rose, Louisa said, ‘Shall I serve white wine, Mrs Morran?’
‘I don’t think so, Louisa,’ Grace Rose responded, glanced at Elizabeth, raised a brow questioningly.
‘Not for me, thank you,’ Elizabeth answered, smiling at the housekeeper.
They ate in silence for a moment or two, and then Grace Rose put her knife and fork down, said in a low, confidential voice, ‘I hate to pry, and I’m only doing it now because I’m concerned about you. Are your finances in order? Adequate?’
‘I’m fine, thank you, Grace Rose. Honestly. As you know, I have a trust from my father and my salary from Deravenels, and I manage quite well. I must say, though, I’m glad your father had such a clear vision of the future.’
‘What do you mean?’ Grace Rose sounded puzzled.
‘Edward Deravenel was extremely smart when he created the Ravenscar Trust Fund many years ago. It’s for the running of Ravenscar. The money has been well invested over the years and the interest pays for the upkeep of the house, grounds, any repairs, and also the staff wages. I don’t know what I’d do if he hadn’t had the foresight to create that fund. I would have to close most of the house and live in three rooms, or rent it out, because I can’t afford to run it. And I certainly can’t sell it.’
‘I know, it’s entailed.’ Grace Rose sighed. ‘Naturally, Mary’s responsible for your finances being tight, isn’t she?’
Elizabeth pursed her lips and nodded, took a sip of water, and wanting to reassure her, said, ‘I’m all right financially, I promise.’
Noticing that Elizabeth looked somewhat uncomfortable, Grace Rose changed the subject. ‘You spoke of Cartier jewellery earlier. Was that all from the vault at the Chelsea house?’
‘A lot of it was, yes. But I also received some fabulous pieces from Mary before she died.’
‘Was there a set of aquamarine-and-diamond pieces? A ring, a bracelet, and a pair of earrings? If so, they belonged to your grandmother, her uncle gave them to her.’
Elizabeth’s face lit up. ‘There is a set exactly like that. Oh, I shan’t sell those.’
‘I don’t think you should. Bess loved that set and always wore it on special occasions.’
‘She was very close to her uncle, wasn’t she?’
‘Very, and she always defended him, but then I did, too. We never thought he had anything to do with the disappearance of the boys.’
Startled by this unexpected statement, Elizabeth stared at her aunt. ‘Did some people think that he did?’
Grace Rose simply nodded, her mouth tightening almost imperceptibly.
‘How awful.’ Elizabeth fell silent as Louisa returned and removed the plates. Once they were alone again, she leaned closer to Grace Rose. ‘But what could have happened to your little brothers? The story I heard from my father was so strange, the way they disappeared from the beach at Ravenscar, never to be found again.’
‘It was indeed, and we were all baffled, the police included. Bess and I had our own theories, of course.’
‘And what were they?’ Elizabeth asked eagerly.
Grace Rose was silent, looking reflective, lost in her thoughts. She said at last, ‘We began to think that they had been taken away so that they couldn’t inherit Deravenels. Bess and I toyed with the idea that someone wanted the company for themselves. By removing the boys there were no longer any male heirs to inherit.’
‘My grandmother was the heiress, though!’
‘Yes, she was, and neither of us was stupid, you know. We both understood that whoever married her would be all set to run the company. Because she would have never been accepted at Deravenels as managing director, even though our father had had the rules changes to allow Deravenel women to inherit the top job. It’s always been a male chauvinistic place, as you’re well aware.’
‘So some people tried put the blame on Richard?’
‘Yes. But why would he do it? He loved those boys, and was running the company anyway. He had all the power, money and privilege, and would run it for a good ten to fifteen years, until the boys grew up. That theory didn’t make sense to us at all.’
‘Did you think that Henry Turner was responsible?’ Elizabeth ventured cautiously, her eyes on her aunt.
‘No, we didn’t, and especially when we got to know him better. Anyway, Bess would never have married him if she had thought he was responsible for her brothers’ disappearance. However, we both thought that someone working behind the scenes, someone with their own interests at stake, a hidden agenda perhaps, would be well served if the sons of Edward Deravenel vanished.’
‘But who?’ Elizabeth probed.
‘We were never really sure who it could be. It was a mystery. Then Bess and I began to focus on a man called Jack Buckley. He was a Deravenel cousin, but with strong ties to the Grant side of the family, and, actually, he sort of straddled the fence, since he was married to Bess’s aunt Katharine, her mother’s sister. We thought he had a foot in all camps, and he was certainly a bit power-hungry, to say the least.’
‘Did he benefit when Henry Turner took over Deravenels?’
‘Not a lot, no. He died rather suddenly a year later of a heart attack,’ Grace Rose told her.
‘What about Richard’s murder? Could this man Jack Buckley have killed him?’
‘To be truthful, Elizabeth, that’s another possibility your grandmother and I discussed. Still, there was nothing we could do. We didn’t have a shred of evidence about anything, and remember, we were just a couple of young women of no importance … we knew no one would listen to us. And anyway, there was no one we felt we could talk to, you know. No one we really trusted.’
Grace Rose glanced at the door when it opened. Louisa came in pushing a trolley, and from it she served small lamb chops with mixed vegetables and then offered gravy and mint sauce.
‘Thank you, Louisa, this looks delicious,’ Grace Rose murmured. ‘And please leave the mint sauce, will you? You know how I love to slather it on everything.’
‘Oh, so do I!’ Elizabeth exclaimed, smiling at her aunt, and picked up her knife and fork. She had enjoyed the smoked salmon, and now cut into the lamp chop, realizing how ravenously hungry she had been when she arrived here. A banana and a glass of milk wasn’t much of a dinner every night, she decided, vowing to change her bad eating habits.
‘You don’t mind talking about the past, do you, Grace Rose?’ Elizabeth looked at her aunt quizzically, her expression affectionate. She was truly fond of her, and did not wish to cause her discomfort.
Grace Rose smiled. ‘No, of course I don’t. Actually, the past seems much clearer to me than the present, if you want the truth. I can easily recall things that happened over forty years ago but not yesterday.’ She chuckled. ‘Perhaps that’s because the past is more important to me, more interesting than my life is today. Mind you, I’m happy to be alive and kicking, Elizabeth. I don’t want to go yet, you know. I’ve still too much damage to do.’
Elizabeth joined in her laughter, then said, ‘So I don’t suppose you’d mind talking about your sisters. I’ve often wondered what happened to the younger Deravenel daughters.’
‘Didn’t Harry ever speak about his aunts?’
‘No, and when I asked him he just pushed my questions aside.’
‘I don’t think your father was particularly interested in them. Well, let me see … Bridget, the youngest, became a nun, and she was very contented in her vocation. Cecily married an older man, and wasn’t happy at all. She remarried after his death.’ Grace Rose’s faded blue eyes twinkled as she added, ‘He was good looking, charming, a toy boy, as they say today. She moved away, and I suppose lived happy ever after. Anne and Katherine also married nice ordinary men, and went to live in the country. We kept in touch with Christmas cards, but lived entirely different lives, and eventually we began to drift away, especially after Bess’ death. She was the one who had tried to hold us all together.’
‘Was she happy, do you think? My grandmother?’
‘Happy? Such a complex word. Was Bess happy? Hard question to answer. Let me put it this way, she wasn’t unhappy.’ Once again Grace Rose stared off into the distance, as if staring back into the past, seeing things, seeing people she loved who were long gone.
Watching her closely, Elizabeth realized she looked suddenly sad, bereft, and a shadow touched her aunt’s face. Reaching out, putting a hand on her aunt’s arm, she asked in concern, ‘Are you all right?’
Grace Rose nodded. ‘Oh, yes, I’m fine, my dear. Now, to answer you. I don’t think your grandmother had an ecstatic marriage. You see, Henry Turner was a little dull; plodding, I suppose is the best way to describe him. What I do know is that he did love Bess, he treated her kindly, was absolutely faithful. I always felt she was disappointed that he did not allow her to become involved with Deravenels in any way. She loved the company, and it was hers, and she was so bright, such a smart woman, she could have been a great help to him. To be truthful, there were other disappointments, too. She had seven children but only four lived, and then Arthur, the eldest, died when he was about fifteen. Such a shock. She was grief-stricken, everyone was. That’s when she focused all of her attention on your father, spoiled him. Mind you, Harry had always been very close to her. I believe she saw Edward Deravenel in him.’
‘Yes, I know, she often compared him to his grandfather. He told me that when his mother died he felt so lost without her. I’m not sure that he really liked his father.’
‘I’m not either. However, they got on all right. Poor Bess, she was too young to die, far too young at thirty-seven. I was devastated when I lost her, she had been my best friend for most of my life.’
Elizabeth’s eyes had not left Grace Rose’s lined, old face, and whilst her voice had been steady, even strong, her rheumy eyes had suddenly filled with tears. Again reaching out, touching her arm, Elizabeth apologized. ‘I’m sorry. Don’t cry. I didn’t mean to upset you, asking you about the past. Sorry, so very sorry, Grace Rose.’
Forcing a smile, the old woman exclaimed, ‘I’m all right, really! I love my memories … what would an old lady do without her memories of the past? But come, Elizabeth, let’s talk about the present. What’s been happening at Deravenels?’
‘Well, I think we’ve solved the problem about Mary’s rash investment with Philip Alvarez.’
‘Oh, do tell me everything.’
And Elizabeth did.
That evening Elizabeth had the sudden urge to look at some of the old photograph albums her father had given her. ‘You’ll be more interested in these than either Edward or Mary,’ he had said, offering her one of his sly grins. ‘Mary’s not interested in my English past, only her mother’s Spanish ancestors. As for Edward, he’s mostly concerned with his studies. Mind you, that’s most commendable.’
And so the stack of albums had become hers. Turning the pages of one of them, she concentrated on a series of snaps taken at Ravenscar in the 1920s. My God, there was Grace Rose, with whom she’d lunched that day. Grace Rose, a young woman, and with her was Bess Deravenel, her grandmother. But who was the man standing between them? Peering at the spidery writing on the picture she realised it was the famous – infamous? – Richard Deravenel. She studied it for a moment, then put the album down, settled herself more comfortably on the sofa.
Richard Deravenel. Good man maligned? Or kidnapper and murderer? Which had he been? She could not judge the man; still, Grace Rose had told her today that she and her grandmother had believed in his innocence. ‘But you see, he had his enemies,’ Grace Rose had said. ‘And he was murdered by them.’
But the entire family had enemies, Elizabeth now thought, Deravenels and Turners alike. Did their fame and wealth and prestige engender such jealousy and hatred in some? She knew the answer to that question.
Do I have my enemies? More than likely. And who are they? She shivered and pulled her sweater around her shoulders. As yet I don’t know, but I’ll soon find out. They’ll give themselves away. Elizabeth shivered again. She must be on her guard.