Heirs of Ravenscar. Barbara Taylor Bradford

tek ’em from yer, Mr Richard,’ the lad said, then added apologetically, ‘Sorry I weren’t out ’ere when yer got back. It was Minnie, Mr Richard, that there young filly. Right skittish, that she is.’

      Richard nodded his understanding as he handed over the reins. ‘She has calmed down, has she?’

      The lad said, ‘Yeah, but can yer ’ave a look at ’er, sir? Mebbe there’s summat really wrong. Yer knows wot, I think it’s ’er front foot.’ Orseshoe might be loose. Mebbe she’ll get real troublesome again.’

      ‘Yes, I’ll examine her foot, Ernie, but I must be rather quick about it.’

      ‘Nowt but a minute, Mr Richard, it’ll only tek a minute.’

      When Edward had entered the house he had been struck by the overwhelming silence, and now, after throwing his outer jacket onto a bench in the gun room, he rushed down the corridor, frowning. Usually this part of the house was filled with constant sounds, familiar sounds … the clatter of pots and pans emanating from the kitchen, as well as cheerful laughter and the dominant tones of Cook giving orders to the kitchen maids. But unexpectedly there was not a single sound at this moment, and Edward was puzzled because it was not at all normal.

      He paused when he reached the Long Hall, curious about the absence of Jessup. The butler was generally hovering around in this area, wanting to be of service, but he was nowhere in sight.

      Edward shrugged, and had begun to walk towards the staircase when Jessup came hurrying out of the butler’s pantry, asking swiftly, ‘Do you need anything, Mr Deravenel?’

      ‘No, but thanks anyway, Jessup. I’m on my way upstairs to look in on Master Edward. Have you seen him this morning?’

      ‘Yes, I have, sir. A bit under the weather he is, poor little mite. But then he’s a strong young fellow, isn’t he, sir?’

      ‘Yes, indeed he is. Please bring the doctor up immediately when he arrives, Jessup, won’t you?’

      ‘Oh, yes, sir, right away.’

      With a slight nod Edward was gone, taking the stairs two at a time, heading for the nursery floor where the children spent most of their time. Striding rapidly down the corridor, he realized he could already hear the sound of his five-year-old son coughing before he even reached the bedroom, and he felt his chest tighten. He stood outside the door for a moment, filled with sudden apprehension, and took a deep breath to steady himself before going inside.

      Elizabeth was leaning over their son, and she glanced around as Ned hurried to the bedside. ‘He’s feverish,’ she murmured, smoothing the boy’s red-gold hair away from his damp forehead, ‘and exhausted from this frightful coughing.’

      Edward moved closer and squeezed her shoulder, wanting to reassure her. When he leaned over the child himself, he was shocked, disturbed when he saw his son’s appearance. The child looked as though he was burning up with fever and his blue eyes were glazed. Beads of sweat stood out on his face and Edward was more alarmed than ever, realizing that his son did not even recognize him.

      He turned to his wife, asked quietly, ‘Don’t we have any cough medicine in the house? Surely there’s something? Somewhere?’

      ‘We gave it to him already, Ned, but I was afraid of giving him too much, over-dosing him. It is rather a strong syrup. Your mother then remembered the raspberry vinegar concoction she used to make for you and your brothers. She went downstairs to explain to Cook how to prepare it. She said she gave it to you when you were a child.’

      ‘That’s true. It’s made of raspberry vinegar, butter and sugar, all boiled, and like a lot of those old remedies from the past it seems to work very well.’

      ‘I hope so.’

      Looking over at the bed, Edward remarked in a low voice, ‘I think he’d feel better propped up against the pillows, rather than lying flat. It might help him, ease the congestion in his chest, if he were sitting up.’

      Without waiting for her response, Edward gently brought their child closer to him, wrapping his arms around him, and said to his wife, ‘Please move the pillows, Elizabeth, lean them against the headboard.’

      She did so without a word; he placed the boy against them, kissed his forehead and straightened the bedclothes.

      Edward looked towards the door as it opened to admit his mother, who was carrying a tray. Cecily Deravenel exclaimed, ‘I’m relieved you’re here, Ned,’ and immediately put the tray down on a chest of drawers. ‘I’m going to try and get him to take this syrup of mine. I also found another medicine downstairs that might be helpful as well.

      It’s that Creopin mixture, for inhaling. I bought it in London recently.’

      ‘Is Creopin better than Friar’s Balsam, do you think, Mother?’

      ‘I’m not sure, Ned, we’ll ask the doctor when he gets here,’ Cecily replied, and began to attend to her grandson, spooning the raspberry mixture into his mouth.

      After a moment, Edward touched Elizabeth’s arm and whispered, ‘Let’s go outside for a moment, darling.’ Taking her arm, he guided her to the door. Once they were in the corridor alone, he pulled her into his arms and held her close, stroking her hair. Against her cheek, he said, ‘Do try not to worry. We’ll get him well, Elizabeth, I promise.’

      ‘Do you promise me that, Ned?’

      ‘Oh, I do, Elizabeth, I do promise you he’ll soon be as right as rain.’

      Elizabeth let her body relax against his, comforted by his presence, his warmth and his love. When it came to his children’s welfare she trusted him implicitly. Also, Ned’s self-assurance, his confidence in himself, his belief that he could control everyone and everything had always made her feel safe. Some thought these characteristics reflected his arrogance. She knew otherwise; and no one knew him better than she did.

THREE

      ‘Mr Deravenel wishes me to take you upstairs straight away, sir,’ Jessup explained to the doctor, after putting his hat and coat in the hall cupboard. ‘If you’ll come this way, please.’

      ‘Thank you, Jessup,’ Peter Leighton answered, and followed swiftly on the heels of the butler, crossing the Long Hall to the grand staircase.

      Before they had reached the nursery floor, Edward, who had heard their voices, was standing at the top of the stairs, impatiently waiting for them.

      ‘Good morning, Dr Leighton,’ he exclaimed at the sight of the doctor, and added, ‘Thank you, Jessup.’ With a brief nod Edward dismissed the butler, who hurried off down the stairs.

      As the doctor stepped onto the landing, he thrust out his hand and shook Edward’s. ‘Good morning, Mr Deravenel. So, Young Edward’s poorly, is he?’

      ‘Yes. My wife thinks it’s Spanish flu. He’s got a fever, a hacking cough. Earlier, there were flecks of blood in his handkerchief, my wife tells me. As you can imagine, we’re extremely worried. I can only add that we are very glad you happen to be staying with the Dunbars this weekend, so close to us.’

      ‘Very fortuitous indeed,’ Dr Leighton answered, then asked, ‘How are the other children? Are they showing any signs of infection?’

      ‘No, they’re not, but I would like you to see them, once you’ve seen Young Edward.’

      ‘Of course, of course, that’s understood, Mr Deravenel.’ Dr Leighton gave Edward a smile of encouragement and continued, ‘I’m afraid Spanish flu is extremely virulent, as no doubt you know from the newspapers and the radio, but it hasn’t been striking down children or the elderly, as flu usually does. This new strain appears to infect young adults mainly. Mostly young men between