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

him seven years ago. For one year he was like a zombie; he was wandering around, as if in catatonic shock, or in a trance. Until they put him in an asylum for the insane. For treatment. But they lied to all of us in the company, said he was in a religious retreat.

      Long before his marriage to the Frenchwoman he made me his heir, because he knew full well I was the true heir, and the board asked me to take charge when he was put away. Put in a padded cell. And I did. I executed my duties well. Then, suddenly, he was back. He had made a remarkable recovery. And I stepped aside, which was only right.

      Within days she gave birth to her son, Edouard. Her heir. But was he Harry’s heir? Was he really his son? I doubt it; many doubt it. Henry Grant has always been a monk, lived like a monk. In every way. And the dates were doubtful. Everyone said so.

      I was never her enemy, not in the beginning. But she has always treated me as one, and over the years she has been foul, vicious to me and mine. And she has succeeded in turning me into her enemy. What a fool she is.

      And I fear for Henry, fear for his welfare. She has such dynastic ambitions. For her son. For herself. For John Summers.

      I have no proof, but I do believe he warms her bed at night, as his late father did before him. And surely her son is his half-brother. So Edouard does not have a drop of Deravenel blood in him. Does he?’

      Edward sat back, holding the book on his knee, staring into the flames, his thoughts racing.

      First of all, his father had confirmed Amos Finnister’s story that Henry Grant had been in and out of insane asylums. Well, at least once, according to this diary. But wasn’t his father also saying that his cousin had always been as mad as a hatter…daft in the head, those were his father’s words.

      Turning the page, Edward began to read once more, and then he realized that his father was now only writing about Ravenscar, and his great love for his ancestral home.

      He scanned the pages swiftly, genuinely wanting to know what his father had to say, yet anxious and impatient to move on to more important entries.

      There it was, a new entry on a new page, and the date was written very clearly: September the first 1902. Almost a year and a half ago.

      Holding the book tightly, Edward read his father’s words rapidly; from the very first line he felt an unexpected tingle of anticipation and excitement.

      ‘I have made my mind up. I am going to do something at last. I shall no longer procrastinate. I shall gather all of my notes together, notes made over the years, and I shall prepare my case. And I do have a case to present to the board of directors. Long, long ago, my ancestors made a new rule—that any director of Deravenels, whether a board member or a junior director, could present a case to them if he had a serious grievance against the company. I do. I have a complaint against Henry Grant. He is allowing Deravenels, one of the greatest trading companies in the world, to be run into the ground. By himself, a man who is daft in the head. I have the proof. I shall use it. I will assert myself. I will take what is mine to take. They cannot refuse to hear me. It is my right as a director, and as a Deravenel, which is even more important. I am going to fight them. I hope I shall win. I think I shall win. The board must remain neutral, and they know this; I believe there is enough neutrality among them to permit justice and fair play to prevail. I must find my copy of the company rules; all of those old documents are important. For back-up. The board won’t deny my petition to speak, but it is always a good idea to be prepared.’

      There was not a single doubt in Edward’s mind that his father had given him powerful weapons to fight the Grants; first, he had confirmed that Henry Grant was a damaged man, mentally deficient and unable to properly run the company. Edward knew enough about the company rules to know that Deravenels could not under any circumstances be run by ‘stand-ins’, as his mother usually called Grant’s cronies. There was that fact, to begin with; now there was the old company rule that gave a director the right to present a case to the board.

      Obviously, his father had never done what he’d vowed to do. But he would. By God, he would.

      Edward continued to read the diary for another hour, finding a lot more information that would be useful to them. But as far as he was concerned he had already found the most important.

      Later that evening, Edward and his mother discussed his father’s diary. They were both in agreement that he had some potent weapons in his hands now.

      She promised to find the old documents amongst which were the company rules; he told her all about Amos Finnister and his discoveries.

      They made their plans.

       NINETEEN

      Edward Deravenel knew he would always remember how he felt this morning as he mounted one side of the great double staircase that rose up from the central lobby of Deravenels.

      He felt different, felt like a new man.

      He was filled with pride; he was happy; his self-assurance was at its height. As he glanced around he felt reassured by this gargantuan building which in a sense was his, and where he now knew he would spend the rest of his life. He was secure in the knowledge that he would win…not only a battle or two, either. He would win the war. And he would rule Deravenels. It was his destiny.

      His parents had raised him to fully understand who he was, what he was all about, and where he came from. Naturally he had grown up to be self-confident. He was proud of his heritage but there was not one ounce of snobbery in him; he was at ease with himself and with everyone else, whatever walk of life they came from.

      When he had started working here last week he had felt slightly inhibited, and certainly he had been totally on guard. Everyone was suspect, as far as he was concerned; and he was still wary of the men who were employed here, especially Henry Grant’s cronies, but he had a better understanding of the various echelons now, thanks to Alfredo Oliveri who had told him much.

      He truly understood about his heritage, his right to be head of this ancient company. He was the rightful heir. Because of that he would never permit the progeny of usurpers to mismanage it, as Henry Grant was doing; and certainly he would oust the ‘stand-ins’, the affinity surrounding Grant, along with Grant himself.

      Only a Deravenel by birth could be managing director or chairman, and, other than Grant, he was the only one available.

      As he strode along the corridor to his father’s office which was now his, he thought of the diary. It had hardly been out of his mind since last night when his mother passed it on to him. It was invaluable; there was so much in it; so many guidelines from his father. It was going to be his Bible, and he would live by it. Every word was meaningful, and what possession of it had done was make him feel entitled.

      He had only just taken off his overcoat and hung it up, when Alfredo came barrelling into the office, his arms full of books and papers. ‘Good morning, Mr Edward.’ Alfredo gave him a cheery grin from behind the books.

      ‘Good morning, Oliveri. Here, let me help you with all this stuff. And what is it, anyway?’

      ‘Homework, sort of. Yours, to be exact.’

      ‘Mine?’ Edward gave him a questioning look as he lifted some of the books and papers off the top of the pile. ‘Are you serious?’

      ‘Indeed I am.’ Oliveri deposited everything he was carrying on the desk, as did Edward, glancing at the titles as he did so. ‘Aha! Books on mining I see! And wine. And the making of Egyptian cotton. You want me