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

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BARBARA TAYLOR BRADFORD

For my husband Robert Bradford, who has lived with these characters for over twenty-six years, and has never lost patience with them or with me. With my love.

Part One PART ONE

Chapter One: Yorkshire—1904 ONE

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five: London

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine: Florence

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven: Carrara

Chapter Twelve: Kent

Chapter Thirteen: London

Chapter Fourteen: Ravenscar

Part Two

Chapter Fifteen: Kent

Chapter Sixteen: London

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two: Ravenscar

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Six

Chapter Thirty-Seven: Ravenscar

Chapter Thirty-Eight: London

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Chapter Forty: Ravenscar

Chapter Forty-One: Ripon

Chapter Forty-Two: London

Chapter Forty-Three

Chapter Forty-Four

Part Three

Chapter Forty-Five: London—1907

Chapter Forty-Six

Chapter Forty-Seven

Chapter Forty-Eight:Yorkshire

Chapter Forty-Nine

Chapter Fifty

Chapter Fifty-One

Chapter Fifty-Two: London

Chapter Fifty-Three

Chapter Fifty-Four

Chapter Fifty-Five: Paris—1908

Chapter Fifty-Six

Chapter Fifty-Seven: London—1912

Chapter Fifty-Eight

Chapter Fifty-Nine: Ravenscar—1914

Chapter Sixty: London

Author’s Note

Bibliography

PART ONE

Edward & Neville

‘Princely to behold, of body mighty, strong and clean made.’

Sir Thomas More

‘Yet there was magnanimity in him, and if he is not quite a tragic protagonist, he is a memorable human being. He refused to admit that there were disadvantages he could not overcome and defeats from which he could not recover, and he had the courage, and vanity, to press his game to the end.’

Paul Murray Kendall

‘Their relationship, like their division of authority, was amiable and undefined.’

Paul Murray Kendall

ONE

Edward Deravenel galloped ahead at great speed, leaving his brothers behind, rapidly gaining the advantage. He urged his white stallion forward, oblivious to the icy weather, the lash of the wind on his face.

At one moment, half turning in the saddle, glancing behind him, Edward laughed out loud, his hilarity filling the air as he waved to his brothers: George, trying to catch up, his face grim in its determination…Richard, struggling even farther behind, yet laughing and waving back. But then he was the youngest, and much less competitive, the baby of the family and Edward’s particular favourite.

For a split second Edward considered slowing down and allowing Richard to win this race, which had come about so spontaneously a short while before, then instantly changed his mind.

George would inevitably contrive to finish first, by pushing Richard out of the way in his overriding desire to be the winner. Somehow he always managed to do this, whenever he had the opportunity, no matter what the circumstances. And this Edward could not permit. Not ever. He strived to make certain Richard was never humiliated, never diminished by George, who was older than Richard by three years.

Edward continued at a gentler pace along the narrow path, glancing down to his left as he did. The plunging cliffs fell steeply to the rocks and the beach; six hundred feet below him the North Sea roared under the gusting wind, like polished steel in the winter sunlight.

The surging waves frothed and churned against the jagged rock formations, while above him kittiwakes, graceful and buoyant in flight, squawked stridently as they wheeled and turned against the pale sky. Hundreds of these beautiful white gulls with black-tipped wings made their homes on projecting ledges of rock on the cliff faces; as a child he had watched them nesting through his binoculars.

He shivered involuntarily as the sudden remembrance of a tragedy of long ago hit him. A man in his father’s employment, who had been bird-watching, had plunged to his death from this very spot. Now, instinctively, Edward veered away from the precarious cliffs, headed in the direction of the dirt road which led across the moors and was much safer terrain.

This morning the moorland was dun-coloured and patched with slabs of frozen snow, and there was no question in Edward’s mind that he much preferred riding up here in the warmer months.

He mentally chastised himself for taking his brothers out on this January day. He had realized, rather late, that it was far too bitter, especially for Richard, who tended to catch cold so easily. He dare not contemplate his mother’s ire if the boy fell sick because of this ill-conceived outing on the cliffs.

Swinging his head, he saw that the boys had again slowed and were lagging behind, were obviously even more fatigued by the long ride. He must spur them on, encourage them to move forward, get them home without delay and into the warmth of the house.

Beckoning to them, he shouted, ‘Come on, chaps! Let’s get a move on!’ And he set off at a brisk canter, hoping they would follow suit.

Once or twice he glanced behind him, pleased that they had heeded his words and were hard on his heels. Within minutes, much to his profound relief, their ancestral home was in his direct line of vision and he couldn’t wait to arrive there.

Ravenscar, the beautiful old manor house where the Deravenels had lived for centuries, stood on high ground, was set back from the sea, and dominated the surrounding landscape. Dark-green trees, ancient, tall and stately, formed a semicircle around it on three sides, and these in turn were backed by high stone walls; the fourth wall was a natural one—the North Sea. This stretched into infinity below the tiered gardens and sloping lawns that ended at the edge of the precipitous cliffs.

As Edward drew closer he could easily make out the crenellation along the line of the roof, smoke curling up from the chimneys, and the many mullioned windows glittering in the sunlight. Within seconds he was bringing his horse to a slow trot, riding through the black iron gates and up the long, tree-lined drive. This ended with some abruptness in a small, circular courtyard covered with gravel and with a sundial in its centre.