Barbara Taylor Bradford - Being Elizabeth

‘There’s nothing wrong with a Fortnum and Mason shopping bag,’ Elizabeth replied as she took it from him. Placing it on the floor next to her, she lifted out the black box; holding it in both hands, she stared down at it and felt a shiver run through her. The box was, in fact, more like a jewel case, and embossed across the lid in now-faded gold letters was the name she revered: Edward Deravenel .

Placing it on her knee, with her hands on top of it, she said slowly, it in a shaky voice, ‘When I was eleven, two years after my father had accepted me as his daughter again, he showed me this box. And he told me a story about it. Or rather, about what’s inside. Come and sit down for a minute or two. I’d like you to hear what Harry Turner told me fourteen years ago.’

The three men did as she asked, nursing their glasses of champagne. All were curious, wanted to hear the story.

Elizabeth did not immediately begin. Instead she looked down at the box once more, smoothed her hand over it, seemed suddenly thoughtful, far away, lost in memories.

Robert Dunley, watching her intently, could not help thinking how beautiful her hands were, long and slender with tapering fingers and perfect nails. He had half-forgotten her lovely hands …

For his part, Nicholas was admiring her gumption and disregard for convention. Here she was, wearing a bright red sweater and matching trousers on the day her sister had died, and she didn’t give a damn what any of them thought. But that was Elizabeth, honest to the core. He knew, only too well, that there had been no love lost between the sisters, and he admired Elizabeth for not pretending otherwise.

Cecil’s thoughts were on Elizabeth’s quick, keen mind, the way she had mentioned Philip, quizzed Robert about the trip to Spain. Dunley might well be a good source of information about the disastrous investment Mary had made … he would talk to him later.

Elizabeth shifted her position on the sofa, glanced up at the painting which had hung above the fireplace here in this library for seventy years or more … The life-size portrait of Edward Deravenel … what a handsome man he had been: her father had truly looked like him, and so did she.

Focusing on the three men, she said, ‘This box once belonged to him , my father’s grandfather, as you all know.’ She gestured to the portrait, then, lifting the lid off the box, she took out a gold medallion on a slender chain and held it up for them to see. It glinted in the sunlight.

On one side was the Deravenel family emblem of the white rose and fetterlock, the rose enamelled white; on the other side of the medallion was the sun in splendour, commemorating the day Edward had taken the company away from the Grants of Lancashire in 1904. Around the edge of the medallion, on the side bearing the rose, was engraved the Deravenel family motto: Fidelity unto eternity .

‘I’m aware you’ve all seen this medallion before, as have I. But my father first showed it to me when I was eleven years old, as I just told you. He explained that his grandfather had designed it, and had had six of them made. For himself, his two cousins, Neville and Johnny Watkins, his best friend Will Hasling, and two colleagues, Alfredo Oliveri and Amos Finnister. They were the men who had helped him take control of the company, and were devoted to him for the rest of his life. Father then went on to confide that his mother, Bess Deravenel, had actually given it to him when he was twelve … just before she died. Apparently, her father had asked her to keep it safe for her younger brother, who would one day inherit the company. Well, you know that old story about the two Deravenel boys disappearing in mysterious circumstances. My grandmother explained to Father that she had been keeping it for his elder brother Arthur, who had unexpectedly died when he was almost sixteen. And now she wanted Harry to have it, because he would become head of the company –’

‘Didn’t Bess ever give the medallion to her husband, Henry Turner?’ Robert asked, cutting in peremptorily.

‘Obviously not,’ Elizabeth answered. ‘Actually, now that I think about it, my father never mentioned his father in that conversation about the medallion, he just told me how thrilled he’d been to get it, and proud. He said he treasured it because of its historical significance. He adored his mother, and I suspect it was extra special to him because it was one of her last gifts to him.’

‘And now it’s yours,’ Nicholas said, gazing at her fondly, his eyes benign and caring. Like Cecil and Robert, he was extremely protective of her, and would always defend her and her interests.

Elizabeth went on, ‘My brother Edward received it after my father’s death, even though he was too young to run the company, as you all know. It was his by right. And then it went to Mary when Edward died. Whoever wears it is the head of Deravenels, but basically it is only a symbol. Still, it’s always been tremendously important to the Turners, and it’s passed on to the next heir immediately.’

Cecil said, ‘It’s a beautiful thing, and when your father wore it on special occasions he did so with great pride.’

She nodded. ‘Yes, he did. You know, there’s another bit of family lore attached to this particular medallion, which Father told me about. Seemingly, Neville Watkins and Edward Deravenel had a terrible falling out, a genuine rift that went on for years and was devastating to everyone.’ She took a sip of champagne, and continued, ‘Johnny, Neville’s brother, was torn between the two of them, and tried to broker a rapprochement, but couldn’t. Ultimately, he had to take his brother’s side, he had no choice. When he was killed in a car crash in 1914 he was wearing the medallion under his shirt. Edward’s brother Richard brought Johnny’s medallion to him, and Edward wore it for the rest of his life. His own he gave to his brother.’

Now picking up the medallion again, leaning forward, Elizabeth showed them the side bearing the image of the sun in splendour. ‘If you look closely, you can see the initials J.W. which apparently Edward had engraved on the rim here, then he added his own initials. When my father received the medallion, he added his initials, as did Edward, and also Mary.’ She passed the medallion to Cecil, who looked at it closely then gave it to Nicholas, who did the same and handed it to Robert.

After staring at the series of initials, Robert glanced at her, and announced, ‘You must wear it today, Elizabeth. Now . Because it’s yours and it signifies so much, the history of your family. Next week I’ll have your initials added to the rim, if that’s all right with you?’

‘Why that’s lovely of you. Thank you, Robin.’

Rising, he went over to her, opened the clasp and fastened the gold chain around her neck. ‘There you are,’ he said, smiling down at her. ‘You’re now the boss!’

Before she could say anything, Lucas appeared in the doorway of the library. ‘Lunch is served, Miss Turner,’ he announced.

‘Thank you, Lucas, we’ll be right in.’

Jumping up, Elizabeth hugged Robert, and said softly against his ear, ‘You always manage to do the right thing, ever since we were little.’

‘And I can say the same thing about you,’ he answered, taking her arm and leading her out of the library into the Long Hall, followed by Cecil and Nicholas.

Once they were in the dining room, Elizabeth turned to Cecil, and said, ‘Come and sit next to me, and Nicholas, Robin, please sit opposite.’

They all took their seats, and Elizabeth said, ‘We’re having Yorkshire pudding first, then leg of lamb, roast potatoes and the usual vegetables. I hope you’re going to enjoy it.’