The Ravenscar Dynasty (9 page)

‘Isn't he the manager of our business affairs in Carrara?'

‘Yes, he is. He works with the superintendent of the mines.'

‘I see. And there's another manager in Florence, isn't there?' Edward remarked. ‘Fabrizio Dellarosa.'

Masters nodded. ‘Dellarosa runs our overall business in Italy, and he was the one who worked most closely with Mr Richard—er, your father.'

‘Has he been in touch with you?'

‘Yes, he has.' Aubrey sat up a little straighter, more intent on his visitors, looking from Deravenel to Watkins, suddenly detecting hostility. He wondered why. A rush of panic hit him. Had he forgotten something? Did they know more than he did? If there
was
more to know. Clearing his throat, he announced in a clear, firm voice, ‘Look, I
have
told you everything I
know
, Mr Edward.'

‘Were they badly burned in the fire?' Neville asked, swallowing, not permitting his heartache to surface.

‘I'm sorry, I'm afraid I don't know. Oliveri told me by telegram that they were found in the hotel and that their bodies had been taken to the hospital in Florence. That they were being held there until the arrival of the family members. That is yourselves, of course.'

‘And that's all you know?' Edward said, incredulity echoing in his voice.

Masters appeared to be mystified by this question. ‘There's not much else to know,' he murmured, looking confused and worried.

‘Were they all together? Were they in a lounge or the foyer? Or in their bedrooms? How long did the fire burn? Why were they not rescued before it was too late? What did the police report say?' Edward stared hard at Aubrey Masters, his eyes narrowed. ‘There's a great deal more I want to know about this matter, and so does my cousin.'

‘Oh, dear, maybe I've made an error.'

‘What do you mean?' Edward asked quickly, fixing his bright blue gaze on Masters.

‘Perhaps I should have gone to Italy at once, to look into the situation instead of leaving it to the Italian managers.'

‘Perhaps you should,' Edward shot back coldly, glaring at him.

The silence in the room was deafening.

Edward sat perfectly still in the chair, filled with frustration. Was Aubrey Masters really a nincompoop or was he a clever dissembler? He wasn't sure, and suddenly he made up his mind to leave this office at once. There was nothing he and Neville could learn here, that was patently obvious. Once they arrived in Italy in the next few days they would gather the facts themselves.

After leaving the Deravenel offices Edward and Neville went out into the street, where Neville spoke to the driver of his carriage. The two men then walked across the Strand and entered the Savoy Court, the forecourt to both the Savoy Hotel and the adjoining Savoy Theatre.

Neville broke his stride as they approached the theatre, and turning to Edward, he said, ‘It's thanks to those Gilbert and Sullivan operettas that Richard D'Oyly Carte was able to build this theatre and the hotel a few years ago, you know. All those profits from them, he made a veritable fortune.'

Edward nodded. ‘So my father told me. He loved the operettas, especially
The Mikado
and
H.M.S. Pinafore
.'

‘Not to my taste. I much prefer Mozart.'

Once they were seated at their table, Neville ordered a bottle of dry white wine and sat back in the chair, regarding his cousin intently. ‘You don't like Aubrey Masters, do you, Ned?' he said at last.

‘It's not a question of liking or disliking him…I'm not sure that I trust him. He never was a favourite of Father's, and when we were at the offices I began to wonder if he was stupid or a clever dissembler.'

‘If he's given to dissimulation then he's a mighty fine actor. Personally, I think he's a trifle dimwitted. Which brings me to a leading question. Why is he in that position? Who made him head of the Mining Division?'

‘Henry Grant, of course. Aubrey Masters is a relative, a cousin twice removed, I do believe.'

‘Nepotism again, eh?' Neville shook his head. ‘Weren't you surprised, not hearing from Henry Grant, not receiving condolences?'

‘Not really. You see, before Father left for Italy he told me that Henry was out of sorts, not feeling his best, and that he had gone into a religious retreat in Cumbria for two months. So presumably he's still there, and perhaps no one's bothered to inform him of our tragedy.'

‘If that is so then I find it quite preposterous he's been kept in the dark.'

‘So do I. Never mind that. We have better fish to fry, you and I, Neville. It is imperative that we set off for Italy as soon as possible. Will and I are both prepared to leave immediately. You just have to say the word.'

‘We depart on Saturday, Ned. All the arrangements are being made by the Thomas Cook agency, as I
mentioned earlier. I merely have to confirm the hotel to them later today.'

‘The Ritz is fine, as I told you.'

Neville nodded and picked up a menu. ‘I've hardly eaten for days, and I know it's been the same for you. However, I do think we should order a decent meal, if only to keep our strength up.'

‘You're right. The problem is I haven't been at all hungry. Lost my appetite.'

Following suit and opening the menu, Edward studied it for a moment, then put it down, and remarked, ‘You know, the pious Henry Grant might be purging his soul and revelling in his religion, but his wife is here in London. Condolence letters could easily have been sent to us and our families, don't you think?'

‘Look to the source, Edward. That she-wolf doesn't know any better. Now, let's order something to eat and relax. This afternoon we must go over our plans. We have to find a way to get to the bottom of this situation. We really do have to know whether there was foul play or not, and then act accordingly.'

‘I'm hoping the two managers in Italy will have more information for us, especially Alfredo Oliveri, since he lives in Carrara. My father always liked him, and often spoke about him. And with some affection, I might add.'

‘Then he's our man, and no doubt he'll have the police report. Or at least access to it. That will be a start.'

‘I thought Aubrey Masters was most cavalier in his attitude, and it infuriated me,' Edward confided.

‘I know it did. I can read your eyes, even when you
keep a poker face, Ned. Anyway, I do feel there is a way to get the better of the Lancashire Deravenels,' Neville said, and went on, ‘I predict I will have you sitting in Henry Grant's chair in less than six months.'

Edward was silent for a moment, and then he protested. ‘I'm so young, Neville. Let's not forget I am not yet nineteen.'

‘Let's not forget that William Pitt the Younger was only twenty-four when he became Prime Minister of England.'

‘But—'

‘No buts, Ned. You
will
run Deravenels.'

‘But only if you are by my side,' Edward exclaimed.

‘And I will be, have no fear of that, Cousin,' Neville Watkins promised.

They had come here to take the bodies back home to England. But they were also in Florence to find out what had happened to their kin in death. And suddenly, now that they were finally here in Italy, the one thing that Edward dreaded the most was actually viewing the bodies.

He was only too well aware that to gaze upon the waxen, lifeless faces of his father, brother, uncle and cousin would have a devastating effect on him. Conversely, he did
need
to see them, in order to be truly convinced they were
really
dead. In his mind he could not quite accept that this catastrophe had happened.

Edward Deravenel was standing in the window of his hotel room, staring out at the River Arno and the hills of Florence beyond. There was no sun on this cold January morning, and the sky was bloated, bulbous with grey clouds. A mist floated over the surface of the river, obscuring the dark waters, a mist that reminded him of London's winter fogs.

He had arrived here last night from Paris, accompanied by Neville and Will, and they had checked
into the Hotel Bristol. This was a well-known hotel, built in the second half of the nineteenth century, much frequented by the English aristocracy, and it had come highly recommended.

Like most of the grand hotels here, it was located on the banks of the Arno, and their rooms faced the river and the scattered hills which stood on the outskirts of the city. He and Will occupied rooms next to each other, while Neville was in a large suite just a few doors down the corridor.

Turning away from the window, Edward strode over to the mirror and began to tie his cravat made of a fine black silk. Once this was arranged to his satisfaction, he added a beautiful pearl pin in the centre of the carefully draped and folded knot. The pearl tiepin was a gift from his father, given to him last year for his eighteenth birthday, and he treasured it more than ever now.

Walking over to the wardrobe, he took out his waistcoat and slipped it on, returned to the cheval mirror, stared at himself, thinking how pale he looked, even haggard. With a small sigh he headed back to the wardrobe to retrieve his jacket.

And it seemed to Edward, as he walked back and forth, that the awful sense of dread he had just experienced trailed along with him, surrounding him like a thin veil, as if it were the mist off the river. He shivered involuntarily, paused next to a chair, rested his hand on it. He closed his eyes and his gaze turned inward.

I must be absolutely in control of myself today, and
I must reveal nothing. My face must be unreadable at
all times. I share Neville's opinion that there has been
foul play, that the fire was no accident. How we will
find out the truth I do not know, but we must try. Will
is of the same mind. I'm glad he came along. He gets
on well with Neville, and we have both enjoyed his
company
.

Somehow I must get through the ordeal of viewing
the bodies later this morning. And then we will go to
Carrara, no matter what. I am set on that course. I must
see the hotel where they met their untimely end. That
is imperative. Then, hopefully, this Italian nightmare will
come to an end. Later this week we will take their bodies
home, to Yorkshire, where we will bury them in that
benign earth, and they will rest in peace
…

Insistent knocking on the door interrupted Edward's thoughts, and he strode to open it. Will Hasling was standing there, appropriately dressed in a black suit and carrying a black overcoat on his arm.

‘I'm not too early, am I?' Will asked, a brow lifting.

Edward shook his head. ‘Come in, Will.' He opened the door wider and moved into the room, his friend following closely behind.

‘Have you had breakfast?' Edward asked as he took his overcoat out of the wardrobe.

‘Yes, thanks, and so have you, I see,' Will responded, glancing over at the tray which stood on a small side table. He frowned. ‘Coffee and a roll. Is that all you've eaten?'

‘I'm not very hungry.' Edward glanced at the clock on the wall, and continued, ‘It's only ten past nine, we're early, I think. Fabrizio Dellarosa is not due here until ten-thirty.'

‘I know, but I was certain you would be up, and I thought we could go for a walk, take a breath of fresh
air before his arrival. By the way, is Alfredo Oliveri also joining us?'

‘Dellarosa didn't mention him in the letter I received last night. But I'm presuming he is. After all, he's the one who lives in Carrara, and will therefore have the most information. At least, in my opinion he will.'

Will nodded in agreement, sat down on a chair and folded his overcoat across his knees. ‘Have you ever met him? Or is
he
a stranger, too?'

‘He's a stranger, just as Dellarosa is, but my father always spoke so highly of Oliveri. He obviously liked the man and I think the feeling was mutual.' Edward buttoned his three-quarter length jacket, put on his overcoat and said, ‘Shall we go, Will?'

‘Perhaps we ought to let Neville know we're going out,' Will ventured as they left the room.

‘It's not necessary. The arrangement was for us to meet in the main lounge at the given hour. Let's leave it at that, shall we?' Edward's voice was clipped, almost curt.

‘That presents no problem to me,' Will answered, stealing a glance at Edward. He knew he was suffering inside, filled with apprehension about what lay ahead in the next few hours. As big and strapping as he was, Will knew, nevertheless, that Ned was a sensitive and compassionate man inside. Just contemplating the manner of their deaths must be an agony for him; this aside, Ned was devoted to his family. They came first with him, and he had been particularly close to his brother Edmund, and his father and he had been closely bonded.

The two men were silent as they went down the wide
staircase which led to the grand entrance foyer, and several opulent lounges. Marble abounded, and there were ceramic tubs holding potted palms placed here and there; on the walls hung a number of lovely paintings of Florence displayed in heavy gilded frames, and pieces of sculpture on plinths were placed along each side of the foyer.

Within a few seconds they found themselves standing outside the Bristol on the Via de' Pescioni, near the Santa Maria Novella and directly opposite the Palazzo Strozzi. This was one of the most elegant districts in the city, where other important hotels were located as well as fine shops, art galleries and museums.

‘Here we are, in the greatest Renaissance city in the world, Ned,' Will said, taking hold of his arm. ‘Let's stroll along, go this way, and enjoy the sights for a short while.'

Edward nodded. ‘I'm sorry, Will, I know I'm being gloomy…' He did not finish, merely shook his head, his expression suddenly sorrowful. His enthusiasm for life seemed to have fled.

‘Think about this,' Will remarked, ignoring Ned's comment about gloom of a moment ago. ‘Here we are in the city of Dante, Petrarch and Boccaccio. Just
think
, Boccaccio wrote the Decameron here, and that book became the model for prose the world over, a model that's been popular for hundreds and hundreds of years. And still is.'

Ned glanced at his friend. ‘Niccolo Machiavelli lived here and wrote
The Prince
in Florence, let us not forget about
him
. We can all learn quite a lot from Machiavelli, you know.'

Will laughed, catching the mischievous gleam in Ned's eyes. ‘I know what you mean, still it is a
wonder
to be here in this city, you know.' He looked at Ned and then all around him, and up at the sky, and said in a voice full of awe, ‘We are walking along streets where Leonardo Da Vinci walked
and
Michelangelo
and
Botticelli, some of the world's greatest artists…it's unbelievable really, Ned…how incredible that this city bred such talent, such genius.'

‘Poets, princes and politicians,' Ned murmured. ‘And the Medicis. Their dynasty lasted for several centuries, something of a record, wouldn't you say?'

‘Indeed I would.'

A silence fell between them, and as they walked Will wondered how to bring a little cheer to Ned, to make him feel better. Instantly he realized nothing could make him feel better at this moment. First he had to deal with the dead, bury his dead, and only then would he be able to move forward, see his way to the future. He needs to close this ghastly affair, Will thought, pick up the pieces and create a life of his own making. A new life.