‘And an easy mistake, I suppose, to muddle Crawford and Lawford,’ Edward commented.
‘That’s right, Mr Edward, and the major kept referring to him as Seb last night. Seb Lawford or Ced Crawford, what’s the difference when you don’t actually care about the facts?’
‘And Sophie didn’t, is that what you’re saying?’ Edward asked.
‘Yes, I am, sir. And let me tell you everything I learned.’ He then proceeded to relay all of the information he had garnered from the major the night before.
‘Well done, Amos!’ Edward exclaimed. ‘Now you’ve got something to follow up.’
‘I do, but it will have to be on Monday. I telephoned the hospital and I can’t get into Records until Monday, and I know Somerset House is closed at the weekend. They have a registry of all births, marriages and deaths in Great Britain, so I’ll be able to track her death certificate now that we have the correct name. Well, the name she was using.’
‘Thank you for going to all this trouble, Amos, you’ve done a splendid job.’
‘There is something else, sir. Er, er, Mr Deravenel?’
‘Yes, Amos, what is it?’
‘Once I have all the information would it be all right for me to tell Mrs Forth?’
‘Absolutely! She’ll be happy as I am to know everything, it’s been such a troubling mystery all these years. And I’m sure she will agree that Grace Rose should be told … it’s an ending for her, Amos, and it will finally put her mind at rest, knowing what happened to her mother.’
‘I agree, sir. I will telephone you on Monday as soon as I have been in touch with the various organizations involved, and then I’ll talk to Mrs Vicky.’
‘That’s a good plan, and thank you again, Amos –’ Edward paused for a split second, then finished, ‘And how strange life is, really. All of this came about by coincidence, because Charlie met another soldier in hospital. Truly amazing, Amos.’
Ravenscar
She was in charge. Her grandmother had told her so, and this pleased Bess Deravenel. But she should be in charge, shouldn’t she? After all, she was nine years old, the eldest, the first born. Everyone was aware that the heir was more important because he was a boy. But this did not trouble her. She had always known that she was her father’s favourite, and therefore she was very special. He had said that to her when she was small.
Her father had recently bought her a cheval mirror, and had it placed in the corner of her bedroom, so that she could view herself full length. Now she went over to it, stood staring at her reflection, her head on one side.
Bess decided that she looked very nice, and was most appropriately dressed for the Christmas Day lunch. She had chosen the dress herself, because Nanny was fussing about the other children, and had told her to use her own judgement. She liked doing that, it made her feel very grown up. And so she had picked out a dress made of royal blue velvet with a gathered skirt almost to her ankles, long sleeves and a beautiful white lace collar and cuffs. Her white stockings and black shoes were an excellent choice, Nanny had said a few moments ago.
Returning to the dressing table in the bay window, Bess took the small brooch out of its black velvet box. Earlier that morning they had all opened their Christmas presents in the library, where the huge Christmas tree stood, and this brooch had been a gift to her from her father. It was a small bow made of diamonds. Her mother had seemed annoyed, and Bess had heard her say to her father that it was much too expensive for a child, and he had retorted, ‘Not for a child of mine, Elizabeth,’ and walked away looking even more annoyed than her mother. She was used to them. They often quarrelled; she had grown up with their quarrels and often wondered why her mother said the things she did when she knew he would be instantly angry.
Carefully, Bess pinned the brooch at the neckline of the dress, saw that it fitted in neatly between the two sides of the collar. She touched her hair, arranged the curls away from her face, and nodded to herself. Her hair was the same red gold as her father’s and her eyes the same bright blue. She looked like him, just as Grace Rose did. She was very disappointed Grace Rose wasn’t coming for Christmas. It was all because of Young Edward’s bronchitis. None of the guests were coming; her father had cancelled the festivities. ‘God help us,’ Nanny had said to Madge, the nursemaid, the other afternoon. ‘I don’t know what we’ll do without family and friends here, they usually act as a buffer between them.’ She had shrunk back from the door, hoping Nanny hadn’t seen her. And she knew exactly what Nanny had meant, and agreed with her, although she could never say so. Nanny would think she had been eavesdropping.
Jumping up off the stool, Bess ran across the bedroom floor and opened the door to the corridor. In the distance she could hear Nanny’s voice coming from the direction of Mary’s bedroom, which she shared with little Cecily, because Cecily was afraid of the dark. Wondering if there was some sort of problem, she flew down the corridor and pushed open the door of Mary’s room.
Nanny turned around swiftly and exclaimed, ‘Now, now, Bess! Please don’t run down the corridors. It’s simply not ladylike. And how many times have I told you that?’
‘Every day, Nanny. Sorry. But I thought you might be in need of me. To help you.’
Nanny, a trifle spherical in shape, with apple-rosy cheeks and twinkling brown eyes, compressed her mouth to hide her smile of amusement. ‘I think I can manage,’ she answered and turned her attention to Cecily. The six-year-old looked on the verge of tears.
‘Why are you crying, Cecily?’ Bess asked, going closer to her younger sister, staring at her. ‘It’s Christmas Day and we’re going to have a wonderful lunch.’
‘I’m not hungry,’ Cecily answered, her lip quivering. ‘I don’t like this fwock.’
‘Let’s not have baby talk, missy, it isn’t suitable,’ Nanny murmured, and finished tying the pale blue taffeta bow on top of Cecily’s blonde head.
‘Your dress is beautiful, and it’s the same colour as mine,’ Bess said. ‘Look at me.’
Cecily did as she was asked, and nodded. ‘It’s the same colour. But I don’t like this fwock.’
‘Yes, you do, Cecily. And say frock. Just look at Mary, she’s wearing blue too and not complaining. We match. Now isn’t that nice. And we are sisters, you know. I think Nanny’s been very clever, choosing blue dresses for the two of you. We blend.’
Mary said, ‘But you chose your own, 'cos Nanny told us.’
‘Now, now, Mary, speak correctly. Say because, not ’cos. Rather common, that way of speaking,’ Nanny pronounced, frowning.
‘Not suitable,’ Bess added, using one of Nanny’s favourite expressions.
Nanny turned to look at her, peering over the top of her glasses. ‘We’re not being cheeky are we, Bess?’
‘Oh no, Nanny, I’m never cheeky to you.’
‘That’s all right then. At least I’ve taught you something.’
‘What’s suitable and what’s not suitable,’ Mary cried, and began to laugh. The eight-year-old had a very happy nature, and she began to prance around, singing, ‘The Blue sisters. We’re the Blue sisters. Look at us. Blue like Boadicea. Blue, blue, blue!’
Bess said, ‘Now stop this, Mary, we must hurry, and we must help Nanny.’
‘Everything is