Page 132 of The Fortunes of Ashmore Castle

‘I must write to her – your mama,’ Aunt Caroline said. ‘I haven’t heard anything for an age. Linda used to be a good correspondent but lately she seems to have lost the habit.’

‘I expect she has other things on her mind,’ Alice said. ‘Like Cousin Pippi. I wonder how things are going with him.’

‘Cousin Pippi?’ Aunt Caroline said vaguely and, without waiting for Alice to elaborate, went on, ‘I wonder if she’s going to come back to England when Maud is up and about, or whether she means to stay in Germany permanently.’

‘I think it depends on Cousin Pippi,’ Alice said wisely.

Ellen was pleased about the visit to Ashmore Castle. She couldn’t wait to sport herself in front of her former colleagues in her black lady’s-maid dress, and sit at the important end of the table. And life at Wisteria House was rather dull. Jealous of her new status, she felt she had to keep aloof from the cook and the housemaid, which left only Mr Crooks, and he was poor company for a modern young woman. At the Castle, on a shooting weekend, there would be visiting lady’s maids to talk to – and perhaps a handsome visiting valet . . .

She was heartened by the bustle of arrival below stairs as she strutted in with Crooks behind her. It was clear that Mr Moss was in charge after the more relaxed era of Mr Afton, for Mrs Webster addressed her as Miss Tallant and Crooks as Mr Tallant.

‘You’ll be sharing with Miss Bayfield, Miss Tallant. And you’ll be in with Mr Ravenscar,’ she told Crooks, and gave him a considering look. ‘Lord Denham hasn’t brought a man with him – I wonder if I could ask you to look after him as well.’

Crooks blinked. ‘I will do my best,’ he said.

‘Thank you. Mr Sebastian doesn’t usually need much valeting, does he? And Mr Afton has his lordship and Mr Richard to look after.’ One might ask a ‘family’ valet to double.

Ellen had managed a squint at the guest list in Mrs Webster’s hand. ‘Bayfield,’ she said, as she and Crooks started up the stairs. ‘That’s her ladyship’s mother and father, isn’t it? Quite elderly company, then, what with Lord and Lady Denham.’

‘As long as the gentlemen can shoot,’ Crooks said. ‘Nothing worse on these occasions than a poor gun. Spoils the sport for everyone.’

‘I don’t see much sport in shooting a poor, helpless little bird,’ Ellen said.

‘You don’t mind eating them, though, do you?’

‘Give me a nice bit of pork with crackling any time. What are the Ravenscars like? I don’t remember them.’

‘Youngish couple, about the same age as his lordship and her ladyship. Halton Manor, near Wendover. Lady Ravenscar’s sister lives with them, a Miss Rowsham. She was engaged to be married but her fiancé died just before the wedding, a tragic story. I wonder if she’ll be here.’

Another lady’s maid coming up fast behind them overheard him and said, ‘She is here, and I have to maid both of them, Lady Ravenscar and Miss Adeline. I don’t mind at home, but in a strange house when you don’t know where anything is . . .’ She gave a tut of annoyance.

‘If I can be of any help, Miss Ravenscar,’ Crooks began courteously.

But she said tersely, ‘Excuse me, I’m in a hurry,’ and pushed past him. He flattened himself to let her by. She paused a few steps higher to look back. ‘Are you Mr Tallant?’

‘I have that honour, yes,’ said Crooks, who disapproved of hurrying on principle.

‘You’re sharing with Gaston. Watch out for him.’

‘Who is Gaston?’

‘Lord Ravenscar’s valet,’ she said. ‘French – and he hates sharing.’ And she was gone.

Ellen suppressed a snigger. ‘Looks like you’re in for some fun, Mr Crooks.’

‘We are all God’s creatures, Miss Hatching. And our duty is to our masters and mistresses. If we have to put up with a bit of inconvenience, so be it.’

‘If you say so,’ she said, reaching the landing. ‘I’ll see you later.’ And she turned off to the women’s side.

Crooks’s philosophy was tested by reality. In truth, he didn’t like sharing either, but now he was no longer resident he could hardly expect to have his old room back. The room he was sharing was lacking all the little comforts he had collected over the years, and when he stepped in, the other valet had not only chosen a bed, but had put his suitcase and a valise on the other to unpack them. He gave Crooks a furious look when asked to move them, and answered with a flood of French, which sounded irascible and rude, and was clearly a refusal of some kind.

‘This is my bed, Mr Ravenscar. I need to unpack my things,’ Crooks said, trying to sound firm. He did not like confrontation – it made him shake.

The man glared at him. ‘My name is Gaston,’ he said, heavily accented, ‘and I do not share. Go away!’

Crooks drew himself upright, his cheeks quivering. ‘In this house, a visiting valet takes his master’s name. As a valet of many years’ experience, I am accustomed to following the rules of the house where I am serving, however temporarily.’

‘Bah!’ said Gaston, barking the word into his face and went back to his unpacking.