Page 135 of The Fortunes of Ashmore Castle

‘It was that fool Daisy told Lady Bayfield’s woman,’ Mrs Webster reported to Afton. ‘I don’t think she meant any harm by it. She just mentioned it as a cause for wonder. But Higgins has a swollen idea of her own importance, considering Sir John is only a baronet, and decided to take offence.’

‘His lordship said her ladyship had a sharp word with her mother,’ Afton said, ‘so let’s hope that’s the end of it.’

‘It won’t change feelings,’ Mrs Webster said. It still felt more natural to exchange thoughts with Afton than with Mr Moss – and in any case, Moss had always been an advocate for people remembering their place. Afton, with a past of his own, was more flexible of mind.

‘As long as nobody talks about it,’ Afton said, ‘they can think what they like. And they will. Life is a stew-pot, Mrs Webster. Bits of carrot come up to the top, jostle with the peas, and sink again.’

She looked at him with raised eyebrows. ‘And who, in this case, is the carrot and who the pea?’

He merely smiled. ‘It’s very pretty to see them together, Mr Sebastian and his bride. It’s nice when a gentleman well up in years finds true love, don’t you think?’

‘Surprising, I’d call it, in this case. Well, it’s just for the weekend, and I don’t suppose they’ll be going into society a great deal. Ellen said they’re happy in their own company.’

Afton smiled. ‘I’ll bet she said that as a complaint. She’s ambitious. Not much chance to shine if her master and mistress dine alone at home every night. I give it six months.’

‘If she’s sensible she’ll stay a year and make sure of a good reference before she moves on. Nobody wants a flighty lady’s maid.’

Moss appeared in the doorway. ‘I’m just going to ring the dressing bell,’ he said, looking curiously from her to Afton.

‘We were discussing Lord Ravenscar’s man,’ Mrs Webster lied smoothly.

‘Ah, yes,’ said Moss, grandly. ‘I shall ensure he does not sit above you at supper tonight, Mr Afton. Lord Ravenscar is only a viscount. It was good of you not to make a fuss at luncheon.’

‘Mr Ravenscar made enough fuss of his own – I didn’t think we needed any more,’ said Afton.

‘Quite so. But precedence is precedence. I wonder,’ Moss sighed, ‘why Lord Ravenscar keeps him on. Making trouble below stairs – and I didn’t think much of the finish he got on Lord Ravenscar’s boots. I don’t believe the French really understand good leather. There was a gentleman once, many years ago, who came with a French valet – or was he German? I’ll think of his name in a moment—’

‘The dressing bell, Mr Moss?’ Mrs Webster reminded him kindly.

‘Yes, yes, of course.’ He went two steps, turned back and said, ‘Goossens, that was it. Now is that French or German? Of course, we called him Mr Edgehill down here, but he – yes, yes, I’m on my way.’ And he was gone.

Alice was drawing in her room when there was a knock at the door.

‘I’m sorry to disturb you, my lady, but Mr Tullamore has called, and her ladyship is out.’

‘Oh. Yes, all right, I’ll come,’ Alice said resignedly. It wasn’t that she didn’t like Angus, but Rachel was still in Scotland and she was afraid he would ask her awkward questions.

He was in the drawing-room, idly examining the cards on Aunt Caroline’s mantelpiece. He came across to shake her hand.

‘It’s just me, I’m afraid,’ she said. ‘Aunt Caroline’s having a fitting, and everyone else is at the Castle.’

He raised his eyebrows. ‘Rachel went straight down to the Castle?’

‘No, she’s still with Uncle Fergus and Aunt Giulia at Kincraig.’

‘I thought she was staying with your other aunt,’ he said.

‘Aunt Vicky and Uncle Bobo went back to Germany so Uncle Fergus took her over,’ Alice said, trying to sound matter-of-fact.

‘It must have been a let-down, after hobnobbing with royalties at Glamis,’ he said discontentedly.

‘I think there’s one last big shooting party, and that the King might be going across from Balmoral. He’s rather taken a shine to Giulia.’

Angus said nothing, but walked across to the window to stare out at the rainy, blustery day. She went and stood beside him in silent sympathy. The trees in the square had been stripped bare now; people below hurrying along the street were invisible under umbrellas, like travelling mushrooms.

He seemed deep in his thoughts, and she took the opportunity to study him. He had changed since the beginning of the year. When he had arrived at the Castle at Christmas he had seemed like an eager boy, his face like a flame, burning with love and determination. Now he seemed older, his face firm with authority, lines in his forehead and between his sandy brows – definitely a man, not a boy. More serious, too: he did not smile readily any more. The work and responsibility he had taken on for Mr Cowling, she guessed, involved more effort from him than when he was his father’s heir and lightly dabbling in his father’s business. She liked him better for it, but she had no idea about Rachel’s taste in the matter.

‘What’s going on with her?’ he asked at last.