Page 62 of The Fortunes of Ashmore Castle

She had not cried – she would not allow herself to do so. Truman had not said so, but she believed he was thinking she should never have gone out on the boat in the first place, and certainly not have taken the dog with her. So she would not give him the satisfaction of dissolving like a weak and foolish woman. She held herself rigid, and buried everything deep inside.

Everything you loved was taken away from you. It was better not to love anything or anyone: it only ended in heartbreak.

She heard by the change of his breathing that Mr Cowling had awoken. He had tried to comfort her when they went to bed, tried to put his arms round her, but she had moved away from him to the very edge of the bed, hunched her shoulder against any touch of his. Now she lay rigid, so that he would not know she was awake and try to touch her again. Her grief was hers, not his; he would not understand it; and she would not let him have any part of it.

Cowling lay desolate in the darkness. What could he do to comfort her? He had said Trump probably didn’t suffer. He had said he’d buy her another dog. But she had cried passionately that she didn’t want another. It tore his heart to see her mute, white face. It was only a dog; but he knew it was more than that to her. It was the only thing she loved. She ought to have had a baby – that would have been the right and natural outlet for her emotions. He longed with every fibre of his being to give her a child, and could not.

In business he was a powerful, respected man, he was shrewd, capable, he created, he built, he achieved. But in his personal life he was helpless. What use all his wealth? He had taken this precious girl from her home, taken her into his keeping, with the unspoken contract that he would take care of her. But he could not make her happy. He could not even keep her from the ordinary pains of life.

The next morning he looked at her across the breakfast table, heavy-eyed, listless, and said, ‘Do you want to go home?’ She thought about it, but shook her head. ‘London, then?’ he said. He saw that London appealed more than Market Harborough in her present state, and elaborated. ‘Now the Season’s started there’ll be plenty to do. You could visit your aunt. I expect your friend Kitty will come up at some point.’

‘But what about you?’ she said. ‘Don’t you have business to finish here?’

‘I need a couple more days. But you could go up today and settle in and I could join you. I need to go up anyway, to see how young Tullamore’s doing.’

‘I don’t have the right clothes with me,’ she said doubtfully, but willing to be persuaded.

‘Tina can pack everything and meet you in London.’ She hadn’t brought her maid with her to Portsmouth. ‘I’ll send a telegram. Moxton can pack for me and go up with her. And I’ll send one to Berkeley Square, to open the house up ready for you. Truman can take you up on the train.’

‘You needn’t send him with me. I can travel on my own.’

‘Without even a maid? Certainly not. I can do without him for another day – he can be back here by teatime. Would you like that, then?’ He gazed at her yearningly. ‘I just want you to be happy.’

She blenched as the word ‘happy’ brought up again the thought of Trump struggling in the water, and she forced her mind to reject it. She made herself smile for him. A feeble effort, but all she could manage just then. ‘I know you do. You’re very good to me.’

For once the reassurance didn’t work. ‘I try,’ he said sadly.

CHAPTER TEN

The house party broke up in a flurry of thanks, farewells, promises to meet again, heaped luggage, waiting carriages, horses stamping in the chill late-April breeze under a sky of bowling clouds and fitful, watery sunshine.

Mary Arthur said, laughingly, ‘Don’t forget to let us know when you’re starting your dig.’

And Talbot said, ‘We promise to come for that!’

Walking back into the house, Kitty could feel Giles’s attention slithering away from her. She said, ‘Are you really going to have a dig at the motte?’

‘Oh, that’s just a joke,’ he said absently, heading for the stairs.

She hurried to keep up with him. ‘It sounded serious. You discussed it for hours at dinner.’

‘It would be fun,’ he admitted.

‘There might be a lost treasure down there.’

‘That only happens in stories. But it would be an excuse to invite my friends again.’

‘Do you need an excuse?’

‘They’re busy people,’ he said. He was busy too, but not at things he wanted to be doing.

They had reached the first floor, and he was turning away towards the library. ‘Giles!’ she said desperately, and he stopped.

‘Did you want something?’

She summoned up her courage. She hadn’t quite dared to mention it over the winter, with all the family problems that had besieged him, but she felt if she didn’t say something now she never would. ‘If you’re going to have your dig, I want to have mine.’

‘What does that mean?’