Page 8 of The Fortunes of Ashmore Castle

‘This is very nice,’ he said, taking the offered seat. ‘You’ve made this room very cosy.’

‘As the Duke of Wellington said, any fool can be uncomfortable,’ she said, preparing to pour. ‘Milk in first or afterwards?’

‘I understood it was always first?’

‘For the finest bone china, yes, to prevent cracking. I’m afraid these cups aren’t quite so dainty. Bread and butter, or cake?’

‘Bread and butter, please,’ Afton said. ‘I believe “Cake is rarely seen at the best houses nowadays.”’

‘I beg your pardon?’ Mrs Webster looked startled.

‘I was quoting. From a play.’ Evidently it rang no bells with her, and remembering that mention of Oscar Wilde was largely frowned on since his imprisonment for gross indecency, he did not enlighten her. Instead, he looked round. ‘What a lot of photographs you have.’ They were framed and displayed all along the mantelpiece and the windowsill, and clustered on a small table in the corner.

‘I come from a large family. My father was one of seven and my mother was one of nine, so I have cousins galore, and four brothers of my own, and most of them are married and have children.’

‘Might I enquire whether there was a Mr Webster?’

‘I’ve never been married,’ she said. ‘But that’s not for other ears. I don’t discuss personal matters with the lower servants.’

‘I beg your pardon if I was impertinent.’

‘Not at all. I don’t mind your asking. What about you, Mr Afton? Do you have much family?’

‘I never married either. The opportunity never arose. It’s difficult for people in our position, isn’t it? And I have no family.’

‘None at all?’ The way she said it made him think of Lady Bracknell. He imagined her saying, ‘To have few relatives may be regarded as a misfortune. To have none looks like carelessness.’ He had seen The Importance of Being Earnest at the St James’s Theatre during its opening run, before the author had fallen into disgrace, and it had made him laugh so much – because he recognised so many of the characters from real life – he had gone twice. Wilde, of course, was dead now. He wondered if his work would ever be performed again. It seemed a shame to lose works of genius because of the frailty of their creator. How many great artists had a private life that would bear close scrutiny?

But Mrs Webster was waiting for an answer. ‘None I know about. I was a foundling. Left in a box on the steps of the poorhouse.’

Mrs Webster threw a glance at the open door, then lowered her voice. ‘If I might offer a little advice, I shouldn’t mention that to anyone else. Your secret is safe with me, but the other servants . . . Uneducated people have strong prejudices, and servants in particular like things to be a certain way.’

‘A butler who was a foundling wouldn’t do?’

‘He would not. And you’re already coming to the position from the wrong direction,’ she said. ‘You were a valet. A butler ought to have started as a boot-boy and worked his way up through footman and under-butler: that’s the proper way. His parents should have been in service too, for preference. They want you to be like their idea of a butler. It’s how they make sense of the world.’

Afton smiled. ‘It’s a form of play-acting, isn’t it? Are you fond of the theatre?’

She shook her head indulgently. ‘When do you think I’d have the time to go? And living out here in the country, there’s none to go to. I did once see a pantomime at Drury Lane,’ she added, ‘when I was about ten years old. It was a Christmas treat. There were harlequins and a giant goose, as I remember. And a demon king. And a dog that did tricks. Dear me. It was . . . very entertaining.’

‘I never went to one, but I remember seeing the bill-posters for the pantomime when I was a child. The walls would be papered with them in the weeks leading up to Christmas.’ He paused. ‘Quite a different Christmas we’ve had here this year.’

‘Rather too many surprises for the smooth running of the house,’ she said.

‘It was very pleasing news,’ he suggested, ‘about Lord Leake’s getting married.’ She gave a cautious assent. He leaned forward. ‘Tell me, why was Lady Linda so angry about it?’

He thought she might not answer, but she lowered her voice again and said, ‘You see, Lord Leake has been a bachelor for so long everyone assumed he’d stay that way.’

‘Yes, I gathered that.’

‘And he’s very wealthy, and none of his estate is entailed. Lady Linda’s late husband inherited nothing but debts, so she’s been banking on Lord Leake leaving everything to her children, seeing he hadn’t anyone else to leave it to.’

Afton considered. ‘Wouldn’t there be other claims on him, from other members of the family?’

‘I gather from Rose, who maids her when she’s here, that she’s always considered everyone else was taken care of. When the idea formed in her mind, Lord Giles was the heir to this estate, and Mr Richard was in the army so he didn’t need anything.’

‘And their young ladyships?’

‘She supposed the Ashmore estate would take care of them. It’s a pity the dowager wasn’t here – she’d have jumped on Lady Linda right away. His lordship is too soft.’