Page 107 of The Secrets of Ashmore Castle

‘Can you swim, sir?’

‘Yes, yes!’

‘If she got round there, you must be able to. I’d—’ James swallowed ‘—I’d go myself, but I can’t swim worth a farthing. I could—’

Giles was already tearing off his clothes, his paralysis gone. ‘Stay there. I might need your help,’ he said, and plunged in.

James took off his clothes too, and got into the water, going as far as the end of the little cove, holding onto the rocks and treading water. He didn’t dare go out beyond a hand-hold. It seemed a long time – an ice age – before he heard splashing sounds coming closer, and the two figures came round the bulk of the headland, both swimming. The countess looked all in, and was barely making progress, her weary head washed over by a wave every now and then. The earl was supporting her with one hand and swimming with the other, and seemed to be gasping for breath. James pushed himself off the rock and swam a stroke or two, reaching her as she sank under the water. When he grabbed her, she was limp, and her weight pulled him down. He fought off panic, got his head up out of the water, spluttering, trying to keep a grip on her slippery wetness.

‘On her back,’ Giles gasped. ‘Turn her on her back.’

Between them, the two men turned her over, getting her face clear of the water, and then towed her together into the bay until they could find their feet. Giles was too exhausted for the moment to do anything more, so it was James who slid his arms under her shoulders and knees, lifted her up, and staggered with her to the dry beach, where he laid her down and then collapsed, panting.

Giles dragged himself out of the water, and hung over her. ‘Kitty,’ he said. ‘Oh, Kitty.’

James had never heard such tenderness in a man’s voice, and he turned his head away, feeling he was intruding.

*

Kitty opened her eyes and looked up into his beloved face. I’m still alive, she thought first. The swim back had been so exhausting, she had thought she wouldn’t make it.

‘Kitty,’ he said. ‘Oh, Kitty.’

‘I’m sorry,’ she said.

She had gone down to the beach in a state of anger, grief and frustration and, casting herself into the sea, had thought she did not care any more whether she lived or died. She had swum out beyond the headland, and the current had taken hold of her, pushing her away round the outcrop. When she realised she could not get back, fear had seized her, and she had known that she did not want to die, not yet. She had struggled and fought until the current had pushed her against the rocks, where she managed to get a hand-hold, and at last was able to pull herself out of the water. But she was stuck at the bottom of a cliff with no way to climb up, and to get back into the water was unthinkable.

At first it had not been too bad: she had assumed she would be missed. But then the sun went round and the shadow of the cliff was on her, and she grew cold, and the sea looked darker and more threatening, and no-one came. She longed and longed for Giles, and was more sure than ever that she had lost him. When she’d heard the voice calling she had been close to despair. And then the voice went away! She had waited so long she had thought herself forgotten – or perhaps she had only imagined someone had been there. But he had come for her, Giles had come for her, and now he was looking at her with an expression she had imagined (in the darkness when they made love) but had never seen.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said.

‘No, I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘Oh, Kitty, you didn’t – you didn’t mean to … ?’

She couldn’t answer the implied question – not truthfully. She sighed, a broken, pitiful sound.

‘I don’t care for Giulia, not in that way,’ he said. ‘I never did. Please believe me. She’s no more than a sister to me.’

‘It doesn’t matter,’ she said wearily.

‘It does,’ he insisted. ‘You were right. You’re my wife, and I’ve neglected you. You’ll see a difference from now on, I promise you.’

She was slipping into unconsciousness. ‘I’m cold,’ she said. He wrapped her in all the clothes he could lay hands to and, with James’s help, carried her up the cliff. She slept on and off in his arms. He had not said he loved her. But he had looked at her in that way, and had promised – had promised …

Giles wondered. He supposed he would always wonder. Had she simply made a mistake, or had unhappiness driven her near to suicide? Yet, oddly, it was not that which had moved him so much. It was the ferocity with which earlier she had faced him and told him she was his wife and deserved better. Where had that courage come from? Because he was sure it had taken courage to speak, when she had always been so meek and shy. He admired her for that; he felt a warmth towards her, and a curiosity, and wanted her to be well so that he could visit her bedroom again and engage with that passion in a greater knowledge and understanding than before.

There was a different woman inside the meek, child-like Kitty, a woman of spirit and fire. He had got a better bargain when he married her than he had compounded for.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Aunt Schofield was invited to a dinner party by Lady Manningtree. It was not simply a card but a letter, citing their acquaintance at school, and speaking warmly of Nina; otherwise she might have made an excuse, ton parties not being to her taste. But to be invited so specifically and cordially … And when she mentioned it, she saw that Nina wanted to go, so she accepted for both.

Lady Manningtree engaged her at once in conversation, talking about school and their common acquaintances, and Richard made a bee-line for Nina.

‘I haven’t seen you in an age,’ he said. ‘Have you had a letter from the honeymooners?’

‘Just one, from Kitty,’ said Nina.

It had not said very much – had been little more than a list of sights she had seen – but it had ended with an emphatic sentence about longing to see her again. ‘So much more to tell you than I can write down. You must come and stay with us at the Castle when we return.’