Page 136 of The Secrets of Ashmore Castle

News had reached them that her young ladyship wanted a connecting door between White Chinese and the dressing-room, and old Lady Stainton had managed somehow to get her ladyship to agree to it.

‘Then it’ll be sawing. And the smell of paint,’ Mrs Webster went on bitterly.

‘I’m sure it will all be worth while when it’s finished,’ said Moss emolliently. ‘Wouldn’t you say so, Mr Crooks? You were always a great advocate of the dressing-room.’

‘Why are you asking him?’ said James. ‘He’s not his lordship’s valet.’

Crooks ignored him. ‘A dressing-room is essential for fashionable living, but her ladyship ought to have one of her own. In a truly elegant suite, her ladyship’s dressing-room and closet would be on the other side of her room from his lordship’s.’

‘I think it’s a shame, all this knocking about of good rooms,’ Rose said. ‘Pulling the house to pieces. Then, as like as not, a few years down the line they’ll be wanting to put it all back the way it was.’

Moss turned graciously to the newcomer at the table, the lady’s maid who had been brought in to take care of the young countess. ‘What do you think, Miss Hatto? Is a dressing-room essential for an elegant lady?’

Miss Hatto was a youngish woman, neat as a pin, pleasant in face and manner, although she hardly ever spoke. But where Miss Taylor’s silences were taciturn in origin, Miss Hatto’s seemed to stem from a curious kind of completeness. Mrs Webster found her intriguing. You couldn’t imagine her ever making a noise, or gossiping, or laughing at a joke, but she did not come across as prudish. It was as if Miss Hatto said the last word there was to say about Hatto-ness, and that was that. William, whose fixation on Milly had been waning, had already transferred his mute, doglike devotion to her.

‘It is a great convenience,’ she said now. ‘Though historic houses should be respected.’

Rose rolled her eyes at Mrs Webster, who returned a minute shrug. In her view, the fewer people who were contentious, the easier it made her job.

Moss had picked up the word ‘historic’. Are you interested in history, Miss Hatto? I have a wonderful book called The A to Z of Universal Knowledge, a great instrument for expanding the mind. I learn something new every day. It has many entries on history. I’m reading about the history of India at the moment.’

‘You’ve been reading about India since last Christmas,’ Mrs Webster muttered.

Moss didn’t hear. ‘The Indian Mutiny, for instance, most interesting. The Indian soldiers, who were called Sepias in their own language—’

‘Sepoys,’ Mrs Webster corrected irritably.

‘—objected to biting their rifle cartridges because they were greased with pork fat—’

‘Cow fat! Have you never heard the expression “sacred cow”, Mr Moss? Where do you think it came from?’

Grandmère’s maid Simone, who had been moved a place down the table by Miss Hatto, whose mistress outranked her own, lifted her hands in a very French gesture of exasperation. ‘This is a madhouse! It is true, all English are mad. Thank God my lady is going back to Town tomorrow.’

‘I’d be happy to let you look at my book some time, Miss Hatto,’ Moss rumbled on, undeflectable. ‘There is an interesting piece on architecture, as you seem interested in that subject. Of course, I have progressed far beyond the As myself.’

‘You are learning alphabetically?’ Miss Hatto asked. Mrs Webster’s interest quickened. Was there a hint of satire in the question?

‘The information is arranged alphabetically,’ Moss explained kindly. ‘That is why it is called The A to Z of Universal Knowledge.’

Giles was surprised to see his grandmother in the stable-yard. He hurried towards her, fearing for her shoes, pale grey glacé kid. ‘What are you doing here? You’ll get yourself dirty!’

She waved him back, concentrating on the ground. ‘Do not fuss. Do you think I have never seen a stable before?’ One of the grooms rushed forward with an empty sack to spread, Raleigh-like, before her feet. She gave him a smile that he remembered for the rest of his life and stepped upon it. ‘I have come to see the new horse, Giles. You may bring it closer. A gelding, I see. Good. I do not agree with that nonsense that women must always ride mares. Geldings are more reliable, less temperamental. I always had geldings.’

‘I don’t think I ever knew you to ride, Grandmère,’ Giles said.

‘You have only known me in London, where one cannot ride,’ she said, as if it was obvious. ‘But I was the lady of Ashmore Castle once. Was I not, Giddins? He was a very young stable boy when my poor Compass Rose broke his leg and had to be shot. How you cried!’

‘Yes, my lady. I remember it well,’ said Giddins, thrilled that she remembered him. Giles observed his expression and thought That is how she makes the servants her slaves. It’s all done with love.

‘Walk him up and down,’ she commanded, and Giddins obeyed. It was a fifteen-two chestnut with one white sock and a small white star.

‘He belonged to Lady Bexley at the Grange,’ Giles said, ‘but she’s giving up riding, so Giddins thought he might do for Kitty.’

‘Why is she giving up riding?’ Grandmère demanded.

Giddins and Archer exchanged an embarrassed look. Lady Bexley had got so fat recently that she found it impossible to mount, and the gelding wasn’t up to her weight, but they could hardly say that to the gentry-folk. ‘Couldn’t say, my lady,’ Giddins said, and then, to distract her. ‘What would your ladyship’s opinion be of the colour? Archer and me thought it a bit flashy, like.’

‘A good horse is never a bad colour,’ said her ladyship, sternly. ‘How does he go? That is the point.’