Page 148 of The Secrets of Ashmore Castle

They walked about, discussing the plan, pointing out suitable spots for this or that delicacy, and for a little time were in perfect harmony, Giles dreaming of warm ripe figs and peaches, Kitty of Giles putting on flesh and looking less haunted. The dogs ran about, jackdaws chacked from the bare trees, a robin flew down onto the top of a wall and twittered at them, and as they turned a corner of the walk, Giles pressed her hand against his side in an unstudied gesture of affection.

‘Are you sure it’s me he wants to see, and not Miss Nina?’ Aunt Schofield asked.

‘Quite sure, madam,’ Haydock said.

She sighed, and went into the morning-room. Cowling was there, warming himself before the fire.

‘Mr Cowling, how can I help you?’ she asked briskly.

She had so much to do with the upcoming wedding. For Nina’s sake, she wanted it to be fine. It would not be luxurious, like Kitty Bayfield’s, of course, but there must be no hint of shabbiness. And that posed a problem. She lived on a fixed income, and she had spent her savings dressing Nina for her Season. She didn’t begrudge Nina her wedding, but she would have to sell gilts to pay for it, and her future income would be correspondingly reduced.

Nina was at that moment at a fitting for her wedding-dress – a simple ivory silk fitted underdress, and an overdress of embroidered cotton gauze with loose sleeves, flowing into a short train behind. Isa Morris, who was very good at dressmaking, had undertaken it with the help of her personal maid Sarah. She had always made clothes for Lepida, and would probably have loved to be making a wedding-gown for her own daughter, so Nina was the next best thing. They had pored together over magazines and pattern books, and chosen in the end something with simple, graceful lines.

Back in Mrs Schofield’s morning-room, Joseph Cowling was looking ill-at-ease – almost, she thought, hangdog. A brief worry flashed across her mind that he had come to call the whole thing off, but she dismissed the idea. She might deplore Nina’s marrying a man of limited intellect, though probably that was more often the case than was generally realised, but she had no doubts of his sincerity.

‘Was there something you wanted to ask me?’ she prompted him, when he seemed to have difficulty in coming to the point.

‘Yes, ma’am,’ he said at last. ‘I’ve come to ask you a favour.’

‘A favour?’ she said in surprise.

‘A very great favour,’ he said, ‘and I’d not ask it, I promise you, except that – well, it seems a matter of plain justice to me, and I know you are a fair-minded woman – person – beg pardon, lady.’

Mrs Schofield waved away the distinction. ‘Please speak freely, Mr Cowling. What is it you want?’

‘Well, ma’am, I know right well that it’s the bride’s family who pays for the wedding, and I know you’ll do everything tasteful and nice. But, you see, I want to invite a lot of people to see me off – a very large number of guests – and it doesn’t seem fair to do that and land you with the bill. So what I wanted to ask was whether, as a great favour to me, you’d let me pay for the wedding-breakfast. I know it’s not the done thing, but no-one ever need know except you and me, and that way, I could ask anyone I liked, and not be racked with guilt about making you feed ’em all. So, what do you say, ma’am? Could you go along with me on this one? I’d take it very kindly.’

Mrs Schofield was silent for a long moment, and Cowling’s brow furrowed more and more, thinking he was going to be slapped down. ‘I’ve offended you,’ he mourned. ‘I never meant to do that. I only wanted—’

In fact, she had been trying to control her laughter. Now she got hold of herself and said, ‘I’m not offended. Indeed, it’s a very generous offer, and I accept it gladly.’

He was almost too surprised to be pleased. ‘Really? You mean it?’

‘Mr Cowling, please arrange the wedding-breakfast exactly as you like, and invite everyone you want. I am more than happy to pass the entire responsibility to you.’

‘That’s right good of you, ma’am,’ he said, beaming. ‘I’ll undertake all the arrangements. You needn’t lift a finger. My fellow Decius will handle everything, and he’s a great man for detail. It’ll go like clockwork. All you have to do is give me a list of people you want to invite. And don’t go easy on me – have as many as you fancy! It’ll be a slap-up do, I promise you. No half-measures. It’ll be, well, not good enough for her, because what could be? But as near as money can make it.’

‘I’m sure it will,’ said Mrs Schofield.

‘And you can hand off any other arrangements you like onto Decius – he can do everything. All you’ll need to do is turn up at the church on the day with Miss Nina. Oh, my,’ he concluded, rubbing his hands, ‘it’ll be something like! I’ll send Decius to talk to you, if I may, and you can load him up like a pack-mule with all your worries.’

Mrs Schofield smiled and thanked him again. It was a weight off her mind, and she was truly grateful. Nina had spoken highly of Decius Blake, so perhaps he would control the quality as well as the quantity – and, after all, Cowling had dined with the King, so he must know something of how things were done.

In any case, she thought, when she had seen him out, even if it should turn out to be a vulgar display of wealth, well, it was his wedding, too, wasn’t it?

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

The time had all run out, and here was Isabel Morris’s maid Sarah – who had a proprietorial attitude to the gown she had largely made – helping Aunt Schofield’s Minny to dress her for her wedding. Nina stood in front of the large cheval glass, imported from Aunt Schofield’s room for the occasion, and watched the transformation with an almost academic interest. It didn’t look like her – it didn’t feel like her. The whole thing was oddly dreamlike. Someone was being decked out for a wedding, but it couldn’t be the Nina Sanderton whose mind she lived in.

The gown was beautiful. It felt soft and delicate against her skin, and fell in graceful folds, the train moving when she moved. It had been a surprise when Aunt Schofield brought out her mother’s wedding lace for her to wear. ‘Your mother asked me to keep it for you, for your wedding.’ It was rather yellowed, and careful repeated washing had only partly remedied the problem. Luckily, the gown was ivory rather than white, so the discrepancy was not as obvious as it might have been. And Nina would rather have worn her mother’s yellowed lace than anything new and perfect.

Along with her pearls, it was the only thing of her mother’s that she had. She had assumed she would wear the pearls on the day – she had nothing else by way of ornament – but then, a week ago, Mr Cowling had called and, with a touching air of shyness, had given her a flat leather box that turned out to contain a diamond necklace. She had been overwhelmed, and her first instinct was to refuse it. She couldn’t imagine how much it had cost, but it was altogether too much.

Luckily Aunt Schofield had been present, and had read Nina’s expression correctly. Before she could say more than ‘I can’t—’ she had intervened. ‘The groom’s gift to the bride,’ she had said firmly to her niece. ‘It’s traditional. Diamonds are very suitable. You’ll wear them with your wedding-gown, Nina.’

Mr Cowling had also been watching her face. ‘Not if she doesn’t like it,’ he said anxiously. ‘I can change it in a snap for something else.’

Nina looked up almost tearfully. ‘It’s beautiful. The most beautiful thing I’ve ever owned.’ It was like a string of raindrops. ‘Thank you.’