Page 78 of The Affairs of Ashmore Castle

‘To be fair, the house wasn’t in a fit state to receive visitors,’ Nina said.

‘I’d have slept on the floor,’ Lepida said. ‘Or a tent in the garden.’ She looked around. ‘Where is the divine young man?’

‘Decius? He’s with Mr Cowling – they’re visiting the factories in Leicester. But they’ll be back tomorrow. Mr Cowling was worried it was rude not to be here to meet you, but Decius said you and I would want to be alone at first.’

‘Nina! Do you still call him Mr Cowling?’ Lepida laughed.

Nina looked away, embarrassed. ‘I can’t help it. It’s what comes naturally.’

‘Well, I’m glad I shall be seeing Adonis tomorrow, at any rate,’ Lepida said. ‘I hope you will ask him to stay to dinner. He isn’t betrothed, or married, or anything, yet?’

‘He’s married to his work,’ Nina said. ‘But if anyone has a chance with him, it’s you. He loves intellectual conversation.’

Trump was waiting impatiently in the trap, and gave Lepida a warm welcome, which reminded Nina of Bobby. She had told Lepida in her letters about how she had met Bobby, and now said, ‘By the way, I hope you aren’t too tired by the journey?’

‘Goodness, it’s no distance at all,’ Lepida said briskly. ‘How could I be tired?’

‘Oh good, because I’d arranged for us to meet Bobby for tea at the Copper Kettle. We can walk down this afternoon and you can see a bit of the town, which is very pretty.’

The meeting at the café went well: Bobby and Lepida took to each other, though a little cautiously at first. Nina sat between them, plying them with tea and slices of sand cake – a local speciality. She praised each to the other, wanting them to be friends, unaware that the hint of reserve she sensed came from jealousy over her. Lepida had known her longer, Bobby had spent more time with her recently; but Nina’s own warmth, and the good sense of the other two, soon overcame any pettiness.

When the second pot arrived, the subject of horses came up, and it was natural for Nina to tell Lepida her great secret – that she had been riding cross-saddle with Bobby. They had been going out several times a week, and Bobby’s brother Adam had joined them on three occasions.

‘It’s a complete revelation,’ she said excitedly. ‘The freedom! The sense of security! You feel as if your horse’s four legs are your own. And as if you couldn’t possibly fall off, even over the highest jump.’

Lepida frowned. ‘But what do you wear?’

‘Oh, the usual sort of habit,’ Nina said. ‘Though the skirt doesn’t really lie properly – it’s a little awkward.’

‘But there’s a lady here who hunts astride, a Mrs Anstruther,’ Bobby added, ‘and she has a riding skirt that’s divided down the middle, fore and aft, so the two sides fall naturally and cover your legs. I mean to get one made, if I’m to hunt across this winter.’

‘And are you?’ Lepida asked.

‘I think I might have the courage to do it, now,’ she said, with a glance at Nina. Then she laughed. ‘I don’t know why I need courage, but there it is. Society works against us poor women. Why should men determine how we ride?’

‘For the same reason that they deny us the vote,’ Lepida said. ‘Because they can.’

Bobby’s face lit. ‘Oh, are you a suffragist?’

‘How could one not be?’ Lepida said. ‘Though there’s so little one can do about it, except go to meetings. But I’m fortunate that my father and mother are for the franchise. And my father knows a lot of people.’

‘Your father knows absolutely everyone,’ Nina corrected.

Lepida gave her an indulgent smile. ‘But it will be a long business, I’m afraid, to change minds so very set in their groove. What does your husband think about it?’

‘Oh, Aubrey’s a dear! And I’ve been working away on him for years now – like water, you know, on a stone. I don’t think he quite likes the idea of women having the vote, but he does at least concede that it’s just. He doesn’t pontificate about women’s brains being too small to grasp politics, and all the rest of the nonsense. But, then, darling Aubrey never does pontificate. Except for shooting and fishing, there isn’t much that rouses him from his usual lento. And actually, when I come to think of it, fishing is such a somnolent business it actually makes him lentissimo, so it’s really only shooting that agitates him. And poachers who spoil his shooting.’

‘He doesn’t mind you riding cross-saddle?’ Lepida asked.

‘He didn’t like it at first, but when I pointed out to him how much safer it is, he came around. And how much better for the horses – if you don’t watch them, the grooms will pull the girths so tight, to stop the side-saddle slipping over, that the horses end up with broken wind, as well as sore backs.’

‘And what does Mr Cowling think about it?’ Lepida asked, turning to Nina.

Nina felt her cheeks redden, and sipped her tea to cover it.

‘Nina, you have told him?’ Lepida pursued.

She had to answer. ‘Not yet. I was going to, of course. I meant to. But, you see, I enjoy it so much, it’s so delightful, that I couldn’t bear to risk his saying no.’