Page 101 of The Mistress of Ashmore Castle

‘I’m sorry. But if you’d married you might not have been here when I needed you, so perhaps there was a Providence in it. I – and my baby – owe you our lives.’

Afton was so overcome, Giles intervened out of mercy, and said, ‘That will do, Afton, thank you. I’ll ring when I want you,’ and he bowed to Kitty and hurried gratefully away. ‘He’s a good man,’ Giles said to Kitty, when he’d gone.

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘What is his Christian name?’

‘Do I know it?’ Giles thought for a moment. ‘Ah, yes, I remember. It’s Stanley. Named after the explorer, I believe. Why do you ask?’

‘I was thinking perhaps we ought to name the baby after him.’

Giles laughed. ‘I don’t think we can call our son Stanley – though it is the name of a venerable English house. But it has become rather “of the people”, these days. Perhaps he could have it as a second name.’

‘I would like that,’ Kitty said.

‘It would annoy my mother so much,’ Giles said, ‘which is reason enough for me. But what for his first name?’

‘I don’t mind. You choose.’

‘What do you think about Alexander? I rather like it.’

‘Yes, it’s nice,’ she said indifferently.

‘And we had better honour our respective papas. People expect it. So, then – Alexander Stanley John William?’

‘Mmm,’ said Kitty, her eyelids drooping.

Giles smiled, and escaped to his work.

Nanny, with a new baby to brood over, was happy to acknowledge that Louis was becoming more active and could benefit from a run out of doors every day, and that her shape and the state of her feet made her ineligible to be the one to take him. That Mr Afton, she observed, was a very gentlemanlike man, p’raps from his close contact with the gentry. He also had a winning way with him and a twinkle in his eye – though she didn’t say that bit aloud. At all events, his little lordship had taken a shine to Mr Afton, and it could do him no harm to be taken out when the weather was fine to run around and use up some of his energy.

‘What a versatile man you are, Afton,’ Giles laughed at him one morning. ‘Valet, professional barber, and now unofficial tutor to the scions of the nobility!’

And detective, Afton added inwardly, though he hadn’t got any further forward with his inquiry. But since his master was going out and wouldn’t require him for several hours, he was going into Canons Ashmore to visit Thavey’s.

It was a shop that sold all manner of second-hand things, from pocket watches to candlesticks, and was a byword in the village because it also served as pawn shop. Afton stood outside for a long time, looking at the display in the window of sad treasures – a tray of wedding rings, an array of service medals, a pair of red leather baby’s shoes, a Toby jug, a framed photograph, a fringed silk shawl, a pair of Chelsea cats, a brass telescope – while trying to think of a way to frame his enquiry. In the end, he decided just to play it by ear.

Inside it was dim, low-ceilinged, and smelt of furniture polish. There were glass cabinets of treasures all around and diverse shadowy things hanging from the beams – Afton had to duck between a pair of dangling ice-skates and a pith helmet complete with chin scales. Behind the counter, a tall man in gold-rimmed glasses said, ‘Can I help you, sir?’ His expression was stern and his tone was not encouraging. Afton wondered if he’d had to deal with so much weeping and pleading over the years that he’d developed a carapace.

Afton tried an engaging smile. ‘Just came in for a look around. I’m new to the area, but I’ve heard it said, “You can get anything at Thavey’s,” so I thought I’d see for myself.’

‘I’m Thavey,’ said the man. ‘Were you interested in anything in particular?’

‘Oh, my interests are wide,’ Afton said. ‘You take pledges, I understand. Do you keep the pledges separate from outright sales?’

‘Depends on who’s pledging. Some I know will be back come Saturday. Redeem it Saturday and pledge it again Monday. Some I can tell would like to come back but never will. What’s your line, if I might ask, sir?’

‘Barber,’ Afton said. ‘I might be in the market for a good razor.’

‘I haven’t any at present, though they do come in from time to time. Are you setting up here, in the village?’

Afton preferred not to answer that. He pretended to look in one of the glass cases. ‘I’ve various hobbies, though. Quite interested in old coins. And stamps – do you do anything in the way of stamps?’

Thavey wasn’t buying it. His sharp eyes had picked Afton apart and put him back together as something quite different from a wandering barber. ‘Stamps are a specialist thing. I don’t deal with ’em. And I don’t deal with stolen goods. Everyone round here knows me. What’s your game, Mr Barber-I-don’t-think?’

Afton came clean. ‘I’m trying to track down a missing stamp collection.’

‘You’re from up the Castle? I’ve heard rumours. If anyone took ’em, they wouldn’t bring ’em to me. London’s the place to get rid of something like that.’

‘But if a person couldn’t get to London?’