Page 39 of The Mistress of Ashmore Castle

‘I find them troubling.’

‘Yes, my lord,’ Afton said. No more than that. Then he said, ‘You must be looking forward to getting back to London, my lord. There’ll be lots to do there.’

‘Yes. And you, Afton – have you friends to catch up with?’

‘No friends any more, my lord. But lots to see and do during my time off.’

‘I shall try not to encroach on it.’

‘Thank you, my lord. But my duty comes first, always. As I know it does with you.’

Now, Giles thought, relapsing into silence, was that a compliment? Or a warning?

That night the dream came again, but it was different. The woman was not running away, but waiting for him at the end of the corridor, and this time he could see her clearly. It was not Giulia. There were dark eyes, yes, but a whiter skin, and hair the colour of a wheatfield at harvest time. He remembered a voice, a presence, a mind that seemed to match his; a spirit that fitted his as the curve of a bird fits its nest. In the dream, he knew that if he could reach her, all the longings of his life would be resolved: in her he would find his home. But walking towards her was like struggling through thick mud; and no matter how he strove, he never got any nearer. She seemed even to be drawing further away, fading, like a ghost. He cried out to her, and woke himself up: in the dream he had shouted, but in reality it had been a feeble whimper.

On the last day, as they were coming into Trieste, he found himself on deck, at the taffrail with Talbot and Giulia, watching the cranes and warehouses and bustle of the dockside grow nearer. It was a breezy day, with clouds bowling across a pale spring sky, shadows running over the restless dark sea, gulls wheeling and crying above the ship. Mary was below, supervising some problem that had occurred with her maid and the packing. And then the thing he had been dreading happened – a steward came and took Talbot away with a question about a packing case, leaving Giles alone with Giulia.

She turned to him at once. ‘You have been avoiding me,’ she said. It was an accusation, but her tone was tender. ‘So che devi essere discreto—’

He hardly heard her in his rush to apologise. ‘Giulia, I am so sorry!’ he said. ‘What I did was unforgivable. I am not that sort of man. It was a deplorable lapse on my part, and I have been racked with guilt ever since. Please believe, it will never happen again.’

He saw he had offended her. Her nostrils flared. ‘Do you suppose,’ she said tautly, ‘that I am some mindless doll, a child’s toy to be moved this way and that?’

‘No – I—’ he began, startled. ‘I don’t think of you like that.’

‘You don’t think of me at all!’

‘That’s not true. I have always been very fond of you.’

‘Fond!’ She almost spat it. ‘Una parola veramente inglese! You toss me a scrap from your plate, because you are fond of me, like a dog. And then the idea of it hurts your pride, so you are sorry!’

‘No, Giulia – no!’

‘You kissed me. And you think, by that, that I am just waiting for your kisses! That if you shall happen to want it, I shall let you kiss me again and be grateful!’ She dropped into Italian, too angry and rapid for him to catch it all, though the word stupido seemed to feature more than once. Then she flicked a glance away from him and interrupted herself. ‘Hush, Mary comes.’ She closed her lips tight and drew herself up with dignity.

‘Oh, my troublesome maid!’ Mary exclaimed, laughing, as she reached them. ‘She was in a panic because she thought she’d mislaid my passport and pocket-book, and then it turned out she’d packed them in the trunk and we had to turn everything out! I’m so looking forward to London and being in one place! Are you staying in London at all, Giles, or will you go straight down to the country?’

His mind was sore from Giulia’s words, but he roused himself to answer. ‘No, I shall have to stay in London for the moment. My sister’s come-out, you know.’ An idea occurred to him. ‘You must come to her ball,’ he said, a look gathering Giulia into the invitation. ‘If I know my mother, it will be the event of the Season, something not to be missed.’

Mary smiled. ‘I’m sure we would love to come, but won’t she already have sent out the invitations?’

‘That cannot signify. I shall be paying for the whole thing, therefore I shall invite anyone I want – and I want you and Tal and Giulia. Please say you’ll come. I must have some friends of my own, as counterweight to my mother’s “significant people”.’

‘Oh, so we’re not significant people?’ Mary laughed. ‘No, my dear, I’m just teasing you! We’d love to come, wouldn’t we, Giulia? And, in return, you must promise to dine with us at least once before you go down.’

‘It would be my pleasure,’ Giles said. By a heroic effort, he didn’t look at Giulia as he said it.

Going to Pelham House was a new lease of life for Moss. He had been feeling tired and lethargic lately, but coming to London and preparing for an important event was like a return to the grand old days of his late lordship. He became the Moss of yore, the major-domo who controlled the establishment with a lift of his eyebrow, and received the cream of society, and royalty both British and foreign, as though it were an everyday thing. In the old days, dukes, margraves, highnesses (both royal and serene), all had known his name, had pressed grateful guineas into his palm. ‘You’re a marvel, Moss,’ they had said, when he solved some delicate problem for them. Many of them had told his lordship they envied him Moss; some had even tried to entice him away.

Her ladyship (it was a relief, in Pelham House, that the dowager was again simply ‘her ladyship’) had chosen James and Sam as the footmen he should bring. And with regard to maids she had said, ‘Rose and three others. You may decide.’ So he had been able to sidestep Mrs Webster with apparent lordly indifference, and choose Ada along with Doris and Ellen.

Mrs Webster had not been entirely quiescent. ‘Ada is not very experienced. And rather small. There may be heavy work in the preparation stage. Why not take Mabel instead? Or Tilda – she’s strong.’

Moss had had to think quickly. ‘Her ladyship may require them in the public areas. Taking coats and escorting ladies to the dressing-room and such. Mabel and Tilda may be good workers but they won’t do as parlour-maids.’

Mrs Webster looked at him sharply. ‘Did her ladyship ask you to pick pretty ones?’

Moss couldn’t quite lie. ‘I believe it was implied,’ he said loftily.