Page 4 of The Mistress of Ashmore Castle

‘I won’t take either of you if you squabble,’ Alice said. They fell silent and, under her stern gaze, went back to the puzzle. The dogs flopped back again. Next to a walk, toasting at the fire was their favourite occupation.

Rachel gave her a look that said, Now you see what staying here all your life would mean. You’d be the spinster aunt.

Alice continued working. She was rather looking forward to the children going home, because she did tend to get stuck with them. She felt sorry for them, but having them tagging along meant she couldn’t go and see Axe in his woodman’s cottage up in Motte Woods. She missed those visits. She missed Dolly, his terrier, and the cats, and Della, his beautiful Suffolk Punch mare, and Cobnut, the rescued pony she had named, and the various injured or orphaned animals he had from time to time.

Most of all she missed Axe. And she wondered . . . Her hand slowed and stopped as her thoughts went travelling. Last time she had visited there had been a strange, palpitating moment when she had thought he was going to kiss her. He had stood so near, stooped his big golden face towards her, and everything in her had reached up to him, like a flower reaching for the sun. But then he had straightened up and turned away, and afterwards had been almost gruff with her. And insisted she left as soon as she had drunk her tea, saying it was going to snow and she must get home before it broke.

The snow hadn’t lasted long, and was followed by a thaw; but then Linda had arrived with the children, tying her down, and she had not seen Axe since. Christmas was coming, and it would be impossible to get away for ages. She missed him. And she wondered . . .

There was a tap on the door, and Ellen, one of the housemaids, came in. ‘Her ladyship wants to see you, Lady Rachel.’

‘Which ladyship?’

‘Your mother, my lady.’

Rachel got up obediently, straightened her skirt and was heading for the door.

‘Your hair!’ Alice cried.

Rachel hated to be told off, and her mother would object to her appearing in that fashion. She looked frightened. ‘I’d forgotten it was down!’

‘Let me, my lady,’ Ellen said. With some clever twists and a few pins gleaned from Alice and Arabella, she got it into a kind of chignon. ‘There. Not perfect, but it might pass on a dark night, as they say.’

‘Oh, thank you, Ellen! How clever you are! How did you learn to do that?’

‘Miss Hatto showed me, my lady. And Rose lets me practise on her sometimes. I’d like to be a lady’s maid one day. And if I can do hair, I can attend visiting ladies that don’t have their own maid, and maybe one day—’

‘Mama’s waiting,’ Alice reminded her sister; and Rachel fled.

Ellen followed her out. Alice turned the pages of her sketch-pad. She came to a pencil sketch she had done of Axe, head bent over a piece of harness he was mending. Lovingly she added some more shading, deepening the chiaroscuro. She could have drawn him from memory by now, but it was so much more satisfying to have the subject before her. Perhaps if she could slip away from the children for a few hours . . . She wasn’t their governess, after all. Surely someone else could watch them.

‘Aunty Alice, can we go riding now?’ Arabella broke into her thoughts.

‘Riding, riding, riding!’ Arthur shouted, bouncing again, and waking the dogs fully. They got up and stretched, and stalked towards Alice with suggestive smiles. They were delighted to find a human face at tongue level for a change.

‘All right,’ Alice said, sighing, fending them off, and rising. ‘Go and get changed.’

‘Hooray!’ said Arabella. ‘We’ve finished the puzzle, only there’s a piece missing.’

‘Puzzles are smelly,’ Arthur crowed triumphantly. ‘Puzzles are penn’orth of cold gin.’

Alice said, ‘If you mention “cold gin” once more I shan’t take you at all. And stop saying “smelly”.’

Arthur clapped his hands over his mouth at the threat. Arabella did the same, but they both shook with giggles behind them.

Mrs Webster found Moss, the butler, in the glass-closet in a sort of slow bustle that spoke more confusion than activity. What was wrong with him these days? she wondered irritably. Was he getting too old? Was he drinking – well, all butlers drank, but more than usual?

He looked up as she appeared at the door. ‘We haven’t had a ball for such a long time,’ he said. ‘And such short notice! There’s so much to do, and no time to do it. I hardly know . . . People staying, as well – and a shoot on Sunday.’

‘Everything will get done in its turn,’ said Mrs Webster, firmly.

‘But you have not considered. The ballroom, for instance, so long unused – we don’t know the condition of the floor!’

‘Don’t you remember, we used that firm in Aylesbury last time. They do everything – test the floor, clean and chalk it, tune the chandeliers. They hire out rout chairs as well, and tables for the card room. Mr Richard has already spoken to Giddins about the visiting horses and to Adeane about the shoot. I’ve spoken to Mrs Terry and she has the menu in hand, and I am hiring extra maids to clean the rooms – they arrive tomorrow. We’re short of good sheets, but I’m putting the mended ones on the family’s beds and I’ve ordered new ones from Whiteleys – they’ve sworn they’ll be here by Monday.’

‘Dear me,’ Moss murmured feebly. ‘I don’t know how you’ve managed to do so much already.’

‘Method,’ she said unkindly. ‘If you apply it to any task, order will result. There is never anything to be gained by panicking.’