Page 49 of The Mistress of Ashmore Castle

‘You have taken me aback,’ she said, since something had to be said.

He had resumed his seat on the edge of the settle, and was looking at her with a mixture of hope and apprehension. ‘But you will – you may – you do like me? You said I was suitable?’

‘For my daughter.’

‘If for her, then so much more for you, dearest countess!’

‘I am recently widowed.’

‘Not so recent,’ he said, with growing confidence. ‘I have waited, to give you time, to make all decent. At first, yes, it would have been too soon, but I am patient man, I can wait for what I want, and now I believe it is good time.’

‘I have no thought of marriage.’

‘But you will think of it now.’

‘It is impossible.’ She stood up, so he had to. ‘I must ask you to leave, Prince. I am quite—’ She was unsettled, so much so that she could not think of the correct word. The only one that came to her was decomposed. It annoyed her to be at a loss for vocabulary. ‘Please go,’ she said irritably.

He bowed, with a hint of clicked heels. ‘I go,’ he said. ‘But I do not give up. I will return. Good morning, gnädige Gräfin.’

The Arthurs lived in a large house on Clapham Common, a place Stuffy had vaguely heard of, though he could not have placed it. It turned out to be on the south side of the river. He could not remember ever having crossed the river, except by train when heading for Dover and Abroad. And, of course, one did not look out of the windows in the early part of the journey as the train rattled through those grim suburbs with their rows and rows of identical, close-packed houses. One was always busy settling oneself in one’s corner, with reading-matter, spectacles, handkerchief, foot-muff, barley-sugar twists and all the other little necessary comforts disposed to hand.

His manservant McGregor, on whom he relied for information, told him that Clapham Common could be reached easily by Underground, being the terminus of the recent extension of the City and South London electric railway. Stuffy shuddered at the thought of going underground and waved him to continue. Or, said McGregor, a journey of twenty minutes from Victoria on the London Brighton and South Coast railway would bring him to Clapham Junction, from which a cab could be taken, Clapham Common lying only a mile or so distant. Now Stuffy remembered why the name had been faintly familiar – he must have travelled many times through Clapham Junction on the way to the south coast, though without particularly remarking it.

‘Am I to understand, my lord, that ye’re considering undertaking such a journey?’ McGregor enquired forbiddingly.

‘Oh, perhaps – or perhaps not. Mere idle curiosity,’ Stuffy said, avoiding his eyes.

‘The Common is, I believe, an agreeable green space, with level paths, fine trees and a bandstand,’ said McGregor, his grey eyes boring into his master. ‘Although Hyde Park is considerably closer, if it was a walk ye were wanting.’ He said this straight-faced, though the earl had never yet been known to regard walking as a recreational activity.

‘Um – hmm,’ Stuffy said, staring at the ceiling.

‘If it was fishing ye were after, my lord, I believe the ponds on Clapham Common are stocked with carp, roach, tench and bream,’ said McGregor, to a man who owned one of the finest salmon and trout stretches of the Spey but rarely took out a rod.

‘I’m not going fishing, damn it!’ Stuffy said.

‘Howsoever, I am sure Lady Manningtree would not object to ordering her carriage out for you, my lord, to go as far as Clapham Common. ’Twould be but a journey of five miles or so, not too far for her horses.’

Stuffy looked at him with narrowed eyes, wondering whether McGregor had guessed what allure Clapham Common suddenly held for him. ‘I do not wish to ask my sister for her carriage,’ he said. ‘It is – a private matter.’

‘Then may I suggest, my lord, that I walk down to the rank on the corner and select the most respectable jarvey to drive you all the way and wait to bring you back.’

Stuffy considered. A hansom cab was not the most comfortable conveyance for a journey of that length, but he would have to take a cab in any case to Victoria station, so he might as well stay in it and save the tiresome changes from cab to station and station back to cab. ‘That’s probably best,’ he said, not noticing that the enquiry had now passed from the putative to the actual.

‘And I shall accompany you, my lord,’ said McGregor.

‘Indeed, no!’ Stuffy exclaimed.

‘Indeed so, if you will forgive me,’ McGregor said, in the steely voice that Stuffy knew meant he would not back down. ‘It is not a part of the metropolis known to you, my lord. If something were to happen . . . And I shall remain with the cab, my lord, until you have concluded your business. Otherwise, the jarvey will require to be paid for the outward journey on arrival in Clapham, and once he has his money, there is no assurance that he will wait.’

‘Oh, very well,’ Stuffy said weakly. McGregor made it seem as though he was penetrating the dark continent, instead of driving a few miles across London. That McGregor feared harm to him if he went alone was obvious, but exactly what harm was less so. He probably, Stuffy reflected, when he had left the room, just wanted to know what his master was up to. These old-established servants could be annoyingly possessive.

Mr Cowling’s business-room in the Berkeley Square house was suddenly crowded, with Cowling himself, Giles and Richard assembled there to meet a Mr Elthorne and his two sons.

Giles had wanted the meeting to take place at Aunt Caroline’s house, or at the Elthornes’. Much as he longed to see Nina, he knew it was better for his peace of mind to keep contact with her to a minimum. Particularly given the delicate state of affairs between him and Kitty. But Richard, who had been talking to Cowling, had let slip that Nina would be visiting Kitty at the same time, so Cowling’s house seemed like the safest place to be.

Elthorne senior was a thin, slightly stooped, grey-haired man, who seemed in his fifties. His sons both towered over him, tall, beefy young men, who looked more like country folk than town dwellers. It would be easy to imagine them heaving a straw bale up onto a shoulder or deftly hauling a struggling ewe into the shearing pen. The sons let their father do all the talking, but they followed the conversation with bright, intelligent eyes.

Cowling introduced Elthorne, who did not seem overpowered by Giles’s title, gave him and Richard a civil nod, and said, ‘My sons, Rob and Tom. I understand you’ve a proposal to put to me.’