Page 7 of The Mistress of Ashmore Castle

‘I second every word of that, and more,’ said Mrs Antrobus. ‘Giulia’s a treasure, and quite like a daughter to us. But, Walt, dear, why are we keeping his lordship standing in the hall?’

‘Oh, good Lord, what a pumpkin head I am! You must want coffee after that long train ride. And breakfast! Won’t you come on through? Or would you sooner go to your room and have a bath first? But you must be starving. See here, there’s a closet just off the lobby, where you could wash your hands and splash your face, and then have breakfast right away, and go up to your room afterwards. By then my man Afton, who is going to attend you, will have got everything unpacked and have a bath ready for you. How does that seem?’

Just out of Antrobus’s line of sight, Giulia had a teasing smile, obviously accustomed to their host’s power of organisation. Giles smiled back, and surrendered to it. He felt, actually, very hungry, and not terribly dirty. Soon he was sitting down to good coffee, in the German rather than the Turkish style, and soft bread, and honey, and eggs, and fruit, and yoghourt, which he’d encountered before on his travels and rather enjoyed. The breakfast-room had long lace curtains at the open French windows, which filtered the sunlight pleasantly, and allowed in gentle airs from the shady garden beyond. The servants were soft-footed and attentive, the Antrobuses easy company, and Giulia was lovely and familiar. Giles found himself relaxing; and, despite the prospect of a consular dinner and ball that evening, was glad he had come.

His room was of a piece with the rest of the house – large, high-ceilinged, lavishly appointed, and with more mirrors than an English gentleman would consider quite done. It was pleasantly cool, with French windows open onto a balcony, and a slowly turning ceiling fan.

It was also furnished with a small, thin, tough-looking individual in valet’s clothes, who gave him a bow that was counterbalanced by a cheerful grin.

‘Afton, isn’t it?’ Giles said, dredging up the name from memory.

‘That’s right, my lord. I’m to take care of you. I’ve unpacked your bag and I’ll get your evening dress brushed and pressed ready for later.’

‘I’m afraid you’ll have found a lot of sand in everything.’

‘You don’t need to apologise, my lord. It’s my business to worry about sand so’s you don’t have to.’

‘A refreshing attitude. My previous valet refused to come to Egypt because he said he couldn’t attend me properly in a tent.’

Afton looked stern. ‘That’s not the ticket at all! A gentleman’s gentleman follows his gentleman wherever his gentleman goes, no questions asked, and does his job notwithstanding conditions. If you’ll excuse me, my lord, it sounds as if your man was getting a mite above himself.’

Giles was amused. ‘I think you’re right.’

‘It happens now and then,’ Afton said wisely, ‘that a fellow gets to think he’s bigger than his position. I hope you sacked him good and hard, my lord.’

‘I sacked him all right,’ Giles said, ‘but perhaps not as hard as I should have.’

Afton gave him a quick appraisal, and said, ‘Now I dare say you’d like a good, long bath, my lord, after that journey, and I’ve sent for plenty of hot water, which’ll be up in a jiffy, but I’ve got enough here to shave you first, my lord, and by the time that’s done—’

‘I always shave myself,’ Giles interrupted.

Afton was not at all put out. ‘I quite understand, my lord, but if you’ll forgive me, it’s a mistake. I can do a better job than ever you can, my lord, on account of being able to see into all the tricky places. If you’ll just let me show you, my lord, you’ll see the difference right away.’

‘I don’t like to be shaved,’ Giles said stubbornly.

‘I’ve known many a gentleman a bit nervous – or,’ he added, as Giles frowned, ‘maybe squeamish is the word. But, bless you, I’m as good with a razor as anyone you’ll find on this earth. I had my own barber’s shop and all the top gentlemen came to me. Never so much as a graze did one of ’em suffer. Admiral Lord Jellyby – do you know him, my lord?’

‘My father did,’ Giles said.

‘Course he did! Well, my lord, the admiral used to say to me, “Afton,” he’d say, “I’d trust you to shave me on board ship in a force-nine gale during a broadside battle.” Just let me show you, my lord. The water’s nice and hot, and I’ve warm towels here too.’

‘Just this once, then,’ Giles said, worn down by the little man’s energy.

He found himself ushered into a chair. Afton placed towels with the deft movements of a magician and guided his head back onto a pillow.

‘There now, my lord. If you just give in to it, you’ll find it very relaxing. Some of my gentlemen used to go to sleep.’

‘Don’t expect me to,’ Giles said defiantly.

Afton chuckled. ‘That’s right, my lord. Don’t give up the bridge till you see the whites of the Etruscans’ eyes.’

‘You’re an educated man,’ Giles commented in surprise.

‘Oh, you get a lot of time for reading when you’re waiting up for your gentleman, my lord.’

‘And that’s a London accent, if I don’t mistake,’ Giles said, as the soap was applied. ‘What brought you here?’

‘Born in Whitechapel, my lord, started as a barber, went into service, got itchy feet, ended up in New York. Did a lot of jobs, learned a lot of things, got my own barber’s shop in Manhattan, like I said. Mr Antrobus was one of my customers there. One day he says to me, “Afton,” he says, “do you think you could valet?” “Done it before, sir,” I says. “Then come and valet for me,” he says. It’s been a good life, Mr Antrobus is a good master, and he likes to travel so I’ve got about quite a bit. But I get a queer sort of longing now and then for old England. Seeing the world is good sport, but I wouldn’t like to think I’d never go home again. However much you run, there’s a kind of tug.’