Page 24 of Rivals at Ashmore Castle

‘Called anything? Oh, you mean, is there a title? No, no. But you can put the letters AM after your name.’ Axe shook his head in amused disbelief. ‘Axe Brandom, AM,’ Giles went on. ‘Or whatever your name really is. I realise I have no idea what “Axe” is short for.’

‘Not short for anything, my lord. Axe is my kirsted name, just as it sounds.’

Giles blinked, taken aback. ‘A very splendid name it is, too,’ he recovered. ‘A name fit for a hero.’

Axe only shook his head again.

CHAPTER FIVE

Frederick was standing in the doorway of the servants’ hall as Rose came past, and said, ‘Her ladyship’s very happy, these days. What’s that all about?’

She stopped and looked at him impatiently. ‘How would I know? I hardly ever see her. And it’s not my business to notice whether Upstairs is happy or not. It’s not yours, either.’

‘I disagree,’ he said. ‘When they’re happy, it makes everyone’s life easier. A happy house is good for us all.’

‘Well, it’s not us that makes ’em happy or unhappy, so you’re wasting your time,’ she said shortly. ‘What are you cooking up?’

‘Nothing,’ he said, giving her the full force of his blue eyes and charming smile. Rose withstood it sturdily. ‘I noticed at breakfast, that’s all. She was like a dog with two tails.’

‘Here, don’t you call her ladyship a dog!’

‘I didn’t mean it like that,’ he said impatiently. ‘Happy as a lark, I meant. Is that better? She’s been smiling a lot lately. Why d’you suppose that is?’

She regarded him witheringly. ‘You’re soft in the head, you are. What you asking me for?’

‘You’ve been here a long time. You know these people.’

‘These people? These people? It’s “her ladyship” to you. If you want to know her ladyship’s secrets, ask Miss Hatto. And she won’t tell you. She never gossips. You should take a leaf out of her book.’

‘Her ladyship’s secrets,’ he mused. ‘What would they be, I wonder?’

‘I don’t suppose she’s got any.’

‘Everybody’s got secrets. What are yours, Rose?’

‘There was a plant my mum used to have outside the back door. It was called mind-your-own-business,’ she said. ‘I’ve got work to do. I haven’t got time to stand around asking silly questions like some people,’ she concluded, and walked away. A few steps further on she looked back and saw him writing something in a small notebook. She had seen him writing in it before, she remembered. A notebook about six inches by four, the size a man could slip into his pocket, bound in black leather. It was unusual enough behaviour to intrigue her. ‘What you writing about?’ she asked.

‘Just making a note of things to be done, so I don’t forget them.’

She tapped her temple. ‘You should use this, like the rest of us,’ she said, and went on.

In Market Harborough there had been a heavy snowfall in February. Nina had enjoyed the look of it – the suddenly sparkling world, roofs and hedges and trees decorated as though for Christmas – but Mr Cowling had been afraid she would slip and fall, and had forbidden her to leave the house. The snow hadn’t lasted long, but was followed by deep frosts, which worried him just as much. She was feeling very well and full of energy, and it irked her to be confined, but there was no reasoning with him. On the subject of her and the baby’s safety, he put his foot down.

Spring came in late March, mild and wet, a thing of fast-moving grey skies reflected in puddles, squally winds and intermittent spats of rain. Nina could go out again, though it meant being accompanied by the new footman Alfred, holding an umbrella over her. Nina had questioned the need for a footman, but Mr Cowling was adamant. When he was at home, his man, Moxton, acted as butler, but when he was away on business he took Moxton with him. ‘I want to know there’s a man to see to things when I’m not here.’

So Alfred had come. Nina thought him an amiable fool, and suspected that she would be much more capable than him in any emergency, but Mr Cowling had old-fashioned ideas. In deference to her condition, he had stopped visiting her at night. She would have liked him to share her bed just for the comfort of his arms, but didn’t know how to ask him. For proofs of love she had to make do with his fussing over her well-being.

‘You don’t need to worry about me being alone,’ she told him when he lingered anxiously on the brink of departure. She had a constant stream of visitors. The situation of a young woman expecting her first child was always interesting, but especially so when she had no immediate family to guard her. It wasn’t that anyone wanted anything to go wrong, but monochrome lives craved drama, and while Mrs Cowling looked robust and healthy, it was often the ones you least expected that ran into trouble.

Her mainstays were Bobby Wharfedale, and Lady Clementine Leacock. Best were the days, like one damp afternoon at the end of March, when both called.

Bobby arrived first, bringing Rupert and Elizabeth with her. ‘Nanny and both nursery maids have three colds in the head,’ she explained. ‘It’s a swamp of misery up there, and Rupert and Lizzie were running wild. Hickman almost begged me to take them away – and Aubrey would have a fit if we lost our butler. You can’t get a good one just for the asking.’

‘We were only sliding down the banisters,’ Rupert protested. ‘We weren’t doing any harm.’

‘I didn’t mind it but, darling, you can’t think how children get on servants’ nerves,’ Bobby told him. She talked to her children exactly as she talked to everyone else. ‘If only they could have gone out riding,’ she added to Nina. ‘But they got soaked through yesterday and their riding clothes aren’t dry yet. I told Nanny I spent most of my childhood in wet clothes, but she was predicting everything from typhoid to rheumatic fever so I had to bring them with me. I hope you don’t mind. They’ve each brought a book so they won’t be any trouble. Go and sit over there,’ she addressed her children, ‘and look at your books and don’t say a word for half an hour.’

They went off obediently. Nina said, ‘Goodness, I hope my child turns out to be as good as yours.’