Page 43 of Rivals at Ashmore Castle

She laughed. ‘Henry approved of your father.’

‘I was sure he didn’t like him – they were always at war over boundaries and road repairs and so on.’

‘Oh, he doesn’t like anyone,’ she said. ‘Except me.’ She advanced her face closer to his, and he caught the heavy perfume she was wearing. The women of his family didn’t wear perfume, except for rose-water or lavender-sachet. And was it possible she was wearing kohl on her eyelids? He was a young man of normal urges and the possibility aroused him, as did the touch of her breath on his cheek as she murmured confidentially, ‘But he must never find out that I’ve admired a painting or a poem or that will change, so please don’t give me away.’

It was a dash of cold water to Richard, to be asked to conspire with her against her husband, even though the request was framed as a joke. He drew back, realising he had been tempted into the foothills of error.

But she straightened and said, in a very different tone – plain and matter-of-fact, ‘This dairy scheme of yours: I’ve heard vague talk of it at home but no detail. What is the purpose of it? Do tell me.’

Richard was happy to oblige. He could talk about milk until the cows came home, and she listened with no sign of either boredom or levity. At the end of it he said, ‘I have asked your husband several times to come in with the scheme, but his response is different every time. For the life of me I can’t tell whether he’s for it or “agin it”.’

‘No, I don’t suppose you can,’ she said seriously. ‘But it isn’t really his decision, you know.’

Richard remembered now that he had heard it said Shacklock had bought the pedigreed shorthorns for his wife as a present, on her request. The story went that she had taken a frivolous notion to be the Marie Antoinette of Buckinghamshire and play at milkmaids among clean, pretty cows with ribbons in their hair.

‘Ah, yes,’ he said carefully. ‘Now I think about it, I did hear the herd really belonged to you.’

She dimpled at him. ‘And I dare say you also heard that I’ve tired of my silly whim and have no interest in them now.’

‘Oh! Not at all! That is, not exactly…’

‘There is no need to perjure yourself, Mr Tallant,’ she said, with amusement. ‘The rumour was put about by my husband. He didn’t think it was a very ladylike pursuit. He hoped that, if enough people said it, it would turn out to be true. But I assure you it’s not.’ She glanced around her. ‘This is not really the place to discuss such matters, and I see Ottoline raising her eyebrows at me, so I had better go and see what she wants. But I am in Town for another week, staying here with the Morrells. Come and see me, and perhaps we’ll find we can do business together. Come on Tuesday, at half past three.’

She gave him a nod and walked away without waiting to hear his agreement. Richard was bemused. Her changes of tone were unexpected and intriguing. Which was the real Lady Shacklock? The brisk and practical, or the indiscreet and slightly flirtatious? A little of her perfume lingered on the air. She was, as he had said to Mawes Morris, very handsome, with her ivory skin, dark hair and eyes of an unusual light blue with a dark rim around the iris. He must be careful not to be drawn in.

But talking about milk yields, calving, mastitis, udder-washing and the importance of bucket scouring was not at all romantic. He thought he would be safe enough.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Kitty had to fight feelings of guilt as Miss Eddowes was shown into the Peacock Room. Her emotions were still raised from the unpleasantness that had preceded the princess’s departure, and the part of her that had been brought up always to be good found it hard to defy a parent’s strictures. But her mother-in-law had had no right to dictate whom she might or might not receive – and what Maud could find to object to in this prosaic woman anyway was a mystery. Kitty had put off the ‘appointment’, feeling too upset to go ahead with it, but now she was on a more even keel she had made a new one.

Refreshments were offered and refused. Miss Eddowes looked around and said, ‘What a pretty room this is. I have never seen it before.’

‘It is my private sitting-room,’ Kitty said. ‘I thought it would be more pleasant for us than the drawing-room. Have you been to the Castle before, then?’

‘Oh, yes, many times, but only for public gatherings. There used to be a ball here every summer at the end of the annual fair. And at one time the house was open to the public for two days a week – just the main saloons, the library and the state bedroom. I remember money was raised in that way to build the cottage hospital – oh, which reminds me, Lady Stainton, I’m sorry to report that John Weaver died yesterday.’

‘I’m sorry to hear it,’ Kitty said.

‘Yes, it was a sad end, poor man, but not unexpected. That brings the number to twenty-six dead, twenty-seven if you count Mrs Sweeting’s miscarriage – though that might have happened anyway,’ she added fairly. ‘A collection is being raised for the relief of Weaver’s widow.’

‘Of course I will make a donation.’

‘Thank you. But that is not what I came here to discuss.’ She gave Kitty a hesitant look, as though wondering whether the course she was about to embark on was wise.

Kitty felt a tremor of apprehension, but it was laced with curiosity. Was she about to find out what the princess held against Miss Eddowes? ‘Please, go ahead,’ she said.

‘There is a scheme which is especially dear to my heart,’ Miss Eddowes began, ‘and I hope very much that I can persuade you to involve yourself with it. Your predecessor, I’m afraid, was very hostile to the idea, and there are several in the neighbourhood who do not approve. I fancy there are others who would condemn the scheme if they knew about it, so I am careful to judge which people I approach, and I keep it secret from the rest. If you find you do not care to help, I do ask you, in simple charity, not to talk about it.’

Kitty looked her surprise. ‘I don’t think I can promise to keep a secret if it’s something wrong or disgraceful,’ she said doubtfully.

‘Christian compassion can never be disgraceful. There may be elements of disgrace in the human misery that requires it, but all the more reason, in my view, to do all one can to relieve it.’

‘I don’t understand you,’ Kitty said.

‘Of course not. May I tell you, please, a story, by way of illustration?’ Kitty made an uncertain gesture of assent. ‘When I was a child,’ Miss Eddowes went on, ‘there was a housemaid at Weldon House of whom I grew very fond. She was the one who lit the bedroom fires in the morning. I always woke early, and used to watch her without her knowing. It was hard, dirty work, but she always seemed so cheerful. One morning she started singing as she worked – quietly but evidently without realising she was doing it. Suddenly she saw me watching and stopped, and her face was transformed with fear. She begged me not to be angry with her for waking me. She thought I would complain about her and she would lose her job.’

‘Would she have?’ Kitty asked.