Page 39 of The Affairs of Ashmore Castle (Ashmore Castle #2)
July heat lay over the land. The far fields shimmered with it; the woods stood motionless.
Sunlight glinted blindingly off anything that reflected – a fragment of quartz, a glimpse of river, a distant window.
The last of winter’s rut-ridges broke down under passing wheels and hoofs, and dust hung knee high, with no movement of air to disperse it.
Sheep lay up under the strip of shade afforded by walls and hedges; horses and cattle gathered under trees, listlessly whisking their tails and flicking their ears.
Even the birds hid in the hedges in the middle of the day.
But for mankind it was hay time, and their measure was to toil in the sun, not rest in the shade.
Giles was heading out of the back door when he saw Kitty coming towards him.
Her face lit at the sight of him. She was pushing the old perambulator in which he thought he himself had once been taken for air by nursery-maids.
His mother, he could feel reasonably certain, would never have pushed it herself.
The dogs surged briefly round Kitty, then ran on to investigate walls and gate posts for new smells.
‘Is that really my old pram?’ Giles exclaimed. It was like a miniature carriage, with a coach-built body, high, thin wheels like a phaeton, and a leather hood.
Kitty looked anxious. ‘Isn’t it all right to use it? John Manley got it out for me and cleaned it up.’
‘Of course you can use it,’ he said with faint impatience. ‘I’m just surprised it has survived so long. Are you going in now?’
‘Yes – I wanted him to have his airing early, before it gets too hot.’
Giles bent to look at his son, propped up on his pillows.
Louis had recently learned to smile, and did so now, beaming gummily at his father.
Giles gave him a finger to grasp, and felt the familiar pang that was a mixture of pleasure and pain.
He did not want to feel so much for this small person – it made him vulnerable.
But the baby’s smile was impossible not to respond to, and when he smiled back, Louis chuckled and beat his hands and feet in the air as if overcome with delight.
Giles could not imagine that he had ever exchanged such moments with his own father.
Kitty said, ‘You’ve been busy this morning.’ It wasn’t a question. He hadn’t even looked in at family breakfast.
He straightened up. ‘A bundle of accounts from the bank. Among them a large number of bills from my esteemed mother. I’m at a loss to know how anyone can wear as many clothes as she seems to think Rachel needs.’
‘I suppose, moving in those circles, they have to change several times a day,’ Kitty said doubtfully.
‘She’s spending a fortune. Doubtless she would call it an investment, a necessary outlay to secure Rachel a rich husband,’ he said drily. ‘Do you hear from them?’
‘I don’t. Rachel writes to Alice now and then, but she doesn’t show me the letters.’
‘Ah yes, Alice. I suppose we’ll have to go through all this again when she comes out.’
‘Perhaps not. She says she doesn’t want to get married.’
‘She says that now, but she’s still a child. And she’ll have to marry – what else is there for her to do?’
Kitty didn’t like to say, She can stay here. There’s plenty of room . She knew Giles would not agree, and it was so lovely talking to him, she didn’t want to argue with him and drive him away. So she said nothing.
Giles cocked his head at her. ‘I don’t know how you feel about having your fortune squandered on your sisters-in-law. When you don’t even have a new baby-carriage for your son.’
‘It’s your fortune now,’ Kitty said robustly. ‘And I’m glad Louis has your old perambulator. I like to think of you lying there years ago. It’s – tradition.’
He leaned over and kissed her cheek. ‘You’re very sweet. Take the young master in, then. I’m off up to High Ashmore to see how the haysel is going.’
He strode away, thinking she was obviously happy in her own little world, so he didn’t need to worry about her.
He remembered briefly their time of passion, just after they were married, and it seemed like a story, something that had happened to someone else.
He was glad Kitty had presented him with an heir, and he supposed at some point they ought to make a spare, but there was no hurry. He could put it off, and was happy to.
He had been sexually innocent when they married, and Kitty had unlocked the mystery for him, for which he had been grateful and moved.
But a year on, he understood that his pleasure in the act had come from the act itself, and was not actually dependent on Kitty.
And he was too busy now, and too tired at the end of the day, to miss it.
With the fog of sexual pleasure cleared from his head, he knew, as he had known before, that he did not love her.
He was fond of her, and grateful to her, and had both the wish and the intention of protecting her and making her happy.
But he had no intellectual connection with her.
And the same went for the estate. The work and the worry and the responsibility were enormous, absorbed his waking hours and sent him weary to his bed, but he was aware that at some deep level he was bored.
Activity was not the same as interest. To be constantly busy was not the same as to be satisfied.
He cared for the estate, and had both the wish and the intention of protecting it and nursing it back to health. But he did not love it.
‘Come, dogs,’ he said, and Tiger and Isaac left off their sniffing to bound after him, as he headed for the stables and Vipsania, to ride up to High Ashmore Farm.
The nursery-maid, Jessie, was waiting for Kitty in the back hall to relieve her of the baby – God forfend she should carry him upstairs herself! Having parted grudgingly with her child, she left the perambulator for someone to put away, and went through to the main hall to go up to her room.
Kitty was indeed almost entirely happy. She adored Louis, and apart from the occasional tussle with Nanny and Jessie over whose baby he actually was, he filled most of her days.
The garden plans were taking shape and promised to use up years of her life.
And she was enjoying putting into action her scheme for refurbishing the house.
Every morning, after Mrs Webster had pretended to consult her on the day’s menus, they would check the list they had compiled between them and decide what item to tackle next.
And during the day, they would make inspections of work carrying out, and decide on new areas that needed attention.
Very slowly, very carefully, a love-lier house was being revealed as layers of neglect were rubbed away.
Kitty had the feeling that Mrs Webster approved of the whole process.
It gave her more courage to face the eventual return of the dowager, to know she had someone on her side.
When she reached the main staircase she was pleased to see the estate carpenter, Gale, at work on the section of the handrail that had been damaged.
A noticeable piece had been chipped out of it, and it had evidently happened some time ago, for the inside of the wound was not raw but had absorbed polish over what she guessed had been many years.
Gale had cut a short section out of the handrail and had made a new piece to match, which he was now fitting in.
She stopped to talk to him. ‘How beautifully you’ve done it,’ she said. The curve and groove exactly matched those of the old rail.
He gave her a pleased look. ‘Once I’ve rubbed it down and varnished it, m’lady, you won’t be able to see the join.’ He patted the rail like a favourite horse. ‘Grand piece of work, this old staircase. Heart of the house. You got to take care of things like this, m’lady, in my opinion.’
‘I agree. I was sorry to see this damage left so long.’
‘Must be twenty-odd year, m’lady, near enough.’
‘Do you know how it was caused, then?’
‘I do, m’lady. It was his lordship and Mr Richard, playing at pirates.
They were fighting with cutlasses, and Mr Richard was driving his lordship backwards up the stairs.
He took a swish at him and missed, and chopped a bit out of the handrail, like what you saw.
O’ course, they were just lads, never meaning no harm.
They’d be about eight or nine year old, m’lady, and proper little tearaways, like you’d never believe nowadays, now they’re grown men. ’
Kitty’s look betrayed her astonishment. ‘But were they allowed to play with real weapons when they were just children?’
‘Not as you might say allowed , m’lady, but there used to be a whole collection of old swords and pikes and suchlike on the walls of the hall, hung up like a sort of decoration, and they’d took them down for their play without asking.
Got a thrashing each for it when his old lordship found out.
Course, they’re all gone now, m’lady, the swords and such, as you’ll know. ’
‘Taken away because they were dangerous?’ Kitty hazarded.
‘Sold,’ Gales said shortly. ‘I believe a museum took ’em.
’ He gave Kitty a look both significant and conspiratorial.
So many things in the house had been sold.
He ran his hand lovingly over the handrail and said, ‘It’s good to see the old house being looked after again.
’Twas my great-grandfather first carved that termination, m’lady, did you know? ’
‘No, I didn’t,’ she said politely.
‘Gales’ve been carpenters here for generations, m’lady. This termination, see, it’s what’s called a ram’s horn – see the way it curls over, m’lady, just like a ram’s horn?’
‘Yes, I see.’
‘But this one’s a little bit different, you see, because right in the middle of the centre curl – see here, m’lady?’ A thick finger indicated and she bent to look. ‘See, it’s a clock, with the hands set at five minutes to midnight.’