Page 50 of The Affairs of Ashmore Castle (Ashmore Castle #2)

He paused. She frowned a little. ‘Did—?’ she began, and stopped, too shy to go on.

‘Yes, my dear. Ask what you wish,’ he said kindly.

‘Did he die?’ she managed.

‘No, no! The legend is that where the drops of his blood fell, new roses grew.’

‘Oh,’ she said.

‘A beautiful story, is it not?’ She shook her head, just slightly, as though she were thinking. ‘Don’t you think it’s a beautiful story?’

‘I think it’s rather cruel,’ she said in a small voice.

‘You are mistaken! The king of the birds and the queen of the flowers together created the lovely rose that we admire today. That is the purpose of the story.’

‘Oh,’ she said again. ‘I don’t understand things much,’ she apologised. ‘You know such a lot, Mr Moss. I think you must know everything there is.’

His heart swelled. ‘Not everything,’ he said playfully. ‘I can’t claim to have more than scratched the surface. But knowledge is power, my dear. You must take every opportunity of learning, just as I have all my life. You must Better Yourself, as I have.’

‘I could never be like you, Mr Moss,’ she murmured.

‘I will help you,’ he said. ‘You have a young, eager mind, and I shall take delight in shaping it.’ He searched for something new to tell her. ‘The Canons Ashmore Fair, for instance – did you know it has been held every year for centuries past?’

‘Goodness!’ she said. ‘Has it?’

‘In mediaeval times there would have been jousting – a game in which two men on horseback charged each other, armed with pikes, and tried to knock each other off. I believe it is still done in some places, though not here, of course.’

‘No, sir.’

‘But it must have been very exciting to watch. Very colourful, with the knights in their armour, plumes in their helmets, and the horses covered with wonderful coloured cloths, called comparisons. You remember the picture I showed you, of the elephant in brightly coloured ceremonial robes?’

‘Yes, Mr Moss,’ she said dutifully.

‘It’s the same sort of thing,’ he explained.

‘But the elephant’s robes are called a palladin, while on the horse it was called a comparison.

’ They walked on, down towards the village, and he unpacked more treasures of his mind and laid them before her.

He had stored them up over many years, and here at last was someone worthy of receiving them.

She would understand the fair better, and get so much more benefit out of the day.

But it would not be all learning: he would make sure she partook of some of the more seemly entertainments, too.

Perhaps even the merry-go-round. He could not compromise his dignity by riding on a horse or a cockerel, but he thought fondly of watching her go past him, seated on a galloping horse, her cheeks pink and her eyes sparkling with excitement, waving to him each time she passed in her innocent pleasure.

And when the ride stopped and he helped her down, she would look up at him with such warm gratitude, and he might take her hand for a moment – just to steady her, because she would be a little unsteady after the whirling about . . .

William saw Tabby at last, coming round from behind the furthest beer tent, which was set up against the boundary hedge of Poor’s Field, beyond which was farmland and the looming back of Jasper Poor’s big October barn.

He was so pleased to see her, he did not think to wonder what she had been doing there.

‘I been looking everywhere for you!’ he exclaimed.

‘Have you, then? Well, here I am,’ she said, brushing down her skirt, and putting up a hand to feel her hair and push in a pin. It was such a feminine movement, it enchanted him, no less because raising her arm made her breast move delightfully under her blouse.

Her blouse – which, he noticed with faint surprise, was mis-buttoned, the topmost hole orphaned and hanging loose.

And then he noticed her expression. She seemed to be distracted, as though thinking about something important, but at the same time angry.

Her lips were pressed tight together, her eyes bright with it, her cheeks redder than usual.

‘Are you all right?’ he asked shyly.

‘Course I am,’ she snapped.

‘Only you look upset. And you got your blouse done up wrong,’

She glanced down, then after a moment’s pause up and into his eyes.

Slowly her expression changed. The tight angry look went, and she smiled at him – in a rather strained way, but he was not particular.

A smile was a smile. ‘Look at me, so I have!’ she said.

‘’Twas an old wasp, see, come buzzing around, and it crawled right down my neck.

I was that scared, I pulled me buttons undone to get ’un out, and then I was in such a tizzy, I must’ve done it up all wrong. ’

‘It didn’t sting you, did it?’ he asked anxiously.

‘No, ’twas just one of them old dummel wasps. They’re dopey at this time of year.’

‘But they can still sting you!’

‘I know. That’s why I wanted ’un out. But ’twas all right. Nice of you to worry about me, though,’ she added, stepping a little closer and gazing up at him. ‘Makes me think maybe you’re a bit soft on me – are you?’

‘More’n a bit,’ he mumbled. Holding his gaze, she felt for her buttons, undid the top three, and rebuttoned them correctly.

During the process he was able to look down the soft, secret cavern between her breasts, and his stomach turned to water.

‘Much more’n a bit. I – I think about you all the time, Tab.

I think you’re beautiful and good and – and—’

She laid a hand on his arm. ‘I like you too, William. In fact, I’m thinking we ought to start walking out proper. What do you think?’

‘Oh, Tab, it’d be just – just—’ He couldn’t think of a fine enough word.

She slipped her hand through his arm, and turned with him towards the rest of the fair. ‘That’s settled then. You’re my feller, then, and I’m your girl.’

‘Oh, Tab!’

‘And I tell you what, William. My mum’s here somewhere. We ought to find her and introduce you to her. Make it all official-like.’

She glanced behind her, and he glanced too, automatically, but she tugged his arm, demanding his attention. ‘What d’you think? Would you like that?’

‘If you think it’s right,’ William said.

He thought he’d caught a glimpse of someone else coming round from the back of the tent, but he hadn’t really had time to see properly, and looking down at her and her soft lips and even softer bosom, spilling generously over the top of her blouse, every other thought was banished from his mind.

Tabby Mattock wanted to walk out with him.

With him ! – the one Mr Speen called ‘Daft William’.

Not so daft now, was he? Oh no!

He was walking on air.