Page 51 of The Affairs of Ashmore Castle (Ashmore Castle #2)

Despite being escorted around the fair, Kitty enjoyed the occasion. It was so good to be out and about, and to see people having fun. She even enjoyed the prize-giving, playing at lady-of-the-manor. Despite her title and fine clothes, it still felt like playing.

In the carriage on the way home, Giles said, ‘Well, that’s over for another year. We did our duty for a good cause.’

‘Was it unpleasant for you?’ Kitty asked. ‘I saw you managed to get away from the committee at one point – with that tall, thin man.’

‘That was Lord Shacklock,’ Giles said. ‘I forgot you’ve never met him.’

‘But I know who he is. He owns Ashridge Park, and you bought his hunters.’

‘That’s right. I slipped away with him to have a look at one of his bulls. He breeds pedigreed shorthorns.’

‘Not the one that killed the postman?’ Alice put in.

‘How do you know about these things?’

‘Everyone was talking about it. Caesar – wasn’t that its name?’

‘The one at the show wasn’t Caesar,’ said Giles. ‘It’s a younger bull that he’s selling.’

‘Why is he selling it? Can’t he have two?’ Alice asked.

‘Of course. But you have to sell your home-bred bulls from time to time and buy new ones from outside the herd, or you get too much in-breeding. This young bull was a magnificent creature. A roan – they’re the best. I almost bought it myself.’

‘Why do you want a bull?’ Kitty asked.

‘To improve our stock, of course,’ Giles said patiently. ‘The tenants use any old bull to get their cows in calf, and even if they wanted to, they couldn’t afford a good one of their own. But if I bought it, and lent it out to them . . .’

‘But what difference does a good bull make?’ Kitty asked.

‘Stronger, healthier calves, which grow up into healthier cows that give more milk. Better milk, too.’

‘I see. So why didn’t you buy this bull, then?’

‘I need to talk to Markham and Adeane about it first. But when the time comes, I shall certainly have a look first at what Shacklock’s got. That really was a beautiful animal.’

Giles had a dreamy look, as if he had fallen in love.

Alice thought of the animal she had wanted to buy, and shut her lips firmly on any possible mention of it.

Nothing about it was beautiful – unless it had a beautiful soul.

But there had been love involved in that transaction, too. Love of a sort.

James Hook walked past the valets’ room and, seeing Crooks in there, turned and went in to do a bit of tormenting.

He was feeling restless and bored. When he had wangled his way into being his lordship’s valet, he had assumed there would be a life of travel, parties, house-visits and such, where he could throw a bit of swank and, not incidentally, make a bit of money on the side.

But his lordship didn’t seem to want to go anywhere, except around the estate day after day, which gave no opportunities for a gentleman’s gentleman to show his feathers.

It had always been his way to take out his humours on those weaker than himself, so now he propped himself at the end of the table, where Crooks was engaged in polishing a pair of boots, and said, ‘So, Crooky, you missed the fair.’

‘Don’t call me Crooky,’ the elderly valet said automatically.

‘Bet you’re cheesed off. Not much fun going on in this place to start with, and you go and miss a big slice of it.’

‘I’ve been to fairs before,’ Crooks said, rubbing in loving, rhythmic circles. He enjoyed polishing boots, seeing the high, mirror-like gloss slowly appear. It was an art. Young bucks like Hook hadn’t the patience or the dedication. It was all rush and hurry and get-it-done-quick with them.

‘I’ve had dinner before, doesn’t mean I don’t want another one,’ Hook said. ‘Must have galled you, having to go to Henley, that weekend of all weekends. What did the old fool want there, anyway? It’s not his usual time.’

‘You will kindly refer to my master in a proper manner,’ Crooks snapped.

‘Oh, I will, will I?’

‘And I fancy a gentleman can go and visit his own house without asking your permission.’

‘You fancy ? Gawd, you bleat like an old nanny-goat, Crooky, and that’s a fact!

But there’s nothing on in Henley in August. Full of day-trippers, I shouldn’t wonder.

What’d he go there for?’ Crooks didn’t answer.

‘Look, I’m sorry I called him an old fool.

He’s a very nice gentleman, all right? So what did he go for? ’

Crooks unbent slightly. If you didn’t talk to your fellow-servants, you didn’t get much conversation at all.

‘He went to see what condition his house was in. A house that’s not lived in much can get a bit neglected.

There were a few things that needed putting right – a cracked window pane here and a slipped roof tile there.

But he feels it needs smartening up. A bit shabby, he thought. ’

Hook’s ears pricked. ‘Dickying up his house, is he? Oho! And why would he want to do that, I wonder? I smell a woman in it. Thinking of getting married, is he?’

‘I should not be so impertinent as to speculate on the matter,’ Crooks said loftily.

‘Come off it, Crooky! You’re as curious as an old woman when it comes to a bit of gossip about them upstairs. So don’t set yourself up as better than the rest of us.’ He glanced at the valet’s hands, and said, ‘You and your monogrammed brushes, and your special cloth! Who d’you think you are?’

‘I don’t think, I know. I am a gentleman’s personal gentleman, and I know my place.

’ Glancing up, he saw Hook’s sneer, and added angrily, ‘You, however, do not know your place, because you’re not worthy of one.

And you are not a gentleman of any sort, whatever airs you give yourself.

You’re a jumped-up footman, and what you know about valeting could be written on the back of a postage stamp.

I’ve seen the state you let his lordship’s boots go out in, and it’s a disgrace! ’

Hook hadn’t thought Crooks could rile him, but he didn’t like being called a footman – those days were long behind him.

‘I know a damn sight more about everything than you do, you old ninny! And before you talk about his lordship’s boots, you should have a look at your own.

’ And before Crooks could anticipate the action, he reached a long arm forward and snatched the boot he was polishing from his hands.

Fixing Crooks with his eye, he clamped his fingers round the back of the boot and pressed and twisted his thumbs on the highly polished surface.

‘Look at this!’ he crowed triumphantly, holding out the boot and pointing, jerking it away every time Crooks tried to grab it back.

‘Fingermarks! Fingermarks all over! What sort of work is this? Mr Sebastian’ll have a fit!

There’s a big old thumb print here, Crooky – greasy old thumbs everywhere! You’re useless, old man!’

Crooks managed to secure the thing at last, and bent over it, almost weeping.

It took hours of work to get rid of marks like that – days, even.

Layers and layers of polish, lovingly applied and buffed to a glow like the gleam in a spaniel’s eye .

. . Any valet knew better than to lay a finger on the leather, let alone grab it and mash your thumbs about.

It was a disaster! ‘What have you done?’ he wailed.

‘What have you done?’ Then he looked up, and for a moment there was a red glare of anger in his eyes that almost made Hook step backwards.

‘You’re a monster!’ Crooks hissed. ‘You don’t deserve to live! ’

‘Shut up, you old fool!’ Hook said, trying to sound contemptuous, but hearing it come out uneasy. ‘It’s only a boot, for God’s sake.’

Crook continued to look at him a moment longer with raw hatred. ‘I should like to kill you,’ he said. Then he turned away, taking his wounded boot back to the table. ‘Go away,’ he said, low and hard.

And seeing no more fun to be had, Hook went.

Monster, am I? he thought. I’ll give you monster .

He stalked on, thinking that this place was getting to be no fun at all any more.

Maybe it was time he moved on, found another place.

His present job wasn’t up to his standards, and that was a fact. He was wasted on Ashmore Castle.

‘Some sort of upset below stairs yesterday, wasn’t there?

’ Sebastian asked Dory, as she sat hemming a new chemise for Lady Alice.

He was playing very quietly, because the window was open and outside birds were singing.

He wasn’t following the music, really, just letting his hands wander, adapting the notes to the birdsong.

Dory looked up quizzically. ‘What makes you think that?’

‘I don’t think it, I know it. I was intimately involved. Or, rather, one of my boots was.’

She sighed. ‘That James Hook. He’s always at the bottom of everything.’

‘Crooks was almost in tears, apologising for the state of my left boot, though in justice I couldn’t see anything wrong with it. He said there were thumb-marks on the heel but I couldn’t see ’em.’

‘Considering Mr Crooks was up half the night polishing and rubbing and buffing, I should just about think there’d be nothing to see,’ Dory said.

‘So what happened?’

‘Hook made the marks deliberately, just to torment Mr Crooks,’ Dory said. ‘I shouldn’t tell you, because we’re supposed to stick together—’

‘But Hook doesn’t stick together, does he?’

‘No,’ said Dory. ‘So I don’t feel like sticking by him. All the same, sir, I’d be obliged if you wouldn’t tell anyone I peached.’

Sebastian laughed. ‘Now, who would I tell? I don’t talk to anyone but you.’

‘And Lady Alice.’

‘Lady Alice is as sound as a bell. But I wouldn’t tell her about below-stairs shenanigans.’