Page 68 of The Affairs of Ashmore Castle (Ashmore Castle #2)
Decius had found a flat in St James’s Square, handy for Mr Cowling’s clubs, where he did a lot of business, and for Jermyn Street and Piccadilly, where a great many gentlemen’s outfitters were located.
The new section of the Market Harborough factory had started operations, and he was eager to promote the art-silk socks and get them into the shops.
Decius had had to rent it for the whole quarter, but Mr Cowling did not regard the cost. It was on the first floor, with good high ceilings, long windows and fine plasterwork: a large drawing-room, a dining-room, a bedroom, a dressing-room, and a bathroom.
The flat had gaslight, and there was running cold water into the bath, though hot water, if wanted, still had to be brought up.
There was a resident housekeeper downstairs, and a porter who carried up coals and water and dealt with any running repairs, and there were bedrooms in the attics for the personal servants of the renters – they had brought Moxton and Tina.
As for food, anything could be ordered in from the multitude of local restaurants if they wanted to eat at home.
‘It’s quite comfortable, at least, for a short visit,’ Nina said, as she and Kitty pushed the perambulator around the gardens in Berkeley Square, with Trump running ahead and exploring.
It had seriously agitated the nursery staff that her ladyship wanted to take the baby out herself.
Nanny had quite modern views, and thought it good for babies to get fresh air every morning, but mothers were meant to occupy only a decorative role in the child’s life, after the essential one of giving birth.
The day-to-day care of a child belonged in the hands of the professional, and even after Kitty had put her foot down and asserted that she would push the baby-carriage herself, they had still wanted nursemaid Jessie and a footman to accompany her, walking a pace behind and ready to jump in and extract little Lord Ayton at the first hint of disaster.
It had taken all her persistence for Kitty to veto that.
‘I don’t know what they thought I was going to do,’ she had grumbled to Nina when they met in the gardens. ‘Crash the perambulator into a tree, I suppose.’
‘Or abandon it, screaming, when approached by a large dog,’ Nina had improvised.
‘Be sure you choose your own nursery staff when your turn comes, so you can make it plain who is in charge,’ Kitty advised. She gave Nina a hopeful look. ‘I suppose you’re not . . . ? I mean, is there any sign?’
‘No,’ said Nina. ‘But I haven’t been married a year yet.’
Kitty sighed. ‘I was pregnant within weeks. It would have been nice to have enjoyed things a bit first. But,’ she brightened, ‘Louis is such a glorious baby, one can’t repine.’
The great plane trees in the garden were turning, and enormous bronze-edged, yellow leaves were drifting down and spangling the emerald grass.
A sailor-suited child ran past them in deep concentration, bowling a hoop with a stick.
A squirrel skittered across the path in front of them with some kind of nut in its mouth, almost under the nose of Trump, who was too surprised to chase it until it was already safely up a tree.
They left him barking in a face-saving way and walked on.
Nina had been describing the rented flat.
‘Did I mention that Mr Cowling said he’s going to sell the house in Northampton?
He says since I don’t like it, he can stay in an hotel when he has to visit the factory there.
And he’s thinking of taking a place in London, so that we can come up whenever we like.
He doesn’t like the idea of my staying in hotels. ’
‘Will you like that? Coming to London, I mean?’
‘Market Harborough is very nice, but one wants a change now and then. And there’s so much to do in London. It’s been fun going to the theatre again.’
They had seen The Man From Blankley’s – a very complicated play full of mistaken identities and mysterious strangers – and The Orchid , a romantic musical comedy, which Mr Cowling had loved, though Nina would have preferred something weightier to stretch her mind.
They had also seen La Bohème, which she had loved though it had tried Mr Cowling’s patience, and La Fille Mal Gardée at the Royal Opera House, which they’d both enjoyed.
And still to come was Gounod’s Faust . Kitty, Giles, Richard and Alice were going to the same performance.
‘Richard says it’s a great pity that Caruso is in New York this autumn, because his performance last year was beyond compare.
’ Kitty wrinkled her nose. ‘He says that sort of thing, now he’s become a musical expert.
Alice says he’s shockingly bogus, because he never cared a jot about music until last week.
Mother-in-law deplores slang, and tells Alice to mind her language, and Alice says if they’d only leave her at home they’d never have to hear her speak again, slang or otherwise.
She hates London, poor girl – though she’s probably the most musical of all of us.
She did actually enjoy the recital at the Levens’, while Rachel had difficulty in staying awake. ’
‘They’re not going to Faust , Rachel and Lady Stainton?’
‘No, there’s a card evening at Lady Vaine’s that important people are going to be at.’
Nina laughed, and slipped her hand through Kitty’s arm. ‘Aren’t we lucky that we don’t need to meet important people any more? The great advantage of being married.’
‘Well, we don’t need to,’ Kitty allowed, ‘but you still do. Mr Cowling seems to know everyone. All the parties you’ve been to this past week!
And much cleverer people – people who actually do things, rather than just people with titles, like Mother-in-law knows.
I often think Giles would prefer Mr Cowling’s circle.
When I see him trying not to yawn at some of the receptions and dinners we go to, it makes me glad I don’t have a brain. ’
‘Darling Kitty, you do have a brain, and a very good one,’ said Nina. ‘Otherwise you wouldn’t have been one of Miss Thornton’s “special girls”.’
‘You’re very loyal,’ Kitty said with a fond smile, ‘but you know I’m not brainy like you. Oh dear, that’s another slang word I’ve caught from Alice. Mother-in-law would have a fit.’
Mr Cowling received Giles at the St James’s Square flat. He would have met him anywhere, but Giles had said he would wait on him at home, secretly wanting to see the place where Nina was living so that he could imagine her there.
They had met several times since he came to London, though their exposure to each other had been brief in every case – the merest exchange of a few words at a social gathering before the crowds parted them.
It was safer that way; but there was a devil in Giles – buried, but not quite deeply enough – that wanted to push against the barriers of safety.
The confines of his life and the straitjacket of responsibility irked him.
His devil wanted to cut loose, take mad chances, and run – that most of all.
The estate held him back. His duty to the estate.
Without that, he could have married Nina, and they could have lived as best they might, as travellers, explorers – citizens of the world.
When he sat in Lady Something’s drawing-room, balancing a cup of coffee on his knee and listening to the meaningless chatter all around him, like the sound of flocking finches, he sometimes had a sensation of looking down at himself from above and wondering how he had ever come to this.
But he would do his duty. A further meeting with Vogel had convinced him that the canning idea was worth pursuing, and an approach by Vogel to Decius Blake had resulted in a message, in Cowling’s large, assertive hand, saying that he would meet him anywhere, at his pleasure.
It was only this morning, as he was about to set off, that he heard Nina would be calling for Kitty at the same hour.
In St James’s Square, he learned that it was intentional.
‘Much better to discuss business without the ladies being present,’ Cowling said as Giles was shown in.
‘Can’t concentrate on what’s important if you’re worried about boring the fair sex – besides talk of money having a coarsening effect, which one wouldn’t want them exposed to. ’
‘Quite,’ Giles said, with a slight mental reservation that he would have been able to talk about anything to Nina. Of course, if he had married her, there would have been no money to talk about anyway . . .
Mr Cowling was eager to show off the flat, while simultaneously seeming nervous that it was not good enough for his lordship.
‘A pretty aspect, and nice big windows – and the rooms are a good size. Of course, it’s only temporary – one can put up with a lot when it’s only for a few weeks, and normally I wouldn’t think of a flat of this sort, without one’s own servants.
But it’s all kept spotless – Mrs Rice sees to that, and she employs good girls. ’
Giles was embarrassed by the topic. ‘I know you’re a busy man, so perhaps we should get down to business. I wonder if you’ve had a chance to think about the plan Vogel put to your man?’