Page 54 of The Fortunes of Ashmore Castle

‘It’s almost too hot to ride,’ Kitty said, checking Apollo as he objected to a carriage and pair coming the other way. The two ladies in the open landau were wearing light summer dresses and shading themselves with frilly parasols. ‘Riding habits are so heavy.’

‘It’s a good thing you’re going down to the country, then,’ said Nina. She glanced back. ‘I can see our grooms disapprove of our being here. Yours looks quite thunderous.’

‘Oh, that’s just Josh’s way. He always looks cross. And he hates London. He won’t have to suffer much longer, anyway. This will be my last ride. He’s taking the horses down this afternoon, and I’ll be leaving with the children tomorrow.’

‘Hm. I suppose I might as well send mine back tomorrow. Without you to ride with, it won’t be as much fun. And you’re right about riding habits. I feel like a pudding wrapped up for boiling!’

‘I wish you would come down to Ashmore with me. It’s been lovely seeing so much of you, but it’s never enough.’

‘Dear Kitty! But I’ve engagements all week, and then we’re invited to the Isle of Wight. My friend Bobby Wharfedale’s father has taken the house there again for the summer for the whole family, and they’ve asked us. I had such a lovely time last year.’

‘And Mr Cowling’s going too?’ Kitty asked.

‘He’ll come and go, as business allows.’

‘Doesn’t business let up even in August?’

‘Hardly at all,’ Nina said. ‘People still want to buy things in August. Your housekeeper wouldn’t be happy if there was suddenly no jam.’

‘The Castle makes its own,’ Kitty said.

Nina smiled at her literalness. ‘Not your housekeeper, then, but other housekeepers and housewives. And what about all the picnics that would have to be called off if there was no fish paste for the sandwiches?’

Kitty was about to say Mrs Webster didn’t buy fish paste either, but changed it at the last moment to ‘It seems a strange sort of life, seeing so little of your husband.’

‘You said you didn’t see very much of yours,’ Nina said. ‘Isn’t he always busy?’

‘Yes, but he’s there . At the Castle. I see him at dinner and up in the nursery before the dressing bell.

And we’ll be entertaining once I’m back, Saturday-to-Monday parties, so I’ll see a lot more of him.

’ Always with other people around. But perhaps that was best, having guests as a buffer between them.

She was still not certain where she stood with him after their quarrel, though he had apologised.

And she had the boys – poor Nina didn’t have a child to fill her life.

‘You are happy, aren’t you?’ she concluded wistfully. ‘I worry that—’

‘Don’t,’ Nina said. She turned to look at Kitty. ‘I don’t suppose marriage is the way either of us expected, but we can’t change things. And I have a lot to be thankful for, so let’s leave it at that.’

‘I wish you would come to Ashmore instead of the Isle of Wight,’ Kitty said.

Nina was afraid there was some hurt there, but it was best if she didn’t spend too much time in close quarters with Giles. ‘Perhaps later in the summer?’ she said lightly.

‘We go to Scotland in September,’ Kitty said.

‘Well, later in the year, then. For the shooting. Or perhaps you could come to Market Harborough for the hunting. Don’t worry, darling, we’ll catch up with each other,’ Nina said. ‘Shall we canter? The breeze might cool us down.’

As Richard walked along Bruton Street, he saw two shabby figures leaning against the railings opposite Grandmère’s house.

He might have taken them for burglars reconnoitring, except that one was obviously a photographer – a camera was too large an object to conceal – which made the other one a reporter.

His temper rose. He pulled his hat low over his face and sauntered innocently, and managed to creep up close enough to leap forward and make a grab for the camera before they realised what was happening.

‘Give me that, you sneaking dog!’

‘Oy! Leggo! You’ll break it!’ The camera’s owner tightened his grip and tried to wrest it away.

‘What the hell d’you think you’re doing?’ the reporter shouted, joining the fray. He grabbed Richard’s shoulder; Richard had seized the photographer’s collar with his spare hand, his other hand on the camera strap; they writhed to and fro in a bunch.

‘You mangy sneaks! I’ll see you taken up!’ Richard panted. His hat had come off and bowled into the gutter.

‘Just – doing – our – job, guv’nor!’ the photographer gasped.

‘What’s got into you? Let him go, I warn you!

’ the reporter panted. He had Richard by both shoulders and Richard felt his coat coming off.

One or two passers-by had stopped, an elderly lady was tutting, while a smart man was murmuring a dismayed ‘Oh, I say!’ over and over.

A passing carter had pulled up his horse and was shouting with interest, ‘Go it, Jack! Black his eye! Draw his cork!’ though it was not clear which side he was encouraging.

Richard let go of the photographer in mid-yank and the man went over backwards, sprawling on the pavement, desperately holding up his camera to protect it.

In the same movement Richard let his arms slip out of his coat, causing the other man to stagger, spun on his heels and threw a punch at his face.

He misjudged the distance and his fist only grazed the reporter’s cheek; the reporter regained his balance and came forward and hit out at Richard, catching the end of his nose.

Richard yelled with pain and felt a wet trickle of blood.

And then there was another figure in the mêlée, the large, blue-black, reassuring presence of a policeman, who caught the reporter by his collar and almost lifted him off the ground, took in Richard’s quality by a glance at his clothes, and boomed, ‘That’s enough of that!

Stand still, the lot of you! What’s going on here?

Stand still, I said,’ he added to the reporter, giving him a shake like a large dog with a rat.

‘Are you hurt, sir?’ he asked Richard, who had taken out a handkerchief and was staunching his nose.

‘What is it, a robbery? You, on the ground, stay still! I’ll tell you when to get up. ’

‘I’m all right,’ Richard said. ‘I’m Richard Tallant – that’s my grandmother’s house, and these two’ve been hanging about watching it. They’re up to no good.’

‘We’re reporters,’ cried the man, his voice slightly strangled by the upward pull on his collar. ‘We’re with the Bugle . We’re just doing our job.’

‘And I’m just doing mine,’ the policeman said. ‘D’you want to press charges, sir? Common assault?’ He gave the collar another shake. ‘Blood has been drawn. The magistrate will take a serious view of that.’

Richard considered quickly. His grandmother wouldn’t like it – and at the moment, her whole purpose was to avoid publicity. ‘No, Constable,’ he said, ‘as long as these two make off and don’t come back.’

‘Just as you like, sir,’ the policeman said, releasing the reporter. ‘Go on, then, clear off! Before I change my mind. And don’t let me catch you round here again.’

Muttering angrily, brushing themselves down, the two moved away, while the policeman watched them with the massive indifference of a stone wall. The rest of the onlookers drifted away. Richard put his coat back on, picked up his misshapen hat, and said, ‘Thank you, officer.’

‘Next time,’ the policeman said, looking down at him kindly, ‘send for the police. Don’t try and deal with it yourself. You might have taken a pasting, sir. And I don’t think Lady Stainton would have liked that.’

Richard raised an eyebrow. ‘You know?’

‘This is my beat, sir. I know everyone on it. And I collared a burglar here once many years ago. She was nice enough to commend me. A very fine lady, Lady Stainton – one of the old school.’

‘She is.’

‘Give her ladyship my respects, if you please. And tell her I’ll keep an eye on the house for the next few days, to make sure they don’t come back.’

Grandmère sipped her linden tea, and looked at Richard over the rim of the cup as he soothed his nerves with a brandy and soda. ‘You are not a fit sight for a drawing-room,’ she mentioned.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said, a little shakily. ‘But I couldn’t ignore them.’

She made a graceful gesture of her hand. ‘It is good to have a champion. But we had better rely on the police in future. There will be more of them, I am sure. The case comes on in the Court for Divorce today. It creates . . . an interest.’

‘In Sir Thomas, not in you,’ Richard said. ‘He should be the one to be hounded. Why should you suffer?’

‘Someone at the newspaper has discovered our long association,’ said Grandmère, who despite her calm voice was not as unmoved by the situation as she wished to appear.

‘And perhaps they have found also that I took up the girl, encouraged her. It is une histoire . They all want that. Une histoire de coeurs brisés .’

He was upset. ‘Yours is not broken, surely? I thought it was the dérangement that you disliked.’

She shrugged. ‘I dislike every part of it. But the newspapers will want a broken heart somewhere. They are looking in the wrong place, however. Did I tell you I went to see Violet Burton?’

‘No, you didn’t. Was that wise?’

‘She is an old friend. One felt one should show her some attention in all of this.’

‘Not a friend, surely – an acquaintance at best.’

‘ Nous nous sommes toujours entendues ,’ she said, evading the question. ‘We had much in common.’

‘Yes, her husband,’ Richard said wryly. ‘Come, Granny, you detested her, admit it!’

‘Not at all. She was necessary to our relationship. You do not understand. And don’t call me Granny.’

‘But what were you hoping to achieve by visiting her?’

‘She was the only one who could stop the madness. And I did not believe she understood what she was doing. I wondered, was she being pressed to do it? She is not une femme d’esprit fort . And he can be hard to resist.’

‘And what did you discover?’