Page 7 of The Fortunes of Ashmore Castle

‘She’ll probably have passages booked,’ Giles said doubtfully.

‘Passages can be changed. Meanwhile, think. Plan. Negotiate. Come, Giles, show a little gumption. The game’s not over until stumps are drawn.’

Rachel rose and ran round the table to give him a damp kiss. ‘Do you really think something can be done?’

‘We’ll see, Puss, we’ll see.’ He met Giles’s eyes and gave the faintest of shrugs. Even if, in the long run, the result was the same, it shouldn’t be done in this way.

Giles understood the message. ‘Right,’ he said. ‘Delay.’

And you never knew what might happen. The dowager might change her mind. The unknown Russian might change his. Rachel might fall out of love, or Tullamore come into an unexpected fortune. A flaming meteor might destroy the earth and all their problems with it.

And it was certainly true that his mother a thousand miles away in Russia was less worrying than his mother actually in the house.

London was locked in fog. It came up from the Thames and met the chimney smoke coiling down to form a still grey blanket that muffled sounds and reduced vision to inches.

It made haloes round the streetlamps, beaded the railings and bare tree branches with dirty drops, condensed on the roads and pavements and made them slippery.

The sharp smell of horse-dung mixed with the sulphur of coal fires and the throat-clutching tang from exhaust pipes.

Motor-buses loomed suddenly like mastodons, their headlights like glowing eyes.

Timid pedestrians felt their way along railings; muttered curses told where bolder ones had collided with lampposts, pillarboxes or each other.

When Richard came up from the Underground at Piccadilly, there was a policeman with a flare directing traffic around the circus, which helped him get across.

But he had to feel his way along the wall through Air Street and Lower John Street, and only knew he had reached Golden Square by the sudden sense of open space.

Crossing to the centre he bumped into a horse and apologised to it, let the cart pass, then felt his way round the railings of the garden, glad that he knew the geography from his many visits.

‘I’m lucky to have got here alive,’ he told Molly Sands when he gained her drawing-room. ‘You see before you an explorer winning through against fearsome odds. Like those fellows on the Discovery expedition in the Antarctic. I feel quite unexpectedly dauntless.’

‘You’re such a fool!’ she laughed.

‘And unlike them, I didn’t have dogs . . . To think when I got up this morning I was merely intending to toddle through the metropolis like an ordinary cit to visit the most beautiful woman in the world.’ He caught her face in both hands so that his kiss landed on her lips and not her cheek.

She allowed one kiss and then pulled away. ‘Is it very bad out there?’

‘Fog, even more than snow, makes the familiar unfamiliar. And – ugh! – how it smells!’

‘I’ll make you a cup of tea. The kettle’s hot – it won’t take a minute to boil.’

‘Hot water we need, but I have something better to put it in.’ From one pocket he drew a flat quarter-bottle of rum, from another a lemon. ‘ Et voilà! I assumed you would have sugar. A rum toddy will go some way to convincing my feet they still belong to the rest of me. You’ve no pupil?’

‘Not this morning. I have one this afternoon, but he might not arrive if the fog’s as bad as you say.’

‘Then you can have one with me.’

‘I can’t have rum on my breath if he does arrive.’

‘It will have dissipated by then,’ he assured her. He made himself comfortable in a chair by the fire and she pushed the kettle on its trivet back over the coals. It was cosily domestic. How he wished . . .

‘You came up yesterday, I suppose,’ she said, with her back to him.

‘Last night. You are my first priority. You might show a little gladness to see me! My vanity is quite bruised.’

She turned her head to look at him. ‘Oh, I am very glad. I feel as though if I looked out of the window the sun would be shining.’

He grinned. ‘Better! Well, shall I tell you all the news? We’ve had exciting doings all over Christmas.’

He told her about Uncle Fergus and Angus, and his mother’s telegram.

‘Who is Taylor?’ she asked.

‘The mater’s ferocious lady’s maid. Been with her centuries, and from what I observe they detest each other, and exist in a bracing atmosphere of barely concealed animosity.

It’s just like my mother to despatch the poor woman on a double journey of a thousand miles in the depths of winter. And just like Taylor to obey.’

‘A desire for martyrdom?’

‘Something like that. Hating Mother keeps her going, and undeserved suffering increases her self-regard.’

Molly laughed. ‘You’re embroidering to entertain me.’

‘Perhaps a little. Well, Uncle Sebastian’s idea was to take pity on Taylor and make her stay a few days to get over the journey, thus delaying Rachel’s departure in the hope that something would happen.

And, blow me down, it did! Taylor stepped down from the railway carriage at Canons Ashmore onto a patch of ice, slipped and fell, and broke her leg. ’

‘Oh, the poor woman!’

‘Yes, frightening, and very painful, I believe. I wouldn’t have wished it on her. But she’s now at the Castle with a great plaster cast like an elephant’s foot on her lower leg, and obviously unable to escort Rachel back to St Petersburg.’

‘So what’s going to happen?’ Molly asked, pouring water onto the rum. The aromatic smell lifted into the air.

‘There was an exchange of telegrams. Mother demanded Giles send Rachel with one of his own servants and he said he had none to spare. Then Mother said she would come herself but it could not be yet as she had too many engagements. And there it was left.’

‘So you don’t know when she might arrive?’

‘No, she’s hanging over us like the threat of an avalanche, with everyone hoping if they don’t make any sudden noises she’ll stay put.

I suppose she’s bound to be in London in March for Uncle Fergus’s celebration.

That gives Tullamore a few weeks to try to sort matters out with his father. One has to feel sorry for him.’

‘Yes, it must be very hard for a young man to be told he has to marry a beautiful girl with lots of money, follow a well-paid career and inherit a fortune.’ She handed him a toddy and sat down opposite him.

He looked at her sternly. ‘You’ve missed out the part about being in love with someone else. I know what it’s like not to be able to marry the woman you love.’

‘The cases are not the same.’

‘No, mine is the settled affection of a mature mind, and Tullamore’s – well, I’m fond of Rachel, but she is rather a silly girl. Quite what Tullamore sees in her I don’t know. But, still, he does see it, and they make a pretty couple, so it seems unnecessarily cruel to keep them apart.’

‘And you’re seeing him tonight? Do you hope to ease the path of True Love?’

Richard was thoughtful. ‘I’m not sure there’s anything I can do, except encourage him to devise a plan in case his pa won’t budge. He’s going down next week to face the dragon, and one hopes that paternal affection will surge up at the sight of him. He is a pretty boy.’

‘And if it doesn’t?’

‘Ah. Then, I suppose, if he still wants to marry Rachel, he’ll have to find himself another career.’

‘And there’s your mother to think about.’

He gave a rueful grin. ‘I was trying not to! But, yes, she won’t be reconciled to the idea.

Rachel would have to hold out against extreme pressure for two years until she’s twenty-one – which would give Tullamore time to set up a career and save up some jingle.

But whether she has the pluck to resist . . .’ He shrugged.

‘So is that what brought you to London?’

‘No, I came up to see you. It’s been a long three weeks.’

‘Tell the truth.’

‘It’s true. Also I have some milk business to attend to.

I promised Tullamore I’d see him before he went north – and I’ve a letter from Rachel for him.

And, last but not least, I brought Alice up to stay with Aunt Caroline and see about enrolling at the Slade School.

She’s really good, you know!’ he said, his face animating.

‘And Giles, bless him, has said he’ll pay for it, because I’m positive Mother won’t. ’

‘Will she agree to Alice going? From what you’ve told me about her, I’d have thought she’d be against it.’

‘We haven’t asked her yet. One crisis at a time!

But she’s never really cared for Alice, doesn’t see her making a glittering marriage.

So she probably won’t mind what she does, as long as she doesn’t make a scandal.

All her hopes were pinned on Rachel – and she certainly was the debutante of the Season.

It’s enough to make one feel almost sorry for her. ’

‘For Rachel?’

‘No, for Mother. Wouldn’t it be dreadful to have it in her grasp to see Rachel a princess, then have it snatched away at the last moment?

And Rachel’s the sort of girl to be swayed by the last person she spoke to.

If she met this prince she might be perfectly happy to marry him.

Tullamore had better run away with her before she’s forced to go to St Petersburg or he might lose her entirely. ’

‘Richard Tallant! You can’t possible recommend elopement!’

‘Oh, is that what I did? Speaking of which, how is Chloe?’

She looked serious. ‘That isn’t funny.’

‘I’m sorry. You know I am prone to sacrifice all for a bon mot . Forgive me. Is there any more talk of a European tour?’

‘No, because Sir Thomas is still down in the country with his wife, but I’m sure he hasn’t given up the idea. He’ll be back in Town any day, and then I suppose we shall see.’

‘Sufficient unto the day,’ Richard said. He looked at her keenly. ‘It must be lonely here without Chloe. With nothing to occupy you all day but teaching scales to little children.’

‘There’s a little more to it than that.’

But he had seen it in her eyes, before she turned her face away.

Such a confined and confining life, for a woman of taste and intelligence, he thought.

He hated it for her, and he hated that he was unable to do anything about it.

He wanted to take her away from the poky rooms and the barrenness of daily drudgery.

But he had nothing to offer, no way to support her.

His bad arm ached, as it often did in cold weather, but just now he chose to take it as a reproach, an injunction to start racking his useless brains and work out a plan.

His situation, he realised, was not so dissimilar from Angus Tullamore’s.

For the moment, however, all he could do was support her spirits. ‘What time is your afternoon pupil coming or not coming?’ he asked.

‘Three o’clock.’

‘Why didn’t you say?’ He drained his glass and jumped up. ‘There’s time for me to take you out to luncheon before then.’

‘Don’t you have business to attend to?’

‘It can wait until tomorrow.’

‘Tomorrow’s Sunday.’

‘Next week will do.’

‘You are entirely reprehensible!’

He grinned. ‘I’m so glad you noticed! As the old proverb says, never put off till tomorrow the pleasure you can have today.’

‘That’s not the version my mother taught me.’