Page 76 of The Fortunes of Ashmore Castle

Lepida saw how glad Mr Cowling was to be back, and how tenderly he kissed his wife – he had always been fond, but now there was a confidence in his caresses.

She studied him that first night as they waited in the drawing-room for dinner to be announced.

She had known him through her father for many years, and he had been just another business acquaintance of her father’s age, no-one of particular interest to her until Nina had taken his fancy and accepted his offer of marriage.

He was a pink-faced, healthy-looking man with greying hair, not handsome but not repulsive; a man of decided opinions, not highly educated, a great expert in an area that did not interest her very much.

She had no need to ask herself why Nina had married him – it happened all the time.

Nina could have been a teacher, but had no great liking for the idea.

Instead she chose a rich man to give her the freedom of his money and name.

And so she had to live with him, and obey him, mould herself to his wishes, sleep in the same bed with him and endure those activities Lepida knew about as a matter of biology.

The human condition, she thought, was very strange.

On the second evening, Decius joined them for dinner, and Nina invited a local couple, Mr and Mrs Girton, to make it more of a party.

They were acquaintances of Mr Cowling, and not the most fascinating people, but it was a full-moon night so everyone else was engaged.

But Mr Cowling was in great good humour, and Decius was always an asset in company.

Nina had cherished an idea that something might develop between him and Lepida, that her dear friend might fall in love and marry him and become part of her home circle.

But though there seemed a spark on Decius’s side, her recent conversation with Lepida convinced her that she had no interest in marriage. It was a pity.

So it was widely assumed that Balfour must call an election in the next few weeks, and protest meetings, marches and demonstrations were gathering pace all over the country.

It was in answer to a question put by Lepida, which Nina didn’t catch, that Decius mentioned the protest that had taken place in October in the Free Trade Hall in Manchester.

‘Oh, it seems the WSPU felt that the general excitement about an election was pushing the women’s issue to the margins, so they had to do something to get themselves into the news.’

‘Oh, you’re talking about women’s suffrage,’ said Mrs Girton. ‘There was something in the newspaper about a disturbance – didn’t you mention it, dear?’

Mr Girton didn’t look pleased with the subject. ‘Some misguided females made a display of themselves at a public meeting, that’s all. Nothing important.’

‘But what did they do?’ Nina asked.

Decius answered her: ‘Interrupted Sir Edward Grey – who was addressing the meeting – to ask him, “Will the Liberal Government give women the vote?”’

‘Ask him?’ Mr Cowling said. ‘They stood on their seats and yelled and shrieked like banshees, so the meeting couldn’t go on. The chief constable had to go and quiet ’em down, said they could send up a written question like civilised people.’

‘When they did,’ Decius said, ‘Grey ignored it.’

Mr Cowling eyed him indulgently. ‘Aye, I know you’re soft on the subject, but they’ll not get anywhere behaving badly. No-one likes to see a female show herself up like that.’

‘Thirty years of asking nicely has got them nowhere,’ Lepida said mildly. ‘Perhaps a new strategy is needed.’

Mr Cowling admired Lepida and didn’t want to argue with her. So he said in an end-of-conversation tone, ‘Well, they got arrested for their trouble, so perhaps they’ve learned their lesson.’

She didn’t take the hint. ‘But they wanted to be arrested. Their whole purpose was to be sent to prison.’

‘How shocking!’ Mrs Girton murmured.

‘The magistrate would have let them off with a fine, but they refused to pay and were given seven days in Strangeways.’

‘Disgusting!’ said Mr Girton.

‘Strange ways indeed,’ Mr Cowling said. ‘I don’t like the idea of ladies being put in prison, but it has to be said, they didn’t behave like ladies.’

‘The plan worked at all events,’ Decius said. ‘When they came out they were met by an adoring crowd, held a mass rally in Free Trade Hall with a speech by the Labour leader, and the whole thing was reported in The Times . So I expect they count it a success.’

‘It’s a very unpleasant state of mind that considers going to prison a success,’ said Mr Girton. ‘Revolutionary ideas coarsen the character and destroy civilised manners. I sincerely hope this society of women, whatever it’s called, doesn’t manage to spread its evil influence.’

Lepida seemed about to speak, but Nina saw Decius catch her eye and give a tiny shake of the head and she subsided.

Instead, throwing himself into the breach, Decius said, ‘I read a most interesting report in the newspaper the other day. It seems two brothers in America have successfully tested a flying machine. Are you at all interested in aeronautics, sir?’

Mr Girton merely looked blank. Mrs Girton, slightly puzzled, said, ‘Do you mean, a balloon? We saw a balloon ascent once, didn’t we, dear? The balloonist was a very handsome man. I particularly remember that he had very fine moustaches.’

‘Not a balloon,’ Decius said, as Nina suppressed a giggle. ‘A proper machine, with an engine – like a motor-car, but with wings.’

Mr Cowling said, ‘People have been building flying machines for years – I remember when I was a nipper there was an exhibition of ’em at the Crystal Palace, all sorts of wonderful contrivances, but they never managed to get them off the ground. Or if they did, they came straight back down again.’

‘Motive force was always the problem,’ Decius said. ‘Steam engines were too heavy, and pedalling or winding a screw didn’t give enough power. But things have changed. A small, light petrol engine is a different matter.’

Mr Cowling looked amused. ‘You know all about it, eh?’

‘I’m interested in the subject. I read anything that comes my way. These brothers in America actually kept their machine in the air for over half an hour!’

‘You must be jesting,’ said Mr Cowling.

‘And not just flying in a straight line, either, but guiding it and performing figures of eight. And landing it safely at the end.’

‘If it’s true at all,’ said Mr Girton, ‘it can only be a flash in the pan.’

‘Half an hour, sir,’ said Decius. ‘If it could stay aloft for that length of time, I think we can be sure it wasn’t a flash in the pan. I believe it is the start of something tremendous for mankind.’

‘Flying motor-cars, stuff and nonsense,’ said Mr Girton, discontentedly.

But Mr Cowling looked thoughtful. ‘If there’s anything in it, it would be something to get in on.

Look at railways – they were new once, and some folk said they’d never catch on.

Other folk put their money into ’em. If flying machines really work, there’d be fortunes to be made.

’ He looked indulgently at Decius. ‘And I warrant you’ll be one of the ones up there driving ’em, am I right? ’

Decius smiled. ‘I would dearly love to fly. It’s been man’s desire from time immemorial.’

‘I sometimes dream I’m flying,’ Mrs Girton said unexpectedly.

‘How odd,’ said Nina. ‘I do, too.’

‘I believe it’s quite common,’ Lepida said.

‘I wonder why that is,’ Nina said. ‘When I dream of flying, it’s like a memory, as if it was something I used to be able to do but forgot. When I wake, I feel dreadfully sad, knowing that I can’t.’

‘You ladies have a great deal of imagination,’ Mr Cowling said. ‘I never dream at all.’

‘I don’t either,’ said Mr Girton, impatiently.

‘And I can’t see that flying machines will make a jot of difference to the country, except to litter it with broken engines and broken heads.

It’s just another way for young men to risk their necks.

Sir Bradley Graham’s nephew was killed last year while out with the Quorn.

His poor sister has never been the same since.

Riding recklessly, on an over-corned new horse!

I believe Sir Bradley warned him, but of course he didn’t listen. Young men are always mad for speed.’

‘It’s been so remarkably mild this autumn,’ Mrs Girton said. ‘Do you know, there are actually roses blooming in our garden?’

Nina was bemused. Was she deliberately calming the atmosphere, or was it the random pipings of a vacant brain? Was there more to Mrs Girton than was apparent? ‘We have some, too,’ she said. ‘I’d like to pick them and bring them in, but they’re so frail at this time of year, they die very quickly.’

‘Put a little aspirin in the water,’ Mrs Girton said. ‘That keeps them fresh.’

‘Aye, flower-arranging – now that’s a nice, ladylike occupation.’ Mr Cowling said approvingly.

Kitty heard about it in a roundabout way.

Uncle Fergus had written to both his sisters, and Aunt Caroline relayed the news in a letter that arrived in the mid-week lull between hunting house-parties.

Kitty had enjoyed October and was enjoying November even more, since she didn’t care about shooting but loved hunting.

And this season she was not pregnant, so could ride to her heart’s content.

She adored the beautiful horse, Apollo, that Giles had bought her when they were first married, and now there was also her mother-in-law’s Queen Bee, left behind on the dowager’s marriage.

It couldn’t be sold as Maud might one day send for it, so meanwhile Kitty had a second horse to hunt.