Page 78 of The Fortunes of Ashmore Castle

The rain had decided to be rain. It was getting heavier, the dogs’ coats were darkening, and his hands, clenched over the head of his stick, were wet and cold.

Both dogs were looking up at him now, awaiting his will.

‘Come on, then,’ he said aloud, and his voice sounded strange.

As soon as he moved, they leaped into action, glad to be turning for home.

Home! But he must be content. They had known it was the only time.

He must shut it away, and never look at it, and get comfort only from knowing that it was there.

The dogs were running on ahead, and the rain was really setting in – he could hardly see them. They’d be back before him, more surefooted than him on the slippery path. And he thought of being indoors, lamps lit and a fire blazing. Never forget , he thought, that you’re a lucky, lucky man .

Oh, Nina.

Kitty’s letter invited Nina and Mr Cowling to spend Christmas at the Castle.

Nina’s first instinct was to refuse and not even tell him about it.

He would be sure to insist they accepted, believing she would want to go.

And, of course, she would love to see Kitty, and her little boys, and Richard, and the girls.

To be with Giles, to see him and talk to him, to lie in bed at night knowing he was under the same roof – that would be a different pleasure, more potent, and edged like a honed knife with the potential for disaster.

If, during their stay, Mr Cowling should come to her bed – how could she refuse him? How could she bear not to? It was all too difficult.

But if she refused the invitation without telling him, sooner or later he would know they had been asked and want to know why she had kept it from him.

No, she would have to tell him, and he would want to say yes.

So she would have to go, and hope her new-found acceptance and contentment in her lot would stand the test.

She went on reading. Rachel was dividing her time between parties in London and the hunting weekends down at Ashmore.

Alice had come down to hunt once or twice.

Mother-in-law Maud and Linda were spending Christmas with the Wittenstein-Glücksbergs, thank goodness.

Oh, and Uncle Fergus and Giulia would not be coming after all, because Giulia was expecting a child.

How pleased Lord Leake would be to have an heir on the way.

Maud had hated the thought of the title going to a distant cousin, so she would be pleased too that Giulia was pregnant—

Her thoughts stalled. She put the letter down, staring at nothing.

Then she went upstairs to her bedchamber, to a certain drawer, where she kept her diary.

Underneath it, and underneath a concealing cloth, for modesty’s sake, were the webbing sanitary belt and the napkins.

She leafed through the diary, thoughtfully.

At dinner that evening, she said, ‘You are going to London tomorrow, aren’t you?’

‘Yes – but only for the day. I shall be home in time for dinner.’ He gave her a fond smile.

‘I wonder if I might travel up with you,’ she said diffidently.

‘Of course. It’d be grand to have your company. What are you going for?’

‘Oh, I’ve one or two errands to do.’

‘Secrets, eh? Nothing to do with Christmas coming up, I suppose?’

She smiled, and let him think it was that. She would have to do some shopping. Afterwards.

‘I thought I might look in on my aunt.’

‘Yes, do,’ he said. He approved of Nina’s aunt, though he found her intimidating.

Perhaps because he found her intimidating.

‘But you must promise me you won’t get too tired.

I know what ladies are when they start shopping.

They lose all track of time. You must take cabs, and not try to manage the Underground.

I’ll give you plenty of cash, so there’s no excuse. ’

‘I’ll take cabs,’ she promised, wondering at his characterisation of her. When had she ever been interested in shopping? Or forgetful? But perhaps that was what he wanted her to be – the helpless, fluffy-minded female of male fantasy.

‘I shall wait for you outside the station,’ he warned, with a twinkle, ‘and if I don’t see you arriving in a cab . . .’

Fortunately, he believed in reading on the train, and bought her several ladies’ magazines at the station newsagent, so there was no need to talk to him or even look at him during the journey.

He saw her into a cab and gave the jarvey her aunt’s address, so she had to wait until they’d turned the corner to rap on the hatch and change it.

She’d decided to go to Dr Grossman, her aunt’s physician, the doctor of her childhood because, being robustly healthy, she had never consulted a doctor in Market Harborough, and knew nothing of them.

Somehow she didn’t want a stranger at this moment.

Grossman had aged since she last saw him – he looked very grey and lined, and he wore spectacles now, but his large, bushy moustache did not hide his warm smile as he came forward to shake her hand.

‘Miss Sanderton, what a delight. It’s been – how long?

Many years, at any rate, since I last saw you. ’

‘It’s Mrs Cowling now,’ she said. ‘I gave your nurse my maiden name so that you’d know it was me, but I’m married now and living in Market Harborough.’

‘Yes, I believe your aunt did mention that you had married. How is she, by the way? Well, I hope.’

‘Very well.’

‘Yes, you both always enjoyed good health. If I had depended on you and your aunt for a living, I should have been on poor pastures!’ He enjoyed his own joke, and repeated it.

‘Very poor pastures! One of the seven lean kine, ha ha!’ She laughed too, obligingly.

He ushered her to a seat, went behind his desk and sat down, steepled his fingers and said, ‘Well, well, what can I help you with? Nothing concerning, I hope. You are looking well – very bonny.’

Nina tried to compose a sentence, but in the end nothing seemed better than just saying it. ‘I think I might be pregnant.’

‘Ah,’ he said. He folded his fingers into a clasp and surveyed her from behind them. ‘Well, you are a married woman, and that is only to be expected.’ There was the breath of a question there, to which she did not respond. ‘And why do you think you might be?’

‘My monthly flux has – has not occurred.’ It was harder than she had expected to say it aloud to a man, even if he was a doctor.

‘When was the last one?’

‘At the end of September. I didn’t notice that it didn’t happen at the end of October, but something has made me think about it, and there was nothing at the end of November either.’

‘And the absence is unusual?’

‘Yes. It has always been regular.’

‘Very well.’ He paused, studying her face. ‘May I ask why you have come to me, instead of your own physician?’

‘You are my own physician, Dr Grossman. The only one I’ve ever consulted.’

His face cleared. ‘Ah, indeed. Well, I am honoured by your trust, Mrs – er – Cowling. It sounds as thought you may well be pregnant, but I shall examine you to make sure.’ He stood up and went to the door to summon the nurse.

It was unpleasant and embarrassing, and she was glad of a time to herself afterwards, behind the screen, dressing slowly and composing herself.Then, back in their previous positions, he told her.

‘When?’ she asked.

‘From what you have told me, and my own examination, I calculate the baby to be due in July. Now, you may want to consult a physician at various points along the way, to check that everything is going as expected. You are a healthy young woman so there is no reason to suppose there will be any problems, but it is prudent to keep an eye on things. I don’t suppose you will want to travel to London every time to see me.

’ Again, a faint question mark, to which she did not respond.

She was deep in her own thoughts. ‘But when you get home you should seek out a physician to undertake your care. I expect your husband can advise you on that?’

She registered at last that he had asked her something. She focused on him. ‘Hmm?’

He waited, and then said, ‘You are understandably distracted by this good news. It will take a little time to adjust to. But please remember that it is an entirely natural process and one that you are designed for by nature. You are young and healthy and should experience no difficulties. Now, is there anything you wish to ask me?’

‘Yes,’ she said. He waited. ‘When— I would like to know when I – I conceived.’

‘Some time in the month of October,’ he said, as if puzzled by the question.

‘But can you . . . Is there any way to tell exactly when it happened?’

Now a faint disapproval clouded his look. ‘If there were – multiple possible occasions, then, no.’ He examined her face. ‘Does it matter? Your husband will be delighted, I am sure. Your first child . . .’

‘Yes.’ Nina looked at her hands. ‘He’ll be delighted.’

‘I’m sure he will,’ said Dr Grossman, and the relief was evident in his voice.

She walked from the doctor’s rooms to her aunt’s house, and was not entirely sorry to find her out.

‘If only she’d known you were coming, Miss Nina,’ said Haydock, with a hint of reproach. ‘But we’re not expecting her back until after teatime, and then it’s only to dress and go out again.’

‘It doesn’t matter,’ Nina said. ‘I was in Town and called on the spur of the moment.’

‘You look tired,’ Haydock said, with the privilege of an old servant. ‘Why don’t you sit down and let me get you a glass of sherry? Mrs Roth can make you a nice bit of luncheon – a drop of soup and a nice omelette. You know you like her omelettes,’ he added coaxingly.

The familiar petting made Nina feel tearful, but she tightened her face. ‘No, thank you, Haydock. It’s kind of you, but I must be off. I have a lot of errands. I shall just write a note to Aunt, if you don’t mind.’

She sat at her aunt’s desk and drew pen and paper towards her, but couldn’t think what to say.

It was not news to be conveyed in a hasty note.

In the end she just said she had called on a whim and was sorry to have missed her, that she was well and hoped her aunt was too. Then, with a day to fill, she left.

She walked without noticing where she was going, and found herself in Knightsbridge, outside Harrod’s store.

It was a good place to use up time, and she wandered from department to department, rode up the moving staircase for the novelty of it, and finally thought she had better buy something for Mr Cowling, since he assumed she had gone to shop for Christmas presents.

She wandered and examined and probably exasperated several hopeful assistants, and finally purchased a tortoiseshell and silver dressing-table set – clothes brush, two hair brushes, moustache comb and studs cup – and had them wrap it for her, which used up some more time.

Her wanderings took her past Manicure and Chiropody, and the thought of sitting down – her feet were aching by then – led her to go in and have a manicure for the first time in her life.

The manicurist did not conceal her disapproval of Nina’s hands, which had not been rendered more lily-white and exquisite by handling reins on a daily basis, and it took a usefully long time to get them into a state that did not break the practitioner’s heart.

On leaving the chair she discovered that she was very hungry, so she went to the restaurant for what was either a very late lunch or an early tea – a pot of Darjeeling and a Welsh rarebit.

On her way out of the store, she stopped in Confectionery and bought a box of Carlsbad plums, which Mr Cowling loved, and then it was time to get a cab to the station.

All the time she had shut her mind to the idea of being pregnant.

It was too big, she wasn’t ready to think about it; she was afraid of being afraid of it.

But when the cab drew up outside the station, Mr Cowling was there and came hurrying to open the door for her and hand her out, and she felt her head fill and her throat tighten, and struggled to hold everything back.

‘My goodness me!’ he exclaimed, taking her packages from her and drawing her hand through his arm.

‘Is that all you’ve bought? Not worth coming all this way for.

Or couldn’t you find what you wanted? And you look tired!

You’ve worn yourself out for nothing. I’m sure you could have got something in Market Harborough just as well.

I’m not a hard man to please. There, there – you’re tottering!

You must be exhausted, my poor Nina. Here’s our compartment.

Let me help you in, and then you can put your head back and sleep all the way home if you want. ’

He was not usually a chatterer, and she saw that he was covering his anxiousness for her, that he had sensed something was wrong.

He loved her too much not to be aware that she had said nothing since she got out of the cab.

And suddenly she lost her grip, tears flooded her eyes, and it was there, standing on the station platform by the open carriage door, with his hand under her elbow ready to help her up the steep step, with the engine hissing steam and the evocative smell of sulphur on the air, that she told him.

She didn’t even phrase it properly, but just blurted out stupidly, ‘I’m pregnant. ’

He didn’t say anything, and she looked up, and saw his face suffused by a joy so intense it was almost holy.

To be able to occasion such emotion in another person was beautiful and terrible, more responsibility than she thought she could bear.

The tears rolled over, and that was a good thing, because he helped her into the carriage and sat beside her and put his arm round her and didn’t expect her to speak.

And all he said was, ‘Oh, my Nina. You’ve made me so happy. So very happy.’