Page 8 of The Fortunes of Ashmore Castle

‘Are you sure, dear?’ Aunt Caroline had kept asking. ‘It sounds a very odd idea to me.’

That was before Alice showed her the pictures. She was silent for a long time, examining each with some care before passing them on to Grandmère, who happened to be visiting. Then she said, ‘I had no idea you drew so well. These are remarkably lifelike.’

Having seen them all, she patted the sofa beside her, and when Alice sat she said earnestly, ‘All the same, dear, I’m quite surprised that Giles has agreed to this. I’m afraid it will damage your chances.’

‘My chances?’ Alice asked blankly. She heard her grandmother give a little Gallic snort of amusement.

‘Your marriage chances,’ said Aunt Caroline.

‘You see, it’s one thing to sketch prettily, or play the piano, or embroider.

Talents suitable for the drawing-room. But to be trained at a special school .

. . That smacks of the professional. Men don’t like their wives to be artistic to that degree.

Except for artistic men, I suppose,’ she corrected herself doubtfully.

‘But, then, I couldn’t recommend you attach yourself to an artistic man.

They never have any money, you know. And they lead such erratic lives,’ she mentioned vaguely.

‘And they have a distressing tendency towards soft collars. Who was that artist fellow, Victoire, that Willy knew, and invited sometimes to dinner? He wore a most peculiar kind of velvet jacket one evening, like Henry Irving playing Hamlet .’

‘That was Henry Irving,’ Grandmère said. ‘Not a painter.’

Aunt Caroline missed the correction. ‘Alice, dear, I’m afraid you would be giving up all hope of a good marriage if it were known that you had gone to acting school.’

‘Art school, Aunty,’ Alice corrected.

‘Of course, I meant art school. But it’s just the same thing. You might be classed along with actresses and ballet girls and – oh dear, I’m quite sure Maud won’t like it. I’m surprised she hasn’t forbidden you.’

Grandmère’s sharp eyes divined from Alice’s expression that permission hadn’t yet been sought. ‘But, ma chère ,’ she said, ‘what do you mean to do with it when you have won your diploma, or whatever it shall be? Do you mean to sell paintings for money?’

Alice hastened to say, ‘There are very respectable people who earn a living by painting. It isn’t at all like acting. Princess Louise paints, and she’s Queen Victoria’s daughter!’

‘I don’t think she does it for a living, dear,’ Aunt Caroline objected.

‘Well, perhaps she doesn’t have to. But she could . And she went to the National Art Training School. Then there’s the Kemp-Welches – Margaret, Edith and Lucy. They’re terribly respectable. And Lady Elizabeth Butler: Queen Victoria bought one of her paintings. For money.’

‘In France, there was Rosa Bonheur,’ Grandmère said, ‘who was awarded the Légion d’honneur. The first female artist to receive it.’ Her eyes twinkled naughtily, because Rosa Bonheur had led a famously irregular life, but she was sure Aunt Caroline would never have heard of her.

Aunt Caroline was looking besieged. ‘Well, it might be as you say. I really don’t know. But Maud won’t like it, I’m sure of that. And, darling,’ she turned back to Alice, ‘ who will you marry?’

‘I shan’t worry about that just yet, Aunty. But Princess Louise married a duke.’

Grandmère chuckled. ‘You have a talent, and it is rare. Anyone can marry. Remember, child, art lasts. Kisses do not.’

At those words, Alice’s mind was seared by the memory of Axe’s kiss.

And a vision of him alone at his cottage, wondering why she didn’t come any more.

She had not dared to go and say goodbye to him.

Grandmère noted the look of desolation that passed quickly over her face, but said nothing.

It confirmed a suspicion she had formed.

But great art so often came from suffering, and perhaps it was within Alice to make great art.

One would see. For now, she must be encouraged – and kept from harm until it was seen how good she really was.

‘She will live here with you while she studies,’ she said to Aunt Caroline. ‘Nothing could be more convenable . Who could object to it?’

‘Maud could,’ Aunt Caroline said gloomily.

But then she cheered up. ‘It will be nice to have a young person about the place again. And I’m sure studying won’t take up all of your time.

I shall take you about, Alice dear, and introduce you to people.

Your mother, I’m afraid, sadly neglected that part of your upbringing. ’

Alice caught her grandmother’s eye in what appeared to be almost a wink, and wisely did not argue. ‘That will be nice, Aunty,’ she said.

The Tullamores’ town house in Edinburgh was in Drummond Place, but Angus walked up to the office in Queen Street to find out where his father was that day.

It turned out that Sir Gordon was there, so he had no time to brace himself and assemble his arguments, but was shown straight up to his father’s room on the first floor.

It was a dreich day of heavy dark skies and freezing sleet, a day to be indoors, and there was a grand fire blazing under the enormous marble fireplace, and the many candles of the electric chandelier were reflecting gaily in the mirror over the mantelpiece.

But his father was standing in front of the hearth with a face like a thunderstorm.

Angus said meekly, ‘Hello, Father,’ and braced himself.

At first it was very bad. Scalding words poured over him.

‘Have you the least idea what an impossible position you put me in?’

‘Thoughtless, irresponsible . . .’

‘The appalling insult to our guests . . .’

‘Your mother’s feelings . . . great distress . . .’

‘Shocking insult to Miss Huntley . . .’

‘Brought shame on the family . . . Loss of Huntley’s business . . . Never hold up our heads again . . .’

Angus endured, eyes lowered. Finally his father stopped for breath, and said, ‘Have you nothing to say for yourself?’

‘I’m sorry, Father,’ Angus said.

‘Sorry?’ Sir Gordon bristled at the inadequacy. ‘You’re sorry ? What in the Devil’s name did you think you were doing?’

‘I didn’t know what else to do,’ Angus explained desperately. ‘I told you over and again that I couldn’t marry Diana. I begged you to understand. I tried to reason with you—’

‘ Reason with me?’ A bark of fury.

‘But you wouldn’t listen. If I’d stayed we just would have had the same awful row but in front of the Huntleys, which would have been much worse. So I had to go.’

Then Sir Gordon was off again. ‘Selfish indifference to the name and honour of your family . . . Utterly careless of your mother’s feelings . . . No thought to any convenience but your own . . .’

Bad as it was, Angus began after a while to sense a faint but growing bafflement in his father.

After all, words hurt, but they did not actually change anything.

Raw and sore inside, Angus felt it was coming to an end.

His father ran out of steam at last and stood glaring at him in exhausted rage.

‘I don’t know what can be done to recover the situation,’ he concluded, after a pause.

‘ Your reputation is beyond salvage. You must bear the consequences of your actions. My concern now is to save what can be saved of the Tullamore dignity and the family’s fortunes.

The Huntley connection is lost. They will never forgive the insult, and there’s already talk of a match between Diana and Peter Banchory. ’

Angus’s spirit lifted a very little. ‘Then if there is no more question of my marrying Diana . . .’ For a moment he thought of her with pity.

Would she object to this sudden transfer of nuptials, or would she meekly comply?

Had she viewed him with any more than the same compliance?

He hoped, he really hoped, he had not broken her heart.

He resumed, though his father’s face was darkening again: ‘. . . then, I can marry Rachel, can’t I?

’ No immediate answer. ‘She’s an earl’s daughter. It’s not a shameful match.’

‘You may do as you please,’ Sir Gordon said coldly.

‘I wash my hands of you.’ The way he said it did not sound like good news.

‘At the Hogmanay festivities, George Culross proposed a connection. He has lumber and rail interests that would fit well with our coal. And he has a daughter, Fiona, nineteen and ready for marriage.’

‘But—’ Angus began.

‘Fritz will be twenty-one in May. He will marry Fiona Culross and I shall make him my heir. He will take the general-manager position I was intending for you. In a year or two he’ll be made partner, as you would have been, and he’ll inherit everything when I die.’

‘You’re disinheriting me?’ Angus said, aghast.

‘I have already consulted Frampton. I cannot keep the title from you, though I would if I could. You do not deserve to use it, or the family name. I hope you will have the good manners not to presume upon the Tullamore credit, though I have little hope that you think aright on that subject, given your failings on every other front. For the rest, Frampton is drawing up a new will. Fritz will marry Miss Culross and take your place.’

It was what Angus had dreaded, but now it had come, he discovered he had never really believed it would happen. A pit opened under him. ‘But what will I do?

‘I neither know nor care.’

‘Father! That’s ridiculous! I’ve been training to take over since I was ten years old. Fritz doesn’t know the business.’

‘You may go now.’

Angus opened his arms in a helpless gesture. ‘Am I to have nothing?’

‘There is a trunk at Drummond Place that was packed for you – your clothes and effects. McBane will give it to you. And whatever you have in your bank account you may keep. That’s all. Go now. I don’t wish to look at you any longer.’

Sir Gordon turned away and took up the poker to ruin the fire.