Page 82 of The Fortunes of Ashmore Castle

‘And then he just packed his bag again and left,’ said Addy, on her knees in front of the morning-room fire. ‘Went back to London.’

Mildred was leaning against the mantelpiece, housemaid’s box in hand. ‘Well, where’s he going to spend Christmas, then?’

‘Wherever he lives, I suppose,’ said Addy. ‘It’s a shame for him – he won’t be getting a feed like he’d have had here. Bread and cheese more likely,’ she added, with relish for other people’s disasters.

‘How’s Lady Rachel taking it?’

‘Daisy says she’s quiet, but not crying. More like mad, I reckon. I would be.’

‘But she’s lost her love, hasn’t she?’ Mildred said, with a sniff. ‘I’d be bawling my eyes out.’

‘Naw, she’s mad at him for telling her she can’t dance with anyone else, Daisy says. Well, what does he expect? Just because a girl’s spoken for, doesn’t mean she’s got to say no when a chap asks her to dance. Specially when he’s not around to give her a good time.’

‘I think it’s a shame,’ Mildred said. ‘He’s ever such a nice young man, ever so good-looking.’

Eddie, the house boy, arrived with a basket of logs nearly as big as him. ‘Not good enough for her,’ he joined in. ‘She’s an earl’s daughter and he works in an office.’

Addy went on laying the fire. ‘Where d’you get that idea? You never thought of that for yourself.’

‘Wilf said. The gardener’s boy. When I was getting the logs. He said Mr Allsuch said it. She’s a earl’s daughter and real beautiful, so she could have anyone.’

‘Well, if she could have anyone, how’d she end up with Mr Tullamore?’ Addy said triumphantly.

Mrs Webster was suddenly there, retribution on silent feet.

‘You’ve more than enough to do without wasting time gossiping.

Mildred, stop leaning and get on with the dusting.

And wipe your nose. Not on your sleeve! Addy, you’ve got the drawing-room and hall fires still to do, so stop dawdling.

And Eddie, those logs are for the hall fire.

You ought to know that by now. Take them away. What are you doing afterwards?’

‘Front-door brasses, Mrs Webster,’ he said, staring resolutely at the floor.

‘Hurry up, then. They’re to be done before breakfast.’

She was gone, Mildred was gone, and Eddie shuffled away with his burden. ‘How does she do that?’ Addy asked the air, as she brushed up the last trace of ash from the hearth and heaved herself to her feet. ‘Blummin’ mystery she is.’

‘I do feel sorry for the poor child,’ the blummin’ mystery paused to say to Mr Afton, as they passed on Piccadilly.

‘How is she supposed to know her own mind when she’s told what to do all the time?

First she’s forbidden to marry the man, then told she can, then as I understand it, hauled about the ballrooms by her aunt to be auctioned off to anyone with a title who might take a fancy to her. ’

‘That’s very harsh,’ Afton said mildly. ‘Her mother wants the best for her, as any mother would.’

‘He was a perfectly respectable match in the first place,’ said Mrs Webster grimly, ‘with a fortune to inherit. If she’d supported the match he wouldn’t have lost it.’

‘As I understand it, it was his father who opposed the match first,’ said Afton.

Mrs Webster shrugged. ‘First or last, she forbade it. She’ll have that poor girl left on her hands, and it’ll be her own fault.’

Afton patted her arm comfortingly as he moved on. ‘She’ll marry someone, sooner or later. A girl like that won’t get left on the shelf.’

She walked on briskly to the kitchen, where the level of activity would have suggested to the untrained eye that a natural disaster, such as a volcanic eruption, was taking place. ‘Have the trays gone up?’ she asked.

Mrs Terry, the cook, answered, without looking up from the béchamel she was stirring. ‘Yes, Mrs Webster. Nursery breakfast just about to go up now.’

‘Those boys will have been awake since five o’clock, if I know children. They’ll be hungry. What are you giving them?’

‘Sausages,’ the cook said. ‘That’ll peg ’em down.’

There were sausages at Wisteria House, too, and buttered eggs, kidneys, which the master was partial to, and fried ham.

Crooks stood at the buffet and attended to the coffee pot.

He liked things to be done properly: now he was the sole male servant in the household, he regarded himself as keeper of the flame, as well as butler, footman and valet, and did his best to run the small house like a great house.

It had been a new lease of life for him. He felt ten years younger.

‘You cried out in your sleep again last night,’ Sebastian said.

Dory looked up. ‘Did I? I don’t remember.’

‘Were you dreaming?’

‘I suppose I must have been. It was something about being chased, trying to find somewhere to hide.’

‘The old dream. Was it him you were running from?’ She hesitated to answer, and without turning, he said, ‘Would you bring fresh toast, Crooks? This has got cold.’ When he heard the door click quietly he said, ‘When will you stop dreaming that he’s coming after you? When will you feel safe?’

‘I do feel safe,’ she said. ‘You can’t help your dreams.’

‘We had such a nice day yesterday,’ he said.

They had gone for a long walk by the river – the grass had been rimed with frost and crunched under their feet, there were skims of ice on the puddles, their breath had clouded on the winter air, and Dory had put her hand in his pocket to keep warm as they tramped along.

He had looked down at her, and seen her cheeks and nose pink with the cold and her eyes sparkling, and thought her beautiful.

After luncheon they had gone out to cut greenery and brought it back to decorate the house, and after dinner he played carols on the piano and they sang together.

‘It was a nice day,’ she said. ‘The best day ever.’

‘So far. They’ll keep getting better, you know.’

‘I know. And I am happy – happier than I ever thought I could be. The dreams will stop coming one day.’

‘It’s done you good with the staff, you know.

Mrs May is now your champion, Crooks tells me.

Poor sweet creature, she says, and longs for Crooks to tell her what sad thing from your past haunts you.

He would never tell, of course, even if he knew.

She wants to pet you, and refers to you to Olive as “the mistress”. So you are established, my love.’

‘I did wonder at the number of times she offers me cups of tea,’ Dory laughed.

‘And the ginger pudding last night? It was an experiment of mine. I mentioned – oh, so casually – to Crooks the day before that you liked ginger, just to see what happened.’

‘I know there’s one thing that would establish me for ever,’ she said, looking at her plate, ‘and I long for it as much as they possibly can.’ She looked up. ‘I so want to give you a child. I thought it would have happened by now. I’m beginning to wonder . . .’

‘My love,’ he said, his voice a little shaky, ‘I didn’t marry you for children. If they come, I will be very, very happy. But if they don’t, it won’t matter. You are enough for me. You are everything I want.’

‘It’s early days, still – isn’t it?’

‘Of course it is.’

She changed the subject. ‘So, what happens today? Do you have traditions here?’

‘Little ones. After breakfast I give the servants their Christmas presents. Then we walk to church. We have our Christmas dinner at half past one, and then the servants are off for the rest of the day, so we shall have a dear, cosy time alone together. Mrs May will lay a cold supper for us before she goes, and Joe will make sure the coal scuttles and log basket are full. We shall be as snug as puppies in a basket.’

‘Where do they go?

‘Mrs May goes home with Olive – her mother makes Christmas dinner for them all. Joe has his own family. I don’t know what Crooks will do. At the Castle all the servants got together in the servants’ hall for a party – those who didn’t go home.’

‘I hope he won’t be all alone,’ Dory said.

It was like her, he thought, to worry. Crooks returned with the hot toast at that moment and, to put her mind at rest, Sebastian asked, ‘How will you be spending Christmas afternoon, Crooks?’

He looked faintly surprised to be asked, then pleased, and said, ‘Olive’s mother, sir, has invited me to join the family party. It was a kind invitation, which I felt I could not refuse without causing offence.’

Which left them to suppose that he would have been happier reading alone in his room. Sebastian chose to believe that was not the case. Dory was sure it wasn’t.

* * *

The estate workers and tenants came up to the Castle in the morning to receive their Christmas boxes and be served with mulled wine and mincemeat pies in the great hall.

Rose had gone out of the back yard with some pastry crumbs to throw for the birds, when she saw Michael Woodrow coming by, presumably on his way home from the ceremony, as he had a package under his arm.

He stopped when he saw her, and they looked at each other in silence for a moment.

He looked tired, Rose thought, or perhaps sad, with lines she didn’t remember in his face.

She felt . . . She didn’t know what, but it was not anger or dislike.

It might be something like . . . Pity? Regret?

As the silence extended itself, she began to doubt that he would speak at all.

It was a cold day, with a grey, heavy sky and a sharp, gusty breeze – not Christmas weather.

There had been no snow yet, and with the wind not even any frost to make things pretty.

It was a day to be indoors. He was bundled in a warm coat, but she had only slipped someone’s jacket over her grey morning uniform dress.

If she didn’t want to freeze, she would have to get things started, or abandon them.

And she discovered she wanted him to talk.

‘What did they give you?’ she asked.