Page 2 of The Mistress of Ashmore Castle (Ashmore Castle #3)

‘Fruit. Whatever you can get at this time of year – the arrangement is everything. And some kind of sweet. A coffee blancmange, perhaps. You can make that ahead, too. We’ve got a lot of little glass custard cups somewhere – it’d look pretty in those. And then white soup for the end of the ball.’

‘And there’ll be a dinner before the ball, I suppose?’

‘They won’t want too much before dancing. Four or five courses, and you can keep it simple. Then there’ll be the shooting luncheon on Sunday, and dinner on Sunday night.’

‘And breakfasts.’ Ida put her hands to her cheeks, contemplating the mountains of food she must prepare. Her voice wavered. ‘However will we manage? Oh, Mrs Webster!’

‘You said you wanted the job,’ Webster said briskly.

‘Now here it is. You’ll need more girls, that’s obvious, but the mistress has already said I can hire anyone we need, and that includes in the kitchen.

Brace up, Mrs Terry. You don’t have to cook every single thing yourself, you know.

You’ll be like a general at a battle, giving orders to the troops.

Of course,’ she added slyly, half turning away, ‘if you really don’t think you’re up to it . . .’

‘Oh, I’m up to it all right,’ Ida said quickly.

‘Don’t you worry about that. I’m going to be the best cook of any big house in the country!

They’ll talk about me in years to come. I’ll be famous – Mrs Terry of Ashmore Castle, they’ll say.

And when I’m old I’ll write my own book, like Mrs Beeton, and everyone’ll go to it for reference. ’

‘That’s the spirit,’ Mrs Webster said.

The old schoolroom at the top of the house, which was now a sitting-room for the young ladies, was pleasantly warm. Since Kitty had taken over the direction of the house, there had always been a fire lit for them – unlike the days of economy under their mother.

Alice was sitting on the floor, sketch-pad against her knees, drawing Rachel, who was sitting on the window-seat staring dreamily out of the window.

Alice had asked her to loose her hair, and it fell in long coils over her shoulders, while the light from the window threw interesting planes and shadows into her lovely face.

It was, Alice thought, going to be a nice piece.

The dogs, Tiger and Isaac, were sprawled in front of the fire, giving an occasional groan of comfort.

Linda’s children, Arabella and Arthur, were quiet for the moment, working on a jigsaw puzzle of the map of Europe, which Alice thought ought to keep them busy since she happened to know that half of Belgium was missing.

Rachel gave a sigh, and Alice thought she was looking particularly pensive.

She had been travelling with her mother for most of the year, going to parties and balls and meeting young men, and Alice thought it was most likely that she had fallen in love with someone.

She had been in love the year before with Victor Lattery, a most unsatisfactory young man – but at the time, he was almost the only one she had met, and Rachel was the sort of girl who would always be in love with someone.

So to be kind to her, Alice said, ‘You look as though you’re in a dream. What are you thinking about?’

‘The ball, and what I shall wear,’ said Rachel.

‘Oh,’ said Alice blankly. She wasn’t ‘out’ yet, and much preferred riding to dancing.

‘I hope Mama doesn’t make me wear the white organza again,’ Rachel went on.

‘Richard’s trying to persuade Kitty to wear white – Daisy heard Miss Taylor talking about it.’

‘But Kitty’s married,’ Rachel objected. ‘Married women don’t wear white.’

‘Don’t frown – I’m doing your face. Yes, but you know Richard, always trying to shock. He says a countess can do as she likes, and that with Kitty’s colouring she’ll look stunning in white.’

Rachel sighed again. ‘I’m so fair it doesn’t suit me.’

Alice agreed. ‘Next to Kitty, you’d look like two penn’orth of cold gin.’

Rachel wrinkled her nose. ‘Where did you get such a dreadful expression?’

Alice didn’t want to say she’d heard Axe Brandom use it. ‘Oh, it’s what the grooms say,’ she said vaguely.

‘Well, don’t let Mama hear you.’

‘Don’t look disapproving – still doing your face.’

‘You spend too much time in the stables. And you’ll never get a husband if you use coarse phrases like that.’

‘I don’t want a husband,’ Alice said, as she had said many times before, whenever she was rebuked for being unladylike, or having untidy hair, or sitting on the floor, or whatever other way she had fallen short of the maidenly ideal.

‘Well, you surely can’t want to stay here all your life,’ said Rachel.

‘Why not? I can’t see how I’d be happier anywhere else.’

‘I like it here,’ Arabella said, startling them both – they hadn’t realised she’d been listening. ‘I’d like to stay for ever. I don’t want to go home. Our house is like two penn’orth of cold gin.’

‘Two penn’orth of gold chin,’ Arthur echoed importantly. ‘It’s nasty and smelly.’

‘Arthur! Don’t say such a thing!’ Rachel said.

‘It is!’ Arthur averred. ‘Smelly-welly-jelly! I hate it! I want to stay here.’

‘Me too!’ said Arabella. ‘Can we go riding this afternoon, Aunty Alice?’

‘Ooh, yes. And can I ride Biscuit?’ Arthur said, bouncing on the spot. The dogs woke and raised their heads to look at him, wondering if the movement heralded a walk.

‘No, he has to have Goosebumps, doesn’t he, Aunty?’ Arabella objected quickly. ‘I always have Biscuit, cos I’m older and I can ride better. Arthur’s only a baby.’

‘I’m not a baby!’

‘You are!’

’Well, you fell off yesterday! I’ve not fallen off for ages.’

‘I won’t take either of you if you squabble,’ Alice said. They fell silent and, under her stern gaze, went back to the puzzle. The dogs flopped back again. Next to a walk, toasting at the fire was their favourite occupation.

Rachel gave her a look that said, Now you see what staying here all your life would mean. You’d be the spinster aunt .

Alice continued working. She was rather looking forward to the children going home, because she did tend to get stuck with them.

She felt sorry for them, but having them tagging along meant she couldn’t go and see Axe in his woodman’s cottage up in Motte Woods.

She missed those visits. She missed Dolly, his terrier, and the cats, and Della, his beautiful Suffolk Punch mare, and Cobnut, the rescued pony she had named, and the various injured or orphaned animals he had from time to time.

Most of all she missed Axe. And she wondered .

. . Her hand slowed and stopped as her thoughts went travelling.

Last time she had visited there had been a strange, palpitating moment when she had thought he was going to kiss her.

He had stood so near, stooped his big golden face towards her, and everything in her had reached up to him, like a flower reaching for the sun.

But then he had straightened up and turned away, and afterwards had been almost gruff with her.

And insisted she left as soon as she had drunk her tea, saying it was going to snow and she must get home before it broke.

The snow hadn’t lasted long, and was followed by a thaw; but then Linda had arrived with the children, tying her down, and she had not seen Axe since. Christmas was coming, and it would be impossible to get away for ages. She missed him. And she wondered . . .

There was a tap on the door, and Ellen, one of the housemaids, came in. ‘Her ladyship wants to see you, Lady Rachel.’

‘Which ladyship?’

‘Your mother, my lady.’

Rachel got up obediently, straightened her skirt and was heading for the door.

‘Your hair!’ Alice cried.

Rachel hated to be told off, and her mother would object to her appearing in that fashion. She looked frightened. ‘I’d forgotten it was down!’

‘Let me, my lady,’ Ellen said. With some clever twists and a few pins gleaned from Alice and Arabella, she got it into a kind of chignon. ‘There. Not perfect, but it might pass on a dark night, as they say.’

‘Oh, thank you, Ellen! How clever you are! How did you learn to do that?’

‘Miss Hatto showed me, my lady. And Rose lets me practise on her sometimes. I’d like to be a lady’s maid one day. And if I can do hair, I can attend visiting ladies that don’t have their own maid, and maybe one day—’

‘Mama’s waiting,’ Alice reminded her sister; and Rachel fled.

Ellen followed her out. Alice turned the pages of her sketch-pad.

She came to a pencil sketch she had done of Axe, head bent over a piece of harness he was mending.

Lovingly she added some more shading, deepening the chiaroscuro.

She could have drawn him from memory by now, but it was so much more satisfying to have the subject before her.

Perhaps if she could slip away from the children for a few hours .

. . She wasn’t their governess, after all. Surely someone else could watch them.

‘Aunty Alice, can we go riding now?’ Arabella broke into her thoughts.

‘Riding, riding, riding!’ Arthur shouted, bouncing again, and waking the dogs fully. They got up and stretched, and stalked towards Alice with suggestive smiles. They were delighted to find a human face at tongue level for a change.

‘All right,’ Alice said, sighing, fending them off, and rising. ‘Go and get changed.’

‘Hooray!’ said Arabella. ‘We’ve finished the puzzle, only there’s a piece missing.’

‘Puzzles are smelly,’ Arthur crowed triumphantly. ‘Puzzles are penn’orth of cold gin.’

Alice said, ‘If you mention “cold gin” once more I shan’t take you at all. And stop saying “smelly”.’

Arthur clapped his hands over his mouth at the threat. Arabella did the same, but they both shook with giggles behind them.

Mrs Webster found Moss, the butler, in the glass-closet in a sort of slow bustle that spoke more confusion than activity. What was wrong with him these days? she wondered irritably. Was he getting too old? Was he drinking – well, all butlers drank, but more than usual?