Page 26 of The Mistress of Ashmore Castle (Ashmore Castle #3)

‘Yes, my lord,’ Afton said. No more than that. Then he said, ‘You must be looking forward to getting back to London, my lord. There’ll be lots to do there.’

‘Yes. And you, Afton – have you friends to catch up with?’

‘No friends any more, my lord. But lots to see and do during my time off.’

‘I shall try not to encroach on it.’

‘Thank you, my lord. But my duty comes first, always. As I know it does with you.’

Now , Giles thought, relapsing into silence, was that a compliment? Or a warning?

That night the dream came again, but it was different.

The woman was not running away, but waiting for him at the end of the corridor, and this time he could see her clearly.

It was not Giulia. There were dark eyes, yes, but a whiter skin, and hair the colour of a wheatfield at harvest time.

He remembered a voice, a presence, a mind that seemed to match his; a spirit that fitted his as the curve of a bird fits its nest. In the dream, he knew that if he could reach her, all the longings of his life would be resolved: in her he would find his home.

But walking towards her was like struggling through thick mud; and no matter how he strove, he never got any nearer.

She seemed even to be drawing further away, fading, like a ghost. He cried out to her, and woke himself up: in the dream he had shouted, but in reality it had been a feeble whimper.

On the last day, as they were coming into Trieste, he found himself on deck, at the taffrail with Talbot and Giulia, watching the cranes and warehouses and bustle of the dockside grow nearer.

It was a breezy day, with clouds bowling across a pale spring sky, shadows running over the restless dark sea, gulls wheeling and crying above the ship.

Mary was below, supervising some problem that had occurred with her maid and the packing.

And then the thing he had been dreading happened – a steward came and took Talbot away with a question about a packing case, leaving Giles alone with Giulia.

She turned to him at once. ‘You have been avoiding me,’ she said. It was an accusation, but her tone was tender. ‘ So che devi essere discreto— ’

He hardly heard her in his rush to apologise. ‘Giulia, I am so sorry!’ he said. ‘What I did was unforgivable. I am not that sort of man. It was a deplorable lapse on my part, and I have been racked with guilt ever since. Please believe, it will never happen again.’

He saw he had offended her. Her nostrils flared. ‘Do you suppose,’ she said tautly, ‘that I am some mindless doll, a child’s toy to be moved this way and that?’

‘No – I—’ he began, startled. ‘I don’t think of you like that.’

‘You don’t think of me at all!’

‘That’s not true. I have always been very fond of you.’

‘Fond!’ She almost spat it. ‘ Una parola veramente inglese! You toss me a scrap from your plate, because you are fond of me, like a dog. And then the idea of it hurts your pride, so you are sorry !’

‘No, Giulia – no!’

‘You kissed me. And you think, by that, that I am just waiting for your kisses! That if you shall happen to want it, I shall let you kiss me again and be grateful!’ She dropped into Italian, too angry and rapid for him to catch it all, though the word stupido seemed to feature more than once.

Then she flicked a glance away from him and interrupted herself.

‘Hush, Mary comes.’ She closed her lips tight and drew herself up with dignity.

‘Oh, my troublesome maid!’ Mary exclaimed, laughing, as she reached them.

‘She was in a panic because she thought she’d mislaid my passport and pocket-book, and then it turned out she’d packed them in the trunk and we had to turn everything out!

I’m so looking forward to London and being in one place!

Are you staying in London at all, Giles, or will you go straight down to the country? ’

His mind was sore from Giulia’s words, but he roused himself to answer.

‘No, I shall have to stay in London for the moment. My sister’s come-out, you know.

’ An idea occurred to him. ‘You must come to her ball,’ he said, a look gathering Giulia into the invitation.

‘If I know my mother, it will be the event of the Season, something not to be missed.’

Mary smiled. ‘I’m sure we would love to come, but won’t she already have sent out the invitations?’

‘That cannot signify. I shall be paying for the whole thing, therefore I shall invite anyone I want – and I want you and Tal and Giulia. Please say you’ll come. I must have some friends of my own, as counterweight to my mother’s “significant people”.’

‘Oh, so we’re not significant people?’ Mary laughed. ‘No, my dear, I’m just teasing you! We’d love to come, wouldn’t we, Giulia? And, in return, you must promise to dine with us at least once before you go down.’

‘It would be my pleasure,’ Giles said. By a heroic effort, he didn’t look at Giulia as he said it.

Going to Pelham House was a new lease of life for Moss.

He had been feeling tired and lethargic lately, but coming to London and preparing for an important event was like a return to the grand old days of his late lordship.

He became the Moss of yore, the major-domo who controlled the establishment with a lift of his eyebrow, and received the cream of society, and royalty both British and foreign, as though it were an everyday thing.

In the old days, dukes, margraves, highnesses (both royal and serene), all had known his name, had pressed grateful guineas into his palm.

‘You’re a marvel, Moss,’ they had said, when he solved some delicate problem for them.

Many of them had told his lordship they envied him Moss; some had even tried to entice him away.

Her ladyship (it was a relief, in Pelham House, that the dowager was again simply ‘her ladyship’) had chosen James and Sam as the footmen he should bring.

And with regard to maids she had said, ‘Rose and three others. You may decide.’ So he had been able to sidestep Mrs Webster with apparent lordly indifference, and choose Ada along with Doris and Ellen.

Mrs Webster had not been entirely quiescent. ‘Ada is not very experienced. And rather small. There may be heavy work in the preparation stage. Why not take Mabel instead? Or Tilda – she’s strong.’

Moss had had to think quickly. ‘Her ladyship may require them in the public areas. Taking coats and escorting ladies to the dressing-room and such. Mabel and Tilda may be good workers but they won’t do as parlour-maids.’

Mrs Webster looked at him sharply. ‘Did her ladyship ask you to pick pretty ones?’

Moss couldn’t quite lie. ‘I believe it was implied,’ he said loftily.

Ellen was excited about the trip. ‘You never know but what there may be an opportunity for me,’ she said to Rose. ‘Some lady needing her hair put up or a gown pinned or something. I could show what I can do, and if, say, they were looking for a lady’s maid . . .’

Rose snorted. ‘You go on thinking like that,’ she said. ‘As if anyone at the ball of the Season is going to notice a maid!’

‘Still,’ Ellen said defiantly, ‘there’s all these girls going to get married soon, and they’ll be needing a maid for the first time—’

‘They won’t remember you by the time they get married. Anyway, what about your Tom?’ Ellen was walking out with Tom Trapper, the chimney-sweep’s son. ‘If you get a lady’s maid job you’ll be moving away and that’ll be that.’

‘Oh, Tom . . .’ Ellen said consideringly. She was fond of him, and she liked the distinction of having a steady walk-out, unlike the other maids. On the other hand . . . ‘Tom’s nice, but he always smells a bit of soot, no matter how much he washes. And I’d get to meet lots of smart London valets.’

‘Oh, yes. Like Mr Speen,’ Rose said. ‘He was smart all right.’

‘Ooh, Rose, you mustn’t speak ill of the dead! Anyway, I bet you wouldn’t say no to a nice valet, if you was asked.’

Rose snorted. ‘I’ve had enough of men to last me a lifetime, thank you very much. We’d all be better off without them. London’s going to be hard work, and don’t you forget it.’

There was always the chance of nice tips, though Rose didn’t mention that.

But when the time came, she didn’t go at all.

She woke on the morning of departure coughing, sneezing, and streaming at the eyes, and was obviously not fit to be taken.

Moss was quite put out, having expected her to keep a firm hand on the maids when they were in London.

Mrs Webster, however, put an end to his dithering.

‘Of course she can’t go. You’d have your entire staff down with it. You had better take Dory.’

‘But she’s not a housemaid,’ Moss objected, his brow furrowed.

‘She’s done most things in her time, and she’s older and sensible and will keep the younger ones in order.

’ And seeing he was still doubtful, she added, ‘Having a skilled needle-woman in the house can only be an advantage, given all the new gowns that will be coming through the door. Her ladyship will think you’ve shown initiative. ’

So Dory was told to pack her bag. She was not sorry to get away for a bit, for the sense of Sebastian’s brooding sadness haunted the house for her. And though she had avoided London ever since she ran away, surely there was no chance of bumping into Jack as long as she stayed inside the house.

In Portman Square, Moss discovered, to his pleasure, that her ladyship was sparing no expense.

A large number of extra local staff had already been employed, and were busy cleaning – though not busy enough, to his mind.

He strode in and chivvied them up. Everything had to be cleaned to the highest standard: floors, woodwork and furniture waxed and rubbed to a glow, carpets, curtains and upholstery beaten, windows and mirrors polished, ornaments and chandeliers washed.

After inspecting the house on the first day, Moss opined to her ladyship that some of the paintwork was not up to standard.

He was relieved and proud that she accepted his suggestion and instructed him to hire decorators to repaint anything he thought needed it – an instruction he decided included a little bit of re-gilding.

There were all sorts of arrangements to be made for the ball itself.

Carpenters had to build a dais for the orchestra.

Rout-chairs had to be hired for the ballroom, and an expert had to come and inspect the floor for springing, and to chalk it on the day.

There would be tubs of flowers for the entrance, the reception hall and the ballroom.

A huge number of candles to order. A card-room had to be set up: tables and chairs hired, new packs of cards, pencils and ashtrays purchased.

The police would be needed to keep the crowds back from the entrance and to direct the traffic.

The supper was entirely in the hands of the caterers, but suitable rooms had to be prepared.

A room had to be cleared just off the reception hall for coats – Moss told James he would be in charge of that on the night.

It needed an experienced hand to make sure the right mantle went to the right person, and James was very happy to accept the responsibility, with its opportunity for tips and possibly the odd bit of ‘lost property’.

And ladies’ and gentlemen’s dressing-rooms had to be prepared upstairs.

He would have put Rose in charge of the ladies’ on the night, but he saw now that Mrs Webster had been right and that Dory would do even better.

Evening gowns with trains, combined with heat, excitement, flirting and dancing, were a recipe for sartorial mishaps, and a skilled sewing-maid in the dressing-room would be regarded as a thoughtful addition to the ball.

Moss bestrode the house like a Colossus, directing, controlling, anticipating, answering questions and solving problems. He felt ten years younger and a foot taller, and though her ladyship would not demean herself to comment, he thought he saw a look of approval when she happened to pass him.

More importantly, he saw Ada’s eyes fixed on him in what he decided was deep admiration – almost awe.

The presence of Lady Linda was something of a drawback, as she had always had a tendency to meddle, but Moss found he could keep her out of his way by asking her to deal with the outsiders who were not in his remit, like the caterers, the florist, and the commissioner of police.

Lady Rachel he barely saw, except as she passed through the hall on her way to or from an engagement.

She seemed in fine looks, and buoyed up with excitement, which was as it should be.

When he contemplated what all this must be costing, it was just as well, he thought, that she was so very pretty.

She sometimes threw him a distracted smile in passing, and just once she addressed him, as he happened to be in the hall when she was leaving for a party, and held the door open for her.

‘I’m glad you’re here, Moss,’ she said. ‘It makes me feel everything will go off all right.’

‘I’m sure everything will, my lady,’ he said.

‘I’m frightfully nervous,’ she confided, glancing up at him with a shy smile that took him back to her schoolroom days.

He became human, and his smile was fatherly. ‘There’s no need, my lady. You will be the belle of the ball. All will be well.’

‘Thank you, Moss,’ she said, with a look that was as good as a kiss on the cheek, and whisked herself away.