Page 48 of The Mistress of Ashmore Castle (Ashmore Castle #3)

‘There are shutters on the outside for the cold weather,’ Alice said. ‘The Bunces never bothered with curtains.’

‘Wasn’t anyone to look in at ’em, set back the way the house is,’ Rose said.

Dory had made red and white gingham curtains for the kitchen windows, and she set about hanging them.

‘These’ll look cheerful, anyway. Make it more homelike.

’ She tied the curtains back with a bit of red ribbon, and put a clay pot of thyme on the windowsill in the centre, pinching the leaves to release the scent.

More furniture, belonging to the Woodrows, had arrived by carrier and been installed, but the house still looked rather bare.

Alice and Rose moved the pieces around to make the best of them.

Richard had had a load of wood and coal sent up, and Rose laid fires ready to light, while Alice arranged flowers in jugs, and dusted around.

She primed the kitchen pump and filled a big kettle, Rose lit the kitchen range, and they put the kettle on the slow plate to heat.

The dogs, who had been lying in a patch of sunshine on the kitchen flags, lifted their heads, listening, then jumped up, and a moment later Michael Woodrow came in through the door from the yard, followed by a woman. He stopped abruptly at the sight of them.

Alice stepped forward, offering her hand. ‘I hope we didn’t startle you. I’m Alice Tallant, from up at the Castle. We were just making sure the house was ready for you. I wasn’t expecting you quite so soon.’

‘I know who you are, my lady. I’ve seen you from a distance.’ Woodrow shook her hand. ‘Martha’s train was a bit early. My sister Martha, my lady.’

Woodrow was a well set-up, fair young man with a pleasant, open face, somewhat weather-reddened, and unruly mouse-fair hair.

His sister stepped forward, very tall, and so thin she seemed gaunt.

She looked a good bit older; not much like him in feature, but the same fair hair, going grey and dragged into a strict bun at the back.

Her hand was bony and red; she didn’t smile.

‘We’ve put the kettle on to boil,’ Alice said, ‘and there’s a basket of provisions my brother sent up from the house – bread and butter, eggs and ham and so on, just a few things to tide you over.’

‘It’s very kind of you, and his lordship,’ Woodrow said, seeming pleased. He was automatically making much of the dogs as he spoke; they had ignored his silent sister and made straight for him.

‘And Rose has laid the fires ready for you,’ Alice went on. ‘This is Rose Hawkins – she’s head housemaid at the Castle. I know it’s warm outside, but these old houses can be cold inside at night, specially when they’ve been empty for a while.’

Martha Woodrow gave Rose a glance that might have been thanks, and looked away again.

Woodrow looked into Rose’s face with frank interest, and shook her hand, too.

‘Thank you, Miss Hawkins,’ he said. ‘You’re very kind.

’ His hand seemed to hold on to hers for longer than was strictly necessary.

Rose met his eyes, and found herself blushing.

‘Well,’ said Alice, ‘we’d better leave you to get settled in. It was nice to meet you properly at last. And you, Miss Woodrow.’

Woodrow sprang to open the door for her. The dogs shot past, jostling Rose so that she swayed against him, and he steadied her with a touch on her elbow, and smiled at her – the sort of smile that warmed you, like sunshine, or golden butter on hot toast.

Outside, starting off for the Castle again, Alice said, ‘That went well. I’m glad we did it. They seem like good people. His sister was a bit shy, I thought.’

‘Yes, my lady,’ Rose said. ‘I expect the house is bigger than she’s used to. It’ll take some keeping clean.’

‘Yes, I suppose she might feel a bit daunted. But he’s very nice,’ Alice went on. ‘He has a nice smile.’

‘Yes, my lady,’ said Rose.

‘It seems ridiculous to keep this great house going,’ Linda said to her mother, ‘if we aren’t going to entertain any more.’

‘There will be callers. And I expect we shall have girls and their mothers to tea,’ said Maud, leafing through the morning’s invitations.

‘But now that Uncle Stuffy’s moved to his club, there’s only the three of us,’ said Linda.

Her children were still staying with the cousins, who seemed happy enough to keep them.

She hoped they could stay with the Tullamores until they went back to Scotland – and then, ideally, go with them for the summer.

The savings would be considerable, which made it all the more galling to her frugal spirit that her mother was wasting money on a house with a ballroom after the ball was over.

Maud looked up. ‘Where would you expect us to stay?’

‘At Aunt Caroline’s,’ Linda said promptly. ‘Richard’s left, Kitty and Alice have gone home, and Giles will be leaving tomorrow, so she’ll have room. It’s such a waste of money.’

Maud did not look up from her letters. She might have said, ‘It isn’t your money being wasted,’ but she didn’t.

It was vulgar to discuss money – even more vulgar to care about it.

In Linda’s position, she, Maud, would have done something about it, without ever letting anyone know ‘it’ existed.

She said indifferently, ‘The house is taken until the end of July, so it doesn’t matter either way. ’

Linda thought they would be much more comfortable at Aunt Caroline’s, with her well-trained servants and lavish style of living.

And in her mother’s place, she felt sure she could have negotiated a discount for quitting early.

She sought for something else to provoke her with.

‘Why is the Prince of Usingen always hanging about us? Are you seriously considering him for Rachel? Because if not, you ought to send him away. I’m sure he’s putting off other suitors. ’

Maud turned over a letter without answering.

Linda’s eyes narrowed. ‘Have you had any offers for her?’

This was a sore point with Maud. Rachel’s ball had been a stunning success, and she was obviously a very popular debutante – she never sat out a dance, and constantly had a group of gallants hanging about her.

But the flood of offers Maud had expected had not materialised.

There had been the expected approach from Mr Freehampton, but he had no money at all, and he put himself forward for virtually every girl who came out, so it was not a compliment.

And there had been some sidelong hints from Lord Lansleigh, but he was a well-known trap, a confirmed bachelor who never came up to scratch.

As Maud recalled, he had danced with Linda at her come-out.

The eligible young men whose offers she would have considered seriously, who had clustered round Rachel like bees around a honey-pot, were not putting their obvious liking into action.

They might, of course, just be taking their time, and there was no absolute necessity to get her off in her first Season; but it always smacked somewhat of failure when there had to be a second.

Second-season girls might have to make do with younger sons or even the sons of business people.

Still, she told herself fairly, the Season was not over yet.

Offers would come in. She just wished she had two or three under her belt already, for insurance. Or even one .

‘It’s early days,’ she said, still not looking up.

Linda was affronted on the family’s behalf, though there was a small, secret and shameful part of her that was pleased, because her own marriage had not been all it should have, and it would have been galling if Rachel, also the daughter of an Earl of Stainton, had done better without a dowry than Linda had done with one.

Maud lifted her head at last. ‘What are you still doing here?’ she asked, irritated. ‘Why do you not go home?’

Linda’s nostrils flared. ‘I am helping you , Mama. I know how you dislike having to take Rachel to all these engagements. I could take more of them off your hands if you let me. You are looking tired—’

‘I am not looking tired,’ Maud snapped, ‘and I do not dislike escorting Rachel. Indeed, it is a very pleasant way to keep up with my old friends.’

Linda knew her mother didn’t have any old friends, but she didn’t quite dare say so. ‘I thought you might be a little more grateful to me,’ she said.

‘You helped me with the ball, but I don’t need you any more,’ Maud began, when the door opened and a footman came in.

‘The Prince of Usingen has called, my lady,’ he said. ‘And there is a telegram for Lady Cordwell.’

Linda took the telegram from the tray. ‘You can go,’ she said to the footman.

‘I’ll ring if there’s an answer.’ And when he had departed, she said scathingly to her mother, ‘The prince here again ? If he is going to make an offer for Rachel, I wish he’d get on with it. He’s making the place look untidy.’

‘It is not for you to decide who calls and who does not call at my house. Attend to your own affairs. If Cordwell is so desperate as to send you a telegram, you had better read it.’

With a snort, Linda opened the envelope, began to read, and looked puzzled. ‘It’s not from Cordwell. It’s from Colonel Havering of Frome Abbey, our next neighbour.’ Her puzzlement increased. ‘It just says, Terrible accident. Come at once .’ She looked up. ‘What does it mean?’

‘I cannot imagine,’ Maud said impatiently.

‘Oh, God, I suppose there’s been a flood, or a fire, or something. Or the roof has fallen in. We’ve been expecting that for months.’

But Maud was thinking. If something had happened to the house, Cordwell would have written himself. The message coming from a neighbour suggested he was not able to write. ‘You had better go,’ she said tersely.

But Linda had no wish to return to Dorset. ‘It can’t be anything urgent. I’ll send a reply and go tomorrow.’