Page 52 of The Mistress of Ashmore Castle (Ashmore Castle #3)
‘Yes,’ she said indifferently, ‘but the doctor is also the coroner, and he’s promised to make it all easy. And there’s a family plot in the churchyard. The rector knows all about that.’
‘Well, I had better talk to all these people tomorrow,’ Giles said, ‘while you draw up a list of who should be invited. And there ought to be some kind of reception here afterwards – funeral baked meats. It won’t do to skimp the obsequies.’
‘You’ll need to pay the local tradesmen first if you want them to provide food and drink,’ Linda said sourly. ‘I hope you brought your cheque-book with you.’
‘There’s nothing in the house? What are we to eat tonight?’ asked Giles, who was starving.
‘Colonel Havering’s sister sent over a hamper. There’s still plenty in that. And Gerald’s cellar still has some good bottles. I suppose by rights they belong to the bank, now?’
‘I think, in the circumstances, we won’t worry about that tonight,’ Giles said.
After the dinner party at which Nina was presented to the King, it seemed that the Cowlings were ‘in’.
Invitations came every day for dinners and evening parties.
Sometimes they were from Mr Cowling’s set – financiers and business-people – and sometimes from what Nina thought of as ‘the King’s set’, which was more of the same, but with the addition of his personal friends, politicians and members of the armed forces, artists, writers and other interesting people.
They never had to have an evening at home if they didn’t want.
They were not invited by the other set, the people of fashion and of the high ton – the true denizens of the Season.
But she didn’t mind. She could do without balls now she was married, and there were other activities that were accessible to her: the theatre and the opera, the opening of the Summer Exhibition, the Derby, Ascot, polo at Windsor, the University Match at Lord’s.
And to occupy her active mind, she went with Lepida to lectures at University College, and with Lady Clemmie to various sorts of meetings.
It was at a dinner at the Keppels’ that she encountered Lepida’s parents, Mawes and Isabel Morris.
Mawes came up to her in the drawing-room, took her hand and examined her from head to foot, and said, ‘What a lady of fashion you’ve become!
I can’t believe you’re the same little girl who used to model for my cartoons. ’
Nina laughed, but said, ‘I’m the same inside – really I am.’
‘I bet you’re not! You’ve grown up, my child, and done it very well. But what’s this about a visit to an East End tannery? It’s not the thing, you know. I wasn’t pleased when Lepida told me what went on. It’s too rough, not to say dangerous.’
‘I don’t think it was dangerous,’ Nina said doubtfully, ‘only rather unpleasant. I don’t think they really would have harmed us.’
‘You don’t know that,’ Mawes said seriously.
‘You don’t know what these men are capable of.
It’s bad enough to think of you girls being exposed to their foul language, but it wouldn’t take more than a second for it to turn nasty.
Suppose someone drew a knife and marred that pretty face of yours?
I’m surprised Cowling allowed you to go.
’ Nina didn’t say anything, and he looked at her cannily.
‘That is, if he knew about it,’ he added gravely.
She couldn’t hold his eyes. ‘He might not have, I don’t remember,’ she said. ‘He doesn’t expect me to ask permission to go anywhere. And sometimes when he gets home he asks me about my day, and sometimes he doesn’t.’
‘Now, Nina, that’s not cricket. You mustn’t take advantage of his good nature. Lord knows, I encourage Lepida to take an interest in those less fortunate than herself, but there are more appropriate ways of doing it for a lady in her position – or yours.’
‘You allowed her to go,’ Nina pointed out.
‘I wasn’t told it was a tannery. I imagined something like a garment factory, something much less rough. I’ve told her not to go again.’
‘Well, I haven’t been back,’ Nina said, feeling uncomfortable. ‘Mrs Crane said a lot more testimonies were needed and it would be necessary to wait outside the factory in the evening and catch the girls coming out, but I haven’t had an evening free, though Lady Clemmie has gone with her once.’
‘Look here, I don’t mind Lepida going to meetings and writing letters and transcribing the statements and so on. That’s perfectly proper. Promise me you’ll stick with that, too, and not expose yourself to any more danger.’
He gave her a smile of understanding and irresistible appeal, and she smiled back and said, ‘I promise.’
At that moment Mr Cowling came up behind her and said, ‘Promise what? Evening, Morris! How’s that new horse of yours? What is my wife promising you?’
Seeing Nina’s confusion, Mawes came to her rescue. ‘She’s promising me to come and sit for me again one day.’
‘Oh, she should, she should!’ Cowling said. ‘That portrait you did of her before we married was excellent. Like as life! I should like another to put on my wall – something more formal, in evening dress, mebbe.’
‘I’m not sure my poor skill could do justice to her beauty,’ Morris said. ‘She is growing into the most handsome woman in London.’
Fortunately for Nina’s blushes, Isabel joined them at that moment, and said, ‘Mawes, Mrs Keppel says the King loved that cartoon you did about the Entente Cordiale. He wants to know who modelled for the French Trollop.’
‘I hope he doesn’t want to meet her!’ Morris said.
‘Who was it, actually?’ Cowling asked. ‘I was wondering myself.’
‘As a matter of fact, it was Lepida,’ Morris admitted. ‘But I changed the face as much as possible so as not to embarrass the poor girl. My family are very accommodating to me, but there are limits.’
Cowling laughed, and said, ‘Well, I don’t mind you drawing Nina again, as long as you don’t use her for anything at all “off”.’
‘Perish the thought! And you must come to dinner,’ Morris said, in his expansive way. ‘When can you come? Tomorrow?’
‘I know for a fact we’re not free until Tuesday, but we’ll make it then, if you like.’
‘Excellent. I’ll invite some interesting people to amuse you.’
‘But you always amuse me,’ Mr Cowling said comfortably.
Though she was not in the fashionable set, Nina did go across the square from time to time and call on Lady Caroline, who always seemed pleased to see her. On the day she went there to tea, and found Grandmère also present, she learned about the death of Linda’s husband.
‘And Giles has had to go down to Dorset to deal with the Cordwell finances, which are in something of a muddle. He’ll probably be there for several weeks,’ Caroline concluded.
‘Oh, poor Giles,’ Nina said, and was embarrassed as she realised she should have said ‘Poor Linda’ first.
Grandmère gave her a canny look. ‘No, you are right, it is poor Giles. He will hate it very much, and it will remind him of his troubles when his father died. But men have their trials as women have theirs. They must be borne. We cannot help it.’
‘What will Lady Cordwell do?’ Nina asked. ‘I suppose she’ll stay in Dorset while she’s in mourning.’
‘The funeral is next week,’ said Caroline, ‘and we’ll all have to go down, but then I expect Giles will ask her to stay at the Castle. Holme Manor is rather a dreary house, and awfully damp. Very unhealthy. I don’t suppose she’ll want to stay there in the long term.’
‘She cannot come to me,’ Grandmère said sharply, ‘and you should be careful, Caroline, that you do not get left with her. Once invite her and she will never leave. She is like a leech, that one. She will cling on wherever she can.’
Caroline looked shocked. ‘Oh, you mustn’t say such things.’ Not in front of a stranger, she meant.
Grandmère gave a very Gallic shrug. ‘I’m sure this family has no secrets from Nina. Kitty must have told her everything. No, let Linda go to Ashmore if she must go somewhere. That house is big enough for everyone to have their distance.’
‘Well, it would be rather crowded here,’ said Caroline, cautiously, ‘especially if she wanted to bring the children. And, besides, I do feel being brought up in a city is not good for children.’
‘Nonsense. I was brought up in a city,’ said Grandmère. ‘It did me no harm.’
‘I was, too,’ Nina said apologetically.
‘And when are you going to present us with a child?’ Grandmère demanded. ‘We are all waiting.’
Nina was embarrassed. Old ladies had licence not granted to others in polite society, but there were limits. ‘I suppose when God sends me one,’ she said.
‘Hmph! If that is where you believe they come from, you may be waiting a long time,’ said Grandmère, sourly, and began rummaging in her reticule.
Caroline, rather pink, leaned across to Nina and whispered, ‘You must forgive her. She gets crotchety when her digestion is disordered. It’s the east wind.’
Grandmère emerged with a small box of cachous, slipped one into her mouth and said, ‘The wind is from the south-west today. And I may be old and sour, but I am not deaf.’