Page 68 of The Mistress of Ashmore Castle (Ashmore Castle #3)

An enquiry by Richard found Mr Cowling conveniently in London. They met at his club.

‘My lady wife is still away, at the seaside, with friends,’ Cowling said, ‘so I find myself a poor homeless thing, roaming the earth.’ He smiled deprecatingly. ‘There, I’m not often moved to poetry, but a house without its mistress isn’t a home, in my view.’

‘You may be right, sir. I have never yet found myself in your happy position of having a wife to miss.’

‘You should get married. It’s the best thing in the world for a man. It’d be the making of you.’

‘Ah, but unfortunately I do not have an establishment to offer, or even a regular income.’

Cowling waved that away. ‘Don’t let that put you off.

You’ve two hands and a good brain – you can find a way to earn a living.

And a wife will be the spur to drive you on to make a success of yourself.

But I don’t suppose you met me here to talk about marriage.

What’s the matter? Something about the milk business? The Elthornes letting you down?’

‘No, sir, not at all. Rather the opposite – they’ve been extremely patient. I’ve let them down on a couple of occasions.’

‘Not producing enough milk?’

‘It’s not that. Production is going up slowly, and they’re happy to increase their sales in line with my volumes.

But I’ve had some difficulties with the delivery side.

Once it was a horse going lame, and having to find another at the last minute.

And several times we’ve almost missed the train – once we actually did.

The speed of the drays is too variable, even though we’ve improved the road.

You can’t get a horse along faster than its natural pace.

And we can’t start earlier to allow for delays because the milk won’t be there. ’

‘Well, then, what’s the solution?’ Cowling said.

Richard saw by his amused look that he had already thought of it. ‘Motor lorries,’ he said.

‘Aye, that’s what I’d have said. In fact, I’d have gone that way from the start,’ said Cowling.

‘I’ve always thought of them as no more than a novelty,’ Richard said apologetically. ‘Good fun, but not reliable. I dare say you heard that I had an unfortunate tangle with a motor vehicle a while back.’

‘Aye, I heard. Nina says you got a broken wing that’s never mended right.’

‘I’m afraid that’s true. My left arm will never be completely sound. So I viewed motor vehicles in general with suspicion. And they were always breaking down in the early days. But you see many more on the road now – and not just private cars, commercial vehicles too.’

‘Aye, lad, I know. I’ve heard some place in north London is to get a petrol-driven fire-engine next month, and once they have it, everyone’ll want one.’

‘How did you hear that?’ Richard asked.

‘Oh, I keep my finger on the pulse. And while I’ve always liked horses, I can see the use of motors.’

‘I should think, as an industrialist, you would do.’

‘You’re right! I wouldn’t want to go back to hand looms and women spinning by the fireside.

I might even get a motor-car myself one of these days, for pottering about – though a carriage and pair is a lot fancier to look at, to my mind, more elegant.

I’d sooner arrive at church on a Sunday that way.

But for everyday business use – well, you can’t just stop a horse by the kerb, put the brake on and leave it.

But, anyway, what did you want me for? Just my opinion, or is there something you want me to do? ’

‘Your opinion first,’ Richard said, ‘which I can see is favourable. And then your advice. I don’t know where to go to buy motor lorries, or what are the best and most reliable makes.’

‘And you think I do?’ Cowling’s eyebrows went up.

Richard smiled. ‘I know that if there is ever anything you don’t know, you very quickly find it out.’

‘Oh, flattery, is it? Well, well, suppose I do make an enquiry or two, what then?’

‘I hoped you might help me with the purchase.’

‘You’re after my money, are you?’

‘Oh, no, sir! I didn’t mean that. The estate is in good enough heart for capital outlay of that order. But I do know enough to realise that the innocent buying something he doesn’t understand is always in danger of being rooked.’

‘Well, you’re not wrong there,’ Cowling said approvingly.

‘If I wanted to buy a horse, I’d ask someone like you to advise me.

So you’ve come to the right man. I shall put enquiries in hand, and let you know what I find out.

And mebbe come along with you when it comes to buying, just for a treat!

Now, then, let’s have some details. How many are you going to need, and what weight are they to carry? ’

A club servant brought pen and paper, and they got to work.

Afton went round to the back door at Weldon House and, finding it open for the air, rapped on the glass panel and inserted himself politely halfway through. ‘Hello! Anyone at home?’

A very small maid clutching a dishrag gave him a startled face, white with three dark circles – two eyes and a mouth – and said, ‘Oo-er!’

The cook looked up from something she was stirring on the stove. ‘Can I help you – sir?’ She added the last in acknowledgement of Afton’s neat and gentlemanly appearance.

‘My name’s Afton,’ he said. ‘Valet to Lord Stainton up at the Castle. I was rather hoping to have a word with Mr Moss. Just a friendly word, see how he’s getting on. Everyone at the Castle misses him.’

‘I believe you,’ said the cook, eager to please now she knew how eminent her visitor was. ‘Mrs Grape’s my name. And we couldn’t think more highly of Mr Moss, not if it was ever so.’

‘He’s a fine man, Mrs Grape. And the great expert in his calling.’

‘Ooh, there’s nothing he don’t know,’ Mrs Grape said eagerly. ‘Any subject you like to name, Mr Moss knows all there is to know about it – don’t he, Betty?’

‘Yes, Mrs Grape.’

‘Dinner’s never dull here, I can promise you, with all the things he tells us. You should hear him talk about India, and elephants, and I don’t know what else. All the long words and foreign names and everything, he’s got ’em off pat. Hasn’t he, Betty?’

‘Yes, Mrs Grape.’

‘Well, don’t just stand there staring, child. Run and tell Mr Moss there’s a gennleman to see him, a Mr . . .’

‘Afton.’

‘That’s right. Hop to it! I think he’s doing the dining-room.’

A little more of Afton’s charm, and the servants’ hall – their combined sitting- and dining-room – was made available for a private chat, while the other servants stayed in the kitchen.

‘How are you settling in, Mr Moss?’ Afton only knew the legend of Moss, but that was enough for it to seem strange to see him with a black apron over his shirt sleeves and waistcoat, sign that he was doing ‘dirty work’.

‘Very well, thank you,’ Moss said, though his tone didn’t match the words. ‘It takes a bit of getting used to. My mistress is very kind and a true lady. But it isn’t like the Castle,’ he concluded bleakly.

But he perked up after a moment and wanted to know all that was going on up at the Castle, pathetically eager for detail. He had heard, of course, about the new arrival, and offered his congratulations. ‘But as to a name, Mr Afton – I’ve heard conflicting stories.’

‘Alexander,’ Afton supplied.

‘I did hear that, but didn’t give it full credence,’ Moss said sadly. ‘Not a family name at all.’

‘Well, second son, you know . . .’

‘Not even really a Christian name – not an Apostle or one of the Blessed Saints.’

‘There are saints with weird and wonderful names, you know, Mr Moss. Like Boniface and Adalbert.’

‘Not English saints,’ Moss corrected him firmly. ‘And her ladyship, the mistress, how is she? I heard she was poorly.’

‘Coming along, Mr Moss. She was very much weakened by the birth, but I believe she is not in danger, and should make a full recovery.’

Afton patiently answered his questions about the rest of the family, and then Moss came obligingly to where Afton wanted him. ‘And below stairs – how are things going along?’

‘Not as smoothly as when you were in command, Mr Moss. Somehow we haven’t recovered our rhythm. We muddle along all right—’

‘Muddle!’ Moss was shocked.

‘But there’s no-one with your eye for detail.’

Tears came to Moss’s eyes. ‘I knew how it would be. I never would have left, if I’d had the choice. And to be putting someone like Hook in charge! A tyro, Mr Afton. The merest tyro. Thinks he knows everything, but it takes years and years to learn how to run a great house.’

‘We were lucky to have you, Mr Moss. And we’re lucky that you’re not far away, so that we can come and pick your brains when we need to – at least, I hope we can.

For instance,’ he went on quickly, ‘there’s a little discrepancy we have with the plate-room book.

The new inventory that was made up recently.

I was wondering – his lordship was wondering – whether you would be so good as to have a look, just glance through and see if you can spot anything that’s missing from it. ’

Moss looked uncertain. ‘Oh, I don’t know, really . . . My duties here – I ought not to take time out. My loyalties to my new mistress . . .’

‘I’m quite sure you remember every piece of silver in the closet, Mr Moss, with your magnificent grasp of detail. No-one has a mind like yours – you are much missed every day, you know.’