Page 79 of The Mistress of Ashmore Castle (Ashmore Castle #3)

‘I am afraid for him,’ she said, suddenly serious. ‘ Il est obsédé par son génie .’

‘She is brilliant,’ he allowed cautiously.

Grandmère went on, her eyes distant, as though talking to herself.

‘Of course, one always knew about his grisettes . A man must have his . . . accommodations. It is not of the least importance. They were nothing to me or to him. And it is long since I had any desires in that direction. Our relationship has long gone beyond such things. I was, with him, exactly where I wished to be. But now . . . but this . . .’

‘What are you afraid of?’

‘He is not behaving like himself. He talks about her to me. He never would have done so before. And the appartement meublé – what can that mean? On the one hand, it is as a man installs a mistress—’

‘I don’t believe they—’

‘No. Not yet.’ She raised her eyes to his. ‘On the other hand, this particular appartement has not that look about it. A family property? It is too particular. J’ai peur que ce soit différent . There is danger here. I think— I fear he is falling in love with her.’

Richard could think of nothing comforting to say. He took her hand, and she let him.

‘I can do nothing,’ she went on. ‘I am twenty years too old for him. And she is twenty years too young. He is at the age when men make follies. When they feel the cold breath of age on the neck and hurry towards the warm fire of youth.’ Her eyes sharpened, focusing on him.

‘I do not wish him to look foolish. The tracasserie – that can be lived through. It even enhances a man’s view of himself.

But I do not wish him to be made a fool.

I have loved him a lifetime, almost. This child – is she a good girl?

Mais qu’importe? ’ She answered herself.

‘The world will decide and the truth will not matter. There will be hurt for all. Tant pis! But him – I care about him.’

‘I don’t know what to say to you,’ Richard mourned. ‘Except that I think the music is all she cares about.’

‘ ?a se voit! ’ she snorted. ‘And the more hurt for him when he realises.’

‘But he loves the music too. He wants to give her a big concert at the Queen’s Hall.’

‘I know.’

‘A Schumann concerto.’

‘Ha!’ Grandmère laughed mirthlessly. ‘He has never been able to play Schumann. He has not the subtlety. I have told him so for twenty years. What is this that you call it, when an old man gets a young creature to do what he cannot?’

‘Is there a word for it?’ Richard doubted.

‘If there is not, it ought to be invented,’ said Grandmère.

‘What are all these tomes and magazines I see you reading?’ Giles asked.

He had passed the door of the Peacock Room on his way downstairs and saw his wife at the table with her head bent in study.

So small and neat, with her soft curls and serious little face, she looked not like a mother of two but a good little girl at her schoolroom books.

Outside the autumn rain poured down with the air of never meaning to stop.

Occasionally a gust of wind flung drops against the window with a noise like pebbles.

Not a day for riding. There was a good fire in the grate, adding a mellow light to the greyness, and the room was cosy – so cosy that the dogs had found their way there.

They apologetically beat their tails for him to say that they didn’t really want to go out, but if he insisted .

. . An additional attraction for them was the presence of Alice who, in a chair by the fire, had a pad propped on her knees and was sketching Kitty.

Tiger had his head resting possessively on her foot.

Kitty looked up, her face lighting for him as it always did. ‘They’re about gardening.’

‘I didn’t know there were so many books about it.’

‘Some are from our library, though they’re very old. And some are borrowed – Mrs Brinklow is very interested in gardens. Mrs Bannister, too. And there’s a magazine called The Garden – they had a lot of back issues at the rectory that they’ve let me borrow.’

Giles raised his eyebrows. ‘How much can there be to say about gardens?’ he said, in surprise. ‘A garden is just there .’

Kitty smiled. ‘But someone has to put it there in the first place.’

Alice looked up. ‘You obviously aren’t aware that there’s a tremendous row going on in the gardening world,’ she said severely, ‘between two schools of thought. There’s the classicists, who think gardens should be formal and geometrical, and the naturalists, who believe they should be flowing and wild. ’

‘Hardly any point in having a garden if it’s wild, I should have thought.’

‘Well, not really wild, just looking more as if it sprang up naturally. I understand the effect is even harder to achieve.’

‘An artful artlessness? I can believe it,’ said Giles. ‘And which do you favour, my love?’

‘Well,’ said Kitty, ‘I think it would be reasonable to have a mixture of the two.’

He laughed. ‘Very diplomatic of you.’

Alice spoke up. ‘Reginald Blomfield says gardeners think architects know nothing about gardening and architects think gardeners know nothing about design, and that there’s a lot of truth on both sides.’

‘Who is Reginald Blomfield?’

‘He’s famous,’ Alice said reproachfully. ‘He builds great houses and designs their gardens as well. He’s an architect by training.’

‘So I suppose he favours the classical garden?’

‘Well, you would think so,’ said Alice, ‘but he does say there are some sites where a purely formal garden is out of the question.’

‘I think ours is a case in point,’ Kitty said.

‘Because of the slope?’ Giles hazarded. ‘It’s the reason we’ve never had much in the way of a garden.’

‘The head of the other camp is William Robinson,’ Alice said.

‘Kitty has his book, The Wild Garden . He says a garden is not a house so it shouldn’t have straight lines – the dead lines of the builder, he calls them.

It should be all curves, like in nature.

Flowing. And flowers all mixed up together. ’

‘Like an impressionist painting,’ Kitty offered.

‘It sounds messy. How would you keep it tidy?’

Kitty smiled a little. ‘I think that’s a question you’re not supposed to ask.’

He smiled too. ‘So where is all this tending?’ he asked.

Kitty bit her lip. They had come to the point – and how would he feel about it? ‘I’d like to ask Mr Blomfield to come and look at our site, and design a garden for us.’

‘Not the wild fellow?’

‘I think someone with architect training would be better, given the slope. And he has made a garden at his own house that’s on the edge of a cliff, and I read that it’s quite natural-looking. But the thing is, Giles, I expect he would charge quite a lot just for coming to look.’

Giles frowned. ‘His fee for looking, I suspect, will be as nothing compared to the expense of actually building a garden on that slope. He saw Kitty’s face fall, and said quickly, ‘But if you want one, you shall have one. Go ahead and write to the fellow.’

‘Really?’ Kitty said, afraid to be pleased too soon. ‘I think it will be very expensive.’

‘I’m sure it will. But, thanks to you, we are not paupers any more.’

‘I should like to do something for Ashmore Castle, to be remembered by,’ Kitty said. ‘Not just to live here and die and leave no trace.’

‘She could be in the history books,’ Alice said enthusiastically. She put on a declamatory voice: ‘“The famous gardens at Ashmore Castle, which attract thousands of visitors every year, were the inspiration of the wife of the sixth Earl of Stainton.”’

‘Oh, Alice, don’t,’ Kitty said, putting her hands to her cheeks.

‘Write to this Blomfield fellow,’ Giles said.

‘I care nothing about gardens, apart from kitchen gardens – I like asparagus and peas and a good peach if I can get them – but I know a lot of people do care, very much. You brought me your fortune to save Ashmore, Kitty. You should spend some of it on something you will love.’

With a genial nod, he walked briskly away, and the dogs, inspired by the movement, heaved themselves up and trotted after him.

That evening, when he was dressing for dinner, Giles found himself staring thoughtfully at Afton as he stood by holding his trousers ready, and finally said, ‘Her ladyship made an interesting suggestion to me the other day.’

‘Indeed, my lord?’

‘Indeed, Afton. I see you standing patiently there, ready to pass me my breeches, and it occurs to me that being valet to a man who cares as little about clothes as I do must leave you with a lot of time on your hands.’ Afton made no answer, merely looked at him enquiringly.

‘There it is, you see,’ Giles observed. ‘That sagacity, that restraint. The analytical mind waiting until it has more information before venturing a remark. You should have been in the diplomatic service.’

‘An impetuous man might conclude that you were trying to get rid of me, my lord,’ Afton said.

‘Perish the thought! If for no other reason, I couldn’t deprive my son of your company.’

‘A passing fancy, my lord. He’ll grow out of it.’

‘An impetuous master might conclude from that remark that you were hoping to be got rid of.’

‘I meant only to reassure, my lord.’

‘Look here, let’s stop fencing. I can’t believe brushing my jackets is enough for an able man like you, and since I should very much dislike to lose you, I would like to ask if you would care to take up the position of butler here. You look surprised,’ he added. ‘Did it never occur to you?’

‘I assumed that you would advertise, or apply to an agency,’ said Afton.

‘But it would be disagreeable to everyone to have a stranger come in, after so many years of old Moss – aptly named, by the way, since he seemed to have generated spontaneously on the old grey stones. One can’t imagine him actually being hired , or anything as prosaic as that.

And if we did get in a stranger, who is to know how he would turn out?

He might be dreadful, and there’d be months of upheaval and unhappiness.

And believe me, Afton, I have too many things on my plate to want to have to worry about unhappy servants as well. ’

‘I haven’t had the training, my lord,’ Afton said.

‘But you have served in great houses, you’ve seen it all done, you’re an intelligent man. And I believe Mrs Webster is an excellent housekeeper and would surely give you any help you needed. There is a system in place, after all, and it’s only a matter of keeping it going.’

‘I can see some ways in which the system could be improved,’ Afton commented thoughtfully.

Giles grinned. ‘You see? You’ve already put yourself in the butler’s shoes. I’m perfectly sure you could do the job. The only question is, would you want to?’

‘I think it would be interesting, my lord. And I fully agree that a stranger of unknown peculiarities would be disruptive to everyone – myself included. But would the other servants accept me, knowing I’m not a butler trained?’

‘Oh, you’re a likeable fellow. You’d soon get on top of them. They’d be just as glad to have someone they know.’

‘And who would valet you, my lord?’

‘You would, at first. I’m sure you can combine the jobs.’

‘It is done in many houses,’ Afton agreed. ‘Though not houses as large as this.’

‘Well, we don’t entertain much. And if we do start to entertain more, we’ll get more help in. We need more footmen, anyway, having lost both Moss and Hook, and you can train one of them up to do the little valeting I need, if you get too busy.’

‘I’m sure I can manage both, my lord – if you’re willing to admit a few bumps along the road during the transition.’

‘Good, that’s settled, then,’ Giles said, relieved to have the matter resolved so easily, after all the disruption and uncertainty.

Afton, he thought, was strong and healthy, and ought to last him into old age.

‘I’ll tell her ladyship, and she can tell Mrs Webster – unless you would like a formal introduction to the assembled servants? ’

‘I think we can manage without that, my lord,’ said Afton. ‘Your trousers, my lord.’