Page 15 of The Secrets of Ashmore Castle (Ashmore Castle #1)

Dory was settling into her new home. The sewing-room was on the first floor, next to the linen-room, in a good position to see everyone who went to fetch clean sheets or towels, or went past to the back stairs.

People who popped in with small sewing jobs – a button off here, an apron string coming loose there – usually stayed to chat.

And she was sent here and there about the house to do running repairs, so she was always in the way to hear the latest gossip.

She was learning about her new family: that Mr Moss’s great passion was his stamp collection, over which he brooded with magnifying-glass and tweezers whenever he had the chance.

That James was sharp and pushing and ambitious to get on.

Mrs Webster was an enigma. She hadn’t been long at the house and no-one quite knew what made her tick, but they said she saw everything – it was no use trying to put one over on her.

You did not speak to Miss Taylor until spoken to.

Mrs Oxlea the cook had a melancholy secret, and was given to bouts of weeping and, more inconveniently, occasions when she got too drunk to do her work.

Rose, the head housemaid, was a care-for-nobody but so good at her work she got away with it.

Daisy, who attended the young ladies, loved to gossip, though most of her stories had no basis in fact.

Two topics dominated the conversation: what changes would come about as a result of the old lord’s death, and what Christmas would be like this year. They already knew there would be no entertaining, and the traditional servants’ ball was cancelled.

‘Mean, I call it,’ said Ellen, the pretty housemaid. ‘We don’t get much fun as it is.’

‘I heard they’re going to have one at the Grange instead,’ said Daisy.

‘Rubbish,’ said Rose. ‘You’ve got to stop making things up, Daisy. Your tongue’ll turn black and drop out.’

‘ I didn’t make it up,’ Daisy said, with a flounce. ‘Someone told me.’

‘Someone!’ Rose scoffed. ‘That post boy, I suppose. He’d say anything to get inside your bodice.’

‘Ooh, Rose, don’t say such awful things!’ Mabel, the fat, plain housemaid exclaimed.

‘What’s the servants’ ball?’ Dory asked.

‘Didn’t they have one where you worked last?’ Mabel asked. ‘It’s a Christmas thing. All the servants and the families from the local big houses come, and the gentry have to dance with us. Rose danced with his lordship last year, didn’t you, Rose?’

She gave an enigmatical grimace. ‘Much good it ever did me. Anyway, there’s not going to be anything this year. No visitors – not even any presents, far as I can tell.’

‘I s’pose it’s mourning,’ Daisy said, ‘but I think it’s rotten.’

‘Mean, I call it,’ said Ellen.

‘You’ll have to find some other way of running after that footman from Ashmore Court,’ Rose said. Ellen couldn’t think of a sharp response, and stuck out her tongue instead.

Dory was pondering all this later over her work when William, the second footman, came to her door, fidgeted until she looked up, and said, ‘I’ve – er – I’ve got a button off. Can you – um … ?’

‘Give it here,’ she said kindly. She almost had a soft spot for William: after James, who was frankly sinister, and Cyril, third footman, who was sly and cocky and modelled himself on James, his hero, William was a relief.

He had no ambition, he was mentally rather slow, lazy in his work, and too fond of his food, but he never spoke ill of people or made trouble.

He sidled further into the room, handed her a button – it was warm and damp with sweat from his hand – and shrugged off his striped waistcoat.

‘You’re the third this morning,’ she said. ‘There must be a curse on buttons in this house.’ She examined the place where the button was missing, and frowned. ‘This looks as if it’s been cut off. Has someone been playing tricks on you?’

She looked up, and saw him blush scarlet, his eyes shying away from hers.

It came to her in a flash – he had cut it off himself, so as to come up and see her.

It was not the first time in her life a male servant had taken a fancy to her, but with William, his shyness seemed to make liking her more a pain than a pleasure.

In sheer pity she tried to put him at his ease.

‘I can fix this for you in no time,’ she said. ‘What d’you think about not having the Christmas ball? They all seem quite upset downstairs. Was it fun?’

‘Yeah, sort of,’ he said. ‘There was lots to eat, anyway, and you got to talk to servants from other houses.’

‘And dancing,’ she said, concentrating on threading the needle. ‘I like dancing. You a good dancer? I bet you are. You’re quite light on your feet.’ He mumbled something incomprehensible. ‘What’s that?’

‘I’d dance with you , if there was a ball,’ he muttered, staring at his feet. ‘Ask you, anyway. Don’t ’spec’ you’d …’ His voice trailed away. He looked as if his head had been dipped in hot water, but he still managed to go a shade redder.

‘You’re a nice boy,’ she said.

‘My mum says I have to be.’ William swallowed an Adam’s apple that had grown twice its normal size. ‘She says do-as-you-would-be-done-by.’

‘I bet she’s proud of you,’ Dory said, biting off the thread. She gave the waistcoat a shake and handed it to him. ‘There, all done,’ she said.

‘Thanks,’ he said. ‘Thanks ever so.’ He stood holding it and staring at her speechlessly, until she waved him away – not unkindly, but with a little flutter of the fingers.

He bumbled off, thinking of her white teeth between her pink lips biting the thread – his thread! He wanted to get round the corner quick and kiss where they’d been, before the magic wore off.

In light of what Miss Thornton had said, Lady Bayfield decided to expose Kitty to all the society possible for a girl not yet out, and observe her. Bayfield Court always entertained during the Christmas season, and Hampstead was a genteel place with a lot of good families.

Sir John was startled at the scale of the entertainments planned. ‘It is for Catherine’s sake,’ Lady Bayfield told him. ‘She needs to become used to being in company.’

‘I thought that was why you sent her to school,’ he objected.

‘School can only do so much. And it was a girls’ school, Sir John. She needs to be comfortable in male company.’

He sighed, but only a little. ‘Whatever you think necessary, my dear.’

‘You wish her to be well settled,’ Lady Bayfield urged.

‘Of course. But there’s no hurry. She’s only just seventeen, no need for her to marry for a year or two.’

Lady Bayfield held her tongue, but privately she had no intention of allowing Kitty to linger on the market. To get her married in her first year would reflect well on Lady Bayfield; a second-or third-season daughter was verging on shameful.

Kitty was thrilled with her first floor-length gowns and pinned-up hair; and since Mama had not told her she was to be on trial, she entered the Christmas celebrations with quiet pleasure.

But she was too quiet for Lady Bayfield.

With guests of her parents’ age, she was meek, polite, and never ventured an opinion of her own: that was just as it should be.

The verdict of that generation was that she was ‘a nice, well-behaved girl’.

But with the young people Lady Bayfield had gone to such trouble to acquire, Kitty behaved no differently.

She smiled and listened, but did not join in.

And with the young men, the smile disappeared, and she seemed almost apprehensive, as though faced with a strange dog that might bite. Lady Bayfield was exasperated.

‘You must not be so stupid in company,’ she berated Kitty, after one evening party. ‘You hardly said a word last night.’

‘I’m sure I spoke to several people, Mama,’ Kitty faltered. She hated to be told off.

‘Young Mr Woods sat beside you for ten minutes and could not get a word out of you.’

‘He’s very …’ Kitty began, and stopped. She hardly knew what – very male .

‘He’s just the sort of young man you will meet at your come-out. What will become of you if you can’t be agreeable like other girls? Surely they taught you how to make conversation at your school.’

Kitty hung her head.

Lady Bayfield saw tears beginning to gather. ‘Don’t cry, Catherine, for Heaven’s sake!’ she said impatiently. ‘We’ll say no more now. But you must try harder. Go to bed. You’re tired.’

Kitty hurried away, and Lady Bayfield sat down to think. A few more parties might harden Kitty and bring her on, but if they didn’t, perhaps she might, little as she wanted to, have to consider Miss Thornton’s suggestion.

*

Aunt Schofield did not believe in God. She was a rationalist and a Benthamite, but England was a Christian country and she felt it was important for Nina to be brought up in the Christian tradition.

She had taken her to church regularly, so that she knew the forms of service, and had read the Book of Common Prayer and the Bible with her extensively.

They were not only texts of literary beauty, they were the foundation stones of so much of English culture that an educated Englishwoman ought to be as familiar with them as she was with Shakespeare.

Christmas in Draycott Place was cheerful, much like a pagan midwinter feast. There was no Christmas tree, which Aunt Schofield dismissed as a German innovation of Prince Albert, but they decorated the fireplaces with holly and ivy.

There was no mention of the star, the manger, the wise men and so forth, but there were big fires and lots of mince pies and mulled wine.