Page 16 of The Secrets of Ashmore Castle (Ashmore Castle #1)

Aunt Schofield kept a small establishment – just Cook, the house-parlourmaid Minny, and Haydock, who had been butler and valet to the late Professor Schofield and now took his position as man of the household very seriously.

With a live-out char for the heavy work, they lived pleasantly but economically for most of the year.

But on Christmas Day no expense was spared.

All the extra leaves were put in the dining-table and a very grand seven-course dinner was given for Aunt Schofield’s oldest and dearest friends – bachelor dons and spinster bluestockings, people who were not obliged to spend the day with their families.

It was hard work for the servants, but the guests all tipped generously, and there were lavish left-overs to eat up.

Nina loved it too. Her aunt’s friends were highly educated, so the conversation round the table was lively and wide-ranging; and, having no children of their own, they spoke to her just as they did to each other.

They listened to her seriously, disagreed courteously, and corrected misinformation diffidently, taking her new, tentative ideas and running with them, showing her a wider world and more diffuse applications.

There was no dividing after dessert, and coffee was taken at the table, because it was easier to converse sitting around the board facing inwards than when scattered around a drawing-room.

The party went on until, late and reluctantly, the guests dragged themselves up from their chairs and took themselves away.

It was the perfect celebration, Nina thought, and the only shadow over it was wondering where she would be next Christmas.

On a raw day in January, Giles pushed away the ledgers he was trying to make sense of.

Sickening suddenly of the confinement and stale air in the library, he decided to go out for a ride.

At the stables, Giddins hurried towards him, alerted to his presence by one of the boys, and eager for conversation.

But Giles was not in the mood for a chat.

He asked curtly, ‘What is there for me to ride?’

Giddins’s eyes lit up. His new lordship had not been across a horse since he arrived, and apart from selling his late lordship’s hunters, had not shown any interest in the stables. Gloom had prevailed among the mangers – but perhaps this was the start of better times.

‘Well, my lord,’ he said warmly, ‘it’s certainly time we started to think about buying horses for you. You won’t want hunters yet, but a couple of hacks – and I do know of a very nice chestnut for sale—’

Giles stopped him. ‘I want to go out for a ride now . Any plain road-horse will do – you must have something.’

Giddins swallowed his disappointment and eyed him professionally.

‘What does your lordship ride these days? About ten and a half stone? Well, my lord, let’s see.

Dexter would carry you – he’s quiet. Or if you wanted something more lively you could have Archer’s Abelard. He’s not going out this morning.’

‘I won’t deprive Archer. Dexter will do. I shan’t go far.’

‘No, my lord. It’s a nasty-ish day all right,’ Giddins said.

He had the air of settling in for a chat, so Giles walked away to the other side of the yard to wait for his mount to be brought out.

Dexter was a fifteen-two brown, docile, but fresh enough.

The dogs had followed him, hoping for a walk, but when he rode up the hill they lagged behind, and soon turned back to make their own way home.

When they got out onto the hillside, Dexter indicated his readiness for a gallop, which certainly blew away the cobwebs.

It was a dark day, clammily cold, with low clouds like hanging fog that soaked as effectively as rain.

He was not surprised to have the hill to himself – it was not a day for pleasure jaunts.

When he’d had his head-clearing spin, he rode through the woods for relief from the mizzle, and coming out on the other side found he was not alone in the world after all.

Shapes in the murk resolved themselves into Alice, coming along the crest on her liver-chestnut Pharaoh, followed by the groom Brandom.

Dexter whinnied a greeting, and Alice saw him, stopped, and waited.

When he rode up, she looked a little apprehensive, as though she expected trouble.

‘I didn’t think anyone else would be riding today,’ he greeted her. ‘It’s a nasty sort of day.’

‘I go out every day,’ Alice said, eyeing him nervously. ‘Mama said I could, though she said we can’t hunt while we’re in mourning.’

‘Quite right,’ he said. ‘You’re riding alone? Where’s Rachel?’

‘I’m not alone. I’ve got Josh. Rachel thinks she’s got a cold coming.’

He sighed. ‘I’m not looking for reasons to scold you. Don’t be so nervous. May I ride along with you?’

She relaxed just a little. Being asked permission seemed to please her. ‘Yes, of course,’ she said, and lowered her voice to add, ‘Josh isn’t much company. He’s very disagreeable today.’

Giles glanced back. The groom was hunched into his collar, his face reddened with the cold, except for his nose, which was purple. ‘I expect he doesn’t like the weather.’

‘Where are the dogs?’

‘They went home. They don’t like the weather either.’

She gathered her courage to converse. ‘We’ve hardly seen you since you got back. You’re always locked up in the library.’

‘There’s a lot to do.’

She slid a sideways glance at him. ‘Are things very bad?’ she asked.

‘Who said they were?’ he countered.

‘Everybody’s whispering about it. Daisy – she does our rooms – says they think a lot of them will be dismissed. She says Mrs Webster’s furious, because she needs more housemaids, not fewer. Some of them are looking around for other places.’

How the devil did these things get about? He’d been doing everything he could to allay fears – but he supposed it was impossible to stop servants talking.

‘You shouldn’t listen to gossip,’ he said automatically, and then was sorry because she shut her lips and turned her face away at the rebuke. He sought a way to open her up again. ‘That’s a nice gelding,’ he said. It was the right approach. She turned back to him, her face lighting. ‘Bred, is he?’

‘Three-quarters. Papa bought him for me. I thought I’d have to ride a pony for another year, but Papa said I was a good horsewoman, and deserved something that could keep up in the hunt. He goes like the wind. I miss hunting, don’t you? Wasn’t Christmas grue !’

‘Grew?’ he asked, puzzled.

‘Gruesome. No ball, no visitors, no Boxing Day meet. Oh dear, I suppose I shouldn’t think about that, only about poor Papa.

It isn’t that I forget, but being in mourning’s so dull .

I say, Giles, was it strange that Mama went to visit Aunt Vicky?

I thought you weren’t supposed to go visiting or have fun or anything. ’

Every year, Lady Stainton was accustomed to spend January and February with her other sister, the Princess of Wittenstein-Glücksburg, in her winter palace in Germany. She had departed two days before in all the grandeur of trunks, travel valises, hat-boxes, furs, rugs, her maid, and a courier.

‘I don’t think visiting relatives counts,’ Giles said, and added, ‘And I wouldn’t imagine there’s ever much fun to be had at the Wachturm. The word trostlos barely does justice to the Wachturm in winter.’

‘Oh, Giles !’ Alice concealed a guilty smile with her gloved hand. She raised enquiring eyes to him. ‘Is it wrong to laugh when you’re in mourning?’

‘Not when you’re fifteen,’ he reassured her. ‘Though perhaps not in public.’

‘It’s strange,’ she said, turning a wind-stirred lock of Pharaoh’s mane back the right way.

‘Papa was so – grand . Not like other people’s fathers.

I mean, Ena and Clara Brinklow, our friends, their papa chats to them and makes jokes .

They really love him. If he died, they’d cry like anything.

Is it wrong that I don’t want to cry for Papa? ’

‘You keep asking me if things are wrong,’ Giles protested mildly.

‘Well, you’re old – grown-up at least. I haven’t anyone else to ask.’

‘You don’t have a governess, do you?’

‘Not for years. We had one when we were little. We don’t need one now. Rachel will be old enough to come out next year.’

‘So you don’t have lessons? What do you do all day?’

‘Well, we ride. And hunt. And visit friends.’ She racked her brains. ‘We go poor-visiting in the village. Mama makes us.’

‘What about when you’re indoors, at home?’

‘Oh, I don’t know. I suppose we chat. We play cards sometimes.’

‘Read?’

‘Mm, not really. Not very much.’ She thought again.

‘I like to draw. I copy out of Bewick’s Birds sometimes, and I draw Rachel.

She likes to sew. She embroidered handkerchiefs for everyone last Christmas.

’ Giles was struck by the emptiness of their lives, and felt a vague determination to do something for them as he listened to her.

She made a downward moue . ‘Last Christmas was different,’ she mourned.

‘You weren’t home but Richard was and it snowed on Christmas Day.

Have you heard from Richard? Is he coming home? ’

‘He’s a soldier, and there’s a war going on,’ Giles said. ‘He can’t just drop everything and leave because he wants to.’

‘But does he want to?’ She didn’t wait for an answer. ‘That old war seems to have been going on for ever. Everyone was so excited about Ladysmith and Blom – Blum—’

‘Bloemfontein.’

‘We thought the war was over. But that was years ago, and it’s still going on.’