Page 36 of The Secrets of Ashmore Castle (Ashmore Castle #1)

‘One died right off. Runt,’ he said. Alice squatted by the box. ‘Best not touch ’em,’ he warned. ‘She’s a fierce little mother.’

‘I won’t,’ Alice said. Dolly gave her a careful look, then turned away to lick her pups. ‘What’s this?’ she asked, picking up a small, very grubby and much chewed rag doll that was lying by the box.

‘It’s her doll,’ said Axe. ‘Dolly’s dolly. She don’t care about it now she’s got the pups, but once she gets tired of ’em, she’ll want it again.’

She stood up. ‘Where’s Captain?’

‘Out back somewhere.’ The rear door was open onto another beaten yard surrounded by wooden sheds, with the dark woods beyond. Axe stood and whistled. In a moment, there was a whir of wings, and a black bird with a grey neck flew down onto his outstretched arm and gave a sharp cry.

‘Oh, he’s handsome,’ Alice cried, as it tilted its head and examined her with a pale eye. ‘Will he come to me?’

‘C’n try,’ said Axe. But as he brought the bird towards her it hopped up his arm to his shoulder and then onto his head. ‘Shy,’ he said. ‘He’ll get used to you.’

‘Can I see his tricks?’

‘Once he settles.’ Axe considered. ‘I was just going to mash some tea. Will you have a cup?’

‘Yes, please,’ Alice said shyly.

‘Go and sit you down, then,’ he said.

She sat at the table, and watched as he made the tea, his movements quiet and sure, a creature at home in its element.

The bird hopped down onto his shoulder, and after a while, onto the back of the chair opposite Alice.

It examined her, first with one eye, then the other, then let out a stream of ‘words’ that made Alice laugh, because it sounded so close to human speech.

When Axe sat down at the table with the tea, the bird hopped again to his shoulder, and chattered to him with its beak poked into his ear, as if to make sure he could hear.

Axe poured a cup for Alice, and then said, ‘Oh, look, I went and forgot the sugar .’

He said the last word sharply and distinctly, and the bird cocked its head, and flew over to the dresser, where there was a bowl of roughly broken sugar.

It picked up a lump in its beak and flew back to Axe, dropping it on the table beside him.

‘Two lumps,’ Axe commanded, and it repeated the action.

Then he said, ‘Spoon!’ and it fetched a spoon from the half-open dresser drawer.

Alice applauded, and the bird cocked its head at her and reeled off another sentence. ‘How clever!’ she said.

Axe looked pleased. ‘Tea all right – my lady?’ He added the last as an afterthought, but with a faint blush that he had forgotten it before.

‘Oh, you needn’t call me that,’ Alice said hastily. ‘Yes, thank you, the tea’s good. Nice and strong. It’s always so weak at home. Mama has Earl Grey, and it’s awful, like dish-water.’

‘I’ve never drunk dish-water,’ Axe observed, and she realised he was joking, and laughed.

‘Do you do all your own cooking?’ she asked.

‘Mostly,’ he admitted. ‘Not that I’m much good. Stews and such, they’re easy, and there’s plenty of good stuff in the woods to go in ’em. That bit of pie, Mrs Rowse gave me that,’ he explained. ‘She thinks I don’t get enough to eat, makes me pies and cakes. I don’t stop her.’

‘What do you put in your stews?’

‘Pigeon, rabbit, game when it comes my way. Mushrooms from the wood. Herbs. Veg from me patch out the back.’

‘Sounds lovely. Food is so dull at home. It never seems to taste of anything – except when it’s burned.’

‘I like things tasty,’ he admitted. He looked at her for a moment – rather, she thought, like the bird, a sort of considering look – and then said, ‘Got some baby rabbits. Orphans – fox got their ma. Want to see ’em?’

In a shed in the rear yard he showed her the four little rabbits in a box of hay, protected by chicken-wire.

The cats came stalking daintily in to visit, and the jackdaw kept them company and conversed, and at last consented to hop onto Alice’s shoulder and even press its beak to her ear.

It was surprisingly hot. And all the while, she watched Axe move about in his own familiar world, astonishingly graceful for so large a man – and, she began to notice, astonishingly beautiful.

When his blue eyes turned to rest on her, she felt it like warmth in the pit of her stomach; when he spoke to her, she felt a quake as if his words were physical touches, little feet running on her spine.

He seemed at ease, as though he was glad of her presence.

No-one in her life had treated her like that, and she loved the sensation.

She felt she would like to stay there for ever, and never leave; but eventually she became aware that she needed to use the privy, and she didn’t like to ask to use his: it would be too embarrassing. So at last she had to say, ‘I must go.’

He seemed taken aback for an instant, and then at once became more formal, as though he realised he had forgotten himself.

She wanted to say, No, don’t be like that, don’t make me Lady Alice again , but she couldn’t, quite.

So in slight stiffness they went back through the scullery, where Dolly was resting in her bed, her pups asleep, and declined to get up to see her off, though she wagged her stumpy tail.

They passed through the cottage to the front yard, where Pharaoh had finished the hay and was half asleep.

Axe untied him, tightened the girth, and stood waiting to leg her up.

She came up close, keenly aware of his presence, his smell of clean man – soap and leather, with an under-hint of musk.

Their eyes met for an instant and she gave a little shiver.

His lips parted as if he was going to comment on it, but closed again.

She gathered her skirt, cocked her knee, and he threw her up neatly.

He held Pharaoh while she arranged herself, then as she gathered the reins, let him go and stepped back.

‘Thank you for the tea,’ she said. ‘And for showing me everything.’

‘Thank you for coming,’ he said. ‘I don’t get many visitors out here.’ Their eyes met again. ‘You can come any time.’

She couldn’t hold his gaze. She looked down at her hands and felt herself blushing, hastily turned Pharaoh, and rode away.

Aunt Caroline’s list was showing the signs of age. Names had been crossed out, others added, notes and question marks littered it. The paper was growing soft with use.

‘What are you doing , Giles?’ she said, one morning at breakfast. ‘Are you even taking this seriously?’

‘Of course I am,’ he answered automatically, then added, ‘I do know the whole future of the estate rests on my marrying.’

‘But you reject girl after girl, for no reason that I can discern. Do you think there is an unlimited supply?’

‘Of course not.’

‘You seem to me to be determined not to like any of them. All perfectly nice, good girls.’

‘But they’re so difficult to talk to,’ he excused himself. ‘I try, but there’s so little response—’

‘You’re not supposed to talk to them,’ she interrupted testily. ‘You’re just supposed to marry one!’

‘And spend the rest of my life with someone who bores me? With whom I can’t share a single interesting conversation?’

She looked at him with exasperation. Then her expression softened.

‘Giles,’ she said, quite kindly, ‘the trouble is that you’ve had so little contact with women.

School, then university, then off on your digs in foreign places.

Nothing but men around you, all the time – tutors and dons and academics and so on.

You can’t expect a relationship with a woman to be like that.

Men and women lead quite different lives.

You have your interests, and we have ours.

There’s no common ground for conversation. ’

‘Then what’s the point of marrying?’ he said bleakly.

‘It’s different after marriage. There’s the home, and children, and social events to discuss.

Common experiences. Even so, husbands and wives lead separate lives.

We meet in the bedroom and at the dinner table.

’ He looked morose. ‘Come, my dear,’ she said, smiling, ‘I didn’t expect you of all people to be foolishly romantic!

It’s not Romeo and Juliet or Antony and Cleopatra.

It’s a simple matter of mutual comfort and providing heirs.

Choose a healthy, good-tempered girl – that’s all you need to do. ’

‘A healthy, good-tempered, rich girl,’ he amended.

She sighed. ‘Will you never get over that? Yes , in your case. Her fortune for your title. I assure you she won’t feel hard-done-by.

But, for goodness’ sake, cease this obsession with conversation ,’ she said the word witheringly, ‘and get on and choose somebody. The more you think about it,’ she added wisely, ‘the harder you’ll find it.

Don’t think. Just pick one and be done with it. ’

‘Thank you for your advice, Aunt Caroline,’ he said tonelessly.

She couldn’t tell whether he was employing irony or not. She hoped it was not .