Page 42 of The Secrets of Ashmore Castle (Ashmore Castle #1)

Giles stared at his manservant in a way that would have unnerved a lesser man. ‘Tell me, Crooks,’ he said at last, ‘does everyone in Town know about my “financial circumstances”? I suppose they’re all talking about it.’

‘Oh, no, my lord,’ Crooks said, and seemed surprised at the question.

‘I imagine one or two intimate friends of his late lordship might have had some inkling, but even if they did, they would never speak of it. And no-one else would have any way of knowing. I am sure society in general knows nothing.’

‘Hmm,’ said Giles. Then, abruptly, ‘Miss Bayfield is the one. I suppose you knew that?’

Crooks did not say, either way. ‘A very nice, modest young lady,’ was his comment. ‘And pretty,’ he added, as an afterthought.

Giles shrugged that away. ‘And rich.’

‘So I believe, my lord.’

‘Her parents – do you think they know I’m in Queer Street?’

Crooks winced at the expression, but said, ‘I’m sure not, my lord. Sir John and Lady Bayfield, they’re people of fashion, and received everywhere, but not what I would call in the first rank.’

Giles frowned. ‘Then how come they were invited to Dene Park as house guests? And for such an important weekend, with the King expected?’

Crooks cleared his throat nervously. ‘Er – I believe, my lord, that it may have had something to do with her ladyship … Lady Manningtree.’

‘Good God! My aunt arranged it?’

‘She is, as you know, an old friend of Lady Wroughton, my lord, and her maid, Cecile, happened to mention to me that her ladyship took tea with Lady Wroughton just before the invitations arrived.’

‘That proves nothing,’ Giles said, still frowning.

‘Indeed not, my lord,’ Crooks agreed. Which was a well-trained servant’s way of saying the opposite.

‘But how could she know?’ Giles muttered. ‘I didn’t know myself until—’

Crooks cleared his throat. ‘I believe,’ he said, looking carefully into the distance, ‘that there was – ah – a process of elimination, my lord. That certain other possibilities had been, as it were, crossed off. That is to say …’

Giles rescued him. ‘Thank you, Crooks. Hot water now, if you please.’

So, he thought, as his manservant went away, Aunt Caroline had seen how much time he spent talking to the Misses Bayfield and Sanderton, had decided the former was his last chance. Hoped to bring about a conclusion by confining him at a country house with her. How ironic!

She could not have known, of course, that anything else would transpire to persuade him of the hopelessness of his position and the need to do something that was still, in spite of all his relatives said, abhorrent to him.

And if Nina was right, and Miss Bayfield liked him and would be willing to marry him, did that make it any better?

No, he thought, on the whole, it made it worse.

Richard had not been invited to Dene Park.

In fact, he had no engagements for once.

It would have been easy to pick a gathering – single men were always welcome at balls and parties – or to run down a friend at a club for supper and a game of billiards; but he did not quite want to do any of those things.

He found himself instead, almost without volition, drifting towards Golden Square, rehearsing in his mind excuses for turning up on the doorstep.

He found Mrs and Miss Sands at home, and no excuse proved necessary.

He was welcomed with the readiness of people whose lives are confined.

He was amusement, distraction, entertainment.

He enjoyed the novelty of it – company with no ulterior motive.

It amused him to step out after an hour and purchase a bottle of sherry at the Crown, because they had no liquor in the house.

It amused him to share a simple supper of bread and cheese and cold beef, and to play childish games, sitting on the hearthrug with spills stuck in his hair saying, ‘I’m a genteel lady, ever so genteel,’ or with pencil and paper playing Consequences.

And at the end of the evening, there was cocoa (when had he last drunk cocoa?) and Chloe played on the piano, a complicated piece, which at any other time or place would have had him yawning or sidling to the door.

But he listened with his brain tingling, and a sense of being opened up, like a skilfully shucked oyster, to something new and extraordinary.

When he took his leave, he shook hands with them both and thanked them, and Mrs Sands’s smile filtered deep through his rock layers into his heart as she said, ‘We’ve enjoyed it so much. Please come again, any time. You will always be welcome.’

On Sunday morning he woke unprecedentedly early, after his sober Saturday night, and found himself thinking again of the music. Too restless to stay in bed, he sent for Speen, and while he was being shaved, he said, ‘You’re a Londoner, Speen. What would be the nearest church to Golden Square?’

Reassuringly, Speen took time to answer. ‘Depends what you’re after, sir. There’s one in the square itself, but it’s Our Lady of Something so it must be Catholic. For genteel folk, I suppose it would be St George’s, Hanover Square. Very posh, that is.’

‘Would there be music?’

‘Oh, yes, sir, famous for it! It’s got a massive great organ, thousands of pipes. They say Handel – the composer, sir – used to worship there regular, on account of the organ was so grand and the acoustics were so good for music.’

‘How do you know these things?’ Richard asked in wonder.

Speen tilted his head over to get at the spot beside his ear. ‘Used to know this woman, sir, Dottie Hanks, who played piano in a pub in Brewer Street. Loved music. Told me about it one time in—’ He stopped abruptly.

‘In bed?’ Richard guessed.

‘Well, sir, you know how it is.’

‘Thankfully, I do.’

‘You planning to go to church this morning, sir?’

‘I thought I might. A grand, massive organ, eh? I’d like to see that.’

All the same, he established himself before time behind a newspaper on Regent Street opposite the end of Beak Street, the route they would almost certainly take if they were going to St George’s, because he saw no point in putting himself through a church service if they weren’t to go.

And was rewarded by the sight of them walking briskly, side by side, in what he judged to be their best hats and coats.

He followed at a discreet distance. When the service was over, he lingered near the door and allowed himself to be discovered, apparently so absorbed by the Recessional he did not see them until Mrs Sands spoke.

‘Mr Tallant! I didn’t know you worshipped at St George’s,’ she said, with no apparent suspicion. ‘We come every Sunday.’

He rose, bowed over their hands, and said, with perfect truth, ‘I don’t attend every Sunday. But the music here! The organ! Did you know Handel used to worship here?’

‘Yes, we did. The acoustic is particularly good for baroque music,’ Chloe answered.

‘So I believe,’ Richard said, and before he could get any further out of his depth, he changed the subject. ‘Are you ladies engaged for luncheon, or might I have the pleasure of taking you out somewhere?’

Mrs Sands looked worried. ‘You do so much for us. I’m sure you must have many engagements …’

‘As it happens, I’m at a loose end. All my usual friends have been invited to country-house weekends, but somehow or other I was missed out.’

Mrs Sands was instantly concerned. ‘Oh, what a shame! Well, if our company can be any recompense …’

‘It would give me great pleasure. The Imperial is just a short walk away. Will you?’ He offered one arm to each of them, comfortable in the knowledge that the estate would reimburse him.

Giles had given him carte blanche where the Sandses were concerned.

He might not have realised it at the time, but he had.

*

Giles was not a man who put off necessary visits to the dentist. He sought an interview with Sir John Bayfield as soon as he got back to Town on Monday.

He felt obliged to be honest, but it was horribly humiliating.

Sir John listened gravely, only toying now and then with a pen, and frowning occasionally.

He did not, as he might have, interrupt the dismal narrative to order Giles indignantly from the house.

But towards the end of his exposition, when he had got on to the future prospects of Ashmore, Giles surprised himself with his own eloquence.

Ashmore, once brought up to standard, would flourish, and repay the investment, he said.

He heard his own enthusiasm as he described the improvements he planned in creating a model estate.

He had not thought until then that he actually cared so much.

When he finally stopped speaking, all Sir John said was, ‘Have you spoken to my daughter about your wishes?’

‘No, sir,’ said Giles. ‘I did not think it would be proper, in the circumstances, to address her without your permission.’

Sir John thought a moment, then said, ‘Lady Bayfield has mentioned you as a suitable – er – suitor. I know she would like Catherine to marry into the aristocracy.’ Giles winced inwardly. Sir John was evidently not a card-player. ‘For myself,’ the baronet went on, ‘I only desire her happiness.’

‘Indeed, sir,’ Giles said.

‘You will excuse me for a few moments while I consult with Lady Bayfield. A mother’s understanding … her point of view …’

‘Of course, sir.’ Giles rose as Sir John left the room, and spent the interval pacing up and down, trying not to imagine what might be being said.

The approval of the mother might be worse to bear than the disapproval of the father.

He half hoped to be thrown out of the house after all.

But, eventually, they came in together, Sir John still grave, and a little bewildered, Lady Bayfield terrifyingly wreathed in smiles.