Page 51 of The Secrets of Ashmore Castle (Ashmore Castle #1)

‘ You ’ve suffered!’ she snorted. ‘And why Giles has to rush into marriage in this unseemly manner I don’t know.

Another month of engagement would surely not be much to ask.

He doesn’t seem to realise the difficulty of getting anything new made.

With everybody in London for the Coronation, and foreign royalties hogging all the best dressmakers …

If he’d chosen the end of July, they’d have been begging for work and there would have been discounts to be had.

As for hats, the expense is ridiculous, and my allowance is all used up.

I simply can’t appear at my own brother’s wedding – and in St George’s, with the whole of the ton invited – in a made-over hat.

Won’t you ask him for a little extra for me, as it’s a special occasion? ’

‘I won’t even be going,’ Richard pointed out.

‘Exactly. He’ll feel sorry for you and agree to anything you ask,’ Linda said triumphantly.

‘Damnation! Crooks! ’ Giles bellowed.

Crooks appeared at the dressing-room door, saw the blood, and hastened to grab a towel. ‘You cut yourself, my lord?’

‘What the devil have you done with my razor?’ Giles growled. ‘It’s as blunt as a rusty ploughshare!’

‘I sharpened and set it just as usual, my lord,’ Crooks said, in a quavering voice. Giles examined the towel he had pressed to the cut. ‘The alum block, my lord?’

‘In a moment.’ Giles rinsed off the razor in the bowl, and held it up to the light.

‘God damn it!’ he exclaimed. ‘There’s a nick out of it.

Look there! Actually a nick.’ Crooks must have been damned clumsy to spoil the edge like that.

Let the strop get too dry – or dropped the razor and then forgotten that he had.

Crooks’s hands were trembling. He looked pale, and damp about the upper lip, as he stammered: ‘I don’t understand how it could have happened, my lord. Never in my whole life … his late lordship … wouldn’t have it happen for the world … setting razors for thirty years—’

Giles cut him off. ‘You had better send it back to Truefitt’s to be reground. Send it straight away, ask them as a favour to me to get it back before the wedding. Is the other one all right?’

‘I will examine it carefully, my lord, but I’m sure it is. I really don’t know how this could have happened—’

‘Yes, yes, that’s enough,’ Giles said.

Crooks shuffled his way out, back into the bedroom where he had been laying out Giles’s clothes.

The old fellow didn’t seem to be on top of things, and that was a fact.

Of course, his master’s death had been a shock to him.

But yesterday a button had come off his waistcoat as he’d tried to do it up, and the day before – or was it the day before that?

– a thumb mark on his boot heel. Giles was not a dandy, but in his position you had to take care of your appearance – and you expected a certain level of competence from those who served you.

If you couldn’t shave yourself without the damned razor chopping lumps out of you …

! Crooks had been upset, he remembered, that he’d insisted on shaving himself rather than letting Crooks do it.

He shuddered at the memory, and imagined himself lying in a welter of blood from a cut throat while the valet dithered and wrung his hands ineffectually …

If only there were a kind way of getting rid of him …

Giles visited Richard again. ‘I’m just on the way to the bridesmaids’ luncheon.

’ It had been decided by the two mothers during the visit to the Castle that Giles’s sisters should be bridesmaids as well.

Lady Bayfield had suggested it – two Stainton girls would do something to balance out the Sanderton nonentity – and Lady Stainton had agreed to it because the subject interested her too little to resist it.

Giles gave Richard a grim look. ‘It’s the groomsman’s duty really, but you’re hors de combat , and I couldn’t inflict Uncle Stuffy on them.’

Richard gave a feeble grin. ‘Isn’t it traditional for the groomsman to marry one of them? He can’t marry his own nieces, so it’ll have to be Miss Sanderton. Do you think she’ll like him?’

‘Don’t joke about it,’ Giles said stiffly.

Mrs Sands visited. ‘I was so worried about you, I plucked up courage and wrote to your grandmother, seeing she’d been so kind to Chloe, asking if I might visit.

She seemed to think it was all right, and gave me a note of introduction for your aunt.

And so,’ she laughed nervously, ‘at the end of a long explanation, here I am.’

‘I’m glad you came,’ he said, and made an instinctive movement of his hand towards her. She took it, and he felt a sweet shock in his stomach at the warm smoothness, combined with the strength of a pianist’s fingers. ‘How is Miss Sands?’

‘Chloe is in seventh heaven, having access to a proper grand piano. Your grandmother’s instrument is a very fine one, she says.’

‘Sir Thomas Burton chose it for Grandmère, and he was a pianist before he became a conductor, so he ought to know a good one.’

‘It only adds to the honour, for her to play an instrument he chose. And, I must tell you, your grandmother has taken to leaving pieces of music lying on the lid for her to try. Sheet music is so expensive – it is a wonderful kindness of hers to think of it.’

Richard smiled. ‘Grandmère is as selfish as the day is long. She will have put out the pieces she wants to hear, you can depend on it. It’s the one trait I share with her – complete self-centredness.’

‘I know that’s not true,’ she said, squeezing his hand – then seemed to realise she was holding it, and released it quickly. ‘I was sorry to hear that you won’t be able to go to your brother’s wedding on the twenty-eighth.’

‘How do you know what date it is?’

‘He’s marrying in St George’s, which is the church Chloe and I attend, as you know. We hear the banns read out. And your grandmother said you were expected to be bedridden for three or four weeks more. Is it painful?’ she asked, in a concerned voice.

‘You can’t expect an ex-soldier to admit it,’ he said.

‘There’s such a thing as being too brave,’ she said. She rose. ‘I had better go and let you rest.’

‘But you will come again?’ he asked urgently. ‘Come and chat – nobody’s got time to chat to me with the wedding coming up. Tell me all about your pupils and what you and Miss Sands are doing. Please come.’

‘Well, I will, then, if your aunt doesn’t mind. Is there anything I can bring you? Do you need anything?’

‘No, thank you. Fruit and books and all that sort of thing get sent in regularly – my aunt is very efficient. Company is all I lack.’

‘You know,’ said Mrs Webster, handing Crooks a cup of tea, ‘I’m sure his lordship would think no worse of you if you were to ask not to go on the honeymoon tour.’

The cup clattered in the saucer as Crooks’s hands shook. So this was why Mrs Webster had invited him to take tea with her alone. ‘Has something been said?’ he quavered.

‘No, of course not – well, not to me. But I’ve just been noticing that you’ve been a bit upset recently, and I know you don’t relish the idea of foreign travel.’

Crooks took a restorative sip. ‘I don’t, of course,’ he said. ‘I’m sure I don’t know who does. But I’ll do my duty, as I always have done. It’s his lordship’s comfort and convenience that must come first.’

‘Well, you know,’ Mrs Webster said, as if casually, ‘I’m sure James could be persuaded to swap with you – you could stay here and valet Mr Sebastian, and he could go with his lordship.

’ James had asked her to make the suggestion as though she had thought of it herself, for Mr Crooks’s pride would be hurt if he thought James pitied him.

She’d been surprised that James could be so thoughtful.

‘He’s a younger man, so the travelling wouldn’t tax him as much.

Not to mention’ – something James had urged her to mention – ‘the nasty foreign food. You have a delicate digestion. James could eat nails.’

The foreign food made the teacup chatter again. But ‘I couldn’t think of deserting my post,’ Crooks said. ‘His lordship is the Earl of Stainton. All eyes will be on him. He must have the very best of attendance at all times.’

‘Oh, I agree, in general,’ said Mrs Webster.

‘But Abroad people don’t have such high standards as we do, and James is quite a good valet in his way, good enough for them.

Better you take care of your health so you can serve his lordship properly when he gets home, where it really matters.

Can I offer you a slice of cake, Mr Crooks? ’

‘Thank you, Mrs Webster,’ Crooks said thoughtfully.

The golden vision of not going abroad beckoned him – not going, and having a good reason that assuaged his pride – and when coupled with the thought of James, whom he disliked, having to eat foreign food instead of him it became almost irresistible.

The Coronation was to take place on Thursday, the 26th of June, but on the twenty-fourth, with London already decked in bunting, souvenirs packing the shops and stalls, Coronation parties arranged, and hotels and houses full of guests from all over the country and the Continent, it was announced that it had been postponed, with no set date.

The King had undergone an operation at Buckingham Palace.

He had been in acute abdominal pain for ten days, but had bravely carried on with his duties.

His surgeons had finally persuaded him that his life was in danger if they did not operate.

No announcement had been made beforehand, because abdominal operations were themselves life-threatening; but now it was said that the surgeons had acted just in time, and that a large abscess had been successfully removed.

The following day, Dr Dangerfield came in to see Richard on a routine visit, and was full of wonder at the story. Richard being a captive audience, and glad of anything to relieve the tedium, encouraged him to talk.

‘It was Treves who operated,’ Dangerfield said, leaning against the mantelpiece and idly swinging his stethoscope.

‘The King’s favoured him ever since he told him a very good joke at a dinner one time.

Personally, I don’t like the man – too full of himself – but one has to say he has nerves of steel!

Hard enough to operate when the patient is sixty years old, vastly overweight, and a heavy smoker who suffers from chronic bronchitis, but when the patient is also your king … ’

‘Was it really dangerous, then?’ Richard asked.

‘All operations are dangerous,’ said Dangerfield. ‘Abdominals especially so. All those organs potentially to damage, all those opportunities for infection. And when the patient might not even survive the anaesthetic … Death on the table was probably the likeliest outcome.’

‘Then why would he agree to it?’ Richard asked.

Dangerfield shrugged. ‘As I heard it, the King said he’d sooner die in the Abbey than on an operating table, and Laking and Barlow – his physicians – told him that that was all too likely.

So he submitted. And apparently Treves got to the abscess when it was on the point of rupturing.

If it had burst, it would have meant peritonitis and probable death.

’ Dangerfield grunted. ‘The worst thing is that Treves will be lording it over the rest of us for ever. There’ll be no living with him.

Expect to see him in every fashionable drawing-room very soon.

’ He straightened up. ‘And what about you, young man? How are you feeling?’

‘Absolutely bloody,’ Richard said.

‘Good, good,’ said Dangerfield breezily. ‘One thing – with the Coronation cancelled, your brother’s wedding is promoted to being the most important event of the week. Pity you can’t be there.’

‘Is that what you call a bedside manner?’ Richard said savagely, as Dangerfield advanced on him.

But with the stethoscope in his ears he couldn’t hear. ‘Don’t speak, please … Hmm, heart strong and steady. Lucky you’re a healthy young man – but I advise you not to knock yourself about like this too often.’

James appeared in the doorway of the sewing-room, and looked for an indulgent moment at the top of Dory’s head before she deigned to notice him.

He didn’t understand why she had got under his skin so bad.

She wasn’t tops in the looks department – all right, but no Venus.

As a matter of fact, he had never been that much interested in looks.

The new housemaid Tilda was no great shakes, but he had taken her for a walk in the woods and she had let him have a feel, which was the point.

He’d impressed her with his talk and his status.

Now, of course, she’d taken to staring at him with her mouth open and going red when he spoke to her, just like daft William did when girls spoke to him.

He was used to that. What he wasn’t used to was Dory seeming so unimpressed with anything he said or did.

He almost thought sometimes she was laughing at him.

It wouldn’t do. She should be impressed.

He was going to damn well make sure she was.

Dory! What sort of a name was that, anyway?

‘Did you want something?’ she asked, looking up at last.

‘You heard I’m going with his lordship on the honeymoon trip instead of Crooks?’ he asked.

‘I heard,’ she said, with as little emotion as if he’d said, ‘Have you heard it’s raining out?’

‘ I’m his lordship’s valet,’ he said.

‘For now,’ she said.

‘For good. Trust me on that. By the time I get back, his lordship won’t remember he ever had anyone else. He’ll be so dependent on me—’

Dory had put her hand over her mouth, almost as if she was politely concealing a yawn. ‘Congratulations,’ she said, going back to her sewing.

‘Listen,’ he said, ‘I told you I was going places. Valet to an earl – that’s a big thing!

And it means a lot of pickings. In a few years, I can get out of service, start up a business of my own.

And if I take you with me …’ He paused temptingly, but she didn’t look up.

‘Wouldn’t you like to better yourself? You could set up as a dressmaker, make posh clothes for all the nobs.

I could get you started. I’d manage the business, buy the cloth, handle the customers, all that sort of thing.

We’d end up with twenty working for us.’

Now she looked up and smiled at him, but it wasn’t the smile of awe and gratitude that he craved. It was – well, sort of indulgent. ‘Big dreams,’ she said. ‘You let me know when it’s happening.’

‘You don’t believe me?’ he said, his nostrils flaring.

‘Oh, I believe you mean it,’ she said. ‘Off you go, now – I’m a bit busy. And you should be, too, with all his lordship’s clothes to look over before the wedding.’

He turned away, trying to do it with dignity, as though he’d been going anyway. ‘I’ll show you,’ he muttered, under his breath.