Page 55 of The Secrets of Ashmore Castle (Ashmore Castle #1)

He thought about home for a bit, and wondered what they were all doing, and whether Tilda was missing him.

Was Dory listening to Mr Sebastian playing the piano again?

Was old Crooks getting in a state? He didn’t feel guilty about the tricks he had played on him, to make him look a blunderer, though he’d had a bad moment when ruining the blade of the razor – it was a fine instrument, after all.

But it had been the last straw as far as his lordship was concerned.

He had a moment of alarm wondering whether his protégé Cyril was worming his way into Mr Moss’s good books and trying to usurp his place. Then he remembered he was his lordship’s valet now, not a footman, and Cyril was welcome to leapfrog daft William if he wanted.

And that used up all his thoughts, and he was desperate for conversation.

He stared at Marie, willing her to put down the book.

And when she didn’t, he said, ‘Well, here we are, then.’ She did not react.

‘The happy couple, eh?’ he tried next, with a short laugh.

‘She’ll have found out last night what it’s all about.

Talk about lamb to the slaughter!’ Marie gave him a brief, cold look and turned a page.

‘He’ll have taught her a thing or two, I reckon.

His lordship.’ No reaction. ‘I bet you wouldn’t mind changing places with her, eh? He’s a good-looking bloke, our earl.’

She looked up with a weary sigh. ‘Must you talk?’

‘Oh, come on! We’re going to spend a lot of time together. Might as well be pally.’

‘What do you want?’ she asked. It was not encouraging, but she closed the book, though keeping a finger in her place.

‘Well …’ he searched for a subject ‘… France, eh?’

‘What about it?’

‘I thought it’d look a lot more – well, foreign.’

‘What did you expect? Elephants? Camels? The great Pyramids, perhaps?’

‘Mountains, at any rate.’

‘There are mountains. Just not here. France is much bigger than England.’

He felt that was vaguely insulting to England.

‘To you, maybe,’ he said, and seeing her curl her lip, hurried on: ‘Must be nice for you to be back.’ She didn’t respond.

‘In France, I mean. Well, it’ll be handy for us, won’t it, you speaking the lingo?

Course, I expect his lordship speaks it a bit, but if you and me wanted to go out in the evening or something, you could do the old Polly Voo—’

She interrupted him firmly. ‘I don’t speak French.’

‘What? How come?’

And she said, in a completely different voice from the one she usually used, ‘I’m not French.

My name’s not Marie. I come from Stepney, and my name’s Mary Filmer, and if I’m going to be stuck in close quarters with you, you’d better stop all this nonsense and start behaving like a sensible boy. Polly Voo indeed!’

He stared at her in admiration. ‘Why’d you do it? Pretend to be French.’

‘Obvious, isn’t it? The nobs all want French lady’s maids. You want the best job, you’ve got to give them what they want. And, by the way, if you tell anyone, I’ll kill you.’ She gave him a level look. ‘Don’t think I couldn’t.’

He was entranced. ‘Oh, I believe you. I won’t tell.

I wouldn’t anyway. I’m the same as you. My name’s not James.

I’m Sid – Sid Hook, from High Wycombe. My dad was a wood turner in a chair factory.

He wanted me to go into it like him, but I didn’t want to work in a factory. I wanted to be my own boss.’

‘So you went into service?’ she said witheringly.

‘No – listen. You can save a lot of money as a footman. You’ve nothing to spend it on – everything’s found.

And I always meant to work my way up. A valet can make a good bit on the side, as well as his wages.

By the time I’m thirty I’ll have enough to set up my own business.

That’ll show my dad,’ he added, in a bitter aside.

‘What’s his name, your dad?’

‘Sidney, same as me.’

She nodded. ‘Just as I thought. Bad blood between you – can’t stand being called the same name as him, eh?’

James looked sulky. ‘It’s not that. All right, he did say some things when I wouldn’t go into the factory like he wanted but, like I told you, I always meant to work my way up, and you can’t be a high-class footman and be called Sid, let alone a valet. So I changed my name.’

She shrugged. ‘You’re not wrong.’

He took this as encouragement. ‘We’re alike, you and me, aren’t we? We ought to join forces.’

She looked scornful. ‘What on earth for?’

‘Well, we both got secrets. We both want to get on. There’s probably lots of ways we can help each other, make as much out of the situation as we can.

’ He rubbed thumb and fore-finger together.

‘Me lord and me lady’ve got the butter, why shouldn’t we have some of it?

Two lots of brains are better than one.’

‘Not when it’s your brains,’ she said.

‘You don’t have to be mean,’ he said, hurt. ‘We’re going to be stuck with each other for weeks, we ought to try to get on.’

‘I don’t know,’ she said, yawning. ‘The whole idea of this trip bores me. I might not stick it out.’

‘You what?’

‘I only agreed to go for the free ticket. If I find myself in some place I like, I might skip.’

‘Blimey,’ he said in admiration. Even he hadn’t thought of that. ‘You are a one!’

‘And if you tell anyone …’ she said, with narrowed eyes.

‘I know, you’ll kill me.’

‘And now,’ she reverted to her French accent, ‘I am going to read. So please to shut up!’