Page 62 of The Secrets of Ashmore Castle (Ashmore Castle #1)

His bed was empty. The clock on his mantelpiece showed a quarter to two.

Where on earth could he be? She opened the door onto the corridor, and listened.

The house seemed quiet and still. Worried now, she made her way downstairs – there was just enough moonlight coming in through the narrow windows to see her way.

The rooms were empty, silent, the servants gone to bed, but then she heard a faint murmur of voices.

Soundless on her bare feet, she went towards it, through the hall and the anteroom and, yes, towards the courtyard garden.

Before she reached it, she could see through the door the shape of Giles, sitting at the table, leaning on his elbows, his profile picked out by the moonlight.

He was talking to someone who was sitting back, in the shadows.

His voice, which she had always loved, murmured on, and she knew by the shape of it that he was talking Italian.

Then he stopped, as if waiting for a response, and the figure in the shade leaned forward into the silvery light and spoke.

A woman’s voice, light as a breeze. It was Giulia.

Kitty froze where she was, invisible to them if she did not move.

Why it seemed important not to be seen she wasn’t sure.

She listened for a long time, to the soothing rhythm of people who know each other well, and are at ease.

No other voices joined them. It was just Giles and Giulia.

How hatefully well those names went together!

Giles and Kitty – that was not a match. They were not a pair.

They had never spoken to each other in that comfortable way.

There was an ache low down in her stomach, as if her month-time was returning.

She felt empty and without purpose. Delicately she backed across the cold stone floor until she reached the door, then turned and went quickly upstairs.

She lay in her bed, listening for him to come upstairs, but the walls were thick and she didn’t usually hear him until he came through the communicating door.

She hoped and hoped; but she feared. Then she fell asleep.

So she never knew if perhaps he had come in, but finding her asleep had gone away again.

The Coronation finally took place on the 9th of August. Most of the foreign visitors who had come in June had gone home again, though the colonial representatives had stayed so, according to the newspapers, there was a pleasantly ‘family’ feeling to the celebration.

The King looked well, and had apparently completely recovered; the Queen, slender and beautiful in a gown of gold tissue, looked ethereally young.

Her serenity was unshaken by the fact that a special pew had been reserved in the Abbey for the King’s favourites, including Mrs Keppel and Sarah Bernhardt.

The King was hugely popular, and the crowds cheered him hoarse: it was a turn-out that rivalled the Jubilee celebrations of five years previously.

The grand families fled London in August, so their Coronation parties were held on their country estates, which left London to the real Londoners, who did not go away but rather relished the capital’s quietness in the summer weeks.

Aunt Schofield had been invited to a party at one of the Oxford colleges, but allowed Nina to accept instead an invitation to the Morrises’.

In order to host as many people as possible, it was to be a buffet meal instead of a sit-down dinner, and Mawes had decreed everyone must come in fancy dress.

‘Such a lot of nonsense,’ Aunt Schofield said. ‘It adds nothing to the occasion but embarrassment, and the costumes are uncomfortable and awkward. And no conversation of worth can be held with everyone standing up and talking at once.’

‘I don’t suppose conversation of worth is Mawes’s idea,’ said Nina. ‘But it will be fun.’

‘I do not share your idea of fun,’ said Aunt Schofield.

But she helped Nina to make a helmet and shield from gold-painted cardboard for her Britannia costume – a plain white dress with a red, white and blue shoulder sash that shouldn’t be too hampering.

‘Shouldn’t I have a trident, too?’ Nina asked.

‘Nina, my dear, for the hope of any enjoyment at these costume parties you must keep everything as simple as possible. Helmet and shield are bad enough – you will not want to be carrying around an overgrown toasting fork as well. As soon as people have seen you, find somewhere to get rid of them.’

Nina saw the wisdom of this advice when she arrived at the Morris house and saw the lengths some people had gone to, and how uncomfortable they were as Elizabeth I or Mary Queen of Scots, Richard the Lion Heart or St George.

Lepida was a very Millais Ophelia in a nice loose gown and flowers in her hair.

Mawes was Mr Pickwick, which suited his growing embonpoint .

Isabel Morris as Grace Darling was only incommoded by a plaid shawl.

There were three other Britannias, which given the occasion, was not very surprising, and they all had tridents and large shields that got in everyone’s way.

But the atmosphere was tremendous, and everyone seemed bent on having an extremely good time.

When Nina was accosted by a rajah in gold tunic and trousers and a turban with a hackle, she wasn’t surprised that she didn’t recognise him – after all, hadn’t Miss Thornton told them that the fancy-dress party was the modern incarnation of the ballo in maschera , whose purpose was to allow people to disport themselves incognito?

But as soon as he spoke, she recognised the accent, and the voice. ‘Mr Cowling,’ she said. ‘Goodness, what a surprise! You don’t look a bit like yourself.’

‘I don’t feel a bit like myself either,’ he said, pulling out a handkerchief from under the tunic and mopping his face. ‘I wasn’t sure of the wisdom of it – dressing up – when I got the invitation, but now I’m thinking it’s a damn silly idea at this time of year.’

‘But you look very splendid.’

‘Eh, do I? You’re very kind. I didn’t want to be looking foolish, at any rate.

Some of the costumes – well there was one with knee-breeches and a great long wig.

Louis the something – one of those French kings.

Fine fool I’d have looked in that! And then the chap in the shop had a notion I’d look good in a turban.

Why I listened to him I’ll never know! It’s damned hot. ’

‘But he was right,’ Nina said. ‘I’m not sure why, but it does suit you.’

‘There’s that silver tongue of yours again!

’ he said, smiling. ‘I tell you what, though – the first thing he wanted was to get me up as Sindbad the Sailor. That had a turban all right, but then there were those silly baggy trousers and curly shoes! I told him what I thought of that.’ He made a sound of disgust. ‘They’re an abomination, those shoes.

What man in his right mind would ever have worn ’em? ’

‘I’m sure you’ll see a lot of silly shoes here tonight,’ Nina said.

‘Aye, I’ve been looking,’ he said.

‘I expect historical people didn’t have the same shoe-making equipment as nowadays. Perhaps we shouldn’t judge them too harshly.’

‘Well, maybe you’re right – but curly shoes! No, I draw the line there.’ He shook his head, then seemed to recollect himself. ‘Dear me, where are my manners? You’ve done it again, Miss Sanderton, made me so comfortable I just jaw selfishly away without thinking. So, what are you supposed to be?’

‘Britannia,’ she said, pulling out a fold of the sash to demonstrate.

‘Well, that’s nice and patriotic,’ he said. ‘But isn’t there a …’ He twirled a finger over his head.

‘Helmet? There is, and a shield, but I hid them in the cloakroom downstairs a while ago.’

He beamed. ‘Very sensible. I think I might get rid of this turban the same way.’

‘Oh, not yet! It does make you look rather splendid.’

He looked at her suspiciously. ‘Now you’re gammoning me.’

Nina, who had been, just a little, straightened her face and said, ‘But tell me, were you at the Coronation? In the Abbey, I mean?’

He looked pleased again. ‘I was. The King was so kind as to send me a ticket – one of the out-of-the-way seats, and I couldn’t see everything because of the pillars, but it’s something to say I was there.’

‘But you weren’t invited to the banquet afterwards?’

‘No, no, I’m not that important. But when I told the King I’d got an invitation here, he said he wished he could come too, and that I’d have more fun than he would, for all the twenty courses.

Of course, he knows our host very well, Mawes Morris.

Makes him laugh every time, and His Majesty does love to laugh. ’

At that moment, Mawes himself appeared, seized Nina’s arm, and said, ‘Nina, come with me. I must make a quick sketch of you as Britannia. I’ve had an idea for a cartoon for next week.’ He frowned. ‘Didn’t you have a helmet?’

‘And a shield, but no trident,’ she said. ‘I got rid of them downstairs.’

‘All right, I’ll send someone for them. Come along, while I’m on fire. Cowling, good to see you! You don’t mind my stealing your companion.’

He didn’t wait for an answer, but towed Nina away through the crowds. ‘There are other Britannias, you know,’ she said, ‘with better costumes than mine.’

‘But you have the face – particularly the profile,’ he said. ‘No, I must have you.’

‘I see you invited Mr Cowling,’ Nina said, as she followed him upstairs to his studio. ‘I thought he seemed – well, a bit out of his usual place.’

Mawes swung round the turn of the stairs, so she saw his grin.

‘Wasn’t my idea. He invited himself, quite pointedly, so I couldn’t refuse.

I would never have imagined him enjoying a fancy-dress party of this sort, but you never know, do you?

I half expected the King to slip in behind him – playing hooky from the official bun-struggle at the palace. ’

Nina smiled at the thought. ‘I wonder what he’d have come as.’