Page 7 of The Secrets of Ashmore Castle (Ashmore Castle #1)

She interrupted his excuse. ‘You should have been here.’

He was startled. Did she blame him for his father’s death? Did she think he could have prevented it? ‘I understood it was an accident,’ he said.

He was angry that his voice sounded so feeble. She always did that to him, creating guilt by her assumption of it. Why should he have to justify himself? ‘I came as soon as I got your – telegraph.’ He almost said summons .

‘You should have been here to deal with things,’ she responded.

‘But no-one could have foreseen—’ he began.

She lifted a hand sharply to cut him off. ‘Your excuses do not interest me. Your place was here, at his side, on the estate you were to inherit, learning about your duties, preparing yourself for your future role. Not indulging yourself in that selfish manner.’

‘Mother—’

She would not let him speak. ‘We have had to delay the funeral while we waited on your pleasure. Everything is in suspension. I would say that you have disappointed me, except that I hardly expected any better from you. You were always selfish, Ayton. Selfish and wilful.’

It was Uncle Sebastian who intervened. ‘Now, Maudie,’ he said genially, ‘let the boy get his breath back. I dare say it was a horrible journey, and he’ll want to wash the grime away and change his linen before he can be rational.

Why don’t you go to your room, Giles, and clean up?

Tea can be waited half an hour, can’t it, Maud?

Poor feller doesn’t know if he’s coming or going. ’

Going , Giles wanted to say. Definitely going .

His mother was about to say something, but Aunt Caroline, who had drifted to her other side, now said, ‘That’s a good idea. We can manage without bombarding you with questions for half an hour. We’re longing to hear about your adventures. Go on , Giles.’

He escaped gratefully. His mother, he was sure, did not want to hear about his adventures. She had never wanted to hear from him, only tell him. He wished Richard were here. Richard could always soften her.

At the turn of the staircase, Mrs Webster was waiting to waylay him.

He didn’t really know her, but he liked what he saw.

She looked intelligent, dark as a gypsy, with an all-seeing sort of eye.

‘Her ladyship wanted you to be put in the Queen’s Bedroom, my lord,’ she said without preamble, ‘but we have not yet managed to remove all his late lordship’s effects, so I’ve had the Blue Bedroom prepared for you. ’

‘Thank you,’ Giles said, with feeling. The great state bedroom in which several monarchs were said to have slept had always been his father’s.

He had been thinking of his own simple, modest room – one of the bachelor chambers on the second floor.

It hadn’t occurred to him that being earl would force him not only into his father’s metaphorical shoes but his literal bed.

He was about to ask to be moved to his old room, but Mrs Webster forestalled him.

‘The Blue Bedroom is a compromise , my lord, until your further wishes can be known.’

‘Very well,’ he said. He understood. The Blue Bedroom was the compromise that it had been possible to sell to her ladyship, while a bachelor room was unthinkable. And, for the moment, her ladyship still ruled.

‘I have had hot water sent up,’ she went on. ‘I understand that you do not have a manservant, my lord. Shall I send one of the footmen? James is accustomed to looking after gentlemen – he attends to Mr Sebastian.’

Giles was prepared to stand firm here. ‘No, thank you. I am quite used to dressing myself.’ He was in no mood to have a stranger pawing over his things.

Webster bowed her head graciously and stepped aside, and he took the rest of the flight two at a time, like a man fleeing.

The Blue Bedroom was a handsome one, with a dressing-room attached.

It had blue and white Chinese wallpaper and a bleu-de-roi carpet.

Favoured guests usually had it, by which he gathered that the mattress on the massive four-poster was one of the better ones.

He could put up with it, he supposed, for a day or two.

But he still could not be alone, for when he entered the room he found old Crooks, for Heaven’s sake, his father’s man, waiting for him, looking pink, damp and nervous. Giles stopped short, and snapped, ‘What are you doing here?’

‘I beg your pardon, my lord, for the presumption, but I understand that you have no manservant, and thought that perhaps I might offer my services for the time being. Having no other duties, as it were …’ The second sentence seemed added on impulse and trailed away into the sand, but it did explain the first.

Giles had no wish to feel sympathy – he wanted to cling to his irritation – but in an unwelcome flash he saw that the old man was afraid, and realised that his father’s death had put Crooks out of a position.

At his age, what was he to do? There was also the possibility that Crooks had felt affection for his master, and was mourning him.

And while he emphatically did not want the man who had folded his father’s under-drawers to unfold his, he had never been the sort of boy who tortured small animals.

Damn it, why can’t they leave me alone? But he saw Crooks’s lower lip tremble, and his chalky hands, locked together in front of him, writhe a little.

‘I really don’t need looking after,’ he said, exasperated, but in a kinder tone than he might otherwise have used. ‘I am accustomed to dressing myself.’

‘Of course, my lord, but now you are the earl, there may be things – expectations – my experience – at your service …’ Crooks swallowed, and added, ‘I cannot help noticing, my lord, that you have no mourning clothes.’

‘There hasn’t been time—’ Giles began impatiently.

‘Of course, my lord. If I might suggest, a mourning band for this evening?’ Crooks produced one from his pocket, like a magician. ‘And for the funeral tomorrow—’

‘Tomorrow?’ He’d assumed he would have at least a day’s grace. Why so soon?

‘Her ladyship did not want to wait any longer than necessary,’ Crooks said apologetically.

‘But, if you’ll forgive me, it would not set quite the right tone if you were not in mourning.

I took the liberty of investigating your lordship’s old room, and there is a pair of black trousers in the wardrobe that would be suitable.

If you will allow me, I can alter his late lordship’s mourning frock to fit you, just as a temporary measure – it would only mean taking in the seams at the sides.

You are much of a height, though his lordship carried more weight.

Then, one of his black cravats. And if your lordship does not have a silk hat—’

‘I don’t.’

‘—I can put a clean band inside one of his late lordship’s, and attach the crape. It can all be done by tomorrow morning.’

So the trap, the gentlest yet, closed velvet jaws on him. ‘Thank you, Crooks,’ he said, and felt obliged to add, ‘That’s very thoughtful of you.’

A rush of blood to the valet’s face was probably as much relief as pleasure. But he beamed. ‘I am glad to be of service, my lord. Might I lay out a change for you, my lord, while you wash? I have unpacked your bags in the dressing-room. And would your lordship care for me to shave you?’

‘My lordship wouldn’t,’ Giles growled. ‘I can shave my own damned chin, thank you.’

‘Indeed, of course, quite so, my lord,’ Crooks murmured, and scuttled away into the dressing-room, taking the rest of the permission for granted.

Giles watched him go with despair. Not only having the earldom thrust upon him, but inheriting his father’s manservant as well!

It was too much! He felt a little like weeping.

But Crooks had done him a service over the mourning clothes, saving him from maternal unpleasantness tomorrow.

He supposed he could put up with him for a little while.

He’d find some way of scraping him off at some point.

Wearily he began to shrug off his jacket. He felt a thousand years old.