Page 77 of The Secrets of Ashmore Castle (Ashmore Castle #1)

Nina was in the morning-room, struggling to write a letter.

She’d had one at last from Kitty, to confirm she was now at the Castle, hinting of difficulties of adjustment, talking again of longing to see her friend.

There was no direct invitation, but Nina felt it was in the offing.

How could she write a suitably encouraging letter back, while being discouraging about a visit?

And yet – and yet … She would like to see the Castle.

And Kitty talked about horses, showing her round the estate on horseback.

She hadn’t ridden in such a long time. And to see Giles again …

No. There must be no seeing Giles. That was poison. Double poison – to her, and to Kitty. She must find a way of avoiding going to Ashmore Castle.

The maid, Minny, came in. ‘There’s a visitor, Miss Nina,’ she said. Nina realised she had heard the doorbell without really taking it in. ‘Mr Cowling has called.’

‘Did you tell him Mrs Schofield is out?’

‘Yes, miss. But he said it’s you he wants to see. Wants to talk to you particular.’

‘Oh, very well, then,’ Nina said. ‘You’d better show him in.’

Mr Cowling had on what appeared to be another new suit; he had shaved very closely that morning and there was a faint smell of eau de Cologne about him. But he seemed nervous, even agitated.

‘Won’t you sit down? My aunt is out, I’m afraid,’ she said. He neither answered nor sat, but walked to the fireplace, and then away again. ‘Is something wrong?’ she asked.

Her words seemed to release him. ‘No, nothing wrong.’ He sat down on the chair catty-corner to her. ‘I must talk to you, Miss Sanderton. Will you listen?’

‘Of course I will. Has something happened?’

‘Aye, but not in the way you mean. I’m not in trouble – don’t think it.

But I’ve something to ask you.’ She gave him an attentive look while he assembled his thoughts.

He was usually such a calm man: to see him winding his hands together was disturbing.

She was about to prompt him when he resumed.

‘When we talked yesterday, I mentioned to you that I often felt lonely. I missed my wife at first, but she’s long enough now in her grave, God rest her, that I can put her out of my thoughts without feeling guilty.

And clearing the way in my mind, as you might say, I’ve come to the conclusion that I would like to get married again. ’

Good heavens , she thought. So he is thinking of marrying Aunt Schofield. She liked him too much to want to see him crushed by rejection. She must discourage him as gently as possible. ‘Mr Cowling, I must say—’

He held up a hand. ‘Please. You are a very kind young lady, so you’ll understand that I have to say what I want to say, now I’ve wound myself up to it, without stopping, or I’ll lose my nerve. If you’d just let me say it right out, then you can say what you like in reply.’

‘Please go ahead,’ she said, with an inward sigh, and folded her hands in her lap to indicate that she wouldn’t interrupt again.

That seemed to unnerve him, and he was silent, staring at his hands.

Finally he began: ‘Miss Sanderton, when I first met you at Dene Park, I was struck by what a nice person you were, so easy to talk to, and not too proud to listen to a man of my class. Nor, being a very young lady as you are, too proud to listen to a man of my age. We did talk a lot, didn’t we, Miss Sanderton? ’

‘We did,’ she agreed, baffled.

‘And you seemed not to be too bored – though that might just be your politeness.’

It was clear he wanted an answer, so she said, ‘I wasn’t bored. I enjoyed talking to you.’

‘I’m glad to hear you say that. Because I know right enough – no-one could know it better, I promise you – that I’m a lot older than you, and though I was a decent-looking chap in my youth, I’ve nothing to boast about now by way of looks or person.

But I’m an honest man, Miss Sanderton, and a hard worker, and I have a warm heart.

And I’m very well to do, if you’ll pardon me mentioning it.

I have as much money as any sensible man could want – though I’ve nothing much to spend it on.

I have two houses, one in Northampton and one in Market Harborough, but cold hearths they are to me with no wife to come home to.

And I’ve no son to pass on my fortune to.

My dear wife never fell for a child, and it was a great sadness to both of us. ’

‘I’m sorry,’ said Nina. Surely he could not hope to have a child with Aunt Schofield.

Even if she were not too old – and Nina wasn’t sure about that – she would certainly not want one.

She had spoken on many occasions of her dislike of small babies, had often said she had never wanted children, any more than the professor had.

‘So there it is,’ he said, sitting back slightly.

‘I’ve laid all out as fair as I could. I took a great fancy to you that evening at Dene, Miss Sanderton, and every time I’ve met you since, my feelings have grown stronger.

If you could see your way clear to marrying an older man, I promise you I would love you as well as any younger man, or even more.

And with all my money, I can make your life easy and your path smooth.

And as to good works, well, they’re nothing without money, are they?

But you shall spend mine as you please, for I know that you are as kind and honest a lady as I’ll ever meet, so I can trust you with my fortune.

And if you could be so obliging as to present me with a son, well, nothing in the world would be too much for you, or for him. ’

There was no mistaking him now. ‘You want to marry me ?’ she said.

He nodded, looking at her with unbearable hope. ‘If it’s not too much to ask. But you’ve listened to me so kindly – aye, you guessed what was coming, didn’t you? And you didn’t laugh at me, or tell me to push off, so I’m thinking, maybe you don’t find me repulsive.’

‘No, no, of course I don’t,’ she said, trying to hide her distress. Not Aunt Schofield, idiot – you!

‘Well, I don’t need to say how lovely I think you are.

Far too lovely for me. But I love you, Miss Sanderton, with all my heart.

I think about you all the time and – and you shouldn’t think I’m going about asking any girl who might take me.

It’s you or no-one, I promise you that. My hand and my heart and my fortune, that’s what I’m offering, fair and open, to you and you only.

’ He stared at her urgently. ‘What do you say?’

What indeed?

‘I – I can’t answer all at once,’ she said. ‘It’s come as a surprise to me. I wasn’t expecting it.’

‘That’s your modesty, then, for I thought I’d made it plain enough how I felt. Mawes Morris gave me the hint the other day that he’d noticed. But he’s a gentleman so a hint was all it was.’

Didn’t see fit to hint to me , Nina thought bitterly. She liked Mr Cowling so much, and the last thing she wanted to do was to hurt him. She couldn’t say ‘no’ right out, as she wanted to. ‘Will you give me time to think about it?’ she said. ‘And – and I ought to ask my aunt.’

‘Aye, of course,’ he nodded. ‘I know you’re under age, and I ought to have gone to her first. But I wanted you to know this is not a business proposition, which if I’d gone to her without speaking to you, you might have thought it was.

But you talk to her, and tell her it wasn’t disrespect for her, and I’ll come and ask her formally in the proper way, just as soon as you’ve made up your mind. ’

He stood up.

‘And I’ll leave you now in peace to have a think.

But don’t keep me waiting too long, will you?

’ He gave a nervous smile. ‘I suppose a lover always feels like this but, like I told you, I never had much courting to do of my first wife, us growing up together in the same village. And I never felt about her the way I do about you, either. No need to ring, I’ll see myself out. ’

He was gone. Nina sat down again rather suddenly, found her hands shaking, didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. No, not laugh – there was nothing ludicrous about him or his offer.

And as she thought about what he’d told her, she began to move away from her first instant idea of rejection. Because it was a way out for her, wasn’t it? It was an answer to more than one question.

Richard had never been to a hospital before.

The Middlesex, with its strange smell, hushed atmosphere, and the disagreeably large number of sick people everywhere, daunted him, and he found it difficult to maintain his usual devil-may-care attitude, even before the relaxed Dr Dangerfield.

But Dangerfield had persuaded him to undergo an examination of his bones by the Rontgen method.

The Middlesex Hospital had been the first to obtain one of the machines, which was installed in a small room above the out-patient department.

Dangerfield was at his most chirpy. ‘Did you ever as a child hold your hand up against the sun? Remember how your fingers glowed red? That’s because the flesh is partially translucent – that is, light passes through it.’

‘I suppose so,’ Richard said sulkily. He was out of his place and out of his element – both sensations he resented.

‘Very good. Well, a German physicist called Rontgen discovered a special sort of extra-strong light that can be passed right through the human body – flesh, organs and all – and is only stopped by the bones.’

‘Very clever. What’s the point of that?’

‘It means that we can see inside you, Mr Tallant, and take a photograph of your bones,’ Dangerfield said happily.

‘We can see if they’re broken and, conversely, if they’ve healed.

The rays are also stopped by foreign objects,’ he added, as though Richard were interested, ‘so, for instance, if someone is shot, we can see where the bullet is. Makes it an awful lot easier to get the thing out. I tell you, this machine is going to change medicine! We’re only just beginning to work out all the applications. ’