Page 89 of The Secrets of Ashmore Castle (Ashmore Castle #1)
For a few days it was mild for December, and actually sunny after the early fog had cleared.
Kitty begged Giles for his company in a walk around the gardens.
He was surprised by the novelty of the request, but the glimpse through the window of the hazy sunshine persuaded him. Besides, the dogs needed a walk.
It was almost warm outside. Around the horizon, the trees were bare, a black mesh of branches against the faded blue of the sky, and the air smelt of woodsmoke and leaf mould.
The dogs greeted the outing with rapture, coursing about nose to the ground, running back every few moments to laugh up at the humans and urge them to hurry.
So much to smell! So little time! Giles had brought a cane with him, and slashed occasionally at a weed, or used the point to turn over a clot of leaves, looking about him keenly, his mind on the estate.
Only when Kitty stumbled did he notice her and offer his arm.
‘How are you feeling?’ he asked dutifully.
‘Very well,’ Kitty said. ‘I’m not being sick any more. How are your improvements going?’
‘Slowly. There’s so much to do. And everything involves expenditure,’ he added awkwardly. ‘Markham and Adeane sometimes get carried away, but I do question everything to make sure it’s really necessary.’
‘You don’t need to worry about spending my money,’ she said earnestly. ‘It’s yours now. I would never question anything you did.’
He looked down at her. The low sunlight, illuminating her face, only showed how young she was.
She was having a baby – his baby! The thought gave him a cold feeling at the pit of his stomach – not distaste, but fear of not being good enough.
‘You’ll turn me into a tyrant if you agree to everything I say and do. ’
‘You would never be a tyrant,’ she said contentedly.
They turned into the walled garden. ‘This was what I wanted to talk to you about,’ she said.
‘I’ve been thinking about it since I first came here.
We ought to grow a lot more vegetables and fruit for the house.
Mrs Oxlea really only understands potatoes and cabbage, but there’s room here for much more variety. ’
He smiled. ‘Is this what a well-bred young lady thinks about all day? Cabbages and potatoes?’
‘We need those too,’ Kitty assured him, ‘and carrots and turnips and all that sort of thing. And that’s what the kitchen garden is mostly full of. But if we build a second walled garden next to it, we could have spinach and chard and peas and – oh, everything!’
‘How exotic! Fruit too?’
‘We grow apples and pears enough, but in the second garden you could have peaches and apricots. Gooseberries and currants. And strawberry beds. Think of fresh strawberries in the summer!’
‘I like raspberries better.’
‘Raspberries, then. And, Giles, if we built greenhouses all along one wall, we could have fruit out of season. And a vine-house.’
‘What brought all this on?’ he asked.
‘I remember how you ate in Italy, and I see you pick at your food here. I know Mrs Oxlea isn’t very … adventurous—’
‘A masterly understatement, my dear.’
‘—but if she had better ingredients, perhaps she could learn. There must be recipes somewhere, and she’d only have to follow them. That is,’ she added, in a low voice, ‘if she can’t be replaced.’
There was a brief, awkward silence. He did not want to tackle his mother again on the subject. He did not want to participate in a civil war in his own house. Perhaps Kitty was right, and an influx of new ingredients would do the trick. They were worth having, anyway, for their own sake.
‘Very well,’ he said, ‘you shall have your walled garden and your greenhouses. It shall be just as you want it. We must speak to the head gardener,’ Giles said. ‘I’m sure he won’t object.’
‘I did actually speak to him,’ Kitty admitted shyly. ‘He seemed very pleased. But he’ll need more boys if there’s more to do.’
They walked about, discussing the plan, pointing out suitable spots for this or that delicacy, and for a little time were in perfect harmony, Giles dreaming of warm ripe figs and peaches, Kitty of Giles putting on flesh and looking less haunted.
The dogs ran about, jackdaws chacked from the bare trees, a robin flew down onto the top of a wall and twittered at them, and as they turned a corner of the walk, Giles pressed her hand against his side in an unstudied gesture of affection.
‘Are you sure it’s me he wants to see, and not Miss Nina?’ Aunt Schofield asked.
‘Quite sure, madam,’ Haydock said.
She sighed, and went into the morning-room. Cowling was there, warming himself before the fire.
‘Mr Cowling, how can I help you?’ she asked briskly.
She had so much to do with the upcoming wedding.
For Nina’s sake, she wanted it to be fine.
It would not be luxurious, like Kitty Bayfield’s, of course, but there must be no hint of shabbiness.
And that posed a problem. She lived on a fixed income, and she had spent her savings dressing Nina for her Season.
She didn’t begrudge Nina her wedding, but she would have to sell gilts to pay for it, and her future income would be correspondingly reduced.
Nina was at that moment at a fitting for her wedding-dress – a simple ivory silk fitted underdress, and an overdress of embroidered cotton gauze with loose sleeves, flowing into a short train behind.
Isa Morris, who was very good at dressmaking, had undertaken it with the help of her personal maid Sarah.
She had always made clothes for Lepida, and would probably have loved to be making a wedding-gown for her own daughter, so Nina was the next best thing.
They had pored together over magazines and pattern books, and chosen in the end something with simple, graceful lines.
Back in Mrs Schofield’s morning-room, Joseph Cowling was looking ill-at-ease – almost, she thought, hangdog.
A brief worry flashed across her mind that he had come to call the whole thing off, but she dismissed the idea.
She might deplore Nina’s marrying a man of limited intellect, though probably that was more often the case than was generally realised, but she had no doubts of his sincerity.
‘Was there something you wanted to ask me?’ she prompted him, when he seemed to have difficulty in coming to the point.
‘Yes, ma’am,’ he said at last. ‘I’ve come to ask you a favour.’
‘A favour?’ she said in surprise.
‘A very great favour,’ he said, ‘and I’d not ask it, I promise you, except that – well, it seems a matter of plain justice to me, and I know you are a fair-minded woman – person – beg pardon, lady.’
Mrs Schofield waved away the distinction. ‘Please speak freely, Mr Cowling. What is it you want?’
‘Well, ma’am, I know right well that it’s the bride’s family who pays for the wedding, and I know you’ll do everything tasteful and nice.
But, you see, I want to invite a lot of people to see me off – a very large number of guests – and it doesn’t seem fair to do that and land you with the bill.
So what I wanted to ask was whether, as a great favour to me, you’d let me pay for the wedding-breakfast. I know it’s not the done thing, but no-one ever need know except you and me, and that way, I could ask anyone I liked, and not be racked with guilt about making you feed ’em all.
So, what do you say, ma’am? Could you go along with me on this one? I’d take it very kindly.’
Mrs Schofield was silent for a long moment, and Cowling’s brow furrowed more and more, thinking he was going to be slapped down. ‘I’ve offended you,’ he mourned. ‘I never meant to do that. I only wanted—’
In fact, she had been trying to control her laughter. Now she got hold of herself and said, ‘I’m not offended. Indeed, it’s a very generous offer, and I accept it gladly.’
He was almost too surprised to be pleased. ‘Really? You mean it?’
‘Mr Cowling, please arrange the wedding-breakfast exactly as you like, and invite everyone you want. I am more than happy to pass the entire responsibility to you.’
‘That’s right good of you, ma’am,’ he said, beaming.
‘I’ll undertake all the arrangements. You needn’t lift a finger.
My fellow Decius will handle everything, and he’s a great man for detail.
It’ll go like clockwork. All you have to do is give me a list of people you want to invite.
And don’t go easy on me – have as many as you fancy!
It’ll be a slap-up do, I promise you. No half-measures.
It’ll be, well, not good enough for her, because what could be? But as near as money can make it.’
‘I’m sure it will,’ said Mrs Schofield.
‘And you can hand off any other arrangements you like onto Decius – he can do everything. All you’ll need to do is turn up at the church on the day with Miss Nina.
Oh, my,’ he concluded, rubbing his hands, ‘it’ll be something like!
I’ll send Decius to talk to you, if I may, and you can load him up like a pack-mule with all your worries. ’
Mrs Schofield smiled and thanked him again.
It was a weight off her mind, and she was truly grateful.
Nina had spoken highly of Decius Blake, so perhaps he would control the quality as well as the quantity – and, after all, Cowling had dined with the King, so he must know something of how things were done.
In any case, she thought, when she had seen him out, even if it should turn out to be a vulgar display of wealth, well, it was his wedding, too, wasn’t it?