Page 146 of The Fortunes of Ashmore Castle

Kitty’s letter invited Nina and Mr Cowling to spend Christmas at the Castle. Nina’s first instinct was to refuse and not even tell him about it. He would be sure to insist they accepted, believing she would want to go. And, of course, she would love to see Kitty, and her little boys, and Richard, and the girls.

To be with Giles, to see him and talk to him, to lie in bed at night knowing he was under the same roof – that would be a different pleasure, more potent, and edged like a honed knife with the potential for disaster.

If, during their stay, Mr Cowling should come to her bed – how could she refuse him? How could she bear not to? It was all too difficult.

But if she refused the invitation without telling him, sooner or later he would know they had been asked and want to know why she had kept it from him. No, she would have to tell him, and he would want to say yes. So she would have to go, and hope her new-found acceptance and contentment in her lot would stand the test.

She went on reading. Rachel was dividing her time between parties in London and the hunting weekends down at Ashmore. Alice had come down to hunt once or twice. Mother-in-law Maud and Linda were spending Christmas with the Wittenstein-Glücksbergs, thank goodness. Oh, and Uncle Fergus and Giulia would not be coming after all, because Giulia was expecting a child. How pleased Lord Leake would be to have an heir on the way. Maud had hated the thought of the title going to a distant cousin, so she would be pleased too that Giulia was pregnant—

Her thoughts stalled. She put the letter down, staring at nothing. Then she went upstairs to her bedchamber, to a certain drawer, where she kept her diary. Underneath it, and underneath a concealing cloth, for modesty’s sake, were the webbing sanitary belt and the napkins. She leafed through the diary, thoughtfully.

At dinner that evening, she said, ‘You are going to London tomorrow, aren’t you?’

‘Yes – but only for the day. I shall be home in time for dinner.’ He gave her a fond smile.

‘I wonder if I might travel up with you,’ she said diffidently.

‘Of course. It’d be grand to have your company. What are you going for?’

‘Oh, I’ve one or two errands to do.’

‘Secrets, eh? Nothing to do with Christmas coming up, I suppose?’

She smiled, and let him think it was that. She would have to do some shopping. Afterwards.

‘I thought I might look in on my aunt.’

‘Yes, do,’ he said. He approved of Nina’s aunt, though he found her intimidating. Perhaps because he found her intimidating. ‘But you must promise me you won’t get too tired. I know what ladies are when they start shopping. They lose all track of time. You must take cabs, and not try to manage the Underground. I’ll give you plenty of cash, so there’s no excuse.’

‘I’ll take cabs,’ she promised, wondering at his characterisation of her. When had she ever been interested in shopping? Or forgetful? But perhaps that was what he wanted her to be – the helpless, fluffy-minded female of male fantasy.

‘I shall wait for you outside the station,’ he warned, with a twinkle, ‘and if I don’t see you arriving in a cab . . .’

Fortunately, he believed in reading on the train, and bought her several ladies’ magazines at the station newsagent, so there was no need to talk to him or even look at him during the journey. He saw her into a cab and gave the jarvey her aunt’s address, so she had to wait until they’d turned the corner to rap on the hatch and change it. She’d decided to go to Dr Grossman, her aunt’s physician, the doctor of her childhood because, being robustly healthy, she had never consulted a doctor in Market Harborough, and knew nothing of them. Somehow she didn’t want a stranger at this moment.

Grossman had aged since she last saw him – he looked very grey and lined, and he wore spectacles now, but his large, bushy moustache did not hide his warm smile as he came forward to shake her hand. ‘Miss Sanderton, what a delight. It’s been – how long? Many years, at any rate, since I last saw you.’

‘It’s Mrs Cowling now,’ she said. ‘I gave your nurse my maiden name so that you’d know it was me, but I’m married now and living in Market Harborough.’

‘Yes, I believe your aunt did mention that you had married. How is she, by the way? Well, I hope.’

‘Very well.’

‘Yes, you both always enjoyed good health. If I had depended on you and your aunt for a living, I should have been on poor pastures!’ He enjoyed his own joke, and repeated it. ‘Very poor pastures! One of the seven lean kine, ha ha!’ She laughed too, obligingly. He ushered her to a seat, went behind his desk and sat down, steepled his fingers and said, ‘Well, well, what can I help you with? Nothing concerning, I hope. You are looking well – very bonny.’

Nina tried to compose a sentence, but in the end nothing seemed better than just saying it. ‘I think I might be pregnant.’

‘Ah,’ he said. He folded his fingers into a clasp and surveyed her from behind them. ‘Well, you are a married woman, and that is only to be expected.’ There was the breath of a question there, to which she did not respond. ‘And why do you think you might be?’

‘My monthly flux has – has not occurred.’ It was harder than she had expected to say it aloud to a man, even if he was a doctor.

‘When was the last one?’

‘At the end of September. I didn’t notice that it didn’t happen at the end of October, but something has made me think about it, and there was nothing at the end of November either.’

‘And the absence is unusual?’

‘Yes. It has always been regular.’