Page 53 of The Fortunes of Ashmore Castle

‘I’ve never met Hubert or his wife before. He was drunk and attacked me and I defended myself, that’s all,’ Sebastian said desperately.

The inspector stared in silence, then nodded and went out.

Sebastian held himself together a moment longer in case he popped back in to catch him out, then groaned and put his aching head into his hands. How much trouble was he in? Hubert’s death had been an accident, but his blow was a contributory cause. Supposing witnesses said he was looking for him, supposing they said he started the fight, would that make it manslaughter? Would he go to gaol? Prison would kill him – he couldn’t go to prison. Perhaps he should consult a lawyer. And, oh, God, what would the scandal do to the family?

He didn’t allow himself to think about Dory. Not just then.

* * *

‘Oh – Rose?’ Mrs Webster called from her room as the head housemaid passed the door. She came in. ‘I was thinking while Mr Sebastian’s away we should give his room a good spring cleaning.’

‘All right. I’ll organise it.’

Mrs Webster saw Dory beyond the door, listening, and called her. ‘Did you hear? I said we should thoroughly clean Mr Sebastian’s room.’

‘How long is he away for?’ Dory asked.

‘He said a few days. He didn’t take Mr Crooks with him, so he probably went to London – he doesn’t take a servant when he stays at his club. What I was going to say was that there’s that worn place in the carpet in front of the wardrobe – do you think you can mend it? Otherwise we’ll have to turn the carpet, and that means taking all the furniture out.’

‘I can mend it,’ Dory said. ‘Did he say he was going to London?’

Mrs Webster frowned. ‘He wouldn’t tell me where he was going, would he?’

‘No, of course not,’ Dory said, and moved on out of sight.

‘Strange thing to ask,’ Mrs Webster said.

‘If you ask me, she spends too much time alone,’ Rose said, ‘up in the sewing room or the upstairs linen room. You ought to tell her to do her work down here. It’s not healthy to be alone all the time. Makes you go queer in the head.’

‘She sees enough people at mealtimes,’ Mrs Webster said. ‘She’s a sensible woman. I wouldn’t interfere.’

Rose shrugged. ‘The heavy laundry’s come back, by the way.’ They sent out the sheets to the Ideal Laundry in the village. ‘I was just going to put it away, and then I’m going out.’

‘Oh, it’s your afternoon off, isn’t it? Can you check the sheets as you put them away? The binding on one was torn last week. I don’t want any torn sheets when we’ve got visitors.’

‘They’re only old friends of his lordship’s. Arky-whatsits. They won’t complain – if they even notice.’

‘We have standards at Ashmore Castle,’ said Mrs Webster. ‘And a tear in a sheet only gets bigger. Someone always puts their foot through it. Besides, Lord and Lady Denham are coming, and it would be just my bad luck if the one torn sheet ended up on their bed.’

‘How are they going to get on with the arkies?’ Rose asked. ‘Funny mix, isn’t it?’

‘Lord Denham has a herd of prize cattle, and Mr Richard wants to talk to him about them. And Lady Denham, apparently, is keen on gardens, so her ladyship can chat to her while his lordship talks about archaeology.’

‘Arki-ology, that’s the word,’ Rose said. ‘Why they can’t just call it digging I don’t know.’ She turned to go.

‘Going anywhere nice for your afternoon off?’ Mrs Webster asked absently, going back to her ledgers.

‘No,’ said Rose, without turning.

A kindly chambermaid found Sebastian an aspirin, and he went to bed early and slept heavily. His first movement on waking caused him to wince as it jogged his wound, and brought the situation rushing back to him. He groaned at the thought of the trouble he was in. Was there no end to the pain Jack Hubert could cause?

His head felt stuffed with cotton-wool, and he thought longingly of the clean sea air outside. A walk along the front would do him good – he had some thinking to do. He got up, slipped along to the bathroom to wash and shave, came back and dressed. Putting on a clean shirt was painful – any move that required raising his arms pulled at the wound. When he slipped his watch into his fob pocket, he discovered it was after ten: he must have slept for twelve hours.

Down in the hotel lobby, an unremarkable character was propping up the desk talking to the clerk in the manner of a bosom friend. As Sebastian walked to the street door, the unremarkable character righted himself and followed. Outside, Sebastian hesitated, looking left and right, then turned left, and a few yards along, as he paused to check if the road was clear to cross, he saw the character was still behind him. It was a breezy day, the air was full of the smell of salt and seaweed and the cries of gulls. He walked slowly along the promenade, breathing as deeply as was comfortable, and his shadow followed about ten paces behind him. So that was it. The inspector was making sure he did not abscond. For a moment he wondered what would happen if he broke into a run. Would there be a hue-and-cry? He imagined himself running to the station, jumping on the first available train and abandoning his luggage at the hotel. Would they physically stop him? But he couldn’t have run in any case – his wound was too painful. And, besides, they knew where he lived. No, he would have to stay, face the inquest, and establish his innocence.

He was innocent, but the problem was that if the background were known about, he would not look innocent. He had asked the washerwoman the way to Hog Lane – but the police wouldn’t know about her, unless she volunteered the information, and why would she do that? He had asked the boys about Jack Hubert, but he believed children could not be witnesses. As to his asking Hubert about his wife, if they brought that up he must say the witness was mistaken and keep saying it. To lie was bad, to lie in court was awful, but he had no choice. When it came down to it, he had done nothing wrong, had he?

A gull just above him screamed, making him jump. He stopped and leaned on the railings, staring out at the restless sea, billowing like a grey counterpane being vigorously shaken by a diligent maid. His shadow stopped too, and lit a cigarette. He realised he was hungry. He could go back to the hotel, but why make it easy for them? There was a café on the other side of the road. It would amuse him, just a little, to see how the shadow dealt with that. Would he follow him in and order a cup of tea, or lurk about outside? What if there was only one free table? Would he sit down with him and pretend he hadn’t been following him?