Page 9 of The Secrets of Ashmore Castle

‘Stainton,’ he muttered, embarrassed.

‘Cordwell,’ Giles responded. He heard Linda hiss, and saw a little exchange between them, her scowl at Cordwell’s inadequacy and his little moue of regret – I can’t help it.

But there were others to greet, and he was passed from hand to hand. They were all in black, which looked particularly odd to him after Thebes. Grandmère, still elegant, though dressed in the style of twenty years ago – which suited her – had diamonds at her ears. She kissed his cheek – hers smelt of scented powder – and addressed him in French, Poor boy, don’t let them eat you up! Then Uncle Sebastian, actually his father’s uncle, with a stomach that arrived first, cigar ash on his front, brandy on his breath. Genial, gripping his shoulder with unexpectedly strong fingers. Uncle Sebastian lived mostly at the Castle, though he actually had a small house of his own in Henley. He used it only when something interesting was happening on the river.

Here was Aunt Caroline, his mother’s sister, very fashionable, with many jet beads and a smile for him that seemed to offer real sympathy – she had always been kind to him when he was a child. Uncle Stuffy, his mother’s younger brother, Lord Leake, so immaculately dressed he looked almost out of place in the shabby surroundings. Two little children, six or seven years old. They were thrust at him by Linda, who seemed to be everywhere. She gave him an ingratiating look, as though being offered her children were a great treat. Some cousins he vaguely remembered. Last and least, his two younger sisters, hanging back, but staring at him with great interest. They smiled uncertainly and shyly but did not speak, looking oddly waif-like in black.

And again he had been funnelled, this time to the place where his mother stood, all in heavy blacks, her back stiff and her face grim, her lips set tight as though she did not mean to speak for several years at least.

‘Mama,’ he said, and since she did not move a muscle, he leaned forward and dutifully kissed her cheek. He felt he should have some words for her, but he had no idea what they might be. She was surveying him now with a sharp, critical eye.

‘Your hair needs cutting,’ she said. ‘And why are you not in mourning?’

‘I’ve been travelling ever since I received your telegram. I’ve had no opportunity to—’

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.