Page 42 of The Secrets of Ashmore Castle

‘I loved him, and I believe he loved me. And now …’ She gathered herself. ‘I am a widow, Mr Tallant, but I was an independent person. I am a piano teacher, and was able to keep myself and my daughter on what I earned. Your father helped, from time to time, with gifts. Most importantly, he provided us with a house – small, neat and modest – where we could live respectably and where I could take my pupils. One of whom is my daughter – she has extraordinary talent, sir, and will be a great performer. But our quiet life came to an end when I read in the obituaries column of your father’s sudden death. And then, without warning, they came to tell us we must leave our house, that it had been sold from under us with no means of appeal.’

‘Ah,’ said Richard. ‘I understand.’ He had gathered from conversations that Giles had undertaken economies, including selling his father’s London properties. It was possible he had not realised the house was occupied. More likely he had not even thought about it.

‘Do you?’ she asked, with a touch of bitterness. ‘We were made homeless, Mr Tallant. We now live in a single room, all I could afford – one bed, one washstand, sharing a common privy. It is hard to keep oneself decent in such a place. There is no piano, so I cannot teach. My small savings are gone. I am reduced to doing such menial work as I can find.’

He leaned forward, not unsympathetic. ‘What is it that you want?’

‘Justice!’ she said, in a voice that quivered with intensity.

He sat back again, thinking. The common cant would say that this woman deserved her fate: she was a sinner. But he had been a sinner too, and had never expected any consequences from it. He thought of his suits, making at Henry Poole’s, his shirts at Turnbull’s, his shoes, his cigarillos – all on credit. The estate would pay, when Giles secured his heiress. He would never be homeless or destitute: there was always the estate to fall back on. He was attached to the civilised world by a strong cord that allowed him to bob freely in the wind but never be blown quite away. In a piercing moment of clarity he understood what it meant to this woman to have to share a privy with strangers. He only wondered what ‘menial work’ meant.

Automatically he reached for his pocket book. ‘I haven’t much about me,’ he said.

She recoiled. ‘I did not come here to beg,’ she said woodenly.

‘I know. But a little something to tide you over …’ He held out a bank note, discreetly folded. ‘All that I have comes from the estate. Look on it as a gift from my father.’

She took it, after a hesitation. ‘You are very kind,’ she murmured unhappily. The next words seemed to burst out of her. ‘It is the house, you see! Without a decent place to live, without a piano, I cannot work, I cannot support myself. And my daughter cannot practise. Her ability – her wonderful gift – will wither! We need a place to live. It needn’t be much, but it must be respectable enough for my pupils to come to. Oh, you do see, don’t you? He would never have left me in such difficulties! He promised I would always be taken care of. I am no mendicant. I ask only for – for my independence.’ The last three words were spoken on a downwards cadence, as though she had realised the contradiction of what she was asking. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I should not have troubled you. I’ll go now.’

He stood as she did, and with a gesture stopped her. ‘I am sorry for you, truly,’ he said. ‘But I’d advise you not to approach my brother directly. He is not – shall I say? – as understanding as me of the ways of the world. And he has a great many worries at present. His patience is limited. His first reaction, were you to speak to him, might be harsh.’

She said nothing. Her daughter sighed, and looked down at her folded hands. He felt uncomfortably like an executioner. At last she said, in a dead voice, ‘Thank you for your kindness,’ and was turning away.

The words seemed to jump out of him without his volition. ‘I will speak to him for you.’ A questioning look. ‘I can choose the right moment, put it to him in the right words. There has been an injustice – he will see that. I will – I will do all I can.’ He couldn’t promise more. ‘Give me your direction.’

She gave it, and then, to save them any more embarrassment, he saw them out himself. The butler, roused presumably by the puzzled footman, arrived just as he closed the door on them, and stared at him with reproach. Richard raised an eyebrow, daring him to speak. Wisely, the man remained silent, and Richard said, ‘Send me up a light luncheon, Forbes. And the newspapers.’

‘They are already in the morning-room, sir.’

‘Then I’ll have luncheon there.’

He went away, up the stairs, thinking about the situation, suppressing an unruly impulse to laugh. Oh, good Lord, to think of his father’s middle-aged mistress coming to Aunt Caroline’s house to confront Giles! It was as comical as it was tragic. But, then, most good comedy had its feet in cold water. The girl was a stunner. It would be a shocking waste if she was to dwindle in a slum and perhaps come to a bad end. (The idea of her being a concert pianist he dismissed unpursued, not being himself of a musical bent.) As to whether Giles would relent – he could not guess. There were pensioners of the estate – former employees who were taken care of when they could no longer work. Aged nannies and valets, those who had been close personal attendants, were often treated quite generously. And, though he had no personal experience in the area, he supposed men of substance took care of their discarded mistresses in some way. Did they leave them money in their wills? He didn’t know. That might cause a scandal, surely. But he felt confident it did not usually fall to the son to pay for his father’s doxies. Oh dear, oh dear! He chuckled. It had been a good fiver’s worth of entertainment, that was a fact!

‘What was Adam Grisedale talking to you about?’ Kitty asked, as she and Nina lay in bed together, analysing the evening they had just spent. It was her favourite part of the day.

‘We were talking about our pets. He was telling me about a parrot he had when he was a boy, so I told him about a monkey I had when I was little.’

‘You had a monkey?’

‘Not for very long. It got sick and died – and it did have very dirty habits. The servants were always grumbling.’

Kitty sighed. ‘I was never allowed to have a pet. Mama didn’t like animals in the house.’

‘Oh, poor Kitty! But just think, when you’re married, you can have all the pets you like. What would you choose?’

Kitty pondered. ‘A dog, perhaps. But I wouldn’t mind, really – just as long as it loved me.’ Nina didn’t reply, and she went on, in a small voice, ‘You think I’m silly to want so much to be loved.’

Nina roused herself. ‘Not at all. It’s what everybody wants.’

‘You don’t. You’re so strong, you can face the world on your own.’

‘If I have to, I suppose. Doesn’t mean I want to. And you’re getting better. I’m sure you’re more confident. And you’re enjoying it all more than you expected, aren’t you?’

So far there had been lunches and teas, visits to theatres and exhibitions, and evening parties, but no formal dinners or balls. Lady Bayfield was acclimatising her stepdaughter by degrees.

‘Yes,’ said Kitty. ‘I like the five-o’-clock teas especially. And when we play games. I never had anyone to play games with at home.’

‘In India when I was little, we used to play carrom. Everyone plays it out there. We had a beautiful lacquered board, and carrom men made of polished ivory. I wonder what happened to it.’