Page 102 of The Affairs of Ashmore Castle

Hook’s ears pricked. ‘Dickying up his house, is he? Oho! And why would he want to do that, I wonder? I smell a woman in it. Thinking of getting married, is he?’

‘I should not be so impertinent as to speculate on the matter,’ Crooks said loftily.

‘Come off it, Crooky! You’re as curious as an old woman when it comes to a bit of gossip about them upstairs. So don’t set yourself up as better than the rest of us.’ He glanced at the valet’s hands, and said, ‘You and your monogrammed brushes, and your special cloth! Who d’you think you are?’

‘I don’t think, I know. I am a gentleman’s personal gentleman, and I know my place.’ Glancing up, he saw Hook’s sneer, and added angrily, ‘You, however, do not know your place, because you’re not worthy of one. And you are not a gentleman of any sort, whatever airs you give yourself. You’re a jumped-up footman, and what you know about valeting could be written on the back of a postage stamp. I’ve seen the state you let his lordship’s boots go out in, and it’s a disgrace!’

Hook hadn’t thought Crooks could rile him, but he didn’t like being called a footman – those days were long behind him. ‘I know a damn sight more about everything than you do, you old ninny! And before you talk about his lordship’s boots, you should have a look at your own.’ And before Crooks could anticipate the action, he reached a long arm forward and snatched the boot he was polishing from his hands. Fixing Crooks with his eye, he clamped his fingers round the back of the boot and pressed and twisted his thumbs on the highly polished surface. ‘Look at this!’ he crowed triumphantly, holding out the boot and pointing, jerking it away every time Crooks tried to grab it back. ‘Fingermarks! Fingermarks all over! What sort of work is this? Mr Sebastian’ll have a fit! There’s a big old thumb print here, Crooky – greasy old thumbs everywhere! You’re useless, old man!’

Crooks managed to secure the thing at last, and bent over it, almost weeping. It took hours of work to get rid of marks like that – days, even. Layers and layers of polish, lovingly applied and buffed to a glow like the gleam in a spaniel’s eye . . . Any valet knew better than to lay a finger on the leather, let alone grab it and mash your thumbs about. It was a disaster! ‘What have you done?’ he wailed. ‘What have you done?’ Then he looked up, and for a moment there was a red glare of anger in his eyes that almost made Hook step backwards. ‘You’re a monster!’ Crooks hissed. ‘You don’t deserve to live!’

‘Shut up, you old fool!’ Hook said, trying to sound contemptuous, but hearing it come out uneasy. ‘It’s only a boot, for God’s sake.’

Crook continued to look at him a moment longer with raw hatred. ‘I should like to kill you,’ he said. Then he turned away, taking his wounded boot back to the table. ‘Go away,’ he said, low and hard.

And seeing no more fun to be had, Hook went. Monster, am I? he thought. I’ll give you monster. He stalked on, thinking that this place was getting to be no fun at all any more. Maybe it was time he moved on, found another place. His present job wasn’t up to his standards, and that was a fact. He was wasted on Ashmore Castle.

‘Some sort of upset below stairs yesterday, wasn’t there?’ Sebastian asked Dory, as she sat hemming a new chemise for Lady Alice. He was playing very quietly, because the window was open and outside birds were singing. He wasn’t following the music, really, just letting his hands wander, adapting the notes to the birdsong.

Dory looked up quizzically. ‘What makes you think that?’

‘I don’t think it, I know it. I was intimately involved. Or, rather, one of my boots was.’

She sighed. ‘That James Hook. He’s always at the bottom of everything.’

‘Crooks was almost in tears, apologising for the state of my left boot, though in justice I couldn’t see anything wrong with it. He said there were thumb-marks on the heel but I couldn’t see ’em.’

‘Considering Mr Crooks was up half the night polishing and rubbing and buffing, I should just about think there’d be nothing to see,’ Dory said.

‘So what happened?’

‘Hook made the marks deliberately, just to torment Mr Crooks,’ Dory said. ‘I shouldn’t tell you, because we’re supposed to stick together—’

‘But Hook doesn’t stick together, does he?’

‘No,’ said Dory. ‘So I don’t feel like sticking by him. All the same, sir, I’d be obliged if you wouldn’t tell anyone I peached.’

Sebastian laughed. ‘Now, who would I tell? I don’t talk to anyone but you.’

‘And Lady Alice.’

‘Lady Alice is as sound as a bell. But I wouldn’t tell her about below-stairs shenanigans.’

‘I wouldn’t mind if they were just shenanigans,’ Dory said, going back to her sewing. ‘But sometimes there’s quite an atmosphere. Mrs Webster was furious with Hook, but of course he’s not under her, he’s under Mr Moss. And Mr Moss . . .’ She paused. It wasn’t for her to peach on the butler. That was going too far.

Sebastian helped her out. ‘I get the feeling that Moss isn’t quite himself lately,’ he suggested. ‘Is he drinking?’

Dory looked up warily, but didn’t answer.

‘That’s all right,’ Sebastian said. ‘I’ve been on this earth long enough to know that butlers always drink. It’s part of their job, after all. When they open the claret, they have to taste it, to make sure it’s sound. And when they decant it, there’s always a little bit left at the end of the bottle. And if the port decanter comes back not quite empty, well, it can’t be served up again the next day, can it?’

Dory took a few more stitches. ‘I don’t think it’s drink,’ she said at last. ‘I think there’s something on his mind. But I don’t know what it is,’ she added quickly.

‘No,’ he said. ‘None of us can know another person’s mind.’ He played a few phrases, then reversed them, and said, ‘I have something I’ve been meaning to ask you.’

‘Yes, sir?’

‘When I visited my house last weekend, I noticed some things that need the attention of a good needlewoman. I wondered, if her ladyship and Mrs Webster and all other interested parties agree, whether you would come over for a few days and work your magic?’