Page 115 of The Affairs of Ashmore Castle

Cowling looked stern. ‘If you want it, you buy it. What am I, a pauper? I can afford anything Lord Stoughton’s got to sell. Mark me, Decius, if Mrs Cowling wants something, she’s to have it, no matter what it costs.’

For once in her life since she had met him, Nina took Mr Cowling at his word, and spent his money. She bought a walnut chest of drawers and a bow-fronted dressing-table for her bedroom, an elegant sideboard and a serpentine serving-table for the dining-room, and a breakfront bookcase, a secretaire, a pair of demi-lune side tables, and a very pretty rosewood sewing table for the drawing-room. She had been tempted by a chest-on-chest and a wardrobe for Mr Cowling’s bedroom – the wardrobe in particular appealed to her, having four drawers in the middle section concealed by the doors – but despite long deliberation with Decius she could not be sure he would want them, immaculate though they were, rather than new things from Maples.

Mr Cowling’s comment, when he saw the bill, was, ‘You didn’t get very much in the end.’ But he was impressed with the total price, and pleased that she had bought a sewing-table just for herself: that seemed properly feminine. Decius was arranging with a carrier for the things to be delivered straight to Wriothesby, and he reserved final judgement until he actually saw them. But it had certainly made Nina happy – her shiny eyes and smiling cheeks were a treat to see.

He held her in his arms that night while she fell asleep, and thought about what they were going home to. The test would be on Sunday, at church – their first public appearance in the town since the ball. Would there really be a big scandal? How much influence did Lady Wyville have? Well, if anyone tried to snub his Nina, they would have him to answer to!

Scandals died down over time, he knew that. Today’s newspaper wrapped tomorrow’s fish, as the saying was. He listened to her gentle breathing and felt sorry that he had forbidden her to ride, when he knew she loved it so much. He thought of her as a little girl in India, riding about on her pony. Of course, children rode across, but it was simply not right for a grown woman. He stood by that. He had been right to stop it. But, at some point, when the fuss had died down, if there was a fuss, he ought to let her ride again, as long as it was side-saddle.

Unless, of course, he thought as he drifted into sleep, unless she was with child. Then she wouldn’t be riding anyway, and the problem would solve itself. He slept, and dreamed of a little child toddling beside him, holding his hand. In the dream he couldn’t turn his head and look down, so he couldn’t see it clearly, didn’t know if it was a boy or girl. And at some point its hand slipped out of his, and he seemed to be carried helplessly forward by some imperative, leaving the little one behind.

It was another fine day on Sunday. Mr Cowling supervised Nina’s outfit, to make sure she was killingly smart, aware that there must be nothing apologetic about their appearance. Best hat, he decreed, newest gloves, pearls. He had himself turned out equally nattily, and even went out into the garden and found a late rose, just opening, for his buttonhole.

It was after church, when everyone poured out and stood around to chat, that the test would come. And, yes, there were some stares. Lady Wyville exchanged the merest, coldest nod, then stood at a little distance, gathering a clique around her. Heads together, they talked in low voices, and Mr Cowling was convinced it was about Nina.

On the other hand, Sir Bradley Graham, the immensely popular local MP, came straight up to the Cowlings and engaged them in friendly talk, and was soon joined by Mrs Anstruther, Mr and Mrs Burham Andrews – wealthy philanthropists and hunt supporters – and Lord Foxton. The Crawfords inched up shyly and were absorbed. Mr Cowling was also pleased, as the lower orders began to stream out, to see how many respectful doffings and bobs he received from the workers at the factory.

Nina reckoned the groups were about equal in size. Mrs Anstruther, seeing the direction of her glance, stepped closer and said in a brisk, practical voice, ‘Never mind them, Mrs Cowling. They are the past. We are the future.’

‘We are?’ Nina said, startled.

‘History teaches us that the world moves always towards greater liberality, greater openness.’ She made an expansive gesture with her hands. ‘Those who resist are doomed. Extinction awaits them. We are in a new century, on the brink of great change. We must not stand in the way of progress.’ She lowered her voice and added, ‘And we must have fun.’ Then she patted Nina’s arm briefly, and turned away to talk to Major Cazenove.

The crowning moment was when Lord and Lady Wharfedale, who had been delayed talking to the rector in the porch, came out and joined them, bringing the rector with them. He was very well respected in the town, and his opinion mattered.

Having spoken to the rector, Mr Cowling turned to the Wharfedales. He drew a step closer to Nina and looked at them with a little reserve, to which Bobby reacted with her usual impulsive warmth. She seized his hand, looked up earnestly into his face and said, ‘Ah, now, don’t frost me! You are right, it was all my fault. I was so eager to have a new recruit to the cause that I persuaded her to go against her conscience, and that was very bad of me. I confess it freely. And Aubrey has already given me such a scolding, you needn’t fear I don’t know the error of my ways. I am quite repentant and beg you to forgive me.’

‘Now, then, Lady Wharfedale,’ Mr Cowling began awkwardly, not knowing how to deal with this approach.

‘You mustn’t be angry with Nina! And please don’t forbid her to be my friend. I expect you think I am a bad influence – yes, I can see it in your face! – but it’s only because I’m so passionate about the well-being of women, and I’m sure that must be something you care about too.’

‘Now, Bobby,’ Lord Wharfedale said, ‘don’t start badgering the poor man. Mr Cowling,’ He offered his hand and shook Mr Cowling’s vigorously. ‘We have two eager, passionate young women for wives, and how shall we handle them?’

‘Passion is one thing . . .’ Mr Cowling began doubtfully.

Aubrey smiled and jerked his head towards the opposite camp. ‘When you look at the alternative – closed minds, bigoted ignorance, a refusal even to consider change – then a little passion, even if sadly unregulated, becomes attractive. You, sir – I’ve heard about your innovations at the factory – you are a man who embraces the future, a man who gets things done. I admire that tremendously.’

Mr Cowling was eyeing Wharfedale cannily, suspecting he was being buttered like a crumpet. ‘Thank you, my lord, but I can’t see how all that fits with the case in point. This business of riding across—’

Wharfedale nodded. ‘It’s all part of the same thing. Those people—’ Another nod towards the Wyville party, ‘have closed minds. In the absence of rational thought, they can only cling to old prejudices, that riding cross-saddle is not decent. They cannot absorb the scientific argument, they balk at actual facts and empirical proof. They are,’ he added with a smile that invited Mr Cowling firmly into the scientific camp, ‘the flat-earth believers of the modern world.’

Mr Cowling was still resisting the implied flattery. ‘Facts and proof about what?’ he demanded.

‘About the health benefits and vastly improved safety of the modern method of riding for women.’

‘You think they’re facts, do you?’

‘I know so.’

‘Well, sir, I shall have to think about it,’ Mr Cowling said.

Bobby, meanwhile, was talking in a low voice to Nina. ‘Oh, my dear, I’m so sorry I got you into trouble. I’ve heard what that dreadful Wyville creature is saying. I only invited her to the ball because her late husband was a sort of cousin of Aubrey’s, but she’s always been a poisonous woman, eaten up by jealousy, and I shall be sure to keep her at arm’s length in future. I’m so sorry you’ve been caught in the cross-fire, but you mustn’t mind her. This horrid talk will soon die away, especially if we all stick together. Margot Anstruther has been an absolute rock in mobilising the hunt people to rally to our side, even those who weren’t keen on the riding-astride thing. And I’m sorry, dearest Nina, that I encouraged you to go behind your husband’s back, which was very wrong of me. But my darling Aubrey will talk him round. He could talk the birds down from the trees. He’s given me my scolding and I’m suitably contrite, but he’s completely on my side – the dearest, loyalest old hound you can imagine! Was Mr Cowling dreadfully angry? He doesn’t seem to be now. He looks at you with the greatest fondness.’

‘He was angry,’ Nina said, ‘but I told him how very sorry I was, and that I would never do it again.’

Bobby looked alarmed. ‘Never ride astride again?’

‘Never deceive him again. That was really wrong.’