Page 153 of The Affairs of Ashmore Castle

Moss looked at him almost with love. ‘Would you? Thank you, James! That would be most gracious of you.’

‘Glad to help, Mr Moss.’

‘You can draw a coat and waistcoat from the wardrobe. Oh, my goodness, what a relief! Why people have to do these things, just when we have guests – getting boils, and going missing . . . I shall speak to William when he gets back,’ he added menacingly. ‘He’ll be docked a week’s wages for this little spree of his! At least.’

He walked on down the passage, muttering.

The dinner was good, the conversation fluid and wide-ranging, and Kitty was glad to see Giles eat enough for once, probably due to a combination of the two. She liked the Arthurs, and was particularly touched by their obviously close relationship. Talbot Arthur had been at university with Giles, both studying under Flinders Petrie, and Mary Baxter had been a librarian at the college at the same time. Talbot and Mary had fallen in love, and since Talbot was a man of independent fortune, they had married as soon as he had taken his degree, had spent their time since then travelling, and Mary went with him on all his digs, and acted as secretary, taking and keeping his notes, and ordering them afterwards for publication.

‘It must be lovely to have so many interests in common,’ she said to Mary at one point.

Mary smiled fondly at her husband, who was in animated conversation with Giles. ‘My father always said we were more like brother and sister than husband and wife,’ she said. ‘I was never sure if he meant that kindly – but he agreed to our marriage anyway.’

‘And you enjoy all the travel? Strange food and living in tents. And what about the danger? I suppose some of them are rough places.’

‘I never mind anything as long as we are together. The only time I ever felt ill was when he left me behind in Winchester while he went to Greece – though perhaps that was partly because I was expecting at the time.’

Kitty was surprised. ‘You have a child?’

‘A boy, Ptolemy. He’s five now. He stays with his grandparents while we’re travelling.’

‘How can you bear to leave him? Oh, I’m sorry, that was rude. I didn’t mean to be – but when I think of my little Louis . . .’

‘It’s getting harder to leave him,’ Mary admitted. ‘I don’t care much for little babies, but he’s getting to be more interesting now, and I do miss him when we’re away. But he’s always so glad when we come back, and wants to hear all about our finds. He wants to be an archaeologist too, when he grows up. In the summer, he did a very neat excavation of the kitchen refuse heap, and laid out all the bones very nicely.’

Giles, while listening and responding to Talbot, watched Mary talking to Kitty, and thought how wonderful it must be to have a wife who was everything to you in that way – a constant companion who shared your passions and your thoughts. Mary was lovely and bright and well-educated, and quite fearless on their trips: Talbot was fond of telling how they had been set upon by brigands once, and she had scared them away by firing her rifle over their heads. He joked that if they hadn’t turned tail, the next shots would have been at their heads. She was the sort of woman one met only once in a lifetime. Giles thought of Nina. He imagined she would have relished the challenge of a nomadic life, too. If only he hadn’t inherited his father’s bankrupt estate, and the responsibility thereof, he might have had a life like Talbot’s.

‘William’s back,’ Wilfrid reported to Mr Moss as he darted past with a pile of dirty plates for the scullery. ‘He’s just come in the lobby.’

‘Is he indeed?’ Moss said and, with untypically rapid steps made his way to the rear lobby, where William was just taking off his coat, his back to the butler.

‘Where have you been?’ Moss demanded.

William turned. His face was white, with a long, nasty-looking scratch down one cheek. His hair was dishevelled, and either he had dirt round one eye, or the beginnings of a black one.

‘What the dickens have you been up to?’ Moss exclaimed, diverted from the simpler question. ‘Have you been fighting?’

Fighting was a sacking offence.

‘No,’ said William woodenly. He seemed in a state of shock.

‘Well?’ Moss demanded. ‘Answer me! What have you been doing?’

William swallowed. ‘I – I fell down.’

‘Fell down?’

‘I slipped, going down the hill. It’s muddy. I fell into a ditch.’ He put his hand up nervously to his face.

Moss caught the hand to examine it. There were scratches across the back. ‘What’s this?’

‘Getting out of the ditch. I kept slipping. Couldn’t find anything to hold on to.’ He was talking almost as though hypnotised. ‘I must’ve – got tangled in some briars.’

Moss reverted to the principal point. ‘Where have you been? It is not your evening off. How dare you leave the house without permission?’

‘I – I got a message,’ he said, staring at nothing. ‘My ma – she had one of her turns. I had to go. She’s all right though. She was better by the time I got there. But it could’ve been bad.’

‘What message? Who brought it? Where is it?’