Page 14 of The Mistress of Ashmore Castle

Giles was rather touched by his passion. He thought how much his comfort would be enhanced by having this lively little man as his attendant instead of weepy old Crooks or sour, slit-eyed Hook. ‘But what about Mr Antrobus? It would be dastardly to steal his servant, especially when he’s been so kind to me. And if you’re a sticker, why aren’t you sticking with him?’

‘I discussed it with him, my lord, of course I did, before I came to you, as was only fair and right. And I told him some time ago that I wanted to go home and he said he understood and would let me go as soon as I made arrangements. So there’ll be no hard feelings, my lord, I promise you, or I would never have presumed to mention it.’

‘Very well. I’ll talk to him myself, and if he really doesn’t mind, I’d be happy to give you a position.’

Afton grinned. ‘Thank you, my lord. You won’t regret it, I swear.’

‘Just one thing,’ Giles said. Afton turned back enquiringly. ‘Your name isn’t really Afton, is it? I keep thinking about “Sweet Afton”, which my nanny used to sing to me.’

‘It’s all the name I’ve got, my lord. I was left in a box, as a baby, outside Whitechapel Workhouse, and since nobody ever claimed me the workhouse superintendent give me my names. Stanley, after the explorer, because he was her hero, and Afton, because it was her favourite song. She was a Scottish lady by birth, my lord. Thought the world of Rabbie Burns. I’m surprised she didn’t call me Robert Burns, really, but Stanley Afton it was.’

‘Very good names they are, too,’ Giles said, and thought that one day, he must hear the rest of the story. From Whitechapel Workhouse to New York gentleman’s gentleman was quite a step.

In England, some said it was the hardest winter they remembered. Snow and freezing temperatures kept the family trapped in the house. All Kitty’s plans for entertainment were scuppered, and there was no hunting. By dint of hard labour, a circuit was dug out and kept clear in the nearest paddock and straw was laid down, to give the horses walking exercise. It was laborious and time-consuming, and Alice gave many daytime hours to helping the grooms by leading a bored and restless horse round and round in the icy air. For her, it was better than frowsting indoors all day. She missed riding, and probably felt the curtailment of her freedom more than anyone else in the house.

When the grooms were not exercising the horses, they were ‘volunteered’ to help the tenants with their stock. Having the cattle inside meant extra work with feeding and mucking out. The sheep stayed out, but had to have fodder taken to them, and sometimes after a snowfall they needed to be dug out.

At the end of February and into March, all hands were required to help with the lambing, building shelters with hurdles and straw bales and assisting with difficult births. Richard threw himself into these tasks and found a satisfaction he had not expected, which kept his mind occupied and won him respect with the tenants and labourers.

In mid-February, when the snowfalls ceased for a time and it froze hard, the sun came out, glittering on the cruel white world from a sky of acid blue. The dowager, Maud, seized the opportunity to escape to London, taking Rachel with her. The Season had not yet started, but there were plans to devise and clothes to have made. It required a great deal of labour on the part of a large number of men to clear the route down the hill to the village, but she never gave a thought to work when she was paying for it – or, in this case, Kitty was paying for it.

Linda joined the escaping party – uninvited, but if she had waited to be invited she would never have gone anywhere – and Cordwell, with the air of a scolded dog, started the long journey back to Dorset. Their children they left behind. Sebastian departed the next day, saying he would call on a friend in London before going back to his own house.

With numbers so depleted, and no entertaining in prospect – hunting was still impossible and travel between villages difficult – the house slumped into a semi-doze. Kitty discussed future refurbishments with Mrs Webster, drew up ambitious plans for the gardens she wanted to create, and dreamed about Giles coming home.

Alice, feeling sorry for them, spent some of her time with Arabella and Arthur. She had never had much instruction herself, and regretted it, so she tried to lighten their ignorance a little bit every day, with old schoolbooks of her own, and whatever she could find in the library that was at all suitable. They were grateful for the attention, if not the requirement to concentrate, and Aunt Alice became their favourite person. She didn’t exactly enjoy their company, but she felt she was being useful; though it did occur to her that if she didn’t eventually marry anyone, she might really end up as a governess. It was not a prospect to entice; it almost made her feel that marriage would be preferable.

The unhappiest person at the Castle was the former valet Hook, now footman James again. With no entertaining, he hadn’t enough to do to take his mind off his wrongs. He had been demoted, and not even to first footman, which was his right by seniority and training, but fourth, below even Cyril, whom he himself had trained. It was humiliating. He would have believed Mr Moss was punishing him, if it weren’t that Moss was an old fool incapable of doing anything but doddering from one routine task to another.

He wanted to lash out – he wanted to hurt someone. He needed a scheme to occupy him. He needed to get one over on somebody to restore his faith in himself. He started up a card school in the hayloft, through which he could fleece the grooms and some other local idiots of their pay, but that was not enough. He tried to seduce the new maids, but they didn’t respond to him. The only maid who would ‘let him’ was Mabel, and he’d had her long ago. It took care of his carnal needs, but it wasn’t a challenge.

‘I’m going to break out,’ he warned his reflection, as he shaved in the morning. ‘Something’s coming. I can feel it.’ His reflection looked back through slitted eyes, darkly glittering and dangerous. Pretty good, he thought admiringly. Sinister, even.

Nobody got the better of Sid Hook for long.

Moss was standing on a painted and gilded royal barge floating down the Nile. The little housemaid, Ada, was gazing up at him in adoration as he pointed out the wonders of the scenery and explained everything to her. The flooding of the Nile, the building of the Pyramids, the making of papyrus, the working of the Archimedes Screw – words flowed from him in a stream of dazzling eloquence, and the more he spoke, the more she adored him. Her face turned up to him like a flower on the delicate stem of her long, white neck, and he stooped, slowly, slowly, to place a kiss upon the sweet rosebud of her lips—

His forehead gently struck the open book on his table, and he straightened up hastily, to hear the unwelcome voice of James saying sarcastically, ‘Your eyes hurting, Mr Moss? You don’t need to look at the book that close, do you? P’raps you need a magnifying-glass.’

James was lounging in the doorway surveying him with a sneering smile. The A to Z of Universal Knowledge lay open at Cleopatra, one of Moss’s favourite topics, and he had evidently dozed off while reading. Little Ada was not in the room with him, alas. She had only been part of the dream.

He pulled on dignity like a mantle. ‘I was just resting my eyes for a moment,’ he said sternly. ‘I wasn’t asleep.’

‘Course not,’ James said, with what sounded like a snigger.

Moss drew towards him the other open book on the table, which happened to be the cellar book – pulled it over the top of the A to Z and pored over it with a magisterial forefinger. ‘What is it you want?’ he demanded, not looking at James. ‘I’m busy. Some of these older vintages need drinking up and new laid in. I wish his lordship would come back. What do you want?’ he concluded irritably, as James seemed to be whistling under his breath.

‘I was thinking I could help you, Mr Moss,’ James said. ‘Seeing as there’s not much on at the moment, till the snow clears and we start entertaining again.’

‘Help me with what?’

‘Well, rearrange the cellar, and check everything against the cellar book, maybe,’ said James. ‘You just said some old stuff needs drinking up. And there’ll be gaps that need filling. Do a thorough check. Make lists. You could have it all ready for his lordship when he gets here.’

Moss was indignant. ‘What do you think I do all the time, every day? Keeping the cellar book is one of the butler’s most important responsibilities. In fact, the word “butler” comes from—’

‘Oh, give it a rest!’ James muttered.

Moss turned red. ‘What did you say?’