Page 3 of The Mistress of Ashmore Castle

Alice was sitting on the floor, sketch-pad against her knees, drawing Rachel, who was sitting on the window-seat staring dreamily out of the window. Alice had asked her to loose her hair, and it fell in long coils over her shoulders, while the light from the window threw interesting planes and shadows into her lovely face. It was, Alice thought, going to be a nice piece.

The dogs, Tiger and Isaac, were sprawled in front of the fire, giving an occasional groan of comfort. Linda’s children, Arabella and Arthur, were quiet for the moment, working on a jigsaw puzzle of the map of Europe, which Alice thought ought to keep them busy since she happened to know that half of Belgium was missing.

Rachel gave a sigh, and Alice thought she was looking particularly pensive. She had been travelling with her mother for most of the year, going to parties and balls and meeting young men, and Alice thought it was most likely that she had fallen in love with someone. She had been in love the year before with Victor Lattery, a most unsatisfactory young man – but at the time, he was almost the only one she had met, and Rachel was the sort of girl who would always be in love with someone.

So to be kind to her, Alice said, ‘You look as though you’re in a dream. What are you thinking about?’

‘The ball, and what I shall wear,’ said Rachel.

‘Oh,’ said Alice blankly. She wasn’t ‘out’ yet, and much preferred riding to dancing.

‘I hope Mama doesn’t make me wear the white organza again,’ Rachel went on.

‘Richard’s trying to persuade Kitty to wear white – Daisy heard Miss Taylor talking about it.’

‘But Kitty’s married,’ Rachel objected. ‘Married women don’t wear white.’

‘Don’t frown – I’m doing your face. Yes, but you know Richard, always trying to shock. He says a countess can do as she likes, and that with Kitty’s colouring she’ll look stunning in white.’

Rachel sighed again. ‘I’m so fair it doesn’t suit me.’

Alice agreed. ‘Next to Kitty, you’d look like two penn’orth of cold gin.’

Rachel wrinkled her nose. ‘Where did you get such a dreadful expression?’

Alice didn’t want to say she’d heard Axe Brandom use it. ‘Oh, it’s what the grooms say,’ she said vaguely.

‘Well, don’t let Mama hear you.’

‘Don’t look disapproving – still doing your face.’

‘You spend too much time in the stables. And you’ll never get a husband if you use coarse phrases like that.’

‘I don’t want a husband,’ Alice said, as she had said many times before, whenever she was rebuked for being unladylike, or having untidy hair, or sitting on the floor, or whatever other way she had fallen short of the maidenly ideal.

‘Well, you surely can’t want to stay here all your life,’ said Rachel.

‘Why not? I can’t see how I’d be happier anywhere else.’

‘I like it here,’ Arabella said, startling them both – they hadn’t realised she’d been listening. ‘I’d like to stay for ever. I don’t want to go home. Our house is like two penn’orth of cold gin.’

‘Two penn’orth of gold chin,’ Arthur echoed importantly. ‘It’s nasty and smelly.’

‘Arthur! Don’t say such a thing!’ Rachel said.

‘It is!’ Arthur averred. ‘Smelly-welly-jelly! I hate it! I want to stay here.’

‘Me too!’ said Arabella. ‘Can we go riding this afternoon, Aunty Alice?’

‘Ooh, yes. And can I ride Biscuit?’ Arthur said, bouncing on the spot. The dogs woke and raised their heads to look at him, wondering if the movement heralded a walk.

‘No, he has to have Goosebumps, doesn’t he, Aunty?’ Arabella objected quickly. ‘I always have Biscuit, cos I’m older and I can ride better. Arthur’s only a baby.’

‘I’m not a baby!’

‘You are!’

’Well, you fell off yesterday! I’ve not fallen off for ages.’