Page 5 of The Mistress of Ashmore Castle

Moss was hurt. ‘I never panic.’

‘There isn’t so very much left for you to do,’ Mrs Webster went on briskly. ‘Mr Sebastian will consult you about the wine, and you’ll need to talk to Giddins about the transport for the shooting luncheon and for those who want to go to church. Adeane and Saddler will see to the beaters, and loaders for the gentlemen who don’t bring their own. You’ll have his lordship’s guns ready for Mr Richard?’

Moss reached for his dignity. ‘Of course,’ he said, with faint reproach. ‘What was it you wanted to speak to me about? I am rather busy.’

She came in fully and closed the door behind her. ‘I want to talk to you about James.’

‘Ah,’ said Moss.

‘I don’t know what his lordship was thinking, demoting him from valet to footman.’

‘He refused to go to Egypt with his lordship,’ Moss said, with deep disapproval. ‘A shocking impertinence, and a dereliction of duty.’

‘I know all that,’ Mrs Webster said impatiently. ‘But why on earth didn’t he just dismiss him? Now Mister Hook has gone back to being merely James, at half the wages. He’s like a festering sore in the servants’ hall. You’ve surely noticed his attitude?’

‘He always was sharp-tongued,’ Moss agreed, ‘but he’s worse now.’

‘He criticises everything you do. Pretending it’s in a spirit of helpfulness, but he’s really just trying to diminish you in the eyes of the other servants.’

‘I’m sure your authority is sound, Mrs Webster,’ Moss said, bewildered.

She gave an exasperated sigh. ‘When I say “you”, in this context, I mean you, Mr Moss.’

‘Oh!’ said Moss.

‘He’s after your job. It’s unacceptable that he talks behind your back. Quite apart from your welfare, it unsettles the other servants. What are you going to do about him?’

‘You know it’s not in my gift to sack him,’ Moss said unhappily.

‘I think it is. He’s not a valet any more. The male servants apart from the valets come under your authority.’

‘But with his lordship away . . . If he’d wanted him gone, he’d have sacked him himself. Perhaps there is some reason . . . Say his lordship wanted him to stay, it would upset him to come back and find . . . Perhaps you could speak to her ladyship. Or Mr Richard.’

Mrs Webster made an impatient sound. Moss looked away, let his eyes rove about the closed cupboards in search of escape. All this unpleasantness . . . It tired him out. He wished Mrs Webster would go away. He had always disliked James, even before his elevation, disliked the way he looked at the maids. He thought about Ada, the new little housemaid, white as a lily, delicate as a butterfly. He longed to escape this unpleasant conversation and seek her out, find some excuse to talk to her and have her look up at him in the respectful, admiring way that swelled his heart. The thought of James looking at her, still less touching her . . . ! He wanted to protect her against the whole world. Little Ada, with her long neck like the stem of a flower . . .

‘If you’re not going to dismiss him,’ Mrs Webster said sharply, recalling him to the present, ‘at least speak to him, put him in his place. He’s already talking about valeting any gentleman who comes to stay without his own man. He’s fourth footman now. It’s not for him to put himself forward.’

‘Well, he is experienced,’ Moss began.

‘You know he’s only interested in the tips. To allow him to valet a guest would be tantamount to rewarding him for refusing to accompany his lordship. And I don’t think that’s what his lordship had in mind – do you?’

Moss drew himself up. ‘If any gentleman needs a valet, I shall decide who it is to be. I will speak to James. He takes too much upon himself.’

‘You should dismiss him,’ Mrs Webster said.

‘I will deal with the situation. Leave it to me,’ Moss said loftily, and she gave him a hard look, and went away. Moss waited until her footsteps had died away, and went back to his own room, where he could close the door. There was almost a quarter of a bottle of claret in his cupboard, left in the decanter last night, which he had poured back into the bottle before the decanter was washed. Obviously you couldn’t send up a small amount like that again, and it was a sin to waste it. It was the butler’s perquisite, a reward for a lifetime’s devotion to the study of wine in his master’s service.

He would never, of course, touch the spirits.

CHAPTER TWO

The climate in Egypt was reckoned to be perfect in December for digging, still hot by English standards, but not uncomfortably so; a little rain on the coast but none inland. Nevertheless, there was a general inclination to stop for a day or two at Christmas. Most of the archaeology community was taking the train into Cairo to stay at hotels or with friends and enjoy the delights of civilisation. Giles, having been on site only for a few weeks, was already impatient at the idea of suspending work, but an invitation from Lord Cromer, the consul general, to a ball on Christmas Eve could not be lightly dismissed.

‘Why me?’ he complained, showing the invitation to his friends Talbot and Mary Arthur. ‘He hasn’t asked you or Max.’

‘You’re an earl,’ Mary Arthur said. ‘I expect he has to impress Egyptian officials. And the French diplomatic circle. Perhaps even merchants.’

‘Well, I didn’t come all the way out here to start this nonsense again – balls and dinners, indeed!’