Page 80 of The Mistress of Ashmore Castle

‘Excellent. I’ll invite some interesting people to amuse you.’

‘But you always amuse me,’ Mr Cowling said comfortably.

Though she was not in the fashionable set, Nina did go across the square from time to time and call on Lady Caroline, who always seemed pleased to see her. On the day she went there to tea, and found Grandmère also present, she learned about the death of Linda’s husband.

‘And Giles has had to go down to Dorset to deal with the Cordwell finances, which are in something of a muddle. He’ll probably be there for several weeks,’ Caroline concluded.

‘Oh, poor Giles,’ Nina said, and was embarrassed as she realised she should have said ‘Poor Linda’ first.

Grandmère gave her a canny look. ‘No, you are right, it is poor Giles. He will hate it very much, and it will remind him of his troubles when his father died. But men have their trials as women have theirs. They must be borne. We cannot help it.’

‘What will Lady Cordwell do?’ Nina asked. ‘I suppose she’ll stay in Dorset while she’s in mourning.’

‘The funeral is next week,’ said Caroline, ‘and we’ll all have to go down, but then I expect Giles will ask her to stay at the Castle. Holme Manor is rather a dreary house, and awfully damp. Very unhealthy. I don’t suppose she’ll want to stay there in the long term.’

‘She cannot come to me,’ Grandmère said sharply, ‘and you should be careful, Caroline, that you do not get left with her. Once invite her and she will never leave. She is like a leech, that one. She will cling on wherever she can.’

Caroline looked shocked. ‘Oh, you mustn’t say such things.’ Not in front of a stranger, she meant.

Grandmère gave a very Gallic shrug. ‘I’m sure this family has no secrets from Nina. Kitty must have told her everything. No, let Linda go to Ashmore if she must go somewhere. That house is big enough for everyone to have their distance.’

‘Well, it would be rather crowded here,’ said Caroline, cautiously, ‘especially if she wanted to bring the children. And, besides, I do feel being brought up in a city is not good for children.’

‘Nonsense. I was brought up in a city,’ said Grandmère. ‘It did me no harm.’

‘I was, too,’ Nina said apologetically.

‘And when are you going to present us with a child?’ Grandmère demanded. ‘We are all waiting.’

Nina was embarrassed. Old ladies had licence not granted to others in polite society, but there were limits. ‘I suppose when God sends me one,’ she said.

‘Hmph! If that is where you believe they come from, you may be waiting a long time,’ said Grandmère, sourly, and began rummaging in her reticule.

Caroline, rather pink, leaned across to Nina and whispered, ‘You must forgive her. She gets crotchety when her digestion is disordered. It’s the east wind.’

Grandmère emerged with a small box of cachous, slipped one into her mouth and said, ‘The wind is from the south-west today. And I may be old and sour, but I am not deaf.’

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Dr Pinchbeck was as good as his word. He helped a nervous Job through his evidence that Lord Cordwell had gone out that day after pigeons. He took evidence from Harry Beck and the constable. Colonel Havering gave evidence that his neighbour often went out alone, shooting for the pot; and further that he himself had tripped on occasion going over that particular stile, as it was narrow and one’s boot could get caught under the rung as one swung one’s leg over.

Dr Pinchbeck concluded that the death was due to a tragic accident, and added that he hoped everyone would respect the feelings of the grieving widow, who now had two young children to bring up alone. The body was therefore released for burial and the funeral could go ahead.

The vicar must have heard loose gossip about Cordwell’s death because, when interviewed by Giles, he referred as often as possible to ‘this tragic accident’, mentioned many times what a good and Christian man Cordwell had been, and assured Giles that a full burial service and the family plot awaited the Lord’s faithful servant. He went on to say he personally would ensure that the choir and organist were in attendance and that the bell-ringers would do their part. A small honorarium to the organist was usual, likewise to the gravediggers. Beer and pies at the Frome Arms after the service were the traditional thanks to the choir and bell-ringers. Giles, fortunately, had cash with him, and gave the vicar enough to cover everything, plus a donation to the church, which he felt was tacitly expected. The vicar’s good will, he gathered, came not from any feeling of sympathy towards Linda, but from a liking for Gerald Cordwell personally – he had been popular in the neighbourhood, the vicar told him, and would be missed.

Giles had paid the wages of Mrs Clegg and her son; had settled with the local grocer, baker and butcher so that funeral baked meats could be ordered; and had hired two local girls as temporary housemaids to clean rooms to a sufficient standard for the funeral reception and to wait on the guests. Colonel Havering and his sister had been immensely kind and placed anything they had, from servants to flowers from the gardens, at Linda’s service. Giles had to talk to them and thank them, because Linda had retreated into a surly gloom and would take no part in any planning.

The dowager left Rachel in London to be chaperoned by Caroline, and travelled down to Ashmore, so that Richard could escort her and Alice on the long journey to Dorset. Kitty was excused attendance because of her condition, but to Maud’s surprise, Sebastian made himself one of the party.

‘There is no need,’ she said. ‘It is not to be a large affair.’ She hesitated, and added in a lower voice, ‘It is not a circumstance to which one wishes to draw attention.’

‘I’m the nearest thing to a father Linda has left,’ Sebastian said. ‘And I liked the chap. Poor Cordwell. He had a hard row to hoe.’

Gerald Cordwell, he thought, had been a light, pleasant sort of person who would have done well in easier circumstances. He’d have been a diligent landlord, a popular host, a useful member of the House, and would probably have kept a better check on Linda if he hadn’t been worn down by penury. Indeed, Linda would have been a nicer person if there had been enough money. But it took more character than either of them had to make a go of things under such disadvantages.

The day before the funeral, he encountered Dory walking along an upstairs corridor with an armful of linen. Her eyes flew to his face, but then she lowered them, flattened herself against the wall and curtseyed slightly. That was what maids were supposed to do when encountering Upstairs people.

He stopped. ‘Dory, don’t,’ he said gently. ‘Don’t treat me like that.’ She bit her lip, but did not look up. ‘Please talk to me,’ he said. ‘I promise I won’t embarrass you, but I miss talking to you so much. Can’t we just be – civilised?’ At the last moment he did not say ‘friends’, because he had already had the answer to that question.