Page 6 of Rivals at Ashmore Castle

‘These clothes will never be good for anything again. Torn in lots of places, and blood stains everywhere, apart from the dirt. They’re for the rag-bag in my opinion.’

Miss Hatto never usually talked much. Afton thought it must be the drama that had made her so forthcoming. He made hay while her sun shone. ‘Let’s hope his lordship appreciates her efforts. His and Mr Richard’s things are just very dirty, though Mr Richard got blood on one of his shirt cuffs. I’ll give it a salt-water soak but I’m afraid it might be too dried-in.’

‘He wears his cuffs very long,’ said Miss Hatto. ‘You might be able to turn it so the stain is on the inside.’

‘It could do for riding or walking about the estate, I suppose. It’s a shame, for it’s a nice shirt.’ The lady’s maid showed no sign of wanting to end the conversation, so he went on, ‘And what of Miss Rowsham? Have you heard how she is? Mr Richard was very impressed with her. Said she didn’t spare herself.’

‘Lady Ravenscar’s maid is looking after her. She didn’t come to any harm, as far as I know.’

‘Another brave young lady. There must be something in the air of Ashmore Castle!’

Miss Hatto said judiciously, ‘I think my lady would be glad if Mr Richard were to take a fancy to her.’

‘Everyone would be happy if he brought home a nice young lady for a bride,’ Afton said. ‘However, not to get too excited, he only admired her fortitude.’

Miss Hatto lowered her eyelashes, then raised them to look Afton directly in the eyes. ‘Admiration can turn to something warmer,’ she said.

She lowered them again, and Afton felt a little pleasant shock. But her next words were a brisk ‘Well, I must get on.’

He pulled himself together. ‘Of course. After you.’

‘Now, Mr Afton, you know better than that. A gentleman precedes a lady down the stairs, and follows her up.’

‘Of course. What was I thinking?’ She had put him off his stroke. To recover, he said, ‘May I carry your bundle for you?’

‘I don’t think you could carry mine as well as your own. I can manage, thank you.’

He gave her a little bow, and stepped onto the staircase in front of her. She followed, her light feet making no sound: there was only the rustle of her skirts behind him. He thought of that moment when she had looked into his eyes. Could she possibly have been flirting with him? He tasted her words: Admiration can turn into something warmer. There was much he had always admired about her: her efficiency, her neatness, her self-containment. Did she, possibly, admire him in some way? Was that what she had meant by that look? It was something intriguing to think about.

William was at the bottom of the staircase waiting to come up, and the sight of him distracted Afton into thinking about boots. His lordship’s and Mr Richard’s to do, and both in a filthy state. He wondered if he could make William do his lordship’s. Mr Richard was very fussy about his boots so Afton had better do them himself – his lordship was less noticing. But then if it should emerge in the servants’ hall that he had passed off his master’s boots to an underling…? No, better he did both pairs.

Moss, the butler, appeared in the corridor, seen over William’s shoulder, and said, ‘Ah, Mr Afton. I’ve had word from upstairs that, in the circumstances, we won’t be dressing tonight. An informal dinner.’

‘Yes, his lordship told me.’

‘It’s a pity, though. I’d got up the 1890 Château Margaux, a very nice wine. But it would be wasted if the atmosphere is not festive.’ There was almost a question mark at the end, as though he wanted Afton’s affirmation.

Miss Hatto overtook him as he halted perforce to answer Moss, and disappeared into the ironing-room, and he watched her go with a mixture of disappointment and relief.

‘We can hardly be festive on such an evening,’ Afton said.

‘But acts of heroism ought to be celebrated?’ Moss said wistfully. He really hated to take that ’90 back down. He’d been looking forward to tasting it.

Afton had a shrewd idea of his thought processes. ‘If his lordship says informal, informal it is.’

Moss sighed. ‘You’re right. I’ve already told Mrs Terry to change the menu. I suppose a burgundy will be more appropriate. But I wanted us to show at our best in front of Lord Ravenscar. He’s quite the gourmet, I understand.’

‘There will be other opportunities, Mr Moss. And I must get this shirt in to soak before it sets – blood on the cuff, you know.’

‘Dear me,’ Moss said, distracted. ‘There was something I remember from my youth for getting blood out. Was it new milk, now? I remember it was something you had to get from the kitchen. Some sovereign remedy. I’ll think of it in a minute.’

Afton left him thinking and moved on briskly.

New milk, indeed!

Lady Ravenscar followed her maid to her sister’s room so that she could scold her while she was being dressed. ‘What were you thinking of? Things were going so well. I’m sure he had started to admire you. I noticed the way he looked after you at tea, when you came back from hunting.’

Lady Ravenscar had not hunted – she disliked horses in general, and particularly disliked getting dishevelled.