Page 73 of Rivals at Ashmore Castle

‘One o’clock in the morning. I didn’t mean to wake you. How are you feeling?’

‘Just tired.’

‘I’m glad it’s a girl,’ he said. ‘I hope she’ll grow up just like you. Is that her?’ He had spotted the crib in the corner, and went over to look. When he came back, there were tears in his eyes. ‘She’s beautiful.’

‘She will be by and by,’ Nina said, trying to be reasonable.

‘She is now,’ he asserted. ‘So tiny and perfect! I never thought…’ He had to stop to clear his throat. ‘I thought there’d never be a little one for me. You’ve made me so happy, my Nina. I’m so grateful.’

He had taken possession of her hand, and in that moment she understood what the baby meant to him. Some emotion must have shown in her face, because he said, ‘You’re tired. I’ll let you sleep. I’ll see you in the morning. Sleep well, my love.’

Angus stayed on for the funeral, and spent the intervening days trying to help Fritz get used to his new position. His mother was glad to have him there, and the others, after an initial awkwardness, relaxed and behaved more naturally towards him, though he could never, he feared, retake his old position in their hearts. Only Beata remained aloof, blaming him for his father’s death – ‘It was the strain of what you put him through that brought it on!’ But Beata had been his father’s pet and had never known the rough side of his tongue.

He had one or two sessions with Allardice, getting a fairer idea of his new rank and finances. The funeral plans had all been laid down some time ago so there was nothing for him to do. When the moment came, despite Beata’s objections, his mother asked him to be a coffin-bearer along with Fritz, Ben, and Beata’s husband, Sir Roland Elrick. There was a good turn-out at the church: if Sir Gordon wasn’t loved, he was respected, and had provided much employment. The lessons were Scottish-Presbyterian-stark and the hymns were solemn; the coffin was covered with white lilies, which filled the air with their dying scent. At the graveside, the familiar words from the Book of Common Prayer were spoken, and who could hear them without weeping? His mother clung to his arm, and he felt his eyes burn, and said inside his head, Goodbye, Father. I’m sorry. I wish I could have been what you wanted.

The minister shook everyone’s hand as they filed from the grave, like a receiving-line in reverse. He was a tall, gaunt, silver-haired man, older than Sir Gordon. He shook Angus’s hand with a hand as cold as death, despite the warmth of the day, and peered down into his face, and said, ‘I’m sorry for your loss, Sir Angus.’

Angus flinched at the title, which he was not yet used to. And wondered what the minister meant by ‘his loss’. Everyone must know about the disinheriting and his banishment. His loss of innocence, perhaps?

The next day he said goodbye to everyone, promised his mother he would not stay away for ever, and started south.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Afton and Frederick happened to be walking side by side along Piccadilly when they were forced to step back so that a fleeing maid could pass between them. Her ears were scarlet and her eyes were full of tears, and what she was fleeing was plainly the head housemaid, who stood further down the corridor, grim-lipped and arms akimbo.

‘What was that all about?’ Afton asked mildly.

‘The housemaids are my concern, Mr Afton. I’ll thank you not to interfere,’ said Rose.

‘Not interfering, just asking,’ Afton said. ‘It seems an unhappy house these days. Lady Rachel, for instance. Drooping like a lily and sighing. What’s wrong with her?’

‘Ask your sweetheart, Miss Hatto,’ Rose snapped. ‘She ought to know.’

Rachel did not have her own maid, and Hatto looked after her as well as Kitty when she was at the Castle.

Afton raised his eyebrows at the descriptor. ‘My who?’

Frederick elucidated, with an air of enjoying the situation. ‘You were seen walking about with her at the fair, Mr Afton. Conclusions were drawn.’

‘Then they’d better be un-drawn,’ Afton said. ‘We’re colleagues. And Miss Hatto doesn’t gossip.’

‘Everyone’s got their limits,’ Rose said darkly.

Afton decided not to pursue that. ‘And then there’s Lady Alice, out riding from morning till night, and looking like a lost soul when she’s at home. You’re maiding her, Rose. You should know what’s upsetting her.’

‘If I did, I wouldn’t tell you,’ Rose said. ‘I might as well ask you why his lordship’s got a face like thunder. But I won’t, because I mind my own business.’

Frederick looked at Afton for his response. He seemed to be enjoying the match.

‘Oh dear,’ Afton sighed, ‘we’re all out of sorts, it seems. It must be the weather.’

Rose snorted at the idea, though it was depressing weather for July, muggy and warm but sunless, the skies uniformly grey and dull. ‘Weather, my foot! If you ask me—’

Afton and Frederick held their breath.

She gave them a triumphant grimace instead of a smile. ‘You can work it out for yourselves.’ And she flounced away.

Afton glanced at Frederick, who was smiling as if at a private joke. ‘What’s funny?’ he asked.