The Affairs of Ashmore Castle

Book 2: Ashmore Castle

by Cynthia Harrod-Eagles

Genres: Historical Fiction; Regency Romance

Synopsis

The second novel in the Ashmore Castle series, perfect for fans of DOWNTON ABBEY, from the author of the hugely successful MORLAND DYNASTY novels

Behind the doors of the magnificent Ashmore Castle, secrets are waiting to be uncovered . . .

England, 1903.
Giles, the new Earl of Stainton, is struggling to bring his family's estate back to order after the death of his father, and he has little time to spare for his young pregnant wife, Kitty. She lives in fear of her mother-in-law, who won't give up the reins of the household. Will she ever truly be mistress of Ashmore Castle? Perhaps if her coming child is a boy, that will change the balance of power...

Meanwhile, the Earl's younger sisters are having their first taste of romance, but not necessarily with the right people. Richard is pursuing his forbidden relationship with Molly, while Nina makes a lively new friend who leads her straight into trouble and pushes her relationship with her husband to the limit.

And below stairs, ambition, jealousy and revenge stalk the corridors, while a tragic suicide, a tender romance, and finally a mysterious disappearance challenge the castle's residents, both high and low . . .

The second novel in the Ashmore Castle historical family drama series, filled with heartbreak, romance and intriguing secrets waiting to be uncovered. The perfect read for fans of Downton Abbey, Bridgerton and rich period dramas.

Release date: August 11, 2022

Publisher: Little, Brown Book Group

Print pages: 135000

Sample

Maud Stainton was feeling discontented. It was not something she was used to. She had no truck with feelings, her own or anyone else’s: they were a self-indulgence. Likewise with illness – admitting to feeling unwell showed a lack of character. There was no excuse for it.

She was the eldest child of the 8th Earl of Leake, brought up at Cawburn Castle, a crow-haunted, granite fastness in a windswept part of Northumberland where you had to be hardy to survive. Her father had been a distant and rather frightening figure. Her mother she remembered as always either pregnant or in childbed, a faded creature who had given up the struggle and died as soon as, after three daughters and several miscarriages, she had presented the earl with a live son. Maud, then aged eleven, had been forced into the position of mistress of the house and mother to her siblings. Responsibility had forged the iron at the centre of her character. There had been no room for softness.

Her father had never hidden his disgust at having three daughters before the required son, and Maud understood early that they could only redeem themselves by making good marriages. Victoria, the youngest and prettiest, had secured the Prince of Wittenstein-Glucksberg. Caroline, the sweetest-tempered, attracted Sir James Manningtree who, though only a knight, was one of the richest men in London. Maud was the plain one of the three, but a Forrest girl might look as high as she wished. She hoped for a duke; but when the time came there weren’t any dukes or marquesses of the right age.

Still, William Fairburn Louis Tallant, 5th Earl of Stainton, had a good pedigree, a fine country seat – Ashmore Castle – and a large estate. She had married him, run his house, borne his children, and occupied the position in society that was her due. Willie Stainton was everything an earl should be in public. Maud knew nothing of his profligacy, his mistresses and his gambling, and only when he died, suddenly, on the hunting field, did she learn he had left the estate near to bankruptcy.

Her elder son, Giles, had inherited the debts along with the title, and to recoup the fortunes of the estate he had married an heiress. Now that heiress was Countess of Stainton. Maud didn’t like it. There couldn’t be two Lady Staintons – but there were, and she was not the important one.

It was over the Christmas season, during two weeks with all the family gathered, that the discontent had crystallised. She had lost her place in the world. Willie Stainton, damn his eyes, had made her a dowager. She didn’t know what to do with herself.

This morning, just after New Year, she examined the faces around the breakfast table. Her eldest daughter Linda had come for the season with her husband and two children. Linda was tall and plain like her mother, and growing scrawny: she was shovelling away a second plate of kedgeree as if she hadn’t eaten for a week. Linda’s marriage to Viscount Cordwell had been arranged by her father, who had not asked enough questions: the extent of the Cordwell estate’s indebtedness had not come to light until it was too late. Gerald Cordwell was a pleasant, likeable man, but niceness buttered no parsnips. He had proved ineffectual in rescuing his fortunes, and Linda spent every waking moment scheming how to be anywhere but at Holme Manor, his dilapidated seat.

Maud despised them both.

At the far end of the table her second son, Richard, home from soldiering in South Africa, was chatting to his younger sisters, Rachel and Alice, and making them laugh. Everyone liked Richard. Even Maud had been known to smile at him. He had inherited his father’s good looks and easy charm.

Alice was not out yet, and therefore of no interest to Maud, but Rachel had turned seventeen last summer, and Maud had been intending to bring her out this season. But now her plan was threatened. She turned her eyes back to the other end of the table where Giles was reading the newspaper and Kitty was toying with a piece of toast and staring at nothing. Kitty was pregnant, and expecting the child in May. If she had wanted to annoy her mother-in-law she could not have timed it better. She looked like the sort of girl who would make hard work of carrying, and Maud had intended a lavish come-out for Rachel, to be followed in short order by a dazzling marriage; but now there was Kitty’s condition hanging over everything. She would be sure to go into labour at the very peak of Rachel’s debut. She would probably make such a piece of work of it that Rachel’s triumph would pale into insignificance beside Kitty’s drama, and all Maud’s hard work would be for nothing.

Maud seethed. After a lifetime of stoicism and doing her duty, it had come to this, that she was a mere dowager, tolerated in the house that had been hers; taking second place to a nobody, having her plans disrupted; and there was nothing she could do about it. Giles – Giles! – had taken her husband’s place, and was as indifferent to her wishes as she had always been to his. Damn Stainton for dying! Damn him!

Rachel had felt the eyes upon her. More timid than Alice, she was always afraid of being scolded, and as she looked apprehensively at her mother, a blush of automatic guilt coloured her cheeks. It was a pretty face, framed by long, fair ringlets, but Rachel had seemed out of sorts lately. Maud had noticed it, though it would not have occurred to her to ask the reason. But it gave her an idea. Suddenly the blood started rushing through her head as a plan came to her, with all its details slotting into place in a most satisfactory way.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw Linda put down her fork, her plate temporarily empty, and Giles begin the awkward, elbow-flapping process of turning to the next page of the broadsheet. She must catch the tide of the moment.

‘I have decided,’ she said – and everyone immediately stopped what they were doing and looked at her: she still commanded to that extent – ‘that I shall go to Darmstadt next week, and Rachel shall come with me.’

The servants were assembled round their own breakfast table, waiting for Mr Moss, the butler, and William, the first footman, to come down from the dining-room. Ellen, one of the housemaids, who had been helping upstairs, scuttled to her seat, saying, ‘That’s put the cat among the pigeons! Guess what I heard?’

But she had sat down only in time to stand up again as Mr Moss entered and beat her to the news. ‘Well, quite a significant change of plans has been announced. I wonder you didn’t mention it, Miss Taylor.’

Miss Taylor, the dowager’s personal maid, didn’t know what he was talking about, and concealed the fact with a haughty look. ‘Grace, if you please, Mr Moss. We may at least begin the day in godliness, even if we can’t sustain it until evening.’

‘Oh – ah – hm!’ Moss looked annoyed at being caught out. In some great houses, religion featured strongly, with morning and evening prayers every day in the servants’ hall and a strict discipline kept over language and morals. The devotional temperature below stairs depended more on the leanings of the butler than the dictates of the mistress, and Moss regarded himself as a rationalist, so the Almighty didn’t feature strongly in his rule; but on the other hand, he was a great believer in tradition, and disliked having Miss Taylor trip him up. He glared sternly round the table until every head was bowed, and then pronounced the grace in suitably cathedral tones.

‘Amen.’

Chairs scraped, everyone sat, the bread plate went rapidly round. The kitchen-maids Aggie and Brigid came in and planked down the big teapot in front of Mrs Webster and the hot dishes by Mr Moss, then hurried off to their own breakfast in the kitchen.

‘Go on then, Ellen,’ said Tilda. ‘What did you hear?’

The family served themselves at breakfast, but the old earl had liked butler and first footman to be in attendance at the sideboard, and the new earl had not thought to rescind the order. Females didn’t wait at table, but Ellen had been in the serving-closet just off the dining-room, stacking dirties onto a tray to take down.

‘Well,’ she said, ‘you know her ladyship goes to Germany every year in January?’

‘Whyever does she do that?’ wondered Tilda, who was new since last summer.

‘Because her sister married a German prince,’ Ellen explained. ‘He’s got a palace, some funny name it’s got, like the Washtub—’

‘The Wachturm,’ Mrs Webster, the housekeeper, corrected. ‘Near Darmstadt.’

‘A palace!’ said pale, pretty Milly, who was also new. ‘Fancy!’

William gazed at her adoringly, as though she’d said something deeply significant. His loves burned bright and brief, and rarely got further than adoring glances.

‘Her ladyship is accustomed to visit there every year, for six weeks or so,’ Moss said. ‘Can I assist you to some kedgeree, Miss Taylor?’

‘No, thank you,’ said Miss Taylor firmly. ‘That haddock was definitely off. I smelt it when I came past the kitchen this morning.’

‘But it’s the same as they’re having upstairs,’ Moss said, shocked. ‘Nobody complained in the dining-room.’

‘Did anyone try it in the dining-room?’

‘Her ladyship had some. And Lady Cordwell had two servings.’

Speen, Mr Richard’s valet, laughed. ‘That’s no guarantee. They’d eat dung if you put it on a plate in front of them.’

Miss Taylor said, ‘I would not express myself with such vulgarity, Mr Speen, but in essence you’re right. The quality of food is a matter of indifference to my lady and Lady Cordwell. It has always been a matter of regret to me. But it doesn’t alter the fact that the haddock is off and no amount of curry powder will disguise it. What’s in the other dish?’

Moss lifted the lid. ‘Fried ham,’ he said.

Miss Taylor recoiled. ‘Fried in the fish pan, by the smell of it. I’ll just have to make do with bread this morning. That drunken fool in the kitchen gets no better, Mrs Webster.’

‘Nothing I can do about it,’ Mrs Webster said shortly. ‘You’ll have to speak to your mistress about replacing her.’

‘I shall do no such thing,’ Miss Taylor said indignantly. ‘That is not my job. If you would have the kindness to pass me the marmalade . . .’

‘Gooseberry jam,’ Mrs Webster corrected. ‘Marmalade’s all finished, bar what I’ve kept back for upstairs.’

‘Well! This house goes from bad to worse—’

Rose had tired of the conversation. ‘What is this wonderful news you’ve heard?’ she asked Ellen impatiently.

Ellen hastily swallowed the wad of bread with which she was subduing the first agonies of hunger, and said importantly, ‘Her ladyship’s going to Germany next week and she’s taking Lady Rachel with her!’

Daisy, the housemaid who looked after the young ladies, said, ‘First I’ve heard about it. Did you know, Miss Taylor?’

Miss Taylor was saved from answering by Rose, who said, ‘That can’t be right. I thought her ladyship wasn’t going at all this year. It’s supposed to be Lady Rachel’s come-out this season. If they go to Germany, it won’t leave time to arrange everything.’

‘They won’t be bringing her out this year,’ said Ellen. ‘Her ladyship said Lady Rachel’s very young for her age, and it won’t hurt to wait a year. She’ll meet lots of people in Germany and get more confidence and show up all the better next year.’

Miss Hatto, Kitty’s maid, who listened to everything but rarely spoke, said, ‘Perhaps she’s noticed that Lady Rachel’s been out of spirits lately.’

‘What do you mean?’ said Daisy. ‘She’s all right. She’s always been the quiet one of the two, but she’s not ill.’

‘I don’t say ill – just not her usual self,’ said Miss Hatto.

‘Maybe she’s in love,’ Speen suggested in a ribald tone. He could make pass the sugar sound like an indecent proposition.

‘But whoever could she be in love with?’ Daisy said. ‘They never go anywhere. Anyway, I’d know if that was it. She’d tell me.’

Rose gave her a scornful look. She didn’t think either of the girls would open their hearts to Daisy, who was an inveterate gossip. And not a good maid, either – lazy and self-centred. ‘What I don’t understand,’ she said, ‘is why we didn’t know about this. Lady Linda would’ve said something to me if she’d known. She was saying only yesterday that it looked as though she’d have to go home next week, but if her ladyship was going to Germany, she’d be expecting to stay and be hostess.’

‘But his lordship’s got a wife,’ said Tilda ‘She’s the hostess, surely.’

‘That wouldn’t stop Lady Linda,’ said Rose. ‘She’d say her young ladyship’s condition means she shouldn’t exert herself. Did her ladyship really say nothing to you, Miss Taylor?’

‘My observation,’ said Moss, feeling a little authority was needed, ‘was that the announcement took everyone by surprise. Lady Cordwell, indeed, looked quite put out.’

‘She would do. It’s never occurred to her all these years to ask to go to Germany,’ said Rose. ‘She’ll be wondering what she’s missed.’

‘But if Lady Rachel isn’t out, how can she meet people over there?’ Miss Hatto asked.

‘His lordship asked the same question. Her ladyship said it wouldn’t signify in German society,’ said Moss. ‘She also mentioned that the Grand Duke of Hesse would be at Dramstadt with a large party, and that everyone from the Wachturm would naturally be invited to their entertainments. That would be a great thing for Lady Rachel.’

‘Still, it’s not like her ladyship to decide things on impulse, like that,’ said Rose.

‘Just because none of you knew doesn’t mean it was an impulse,’ said Hook, his lordship’s man. ‘I knew all about it.’

The maids looked at him with interest, but Rose was scornful. ‘Oh, you did not! You’re just trying to make yourself important. As if her ladyship’d tell you stuff!’

‘But she’d tell his lordship, and his lordship has no secrets from me.’

Crooks looked shocked, and mortified. He used to be Giles’s valet, and had been ousted by James Hook to the lower position of valet to Mr Sebastian, who barely needed the services of a highly trained gentleman’s gentleman. ‘His lordship confides in you?’ he said, in a cracked voice.

Miss Taylor disliked Crooks, but she loathed Hook. ‘Pay no attention, Mr Crooks. Rose is quite right – James is just puffing himself up.’

‘It’s Mr Hook to you, Miss Taylor,’ he said angrily. ‘I’m not a footman any more. And a gentleman can choose who he wants to confide in without asking your permission.’

‘His lordship certainly seemed as surprised as anyone,’ Moss said doubtfully.

Miss Taylor hadn’t finished with Hook. ‘The day Lord Stainton confides in a counter-jumper like you, Mister Hook, the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse will come riding up the drive from Canons Ashmore and hold a lawn meet.’

Moss was distracted. ‘There is some doubt about whether the Four Horsemen are a truly Christian idea, Miss Taylor. The Book of Revelation has its critics—’

Mrs Webster intervened. Mr Moss owned an encyclopaedia called The A-Z of Universal Knowledge, and his love of imparting nuggets from it was not matched by anyone’s love of receiving them. ‘Well, I’m sure we’ll hear all about it soon. There’ll be preparations and packing to do. You always look forward to Germany, don’t you, Miss Taylor?’

‘The household at the Wachturm is well run,’ she allowed. ‘But it can be bitterly cold there in winter. I wonder what my lady will do about a fur for Lady Rachel. She’ll certainly need one. I’d better have a look through the fur closet after breakfast, to see if there’s anything she might borrow.’

There was a frenzy of preparation and packing. Rachel had no suitable clothes, and every woman in the house who could use a needle was recruited to create enough to last her until German mantua-makers could be called in. Housemaids cursed and pricked their unaccustomed fingers as they sewed ribbon and lace onto plain underwear and nightclothes. A dressmaker from the village came in with bolts of cloth, and two warm travelling-dresses were cut out and made up. Lady Stainton lent a three-quarter-length sable – which was full length on the smaller Rachel – along with a matching hat and muff.

‘Are you scared?’ Alice asked her sister, as Daisy laid a pile of linen on the bed for Rose to pack. ‘All those new people to meet, royals and everything.’

‘A bit,’ Rachel admitted. ‘But excited mostly. And Aunt Vicky and Uncle Bobo are so nice, I’m sure it will all be lovely.’

‘There’ll be the Grand Duke of Hesse to meet,’ Alice reminded her. ‘He’s Queen Victoria’s grandson, you know.’

‘But Mama says Ernie Hesse is very approachable and jolly.’ She enjoyed the sound of herself saying ‘Ernie Hesse’ as if she knew him. ‘Though she disapproves of him a bit because he’s divorced. But Queen Victoria gave her permission for it, so nobody can say anything.’

‘If he’s divorced, how can he entertain? He’d have to have a hostess.’

‘Aunt Vicky said in her letter that his sister Irene will be hostess. She’s Princess Henry of Prussia. One of his other sisters is Queen of Romania and another one is a Russian grand duchess. I wonder if they’ll be there?’

Alice laughed. ‘Goodness! You’ll be scared rigid!’

‘She won’t,’ Rose intervened. She had known the girls since babyhood and could take certain liberties. ‘She’ll behave just as she ought and be much admired. She’ll have a lovely time. Don’t upset her, Lady Alice.’

‘I’m not, I won’t. But grand dukes and princes – it’s a bit different from—’

She didn’t complete the sentence, but Rachel knew what she meant. Victor Lattery. Rachel had fallen in love with him the year before – her first love, her first secret kisses. And he had gone off to America with a cheerful wave and without, it seemed, the slightest regret at parting from her. She had been in mourning all winter, until now. She shook her head at Alice, and said, ‘I want it to be different.’

Alice thought, She’s got over him. She was glad. She’d never thought Victor was such a much.

‘Your turn will come, Lady Alice,’ Rose said, thinking Alice’s silence was envy.

‘It needn’t bother,’ Alice said. ‘I like being at home. And I wouldn’t miss the rest of the hunting season for anything.’

The recent snow that had suspended hunting had mostly worn away, lingering only in the shadows of walls. Last night’s frost had been sharp: it glittered in a crust along the branches, and there was a skim of ice in the ruts that cracked like small-arms fire under the impact of twelve striking hoofs. The swollen ball of the sun had just managed to haul itself clear of the net of bare treetops, and its scalding orange light turned the frost diamond to fire, and left cobalt shadows in the hollows, as if winter had been distilled to a cold blue liquid.

It was an act of heroism on Alice’s part to take Linda’s children to the meet. Arabella at eight was not a bad little rider, but Arthur at six was still on the leading-rein, and on the two trap ponies, Biscuit and Goosebumps, they would hardly be more mobile than foot-followers, so it was a sacrifice to give up what promised to be a good day in the field to shepherd her niece and nephew about the lanes.

Still, Giles had shown some heroism of his own in allowing Linda to leave the children at Ashmore when she and her husband were packed off home. He had told her bluntly – there was never any point in hinting to Linda, who could ignore anything more subtle than a direct order – that she would have to go when Mama and Rachel left for Germany. Allowing her to leave the children had been for their sakes, not hers. He felt sorry for them.

Linda never brought their nursery-maid with her to Ashmore, expecting Daisy to look after them. ‘She loves children,’ Linda said. ‘And with Rachel away, she’ll have hardly anything to do. I’m sure Alice doesn’t need much maiding.’

In fact, Daisy didn’t much like the little Cordwells, and while she would attend to their washing, dressing and feeding, she didn’t see why she should have to entertain them, and was inclined to leave them in the nursery with a book and a stern instruction not to move. In sheer pity, the girls sometimes felt they had to rescue them. On their last visit, they had started teaching them to ride. Now, on an impulse, Alice had offered to take them to a meet.

It was at Lord Shacklock’s place, Ashridge Park, the next estate along. Here the Ash Valley widened out into lush meadows, so there was plenty of room for a proper lawn meet, unlike at Ashmore Castle, which hadn’t much in the way of adjacent flat land. Pharaoh was fresh, despite having had a good gallop the day before, and Alice thought wistfully of the hunt she could have had, while absently telling Arthur to sit up straight and keep his knees in.

As soon as they turned in at the park gates, Pharaoh’s head went up, his nostrils flared, and he let out a tremendous long whinny that shook his sides. He knew exactly what was up ahead.

Arabella said, ‘What’s wrong with him? Why is he making that noise?’

‘He’s excited, that’s all. He can smell hounds.’

‘Well, it sounds awfully silly,’ Arabella said. ‘I’m glad my pony’s not doing it.’

‘You attend to your reins,’ Alice said. ‘They’re in loops! If Biscuit were to bolt, you’d have no control at all.’

‘Biscuit would never do that,’ Arabella said. At the same instant, Biscuit caught the exciting flavour on the air and, realising his rider wasn’t paying attention, broke into a brisk trot and carted her up the drive.

It took a moment to bring the indignant Pharaoh under control, and by then Arabella had disappeared round the bend. Alice followed with Arthur at a sedate jog, dreading what she would find.

There was the gravelled forecourt of the handsome old house, glamorously peopled with horses and riders; there was the pack, sterns waving, being held together by the whips; there were servants carrying round trays of hot pasties and glasses of stirrup cup. And there was Axe Brandom helping Arabella to regain her lost stirrup while Biscuit nuzzled his pockets for titbits. Axe was the assistant blacksmith in the village, and knew every equine in the district.

‘Now, Miss Arabella,’ he was saying, ‘hold your reins like this – see? Not too tight but not too loose. So he knows you’re in charge.’

‘I’ve been telling her that all the way here,’ Alice said.

Axe let go of Biscuit, swept off his hat, and walked over to Alice. He laid a hand on Pharaoh’s neck, and the liver-chestnut pushed his nose to Axe’s ear and blew into it, then continued to stare goggle-eyed over his shoulder at the scene. Axe smiled up at Alice. ‘I heard you coming, right from the gates.’

‘You’d think he’d never seen hounds before. Thank you for catching Biscuit.’

‘Warn’t no catching to it,’ Axe said. ‘He come straight to me.’ He glanced behind Alice. ‘No Josh with you today?’

Josh, groom to Rachel and Alice, was Axe’s brother.

‘He’s got Richard’s second horse,’ she explained. ‘Richard’s taken Rachel’s Daystar, then he’s changing on to Kitty’s Apollo. It’s lucky he’s so light. But Josh will have to walk Daystar home – she’ll never carry him after a run.’

‘Can always leave her somewhere and fetch her later. That’s what I’d do,’ Axe said, fending off Pharaoh gently as the gelding mouthed in a friendly manner at his red-gold hair. ‘So you’ll not get much hunting today, then, taking care of the childer?’

‘No,’ Alice said, with a sigh. ‘And Lord Shacklock’s head man, Aigburth, told our Giddins that it was going to be a spiffing day, with two earths stopped up at High Spinney and Crown Woods.’

Axe nodded. ‘If they run as far as High Spinney, likely they’ll go on and draw Motte Woods. There’s an old fox up there.’ He paused. ‘Have you heard about Aaron Cutmore? You know his cottage is up in Motte Woods?’

‘What about him?’ Alice had always thought he had the perfect name for a woodsman.

‘Had a bit of an accident cutting poles and laid his foot open. He’s thinking about giving up. Getting too old, he says.’

‘I wonder who’ll replace him,’ said Alice.

‘I’ve asked Mr Adeane for the job,’ Axe told her. Adeane was the estate bailiff.

‘Do you think you’ll get it?’

‘Mr Adeane knows what I can do.’ He sounded quietly confident.

Alice was silent, wondering how this would affect her. She had known Axe as blacksmith ever since she could remember, but lately she had been visiting him at his cottage on his day off – she loved animals, and he always had an orphaned or injured animal or two in his care, as well as Dolly, his terrier.

Axe watched her face as if he could read her thoughts. ‘’f I get the job, I’ll get Cutmore’s cottage. Motte Woods is a bit far for a walk, but you could ride there easy enough. And I’d be there all the time, not just on my day off.’ He saw her working through the implications, and added the clincher. ‘Got a goshawk. Found him caught in a net just after Christmas. Hurt his wing.’

Her face lit. ‘Oh, I’d love to see that.’

‘And Dolly, she misses you. Asks about you all the time.’ He smiled, to show it was a joke.

‘Have you still got your jackdaw?’ she asked.

‘Captain? Yes. But he’s getting old now. Won’t be with us much longer.’ Now he met her eyes, and she felt a heat run from her face all the way down her neck. He held her gaze for a moment, then glanced back at Arabella, sitting with such a loose rein that Biscuit had decided it was all right to graze. ‘You don’t want to miss the hunt, my lady. What say I look after the young ’uns? They’ll only be walking as far as the first draw, I dare say?’

‘That was the idea. It’s very kind of you to offer,’ Alice said wistfully, ‘but—’

‘I don’t mind walking ’em back to Ashmore after. They’ll be safe with me.’

‘I know they will, but—’

‘Wouldn’t want Pharaoh to miss a good run.’ He glanced back again. ‘Looks as though they’re about to move off. Shall I take the young ’uns for you?’

Bathed in the sort of kindness and attention she never got at home, Alice yielded to temptation. Linda would have a fit if she ever found out that Alice had abandoned her children to the blacksmith – but why should she ever know? And he was not any old blacksmith – he was Axe Brandom, Josh’s brother, practically family. ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘And I hope you get the job.’

He took the leading-rein from her, put on his hat, clicked to Goosebumps and led him towards Arabella and Biscuit. Arabella took in the new situation with remarkable quickness. ‘Oh, are you taking us? That’s nice. I don’t think Aunt Alice really wants us. Look at Biscuit, watching the hounds. Isn’t he funny? Did you hear Aunt Alice’s horse making that awful noise? Have you got a horse? I’m going to be nine this year. Do you think I’m old enough to have a pony of my own? I asked Daddy last birthday but he said I wasn’t old enough. But Mummy told me once she had a pony when she was five. Janet our maid says Daddy only said no because he’s got short arms and long pockets. What does that mean?’

She chattered happily to Axe as he took Biscuit’s redundant rein and led him away, with Goosebumps on his other side, while grateful Alice rode the eager Pharaoh to join the field as it moved off.

At the end of the most embarrassing hour of his life, Joseph Cowling seated himself, fully dressed again, in the chair across the desk from the doctor.

The chair was antique, Sheraton or one of those – Cowling was no expert, but he had visited enough rich men in their houses to know one when he saw it – and the desk was large and handsome; the carpet underfoot was Persian and must have cost a few bob. Most telling of all, the doctor chap – specialists, they called themselves these days, when they were expert in some particular field – was wearing a very fine pair of hand-made shoes: William Lobb, if he was any judge, ten guineas if they were a penny, not new but lovingly polished. Cowling could see them down there, below the desk, and they reassured him. A doctor who could not afford the best would not be one Joseph Cowling cared to consult; and a man who did not take care of his boots was not someone Cowling wanted to know. He had been in the shoe trade all his life, started off as a ’prentice cobbler in a village in Leicestershire, and now owned three factories and was rich enough to lend money to the King. He tended to judge men by their footwear – and it wasn’t such a bad benchmark, either.

‘Well, then, Sir Grenville,’ Cowling said, because he’d sooner get down to business than wait about feeling nervous, which was not a natural state for him, ‘what have you got to tell me?’

Sir Grenville Kennet folded his hands on the desk in front of him. ‘I have no definitive answer for you,’ he said. ‘From my examination I cannot find anything functionally amiss. You seem, indeed, to be both in the prime of life and at the peak of health.’

Cowling was taken aback. ‘What’s going on, then?’ Kennet had been recommended as the best. Was this all he was going to get?

Kennet did not exactly