Ashworth Hall (9 page)

“Kezia …” Charlotte began, but Kezia was not listening.

“And Fergal was in bed not only with a Catholic whore …” She went on, growing more and more shrill. “Not only an adulteress, but one who tears Ireland apart by writing her poetry full of lies and firing up stupid, ignorant men’s imaginations with sentimental and maudlin songs about heroes who never were and battles that didn’t happen!”

“Kezia …”

“And you want me to understand why he did that, and overlook it? You want me to—” Her voice caught in a sob and she could barely struggle on. “You want me to say that’s all right? It’s only a human weakness, and we should forgive? Never!” She clenched her fists in front of her, her white hands smooth, the knuckles shining. “Never! It is unpardonable!”

“Isn’t anything pardonable, if you repent?” Charlotte said quietly.

“Not betrayal.” Kezia jerked her head up haughtily, her voice catching in her throat. “He has betrayed everything! He is the ultimate hypocrite. He is nothing he made me believe he was.”

“He’s fallible,” Charlotte argued. “Of course it’s wrong, but surely it is one of the most understandable of sins?”

Kezia’s hair was a bright halo around her, with the light shining gold through it.

“Hypocrisy? Cheating? Lying? Betraying all you have stood for, all those who have believed in you? No! No, it is not understandable, nor can it be forgiven. Not by me, anyway.” She turned away and stared out of the window again. Her shoulders were stiff, her whole body filled with resistance.

There was no point in arguing further. It would only increase her resolve. Charlotte was beginning to appreciate the depth of hatred in the Irish Problem. It seemed to be in the blood and the nature. There was no yielding, no exception made. It was stronger than family love or even the desire to keep the warmth and the sweetness of one’s deepest ties and companionships.

And yet she could remember her own pain of disillusion long ago when she had discovered Dominic’s feet of clay, exactly the same sort of thing. He was her elder sister Sarah’s husband, and she had adored him, quite unrealistically. For a while the loss of the dream had seemed unbearable. Then she had come to know him more truly, and they had reached a kind of friendship based on affection and forgiveness, and it had been a far cleaner, stronger thing.

“If you’d like to walk alone, I doubt there’d be anyone except perhaps a gardener in the maze,” she said aloud.

“Thank you.” Kezia did not move even her head, but stood with her robe clasped around her, as if it could protect her and she were afraid someone was going to tear it away.

Charlotte went out and closed the door again.

The ladies spent the morning writing letters, making small talk about various attractive or interesting objects of art in the house, and looking idly at the books of incidentals lying around on tables in the withdrawing room or boudoir. They were collections of designs, paintings, etchings, silhouettes or lace, and other such bits and pieces which formed designs of beauty or interest. It was a common practice for ladies of leisure to create them, and comparing one person’s skill or idea with another was a pleasure. Emily had not made it hers. She loathed such things, and took good care to see she had not the time, but she had been given them by various guests and was grateful to have them.

It was at least less difficult with Kezia absent. Had she chosen to come it would have been impossible. The previous day’s quarrel would have been little to compare with today’s.

The gentlemen resumed their deliberations, smoothly guided by Ainsley. Not surprisingly, the atmosphere was brittle, but O’Day and Padraig Doyle shared a dry laugh as they walked across the hall back to the library. And Jack, following with Fergal Moynihan, seemed to be having an agreeable enough conversation.

Pitt found Tellman trudging through the stable yard and looking grim.

“There are far too many men around here,” he said as soon as he was close enough to speak without being overheard by the grooms and coachmen in the vicinity. “Don’t know who half of them are. Could be anybody.”

“Most of them are longtime servants of the hall,” Pitt replied. He was in no mood to indulge Tellman’s prejudices. “They’ve been here for years and have no connection with Irish politics whatever. It’s strangers we need to keep a watch for.”

“What are you expecting?” Tellman raised his eyebrows sarcastically. “An army of Irish Fenians marching up the drive with guns and explosives? Judging by the atmosphere in the house, they’ll be wasting their time. That lot’ll kill each other and save them the bother.”

“That the servants’ gossip, is it?” Pitt enquired.

Tellman shot him a glance that should have withered him on the spot.

“It wouldn’t make any sense to attack each other here,” Pitt elaborated patiently. “It’s far too obvious. They’ll only make a martyr of the victim and blacken their own names, not to mention end their lives on the gallows. None of the men here are fanatic enough to want anything so pointless.”

“You think not?” Tellman walked with his head down, his hands jammed into his pockets.

Pitt saw a gardener cross the end of the path and go into the maze a hundred feet ahead of them.

“Walk properly,” he said quickly. “Take your hands out of your pockets.”

“What?” Tellman stared at him.

“You’re supposed to be a valet,” Pitt repeated tensely. “Walk like one. Take your hands out of your pockets.”

Tellman swore under his breath, but he obeyed.

“This is a waste of time,” he said bitterly. “We should be back in London finding out who killed poor Denbigh. That’s something that really matters. Nobody’s ever going to sort this lot out. They hate each other, and always will. Even the bleedin’ servants won’t talk civilly to each other.”

He swiveled to look at Pitt, his brow puckered. “Did you know servants are even more particular about rank and status than their masters?” He let out his breath in a sigh. “Everyone’s got their job, and they’d let the whole house grind to a stop sooner than let one man do another man’s duty, even if it’s as trifling as carrying a coal bucket a few yards. Footmen won’t lift a damn thing if it’s the housemaid’s job. Stand and watch the poor girl struggle with it, they will. There’s so many of them I don’t know how they ever keep it all straight.” His lean face was tight-lipped with contempt. “We all eat in the servants’ hall, but the first ten carry their pudding into the housekeeper’s sitting room. I hope you appreciate, Superintendent, that you are considered the lowest-ranking gentleman here, so I have to follow after the other valets, in strict order of precedence.” It was said with a mixture of venom and contempt.

“I can see it bothers you.” Pitt carefully put his hands in his pockets. “Just remember what we are here for. You may be a poor valet, but what matters is that you are a good policeman.”

Tellman swore again.

They were walking around the outside of the building, observing the approaches, the cover afforded by outbuildings and shrubbery.

“Is all that locked at night?” Tellman jerked his head towards the facade with its rows of windows. “Not that it’d make a lot o’ difference. A good star-glazier’d cut the glass and be inside in a moment.”

“That’s why the gamekeeper is around all night with the dogs,” Pitt replied. “And we have the local police watching the roads and keeping an eye on the fields as well. The Ashworth Hall staff know their land far better than any outsider will.”

“Spoken to the gardeners?” Tellman asked.

“Yes, and the footmen and coachmen, grooms and bootboy, in case anyone shows up at the back door.”

“Can’t think of anything else to do,” Tellman agreed. He looked sideways at Pitt. “D’you think there’s any chance they’ll agree on anything anyway?”

“I don’t know. But I have some respect for Ainsley Greville. He seems to have them talking civilly, which after this morning is a very considerable achievement.”

Tellman frowned. “What happened this morning? Your Gracie came downstairs and said there was a terrible screaming going on, but she wouldn’t say what it was about. She’s a curious one, that.” He looked away, studying the gravel they were now walking over, their feet crunching noisily. “One minute as soft as warm butter, the next like you’d stuck your hand in a bed o’ nettles, all pride and vinegar. Can’t make her out. But she’s got spirit, and for a servant, she’s quite good.”

“Don’t mistake Gracie,” Pitt said with some asperity, as well as a certain amusement. He knew Tellman’s opinion of being in service. “She’s very clever indeed, in her own way. Got far more practical sense than you have, and at least as much judgment of people.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Tellman protested. “She says she can read and write, but—”

“So she can!”

“But she’s still only a bit of a girl.”

Pitt did not bother to argue. He started up a flight of stone-flagged stairs.

“So what was the screaming?” Tellman pursued, catching up.

“Miss Moynihan found her brother in bed with Mrs. McGinley,” Pitt replied.

“What?” Tellman missed his footing and all but fell over. “What did you say?”

Pitt repeated it.

Tellman swore yet again.

They ate luncheon of cold poached salmon, pheasant in aspic, game pie or jugged hare, fresh vegetables and young potatoes. The butler came in discreetly and in a low voice announced to Emily that a Miss Justine Baring had arrived, and should he show her in or ask her to wait in the withdrawing room and offer her refreshment there.

“Oh, please ask her to join us here,” Emily said quickly, glancing around the table only to make sure that they had all heard.

Piers’s face brightened and he rose to his feet.

Eudora stiffened expectantly.

Everyone else turned towards the door out of interest or politeness.

The young woman who came in when the butler returned was of average height and very slender, too much so for many people’s taste. She had none of the luxurious curves that were fashionable, as had Kezia, for example, now sitting at table white-faced and still obviously bitterly angry. In this young woman it was her face which was arresting. She was as dark as Iona, but of a completely different cast of feature. There was nothing of the Celtic romance about her; rather, she looked Mediterranean, exotic. Her brow was smooth, her hairline a perfect arc, her eyes long-lashed and exquisite, her cheekbones high, her lips delicate. It was only when she turned sideways one noticed that her nose was very long and distinctly curved. It was the single feature of her face which was quite wrong, and it made her unique and full of character.

“Welcome to Ashworth Hall, Miss Baring,” Emily said warmly. “Would you care to join us for luncheon, or have you already eaten? Dessert perhaps? Or at least a glass of wine?”

Justine smiled, still looking at Emily. “Thank you, Mrs. Radley. I should be delighted, if I am not intruding?”

“Of course not.” Emily nodded to the butler, who was already standing beside the serving table and had extra silver in his hand. He came forward and began setting a place for Justine, next to Eudora and opposite Piers.

“May I introduce you?” Emily offered. “I believe you have not yet made the acquaintance of your future parents-in-law, Mr. Ainsley Greville …”

Justine turned to Ainsley and her body stiffened under its deep rose-pink wool, highly fashionably cut. She might have no family, but she certainly did not lack money or taste. It was a marvelous gown. She took a deep breath and let it out very slowly, as if controlling herself with an intense effort. There was no color whatever in her cheeks, but her complexion was naturally olive toned, and she may have been tired from traveling. For a girl of no breeding to boast, no social connections at all, meeting her fiance’s parents for the first time must be a testing experience. When they were well-born, wealthy, and he held a high position in government, it must be doubly so. Emily did not envy her. She could still recall her first meeting with George’s cousins and aunts, which was bad enough. His parents had been no longer alive. That would have been even more difficult.

“How do you do, Miss Baring,” Ainsley said after a long moment’s hesitation. He spoke slowly, almost deliberately. “We are delighted to meet you. May I introduce my wife.” He touched Eudora lightly on the elbow, still keeping his eyes on Justine.

“How do you do, Mrs. Greville,” Justine answered, clearing her throat of a little huskiness.

Eudora smiled. She looked nervous as well. “How do you do, Miss Baring. It is delightful to meet you. I hope you will be able to stay long enough for us to become well acquainted.”

“Thank you …” Justine accepted.

“That rather depends upon Mrs. Radley, my dear,” Ainsley said quickly.

Eudora blushed deep pink.

Emily was angry with Ainsley for causing her embarrassment. It was out of character for the diplomat she had perceived.

“I have already said Miss Baring is most welcome,” she cut in firmly. “She will be a charming addition to our party for as long as she wishes and is able to remain.” She smiled at Justine. “We are two ladies short as it is—in fact, three. You will be a great asset to us. Now, may I introduce you to the other guests?” And she named them one by one around the table. Fergal was courteous, if cool, and Kezia managed a smile. Padraig was charming. Lorcan inclined his head slightly and bade her welcome. Even Carson O’Day expressed pleasure in meeting her.

Piers, of course, did not attempt to mask his feelings for her, and when she met his eyes her own emotions were as plain to see.

He was already on his feet, and pulled out her chair for her, touching her softly on the shoulder as he assisted her to take her place, then returned to his own.

Everyone, except perhaps Kezia, seemed to make an extra effort to hide their antipathies. Perhaps it was self-protection against someone who appeared to have no idea who they were or why they should be here, other than for the most usual of social reasons, as in any other country house party over a long weekend. If she had noticed an unusual number of Irish names, she gave no sign of it.

“How did you meet?” Emily asked politely.