‘No point,’ said Evan. ‘Ink’s already been dried. Be a waste of time.’
‘I shall decide what’s the best use of your time,’ said the butler angrily. ‘And I say that his lordship will receive his daily newspaper not only with dry ink, but with crisp, fresh pages, unread by the junior staff.’
‘Can’t unread the newspaper, Mr Spinney,’ said the footman, standing up. ‘All them posh words and dangerous new information’s already up here.’ He tapped his temple. ‘Can’t get it out now.’
Spinney sighed. ‘Just iron the newspaper, boy. And be quick about it.’
Evan grinned as he took the newspaper and left the room.
Spinney sat wearily down and reached out to test the weight of a large teapot on the table.
‘Feels like there’s at least a couple of cups in here if you want one, Miss Armstrong,’ he said.
I sat down opposite him. ‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘Lady Hardcastle has just gone down to breakfast, so I have a few minutes.’
He poured two cups of tea and offered me one. ‘I’m sorry you had to see us not at our best,’ he said. ‘I don’t know what we can do about that lad.’
‘Sack him?’ I suggested.
He laughed. ‘That would solve my problems,’ he said. ‘But not his. He’s a troubled lad.’
‘I should say he is. Why on earth do you keep him on?’
‘We sort of took responsibility for him,’ he said kindly. ‘His father died at Spion Kop, mother drank herself to death a year later. She worked here as a housemaid, but there was nothing we could do to save her from herself. We took care of the lad as best we could, but he fell in with a bad lot. They led him astray. He was up before the beak last year for fighting in the town, but his lordship vouched for him and offered him a job here to keep him out of the gaol. So we try our best, and in return he tries our patience.’
I was about to say something much less tolerant and understanding when the young man returned.
‘His lordship’s newspaper, Mr Spinney,’ he said with a mocking bow.
‘Put it on the tray,’ said Spinney. ‘And then get to your duties.’
‘At once, Mr Spinney, sir,’ said Evan with a click of his heels, and walked out, laughing.
‘Trouble is,’ said the butler, ‘he’s the only spare footman we’ve got, and I’ve had to give him the job of valet to the gentleman guests.’
‘Crikey,’ I said. ‘I can see how one might be concerned.’
‘Concerned doesn’t begin to cover it, Miss Armstrong. Not even close.’
‘I’ll be about above stairs looking after Lady Hardcastle. I can keep my eyes and ears open, if you like.’
‘It’s a kind offer, but you’d have your work cut out. He’s . . . ah . . . He’s . . .’
‘Taken against me?’ I suggested. ‘I rather thought he might have.’
‘How’s that?’
‘He told me so in almost as many words.’
Spinney looked embarrassed. ‘Please accept my apologies on behalf of Codrington Hall,’ he said. ‘We pride ourselves on our hospitality, even to visiting servants. Especially to visiting servants.’
‘Please, Mr Spinney, think nothing of it. I anticipated that my decision to dine alone might cause some friction. It’s my own fault.’
‘It’s not the opinion of us all, Miss Armstrong. We’d all welcome the chance to do the same, as I said to you before. He’s got no place being rude to a guest.’
‘I’ve had nastier people than he being more than rude to me in the past,’ I said. ‘You leave him to me, I’ll keep a watchful eye on him and make sure he does you proud.’
‘Well, I appreciate it, miss,’ he said. ‘But it really shouldn’t be something a guest has to do.’
‘Nonsense. It’ll be no imposition at all.’
‘I must say it would be a help. I can’t be everywhere at once, especially not above stairs. I’ve already got Chanley looking out for him—’
‘Chanley?’ I asked.
‘His lordship’s own valet. He’ll be showing him the ropes, but another pair of eyes can’t hurt. We wondered if the extra responsibility might be the making of him, but with his attitude this morning, I’m beginning to have second thoughts.’
‘Don’t worry,’ I said. ‘I’ll introduce myself to Mr Chanley, and we’ll see what we can do.’
‘Please don’t feel you have to, Miss Armstrong, but every little helps.’ He put down his half-finished tea. ‘I’d better get the newspaper up to the dining room after making all that fuss about it.’
As arranged, I waited for Lady Hardcastle in her room. As well as teaching me the piano, she had been trying to teach me to draw since just after Christmas, so I took a sheet of notepaper and a pencil from the desk and began to attempt to sketch the view from the window. I worked hard, trying to remember everything I had been taught, carefully judging perspective and shading, and before long I had produced quite the most childlike and disappointing scribble anyone had ever seen. I was about to screw it up and throw it in the wastepaper basket, when Lady Hardcastle returned.
‘What ho, Flo,’ she said as she entered. ‘Hope you haven’t been waiting too long.’ She crossed the room to the desk. ‘I say, have you been drawing? Let’s have a look.’
I tried to cover the sketch, but she slid it out from beneath my hand and inspected it, frowning.
‘The thing is, Flo, dear,’ she said after a few moments’ contemplation, ‘I know that one is supposed to encourage one’s students, to see the positive aspects of their work and offer praise for even the slightest hint of improvement . . .’
‘But you see none?’
‘Well, not “none”, exactly . . .’
‘But very little?’
‘Have you ever considered photography?’ she asked with a grin.
‘You’re a mean one, my lady,’ I said, snatching the sketch back and throwing it in the wastepaper basket.
‘Quite possibly.’ She looked at my uniform and boots. ‘Have you got any outdoor togs with you?’
‘I have,’ I said.
‘Good-o. Run and pop on something a bit more practical. Fishy wants to show us round the estate. Nothing too warm, mind you. I’ve been told we can expect another glorious day.’
We chatted a little more while I laid out her own outdoor clothes, and then I raced off to prepare for our tour.
We waited, as instructed, on the terrace at the rear of the house, overlooking the well-tended formal garden. Despite having long since learned the folly of her efforts, Lady Hardcastle was attempting to teach me the names and habits of the various birds that alighted on the low wall that formed the boundary of the terrace. Her doomed, but well-meaning lecture was cut short by the arrival of her brother, Harry.
‘What ho, sis,’ he said as he rounded the corner and saw us there, contemplating the lifestyle of the pied wagtail.
‘Good morning, dear,’ said Lady Hardcastle absently, still watching the little black-and-white bird. ‘Did you sleep well?’
‘Like a log, old thing,’ he said. ‘Woke up with a bit of a sore head, mind you.’
‘You and me both,’ she replied ruefully. ‘I blame you, of course.’