‘It’s a children’s book, but it really is rather splendid. There’s a character in it called Mr Toad. But no matter.’
‘I’ll be sure to hunt it out,’ he said. ‘And what of you, miss? What did you expect of your week away?’
‘Me?’ I said. ‘Oh, I don’t know. A break from the drudgery of serving such a demanding mistress, perhaps?’
‘Tough one, is she?’ he said with a wink.
‘The worst,’ I said. ‘But she hides it when we’re in company, so no one knows how I suffer.’
He laughed as Lady Hardcastle huffed and rolled her eyes.
‘If you ever need to escape,’ said Morgan, ‘just you come down to the coach house. I’m always there, and I’d be happy to make you a cup of tea.’
‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘But won’t you be busy with the racing?’
‘Oh, don’t you worry about that. I’ve always got time for the oppressed masses.’
‘Oppressed, my hat,’ said Lady Hardcastle. ‘And she’ll be too busy racing to be taking tea in the garage, I’m afraid. We both shall.’
‘You’ll be racin’, my lady?’ he said with evident surprise.
‘I shall be most disappointed if we don’t,’ she replied. ‘Can’t come all this way to a house with a racing track and not have a go.’
‘Well I never,’ he said slowly.
‘To be honest with you, dear boy,’ she said, ‘we never did, either. But I’ve just recently bought a motor car of my own, and I have to say I’m really rather taken with this driving lark.’
‘A motor car of your own, eh?’ he said, apparently delighted to be able to talk about his passion. ‘What did you get?’
‘On the advice of my friend’s chauffeur, I bought a Rover 6.’
‘The Rover, eh? Not a bad little motor, that. Nice little two-seater. Little bit underpowered for what we get up to up at the house, but a good place to start.’
She smiled. ‘I’m pleased you approve.’
‘And you drive it yourself?’ he asked.
‘We take it in turns. It’s such fun that I can’t leave it all to Armstrong.’
He looked at me for confirmation, and I smiled and nodded.
‘Well I never,’ he said again. ‘Well I never did.’
He spent the rest of the journey enthusiastically detailing all the things we might do to improve the performance of the little Rover, and from the gleam in Lady Hardcastle’s eye, I could tell that we’d be outfitting a workshop of our own as soon as we got home.
The lodge gate of Codrington Hall was on the other side of Riddlethorpe from the station and we seemed to reach it in mere moments.
The drive from the lodge house at the gate to the vast expanse of gravel in front of the house, on the other hand, took an absolute age. We seemed to travel for miles along a winding, wooded drive, past sheep, one or two curious deer, and a long-horned, shaggy-coated Highland cow that looked very much as though it wished it were somewhere much less flat and altogether more Scottish.
There were occasional tantalizing glimpses of the roof and chimneys of the house in the distance, but the drive had clearly been designed to hide it from view for as long as possible, building the anticipation. When we rounded the final bend and the house was revealed in all its glory, it was every bit as impressive as its architect had planned. A dish brought to the table is just another dish of food if it can be seen as the footman carries it across the room. But when the dish is covered by a magnificent silver cloche and the footman sets it down, still covered, before whisking away the cover with a flourish and a billow of steam, even the most pedestrian of dishes can seem like a culinary masterpiece.
Not that Codrington Hall was in any way pedestrian. At some point in the early eighteenth century, the Earl of Riddlethorpe had clearly had a bob or two, and had spent a goodly portion of his fortune on tearing down his crumbling ancestral pile and replacing it with an enormous new home, a magnificent monument to his family’s wealth and prestige. Though many thought it old-fashioned and still preferred the Victorian frippery and folderol of the neo-Gothic, I was always impressed by the elegant symmetry of Georgian architecture. Codrington Hall was a stunning example of the beautiful simplicity of that period. Its only adornment was an ostentatiously pillared portico, sheltering vast, black painted doors, from which a gangling man in overalls was apparently coming to greet us, accompanied by two boisterous, almost exactly matching Dalmatians.
‘What ho!’ he called loudly over the excited barking of the dogs. Lady Hardcastle waved in acknowledgement while she waited for Morgan to trot round and open the door for her.
‘What ho,’ said the man again as she stepped out. ‘Wonderful to see you again, Emily, old girl.’
‘Good afternoon, Edmond, darling,’ she said, kissing his cheek.
‘“Edmond”,’ he said. ‘You know it was only ever you and Mater that called me that.’
‘Yes, darling, but I never could bring myself to call you Fishy.’
He let out a short bark of a laugh, which caught the attention of the dogs, who gave up their wagging investigation of the cases and trunks that Morgan was unloading from the motor car and came over to resume their own chorus of barking. Lord Riddlethorpe ruffled their ears fondly and pointed towards the front door.
‘Off you go, girls,’ he said. ‘Back to the house.’
To my astonishment, the two dogs immediately obeyed, bounding off towards the house with ears flapping and tails still wagging wildly.
Lord Riddlethorpe took Lady Hardcastle by the arm and steered her towards the house. ‘I’m so delighted you’ve come,’ he said. ‘Harry was a bit reluctant to ask, I think, but I said, “Nonsense, Fanners, bring Little Sis along and we can relive the old days.” It’ll be like being back up at Cambridge, what?’
‘Well, I’m glad he thought of me. It’s just the sort of break we need, isn’t it, Armstrong?’
He stopped in his tracks and turned towards me. ‘My word,’ he said. ‘So this is the famous Miss Armstrong. How do you do?’
‘How do you do, my lord?’ I said cautiously, not quite knowing whether being ‘the famous Miss Armstrong’ was a good thing or bad.
He beamed at me. ‘Don’t panic, old thing,’ he said. ‘Fanners has been singing your praises. He’s frightfully proud of his little sister, but he speaks so highly of you that a chap might think Emily here were your assistant, instead of the other way round.’
‘Gracious,’ I blurted.
‘Gracious, indeed,’ he laughed. ‘For my sins, I am Edmond Codrington, ninth Earl of Riddlethorpe. But you must call me Fishy – everyone does, you know.’
‘Thank you, my lord,’ I said.
He laughed again and turned to resume his walk to the house. ‘Morgan will show you to the servants’ hall, Miss Armstrong. We’ll make sure they look after you.’
And with that, they were gone, leaving Morgan and me standing on the drive surrounded by luggage.
‘Which one’s yours, Miss Armstrong?’ he said, gesturing to the pile of cases.