Mr Hailsworth smiled. ‘Do you like the house, Mr Ainscough?’
‘Yes Sir.’
‘Good. It is rather vainglorious of me but I have to say that I am always pleased when I see it cast its spell on people. It is a beautiful thing.’ Josiah nodded and smiled in agreement.
Beyond the doors through which he was ushered was a space that was elegant as well as serviceable. Three wooden pillars divided the entrance hall proper from a sort of open corridor that went off on both sides. A plain wooden floor, brilliantly polished, reflected the light from the silver-gilt candelabra above. Opposite the entrance door was a wood and marble fireplace over which hung a landscape of the estate featuring the hall.
Several guests were already there. An elegantly dressed lady was moving between them, followed by a maid who was carrying fluted glasses on a silver tray. The lady saw Josiah and came over.
‘You must be Mr Ainscough. I am Barbara Hailsworth, Steven’s wife,’ she said. She was younger than her husband by about ten years. Her hair, in a bun under a lace cap tracery, was pewter grey with streaks of pure white. Her dress was gathered at the waist but was not excessively full. The material was shot-silk in pale green and blue.
Josiah held out his hand but Mrs Hailsworth did not take it. Instead, she looked at him waiting to see what he did next. Her lips were smiling but her eyes remained passive. A test, thought Josiah. He hesitated then put his hand on his heart and bowed. Possibly approvingly Mrs Hailsworth nodded in response.
‘I am very glad to meet you. Now, can I interest you in a glass of wine?’
After Santiago, he had renewed his commitment to his pledge of abstinence. The wine that night had been no friend to him and he was resolved never to repeat the mistake. As result he had devised a socially polite excuse for the soirée which traded on presenting himself as a traveller, a ruse he had agreed with Mr Hailsworth.
‘Thank you, Mrs Hailsworth, but I acquired a liver complaint on my last visit to Italy and I am afraid that, though I am getting better, wine still disagrees with me.’
‘I am sorry to hear that, Mr Ainscough. Would you like some of my rosehip cordial with iced mineral water instead?’
‘That would be very pleasant, thank you.’
Mrs Hailsworth turned to the maid with the tray. ‘Agnes, please could you get some cordial for Mr Ainscough?’ The maid curtsied, without even rattling the glasses.
‘Yes, ma’am.’
‘Now, Mr Ainscough, I will introduce you to some of the other guests.’
She drew Josiah over to a small group of two gentlemen: one was in his early forties the other his late-twenties. With them was a younger lady.
They broke off their conversation as Mrs Hailsworth approached. ‘Let me introduce Mr Josiah Ainscough. Josiah, this young lady and gentleman are Miss Aideen Hayes and her brother Phelan. They are from Ireland. Mr Hayes is a painter and he is touring England, gathering enough material for a series of landscape paintings when he returns home. They are staying here while he paints the Derbyshire peaks.’ Phelan bowed and Aideen curtsied gracefully.
Phelan had an open face with a sharp chin and nose. A thin moustache offset full lips. The brown eyes were hooded, cautious and observant. A handsome if rather feminine face.
‘And this, Mr Ainscough, is my son Abram.’
Abram held out his hand and firmly shook Josiah’s. ‘I am very pleased to make your acquaintance at last,’ he said. ‘Since my father met you he has not spoken of anyone else.’
Abram was tall and dark. His features were a conglomerate of those of his mother and his father but though each feature was good in itself he was neither as handsome as his father, nor as reflective as his mother.
‘I did not know I had made such an impression on him,’ said Josiah trying to understand what this rather fulsome remark of Abram’s might mean.
‘Well you’re a soul mate are you not?’ said Abram. Josiah frowned.
‘Like you he was a traveller,’ said Abram. It seemed to Josiah that Mr Hailsworth might well have over-elaborated their simple ruse.
‘I see he has not told you. Come over here.’ He led Josiah, Phelan and Aideen over to the side of the entrance hall. There was a portrait of a man in Turkish dress, complete with red turban and pantaloons tucked into short bright red riding boots. The figure was leaning casually against a fine black Arab horse, which pawed the ground. It was Steven Hailsworth, younger, in exotic garb but recognisable.
‘This was painted after Father came back from his travels in the Levant around the Dead Sea. He adopted native dress when he was there because, he says, it was more practical in the desert and meant he was less conspicuous in the towns and villages. But I believe that it was just a case of impressing the ladies. You have to admit, Phelan, that he looks very dashing.’
‘Indeed, he does,’ said Phelan softly. His accent reminded Josiah of Michael O’Carroll’s though harsher and sharper than Michael’s.
Aideen moved close to Abram. She reached up and stroked his cheek in an astonishingly forward manner.
‘Don’t worry, Abram,’ she said. ‘You’re the most impressive Hailsworth around.’
With his attention drawn to her, Josiah observed Aideen with more care. In facial features, she looked very like her brother. Her hair was drawn back in a bun except for three or four small curls hanging at her temples framing her face. Her velvet dress was dark claret, which complimented her red hair. Though a much plainer dress than Mrs Hailsworth, it suited Aideen Hayes perfectly. The waist was narrow but the skirt full. The neckline was far lower and the dress more off the shoulder than any Josiah had seen before in polite society. The last touch was the amethyst pendant she wore, which had the effect of drawing any eye to the neckline.
There was a commotion at the door. Steven Hailsworth was being helped across the entrance hall on the arm of a stout man in his sixties. The man was bustling along far too fast for Mr Hailsworth.
‘For pity’s sake, Caleb, please slow down. I can manage to walk across my own entrance hall safely, but not at this pace!’
Before any harm could befall Mr Hailsworth, Mrs Hailsworth intervened. ‘Please forgive him, Caleb,’ she said as she released her husband’s arm from the grip of Mr Arlon. ‘You know how cantankerous Steven can be.’
Deftly, she steered her husband towards the group round the painting. A quick nod to Agnes, who had returned with Josiah’s cordial, and a glass of wine was produced for Mr Arlon. As he downed this first glass and reached for another, his wife and daughter Sarah caught him up and joined the group.
Aideen whispered to Abram. ‘Oh bad luck for me,’ she said. ‘With Sarah, here it seems that I will have to do without your dazzling conversation this evening.’ Abram scowled at her but her voice had been a little too loud to keep the remark between themselves. Mrs Hailsworth had heard.
‘You’re right, Aideen,’ she said. ‘But I am sure that you will find Mr Ainscough interesting company in substitute. I have paired you with him this evening.’
A small bell rang and the butler appeared in a doorway to the left of the fireplace. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, dinner is served.’
Mr Hailsworth took Mrs Arlon’s arm and symmetrically Mr Arlon took Barbara Hailsworth’s. The rest of the guests followed in turn: Abram and Sarah, followed by the unpaired Phelan. Aideen turned to Josiah. ‘I think it must be our turn,’ she said.
‘I hope I am not a disappointment as a dinner companion to you, Miss Hayes.’
‘I do not think you will be,’ said Aideen, patting his arm comfortingly. ‘I believe you have been travelling on the continent recently. I am bound to find that interesting.’
‘But I cannot guarantee to be as charming and polished as Mr Abram Hailsworth.’
‘Do not worry on that count. Despite what he or his mother may think, Master Abram is not a very entertaining companion. I will haz
ard a guess that you will be much more interesting.’
15
Duets
Mr Hailsworth took the head of the table with Barbara on his right, opposite Mrs Arlon. Josiah was at the foot of the table facing Abram. When they were assembled round the dining table with its lavish silver decorations, Mr Hailworth proposed the Royal Toast. Then Josiah held Aideen’s chair as she sat down to his left.
Josiah wondered what the kitchens of a great hall like this might offer but he found that in front of him between an impressive array of forks knives and spoons was a had written menu. If this was an informal soirée, what would a grand dinner be like?
The first course offered pea soup or trout in a Dutch sauce, presumably from one of the estate’s streams.
‘So where did you travel in Europe?’ asked Aideen. Josiah looked at her. Her expression was determined and expectant.
‘France, Spain and a little in Italy.’
‘Which country did you prefer?’
He thought for a moment. ‘The food is excellent in France and the countryside, away from the large cities, is varied and pleasant. Plenty of comfortable hedgerows to sleep in if there are no friendly farmers or unlocked barns. Spain is more exotic but if you insist I choose one, then I will choose Italy: the great art of Florence, the majestic Tiber, the mountains and the lakes of the Alps.’
‘I am spellbound, Mr Ainscough. I apologies that I dared to expect you to be merely interesting, astonishing would have been more appropriate.’
The next course, pigeon pie with potato croquettes and French beans, was about to come up from the kitchens and the servants were clearing the debris from the soup and the fish.
Aideen continued. ‘Would you say it is people or landscape that is most important to the traveller?’
You didn’t dodge a question from Aideen Hayes easily, thought Josiah. Every question she asked assumed a succinct and informative answer.
‘Landscape is impressive and picturesque but people are always more significant.’ Even though she was direct, in some way, he couldn’t identify, he found Aideen Hayes an easy person to talk to.
Aideen continued, ‘I have often thought that if I was able to travel widely then it is the people I would find the most interesting. But the most important question is not where but why. Why did you decide to travel?’
‘Well I could say it was because I wanted to perfect my foreign languages, or it was because I wanted to see what being independent would feel like.’ Again she was looking at him with her complete attention. He was convinced that if he lied she would see through him so he told her the truth. ‘I travelled because I wanted to find out what sort of man I was.’
‘And did you succeed in your quest?
‘Yes. Perhaps I found out far too much about myself,’ he said quietly and then ridiculously laughed nervously. ‘I suppose I felt the call to find a new point of view from which to see my home country and my own life, as well as to see if there were different virtues to understand in the way people live in other countries.’
‘Virtue in other countries boy. What arrant nonsense.’ It was Arlon, pugnaciously leaning forward. ‘I am disgusted that any native-born Englishman would admit to being able to learn anything from the goings on in any heathen country across the channel.’
‘It seems the old bull has good hearing,’ whispered Aideen. ‘So Mr Arlon, you would no doubt apply the same reservation to my native land across the Irish sea.’
‘I would make something of an exception Miss in the case of Ireland, after all, your home and mine are joined at the hip, so to speak. Your country is not independent of us. In any case, Ireland is about as far as I would be prepared to travel.’
‘Well I suppose I should be grateful for your endorsement of my country’s exceptional status,’ reposted Phelan. ‘But, Mr Arlon, not everything one encounters in foreign countries is valueless. Like Mr Ainscough when I have travelled, I have always hoped to see my own country in a new light and profit by that experience. I have rarely been disappointed.’
‘I would endorse that as well, Caleb,’ added Mr Hailsworth.
‘So did you find this new point of view, Mr Ainscough?’ said Arlon in a rude, mocking tone.
‘Yes, I think I did.’
Arlon laughed. ‘What everywhere!’
‘Wherever I went I invariably found out something about myself from getting to know the native people.’
‘So you had no regrets about leaving your home and family?’ said Mrs Arlon.
‘Regrets? Perhaps some. Times when I missed them? Certainly. But there were only one or two occasions when I wished I had never ventured from home.’
‘You will pardon me for saying, Mr Ainscough but as a mother, I think that sounds too much like the voice of a wilful, disobedient child,’ said Barbara Hailsworth.
‘Let Mr Ainscough be, Barbara,’ said Mr Hailsworth looking at his wife and stroking her hand. ‘I agree with Mr Ainscough. I have been a better man most of my life because of what I learned in the Levant. Barbara, when you met me, I am vain enough to think that you fell in love with me, in some part, because of the romance and mystique that travelling leant me.’
‘Poppycock,’ snorted Arlon. ‘You would have been as much of a man, even if you had never gone travelling. If it was adventure you wanted why didn’t you just stay home and take up the challenge of manufacturing. That is what your son has done. That is what will make him a fitting husband for my Sarah more than all Mr Ainscough’s experience of parts foreign.’
Abram stirred in his seat, as if declarations about his possible marriage by his potential father-in-law had made him uncomfortable. ‘Oaf,’ muttered Aideen. ‘Why does he assume that if he says jump, Abram will jump.’
‘But Sarah and Abram are betrothed are they not?’ Josiah whispered.
‘As far as I can see that is a bargain not yet confirmed by either party,’ replied Aideen under her breath. She smiled at Arlon. ‘Mr Arlon, you give the impression that trade and the profit of your mill is all that you prize.’
‘If I am honest, there is not much else more important to me.’
‘So, if you found a bunch of foreigners in another country making better and cheaper cloth than you, are we to believe you wouldn’t try to find out what they were doing, to the benefit of your own production methods?’ said Abram.
Arlon paused. ‘If it was a new and better form of weaving, which would make my mill more profitable, then I’d adopt it even if I had to learn it from the most primitive of Hottentots or even, God forbid it, the French! But in manners, religion and way of life then I am an Englishman through and through and will not give ground to the views of any other nation.’
‘Have any new technologies or developments come to your attention recently?’ said Abram.
‘You think I would tell you that? If you knew what I know, you would become my rival. You only get access to my business brain when you marry my daughter. But I’ll tell you this, sometimes a return to the past and older trades could be more forward looking than any new-fangled idea. Now can we get on with the serious matter of eating our hostess’s fine food?’
Food dominated until well into the course following the pigeon, a saddle of hare vigneronne with pomme l’Anglais. There was an alternative, a rabbit curry and rice. The private conversations that had dominated before the general discussion returned, including the details of Josiah, which still seemed to fascinate Aideen.
‘Did I hear you say that you slept in hedges when there was no better accommodation?’
‘On occasions, but mostly I bought my bed with work of various sorts.’
‘Sorts? What sorts?’
‘Farm work, acting as a servant, working my passage as a deck hand on a ship. That sort of thing.’
Aideen started to laugh. ‘Mr Ainscough you are either the most remarkable person I have ever met o
r you are the biggest spinner of tales I have ever heard.’ She looked up at him and he was aware she’d seen the rather hurt expression in his eyes.
‘Oh, Mr Aiscough do not be offended. In Ireland, to be thought of as a great storyteller, is more of a complement than being thought a great traveller.’
The last course was a choice of a port wine jelly with a garnish of cherries, a strawberry and cream vol-au-vent or, as a savoury, crayfish. After that had been dispatched, the ladies withdrew to the library and the men were left at the table. Mr Hailsworth’s butler brought in a tray on which was a decanter of brandy, a box of cigars and a pot of coffee.
The gentlemen took their ease, Abram stretched and walked over to the window. Phelan moved towards the coffee pot. Mr Hailsworth poured himself a glass of brandy and lit a cigar, offering a second to Mr Arlon.
‘Can I help anyone to coffee?’ said Phelan. ‘Mr Hailsworth?’
‘Thank you my boy but not for me. Coffee keeps me awake at night. I will content myself with the brandy.’
‘Mr Arlon?’
‘Same with me I’m afraid.’
‘Mr Ainscough you surely will not let me down.’
‘No, Mr Hayes, you can count on me. One of the things I learned to appreciate in France was coffee.’
Mr Arlon snorted. ‘Back to the domination of the foreign, eh, Mr Ainscough?’
‘May I be bold, Mr Arlon?’ said Josiah as Phelan passed him his coffee, ‘Is it foreign ideas of fashion, politics or religion that you dislike or any ideas that are new or unusual even if they come from our own land?’
‘I fancy you threw down a small gauntlet just then, Mr Ainscough,’ said Arlon. ‘Are you asking if I reject new ideas on principle, even if they come from this country?’
‘I hope I put the matter politely but yes that was my question, Sir.’
‘Did you have something specific in mind?’
‘I do not wish to be discourteous to Mr Hailsworth as my host or cause an argument, but I wondered what you would say if you knew where I was staying.’ He looked over to Mr Hailsworth.
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