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  It seemed to be obvious to Duff too, for he reached over and swept the pieces off the backgammon board. ‘Enough for tonight, I think, Ma, hmm? You’ve been very busy today and must be tired. I shall be away to my bed, then. I have a new book I want to read and it’s more pleasant to read in bed than anywhere. Good night, Silas. Shall we ride as usual, then?’

  ‘Indeed we shall,’ Silas said heartily. ‘Goodnight, Duff.’ They exchanged a glance that Tilly saw as conspiratorial and Duff bent and kissed her cheek and was gone.

  ‘Mr Geddes, I wish you would not encourage Duff in – in the things in which you encourage him,’ she said sharply and he smiled.

  ‘Oh? And what might that be? Riding? But he enjoys it so and so do I. I thought he was benefiting in his health from the regular exercise – I know I am – and he seems to enjoy discussing matters of interest with me. He is so taken with the new ideas that interest me, Mrs Quentin, that it is a pleasure to talk to him. A wise head on young shoulders, your son.’

  ‘That’s as may be,’ she said. ‘But –’ How could she explain what it was that was worrying her about Duff? She could not find the words. No woman could.

  ‘If your fear is that his attachment to this schoolfellow is an unnatural one,’ Mr Geddes said in a quiet voice, ‘do let me assure you that such anxieties are groundless.’

  Her head shot up and she stared at him with wide eyes. ‘Sir?’

  ‘Oh, come. Let us behave like friends and discuss the undiscussable. Which is an absurd notion in itself for how can any human behaviour be undiscussable? Silence causes all of us more anxiety than honest talk ever could. So let us be direct, not to say blunt about it. You fear unnatural vice has touched Duff. I can assure you it has not. He has talked to me easily while we have been riding and has come to regard me perhaps in the light of a much older brother. I understand the state of his mind and feelings, for I was a boy too, of course. A while ago now, but I remember it well enough! He is simply going through the experience of hero-worship, my dear Mrs Quentin, and all the horrors of jealousy and yearning that go with that. To make too much of it might well convert it all into something more than it should be. I would most earnestly advise you to stop worrying. You have a fine lad there in Duff, and he should give you no anxiety.’

  She had been staring at him throughout his long speech and now she said a little unsteadily, ‘Indeed, Mr Geddes. You do espouse the new ideas! To speak so easily of such matters is – is –’ She stopped, lost for words, and he came a little closer and smiled down at her.

  ‘My dear Tilly – and I hope we have reached that stage of a friendship wherein it is possible for me to speak to you so intimately – my dear Tilly, surely I have sufficiently explained myself to you in the past days while we have come to know each other? I have made it very plain that I value liberty above all, and liberty includes – indeed is rooted in – freedom to speak one’s mind, however different a mind it might be from that of the majority. I believe that silence in such matters as these most intense of mankind’s emotions is more than illiberal. I believe it actually shackles us cruelly and causes much unhappiness. See how distressed you are because Duff is invited to spend a wholesome holiday with his friend! You would deprive him of good country air and country sport for fear of some unspeakable emotion. But once speak of that emotion and does it not diminish its apparent horror and become ordinary and indeed fully natural?’

  ‘Hero-worship, natural?’ she said, still uncertain, quite unable to collect her thoughts into any coherent argument against him, for he was standing so close that she could smell the bay rum on his shaven cheeks and feel his breath warm on her forehead. She quite liked both sensations and that in itself was disconcerting.

  ‘Of course it is,’ he said firmly. ‘Did I not tell you that I too experienced it?’ He laughed reminiscently. ‘A rather swaggerish fellow called Hackforth as I recall. He was known at school as Chopper, of course, and how we young ones adored him! Like them, I dreamed of his attentions and yearned for marks of his interest – but I assure you now that I am anything but unnatural.’

  It seemed as though he had moved even closer to her, though she had not seen him move, and she found herself breathing a little more rapidly and decidedly unevenly. ‘Indeed, Mr Geddes?’

  ‘I wish you would call me Silas. I am surely your friend by now? We have spent so much time talking so agreeably – please to call me by my name. It would give me much pleasure to hear it on your lips.’

  ‘Very well. Er – Silas,’ she said and felt herself redden. ‘So – so you think I should let Duff go to Leicestershire?’

  ‘Of course.’ His voice was low and soft and she could not take her eyes from his face, and he smiled and bent a little closer, and this time she did see the movement and managed, somehow, to galvanize her muscles and pull away. It must have been her imagination, of course, but it had seemed to her he was about to attempt to kiss her. A foolish notion, naturally, but still –

  ‘Well, if you are sure, Mr – Silas, I will tell Duff so and make all arrangements. I must thank you for your interest in Duff.’

  ‘I am as interested in his mother,’ Silas said, still in that low voice, but this time she did not look at him and felt herself able to pull away from his spell, as she now found herself describing it. How could she have allowed herself to be so close to him that she had the notion he might actually kiss her? She scolded herself inside her head, even as she collected her reticule from her chair and turned to make her way to the door.

  ‘I thank you for your interest,’ she repeated and somehow managed to escape, leaving him in the drawing room, standing looking after her as she went towards the stairs with as steady a step as she could muster, trying to look her usual unruffled self.

  It was not at all easy.

  Chapter Ten

  BY THE TIME Duff had been fully equipped for his visit to Leicestershire – an operation that took three trips to the best gentleman’s outfitters in Regent Street and rather more of Tilly’s sum set aside for his clothes than she would have expected – everyone was quite exhausted.

  Despite her lingering uncertainty about the advisability of the visit, which had been only partly assuaged by a charming letter of invitation sent by Patrick’s older sister, who, she said, always dealt with her father the duke’s hospitality, Tilly was determined that her boy should not be at a disadvantage among the people with whom he would be spending so long a time. She worked hard to ensure that he had precisely what he would require in terms of a shooting jacket with leather shoulders, a pair of breeches with leggings and shooting boots together with a game bag, and a set of guns which she hired from Purdey’s in South Audley Street, while Eliza, in a fever of activity, set about laundering his linen. She would not let Mrs Skinner, their usual washerwoman, do it, any more than she ever let her wash Tilly’s chemises and shifts; as far as Eliza was concerned this was far too delicate a job for such a person, and so she set to with boiling copper and blue bag, starch and goffering iron and worked wonders in terms of snowy shirts and perfect collars and cuffs.

  Duff, in the middle of it all, seemed sublimely unaware of how much extra work his holiday was creating, and went riding each morning with Silas as usual, an activity which both now regarded as an essential part of their day, and spent his afternoons lounging in the garden on a bath chair reading one of the many books which Silas lent him.

  Tilly was reading too, or trying to, at the end of each day, when she went wearily to bed. The excessively warm weather of these dying days of August left the air still and exhausted after dinner, and few of the guests chose to spend much time in the drawing room once the coffee and tea trays had been cleared. They went for strolls in the dark blue twilight to get the breath of coolness that came at last when the sun went down, and went early to their beds, and that was a relief for Tilly. To be sociable each evening was part of the work of a guest house hostess, she knew, and generally she had no objection to it, but at present, she was glad to be
free of it.

  She would settle down with one of Silas’s books, stretching out on her bed with only a sheet to cover her and wearing her thinnest muslin nightgown unbuttoned at the neck, and direct the light of her oil lamp so that she had the greatest possible illumination with the least possible heating from the chimney. She would try to concentrate on what she read, for she knew that Silas would be eager to discuss the book with her as soon as he had the opportunity, but it was almost impossible. Within a very short time she would doze off and wake at two or three o’clock in the morning to find herself lying with her neck twisted awkwardly and the lamp streaking its glass chimney black with soot; and would blow it out and then lie awake, wondering why she could not recapture the delicious sleepiness of earlier in the evening. And then would doze off at last, to wake as the light crept into her room in the early morning, as weary as she had been when she went to bed.

  The truth of the matter was that however hard she tried to convince herself that there was no harm in Duff’s visit to his friend Patrick and that he would enjoy it and return happily, there was still this lingering worm of doubt that crept in and out of her thoughts each day. It was all very well for Silas to assure her that her boy was like all other boys and that she had no need to fret over him. He had not sat in the drawing room and listened to Duff and watched him sob his heart out.

  What was it that he had said? ‘I do love him – he can tease and torment me to his heart’s content and I will do nothing to retaliate.’ And when she had asked him if he had done anything shameful, he had blushed scarlet and told her she understood nothing.

  And it was true, perhaps. Her memory of their conversation was getting confused now. She had gone over it in her mind so often. What had he actually said? All she now knew for sure was that she had been left with the conviction that the young lord with whom her son was so infatuated wanted Duff to do something he didn’t really want to do. And it was that which worried her. She had considered inviting Lord Patrick to visit Brompton Grove, but the mere suggestion had put Duff into an agony of embarrassment, so she had desisted. And, anyway, she had thought, even if I did meet him, what difference would it make? He would no doubt put on a mannerly show for me, and I’d be none the wiser.

  But under pressure from all sides she had agreed that Duff could go to Leicestershire and she could not now renege on her promises; so doggedly she went on with the preparations for his visit and tried to make the best of it.

  Strangely enough it came as something of a relief when at last he went. His neat luggage had been packed and he was dressed precisely as he should be to make such a journey, in a light cheviot Chesterfield topcoat, complete with velvet collar and silk facings, and a pair of perfect sponge bag trousers over buttoned patent boots and a rather rakish high hat, and was put into the cab that would carry him to the magnificent new railway terminus at St Pancras.

  It was obvious that he was very excited at the drama of it all. His eyes glittered with it as he chattered of how splendid it would be to see the new station and hotel that had just been opened, and how much he would relish the journey, for he was to be met at his destination by one of the duke’s growlers and carried directly to Paton Place. Tilly was touched by that. He seemed so like the small boy he had been, jumping up and down with glee because they were to visit Cremorne Gardens in Chelsea, or the Pantheon in Oxford Street, and that, oddly, made her feel less anxious on his behalf. No one could possibly hurt so charming a boy, she told herself as she stood on the steps and waved at the back of his departing cab, with Eliza at her side waving even more furiously. How could they?

  ‘Don’t he look marvellous, Mum?’ Eliza said as the cab at last turned the corner and vanished. ‘Fair brought a lump to my throat, it did, to see him so grown up and all. He’ll be a fine catch for some lucky girl he will, one day.’ Her eyes gleamed. ‘Just imagine, our Duff a married man with babies of his own, no doubt! Wouldn’t that be something!’

  ‘My dear Eliza, you’re running far too quickly!’ Tilly said. ‘Will you live our lives in a matter of minutes? Let the years move at their own speed, I do beg of you.’ She led the way back into the house and Eliza followed.

  ‘Oh, Mum, I wasn’t wishin’ our lives away, course I wasn’t. Just saying, like, how nice it’d be.’

  ‘We shall start the second batch of preserves, I think, Eliza,’ Tilly said, determined not to follow this line of talk any longer. ‘We have been very lax this past few days, with all the extra work of organizing this visit, so we must get on with it. Did the fruit come this morning?’

  ‘Oh, yes, Mum. I told him we was ready to put it all up and he said as how he’s had a real glut of stuff in – there’s the last of the raspberries and some lovely magnum-bonum plums that’ll dry a treat he said, or we could bottle ‘em.’

  ‘I think the bottled will stand us in best stead, don’t you? Have you the bottles ready?’ Tilly went down the stairs into the kitchen and pinned on the apron she kept in the kitchen drawer for such occasions as this as Eliza came clattering down behind her.

  ‘Indeed I have, Mum, three dozen of them and all with handsome new corks as tight as you like, and a fine big piece of resin to melt for the covers. But, Mum, you don’t need to worry yourself over this. I can get Rosie to lend me a hand and deal with it fine. You go and take a rest.’

  ‘But you won’t finish in time if you do it with just Rosie’s aid,’ Tilly said. ‘Is it not the meeting of your association tonight?’

  Eliza had last year joined a reading circle for young females run at St Paul’s Church in Cottage Place, a little further along the Brompton Road, and seemed to enjoy her weekly forays there, returning always with an armful of new novels to read, for the members ran a lively lending service. Eliza liked nothing better than to spend her free time with her head in a really exciting story, especially one with mad monks and wicked squires and innocent country maidens.

  ‘Well, it won’t be the end of the world if I miss one, Mum,’ Eliza said. ‘And I’d as soon you put your feet up.’

  ‘Nonsense, Eliza,’ Tilly said crisply. ‘You concentrate on the dinner, and I shall set to work on the bottling. And I will brook no argument. Now, where is the fruit? In the second larder?’

  ‘Yes, Mum.’ Eliza sighed, knowing she would be wasting her breath to argue. There were times when Tilly would not be coaxed into the sort of life of leisure that Eliza so strongly urged on her. ‘A big basket of the magnum-bonum plums, another of raspberries and a little punnet o’ peaches. I got out the ones I wants to use fresh tonight for the dessert, and there’s enough there to put up a couple of nice bottles we can save till Christmas – oh, and the very first of the Beauty of Bath apples. I thought to use them for the dessert tonight, too.’

  With Eliza chattering busily as usual and Tilly responding with occasional nods and murmurs they set to work. The bottles were standing ready in the back scullery, set on trays, and the copper had been filled, a big jug ready beside it. Rosie had laid the fire beneath the brick container where the copper was fixed and it wanted only a match and Tilly was grateful yet again to Eliza and her forethought. Clearly she had all this prepared some time ago, waiting for the opportunity to do the work.

  With Eliza to help her, preparing the fruit didn’t take as long as it might have done. Moving methodically, they checked the fruit for dryness, wiping each plum carefully in a clean white cloth, making sure there were no bruised pieces that might set the whole lot to rot, and packed them carefully into the quart glass bottles, as Tilly weighed out the pounded loaf sugar – something else that Eliza had ensured was prepared in advance – dropping a quarter pound into each jar. Then all they had to do was cork the bottles, wrap them in wisps of hay and set them neatly in the copper which they filled from the jug up to their necks in cold water. Eliza lit the fire, and when it was drawing nicely, set the wooden cover on the copper and brushed her hands together contentedly.

  There, Mum! It’ll take an hour or so to boil up, then once t
he boilin’ starts, you just need to check the bottles ain’t knocking together, though the hay wisps’ll protect ‘em well enough, you’ll see. I’ll see to it the fire’s doused half an hour after the boilin’ starts, and then we can leave the jars there till tonight. They’ve got to get right cold in there before we takes ‘em out. It’ll not take me above ten minutes to melt the resin and seal the corks when I gets back from my meeting. You don’t need to worry yourself one bit. I’ll put them away tomorrow. We can do the jam, now.’

  Making jam was one of Tilly’s most favoured tasks. She loved the detail of picking over the fruit and making sure it was all wholesome and unbruised, of measuring the sugar to match the weight of fruit pound for pound. She loved standing over the broad shallow copper pans, flattening the fruit with a big wooden spoon over a hot fire, releasing the scent of it to wreath around the room and make her drowsy with it, and then stirring the sugar in till it began to bubble and spit a little and the scent became even more intense.

  ‘I could put in some redcurrant juice, Mum, to sharpen it a little and to make sure it sets,’ Eliza said. ‘But it says in my magazine as the juice of a lemon answers just as well and I must say as I think it tastes better.’