‘Might I ask why you wish her to be dismissed, my lord?’
Rupert frowned. ‘Miss Hardwicke doesn’t care for her.’ And as Proom continued to stand impassively before him, he went on: ‘But that isn’t it. I found out certain things about her background which makes it most unsuitable that she should be employed as a domestic’
Proom nodded. ‘Mrs Bassenthwaite and I were, of course, aware that she was of gentle birth. For this reason we were extremely reluctant to employ her.’
‘Well, then…’
‘However, it must be stated, my lord, that Anna has done everything she could to overcome her handicap. This is not to say that her adherence to the views of Mrs Selina Strickland have always been beneficial. In feet, only this morning James was threatening to throw all three volumes of the Domestic Compendium into the lake, Anna having asked him for calcined magnesia to polish Miss Hardwicke’s bedside grapes. But—’
‘Asked him for what?’ interrupted Rupert.
‘Calcined magnesia, my lord. It is a substance which is used in certain circles,’ said Proom dismissively, ‘to bring a heightened bloom to the fruit. A process analagous to the annotating of plums with Reckit’s Blue. Needless to say, I have never permitted such practices at Mersham. The fruit here is never tampered with.’
Rupert put down the paper knife with which he had been demolishing a number of hapless envelopes.
‘I can’t help wondering why they accept her, Proom? They must know she comes from a totally different world.’
‘Yes, my lord. They do.’ He paused, considering how much to put into words. ‘Perhaps it’s not generally realized that what a servant dreads is not hard work, it’s boredom. Housework can be extremely monotonous. And Anna … well, youcan say a lot about Anna, but not that she is boring.’
‘No,’ said Rupert, allowing himself a wintery smile. He got up, went to the window, started playing with the tassel of the blind…
‘Things are not very easy at the moment,’ continued Proom, who had left Mrs Park searching wild-eyed through her cookery books for an alcohol-free wedding cake. ‘Periods of transition are always unsettling and Lady Westerholme will be greatly missed. To dismiss Anna now would not be at all good for morale. It would be regarded as a very grave injustice.’
‘But if she were paid—’
‘My lord, there is no way you could get Anna to accept money to which she would feel she was not entitled. She is extremely proud. She is also looking forward very much to the wedding. Russian weddings, as you are probably aware, are very different. Anna is planning to cut her hair.’
‘No!’ The earl had swung round, his voice, his whole manner so peremptory, that Proom looked at him in amazement.
‘There is nothing in the regulations to prevent it, my lord and—’
‘I forbid it,’ said the Earl of Westerholme. ‘I forbid it utterly and you may tell her so.’
----*
To his own surprise, on going to talk to Muriel who was writing letters in Queen Caroline’s bedchamber, Rupert received no thanks for his efforts to get rid of Anna.
‘Rupert, I beg you not to concern yourself with the indoor staff. I’ve told you that I mean to see to all that. After all, I don’t interfere with the running of the farms or the forests, do I, even though—’ She paused delicately.
‘Even though it is your money that makes it possible for me to go on running them,’ said Rupert levelly. ‘Yes, that’s true. And I certainly have better things to do than interfere with the servants. But I knew you were not pleased with Anna and…’
Muriel put up a restraining hand. ‘I admit that Anna is not what I call natural servant material, but I am not displeased with her work. Last night when we came back from London they sent a most unsuitable girl to wait on me - a long-nosed, frizzy-haired creature with a most impertinent manner.’
‘That’ll be Louise. She’s head housemaid, you see and—’
‘Please, dearest, there’s no need to explain. Let it suffice that I am perfectly prepared to put up with Anna until the maid I have ordered from Switzerland arrives. What I did want to speak to you about was your dog.’
Baskerville, hearing himself referred to, turned his massive head. Among his many excellent qualities, the earl’s dog did not number a quick intelligence. Even he, however, had gathered that, incredible as it seemed, his natural behaviour was not wholly pleasing to Muriel Hardwicke. Now, in a heroic effort to conform, he sat on his haunches by the door, repressing an almost overwhelming desire to examine the livestock under the fourposter, and ruining the patient, Landseer pose he had adopted with frequent and enormous yawns.
‘What about my dog?’ said Rupert lightly, momentarily letting his hand rest on Muriel’s hair. Perfectly groomed, perfectly golden, with its metallic lustre it ■ looked more as if it had been mined than grown.
‘You have often said,’ Muriel continued, ‘that my good nursing, my attention to hygiene, saved your life.’
‘Yes, I have said it,’ said Rupert, smiling. ‘And I still do.’
‘Well then, I know you will understand when I ask you not to bring Baskerville into my bedroom. Or into our bedroom when we are married.’ The pansy-blue eyes looked up appraisingly and it occurred to Rupert, suddenly, how rarely Muriel blinked. ‘I don’t know if you’r aware of the work by Bestheimer and his associates on the transference of canine worms to the back of the human eyeball, but I assure you if you were—’
‘Baskerville goes to the vet every six weeks to be checked,’ said Rupert, his voice deceptively quiet.
‘I’m afraid it’s not as simple as that.’ She launched into a description of the lifecycle of Toxacara canis which would have given nightmares to Edgar Allen Poe. ‘So you see, dearest, I really must insist.’
‘Very well, Muriel; it shall be as you wish,’ said the earl. ‘Come, Baskerville.’
‘I didn’t mean—’ Muriel called after him, disconcerted by the look in his eyes.
But Rupert had gone.
----*
It was not unexpected that the earl’s attempts to dismiss Anna should reach her ears. The following day, returning at dusk from an inspection of the haunted folly whose re-roofing his bailiff regarded as urgent, Rupert noticed that the door of the rose garden was ajar. Mr Cameron must be working late. He would just go in and have a word with him. Muriel had meant well, earlier in the day, when she offered to replace his ear-trumpet with one of the newfangled hearing aids, but the old Scotsman was a crusty fellow and the moment had perhaps been unfortunate, for Mr Cameron had been showing them his new and lovely snow-white rose.
Putting his hand through Baskerville’s collar, Rupert pushed open the door. Judders of ecstasy and a violent vibrato of the single, coal-black wart on Baskerville’s blond cheek, prepared Rupert for what he would find -Anna, carrying a trug and a pair of secateurs, moving in a kind of dream among the flowers.
Tightening his grip on his dog, the earl advanced.
‘Good evening,’ he said pleasantly.
Ambushed, Anna stood her ground. Her head went up. ‘Good evening, your lordship.’
Rupert recoiled. Not since she had deplored Mersham’s lack of bathrooms had her ‘r’s rolled quite so terribly. It was her curtsy, however, that showed Rupert the full extent of her displeasure. Gone was the balletic homage, the dedicated servility. Anna had bobbed.
‘Is anything the matter?’
Anna had decided on frostiness, on silence, on le style anglais.
‘Nothing is the matter. As you perceive, I am picking flowers for Miss Hardwicke’s room. Mr Cameron has permitted it. I am not stealing.’
Rupert looked at her, completely bewildered. ‘No, of course you’re not stealing. What’s happened, Anna? Have I done anything?’