So Horseface hadn’t told Dr Travers, and I knew now he wasn’t going to. Alright, so he’d caught me out again – but I’d kept my end up quite well. Though why he’d looked so surprised at my saying I wanted to be a lady’s maid I couldn’t imagine. But still, Dr Travers had believed me, which was all that mattered. As long as my reputation remained unsullied with him. I had to admit now, that it was too late with Lord Rothbury. Once you’ve slung a herring at someone’s waistcoat, and then followed it up by kicking him on the nose from the top of a leaf cupboard you’re probably never going to be able to convince him that you’re a law-abiding, humble housemaid.
And I was actually quite pleased at that thought, because it meant that there was someone I didn’t have to pretend to, any more. That I was Scots, and a housemaid – yes – but humble, no. After all, I was Scots – three-eighths – and I was a housemaid, for the time being, anyway, so that wasn’t really acting – but humility was different. I’ve never had much talent in that direction; in fact, rather the reverse, according to some people I know.
Of course, I didn’t have to pretend humility with Mr Parton, either – I’d worked that out pretty early on. He was the sort of person other people told what to do; he expected to be told what to do – and, incredibly, was even grateful for it. I can get along very well with people like that.
So the thought of him crossed my mind when next afternoon I finished up with an exceptionally fine set of glassies in my pocket and no-one to play with. Billy had been confined to barracks as the result of a rather clever joke he’d played involving some glue, a length of string and the key of the wine cellar. I’d thought it very funny, but Mr Taylor had not.
Anyway, there I was with the glassies – really high grade green swirly marbles which I’d retrieved after a visiting child had thrown them away in a temper. The baron’s lady had brought her little boy with her to swell the nursery flock – because of some problem with her own head nurse, I think. So this afternoon she’d taken this six year old out for a walk – and she obviously hadn’t got a clue how to play with a child that age. From up a tree I’d watched the pantomime in fascination: he’d shouted and she’d bleated about his clothes if he knelt down to play marbles – and then, when she realised he was expecting Mama to kneel down in her smart, cream linen costume skirt – well! So the glassies were flung down in a tantrum and he was hauled off – back to the nursery, I presume. I picked them all up to return to him later, but in the meantime… I fingered them longingly – we’d played glassies a lot in Helspie.
I had a throw or two, but it’s no fun playing on your own – so I set off on the track of Mr Parton. Not too difficult, because Billy had told me he had a hideout in a secluded summerhouse on the west side of the garden. Of course, being in the garden it was out of bounds to servants, but that wasn’t a problem. Billy had said, ‘He don’t interfere – not him. I had a pair of fresh-killed conies under me jacket when I cut through that way in the summer, but he never said aught.’
So I sneaked into forbidden territory and found the small summerhouse – it was on a paved terrace, along with a statue of a woman with her clothes falling off. Mr Parton looked up, and then very decently looked down at his book again, pretending he hadn’t seen me.
I bounced up to him, bobbed, said, ‘Good afternoon, sir,’ and smiled. He gave me a very sweet smile back, while blushing into his heard. I asked, hopefully, ‘D’ye fancy a wee game o’ the glassies?’
He looked quite blank, so I produced them. ‘Oh – marbles, I – er – I’m afraid I don’t know how to play.’
I was brisk. ‘Nae matter, I’ll soon teach ye – I’ve a canny hand wi’ the glassies, though I says it masel’. You come down here beside me.’
We were soon both crouched at the foot of the statue, but he still looked doubtful, so I was encouraging. ‘Nae time at all, ye’ll be picking it up. Now, the one ye throw’s called a taw, an’ ye hold it this way, an’ ye dinna sae much throw, as shoot – wi’ a quick flick o’ the thumb, like this…’
He did pick it up quickly. In our first game I beat him, of course; but he’d done pretty well, and I told him so. He looked pleased, before telling me, ‘You are an excellent teacher, Eve.’
We smiled at each other in mutual satisfaction. ‘Let’s have another wee game, then.’
I was so engrossed I hadn’t heard footsteps approaching over the grass verge until the statue’s stone feet were joined by another pair – which were very large and shod in highly polished brown leather. A voice above them boomed, ‘What an earth are you two up to?’ Horseface. Though I’d recognised the boots already, having seen them up-ended on trees in his room – enormous boots, flaunting a magnificent gloss – all achieved by the sweat of poor Mr Wilkins’ brow.
Anyway, freed from the need to exercise humility I tipped my head up, and exclaimed, ‘What daes it look as if we’re daeing? Playing glassies, o’ course.’
Mr Parton looked up too. ‘It’s quite fascinating, old chap – you see, if you aim—’
‘You don’t need to explain, Fred – I’ve always been quite a dab hand at marbles, though I do say it myself.’
I sprang up to confront him. ‘Then you’re on. Best of five games, playing long taw.’
For a moment surprise silenced him, then, ‘I accept your challenge. But it must be a clean hit, or no score – none of this lily-livered spanning.’
I nodded agreement. ‘Aye – spanning’s only for the weans.’ I dropped down on my heels again, and hitching up his trouser leg he joined me, one knee on the ground – I bet Mr Wilkins would be pleased about that! I began counting out the glassies, ‘I’ll split these with ye, seeing as ye no have any o’ your own.’
‘But since I’m having to borrow your marbles in order to play, we can’t compete in the usual way, can we?’
I paused, ‘Tha’s true.’
‘So we’ll need a different prize.’ He grinned. ‘I know, if I win, you’ll have to give me a kiss.’
What a cheek! I asked, ‘An’ what do I get, if I win?’
‘I’ll give you a kiss.’
‘But that means—’ Seeing his grin broaden, I changed tack. ‘If I win you have to let me tweak your nose.’ That threw him. I said, ‘I dinna play, else.’
His eyes on me, I scooped up a couple of the marbles and began to rise. Halfway up he said, ‘Done!’
I sank down again. Glancing at Mr Parton I announced, ‘I’ve got a witness for when I win.’
Lord Rothbury smirked. ‘And so have I, for when I do.’ He poked his long nose only inches from mine. I could hardly wait.
By the end of the fourth game we were two all. Tension was rising. He said, ‘I admit, young woman, that you’re an unusually good shot for one of your sex.’
I retorted, ‘I admit, old—’ I changed my mind hastily at his expression, ‘My lord, that you’re playing a deal better than I expected – for one o’ your rank.’ He had been doing, too. He could even win if I was … Inspiration came. I said, casually, ‘Dae ye fancy playing the decider by ring taw? We’d have to move down on to the bare earth, though, tae make a circle.’
‘Mm, why not?’ Good. Then he added, ‘How about a single throw each, and whoever gets nearest to the centre without touching the other marbles is the winner?’
Better and better – just what I’d been going to suggest myself. ‘Aye – and shooting frae a guid distance awa’.’
‘Naturally.’
The ring was drawn, and all our glassies except our two taws positioned in an evenly spaced-out circle within it. We tossed for first shot, I won. He said, ‘You take this side, I’ll take the opposite position.’ Like a pair of duellists we each turned our backs on the other and walked to our places. Lord Rothbury called, ‘Are we properly matched, Fred?’
Mr Parton called back. ‘Totally – in fact, I would would say that you’re both ideally matched.’ From the tone of his voice he didn’t sound to be taking the matter as seriously as we were.
I took very careful aim, and then with a flick of my thumb shot my glassie racing down – into the ring, through the defensive circle and straight to its heart. He’d never be able to equal that. Triumphant, I sat back on my heels and enjoyed the surprise on his face.
Bending over his taw, he positioned it carefully on his thumb, aimed – and sent it shooting straight down to come to rest nestling up against mine. I couldn’t believe it – he could never have managed it at that distance!
Jumping up I ran to inspect – and saw on his side the slight depression in the earth where he’d trailed his heel – to make a channel for his glassie to run along. Pouncing on it I exclaimed indignantly, ‘You cheated!’
‘And so, young woman, did you. What’s that?’ He pointed to an identical depression on my side.
I said quickly, ‘I just happened ta catch ma heel.’
‘Quite. And I just happened to catch mine.’
‘There!’ I swung round to Mr Parton, ‘He’s admitted it!’ Turning back to Horseface I accused, ‘You saw me doing it and then you—’ I broke off, I’d given myself away.
Horseface said, ‘In point of fact, I did not see you.’
Mr Parton’s gentle voice interrupted us. ‘I did happen to notice that the – er – heel trailing – was taking place simultaneously.’ Horseface and I both fell silent. His eyes were very close to mine – a clear blue-grey, they were. He winked.
Suddenly it was so funny. I began to laugh, and so did he – in great, neighing brays. Mr Parton joined in.
When we’d finally quietened down Lord Rothbury suggested, ‘I tell you what – we’ll call it a draw. I’ll let you tweak my nose, and then you can give me a kiss – that way we both win.’
I argued, ‘But if it’s a draw, nobody should win.’
‘That wouldn’t be much fun, would it?’
Voices, quite close. My head jerked up, Lord Rothbury said, ‘Damn!’
I whispered, ‘That’s your fault – they heard you laughing! I’ll have to go, I’m no allowed in the garden.’ I turned to leave in the opposite direction – too late, bright frocks were appearing among the trees.
Lord Rothbury said, ‘I’ll go and delay the rose garden party, then you can dodge round behind the arbour. Here are your marbles.’ He quickly scooped them up.
I shook my head. ‘They’re not mine, Lady Binham’s wean threw ‘em down in a paddy because she wudna play with him.’
He slipped the glassies into his pocket. ‘I’ll see they get back to the boy. Off you go now.’ One of his hands swung me round while the other patted my bottom. ‘Don’t worry – I’ll play decoy.’
‘Thanks.’
He grinned, ‘No need to thank me – it’s a pleasure to pat such a trim little behind.’ And he did it again. Cheek! ‘Off you go.’ He managed to get in a third pat and then I was away – dodging behind the arbour, skimming along the other side of the laburnum walk, and out through the gate into the safety of the parkland.
Once there I climbed up a convenient cedar, parted the foliage and looked back the way I’d come. I could see Horseface talking to a brace of pastel coloured hats – a successful decoy. He wasn’t such a bad old stick after all – even if he did cheat at marbles! He must have learnt the same trick that Duggie had taught me. I started giggling again, and the branches danced under my hands. But fancy him wanting to kiss me! Still, at least he’d asked first, unlike Henry. Though he hadn’t asked before patting my behind – but actually it had been rather a nice pat, as pats go. Yes, he was alright, really, Horseface.
I thought the same thing later, when Patsy, the nursemaid, told me he’d not only taken the glassies back to the nursery, but stayed up there to play a game of marbles with the boy. ‘Nice of his lordship, wasn’t it? Shame he’s no children of his own.’ She hustled off. I supposed he would have some one day, when he got married. I imagined a row of little boys, all with horse faces – foal faces.
I giggled.
The dressing bell rang. Time to process into the great hall…