So, once again, I underwent one of those strange Longcross transformations.
Back in Lowther, under Jeffrey’s interested eye, I put on the clothes that were laid out on the bed. These were grander even than the riding clothes we’d worn in Hyde Park. There were creamy-white breeches, shiny black boots of supple leather and a button-up shirt. A black velvet coat, a waistcoat and a snow-white tie knotted at the throat completed the look. There was no hat, which was a bit of a worry, but Betty came in holding a hatbox just as I’d finished pulling on the boots. It was lucky I’d come back to my room in time.
‘Your hat, miss. I’ve just given it a brush.’ I expected her to take out one of those velvet riding helmets but out of the box she lifted a bowler hat, just like the ones in The Thomas Crown Affair. ‘What, no top hat?’ I joked.
Betty looked surprised. ‘Not when the meet is in the morning, miss. You only wear a top hat in the afternoon.’
That told me. ‘Of course. I knew that,’ I murmured faintly and sat obediently before the dressing-table mirror. I’ve said this before and I’ll say it again: Betty might be a sour-faced Mrs Danvers character, but she sure could dress hair. She secured my bob in a neat little bun at the nape of my neck, swept my fringe to one side and placed the bowler firmly on my head, slightly down over one eye at a dashing angle. Then she stuck a silver tie pin in the shape of a fox into the knot of the white tie at my throat. ‘There,’ she said, meeting my eyes in the mirror. ‘You look splendid, miss.’ It was the kindest thing she’d ever said to me.
I felt entirely different going down the grand staircase to how I’d felt coming up. Then, in jeans and a hoodie, I hadn’t fitted in at all. Now, in a riding habit and a bowler, I did.
Despite me trying to hurry the others up, I did feel I had to make one stop on the way to the stables. In the boot room, as I breathed in the familiar smell of leather and polish, I couldn’t help but look below the sporting prints for the outline of the box-room door. If there wasn’t a cupboard, then there wasn’t a Henry.
But there was a cupboard.
The door wasn’t even concealed, like the one that had led to the ceremonial chamber of the STAGS Club, or the chapel staircase in Cumberland Place. It was a sturdy wooden door, obvious as anything. I laid a hand on the latch. Inside, the cupboard was just as Henry’d described, a mess of fishing rods and shooting sticks and welly boots. There was even – my stomach gave a lurch – the wetsuit I’d worn the day I’d been ‘fished’ out of Longmere, in a little rubbery pile like a shed skin. It wasn’t a large space at all, not even for a boy and a fox. I crouched to the floor, making myself small, making myself an eight-year-old. Here, I thought, here Henry had been locked with Reynard in their formative battle. Here he’d became what he was. No. What he is.
I felt a watching presence and spun to find Bates standing over me.
Man, that guy could move quietly. I sprang to my feet. ‘Bates,’ I exclaimed breezily, breathing hard. ‘You gave me a shock.’
‘My apologies, miss.’ He didn’t sound apologetic.
‘I was just looking for …’ My sluggish mind panicked. ‘A riding crop.’
‘They will be located in the stables, miss,’ he said rather sternly. ‘The head groom will be able to assist you.’
‘The stables,’ I babbled. ‘Yes, of course.’
He stood aside for me to get by, and then closed the door firmly as only he knew how. The gesture gave me a thought. ‘Bates,’ I said, ‘you’ve been here, what … thirty years?’
‘More.’ He spoke to the door, making sure it was secured.
‘So you’d have been at this house when Mr Henry was a boy?’
He turned. ‘I had that honour.’
As I met his guarded grey eyes, I knew. I knew he’d been here when Henry had been in this cupboard. I could see, too, that he had not approved. For the first time I got the feeling that he was not entirely on Rollo’s side. Had Bates been the Alfred Pennyworth to Henry’s Bruce Wayne? Had he wanted to help Henry? Had he not dared? ‘Bates?’
‘Yes, miss.’
‘Thirty years. It’s a long time.’
‘Indeed, miss.’
‘Can I ask you a question?’
‘Of course, miss.’ But the grey eyes flickered with something like fear.
‘Have you never wanted to … to do something else?’
He looked a little relieved, as if he’d been expecting something different, but at the same time a bit taken aback.
‘Should I not have asked?’
‘Not at all, miss. It’s just …’ He hesitated.
‘Just …?’ I prompted.
He let out a long breath. ‘In all my years of service I’ve never been asked that question.’
‘So?’ I persisted. ‘What else would you have done?’
He got this faraway look in his eyes and answered me in quite a different tone, the deference gone, like we were, just for that instant, friends. ‘I’ve always thought I should like to fly.’
‘Planes?’
‘Planes, helicopters, gliders. Anything airborne.’
Now I was surprised. It seemed like such a Savage ambition to be uttered in this place. ‘My father was in the Royal Air Force, you see, but was killed in action. I think I should have liked to be up in the clouds. Looking down on everybody.’ He forgot to call me miss.
‘Thank you, Bates,’ I said gently.
He remembered himself. ‘Will that be all, miss?’
‘That will be all.’
He bowed slightly, smiled slightly, and left me alone with the boots.