“Who is he talking to?” She murmurs.
“You, you’re the duchess,” I whisper.
“Oh, all right,” she says, reaching out her hand towards Lance. “My pleasure.”
Lance looks at her in astonishment, then he looks at me questioningly, waiting to be told what to do.
I nod, so he shakes Jemma’s hand.
“If you allow me, I will take care of your luggage.”
“I’d rather not, it’s my stuff and I want to know where it goes. I gave my beauty case to an air hostess once and I never saw it again. I would like to avoid that.”
“This is not an airport, Jemma,” I point out.
“Whatever, my stuff goes where I go.”
Great start, isn’t it?
The click-clack of heels on top of the staircase takes us by surprise and a familiar voice hits my ear.
“Ashford, did you give a lift to a hitchhiker? Aren’t you aware that they’re all psychopaths with criminal records?”
My mother is looking at us from above, and it’s as though God had come down to Earth.
“Mother! Shouldn’t you be on your way to Bath?” I ask cautiously.
“Lady Bedlam,” whispers Jemma.
My mother descends the stairs and once before us she replies: “I thought that leaving your wife alone to settle in the property wouldn’t be wise, considering the royal visit. I decided to stay and instruct her on her duties. By the way, when is she expected to arrive?” She pauses and then looks at Lance, pointing at Jemma. “Is this the new help for the stable lad? Lance, escort her to John, so she can start immediately.”
“Mother, let me introduce you to Jemma, my wife,” I say impassively.
My mother’s flawless face falls apart. She has just realised that the woman in front of her is not the stable girl, but the new Duchess of Burlingham.
“Hey, there,” is Jemma’s opening line.
My mother looks at her in astonishment without uttering a word.
People of lower rank greet her with the hint of a bow, while middle class people make a complete bow. Jemma is holding out her hand with her head held high while sporting a cocky smile.
“Ashford…” says my mother, without knowing how to continue.
“Yes, Mother?”
“There’s a great deal of work to be done here.” She can hardly restrain herself.
“Mother…” I say, trying to prevent her from continuing, well aware that an unfortunate choice of words could cause Jemma to explode like a time bomb.
“It’s quite obvious that she has no idea of her role, or of the position of our family, or of the rules of good behaviour, and God knows what else. I fear this might open a Pandora’s box. Ashford, yours was a very dangerous choice.”
“Keep going, I’m not even here!” Jemma remarks.
“Exactly,” is my mother’s abrupt reply.
“Mother, perhaps this is not the right way to deal with this.”
“I’ll be in my study, waiting to interview her.” That said, my mother turns round and leaves.
