The afternoon sun shone right into his eyes, blinding him when he stepped from the library onto the terrace, or Lord Henry would have addressed the woman differently, or not at all. As it was, he only saw a female silhouette leaning on the balustrade, and he said, “Good evening. We have not been introduced, I believe. Henry Routledge.“

  When he stood beside her, she turned to him. Drew on her cigarette, then slowly breathed out again. “Aoife O'Hare. Good evening – sir.“ Then she smiled.

  It took Henry only a second to realize his mistake. The lady was actually a house maid, clearly indicated by her dress. Oh well. He lighted his own cigarette. The maid was watching him, still smiling, sneering a little, it would seem. Henry said, “So you have made this out as a good spot for a secret escape as well.“

  She shrugged, turning away. They smoked in silence. When she had finished, she dropped the butt into the pot of rose laurel beside her. It would burn out in one of Lady Wotton’s favourite plants. Then she turned to him, did a curtsy and said, “No worries, sir. I’m not going to tell on you.”

  Henry watched her go before turning his gaze back on the dark garden. That had been amusing. Maybe it would serve as an anecdote, later on, with a few embellishments. Aoife O'Hare, alright. “Aoife“, not “Eve“; her pronunciation had not left any room for doubt. It was quite possible that the coming fortnight might be more entertaining than he had thought, if the servants here were so cheeky these days.

  Dinner called for formal dress, even though no other guests were present yet and were not expected until the weekend. Henry would have preferred to dine with his friend Alfred in a less formal manner, but Alfred’s mother insisted. They were going to celebrate her sixtieth birthday with a great ball, and she insisted. Henry thanked his manservant when being helped into his dinner jacket. “Thank you, Porter. I do not think that I am going to need you again tonight. Has everything been arranged to our satisfaction?“

  “Thank you very much, sir. Yes, all is well.“

  “I wish you a pleasant evening.“

  “Sir.“

  Porter held the door for him. Henry headed towards the dining room. Wotton House was old, but also old fashioned, with long passages and large parts of the house neglected in terms of modernisations. Porter was in for a hard time; electricity and hot water were not available everywhere, and when the house filled up, there would be a lot of organizing required to keep everything up to his accustomed level of comfort. But Henry did not really worry about Porter. Twenty years of experience had taught him that his person would be taken care of.

  He met his friend Alfred on the way down and they decided to stop in the library for a drink. Alfred was in the same situation as he himself – the only sons of their parents, in their mid thirties, and unmarried. They both knew that the upcoming ball provided, in the eyes of their families, a good chance to find a wife. Henry did not feel the pressure as much since his parents were absent, but he was aware of it all the same. He did not like this view of things. Alfred voiced his very thoughts when they were having their sherry. “Three more days, and then we are going to have to fight for our lives again.“ He raised his glass. “Here’s to peace and quiet.“

  ?And to country life.“

  “Ah, country life“, Alfred replied deprecatingly. Henry knew that his friend preferred the city with its many opportunities for pleasure. He himself enjoyed London, too, but he also found the countryside appealing; in fact, he had caught himself envisioning a quiet family life as fairly desirable, provided he ever met a suitable woman. Since this had not happened yet, he did not have a problem enjoying his bachelor life in their London circles, if on a less excessive scale than his friend.

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  “The only good thing about the country“, Alfred continued, “which is to say: the only good thing about occasional visits to the countryside, is the shooting. Otherwise I have not yet encountered anything worth pursuing. Let’s hope that one of the frigid ladies at least has got a pretty maid.“ He raised his glass again.

  Henry drank to that, but his heart was not in it. He, too, like everyone he knew, had enjoyed the company of a servant. He had had his first encounters with their gardener’s daughter. The girl had died of a fever shortly after. The governess of his sisters had seduced him on one occasion. His experience was ordinary enough, but he did not chase after female servants as his friend did. When the opportunity did not arise, he was well able to go to bed reading a book.

  Alfred ignored his friend’s lack of enthusiasm. “My mother seems not to have acquired anything new, I believe.“

  He has not seen Aoife O’Hare yet, Henry thought. Alfred would not have overlooked the girl with the blond hair, the bright eyes and the beautifully expressive lips. He wondered about the vividness of the image of the girl in his mind.

  “Your mother has her own priorities.“

  “I’m afraid so. - Was that the bell? At last! I’m starving!“

  Sometimes Henry wished that his friend possessed more self control.

  Dinner was served by two maids – older women. Henry smiled to himself, guessing that Lady Wotton was well aware of her son’s behaviour. She would not be able to conceal the new maid forever, though.

  Later they sat in the salon, discussing literature. Lady Wotton was very interested in the case of Oscar Wilde, who had died in autumn. Henry offered to get the book with his plays for her and went to fetch it from his room despite her protests. He wandered through the long passages, reflecting on the Irishman’s fate. The writer had secretly impressed him years ago already. He had felt that Wilde had somehow placed his finger exactly where it hurt, exposing the double standards of London society, whatever his private life might have been like. His death in exile in Paris – just a small note in the London papers – had rekindled his interest. If Lady Wotton turned out to be someone to talk to about him, he would welcome that. Alfred was a hopeless case.

  On his way back to the salon he passed the dining room. Voices came through the door, which had been left ajar, together with the soft sound of china being placed on the table.

  A man said, “You will get used to it quickly. Come on, let me look at you.“

  The dishes clinked louder. A woman replied, “Take your hands off me, Mr Simmons.“

  Simmons, Alfred’s manservant, and in Henry’s opinion an evil fellow. He had not taken long to discover the new maid.

  “Precious, believe me, we will get on just fine if you do as I say.“

  “Mr Simmons, I believe you ought to leave me alone.“

  “Oh, you are hard to get, aren’t you. This is so much fun.“

  More clinking of dishes and rustling of clothes. Then Simmons again, “You do not get it, do you? You could have a good time if you were nice to me – and I think that my master is going to like you, too. I’ll tell him about you. Come on, be a good girl, you really don’t have much of a choice.“

  There was the sound of someone being hit, Simmons groaned, and Aoife O'Hare said, “I told you to keep your hands off me, you bastard, and if you don’t stop I’m going to give you something that you will find hard to explain. Is that clear?“

  Henry pushed the door open. The two people did not notice him. Simmons was holding his jaw, and with his other hand he had gripped Aoife’s wrist. He was furious.

  “You damned bitch“, he hissed, pulling her towards him. “I’m going to give it to you here and now, and you won’t know...“

  “Simmons, as far as I can tell Miss O'Hare is not interested in your intentions“, Henry heard himself say. Silence followed. Simmons let go of Aoife’s arm but seemed to be ready to come up with a reply. Henry intercepted him. “This will be all, Simmons.“ He stepped into the room, leaving the door open, and Simmons walked out without another word. Henry waited until he had passed out of earshot before looking at Aoife. She was rubbing her wrist, but she looked furious. Henry could not help feeling that she would have been perfectly able to deal with Simmons herself, and he felt stupid. He managed a brief bow and left, leaning against the wall, for his knees were shaking. The sound of blood rushing in his ears was soon replaced by the continuation of the sound of dishes being placed on the table. Aoife did not exercise much caution towards Lady Wotton’s china any more.