“No, my dear, none,” replied Lady Broome, not raising her eyes from the letter she was reading.
Kate went quietly away, heavy-hearted.
Chapter XI
On the following afternoon, Lady Broome, in response to an urgent entreaty from Kate to set her some task to perform, sent her down to the lodge, with what Kate knew to be a frivolous message. She accepted it without comment, realizing that her aunt was a trifle out of sorts, and set off down the avenue reflecting that if ever she had yearned for a life of indolence the weeks she had spent at Staplewood had cured her. Her only duties were trivial, and occupied perhaps an hour in the day. For the rest of the time she was at liberty to amuse herself as best she might. She could read, write, walk, busy herself with stitchery, play at battledore and shuttlecock with Torquil, or loiter her time away. She had the run of the library, and, after skipping her way through a number of old novels, she embarked on The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire, with the laudable object of widening her knowledge. She had just begun to read the second volume, but it could not have been said that she viewed the prospect of reading four more volumes with enthusiasm. Riding during the summer months was mere hacking along country lanes; she had exhausted all the possibilities of walks taken within the grounds of Staplewood; and when she wished to go on an exploratory ramble beyond the grounds she was frustrated by Lady Broome’s insistence on her being accompanied by one of the footmen on such expeditions. As for stitchery, once she had mended a rent in her dress, and darned her stockings, she was at a stand. She could fashion a dress, but she had no turn for embroidery, which was the only kind of stitchery her aunt recognized as a genteel occupation for ladies of mode. Games of battledore and shuttlecock with Torquil were more a penance than a pleasure, for not only was he an indifferent player but an extremely bad-tempered one as well, frequently hurling his battledore from him in disgust, tearing the feathers from the shuttlecock, or walking off the court in a fury.
The worst of it was, as she had speedily realized, that there was nothing for her to do at Staplewood. Lady Broome had told her that she would find a great deal to do, but this was far from the truth: what there was to do was done by the servants, and very well done. Lady Broome had said that she relied upon Kate to overlook the staff, and to see that nothing was neglected; but Kate had been quick to realize that this was an improvised duty, and one which her aunt had no intention of delegating.
To Kate, accustomed all her life to be busy, this lazy, cushioned existence, at first delightful, soon became intolerable, but the mischief was that her aunt could not believe that she really did yearn for employment. In bringing Kate to Staplewood, and lapping her in expensive luxury, she expected her to revel in it; and since Kate was too well mannered to betray her discontent and did indeed enjoy the comfort of Staplewood—she continued in this misapprehension, and thought that Kate’s entreaties to be given work to do emanated from a very proper desire to requite her generosity.
Having delivered the message at the lodge, Kate went back to the house, leaving the avenue, and making a detour through the park. It was wooded, and here and there Lady Broome had caused to be planted clumps of rhododendrons and azaleas, which were just now in bloom, lending splashes of brilliant colour to the landscape, and filling the air with their scent. There could be no doubt that she knew how to create beauty. Kate had at first supposed that a landscape gardener had been employed to lay out the gardens, and to open prospects in the most felicitous way imaginable, but Lady Broome, laughing such a notion to scorn, had assured her that she had planned the whole, and had seen it carried out under her direction. It was yet another example of her genius for organization; and when Kate was held spellbound by one of the enchanting vistas she was easily able to understand her aunt’s love of Staplewood, into which she had thrown so much inventiveness. Kate had been shown the original plans of the gardens, and she knew that until her aunt’s reign the gardens had been formal, the park too thickly wooded, with too many bushes, and too few prospects. Lady Broome had improved these out of recognition. She had improved the house, too, changing it from an overcrowded store of furniture and pictures, good, bad, and indifferent, into a stately show-place, where nothing offended the eye. But Kate could not feel that she had been as successful in the house as she had been in the gardens, for, in creating a show-place, she had destroyed a home.
She was thinking about this when her attention was caught by the sudden appearance on the scene of a dog, which appeared to be the result of a misalliance between a hound and a setter. He came bounding into view from behind a clump of azaleas but halted in his tracks at the sight of her, and stood, looking the picture of guilt, with one paw raised, and his tail clipped between his legs, posed for instant flight. He had barely outgrown his puppyhood, and when Kate laughed, and invited him to come to her, he obeyed with all the alacrity of a dog of exuberantly friendly disposition, and gambolled round her, uttering encouraging barks.
The sight of him brought it forcibly home to Kate that, with the exception of Sir Timothy’s aged and obese spaniel bitch, which only left the East Wing when led out by Sir Timothy’s valet for a circumscribed airing, he was the first dog she had seen at Staplewood. It had not previously occurred to her that this was a strange circumstance, but as she patted and stroked the trespasser it did occur to her.
Frustrating his attempts to lick her face, she said laughingly: “Well, sir, and what are you doing here, pray? It’s my belief that you’ve been hunting! Oh, you bad dog!”
The stranger at once acknowledged the truth of this accusation, and deprecated its severity, by flattening his ears, and furiously wagging his lowered tail. Kate laughed again, and said: “What is more, you know very well you have no business here! Be off with you!”
He dashed off immediately, and she thought she was rid of him, until he reappeared, some minutes later, bringing her a peace-offering in the shape of a withered tree branch, which he dragged along the ground, and proudly laid at her feet.
“If you imagine,” Kate said, “that I am going to throw that for you to retrieve you very much mistake the matter! It’s a game I should weary of long before you did! Besides, I know I ought not to encourage you. No, sir! Go home!”
After inviting her to relent, retreating a little way from the branch, and all the time watching it with cocked ears and wagging tail, making short dashes at it, and urging her to participate in his favourite sport by a few yelping barks, he seemed to realize that it was useless to persist, and once more bounded off.
Kate proceeded on her way, wishing that there were dogs at Staplewood which she could take for walks, and recalling, with a reminiscent smile, the three obstreperous dogs owned by the Astleys which had added so much excitement (and embarrassment) to the walks she had taken with the children. In the midst of these reflections she was startled by a gruff voice, which suddenly commanded her to stand and deliver. She looked quickly round, not so much alarmed as vexed, for she had no difficulty in recognizing Torquil’s voice, disguised though it was. It was precisely the sort of schoolboy trick he was all too fond of playing, and she found it unamusing. “For heaven’s sake, Torquil!” she exclaimed. “Must you be so childish?”
He emerged from behind a bush, brandishing a double-barrelled shotgun, and saying gleefully: “I frightened you, didn’t I, coz?”
“No, but you are frightening me now!” Kate said, eyeing the shotgun with misgiving. “Don’t point that thing at me! Is it loaded?”
“Of course it is! And I did frighten you! You jumped nearly out of your skin!”
He shouldered the gun as he spoke, which relieved Kate’s more immediate apprehensions, but she demanded in a sharp voice how he had managed to come by it. “I broke in through the gun room window when the servants were at dinner!” he replied triumphantly. “No one heard me! I stuffed my pockets with cartridges, too. I’m up to everything, ain’t I? If Mama won’t let anyone teach me, I’ll teach myself!”
“Torquil, indeed yo
u must not!” she said. “Do, pray, put it back! If you are so set on learning to shoot I’m persuaded your Mama will relent! I’ll try what I can do to convince her that it is only right that you should be permitted to! This isn’t the way to learn, I promise you! What you should do is to have a target set up, well out of range of the house and the gardens, so that Aunt Minerva need not be disturbed by the bangs.”
“No!” he said, his eyes gleaming, and a rather unpleasant smile curling his beautiful lips. “I’m going to keep it, and I know where, too! Disturbed by the bangs, indeed! That’s a loud one! Doing it rather too brown, my dear mama!”
“Torquil, you should not speak so of your mother!” Kate said earnestly. “It is most improper! Besides, how can you tell that she is not speaking the truth? Many people have the greatest dread of sudden noises, you know—and not hen-hearted people either!”
She was interrupted by her unknown acquaintance, who once more bounded up to her, this time with the desiccated remains of a very dead mole, which he spat at her feet, plainly feeling that it must be acceptable to her. “Ugh!” she exclaimed. “What a horrid animal you are! No, I don’t want it!”
“Where did that dog come from?” asked Torquil shrilly.
“I haven’t the least idea. I suspect him of playing truant. He has been trying to induce me to play with him!”
“I hate dogs! I’ll shoot him!” said Torquil.
“Shoot him?” Kate cried. “You will do no such thing!”
“Oh, yes, I will! He’s a savage dog, and a stray!”
“Don’t be so absurd! He’s not at all savage!” said Kate wrathfully. “Why, he—” She stopped, becoming aware suddenly that the dog was growling at Torquil, bristling, and backing away from him.
She moved forward to soothe him just as Torquil fired. The shot missed both her and the dog by several inches, and its only effects were to send the dog off in a panic, and to shock her into frozen immobility. Torquil sent the second charge after the flying animal. It failed to hit its target, but peppered the trunk of the tree. “Hell and damnation!” swore Torquil furiously.
“How dare you?” demanded Kate, recovering her voice. “Do you realize that if you had shot wide to the left instead of to the right you might have killed me?”
“You shouldn’t have moved,” he said sulkily. “I wasn’t trying to shoot you!”
“Oh, I am so much obliged to you!” Kate flashed.
He started to speak, but broke off as his valet came running up, out of breath, but managing to gasp: “No, no, sir! Now, Master Torquil, give over, do! Let me have that gun!”
Torquil spun round, pointing the gun at him, and saying between his teeth: “Oh, no, you don’t, Badger. Keep off!”
Badger halted abruptly. “Now, you know that’s foolishness, Master Torquil!” he said, in fondly chiding accents. “Give it to me, like a good boy! Whatever must Miss be thinking of you? And whatever would her ladyship say, if she got to hear you’d stolen one of Sir Timothy’s guns? Now, you give it to me quiet-like, and I’ll put it back where it belongs, and no more said!”
“Come and take it from me—if you dare!” said Torquil tauntingly.
“Please to go away, miss!” begged Badger, keeping his eyes on the gun. “I won’t be answerable for it if you was to get hurt! Master Torquil, you’re scaring Miss, and that I’ll be bound you don’t want to do!”
“He is not scaring me at all!” declared Kate, in a cold rage.
“He discharged both barrels, and the gun is unloaded!” She walked up to Torquil, and held out her hand. “Give me that gun, if you please. Unless you mean to hit me over the head with it?”
The wicked glitter died out of his eyes, and he began to giggle. “Oh, coz, what a jokesmith you are! Always full of gig! I wouldn’t beat your brains out on any account! You are too pretty!”
She removed the gun from his slackened grip, and handed it to Badger, who received it wordlessly, but with obvious relief. Torquil watched the transfer, and sighed. “I was trying to shoot a dog,” he explained. “I missed him, but not by so very much, Badger! Oh, Kate, dearest Kate, don’t be in a pelter! Don’t go away! I swear to you I didn’t mean to shoot at you!”
“No, I don’t suppose you did,” she replied. “But until you have learnt to mend your temper you need not look to me to advance your cause! I am more likely to advise your mama to sweep the gun room bare! You are not to be trusted with firearms, Torquil!”
She left him glowering, just as Dr Delabole came hurrying up. He looked to be very much alarmed, but when he saw that Badger was in possession of the gun some of the anxiety left his face, and he heaved a sigh of relief. He came from the direction of the house, and met Kate before he was within tongue-shot of Torquil. He stood in her path, making it necessary for her to stop, and asked, in an urgent undervoice: “What has happened, Miss Kate? I heard a couple of shots!”
“Torquil was firing at a dog,” she replied reticently.
“Oh, if that was all!—”
“All?” she repeated, as though she could not believe her ears. “Upon my word, sir, you take it very calmly! For my part, I think it iniquitous! How could he have done such a thing?”
“Yes, yes, it was very bad—iniquitous indeed! But he doesn’t like dogs, you know. In fact he suffers from a positive antipathy!”
“The antipathy was shared by the dog!” snapped Kate.
“Nothing could have been more friendly than the dog’s attitude to me, but he bristled and growled at Torquil! No doubt his instinct warned him to beware!”
“Very true! The instinct that tells dogs that they stand in danger is most remarkable. The thing is that Torquil was once, when he was a child, severely bitten by a dog—a big retriever it was, belonging to Sir Timothy! The experience left an indelible impression on the poor boy’s mind.”
“It doesn’t excuse his conduct in trying to shoot a dog that belongs to someone else!” retorted Kate.
“Of course not! Of course it does not! I daresay he felt that he had a right to shoot a stray dog that was, no doubt, hunting on his land—which, in point of fact, he had, you know. Not that I wish to say it was not very wrong of him! Very wrong indeed! But you must be aware, Miss Kate, how easily he flies up into the boughs! Quite loses control of himself! He suffers from irritation of the nerves, and if he was frightened, you know, his impulse would be to protect himself. I haven’t the least doubt that he fired at the dog without pausing to think!”
“I haven’t any doubt of that either,” said Kate dryly. “He is not fit to be allowed to handle guns, and so I have told him!”
“Indeed no! Most certainly not!” he said. “But pray don’t be afraid, Miss Kate! I can promise you that it won’t happen again!”
She inclined her head, making it plain that she wished to proceed on her way, and he immediately stood aside, bowing very politely, and again reassuring her that she need not be anxious.
She went on towards the house, regaining the avenue, and walking slowly along it. She was not afraid, but she was a good deal disturbed, because it had seemed to her, for a few seconds, that the expression on Torquil’s face had been almost fiendish. She shivered, and was forced to remind herself that as soon as the dog had vanished from sight so too had the fiendish look from Torquil’s face, and so swiftly that she could not be sure that she had not imagined it. He had certainly levelled his gun at Badger, but Kate was much inclined to think that he had done so only to frighten the valet, and would not have fired it even if it had been loaded, which he must have known it was not. Remembering the wary look in Badger’s eyes, and his urgent entreaty to her to go away, it occurred to her that he really was frightened, standing stock-still for fear that Torquil would pull the trigger. But Kate knew that he was devoted to Torquil, and had looked after him almost since he was first breeched, and it seemed incredible to her that he could have supposed himself to be in danger. It was as though Sarah had been terrified of herself when, in one of her childhood’s rages, she ha
d been crossed, and had threatened all sorts of revenges. A smile hovered at the corners of Kate’s mouth as she thought of Sarah’s responses to fits of temper in her nursling. “Throw that inkpot at me, Miss Kate, and you’ll go supperless to bed!” Sarah would have said, wholly unimpressed by defiance.
Badger had said nothing like that. He had tried to coax Torquil, speaking to him in a soothing way, never taking his eyes from the gun. It was possible that he was naturally of a timid and a subservient disposition, but he had never given Kate that impression. It occurred to her, recalling her own experiences in Mrs Astley’s household, that Lady Broome might resent any attempt on Badger’s part to keep Torquil in order. She was herself so strict with Torquil that it seemed unlikely, but Kate knew that four out of five mothers could be counted upon to rush to the support of their children in any struggle with nurses or governesses. Such an attitude might well be part and parcel of Lady Broome’s imperious character: she tolerated no rival authority at Staplewood; and it was probable that Badger dared not offend her for fear of being dismissed from her service.
Kate, giving herself a mental shake, decided that she was growing fanciful, and ought to put the unpleasant episode out of her mind. It refused to be banished, however, and, as she walked, various circumstances to which at the time she had attached no importance, obtruded themselves in her memory. Torquil was never allowed to ride out without his groom; and even when he strolled with her in the grounds either the doctor or Badger seemed always to be within earshot. Another recollection darted into her head: on the night of the storm she had been jerked out of her bed by a cry of terror, and had found that she could not open her door; and on the following morning Badger had worn all the signs of having been embroiled in a fight. Dr Delabole had said that he was inclined to be quarrelsome in his cups, and had broadly hinted that he had come by his injuries in a tavern brawl. But Mr Philip Broome had obviously disbelieved him, saying that he had never seen Badger above his bend. The doctor had parried that thrust, but he had been on the defensive, and had clearly been grateful for Lady Broome’s intervention. Was it possible, Kate wondered, that Torquil, starting up from his nightmare in terror, had fought with Badger? If that were so, he must have been distraught, or still asleep. Kate remembered that the eldest Astley child had suffered from hideous nightmares which had made her quite unmanageable until someone had succeeded in waking her. She had supposed it to be a childish thing, which the little girl would outgrow: certainly the family doctor had said so. But Torquil, with his migraines, and his precarious temper, was just the sort of boy to have nightmares, and to be quite beside himself for several minutes, even to be violent. Mr Philip Broome had said: “He can be violent,” and he had warned her to be careful. That was another of the things to which she had attached no importance, but it was beginning to assume significance. The dreadful suspicion that Torquil was not in his right mind could not but occur to her, and she was obliged to give herself another mental shake, and to tell herself that ungovernable rages were very much more likely to spring from ill-health and injudicious pampering than from a disorder of the brain. She knew an impulse to ask Philip what he had meant by his warning, but instantly repressed it. Her suspicion was altogether too lurid to be discussed, she decided.
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