Cousin Kate

by Джорджетт Хейер

“There’s no need for you to worrit yourself over that, sir. I came to Market Harborough on the night-coach, and hired a chaise to drive me here—and just as well for you I did!” Sarah said severely. “Now, you stay quiet, like a good boy, till the doctor comes!”

  “I don’t want him!” Torquil declared, his smile vanishing. “Prosy bag-pudding!” His eyes travelled to his cousin’s face and gleamed defiance. “This will teach them not to keep the gates shut when I tell them to open them!”

  “Is there any hope that it may teach you not to overface your horses?” asked Philip. He added softly, with a smile that took the sting out of his words: “Top-lofty young cawker!”

  “Oh, damn you, Philip, I’m not!” protested Torquil. “You know I’m not! The clumsy brute must have jumped off his fore! Serve him right if he broke his legs! I hope he did: he’s a commoner! Oh, my God, no!”

  This venomous ejaculation was provoked by the sight of Dr Delabole, descending the wide stairway with unusual haste. The doctor said, with fond joviality, as he crossed the hall: “Ah, there was no need for me to be alarmed, I see! I haven’t been summoned to attend a corpse! My dear boy, how came you to do anything so imprudent? I thought you were sleeping, when I myself retired to seek repose!”

  “Tipped you the double, didn’t I, Matthew?” mocked Torquil unpleasantly.

  “You did indeed!” acknowledged the doctor with unabated amiability. “And very naughty of you it was! However, I shan’t scold you! I fancy you punished yourself!” He was flexing one of Torquil’s legs as he spoke, and said laughingly, as he frustrated an attempt to kick him off his balance: “Well, that’s not broken, at all events! Let me see if you are able to stand on your feet!—Capital! Unless you have fractured a rib or two, which I can’t tell until I have you stripped, there’s nothing amiss with you but a shaking, and a few bruises. I shall ask our good James to carry you up to your room—”

  “The devil fly away with you!” interrupted Torquil, taking instant umbrage. “I’m damned if I’ll be carried! Here, James, give me your arm up the stairs!” His eyes alighted on Kate, who had recovered her composure but was still sitting, rather limply, on a very uncomfortable chair placed with its high carved back against the wall. “Lord, coz, are you here?” he said. “I didn’t see you! You’re looking as blue as megrim! Did you think I was dead? No such thing! I’m as right as ram’s horn!”

  She straightened her sagging shoulders, and got up. “Well, I’m glad of that, even if you don’t deserve to be!” she said.

  At this inopportune moment, a hot and agitated groom burst unceremoniously into the house, pulled up short as soon as he saw Torquil, and uttered devoutly: “Thank Gawd!”

  “Oh, it’s you, is it?” said Torquil, his wrath springing up. He shook James off, and advanced, rather shakily, towards the groom. “You insolent hound, how dared you get in my way?”

  He found his passage barred by his cousin, and glared up at him, his chest heaving. Philip said sternly: “Go upstairs, Torquil! I’ll deal with Scholes.” He paused, watching Torquil’s long fingers curl, like a hawk’s talons, and dropped his hand on the boy’s shoulder, giving him a friendly shake. “Go on, you gudgeon! Making a show of yourself!”

  Torquil’s angry eyes held his for a dangerous moment; then they sank, and he muttered something inaudible, before flinging round on his heel. He staggered, and would have fallen but for Delabole, who caught him as he lurched, and signed to James to carry him up the stairs. Philip turned towards Pennymore, saying calmly: “Well, there doesn’t seem to be much wrong! I fancy the only damage he suffered is to his pride, which is why he’s in such a pelter. You needn’t wait: the doctor will know what to do for him. Or you, William! Scholes, I want a word with you: don’t go!” He held out his hand to Sarah, saying, with a smile: “My uncle having retired to rest, Lady Broome being laid up with influenza, and my young cousin being as graceless as he is foolhardy, it’s left to me to welcome you, Mrs Nidd! Which, believe me, I do! But ought you to have left your excellent father-in-law to the mercies of Old Tom’s Rib?”

  “Oh, I never did!” said Sarah, dropping an instinctive curtsy. “If it isn’t like Father to spread it about that I deserted him! I’ll have you know it was his own daughter I went to, sir, and for all he’s a grumble-gizzard he wouldn’t have had me do other!” She perceived that Philip’s hand was still outstretched, and blushed, saying in a flustered way, as she put her own hand into it: “Well, I’m sure, sir!—”

  I’m glad you’ve come,” he said, “Kate—er, Miss Malvern!—has been longing to see you. What did happen this afternoon?”

  “It’s just as I told you, sir: I was coming out here in a chaise, when all of a sudden the post-boy had to pull up, because there was half a dozen people in the way, including a silly widgeon with a baby, who kept on screaming that the horse had come down on top of her, which, of course, it hadn’t. You don’t have to worry about her, sir, because I gave her a good scold, and told her to be off home. Well, as soon as Mr Torquil came round, I had him lifted into the chaise, for I’ve never had a bit of patience with people who can’t think of anything better to do in a situation like that than to stand about gabbing, and wringing their hands, and I never will have! So then the lodge-keeper opened the gates, and we drove up to the house. That’s when this young fellow’—she nodded at the groom—came galloping up. But there was nothing for him to do for Mr Torquil, so I told him to see what he could do for the horse. It looked to me as if he’d broken one of his forelegs. Had he?”

  Scholes, his stricken gaze imploring Mr Philip Broome’s clemency, said miserably: “It’s true, Mr Philip, but as God’s my judge it ain’t my fault! Nor it ain’t Fleet’s fault neither, though he says if he’d have known what Mr Torquil was going to do he’d have opened the gates, no matter what her ladyship’s orders was! If Whalley had been there, it wouldn’t have happened, but knowing as how Mr Torquil was in bed with a touch of the sun, he’d taken my lady’s mare to the village, to be reshod. There was only me and young Ned in the yard, sir, and I was busy grooming your bays, and never dreamed Mr Torquil had come down to the stables, and had ordered Ned to saddle up for him. And, although I fetched the lad a clout, I don’t see as how you can blame him, for, let alone he’s a gormless chawbacon, you couldn’t hardly expect him to start argufying with Mr Torquil. The first I knew of it was when I see Mr Torquil leading his chestnut out. I ran, quick as I could, but he was in the saddle by the time I got to him, and listen to me he would not. He was in one of his hey-go-mad moods, Mr Philip, and maybe I done wrong to catch hold of his bridle, because it made him fly up into the boughs, the way he does when he’s crossed, and he slashed his whip at me. And then the chestnut reared, and the next thing I knew was that I was on the flat of my back, and Mr Torquil going off at full gallop, and young Ned standing there with his mouth half-cocked, and his eyes fairly popping out of his head. So I rode Sir Timothy’s old grey down the avenue, on his halter—and—and the rest is like this lady says, sir! And what her ladyship will say I dursn’t think on!”

  “She won’t blame you,” Philip said. “What have you done about the chestnut?”

  “I’ve left him with Fleet, but he’ll have to be shot, Mr Philip, no question! Only I dursn’t do it without I’m ordered to!”

  “You may say that I ordered you to shoot the poor brute.”

  “Yes, sir. Thank’ee, sir. But it’ll go to my heart to do it!” said Scholes. “Such a prime bit of blood and bone as he is! What can have come over Mr Torquil to cram him at the wall, like he must have done, I’ll never know!”

  He then withdrew, sadly shaking his head, and Philip, looking at Kate, said grimly: “This, I fancy, is where we kick the beam. It will be all over the county by tomorrow.” He glanced at Mrs Nidd, saying, with a wry smile: “What a moment for your arrival! I feel I ought to beg your pardon!”

  “Well, I hope you won’t, sir. It’s for me to beg yours, if my lady is laid up, which I didn’t know, or I wouldn’t have com
e—not until she was in better cue, that is!”

  “But I told you, Sarah, in the letter which I gave to you, Phil—Cousin Philip!—asking you to make sure it was taken to the Post Office!” Kate exclaimed.

  He regarded her in some amusement. “Yes, but, although the posts are much improved, I hardly think Mrs Nidd could have received a letter sent off yesterday in time to have caught the night-coach to Market Harborough!”

  “Good God, was it only two days ago that I wrote it?” said Kate, pressing her hands to her temples. “It seems an age!”

  “The only letter I’ve had from you, Miss Kate, barring the first one you wrote, was the scratch of a note Mr Nidd brought me,” said Sarah. “And, to give credit where it’s due, he brought it to Polly’s house as soon as he got off the coach! What’s more, I didn’t hear a word out of him about being fed on pig swill. Pig swill indeed! I don’t say Tom’s wife has got my hand with pastry, but I hope you know me better, Miss Kate, than to suppose I’d leave Father to someone who doesn’t dress meat any better than—than—”

  “Than I do!” supplied Kate, with the glimmer of a smile. “But if you haven’t read the letter I wrote two days ago, you can’t know that—that I have become engaged to Mr Philip Broome!”

  “I’ve got eyes in my head!” retorted Mrs Nidd, with asperity. “Not but what it was Father nudged me on! You may say what you like, Miss Kate, but Father’s got a deal of rumgumption—for all the twittiness!”

  “But I never said that he hadn’t! I have the greatest respect for Mr Nidd!” said Kate demurely.

  “So have I,” said Mr Philip Broome. “I thought him a truly estimable old gentleman! What did he tell you, Mrs Nidd?”

  “Well, sir, if you’ll pardon the expression, he said the pair of you was smelling of April and May!” replied Sarah apologetically. “He took a great fancy to you, sir—which is a thing he don’t often do!—and I’d like to wish you both very happy, for I can see you’re just the man for Miss Kate! Which I never thought to see, and which makes me as happy as a grig!”

  In proof of this statement, she dissolved into tears; but soon recovered, and went upstairs with Kate to make the acquaintance of Mrs Thorne. On the way, Kate hurriedly put her in possession of such facts as it was desirable she should know, to all of which Sarah responded calmly that there was no need for her to trouble herself.

  So, indeed, it proved. After a ceremonious beginning, which made Kate quake, perceptible signs of thaw set in: a circumstance attributable on the one hand to Mrs Thorne’s warm praise of Miss Kate; and on the other to the keen, if spurious, interest Mrs Nidd showed in the delicacy of Mrs Thorne’s constitution. When Kate wondered (audibly) whether, perhaps, she ought to inform Sidlaw of Mrs Nidd’s arrival, Mrs Thorne not only said that Miss Sidlaw (for all the airs she gave herself) had nothing to do with any of the household arrangements, but offered to have the bed made up in the small room, adjoining Kate’s. She then made Sarah free of her little parlour, and said that it would be quite like old times to entertain a visitor to dinner in the Room. “Before Sir Timothy took ill,” she said impressively, “there was often above twenty visiting dressers and valets to be catered for. Oh, dear me, yes! But her ladyship has given up entertaining, so you’ll find us a small company, ma’am. There’s only me, and Mr Pennymore, and Tenby. And Miss Sidlaw, of course. But Miss Sidlaw and me are not speaking.”

  After this awful pronouncement, she led the way to the little room beside Kate’s, and said she would have Mrs Nidd’s baggage sent up immediately. Then she withdrew, whereupon Kate hugged Sarah convulsively, saying: “Oh, Sarah, I’m so glad you’ve come! You don’t know how glad I am!”

  “Well, if I don’t it’s no fault of yours, dearie!” said Sarah, patting her soothingly. “The idea of you coming hurtling down the stairs, screeching “Sarah!” like a regular romp! Whatever must they all have thought of you? A pretty way to behave, Miss Kate! As though I’d never taught you better! Now, just you give over, and tell Sarah what’s the matter!”

  Thus adjured, Kate gave a shaky laugh, and took her to her own room, where they would be safe from interruption until Ellen came up to dress her for dinner. “Which won’t be nearly long enough for me to tell you the things I tried to write, in the letter Mr Philip Broome dispatched for me, and found I couldn’t. Sarah, my aunt intercepted my letters to you!”

  “Yes,” said Mrs Nidd grimly. “So Father told me! That’s why I came! That, and him saying that things didn’t smell right to him. But what I don’t know is why she should have done so, and Father, for all he thinks himself so long-headed, don’t know either! So what with that, and me being uneasy in my mind ever since her ladyship took you away, Miss Kate, I thought that the sooner I came to see for myself the better!”

  “I think it was to make a breach between us. I haven’t asked her: after what passed between us today, it isn’t—it doesn’t seem to me to be important any longer. She—she brought me here to—to marry me to my cousin Torquil, Sarah!”

  “Well,” said Sarah, “I won’t deny that when you wrote that he was the most beautiful young man you’d ever seen I did hope you and he would make a match of it, but now that I’ve seen him I do hope you won’t marry him, love—which it stands to reason you can’t, being as how you’ve accepted Mr Philip Broome’s offer—for a more whisky-frisky, nasty-tempered young gentleman I trust I’ll never meet!”

  “Oh, Sarah!” Kate whispered, covering her face with her hands. “It’s worse than that! Far, far worse! He—he ain’t in his right mind! And my aunt knows it—has known it for years! She told me so today: that’s why I put you to the blush when I hurtled down the stairs! I was feeling quite overpowered—my mind wholly overset! Philip told me, but I didn’t believe him—I couldn’t believe it possible that my aunt knew! But she did—she did! And the only thing she cares for is that he shall provide Staplewood with an heir! Before he has to be confined! She doesn’t care for poor Torquil—only for Staplewood! Sarah, she is a terrible woman, and I must get away from her! I must!”

  “And so you shall, Miss Kate, never fear! It sounds to me as if she’s as queer in her attic as that son of hers is. Well, I didn’t like her, though I’d have been hard put to it to say why, for I’m sure she was very agreeable and condescending. And when I think that it was me writing to her which brought her down on you—which, mind you, I never would have done if Father hadn’t nudged me on!—I’m that sorry and mortified, love, that I don’t know how to ask you to forgive me!”

  Kate raised her face, mistily smiling. “There’s nothing to forgive. If you hadn’t written to her, I might never have met Philip, and that would have been more dreadful than all the rest!” She heard the stable-clock striking the hour, and exclaimed: “Good God, it’s five o’clock already! We dine at six, and I must speak to Philip before we’re beset by Delabole! To tell him—ask him—You see, he doesn’t know that I’ve changed my mind—wish to leave Staplewood tomorrow! He has been urging me to let him take me to you at once, but I wouldn’t go while my aunt was unwell, and I thought I could be useful to her! For she has been very kind to me, Sarah! Whatever her motive was, I can’t forget that! But she won’t wish me to remain another day under this roof when she knows that Philip has made me an offer, and I’ve accepted it, and I can’t and I won’t go on deceiving her!”

  “Well, if ever I saw you in such a fuss!” ejaculated Sarah. “Give over, Miss Kate, do! She can’t eat you! Not while I’m here she can’t! And from what I’ve seen of him I shouldn’t wonder at it if Mr Philip was very well able to protect you!”

  “She hates him,” Kate said, pulling one of her evening-dresses out of the wardrobe, and casting it on to the bed. “She will think me a traitress, and when I remember all the things she has given me—all her kindness!— feel like one! Sarah, I dread telling her!”

  “Now, that’s not like you, Miss Kate!” responded Sarah. “No, and it isn’t like you to put off doing what’s unpleasant! You may depend upon it, dearie, that th
e longer you do that the worse it will be. Besides, it’s not right you should be getting yourself engaged in a havey-cavey way! You should have told her ladyship straight-off!”

  “I couldn’t tell her!” Kate said hotly. “She was in a high fever! I wasn’t even permitted to enter her room until today, and I promised Sir Timothy I wouldn’t break it to her until she was well!”

  “Oh, so he knows, does he?” said Sarah, pushing her round so that she could unbutton her poplin dress. “Stand still, for goodness sake! How am I to undo your dress if you keep twisting and turning? By what Father heard in Market Harborough, it seems he’s not in very good point?”

  “No, indeed he’s not! And that’s another thing that makes me think I ought not to have accepted Philip’s offer! He’s so very much attached to him, and I have the greatest fear that if I marry Philip my aunt won’t permit him to come to Staplewood again. And that would break poor Sir Timothy’s heart, I think.”

  “You’ll just have to decide whether to break his heart, or Mr Philip’s, won’t you?” said Sarah.

  This eminently practical point of view struck Kate forcibly. She said quickly: “Oh, there can be no question!”

  She would have said more, but was interrupted by the arrival of Ellen, almost bursting with curiosity. When Kate made her known to Sarah, she dropped a curtsy, slopping some of the hot water in the can she was carrying. “Oh, yes, miss, Mrs Thorne told me! And, if you please, ma’am, Mrs Thorne said to tell you that your bedchamber is quite ready, and your bag carried up, and all. And Miss Sidlaw says as how you’re to go to her ladyship’s room, please, ma’am!”

  Taking the can away from her, Sarah admonished her, though kindly, not to be so clumsy. “And that wasn’t the message you were given, was it?” she said. “I’ll be bound her ladyship never said anything so rough!”

  “No, ma’am! I mean, it was Miss Sidlaw! Ever so cross she is! Betty says it’s because Mrs Thorne didn’t tell her you was come, ma’am, nor ask my lady’s leave to make up the bed in the next room, nor anything!”