Cousin Kate

by Georgette Heyer

  ‘Not more than two,’ answered Sarah decidedly. ‘That’s supposing there’s an under-butler, which it’s likely there will be. The housekeeper, her ladyship’s dresser, the stillroom-maid, and four or five housemaids: that’s all that need concern you, miss, for it’s not to be expected that you’ll have much to do with the gardeners, nor the grooms. When are you to go?’

  ‘Tomorrow! At least, I am to join my aunt at the Clarendon tomorrow.’ She put up her chin, allowed her eyelids to droop, and said languidly: ‘I shall be spending the night at the Clarendon, Sarah: be good enough to pack my trunk!’

  ‘You may be sure I will!’ replied Sarah grimly.

  ‘You will not!’ cried Kate, abandoning her haughty pose.

  ‘Indeed and I shall! Now, give over, Miss Kate! Who packed your trunk when you went to the Astleys, pray? I must get up your best muslin, too – which reminds me that you need to put fresh ribbons on it!’ She bustled across the room to the dresser, and took her purse out of one of its drawers. ‘Take this, love, and go and buy yourself some! Dinner won’t be ready for above an hour yet, so you’ve plenty of time.’

  Kate put her hands behind her back, vigorously shaking her head. ‘I’ll go, but I won’t take your purse. I have a great deal of money in my own – so much, in fact, that I shan’t grudge the expense of a hack to Bedford House!’

  ‘Did her ladyship give it to you?’ demanded Sarah.

  ‘No, I saved it!’ said Kate, laughing, and backing to the door. ‘No, Sarah, no! I’ve had too much from you already. Keep some dinner for me, won’t you?’

  She vanished through the doorway, and was not seen again until nearly five o’clock, when a hack deposited her in the yard, laden with packages.

  ‘Well!’ said Sarah. ‘A fine time to come home to dinner this is, miss! And what may you have been wasting your money on, if you please?’

  ‘I haven’t wasted it – at least, I do hope I have not!’ replied Kate, spilling her parcels on to the kitchen-table. ‘That one is for you, and this is a pipe for Joe, and – oh, goodness, where is the snuff-box I bought for Mr Nidd? It isn’t that, or that – oh, I put it in my ridicule, to be safe! Tell me, Sarah, do you think Jos will like – Why, Sarah – !’

  ‘I can’t help it,’ sobbed Sarah, from behind her apron. ‘To think of you flinging your money away, and you with so little! Oh, you naughty girl, how could you? Didn’t you buy nothing for yourself ? Oh, I can’t bear it!’

  ‘But of course I did! Ribbon trimmings, just as you bade me, and – oh, all manner of things, to furbish me up a trifle!’ said Kate merrily. ‘Sarah, do, pray, stop napping your bib!’

  This had the desired effect. Sarah dropped her apron, ejaculating: ‘Miss Kate! How dare you? Where did you learn that nasty, vulgar expression? Not that I need to ask you! From Father, I’ll be bound!’

  ‘Not a bit of it! From Tom!’

  ‘Oh, you did, did you? And how many times have I told you not to go near the stables, miss? Yes, and I’ll tell you something else, which is that if you talk like that at Staplewood you’ll be back here in the twinkling of a bedpost!’

  ‘Yes, Sarah!’ said Kate meekly. She tore the wrapping from the largest of her parcels, shook out the Paisley shawl it contained, and swept it round her nurse. ‘There! Please say you like it!’ she coaxed, kissing Sarah’s cheek. ‘It comes to you with my love, dearest.’

  Mr Nidd, entering the kitchen some minutes later, was revolted to find his daughter-in-law peacocking about (as he phrased it) in a handsome shawl, and instantly demanded to be told what she thought she was a-doing of, dressed-up like Christmas beef.

  ‘Oh, Father, Miss Kate has given it to me!’ said Sarah, dissolving again into tears. ‘The very thing I always wanted!’

  ‘Ho!’ said Mr Nidd. ‘I might ha’ known it! Flashing the rags all over! Soon as I see her trapesing off, I says to myself: Wasting the ready! that’s what she’s a-going to do!’

  ‘Did you indeed?’ said Kate. ‘Well, in that case I won’t give you your snuff-box, Mr Nidd!’

  ‘You’ve never gone and bought me a snuff-box, miss?’ he said incredulously. ‘You’re gammoning me!’

  ‘See if I am!’ challenged Kate, holding the box out to him.

  ‘Well, dang me!’ said Mr Nidd, accepting it in one gnarled hand, and subjecting it to a close inspection. ‘Silver!’ he pronounced, much gratified. ‘Well, I’m sure I thank you very kindly, miss – very kindly indeed I thank you! Ah, and whenever I helps meself to a pinch of merry-go-up out of this here box I shall think of you, and I can’t say no fairer than that!’

  Even Sarah felt that he had expressed his gratitude with rare grace. He then, and with great care, transferred the contents of his horn box into the new silver one, handing the old box to Sarah, with instructions to throw it away, since he had no further use for it. After that, he sallied forth, bound for his favourite hostelry, where, no one could doubt, he had every intention of offering his cronies pinches from his box. The discovery, later, that Kate had bestowed a handkerchief on his youngest grandson only abated his satisfaction for as long as it took him to assess the respective values of a silver snuff-box and what he designated a Bird’s Eye Wipe.

  Three

  By five o’clock two days later, the chaise that bore Lady Broome, her niece, and her abigail, was nearing its destination, and her ladyship woke up. Miss Malvern, bright-eyed and alert, had not slept, but had divided her time between reverently stroking the sleek ermine muff which Lady Broome had bestowed upon her, squinting down to admire the matching stole about her shoulders, observing with interest the country through which four fast horses were carrying her, and speculating on the sudden change in her fortunes.

  From the moment of her arrival at the Clarendon Hotel, she felt that she had been pitchforked into another, and more affluent, world. Received with great civility, she was led upstairs to my lady’s apartments, a large suite of rooms looking on to Albemarle Street, and welcomed affectionately by my lady, who kissed her, held her at arms’ length, and exclaimed ruefully: ‘How very pretty you are! And what charming taste you have! I don’t wonder at it that that horrid young man made up to you! Ah, Sidlaw, here she is – my little half-niece! My love, this is Sidlaw, my dresser, and once, like your Sarah, my nurse!’

  Not for nothing had Miss Malvern spent six months in a gentleman’s establishment: Miss Sidlaw’s mien might be forbidding, and her curtsy majestic, but Miss Malvern knew better than to offer her hand. She smiled, and acknowledged the curtsy with a gracious inclination of her head, well aware that by this manner of receiving an introduction she had risen from the status of Poor Relation to that of a Lady of the First Stare.

  Dinner was served in my lady’s private parlour: not a large dinner, but one of great elegance, beginning with a soup, going on with lobster, dressed in a sauce known only to Jacquard, reaching its climax in a capilotade of ducklings, and ending with a dish of peu d’amours. Miss Malvern, abandoning herself to the flesh-pots, enjoyed every mouthful.

  While she ate, she lent an attentive ear to my lady’s discourse, which was devoted to the glory of Staplewood and the Broomes. She learned that a Broome had been one of King James the First’s braw new knights; and that ever since that day son had succeeded father in an unbroken line; she learned that while none had achieved fame, many had been distinguished; and she learned that each one had made it his business to enlarge, or to embellish, the original manor. Lady Broome promised to show her the sketches and plans of the house over more than two hundred years, adding: ‘My part – or, rather, Sir Timothy’s – has been to improve the gardens, and to build a belvedere, commanding a view of the lake.’

  There was an appreciative twinkle in Kate’s eye, but her aunt was choosing a peu d’amour, and she did not see it. It seemed to Kate that although Lady Broome might have outgrown a girlish desire to marry a Duke she still
had her fair share of ambition. It was directed into worthier channels; her enthusiasm for the Broome family was certainly not assumed; and when she spoke of Staplewood it was with reverence, and a great deal of knowledge.

  She sent Kate early to bed, warning her that she must be ready to start on the long journey at five in the morning. ‘You won’t object to travelling all day, I hope? I don’t care to be away from Sir Timothy for more than three nights – and I never sleep well in posting-houses.’

  ‘Of course I don’t object, ma’am!’ instantly responded Kate. ‘I have frequently travelled all day, in the Peninsula, and over shocking roads! In antiquated carriages, too, when I have had no horse to ride.’

  ‘Ah, I was forgetting! I am afraid parts of the road are very bad, but my chaise is particularly well-sprung, and I employ my own postilions. A sad extravagance, when I go about so little nowadays! But when one is obliged to travel without male escort trustworthy boys are a necessity. Now I am going to take you to your bedchamber, just to be sure that you have everything you want for the night.’

  She cast a keen, critical glance round this apartment, but Kate’s gaze fell on the ermine stole and muff laid out on the bed, and remained riveted. ‘But – those aren’t mine, ma’am!’

  ‘What are not yours? Oh, the furs! Indeed they are! The first present I have ever given my niece: do you like them?’

  ‘Oh, yes, yes, but – Aunt Minerva, I do thank you, but you mustn’t crush me with benevolence!’

  Lady Broome laughed. ‘Mustn’t I? Foolish child, do you mean to throw them back at me?’

  ‘No, I’m not so rag-mannered, and I like them too much!’ said Kate naïvely, lifting the muff to her cheek. ‘Oh, how soft! How rich !’

  She might have said the same about the chaise which bore her so swiftly north next morning, and did indeed say that so much unaccustomed luxury was putting quite unsuitable notions into her head. Lady Broome, with a significant glance at the back of Sidlaw’s bonnet, smiled, but requested her not to talk nonsense. Sidlaw, occupying the unenviable forward seat, smiled too, but sourly. However, when my lady had fallen asleep, which she very soon did, and she heard herself addressed in a cautious undervoice, she unbent a little. ‘Tell me about Staplewood!’ begged Kate. ‘You must know that I have spent almost all my life in the Peninsula, under the roughest conditions, and have never stayed in an English country house, or had a proper come-out, or – or anything! How shall I do?’

  ‘You will do very well, miss – being as her ladyship has taken a fancy to you.’

  ‘I hope I may be worthy of her regard!’

  ‘Yes, miss. My lady has had many crosses to bear.’

  ‘Does that signify that you hope I may not become another cross?’

  After a moment’s hesitation, Sidlaw replied, picking her words: ‘Oh, no, miss! Merely that you might disappoint her – but that I’m sure you won’t do.’

  ‘I trust I shall not!’

  ‘No, miss. My lady is kindness itself – to those she likes.’

  The inference was plain. Kate sat pondering it, a slight furrow between her brows. Instinct forbade her to enquire more closely, but the silence was broken by Sidlaw, who said: ‘I believe, miss – but I am not positive! – that my lady hopes you may provide Mr Torquil with the youthful companionship which he has missed, through no fault of his own.’

  The slowing down of the chaise as it approached the lodge-gates woke Lady Broome. She opened sleepy eyes, blinked them, and became aware of her surroundings. She sat up, gave her shoulders a little shake, and said: ‘So we arrive! My love, I do beg your pardon! So impolite of me to fall asleep! Ah, Fleet! You see me home again before you expected to! And is all well here? Very well? You relieve my mind! Go on, James!’ She turned her head, and smiled at her niece. ‘This is Staplewood,’ she said simply.

  The chaise bowled at a slackened pace through the park, allowing Kate plenty of time to see, and to admire. It had been a fine day, and the sun was setting redly. Kate’s first view of the great house drew a gasp from her, not of admiration but of dismay, since it seemed to her for a moment, staring at the huge façade, whose numberless windows gave back the sun’s dying rays in every colour of the spectrum, that the building was on fire. Shaken, but realizing that her aunt had not correctly interpreted her gasp, she murmured appreciation.

  ‘Yes,’ said Lady Broome, in a purring voice that reminded Kate irresistibly of a large, sleek cat. ‘It is beautiful, isn’t it?’

  She put aside the rug that covered her legs as she spoke, and prepared to alight from the chaise. A footman, hurrying out of the house, let down the steps, and offered his arm, and an elderly man, whose habit proclaimed his calling, bowed to her, and said: ‘Welcome home, my lady!’

  ‘Thank you, Pennymore. Kate, dear child, you must let me make Pennymore known to you! Our good butler, who knew Staplewood before ever I did. How is Sir Timothy, Pennymore?’

  ‘Quite well, my lady, and will be glad to see you home again. Mr Torquil too – as Dr Delabole will doubtless inform your ladyship.’

  She nodded, and led Kate into the house, saying: ‘You will think it difficult at first, I daresay, to find your way about, but you will soon grow accustomed. We are now in the Great Hall, and that is the Grand Stairway.’

  ‘I can see that it is, ma’am,’ responded Kate. ‘Very grand!’ She heard the sharp intake of breath behind her, and shot a mischievous look over her shoulder. The next instant, however, she had schooled her features into an expression of rapt interest, and was able to meet her aunt’s eyes limpidly enough to allay suspicion.

  Before Lady Broome could conduct her up the Grand Stairway to her bedchamber, a tall, Gothic door at one side of the Great Hall was opened, and an old gentleman came into the hall. His hair was white, his frame emaciated, and his skin the colour of parchment. His eyes struck Kate as the weariest she had ever seen; and when he smiled it was with an effort. He said, in a gentle voice: ‘So you have brought her to Staplewood, Minerva? How do you do, my dear? I hope you will be happy with us.’

  Taking the fragile hand he held out to her in her own warm clasp, she answered, smiling at him: ‘Yes, sir, I hope so too. It won’t be my fault if I am not.’

  ‘Well, as it certainly won’t be mine, you will be happy!’ said Lady Broome quizzically. ‘Sir Timothy, I must take her up to her bedchamber! You, I see, have changed your dress, but we, I must inform you, are sadly travel-stained, and it wants but half an hour to dinner! Come, my love!’

  Kate, meekly mounting the Grand Stairway in her aunt’s wake, paused on the half-landing to look back. Below her lay the Great Hall, stone-paved, and hung with tapestries. A log-fire smouldered in the wide stone hearth, which was flanked by armoured figures, and surmounted by an arrangement of ancient weapons. A highly polished refectory-table supported a pewter dish; an oak coffer with brass hinges and locks, burnished till they shone, stood against one wall; an oak armoire against another; several high-backed chairs, also of oak, completed the furniture; the tall windows were hung with faded tapestry; and the Grand Stairway was of black oak, uncarpeted. Kate, critically surveying the scene below her, found that her aunt was watching her, the corners of her mouth lilting upward.

  ‘Well?’ said Lady Broome. ‘What do you think of it?’

  ‘It isn’t very gay, is it?’ replied Kate honestly. ‘Or even very cosy! No, I don’t mean cosy, precisely – homelike!’

  A chuckle from Sir Timothy brought her eyes to his face, a most mischievous twinkle in them. Lady Broome’s triumphant smile vanished; she put up her brows, saying: ‘Cosy? Homelike? Not, perhaps, to our modern notions, but the Elizabethans would have found it so, I assure you.’

  ‘Ah, no, my love!’ gently interpolated Sir Timothy. ‘The Elizabethans, whose taste was not to be compared with yours, would have covered the beams with paint, you know. My father had it str
ipped off when I was a boy.’ He added, dispassionately considering the tapestries: ‘And the hangings must have been very bright before the colours faded, and the gold threads became tarnished. Eheu fugaces!’

  ‘My dear Sir Timothy, how absurd you are!’ said Lady Broome, with an indulgent laugh. ‘Don’t heed him, Kate! He delights in bantering me, because I care more for these things than he does.’

  She swept on up the stairs, and across the hall to a broad gallery, down which she led Kate. Opening one of the doors which gave access to it, she said archly, over her shoulder: ‘Now, pray don’t tell me that you think this room unhomelike! I have taken such pains to make it pretty for you!’

  ‘No, indeed!’ exclaimed Kate, turning pink with pleasure. ‘I never saw a prettier room, ma’am! Thank you! A fire, too! Well, if this is the way you mean to use me you will never be rid of me! What can I do to repay so much kindness? I hope you will tell me!’

  ‘Oh, you will find a great deal to do! But I don’t wish to be rid of you. Good-evening, Ellen! This is Miss Kate, whom you are to wait upon. What have you put out for her to wear this evening?’

  The young housemaid rose from her knees by Kate’s trunk, and bobbed a curtsy. ‘If you please, my lady, the white muslin, trimmed with a double pleating of blue ribbon,’ she said nervously. ‘Being as it came first to hand!’

  ‘Well, show it to me!’ commanded Lady Broome, with a touch of impatience. She nodded at Kate. ‘A country girl! I hope you won’t find her very stupid and clumsy.’ She surveyed the dress Ellen was holding up. ‘Yes, that will do very well. Put it down, and go and desire Sidlaw to give you the package I gave into her charge!’

  ‘Yes, my lady!’ said Ellen, curtsying herself out of the room.

  ‘It is almost impossible to get London servants to come into the country,’ remarked Lady Broome. ‘When we gave up the London house I did make the experiment, but it didn’t answer. They were for ever complaining that it was lonely, or that they dared not walk through the park after dark! Such nonsense! By the by, I do hope you are not nervous, my dear?’