Cousin Kate

by Georgette Heyer

  ‘Depend upon it, Minerva is well aware of that.’

  ‘Oh, no, no! Why, she told Sarah that she might be sure of a welcome at Staplewood, if she chose to visit me!’

  ‘I can almost hear her saying it. Knowing that there was very little likelihood of Sarah’s undertaking such a journey uninvited, and none at all, if communication between you could be severed!’

  Kate wrung her hands. ‘You mustn’t say such things! I can’t and I won’t believe them! It would be too shocking – too dreadful!’

  ‘Very well, Kate: I won’t say them.’

  ‘But you have said them, and I shan’t be able to forget them, because – because –’

  Her voice failed, and he said: ‘Because you know, in your heart, that they are true?’

  ‘No, no, I don’t know that, but I can’t help wondering if there might be some truth in them! If my aunt didn’t intercept my letters to Sarah, who did ? And – and who but she could have stolen Sarah’s letters to me? Pennymore takes the post-bag to her, and it is she who opens it, and sorts the letters. Only this morning I asked her if there were no letters for me, and she said there were not. Surely, knowing how anxious I was, she would not be so cruel as to lie to me? Every feeling revolts! You, I know, dislike and despise her, but –’

  ‘You’re mistaken!’ he interrupted. ‘I certainly dislike her, but I am far from despising her! She is not only a woman of iron determination, but a very clever woman as well. I am persuaded she would stop at nothing to gain her ends. It will be well for you, my poor child, if you face that disagreeable truth.’

  She made a gesture, imploring him to say no more, and for quite some time he drove on in silence. When he did speak again, it was on an indifferent subject, and in a cheerful tone which did much to restore her composure. She managed to answer him in kind, but she was a prey to agitating reflections, and knew that these would recur. A period of quiet thought, in the solitude of her bedchamber, would be necessary to enable her to consider dispassionately all that he had said, and all that she knew about Lady Broome. Meanwhile, the most sensible thing to do was to put the matter aside for the time being, and to respond to the unexceptional remarks he was making with at least the assumption of calm interest. It was not so very difficult, for he made her laugh when he described Mr Nidd as being as spruce as an onion, and after that she became much more at her ease. ‘If that was so,’ she said sapiently, ‘he must be wearing his bettermost clothes! I’m glad you like him – and you do, don’t you?’

  ‘Oh, to the top of the glass! A capital old gentleman – with salt under his tongue!’

  ‘He has plenty of that!’ admitted Kate. ‘Sometimes he offends people by being so outspoken, and using cant terms, which shock Sarah! She was on tenterhooks, when I stayed with her, in case he should say something improper to me. But he never said anything to make me blush, though I must own that I learned a great many words from him which Sarah says are excessively vulgar! I collect he wasn’t uncivil to you?’

  ‘Not at all. On the other hand, he didn’t truckle to me, and I liked that. I know he regarded me with a critical eye, and I suspect that he thinks me a mere stripling. Promising, but immature!’

  ‘I perceive that he must have been very civil to you!’ said Kate, with a twinkle. ‘You should hear what he says to his grandsons! And he even calls Joe – that’s his only son – a chawbacon! Which,’ she added, after a moment’s consideration, ‘is perfectly true, of course! But so kind, and good !’

  ‘I should dearly love to hear what he calls his grandsons, and look forward to meeting them, and Joe, and Sarah,’ he replied.

  ‘But you aren’t at all likely to, are you?’ Kate pointed out.

  ‘Oh, I wouldn’t say that! It depends on circumstances!’ he responded.

  Twelve

  On arrival at Market Harborough, Mr Philip Broome drove to the Angel, and left Kate in a private parlour there while he went off to the Cock, to fetch Mr Nidd. She would have gone with him, but he told her that Mr Nidd had forbidden him to bring her to what he had described as a mere sluicery. ‘He says it wouldn’t be fitting, and I daresay he’s right – even if he wrongs it in calling it a mere sluicery! As I recall, it is a respectable inn, situated not far from the post-road. However, it doesn’t cater for the gentry, so I think you will be more comfortable here.’

  She agreed to it, and sat down by the window to await his return. Twenty minutes later, she saw him crossing the street, with Mr Nidd trotting along beside him, and realized, with deep appreciation, that Mr Nidd was indeed looking as spruce as an onion, in his Sunday coat and smalls, a natty waistcoat, and a rigidly starched collar, whose points, she guessed, were causing him considerable discomfort. She wished Sarah might have been present to have been gratified by the sight of him, for not all her efforts had hitherto prevailed upon him to wear a collar, except for Church-going, and great occasions. His favourite form of neckwear was a large, spotted silk handkerchief, which he knotted round his throat with great taste and artistry.

  In another few minutes, she was welcoming him with outstretched hands, and exclaiming: ‘Oh, Mr Nidd, how happy it makes me to see you again!’

  Much gratified, he said: ‘That makes a pair of us, miss! And very kind I take it that you should say so! Now, wait a bit while I put me hat down careful somewhere! It’s a new ’un, and I don’t want it spoiled!’

  Philip took it out of his hand, and set it down with meticulous care upon a side-table. Mr Nidd, watching this with a jealous eye, was pleased to approve, and said he was much obliged. He then received Kate’s hands in a reverent clasp, but reproved her for demeaning herself. ‘Because there ain’t no call for you to treat me as if I was a lord, missy, and, what’s more, you didn’t ought to!’

  ‘I’m not acquainted with a lord,’ countered Kate, ‘and I shouldn’t hold out my hands to him if I were! Dear Mr Nidd, if you knew how much I have yearned for news of you all – ! How is Sarah? Could you not have brought her with you?’

  ‘No, and nor I wasn’t wishful to, miss!’ said Mr Nidd, with sudden malevolence. ‘Sarey’s cut her stick!’

  ‘Cut her stick?’ repeated Kate uncomprehendingly.

  ‘Loped off !’ pronounced Mr Nidd, in bitter accents. ‘Ah! For all she cares, I could be living on pig-swill! Which I pretty well was!’ he added, with a darkling look.

  ‘Mr Nidd, she cannot have done so! Do you mean that she has quarrelled with Joe, and left him? Oh, no! Impossible!’

  ‘Properly speaking, it was him as left her,’ replied Mr Nidd, in a reluctantly fair-minded way. ‘Not but what it was only in the way of business, mind! Joe’s gone off with Young Ted to Swansea, with a wagon-load of furniture, which a gentleman as is moving house hired him to convey, being as a friend of his had highly recommended Josiah Nidd & Son, Carriers, to him.’

  ‘What a stroke of good fortune!’ said Kate. ‘Except, of course, that it means, I suppose, that he will be absent for several weeks. But I can’t believe that Sarah wished him to refuse such an advantageous engagement!’

  ‘No,’ admitted Mr Nidd. ‘All Sarey wished was for Joe to drive a harder bargain, which I’m bound to say he did do – though not as hard a one as I’d have driven, mind! So off he went, leaving Sarey to keep house for me and Will, which would have been all right and tight if she’d done it, but she didn’t, Miss Kate! What I say is, she ain’t got no call to go trapesing off to nurse them dratted brats of Polly’s!’

  ‘Oh, dear! Are they ill, then? But you know you shouldn’t call your grandchildren dratted brats, Mr Nidd!’

  ‘Nor I wouldn’t, if it wasn’t true!’ he replied, with spirit. ‘I speaks of people as I find ’em, miss, and why the good Lord see fit to saddle me with a set of grandchildren that ain’t worth two rows of gingerbread I don’t know, and never will! They’ve got the measles, Miss Kate – all six of ’em! And what must Pol
ly do, clumsy fussock that she is, but tumble down the stairs with a tray of chiney, and break four plates, two bowls, and her leg! I got no patience with it!’

  Kate could not help laughing, but she said: ‘What a disaster! No wonder Sarah went to the rescue! And you know very well you wouldn’t have wished her not to have done so! What’s more, you won’t make me believe she didn’t make provision for you and Will!’

  ‘If you call it making provision for me to hire Old Tom’s rib to cook me dinner for me, Miss Kate, all I’ve got to say is that you can’t have eaten anything that rabbit-pole woman ever spoiled! Which, of course, you haven’t. Meself, I’d as lief sit down to a dish of pig-swill!’

  At this point, Mr Philip Broome, who had been silently enjoying Mr Nidd’s embittered discourse, intervened with an offer of refreshment. ‘Forgive me, but before I leave you to be private with Miss Malvern, what would you wish me to order for you, Mr Nidd? Sherry, or beer? I’ve never sampled the sherry here, but I can vouch for the beer!’

  ‘Thanking you kindly, sir, beer’s my tipple. Not that I ain’t partial to a glass of sherry in season,’ he added grandly, if a trifle obscurely.

  Philip lifted an eyebrow at Kate. ‘And you, cousin?’

  ‘I should like some lemonade, if it might be had.’

  He nodded, and left the room. ‘I’ve took a fancy to that young fellow,’ said Mr Nidd decidedly. ‘He ain’t a buck of the first head, nor he ain’t as fine as a star, but to my way of thinking, Miss Kate, he’s true blue! He’ll never stain!’

  To her annoyance, Kate felt herself blushing, and knew that Mr Nidd was watching her closely out of his aged but remarkably sharp eyes. With as much nonchalance as she could assume, she replied: ‘Yes, indeed: Mr Philip Broome is most truly the gentleman! But tell me, Mr Nidd –’

  ‘Now, hold hard, miss!’ begged Mr Nidd. ‘I’m one as likes to have everything made clear, and what I don’t know, and didn’t care to take the liberty of asking him, is what relation he is to the Bart? He ain’t the Bart’s son, that’s sure, because, according to what you wrote to Sarey, the Bart’s son has got an outlandish name, which I don’t hold with. And what’s more, Miss Kate, you said the Bart’s son was the most beautiful young man you’d ever clapped eyes on, and if you was meaning this young fellow, it don’t fit! Not but what he’s as good-looking as any man need to be – ah, and would strip to advantage, too!’

  ‘He is Sir Timothy’s nephew,’ answered Kate briefly. ‘It is my turn to ask questions now, Mr Nidd! Is it true that Sarah has received only one of my letters to her?’

  ‘Gospel true, miss!’ asseverated Mr Nidd. ‘That was the scratch of a note you wrote to her when you first arrived at this Staplewood, and it relieved Sarey’s mind considerable, because you told her how kind your aunt was, and the Bart, and what a beautiful place it was, and how happy you was to be here, which got up her spirits wonderful. Properly hipped she was, after you’d gone off ! She took an unaccountable dislike to her ladyship, but I’m blessed if I know why! Happy as a grig she was when she read your letter, until she got into the dumps again because she never had no answer to the letter she wrote you, nor so much as a line from you from that day to this.’

  ‘Mr Nidd,’ said Kate, in a rigidly controlled voice, ‘I have never had a letter from Sarah. I have written to her repeatedly, begging her to reply, but never has she done so. When Mr Broome told me that you had come to Market Harborough the most terrible apprehension seized me that you had come to tell me Sarah was ill, or – or dead !’

  The effect of this disclosure on the patriarch was profound. After hearing Kate out in great astonishment, he wrapped himself in a cloak of silence, and, when she started to speak again, raised a forbidding hand, and said: ‘I got to think!’

  In the middle of his ruminations, the waiter came in with a tray, which he set down on the table. Having offered Kate, with a low bow, a glass of lemonade, he carried a tankard over to Mr Nidd, and gave it to him with a much lower bow, intended to convey condescension, contempt, and derision. Fully alive to the implications of this covert insolence, Mr Nidd, taking the tankard with a brief thank’ee, recommended him to wipe his nose on a handkerchief instead of on the knees of his smalls, and told him to take himself off. After thus routing the adversary, he refreshed himself with a copious draught from the tankard, wiped his mouth on the back of his hand, and said portentously: ‘It’s a good thing I’ve come, Miss Kate, that’s what it is! Yes, and so Sarey will have to own! If I’ve told her once she ought to come herself to see how you was going on, I’ve told her a dozen times! But would she do it? Oh, no! She took a maggot into her head that you wouldn’t want her to come here, poking her nose in, now that you was living with your grand relations, and nothing me nor Joe said made her think different!’

  ‘Oh, no, no!’ Kate cried distressfully. ‘How could she have thought such a thing of me?’

  ‘It’s no manner of use asking me that, miss, because there’s no saying what notions a nidgetty female will take into her head – even the best of ’em! “Well,” I says to her, “it ain’t like Miss Kate to act bumptious, and more shame to you, Sarey, for thinking it!” Then she started napping her bib, and saying that she didn’t think no such thing, and nobody could wonder at you being so took up with your relations that you was forgetful of your old nurse. “Well,” I says, sharp-like, “I don’t wonder at it, because I ain’t bottleheaded enough to believe it!” Then she sobs fit to bust her laces, and says as how I don’t understand! Which was true enough! “I can’t explain!” she says. “That’s easy seen!” I told her. But argufying with a ticklish female don’t do a bit of good, so I gave over. But the more I thought about it, the more I didn’t like it, nor think it was natural. “Something havey-cavey about this,” I says to myself: so when Sarey took herself off to Polly’s house I bought a new hat, and a shirt with winkers, packed up me traps, and came to Market Harborough, on the stage-coach.’

  ‘But – do you mean that Sarah doesn’t know?’ asked Kate, dismayed. ‘Mr Nidd, you shouldn’t have come here without telling her! Only think how anxious she must be!’

  He looked a little guilty, but replied in a very lofty way that he had left a message with Tom’s wife that if anyone were to enquire for him she was to say that he had gone into the country to visit a friend. ‘Which ain’t gammon,’ he assured Kate, ‘because the buffer at the Cock is an old friend of mine. Regular bosom-birds we was used to be, afore I retired. Many’s the time I’ve fetched up at the Cock with a wagon-load of goods, and greased the tapster’s boy in the fist to make up his bed in the wagon, in case there might happen to be a prig, sneaking on the lurk. So don’t you worry your pretty head about that, Miss Kate! You got troubles of your own!’

  ‘Indeed I haven’t!’ said Kate quickly. ‘My aunt is kindness itself, I assure you!’

  ‘It’s my belief,’ said Mr Nidd, eyeing her narrowly, ‘that you’re being put upon, miss!’

  ‘No, no, I promise you that isn’t true! Aunt Minerva treats me as if I were her daughter – only I hope she would allow a daughter to be more useful to her than I am! Whenever I beg her to give me some task to perform, the best she can think of is to ask me to cut and arrange flowers!’

  Mr Nidd looked to be unconvinced. ‘Well, I got a notion you’re moped, miss!’ he said. ‘I may be wrong, but I disremember when I last had the wrong sow by the ear. I daresay I never did, because I’ve got a deal of rumgumption, and always did have – whatever Sarey may tell you to the contrary!’

  ‘I know you have, Mr Nidd, but if you think I look moped you’ve made a mistake this time! To own the truth, I’m bored! From not having enough to do! And the worst of it is that I can’t persuade my aunt that I am yearning for occupation. You know, I have never been used to lead a life of indolence.’

  ‘No, and nor you ain’t been used to enjoying yourself neither!’ he retorted. ‘Many’s the time S
arey has got to fretting and fuming because you don’t go to balls, and routs, and such-like as a young lady should, and the only thing which plucked her up when you didn’t write was thinking as you was probably too taken up with parties to have a minute to spare! Now, you don’t mean to tell me that you’re bored with parties already, Miss Kate!’

  ‘No, but I haven’t been to many parties, Mr Nidd!’ she replied ruefully.

  ‘You’re bamming me!’ he exclaimed.

  ‘I’m not, I promise you! The thing is, you see, that Sir Timothy’s health does not permit him to go to parties, or – or even to entertain people at Staplewood. My aunt gave a dinner-party for his particular friends, when I first came here, but it wasn’t very amusing. You mustn’t suppose me to be complaining, but when Sarah pictures me in a whirl of gaiety she is fair and far out!’

  ‘You don’t say, miss! Well, I’m bound to say that’s got me properly pitch-kettled, that has! No pleasuring at all? You’d have thought that it wouldn’t disturb the Bart if she was to invite a few young people to supper, and one of them small balls, got up sudden! By what I’m told, the Bart’s got his own rooms, and commonly shuts hisself up in them for the best part of the day, so I don’t see as how a snug party of that nature need worrit him! No, and I don’t see neither why her ladyship don’t make it her business to arrange it! How old is this son of hers?’

  ‘Torquil is nineteen, but he –’

  ‘So that’s what his name is, is it? Unnatural, I call it, and it’s to be hoped he don’t talk ill!’ interrupted Mr Nidd, cackling at his own wit.

  Kate, according it a dutiful smile, said: ‘Unfortunately, Torquil suffers from a – a delicate constitution, and the least excitement brings on one of his terrible headaches. It is an object with my aunt to keep him as quiet as possible.’

  ‘What, him too?’ said Mr Nidd incredulously. ‘Seems to me, miss, that we’d ha’ done as well, me and Sarey, to have sent you to a pest-house! I never did, not in all my puff !’