‘Well, sir, I don’t know about owning it!’ replied Philip. ‘Never supposed that you had!’
‘Then the next time you invite me to drive out with you, let it be in your curricle! I’m told you have a sweet-stepping pair of bays, and I should like to try their paces!’
‘Willingly, sir. Do you mean to take the shine out of me?’
‘Ah, who knows? I could have done so in my day, but I fear that’s long past. As one grows older, one begins to lose the precision of eye which all first-rate fiddlers have.’ He turned to Kate, saying fondly: ‘And how have you passed the day, my pretty? Pleasantly, I trust? I hear your old nurse has come to visit you: that must have been an agreeable surprise, I daresay. I shall hope to make her acquaintance. Does she mean to make a long stay?’
‘No, sir: she is married, you know, and cannot do so,’ Kate said. She hesitated, and then said, raising her eyes to his: ‘She is going to take me back to London – tomorrow, I hope.’
It cost her a pang to see the cheerfulness fade from his face. He seemed to age under her eyes, but, after a moment, he smiled, though mournfully, and said: ‘I see. I shan’t seek to dissuade you my dear, but I shall miss you more than I can say.’
She put out her hand, in one of her impulsive gestures, and laid it over one of his thin, fragile ones, clasping it warmly, and saying in an unsteady voice: ‘And I shall miss you, sir – much more than I can say! If I don’t see you again – thank you a thousand, thousand times for your kindness to me! I shall never forget it – or that you bestowed your blessing on me.’
Philip’s voice cut in on this, sharpened by surprise. ‘What’s this, Kate? Tomorrow?’
He had walked over to the window, and was standing with one of the decanters in his hand. She turned her head, encountered his searching look, but said only: ‘If it might be contrived! I think – I think it would be best. Sarah can escort me, you see, so I need not be a charge on you!’
‘A charge on me? Moonshine! You may rest assured I shall go with you!’
He would have said more, but was interrupted by the entrance of Dr Delabole, who came in, exuding an odd mixture of goodfellowship and dismay, and shook a finger at Sir Timothy, saying: ‘Now, you deserve that I should give you a scold, sir, for driving out with Mr Philip without a word to me! In the tilbury, too! Most imprudent of you – but I can see that you are none the worse for it, so I won’t scold you!’
‘On the contrary, I am very much better for it,’ replied Sir Timothy, with his faint, aloof smile. ‘Thank you, Philip, yes! A glass of sherry!’
‘Nevertheless,’ said the doctor, ‘you must allow me to count your pulse, Sir Timothy! That I must insist on! Just to reassure myself !’
It seemed for a moment as though Sir Timothy was on the point of repulsing him, but as Kate rose to make way for Delabole, he said, in a bored voice: ‘Certainly – if it affords you amusement!’
Kate, as Delabole bent over Sir Timothy, seized the opportunity to cross the room to Philip’s side, and to whisper: ‘I must speak to you! But how? where? Can you arrange for me to leave tomorrow?’
‘Yes, I’ll drive to Market Harborough, and hire a chaise in the morning. It can hardly be here before noon, however, which means you must spend a night somewhere along the road – Woburn, probably. What has happened? Have you seen Minerva?’
She nodded, unable to repress a shudder. ‘Yes. I can’t tell you now!’
‘Did you tell her ?’
‘Not yet. I could not, Philip! Oh, when can I speak to you alone?’
‘Come down early to breakfast, and walk out to take the air: I shall be on the terrace. Minerva will see to it that we get no opportunity to be private this evening – did you know that she is joining us?’ He glanced over her shoulder, towards the archway which led to the anteroom, and said, under his breath: ‘Take care! Here she is! Carry this to my uncle!’ As she took the glass from him, he added, in quite another voice: ‘Sherry for you, doctor? Cousin Kate, I am going to pour you out a glass of Madeira! – Good-evening, Minerva! I am happy to see you restored to health! What may I offer you? Sherry, or Madeira?’
‘A little Madeira, thank you, Philip. Sir Timothy!’
He rose, and came forward to meet her, punctiliously kissing first her outstretched hand, and then her cheek. ‘Welcome, my dear!’ he said. ‘I hope you are feeling more the thing? You have been in a very poor way, have you not? Such a fright as you gave us all! Pray don’t do it again!’
‘You may be sure I shall try not to do so!’ she returned, moving to a chair, and sinking down upon it.
‘I wonder if a doctor ever had two such obstreperous patients!’ said Delabole, solicitously placing a stool before her. ‘First there is Sir Timothy, playing truant when my back was turned, and now it is you, my lady, leaving your bedchamber in defiance of my orders! I don’t know what is to be done with you, upon my word, I don’t! And you did not even summon me to lend you the support of my arm! Now, how am I to take that?’
Lady Broome, receiving a glass of Madeira from Kate, and bestowing a smile upon her, replied: ‘Not amiss, I trust. Mrs Nidd most kindly lent me the support of her arm – my niece’s nurse, you know, who has come to visit her: a most respectable woman! Kate, dear child, I do hope my people have made her comfortable?’
‘Perfectly comfortable, ma’am, thank you,’ Kate said, in a colourless tone.
‘Ah, good! I told her Thorne would look after her. What a fortunate thing it was that she arrived in time to bring Torquil up to the house in her chaise! She has a great deal of commonsense, and I am vastly indebted to her, as, you may be sure, I told her.’
‘Bring Torquil up to the house? Why should she have done so?’ asked Sir Timothy, his voice sharpened by anxiety.
‘Oh, he took a toss, and was momentarily stunned!’ she answered with an indulgent laugh. ‘Overfacing his horse, of course! So stupid of him! Fleet – you know what these people are, my love! – believed him to be dead, but, in point of fact, he is very little the worse for his tumble!’
‘Not a penny the worse!’ corroborated the doctor. ‘Merely bruised, shaken, chastened, and reeking of arnica! So he is dining in his own room this evening – feeling thoroughly shamefaced, I daresay! But no case for anxiety, Sir Timothy! It may be regarded in the light of a salutary lesson!’
‘We must hope so!’ said Lady Broome, getting up. ‘Shall we go down to dinner now? Dr Delabole, will you give me your arm? Philip, you may give yours to your uncle! Which leaves poor Kate without a gentleman to escort her, but she is so much a part of the family that I shan’t apologize to her!’
Dinner pursued what Kate had long since come to regard as its tedious course. Lady Broome maintained a light flow of everyday chit-chat, in which she was ably seconded by the doctor. She was looking a trifle haggard, but she held herself as upright as ever, and when she rose from the table she declined the doctor’s offered assistance.
‘Let James give you his arm, my lady!’ said Sir Timothy, seeing her stagger, and put out a hand to grasp a chair-back.
She gave a breathless laugh. ‘Very well – if you insist! How stupid to be so invalidish! It is only my knees, you know! They need exercise!’
But when she reached the head of the Grand Stairway she looked so pale that Kate was alarmed, and begged her to retire to bed. She refused to do this, but after pausing for a few moments, leaning heavily on the footman’s arm, she recovered, and resolutely straightened herself, desiring Kate to summon Sidlaw, and to tell her to bring the cordial Dr Delabole had prescribed to the Long Drawing-room.
It took time to perform this errand, for Sidlaw was not immediately available. A young housemaid came in answer to the bell, and told Kate that Sidlaw was at supper, in the Housekeeper’s Room; and, although she made haste to deliver my lady’s command to her, the servants’ quarters were so inconveniently r
emote that it was several minutes before Sidlaw came hurrying in. Upon being told that my lady wanted a cordial, she said that she knew how it would be, and had warned her ladyship what would be the outcome of going down to dinner before she was fit to stand on her feet. When she had measured out a dose of the restorative medicine, and Kate would have taken it from her, she said sharply: ‘Thank, you, miss! I prefer to take it to her ladyship myself !’ and sailed off, full of zeal and fury.
Not at all sorry that, for the moment at least, she would be spared a tête-à-tête with her aunt, Kate followed her. By the time Lady Broome had swallowed the cordial, and Sidlaw, disregarding her impatience, had fussed over her, drawing a heavy screen behind her chair to protect her from an imaginary draught, placing a cushion behind her head, begging to be allowed to fetch a warmer shawl, and placing her vinaigrette on a small table drawn up beside her chair, the gentlemen, not lingering over their port, had come in. Sidlaw then withdrew, with obvious reluctance, and while the doctor bent solicitously over Lady Broome, Sir Timothy, smiling a little sadly at Kate, murmured: ‘A last game of backgammon, my child?’
She agreed to it; Philip got the board out of the cabinet, and sat down to watch the game; Lady Broome leaned back in her chair, closing her eyes; and the doctor went away to see how Torquil was going on. He came back in the wake of the tea-tray, with a comfortable account of Torquil, who had eaten a very good dinner, he said, and was now gone to bed. Lady Broome then put an end to the backgammon session by calling Kate to dispense the tea. She seemed to have recovered both her complexion and her strength, but as soon as the footman came to remove the tray she got up, saying that it was time she retired, and adding: ‘Come, Kate!’
Philip looked quickly at Kate, a question in his eyes. She very slightly shook her head, and, seeing Sir Timothy’s hand stretched out to her, went to him, bending over him, with her free hand on his shoulder, preventing his attempt to rise from his chair. ‘Pray don’t get up, sir!’ she said, smiling wistfully.
He drew her down to kiss her cheek, whispering in her ear: ‘Come and see me before you go tomorrow, to say goodbye to me!’
‘I will,’ she promised, under her breath.
‘Goodnight, my pretty! Bless you!’ he said, releasing her.
Lady Broome, waiting in the archway, watched this scene with placid complaisance, and said, as soon as she had passed through the anteroom: ‘I believe Sir Timothy does indeed look upon you as the daughter of his old age! He is so fond of you, dear child!’
‘I am very fond of him, ma’am,’ Kate replied, walking slowly down the broad gallery, with Lady Broome’s hand resting on her arm.
‘Are you? I wonder! I am beginning to think, Kate, that, for all your engaging manners, you are not very fond of anyone. Certainly not of me!’
Innate honesty forbade Kate to deny this; she could only say: ‘You are feeling low, and oppressed, ma’am: don’t let us brangle!’
‘I am feeling very low, and more oppressed than ever before in my life – almost at the end of my rope! You will own that I have enough to sink me in despair, even though you refuse to help me! Do you know, I have never asked for help before?’
‘Aunt Minerva, I can’t give it to you!’ Kate said bluntly. ‘I thought there was nothing I wouldn’t do to repay your kindness, but when you ask me to marry Torquil you are asking too much! I beg of you, don’t try to persuade me to do so! It is useless – you will only agitate yourself to no purpose!’
They had reached the upper hall; Lady Broome paused there, her light clasp on Kate’s arm tightening into a grip. ‘Think!’ she commanded, a harsh note creeping into her voice. ‘If the advantages of such a marriage don’t weigh with you, does it weigh with you that by persisting in your refusal you will have condemned Torquil to spend the rest of his life in strict incarceration?’ She observed the whitening of Kate’s cheeks, the look of horror in her eyes, and smiled. ‘Oh, yes!’ she said, a purring triumph in her voice. ‘After today’s exploit, there is left to me only one hope of guarding the secret of his madness. Do you realize that he might have brought his horse down on top of the woman who was leading her child by the hand? Do you know that he rode Scholes down in the stableyard? What, you little ninnyhammer, do you suppose that Scholes, and Fleet, and whoever they were who were passing along the lane at that disastrous moment, are now thinking – and discussing, if I know them? Dr Delabole has done what he could to convince Scholes and Fleet that for Torquil to have spurred his horse into the wall was nothing but the act of a headstrong boy, but he might as well have hung up his axe! Only one thing can now silence the gabble-mongers, and that’s the news that Torquil is about to be married to a girl of birth and character! That must give them pause! In any event, only one thing signifies: that there shall be an heir to Staplewood!’
‘Oh!’ cried Kate, losing control of herself. ‘Can you think of nothing but Staplewood? The only thing that signifies! Good God, what does Staplewood matter beside the dreadful fate that hangs over poor Torquil?’
‘If Torquil could have been cured by the abandonment of my hopes of seeing my descendants at Staplewood, I suppose I must have abandoned them,’ said Lady Broome coldly. ‘It would have been my duty, and I’ve never yet failed in that ! But it can make no difference to him. If I seem unfeeling, you must remember that I have had time to grow accustomed. Nor am I one to grieve endlessly over what can’t be helped. I prefer to make the best I can out of what befalls me.’
‘It hasn’t befallen you, ma’am!’
‘No: not yet! Perhaps, if I can provide him with a wife, it never will. He may grow calmer when his passions find a natural outlet: Delabole considers it to be possible.’
‘Does he consider it beyond possibility that a child of Torquil’s should inherit his malady?’ Kate asked, unable to repress the bitter indignation which swelled in her breast.
‘It is a risk I must take,’ said Lady Broome, sublimely unaware of the effect these words had upon her niece.
Kate managed to pull her arm free; she stepped back a pace, and said, with a tiny contemptuous laugh: ‘There’s another risk you would have to take, ma’am! Hasn’t it occurred to you that Torquil’s child might be a daughter?’
It was evident that this thought had never disturbed Lady Broome’s incredible dreams. She stared at Kate, as though stunned, and when she spoke it was scarcely above a whisper. ‘God couldn’t be so cruel!’ she uttered.
Kate made a hopeless gesture. ‘Let me take you to your room, ma’am! It is of no use to continue arguing: it is as though we weren’t speaking the same language! I am leaving you tomorrow, and – and I wish very much to do so without a quarrel with you!’ She drew a resolute breath, and braced herself, and found the courage to keep her eyes steady on her aunt’s face. ‘There is something else I must tell you, ma’am. I would have told you when – when it happened, but you were too ill to be troubled with what I know you will dislike – I fear, excessively! I can only beg you to believe that I haven’t wished to deceive you, and that I can’t and won’t leave Staplewood without telling you that Mr Philip Broome proposed to me on the very day you took ill, and that I accepted his offer!’
Lady Broome received this disclosure in a silence more terrible, Kate thought, than any outburst of wrath would have been. She stood motionless, only her eyes alive in her rigid countenance. Between narrowed lids, they stared at Kate with such implacable fury that it was only by a supreme effort of willpower that she stood her ground, and continued to look her aunt boldly in the face. ‘So Sidlaw was right!’ Lady Broome said, quite softly. ‘You little slut !’ She watched the colour rush up into Kate’s cheeks. ‘You can blush, can you? That certainly surprises me! I wouldn’t believe Sidlaw – I couldn’t believe that a girl who owed the very clothes on her back to me could be so ungrateful – so treacherous – as to encourage the advances of a man whom she knew to be my greatest enemy! He has propose
d to you, has he? Are you so sure that he proposed marriage ? I fancy he is not so blind to his interest as you imagine! Philip marry a penniless young woman whom neither her family nor his acknowledge? I won’t say that I wish you may not have a rude wakening from this mawkish dream of yours, for I hope with all my heart that when he grows tired of you, and casts you off, you will remember to your dying day what I offered you, and you were fool enough to refuse!’ She paused, but Kate did not speak. Scanning the girl’s white face, an unpleasant smile curled her lips, and she said: ‘That gives you to think, does it not? I advise you to think more carefully still! Perhaps it didn’t occur to you that he was trying to give you a slip on the shoulder?’
Kate’s lips quivered into an answering smile; she replied: ‘It did occur to me, ma’am, but I was wrong. All you have said about my circumstances occurred to me too. I daresay you won’t believe me, but I tried to make him see how unequal such a match would be – how much his family must deplore it! But he said that that was a matter of indifference to him. You see – we love each other!’
‘Love?’ ejaculated Lady Broome scornfully. ‘Don’t, I beg of you, nauseate me by talking sickly balderdash! Love has nothing to do with marriage, and I promise you it doesn’t endure! No, and it won’t make up to you for losing Staplewood, and the position that could be yours as Lady Broome! Or are you indulging the fancy that Torquil will die young, and that Philip will step into his shoes? Torquil will hold for a long trig: I’ll take care of that! He shall have no more opportunities to break his neck! Until I can instal him in an establishment of his own, I mean to see to it that he is never left for one moment alone, or allowed to go near the stables! My great-uncle lived to extreme old age, you know. I believe he was very troublesome at first, but when he became imbecile, which he very shortly did, he was as easy to control as a child. Even his fits of violence abated! I remember my mother telling me that he could be diverted merely by being given some new, foolish plaything! You may rest assured that Torquil shall be provided with a thousand playthings, indulged, cosseted, guarded from every infectious disease –’
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