She laughed. ‘Neither Sir Timothy nor Torquil suffers from an infectious complaint, Mr Nidd!’
‘Dutch comfort, Miss Kate! Next you’ll be telling me that the nevvy’s in queer stirrups!’
‘Indeed I shan’t tell you anything of the sort!’ said Kate indignantly.
‘Nor I wouldn’t credit it if you did! I can see with my own ogles that he’s in prime twig! But, lordy, this’ll make Sarey look blue! You know what she is, miss: no sooner did she read your letter, saying as how your cousin was the most beautiful young man you’d ever beheld, than she got to thinking what a good thing it would be if you and he was to make a match of it. Which there’s no denying it would be, if he was quite stout. But if he’s ticklish in the wind it won’t do, Miss Kate!’
She said earnestly: ‘Mr Nidd, pray don’t encourage Sarah to think there is the least possibility of my marrying Torquil! It is too absurd! Sarah must have forgotten that I am four-and-twenty! There are five years between Torquil and me – and I haven’t the smallest inclination to set my cap at him! He is certainly beautiful, but I can conceive of few worse fates than to be married to him! He is nothing more than a spoiled schoolboy, and his temper is shocking! Pray let us be done with that nonsense!’
‘I’m agreeable, miss,’ said Mr Nidd affably. ‘Not but what it’ll come as a disappointment to Sarey, because there’s no denying that it would have been a spanking thing for you. However, what can’t be cured must be endured, and it’s as plain as a pack-saddle that the nevvy’s nutty on you! Now, if he was to offer for you –’
‘I should be very much surprised!’ Kate interrupted. ‘I’m not on the catch for a husband, Mr Nidd, and I shall be much obliged to you if you won’t make plans for me! Let us rather talk about your own affairs! I do, most solemnly, beg that you will go back to London! I don’t mean that I’m not deeply grateful to you for having come to Market Harborough, for I am – more grateful than I can tell you! – but Sarah must by this time be in a perfect stew! And if I were to dash off a note to her, you could take it to her, couldn’t you?’
‘Yes, Miss Kate, and I could take it to the Post Office too. I got a notion I won’t go back yet, because I ain’t easy in my mind, and I’m not wishful to leave you here! It sticks in my gullet that you ain’t had any of Sarey’s letters, nor she any of yours, barring the first of ’em. It don’t smell right to me, missy, and that’s the truth!’
‘It – it doesn’t smell right to me either,’ confessed Kate. ‘But until I have spoken to my aunt about it, I – I would liefer not discuss it! If it was she who was responsible, she must have had some good reason, even – even if I can’t think what it can have been.’
‘No, nor me neither!’ said Mr Nidd acidly. ‘And, if you ask me, she’ll find herself in a proper hank, when she starts in to explain what her reason was! Don’t you try to sell yourself a bargain, miss, because you ain’t a paperskull, no more than what I am, and you know well she can’t have had a good reason! Mark me if she ain’t playing an undergame!’
Kate got up, and went to the window, and began to twist the blind-cord round her finger. ‘I know, but –’
‘The best thing you can do, miss, is to come back to Sarah!’ said Mr Nidd. ‘Lor’, wouldn’t she jump out of her skin with joy! Yes, and what’s more, if she knew you was with us again she’d come home herself, ah, and in an ant’s foot, too! Then p’raps we’d get some wittles fit to eat! All you got to do, miss, is to pack your traps, and leave it to me to settle the rest. You wouldn’t object to travelling on the stage, would you? I’d take good care of you.’
Kate turned her head to bestow upon him a warm, smiling look. ‘I know you would, Mr Nidd – bless you! But I couldn’t, after all her kindness, leave my aunt in such a way! It would be beyond everything! I think I know why she – why she tried to stop me corresponding with Sarah. You see, she doesn’t want me to leave Staplewood, and I expect she must know that I couldn’t do so if I became estranged from Sarah. I’ve said from the start that I should leave, after the summer, and I’ve remained firm in that resolve. It was very wrong, of course, to tamper with my correspondence, but – but she is a woman who has been used to have her own way in everything, and – and once I’ve – well, brought her to book! – I’m persuaded she won’t do so any more. Now that I’ve seen you, and know that Sarah hasn’t given me up, I can be easy again, and be sure that if I found myself obliged to leave Staplewood, I shouldn’t find that Sarah had closed your doors against me! Dear Mr Nidd, your visit has been the greatest comfort to me, but I do, most earnestly, beg that you will go back to London!’
As she spoke, the door opened, and she looked quickly over her shoulder, to see that Mr Philip Broome had entered the room. He said: ‘I’m sorry to interrupt you, Cousin Kate, but we stand in imminent danger of being scandalously late for dinner! Unless we set forward immediately, we shall fall under Minerva’s displeasure.’
‘Oh, good God, that would never do!’ she exclaimed, with would-be lightness. ‘Have I enough time to scribble a note to Mrs Nidd? I have been asking Mr Nidd if he will be so good as to take it to her, and I promise I won’t keep you waiting above ten minutes!’
‘By all means,’ he said, casting a glance round the room, and discovering a writing-table. He strode over to it, and pulled open two of its drawers. ‘Wonderful! Not only paper, but wafers as well, and a pen! And even ink in the standish! In general, when one wishes to write a letter in a posting-house, one finds that there is only a kind of mud at the bottom of the standishes. If you care to sit down here, Kate, I’ll take Mr Nidd down to inspect my horses. You will join us in the yard at your convenience.’
She agreed gratefully to this suggestion; and although it was evident that Mr Nidd was much inclined to dig his heels in, he yielded, after staring pugnaciously at him, to the unmistakeable message in Mr Philip Broome’s eyes, accompanied as it was by the flicker of the smile of a conspirator.
But as soon as Philip had closed the door, he said that he had told Miss Kate that he would be happy to take her letter to the Post Office, but he hadn’t made up his mind to go home, not by a long chalk he hadn’t.
Leading the way down the stairs, Philip said, over his shoulder: ‘Does she wish you to do so?’
‘Yes, she does, sir, and it goes against the pluck with me to do it!’ said Mr Nidd, in a brooding tone. ‘I wouldn’t wish to offend you, Mr Broome, sir, but I been telling Miss Kate that the thing for her to do is to come back with me to London!’
‘I shouldn’t think she agreed to that,’ Philip commented.
‘No, sir, she didn’t,’ said Mr Nidd, nipping ahead to hold open the door into the yard. ‘After you, sir, if you please! – No, she said that she couldn’t leave her aunt in a bang, as you might say, being as how her ladyship had been so kind to her. Which, begging your pardon, I take leave to doubt!’
‘True enough. Her ladyship has been more than kind to her.’
‘Well, if you say so, sir – !’ replied Mr Nidd dubiously. ‘I didn’t cut my eye-teeth yesterday, nor yet the day before, and you don’t have to tell me you don’t cut no shams, because I knew from the moment I clapped my ogles on you that it was pound-dealing with you, or nothing! But, Mr Broome, sir, I’ll take the liberty of telling you to your head that I ain’t easy in my mind! It don’t smell right to me, somehow!’
Philip did not immediately answer, but after a short pause he said: ‘Does it make you easier when I tell you that if any danger were to threaten Miss Malvern – which I don’t anticipate! – I should instantly bundle her into a chaise, and restore her to her nurse?’
‘You would?’ Mr Nidd said, regarding him with obvious approval.
‘Most certainly!’
‘Well, that’s different, of course!’ said Mr Nidd graciously. ‘If you mean to look after Miss Kate, there’s no call for me to kick my heels here!’
??
?Thank you!’ said Philip, holding out his hand, and smiling. ‘We’ll shake hands on that, Mr Nidd!’
‘Thanking you, sir!’ said Mr Nidd ineffably.
Kate, emerging from the house several minutes later, was relieved to find that her aged well-wisher had apparently formed the intention of departing for London on the following morning. He received from her a hastily written note to Sarah, and stowed it away in his pocket, promising to deliver it as soon as he reached the Metropolis. It was plain that he had been making shrewd, but, on the whole, appreciative comments on the well-matched bays which had just been harnessed to Mr Philip Broome’s curricle; and, on bidding Kate a fond farewell, he was moved to say that he knew he was leaving her in good hands. She hardly knew what to reply to this, but murmured something unintelligible, her colour much heightened, and could only be grateful to Philip for not prolonging the embarrassing moment. As he swept from the yard into the main street, he said conversationally: ‘A truly estimable old gentleman! A downy one, too! He says it don’t smell right to him. Precisely my own opinion!’
‘You did not tell him so?’ she asked anxiously.
‘Oh, no! All I did was to assure him that you were in no danger, and that if it became imperative on you to leave Staplewood I would convey you to London, and hand you over to Mrs Nidd. Why, by the way, did you refuse to go with him?’
‘How could I do so?’ she demanded. ‘Whatever my aunt has done, she doesn’t deserve to be treated so shabbily! Good God, Cousin Philip, the clothes I am wearing at this moment I owe to her generosity! Besides, –’
‘Yes?’ he said, as she broke off. ‘That isn’t all your reason, is it?’
‘No,’ she admitted. ‘Not quite all. You see, before my aunt took me away from Sarah, I had been staying with her for far too long a time – much longer than I had anticipated. I know what a charge I must have been, though she was very angry when I ventured to say so, and told me that if I dared to offer her money for my board she would never forgive me. So I can’t go back to her until I’ve secured a post. When I left Wisbech I thought I should have been able to do so immediately, but – but it turned out otherwise. None of the ladies who were advertising for governesses hired me. Either they wanted an accomplished female, able to instruct her pupils in the harp, and the piano, and the Italian tongue, or they said I was too young. It was the most mortifying experience! I became utterly despondent, and began to wonder whether I might not be able to turn the only talent I possess to good account.’
‘And what is your only talent?’ he asked.
‘Oh, dressmaking! I did think of seeking a post as abigail to a lady of fashion, but Sarah wouldn’t hear of it. She said it wouldn’t do for me –’
‘She was right!’
‘Yes, I think perhaps she was: I can’t imagine when a modish abigail finds the time to go to bed! So then I hit upon the idea of seeking employment in a dressmaker’s establishment, but Mr Nidd was strongly opposed to it.’
‘I said he was a downy one,’ observed Philip.
‘Yes, but I still think I might try my hand at it, if all else fails. He says that unless one can afford to set up for oneself, or at least to buy a share in a flourishing business, there is no possibility of making one’s fortune in the dressmaking line.’
‘None at all, I imagine.’
‘You can’t tell that!’ she objected. ‘For my part, I shouldn’t wonder at it if you are both wrong. Consider! even if I had to serve an apprenticeship in the workroom, and subsist for a time on a pittance, I should be bound to rise rapidly to a more elevated position, because I can do more than sew: I can design ! I truly can, sir! I have been used to make all my own dresses, and no one has yet called me a dowd! On the contrary! Mrs Astley’s odious mother said that she marvelled at my extravagance, and would like to know where I found the money to purchase such expensive gowns!’ She chuckled. ‘And the joke was that when she said that, I was wearing a coloured muslin dress which cost exactly eighteen shillings! It was perfectly plain except for a knot of ribbons at the waist, but of excellent cut and style, which, of course, was what misled her. I don’t mean to boast, but doesn’t that show you?’
‘I should have to see the garment before I ventured to give my opinion,’ he said, his countenance grave, but his voice a trifle unsteady.
She burst out laughing. ‘What a shocking Banbury man you are, sir! How dare you poke fun at me? Did I sound like a bounce?’
He shook his head gloomily. ‘Every feeling was offended!’ he assured her.
She laughed more than ever, but said: ‘Seriously, sir –’
‘Seriously, Kate, Mr Nidd is right: it won’t fadge!’
She sighed. ‘Perhaps it might not. Lately I have been wondering if I could not obtain a situation with an old lady. I daresay you know the sort of thing I mean: as companion, or housekeeper, or even the two combined. It would be dreadfully dull, I expect, but at least Sarah wouldn’t kick up a dust, and say it wasn’t a genteel occupation.’
‘I suppose you wouldn’t consider being a companion- housekeeper to a gentleman?’ he suggested.
‘I shouldn’t think so. Sarah would think it most improper, and it would be, you know. Unless he was a very old gentleman. Why, do you know of a gentleman who wants a companion-housekeeper?
‘As it chances, I do. But not a very old one, I’m afraid! I mean he isn’t bedridden, or queer in his attic, or anything of that nature. Not a dotard !’
‘I certainly shouldn’t consider such a post in a dotard’s house!’ she said, amused. ‘In fact, unless I were offered a handsome wage, which, I own, would tempt me, I don’t mean to consider it at all! An old lady is the thing for me!’
‘You cannot have given enough thought to it, Kate! Old ladies are always as cross as crabs!’
‘What nonsense!’ she said scornfully. ‘I have known several who were most amiable! And no female is commonly afflicted with gout, which most old gentlemen are, I find. It makes them insupportably cross!’
‘The gentleman I have in mind is not afflicted with gout, and I am persuaded you would find him amiable, and – and compliant.’
‘Indeed?’ said Kate, stiffening. ‘And how old is this gentleman, sir?’
‘Nine-and-twenty. But very nearly thirty!’ he replied.
Since she knew this to be his own age, she could not doubt that he meant himself, and was making her an offer. But what kind of an offer it was remained a matter of painful doubt. He knew her to be friendless and penniless, and it was possible that he was offering her a carte blanche, meaning to set her up as his mistress; it seemed very unlikely that he wished to marry her, for (as she dismally reminded herself) she had nothing but a pretty face to recommend her. She felt suddenly that if that was what he meant it would be more than she could bear; and realized that it would be one more illusion shattered. She had not allowed herself to hope that he would offer marriage, for she knew herself to be ineligible; she was not even sure that he loved her. He had certainly revised his first, unfavourable estimate of her character; and when he looked at her she could fancy that there was a warm, appreciative light in his eyes. But he was not a man who wore his heart on his sleeve: indeed, if it was possible to detect a fault in him, thought Kate, sternly resolved to do so, he had too much reserve. Not, of course, a stupid sort of indifference, but a coolness of manner, which made it hard to know what he was thinking.
Doggedly determined not to betray herself, she said, in a light voice, which she hoped expressed contemptuous amusement: ‘I won’t pretend to play the dunce, sir. I assume that you are talking about yourself. I don’t find it diverting!’
‘I was talking about myself, and I am extremely glad you don’t find it diverting!’ he said, with some asperity.
Her heart began to beat uncomfortably fast, and she could feel the colour mounting into her cheeks. She turned her face away, say
ing: ‘This is quite improper, sir! I told my aunt that you showed no disposition to flirt with me, and I believed it!’
‘So I should hope! For God’s sake, Kate – ! I’m not flirting with you! I’m trying to tell you that I love you!’
‘Oh!’ uttered Kate faintly.
Mr Philip Broome, indignant at being given so little encouragement, said in goaded voice: ‘Now say you’re much obliged to me!’
‘I don’t know that I am,’ responded Kate, almost inaudibly. ‘I – I don’t know what you mean!’
With all the air of a deeply reticent man forced to declare his sentiments, he said: ‘Exactly what I said! I LOVE YOU!’
‘You needn’t shout! I’m not deaf !’ retorted Kate, with spirit.
‘I was afraid you might be! I could hardly have put it more plainly! And all you can say is Oh ! As though it was a matter of no consequence to you! If you feel that you can’t return my – my regard, tell me so! I’ve dared to hope, but I was prepared to have my offer rejected, and although it would be a severe blow, I trust I have enough conduct not to embarrass you by persisting!’
‘You – you haven’t made me an offer!’ said Kate. She added hurriedly, and in considerable confusion: ‘I don’t in the least wish you to! I mean, I would far, far liefer you didn’t if you are trying to – Oh, dear, how very awkward this is! Mr Broome, pray don’t offer me a carte blanche !’
‘A carte blanche ?’ he exclaimed, apparently stunned.
By this time she was crimson-cheeked. She stammered: ‘Is – isn’t that the right term?’
‘No, it is not the right term!’ he said savagely, drawing his horses in to the side of the lane, and pulling them to a halt. ‘What kind of a loose-screw do you take me for? Offer a carte blanche to a delicately bred girl in your circumstances? You must think I’m an ugly customer!’
‘Oh, no, no! Indeed I don’t!’