‘Pleased with a rattle, tickled with a straw!’ Kate broke in, her voice anguished. ‘For God’s sake, ma’am, stop! You cannot know what you are saying!’
‘I know very well what I am saying. I have something more to say to you, Kate! If you marry Philip, he will never again, while I live, set foot inside this house! Don’t think I can’t keep him away! I can, and will! If you are as fond of Sir Timothy as you pretend to be, you won’t separate him from his beloved nephew! That is something I have never done! Remember that!’
She cast a final, scorching glance at Kate, and swept across the hall to the gallery that led to her bedchamber with a firmness of step which belied her previous assumption of debility.
Kate, almost fainting with horror, managed to reach her own room before her knees sank under her, and she collapsed into Mrs Nidd’s arms, gasping: ‘I must get away! I must ! She is so terrible, Sarah! I can’t tell you what she has said to me!’
‘Well,’ said Mrs Nidd, dealing with this crisis after her own fashion, ‘as I don’t want to know what she said, that’s no matter! And, as you won’t be troubled with her again after tomorrow, there’s no call for you to be thrown into affliction, Miss Kate! You give over fretting and fuming, and let me undress you, like a good girl!’
Twenty
A night spent in tossing from side to side, with brief intervals of sleep rendered hideous by menacing dreams, did little to restore Kate; and when she slipped out of the house to join Mr Philip Broome on the terrace next morning, she looked so wan and heavy-eyed that he said savagely, as he caught her into his arms: ‘I ought not to have let you face her alone! Oh, my poor darling, why did you shake your head at me? What did she say to upset you so much?’
She clung to him, trying to overcome her agitation, and said, in a strangled voice: ‘You were right, Philip, and I wouldn’t believe the things you said of her! I thought it was prejudice! But you were right !’
He had to bend his head to catch her words, for they were uttered into his shoulder, but he did catch them, and, although his face darkened wrathfully, his voice was quite calm when he said: ‘Yes: I know. You shall tell me all about it, but not here! It is rather too public a place. Shall we go to the shrubbery, dear love?’
He did not wait for an answer, but drew her hand through his arm, and led her down the terrace-steps. She went without demur, too shaken to consider, or to care, who might be watching them. His coolness, the strong clasp of his hand on hers, steadied her, and by the time they had reached the rustic bench where they had sat together so short a time before, she had managed to regain her composure, and was even able to conjure up a wavering smile as she said, rather huskily: ‘I beg your pardon! Sarah warned me that there is no more certain way of making a gentleman cry off than to treat him to a fit of the vapours – and particularly before breakfast! I didn’t mean to do it, and indeed it isn’t a habit of mine, Philip!’
‘In that case, I won’t cry off !’ he said. ‘Don’t sit down! The dew hasn’t dried yet!’ As he spoke, he stripped off his well-fitting coat, and folded it, and placed it on the bench for her to sit upon. In reply to her expostulation that he would take cold, and her efforts to spread the coat that they might both sit on it, he thrust her down on to the bench, and seated himself beside her, putting a sustaining arm round her, and informing her that no one could possibly take cold on such a hot morning, and that he defied any amount of dew to penetrate his buckskins. After that, he kissed her, long and lovingly, told her not to be a goose, and gently pressed her head down on his shoulder. ‘Tell me!’ he said.
So Kate, nestling gratefully within his embrace, her cheek against his waistcoat of striped toilinette, told him, rather haltingly, but quite calmly, all that Lady Broome had said in each of the painful sessions she had endured with her. His brow blackened as he listened, but he heard her in silence, until she disclosed that her aunt meant to incarcerate Torquil in a house remote from Staplewood, when his hard-held control broke, and he exclaimed: ‘Oh, my God, no! She couldn’t do such a thing! It would be enough to send him completely out of his mind! What, banish him from the only home he has ever known, place Delabole, whom he detests, in charge of him, appoint strangers to take care of him – ? No, no, Kate! She would never do so! Even I can’t believe her capable of such inhumanity! I agree that he mustn’t be allowed to roam at large; I know that it may become necessary to confine him, but that day hasn’t come yet! If I had my way, I’d send Delabole packing, and engage a man, not only experienced in the care of those whose minds are unbalanced, but one able to endear himself to the poor lad – divert him – God knows it’s not difficult!’
‘Such a man wouldn’t lend himself to the deception my aunt demands,’ Kate said sadly. ‘Nothing signifies to her but to keep it secret that Torquil has fits of insanity. That’s what overset me. Suddenly I saw that she was monstrous. Sarah thinks her as mad as Torquil, but it came to me, as I listened to the appalling things she said, that she has never, in all her life, considered anyone but herself, or doubted that everything she does is good, and wise – beyond criticism! Sir Timothy said to me that she has many good qualities, but is a stranger to the tender emotions. It is most terribly true, Philip! She did not utter one word of pity for Torquil: it is her tragedy, not his! He has destroyed her last ambition, and that puts him beyond pardon. She doesn’t love him, you see. I don’t think she loves anyone but herself. She will send him away – and tell Sir Timothy that a change of air has been recommended for him!’
‘Oh, no, she will not!’ Philip said, at his grimmest. ‘If she does indeed mean to do anything so cruel, she’ll find she has reckoned without me! I’ve never spoken of Torquil’s state to my uncle, but much as I love him I won’t see Torquil sacrificed to spare him pain!’
‘Philip, Philip, you won’t be able to tell him! That is almost the worst of all! My aunt has told me that if you marry me you will never come to Staplewood again, while she is alive to prevent you! And she will prevent you! She – she is ruthless!’
‘So am I ruthless!’ he said, his eyes very bright and hard. ‘By God, I should be glad to cross swords with her! Don’t look so troubled, my precious! That, at least, was an empty threat! Minerva has no power to keep me away from Staplewood. My uncle may be weak, but he won’t support her on that issue! And when he dies she will discover that her despotic rule is at an end. She doesn’t know it – I daresay the thought has never so much as crossed her mind! – but although my uncle has provided for a handsome jointure, his Will strips her of power. It makes me, not her, Torquil’s guardian, and his principal trustee – and you may be sure, Kate, that I shan’t allow her to send him away from Staplewood – or to bully and browbeat him!’ He got up. ‘I must go now, if I am to have a chaise here by noon. You won’t see Minerva: she’s not coming down to breakfast. Go up to your room as soon as you have eaten your own breakfast: I fancy Mrs Nidd can be relied upon to keep Minerva at bay!’ He shrugged himself into his coat, and took her hands, and kissed them. ‘Keep up your heart, my darling! When we sit down to dinner, we shall be forty or fifty miles from Staplewood. Remember that, if you find yourself sinking into dejection! But you won’t: you’re too much of a right one!’
‘No, no, I won’t!’ she promised. Her fingers clung to his, detaining him. ‘But I have been thinking, Philip! If you were to drive Sarah and me to Market Harborough, we could travel on the stage, and – and not be such a shocking charge on you! It is such an unnecessary expense! I know that the rates for a post-chaise are wickedly high, and –’
She was silenced by having a kiss planted firmly on her mouth. Mr Philip Broome said, with menacing severity, that if she had any more bird-witted suggestions to make, he advised her to keep them under her tongue; and, when she showed a disposition to argue with him, added, in a very ineffable way, that it did not suit his consequence to permit his promised wife to travel on the common stage.
That mad
e her laugh; and when he left her, striding off in the direction of the stables, she walked back to the house in much improved spirits, and was able to greet Pennymore, whom she encountered in the Great Hall, with something very like her customary cheerfulness; and even to say in an airy voice that she had been lured into the garden because it was such a beautiful day. To which he responded: ‘Yes, miss! Very understandable!’ with such a twinkle in his eye that the unruly colour surged into her cheeks. He then said that as Mr Philip had done him the honour to admit him into his confidence he would like to take the liberty of wishing her happiness. ‘In which, miss,’ he informed her, with a fatherly smile, ‘Tenby desires to be included, Sir Timothy having told him last night of your Approaching Nuptials. Not that it came as a surprise to either of us! You will find only Mr Torquil and the doctor in the breakfast-parlour, Miss Kate, and I shall bring your tea to you directly.’
Waiting only until the tell-tale blush had faded, Kate proceeded to the breakfast-parlour. The doctor rose at her entrance, and came forward to hand her to a seat at the table, full of forced joviality, but looking as though he too had passed a sleepless night, Torquil, who had apparently recovered from his fall, was in a boastful, defiant mood, ready to come to cuffs with anyone unwise enough to criticize his horsemanship. He instantly challenged Kate to do so, demanding belligerently if she had anything to say on the subject. When she answered calmly: ‘Oh, no! How should I?’ he uttered a crack of laughter, and said: ‘Just as well!’
‘Torquil, Torquil!’ said the doctor reprovingly.
‘Oh, stop gabbing!’ snapped Torquil, casting at him a look of venomous dislike. ‘I’ll tell you what, coz! We’ll have a game of quoits after breakfast before it gets too hot!’
‘I’m sorry, Torquil: I’m afraid I can’t,’ she replied. ‘I am leaving Staplewood today, and I must pack my trunk.’
‘Leaving ?’ he ejaculated. ‘But you can’t leave! I won’t let you! I’ll tell Mama – Kate, why ?’
‘But, Torquil, I didn’t come here to live, you know!’ she said, smiling at him. ‘Indeed, I think I have remained for an unconscionable time! It’s very kind of you to wish me to stay, but I have been thinking for some weeks that it is high time I left Staplewood – only it has had me in a puzzle how to do so without putting your mama to the expense and inconvenience of providing me with an escort to London, which isn’t at all needful, but which I know she would insist on doing. But now that my nurse has come to visit me the difficulty is solved. I shall go back to London with her. I wasn’t expecting her, so I have been as much taken by surprise as you are.’
He startled her by thrusting his chair back, and almost flinging himself on his knees beside her, grasping her hands, and saying in an anguished voice: ‘Oh, Kate, don’t go! don’t go! You’re the only friend I’ve ever had, and if you leave me I shall have no one!’
The doctor rose rather quickly, but, encountering a fiery look from Kate, remained by his chair. Torquil, his head bowed over Kate’s hands, had burst into sobs. She glanced pitifully down at him, but spoke to Delabole. ‘Please go away, sir!’ she said quietly. ‘You are quite crushing my hands, Torquil: pray don’t hold them so tightly!’
He released them immediately, saying between his sobs: ‘I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to hurt you! Kate, you know I wouldn’t hurt you! I like you! You’re so kind !’
He sank his head into her lap, hysterically weeping; and the doctor, sighing deeply, but apparently satisfied that his mood was not violent, unobtrusively withdrew from the room. Kate laid a hand on Torquil’s gleaming gold locks, gently stroking them. Her heart was wrung, but she said soothingly: ‘Of course I know you wouldn’t hurt me! Don’t cry! You will make me cry too if you don’t stop, and you wouldn’t wish that, would you?’
He raised his head, staring wildly up at her. ‘You are going because you think I tried to shoot you! But I didn’t, Kate, I swear to you I didn’t!’
‘No, I know you didn’t,’ she said, patting his hand. ‘To be sure, I was very cross with you at the time for being so careless, but that’s all forgotten!’
‘It’s Mama!’ he said suddenly. ‘She is sending you away! Because you won’t marry me! O God, how I hate her!’
His voice shook with passion, and she sent a swift glance towards the door, guessing that the doctor’s ear was glued to it, and afraid that he might precipitate a crisis by coming back into the room. He did not, however, and she said, preserving her calm: ‘You mustn’t say that, Torquil. Moreover, your mama is quite as anxious for me to remain at Staplewood as you are. Get up, my dear, and sit here, beside me! That’s better! Now own that you don’t in the very least wish to be married to me!’ Her smiling eyes quizzed him, and drew an answering gleam from his. Encouraged, she began to talk to him about things which were of interest to him. He seemed to be listening to her, but plunged her back into despondency by interrupting suddenly with the announcement that he wished he were dead. She tried to divert his thoughts, but unavailingly; a cloud had descended on his brow, his eyes brooded sombrely, and his beautiful mouth took on a tragic droop.
She left him presently, knowing that, however much he might like her, she had no power to raise his spirits. She had not dared to disclose to him that she was about to be married to his cousin, for she feared that this might fan into a flame the embers of his inculcated hatred of Philip, always smouldering beneath the surface of his affection. His mood was one of profound melancholy, but she thought that it needed only a touch to send him into one of his fits of ungovernable rage.
She was looking deeply troubled when she entered her bedchamber, a circumstance that prompted Sarah, expertly folding one of the evening-dresses Lady Broome had bestowed on her niece, to say briskly: ‘If Father was to see you, Miss Kate, he’d say you was looking like a strained hair in a can! You’ve got no call to be so down pin, love – not unless you’ve been breaking straws with Mr Philip, which I don’t think!’
‘No, indeed!’ Kate answered. ‘I don’t think I could!’
‘Ah!’ said Sarah darkly. ‘Time will show! Where has he gone off to?’
‘Market Harborough, to hire a chaise to carry us to London. Don’t put that dress in my trunk! I am not taking it. Only the dresses I brought with me!’
‘Well, Miss Kate, you know best, but it does seem a shame to let a beautiful silk like this go begging!’ said Sarah, sighing regretfully. ‘It isn’t as if it could be of any use to her ladyship. Still, I daresay Mr Philip will purchase another for you, because the way he’s wasting the ready is downright sinful! Not but what I’m looking forward to travelling in a post-chaise, and I don’t deny it! It’s something I’ve never done before, though we did come up to London in the Mail coach when we landed at Portsmouth – and a rare set-out that was!’
Kate laughed. ‘When Papa sent the baggage by carrier, and it was a week before it reached us? What a long time ago it seems!’
‘Well, it is a long time. And if my Joe had brought the baggage it wouldn’t have taken him a week! Where shall I put these dresses, Miss Kate? It won’t do to leave them hanging in the wardrobe, where, as like as not, they’ll be pulled out by one of the housemaids. I wouldn’t put it past that saucy little minx, Phoebe, or whatever she calls herself, to try them on!’
After a little discussion, it was decided to pack them carefully in the chest of drawers, which was done, not without argument, Kate being determined to do her share of the work, and Sarah being equally determined that she should sit in a chair, and direct operations. But, as she paid no attention to anything Kate said, Kate soon abandoned the chair, and began to fold the dresses herself. This earned her a scold, Sarah exclaiming: ‘Good gracious, Miss Kate! that’s no way to pack muslin! Just look how you’ve creased it!’
She plucked the garment out of Kate’s hands as she spoke, and was shaking it vigorously when a piercing scream almost caused her to drop it. She and Kate
stood staring at one another for a startled moment. The scream was not repeated, but just as Sarah began to say: ‘Well, whatever next!’ an even more unnerving sound reached them: someone downstairs was uttering wail upon wail of despair.
Deathly pale, in the grip of fear, Kate tore open the door, and ran out into the gallery, listening, with dilating eyes and thudding heart. She gasped: ‘It’s Sidlaw! Oh, what can have happened? What can have happened?’
She picked up her skirts, and raced down the broad stairs, almost colliding in the hall with Pennymore, also hurrying to discover what had happened, and looking quite as pale as she was. The door into Lady Broome’s drawing-room stood open. Within the room, an appalling sight met Kate’s shrinking gaze. Lady Broome was lying on the floor, her face strangely blue, her tongue protruding, and her eyes, starting from their sockets, fixed in a stare of fury. Beside her, Sidlaw was kneeling, rocking herself to and fro, and sobbing over and over again between her wails: ‘I warned her! I warned her! Oh, my beautiful! oh, my dear lady!’
Sarah, thrusting her way through the servants who had begun to congregate in the hall, some frightened, some in the expectation of excitement, shut the door in their faces, pushed Kate aside, and knelt down beside Lady Broome, while Sidlaw continued to wail and sob. Seeing that Pennymore was trembling so much that he was obliged to cling to a chair-back for support, Kate slipped out of the room, and, singling the second footman out from the small crowd of servants, quietly told him to find Dr Delabole, and to inform him that he was wanted immediately in my lady’s drawing-room. She then dismissed the other servants, saying that my lady had had a seizure, and went back into the drawing-room, to find that Sarah had risen from her knees, and was trying to induce Sidlaw to abate her lamentations.