Cousin Kate Read online

  ‘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