She was roused from her meditations by the sound of horses approaching at a smart trot, and turned her head to see that she was being overtaken by Philip, driving his curricle and pair. At sight of him, her resolution wavered, but what he said, as he drew up beside her, put all thought of Torquil out of her head. “I was coming in search of you, Cousin Kate! There’s a splendid old gentleman in Market Harborough, who wants very much to see you. Do you care to drive there with me?”
“An old gentleman to see me?” she said incredulously. “Surely you must be mistaken! I am not acquainted with any old gentlemen!”
“I fear, cousin, that you are getting to be above your company,” he said, quizzing her. “Which is something I did not expect! In fact, I assured Mr Nidd that his apprehensions were quite groundless.”
“Mr Nidd?” she cried joyfully. “Here? Come to visit me? Oh, how glad I am! Is Sarah with him?”
“No, he’s alone. Are you coming?”
“Yes, yes, if you please! I wish you had brought him here!”
“I was very ready to do so, but I couldn’t persuade him to come. He appears to think that you might not wish to see him.”
“Not wish to see him!” exclaimed Kate. “How could he have thought so? When I have written again and again to Sarah, begging her to send me a reply!”
“And didn’t she do so?”
“No, and although my aunt made nothing of it, it has had me in a dreadful worry! My aunt said that in expecting letters from what she calls “persons of that order” I was asking rather too much, and that once Sarah knew I was happy here she would be thankful to be relieved of the expense and the responsibility of looking after me. But I cannot believe that my dear Sarah would—would abandon me in such a heartless way, and I have been wondering whether she is sick, or even dead! For God’s sake, Cousin Philip, Mr Nidd hasn’t come to break that news to me, has he?”
“I shouldn’t think so. According to what he said to me, he has come to discover whether it is you who are either sick or dead. I reassured him on both points, but I believe, Kate, that you should allow me to drive you to Market Harborough, to talk to him yourself.”
“Indeed I will!” she said, with alacrity.
He stretched down his hand to her, and she laid her own in it, and was just about to get up beside him when she hesitated, and asked, looking up at him: “Ought I not to tell my aunt? Ask her leave?”
“No, my child: that is precisely what you ought not to do!” he replied, tightening his hold on her hand, and compelling her to climb into the curricle. “If I know her, Minerva would hit upon some way of preventing you having a tete-a-tete with Mr Nidd.”
“She could not do so!” declared Kate hotly, disposing herself beside him.
“Do you think she could not?” he said, casting a light shawl across her knees, and turning his horses. “You may, of course, be right, but my guess is that either she would escort you to Market Harborough herself, and remain with you throughout, or—which, now I come to think of it, is more likely—send a carriage to bring him to Staplewood, and trust to its splendour, and her own condescension, to abash him. But from what I have seen of Mr Nidd,” he added reflectively, “I shouldn’t think he could be easily abashed.”
Kate could not help laughing a little at this. “Very true, sir!” she acknowledged. “He is the most redoubtable old man! He was kindness itself to me, and I hold him in considerable affection!”
“That doesn’t surprise me,” he returned. “I took a liking to him myself.”
She turned her head to study his profile. “Did you? Yes, you would, of course! But how came you to meet him, sir?”
“Oh, by the merest chance! Whenever I have occasion to transact business in Market Harborough, I stable my cattle at the Angel. Today, when I walked into the yard to recover my curricle, Mr Nidd was there, hob-nobbing with one of the ostlers, with whom he appeared to be on excellent terms. I should suppose him to have been making inquiries about Staplewood and the Broomes, for as I emerged from the inn I heard the ostler say that here was Mr Philip Broome, and why did not Mr Nidd ask questions of me.”
“And did he?”
“No, but as I apprehend that he was bent on discovering information about my uncle and Minerva that was hardly to be expected. He told me that he was your Sarah’s father-in-law, and that she was very anxious to know that you were well, and happy.”
“What did you tell him?” she asked breathlessly.
“I told him that, to the best of my belief, you were in high force. As to your being happy, I could not take it upon myself to say, but I suggested to him that he should judge for himself, and offered to drive him back to Staplewood with me, which he declined, saying that he didn’t wish to intrude upon you uninvited. On reflection, I came to the conclusion that he had the key to the cupboard in his pocket, and I promised to convey to you the intelligence that he was putting up at the Cock, in Market Harborough—and see how you received the news! Not that I had the least doubt, but it was plain that he had.”
She digested this in silence, until some time after he had negotiated the awkward turn out of the main gates, and was driving his forward-stepping pair along the lane which wound its way to Market Harborough. She sat beside him, staring frowningly ahead, only now and then mechanically putting up a hand to straighten her bonnet, which the wind, in spite of the ribbons that were tied under her chin, was making spasmodic attempts to lift from her head. At last she asked, in a voice she tried to render casual: “Did he say—you told me, but I might not have understood you!—that Sarah had received none of my letters to her, sir?”
“None since the first, which you seem to have written on your arrival at Staplewood.”
“I remember.” She relapsed again into silence, but broke it after another pause. “Cousin Philip—do letters go astray, or—or get lost in the post?”
“Rarely, unless they are wrongly directed.”
“I thought not. That forces me to believe that they were never posted. My aunt instructed me to lay them on the table in the hall for Pennymore to collect, and I did so, never dreaming—” She stopped, and after a moment said: “Cousin, do you think it possible that my aunt can have taken my letters, and—and destroyed them?”
Her tone implored him to reassure her, but he replied coolly: I not only think it possible, but very probable.”
“But is it!
He glanced down at her. “I told you this morning, Kate, that the circumstance of your being alone in the world makes you valuable to Minerva. I collect that Mrs Nidd is devoted to you, and I’ll hazard a guess that if she knew that you were unhappy, or being constrained to do something against your will, she would fly to your rescue, even braving Minerva’s quelling top-loftiness.”
“Dear Sarah!” sighed Kate, smiling faintly. “Of course she would!”
“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 an
xious 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 chaw-bacon ! 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.
Chapter XII
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 out-stretched 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!”
Phlip 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 Polly 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!”
Cousin Kate Page 17
