‘And why was that, pray?’
‘I never knew. Uncle Henry isn’t really my uncle. He’s a distant sort of cousin, so Tom and I never had much to do with him. I think there was bad blood between the two branches of the family. Grandfather always called him “that villain Henry”.’
‘And look what has happened! Herriards now belongs to this same Henry Payne, simply because he is next in the male line after Tom. It is all his—farms, lands and this house as well.’
Katharine’s face closed up. ‘Yes. I’ve lost my home, as well as my brother,’ she said. She spoke in such a detached tone that only someone who knew her as well as her former governess did could detect the heartache behind those briefly spoken words.
There was a pause, then Miss Tillyard said briskly, ‘We must look on the bright side, Katharine. You know very little about Mr Henry Payne. I doubt he is the villain your grandfather called him. You told me that he has a family—a son and a daughter about your age. They could be ideal companions for you. You’ve lacked company of your own age for years.’
‘I never wanted it. You were company enough for me, Tilly.’
‘An old governess!’
‘And now a friend,’ said Katharine with a look of affection. ‘I cannot say how grateful I am that you came back to live with me after Grandfather died. I know how much you love your little house in the village.’
‘It’s still there,’ said Miss Tillyard. ‘And, as soon as Mr Payne and his family come, I shall move back into it. You won’t need me then—and your uncle won’t thank me for staying. Now, why don’t you write that letter to Lord Calthorpe? Are you sure you don’t want him to come?’
‘Quite sure. I already have two guardians to tell me what to do. I don’t need advice from another elderly gentleman, however kind he may be.’
‘Katharine! Lord Calthorpe is a serving officer. He can’t be all that old!’
‘He’s on the Duke’s staff. You noticed that he was not in action with Tom during the battle? He was probably safely back at headquarters. Tom used to call staff officers a lot of old women—and that was when he was being polite! No, I don’t want some bewhiskered Army Major coming here to tell me how my brother died. And I certainly can’t imagine that I would ever need any help from him.’
A week later Katharine sat in the saloon with Miss Tillyard. Both ladies were listening with an air of determined calm for sounds of arrival. Mr Henry Payne had announced his intention of coming that afternoon to take up his position as owner of Herriards. A crunching of gravel on the drive, sounds of bustle in the hall, then the door of the saloon opened and a large gentleman strode confidently in, brushing the housekeeper aside as he did so. Katharine was fascinated to see that his eyes were blue like Tom’s, that his colour was high, as Tom’s had been, and that his hair, though touched with grey, still had traces of Tom’s reddish-gold. But his features were coarser, harder, in spite of his broad smile.
‘No need to announce me! I’m not a guest.’ He came over and took her hands in his. ‘And here is little Katharine! My dear, I am delighted to meet you at last!’ Then his face grew solemn and he added heavily, ‘Though, of course, the circumstances are very sad for you. Indeed, for us all, for us all. How are you, my dear?’
‘I am well, Uncle Henry, thank you. But where is Mrs Payne? Is she not with you?’
‘Your Aunt Ellen and the children are arriving tomorrow. They can hardly wait to see their new home, but they couldn’t leave Cheltenham when I did.’ He looked inquiringly at Miss Tillyard. ‘And this is?’
‘This is my former governess and a dear friend, Miss Emily Tillyard. Mr Payne, Tilly.’
Henry Payne’s smile diminished. He gave the briefest of nods in reply to Miss Tillyard’s curtsy and said, ‘Your governess, eh? Aren’t you a little old for governesses?’
‘You mistake me, Uncle. Tilly isn’t my governess any more, she came back to live with me when Grandfather died.’
‘Ah! Your companion! Well, there’ll be no need for that now, my dear. Miss Tillyard will be free to look for another post as soon as your aunt arrives. Which is tomorrow.’ He beamed at them both as if he had conferred the greatest of favours. He added, ‘Sit down, sit down, my dear! There’s no need to stand on ceremony with me. You, too, Miss…er, Tilson—unless you wish to go to your own quarters, of course. To pack.’
Katharine was outraged. Annoyance at the insult to Tilly was added to strong resentment at being invited to sit down in what had been till now her own home. But a warning glance from Tilly restrained her from responding too hastily. After a pause she managed to say calmly, ‘Miss Tillyard has no need to find another post, Uncle Henry. She is a friend, not a paid servant, and has a home of her own in Herriard Stoke.’
Henry Payne was not listening. He walked round the room, examining the pictures and ornaments on display with a proprietorial air. At length he turned and said, ‘You know, there’s some damned valuable stuff here. Mrs Payne will be delighted. As soon as she is here tomorrow you must show us both round the rest of the house. I shall leave it to her to choose rooms for the children and herself. But don’t worry, Katharine, my dear. If you wish to stay with us, I’m sure we can find room for you, never fear! Somewhere.’
After this experience with her uncle, Katharine was better prepared for making Mrs Payne’s acquaintance. That lady arrived the next day in a showy barouche, her daughter at her side. They were attended by several grooms dressed in elaborate livery.
Feeling in need of some moral support, Katharine had persuaded Tilly to delay her departure for Herriard Stoke until after Mrs Payne’s arrival, and they now both waited a little behind Henry Payne on the steps at the front of the house.
The carriage came to a halt, the grooms came round to the doors, and Mrs Henry Payne descended. Rather stout, of not more than average height, she was an impressive figure all the same. She wore a striped silk jacket over an elaborately ruched and padded robe of bright blue silk. Both garments were obviously new. Two of the largest feathers Katharine had ever seen curled round the brim of her matching bonnet. She paused before coming up the steps. A pair of rather hard blue eyes surveyed Herriards’s graceful frontage, its wide flight of steps leading to the door, its beautifully proportioned windows to either side, its handsome balustrading.
Mrs Payne frowned. In a tone of deep disapproval she said, ‘Henry! I hadn’t realised the place was so small! We shall have to extend, of course!’
‘Whatever you say, my love. There’ll be time for all sorts of plans later. Come! You must meet your niece. This is Katharine.’
As Katharine curtsied, Mrs Payne gave a little laugh and said, ‘Katharine? Oh dear, we can’t have that! That’s my daughter’s name. You will have to be Kate. This is Catherine!’ She turned and beckoned her daughter forward. Catherine Payne was in white with more frills and ribbons than good taste would have thought necessary. But her face and figure could not be faulted. She was small, but perfectly proportioned, with large blue eyes, a rose and ivory complexion and guinea-gold curls clustered round her heart-shaped face. The Payne looks in enchantingly miniature form. She gave Katharine a delightful smile as she curtsied. Katharine feeling rather like an elephant beside Miss Payne’s dainty grace, responded politely, and presented Miss Tillyard.
The Paynes gave the slightest of nods in Tilly’s direction and swept into the entrance hall. ‘Ah! Now something could be made of this!’ exclaimed Mrs Payne, looking at the branching staircase and the white and gold coffered ceiling. ‘It needs refurbishing, of course. It has been sadly neglected, but, yes, it has possibilities.’ She turned to Katharine. ‘I should like to see the bedchambers, Kate, before our belongings are brought in.’
‘Of course. Shall I send for the housekeeper, ma’am?’ Katharine asked coolly.
Mrs Payne replied with a smile, ‘It is surely for me to send for the housekeeper, my dear? But it is an excellent idea.’ She turned to a manservant who was waiting in the hall. ‘You! Fellow! Fetch—
What is the woman’s name, Kate?’
‘Mrs Jarnes, ma’am.’
‘Fetch Jarnes!’ The servant paused and looked at Katharine, who nodded.
‘I expect she is upstairs, Charles,’ she said quietly. ‘Ask her to come down to meet her new mistress.’
Mrs Payne pursed her lips. ‘As to “new mistress,” we shall have to see,’ she said. ‘I hope I may be allowed to decide for myself what servants I hire. However, for the moment… I’d like you to come with us to look at the rooms, Kate. It would be easier to discuss the changes I shall make. After I have settled on bedchambers for my family, I suppose we shall have to find one for you. I understand from your uncle that we are all the family you now possess?’
‘Yes,’ Katherine replied. ‘But…’ She hesitated. She was not at all sure that she wanted to stay with Henry Payne and his wife, but it might seem discourteous to say so at this early stage.
Her aunt pursed her lips again. ‘That is most unfortunate. We shall have to see what can be done. Your companion will be leaving, of course. Her room will definitely be required. What arrangements have you made for her departure?’
‘Miss Tillyard is returning to her own home today, ma’am.’
‘Good! Well, where are these rooms?’
Tilly went off to put her things together and Katharine was left to escort Mrs Payne round the house.
The following hour was one which Katharine would have been glad to forget. Herriards was not a large mansion; it was a comfortable, beautifully built family home. Succeeding generations had added their own touches to the house, but on the whole it was a harmonious collection of ideas and tastes. But it failed to meet with Mrs Payne’s notions of what was due to her newly elevated status. She stared, criticised, planned to knock down walls, throw up screens, add doors or windows until Katharine was ready to scream. Nothing met with her approval until they came to Katharine’s own rooms.
‘Now this is a very pleasant suite,’ she said as they entered, gazing round. Katharine was surprised and pleased. She had chosen the decoration schemes herself and the rooms were simply, but very prettily, furnished. She would not have thought they would appeal to Mrs Payne’s taste.
‘The prospect from the windows is extensive,’ pronounced her aunt, ‘and though the bedchamber is on the small side, the sitting room is quite large. Catherine will like these.’
‘Catherine, ma’am?’
‘Of course, they will need redecoration before they are fit for my daughter. The furnishing is sadly simple. But with curtains and a few extra draperies in the modern style, I fancy she will do very well here. Those bookcases would be taken out, of course, and room made for a larger dressing table and clothes chests.’
Katharine was stunned into silence, but Mrs Jarnes said, ‘Beggin’ your pardon, ma’am, these are Miss Katharine’s rooms. This Miss Katharine.’
The cold blue eyes surveyed Mrs Jarnes. ‘I think you mean they were Miss Kate’s, Jarnes. Things have now changed. From now on, it is my daughter who will be known as “Miss Catherine”. And she will have these rooms. Miss Kate will be accommodated elsewhere. The changeover will take place after the weekend.’
‘But—’
Katharine intervened before the housekeeper could say any more. ‘Mrs Payne is quite right, Mrs Jarnes. Herriards has new owners, who wish to make their own arrangements. We must fit in with their plans. As best we can.’ She turned to her aunt and said firmly, ‘These are the last rooms on this floor, Aunt Ellen, so I hope you will excuse me. I…I have promised Miss Tillyard that I will help her with her removal to Herriard Stoke.’
‘Oh! Well, I suppose I shall have to,’ her aunt said ungraciously. ‘I had thought… Still, we have done quite a lot, and I suppose I am a little fatigued. Jarnes, I should like some tea. Bring it to the saloon in ten minutes, if you please.’ She swept out, leaving Katharine and the housekeeper standing in the middle of the room. Mrs Jarnes shook her head.
‘Don’t say it, Jarnesy!’ Katharine said. ‘It won’t help, and it may make matters worse. You must consider your own future.’ Then, as the housekeeper turned reluctantly away, Katharine added under her breath, ‘As I shall certainly have to consider mine.’
That evening at table Uncle Henry talked of the changes he intended to make on the estate. He talked glibly of yields and planning, of new methods and latest trends, but Katharine found him unconvincing. By dint of careful questions she found that her uncle had, in fact, had very little experience of running any kind of estate, and it seemed to her that his theme was exploitation, rather than development. The Paynes had apparently chosen to get rid of their own small inheritance some years before, and had since been living in style on the proceeds in Cheltenham. They were all full of ideas of what they intended to do with the new-found wealth and status which had come to them through Tom Payne’s unexpected death.
‘And that reminds me, Kate, my dear,’ said her uncle. ‘I intend to drive to Basingstoke tomorrow to see the lawyers. I noticed you had taken the phaeton out this afternoon to convey your governess to Herriard Stoke. I dare say it hadn’t occurred to you to ask my permission. But in future I should like you to do so before you take any of the carriages out. That goes for the horses, too.’
‘But the phaeton is mine, sir. For my own use. So are some of the horses.’
‘That may have been true in the past, Kate. But as we keep saying, my dear, things have changed.’
‘Not everything. The horses—’
‘I will not be interrupted or contradicted at my own table, Kate! Not another word!’
‘But—’
‘Not one other word, Kate!’ Uncle Henry still smiled, but the table fell silent. ‘Once I have talked to the lawyers we shall see what can be done about your future. I will be as considerate as I can. But until then I do not wish to hear any discussion of the matter. Meanwhile, I hope you will do as I wish.’ He looked round the table. ‘We will now talk of something else.’
If I had a nobler nature, thought Katharine, I should make a better effort to prepare Uncle Henry for the shock which is waiting for him in Basingstoke, however richly he might deserve it. But, too heartsick and too weary to try, she listened in silence as Aunt Ellen talked of the bedchambers and how she proposed to allot them. And when, after debating which room could best be spared, her aunt finally decided to give her a small room on the upper floor, last used by a visiting maidservant, Katharine still said nothing. Neither the size nor the location of the room was of any consequence. She would not use it for long. To stay any length of time at Herriards under her uncle’s regime was clearly out of the question.
Having come to this conclusion Katharine made up her mind to consult her guardians about a move as soon as possible. Indeed, she would have gone to see them the very next day if Uncle Henry had not already announced his intention of going into Basingstoke himself. But the thought of travelling to Basingstoke and back with her uncle was so unattractive that she decided to postpone her own visit till the day after. It seemed a harmless enough decision, but, if she had known what distress it would cause her in the weeks to come, she would have travelled in his company even if it had been twice as disagreeable.
At the time she congratulated herself on her foresight. The journey back from Basingstoke would have been highly uncomfortable. Uncle Henry was in a vile mood when he returned from his session with the lawyers who acted for the Payne estate. His horses showed signs of rough treatment as he drove up; he bellowed at the groom as he got down, and he roughly pushed aside the servant who opened the door and threw his hat and cane into the unfortunate man’s face. Then he shut himself in the library and only reappeared when summoned to the dinner table.
Even though Katharine had a pretty good idea what had caused such ill humour in her uncle, she was astonished at the change in him. His air of beaming, self-confident benevolence had quite gone. Instead he ate in silence, drinking heavily and beating an impatient tattoo on the table when his glass was empty. Exce
pt for a brooding look in her direction from time to time, he ignored the rest of the family. She looked round. At the other end of the table her aunt, seemingly unaffected by her husband’s behaviour, was deep in conversation with her son and daughter, who were seated on either side of her. Walter Payne, Uncle Henry’s son and heir, had only arrived that afternoon and this was Katharine’s first opportunity to study him. Though he had given her a charming smile when his mother had introduced them, had kissed her hand and declared himself enchanted to meet her, his attention had soon been caught by something else, and from then on he had hardly spoken to her. She had the distinct impression that he had taken stock of his homeless Cousin Kate and dismissed her as unworthy of further consideration.
Walter was tall, like his father, though less heavily built, and he too had the Payne blue eyes, rich gold curls and fresh complexion. Katharine felt strangely puzzled as she looked at him. He was like, and yet not like, Tom. He had something of the same looks, the same readiness to laugh, the same charm, but, though she couldn’t quite put her finger on it, there was a difference. Tom had been carelessly transparent, everything on show, nothing disguised or held back. He might infuriate you, annoy you, upset you with his lack of tact, but you always knew where you were with Tom. Walter Payne’s manner was altogether more consciously charming, more carefully designed. For all his apparent frankness, she had a feeling that there was more to him than he allowed the world to see.
She was startled out of her deliberations when Henry Payne suddenly roused himself and snapped, ‘Walter! Why do you neglect your cousin in this cavalier fashion? She’ll think you a boor!’ As Katharine turned to look at him, surprised at his tone, he added with an attempt at geniality, ‘We can’t have Kate thinking you don’t know how to behave, my boy.’
Sylvia Andrew Page 3
