Kat, Incorrigible

by Stephanie Burgis

  “Inside the manor,” he said. “But you—where—how—?”

  “I know,” I said. “I disappeared. But I’m back now. You must have brought my mirror with you.”

  He held it out to me, glimmering in the darkness. “I picked it up from the ground when you vanished. But Miss Katherine, you—look here, it isn’t possible, but I actually saw you—”

  “I’m fine now,” I said, as I took the mirror. “I’ll explain it all later. But this can’t be the manor. Unless—” A horrible thought struck me. “You haven’t been thrown into the dungeon, have you? Is there a dungeon in Grantham Abbey?”

  “I—I don’t know,” Mr. Collingwood said. “But no, I haven’t been. We’re in the servants’ corridor, behind the walls of the third floor. Hiding. I haven’t been taken prisoner. Not yet.”

  “Then you won’t be,” I said, and brushed the dust from my white evening dress with a few brisk strokes. “I’m here now. I’ll take care of everything.”

  “Er …” I couldn’t see his face, but his voice positively dripped with doubt.

  I sighed. “You were so brave when you were wearing the highwayman’s mask. Don’t you remember?”

  “Please don’t mention that,” Mr. Collingwood said. “I don’t know what came over me. Your sister was most shocked by my behavior. If you had heard what she said to me when she realized who I was—”

  “Oh, I can imagine,” I said. “But don’t worry about that. She’s not here now, so just pretend you’ve put the mask back on, and—”

  “But that’s exactly the problem!” Mr. Collingwood said. “She is here now. They’re all here now!”

  “So? All you need to do is take off your cloak and greet them as if nothing was amiss, and no one will—”

  “You don’t understand,” Mr. Collingwood said. “I was coming up through the back staircase to make my way back into my room undetected and pretend I’d been here all along. When I opened the door, I saw Neville coming out of my room, with two other gentlemen behind him, looking grim. And Neville said”—Mr. Collingwood’s voice deepened into his brother’s unmistakable growl—“‘We’ll have him when he finally slinks back here to hide.’”

  “Oh,” I said. That did sound bad. I started to frown, but it hurt my aching head too much, so I stopped. “I don’t understand. How did they get here so quickly? Even after we were held up, we should have been faster—”

  “Miss Katherine, it has been two full hours since we were held up,” Mr. Collingwood said. “I didn’t arrive at Grantham Abbey until just twenty minutes ago.”

  “What on earth were you doing, to take so long?”

  “Searching for you, of course!” he shouted, straight into my ears.

  “Ouch!” I said, and stepped away.

  “Forgive me,” said Mr. Collingwood more quietly. “I should not have spoken so to you. But it was not a pleasant experience. The idea of telling Miss Stephenson that I’d lost you—”

  “I wasn’t lost,” I said. “I left. You didn’t have to worry about me.”

  “You vanished before my eyes with a highwayman who meant to murder you.”

  “Oh, well, I took care of him,” I said, and tried not to think about where the highwayman was right now. At least he couldn’t do any damage in an empty hall without any weapons, no matter how angry he might be. I couldn’t imagine that Mr. Gregson would let him. Of course, Mr. Gregson was probably on his way here himself to give me a piece of his mind. So all in all, it was best not to think about him, either.

  I sighed. “Do you think Sir Neville will be forgiving, since you are his brother?”

  “You must be joking,” Mr. Collingwood said.

  “Why? Of course, I know brothers can be annoying from time to time,” I said, in a true masterpiece of ladylike understatement. I thought of Charles’s gambling debts, and my teeth ground together. I forced them apart. “But still, family is family. He might be as angry as anything, but he can hardly call for his own brother to be hanged.”

  “I think nothing would give him greater pleasure,” Mr. Collingwood said.

  “But—”

  “Miss Katherine, did you not think it was odd that he didn’t recognize me in my disguise? That my own brother could not recognize my voice behind the mask?”

  “Well …” I shrugged in the darkness. “I recognized you.”

  “Quite,” said Mr. Collingwood. “Because you had—forgive me—paid some attention to me in the first two days of our acquaintance.”

  “I had to,” I said. “You were mooning over Elissa, and she was mooning back. I couldn’t ignore you after that.”

  “Neville can,” Mr. Collingwood said. “He’s spent his entire life trying to pretend I don’t exist. He was fifteen years old when I was born, and our mother died only four weeks later. I always thought he blamed me for her death, but lately, I’ve wondered if it was more than that. And Sarah said—”

  “Who?”

  “Sarah,” Mr. Collingwood said. “Neville’s wife.” He paused, and coughed uncomfortably. “Neville’s late wife, that is. Neville said she had to be kept secluded in the house because of the scandals she would have created if he allowed her out in Society, but if you had known her sweetness and goodness, and then seen the monstrous way he treated her—”

  “Yes, yes, I’ve heard about all that,” I said. “But what did she say?”

  Mr. Collingwood lowered his voice. “Miss Katherine, what I’m about to tell you is the most horrifying of rumors, and if it is untrue, then merely mentioning it is a terrible slander of my brother’s good name.”

  “Never mind that,” I said. “Slander away. What did she say?”

  Mr. Collingwood’s whisper was so soft I had to strain to hear it. “Sarah said that she had come across my mother’s will, hidden in Neville’s own dressing gown, while he slept. She said he carried it with him everywhere, because he was so afraid of the servants coming across it in any other hiding place.”

  “Your mother’s will?” I repeated. “But I thought—Elissa told me the whole reason you were penniless was—”

  “Miss Katherine, as far as I or anyone else is aware, our mother did not leave any will at all!” Mr. Collingwood hissed. “Neville’s estate was inherited from our father. But the money to run it all came from our mother’s dowry, which my grandfather ordered in such a radical manner that she had a right to will nearly all of it away as she chose. Because no one ever found a will, everything went to Neville.”

  “Oh,” I said. “Oh. But Sarah said … ?”

  “Sarah said she saw the will,” Mr. Collingwood said. His voice was rising now in agitation. “She said it was properly witnessed and signed, and it left me half of my mother’s funds. That would be a fortune! The money she left—all of which passed automatically to Neville—makes him one of the wealthiest men in the country. Even half of such an amount would be more than most men ever dream of.”

  “But …” I gripped the mirror hard in my hand, trying to think clearly. “That makes no sense! If such a will existed, and Sir Neville found it—well, yes, I can see why he would have kept it secret from everyone else. But why wouldn’t he have destroyed it? Carrying it around everywhere might be safer than hiding it in the house for someone else to find, but it would be far, far safer to have burned it.”

  “Perhaps he felt guilty,” Mr. Collingwood offered. “Perhaps it still burns at his conscience, and he cannot bring himself to—”

  “Have you been reading Elissa’s gothic novels?” I said. “Because that doesn’t sound like Sir Neville to me.”

  Mr. Collingwood’s sigh ruffled my hair. “No,” he said. “It doesn’t sound like Neville to me, either.”

  There was a glum silence.

  “It could still be true,” I said. “Perhaps we just don’t know the whole story. There could be some reason—”

  “No,” said Mr. Collingwood. “No, you were right to rebuke me. It is a romantic, unlikely tale. It’s only …” He paused. “Neville never
cared for me, never found me anything but an irritation and an inconvenience to him. I spent my childhood with tutors and then at school, rarely seeing my own brother, and knowing that I always disappointed him. Since I came of age, he’s kept me on a meager allowance—the merest pittance—and acted as though he were granting me the highest of favors. He only summons me to accompany him for large house parties such as this one so he can maintain the appearance of family loyalty without ever having to talk to me. I suppose … I suppose I wanted to believe it was for some reason that would reflect badly on him, and not on me, for being such an unlikable brother.”

  “Don’t be absurd,” I said. “You are not an unlikable brother. Trust me. My brother is far worse than you, and we still like him. You weren’t sent down from Oxford for too much drinking and carousing, were you? And you haven’t run your entire family into debt with hopeless gambling, have you?”

  “Er … no,” Mr. Collingwood said. “But—”

  “Well, then. If we can like Charles despite everything he’s done, then Sir Neville is certainly capable of liking you, if he wanted to,” I said. “It’s his own fault if he doesn’t.”

  “But our mother’s death—”

  “My mother died,” I said, and felt the words catch in my throat. “She died when I was born too. Just like you and your mother. But my sisters never, ever said it was my fault.”

  “Oh.” Mr. Collingwood’s voice sounded strangled. “Miss Katherine, please forgive me. I never meant to bring up bad memories, or—”

  “Never mind,” I said, and took a deep, steadying breath. “The point remains. There is nothing inherently wrong with you as a brother, but if Sir Neville won’t protect you from the gallows, then we had better make sure you don’t get anywhere near them. I think the first thing to do is for me to distract everyone.”

  “How?”

  “By escaping from the highwayman, of course,” I said. His eyes widened in sudden horror, and his mouth fell open; I kept talking, before faintheartedness could overwhelm him completely. “I’ll creep down to the back of the house, then come racing around screaming from the front. Everyone should come running, and I’ll gather a crowd. Meanwhile, you can come yawning down from the roof, where you’ve been stargazing for the past few hours. Sir Neville may be suspicious, but he can’t have any proof—all he knows is that you’re missing. If I tell everybody that I’ve been in the woods with the highwayman until just ten minutes ago, and you come down from the top floor of the house …”

  “Miss Katherine—”

  “Just act confident, as if you have nothing to worry about,” I said. “Pretend you’re wearing that mask again, and you can say or do anything. Be a highwayman in ordinary dress.”

  “Miss Katherine!” This time, Mr. Collingwood’s voice came out as a high-pitched squeak of terror.

  “Don’t worry,” I said, as warmly and reassuringly as I could. Really, Elissa could have picked a braver hero to fall in love with … but since she hadn’t, I would have to be brave for him. “What could possibly go wrong?”

  “Well, let me think about that,” Sir Neville’s voice said behind me.

  I spun around. A door stood open twenty feet behind me, leaking light into the dark servants’ corridor. Behind Sir Neville stood two of my dinner companions from our first night’s meal, Major Connors and the red-faced, wine-guzzling man. They were both staring at me as if I were the devil incarnate.

  Sir Neville’s face creased into a grin of pure satisfaction. “You tell me, Miss Katherine,” he said. “What exactly could go wrong?”

  Nineteen

  They marched us out of the corridor and down the grand staircase. The foyer at the bottom of the stairs was empty, except for the footmen by the main doors, who looked more stone-faced than ever when they saw us. I looked longingly at the closed doors, but I didn’t even try to break away from the men around me. There was no place left to go.

  Even from the staircase, I could hear the roar of agitated gossip coming from the salon. As we approached it, flanked by our captors, I looked up at Mr. Collingwood’s pale face. He looked back at me and gave me a twisted grimace. After a moment, I realized it was meant to be a smile.

  Two footmen swung the doors to the salon open. The conversations went suddenly silent as we stepped inside. Then they exploded into a cloud of whispers, broken by Stepmama’s trembling voice.

  “You found her!” she cried. She broke through the crowd to come running toward us. “Oh, Kat, you horrid, wicked girl. I am so glad you’re safe!”

  I’d never seen Stepmama run in public before. Elissa and Angeline were close behind her, followed by Mr. Carlyle. Neither of my sisters looked as thrilled as Stepmama to see me. They must have known better.

  Elissa’s face looked white as chalk as she looked from me to Mr. Collingwood. When her gaze passed to Sir Neville behind us, she put one hand on her chest and swayed as if she might fall over in a swoon. Angeline grabbed Elissa’s arm to hold her up and watched us with wary eyes.

  “Kat!” Stepmama said again as she reached us. She took my hand to pull me away from the others.

  Sir Neville’s voice stopped her. “Not yet,” he said. His voice was low, but I knew everyone in the room could hear it. “I’m afraid we must talk in private, Mrs. Stephenson.”

  She fell back, dropping my hand. “What do you mean? Surely—”

  I could hear Sir Neville’s smile in his voice. “You may trust me, ma’am, when I say that your stepdaughters would prefer the truth of this matter not to be made public knowledge.”

  Stepmama’s face paled. Then it flushed bright red. “Katherine!” she hissed. “What in heaven’s name have you done this time?”

  “Have no fear,” said Sir Neville. “You’ll find out soon enough, I promise. Lady Graves?” He raised his voice to call across the room. “Might I beg the use of your library for a private discussion?”

  Lady Graves hurried toward us. “Of course,” she said. “But perhaps it might wait just a short while, Neville? Miss Katherine must be famished with hunger by now, and weary from all her excitement. Perhaps a few refreshments first—”

  “I am afraid not,” Sir Neville said. “The matter is too grave to wait.”

  Stepmama drew herself up to her full height, until she looked like a battleship ready to charge. “To the library, then,” she said. “And I wish to hear everything.”

  She swept past us, leading the way. As I turned, I spotted Lady Fotherington watching us from the crowd. She raised one eyebrow at me in a mocking question. Her lips curved into a smile. She leaned close to whisper something to fish-faced Mrs. Banfield, her neighbor, and both of them burst into laughter.

  My fingernails bit into the palms of my fisted hands.

  It wasn’t until we reached the library door that anyone spoke. “Major Connors, Mr. Green …” Sir Neville nodded to the two men who had helped him, as a footman hurried past to light the candles inside the room. “You needn’t accompany us inside. But if you wouldn’t mind standing guard outside the doors …”

  “Of course,” Mr Green said. He looked at me and then yanked his gaze away, as if I were too outrageous to focus on. “We’ll be here if you need us, Sir Neville.”

  “Call if you want us, and we’ll come straight in,” said Mr. Green. Now that he wasn’t bellowing about hunting, as he had at dinner that first night, his voice was a low mutter. But he looked as sturdy as the highwayman I’d left in the Golden Hall. I didn’t fancy my chances of escaping through the library doors.

  “‘Standing guard’?” Angeline repeated. “Really, Sir Neville, is that absolutely necessary?”

  “I’m afraid it is,” said Sir Neville. “Now, ladies, if you would step inside … ah, Mr. Carlyle.” He frowned. “You need hardly come with us. Not being a member of the family …”

  Angeline took Mr. Carlyle’s arm and stepped close to him. She met Sir Neville’s gaze without flinching. “Mr. Carlyle is a good friend of the family, and he is entirely welcome to
join us.”

  “Thank you, Miss Angeline,” Mr. Carlyle said, and put his hand over hers. “I think I’d better, if you don’t mind.”

  “I’m not sure …,” Stepmama began.

  “Come now, Stepmama,” Angeline said. “You know Mr. Carlyle was sent here as Papa’s representative. You could hardly think that Papa himself should not be represented at any family meeting—especially one so grave as Sir Neville has been promising us.”

  I was impressed by how reasonable she made it sound … especially considering that Papa had never once been included in any family meetings, grave or otherwise, unless Stepmama had dragged him inside to parrot her words back at us for added emphasis. But Stepmama could hardly admit any such thing in front of Sir Neville.

  So she said, “Yes, well, I suppose, if we really must,” and walked ahead of us into the library without further complaint.

  Elissa followed her, darting a frightened glance back at Mr. Collingwood as she passed. The rest of us waited at the open doorway.

  Sir Neville regarded Angeline with what looked suspiciously like the beginnings of a nasty grin. “Are you quite certain that was a wise decision, Miss Angeline?”

  “Oddly enough, I don’t believe I need you to approve my decisions for me, Sir Neville,” she said, and glared back at him, backed by Mr. Carlyle’s broad shoulders.

  “Mm,” Sir Neville said, and his lips curved the rest of the way into a full and unpleasant smirk aimed at both of them. “Well, if that truly is what you’d prefer …” He waited for them to pass, arm in arm, and then gestured me and Mr. Collingwood after them.

  He followed us inside, and the footman shut the door behind him. The library was a long, rectangular room filled with books, comfortable-looking couches, and high windows, and at any other time, I might have liked it. But Sir Neville’s presence filled the room as the door closed behind him, and the familiar prickles of discomfort clouded the air around him, biting against my arms, forcing helplessness down my throat until I nearly choked on it.