Cousin Kate

loved London he bought a house in Berkeley Square for me. Oh, how happy I was—for just three years! London, for the Season; then Brighton; then back to London again, for a few weeks; then visits to our particular friends—large house-parties, you understand! Theatricals were all the rage: I recall going to the Priory, at Stanmore, when Lady Cahir took the chief part in Who’s the Dupe, a most diverting farce, and very well played. Then we had parties here, always during the hunting season. I once held one over Christmas: that was a triumph indeed! And—”

“But where was Torquil?” Kate interrupted. “Did you take him with you?”

“Good God, no! I did keep him in London for a time, but it did not agree with him: he was always ailing, and Sir Timothy became so nervous that he would lose him—the children of his first marriage all died, as I daresay you’ve been told—that I sent him here, with his nurse.”

“I wonder you could bear to part with him!” Kate said, before she could stop herself.

“My dear child, I make no secret of the fact that I am not one of those women who dote on infants! To own the truth, I find them repulsive! They are for ever screaming, or dribbling, or being sick! Besides, his nurse managed him far better than I could—even had I not been much too busy to make the attempt. To be a successful hostess takes up one’s time and energy, I promise you. And I was successful. And then it ended.”

She stopped, leaving Kate at a loss for something sympathetic to say. Having no social ambition herself, and with the unfading memory of her mother, who could never bear to be parted from either her husband or her child, it was difficult for her to appreciate what her enforced abandonment of a life of high fashion had meant to her aunt. That it had meant a great deal to her was patent in her face. Lady Broome was looking into the past with fixed, embittered eyes, and her mouth set rigidly. In desperation, Kate faltered: “It must have been very hard for you, ma’am.”

Her words recalled Lady Broome from her abstraction. She brought her eyes round to Kate’s face, and said “Hard!…” A contemptuous little laugh shook her. “No, you don’t understand, do you?”

“You see, I don’t think I should enjoy the sort of life you’ve described,” Kate excused herself. “So I can’t enter into your feelings. But I do understand that—that coming here to live—giving up all that you liked so much—must have been a sacrifice.”

“No one has ever known what it cost me, not even Sidlaw! Whatever my faults, I’ve never been one of those women who weep and whine, and fall into lethargies, throwing everyone into gloom with their die-away airs! And no one—not even Maria!—could accuse me of failing in my duty to my sick husband! I sold the town house; I took on my shoulders all the business which Sir Timothy was too enfeebled to attend to; and devoted myself to Staplewood, knowing how much he loved it! I hadn’t cared, until then, to acquaint myself with its history, but to please him I began to study the Broome records, and to bring them into order. I had supposed that it would be a drudgery, but I became fascinated. I believe I know more about the Broomes than Sir Timothy does—and I sometimes think I care more! But there was one thing he cared for, and had never disclosed to me. It wasn’t until I found the genealogical tree—at the bottom of a chest, full of old letters, and accounts, and forgotten deeds—that I realized that for two hundred years Staplewood, and the title, had descended from father to son in unbroken sequence. How many families can boast of that? I understood then why Sir Timothy was so anxious every time Torquil contracted some childish ailment, and I became determined that it should be no fault of mine if he descended, like the children of Sir Timothy’s first marriage, into an early grave.”

Kate, who had listened to this speech in gathering dismay, began to feel sick, but clutched at the straw offered by the rapt, almost fanatical, light that shone in Lady Broome’s eyes, and the little triumphant smile which curled her lips. The doctor, she thought, had been right when he had warned her that her aunt was by no means restored to health: she was obviously feverish. She said: “Well, he hasn’t done so, has he? So that is another object you haven’t failed to achieve! Dear aunt, you have let yourself be blue-devilled by nothing more than the dejection which—so I am told—is the aftermath of a fever! I think I should leave you now: Dr Delabole warned me that you are not as well as you think, and I see that he was right! The thoughts are tangled in your head: what a shocking thing it would be if I believed some of the things you’ve said! I don’t, of course: I haven’t much experience of illness, but I do know that people who are recovering from a severe bout of fever are not to be held accountable for anything they may say when they are feeling low, and oppressed.”

She would have risen, as she spoke, but Lady Broome startled her by jerking herself upright on the day-bed, and saying, in a voice of barely repressed exasperation. “Oh, don’t talk as if you were the ninnyhammer I know you’re not! Sit still!” She cast aside the light shawl which covered her legs, and got up, and began to pace the room with a nervous energy that seriously alarmed Kate. After a pause, during which she managed to bring her sudden spurt of temper under control, she said, with what Kate felt to be determined calm: “I had not meant to come to a point with you so soon, but what happened on the day that I was taken ill has forced it on me. Kate, if you feel that you owe me anything—if you feel a particle of affection for me!—marry Torquil, before it becomes known all over the county that he’s insane! Staplewood must have an heir in the direct line!” Her eyes, unnaturally burning, perceived the sudden blanching of Kate’s countenance, her widening stare of horror. Misreading these signs, she exclaimed: “What, have you lived at Staplewood for so many weeks and remained blind to the truth? You’re not a green girl! You’re not a fool! Don’t tell me you have never suspected that Torquil is mad!”

Deathly pale, Kate flinched, and threw up a hand, as though to ward off a blow. She said numbly: “I thought—oh, I was certain!—that you didn’t know!”

“I?” said Lady Broome incredulously. “Good God, Kate, why do you suppose that I brought Delabole to live here? Why have I kept Torquil in the old nursery wing? Why have I never allowed him to go beyond the gates without his groom, or to consort with any of the boys and girls of his own age? Why do you imagine that Badger was at hand when he tried to shoot you?”

Kate shook her bowed head, and uttered, almost inaudibly: “He didn’t try to shoot me. It was the dog. Torquil gave the gun to me as soon as I told him to.”

This seemed to give Lady Broome pause. The angry light died out of her eyes; she said, after a moment’s cold consideration: “If you say so, I believe it. It proves how right I was when I judged you to be a suitable wife for him. I have observed you closely, and I’ve seen how good your influence has been. He likes you, and you’ve made him respect you: it may be that marriage might arrest the progress of his insanity; it may even be that you are the cause—oh, quite unwittingly!—of its increase during the past weeks. Delabole is of the opinion that his—how shall I put it?—his manhood, first roused by the Templecombe child’s empty prettiness, grew stronger when I brought you to live at Staplewood, and has excited his brain. You’ve held him at a distance, and he has found relief in—committing certain acts of violence.”

Kate looked up quickly, an appalled question in her eyes. Lady Broome smiled with a sort of indulgent contempt. “Oh, yes!” she said, faintly amused. “I know about the rabbit you found. I know everything that Torquil does. I have known for years—ever since I realized there was more to his fits of ungovernable rage than mere childish naughtiness. What I suffered—the despair—the chagrin—when the knowledge was forced upon me that the taint had reappeared in my son—my only son!—I can’t describe to you! He inherited his sickly constitution from Sir Timothy, but his madness came to him through me! Oh, don’t look so alarmed! it didn’t come through the Malverns, but through my mother! One of her great-uncles had to be confined: it was kept so secret that very few people knew about it, and it didn’t appear either in my grandfather’s or my father’s generations. Or in mine! I had never dreamed that it would visit my son! It was only when Torquil’s nurse spoke to me—told me that she was puzzled by him—that I began to suspect the truth. I dismissed her at the earliest opportunity that offered, as you may suppose! I said that he was too old for a nurse, and appointed Badger to attend to him. He had previously been employed to wait on my predecessor’s nursery, and had been dreading dismissal from the moment Sir Timothy married me. Fortunately, as it chanced, Sir Timothy’s rather exaggerated notions of his obligations to his dependants made him insist on Badger’s continuing at Staplewood; and, still more fortunately, Badger became deeply attached to Torquil. I daresay he was sincere, since Torquil, when he grew out of infancy, was an amazingly pretty little boy, you know! Of course, I’ve been obliged to pay both him and Whalley to keep their lips buttoned, but I never grudge the price of faithful service. Delabole, too! I knew he could be bought! I sent for him when Torquil had the smallpox. Dr Ogbourne had previously attended the family, but I knew that he was beginning to be suspicious, and I seized that chance to be rid of him. I hoped, at that time, that I might be mistaken, and that Torquil’s disturbing fits of violence did indeed arise from ill-health, but as time went on I knew that his brain was sick, as well as his body. That was the most crushing blow of all I had suffered. I felt at first that my one remaining ambition had been shattered. But I don’t readily despair, and I thought that if he survived, if I could keep him quietly at Staplewood, guard against any excitement, never let him go beyond the gates alone, and,