destination, and her ladyship woke up. Miss Malvern, bright-eyed and alert, had not slept, but had divided her time between reverently stroking the sleek ermine muff which Lady Broome had bestowed upon her, squinting down to admire the matching stole about her shoulders, observing with interest the country through which four fast horses were carrying her, and speculating on the sudden change in her fortunes.
From the moment of her arrival at the Clarendon Hotel, she felt that she had been pitchforked into another, and more affluent, world. Received with great civility, she was led upstairs to my lady’s apartments, a large suite of rooms looking on to Albemarle Street, and welcomed affectionately by my lady, who kissed her, held her at arms’ length, and exclaimed ruefully: “How
Not for nothing had Miss Malvern spent six months in a gentleman’s establishment: Miss Sidlaw’s mien might be forbidding, and her curtsy majestic, but Miss Malvern knew better than to offer her hand. She smiled, and acknowledged the curtsy with a gracious inclination of her head, well aware that by this manner of receiving an introduction she had risen from the status of Poor Relation to that of a Lady of the First Stare.
Dinner was served in my lady’s private parlour: not a large dinner, but one of great elegance, beginning with a soup, going on with lobster, dressed in a sauce known only to Jacquard, reaching its climax in a capilotade of ducklings, and ending with a dish of peu d’amours. Miss Malvern, abandoning herself to the flesh-pots, enjoyed every mouthful.
While she ate, she lent an attentive ear to my lady’s discourse, which was devoted to the glory of Staplewood and the Broomes. She learned that a Broome had been one of King James the First’s braw new knights; and that ever since that day son had succeeded father in an unbroken line; she learned that while none had achieved fame, many had been distinguished; and she learned that each one had made it his business to enlarge, or to embellish, the original manor. Lady Broome promised to show her the sketches and plans of the house over more than two hundred years, adding: “My part—or, rather, Sir Timothy’s—has been to improve the gardens, and to build a belvedere, commanding a view of the lake.”
There was an appreciative twinkle in Kate’s eye, but her aunt was choosing a peu d’amour, and she did not see it. It seemed to Kate that although Lady Broome might have outgrown a girlish desire to marry a duke she still had her fair share of ambition. It was directed into worthier channels; her enthusiasm for the Broome family was certainly not assumed; and when she spoke of Staplewood it was with reverence, and a great deal of knowledge.
She sent Kate early to bed, warning her that she must be ready to start on the long journey at five in the morning. “You won’t object to traveling all day, I hope? I don’t care to be away from Sir Timothy for more than three nights—and I never sleep well in posting-houses.”
“Of course I don’t object, ma’am!” instantly responded Kate. “I have frequently travelled all day, in the Peninsula, and over shocking roads! In antiquated carriages, too, when I have had no horse to ride.”
“Ah, I was forgetting! I am afraid parts of the road are very bad, but my chaise is particularly well-sprung, and I employ my own postilions. A sad extravagance, when I go about so little nowadays! But when one is obliged to travel without male escort trustworthy boys are a necessity. Now I am going to take you to your bedchamber, just to be sure that you have everything you want for the night.”
She cast a keen, critical glance round this apartment, but Kate’s gaze fell on the ermine stole and muff laid out on the bed, and remained riveted. “But—those aren’t mine, ma’am!”
“What are not yours? Oh, the furs! Indeed they are! The first present I have ever given my niece: do you like them?”
“Oh, yes, yes, but—Aunt Minerva, I do thank you, but you mustn’t crush me with benevolence!”
Lady Broome laughed. “Mustn’t I? Foolish child, do you mean to throw them back at me?”
“No, I’m not so rag-mannered, and I like them too much!” said Kate naively, lifting the muff to her cheek. “Oh, how soft! how
She might have said the same about the chaise which bore her so swiftly north next morning, and did indeed say that so much unaccustomed luxury was putting quite unsuitable notions into her head. Lady Broome, with a significant glance, at the back of Sidlaw’s bonnet, smiled, but requested her not to talk nonsense. Sidlaw, occupying the unenviable forward seat, smiled too, but sourly. However, when my lady had fallen asleep, which she very soon did, and she heard herself addressed in a cautious undervoice, she unbent a little. “Tell me about Staplewood!” begged Kate. “You must know that I have spent almost all my life in the Peninsula, under the roughest conditions, and have never stayed in an English country house, or had a proper come-out, or—or anything! How shall I do?”
“You will do very well, miss—being as her ladyship has taken a fancy to you.”
“I hope I may be worthy of her regard!”
“Yes, miss. My lady has had many crosses to bear.”
“Does that signify that you hope I may not become another cross?”
After a moment’s hesitation, Sidlaw replied, picking her words: “Oh, no, miss! Merely that you might disappoint her—but that I’m sure you won’t do.”
“I trust I shall not!”
“No, miss. My lady is kindness itself—to those she likes.”
The inference was plain. Kate sat pondering it, a slight furrow between her brows. Instinct forbade her to inquire more closely, but the silence was broken by Sidlaw, who said: “I believe, miss—but I am not positive!—that my lady hopes you may provide Mr Torquil with the youthful companionship which he has missed, through no fault of his own.”
The slowing down of the chaise as it approached the lodge-gates woke Lady Broome. She opened sleepy eyes, blinked them, and became aware of her surroundings. She sat up, gave her shoulders a little shake, and said: “So we arrive! My love, I do beg your pardon! So impolite of me to fall asleep! Ah, Fleet! You see me home again before you expected to! And is all well here? Very well? You relieve my mind! Go on, James!” She turned her head, and smiled at her niece. “This is Staplewood,” she said simply.
The chaise bowled at a slackened pace through the park, allowing Kate plenty of time to see, and to admire. It had been a fine day, and the sun was setting redly. Kate’s first view of the great house drew a gasp from her, not of admiration but of dismay, since it seemed to her for a moment, staring at the huge facade, whose numberless windows gave back the sun’s dying rays in every colour of the spectrum, that the building was on fire. Shaken, but realizing that her aunt had not correctly interpreted her gasp, she murmured appreciation.
“Yes,” said Lady Broome, in a purring voice that reminded Kate irresistibly of a large, sleek cat. “It is beautiful, isn’t it?”
She put aside the rug that covered her legs as she spoke, and prepared to alight from the chaise. A footman, hurrying out of the house, let down the steps, and offered his arm, and an elderly man, whose habit proclaimed his calling, bowed to her, and said: “Welcome home, my lady!”
“Thank you, Pennymore. Kate, dear child, you must let me make Pennymore known to you! Our good butler, who knew Staplewood before ever I did. How is Sir Timothy, Pennymore?”
“Quite well, my lady, and will be glad to see you home again. Mr Torquil too—as Dr Delabole will doubtless inform your ladyship.”
She nodded, and led Kate into the house, saying: “You will think it difficult at first, I daresay, to find your way about, but you will soon grow accustomed. We are now in the Great Hall, and that is the Grand Stairway.”
“I can see that it is, ma’am,” responded Kate. “Very grand!” She heard the sharp intake of breath behind her, and shot a mischievous look over her shoulder. The next instant, however, she had schooled her features into an expression of rapt interest, and was able to meet her aunt’s eyes limpidly enough to allay suspicion.
Before Lady Broome could conduct her up the Grand Stairway to her bedchamber, a tall, Gothic door at one side of the Great Hall was opened, and an old gentleman came into the hall. His hair was white, his frame emaciated, and his skin the colour of parchment. His eyes struck Kate as the weariest she had ever seen; and when he smiled it was with an effort. He said, in a gentle voice: “So you have brought her to Staplewood, Minerva? How do you do, my dear? I hope you will be happy with us.”
Taking the fragile hand he held out to her in her own warm clasp, she answered, smiling at him: “Yes, sir, I hope so too. It won’t be my fault if I am not.”
“Well, as it certainly won’t be mine, you
