Cousin Kate (32 page)

Philip replied, with a curling lip: 'He could not - if he believed Torquil to be sane! Or if, unless I am very much mistaken, Torquil had not tried to kill him on the night of the storm!'

0h, no! Oh, no!' she whispered, recoiling. 'The scream I heard—Are you telling me it was
Badger
who screamed?' He shrugged, and suddenly she remembered that she had not recognized the voice, and that Badger had been seen on the following morning with sticking-plaster on his face, and a bandage round his neck; and she buried her face in her hands, with an inarticulate moan of protest. 'You must be mistaken! you
must!'
she uttered, when she could command her voice. When he did not answer, she said urgently: 'He must have woken up in a night-terror: my aunt told me that he is subject to them! And as for the dog, Dr Delabole told me that he was once, as a child, badly bitten by a retriever, and it left him with a dread of dogs!'

He frowned. 'Yes, it's true that my uncle's Nell did turn on him. Minerva insisted on having her shot, but from what I knew of Torquil it was my belief that he came by his desserts. He had a pet rabbit once, and strangled it. You've probably heard of brats who pull the legs off flies? Well, that wasn't enough for Torquil! When he was nine he tried to wrench a kitten's tail off. Have you forgotten that when I arrived here, and walked in on you, he had his hands about your neck!'

She had turned very pale, and her eyes dilated in a look of sick dismay. She was obliged to swallow once or twice before she could speak, for her throat was suddenly dry. Shuddering convulsively, she at last managed to say, in a sort of croak: 'Then - was it Torquil?— That rabbit I found in the wood! But Dr Delabole said it was boys from the village - that Torquil had been in his room for an hour! Oh, no! Oh, no! it is too terrible, too appalling! Oh, poor boy-poor, unhappy boy!'

She broke into tears, again covering her face with her shaking hands. Philip drew her gently to rest against his shoulders, patting her, and stroking the nape of her neck in a way that conveyed comfort and reassurance. He said, when she had mastered her emotion: 'What rabbit was this, Kate?'

A quiver of revulsion ran through her, and it was in a halting, scarcely audible voice that she recounted the episode. He listened to her in silence, but when she ended, asked her, rather sharply, if the doctor had been searching for Torquil.

'I don't know. I thought so, because I heard my aunt ask Pennymore if Torquil had not come in yet. That was why I was searching for him. He had left me in a rage, and I felt that the least I could do, having upset him, was to find him, and bring him back to the house. But when I told Dr Delabole that I was looking for Torquil he said that Torquil had been in his room for an hour past. I quite thought that he would be laid low by one of his migraines, for that is in general what happens after one of his fits of passion, but it seems that he fell asleep, and woke so much refreshed—Oh, no, Philip, he could not have done that dreadful thing! Why, he was in his most amiable mood! Indeed, he was
gay
, and he looked so much better, so much happier! I had expected him to be at outs with me, because I had lost my temper with him, and said some pretty cutting things to him, which made him dash off in a fury. He seemed to have forgotten about that, and you may be sure that I didn't remind him that we had quarrelled!' She broke off abruptly, as he interjected: 'O God!' as though the words had been wrenched out of him, and demanded, in bewilderment: 'What do you mean? Why do you look like that?'

He replied with deliberate calm: 'I think that the whole affair was wiped from his mind as soon as he had satisfied his instinct to kill. I don't pretend to understand the minds of madmen, but it has seemed to me on several occasions that he has no recollection of what he has done when temporarily out of his senses. I even think that to kill, in an inhuman bestial way, that rabbit, or a bird caught in a net, or some other helpless creature, satisfies some terrible instinct in himself, and acts on him like a powerful narcotic. More than that! as a tonic! If he had the smallest remembrance of what he has done when possessed by his fiendish
other
self I daresay he would be as horrified as you are.'

'He knew that he had tried to shoot that dog!' she said swiftly. 'He has just begged my pardon!'

He said, his frown deepening: 'I fancy his behaviour was due more to fright than to madness.'

'But it was only a playful young dog - hardly more than a puppy!' she protested. 'Even a person who was afraid of dogs must have seen how friendly it was! Why, it—' She stopped suddenly, remembering that the dog had bristled and growled and backed away from Torquil.

'Friendly to Torquil?'

'No. It-it seemed to fear him!' she blurted out.

'Animals do fear him,' he replied. 'That's why there are no dogs at Staplewood, other than my uncle's old spaniel bitch, who is too old and lazy to stray from his side. They say that animals know when one is afraid of them: it is certainly true of horses. Is it fantastic to suppose that instinct warns them to beware of madmen? Gurney spoke last night to me about what he called the "nervous chestnut" Torquil rides. I let it pass, but I've ridden that horse, Kate, and he went as sweetly as you please for me. Torquil has only to take the bridle in his hand to set him sidling, and bucking, and no sooner is Torquil in the saddle than he begins to sweat. And, make no mistake, Torquil isn't afraid of any horse that was ever foaled! I don't say I've never seen him unseated - the best of us take tosses! - but I have never seen him unseated by the efforts of his mount to get rid of him, or fail to win the mastery over the most headstrong brute in the stables! But horses don't show their fear of one by growling, and bristling, and they rarely savage one. Certainly Torquil has never been savaged by a horse, but a dog did once turn on him, and that experience left him with a dread of dogs. I think he acted of impulse when he tried to shoot your friendly stray. He may have been hovering on the brink of one of his crazy fits, but you were not afraid of him, and you recalled him to his senses, probably by speaking sharply to him - as I did, when I found him with his hands round your throat, and as Minerva has the power to do. He stands in great awe of Minerva, and in a little awe of me. It seems that he is also in awe of you. But the day is coming - and soon, I fear-when even Minerva won't be able to control him. That is why, my darling, I can't feel easy while you remain at Staplewood.'

'But my aunt doesn't
know - cannot
know!—' Kate stammered. 'She believes that it is merely irritation of the nerves - that he is much better! —'

'In fact, he is much worse!' he interrupted. 'Until now, although I have suspected that he suffered from some intermittent mental disorder, I could never be perfectly sure of it. I have frequently driven over from Broome Hall to visit my uncle, but of late years I've only stayed for one night.' He smiled wryly. 'Minerva has not encouraged me to prolong my visits! Indeed, she has been most ingenious in finding reasons why I shouldn't do so. But this time I've been deaf to all her hints, and I've seen much that it wasn't difficult to conceal from me for a few hours. I tell you frankly, Kate, I have been shocked by the deterioration in Torquil! Irritation of the nerves? Is that what Minerva calls it? Irritation of the brain would be nearer the mark, and well she knows it! Why do you imagine that she still keeps him in the nursery wing?'

'She told me - so that he may be quiet!' Kate faltered.

'So that he may be kept safe!' he said grimly. 'Why do Delabole and Badger both have their quarters in that wing? Why is he never permitted to ride out alone? To find his level amongst youngsters of his own age?'

'Because -oh, Philip, pray don't say any more! You dislike my aunt too bitterly to do her justice! If she is deceiving herself - or, which I think very likely, is being deceived by Dr Delabole, can you wonder at it that she should cling to the belief that his rages spring from ill-health, and will vanish when he grows stronger? Or even that she should shrink from facing a terrible truth?' She sprang up, and took a hasty turn about the room. 'You have pity for your uncle!
He
shrinks from facing it! If Torquil is indeed mad, how can it be possible that he shouldn't know it?'

He was prevented from replying by the entrance of Pennymore, wearing the look of one whose sense of propriety had been outraged. He addressed himself to Kate, saying, in his stateliest manner: 'I beg your pardon, miss, but since her ladyship is unwell I feel it my duty to inform you that Mrs Thorne has seen fit to Prophesy!'

CHAPTER XVI

Philip gave a shout of laughter: conduct which Pennymore considered to be so unseemly that he ignored it, keeping his eyes fixed on Kate. He said in a perfectly expressionless voice: 'In consequence of which, miss, the chef, so far as I am able to understand him - but he has relapsed into the French tongue, which he is regrettably prone to do when excited - has formed the intention of leaving Staplewood tomorrow.'

Philip's shoulders shook, but Kate was not amused. 'Good God!' she exclaimed.

'Yes, miss,' agreed Pennymore, according this very proper way of receiving the tidings the tribute of a slight bow. 'Furthermore, one of the kitchen-maids has so far forgotten her position as to fall into the vapours.'

'But this is a Greek tragedy, with Pennymore the Chorus!' said Philip.

Pennymore said arctically: 'If you will permit me to say so, Master Philip, it is hardly a laughing matter!'

Recognizing that by using this form of address Pennymore was trying to reduce him to schoolboy status, Mr Philip Broome grinned, but obligingly begged pardon.

'But - but why does the chef wish to leave?' asked Kate.

'On account of the Prophecy, miss. I'm sure Mrs Thorne has a perfect right to dream of Horrors, if she so wishes, but I do not consider it advisable to describe her dreams to the household. In fact, far otherwise, for it has a very upsetting effect on the female staff, not to mention the chef - but that was to be expected, him being a Foreigner. Mrs Thorne, miss, makes quite a habit of dreaming of Disaster. The first time she did so, the second footman tripped on the back stairs the very next day, and fell to the bottom.'

'Good gracious!' said Kate. 'Was he badly injured? You don't mean, surely, that he broke his neck?'

'Oh, no, miss! It was worse than that,' said Pennymore. 'He broke three of the Sevres cups, thus ruining the Set.'

'Not
worse
, Pennymore!' protested Kate.

'He could have been better spared, miss, I assure you,' replied Pennymore darkly. 'A very unsatisfactory young man, and easily replaceable, which the Sevres china was not. However, what with that, and Mrs Thorne's dreaming she saw Staplewood being burnt to the ground a couple of nights before the kitchen-chimmey caught fire, so that rock salt had to be thrown on the range, which set dinner back an hour, she's only got to dream she saw lions and tigers in the garden for none of the young maids to stir out of the house for a sennight.'

'What's her latest dream?' asked Philip.

'Well, sir, it is Extremely Unpleasant, and not at all the sort of thing one would expect of a respectable female, however given to what I will call Odd Humours. She says that she dreamed there was a coffin in the Blue saloon, with blood streaming from it. Yes, miss, most distasteful, and, I venture to say, highly unlikely. Unfortunately, one of the maids informed Miss Sidlaw, and she was so much provoked that she took it upon herself to give Mrs Thorne a scold, quite as if she thought she was standing in my lady's shoes.'

'Oh, that will never do!' Kate said quickly.

'No, miss, nor it hasn't. There has been a Quarrel between them,' replied Pennymore. 'And,' he said, coming to his grand climax, 'Mrs Thorne is now laid down upon her bed with Spasms. I thought you would wish to know, miss.'

This rider incensed Mr Philip Broome into saying acidly: 'Oh, indeed? And what made you think so?'

Kate, more accustomed than her betrothed to this time-honoured phrase, intervened hastily. 'You did very right to tell me, Pennymore. I'll try what I can do to reconcile Sidlaw and Mrs Thorne.'

'I'll deal with the chef,' offered Philip. 'You needn't look at me so despitefully, Pennymore! Do you think I can't do it?'

'I was merely thinking, Master Philip, that being as Miss Kate has lived in Foreign Parts, it might be better if
she
was to speak to the chef - in his own tongue,' said Pennymore coldly.

'No doubt it would be, if he were a Spaniard, but I daresay I am quite as fluent in French as she is, even though I haven't lived in foreign parts! And don't imagine you can come it over me by calling me Master Philip, you old bangster, because you can't!'

'Now you've offended him!' said Kate reproachfully, when Pennymore had bowed himself out of the room.

'Not I! Didn't you see his mouth twitching? Pennymore and I are old friends - which won't deter him from combing my hair presently for using cant terms in front of a lady! Kate, you don't mean to embroil yourself in this cat fight, do you?'

'Yes, of course I do! That is to say, I hope I may be able to smooth things over: it's the least I can do for my aunt! I must go: where is my reticule?'

'It's here,' he said, picking it up from the table. 'Good God, what do you carry in it? It weighs a ton!'

'Oh, it's my door key! I put it in my reticule because I couldn't think of a secure hiding-place for it. I can't stay to explain it to you now, but I will presently!'