Джорджетт Хейер - Cousin Kate

Philip looked at him under his brows, frowning a little. “Yes, if you wish,” he replied.

“Well, I do wish! I’m tired of playing with Matthew: he always lets me win. And Kate is a wretched player!”

“So you are obliged to let her win!” said the doctor quizzingly.

“No, I’m not,” said Torquil, staring at him. “Why should I?”

“Chivalry, dear boy! chivalry!”

“Oh, Kate don’t care for that stuff, do you, coz?”

“No, and isn’t it a fortunate circumstance?” she said brightly.

“Yes—Oh, you’re joking me!”

“No.”

“Have I put you into a miff?” he asked incredulously. “Oh, well, then, I’m sorry! If you care to join us tonight I’ll give you a game, and I will let you win!”

“Very handsome of you, Torquil, but I am going to play backgammon with your father.” She turned her shoulder on him as she spoke, and smiled at Sir Timothy. “You won’t let me win either, will you, sir?”

“Not if I can prevent you, my dear! But you are growing to be so expert that I doubt if I can hold you at bay for much longer!” He glanced at his nephew. “You must know that Kate indulges me with a game of piquet, or of backgammon, every evening, Philip.”

“Does she, sir?” said Philip dryly. “How very obliging of her!”

When Torquil and Philip came back to the drawing-room after their game of billiards, Sir Timothy was just about to retire to bed, and Kate was putting the backgammon pieces away. Sir Timothy paused, leaning on his valet’s arm, to ask how the billiards match had gone. Torquil shrugged, and laughed. “Oh, he beat me, sir! I was quite off my game!”

“Were you? But you could hardly expect to win against Philip, could you? He and I were used to play a great deal together: indeed, I taught him to play, and I was no mean player, was I, Philip?”

“No, sir, you were very good—too good for me!”

Sir Timothy laughed gently. “At the start, of course I was! But we ended pretty evenly matched, I think. Kate, don’t put the backgammon away! Why don’t you have a game with Philip? She plays very well, Philip: she beat me three times tonight, let me tell you!”

“I had some lucky throws, sir. But you won the last of our games, and I don’t care to risk my luck against Mr Broome tonight. I am going to bed too.”

“Afraid, Cousin Kate?” Philip said.

“No, sir: sleepy!”she retorted.

He accepted this with a slight bow. “Another night, then, I shall hope to pit my skill against yours.”

“De buena gana!”

There was a gleam of interest in his eyes, and a furrow between his brows. He said: “Where did you learn to speak Spanish, cousin?”

“My father was a military man, sir, and I passed my youth in the Peninsula,” she answered, and turned from him to address Lady Broome, begging leave to be excused, and saying that she had a slight headache.

A gracious permission having been granted, she went away, in a mood of strange depression. Ellen’s artless prattle, while she helped her to undress, did little to lighten it. Ellen was full of Mr Philip Broome’s perfections: she thought it such a sad pity that he wasn’t Sir Timothy’s son. Everyone said so, even Mr Pennymore!

Kate dismissed the girl presently, but she did not immediately get into bed. It had occurred to her that Mr Philip Broome was at the root of her depression, and it was necessary to rid her mind of this absurd notion. There was no reason why he should like her; but similarly there was no reason why he should have taken her in dislike, which he undoubtedly had. Nor was there any reason why she should care a pin for his opinion of her. She told herself so, but she did care. Facing the abominable truth, she was forced to admit that from the first moment of setting eyes on him she had formed a decided partiality for Mr Philip Broome.

She arose on the following morning, rather heavy-eyed from the effects of a restless night, and went down to the breakfast-parlour. Mr Philip Broome was its sole occupant. She checked involuntarily on the threshold, but recovered herself in an instant, bidding him a cheerful good morning, and advancing to take her seat opposite him. He was discussing a plate of ham, but he got up, at her entrance, and returned her greeting. “May I give you some coffee, cousin?” he asked.

“No, thank you, sir: I prefer tea,” she replied politely.

“There seems to be none: I’ll ring for Pennymore,” he said. “Meanwhile, may I carve some ham for you?”

“No, thank you, sir: I prefer bread-and-butter.”

His lips twitched. “A bread-and-butter miss? I don’t believe it!”

She said, stung into retort: “I’m no such thing!”

“So I knew,” he said, resuming his seat, adding, after a reflective moment: “Or so I thought, perhaps I should say.” Without giving her time to reply, he said abruptly: “Why did you laugh last night, at dinner?”

She looked up quickly, her eyes suddenly full of mischief. “Oh!—I’ve forgotten!”

“No, you haven’t’

“Well, if you must have it, sir, I laughed because I thought, all at once, that we must resemble nothing so much as two cats trying to stare one another out!” she answered frankly.

That made his lips twitch again. “Was I staring at you? I beg your pardon, but can you blame me? I was unprepared to find myself confronting such a highly finished piece of nature.”

“I trust you will forgive me, sir, when I say that I was unprepared to receive extravagant compliments from you! I thought you were a man of sense.”

“I am,” he replied imperturbably.

“Well, no one would believe it who heard you talking flowery commonplaces!”

“Don’t you think yourself a highly finished piece of nature?”

“No, of course I don’t!”

“An antidote?” he asked, with interest.

She gave a choke of laughter. “No, nor that either!—Good morning, Pennymore!”

“Good morning, miss,” said Pennymore, setting a teapot and a dish of hot scones before her. “Have you any orders for Whalley?”

“No, no, it is far too hot to ride for pleasure! At least, it is for me.”

“Yes, miss. Very sultry it is this morning. It wouldn’t surprise me if we was to get a storm.”

“Oh, I hope not!”

“Are you afraid of thunderstorms?” asked Philip, as Pennymore left the room.

“Yes, a little. I was once in a very bad one, in Spain, and I saw a man struck down.” She broke off, shuddering. Summoning up a smile, she said: “Since then I have become shockingly hen-hearted!”

He directed a considering look at her, but said nothing, and, as Lady Broome came into the room at that moment, the subject was abandoned. She was shortly followed by Torquil, who wanted to know what were the plans for the day. On hearing that none had been made, he propounded that he, and Kate, and Philip should go on a picnic expedition to some place which, from what Kate could gather, was situated at a considerable distance from Staplewood. Lady Broome entered an instant veto, and was supported by Philip, who said that he, for one, did not mean to ride so far on what promised to be a very sultry day. “And, if Pennymore is to be believed—which I think he is,” he said, turning to look over his shoulder out of the window, “we are going to have a thunderstorm.”

“Oh, pooh! what of it?” said Torquil impatiently. “One can always find shelter!”

“Not in my experience!” said his cousin.

“No, and not in mine either!” said Kate. “Besides, it’s too hot for riding! I’ve told Pennymore so already, so pray exclude me from this expedition of yours, Torquil! Another day, perhaps!”

He set his cup down with a crash into its saucer. “Anything I want to do!” he said, in a trembling voice. “It’s always the same tale! Always!” He jumped up from his chair, thrusting it back so violently that it fell over, and went blindly to the door.

Here he was checked by Dr Delabole, who was just entering the room, and who barred his passage, laying a restraining hand on his arm, and saying: “Whither away, Torquil? Now, what has happened to put you all on end? Come, come, my boy, this won’t do! You will bring on one of your distressing migraines, and I shall be obliged to physic you!”

“Come back to the table, my son!” commanded Lady Broome sternly. “You are behaving like a child, and must be treated like one, unless you mend your ways! Pick up your chair!”

He gave a dry sob, and turned, white and wild-eyed, and stared at her for a hard-breathing moment. As Kate had seen once before, his eyes sank under Lady Broome’s quelling gaze. Kate leaned sideways to pick up his chair, and patted it invitingly, smiling at him. “Come and sit down again!” she coaxed.

His smouldering eyes travelled slowly to her face, searching it suspiciously. Finding nothing in it but friendly sympathy, he yielded to her invitation, muttering: “Very well! To oblige you, coz!”

“You shall be rewarded with one of my scones,” she said lightly. “I’ll butter it for you.”

He said nothing, either then, or when she handed it to him, but he ate it. Lady Broome, turning her attention to Philip, engaged him in conversation, while Kate talked in a soothing undervoice to Torquil, and the doctor applied himself, with his usual appetite, to his breakfast.

Encountering Philip an hour later, in the hall, Kate would have passed him with no more than a nod, but he stopped her, and asked her where she was going. She replied: “To cut some fresh roses, sir. This hot weather has made the ones I gathered yesterday hang their heads, and they refuse to be revived.”

“I’ll accompany you, if I may—to carry the basket!” he said, taking it from her hand. “Where is Torquil?”