“That,” he said, whipping up his horses, “is all I want to know! Tomorrow, my darling, when you have considered, we will discuss when it will be most convenient for us to settle on a suitable date for the wedding! Yes, I know you are wondering how to break the news to Minerva, but you need not: I’ll do that—and instantly remove you from her sphere of influence! O my God! there’s the stable-clock striking six already! Why did you urge me to dine with Gurney? Shall I come in with you? Minerva is likely to be out of reason cross, you know!”

“Perhaps she will be, but not nearly as cross as she would be if you were to accompany me!” replied Kate, preparing to alight from the curricle. “She dislikes you quite as much as you dislike her, Philip! I mean to come to points with her, and nothing could more surely bring us to dagger-drawing than your presence, believe me!”

“You are full of pluck, Kate!” he said admiringly. “But if your courage fails you at the last moment, don’t hesitate to tell me! I shall fully sympathize!”

She smiled, and took the hand he was holding out to her, to facilitate her descent from the curricle. Once on the ground, she looked up at him, with shyly twinkling eyes. “I promise you it won’t. I don’t mean to tell her that you have been so obliging as to make me an offer, of course!” She pulled her hand out of his tightening clasp as she spoke, and went swiftly up the steps to the principal entrance to the house.

It stood open, as it always did in summertime, during the daylight hours, and the inner door, leading from the lobby into the hall, was on the latch. She let herself softly in, without, however, much hope of being able to run upstairs unobserved. Lady Broome insisted that one or other of the footmen should keep a watch on the door, and be at hand to bow her, or any visitor, in, and to relieve the gentlemen of their hats and coats. But on this occasion no one came into the hall, and Kate, who had more than half expected Pennymore to meet her, charged with a reproachful message from her aunt, thankfully darted up the stairs, to fling off her crumpled walking-dress, and,to hurry into the evening-gown she trusted Ellen would have laid out in readiness. She thought, fleetingly, that it was odd that neither of the footmen had been lying in wait for her; but she was not prepared to be greeted by the news, conveyed to her by Ellen, in awe-stricken accents, that the household was in an uproar, because my lady had fainted clean away an hour after Miss had left the house, and had been carried up to her bed in a state of total collapse.

“And they say, miss—Mrs Thorne, and Betty, and Martha—that her ladyship has never fainted in her life before, and Betty says as her aunty was just the same, never having a day’s illness until she was struck down with a palsy-stroke, and never rose from her bed again!”

Without attaching much weight to this story, Kate was surprised, for it had not seemed to her that Lady Broome was on the brink of a palsy-stroke, although, looking back, she remembered thinking that her aunt was out of sorts when she had sent her on a useless errand. She said, in a disappointingly matter-of-fact way: “Nonsense, Ellen! I expect she has contracted this horrid influenza, which is rife in the village. Quickly, now! Help me into my dress! I’m shockingly late already!”

Ellen obeyed this behest, but said that everything was at sixes and sevens, on account of her ladyship’s being very ill, and Mrs Thorne’s having given it as her opinion that it was a Warning: a pronouncement which had operated so powerfully on the cook’s sensibilities that he had ruined the cutlets of sweetbread ordered for the Master’s dinner, and had been forced to boil a fowl, which he proposed to serve with bechamel sauce, being as the Master couldn’t seem to stomach rich meats.

While privately thinking that the chef had seized on Lady Broome’s sudden indisposition as an excuse for having overcooked the cutlets, Kate realized that it must be a very rare occurence, for it had clearly disorganized the establishment.

She discouraged Ellen’s ghoulish desire to cite all the examples of fatal collapse which had, apparently, carried off half her aunts and uncles and cousins, and repeated her belief that Lady Broome’s disorder was merely a severe attack of influenza.

In the event, she was justified, greatly to Ellen’s disappointment. Just as she was about to leave her room, and to go in search of Sidlaw, a perfunctory knock on the door was instantly succeeded by Sidlaw’s entrance. She said immediately : “Come in! I was just going to see if I could find you. What’s this I’m hearing about her ladyship? Has she caught this horrid influenza that is going so much about?”

She was well aware that the dresser regarded her with mixed feelings, being torn between jealousy and a reluctant admiration of her sartorial taste; and had long since come to the conclusion that she owed the grudging civility paid to her by Sidlaw to her aunt, who must, she guessed, have laid stringent orders on her devoted attendant to treat her niece with respect. She was not, therefore, surprised when Sidlaw sniffed, and she was sure she was thankful Miss had come home at last.

“Yes, I’m late,” agreed Kate. “I’m sorry for it, since I apprehend her ladyship was taken ill suddenly.”

“There was nothing you could have done, miss!” said Sidlaw, instantly showing hackle. “Not but what—”

“I don’t suppose there was, with you and the doctor to attend to her,” interrupted Kate. “What’s the matter? Is it the influenza?”

“Well, that’s what the doctor says, miss,” Sidlaw replied, with another sniff which indicated her opinion of the doctor. “What I say is that she carried a bowl of broth to that hurly-burly creature—for Female I will not call her!—that lives in the cottage all covered over with ivy, not two days ago, and, say what I would, I couldn’t hinder her! She only laughed, and said that I should know she never caught infectious complaints.”

“Yes,” interpolated Ellen, unable to restrain herself. “And Miss Kate was with her, Miss Sidlaw, and she hasn’t caught the influenza as you may see for yourself!”

“That’s nothing!” said Kate hastily, to save Ellen from annihilation. “I am not prone to succumb to infectious diseases! And it must be remembered that I didn’t enter the cottage! You may go now!”

“She’ll never be worth a candle-end!” said Sidlaw, with gloomy satisfaction, as the hapless Ellen withdrew. “I told my lady how it would be if she took a village scrub into the house!”

Kate thought it prudent to ignore this, and asked instead if she might visit her aunt. To this, Sidlaw replied with a flat veto, saying that the doctor had given a dose of laudanum to my lady, to send her to sleep. “She told me, miss, that she felt as though she’d been stretched on the rack, and had all her joints wrenched, and she isn’t one to complain! As for her head, she’d no need to tell me that was aching fit to burst, because I could see that from the way she kept turning it from side to side on the pillow! And nothing I could do eased it: not even a cataplasm to her feet! So I was obliged to send for Dr Delabole, for all she kept on telling me she’d be better presently! I knew she was in a high fever!”

A second knock fell on the door; Sidlaw, ignoring Kate, opened it, and said sharply: “Well, what do you want?”

Kate, having caught a glimpse of Pennymore, said coldly: “That will do, Sidlaw: you may go!”

Sidlaw turned white with anger, and shut her mouth like a trap. Paying no further heed to her, Kate smiled kindly at the butler, and said: “What is it, Pennymore?”

It was beneath Pennymore’s dignity to betray even a flicker of triumph. To all appearances he neither saw nor heard Sidlaw as she stalked, snorting, out of the room. He said, with undisturbed calm: “Sir Timothy sent me to inquire, miss, if you would do him the honour of dining with him. In his own room, miss.”

“How very kind of him!” said Kate. She had not been looking forward with much pleasure to an evening spent in Torquil’s and the doctor’s company, and she spoke with real gratitude. “Pray tell Sir Timothy that I am very much obliged to him, and will join him directly!”

Pennymore bowed, and said: “Sir Timothy’s dinner will be served immediately, miss. We are a little behindhand this evening. Her ladyship’s sudden indisposition has, I regret to say, quite upset certain members of the staff.”

“So I’ve been given to understand!” said Kate, twinkling.

An almost imperceptible quiver of revulsion crossed Pennymore’s face. He said: “Yes, miss. It is unfortunate that Mrs Thorne’s nerves are so easily irritated. The maids naturally take their tone from her, and if the housekeeper falls into a fit of the vapours one can scarcely blame her underlings for behaving in a deplorably theatrical way. And the cook, of course, is a foreigner,” he added, not contemptuously, but indulgently. He then bowed slightly, and withdrew.

It had not taken Kate many days to realize that the senior members of the staff were split into two factions: those who owed allegiance to Sir Timothy, and those who were Lady Broome’s supporters. Pennymore, and Tenby, Sir Timothy’s valet, were at the head of the first faction, and were followed by the two footmen, the coachman, and the head-groom; while Sidlaw and Mrs Thorne, both of whom had come to Staplewood with their mistress, were Lady Broome’s worshippers. Whalley, Kate thought, was certainly one of Lady Broome’s chosen servants, and possibly Badger as well. The leaders of each faction lived in a state of constant warfare, which was not the less bitter for being concealed, in general, by a cloak of exquisite civility. Kate, nettled by Sidlaw’s insolence, could not help chuckling inwardly at what she knew would be Sidlaw’s rage at having been betrayed into speaking so roughly to Pennymore. Then she scolded herself for being uncharitable, knowing that Sidlaw, who really did love her mistress, was overset by anxiety.