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, above all, establish my mastery of him, his malady might be cured, or, at the worst, remain in abeyance. I saw that it would be necessary to maintain a constant watch over him, for although there were periods—sometimes lasting for weeks—, when he was perfectly docile, one never knew when something would upset him, and bring on one of his attacks of mania. I soon learned, however, that these almost always occurred at the time of the full moon: they still do, but there have lately been signs that this can no longer be depended on. And it is becoming increasingly difficult to control him. I can do so, and perhaps you can; but the day is coming when it will be necessary to confine him more closely. It will be too late then to give him a wife, and all my care, all the sacrifices I have made, all the stratagems I’ve been forced to employ to hide his lunacy from everyone but those few I can trust, will have been wasted! That, Kate, is why I depend on you to fulfil the only hope I have left!”

Kate had sunk her head in her hands, and she did not raise it. She said, in a voice of suppressed anguish: “But what of him? What of him, ma’am. Haven’t you one thought to spare for him?”

Lady Broome frowned down at her in utter incomprehension. “I don’t understand you,” she said coldly. “I must, surely, have told you enough to make you realize that he is never out of my thoughts? I have watched over him, nursed him through all his illnesses, supplied his every want, cosseted him, borne with his odd humours—and you can ask me that! Do you think it has been an easy task? Let me tell you that it is so long since I enjoyed peace of mind that I have forgotten what it was like to go carefree to bed, and to wake in the morning without feeling that there was a heavy cloud hanging over me! My greatest anxiety now is that I may not be able for much longer to hide the truth about him. It was easy enough when he was a child, but he has grown too strong for Badger to overpower. Delabole can do it, but Torquil has become very cunning, and has several times given them both the slip. Neither of them can control him as I can, with no more than a word! When I set out to master him it was with the future in mind: it was imperative that he should stand in awe of me, acquire the habit of obeying me. Childhood’s habits are not easy to shake off, you know. If I could have induced Delabole to be sterner—but he has always been too easy-going, and Badger, of course, merely dotes on Torquil. He’s not afraid of either of them: indeed, he holds them in contempt!”

Kate said faintly: “Does Sir Timothy know the truth?”

“Good God, no!” Lady Broome exclaimed. “I’ve kept them apart as much as I could, so that he shouldn’t guess. I think the shock would kill him! No one knows, except Sidlaw. It was a fortunate circumstance that until about three years ago Torquil was hardly ever out of flannel. He caused me many anxious moments, but Sir Timothy got into the way of thinking of him as invalidish. So did everyone else, and so they might well! What I went through with him!—I can’t remember any epidemic that passed him by—he even had typhus, and but for me would have died of it! As for the number of times he was laid up with a putrid sore throat, or a heavy cold in the head, to say nothing of his sick headaches, they are past counting! I think only one person is suspicious, and that, I need hardly say, is Sir Timothy’s dear nephew. But he can’t know that Torquil isn’t sane, and although I don’t doubt he would be happy to make mischief I do him the justice to believe that he wouldn’t run the risk of causing his uncle to suffer what might well be a fatal heart-attack unless there was an end to be served. But there is none! While Torquil lives, sane or mad, Philip cannot become Broome of Staplewood. And if Torquil were to father a son Philip would never succeed Sir Timothy!”