“I’m Miss Kate’s nurse, Master Torquil, and that’s no way for a young gentleman to talk!” replied Sarah, apparently regarding him as one of her nurslings.

“Oh!” said Torquil doubtfully. A sudden smile swept over his face. “I know! You are Sarah!” he said ingenuously. “Kate’s Sarah! But how the devil—no, how the deuce!—do you come to be here?”

“There’s no need for you to worrit yourself over that, sir. I came to Market Harborough on the night-coach, and hired a chaise to drive me here—and just as well for you I did!” Sarah said severely. “Now, you stay quiet, like a good boy, till the doctor comes!”

“I don’t want him!” Torquil declared, his smile vanishing. “Prosy bag-pudding!” His eyes travelled to his cousin’s face and gleamed defiance. “This will teach them not to keep the gates shut when I tell them to open them!”

“Is there any hope that it may teach you not to overface your horses?” asked Philip. He added softly, with a smile that took the sting out of his words: “Top-lofty young cawker!”

“Oh, damn you, Philip, I’m not!” protested Torquil. “You know I’m not! The clumsy brute must have jumped off his fore! Serve him right if he broke his legs! I hope he did: he’s a commoner! Oh, my God, no!”

This venomous ejaculation was provoked by the sight of Dr Delabole, descending the wide stairway with unusual haste. The doctor said, with fond joviality, as he crossed the hall: “Ah, there was no need for me to be alarmed, I see! I haven’t been summoned to attend a corpse! My dear boy, how came you to do anything so imprudent? I thought you were sleeping, when I myself retired to seek repose!”

“Tipped you the double, didn’t I, Matthew?” mocked Torquil unpleasantly.

“You did indeed!” acknowledged the doctor with unabated amiability. “And very naughty of you it was! However, I shan’t scold you! I fancy you punished yourself!” He was flexing one of Torquil’s legs as he spoke, and said laughingly, as he frustrated an attempt to kick him off his balance: “Well, that’s not broken, at all events! Let me see if you are able to stand on your feet!—Capital! Unless you have fractured a rib or two, which I can’t tell until I have you stripped, there’s nothing amiss with you but a shaking, and a few bruises. I shall ask our good James to carry you up to your room—”

“The devil fly away with you!” interrupted Torquil, taking instant umbrage. “I’m damned if I’ll be carried! Here, James, give me your arm up the stairs!” His eyes alighted on Kate, who had recovered her composure but was still sitting, rather limply, on a very uncomfortable chair placed with its high carved back against the wall. “Lord, coz, are you here?” he said. “I didn’t see you! You’re looking as blue as megrim! Did you think I was dead? No such thing! I’m as right as ram’s horn!”

She straightened her sagging shoulders, and got up. “Well, I’m glad of that, even if you don’t deserve to be!” she said.

At this inopportune moment, a hot and agitated groom burst unceremoniously into the house, pulled up short as soon as he saw Torquil, and uttered devoutly: “Thank Gawd!”

“Oh, it’s you, is it?” said Torquil, his wrath springing up. He shook James off, and advanced, rather shakily, towards the groom. “You insolent hound, how dared you get in my way?”

He found his passage barred by his cousin, and glared up at him, his chest heaving. Philip said sternly: “Go upstairs, Torquil! I’ll deal with Scholes.” He paused, watching Torquil’s long fingers curl, like a hawk’s talons, and dropped his hand on the boy’s shoulder, giving him a friendly shake. “Go on, you gudgeon! Making a show of yourself!”

Torquil’s angry eyes held his for a dangerous moment; then they sank, and he muttered something inaudible, before flinging round on his heel. He staggered, and would have fallen but for Delabole, who caught him as he lurched, and signed to James to carry him up the stairs. Philip turned towards Pennymore, saying calmly: “Well, there doesn’t seem to be much wrong! I fancy the only damage he suffered is to his pride, which is why he’s in such a pelter. You needn’t wait: the doctor will know what to do for him. Or you, William! Scholes, I want a word with you: don’t go!” He held out his hand to Sarah, saying, with a smile: “My uncle having retired to rest, Lady Broome being laid up with influenza, and my young cousin being as graceless as he is foolhardy, it’s left to me to welcome you, Mrs Nidd! Which, believe me, I do! But ought you to have left your excellent father-in-law to the mercies of Old Tom’s Rib?”

“Oh, I never did!” said Sarah, dropping an instinctive curtsy. “If it isn’t like Father to spread it about that I deserted him! I’ll have you know it was his own daughter I went to, sir, and for all he’s a grumble-gizzard he wouldn’t have had me do other!” She perceived that Philip’s hand was still outstretched, and blushed, saying in a flustered way, as she put her own hand into it: “Well, I’m sure, sir!—”

I’m glad you’ve come,” he said, “Kate—er, Miss Malvern!—has been longing to see you. What did happen this afternoon?”

“It’s just as I told you, sir: I was coming out here in a chaise, when all of a sudden the post-boy had to pull up, because there was half a dozen people in the way, including a silly widgeon with a baby, who kept on screaming that the horse had come down on top of her, which, of course, it hadn’t. You don’t have to worry about her, sir, because I gave her a good scold, and told her to be off home. Well, as soon as Mr Torquil came round, I had him lifted into the chaise, for I’ve never had a bit of patience with people who can’t think of anything better to do in a situation like that than to stand about gabbing, and wringing their hands, and I never will have! So then the lodge-keeper opened the gates, and we drove up to the house. That’s when this young fellow’—she nodded at the groom—came galloping up. But there was nothing for him to do for Mr Torquil, so I told him to see what he could do for the horse. It looked to me as if he’d broken one of his forelegs. Had he?”

Scholes, his stricken gaze imploring Mr Philip Broome’s clemency, said miserably: “It’s true, Mr Philip, but as God’s my judge it ain’t my fault! Nor it ain’t Fleet’s fault neither, though he says if he’d have known what Mr Torquil was going to do he’d have opened the gates, no matter what her ladyship’s orders was! If Whalley had been there, it wouldn’t have happened, but knowing as how Mr Torquil was in bed with a touch of the sun, he’d taken my lady’s mare to the village, to be reshod. There was only me and young Ned in the yard, sir, and I was busy grooming your bays, and never dreamed Mr Torquil had come down to the stables, and had ordered Ned to saddle up for him. And, although I fetched the lad a clout, I don’t see as how you can blame him, for, let alone he’s a gormless chawbacon, you couldn’t hardly expect him to start argufying with Mr Torquil. The first I knew of it was when I see Mr Torquil leading his chestnut out. I ran, quick as I could, but he was in the saddle by the time I got to him, and listen to me he would not. He was in one of his hey-go-mad moods, Mr Philip, and maybe I done wrong to catch hold of his bridle, because it made him fly up into the boughs, the way he does when he’s crossed, and he slashed his whip at me. And then the chestnut reared, and the next thing I knew was that I was on the flat of my back, and Mr Torquil going off at full gallop, and young Ned standing there with his mouth half-cocked, and his eyes fairly popping out of his head. So I rode Sir Timothy’s old grey down the avenue, on his halter—and—and the rest is like this lady says, sir! And what her ladyship will say I dursn’t think on!”

“She won’t blame you,” Philip said. “What have you done about the chestnut?”

“I’ve left him with Fleet, but he’ll have to be shot, Mr Philip, no question! Only I dursn’t do it without I’m ordered to!”

“You may say that I ordered you to shoot the poor brute.”

“Yes, sir. Thank’ee, sir. But it’ll go to my heart to do it!” said Scholes. “Such a prime bit of blood and bone as he is! What can have come over Mr Torquil to cram him at the wall, like he must have done, I’ll never know!”

He then withdrew, sadly shaking his head, and Philip, looking at Kate, said grimly: “This, I fancy, is where we kick the beam. It will be all over the county by tomorrow.” He glanced at Mrs Nidd, saying, with a wry smile: “What a moment for your arrival! I feel I ought to beg your pardon!”

“Well, I hope you won’t, sir. It’s for me to beg yours, if my lady is laid up, which I didn’t know, or I wouldn’t have come—not until she was in better cue, that is!”

“But I told you, Sarah, in the letter which I gave to you, Phil—Cousin Philip!—asking you to make sure it was taken to the Post Office!” Kate exclaimed.

He regarded her in some amusement. “Yes, but, although the posts are much improved, I hardly think Mrs Nidd could have received a letter sent off yesterday in time to have caught the night-coach to Market Harborough!”

“Good God, was it only two days ago that I wrote it?” said Kate, pressing her hands to her temples. “It seems an age!”

“The only letter I’ve had from you, Miss Kate, barring the first one you wrote, was the scratch of a note Mr Nidd brought me,” said Sarah. “And, to give credit where it’s due, he brought it to Polly’s house as soon as he got off the coach! What’s more, I didn’t hear a word out of him about being fed on pig swill. Pig swill indeed! I don’t say Tom’s wife has got my hand with pastry, but I hope you know me better, Miss Kate, than to suppose I’d leave Father to someone who doesn’t dress meat any better than—than—”