The big kitchen seemed to her to be crowded with persons whom she had never set eyes on before, all talking at once; but her unprecedented arrival on the scene struck even Gaston dumb with amazement. The menials who waited on him might stand open-mouthed and goggling, but Gallic address soon rescued him from his own astonishment, and he came forward, bowing deeply, and commanding the kitchen porter, whom he referred to in a very lofty style as a marmiton, to set a chair for mademoiselle. He begged her to inform him in what way he could serve her, for to serve her, he said gallantly, would be for him the greatest pleasure imaginable. So Kate, assuming the mien of a helpless innocent, said that she knew she could depend upon him to support her through this dreadful brouhaha, and what, she demanded of him, could he suggest in the guise of a dinner to set before a bereaved family, none of whose members, he would understand, would be able to support the sight of roast joints, or the raised pies which he cooked to such perfection. Gaston, even more susceptible than Mrs Thorne to flattery, rose magnificently to the challenge, bidding her to rest tranquil, and leave all to him: he would prepare a dinner—very small, but very choice—that would animate even the capricious appetite of Monsieur Torquil.

Kate got up rather quickly, managed to smile, and to thank Gaston, and hurried away, down the stone-paved passage to the Great Hall. In the need to prevent the disintegration of the household she had not had time to think of Torquil, but the chef’s words brought home to her the full horror of her aunt’s death, and filled her with icy dread. She went through the Gothic door into the Great Hall, and found Mrs Nidd there, about to mount the stairs.

Mrs Nidd exclaimed: “There you are, Miss Kate! I’ve been looking for you all over! Wherever have you been hiding yourself, dearie?”

“I’ve been in the kitchen. Sarah, where is Torquil?”

“Well, that’s more than I can tell you,” said Sarah. “It seems that man of his—Badger, is it?—is searching for him in the woods. By what Mr Pennymore tells me, one of the footmen caught sight of him, making for the woods like one demented, which, of course, the poor lad is! Now, don’t get into a fret! You’ve kept up wonderful till now, love, and acted just as you should, and like I knew you would, and you’ve got to remember that he won’t go to the gallows for strangling his ma, like he would if he was sane, but only be shut up safe somewhere, where he can’t harm himself, or anyone else. And it’s my belief, Miss Kate, that if ever a woman deserved to be strangled, she did! Now, you come into this room, which they call the Blue saloon, though why they do I’m sure I don’t know, for the only bit of blue in it is in the curtains, and not so very much of it there either! Mr Pennymore has this instant brought in a tea-tray, and a dish of little cakes so light you’ll never know you’re eating them. No, I know you don’t think you could swallow anything, dearie, but you’ll find you can, and you’ve got to keep up your strength, you know!”

Having propelled Kate gently but inexorably into the Blue saloon, she pushed her into a chair, and began to pour out the tea. Kate sank her head into her hands, and Mrs Nidd, observing how her fingers writhed amongst her soft curls, went on talking, in a comfortable way which Kate found vaguely soothing. She was able presently to drink a little tea, and even to nibble a small cake, but that her mind was preoccupied she showed by breaking into Sarah’s description of the fecklessness of Joe’s sister Polly, saying abruptly: “Sarah, why did he do it? Why? I know he hated her, but he was so much in awe of her that she had only to look at him to bring him into submission! Sarah, what did she say to him to goad him into strangling her? She can’t—oh, she can’t have told him that he was mad, and must be shut up!”

“It’s no use asking me what she said to him, Miss Kate, because I wasn’t there, but after what you told me last night I wouldn’t wonder at it if that’s what she did tell him. I got into a chat with Mrs Thorne when you was at dinner, and from the things she said—not that she meant to cry her ladyship down, mind!—it was as plain as a pack-saddle that her ladyship was so full of her own consequence, and so set on getting her own way, no matter what it cost her, that when she found she couldn’t, for all her plots and coaxings—like she did when you told her you wouldn’t marry Mr Torquil!—there wasn’t anything she wouldn’t do, just for sheer, wicked spite! I can tell you this, love!—she was a regular bad one, and you don’t need to waste a crumb of sympathy on her! If you ask me, this precious Staplewood of hers will be a happier place now she’s dead! And don’t tell me she was kind to you! She wasn’t so very kind when she knew she couldn’t make you marry Mr Torquil! No, and it wasn’t kind of her to try to trap an innocent girl like you are into marrying a poor, mad boy that would strangle you as soon as look at you! Whenever I think of that it makes me fairly boil! Oh, well! they say you shouldn’t speak ill of the dead—though why you shouldn’t I’m sure I don’t know!—so I’d best keep my lips buttoned, for speak good of her I could not! Drink up your tea, dearie!”

“Why did he go to her drawing-room?” Kate said, unheeding. “He never does so! Did she send for him? To scold him for trying to jump that wall yesterday? But she doesn’t scold him for the—the crazy things he does!”

“Well, according to what the doctor said, Mr Torquil found the carpenter nailing bars across the window of his bedchamber, which her ladyship had given him orders to do, without a word to anyone,” replied Sarah bluntly. “So Mr Torquil flew right up into the boughs, and rushed off in such a bang that the doctor couldn’t stop him, to ask his ma what she meant by it. It seems the doctor went after him, and he says he wouldn’t have left her ladyship alone with Mr Torquil if she hadn’t ordered him to do so, and if he hadn’t thought that she could handle Mr Torquil, like she always had done. He says that she told Mr Torquil to sit down, and that Mr Torquil obeyed her, so that he never thought she was in the least danger. He doesn’t know what happened after that, no more than anyone else does, but he did say, if you remember, Miss Kate, that she must have told him, but what she must have told him he did not say!”

Kate, who had been listening to this speech with a puzzled frown knitting her brows, said incredulously: “Good God! Did Dr Delabole tell you all this, Sarah?”

“Oh, no, he didn’t tell it to me!” said Sarah, refilling her cup. “He told it to Mr Philip, in this very room, but I was here, you see—just downstairs after getting that archwife into her bed, and seeing her drop off to sleep! Well, I’ve got no sort of fancy for the doctor, but I’m bound to own I couldn’t help compassionating him! Very rough Mr Philip was with him, raking him down till it was no wonder he had him quaking like a blancmange!”

Kate started up. “Is Philip here?” she cried eagerly. “Oh, Sarah, why didn’t you tell me?”

“You sit down, Miss Kate, and finish your tea!” said Sarah severely. “He is back, but he’s gone out to search for Mr Torquil, and it won’t do anyone a mite of good for you to run out searching for him! Don’t you fret! He’ll be here soon enough!”

As though in corroboration of this statement, he came into the room at that moment. He was looking pale, and his face was set grimly, his eyes very hard, and two deep clefts between his brows. In a shaking voice, Kate said: “Have you found him? Have you found him, Philip?”

“Badger found him,” he replied, and lifted a hand that was not quite steady to cover his eyes for a brief moment. He let it fall again, and said harshly: “We were too late—both of us—”

“Dead?” she whispered.

“Yes, dead,” he answered.


Chapter XXI

Mrs Nidd, nearly dropping her cup, gasped: “Oh, my goodness gracious me!” but Kate said, as though she had been expecting it: “Did he drown himself, Philip?”

He nodded. “Badger saw him. I think he knew that it was too late to save him, but he plunged in off the bridge, and got his body to the shore. When I reached the lake he was holding him in his arms, and—Well, never mind! The poor old chap is all to pieces: said he was the only person who had ever loved Torquil, which is true, I suppose, though why he should have loved him God only knows! Torquil treated him like a dog.” He paused, regarding Kate with sudden intensity. “Why did you say that? Did you know he had drowned himself?”

She made a helpless gesture. “No. I don’t know, but when Sarah told me that Badger was searching the woods for him—it flashed across my mind that he once told me—oh, on my very first day here, when he took me down to the bridge!—that he often thought how pleasant it would be to drown. I didn’t think he meant it, but he did, poor Torquil, he did!”

Her voice broke, and she turned away, battling with her tears. Philip said slowly: “I believe he did think it pleasant. There’s no sign that he struggled to save himself: I don’t think I’ve ever seen him look more peaceful. If I had been here—if I had known what he meant to do—I must have stopped him, but—I say this in all seriousness, Kate—I’m thankful that I was not here. For him, this is a most merciful end. When you’ve seen him—oh, no, don’t shudder! There’s nothing to distress you!—I believe you won’t feel his death a tragedy.”

She blew her nose, and said, trying to speak cheerfully: “No, I know it isn’t a tragedy. Not his death! But I can’t help thinking of his life, Philip! How lonely he was, and how unhappy!”