No answer, beyond a doubtful shake of the head, was forthcoming, but the question was rendered supererogatory, some ten days later, by the arrival, in an ordinary hack, of Lady Broome.
Mr Nidd, enjoying the spring sunshine at his favourite post of vantage on the balcony, observed the approach of this vehicle with only mild interest; but when a tall, fashionably dressed lady stepped down from it, and sought in her reticule with one elegantly gloved hand for her purse, he cast aside the shawl which was protecting his aged legs from quite a sharp wind, and nipped with surprising agility into the house, to give Sarah forewarning of the arrival of Miss Kate’s aunt.
Emerging from the kitchen, with a rolling-pin in her hand and her arms generously floured, Sarah gasped: “Never?”
“Well, we ain’t looking for no duchess to come a-visiting us, so if it ain’t a duchess it’s my Lady Broome!” replied Mr Nidd tartly. “Bustle about, my girl! She’s paying off the jarvey, but she don’t look to me like one as’ll stand higgling over the fare, so you’d do well to stir your stumps!”
The advice was unnecessary: Sarah was already in the kitchen again, stripping off her apron; and, within a few moments of hearing the knocker, she was opening the door to her visitor, looking as trim as wax, and in very tolerable command of herself.
An imposing figure confronted her, that of a tall, handsome woman, wearing a velvet pelisse, bordered with sable, and carrying a huge sable muff. A close hat, of bronze-green velvet to match her pelisse, and trimmed with a single curled ostrich plume, was set upon a head of exquisitely dressed dark hair; her gloves were of fine kid; and her velvet half-boots, like her hat, exactly matched her pelisse. Her countenance was arresting, dominated by a pair of brilliant eyes, in colour between blue and grey, and set under strongly marked brows. Her features were very regular, the contour of her face being marred only by the slight heaviness of her lower jaw, and rather too square a chin. She looked to be about forty years of age; and, at first glance, Sarah found her intimidating. Her smile, however, was pleasant, and her manners, while plainly those of a lady of quality, were neither high nor imposing, but at once kind and gracious. She said, with a faint smile, and in a voice more deeply pitched than the average: “Good morning! I am Lady Broome. And you, I think, must be Miss Sarah Nidd. Or should it be Mrs Nidd?”
“Mrs Nidd,” if your ladyship pleases,” said Sarah, dropping a curtsy.
“I beg your pardon! I have come—as you have guessed—in response to your letter, for which I am very much obliged to you. I was unaware of my brother’s death, or of the uncomfortable circumstances in which my poor little niece’ finds herself. May I see her?”
“Yes, indeed, my lady!” replied Sarah, holding the door wide, and dropping another curtsy. “That is, she isn’t here, not just at the moment, but I expect her to be back any minute. If your ladyship would condescend to step upstairs to the parlour, you will be quite private there, for only Miss Kate uses it.”
“Thank you. And if you will bear me company I am persuaded you will be able to tell me a great deal about which I might hesitate to question Miss Kate, for fear of embarrassing her. You must know that since my brother’s unhappy estrangement from the family we lost sight of each other: indeed, I was barely acquainted with him, for there was a considerable disparity of age between us. You wrote of his death as of recent date: I collect it was not the result of a military action?”
“No, my lady,” Sarah replied, leading her up the stairs, and throwing open the parlour door. “He’d sold out, which, at the time I was glad of, thinking it was time, and more, that he settled down. On account of Miss Kate, my lady—but I should have known better!”
“He did not, in fact?” said Lady Broome, sitting down in one of the chairs which flanked the fireplace, and indicating, with a smile and a gesture, that Sarah should follow her example.
Sarah obeyed, but with a little reluctance, choosing the extreme edge of the chair to sit on. “No, my lady, he didn’t. And it’s my belief he never would have, even if he’d won a fortune, like he said he would, because he was a gamester, ma’am, and I’ve often heard it said that such can’t be cured. He was knocked down by a common tax-cart, and hit his head on the kerbstone, being not—not tosticated, but—but muddled!”
Lady Broome nodded understandingly. “And Miss Kate’s mother, I think you wrote, died some years previously? Poor child! Were her maternal relatives informed of this sad event?”
“Yes, my lady, they was!” said Sarah, her eyes kindling. “Being as how I was Mrs Malvern’s abigail before ever she eloped with the Major—not that he was a Major in those days!—I took the liberty of writing a letter to her papa, but I never had an answer. I wouldn’t wish to speak ill of the dead, and dead both he and my mistress’ mama are, but it’s my belief they didn’t neither of them care a straw what became of her, nor of Miss Kate! And as for Miss Emily, that was my mistress’ sister, she’s as full as a toad is of poison, my lady, as I know, and I wouldn’t write to her, not for a fortune!”
“Well, I am very glad you wrote to me, Mrs Nidd,” Lady Broome said. “I shall certainly not permit my brother’s child to engage on any menial occupation—for such, from what I have observed, seems to be the fate of governesses!”
“Yes, my lady, and there’s worse to be feared!” said Sarah eagerly.
“Tell me!” invited her ladyship, so sympathetically that Sarah plunged straightway into an account of the dire schemes which had entered Kate’s head.
In the middle of this recital, Kate came into the room, pausing on the threshold, and looking in bewilderment from her aunt to her nurse. “Mr. Nidd—Mr Nidd tells me—that my aunt has come to visit me!” she stammered. “But I don’t understand! Are you my aunt, ma’am? How did you—Sarah! This must be your doing! How could you?”
Lady Broome broke into a deep laugh, and rose, casting aside her muff, and advancing with her hands held out. “Oh, you pretty child!” she said caressingly. “Why, Mrs Nidd, you didn’t prepare me for such a little piece of perfection! My dear, I am happy to be able to tell you that I am your Aunt Minerva.”
She folded Kate in her arms as she spoke, and lightly kissed her cheek. Overwhelmed, Kate felt herself obliged to yield to that soft embrace, but the look she cast Sarah was one of deep reproach. This made Lady Broome laugh again, giving her a little shake, and saying, in a quizzical tone: “Was it so dreadful of Mrs Nidd to have written to me? I promise you, I don’t think so! She told me something I never knew before: that I had a niece!”
“Only—only a half-niece, ma’am!” Kate faltered. “And one who has no claims upon you!”
“Ah, you don’t understand! How should you, indeed? You are too young to know what it means to have been an only child, when you reach my age, and have no close relations, and no daughter! I have always longed for one, and never more so than now! It’s true I have a son, but a boy cannot give one the same companionship. Dear child, I’ve come to carry you off to Staplewood! I’m persuaded I must be your natural guardian!”
“But I am of age, ma’am!” protested Kate, feeling as though she were being swept along on an irresistible tide.
“Yes, so your kind nurse has informed me. I can’t compel you—heaven forbid that I should—but I can beg you to take pity on a very lonely woman!”
At this point, Sarah, perceiving that her nursling was much shaken, effaced herself with a murmured excuse. Kate said: “You are very good, ma’am—Aunt! I am excessively grateful, but I couldn’t—no, I couldn’t subsist on your generosity! Why, you know nothing about me—you might even take me in dislike!”