“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!”