The Quiet Gentleman

by Georgette Heyer

  ‘You will not have that thing put into my mother’s room!’ exclaimed Martin, a good deal startled.

  ‘Don’t you think she would like to have it? If she has a particular fondness for it, I should not wish to deprive her of it.’

  ‘She will wish it to be left where it has always stood, and so I tell you! And if I know Mama,’ he added, with relish, ‘I’ll wager that’s what will happen!’

  ‘Oh, I shouldn’t do that!’ Gervase said. ‘You see, you don’t know me, and it is never wise to bet against a dark horse.’

  ‘I suppose that you think, just because you’re St Erth now, that you may turn Stanyon upside down, if you choose!’ growled Martin, a little nonplussed.

  ‘Well, yes,’ replied Gervase. ‘I do think it, but you must not let it distress you, for I really shan’t quite do that!’

  ‘We shall see what Mama has to say!’ was all Martin could think of to retort.

  The Dowager’s comments, when the fell tidings were presently divulged to her, were at once comprehensive and discursive, and culminated in an unwise announcement that Abney would take his orders from his mistress.

  ‘Oh, I hope he will not!’ said Gervase. ‘I should be very reluctant to dismiss a servant who has been for so many years employed in the family!’ He smiled down into the Dowager’s astonished face, and added, in his gentle way: ‘But I have too great a dependence on your sense of propriety, ma’am, to suppose that you would issue any orders at Stanyon which ran counter to mine.’

  Everyone but Miss Morville, who was studying the Fashion Notes in the latest Ladies’ periodical, waited with suspended breath for the climax to this engagement. They were disappointed, or relieved, according to their several dispositions, when the Dowager said, after a short silence, pregnant with passion: ‘You will do as you please in your own house, St Erth! Pray do not hesitate to inform me if you desire me to remove to the Dower House immediately!’

  ‘Ah, no! I should be sorry to see you do so, ma’am!’ replied Gervase. ‘Such a house as Stanyon would be a sad place without a mistress!’ Her face showed no sign of relenting, and he added, in a coaxing tone: ‘Do not be vexed with me! Must we quarrel? Indeed, I do not wish to stand upon bad terms with you!’

  ‘I can assure you that no quarrel between us will be of my seeking,’ said the Dowager austerely. ‘A very odd thing it would be if I were to be picking quarrels with my son-in-law! Pray be so good as to apprise me, in the future, of the arrangements which you desire to alter at Stanyon!’

  ‘Thank you!’ Gervase said, bowing.

  The meekness in his voice made his cousin’s brows draw together a little; but Martin evidently considered that his mother had lost the first bout, for he uttered a disgusted exclamation, and flung out of the room in something very like a tantrum.

  The Dowager, ignoring, in a lofty spirit, the entire incident, then desired Theo to ring for a card-table to be set up, saying that she had no doubt St Erth would enjoy a rubber of whist. If Gervase did not look as though these plans for his entertainment were to his taste, his compliant disposition led him to acquiesce docilely in them, and, when a four was presently made up, to submit with equanimity to having his play ruthlessly criticized by his stepmother. His cousin and the Chaplain, after a little argument with Miss Morville, who, however, was resolute in refusing to take a hand, were the other two players; and the game was continued until the tea-tray was brought in at ten o’clock. The Dowager, who had maintained an unwearied commentary throughout on her own and the other three players’ skill (or want of it), the fall of the cards, the rules which governed her play, illustrated by maxims laid down by her father which gave Gervase a very poor opinion of that deceased nobleman’s mental ability, then stated that no one would care to begin another rubber, and rose from the table, and disposed herself in her favourite chair beside the fire. Miss Morville dispensed tea and coffee, a circumstance which made the Earl wonder if she were, after all, one of his stepmother’s dependents. At first glance, he had assumed her to be perhaps a poor relation, or a hired companion; but since the Dowager treated her, if not with any distinguishing attention, at least with perfect civility, he had come to the conclusion that she must be a guest at Stanyon. He was not well-versed in the niceties of female costume, but it seemed to him that she was dressed with propriety, and even a certain quiet elegance. Her gown, which was of white sarsnet, with a pink body, and long sleeves, buttoned tightly round her wrists, was unadorned by the frills of lace or knots of floss with which young ladies of fashion usually embellished their dresses. On the other hand, it was cut low across her plump bosom, in a way which would scarcely have been tolerated in a hired companion; and she wore a very pretty ornament suspended on a gold chain round her throat. Nor was there any trace of obsequiousness in her manners. She inaugurated no conversation, but when she was addressed she answered with composure, and readily. A pink riband, threaded through them, kept her neat curls in place. These were mouse-coloured, and very simply arranged. Her countenance was pleasing without being beautiful, her best feature being a pair of dark eyes, well-opened and straight-gazing. Her figure was trim, but sadly lacking in height, and she was rather short-necked. She employed no arts to attract; the Earl thought her dull.

  Family prayers succeeded tea, after which the Dowager withdrew with Miss Morville, charging Theo to conduct St Erth to his bedchamber. ‘Not,’ she said magnanimously, ‘that I wish to dictate to you when you should go to bed, for I am sure you may do precisely as you wish, but no doubt you are tired after your journey.’

  It did not seem probable that a journey of fifty miles (for the Earl had travelled to Stanyon only from Penistone Hall), in a luxurious chaise, could exhaust a man inured to the rigours of an arduous campaign, but Gervase agreed to it with his usual amiability, bade his stepmother good-night, and tucked a hand in Theo’s arm, saying: ‘Well, lead me to bed! Where have they put me?’

  ‘In your father’s room, of course.’

  ‘Oh dear! Must I?’

  Theo smiled. ‘Do my aunt the justice to own that to have allotted any other room to you would have been quite improper!’

  The Earl’s bedchamber, which lay in the main, or Tudor, part of the Castle, was a vast apartment, rendered sombre by dark panelling, and crimson draperies. However, several branches of candles had been carried into the room, and a bright fire was burning in the stone hearth. A neat individual, bearing on his person the unmistakable stamp of the gentleman’s gentleman, was awaiting his master there, and had already laid out his night-gear.

  ‘Sit down, Theo!’ said St Erth. ‘Turvey, tell someone to send up the brandy, and glasses!’

  The valet bowed, but said: ‘Anticipating that your lordship would wish it, I have already procured it from the butler. Allow me, my lord, to pull off your boots!’

  The Earl seated himself, and stretched out one leg. His valet, on one knee before him, drew off the Hessian, handling it with loving care, and casting an anxious eye over its shining black surface to detect a possible scratch. He could find none, and, with a sigh of relief, drew off the second boot, and set both down delicately side by side. He then assisted the Earl to take off his close-fitting coat, and held up for him to put on a frogged and padded dressing-gown of brocaded silk. The Earl ripped the intricately tied cravat from about his throat, tossed it aside, and nodded dismissal. ‘Thank you! I will ring when I am ready for you to come back to me.’

  The valet bowed, and withdrew, bearing with him the cherished boots. St Erth poured out two glasses of brandy, gave one to his cousin, and sank into a deep chair on the other side of the fire. Theo, who had blinked at the magnificence of the dressing-gown, openly laughed at him, and said: ‘I think you must have joined the dandy-set, Gervase!’

  ‘Yes, so Martin seemed to think also,’ agreed Gervase, rolling the brandy round his glass.

  ‘Oh – ! You heard that, then?’

  �
�Was I not meant to hear it?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ Theo was silent for a moment, looking into the fire, but presently he raised his eyes to his cousin’s face, and said abruptly: ‘He resents you, Gervase.’

  ‘That has been made plain to me – but not why.’

  ‘Is the reason so hard to seek? You stand between him and the Earldom.’

  ‘But, my dear Theo, so I have always done! I am not a lost heir, returning to oust him from a position he thought his own!’

  ‘Not lost, but I fancy he did think the position might well be his,’ Theo replied.

  ‘He seems to me an excessively foolish young man, but he cannot be such a saphead as that!’ expostulated Gervase. ‘Only I could succeed to my father’s room!’

  ‘Very true, but dead men do not succeed,’ said Theo dryly.

  ‘Dead men!’ Gervase exclaimed, startled and amused.

  ‘My dear Gervase, you have taken part in more than one engagement, and you will own that it could not have been thought surprising had you met your end upon a battlefield. It was, in fact, considered to be a likely contingency.’

  ‘And one that was hoped for?’

  ‘Yes, one that was hoped for.’

  The Earl’s face was inscrutable; after a moment, Theo said: ‘I have shocked you, but it is better to be plain with you, I think. You cannot have supposed that they loved you!’

  ‘Not Lady St Erth, no! But Martin – !’

  ‘Why should he? He has heard no good of you from my uncle, or from his mother; he has been treated in all things as though he had been the heir; so much indulged and petted – well, talking pays no toll, or there is much I could say to you! To him, you are a usurper.’

  Gervase finished his brandy, and set down the glass. ‘I see. It is melancholy indeed! Something tells me that I shall not be at Stanyon for very long.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Theo said sharply.

  Gervase looked at him, a little bewildered. ‘Why, what should I mean?’

  ‘Martin is rash – his temper is uncontrollable, but he would not murder you, Gervase!’

  ‘Murder me! Good God, I should hope he would not!’ exclaimed the Earl, laughing. ‘No, no, I only meant that I think I should prefer to live at Maplefield, or Studham – ah, no! Studham was not entailed, was it? It belongs to Martin!’

  ‘Yes, it belongs to Martin, along with the Jamaican property,’ said Theo grimly. ‘And your mother-in-law has the London house and the Dower House for the term of her life!’

  ‘I grudge her neither,’ replied the Earl lightly.

  ‘When I can bring you to pay a little heed to the way in which things are left, you may well grudge the pair of them a great deal of what they now stand possessed!’ retorted Theo. ‘I have sometimes thought that my uncle had taken leave of his senses! You have me to thank for it that the estate is not cut up even more!’

  ‘I think I have you to thank for more than you would have me guess,’ St Erth said, smiling across at him. ‘You have been a good friend to me, Theo, and I thank you for it.’

  ‘Well, I have done what lay in my power to keep the property intact,’ Theo said gruffly. ‘But I am determined you shall be made to attend to your affairs, and so I warn you!’

  ‘What a fierce fellow you are, to be sure! But you wrong me, you know! I did read my father’s will, and I fancy I know pretty well how things stand.’

  ‘Then I wonder that you will be so expensive, Gervase!’ said Theo forthrightly. ‘The charges you have made upon the estate this past twelvemonth – !’

  ‘Oh, won’t it bear them? I shall be obliged to marry an heiress!’

  ‘I wish you will be serious! Things have not come to such a pass as that, but you will do well to be a little more careful. When I have shown you how matters stand, I hope you may be persuaded to take up your residence here. It will not do to leave Stanyon masterless, you know.’

  ‘Stanyon has a very good master in you, I fancy.’

  ‘Nonsense! I am nothing but your agent.’

  ‘But I should find it a dead bore!’ objected Gervase. ‘Only consider the dreadful evening I have spent already! I have not the remotest guess where Martin went to, but I am sure he was not to be blamed for his flight. I wish I had had the courage to follow his example! And who, pray, is that little squab of a female? Was she invited for my entertainment? Don’t tell me she is an heiress! I could not – no, I really could not be expected to pay my addresses to anyone with so little countenance or conversation!’

  ‘Drusilla! No, no, nothing of that sort!’ smiled Theo. ‘I fancy my aunt thinks she would make a very suitable wife for me!’

  ‘My poor Theo!’

  ‘Oh, she is a very good sort of a girl, after all! But my tastes do not run in that direction. She is a guest at Stanyon merely while her parents are visiting in the north. They live at Gilbourne: in fact, they are your tenants. Her ladyship has a kindness for Drusilla, which is not wonderful, for she is always very obliging, and her lack of countenance, as you have it, makes it in the highest degree unlikely that she will ever be a danger to Lady St Erth’s schemes for Martin.’ He rose from his chair, and added, glancing down at the Earl: ‘We can offer you better entertainment, I hope! There is the hunting, remember, and your coverts should afford you excellent sport.’

  ‘My dear Theo, I may have been abroad for a few years, but I was reared in England, you know!’ expostulated Gervase. ‘If you will tell me what I am to hunt, or shoot, at this moment – !’

  Theo laughed. ‘Wood-pigeons!’

  ‘Yes, and rabbits. I thank you!’

  ‘Well, you will go to London for the Season, I daresay.’

  ‘You may say so with the fullest confidence.’

  ‘I see it is useless for me to waste my eloquence upon you. Only remain at Stanyon for long enough to understand in what case you stand, and I must be satisfied! Tomorrow, I give you warning, I shall make you attend to business. I won’t tease you any more tonight, however. Sleep sound!’

  ‘I hope I may, but I fear my surroundings may give me a nightmare. Where are you quartered, Theo?’

  ‘Oh, in the Tower! It has come to be considered my particular domain. My bedchamber is above the muniment room, you know.’

  ‘A day’s march to reach you! It must be devilish uncomfortable!’

  ‘On the contrary, it suits me very well. I am able to fancy myself in a house of my own, and can enter the Tower by the door into the Chapel Court, if I choose, and so escape being commanded to furnish my aunt with the details of where I have been, or where I am going!’

  ‘Good God! Will it be my fate to endure such examinations?’

  ‘My aunt,’ said Theo, with a lurking twinkle, ‘likes to know all that one does, and why one does it.’

  ‘You terrify me! I shall certainly not remain at Stanyon above a week!’

  But his cousin only smiled, and shook his head, and left him to ring for his valet.

  When the man came, he brought with him a can of hot water, and a warming-pan. The Earl, staring at this, said: ‘Now, what in thunder are you about?’

  ‘It appears, my lord,’ responded Turvey, in a voice carefully devoid of expression, ‘that extremely early hours are kept in this house – or, as I apprehend I should say, Castle. The servants have already gone to bed, and your lordship would hardly desire to get between cold sheets.’

  ‘Thank you, my constitution is really not so sickly as you must think it! Next you will bring me laudanum, as a composer! Set the thing down in the hearth, and don’t be so foolish again, if you please! Have they housed you comfortably?’

  ‘I make no complaint, my lord. I collect that the Castle is of considerable antiquity.’

  ‘Yes, parts of it date back to the fourteenth century,’ said the Earl, stripping off his shirt. ‘It was moated once, but the lake is now al
l that remains of the moat.’

  ‘That, my lord,’ said Turvey, relieving him of his shirt, ‘would no doubt account for the prevailing atmosphere of damp.’

  ‘Very likely!’ retorted Gervase. ‘I infer that Stanyon does not meet with your approval!’

  ‘I am sure, a most interesting pile, my lord. Possibly one becomes inured to the inconvenience of being obliged to pass through three galleries and seven doors on one’s way to your lordship’s room.’

  ‘Oh!’ said the Earl, a trifle disconcerted. ‘It would certainly be better that you should be quartered rather nearer to me.’

  ‘I was alluding, my lord, to the position of the Servants’ Hall. To reach your lordship’s room from my own, it will be necessary for me to descend two separate stairways, to pass down three corridors; through a door permitting access to one of the galleries with which the Castle appears to be – if I may say so! – somewhat profusely provided; and, by way of an antechamber, or vestibule, reach the court round which this portion of the Castle was erected.’ He waited for these measured words to sink into his master’s brain, and then added, in soothing accents: ‘Your lordship need have no fear, however, that I shall fail to bring your shaving-water in the morning. I have desired one of the under-footmen – a very obliging lad – to act as my guide until I am rather more conversant with my surroundings.’ He paused. ‘Or, perhaps I should say, until your lordship decides to return to London!’

  Three

  Neither the Dowager nor Miss Morville appeared at the breakfast-table next morning; and although a place was laid for the Chaplain, he had not emerged from his bedchamber when Gervase joined his brother and his cousin in the sunny parlour. His entrance disconcerted Martin, who was fairly embarked on a scathing condemnation of the clothing which he apparently considered suitable for country-wear. Since Gervase was impeccably attired in riding-breeches, top-boots, and a serviceable, if unusually well-cut, frock-coat, Martin’s scornful animadversions became, even in his own ears, singularly inapposite. Theo, who had listened to him in unencouraging silence, smiled slightly at sight of the Earl, and said to his younger cousin: ‘You were saying?’