‘It don’t signify!’ snapped Martin, glowering at him.
‘Good-morning!’ said Gervase. ‘Oh, don’t ring the bell, Theo! Abney knows I am here.’
‘I trust no nightmares, Gervase?’ Theo said quizzically.
‘Not the least in the world. Do either of you know if my horses have yet arrived?’
‘Yes, I understand they came in early this morning, your groom having stayed at Grantham overnight. An old soldier, is he?’
‘Yes, an excellent fellow, from my own Troop,’ replied Gervase, walking over to the side-table, and beginning to carve a large ham there.
‘I say, Gervase, where did you come by that gray?’ demanded Martin.
The Earl glanced over his shoulder. ‘In Ireland. Do you like him?’
‘Prime bit of blood! I suppose you mean to take the shine out of us Melton men with him?’
‘I haven’t hunted him yet. We shall see how he does. I brought him down to try his paces a little.’
‘You won’t hack him during the summer!’
‘No, I shan’t do that,’ said the Earl gravely.
‘My dear Martin, do you imagine that Gervase does not know a great deal more about horses than you?’ said Theo.
‘Oh, well, I daresay he may, but troopers are a different matter!’
That made Gervase laugh. ‘Very true! – as I know to my cost! But I have been more fortunate than many: I have only once been obliged to ride one.’
‘When was that?’ enquired Theo.
‘At Orthes. I had three horses shot under me that day, and very inconvenient I found it.’
‘You bear a charmed life, Gervase.’
‘I do, don’t I?’ agreed the Earl, seating himself at the table.
‘Were you never even wounded?’ asked Martin curiously.
‘Nothing but a sabre-cut or two, and a graze from a spent ball. Tell me what cattle you have in the stables here!’
No question could have been put to Martin that would more instantly have made him sink his hostility. He plunged, without further encouragement, into a technical and detailed description of all the proper high-bred ’uns, beautiful steppers, and gingers to be found in the Stanyon stables at that moment. Animation lightened the darkness of his eyes, and dispelled the sullen expression from about his mouth. The Earl, listening to him with a half-smile hovering on his lips, slipped in a leading question about the state of his coverts, and finished his breakfast to the accompaniment of an exposition of the advantages of close shot over one that scattered, the superiority of the guns supplied by Manton’s, and the superlative merits of percussion caps.
‘To tell you the truth,’ confessed Martin, ‘I am a good deal addicted to sport!’
The Earl preserved his countenance. ‘I perceive it. What do you find to do in the spring and the summer-time, Martin?’
‘Oh, well! Of course, there is nothing much to do,’ acknowledged Martin. ‘But one can always get a rabbit, or a brace of wood-pigeon!’
‘If you can get a wood-pigeon, you are a good shot,’ observed Gervase.
This remark could scarcely have failed to please. ‘Well, I can, and it is true, isn’t it, that a wood-pigeon is a testing shot?’ said Martin. ‘My father would always pooh-pooh it, but Glossop says – you remember Glossop, the head-keeper? – that your pigeon will afford you as good sport as any game-bird of them all!’
The Earl agreed to it; and Martin continued to talk very happily of all his sporting experiences, until an unlucky remark of Theo’s put him in mind of his grievances, when he relapsed into a fit of monosyllabic sulks, which lasted for the rest of the meal.
‘Really, Theo, that was not adroit!’ said the Earl, afterwards.
‘No: bacon-brained!’ owned Theo ruefully. ‘But if we are to guard our tongues every minute of every day – !’
‘Nonsense! The boy is merely spoilt. Is that my mother-in-law’s voice? I shall go down to the stables!’
Here he was received with much respect and curiosity, nearly every groom and stableboy finding an occasion to come into the yard, and to steal a look at him, where he stood chatting to the old coachman. On the whole, he was approved. He was plainly not a neck-or-nothing young blood of the Fancy, like his half-brother; he was a quiet gentleman, like his cousin, who was a very good rider to hounds; and if the team of lengthy, short-legged bits of blood-and-bone he had brought to Stanyon had been of his own choosing, he knew one end of a horse from another. He might take a rattling toss or two at the bullfinches of Ashby Pastures, but it seemed likely that he would turn out in prime style, and possible that he would prove himself to be a true cut of Leicestershire.
He found his head-groom, Sam Chard, late of the 7th Hussars, brushing the dried mud from the legs of his horse, Cloud. Chard straightened himself, and grinned at him, sketching a salute. ‘’Morning, me lord!’
‘You found your way here safely,’ commented the Earl, passing a hand down Cloud’s neck.
‘All right and tight, me lord. Racked up for the night at Grantham, according to orders.’
‘No trouble here?’
‘Not to say trouble, me lord, barring a bit of an escaramuza with the Honourable Martin’s man, him not seeming to understand his position, and passing a remark about redcoats, which I daresay he done by way of ignorance. Red-coats! The Saucy Seventh! But no bones broken, me lord, and I will say he didn’t display so bad.’
‘Chard, I will have no fighting here!’
‘Fighting, me lord?’ said his henchman, shocked. ‘Lor’, no. Nothing but a bit of cross-and-jostle work, with a muzzler to finish it! Everything very nice and abrigado now, me lord. You’re looking at that bay: a rum ’un to look at, but I daresay he’s the devil to go. One of this Honourable Martin’s, and by what they tell me he’s a regular dash: quite the out-and-outer! Would he be a relation of your lordship’s?’
‘My half-brother – and see that you are civil to him!’
‘Civil as a nun’s hen, me lord!’ Chard responded promptly. ‘They do think a lot of him here, seemingly.’ He applied himself to one of the gray’s forelegs. ‘Call him the young master.’ He shot a look up at the Earl. ‘Very natural, I’m sure – the way things have been.’ Before the Earl could speak, he continued cheerfully: ‘Now, that well-mixed roan, in the third stall, me lord, he belongs to Mr Theo, which I understand is another of your lordship’s family. A niceish hack, ain’t he? And a very nice gentleman, too, according to what I hear. Yes, me lord, on the whole, and naming no exceptions, I think we can say that the natives are bien dispuesto!’
The Earl thought it prudent to return an indifferent answer. It was apparent to him that his groom was already, after only a few hours spent at Stanyon, fully conversant with the state of affairs there. He reflected that Martin’s feelings must be bitter indeed to have communicated themselves to the servants; and it was in a mood of slight pensiveness that he strolled back to the Castle.
Here he was met by Miss Morville, who said, rather surprisingly, that she had been trying to find him.
‘Indeed!’ Gervase said, raising his brows. ‘May I know in what way I can serve you, Miss Morville?’
She coloured, for his tone was not cordial, but her disconcertingly candid gaze did not waver from his face. ‘I shouldn’t think you could serve me at all, sir,’ she said. ‘I am only desirous of serving Lady St Erth, which, perhaps, I should have made plain to you at the outset, for I can see that you think I have been guilty of presumption!’
It was now his turn to redden. He said: ‘I assure you, ma’am, you are mistaken!’
‘Well, I don’t suppose that I am, for I expect you are used to be toad-eaten, on account of your high rank,’ replied Drusilla frankly. ‘I should have explained to you that I have no very great opinion of Earls.’
Rising nobly to the occasion, he replied with scarcely a moment’s
hesitation: ‘Yes, I think you should have explained that!’
‘You see, I am the daughter of Hervey Morville,’ disclosed Drusilla. She added, with all the air of one throwing in a doubler: ‘And of Cordelia Consett!’
The Earl could think of nothing better to say than that he was a little acquainted with a Sir James Morville, who was a member of White’s Club.
‘My uncle,’ acknowledged Drusilla. ‘He is a very worthy man, but not, of course, the equal of my Papa!’
‘Of course not!’ agreed Gervase.
‘I daresay,’ said Drusilla kindly, ‘that, from the circumstance of your military occupation, you have not had the leisure to read any of Papa’s works, so I should tell you that he is a Philosophical Historian. He is at the moment engaged in writing a History of the French Revolution.’
‘From a Republican point-of-view, I collect?’
‘Yes, certainly, which makes it sometimes a great labour, for it would be foolish to suppose that his opinions have undergone no change since he first commenced author. That,’ said Drusilla, ‘was before I was born.’
‘Oh, yes?’ said Gervase politely.
‘In those days, you may say that he was as ardent a disciple of Priestley as poor Mr Coleridge, whom he knew intimately when a very young man. In fact, Papa was a Pantisocrat.’
‘A – ?’
She obligingly repeated it. ‘They were a society of whom the most prominent members were Mr Coleridge, and Mr Southey, and my Papa. They formed the intention of emigrating to the banks of the Susquehanna, but, fortunately, neither Mrs Southey nor Mama considered the scheme practicable, so it was abandoned. I daresay you may have noticed that persons of large intellect have not the least common-sense. In this instance, it was intended that there should be no servants, but everyone should devote himself – or herself, as the case might be – for two hours each day to the performance of the necessary domestic duties, after which the rest of the day was to have been occupied in literary pursuits. But, of course, Mama and Mrs Southey readily perceived that although the gentlemen might adhere to the two-hour-rule, it would be quite impossible for the ladies to do so. In fact, Mama was of the opinion that although the gentlemen might be induced, if strongly adjured, to draw water, and to chop the necessary wood, they would certainly have done no more. And no one,’ continued Miss Morville, with considerable acumen, ‘could have placed the least reliance on their continued performance of such household tasks, for, you know, if they had been engaged in philosophical discussion they would have forgotten all about them.’
‘I conclude,’ said Gervase, a good deal amused, ‘that your Mama is of a practical disposition?’
‘Oh, no!’ replied Miss Morville serenely. ‘That is why she did not wish to form one of the colony. She has no turn for domestic duties: Mama is an Authoress. She has written several novels, and numerous articles and treatises. She was used to be a friend of Mrs Godwin’s – the first Mrs Godwin, I should explain – and she holds views, which are thought to be very advanced, on Female Education.’
‘And have you been reared according to these views?’ enquired Gervase, in some misgiving.
‘No, for Mama has been so fully occupied in prescribing for the education of females in general that naturally she has had little time to spare for her own children. Moreover, she is a person of excellent sense, and, mortifying though it has been to her, she has not hesitated to acknowledge that neither I nor my elder brother is in the least bookish.’
‘A blow!’ commented the Earl.
‘Yes, but she has sustained it with fortitude, and we have great hopes that my younger brother, who is now at Cambridge, will become distinguished. And, after all, there must be someone in a household who does not dislike domestic management.’
‘Is that your fate, Miss Morville?’ the Earl asked, rather touched. ‘Is your life spent in these rural fastnesses, performing a housekeeper’s duties? I pity you!’
‘Well, you need not,’ returned Miss Morville unromantically. ‘We are only to be found in Lincolnshire when Papa requires quiet for the performance of his labours. In general, we reside in London, so that Mama may enjoy the benefits of literary society.’
‘Forgive me, ma’am, if I say that it sounds to me like a dead bore!’
‘Oh, yes, to those who are not bookish, it is!’ agreed Miss Morville. ‘When in London, I spend much of my time in the company of my aunt, Lady Morville, and my cousins. Parties, and theatres, you know, for they are always very gay, and most good-natured in including me in their schemes. My aunt even undertook my Presentation last year, which, when you consider that she had three daughters of her own to bring out, you must allow was very handsome in her. Particularly when Mama had declared herself ready to sink her scruples, and to perform the duty herself. Neither Mama nor Papa approves of Royalty, of course. But neither, I assure you, is an advocate of the more violent forms of Jacobinism.’
‘I am relieved. They would not, you think, wish to see such heads as mine fall under the knife of the guillotine?’
‘I shouldn’t think they would wish to see any head do so.’ While they had been talking, they had mounted the Grand Stairway, crossed the hall at the head of it, and now entered the Long Drawing-room. The Earl enquired: ‘Where are you taking me, Miss Morville?’
‘To the Small Dining-room, if you please. I wish you to inform me whether you approve of what I have done with the epergne, or whether you would prefer some other arrangement.’
‘What you have done with it? Pray, why should you be called upon to do anything with it?’
‘Well, I was not precisely called upon, but someone had to decide what was to be done, when all you would say was that it should be stowed away in a dark cupboard!’ she pointed out. ‘Poor Abney was quite bewildered, you know, for he could not suppose that you meant it; and as for Lady St Erth, she says that after what has passed nothing will prevail upon her to raise her voice in the matter.’
‘I am delighted to hear it. A dark cupboard seems to be the only place for such a hideous object. Do not tell me that you admire it!’
‘No, not at all, but I don’t consider myself a judge, and what I might think ugly other people, perhaps, would consider a very handsome piece.’
‘Let me make it plain to you, Miss Morville, that I will not sit down to dinner with that thing in the middle of the table!’
‘You could not, for now that the table has been reduced, which, I must say, was a very good notion, there is no room on it for the epergne. But now and again, I daresay, you will wish the table enlarged to accommodate more persons, and the epergne can be set upon it for the occasion. It is certainly very disagreeable to be obliged to crane one’s neck to see round it, when one dines informally, and it may be thought allowable to converse with persons seated on the opposite side of the table; but on more state occasions that would be a sadly ill-bred thing to do, and the epergne need be an annoyance to no one.’
‘I hesitate to contradict you, ma’am, but it must always be an annoyance to me,’ said Gervase.
‘Not,’ said Miss Morville, ‘if it were turned so that you were not confronted by a snarling tiger. When Abney brought me here this morning, to consider what was to be done, I instantly perceived that you had been obliged, throughout the meal, to look at this creature; and, naturally, I realized that the spectacle of a ferocious beast, in the act of springing upon its prey, could not be thought conducive to conviviality, and might, indeed, be offensive to a person of sensibility. But on the reverse side,’ pursued Miss Morville, preceding the Earl into the Small Dining-room, ‘there are a group of natives gathered beneath a palm tree, two peacocks and an elephant, with trunk upraised. Quite unexceptionable, I think!’ She halted inside the dining-room, and indicated a Buhl table, placed in the window embrasure. ‘You see, I desired Abney to have that table from the Crimson Saloon carried into the room, and have caused the epergne to
be set upon it; but if you do not like it, it can be moved.’
‘A dark cupboard!’ said the Earl obstinately.
‘Recollect that you will be seated with your back turned to it!’ begged Miss Morville.
‘I should suppose the tiger to be leaping upon me.’
‘Oh, no, indeed you could not, for it is facing the window!’
‘Unanswerable! Pray, why are you so anxious to preserve the epergne, ma’am?’
‘Well, I think Lady St Erth might be a little mollified, if it were still in the room; and it would be quite improper, you know, to consign all your heirlooms, which you do not like, to dark cupboards,’ said Miss Morville reasonably. ‘I daresay there are several changes you will wish to make at Stanyon, but it is a favourite saying of my brother Jack’s – my military brother – that one should always try to get over heavy ground as light as one can.’
He smiled. ‘Very true! In what regiment is your military brother?’
‘A line regiment: I daresay you would not know,’ said Miss Morville. ‘You, I collect, were in the 7th Hussars – one of the crack cavalry regiments!’
The Earl, a little shaken, admitted it.
‘The Lilywhite Seventh,’ said Miss Morville indulgently, shepherding him out of the room. ‘I know!’
‘And the devil of it is,’ said the Earl, twenty minutes later, to his cousin, ‘that I have let that wretched chit talk me into permitting the continued existence of that abominable epergne in my dining-room!’
Four
The Earl spent the rest of the morning in the muniment room, docilely permitting his cousin to explain the management of his estates to him, and to point out to him the various provisions of his father’s will. Besides the very considerable property which had been left to Martin, personal bequests were few, and included no more than a modest legacy to the nephew whose diligence and business ability had made it possible for him to spend the last years of his life in luxurious indolence.
The Quiet Gentleman Page 4
