The Quiet Gentleman

by Georgette Heyer

  ‘Cast herself into the Thames!’ echoed the Earl.

  ‘Yes, at Putney. She had meant to commit the dreadful deed at Battersea, but found the bridge there too crowded, and so was obliged to row herself to Putney. She was picked up by a passing boat, and afterwards married Mr Godwin, which quite turned her thoughts from suicide. Not that I should have thought it a preferable fate,’ said Miss Morville reflectively, ‘but, then, I am not at all partial to Mr Godwin. In fact, though I never met him – nor, indeed, Miss Wollstonecraft, either – I have often thought I should have liked Mr Imlay better than Mr Godwin. He was an American, with whom Miss Wollstonecraft had an unhappy connection, and although a great many harsh things have been said about him, Mama has always maintained that most of the trouble arose from Miss Wollstonecraft’s determination to make him an elm-tree round which she might throw her tendrils. Very few gentlemen could, I believe, support for long so arduous a role.’

  ‘I find myself, as always, in entire agreement with you, Miss Morville,’ he said gravely. ‘But do you wish me to suppose that a deranged mind was responsible for my accident?’

  ‘By no means. Martin has too little control over his passions, but he cannot be thought to be deranged. Indeed, I cannot account for your accident, except by a solution which I am persuaded is not the correct one.’

  He smiled slightly. ‘I have a great dependence on your discretion, Miss Morville. We shall say, if you please, that I was so heedless as to let Cloud set his foot in a rabbit-hole. Meanwhile, I think it would be well if I gathered up this cord, and stowed it away in my pocket.’

  She watched him do so in silence, but when he had untied the cord from about the tree, and had returned to her, she said: ‘I think you perfectly able to manage your own affairs, my lord, and I shall certainly not interfere in them. But, absurd though it may seem to you, this incident has made me feel apprehensive, and I do trust that you will take care how you expose yourself while you remain at Stanyon!’

  ‘Why, yes, to the best of my power I will do so,’ he answered. ‘But nothing will be gained through my noising this trick abroad: whoever was responsible for it knows that his design was frustrated, and he is not very likely to betray himself. I must suppose that everyone at Stanyon knew that I should return to the Castle by this road. Who, by the way, knew of your visit to the village?’

  ‘No one, and only Marianne and Lord Ulverston can have known that I went to Gilbourne House.’

  ‘That is no help at all. I never suspected Lucy of wishing to put a period to my life!’ he said, smiling.

  Eleven

  They began to walk slowly down the avenue in the direction of the Castle, the Earl assuring Miss Morville that apart from an aching skull he had sustained no injury from his fall. They had not proceeded far on their way when they heard the sound of an approaching vehicle, being driven towards them at a furious pace. ‘If this is Chard, springing my grays, I will very soon give him something else to alarm him out of his senses!’ said the Earl.

  But the four horses which almost immediately swept round the bend ahead of them were not grays, nor was Chard driving them. He sat perched up beside Lord Ulverston, who had the ribbons in his hands, and was encouraging his team to gallop down the avenue.

  The Earl drew Miss Morville on to the grass verge, but the Viscount had already perceived him, and was checking his horses. They pulled up, very much on the fret, and the Earl called out: ‘If I had guessed this was how you meant to use my bays I swear I would never have sold them to you, Lucy! Four-Horse Club, indeed! The veriest whipster!’

  ‘Good God, Ger, what a fright you have given us!’ the Viscount said indignantly. ‘I had just come in from tooling Miss Bolderwood about the country for an hour, when Cloud came bolting into the yard, in a lather, and with his legs cut about! I thought you must have put him at a regular stitcher, and taken a bad toss!’

  ‘I took a toss, but not at a stitcher. A common rabbit-hole was the cause of my downfall.’

  ‘A rabbit-hole? You?’ exclaimed Ulverston incredulously.

  ‘Don’t roast me! We all have our lapses!’

  ‘Where is this famous rabbit-hole?’

  ‘Oh, in the Park! I would not engage to point you out the precise one: there are so many of them!’

  ‘Exactly so! So many that you ride with a slack bridle, and your head in the clouds, and, when you part company, leave go of the rein! Gammon, dear boy, gammon!’

  ‘How badly are my horse’s legs cut?’ interrupted Gervase. ‘That is the worst feature of the business!’

  Chard, who had jumped down from the curricle, and had been listening to him with a puzzled frown on his face, said that he thought the injuries were hardly more than grazes. ‘I handed him over to Jem, me lord, not knowing what kind of an embarazo you was got into, and thinking you might need me more than the horse.’

  ‘Nonsense! Is it likely I could be in serious trouble?’

  ‘As to that, me lord, there’s no saying what trouble you could be in,’ replied his henchman bluntly. ‘All I know is I never knew your horse to come home without you before!’

  By this time, the Viscount had turned the curricle about, and was commanding Gervase to climb into it.

  ‘Certainly not! It is Miss Morville whom you shall drive, Lucy, not me!’

  ‘Take you both!’ said the Viscount. ‘You won’t mind being a trifle crowded, ma’am? Come, Ger, no playing the fool with me! I don’t know how you came to do it, but it’s as plain as a pikestaff you took a bad toss! Shaken to pieces, I daresay – your cravat is, at all events! Never saw you look such a quiz in my life!’

  Thus adjured, the Earl handed Miss Morville up into the curricle, and climbed in after her. The Viscount observed that it was a fortunate circumstance that they were none of them fat; Chard swung himself up behind, and the horses were put into motion.

  ‘Tell you another thing, Ger, about this precious tumble of yours!’ said the Viscount. ‘Can’t see how –’ He broke off, for the Earl, who had flung one arm across the back of the driving-seat, in an attempt to make more room for Miss Morville, moved his hand to his friend’s shoulder, and gripped it warningly. ‘Oh, well! No sense talking about it!’ he said.

  They were soon bowling through the archway of the Gate-tower. Miss Morville was set down at the Castle, but the Earl insisted on driving to the stables, to examine Cloud’s hurts. Here they found Theo, also engaged on this task. He came out into the yard at the noise of the curricle’s approach, and said, in his unemotional way: ‘Well, I am glad to see you safe and sound, Gervase! Pray, what have you been doing?’

  ‘Merely coming to grief through my own folly,’ replied Gervase, alighting from the curricle. ‘In the failing light I didn’t perceive a rabbit-hole, that is all!’

  ‘My dear St Erth, your horse never cut his knees stumbling into rabbit-holes!’ expostulated Theo. ‘I thought, when I saw him, you must have put him at a stone wall!’

  ‘Are they badly damaged?’

  ‘I hope not. He has done little more than scratch himself. Whether he will be scarred or not, I can’t tell. I’ve directed your man to apply hot fomentations.’

  The Earl nodded, and went past him into the stable, followed by Chard. Theo looked up at the Viscount with a questioning lift to his brows.

  ‘No good asking me!’ Ulverston said, correctly interpreting the look. ‘He don’t want it talked of, that’s all I know. Where’s that damned fellow of mine? Clarence! Hi, there, come and take the horses in, wherever you are!’

  His groom came running up. The Viscount relinquished the team into his care, and jumped down from the curricle. ‘Where’s young Frant?’ he asked abruptly.

  ‘Martin? I don’t know,’ Theo replied, a surprised inflexion in his voice.

  ‘Mr Frant went out with his gun a while back, my lord,’ offered Clarence.

  ‘Oh, he did, did he?
Very well; that’ll do!’

  ‘What’s this, Ulverston?’ Theo said, drawing him out of earshot of the groom. ‘What has Martin to do with it?’

  ‘I don’t know, but if you can believe all this humdudgeon of Ger’s about falling into rabbit-holes, I can’t! Part company he might; leave go of his rein he would not! No wish to meddle in what don’t concern me, but Ger’s a friend of mine. Fancy he’s a friend of yours too. Don’t know what it was, but something happened to him he don’t mean to tell us about. Dash it, I haven’t spent three days here without seeing that that young cub of a brother of his would do him a mischief if he could!’

  Theo was frowningly silent. After a moment, the Viscount said: ‘Quarrelled last night, didn’t they? Oh, you needn’t be so discreet! I walked into the middle of it! Got a shrewd notion I know what it was about, too.’

  ‘They did quarrel, but I believe it was not serious. Martin is hot-tempered, and will often say what he does not mean.’

  ‘What’s the matter with the fellow?’ demanded the Viscount. ‘Seems to live in the sulks!’

  Theo smiled faintly. ‘He has certainly done so ever since St Erth came home, but he can be pleasant enough when he likes.’

  ‘Pity he don’t like more often! Does he dislike Ger?’

  ‘He is jealous of him. I think you must have realized that. St Erth has inherited what Martin has always regarded as his own. I hope he may soon perceive the folly of his behaviour. Indeed, I believe he must, for there is not a better fellow living than Gervase, and that Martin will be bound to discover before he is much older.’

  ‘But this is Gothick, Frant, quite Gothick!’ objected Ulverston.

  ‘Well, in some ways I think Martin is rather Gothick!’ said Theo. ‘His disposition is imperious; his will never was thwarted while his father lived; nor was he taught to control his passions. Everything that he wanted he was given; and, worse than all, he was treated as though he had been the heir, and Gervase did not exist.’

  ‘Went to school, didn’t he?’

  ‘Yes, he followed Gervase to Eton.’

  ‘Well, don’t tell me his will wasn’t thwarted there!’ said Ulverston. ‘Doing it too brown, dear fellow! I was at Eton m’self!’

  ‘You were perhaps not so much indulged at home. With Martin, the influence of school counted for nothing once he was back at Stanyon.’

  They were interrupted by the Earl, who, coming up behind them, said lightly: ‘What treason are you hatching, the pair of you? I don’t think Cloud’s legs will be marked.’

  ‘Gervase, are you concealing something from us?’ asked Theo bluntly.

  ‘Oh, so Lucy has been telling you that I have never been known to let my rein go, has he? I thank you for the compliment, Lucy, but it is undeserved. Now I think I should do well to slip into the house unobserved, for if Martin were to catch a glimpse of my cravat in its present lamentable condition he would cease to think me a dandy, and that would be a sad disappointment to both of us.’

  ‘Martin ain’t in the house,’ said the Viscount. ‘He went out with his gun, my man tells me.’

  ‘Ah, did he? He is the most indefatigable sportsman! I have not yet seen him riding to hounds – neck-or-nothing, I feel tolerably certain! – but he is an excellent shot. Lucy, I never thanked you for coming so heroically to my rescue! My dear fellow, I could not be more grateful if I had needed you!’

  ‘Bamming, Ger, bamming! I know this humour, and shan’t be taken in!’

  The Earl laughed, kissed the tips of his fingers to him, and vanished into the Castle.

  He was received in his bedchamber by Turvey, who palpably winced at the sight of him. ‘I know, Turvey, I know!’ he said. ‘My coat will never be the same again, do what you will, and I am sure you will do everything imaginable! As for my cravat, I might as well wear a Belcher handkerchief, might I not?’

  ‘I am relieved to see that your lordship has sustained no serious injury,’ responded Turvey repressively.

  ‘You must be astonished, I daresay, for you believe me to be a very fragile creature, don’t you?’

  ‘The tidings which were brought to the Castle by Miss Bolderwood were of a sufficiently alarming nature to occasion anxiety, my lord.’

  ‘Oh, so that is how the news was spread!’

  ‘Miss Bolderwood had but just stepped down from my Lord Ulverston’s curricle when your lordship’s horse bolted past them. I understand that the young lady sustained a severe shock. Permit me, my lord, to relieve you of your coat!’

  The Earl was seated at his dressing-table when, some twenty minutes later, Ulverston came into his room. He was dressed in his shirt and his satin knee-breeches, and was engaged on the delicate operation of arranging the folds of a fresh cravat into the style known as the Napoleon. At his elbow stood Turvey, intently watching the movements of his slender fingers. A number of starched cravats hung over the valet’s forearm, and three or four crumpled wrecks lay on the floor at his feet. The Earl’s eyes lifted briefly to observe his friend in the mirror. ‘Hush!’ he said. ‘Pray do not speak, Lucy, or do anything to distract my attention!’

  ‘Fop!’ said the Viscount.

  Turvey glanced at him reproachfully, but Gervase paid no heed. He finished tying the cravat, gazed thoughtfully at his reflection for perhaps ten seconds, while Turvey held his breath, and then said: ‘My coat, Turvey!’

  A deep sigh was breathed by the valet. He carefully disposed the unwanted cravats across the back of a chair, and picked up a coat of dark blue cloth.

  ‘And what do you call that pretty confection?’ enquired Ulverston.

  ‘The Napoleon – how can you be so ignorant? Do you think I ought not to wear it?’

  ‘No, but I wonder you don’t start a fashion of your own! Earthquake à la St Erth! How’s that, dear boy?’

  Turvey gave a discreet cough. ‘If I may be permitted to say so, my lord, the Desborough tie already enjoys a considerable degree of popularity in the highest circles. We are at present perfecting the design of the Stanyon Fall, which, when disclosed, will, I fancy, take the ton by storm.’

  ‘You should not betray our secrets, Turvey,’ Gervase said, standing up to allow the valet to help him to put on his coat. ‘Thank you: nothing more!’

  Turvey bowed, and turned away to gather up the discarded riding-coat and breeches. The Earl had picked up a knife from his dressing-table, and was trimming his nails, and did not immediately look up. The valet paused, laid the breeches down again, and thrust a hand into the tail-pocket of the coat. He drew forth the coil of thin cord which was spoiling the set of the coat, and in the same instant the Earl raised his head, and perceived what he was doing. A shadow of annoyance crossed his face; he said, with rather more sharpness than was usually heard in his voice: ‘Yes, leave that here!’

  The slight bow with which Turvey received this order expressed to a nicety his opinion of those who carried coils of cord in their pockets. He was about to lay the cord on the chair when the Viscount stepped forward, and took it out of his hand.

  ‘You may go.’ The Earl’s head was bent again over his task.

  Ulverston returned to the fireplace, testing the cord by jerking a length of it between his hands. When Turvey had withdrawn, he said: ‘Saw a whole front rank brought down by that trick once. Mind, that was at night! – ambush!’

  The Earl said nothing.

  ‘Stupid thing to do, to leave it in your pocket, dear boy!’

  ‘Very.’

  Ulverston tossed the coil aside. ‘Out with it, Ger! That’s what happened, ain’t it?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Martin?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Well, one thing you do know is that he was in the grounds at the time!’

  ‘So you say.’

  ‘Dash it, it was Clarence who said so, and what reason had he to say
it if it wasn’t true?’

  ‘None. I don’t doubt it: I fancy Martin generally does take a gun out at sundown.’

  ‘Well, what do you mean to do?’ Ulverston demanded.

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Famous!’ said Ulverston. ‘That fairly beats the Dutch! I collect that a little thing like that –’ he jerked his chin towards the cord – ‘don’t even give you to think?’

  ‘On the contrary, it gives me furiously to think. My reflections on this event may be false, and are certainly unpleasant, and with your good leave, Lucy, I’ll keep them to myself.’

  ‘This won’t serve!’ Ulverston said. ‘You cannot do nothing when an attempt has been made to kill you!’

  ‘Very well, what would you wish me to do?’ Gervase asked, laying down the paring-knife. He glanced at the Viscount’s scowling countenance, and smiled. ‘You don’t know, do you? Shall I announce to the household that I was thrown by such a trick? Or shall I accuse my brother of wishing to make away with me?’

  ‘Send him packing!’

  ‘On what grounds?’

  ‘Good God, ain’t these grounds enough?’

  ‘Yes, if I could prove them.’

  ‘There’s your proof!’ the Viscount said, pointing to the cord.

  ‘My dear Lucy, proof that someone tried to play a malicious trick on me, but not proof that my death was intended.’

  ‘Stuff!’ the Viscount said explosively. ‘How can you stand there talking such crack-brained nonsense to me, Ger?’

  ‘Well, I am not dead, am I?’ said Gervase. ‘I am not even hurt, and that I was stunned for a moment or two might be thought a mischance. If I had not fallen with my head upon the carriage-drive, that would not have occurred.’