‘St Erth was shot by a poacher,’ stated the Dowager. ‘I was not at all surprised. I thought that that was how it must have been. They should all of them be transported.’
‘Well, well, if we could lay them by the heels, so they should be!’ said Sir Thomas. ‘Do you sit down, my lord!’
While everyone was either endorsing this advice, or offering the Earl a cushion, or a stool for his feet, Martin escaped from the saloon, almost colliding in the doorway with Abney, who was on the point of ushering in two more visitors. He fell back, bowing perfunctorily, and Abney announced Mr and Mrs Morville.
Mrs Morville acknowledged Martin’s bow with a nod, and a smile; Mr Morville, who had been dragged unwillingly to render the observances of civility to his daughter’s hostess, said: ‘Ha, Martin!’ and surveyed the rest of the company with a disillusioned eye, which the Viscount (as he informed his betrothed in a whisper) found singularly unnerving.
Mrs Morville, meanwhile, having shaken hands with the Dowager, exchanged greetings with Sir Thomas and Marianne, smiled at her daughter, and wished that the Dowager would be a little more particular in her presentation of the two strange young gentlemen.
‘My son-in-law, St Erth, and Lord Ulverston!’ said the Dowager generally.
Both gentlemen were bowing. Mr Morville answered the question in his wife’s mind by staring very hard at the Viscount, and ejaculating: ‘Ulverston, eh? Well, well, that takes me back a good few years! How do you do? Your father and I were up at Cambridge together. You’re very like him!’
Mrs Morville, bestowing a brief smile upon Ulverston, then turned her attention to the Earl, shaking hands with him, and expressing the conventional hope that he was recovered from his accident. Since Drusilla had not chosen to describe him to her parents, his fair countenance came as a shock to Mrs Morville, who had expected to confront an unmistakable Frant. She almost blinked at him, found that he was smiling at her, and instantly understood why her staid daughter had lost her heart to him. Her own heart sank, for she was by no means a besotted mother, and while she truly valued Drusilla she could not find it in her to suppose that it lay within her power to engage the affections of one who, besides being a notable parti, was more handsome than (she felt) any young man had a right to be.
Nothing of this showed, however, in her manner. The Earl was expressing the sense of his obligation to Drusilla: she replied calmly that she was glad Drusilla had found an opportunity to be useful; and, seating herself on the sofa, made a little gesture to the place beside her, saying: ‘I am persuaded you should not stand, Lord St Erth.’
The Dowager, who had resumed her own seat by the fire, said: ‘I assure you, he is perfectly well again, my dear Mrs Morville. Young men, you know, are amazingly quick to recover from such accidents. I daresay his nerves have suffered less than mine. I have a great deal of sensibility. I do not deny it: I am not ashamed to own the truth. Dr Malpas has been obliged to visit me every day, and in general I enjoy very good health. I inherit my constitution from my dear father. You were not acquainted with my father, Mr Morville. I have often been sorry that you were not, for you would have been excessively pleased with one another. My father was a great reader, though not, of course, during the hunting-season.’
Fortunately, the historian was too well-used to having such remarks addressed to him to betray his feelings other than by a satirical look over the top of his spectacles, and a somewhat dryly expressed regret that he had not been privileged to meet the late Lord Dewsbury. Mrs Morville began to talk to the Earl about his service in the Peninsula; her husband returned to his interrupted conversation with Ulverston, and the Dowager addressed one of her monologues to Sir Thomas, in which her affection for her son-in-law, her hatred of poachers, and the state of her nerves became inextricably mixed with her conviction that if young persons in general, and St Erth in particular, had more regard for their elders they would take care not to incur accidents calculated to alarm them. By the time she had recollected two of her deceased parent’s moral reflections upon the selfishness of young people, Sir Thomas discovered that he must carry his daughter back to Whissenhurst. The Dowager, although she had observed with displeasure Lord Ulverston’s attentions to Marianne, had lately had other things to occupy her mind than Martin’s courtship. She said graciously: ‘Marianne is in very good looks. I am always pleased to welcome her to Stanyon, for she has very pretty manners, and she was most good-natured in playing at spillikins with dear little Harry and John. When I come to London I daresay I shall find her quite the belle of Almack’s – that is, if you have vouchers, and if you have not I shall be happy to procure them for you.’
‘Much obliged to you!’ said Sir Thomas, anything but gratefully. ‘No difficulty about that, however! I hope your ladyship will come to London in time to attend Lady Bolderwood’s ball. Don’t mind telling such a kind friend as you that you’ll hear me make an interesting announcement.’ He observed, with satisfaction, a startled look on her face, and chuckled. ‘Ay, that’s the way the wind blows!’ he said, with a jerk of his head towards Lord Ulverston. ‘We said it must remain a secret until after the little puss’s presentation, but, lord! I suppose it must be all over the county by now!’
He then took his leave, and the party broke up. Both St Erth and Ulverston escorted the visitors downstairs, and while the Morvilles’ carriage was waited for, Sir Thomas, finding himself beside his host, shot one of his penetrating looks at him, and said: ‘So it was a poacher, was it? H’m! Coming it strong, but I don’t blame you! I shan’t give you my advice, because for one thing it ain’t any of my business, for another you young fellows never listen to advice, and for a third I’ve a notion you’ll manage your affairs very well for yourself. Only don’t take foolish risks, my lord! Where’s your cousin?’
‘At Evesleigh,’ replied the Earl.
Sir Thomas grunted. ‘Gone back there, has he? Well! You be careful! That’s all I’ve got to say!’
He gave the Earl no opportunity to answer him, but turned away to bid farewell to Mrs Morville. By the time the carriage had driven off, his own and Marianne’s horses had been brought round from the stables. Lord Ulverston lifted Marianne into the saddle, good-byes were exchanged, and the Bolderwoods rode away. Ulverston, perceiving that the Earl’s thoughtful gaze was following Sir Thomas, said: ‘Regular quiz, ain’t he? Rather wondered at first what m’father would say to him, but I daresay they’ll deal famously together. He’s no fool, Sir Thomas: in fact, he’s a devilish knowing cove!’
‘I begin to think you are right,’ said the Earl slowly. ‘Devilish knowing! – unless I misunderstood him.’
Twenty
The effect of Sir Thomas’s morning-call could hardly have been said to have been happy. Its repercussions were felt mostly by the long-suffering Miss Morville, who was obliged not only to lend a sympathetic ear to the Dowager’s tedious and embittered animadversions on the duplicity of Lord Ulverston and the Bolderwoods, but also to dissuade her from casting repulsive looks at Ulverston, and from mentioning more than once a day that the task of entertaining her son-in-law’s friends at the Castle imposed a strain upon her enfeebled nerves which they could ill support.
Both Martin and Gervase came in for their share of her comprehensive complaints, for she could not suppose that Marianne would have rejected Martin’s suit, had he put himself to the trouble of using a little address in its prosecution; while as for Gervase, the more she considered his behaviour the greater grew her conviction that he was responsible for every evil which had fallen upon the family, dating from the shocking occasion when he had permitted a four-year-old Martin to play with a tinderbox, and so set fire to the nursery blinds: an accident which would have led to the total demolition of the Castle had the nurse not entered the room at that moment, and beaten out the flames with a coal-shovel.
It was not the Earl’s practice to argue with his stepmother, but this accusation was so unexpected
that he was surprised into exclaiming: ‘But I wasn’t there!’
He would have done better to have held his peace. The Dowager very well recollected that he had not been there, for it was what she had been saying for ever: he liked his brother so little that even when they had been children he had always preferred to slip away rather than to play with him. She had known how it would be from the outset; she had not the least doubt that he had brought Ulverston to Stanyon merely to ruin poor Martin’s chances of marrying an heiress; and now that she came to think of it, she had never liked Ulverston, besides knowing a very discreditable story about his Uncle Lucius.
‘And as for your conduct in not wearing the Frant ring, and causing the Indian epergne to be removed from the smaller dining-table, I am sure it is all of a piece, and just what anyone would have expected!’ she said. ‘I daresay it is the influence of Lady Penistone, but on that head I shall maintain silence, for although I never liked her, and, indeed, consider her a fast, frivolous woman, I do not forget that she is your grandmother; and if I am persuaded that her third son was fathered by Roxby, as no one could doubt who had ever clapped eyes on him, I am determined that nothing shall prevail upon me to say so!’
She then startled Miss Morville, as much as the Earl, by bursting into tears; and Gervase, who had stiffened at this all too probable answer to the problem of his Uncle Maurice’s curious likeness to my Lord Roxby, relaxed again, and only said, in a coaxing tone: ‘It is very bad, ma’am, but although I had not enough good taste to get myself killed in the late wars, at least you may be sure that I shall never accuse Martin of attempting to put a period to my existence.’
Perhaps as much surprised as he by her unaccustomed display of weakness, she dried her eyes, saying: ‘It is one thing to think you would very likely not survive the war, and quite another to be contriving your death, St Erth! You may choose to believe that I am in league with poor Martin to kill you, which only serves to convince me that I shall never meet with anything but ingratitude, for it is quite untrue, and I have instead been considering how I might contrive a very eligible match for you!’
He thanked her gravely, and she said: ‘You may ask Louisa if it is not so! But one thing I am determined on! No matter what comes of it I shall not desire her to assist me in the matter, for she has written me such a letter, and about her own brother, too, as makes me excessively sorry to think that she is coming into Lincolnshire this summer!’
After this, she begged Miss Morville to find her smelling-salts, and the Earl made good his escape.
His recovery from the effects of his wound was speedy enough to astonish everyone but the Viscount. Having once left his room, he showed no signs of suffering a relapse; and it was not many days before he was taking the air on horseback. On these gentle expeditions he was invariably accompanied by Ulverston, who refused to be shaken off even when the Earl’s intention was merely to return Mr and Mrs Morville’s call. Under these circumstances it was scarcely surprising that the visit should have passed without the exchange of anything but civilities. Lord Ulverston rattled on in his usual style; and the Earl, although primed by his friend with a description of that one of Mrs Morville’s novels which he had been obliged by circumstances to read, and which he said was a devilish prosy book about a dead bore of a girl who never did anything but struggle against adversity, and moralize about it, wisely chose to confine his conversation with his hostess to the military career of her elder son. Nor did he make the mistake of attempting to hoax Mr Morville into believing that he had ever so much as looked between the covers of one of his interesting histories, a piece of rare good sense which caused Mr Morville slightly to temper his first criticism of him. He still said that he was a frippery young fashionable, whose exquisite tailoring bore every evidence of extravagance, but he now added, in a fair-minded spirit, that he was not such an empty-headed jackanapes as he looked.
Mrs Morville fully appreciated the worth of this tribute, which, indeed, set the Earl considerably above either Captain Jack Morville, of the –th Foot, or Mr Tom Morville, Scholar of Queens’ College, Cambridge, but it did not greatly elevate her spirits. She sighed, and said: ‘One cannot wonder at Drusilla, but I dare not suppose that her regard is returned. I perceive that his manners are so universally pleasing that I cannot but dread lest she may be refining too much upon what, with him, is the merest civility. I do not scruple to say, my dear sir, that his air, his address, and his person are all so exactly what must cause any girl in the possession of her senses to fall in love with him, that I quite despair! Do you think, Mr Morville, that he betrays any decided partiality for Drusilla?’
‘No,’ responded her life’s partner unequivocally. ‘Not that I have given the matter a thought, for I believe it to be one of your fancies, my dear.’
Mrs Morville might have been cheered had she known that she was not quite the only person to suspect the Earl of forming an attachment. Whether because his own thoughts were largely occupied by the tender passion, or because he knew his friend better than did anyone else at Stanyon, the lively Viscount had already cocked a knowing eye in his direction. In a burst of confidence, engendered in him by the Stanyon port, he had even dropped a hint in the Chaplain’s ear. Mr Clowne, much startled, exclaimed: ‘Indeed, if you are right, my lord, I must think it an excellent thing, for I have often thought that Miss Morville would most worthily fill a great position! But I fear – that is, I am sure! – that her ladyship has quite other plans for her son-in-law!’
The Viscount was amused. ‘Daresay she has. I wish I may see Ger letting her, or Theo, or me, or – damme, or anyone! – manage his affairs for him! Trouble is, my dear sir, you none of you know Ger!’
‘I own, my lord, that that suspicion has once or twice occurred to me,’ admitted Mr Clowne.
‘Any other suspicions occurred to you?’ asked the Viscount abruptly. ‘You don’t say much, but it wouldn’t surprise me if you saw more than you’re prepared to blab. What about this man Martin Frant has hired?’
Mr Clowne, feeling that he was being towed out of his depth, said: ‘Oh, I feel sure your lordship need not consider Leek! To be sure, he is not to be compared with Studley, but I understand how it was! Mr Martin, you know, is careless in his dress, but he dislikes to have strangers about him, and I daresay he was glad to hire Hickling’s uncle when it was suggested to him. Truly, a rough fellow, but I have always found him respectful, and anxious to conform to our ways at Stanyon!’
‘Well,’ said the Viscount bluntly, ‘if I had a valet who was always to be found where he had least business, I’d very soon send him packing!’
‘My lord!’ said the Chaplain, much perturbed. ‘Your words rouse the gravest apprehensions in my mind!’
‘Try if you may rouse them in St Erth’s mind!’ recommended the Viscount. ‘I can’t! He will only laugh!’
He spoke gloomily, for he had failed most signally to bring home to the Earl a sense of the danger in which he stood. All Gervase would say was that he found Leek a constant refreshment.
‘Ger, it’s my belief the fellow spies on you!’
‘Oh, so it is mine!’ agreed Gervase. ‘I encourage him, and am daily enlarging my vocabulary. He tells me, for instance, that Stanyon would be an easy ken to mill, and expresses his astonishment that no prig has, as yet, slummed it!’
‘That’s thieves’ cant!’ said Ulverston quickly.
‘Is it, Lucy? I am sure you know!’
‘Stop bamming! This is serious!’
‘Oh, no! For, you see, I – I think the expression is rumbled his lay! – within five minutes of making his acquaintance! If it comforts you, let me assure you that I shall get rid of him exactly when it pleases me to do so!’
‘Ay, will you so? And of me too, I daresay?’ said the Viscount.
‘I am sure that would be much more difficult,’ said Gervase meekly.
He spent the rest of the day (partic
ularly when the Viscount was present) either in attempting to use his left hand, and then, apparently, thinking better of it, or in tucking it into the front of his coat. These tactics very soon brought him under the notice of his friend, who demanded to know if his shoulder was paining him. He denied the smallest feeling of discomfort, and so swiftly turned the subject that the Viscount naturally became suspicious, and said: ‘I’ll take a look at it!’
‘You will do no such thing!’ retorted Gervase. ‘Much you would know if you did!’
‘I’ve seen a few shot-wounds in my time, dear boy! I’ll know fast enough if it ain’t healing as it should! However, we can fetch the sawbones to you, if you prefer it!’
‘I don’t! For God’s sake, Lucy, will you stop trying to cosset me?’
‘Don’t want to cosset you. Thing is, you may have strained it. Better lie up tomorrow, if a night’s rest don’t put all to rights again.’
‘Oh, fudge!’ Gervase said.
He appeared at the breakfast-table next morning, but he still seemed reluctant to move his left arm; and he admitted, upon being rigorously questioned by the Viscount, that he had not slept well.
‘Then let me tell you this, dear boy! You ain’t going to Whissenhurst this afternoon!’
‘But if the Bolderwoods are going to town tomorrow, I think I ought to take leave of them!’ objected Gervase. ‘After all, you will be driving, not I.’
‘Don’t be a fool, Ger! You’d be fagged to death! I’ll be the bearer of your excuses.’
‘Well, we’ll see,’ Gervase temporized. He glanced across the table at Martin. ‘Do you mean to go?’
‘No, I have business in Grantham this morning,’ Martin replied shortly. ‘I daresay I may be detained there. In any event, I’ve no thought of going to Whissenhurst!’
Gervase said no more, but rose from the table, and sauntered out of the room. Ten minutes later he was in the stables, inspecting Cloud’s forelegs.
The Quiet Gentleman Page 28
