The Quiet Gentleman

Chapter 13

While the Viscount was pursuing his courtship of Marianne, Martin seemed to be making an effort to get upon better terms with his half-brother. His attempts at friendliness, which were sometimes rather too studied, were tranquilly received, the Earl neither encouraging nor repulsing him, but holding himself a little aloof, and meeting advances that were not unlike those of a half-savage puppy with a serenity which was as unruffled by present blandishments as it had been by past enmity.

Though the Viscount might regard Martin’s change of face with suspicion, Theo and Miss Morville observed it with feelings of hope, and of relief.

“I think,” Miss Morville said thoughtfully, “that the sweetness of his lordship’s temper has had its effect upon Martin. He was at first inclined to see in it a lack of manly spirit, and now that he has discovered how far this is from the truth he begins to respect him — and with Martin, you know, respect must be the foundation of liking.”

“Exactly so!” Theo said warmly. “Your observation is very just, Drusilla! For my part, I believe Martin has seen the folly of his former conduct, and means to do better in the future.”

“And for my part,” interpolated Ulverston, “I think your precious Martin has had a fright, and is set on making us all think him reconciled to Ger’s existence!”

“A harsh judgment!” Theo said, smiling. “I have known Martin almost from his cradle, and I cannot believe that there is any real harm in him. He is hot-at-hand, often behaves stupidly, but that there is vice in him I will not think!”

“Ay, there you have the matter in a nutshell!” said Ulverston. “You will not think it!”

“I know what is in your mind, but I believe him to have repented most sincerely.”

“Lord, Frant, do you take me for a flat? If he repents, it is because he caused Ger’s horse to cut his knees!” He encountered a warning look cast at him from under Theo’s brows, and added impatiently: “Nonsense! Miss Morville was with him, and must know the truth!”

“Drusilla, is this so indeed? And you said nothing?”

“I do know the cause of the accident,” she replied calmly. “His lordship desired me to hold my peace, however, and I have done so, because I think him very well able to conduct his own affairs without my interference.”

“None better!” said the Viscount. “Never knew anyone with a better understanding! He ain’t the man to be taken-in by a hoax, and if he don’t see that all this brotherly love that whelp is showing him is too smoky by half, he ain’t such a deep ‘un as I’ve always thought!”

“Remember, though you may know Gervase, I have reason to know Martin!” Theo said. “I must continue to hold by my opinion! I don’t deny that I have been made to feel a greater degree of uneasiness than perhaps you have any idea of, but events have so turned out that I begin to think that I shall be able to leave Stanyon with a quiet mind presently.”

“Leave Stanyon? Do you mean to do so?” asked the Viscount, surprised.

“Oh, not for ever! Merely, I ought, a week ago, to have set forth on my travels, and have postponed my journey. I am my cousin’s agent, you know, and at this season I, in general, spend some days at his various estates.”

“Ay, do you so? And why have you postponed your journey?” demanded the Viscount.

Theo laughed. “Yes, yes, you have me there! But that is to be a thing of the past, if you please! If Martin’s passions have led him to play some dangerous pranks on his brother, he will do so no more! See if I am not right!”

Martin himself seemed anxious to reassure his cousin. His reason for doing so was not far to seek, and he stated it bluntly, saying: “You need not spy on me, Theo! I know you think I may play some trick on St. Erth, but I shall not!”

“My dear Martin!”

“Well, you do think it!” Martin insisted. “Merely because I didn’t warn him about that bridge! Such a kick-up as you made!”

“Are you surprised?”

“Oh, well! I own I shouldn’t have cared if he had fallen into the river, then; but I have come to think he is not such a bad fellow — if only one knew how to take him!”

“Is it so difficult?”

“It may not be for you, because he likes you.”

“He has given you little cause to suppose that he does not like you,” Theo said, in a dry tone.

“You may as well say that I gave him cause not to like me, for that’s what you mean, I collect!” said Martin rather angrily. “I don’t know what you think I may do to tease him, but I wish you will stop hovering about me, as though you were my gaoler, or some such thing!”

“This is fancy, Martin!”

“No, it ain’t. Why did you choose to go with us, when I took Gervase round the new coverts?”

“Good God! Why should I not go with you?”

“That wasn’t the only time, either!” pursued Martin. “I suppose you thought, when I challenged him to shoot against me, I might fire my pistol at him instead of the mark, unless you were there to watch us?”

“No, Martin: in spite of what occurred when you tried to match him with foils, I did not think that.”

Martin flushed hotly. “That was an accident!”

“No accident that you did not get out of distance when you saw that the button was off your foil.”

“If you mean to throw it up at me for ever that I lost my temper — Besides, he is a much more skilful fencer than I am! I could never have touched him!”

“I beg your pardon! I had no thought of throwing it up at you, until you began on this nonsense. You had better put it out of your head. You will not be burdened with my presence for a while: I am off to Evesleigh, and then to Maplefield, in a day or two.”

When the Earl heard of these plans, he showed how well-aware he was of having been kept under protective surveillance by laughing, and asking, at his most demure, if Theo thought that he would be safe without him. He was playing chess with Miss Morville, in the library, when Theo informed him what his movements would be, and he did not scruple to add: “I go on very well with Martin, and shall go on better still when I have no watch-dog. I am much obliged to you, Theo, but I fancy your care of me has not gone unobserved, and has done little to endear me to Martin. It is your move, Miss Morville.”

“I know it, but I think you have laid a trap for me,” she responded, frowning at the board. “I have noticed, my lord, that whenever you make what seems to me to be a careless move I immediately find myself in difficulties.”

“What an unhandsome fellow!” said Theo, smiling. “I had not thought him capable of duplicity!”

“Strategy, not duplicity, Theo!”

“I stand corrected. I wish my own efforts in strategy equalled yours, but they seem to be sadly deficient in subtlety. You are right, Gervase: I have been taken to task by Martin for having accompanied you both on your various expeditions, and will mend my ways.”

“Yes, pray do so: I don’t need a bodyguard. But must you go to Evesleigh? Can your business there not be done from Stanyon? It is only ten miles distant, is it not?”

“A little more than that. I find it is always better if I spend a day or two on the premises. The question is whether, this year, I should go to Studham. I must ask Martin if he wishes it.”

“Ask Martin if he wishes what?” demanded Martin, who had entered the room in time to overhear this.

“Studham. Do you mean to be your own agent, or shall I act for you?”

“Lord, I’d forgotten that! I wouldn’t above half mind managing the place myself, if it were mine!”

Theo looked amused. “If it were not for one circumstance, I should suggest that you accompany me there,” he said. “As it is, if you go, you go alone! I shall not readily forget your last encounter with its present occupant.”

“Is it possible that Martin does not care for Aunt Dorothea?” asked the Earl, moving one of his knights to protect a threatened pawn.

Martin grinned, but it was Theo who answered: “It is a case of mutual dislike. It has been my unhappy fate to act as mediator in several skirmishes, and it is my firm resolve not to be present at their Waterloo!”

“I’ll tell you what, St. Erth!” said Martin. “You should go to Studham with Theo!”

“I can perceive not the smallest reason why I should do anything of the sort.”

“To pay your respects to my aunt, of course! If you will invite her to live here, dash it, I will go and live at Studham!”

“Thank you, Martin, I prefer your company to Aunt Dorothea’s.”

“Why, how is this? I had thought you liked her! You threatened to bring her here, didn’t you?”

“There was really no danger of my doing so, however.”

“What a hand you are! I must say, I wish my father had not allowed her to settle at, Studham, for she is bound to live for ever, only to spite me.”

“You had better give her notice to leave.”

“Well, I would, but the thing is that I don’t know that it would suit me to live there myself,” said Martin ingenuously. “To be at such a distance from Quorndon Hall! I don’t know how I should go on.” He paused, and added: “Of course, if you would like to be rid of me — ”

“No, not at all. Check, Miss Morville!”

“Black must resign, I believe. You will chase my King all over the board.”

“Where is Ulverston?” asked Martin abruptly.

“I fancy he has ridden out.”

“Oh!” The lowering expression descended on to Martin’s brow. “How long does he mean to remain at Stanyon?”

“I have no idea.”

“I thought he meant only to stay for a day or two,” Martin muttered.

The Earl made no reply. Theo said: “Well, if I am to do your business for you, Martin, it will be well if I have your instructions. Are you at liberty? Come to my room!”

“Oh, you will manage better than I should, I daresay!” Martin said, shrugging, but following him to the door. “But I wish you will look into what that stupid fellow Mugginton is about! How my father came to appoint such a sap-head as bailiff I don’t know! Why, the last time I was there, he was talking of putting the Long Acre down to wheat! Now, Theo, you know — ”

The closing of the door cut off the end of this sentence. Miss Morville said, as she restored the chessmen to their box: “It is a pity that he and Lady Cinderford cannot agree, for he needs occupation, and nothing would suit him so well as to be managing an estate. I believe he knows as well what should be done as your bailiff does.”

“I fancy he will never live at Studham. It is extremely profitable, however, so if he chooses to do so he may buy himself a house in Leicestershire.”

She considered this, but shook her head. “I think he would not be happy there. I daresay you may not have talked with him very much, or he might be shy of confiding in you, but his thoughts are bound up in Stanyon. He loves it, you know.”

“For him it is full of the happiest memories,” he remarked.

She raised her eyes to his face. “Do you dislike it so very much, my lord?”

“Why, no! I am learning to like it pretty fairly, I think. I imagine it must have every inconvenience known to man, but it might be made tolerably comfortable, if one cared enough to set about the task.”

“Well, I hope you will care enough,” she said. “And, if I were you, my lord, the first thing that I would do would be to make one of the saloons on this floor, which nobody ever uses, into a dining-parlour! Then you might not be obliged to partake of dishes that are cold before ever they reach the table!”

He laughed. “An advantage, I own! When I undertake my improvements, I shall certainly come to you for advice, ma’am!”

“I don’t suppose that you will,” she replied. “You will, instead, place the whole in the hands of some fashionable architect, and he will build you another wing, so that you will find yourself worse off than before.”

“Very much worse off, if I am to employ a fashionable architect! Whom have you in mind? Nash? Beyond my touch, I fear!”

“I don’t think,”she said seriously, “that Mr. Nash’s style would be at all suitable for Stanyon “

The news that Theo was about to set out, as he had punctually done for several years, on visits to the Earl’s various properties naturally afforded the Dowager with matter for surprise and complaint. She said a great many times that she had had no notion that he had meant to go away; and long before she had reached the end of her objections to the project the uninitiated might well have supposed that Mr. Theodore Frant spent the better part of each year in jauntering about the country, while everything at Stanyon was left at a stand. He met her complaints with unmoved patience, only taking the trouble to answer them when she demanded a response from him. From having looked upon any enlargement of the family-party at Stanyon with bitter misgiving, she had now reached the stage of bemoaning its break-up. It occurred to her that with Theo absent her whist-table must depend upon Miss Morville for its fourth; and this circumstance brought to her mind the imminent return of Mr. and Mrs. Morville to the neighbourhood, and their daughter’s consequent departure from Stanyon. “And then, I daresay, you will be going to London, St. Erth,” she said. “I am sure I do not know what I shall do, for I have no intention of removing to town until May. London does not agree with my constitution. When Martin goes, he may stay with his sister. She will be very glad to welcome him, I daresay.”

“Stay with Louisa, and that prosy fool of a husband of hers?” exclaimed Martin. “No, I thank you! Besides, I may not go to London at all!”

“Not go to London! You will go to the Bolderwoods’ ball!”

“I don’t know that,” Martin said sullenly.

This astonishing announcement set up a fresh train of thought in the Dowager’s mind, even more unwelcome to her audience. She could not imagine what her son could be thinking about, for she was sure that if he had said once that he should go to London when the Bolderwoods left Lincolnshire he had said it a hundred times. No efforts were spared either by Gervase or by Miss Morville to introduce a topic of conversation that would give her thoughts another direction, but they were unavailing: she continued to wonder and to comment until her exasperated son abruptly left the room.

Her egotism did not permit her often to trouble herself with the concerns of others, but Martin was her darling, and if she did not go to the length of putting his interests before her own convenience, at least she grudged no time spent in discussing his welfare. She feared that a lovers’ quarrel must have estranged Martin from Miss Bolderwood; and when Miss Morville, to whom she confided this solution, ventured to suggest that whatever Martin’s feelings might be Marianne had given no one reason to suppose that she favoured him more than any of her other suitors, she was incredulous. She must think it an absurdity that any young woman should not fall in love with Martin. She had signified her approval of the match, so what could be the hindrance, excepting only some nonsensical tiff? Could it be that the Bolderwoods had not presumed to think her kindness to their daughter a hint that she would not object to receiving her as a member of the family? She believed Sir Thomas to be a very respectable man, who would be anxious not to encroach: she had a very good mind to drive over to Whissenhurst to set his mind at rest on this score.

Miss Morville was not easily daunted, and although this suggestion might make her blench she contrived to conceal her dismay, and to argue her ladyship out of a decision which could only lead, she believed, to a painful scene with Sir Thomas.

“Can it be,” demanded the Dowager, suddenly struck by a new idea, “that the Bolderwoods are hopeful of drawing St. Erth in? Upon my word, that would be a high flight indeed! I had not believed Sir Thomas to be capable of such presumption, for the Earl of St. Erth, you know, may look as high as he may choose for a bride, and had there been the least chance of Martin’s succeeding to the title I should not have countenanced the Bolderwood connection for a moment!”

“I do not think, ma’am, that such a thought has entered Sir Thomas’s head. He and Lady Bolderwood consider Marianne to be too young to be thinking of marriage.”

“Depend upon it, my dear, a girl is never too young for her parents to be scheming to make a good match for her,” said the Dowager. “I shall drive over to Whissenhurst, and just drop a hint that an alliance with St. Erth would be most unacceptable to me. I assure you, I should oppose it with my dying breath!”

Miss Morville found no difficulty in believing her; her dependence on the likelihood of this opposition’s being attended to, either by the Earl or by Sir Thomas, was less secure, and she renewed her efforts to dissuade her ladyship from a mission which could only end in her discomfiture. By dint of discovering in herself a great desire to see Marianne again, and stressing a propriety of discovering exactly how the case might be before her ladyship moved in it, she succeeded in persuading her to postpone her visit to Whissenhurst until she had been put in possession of all the facts. These she engaged herself to discover. It did not seem to her to be incumbent on her to suggest to the Dowager that it was an Austell and not a Frant who had succeeded in capturing the heiress’s affections. The shock would be severe, she knew; and she suspected that nothing less than a public announcement of betrothal would suffice to convince her ladyship that any other than a Frant had been accepted by the Bolderwoods.

Since Theo had formed the intention of riding to Whissenhurst on the following morning, to take formal leave of the Bolderwoods, Miss Morville applied to him for escort. He expressed his willingness to go with her, and they rode there together, in happy ignorance that Martin had set out earlier in the same direction.

It was inevitable that Theo should learn from her the reason for her visit, for he was so much in everyone’s confidence that it seemed the most natural thing to tell him what had passed between herself and the Dowager. He was not so much diverted as she had expected him to be, but said, with a forced smile only: “I have lived too long with her ladyship to be surprised by her absurdities. It must have been plain to everyone but herself from the first moment of his clapping eyes on her that Ulverston was much struck by Miss Bolderwood. The fact is that she would not readily be brought to believe that even a Howard or a Percy could be preferred to a Frant.” He was silent for a moment, and then said: “I must suppose that the Bolderwoods, discovering that St. Erth had no serious intentions, are anxious to secure Ulverston for their daughter. It is not to be wondered at.”

He spoke in his usual quiet way, but she thought that she could detect an undercurrent of bitterness in his tone, and said: “You do them less than justice, I think. Their ambition is merely to see Marianne happy.”

“Certainly, but they may be pardoned for believing that the happiness of a future Countess is more likely than that of a mere commoner’s wife. I do not blame them: Miss Bolderwood is worthy of the highest honour.”

He said no more, and she did not pursue the subject, but turned the talk, after a minute’s silence, into less awkward channels.

Martin, meanwhile, had reached Whissenhurst a little earlier. As he rode in at the gate, he obtained a glimpse of Marianne through a division in the yew hedge which screened the drive from the gardens. He guessed that she was busy amongst the spring bulbs which had become one of her chief hobbies, and at once turned his horse towards the stableyard. Leaving the hack in the care of the head-groom, he made his way to the succession-houses which Sir Thomas had had erected at such enormous expense. She was not there, but just as Martin was standing irresolute, wondering if, by ill-luck, she had gone into the house again, he heard the sound of her voice uplifted in a gay ballad. It came from the potting-shed, and he strode up to it, and looked in, to find that she was alone there, engaged in transferring several white hyacinths from their separate earthenware pots to a large Worcestershire bowl. She made a charming picture, with her pale golden curls uncovered, and confined only by a blue riband, a shawl pinned round her shoulders, and a small trowel in one hand. She did not immediately perceive Martin, but went on singing to herself, and carefully pressing down the earth round her bulbs, while he watched her. Some slight movement he made which caught her attention; she looked round, and with a startled exclamation dropped the trowel.

He came into the shed, and picked up the trowel. “You need not jump and squeak!” he said. “It’s only I!”

She took the trowel from him, and laid it down. “Oh, no! I did not mean — That is, I was not expecting — You gave me such a fright! Thank you! See, are they not perfect blooms? I am so proud of them, and mean to place them in Papa’s book-room, for he would only laugh, when I began my gardening, and said my bulbs would come to nothing, because I should forget all about them in a week. He will be regularly set-down!”

“Marianne,” he said, disregarding this speech, “I came because I must and will speak to you!”

“Oh, pray — ! Of course I am always pleased to see you, Martin, but I can’t think what you should want to speak to me about! Don’t look so grave! It is such a lovely day, and when the sun shines I can’t be solemn — you must know I cannot!”

He was not to be diverted; he said: “You have not allowed me to come near you since the night of the ball. I frightened you — I should not have spoken to you then! — but you cannot have doubted my — my sentiments towards you!”

“I hope we have always been good friends,” she said nervously. “Pray do not pain me by speaking of what happened that night! You did not mean it — I am persuaded you did not mean it!”

“Nonsense!” he interrupted, almost angrily. “Of course I meant it! You know that!”

She hung down her head, faltering: “I am afraid I have not always behaved as I should. I didn’t guess — but it was wrong of me, if — if my conduct led you to suppose — that I was in the expectation of receiving a declaration from you.”

He looked at her with a kindling pair of eyes. “It was not so with you a week ago!”

“I was foolish — Mama said I ought not — ”

“It is all since this frippery fellow Ulverston came to Stanyon!” he interrupted. “You have been flirting with him, encouraging his advances — ”

“It is not true! I won’t listen to you! You ought not to say these things, Martin! you know you ought not! Pray do not!”

“You think you may keep me on your string with all the rest, but you are mistaken! I love you, Marianne!”

She made a protesting gesture, and he caught her hand, and held it in a hard grasp. Words tumbled off his tongue, but she was too much distressed to listen to his vows to make her happy, if only she would marry him. Trying unavailing to free her hand, she gasped: “No, no, you must not! Papa would not permit me — indeed, indeed, this is very wrong in you, Martin!”

He now had possession of her other hand as well; looking up at him, she was alarmed to see so stormy an expression in his face. She could as readily have believed that he hated her as that he loved her, and the knowledge that her own lighthearted coquetry had roused so much passion filled her with as much penitence as terror. With tears trembling on the ends of her lashes, she could only utter: “I didn’t mean it! I didn’t understand!”

“You thought differently once! Until St. Erth came home! Is that what it is? First St. Erth, now Ulverston! You would sing another tune if I were St. Erth, wouldn’t you? By God, I think I begin to value you as I should!”

She was provoked into crying out against this accusation, her tears now falling fast. “It is untrue! Let me go! You are hurting me! Let me go! Oh, please, please let me go!”

There seemed to be little likelihood of his attending to her, but at that moment the Viscount, who had come out of the house in search of her, looked into the shed. Two swift strides brought him up to them; his hand gripped Martin’s shoulder; he said authoritatively: “That will do! You forget yourself, Frant!”

Marianne was released immediately. Martin spun round, the intervention, coming from such a source, being all that was needed to fan his passion to a flame. The Viscount was granted barely more than a second to read his purpose in his blazing eyes, but he was a quick-witted young man, and it was enough. He rode the blow aimed for his chin, countered swiftly, and floored Martin. Marianne, backed against the wall of the shed, uttered a little scream of terror, pressing her hands to her blanched cheeks.

The Viscount stepped quickly up to her, saying, with a reassuring smile: “Beg pardon! An infamous thing to alarm you so! Don’t cry! No need at all — word of a gentleman! Will you go into the house? Miss Morville is sitting with your Mama. You’ll find Theo Frant as well — overtook ‘em on the road here! Say nothing about this to your parents! Much better not, you know!”

“Oh, no!” she said faintly. “But you won’t — you won’t — ?”

“Lord, no!” he said cheerfully, drawing her towards the door. “Nothing for you to tease yourself about!”

She whispered his name beseechingly, but he said, in a low tone: “Hush! Not now!” and gave her a little push over the threshold.

Martin had picked himself up from among the shattered pots, and was furiously brushing the dirt from his person. The Viscount surveyed him sardonically. “Habit of yours — forcing your attentions on females who don’t want ‘em?”

Martin’s fists clenched, but he kept them at his sides. “You’ll meet me for this, my lord!”

“Tomfoolery!” Ulverston said shortly.

“You may name your friends! They will hear from mine!”

“Good God, how can I meet you?” demanded Ulverston. “I’m a guest in your brother’s house, you young fool!”

“It is not my house! You’ve knocked me down: do you mean to deny me satisfaction?”

“Y’know I’ve no taste for rodomontade!” said Ulverston. “You should be thanking me for having given you the leveller you were standing in crying need of!”

He would have left the shed on the words, but Martin stood in his way. “Will you, my lord, name your friends, or don’t you care to pit your marksmanship against mine?”

“Oh, go to the devil!” snapped Ulverston. “Whom would you have me name? Your brother? Your cousin?”

Martin was for the moment nonplussed, but he recovered quickly, and said: “Mr. Warboys will be happy to serve you!”

“Thank you! I shan’t call upon him to act for me.”

Martin’s right hand came up like a flash, and struck him an openhanded blow across the cheek. “Does that make you change your mind, my lord?”

The Viscount, curbing his instincts, kept his own hands lowered, but he was by this time very angry indeed. He said: “Yes, that makes me change my mind! If no one else will teach you a lesson, Martin Frant, I will!”