The Quiet Gentleman

Chapter 15

Martin was too much in the habit of dining from home for his absence to be greatly felt by his mother. Beyond saying several times that she had had no notion he meant to go to the Warboys’ that day, and supposing that he would drink tea at Whissenhurst, she made no comment. Her mind was engrossed by one of the complicated relationships in which she delighted, for she had chanced to read in the Gazette that a son had been born to the wife of a Mr. Henry Lamberhurst, which instantly reminded her that a third cousin of her own had married a Lamberhurst, who, in his turn, was linked by two other marriages with a branch of the Austell family. With the Viscount’s good-natured, if not very valuable, assistance, she beguiled the dinner-hour by pursuing through all their ramifications every offshoot of both families until she reached, with the dessert, the apparently satisfactory conclusion that the unknown Henry Lamberhurst could not be connected with the Lamberhursts she knew.

The Viscount was spared her subsequent recollections of some people she had once met at Ramsgate, and whom she rather fancied to have been in some way related to the family, these being imparted only to Miss Morville, when the two ladies withdrew to one of the saloons. Miss Morville, who had contrived to evade giving an account of her discoveries at Whissenhurst, and who had no wish to be more closely interrogated on the subject, encouraged these tedious reminiscences, and by interpolating a question now and then managed to keep her ladyship’s mind occupied until the appearance of the gentlemen turned her thoughts towards whist.

It was not until the party had broken up that Theo was able to exchange any private conversation with the Earl. He detained him then, as he was about to leave the library in the Viscount’s wake, and said in his blunt way: “One moment, St. Erth! What happened at Whissenhurst today between Martin and Ulverston?”

“A misunderstanding only.”

“Gervase, Martin must not be allowed to call Ulverston out!”

“He will not do so.”

Theo looked shrewdly at him. “He seems to have had that intention. Did you scotch it?”

“Not that precisely. He was not fully informed of the circumstances.”

“I see. In short, Ulverston has offered for Miss Bolderwood, and has been accepted?”

“The engagement is not to be made generally known yet,” the Earl warned him.

“You need not be afraid that I shall spread the news. Well! I guessed as much. I am sorry for Martin. He has not had time to grow accustomed to the knowledge that he is not of sufficient consequence to aspire to the hand of an heiress.”

“Really, Theo, I think you wrong Miss Bolderwood!”

“Never. This is her parents’ doing. I always knew they had set their ambition high. Oh, don’t think I blame them! it was inevitable.” He forced a smile. “I fancy you raised expectations, trifler that you are!”

“Nonsense!”

“My dear Gervase, you cannot be such an innocent as to suppose that Sir Thomas would not have jumped at the chance of seeing his daughter Countess of St. Erth!”

“You sound very like my stepmother,” remarked the Earl. “He gave me no encouragement, nor do I think that his wishing not to announce this engagement immediately shows him to be jumping at the chance of seeing Miss Bolderwood the future Countess of Wrexham.”

“I daresay not. He had hoped for better. The Frants were Earls of St. Erth before ever the Austells rose to the dignity of a barony!”

“Very like my stepmother!” murmured Gervase.

Theo was obliged to laugh, but he said: “However you may disregard the difference you may be sure the Bolderwoods do not! Offer for Marianne before her betrothal to Ulverston is announced, and see what Sir Thomas will say to you!”

“My dear Theo, where have your wits gone begging? It was a case of love at first sight with them both! You must have seen that!”

“Did Martin?”

“Oh, Martin — ! Does he ever see beyond his nose?”

“No, and for that reason I am more than ever sorry for him. I believe he had no suspicion, and the news must have come to him as a severe shock.”

“I am afraid you are right, but he will very soon recover from it. He is at present forswearing women — an excellent sign!”

“Where is he?”

“Unless he did indeed visit his friend Warboys, I don’t know.”

“I hope he has done nothing foolish!” Theo said, a crease appearing between his brows. “He almost knocked me over when he brushed past me on his way out of the house, and looked as though he would have willingly murdered me, had I dared to address him.”

“Poor Theo!” said the Earl lightly. “I’m afraid you were acting as my scapegoat — or possibly Lucy’s!”

“Did you quarrel?” Theo asked, the crease deepening.

“It takes two to make a quarrel.”

“Evasion, Gervase! Was he — ” He broke off, for a quick footstep was heard approaching the library across the Great Hall beyond it, and in another instant Martin had entered the room.

He was looking tired, and pale, his face rather set, and his expressive eyes sombre. He checked on the threshold when he saw his cousin, and ejaculated: “Oh — ! You here!”

“Do you wish to speak to Gervase? I am just off to bed.”

“It doesn’t signify. I have no doubt you know the whole!” He glanced at St. Erth, and then lowered his eyes. “I only wished to say — I was in a rage!”

“Yes, I know,” the Earl replied quietly.

Another fleeting glance was cast up at him. “I think I said — I don’t know: I do say things, in a rage, which — which I don’t mean!”

“I did not regard it, and you need not either.”

Martin seemed to force his rigid mouth to smile. “No. Well — mighty good of you to take it so! Of course I know it was not your fault. Good-night!”

He went quickly away, and for a full minute there was silence in the library. The Earl snuffed a guttering candle, and said: “Do you mean to return to Stanyon when you have done all your business at Evesleigh, Theo, or do you go on immediately to Studham?”

“I believe I may postpone my journey,” Theo said slowly.

“Indeed! May I know why?”

Theo looked frowningly at him. “It might be best if I were to remain at Stanyon — for the present.”

“Oh, are you at that again? I have told you already that I don’t need a watch-dog, my dear fellow!”

“And still I should prefer to remain!”

“Why? when you have heard Martin make me an apology?”

Theo met the deep blue eyes full. “In all the years I have known Martin,” he said deliberately, “I have never heard him utter an apology, or even acknowledge a fault!”

“My regenerating influence!” said Gervase flippantly.

“I should be happy to think so.”

“But you don’t?”

“No,” Theo said. “I don’t!”

“Nevertheless, Theo, you will oblige me by going to Evesleigh tomorrow, as you have planned to do.”

“Very well. But I wish this business of Ulverston’s had not been disclosed!” Theo said.

The breakfast-party on the following morning was attended, inevitably, by a certain measure of constraint. It was the first time Martin and the Viscount had met since their encounter at Whissenhurst, and even Mr. Clowne seemed to be conscious of the tension. His nervous platitudes filled the gap between the exchange of cool greetings between these two and the entrance of the Earl, who made his appearance in a coat of such exquisite cut that the Viscount exclaimed at it, demanding to be told the name of the tailor who had made it. “Not Scott!” he said.

“No, Weston,” responded the Earl. “Martin, what’s this I hear of kestrels in the West Wood?”

He could have said nothing that would have made Martin more certainly forget, for the moment, his injuries. The dark eyes lit; Martin replied: “So Pleasley says! He swears there is a pair, and believes they may be nesting in one of the old magpies’ nests. I know the place.”

“Too early in the year, isn’t it?” asked the Viscount.

“I have known them to start breeding as early as March,” Martin said. “It is not usual, I own, but it is very possible.” He turned his head to address his brother. “I have said I’ll ride to Roxmere this morning, to look at some likely young ‘uns, but I mean to take a gun out this afternoon, and try for them.”

“It is sad that the kestrel, or as I like to call it, the windhover, should be so destructive,” said Mr. Clowne. “To see them hovering above, as though suspended, is a pretty sight.”

“I question whether they are so destructive as people suppose,” remarked Theo.

“Good God, if we were to have a pair of them breeding in the West Wood we should not have a pheasant or a partridge chick left!” Martin exclaimed.

“I fancy you would find, if you could observe them closely, that they subsist mostly on field-mice. Had you said sparrow-hawks,now — !”

In refuting this heresy, and in recalling to Theo’s memory various incidents which seemed to support his own theory, Martin for a little while forgot his care, and talked with an animation which would not have led anyone to suppose that he was suffering all the more severe pangs of unrequited love. He looked as though he had not slept well, but he ate a large breakfast, and only towards the end of it remembered that his affections had been blighted, and that his archenemy sat opposite to him, unconcernedly consuming cold beef. The cloud descended again on to his brow, and he relapsed into silence; but when he rose from the table, and the Earl called after him: “Keep your eyes open for anything that might suit me at Roxmere!” he paused in the doorway, and replied quite cordially: “If you wish it, but I don’t think Helston has much to show me but young ‘uns.”

“I don’t mind that. A good three-year-old, Martin, not too short in the back, and well ribbed-up! But you know the style of thing!”

Martin nodded. “I’ll see,” he said.

He did not return to Stanyon until noon, and by that time the Viscount had driven himself over to Whissenhurst. Martin walked into one of the saloons just as his mother, Miss Morville, and Gervase were sitting down to partake of cold chickens and fruit. He brought with him two letters, which had been fetched up from the receiving-office. “One for you, Drusilla, and one for you, St. Erth. From Louisa,” he added. “Lay you a pony she wants you to invite them all to Stanyon in June!”

“From Louisa?” said the Dowager. “Why should Louisa be writing to St. Erth? Depend upon it, you are mistaken! It cannot be from her!”

“Well, it’s Louisa’s writing, and Grampound franked it,” said Martin, displaying the letter, which was directed in large, sloping characters, and stamped Free.

The sight of Lord Grampound’s signature, scrawled across one corner, convinced the Dowager that the letter was indeed from her daughter; and after satisfying herself that Martin had not misread The Right Honourable the Countess for the Right Honourable the Earl, she reluctantly allowed her stepson to assume possession of his property. While he broke the wafer that sealed it, and read its two crossed sheets, she maintained an unbroken flow of comment, surmise, and astonishment. “I do not understand what Louisa can mean by sending a letter to St. Erth,” she said. “What can she possibly have to say to him? Why has she not written to me? Are you sure there is not a letter for me, Martin?”

“Of course I am, ma’am!” he said impatiently. “The rest are for Theo, but he has gone off somewhere with Hayle.”

“It is most extraordinary!” she said, in a displeased tone. “I should have been very glad to have had a letter from Louisa.”

“My dear ma’am, you might have this one with my goodwill,” said Gervase, perusing the crossed lines through his quizzing-glass. “In fact, you shall have it, for I find Louisa’s writing quite baffling.”

The Dowager had no hesitation in taking the sheets from him. “Louisa’s writing is particularly elegant,” she said. “I do not find it all difficult to read. She would have done better to have directed her letter to me.”

“Does she want to come here?” demanded Martin.

“No, something about double-doors at Kentham, and Pug.”

“That creature!” ejaculated Martin, with a look of disgust. “What the devil has Pug to do with you?”

“Too much, I fear. Well, ma’am? What is it precisely that Louisa feels I can have not the least objection to doing for her? I fear the worst, and beg you won’t keep me in suspense!”

“You will be very happy to render Louisa your assistance,” stated the Dowager, in a voice that did not admit of argument. “Poor Louisa! But I told her how it would be, for I am sure there was never anyone more disobliging than Mrs. Neath, and now, you see, she will not answer above half the questions Louisa has addressed to her. It is all of a piece! She behaved in a very unhandsome way to Mrs. Warboys about a poultry-woman once, and when I heard Grampound had the intention of hiring Kentham I advised him rather to come to Stanyon, for, depend upon it, I said, you will not like to hire Mrs. Neath’s house, for she is a very disagreeable woman. You see what has come of it! Louisa cannot recall whether the two saloons can be thrown into one, or how many beds they are able to make up, and so St. Erth is obliged to drive there to discover how it may be! It is a great deal too bad of Mrs. Neath, and I should not be at all surprised if she has neglected to reply to Louisa’s questions on purpose to drag St. Erth into her set! She is a very encroaching woman, and I have never invited her to Stanyon, save on Public Days. If you do not care to put yourself in her way, Gervase, Theo may go in your stead.”

“My dear ma’am, Theo is going in the opposite direction to Kentham!”

“It cannot signify to him, if he goes first to Kentham. However, I daresay she will more readily accede to your requests than to his. He is not at all conciliatory — not that I should wish to conciliate Mrs. Neath, but how shocking it would be if she refused to permit poor little Pug to go to Kentham!”

“Are you going all that way to beg favours for Pug?” demanded Martin scornfully.

“I suppose so. Something tells me it would be the wisest course. I may as well drive over to Kentham this afternoon, for I have nothing else to do — unless I go with you, after these kestrels of yours.”

“Oh — ! If you choose! But I daresay I shan’t get a sight of them,” Martin replied ungraciously. “You will be wasting your time, I expect — and I may stay out later than you would like, on the chance of a rabbit or two.”

“Then I had better go to Kentham,” said the Earl placidly. “I will pull up at the Wickton cross-road on my way back, in case you should still be out, and wish to be driven home.”

“No need: I’d as lief walk. It would fret me to know that you might be waiting for me.”

“As you please,” the Earl said, shrugging. “What had Helston to show you?”

“Nothing you would care for. At least, there was one bay I liked. He is not up to my weight, but I daresay he might suit you.”

The Dowager, having finished with her daughter’s letter, now had leisure to turn her attention to Miss Morville, who was slipping her own letter into her reticule; and to enquire with a regal condescension which almost robbed her question of its impertinence who was her correspondent. Upon learning that Mrs. Morville had written to inform her daughter that she and Mr. Morville expected to return to Lincolnshire in the following week, she fell into a complaining mood, which had the effect of speedily breaking up the nuncheon-party. Martin went off to change his riding-dress for a shooting-jacket; Miss Morville escorted the Dowager upstairs to the Italian Saloon, where she very soon fell asleep on one of the sofas; and the Earl strolled down to the stables, to take a look at Cloud’s forelegs.

He found Theo there, giving some directions to his groom, who was to bring his riding-horse over to Evesleigh on the following day, when a cast shoe should have been replaced. He burst out laughing when he heard whither the Earl was bound that afternoon, but said: “You will not go!”

“My dear Theo, I do not dare even to hesitate! Only think how shocking it would be if Louisa were to come down upon us again!”

“True! But to send you running about the countryside on such an errand — ! Shall I go in your stead?”

“No, you are not conciliatory, and although my stepmother by no means desires to conciliate Mrs. Neath, she has commanded me to perform this office for my sister.”

“Humbug! Much you would care for her commands!”

“Why, the truth is,” said the Earl, laughing, “I have not had my grays out for three days, and I can as well exercise them on a drive to Kentham as anywhere else.”

“Oh, if that is the case — ! But one might have expected Louisa to apply to Martin rather than to you!”

“But I thought I had made it plain to you that a conciliatory manner is what is desired?”

“So you did! Where is Martin?”

“I have no very exact knowledge. He is going off to West Wood, to try if he can get a shot at a kestrel, and has firmly abjured my company.”

“Oh, so that holds, does it? He had better leave them alone: they will do little harm!”

“Very likely, but I do not grudge him the relief of being able to slay something! Chard, we are going to Kentham. Bring my curricle round in half an hour, if you please!” He looked at his cousin. “When do you set forth on your travels, Theo?”

“As soon as I may. There is a letter from Maplefield I must first deal with, but unless I find another shoe to be loose I hope to be away not much later than four o’clock!”

His groom, wilting visibly, withdrew to the shelter of the harness-room. Gervase murmured: “What a harsh taskmaster you are! Driving?”

“Yes, a gig, with much of your worldly wealth stowed in the back! What hope I have of visiting the farms I had intended to visit, I know not!”

“Peace! Your unfortunate groom is out of hearing! If you mean to shut yourself up in your tower with letters from Maplefield, I’ll bid you farewell. Do not allow my tenants to impose upon me!”

Theo took his hand, and gripped it, and held it for a minute. “I won’t. Gervase — ”

“Well?”

Theo released him. “Nothing. Take care of yourself while I am gone!”

“I always do. Your presence is not needed to keep me safe, I believe.”

“No. I think you may be right.”

“I am almost sure I am right.”

“He has certainly taken it better than I expected — but Ulverston’s presence cannot but keep the wound green!”

“He leaves us on Monday, and will certainly be engaged at Whissenhurst until then.”

“That circumstance will hardly serve to mollify Martin!” said Theo, grimacing.

Half an hour later, the Earl set forth for Kentham, Chard seated beside him in the curricle, with his arms primly folded. This was one of his few concessions to the etiquette governing the conduct to be expected of a private gentleman’s groom, but neither this nor his tall, cockaded hat make him look like anything but a soldier. He had known the Earl throughout his army career, had fought in the same engagements, shared the same discomforts, and was wholly devoted to his interests. He thought it a pity that his master should have sold out, for he had a poor opinion of all but military men (and, indeed, a rather poor opinion of such military men as belonged to any other regiment than his own), but after the first strangeness of riding out in a plain coat, with no accoutrements and no sabre, had worn off he found that he did not dislike his new position. An Earl’s head-groom was a personage of considerable consequence, particularly when his master travelled. He might be sure of the best accommodation for his horses at every inn on the road, and excellent attention for himself. More important, this Earl was a good master, who reposed complete confidence in him, and treated him with the easy familiarity Turvey so much deplored. Thus it was that consideration for the Earl, and not the fear of incurring a chilly set-down, held him silent for the first part of the drive. The grays were fresh, and the country lanes both rough and narrow, so that the Earl’s attention was fully occupied in handling his horses. It was not until they had covered a couple of miles that Chard ventured to distract him by remarking that he should not be surprised if one of Lord Ulverston’s wheelers had a splint forming. Since the Earl knew that Chard and the Viscount’s Clarence, who had been his private groom in France, were old foes, he paid very little heed to this, or to several dark strictures on the customs his lordship allowed to be followed in his stables.

“Very reprehensible,” he said. “I daresay he washes the mud from the legs of his lordship’s horses, too.”

“That, me lord, I don’t say,” replied Chard severely.

“How wretched for you that you cannot! What will you do when his lordship leaves Stanyon on Monday? You will be obliged to turn your attention to the iniquities of Mr. Martin’s head-groom.”

“Young Hickling,” said Chard. “No, me lord, I should call him very adecuado — with his horses.”

“How do you go on with him?”

“Well, me lord, bearing in mind what you said to me at the outset, we haven’t had a batalla campal,but that ain’t to say we won’t, because one of these days I shall catch him a bofetada,and then we’ll have a real turn-up.”

“Why?”

“Because,” said Chard frankly, “it’s his idea that everything has got to be the way Mr. Martin wants it, and that ain’t by any means my idea. I daresay if I was as meek as what he’d like me to be we should have to stable our horses in a cow-byre no one don’t happen to be using.” Without moving his eyes from the road ahead, he added: “No se moleste usted! as they used to say to us in Spain, whenever anything went wrong. I can handle young Hickling, me lord. The trouble with him is he’s kind of growed up alongside of Mr. Martin, and, like every Johnny Raw you ever saw, he hasn’t got many notions in his silly head that came there natural, as you might say. Put there, they were, though it ain’t for me to say who put them there.”

The Earl did not reply for a minute; when he did speak it was in his usual soft, untroubled voice. Chard, straining his ears to catch a note in it of comprehension, or even of anger, could detect none. “Continue to handle him, Chard — without a pitched battle, if you please.”

“No objection to me keeping my eyes open, me lord?”

“None. But don’t mistake shadows for the enemy!”

“I have been posted as vedette in my time, me lord,” said Chard. “They didn’t, so to say, encourage us to give the alarm when a hare hopped across the path.”

The Earl only smiled, so his slightly offended henchman relapsed into correct silence.

The errand on which he had been sent to Kentham might, in St. Erth’s judgment, have been despatched in twenty minutes, but in fact occupied him for over an hour. So far from receiving him in a disagreeable spirit, Mrs. Neath almost overwhelmed him with protestations and attentions. She could not conceive how it had come about that she had overlooked any of dear Lady Grampound’s questions, and she was excessively shocked to think that his lordship had been obliged to drive over from Stanyon only because she had been so stupid. But none of those vital questions could be dealt with until Mr. Neath had been hurriedly summoned from the Home Farm to receive his distinguished guest; and even when this morose gentleman had been hustled into a more suitable coat, and almost thrust into the drawing-room by a servant, primed in a hissing whisper by his mistress, cakes and wine had to be pressed on the Earl before any heed could be paid to the problems which had brought him to Kentham. At last, however, he managed to bring his business to a close, after which he had only to listen to Mrs. Neath’s plans for spending the summer months in Brighton before he contrived to make good his escape.

Chard, who had found the entertainment offered him of a shabby nature, remarked, as the Earl gave his horses the office to start: “Have to spring ‘em, me lord, if you ain’t wishful to be late for your dinner.”

“Thank you, I had rather have no dinner at all than lame my horses!” retorted his master.

His grays were a fast pair, and he drove them well up to their bits, but when he reached the cross-road where he had offered to pick Martin up it was a little after six o’clock. Beyond the lane which led to Wickton stretched the West Woods, the Stanyon road cutting through them for rather more than a mile. The Earl checked his horses when the cross-road came into view, but there was no sign of Martin on the road, and he drove on. The scutter of rabbits, fleeing from the road into the undergrowth on either side of it before the approach of the curricle, seemed to indicate that no human presence had disturbed them for some time. The Earl quickened the pace again, saying as he did so: “I wonder if Mr. Martin got his kestrels? He seems to have gone home, so perhaps he was successful.”

“Well, me lord,” said Chard grudgingly, “if he got a sight of them I reckon it would be enough for him. A very pretty shot is Mr. Martin, that I will say!”

The words had hardly left his lips when he was startled by the sound of a shot, fired, as it seemed to him, over the horses’ heads. An oath was surprised out of him as the grays bounded wildly forward, and before he had had time to realize what had happened he saw the reins slack, and grabbed at them as the Earl lurched against his shoulder.

The grays were bolting, and although Chard caught the reins he could do no more than hold them, while with his other hand he gripped his master, fearing every instant to see him flung from the bumping, swaying vehicle. For several dreadful seconds he thought him dead, but it was only seconds before the Earl lifted a hand, and rather uncertainly tried to push away the grip on his arm. “Get them under control!” he said faintly. “And get me home, for I think I have it!” He thrust his hand into his coat, over his breast, and withdrew it, and tried to focus his eyes upon it. His glove was wet with blood. “Yes. I have it,” he said.