The Quiet Gentleman (4 page)

‘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!’

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.

Theodore Frant was the only offspring of the late Earl’s younger brother, who, in the opinion of his family, had crowned a series of youthful indiscretions by marrying a penniless female of birth considerably inferior to his own. His tastes had been expensive, and a passion for gaming had made him swiftly run through his patrimony. His wife survived the birth of her child only by a few weeks; her place was filled by a succession of ladies, ranging from an opera-dancer to a fruit-woman, according to the fluctuating state of his finances; and the Earl, upon the only occasion when he was constrained to visit his disreputable relative, finding his youthful nephew engaged in bearing a quartern of gin upstairs to the reigning mistress of the establishment, acted upon the impulse of the moment, and bore the sturdy boy off with him, to be reared with his own two sons at Stanyon. His brother, though he had hoped for more tangible relief, raised no objection, reflecting that in moments of acute stress the Earl’s purse must always be untied for him, his lordship having the greatest objection to allowing any scandal to be attached to his name. Happily for the Earl’s peace of mind, an inflammation of the lungs, contracted during a wet week at Newmarket, carried the Honourable John off three years later.

It was not to be expected that the second Lady St Erth would immediately greet with approbation the inclusion into her home of the son of so unsteady a man; but even she was soon brought to acknowledge that Theo inherited none of his father’s instability. He was a stolid, even-tempered boy, and he grew into a taciturn but dependable young man. The Earl, who sent his own sons to Eton, in the tradition of his family, caused Theo to be educated at Winchester. He did not, like his cousins, go to Oxford, but instead, and by his own choice, applied himself to the task of learning the business of his uncle’s agent. So apt a pupil did he prove to be, that when the older man resigned he was able and ready to succeed him. In a very short space of time he was managing the Earl’s estates better than they had been managed for many years, for he was not only capable and energetic, but his subordinates liked him, and he was devoted to the Frant interests. His uncle relinquished more and more of his affairs into his hands, until it became generally understood that Mr Theo must be applied to for whatever was needed.

Gervase, knowing this, had expected his father to have left him more handsomely provided for. He said as much, looking at his cousin in a little trouble, but Theo only smiled and said: ‘You may be thankful he did not! I had no expectation of it.’

‘He might have left you an estate, I think.’

‘Studham, perhaps?’

‘Well, I had as lief you had it as Martin,’ said Gervase frankly. ‘I was really thinking of the property he bought towards Crowland, however. What’s the name of the manor? – Evesleigh, is it not? Shall I make it over to you?’

‘You shall not! There has been enough cutting-up of the estate already.’

‘But, Theo, you cannot spend all your life managing my property!’

‘Very likely I shall not. I have a very saving disposition, you know, and you pay me a handsome wage, besides housing me in the first style of elegance, so that I am not put to the expense of maintaining an establishment of my own!’

Gervase laughed, but shook his head. ‘You cannot like it!’

‘I like it very well indeed, thank you. Stanyon has been as much my home as yours, recollect!’

‘Much more,’ said the Earl.

‘Yes, unfortunately, but you will forget the past. Do you mean to allow Martin to continue here?’

‘I had not considered the matter. Does he wish to?’

‘Well, it will certainly not suit him to remove to Studham!’ replied Theo. ‘I do not know how he is to continue hunting with the Belvoir from Norfolk! He would be obliged to put up at Grantham throughout the winter, and I own it would be uncomfortable. There is, moreover, this to be considered: when Cinderford died, your father permitted our aunt to take up her residence there, and it would be hard, I daresay, to prevail upon her to remove.’

‘Impossible, I imagine. He may remain at Stanyon, if only he can be persuaded to treat me with the semblance at least of civility. There appears, at the moment, to be little likelihood, however, of his doing so.’

But when the Earl presently joined the rest of his family in one of the parlours on the entrance floor, where a light luncheon had been set out on the table, he found the Dowager and her son apparently determined to be amiable. That he had been the subject of their conversation was made manifest by the conscious silence which fell upon them at his entrance. The Dowager, recovering first from this, said with the utmost graciousness that she was glad to see him, and invited him to partake of some cold meat, and a peach from his own succession-houses. These, which had been installed at her instigation, were, she told him, amongst the finest in the country, and could be depended on to produce the best grapes, peaches, nectarines, and pines which could anywhere be found.

‘The gardens, of course, cannot be said to be at their best thus early in the year,’ she observed, ‘but when you have had time to look about you, I trust you will be pleased with their arrangement. I spared no pains, for I dote upon flowers, and I fancy something not altogether contemptible has been achieved. Indeed, the Duchess of Rutland, a very agreeable woman, has often envied me my show of choice blooms. Martin, pass the mustard to your brother: you must perceive that it is beyond his reach!’

This command having been obeyed, she resumed, in the complacent tone habitual to her: ‘Unless you should prefer to speak with Calne yourself, St Erth, which I cannot suppose to be very likely (for gentlemen seldom interest themselves in such matters), I shall request him to devise one or two elegant bowls for the State saloons. It is not to be supposed that people will care to be backward in paying their morning-calls, now that it is known that you are in residence; and very few families, you know, have as yet removed to the Metropolis. We must not be found unprepared, and I do not by any means despair of Calne’s achieving something creditable.’

‘Am I to understand, ma’am, that I must expect to receive visits from all my neighbours?’ asked Gervase, in some dismay.

‘Certainly!’ said the Dowager, ignoring a muffled crack of laughter from her son. ‘It would be very odd in them not to render you the observances of civility. It will be proper for you to hold a few dinner-parties, and now that I have put off black gloves I shall not object to performing my duties as hostess. Stanyon has ever held a reputation for hospitality, and I fancy that my little parties have not been, in the past, wholly despised. I am sure nothing is further from my thoughts than a disposition to meddle, but I would advise you, my dear St Erth, to allow yourself to be guided in these matters by me.
You
cannot be expected to know who should be honoured by an invitation to dine with you, and who may be safely fobbed off with a rout-party, or even a Public Day.’

‘A Public Day!’ repeated Gervase. ‘You terrify me, ma’am! What must I do upon such an occasion?’

‘Oh, you have merely to move about amongst the company – your tenants, you know! – saying something amiable to everyone!’ said Martin. ‘The most tedious affair!
I
have always contrived to be a couple of miles distant!’

‘What admirable good sense! Pray, into which class may Miss Morville, and her peculiar parents, fall, ma’am?’

‘That,’ responded the Dowager, ‘is a question that has frequently exercised my mind. There can be no denying that the Morvilles – they are able, you know, to trace their lineage back to the time of the Norman Conquest – must be thought to rank amongst those of the best blood in the country; but there can be no denying that the opinions held by Mr Hervey Morville – and, I feel compelled to say, by his lady, though she too is of excellent birth, so that one is quite in a puzzle to determine what circumstances can have prevailed upon her to turn to the pen – that these opinions, as I have observed, must cause the most liberally-minded person to hesitate before including him in any select invitation. A shocking thing for his family, you know! He was actually acquainted with Horne Tooke! However, the late Earl was used to say that he had a well-informed mind, and we have been used to invite him, and his lady, to dine with us from time to time. His daughter is quite a favourite with me; a delightful girl!’

At this point, the eyes of the half-brothers met. The Earl was able to command his features, but Martin choked over a mouthful of cold beef. The Dowager said indulgently: ‘I do not assert that she is beautiful, but she is a very pretty-behaved young female, and one that will do very well for poor Theo. I have a great regard for Theo, and I should be happy to see him comfortably established.’

‘Where,’ asked Gervase, with only the slightest tremor in his voice, ‘is Miss Morville now? She does not care for a nuncheon?’

‘The dear child has walked through the Park to Gilbourne House,’ answered the Dowager. ‘A letter from her Mama desired her to forward some small matters to Greta Hall, for she and Mr Morville, you must know, are spending a few days as the guests of Mr and Mrs Southey – the Laureate, I need scarcely remind you. I believe he and Mr Morville were once intimate, but Mr Southey, one is thankful to say, has long since abandoned those Revolutionary tendencies which must, previously, have rendered him quite ineligible for the distinguished position which he now adorns.
The Curse of Kehama
! His
Life of Nelson
! I am no great reader myself, but I am sure I must have heard the late lord speak favourably of these works I daresay a dozen times!’

‘We must certainly invite him to dinner,’ murmured Gervase.

‘I believe it will be proper for us to do so,’ acknowledged the Dowager. ‘His brother, Sir James Morville, is a distinguished man; and they are related, one must remember, to the Minchinhamptons. We must wait, however, to see whether a suitable party may be arranged, though, to be sure, I have no doubt that we might, if we chose, arrange a dozen such! I should not think it marvellous if we were to receive as many as fifty visits from our neighbours this sennight.’

‘I sincerely trust you may be wrong, ma’am!’ said Gervase.

The next few days, however, showed that the Dowager had not misjudged the civility, or the curiosity, of the neighbouring gentry. Chaises, barouches, curricles, and even, when old Lady Wintringham decided that it behoved her to leave cards upon the new Earl, an antiquated coach bowled up the avenue to the imposing front-doors of Stanyon, and set down passengers dressed in all the finery of silk and velvet, or the natty elegance of yellow pantaloons and best Bath suiting. The Earl found most of his visitors as tedious as they were well-disposed; and, after enduring three consecutive days of almost continuous civilities, the sight of a carriage drawing up under his window was enough to send him stealthily down one of the secondary staircases to a vestibule whence it was possible for him to escape from the Castle, into the Fountain Court. From here it was an easy matter for him to reach the stables without being intercepted by an over-zealous servant; and while the Dowager entertained the morning-guests with one of her powerful monologues, her undutiful stepson was enjoying a gallop on the back of his gray horse, Cloud, having speedily put several miles between himself and the Castle.

He had already, once or twice, ridden out with his cousin, and the bailiff, but his way led him on this occasion in a direction hitherto unvisited by him. It was a fine day towards the close of March, the ground rather heavy from recent rains, but fast drying under a strong wind, blowing from the east. The hedgerows were bursting into new leaf, and the banks were starred with primroses. The Earl, having, as he would have said, galloped the fidgets out of Cloud, was hacking gently down a narrow lane when he came, round a bend, upon an unexpected sight. A lady was seated on the bank, engaged in gathering primroses from a clump within her reach. This in itself, however imprudent in such damp and blustery weather, would not have attracted more than the Earl’s fleeting attention had he not perceived that the lady was attired in a riding-habit. Here, plainly, was an equestrienne in distress. He brought Cloud trotting up and caused him to halt alongside her.

The lady had lifted her head at the first sound of Cloud’s hooves, and Gervase, raising his beaver, found himself looking down into a charming, wilful countenance, framed by the sweep of a hat-brim, and a cascade of pale, wind-tossed ringlets. A pair of large blue eyes, lighter and merrier than his own, met his with a rueful twinkle; a roguish dimple hovered at the corner of a kissable mouth striving unavailingly to preserve its gravity.

‘I beg pardon!’ Gervase said, his gaze riveted on the fair face upturned to his. ‘Can I be of assistance, ma’am? Some accident, I apprehend! Your horse – ?’

He dismounted, as he spoke, and pulled the bridle over Cloud’s head. The fair Diana broke into a ripple of laughter. ‘Depend upon it, the horrid creature is by now standing snugly in her stall! Was ever anything so vexatious? Papa will so roast me for
parting company
at such a paltry fence! Only the mare pecked, you know, and over her head I went, and perhaps I was foolish, or perhaps I was stunned – shall I declare that I was stunned? – and I released the bridle. You would have thought, after all the carrots and the sugar I have bestowed on her, that Fairy would have come to me when I coaxed her! But no! Off she set, thinking of nothing but her comfortable stable, I daresay!’

‘Ungrateful indeed!’ Gervase said, laughing. ‘But you must not sit upon that bank, ma’am, perhaps catching your death of cold! Is your home far distant?’