The Quiet Gentleman Page 5

  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 s
hocking 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?’

  ‘No, oh, no! But to be walking through the village in my muddied habit, advertising my folly to the countryside – ! You will allow it to be unthinkable, my lord!’

  ‘You know me, then, ma’am? But we have not previously met, I think – I am sure! I could not have forgotten!’

  ‘Oh, no! But a stranger in this desert: one dressed, moreover, in the first style of elegance! I could be in no doubt. You are – you must be – Lord St Erth!’

  ‘I am St Erth. And you, ma’am? How comes it about that this is our first encounter?’

  She replied, with the most enchanting primming of her face, wholly belied by the mischievous look in her eyes: ‘Why, you must understand that one would not wish to appear pushing, by too early a visit, nor uncivil, by too late a one! Mama has formed the intention that Papa shall pay a morning-call at Stanyon next week!’

  He was very much amused, and said: ‘I could not receive that morning-call too early, I assure you! It will be quite unnecessary, however, for Papa to be put to the trouble of a formal visit, for I shall forestall him. If I were to lift you on to Cloud’s back, ma’am, will you permit me to lead him to your home?’

  She jumped down from the bank, catching up the skirt of her voluminous habit, and casting it over her arm. ‘Oh, yes! Will you do that? I shall be so very much obliged to you!’

  On her feet, she was seen to be a slim creature, not above the average height, but exquisitely proportioned. Her movements, though impetuous, were graceful, and the Earl was permitted a glimpse of a neatly-turned ankle. She tucked her primroses into the buttonhole of her coat, where, mingling with her curls, they seemed almost exactly to blend with them. The Earl lifted her on to the saddle; she contrived to arrange one leg over the pommel, and declared herself to be perfectly safely established.

  ‘Now, where am I to take you?’ asked Gervase, smiling up at her.

  ‘To Whissenhurst Grange, if you please! It is only a mile from where we stand, so you will not be obliged to trudge so very far!’

  ‘I should be glad if it were twice as far. But did you mean to sit upon that bank for ever, ma’am?’

  ‘Oh, they would have found me in a little while!’ she said airily. ‘When Fairy reached the stables, you know, they would be thrown into such a pucker! I daresay everyone may already be searching the countryside for me.’

  She spoke with all the unconcern of a spoiled child; and it was easy for him to guess that she must be the pet of her father’s establishment. With some shrewdness he asked her if her parents were
aware of her riding out without a groom, and glanced quizzically up in time to see her pouting prettily.

  ‘Oh, well, there can be no objection, after all, in the country! In town, of course, I could not do so. If only I had not jumped that wretched little hedge! Nothing was ever so mortifying! Indeed, I am not in the habit of tumbling off my horse, Lord St Erth!’

  ‘Why, the best of riders must take a toss or two!’ he reassured her. ‘It was used to be said of the Master of the Quorn, when I was living at Stanyon previously, that he would have as many as fifty falls in a season!’

  ‘Ah, you are talking of Mr Assheton Smith, I collect! His name, you must know, is for ever on the tongues of the Melton men! You must have heard your brother deplore his leaving Quorndon Hall, I daresay! This has been his last season with the Quorn: he is coming into Lincolnshire, to hunt the Burton, and that will put him many miles beyond poor Martin’s reach!’

  ‘I have indeed heard of it from Martin,’ said Gervase, with a droll look. ‘Not all his calculations and his measurements will bring Reepham closer to Stanyon than fifty miles. He sees nothing for it but to put up at Market Rasen, if he should wish for a day with the Burton.’

  ‘Martin is one of Mr Smith’s upholders. A great many of the sporting gentlemen, however, complain that he draws his coverts too quickly, and will not lift as often as he should in Leicestershire.’

  ‘You hunt yourself, ma’am?’

  She threw him one of her roguish looks. ‘Yes, when hounds meet in the vicinity, and I will faithfully promise to do just as Papa bids me!’

  ‘I hope you keep your promises!’

  ‘Yes, yes, in general I am very good!’

  ‘You will think me abominably stupid, I fear, but I think I can never have met your Papa, and thus do not know what I shall call him when we meet.’

  ‘Papa is Sir Thomas Bolderwood,’ she replied at once. ‘Very likely you might not have encountered him, for we came to live at Whissenhurst only a few years ago, and you have all the time been abroad.’