The Quiet Gentleman (13 page)

The wood was full of shadows, and already a little chilly, after the setting of the sun, but Miss Morville, neither so fashionable as to disdain wearing a warm pelisse, nor so delicate as to be unable to walk at a brisk pace, suffered no discomfort. She did not even imagine, when some small animal stirred in the undergrowth, that she was being followed; and was so insensible as to remain impervious to the alarm which might have been caused by the sudden scutter of a rabbit across the path. A quarter of an hour’s quick walking brought her to within sight of the main avenue. The thud of a horse’s hooves came to her ears, which led her to suppose, not that a desperate, and probably masked, brigand approached, but that the Earl, having parted from the Grampounds, was on his way back to the Castle. She was right: in another instant, she had a brief vision of Cloud, cantering along the grass verge beside the avenue. Since she was walking almost at right angles to the avenue, Cloud and his rider were swiftly hidden from her sight, as they passed the opening of the ride, and became obscured by the trees and the bushes which bordered the avenue. But although she could no longer see the horse and his rider, she could still hear the thud of the hooves, and when these ceased abruptly, to be succeeded by the unmistakable sound of a fall, followed by the scrabble of hooves on loose stones, and the clatter of a bolting horse, she was not so prosaically-minded as to suppose that these sounds could have been caused by anything other than an accident. It seemed odd that the Earl should have taken a toss on a smooth stretch of turf, but without pausing to consider the improbability of such an occurrence Miss Morville picked up her skirts and ran forward as quickly as she could. Within a very few seconds she had reached the avenue, to be confronted by a startling sight. Of Cloud there was no sign, but his rider lay motionless across the narrow grass verge, his head and shoulders resting on the avenue. This circumstance, as Miss Morville realized, was enough to account for his having been stunned. She dropped to her knees beside his inanimate form, and without the smallest hesitation ripped open his coat to feel the beat of his heart.

The Earl regained consciousness to find himself lying with his head in Miss Morville’s lap, his elaborate Mail-coach cravat untied, and the scent of aromatic vinegar in his nostrils. Gazing bemusedly up into the concerned face bent over him, he uttered, a trifle thickly: ‘Good God! I fell!’

‘Yes,’ agreed Miss Morville, removing her vinaigrette from under his nose. ‘I cannot discover, my lord, that any limb is broken, but I might be mistaken. Can you move your arms and your legs?’

‘Lord, yes! There are no bones broken!’ he replied, struggling up to a sitting posture, and clasping his head between his hands. ‘But I don’t understand! How in the devil’s name came I – Where’s my horse?’

‘I expect,’ said Miss Morville, ‘that he has bolted for his stable, for there was no sign of him when I reached your side. Do not disturb yourself on his account! He could scarcely have done so had he sustained any injury! It is, in fact, a fortunate circumstance that he bolted, for he will give the alarm, you know, and since your groom knows in which direction you rode out we may shortly expect to receive succour.’

He uttered a shaken laugh. ‘You think of everything, ma’am!’

‘I may think of everything,’ said Miss Morville, ‘but I am not always able to accomplish all I should wish to! My chief desire has been to procure water with which to revive you, but, in the circumstances, I scarcely dared to leave your side. I do not
think
, from what I can observe, that you have broken your collarbone.’

‘I am very sure I have not, ma’am. I have merely broke my head!’

‘Does it pain you very much?’ she asked solicitously.

‘Why, yes! It aches like the very deuce, but not, I assure you, as much as does my self-esteem! How came I to fall, like the rawest of greenhorns?’ He received no answer to this, and added, with an effort towards playfulness: ‘But I forget my manners! I must thank you for preserving my life, Miss Morville – even though it may have been at the cost of my cravat!’

‘I am not, in general,’ said Miss Morville carefully, ‘an advocate for the employment of hyperbole in describing trifling services, but I believe, my lord, that in this instance I may be justly said to have done so.’

He was engaged, with only slightly unsteady fingers, in loosely knotting the ruined cravat about his throat, but at these words he paused in his task to frown at her in some bewilderment. ‘I collect that in this uncertain light I must have been so careless as to let Cloud set his foot in a rabbit-burrow. I own, I have no very clear remembrance of what occurred, but –’

‘No,’ said Miss Morville.

He looked intently at her. ‘No?’

‘You have been unconscious for several minutes, sir,’ said Miss Morville. ‘When once I had ascertained that your heart still beat strongly, I had leisure to look about me, to discover, if I might, what had been the cause of the accident. I am excessively reluctant to add to your present discomforts, but I must request you, in your own interests, to look at what met my eyes a minute or two ago.’

The Earl’s surprised gaze obediently followed the direction of her pointing finger, and alighted upon a length of thin, yet stout, cord, which lay on the ground across the avenue, to disappear into the thicket beyond.

‘You will observe,’ said Miss Morville dispassionately, ‘that the cord is attached to one of the lower branches of that tree upon your left hand. I have been trying to puzzle it out in my mind, and I am strongly of the opinion, my lord, that if the other end of the cord were to be held by some person standing concealed in the thicket to your right, it would be a simple matter for such a person suddenly to pull it taut across the path at the very moment when your horse was abreast of it.’

There was a moment’s silence; then the Earl said: ‘Your power of observation is acute, ma’am. But what a happiness to be assured that I fell from no negligence of my own!’

She seemed to approve of this light-hearted response, for she smiled, and said: ‘I am sure you must be much relieved, my lord.’ She was then silent for a short space, adding presently: ‘To be attaching exaggerated importance to trifling circumstances is what I have no patience with, but I cannot conceal from you, my lord, that I do not at all like what has occurred!’

‘You express yourself with praiseworthy moderation, Miss Morville,’ Gervase returned, rising to his feet, and brushing the dirt from his coat. ‘I will own that for my part I dislike it excessively!’

‘If,’ she said, holding her hands rather tightly clasped in her lap, ‘I could rid my mind of the horrid suspicion that only my unlooked-for presence here is the cause of your being alive at this moment, I should feel very much more comfortable.’

He held down his hand to her. ‘Come, get up, ma’am! You will take cold if you continue to sit on the damp ground. My case was not likely to be desperate, you know. I might, of course, have broken my neck, but the greater probability was that I should come off with a few bruises, as indeed I have, or with a broken limb at the worst.’

She accepted his assistance in rising to her feet, but said with a little asperity: ‘To be sure, there is not the least reason why you should credit me with common-sense, for I daresay I may never have warned you that although I am not bookish I have a tolerably good understanding! My fault is a lack of imagination which makes it impossible for me to believe that a cord was stretched across your path by some mischance – or even,’ she added tartly, ‘by supernatural agency, so pray do not try to entertain me with any of your nonsensical ghost-stories, sir, for I am not in the mood for them!’

He laughed. ‘No, no, I know your mind to be hardened against them, ma’am! Let us admit at once that a cord was tied to that tree, and allowed to lie unnoticed across the avenue until my horse was abreast of it. There can be little doubt that it was then jerked tight, an action which, I judge, must have brought it to the level of Cloud’s knees. That he came down very suddenly I recall, and also that I was flung over his head.’

‘Who did it?’ she said abruptly.

‘I don’t know, Miss Morville. Do you?’

She shook her head. ‘There was no one in sight when I ran out into the avenue. I looked for no one, for I had
then
no suspicion that the accident had been contrived, but I think I must have noticed anyone moving by the thicket.’

‘You could not have done so had he stood behind the thicket. Was it long after I fell that you came up with me? By the by, where
were
you, ma’am? I did not see you!’

‘No, for I was walking along that ride, coming from the village, you know,’ she replied, nodding towards the path. ‘You would only have perceived me had you chanced to turn your head, and from the thicket I must have been wholly obscured. I heard the fall, and you may readily suppose that I wasted no time in running to the spot – it cannot have been more than a matter of seconds before I had reached the end of the ride. It must have been impossible for anyone to have had sufficient time between your fall and my coming into view to have removed that cord, or –’

She stopped. He prompted her gently: ‘Or, Miss Morville?’

‘Excuse me!’ she begged. ‘I had nearly said what must have given you reason to suppose that I have a disordered intellect! I believe that the shock of seeing you stretched lifeless upon the ground has a little overset my nerves.’

‘You mean, do you not, that the finishing blow might have been dealt me while I lay senseless, had you not been at hand to frighten away my assailant?’

‘I did mean that,’ she confessed. ‘The misadventure you escaped at the bridge the other day must have been in my mind, perhaps.’

‘So you knew about that!’

‘Everyone knows of it. One of the servants heard your cousin rating Martin for – for his carelessness in forgetting to warn you. You must know how quickly gossip will spread in a large household! But if it was indeed Martin who brought your horse down, I am persuaded he did not mean to kill you!’

‘Just a boyish prank, Miss Morville?’ Gervase said.

‘It was very bad, of course, for he could not know that the accident would not prove to be fatal. When his temper is roused, there is no saying what he will do. He seems not to care – But I own this goes beyond anything I should have thought it possible for him to do! There is no understanding it, for he is by no means a genius, so that we cannot excuse him on the score of eccentricity.’

His head was aching, but he was obliged to smile. ‘Is it your experience that geniuses are apt to perform such violent deeds, ma’am?’

‘Well, they frequently behave very irrationally,’ she replied. ‘History, I believe, affords us many examples of peculiar conduct on the part of those whose intellects are of an elevated order; and within my own knowledge there is the sad case of poor Miss Mary Lamb, who murdered her Mama, in a fit of aberration. Then, too, Miss Wollstonecraft, who was once a friend of my mother’s, cast herself into the Thames, and
she
, you know, had a most superior intellect.’

‘Cast herself into the Thames!’ echoed the Earl.

‘Yes, at Putney. She had meant to commit the dreadful deed at Battersea, but found the bridge there too crowded, and so was obliged to row herself to Putney. She was picked up by a passing boat, and afterwards married Mr Godwin, which quite turned her thoughts from suicide. Not that I should have thought it a preferable fate,’ said Miss Morville reflectively, ‘but, then, I am not at all partial to Mr Godwin. In fact, though I never met him – nor, indeed, Miss Wollstonecraft, either – I have often thought I should have liked Mr Imlay better than Mr Godwin. He was an American, with whom Miss Wollstonecraft had an unhappy connection, and although a great many harsh things have been said about him, Mama has always maintained that most of the trouble arose from Miss Wollstonecraft’s determination to make him an elm-tree round which she might throw her tendrils. Very few gentlemen could, I believe, support for long so arduous a role.’

‘I find myself, as always, in entire agreement with you, Miss Morville,’ he said gravely. ‘But do you wish me to suppose that a deranged mind was responsible for my accident?’

‘By no means. Martin has too little control over his passions, but he cannot be thought to be deranged. Indeed, I cannot account for your accident, except by a solution which I am persuaded is not the correct one.’

He smiled slightly. ‘I have a great dependence on your discretion, Miss Morville. We shall say, if you please, that I was so heedless as to let Cloud set his foot in a rabbit-hole. Meanwhile, I think it would be well if I gathered up this cord, and stowed it away in my pocket.’

She watched him do so in silence, but when he had untied the cord from about the tree, and had returned to her, she said: ‘I think you perfectly able to manage your own affairs, my lord, and I shall certainly not interfere in them. But, absurd though it may seem to you, this incident has made me feel apprehensive, and I do trust that you will take care how you expose yourself while you remain at Stanyon!’

‘Why, yes, to the best of my power I will do so,’ he answered. ‘But nothing will be gained through my noising this trick abroad: whoever was responsible for it knows that his design was frustrated, and he is not very likely to betray himself. I must suppose that everyone at Stanyon knew that I should return to the Castle by this road. Who, by the way, knew of your visit to the village?’

‘No one, and only Marianne and Lord Ulverston can have known that I went to Gilbourne House.’

‘That is no help at all. I never suspected Lucy of wishing to put a period to my life!’ he said, smiling.

They began to walk slowly down the avenue in the direction of the Castle, the Earl assuring Miss Morville that apart from an aching skull he had sustained no injury from his fall. They had not proceeded far on their way when they heard the sound of an approaching vehicle, being driven towards them at a furious pace. ‘If this is Chard, springing my grays, I will very soon give him something else to alarm him out of his senses!’ said the Earl.

But the four horses which almost immediately swept round the bend ahead of them were not grays, nor was Chard driving them. He sat perched up beside Lord Ulverston, who had the ribbons in his hands, and was encouraging his team to gallop down the avenue.

The Earl drew Miss Morville on to the grass verge, but the Viscount had already perceived him, and was checking his horses. They pulled up, very much on the fret, and the Earl called out: ‘If I had guessed this was how you meant to use my bays I swear I would never have sold them to you, Lucy! Four-Horse Club, indeed! The veriest whipster!’

‘Good God, Ger, what a fright you have given us!’ the Viscount said indignantly. ‘I had just come in from tooling Miss Bolderwood about the country for an hour, when Cloud came bolting into the yard, in a lather, and with his legs cut about! I thought you must have put him at a regular stitcher, and taken a bad toss!’

‘I took a toss, but not at a stitcher. A common rabbit-hole was the cause of my downfall.’

‘A rabbit-hole?
You?
’ exclaimed Ulverston incredulously.

‘Don’t roast me! We all have our lapses!’

‘Where is this famous rabbit-hole?’

‘Oh, in the Park! I would not engage to point you out the precise one: there are so many of them!’

‘Exactly so! So many that you ride with a slack bridle, and your head in the clouds, and, when you part company,
leave go of the rein
! Gammon, dear boy, gammon!’

‘How badly are my horse’s legs cut?’ interrupted Gervase. ‘That is the worst feature of the business!’

Chard, who had jumped down from the curricle, and had been listening to him with a puzzled frown on his face, said that he thought the injuries were hardly more than grazes. ‘I handed him over to Jem, me lord, not knowing what kind of an
embarazo
you was got into, and thinking you might need me more than the horse.’

‘Nonsense! Is it likely I could be in serious trouble?’

‘As to that, me lord, there’s no saying what trouble you could be in,’ replied his henchman bluntly. ‘All I know is I never knew your horse to come home without you before!’

By this time, the Viscount had turned the curricle about, and was commanding Gervase to climb into it.

‘Certainly not! It is Miss Morville whom you shall drive, Lucy, not me!’

‘Take you both!’ said the Viscount. ‘You won’t mind being a trifle crowded, ma’am? Come, Ger, no playing the fool with me! I don’t know how you came to do it, but it’s as plain as a pikestaff you took a bad toss! Shaken to pieces, I daresay – your cravat is, at all events! Never saw you look such a quiz in my life!’

Thus adjured, the Earl handed Miss Morville up into the curricle, and climbed in after her. The Viscount observed that it was a fortunate circumstance that they were none of them fat; Chard swung himself up behind, and the horses were put into motion.

‘Tell you another thing, Ger, about this precious tumble of yours!’ said the Viscount. ‘Can’t see how –’ He broke off, for the Earl, who had flung one arm across the back of the driving-seat, in an attempt to make more room for Miss Morville, moved his hand to his friend’s shoulder, and gripped it warningly. ‘Oh, well! No sense talking about it!’ he said.

They were soon bowling through the archway of the Gate-tower. Miss Morville was set down at the Castle, but the Earl insisted on driving to the stables, to examine Cloud’s hurts. Here they found Theo, also engaged on this task. He came out into the yard at the noise of the curricle’s approach, and said, in his unemotional way: ‘Well, I am glad to see you safe and sound, Gervase! Pray, what have you been doing?’

‘Merely coming to grief through my own folly,’ replied Gervase, alighting from the curricle. ‘In the failing light I didn’t perceive a rabbit-hole, that is all!’

‘My dear St Erth, your horse never cut his knees stumbling into rabbit-holes!’ expostulated Theo. ‘I thought, when I saw him, you must have put him at a stone wall!’

‘Are they badly damaged?’

‘I hope not. He has done little more than scratch himself. Whether he will be scarred or not, I can’t tell. I’ve directed your man to apply hot fomentations.’

The Earl nodded, and went past him into the stable, followed by Chard. Theo looked up at the Viscount with a questioning lift to his brows.

‘No good asking me!’ Ulverston said, correctly interpreting the look. ‘He don’t want it talked of, that’s all I know. Where’s that damned fellow of mine? Clarence! Hi, there, come and take the horses in, wherever you are!’

His groom came running up. The Viscount relinquished the team into his care, and jumped down from the curricle. ‘Where’s young Frant?’ he asked abruptly.

‘Martin? I don’t know,’ Theo replied, a surprised inflexion in his voice.

‘Mr Frant went out with his gun a while back, my lord,’ offered Clarence.

‘Oh, he did, did he? Very well; that’ll do!’

‘What’s this, Ulverston?’ Theo said, drawing him out of earshot of the groom. ‘What has Martin to do with it?’

‘I don’t know, but if you can believe all this humdudgeon of Ger’s about falling into rabbit-holes, I can’t! Part company he might; leave go of his rein he would not! No wish to meddle in what don’t concern me, but Ger’s a friend of mine. Fancy he’s a friend of yours too. Don’t know what it was, but something happened to him he don’t mean to tell us about. Dash it, I haven’t spent three days here without seeing that that young cub of a brother of his would do him a mischief if he could!’

Theo was frowningly silent. After a moment, the Viscount said: ‘Quarrelled last night, didn’t they? Oh, you needn’t be so discreet! I walked into the middle of it! Got a shrewd notion I know what it was about, too.’

‘They did quarrel, but I believe it was not serious. Martin is hot-tempered, and will often say what he does not mean.’

‘What’s the matter with the fellow?’ demanded the Viscount. ‘Seems to live in the sulks!’

Theo smiled faintly. ‘He has certainly done so ever since St Erth came home, but he can be pleasant enough when he likes.’

‘Pity he don’t like more often! Does he dislike Ger?’

‘He is jealous of him. I think you must have realized that. St Erth has inherited what Martin has always regarded as his own. I hope he may soon perceive the folly of his behaviour. Indeed, I believe he must, for there is not a better fellow living than Gervase, and that Martin will be bound to discover before he is much older.’

‘But this is Gothick, Frant, quite Gothick!’ objected Ulverston.

‘Well, in some ways I think Martin
is
rather Gothick!’ said Theo. ‘His disposition is imperious; his will never was thwarted while his father lived; nor was he taught to control his passions. Everything that he wanted he was given; and, worse than all, he was treated as though he had been the heir, and Gervase did not exist.’

‘Went to school, didn’t he?’

‘Yes, he followed Gervase to Eton.’

‘Well, don’t tell me his will wasn’t thwarted there!’ said Ulverston. ‘Doing it too brown, dear fellow! I was at Eton m’self!’

‘You were perhaps not so much indulged at home. With Martin, the influence of school counted for nothing once he was back at Stanyon.’

They were interrupted by the Earl, who, coming up behind them, said lightly: ‘What treason are you hatching, the pair of you? I don’t think Cloud’s legs will be marked.’

‘Gervase, are you concealing something from us?’ asked Theo bluntly.

‘Oh, so Lucy has been telling you that I have never been known to let my rein go, has he? I thank you for the compliment, Lucy, but it is undeserved. Now I think I should do well to slip into the house unobserved, for if Martin were to catch a glimpse of my cravat in its present lamentable condition he would cease to think me a dandy, and that would be a sad disappointment to both of us.’

‘Martin ain’t in the house,’ said the Viscount. ‘He went out with his gun, my man tells me.’

‘Ah, did he? He is the most indefatigable sportsman! I have not yet seen him riding to hounds – neck-or-nothing, I feel tolerably certain! – but he is an excellent shot. Lucy, I never thanked you for coming so heroically to my rescue! My dear fellow, I could not be more grateful if I had needed you!’

‘Bamming, Ger, bamming! I know
this
humour, and shan’t be taken in!’

The Earl laughed, kissed the tips of his fingers to him, and vanished into the Castle.

He was received in his bedchamber by Turvey, who palpably winced at the sight of him. ‘I know, Turvey, I know!’ he said. ‘My coat will never be the same again, do what you will, and I am sure you will do everything imaginable! As for my cravat, I might as well wear a Belcher handkerchief, might I not?’

‘I am relieved to see that your lordship has sustained no serious injury,’ responded Turvey repressively.

‘You must be astonished, I daresay, for you believe me to be a very fragile creature, don’t you?’

‘The tidings which were brought to the Castle by Miss Bolderwood were of a sufficiently alarming nature to occasion anxiety, my lord.’

‘Oh, so that is how the news was spread!’

‘Miss Bolderwood had but just stepped down from my Lord Ulverston’s curricle when your lordship’s horse bolted past them. I understand that the young lady sustained a severe shock. Permit me, my lord, to relieve you of your coat!’

The Earl was seated at his dressing-table when, some twenty minutes later, Ulverston came into his room. He was dressed in his shirt and his satin knee-breeches, and was engaged on the delicate operation of arranging the folds of a fresh cravat into the style known as the Napoleon. At his elbow stood Turvey, intently watching the movements of his slender fingers. A number of starched cravats hung over the valet’s forearm, and three or four crumpled wrecks lay on the floor at his feet. The Earl’s eyes lifted briefly to observe his friend in the mirror. ‘Hush!’ he said. ‘Pray do not speak, Lucy, or do anything to distract my attention!’

‘Fop!’ said the Viscount.

Turvey glanced at him reproachfully, but Gervase paid no heed. He finished tying the cravat, gazed thoughtfully at his reflection for perhaps ten seconds, while Turvey held his breath, and then said: ‘My coat, Turvey!’

A deep sigh was breathed by the valet. He carefully disposed the unwanted cravats across the back of a chair, and picked up a coat of dark blue cloth.

‘And what do you call that pretty confection?’ enquired Ulverston.

‘The Napoleon – how can you be so ignorant? Do you think I ought not to wear it?’

‘No, but I wonder you don’t start a fashion of your own!
Earthquake à la St Erth!
How’s that, dear boy?’

Turvey gave a discreet cough. ‘If I may be permitted to say so, my lord, the Desborough tie already enjoys a considerable degree of popularity in the highest circles. We are at present perfecting the design of the Stanyon Fall, which, when disclosed, will, I fancy, take the
ton
by storm.’

‘You should not betray our secrets, Turvey,’ Gervase said, standing up to allow the valet to help him to put on his coat. ‘Thank you: nothing more!’

Turvey bowed, and turned away to gather up the discarded riding-coat and breeches. The Earl had picked up a knife from his dressing-table, and was trimming his nails, and did not immediately look up. The valet paused, laid the breeches down again, and thrust a hand into the tail-pocket of the coat. He drew forth the coil of thin cord which was spoiling the set of the coat, and in the same instant the Earl raised his head, and perceived what he was doing. A shadow of annoyance crossed his face; he said, with rather more sharpness than was usually heard in his voice: ‘Yes, leave that here!’

The slight bow with which Turvey received this order expressed to a nicety his opinion of those who carried coils of cord in their pockets. He was about to lay the cord on the chair when the Viscount stepped forward, and took it out of his hand.

‘You may go.’ The Earl’s head was bent again over his task.

Ulverston returned to the fireplace, testing the cord by jerking a length of it between his hands. When Turvey had withdrawn, he said: ‘Saw a whole front rank brought down by that trick once. Mind, that was at night! – ambush!’

The Earl said nothing.

‘Stupid thing to do, to leave it in your pocket, dear boy!’

‘Very.’

Ulverston tossed the coil aside. ‘Out with it, Ger! That’s what happened, ain’t it?’

‘Yes.’

‘Martin?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Well, one thing you do know is that he was in the grounds at the time!’

‘So you say.’

‘Dash it, it was Clarence who said so, and what reason had he to say it if it wasn’t true?’

‘None. I don’t doubt it: I fancy Martin generally does take a gun out at sundown.’

‘Well, what do you mean to do?’ Ulverston demanded.

‘Nothing.’

‘Famous!’ said Ulverston. ‘That fairly beats the Dutch! I collect that a little thing like that –’ he jerked his chin towards the cord – ‘don’t even give you to think?’

‘On the contrary, it gives me furiously to think. My reflections on this event may be false, and are certainly unpleasant, and with your good leave, Lucy, I’ll keep them to myself.’

‘This won’t serve!’ Ulverston said. ‘You cannot do
nothing
when an attempt has been made to kill you!’

‘Very well, what would you wish me to do?’ Gervase asked, laying down the paring-knife. He glanced at the Viscount’s scowling countenance, and smiled. ‘You don’t know, do you? Shall I announce to the household that I was thrown by such a trick? Or shall I accuse my brother of wishing to make away with me?’

‘Send him packing!’

‘On what grounds?’

‘Good God, ain’t these grounds enough?’