The Quiet Gentleman

Chapter 22

Mr. Leek, when he found himself deserted by his employer, and with an unconscious lady on his hands, became a little flustered. Several agitated shouts for help having elicited no response, he knelt down, somewhat ponderously, beside Miss Morville, and tried to ascertain whether she was alive, or whether she had, as he was much inclined to fear, broken her neck. He was not without experience in such matters, and after he had cautiously raised her head, he felt reasonably assured that this ultimate disaster had not befallen her. He could not discover that she was breathing, but after a good deal of fumbling he managed to find the pulse in her wrist. It was certainly beating, so, heaving a sigh of considerable relief, he rose, puffing, to his feet, and went off to ring the iron bell which hung beside the entrance-doors. So vigorously did he tug at it that its summons brought not only a footman, but Abney also, hurrying from the servants’ quarters. It then became manifest to Mr. Leek that although the domestic staff might, if suitably adjured, render assistance, no constructive effort need be expected. Abney was so much appalled that he seemed unable to do anything but wring his hands, and demand distractedly what was to be done; and the footman merely waited for orders.

“The first thing as has to be done,” said Mr. Leek, “is to take and carry her to a sofy! You catch hold of her head, young feller, and I’ll take her feet!”

“Ought she to be moved?” Abney asked nervously. “Oh dear, oh dear, she’s very pale!”

“Well, don’t start to nap your bib!” said Mr. Leek, with a touch of asperity. “Anyone would look pale as was gone off into a swound! Her neck ain’t broke, that I do know, so that’s a comfort, anyways. If you was to lope off and fetch a female to her, you’d be doing more good than what you are now, standing about as like as ninepence to nothing, and asking whether she ought to be moved! O’ course she ought! Nice thing it would be if we was to leave a swell mort like she is laying about at the bottom of the stairs for anyone to tread on as wasn’t looking where they was going! Now, you lift your end, young feller, and gently does it!”

Thus encouraged, the footman carefully raised Miss Morville’s shoulders from the floor. Between them, he and Mr. Leek bore her into the Great Hall, and laid her down on one of the sofas. The footman thought she would be more comfortable if he placed a cushion beneath her head; Abney hovered about, wondering whether he should fetch the housekeeper, feathers, or a glass of water; and Mr. Leek, with great delicacy, smoothed Miss Morville’s dress carefully about her ankles. Having informed Abney that persons in her condition stood in more need of eye-water than Adam’s Ale, he told the footman to call Mrs. Marple, and made a discovery. Miss Morville had broken her arm.

“Well,” said Mr. Leek philosophically, as he disposed the limb across her bosom, “that’s what you might call Dutch comfort, because it might ha’ been worse.”

“I will send a message to the stables at once!” said Abney. “One of the grooms must ride for the doctor! Oh dear, I am sure I don’t know what has come over Stanyon! It seems to be one thing after another!”

He then hurried away; and after a considerable lapse of time, during which Mr. Leek first fanned Miss Morville, and then, with some misgiving, wondered whether he ought to cut her laces, the housekeeper, who had been enjoying a nap in her room, bustled in, armed with smelling-salts and sal volatile, and followed by a couple of chambermaids. Mr. Leek would have been glad to have resigned Miss Morville to their care, but after he had watched Mrs. Marple’s singularly unsuccessful attempts to administer a dose of sal volatile, and had forcefully dissuaded one of the chambermaids from moving the broken arm, for the amiable purpose of chafing Miss Morville’s hand, he decided that it was not the part of a chivalrous man to abandon his post.

By the time Abney came fluttering back to the Great Hall, several more persons had assembled there, including Turvey; and the housekeeper, alarmed by Miss Morville’s prolonged swoon, was threatening spasms.

“I fancy, Mrs. Marple, that she may have sustained a blow on the head,” said Turvey. “Pray do not become agitated! It frequently happens, in such cases, that the sufferer does not regain consciousness for some appreciable time.”

“Ah! And sometimes, when they do,they find themselves dicked in the nob!” said Mr. Leek. “Addled!” he explained, for the benefit of one of the maids, who was looking at him in frightened enquiry.

Mrs. Marple gave a faint scream, and pressed a hand to her bosom. Mr. Leek thoughtfully offered her the sal volatile; and Turvey said, with a superiority his more forthright colleague found odious, that he apprehended no such melancholy sequel to the accident.

“Well, when she does come to herself, what you better do is to keep out of sight!” recommended Mr. Leek. “She’ll be all to pieces, and it won’t do her no good if the first thing she gets her ogles on is that hang-gallows face o’ yours!”

“Miss Morville,” said Turvey glacially, “is perfectly familiar with my countenance.”

“That don’t make it no better!” retorted Mr. Leek. “Nor you don’t have to use all them breakteeth words to me, because I ain’t the sort as can be gammoned easy! I knew a cove as talked the way you do — leastways, in the way of business I knew him! In fact, you remind me of him very strong. I disremember what his name was. He was on the dub-lay, and very clever with his fambles. He ended up in the Whit, o’ course.”

Fortunately, Miss Morville, at this perilous moment, stirred, and uttered a faint moan, which distracted everyone’s attention from the rival valets. Turvey at once picked up the sal volatile, and skilfully raised her sufficiently to enable her to swallow, while Mr. Leek, not to be outdone, held her broken arm. At first she paid no heed to Turvey’s request to her to open her mouth, but he persevered, and after a minute or two she seemed to collect herself, for she whispered something, and opened her eyes. Turvey then obliged her to drink the restorative, and she said, quite distinctly: “Oh, my head hurts me so!”

Turvey laid her down again, and turned away to direct one of the maids to procure a bowl of water, and some cloths.

“Martin!” uttered Miss Morville “No! Don’t let him go!”

“That’s right, miss!” said Mr. Leek hastily. “No one won’t let him go nowhere! Don’t you raise a breeze now!”

She raised one wavering hand to her head, but, to his relief, said no more. When the water was brought, and a wet cloth was laid over her brow, it was perceived that she had quite regained her senses, for she murmured a thank-you, and seemed perfectly to understand Turvey when he informed her that she had broken her arm, and must lie still until the doctor arrived to set the bone.

Long before Dr. Malpas reached Stanyon, the Dowager had been made aware of the fresh disaster which had overtaken her, and had descended the stairs to the Great Hall. She expressed concern over her young friend’s plight, and said that she did not understand how such a thing could have happened. She then announced her intention of sending a message instantly to Gilbourne House, and of herself remaining beside the sufferer.

“I should not wish Mrs. Morville to feel that any attention had been grudged,” she said. “But I do not know why there should be so many persons here. I do not understand how you came to allow it, Marple.”

This remark caused everyone except the housekeeper, Turvey, and her ladyship’s own maid, to withdraw from the Hall as unobtrusively as possible. The Dowager, seating herself majestically in a chair near the sofa, then recalled the various accidents which had befallen the members of her family, and the remedies which had been applied to their hurts; Turvey continued, unmoved, to renew the wet cloths about Miss Morville’s head; and Miss Morville lay with closed eyes, enduring a good deal of pain, but making no complaint.

Both Mr. and Mrs. Morville had arrived at the Castle before the doctor’s gig at last bowled up the avenue. Their daughter was able to smile at them, albeit rather wanly; and Mrs. Morville told her, with what the housekeeper thought a distressing lack of sensibility, that she would be better presently, and should be taken home as soon as the doctor had set her arm.

“Not yet!” Miss Morville said, for the first time showing signs of agitation. “Indeed, Mama, I could not!”

“No, my dear,” said her mother soothingly. “When you are better!”

The setting of the broken bone tried Miss Morville’s fortitude, but she bore it very well, only begging not to be moved for a little while, since she felt too faint to lift her head. The doctor said that the place for her to be in was her bed, but this suggestion was again productive of suppressed agitation.

“I think,” said Mrs. Morville, “that if she were to remain quietly on the sofa for a little while it would perhaps be best.”

“Ay, that’s it,” agreed the doctor, packing his bag again. “I have given her something which will make her very soon feel more the thing. No need for alarm, ma’am!”

At this moment, the Viscount walked into the Castle, and, perceiving that a large number of persons were gathered in the Great Hall, very naturally joined the party. He was much surprised to learn that Miss Morville had fallen downstairs, exclaiming, sympathizing, and asking so many questions that Mrs. Morville was provoked into telling him that what her daughter needed most was quiet.

“Ay, I’ll be bound she does!” said the Viscount, with ready understanding. “Head aching fit to split, eh, Miss Morville? Don’t I know it! Took a nasty toss myself once — forget the name of the place: somewhere near Tarbes, it was. Head didn’t stop aching for three days.”

“Well, I’ll come and see you again tomorrow, Miss Morville!” said Dr. Malpas bracingly. “I know I leave you in good hands.”

“Yes, and so many of them!” said Mrs. Morville, with a bright smile.

The doctor then went away, and Lord Ulverston, looking round the Hall, suddenly demanded: “But where’s Ger? Not still abed, is he?”

“No, my lord,” said Turvey. “His lordship is not, so far as I am aware, within the Castle.”

“What’s that?” said Ulverston. “He was feeling his wound — said he would rest!”

Miss Morville opened her eyes. “He went to Evesleigh,” she said.

“Evesleigh! Good God, why?”

The Dowager, who had been regaling the unwilling Mr. Morville with a long, and apparently pointless, anecdote about a set of persons whom he had neither met nor wished to meet, broke off to explain that if her stepson had gone to Evesleigh, it was to visit his cousin.

“I know that, ma’am!” said the Viscount impatiently. “How came you to let him go, Miss Morville? What can have possessed him to undertake the journey? He will be quite knocked up! Who accompanied him? That young groom of his?”

“No. I think — ” Miss Morville stopped. “I don’t know!” she ended uncommunicatively.

He looked down at her rather narrowly. “Know why he went, ma’am?”

“I — No.”

“Well, it sounds a havey-cavey business to me!” he said. He glanced round again, frowning. “Martin not home yet?”

“No,” she said, and resolutely closed her lips.

“Late, ain’t he?”

She was silent.

“Think I’ll ride to meet Ger!” said the Viscount.

“A very excellent idea!” said Mrs. Morville warmly. “If I were you, I would go at once!”

“I will!” said the Viscount, and strode off without ceremony.

He reached the head of the terrace steps in time to see the Earl’s curricle come sweeping through the vaulted arch of the Gate Tower. The grays were being driven at a spanking pace, and the Viscount was thunderstruck to perceive that it was Martin who held the reins. He was still standing staring incredulously when the curricle drew up at the foot of the steps, and Martin, whose new-found humility had not deterred him from arguing hotly with his brother on certain of the finer points of driving, said triumphantly: “Now own I have not overturned you!”

“Oh, I do! How thankful I am I didn’t bring a high-perch phaeton into Lincolnshire!” said the Earl, preparing to alight.

Martin grinned, but merely said that he would drive the curricle to the stables. The Viscount ran down the steps, exclaiming wrathfully: “I’ll teach you to hoax me, Ger! What the devil have you been about?”

“Minding my own business,” replied Gervase, with one of his mischievous looks.

The Viscount helped him to descend from the curricle. “You deserve to be laid-up for a week! Let me tell you, I was just about to come in search of you!”

“Unnecessary, Lucy! Martin was before you, and, as you see, has driven me home. I am not in the least knocked-up, I assure you.”

“Just as well!” said the Viscount. “There’s another on the sick-list now!”

“Oh?” said the Earl, beginning to mount the steps. “Who?”

“Miss Morville. Fell downstairs, or something. Sick as a cushion!”

“Miss Morville?” said Gervase quickly. “Is she much hurt?”

“Broken her arm. Can’t think how she came to do it!”

“Good God!” exclaimed Gervase, swiftly mounting the remaining steps.

“They carried her into the Great Hall,” said Ulverston, catching up with him. “But what’s all this, Ger? Come on, now! No humdudgeon! What tricks has that brother of yours been playing on you? Out with it!”

“None at all. I’ll explain it to you presently, Lucy, but not now! Only don’t look daggers at Martin! It wasn’t he who tried to murder me!”

“I suppose he told you so! Upon my word, Ger — ! And what about that Leek of his?”

“Lucy, how can you be such a greenhorn?” demanded Gervase, casting his hat and his gloves on to the settle in the vestibule. “Did you never see a Bow Street Runner before?”

He then strode towards the Great Hall, checked for an instant on the threshold, blinking at the unexpected number of persons assembled there, and then perceived Miss Morville, lying on one of the sofas, interestingly pale, and with one arm in a sling. She had raised herself from her supporting cushions, and was looking towards the doorway, so painful an expression of anxiety in her white face that the Earl forgot his surroundings, and, wholly ignoring everyone else in the Hall, quickly crossed the floor, exclaiming: “My poor dear! Why, what has happened to you, my poor child?”

He dropped on his knee beside the sofa, taking the hand that was trying to grasp one of the capes of his coat, and holding it comfortingly. Miss Morville, equally oblivious of her entourage, gazed worshipfully into the blue eyes so tenderly smiling at her, and said foolishly: “You are safe! Nothing dreadful happened to you!”

“Nothing more dreadful than being driven back to Stanyon by Martin!” he assured her. “But you! How came you to tumble down the stairs as soon as my back was turned?”

“The stupidest thing!” said Miss Morville, despising herself. “I wanted to stop Martin — I thought it was the one thing that would put you in danger! Only I tripped over my train, and fell! I cannot think how I came to do such a thing!”

The Earl slipped his arm behind her, and raised the hand he was still holding to his lips. “You guessed it all, didn’t you, most wise and most foolish Miss Morville?”

Miss Morville, finding his shoulder so invitingly close, was glad to rest her head against it. “Oh no! How could I think such a terrible thing? Was it true? I would not tell you the thoughts in my head, because they were so very dreadful! Besides,” she added, “it was not my business, and I was so very nearly sure that you knew!”

Her overstrained nerves then found relief in a burst of tears. But as the Earl chose to kiss her at this moment, she was obliged to stop crying, the merest civility compelling her to return his embrace. As soon as she was able to speak, she said, however, in a voice meant only for his ears: “Oh, no! Pray do not! It was all my folly, behaving in this missish way! You felt yourself obliged to comfort me! I assure you, I don’t regard it — shall never think of it again!”

“My poor dear, you must be very much shaken to say anything so foolish!” said the Earl lovingly. “Never did I think to hear such nonsense on my sage counsellor’s lips!”

“You would become disgusted with my odious common-sense. Try as I will, I cannot be romantic!” said Miss Morville despairingly.

His eyes danced. “Oh, I forbid you to try! Your practical observations, my absurd robin, are the delight of my life!”

Miss Morville looked at him. Then, with a deep sigh, she laid her hand in his. But what she said was: “You must mean a sparrow!”

“I will not allow you to dictate to me, now or ever, Miss Morville! I mean a robin!” said the Earl firmly, lifting her hand to his lips.

This interlude, which was watched with interest by the three servants, with complacence by Mrs. Morville, critically by the Viscount, who was trying to unravel the puzzle just set before him, and with hostility by the Dowager and Mr. Morville, seemed to break the spell which had hitherto held the rest of the company silent.

“St. Erth!” said the Dowager awfully.

“Take care you do not hurt her arm!” advised Mrs. Morville practically.

“Here!” said the Viscount, addressing himself to the domestic staff. “Nothing more for you to do here! You be off, all of you!”

Mrs. Marple and her ladyship’s maid, over-awed by his imperative manner, both dropped curtsies, and withdrew. Turvey, rigid with indignation, ignored him, and asked his master if there were any further service he could perform.

“None, I thank you. Go away!” said Gervase. Turvey bowed, and walked with great stateliness out of the Hall; and Mr. Morville, who had been controlling his feelings with a strong effort, said: “No doubt I am sadly behind the times, but it may be of interest to you to know, St. Erth, that in my day, it was customary, before making an offer to a young woman, to obtain the consent of her father!”

“Yes, sir, I shall endeavour to do so,” said the Earl, carefully disposing Miss Morville against the cushions. “Shall I find you at Gilbourne House, if I ride over to call upon you tomorrow?”

“Good gracious!” exclaimed Mrs. Morville, much amused. “Are we to conclude that you have not made Drusilla an offer, St. Erth?”

“Not yet, ma’am,” he replied, smiling at her. “But I assure you I mean to do so at the earliest opportunity!”

“Well, by the Lord Harry — !” said Martin, who had walked into the Hall in time to hear this interchange. “Do you mean St. Erth is to marry Drusilla? I must say, I think that’s a devilish good notion! And the best of it is it will be a famous set-down for Louisa! She told me she had quite made up her mind to it that you and her particular friend, Miss Capel, would make a match of it, Gervase! I’m dashed if I won’t write to Louisa this very evening!”

“Silence, Martin!” commanded the Dowager regally. “This must not be! I have a great regard for Drusilla: indeed, I should be glad to have her to live with me, for she is a very obliging girl, and I shall miss her sadly when she leaves me, but I do not consent to her alliance with my stepson!”

“And nor do I consent to it!” said Mr. Morville unexpectedly. “In fact, I forbid it!”

“I have other plans for my stepson!” said the Dowager, glaring at him.

“I have other plans for my daughter, ma’am!”

“Nonsense, Mr. Morville!” said his wife briskly.

“No use making plans for Ger, ma’am!” said the Viscount. “Always does as he chooses! Assure you!”

“Besides, if you mean Selina Daventry, Mama, we can’t have her at Stanyon!” said Martin.

“Daventry!” ejaculated Mr. Morville, deriving some obscure pleasure from this disclosure. “Ha!”

“What, not one of Arun’s daughters?” exclaimed the Viscount. “Not the red-headed one who makes such a figure of herself in the Park?”

“Ay! Drives a team of showy bone-setters! Lord, she’d lame every horse in the stables! Gervase, you can’t offer for that girl!”

“No, no, I won’t!” said Gervase, interrupting a lowtoned conversation with Miss Morville to respond to this appeal.

“The Duke of Arun’s daughter,” stated the Dowager, “would make St. Erth a very eligible wife! I do not say that I have made up my mind to the match, for I do not approve of deciding such matters hastily, and I know of several other young females whom I should not object to see at Stanyon.”

“Well, well!” said Mr. Morville, refreshing himself with a pinch of snuff. “Arun’s girl, eh? I should not like the connection for either of my sons, but I daresay it will do very well!”

“Don’t think m’father would either,” said the Viscount reflectively. “Bad blood there, devilish bad blood!”

“Your father, Ulverston, is a sensible man!” said Mr. Morville.

As much confounded as it was possible for her to be, the Dowager said, with finality: “I do not desire to discuss Lady Selina. I must decline to enter upon any argument. I cannot think that St. Erth will refuse to be guided by my advice, for although I do not deny he has behaved very selfishly to me upon more than one occasion I do not consider that his disposition is bad.”

“How can you? How can you, ma’am, say such a thing of him?” uttered Miss Morville, moved to sit up. “When he has behaved to you with such forbearance — such patience!”

“Hush, my love! This is not like you!” expostulated the Earl, startled.

“Because I have not spoken, do not imagine that I have not felt!”said Miss Morville. “I had no right to speak, but I have very often burned to do so!” She added, with resolution: “I trust I shall always behave with propriety towards the members of St. Erth’s family, but I will not allow him to be scolded, and slighted, and beset, which is something I viewed with the strongest disapprobation, even when I felt no decided partiality for him! Or, at any rate,” she amended conscientiously, “not very much!”

“My dear sir, I wish you will give me leave to address your daughter at once!”said the Earl, quite entranced by this sudden and unexpected declaration of war on the part of his chosen bride.

“Certainly not!” replied Mr. Morville. “I consider the alliance wholly unsuitable. My daughter has been reared in accordance with principles which I do not doubt are repugnant to you. Even were you to assure me that you regard with sympathy the ideals to the promulgation of which I have devoted my life, I should remain adamant!”

“But I don’t regard them with sympathy!” said the Earl.

“You don’t?” repeated Mr. Morville, looking at him very hard.

“No, how should I? I have not the smallest desire to live in a Republican state, and if an attempt were made to strip me of my possessions I should resist it to the utmost of my power.”

“You would, eh? Well, at all events, you seem to have some ideas in your head!” said Mr. Morville.

“Upon my word!” said the Dowager. “I do not know what the world is coming to! I can scarcely believe that my ears have not deceived me! That is not very likely, however, for I have very good hearing: it is a thing I pride myself upon. I should have supposed that if there were no objection to this match on our side, there could be none on yours,my dear sir!”

“If,” said Mr. Morville precisely, “I set any value on such things, ma’am, I should feel myself impelled to inform you that the Morvilles were seigneurs in Normandy when the Frants — if Frants there were at that date — were still in a state of serfdom!”

At this point, Mrs. Morville, who had been conferring with the Earl, interposed, saying: “Mr. Morville, St. Erth and I are agreed that it will not do to take Drusilla home today, while she feels so poorly, so we have decided that she shall go immediately to bed, and I will remain to take care of her, if you, ma’am, do not object!”

“Certainly! I shall be very happy!” said the Dowager. “If my nephew were at Stanyon, Mr. Morville, he would show you the Frant records, which we keep in the muniment room!”

“Yes, yes, ma’am, I have seen them! Nothing earlier than the fifteenth century! My brother has in his possession an interesting charter, granted by Edward III to our ancestor, Sir Ralph de Morville. He was a Garter Knight — one of the Founders, and the son of Reginald de Morville, who — Yes, my dear, what is it?”

“I have been saying, Mr. Morville,” explained his wife, with great patience, “that I am remaining here to nurse Drusilla. So if you will inform Mrs. Buxton of it she may pack a night-bag for me, and Peter can bring it to me.”

“In 1474,” said the Dowager, “we had the honour of entertaining Edward IV at Stanyon!”

“Ay, had you indeed?” said Mr. Morville. “My family, of course, always held by the true line!”

It was now apparent to everyone that battle was fairly joined. Mrs. Morville gave it as her opinion that it would be useless to attempt to distract the attention of either combatant, but when Drusilla was assisted to rise from the sofa, to go upstairs to bed, and stood for a moment, supported by the Earl’s arm, Mr. Morville happened to notice this circumstance, and broke off in the middle of what he was saying to the Dowager to address fatherly words of encouragement to his daughter.

“Going to bed?” he said. “That’s right! You look a very poor thing, my dear! Better let St. Erth carry you, or you will be tumbling down in another faint!”

“An excellent suggestion, sir!” said the Earl, and picked his betrothed up and bore her off, heedless alike of her entreaties to him to remember his own injury, and of the strongly worded disapproval of Martin and the Viscount, who followed him out of the Hall, urging him to relinquish his burden to one or other of them.

“Well, well!” said Mr. Morville indulgently. “They mean to have each other, I suppose! It might have been worse. I don’t dislike your stepson, ma’am: at least he isn’t afraid to know his own mind, which is more than I can say of most of the young men I meet! But as for this Crusader of yours — ! No, no, the Férants were a Gascony family, which died out before 1500! No connection with the Frants, none at all! I told your late husband so, years ago! We,of course, have Raymond de Morville, and his cousin Bertrand, both of whom were twice on crusades, and are buried at Fonthaven, but I don’t consider it anything to boast of!”