The Quiet Gentleman

“Out?”Gervase repeated incredulously. “In this hurricane?”

“Why shouldn’t I go out? I’m not afraid of a paltry thunderstorm!”

“Be so good as to stop trying to humbug me!” Gervase said, with more acidity in his voice than his brother had ever heard. “You had the head-ache! you went early to bed!”

“Oh, well!” Martin muttered, reddening a little. “I — I recalled that — that I had an appointment in the village!”

“An appointment in the village! Pray, in which village?”

“Cheringham — but it’s no concern of yours!” said Martin sulkily.

“It appears to me to be raining, but I observe that you are not at all wet!” said Gervase sardonically.

“Of course I am not! I had my driving-coat on, and I left it, with my boots, downstairs! There is no need for you to blab to my mother that I was out tonight — though I daresay that is just what you mean to do!” He cast his brother a look of dislike, and said: “I suppose that curst door woke you! The wind blew it out of my hand.”

“Which door?”

“Oh, the one into the court, of course!” He jerked his head towards a door at the end of the gallery, which, as the Earl knew, led to a secondary flight of stairs. “I came in by that way: I often do!”

Gervase looked at him under slightly knit brows. “Very well, but what brought you to my room?”

“Well, I am bound to pass your room, if I come up by that stairway!”

“You are not bound to enter my room, however.”

“Enter your room! That’s a loud one! As though I should wish to!”

“Did you not, in fact, do so?”

“Of course I did not! Why should I? I wish you will be a little less busy, St. Erth! If I choose to go to Cheringham on affairs of my own — ”

“It is naturally no concern of mine,” interposed Gervase. “You choose wild nights for your intrigues!”

“My — ?” Martin gave a crack of laughter, hurriedly smothered. “Ay, that’s it! Old Scrooby’s daughter, I daresay!”

“I beg pardon. You will allow that if I am to be expected to swallow this story some explanation should be vouch-safed to me.”

“Well, I ain’t going to explain it to you,” said Martin, scowling at him.

A glimmer of light at the angle of the gallery in which they stood and that which ran along the north side of the court, caught the Earl’s eye. He took a quick step towards it, and Miss Morville, who, shrouded, lamp in hand, had been peeping cautiously round the corner of the wall, came forward, blushing in some confusion, but whispering: “Indeed, I beg your pardon, but I thought it must be housebreakers! I could not sleep for this horrid storm, and it seemed to me that I heard footsteps outside the house, and then a door slammed! I formed the intention of slipping upstairs to wake Abney, only then I heard voices, and thought I could recognize yours, my lord, so I crept along the gallery to see if it were indeed you.” She looked at Martin. “Was it you who let the door slam into the court? Have you been out in this rain and wind?”

“Yes, I have!” said Martin, in a furious undervoice. “I have been down to the village, and pray, what have either of you to say to that?”

“Only that I wish you will be more careful, and not give me such a fright!” said Miss Morville, drawing her shawl more securely about her. “And, if I were you, Martin, I would not stand talking here, for if you do so much longer you will be bound to wake Lady St. Erth.”

This common-sense reminder had the effect of sending him off on tiptoe. Miss Morville, conscious of her bare toes, which her nightdress very imperfectly concealed, and of the neat cap tied under her chin, would have followed him had she not happened to look into the Earl’s face. He was watching Martin’s retreat, and, after considering him for a moment, Miss Morville asked softly: “Pray, what has occurred, sir?”

He brought his eyes down to her face. “Occurred?”

“You seem to be a good deal put-out. Is it because Martin stole away to the village? Boys will do so, you know!”

“That! No! — if it was true!”

“Oh, I expect it was!” she said. “I thought, did not you? that he had been drinking what my brother Jack calls Old Tom.”

“I know of no reason why he must go to the village to do so.”

“Oh, no! I conjecture,” said Miss Morville, with the air of one versed in these matters, “that it was to see some cocking that he went.”

“Cocking!”

“At the Red Lion. To own the truth, that was what I thought he meant to do when he said he had the headache and would go to bed.”

“But, in God’s name, why could he not have told me so?”

“They never do,” she replied simply. “My brothers were just the same. In general, you know, one’s parents frown upon cocking, on account of the low company it takes a boy into. Depend upon it, that was why he would not tell you.”

“My dear ma’am, Martin can hardly regard me in the light of a parent!”