The Quiet Gentleman

The Earl raised his brows. “Why do you ask me that? Do I seem to you to be out of humour?”

“No, but it’s easy to see that Martin has taken one of his pets.”

“Oh, must there be a reason for his pets? I had not thought of it! Are you very busy today? Go with me to Hatherfield!”

“Willingly. I shall be glad to see what damage may have been done to the saplings in the new plantation, Cheringham way. I daresay we may meet Hayle there, and I must have a word with him about fencing. You might care to talk to him yourself!”

“Pray hold me excused! I know nothing of fencing, and should infallibly betray my ignorance. It will not do for my bailiff to hold me cheap!”

His cousin laughed, but shook his head at him. He went off to transact some trifling matter of business, but in less than twenty minutes he rejoined the Earl, and they set forward on their ride.

The most direct route to the village of Hatherfield lay through the Home Park and across a stream to Cheringham Spinney. The ground on either side of the stream was marshy, and a long wooden bridge had been thrown across it by the Earl’s grandfather. No more than a footbridge, it was not wide enough to permit of two horsemen riding abreast of it. After the storm, the stream was a miniature torrent, with evidences of the night’s havoc swirling on its churned-up flood. The nervous chestnut Gervase was riding jibbed at the bridge, but, after a little tussle with his rider, stepped delicately on to the wooden planks. “You would not do for a campaign, my friend!” Gervase chided him gently, patting his sweating neck. “Courage, now!”

“Take care, Gervase!” Theo ejaculated, hard on his heels, but reining back. “Gervase, stop!”

“Why, what is it?” Gervase said, obediently halting, and looking over his shoulder.

“It won’t hold! Back!” Theo said, backing his own horse off the bridge. He dismounted quickly, thrust his bridle into the Earl’s hand, and went squelching through the boggy ground to the edge of the swollen stream. “I thought as much!” he called. “One of the supports is scarcely standing! Good God, what a merciful thing that Hayle was speaking to me about the supports only five days ago, and I recalled it in time! One of those great branches must have been hurled against it: it is cracked almost right through!”

“No wonder, then, that Orthes refused to face it!” said Gervase. “Poor fellow, I maligned you, didn’t I? You are wiser by far than your master, and would have spared him an ignominious wetting!”

“A wetting!” Theo exclaimed, coming back to dry ground. “You might think yourself fortunate to escape with no worse than that! There are boulders in the streambed: if you had ridden this way alone, and been stunned perhaps — ! I blame myself: I should have had this bridge attended to when Hayle first spoke to me of it! My dear Gervase, it is very well to laugh, but you might have sustained an ugly injury — if not a fatal injury! Now what are we to do?”

“Ford the stream, of course. Orthes won’t like it, so this well-mannered roan of yours shall give him a lead.”

Theo took the bridle from him again, and remounted. “Very well, but take care how you go! The water has risen so much that you can’t perceive the rocks — and, I assure you, there are several!”

Though the muddied water did indeed hide the rocks, it was not very deep, scarcely rising above the horses’ knees. Gervase was obliged to acknowledge, however, that a fall from the bridge might have resulted in a broken limb or a concussion, for the boulders were numerous, making it necessary for them to pick their way very slowly across the stream. Once Orthes stumbled, but his master held him together, and the passage was accomplished in safety. “An adventurous ride!” remarked Gervase merrily. “I am glad you were with me, Theo. A tumble into this dirty water would not have suited me at all. And what my poor Turvey will have to say to my boots when he sees them I shudder to think of! Ah, now, behold the guardian of the bridge — a trifle late, but you can see how zealous!”

He pointed with his riding-whip down the rough track that lay before them to where a ruddy-cheeked urchin in a smock and frieze breeches was striding importantly towards them with a red handkerchief attached to a hazel-wand carried in the manner of a standard before him.

“Well, Ensign, and who may you be?” the Earl enquired, smiling down at the boy. “Horatius, I fancy!”

“That’s Parson,” disclaimed the urchin. “I’m nobbut Tom Scrooby, come to mind the bridge, and see no one don’t come acrost, your honour, because it’s clean busted.” His round eyes, having thoroughly taken in the Earl, travelled to Theo. He pulled his sandy forelock. “Mr. Martin said as how he would tell Mr. Hayle, sir, and Father said when he come home that I could mind the bridge till Mr. Hayle come down to see it.”

“Mr. Martin — !” Theo checked himself. “Very well! See you mind it carefully, Tom! Mr. Hayle will be here presently.”