The Quiet Gentleman

The errand on which he had been sent to Kentham might, in St. Erth’s judgment, have been despatched in twenty minutes, but in fact occupied him for over an hour. So far from receiving him in a disagreeable spirit, Mrs. Neath almost overwhelmed him with protestations and attentions. She could not conceive how it had come about that she had overlooked any of dear Lady Grampound’s questions, and she was excessively shocked to think that his lordship had been obliged to drive over from Stanyon only because she had been so stupid. But none of those vital questions could be dealt with until Mr. Neath had been hurriedly summoned from the Home Farm to receive his distinguished guest; and even when this morose gentleman had been hustled into a more suitable coat, and almost thrust into the drawing-room by a servant, primed in a hissing whisper by his mistress, cakes and wine had to be pressed on the Earl before any heed could be paid to the problems which had brought him to Kentham. At last, however, he managed to bring his business to a close, after which he had only to listen to Mrs. Neath’s plans for spending the summer months in Brighton before he contrived to make good his escape.

Chard, who had found the entertainment offered him of a shabby nature, remarked, as the Earl gave his horses the office to start: “Have to spring ‘em, me lord, if you ain’t wishful to be late for your dinner.”

“Thank you, I had rather have no dinner at all than lame my horses!” retorted his master.

His grays were a fast pair, and he drove them well up to their bits, but when he reached the cross-road where he had offered to pick Martin up it was a little after six o’clock. Beyond the lane which led to Wickton stretched the West Woods, the Stanyon road cutting through them for rather more than a mile. The Earl checked his horses when the cross-road came into view, but there was no sign of Martin on the road, and he drove on. The scutter of rabbits, fleeing from the road into the undergrowth on either side of it before the approach of the curricle, seemed to indicate that no human presence had disturbed them for some time. The Earl quickened the pace again, saying as he did so: “I wonder if Mr. Martin got his kestrels? He seems to have gone home, so perhaps he was successful.”

“Well, me lord,” said Chard grudgingly, “if he got a sight of them I reckon it would be enough for him. A very pretty shot is Mr. Martin, that I will say!”

The words had hardly left his lips when he was startled by the sound of a shot, fired, as it seemed to him, over the horses’ heads. An oath was surprised out of him as the grays bounded wildly forward, and before he had had time to realize what had happened he saw the reins slack, and grabbed at them as the Earl lurched against his shoulder.

The grays were bolting, and although Chard caught the reins he could do no more than hold them, while with his other hand he gripped his master, fearing every instant to see him flung from the bumping, swaying vehicle. For several dreadful seconds he thought him dead, but it was only seconds before the Earl lifted a hand, and rather uncertainly tried to push away the grip on his arm. “Get them under control!” he said faintly. “And get me home, for I think I have it!” He thrust his hand into his coat, over his breast, and withdrew it, and tried to focus his eyes upon it. His glove was wet with blood. “Yes. I have it,” he said.

Chapter 16

The Earl became aware that someone, from a very long way away, was insistently calling to him. A voice repeated over and over again: “Ger! Ger, old fellow! Ger!”Its urgency began to tease him, and a faint crease appeared between his brows. The voice, a little nearer now, exclaimed: “He’s alive!” which seemed to him so foolish a remark that he opened his eyes to see who could have uttered it. There was so dense a fog enveloping him that he was unable to see anything at all, but he felt his head being lifted, and was aware of something hard and cool pressing against his lips. A different voice, not urgent, but calm and authoritative, told him to open his mouth. He was disinclined to make so great an effort, for an immense lassitude possessed his every faculty, but the command was repeated, and since it was less trouble to obey it than to argue about it, he did open his mouth. He was then told that he must drink, which irritated him. He was about to expostulate when he found that his mouth was full of some pungent liquid, so he was obliged to swallow this before he could murmur: “Don’t be so foolish!”

The urgent voice, which he now recognized as Lord Ulverston’s, exclaimed joyfully: “He took it! He’s coming round! That’s right, Ger! Stand to your arms, dear boy! not dead this engagement!”

The fog seemed to be clearing away; through it he could hazily perceive the Viscount’s face, which seemed, in some peculiar fashion, to be suspended above him.

“That’s the dandy!” Ulverston said. “Come, now, old fellow!”