The Quiet Gentleman

‘I cannot credit the evidence of my own ears!’ said Mr Morville. ‘How is it possible that you should talk in such a strain as this, Mrs Morville? Is this, I ask myself, the woman who wrote The Distaff? Is this the authoress of Reflections on the Republican State? Is this the companion with whom I have shared my every philosophic thought? I am appalled!’

‘So you might well be, my dear sir, if I were such a zany as to prefer Henry Poundsbridge to the Earl of St Erth for my daughter!’ responded the lady with some asperity. ‘It is an alliance it would not have entered my head to seek, but if the Earl – I say, if ! – were to offer for dear Drusilla, and you were to refuse your permission, I should be strongly inclined to clap you into Bedlam! I marvel, my love, that a man of your intellect should so foolishly confuse theory with practice! I shall continue to hold by those opinions which I share with you, but when it comes to my only daughter’s creditable establishment in the world it is time to set aside Utopian dreams!’ She perceived that her husband was looking slightly stunned by this burst of eloquence, and at once drove him against the ropes by adding in quelling accents: ‘As Cordelia Consett, I must deplore the present state of society; but as a Mother I must deem myself unworthy of that title were I to spurn a connection so flattering to my Child!’

‘Am I to understand,’ asked Mr Morville, ‘that the Earl is about to make an offer for Drusilla?’

‘Good gracious, my dear, how you do run on!’ exclaimed his wife. ‘For anything I know, St Erth has no such notion in his head! You may be sure that I was careful not to seem to be in the least conscious when I was talking to Drusilla. That would never do! Merely, I suspect that her heart may not be untouched.’

‘If,’ said Mr Morville, asserting himself, ‘you have reason to suppose that St Erth has been trifling with Drusilla –’

‘Nothing of the sort! From what I have learnt today, I am persuaded that he is by far too great a gentleman to raise expectations he has no intention of fulfilling. Besides, men never do trifle with Drusilla,’ added Mrs Morville, in a voice not wholly free from regret.

‘It appears to me,’ said her spouse, pointedly opening his book, ‘that you are making a piece of work about nothing, my dear!’

‘We shall see! Only, if I am right, I do beg of you, my dear sir, that you will not allow a foolish scruple to stand in the way of your daughter’s happiness!’

‘It would be quite against my principles to coerce Drusilla in any way. Or, indeed, any of my children!’

‘Very true, and it exactly illustrates what I said to you about theory and practice! For when poor Jack fell into the clutches of that Female, and would have married her had it not been for –’

‘That,’ interrupted M

r Morville, ‘was a different matter!’

‘Of course it was, my love, and very properly you behaved, as Jack himself would now be the first to acknowledge!’

She waited for a moment, in case he should venture on a retort, but when he became to all appearances immersed in his book she withdrew, to indulge in several delightful day-dreams, not one of which could have been said to have been worthy of a lady of her intellectual distinction. She knew it, laughed at herself, and had even the grace to be ashamed of the most attractive of these dreams, in which she had the felicity of breaking the news of Drusilla’s triumph to her sister-in-law, not one of whose three pretty daughters was as yet engaged to be married.

Her flights into this realm of fancy would have surprised, and indeed horrified, her daughter, whose own view of her circumstances was decidedly unhopeful. Mrs Morville had not been deceived: Drusilla’s heart was not untouched. Impregnable to the advances of that promising young politician, Mr Henry Poundsbridge, it had crumbled under the assault of the Earl’s first smile. ‘In fact,’ Drusilla told her mirrored image severely, ‘you have fallen in love with a beautiful face, and you should be ashamed of yourself!’ She then reflected that she had several times been in company with Lord Byron without succumbing to the charms of a face generally held to be the most beautiful in England, and became more cheerful. However, a candid scrutiny of her own face in the mirror soon lowered her spirits again. She could perceive no merit either in the freshness of her complexion, or in her dark, well-opened eyes, and would willingly have sacrificed the natural curl in her brown hair for tresses of gold, or even of raven-black. As for her figure, though some men might admire little plump women, she could not bring herself to suppose that St Erth, himself so slim and graceful, could think her anything but a poor little dab of a girl.

‘It is a great piece of folly to suppose that because his manners are so very engaging he regards you with anything but tolerance!’ she told her image. She then blew her nose, sniffed, and added, with a glance of contempt at her rather flushed countenance: ‘Depend upon it, you are just the sort of girl a man would be glad to have for his sister! You don’t even know how to swoon, and I daresay if you tried you would make wretched work of it, for all you have is common-sense, and of what use is that, pray?’

This embittered thought brought to her mind the several occasions upon which she might, had she been the kind of female his lordship no doubt admired, have kindled his ardour by a display of sensibility, or even of heroism. This excursion into romance was not entirely successful, for while she did her best to conjure up an agreeable vision of a heroic Miss Morville, the Miss Morville who was the possessor not only of a practical mind but also of two outspoken brothers could not but interpose objections to the heroine’s actions. To have thrown herself between the foils, when she had surprised the Earl fencing with Martin, would certainly have been spectacular, but that it would have evoked anything but exasperation in the male breast she was quite unable to believe. She thought she need not blame herself for having refrained upon this occasion; but when she recalled her behaviour in the avenue, when the Earl had been thrown from his horse, she knew that nothing could excuse her. Here had been an opportunity for spasms, swoonings, and a display of sensibility, utterly neglected! How could his lordship have been expected to guess that her heart had been beating so hard and so fast that she had felt quite sick, when all she had done was to talk to him in a voice drained of all expression? Not even when his lifeless body had been carried into the Castle had she conducted herself like a heroine of romance! Had she fainted at the sight of his blood-soaked raiment? Had she screamed? No! All she had done had been to direct Ulverston to do one thing, Turvey another, Chard to ride for the doctor, while she herself had done what lay within her power to staunch the bleeding.

At this point, the prosaic Miss Morville intervened. ‘Just as well!’ she said.

‘He would have liked me better had I fallen into a swoon!’ argued Drusilla.

‘Nonsense! He would have been dead, for well you know that no one else had the least notion what to do!’ said Miss Morville.

‘At least I might have screamed when Martin came through the panel!’

‘He was very much obliged to you for not screaming. He said you were a remarkable woman,’ Miss Morville reminded her.

‘I heard him say the same of his Aunt Cinderford!’ said Drusilla, refusing to be comforted.

Miss Morville could think of no reply to this, but issued instead depressing counsel. ‘You would do better to put him out of your mind, and return to your parents,’ she said. ‘No doubt he will presently become betrothed to a tall and beautiful woman, and forget your very existence. However, a useful life lies before you, for your brothers will certainly marry, and although you yourself will remain single, you will be an excellent aunt to all your nephews and nieces.’

It was perhaps not surprising that it was Miss Morville, rather than Drusilla, who presently carried his medicine to the Earl.

He had promoted himself that day to a chair beside the fire, and was seated in it, clad in the brocade dressing-gown which had excited his cousin’s mockery, and leaning his head back against the cushions to look up at Lord Ulverston, who stood warming his coat-tails in front of the hearth. He was certainly pale, and Miss Morville thought that he looked tired, but he greeted her with a warm smile, and spoke with a gaiety at variance with his rather careworn appearance. ‘I wish you will tell me why it is, Miss Morville, that you never visit me unless you wish to force an evil draught down my unwilling throat!’ he said. ‘And this afternoon you did not even visit me for that purpose, but left Turvey to be your deputy! I promise you, I think myself very hardly used!’

‘What an exacting fellow you are!’ exclaimed the Viscount, in a rallying tone. ‘Miss Morville went to meet her parents, and you may think yourself lucky she has returned to you at all!’

‘Ah, yes, I had forgotten!’ Gervase said, taking the glass, and draining it. He gave it back to Miss Morville, saying: ‘Does this mean that we must lose you, ma’am?’

‘Not immediately. I have promised Lady St Erth that I will remain with her another week,’ she replied.

‘You are very good,’ he said, smiling at her. ‘I wish her ladyship and I may not, between us, have given your parents a great dislike of us!’ He added, as she laughed, and moved towards the door: ‘Oh, no, don’t run away so soon! How can you neglect me so? Tell me about Martin’s new man!’