The Quiet Gentleman

‘Your Mama’s garnets, my dear Drusilla – no doubt very pretty in their way! – can scarcely be compared to the Frant ring!’ said the Dowager. ‘I declare, when I hear St Erth saying that he prefers some piece of trumpery –’

‘No, no, I never said so!’ interrupted the Earl. ‘You really must not call it trumpery, my dear ma’am! A very fine emerald, cut to my order. I daresay you might never see just such another, for they are rare, you know. I am informed that there is considerable difficulty experienced in cutting them to form signets.’

‘I know nothing of such matters, but I am shocked – excessively shocked! Your father would have been very glad to have left his ring to Martin, let me tell you, only he thought it not right to leave it away from the heir!’

‘Was it indeed a personal bequest?’ enquired Gervase, interested. ‘That certainly must be held to enhance its value. It becomes, in fact, a curio, for it must be quite the only piece of unentailed property which my father did bequeathe to me. I shall put it in a glass cabinet.’

Martin, reddening, said: ‘I see what you are at! I’m not to be blamed if my father preferred me to you!’

‘No, you are to be felicitated,’ said Gervase.

‘My lord! Mr Martin!’ said the Chaplain imploringly.

Neither brother, hot brown eyes meeting cool blue ones, gave any sign of having heard him, but the uncomfortable interlude was brought to a close by the entrance of the butler, announcing that dinner was served.

There were two dining-rooms at Stanyon, one of which was only used when the family dined alone. Both were situated on the first floor of the Castle, at the end of the east wing, and were reached by way of the Grand Stairway, the Italian Saloon, and a broad gallery, known as the Long Drawing-room. Access to them was also to be had through two single doors, hidden by screens, but these led only to the precipitous stairs which descended to the kitchens. The family dining-room was rather smaller than the one used for formal occasions, but as its mahogany table was made to accommodate some twenty persons without crowding it seemed very much too large for the small party assembled in it. The Dowager established herself at the foot of the table, and directed her son and the Chaplain to the places laid on her either side. Martin, who had gone unthinkingly to the head of the table, recollected the change in his circumstances, muttered something indistinguishable, and moved away from it. The Dowager waved Miss Morville to the seat on the Earl’s right; and Theodore took the chair opposite to her. Since the centre of the table supported an enormous silver epergne, p

resented to the Earl’s grandfather by the East India Company, and composed of a temple, surrounded by palms, elephants, tigers, sepoys, and palanquins, tastefully if somewhat improbably arranged, the Earl and his stepmother were unable to see one another, and conversation between the two ends of the table was impossible. Nor did it flourish between neighbours, since the vast expanse of napery separating them gave them a sense of isolation it was difficult to overcome. The Dowager indeed, maintained, in her penetrating voice, a flow of very uninteresting small-talk, which consisted largely of exact explanations of the various relationships in which she stood to every one of the persons she mentioned; but conversation between St Erth, his cousin and Miss Morville was of a desultory nature. By the time Martin had three times craned his neck to address some remark to Theo, obscured from his view by the epergne, the Earl had reached certain decisions which he lost no time in putting into force. No sooner had the Dowager borne Miss Morville away to the Italian Saloon than he said: ‘Abney!’

‘My lord?’

‘Has this table any leaves?’

‘It has many, my lord!’ said the butler, staring at him.

‘Remove them, if you please.’

‘Remove them, my lord?’

‘Not just at once, of course, but before I sit at the table again. Also that thing!’

‘The epergne, my lord?’ Abney faltered. ‘Where – where would your lordship desire it to be put?’

The Earl regarded it thoughtfully. ‘A home question, Abney. Unless you know of a dark cupboard, perhaps, where it could be safely stowed away?’

‘My mother,’ stated Martin, ready for a skirmish, ‘has a particular fondness for that piece!’

‘How very fortunate!’ returned St Erth. ‘Do draw your chair to this end of the table, Martin! and you too, Mr Clowne! Abney, have the epergne conveyed to her ladyship’s sitting-room!’

Theo looked amused, but said under his breath: ‘Gervase, for God’s sake – !’

‘You will not have that thing put into my mother’s room!’ exclaimed Martin, a good deal startled.

‘Don’t you think she would like to have it? If she has a particular fondness for it, I should not wish to deprive her of it.’

‘She will wish it to be left where it has always stood, and so I tell you! And if I know Mama,’ he added, with relish, ‘I’ll wager that’s what will happen!’

‘Oh, I shouldn’t do that!’ Gervase said. ‘You see, you don’t know me, and it is never wise to bet against a dark horse.’

‘I suppose that you think, just because you’re St Erth now, that you may turn Stanyon upside down, if you choose!’ growled Martin, a little nonplussed.

‘Well, yes,’ replied Gervase. ‘I do think it, but you must not let it distress you, for I really shan’t quite do that!’

‘We shall see what Mama has to say!’ was all Martin could think of to retort.

The Dowager’s comments, when the fell tidings were presently divulged to her, were at once comprehensive and discursive, and culminated in an unwise announcement that Abney would take his orders from his mistress.

‘Oh, I hope he will not!’ said Gervase. ‘I should be very reluctant to dismiss a servant who has been for so many years employed in the family!’ He smiled down into the Dowager’s astonished face, and added, in his gentle way: ‘But I have too great a dependence on your sense of propriety, ma’am, to suppose that you would issue any orders at Stanyon which ran counter to mine.’