The Quiet Gentleman

At this moment, the Viscount demanded that the decanter should be set in motion, and the conversation became general.

When the gentlemen presently joined the ladies, there was some talk of getting up a game of speculation, but the Dowager, who did not wish to play cards, said that everyone would prefer the indulgence of a little music, and begged Marianne to go to the pianoforte. Marianne looked very much alarmed, and assured her ladyship that her performance was not at all superior. When the Dowager showed no sign of accepting this excuse, she looked imploringly at Miss Morville, who at once responded to the silent appeal, rising from her chair, and saying: ‘I am sure Lady St Erth would like to hear you sing, Marianne; and, if you will allow me, I shall be pleased to play for you.’

It was not quite what Marianne desired, but since she had a pretty voice, and knew herself to have been well-taught, it was infinitely preferable to being obliged to struggle through a Haydn sonata. She accompanied her friend to the instrument, and delighted the company with two or three ballads. Not very much persuasion was needed to induce her to join with Lord Ulverston in a duet. Their voices blended admirably; they discovered a similarity of musical taste in one another; and if their combined performance gave little pleasure to one member of their audience, everyone else enjoyed it very much, the Dowager going so far as to beat time with one foot, and to hum several of the refrains.

The party broke up early that evening, the ladies going to bed immediately after prayers. The Earl took his friend off to play billiards, and Martin, to his surprise, went with him. He was so obliging as to mark for them, a kindness which made Ulverston glance rather keenly at him, and say, later, to the Earl: ‘Your engaging young brother remorseful, eh?’

Gervase smiled. ‘I told you he was not far removed from a schoolboy. We may go on more comfortably now.’

‘Shouldn’t be surprised if it was all a take-in,’ replied the sceptical Viscount.

On the following day, both Miss Morville and Miss Bolderwood received missives from their mamas, Miss Bolderwood’s having been brought over by a groom from Whissenhurst. Lady Bolderwood was able to leave her room again, and was anxious to have her daughter restored to her; and it seemed, from the contents of two closely-written sheets from Mrs Morville, that Drusilla too would soon be leaving Stanyon. The Lakeland scenery was very fine, but Greta Hall was rather too full of Coleridges, Mrs Coleridge and her interesting offspring having apparently taken up permanent residence with the Southeys. Mrs Morville wrote that a scheme was afoot to place poor Mr Coleridge in the care of a gentleman living in Highgate. Mr Southey had disclosed that his unfortunate brother-in-law had been consuming as much as two quarts of laudanum a week over the past couple of years. He gloomily believed that the charge of the children must fall upon his shoulders. He was already paying for Hartley’s University career, and had sent Derwent to a private school at Ambleside. Sara, the youngest of the trio, was precocious, Mrs Morville considered; and there was too much reason to fear that Hartley had inherited his father’s instability of character. Mr Morville, wrote his wife, was grieved to discover how far Mr Southey had receded from his earlier and nobler ideals; for her part, Mrs Morville could not wonder at it: she could only marvel at his being able to continue in the profession of author in the midst of such a household.

The Dowager expressed a gracious regret that they must bid farewell to Marianne that very day; at the prospect of soon losing Miss Morville’s companionship she evinced a flattering concern, reiterating with unwearied frequency her conviction that Mrs Morville could not possibly wish for her daughter’s return to Gilbourne House.

To all her representations of the superior attractions of Stanyon over Gilbourne House Miss Morville returned civil but firm answers. Lord Ulverston begged to be granted the honour of escorting Miss Bolderwood to her own home, and upon Martin’s saying hastily that he had the intention of performing this office, became afflicted with a deafness much more distressing to Martin than himself. Marianne blushed, thanked, and looked uncertain; after allowing the Dowager time to announce that she would herself drive to Whissenhurst with her young guest, Miss Morville said that she would like the drive. The Dowager had no

objection to put forward to this, and the end of it was that the two ladies occupied the barouche, while Ulverston and St Erth rode behind.

Arrived at Whissenhurst Grange, Marianne begged her three companions to enter the house, and to partake of refreshment there. The Earl demurred at this, thinking that the invalids might not wish for such an invasion, but while Marianne was assuring him that Mama would be disappointed if he did not come in to pay his respects to her, Sir Thomas was seen standing at the window of one of the front parlours, waving and beckoning. They all went into the house, therefore, and Lord Ulverston was made known to the Nabob and his lady. Wine and cakes were sent for, and while the Earl enquired after the state of Sir Thomas’s health, Marianne, standing a little apart, beside the Viscount, said shyly that she supposed he would be leaving Stanyon very soon too. But it seemed that the Viscount had no immediate intention of leaving Stanyon. Marianne was surprised, and said, looking innocently up into his face: ‘I quite thought that you stayed only for the ball!’

‘No – oh, no!’ Ulverston responded. ‘Don’t quite know how long I shall be fixed at Stanyon!’

‘Shall you be in town when we give our ball?’ asked Marianne.

‘Yes,’ replied his lordship promptly. ‘Will Lady Bolderwood send me a card?’

‘Oh, yes! I hope you will be able to come to it!’

‘Not a doubt of it, Miss Bolderwood: I shall most certainly come to it! When do you remove to London?’

‘I believe, in a fortnight’s time – if Papa’s illness has not overset our plans.’

‘A fortnight? Just when I shall be going to London myself!’ he said.

‘But you said you did not know when you should be going!’ she pointed out, laughing a little.

‘Quite true! I didn’t! You had not told me then how long you would be remaining in Lincolnshire.’

She looked charmingly confused, her art of coquetry deserting her, and could only blush more than ever, and pretend to be busy with the retying of one of the knots of ribbon which adorned her dress.

Sir Thomas, meanwhile, who had been persuaded to resume both his seat by the fire and the plaid shawl which had been draped round his shoulders, said to the Earl: ‘Who is this young fellow, eh, my lord? What did you say his name was?’

‘Ulverston: he is Wrexham’s eldest son, and, like myself, has lately sold out of the Army.’

‘H’m!’ Sir Thomas’s shrewd gaze dwelled for a minute on the Viscount and Marianne. ‘I like the cut of his jib,’ he decided.

‘He is the best of good fellows.’

Lady Bolderwood seemed also to like the Viscount, which was not surprising, since he seized the first opportunity that offered of seating himself on the sofa beside her, and making himself agreeable. Upon hearing that he was staying for the present at Stanyon, she very cordially invited him to come to Whissenhurst with the Earl to an informal party she had the intention of giving before leaving for London. He accepted, but he did not feel it to be incumbent upon him to tell her that she might expect to have the pleasure of seeing him at Whissenhurst considerably before this date.

The Stanyon party soon took leave, and Lady Bolderwood went with Marianne upstairs to her dressing-room, in the expectation of hearing every detail of her visit. She did indeed hear that Marianne had enjoyed herself very much, that Lady St Erth had been kind, and dear Drusilla very kind, that the ball had been delightful, and she had had so many partners she could not remember the half of them; but it seemed to her that her daughter was rather abstracted. She supposed that she was tired from so much excitement, and expected her to profit by a long night’s rest. But on the following morning Marianne was more abstracted than ever; paid very little heed to Mr Warboys, who called at Whissenhurst on the plausible excuse of wishing to know how Sir Thomas was going on; and was three times discovered by her Mama to be lost in some day-dream: once when she should have been practising her music, once when she had been desired to wash the Sèvres ornaments in the drawingroom, and once when she should have been setting stitches in the sampler destined for her Aunt Caroline. Lady Bolderwood felt herself to be obliged to speak reprovingly to her, pointing out to her that if she allowed herself to be so much affected by one country-ball, a Season in London would transform her into a good-for-nothing miss, never happy except when at a party. Much discomposed, Marianne bent over the sampler, murmuring that it was not that, and indeed she did not care so very much for parties.

‘Well, my love, you must not let Stanyon make you discontented, you know. I daresay the Rutlands, and their set, may have been very agreeable, but I did not like to see you so uncivil to poor Barny Warboys.’

‘Oh, no, Mama!’ Marianne protested, tears starting to her eyes.

‘You did not make him very welcome, did you? One should never discard old friends, my dear, for new ones.’