Джорджетт Хейер - The Quiet Gentleman

“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.

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!”

Ulverston appeared to have some need of his instant services, which made it imperative for him to try feebly to respond to the appeal. He found himself to be without the strength to thrust away the hand that was preventing him from struggling to raise himself; and he was, on the whole, relieved to hear the other voice say: “Pray do not talk to him any more, my lord! He will do very well if you let him alone.”

He thought this the most sensible remark he had ever heard, and tried to say so. Raising his leaden eyelids again, he found that Ulverston’s face had disappeared, and that it was Miss Morville’s which now hung over him. She seemed to be wiping his brow with a wet cloth; he could smell lavender-water. It was pleasant, but he felt it to be quite wrong for her to be sponging his face. He muttered: “You must not! I cannot think ...”

“There is no need for you to think, my lord. You have only to lie still,” replied Miss Morville, in a voice which reminded him so forcibly of his old nurse that he attempted no further argument, but closed his eyes again.

He desired nothing more than to slide back into the comfortable darkness from which Ulverston’s voice had dragged him, but it had receded. He was aware of being in bed, and soon realized that it must be his own bed at Stanyon, and not, as he had mistily supposed, in some billet in southern France. He heard Miss Morville desire Turvey to tighten a bandage, felt himself gently moved, and was conscious of pain somewhere in the region of his left shoulder.

Ulverston’s voice asked anxiously: “Is it bleeding still?”

“Very little now, my lord,” replied Miss Morville.

“How much longer does Chard mean to be?” Ulverston exclaimed, in a fretting tone. “What if that damned sawbones should be away from home?”

The Earl found these questions disturbing, for they made him think that there was something he must try to remember: something that flickered worryingly at the back of his clouded mind. The effort to collect his thoughts made him frown. Then he heard Miss Morville suggest that Ulverston should go downstairs to receive Dr. Malpas. She added, in a low tone: “Pray remember, my lord, that we do not know how this accident occurred, but think it may have been a poacher!”

“Oh, don’t we know?” Ulverston said, in a savage under-voice. “Poacher, indeed! Chard knows better!”

“I particularly requested him to say nothing more than that,” said Miss Morville. “I believe it is what he would wish.”

A train of thought was set up in the Earl’s mind. He said suddenly: “She does not object to Pug, and they can make up ten beds.”

“That is excellent,” said Miss Morville calmly, sponging his face again. “Now you may rest.”

“What happened to me?” he asked.

“You met with a slight accident, but it is of no consequence. You will be better directly.”

“Oh!” His eyelids were dropping again, but he smiled, and murmured: “You are always coming to my rescue!”

She returned no answer. He sank into a half-waking, half-dreaming state, aware of an occasional movement in the room, but not troubled by it. Once, a firm, light hand held his wrist for a minute, but he did not open his eyes.

But presently he was disturbed, rather to his annoyance, by a new and an unknown voice, which seemed to be asking a great many questions, and issuing a tiresome number of orders. It was interrupted by Ulverston’s voice several times. The Earl was not at all surprised when he heard the strange voice say: “I assure your lordship I should prefer to have no one but Miss Morville and the valet to assist me.”

Ulverston seemed to think that Miss Morville could not assist the stranger. He said, in his most imperious tone: “Nonsense! She could not do it!”

“Yes, she could,” said the Earl, roused by this injustice.

There was a moment’s silence, then his wrist was firmly held, and the strange voice said, directly above him: “Oh, so your lordship is awake, eh? That is very well, and we shall soon have you feeling more the thing .... My lord, Miss Morville and I are old colleagues, and I know her to be equal to anything. You need not fear to leave the patient in our hands .... That table, if you please, my man — what’s your name? Turvey? Very good, set it there, and the bowl upon it. Now, my lord, I am afraid I must hurt you a trifle — just a trifle!”

It soon became apparent to the Earl that the stranger had grossly understated the case. The hurt he began to inflict upon his patient was considerable enough first to wrench a groan from him, and then to make him grip his underlip resolutely between his teeth. He was just wondering how long he could endure when a pang, sharper than the rest, took from him all power of resistance, and he felt himself to be falling into an upsurging darkness, and lost consciousness.

He came round to find that he was once again being commanded to drink. He obeyed, and was lowered on to his pillows, and heard a cheerful voice say: “There! You have nothing to do now but to go to sleep, my lord. I shall come to see you in the morning, and I expect to find you much more comfortable.”

“Thank you,” murmured the Earl, wishing that he might be left in peace.

The wish was granted. Silence fell, broken only by the rattle of curtain-rings, drawn along the rods, and the crackle of the fire burning in the hearth.

When the Earl opened his eyes again, it was to shaded lamplight. He saw Miss Morville rise from a chair beside the fire, and cross the room towards him, and said faintly: “Good heavens, what o’clock is it?”

“I have no very exact notion, my lord, but it doesn’t signify,” she answered, laying her hand across his brow. She glanced towards the door leading into the dressing-room, which stood open, and said: “Yes, his lordship is awake, Turvey. If you will come in, I will go and prepare the broth for him.”

“The housekeeper desired me to tell you, madam, that she should not go to bed, and would hold herself in readiness to prepare whatever might be needed.”

“Thank you, I will go to her,” Miss Morville said.

When she returned to the bedchamber, bearing a small tray, Turvey had raised his master a little against his pillows combed out his tumbled gold curls, and straightened the bedcoverings. Beyond thanking him for the various services he performed, the Earl said nothing, nor did Turvey encourage him to speak. He was deft in his ministrations, but quite impersonal, his impassive countenance not betraying his opinion of a household in which such shocking accidents could occur. Upon Miss Morville’s entrance, he moved away from the bedside, and began to pick up some scraps of lint which had been allowed to fall on the floor. He then bowed, and said that he should be in the dressing-room when Miss Morville had need of him, and withdrew, closing the door behind him.

The Earl watched Miss Morville set down her tray on a table drawn up beside his bed, and said: “I remember now. Who — Did Chard see — ?”

“No,” she replied, seating herself, and picking up the bowl from the tray. “The horses, you know, were bolting, and by the time Chard had checked them you had lost consciousness, and he knew that it was more important to bring you home than to try to discover who had wounded you. Will you see if you can swallow some broth now? Oh, no! don’t disturb yourself! I am going to feed you.”

The Earl, who had tried to raise himself, said ruefully: “I seem to be as weak as a cat!”

“You lost a great deal of blood,” she said matter-of-factly. “If I were you, I would not try to talk.”

“Yes, but I must know — ” He broke off, for she had presented a spoon to his lips. He swallowed the broth in it, and said: “This is absurd! I am sure, if you could thrust another pillow behind me, I could feed myself!”

“I expect you could,” she agreed, presenting another spoonful. “You may do so, if you wish it very much.”

“I ought to do so,” he said, smiling, and submitting. “You should be in bed: I am persuaded it must be very late.”

“I shall go to bed when you have had your broth. Do not tease yourself! I settled it with Turvey that I should remain with you for the first part of the night.”

“Indeed, I am very much obliged to you — and very much ashamed to have put you to such trouble!”

“You need not be. It is no hardship for me. I have frequently helped to nurse my brothers.”

He attempted no further expostulation, but after a minute or two said again: “I must know. After I was hit — ”

“I am afraid,” she interrupted apologetically, “that I can tell you nothing, for I have been almost continually in this room, you know. Chard saw no one, and, as I have said, he dared not stop.”

He moved restlessly, frowning. “Yes, but — Lucy must not — I seem to remember hearing him say something! To you, was it?”

“He did say something to me, but there is no need for you to fret yourself, my lord. We are agreed that it would be most improper to give utterance to suspicions for which there may be no real grounds.”

A slight smile touched his lips. “You mean that you have prevailed upon Lucy to hold his peace. I might depend on you for good sense!”

“Certainly you might, but it will be better if you think no more on this subject until you are a little stronger,” she replied.

“Don’t let Lucy quarrel with Martin!”

“He will not do so.”

“You don’t know him! He must not tax Martin with this, and that is what I fear he may have done.”

“I assure you, upon my word, he has not.”

“What has Martin said?”

She turned away to put the bowl back on the tray, and answered, without looking at him: “Nothing, my lord.”

“Nothing?”

“I have been busy,” she reminded him. “I have not seen Martin.”

“I daresay you might not, but — ”