Джорджетт Хейер - The Quiet Gentleman

“I had,” said the Earl. “Not, however, for any other reason than to safeguard you in case of accident. From the moment of your return to Stanyon until today, when you seem, very unwisely, to have given Chard the slip, I provided you with a witness who must have testified on your behalf had anything happened to me.”

“I never thought of that!” Martin said, much struck. “I must say, St. Erth, it was devilish handsome of you! When that fool, Leek, told me you had come here, and alone, I did wonder if I should not tell Chard the whole, and bring him with me. But then I thought he would very likely not believe a word of it, and prevent my coming after you into the bargain, so I gave him the bag. I suppose, if I had had time to consider, I need not have come at all, for Theo would never dare to harm you here! The thing was, it gave me the devil of a shock, when Leek told me! I thought you had been hoaxed, like everyone else, and anything might happen to you! Coming here quite alone like this! St. Erth, why did you?”

The Earl regarded his signet-ring for a moment. When he raised his eyes, it was at his cousin that he looked, not at Martin. He replied in a low voice: “To tell him that I knew. To put an end to it all, if I could, without divulging the truth to anyone. Here I could say what had to be said without fearing that your Runner’s ear might be glued to the keyhole. If I had sent for Theo to come to Stanyon, what a damnable situation must have been created! He could not have remained there, nor I have wished him to. You were already suspicious; so, I fancy, was one other. Lucy, the servants — they would all have thought it an odd circumstance if I were to have sent for Theo only to dismiss him within the hour! Well! You have frustrated a part of my design, but we can still prevent this affair from becoming generally known.”

“I don’t see that!” Martin objected scowling.

“I was afraid you would not,” said the Earl, dryly.

“It’s very well for you!” Martin said. “No one thinks you have been trying to murder anyone! Pray what about me?”

“Since the only certain information anyone outside Stanyon has is that I was shot by a man in homespuns, I fancy the accident will soon be forgotten. If it is seen that you and I stand upon very good terms, it will be concluded that whatever rumours were rife had no foundation in fact. I collect, from Dr. Malpas, that some of the rumours are so wild that already people are beginning to shrug up their shoulders, and to disbelieve the whole. Certain persons must be told, of course: Lucy, Chard, Miss Morville (though I think she knows already), but as for the world at large — let it think what it chooses! it will not long think you had anything to do with my accident.”

“But do you mean to do nothing?”Martin said indignantly. “He ought to be brought to justice!”

Theo, who had walked away to the fireplace, said over his shoulder: “You have imagined an ingenious story. Does it occur to you that not one word of it can you prove?”

“We’ll try that!” Martin flung at him.

“Not if I have my way,” interposed the Earl. “What, brandish this abominable affair in a criminal court? Set ourselves up to provide the vulgar with a nine-days wonder to gape at and exclaim over? I thank you, Martin, no!”

Martin was silenced. Theo said, in his usual, level tone: “You feel, then, that it would be possible to have me arrested, do you, Gervase? Does your fancy even lead you to suppose that I could be convicted on this evidence?”

“I could have you arrested. I think you would be acquitted. But it would ruin you, Theo.”

“I must suppose that it is your intention to ruin me.”

“No, it isn’t my intention, or my desire. I would prefer to send you to Jamaica.”

“Eh?” said Martin, startled.

Gervase turned his head. “Why not? Let him go out to manage the West Indian property! He himself has frequently said that he believed it to be ill-run; neither of us can doubt his ability to manage an estate.”

“But the West Indian property is mine!”

“Yes, and yours must therefore be the deciding voice.”

“Well, but — Of course, he can’t remain at Stanyon!”

“No.”

“I must say, that to be putting him in charge of anything,after what he has tried to do to us, seems to me the craziest notion I ever heard! However, if he can’t remain at Stanyon — and that he certainly cannot! — I daresay it may be best to send him to Jamaica. It would be bound to create a deal of talk and conjecture if he left us, and was still in England. Everyone would know there must have been something devilish bad to account for it, and I’m at one with you in wanting to hush the business up. Dash it, Gervase, it makes me as sick as a horse to think of a thing like this happening amongst us Frants! You had better do as you choose about it, I suppose!”

“Then will you, if you please, go and tell them to put my horses to, Martin?”

Martin glanced undecidedly at his cousin. “Well — ”

He caught the Earl’s eye, said, rather crossly: “Oh, as you please!” and walked out of the room.

There was a long silence. The Earl was absently studying the mountings of his pistol, a frown between his brows; and Theo continued for a full minute to stare down into the fire. He moved at last, and came back to the chair behind the table. He began mechanically to tidy the papers before him into heaps, saying in an expressionless voice: “I hope my successor will do as well by you as I have done.”

The Earl raised his eyes. “It is unlikely. I know that Stanyon has never had one who served it better, or loved it more. Alas, Theo! My father did you an ill turn, did he not?”

Their eyes met. After a moment Theo’s dropped to the pistol in his cousin’s hand. “Oh, put that thing away!” he said.

The Earl slid it into his pocket. “Go to Jamaica!” he said. “If my father, instead of bringing you up to think only of Stanyon, had given you this place, or some other, to have called your own! — if you would have let me repair his omissions — ! But it is all too late!”

“I never wanted anything either he or you would have given me!” Theo said.

“No. I suppose it became an obsession with you, a madness! And lately — forgive me! — there was an added reason, was there not?”

He saw Theo fling up a hand, and was silent. After a pause, Theo said heavily: “And if I go to Jamaica — what then?”

“Oh!” Gervase said, smiling, “you will turn the property into a flourishing concern, and then, I have no doubt, you will yourself become a landowner there, and a prosperous one, for you were born to succeed, Theo!”

Theo gave one of his short laughs. “You are a strange creature, Gervase!”

“No, why? I remember only a cousin who took care of my interests, of whom I was fond. The rest will be forgotten.” He got up, as he heard the sound of horses on the carriage-sweep. “I think I had better go, or we shall have Martin coming to fetch me. The West Indian business shall be settled as speedily as I can contrive. Good-bye — and God speed!”

He left the room before Theo could reply. Martin was waiting for him below the steps, seated in his curricle. “I’ve told Theo’s man I’ll send over to fetch the bay tomorrow. I am going to drive you home!” Martin announced belligerently. “I don’t want you laid up again, and you’re looking as queer as Dick’s hatband, let me tell you!”

“Thank you,” said Gervase meekly, climbing into the curricle.

“What did he say to you? Did he admit it?” Martin asked, setting the grays in motion.

“To tell the truth,” said Gervase, “we did not speak of it.”

“Good God! Well, does he mean to go to Jamaica?”

“Oh, yes!”

“He may count himself fortunate! And who is to fill his place? What a pickle it all is! He was devilish good at looking after our affairs, you know!”

“I fancy you might become as good.”

“I?” Martin exclaimed. “Are you asking me to become your agent?”

“No, that would be unsuitable. I shall employ an agent, but Theo was more than that. You could do much that he did — if you chose to!”

“If I chose to! Why, there’s nothing I’d liefer do!” Martin said. He added, in a burst of unwonted humility: “Mind, I may make mistakes! But if I do — I mean, when I do! — you will just have to tell me!”

Mr. Leek, when he found himself deserted by his employer, and with an unconscious lady on his hands, became a little flustered. Several agitated shouts for help having elicited no response, he knelt down, somewhat ponderously, beside Miss Morville, and tried to ascertain whether she was alive, or whether she had, as he was much inclined to fear, broken her neck. He was not without experience in such matters, and after he had cautiously raised her head, he felt reasonably assured that this ultimate disaster had not befallen her. He could not discover that she was breathing, but after a good deal of fumbling he managed to find the pulse in her wrist. It was certainly beating, so, heaving a sigh of considerable relief, he rose, puffing, to his feet, and went off to ring the iron bell which hung beside the entrance-doors. So vigorously did he tug at it that its summons brought not only a footman, but Abney also, hurrying from the servants’ quarters. It then became manifest to Mr. Leek that although the domestic staff might, if suitably adjured, render assistance, no constructive effort need be expected. Abney was so much appalled that he seemed unable to do anything but wring his hands, and demand distractedly what was to be done; and the footman merely waited for orders.

“The first thing as has to be done,” said Mr. Leek, “is to take and carry her to a sofy! You catch hold of her head, young feller, and I’ll take her feet!”

“Ought she to be moved?” Abney asked nervously. “Oh dear, oh dear, she’s very pale!”

“Well, don’t start to nap your bib!” said Mr. Leek, with a touch of asperity. “Anyone would look pale as was gone off into a swound! Her neck ain’t broke, that I do know, so that’s a comfort, anyways. If you was to lope off and fetch a female to her, you’d be doing more good than what you are now, standing about as like as ninepence to nothing, and asking whether she ought to be moved! O’ course she ought! Nice thing it would be if we was to leave a swell mort like she is laying about at the bottom of the stairs for anyone to tread on as wasn’t looking where they was going! Now, you lift your end, young feller, and gently does it!”

Thus encouraged, the footman carefully raised Miss Morville’s shoulders from the floor. Between them, he and Mr. Leek bore her into the Great Hall, and laid her down on one of the sofas. The footman thought she would be more comfortable if he placed a cushion beneath her head; Abney hovered about, wondering whether he should fetch the housekeeper, feathers, or a glass of water; and Mr. Leek, with great delicacy, smoothed Miss Morville’s dress carefully about her ankles. Having informed Abney that persons in her condition stood in more need of eye-water than Adam’s Ale, he told the footman to call Mrs. Marple, and made a discovery. Miss Morville had broken her arm.

“Well,” said Mr. Leek philosophically, as he disposed the limb across her bosom, “that’s what you might call Dutch comfort, because it might ha’ been worse.”

“I will send a message to the stables at once!” said Abney. “One of the grooms must ride for the doctor! Oh dear, I am sure I don’t know what has come over Stanyon! It seems to be one thing after another!”

He then hurried away; and after a considerable lapse of time, during which Mr. Leek first fanned Miss Morville, and then, with some misgiving, wondered whether he ought to cut her laces, the housekeeper, who had been enjoying a nap in her room, bustled in, armed with smelling-salts and sal volatile, and followed by a couple of chambermaids. Mr. Leek would have been glad to have resigned Miss Morville to their care, but after he had watched Mrs. Marple’s singularly unsuccessful attempts to administer a dose of sal volatile, and had forcefully dissuaded one of the chambermaids from moving the broken arm, for the amiable purpose of chafing Miss Morville’s hand, he decided that it was not the part of a chivalrous man to abandon his post.

By the time Abney came fluttering back to the Great Hall, several more persons had assembled there, including Turvey; and the housekeeper, alarmed by Miss Morville’s prolonged swoon, was threatening spasms.