“Thank you, my constitution is really not so sickly as you must think it! Next you will bring me laudanum, as a composer! Set the thing down in the hearth, and don’t be so foolish again, if you please! Have they housed you comfortably?”

“I make no complaint, my lord. I collect that the Castle is of considerable antiquity.”

“Yes, parts of it date back to the fourteenth century,” said the Earl, stripping off his shirt. “It was moated once, but the lake is now all that remains of the moat.”

“That, my lord,” said Turvey, relieving him of his shirt, “would no doubt account for the prevailing atmosphere of damp.”

“Very likely!” retorted Gervase. “I infer that Stanyon does not meet with your approval!”

“I am sure, a most interesting pile, my lord. Possibly one becomes inured to the inconvenience of being obliged to pass through three galleries and seven doors on one’s way to your lordship’s room.”

“Oh!” said the Earl, a trifle disconcerted. “It would certainly be better that you should be quartered rather nearer to me.”

“I was alluding, my lord, to the position of the Servants’ Hall. To reach your lordship’s room from my own, it will be necessary for me to descend two separate stairways, to pass down three corridors; through a door permitting access to one of the galleries with which the Castle appears to be — if I may say so! — somewhat profusely provided; and, by way of an antechamber, or vestibule, reach the court round which this portion of the Castle was erected.” He waited for these measured words to sink into his master’s brain, and then added, in soothing accents: “Your lordship need have no fear, however, that I shall fail to bring your shaving-water in the morning. I have desired one of the under-footman — a very obliging lad — to act as my guide until I am rather more conversant with my surroundings.” He paused. “Or, perhaps I should say, until your lordship decides to return to London!”

Chapter 3

Neither the Dowager nor Miss Morville appeared at the breakfast-table next morning; and although a place was laid for the Chaplain, he had not emerged from his bedchamber when Gervase joined his brother and his cousin in the sunny parlour. His entrance disconcerted Martin, who was fairly embarked on a scathing condemnation of the clothing which he apparently considered suitable for country-wear. Since Gervase was impeccably attired in riding-breeches, top-boots, and a serviceable, if unusually well-cut, frockcoat, Martin’s scornful animadversions became, even in his own ears, singularly inapposite. Theo, who had listened to him in unencouraging silence, smiled slightly at sight of the Earl, and said to his younger cousin: “You were saying?”

“It don’t signify!” snapped Martin, glowering at him.

“Good-morning!” said Gervase. “Oh, don’t ring the bell, Theo! Abney knows I am here.”

“I trust no nightmares, Gervase?” Theo said quizzically.

“Not the least in the world. Do either of you know if my horses have yet arrived?”

“Yes, I understand they came in early this morning, your groom having stayed at Grantham overnight. An old soldier, is he?”

“Yes, an excellent fellow, from my own Troop,” replied Gervase, walking over to the side-table, and beginning to carve a large ham there.

“I say, Gervase, where did you come by that gray?” demanded Martin.

The Earl glanced over his shoulder. “In Ireland. Do you like him?”

“Prime bit of blood! I suppose you mean to take the shine out of us Melton men with him?”

“I haven’t hunted him yet. We shall see how he does. I brought him down to try his paces a little.”

“You won’t hack him during the summer!”

“No, I shan’t do that,” said the Earl gravely.

“My dear Martin, do you imagine that Gervase does not know a great deal more about horses than you?” said Theo.

“Oh, well, I daresay he may, but troopers are a different matter!”

That made Gervase laugh. “Very true! — as I know to my cost! But I have been more fortunate than many: I have only once been obliged to ride one.”

“When was that?” enquired Theo.

“At Orthes. I had three horses shot under me that day, and very inconvenient I found it.”

“You bear a charmed life, Gervase.”

“I do, don’t I?” agreed the Earl, seating himself at the table.

“Were you never even wounded?” asked Martin curiously.

“Nothing but a sabre-cut or two, and a graze from a spent ball. Tell me what cattle you have in the stables here!”

No question could have been put to Martin that would more instantly have made him sink his hostility. He plunged, without further encouragement, into a technical and detailed description of all the proper high-bred ‘uns, beautiful steppers, and gingers to be found in the Stanyon stables at that moment. Animation lightened the darkness of his eyes, and dispelled the sullen expression from about his mouth. The Earl, listening to him with a half-smile hovering on his lips, slipped in a leading question about the state of his coverts, and finished his breakfast to the accompaniment of an exposition of the advantages of close shot over one that scattered, the superiority of the guns supplied by Manton’s, and the superlative merits of percussion caps.

“To tell you the truth,” confessed Martin, “I am a good deal addicted to sport!”

The Earl preserved his countenance. “I perceive it. What do you find to do in the spring and the summer-time, Martin?”

“Oh, well! Of course, there is nothing much to do,” acknowledged Martin. “But one can always get a rabbit, or a brace of wood-pigeon!”

“If you can get a wood-pigeon, you are a good shot,” observed Gervase.

This remark could scarcely have failed to please. “Well, I can, and it is true, isn’t it, that a wood-pigeon is a testing shot?” said Martin. “My father would always pooh-pooh it, but Glossop says — you remember Glossop, the head-keeper? — that your pigeon will afford you as good sport as any game-bird of them all!”

The Earl agreed to it; and Martin continued to talk very happily of all his sporting experiences, until an unlucky remark of Theo’s put him in mind of his grievances, when he relapsed into a fit of monosyllabic sulks, which lasted for the rest of the meal.

“Really, Theo, that was not adroit!” said the Earl, afterwards.

“No: bacon-brained!” owned Theo ruefully. “But if we are to guard our tongues every minute of every day — I”

“Nonsense! The boy is merely spoilt. Is that my stepmother’s voice? I shall go down to the stables!”

Here he was received with much respect and curiosity, nearly every groom and stableboy finding an occasion to come into the yard, and to steal a look at him, where he stood chatting to the old coachman. On the whole, he was approved. He was plainly not a neck-or-nothing young blood of the Fancy, like his half-brother; he was a quiet gentleman, like his cousin, who was a very good rider to hounds; and if the team of lengthy, short-legged bits of blood-and-bone he had brought to Stanyon had been of his own choosing, he knew one end of a horse from another. He might take a rattling toss or two at the bullfinches of Ashby Pastures, but it seemed likely that he would turn out in prime style, and possible that he would prove himself to be a true cut of Leicestershire.

He found his head-groom, Sam Chard, late of the 7th Hussars, brushing the dried mud from the legs of his horse, Cloud. Chard straightened himself, and grinned at him, sketching a salute. “‘Morning, me lord!”

“You found your way here safely,” commented the Earl, passing a hand down Cloud’s neck.

“All right and tight, me lord. Racked up for the night at Grantham, according to orders.”

“No trouble here?”

“Not to say trouble, me lord, barring a bit of an escara-muza with the Honourable Martin’s man, him not seeming to understand his position, and passing a remark about redcoats, which I daresay he done by way of ignorance. Redcoats! The Saucy Seventh! But no bones broken, me lord, and I will say he didn’t display so bad.”

“Chard, I will have no fighting here!”

“Fighting, me lord?” said his henchman, shocked. “Lor’, no. Nothing but a bit of cross-and-jostle work, with a muzzier to finish it! Everything very nice and abrigado now, me lord. You’re looking at that bay: a rum ‘un to look at, but I daresay he’s the devil to go. One of his Honourable Martin’s, and by what they tell me he’s a regular dash: quite the out-and-outer! Would he be a relation of your lordship’s?”

“My half-brother — and see that you are civil to him!”

“Civil as a nun’s hen, me lord!” Chard responded promptly. “They do think a lot of him here, seemingly.” He applied himself to one of the gray’s fore-legs. “Call him the young master.” He shot a look up at the Earl. “Very natural, I’m sure — the way things have been.” Before the Earl could speak, he continued cheerfully: “Now, that well-mixed roan, in the third stall, me lord, he belongs to Mr. Theo, which I understand is another of your lordship’s family. A niceish hack, ain’t he? And a very nice gentleman, too, according to what I hear. Yes, me lord, on the whole, and naming no exceptions, I think we can say that the natives are bien dispuesto!”

The Earl thought it prudent to return an indifferent answer. It was apparent to him that his groom was already, after only a few hours spent at Stanyon, fully conversant with the state of affairs there. He reflected that Martin’s feelings must be bitter indeed to have communicated themselves to the servants; and it was in a mood of slight pensiveness that he strolled back to the Castle.

Here he was met by Miss Morville, who said, rather surprisingly, that she had been trying to find him.

“Indeed!” Gervase said, raising his brows. “May I know in what way I can serve you, Miss Morville?”

She coloured, for his tone was not cordial, but her disconcertingly candid gaze did not waver from his face. “I shouldn’t think you could serve me at all, sir,” she said. “I am only desirous of serving Lady St. Erth, which, perhaps, I should have made plain to you at the outset, for I can see that you think I have been guilty of presumption!”

It was now his turn to redden. He said: “I assure you, ma’am, you are mistaken!”

“Well, I don’t suppose that I am, for I expect you are used to be toad-eaten, on account of your high rank,” replied Drusilla frankly. “I should have explained to you that I have no very great opinion of Earls.”

Rising nobly to the occasion, he replied with scarcely a moment’s hesitation: “Yes, I think you should have explained that!”

“You see, I am the daughter of Hervey Morville,” disclosed Drusilla. She added, with all the air of one throwing in a doubler: “And of Cordelia Consett!”

The Earl could think of nothing better to say than that he was a little acquainted with a Sir James Morville, who was a member of White’s Club.

“My uncle,” acknowledged Drusilla. “He is a very worthy man, but not, of course, the equal of my Papa!”

“Of course not!” agreed Gervase.

“I daresay,” said Drusilla kindly, “that, from the circumstance of your military occupation, you have not had the leisure to read any of Papa’s works, so I should tell you that he is a Philosophical Historian. He is at the moment engaged in writing a History of the French Revolution.”

“From a Republican point-of-view, I collect?”

“Yes, certainly, which makes it sometimes a great labour, for it would be foolish to suppose that his opinions have undergone no change since he first commenced author. That,” said Drusilla, “was before I was born.”

“Oh, yes?” said Gervase politely.

“In those days, you may say that he was as ardent a disciple of Priestley as poor Mr. Coleridge, whom he knew intimately when a very young man. In fact, Papa was a Pantisocrat.”

“A — ?”

She obligingly repeated it. “They were a society of whom the most prominent members were Mr. Coleridge, and Mr. Southey, and my Papa. They formed the intention of emigrating to the banks of the Susquehanna, but, fortunately, neither Mrs. Southey nor Mama considered the scheme practicable, so it was abandoned. I daresay you may have noticed that persons of large intellect have not the least common-sense. In this instance, it was intended that there should be no servants, but everyone should devote himself — or herself, as the case might be — for two hours each day to the performance of the necessary domestic duties, after which the rest of the day was to have been occupied in literary pursuits. But, of course, Mama and Mrs. Southey readily perceived that although the gentlemen might adhere to the two-hour-rule, it would be quite impossible for the ladies to do so. In fact, Mama was of the opinion that although the gentlemen might be induced, if strongly adjured, to draw water, and to chop the necessary wood, they would certainly have done no more. And no one,” continued Miss Morville, with considerable acumen, “could have placed the least reliance on their continued performance of such household tasks, for, you know, if they had been engaged in philosophical discussion they would have forgotten all about them.”