The Quiet Gentleman

He did not return to Stanyon until noon, and by that time the Viscount had driven himself over to Whissenhurst. Martin walked into one of the saloons just as his mother, Miss Morville, and Gervase were sitting down to partake of cold chickens and fruit. He brought with him two letters, which had been fetched up from the receiving-office. “One for you, Drusilla, and one for you, St. Erth. From Louisa,” he added. “Lay you a pony she wants you to invite them all to Stanyon in June!”

“From Louisa?” said the Dowager. “Why should Louisa be writing to St. Erth? Depend upon it, you are mistaken! It cannot be from her!”

“Well, it’s Louisa’s writing, and Grampound franked it,” said Martin, displaying the letter, which was directed in large, sloping characters, and stamped Free.

The sight of Lord Grampound’s signature, scrawled across one corner, convinced the Dowager that the letter was indeed from her daughter; and after satisfying herself that Martin had not misread The Right Honourable the Countess for the Right Honourable the Earl, she reluctantly allowed her stepson to assume possession of his property. While he broke the wafer that sealed it, and read its two crossed sheets, she maintained an unbroken flow of comment, surmise, and astonishment. “I do not understand what Louisa can mean by sending a letter to St. Erth,” she said. “What can she possibly have to say to him? Why has she not written to me? Are you sure there is not a letter for me, Martin?”

“Of course I am, ma’am!” he said impatiently. “The rest are for Theo, but he has gone off somewhere with Hayle.”

“It is most extraordinary!” she said, in a displeased tone. “I should have been very glad to have had a letter from Louisa.”

“My dear ma’am, you might have this one with my goodwill,” said Gervase, perusing the crossed lines through his quizzing-glass. “In fact, you shall have it, for I find Louisa’s writing quite baffling.”

The Dowager had no hesitation in taking the sheets from him. “Louisa’s writing is particularly elegant,” she said. “I do not find it all difficult to read. She would have done better to have directed her letter to me.”

“Does she want to come here?” demanded Martin.

“No, something about double-doors at Kentham, and Pug.”

“That creature!” ejaculated Martin, with a look of disgust. “What the devil has Pug to do with you?”

“Too much, I fear. Well, ma’am? What is it precisely that Louisa feels I can have not the least objection to doing for her? I fear the worst, and beg you won’t keep me in suspense!”

“You will be very happy to render Louisa your assistance,” stated the Dowager, in a voice that did not admit of argument. “Poor Louisa! But I told her how it would be, for I am sure there was never anyone more disobliging than Mrs. Neath, and now, you see, she will not answer above half the questions Louisa has addressed to her. It is all of a piece! She behaved in a very unhandsome way to Mrs. Warboys about a poultry-woman once, and when I heard Grampound had the intention of hiring Kentham I advised him rather to come to Stanyon, for, depend upon it, I said, you will not like to hire Mrs. Neath’s house, for she is a very disagreeable woman. You see what has come of it! Louisa cannot recall whether the two saloons can be thrown into one, or how many beds they are able to make up, and so St. Erth is obliged to drive there to discover how it may be! It is a great deal too bad of Mrs. Neath, and I should not be at all surprised if she has neglected to reply to Louisa’s questions on purpose to drag St. Erth into her set! She is a very encroaching woman, and I have never invited her to Stanyon, save on Public Days. If you do not care to put yourself in her way, Gervase, Theo may go in your stead.”

“My dear ma’am, Theo is going in the opposite direction to Kentham!”

“It cannot signify to him, if he goes first to Kentham. However, I daresay she will more readily accede to your requests than to his. He is not at all conciliatory — not that I should wish to conciliate Mrs. Neath, but how shocking it would be if she refused to permit poor little Pug to go to Kentham!”

“Are you going all that way to beg favours for Pug?” demanded Martin scornfully.

“I suppose so. Something tells me it would be the wisest course. I may as well drive over to Kentham this afternoon, for I have nothing else to do — unless I go with you, after these kestrels of yours.”

“Oh — ! If you choose! But I daresay I shan’t get a sight of them,” Martin replied ungraciously. “You will be wasting your time, I expect — and I may stay out later than you would like, on the chance of a rabbit or two.”

“Then I had better go to Kentham,” said the Earl placidly. “I will pull up at the Wickton cross-road on my way back, in case you should still be out, and wish to be driven home.”

“No need: I’d as lief walk. It would fret me to know that you might be waiting for me.”

“As you please,” the Earl said, shrugging. “What had Helston to show you?”