‘Why, how is this? I had thought you liked her! You threatened to bring her here, didn’t you?’
‘There was really no danger of my doing so, however.’
‘What a hand you are! I must say, I wish my father had not allowed her to settle at Studham, for she is bound to live for ever, only to spite me.’
‘You had better give her notice to leave.’
‘Well, I would, but the thing is that I don’t know that it would suit me to live there myself,’ said Martin ingenuously. ‘To be at such a distance from Quorndon Hall! I don’t know how I should go on.’ He paused, and added: ‘Of course, if you would like to be rid of me –’
‘No, not at all. Check, Miss Morville!’
‘Black must resign, I believe. You will chase my King all over the board.’
‘Where is Ulverston?’ asked Martin abruptly.
‘I fancy he has ridden out.’
‘Oh!’ The lowering expression descended on to Martin’s brow. ‘How long does he mean to remain at Stanyon?’
‘I have no idea.’
‘I thought he meant only to stay for a day or two,’ Martin muttered.
The Earl made no reply. Theo said: ‘Well, if I am to do your business for you, Martin, it will be well if I have your instructions. Are you at liberty? Come to my room!’
‘Oh, you will manage better than I should, I daresay!’ Martin said, shrugging, but following him to the door. ‘But I wish you will look into what that stupid fellow Mugginton is about! How my father came to appoint such a saphead as bailiff I don’t know! Why, the last time I was there, he was talking of putting the Long Acre down to wheat! Now, Theo, you know –’
The closing of the door cut off the end of this sentence. Miss Morville said, as she restored the chessmen to their box: ‘It is a pity that he and Lady Cinderford cannot agree, for he needs occupation, and nothing would suit him so well as to be managing an estate. I believe he knows as well what should be done as your bailiff does.’
‘I fancy he will never live at Studham. It is extremely profitable, however, so if he chooses to do so he may buy himself a house in Leicestershire.’
She considered this, but shook her head. ‘I think he would not be happy there. I daresay you may not have talked with him very much, or he might be shy of confiding in you, but his thoughts are bound up in Stanyon. He loves it, you know.’
‘For him it is full of the happiest memories,’ he remarked.
She raised her eyes to his face. ‘Do you dislike it so very much, my lord?’
‘Why, no! I am learning to like it pretty fairly, I think. I imagine it must have every inconvenience known to man, but it might be made tolerably comfortable, if one cared enough to set about the task.’
‘Well, I hope you will care enough,’ she said. ‘And, if I were you, my lord, the first thing that I would do would be to make one of the saloons on this floor, which nobody ever uses, into a dining-parlour! Then you might not be obliged to partake of dishes that are cold before ever they reach the table!’
He laughed. ‘An advantage, I own! When I undertake my improvements, I shall certainly come to you for advice, ma’am!’
‘I don’t suppose that you will,’ she replied. ‘You will, instead, place the whole in the hands of some fashionable architect, and he will build you another wing, so that you will find yourself worse off than before.’
‘Very much worse off, if I am to employ a fashionable architect! Whom have you in mind? Nash? Beyond my touch, I fear!’
‘I don’t think,’ she said seriously, ‘that Mr Nash’s style would be at all suitable for Stanyon.’
The news that Theo was about to set out, as he had punctually done for several years, on visits to the Earl’s various properties naturally afforded the Dowager with matter for surprise and complaint. She said a great many times that she had had no notion that he had meant to go away; and long before she had reached the end of her objections to the project the uninitiated might well have supposed that Mr Theodore Frant spent the better part of each year in jauntering about the country, while everything at Stanyon was left at a stand. He met her complaints with unmoved patience, only taking the trouble to answer them when she demanded a response from him. From having looked upon any enlargement of the family-party at Stanyon with bitter misgiving, she had now reached the stage of bemoaning its break-up. It occurred to her that with Theo absent her whist-table must depend upon Miss Morville for its fourth; and this circumstance brought to her mind the imminent return of Mr and Mrs Morville to the neighbourhood, and their daughter’s consequent departure from Stanyon. ‘And then, I daresay, you will be going to London, St Erth,’ she said. ‘I am sure I do not know what I shall do, for I have no intention of removing to town until May. London does not agree with my constitution. When Martin goes, he may stay with his sister. She will be very glad to welcome him, I daresay.’
‘Stay with Louisa, and that prosy fool of a husband of hers?’ exclaimed Martin. ‘No, I thank you! Besides, I may not go to London at all!’
‘Not go to London! You will go to the Bolderwoods’ ball!’
‘I don’t know that,’ Martin said sullenly.
This astonishing announcement set up a fresh train of thought in the Dowager’s mind, even more unwelcome to her audience. She could not imagine what her son could be thinking about, for she was sure that if he had said once that he should go to London when the Bolderwoods left Lincolnshire he had said it a hundred times. No efforts were spared either by Gervase or by Miss Morville to introduce a topic of conversation that would give her thoughts another direction, but they were unavailing: she continued to wonder and to comment until her exasperated son abruptly left the room.
Her egotism did not permit her often to trouble herself with the concerns of others, but Martin was her darling, and if she did not go to the length of putting his interests before her own convenience, at least she grudged no time spent in discussing his welfare. She feared that a lovers’ quarrel must have estranged Martin from Miss Bolderwood; and when Miss Morville, to whom she confided this solution, ventured to suggest that whatever Martin’s feelings might be Marianne had given no one reason to suppose that she favoured him more than any of her other suitors, she was incredulous. She must think it an absurdity that any young woman should not fall in love with Martin. She had signified her approval of the match, so what could be the hindrance, excepting only some nonsensical tiff? Could it be that the Bolderwoods had not presumed to think her kindness to their daughter a hint that she would not object to receiving her as a member of the family? She believed Sir Thomas to be a very respectable man, who would be anxious not to encroach: she had a very good mind to drive over to Whissenhurst to set his mind at rest on this score.
Miss Morville was not easily daunted, and although this suggestion might make her blench she contrived to conceal her dismay, and to argue her ladyship out of a decision which could only lead, she believed, to a painful scene with Sir Thomas.
‘Can it be,’ demanded the Dowager, suddenly struck by a new idea, ‘that the Bolderwoods are hopeful of drawing St Erth in? Upon my word, that would be a high flight indeed! I had not believed Sir Thomas to be capable of such presumption, for the Earl of St Erth, you know, may look as high as he may choose for a bride, and had there been the least chance of Martin’s succeeding to the title I should not have countenanced the Bolderwood connection for a moment!’
‘I do not think, ma’am, that such a thought has entered Sir Thomas’s head. He and Lady Bolderwood consider Marianne to be too young to be thinking of marriage.’
‘Depend upon it, my dear, a girl is never too young for her parents to be scheming to make a good match for her,’ said the Dowager. ‘I shall drive over to Whissenhurst, and just drop a hint that an alliance with St Erth would be most unacceptable to me. I assure you, I should oppose it with my dying breath!’
Miss Morville found no difficulty in believing her; her dependence on the likelihood of this opposition’s being attended to, either by the Earl or by Sir Thomas, was less secure, and she renewed her efforts to dissuade her ladyship from a mission which could only end in her discomfiture. By dint of discovering in herself a great desire to see Marianne again, and stressing the propriety of discovering exactly how the case might be before her ladyship moved in it, she succeeded in persuading her to postpone her visit to Whissenhurst until she had been put in possession of all the facts. These she engaged herself to discover. It did not seem to her to be incumbent on her to suggest to the Dowager that it was an Austell and not a Frant who had succeeded in capturing the heiress’s affections. The shock would be severe, she knew; and she suspected that nothing less than a public announcement of betrothal would suffice to convince her ladyship that any other than a Frant had been accepted by the Bolderwoods.
Since Theo had formed the intention of riding to Whissenhurst on the following morning, to take formal leave of the Bolderwoods, Miss Morville applied to him for escort. He expressed his willingness to go with her, and they rode there together, in happy ignorance that Martin had set out earlier in the same direction.
It was inevitable that Theo should learn from her the reason for her visit, for he was so much in everyone’s confidence that it seemed the most natural thing to tell him what had passed between herself and the Dowager. He was not so much diverted as she had expected him to be, but said, with a forced smile only: ‘I have lived too long with her ladyship to be surprised by her absurdities. It must have been plain to everyone but herself from the first moment of his clapping eyes on her that Ulverston was much struck by Miss Bolderwood. The fact is that she would not readily be brought to believe that even a Howard or a Percy could be preferred to a Frant.’ He was silent for a moment, and then said: ‘I must suppose that the Bolderwoods, discovering that St Erth had no serious intentions, are anxious to secure Ulverston for their daughter. It is not to be wondered at.’
He spoke in his usual quiet way, but she thought that she could detect an undercurrent of bitterness in his tone, and said: ‘You do them less than justice, I think. Their ambition is merely to see Marianne happy.’
‘Certainly, but they may be pardoned for believing that the happiness of a future Countess is more likely than that of a mere commoner’s wife. I do not blame them: Miss Bolderwood is worthy of the highest honour.’
He said no more, and she did not pursue the subject, but turned the talk, after a minute’s silence, into less awkward channels.
Martin, meanwhile, had reached Whissenhurst a little earlier. As he rode in at the gate, he obtained a glimpse of Marianne through a division in the yew hedge which screened the drive from the gardens. He guessed that she was busy amongst the spring bulbs which had become one of her chief hobbies, and at once turned his horse towards the stableyard. Leaving the hack in the care of the head-groom, he made his way to the succession-houses which Sir Thomas had had erected at such enormous expense. She was not there, but just as Martin was standing irresolute, wondering if, by ill-luck, she had gone into the house again, he heard the sound of her voice uplifted in a gay ballad. It came from the potting-shed, and he strode up to it, and looked in, to find that she was alone there, engaged in transferring several white hyacinths from their separate earthenware pots to a large Worcestershire bowl. She made a charming picture, with her pale golden curls uncovered, and confined only by a blue riband, a shawl pinned round her shoulders, and a small trowel in one hand. She did not immediately perceive Martin, but went on singing to herself, and carefully pressing down the earth round her bulbs, while he watched her. Some slight movement he made which caught her attention; she looked round, and with a startled exclamation dropped the trowel.
He came into the shed, and picked up the trowel. ‘You need not jump and squeak!’ he said. ‘It’s only I!’
She took the trowel from him, and laid it down. ‘Oh, no! I did not mean – That is, I was not expecting – You gave me such a fright! Thank you! See, are they not perfect blooms? I am so proud of them, and mean to place them in Papa’s book-room, for he would only laugh, when I began my gardening, and said my bulbs would come to nothing, because I should forget all about them in a week. He will be regularly set-down!’
‘Marianne,’ he said, disregarding this speech, ‘I came because I must and will speak to you!’
‘Oh, pray – ! Of course I am always pleased to see you, Martin, but I can’t think what you should want to speak to me about! Don’t look so grave! It is such a lovely day, and when the sun shines I can’t be solemn – you must know I cannot!’
He was not to be diverted; he said: ‘You have not allowed me to come near you since the night of the ball. I frightened you – I should not have spoken to you then! – but you cannot have doubted my – my sentiments towards you!’
‘I hope we have always been good friends,’ she said nervously. ‘Pray do not pain me by speaking of what happened that night! You did not mean it – I am persuaded you did not mean it!’
‘Nonsense!’ he interrupted, almost angrily. ‘Of course I meant it! You know that!’
She hung down her head, faltering: ‘I am afraid I have not always behaved as I should. I didn’t guess – but it was wrong of me, if – if my conduct led you to suppose – that I was in the expectation of receiving a declaration from you.’
He looked at her with a kindling pair of eyes. ‘It was not so with you a week ago!’
‘I was foolish – Mama said I ought not –’
‘It is all since this frippery fellow Ulverston came to Stanyon!’ he interrupted. ‘You have been flirting with him, encouraging his advances –’
‘It is not true! I won’t listen to you! You ought not to say these things, Martin! you know you ought not! Pray do not!’
‘You think you may keep me on your string with all the rest, but you are mistaken! I love you, Marianne!’
She made a protesting gesture, and he caught her hand, and held it in a hard grasp. Words tumbled off his tongue, but she was too much distressed to listen to his vows to make her happy, if only she would marry him. Trying unavailing to free her hand, she gasped: ‘No, no, you must not! Papa would not permit me – indeed, indeed, this is very wrong in you, Martin!’
He now had possession of her other hand as well; looking up at him, she was alarmed to see so stormy an expression in his face. She could as readily have believed that he hated her as that he loved her, and the knowledge that her own light-hearted coquetry had roused so much passion filled her with as much penitence as terror. With tears trembling on the ends of her lashes, she could only utter: ‘I didn’t mean it! I didn’t understand!’
‘You thought differently once! Until St Erth came home! Is that what it is? First St Erth, now Ulverston! You would sing another tune if I were St Erth, wouldn’t you? By God, I think I begin to value you as I should!’
She was provoked into crying out against this accusation, her tears now falling fast. ‘It is untrue! Let me go! You are hurting me! Let me go! Oh, please, please let me go!’
There seemed to be little likelihood of his attending to her, but at that moment the Viscount, who had come out of the house in search of her, looked into the shed. Two swift strides brought him up to them; his hand gripped Martin’s shoulder; he said authoritatively: ‘That will do! You forget yourself, Frant!’
Marianne was released immediately. Martin spun round, the intervention, coming from such a source, being all that was needed to fan his passion to a flame. The Viscount was granted barely more than a second to read his purpose in his blazing eyes, but he was a quick-witted young man, and it was enough. He rode the blow aimed for his chin, countered swiftly, and floored Martin. Marianne, backed against the wall of the shed, uttered a little scream of terror, pressing her hands to her blanched cheeks.
The Viscount stepped quickly up to h
er, saying, with a reassuring smile: ‘Beg pardon! An infamous thing to alarm you so! Don’t cry! No need at all – word of a gentleman! Will you go into the house? Miss Morville is sitting with your Mama. You’ll find Theo Frant as well – overtook ’em on the road here! Say nothing about this to your parents! Much better not, you know!’
‘Oh, no!’ she said faintly. ‘But you won’t – you won’t – ?’
‘Lord, no!’ he said cheerfully, drawing her towards the door. ‘Nothing for you to tease yourself about!’
She whispered his name beseechingly, but he said, in a low tone: ‘Hush! Not now!’ and gave her a little push over the threshold.
Martin had picked himself up from among the shattered pots, and was furiously brushing the dirt from his person. The Viscount surveyed him sardonically. ‘Habit of yours – forcing your attentions on females who don’t want ’em?’
Martin’s fists clenched, but he kept them at his sides. ‘You’ll meet me for this, my lord!’
‘Tomfoolery!’ Ulverston said shortly.
‘You may name your friends! They will hear from mine!’
‘Good God, how can I meet you?’ demanded Ulverston. ‘I’m a guest in your brother’s house, you young fool!’
‘It is not my house! You’ve knocked me down: do you mean to deny me satisfaction?’
‘Y’know I’ve no taste for rodomontade!’ said Ulverston. ‘You should be thanking me for having given you the leveller you were standing in crying need of!’
He would have left the shed on the words, but Martin stood in his way. ‘Will you, my lord, name your friends, or don’t you care to pit your marksmanship against mine?’
‘Oh, go to the devil!’ snapped Ulverston. ‘Whom would you have me name? Your brother? Your cousin?’
Martin was for the moment nonplussed, but he recovered quickly, and said: ‘Mr Warboys will be happy to serve you!’
‘Thank you! I shan’t call upon him to act for me.’