The Quiet Gentleman Read online

  Miss Morville said that she would be at Stanyon, and would take care of Marianne.

  ‘My dear,’ said Lady Bolderwood, pressing her hand, ‘if it were not for that circumstance I could not bring myself to consent to such an arrangement! I should not say it, but I have no great liking for Lady St Erth! Then, too, it has to be remembered that Marianne is an heiress, and if there is one thing above all others which I do not wish, it is to see her exposed to every gazetted fortune-hunter in England! She is too innocent to detect mere flattery; and even were Lady St Erth the best-natured woman alive, which I do not scruple to assert she is not, it would be unreasonable to expect her to guard a young girl as her own mother would!’

  Miss Morville, who had written all the invitations for the Dowager, said that she did not think that Marianne would encounter any fortune-hunters at Stanyon. She added that the ball would be quite a small one, and that the guests, for the most part, were already known to Lady Bolderwood. With this assurance the anxious mother had to be content.

  She sent a loving message of farewell to Marianne; and Marianne, who anticipated no attacks, either upon her expectations or upon her virtue, danced out to the landaulet, with her eyes and her cheeks aglow with happiness. She looked so pretty, in a swansdown-trimmed bonnet and pelisse, that Martin caught his breath at sight of her.

  So, too, a little later, did Lord Ulverston.

  After his first rapture at the thought of having Marianne to stay at Stanyon had abated a little, it had occurred to Martin that the visit would afford his half-brother many undesirable opportunities for flirtation. It had not occurred to him that he might find a rival in Lord Ulverston, for although his lordship certainly drove a magnificent team of horses, wore the coveted insignia of the Whip Club, and showed himself in all respects a man of fashion, he was not handsome, and his figure, seen beside any one of the three Frants, was not imposing. Martin, who stood over six foot in his bare feet, thought of him as a little on the squat. He was, in fact, of medium height and compact build; and if his features were not classical his smile was engaging, and his address considerable. It almost deserted him at the dazzling sight which met his eyes, but he made a quick recover, and sprang forward to hand Marianne out of the carriage before Martin had dismounted, and long before the Dowager had performed the proper introductions.

  Since the dinner-hour at Stanyon was at half-past six, Miss Morville lost no time in escorting Marianne to her bedchamber, a pleasant room next to her own, with a modern, barred grate, and a comfortable tent-bed. Marianne, looking about her at the flowered wallpaper, and all the evidences of up-to-date taste, seemed a little disappointed, and confided that she had expected to find herself in a panelled room, with a four-poster bed, and a powder-closet.

  ‘Well, it could be arranged for you to sleep in one of the panelled rooms,’ said Miss Morville. ‘Only it will set you at a little distance from me, and I had thought you would prefer to be near me.’

  Marianne assured her that she would not change her room for the world. ‘I thought all the rooms were panelled!’ she explained. ‘Is not the Castle of vast antiquity?’

  ‘Oh, not this part of it!’ said Miss Morville. ‘I think it was built at the time of Charles II. I fancy that not much of the original Castle still remains. If you are interested in antiquities, you should ask Theo Frant to take you over the whole building: he knows all about it.’

  ‘Is it haunted?’ breathed Marianne, in delightful trepidation.

  ‘Oh, no, nothing of that sort!’ Miss Morville said reassuringly. She then perceived that she had given the wrong answer, and added: ‘At least, it may be, but I am not at all fanciful, you know, and I daresay I might not be conscious of the supernatural.’

  ‘Oh, but, Drusilla, if a spectre without a head were to walk the corridors, or a female form in gray draperies, surely you would be conscious of it!’ cried Marianne, much shocked.

  ‘If I saw a female form in gray draperies I should take it for Lady St Erth,’ said Miss Morville apologetically. ‘She has a gray dressing-gown, you see. However, a headless spectre would certainly surprise me very much. Indeed, it would very likely give me a distaste for the Castle, so I hope I never shall see such an apparition.’

  ‘Give you a distaste for the Castle! Oh no, how can you be so unromantic?’ protested her youthful friend.

  ‘To own the truth,’ replied Miss Morville candidly, ‘I can perceive nothing romantic in a headless spectre. I should think it a very disagreeable sight, and if I did fancy I saw such a thing I should take one of Dr James’s powders immediately!’

  Marianne was obliged to laugh; but she shook her head as well, and was persuaded that her friend could not be serious.

  Miss Morville then went to her own room, to change her dress, promising to discover from Theo if they might reasonably expect to see a horrid apparition in any part of the Castle. She returned presently to escort Marianne to the Long Drawing-room, and, finding her charmingly attired in sprigged muslin, strongly recommended her to wrap a shawl round her shoulders. Though the Castle might lack a ghost, she said, it was well-provided with draughts.

  ‘Provoking creature!’ Marianne pouted. ‘You are determined to be prosaic, but I shan’t attend to you!’

  They found the rest of the party already assembled in the Long Drawing-room, gathered about a noble fire. The Earl came forward to draw the young ladies into the circle, and Marianne, with a droll look, complained of Drusilla’s insensibility. ‘But she says that I must ask you, Mr Frant, for the history of Stanyon, and you will tell it all to me – all about the secret dungeons, and the oubliette, and the ghost!’

  Theo smiled, but replied ruefully that he could offer her neither ghost nor oubliette. ‘And I hardly dare to tell you that the dungeons were converted many years ago into wine cellars!’ he confessed. ‘As for ghosts, I never heard of one here, did you, Gervase?’

  ‘None beyond the shade that flits across the Fountain Court, weeping, and wringing its hands,’ the Earl replied, with a composed countenance.

  Marianne clasped her own hands together, and fixed her eyes on his face. ‘Oh, no! Do you mean it? And is that the only ghost? Does it not enter the Castle?’

  ‘I have never known it to do so,’ he said truthfully. ‘Of course, we have not put you in the Haunted Room – that would never do! The noise of clanking chains would make it impossible for you to sleep, and the groans, you know, are dreadful to hear. You will not be disturbed by anything of that nature, I hope. And if you should happen to hear the sound of a coach-and-four under your window at midnight, pay no heed!’

  ‘For shame, Gervase!’ exclaimed Theo, laughing, as Marianne gave an involuntary shudder.

  ‘What is that you are saying, St Erth?’ called the Dowager, breaking off her conversation with Ulverston. ‘You are talking a great deal of nonsense! If any such thing were to happen I should be excessively displeased, for Calne has orders to lock the gates every night.’

  ‘Ah, ma’am, but what can locked gates avail against a phantom?’

  ‘Phantom! Let me assure you that we have nothing of that sort at Stanyon! I should not countenance it; I do not approve of the supernatural.’

  Her disapproval was without its effect, the gentlemen continuing to tease Marianne with accounts of spectres, and Martin achieving a decided success with a very horrid monkish apparition, which, when it raised its head, was seen to have only a skull under its cowl. ‘It is known as the Black Monk of Stanyon,’ he informed Marianne. ‘It – it appears only to the head of the house, and then as a death-warning!’

  She turned her eyes involuntarily towards Gervase. ‘Oh, no!’ she said imploringly, hardly knowing whether to be horrified or diverted. ‘You are not serious!’

  ‘Hush!’ he said, in an earnest tone. ‘Martin should not have disclosed to you the Secret of Stanyon: we never speak of it! It is a very dreadful sight.’