‘Ay, will you so? And of me too, I daresay?’ said the Viscount.
‘I am sure that would be much more difficult,’ said Gervase meekly.
He spent the rest of the day (partic
ularly when the Viscount was present) either in attempting to use his left hand, and then, apparently, thinking better of it, or in tucking it into the front of his coat. These tactics very soon brought him under the notice of his friend, who demanded to know if his shoulder was paining him. He denied the smallest feeling of discomfort, and so swiftly turned the subject that the Viscount naturally became suspicious, and said: ‘I’ll take a look at it!’
‘You will do no such thing!’ retorted Gervase. ‘Much you would know if you did!’
‘I’ve seen a few shot-wounds in my time, dear boy! I’ll know fast enough if it ain’t healing as it should! However, we can fetch the sawbones to you, if you prefer it!’
‘I don’t! For God’s sake, Lucy, will you stop trying to cosset me?’
‘Don’t want to cosset you. Thing is, you may have strained it. Better lie up tomorrow, if a night’s rest don’t put all to rights again.’
‘Oh, fudge!’ Gervase said.
He appeared at the breakfast-table next morning, but he still seemed reluctant to move his left arm; and he admitted, upon being rigorously questioned by the Viscount, that he had not slept well.
‘Then let me tell you this, dear boy! You ain’t going to Whissenhurst this afternoon!’
‘But if the Bolderwoods are going to town tomorrow, I think I ought to take leave of them!’ objected Gervase. ‘After all, you will be driving, not I.’
‘Don’t be a fool, Ger! You’d be fagged to death! I’ll be the bearer of your excuses.’
‘Well, we’ll see,’ Gervase temporized. He glanced across the table at Martin. ‘Do you mean to go?’
‘No, I have business in Grantham this morning,’ Martin replied shortly. ‘I daresay I may be detained there. In any event, I’ve no thought of going to Whissenhurst!’
Gervase said no more, but rose from the table, and sauntered out of the room. Ten minutes later he was in the stables, inspecting Cloud’s forelegs.
‘Healed beautiful, me lord!’ Chard said.
‘They have, haven’t they? Chard, presently Mr Martin will be going to Grantham. Could you find business to take you there also? In case he should see you?’
‘I could, me lord, of course: nothing easier!’ Chard answered, looking at him intently. ‘Was your lordship meaning to go there too?’
‘No, in quite another direction. I am going to Evesleigh, and I wish to be very sure that Mr Martin does not take that road.’
Chard nodded, but said: ‘I’m thinking it’s all of ten miles, me lord, and the grays pretty fresh.’
‘I can handle them.’
‘I don’t doubt it, me lord, but – you’ll take young Wickham?’
‘Oh, yes!’
‘Well – not that you’d ever let him take the reins!’ said Chard gloomily. ‘If you’ll pardon the liberty, me lord, I wish you’d wait till you are a bit more robusto!’
‘Bastante! ’ said Gervase, smiling. ‘I must see Mr Theo, and as long as I don’t have Mr Martin on my heels I shall take no sort of harm, I assure you!’
‘Does he know your lordship means to go?’
‘No one knows but you. My shoulder is thought to be troubling me, and I shall presently retire to my room. Say nothing to Wickham! Just tell him to remain on duty while you are in Grantham, in case I should need him!’
He then returned to the house, dawdled through the morning, and by noon had confessed his disinclination to accompany Ulverston to Whissenhurst. Miss Morville rescued him from a renewed threat of having the doctor sent for, by saying that there was no occasion for summoning a doctor if only he would behave with common-sense, and rest, instead of unnecessarily fatiguing himself. He allowed himself to be persuaded to lie down upon his bed; and Ulverston, who had insisted on seeing him comfortably bestowed, was able to report to Miss Morville a few minutes later that he showed every disposition to go to sleep. Ulverston then took himself off to Whissenhurst; and Miss Morville went out into the gardens to take the air. Half an hour later, rounding a corner of the Castle, with the intention of entering through the east door, she found herself confronting the invalid, who had just emerged through that doorway.
The Earl halted, exclaiming ruefully: ‘Miss Morville!’