‘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 forelegs. ‘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.’
‘I conclude,’ said Gervase, a good deal amused, ‘that your Mama is of a practical disposition?’
‘Oh, no!’ replied Miss Morville serenely. ‘That is why she did not wish to form one of the colony. She has no turn for domestic duties: Mama is an Authoress. She has written several novels, and numerous articles and treatises. She was used to be a friend of Mrs Godwin’s – the first Mrs Godwin, I should explain – and she holds views, which are thought to be very advanced, on Female Education.’
‘And have you been reared according to these views?’ enquired Gervase, in some misgiving.
‘No, for Mama has been so fully occupied in prescribing for the education of females in general that naturally she has had little time to spare for her own children. Moreover, she is a person of excellent sense, and, mortifying though it has been to her, she has not hesitated to acknowledge that neither I nor my elder brother is in the least bookish.’
‘A blow!’ commented the Earl.
‘Yes, but she has sustained it with fortitude, and we have great hopes that my younger brother, who is now at Cambridge, will become distinguished. And, after all, there must be someone in a household who does not dislike domestic management.’
‘Is that your fate, Miss Morville?’ the Earl asked, rather touched. ‘Is your life spent in these rural fastnesses, performing a housekeeper’s duties? I pity you!’
‘Well, you need not,’ returned Miss Morville unromantically. ‘We are only to be found in Lincolnshire when Papa requires quiet for the performance of his labours. In general, we reside in London, so that Mama may enjoy the benefits of literary society.’
‘Forgive me, ma’am, if I say that it sounds to me like a dead bore!’