The Quiet Gentleman by Georgette Heyer Page B

fairing-up. The date of the ball had been carefully chosen to coincide with the full moon, but not even so indulgent a parent as Sir Thomas would for a moment consider the possibility of driving some six miles to a party of pleasure if the moon were to be obscured by clouds, and the coachman’s vision still further impaired by driving rain.
    ‘Do we despair, Miss Morville?’ asked the Earl.
    ‘No, but if the weather continues in this odious way, I fear you will find your rooms very thin of company,’ she replied. ‘The people who are coming from a distance, and are to sleep here, will come, because they will set out in daylight, you know, and they will hope that the rain won’t come on, or that they may drive away from it. I should think you may be sure of the party from Belvoir, but I do feel that you should perhaps fortify your mind to the likelihood of your immediate neighbours not caring to set forth in wet, cloudy weather.’
    ‘I will endeavour to do so,’ promised the Earl gravely.
    Three days before the ball, the weather, so far from showing signs of improvement, promised nothing but disaster. The prophets said gloomily that it was banking up for a storm, and they were right. The day was tempestuous; and when the Stanyon party assembled for dinner even Martin, who had hitherto refused to envisage the possibility of the inclement weather’s persisting, took his place at the table with a very discontented expression on his face, and announced that he thought the devil had got into the skies.
    ‘Well, if it continues in this way, we must postpone the ball,’ Gervase said cheerfully.
    ‘Yes! And find everyone gone off to London!’ retorted Martin.
    He could talk of nothing but the probable ruin of their plans; and since no representation sufficed to make him think more hopefully of the prospects, not even his mother was sorry when, shortly after the party rose from the table, he said, after a series of cavernous yawns, that he rather thought he would go to bed, since he had the head-ache, and everything was a dead bore.
    The usual whist set had been formed, and so fierce were the battles fought over the table that none of the four players noticed that the wind was no longer rattling the shutters, and moaning round the corners of the Castle, until Miss Morville, who sat quietly stitching by the fire, lifted her head, and said: ‘Listen! the wind has dropped!’
    ‘I rather thought it would,’ observed the Dowager, gathering up her trick. ‘Indeed, I said as much this morning. “Depend upon it,” I said to Abney, “the wind will drop, and we shall have it fine for our party.” I flatter myself I am seldom at fault in my calculations. Dear me, St Erth, I am sure if I had known you had the King of Diamonds in your hand we might have taken a couple of tricks more!’
    ‘I am very much afraid, ma’am, that this is the lull before a storm,’ said Theo.
    So indeed it proved. After a brief period of quiet, a distant but menacing rumble of thunder was heard; and the Dowager instantly said that she had suspected as much, since nothing so surely gave Martin the head-ache as a thunderstorm.
    After half an hour, during which time thunder grumbled intermittently, Miss Morville announced that she too would go to bed. She said that she could wish that, if a storm there must be, it would lose no time in bursting into full force, and thus be the more quickly finished.
    ‘Poor Drusilla!’ Theo said, smiling. ‘Do you dislike it so very much?’
    ‘I do dislike it,’ she replied, with dignity, ‘but I am well aware that to be afraid of the thunder is unworthy of any person of the least intelligence. The noise is certainly disagreeable, but it cannot, after all, harm one!’ With these stout words, she folded up her needlework, bade good-night to the company, and went away to her bedchamber.
    ‘I fear we must expect to spend a disturbed night,’ said Mr Clowne, shaking his head. ‘There has been a feeling of