The Forest - Edward Rutherfurd [277]
‘I said nothing, because I had no idea if he would come,’ said Edward. ‘He often doesn’t,’ he added. ‘This is Mr Martell.’
The introductions were quickly performed, Mr Martell bowing again, with grave politeness to Gilpin and each of the girls, though it was hard to tell whether he was really interested.
‘Martell was in his final year when I came up to Oxford,’ Edward explained. ‘He was very kind to me. He used to talk to me.’ He laughed. ‘He doesn’t talk to everyone, you know.’
Fanny glanced at Martell to see if he was going to deny this. He didn’t.
‘You are of the Dorset family of Martell, perhaps?’ Gilpin enquired.
‘I am, Sir,’ Martell replied. ‘I know nothing about the Gilpin family, I confess.’
‘My family has Scaleby Castle, near Carlisle,’ Gilpin said firmly. Fanny had never heard him say this before and looked at her old friend with new interest.
‘Indeed, Sir? You will know Lord Laversdale, perhaps.’
‘All my life. His land marches with ours.’ This having been duly noted, Gilpin glanced towards Fanny and continued more easily: ‘You know of the Albion estate in the New Forest, I dare say?’
‘I know of it, although I have never had the pleasure of seeing it,’ said Mr Martell, again with a slight bow towards Fanny. There was, she thought, a faint tinge of warmth in his manner now, but it might just have been a trick of the light in the chapel.
‘Let’s go outside,’ said Edward Totton.
One of the delights of Merton College was its setting: for its buildings backed on to the open green space of Merton Field beyond which, across the Broad Walk, lay the lovely expanse of Christchurch Meadow and the river.
They made a pleasant group as they set out into this Arcadian scene, the two girls in their long, simple dresses, Mr Gilpin in his clerical hat, the two men in their tail coats and breeches and striped silk stockings. As they were leaving the college, Edward had kept up a lively discourse, explaining how his friend came to be staying in the vicinity, what a noted sportsman he had been at Oxford, and a scholar too, it seemed. But as they started across Merton Field, his supply of conversation seemed temporarily to have dried up, and as neither Fanny nor Louisa wished to lead the conversation with the stranger, and Mr Martell himself showed no inclination to say anything, Mr Gilpin stepped in, walking beside Martell while the other three followed, listening, just behind.
‘Have you taken up any career, Mr Martell?’ he enquired.
‘Not yet, Sir.’
‘You considered it?’
‘I did. At Oxford I considered entering the Church, but the responsibilities of my position decided me against it.’
‘A man may be the owner of a large estate and be a clergyman too,’ Gilpin pointed out. ‘My grandfather was.’
‘Certainly, Sir. But shortly after I completed my studies at Oxford a kinsman of my father’s died, leaving me a large estate in Kent: this in addition to the estates in Dorset, which will be mine on the death of my father. The two lie a hundred miles apart; unless I relinquish one – which would betray a trust laid upon me – I conceive that it would be impossible to carry out my duties as a clergyman as well. I could, of course, engage a perpetual curate, but if I do that there seems little point in taking holy orders.’
‘I see,’ said Mr Gilpin.
‘I think, perhaps,’ continued Mr Martell, ‘of entering politics.’
‘He’s looking for a seat,’ Edward now interrupted from behind. ‘I’ve told him he should talk to Harry Burrard. He decides who the members for Lymington will be.’ He laughed. ‘I think Martell should represent us, Mr Gilpin. What do you think?’
But whether the vicar of Boldre meant to reply would never be known, for Fanny suddenly cried: ‘Oh, look, Mr Gilpin! A ruin.’
The object at which