He was received in his bedchamber by Turvey, who palpably winced at the sight of him. “I know, Turvey, I know!” he said. “My coat will never be the same again, do what you will, and I am sure you will do everything imaginable! As for my cravat, I might as well wear a Belcher handkerchief, might I not?”
“I am relieved to see that your lordship has sustained no serious injury,” responded Turvey repressively.
“You must be astonished, I daresay, for you believe me to be a very fragile creature, don’t you?”
“The tidings which were brought to the Castle by Miss Bolderwood were of a sufficiently alarming nature to occasion anxiety, my lord.”
“Oh, so that is how the news was spread!”
“Miss Bolderwood had but just stepped down from my Lord Ulverston’s curricle when your lordship’s horse bolted past them. I understand that the young lady sustained a severe shock. Permit me, my lord, to relieve you of your coat!”
The Earl was seated at his dressing-table when, some twenty minutes later, Ulverston came into his room. He was dressed in his shirt and his satin knee-breeches, and was engaged on the delicate operation of arranging the folds of a fresh cravat into the style known as the Napoleon. At his elbow stood Turvey, intently watching the movements of his slender fingers. A number of starched cravats hung over the valet’s forearm, and three or four crumpled wrecks lay on the floor at his feet. The Earl’s eyes lifted briefly to observe his friend in the mirror. “Hush!” he said. “Pray do not speak, Lucy, or do anything to distract my attention!”
“Fop!” said the Viscount.
Turvey glanced at him reproachfully, but Gervase paid no heed. He finished tying the cravat, gazed thoughtfully at his reflection for perhaps ten seconds, while Turvey held his breath, and then said: “My coat, Turvey!”
A deep sigh was breathed by the valet. He carefully disposed the unwanted cravats across the back of a chair, and picked up a coat of dark blue cloth.