The Grey Monk

by T. W. Speight

“I am sorry not to be able to gratify your wish,” responded Lisle. “No portrait of Colonel Clare is known to be in existence.”

From the gallery they made their way by a side door into the grounds, where Shotover, the gardener, was awaiting them.

Among other things at the Chase which had suffered from neglect since Lady Clare’s death, owing to Sir Gilbert’s penurious style of living, were the gardens and glass-houses, for whereas Shotover had formerly had four able-bodied assistants under him, himself and a youth had now to attend to everything. As a consequence, many things had to be left undone, or only half done, much to the old fellow’s disgust: To-day, however, a whisper had reached him that the young gentleman whom he was presently to show over the grounds was none other than his master’s grandson and heir—although where he had so suddenly sprung from nobody seemed to know—and he determined to turn the opportunity to account in the way of pointing out the difference between past and present as far as his department was concerned, in the hope that his doing so might be the means before long of bringing about a more desirable state of affairs.

It was by no means displeasing to Luigi to be addressed by Shotover in such deferential terms, and to be appealed to almost as if he were already master of everything he saw around him. In return he put on a very gracious and affable demeanour, which secretly tickled Lisle even while it annoyed him, and agreed with Shotover that matters were in a very bad way indeed, and that he would not fail to bear in mind all that he had seen and heard while they had been together. He had already decided in his own mind upon several alterations and improvements originating in certain hints skilfully thrown out by the old man.

But all his new-found sense of self-importance vanished the moment he found himself back in Sir Gilbert’s presence. He could not have told himself why it should be so, but the fact was that under the baronet’s keen and penetrating gaze he seemed to shrink and wither, to have, as it were, every rag of self-deception stripped off him and made to recognise himself for the sorry scamp and swindler that he was. Small wonder that he felt he would rather be anywhere than in the company of his “grandfather.” Had he had to deal with almost any other kind of man he would have tried to curry favour by fawning and flattery, but something told him that in the present case such a course would be about the worst he could adopt. He tried to console himself with the hope that when he should have seen more of Sir Gilbert, and so have become more accustomed to his presence, this very disagreeable feeling would gradually wear itself away.

Lisle having some outdoor business to attend to left the others at the door of the library and went his way. Mrs. Clare’s stately beauty had not failed to impress him. He had found her somewhat reserved, and, while listening with apparent interest to all he had to say, originating few remarks of her own. He had, however, judged this reticence to be natural to her and not merely put on as a cloak for the occasion; and, in so thinking, he was not very wide of the mark, for at no time had Giovanna been a talkative woman, and now that she found herself in a sphere so new and strange it seemed to her that, for the present at all events, her wisest course was to listen to everyone and say as little as possible in return, and by so doing afford others no opportunity of gauging the depths of her ignorance.

Lisle found himself somewhat at sea when it came to a question of summing up Luigi. Sir Gilbert had furnished him with no information as to how and where the young man had been brought up, and, in lack of some such data, he felt as if he were floundering in the dark. Lewis Clare spoke English with the ease and fluency of one to the manner born, even to the point, judging from certain of his remarks, of being an adept in slang. That he was not a gentleman in himself was certain, and it was equally certain that he lacked the indefinable cachet of one who has been in the habit of mixing in good society. Yet it would be perhaps scarcely correct to call, him vulgar, using the term in its commoner acceptation. “None the less, he’s a conceited, ignorant young puppy,” concluded Lisle, “and the chances are that, with a free hand given him, he will develop by-and-by into something still more objectionable. Where has he sprung from, I wonder? and for what reason, has he been kept in the background all these years? Can it have been that Sir Gilbert himself had no knowledge till lately of the existence of such a descendant?”

But these were vain questions, as Everard Lisle was well aware.

“And now,” said Sir Gilbert after he had put a few questions, chiefly to Giovanna, on her and Luigi’s return from their round—“and now the time has come for me to enlighten you with regard to my intentions—that is to say, as far as they have reference to the present state of affairs. In what way I may see fit in time to come to change, modify, or even to wholly cancel the arrangements I now propose to make it is of course impossible for me even to conjecture. As for you, young sir,” turning to Luigi, “you will, for the present, take up your quarters here. There are certain acquirements to which you have hitherto had no opportunity of devoting yourself, but without at least a smattering of which no gentleman’s education can be considered complete. You are not too old to learn, and I shall look to you to do your utmost, under proper tuition and surveillance, to remedy the defects in question. I shall, of course, make you a certain money allowance, the amount of which I have not yet determined, but I tell you at once that although it will, in my opinion, be amply sufficient to meet the unavoidable menus frais of a person in your position, it will not admit of your launching into any extravagances or unnecessary expenses. And now one word of caution. See to it that on no account you allow yourself to become involved in debt. That is one of the few things I should find it difficult to overlook.”

Poor Luigi felt as if his heart were on the point of sinking into his boots.