THE SCANDAL OF THE TEMPLE
Now it chanced one night that Miss Crokerly wrote a letter after the bag
had gone to post, and Rosalie, seeing that it was dry and frosty, had
offered to take it to the pillar-box, which was a few minutes’ walk away
at the end of the next square. It was so pleasant out of doors that she
took the longest way, and having slipped the letter in the box, prepared
to take the same road back.
On turning a corner, her attention was attracted by someone coming
towards her, scarcely fifty yards away, reading a letter, so it seemed
to her, with apparently no more trouble than if it had been daylight.
But that fact, though it afterwards occurred to her, was forgotten in
the shock of recognising that here was Mr. Barringcourt.
Rosalie stood still under the gas-lamp, unable to move, paralysed with
fear. An instinct of safety should have made her move along, but here
she stood, courting observation by standing directly in the path, with
big wide eyes fixed upon his face. Just then he looked up with bent
brows and eyes. They came directly in contact with Rosalie’s white and
terrified face. In an instant his abstracted air vanished, and a very
present alertness took the place of his thoughts. Like a flash of
lightning Rosalie turned and sped the near way home, reaching the safety
of the doorstep in less than three minutes. She did not stop to breathe
till safe within the friendly shelter of the hall, where something told
her to regain a little composure, at any rate, before appearing before
Miss Crokerly. She went upstairs and removed her hat and the rich
evening wrap she had drawn round her, sat down for a little while to
recover her breath, and then descended to the drawing-room again.
Miss Crokerly, intent upon some fine needlework, did not look up on her
entrance; but Rosalie had one friend whose eyes were sharper and
perceptions more acute. The frog, whom she had left sitting upon the
timepiece, looked across at her. Rosalie gained assurance from that
glance.
She sat down without any remark, and took up the book she had been
reading, making some pretence of continuing her occupation as before.
“I’ve heard a rumour,” said Miss Crokerly presently, “that the Great
High Priest is resigning.”
“Who is he?” asked Rosalie absently.
“The Great High Priest of the Serpent,” continued Miss Crokerly. “I can
scarcely credit it, though. He is barely seventy-two. And he can have no
reason for it either. It’s an office never vacated till death. Dotage
doesn’t count.”
“Maybe he is more conscientious than most,” said Rosalie, rousing
herself from her own line of thought to take an interest in the
conversation.
“I don’t know, I’m sure. There have been whispers of it for the last
three years. I think he has enemies.”
“I suppose all men in prominent positions have.”
“Yes; but there are enemies and enemies. Now my opinion of the Great
High Priest is that he has hidden enemies, or perhaps he chances to be
merely unfortunate.”
“What do you mean?” asked Rosalie, beginning to be interested in the
conversation.
“Well, it began with a scandal. A rumour got about that he had admitted
a woman to see the Serpent, and some said such conduct was nothing short
of blasphemous. But that was either hushed up or contradicted.
Contradicted, I think, and then hushed up.”
“Would it be such a terrible thing for a woman to see the Serpent?”
Miss Crokerly smiled.
“Well, there’s a great deal of superstition and ignorance mixed up with
our religion, as all simple and right-minded people can see. But it
grows in suitable soil, so it’s strong and holds well together.”
“And did it not please the people that a woman had seen the Serpent?”
“Naturally not, after thousands of years of prejudice. Some of the
best—by that I mean the _narrowest_—women I know withdrew their support
(they were extremely wealthy) from the temple for some months during the
scandal. They said they felt the brightness of the Serpent had been
sullied.”
“Absurd!” said Rosalie; and the blood began to course a little quicker
through her veins from indignation.
“Well,” said Miss Crokerly slowly, “one can’t judge quickly. Of course
you know the Great High Priest is not allowed to have a wife. She is
separated from him the day he takes up office, and if he did admit a
woman from idle curiosity to see the Serpent—well, judged from one
point, it was very serious.”
“Maybe,” said Rosalie, whose tongue was itching to say much more. “But
do you think there was any truth in it?”
“Well, yes. A woman’s handkerchief with a red rose embroidered in the
corner was found upon the altar.”
“Never!” said Rosalie, with such a visible jump and accents so sharp
that Miss Crokerly looked up, and the frog’s eyes grew wide with
warning.
“It was so, indeed. My brother had it on good authority. One of the
Golden Priests went in that evening to offer the prayer at the New Moon.
He found it there. And then this hushed-up scandal followed.”
Again Rosalie was silent, why, she could scarcely tell. She recognised
the handkerchief, which in after events she had never missed. It was her
aunt’s birthday gift, with a little silk-embroidered rose in the corner
instead of a name.
“But why did the Golden Priest remark upon it?” asked Rosalie.
“That is what I say. And it is that which makes me think the Great High
Priest has enemies.”
“But such a thing as that, once died down, could not make him resign.”
“Perhaps not. But I don’t think it ever really did die down. And last
year at the ‘Feast of White Souls,’ after the Fast of Black Ones, as he
was coming out from between the curtains to sprinkle white confetti down
the temple aisles, a most unfortunate thing occurred. The crimson
curtain suddenly tore from the rings and fell, and there behind, to the
view of a mixed assembly, shone out the Golden Serpent. I was there
myself, having gone to hear the music, for on these occasions it is very
fine, and was sitting with my brother quite near to the choir stalls.”
“And what did you do?”
“Well, it was very strange, but we all instinctively did the same thing.
I took one real good look at the Serpent (and I don’t know any woman
there who didn’t, except those who screamed, and some who fainted, for
what, it would be hard to tell), and then, from a sense of what was due
to the male part of the congregation, we covered our eyes with our
handkerchiefs, and all turning our backs upon the God we worshipped,
were led solemnly out, with comparatively little confusion. The service
could not continue, and that event has made him the most unpopular man
on Lucifram.”
“Then,” said Rosalie, half laughing, half sarcastically, leaning back in
her chair, and looking at the fire, “I should say it would not be a bad
idea to introduce a ‘Feast of Handkerchiefs’ to take the place of the
unfortunate White Souls. A handkerchief betrayed one woman and saved the
rest. It should receive a place of honour in the temple.”
“What a pity he did not take it in that way,” said Miss Crokerly. “But
I’ve heard since that the occurrence has depressed him terribly. And the
last news is that he is resigning.”
“And which of the Golden Priests was it who spread the first report?”
“His name is Alphonso. I know him slightly, but do not care for him. I
think him ambitious, and unscrupulous, and narrow-minded. I cannot help
but think myself he is the greatest enemy the High Priest has, though
there are some who uphold him as the strictest and highest principled
man within the Church.”
“I dislike him already,” said Rosalie impulsively.
The other laughed.
“Well, you will have an opportunity of meeting him to-morrow night at
the Sebberens’. He is unmarried, so you may be as charming as you like
to him, and no one’s heart will break. But for all that he’s greatly run
after by the women. They regard the Golden Priests and the Great High
Priest as demi-gods.”
The Golden Priests were those whose rank came next to that of the Great
High Priest, and when this latter died his place was always filled from
this exclusive body of great men, the wealthiest and most powerful in
the Church of Lucifram.
“Oh! that will make me dislike him all the more,” said Rosalie. “The men
who are run after by women, and the women who are run after by men, are
both equally detestable. I mean, of course, in excess.”
“But that is fascination.”
“I prefer the fascination that is clever enough to captivate its own
sex.”
“Well, men admire him in an intellectual capacity.”
“A general favourite? Most insipid!”
“Really, Rosalie!” said Miss Crokerly, and she laughed.
“You cannot expect me to love him. A man should always be loyal to his
superior.”
“Well, of course, I am only giving you my own opinion. And you must not
repeat it on any account; because it is not generally believed or
certain that he might be prompted by motives of ambition to make known
the incident of the handkerchief.”
“I hope that if the High Priest does resign someone less self-seeking
takes his place.”
“Than Golden Priest Alphonso? But that is scarcely likely. He has Mr.
Barringcourt for his great friend, and—What is the matter, Rosalie? Your
cheeks are all aflame.”
“Oh! I—I—I’ve had springes of toothache all day, and the sudden pain
makes me flush. I’m all right now. What were you saying?”
“Alphonso is sure to succeed to the High Priestship sooner or later. He
has much influence on his side—the Prime Minister, and Lord High All
Superior for public and official friends, and Mr. Barringcourt, whom I
just mentioned, who has great influence in outside circles, and more
money apparently than even poor Geoffrey Todbrook had. Now there’s a man
for you to dislike cordially on the grounds of general favouritism. The
women idolise him, and men will hear no wrong of him.”
“And what kind of a life does he lead? Is he a good man?” asked Rosalie,
leaning forward and looking across at her.
“I don’t know. My brother thinks greatly of him, and so do I. But it’s
hard to tell who’s good and who’s bad when you come to private life.
There are so many things for and against it.”
“Of course.”
“Still, I think as rich men go, who are young and unfettered by
anything, he must be fairly good. I don’t remember ever hearing anything
against him. And I know he has carried out all Geoffrey Todbrook’s
wishes with regard to charities to the letter.”
“Is he executor?”
“Yes.”
“Then it would be surprising if he fell short of his duties, would it
not?”
“Perhaps so. I expect he too will be at the Sebberens’ to-morrow night
But if you have any conversation with Mr. Barringcourt at all, you
cannot choose but like him.”
“Is his temper unfailingly pleasant, then?”
“No; it isn’t altogether that. I have known him very absent and
off-hand. But I suppose people occasionally find that rather pleasant in
a world of suavity and insincerity.”
“I don’t agree with you. I’d rather have people unfailingly suave. It
spares a great deal of friction.”
“What has upset you, Rosalie? You are most argumentative to-night.”
“I expect you are spoiling me, and I’ve never been accustomed to it. You
should treat me with stern severity, and you would find me improve
wonderfully.”
“And you just preaching unfailing suavity.”
“Oh! I preach by the Creed of Contrary.”
But Rosalie’s argumentative mood sprang really from the irritation that
followed on the evening’s escapade.
In a cooler moment, and on reflection, she was not over and above proud
of the way in which she had fled so precipitately before the enemy. And
yet what was there to be done? To have stood still was to have hazarded,
so Rosalie thought, far more than she had any intention of hazarding.
She registered a mental vow never to go out at night alone again, and
wished, oh! wished most intensely, that nothing had tempted her out that
night. In her own room the frog broke the silence by saying:
“You seem very upset to-night.”
“Yes. I—I met Mr. Barringcourt, and I ran away.”
“What made you run?”
“I was frightened of him.”
“What harm could he work you?”
“Oh! he might have persuaded me in a moment of weakness I owed him a
debt of gratitude.”
“And yet you have the kiss of freedom on your brow.”
“Yes; but like most abstract things, it sank before the concrete.”
“You’ll get over it by the morning. Sleep upon it.”
“I should have had you with me. You have far less fear than I. The
farther off the episodes of Marble House become the more I dread them.
They seemed all right, and yet they were all wrong.”
“Miss Crokerly said you would probably meet Mr. Barringcourt to-morrow
night.”
“Yes, I know. And it was only this morning I congratulated myself he was
not in her set, and that I should never be likely to meet him.”
“If you meet Mr. Barringcourt to-morrow night, you won’t run away—will
you?”
“No; because it will be light, and there will be people about, and I
shall have you. No, I won’t run away in any case. But you will come with
me?”
“Of course! I should have very much enjoyed the fresh air to-night; but
you did not invite me.”
“I’m sorry. But I’ve paid the penalty of my negligence; from henceforth
you must never leave me.”
“What dress do you intend to wear to-morrow night?”
“The one I have worn all along.”
“It’s as shabby as if you’d been digging in it. But the morning may
bring you another.”
“I hope it may not be very heavy, in case I should have to depend on my
heels again.”