Among the first persons to hear of David Powell's return to Whitford,
and his intention of preaching there, was Miss Bodkin. As the spectators
see more of the play than the actors, so Minnie, from her couch or her
lounging-chair, witnessed many a scene in its entirety, which those who
performed it were only conscious of in a fragmentary manner. The news of
the little town was brought to her through many various channels. Her
infirmity seemed to set her in a place apart, and many a one was willing
to play the part of Chorus for her behoof, and interpret the drama after
his or her own fashion.
Minnie's maid, Jane Gibbs; Mrs. Errington; and Mr. Diamond, had all
given her the news about Mr. Powell; and all in different keys, and with
such variations of detail as universally attend contemporaneous _viva
voce_ transmissions.
Jane Gibbs had a strong feeling of respect and gratitude towards the
preacher for his having "converted" her brother. And, being herself a
member of the Church of England, she looked upon his secession from the
main body of the Methodists with great leniency. She dared to say that
Mr. Powell would do as much good in Lady Lane as he had done in the
Wesleyan Chapel. And seeing that whether you called 'em Wesleyans, or
Ranters, or Baptists, or Quakers, or Calvinists, they were all
Dissenters, it could not so much matter whether they disagreed among
each other or not.
Mrs. Errington, without entering into that question, considered herself
peculiarly aggrieved by the circumstance that Powell had come to lodge
in the same house with her. "I am doomed, it seems, to be a victim to
that man!" said she to Minnie Bodkin. "At Maxfield's house I was
frequently disturbed by his hymns and his preachments; and even now, it
appears, I am not to escape from him. He absorbs Mrs. Thimbleby's
attention to a ludicrous extent. If you will credit the fact, my dear
Minnie, only yesterday morning my egg was sent up at breakfast greatly
over-boiled; and when I remonstrated with Mrs. Thimbleby on this piece
of negligence, what excuse do you suppose she made? She answered that
she was very sorry, but she had been getting ready a 'little
snack'--that was her expression--for Mr. Powell after his early
preaching, and it had slipped her memory that my breakfast-egg was still
in the saucepan! I have no doubt the man stuffs and crams himself at her
cost. All these dissenting preachers do, my dear."
Whereunto Minnie answered gravely, that it was a great comfort to Church
people to reflect that moderation in eating and drinking was entirely
confined to the orthodox clergy.
Mr. Diamond, again, took a different and more sympathising view of the
poor preacher. But even he was very far from entertaining the same
exalted admiration for Powell's character as was felt by Minnie. Matthew
Diamond had an Englishman's ingrained antipathy to the uncontrolled
display of feeling, from which Powell's Welsh blood by no means
revolted. Diamond could never divest himself of a lurking notion that no
man would publicly exhibit deep emotion if he could help it; and
consequently he looked on all such exhibitions as rather pitiable
manifestations of infirmity, or else as mere clap-trap and play-acting.
Of the latter it was impossible to suspect Powell. Diamond had the
touchstone of truthfulness within himself; and it sufficed to convince
him that the preacher, however wild and mistaken, was sincere. "Yes," he
said to Miss Bodkin, "there can be no doubt that the man's soul is as
clear from guile as an infant's. But it is a pity he cannot suppress
the outbursts of enthusiasm which exhaust him so much."
"He does not wish to suppress them," answered Minnie. "He looks on them
as a means specially vouchsafed to him for moving others, and--to use
his own words--saving souls. Some sober, sensible persons remind me,
when they speak of David Powell, of a covey of barn-door fowls,
complacently staring up at a lark, and exclaiming, 'Poor creature, how
unpleasant it must be for it to have to soar and gyrate in that giddy
fashion; and making that shrill noise all the time, too! How it must
envy us our constitutions!'"
"I suppose I am one of the barn-door fowls, Miss Bodkin?"
"Well--perhaps! Or, rather, you have lived among them until it seems to
you that higher-flying creatures have something a little ridiculous
about them. And you forcibly restrain any upward tendencies of wing--at
least in the presence of your mates of the barn-door."
"I am flattered to be credited with some upward tendencies, at any rate!
But, Miss Bodkin, to drop metaphor, in which I cannot attempt to compete
with you, I must be allowed to maintain that Powell's outbursts of
excitement are neither good for himself nor others. They are morbid, and
not the healthy expression of a healthy nature, like the lark's singing
and soaring."
"You have seen Powell since his return. How does he seem to be in
health?"
"In bodily health not, perhaps, so much amiss, although he is greatly
emaciated and startlingly pale. But his mind is in a strange state."
"He was always enthusiastic."
"He is enthusiastic for others, but as regards himself his mind is a
prey to overwhelming gloom. I see a great change for the worse in him in
that respect."
Minnie felt a strong desire to see the preacher again. She
compassionated him from her heart, and thought she might be able to
administer some comfort to him, as regarded Rhoda Maxfield. There were
days when Minnie was able to walk from one room to another with the
assistance of a crutched stick; and it occurred to her that if Mrs.
Thimbleby would allow her house to be made the place of meeting, she
might see and speak with Powell there more privately, and with less
danger of exciting gossiping remark, than elsewhere. Minnie had once or
twice latterly driven to the widow Thimbleby's house to see Mrs.
Errington, or leave a message for her, although she had never mounted to
her sitting-room. For the ladder-like staircase, which was an imaginary
difficulty in the way of Castalia's visits to her mother-in-law, was a
very real obstacle to Minnie Bodkin.
The project of seeing Powell in this way took possession of her mind.
She sent a note to Mrs. Thimbleby, by her maid Jane, asking at what hour
Mr. Powell was most likely to be in the house; and saying that she
should like to come there and say a few words to him about a person in
whose welfare he was interested.
The widow saw nothing very singular in this. She knew that Powell had
been to see Miss Bodkin before he left Whitford. And it was quite in
accordance with the known characters of the Methodist preacher and the
rector's daughter that they should meet and combine on the common ground
of charity. "For sure Mr. Powell have recommended some poor afflicted
person to the young lady, and she have assisted 'em, whosoever they may
be!" thought Mrs. Thimbleby. "And she begs me not to mention her coming
to anybody. For sure and certain she's not one o' them as boasts of
their good deeds. No, no; like our blessed Mr. Powell, she don't let her
left hand know what her right hand doeth. I wonder if she's under
conviction! Such a good, charitable lady, it seems as if she must belong
to the elect. But, there, all our good works are filthy rags, I s'pose,
the best on us. But I can't help thinking as Miss Bodkin's works must be
more pleasing to the Lord than Brother Jackson's, as lives among the
Wesleyans on the fat of the land, and don't do much in return, except
condemning all those folks as isn't Wesleyans. Lord forgive me if I'm
wrong!"
Mrs. Thimbleby returned a verbal message to Miss Bodkin, as the latter
had desired her to do: Mrs. Thimbleby's duty, and the most likely time
would be between four and five o'clock in the afternoon; and she would
be sure to obey Miss Bodkin's instructions. "And I'm ever so much
obliged to her for excusing me writing, my dear," said the widow to
Jane; "for my hands is so stiff and rough with hard work, as holding a
pen seems to be a great difficulty. I'd far rather mop out my back yard
any day than write the receipt for the lodgers' rent. And 'tis but a
smudgy business when all's done."
On the following day Dr. Bodkin's sober green carriage, drawn by a
stout, sober-paced horse, was seen standing at Mrs. Thimbleby's door. It
was a few minutes after four o'clock in the afternoon. The street was
very quiet. There was scarcely a passer-by to be seen from one end of it
to the other, when Jane and the old man-servant assisted Miss Bodkin to
alight from the carriage, and supported her into the clean, flagged room
on the ground floor, which served Mrs. Thimbleby for parlour, kitchen,
and dining-hall, all in one. The coachman had orders to return and fetch
his young mistress at six o'clock. "Will you give me house-room so long,
Mrs. Thimbleby?" asked Minnie with a sweet smile, which so captivated
the good woman that she stood staring at her visitor in a kind of
rapture, unable to reply for a minute or two.
Minnie was placed in Mrs. Thimbleby's own high-backed chair, with the
clean patchwork-covered cushions piled behind her. A horsehair
footstool, borrowed for the purpose from Mr. Diamond's parlour, was
under her feet. And she declared that she found herself as comfortable
as in her own lounging-chair at home.
"You see, miss, I couldn't say to the minute when Mr. Powell would be
back, but between four and five he generally do come in, and I make him
swallow a cup of herb tea, or something. And I will not deny that I
sometimes puts a pinch of China tea in. But he don't know. This is but a
poor place, miss," added the widow, glancing round, "but so long as you
can make yourself content to stay in it, so long you will be welcome as
the flowers in May, if 'twas to be for a twelvemonth?"
Then Minnie praised the brilliant cleanliness of the little kitchen,
took notice of the cat that rubbed its velvet head confidingly against
her hand, and asked Mrs. Thimbleby how she prospered in her
lodging-letting.
The widow was loquacious in her mild slow way; and she was pleased at
this opportunity for a little harmless gossip. It was a propensity
which received frequent checks from those around her. Mr. Diamond was
too taciturn, too grave, too much absorbed in his books, to give any
heed to his landlady's conversation, beyond listening to the few
particulars of his weekly expenses, which she insisted on explaining to
him. Mrs. Errington, on the other hand, was not at all taciturn, but she
desired to have the talk chiefly to herself. She loved to harangue Mrs.
Thimbleby on a variety of subjects, and to place, in vivid colours
before her, the inadequacy of all her domestic arrangements to satisfy a
lady of Mrs. Errington's quality. As to gossiping with David Powell,
Mrs. Thimbleby would as soon have thought of attempting to gossip with
the sculptured figure of a saint, which stood in a niche at one side of
the portal of St. Chad's! So the good woman, finding Miss Bodkin more
compliant and affable than the two first-named of her lodgers, and
nearer to the level of common humanity than the last, indulged herself
with an outpouring of chat, as the two sat waiting for Powell's return.
Minnie listened to her at first with but a drowsy kind of attention. Her
own thoughts were wandering away from the present time and place. And,
for a while, the quiet of the room, where the gathering twilight seemed
to bring a deeper hush, was only broken by the monotonous murmur of the
widow's voice. But by-and-by Mrs. Thimbleby spoke words which
effectually aroused Minnie's attention.
There was, she said, a deal of talk in Whitford about young Mr.
Errington. He was such a very nice-spoken gentleman, and most people
seemed to like him so much! But yet he had enemies in the town. Folks
said he was extravagant. And his wife gave herself such airs as there
was no bearing with 'em; she not paying ready money, but almost
expecting tradespeople to be satisfied with the honour of serving her.
Poor lady, she wasn't used to be pinched for money herself, and knew no
better, most likely! But many Whitford shopkeepers grumbled as Mr.
Errington got goods on credit from them, and yet sent orders to London
with ready money for expensive articles, and it didn't seem fair. There
was no use saying anything to old Mrs. Errington about the matter,
because, though she was, no doubt, a very good-hearted lady, she was
rather "high." And if you mentioned to her, as Mr. Gladwish, the
shoemaker, said, unpleasant things about her son's bill, why she would
tell you that her grandfather drove four horses to his coach, and that
Mr. Algernon's wife's uncle was a great nobleman up in London, as paid
his butler a bigger salary than all Gladwish could earn in a year. And
if such sayings got abroad, they would not be soothing to the feelings
of a respectable shoemaker, would they now? Not to say that they
wouldn't help to pay Gladwish's bill; nor yet the fly bill at the "Blue
Bell;" nor yet the bill for young madam at Ravell and Sarsnet's; nor yet
the bill at the fishmonger and poulterer's; as she (Mrs. Thimbleby) was
credibly informed that Ivy Lodge consumed the best of everything, and at
a great rate. In the beginning, tradespeople believed all that was said
about young Mr. and Mrs. Errington's fine friends and fine prospects,
and seemed inclined to trust 'em to any amount. But latterly there had
growed up a feeling against 'em. And--if Miss Bodkin wouldn't think it a
liberty in her to ask her not to mention it again, seeing it was but a
guess on her part--she would go so far as to say that she believed an
enemy was at work, and that enemy old Jonathan Maxfield. Why or
wherefore old Max should be so set against young Mr. Algernon, as he had
known him from a little child, she could not say. But there was rumours
about that young Errington owed old Max money. And old Max was that near
and fond of his pelf, as nothing was so likely to make him mad against
any one as losing money by 'em; and old Max was a harsh man and a bitter
where he took a dislike. Only see how he had persecuted Mr. Powell! And
though he let his daughter go to Ivy Lodge--and they did say young Mrs.
Errington had taken quite a fancy to the girl--yet that didn't prevent
old Max sneering and snarling, and saying all manner of sharp words
against the Erringtons. And old Max was a man of substance, and his
words had weight in the town. "And you see, miss," said Mrs. Thimbleby,
in conclusion, "young Mr. and Mrs. Errington are gentlefolks, and they
don't hear what's said in Whitford, and they may think things are all
right when they're all wrong. Of course, I daresay they have great
friends and good prospects, miss. And very likely they could settle
everything to-morrow if they thought fit. Only the tale here is, that
not a tradesman in the place has seen the colour of their money, and
they deny theirselves nothing, and the lady so high in her manners, and
altogether there is a feeling against 'em, miss. And as I know you're a
old friend, and a kind friend, I'm sure, and not one as takes pleasure
in the troubles of their neighbours, I thought I would mention it to
you, in case you should like to say a word to the young lady and
gentleman private-like. A word from you would have a deal of weight. And
I do assure you, miss, 'tis of no use trying to speak to old Mrs.
Errington, for she'll only go on about her grandfather's coach-and-four;
and, between you and me, miss, there is some as takes it amiss."
All this pained and surprised Minnie. She understood at once how
Castalia's ungracious manner was resented in the little town; and set
down a great deal of the hostility which the widow had described to the
score of the Honourable Mrs. Algernon's personal unpopularity.
Still there must be something seriously wrong at Ivy Lodge. Debt was a
Slough of Despond into which such a one as Algernon Errington would
easily put his foot, from sheer thoughtlessness and the habit of
refusing himself no gratification within his reach. But he might not
find it so easy to extricate himself. A word of warning might possibly
do good. At least it could do no harm, beyond drawing forth some languid
impertinence from Castalia. And Minnie would not for an instant weigh
that chance against the hope of doing some good to her old friend Algy.
Besides, in truth, she had, as has been said, an undefined feeling of
compassion for Castalia herself, which rendered her singularly
forbearing towards the latter's manifestations of fretful jealousy or
haughty dislike. In the first days of his return to Whitford Algernon
had many a time shot one of his quick, questioning glances at Minnie,
when his wife uttered some coolly insolent speech, directed at, rather
than to, the rector's daughter. But instead of the keen sarcasm, or
scornful irony, which he had expected, Minnie had, nine times out of
ten, replied with a quiet matter-of-fact observation calculated to
extinguish anything like a war of words. At first Algernon had
attributed such forbearance on the part of the brilliant, high-spirited
Minnie entirely to her strong regard for himself. But this flattering
illusion did not last long. He soon perceived that Minnie regarded his
wife with pity, and that she refrained from using the keen weapons of
her wit against Castalia, much as a nurse might refrain from scolding or
arguing with a sick child.
Now this discovery was not pleasant to Algernon. If any sympathy were to
be expended on the inmates of Ivy Lodge, he was persuaded that much the
larger share of it ought to be given to himself. If there were troubles;
if there were mortifications; if there was disappointment--who suffered
from them as he did? And by whom were they so unmerited? He was not far,
sometimes, from resenting any show of compassion for Castalia as a
direct injury to himself. After having sacrificed himself, by making a
marriage so inadequate to his deserts, it was a little too much to hear
his wife pitied for the contrast between her past and present position?
And yet, by a queer strain of inconsistency running through the warp
and woof of his character, he would often boast of Castalia's
aristocratic antecedents, and ask, with a smile and a shrug, how the
deuce his wife could be expected to stand the petty privations and
discomforts of Whitford, after having lived all her life in a sphere as
remote from such things as the planet Saturn from the earth?
Minnie partly saw, partly guessed, these movements of Algernon's mind.
But she judged him with leniency, and put a kind interpretation on his
words and ways, whenever such an interpretation was possible. At all
events, if a word in season could be useful to him, she would not
refrain from speaking that word.
This young woman had latterly passed into regions of thought and
feeling, from which much of her old life, with its old pains, and
pleasures, and aims, seemed shrunken into insignificance. One solid good
she was able to grasp and to enjoy; the satisfaction of serving her
fellow-creatures. All else grew poor and paltry as the years rolled by.
Not that Minnie had attained to any saint-like heights of
self-abnegation; not that she did not still "desire and admire" many
sublunary things. But she had got a hurt that had stricken down her
pride. She bore an ache in her heart for which "self-culture," and all
the activities and aspirations of her bright intellect, afforded no
balm.
But she did not grow sour and selfish in her grief. The example of the
poor, unlettered Methodist preacher (whom in former days she would have
thought the unlikeliest of human beings to teach her any profitable
lesson) had roused the noblest part of her nature to emulation. David
Powell had started from a lofty theory to a life of beautiful deeds.
Minnie Bodkin, vaguely groping after a theory, had seized on practical
benevolence as a means to climb to some higher ideal.
In morals, as in thought, the Deductive and Inductive stand, like the
ladders of Jacob's dream, reaching from heaven to earth, from earth to
heaven; and the angels of the Lord descend and ascend them continually.
Minnie was roused from a reverie by the entrance of the preacher's tall
figure into the kitchen, where the fire was now beginning to throw ruddy
lights and fantastic shadows on to the white-washed walls.
"Don't be startled, Mr. Powell," she said, in her clear, sweet tones.
"It is I--Minnie Bodkin. I thought I should like to see you, and to say
a few words to you, quietly."
Powell advanced, and took her outstretched hand reverently in his hand.
"The blessing of our Father in Heaven be on you, lady," he said. "Your
kind face is very welcome to me."