VI

One day was very like another at the vicarage.

Soon after breakfast Mary Ann brought in The Times. Mr. Carey shared it

with two neighbours. He had it from ten till one, when the gardener

took it over to Mr. Ellis at the Limes, with whom it remained till

seven; then it was taken to Miss Brooks at the Manor House, who, since

she got it late, had the advantage of keeping it. In summer Mrs. Carey,

when she was making jam, often asked her for a copy to cover the pots

with. When the Vicar settled down to his paper his wife put on her

bonnet and went out to do the shopping. Philip accompanied her.

Blackstable was a fishing village. It consisted of a high street in

which were the shops, the bank, the doctor’s house, and the houses of

two or three coalship owners; round the little harbor were shabby

streets in which lived fishermen and poor people; but since they went

to chapel they were of no account. When Mrs. Carey passed the

dissenting ministers in the street she stepped over to the other side

to avoid meeting them, but if there was not time for this fixed her

eyes on the pavement. It was a scandal to which the Vicar had never

resigned himself that there were three chapels in the High Street: he

could not help feeling that the law should have stepped in to prevent

their erection. Shopping in Blackstable was not a simple matter; for

dissent, helped by the fact that the parish church was two miles from

the town, was very common; and it was necessary to deal only with

churchgoers; Mrs. Carey knew perfectly that the vicarage custom might

make all the difference to a tradesman’s faith. There were two butchers

who went to church, and they would not understand that the Vicar could

not deal with both of them at once; nor were they satisfied with his

simple plan of going for six months to one and for six months to the

other. The butcher who was not sending meat to the vicarage constantly

threatened not to come to church, and the Vicar was sometimes obliged

to make a threat: it was very wrong of him not to come to church, but

if he carried iniquity further and actually went to chapel, then of

course, excellent as his meat was, Mr. Carey would be forced to leave

him for ever. Mrs. Carey often stopped at the bank to deliver a message

to Josiah Graves, the manager, who was choir-master, treasurer, and

churchwarden. He was a tall, thin man with a sallow face and a long

nose; his hair was very white, and to Philip he seemed extremely old.

He kept the parish accounts, arranged the treats for the choir and the

schools; though there was no organ in the parish church, it was

generally considered (in Blackstable) that the choir he led was the

best in Kent; and when there was any ceremony, such as a visit from the

Bishop for confirmation or from the Rural Dean to preach at the Harvest

Thanksgiving, he made the necessary preparations. But he had no

hesitation in doing all manner of things without more than a

perfunctory consultation with the Vicar, and the Vicar, though always

ready to be saved trouble, much resented the churchwarden’s managing

ways. He really seemed to look upon himself as the most important

person in the parish. Mr. Carey constantly told his wife that if Josiah

Graves did not take care he would give him a good rap over the knuckles

one day; but Mrs. Carey advised him to bear with Josiah Graves: he

meant well, and it was not his fault if he was not quite a gentleman.

The Vicar, finding his comfort in the practice of a Christian virtue,

exercised forbearance; but he revenged himself by calling the

churchwarden Bismarck behind his back.

Once there had been a serious quarrel between the pair, and Mrs. Carey

still thought of that anxious time with dismay. The Conservative

candidate had announced his intention of addressing a meeting at

Blackstable; and Josiah Graves, having arranged that it should take

place in the Mission Hall, went to Mr. Carey and told him that he hoped

he would say a few words. It appeared that the candidate had asked

Josiah Graves to take the chair. This was more than Mr. Carey could put

up with. He had firm views upon the respect which was due to the cloth,

and it was ridiculous for a churchwarden to take the chair at a meeting

when the Vicar was there. He reminded Josiah Graves that parson meant

person, that is, the vicar was the person of the parish. Josiah Graves

answered that he was the first to recognise the dignity of the church,

but this was a matter of politics, and in his turn he reminded the

Vicar that their Blessed Saviour had enjoined upon them to render unto

Caesar the things that were Caesar’s. To this Mr. Carey replied that

the devil could quote scripture to his purpose, himself had sole

authority over the Mission Hall, and if he were not asked to be

chairman he would refuse the use of it for a political meeting. Josiah

Graves told Mr. Carey that he might do as he chose, and for his part he

thought the Wesleyan Chapel would be an equally suitable place. Then

Mr. Carey said that if Josiah Graves set foot in what was little better

than a heathen temple he was not fit to be churchwarden in a Christian

parish. Josiah Graves thereupon resigned all his offices, and that very

evening sent to the church for his cassock and surplice. His sister,

Miss Graves, who kept house for him, gave up her secretaryship of the

Maternity Club, which provided the pregnant poor with flannel, baby

linen, coals, and five shillings. Mr. Carey said he was at last master

in his own house. But soon he found that he was obliged to see to all

sorts of things that he knew nothing about; and Josiah Graves, after

the first moment of irritation, discovered that he had lost his chief

interest in life. Mrs. Carey and Miss Graves were much distressed by

the quarrel; they met after a discreet exchange of letters, and made up

their minds to put the matter right: they talked, one to her husband,

the other to her brother, from morning till night; and since they were

persuading these gentlemen to do what in their hearts they wanted,

after three weeks of anxiety a reconciliation was effected. It was to

both their interests, but they ascribed it to a common love for their

Redeemer. The meeting was held at the Mission Hall, and the doctor was

asked to be chairman. Mr. Carey and Josiah Graves both made speeches.

When Mrs. Carey had finished her business with the banker, she

generally went upstairs to have a little chat with his sister; and

while the ladies talked of parish matters, the curate or the new bonnet

of Mrs. Wilson—Mr. Wilson was the richest man in Blackstable, he was

thought to have at least five hundred a year, and he had married his

cook—Philip sat demurely in the stiff parlour, used only to receive

visitors, and busied himself with the restless movements of goldfish in

a bowl. The windows were never opened except to air the room for a few

minutes in the morning, and it had a stuffy smell which seemed to

Philip to have a mysterious connection with banking.

Then Mrs. Carey remembered that she had to go to the grocer, and they

continued their way. When the shopping was done they often went down a

side street of little houses, mostly of wood, in which fishermen dwelt

(and here and there a fisherman sat on his doorstep mending his nets,

and nets hung to dry upon the doors), till they came to a small beach,

shut in on each side by warehouses, but with a view of the sea. Mrs.

Carey stood for a few minutes and looked at it, it was turbid and

yellow, [and who knows what thoughts passed through her mind?] while

Philip searched for flat stones to play ducks and drakes. Then they

walked slowly back. They looked into the post office to get the right

time, nodded to Mrs. Wigram the doctor’s wife, who sat at her window

sewing, and so got home.

Dinner was at one o’clock; and on Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday it

consisted of beef, roast, hashed, and minced, and on Thursday, Friday,

and Saturday of mutton. On Sunday they ate one of their own chickens.

In the afternoon Philip did his lessons, He was taught Latin and

mathematics by his uncle who knew neither, and French and the piano by

his aunt. Of French she was ignorant, but she knew the piano well

enough to accompany the old-fashioned songs she had sung for thirty

years. Uncle William used to tell Philip that when he was a curate his

wife had known twelve songs by heart, which she could sing at a

moment’s notice whenever she was asked. She often sang still when there

was a tea-party at the vicarage. There were few people whom the Careys

cared to ask there, and their parties consisted always of the curate,

Josiah Graves with his sister, Dr. Wigram and his wife. After tea Miss

Graves played one or two of Mendelssohn’s Songs without Words, and Mrs.

Carey sang When the Swallows Homeward Fly, or Trot, Trot, My Pony.

But the Careys did not give tea-parties often; the preparations upset

them, and when their guests were gone they felt themselves exhausted.

They preferred to have tea by themselves, and after tea they played

backgammon. Mrs. Carey arranged that her husband should win, because he

did not like losing. They had cold supper at eight. It was a scrappy

meal because Mary Ann resented getting anything ready after tea, and

Mrs. Carey helped to clear away. Mrs. Carey seldom ate more than bread

and butter, with a little stewed fruit to follow, but the Vicar had a

slice of cold meat. Immediately after supper Mrs. Carey rang the bell

for prayers, and then Philip went to bed. He rebelled against being

undressed by Mary Ann and after a while succeeded in establishing his

right to dress and undress himself. At nine o’clock Mary Ann brought in

the eggs and the plate. Mrs. Carey wrote the date on each egg and put

the number down in a book. She then took the plate-basket on her arm

and went upstairs. Mr. Carey continued to read one of his old books,

but as the clock struck ten he got up, put out the lamps, and followed

his wife to bed.

When Philip arrived there was some difficulty in deciding on which

evening he should have his bath. It was never easy to get plenty of hot

water, since the kitchen boiler did not work, and it was impossible for

two persons to have a bath on the same day. The only man who had a

bathroom in Blackstable was Mr. Wilson, and it was thought ostentatious

of him. Mary Ann had her bath in the kitchen on Monday night, because

she liked to begin the week clean. Uncle William could not have his on

Saturday, because he had a heavy day before him and he was always a

little tired after a bath, so he had it on Friday. Mrs. Carey had hers

on Thursday for the same reason. It looked as though Saturday were

naturally indicated for Philip, but Mary Ann said she couldn’t keep the

fire up on Saturday night: what with all the cooking on Sunday, having

to make pastry and she didn’t know what all, she did not feel up to

giving the boy his bath on Saturday night; and it was quite clear that

he could not bath himself. Mrs. Carey was shy about bathing a boy, and

of course the Vicar had his sermon. But the Vicar insisted that Philip

should be clean and sweet for the lord’s Day. Mary Ann said she would

rather go than be put upon—and after eighteen years she didn’t expect

to have more work given her, and they might show some consideration—and

Philip said he didn’t want anyone to bath him, but could very well bath

himself. This settled it. Mary Ann said she was quite sure he wouldn’t

bath himself properly, and rather than he should go dirty—and not

because he was going into the presence of the Lord, but because she

couldn’t abide a boy who wasn’t properly washed—she’d work herself to

the bone even if it was Saturday night.