THE SCANDAL SPREADS.
Of all Paula’s acquaintances, Lady Bristowe was the most indignant at
the turn affairs had taken. She had quite expected that the sudden
devotion she had conceived for the young wife was reciprocal, and that
she would be the first if not the only person admitted to weep over
her trouble with her, and carry the interesting details far and wide.
And when she found that day after day she received the same message,
that Mrs Hal Rushton was not well enough to see anybody, she became
affronted (as foolish people are apt to be), and from having been
Paula’s warmest partisan became ready to cavil at her actions before
anyone. The insult (as Lady Bristowe considered it) was greatly
aggravated one day when, as her carriage stood before the Hall door and
she received the same answer to her inquiries, the shabby figure of
the Widow Rushton was seen to walk up the drive and enter the charmed
portals without a question.
‘Who is that person in black?’ demanded her ladyship, with vulgar
curiosity.
The servant hesitated a moment.
‘_That_, your ladyship? Oh, _that’s_ Mrs Rushton as was--the old lady,
your ladyship--the old gentleman’s widow.’
‘And what is _she_ doing here? I thought Mrs Hal Rushton didn’t notice
her,’ continued Lady Bristowe.
‘Oh, yes, my lady. She’s here every day almost. She does all the
housekeeping since the mistress has been so poorly, and sees after the
master’s dinners.’
‘And does your mistress see _her_?’
‘Sometimes, my lady. Mrs Rushton nurses the mistress, like, and takes
her trays up to her room. But she don’t eat nothing to speak of.’
‘And your mistress can’t see _me_?’
‘She sent her kind regards, if you please, my lady, and she ain’t well
enough to see no one yet.’
‘Very good. Palmer’ (this to the coachman), ‘drive home.’
And Lady Bristowe sank back on her seat, very red and indignant, and
highly offended, and from that day was quite ready to discuss Paula’s
behaviour from the worse point of view.
‘But you must not forget,’ said Mr Vernon, when she laid her complaint
before him, ‘that Mrs Rushton has not been brought up in the same
sphere of life as yourself, and is probably ignorant that she is guilty
of a breach of manners in excluding you when she admits so undesirable
a person as old Farmer Rushton’s widow.’
‘Oh, that’s only an excuse, Mr Vernon, because the girl’s young and
pretty. Isn’t she the daughter of an officer in the Royal Navy? Where
could she have learned better manners than in the service?’
‘Perhaps so--had she enjoyed the advantages of it. But, you know,
she was only the village school teacher of Deepdale, and not quite
blameless even in that lowly department. For my part, I was quite
astonished to find her as ladylike as she is.’
‘She told us why she turned teacher--to assist her mother, the person
who is dead. But what do you mean by saying she was not “quite
blameless,” Mr Vernon?’
The curate looked distressed.
‘Surely you must have heard of it. I wouldn’t have mentioned it had I
thought otherwise. But--so intimate as you are with the Measures--’
‘Why, it was the Measures who introduced this girl to me.’
‘Just so; and therefore the little scandal (whatever it was) is not
worth repeating, since you may be sure, had _they_ believed it,
they would never have continued to honour Mrs Rushton with their
acquaintance.’
‘But what was it? If the Measures could bear it with impunity, so can
I.’
‘But is it kind or wise to spread such tales? They are like the
grain of mustard seed that grows up in a night. They are far better
forgotten.’
‘Not if there is no truth in them. Since you have said so much, Mr
Vernon, I must insist on your finishing the story.’
‘I wish I had never commenced it; but I made sure you had already
been told. It was an ill-natured report set abroad, I believe, by the
churchwarden, Mr Gribble.’
‘I know Mr Gribble. We have our straw, I think, from him. What did he
say about Mrs Rushton?’
‘I really can hardly remember,’ replied the curate, who was sincerely
repenting his rash allusion; ‘but I know it was made the subject of
a clerical inquiry, from which the young lady emerged, it must be
presumed, with flying colours, since Mr and Mrs Measures still visit
her.’
‘But you said she had not been “quite blameless,”’ persisted Lady
Bristowe, who scented a scandal.
‘I am vexed with myself for using such an expression, Lady Bristowe. It
was not fair to your young friend.’
‘Oh, don’t call her by that name, Mr Vernon. She has behaved so
curiously, not to say ungratefully, to me lately, that I really cannot
look upon myself any longer as her friend.’
‘I am sorry for that. I think you should (as I said before) make
allowances for her. I think, myself, she was too young and refined for
the position of a school teacher. The churchwardens expected her to
behave as a servant, whereas she took upon herself the liberties of a
gentlewoman.’
‘In what way?’
‘By receiving her friends in the schoolhouse after hours.’
‘_Men_ friends?’ said her ladyship sharply.
‘I don’t know--I am not quite sure--I am really not competent to give
an opinion,’ stammered the curate. ‘I think, if you wish to hear the
story, you had better apply to Mrs Measures, Lady Bristowe, who is sure
to know the truth.’
‘Oh, it’s not of much interest to _me_,’ cried her ladyship, tossing
her head, and getting very red in the face. ‘The young woman is
hardly likely to come to Tor Abbey again after the heartless manner
in which she has treated me. She has been home for nearly six weeks,
Mr Vernon, and hardly a day has passed without my going or sending to
inquire after her health, and asking if I could be of any service to
her, and I have received nothing in return but the coldest and most
consistent refusal--always the same message, that she is too ill to
see anyone. And yet, when I was there yesterday afternoon, I saw that
low, ignorant woman Mrs Rushton, I mean the old farmer’s widow, who, I
have understood, the young people would have nothing to do with, walk
into the house as if it belonged to her, and the servant told me she
was there every day in attendance on her mistress. It’s not very likely
after _that_, Mr Vernon, that I shall waste any more of my time or
attention on Mrs Hal Rushton.’
‘And yet,’ remarked the curate, ‘though the widow is, as you say,
an illiterate and low-born person, she was, after all, the late Mr
Rushton’s wife, and no one could blame his son for acknowledging it.’
‘Oh, dear, no. Certainly not,’ exclaimed Lady Bristowe sarcastically;
‘but if that sort of company is good enough for Mrs Hal Rushton, _mine_
is decidedly too good.’
‘I can hardly imagine that fair, delicate looking girl enjoying the
companionship of Mrs Rushton, senior,’ said Mr Vernon; ‘but perhaps she
permits it in deference to her husband’s wishes.’
‘No such thing, Mr Vernon. The husband hates the old woman and her
son. Mrs Measures has told me so far. Depend upon it, the ladies are
congenial to each other, and perhaps, after all, her story about
belonging to the Royal Navy may be a subterfuge, and their stations in
life not so dissimilar.’
‘But I thought you had found the name and services of young Mrs
Rushton’s father recorded in the _Navy List_, Lady Bristowe?’
‘But how am I to know the girl gave me her right name? She passed under
another at the schoolhouse, you must remember. Indeed, I think Mrs
Measures was very wrong to introduce her into society without knowing
more about her. _My_ idea is that she will turn out to be a regular
impostor.’
‘Come, come, your ladyship is going a little too far. From what I
hear, this poor girl seems to have experienced a terrible shock from
the sudden death of her mother, and is really ill. Dr Minton was very
anxious about her a week ago. When she recovers her mental equilibrium,
everything will be right again.’
‘Not with _me_, Mr Vernon. I am not the sort of person to chop and
change with every passing wind. I am only sorry I ever gave her one of
my matchless Blenheims. I little thought at the time that it would be
subjected to the companionship of a herdsman’s widow.’
‘Well, the dog, at least, will not suffer from the contact,’ exclaimed
Mr Vernon, laughing. ‘And now my advice to your ladyship is to go and
have a talk over this matter with your friend Mrs Measures, and her
good sense will put things straight between you.’
But Lady Bristowe was obstinate as well as foolish, and ready to
believe herself the best judge of her own actions. She had become
inquisitive on the subject of Paula’s misdemeanours at the schoolhouse,
and suspected that Mrs Measures would make the best of them, if not
deny them altogether. So she determined first to draw the truth out
of Mr Gribble. But she displayed great caution on the occasion. She
ordered her carriage to call on some friends at a distance, and
declined to take Miss Brennan or the dogs with her.
‘Ought not Totsie to go for a drive this afternoon?’ pleaded the
companion, who wanted one herself. ‘Your ladyship remarked that she
refused her breakfast this morning.’
‘Mind your own business, Sarah Brennan,’ exclaimed Lady Bristowe
sharply, ‘and take the dog for a walk in the garden instead. When I
want your company, I am perfectly able to tell you so.’
‘Old cat!’ ejaculated Miss Brennan, as the carriage rolled down the
drive. ‘I bet if she had that pasty-faced Mrs Hal Rushton for a
companion she would take her with her everywhere. But she never thinks
of me unless it is to look after her shawls or her dogs.’
But if Sarah Brennan thought that Paula Rushton stood higher in her
employer’s estimation that day than herself she was mistaken. Lady
Bristowe’s small mind was filled with the desire to find out all she
could against her late _protégée_, and as soon as she had called upon
her friends she desired the coachman to drive to Deepdale and stop at
Mr Gribble’s door. She had some insignificant question to ask--some
trifling account for corn or straw to settle in her hand--but her
chief object in calling at the churchwarden’s private residence was,
of course, to try and lead the conversation round to Paula’s illness,
and see what revelations the mention of her name might not bring forth.
It happened, however, to be market day, and Mr Gribble had gone to
Haltham. Mrs Gribble was at home, though, and seeing her ladyship’s
carriage stop at the door, she ran down the garden path as fast as her
unwieldy bulk would permit her and stood at the wicket gate, with her
cap strings flying like pennants in the autumn breeze.
‘Good afternoon, Mrs Gribble,’ said Lady Bristowe condescendingly. ‘Can
I see Mr Gribble on a little matter of business?’
‘Mr Gribble is hout, your ladyship. He have gone into Haltham to the
market; but if your ladyship will give your horders to me--’
‘I will get out, Mrs Gribble, for a minute,’ returned Lady Bristowe, as
she placed her plump hand on the shoulder of her footman and descended
to the ground.
Mrs Gribble was astonished. Lady Bristowe had never called at her house
before--even to pay a bill. Such transactions had always taken place
through her coachman. She could not imagine what personal business she
could have with her. She hurried on first to open the parlour door, and
to usher her guest in, and then she fidgeted about the room, uncertain
whether she ought to stand deferentially before her or take a chair and
look as if she were at her ease.
‘Is it the little account, my lady?’ she began presently. ‘Mr Gribble
’e don’t care ’ow long it run at the Habbey. I know that.’
‘I have brought the account, and I wish to pay it,’ replied Lady
Bristowe, as she produced the corn and hay bill and laid it with a
ten-pound note upon the table. ‘But I had also a question to ask of Mr
Gribble, which, doubtless, you can answer as well. As churchwarden, I
believe he takes a good deal of interest in the village school?’
‘Oh, yes, my lady,’ said Mrs Gribble, who had ventured by this time to
work herself into a chair, ‘’e do. ’E’s most henergetic, is Mr Gribble,
in the church work, and spends hall his spare time a-looking round.
I’m sure I and Mrs Haxworthy (which is the other churchwarden’s lady)
hoften says our good gentlemen his married to the church and schools,
they’re so hoften there.’
‘And have you a good teacher, Mrs Gribble? Are you quite satisfied with
her?’
Mrs Gribble lifted her hands to denote her admiration.
‘Oh, your ladyship, we hare indeed. Miss Brown, she’s jest a hangel.
Such a contrast to--’ But here Mrs Gribble, with sudden remembrance,
stopped short.
‘Such a contrast to _what_, Mrs Gribble?’
‘Oh, my lady, I shouldn’t have spoke, perhaps, but feelings will hup.
But our former teacher, Miss Stafford as was, is a friend, I hear, hof
your ladyship’s.’
‘No, Mrs Gribble; you have been misinformed. I _have_ received Mrs
Rushton at the Abbey, but rumours have reached me since that make
me fear I was hasty--rumours of her behaviour whilst she was the
schoolmistress of Deepdale, and, to tell you the truth, I came here
to-day to your husband, as to a God-fearing, upright, conscientious
man, to hear what he could tell me regarding it. But, perhaps, _you_
may remember the circumstance?’
‘_Remember_ hit, my lady! No one hin Deepdale will hever forget it--not
if they lives to be a ’undred. Mr ’Al Rushton, ’eadstrong like, ’e
chose to marry ’er spite of heverythink, hand so I s’pose it’s all
hover, and one had best ’old one’s tongue.’
‘But, Mrs Gribble, I must beg you, in confidence, to tell me what it
was. I cannot, in justice to my name and family, admit guests to the
Abbey of whose character there is the slightest doubt. I must entreat
you to tell me all you know.’
But Mrs Gribble held back. She could talk to her equals fast enough,
but to express her sentiments before this grand lady might be to lose
the custom of half the gentry in the neighbourhood. And she was a
friend of Mrs Measures, too.
‘I’m sure, your ladyship,’ she commenced, ‘I’m loath to refuse you
hanything, but Mr Gribble ’e wouldn’t like my saying nothing as could
find its way back to the vicarage.’
‘But they knew it--whatever it may be--at the vicarage, surely?’
‘Oh, yes, my lady. It was there the hinfamous scandal was sifted, has
you may say, but Mrs Measures she chose to ’ave it ’ushed up. Hand it’s
as much has hour comfort’s worth--Mr Gribble hand me--to say a word
more habout it.’
‘It will never get to the vicarage through _me_,’ remarked Lady
Bristowe.
‘You can promise _hour_ names will not transpire, my lady?’
‘Certainly, Mrs Gribble. I ask you, _as a friend_, to let me know the
truth of this matter.’
‘Oh, well, my lady, hif it’s to oblige _you_,’ cried Mrs Gribble,
delighted to have a shot at the enemy, ‘hi’d sacrifice heverythink.
It was a ’orrible thing, my lady--quite degrading. Miss Stafford she
was found by my own ’usband, late at night, shut hup in her rooms with
two gentlemen, and one was quite a ferocious lookin’ feller with a
beard, a foreign chap, Mr Gribble said. And when Miss Stafford as was
she was hasked for a hexplanation, she wouldn’t give none, not heven
his name, but stood there, hobstinate-like, before the minister and the
churchwardens, and refused to hopen her mouth, and so she was turned
hout of her place with hignominy.’
‘But how did Mr Rushton, who holds so good a position here, come to
marry her, then?’
‘Ah, my lady, ’e was one of ’em. _’E_ knew more than met the heye,
you may depend upon that, so ’e thought fit to shelter ’er. She ’ad
to leave Deepdale whether or no. Not a lady would send her daughters
to learn of ’er after they come to know of it; but Mr ’Al Rushton ’e
follered ’er and married ’er (at least ’e _says_ ’e married ’er),
hand Mr and Mrs Measures they hagreed for to let bygones be bygones,
I s’pose, and to receive ’er for ’er ’usband’s sake. But ’tisn’t
heverybody in Deepdale has sees with _their_ heyes, your ladyship.
’Tain’t many has calls hat ’Ighbridge ’All, though I ’ave ’eard lately
has that poor dear forgiving soul, Mrs Rushton, the old gentleman’s
widow, ’as been good enough to go up and nurse Mrs ’Al through the
judgment that’s come upon ’er.’
‘Well,’ said Lady Bristowe, who was burning with indignation, ‘I _am_
surprised that my friend Mrs Measures never gave me a hint of all this.
I hardly think she has behaved fairly to me in not doing so.’
‘Ah, my lady, there’s many a one in Deepdale as has wondered to see the
falarity you ’ave demeaned yourself to use with Mrs ’Al Rushton. A many
would ’ave liked to speak, but durstn’t. We was too low hand ’umble for
that. But that a lady like your ladyship should drive side by side with
a young person has was discovered in such hacts--’
‘It will _never_ occur again, Mrs Gribble, you may be sure of that,’
replied Lady Bristowe, as she rose from her seat, ‘and I am very much
obliged to you for opening my eyes in the matter. I shall not betray
you, you may be sure. I had already heard something of the kind before
from our curate, Mr Vernon. Never mind the change from the note. You
have two little daughters, I believe, buy them some dolls with what may
be over. Good afternoon.’
And Lady Bristowe got into her carriage and drove away.