There governed in that year
A stern, stout churl--an angry overseer.
Crabbe.
While Mr. Staunton, for such was this worthy clergymanís name, was laying
aside his gown in the vestry, Jeanie was in the act of coming to an open
rupture with Madge.
“We must return to Mummerís barn directly,” said Madge; “weíll be ower
late, and my mother will be angry.”
“I am not going back with you, Madge,” said Jeanie, taking out a guinea,
and offering it to her; “I am much obliged to you, but I maun gang my ain
road.”
“And me coming aí this way out oí my gate to pleasure you, ye ungratefuí
cutty,” answered Madge; “and me to be brained by my mother when I gang
hame, and aí for your sake!--But I will gar ye as good”
“For Godís sake,” said Jeanie to a man who stood beside them, “keep her
off!--she is mad.”
“Ey, ey,” answered the boor; “I hae some guess of that, and I trow thou
beíst a bird of the same feather.--Howsomever, Madge, I redd thee keep
hand off her, or Iíse lend thee a whisterpoop.”
Several of the lower class of the parishioners now gathered round the
strangers, and the cry arose among the boys that “there was a-going to be
a fite between mad Madge Murdockson and another Bess of Bedlam.” But
while the fry assembled with the humane hope of seeing as much of the fun
as possible, the laced cocked-hat of the beadle was discerned among the
multitude, and all made way for that person of awful authority. His first
address was to Madge.
“Whatís brought thee back again, thou silly donnot, to plague this
parish? Hast thou brought ony more bastards wií thee to lay to honest
menís doors? or does thou think to burden us with this goose, thatís as
hare-brained as thysell, as if rates were no up enow? Away wií thee to
thy thief of a mother; sheís fast in the stocks at Barkston town-end--
Away wií ye out oí the parish, or Iíse be at ye with the ratan.”
Madge stood sulky for a minute; but she had been too often taught
submission to the beadleís authority by ungentle means to feel courage
enough to dispute it.
“And my mother--my puir auld mother, is in the stocks at Barkston!--This
is aí your wyte, Miss Jeanie Deans; but Iíll be upsides wií you, as sure
as my nameís Madge Wildfire--I mean Murdockson--God help me, I forget my
very name in this confused waste!”
So saying, she turned upon her heel, and went off, followed by all the
mischievous imps of the village, some crying, “Madge, canst thou tell thy
name yet?” some pulling the skirts of her dress, and all, to the best of
their strength and ingenuity, exercising some new device or other to
exasperate her into frenzy.
Jeanie saw her departure with infinite delight, though she wished that,
in some way or other, she could have requited the service Madge had
conferred upon her.
In the meantime, she applied to the beadle to know whether “there was any
house in the village where she could be civilly entertained for her
money, and whether she could be permitted to speak to the clergyman?”
“Ay, ay, weíse haí reverend care on thee; and I think,” answered the man
of constituted authority, “that, unless thou answer the Rector all the
better, weíse spare thy money, and gie thee lodging at the parish charge,
young woman.”
“Where am I to go then?” said Jeanie, in some alarm.
“Why, I am to take thee to his Reverence, in the first place, to gie an
account oí thysell, and to see thou comena to be a burden upon the
parish.”
“I do not wish to burden anyone,” replied Jeanie; “I have enough for my
own wants, and only wish to get on my journey safely.”
“Why, thatís another matter,” replied the beadle, “and if it be true--and
I think thou dost not look so polrumptious as thy playfellow yonder--Thou
wouldst be a mettle lass enow, an thou wert snog and snod a bid better.
Come thou away, then--the Rector is a good man.”
“Is that the minister,” said Jeanie, “who preached”
“The minister? Lord help thee! What kind oí Presbyterian art thou?--Why,
ëtis the Rector--the Rectorís sell, woman, and there isna the like oí him
in the county, nor the four next to it. Come away--away with thee--we
maunna bide here.”
“I am sure I am very willing to go to see the minister,” said Jeanie;
“for though he read his discourse, and wore that surplice, as they call
it here, I canna but think he must be a very worthy God-fearing man, to
preach the root of the matter in the way he did.”
The disappointed rabble, finding that there was like to be no farther
sport, had by this time dispersed, and Jeanie, with her usual patience,
followed her consequential and surly, but not brutal, conductor towards
the rectory.
This clerical mansion was large and commodious, for the living was an
excellent one, and the advowson belonged to a very wealthy family in the
neighbourhood, who had usually bred up a son or nephew to the church for
the sake of inducting him, as opportunity offered, into this very
comfortable provision. In this manner the rectory of Willingham had
always been considered as a direct and immediate appanage of Willingham
Hall; and as the rich baronets to whom the latter belonged had usually a
son, or brother, or nephew, settled in the living, the utmost care had
been taken to render their habitation not merely respectable and
commodious, but even dignified and imposing.
It was situated about four hundred yards from the village, and on a
rising ground which sloped gently upward, covered with small enclosures,
or closes, laid out irregularly, so that the old oaks and elms, which
were planted in hedge-rows, fell into perspective, and were blended
together in beautiful irregularity. When they approached nearer to the
house, a handsome gateway admitted them into a lawn, of narrow dimensions
indeed, but which was interspersed with large sweet chestnut trees and
beeches, and kept in handsome order. The front of the house was
irregular. Part of it seemed very old, and had, in fact, been the
residence of the incumbent in Romish times. Successive occupants had made
considerable additions and improvements, each in the taste of his own
age, and without much regard to symmetry. But these incongruities of
architecture were so graduated and happily mingled, that the eye, far
from being displeased with the combinations of various styles, saw
nothing but what was interesting in the varied and intricate pile which
they displayed. Fruit-trees displayed on the southern wall, outer
staircases, various places of entrance, a combination of roofs and
chimneys of different ages, united to render the front, not indeed
beautiful or grand, but intricate, perplexed, or, to use Mr. Priceís
appropriate phrase, picturesque. The most considerable addition was that
of the present Rector, who, “being a bookish man,” as the beadle was at
the pains to inform Jeanie, to augment, perhaps, her reverence for the
person before whom she was to appear, had built a handsome library and
parlour, and no less than two additional bedrooms.
“Mony men would hae scrupled such expense,” continued the parochial
officer, “seeing as the living mun go as it pleases Sir Edmund to will
it; but his Reverence has a canny bit land of his own, and need not look
on two sides of a penny.”
Jeanie could not help comparing the irregular yet extensive and
commodious pile of building before her to the “Manses” in her own
country, where a set of penurious heritors, professing all the while the
devotion of their lives and fortunes to the Presbyterian establishment,
strain their inventions to discover what may be nipped, and clipped, and
pared from a building which forms but a poor accommodation even for the
present incumbent, and, despite the superior advantage of stone-masonry,
must, in the course of forty or fifty years, again burden their
descendants with an expense, which, once liberally and handsomely
employed, ought to have freed their estates from a recurrence of it for
more than a century at least.
Behind the Rectorís house the ground sloped down to a small river, which,
without possessing the romantic vivacity and rapidity of a northern
stream, was, nevertheless, by its occasional appearance through the
ranges of willows and poplars that crowned its banks, a very pleasing
accompaniment to the landscape. “It was the best trouting stream,” said
the beadle, whom the patience of Jeanie, and especially the assurance
that she was not about to become a burden to the parish, had rendered
rather communicative, “the best trouting stream in all Lincolnshire; for
when you got lower, there was nought to be done wií fly-fishing.”
Turning aside from the principal entrance, he conducted Jeanie towards a
sort of portal connected with the older part of the building, which was
chiefly occupied by servants, and knocking at the door, it was opened by
a servant in grave purple livery, such as befitted a wealthy and
dignified clergyman.
“How dost do, Tummas?” said the beadle--“and howís young Measter
Staunton?”
“Why, but poorly--but poorly, Measter Stubbs.--Are you wanting to see his
Reverence?”
“Ay, ay, Tummas; please to say I haí brought up the young woman as came
to service to-day with mad Madge Murdockson seems to be a decentish koind
oí body; but I haí asked her never a question. Only I can tell his
Reverence that she is a Scotchwoman, I judge, and as flat as the fens of
Holland.”
Tummas honoured Jeanie Deans with such a stare, as the pampered domestics
of the rich, whether spiritual or temporal, usually esteem it part of
their privilege to bestow upon the poor, and then desired Mr. Stubbs and
his charge to step in till he informed his master of their presence.
The room into which he showed them was a sort of stewardís parlour, hung
with a county map or two, and three or four prints of eminent persons
connected with the county, as Sir William Monson, James York the
blacksmith of Lincoln,* and the famous Peregrine, Lord Willoughby, in
complete armour, looking as when he said in the words of the legend below
the engraving,--
* [Author of the _Union of Honour,_ a treatise on English Heraldry.
London, 1641.]
“Stand to it, noble pikemen,
And face ye well about;
And shoot ye sharp, bold bowmen,
And we will keep them out.
“Ye musquet and calliver-men,
Do you prove true to me,
Iíll be the foremost man in fight,
Said brave Lord Willoughbee.”
[Illustration: A “Summat” to Eat and Drink--113]
When they had entered this apartment, Tummas as a matter of course
offered, and as a matter of course Mr. Stubbs accepted, a “summat” to eat
and drink, being the respectable relies of a gammon of bacon, and a
_whole whiskin,_ or black pot of sufficient double ale. To these eatables
Mr. Beadle seriously inclined himself, and (for we must do him justice)
not without an invitation to Jeanie, in which Tummas joined, that his
prisoner or charge would follow his good example. But although she might
have stood in need of refreshment, considering she had tasted no food
that day, the anxiety of the moment, her own sparing and abstemious
habits, and a bashful aversion to eat in company of the two strangers,
induced her to decline their courtesy. So she sate in a chair apart,
while Mr. Stubbs and Mr. Tummas, who had chosen to join his friend in
consideration that dinner was to be put back till after the afternoon
service, made a hearty luncheon, which lasted for half-an-hour, and might
not then have concluded, had not his Reverence rung his bell, so that
Tummas was obliged to attend his master. Then, and no sooner, to save
himself the labour of a second journey to the other end of the house, he
announced to his master the arrival of Mr. Stubbs, with the other
madwoman, as he chose to designate Jeanie, as an event which had just
taken place. He returned with an order that Mr. Stubbs and the young
woman should be instantly ushered up to the library. The beadle bolted in
haste his last mouthful of fat bacon, washed down the greasy morsel with
the last rinsings of the pot of ale, and immediately marshalled Jeanie
through one or two intricate passages which led from the ancient to the
more modern buildings, into a handsome little hall, or anteroom,
adjoining to the library, and out of which a glass door opened to the
lawn.
“Stay here,” said Stubbs, “till I tell his Reverence you are come.”
So saying, he opened a door and entered the library. Without wishing to
hear their conversation, Jeanie, as she was circumstanced, could not
avoid it; for as Stubbs stood by the door, and his Reverence was at the
upper end of a large room, their conversation was necessarily audible in
the anteroom.
“So you have brought the young woman here at last, Mr. Stubbs. I expected
you some time since. You know I do not wish such persons to remain in
custody a moment without some inquiry into their situation.”
“Very true, your Reverence,” replied the beadle; “but the young woman had
eat nought to-day, and so Measter Tummas did set down a drap of drink and
a morsel, to be sure.”
“Thomas was very right, Mr. Stubbs; and what has, become of the other
most unfortunate being?”
“Why,” replied Mr. Stubbs, “I did think the sight on her would but vex
your Reverence, and soa I did let her go her ways back to her mother, who
is in trouble in the next parish.”
“In trouble!--that signifies in prison, I suppose?” said Mr. Staunton.
“Ay, truly; something like it, an it like your Reverence.”
“Wretched, unhappy, incorrigible woman!” said the clergyman. “And what
sort of person is this companion of hers?”
“Why, decent enow, an it like your Reverence,” said Stubbs; “for aught I
sees of her, thereís no harm of her, and she says she has cash enow to
carry her out of the county.”
“Cash! that is always what you think of, Stubbs--But, has she sense?--has
she her wits?--has she the capacity of taking care of herself?”
“Why, your Reverence,” replied Stubbs, “I cannot just say--I will be
sworn she was not born at Witt-ham;* for Gaffer Gibbs looked at her all
the time of service, and he says, she could not turn up a single lesson
like a Christian, even though she had Madge Murdockson to help her--but
then, as to fending for herself, why, sheís a bit of a Scotchwoman, your
Reverence, and they say the worst donnot of them can look out for their
own turn--and she is decently put on enow, and not bechounched like
tíother.”
* A proverbial and punning expression in that county, to intimate that a
person is not very clever.
“Send her in here, then, and do you remain below, Mr. Stubbs.”
This colloquy had engaged Jeanieís attention so deeply, that it was not
until it was over that she observed that the sashed door, which, we have
said, led from the anteroom into the garden, was opened, and that there
entered, or rather was borne in by two assistants, a young man, of a very
pale and sickly appearance, whom they lifted to the nearest couch, and
placed there, as if to recover from the fatigue of an unusual exertion.
Just as they were making this arrangement, Stubbs came out of the
library, and summoned Jeanie to enter it. She obeyed him, not without
tremor; for, besides the novelty of the situation, to a girl of her
secluded habits, she felt also as if the successful prosecution of her
journey was to depend upon the impression she should be able to make on
Mr. Staunton.
It is true, it was difficult to suppose on what pretext a person
travelling on her own business, and at her own charge, could be
interrupted upon her route. But the violent detention she had already
undergone, was sufficient to show that there existed persons at no great
distance who had the interest, the inclination, and the audacity,
forcibly to stop her journey, and she felt the necessity of having some
countenance and protection, at least till she should get beyond their
reach. While these things passed through her mind, much faster than our
pen and ink can record, or even the readerís eye collect the meaning of
its traces, Jeanie found herself in a handsome library, and in presence
of the Rector of Willingham. The well-furnished presses and shelves which
surrounded the large and handsome apartment, contained more books than
Jeanie imagined existed in the world, being accustomed to consider as an
extensive collection two fir shelves, each about three feet long, which
contained her fatherís treasured volumes, the whole pith and marrow, as
he used sometimes to boast, of modern divinity. An orrery, globes, a
telescope, and some other scientific implements, conveyed to Jeanie an
impression of admiration and wonder, not unmixed with fear; for, in her
ignorant apprehension, they seemed rather adapted for magical purposes
than any other; and a few stuffed animals (as the Rector was fond of
natural history) added to the impressive character of the apartment.
Mr. Staunton spoke to her with great mildness. He observed, that,
although her appearance at church had been uncommon, and in strange, and
he must add, discreditable society, and calculated, upon the whole, to
disturb the congregation during divine worship, he wished, nevertheless,
to hear her own account of herself before taking any steps which his duty
might seem to demand. He was a justice of peace, he informed her, as well
as a clergyman.
“His Honour” (for she would not say his Reverence) “was very civil and
kind,” was all that poor Jeanie could at first bring out.
“Who are you, young woman?” said the clergyman, more peremptorily--“and
what do you do in this country, and in such company?--We allow no
strollers or vagrants here.”
“I am not a vagrant or a stroller, sir,” said Jeanie, a little roused by
the supposition. “I am a decent Scots lass, travelling through the land
on my own business and my own expenses and I was so unhappy as to fall in
with bad company, and was stopped aí night on my journey. And this puir
creature, who is something light-headed, let me out in the morning.”
“Bad company!” said the clergyman. “I am afraid, young woman, you have
not been sufficiently anxious to avoid them.”
“Indeed, sir,” returned Jeanie, “I have been brought up to shun evil
communication. But these wicked people were thieves, and stopped me by
violence and mastery.”
“Thieves!” said Mr. Staunton; “then you charge them with robbery, I
suppose?”
“No, sir; they did not take so much as a boddle from me,” answered
Jeanie; “nor did they use me ill, otherwise than by confining me.”
The clergyman inquired into the particulars of her adventure, which she
told him from point to point.
“This is an extraordinary, and not a very probable tale, young woman,”
resumed Mr. Staunton. “Here has been, according to your account, a great
violence committed without any adequate motive. Are you aware of the law
of this country--that if you lodge this charge, you will be bound over to
prosecute this gang?”
Jeanie did not understand him, and he explained, that the English law, in
addition to the inconvenience sustained by persons who have been robbed
or injured, has the goodness to intrust to them the care and the expense
of appearing as prosecutors.
Jeanie said, “that her business at London was express; all she wanted
was, that any gentleman would, out of Christian charity, protect her to
some town where she could hire horses and a guide; and finally,” she
thought, “it would be her fatherís mind that she was not free to give
testimony in an English court of justice, as the land was not under a
direct gospel dispensation.”
Mr. Staunton stared a little, and asked if her father was a Quaker.
“God forbid, sir,” said Jeanie--“He is nae schismatic nor sectary, nor
ever treated for sic black commodities as theirs, and thatís weel kend oí
him.”
“And what is his name, pray?” said Mr. Staunton.
“David Deans, sir, the cowfeeder at Saint Leonardís Crags, near
Edinburgh.”
A deep groan from the anteroom prevented the Rector from replying, and,
exclaiming, “Good God! that unhappy boy!” he left Jeanie alone, and
hastened into the outer apartment.
Some noise and bustle was heard, but no one entered the library for the
best part of an hour.