Mrs Ruggles thought that it was her place, and said so; but Mr Purkis
was of opinion that it was his place, and he said so--bringing forward,
too, the fact that he had looked after them ever since the new ones had
been placed inside the north and south doors. And, in spite of Mrs
Ruggles' opposition, the beadle still continued to polish the quaint
imitation antique steel hinges and claspings of the two little oak
poor-boxes, while, to his great annoyance, Mrs Ruggles used to go and
rub them over again.
Very proud was Mr Purkis of those boxes and their meandering steel-work
and corners, of which there was so much that but little of the wood was
left visible; and nearly all that was covered by the guards round the
keyhole and slit through which the charitably-disposed of the
congregation were in the habit of dropping their contributions.
"You see the place is so damp, sir," Mr Purkis said to Jared; "and it's
not in my constitooshun to let a woman like that Mrs Ruggles go about
and grin like a dog in the city, and sneer because there's a speck on
the ornyments, and then pretend that she's so ashamed of their state
that she's obliged to polish them up herself. But they're a mortal
trouble to keep bright--they're as hard to keep bright as a man's
conscience, sir; they tarnish like gold lace, although I've tried
everything I know of, beginning with sand-paper, sir, and going down to
Bath bricks and emery powder. Do you know, sir," he said, mysteriously,
"it goes agen me to speak of her, she being, as it were, one of us; but,
sir, it's my belief as she damps and moistens the steel on the sly, or
spits upon them, o' purpose to aggravate my spirit and make the things
rust. In fack, I caught her agen one, about a week ago. Every respect
to you, sir, but I wish now as Mrs Purkis had took the post, sir; for
Mrs Ruggles makes herself very okkard, and altogether she's a woman as
Mrs Purkis don't like, and I can assure you as a fack that when my
missus takes a dislike to any one, that person ain't worth much.
"You see, sir, she's a dry sort of a woman, and very hard; and if she
was my wife, I should never expect as there'd be any gravy with the meat
for dinner. That's one of the great differences in wives, sir. Ruggles
wouldn't never have been so full of wrinkles and furrers in his face if
he'd had plenty of gravy. Look at me, sir; I'm a hearty man, work hard,
and do a rattling good business in boots and shoes, princip'lly
ready-mades. I weigh seventeen stone, and I'm pretty happy, sir; and
what's the reason? Gravy, sir, gravy! You never sit down to our table
without seeing plenty of gravy on it. Even when it's cold-meat day,
sir, there's always a little saved in a tea-cup to eat with your
potatoes. My wife was a cook, you know, sir, when I married her, and
she well knows the vally of gravy. She won my heart with it, sir, and
keeps it too. It's the real milk, of human kindness. You never knew a
woman who loved gravy, and liked to see others enjoy it, leather a child
as that woman leathers that child of their'n. Ruggles thinks she's a
wonder, and of course it would be a sin to undeceive him; but I'm pretty
sure of one thing, and that is, that there's never any gravy to speak of
on Ruggles' table."
And after his long speech, Mr Purkis, who had just come home very moist
and oozy from the church, after having a good polish at the poor-boxes,
handed Jared the church keys for him to go and practise.
It was not very far from Purkis's boot and shoe emporium to St
Runwald's, and when Jared reached the gates, he stood looking round for
his boy--the invisible Ichabod--who was of a very mercurial temperament,
and, if first upon the spot, given to indulgence in overing tombstones
or standing upon one leg on the top; walking, at the risk of being
impaled, round the iron railings of the family vaults; swarming up the
rain water-pipes, and turning himself into a living gargoyle; throwing
stones into the mouths of the corbels and breaking the windows; carving
his initials in the mouldering stone, where "I.G." could often be
distinguished, more often, however, with another letter added, greatly
to Ichabod's disgust, by evil-disposed street boys, who mocked at his
costume generally, and pulled his "tawsel" cap. The consequence of this
was that the word, "P.I.G." graced the walls of the church in several
places. Before now Ichabod had been upon the roof, and marked out the
size of his shoe with a knife-point in the soft lead, and had been upon
the top of the tower and amongst the bells, and down in the vaults,
where he told his schoolfellows he had seen a live ghost; and the only
wonder was, that in all Ichabod's travels he had never been mutilated or
killed.
Jared Pellett looked for him east and west, north into the porch, and
south towards the street; but there was no Ichabod in sight, so he shook
his head, and said to himself that Ichabod was a bad boy--a fact that he
had taken into consideration scores of times before--and then applying
the large key, he entered the church and swung to the door.
The moment after entering, Jared started as if alarmed, for there, close
beside him, stood a figure in the dim aisle, but he recovered himself
instantly upon seeing that it was only the old vicar, whilst behind him
stood churchwarden Timson; and then it was that Jared saw that they had
been emptying the poor-box.
"How do Mr Pellett? Nice day," said the vicar, cordially. Then turning
to the churchwarden--
"Must be something more, Mr Timson; feel again."
Mr Timson lifted the lid of the little steel-bound chest and thrust in a
fat hand, feeling about in all directions, as if chasing active coins
into dark corners, for them to dodge through his fingers and escape
again. His face was quite a study as he poked about, and at length he
drew forth his hand, looked at it on both sides, and declared that there
was nothing more.
"Tut, tut, tut!--how strange! Why I felt sure that I put in a sovereign
myself. It must have been last time; and yet I felt so sure, and--and--
yes--to be sure! here it is, `Sunday, 24th day, one pound!' There!" he
continued, triumphantly holding the pocket-book out to the churchwarden,
"I knew I did; and yet there's nothing here but silver and copper. Are
you sure that you felt well, Mr Timson?"
"Feel again," said the latter, good-temperedly; and again the fat hand
went to work, and the face looked more solid, but without success.
"Must have been in the other box," he said at last. The vicar
brightened up at this, and they crossed the church to the north door,
but from the scraps of conversation Jared Pellett could hear from the
organ-loft, it was evident that the quest was without result. Through
waiting for the boy, Jared soon dropped into one of his dreamy moods,
and became forgetful of things external, until the tardy Ichabod
arrived, out of breath, as if he had been exerting himself strenuously
to get to the church in time, when the edifice was soon resounding with
strains which drowned the rattling of keys and snapping of locks, as
well as the conversation of vicar and churchwarden upon the subject of
the missing money; but for all that the conversation went on.
"There might have been a great deal taken," said the vicar.
"Heaps," acquiesced Mr Timson.
"For, of course," said Mr Gray, "this is an exceptional time; and in
other instances I doubt whether I should be able to miss anything."
"Very true; quite agree with you," said Mr Timson. "Just as you say."
"Pounds might have been abstracted," said the vicar.
"Abstract, an epitome, a taking from," muttered Mr Timson; "yes, just
so, pounds, very true, sir."
"Hang it all, Timson, don't be so aggravating," said the vicar,
pettishly. "What is the good of agreeing with one in everything, it
can't do any good?"
"Just so, sir," said Mr Timson; and then, turning very red and hot, "No,
sir, of course not; but can't do any harm."
"Then for goodness' sake come into the vestry;" and the vicar led the
way towards the little robing room to count the offerings of the
charitable.
"Now, are you sure about that sovereign?" said Mr Timson to the vicar,
as they passed down the nave.
"Sure!" exclaimed the vicar, "have I not shown you the entry? But
there! I must have made a mistake."
"Of course you have," said Timson, triumphantly.
"For it is impossible," continued the vicar, "for any one to have
obtained access to the money; and surely no one would be so cruel as rob
the poor, eh? What do you think? Calmly and considerately now?"
"Just--," Mr Timson cut off the "so," and rubbed the side of his nose,
and looked mysterious. Then, resting one finger upon the vicar's black
silk vest, he said, "Once upon a time my desk was robbed--over and over
again--without being broken open, and I put in marked money, and still
it went; but I found the party out by that plan. And how do you think
they got at the money, sir?"
"Crooked wire through the crack," said the vicar.
"No, no--false keys!" said Mr Timson, wagging his head. "False keys,
and it was some one that had constant access to my office that did it."
The vicar mused, and fidgeted his neck in his stiff cravat, as
involuntarily he turned over in his own mind the list of persons who had
private access to the church--clerk, pew-opener, beadle, curate,
organist, organ-blower, churchwardens, himself; and then he shook his
head again, and the pair proceeded to count the money over once more
upon the vestry table, calculated the total amount of silver and copper,
made entries, and then tied the money carefully up in a little bag, and
all to the accompaniment of Jared's music, which ever and again made the
windows of the little vestry to rattle loudly.
"Fine organist, Mr Pellet!" said the vicar, after listening in silence
for a few minutes. "We were lucky in getting him, Timson."
"Very fine; quite agree with you," said Mr Timson. "Capital
congregations we get, too, now--almost double what they were in old
Harvey's time."
"Um!" ejaculated the vicar, with a curious dry look upon his features.
"Just so, sir," said Mr Timson. "You see, people like music, and will
come miles to hear it."
"Well, yes, I suppose so," said the vicar, half sadly; "and ours
certainly is a very fine instrument."
"And beautifully played," said Mr Timson; "not but what I think we have
too much of it; but people say it is well played."
"Yes," said the vicar, absently, for his thoughts were upon the
poor-box; "beautifully played, certainly. By the way, how startled Mr
Pellet seemed when he came in!"
"Poor man! yes: he's nervous," said Timson; "those musical chaps
generally are. Didn't expect us, you know. Might ask his opinion about
the box."
"Yes, we might, certainly," said the vicar; and then, uneasily, "No, I
don't think it would be of any use. Let it rest for the present, Mr
Timson; perhaps, after all, we may be mistaken."
"Very true, sir," said Timson. "Not often that there is gold in the
box. People are not very fond of giving to the poor and lending to the
Lord, though that's all of a piece with their behaviour. They're not
fond of lending to anybody. Seems to go against a man's nature."
"Not in all cases, Mr Timson," said the vicar, stiffly; "there are many
exceptions,--yourself, for instance."
"Present company--present company, sir," said Mr Timson, "always left
out of the question;" and Mr Timson looked very fidgety and
uncomfortable.
"Not in a case of this description," said the vicar. "A shining light
should never be placed beneath a bushel."
Mr Timson looked very unlike a shining light at this time, as he stared
at the vicar, and then round the church, and then fidgeted from foot to
foot, and held his hat first in one hand, and then in the other, as if
in a great hurry to go. But Mr Gray would not come out of the vestry,
and Mr Timson had to go in again, for he could not be spared yet. In
fact, asking him for the bag once more, the vicar again carefully went
through the amount of small change--copper, threepenny and four-penny
pieces, sixpences, shillings, and half-crowns--to see whether, after
all, his sovereign might not be there, explaining the while to Mr Timson
that some gold was very pale, and in dim lights, like that where they
were, sovereigns looked almost like shillings.
But though he carefully examined every shilling, and turned it over,
there was not one that could for an instant be taken for a sovereign;
so, with a sigh, the vicar slowly told up the total, replaced the money
in the bag, and tied it exceedingly tight, before once more handing it
to the churchwarden, when together they passed down the nave, listening
to Jared's harmonies.
But the vicar seemed uneasy: the music had lost its charm; and instead
of following his usual custom of sitting down in some comfortable pew to
listen for half-an-hour, he softly followed the churchwarden into the
street, and went homewards shaking his head,--that head being, the
while, sorely troubled with thoughts of sacrilege and the missing
sovereign.
Volume 2, Chapter II.