THE NEW CHAPLAIN.
It cannot be denied that, reluctant as Reginald May had been to accept
the chaplaincy of which so much had been said, he had no sooner fairly
done so, and committed himself beyond remedy, than a certain sense of
relief began to steal over the young man's mind. He had made the leap.
Moved, at last, by arguments which, perhaps, were not worth very much
logically, and which even while he yielded to them he saw the weakness
of, he felt sure that when he woke in the morning, and realized what he
had done, fearful feelings of remorse would seize him. But, curiously
enough, this was not so; and his first sensation was relief that the
conflict was over, and that he had no more angry remonstrances to meet
with, or soft pleadings from Ursula, or assaults of rude abruptness from
Janey. All that was over; and then a warm glow of independence and
competency came over the young man. You may be sure he had no fire in
his rooms to make him warm, and it was a chill January morning, with
snow in the heavy sky, and fog in the yellow air; but, notwithstanding,
there came a glow of comfort over him.
Independent!--free to go where he pleased, buy what he liked, spend his
time as best seemed to him, with a "position" of his own; even a house
of his own. He laughed softly to himself at this new idea. It did not
somehow hurt him as he thought it would, this sinecure he had accepted.
Could he not make it up, as Ursula said, "work for the town in other
ways without pay, since the town had given him pay without work?" A
genial feeling of toleration came over Reginald's mind. Why should he
have made such a fuss about it? It was natural that his father should
insist, and, now that it was done, he himself did not wish it undone, as
he had expected to do. After all, if you judged matters with such
rigidity, who was there without guilt? what public appointment was
given and held according to abstract right, as, formally speaking, it
ought to be? Those in the highest offices were appointed, not because of
their personal excellence, but because of being some other man's son or
brother; and yet, on the whole, public duty was well done, and the
unjust ruler and hireling priest were exceptions. Even men whose entry
into the fold was very precipitate, over the wall, violently, or by some
rat-hole of private interest, made very good shepherds, once they were
inside. Nothing was perfect in this world, and yet things were more good
than evil; and if he himself made it his study to create for himself an
ideal position, to become a doer of all kinds of volunteer work, what
would it matter that his appointment was not an ideal appointment? It
seemed very strange to him, and almost like an interposition of
Providence in his favour, that he should feel in this way, for Reginald
was not aware that such revulsions of feeling were very natural
phenomena, and that the sensation, after any great decision, is almost
invariably one of relief. To be sure it upset this manly state of mind a
little when, coming down to breakfast, his father gave him a nod, and
said briefly, "I am glad you have seen your duty at last."
This made him almost resolve to throw it up again; but the feeling was
momentary. Why should he give it up? It had made him independent
(already he thought of his independence as a thing accomplished), and he
would make full amends to the Church and to Carlingford for taking two
hundred and fifty pounds a year without working for it. Surely he could
do that. He did not grudge work, but rather liked it, and would be ready
to do anything, he did not care what, to make his sinecure into a
volunteer's outpost for every good work. Yes, that was the way to look
at it. And it was a glorious independence. Two hundred and fifty pounds
a year!
"And the house," cried Ursula, when Mr. May had left the
breakfast-table, and left them free to chatter. "The house--I don't
think you are likely to find a tenant for it. The houses in Grange Lane
are so cheap now; and some people object to the poor old men. I think
you must keep the house. Furnishing will be an expense; but, of course,
when you have a certain income, that makes such a difference; and you
can come and see us every day."
"Why can't he live at home?" said Janey; "we are so poor; he ought to
come and pay us something for his board, and help us to get on."
"What can you know about it, at your age?" said Ursula. "We have not got
proper rooms for Reginald. He ought, at least, to have a study of his
own, as well as a bed-room, now that he has an appointment. No, you must
go to the College, Reginald; and, perhaps, you might have one of the
boys with you, say Johnnie, which would be a great saving--for he has an
appetite; he eats more than two of the rest of us do. You might take one
of them with you--to save the bills a little--if you like."
"Take me," said Janey, "I have a good appetite too; and then I'm a girl,
which is a great deal more useful. I could keep your house. Oh,
Reginald! mayn't we go out and see it? I want to see it. I have never
once been over the College--not in all my life."
"We might as well go, don't you think, Ursula?" he said, appealing to
her with a delightful mixture of helplessness and supremacy. Yesterday,
he had not been able to assert any exclusive claim to sixpence. Now he
had a house--a house all his own. It pleased him to think of taking the
girls to it; and as for having one of them, he was ready to have them
all to live with him. Ursula thought fit to accede graciously to this
suggestion, when she had looked after her numerous household duties.
Janey, in the mean time, had been "practising" in one of her periodical
fits of diligence.
"For, you know, if Reginald did really want me to keep house for him,"
said Janey, "(you have too much to do at home; or, of course, he would
like you best), it would be dreadful if people found out how little I
know."
"You ought to go to school," said Ursula, gravely. "It is a dreadful
thing for a girl never to have had any education. Perhaps Reggie might
spare a little money to send you to school; or, perhaps, papa--"
"School yourself!" retorted Janey, indignant; but then she thought
better of it. "Perhaps just for a year to finish," she added in a
doubtful tone. They thought Reginald could do anything on that wonderful
two hundred and fifty pounds a year.
The College was a picturesque old building at the other side of
Carlingford, standing in pretty grounds with some fine trees, under
which the old men sat and amused themselves in the summer mornings. On
this chilly wintry day none of them were visible, except the cheerful
old soul bent almost double, but with a chirruppy little voice like a
superannuated sparrow, who acted as porter, and closed the big gates
every night, and fined the old men twopence if they were too late. He
trotted along the echoing passages, with his keys jingling, to show them
the chaplain's rooms.
"The old gentlemen is all as pleased as Punch," said Joe. "We was a
feared as it might be somebody foreign--not a Carlingford gentleman; and
some parsons is queer, saving your presence, Mr. May; but we knows where
you comes from, and all about you, as one of the old gentlemen was just
a-saying to me. Furnished, Miss? Lord bless you, yes! they're furnished.
It's all furnished, is College. You'll think as the things look a bit
queer; they wasn't made not this year, nor yet last year, I can tell
you; and they ain't in the fashion. But if so be as you don't stand by
fashion, there they is," said Joe, throwing open the door.
The young people went in softly, their excitement subdued into a kind of
awe. An empty house, furnished, is more desolate, more overwhelming to
the imagination, than a house which is bare. For whom was it waiting,
all ready there, swept and garnished? Or were there already unseen
inhabitants about, writing ghostly letters on the tables, seated on the
chairs? Even Janey was hushed.
"I'd rather stay at home, after all," she whispered in Ursula's ear
under her breath.
But after awhile they became familiar with the silent place, and awoke
the echoes in it with their voices and new life. Nothing so young had
been in the College for years. The last chaplain had been an old man and
an old bachelor; and the pensioners were all solitary, living a sort of
monastic life, each in his room, like workers in their cells. When
Janey, surprised by some unexpected joke, burst into one of her peals of
laughter, the old building echoed all through it, and more than one
window was put up and head projected to know the cause of this
profanation.
"Joe!" cried one portentous voice; "what's happened? what's the meaning
of this?"
"It's only them a-laughing, sir," said Joe, delighting in the vagueness
of his rejoinder. "They ain't used to it, that's the truth; but laugh
away, Miss, it'll do you good," he added benignly. Joe was of a cheerful
spirit, notwithstanding his infirmities, and he foresaw lightsome days.
Somewhat taken aback, however, by the commotion produced by Janey's
laugh, the young party left the College, Ursula carrying with her sundry
memoranda and measurements for curtains and carpets. "You must have
curtains," she said, "and I think a carpet for the study. The other room
will do; but the study is cold, it has not the sunshine. I wonder if we
might go and look at some, all at once."
Here the three paused in the road, and looked at each other somewhat
overcome by the grandeur of the idea. Even Reginald, notwithstanding his
Oxford experience, held his breath a little at the thought of going
right off without further consideration, and buying carpets and
curtains. As for Janey, she laughed again in pure excitement and
delight.
"Fancy going into Holden's, walking right in, as if we had the Bank in
our pockets, and ordering whatever we like," she cried.
"I suppose we must have them!" said Reginald, yielding slowly to the
pleasure of acquisition. Ursula was transformed by the instinct of
business and management into the leader of the party.
"Of course you must have them," she said, with the air of a woman who
had ordered curtains all her life, "otherwise you will catch cold, and
that is not desirable," and she marched calmly towards Holden's, while
Janey dropped behind to smother the laughter which expressed her amazed
delight in this new situation. It is doubtful whether Holden would have
given them so good a reception had the Miss Mays gone to hint to order
curtains for the Parsonage--for the Carlingford tradesmen were very well
aware of the difficulties, in point of payment, which attended Mr. May's
purchases. But Holden was all smiles at the idea of fitting up the rooms
in the College.
"Carpets? I have a Turkey carpet that would just suit one of those old
rooms--old-fashioned rooms are so much thought of at present," said the
man of furniture.
"Yes--I suppose that would do," said Reginald, with a side look at his
sister, to know if he was right. Ursula slew him with a glance of her
brown eyes. She was almost grand in superior knowledge and righteous
indignation.
"Turkey! are you out of your senses? Do you think we have the Bank in
our pockets," she whispered to him angrily, "as Janey says?"
"How was I to know? He said so," said the alarmed chaplain, cowed,
notwithstanding his income.
"_He_ said so! that is just like you boys, taking whatever everyone
tells you. Why, a Turkey carpet costs a fortune. Mr. Holden, I think, if
you please, Brussels will do; or some of those new kinds, a jumble of
colours without any decided pattern. Not too expensive," said Ursula
solemnly, the colour mounting to her face. They were all rather brought
down from their first delight and grandeur when this was said--for
stipulating about expense made a difference all at once. The delightful
sensation of marching into Holden's as if the world belonged to them was
over; but Janey was touched to see that Holden still remained civil,
and did not express, in his countenance, the contempt he must have felt.
When this was over, and Mr. Holden had kindly suggested the idea of
sending various stuffs to the College, "that they might judge of the
effect," the party went home, slightly subdued. The air was heavy and
yellow, and prophesied snow; but a very red wintry sun had managed to
make an opening temporarily in the clouds, and threw a ruddy ray down
Grange Lane, bringing out the few passengers who were coming and going
under the old garden walls. Ursula clasped her hands together, and came
to a stop suddenly, when she turned her eyes that way.
"Oh!" she said, "here she is--she is coming! all by herself, and we
can't help meeting her--the young lady in black!"
"Shall we speak to her?" said Janey with a little awe.
"Who is the young lady in black?" said Reginald, "this girl who is
coming up? I never saw her before in Carlingford. Is she some one you
have met with the Dorsets? She don't look much like Grange Lane."
"Oh, hush! here she is," said Ursula, losing all that importance of
aspect which her position as leader of the expedition had given her. A
pretty blush of expectation came over her face--her dimples revealed
themselves as if by magic. You will think it strange, perhaps, that the
sight of one girl should produce this effect upon another. But then
Phoebe represented to Ursula the only glimpse she had ever had into a
world which looked gay and splendid to the country girl--a world in
which Phoebe had appeared to her as a princess reigning in glory and
delight. Ursula forgot both her companions and her recent occupation.
Would the young lady in black notice her; stop, perhaps, and talk to
her--remember her? Her eyes began to glow and dance with excitement. She
stumbled as she went on in her anxiety, fixing her eyes upon the
approaching figure. Phoebe, for her part, was taking a constitutional
walk up and down Grange Lane, and she too was a little moved,
recognizing the girl, and wondering what it would be wisest to
do--whether to speak to her, and break her lonely promenade with a
little society, or remember her "place," and save herself from further
mortification by passing the clergyman's daughter, who was a cousin of
the Dorsets, with a bow.
"The Dorsets wouldn't recognise me, nor Miss May either," Phoebe said to
herself, "_if they knew_--"
But Ursula looked so wistful as they approached each other that she had
not the courage to keep to this wise resolution. Though she was only the
granddaughter of Tozer, the butterman, she was much more a woman of the
world than this pretty blushing girl who courted her notice. She put out
her hand instinctively when they met. "It can't harm anybody but myself,
after all," she thought.
"Oh, I am so glad you remember me," cried Ursula. "I knew you in a
moment. Have you come to stay here? This is my brother, Reginald, and my
little sister, Janey," (how Janey scowled at that _little!_ and with
reason, for she was by half an inch the taller of the two). "Are you
taking a walk? I do hope you like Carlingford. I do hope you are going
to stay. That is our house down at the end of the lane, close to St.
Roque's. Papa is the clergyman there. It will be so delightful," said
Ursula, repeating herself in her excitement, "if you are going to stay."
"I am going to stay for some time," said Phoebe graciously, "I don't
quite know how long. I came here shortly after I saw you in town. My
grandfather lives here. Grange Lane is very nice for a walk. Grandmamma
is an invalid, so that I don't leave her very often. It was great luck
finding you just as I had come out; for it is not cheerful walking
alone."
Phoebe felt perfectly sure that through each of the three heads turned
towards her a hurried inquiry was going on as to which of those enclosed
houses contained the grandmother who was an invalid; but no sort of
enlightenment followed the inquiry, and as for Ursula it terminated
abruptly in her mind with a rush of cordiality. She was not at an age
when friendship pauses to make any inquiry into grandmothers.
"I am so glad! for if you are not going anywhere in particular, we may
all walk together. Janey knows you quite well. I have talked of you so
often," (here Phoebe gave a gracious bow and smile to Janey, who was not
quite sure that she liked to be thus patronized), "and so does my
brother," said Ursula, more doubtfully. "Do you like Carlingford? Have
you seen many people? Oh! I do hope you will stay."
"I have not seen anybody," said Phoebe. "My people are not much in
society. When one is old and sick, I don't suppose one cares--"
"There is no society to speak of in Carlingford," said Reginald. "It is
like most other country towns. If you like it we shall be sure your
liking is quite disinterested, for it has no social charms--"
When had Reginald said so many words at a time to a young lady before?
The girls exchanged glances. "I think it is pretty," said Phoebe, closing
the subject. "It is going to snow, don't you think? I suppose you skate
like all the young ladies now. It seems the first thing any one thinks
of when the winter begins."
"Do you skate?" said Ursula, her eyes brighter and opener than ever.
"Oh, a little--as everybody does! Perhaps if there is no society," said
Phoebe, turning to Reginald for the first time, "people are free here
from the necessity of doing as everybody does. I don't think there is
any such bondage in the world--dressing, living, working, amusing
yourself--you have to do everything as other people do it. So I skate--I
can't help myself; and a hundred foolish things beside."
"But I should think it _delightful_," cried Ursula, "I have always
envied the boys. They look so warm when we are all shivering. Reginald,
if it freezes will you teach us? I think I should like it better than
anything in the world."
"Yes," said Reginald, "if Miss--if we can make up a party--if you," he
added with a perfectly new inflection in his voice, "will come too."
"I see you don't know my name," said Phoebe, with a soft little laugh.
"It is Beecham. One never catches names at a party. I remembered yours
because of a family in a novel that I used to admire very much in my
girlish days--"
"Oh! I know," cried Janey, "the Daisy Chain. We are not a set of prigs
like those people. We are not goody, whatever we are; we--"
"I don't suppose Miss Beecham cares for your opinion of the family
character," said Reginald in a tone that made Janey furious. Thus
discoursing they reached the gates of the Parsonage, where Ursula was
most eager that her friend should come in. And here Mr. May joined them,
who was impressed, like everybody else, by Phoebe's appearance, and made
himself so agreeable that Reginald felt eclipsed and driven into the
background. Ursula had never been so satisfied with her father in her
life; though there was a cloud on Mr. May's soul, it suited him to show
a high good-humour with everybody in recompense for his son's
satisfactory decision, and he was, indeed, in a state of high
complacence with himself for having managed matters so cleverly that the
very thing which should have secured Reginald's final abandonment of the
chaplaincy determined him, on the contrary, to accept it. And he admired
Phoebe, and was dazzled by her self-possession and knowledge of the
world. He supported Ursula's invitation warmly; but the stranger freed
herself with graceful excuses. She had her patient to attend to.
"That is a very lady-like young woman," said Mr. May, when they had
gone in, after watching regretfully their new acquaintance's progress
through Grange Lane. "You met her in town, did you? A friend of the
Dorsets? Where is she living, I wonder; and whom does she belong to? One
does not often see that style of thing here."
"I never saw any one like her before," said Ursula fervently; and they
were still all uniting in admiration of Phoebe--when--
But such an interruption demands another page.