A NEW FRIEND.
After this there followed an exciting interval for the family at the
Parsonage. Reginald, with the impatience of anger, insisted upon
transporting himself to the College at once, and entering upon "his
duties," such as they were, in defiance of all public comment. And Mr.
May, delighted with the head-strong resentment which served his purpose
so well, promoted it by all the means in his power, goading his son on,
if he showed any signs of relaxing, by references to public opinion, and
what the Liberation Society would say. Before those curtains were ready,
which the girls had ordered with so much pride, or the carpet laid down,
he had taken possession, and his room in the Parsonage was already
turned upside down preparing for a new inmate. Many and strange were the
thoughts in Ursula's mind about this new inmate. She remembered Clarence
Copperhead as a full-grown man, beyond, it seemed to her, the age at
which pupilage was possible. What was he coming to Carlingford for? What
was he coming to the Parsonage for? What could papa do with a pupil
quite as old as Reginald, who, in his own person, had often taken
pupils? Ursula had read as many novels as were natural at her age, and
can it be supposed that she did not ask herself whether there was any
other meaning in it? Could he be coming to Carlingford on account of
Miss Beecham; or, on account of--any one else? Ursula never whispered,
even to her own imagination, on account of me. But it is not to be
supposed that the unbidden inarticulate thought did not steal in,
fluttering her girlish soul. Everybody knows that in fiction, at least,
such things occur continually, and are the most natural things in the
world; and to Ursula, beyond her own little commonplace world, which she
somewhat despised, and the strange world undeciphered and wonderful to
which the Dorsets had introduced her for those ten brief days in London,
the world of fiction was the only sphere she knew; and in that sphere
there could be no such natural method of accounting for a young man's
actions as that of supposing him to be "in love." The question remained,
was it with Miss Beecham, or was it with--anybody else? Such an inquiry
could not but flutter her youthful bosom. She made his room ready for
him, and settled how he was to be disposed of, with the strangest sense
of something beneath, which her father would never suspect, but which,
perhaps, she alone might know.
Clarence Copperhead was a more imposing figure to Ursula than he was in
reality. She had seen him only twice, and he was a big and full-grown
"gentleman," while Ursula only realised herself as a little girl. She
was not even aware that she had any intelligence to speak of, or that
she would be a fit person to judge of "a gentleman." To be sure she had
to do many things which wanted thought and sense; but she was too
unthoughtful of herself to have decided this as yet, or to have created
any private tribunal at which to judge a new-comer of Clarence
Copperhead's dimensions. A much greater personage than she was, an
individual whose comings and goings could not be without observation,
whose notice would be something exciting and strange, was what she took
him to be. And Ursula was excited. Did Mrs. Copperhead, that kind little
woman, know why he was coming--was she in his confidence? And how was
Ursula to entertain him, to talk to him--a gentleman accustomed to so
much better society? She did not say anything to Janey on this subject,
though Janey was not without her curiosities too, and openly indulged in
conjectures as to the new pupil.
"I wonder if he will be fine. I wonder if he will be very good," said
Janey. "I wonder if he will fall in love with Ursula. Pupils, in books,
always do; and then there is a dreadful fuss and bother, and the girl is
sent away. It is hard for the girl; it is always supposed to be her
fault. I would not allow papa to take any pupils if it was me."
"And much your papa would care for your permission," said Mrs. Sam
Hurst. "But so far I agree with you, Janey, that before he has pupils,
or anything of that sort, there ought to be a lady in the house. He
should marry--"
"Marry! we don't want a lady in the house," cried Janey, "we are ladies
ourselves, I hope. Marry! if he does, I, for one, will do all I can to
make his life miserable," said the girl with energy. "What should he
want to marry for when he has daughters grown up? There are enough of us
already, I should think."
"Too many," said Mrs. Sam Hurst with a sigh. It gave her the greatest
secret delight to play upon the girl's fears.
Besides this, however, Ursula had another pre-occupation. In that
cordial meeting with the young lady who had turned out to be a person in
such an embarrassing position, there had been a great deal said about
future meetings, walks, and expeditions together, and Ursula had been
very desirous that Phoebe should fix some time for their first encounter.
She thought of this now with blushes that seemed to burn her cheeks. She
was afraid to go out, lest she should meet the girl she had been so
anxious to make a friend of. Not that, on her own account, after the
first shock, Ursula would have been hard-hearted enough to deny her
acquaintance to Tozer's granddaughter. In the seclusion of her chamber,
she had cried over the downfall of her ideal friend very bitterly, and
felt the humiliation for Phoebe more cruelly than that young lady felt it
for herself; but Ursula, however much it might have cost her, would have
stood fast to her friendship had she been free to do as she pleased.
"I did not like her for her grandfather," she said to Janey, of whom, in
this case, she was less unwilling to make a confidant. "I never thought
of the grandfather. What does it matter to me if he were a sweep instead
of old Tozer?"
"Old Tozer is just as bad as if he were a sweep," said Janey; "if you
had ever thought of her grandfather, and known he was old Tozer, you
would have felt it would not do."
"What is there about a grandfather? I don't know if we ever had any,"
said Ursula. "Mamma had, for the Dorsets are her relations--but papa.
Mr. Griffiths's grandfather was a candle-maker; I have heard papa say
so--and they go everywhere."
"But he is dead," said Janey, with great shrewdness, "and he was rich."
"You little nasty calculating thing! Oh, how I hate rich people; how I
hate this horrid world, that loves money and loves fine names, and does
not care for people's selves whether they are bad or good! I shall never
dare to walk up Grange Lane again," said Ursula, with tears. "Fancy
changing to her, after being so glad to see her! fancy never saying
another word about the skating, or the walk to the old mill! How she
will despise me for being such a miserable creature! and she will think
it is all my own fault."
At this moment Mr. May, from the door of his study, called "Ursula!"
repeating the call with some impatience when she paused to dry her eyes.
She ran down to him quickly, throwing down her work in her haste. He was
standing at the door, and somehow for the first time the worn look about
his eyes struck Ursula with a touch of pity. She had never noticed it
before: a look of suppressed pain and anxiety, which remained about his
eyes though the mouth smiled. It had never occurred to her to be sorry
for her father before, and the idea struck her as very strange now.
"Come in," he said, "I want to speak to you. I have been thinking about
the young woman--this friend of yours. We are all among the Dissenters
now-a-days, whatever Mrs. Sam Hurst may say. You seem to have taken a
fancy to this Tozer girl?"
"Don't call her so, papa, please. She is a lady in herself, as good a
lady as any one."
"Well! I don't say anything against her, do I? So you hold by your
fancy? You are not afraid of Grange Lane and Mrs. Sam Hurst."
"I have not seen her again," said Ursula, cast down. "I have not been
out at all. I could not bear to be so friendly one day, and then to pass
as if one did not know her the next. I cannot do it," cried the girl, in
tears; "if I see her, I must just be the same as usual to her, whatever
you say."
"Very well, _be_ the same as usual," said Mr. May; "that is why I called
you. I have my reasons. Notwithstanding Tozer, be civil to the girl. I
have my reasons for what I say."
"Do you mean it, papa!" said Ursula, delighted. "Oh, how good of you!
You don't mind--you really don't mind? Oh! I can't tell you how thankful
I am; for to pretend to want to be friends, and then to break off all in
a moment because of a girl's grandfather----"
"Don't make a principle of it, Ursula. It is quite necessary, in an
ordinary way, to think of a girl's grandfather--and a boy's too, for
that matter. No shopkeeping friends for me; but in this individual case
I am willing to make an exception. For the moment, you see, Dissenters
are in the ascendant. Young Copperhead is coming next week. Now, go."
Ursula marched delighted upstairs. "Janey, run and get your hat," she
said; "I am going out. I am not afraid of any one now. Papa is a great
deal nicer than he ever was before. He says I may see Miss Beecham as
much as I like. He says we need not mind Mrs. Sam Hurst. I am so glad! I
shall never be afraid of that woman any more."
Janey was taken altogether by surprise. "I hope he is not going to fall
in love with Miss Beecham," she said suspiciously. "I have heard Betsy
say that old gentlemen often do."
"He is not so foolish as to fall in love with anybody," said Ursula,
with dignity. "Indeed, Janey, you ought to have much more respect for
papa. I wish you could be sent to school and learn more sense. You give
your opinion as if you were--twenty--more than that. I am sure I never
should have ventured to say such things when I was a child like you."
"Child yourself!" said Janey indignant; which was her last resource when
she had nothing more to say; but Ursula was too busy putting aside her
work and preparing for her walk to pay any attention. In proportion as
she had been subdued and downcast heretofore, she was gay now. She
forgot all about old Tozer; about the Dissenters' meeting, and the man
who had made an attack upon poor Reginald. She flew to her room for her
hat and jacket, and ran downstairs, singing to herself. Janey only
overtook her, out of breath, as she emerged into the road from the
Parsonage door.
"What a dreadful hurry you are in," said Janey. "I always get ready so
much quicker than you do. Is it all about this girl, because she is new?
I never knew you were so fond of new people before."
But that day they went up and down Grange Lane fruitlessly, without
seeing anything of Phoebe, and Ursula returned home disconsolate. In the
evening Reginald intimated carelessly that he had met Miss Beecham. "She
is much better worth talking to than most of the girls one meets with,
whoever her grandfather may be," he said, evidently with an instant
readiness to stand on the defensive.
"Oh, did you talk to her," said Ursula, "without knowing? Reginald, papa
has no objections. He says we may even have her here, if we please."
"Well, of course I suppose he must guide you in that respect," said
Reginald, "but it does not matter particularly to me. Of course I talked
to her. Even my father could not expect that his permission was needed
for me."
At which piece of self-assertion the girls looked at him with admiring
eyes. Already they felt there was a difference. Reginald at home,
nominal curate, without pay or position, was a different thing from
Reginald with an appointment, a house of his own, and two hundred and
fifty pounds a year. The girls looked at him admiringly, but felt that
this was never likely to be their fate. In everything the boys had so
much the best of it; and yet it was almost a comfort to think that they
had seen Reginald himself trembling before papa. Reginald had a great
deal to tell them about the college, about the old men who made a
hundred daily claims on his attention, and the charities which he had to
administer, doles of this and that, and several charity schools of a
humble class.
"As for my time, it is not likely to hang on my hands as I thought. I
can't be a parish Quixote, as we planned, Ursula, knocking down
windmills for other people," he said, adjusting his round edge of
collar. He was changed; he was important, a personage in his own sight,
no longer to be spoken of as Mr. May's son. Janey ventured on a little
laugh when he went away, but Ursula did not like the change.
"Never mind," cried Janey; "I hope Copperhead will be nice. We shall
have him to talk to, when he comes."
"Oh!" cried Ursula, in a kind of despair, "who taught you to call
gentlemen like that by their name? There is nothing so vulgar. Why,
Cousin Anne says--"
"Oh, Cousin Anne!" cried Janey, shaking her head, and dancing away.
After that she was aware there was nothing for it but flight.
Next day, however, they were more successful. Phoebe, though very little
older than Ursula, was kind to the country girls, and talked to them
both, and drew them out. She smiled when she heard of Clarence
Copperhead, and told them that he was not very clever, but she did not
think there was any harm in him.
"It is his father who is disagreeable," said Phoebe; "didn't you think
so? You know, papa is a minister, Miss May," (she did not say clergyman
when she spoke to a churchwoman, for what was the use of exciting any
one's prejudices?) "and Mr. Copperhead comes to our church. You may be
very thankful, in that respect, that you are not a dissenter. But it
will be very strange to see Clarence Copperhead in Carlingford. I have
known him since I was no bigger than your little sister. To tell the
truth," said Phoebe, frankly, "I think I am rather sorry he is coming
here."
"Why?" cried bold Janey, who was always inquisitive.
Miss Phoebe only smiled and shook her head; she made no distinct reply.
"Poor fellow, I suppose he has been 'plucked,' as the gentlemen call
it, or 'ploughed,' does your brother say? University slang is very
droll. He has not taken his degree, I suppose, and they want him to work
before going up again. I am sorry for your father, too, for I don't
think it will be very easy to get anything into Clarence Copperhead's
mind. But there is no harm at all in him, and he used to be very nice to
his mother. Mamma and I liked him for that; he was always very nice to
his mother."
"Will you come in and have some tea?" said Ursula. "Do, please. I hope,
now that I have met you again, you will not refuse me. I was afraid you
had gone away, or something--"
Ursula, however, could not help looking guilty as she spoke, and Phoebe
perceived at once that there had been some reason for the two or three
days disappearance of the girls from Grange Lane.
"You must tell me first," she said, with a smile, "whether you know who
I am. If you ask me after that, I shall come. I am old Mr. Tozer's
granddaughter, who had a shop in the High Street. My uncle has a shop
there now. I do not like it myself," said Phoebe, with the masterly
candour that distinguished her, "and no one else can be expected to like
it. If you did not know--"
"Oh, we heard directly," cried Janey; "Mrs. Sam Hurst told us. She came
shrieking, 'Who is she?' before your back was turned that day; for she
wondered to see you with old Tozer--"
"Janey!" cried Ursula, with horror. "Of course we know; and please will
you come? Every new person in Carlingford gets talked over, and if an
angel were to walk about, Mrs. Sam Hurst would never rest till she had
found out where he came from."
"And, perhaps, whether he had a broken feather in his wing," said Phoebe.
"I am very glad you don't mind. It will be very pleasant to come. I will
run in and tell them, and then I will join you. Grandmamma is an
invalid, and would like to know where I am."
And the news made a considerable flutter in the dim room where Mrs.
Tozer sat between the fire and the window, looking out upon the crocuses
and regretting the High Street.
"But run and put on another dress, dear. What will they think of you in
that everlasting brown frock as you're so fond of? I'd like them to see
as my grandchild could dress as nice as any lady in the land."
"She'll not see much finery there," said Tozer; "they're as poor as
church mice, are them Mays, and never a penny to pay a bill when it's
wanted. I don't think as Phoebe need mind her dressing to go there."
"And you'll send for me if you want me, grandmamma; you will be sure to
send?"
But for the brown frock, Mrs. Tozer's satisfaction would have been
unalloyed as she watched her granddaughter walking across the garden.
"She's at home among the quality, she is," said the old woman; "maybe
more so than she is with you and me; but there ain't a better girl in
all England, and that I'll say for her, though if she would think a
little more about her clothes, as is nat'ral at her age, it would be
more pleasing to me."
"The worst dress as Phoebe has is better than anything belonging to them
Mays," said Tozer.
He did not care for the parson at St. Roque; though he was pleased that
his child should be among "the quality." But it was on that evening that
poor old Mrs. Tozer had one of her attacks, and Phoebe had to be summoned
back at an early hour. The servant went down with an umbrella and a
note, to bring her home; and that trifling incident had its influence
upon after affairs, as the reader shall shortly see.