BOADICEA, JOAN OF ARC, CHARLOTTE CORDAY, JAEL, AND MISS PRITCHETT OF
HORNHAM
People of taste are never without wonder at the extraordinary lack of it
that many well-to-do folk display. It was but rarely that a person of
taste entered Malakoff Lodge, where Miss Pritchett dwelt, but when such
an event did happen, the impression was simply that of enormous
surprise. The drawing-room into which visitors were shown was an immense
place and full of furniture. In each of the corners stood a life-sized
piece of statuary painted in "natural colours." Here one saw an immense
negro, some six feet high, with coffee-coloured skin, gleaming red lips,
and a gaudy robe of blue and yellow. This monster supported a large
earthenware basket on his back, painted, of course, in correct
straw-colour, from which sprang a tall palm that reached to the ceiling.
In other corners of the room were an Egyptian dancing-girl, a Turk, and
an Indian fakir, all of which supported ferns, which it was part of
Miss Gussie Davies' duty to water every morning.
The many tables, chiefly of circular or octagonal form, which stood
about the room, bore a multitude of costly and hideous articles which
should have been relegated to a museum, to illustrate the deplorable
taste of the middle classes during the early and mid-Victorian era.
Here, for example, was a model of the leaning tower of Pisa done in
white alabaster, some two feet in height, and shielded from harm by a
thick glass case. There, the eye fell upon a bunch of very purple grapes
and a nectarine or two, made of wax, with a waxen bee settling upon
them, all covered with glass also. Literary tastes were not forgotten.
Immense volumes of Moore's poems, the works of Southey or Robert
Montgomery lay about on the tables. These were bound in heavy leather
boards, elaborately tooled in gold representations of Greek lyres and
golden laurel crowns. The shining gilt edges were preserved from the
profanation of a casual opening by two or three immense brass clasps
which imprisoned the poet's thoughts within.
The time in which these things were made was a sentimental age, and it
was well reflected in its _bijouterie_. Innumerable nymphs and
shepherdesses stood about offering each other hearts, madrigals, and
other dainties. But they had none of the piquant grace that Watteau
would have given them, or the charm the white-hot fires of Dresden might
have burnt into them. They were solid, very British nymphs, whose
drapery was most decorously arranged that one thick ankle might be
visible, but no more;--nymphs and shepherdesses who, one might imagine,
sat happily by the bank of some canal, singing the pious ditties of Dr.
Watts as the sun went down,--nymphs, in short, with a moral purpose. The
hangings of Miss Pritchett's room, the heavy window curtains that
descended from baldachinos of gleaming gold, were all of a rich crimson,
an extraordinary colour that is not made now, and the wall-paper was a
heavy pattern in dark ultramarine and gold. Indeed, there was enough
gold in this mausoleum to have satisfied Miss Killmansegg herself.
One merit the place had in summer, it was cool, and when the barouche
that was the envy of Hornham drove up at Malakoff gates, Miss Pritchett
rushed into the drawing-room, and, sinking into an arm-chair of purple
plush, fanned a red and angry face with her handkerchief.
The companion followed her meekly.
"Wait there, Miss Davies," said the spinster sharply; "stand there for a
moment, please, till I can get my breath."
Miss Davies remained standing before her patroness in meek obedience.
After a minute or two, Miss Pritchett motioned with her hand towards an
adjacent chair. Gussie Davies sat down.
It was part of the spinster's life to subject her companion to a kind of
drill in this way. The unfortunate girl's movements were regulated
mathematically, and in her more genial and expansive moments Miss
Pritchett would explain that her "nerves" required that this should be
so--that she should have absolute control over the movements of any one
who was in the room with her.
There had been spirited contests between Miss Pritchett and a long
succession of girls who had refused to play the part of automaton, but
in Gussie Davies, the lady had found a willing slave. She paid her well,
and in return was served with diligence and thorough obsequiousness.
Gussie was adroit, more adroit than her somewhat lymphatic appearance
would have led the casual observer to suppose. Properly trained, she
might almost have made a psychologist, but her opportunities had been
limited. However, for several years, she had directed a sharp brain to
the study of one person, and she knew Miss Pritchett as Mr. Sponge knew
his Mogg. Her influence with that lady was enormous, the more so in that
it was not at all suspected by the object, who imagined that the girl
was hers, body and soul. But, nevertheless, Miss Davies, who hailed from
Wales and had a large share of the true Cymric cunning, could play upon
her mistress with sure fingers, and, while submitting to every form of
petty tyranny, and occasionally open insult, she ruled the foolish woman
she was with.
Gussie sat down. Miss Pritchett did not speak at once, and the girl
judged, correctly enough, that she was meant to open the ball.
"O Miss Pritchett!" she said with a little shudder, "what a relief it
must be to you to be back in your own mansion!"
Nothing pleased the spinster more than the word mansion as applied to
her house. Gussie used the term with discretion, employing it only on
special occasions, unwilling to be prodigal of so sure a card.
"You may well say that, child," Miss Pritchett answered faintly.
"Now you must let me ring for a glass of port for you," the young lady
continued. "You need it, indeed you do. I'll take the responsibility on
myself."
She rose and rang the bell. "Two glasses," said Miss Pritchett when the
answering maid had received her order. "You shall have a glass, Gussie,
for I feel I am to blame in taking you to such a place. I have seen the
world, and I have met women of that class before, I am sorry to say. But
hitherto I have managed to shield you from such contamination."
Gussie sighed the sigh of innocence, a sigh which the young men with
whom she larked about in Alexandra Gardens never heard.
"I wish I had your knowledge of the world," she said. "But, of course,
I've never mixed in society, not like you."
The port arrived and in a minute or two the experienced damsel saw that
her patroness was settling down for a long and confidential chat. The
moment promised a golden opportunity, of which she meant to take
advantage if she possibly could. She had a big scheme in hand; she was
primed with it by minds more subtle than her own. The image of Sam
Hamlyn was before her and she burned to deserve that gentleman's
commendation.
"Yes," said Miss Pritchett, "as a girl, when I used to go to the Lord
Mayor's balls at the Mansion House with papa and mamma, I saw what
society really was. And it's worse now! That abandoned hussy at the
vicarage is an example of what I mean. I must not go into details before
you, child, but I know what I know!"
"How _awful_, Miss Pritchett! I saw her making eyes at all the gentlemen
before you went up to her."
"All's fish that comes to the net of such," replied Miss Pritchett. "An
earl's toy, the giddy bubble floating on the open sewer of a London
season, or the sly allurer of an honest young city gentleman. Anything
in trousers, child, is like herrings to a cat!"
"How _awful_! Miss Pritchett," repeated Gussie, wondering what it would
be like to be an earl's toy, and rather thinking she would enjoy it. "I
suppose you'll go to the vicarage just as usual, though,--on parish
business, I mean."
This, as the girl expected, provoked a storm, which she patiently
endured, certain that she was in a way to gain her ends. At length, the
flow of voluble and angry words grew less. Miss Pritchett was enjoying
herself too much to risk the girl's non-compliance with her mood.
"There, there," she said eventually, "it's only your ignorance I know,
Gussie, but you do aggravate me. You don't understand society. Never
shall I set foot in that man's house again!"
Gussie gasped. Her face expressed fervent admiration at such a daring
resolve, but slight incredulity as well.
The bait took again. "Never, as I'm a living lady!" said Miss Pritchett,
"and I don't know as I shall ever drive up to the church doors in my
carriage on a Sunday morning more! Opinions may change. I _may_ have
been--I don't say I _have_ been, yet, mind you--I _may_ have been led
away by the false glitter of Roman doctrine and goings on."
The idea seemed to please the lady. She saw herself picturesque in such
a situation.
Gussie started suddenly.
"What's the matter, child?" she was asked tartly; "do you think no
one's got any nerves? Keep still, do!"
"I'm very sorry, Miss Pritchett, but when you said that, I remembered
something I was reading last night in the _Hornham Observer_."
"I was keeping it for Sunday afternoon," said Miss Pritchett. "I did
mean to go to morning service and then read Mr. Hamlyn's side of last
Sunday's proceedings at home, comfortable like. But what's in the
paper?"
"A great deal that will interest you, dear Miss Pritchett, though I do
not know if you will be pleased."
"Pleased? What do you mean?"
"Your name is mentioned several times."
"Is it, indeed! We'll soon see about that! Fetch the paper at once and
read what it says. If Mr. Hamlyn's been foolish enough to talk about his
betters, I'll very soon have him turned neck and crop out of the place.
He's a man I've never spoken to more than twice, and he must be taught
his place in Hornham."
Gussie went out to fetch the paper. She smiled triumphantly as she came
into the hall. All was going well and, moreover, her quick ear had
caught the slight trace of wavering and alarm in the concluding words
of her mistress. Miss Pritchett, like many other people, was never able
to rid herself of a superstitious reverence for print. She devoutly
believed the cheap romances that formed her literary food, and even a
small local newspaper was not without a strong influence on one whose
whole sympathies and interests were local.
Gussie came back with the paper. "There's two whole pages about the St.
Elwyn's business," she said, "column after column, with great big
letters at the top. Shall I begin at the beginning?"
"No, no; read the bits about me, of course. Read what it was that made
you jump like a cat in an oven just now."
"That particular bit did not mention your name, Miss Pritchett, but it
chimed in so with what you said just now. I wonder if I can find
it?--ah, here it is--
"'And so I think I have accounted for the reason of the popularity of
such services as go on at St. Elwyn's among the poorer classes. A
wealthy clergyman can buy attendance at any idolatry, and who would
blame a starving brother, desperate for food, perhaps, for attendance at
a mummery which is nothing to him but the price of a much-needed meal?
Not I. Tolerance has ever been the watch-word of the _Observer_, and,
however much I may regret that even the poorest man may be forced to
witness the blasphemous and hideous mockery of Truth that takes place at
St. Elwyn's, I blame not the man, but the cunning of a priesthood that
buys his attendance and then points to him as a convert to thinly veiled
Romanism.'"
Gussie stopped for a moment to take breath. Miss Pritchett's face was
composed to pleasure. This was hot and strong indeed! She wondered how
Father Blantyre liked this!
Worthy Mr. Hamlyn, indeed, had heard of the little incident of the navvy
and Father King, and knew that the erstwhile antagonist was now housed
in the vicarage. Hence the preceding paragraph. Gussie went on:
"'But what shall we say when we find rank and fashion, acute
intelligence and honoured names bowing down in the House of Rimmon? How
shall we in Hornham regard such a strange and--so it seems to
us--unnatural state of affairs?
"'The Scarlet Woman is powerful indeed! It would be idle to attempt to
deny it. The drowsy magic of Rome has permeated with its subtle
influence homes where we should have hoped it would never enter. And why
is this? I think we can understand the reason in some measure. Let us
take an imaginary case. Let us suppose that there is among us a woman of
high station, of intellect, wealth, and charm. She sees a struggling
priesthood establish itself in a Protestant neighbourhood. The sympathy
that woman will ever have for the weak is enlisted; she visits a church,
not realising what its sham and ceremony leads to, under what Malign
Influence it is carried on. And then a gracious nature is attracted by
the cunning amenities of worship. The music, the lights, the flowers,
the gorgeous robes, appeal to a high and delicate nature. For a time, it
passes under the sway of an arrogant priesthood, and, with that sweet
submission which is one of the most alluring of feminine charms, bows
before a Baal which it does not realise, a golden calf that it would
abhor and repudiate were it not blinded by its own charity and
unsuspicious trust! Have I drawn a picture that is too strong? I think
not. It is only by analogy that we can best present the Truth.
"'Nevertheless we do not hesitate to assert, and assert with absolute
conviction, that, if such a clouding of a fine nature were temporarily
possible, it would be but transient. Truth will prevail. In the end, we
shall see all those who are now the puppets and subjects of a Romanising
attempt come back to the clear sunlight of Protestantism, away from the
stink-pots and candles, the toys of ritual, the poison of a painted
lie.'"
Gussie read the paragraphs with unction. She read them rather well. As
she made an end, her guilty conscience gave her a fear that the unusual
emphasis might have awakened some suspicion in Miss Pritchett's mind.
But with great relief she saw that it was not so. That lady was
manifestly excited. Her eyes were bright and there was a high flush on
the cheek-bones. Truth to tell, Miss Pritchett had always suspected that
there were depths of hidden gold in her nature. But they had never been
so vividly revealed to her before.
"Give me the paper," she said in a tremulous voice; "let me read it for
myself!"
Her unguarded words showed Miss Davies how completely the fortress was
undermined. The spinster read the words through her glasses and then
handed the paper back to her companion.
"The man that wrote that," she said, "is a good and sincere man. He
knows how the kind heart can be imposed upon and deceived! I shall take
an early opportunity of meeting Mr. Hamlyn. He will be a great man some
day, if I am any judge."
"He must have had his eye on the Malakoff," Gussie said. "Why, dear Miss
Pritchett, he has described you to a T. There is no one else in Hornham
to whom it could apply."
"Hush, child! It may be as you say. This worthy man may have been
casting his eye over the parish and thought that he saw in me something
of which he writes. It is not for me to deny it. I can only say that in
his zeal he has much exaggerated the humble merits of one who, whatever
her faults, has merely tried to do her duty in the station to which she
has been called. And if Providence has placed that station high, it is
Providence's will, and we must not complain!"
"How beautifully you put it, Miss Pritchett!"
The chatelaine of Malakoff wiped a tear from her eye. The excitement of
the afternoon, the glass of port, the periods of Mr. Hamlyn's prose,
had all acted upon nerves pampered by indulgence and tightened with
self-irritation.
"I believe you care for me, child," said Miss Pritchett with a sob.
"How it rejoices me to hear you say so, Miss Pritchett," Gussie replied,
seeing that her opportunity had now come. "But your generous nature
gives way too easily. You are unstrung by the wanton insults of that
woman! Let me read you the concluding portion of Mr. Hamlyn's article.
It may soothe you."
"Read it," murmured the spinster, now lost in an ecstasy of luxurious
grief, though she would have been puzzled to give a reason for it.
Gussie took up the paper once more. Now that her battle was so nearly
won, she allowed herself more freedom in the reading. The Celtic love of
drama stirred within her and she gave the pompous balderdash _ore
rotundo_.
"'And in conclusion, what is our crying need in England to-day? It is
this: It is the establishment of a great crusade for the crushing of the
disguised Popery in our midst. One protest has been made in Hornham,
protests should be made all over England. A mighty organisation should
be called into existence which should make every "priest" tremble in his
cope and cassock, tremble for the avalanche of public reprobation which
will descend upon him and his.
"'I may be a visionary and no such idea as I have in my mind may be
possible. But I think not. Who can say that our borough of Hornham may
not become famous in history as the spot in which the second Reformation
was born!
"'Much needs to be done before such a glorious movement can be
inaugurated; that it will be inaugurated a band of earnest and
determined men and women live in the liveliest hope.
"'I am confident that a movement having its seed in the borough, if
widely published and made known to patriotic English people, would be
supported with swift and overwhelming generosity by the country at
large. The public response would appal the Ritualists and even astonish
loyal sons of the Church of England. But, in order to start this
crusade, help is required. Some noble soul must come forward to start
the machine, to raise the Protestant Flag.
"'Where shall we find him or her? Is there no one in our midst willing
to become the patron of Truth and to earn the praise of thousands and a
place in history?
"'Once Joan of Arc led the forces of her country to victory. A Charlotte
Corday slew the monster Marat, a Boadicea hurled herself against the
legions of Rome! Who will be our Boadicea to-day, who will come forward
to crush the tyranny of Rome in our own England? For such a noble lady,
who will revive in her own person the undying deeds of antiquity, I can
promise a fame worth more than all the laurels of the old British queen,
the heartfelt thanks and love of her countrymen, and above all of her
country-women--over whose more kindly and unsuspicious natures the
deadly Upas-tree of Romanism has cast its poisonous shade. Where is the
Jael who will destroy this Sisera?'"
Miss Davies ceased. Her voice sank. No sound was heard but the snuffle
that came from the plush arm-chair opposite, where Miss Pritchett was
audibly weeping. Mr. Hamlyn's purple prose had been skilfully introduced
at the psychological moment. The woman's ill-balanced temperament was
awry and smarting. Her egregious vanity was wounded as it had rarely
been wounded before. She had been treated as of no account, and she was
burning with spite and the longing for revenge.
Gussie said nothing more. She let the words of the newspaper do their
work without assistance.
Presently Miss Pritchett looked up. She wiped her eyes and a grim
expression of determination came out upon her face.
"I see it all!" she said suddenly. "My trusting nature has been terribly
deceived; I have been led into error by evil counsellors; the power of
the Jesuits has been secretly brought to bear upon one who, whatever her
failings, has scorned suspicion!"
"Oh, Miss Pritchett, how _awful_!" said Gussie.
"Yes," continued the lady with a delighted shudder, "the net has been
thrown over me and I was nigh to perish. But Providence intervenes! I
see how I am to be the 'umble instrument of crushing error in the
Church. I shall step into the breach!"
"Oh, Miss Pritchett, how _noble_!"
"Miss Davies, you will kindly put on your jacket and walk round to Mr.
Hamlyn's house. See Mr. Hamlyn and tell him that Miss Pritchett is too
agitated by recent events to write personally, but she begs he will
favour her with his company at supper to discuss matters of great public
importance. Tell Jones to send up some sweetbreads at once, and inform
cook as a gentleman will be here to supper, and to serve the cold
salmon."
Gussie rose quickly. "Oh, Miss Pritchett," she cried, "what a great day
for England this will be!"