“And, madam, if it be a lie,
You have the tale as cheap as I.”
SWIFT.
The Rev. Cornelius Denver, perpetual curate of Brigland, was one of the
best-tempered creatures in the world. He would not injure any one; he
had almost every one’s good word; he was full of smiles and courtesy;
he had nothing of the pomp or pride of priestly manners; he did not
keep his parishioners at an awful distance, or affect to exercise any
spiritual dominion over them by virtue of his calling; he was familiar
with all, and good-humoured to all; he had not the slightest tincture
of bigotry or party-spirit; in politics and religion he was most truly
liberal; he had, of course, his own opinions on these subjects, but
he called them into use so seldom, that he and his neighbours scarcely
knew what they were; he was equally obliging to all parties, and there
were many differing sects of religion in his parish; every possible
variety of sectarianism flourished at Brigland, and they all united in
praising the curate’s liberality.
There were also many members of the established church in the
parish; but though they all praised their curate, they did not all
very frequently attend his ministrations. Old Mr. Martindale used
facetiously to say, that he should go to church much oftener if Mr.
Denver would make longer sermons, but that it was so tantalising to
be woke before his nap was half finished. But Mr. Denver served two
other churches beside Brigland, and one of them was almost eight miles
distant, so he had not much time to spare on Sunday; for he had two
services at his own parish, and one every Sunday at the other two.
Our worthy curate was a married man, but he had no family; and that
circumstance gave him abundant opportunity to interest himself about
the affairs of all the town. Mrs. Denver assisted him greatly in this
public and universal sympathy. Mrs. Denver was said to be a very
intelligent woman, and had enjoyed that reputation for many years. Her
maiden name was Smith--no relation to old Richard Smith; and she had
borne that name so long, that she was tired of it, regarding it as
Archbishop Tillotson did the Athanasian Creed, wishing that she “was
well rid of it.” Many people thought that Mr. Denver married her from
a motive of pure good nature, because nobody else was likely to marry
her. She was of high family “originally,” as she used to say; being
descended from the Simsons of Devonshire, one of whom was knighted by
Richard the Third; and she was very particular in stating that her
ancestors did not spell the name with p, for that was an innovation,
and it was a very inferior family that was called Simpson.
All the gossip of the town and neighbourhood flowed to the parsonage as
a centre, and again flowed from it as from a perennial and exhaustless
fountain. In justice to the worthy curate it must be stated, that so
far as he was concerned, there was nothing of censoriousness blended
with his collecting and communicating disposition: he was happy to hear
intelligence, and pleased to spread it; but he never pronounced an
opinion as to the propriety or impropriety of the matters of which he
heard and of which he spoke. It was not exactly so with Mrs. Denver;
her candour was not equal to that of her husband: not that she was at
all censorious, very far from it; but she could not help, as she said,
feeling indignant at the vices and wickednesses which abounded in the
world; and she was certainly not to be blamed for what she could not
help. Sometimes she would even be angry with her husband on account of
the placidity of his temper; and she would even acknowledge that she
could have no patience with the abominations of the age. It must be
also added, that Mrs. Denver was not quite equal to her husband in the
virtue of liberality towards sectarians. She had been brought up as
a member of the church established by law, and she could not see how
it was possible that any other religion should be true; and for her
part, she was fully determined not to countenance any false religion.
It was rather unfortunate for the poor woman, that, with the exception
of the Martindales, the principal people at Brigland were dissenters;
and so there were two or three drawing-rooms from which her orthodoxy
would have excluded her, but to which her love of the good things of
life attracted her. Mrs. Denver was decidedly loyal: her reverence for
majesty was unbounded. She was so grateful to Richard the Third for
having knighted one of the Simsons, that she thought she could never
say enough in favour of royalty.
Now it came to pass in the progress of events, that while Mr.
Martindale and Horatio Markham were in Richard Smith’s cottage, Mrs.
Price, the wife of Philip Martindale’s attorney, had gained a piece of
intelligence which, as she received it, was imperfect and obscure, but
which she hoped and trusted that Mr. and Mrs. Denver might be able to
elucidate and complete. She therefore made a very early call at the
parsonage, and began by offering an apology for looking in so soon in
the day. The apology was most readily accepted: for the good people of
the parsonage knew that Mrs. Price would not have called so early had
there not been something important to communicate. As soon as she was
seated she began:--
“I suppose you have heard, Mrs. Denver, of the sheriffs’ officers being
in possession at the Abbey.”
“Sheriffs’ officers in possession at the Abbey! Why, Mrs. Price, what
do you mean?”
“Mean, Mrs. Denver! why I mean what I say; there are two sheriffs’
officers now at the Abbey. They were sent in yesterday morning; and
old Mr. Martindale saw them there, and asked them what business they
had there, and they told him that they were in possession; and the old
gentleman asked what was the amount of the claim, and it was such an
enormous sum that it was more than he could pay. I don’t know all the
particulars, but I heard Oliver talking the matter over to my husband;
and Mr. Philip is gone to London in a hired chaise, for they would not
let him have his own carriage; and he is gone to get some money of the
Jews. He intended to travel all night, that he might get home early
this morning, and send the officers away before the old gentleman could
know any thing of the matter.”
“Bless me, Mrs. Price, why you astonish me! Who would have thought it?
Well, that’s what I always said; I knew it must come to that. You know
it was not likely that he could ever support the expense of that great
house; and really between ourselves, I never thought that old Mr.
Martindale was so very rich as some people said.”
“I don’t know whether the old man is very rich,” replied Mrs. Price;
“I am sure the young one is very poor. My husband has advanced money
to him which has been owing a very long while; and I cannot see any
probability of his getting it again in any reasonable time; and then he
cannot even pay the damages in which he was cast in the action of old
Smith.”
“Oh, now you talk about old Smith,” interrupted Mrs. Denver, “do you
know any thing about that man’s history? for I scarcely ever heard of
him before this action took place. Pray where does he live?”
“He lives in the lone cottage in Old Field Lane, I understand. But
there is something very odd about that man. I thought perhaps you might
know something about him. As for his being a poor man, I don’t believe
any such thing. Every body says he has money; and my husband says that
he is very sure that Flint would never have undertaken that cause for a
poor superannuated labourer; and then Flint told my husband that there
was no hurry about the damages. I very much doubt whether the man’s
real name is Smith; for that is such a very convenient name for any one
to assume.”
“Well, I have never heard any thing of him before; but now you mention
it, I think I remember to have seen him one morning when I walked up to
the spring with Mr. Denver.”
At this moment the reverend gentleman entered the apartment where
the ladies were conversing, and he was immediately assailed with an
impetuous torrent of interrogations from both of them, as touching
the birth, parentage and education, life, character, and behaviour of
the above-named Richard Smith. To these inquiries he returned answers
not very satisfactory; and they all three began to blame themselves
and each other that they had suffered the old man to settle quietly
in the parish without making due previous inquiry concerning his
history and origin. He had been, as they all acknowledged, a very
quiet, inoffensive creature; but quietness was sometimes a symptom of
mischief: it was so with children, and why might it not be so with old
men too.
Though Mr. Denver had it not in his power to indulge Mrs. Price with
any information, the worthy lady was too generous to withhold from him
any information which it was in her power to convey; and she liberally
repeated the story of the bailiff being in possession at the Abbey, and
of the Hon. Philip Martindale having made a journey to London for the
purpose of borrowing money of such as accommodated their particular
friends on the most liberal terms and with the strictest secrecy. Mr.
Denver was as usual astonished, amazed, thunderstruck at all that was
told him. By the way, some of the perpetual curate’s good friends used
to think that the good man was not altogether judicious in the use of
the word “thunderstruck,” which he always employed when he received any
intelligence from any of the ladies of Brigland.
Mrs. Price went on to say, that old Mr. Martindale had expressed
his determination to disinherit Mr. Philip; but as that was a very
particular secret, she begged that it might not be mentioned. At
hearing this request, Mrs. Denver looked at her watch, for she thought
it high time that she should take her morning’s round, and endeavour to
ascertain whether this profound secret were known to any one else. Mrs.
Price took the hint, and departed.
It is by no means the best method to keep a secret to endeavour to
find out how many others are in possession of the same. Many a secret
has been thus revealed, which might otherwise have been inviolably
and safely kept. On the subject of keeping secrets, a great deal may
be said; and the matter is surrounded with more difficulties than
superficial observers are apt to imagine. For what is the use or
benefit of knowing any thing, if we cannot let that knowledge be known.
If a secret be confided to us, an honour is thereby conferred; but if
that secret be not by us again talked about, directly or indirectly,
how can the world know how much we are honoured? Who would give a fig
to receive the honour of knighthood, if he were under an obligation to
let no one know it? or who would give fifteen pence (pounds some say
it costs) for a doctor’s degree, if he could never blazon the honour
to the world? We check ourselves in the discussion with the consoling
consideration that our business is with facts not with philosophy.
Suffice it then to say, that before the day closed, every inhabitant of
Brigland who had any care for other’s business, knew that old Richard
Smith was mysteriously wealthy, that bailiffs were in possession at the
Abbey, that the Hon. Philip Martindale was gone to London to borrow
money, and that old Mr. Martindale would never speak to the young
gentleman again. Then every body began to think that the Hon. Philip
Martindale was the most profligate young man that ever lived; then
all his follies became vices, and his irregularities most horrible
enormities; then the talk was very loud concerning his pride and his
overbearing manners; then Mrs. Dickinson, the landlady of the Red Lion,
began to fear that she should not be paid for her chaise.
The good people of Brigland were unnecessarily alarmed for the result
of Philip Martindale’s indiscretions: it was not true that the old
gentleman knew for what purpose the bailiffs were in the house; nor
was it probable that, had he known it, he would therefore have cast
off his dependent relative. Power is not willingly or readily parted
with. So long as the honourable gentleman acknowledged by endeavours
to conceal his irregularities that he stood in awe of his opulent
relative, so long would he continue an interesting object of patronage
to the old gentleman. As, however, it may not be easy to gather from
the floating rumours of the gossips of Brigland what was the real truth
of the matter, it may be as well to state explicitly that the Hon.
Philip Martindale had paid certain debts of honour with that supply
which Mr. Martindale thought had been devoted to some other purpose,
and an impatient creditor had actually put into force a threat which
he had made of sending officers to the Abbey. The young gentleman
had recourse in this extremity to some good friends in the city, by
whose prompt assistance the supplies were raised, and the Abbey was
cleared of those birds of ill omen. Oliver’s story, as we have seen,
had satisfied the old gentleman; and he alone remained in ignorance of
a fact in his relative’s conduct, which certainly would have disturbed
him greatly, but which would not have provoked him to disinheriting.
By the same conveyance which brought the means of liberating the
Abbey, old Richard Smith received through the hands of his attorney
a satisfaction also of his claim; and as Mrs. Price was all the day
occupied in telling the same story as she had told in the morning, it
came to pass that she told more lies at the end of the day than she had
at the beginning. In the mean time, the day was passing rapidly away,
and Philip Martindale did not return. Oliver was a little puzzled to
account for this delay to himself, but he could easily account for it
to the old gentleman. What a pity it is that those ingenious gentlemen
who can invent lies for the satisfaction of others, cannot invent any
for the solution of their own difficulties. Mr. Oliver was in some
degree of alarm, lest his stories, by some movement of his master,
might not well hang together; and had it not been for some very natural
fear that he might altogether lose his character and his place, he
probably would have been provoked to tell the old gentleman the truth:
he considered, however, that as he had so long played a double part, it
would be now too late to affect honesty.