THE DEAN'S DAUGHTER.
The tender green of early spring was on the new leaves of the cathedral
elm trees. Not sufficient to afford a shade yet; but giving promise of
its fulness ere the sultry days of summer should come.
The deanery of Westerbury was a queer old building to look at,
especially in front. It had no lower windows. There were odd-looking
patches in the wall where the windows ought to have been, and three or
four doors. These doors had their separate uses. One of them was the
private entrance of the dean and his family; one was used by the
servants; one was allotted to official or state occasions, at the great
audit time, for instance, when the dean and chapter held their
succession of dinners for ever so many days running; and one (a little
one in a corner) was popularly supposed to be a sham. But the windows
above were unusually large, and so they compensated in some degree for
the lack of them below.
Standing at the smallest of the windows on this spring day, was a young
lady of some ten or twelve years old. She had a charming countenance,
rather saucy, and great blue eyes as large as saucers. She wore a pretty
grey silk frock, trimmed with black velvet--perhaps, as slight
mourning--and her light brown hair fell on her neck in curls, that were
apt to get untidy and entangled. It was Georgina Beauclerc, the only
child of the Dean of Westerbury.
The window commanded a good view of the grounds, as the space here at
the back of the cathedral was called--a large space; the green, inclosed
promenade, shaded by the elm-trees, in the middle; well-kept walks
outside; and beyond, all around, the prebendal and other houses.
Opposite to the deanery, on the other side the walks, the elm-trees, and
the grassy promenade, was the house of the Rev. Mr. Wilberforce, minor
canon and sacrist of the cathedral, rector of St. James the Less, and
head-master of the college school. Side by side with it was the quaint
and small house once inhabited by the former rector of St. James the
Less, an old clergyman, subject to gout, now dead and gone. The Rev.
Wheeler Prattleton lived in the house now: he was also a minor canon,
and chanter to the cathedral--that is, he held the office of what was
called the chanter, which gave him the right to fix upon the services
for the choir when the dean did not, but he only took his turn for
chanting in rotation with the rest of the minor canons. On the other
side the head-master's house was a handsome, good-sized dwelling,
tenanted by a gentleman of the name of Lewis, who held a good and
official position in connexion with the bishop, and had married the
daughter of old Squire Carr, the sister to the present squire, and niece
to Marmaduke. Beyond this, in a corner, was the quaintest house in the
grounds, all covered with ivy, and seeming to have nothing belonging to
it but a door; but the fact was, although the door was here, the house
itself was built out behind, and could not be seen--its windows facing,
some the river, some the open country, and catching a view of St. James
the Less in the distance. Mr. Aultane, Westerbury's greatest lawyer, so
far as practice went, though not perhaps in honour, lived here; and he
held up his head and thought himself above the minor canons. In this one
nook of the grounds a few private individuals congregated--it is not
necessary to mention them all; but the rest of the houses were mostly
occupied by the prebendaries and minor canons. In some lived the widows
and families of prebendaries deceased.
Looking to the left, as Georgina Beauclerc stood at the deanery window,
just beyond the gate that inclosed the grounds on that side, might be
seen the tall red chimneys of the Palmery. It was, perhaps, inside, the
worst of all the larger houses; but the St. John's came to it often
because they owned it. They (the St. John's) were the best family in
Westerbury, and held sway as such. Mr. St. John had died some years ago,
leaving one son, about thirty years of age, greatly afflicted; and a
young little son, by his second wife. But that young son was growing up
now: time flies.
Georgina Beauclerc's great blue eyes, so clear and round, were fixed on
one particular spot, and that appeared to be one rather difficult to
see. She had her face and nose pressed against the glass, looking toward
the college schoolroom, a huge building on the right of the deanery,
just beyond the cloisters.
"They are late again!" she exclaimed, in a soliloquy of resentment. "I
wish that horrid old Wilberforce was burnt!"
"Georgina!"
The tone of the reproof, more fractious than surprised, came from a
recess in the large room, and Georgina turned hastily.
"Why, when did you come in, mamma? I thought you were safe in your bed
room."
Mrs. Beauclerc came forward, a thin woman with a somewhat discontented
look on her face, and a little nose, red at the tip. She had long given
up all real rule of Georgina, but she had not given up attempting it.
And Georgina, a wild, spoilt child, was in the habit of saying and doing
very much what she liked. She made great friends of the college
schoolboys, and had picked up many of their sayings; and this was
particularly objectionable to the reserved Mrs. Beauclerc.
"What did you say about Mr. Wilberforce?"
"I _said_ I wished he was burnt."
"Oh, Georgina!"
"I _do_ wish he was scorched. It has struck one o'clock and the boys are
not out! What business has he to keep them in? He did it once before."
"May I ask what business it is of yours, Georgina? But it has not struck
one."
"I'm sure it has," returned Georgina.
"It has _not_, I tell you. How dare you contradict me? And allow me to
ask why Miss Jackson quitted you so early to-day?"
"Because I dismissed her," returned the young lady, with equanimity. "I
had the headache, mamma; and I can't be expected to attend to my studies
when I have _that_."
"You have it pretty often," grumbled Mrs. Beauclerc; and indeed upon
this plea, or upon some other, Georgina was perpetually contriving, when
not watched, to get rid of her daily governess. "My opinion is, you
never had the headache in your life."
"Thank you, mamma. That is just what Miss Jackson herself said yesterday
afternoon. I paid her out for it. I sent her away with Baby Ferraday's
kite fastened to her shawl behind."
"What?" exclaimed Mrs. Beauclerc.
"The kite was small, not bigger than my hand, but the tail was fine,"
continued the imperturbable Georgina. "You cannot imagine how grand the
effect was as she walked along the grounds, and the wind took the tail
and fluttered it. The college boys happened to come out of school at the
moment; and they followed her, shouting out 'kites for sale; tails to
sell.' Miss Jackson couldn't think what was the matter, and kept turning
round. She'd have had it on till now, I hope, only Fred St. John went
and tore it off."
Mrs. Beauclerc had listened in speechless amazement. When Georgina
talked on in this rapid way, telling of her exploits--and to do the
young lady justice, she never sought to hide them--Mrs. Beauclerc felt
powerless for correction.
"What is to become of you?" groaned Mrs. Beauclerc.
"I'm sure I don't know, mamma; something good, I hope," returned the
saucy girl. "Little Ferraday--I had called him up here to give him some
cakes--could not think where his kite had vanished, and began to roar;
so I found him sixpence and sent him into the town to buy another. I
don't know whether he got lost or run over. The nurse seemed to think it
would be one of the two, for she went into a fit when she found he had
gone off alone."
"Georgina, I tell you these things cannot be permitted to continue. You
are no longer a child."
The colloquy was interrupted by the entrance of the dean: a
genial-looking man, with silver buckles in his shoes, and a face very
much like Georgina's own. He had apparently just come in, for he had his
shovel hat in his hand. The girl loved her father above everything on
earth; to _his_ slightest word she rendered implicit homage; though she
waged hot war with all others in authority over her, commencing with
Mrs. Beauclerc. She flew to the dean with a beaming face, and he clasped
his arms round her with a gesture of the fondest affection. Mrs.
Beauclerc left the room. She never cared to enter into a contest with
her daughter before the dean.
"My Georgina!" came forth the loving whisper.
"Papa, _is_ it one o'clock?"
"Not yet, my dear."
"I'm sure I heard the college clock strike."
"You thought you did, perhaps. It must have been the quarters."
"Oh, dear! I have been calling Mr. Wilberforce hard names for nothing."
"What has Mr. Wilberforce done to you, my Georgie?"
"I thought he was keeping the school in; and I want to speak to
Frederick St. John."
They were interrupted. One of the servants appeared, and said a
gentleman was asking permission to see the dean. The dean took the
credential card handed to him: "Mr. Peter Arkell."
"Show Mr. Arkell up," said the dean. "Georgina, my dear, you can go to
your mamma."
"I'd rather stay here, papa," she said, boldly.
One word of explanation as to this visit of Peter Arkell's. It had of
course been his intention to get his son Henry entered at the college
school, and to this end had the boy been instructed. Of rare capacity,
of superior intellect, of sense and feeling beyond his years, it had
been a pleasure to his teachers to bring him on: and they consisted of
his father and mother. From the one he learnt the classics and figures;
from the other music and English generally. Henry Arkell was apt at all
things: but if he had genius for one thing more than another, it was
certainly music. The sole luxury Mrs. Peter Arkell had retained about
her, was her piano; and Henry was an apt pupil. Few boys are gifted
with so rare a voice for singing, as was he; and his mother had
cultivated it well: it was intended that he should enter the cathedral
choir, as well as the school.
By the royal charter of the school, its number was confined to forty
boys, king's scholars; of these, ten were chosen to be choristers: but
the head master had the privilege of taking private pupils, who paid him
handsomely. The dean had the right of placing in ten of these king's
scholars, but he rarely exercised it; leaving it in the hands of the
head master. Mr. Peter Arkell had applied several times lately to Mr.
Wilberforce; and had received only vague answers from that
gentleman--"when there was a vacancy to spare, he would think of his
son"--but Peter Arkell grew tired. Henry was of an age to be in the
school now, and he resolved to speak to the dean.
He came in, leading Henry by the hand. Georgina fell a little back,
struck--awed--by the boy's wondrous beauty. The dean, one of the most
affable men that ever exercised sway over Westerbury cathedral, shook
hands with Peter Arkell, whom he knew slightly.
"I don't know that there's a vacancy," said the dean, when Mr. Arkell
told his tale. "Your son shall have it, and welcome, if there is. I have
left these things to Mr. Wilberforce."
At this juncture Miss Beauclerc threw the window up, and beckoned to
some one outside. Had her mother been present she would have
administered a reprimand, but the dean was absorbed with the visitors,
and he was less particular than his wife. Georgina was but a child, he
reasoned; she might be too careless in her manners now, but it would all
come right with years. Better, far better see her genuine and truthful,
if a little brusque, than false, mincing, affected, as young ladies were
growing to be. And the dean checked her not.
"I know Mr. Wilberforce well, sir, and he has said he will do what he
can," said Peter Arkell, in reply to the dean. "But I fear that I may
have to wait an indefinite period. There are others in the town of far
greater account than I, who are anxious to get their sons into the
school; and who have, no doubt, the ear of Mr. Wilberforce. A word from
you, Mr. Dean, would effect all, I am sure: if you would only kindly
speak it in my behalf."
Dr. Beauclerc turned his head to see who was entering the room, for the
door had opened. It was a handsome stripling, growing rapidly into
manhood--Frederick, heir of the St. John's. He was already keeping his
terms at Oxford; Mrs. St. John had sent him there too early; and in the
intervals, when they were sojourning at Westerbury, he was placed in
the college; not as an ordinary scholar; the private pupil, and the
chief one too, of Mr. Wilberforce.
The dean gave him a nod, and took the hand of the eager, exquisite face
turned to him. Like his daughter, he was a great admirer of beauty in
the human face: it would often give him a thrill of intense pleasure.
"What is your name, my boy?"
"Henry Cheveley Arkell, sir."
The dean glanced at Peter Arkell with a half smile. He remembered yet
the commotion caused in Westerbury when Miss Cheveley married the tutor,
and the name brought it before him.
"How old are you?"
"Nearly ten, sir."
"If I could paint faces, I'd paint his," cried Georgina to young St.
John, in a half whisper. "Why don't _you_ do it?"
"I suppose you mean his portrait?"
"You know I do. But, Fred, is he not beautiful?"
"You may get sent away if you talk," was the gentleman's answer.
"Has he been brought on well in his Latin? Is he fit to enter as a
king's scholar?" inquired the dean of Peter Arkell.
"He has been brought on well in all necessary studies, Mr. Dean; I may
say it emphatically, _well_. I was in the college school myself, and
know what is required. But learning has made strides of late, sir; boys
are brought on more rapidly; and I can assure you that many a lad has
quitted the college school in my days, his education finished, not as
good a scholar as my son is now. I have taken pains with him."
"And we know what that implies from you, Mr. Arkell," said the dean,
with a kindly smile. "You would like to be a king's scholar, my brave
boy?"
"Oh yes, sir," said Henry, his transparent cheek flushing with hope.
"Then you shall be one. I will give you the first vacancy under myself."
They retired with many thanks; Frederick St. John giving Henry's bright
waving hair a pull, as he passed him, by way of parting salutation.
"Papa! if you don't put that child into the college school, I will,"
began Georgina; her tone one of impassioned earnestness. "I will; though
I have to beg it of old Wilberforce. I never saw such a face. I have
fallen in love with it."
"I am going to put him in, Georgie. I like his face myself. But he can't
go in until there's a vacancy. I must ask Mr. Wilberforce."
"There are two vacancies now, Dr. Beauclerc," spoke up Frederick St.
John. "One of them is under you, I know."
"Indeed!"
"That is, there will be to-morrow. Those two West Indian boys, the
Stantons, are sent for home suddenly: their mother's dying, or something
of that. The master had the news this morning, and the school is in a
commotion over it. If you do wish to fill the vacancy, sir, you should
speak to Mr. Wilberforce at once, or he may stand it out that he has
promised it," concluded Frederick St. John, with that freedom of speech
he was fond of using, even to the dean.
"Stanton?" repeated the dean. "But were they not private pupils of the
master's?"
"Oh dear no, sir, they are on the foundation. You might have seen them
any Sunday in their surplices in college. They board at the master's
house; that's all."
"Two dark boys, papa, the ugliest in the school," struck in Georgina,
who knew a great deal more about the school than the dean did.
When Mr. Peter Arkell and Henry quitted the deanery, the former turned
to the cloisters; for he had an errand to do in the town, and to go
through the cloisters was the shortest way. He encountered some of the
college boys in the cloisters, whooping, hallooing, shouting; their feet
and their tongues a babel of confusion. Mr. Arkell looked back at them
with strange interest. It did not seem so very long since he and his
cousin William had been college boys themselves, and had shouted and
leaped as merrily as these. Two or three of them touched their trenchers
to Mr. Arkell: they were evening pupils of his.
Henry had turned the other way, towards his home. At the gate, when he
reached it, the boundary of the cathedral grounds on that side, he found
a meek donkey drawn up, the drawer of a sort of truck, holding a water
barrel. A woman was in the habit of bringing this water every day from a
famous spring outside the town, to supply some of the houses in the
grounds. The water was drawn out by means of a contrivance called a
spigot and faucet, and she was stooping over this, filling a can. Henry,
boy like, halted to watch the process, for the water rushed out full
force.
Putting in the spigot when the can was full, she was proceeding to carry
it up the old stairs belonging to the gateway, above which lived one of
the minor canons, when the first shout of the college boys broke upon
her ear.
"Oh, mercy!" she screamed out, as if in abject fear; and Henry Arkell,
who was then continuing his way, halted again and stared at her.
"Young gentleman," she said in a voice of appeal, "would you do me a
charity?"
"What is it?" he asked. He was tall and manly for his years.
"If you would but stand by the barrel and guard it! The day afore
yesterday, while my donkey and barrel was a stopped in this very spot,
and I was a going up these here stairs with this very can, them wild
young college gents came trooping by, and they pulled out the spigot and
set the water a running. There warn't a drop left in the barrel when I
got down. It was a loss to me I haven't over got."
"Go along," said Henry, "I'll guard it for you."
Unconscious boast! The boys came on in a roar of triumph, for they had
caught sight of the water barrel. A young gentleman of the name of
Lewis, a little older than Henry, was the first to get to the barrel,
and lay his hand on the spigot.
"Oh, if you please, you are not to touch it," said Henry; "I am taking
care of it."
"Halloa! what youngster are you? The donkey's brother?"
"Oh, don't take it out--don't!" pleaded Henry. "I promised the woman I'd
guard it for her."
At this moment the woman's head was protruded through one of the small,
deep, square loopholes of the ancient staircase; and she apostrophized
the crew in no measured terms, and rather contradictory. They were a set
of dyed villains, of young limbs, of daring pigs; and they were dear,
good, young gentlemen, that she prayed for every night; and that she'd
be proud to give a drink of the beautiful spring water to any thirsty
day.
You know schoolboys; and may, therefore, guess the result of this. The
derisive shouts increased; the woman was ironically cheered; and Henry
Arkell had a struggle with Master Lewis for possession of the spigot,
which ended in the former's ignominious discomfiture. He lay on the
ground, the water pouring out upon him, when a tall form and
authoritative voice dashed into the throng, and laid summary hands on
Lewis.
"Now then, Mr. St. John! Please to let me alone, sir. It's no affair of
yours."
"I choose to make it my affair, young Lewis. You help that boy up that
you have thrown down."
Lewis rebelled. The rest of the boys had drawn back beyond reach of the
splashing water. St. John stooped for the spigot, and put it in; and
then treated Lewis to a slight shaking.
"You be quiet, Mr. St. John. If you cock it over us boys in school, it's
no reason why you should, out."
Another instalment of the shaking.
"Help him up, I tell you, Lewis."
Perhaps as the best way of getting out of it, Lewis jerked himself
forward, and did help him up. Henry had been unable to rise of himself,
and for a few moments he could not stand: his knee was hurt. It was a
curious coincidence that the first fall, when he was entering the
school, and the last fall----But it may be as well not to anticipate.
"Now, mind you, Mr. Lewis: if you attempt a cowardly attack on this boy
again--you are bigger and stronger than he is--I'll thrash you kindly."
Lewis walked away, leaving a mental word behind him--not spoken, he
would not have dared that--for Frederick St. John. The woman came down
wailing and lamenting at the loss of the water, and the boys scuttered
off in a body. St. John threw the woman half-a-crown, and helped Henry
home.
The dean held to his privilege for once, and gave Mr. Wilberforce notice
that he had filled up the vacancy by bestowing it on the son of Mr.
Peter Arkell. Mr. Wilberforce, privately believing that the world was
about to be turned upside-down, could only bow and acquiesce. He did it
with a good grace, and sent a courteous message for Henry to be there
on the following Monday, at early school.
Accordingly, at seven o'clock, Henry was there. He did not like to troop
in with the college boys, but waited until the head-master had come, and
entered then. Mr. Wilberforce called him up, inscribed his name on the
school-roll, put a few questions to him as to the state of his studies,
and then assigned him his place.
The boy was walking to it with that self-consciousness of something like
a thousand eyes being on him--so terrible to the mind of a sensitive
nature, and his was eminently one--when the head-master's voice was
heard.
"Arkell, junior."
Never supposing "Arkell, junior," could be meant for him, he went
timidly on; but the voice rose higher.
"Arkell, junior."
It was so peremptory that Henry turned, and found it _was_ meant for
him. The sensitive crimson dyed his face deeper and deeper as he
retraced his steps to the head-master's desk.
"Are you lame, Arkell, junior?"
"Oh, it's nothing, sir. It's nearly well."
"What's the matter, then?"
"I fell down last week, sir, and hurt my knee a little."
"Oh. Go to your desk."
"What a girl's face!" cried one, as Henry recommenced his promenade, for
the indicated place was far down in the school.
"I'm blest if I don't believe it is the knight of the water-barrel!"
exclaimed a big boy at the first desk. "Won't Lewis take it out of him!
I hope he may get off with whole bones; but I'd not bet upon it."
"Lewis had better not try it on, or you either, Forbes," quietly struck
in the second senior of the school, who was writing within hearing.
"Why, do you know him, Mr. Arkell?"
"Never you mind. I intend to take care of him."
The boys were trooping through the cloisters when school was over, and
met the dean. Georgina was with him. She caught sight of Henry's face,
and in her impulsive fashion dashed through the throng of boys to his
side.
"Papa, he's here! Papa! he _is_ here."
The dean, in his kindly manner, shook Henry by the hand. "Be a good boy,
mind," he said. "Remember, you are under me."
"I'll try, sir," replied Henry.
"Do. I shall not lose sight of you." And, with a general nod to the
rest, he departed, taking his daughter's hand.
For a full minute there was a dead silence. It was so entirely unusual a
thing for the dean to shake hands familiarly with a college boy, that
those gentry did not at first decide how to take it. Then one of them,
more impudent than the rest, bowed his body down before the new junior
with mock gravity.
"If you please, sir, wouldn't you be pleased to make yourself cock of
the school after this, and cut out St. John?"
"Take care of your tongue, Marshall," admonished St. John, who made one
of the throng.
"I _am_ blowed, though!" returned Marshall. "_Did_ anybody ever see such
a go as this?"
"What's the row?" demanded Hennet, a fine youth, one of Mr.
Wilberforce's private pupils, and who only now came up.
"Oh, my! you should have been here, Hennet," responded Marshall. "We
have got a lord, or something else, among us. The Dean of Westerbury has
been bowing down to worship him."
Hennet, not understanding, looked at St. John.
"No. Trash!" explained St. John. "Marshall is putting his tongue and his
foot into it to-day. I'm off to breakfast."
The word excited anticipations of the meal, and all the rest were off to
breakfast too--making the grounds echo with their shouts as they ran.