MR BOLD'S VISIT TO PLUMSTEAD
Whether or no the ill-natured prediction made by certain ladies in
the beginning of the last chapter was or was not carried out to the
letter, I am not in a position to state. Eleanor, however, certainly
did feel herself to have been baffled as she returned home with all
her news to her father. Certainly she had been victorious, certainly
she had achieved her object, certainly she was not unhappy, and yet
she did not feel herself triumphant. Everything would run smooth now.
Eleanor was not at all addicted to the Lydian school of romance; she
by no means objected to her lover because he came in at the door under
the name of Absolute, instead of pulling her out of a window under the
name of Beverley; and yet she felt that she had been imposed upon, and
could hardly think of Mary Bold with sisterly charity. "I did think
I could have trusted Mary," she said to herself over and over again.
"Oh that she should have dared to keep me in the room when I tried to
get out!" Eleanor, however, felt that the game was up, and that she
had now nothing further to do but to add to the budget of news which
was prepared for her father, that John Bold was her accepted lover.
We will, however, now leave her on her way, and go with John Bold to
Plumstead Episcopi, merely premising that Eleanor on reaching home
will not find things so smooth as she fondly expected; two messengers
had come, one to her father and the other to the archdeacon, and
each of them much opposed to her quiet mode of solving all their
difficulties; the one in the shape of a number of _The Jupiter_, and
the other in that of a further opinion from Sir Abraham Haphazard.
John Bold got on his horse and rode off to Plumstead Episcopi; not
briskly and with eager spur, as men do ride when self-satisfied with
their own intentions; but slowly, modestly, thoughtfully, and somewhat
in dread of the coming interview. Now and again he would recur to the
scene which was just over, support himself by the remembrance of the
silence that gives consent, and exult as a happy lover. But even this
feeling was not without a shade of remorse. Had he not shown himself
childishly weak thus to yield up the resolve of many hours of thought
to the tears of a pretty girl? How was he to meet his lawyer?
How was he to back out of a matter in which his name was already so
publicly concerned? What, oh what! was he to say to Tom Towers?
While meditating these painful things he reached the lodge leading up
to the archdeacon's glebe, and for the first time in his life found
himself within the sacred precincts.
All the doctor's children were together on the slope of the lawn,
close to the road, as Bold rode up to the hall door. They were there
holding high debate on matters evidently of deep interest at Plumstead
Episcopi, and the voices of the boys had been heard before the lodge
gate was closed.
Florinda and Grizzel, frightened at the sight of so well-known an
enemy to the family, fled on the first appearance of the horseman,
and ran in terror to their mother's arms; not for them was it, tender
branches, to resent injuries, or as members of a church militant to
put on armour against its enemies. But the boys stood their ground
like heroes, and boldly demanded the business of the intruder.
"Do you want to see anybody here, sir?" said Henry, with a defiant eye
and a hostile tone, which plainly said that at any rate no one there
wanted to see the person so addressed; and as he spoke he brandished
aloft his garden water-pot, holding it by the spout, ready for the
braining of anyone.
"Henry," said Charles James slowly, and with a certain dignity of
diction, "Mr Bold of course would not have come without wanting to see
someone; if Mr Bold has a proper ground for wanting to see some person
here, of course he has a right to come."
But Samuel stepped lightly up to the horse's head, and offered his
services. "Oh, Mr Bold," said he, "papa, I'm sure, will be glad to
see you; I suppose you want to see papa. Shall I hold your horse for
you? Oh what a very pretty horse!" and he turned his head and winked
funnily at his brothers. "Papa has heard such good news about the old
hospital to-day. We know you'll be glad to hear it, because you're
such a friend of grandpapa Harding, and so much in love with Aunt
Nelly!"
"How d'ye do, lads?" said Bold, dismounting. "I want to see your
father if he's at home."
"Lads!" said Henry, turning on his heel and addressing himself to his
brother, but loud enough to be heard by Bold; "lads, indeed! if we're
lads, what does he call himself?"
Charles James condescended to say nothing further, but cocked his hat
with much precision, and left the visitor to the care of his youngest
brother.
Samuel stayed till the servant came, chatting and patting the horse;
but as soon as Bold had disappeared through the front door, he stuck
a switch under the animal's tail to make him kick if possible.
The church reformer soon found himself _tête-à-tête_ with the
archdeacon in that same room, in that sanctum sanctorum of the
rectory, to which we have already been introduced. As he entered he
heard the click of a certain patent lock, but it struck him with no
surprise; the worthy clergyman was no doubt hiding from eyes profane
his last much-studied sermon; for the archdeacon, though he preached
but seldom, was famous for his sermons. No room, Bold thought, could
have been more becoming for a dignitary of the church; each wall was
loaded with theology; over each separate bookcase was printed in small
gold letters the names of those great divines whose works were ranged
beneath: beginning from the early fathers in due chronological order,
there were to be found the precious labours of the chosen servants
of the church down to the last pamphlet written in opposition to the
consecration of Dr Hampden; and raised above this were to be seen
the busts of the greatest among the great: Chrysostom, St Augustine,
Thomas à Becket, Cardinal Wolsey, Archbishop Laud, and Dr Philpotts.
Every appliance that could make study pleasant and give ease to the
overtoiled brain was there; chairs made to relieve each limb and
muscle; reading-desks and writing-desks to suit every attitude;
lamps and candles mechanically contrived to throw their light on any
favoured spot, as the student might desire; a shoal of newspapers to
amuse the few leisure moments which might be stolen from the labours
of the day; and then from the window a view right through a bosky
vista along which ran a broad green path from the rectory to the
church,--at the end of which the tawny-tinted fine old tower was seen
with all its variegated pinnacles and parapets. Few parish churches
in England are in better repair, or better worth keeping so, than that
at Plumstead Episcopi; and yet it is built in a faulty style: the body
of the church is low,--so low, that the nearly flat leaden roof would
be visible from the churchyard, were it not for the carved parapet
with which it is surrounded. It is cruciform, though the transepts
are irregular, one being larger than the other; and the tower is much
too high in proportion to the church. But the colour of the building
is perfect; it is that rich yellow gray which one finds nowhere but in
the south and west of England, and which is so strong a characteristic
of most of our old houses of Tudor architecture. The stone work also
is beautiful; the mullions of the windows and the thick tracery of
the Gothic workmanship is as rich as fancy can desire; and though in
gazing on such a structure one knows by rule that the old priests who
built it, built it wrong, one cannot bring oneself to wish that they
should have made it other than it is.
When Bold was ushered into the book-room, he found its owner standing
with his back to the empty fire-place ready to receive him, and he
could not but perceive that that expansive brow was elated with
triumph, and that those full heavy lips bore more prominently than
usual an appearance of arrogant success.
"Well, Mr Bold," said he;--"well, what can I do for you?
Very happy, I can assure you, to do anything for such a friend
of my father-in-law."
"I hope you'll excuse my calling, Dr Grantly."
"Certainly, certainly," said the archdeacon; "I can assure you, no
apology is necessary from Mr Bold;--only let me know what I can do for
him."
Dr Grantly was standing himself, and he did not ask Bold to sit, and
therefore he had to tell his tale standing, leaning on the table, with
his hat in his hand. He did, however, manage to tell it; and as the
archdeacon never once interrupted him, or even encouraged him by a
single word, he was not long in coming to the end of it.
"And so, Mr Bold, I'm to understand, I believe, that you are desirous
of abandoning this attack upon Mr Harding."
"Oh, Dr Grantly, there has been no attack, I can assure you--"
"Well, well, we won't quarrel about words; I should call it an
attack;--most men would so call an endeavour to take away from a man
every shilling of income that he has to live upon; but it sha'n't be
an attack, if you don't like it; you wish to abandon this--this little
game of backgammon you've begun to play."
"I intend to put an end to the legal proceedings which I have
commenced."
"I understand," said the archdeacon. "You've already had enough
of it; well, I can't say that I am surprised; carrying on a losing
lawsuit where one has nothing to gain, but everything to pay, is not
pleasant."
Bold turned very red in the face. "You misinterpret my motives," said
he; "but, however, that is of little consequence. I did not come
to trouble you with my motives, but to tell you a matter of fact.
Good-morning, Dr Grantly."
"One moment,--one moment," said the other. "I don't exactly
appreciate the taste which induced you to make any personal
communication to me on the subject; but I dare say I'm wrong, I dare
say your judgment is the better of the two; but as you have done me
the honour,--as you have, as it were, forced me into a certain amount
of conversation on a subject which had better, perhaps, have been left
to our lawyers, you will excuse me if I ask you to hear my reply to
your communication."
"I am in no hurry, Dr Grantly."
"Well, I am, Mr Bold; my time is not exactly leisure time, and,
therefore, if you please, we'll go to the point at once:--you're going
to abandon this lawsuit?"--and he paused for a reply.
"Yes, Dr Grantly, I am."
"Having exposed a gentleman who was one of your father's warmest
friends to all the ignominy and insolence which the press could heap
upon his name, having somewhat ostentatiously declared that it was
your duty as a man of high public virtue to protect those poor old
fools whom you have humbugged there at the hospital, you now find that
the game costs more than it's worth, and so you make up your mind to
have done with it. A prudent resolution, Mr Bold; but it is a pity
you should have been so long coming to it. Has it struck you that
we may not now choose to give over? that we may find it necessary to
punish the injury you have done to us? Are you aware, sir, that we
have gone to enormous expense to resist this iniquitous attempt of
yours?"
Bold's face was now furiously red, and he nearly crushed his hat
between his hands; but he said nothing.
"We have found it necessary to employ the best advice that money
could procure. Are you aware, sir, what may be the probable cost of
securing the services of the attorney-general?"
"Not in the least, Dr Grantly."
"I dare say not, sir. When you recklessly put this affair into
the hands of your friend Mr Finney, whose six-and-eightpences and
thirteen-and-fourpences may, probably, not amount to a large sum, you
were indifferent as to the cost and suffering which such a proceeding
might entail on others; but are you aware, sir, that these crushing
costs must now come out of your own pocket?"
"Any demand of such a nature which Mr Harding's lawyer may have to
make will doubtless be made to my lawyer."
"'Mr Harding's lawyer and my lawyer!' Did you come here merely to
refer me to the lawyers? Upon my word I think the honour of your
visit might have been spared! And now, sir, I'll tell you what my
opinion is:--my opinion is, that we shall not allow you to withdraw
this matter from the courts."
"You can do as you please, Dr Grantly; good-morning."
"Hear me out, sir," said the archdeacon; "I have here in my hands the
last opinion given in this matter by Sir Abraham Haphazard. I dare
say you have already heard of this;--I dare say it has had something
to do with your visit here to-day."
"I know nothing whatever of Sir Abraham Haphazard or his opinion."
"Be that as it may, here it is; he declares most explicitly that under
no phasis of the affair whatever have you a leg to stand upon; that Mr
Harding is as safe in his hospital as I am here in my rectory; that a
more futile attempt to destroy a man was never made, than this which
you have made to ruin Mr Harding. Here," and he slapped the paper
on the table, "I have this opinion from the very first lawyer in the
land; and under these circumstances you expect me to make you a low
bow for your kind offer to release Mr Harding from the toils of your
net! Sir, your net is not strong enough to hold him; sir, your net
has fallen to pieces, and you knew that well enough before I told
you--and now, sir, I'll wish you good-morning, for I'm busy."
Bold was now choking with passion. He had let the archdeacon run on
because he knew not with what words to interrupt him; but now that he
had been so defied and insulted, he could not leave the room without
some reply.
"Dr Grantly," he commenced.
"I have nothing further to say or to hear," said the archdeacon.
"I'll do myself the honour to order your horse." And he rang the
bell.
"I came here, Dr Grantly, with the warmest, kindest feelings--"
"Oh, of course you did; nobody doubts it."
"With the kindest feelings;--and they have been most grossly outraged
by your treatment."
"Of course they have;--I have not chosen to see my father-in-law
ruined; what an outrage that has been to your feelings!"
"The time will come, Dr Grantly, when you will understand why I called
upon you to-day."
"No doubt, no doubt. Is Mr Bold's horse there? That's right; open
the front door. Good-morning, Mr Bold;" and the doctor stalked into
his own drawing-room, closing the door behind him, and making it quite
impossible that John Bold should speak another word.
As he got on his horse, which he was fain to do feeling like a dog
turned out of a kitchen, he was again greeted by little Sammy.
"Good-bye, Mr Bold; I hope we may have the pleasure of seeing you
again before long; I am sure papa will always be glad to see you."
That was certainly the bitterest moment in John Bold's life. Not even
the remembrance of his successful love could comfort him; nay, when
he thought of Eleanor he felt that it was that very love which had
brought him to such a pass. That he should have been so insulted,
and be unable to reply! That he should have given up so much to the
request of a girl, and then have had his motives so misunderstood!
That he should have made so gross a mistake as this visit of his to
the archdeacon's! He bit the top of his whip, till he penetrated the
horn of which it was made: he struck the poor animal in his anger, and
then was doubly angry with himself at his futile passion. He had been
so completely checkmated, so palpably overcome! and what was he to do?
He could not continue his action after pledging himself to abandon it;
nor was there any revenge in that;--it was the very step to which his
enemy had endeavoured to goad him!
He threw the reins to the servant who came to take his horse, and
rushed upstairs into his drawing-room, where his sister Mary was
sitting.
"If there be a devil," said he, "a real devil here on earth, it is
Dr Grantly." He vouchsafed her no further intelligence, but again
seizing his hat, he rushed out, and took his departure for London
without another word to anyone.