THE VICAR OF VALE LESTON.
'Cushions and cloth an' books, takin' the old church right roun',
Surplice, shovel, and broom, they would na ha' fetch'd half-a-crown,
Commandments to boot. They was the only good lookin' things
Wi' yellow cherubs between 'em, and nout but heads and wings.
Parson Myles was a hunter, and could gallop through a prayer,
Right straight ahead over anything, an' stop him who dare.'
_Rev. W. Heygate._
There was to be a meeting about the paving of the town: Mr. Underwood,
though only twenty-eight, was a town-councillor, and decidedly an
influence in himself, as well as through the Pursuivant. He had so
worked his way up, that his fellow-citizens accepted him as one of
themselves; and his birth and breeding gave him a power which they
felt without in the least acknowledging. Besides, his conscientious
journalising made him always thoroughly get up his subjects; and he
threw himself into the merits and history of asphalt and flag-stones
with that 'all his might' with which he did whatsoever his hand found
to do.
He was busy on an article to prepare the way for the meeting, when
Lance, who had been making selections from London papers, laid the
last sheet of the 'Times' on his desk, and silently pointed to the
obituary:--
'On the 4th, at Torquay, aged 37, the Reverend Fulbert Bowles
Underwood, Vicar of Vale Leston Abbas, only son of Fulbert
Underwood, Esquire, of Vale Leston Priory.'
'I see,' quoth Felix.
Five minutes' waiting while he wrote.
'I say, does it go into Pur?'
'Certainly not. What matters it to any one here?'
That was all Lance could get out of Felix; and after a time came
the second delivery of the post. All the letters lay in a heap on
the office table, just when, as Lance mentally termed him, the
longest-windedest, button-holderest of all the municipality walked in
to bestow his opinion on the paving question upon Mr. Underwood; and
Lance not only had to retreat from the important conclave, but was
occupied himself by a succession of customers for a quarter of an hour
after its conclusion. When he made another rush into the office, he
found Felix still writing away at the paving stones, but with a good
deal of red in his cheeks, and a letter lying by his side.
'Read that, Lance,' he said, 'but don't speak till this is done.'
Lance read:--
Vale Leston Priory, May 7th.
MY DEAR MR. FELIX UNDERWOOD,
I write by desire of my poor friend Mr. Underwood, to acquaint
you with the death of his son, your cousin, the Vicar, at
Torquay, on the 4th of this month. The melancholy event had
long been anticipated, as there had been a complete break-up of
constitution; and I for one never expected to see him return
home alive when he went to Torquay with his wife last winter.
Mr. Underwood has felt the loss deeply, though not with the
same acuteness as if he had not had such long preparation,
and it had not taken place at a distance. He has become much
more feeble since you saw him five years ago, when certainly
you left a lasting impression. He wishes you to be present
at the funeral, with any of your brothers to whom it may be
convenient. The time is fixed for next Friday, the 10th, at
eleven o'clock. Your rooms will be ready for you on Monday; and
if you will mention your train, you shall be met at Church Ewe
or Ewmouth. It seems premature to mention it, but Mr. Underwood
is so anxious that no time should be lost, that he desires
me to intimate to you, that if you can procure immediate
Ordination, he will present you to the Vicarage. I do not
take this to be as simple a matter as he does, but under the
circumstances, and with your studious turn, I should think it
quite possible for you to be ready before the Vicarage lapses,
and the poor old Squire has evidently set his heart on it,
and planned it ever since he gave up hope of his son's life.
Congratulations would be out of place at this moment, but I
trust that the succession is now secure.
Remember me to my friend Mr. Lancelot--I trust that headaches
are with him a thing of the past--and believe me,
Yours very truly,
H. STAPLES.
Lance made all manner of contortions with his visage, read and re-read,
indulged in a suppressed war-dance, and finally merged all other
sensations in an agony of impatience, as still Felix's eyes and pen
continued to travel over his sheet; and not a muscle of his face moved
until the last was handed to little Lightfoot, and sent off to the
press.
'That's done,' then he said.
'You may well be on the board of paving-stones!' cried Lance. 'Nothing
but one of them could have gone on so.'
'It had to be done.'
'I could as soon have done it as flown.'
'Not if you never let your mind loose from it. Now for the letter.
Stay, we'll take it up to Cherry. I'll just say a word to Lamb.'
Felix's courtesy to his subordinates always went a great way. The
noontide lull of business was beginning to set in, but Cherry and
Stella looked up from their lessons in amaze as both brothers came in;
and Cherry mutely clasped her hands, and with the word Edgar fluttering
on her lips, but as both faces plainly indicated no, she rallied
instantly, saying, 'What wonder of wonders is it?'
'Nothing very surprising,' said Felix gravely. 'It is that poor old
Fulbert, at Vale Leston, has lost his son, and wants me to go to the
funeral.'
'That's not all,' added Lance. 'What do you think of his wanting this
here Giant to get himself ordained, and take the Vicarage on the spot?'
'Felix, you could not--not in time.'
'Nor at all. That is not to be thought of; but I shall go through
London, take Clement down with me, and see if I cannot get the living
for him; but let me read you the letter--I could barely glance at it.'
He read; and Cherry broke out, 'The succession secure! Does that mean
to you?'
'I am heir-at-law,' said Felix quietly; 'and it was entailed on me in
case his son had no children.'
'He takes it coolly, doesn't he?' said the far more elated Lance, 'but
then he's had plenty of preparation.'
'You don't mean that you've known about this?'
'I knew the estate had been entailed on me to prevent this poor man
from alienating it.'
'You knew, and you never told anyone, and went on as usual!'
'How would you have had me go on?' he asked, with a certain provoking
meekness, that sent her into a laugh, while Lance, catching Stella's
wondering eyes, practically answered the question by locking her
fingers in his, and whirling her round in a sort of impromptu choric
dance, chanting:--
'Wrong shall be right,
And right shall be might,
When--'
('bless me, what a plague three syllables are!')
'When Felix' right and Felix' might
Shall meet upon Vale Leston height!'
'It is not a height,' interposed Felix.
'The King shall have his own again then,' amended Lance. 'No, I have
it. The enchantment is over, and the Frog-prince is about to resume his
proper shape!'
'Lance, considering--'
'Blunderbore, considering the extraordinary relief and disburthening of
my mind, after labouring under this secret five years come August, if
it were not profane, I should compare myself to Christian when the pack
dropped off his back!'
'But why was it a secret?'
'For two reasons, Whiteheart,' said Felix. 'First because there was
nothing to tell; and secondly, because that "nothing" might have turned
several heads. Still, I believe you would have known it long ago, if I
had not been ashamed after binding over Lance.'
'Please, may I understand?' entreated Stella, in rather a melancholy
voice, as she found her usual mode of observation quite inadequate.
'Understand, my Star! Yes,' said Lance; 'understand that we were all of
us kicked out--all of us that were there to kick, that is to say--from
the jolliest place in all the world; and now things are coming right,
and Felix is going to be a fine old English gentleman who had a great
estate! I declare it makes me so poetical I can't get on!'
'You'd better come to me, Stella,' interposed Felix. 'Nothing is going
to happen now, my dear. It is only this. The old house where we elder
ones were born was meant to belong to my mother, but there was a flaw
in the will that left it her, and so it went to the more direct heir;
and my father would not go to law because he did not think it right
when he could not afford it, and especially as he was a clergyman.'
'O Felix!' cried Cherry eagerly.
'Yes; I have a copy of the letter. And now, the poor old gentleman
who had it has lost his son, and has sent me a kind message, as if he
wished me to go back there; but that will not be in his life-time, so
we need not talk about it. There is nothing to make any change now.'
'No?' asked Cherry, disappointed.
'Of course not. Expectations are not good sustenance. The reversion is
possibly very distant, and there may be some mistake about it, after
all.'
'Well! one ought to be prepared,' said Cherry; 'but oh! to see you at
home--home--yes, Vale Leston is home! O Felix, what it will be!'
'Don't set yourself on wishing it,' said Felix anxiously. 'Remember Pur
and the business are our dependence or independence, and most likely
are far better and safer for us.'
'Pshoo!' shouted Lance; 'I won't have you talk book!'
'May I tell Wilmet?' entreated Cherry.
'No harm in that; meantime I must get things in train, and then walk
over to explain matters to Mr. Froggatt; and as soon as I can get away
to-morrow I shall go up to town, and make Clement come on with me.'
'O Fee, one moment! Are we to go into mourning?' Then, as he held up
his hand, 'It means more than you think. It shows how much we hold by
the connection; and if I understand you, you wish nothing so little as
to have it trumpeted about that Mr. Underwood has great expectations.'
'As prudently stated as W.W. could have done it! It must turn on the
degree of connection.'
'Is he as near as Tom Underwood was?'
'The same on my mother's side. Yes, put on black ribbons; but, as you
say, don't trumpet the thing. Don't begin about it, but if any one
asks, explain how it stands.'
The heir-expectant was gone; and Lance, after waiting to indulge in
another pantomime of exultation, ran after him, humming:--
'Oh, to see him back again!'
By the middle of the next day Felix was able to leave home, after
having seen the Froggatts, whom he treated with as much deference
and attention as if he were still accountable to them. The reception
of his communication made him glad that he had been silent when the
chances were more remote, for though Mrs. Froggatt was ready to cry
for gladness at the notion of his taking his own proper place as a
gentleman, and had a farmer's daughter's respect for the squirearchy,
her husband feared that empty anticipation would spoil Felix for a
tradesman, and be injurious to the business, which he viewed with
tender pride and solicitude. So he lectured on the uncertainty of
prospective fortunes, and the folly of reckoning on them, till it was
evident that his confidence would have been sorely shattered had the
bare notion been whispered five years earlier. Indeed, his comfort
seemed compromised by finding that Felix would not be the permanent
property of the business, and he was almost displeased, as if he
thought he had allowed it to pass into his hands on false pretences. It
was vexatious and disappointing; but he had to be left to recover the
first shock, which, after all, proved his love and value for the young
man.
Felix did not reach Whittingtonia till late; and on inquiry at the
clergy-house, heard that Mr. Underwood was not at home, but the Vicar
was. To him therefore Felix went in his study, not sorry to ask his
advice. Clement, who would not receive priest's orders for some weeks,
was over young for the charge of an utterly neglected parish; but it
was dangerous to let the presentation pass by, since only a brother
could satisfactorily co-operate in dealing with the old ancestral
sacrileges, in case he should ever come in for the property himself.
Mr. Fulmort never spoke while Felix told his story; and the bell for
Evensong had begun by the time it closed. Then he said, 'I am very
glad, heartily glad. I have been watching Clement, and I see he is not
tough enough yet for our work. When a young fellow, of such a length
too, can't eat after any hard day's work, instead of being ravenous,
he is sure to break down the first time he takes cold or catches an
illness, and then he is done for. I should have had to drive him away
elsewhere, at least for some years, poor fellow, though none has ever
been more like a son to me. Yes, of course he is too young, but he is
not the sort of stuff that falls into slackness, and that is more fatal
than any amount of blunders and foolishness.'
The last words startled Felix. He had been so anxious to place Clement
at Vale Leston, that he had thought of no drawbacks till he was
roused to a foreboding of that dour uncompromising rigidity, left to
itself, sowing dissensions, becoming a hard master to them all--nay,
not improbably alienating the old Squire, and overthrowing all their
prospects! Such a future passed before Felix in his transit across the
quadrangle, and was met, but not disposed of, by the sense that it was
right and just that Clement should be put forward, '_Fais ce que dois,
advienne que pourra._' He had put Clement into his own place to console
his father for his own secession to secular work; and if devotion,
blamelessness, and earnestness were recommendations, they were not
lacking. 'And if he do give offence, and all be left to Marilda,'
thought Felix, 'let it go. It would only be for conscience sake.
Poverty is better than riches! and I may have to show that I believe
so. I only hope that the boy will not do the thing in some pig-headed
way, in which it would be hard to back him up.'
Misgivings vanished for the time when his brother was in sight. It
was not easy to make him out in the deep perspective of the choir.
Felix only knew that a fair-haired head above the average line must
be his; but when he came forward to the Eagle, whence he was to read
the Second Lesson, and afterwards give his lecture, he was in full
view. In his lankiest hobbedy-hoy days, Clement had always looked his
best surpliced; and now, with the cassock beneath, the stole over
one shoulder, and his black-and-white hood, his figure had a certain
dignity, and his voice gave Felix a thrill. The mixture of hereditary
tone and unconscious imitation were such that when he shut his eyes he
could believe himself a boy at St Oswald's, listening to his father;
and even when he looked up the illusion was hardly dispelled, for the
half-light brought out the similar moulding of the features, and a
hectic tinting. He gave a careful little discourse, evidently one of a
series, and the allegory of the Wilderness life with much more depth
and poetry than the elder brother had expected.
He had taken care to place himself out of direct view of the young
preacher, and his appearance in the quadrangle was an immense surprise
to Clement. 'Felix! you here! nothing the matter? What's that? Not poor
Edgar?' as his eye fell on Felix's new hat and hat-band.
'No, no--this is for the younger Fulbert of Vale Leston. I have more to
say to you.'
'Come in to supper, then. Have you seen the Vicar? Do you stay the
night? That's jolly! Here, Fred, you've not seen my brother!'
Fred Somers was known to be Clement's friend. With one of the natures
that prefers external to home friendship, Clement had at first bestowed
his affection on poor Harry Lamb, and since upon this companion, who
had been his predecessor by half a year in everything, and in whom
Felix was diverted to see his complete contrast. Mr. Somers was at
least five inches below Clement's six feet one and a half, and was a
dark, plump, merry little man, who looked as if the Vicar never need
scruple about getting any amount of work out of him; and Clement, with
a hand on his shoulder, looked perfectly happy, and as if working at St
Matthew's side by side with him were all he desired. And very overgrown
and boyish Clement looked too at that supper, a very merry one. There
were the six clergy, fourteen choir boys, and sundry chance-helpers,
mostly talking eagerly, with a good deal of laughter at old and new
jokes. Felix, seated by the Vicar, thought Clement far more at his
ease, more playful and familiar, than ever he had seen him at home, and
infinitely less on his dignity than he ever allowed himself to be with
Lance and Bernard.
After supper, the two brothers repaired to Clement's tiny private room,
uncarpeted, with a table, two Windsor chairs, and a book-case; and
then, when the elder had explained, the younger flatly refused to have
anything to do with Vale Leston Abbas.
'I!' he said, 'go to a fat easy-going country living when the need is
so urgent here? I to stand alone when I want years of training? It
would be enough to ruin me!'
'But the place, Clement. This parish will never be ill-supplied while
Mr. Fulmort lives; but people have souls down in the country.'
Clement had not much feeling for souls whose bodies he had never
realised; but he answered, 'Very bad for the souls to have an
inexperienced priest.'
'Quite true; but observe, it is not the choice between you and such
a clergyman as you would select, but between you and no one knows
who--certainly a person who could not help in the complication of
family and Church property, as only a brother could do.'
'That is all in the clouds,' said Clement. 'I have made up my mind to
ten years' service here, and I intend to keep to it.'
'The Vicar says you have not strength for it.'
'Then I shall go on without it.'
'Till you kill yourself.'
'The best end one could come to.'
'No, not if there be a leading of Providence elsewhere.'
'I observe that Providence is generally said to lead in the direction
of ease and £ s.d. No, Felix, I am much obliged, but even if this old
man would appoint a vicar of decided opinions like mine, I cannot allow
myself to be led aside into a path of wealth and luxury contrary to all
I had marked out for myself.'
'Are people always meant to do all they have marked out for
themselves?' said Felix, as he heard the frequent first person singular.
'When it is the line of self-abnegation.'
Felix could not help smiling, and muttering between his teeth, 'Is it?'
Then he added, 'At any rate you will come down to the funeral and see
the old place?'
'No! I will not raise false expectations to be disappointed.'
The idea of baffled expectations excited by that long white-faced lad!
Even Felix was beginning to console himself, and think Clement might be
doing the best for them all, when they were summoned to the Oratory by
the evening prayer-bell. As good-nights were spoken at the foot of the
stairs, the Vicar asked Felix, 'Have you prevailed?'
'No, sir. Perhaps you will talk to him?'
Mr. Fulmort nodded, and Felix went to his own room. In the morning the
Vicar told him that he had not made much impression, but that he had
actually made it matter of obedience that Clement should go to Vale
Leston with his brother, and not consider his decision as made till he
had thoroughly seen the place.
And thus it was that Felix, in different company and different mood
from when he had last seen his birthplace, found himself stopping at a
little station called Church Ewe, about three miles short of Ewmouth;
and there a smart servant came up with his finger to his cockaded hat,
and took possession of the two little black bags.
'The beginning of greatness!' observed Clement, who was very benignant
towards Felix's prospects, though he would accept none for himself, as
they ensconced themselves in the great barouche with the pair of horses.
Felix shook his head. He wanted to hold himself as loose as possible
from gazing on the place as an inheritance, at the same time as he
greatly desired to see Clement smitten with it, almost as much from
jealousy for the old home as with a view to the future.
Their way brought them in on the opposite side from the Ewmouth
road; so that the first view was from high ground, whence the lovely
encircling valley, the slopes of wood inclosing it, the purple moorland
above them, the grey sheen of the river, the high-arched bridge, the
noble church, and grand old ancestral-looking priory, partly veiled by
fine trees, in the delicate glory of early summer, lay outstretched
before them, the shimmer of the sea, and a few white sails far in the
distance.
That sense of the eye satisfying the heart, and being as it were at
rest and at home, which he had felt at the sight five years before, and
never at any other, came over Felix; and exulting in the loveliness,
he looked eagerly to see the effect on Clement, but the smooth young
face was carefully guarded against relaxing, the light blue eye was
steadily set as unmarking anything. Felix was provoked, and then
wondered whether the Deacon were like the Moslem who refused to dwell
at Damascus, lest he should have his Paradise only on earth. A little
local information elicited nothing but civil indifferent answers, that
inspired a desire to shake that inanimate figure.
Driving up through the park, beauteous with chestnut blossom, they were
shown into the library; and there Mr. Staples came to them, cordially
shaking hands, but, as Felix fancied, somewhat critically scanning that
long straight coat with the little cross at the button-hole.
'The Squire is tolerable,' he answered to Felix's inquiry. 'I think it
is coming out in gout. He will dine with you. It does him good to see
people.'
'And Mrs. Underwood?'
'Came yesterday. Mother and brother here too. Ladies dine together
upstairs.'
'Are you staying here?'
'No; but I am over as much as I can. The old Squire wants someone, and
I don't fancy leaving him too much to Smiles--he's the curate, and has
been trying to worm himself in. Will you come to your rooms? Dinner at
seven.'
To Felix it was like meeting an old friend to tread the black stair,
and the long panelled corridors, all windows on one side, the other
hung with portraits, the Underwood red cheeks and blue eyes staring
round, and coarse like Marilda. Mr. Staples popped Clement into one
wainscotted room, and left him there, but shut himself in with Felix.
'So that's your clerical brother?'
'An excellent hard-working devoted fellow.'
'But very--?'
'Well, rather!'
'And it is quite out of the question for yourself?'
'Entirely so. Even if I thought it right, it could not be done.'
'I thought so, and told the Squire. Unlucky, for things are a good deal
involved; and you would find the vicarage income handy, while as for
this--why he is a mere boy!'
'So he feels himself. He is conscious of his want of experience, and
it would be an infinite relief to him to see it in good hands.'
'Mrs. Fulbert and her mother declare that the Squire promised poor
Fulbert to give it to her brother, Harry Shaw, whom you'll see here
to-night; but he swears he did no such thing; and on the whole, I think
Smiles would have a better chance--he's an obsequious chap, who has
been very attentive to the old man all the winter, half their spy, half
his toady. However, the Squire would never let either of them have it
while there's a parson left with Underwood blood in his veins!'
All the quaint old bedrooms in this passage opened one into the other,
and Felix unlocked the door between himself and Clement to communicate
the information received, but it apparently took no effect.
The dinner-party was dismal and incongruous enough. Obsequious was a
word that exactly depicted little, sleek, low-voiced Mr. Smiles, who
though presiding at one end of the table, seemed ready to emulate
Baillie M'Wheeble's posture; and the rival candidate, Mr. Henry Shaw,
was a red-faced, punchy man, hardly distinguishable in appearance or
manner from his farmer kindred, and, as soon became apparent, with such
principles as he had, diametrically opposed to those of Clement, who,
with his refined countenance and form, looked as if he belonged to some
other world.
Mr. Underwood was wheeled in in his chair. He was not a man to give
way, but rather to try to talk sorrow down; and the curate and Mr.
Staples, knowing his humour, set county politics going, and all
joined with a fervour, not to say violence, that struck the brothers
as unsuitable. It was more than the Squire, between deafness and the
burthen of grief, could follow; he grew abstracted, and presently
rousing himself, turned to Clement to ask what had just passed at the
other end of the table.
'That the bribery petition will fail, sir,' repeated Clement, bending
with the naturally kind and courteous manner due to age, infirmity, and
sorrow, and speaking in a clear sweet modulated tone, that evidently
struck the old man more than the words.
'You have the family voice,' he said, looking up at him. 'Why, you are
a mere lad! You don't tell me you are in Orders?'
'I was ordained Deacon last summer, sir,' said Clement colouring deeply
at having to say it loud enough to attract everyone's attention.
'Ah! eh! And your age?'
'Four-and-twenty last March.'
'You don't look eighteen,' said the Squire, with that still infantine
face close to him, reddening most youthfully. 'Where's your curacy?'
'At St Matthew's, Whittingtonia,' said Clement impressively, and
casting his eyes round, as if, thought Felix, he were making a
confession of faith and looking for persecution; but, half to the elder
brother's relief, half to his diversion, they had got into a world
where there was no thermometer of London churches, and no one knew
what the avowal implied. Mr. Smiles asked if it were a Bethnal Green
district; and Mr. Shaw observed, loud enough for the Squire to hear,
that London parishes were not the places for plain straightforward
men, no one was looked at who wasn't got up like a swell to please the
ladies; and then they both united in rallying the youthful curate about
tea-parties and pretty young ladies; but Clement was as impervious to
ridicule on that score as if his head had been cowled and tonsured,
and he bore it well, simply and gravely replying that he was too much
occupied to go into society. He volunteered no dangerous topic, but
showed much more good sense and forbearance than Felix had ventured to
give him credit for in the curt answers he was compelled to make; but
the old gentleman did not hear these, and began again.
'You've a sister married--eh?'
'Two,' said Clement, for Felix was too far off to be audible and as
further information was looked for, 'one to Major Harewood, and the
other to Sir Adrian Vanderkist.'
If Felix did for a moment feel that it sounded better than if they had
married the butcher and the baker, Mr. Shaw took care to qualify the
announcement with, 'Sporting baronet, ain't he? Got three horses at
Epsom, I think!'
'What's that?' demanded Mr. Underwood. 'Your sister's husband on the
turf?'
'I am sorry to say he is,' said Clement gravely.
'Not getting into scrapes? Any danger of his going on too fast?'
'I think not, Sir.' Felix felt he must shout, knowing well that
Clement's regret was directed rather to racing in the abstract, than to
any pecuniary peril, and for the first time feeling bound to defend Sir
Adrian as a brother-in-law. 'He is a prudent man, and not likely to go
beyond his means.'
Which was true. He was not exceeding present means. The evil was the
future of the little girls, now four in number; but Clement looked
reproachful at the answer he had to repeat to his neighbour, who
relapsed into silence for a little while, then asked again, 'Who said
one of them had married into a marching regiment?'
Mr. Staples laughed, and came to the rescue this time. 'Regiments never
march but when young ladies marry into them; but it is not true in
this case, Sir. Major Harewood is in the Royal Engineers, and has an
appointment at Woolwich.--Didn't you tell me so?' turning to Felix.
'Have you heard anything from him of this new gun?'--which gun was
safely wielded through the remainder of the meal.
After dinner, the Squire went back to his room, desiring Felix to come
with him.
He looked much older than before, and made no more effort at
cheeriness; as he sighed, settled himself, and signed Felix to a chair
near him and his great fire.
'So!' he said. 'So things come round! Why did you not bring the nice
little lad that was here before?'
'He and I cannot both leave home together, Sir. He is my right hand in
the business.'
'You've not brought him up to your business?'
'I could not help it. That sun-stroke put him back in his studies, and
he could not bear to be idle.'
'You must find some gentlemanly line for him; not too old, eh? You give
it up, of course, you've thought better of my proposal--eh?'
'Quite impossible, Sir, thank you,' said Felix. 'You are very kind, but
I am totally unfit. My education was stopped at sixteen.'
'Don't tell me you can't get through what Harry Shaw there did!
Besides, what do we want of a scholar? I'd rather have a man of sense!'
'No Bishop would or could ordain me within the time.'
'Staples did say the Bishops had got more crotchetty now-a-days. How
long would they insist on for preparation? I'd get little Smiles to
hold it for the time.'
'It is impossible, Sir, thank you, in every way--even if I could think
it right.'
'Right? It is not right the things should be separated. I've been
crippled by it all my life, and cursed my folly in setting my face
against the Church; and you'll hardly get the property in so good a
condition as I did. Why, you're bookish already, and look like one of
the cloth. Fit! you're fitter by a long chalk than Harry there! Come!
think better of it. I'd not mind the cost if they insist on a turn at
the University.'
'Thank you, Sir,' said Felix; 'but I cannot do it. It is against
my conscience.' And as he saw that this was incomprehensible, he
thought he had better bring forward a palpable testimony to the
impracticability. 'Besides, I must go on with my work. There are too
many of us for me to give over.'
'Many! The lad hasn't been fool enough to marry?'
'No, no, Sir; but there are two, a little brother and sister, at home,
and two more at school, besides Geraldine and Lancelot.'
'All depending on you?'
'The four youngest entirely so; Geraldine earns a good deal with her
painting, and Lance quite makes his own maintenance; but I could not
leave them, nor break up the home.'
Six brothers and sisters were more than any one could adopt on the
spot, and Mr. Underwood felt the cogency of the argument. 'Then you
absolutely must keep up this confounded trade of yours till the breath
is out of my body!'
'I hope to keep it up a long time yet, Sir,' said Felix; 'I have been
very happy in it.'
'And--and--there's no other way?'
'Certainly not, Sir, thank you. All I have is embarked in it; and
while things stand as they do, I should not be justified in making any
change.'
Whatever Felix's kindred might think of his occupation, they were
always forced to feel the dignity of his industry and independence.
Here was this young man, under thirty, and looking younger than he was,
talking of half-a-dozen of young brothers and sisters as a reason,
not for accepting help, but for being let alone to maintain them;
and actually showing a brother, a clergyman, scholar, and gentleman,
visibly superior to what his kinsman had brought there to meet him.
This was not a young heir to adopt, foster, and command, but a man to
address upon equal terms, and Mr. Underwood put his next suggestion
with less of authority. 'If it were not just absolute trade--retail,
ain't it? It will be against you when you come here, you see. Could not
you get out of it into Kedge and Underwood's firm? That would sound
better.'
'Yes, Sir, but I could not throw over my business without a great loss;
and it would be undertaking what I don't understand, instead of what I
do.'
'Besides,' added the Squire, going on with his talk, 'with your
expectations, family, place, and all, that girl of Tom's would jump at
you!'
Felix shook his head decidedly, though unable to help a little inward
laugh at this revival of Alda's old manoeuvre.
'By-the-by,' continued the old gentleman, 'what's become of your
brother that Tom bred up?'
'We knew of him last in Australia, Sir.'
'Next to you, is he or this tall lad you have here?'
'He is older than Clement'
'Poor Tom made too much of him--eh? Well, young men will be young men,'
said Mr. Underwood, too full of his own sorrows to think about Edgar;
'but they come round at last:' and therewith he fell into a talk about
his own son, whose illness and death he proceeded to dwell upon, as he
found he had a kind and attentive auditor; and this lasted till the
butler came to wheel him off to his bed.
Felix and Clement paid an early visit to the church next morning, and
found it in a course of being muffled in black. 'Seventy-five yards
there allys was for every Underwood on 'em,' said Abednego Tripp, who
had become much more shaky and feeble, had resigned his market-boat
to Kerenhappuch's husband, and was hobbling about the church in a
mixed, but on the whole a pleasant and exulting, frame of mind, by no
means partaking of the intense disgust with which Clement beheld the
sanctuary invaded by the paraphernalia of human woe.
Dr. May, unasked, brought Bernard over to the funeral, which was at
twelve o'clock. Neither the father nor the widow attended it; but
the incongruity of Edward Underwood's sons acting as chief mourners
was prevented by the nearer claims of the Shaw brothers-in-law. The
farmer tenants came; but the lack of neighbouring clergy and even
gentry struck the brothers in contrast with the overflowing numbers who
had flocked to their father's grave, so far from his ancestral home,
showing how much more the man can be than the position.
Bernard was staring about him with little endeavour for appearances;
and at the first moment that speech was possible, even while the
hat-bands were coming off, he looked up in the face of Clement with
open eyes, and said, 'My eyes! this is no end of a place! Is it what
is to come to us?' Clement hushed him seriously and vigorously, but
without much effect. 'Did you know 'twas like this?' he persisted,
gazing round.
'I never thought about it. Hush!'
'Why, 'tis twice as jolly a house as Abbotstoke! And the woods! And
the river! One might shoot every day, and fish the rest, and be always
boating besides!' exclaimed Bernard, enthusiastically, but happily
under his breath. 'And ain't there a hunter worth £120 here? Where is
he, Clem?'
'How should I know?'
'You've been here all night and this morning, haven't you?' said
Bernard, as if he had not thought even Tina capable of such
indifference. 'I'll get down to the stables, and find out.'
While Clement was trying to stop him, the summons to a lugubrious
luncheon did so more effectually. There Bernard had the opportunity of
fraternizing with a Shaw nephew of his own age, and none of the malice
of his seniors, who imparted the melancholy fact that the hunter-colt
was sold, but undertook to show off the stables; but fate was too
strong for Bear, he was captured by his eldest brother, and told that
while Dr. May's horse was coming round, Mr. Underwood would like to
see him.
The wish was far from mutual, and Bernard was as sulky as his namesake;
but sulkiness might pass on such an occasion for decorous solemnity;
and Bernard was always one of the show specimens--a big, well-grown,
straight-limbed boy, with a handsome Underwood face, not of the
girlishly rosy tinting of his brother's, but glowing with a hardy
healthy sunburnt hue, and he could not but answer with a sort of glum
awe-struck civility the few questions asked him, as to his age, and
where he was at school, and then whether he had ever been rabbitting.
'Only once;' and Bernard's face lost its sulkiness. 'Marilda's gone and
let her shooting!'
'And you like it?'
Bernard's lips only said 'yes,' but his blue eyes danced.
'Well, some of these days, you must come over and have a day with the
keeper, when your brother is settled here.'
The eager face of anticipation fell, and out came at unawares, 'But
that won't be till you are dead;' and then the boy began colouring to
the ears.
'No, no, I don't mean this brother; but what's his name--the young
parson? When he is here, you must come over. And here--' As the Doctor
came in to take leave, Bernard found in his hand 'tip' that exceeded
even the great days of Ferdinand's munificence!
He sprang out to Clement, who was standing in the porch. 'Oh! I say,
Clem, what a splendiferous go this is!'
Again, all he got was a scandalized hush.
'I don't mean _that_. He told me himself! I'm to come over to shoot
rabbits, and all that is delicious, when you are a clergyman here!
Hurrah!'
'Hold your tongue, Bernard,' said Clement, with a voice of subdued
impatience, 'and don't talk nonsense.'
'But you _are_ going to be a clergyman here,' persisted Bernard. 'He
said so.'
'That does not make it the fact.'
'O Clem, you'd never be so viciously spiteful as not to come! Think of
the rabbits and the salmon, and a licence by-and-by!'
'Come, Bernard,' said Dr. May's cheery voice behind; then, as he shook
hands with Clement, 'You must find your way over to Stoneborough when
you are settled here. Our church is a sort of rival to yours.'
'Not mine,' protested Clement; but the Doctor was in a hurry, and was
off. Business was to be done with the family lawyer, and Felix got a
hint that he might be wanted after a time, so he betook himself to a
nook in the cloister, redolent with old memories, and began a letter
to Mr. Audley. Clement, as he really believed with malice prepense,
put himself entirely out of reach by starting off for a walk with Mr.
Smiles, who, detecting that the London clergyman's mind was far from
made up to bury himself in a dull, secluded, straggling country parish,
had kindly volunteered to show him the beauties of the scenery.
Nearly two hours had passed, when a tall shadow came across the arch,
and Clement's low eager voice asked, 'Have you any money about you?'
'Just about enough to get home with. Why?'
'How near is Ewmouth?'
'Nearly four miles. What _are_ you after?'
'I can do it before dinner;' and the long legs seemed about to move off.
'Stay, Clement! What?'
'I must raise enough to get a bottle of port. There's a child sinking
in typhus. Don't detain me, Felix. I find there's no help for it. I
must have this place,' he added, as if throwing a tub to the whale to
effect his escape.
'Stop, ask for some here.'
'No use. Squire forbids all giving in that quarter.'
'What do you mean to do?'
'I must dispose of--of--of--Well, it must be this,' touching his little
cross, Ferdinand's gift, and nearly his favourite possession.
'Come! It won't do to make your début at Ewmouth by disposing of your
jewelry. I left myself a margin of half-a-crown, and if we walk from
the station, that will save two shillings more.'
'That will do,' said Clement. 'Thank you, Fee, you shall have it again.
I had given all I had about me in the other hovel. The woman is
waiting in the churchyard. I'll send her off, and then tell you.'
Felix accompanied him through the beautiful summer garden to the
rough rugged churchyard, where a lean woman in tattered drab-coloured
garments by no means accorded with the paradisaical notion of Vale
Leston. Her distress was so genuine that she scarcely thanked Clement;
but assuring him she could now get what she wanted, she walked off.
Clement sighed, and looked up at the great massive church, not with
Felix's pitying love, but like a mighty burthen.
'Well, Clem!'
'Well! I see it must be done.'
'I am very glad.'
'I am sure I am very sorry,' said Clement, with a simplicity new in him.
Before any more could pass, a servant came in search of them to summon
them to Mr. Underwood's room. He looked worn and sorrowful, but there
was a certain look of pleasure at the entrance of the two young men;
and he made a sort of introduction of them to the lawyer, Mr. Wilder, a
London solicitor, then turning to Felix, he once more asked if he still
declined all idea of eventually taking the living.
'Certainly I do, thank you, Sir.'
'So,' said Mr. Underwood, 'as is only just, the offer is passed on to
your brother.'
Clement bowed his head, colouring crimson, and the tears coming into
his eyes, as with a trembling lip he answered, 'Thank you, Sir; I will
do my best, God helping me.'
It was curious how this weight of responsibility was extinguishing
self-consciousness, and making a man of him. The tone of his reply
seemed to surprise both Squire and lawyer; and the former said, in an
old man's tone of encouragement, 'That is well. No one can say more.
Now give us your full name, that we may get on with the formalities.'
'Edward Clement Underwood, B.A., St. Cadoc's.'
'Edward?'
'It is my first name, but I have never been so called.'
'Edward! Strange it should so come about! Well, you may do pretty
well here. Small tithes commuted for £420--(Rather a contrast, thought
Felix, to the recent difficulty of raising a few shillings!)--a fair
provision for a young man; if you are content not to launch out, nor be
in a hurry to marry.'
'Certainly not,' said Clement, with an emphasis that made everybody
look up to see whether he showed any tokens of having met with a
disappointment in love; but if his cheeks were redder than usual, lip
and eye were steady and resolute enough.
'I hope not,' proceeded his patron: 'it is the worst thing a young man
can do to get his neck into the noose before he has had time to look
about him. And there's the Vicarage--been used to enlarge our stable
room--will have to be rebuilt altogether; so you had best let your
horse keep your residence for the present, and come and look after the
old man. I would not be much of a burden to you; but this is a big
house, and it is getting lonesome.'
'I will do whatever I can to be a comfort to you, Sir,' said Clement
earnestly. 'It is very kind in you, and I will certainly come first to
you. Only, Sir, I ought to warn you that I have been bred up in a very
stringent school of principles, and that if I come here, I shall feel
it my duty to do my best to carry them out.'
Mr. Underwood smiled at the lawyer. 'How exactly boys get the trick
of their father. I could think this twenty years back! Well, changes
for the worse there _can't_ be! Ungrateful set of drunken poaching
rascals as ever lived! And as to the church, what notions you may bring
there won't do me much harm, so long as you don't bring it about your
ears. Only, look you, Edward, a word in your ear. Don't let Jane--Mrs.
Fulbert, I mean--cajole you into doing up the Vicarage for her.'
'Very well, Sir,' said Clement dreamily.
'You had better stay on a few days and look about you; I'd send you
over to see the Bishop.'
'No, Sir, thank you, I must get back to-morrow. I have little enough
time to prepare for my Ordination, but I will come down as soon after
as Mr. Fulmort can make it convenient to spare me.'
'Ay, and little Smiles will see to the duty meantime; but I say,
Edward, you are inexperienced, and he is a dirty little dog. Don't let
him expect anything from you till you've read in. He's got his quarter,
and 'tis the churchwarden's business to provide.'
Felix hoped other people did not find Clement's face so intelligible as
he did when this turned out to be the warning to inexperience. There
was little more to be done, and the conference broke up to give the
Squire time to rest before dinner.
'And now, my dear Vicar,' said Felix, linking his arm into his
brother's, and leading him to a walk beneath a wisteria-covered wall,
'let me hear what brought you to this laudable resolution.'
'I wish it may be laudable,' said poor Clement, brushing away a couple
of great tear-drops; 'I only know I have taken leave of all comfort or
ease of mind for life, and I suppose that may be right!'
'I thought,' said Felix, a little hurt, 'that my father's objection to
this place was its perfect ease.'
'A good deal has gone to the bad since his time,' said Clement, 'and
well it may! I could think of nothing but the traffic in Babylon the
Great of "the souls of men," and wonder whether I was sharing in it!
Not a word as to my fitness or unfitness, not an attempt at inquiry! I
might be the veriest disgrace to my Orders for what they cared, so long
as my name is Underwood!'
'And, Edward!' said Felix, 'I can't but be touched to see how the poor
old man feels it an act of restitution. It is the best he knows, Clem,
his first step, and I am glad you have not baulked him of it.'
'It is a vicious and rotten system altogether,' said Clement, 'and I am
not sure how far one is justified in submitting to it.'
'And now, without going into the question of lay-patronage, what
brought you to submit to it?'
'I'll tell you, Felix. I set out to walk with Smiles, to see the place,
and set Shaw so far on his way home. We went on beyond the village
street, where all looks smooth and fair--all roses and gable-ends--like
the model place you fancy it, and maybe it was in Father's time. On by
the little river--'
'The Leston. Isn't it beautiful?'
'It is like places I saw in Wales. Well, there is another little ravine
running down to meet that--very wild--a show place.'
'Blackstone Gulley. Isn't there a quarry?'
'Indeed there is; and _such_ a set of hovels round it, run up in a
hollow without a notion of health or comfort! It seems the demand for
the stone is uncertain; so these wretched quarrymen are half their
time poaching and pilfering, a villainous ferocious lot, that do all
the harm in the neighbourhood--in fact, the Squire flew into a rage at
the very name. He had forbidden anything from his house to be given to
them; and even the Miss Hepburns were afraid to go among them. What are
you laughing at, Felix?'
'Because I see why Mr. Smiles took you that way. Go on.'
'He took us to the best point of view, but told us we had better not
go down, as typhus was raging there. I offered to wait if he had any
one to visit; and behold! it was against the principles of both to go
unless they were sent for. Mr. Shaw said it was making oneself too
common, and Mr. Smiles had to consider Mrs. Smiles and the children. By
that time we had been seen, and a woman sallied out to speak to him;
and would you believe it, he tried to warn her off with "You see I
have gentlemen with me! I always tell you to go to Mr. Tripp!" Then it
struck me that I need not stand on the etiquette our Vicar is always so
particular about, since it is nobody's parish just now, and I had the
offer; so I offered to go and see what she wanted. Smiles said a good
deal about the deceitfulness of the women, and the danger of venturing
when the men were at home, as if one had never been down a court in
Whittingtonia.'
'And was it very bad?'
'Bad, yes. Except that there's clear air and water outside, it is as
miserable as anything I ever saw in town, and more squalid and savage.
Four huts with cases of typhus! Though after all, it is not worse than
our district is in the winter; and it is by tens, while that is by
hundreds. Moreover, Ewmouth is getting into this parish, building fast
on this side. When I saw and heard those two men, and knew the place
would be turned over to one or other of them, I could not leave it to
such a fate!'
'Quite right; and not at all what the curate expected.'
'I had thought,' continued Clement, 'that such clergy had become
extinct; but I suppose nothing of a better stamp would have put up
with the poor man we buried to-day. I had imagined the choice only
lay between me and some one who, if without my advantages, would be
superior in experience and weight; but now I see the alternative: it
is plain that it is a call, though why--why it should have come to me,
I cannot think.'
'Perhaps,' said Felix, 'because we are especially bound to fight
against the evil our family has allowed to accumulate.'
'At my age, and all alone! I say, Felix,' after a pause, 'can one get
the key of the church?'
'The door into the cloister used not to be kept locked,' said Felix,
turning in that direction; and then, struck by the loveliness of
the lights and shadows, and the banksias trailing over the cloister
tracery, he could not help exclaiming, 'There's no place like it! You
will grow very fond of it, Clem!'
'I dare say I shall,' said Clement, to whose eyes the beauty seemed to
go for nothing, and who was quite past his usual heed to keeping up
his dignity with his brothers; 'I dare say I shall when I have worked
here a little while; but I had rather have had the dingiest cell in the
clergy-house and Fred Somers. Just as I had got back, when we thought
we should have such a time of it--working together there, for life
perhaps!'
'You might have him for a curate.'
'Fred! He'd never come to "easy duty in a romantic country and eligible
neighbourhood,"' indignantly quoted Clement; 'and for my part, with
only a population of eight hundred, if I were to set up a curate, I
should just give myself over to be a fat, double-chinned, easy-going
incumbent!'
'You're a good way from that,' said Felix, looking at the tall slight
being by his side; 'but I think you are right. I am as sorry for
you as can be, Clem, when I think of your pleasant evenings at the
clergy-house, and what it will be with that poor old man; but you see
he ought to be cared for as well as the parish, and there is no one but
you who can do it.'
'I must try!' said Clement, with something of a gasp.
'Well,' said Felix, who had by this time reached the door, 'I do feel
obliged to you, Clement. This helps me immensely.'
It was a great consolation to Clement that one person at least did
not congratulate him on the preferment that weighed on him so sorely;
but after he had spent some time alone in the church, he had mastered
himself, and was quite satisfactory all the evening. Their dinner
companions were the widow and her mother. The former did not look very
much crushed, though she carried a large pocket-handkerchief; and her
mother declared that nothing could have brought her down but her desire
to be acquainted with her cousins. Felix could not help thinking of the
pic-nic; and before long he perceived the drama that was being enacted.
Her great object was evidently to stay on, and continue the ruler of
the Priory; and Mr. Underwood was equally desirous to get her, not
only out of the house, but out of the village; but he could not quite
tell her so on the day of the funeral, and hints neither of them would
take. Then she fastened upon Clement, and discoursed to him about _her_
charities, and her regrets that during her dear Fulbert's long decline
she could do so little; only she knew things were in such excellent
hands with the Miss Hepburns, good old ladies, perfectly devoted,
treasures for any parish; but for herself--she was only too much at
liberty now, she should be delighted to go the round of the parish with
him, and introduce him to her own peculiar pets!
Clement could not snub direct; but he only bowed, he did not commit
himself; only in all simplicity he did ask about these charities, and
only succeeded in raising a mist of words, in which the desirableness
of not destroying self-dependence, and the pauperizing tendency of
liberality, were the prominent ideas.
Clement ventured a question about Blackstone Gulley; but Mrs. Underwood
hurriedly cautioned him under her breath not to say a word about it
before the Squire, it excited him so fearfully--the people were such
desperate poachers and thieves, and did such wanton mischief! They were
evidently viewed as quite out of the pale of humanity.
Little did the lady imagine that they were the chief attraction to the
Vicar-elect!
The brothers had to be off so early the next morning, that they made
their farewells that night. Mrs. Underwood hospitably told Clement they
would be better acquainted; but when he took leave with the old Squire,
his hand was held fast, while the broken eager voice entreated, 'You'll
soon be back--you'll come soon? You shall have the study, and any
rooms in the house you like.--Been down to the stables? Just say which
saddle-horse you like best; I'll have him kept for you.'
'Thank you, Sir, but I am a very good walker.' (Felix was glad he did
not say he could not ride--a degeneracy in an Underwood that plainly
had not occurred to the Squire.)
'Nonsense! Can't get about in this country without a horse. Mind, I
didn't mean that you should keep it for yourself. Take a look, if you
have not yet, and say which of the two.'
'The quietest!' exclaimed Clement, in a tone nearly of entreaty,
diverting to his elder brother, who had had enough pony-back before
his eighth year, with a little subsequent refreshment on Mr. Audley's
horse, to give him a pitying disdain for anxieties on that score.
'Eh? You are a steady-going parson--don't want a showy beast? That's
as young parsons are now-a-days. Well, you shall have the chestnut,
very good to ride or drive. Write, I say, as soon as you can fix your
day. You might see the Bishop in town. Only don't,' lowering his voice,
'leave me long alone with Jane.'
Just after the hot water had been brought to the brothers' rooms
the next morning, there was a simultaneous knocking at the door of
communication, and then an equally simultaneous turning of the handles,
which was of course ineffectual, till Felix let go, and Clement got it
open; and they stood laughing at each other, each holding an envelope,
one addressed to F. Underwood, Esquire, the other to the Reverend
Edward Underwood, each containing a cheque for £10, and scrawled on the
flap of each--'To cover expenses of journey. F.U.'
'Expenses of journey--poor old man!' said Felix. 'It would go some way
to a special train!'
'I suppose this is myself,' said Clement.
'Ah, you'll have to resign yourself to be Edward for the rest of your
days.'
'Do you mean to take it?'
'Impossible not to let him have the pleasure of it. Poor man, depend
upon it he is wishing it had been my father all the time. And it might
have been--' Felix's face quivered and contracted. 'No, it won't do
to think of that. But, Clem, look here--we won't exactly walk from
Paddington; but deducting the one pound five that this really has cost
me, you shall take the rest of mine for Blackstone Gulley.'
'It must have cost you more.'
'No, for I was coming to town any way. Did I not tell you that I am to
meet poor Edgar's creditors on Cherry's behalf, and settle with them?'
'Poor Cherry! It has been a noble thing for her to have carried out,
but one cannot but feel it wasted.'
'No,' said Felix, 'she will never feel it so. Whatever she may do for
the future, she will be able to feel that she has been just before she
was generous. Remember, she will have sent our name home again cleared
of debt. I am proud to owe that to her! Now, whichever of us is ready
first must write the old man a grateful note, and we will both sign it.'
'Stay, Felix! I can't have you giving this to my people. I shall have
plenty.'
'In time, but I don't expect you will have much in hand for some time;
and if the Squire is so furious against these people, you won't like to
ask him. Besides, they are my people, in a way, as well as yours; and
if this is really the earnest of my inheritance, I should like it to go
to them.'