THE OLD SQUIRE AND THE NEW.
'I remember, I remember,
The house where I was born,
The little window where the sun
Came peeping in at morn.'
_T. Hood._
So it was that the Reverend Edward Clement Underwood became Vicar of
Vale Leston Abbas; and as Geraldine observed, when she saw his whole
worldly possessions waiting for the omnibus, he probably carried with
him less personal property than any entering incumbent on the rolls of
fame. All was contained in one box, one portmanteau, and one black bag,
and chiefly consisted in the more clerical of his father's books, his
pocket-communion plate in the well-worn case, and a few gifts from St
Matthew's, not unaccompanied with cautions on their use.
He spent a few days at home; and Mr. Bevan, who after his five years'
holiday had just come home, not only called on him, but asked him to
preach and to dine, including Felix in the latter invitation; but both
were impossible, as Clement was due at Vale Leston on the Saturday.
Thenceforth his family heard little of him. He had never been much of
a letter-writer, except when he sent a sort of essay on Church affairs
to direct the Pursuivant, and even these nearly ceased, so that, as
Lance said, there was no guessing whether he viewed the squire as the
wicked world or as a sick old sinner. And with Lance, Clement had had
a sort of passage-at-arms. He wanted much to have sent him to the
University, and was much vexed when Lance for many reasons declined;
but the offer and refusal were unknown--by the wish of both parties--to
the rest of the family. Clement said it was all indolence, and passion
for that organ of Ferdinand Travis's, which, now it had come at last,
had proved transcendently well worth waiting for. Clement viewed it
with some jealousy, and predicted that Lance would rue his decision;
and Lance could not help resenting what was unjust in the accusation
and prognostic, the more for what was just in it. To be sure, his
displeasure went no further than the resumption of the impudent old
name of Tina, but from Lance that implied much.
Clement as a beneficed clergyman was something tangible; otherwise
people were rather disappointed to find Mr. Underwood in his natural
place, looking just as usual, and though to one or two close inquirers
he allowed that some property might come to him some day, he declared
that it made no difference. And when people found no blunders in
their accounts, no failures in their serials, and no neglect of their
parcels, they left off thinking he must necessarily be demoralised; and
though the Tribune sneered more than ever at the organ of a bloated
aristocracy, the world in general soon forgot, and then disbelieved,
that their attentive bookseller had any 'expectations.'
Indeed, Felix himself had made up his mind, as he told his home sister
and brother, that the Squire had still many years to live, and that
the inheritance was only to be viewed as a dispensation from laying by
for old age, a point on the duty of which he had never decided, having
in truth nothing to lay by. The interests he now had in the place, and
the security of a welcome, satisfied his affection for it; and he was
too much at home in his present occupation to feel impatient to have it
ended.
Geraldine found the waiting a greater trial. Longings for the green
grass, the purple moorland, the sparkling river, and broad sea would
come over her; and she would wonder whether the best years of their
lives were to be spent in the Bexley streets, where she could not
help fancying the smoke of the potteries more apparent than ever;
and whether Felix were condemned to stand behind a counter till he
had grown too old to begin a new life. Then she blamed herself, and
tried to struggle the thought away; but there was to her an absolute
oppression in Bexley summer air, and an uncongeniality in the dull ugly
surroundings, that made content an almost impossible achievement; and
the anticipation assuredly did not make her happier for the present.
She declared however that Angela was wholesome to her, as a tipsy Helot
was to the Spartans. The girl was intoxicated with the prospect when
she suddenly plunged into it on coming home for the summer holidays. It
seemed nearly as good as her intended Duke, and she talked continually
of the horses she would ride, the tours she would take, the balls she
would frequent, while Felix would drily build up her castles to some
such manifestly outrageous height as to make them topple down headlong
with her.
She was not the only Helot. Madame Tanneguy's sympathetic excitement
knew no bounds, and she clasped her hands with a gesture learnt in
France, as she rejoiced in Mr. Underwood being reinstated, and never
would hear or understand that there was no _re_ in the case. She would
be enthusiastic; she would drop in on Sundays, and question Felix point
by point about that magnificent place; and it must be owned that he
liked sympathy well enough not to answer her as ungraciously as Cherry
would have approved. She even tried to bring little Gustave, that he
and Theodore might grow accustomed to one another; but in this she
never succeeded, for Theodore having learnt that he must neither scream
at nor attack the little Frenchman, never saw him approach without
retreating to Sibby in the kitchen, or his brothers in the office.
But Lady Price's demonstrations were much more amusing. She had come
home a good deal subdued and more on her guard, and she could take
advantage of the former Miss Underwood having been so fully occupied
to excuse her past neglect. She asked Felix to dinner, and his
sisters to croquet parties indefatigably, and tried to get up musical
entertainments which must lead to his singing with Miss Caroline.
What to do was a perplexity. Felix did not like to refuse altogether
overtures from the Rectory, for he had a warm feeling for poor Mr.
Bevan himself; but the horrible penance of singing with Miss Price he
backed out of pitilessly on the score of want of time; and as to the
garden parties, Geraldine hated them, and would have declined them
altogether if Angela had not been wild to go; and Felix and Wilmet
both decreed that it would be better for the child to accustom her to a
little society than to leave her pining and raving for amusement within
her reach. So as long as Angela was at home, Cherry consented to go to
the Rectory croquet, and horribly dull she found it. Lady Price used
demonstratively to inquire after her sister Lady Vanderkist, and how
Mr. Clement was getting on, and would introduce her to two or three of
the lookers on; but they were not apt to be of the mould who brought
out Cherry's powers of conversation; and she never got on well with
any one but the old Miss Crabbe who had once brought Stella home, and
who knew the Vale Leston neighbourhood, and could tell her a good deal
about it.
Wilmet had never come home to institute her reformation. John's
occupation did not give him much leisure, and his mother's kindred sent
him so urgent an invitation, that he felt the more obliged to carry his
wife among them, because it was an act of forgiveness for his marrying
her. One of his mother's sisters had died, leaving him her portion,
and the survivor yearned after poor Lucy's son and his little boy. So
Wilmet was taken amongst the Oglandby clan, and took all the gentlemen
by storm by her beauty, and all the ladies by her domesticity and good
sense; and John found himself so taken up with business connected
with the bequest, that no time could be made for either of the homes.
Besides, it was greatly suspected that as a mother Wilmet was afraid of
Theodore and his jealousy, for she never offered to run down without
her husband. Indeed, he was carrying on a hard struggle to keep up to
his work through the inveterate remains of neuralgic suffering left by
his accident, and only those who stayed any time in the house knew how
brave an effort were his industry and cheerfulness.
Robina had a capital situation as second governess in a large
household, where she seemed very happy; while William Harewood
continued to win prosperity and honour at Oxford, ending by obtaining
a first class, and becoming a student of Christchurch. Who would have
augured the like of Bill?
The most visible effects of the heirship were big hampers of game,
which appeared at intervals all through the autumn and winter; and
Felix did thoroughly enjoy the carrying over the choicest spoils
therefrom to Marshlands, where they gave a great deal of pleasure and
a certain kind of pride. Now that Mr. Froggatt had seen no symptoms of
the turning of Felix's head, he began to believe in his prospects, and
to be a good deal divided between regard for him and for the business.
Bernard was the one who profited most by the present state of things.
Not only did he go over twice, for a day, from Stoneborough to Vale
Leston, but he spent a week there at the beginning of the Christmas
holidays, chiefly in the society of the gamekeeper. So supremely happy
was he, and so brilliant were his descriptions to Madame Tanneguy,
that by the time they had gone through a Russian scandal process among
her confidantes Vale Leston had swelled to the dimensions of Windsor
Castle; and Lance and Angel were incited to prepare for her especial
benefit a parody of 'Bolton Abbey in the Olden Time,' with Clement
in the character and costume of the Abbot, presiding over the like
profusion of game.
Not much more could be got out of the boy. He would talk indeed
plentifully, but it was all of rabbits and ferrets, pheasants and
ducks, horses and dogs. He evidently viewed himself as the Underwood
who alone could do his duty by the _feræ naturæ_ of the estate; and
though his magniloquence was not perfectly trustworthy, the elders
gathered from it that the old Squire had really been pleased to find
in one of the brothers the sportsman tastes he could appreciate, and
had encouraged the boy by telling him all manner of hunting anecdotes,
and letting him have the run of the woods. Bernard was small enough to
have no dignity to lose, and had galloped on the ponies turned out to
grass; but Felix had a curiosity to learn how Clement got on with the
chestnut, a question which set the school-boy into fits of laughing.
'Oh! I believe he sticks on somehow now, but just like a pair of
compasses, you know. Joe says if he has been spilt once he has been
spilt forty times. He knows by the mud on his clothes, you see; but
Mr. Eddard, as every one calls him, never says one word about it, but
stalks in just as upright as ever, and only once or twice they thought
he was a little stiff.'
'But does he go on all the same?' asked Cherry, rather alarmed.
'Oh yes, 'tis dogged as does it; and one can't get about there without
riding; such roads, and mud, and water-courses up to your knees. Yes,
and Joe doesn't think he's been off for more than a month now.'
'Hurrah!' said Lance, 'I always knew Clem had lots of pluck in his own
way! And does he drive?'
'He drives out the Squire whenever it is fine enough.'
Much more could not be made out. The boy had, as Cherry said, a fine
singleness of eye. The game was in full focus, all the rest very dim
and obscure. Yes, Clem had a jolly room enough. What he did, or whether
he went out much, this deponent knew not, only that he believed the
church bell rang at eight--he thought Clem rang it himself. Dinner was
at seven, uncommon jolly--a capital cellar--and he was with difficulty
called back from an imposing enumeration of wines, to say that Mrs.
Fulbert was certainly not in the house. Mr. Underwood seldom left his
room till the middle of the day, and then, if he were well and the
weather fine, Clement attended his airing, then left him to sleep,
and after dinner played piquet or cribbage with him. When once Mr.
Staples dined there, Bernard had taken a hand at whist, of which he was
inordinately proud.
That was all that could be gathered with any certainty, though Bernard
did nothing but groan for Vale Leston whenever he was not skating. They
had learnt that the Vicar of Vale Leston could ride and play at cards,
and they might make the most of that.
Nor did they hear more till the next April, when Felix received the
following note:--
Vale Leston Priory, April 29th.
MY DEAR FELIX,
If you can get away I wish you would come down without loss of
time. Just after Bernard left us, Mr. Underwood got a chill,
and has had a good deal of suppressed gout. The doctor thinks
ill of him. I find he never has been a Communicant. Latterly,
the sense of wrong done to my father has held him back. It is
not satisfactory now, and I long for a priest of experience,
but I must do my best, and time and faculty seem failing. Your
presence and participation would be a comfort. Can you run
down? I will have the 4.40 train met on Monday.
Your affectionate Brother,
E.C.U.
At 4.40 accordingly, Felix beheld a sporting-looking dog-cart of
varnished wood, containing a long black figure holding a very big
chestnut horse, and stretching out an eager hand to grasp his
brother's. 'That's right, Felix! I'm glad you are come!'
'Is he worse?'
'He has been changing rapidly since I wrote to you. Page does not know
what to think of him. I've been writing to ask Dr. May to come over
to-morrow.'
'You look fagged, Clem. Does the nursing fall on you?'
'We have a nurse now; and he seemed disposed to sleep, so I thought I
might come and meet you,' said Clement, who not only had the heavy eyes
of broken rest, but altogether had lost the childish contour of face,
and acquired the stamp of thought and reality.
'The daughter-in-law is no help, I suppose?'
Clement laughed, but rather sadly. 'They had had a great row over poor
Fulbert's properties before I came on the scene at all. She never was
anything but a grievance to him. He meant his son to have had Marilda;
and when that failed, consented to pay his debts and let him marry this
person, on his yielding to take Holy Orders--a miserable business,
and he feels it so now. I have tried to bring about a better state of
feeling, but I can't feel my way. I think there is more good in her
than he gives her credit for; and he fancies she blinds me, and has as
good as ordered me never to speak of her again.'
'Then he has quite adopted you?'
'Oh, yes, he is very kind to me,' said Clement warmly, and from what
he went on to say, it was clear that he had grown fond of his charge,
and found it far less of a burthen than he had expected, though he must
have been often crossed, and could have met with little congeniality.
He had been left quite unfettered in action as a clergyman; indeed, the
Squire had supported him under the growls of a few malcontents, and
though this was chiefly on the ground that State must stand by Church,
Underwood by Underwood, and that tenants had no business to think,
still it was effective. The only quarrels had been caused by the young
Vicar's peacemaking endeavours towards the widow, his proclivities
towards the pariahs of Blackstone Gulley, and his backwardness to
enter into county gaieties.
'Young men were hardly to be trusted if they were not like young men,'
argued the Squire; and he was vexed if he found Clement avoiding a
party or refusing a dinner on the score of parish engagements. Indeed,
an invitation from a sporting nobleman of a questionable repute was
declined at the cost of such offence, that Clement had thought he
should have to reconstruct the Vicarage, if not repair at once to
sleep in the hay-loft thereof; but after one evening's storm, the
subject had never been renewed. To have had more of the animal and
less of the spiritual in his young inmate would have been pleasanter
and more comprehensible to the old gentleman; and he had begun by a
certain distrust of what the military comrades of his youth and the
hunting associates of his later years would have declared sanctimonious
hypocrisy in so young a man. The first offer--as a mere matter of
course--to read prayers to him had been received with a snarl, and a
dry 'Thank you, I'll let you know when I require your services.'
Clement had desisted, and strengthened by the Vicar's counsel, had
waited to feel his way and win his ground, by many a reading of the
newspaper, many a game at piquet, many a prose on the Shaw misdeeds
and on county politics, and by what the poor old man had never known
before--the genuine filial kindness of reverence for age and infirmity,
without interested adulation.
After all, it was the attacks on the young parson's new-fangledness
that first led to discussions that died away only to be renewed again,
revealing queer prejudices and conclusions based on nearly total
ignorance--the ignorance of a careless son of a careless household
sixty years back, and since alienated from all religious teaching
by the consciousness of one act of injustice in requital of unusual
forbearance and generosity.
Clement felt as though he had done nothing, and that the opportunity
was fast fleeting. Where he had but stirred the waters, he thought that
a man like Mr. Fulmort might have produced real effect; and he was
downcast and humble at his own inefficiency, though he allowed that
no stranger would probably have been permitted to go so far as he, a
youth, an Underwood, and a son of the injured cousin's.
This, Felix's third arrival, was unlike the former ones. He had no
need to watch his brother's countenance for tokens of interest;
Clement was the one at home, and with his heart in the place, though
still he looked as if he thought there was irrelevance in the cry of
loving joy that broke from Felix at first sight of the valley in its
beauty. The moor, the wood, the river, and the sea, did not go for much
with the Vicar--it was the people he thought of, and the damages and
deficiencies of the Church struck him infinitely more than the grandeur
of the tower and picturesque beauty of the building.
He had no power to make changes in the fabric; and indeed, it had
been Mr. Fulmort's advice that in all the alterations which he should
introduce, he should carefully distinguish between essentials and
non-essentials, including in the former that spiritual support for
himself, which was needful to prevent the salt from losing savour, and
himself from becoming lowered to his people's level while waiting to
raise them, but omitting what would be viewed as mere outward ornament
till minds were trained to enter into it.
So, though Abednego Tripp's voice still reigned supreme in the
responses, there was a full complement of daily prayer and weekly
feast, though the Vicar's very heart ached over the blankness,
dreariness, and scant attendance. The main body of the parishioners
never indeed openly censured an Underwood, but they viewed these
aberrations on the part of 'Mr. Eddard,' as an outcome of gentlefolks'
lack of employment 'The last Passon Fulbert, _he_ were all for hosses,
this here Passon Eddard, _he_ be all for churchings,' was the parish
judgment; and only now and then were deep-set grafts implanted by his
father discovered to cheer his heart.
Indeed, the influences of school, visiting, lectures, and classes, were
the more impeded by the influence of the four Miss Hepburns.
'Ah!' said Clement, as he touched his hat to a tall grey and russet
form, 'there goes one of the trials of my life! All the religion in
the parish was kept up by those good ladies, and now they think mine
worse than none. They call me "Poor young man!" Yes, you may laugh,
Felix; but it is they who prevent me from making way. If they were only
Dissenters, I should know what to be at; but they have deserved all the
love and reverence of the parish all these years, and now they turn it
against me!'
'Knowingly?'
'So far as that they sigh at me, and warn people against trusting to
ordinances, as if I ever taught any such thing, or as if people needed
to be told _not_ to go to church.'
'They don't do that?'
'Not exactly; but it amounts to an excuse for not going. And if I
object to one tract, they ingeniously substitute another just as bad.
I can't turn them out of the school. They were so much disgusted when
I got the Sunday school out of the Lady Chapel into the Vicarage, the
stable you know, that I was in hopes they would cut the concern; but
no, they go on like martyrs. Their object is to counteract me. They
have as good as told me they think it their mission.'
'Do you argue?'
'Oh yes, I did so plentifully the first six months, but they always
assumed I said something I never even dreamt of. They even went to Mr.
Underwood, but I don't think they got much out of him,' said Clement,
laughing a little. 'Of late I have had no time to go near them; and my
one comfort is they don't think Blackstone Gulley a place for ladies,
and fancy we have nothing to do with the East Ewmouth suburb. I don't
know why I should rejoice, though! The place there grows every day, and
into heathenism.'
No wonder poor Clement was fagged, melancholy, and discouraged. His
life was lonely. There were no gentry in the village but these ladies;
and he--with his strong opinions and assertion of his office--was
exactly the person to be as heavy a trial to middle-aged ladies
of opposite traditions, and accustomed to a semi-pastorate in the
neglected parish, as ever they could be to him. The neighbouring
clergy, except one overtasked incumbent, on the farther side of
Ewmouth, were of their way of thinking, pitied them, and stood
courteously aloof from the new-comer. Stoneborough was too far off for
much intercourse, and even there his peculiarities stood in his light,
and his position as the guest of his invalid kinsman prevented him from
bringing a friend to stay with him, or arranging an exchange to give
himself relaxation. He had not even been able to go up to Cambridge
for his M.A. degree, and had not once slept out of the Priory. Of this
he did not complain, but no doubt this isolation had assisted in his
depression and belief that he was failing utterly, and doing nothing
but mischief.
It seemed to be an inexpressible relief to talk to some one who could
understand him; and perhaps he had never so enjoyed his brother's
society before.
The butler met them at the door, saying that Mr. Underwood was awake,
and asking for both him and 'Mr. Felix;' and Clement led the way at
once to the sitting-room, where the old man still was daily wheeled,
for the restlessness of rapid failure was on him; and the sight of his
wan puffy-looking face and the sinking in of his whole figure startled
Felix, even after what he had heard. He lighted up a little at the
sight of 'Edward,' and held out a cold damp hand to Felix, complaining
of chill; nor could he bear to lose sight of the younger cousin again.
Every moment he wanted his help to change his posture or alter his
pillows; and when the brothers were called away to dinner, Clement
would hardly have gone save to obtain an opportunity of telling his
brother that he saw much change in this short time, and to despatch a
message for the medical man from Ewmouth.
He, however, said nothing definite, but administered an anodyne, and
promised to come early, advising Clement to leave the night-watch to
the nurse, as causing less excitement, and perhaps with a view likewise
to the visible effects of a long course of anxious and disturbed nights.
But in the early light of May morning, Clement was standing by his
brother's bed-side, saying in a low agitated voice, 'Felix, I think the
end is coming. His mind is clear, and he wants to see you. I think we
ought to have the Celebration. I hoped to have brought him to send for
Jane--in fact, I have sent. You must judge if we ought to wait.'
Felix had less experience of the approach of death than the young
clergyman, but the ashy sunken face and hollow breath assured him that
there was no time to lose. The old man was sensible, and perfectly knew
Felix, but was too much oppressed to speak much; only after a time he
said, with an odd kind of smile, 'That boy Edward does more for me than
ever my own, poor fellow--like his father--glad he has his place--he's
not next to you?'
'Not if poor Edgar be living, sir.'
'Don't let a scamp come between him and the property,' gasped the old
man; but Felix felt no need of answering.
'Wish my uncle had signed his will,' was the next murmur. 'Edward and
Mary would have done better--maybe, my poor boy, too. Is Edward there?
I say--you lads--never drive a son into the Church, whatever you do.'
It was a remote temptation, but there was an echo of repentance in
the warning. No more was said till all had been made ready. Old Tripp
had been sent for to make up the number; the household contained no
Communicant. The dying man made each brother give him his hand, and
said, 'Peace with all, isn't that it? You, both of you, Felix and
Edward, I did use your father and mother as I ought not, though somehow
I thought at the time I had the right, but I believe I have suffered
for it all my life; and I ask your pardon as I would ask theirs.'
'Indeed you have it, as I know you had theirs,' Felix said. 'My brother
knows as well as I, how no word like bitterness was ever allowed
amongst us.'
'Did Edward forgive me at last?'
'Not at last,' said Felix; 'he had done it so much at first, that he
never thought of it.'
'And,' added Clement, 'will you not send a message to your
daughter-in-law--to Jane, sir?'
'To Jane? Much she cares! Well, if you say I must, and if Edward
forgave me, I suppose--Tell her I'll do my best to forgive--but if she
had never got hold of poor Fulbert--God forgive me--what am I getting
to? Only mind she doesn't do the same by you. Ay, I'm at peace with her
and all of 'em! Only don't let her come. God have mercy on me?' The cry
was, at least, half bodily.
And so the holy rite began in dark doubt and dim trust and hope. How
unlike the bright cheeriness and the joy that no man could take away
from Edward Underwood's last Communion! This was the last interval of
clear consciousness. All that day he was dying, with just perception
enough to cling to Clement's presence and voice, as almost unceasingly
the young man held him up, and prayed with and for him with the
earnestness of one who held intensely full faith in the might of
intercessory prayer to aid the spirit in the doubtful strife, often
supported by the thought of the prayers that were rising in so many
churches far away for the struggling and the dying.
Felix was with him at times, but no one could do much to aid his
physical exertion; and it was needful to keep guard over Mrs. Fulbert
Underwood, as long as there was mind enough left for her presence to
cause emotion. It had been right of Clement to send for her, but she
was a trying element in the day, though not loud or coarse, but tearful
and affectionate about the dear old Squire's former kindness and the
wretched misunderstanding that had come between. There was every
reason to believe her a harpy, but at this moment she could not show
her talons; and Felix was divided between sense of humbug and fear of
injustice during the long uncongenial _tête-à-tête_. The only breaks in
it were from the doctors. Mr. Page was backwards and forwards the whole
day, and Dr. May came in the course of the morning; but they could do
nothing but apply these resources of science that seem but to lengthen
out the death agony. However, the greatest refreshment of that day was
a turn under the wall with Dr. May, hearing how highly he thought of
Clement's whole conduct towards the old man.
'I don't say the lad is altogether after my cut,' said the Doctor.
'We old folks used to think ourselves up in the steeple, and now we
find these young ones think us down in the crypts. I'm afraid he may
be bringing a hornet's nest about his ears, but that's all outside;
and for the rest, nobody could have had such an effect on poor old Ful
Underwood without something very genuine in him.'
'That is quite true,' said Felix; 'Clement has startled us sometimes,
but we have never done otherwise than respect his thorough sincerity;
and he always shows to the very best in any trouble or trial.'
'Ay,' said Dr. May; 'and I'll tell you another thing I've been slow
to find out. It's not one youth in a hundred that if he is moderate
enough to stop with what satisfied our--my--generation, has anything in
him. Why, as I saw it well put the other day--Ethel was delighted with
the notion--King Arthur tried to work up the Round Table, and because
Christian chivalry had raised that generation, comes the Quest of the
Sancgreal to lead them higher. 'Tis one of the tests of life whether we
will take to our Quest and let others take to it. Tying them down to
our Round Table does no good at all. But what am I talking of? You are
one of these boys yourself.'
'I suppose I am,' said Felix; 'but I own I should be happier to see
things as my father would have had them.'
'Somehow I saw it in you. Veneration has fixed your standard, I take
it; and you've had all the cares in the world to sober you. But
depend upon it--I've seen it many a time, in my own boys as well as
others--enthusiasm carries on the work, and where that is, you may be
only too thankful to give a loose rein. A young man must have it out
one way or another; and we may well be thankful if he gives it to the
Church, even though he may run into what seems queer to us.'
Felix laid up the conversation for himself and Geraldine, and thought
it over many times that long day.
Not till late in the evening was the unconsciousness such that Mrs.
Underwood could be admitted, and it was not till two in the morning
that the struggle was over. Clement had scarcely tasted anything since
the hurried, interrupted dinner the previous day, except what his
brother had almost forced on him at the bed-side; and he was so stiff,
spent, and worn out, that Felix could think of nothing till he had seen
him safe in bed.
Nor was it till the clash of the knell had sounded several times,
that at eight next morning, Felix gradually awoke; and only slowly
did the strokes, as he mechanically counted them, recall to him that
the event had happened--that he was in his own house--his mother's
rightful inheritance--and that his years of toil and effort were over!
To say that his first thought was not exultation would not be true. The
recovery of his natural position, and the possession of such a home for
his sisters, could not but rejoice him, though with it came the sense
of responsibility, and of a perplexing knot to be untied, a knot of
wrong to be undone at _any_--yes, at _any_ cost. 'Even if it leave us
as poor as heretofore,' he spoke to himself, 'God grant me to prove my
faith in His word as to poverty.'
Ere the tolls had ceased all the multiplied honours they could pay
to sixty-five years and Squire-rector, Felix saw Clement, instead of
sleeping, on his way to the church. Felix followed thither ere long,
and the brothers met at the churchyard gate.
'Well, Clement,' said Felix, as their hands met, 'you have led this to
end better than one durst hope.'
'It had all been working long before,' said Clement in a trembling
voice.
'It has been a terrible time for you. Are you rested?'
'A little stiff and achy--but that will work off, thank you.'
'And now, Clem, you must stand by me, and help me in what is to be
done.'
The two brothers stood looking at the fine old house, the cloister
connecting it with the church, the spring beauty blossoming round;
Clement put his hand on his brother's shoulder, and said, in a half
apologetic tone, 'After all, I can't help being glad it has come to you
at last.'
It may be doubted whether any congratulation pleased Felix so much. 'I
am glad to have known it so long beforehand,' he answered. 'I hope we
shall be enabled to see the right and do it.'
Clement looked at the church and at the village; and again, with warm
impulse and tears in his eyes, exclaimed, 'I cannot help being glad.
Now I have some hope for my poor people.'
'We will do our best,' said Felix; 'and you will bear with me if I
disappoint you.'
'Nay,' said Clement, the tears nearly choking him, 'the really best
thing for the place would be, if you would let me give up, and appoint
old Flowerdew.'
'What! be driven away by the clan Hepburn?'
'Not that, exactly, except that an older man, who had not made such a
wretchedly bad beginning, might make all the difference. Till you are
settled in here, you will not conceive the mess I have made of it all.'
'I see you have had a great strain on you; you will look on it
differently when you have rested.'
'I don't know,' said Clement. 'It is not that I don't care for the
place, Felix,' he added, pleadingly; 'I do now, with all my heart and
soul--it _is_ my charge, and must be--only if I could learn a little
more, and get rid of a little of my youth and priggishness before I
come back, it would be so much better for the people.'
'Of that last article I think you have got rid considerably.'
'I'm sure there's been enough to take the conceit out of me;' and
perhaps he proved it by adding, 'But I leave it to you, Felix; I know
you think it may be essential to your plans that a brother should hold
the vicarage, and if so, of course I would go on, knowing too what
an immense difference the influence of this house will make, and the
having you to turn to for advice.'
'If we can live here at all,' said Felix. 'I do not in the least know
the rights of the property.'
Nor could he tell till after a good deal of talk with the lawyers and
looking over of papers. The funeral was to be on the Saturday, and
conducted exactly like that of last year. Felix thought the present
no time for a protest against the seventy-five yards of black cloth.
'Though this is the last of it,' he said to Clement, 'I'll have no
church put in mourning for me.'
He saw very little of his brother, for the house was a good deal beset
with Shaws; and besides, Clement, who was to go up to London on the
Monday, had a good deal of parish visiting and business in arrear to
make up, and so far from resting, scarcely sat down or ate. He would
accept no assistance at the funeral, but every one remarked how ill he
looked. Afterwards there was a public reading of the will, which named
Felix as sole executor as well as heir; and added to the provision for
the daughter-in-law by the settlements a charge of three hundred a year
on the estate so long as she should remain a widow. A few very unkind
things were said by the Shaws, which Clement was young enough to mind a
good deal, after all his peacemaking efforts, and which made Bernard's
eyes flash.
Bernard was to stay with his brothers over the Sunday; but he must have
found it a dull evening, for Clement had a sermon to write, and Felix
was deep in calculations till long after the boy had yawned himself off
to bed.
At last Felix knocked at Clement's study-door. 'Up still! Clem, you
want rest.'
'Not I. But I have just finished. How do things turn out?'
'Fairly,' said Felix, showing him a paper where he had drawn up a
statement. 'The property altogether, you see, has been counted at four
thousand five hundred a year. Well, out of that Mrs. Underwood has
eight hundred a year, and the involvements of Fulbert's debts reduce
it a good deal more, so that Mr. Wilder says I must not reckon on more
than two thousand three hundred at present, and of that nine hundred
and fifty is the great tithe, and the rent of the Glebe farm is three
hundred and seventy. Blackstone Gulley belongs to the estate, and could
not be sold; but the speculator gave a round sum for a twenty-one
years' lease, which will not be run out these four years, so we can do
nothing about that at present. Now, Clem, this nine hundred and fifty a
year--I'm not going to make it over to you bodily. I think that, with
the Glebe Farm, your income as Vicar will be quite as much as is good
for a parson.'
'I suppose so,' said Clement, laughing; 'I never felt poor in my life
till I had four hundred a year, and I should be poorer still if I had
fourteen hundred.'
'No wonder, if you subscribe to everything, and pay for whatever is
wanted in the parish instead of asking those who ought! I believe
four thousand would not make much difference to you, or four hundred
thousand either,' said Felix, who had come to some appalling
discoveries as to Clement's ways of dealing with money.
'Perhaps not,' he answered, good humouredly; 'but what do you mean to
do? To be your own ecclesiastical commissioner?'
'Something like it; at any rate, not to put it out of my own hands
till I see the best way, and that there will be time to do while it
is putting the church and the Glebe cottages into a proper state, and
setting the Vicarage to rights. Perhaps first of all should come a
school-chapel for Blackstone Gully; and as I reckon that all this will
take six or seven years, by that time we shall be able to judge what
is most wanted--a church and endowment for Blackstone, or for that
Ewmouth suburb, or both; and when that is done, I would make over the
rectorial rights to the living.'
'O Felix! I never durst think of anything--so like a dream!' said
Clement, looking up at him.
'And you will stay here, Clem? I think you must; for you see I can hand
over the rent of the glebe, and settle these things with you, taking my
time about them in a way I could not do if the incumbent were not my
brother and my next heir.'
'But I am not your next heir.'
'I have made you so. I thought it right to draw up a very short will,
leaving everything to you, with John Harewood as executor, to save the
dead lock there would be in case of my coming to some sudden end. I can
perfectly trust to you to do right by the sisters and Theodore; and
if Edgar, poor fellow! should come home, I know you would hand over
to him what is really secular, and you would feel to be his right.
But, Clement, you need have the less scruple at my doing this, that I
have come to think there is little likelihood of the dear fellow being
alive.'
'Indeed!'
'More than a year ago, Fulbert sent me a scrap of newspaper with
an account of a man being found murdered by the bush-rangers. He
had been robbed, and there was nothing about him to lead to his
identification; but the diggers he had last been with called him Ned
Wood. Fulbert went to the place and made all possible inquiries, but
could find out nothing, but that he had been noted for singing, and was
light-complexioned. Fulbert himself believes it; and I think nothing
else would have led Fernan to give up his search. I thought it so
entirely vague and improbable, that I let no one but Lance see the
letter; indeed, I so utterly disbelieved it, that it did not dwell on
me at the time; but the longer we are without hearing, the more I am
driven to believe it.'
'You have not told Cherry?'
'If it were a certainty, I could not tell her half what Fulbert heard.
I have never spoken to her about it. I will not take away her hope on
such grounds.'
'I think you are right. I do not think anything of this story myself.'
'Nor I, at times when I think of "the child of so many prayers,"' said
Felix. 'But with such a dreadful possibility, never to be cleared up,
you see it would never do to leave things unsettled; so I just did this
for the present.'
'Yes, it can be altered at need,' said Clement, with a long breath.
'This house,' said Felix, returning to business, 'is clearly our own;
and you will go on with us of course for the present, if we can live
here. It has certainly been a priory, but I do not therefore feel bound
to restore that; I have read and thought much about those religious
houses, and I think that there is no call to give them up as things now
stand.'
'If?'
'I must talk it over with some of the financial heads. Of course I wish
it for the girls, and my own duty seems to lie here; but if it will not
do, I must let the place till the entanglements clear themselves.'
'Let the place? What! and go on with the business?' cried Clement, in
consternation.
'I must keep on the business any way.'
'Felix! Impossible! In your position--'
'I cannot have the position if I cannot have the business. Look at it:
here is Bernard to be educated, and Lance to go to the University, and
four girls without any provision worth naming, besides Theodore; and
how is all to be done out of less than a thousand pounds a year, with
this house and grounds to be kept up, and where people are used to see
five thousand spent?'
'Could you not sell the business?'
'Of course I could; but judging by what I have gathered during this
year, the capital I should receive would not bring me in anything in
proportion to what I make now; and I cannot afford to lose so much.'
'I don't see that you are a bit better off than you were before!'
'Rather worse, as far as money goes.--But this place! You don't feel
the charm of it half enough. What will it not be to Cherry, and little
Stella? I do think Cherry will get along here; though Wilmet will say
we ought not to try. But I shall pay off all the servants on Monday,
and we'll start on a new tack.'
'Yes; I believe they have preyed awfully on the old Squire. There's not
one I should wish to keep, in-door or out-door.'
'Then we would begin on a smaller scale, and harden ourselves against
traditions. I would get a real good assistant for Lamb, go backwards
and forwards, and keep on the Pursuivant myself as before.'
'The Pursuivant is all very well. It is a valuable influence: but can't
you keep that, and drop the retail affair?'
'I can't give up three hundred a year for the honour of the thing.'
'But if I live with you, could you not keep the rent of the Glebe farm
as my board?'
'You certainly have been sumptuously maintained here, but hardly at the
cost of three hundred and seventy pounds! No; I think it would be only
fair that you should give a hundred towards the housekeeping, as Mr.
Audley used to do, and something more for your horse; but to take any
more would only be robbing the Church under another form.'
'I don't like it! It will do you harm in the neighbourhood. You will
never take your proper place;' then, as Felix half smiled, 'you wonder
at these arguments from me? Yes, but I know the neighbourhood better
than you do, and I do not like to see your influence and usefulness
crippled.'
'That may be; but the choice lies between being looked down on for
being in trade and continuing in this wrong to the Church.'
'Surely we could live at small expense here! We have all been used to
frugality.'
'Yes, and I have seen that stinting has not a happy effect. In such
a house as this, we cannot live as we have done at home. We can do
without display, but plain hospitality we must have, and debt would be
worse than trade. Ah, Clem! the old home has made you the exclusive
aristocrat again! Recollect, such a restitution must involve sacrifice
of some sort. We must have the Underwood "rood" some way or other. You
are ready enough to let it be in money and luxury, but can't you let it
be in--what shall I call it--consideration? That is, if it does make
any difference, or if we find it out.'
'You'll find it out fast enough from the Miss Hepburns,' muttered
Clement.
Felix laughed 'Poor Clem! Hepburns first and last! I'm sorry to
disgrace you!'
But during that laugh Clement had bethought himself. 'I beg your
pardon, Felix; you are a lesson to me. I did not know that it was the
world that was arguing in me. To go on working in trade in order to
make restitution to the Church is heroism I did not grasp at first.'
'Perhaps,' said Felix more lightly, 'it is all reluctance to give up
being somebody at Bexley for the sake of being nobody in Ewshire. Don't
look so unhappy, old fellow; University men and beneficed clergy,
like you, think much of what I was inured to long ago. Come, put out
your lamp, and come up to bed; I am sure you can't finish that sermon
to-night.'
'If I did,' said Clement, shutting it up, 'it would be to say I was not
worth ever to preach again!'
Perhaps Felix, who had entirely disbelieved the report of Edgar's
fate till his mind had in a manner become accustomed to the idea, had
underrated the amount of shock that it would give Clement, who had
never been half so much attached to poor Edgar as himself; nor perhaps
might it have done so, but for the unnerved overstrained condition to
which the year's solitude and responsibility, the months of nursing,
and the days of severe fatigue, had brought him.
Felix was wakened from his first sleep by the strangled scream of
nightmare in the next room, and hastening in, broke the spell, and
found that poor Clement had been dreaming out what he had told him, and
had deemed himself bound, gagged, struggling to come to Edgar's aid,
and ask his pardon for having done him some horrible injury, the load
of which did not at first pass with awakening.
'No,' he said, when he had entirely resumed his waking powers, 'it is
too true! Things never were as they ought to have been between us! Who
knows what difference it might have made!'
'Of course,' said Felix, thinking that to talk it all out would conduce
to Clement's quieter rest. 'We can all look back to much that we would
have had otherwise; but I trace the original mischief to those days
when Mr. Ryder, young and eager, talked out all his crudities to the
cleverest boy in his school, just as he had done to his Oxford friends.
He feels it himself, I think. He gave unintentionally a sort of
resource against whatever was distasteful, and made all the scepticism
that the poor dear fellow was exposed to abroad not seem a mere foreign
aberration. Somehow he was afraid of what religion might do to him, and
so took refuge not so much in doubt, as in knowing it was doubted. The
only thing that I ever knew touch him, was something Lance said to him
about refusing to go and live with him in London.'
'Yes; his brightness did good, where my assumptions only added to the
general contempt.'
'Still, the more I think, the more I do believe that whether we ever
know it or not, so sweet and loving a nature must come right at last.'
And there in the dark those two brothers knelt down together and in
deep undertones uttered a few clauses of intense prayer. Then Clement
said in a broken voice, 'Felix, _do_ keep your present room, and let us
say this together every night.'
And the elder brother's only answer was such a fatherly kiss as he gave
the younger ones. They remembered that night long after!
On the Sunday Clement was not only exhausted and unwell, but could
not help allowing it, for he fainted after his first service, and was
forced to allow himself to lie by whenever he was not actually needed,
letting Felix spare him whatever was possible. Thus it was that the new
Squire astonished the natives by taking the Vicar's Sunday class in the
stable that served for the school. By-the-by, instead of receiving such
a lecture as used to be the penalty of intrusting his own Bexley boys
to Clement, he was now dejectedly forewarned that the Vale Lestonites
did not know half as much, and had the more reason to think it true
because such an extraordinary proceeding on a Squire's part filled them
with blank speechless amazement.
The congregation were equally full of wonder, approaching to
incredulity, when their new Mr. Underwood stood forth surpliced, and
read the Lessons. He had done the like often for Mr. Flowerdew; but
he would not have thus amazed the villagers on this first Sunday if
he had not been really uneasy as to their Vicar's powers of getting
through the services. And it really was a memorable thing, to Clement
at least, to hear his full clear beautiful voice setting forth the
delights of the Land of Promise, the goodly houses and fields, and the
warnings that he was verily taking to himself against the heart being
lifted up, and forgetting, or turning to serve the gods the former
nations had served--the gods may be of family pride, and pleasure, and
ease, and comfort. To Clement it seemed as though he read the whole
magnificent chapter of Deuteronomy like a manifesto of his own future
course, declaring all against which he meant to beware. It was just
as, when he had to seal up a bundle of papers that evening, he took
up a big old white cornelian seal with the family shield, and said,
squeezing it down into a deep well-prepared bed of red sealing-wax,
'There, I never did that before; I couldn't be liable for armorial
bearings!' And as Bernard exclaimed, 'Yes, now you are a gentleman
out and out!' he answered gravely, 'Not forgetting the motto, Bear.
Remember what we take up.'
'There's no sense in those old sing-song saws,' boldly averred Bernard.
'Perhaps you'll know better some day.'
Felix went himself to St Matthew's with Clement, and had a private
conference with Mr. Fulmort, the result of which was, that the senior
curate, very glad of a breath of May loveliness, went down for three
weeks to Vale Leston, while the Vicar thereof refreshed his spirit at
St Matthew's, and that when he went back again he was to take with him
the Reverend Frederick Somers, to stay till the family move should
bring him other companions.
The only sister within reasonable distance was Robina; and Felix could
not deny himself a call on her, especially as there were no further
considerations about incommoding the family with her relations. He
was shown into a big drawing-room, not at the moment inhabited, but
with the air of being used by easy-going happy people; and almost
immediately in flew the neat trim black-silken personage with the sunny
round face he had come in search of.
'Felix! dear Felix! how nice and good to come in all your glory! Lady
de la Poer was in the school-room, and she told me to ask you to
stay to luncheon. Do, pray! I want you to see her and Grace, and my
children.'
'Very well. If I do, can you come out with me afterwards? I want your
help.'
'Oh yes! I am sure I shall be able. I'll ask at luncheon, if Lady de la
Poer does not offer.'
'Have you spoken to her?'
'Told her? Of course. We had quite a festival in the schoolroom, and
all drank your health in cowslip wine. We had had a whole lot of
cowslips sent up from the Towers; and their papa came in, and wanted to
know if Mr. Underwood were not worthy of a more generous beverage. Oh,
I wish he were at home; I want you to see him!' ('And him to see you,'
she had on the tip of her tongue, but she thought he would not like it.)
'And when are you coming home?'
'When you all go to take possession. I would not lose that for
anything. I am to have my holiday then.'
'Holiday! You are coming for good.'
'Don't you think,' she said, looking up in his face, 'that after all
this education on purpose for a teacher, it would be a shame to throw
it all up and come to live on you?'
'That was just one of the things I value this inheritance for, Robin.
There's no fear but that you would find plenty to do.'
'You have three to do it,' she said; 'and the more Angela has on her
hands the better she will get on. I have been thinking it over ever
since you wrote, Felix, and I cannot see that your having an estate
makes it right in me to live dependent when I can maintain myself. It
would not if I were your brother.'
'You are not going in for women's rights, Bob?' he said, smiling.
'Not out-and-out. But listen. What you have for us is just the run of
the house, isn't it?'
'Well, yes,' he hesitated. 'It will take some time and prudence to make
a provision for you, you horribly wise bird!'
'Then would it not be foolish to come and eat up your provision at home
when I can do something towards making one myself; and I am really very
happy?' and there was colour enough in her cheek slightly to startle
her brother.
'Oh, if you are too happy here to come away--'
'Don't say that! she cried. 'I like it, for they are all kind and
bright; and I never had such a friend as Lady Grace--and I feel as if I
were doing a duty; but--oh no!--'
'Don't be so horribly discomfited, my dear. Only when young ladies are
so happy away from home, and want to make a provision--My dear little
sister, I beg your pardon--'
'Stay, Felix; I must tell you now, that you may not fancy anything so
dreadful as that it is any one here.'
'Then there's an "it is," after all!'
'No! oh, I don't know! I tried to speak to Wilmet, and she would not
let me; but when we were both ridiculous children, a little foolish
nonsense passed between him and me.'
'Whom?'
'Willie!'
'Will Harewood? I thought that was all the Bailey nonsense.'
'I can't tell,' said Robina, leaning against him and looking down. 'Do
all I can, I can't forget the sort of--of promise; and I've never been
sure whether he meant it, but--but I think he did. O Fee! is it bad of
me?'
'My sweet Bob,' he said, and kissed her, 'I am glad you have told me. I
never thought of such an affair being on your little mind. I must say I
wish it had not happened.'
'No, don't say that,' said Robina. 'It does not worry me;' and she
laughed at the very sound of the words. 'Why, can't you see how happy
I am? and I _mean_ to be. I know how good and nice he is; and if he
doesn't remember, or can't do it, there's no harm done. (This was in
a tone brave because it was incredulous.) But if ever it did come to
anything, I should like to have something to help on with.'
'Very practical and business-like, my bird! And I am afraid it is a
sign it goes deep!' he said musingly.
'Deep!' she said, looking up to him, 'of course it does! It would be
very odd if it did not! But that will only make me glad of whatever is
good for Will; and I think the waiting is all right. I do want to have
done something for him! The only question is whether it will be bad for
you at Vale Leston to have a governess sister.'
'There's worse than that, Robin,' said Felix, gravely, 'for the Squire
himself remains a bookseller!'
'You don't mean that!'
He briefly explained.
'That quite settles it,' she said. 'I could not go home and live in
idleness while you were working on.'
'I believe you are right, Robin; but I am disappointed. I did reckon on
my sisters living like ladies!'
'Isn't three enough for you,' laughed Robin, 'to set up in a row and
wait upon, as Stella does on her dolls?'
'Precisely so. I don't think I could have let you turn Effective Female
on my hands, if you hadn't a pretty little feminine aim of your own.'
'For shame, Felix! Don't ever think about that again! Only tell me when
to ask for my holiday.'
'There are a few repairs that must be done at once; besides I've made a
clean sweep of the servants, and turned in old Tripp's daughter to do
for Clement. I don't think we can possibly be ready for a month or six
weeks.'
By this time the gong was sounding; and Lady de la Poer came in with a
kind and friendly greeting. Felix soon found himself in the midst of a
large family party of all ages, full of bright mirth, among whom Robina
spoke and moved with home-like ease, and he himself took his place as
naturally as it was given to him. Lady de la Poer knew a little of
Ewshire, and talked to him about it in the pleasantest manner, giving
the sense of congratulation without obtruding it; and she, without
waiting to be requested--proposed Miss Underwood's going out with him,
proclaiming that she would herself take the children into Kensington
Gardens.
Then, while Robina was gone to prepare, she said, 'Your sister told me
she does not wish to leave us. I said I could not consider the answer
as final till she had seen you. Perhaps I ought not till she has seen
your new home.'
'Thank you,' said Felix. 'I confess it seemed to me startlingly prudent
and independent; but when I came to think it over, I could hardly say
that the child is wrong.'
'We were very glad, as you may believe, to find that she was happy
enough to be willing to stay on. Indeed, we both feel the benefit not
only to the little ones, but of the companionship to the elder girls.
Grace is especially fond of her, and I hope it will be a lasting
friendship.'
Felix coloured as one very much pleased, and made some acknowledgment.
'There's a sturdy fearless good sense, and yet liveliness, about her,'
continued the lady, 'which has already been of great use to Grace, who
is naturally all ups and downs. However, if she changes her mind among
the attractions of home, we promise not to feel ill-used.'
'What is Mamma saying?' exclaimed Lady Grace in person, entering the
room with Robina as her mother was speaking. 'Is she pretending that we
shall not feel ill-used if Miss Underwood deserts us? No such thing! I
shall never forgive her--never! If you try to persuade her, mind, it is
at peril of being haunted by the ghost of a forlorn maiden, pined to
death for a faithless friend!'
'You don't half like to trust her with Mr. Underwood,' said her mother,
laughing.
'I told you how good he was, Gracie,' interposed Robina.
'He is pretending to consent, and he means to undermine me! It will be
just like Beauty and the Beast. Your sisters will do their eyes with
onions, to work on your feelings; and then you'll stay on, and find the
poor Beast--that's me--at the last gasp!'
'That will be when she goes home,' said Felix, laughing. 'I promise to
bring her safe back now, Lady Grace; but surely you have enough sisters
of your own to spare me mine!'
'Now listen, Mr. Underwood. It is true, as a matter of history and
genealogy, that I've got five sisters; but Number Two--that's Mary--is
married, and no good to anybody; and Number One--that's Fanny--is
always looking after her when she is not looking after Mamma. Then
Adelaide, whom nature designed for my own proper sister, is altogether
devoted to Kate Caergwent, and cares for nobody else; and as to the
little ones--why, they are only nine and ten, and good for nothing but
an excuse for having Miss Underwood in the house! Now is not it true
that you have three sisters already at your beck and call?'
'Two, I allow; but the third is hardly at any one's beck.'
'What, that most entertaining person, Angela? I don't think we have had
such fun in the school-room since Kate's maddest days.'
'My dear, I think you have a remnant of them,' said Lady de la Poer.
'Let Miss Underwood go; I am sure her brother has no time to spare.'
'I hope,' said Felix, when they were in the street, 'that Angel has not
been exposing herself there.'
'No, no, not much,' said Robina, hesitating. 'The first time or two she
was asked to tea in the school-room she kept me sitting on thorns, and
liked it--the wicked child; but after all, there is something about
their manners that keeps her in check; they are so merry, and yet
so refined. I think nothing improves her so much as an evening with
them--except, indeed, when there's any external element.'
'External element?'
'Anything that--that excites her,' hastily said Robina. 'But is not
Lady Grace delightful?'
'She seems passionately fond of you--or was it a young lady's strong
language?'
'Oh, she means it, dear Gracie! She is lonely, you see. Lady Adelaide
is rather a wise one, and she and Lady Caergwent read and study deep,
and have plans together, and leave poor Grace out; and they all tease
her for being so excitable.'
'Well, I thought she was almost crying while she talked her nonsense.'
'Just so I think her the sweetest of them all, because she feels so
easily; but her sisters do snub her a little. And my Lady herself--is
not she exactly one's imagination of a real great lady?'
'_Crême de la Crême?_'
'Yes, perfect dignity and simplicity, and as tender and careful a
mother all the time as a cottage woman. I never felt any one so
mother-like, even to me.'
'I can quite believe that. Yes, if you _are_ to work, you could hardly
do so more comfortably.'
It was a concession, and Robina had to put up with it; for as they
turned into Piccadilly he changed the subject by demanding, 'Now,
Robin, what shall it be? Seal-skins?'
'Seal-skins in the height of summer?'
'I thought all ladies pined for seal-skins. We have half a column of
advertisements of them at a time.'
'You don't want to extend the business to them?'
'No, but to give one to each of my sisters.'
'They are a monstrous price, you know. You should have heard Lord de la
Poer grumble when Addie and Grace had theirs!'
'Fifty pound will do the five, I suppose?'
'I thought there were heavy expenses, and not much ready money.'
'There's enough for that, and I mean it. I shall not know that I have
come into my fortune till I have taken home something to show for it.'
'I wonder what Wilmet would say.'
'Wilmet is not my master, and a chit like you had best not try her
line. It won't do, with your face and figure.'
Robina could only laugh, and feel that she was still Felix's child, and
if he chose to be extravagant she could not stop him.
'Which shall it be?' he continued; 'seal-skins, or silk gowns, or
anything of jewellery?'
'Jewellery would last longest, and none of us have got any,' said
Robin; 'but I believe you like the seals best.'
'I want to stroke Cherry in one. And wouldn't Wilmet look grand? She
hasn't got one, has she?'
'No. I was out with her and John last winter, when she dragged him past
the shop.'
'I thought you were aping her! Well, I've broken loose, and she will
have no choice now.'
'You don't mean to include Alda?'
'Poor Alda! Seal-skins have ceased to be an object to her; but I have
had a very warm letter from her.'
So Robina was only allowed the privilege of assisting in the selection
of the smooth brown coats and muffs. Felix insisted on despatching Mrs.
John Harewood's to her at once; and he wanted to send Angela's, but
yielded, on Robin's representation of the impossibility of her putting
it away in any security from the moth. His exultation in his purchases
was very amusing, as he stroked them like so many cats, as if he
were taking seisin of his inheritance. And when, some hours later, he
sprang out of the train, and was met by the station-master with, 'Mr.
Underwood! allow me to offer my most sincere congratulations,' and
everybody ran for his luggage as never before, he still clung close to
his precious parcel, like a child with a new toy, even to his own door,
which was suddenly opened at his bell, Sibby crying aloud, 'No, no,
Martha, not a sowl shall open the door, barring meself, to me own boy
that's come to his own again, an' got the better of all the nagurs that
kep' him out. Blessings on you, Masther Felix, me jewel, an' long life
to you to reign over it!' And she really had her arms round his neck,
kissing him.
'Well done, Sibby, and thank you! Your heart warms to the old place,
does it?' and he held out a hand to the less demonstrative Martha, who
stood curtseying, and observing, 'I wish you joy, Sir.'
By that time Stella had flown upon him, Theodore was clinging to his
leg, Lance half way downstairs, and Cherry hanging over the balusters.
'You villain!' were Lance's first words; 'why didn't you come home by
daylight? All the establishment waited till the six o'clock train was
in to give you three times three!'
'And now you are come,' added Cherry, 'stand there, right in the
middle! I want to see how a Squire looks!'
He obeyed by planting his feet like a colossus, tucking his umbrella
under his arm like a whip, putting on his hat over his brow, and
altogether assuming the conventional jolly Squire attitude, which was
greeted by shrieks of laughter and applause.
'Now let me see how a Squire's sister looks,' he continued, opening his
parcel, and thrusting Stella into the first coat that came to hand,
which being Angela's, came down to her heels.
Cherry shouted, 'Like the brown bear!' and Scamp began to bark, and
was forcibly withheld by Lance from demolishing the little brown muff
that rolled out; while Felix turned on Cherry with the jacket meant
for Stella; and she, in convulsions of merriment, could do nothing but
shriek, 'Cyrus! Cyrus! Cyrus!'
'Well, then, take the great coat, puss,' said Felix. 'Here, Stella, let
me pull you out of that! That's more like it!'
'My dear Felix,' continued Cherry, in great affected gravity, 'are
these the official garments wherein we are to be installed? Nearly as
severe as royal ermine.'
'Don't scold, Whiteheart. I had enough of that from the wise Robin
before she would help me choose them. I had set my heart on them.'
'Dear old Giant!' cried Cherry, craning up to kiss him; 'he couldn't
believe he had a landed estate till he had seen it on our backs! But,'
she added, fearing to be disappointing, 'I never knew before what it
was to be sleek and substantial. If ever I did covet a thing, it was
the coat of a seal.'
'But how is Mr. Froggatt, Lance?'
'As well as can be expected,' was Lance's reply. 'He congratulates with
tears in his eyes, says you deserve it, but bemoans poor Pur, till I am
minded to tell him that I'll stick by him and the concern; for really
I don't know what else I'm good for, and honest Lamb couldn't write a
leader to save his life.'
'I'll walk over to-morrow, and set him at rest,' said Felix. 'I could
not drop Pur if I would.'
'I'm so glad,' said Cherry. 'I felt quite sad over the proofs, like
casting off an old friend.'
'Or kicking adrift the plank that has brought one to land. I knew
Cherry would have broken her heart to part with Pur.'
'Besides, it is a real power and influence,' added Cherry; 'and it
is so improved. We had up a whole file of it for years back. Willie
Harewood had lost some of his earlier March Hare poems, and thought
they were there; so he and I hunted over reams of ancient Pur, and
couldn't find them after all. I believe you had declined them; and they
would have been lost to the world if Lance hadn't written to Robina,
and she had copies of them all, laid up in lavender.'
'And they are the most splendid of all!' said Lance.
'Only too good for the Pursuivant,' laughed Felix.
'Well,' said Cherry, 'Will and I held up our hands to find how stupid
Pur used to be four or five years ago, when you were in bondage to Mr.
Froggatt's fine words and his fears.'
'Yes, and had no opposition to put us on our mettle,' added Lance.
'The Tribune was the making of the Pursuivant; I'm inclined to offer
it a testimonial. By-the-by, Felix, are you prepared for a testimonial
yourself--or at the very least, a dinner in the Town Hall, from your
fellow citizens? They're all agog about it.'
'On the principle that "as long as thou doest well unto thyself men
will speak good of thee?"' asked Felix. 'No,' correcting himself,
'that's hardly fair; there's kind feeling in it, too; but perhaps they
will let me off when they find it is not a farewell.'
'Not!'
'Now, Cherry and Lance, I want you to look at this statement. Clement
has seen it, of course; but I don't want it to go any further, except
to Jack. It is enough to say that I find the property a good deal
burthened, which is only too true.'
'You don't seem to have much of a bargain!' said Lance, coming round to
read over Cherry's shoulder.
'The question is whether Cherry can trample on Underwood traditions,
and keep house for a thousand a year where people expect three or four
times the sum to be laid out.'
'I thought you reckoned things here at five hundred.'
'Hardly so much. We shall have to get our old bugbear, the superior
assistant. Besides, Lance, now's your time. You must begin to get ready
for Oxford at once.'
'I?' said Lance. 'No, thank you, Felix. Clement offered me the same
last year, but my head wouldn't stand grinding nohow. No, if you stick
to the old plank, so will I. I was more than half wishing it before,
and ready to break my heart at leaving the organ to some stick of my
Lady's choosing, only I didn't know what you might think due to the
manes of the Underwoods.'
'The manes of the Underwoods must make up their minds to a good deal,'
said Felix; 'but is it really true that you do not think yourself fit
for study?'
'No, but music I can combine with the work here,' said Lance; 'and
that would save the superior assistant, and you will be free to make a
gentleman of Bear.'
'Yes, that must be done,' said Felix. 'Even Stoneborough will not do
now. He is such a cocky little chap, that the only chance for him is
to get him to a great public school, where this promotion will seem
nothing to anybody.'
'My poor little Bear! I am very glad,' said Cherry. 'And he is still
young enough; yet it hardly seems fair, when all his elders had to earn
their own education.'
'Such as it was!' interjected Lance.
'Yes,' said Felix; 'and when I remember the sighs my father now and
then let out about Eton or Harrow, I feel bound to give the benefit to
the one who can take it; but I don't like the spending two hundred a
year on that boy, and then leaving you, Lance, to all the drudgery, and
a solitary house.'
'That matters the less,' said Lance, 'because I am busy with the choir
and with practice two evenings in the week, and should be more, if it
wasn't for doing the agreeable to Cherry.'
'He'll turn into a misogynist, like Mr. Miles,' laughed Cherry.
'No, he'll be consumed by an unrequited affection for all the young
ladies that come in with the loveliest eyes in the world,' said Felix.
'He'll set the March Hare poetry to music, and serenade them with it,'
added Cherry.
'No, I shall cultivate the Frogs,' said Lance. 'It would be too bad to
have left the poor old boy in the lurch.'
'Yes, that has weighed a good deal with me,' said Felix. 'I'm
determined that they shall come and stay with us at the Priory as soon
as we can get it in order, and before the winter. I'll bring them up
myself. You see, Lance, whenever I take a turn here you can be at home.'
'Home! he has begun already!'
'It was home to me first, and I always feel that it is whenever I come
in sight of it. Lancey, boy, when I think of leaving you here, it seems
letting you sacrifice yourself too much!'
'Nonsense, Blunderbore. You can't give this back to the Church if we
don't keep off your hands; and next, that _coup d'état_ addled my
brains so far that I'm good for no work but this that I have drifted
into.'
'Then, Cherry, you must help me make an estimate of the expenses, and
see whether we can venture to live at the Priory, or whether we must
let it, and go on here for seven years.'
'Oh!' They both looked very blank.
'I'd rather live on bread and cheese in the country,' said Cherry.
'So had I,' said Felix, 'if the manes of the Underwoods are appeasable.
One step is a riddance of all the servants; I wonder how many you can
do with. Five maids and five men I paid off, only keeping on one man,
to look after Clem's horse and see to the garden.'
'By-the-bye,' said Lance, 'George Lightfoot begged me to state that
his sister is at home, and always had a great wish to live with Miss
Underwood.'
'Let her come and speak to me, then,' said Cherry; 'though I am
afraid she must moderate her expectations. It seems to me that except
for the honour of the thing, this is another version of our old
friend--"poortith cauld."'
'Our best friend, maybe, Cherry,' said Felix, 'if we can only heartily
believe it?'
'His bride, as truly as St. Francis's,' thought she; 'and without the
credit of it.'