Poor Mrs Glaire was in trouble about her fowls, who seemed possessed of
a great deal of nature strongly resembling the human. She had a fine
collection of noble-looking young Brahma cockerels, great massive
fellows, youthful, innocent, sheepish, and stupid. They were intended
for exhibition, and their mistress expected a prize for the birds, which
had dwelt together in unity, increasing in bulk and brilliancy of
plumage, and had never looked a hen in the face since the day they
forsook their mamma in the coop.
And now, by mishap, a wanton young pullet had flown up on to the wall
that divided them from the poultry yard, and just cried, "Took--took--
took!" before flying down. That was sufficient: a battle royal began
amongst the brothers directly, and when Mrs Glaire went down to feed
them she found two birds nearly dead, the rest all ragged as to their
feathers, bleeding as to their combs and wattles, and still fighting in
a heavy lumbering way, but so weary that they could only take hold of
one another with their beaks and give feeble pecks at their dripping
feathers.
Mrs Glaire sighed and made comparisons between Daisy Banks and the
wicked little pullet who had caused all this strife, telling herself
that she was to be congratulated on having but one son, and wishing that
he were married, settled, and happy.
She had decided that she would have the vicar up to dinner that night,
and intended to make him her confidant and ally; and accordingly in the
evening, while the conversation narrated in the last chapter was going
on, the object of it was making his way to the house, getting a friendly
nod here and there, and stopping for a minute's chat with the people
whose acquaintance he had made.
As a rule they were moody faces he met with amongst the women, for they
were more than usually soured at the present time on account of the
strike, and the sight of the black coat and white tie was not a pleasant
one to them, and the replies to his salute were generally sulky and
constrained.
He fared better with the men, in spite of Mr Simeon Slee's utterances,
for the report had gone round and round again that Parson could fight,
and the church militant, from this point of view, was one that seemed to
them worthy of respect.
So he went slowly along the main street, past Mr Purley, the doctor's,
as that gentleman, just returned from a round, was unwedging himself
from his gig.
"How do, parson, how do?" he said. "Like a ride with me to-morrow?"
"Well, yes, if you'll get out your four-wheeler," said the vicar,
laughing.
"Going up to the house to dinner, parson?"
"Yes."
"Tell Mrs Glaire I'll be on in ten minutes," said the doctor. "But I
say, parson, don't sit on the rubber of whist."
"Doctor," said the vicar, patting him on the shoulder, "I shall not; but
bring an extra sovereign or two with you, for I want to win a little
money to-night for some of my poor."
"He's a rum one," muttered the doctor, as he went in. "He's a rum one,
that he is; but I don't think he's bad at bottom."
Meanwhile the vicar went on, past Ramson and Tomson's the grocers and
drapers, where silks and sugars, taffetas and tea were displayed in
close proximity; and although Ramson and Tomson were deacons at the
Independent Chapel, and the old vicar had passed them always without a
look, a friendly nod was exchanged now, to the great disgust of Miss
Primgeon, the lawyer's maiden sister, a lady who passed her time at her
window, and who, not being asked to the little dinner she knew was to be
held at the house, was in anything but the best of tempers that evening.
Richard Glaire was not aware of his mother's arrangement, and his face
wore anything but a pleasant expression as he confronted the vicar in
the hall, having himself only just come in.
"How do, Mr Selwood, how do?" he said haughtily, as he took out his
watch and paid no heed to the extended hand. "Just going to dinner;
would you mind calling again?"
"Not in the least," said the vicar, smiling, "often. Look here, Richard
Glaire," he continued, laying his hand upon the young man's shoulder,
"you don't understand me."
"Will you--er--have the goodness--"
"Oh, yes, of course," said the vicar, "I'll explain all in good time;
but look here, my good young friend, I'm here in a particular position,
and I mean to be a sort of shadow or fate to you."
"I really am at a loss to understand," began Richard, whose anger was
vainly struggling against the strong will opposed to him.
"I see," said the vicar, "you've been out and didn't know I was coming
to dinner. Don't apologise. Ah, Miss Pelly!"
This to Eve, who had heard the voices; and Richard's face grew white
with passion as he saw the girl's bright animated countenance and glad
reception of their visitor. She tripped down the stairs, and placed
both her hands in his, exclaiming--
"I'm so glad, Mr Selwood. Aunt didn't tell me you were coming to
dinner till just now."
"And so am I glad," he said, with a smile touched with sadness
overspreading his face, as he saw the eager pleasant look that greeted
him, one that he was well enough read in the human countenance to see
had nothing in it but the hearty friendly welcome of an ingenuous
maiden, who knew and liked him for his depth and conversation. "We
shall have a long chat to-night, I hope, and some music."
They were entering the drawing-room together as he spoke.
"Oh yes, yes," cried she, eagerly. "I can never get Dick to sing now.
Do you sing, Mr Selwood?"
"Well, yes, a little," he said, smiling down at her.
"And play?"
"Yes, a little."
"What? Not the piano?"
"Just a little," he said. "I am better on the organ."
"Oh, I am so glad," cried Eve. "Aunt will be here directly; I'm so glad
you've come to Dumford. The old vicar was so stiff, and would sit here
when he did come, and play backgammon all the evening without speaking."
"Backgammon, eh?" said the visitor; "not a very lively game for the
lookers on."
"Yes, and it was so funny," laughed Eve, "he never would allow cards in
his presence, though he played with the dice; and it used to make dear
Dick so cross because aunt used to hide the cards. But, oh dear," she
exclaimed, colouring slightly, "I hope you don't object to whist."
"My dear Miss Pelly," he said, laughing, "I like every innocent game. I
think they all are as medicine to correct the acidity and bitterness of
some of the hard work of life."
"Then you'll play croquet with us?"
"That I will."
"Oh, I am glad," cried Eve, with almost childish pleasure. "I can beat
Dick easily now, Mr Selwood, for he neglects his croquet horribly.
Mind I don't beat you."
"I won't murmur," he said, laughing.
"But where's aunt?" cried Eve. "She came down before me."
"Aunt" had gone straight into the dining-room to see that all things
were in a proper state of preparation, and had stopped short in the
doorway on seeing Eve's reception of their guest.
She was about to step forward, when, unseen by him, she caught a glimpse
of her son's countenance, as he watched the vicar. His teeth were set,
his lips drawn slightly back, and a fierce look of anger puckered his
forehead, as with fists clenched he made an involuntary movement after
the couple who had entered the drawing-room.
Mrs Glaire drew back softly, and laying her hand on her beating heart,
she walked to the other end of the dining-room, seating herself in one
of the windows, half concealed by the curtain.
There was a smile upon her face, for, quick as lightning, a thought had
flashed across her mind.
Here was the means at hand to bring her son to his senses. She had
meant to take the vicar into her confidence, and ask his aid, stranger
though he was, for she felt that his position warranted it; but now
things had shaped themselves so that he was thoroughly playing into her
hands.
She knew Eve, that she was ingenuous and truthful, and looked upon her
marriage with her cousin as a matter of course. She was a girl who
would consider a flirtation to be a crime towards the man who loved her;
but the vicar would evidently be very attentive even as he had begun to
be, and already Richard's ire was aroused. Richard jealous, she
meditated, and he would be roused from his apathetic behaviour to Eve,
and all would come right.
"And the vicar?" she asked herself.
Oh, he meant nothing, would mean nothing. He knew the relations of
Richard and his cousin, and the plan would--must succeed.
But was she wrong? Was Richard annoyed at the vicar's demeanour towards
Eve, or was it her imagination?
The answer came directly, for Richard flung into the room, took up a
sherry decanter, and filling a glass, tossed it off.
"Curse him! I won't have him here," he said aloud. "What does he mean
by talking to me like that? by hanging after Eve? I won't have it. You
there, mother?"
"Yes, my son," she replied, rising and looking him calmly in the face.
"Look here, mother, I won't have that clerical cad here. What do you
mean by asking him to dinner?"
"I asked him as a guest who has behaved very kindly to us, Richard. He
is my guest. I asked him because I wished to have him; and you must
recollect that he is a clergyman and a gentleman."
"If he wasn't a parson," cried Richard, writhing beneath his mother's
clear cold glance, for it seemed to his guilty conscience that she could
read in his face that he had broken his word about Daisy--"if he wasn't
a parson I'd break his neck."
"Richard, I insist," cried his mother, in a tone that he had not heard
since he had grown to manhood, and which reminded him of the days when
he was sternly forced to obey, "if you insult Mr Selwood, you insult
your mother."
"But the cad's making play after Eve--he's smiling and squeezing her
hand, and the little jilt likes it."
"No wonder," said Mrs Glaire, calmly. "Women like attentions. You
have neglected the poor girl disgracefully."
"What! are you going to allow it?" cried Richard. "I tell you he's
making play for her."
"I shall not interfere," said Mrs Glaire, coldly. "I think Eve ought
to have a good husband."
"But she's engaged to me!" half-shrieked Richard.
"Well," said his mother, coldly, though her heart was beating fast, "you
are a man, and should counteract it. This is England, and in English
society, little as I have seen of it, I know that engaged girls are not
prisoners. They are, to a certain extent, free."
"I'll soon stop it," cried Richard, fiercely. "Stop it then, my son,
but mind this: I insist upon proper respect being paid to Mr Selwood."
"I will," cried Richard, speaking in a deep-pitched voice. "I'll do
something."
"Then I should take care that my pretensions to her hand were well
known," said Mrs Glaire, with a peculiar look.
"Pretensions--her hand!" said Richard, with a sneer. "Are you mad,
mother, that you take this tone? I will soon let them see. I'm not
going to be played with."
He was about leaving the room, when his mother laid her hand upon his
arm.
"Stop, Richard," she said, firmly. "Recollect this--"
"Well, what?"
"That it was the clear wish of your father and myself to make you a
gentleman."
"Well, I am a gentleman," cried Richard, angrily.
"Bear it in mind then, my son; and remember that rude, rough ways
disgust Eve, and injure your cause. Mr Selwood is a gentleman, and you
must meet him as a gentleman."
"I don't know what you mean, mother," cried the young man, angrily.
"I mean this, that my son occupies the position of the first man in
Dumford; and though his father was a poor workman, and his mother a
workman's daughter--"
"There, don't always get flinging my birth in my teeth, mother--do,
pray, sink the shop."
"I have no wish to remind you of your origin, Richard," said Mrs
Glaire, with a sigh; "only I wish to make you remember that we educated
you to be a gentleman, and that we have given you the means. Act like
one."
"I shall do that; don't you be afraid," said Richard.
"And mind, Richard, a true gentleman keeps his word," said Mrs Glaire,
meaningly.
"Well, so do I," exclaimed the young man, flushing up. "What are you
hinting at now?"
"I hope you do, my son; I hope you do," said Mrs Glaire, looking at him
fixedly; and then, as a sharp knock came at the front door, she glided
out of the room, and her voice was heard directly after in conversation
with the bluff doctor.
"Oh, he's here, too, is he?" muttered Dick, biting his nails. "Hang it
all! Curse it, how crookedly things go. I--there, hang it all!"
He stood, thinking, with knitted brows, and then hastily pouring out and
tossing off another glass of sherry, and smiling in a way that looked
very much like the twitch of the lip when a cur means to bite, he said,
in a mock melodramatic voice--
"Ha--ha! we must dissemble!" and strode out of the room.
Volume 1, Chapter XVIII.