For the beautiful cathedral service had charms for Dolly. Islip
Church was a very primitive church, the good old clergyman was
toothless, the singing of the two psalms was led off by the clerk in a
cracked bass voice; there was no organ. Accustomed to nothing better
than this, the first time Dolly found herself at the cathedral, after
their removal to Worcester, and the magnificent services burst upon
her astonished senses, she thought she must have ascended to some
celestial sphere. The fine edifice, the musical chanting of the
prayers by the minor canons, the singing of the numerous choir, men
and boys in their white surplices, the deep tones of the swelling
organ, the array of white-robed prebendaries, the dignified and
venerable bishop--Cornwall--in his wig and lawn sleeves, the state,
the ceremony of the whole, and the glittering colours of the famed
east window in the distance; all this laid hold of Dolly's senses for
ever. She and her mother attended St. Martin's Church generally, but
Dolly would now and then lure her mother to the cathedral. Latterly
Mrs. Grape had been ailing and did not go anywhere.
"If you could but go to college to-day, mother!" went on Dolly.
"Why!"
"Mr. Benson preaches. I met Miss Stafford yesterday afternoon, and she
told me Mr. Benson had come into residence. The _Herald_ said so too."
"Then you must go betimes if you would secure a seat," remarked Mrs.
Grape. "And mind you don't get your new muslin skirt torn."
So Dolly put on her new muslin, and her bonnet, and started.
When the Reverend Christopher Benson, Master of the Temple, became one
of the prebendaries of Worcester, his fame as a preacher flew to all
parts of the town. You should hear the Squire's account of the crush in
getting into the cathedral on the Sundays that he was in residence: four
Sundays in the year; or five, as the case might be; all told. Members of
other churches, Dissenters of different sects, Quakers, Roman Catholics,
and people who never went anywhere at other times, scrupled not to run
to hear Mr. Benson. For reading like unto his, or preaching like unto
his, had rarely been heard in that cathedral or in any other. Though
it might be only the Gospel that fell to his share in the communion
service, the crowd listened, enraptured, to his sweet, melodious tones.
The college doors were besieged before the hour for opening them; it was
like going into a theatre.
Dolly, on this day, made one in the crowd at the cloister entrance;
she was pushed here and there; and although she hurried well with the
rest as soon as the doors were unlocked, every seat was taken when she
reached the chancel. She found standing room opposite the pulpit, near
King John's tomb, and felt very hot in the crush.
"Is it always like this, here?"
The whispered words came from a voice at her side. Dolly turned, and saw
a tall, fine-looking, well-dressed man about thirty, with a green silk
umbrella in his hand.
"No," she whispered back again. "Only for four or five Sundays, at this
time of the year, when Mr. Benson preaches."
"Indeed," said the stranger. "His preaching ought to be something
extraordinary to attract such a crowd as this."
"And so it is," breathed Dolly. "And his reading--oh, you never heard
any reading like it."
"Very eloquent, I suppose?"
"I don't know whether it may be called eloquence," debated Dolly,
remembering that a chance preacher she once heard, who thumped the
cushions with his hands and shook the air with his voice, was said to
be eloquent. "Mr. Benson is the quietest preacher and reader I ever
listened to."
The stranger seemed to be a kind sort of man. During the stir made by
the clergy, preceded by the six black-robed, bowing bedesmen, going up
to the communion-table, he found an inch of room on a bench, and secured
it for Dolly. She thanked him gratefully.
Mr. Benson's sermon came to an end, the bishop gave the blessing from
his throne, and the crowd poured out. Dolly, by way of a change, made
her exit from the great north entrance. The brightness of the day had
changed; a sharp shower was falling.
"Oh dear! My new muslin will be wet through!" thought Dolly. "This
parasol's of no use."
"Will you allow me to offer you my umbrella--or permit me to hold it
over you?" spoke the stranger, who must have followed her out. And Dolly
hesitated and flushed, and did not know whether she ought to say yes or
no.
He held the umbrella over Dolly, letting his own coat get wet. The
shower ceased presently; but he walked on by her side to her mother's
door, and then departed with a bow fit for an emperor.
"What a polite man!" thought Dolly. "Quite a gentleman." And she
mentioned the occurrence to her mother; who seemed to-day more poorly
than usual.
They sat at the open window in the afternoon, and Dolly read aloud the
evening psalms. It was the fifth day of the month. As Dolly finished the
last verse and closed the book, Mrs. Grape, after a moment's silence,
repeated the words:--
"The Lord shall give strength unto His people: the Lord shall give His
people the blessing of peace."
"What a beautiful promise that is, Dolly!" she said in hushed tones.
"Peace! Ah, my dear, no one can know what that word means until they
have been sorely tried. Peace everlasting!"
Mrs. Grape leaned back in her chair, gazing upwards. The sky was of a
deep blue; a brilliant gold cloud, of peculiar shape, was moving slowly
across it just overhead.
"One could almost fancy it to be God's golden throne in the brighter
land," she murmured. "My child, do you know, the thought comes across me
at times that it may not be long before I am there. And I am getting to
long for it."
"Don't say that, mother," cried the startled girl.
"Well, well, dear, I don't want to frighten you. It is all as God
pleases."
"I shall send to ask Mr. Nash to come to see you to-morrow, mother. Do
you feel worse?"
Mrs. Grape slightly shook her head. Presently she spoke.
"Is it not almost teatime, Dolly?--whoever is that?"
A gentleman, passing, with a red rose in his button-hole and silk
umbrella in his hand, was taking off his hat to Dolly. Dolly's face
turned red as the rose as she returned the bow, and whispered to her
mother that it was the polite stranger. He halted to express a hope that
the young lady had not taken cold from the morning shower.
He turned out to be a Mr. Mapping, a traveller in the wine trade for
some London house. But, when he was stating this to Mrs. Grape during
the first visit paid her (for he contrived to make good his entrance
to the house), he added in a careless, off-hand manner, that he was
thankful to say he had good private means and was not dependent upon his
occupation. He lingered on in Worcester, and became intimate with the
Grapes.
Events thickened. Before the next month, August, came in, Mrs. Grape
died. Dolly was stunned; but she would have felt the blow even more
keenly than she did feel it had she not fallen over head and ears in
love with Alick Mapping. About three hundred pounds, all her mother's
savings, came to Dolly; excepting that, and the furniture, she was
unprovided for.
"You cannot live upon that: what's a poor three hundred pounds?" spoke
Mr. Mapping a day or two after the funeral, his tone full of tender
compassion.
"How rich he must be himself!" thought poor Dolly.
"You will have to let me take care of you, child."
"Oh dear!" murmured Dolly.
"We had better be married without delay. Once you are my wife----"
"Please don't go on!" interposed Dolly in a burst of sobs. "My dear
mother is hardly buried."
"But what are you to do?" he gently asked. "You will not like to live
here alone--and you have no income to live here upon. Your business is
worth nothing as yet; it would not keep you in gloves. If I speak of
these things prematurely, Dolly, it is for your sake."
Dolly sobbed. The future looked rather desolate.
"You have promised to be my wife, Dolly: remember that."
"Oh, please don't talk of it yet awhile!" sobbed Dolly.
"Leave you here alone I will not; you are not old enough to take care
of yourself; you must have a protector. I will take you with me to
London, where you will have a good home and be happy as a cricket: but
you must know, Dolly, that I cannot do that until we are married. All
sensible people must say that you will be quite justified under the
circumstances."
Mr. Alick Mapping had a wily tongue, and Dolly was persuaded to listen.
The marriage was fixed for the first week in September, and the banns
were put up at St. Martin's Church; which, as every one knows, stands in
the corn-market. Until then, Mr. Mapping returned to London; to make,
as he told Dolly, preparations for his bride. An acquaintance of Mrs.
Grape's, who had been staying with Dolly since the death, would remain
with her to the last. As soon as Dolly was gone, the furniture would be
sold by Mr. Stretch, the auctioneer, and the proceeds transmitted to
Dolly in London. Mrs. Grape had given all she possessed to Dolly, in the
fixed and firm belief that her son was really no more.
But all this was not to be put in practice without a warning from their
neighbour, the Quaker lady; she sent for Dolly, being confined to her
own chamber by illness.
"Thee should not be in this haste, Dorothy," she began. "It is not
altogether seemly, child, and it may not be well for thee hereafter.
Thee art too young to marry; thee should wait a year or two----"
"But I am not able to wait," pleaded poor Dolly, with tears in her eyes.
"How could I continue to live alone in the house--all by myself?"
"Nay, but thee need not have done that. Some one of discreet age would
have been glad to come and share expenses with thee. I might have helped
thee to a suitable person myself: a cousin of mine, an agreeable and
kindly woman, would like to live up this way. But the chief objection
that I see to this hasty union, Dorothy," continued Miss Deavor, "is
that thee knows next to nothing about the young man."
Dolly opened her eyes in surprise. "Why, I know him quite well, dear
Miss Rachel. He has told me all about himself."
"That I grant thee. Elizabeth informs me that thee has had a good
account from himself as to his means and respectability. But thee has
not verified it."
"Verified it!" repeated Dolly.
"Thee has not taken steps to ascertain that the account he gives is
true. How does thee know it to be so?"
Dolly's face flushed. "As if he would deceive me! You do not know him,
Miss Deavor."
"Nay, child, I wish not to cast undeserved aspersion on him. But thee
should ask for proof that what he tells thee is correct. Before thee
ties thyself to him for life, Dorothy, thee will do well to get some
friend to make inquiries in London. It is my best advice to thee, child;
and it is what Mary Ann Grape, thy mother, would have done before giving
thee to him."
Dolly thanked Miss Deavor and went away. The advice was well meant, of
course; she felt that; but quite needless. Suspect Alick Mapping of
deceit! Dolly would rather have suspected herself. And she did nothing.
The morning of the wedding-day arrived in due course. Dolly was attiring
herself for the ceremony in a pretty new grey gown, her straw bonnet
trimmed with white satin lying on the bed (to resume her black on the
morrow), when Elizabeth Deavor came in.
"I have something to say to thee, Dolly," she began, in a grave tone. "I
hardly knew whether to speak to thee or not, feeling not altogether sure
of the thing myself, so I asked Aunt Rachel, and she thinks thee ought
to be told."
"What is it?" cried Dolly.
"I think I saw thy brother Tom last night."
The words gave Dolly a curious shock. She fell back in a chair.
"I will relate it to thee," said Elizabeth. "Last evening I was at Aunt
Rachel's window above-stairs, when I saw a boy in dark clothes standing
on the pavement outside, just opposite thy gate. It was a bright night,
as thee knows. He had his arms folded and stood quite still, gazing at
this house. The moonlight shone on his face and I thought how much it
was like poor lost Tom's. He still stood on; so I went downstairs and
stepped to our gate, to ask whether he was in want of any one: and then,
Dolly, I felt queerer than I ever felt in my life, for I saw that it was
Tom. At least, I thought so."
"Did he speak?" gasped Dolly.
"He neither spoke nor answered me: he turned off, and went quickly down
the road. I think it was Tom; I do indeed."
"What am I to do?" cried Dolly. "Oh, if I could but find him!"
"There's nothing to do, that we can see," answered the young Quakeress.
"I have talked it over with Aunt Rachel. It would appear as though he
did not care to show himself: else, if it were truly thy brother, why
did he not come in? I will look out for him every night and speak to him
if he appears again. I promise thee that, Dolly."
"Why do you say 'appears,' Elizabeth?" cried the girl. "You think it was
himself, do you not; not his--his spirit?"
"Truly, I can but conclude it was himself."
Dolly, in a state of bewilderment, what with one thing and another, was
married to Alick Mapping in St. Martin's Church, by its white-haired
Rector, Digby Smith. A yellow post-chaise waited at the church-gates
and carried them to Tewkesbury. The following day they went on by coach
to Gloucester, where Mr. Mapping intended to stay a few days before
proceeding to London.
They took up their quarters at a comfortable country inn on the
outskirts of the town. On the second day after their arrival, Dolly,
about to take a country walk with her husband, ran downstairs from
putting her bonnet on, and could not see him. The barmaid told her he
had gone into the town to post a letter, and asked Dolly to step into
the bar-parlour to wait.
It was a room chiefly used by commercial travellers. Dolly's attention
was caught by something over the mantelpiece. In a small glass-case,
locked, there was the portrait of a man cleverly done in pencil; by its
side hung a plain silver watch with a seal and key attached to a short
black ribbon: and over all was a visiting-card, inscribed in ink, "Mr.
Gardner." Dolly looked at this and turned sick and faint: it was her
father's likeness, her father's watch, seal, and ribbon. Of an excitable
nature, she burst into tears, and the barmaid ran in. There and then,
the mystery so long hanging about Robert Grape's fate was cleared up, so
far as it ever would be in this world.
He had left Bridgenorth, as may be remembered, on the Thursday morning.
Towards the evening of the following day, Friday, as Dolly now heard, he
appeared at this very inn. This same barmaid, an obliging, neat, and
modest young woman, presenting a rare contrast to the barmaids of the
present day, saw him come in. His face had a peculiar, grey shade upon
it, which attracted her notice, and she asked him if he felt ill. He
answered that he felt pretty well then, but supposed he must have had a
fainting-fit when walking into the town, for to his surprise he found
himself on the grass by the roadside, waking up from a sort of stupor.
He engaged a bedroom for the night, and she thought he said--but she had
never been quite sure--that he had come to look out for a horse at the
fair to be held in Gloucester the next day. He took no supper, "not
feeling up to it," he said, but drank a glass of weak brandy-and-water,
and ate a biscuit with it, before going up to bed. The next morning he
was found dead; had apparently died quietly in his sleep. An inquest was
held, and the medical men testified that he had died of heart disease.
Poor Dolly, listening to this, wondered whether the pitch out of the gig
at Bridgenorth had fatally injured him.
"We supposed him to be a Mr. Gardner," continued the barmaid, "as that
card"--pointing to it--"was found in his pocket-book. But we had no clue
as to who he was or whence he came. His stockings were marked with a 'G'
in red cotton; and there was a little loose money in his pocket and a
bank-note in his pocket-book, just enough to pay the expenses of the
funeral."
"But that likeness," said Dolly. "How did you come by it? Who took it?"
"Ah, ma'am, it was a curious thing, that--but such things do not happen
by chance. An idle young man of the town used to frequent our inn; he
was clever at drawing, and would take off a likeness of any one near
him with a few strokes of a pen or pencil in a minute or two, quite
surreptitious like and for his own amusement. Wonderful likenesses
they were. He was in the bar-parlour, this very room, ma'am, while the
stranger was drinking his brandy-and-water, and he dashed off this
likeness."
"It is _exactly_ like," said poor Dolly. "But his name was Grape, not
Gardner. It must have been the card of some acquaintance."
"When nobody came forward to identify the stranger, the landlord got the
sketch given up to him," continued the young woman. "He put it in this
case with the watch and seal and card, and hung it where you see, hoping
that sometime or other it might be recognized."
"But did you not let it be known abroad that he had died?" sighed Dolly.
"Why, of course we did; and put an advertisement in the Gloucester
papers to ask if any Mr. Gardner was missing from his friends. Perhaps
the name, not being his, served to mislead people. That's how it was,
ma'am."
So that the one disappearance, that of Robert Grape, was now set at
rest.