"If they are going to stay in Carlingford, perhaps we could be of use
to them? Yes, Lucy; and I am sure anything we could do for Mr
Wentworth--" said Miss Wodehouse. "I wonder what house they will get.
I am going to Elsworthy's about some paper, and we can ask him if he
knows where they are going. That poor little Rosa should have some one
to take care of her. I often wonder whether it would be kind to speak
to Mrs Elsworthy about it, Lucy; she is a sensible woman. The little
thing stands at the door in the evening, and talks to people who are
passing, and I am afraid there are some people who are unprincipled,
and tell her she is pretty, and say things to her," said Miss
Wodehouse, shaking her head; "it is a great pity. Even Mr Wentworth is
a great deal more civil to that little thing than he would be if she
had not such a pretty face."
"I said you knew everything that went on in Carlingford," said Lucy,
as they went out together from the green door, not in their grey
cloaks this time; "but I forgot to ask you about one thing that
puzzled us last night--who is the man in the beard who lives at Mrs
Hadwin's? Mr Wentworth will not tell anybody about him, and I think he
knows."
"Who is the man in the beard?" said Miss Wodehouse, with a gasp. She
grew very pale, and turned away her head and shivered visibly. "How
very cold it is!" she said, with her teeth chattering; "did you think
it was so cold? I--I don't know any men with beards; and it is so
strange of you to say I know everything that goes on in Carlingford.
Don't stop to speak to that little girl just now. Did you say she came
from Prickett's Lane? No. 10? It is very right to go to see the sick,
but, indeed, I don't approve of your attendance upon that poor woman,
Lucy. When I was a girl I dared not have gone away by myself as you
do, and she might not be a proper person. There is a carriage that I
don't know standing before Elsworthy's shop."
"But you have not told me yet about the man with the beard," said
Lucy, whose curiosity was excited. She looked at her sister keenly
with an investigating look, and poor Miss Wodehouse was fain to draw
her shawl close round her, and complain again of the cold.
"I told you I did not know," she said, with a complaining tone in her
voice. "It is strange you should think I knew; it looks as if you
thought me a gossip, Lucy. I wonder who those people can be coming out
of the carriage? My dear," said the elder sister, feeling within
herself that an attack upon the enemy's country was the best means of
meeting any sally--"I don't think you should go down to Prickett's
Lane just now. I saw Mr Wentworth pass a little while ago, and people
might say you went to meet each other. I can't keep people from
talking, Lucy, and you are both so young; and you know I spoke to you
before about your meeting so often. It will be a great deal better for
you to come with me to call on his aunts."
"Only that my poor patient wants me," said Lucy. "Must I not do my
duty to a poor woman who is dying, because Mr Wentworth is in
Prickett's Lane? There is no reason why I should be afraid of meeting
Mr Wentworth," said the young district-visitor, severely; and the
elder sister saw that Lucy spoke in a different tone from that in
which she had answered her before. She did not extinguish Miss
Wodehouse by a reference to the great work. She treated the matter
more as a personal one to-day; and a shadow--a very ghost of
irritation--was in Lucy's voice. The two crossed the street silently
after that to Elsworthy's, where a group of ladies were visible, who
had come out of the strange carriage. One of them was seated in a
chair by the counter, another was reading a list which Mr Elsworthy
had just presented to her, and the third, who was not so tall as her
sister, was pressing up to it on tiptoe, trying to read it too. "That
is Miss Dora Wentworth," said Lucy, "and the other, I suppose, is Miss
Leonora, who is so very Low-Church. I think I can see the Miss
Hemmings coming down George Street. If I were to go in I should be in
a dreadful minority; but you are Low-Church in your heart too."
"No, dear; only reasonable," said Miss Wodehouse, apologetically. "I
don't go as far as you and Mr Wentworth do, but I like the service to
be nicely done, and the--the authority of the Church respected too. As
I have never met Miss Wentworth, you had better come in and introduce
me. There is Rosa looking out of the front window, Lucy. I really must
speak to Mrs Elsworthy about that child. What a lovely old lady that
is sitting by the counter! Say I am your sister, and then if you are
resolved upon Prickett's Lane, you can go away."
"They are the two who wear the grey cloaks," said Miss Leonora
Wentworth to herself, as the introduction was effected. "I am glad to
make your acquaintance, Miss Wodehouse. We are going to stay in
Carlingford for a time, and to know a few pious families will be a
great advantage. We don't go much into society, in the usual sense of
the word--but, I am sure, to make the acquaintance of ladies who help
my nephew so much in his work, is sure to be an advantage. I should
like so much to hear from you how he gets on, for he does not say a
great deal about it himself."
"He is so good and so nice," said kind Miss Wodehouse, "he never makes
a fuss about anything he does. I am sure, to see such young creatures
so pious and so devoted, always goes to my heart. When we were young
it used to be so different--we took our own pleasure, and never
thought of our fellow-creatures. And the young people are so good
nowadays," said the gentle woman, falling instinctively into her
favourite sentiment. Miss Leonora looked at her with critical eyes.
"We are none of us good," said that iron-grey woman, whose neutral
tints were so different from the soft dove-colour of her new
acquaintance; "it does not become such sinful creatures to talk of
anybody being good. Good works may only be beautiful sins, if they are
not done in a true spirit," said Miss Leonora, turning to her list of
furnished houses with a little contempt. But the Miss Hemmings had
come in while she was speaking, and it was seldom that such edifying
talk was heard in Carlingford.
"That is such a beautiful sentiment--oh, if we only bore it always in
mind!" murmured the eldest Miss Hemmings. "Mr Elsworthy, I hope you
have got the tracts I ordered. They are so much wanted here. Poor dear
Mr Bury would not believe his eyes if he could see Carlingford now,
given up to Puseyism and Ritualism--but good men are taken away from
the evil to come. I will pay for them now, please."
"If you wish it, ma'am," said Mr Elsworthy. "The town _is_ changed; I
don't say nothing different; but being in the ritual line as you say,
you won't find no church as it's better done than in St Roque's. Mr
Wentworth never spares no pains, ma'am, on anything as he takes up.
I've heard a deal of clergymen in my day, but _his_ reading is
beautiful; I can't say as I ever heard reading as could equal it;--and
them choristers, though they're hawful to manage, is trained as I
never see boys trained in _my_ life afore. There's one of them houses,
ma'am," continued the optimist, turning to Miss Wentworth, "as is a
beauty. Miss Wodehouse can tell you what it is; no lady in the land
could desire a handsomer drawing-room; and as for the kitchings,--I
don't pretend to be a judge up-stairs, but being brought up a
blacksmith, I know what's what in a kitching-range. If you had all
Grange Lane to dinner, there's a range as is equal to it," said Mr
Elsworthy with enthusiasm--"and my wife will show you the 'ouse."
"I knew Mr Bury," said Miss Leonora; "he was a precious man. Perhaps
you have heard him mention the Miss Wentworths? I am very sorry to
hear that there is no real work going on in the town. It is very sad
that there should be nobody able to enter into the labours of such a
saint."
"Indeed," said Miss Wodehouse, who was excited, in spite of herself,
by this conversation, "I think the Carlingford people go quite as much
to church as in Mr Bury's days. I don't think there is less religion
than there used to be: there are not so many prayer meetings, perhaps;
but--"
"There is nothing the carnal mind dislikes so much as prayer meetings,"
said Miss Hemmings. "There is a house in Grove Street, if Miss Wentworth
is looking for a house. I don't know much about the kitchen-range, but I
know it belongs to a very pious family, and they wish so much to let
it. My sister and I would be so glad to take you there. It is not in the
gay world, like Grange Lane."
"But you might want to ask people to dinner; and then we should be so
near Frank," said Miss Dora, whispering at her sister's elbow. As for
the second Miss Hemmings, she was dull of comprehension, and did not
quite make out who the strangers were.
"It is so sad to a feeling mind to see the mummeries that go on at St
Roque's," said this obtuse sister; "and I am afraid poor Mr Wentworth
must be in a bad way. They say there is the strangest man in his
house--some relation of his--and he daren't be seen in the daylight;
and people begin to think there must be something wrong, and that Mr
Wentworth himself is involved; but what can you expect when there is
no true Christian principle?" asked Miss Hemmings, triumphantly. It
was a dreadful moment for the bystanders; for Miss Leonora turned
round upon this new intelligence with keen eyes and attention; and
Miss Dora interposed, weeping; and Miss Wodehouse grew so pale, that
Mr Elsworthy rushed for cold water, and thought she was going to
faint. "Tell me all about this," said Miss Leonora, with peremptory
and commanding tones. "Oh, Leonora, I am sure my dear Frank has
nothing to do with it, if there is anything wrong," cried Miss Dora.
Even Miss Wentworth herself was moved out of her habitual smile. She
said, "He is my nephew"--an observation which she had never been heard
to make before, and which covered the second Miss Hemmings with
confusion. As for Miss Wodehouse, she retreated very fast to a seat
behind Miss Cecilia, and said nothing. The two who had arrived last
slunk back upon each other with fiery glances of mutual reproach. The
former three stood together in this emergency, full of curiosity, and
perhaps a little anxiety. In this position of affairs, Mr Elsworthy,
being the only impartial person present, took the management of
matters into his own hands.
"Miss Hemmings and ladies, if you'll allow _me_," said Mr Elsworthy,
"it aint no more than a mistake. The new gentleman as is staying at
Mrs Hadwin's may be an unfortunate gentleman for anything I can tell;
but he aint no relation of our clergyman. There aint nobody belonging
to Mr Wentworth," said the clerk of St Roque's, "but is a credit both
to him and to Carlingford. There's his brother, the Rev. Mr Wentworth,
as is the finest-spoken man, to be a clergyman, as I ever set eyes on;
and there's respected ladies as needn't be named more particular. But
the gentleman as is the subject of conversation is no more like Mr
Wentworth than--asking pardon for the liberty--I am. I may say as I
have opportunities for knowing more than most," said Mr Elsworthy,
modestly, "me and Rosa; for if there's a thing Mr Wentworth is
particular about, it's having his papers the first moment; and ladies
as knows me knows I am one that never says more nor the truth. Not
saying a word against the gentleman--as is a most respectable
gentleman, for anything I know against him--he aint no connection of
Mr Wentworth. He's Mrs Hadwin's lodger; and I wouldn't say as he isn't
a relation there; but our clergyman has got no more to do with him
than the babe unborn."
Mr Elsworthy wiped his forehead after he had made this speech, and
looked round for the approbation which he was aware he had deserved;
and Miss Leonora Wentworth threw a glance of disdainful observation
upon the unhappy lady who had caused this disturbance. "If your wife
will come with us, we will go and look at the house," she said,
graciously. "I daresay if it is in Grange Lane it will suit us very
well. My nephew is a very young man, Miss Wodehouse," said Miss
Leonora, who had not passed over the agitation of that gentle woman
without some secret comments; "he does not take advice in his work,
though it might be of great assistance to him; but I hope he'll grow
older and wiser, as indeed he cannot help doing if he lives. I hope
you and your pretty sister will come to see us when we're settled;--I
don't see any sense, you know, in your grey cloaks--I'm old, and you
won't mind me saying so; but I know what Frank Wentworth is," said the
indignant aunt, making a severe curtsy, accompanied by lightning
glances at the shrinking background of female figures, as she went out
of the shop.
"Oh, Leonora! I always said you were fond of him, though you never
would show it," cried poor Miss Dora. "She is a great deal more
affectionate than she will let anybody believe; and my dear Frank
means nothing but good," cried the too zealous champion. Miss Leonora
turned back upon the threshold of the shop.
"You will please to let me know what Dissenting chapels there are in
the town, and what are the hours of the services," she said. "There
must surely be a Bethesda, or Zion, or something--Salem? yes, to be
sure;--perhaps there's somebody there that preaches the gospel. Send
me word," said the peremptory woman; and poor Miss Dora relapsed into
her usual melancholy condition, and stole into the carriage in a
broken-hearted manner, weeping under her veil.
After which Miss Wodehouse went home, not having much heart for
further visits. That is to say, she went all the way down Grange Lane,
somewhat tremulous and uncertain in her steps, and went as far as Mrs
Hadwin's, and hesitated at the door as if she meant to call there;
but, thinking better of it, went on a little farther with very
lingering steps, as if she did not know what she wanted. When she came
back again, the door of Mrs Hadwin's garden was open, and the
butcher's boy stood blocking up the way, listening with all his ears
to the notes of the whistle, soft and high and clear like the notes of
a bird which come audibly from among the trees. Miss Wodehouse gave a
little start when she heard it: again she hesitated, and looked in
with such a wistful face that Sarah, the housemaid, who had been about
to slam the door hastily upon the too tender butcher, involuntarily
held it wide open for the expected visitor. "No, not to-day thank
you," said Miss Wodehouse. "I hope your mistress is quite well; give
her my love, and say I meant to come in, but I have a bad headache.
No, thank you; not to-day." She went away after that with a wonderful
expression of face, and reached home long before Lucy had come back
from Prickett's Lane. Miss Wodehouse was not good for much in the
house. She went to the little boudoir up-stairs, and lay down on the
sofa, and had some tea brought her by an anxious maid. She was very
nervous, trembling she could not say why, and took up a novel which
was lying on the sofa, and read the most affecting scene, and cried
over it; and then her sweet old face cleared, and she felt better.
When Lucy came in she kissed her sister, and drew down the blinds, and
brought her the third volume, and then went away herself to arrange
the dessert, and see that everything was in order for one of Mr
Wodehouse's little parties. These were their respective parts in the
house; and surely a more peaceful, and orderly, and affectionate
house, was not to be found that spring evening, either in England or
Grange Lane.