Mr Wentworth got back to Carlingford by a happy concurrence of trains
before the town had gone to sleep. It was summer, when the days are at
the longest, and the twilight was just falling into night as he took
his way through George Street. He went along the familiar street with
a certain terror of looking into people's faces whom he met, and of
asking questions, such as was natural to a man who did not know
whether something of public note might not have happened in his
absence to call attention to his name. He imagined, indeed, that he
did see a strange expression in the looks of the townsfolk he
encountered on his way. He thought they looked at him askance as they
made their salutations, and said something to each other after they
passed, which, indeed, in several cases was true enough, though the
cause was totally different from anything suspected by Mr Wentworth.
Anxious to know, and yet unwilling to ask, it was with a certain
relief that the Curate saw the light gleaming out from the open door
of Elsworthy's shop as he approached. He went in and tossed down his
travelling-bag on the counter, and threw himself on the solitary chair
which stood outside for the accommodation of customers, with a
suppressed excitement, which made his question sound abrupt and
significant to the ears of Elsworthy. "Has anything happened since I
went away?" said Mr Wentworth, throwing a glance round the shop which
alarmed his faithful retainer. Somehow, though nothing was farther
from his mind than little Rosa, or any thought of her, the Curate
missed the pretty little figure at the first glance.
"Well--no, sir; not much as I've heard of," said Elsworthy, with a
little confusion. He was tying up his newspapers as usual, but it did
not require the touch of suspicion and anxiety which gave sharpness to
the Curate's eyes to make it apparent that the cord was trembling in
Mr Elsworthy's hand. "I hope you've had a pleasant journey, sir, and a
comfortable visit--it's been but short--but we always miss you in
Carlingford, Mr Wentworth, if it was only for a day."
"I'll take my paper," said the young man, who was not satisfied--"so
there's no news, isn't there?--all well, and everything going on as
usual?" And the look which the suspicious Curate bent upon Mr
Elsworthy made that virtuous individual, as he himself described it,
"shake in his shoes."
"Much as usual, sir," said the frightened clerk,--"nothing new as I
hear of but gossip, and that aint a thing to interest a clergyman.
There's always one report or another flying about, but them follies
aint for your hearing. Nothing more," continued Mr Elsworthy,
conscious of guilt, and presenting a very tremulous countenance to the
inspection of his suspicious auditor, "not if it was my last
word--nothing but gossip, as you wouldn't care to hear."
"I might possibly care to hear if it concerned myself," said the
Curate,--"or anybody I am interested in," he added, after a little
pause, with rather a forced smile--which convinced Mr Elsworthy that
his clergyman had heard all about Rosa, and that the days of his
incumbency as clerk of St Roque's were numbered.
"Well, sir, if you did hear, it aint no blame of mine," said the
injured bookseller; "such a notion would never have come into my
mind--no man, I make bold to say, is more particular about keeping to
his own rank of life nor me. What you did, sir, you did out of the
kindness of your heart, and I'd sooner sell up and go off to the end
of the world than impose upon a gentleman. Her aunt's took her away,"
continued Mr Elsworthy, lowering his voice, and cautiously pointing
to the back of the shop--"She'll not bother you no more."
"She!--who?" cried the Perpetual Curate, in sudden consternation. He
was utterly bewildered by the introduction of a female actor into the
little drama, and immediately ran over in his mind all the women he
could think of who could, by any possibility, be involved in
mysterious relations with his brother Jack.
"She's but a child," said Elsworthy, pathetically; "she don't know
nothing about the ways o' the world. If she was a bit proud o' being
noticed, there wasn't no harm in that. But seeing as there's nothing
in this world that folks won't make a talk of when they've started,
her aunt, as is very partic'lar, has took her away. Not as I'm meaning
no reproach to you, Mr Wentworth; but she's a loss to us, is Rosa. She
was a cheerful little thing, say the worst of her," said Mr Elsworthy;
"going a-singing and a-chirping out and in the shop; and I won't deny
as the place looks desolate, now she's away. But that aint neither
here nor there. It was for her good, as my missis says. Most things as
is unpleasant _is_ sent for good, they tell me; and I wouldn't--not
for any comfort to myself--have a talk got up about the clergyman--"
By this time Mr Wentworth had awakened to a sense of the real meaning of
Elsworthy's talk. He sat upright on his chair, and looked into the face
of the worthy shopkeeper until the poor man trembled. "A talk about the
clergyman?" said the Curate. "About me, do you mean? and what has little
Rosa to do with me? Have you gone crazy in Carlingford--what is the
meaning of it all?" He sat with his elbows on the counter, looking at
his trembling adherent--looking through and through him, as Elsworthy
said. "I should be glad of an explanation; what does it mean?" said Mr
Wentworth, with a look which there was no evading; and the clerk of St
Roque's cast an anxious glance round him for help. He would have
accepted it from any quarter at that overwhelming moment; but there was
not even an errand-boy to divert from him the Curate's terrible eyes.
"I--I don't know--I--can't tell how it got up," said the unhappy man,
who had not even his "missis" in the parlour as a moral support. "One
thing as I know is, it wasn't no blame o' mine. I as good as went down
on my knees to them three respected ladies when they come to inquire. I
said as it was kindness in you a-seeing of the child home, and didn't
mean nothing more. I ask you, sir, what could I do?" cried Mr Elsworthy.
"Folks in Carlingford will talk o' two straws if they're a-seen
a-blowing up Grange Lane on the same breath o' wind. I couldn't do no
more nor contradict it," cried Rosa's guardian, getting excited in his
self-defence; "and to save your feelings, Mr Wentworth, and put it out
o' folks's power to talk, the missis has been and took her away."
"To save my feelings!" said the Curate, with a laugh of contempt and
vexation and impatience which it was not pleasant to hear. At another
moment an accusation so ridiculous would have troubled him very little;
but just now, with a sudden gleam of insight, he saw all the
complications which might spring out of it to confuse further the path
which he already felt to be so burdened. "I'll tell you what,
Elsworthy," said Mr Wentworth; "if you don't want to make me your enemy
instead of your friend, you'll send for this child instantly, without a
day's delay. Tell your wife that my orders are that she should come back
directly. _My_ feelings! do the people in Carlingford think me an idiot,
I wonder?" said the Curate, walking up and down to relieve his mind.
"I don't know, sir, I'm sure," said Elsworthy, who thought some answer
was required of him. To tell the truth, Rosa's uncle felt a little
spiteful. He did not see matters in exactly the same light as Mr
Wentworth did. At the bottom of his heart, after all, lay a thrill of
awakened ambition. Kings and princes had been known to marry far out
of their degree for the sake of a beautiful face; and why a Perpetual
Curate should be so much more lofty in his sentiments, puzzled and
irritated the clerk of St Roque's. "There aint a worm but will turn
when he's trod upon," said Mr Elsworthy to himself; and when his
temper was roused, he became impertinent, according to the manner of
his kind.
Mr Wentworth gave him a quick look, struck by the changed tone, but
unable to make out whether it might not be stupidity. "You understand
what I mean, Elsworthy," he said, with his loftiest air. "If Rosa does
not return instantly, I shall be seriously offended. How you and your
friends could be such utter idiots as to get up this ridiculous
fiction, I can't conceive; but the sooner it's over the better. I
expect to see her back to-morrow," said the Curate, taking up his bag
and looking with an absolute despotism, which exasperated the man, in
Elsworthy's face.
"You may be sure, sir, if she knows as you want to see her, she'll
come," said the worm which had been trampled on; "and them as asks me
why, am I to say it was the clergyman's orders?" said Elsworthy,
looking up in his turn with a consciousness of power. "That means a
deal, does that. I wouldn't take it upon me to say as much, not of
myself; but if them's your orders, Mr Wentworth--"
"It appears to me, Elsworthy," said the Curate, who was inwardly in a
towering passion, though outwardly calm enough, "either that you've
been drinking or that you mean to be impertinent--which is it?"
"Me!--drinking, sir?" cried the shopkeeper. "If I had been one as was
given that way, I wouldn't have attended to your interests not as I
have done. There aint another man in Carlingford as has stood up for
his clergyman as I have; and as for little Rosa, sir, most folks as
had right notions would have inquired into that; but being as I
trusted in you, I wasn't the one to make any talk. I've said to
everybody as has asked me that there wasn't nothing in it but
kindness. I don't say as I hadn't my own thoughts--for gentlemen don't
go walking up Grange Lane with a pretty little creature like that all
for nothing; but instead o' making anything of that, or leading of you
on, or putting it in the child's head to give you encouragement, what
was it I did but send her away afore you came home, that you mightn't
be led into temptation! And instead of feelin' grateful, you say I've
been drinking! It's a thing as I scorn to answer," said Mr Elsworthy;
"there aint no need to make any reply--all Carlingford knows _me_; but
as for Rosa, if it is understood plain between us that it's your wish,
I aint the man to interfere," continued Rosa's guardian, with a smile
which drove the Curate frantic; "but she hasn't got no father, poor
thing, and it's my business to look after her; and I'll not bring her
back, Mr Wentworth, unless it's understood between us plain."
Strong language, forcible, but unclerical, was on the Curate's lips,
and it was only with an effort that he restrained himself. "Look here,
Elsworthy," he said; "it will be better for you not to exasperate me.
You understand perfectly what I mean. I repeat, Rosa must come back,
and that instantly. It is quite unnecessary to explain to you why I
insist upon this, for you comprehend it. Pshaw! don't let us have any
more of this absurdity," he exclaimed, impatiently. "No more, I tell
you. Your wife is not such a fool. Let anybody who inquires about me
understand that I have come back, and am quite able to account for all
my actions," said the Curate, shouldering his bag. He was just about
leaving the shop when Elsworthy rushed after him in an access of alarm
and repentance.
"One moment, sir," cried the shopkeeper; "there aint no offence, Mr
Wentworth? I am sure there aint nobody in Carlingford as means better,
or would do as much for his clergyman. One moment, sir; there was one
thing I forgot to mention. Mr Wodehouse, sir, has been took bad. There
was a message up a couple of hours ago to know when you was expected
home. He's had a stroke, and they don't think as he'll get over
it--being a man of a full 'abit of body," said Mr Elsworthy in haste,
lest the Curate should break in on his unfinished speech, "makes it
dangerous. I've had my fears this long time past."
"A stroke," said the Curate--"a fit, do you mean? When, and how? and,
good heavens! to think that you have been wasting my time with
rubbish, and knew this!" Mr Wentworth tossed down his travelling-bag
again, and wiped his forehead nervously. He had forgotten his real
anxiety in the irritation of the moment. Now it returned upon him with
double force. "How did it come on?" he asked, "and when?" and stood
waiting for the answer, with a world of other questions, which he
could not put to Elsworthy, hanging on his lips.
"I have a deal of respect for that family, sir," said Elsworthy; "they
have had troubles as few folks in Carlingford know of. How close they
have kep' things, to be sure!--but not so close as them that has good
memories, and can put two and two together, couldn't call to mind. My
opinion, sir, if you believe me," said the clerk of St Roque's,
approaching close to the Curate's ear, "is, that it's something
concerning the son."
"The son!" said Mr Wentworth, with a troubled look. Then, after a
pause, he added, as if his exclamation had been an oversight, "What
son? has Mr Wodehouse a son?"
"To think as they should have been so close with the clergyman!" said
Elsworthy, innocently; "though he aint no credit that they should talk
of him. He's been gone out o' Carlingford nigh upon twenty year; but
he aint dead for all that; and I'm told as he's been seen about Grange
Lane this last spring. I am one as hears all the talk that's a-going
on, being, as you might say, in a public position of life. Such a
thing mightn't maybe come to your ears, sir?" he continued, looking
inquisitively in Mr Wentworth's face; "but wherever he is, you may be
sure it's something about him as has brought on this attack on the old
man. It was last night as he was took so bad, and a couple of hours
ago a message came up. Miss Wodehouse (as is the nicest lady in
Grange Lane, and a great friend to me) had took a panic, and she was
a-crying for you, the man said, and wouldn't take no denial. If I had
known where you was to be found, I'd have sent word."
"Send down my bag to my house," said the Curate, hastily interrupting
him. "Good-night--don't forget what I said about the other matter." Mr
Wentworth went out of the shop with a disagreeable impression that
Elsworthy had been examining his face like an inquisitor, and was
already forming conclusions from what he had seen there. He went away
hurriedly, with a great many vague fears in his mind. Mr Wodehouse's
sudden illness seemed to him a kind of repetition and echo of the
Squire's, and in the troubled and uncertain state of his thoughts, he
got to confusing them together in the centre of this whirl of unknown
disaster and perplexity. Perhaps even thus it was not all bitterness to
the young man to feel his family united with that of Lucy Wodehouse. He
went down Grange Lane in the summer darkness under the faint stars, full
of anxiety and alarm, yet not without a thrill in his heart, a sweeter
under-current of conscious agitation in the knowledge that he was
hastening to her presence. Sudden breaks in his thoughts revealed her,
as if behind a curtain, rising to receive him, giving him her hand,
meeting his look with a smile; so that, on the whole, neither Gerald's
distress, nor Jack's alarming call, nor his father's attack, nor Mr
Wodehouse's illness, nor the general atmosphere of vexation and trouble
surrounding his way, could succeed in making the young man totally
wretched. He had this little stronghold of his own to retire into. The
world could not fall to pieces so long as he continued with eager steps
to devour the road which led to Mr Wodehouse's garden-door.
Before he had reached that goal, however, he met a group who were
evidently returning from some little dinner in Grange Lane. Mr Wentworth
took off his hat hastily in recognition of Mrs Morgan, who was walking
by her husband's side, with a bright-coloured hood over her head
instead of a bonnet. The Curate, who was a man of taste, could not help
observing, even in the darkness, and amid all his preoccupations, how
utterly the cherry-coloured trimmings of her head-dress were out of
accordance with the serious countenance of the Rector's wife, who was a
little heated with her walk. She was a good woman, but she was not fair
to look upon; and it occurred to Mr Wentworth to wonder, if Lucy were to
wait ten years for him, would the youthful grace dry and wither out of
her like this! And then all at once another idea flashed upon his mind,
without any wish of his. Like the unhappy lover in the ballad, he was
suddenly aware of a temptation--
"How there looked him in the face An angel beautiful and bright, And how
he knew it was a fiend."
"Of course the Rectory will go to Frank." He could not tell why at that
moment the words rang into his ear with such a penetrating sound. That
he hated himself for being able to think of such a possibility made no
difference. It came darting and tingling into his mind like one of those
suggestions of blasphemy which the devils whispered in Christian's ear
as he went through the Valley of the Shadow of Death. He went on faster
than ever to escape from it, scarcely observing that Mrs Morgan, instead
of simply acknowledging his bow as she passed, stopped to shake hands,
and to say how glad she was he had come back again. He thought of it
afterwards with wonder and a strange gratitude. The Rector's wife was
not like the conventional type of a pitying angel; and even had she been
so, he had not time to recognise her at that moment as he went
struggling with his demons to Mr Wodehouse's green door.