Mrs Morgan was in the garden watering her favourite ferns when her
husband returned home to dinner on the day of Mr Wodehouse's death. The
Rector was late, and she had already changed her dress, and was removing
the withered leaves from her prettiest plant of maidenhair, and
thinking, with some concern, of the fish, when she heard his step on the
gravel; for the cook at the Rectory was rather hasty in her temper, and
was apt to be provoking to her mistress next morning when the Rector
chose to be late. It was a very hot day, and Mr Morgan was flushed and
uncomfortable. To see his wife looking so cool and tranquil in her
muslin dress rather aggravated him than otherwise, for she did not
betray her anxiety about the trout, but welcomed him with a smile, as
she felt it her duty to do, even when he was late for dinner. The Rector
looked as if all the anxieties of the world were on his shoulders, as he
came hurriedly along the gravel; and Mrs Morgan's curiosity was
sufficiently excited by his looks to have overcome any consideration but
that of the trout, which, however, was too serious to be trifled with;
so, instead of asking questions, she thought it wiser simply to remind
her husband that it was past six o'clock. "Dinner is waiting," she said,
in her composed way; and the Rector went up-stairs to wash his hands,
half disposed to be angry with his wife. He found her already seated at
the head of the table when he came down after his rapid ablutions; and
though he was not particularly quick of perception, Mr Morgan perceived,
by the looks of the servant as well as the mistress, that he was
generally disapproved of throughout the household for being half an hour
too late. As for Thomas, he was at no pains to conceal his sentiments,
but conducted himself with distant politeness towards his master,
expressing the feelings of the household with all the greater freedom
that he had been in possession of the Rectory since Mr Bury's time, and
felt himself more secure in his tenure than any incumbent, as was
natural to a man who had already outlived two of these temporary
tenants. Mr Morgan was disposed to be conciliatory when he saw the
strength of the opposite side.
"I am a little late today," said the politic Rector. "Mr Leeson was
with me, and I did not want to bring him home to dinner. It was only
on Wednesday he dined with us, and I know you don't care for chance
guests."
"I think it shows a great want of sense in Mr Leeson to think of such
a thing," said Mrs Morgan, responding by a little flush of anger to
the unlucky Curate's name. "He might understand that people like to be
by themselves now and then. I am surprised that you give in to him so
much as you do, William. Good-nature must stop somewhere, and I think
it is always best to draw a line."
"I wish it were possible for everybody to draw a line," said the
Rector, mysteriously, with a sigh. "I have heard something that has
grieved me very much to-day. I will tell you about it afterwards."
When he had said this, Mr Morgan addressed himself sadly to his
dinner, sighing over it, as if that had something to do with his
distress.
"Perhaps, ma'am," suggested Thomas, who was scarcely on speaking terms
with his master, "the Rector mayn't have heard as Mr Wodehouse has
been took very bad again, and aint expected to see out the night."
"I am very sorry," said the Rector. "Poor ladies! it will come very
hard upon them. My dear, I think you should call and ask if you can do
anything. Troubles never come singly, it is said. I am very sorry for
that poor young creature; though, perhaps, things have not gone so far
as one imagined." The Rector sighed again, and looked as though his
secret, whatever it might be, was almost too much for him. The
consequence, of course, was, that Thomas prolonged his services to the
last possibility, by way of hearing what had happened; as for Mrs
Morgan, she sat on thorns, though her sense of propriety was too great
to permit her to hurry over the dinner. The pudding, though it was the
Rector's favourite pudding, prepared from a receipt only known at
All-Souls, in which the late respected Head of that learned community
had concentrated all his genius, was eaten in uneasy silence, broken
only by the most transparent attempts on both sides to make a little
conversation. Thomas hovered sternly over his master and mistress all
the time, exacting with inexorable severity every usage of the table.
He would not let them off the very smallest detail, but insisted on
handing round the peaches, notwithstanding Mrs Morgan's protest. "They
are the first out of the new orchard-house," said the Rector's wife.
"I want your opinion of them. That will do, Thomas; we have got
everything now, I think." Mrs Morgan was a little anxious about the
peaches, having made a great many changes on her own responsibility in
the gardening department; but the Rector took the downy fruit as if it
had been a turnip, and notwithstanding her interest in the
long-delayed news, his wife could not but find it very provoking that
he took so little notice of her exertions.
"Roberts stood out against the new flue as long as he could," said
Mrs Morgan. "Mr Proctor took no interest in the garden, and everything
had gone to ruin; though I must say it was very odd that anybody from
_your_ college, William, should be careless about such a vital
matter," said the Rector's wife, with a little asperity. "I suppose
there must be something in the air of Carlingford which makes people
indifferent." Naturally, it was very provoking, after all the trouble
she had taken, to see her husband slicing that juicy pulp as if it had
been any ordinary market fruit.
"I beg your pardon, my dear," said Mr Morgan; "I was thinking of this
story about Mr Wentworth. One is always making new discoveries of the
corruption of human nature. He had behaved very badly to me; but it is
very sad to see a young man sacrifice all his prospects for the
indulgence of his passions; though that is a very secular way of
looking at the subject," said the Rector, shaking his head mournfully.
"If it is bad in a worldly point of view, what is it in a spiritual?
and in this age, too, when it is so important to keep up the character
of the clergy!" Mr Morgan sighed again more heavily than ever as he
poured out the single glass of port, in which his wife joined him
after dinner. "Such an occurrence throws a stigma upon the whole
Church, as Mr Leeson very justly remarked."
"I thought Mr Leeson must have something to do with it," said the
Rector's wife. "What has Mr Wentworth been doing? When you keep a
Low-Church Curate, you never can tell what he may say. If he had known
of the All-Souls pudding he would have come to dinner, and we should
have had it at first-hand," said Mrs Morgan, severely. She put away
her peach in her resentment, and went to a side-table for her work,
which she always kept handy for emergencies. Like her husband, Mrs
Morgan had acquired some little "ways" in the long ten years of their
engagement, one of which was a confirmed habit of needlework at all
kinds of unnecessary moments, which much disturbed the Rector when he
had anything particular to say.
"My dear, I am very sorry to see you so much the victim of prejudice,"
said Mr Morgan. "I had hoped that all our long experiences--" and here
the Rector stopped short, troubled to see the rising colour in his
wife's face. "I don't mean to blame you, my dear," said the perplexed
man; "I know you were always very patient;" and he paused, not knowing
what more to say, comforting himself with the thought that women were
incomprehensible creatures, as so many men have done before.
"I am not patient," said the Rector's wife; "it never was my nature. I
can't help thinking sometimes that our long experiences have done us
more harm than good; but I hope nothing will ever make me put up with
a Curate who tells tales about other people, and flatters one's self,
and comes to dinner without being asked. Perhaps Mr Wentworth is very
sinful, but at least he is a gentleman," said Mrs Morgan; and she bent
her head over her work, and drove her needle so fast through the
muslin she was at work upon, that it glimmered and sparkled like
summer lightning before the spectator's dazzled eyes.
"I am sorry you are so prejudiced," said the Rector. "It is a very
unbecoming spirit, my dear, though I am grieved to say so much to you.
Mr Leeson is a very good young man, and he has nothing to do with this
terrible story about Mr Wentworth. I don't wish to shock your
feelings--but there are a great many things in the world that one
can't explain to ladies. He has got himself into a most distressing
position, and a public inquiry will be necessary. One can't help
seeing the hand of Providence in it," said the Rector, playing
reflectively with the peach on his plate.
It was at this moment that Thomas appeared at the door to announce Mr
Leeson, who had come to talk over the topic of the day with the
Rector--being comfortably obtuse in his perceptions, and quite
disposed to ignore Mrs Morgan's general demeanour towards himself. "I
am sure she has a bad temper," he would say to his confidants in the
parish; "you can see it by the redness in her face: but I never take
any notice when she says rude things to me." The redness was alarming
in Mrs Morgan's face as the unlucky man became visible at the door.
She said audibly, "I knew we should be interrupted!" and got up from
her chair. "As Mr Leeson is here, you will not want me, William," she
added, in her precisest tones. "If anything has happened since you
came in, he will be able to tell you about it; and perhaps I had
better send you your coffee here, for I have a great many things to
do." Mr Morgan gave a little groan in his spirit as his wife went
away. To do him justice, he had a great deal of confidence in her, and
was unconsciously guided by her judgment in many matters. Talking it
over with Mr Leeson was a totally different thing; for whatever might
be said in his defence, there could not be any doubt that the Curate
professed Low-Church principles, and had been known to drink tea with
Mr Beecher, the new minister of Salem Chapel. "Not that I object to Mr
Beecher because he is a Dissenter," Mr Morgan said, "but because, my
dear, you know, it is a totally different class of society." When the
Rector was left alone to discuss parish matters with this doubtful
subordinate, instead of going into the subject with his wife, the good
man felt a pang of disappointment; for though he professed to be
reluctant to shock her, he had been longing all the time to enter into
the story, which was certainly the most exciting which had occurred in
Carlingford since the beginning of his incumbency. Mrs Morgan, for her
part, went up-stairs to the drawing-room with so much indignation
about this personal grievance that she almost forgot her curiosity. Mr
Leeson hung like a cloud over all the advantages of Carlingford; he
put out that new flue in the greenhouse, upon which she was rather
disposed to pique herself, and withered her ferns, which everybody
allowed to be the finest collection within a ten miles' circuit. This
sense of disgust increased upon her as she went into the drawing-room,
where her eye naturally caught that carpet which had been the first
cross of her married life. When she had laid down her work, she began
to plan how the offensive bouquets might be covered with a pinafore of
linen, which looked very cool and nice in summer-time. And then the
Rector's wife reflected that in winter a floor covered with white
looked chilly, and that a woollen drugget of an appropriate small
pattern would be better on the whole; but no such thing was to be had
without going to London for it, which brought her mind back again to
Mr Leeson and all the disadvantages of Carlingford. These subjects
occupied Mrs Morgan to the exclusion of external matters, as was
natural; and when she heard the gentlemen stir down-stairs as if with
ideas of joining her in the drawing-room, the Rector's wife suddenly
recollected that she had promised some tea to a poor woman in Grove
Street, and that she could not do better this beautiful evening than
take it in her own person. She was very active in her district at all
times, and had proved herself an admirable clergywoman; but perhaps it
would not have occurred to her to go out upon a charitable errand that
particular evening had it not been for the presence of Mr Leeson
down-stairs.
It was such a very lovely night, that Mrs Morgan was tempted to go
further than she intended. She called on two or three of her
favourites in Grove Street, and was almost as friendly with them as
Lucy Wodehouse was with the people in Prickett's Lane; but being
neither pretty and young, like Lucy, nor yet a mother with a nursery,
qualified to talk about the measles, her reception was not quite as
enthusiastic as it might have been. Somehow it would appear as though
our poor neighbours loved most the ministrations of youth, which is
superior to all ranks in the matter of possibility and expectation,
and inferior to all ranks in the matter of experience; and so holds a
kind of balance and poise of nature between the small and the great.
Mrs Morgan was vaguely sensible of her disadvantages in this respect
as well as in others. She never could help imagining what she might
have been had she married ten years before at the natural period.
"And even then not a girl," she said to herself in her sensible way,
as she carried this habitual thread of thought with her along the
street, past the little front gardens, where there were so many
mothers with their children. On the other side of the way the genteel
houses frowned darkly with their staircase windows upon the humility
of Grove Street; and Mrs Morgan began to think within herself of the
Miss Hemmings and other spinsters, and how they got along upon this
path of life, which, after all, is never lightsome to behold, except
in the future or the past. It was dead present with the Rector's wife
just then, and many speculations were in her mind, as was natural.
"Not that I could not have lived unmarried," she continued within
herself, with a woman's pride; "but things looked so different at
five-and-twenty!" and in her heart she grudged the cares she had lost,
and sighed over this wasting of her years.
It was just then that the youngest Miss Hemmings saw Mrs Morgan, and
crossed over to speak to her. Miss Hemmings had left five-and-thirty
behind a long time ago, and thought the Rector's wife a happy woman in
the bloom of youth. When she had discovered conclusively that Mrs
Morgan would not go in to have a cup of tea, Miss Hemmings volunteered
to walk with her to the corner; and it is not necessary to say that
she immediately plunged into the topic which at that moment engaged
all minds in Carlingford. "If I had not seen it with my own eyes, I
should not have believed it," said Miss Hemmings. "I should have
thought it a got-up story; not that I ever could have thought it
_impossible_, as you say--for, alas! I know well that without grace
every wickedness is more than possible--but I saw them with my own
eyes, my dear Mrs Morgan; she standing outside, the bold little thing,
and he at the door--as if it was right for a clergyman to open the
door like a man-servant--and from that moment to this she has not been
seen by any living creature in Carlingford: who can tell what may have
been done with her?" cried the horrified eyewitness. "She has never
been seen from that hour!"
"But that was only twenty-four hours ago," said Mrs Morgan; "she may
have gone off to visit some of her friends."
"Ah, my dear Mrs Morgan, twenty-four hours is a long time for a girl
to disappear out of her own home," said Miss Hemmings; "and all her
friends have been sent to, and no word can be heard of her. I am
afraid it will go very hard with Mr Wentworth; and I am sure it looks
like a judgment upon him for all his candlesticks and flowers and
things," she continued, out of breath with the impetuosity of her
tale.
"Do you think, then, that God makes people sin in order to punish
them?" said Mrs Morgan, with some fire, which shocked Miss Hemmings,
who did not quite know how to reply.
"I do so wish you would come in for a few minutes and taste our tea;
my sister Sophia was just making it when I came out. We get it from
our brother in Assam, and we think a great deal of it," said Miss
Hemmings; "it can't possibly be adulterated, you know, for it comes
direct from his plantation. If you can't come in just now, I will send
you some to the Rectory, and you shall tell us how you like it. We are
quite proud of our tea. My brother has a large plantation, and he
hopes--"
"Thank you," said Mrs Morgan, "but the Rector will be waiting for me,
and I must go. It must be very nice to have your tea direct from the
plantation; and I hope you will change your mind about Mr Wentworth,"
she continued, without much regard for punctuation, as she shook hands
at the corner. Mrs Morgan went down a narrow street which led to
Grange Lane, after this interview, with some commotion in her mind.
She took Mr Wentworth's part instinctively, without asking any proofs
of his innocence. The sun was just setting, and St Roque's stood out
dark and picturesque against all the glory of the western sky as the
Rector's wife went past. She could not help thinking of him, in his
youth and the opening of his career, with a kind of wistful interest.
If he had married Lucy Wodehouse, and confined himself to his own
district (but then he had no district), Mrs Morgan would have
contemplated the two, not, indeed, without a certain half-resentful
self-reference and contrast, but with natural sympathy. And now, to
think of this dark and ugly blot on his fair beginning disturbed her
much. When Mrs Morgan recollected that she had left her husband and
his Curate consulting over this matter, she grew very hot and angry,
and felt humiliated by the thought. Was it her William, her hero, whom
she had magnified for all these ten years, though not without
occasional twinges of enlightenment, into something great, who was
thus sitting upon his young brother with so little human feeling and
so much middle-aged jealousy? It hurt her to think of it, though not
for Mr Wentworth's sake. Poor Mrs Morgan, though not at all a
sentimental person, had hoarded up her ideal so much after the
ordinary date, that it came all the harder upon her when everything
thus merged into the light of common day. She walked very fast up
Grange Lane, which was another habit of her maidenhood not quite in
accord with the habit of sauntering acquired during the same period by
the Fellow of All-Souls. When Mrs Morgan was opposite Mr Wodehouse's,
she looked across with some interest, thinking of Lucy; and it shocked
her greatly to see the closed shutters, which told of the presence of
death. Then, a little farther up, she could see Elsworthy in front of
his shop, which was already closed, talking vehemently to a little
group round the door. The Rector's wife crossed the street, to avoid
coming into contact with this excited party; and, as she went swiftly
along under the garden-walls, came direct, without perceiving it, upon
Mr Wentworth, who was going the opposite way. They were both absorbed
in their own thoughts, the Perpetual Curate only perceiving Mrs Morgan
in time to take off his hat to her as he passed; and, to tell the
truth, having no desire for any further intercourse. Mrs Morgan,
however, was of a different mind. She stopped instantly, as soon as
she perceived him. "Mr Wentworth, it is getting late--will you walk
with me as far as the Rectory?" she said, to the Curate's great
astonishment. He could not help looking at her with curiosity as he
turned to accompany her. Mrs Morgan was still wearing her wedding
things, which were not now in their first freshness--not to say that
the redness, of which she was so painfully sensible, was rather out of
accordance with the orange blossoms. Then she was rather flurried and
disturbed in her mind; and, on the whole, Mr Wentworth ungratefully
concluded the Rector's wife to be looking her plainest, as he turned
with very languid interest to see her safely home.
"A great many things seem to be happening just now," said Mrs Morgan,
with a good deal of embarrassment; "I suppose the people in
Carlingford are grateful to anybody who gives them something to talk
about."
"I don't know about the gratitude," said the Perpetual Curate; "it is
a sentiment I don't believe in."
"You ought to believe in everything as long as you are young," said
Mrs Morgan. "I want very much to speak to you, Mr Wentworth; but then
I don't know how you will receive what I am going to say."
"I can't tell until I know what it is," said the Curate, shutting
himself up. He had an expressive face generally, and Mrs Morgan saw
the shutters put up, and the jealous blinds drawn over the young man's
countenance as clearly as if they had been tangible articles. He did
not look at her, but kept swinging his cane in his hand, and regarding
the pavement with downcast eyes; and if the Rector's wife had formed
any expectations of finding in the Perpetual Curate an ingenuous young
heart, open to sympathy and criticism, she now discovered her mistake.
"If I run the risk, perhaps you will forgive me," said Mrs Morgan. "I
have just been hearing a dreadful story about you; and I don't believe
it in the least, Mr Wentworth," she continued, with a little effusion;
for though she was very sensible, she was only a woman, and did not
realise the possibility of having her sympathy rejected, and her
favourable judgment received with indifference.
"I am much flattered by your good opinion. What was the dreadful
story?" asked Mr Wentworth, looking at her with careless eyes. They
were just opposite Elsworthy's shop, and could almost hear what he was
saying, as he stood in the midst of his little group of listeners,
talking loud and vehemently. The Perpetual Curate looked calmly at him
across the road, and turned again to Mrs Morgan, repeating his
question, "What was the dreadful story?--one gets used to romances,"
he said, with a composure too elaborate to be real; but Mrs Morgan did
not think of that.
"If you don't care about it, I need not say anything," said the
Rector's wife, who could not help feeling affronted. "But I am so
sorry that Mr Morgan and you don't get on," she continued, after a
little pause. "I have no right to speak; but I take an interest in
everything that belongs to the parish. If you would put a little
confidence in my husband, things might go on better; but, in the mean
time, I thought I might say to you, on my own account, that I had
heard this scandal, and that I don't believe in it. If you do not
understand my motive I can't help it," said the Rector's wife, who was
now equally ready for friendship or for battle.
"Thanks; I understand what you mean," said Mr Wentworth, who had come
to himself. "But will you tell me what it is you don't believe in?" he
asked, with a smile which Mrs Morgan did not quite comprehend.
"I will tell you," she said, with a little quiet exasperation. "I
don't think you would risk your prospects, and get yourself into
trouble, and damage your entire life, for the sake of any girl,
however pretty she might be. Men don't do such things for women
nowadays, even when it is a worthy object," said the disappointed
optimist. "And I believe you are a great deal more sensible, Mr
Wentworth." There was just that tone of mingled approval and contempt
in this speech which a woman knows how to deliver herself of without
any appearance of feeling; and which no young man, however _blase_,
can hear with composure.
"Perhaps not," he said, with a little heat and a rising colour. "I am
glad you think me so sensible." And then there ensued a pause, upon
the issue of which depended the question of peace or war between these
two. Mr Wentworth's good angel, perhaps, dropped softly through the
dusky air at that moment, and jogged his perverse charge with the tip
of a celestial wing. "And yet there might be women in the world for
whom--" said the Curate; and stopped again. "I daresay you are not
anxious to know my sentiments on the subject," he continued, with a
little laugh. "I am sorry you think so badly--I mean so well of me."
"I don't think badly of you," said Mrs Morgan, hastily. "Thank you for
walking with me; and whatever happens, remember that I for one don't
believe a word of it," she said, holding out her hand. After this little
declaration of friendship, the Rector's wife returned to the Rectory,
where her husband was waiting for her, more than ever prepared to stand
up for Mr Wentworth. She went back to the drawing-room, forgetting all
about the carpet, and poured out the tea with satisfaction, and made
herself very agreeable to Mr Finial, the architect, who had come to talk
over the restorations. In that moment of stimulation she forgot all her
experience of her husband's puzzled looks, of the half-comprehension
with which he looked at her, and the depths of stubborn determination
which were far beyond the reach of her hastier and more generous spirit,
and so went on with more satisfaction and gaiety than she had felt
possible for a long time, beating her drums and blowing her trumpets, to
the encounter in which her female forces were so confident of victory.