The dinner-party at the Rectory, to which Mr Wentworth did not go, was
much less interesting and agreeable than it might have been had he been
present. As for the Rector and his wife, they could not but feel
themselves in a somewhat strange position, having between them a secret
unsuspected by the company. It was difficult to refrain from showing a
certain flagging of interest in the question of the church's
restoration, about which, to be sure, Mr Finial was just as much
concerned as he had been yesterday; though Mr Morgan, and even Mrs
Morgan, had suffered a great and unexplainable diminution of enthusiasm.
And then Mr Leeson, who was quite unaware of the turn that things had
taken, and who was much too obtuse to understand how the Rector could be
anything but exasperated against the Perpetual Curate by the failure of
the investigation, did all that he could to make himself disagreeable,
which was saying a good deal. When Mrs Morgan came into the
drawing-room, and found this obnoxious individual occupying the most
comfortable easy-chair, and turning over at his ease the great book of
ferns, nature-printed, which was the pet decoration of the table, her
feelings may be conceived by any lady who has gone through a similar
trial; for Mr Leeson's hands were not of the irreproachable purity which
becomes the fingers of a gentleman when he goes out to dinner. "I know
some people who always wear gloves when they turn over a portfolio of
prints," Mrs Morgan said, coming to the Curate's side to protect her
book if possible, "and these require quite as much care;" and she had to
endure a discussion upon the subject, which was still more trying to her
feelings, for Mr Leeson pretended to know about ferns on the score of
having a Wardian case in his lodgings (which belonged to his landlady),
though in reality he could scarcely tell the commonest spleenwort from a
lycopodium. While Mrs Morgan went through this trial, it is not to be
wondered at if she hugged to her heart the new idea of leaving
Carlingford, and thought to herself that whatever might be the character
of the curate (if there was one) at Scarsfield, any change from Mr
Leeson must be for the better. And then the unfortunate man, as if he
was not disagreeable enough already, began to entertain his unwilling
hostess with the latest news.
"There is quite a commotion in Grange Lane," said Mr Leeson. "Such
constant disturbances must deteriorate the property, you know. Of
course, whatever one's opinion may be, one must keep it to one's self,
after the result of the investigation; though I can't say _I_ have
unbounded confidence in trial by jury," said the disagreeable young
man.
"I am afraid I am very slow of comprehension," said the Rector's wife.
"I don't know in the least what you mean about trial by jury. Perhaps
it would be best to put the book back on the table; it is too heavy
for you to hold."
"Oh, it doesn't matter," said Mr Leeson--"I mean about Wentworth, of
course. When a man is popular in society, people prefer to shut their
eyes. I suppose the matter is settled for the present, but you and I
know better than to believe--"
"I beg you will speak for yourself, Mr Leeson," said Mrs Morgan, with
dignity. "I have always had the highest respect for Mr Wentworth."
"Oh, I beg your pardon," said the disagreeable Curate. "I forgot;
almost all the ladies are on Mr Wentworth's side. It appears that
little girl of Elsworthy's has disappeared again; that was all I was
going to say."
And, fortunately for the Curate, Colonel Chiley, who entered the room
at the moment, diverted from him the attention of the lady of the
house; and after that there was no opportunity of broaching the
subject again until dinner was almost over. Then it was perhaps the
All-Souls pudding that warmed Mr Leeson's soul; perhaps he had taken a
little more wine than usual. He took sudden advantage of that curious
little pause which occurs at a well-conducted dinner-table, when the
meal is concluded, and the fruit (considered apparently, in orthodox
circles, a paradisiacal kind of food which needs no blessing) alone
remains to be discussed. As soon as the manner of thanks from the foot
of the table was over, the Curate incautiously rushed in before
anybody else could break the silence, and delivered his latest
information at a high pitch of voice.
"Has anyone heard about the Elsworthys?" said Mr Leeson; "something
fresh has happened there. I hope your verdict yesterday will not be
called in question. The fact is, I believe that the girl has been
taken away again. They say she has gone and left a letter saying that
she is to be made a lady of. I don't know what we are to understand by
that. There was some private service or other going on at St Roque's
very early in the morning. Marriage is a sacrament, you know. Perhaps
Mr Wentworth or his brother--"
"They are a queer family, the Wentworths," said old Mr Western, "and
such lots of them, sir--such lots of them. The old ladies seem to have
settled down here. I am not of their way of thinking, you know, but
they're very good to the poor."
"Mr Frank Wentworth is going to succeed his brother, I suppose," said
Mr Leeson; "it is very lucky for a man who gets himself talked of to
have a family living to fall back upon--"
"No such thing--no such thing," said Mr Proctor, hastily. "Mr Frank
Wentworth means to stay here."
"Dear me!" said the disagreeable Curate, with an elaborate pause of
astonishment. "Things must be bad indeed," added that interesting
youth, with solemnity, shaking the devoted head, upon which he did not
know that Mrs Morgan had fixed her eyes, "if his own family give him
up, and leave him to starve here. They would never give him up if they
had not very good cause. Oh, come; I shouldn't like to believe that!
_I_ know how much a curate has to live on," said Mr Leeson, with a
smile of engaging candour. "Before they give him up like that, with
two livings in the family, they must have very good cause."
"Very good cause indeed," said Mrs Morgan, from the head of the table.
The company in general had, to tell the truth, been a little taken
aback by the Curate's observations; and there was almost the entire
length of the table between the unhappy man and the Avenger. "So good
a reason, that it is strange how it should not have occurred to a
brother clergyman. That is the evil of a large parish," said the
Rector's wife, with beautiful simplicity; "however hard one works, one
never can know above half of the poor people; and I suppose you have
been occupied in the other districts, and have not heard what a great
work Mr Wentworth is doing. I have reason to know," said Mrs Morgan,
with considerable state, "that he will remain in Carlingford, in a
very different position from that which he has filled hitherto. Mr
Leeson knows how much a curate has to live upon, but I am afraid that
is all he does know of such a life as Mr Wentworth's." Mrs Morgan
paused for a moment to get breath, for her excitement was
considerable, and she had many wrongs to avenge. "There is a great
deal of difference in curates as well as in other things," said the
indignant woman. "I have reason to know that Mr Wentworth will remain
in Carlingford in quite a different position. Now and then, even in
this world, things come right like a fairy tale--that is, when the
authority is in the right hands;" the Rector's wife went on, with a
smile at her husband, which disarmed that astonished man. "Perhaps if
Mr Leeson had the same inducement as Mr Wentworth, he too would make
up his mind to remain in Carlingford." Mrs Morgan got up, as she made
this speech, with a rustle and sweep of drapery which seemed all
addressed to the unhappy Curate, who stumbled upon his feet like the
other gentlemen, but dared not for his life have approached her to
open the door. Mr Leeson felt that he had received his _conge_, as he
sank back into his chair. He was much too stunned to speculate on the
subject, or ask himself what was going to happen. Whatever was going
to happen, there was an end of _him_. He had eaten the last All-Souls
pudding that he ever would have presented to him under _that_ roof. He
sank back in the depth of despair upon his seat, and suffered the
claret to pass him in the agony of his feelings. Mr Wentworth and Mrs
Morgan were avenged.
This was how it came to be noised abroad in Carlingford that some great
change of a highly favourable character was about to occur in the
circumstances and position of the Curate of St Roque's. It was discussed
next day throughout the town, as soon as people had taken breath after
telling each other about Rosa Elsworthy, who had indisputably been
carried off from her uncle's house on the previous night. When the
Wentworth family were at dinner, and just as the board was being spread
in the Rectory, where Mrs Morgan was half an hour later than usual,
having company, it had been discovered in Elsworthy's that the prison
was vacant, and the poor little bird had flown. Mr Wentworth was aware
of a tumult about the shop when he went to the Miss Wodehouses, but
was preoccupied, and paid no attention; but Mr Leeson, who was not
preoccupied, had already heard all about it when he entered the Rectory.
That day it was all over the town, as may be supposed. The poor, little,
wicked, unfortunate creature had disappeared, no one knew how, at the
moment, apparently, when Elsworthy went to the railway for the evening
papers, a time when the errand-boys were generally rampant in the
well-conducted shop. Mrs Elsworthy, for her part, had seized that moment
to relieve her soul by confiding to Mrs Hayles next door how she was
worrited to death with one thing and another, and did not expect to be
alive to tell the tale if things went on like this for another month,
but that Elsworthy was infatuated like, and wouldn't send the hussy
away, his wife complained to her sympathetic neighbour. When Elsworthy
came back, however, he was struck by the silence in the house, and sent
the reluctant woman up-stairs--"To see if she's been and made away with
herself, I suppose," the indignant wife said, as she obeyed, leaving Mrs
Hayles full of curiosity on the steps of the door. Mrs Elsworthy,
however uttered a shriek a moment after, and came down, with a
frightened face, carrying a large pin-cushion, upon which, skewered
through and through with the biggest pin she could find, Rosa had
deposited her letter of leave-taking. This important document was read
over in the shop by an ever-increasing group, as the news got
abroad--for Elsworthy, like his wife, lost his head, and rushed about
hither and thither, asking wild questions as to who had seen her last.
Perhaps, at the bottom, he was not so desperate as he looked, but was
rather grateful than angry with Rosa for solving the difficulty. This is
what the poor little runaway said:--
"DEAR UNCLE AND AUNT,--I write a line to let you know that them as can
do better for me than any belonging to me has took me away for good.
Don't make no reflections, please, nor blame nobody; for I never could
have done no good nor had any 'appiness at Carlingford after all as
has happened. I don't bear no grudge, though aunt has been so unkind;
but I forgive her, and uncle also. My love to all friends; and you may
tell Bob Hayles as I won't forget him, but will order all my physic
regular at his father's shop.--Your affectionate niece,
"ROSA."
"_P.S._--Uncle has no occasion to mind, for them as has took charge of
me has promised to make a lady of me, as he always said I was worthy
of; and I leave all my things for aunt's relations, as I can't wear
such poor clothes in my new station of life."
Such was the girl's letter, with its natural impertinences and natural
touch of kindness; and it made a great commotion in the neighbourhood,
where a few spasmodic search-parties were made up with no real
intentions, and came to nothing, as was to be expected. It was a
dreadful thing to be sure, to happen to a respectable family; but when
things had gone so far, the neighbours, on the whole, were inclined to
believe it was the best thing Rosa could have done; and the Elsworthys,
husband and wife, were concluded to be of the same opinion. When
Carlingford had exhausted this subject, and had duly discussed the
probabilities as to where she had gone, and whether Rosa could be the
lady in a veil who had been handed into the express night-train by two
gentlemen, of whom a railway porter bore cautious testimony, the other
mysterious rumour about Mr Wentworth had its share of popular attention.
It was discussed in Masters's with a solemnity becoming the occasion,
everybody being convinced of the fact, and nobody knowing how it was to
be. One prevailing idea was, that Mr Wentworth's brother, who had
succeeded to his mother's fortune (which was partly true, like most
popular versions of family history, his mother's fortune being now
Gerald's sole dependence), intended to establish a great brotherhood,
upon the Claydon model, in Carlingford, of which the Perpetual Curate
was to be the head. This idea pleased the imagination of the town, which
already saw itself talked of in all the papers, and anticipated with
excitement the sight of English brothers of St Benedict walking about in
the streets, and people from the 'Illustrated News' making drawings of
Grange Lane. To be sure, Gerald Wentworth had gone over to the Church of
Rome, which was a step too far to be compatible with the English
brotherhood; but popular imagination, when puzzled and in a hurry, does
not take time to master all details. Then, again, opinion wavered, and
it was supposed to be the Miss Wentworths who were the agents of the
coming prosperity. They had made up their mind to endow St Roque's and
apply to the Ecclesiastical Commissioners to have it erected into a
parochial district, rumour reported; and the senior assistant in
Masters's, who was suspected of Low-Church tendencies, was known to be a
supporter of this theory. Other ideas of a vague character floated
through the town, of which no one could give any explanation; but
Carlingford was unanimous in the conviction that good fortune was coming
somehow to the popular favourite, who a week ago had occupied
temporarily the position of the popular _bete noire_ and impersonation
of evil. "But the real sort always triumphs at the last," was the
verdict of Wharfside, which like every primitive community, believed
in poetic justice; and among the bargemen and their wives much
greater elevation than that of a district church or the headship of a
brotherhood was expected "for the clergyman." If the Queen had sent
for him immediately, and conferred upon him a bishopric, or at least
appointed him her private chaplain, such a favour would have excited no
surprise in Wharfside, where indeed the public mind was inclined to the
opinion that the real use of queens and other such dignitaries was to
find out and reward merit. Mr Wentworth himself laughed when the gossip
reached his ears. "My people have given away all they had to give," he
said to somebody who had asked the question; "and I know no prospect I
have of being anything but a perpetual curate, unless the Queen sends
for me and appoints me to a bishopric, as I understand is expected in
Prickett's Lane. If I come to any advancement," said the Curate of St
Roque's, "it must be in social estimation, and not in worldly wealth,
which is out of my way;" and he went down to Wharfside rather cheerfully
than otherwise, having begun to experience that pertinacity carries the
day, and that it might be possible to goad Lucy into the experiment of
how much her housekeeping talents were good for, and whether, with a
good wife, even a Perpetual Curate might be able to live without any
particular bother in respect to the grocer's bill. Mr Wentworth being at
present warmly engaged in this business of persuasion, and as intent as
ever on having his own way, was not much affected by the Carlingford
gossip. He went his way to Wharfside all the same, where the service was
conducted as of old, and where all the humble uncertain voices were
buoyed up and carried on by the steady pure volume of liquid sound which
issued from Lucy Wodehouse's lips into the utterance of such a
'Magnificat' as filled Mr Wentworth's mind with exultation. It was the
woman's part in the worship--independent, yet in a sweet subordination;
and the two had come back--though with the difference that their love
was now avowed and certain, and they were known to belong to each
other--to much the same state of feeling in which they were before the
Miss Wentworths came to Carlingford, or anything uncomfortable had
happened. They had learned various little lessons, to be sure, in the
interim, but experience had not done much more for them than it does for
ordinary human creatures, and the chances are that Mr Wentworth would
have conducted himself exactly in the same manner another time had he
been placed in similar circumstances; for the lessons of experience,
however valuable, are sometimes very slow of impressing themselves upon
a generous and hasty temperament, which has high ideas of honour and
consistency, and rather piques itself on a contempt for self-interest
and external advantages--which was the weakness of the Curate of St
Roque's. He returned to the "great work" in Wharfside with undiminished
belief in it, and a sense of being able to serve his God and his
fellow-creatures, which, though it may seem strange to some people, was
a wonderful compensation to him for the loss of Skelmersdale. "After
all, I doubt very much whether, under any circumstances, we could have
left such a work as is going on here," he said to Lucy as they came up
Prickett's Lane together, where the poor woman had just died peaceably
in No. 10, and got done with it, poor soul; and the Sister of Mercy, in
her grey cloak, lifted towards him the blue eyes which were full of
tears, and answered with natural emphasis, "Impossible! it would have
been deserting our post," and drew a step closer to him in the twilight
with a sense of the sweetness of that plural pronoun which mingled so
with the higher sense that it was impossible to disjoin them. And the
two went on under the influence of these combined sentiments, taking
comfort out of the very hardness of the world around them, in which
their ministrations were so much needed, and feeling an exaltation in
the "duty," which was not for one, but for both, and a belief in the
possibility of mending matters, in which their love for each other bore
a large share; for it was not in human nature thus to begin the ideal
existence, without believing in its universal extension, and in the
amelioration of life and the world.
"That is all they think of," said poor Miss Wodehouse, who, between
her wondering inspection of the two "young people" and her own
moderate and sensible love-affairs, and the directions which it was
necessary to give to her Rector about the furnishing of the new house,
was more constantly occupied than she had ever been in her life; "but
then, if they marry, what are they to live upon? and if they don't
marry--"
"Perhaps something will turn up my dear," said old Mrs Western, who had
an idea that Providence was bound to provide for two good young people
who wanted to marry; and thus the two ladies were forced to leave the
matter, where, indeed, the historian of events in Carlingford would
willingly leave it also, not having much faith in the rewards of virtue
which come convenient in such an emergency. But it is only pure fiction
which can keep true to nature, and weave its narrative in analogy with
the ordinary course of life--whereas history demands exactness in
matters of _fact_, which are seldom true to nature, or amenable to any
general rule of existence.
Before proceeding, however, to the narrative of the unexpected
advancement and promotion which awaited the Perpetual Curate, it may be
as well to notice that the Miss Wentworths, who during the summer had
kindly given their house at Skelmersdale to some friends who had
returned in the spring from India, found themselves now in a position to
return to their own proper dwelling-place, and made preparations
accordingly for leaving Carlingford, in which, indeed, they had no
further occupation; for, to be sure, except to the extent of that
respect which a man owes to his aunts, they had no special claim upon
Frank Wentworth, or right to supervise his actions, save on account of
Skelmersdale, which was now fully disposed of and given away. It cannot
be said that Miss Leonora had ever fully recovered from the remarkable
indisposition which her nephew Jack's final address had brought upon
her. The very next morning she fulfilled her pledges as a woman of
honour, and bestowed Skelmersdale positively and finally upon Julia
Trench's curate, who indeed made a creditable enough rector in his way;
but after she had accomplished this act, Miss Leonora relapsed into one
unceasing watch upon her nephew Frank, which was far from dispelling the
tendency to headache which she showed at this period for the first and
only time in her life. She watched him with a certain feeling of
expiation, as she might have resorted to self-flagellation had she lived
a few hundred years before, and perhaps suffered more acute pangs in
that act of discipline than could be inflicted by any physical scourge.
The longer she studied the matter the more thoroughly was Miss Leonora
convinced not only that the Perpetual Curate was bent on doing his duty,
but that he _did_ it with all the force of high faculties, and a mind
much more thoroughly trained, and of finer material than was possessed
by the man whom she had made rector of Skelmersdale. The strong-minded
woman bore quietly, with a kind of defiance, the sharp wounds with
which her self-esteem was pierced by this sight. She followed up her
discovery, and made herself more and more certain of the mistake she had
made, not sparing herself any part of her punishment. As she pursued her
investigations, too, Miss Leonora became increasingly sensible that it
was not his mother's family whom he resembled, as she had once thought,
but that he was out and out a Wentworth, possessed of all the family
features; and this was the man whom by her own act she had disinherited
of his natural share in the patronage of the family, substituting for
her own flesh and blood an individual for whom, to tell the truth, she
had little respect! Perhaps if she had been able to sustain herself with
the thought that it was entirely a question of "principle," the
retrospect might not have been so hard upon Miss Leonora; but being a
woman of very distinct and uncompromising vision, she could not conceal
from herself either Julia Trench's cleverness or her own mixed and
doubtful motives. Having this sense of wrong and injustice, and general
failure of the duty of kindred towards Frank, it might have been
supposed a little comfort to Miss Leonora to perceive that he had
entirely recovered from his disappointment, and was no longer in her
power, if indeed he had ever been so. But the fact was, that if anything
could have aggravated her personal smart, it would have been the fact
of Frank's indifference and cheerfulness, and evident capability of
contenting himself with his duty and his favourite district, and his
Lucy--whom, to be sure, he could not marry, being only a perpetual
curate. The spectacle came to have a certain fascination for Miss
Wentworth. She kept watching him with a grim satisfaction, punishing
herself, and at the same time comforting herself with the idea that,
light as he made of it, he must be suffering too. She could not bear to
think that he had escaped clean out of her hands, and that the decision
she had come to, which produced so much pain to herself, was innoxious
to Frank; and at the same time, though she could not tolerate his
composure, and would have preferred to see him angry and revengeful, his
evident recovery of spirits and general exhilaration increased Miss
Leonora's respect for the man she had wronged. In this condition of mind
the strong-minded aunt lingered over her preparations for removal,
scorning much the rumour in Carlingford about her nephew's advancement,
and feeling that she could never forgive him if by any chance promotion
should come to him after all. "He will stay where he is. He will be a
perpetual curate," Miss Leonora said, uttering what was in reality a
hope under the shape of a taunt; and things were still in this position
when Grange Lane in general and Miss Dora in particular (from the window
of the summer-house) were startled much by the sight of the Rector, in
terribly correct clerical costume, as if he were going to dine with the
bishop, who walked slowly down the road like a man charged with a
mission, and, knocking at Mrs Hadwin's door, was admitted immediately to
a private conference with the Curate of St Roque's.