CHAPTER XXXIV
THE WAGES OF SIN
While the wickedness and fate of Mosk were being discussed and settledin Inspector Tinkler's office, Bishop Pendle was meditating on a veryimportant subject, important both to his domestic circle and to thewider claims of his exalted position. This was none other than aconsideration of Gabriel's engagement to the hotelkeeper's daughter, andan argument with himself as to whether or no he should consent to soobvious a _mesalliance_. The bishop was essentially a fair dealer, andnot the man to do things by halves, therefore it occurred to him that,as he had consented to George's marriage with Mab, he was bound in allhonour to deliberate on the position of his youngest son with regard toMiss Mosk. To use a homely but forcible proverb, it was scarcely just tomake beef of one and mutton of the other, the more especially as Gabrielhad behaved extremely well in relation to his knowledge of his parents'painful position and his own nameless condition. Some sons so placedwould have regarded themselves as absolved from all filial ties, butGabriel, with true honour and true affection, never dreamed of acting inso heartless a manner; on the contrary, he clung the closer to hisunhappy father, and gave him, as formerly, both obedience and filiallove. Such honourable conduct, such tender kindness, deserved to berewarded, and, as the bishop determined, rewarded it should be in theonly way left to him.
Having arrived at this liberal conclusion, Dr Pendle decided to makehimself personally known to Bell and see with his own eyes the reportedbeauty which had captivated Gabriel. Also, he wished to judge forhimself as to the girl's clever mind and modesty and common sense, allof which natural gifts Gabriel had represented her as possessing in noordinary degree. Therefore, on the very afternoon when trouble wasbrewing against Mosk in the Beorminster Police Office, the bishop of theSee took his way to The Derby Winner. The sight of Dr Pendle in thenarrow streets of the old town fluttered the slatternly dwellers thereinnot a little, and the majority of the women whisked indoors in mortalterror, lest they should be reproved _ex cathedra_ for their untidylooks and unswept doorsteps. It was like the descent of an Olympian god,and awestruck mortals fled swift-footed from the glory of his presence.To use a vigorous American phrase, they made themselves scarce.
The good bishop was amused and rather amazed by this universalscattering, for it was his wish to be loved rather than feared. He wasin a decidedly benign frame of mind, as on that very morning he hadreceived a letter from his wife stating that she was coming home withina few days, much benefited by the Nauheim baths. This latter piece ofintelligence particularly pleased the bishop, as he judged thereby thathis wife would be better able to endure the news of her first husband'suntimely re-appearance. Dr Pendle was anxious that she should know allat once, so that he could marry her again as speedily as possible, andthereby put an end to an uncomfortable and dangerous state of things.Thus reflecting and thus deciding, the bishop descended the stony streetin his usual stately manner, and even patted the heads of one or twostray urchins, who smiled in his face with all the confidence ofchildhood. Afterwards, the mothers of those especial children wereoffensively proud at this episcopal blessing, and had 'words' with lessfortunate mothers in consequence. Out of such slight events candissensions arise.
As Dr Pendle neared The Derby Winner he was unlucky enough to encounterMrs Pansey, who was that afternoon harassing the neighbourhood with oneof her parochial visitations. She carried a black bag stuffed withbundles of badly-printed, badly-written tracts, and was distributingthis dry fodder as food for Christian souls, along with a quantity ofadvice and reproof. The men swore, the women wept, the childrenscrambled out of the way when Mrs Pansey swooped down like a blackvulture; and when the bishop chanced upon her he looked round as thoughhe wished to follow the grateful example of the vanishing population.But Mrs Pansey gave him no chance. She blocked the way, spread out herhands to signify pleasure, and, without greeting the bishop, bellowedout in pretty loud tones, 'At last! at last! and not before you areneeded, Dr Pendle.'
'Am I needed?' asked the mystified bishop, mildly.
'The Derby Winner!' was all that Mrs Pansey vouchsafed in the way of anexplanation, and cast a glance over her shoulder at the public-house.
'The Derby Winner,' repeated Dr Pendle, reddening, as he wondered ifthis busybody guessed his errand. 'I am now on my way there.'
'I am glad to hear it, bishop!' said Mrs Pansey, with a toss of herplumed bonnet. 'How often have I asked you to personally examine intothe drinking and gambling and loose pleasures which make it a Jericho ofsin?'
'Yes, yes, I remember you said something about it when you were at thepalace.'
'Said something about it, my lord; I said everything about it, but nowthat you will see it for yourself, I trust you will ask Sir Harry Braceto shut it up.'
'Dear, dear!' said the bishop, nervously, 'that is an extreme measure.'
'An extreme necessity, rather,' retorted Mrs Pansey, wagging anadmonitory finger; 'do not compound with shameless sin, bishop. Thehouse is a regular upas tree. It makes the men drunkards'--Mrs Panseyraised her voice so that the whole neighbourhood might hear--'the womensluts'--there was an angry murmur from the houses at this term--'and thechildren--the children--' Mrs Pansey seized a passing brat. 'Look atthis--this image of the Creator,' and she offered the now weeping childas an illustration.
Before Dr Pendle could say a word, the door of a near house was flungviolently open, and a blowzy, red-faced young woman pounced out, all onfire for a fight. She tore the small sinner from the grasp of MrsPansey, and began to scold vigorously. 'Ho indeed, mum! ho indeed! andwould you be pleased to repeat what you're a-talkin' of behind ladies'backs.'
'Mrs Trumbly! the bishop, woman!'
'No more a woman than yourself, mum; and beggin' his lordship's parding,I 'opes as he'll tell widders as ain't bin mothers not to poke theirstuck-up noses into what they knows nothing of.'
By this time a crowd was collecting, and evinced lively signs ofpleasure at the prospect of seeing the Bishop of Beorminster as umpirein a street row. But the bishop had heard quite enough of the affray,and without mincing matters fled as quickly as his dignity would permittowards the friendly shelter of The Derby Winner, leaving MesdamesPansey and Trumbly in the thick of a wordy war. The first-named ladyheld her own for some considerable time, until routed by herantagonist's superior knowledge of Billingsgate. Then it appeared veryplainly that for once she had met with her match, and she hastilyabandoned the field, pursued by a storm of highly-coloured abuse fromthe irate Mrs Trumbly. It was many a long day before Mrs Pansey venturedinto that neighbourhood again; and she ever afterwards referred to it interms which a rigid Calvinist usually applies to Papal Rome. As for MrsTrumbly herself, the archdeacon's widow said the whole ComminationService over _her_ with heartfelt and prayerful earnestness.
Bell flushed and whitened, and stammered and trembled, when she beheldthe imposing figure of the bishop standing in the dark, narrow passage.To her he was a far-removed deity throned upon inaccessible heights,awesome and powerful, to be propitiated with humbleness and prayer; andthe mere sight of him in her immediate neighbourhood brought her heartinto her mouth. For once she lost her nonchalant demeanour, her free andeasy speech, and stood nervously silent before him with hanging head andreddened cheeks. Fortunately for her she was dressed that day in a quietand well-fitting frock of blue serge, and wore less than her usualnumber of jingling brassy ornaments. The bishop, who had an eye for acomely figure and a pretty face, approved of her looks; but he wasclever enough to see that, however painted and shaped, she was made ofvery common clay, and would never be able to take her place amongst theporcelain maidens to whom Gabriel was accustomed. Still she seemedmodest and shy as a maid should be, and Dr Pendle looked on her kindlyand encouragingly.
'You are Miss Mosk, are you not?' he asked, raising his hat.
'Yes, my--my lord,' faltered Bell, not daring to raise her eyes abovethe bishop's gaiters. 'I am Bell Mosk.'
'In that case I should like some conversation with you. Can
you take meto a more private place?'
'The little parlour, my lord; this way, please,' and Bell, reassured byher visitor's kindly manner, conducted him into her father's privatesnuggery at the back of the bar. Here she placed a chair for the bishop,and waited anxiously to hear if he came to scold or praise. Dr Pendlecame to the point at once.
'I presume you know who I am, Miss Mosk?' he said quietly.
'Oh, yes, sir; the Bishop of Beorminster.'
'Quite so; but I am here less as the bishop than as Gabriel's father.'
'Yes,' whispered Bell, and stole a frightened look at the speaker'sface.
'There is no need to be alarmed,' said Dr Pendle, encouragingly. 'I donot come here to scold you.'
'I hope not, my lord!' said Miss Mosk, recovering herself a trifle, 'asI have done nothing to be scolded for. If I am in love with Gabriel, andhe with me, 'tis only human nature, and as such can't be run down.'
'That entirely depends upon the point of view which is taken,' observedthe bishop, mildly. 'For instance, I have a right to be annoyed that myson should engage himself to you without consulting me.'
Bell produced a foolish little lace handkerchief. 'Of course, I know Iain't a lady, sir,' said she, tearfully. 'But I do love Gabriel, and I'msure I'll do my best to make him happy.'
'I do not doubt that, Miss Mosk; but are you sure that you are wise inmarrying out of your sphere?'
'King Cophetua loved a beggar maid, my lord; and the Lord of Burleighmarried a village girl,' said Bell, who knew her Tennyson, 'and I'm sureI'm as good as both lots.'
'Certainly,' assented the bishop, dryly; 'but if I remember rightly, theLord of Burleigh's bride sank under her burden of honours.'
Bell tossed her head in spite of the bishop's presence. 'Oh, she had nobackbone, not a bit. I've got heaps more sense than she had. But youmustn't think I want to run after gentlemen, sir. I have had plenty ofoffers; and I can get more if I want to. Gabriel has only to say theword and the engagement is off.'
'Indeed, I think that would be the wiser course,' replied the bishop,who wondered more and more what Gabriel could see in this commonplacebeauty attractive to his refined nature, 'but I know that my son lovesyou dearly, and I wish to see him happy.'
'I hope you don't think I want to make him miserable, sir,' cried Bell,her colour and temper rising.
'No! no! Miss Mosk. But a matter like this requires reflection andconsideration.'
'We have reflected, my lord. Gabriel and me's going to marry.'
'Indeed! will you not ask my consent?'
'I ask it now, sir! I'm sure,' said Bell, again becoming tearful, 'thisain't my idea of love-making, to be badgered into saying I'm not goodenough for him. If he's a man let him marry me, if he's a worm heneedn't. I've no call to go begging. No, indeed!'
The bishop began to feel somewhat embarrassed, for Miss Mosk appliedevery word to herself in so personal a way, that whatever he saidconstituted a ground of offence, and he scarcely knew upon what lines toconduct so delicate a conversation. Also the girl was crying, and hertears made Dr Pendle fear that he was exercising his superiority in abrutal manner. Fortunately the conversation was brought abruptly to anend, for while the bishop was casting about how to resume it, the dooropened softly and Mr Mosk presented himself.
'Father!' cried Bell, in anything but pleased tones.
'My gal!' replied Mosk, with husky tenderness--'and in tears. What 'aveyou bin sayin' to her, sir?' he added, with a ferocious glance atPendle.
'Hush, father! 'tis his lordship, the bishop.' 'I know'd the bishop'slooks afore you was born, my gal,' said Mosk, playfully, 'and it's proudI am to see 'im under m' umble roof. Lor'! 'ere's a 'appy familymeeting.'
'I think,' said the bishop, with a glance at Mosk to assure himself thatthe man was sober--'I think, Miss Mosk, that it is advisable your fatherand myself should have a few words in private.'
'I don't want father to interfere--' began Bell, when her parent grippedher arm, and cutting her short with a scowl conducted her to the door.
'Don't you git m' back up,' he whispered savagely, 'or you'll becussedly sorry for yerself an' everyone else. Go to yer mother.'
'But, father, I--'
'Go to yer mother, I tell y',' growled the man, whereupon Bell, seeingthat her father was in a soberly brutal state, which was much moredangerous than his usual drunken condition, hastily left the room, andclosed the door after her. 'An' now, m' lord,' continued Mosk, returningto the bishop, 'jus' look at me.'
Dr Pendle did so, but it was not a pretty object he contemplated, forthe man was untidy, unwashed and frowsy in looks. He was red-eyed andwhite-faced, but perfectly sober, although there was every appearanceabout him of having only lately recovered from a prolonged debauch.Consequently his temper was morose and uncertain, and the bishop, havinga respect for the dignity of his position and cloth, felt uneasy at theprospect of a quarrel with this degraded creature. But Dr Pendle'sspirit was not one to fail him in such an emergency, and he surveyed MrCaliban in a cool and leisurely manner.
'I'm a father, I am!' continued Mosk, defiantly, 'an' as good a fatheras you. My gal's goin' to marry your son. Now, m' lord, what have you tosay to that?'
'Moderate your tone, my man,' said the bishop, imperiously; 'aconversation conducted in this manner can hardly be productive of goodresults either to yourself or to your daughter.'
'I don' mean any 'arm!' replied Mosk, rather cowed, 'but I mean to 'avem' rights, I do.'
'Your rights? What do you mean?'
'M' rights as a father,' explained the man, sulkily. 'Your son's binrunnin' arter m' gal, and lowerin' of her good name.'
'Hold your tongue, sir. Mr Pendle's intentions with regard to Miss Moskare most honourable.'
'They'd better be,' threatened the other, 'or I'll know how to make 'emso. Ah, that I shall.'
'You talk idly, man,' said the bishop, coldly.
'I talk wot'll do, m' lord. Who's yer son, anyhow? My gal's as good ashe, an' a sight better. She's born on the right side of the blanket, sheis. There now!'
A qualm as of deadly sickness seized Dr Pendle, and he started from hischair with a pale face and a startled eye.
'What do you--you--you mean, man?' he asked again.
Mosk laughed scornfully, and lugging a packet of papers out of hispocket flung it on the table. 'That's what I mean,' said he;'certif'cate! letters! story! Yer wife ain't yer wife; Gabriel's onlyGabriel an' not Pendle at all!'
'Certificate! letters!' gasped the bishop, snatching them up. 'You gotthese from Jentham.'
'That I did; he left them with me afore he went out to meet you.'
'You--you murderer!'
'Murderer! Halloa!' cried Mosk, recoiling, pale and startled.
'Murderer!' repeated Dr Pendle. 'Jentham showed these to me on thecommon; you must have taken them from his dead body. You are the man whoshot him.'
'It's a lie,' whispered Mosk, with pale lips, shrinking back, 'an' if Idid, you daren't tell. I know your secret.'
'Secret or not, you shall suffer for your crime,' cried the bishop, witha stride towards the door.
'Stand back! It's a lie! I'm desperate. I didn't kill--Hark!'
There was a noise outside which terrified the guilty conscience of themurderer. He did not know that the officers of justice were at the door,nor did the bishop, but the unexpected sound turned their blood towater, and made their hearts, the innocent and the guilty, knock attheir ribs. A sharp knock came at the door.
'Help!' cried the bishop. 'The murderer!' and he sprang forward tothrow himself on the shaking, shambling wretch. Mosk eluded him, bututtered a squeaking cry like the shriek of a hunted hare in the jaws ofthe greyhound. The next instant the room seemed to swarm with men, andthe bishop as in a dream heard the merciless formula of the lawpronounced by Tinkler,--
'In the name of the Queen I arrest you, William Mosk, on a charge ofmurder.'