CHAPTER XXXIV.
THE VICAR OF VALE LESTON.
'Cushions and cloth an' books, takin' the old church right roun', Surplice, shovel, and broom, they would na ha' fetch'd half-a-crown, Commandments to boot. They was the only good lookin' things Wi' yellow cherubs between 'em, and nout but heads and wings. Parson Myles was a hunter, and could gallop through a prayer, Right straight ahead over anything, an' stop him who dare.' _Rev. W. Heygate._
There was to be a meeting about the paving of the town: Mr. Underwood,though only twenty-eight, was a town-councillor, and decidedly aninfluence in himself, as well as through the Pursuivant. He had soworked his way up, that his fellow-citizens accepted him as one ofthemselves; and his birth and breeding gave him a power which theyfelt without in the least acknowledging. Besides, his conscientiousjournalising made him always thoroughly get up his subjects; and hethrew himself into the merits and history of asphalt and flag-stoneswith that 'all his might' with which he did whatsoever his hand foundto do.
He was busy on an article to prepare the way for the meeting, whenLance, who had been making selections from London papers, laid thelast sheet of the 'Times' on his desk, and silently pointed to theobituary:--
'On the 4th, at Torquay, aged 37, the Reverend Fulbert Bowles Underwood, Vicar of Vale Leston Abbas, only son of Fulbert Underwood, Esquire, of Vale Leston Priory.'
'I see,' quoth Felix.
Five minutes' waiting while he wrote.
'I say, does it go into Pur?'
'Certainly not. What matters it to any one here?'
That was all Lance could get out of Felix; and after a time camethe second delivery of the post. All the letters lay in a heap onthe office table, just when, as Lance mentally termed him, thelongest-windedest, button-holderest of all the municipality walked into bestow his opinion on the paving question upon Mr. Underwood; andLance not only had to retreat from the important conclave, but wasoccupied himself by a succession of customers for a quarter of an hourafter its conclusion. When he made another rush into the office, hefound Felix still writing away at the paving stones, but with a gooddeal of red in his cheeks, and a letter lying by his side.
'Read that, Lance,' he said, 'but don't speak till this is done.'
Lance read:--
Vale Leston Priory, May 7th.
MY DEAR MR. FELIX UNDERWOOD,
I write by desire of my poor friend Mr. Underwood, to acquaint you with the death of his son, your cousin, the Vicar, at Torquay, on the 4th of this month. The melancholy event had long been anticipated, as there had been a complete break-up of constitution; and I for one never expected to see him return home alive when he went to Torquay with his wife last winter. Mr. Underwood has felt the loss deeply, though not with the same acuteness as if he had not had such long preparation, and it had not taken place at a distance. He has become much more feeble since you saw him five years ago, when certainly you left a lasting impression. He wishes you to be present at the funeral, with any of your brothers to whom it may be convenient. The time is fixed for next Friday, the 10th, at eleven o'clock. Your rooms will be ready for you on Monday; and if you will mention your train, you shall be met at Church Ewe or Ewmouth. It seems premature to mention it, but Mr. Underwood is so anxious that no time should be lost, that he desires me to intimate to you, that if you can procure immediate Ordination, he will present you to the Vicarage. I do not take this to be as simple a matter as he does, but under the circumstances, and with your studious turn, I should think it quite possible for you to be ready before the Vicarage lapses, and the poor old Squire has evidently set his heart on it, and planned it ever since he gave up hope of his son's life. Congratulations would be out of place at this moment, but I trust that the succession is now secure.
Remember me to my friend Mr. Lancelot--I trust that headaches are with him a thing of the past--and believe me,
Yours very truly, H. STAPLES.
Lance made all manner of contortions with his visage, read and re-read,indulged in a suppressed war-dance, and finally merged all othersensations in an agony of impatience, as still Felix's eyes and pencontinued to travel over his sheet; and not a muscle of his face moveduntil the last was handed to little Lightfoot, and sent off to thepress.
'That's done,' then he said.
'You may well be on the board of paving-stones!' cried Lance. 'Nothingbut one of them could have gone on so.'
'It had to be done.'
'I could as soon have done it as flown.'
'Not if you never let your mind loose from it. Now for the letter.Stay, we'll take it up to Cherry. I'll just say a word to Lamb.'
Felix's courtesy to his subordinates always went a great way. Thenoontide lull of business was beginning to set in, but Cherry andStella looked up from their lessons in amaze as both brothers came in;and Cherry mutely clasped her hands, and with the word Edgar flutteringon her lips, but as both faces plainly indicated no, she ralliedinstantly, saying, 'What wonder of wonders is it?'
'Nothing very surprising,' said Felix gravely. 'It is that poor oldFulbert, at Vale Leston, has lost his son, and wants me to go to thefuneral.'
'That's not all,' added Lance. 'What do you think of his wanting thishere Giant to get himself ordained, and take the Vicarage on the spot?'
'Felix, you could not--not in time.'
'Nor at all. That is not to be thought of; but I shall go throughLondon, take Clement down with me, and see if I cannot get the livingfor him; but let me read you the letter--I could barely glance at it.'
He read; and Cherry broke out, 'The succession secure! Does that meanto you?'
'I am heir-at-law,' said Felix quietly; 'and it was entailed on me incase his son had no children.'
'He takes it coolly, doesn't he?' said the far more elated Lance, 'butthen he's had plenty of preparation.'
'You don't mean that you've known about this?'
'I knew the estate had been entailed on me to prevent this poor manfrom alienating it.'
'You knew, and you never told anyone, and went on as usual!'
'How would you have had me go on?' he asked, with a certain provokingmeekness, that sent her into a laugh, while Lance, catching Stella'swondering eyes, practically answered the question by locking herfingers in his, and whirling her round in a sort of impromptu choricdance, chanting:--
'Wrong shall be right, And right shall be might, When--'
('bless me, what a plague three syllables are!')
'When Felix' right and Felix' might Shall meet upon Vale Leston height!'
'It is not a height,' interposed Felix.
'The King shall have his own again then,' amended Lance. 'No, I haveit. The enchantment is over, and the Frog-prince is about to resume hisproper shape!'
'Lance, considering--'
'Blunderbore, considering the extraordinary relief and disburthening ofmy mind, after labouring under this secret five years come August, ifit were not profane, I should compare myself to Christian when the packdropped off his back!'
'But why was it a secret?'
'For two reasons, Whiteheart,' said Felix. 'First because there wasnothing to tell; and secondly, because that "nothing" might have turnedseveral heads. Still, I believe you would have known it long ago, if Ihad not been ashamed after binding over Lance.'
'Please, may I understand?' entreated Stella, in rather a melancholyvoice, as she found her usual mode of observation quite inadequate.
'Understand, my Star! Yes,' said Lance; 'understand that we were all ofus kicked out--all of us that were there to kick, that is to say--fromthe jolliest place in all the w
orld; and now things are coming right,and Felix is going to be a fine old English gentleman who had a greatestate! I declare it makes me so poetical I can't get on!'
'You'd better come to me, Stella,' interposed Felix. 'Nothing is goingto happen now, my dear. It is only this. The old house where we elderones were born was meant to belong to my mother, but there was a flawin the will that left it her, and so it went to the more direct heir;and my father would not go to law because he did not think it rightwhen he could not afford it, and especially as he was a clergyman.'
'O Felix!' cried Cherry eagerly.
'Yes; I have a copy of the letter. And now, the poor old gentlemanwho had it has lost his son, and has sent me a kind message, as if hewished me to go back there; but that will not be in his life-time, sowe need not talk about it. There is nothing to make any change now.'
'No?' asked Cherry, disappointed.
'Of course not. Expectations are not good sustenance. The reversion ispossibly very distant, and there may be some mistake about it, afterall.'
'Well! one ought to be prepared,' said Cherry; 'but oh! to see you athome--home--yes, Vale Leston is home! O Felix, what it will be!'
'Don't set yourself on wishing it,' said Felix anxiously. 'Remember Purand the business are our dependence or independence, and most likelyare far better and safer for us.'
'Pshoo!' shouted Lance; 'I won't have you talk book!'
'May I tell Wilmet?' entreated Cherry.
'No harm in that; meantime I must get things in train, and then walkover to explain matters to Mr. Froggatt; and as soon as I can get awayto-morrow I shall go up to town, and make Clement come on with me.'
'O Fee, one moment! Are we to go into mourning?' Then, as he held uphis hand, 'It means more than you think. It shows how much we hold bythe connection; and if I understand you, you wish nothing so little asto have it trumpeted about that Mr. Underwood has great expectations.'
'As prudently stated as W.W. could have done it! It must turn on thedegree of connection.'
'Is he as near as Tom Underwood was?'
'The same on my mother's side. Yes, put on black ribbons; but, as yousay, don't trumpet the thing. Don't begin about it, but if any oneasks, explain how it stands.'
The heir-expectant was gone; and Lance, after waiting to indulge inanother pantomime of exultation, ran after him, humming:--
'Oh, to see him back again!'
By the middle of the next day Felix was able to leave home, afterhaving seen the Froggatts, whom he treated with as much deferenceand attention as if he were still accountable to them. The receptionof his communication made him glad that he had been silent when thechances were more remote, for though Mrs. Froggatt was ready to cryfor gladness at the notion of his taking his own proper place as agentleman, and had a farmer's daughter's respect for the squirearchy,her husband feared that empty anticipation would spoil Felix for atradesman, and be injurious to the business, which he viewed withtender pride and solicitude. So he lectured on the uncertainty ofprospective fortunes, and the folly of reckoning on them, till it wasevident that his confidence would have been sorely shattered had thebare notion been whispered five years earlier. Indeed, his comfortseemed compromised by finding that Felix would not be the permanentproperty of the business, and he was almost displeased, as if hethought he had allowed it to pass into his hands on false pretences. Itwas vexatious and disappointing; but he had to be left to recover thefirst shock, which, after all, proved his love and value for the youngman.
Felix did not reach Whittingtonia till late; and on inquiry at theclergy-house, heard that Mr. Underwood was not at home, but the Vicarwas. To him therefore Felix went in his study, not sorry to ask hisadvice. Clement, who would not receive priest's orders for some weeks,was over young for the charge of an utterly neglected parish; but itwas dangerous to let the presentation pass by, since only a brothercould satisfactorily co-operate in dealing with the old ancestralsacrileges, in case he should ever come in for the property himself.
Mr. Fulmort never spoke while Felix told his story; and the bell forEvensong had begun by the time it closed. Then he said, 'I am veryglad, heartily glad. I have been watching Clement, and I see he is nottough enough yet for our work. When a young fellow, of such a lengthtoo, can't eat after any hard day's work, instead of being ravenous,he is sure to break down the first time he takes cold or catches anillness, and then he is done for. I should have had to drive him awayelsewhere, at least for some years, poor fellow, though none has everbeen more like a son to me. Yes, of course he is too young, but he isnot the sort of stuff that falls into slackness, and that is more fatalthan any amount of blunders and foolishness.'
The last words startled Felix. He had been so anxious to place Clementat Vale Leston, that he had thought of no drawbacks till he wasroused to a foreboding of that dour uncompromising rigidity, left toitself, sowing dissensions, becoming a hard master to them all--nay,not improbably alienating the old Squire, and overthrowing all theirprospects! Such a future passed before Felix in his transit across thequadrangle, and was met, but not disposed of, by the sense that it wasright and just that Clement should be put forward, '_Fais ce que dois,advienne que pourra._' He had put Clement into his own place to consolehis father for his own secession to secular work; and if devotion,blamelessness, and earnestness were recommendations, they were notlacking. 'And if he do give offence, and all be left to Marilda,'thought Felix, 'let it go. It would only be for conscience sake.Poverty is better than riches! and I may have to show that I believeso. I only hope that the boy will not do the thing in some pig-headedway, in which it would be hard to back him up.'
Misgivings vanished for the time when his brother was in sight. Itwas not easy to make him out in the deep perspective of the choir.Felix only knew that a fair-haired head above the average line mustbe his; but when he came forward to the Eagle, whence he was to readthe Second Lesson, and afterwards give his lecture, he was in fullview. In his lankiest hobbedy-hoy days, Clement had always looked hisbest surpliced; and now, with the cassock beneath, the stole overone shoulder, and his black-and-white hood, his figure had a certaindignity, and his voice gave Felix a thrill. The mixture of hereditarytone and unconscious imitation were such that when he shut his eyes hecould believe himself a boy at St Oswald's, listening to his father;and even when he looked up the illusion was hardly dispelled, for thehalf-light brought out the similar moulding of the features, and ahectic tinting. He gave a careful little discourse, evidently one of aseries, and the allegory of the Wilderness life with much more depthand poetry than the elder brother had expected.
He had taken care to place himself out of direct view of the youngpreacher, and his appearance in the quadrangle was an immense surpriseto Clement. 'Felix! you here! nothing the matter? What's that? Not poorEdgar?' as his eye fell on Felix's new hat and hat-band.
'No, no--this is for the younger Fulbert of Vale Leston. I have more tosay to you.'
'Come in to supper, then. Have you seen the Vicar? Do you stay thenight? That's jolly! Here, Fred, you've not seen my brother!'
Fred Somers was known to be Clement's friend. With one of the naturesthat prefers external to home friendship, Clement had at first bestowedhis affection on poor Harry Lamb, and since upon this companion, whohad been his predecessor by half a year in everything, and in whomFelix was diverted to see his complete contrast. Mr. Somers was atleast five inches below Clement's six feet one and a half, and was adark, plump, merry little man, who looked as if the Vicar never needscruple about getting any amount of work out of him; and Clement, witha hand on his shoulder, looked perfectly happy, and as if working at StMatthew's side by side with him were all he desired. And very overgrownand boyish Clement looked too at that supper, a very merry one. Therewere the six clergy, fourteen choir boys, and sundry chance-helpers,mostly talking eagerly, with a good deal of laughter at old and newjokes. Felix, seated by the Vicar, thought Clement far more at hisease, more playful and familiar, than ever he had seen him at home, andinfinitel
y less on his dignity than he ever allowed himself to be withLance and Bernard.
After supper, the two brothers repaired to Clement's tiny private room,uncarpeted, with a table, two Windsor chairs, and a book-case; andthen, when the elder had explained, the younger flatly refused to haveanything to do with Vale Leston Abbas.
'I!' he said, 'go to a fat easy-going country living when the need isso urgent here? I to stand alone when I want years of training? Itwould be enough to ruin me!'
'But the place, Clement. This parish will never be ill-supplied whileMr. Fulmort lives; but people have souls down in the country.'
Clement had not much feeling for souls whose bodies he had neverrealised; but he answered, 'Very bad for the souls to have aninexperienced priest.'
'Quite true; but observe, it is not the choice between you and sucha clergyman as you would select, but between you and no one knowswho--certainly a person who could not help in the complication offamily and Church property, as only a brother could do.'
'That is all in the clouds,' said Clement. 'I have made up my mind toten years' service here, and I intend to keep to it.'
'The Vicar says you have not strength for it.'
'Then I shall go on without it.'
'Till you kill yourself.'
'The best end one could come to.'
'No, not if there be a leading of Providence elsewhere.'
'I observe that Providence is generally said to lead in the directionof ease and L s.d. No, Felix, I am much obliged, but even if this oldman would appoint a vicar of decided opinions like mine, I cannot allowmyself to be led aside into a path of wealth and luxury contrary to allI had marked out for myself.'
'Are people always meant to do all they have marked out forthemselves?' said Felix, as he heard the frequent first person singular.
'When it is the line of self-abnegation.'
Felix could not help smiling, and muttering between his teeth, 'Is it?'Then he added, 'At any rate you will come down to the funeral and seethe old place?'
'No! I will not raise false expectations to be disappointed.'
The idea of baffled expectations excited by that long white-faced lad!Even Felix was beginning to console himself, and think Clement might bedoing the best for them all, when they were summoned to the Oratory bythe evening prayer-bell. As good-nights were spoken at the foot of thestairs, the Vicar asked Felix, 'Have you prevailed?'
'No, sir. Perhaps you will talk to him?'
Mr. Fulmort nodded, and Felix went to his own room. In the morning theVicar told him that he had not made much impression, but that he hadactually made it matter of obedience that Clement should go to ValeLeston with his brother, and not consider his decision as made till hehad thoroughly seen the place.
And thus it was that Felix, in different company and different moodfrom when he had last seen his birthplace, found himself stopping at alittle station called Church Ewe, about three miles short of Ewmouth;and there a smart servant came up with his finger to his cockaded hat,and took possession of the two little black bags.
'The beginning of greatness!' observed Clement, who was very benignanttowards Felix's prospects, though he would accept none for himself, asthey ensconced themselves in the great barouche with the pair of horses.
Felix shook his head. He wanted to hold himself as loose as possiblefrom gazing on the place as an inheritance, at the same time as hegreatly desired to see Clement smitten with it, almost as much fromjealousy for the old home as with a view to the future.
Their way brought them in on the opposite side from the Ewmouthroad; so that the first view was from high ground, whence the lovelyencircling valley, the slopes of wood inclosing it, the purple moorlandabove them, the grey sheen of the river, the high-arched bridge, thenoble church, and grand old ancestral-looking priory, partly veiled byfine trees, in the delicate glory of early summer, lay outstretchedbefore them, the shimmer of the sea, and a few white sails far in thedistance.
That sense of the eye satisfying the heart, and being as it were atrest and at home, which he had felt at the sight five years before, andnever at any other, came over Felix; and exulting in the loveliness,he looked eagerly to see the effect on Clement, but the smooth youngface was carefully guarded against relaxing, the light blue eye wassteadily set as unmarking anything. Felix was provoked, and thenwondered whether the Deacon were like the Moslem who refused to dwellat Damascus, lest he should have his Paradise only on earth. A littlelocal information elicited nothing but civil indifferent answers, thatinspired a desire to shake that inanimate figure.
Driving up through the park, beauteous with chestnut blossom, they wereshown into the library; and there Mr. Staples came to them, cordiallyshaking hands, but, as Felix fancied, somewhat critically scanning thatlong straight coat with the little cross at the button-hole.
'The Squire is tolerable,' he answered to Felix's inquiry. 'I think itis coming out in gout. He will dine with you. It does him good to seepeople.'
'And Mrs. Underwood?'
'Came yesterday. Mother and brother here too. Ladies dine togetherupstairs.'
'Are you staying here?'
'No; but I am over as much as I can. The old Squire wants someone, andI don't fancy leaving him too much to Smiles--he's the curate, and hasbeen trying to worm himself in. Will you come to your rooms? Dinner atseven.'
To Felix it was like meeting an old friend to tread the black stair,and the long panelled corridors, all windows on one side, the otherhung with portraits, the Underwood red cheeks and blue eyes staringround, and coarse like Marilda. Mr. Staples popped Clement into onewainscotted room, and left him there, but shut himself in with Felix.
'So that's your clerical brother?'
'An excellent hard-working devoted fellow.'
'But very--?'
'Well, rather!'
'And it is quite out of the question for yourself?'
'Entirely so. Even if I thought it right, it could not be done.'
'I thought so, and told the Squire. Unlucky, for things are a good dealinvolved; and you would find the vicarage income handy, while as forthis--why he is a mere boy!'
'So he feels himself. He is conscious of his want of experience, andit would be an infinite relief to him to see it in good hands.'
'Mrs. Fulbert and her mother declare that the Squire promised poorFulbert to give it to her brother, Harry Shaw, whom you'll see hereto-night; but he swears he did no such thing; and on the whole, I thinkSmiles would have a better chance--he's an obsequious chap, who hasbeen very attentive to the old man all the winter, half their spy, halfhis toady. However, the Squire would never let either of them have itwhile there's a parson left with Underwood blood in his veins!'
All the quaint old bedrooms in this passage opened one into the other,and Felix unlocked the door between himself and Clement to communicatethe information received, but it apparently took no effect.
The dinner-party was dismal and incongruous enough. Obsequious was aword that exactly depicted little, sleek, low-voiced Mr. Smiles, whothough presiding at one end of the table, seemed ready to emulateBaillie M'Wheeble's posture; and the rival candidate, Mr. Henry Shaw,was a red-faced, punchy man, hardly distinguishable in appearance ormanner from his farmer kindred, and, as soon became apparent, with suchprinciples as he had, diametrically opposed to those of Clement, who,with his refined countenance and form, looked as if he belonged to someother world.
Mr. Underwood was wheeled in in his chair. He was not a man to giveway, but rather to try to talk sorrow down; and the curate and Mr.Staples, knowing his humour, set county politics going, and alljoined with a fervour, not to say violence, that struck the brothersas unsuitable. It was more than the Squire, between deafness and theburthen of grief, could follow; he grew abstracted, and presentlyrousing himself, turned to Clement to ask what had just passed at theother end of the table.
'That the bribery petition will fail, sir,' repeated Clement, bendingwith the naturally kind and courteous manner due to age, infirmity, an
dsorrow, and speaking in a clear sweet modulated tone, that evidentlystruck the old man more than the words.
'You have the family voice,' he said, looking up at him. 'Why, you area mere lad! You don't tell me you are in Orders?'
'I was ordained Deacon last summer, sir,' said Clement colouring deeplyat having to say it loud enough to attract everyone's attention.
'Ah! eh! And your age?'
'Four-and-twenty last March.'
'You don't look eighteen,' said the Squire, with that still infantineface close to him, reddening most youthfully. 'Where's your curacy?'
'At St Matthew's, Whittingtonia,' said Clement impressively, andcasting his eyes round, as if, thought Felix, he were making aconfession of faith and looking for persecution; but, half to the elderbrother's relief, half to his diversion, they had got into a worldwhere there was no thermometer of London churches, and no one knewwhat the avowal implied. Mr. Smiles asked if it were a Bethnal Greendistrict; and Mr. Shaw observed, loud enough for the Squire to hear,that London parishes were not the places for plain straightforwardmen, no one was looked at who wasn't got up like a swell to please theladies; and then they both united in rallying the youthful curate abouttea-parties and pretty young ladies; but Clement was as impervious toridicule on that score as if his head had been cowled and tonsured,and he bore it well, simply and gravely replying that he was too muchoccupied to go into society. He volunteered no dangerous topic, butshowed much more good sense and forbearance than Felix had ventured togive him credit for in the curt answers he was compelled to make; butthe old gentleman did not hear these, and began again.
'You've a sister married--eh?'
'Two,' said Clement, for Felix was too far off to be audible and asfurther information was looked for, 'one to Major Harewood, and theother to Sir Adrian Vanderkist.'
If Felix did for a moment feel that it sounded better than if they hadmarried the butcher and the baker, Mr. Shaw took care to qualify theannouncement with, 'Sporting baronet, ain't he? Got three horses atEpsom, I think!'
'What's that?' demanded Mr. Underwood. 'Your sister's husband on theturf?'
'I am sorry to say he is,' said Clement gravely.
'Not getting into scrapes? Any danger of his going on too fast?'
'I think not, Sir.' Felix felt he must shout, knowing well thatClement's regret was directed rather to racing in the abstract, than toany pecuniary peril, and for the first time feeling bound to defend SirAdrian as a brother-in-law. 'He is a prudent man, and not likely to gobeyond his means.'
Which was true. He was not exceeding present means. The evil was thefuture of the little girls, now four in number; but Clement lookedreproachful at the answer he had to repeat to his neighbour, whorelapsed into silence for a little while, then asked again, 'Who saidone of them had married into a marching regiment?'
Mr. Staples laughed, and came to the rescue this time. 'Regiments nevermarch but when young ladies marry into them; but it is not true inthis case, Sir. Major Harewood is in the Royal Engineers, and has anappointment at Woolwich.--Didn't you tell me so?' turning to Felix.'Have you heard anything from him of this new gun?'--which gun wassafely wielded through the remainder of the meal.
After dinner, the Squire went back to his room, desiring Felix to comewith him.
He looked much older than before, and made no more effort atcheeriness; as he sighed, settled himself, and signed Felix to a chairnear him and his great fire.
'So!' he said. 'So things come round! Why did you not bring the nicelittle lad that was here before?'
'He and I cannot both leave home together, Sir. He is my right hand inthe business.'
'You've not brought him up to your business?'
'I could not help it. That sun-stroke put him back in his studies, andhe could not bear to be idle.'
'You must find some gentlemanly line for him; not too old, eh? You giveit up, of course, you've thought better of my proposal--eh?'
'Quite impossible, Sir, thank you,' said Felix. 'You are very kind, butI am totally unfit. My education was stopped at sixteen.'
'Don't tell me you can't get through what Harry Shaw there did!Besides, what do we want of a scholar? I'd rather have a man of sense!'
'No Bishop would or could ordain me within the time.'
'Staples did say the Bishops had got more crotchetty now-a-days. Howlong would they insist on for preparation? I'd get little Smiles tohold it for the time.'
'It is impossible, Sir, thank you, in every way--even if I could thinkit right.'
'Right? It is not right the things should be separated. I've beencrippled by it all my life, and cursed my folly in setting my faceagainst the Church; and you'll hardly get the property in so good acondition as I did. Why, you're bookish already, and look like one ofthe cloth. Fit! you're fitter by a long chalk than Harry there! Come!think better of it. I'd not mind the cost if they insist on a turn atthe University.'
'Thank you, Sir,' said Felix; 'but I cannot do it. It is againstmy conscience.' And as he saw that this was incomprehensible, hethought he had better bring forward a palpable testimony to theimpracticability. 'Besides, I must go on with my work. There are toomany of us for me to give over.'
'Many! The lad hasn't been fool enough to marry?'
'No, no, Sir; but there are two, a little brother and sister, at home,and two more at school, besides Geraldine and Lancelot.'
'All depending on you?'
'The four youngest entirely so; Geraldine earns a good deal with herpainting, and Lance quite makes his own maintenance; but I could notleave them, nor break up the home.'
Six brothers and sisters were more than any one could adopt on thespot, and Mr. Underwood felt the cogency of the argument. 'Then youabsolutely must keep up this confounded trade of yours till the breathis out of my body!'
'I hope to keep it up a long time yet, Sir,' said Felix; 'I have beenvery happy in it.'
'And--and--there's no other way?'
'Certainly not, Sir, thank you. All I have is embarked in it; andwhile things stand as they do, I should not be justified in making anychange.'
Whatever Felix's kindred might think of his occupation, they werealways forced to feel the dignity of his industry and independence.Here was this young man, under thirty, and looking younger than he was,talking of half-a-dozen of young brothers and sisters as a reason,not for accepting help, but for being let alone to maintain them;and actually showing a brother, a clergyman, scholar, and gentleman,visibly superior to what his kinsman had brought there to meet him.This was not a young heir to adopt, foster, and command, but a man toaddress upon equal terms, and Mr. Underwood put his next suggestionwith less of authority. 'If it were not just absolute trade--retail,ain't it? It will be against you when you come here, you see. Could notyou get out of it into Kedge and Underwood's firm? That would soundbetter.'
'Yes, Sir, but I could not throw over my business without a great loss;and it would be undertaking what I don't understand, instead of what Ido.'
'Besides,' added the Squire, going on with his talk, 'with yourexpectations, family, place, and all, that girl of Tom's would jump atyou!'
Felix shook his head decidedly, though unable to help a little inwardlaugh at this revival of Alda's old manoeuvre.
'By-the-by,' continued the old gentleman, 'what's become of yourbrother that Tom bred up?'
'We knew of him last in Australia, Sir.'
'Next to you, is he or this tall lad you have here?'
'He is older than Clement'
'Poor Tom made too much of him--eh? Well, young men will be young men,'said Mr. Underwood, too full of his own sorrows to think about Edgar;'but they come round at last:' and therewith he fell into a talk abouthis own son, whose illness and death he proceeded to dwell upon, as hefound he had a kind and attentive auditor; and this lasted till thebutler came to wheel him off to his bed.
Felix and Clement paid an early visit to the church next morning, andfound it in a course of being muffled in black. 'Seventy-five yardsthere al
lys was for every Underwood on 'em,' said Abednego Tripp, whohad become much more shaky and feeble, had resigned his market-boatto Kerenhappuch's husband, and was hobbling about the church in amixed, but on the whole a pleasant and exulting, frame of mind, by nomeans partaking of the intense disgust with which Clement beheld thesanctuary invaded by the paraphernalia of human woe.
Dr. May, unasked, brought Bernard over to the funeral, which was attwelve o'clock. Neither the father nor the widow attended it; butthe incongruity of Edward Underwood's sons acting as chief mournerswas prevented by the nearer claims of the Shaw brothers-in-law. Thefarmer tenants came; but the lack of neighbouring clergy and evengentry struck the brothers in contrast with the overflowing numbers whohad flocked to their father's grave, so far from his ancestral home,showing how much more the man can be than the position.
Bernard was staring about him with little endeavour for appearances;and at the first moment that speech was possible, even while thehat-bands were coming off, he looked up in the face of Clement withopen eyes, and said, 'My eyes! this is no end of a place! Is it whatis to come to us?' Clement hushed him seriously and vigorously, butwithout much effect. 'Did you know 'twas like this?' he persisted,gazing round.
'I never thought about it. Hush!'
'Why, 'tis twice as jolly a house as Abbotstoke! And the woods! Andthe river! One might shoot every day, and fish the rest, and be alwaysboating besides!' exclaimed Bernard, enthusiastically, but happilyunder his breath. 'And ain't there a hunter worth L120 here? Where ishe, Clem?'
'How should I know?'
'You've been here all night and this morning, haven't you?' saidBernard, as if he had not thought even Tina capable of suchindifference. 'I'll get down to the stables, and find out.'
While Clement was trying to stop him, the summons to a lugubriousluncheon did so more effectually. There Bernard had the opportunity offraternizing with a Shaw nephew of his own age, and none of the maliceof his seniors, who imparted the melancholy fact that the hunter-coltwas sold, but undertook to show off the stables; but fate was toostrong for Bear, he was captured by his eldest brother, and told thatwhile Dr. May's horse was coming round, Mr. Underwood would like tosee him.
The wish was far from mutual, and Bernard was as sulky as his namesake;but sulkiness might pass on such an occasion for decorous solemnity;and Bernard was always one of the show specimens--a big, well-grown,straight-limbed boy, with a handsome Underwood face, not of thegirlishly rosy tinting of his brother's, but glowing with a hardyhealthy sunburnt hue, and he could not but answer with a sort of glumawe-struck civility the few questions asked him, as to his age, andwhere he was at school, and then whether he had ever been rabbitting.
'Only once;' and Bernard's face lost its sulkiness. 'Marilda's gone andlet her shooting!'
'And you like it?'
Bernard's lips only said 'yes,' but his blue eyes danced.
'Well, some of these days, you must come over and have a day with thekeeper, when your brother is settled here.'
The eager face of anticipation fell, and out came at unawares, 'Butthat won't be till you are dead;' and then the boy began colouring tothe ears.
'No, no, I don't mean this brother; but what's his name--the youngparson? When he is here, you must come over. And here--' As the Doctorcame in to take leave, Bernard found in his hand 'tip' that exceededeven the great days of Ferdinand's munificence!
He sprang out to Clement, who was standing in the porch. 'Oh! I say,Clem, what a splendiferous go this is!'
Again, all he got was a scandalized hush.
'I don't mean _that_. He told me himself! I'm to come over to shootrabbits, and all that is delicious, when you are a clergyman here!Hurrah!'
'Hold your tongue, Bernard,' said Clement, with a voice of subduedimpatience, 'and don't talk nonsense.'
'But you _are_ going to be a clergyman here,' persisted Bernard. 'Hesaid so.'
'That does not make it the fact.'
'O Clem, you'd never be so viciously spiteful as not to come! Think ofthe rabbits and the salmon, and a licence by-and-by!'
'Come, Bernard,' said Dr. May's cheery voice behind; then, as he shookhands with Clement, 'You must find your way over to Stoneborough whenyou are settled here. Our church is a sort of rival to yours.'
'Not mine,' protested Clement; but the Doctor was in a hurry, and wasoff. Business was to be done with the family lawyer, and Felix got ahint that he might be wanted after a time, so he betook himself to anook in the cloister, redolent with old memories, and began a letterto Mr. Audley. Clement, as he really believed with malice prepense,put himself entirely out of reach by starting off for a walk with Mr.Smiles, who, detecting that the London clergyman's mind was far frommade up to bury himself in a dull, secluded, straggling country parish,had kindly volunteered to show him the beauties of the scenery.
Nearly two hours had passed, when a tall shadow came across the arch,and Clement's low eager voice asked, 'Have you any money about you?'
'Just about enough to get home with. Why?'
'How near is Ewmouth?'
'Nearly four miles. What _are_ you after?'
'I can do it before dinner;' and the long legs seemed about to move off.
'Stay, Clement! What?'
'I must raise enough to get a bottle of port. There's a child sinkingin typhus. Don't detain me, Felix. I find there's no help for it. Imust have this place,' he added, as if throwing a tub to the whale toeffect his escape.
'Stop, ask for some here.'
'No use. Squire forbids all giving in that quarter.'
'What do you mean to do?'
'I must dispose of--of--of--Well, it must be this,' touching his littlecross, Ferdinand's gift, and nearly his favourite possession.
'Come! It won't do to make your debut at Ewmouth by disposing of yourjewelry. I left myself a margin of half-a-crown, and if we walk fromthe station, that will save two shillings more.'
'That will do,' said Clement. 'Thank you, Fee, you shall have it again.I had given all I had about me in the other hovel. The woman iswaiting in the churchyard. I'll send her off, and then tell you.'
Felix accompanied him through the beautiful summer garden to therough rugged churchyard, where a lean woman in tattered drab-colouredgarments by no means accorded with the paradisaical notion of ValeLeston. Her distress was so genuine that she scarcely thanked Clement;but assuring him she could now get what she wanted, she walked off.
Clement sighed, and looked up at the great massive church, not withFelix's pitying love, but like a mighty burthen.
'Well, Clem!'
'Well! I see it must be done.'
'I am very glad.'
'I am sure I am very sorry,' said Clement, with a simplicity new in him.
Before any more could pass, a servant came in search of them to summonthem to Mr. Underwood's room. He looked worn and sorrowful, but therewas a certain look of pleasure at the entrance of the two young men;and he made a sort of introduction of them to the lawyer, Mr. Wilder, aLondon solicitor, then turning to Felix, he once more asked if he stilldeclined all idea of eventually taking the living.
'Certainly I do, thank you, Sir.'
'So,' said Mr. Underwood, 'as is only just, the offer is passed on toyour brother.'
Clement bowed his head, colouring crimson, and the tears coming intohis eyes, as with a trembling lip he answered, 'Thank you, Sir; I willdo my best, God helping me.'
It was curious how this weight of responsibility was extinguishingself-consciousness, and making a man of him. The tone of his replyseemed to surprise both Squire and lawyer; and the former said, in anold man's tone of encouragement, 'That is well. No one can say more.Now give us your full name, that we may get on with the formalities.'
'Edward Clement Underwood, B.A., St. Cadoc's.'
'Edward?'
'It is my first name, but I have never been so called.'
'Edward! Strange it should so come about! Well, you may do prettywell here. Small tithes commuted for L420--(Rather a c
ontrast, thoughtFelix, to the recent difficulty of raising a few shillings!)--a fairprovision for a young man; if you are content not to launch out, nor bein a hurry to marry.'
'Certainly not,' said Clement, with an emphasis that made everybodylook up to see whether he showed any tokens of having met with adisappointment in love; but if his cheeks were redder than usual, lipand eye were steady and resolute enough.
'I hope not,' proceeded his patron: 'it is the worst thing a young mancan do to get his neck into the noose before he has had time to lookabout him. And there's the Vicarage--been used to enlarge our stableroom--will have to be rebuilt altogether; so you had best let yourhorse keep your residence for the present, and come and look after theold man. I would not be much of a burden to you; but this is a bighouse, and it is getting lonesome.'
'I will do whatever I can to be a comfort to you, Sir,' said Clementearnestly. 'It is very kind in you, and I will certainly come first toyou. Only, Sir, I ought to warn you that I have been bred up in a verystringent school of principles, and that if I come here, I shall feelit my duty to do my best to carry them out.'
Mr. Underwood smiled at the lawyer. 'How exactly boys get the trickof their father. I could think this twenty years back! Well, changesfor the worse there _can't_ be! Ungrateful set of drunken poachingrascals as ever lived! And as to the church, what notions you may bringthere won't do me much harm, so long as you don't bring it about yourears. Only, look you, Edward, a word in your ear. Don't let Jane--Mrs.Fulbert, I mean--cajole you into doing up the Vicarage for her.'
'Very well, Sir,' said Clement dreamily.
'You had better stay on a few days and look about you; I'd send youover to see the Bishop.'
'No, Sir, thank you, I must get back to-morrow. I have little enoughtime to prepare for my Ordination, but I will come down as soon afteras Mr. Fulmort can make it convenient to spare me.'
'Ay, and little Smiles will see to the duty meantime; but I say,Edward, you are inexperienced, and he is a dirty little dog. Don't lethim expect anything from you till you've read in. He's got his quarter,and 'tis the churchwarden's business to provide.'
Felix hoped other people did not find Clement's face so intelligible ashe did when this turned out to be the warning to inexperience. Therewas little more to be done, and the conference broke up to give theSquire time to rest before dinner.
'And now, my dear Vicar,' said Felix, linking his arm into hisbrother's, and leading him to a walk beneath a wisteria-covered wall,'let me hear what brought you to this laudable resolution.'
'I wish it may be laudable,' said poor Clement, brushing away a coupleof great tear-drops; 'I only know I have taken leave of all comfort orease of mind for life, and I suppose that may be right!'
'I thought,' said Felix, a little hurt, 'that my father's objection tothis place was its perfect ease.'
'A good deal has gone to the bad since his time,' said Clement, 'andwell it may! I could think of nothing but the traffic in Babylon theGreat of "the souls of men," and wonder whether I was sharing in it!Not a word as to my fitness or unfitness, not an attempt at inquiry! Imight be the veriest disgrace to my Orders for what they cared, so longas my name is Underwood!'
'And, Edward!' said Felix, 'I can't but be touched to see how the poorold man feels it an act of restitution. It is the best he knows, Clem,his first step, and I am glad you have not baulked him of it.'
'It is a vicious and rotten system altogether,' said Clement, 'and I amnot sure how far one is justified in submitting to it.'
'And now, without going into the question of lay-patronage, whatbrought you to submit to it?'
'I'll tell you, Felix. I set out to walk with Smiles, to see the place,and set Shaw so far on his way home. We went on beyond the villagestreet, where all looks smooth and fair--all roses and gable-ends--likethe model place you fancy it, and maybe it was in Father's time. On bythe little river--'
'The Leston. Isn't it beautiful?'
'It is like places I saw in Wales. Well, there is another little ravinerunning down to meet that--very wild--a show place.'
'Blackstone Gulley. Isn't there a quarry?'
'Indeed there is; and _such_ a set of hovels round it, run up in ahollow without a notion of health or comfort! It seems the demand forthe stone is uncertain; so these wretched quarrymen are half theirtime poaching and pilfering, a villainous ferocious lot, that do allthe harm in the neighbourhood--in fact, the Squire flew into a rage atthe very name. He had forbidden anything from his house to be given tothem; and even the Miss Hepburns were afraid to go among them. What areyou laughing at, Felix?'
'Because I see why Mr. Smiles took you that way. Go on.'
'He took us to the best point of view, but told us we had better notgo down, as typhus was raging there. I offered to wait if he had anyone to visit; and behold! it was against the principles of both to gounless they were sent for. Mr. Shaw said it was making oneself toocommon, and Mr. Smiles had to consider Mrs. Smiles and the children. Bythat time we had been seen, and a woman sallied out to speak to him;and would you believe it, he tried to warn her off with "You see Ihave gentlemen with me! I always tell you to go to Mr. Tripp!" Then itstruck me that I need not stand on the etiquette our Vicar is always soparticular about, since it is nobody's parish just now, and I had theoffer; so I offered to go and see what she wanted. Smiles said a gooddeal about the deceitfulness of the women, and the danger of venturingwhen the men were at home, as if one had never been down a court inWhittingtonia.'
'And was it very bad?'
'Bad, yes. Except that there's clear air and water outside, it is asmiserable as anything I ever saw in town, and more squalid and savage.Four huts with cases of typhus! Though after all, it is not worse thanour district is in the winter; and it is by tens, while that is byhundreds. Moreover, Ewmouth is getting into this parish, building faston this side. When I saw and heard those two men, and knew the placewould be turned over to one or other of them, I could not leave it tosuch a fate!'
'Quite right; and not at all what the curate expected.'
'I had thought,' continued Clement, 'that such clergy had becomeextinct; but I suppose nothing of a better stamp would have put upwith the poor man we buried to-day. I had imagined the choice onlylay between me and some one who, if without my advantages, would besuperior in experience and weight; but now I see the alternative: itis plain that it is a call, though why--why it should have come to me,I cannot think.'
'Perhaps,' said Felix, 'because we are especially bound to fightagainst the evil our family has allowed to accumulate.'
'At my age, and all alone! I say, Felix,' after a pause, 'can one getthe key of the church?'
'The door into the cloister used not to be kept locked,' said Felix,turning in that direction; and then, struck by the loveliness ofthe lights and shadows, and the banksias trailing over the cloistertracery, he could not help exclaiming, 'There's no place like it! Youwill grow very fond of it, Clem!'
'I dare say I shall,' said Clement, to whose eyes the beauty seemed togo for nothing, and who was quite past his usual heed to keeping uphis dignity with his brothers; 'I dare say I shall when I have workedhere a little while; but I had rather have had the dingiest cell in theclergy-house and Fred Somers. Just as I had got back, when we thoughtwe should have such a time of it--working together there, for lifeperhaps!'
'You might have him for a curate.'
'Fred! He'd never come to "easy duty in a romantic country and eligibleneighbourhood,"' indignantly quoted Clement; 'and for my part, withonly a population of eight hundred, if I were to set up a curate, Ishould just give myself over to be a fat, double-chinned, easy-goingincumbent!'
'You're a good way from that,' said Felix, looking at the tall slightbeing by his side; 'but I think you are right. I am as sorry foryou as can be, Clem, when I think of your pleasant evenings at theclergy-house, and what it will be with that poor old man; but you seehe ought to be cared for as well as the parish, and there is no one butyou who can do it.'
'I must try!' said Clement, with something of a gasp.
'Well,' said Felix, who had by this time reached the door, 'I do feelobliged to you, Clement. This helps me immensely.'
It was a great consolation to Clement that one person at least didnot congratulate him on the preferment that weighed on him so sorely;but after he had spent some time alone in the church, he had masteredhimself, and was quite satisfactory all the evening. Their dinnercompanions were the widow and her mother. The former did not look verymuch crushed, though she carried a large pocket-handkerchief; and hermother declared that nothing could have brought her down but her desireto be acquainted with her cousins. Felix could not help thinking of thepic-nic; and before long he perceived the drama that was being enacted.Her great object was evidently to stay on, and continue the ruler ofthe Priory; and Mr. Underwood was equally desirous to get her, notonly out of the house, but out of the village; but he could not quitetell her so on the day of the funeral, and hints neither of them wouldtake. Then she fastened upon Clement, and discoursed to him about _her_charities, and her regrets that during her dear Fulbert's long declineshe could do so little; only she knew things were in such excellenthands with the Miss Hepburns, good old ladies, perfectly devoted,treasures for any parish; but for herself--she was only too much atliberty now, she should be delighted to go the round of the parish withhim, and introduce him to her own peculiar pets!
Clement could not snub direct; but he only bowed, he did not commithimself; only in all simplicity he did ask about these charities, andonly succeeded in raising a mist of words, in which the desirablenessof not destroying self-dependence, and the pauperizing tendency ofliberality, were the prominent ideas.
Clement ventured a question about Blackstone Gulley; but Mrs. Underwoodhurriedly cautioned him under her breath not to say a word about itbefore the Squire, it excited him so fearfully--the people were suchdesperate poachers and thieves, and did such wanton mischief! They wereevidently viewed as quite out of the pale of humanity.
Little did the lady imagine that they were the chief attraction to theVicar-elect!
The brothers had to be off so early the next morning, that they madetheir farewells that night. Mrs. Underwood hospitably told Clement theywould be better acquainted; but when he took leave with the old Squire,his hand was held fast, while the broken eager voice entreated, 'You'llsoon be back--you'll come soon? You shall have the study, and anyrooms in the house you like.--Been down to the stables? Just say whichsaddle-horse you like best; I'll have him kept for you.'
'Thank you, Sir, but I am a very good walker.' (Felix was glad he didnot say he could not ride--a degeneracy in an Underwood that plainlyhad not occurred to the Squire.)
'Nonsense! Can't get about in this country without a horse. Mind, Ididn't mean that you should keep it for yourself. Take a look, if youhave not yet, and say which of the two.'
'The quietest!' exclaimed Clement, in a tone nearly of entreaty,diverting to his elder brother, who had had enough pony-back beforehis eighth year, with a little subsequent refreshment on Mr. Audley'shorse, to give him a pitying disdain for anxieties on that score.
'Eh? You are a steady-going parson--don't want a showy beast? That'sas young parsons are now-a-days. Well, you shall have the chestnut,very good to ride or drive. Write, I say, as soon as you can fix yourday. You might see the Bishop in town. Only don't,' lowering his voice,'leave me long alone with Jane.'
Just after the hot water had been brought to the brothers' roomsthe next morning, there was a simultaneous knocking at the door ofcommunication, and then an equally simultaneous turning of the handles,which was of course ineffectual, till Felix let go, and Clement got itopen; and they stood laughing at each other, each holding an envelope,one addressed to F. Underwood, Esquire, the other to the ReverendEdward Underwood, each containing a cheque for L10, and scrawled on theflap of each--'To cover expenses of journey. F.U.'
'Expenses of journey--poor old man!' said Felix. 'It would go some wayto a special train!'
'I suppose this is myself,' said Clement.
'Ah, you'll have to resign yourself to be Edward for the rest of yourdays.'
'Do you mean to take it?'
'Impossible not to let him have the pleasure of it. Poor man, dependupon it he is wishing it had been my father all the time. And it mighthave been--' Felix's face quivered and contracted. 'No, it won't doto think of that. But, Clem, look here--we won't exactly walk fromPaddington; but deducting the one pound five that this really has costme, you shall take the rest of mine for Blackstone Gulley.'
'It must have cost you more.'
'No, for I was coming to town any way. Did I not tell you that I am tomeet poor Edgar's creditors on Cherry's behalf, and settle with them?'
'Poor Cherry! It has been a noble thing for her to have carried out,but one cannot but feel it wasted.'
'No,' said Felix, 'she will never feel it so. Whatever she may do forthe future, she will be able to feel that she has been just before shewas generous. Remember, she will have sent our name home again clearedof debt. I am proud to owe that to her! Now, whichever of us is readyfirst must write the old man a grateful note, and we will both sign it.'
'Stay, Felix! I can't have you giving this to my people. I shall haveplenty.'
'In time, but I don't expect you will have much in hand for some time;and if the Squire is so furious against these people, you won't like toask him. Besides, they are my people, in a way, as well as yours; andif this is really the earnest of my inheritance, I should like it to goto them.'