AT THE PARSONAGE.
In King's Warren Parsonage the vicar's wife was seated at her little table. Before her was a handsome service of real Queen Anne plate; the square-looking teapot with its solid ebony handle, and the bowl and jug to match, for in those days they were sugar bowls and not sugar basins. Mrs. Dodd was not alone; she had two visitors, old Mrs. Wurzel and her inseparable companion, Miss Grains. The tea was good and strong, the cream perfection; all three ladies were in the best of temper. As a rule even the most cantankerous women are placable after afternoon tea. No man had ever partaken of Mrs. Dodd's tea in her own peculiar sanctum; that honour was reserved for those of her own sex, her cronies, her fellow-workers. In this little room the village scandals were threshed out, in this room the female scholars of the Sunday school received what Mrs. Dodd was pleased to call a few words of advice and admonition. What the mysterious advice was that Mrs. Dodd imparted, who can tell? One thing is certain, as they left the Vicarage they always wept, all save Jemima Ann Blogg the defiant; she alone had shed no tears.
"It's very sad," said the vicar's wife, "but I don't think any other course is open to me. I never looked upon Hephzibah Wallis as flighty; in fact, she was undoubtedly the steadiest of all my girls. It's really enough to break the old mother's heart. Why they should always want to go out of service and into matrimony I can't think; but I suppose they are all the same; but this is the climax. The creature actually declares that she has engaged herself to a foreigner."
The eyes of the other two members of the council of three were raised in mingled astonishment and horror.
"Yes, it's too true," continued the vicaress; "but I shall not hesitate in my duty, which is plain: she must be saved from the foreigner and herself. I'll read you her letter.
"'Villa Lambert.
"'Dear Mother,
"'You will be glad to hear that we are all well. We are living in what they call a villa, and though I like quiet the life is very dull. All through our travels Mr. Capt, who, as you know, is Mr. Haggard's own man, has been very attentive to me; he has asked me to marry him. I think it only right, dear mother, to consult you and father before saying yes. I should tell you that we are much attached to each other. Mr. Capt is very respectable, and very clever, too, for a foreigner. He is a Swiss gentleman. I'm sure you would like to hear him talk, though he's sometimes rather difficult to understand, as he uses so many dictionary words. I suppose it will have to be a long engagement, for, as you know, service is no heritage, and we are both in service. What Mr. Capt wishes me to do is to be married to him here at once, which he says would be much nicer than being engaged; but I don't think it would be right to keep it from mistress, as she has been so kind. Please let me have an answer by return, as Mr. Capt is very anxious. Give my love to father, and hoping this finds you both well,
"'I am,
"'Your loving daughter,
"'Hephzibah Wallis.'"
"Poor thing," exclaimed the stout Miss Grains, for she felt a ready sympathy, as an engaged young woman, with the whole of the rest of her sex who were in a similar position.
"Poor thing, indeed," cried the vicaress, "shameless thing, I call her; a girl who has been educated under my own eyes, who was actually confirmed in this very parish, calmly proposes to degrade herself, her parents and me by secretly marrying a disgusting foreigner, for foreigners are disgusting, as a rule. I shall forbid it, I shall distinctly forbid it; it's a duty I owe to dear Georgie. I am disappointed in Hephzibah Wallis."
"I'm afraid, Mrs. Dodd, it will be difficult to save the girl; here we are in King's Warren, while she is in Switzerland, and no doubt the man makes love to her," insinuated Mrs. Wurzel.
"Ah, yes," said the brewer's daughter softly, as she thought of her own little flirtation with the sallow French master, whose classes she had attended.
"They may be fascinating," said Mrs. Wurzel spitefully, "but they always smell of tobacco and never cut their nails."
Alas! the accusation was too true as regards the French master, at all events, and the brewer's daughter was temporarily extinguished.
"To a person in the position of Hephzibah Wallis," said the vicar's wife magisterially, "the length of their nails is of little importance; it's their want of principle that I object to; as for this creature Capt, like the rest of them he is, I suppose, an atheist, or perhaps worse, a Papist, for when he was here with his master he never once came inside the church. Goody Wallis has asked me to write to her, and I shall certainly do so at once, distinctly forbidding it. I haven't mentioned the matter to Anastatia, for she is so weak and romantic that she's quite capable of writing herself to the girl and inciting her to rebellion."
Here she carefully folded the letter and replaced it in her writing desk.
"And your sister-in-law's own affair, dear Mrs. Dodd, is it an indiscretion to ask you if it is settled yet?" said old Mrs. Wurzel with sympathetic interest.
"Stacey Dodd, Mrs. Wurzel, is, I regret to say, of a secretive nature; she does not confide in me. No, her own sister-in-law is the last person whom she would trust. But I believe, mind I do not state it as a fact, but I have reason to believe that she has refused the squire; his age was an obstacle, you know, and then Lucy would have been a difficulty. I don't think it would quite have been a bed of roses; that girl would have been a very serious responsibility indeed."
A discreet tap was heard at the door.
The vicar never presumed to enter his wife's room without knocking; he evidently had something to communicate. He saluted the ladies and commenced his tale at once.
"A dreadful thing has happened. I have just returned from The Warren, where I left the squire in a natural state of violent indignation."
The ladies expressed their curiosity.
The portly vicar continued:
"Oh, there's no secret about it, the country is ringing with it."
Then he read the paragraph in The Sphere, with which the reader is acquainted.
"Then, Mr. Dodd, we may understand that Georgina is the wife of a murderer," said Mrs. Dodd.
"Well, my dear, not exactly that; you see they say he received great provocation, so he was bound to go out with him, I suppose."
"Then my husband, a beneficed clergyman of the Church of England, approves of duelling, and is actually the champion of the—the—the assassin."
The vicar's wife was fond of strong words; this was the strongest one she knew of, so she used it.
"Well, but, my dear, consider the circumstances."
"No circumstances can excuse a murder, Mr. Dodd. I hope he won't come here; don't let him dare to offer me his blood-stained hand; his mere presence would be enough to contaminate the whole village. Will they hang him?" she asked with interest.
"Oh, Mrs. Dodd," said the brewer's daughter, clasping her hands, for the thought that she herself had witnessed the marriage of this interesting criminal thrilled her very soul.
"Of course she will leave him at once," continued the vicar's wife; "were the case my own," she said, "I should not hesitate for an instant."
A slight smile rippled across the broad countenance of the vicar; perhaps it passed through his mind that were he not a clergyman there might yet be a means of escape for him.
"It is of men such as this," cried the indignant vicar's wife, "that Shakespeare speaks. Yes," she said clenching her fingers, "every honest hand should hold a whip to lash the rascal naked through the world."
"It would be a highly indecent spectacle, my dear," said the vicar with a chuckle.
"I am speaking figuratively, Mr. Dodd."
"Of course, my dear, of course. In the meanwhile old Warrender is horribly angry, as well he may be."
The ladies' little meeting now broke up. Old Mrs. Wurzel hastened to the stationer's to order a copy of The Sphere and all the society papers, then, bursting with the news, she proceeded to call upon the Misses Sleek to tell her tale.
By midnight every soul in King's Warren was in possession of the fact that Georgie Haggard's husband had fought a duel and had killed his man.
The Misses Sleek did not hesitate to express to each other when retiring for the night their united opinion that Mrs. Haggard was a very lucky girl.
"I always said he was a hero," said the younger sister with a sigh, and then she went to sleep to dream of him.
It is a moot question as to who can claim the title of esquire. Now a-days everybody is Mr., Mrs., or Miss. But Mrs. Dodd was uncompromising; in her mind servants, labourers and criminals should be addressed by their Christian and surname, and no more. When she was unaware of the name she was accustomed to address all males by the epithet "man." There is something very scathing, very exasperating too, in being addressed in this way. Had poor Hephzibah herself been actually in the flesh at King's Warren, Mrs. Dodd would, undoubtedly, have addressed her as "girl;" as it was she merely adopted the Spartan mode which is used by judges at a jail delivery. The tone of the judgment, for we can hardly call it a letter, will be best seen if given at length:
"Hephzibah Wallis,
"Your poor mother came to me in great trouble yesterday bringing with her the flippant, the almost indecent letter, which you had thought proper to send her. Little did I think, Hephzibah Wallis, when I placed in your hands the beautiful copy of the 'Dairyman's Daughter,' which I had intended should be your guide through life, and which you afterwards so hypocritically informed me you frequently perused, that I was patronizing a girl who was about to rush headlong to her own destruction. If I remember rightly, the dairyman's daughter was a sickly person like yourself, but she would never have degraded herself by even hinting at an immoral marriage with a foreigner; nor would she have ever dared to propose such an abomination to her own mother as a marriage which should be kept secret from her mistress and from the wife of her parochial clergyman. I shall not, then, shrink, Hephzibah Wallis, from the duty of warning you. Except among the upper classes marriages with foreigners always end in misery; and it is extremely doubtful whether such unions in the eyes of heaven are marriages at all. I have repeatedly pointed out to my girls at the Sunday school, and to you among the number, that no young woman in domestic service should think of entering upon the marriage state till she is past all work. I was pained to see by your letter that you have evidently hardened your heart, and I am aware that the deaf adder will not listen to the voice of the charmer, charm he (or she) never so wisely. I know that you are exposed to the dangerous fascinations of a designing foreign manservant, who, to use your own expression, only addresses you in 'dictionary words;' no doubt such language is apt to turn the head of any young woman. But let me tell you, Hephzibah Wallis, that you will have a far greater chance of happiness in this world, and the next, as the wife of an English deaf mute of high principle, than you would have if married (even in the unlikely contingency of such a marriage turning out to be legal) to any foreigner, however eloquent, who is of course, as all such people are, wholly irreligious.
"If this letter, as I trust it may, should be the means of softening your heart and so saving you from the ruin to which you are evidently hastening, it will not have been written in vain. I grudge no trouble in the duty that Providence has forced upon me of superintending the lives of any of my girls. You of course are subject to great temptations, but you must never forget your duty to me and to your mistress, particularly now that she (your unhappy mistress) is, as I hear with pain and consternation, the wife of a murderer. I trust that you will frequently read this letter when in doubt or temptation, and that it may be the means of preserving you is the earnest desire of
"Your well-wisher,
"Cecilia Dodd."
Mrs. Dodd posted her letter herself, and to make assurance doubly sure she registered it.
When at lunch with her husband she broke to him the fact that she had written a letter "full of kind advice," as she phrased it, "to that flighty creature, Goody Wallis's daughter."
"It's a troublesome and anxious duty, Mr. Dodd," she said, "to look after them all; but I try to shield all my girls from possible harm, and this one evidently meditated making a fool of herself."
"You are always judicious, my dear," said the vicar.
"This house and this parish would not be what they are, Mr. Dodd, were it not for me."
"My love, I am fully sensible of my great good fortune."
"John," said the vicar's wife as soon as they were alone, "one of us ought to write to that poor thing."
"What poor thing, my dear?"
"I mean the squire's unhappy daughter," she said.
"Good heavens, Cecilia, for goodness sake, let her alone."
"Leave her alone in the hour of her tribulation! Mr. Dodd, is that your advice as a clergyman, or is it your other entity, the man of the world, who speaks?"
"Common prudence, my dear, suggests discretion."
"And who shall listen to the whisper of prudence, when common duty speaks so loudly, Mr. Dodd?"
"My dear, 'too many cooks spoil the broth,' is a homely saying."
"A vulgar proverb, Mr. Dodd."
"But full of wisdom, my dear, as are most proverbs. I think there is another culinary hint, too, that I remember, 'It is good not to introduce one's finger into one's neighbour's pie.'"
"And is the murderer, then, to escape with impunity, Mr. Dodd? Is he to have at least no moral punishment; is the indignant finger of outraged society not to be pointed at him; is he with impunity to go out to slay whomsoever he will; and is there to be no Nemesis for such as he?"
"Oh, as much as you like, my dear; but there's no reason why you should personally represent outraged society."
"If I felt it a duty, Mr. Dodd, I should certainly represent outraged society, and Nemesis too, if I pleased."
"Of course, my dear, of course, and doubtless con amore."
"John!" said the indignant wife.
But the vicar, having fired the last shot in his locker, had fled.
Fortunately Mrs. Dodd's time for the next fortnight was pretty well taken up. What with visitors who came to her to ascertain what they called the real truth; what with answering the innumerable inquiries of her large circle of acquaintance on what was now getting to be known as the "Haggard Scandal," Mrs. Dodd was fully occupied. It was a happy thing for Georgie; the young wife remained in ignorance of her husband's escapade. She was spared the threatened letter of advice and admonition.
Not one word did old Warrender breathe to his daughter of the matter.
The details of the affair however, that is to say of the actual meeting itself, were pretty well known in town. General Pepper had no cause for reticence. Men who had barely nodded to him before, now amicably grasped the warrior's hand, and asked him to the most recherché dinners; and his inevitable description of the duel, at dessert, usually formed the feature of the evening. Cards of invitation from the most distinguished personages rained down upon the fortunate veteran in profusion. Report said that he had even lunched with the Commander-in-Chief. His cronies at the Pandemonium accused him of assuming an air of habitual arrogance. Captain Spotstroke swore that the general had cut him in St. James's Street.
But in London the lives of chance lions are short; people began to forget the Haggard duel and to cease to long for the presence of General Pepper, C.B. Grosvenor Square ceased to invite him to her banquets, though he was still a welcome guest in the mansions of Bayswater and Maida Vale.
As for Lord Pit Town, he was of the old school. He ascertained, from a reliable source of information, that Haggard had not been the aggressor. For a gentleman to go out with another gentleman before breakfast, to settle their mutual differences, seemed to him the most natural thing in life. The faithful Wolff too, as a graduate of a German university, had been a fighter of duels in his youth. Wrapped in the bandages, the pads, the plastrons, and the guards customary on such occasions, he and the other young fellows had pluckily stood up to chop at each others' faces, on what those enthusiasts were pleased to term the field of honour. Their eternal occupation in the new galleries soon caused Haggard and his duel to be forgotten by both, and, save in King's Warren parish itself, the whole matter ceased to be remembered.
Perhaps the very last mention of the affair, even there, was made by Miss Sleek, upon a rather memorable occasion to her father.
The young ladies at "The Park," notwithstanding their undeniable good looks and good temper, had failed to find admirers, at least eligible admirers, in King's Warren. Over-dressed young men, generally beaux of Capel Court, used to be brought down to stay from Saturday till Monday, to beguile the tedium of the girls' lives, by their indulgent papa. But the golden youth of the Stock Exchange found little favour in the eyes of the Misses Sleek. Generally at the second or third visit the gaily-clad young men would propose to one sister or the other, but both girls still remained heart-whole, and their father was not over anxious to lose them.
"My dears," said he one evening to his daughters, "Dabbler's coming down to-morrow. I do want you to be civil to Dabbler."
Now Dabbler was a widower; he was not of prepossessing appearance, and his h's troubled him, but Dabbler was a warm man. The Misses Sleek on hearing their father's announcement looked at each other in a meaning manner; to do them justice, perhaps because they had plenty of money themselves, perhaps because they were both rather romantically inclined, neither coveted the honour of consoling the unhappy Dabbler for his rather recent loss.
"Of course we shall be civil, papa," said the elder girl; "we always are civil to Mr. Dabbler."
The father smiled upon his dutiful children and gave no further sign.
On the Saturday Mr. Dabbler arrived. He was very attentive to both girls, neither of whom showed any desire to monopolize his society. On the Sunday afternoon the conversation turned on the recent duel at Rome. The ladies defended Haggard's conduct, while Mr. Dabbler laughed at duels and duellists, and stated his conviction that "that fellow Haggard deserved to be 'ung." Whereupon both girls were highly indignant; they rapturously commended Haggard's valiant behaviour. Unfortunate Dabbler, now upon his mettle, declared that "should he ever want satisfaction, his solicitor should get it for him."
The girls retorted at once "that in their eyes such a course was detestable, that they could never even respect, much less like, any one who professed such sentiments."
Dabbler, who had rather hesitated between his partner's daughters, and who, in his own mind, had decided that he had but to come, to see and to conquer, was a man used to arrive at determinations at once. From that instant he made up his mind that neither of the Misses Sleek would suitably fill the vacant place at the head of his dining-table.
As the two men went to town on the Monday by the fast morning train, Sleek, as he unfolded his Times, turned with a smile to his partner.
"Well, Dab," he said, "which is the lucky one?"
"They won't 'ave me, my boy," replied the other philosophically.
"And why not, in the name of common sense, pray?" replied his partner in some astonishment.
"Because I'm not a Nero," returned Dabbler with a sigh.
"What?" said Sleek.
"We will not continue this conversation, Mr. Sleek," said Dabbler solemnly, and both gentlemen buried themselves in their newspapers.
