HOW BARNFORD CHURCH WAS SAVED.
A Complete Story.
By Scott Graham, Author of "Pemberton's Piece," "All Through Prejudice," Etc.
When Llewellyn Percival, the new Rector, first beheld the dilapidated pile called by courtesy Barnford Church, his heart sank. The late Rector, who had just died, aged ninety, had held the living fifty years, and during his sway scarcely any repairs had been done. The parish, a remote village in the East of England, was an exceedingly poor one; and the very ancient and interesting church had literally settled down—for one side was much out of the perpendicular—to decay.
It smelt incredibly fusty, it was disfigured by hideous high pews, daubed with yellow paint, locally termed "horse-boxes"; the fine west window was blocked by a huge gallery containing the organ—an instrument so much out of order that half the notes were mute, and the pipes emitted the weirdest groans, absolutely terrifying to a stranger. The old sexton assured Llewellyn that the roof was so leaky that in wet weather the rain poured down on the congregation, and though there was a stove, it was so ill-constructed that in winter the cold was terrible. There was a fine old peal of bells, but the tower at the west end had a huge crack running from top to bottom, and seemed so unsafe that they did not dare to ring more than one.
All this was sadly disheartening; especially as the church was really a fine building, with a splendid Norman doorway, a dilapidated but still beautiful carved screen, and many interesting features.
"Is there really no rich family in the place who could help to restore it?" Llewellyn asked the sexton. "What about the people at the fine grey-stone Manor House, there among the trees?"
"Oh, them's the Lancasters—they're rich enough, but you'll not get nothing out o' them, sir. Old Squire Lancaster and the old Rector quarrelled years ago about the family pew, and ever since they've gone to Thornton Church, in the next village. Miss never gives nothing to this church now."
"Is she an elderly lady?"
"Bless you, no sir, she's quite young—twenty-four, maybe—and handsome too. She's the only child, and since th' old Squire died she's had it all her own way, for her ma's a great invaleed, and never troubles about anything."
Llewellyn sighed. It did seem unfortunate that the only rich people in the place should have quarrelled with the late incumbent. He asked an old friend, an architect, to come and stay with him in the comfortable Rectory, which was such a contrast to the tumbledown church, and give his opinion about the restoration.
After due examination, Mr. Lane announced that, unless the foundations were strengthened, the tower at least partially rebuilt, the roof renewed, and the walls mended in weak places, the church could not last much longer. This would cost at least two thousand pounds, and if a new organ, new pews, and some much-needed internal improvements were also effected, a thousand more would be necessary. Poor Llewellyn—he was only thirty, and this was his first church—groaned aloud, as well he might. He had only a hundred a year of his own, besides his sorely depreciated living: and the small farmers and labourers who populated the parish were powerless to help. He might appeal to the Bishop, but the diocese was a very large and poor one, and Barnford was only one among many churches urgently needing repairs.
"Is there no rich family in the place who could help to restore it?"—p. 37.
"If you can find the money, I'll undertake the work without fees, for absolutely out-of-pocket expenses," said Lane generously. "I'd do it economically too, and save you as much as possible."
Llewellyn thanked him most heartily, but, nevertheless, the thought of that two thousand pounds weighed upon him like a nightmare. He soon made the acquaintance of the formidable Miss Lancaster at a neighbouring Vicarage. The family were descended from a wealthy banker who had bought Barnford Manor for a country house, and as sole heiress Laura had nearly five thousand a year and was a great catch. She was a tall, dark, handsome girl, with a commanding air due to the fact that from her childhood she had been flattered and petted by everybody. But she was civil to Llewellyn and invited him to call at the Manor; apologising for her mother as an invalid who never went anywhere.
Mrs. Lancaster did not appear when Llewellyn went, but Laura, who had been her own chaperon all her life, entertained him in the handsome drawing-room with great composure. He had never seen a girl with such an assured manner before.
Over his cup of tea he ventured, humbly and meekly, to hint at the restoration of the church.
"It's such a picturesque old place that it would be a shame to pull it to pieces and spoil it by injudicious restoration," returned Laura decidedly.
"It isn't a question of my own particular fads, Miss Lancaster, but the fabric is absolutely unsafe, owing to an extensive settlement. The roof isn't watertight, and the windows are almost tumbling out of the walls."
"And how much would be needed?"
"A friend of mine, an architect, has most kindly offered to give his services without fees; but to make the place even decent would cost, he says, two thousand pounds."
"You clergymen are all alike!" she cried.
"You will never raise such a sum here!" was her brusque answer.
"I don't like to commence our acquaintance by begging, Miss Lancaster; but if you could see your way to do anything for what is, after all, your parish church——"
"Yes, but we always go to Thornton. Old Mr. Short was awfully rude to father years ago, and we left the church. I play the organ at Thornton and train the choir; and the Vicar and his wife are great friends of ours. I couldn't leave them in the lurch by coming back to this church now—especially as Thornton is a very poor parish too."
"Even if you don't attend the services, I should be most thankful for any offer of help towards the restoration," he patiently answered, determined not to show annoyance at her abruptness. "Something must be done, and very soon."
The heiress tapped her foot petulantly on the carpet.
"You clergymen are all alike!" she cried. "You undertake tasks too great for you, and then come to the laity for help! A poor parish like this could never raise two thousand pounds, unless we ourselves gave the whole sum, which we certainly can't afford to do. There is nobody else here to subscribe."
"Believe me, I never thought of asking you for such a large sum as two thousand pounds, or even a quarter of it, Miss Lancaster. But the smallest sum would be welcome, as the nucleus of a fund. I intend to use my uttermost efforts to raise the money, if it takes me the rest of my life!"
His fair, good-humoured, and thoroughly English face had assumed a very dogged look as he uttered the last words: and Laura, who knew a real man when she saw him, noted it approvingly. In her secret heart she relished a little wholesome opposition; it was an agreeable novelty when most people were so subservient.
"But how can you raise it?" she asked doubtingly.
"This is now October, and these country villages are so dull in the winter evenings that any entertainment is welcome. If the Bishop will consent, I propose to get a very good magic-lantern, with several sets of slides, and exhibit it in the villages and small towns round, with the consent of their clergy, and paying a certain proportion of the proceeds to their own charities if they lend me a hall. I shall charge very little for seats, from a shilling down to twopence or threepence; and as I shall explain the views and work the apparatus myself, the expenses will be nothing."
"Fancy the Rector of Barnford turning showman! What a come-down!" said disdainful Laura. "I can't think you will make much! However, if you succeed, and come to me in the spring with a statement of the profits, I promise I will give you as much as they amount to."
It was more than he expected; and he thanked her warmly, despite her evident conviction that the profits would be small.
"I'll give you a written promise, if you like, to that effect," added Miss Lancaster, who was a most businesslike young woman.
"No, thank you; a lady's word is quite enough," he answered earnestly; and a genial smile stole over her handsome face as he spoke, for she was secretly pleased by his chivalrous trust.
On the whole, he quitted the Manor fairly well satisfied; for though Laura could not be described, by any stretch of courtesy, as an amiable girl, he discerned fine traits of character behind her somewhat repellent manner. "A girl who wants knowing," he decided. "She has been flattered because of her riches, and pestered by mercenary suitors, until she imagines all men are deceivers!"
II.
The Bishop, who was a liberal-minded man, and much interested in the restoration of the church, entirely approved of the projected lantern entertainment. In addition, a drawing-room meeting was held at the Palace, which produced twenty-five pounds, and the Bishop added another twenty. As Llewellyn had decided to set apart his own hundred pounds annually until the restoration was completed, he felt justified in immediately commencing the most necessary repairs at once, trusting that the printed appeals which the Bishop caused to be sent out would bring in a steady flow of subscriptions.
He inaugurated his magic-lantern entertainment at Barnford itself with great success, for the Bishop came over with several friends, and Mrs. Lancaster sent a sovereign for five tickets. But neither she nor her daughter put in an appearance, their places being filled by their servants. The principal farmer lent his biggest barn gratis, so that Llewellyn cleared over five pounds that night. And after that, though he encountered some good-natured ridicule, the Rector and his lantern were in great request. His enterprise was even commended in the London papers; and the villagers simply crowded to the entertainment everywhere, glad of some amusement in the long winter evenings. The richer farmers and tradespeople gladly paid a shilling or eighteenpence for a seat, and the smaller sums mounted up amazingly, so that, after all deductions, Llewellyn seldom received less than between two and three pounds for one evening. Although he never gave more than four exhibitions a week, being resolute not to neglect his own parish, he made over forty pounds a month.
Little could be done to the church before spring, as it proved a very severe winter, and outdoor work was impeded by frost. Tarpaulins were temporarily stretched over the cracked roof, but at best it was a very shivery and dreary spot, so that Llewellyn always returned with renewed eagerness to his magic-lantern journeys after a Sunday spent in the desolate building, where the howls of the ruined organ made the singing a mockery. In his private life he exercised the strictest self-denial, for the scanty income from his living left no margin for luxuries. He scarcely went into any society, as his engagements left him no time; for, as Miss Lancaster informed everybody, he was a perfect maniac on the subject of restoring the church. He met her now and then in going about the roads; and sometimes she passed him with a brief nod, though occasionally she would stop to ask, with some mockery in her tones, how the magic-lantern was getting on. She never appeared at his church, though it was so much nearer than Thornton, and the duty-calls he paid at the Manor were few and brief.
In February the long frost broke up, whereupon Mr. Lane arrived one Saturday night at the Rectory with a view to commencing work in earnest. After the Sunday morning service Llewellyn felt impelled to rebuke the old sexton, who was supposed to clean the church. "When did you dust the pews last, Reed? The very air seems choked with it; the reading-desk and my books and the communion rails are in a disgraceful state!"
The old man began the rigmarole he always employed when criticised. "I served Mr. Short, man and boy, for fifty years, and never was told the church was dirty afore! I cleaned it out reg'lar, on Saturday, I did, and dusted everything, sir!"
The Rector shrugged his shoulders as he looked round at the dust which he could see lying thick on every moulding and ledge, but said no more to Reed. On reaching home, however, he mentioned the matter to his friend Lane, who had not been at church, having caught a bad cold on the journey. To his intense amazement, no sooner had he mentioned the amount of dust in the church than Lane started up, and, disregarding all remonstrances, flung on his overcoat and hat, and started off through the churchyard at a tremendous pace to examine the tower from outside. Although carefully shored up in the autumn, the crack in it had widened perceptibly even to Llewellyn's sight, and was extending across the wall of the south aisle.
She hastened to the churchyard.—p. 42.
"It's the frost," said the architect ruefully, after a thorough examination both inside and out. "It has assisted in disintegrating the masonry, and caused a further settlement that may bring the old tower down with a run any minute. Being Sunday, we can't do anything to prevent it, even if that were possible now. The dust in the church is no fault of old Reed, but is simply caused by the stones of the tower grinding together, because every moment they are becoming more displaced. To-morrow, if it stands till then, I'll try and get men to take it down."
Poor Llewellyn looked very dejected. "Oh, Lane, this is bad news! If the tower falls, it will wreck half the church!"
"It's a pity, certainly, but it's nobody's fault. You mustn't have service in it again, for it really isn't safe."
Fortunately, during the dark winter months Llewellyn, at the urgent request of the inhabitants at the other end of his very large and straggling parish, was accustomed to hold service on alternate Sunday evenings in a large room at the outskirts of the village, and was due there that night. He decided not to say anything about the tower, for fear of alarming his parishioners; but he carefully locked the churchyard gate so that no one could enter it, and, returning home, he took the key of the church from the nail where it usually hung, telling his old servant Dorcas that nobody must go into the church on any pretext whatsoever, as he feared it was unsafe.
That afternoon he called to soothe old Reed's wounded feelings by saying in confidence what had caused the dust. He strictly enjoined the sexton in case any strangers came to inspect the church, as they did sometimes, not to admit them on any account. Reed promised faithfully; but that Sunday was a sadly anxious time for Llewellyn, who expected every moment to hear a mighty crash and see the tower fall.
Early next day Lane set off to engage men and appliances; for the old tower, to his great surprise, was still standing, though perceptibly more out of the perpendicular. Llewellyn departed to the school, and had not been gone long, when an imperative knock sounded at the Rectory door. Dorcas opened it to behold Miss Lancaster and another girl, Daisy Staples, an old schoolfellow, who was staying at the Manor.
"I've come to borrow the key of the church, please. I want my friend to see it, and I'll bring back the key when we've done with it." Laura, it is needless to say, had heard no whisper of the precarious state of the tower.
Dorcas, who, like all the villagers, stood considerably in awe of Miss Lancaster, was much taken aback. "I'm very sorry, miss," stammered she, "but you mustn't go into the church—master says it's not safe; and I wasn't to give the key to anybody."
"Not safe!" cried Laura incredulously. She had seen the old place shored up with timber so long that the spectacle had lost all its significance. "What nonsense! I'm sure it's just as safe as it ever was, and I particularly want my friend to see it. So give me the key, please, and we'll go."
"I haven't got it, miss, indeed. Master took it away, and left word nobody was to go inside."
The spoilt heiress, unaccustomed to opposition, turned upon her heel in high dudgeon. "Then I can only say your master is a most arbitrary and disagreeable man!" she cried angrily. "Mr. Percival is just like all the rest of the clergy, Daisy!" she grumbled to her friend as they went away. "They love to show their power by tyrannising over the laity! I don't believe the church is really unsafe at all! Probably the Rector thinks that because I won't go to his services on Sundays I don't deserve to enter the church on weekdays, and so I am to be refused the key!"
Angry people are very seldom dignified; and Laura, knowing that Daisy was keenly interested in architecture, was determined to try and accomplish her project somehow. "After all, I'm a parishioner, and I've a right to enter the church!" she exclaimed. "The old sexton has a key, and we'll go and get his, since that cross woman refused the Rector's."
But the sexton was out. As no answer was returned to her knocks, Laura, who was well acquainted with his habits, tried the door, which was unfastened, and, looking in, saw the large church key hanging on its accustomed nail in his little kitchen. She snatched at it in triumph, and hastened to the churchyard; only to find her progress once more barred.
"Mr. Percival has actually gone and locked the gate!" she exclaimed, descending to slipshod English in her excitement. "Now, I should say that must be distinctly illegal! At any rate, here goes!"
They vaulted over, with the agility of modern girls practised in gymnastics, and very soon were inside the church. The dust was thicker than ever, but in the excitement of displaying the various points of interest Laura hardly noticed it; and they poked about everywhere, little dreaming of the appalling risk they ran.
Llewellyn, on quitting the school, came round to speak to Reed; and found the old man, who had just returned, standing staring stupidly at the bare nail on the wall. "Did you come and fetch the church key away, sir?" he began.
"I? I've never touched it—never seen it! And yet it's gone from the nail! Surely it can't be that somebody has taken it to go inside the church! Lane says the tower can't possibly last out the day."
For an instant they gazed at each other with scared faces; and then Llewellyn rushed away, mad with fear, clearing first the churchyard fence, and then the tombstones with incredible bounds. As he went a curious, dull rumble was audible, and to his horror he distinctly saw the massive tower first sway slightly, and then commence to slip, slip with a horrible motion unlike anything he had ever seen before. The church door was ajar—there must be somebody inside! Pray Heaven he might be in time!
"I couldn't rest till I saw you," she faltered.—p. 44.
Meanwhile the girls, poring over an old floor-brass, were startled by the rumbling; whilst the dust grew so much thicker that Laura exclaimed, "Pah! What a stuffy old place! That rumble must be thunder—there it is again!"
Still not suspecting their danger, they leisurely retraced their steps to the south door, at the bottom of the church, very near the fatal tower. Laura could distinctly remember turning past the last pew; but after that nothing was clear. She only knew that some man, unrecognisable in the cloud of dust and mortar which suddenly obscured everything, threw himself, as a still louder rumble occurred, with what then seemed absolutely brutal violence upon her and Daisy. Seizing her with a force which for days left bruises on her arms, he positively hurled her and her friend before him through the open door. Then before he had himself quite crossed the threshold the entire fabric of the tower fell with a terrific crash, wrecking the whole of that end of the church.
III.
When Llewellyn Percival, after some time, recovered from the effects of a serious wound on his head from a falling stone, and a broken arm, it was to find himself a popular hero. To his own mind, he had only done a most ordinary thing, such as any man would naturally do; and he could not understand why all the papers should publish glowing accounts of his bravery. The poor old sexton, who had faithfully followed him on his errand of mercy, and had only been deterred by his age and feebleness from arriving in time, deserved quite as many thanks as he did, Llewellyn maintained. But the fickle public did not think so, and subscriptions for Barnford Church literally poured in.
It is a fine thing to be a popular idol, even for a day; and Llewellyn received so much kindness during his illness that he had never been happier in his life. An old aunt came to nurse him; and on the first day he was allowed to come downstairs a humble message was brought that Miss Lancaster would like to see him for a moment, if it would not tire him too much. She and her mother had been incessant in their inquiries, besides sending fruit, flowers, and invalid delicacies daily.
"Show her in," said Llewellyn, unheeding his aunt's remonstrance; and in a minute she was bending over the chair from which he feebly strove to rise, her dark eyes full of tears. "I couldn't rest till I saw you," she faltered. "But oh! if you had been killed, I should have felt like a murderess! It was all my fault, for being so obstinate and wicked! When Dorcas told me I couldn't have the key of the church, I thought"—and she hung her head—"I said, indeed, that it was a piece of spiteful tyranny on your part, just to assert your arbitrary authority. Oh, how could I ever think it of you? Say you forgive me—only say so!"
With the tears of genuine repentance and humility streaming down her face, it was not possible for mortal man to refuse her anything. "My dear Miss Lancaster, pray don't distress yourself! We are all liable to errors of judgment, and, believe me, I forgive you from my heart—if, indeed, I have anything to forgive."
"Besides that, I've always been horrid to you," she sighed remorsefully. "I wouldn't help about the restoration, nor do anything in the parish, and I sneered at your magic-lantern. Oh, yes, I did—you can't deny it. But I hope now you won't worry any more about raising funds. Daisy and I, as a thank-offering for the great mercy vouchsafed to us, are going to finish the restoration, if you'll only tell us what you'd like. No, not a word of thanks—at least, not to me—I feel I really don't deserve it."
And the dignified, self-complacent Miss Lancaster fairly bolted from the room; conscious that her face was quite unfit to be seen, and that it was absolutely necessary to have her cry out somewhere. Llewellyn leaned back in his chair, almost overwhelmed by the knowledge that he was about to attain his heart's desire at last.
The restored Barnford Church was such a dream of beauty that sometimes Llewellyn would ask himself whether it were a real building or only a fairy vision. The light fell through beautiful painted windows; an excellent organ replaced the old one; and oak pews, exquisitely carved, filled the nave. A huge gilt cock strutted proudly above the restored tower, and a brass tablet near the pulpit declared the restoration to be the thank-offering of two grateful hearts. People came from far and near to the services, eager to see the beautiful church, but the largest crowd that ever assembled in the building came on the occasion of the marriage of the Rector to Laura Lancaster.
EX-SPEAKER PEEL. MR. SPEAKER GULLY.
(Photo: Russell and Sons.) (Photo: Bassano, Ltd.)