Abington Abbey: A Novel

by Archibald Marshall

The Vicar and Mrs. Mercer were drinking tea with Mrs. Walter and Mollie. There had been a revival of late of the old intercourse between the Vicarage and Stone Cottage. Mollie had been very careful. After that conversation with her mother recorded a few chapters back, she had resolutely made up her mind that no call from outside should lure her away from her home whenever her mother would be likely to want her. With her generous young mind afire with tenderness and gratitude for all the love that had been given to her, for the years of hard and anxious toil that had gone to the making of this little home, in which at last she could make some return for her mother's devotion, she had set herself to put her above everything, and had never flinched from sacrificing her youthful desires to that end, while taking the utmost pains to hide the fact that there was any sacrifice at all. She had had her reward in the knowledge that her mother was happier than she had ever been since her widowhood, with an increased confidence in the security she had worked so hard to gain, and even some improvement in health. The poor woman, crushed more by the hard weight of difficult years than by any definite ailment, had seen her hold on her child loosening, and the friendship that had been so much to her becoming a source of strife and worry instead of refreshment. It had been easier to suffer under the thought of what should be coming to her than to make headway against it. She had no vital force left for further struggle, and to rise and take up the little duties of her day had often been too much for her while she had been under the weight of her fear. That fear was now removed, and a sense of safety and contentment had taken its place. She had been more active and capable during this early winter than at any such period since she had gained her freedom.

Part of Mollie's deeply considered duty had been to recreate the intimacy with the Vicar and Mrs. Mercer, and by this time there had come to be no doubt that they occupied first place again in her attentions. Even Beatrix had had to give way to them, but had found Mollie so keenly delighted in her society when she did enjoy it, that, divining something of what was behind it all, she had made no difficulties, except to chaff her occasionally about her renewed devotion to Lord Salisbury.

Mollie never let fall a hint of the aversion she had conceived for the man, which seemed to have come to her suddenly, and for no reason that she wanted to examine. Some change in her attitude towards him he must have felt, for he showed slight resentments and caprices in his towards her; but Mrs. Mercer exulted openly in the return of her allegiance, and if he was not satisfied that it had extended to himself he had no grounds on which to express complaint. There was no doubt, at least, that Mollie was more at the disposal of himself and his wife than she had been at any time since the Graftons had come to the Abbey, and he put it down as the result of his wife's visit to Mrs. Walter, which he had instigated if not actually directed. So he accepted the renewal of intimacy with not too bad a face, and neither Mrs. Walter nor Mrs. Mercer conceived it to be less complete between all of them than it had been before.

The Vicar had a grievance on this winter afternoon, which he was exploiting over the tea-table.

"The least that could be expected," he was saying, "when the Bishop of the Diocese comes among us is that the clergy of the neighbourhood should be asked to meet him in a friendly way. Mrs. Carruthers gives a great deal of hospitality where it suits her, and I hear that the whole Grafton family has been invited to dinner at Surley Park to-morrow, as of course was to be expected. They have made a dead set at the lady and she at them, and I suppose none of her parties would be complete without a Grafton to grace it, though it's difficult to see what pleasure she can expect the Bishop to take in meeting a young girl like Barbara, or a mere child like the boy."

"Oh, but elderly men do like to have young things about them, Albert," said Mrs. Mercer; "and as this is a purely private family party I dare say Mrs. Carruthers thought that his lordship would prefer to meet lay people rather than the clergy."

The Vicar's mouth shut down, as it always did in company when his wife made a speech of that sort. She had been a good wife to him—that he would have been the first to admit—but he never could get her to curb her tongue, which, as he was accustomed to say, was apt to run away with her; although he had tried hard, and even prayed about it, as he had once told her.

"Personally," he said stiffly, "I am unable to draw this distinction between lay people and clergy, except where the affairs of the church are concerned, and I must say it strikes me as odd that the wife of a priest should wish to do so. In ordinary social intercourse I should have said that a well-educated clergyman, who happened also to be a man of the world, was about the best company that could be found anywhere. His thoughts are apt to be on a higher plane than those of other men, but that need not prevent him shining in the lighter phases of conversation. I have heard better, and funnier, stories told by clergymen over the dinner-table than by any other class of human beings, though never, I am thankful to say, a gross one."

"Oh, yes, dear," said Mrs. Mercer soothingly. "I like funny stories with a clerical flavour the best of all myself. Do tell Mrs. Walter that one about the Bishop who asked the man who came to see him to take two chairs."

"As you have already anticipated the point of the story," said the Vicar, not mollified, "I think I should prefer to save it for another occasion. I was over at Surley Rectory yesterday calling on poor old Mr. Cooper. You have never met him, I think, Mrs. Walter."