Abington Abbey: A Novel

by Archibald Marshall

"She always sticks up for him, because she can't abide him," said Barbara. "I liked Lady Mansergh. She was very affectionate. She patted my cheek and said it did her good to see such nice pretty girls about the place. She said it to me, so you see, Bunting, I'm not so plain-headed as you think. If ever Caroline and B are removed, by marriage or death, you'll see how I shall shine."

"Barbara dear, don't talk about death in that unfeeling way," said Miss Waterhouse. "It is not pretty at all."

Old Jarvis came out of the house at that moment followed by the Vicar, whom he announced by name as solemnly as if he had never seen him before. Jarvis did not like the Vicar, and adopted towards him an air of impregnable respect, refusing to be treated as a fellow human being, and giving monosyllabic answers to his attempts at conversation as he preceded him in stately fashion on his numerous calls to the morning-room, which was seldom used except just before dinner, or the drawing-room, which was never used at all. From the first he had never permitted him "just to run up and find the young ladies," or to dispense with any formality that he could bind him to, though Worthing he always received with a smiling welcome, accepted and returned his words of greeting, and took him straight up to the long gallery if the family was there, or told him if they were in the garden. The morning-room opened into the garden, and the Vicar, hearing voices outside, had followed him out. Jarvis was extremely annoyed with himself that he had not shown him into the drawing-room, which was on the other side of the house, but did not allow his feelings to appear.

The Vicar came forward with an air of proprietary friendship. "Tea out of doors in April!" he said. "What an original family you are, to be sure! Ah, my young friend, I think I can guess who you are."

"Young George, commonly known as Bunting," said Barbara by way of introduction. None of them ever showed him what desolation his visits brought them, and in spite of signs to the contrary that would not have escaped a man of less self-sufficiency he still considered himself as receiving a warm welcome at the Abbey whenever he chose to put in an appearance.

Young George blinked at his method of address, but rose and shook hands with him politely. The Vicar put his hand on his shoulder and gave him a little shake. "We must be friends, you and I," he said. "I like boys, and it isn't so very long since I was one myself, though I dare say I seem a very old sort of person to all you young people."

Young George blinked again. "What an appalling creature!" was the comment he made up for later use. But he did not even meet Barbara's significant look, and stood aside for the visitor to enter the circle round the table.

"Now, young lady, if I'm not too late for a cup of tea," said the Vicar, seating himself by Caroline, after he had shaken hands all round with appropriate comment, "I shall be glad of it. You always have such delicious teas here. I'm afraid I'm sometimes tempted to look in more often than I should otherwise on that account alone."

"Why didn't you bring Mrs. Mercer?" asked Miss Waterhouse. "We haven't seen her for some days."

Miss Waterhouse hardly ever failed to suggest Mrs. Mercer as his expected companion when he put in his appearances at tea-time. It was beginning to occur to him that Miss Waterhouse was something of the Dragon that he had heard his young friends call her, and had once playfully called her himself, though without the success that he had anticipated from his pleasantry. He was inclined to resent her presence in the family circle of which she seemed to him so unsuitable a member. He prided himself upon getting on so well with young people, and these young Graftons were so easy to get on with, up to a point. The point would have been passed and that intimacy which he always just seemed to miss with them would have been his if it had not always been for this stiff unsympathetic governess. She was always there and always took part in the conversation, and always spoilt it, when he could have made it so intimate and entertaining. Miss Waterhouse had to be treated with respect, though. He had tried ignoring her, as the governess, who would be grateful for an occasional kindly word; but it had not worked. She refused to be ignored, and he could hardly ever get hold of the girls, really to make friends, without her.