Those who said that he was a student were to some extent right, for his modest lodgings at Teddington were well furnished with books, and he was a familiar object to many, as with his white hands clasped behind him he walked in his semi-clerical habit to and from the Palace at Hampton Court—through Bushey Park, and always on the same side of the road, making a point of pausing at the inlet of the Diana Pool to throw crumbs of bread to the eager fish, before continuing his walk in by the Lion Gate into the Palace gardens to the large fountain basin, where the great gold and silver fish also had their portion.
He never spoke to anyone; apparently nobody ever spoke to him, and he went his way to and fro, generally known as “the priest,” making his journeys two or three times a week to call at the apartments of the Honourable Misses Dymcox to see his young pupils, as he called them, and to converse with them to keep up their French.
Upon these occasions he partook of the weak tea handed round by Joseph, and broke a portion off one of the thin biscuits that accompanied the cups. In fact, he was an institution with the Dymcox family, and had been duly taken into the ladies’ confidence respecting the movement proposed by Lady Littletown.
“My dear ladies,” he had responded, “you know my position here—my trust to the dead; I watch over the welfare of their children, and you tell me this is for their well-being. What else can I say but may your plans prosper?”
“But I would not mention it to the children, Mr Montaigne,” said Miss Philippa.
“I mention it! My dear madam, all these years that you have known me, and is my character a sealed book to you still?”
“For my part, I don’t like him,” said Joseph once to Markes, and he was politely told not to be a fool. Cook, however, who had a yearning after the mysterious, proved to be of a more sympathetic mind, and when Joseph told her his opinion, that this Mr Montaigne was only a Jesuit and a priest in disguise, cook said she shouldn’t a bit wonder, for “them sort often was.”
Now, cook had not seen Mr Montaigne, so her judgment should be taken cum grano, as also in the case where Joseph declared Mr Montaigne to be “a deep ’un,” when she declared that was sure to be the case.
On the night of the dinner-party at Hampton, the carriage—to wit, Mr Buddy’s fly—had no sooner departed than Markes announced her intention of going next door to see Lady Anna Maria Morton’s maid; at which cook grunted, and, being left alone, proceeded to take out a basket from the dresser drawer, and seated herself to have what she called a couple of hours’ good darn.
One of those hours had nearly passed, and several black worsted stockings had been ornamented with patches of rectangular embroidery, when the outer door-bell rang.