Gerald Eversley's Friendship: A Study in Real Life

by J. E. C. Welldon

At the time when this letter was written Harry Venniker and Gerald Eversley were not living on quite the same terms of intimacy as before. The progress of school life had parted them a little from each other; they were no longer occupants of the same room. But Gerald, being now in the Lower Sixth Form, enjoyed the privilege of having breakfast and tea in his own room, and of inviting a friend, whenever he wished, to share them with him. It is needless to say that that friend was always, or almost always, Harry Venniker. The friendship between them was thus maintained in its integrity, and Gerald had the happiness of reflecting that he was able to confer a slight favour while receiving so many. There was also a tacit understanding that they should, if possible, go for a walk together on Sundays—how many school friendships have been consecrated by the happy rule of Sunday walks!—or, if the weather was too bad for a walk, that they should meet for a long talk in the room of one of them. Thus the friendship, so vital to them both, continued. It was in a sense even purified, as being free from the petty frictions and bickerings which are the incidents of great and constant propinquity, which sometimes occur, it is said, even between husband and wife. Harry and Gerald did not now need to meet unless they chose; but their meetings were the more highly valued. Perhaps, however, it was because they saw less of each other during the term that Harry had thought of asking Gerald to his home in the holidays. There was much talk in Kestercham Vicarage at breakfast and afterwards about the unexpected invitation to Helmsbury Hall. Mr. Eversley and his wife were at one in assuming that it could not be refused. Mr. Eversley had once or twice—not oftener—been invited to dinner with a noble lord who possessed a mansion (to which he seldom came) in the neighbouring parish of Wickeston—it was known as Wickeston Manor—and who owned a great part of the land in Kestercham, and he had always looked upon the invitations as commands. The feudal feeling for the great lords, which is dying out among the farmers and agricultural labourers, will, I think, find its last resting-place in the breasts of the country clergy. Mr. Eversley anticipated the visit to Helmsbury with some anxiety; for might it not exalt Gerald’s ideas above his station? He reminded him that all men were equal in the sight of God. Mrs. Eversley opined that the visit would give him ‘polish,’ though she exhorted him to be on his guard against ‘the world.’ However, the result, which had been visible enough from the first, was that Gerald wrote, and Mr. Eversley revised, a letter, saying how grateful he was to Lord and Lady Venniker for the honour done to him, and that he would gladly come in the week before returning to St. Anselm’s.

Such arduous and absorbing questions as the clothes he must wear on week-days and on Sunday, the money he must take with him (as if he would be expected to pay a subscription every day), the style of language he must adopt, and the attitude he must assume, towards his hosts having been settled at last to the satisfaction of Mr., and still more of Mrs., Eversley, Gerald was put into the little carriage with the old grey mare and driven to X——, where he was to take the train for London; after that he was to take a cab and drive across London and so catch the train to Helmsbury. Mr. Eversley accompanied him to the station at X——, and took leave of him with the remark that wherever he was he would (Mr. Eversley felt sure) behave like a gentleman and a Christian.

Gerald Eversley’s stay at Helmsbury was limited to a week. During that week he wrote as many as five letters home. Mr. Eversley noticed that after the first two letters, in which he described the size and grandeur of the house, especially its picture-gallery with the works of many artists whose names he had never heard of, but one or two masterpieces—a Murillo and a Titian—that awoke strange memories and imaginations in his mind, and the organ in the hall, Gerald referred more frequently to Lady Venniker than to anyone else. Her delicacy of health prevented her entertaining many guests. Lord Venniker and Harry and such friends as were with them spent the days in sport, so that Gerald (whose defective eyesight would have disqualified him for sport, had his inclination led him to it) was left for a good many hours to the study of books in the great library—a privilege exceeding his highest expectations—and to the society of Lady Venniker. Once, but only once, he mentioned Miss Venniker, as a beautiful girl, rather like Harry, but with softer and more sensitive features than his.

The transition from the simple country vicarage, where his step-mother would often lend a helping hand in laying the cloth or clearing away, to the ancestral home of a noble family, with its army of male and female servants, could not but impress, and might easily have disturbed, the mind of a boy less unworldly than Gerald Eversley. But Lord and Lady Venniker, though so different in character, were alike in possessing the exquisite tact which prevents wealth from being felt as a burden, or rank from appearing in the light of a reproach. They soon made Gerald feel at his ease. Instead of reminding him of the points of difference in his life and theirs, they drew out whatever was sympathetic between them. They understood the art of leaving him alone. It is only when the guests feel bound to be amused and the host feels bound to amuse them, that life in a country house becomes intolerable.

Gerald took several drives with Lady Venniker, who was able to go out sometimes in the summer months, and on one of these an incident occurred which formed a bond of union between them. They were returning from a drive to Ross Abbey and were nearing a cottage which belonged to one of Lord Venniker’s tenants, when at the turning of the road, near the foot of the hill, a little girl, attracted by the sound of the carriage, ran out of the wicket-gate at the entrance to the cottage-garden and came, as it seemed, actually under the horses’ feet. Lady Venniker, seeing what was inevitable, gave a faint scream, and fell back in the carriage as if in a swoon. Gerald, who dreaded what the effect of the shock might be on one so delicate, turned to her.

‘Never mind me,’ she said in a low voice, ‘look after the child.’

The coachman had pulled the horses to the side of the road, and the child lay in the middle, screaming. The footman had already descended from the box and was standing by her side, doing nothing, as the way of servants is in an emergency. Gerald got out of the carriage and passed his hand rapidly over the child’s body. It seemed that when he touched her left leg, her screaming grew worse. He told Lady Venniker that he was afraid one leg was broken, but that the child was as much frightened as injured.

Neither the father nor the mother of the child was in the cottage. Gerald said he would stay with the child until one of them came back. By this time she was screaming less convulsively, though she continued to lay her hand on the injured leg. Lady Venniker, whose face was deadly pale, said she would drive for the doctor, whose house was three miles distant. The evening was closing in, and there was a chilly feeling in the air; but she insisted upon fetching the doctor herself. Meanwhile Gerald, who with the footman’s help had carried the child into the cottage, sat by her side, doing his best to soothe her pain. A neighbour, who had seen the accident, was sent for the child’s mother; but she was in the harvest-field, and it was some time before she could be found. When the doctor arrived in the carriage with Lady Venniker he pronounced that the child had sustained a fracture of the tibia—probably one of the horses had trodden upon her leg—but it was a simple fracture, and he did not doubt it would do well. Lady Venniker and Gerald drove back to Helmsbury; neither of them spoke a word. Lady Venniker looked very ill. She retired at once to her room, and did not appear any more that night. Next morning she was said to be suffering from the combined effects of cold and fright, and the doctor expressed anxiety about her. It was some days before she left her bed. But she did not fail to send each day some article of food or dress, and a kindly message with it, to the mother of the suffering child. Gerald did not see her any more; for on the second day after the accident he left Helmsbury. But she sent him a message through her daughter, to say that she was better, and to thank him for his kindness to the child and to herself; she hoped he would come to Helmsbury again.

Gerald, upon his return to Kestercham, learnt to his surprise that the news of his adventure was already known. It had got into the papers, as affecting Lady Venniker, and most improbable and grotesque accounts of it were in the air. That he had carried a peasant’s child out of a burning house; that he had saved a child from drowning; that he had been wounded in warding off a blow aimed at Lady Venniker; that he had gallantly stopped her ladyship’s runaway horses—these and other versions of the story were current. He found himself the hero of the hour in Kestercham and the neighbouring parishes. At one of the clerical parties to which Mr. Eversley occasionally went and took his son, the conversation turned almost exclusively upon his feat of daring. The clergy and their wives and daughters were forward in congratulating him. A comical incident connected with this party may be mentioned here; for Mr. Eversley and he sometimes laughed over it in after-days. Among the guests at the party was an elderly clergyman, so deaf that it was practically impossible for him to join in the general conversation. He understood, however, that something unusual was astir. To him, as he sat in a corner of the room, Mr. Eversley made his way, partly out of kindness and partly to escape the embarrassment of so much talking about Gerald.

‘A fine afternoon, Mr. Drummond,’ he said to the old gentleman, raising his voice a little, for there was a buzz of conversation everywhere.