“What do you think of Mr. St. John going away?” asked Mildmay abruptly.
The old woman stared, half alarmed, and made him another curtsy, to occupy the time till she could think how to answer. “Mr. St. John, sir? He’s a dear good gentleman, sir; as innocent as a baby. When he’s gone, sir, they will find the miss of him,” she said, examining his face keenly to see how he meant her to answer, which is one of the highest arts of the poor.
“If he goes away, after being here so long, why shouldn’t you be sent away, too?” said Mildmay. He felt how absurd was this questioning, as of an oracle, which came from the confused state of his own mind, not from any expectation of an answer; and then he could not but smile to himself at the idea of thus offering up a victim to the curate’s manes.
Mrs. Joel was much startled. “Lord bless us!” she said, making a step backwards. Then commanding herself, “It weren’t Mr. St. John, sir, as gave me my place; but the rector hisself. Mr. St. John is as good as gold, but he ain’t not to say my master. Besides, there’s a many as can do the parson’s work, but there ain’t many, not in this parish, as could do mine. Mr. St. John would be a loss—but me, sir——”
Here she made another curtsy, and Mildmay laughed in spite of himself. “You—would be a greater loss?” he said. “Well, perhaps so; but if there are any good reasons why he should leave, there must be the same for you.”
“I don’t see it, sir,” said Mrs. Joel promptly. “The parson’s old, and he’s a bit past his work; but I defy any one in the parish to say as the church ain’t as neat as a new pin. Mr. St. John’s getting a bit feeble in the legs; he can’t go long walks now like once he could. Me! I may be old, but as for my mop and my duster, I ain’t behind nobody. Lord bless you! it’s a very different thing with Mr. St. John from what it is with me. He’s got those girls of his to think upon, and those little children. What’s he got to do with little children at his age? But I’ve nobody but myself to go troubling my brains about. I thinks o’ my work, and nought else. You won’t get another woman in the parish as will do it as cheap and as comfortable as me.”
“But don’t you think,” said Mildmay—whose conduct I cannot excuse, and whose only apology is that his mind was entirely occupied with one subject—“don’t you think it is very hard upon Mr. St. John at his age, to go away?”
Mrs. Joel found herself in a dilemma. She had no desire to speak ill of the curate, but if she spoke too well of him, might not that annoy the new rector, and endanger her own cause? She eyed him very keenly, never taking her eyes off his face, to be guided by its changes. “Between gentlefolks and poor folks,” she said at last, philosophically, “there’s a great gulf fixed, as is said in the Bible. They can’t judge for us, nor us for them. He’s a deal abler to speak up for hisself, and settle for hisself, than the likes o’ me; and I reckon as he could stay on if he’d a mind to; but me, sir, it’s your pleasure as I’ve got to look to,” said the old woman, with another curtsy. This oracle, it was clear, had no response or guidance to give.
“Well,” he said, carelessly, “I will speak to Miss St. John—for I don’t know about the parish; and if she approves——”
A gleam of intelligence came into the keen old eyes which regarded him so closely; the old face lighted up with a twinkle of mingled pleasure, and malice, and kindness. “If that’s so, the Lord be praised!” she cried; “and I hope, sir, it’s Miss Cicely; for if ever there was a good wife, it’s her dear mother as is dead and gone; and Miss Cicely’s her very breathing image. Good morning to you, and God bless you, sir, and I hope as I haven’t made too bold.”