Heriot's Choice: A Tale

by Rosa Nouchette Carey

'We are learning our verbs from morning to night,' grumbled Chriss, in a confidential aside to Roy; 'that horrid one, "to tidy," you know. Aunt Milly is always in the imperative mood. I declare I am getting sick of it. Hannah or Rachel used to mend my gloves and things, and now she insists on my doing it myself. I broke a dozen needles one afternoon to spite her, but she gave me the thirteenth with the same sweet smile. It is so tiresome not to be able to provoke people.'

But even Chrissy was secretly learning to value the kind forbearance that bore with her wayward fancies, and the skilfulness that helped her out of many a scrape. Mildred had made the rule that after six o'clock no lesson-books were to be opened. In the evening they either walked or drove, or sat on the lawn working, while Richard or Roy read aloud, Mildred taking the opportunity to overlook her nieces' work, and to remonstrate over the giant strides that Chriss's needle was accustomed to take. Even Olive owned these quiet times were very nice, while Mr. Lambert had once or twice been drawn into the charmed circle, and had paced the terrace in lieu of the churchyard, irresistibly attracted by the pleasant spectacle.

Mildred was doing wonders in her quiet way; she had already gained some insight into parish matters; she had accompanied her brother in his house-to-house visitation, and had been much struck by the absence of anything like distress. Poverty was there, but not hard-griping want. As a general rule the people were well-to-do, independent, and fairly respectable. One village had a forlorn and somewhat neglected appearance; but the generality of Mr. Lambert's parishioners struck Mildred as far superior to the London poor whom she had visited.

As yet she had not seen the darker side of the picture; she was shocked to hear Mr. Lambert speak on future occasions of the tendency to schism, and the very loose notions of morality that prevailed even among the better sort of people. The clergy had uphill work, he said. The new railway had brought a large influx of navvies, and the public-houses were always full.

'The commandments are broken just as easily in sight of God's hills as they are in the crowded and fetid alleys of our metropolis,' he said once. 'Human nature is the same everywhere, even though it be glossed over by outward respectability.

Mildred had already come in contact with the Ortolans more than once, and had on many occasions seen the green and yellow shawls flitting in and out of the cottages.

'They do a great deal of good, and are really very worthy creatures, in spite of their oddities,' observed Mr. Lambert once. 'They live over at Hartley. There is a third one, an invalid, Miss Bathsheba, who is very different from the others, and is, I think, quite a superior person. When I think of the gallant struggle they have carried on against trouble and poverty, one is inclined to forgive their little whims: it takes all sorts of people to make up a world, Mildred.'

Mildred thoroughly enjoyed her drive. Richard was in one of his brightest moods, and talked with more animation than usual, and seeing that his aunt was really interested in learning all about their surroundings, he insisted on putting up the pony-carriage, and took Mildred to see the church and the castle.

The vicarage and churchyard were so pleasantly situated, and the latter looked so green and shady, that she was disappointed to find the inside of the church very bare and neglected-looking, while the damp earthy atmosphere spoke of infrequent services.

There were urgent need of repairs, and a general shabbiness of detail that was pitiable: the high wooden pews looked comfortless, ordinary candles evidently furnished a dim and insufficient light. Mildred felt quite oppressed as she left the building.