“And I too!” cries Mr. Graspacre, “as I have no objection in the world to the custom.” The reader’s experience of the squire will certainly give him credit for speaking truth in this instance. The notions of morality would be highly forwarded by courting in bed. But as for Mrs. Graspacre, had the faces of all the foul-fiends been united in one for the purpose of producing a ne plus ultra of concentrated devilry, it would not have surpassed the amiable expression upon her face. “You, Mr. Graspacre! you! I’m astonished; but”—(with a severe glance at the rector) “when the shepherd goes astray, no wonder the silly sheep follow his example!” With that, she bounced out of the room, and slammed the door in a high fit of indignation, aggravated by the calm looks of the rector, and the provoking tittering of her liege lord.
The rector’s honest dissent from her scheme of reformation, Mrs. Graspacre considered a direct declaration of hostilities, and therefore, by her peculiar creed of morality, she felt herself bound to vilify his name, and most piously longed for his death, that the cause of virtue might be supported by the talents of her favourite curate, who was now, she said, on a poor stipend which he increased by keeping a school in the church.
The reverend Inco Evans, the curate, played his cards well; he was a hard-featured man, with lowering brows and a complete ploughman’s gate; insolent to his poor parishioners, and a very awkward cringer to the great. But flattery, direct or covert, does much, and in time completely won him the favour of the great lady. She encouraged his patience by assuring him that the vicar, in his declined state of health, could not possibly live long; and his death, happen when it might, must appear, to all unprejudiced christians, as a judgment, for advocating, or not prosecuting, that execrable custom courting in bed.
As the living had long been promised to him, the hopes and expectations of Mr. Inco Evans were very sanguine. Waiting for dead men’s shoes is rather a wearisome thing, especially if the object of your affectionate solicitude be apparently in the best of health; but the curate was hopeful, and patient; and as he was no less ambitious than sycophantic and impervious, he looked forward with confidence to the period when he should strut forth in a fire-shovel hat, as vicar of the parish, and a magistrate in the county.
Notwithstanding that the living was promised him by the lady, he was aware that she was not always paramount, and therefore lost no opportunity of insinuating himself in the squire’s favour. He would laugh loudly to the injury of his lungs, at the squire’s most vapid jokes; praise the beauty of his snub-nosed children, and call curs, pointers; tell him where the prettiest lasses in the parish were to be found; with many such honourable civilities, that Squire Graspacre at length discovered him to be a very useful sort of person.
When Sir John Wynn of Gwydir paid his before mentioned visit, his sister introduced and recommended our curate, as a right worthy divine who deserved preferment; and the baronet promised to remember her recommendation, if anything turned out, within his power, to benefit him. Much time had elapsed, and nothing followed this agreeable promise; but Inco Evans persevered in his sycophancy, and if the labour and dirty work be properly estimated, he certainly justified his claims to a good living—in his majesty’s plantations, beyond the seas; to which he ought to have been inducted at the expense of government, and, as the artful Dodger says, he should have
“Gone abroad for the good of his health,
But not at his own expense!”
He soon saw the weak side of his lady patroness: and anxious to strengthen his influence by promoting her views, he gave great encouragement to those boys in his school who brought him the piquant tales of their grown up brothers and sisters. Much scandal was afloat at this time respecting the loves of Carmarthen Jack and Catty of Llidiard-y-Fynnon; he would almost have given his right hand to know how it was carried on. But Jack was wily; and though Catty possessed little book-learning, she had enough knowledge to outwit the curate. These lovers only went out at night, and took care to choose a solitary place for their meetings, so that getting information was, in their case, difficult of attainment. At length the cunning man thought he had hit upon a plan.
Little Twm Shon Catty, being the natural child of Sir John Wynn, was of course the illegitimate nephew of the great lady; a relationship which she, however, disdained to acknowledge; but the cunning curate took the liberty of observing one day, it was a great pity that the slightest drop of the noble blood of the Wynns, however perverted and polluted, should be run to waste and be neglected. Proceeding in this drift, he insinuated that if the boy Twm Shon Catty were removed to his school, he should not only be instructed and improved, but that he, the curate, might thereby learn from the youngster something of his mother’s proceedings; and especially, whether she entertained her lover in the legal or the proscribed manner. This was striking on the very string that made music to her busy, meddling, troublesome soul;—she of course warmly approved of his idea, and put it into immediate execution. Thus, the very next day, in her own and in her brother’s name, little Twm Shon Catty was ordered for the future to be sent to the curate’s school, which of course was complied with accordingly.