Two
Five days previous to the opening of this story the Reverend Josiah Wiseman, with Louisa, his wife, stepped down from the parsonage on “The Hill,” to the jetty at Port Elizabeth, immediately after the good ship Silver Linings of Leith, cast anchor in the roadstead, and engaged the services of a boatman to convey them to the vessel. The day was fine and the sea was smooth, or else Mrs Wiseman would never have trusted herself even on this, the fringe of the great waters. She was one of those motherly parties who never become old in heart or feeling, and consequently never cease to take an interest in the love-affairs of their acquaintances. Neither the forty-eight years of her life nor her massive bulk had tamed her sprightliness or dimmed her merry eye. She had looked more or less the same for the past twenty years; even her increase of size had been so gradual that, however striking her portly presence may have been to strangers, her husband and her intimate acquaintances did not notice it as being anything remarkable. She had come gently down the hill of Time like a snowball rolling down a gradual slope and continually gathering accretions without altering much in general appearance. Her only child, a girl, had died in its infancy many years previously, and the unexpended motherhood of her nature seemed to expand and envelop every girl in love, or about to marry, in its sympathetic folds. She had come out in her youth under circumstances similar to those of the three ladies sent out as brides for the ministers whose acquaintance we have made, and who were passengers by the Silver Lining. These damsels were to be her guests until their marriage, and she was now on her way to welcome them.
As the boat drew near the vessel’s side, the bright, pretty face of a young girl, who was gazing intently at the shore, might have been seen above the rail. She had very large, dark eyes, brown wavy hair, rosy cheeks, and a mouth like a rosebud in a hurry to blossom. Add to the foregoing a stature rather below the middle height, a neatly turned figure and remarkably pretty feet and hands, and you have a fairly recognisable portrait of Miss Stella Mason, the delineation of whose charms had already impressed the middle-aged but inflammable heart of the Reverend Peter Bloxam and filled the sentimental bosom of the Reverend Mark Wardley with hopeless woe.
Sitting together under an awning aft of the companion hatch were two austere-looking damsels of uncertain age, who, in spite of considerable diversity of appearance, might have been taken for sisters, so much did they resemble each other in dress, deportment and expression. Each had a book of a highly moral tone lying open upon her discreet lap, and was reading therein in ostentatious disregard of what minds less absorbed by the higher spheres of morality would have considered the interesting prospect afforded by this, the first glimpse of the land which was to be their future home. They had, as a matter of fact, already taken a good look at the shore from their cabin windows; but now the abiding abstract principles that governed their circumspect lives again claimed their attention to the exclusion of unimportant detail.
They both wore dresses of brown linsey, buttoned very high at the throat, and black straw hats innocent of all but the very simplest of trimming. Their white, rather bony hands were skirted by immaculate cuffs. The elder of the two, Miss Lavinia Simpson, had light-brown hair, brushed smoothly back from a high forehead, and her longish upper lip protruded over a somewhat receding chin. Her face was pale and narrow, and she wore spectacles over eyes of an indeterminate hue. Her companion, Miss Matilda Whitmore, had hair of a darker shade of brown, and wide, light-blue eyes. Her face was broad and her cheekbones rather high. The thin lips of her pursed mouth strongly suggested a potatoes, prunes, and prism training. These ladies seemed to exhale an atmosphere of uncompromising and aggressive virtue.
Mr Wiseman ascended the companion ladder and introduced himself. Mrs Wiseman’s courage failed her at the prospect of an ascent, so she remained in the boat, where the three strangers were duly presented to her, after being handed over by the captain’s wife. The boat then returned to the shore, and the party climbed the hill to the hospitable threshold of the Parsonage.
It soon became apparent that Miss Mason had been, so to say, sent to Coventry by the other two, for they kept a marked physical and moral distance from her. Mrs Wiseman from the first felt drawn towards the young girl, and the friendly expression of this impulse was at once resented by the others, who stiffened up and formed themselves into a defensive alliance, which suggested possibilities of becoming offensive as well.
The fair Stella, however, did not appear to be chilled in the slightest degree by the cold shoulders turned towards her by her companions on the road to Hymen’s shrine, for she chatted in the friendliest manner with Mr and Mrs Wiseman, made herself quite at home at the Parsonage, and appeared to turn up her pretty little nose at the proper airs of the others. These, as a matter of fact, had been highly scandalised at what they considered a flirtation between her and the second mate of the Silver Linings and even gone the length of remonstrating with her on the subject of her frivolity. The second mate was a muscular young Scotsman named Donald Ramsay; with him Stella had struck up a perfectly innocent friendship, but the severe virtue of Lavinia and Matilda had received such shocks from what they imagined to be the real state of affairs, that it became like erected porcupine quills whenever she approached. Mrs Wiseman soon saw what the true drift of things was, so she lodged the two elder ladies in one room and put Stella by herself in another.
The post for Grahamstown was timed to leave next morning, so Mr Wiseman retired to his study and wrote to the three expectant ones, informing them of the arrival of the Silver Lining with her precious freight, after a prosperous voyage.