CHAPTER II
ISOBEL KISSES GODFREY
On the whole Monk's Acre suited Mr. Knight fairly well. It is true thathe did not like the Abbey, as it was still called, of which theassociations and architectural beauty made no appeal to him, andthought often with affection of the lodging-house-like abode in whichhe had dwelt in his southern seaport town amid the Victoriansurroundings that were suited to his Victorian nature. The gloriouschurch, too, irritated him, partly because it was so glorious, andnotwithstanding all that the Reformation had done to mar it, sosuggestive of papistical practice and errors, and partly because thecongregation was so scanty in that great expanse of nave and aisle, tosay nothing of the chancel and sundry chapels, that they looked like afew wandering sheep left by themselves in a vast and almost emptiedfold. Nor was this strange, seeing that the total population of theparish was but one hundred and forty-seven souls.
Of his squire and patron he saw but little. Occasionally Mr. Blakeattended church and as lay-rector was accommodated in an ugly oak boxin the chancel, where his big body and florid countenance remindedGodfrey of Farmer Johnson's prize polled ox in its stall. These statevisits were not however very frequent and depended largely upon theguests who were staying for the week-end at the Hall. If Mr. Blakediscovered that these gentlemen were religiously inclined, he went tochurch. If otherwise, and this was more common, acting on his principleof being all things to all men, he stopped away.
Personally he did not bother his head about the matter which, insecret, he looked upon as one of the ramifications of the great edificeof British cant. The vast majority of people in his view went tochurch, not because they believed in anything or wished for instructionor spiritual consolation, but because it looked respectable, which wasexactly why he did so himself. Even then nearly always he sat alone inthe oak box, his visitors generally preferring to occupy the pew in thenave which was frequented by Lady Jane and Isobel.
Nor did the two often meet socially since their natures wereantipathetic. In the bosom of his family Mr. Blake would refer to Mr.Knight as the "little parson rat," while in his bosom Mr. Knight wouldthink of Mr. Blake as "that bull of Bashan." Further, after sometroubles had arisen about a question of tithe, also about the upkeep ofthe chancel, Blake discovered that beneath his meek exterior theclergyman had a strong will and very clear ideas of the differencebetween right and wrong, in short, that he was not a man to be trifledwith, and less still one of whom he could make a tool. Havingascertained these things he left him alone as much as possible.
Mr. Knight very soon became aware first that his income wasinsufficient to his needs, and secondly, especially now when his healthwas much improved, that after a busy and hard-working life, time atMonk's Acre hung heavily upon his hands. The latter trouble to someextent he palliated by beginning the great work that he had plannedever since he became a deacon, for which his undoubted scholarship gavehim certain qualifications. Its provisional title was, "BabylonUnveiled" (he would have liked to substitute "The Scarlet Woman" forBabylon) and its apparent object an elaborate attack upon the RomanChurch, which in fact was but a cover for the real onslaught. With theRomans, although perhaps he did not know it himself, he had certainsympathies, for instance, in the matter of celibacy. Nor did heentirely disapprove of the monastic orders. Then he found nothingshocking in the tenets and methods of the Jesuits working for what theyconceived to be a good end. The real targets of his animosity were hishigh-church brethren of the Church of England, wretches who, whilstretaining all the privileges of the Anglican Establishment, such asmarriage, did not hesitate to adopt almost every error of Rome and tomake use of her secret power over the souls of men by the practice ofConfession and otherwise.
As this monumental treatise began in the times of the Early Fathers andwas planned to fill ten volumes of at least a hundred thousand wordsapiece, no one will be surprised to learn that it never reached thestage of publication, or indeed, to be accurate, that it came to finalstop somewhere about the time of Athanasius.
Realizing that the work was likely to equal that of Gibbon both inlength and the years necessary to its completion; also that from itcould be expected no immediate pecuniary profits, Mr. Knight lookedround to find some other way of occupying his leisure, and adding tohis income. Although a reserved person, on a certain Sunday when hewent to lunch at the Hall, in the absence of Mr. Blake who was spendingthe week-end somewhere else, he confided his difficulties to Lady Janewhom he felt to be sympathetic.
"The house is so big," he complained. "Mrs. Parsons" (Godfrey's oldnurse and his housekeeper) "and one girl cannot even keep it clean. Itwas most foolish of my predecessor in the living to restore that oldrefectory and all the southern dormitories upon which I am told hespent no less than L1,500 of his own money, never reflecting on theexpense which his successors must incur merely to keep them in order,since being once there they are liable for charges for dilapidations.It would have been better, after permission obtained, to let them go toruin."
"No doubt, but they are very beautiful, are they not?" remarked LadyJane feebly.
"Beauty is a luxury and, I may add, a snare. It is a mistaken love ofbeauty and pomp, baits that the Evil One well knows how to use, whichhave led so large a section of our Church astray," he replied sippingat his tumbler of water.
A silence followed, for Lady Jane, who from early and tenderassociations loved high-church practices, did not know what to answer.It was broken by Isobel who had been listening to the conversation inher acute way, and now said in her clear, strong voice:
"Why don't you keep a school, Mr. Knight? There's lots of room for itin the Abbey."
"A school!" he said. "A school! I never thought of that. No, it isridiculous. Still, pupils perhaps. Out of the mouth of babes andsucklings, &c. Well, it is time for me to be going. I will think thematter over after church."
Mr. Knight did think the matter over and after consultation with hishousekeeper, Mrs. Parsons, an advertisement appeared in _The Times_ and_The Spectator_ inviting parents and guardians to entrust two or threelads to the advertiser's care to receive preliminary education,together with his own son. It proved fruitful, and after an exchange ofthe "highest references," two little boys appeared at Monk's Acre, bothof them rather delicate in health. This was shortly before the crisisarose as to the future teaching of Isobel, when the last governess,wishing her "a better spirit," had bidden her a frigid farewell andshaken the dust of Hawk's Hall off her feet.
One day Isobel was sent with a note to the Abbey House. She rang thebell but no one came, for Mr. Knight was out walking with his pupilsand Mrs. Parsons and the parlour-maid were elsewhere. Tired of waiting,she wandered round the grey old building in the hope of finding someoneto whom she could deliver the letter, and came to the refectory whichhad a separate entrance. The door was open and she peeped in. At first,after the brilliant sunlight without, she saw nothing except the greatemptiness of the place with its splendid oak roof on the repair ofwhich the late incumbent had spent so much, since as is common inmonkish buildings, the windows were high and narrow. Presently,however, she perceived a little figure seated in the shadow at the endof the long oaken refectory table, that at which the monks had eaten,which still remained where it had stood for hundreds of years, one ofthe fixtures of the house, and knew it for that of Godfrey, Mr.Knight's son. Gliding towards him quietly she saw that he was asleepand stopped to study him.
He was a beautiful boy, pale just now for he had recovered but recentlyfrom some childish illness. His hair was dark and curling, dark, too,were his eyes, though these she could not see, and the lashes overthem, while his hands were long and fine. He looked most lonely andpathetic, there in the big oak chair that had so often accommodated theportly forms of departed abbots, and her warm heart went out towardshim. Of course Isobel knew him, but not very well, for he was a shy ladand her father had never encouraged intimacy between the Abbey Houseand the Hall.
Somehow she had the idea that he was unhappy, for indeed he looked so
even in his sleep, though perhaps this was to be accounted for by apaper of unfinished sums before him. Sympathy welled up in Isobel, whoremembered the oppressions of the last governess--her of the inkpot.Sympathy, yes, and more than sympathy, for of a sudden she felt as shehad never felt before. She loved the little lad as though he were herbrother. A strange affinity for him came home to her, although she didnot define it thus; it was as if she knew that her spirit was intimatewith his, yes, and always had been and always would be intimate.
This subtle knowledge went through Isobel like fire and shook her. Sheturned pale, her nostrils expanded, her large eyes opened and shesighed. She did more indeed. Drawn by some over-mastering impulse shedrew near to Godfrey and kissed him gently on the forehead, then glidedback again frightened and ashamed at her own act.
Now he woke up; she felt his dark eyes looking at her. Then he spoke ina slow, puzzled voice, saying:
"I have had such a funny dream. I dreamed that a spirit came and kissedme. I did not see it, but I think it must have been my mother's."
"Why?" asked Isobel.
"Because no one else ever cared enough for me to kiss me, except Mrs.Parsons, and she has given it up now that the other boys are here."
"Does not your father kiss you?" she asked.
"Yes, once a week, on Sunday evening when I go to bed. Because I don'tcount that."
"No, I understand," said Isobel, thinking of her own father, then addedhastily, "it must be sad not to have a mother."
"It is," he answered, "especially when one is ill as I have been, andmust lie so long in bed with pains in the head. You know I had anabscess in the ear and it hurt very much."
"I didn't know. We heard you were ill and mother wanted to come to seeyou. Father wouldn't let her. He thought it might be measles and he isafraid of catching things."
"Yes," replied Godfrey without surprise. "It wasn't measles, but if ithad been you might have caught them, so of course he was right to becareful."
"Oh! he wasn't thinking of me or Mummy, he was thinking of himself,"blurted out Isobel with the candour of youth.
"Big, strong men don't catch measles," said Godfrey in mildastonishment.
"He says they do, and that they are very dangerous when you are grownup. Why are you alone here, and what are you working at?"
"My father has kept me in as a punishment because I did my sums wrong.The other boys have gone out bird-nesting, but I have to stop hereuntil I get them right. I don't know when that will be," he added witha sigh, "as I hate rule of three and can't do it."
"Rule of three," said Isobel, "I'm quite good at it. You see I likefigures. My father says it is the family business instinct. Here, letme try. Move to the other side of that big chair, there's plenty ofroom for two, and show it to me."
He obeyed with alacrity and soon the brown head and the fair one werebent together over the scrawled sheet. Isobel, who had really a buddingtalent for mathematics, worked out the sum, or rather the sums, withoutdifficulty and then, with guile acquired under the governess regime,made him copy them and destroyed all traces of her own handiwork.
"Are you as stupid at everything as you are at sums?" she asked when hehad finished, rising from the chair and seating herself on the edge ofthe table.
"What a rude thing to ask! Of course not," he replied indignantly. "Iam very good at Latin and history, which I like. But you see fatherdoesn't care much for them. He was a Wrangler, you know."
"A Wrangler! How dreadful. I suppose that is why he argues so much inhis sermons. I hate history. It's full of dates and the names of kingswho were all bad. I can't make out why people put up with kings," sheadded reflectively.
"Because they ought to, 'God bless our gracious Queen,' you know."
"Well, God may bless her but I don't see why I should as she never didanything for me, though Father does hope she will make him somethingone day. I'd like to be a Republican with a President as they have inAmerica."
"You must be what father calls a wicked Radical," said Godfrey staringat her, "one of those people who want to disestablish the Church."
"I daresay," she replied, nodding her head. "That is if you mean makingclergymen work like other people, instead of spying and gossiping andplaying games as they do about here."
Godfrey did not pursue the argument, but remarked immorally:
"It's a pity you don't come to our class, for then I could do yourhistory papers and you could do my sums."
She started, but all she said was:
"This would be a good place to learn history. Now I must be going.Don't forget to give the note. I shall have to say that I waited a longwhile before I found anyone. Goodbye, Godfrey."
"Goodbye, Isobel," he answered, but she was gone.
"I hope he did dream that it was his mother who kissed him," Isobelreflected to herself, for now the full enormity of her performance camehome to her. Young as she was, a mere child with no knowledge of thegreat animating forces of life and of the mysteries behind them, shewondered why she had done this thing; what it was that forced her to doit. For she knew well that something had forced her, something outsideof herself, as she understood herself. It was as though another entitythat was in her and yet not herself had taken possession of her andmade her act as uninfluenced, she never would have acted. Thus shepondered in her calm fashion, then, being able to make nothing of thebusiness, shrugged her shoulders and let it go by. After all itmattered nothing since Godfrey had dreamed that the ghost of his motherhad visited him and would not suspect her of being that ghost, and shewas certain that never would she do such a thing again. The trouble wasthat she had done it once and that the deed signified some change inher which her childish mind could not understand.
On reaching the Hall, or rather shortly afterwards, she saw her fatherwho was waiting for the carriage in which to go to the station to meetsome particularly important week-end guest. He asked if she had broughtany answer to his note to Mr. Knight, and she told him that she hadleft it in the schoolroom, as she called the refectory, because he wasout.
"I hope he will get it," grumbled Mr. Blake. "One of my friends who iscoming down to-night thinks he understands architecture and I want theparson to show him over the Abbey House. Indeed that's why he has come,for you see he is an American who thinks a lot of such old things."
"Well, it is beautiful, isn't it, Father?" she said. "Even I felt thatit would be easy to learn in that big old room with a roof like that ofa church."
An idea struck him.
"Would you like to go to school there, Isobel?"
"I think so, Father, as I must go to school somewhere and I hate thosehorrible governesses."
"Well," he replied, "you couldn't throw inkpots at the holy Knight, asyou did at Miss Hook. Lord! what a rage she was in," he added with achuckle. "I had to pay her L5 for a new dress. But it was better to dothat than to risk a County Court action."
Then the carriage came and he departed.