IV
In the afternoon Laurence drove over to Bishop's Pudbury, some eightmiles distant from Stoke Rivers. An English soldier--by nameBellingham--whom he had known in New York, and who had married a MissVan Renan, a cousin of Virginia--had taken a house there for the huntingseason. His wife had impressed upon Laurence the duty of making an earlycall on these connections--he being the bearer of certain gifts to asmall daughter of the family, Virginia's godchild. A revulsion in favourof the ordinary ways of ordinary modern life, in favour, indeed, of thatvery Commonplace of which last evening he had supposed himself sounwilling an exponent, was upon him. He wanted to get in with hisaccustomed habits, his accustomed outlook, again. The last twenty-fourhours had been somewhat of a strain, and Laurence was as lazy as aremost healthy Englishmen. He hated energising, specially of thesuper-induced, involuntary sort. And Mrs. Bellingham's society would behelpful. She was an agreeable woman, of this world worldly. He couldhave a good, square gossip with her. She was possessed, moreover, of acult for Virginia--for her beauty, her clothes, her social ability. Andin the back of his mind, somehow, Laurence was conscious that it wouldbe an excellent thing for him to hear Virginia's praises sounded loudly.Mrs. Bellingham would count his blessings to him. That recital would beat once humbling and bracing--altogether salutary. But, unfortunately,neither the lady nor her husband were at home; so he could but depositVirginia's immaculate parcels, tied with flaring bows of amber ribbon,and drive homeward through the rolling Sussex country--now engulfed inits deep, narrow lanes, now climbing its breezy, wooded hills, catchingglimpses of the smooth, open downs ranging away to Beachy Head, and ofthe grey turmoil of the dirty Channel sea.
All this was not very exciting, it must be owned, but it afforded himrelief from the singular sensations he had experienced during themorning. He came into the house in excellent spirits, bringing the cleanchill of the March evening along with him--came in to meet the samedry, dead atmosphere, the same dark, glossy walls, and rich, sombrecolours, the same at once unemotional yet almost voluptuous suggestionfrom objects of art. A lonely dinner followed, admirably served by twosilent, middle-aged men-servants. Their faces were sallow and withoutexpression, their manner was correct to the point of absolute nullity ofcharacter, they moved as automata. The dinner itself was a little_chef-d'oeuvre_, and was served on remarkably handsome silver plate.As centre-piece, three dancing female figures in silver-gilt--copiedapparently from those on some Etruscan vase--supported a cut-glass bowl,in which floated fantastic orchids, some mottled, dull, brown-green,toad-like, some in long sprays of mauve, or tiger-colour, striped withglossy black. These last gave off a thick musky scent.
Towards the end of the meal Renshaw, the butler, delivered a note tohim, which Laurence read not without kindly amusement. It was from thecurate-in-charge--the Rector of Stoke Rivers preferring to dwell amidthe social excitements of Cheltenham, and but rarely, on the plea ofbad health, visiting the parish. Laurence judged the curate-in-charge tobe a very young man. His letter ran thus:--
"DEAR SIR,--I trust I am not presuming upon my official connection with this parish by hastening to express to you the great relief which I feel in learning that you have arrived at the Courthouse. As representative of the incumbent of this parish, I hold myself responsible for the spiritual welfare of all persons resident in it, whether of exalted or humble station. I have, therefore, suffered much anxiety regarding your uncle's, Mr. Rivers, spiritual condition, in his present very serious state of health. I know that his views are regrettably latitudinarian, and that his attitude is far from conciliatory towards the Church. These sad facts, however, far from relieving me of responsibility, only increase it. I would so gladly read and pray with him, and reason with him of those things necessary to salvation. The time permitted him may, I understand, be short. It is my duty first to warn, and then to console. I cannot reproach myself with negligence in calling at the Courthouse. I do so regularly three times a week. Unhappily, Mr. Rivers is persistent in his refusal to receive me. This is not only very shocking, as precluding the possibility of my offering either the warnings or consolations of religion to the invalid; but it injuriously affects my position with my parishioners, who, seeing me thus slighted by the principal landowner in the parish, show a painful disposition to treat my ministrations with levity, and my person with disrespect. I trust to your sense of justice to obtain my admittance to the sickroom, both in the interests of your uncle's eternal welfare and in those of the Church, of which I am a humble, but, I trust, efficient minister.--I have the honour to remain, dear Sir, yours obediently,
"WALTER SAMUEL BEAL."
Laurence finished his glass of claret and his cigarette with a smile. Hesat a minute or two, gazing at the dancing, golden figures and at therather malign loveliness of the orchids.
"Poor little Padre Sahib!" he said to himself. "I'll go and see himto-morrow and do my best to quiet his worthy conscience. Funny mixtureof soul and of self in that letter! But he's very much too mild a Danielto fling into the lion's den upstairs. He little imagines what he'sasking. Well, he won't get it anyhow, so that doesn't much matter.Pah!--how hot this room is!"
Laurence rose from the table, folded up the letter, and put it in hispocket.
"Now for processes of vivisection. It's the most original fashion ofpaying succession duty I ever heard of. My word, if I ever do come intopossession, won't I just open the windows in this house!"