VIII
Mr. Beal received his guest with an agitation in which natural timiditywarred with professional pride. He laboured under the conviction that hewas called upon at all times and in all places to maintain the dignityof the Anglican Church. He believed she was very much in the midst offoes, Rome and Non-conformity alike perpetually plotting her downfall;while Atheism cruised about in the offing ever ready to seize any whoescaped the machinations of these more declared enemies. And,unfortunately, the young man, neither in appearance nor constitution,was a born fighter, or even a born diplomatist. In appearance he wasmild, with sandy, down-like hair, a high narrow forehead and freckledskin, pale, anxious eyes behind spectacles, and a moist white hand. Heopened the front door to Laurence himself; and it occurred to the latterthat his clothes were very black, and that he wore a great many of them.
"Mr. Laurence Rivers, I presume?" he said, looking up nervously intohis guest's face.
"Yes; I thought it would be simplest to answer your letter in person,"the other replied. He felt a certain kindly pity for the youngclergyman, whose existence he divined to be of a somewhat limited andunproductive sort.--"I should have given myself the pleasure of callingon you in any case in a day or two. But your letter seemed to requireattention at once. I am sorry you are having any bother about--"
"Will you not come in?" Mr. Beal asked hurriedly. "Our conversationmight be overheard and commented upon. This way, please. You will excusethe dining-room? I always occupy this room during the winter months. Itis both necessary and right that I should practise economy, and tooccupy this room exclusively saves a fire."
In his nervousness Mr. Beal talked continuously.
"Pray take a seat," he said, pushing forward an armchair, the leathercover and springs of which were decidedly tired. "I at once begged youto come in here, because in speaking of personal and parochial mattersone cannot, I feel, be too careful. Mr. Wingate--the rector of StokeRivers, you know--wished, I am sure, to treat me with generosity when Iundertook the duty here. He not only placed the whole of this house atmy disposal, but he left two female servants--not on board wages--anelderly woman and a younger person as her assistant. The intention wasgenerous, I feel sure; but I grieve to say they are not such staunchchurch-women as I could desire, and this has led to difficulties betweenus. I thought it my duty to admonish them, separately, of course,suiting my remonstrances to their respective ages and dispositions. Butthey did not receive my admonitions in a submissive spirit. Since then Ihave found it necessary to exercise great caution. There has been muchgossip. Remarks of mine have been repeated, and that not in a mannercalculated to improve my position with the parishioners. My actions arespied upon. There is a small, but bigoted, dissenting element in thevillage, and----"
"Ah! yes, they're a nuisance, I dare say," Laurence put in, smiling."Still, it's a charming place, all the same. I have just been pokinground the church. There are some wonderfully quaint bits about it. And Ilike the churchyard."
"I could wish to have the graves levelled, and the head and foot stonesplaced neatly in line on the confines of the enclosure."
"Oh! no, no; that would destroy the character of the place. We can'tcarry anything away with us--granted--when we go. And so there's acertain subjective comfort in knowing we leave a little mound of earthand turf behind to mark our resting-place. That's hardly ostentatious,considering our pretensions during life--do you think so?"
Mr. Beal shifted the position of his spectacles. He braced himself.
"The churchyard has been levelled at Bishop's Pudbury," he said. "I hadthe privilege of being assistant priest there for five years. Thearchdeacon is considered a man of great taste."
"I should have thought the parishioners would have objected now,"Laurence remarked.
"So they did," Mr. Beal replied. "I grieve to say some personsdisplayed a most illiberal spirit. They called meetings, and behaved ina really seditious manner. Many even became guilty of the sin of schism.They ceased to attend the church services, and frequented dissentingplaces of worship. The archdeacon was pained; but he felt a principlewas at stake. He has long contended that the churchyard is legally therector's freehold. He therefore felt it a duty to the Church to befirm."
Laurence contemplated the young clergyman with a touch of good-naturedamusement, wondering if, with that anaemic physique, he was capable ofemulating the militant virtues of the archdeacon-rector of Bishop'sPudbury.
"But about this letter of yours, Mr. Beal," he said. "That's what I cameto talk to you about."
"I am afraid my conversation has been a little irrelevant. But--but--"the young man sat opposite to Laurence, shifting his spectacles, andwashing his hands in an access of nervousness. "I confess I am not quitemyself this morning, Mr. Rivers. I was made an object of public ridiculelast night."
"I am very sorry to hear it. How was that?"
"I think I am at liberty to tell you, because the incident took its risein your uncle, the elder Mr. Rivers', refusal to receive me. You see itis known how often I have been repulsed. Last night we had the weeklychoir practice at the school. While it was in progress, I was called andinformed by the pupil-teacher--whom I excuse of participation in theunseemly jest--that Mr. Rivers had sent for me, and that his carriagewas waiting at the gate. This surprised me; but I supposed you mighthave received, and immediately responded to, the request contained in mynote. I excused myself to the organist and choir, and hastily put on myhat and coat. I hurried out, but some ill-disposed youths had placedstrings across the school door. I fell. The ground was exceedinglymuddy. My reappearance was greeted with hardly concealed derision. Idiscovered the whole matter was a vulgar hoax."
"Ah! that's very much too bad," Laurence said kindly, though thepicture suggested by the young clergyman's story provoked him tointernal mirth. "We must straighten this out somehow. And yet I tell youfrankly your letter placed me in a difficulty. Even when in good healthmy uncle was not an easy person to approach, and now, as you know, he isfatally ill----"
"I would deal with him very gently," Mr. Beal remarked, bracing himself.
"I am sure of that. But I am afraid he might deal anything but gentlywith you."
"I think--I believe--I am prepared to suffer for my faith."
"I am sure of that," Laurence repeated consolingly. "But it appears tome this would be both a superfluous and inglorious martyrdom. My uncleis perfectly secure of his own position and opinions. The latter arepeculiar, and he has a very trenchant way of stating them."
"You would convey to me that I should be worsted in argument?" Mr. Bealinquired.
"Yes, I really am more than half afraid you would. And so, you see, noend would be gained. You would be pained, and possibly humiliated; whilemy uncle's victory would render him more stubborn in the maintenance ofhis own views. He would be irritated too, and that might accelerate theaction of the disease from which he suffers. Remember, he's both old andill. I own I think he must just go his own way. I hesitate to coercehim."
During this address Walter Beal had washed his moist hands in a veryagony of agitation. This handsome stranger impressed him greatly. He wassympathetic, moreover, a patient and kindly listener. The youngclergyman could have found it in his heart to adore him with a humbleand dog-like devotion. But then his own professional dignity must beasserted. So he whipped down his natural and wholesome inclination tohero-worship, and whipped up his rather spavined, ecclesiastical valour;and said, with all the sternness his tremulous voice could command--
"I fear you are not a true Christian, Mr. Rivers, or you would find noroom for hesitation where the salvation of a soul is involved."
Laurence turned his chair sideways to the dinner-table, crossed hislegs, and rested his elbow on the bare, white cloth. Some crumbsremained on it, left over from Walter Beal's breakfast; but happily theywere at the far corner. The young man deserved a snub, but he was aninnocent creature, a great sincerity in his foolishness. Laurence lookedout of window, across to the sunny peaceful churchyard. A
fter all, whybe harsh? Why snub anybody? So he smiled again genially enough upon thedistracted Beal.
"Oh! we must discuss the heights and depths of my Christianity someother time," he said. "The point is to stop this impertinence of whichyou are the victim. Look here, honestly I don't see my way to making ameeting between you and my uncle at present. But as you can't get theuncle, let me beg you to put up with the nephew. Let it be known thatyou and I are on excellent terms. Come and see me. Let's see--to-morrowevening I shall be free till half-past nine or ten. Come and dine withme."
But Mr. Beal shrunk back and raised his moist, white hands in protest.
"Oh, no!" he exclaimed. "That is, I am sure your intentions are mostkind, most kind--indeed, indeed, really, I am sure of that. But exceptprofessionally, except at the urgent call of duty--and then grace wouldbe given me--I felt that yesterday when I received the summons duringthe choir practice--I prayed--I was praying when those stringsintercepted my passage and caused me to fall--I knew I should besupported--but, except professionally, I could not make up my mind toenter that house--Stoke Rivers. And after dark too! I could not. Itwould be too dreadful."
Laurence stared at him blankly. "Why, my good man," he said, laughing alittle, "what on earth is the matter with the house?"
"I understand that it contains pictures and statues of an immoralcharacter. It is very frightful to think of a soul, the soul of ascoffer, of one who speaks lightly of holy things, going forth to meetits doom from among such heathenish surroundings.--But it is not that somuch which deters me. I ought to cope with that, strong in faith. Butfrom a child, I own it, I have suffered from the fear of thesupernatural."
Laurence's eyebrows drew together. "The supernatural," he said.
"Yes--yes--the supernatural."
Laurence paused a moment, gazing down at the worn drugget between hisfeet.
"Look here," he said, "either you are talking great nonsense, or thereis something uncommonly serious at the bottom of all this, of which Iought to be informed. Tell me plainly, what are you afraid of?"
"There, there are lights all night."
"Certainly there are. The electric light is left on. It is a fancy of myuncle's--and not an unreasonable one in time of illness. If your fearstake their rise in nothing worse than that, why--" Laurence shrugged hisshoulders.
"Oh! but--but--" Mr. Beal's voice sunk to a whisper, and his pale eyeslooked piteously upon his guest from behind his spectacles. "It iscommonly reported there is a female in the house----"
Laurence shook his head.--"Oh, no, pardon me," he said. "That is amistake. There are only men-servants in the house. That I know. No ladyhas stayed at Stoke Rivers--so my uncle informed me--since my motherstayed there with me when I was quite a small boy."
"But--but," poor Walter Beal almost wailed, "I don't mean any ladyvisitor. The--the Scarlet Woman--you know. I understand the keepers havefrequently seen her at night at the windows downstairs. And I believe Isaw her once this winter myself----"
"Saw her yourself?"
"Yes; I had been to call and inquire for Mr. Rivers. It was dusk, and Iwas much alarmed at going; but I would not permit myself to neglect aduty. I was going back up the avenue, when I saw a person in a red dresscoming out from the bow-window. I--I--I--I--did not wait--"
Laurence had risen. He stood for a moment speechless. Then a suddengladness took him. The sun was bright outside there, but the yew-treeswaved their dusky arms quaintly, making little shadows dance and flitupon the churchyard grass.
"No--I see. You ran away," he said. "Well, Mr. Beal, perhaps that wasthe very best thing under the circumstances that you could havedone.--You can't make up your mind to dine with me? All right, I'll comeand see you then. We'll let the parish know you and I are on excellentterms anyhow. I should be glad to have a talk with you about the schoolsand charities. And, of course, if Mr. Rivers should soften and expressany willingness to receive your ministrations I'll not fail to let youknow."
On reaching the house, Laurence went straight down the corridor, pulledaside the tapestry curtain, and entered the room beyond. As yesterday,it was fresher in atmosphere than the rest of the interior. Thefurniture, the knick-knacks, even the little frill in the open work-boxwere stationary, untouched, precisely in the same position as lastnight. Again Laurence examined the room carefully. Very certainly therewas no exit from it save the door or the bay-window, and no human beingin it save himself.