by Fergus Hume
CHAPTER III
THE UNFORESEEN HAPPENS
'I fear,' said Cargrim, with a gentle sigh, 'I fear you are right aboutthat public-house, Mrs Pansey.'
The chaplain made this remark to renew the discussion, and if possiblebring Gabriel into verbal conflict with the lady. He had a great idea ofmanaging people by getting them under his thumb, and so far quitedeserved Mrs Pansey's epithet of a Jesuit. Of late--as Cargrim knew by asteady use of his pale blue eyes--the curate had been visiting The DerbyWinner, ostensibly on parochial business connected with the ill-healthof Mrs Mosk, the landlord's wife. But there was a handsome daughter ofthe invalid who acted as barmaid, and Gabriel was a young andinflammable man; so, putting this and that together, the chaplainthought he discovered the germs of a scandal. Hence his interest in MrsPansey's proposed reforms.
'Right!' echoed the archidiaconal widow, loudly, 'of course I am right.The Derby Winner is a nest of hawks. William Mosk would have disgracedheathen Rome in its worst days; as for his daughter--well!' Mrs Panseythrew a world of horror into the ejaculation.
'Miss Mosk is a well-conducted young lady,' said Gabriel, growing redand injudicious.
'Lady!' bellowed Mrs Pansey, shaking her fan; 'and since when havebrazen, painted barmaids become ladies, Mr Pendle?'
'She is most attentive to her sick mother,' protested the curate,wincing.
'No doubt, sir. I presume even Jezebel had some redeeming qualities.Rubbish! humbug! don't tell me! Can good come out of Nazareth?'
'Good did come out of Nazareth, Mrs Pansey.'
'That is enough, Mr Pendle; do not pollute young ears with blasphemy.And you the son of a bishop--the curate of a parish! Remember what is tobe the portion of mockers, sir. What happened to the men who threwstones at David?'
'Oh, but really, dear Mrs Pansey, you know Mr Pendle is not throwingstones.'
'People who live in glass houses dare not, my dear. I doubt yourinterest in this young person, Mr Pendle. She is one who tires her headand paints her face, lying in wait for comely youths that she maydestroy them. She--'
'Excuse me, Mrs Pansey!' cried Gabriel, with an angry look, 'you speaktoo freely and too ignorantly. The Derby Winner is a well-conductedhouse, for Mrs Mosk looks after it personally, and her daughter is anexcellent young woman. I do not defend the father, but I hope to bringhim to a sense of his errors in time. There is a charity which thinkethno evil, Mrs Pansey,' and with great heat Gabriel, forgetting hismanners, walked off without taking leave of either the lady or MissNorsham. Mrs Pansey tossed her turban and snorted, but seeing veryplainly that she had gone too far, held for once her virulent tongue.Cargrim rubbed his hands and laughed softly.
'Our young friend talks warmly, Mrs Pansey. The natural chivalry ofyouth, my dear lady--nothing more.'
'I'll make it my business to assure myself that it _is_ nothing more,'said Mrs Pansey, in low tones. 'I fear very much that the misguidedyoung man has fallen into the lures of this daughter of Heth. Do youknow anything about her, Mr Cargrim?'
Too wise to commit himself to speech, the chaplain cast up his pale eyesand looked volumes. This was quite enough for Mrs Pansey; she scentedevil like a social vulture, and taking Cargrim's arm dragged him away tofind out all the bad she could about The Derby Winner and its tooattractive barmaid.
Left to herself, Miss Norsham seized upon Dean Alder, to whom she hadbeen lately introduced, and played with the artillery of her eyes onthat unattractive churchman. Mr Dean was old and wizen, but he wasunmarried and rich, so Miss Norsham thought it might be worth her whileto play Vivien to this clerical Merlin. His weak point,--speedilydiscovered,--was archaeology, and she was soon listening to a drydescription of his researches into Beorminster municipal chronicles. Butit was desperately hard work to fix her attention.
'Beorminster,' explained the pedantic dean, not unmoved by hislistener's artificial charms, 'is derived from two Anglo-Saxonwords--Beorh a hill, and mynster the church of a monastery. Anciently,our city was called Beorhmynster, "the church of the hill," for, as youcan see, my dear young lady, our cathedral is built on the top of aconsiderable rise, and thence gained its name. The townsfolk wereformerly vassals, and even serfs, of the monastery which was destroyedby Henry VIII.; but the Reformation brought about by that king put anend to the abbot's power. The head of the Beorhmynster monastery was amitred abbot--'
'And Bishop Pendle is a mitred bishop,' interposed the fair Daisy, toshow the quickness of her understanding, and thereby displaying herignorance.
'All bishops are mitred,' said Dr Alder, testily; 'a crozier and a mitreare the symbols of their high office. But the Romish abbots ofBeorhmynster were not bishops although they were mitred prelates.'
'Oh, how very, very amusing,' cried Daisy, suppressing a yawn. 'And thename of the river, dear Mr Dean? Does Beorflete mean the church of thehill too?'
'Certainly not, Miss Norsham. "Flete," formerly "fleot," is aScandinavian word and signifies "a flood," "a stream," "a channel."Beorhfleot, or--as we now erroneously call it--Beorflete, means, in thevulgar tongue, the flood or stream of the hill. Even in Normandy theword fleot has been corrupted, for the town now called Harfleur wasformerly correctly designated "Havoflete." But I am afraid you find thisinformation dull, Miss Norsham!'
This last remark was occasioned by Daisy yawning. It is true that sheheld a fan, and had politely hidden her mouth when yawning;unfortunately, the fan was of transparent material, and Daisy quiteforgot that Mr Dean could see the yawn, which he certainly did. In someconfusion she extricated herself from an awkward situation byprotesting that she was not tired but hungry, and suggested that DrAlder should continue his instructive conversation at supper. Mollifiedby this dexterous evasion, which he saw no reason to disbelieve, thedean politely escorted his companion to the regions of champagne andchicken, both of which aided the lady to sustain further doses ofdry-as-dust facts dug out of a monastic past by the persevering DrAlder. It was in this artful fashion that the town mouse strove toensnare the church mouse, and succeeded so well that when Mr Dean wenthome to his lonely house he concluded that it was just as well themonastic institution of celibacy had been abolished.
On leaving Mrs Pansey in disgust, Gabriel proceeded with considerableheat into the next room, where his mother held her court as hostess. MrsPendle was a pale, slight, small-framed woman with golden hair, languideyes, and a languid manner. Owing to her delicate health she could notstand for any length of time, and therefore occupied a large andcomfortable arm-chair. Her daughter Lucy, who resembled her closely inlooks, but who had more colour in her face, stood near at hand talkingto her lover. Both ladies were dressed in white silk, with fewornaments, and looked more like sisters than mother and daughter.Certainly Mrs Pendle appeared surprisingly young to be the parent of agrown-up family, but her continuance of youth was not due to art, as MrsPansey averred, but to the quiet and undisturbed life which her frailhealth compelled her to lead. The bishop was tenderly attached to her,and even at this late stage of their married life behaved towards hermore like a lover than a husband. He warded off all worries and troublesfrom her; he surrounded her with pleasant people, and made her lifeluxurious and peaceful by every means obtainable in the way of money andinfluence. It was no wonder that Mrs Pendle, treading the Primrose Pathwith a devoted and congenial companion, appeared still young. She lookedas fair and fragile as a peri, and as free from mortal cares.
'Is that you, Gabriel?' she said in a low, soft voice, smiling gently onher younger and favourite son. 'You look disturbed, my dear boy!'
'Mrs Pansey!' said Gabriel, and considering that the name furnished allnecessary information, sat down near his mother and took one of herdelicate hands in his own to smooth and fondle.
'Oh, indeed! Mrs Pansey!' echoed the bishop's wife, smiling still more;and with a slight shrug cast an amused look at Lucy, who in her turncaught Sir Harry's merry eyes and laughed outright.
'Old catamaran!' said Brace, loudly.
'Oh, Harry! Hush!' interposed Lu
cy, with an anxious glance, 'Youshouldn't.'
'Why not? But for the present company I would say something muchstronger.'
'I wish you would,' said Gabriel, easing his stiff collar with onefinger; 'my cloth forbids me to abuse Mrs Pansey properly.'
'What has she been doing now, Gabriel?'
'Ordering the bishop to have The Derby Winner removed, mother.'
'The Derby Winner,' repeated Mrs Pendle, in puzzled tones; 'is that ahorse?'
'A public-house, mother; it is in my district, and I have been latelyvisiting the wife of the landlord, who is very ill. Mrs Pansey wants thehouse closed and the woman turned out into the streets, so far as I canmake out!'
'The Derby Winner is my property,' said Sir Harry, bluffly, 'and itsha'n't be shut up for a dozen Mrs Panseys.'
'Think of a dozen Mrs Panseys,' murmured Lucy, pensively.
'Think of Bedlam and Pandemonium, my dear! Thank goodness Mrs Pansey isthe sole specimen of her kind. Nature broke the mould when that clackingnuisance was turned out. She--'
'Harry! you really must not speak so loud. Mrs Pansey might hear. Comewith me, dear. I must look after our guests, for I am sure mother istired.'
'I _am_ tired,' assented Mrs Pendle, with a faint sigh. 'Thank you,Lucy, I willingly make you my representative. Gabriel will stay besideme.'
'Here is Miss Tancred,' observed Harry Brace, in an undertone.
'Oh, she must not come near mother,' whispered Lucy, in alarm. 'Take herto the supper-room, Harry.'
'But she'll tell me the story of how she lost her purse at the Army andNavy Stores, Lucy.'
'You can bear hearing it better than mother can. Besides, she'll notfinish it; she never does.'
Sir Harry groaned, but like an obedient lover intercepted a withered olddame who was the greatest bore in the town. She usually told adigressive story about a lost purse, but hitherto had never succeeded ingetting to the point, if there was one. Accepting the suggestion ofsupper with alacrity, she drifted away on Sir Harry's arm, and no doubtmentioned the famous purse before he managed to fill her mouth and stopher prosing.
Lucy, who had a quiet humour of her own in spite of her demure looks,laughed at the dejection and martyrdom of Sir Harry; and taking theeagerly-proffered arm of a callow lieutenant, ostentatiously andhopelessly in love with her, went away to play her part of deputyhostess. She moved from group to group, and everywhere received smilesand congratulations, for she was a general favourite, and, with theexception of Mrs Pansey, everyone approved of her engagement. Behind afloral screen a band of musicians, who called themselves the YellowHungarians, and individually possessed the most unpronounceable names,played the last waltz, a smooth, swinging melody which made the youngerguests long for a dance. In fact, the callow lieutenant boldly suggestedthat a waltz should be attempted, with himself and Lucy to set theexample; but his companion snubbed him unmercifully for his boldness,and afterwards restored his spirits by taking him to the supper-room.Here they found Miss Tancred in the full flow of her purse story; soLucy, having pity on her lover, bestowed her escort on the old lady as alistener, and enjoyed supper at an isolated table with Sir Harry. Thesucking Wellington could have murdered Brace with pleasure, and verynearly did murder Miss Tancred, for he plied her so constantly withdelicacies that she got indigestion, and was thereby unable to finishabout the purse.
Gabriel and his mother were not long left alone, for shortly thereapproached a brisk old lady, daintily dressed, who looked like a fairygodmother. She had a keen face, bright eyes like those of a squirrel,and in gesture and walk and glance was as restless as that animal. Thispiece of alacrity was Miss Whichello, who was the aunt of Mab Arden, thebeloved of George Pendle. Mab was with her, and, gracious and tall,looked as majestic as any queen, as she paced in her stately manner bythe old lady's side. Her beauty was that of Juno, for she was imperialand a trifle haughty in her manner. With dark hair, dark eyes, and darkcomplexion, she looked like an Oriental princess, quite different inappearance to her apple-cheeked, silvery-haired aunt. There wassomething Jewish about her rich, eastern beauty, and she might have beenpainted in her yellow dress as Esther or Rebecca, or even as Jael whoslew Sisera on the going down of the sun.
'Well, good folks,' said the brisk little lady in a brisk little voice,'and how are you both? Tired, Mrs Pendle? Of course, what else can youexpect with late hours and your delicacies. I don't believe in thesesocial gatherings.'
'Your presence here contradicts that assertion,' said Gabriel, giving uphis chair.
'Oh, I am a martyr to duty. I came because Mab must be amused!'
'I only hope she is not disappointed,' said Mrs Pendle, kindly, for sheknew how things were between her eldest son and the girl. 'I am sorryGeorge is not here, my dear.'
'I did not expect him to be,' replied Mab, in her grave, contraltovoice, and with a blush; 'he told me that he would not be able to getleave from his colonel.'
'Ha! his colonel knows what is good for young men,' cried MissWhichello; 'work and diet both in moderate quantities. My dear MrsPendle, if you only saw those people in the supper-room!--simply diggingtheir graves with their teeth. I pity the majority of them to-morrowmorning.'
'Have you had supper, Miss Whichello?' asked Gabriel.
'Oh, yes! a biscuit and a glass of weak whisky and water; quite enough,too. Mab here has been drinking champagne recklessly.'
'Only half a glass, aunt; don't take away my character!'
'My dear, if you take half a glass, you may as well finish the bottlefor the harm it does you. Champagne is poison; much or little, it isrank poison.'
'Come away, Miss Arden, and let us poison ourselves,' suggested thecurate.
'It wouldn't do you any harm, Mrs Pendle,' cried the little old lady.'You are too pale, and champagne, in your case, would pick you up. Ironand slight stimulants are what _you_ need. I am afraid you are notcareful what you eat.'
'I am not a dietitian, Miss Whichello.'
'I am, my dear ma'am; and look at me--sixty-two, and as brisk as a bee.I don't know the meaning of the word illness. In a good hour be itspoken,' added Miss Whichello, thinking she was tempting the gods. 'Bythe way, what is this about his lordship being ill?'
'The bishop ill!' faltered Mrs Pendle, half rising. 'He was perfectlywell when I saw him last. Oh, dear me, what is this?'
'He's ill now, in the library, at all events.'
'Wait, mother,' said Gabriel, hastily. 'I will see my father. Don'trise; don't worry yourself; pray be calm.'
Gabriel walked quickly to the library, rather astonished to hear thathis father was indisposed, for the bishop had never had a day's illnessin his life. He saw by the demeanour of the guests that theindisposition of their host was known, for already an uneasy feelingprevailed, and several people were departing. The door of the librarywas closed and locked. Cargrim was standing sentinel beside it,evidently irate at being excluded.
'You can't go in, Pendle,' said the chaplain, quickly. 'Dr Graham iswith his lordship.'
'Is this sudden illness serious?'
'I don't know. His lordship refuses to see anyone but the doctor. Hewon't even admit me,' said Cargrim, in an injured tone.
'What has caused it?' asked Gabriel, in dismay.
'I don't know!' replied Cargrim, a second time. 'His lordship saw somestranger who departed ten minutes ago. Then he sent for Dr Graham! Ipresume this stranger is responsible for the bishop's illness.'
