CHAPTER IV.
Every Sunday afternoon, the rector of a neighbouring though stillsomewhat distant parish, of which the rich living was in the gift ofthe Herberts, came to perform divine service at Cherbury. It was asubject of deep regret to Lady Annabel that herself and her familywere debarred from the advantage of more frequent and convenientspiritual consolation; but, at this time, the parochial disciplineof the Church of England was not so strict as it fortunately is atpresent. Cherbury, though a vicarage, possessed neither parish church,nor a residence for the clergyman; nor was there indeed a village. Thepeasants on the estate, or labourers as they are now styled, a termwhose introduction into our rural world is much to be lamented, livedin the respective farmhouses on the lands which they cultivated. Thesewere scattered about at considerable distances, and many of theirinmates found it more convenient to attend the church of thecontiguous parish than to repair to the hall chapel, where thehousehold and the dwellers in the few cottages scattered about thepark and woods always assembled. The Lady Annabel, whose lot it hadbeen in life to find her best consolation in religion, and who wasinfluenced by not only a sincere but even a severe piety, had no otheralternative, therefore, but engaging a chaplain; but this, after muchconsideration, she had resolved not to do. She was indeed her ownchaplain, herself performing each day such parts of our morning andevening service whose celebration becomes a laic, and reading portionsfrom the writings of those eminent divines who, from the Restorationto the conclusion of the last reign, have so eminently distinguishedthe communion of our national Church.
Each Sunday, after the performance of divine service, the Rev. Dr.Masham dined with the family, and he was the only guest at CherburyVenetia ever remembered seeing. The Doctor was a regular orthodoxdivine of the eighteenth century; with a large cauliflower wig,shovel-hat, and huge knee-buckles, barely covered by his top-boots;learned, jovial, humorous, and somewhat courtly; truly pious, but notenthusiastic; not forgetful of his tithes, but generous and charitablewhen they were once paid; never neglecting the sick, yet occasionallyfollowing a fox; a fine scholar, an active magistrate, and a goodshot; dreading the Pope, and hating the Presbyterians.
The Doctor was attached to the Herbert family not merely because theyhad given him a good living. He had a great reverence for an oldEnglish race, and turned up his nose at the Walpolian loanmongers.Lady Annabel, too, so beautiful, so dignified, so amiable, and highlybred, and, above all, so pious, had won his regard. He was not alittle proud, too, that he was the only person in the county who hadthe honour of her acquaintance, and yet was disinterested enough toregret that he led so secluded a life, and often lamented that nothingwould induce her to show her elegant person on a racecourse, or toattend an assize ball, an assembly which was then becoming much thefashion. The little Venetia was a charming child, and the kind-heartedDoctor, though a bachelor, loved children.
O! matre pulchra, filia pulchrior,
was the Rev. Dr. Masham's apposite and favourite quotation after hisweekly visit to Cherbury.
Divine service was concluded; the Doctor had preached a capitalsermon; for he had been one of the shining lights of his universityuntil his rich but isolating preferment had apparently closed thegreat career which it was once supposed awaited him. The accustomedwalk on the terrace was completed, and dinner was announced. This mealwas always celebrated at Cherbury, where new fashions stole down witha lingering pace, in the great hall itself. An ample table was placedin the centre on a mat of rushes, sheltered by a large screen coveredwith huge maps of the shire and the neighbouring counties. The LadyAnnabel and her good pastor seated themselves at each end of thetable, while Venetia, mounted on a high chair, was waited on byMistress Pauncefort, who never condescended by any chance attention tonotice the presence of any other individual but her little charge, onwhose chair she just leaned with an air of condescending devotion.The butler stood behind his lady, and two other servants watched theDoctor; rural bodies all, but decked on this day in gorgeous liverycoats of blue and silver, which had been made originally for men ofvery different size and bearing. Simple as was the usual diet atCherbury the cook was permitted on Sunday full play to her art, which,in the eighteenth century, indulged in the production of dishes morenumerous and substantial than our refined tastes could at presenttolerate. The Doctor appreciated a good dinner, and his countenanceglistened with approbation as he surveyed the ample tureen of potageroyal, with a boned duck swimming in its centre. Before him stillscowled in death the grim countenance of a huge roast pike, flankedon one side by a leg of mutton _a-la-daube_, and on the other bythe tempting delicacies of bombarded veal. To these succeeded thatmasterpiece of the culinary art, a grand battalia pie, in which thebodies of chickens, pigeons, and rabbits were embalmed in spices,cocks' combs, and savoury balls, and well bedewed with one of thoserich sauces of claret, anchovy, and sweet herbs, in which ourgreat-grandfathers delighted, and which was technically termed a Lear.But the grand essay of skill was the cover of this pasty, whereon thecurious cook had contrived to represent all the once-living forms thatwere now entombed in that gorgeous sepulchre. A Florentine tourte, ortansy, an old English custard, a more refined blamango, and a ribandjelly of many colours, offered a pleasant relief after these vasterinventions, and the repast closed with a dish of oyster loaves and apompetone of larks.
Notwithstanding the abstemiousness of his hostess, the Doctor wasnever deterred from doing justice to her hospitality. Few were thedishes that ever escaped him. The demon dyspepsia had not waved itsfell wings over the eighteenth century, and wonderful were the featsthen achieved by a country gentleman with the united aid of a gooddigestion and a good conscience.
The servants had retired, and Dr. Masham had taken his last glassof port, and then he rang a bell on the table, and, I trust my fairreaders will not be frightened from proceeding with this history, aservant brought him his pipe. The pipe was well stuffed, duly lighted,and duly puffed; and then, taking it from his mouth, the Doctor spoke.
'And so, my honoured lady, you have got a neighbour at last.'
'Indeed!' exclaimed Lady Annabel.
But the claims of the pipe prevented the good Doctor from too quicklysatisfying her natural curiosity. Another puff or two, and he thencontinued.
'Yes,' said he, 'the old abbey has at last found a tenant.'
'A tenant, Doctor?'
'Ay! the best tenant in the world: its proprietor.'
'You quite surprise me. When did this occur?'
'They have been there these three days; I have paid them a visit. Mrs.Cadurcis has come to live at the abbey with the little lord.'
'This is indeed news to us,' said Lady Annabel; 'and what kind ofpeople are they?'
'You know, my dear madam,' said the Doctor, just touching the ash ofhis pipe with his tobacco-stopper of chased silver, 'that the presentlord is a very distant relative of the late one?'
Lady Annabel bowed assent.
'The late lord,' continued the Doctor, 'who was as strange andwrong-headed a man as ever breathed, though I trust he is in thekingdom of heaven for all that, left all his property to his unlawfulchildren, with the exception of this estate entailed on the title, asall estates should be, 'Tis a fine place, but no great rental. I doubtwhether 'tis more than a clear twelve hundred a-year.'
'And Mrs. Cadurcis?' inquired Lady Annabel.
'Was an heiress,' replied the Doctor, 'and the late Mr. Cadurcis aspendrift. He was a bad manager, and, worse, a bad husband. Providencewas pleased to summon him suddenly from this mortal scene, but notbefore he had dissipated the greater part of his wife's means. Mrs.Cadurcis, since she was a widow, has lived in strict seclusion withher little boy, as you may, my dear lady, with your dear little girl.But I am afraid,' said the Doctor, shaking his head, 'she has notbeen in the habit of dining so well as we have to-day. A verylimited income, my dear madam; a very limited income indeed. Andthe guardians, I am told, will only allow the little lord a hundreda-year; but, on her own income, whatever it may be, and th
at addition,she has resolved to live at the abbey; and I believe, I believe shehas it rent-free; but I don't know.'
'Poor woman!' said Lady Annabel, and not without a sigh. 'I trust herchild is her consolation.'
Venetia had not spoken during this conversation, but she had listenedto it very attentively. At length she said, 'Mamma, is not a widow awife that has lost her husband?'
'You are right, my dear,' said Lady Annabel, rather gravely.
Venetia mused a moment, and then replied, 'Pray, mamma, are you awidow?'
'My dear little girl,' said Dr. Masham, 'go and give that beautifulpeacock a pretty piece of cake.'
Lady Annabel and the Doctor rose from the table with Venetia, and tooka turn in the park, while the Doctor's horses were getting ready.
'I think, my good lady,' said the Doctor, 'it would be but an act ofChristian charity to call upon Mrs. Cadurcis.'
'I was thinking the same,' said Lady Annabel; 'I am interested by whatyou have told me of her history and fortunes. We have some woes incommon; I hope some joys. It seems that this case should indeed be anexception to my rule.'
'I would not ask you to sacrifice your inclinations to the merepleasures of the world,' said the Doctor: 'but duties, my dear lady,duties; there are such things as duties to our neighbour; and here isa case where, believe me, they might be fulfilled.'
The Doctor's horses now appeared. Both master and groom wore theirpistols in their holsters. The Doctor shook hands warmly with LadyAnnabel, and patted Venetia on her head, as she ran up from a littledistance, with an eager countenance, to receive her accustomedblessing. Then mounting his stout mare, he once more waived his handwith an air of courtliness to his hostess, and was soon out of sight.Lady Annabel and Venetia returned to the terrace-room.
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