Chapter II.
MR. SILK.
The Reverend Nahum Silk, B.A., sometime of St. Alban's Hall, Oxford, hadfirst arrived in America as a missioner seeking a sphere of labour inGeneral Oglethorpe's new colony of Georgia. He was then (1733-4) ayoung man, newly admitted to priest's orders, and undergoing what hetook to be a crisis of the soul. Sensual natures, such as his, notuncommonly suffer in youth a combustion of religious sentiment.The fervour is short-lived, the flame is expelled by its own blast, andleaves a house swept and garnished, inviting devils.
For the hard fare of Georgia he soon began to seek consolations, andearly in the second year of his ministry a sufficiently gross scandaltumbled him out of the little colony. Lacking the grit to return toEngland and face out his relatives' displeasure, he had driftednorthwards to Massachusetts, and there had picked up with a slant ofluck. A number of godly and well-to-do citizens of Boston had recentlybanded themselves into an association for supplying religiousopportunities to the seamen frequenting the port, and to the CommitteeMr. Silk commended himself by a hail-fellow manner and a shrewdness ofspeech which, since it showed through a coat of unction, might besupposed to mean shrewdness in grain. Cunning indeed the man could be,for his short ends; but his shrewdness began and ended in a trick oftalking, and in the conduct of life he trimmed sail to his appetites.
His business of missioner (or, as he jocosely put it, Chaplain of theFleet) soon brought him to the notice of Captain Vyell, Collector ofCustoms, with whom by the same trick of speech (slightly adapted) hemanaged to ingratiate himself, scenting the flesh-pots. For he belongedto the tribe to whom a patron never comes amiss. Captain Vyell wasamused by the man; knew him for a sycophant; but tolerated him at tableand promoted him (in Batty Langton's phrase) to be his trencherchaplain. He and Langton took an easy malicious delight, over theirwine, in shocking Mr. Silk with their free thought and seeing how"the dog swallowed it."
The dog swallowed his dirty puddings very cleverly, and with just somuch show of protest as he felt to be due to his Orders. He had theaccent of an English gentleman and enough of the manner to pass muster.But the Collector erred when he said that "Silk was only a beast in hiscups," and he erred with a carelessness well-nigh wicked when he madethe man Dicky's tutor.
This step had coincided with the relegation of Ruth and Miss Quiney toSabines; but whether by chance or of purpose no one but the Collectorcould tell. Of his intentions toward the girl he said nothing, even toBatty Langton. Very likely they were not clear to himself. He knewwell enough how fast and far gossip travelled in New England; anddoubted not at all that his adventure at Port Nassau had within a fewdays been whispered and canvassed throughout Boston. His own grooms, nodoubt, had talked. But he could take a scornful amusement in bafflingspeculation while he made up his own mind. In one particular only hehad been prompt--in propitiating Miss Quiney. On reaching home, somehours ahead of the girl, he had summoned Miss Quiney to his library andtold her the whole story. The interview on her part had beenexclamatory and tearful; but the good lady, with all her absurdities,was a Christian. She was a woman too, and delighted to serve anovermastering will. She had left him with a promise to lay herconscience in prayer before the Lord; and, next morning, Ruth's beautyhad done the rest.
"Good-morning, Miss Josselin!" Ruth started and glanced up the slopewith a shiver. The voice of Mr. Silk always curdled her flesh.
"La! la!" went on Mr. Silk, nodding down admiration. "What a group tostartle!--Cupid extracting a thorn from the hand of Venus--or (shall wesay?) the Love god, having wounded his mother in sport, kisses thescratch to make it well. Ha, ha!"
"Shall I continue, sir?" said Ruth, recovering herself. "The pair aresurprised by a satyr who crept down to the spring to bathe his achinghead--"
"Hard on me, as usual!" Mr. Silk protested, climbing down the slope."But 'tis the privilege of beauty to be cruel. As it happens, I drankmoderately last night, and I come with a message from the Diana of thesegroves. Miss Quiney wishes to communicate to you some news I have hadthe honour to bring in a letter from Captain Vyell--or, as we must nowcall him, Sir Oliver."
"Sir Oliver?" echoed Ruth, not understanding at all.
"The _Fish-hawk_ arrived in harbour this morning with the Englishmail-bags; and the Collector has letters informing him that his uncle,Sir Thomas Vyell, is dead after a short illness--the cause, jail fever,contracted while serving at Launceston, in Cornwall, on the Grand Jury."
"Captain Vyell succeeds?"
"To the title and, I believe, to very considerable estates. His uncleleaves no male child."
"Dicky had not told me of this."
"--Because," explained the boy, "I didn't know what it meant, and Idon't know now. Papa told me this morning that his uncle was dead, homein England; but I'd never heard of him, and it slipped out of my mind.Can titles, as you call them, be passed on like that? And if papa died,should I get one? Or would it go to Uncle Harry?"
"It would go to your uncle," said Mr. Silk. "Now run along to the houseand tell Miss Quiney that I have found the pair of you. She was gettinganxious."
Dicky hesitated. He knew that Ruth had a horror of his tutor.
"Yes, run," she commanded, reading his glance. "We follow at once."
The boy scrambled up the slope. Mr. Silk looked after him and chuckled.
"Dicky don't know yet that there are two sides to a blanket."
Getting no answer--for she had turned and was stooping to pick up herbook--he went on, "Vyell had a letter, among others, from the widow,Lady Caroline; and that, between ourselves, is the cause of my errand.She writes that she is taking a trip across here, to restore her nerves,and is bringing her daughter for company. The daughter, so near as Igather, is of an age near-about Vyell's. See?"
"I am afraid I do not." Ruth had recovered her book and her composure.A rose-flush showed yet on either cheek, but it lay not within Mr.Silk's competence to read so delicate a signal. "Will you explain?"
"Well"--he leered--"it did occur to me there might be some cleverness inthe lady's search after consolation. Her daughter and our Collectorbeing cousins--eh? At any rate, that's her first thought; to bring thegirl--woman, if you prefer it--over and renew acquaintance with theheir. Must be excused if I misjudge her. Set it down to zeal for you,Miss Josselin."
"Willingly, Mr. Silk--if your zeal for me did not outrun myunderstanding."
"Yet you're clever. But you won't persuade me you don't see thedifficulty. . . . Er--how shall I put it? The Collector--we'll have toget used to calling him Sir Oliver--is as cool under fire as any manthis side of the Atlantic; fire of criticism, I mean. There's a limitthough. He despises Colonial opinion--that's his pose; takes pride indespising it, encouraged by Langton. But England? his family?--that'sanother matter. An aunt--and that aunt an earl's daughter--If you'llbelieve me, Miss Josselin, I'm a man of family and know the sort.They're incredible. And the younger lady, if I may remind you, calledDiana; which--er--may warn us that she, too, is particular about thesethings." Here Mr. Silk, having at length found his retort upon hersimilitude of the satyr, licked his lips.
Ruth drew up and stood tapping her foot. "May I beg to be told exactlywhat has happened, sir?"
"What has happened? What has happened is that Vyell is placing Sabinesat the disposal of his aunt and cousin for so long as they may honourBoston with their presence. He sends the Quiney word to pack and holdherself in readiness for a flitting. Whither? I cannot say; nor can heyet have found the temporary nest for you. But doubtless you will hearin due course. May I offer you my arm?"
"I thank you, no. Indeed we will part here, unless you have furtherbusiness in the house--and I gather that your errand there isdischarged. . . . One question--Captain Vyell sent his message by aletter, which Miss Quiney no doubt will show to me. Did he furthercommission you with a verbal one? You had better," she added quietly,"be particular about telling me the truth; for I may question him, andfor a discovered f
alsehood he is capable of beating you."
"What I have said," stammered the clergyman, "was--er--entirely on myown responsibility. I--I conceived you would find it sympathetic--helpful perhaps. Believe me, Miss Josselin, I have considerablefeeling for you and your--er--position."
"I thank you." She dismissed him with a gentle curtsy. "I feel almostsure you have been doing your best."
Chapter III.
Lady Good-for-Nothing: A Man's Portrait of a Woman Page 15
