CHAPTER XVII
FRIENDS IN NEED
That afternoon the Vicar of Marley was paying house-to-house visitsamong his humbler parishioners. Though his conversation was the weakpoint to which attention has been drawn, Hugh Woodgate neverthelesspossessed the not too common knack of chatting with the poor. He had thesimplicity which made them kin, and his sympathy, unlike that of so manypersons who consider themselves sympathetic, was not exclusivelyreserved for the death-bed and the ruined home. He wrote letters for theilliterate, found places for the unemployed, knew one baby from anotheras soon as their own mothers, and with his own hand sent to the localpapers full reports of the village matches in which he rarely scored arun. Until this August afternoon he was not aware that he had made anactual enemy in all the years that he had spent in Delverton, first asan overworked Northborough curate, and latterly as one of the busiestcountry vicars in the diocese. But towards five o'clock, as Mr. Woodgatewas returning to the Vicarage, a carriage and pair, sweeping past himin a cloud of dust, left the clergyman quite petrified on the roadside,his soft felt hat still in his hand; the carriage contained Mrs.Venables, who had simply stared him in the face when he took it off.
Woodgate was quite excited when he reached the Vicarage. Morna met himin the garden.
"Mrs. Venables cut me dead!" he cried while they were still yards apart.
"I am not surprised," replied Morna, who was in a state of suppressedexcitement herself.
"But what on earth is the meaning of it?"
"She has just been here."
"Well?"
"She is not likely to come again. Oh, Hugh, I don't know how to tellyou! If you agree with her for a moment, if you see any possible excusefor the woman, it will break my heart!"
Morna's fine eyes were filled with tears; the sight of them put out theflame that had leapt for once from stolid Hugh, and he took her hand inhis own great soothing grasp.
"Come and sit down," he said, "and tell me all about it. Have I evertaken anybody's part against you, Morna, that you should think me likelyto begin now?"
"No; but you would if you thought they were right and I was wrong."
Hugh reflected until they reached the garden-seat upon the lawn.
"Well, not openly, at all events," said he; "and not under anycircumstances I can conceive in which Mrs. Venables was the otherperson."
"But she isn't the only other person; that is just it. Oh, Hugh, you dolike Rachel, don't you?"
"I do," he said emphatically. "But surely you haven't been quarrellingwith her?"
"No, indeed! And that is exactly why I _have_ quarrelled with Mrs.Venables, because I wouldn't refuse to go to the dinner-party atNormanthorpe to-night!"
Woodgate was naturally nonplussed.
"Wouldn't refuse?" he echoed.
"Yes. She actually asked me not to go; and now I do believe she has gonedriving round to ask everybody else!"
Woodgate's amazement ended in a guffaw.
"And that is what you quarrelled about!" he roared. "The woman must bemad. What reason did she give?"
"She had a reason, dear."
"But not a good one! There can be no excuse for such an action, letalone a good reason!"
Morna looked at her husband with sidelong anxiety, wondering whether hewould say as much when he had heard all. She was sure enough of him. Butas yet they had never differed on a point that mattered, and the onewhich was coming mattered infinitely to Morna.
"Hugh," she began, "do you remember being with Rachel yesterday atHornby, when she was introduced to Sir Baldwin Gibson?"
"Perfectly," said Hugh.
"He is the judge, you know."
"Yes, yes."
"Did you think they looked as though they had ever seen each otherbefore?"
The vicar revolved where he sat, looking his wife suddenly in the face,while a light broke over his own.
"Now you speak of it," he cried, "they did! It didn't strike me at thetime. I was rather surprised at her being so nervous, but that neveroccurred to me as the explanation. Yet now I have no doubt about it. Youdon't mean to say he knows something against Mrs. Steel, and has beengiving her away?"
"No, dear, the judge has not; but you were not the only one who saw themeeting; and other eyes are more suspicious than yours, Hugh. Darling,you would not think the worse of Rachel for keeping her past life toherself, would you, especially if it had been a very unhappy one?"
"Of course not; it is no business of ours."
"So you told Mrs. Venables the day she came to tell us Mr. Steel wasmarried, and so I told her again this afternoon. However, that is nother main point, and there is another thing I am still surer you wouldnever do. If a person had been put upon her trial, and found not guiltyin open court, you would not treat her as though she had been foundguilty, would you--even though the verdict had come as a surprise?"
"Of course I would not, Morna; no decent Christian would, I should hope!But do you mean to tell me that Mrs. Steel has been tried forsomething?"
"Yes; and by Justice Gibson!"
"Poor thing," said Hugh Woodgate, after a pause.
Morna took his hand.
"My dear, she is, or rather she was, Mrs. Minchin!"
"What! The woman who was tried for murdering her husband?"
"Yes--and acquitted."
"Good heavens!" exclaimed the vicar, and for a minute that was all."Well," he continued, "I didn't read the case, and I am glad that Ididn't, but I remember, of course, what was said about it at the time.But what does it matter what is said? I imagine the jury knew what theywere about; they listened to the evidence for a week, I believe, whichother people read in a few minutes. Of course they knew best! But howlong have you known this, Morna?"
"Never until this afternoon; there was no reason why I should."
"Of course there was not."
"Then you agree with me, Hugh?"
And Morna was transfigured.
"Of course I agree with you! But I want to know more. Do you mean totell me that a woman of education and ability, who calls herself aChristian, like Mrs. Venables, has actually backed out of thisdinner-party on this account, and asked others to do the same?"
"She certainly asked me, point-blank," said Morna. "And when I refused,and persisted in my refusal, she flounced out in a rage, and must havecut you dead next minute."
"Incredible!" exclaimed Woodgate. "I mean, she must have had somefurther reason."
"Oh, but she had! I forgot to tell you in my anxiety to know what youthought. She came to me straight from Normanthorpe, where they hadinsulted her as she had never been insulted in her life before!"
"Who? Steel or his wife?"
"Mr. Steel, I fancy. Mrs. Venables had no name bad enough for him, butshe brought it on herself, and I think more of him than I ever didbefore. You know that Mrs. Vinson, the Invernesses' new agent's wife?"
"I do. Langholm took her into dinner the night we dined at Upthorpe, andshe was in the offing yesterday when Mrs. Steel was talking to thejudge."
"Exactly! It appears that it was Mrs. Vinson who first suspectedsomething, the very night you mention; and yesterday her suspicions wereconfirmed to her own satisfaction. At all events she felt justified inmentioning them to Mrs. Venables, who instantly drove over to ask Rachelto her face if there was any truth in the rumor that she was or had beenMrs. Minchin."
"Well?"
"Rachel told her it was perfectly true."
"Good!"
"And then the fat was in the fire; but what happened exactly it wasimpossible to gather from Mrs. Venables. I never saw a woman so besideherself with rage. She came in incoherent, and went out inarticulate!From the things she said of him, I could only guess that Mr. Steel hadcome upon the scene and insulted her as she deserved to be insulted. ButI would give a good deal to know what did happen."
"Would you really?"
Morna started to her feet. The vicar rose more slowly, after sitting forsome moments in mute confusion. It was Mrs. Steel who
stood before themon their lawn, pale as death, and ten years older since the day before,yet with a smile upon her bloodless lips, which appeared indeed toexpress some faint irresistible amusement.
"Would you really like to know?" she repeated, standing at a distancefrom them, her great eyes travelling from one to the other. "It isstrange, because I had come on purpose to tell you both that and all therest--but especially all the rest--in which it seems Mrs. Venables hasbeen before me." She paused an instant, and the corners of her sad mouthtwitched just once. "What my husband did," said Rachel, "was to lock thedoors and refuse to let her out until she had begged my pardon."
"I hope she did so," said Hugh Woodgate, with the emphasis which oftenatoned for the inadequacy of his remarks.
"In about three minutes," replied Rachel, dryly, with some pride, but notriumph in her tone.
Morna had not spoken. Now she took a quick step forward, her eyesbrimming. But Rachel held up her hand.
"You are sure you realize who I am?"
"Yes, Rachel."
"Rachel Minchin!" added Rachel, harshly. "The notorious Mrs.Minchin--the Mrs. Minchin whom Mr. Venables would have come to seehanged!"
"Hush, Rachel, hush!"
"Then be honest with me--mind, honest--not kind! You would not have saidwhat Mrs. Venables said to me; she said that all the world believed meguilty. You would not have said that, Morna; but are you sure you wouldnot have said it in your heart? Can you look me in the face and tell meyou don't believe it, like all the rest of the world?"
There was no faltering of the firm, sweet voice; it was only unutterablysad.
And Morna answered it only with a sob, as she flung her arms roundRachel's neck, while her husband waited with outstretched hand.
The Shadow of the Rope Page 17
