The Vicar of Wrexhill Part 21

Young Cartwright immediately began peeping into the work-boxes and portfolios which lay on the tables.

"Look here, sir," said he, holding up a caricature of Lord B----m. "Is not this sinful?"

"Do be quiet, Jacob!--we shall have them here in a moment;--I really wish I could teach you when your interest is at stake to make the best of yourself. You know that I should be particularly pleased by your marrying Miss Torrington; and I do beg, my dear boy, that you will not suffer your childish spirits to put any difficulties in my way."

"I will become an example unto all men," replied Jacob, shutting up his eyes and mouth demurely, and placing himself bolt upright upon the music-stool.

"If you and your sister could but mingle natures a little," said Mr.

Cartwright, "you would both be wonderfully improved. Nothing with which I am acquainted, however joyous, can ever induce Henrietta to smile; and nothing, however sad, can prevent your being on the broad grin from morning to night. However, of the two, I confess I think you are the most endurable."

"A whip for the horse, a bridle for the a.s.s, and a rod for the fool's back," said Jacob in a sanctified tone.

"Upon my honour, Jacob, I shall be very angry with you if you do not set about this love-making as I would have you. Don't make ducks and drakes of eighty thousand pounds:--at least, not till you have got them."

"Answer not a fool according to his folly, least he be wise in his own conceit," said Jacob.

Mr. Cartwright smiled, as it seemed against his will, but shook his head very solemnly. "I'll tell you what, Jacob," said he,--"if I see you set about this in a way to please me, I'll give you five s.h.i.+llings to-morrow morning."

"Wherefore is there a price in the hand of a fool to get wisdom, seeing he hath no heart to it?" replied Jacob. "Nevertheless, father, I will look lovingly upon the maiden, and receive thy promised gift, even as thou sayest."

"Upon my word, Jacob, you try my patience too severely," said the vicar; yet there was certainly but little wrath in his eye as he said so, and his chartered libertine of a son was preparing again to answer him in the words of Solomon, but in a spirit of very indecent buffoonery, when the drawing-room door opened, and Mrs. Simpson, Miss Richards, and f.a.n.n.y Mowbray entered.

It appeared that Rosalind and Miss Cartwright on escaping from the drawing-room had not sought the other ladies, but taken refuge in the dining-parlour, from whence they issued immediately after the others had pa.s.sed the door, and entering the drawing-room with them, enjoyed the gratification of witnessing the meeting of the vicar and his fair paris.h.i.+oners.

To the surprise of Rosalind, and the great though silent amus.e.m.e.nt of her companion, they perceived that both the stranger ladies had contrived to make a very edifying and remarkable alteration in the general appearance of their dress.

Miss Richards had combed her abounding black curls as nearly straight as their nature would allow, and finally brought them into very reverential order by the aid of her ears, and sundry black pins to boot,--an arrangement by no means unfavourable to the display of her dark eyes and eyebrows.

But the change produced by the _castigato_ toilet of the widow was considerably more important. A transparent blond _chemisette_, rather calculated to adorn than conceal that part of the person to which it belonged, was now completely hidden by a lavender-coloured silk handkerchief, tightly, smoothly, and with careful security pinned behind, and before, and above, and below, upon her full but graceful bust.

Rosalind had more than once of late amused herself by looking over the pages of Moliere's "Tartuffe;" and a pa.s.sage now occurred to her that she could not resist muttering in the ear of Henrietta:--

"Ah, mon Dieu! je vous prie, Avant que de parler, prenez-moi ce mouchoir"--&c.

The comer of Miss Cartwright's mouth expressed her appreciation of the quotation, but by a movement so slight that none but Rosalind could perceive it.

Meanwhile the vicar approached Mrs. Simpson with a look that was full of meaning, and intended to express admiration both of her mental and personal endowments. She, too, had banished the drooping ringlets from her cheeks, and appeared before him with all the pretty severity of a Madonna band across her forehead.

Was it in the nature of man to witness such touching proofs of his influence without being affected thereby? At any rate, such indifference made no part of the character of the Vicar of Wrexhill, and the murmured "Bless you, my dear lady!" which accompanied his neighbourly pressure of the widow Simpson's hand, gave her to understand how much his grateful and affectionate feelings were gratified by her attention to the hints he had found an opportunity to give her during a tete-a-tete conversation at her own house a few days before.

Nor was the delicate attention of Miss Richards overlooked. She, too, felt at her fingers' ends how greatly the sacrifice of her curls was approved by the graceful vicar, who now sat down surrounded by this fair bevy of ladies, smiling with bland and gentle sweetness on them all.

Mr. Jacob thought of the promised five s.h.i.+llings, and displaying his fine teeth from ear to ear, presented a chair to Miss Torrington.

"I wish you would let us have a song, Miss Rosalind Torrington," said he, stationing himself at the back of her chair and leaning over her shoulder. "I am told that your voice beats every thing on earth hollow."

His eye caught an approving glance from his father as he took this station, and he wisely trusted to his att.i.tude for obtaining his reward, for these words were audible only to the young lady herself.

"You are a mighty odd set of people!" said she, turning round to him. "I cannot imagine how you all contrive to live together! There is not one of you that does not appear to be a contrast to the other two."

"Then, at any rate, you cannot dislike us all _equally_," said the strange lad, with a grimace that made her laugh, despite her inclination to look grave.

"I do not know that," was the reply. "I may dislike you all equally, and yet have a different species of dislike for each."

"But one species must be stronger and more vigorous than the others.

Besides, I will a.s.sist your judgment. I do not mean to say I am quite perfect; but, depend upon it, I'm the best of the _set_, as you call us."

"Your authority, Mr. Jacob, is the best in the world, certainly.

Nevertheless, there are many who on such an occasion might suspect you of partiality."

"Then they would do me great injustice, Miss Torrington. I am a man, or a boy, or something between both: take me for all in all, it is five hundred to one you ne'er shall look upon my like again. But that is a play-going and sinful quotation, Miss Rosalind, like your name: so be merciful unto me, and please not to tell my papa."

"You may be very certain, Mr. Jacob, that I shall obey you in this."

"Sweetest nut hath sourest rind,-- Such a nut is Rosalind."

responded the youth; and probably thinking that he had fairly won his five s.h.i.+llings, he raised his tall thin person from the position which had so well pleased his father, and stole round to the sofa on which f.a.n.n.y was sitting.

f.a.n.n.y was looking very lovely, but without a trace of that bright and beaming animation which a few short months before had led her poor father to give her the _sobriquet_ of "Firefly." He was wont to declare, and no one was inclined to contradict him, that whenever she appeared, something like a bright coruscation seemed to flash upon the eye. No one, not even a fond father, would have hit upon such a simile for her now. Beautiful she was, perhaps more beautiful than ever; but a sad and sombre thoughtfulness had settled itself on her young brow,--her voice was no longer the echo of gay thoughts, and, in a word, her whole aspect and bearing were changed.

She now sat silently apart from the company, watching, with an air that seemed to hover between abstraction and curiosity, Mrs. Simpson's manner of making herself agreeable to Mr. Cartwright.

This lady was seated on one side of the vicar, and Miss Richards on the other: both had the appearance of being unconscious that any other person or persons were in the room, and nothing but his consummate skill in the art of uttering an aside both with eyes and lips could have enabled him to sustain his position.

"My sisters and I are afraid you have quite forgotten us," murmured Miss Richards; "but we have been practising the hymns you gave us, and we are all quite perfect, and ready to sing them to you whenever you come."

"The hearing this, my dear young lady, gives me as pure and holy a pleasure as listening to the sacred strains could do:--unless, indeed,"

he added, bending his head sideways towards her, so as nearly to touch her cheek, "unless, indeed, they were breathed by the lips of Louisa herself. That must be very like hearing a seraph sing!"

Not a syllable of this was heard save by herself.

"I have thought incessantly," said Mrs. Simpson, in a very low voice, as soon as Mr. Cartwright's head had recovered the perpendicular,--"incessantly, I may truly say, on our last conversation.

My life has been pa.s.sed in a manner so widely different from what I am sure it will be in future, that I feel as if I were awakened to a new existence!"

"The great object of my hopes is, and will ever be," replied the Vicar of Wrexhill almost aloud, "to lead my beloved flock to sweet and safe pastures.--And for you," he added, in a voice so low, that she rather felt than heard his words, "what is there I would not do?" Here his eyes spoke a commentary; and hers, a note upon it.

"Which is the hymn, Mr. Cartwright, that you think best adapted to the semi-weekly Sabbath you recommended us to inst.i.tute?" said Miss Richards.

"The eleventh, I think.--Yes, the eleventh;--study that, my dear child.

Early and late let your sweet voice breathe those words,--and I will be with you in spirit, Louisa."

Not even Mrs. Simpson heard a word of this, beyond "dear child."

"But when shall I see you?--I have doubts and difficulties on some points, Mr. Cartwright," said the widow aloud. "How shamefully ignorant--I must call it _shamefully_ ignorant--did poor Mr. Wallace suffer us to remain!--Is it not true, Louisa? Did he ever, through all the years we have known him, utter an awakening word to any of us?"

"No, _indeed_ he never did," replied Miss Louisa, in a sort of penitent whine.

"I am rather surprised to hear you say that, Miss Richards," said Rosalind, drawing her chair a little towards them. "I always understood that Mr. Wallace was one of the most exemplary parish priests in England. Did not your father consider him to be so, f.a.n.n.y?"