Dr Thorne (62 page)

Nor did Miss Gushing altogether fail in her object. When a clergyman's daily audience consists of but one person, and that person is a young lady, it is hardly possible that he should not become personally intimate with her; hardly possible that he should not be in some measure grateful. Miss Gushing's responses came from her with such fervour, and she begged for ghostly advice with such eager longing to have her scruples satisfied, that Mr Oriel had nothing for it but to give way to a certain amount of civilisation.

By degrees it came to pass that Miss Gushing could never get her final prayer said, her shawl and boa adjusted, and stow away her nice new Prayer-Book with the red letters inside, and the cross on the back, till Mr Oriel had been into his vestry and got rid of his surplice. And then they met at the church porch, and naturally walked together till Mr Oriel's cruel gateway separated them. The young thing did sometimes think that, as the parson's civilisation
progressed, he might have taken the trouble to walk with her as far as Mr Yates Umbleby's hall-door; but she had hope to sustain her, and a firm resolve to merit success, even though she might not attain it.

‘Is it not ten thousand pities,' she once said to him, ‘that none here should avail themselves of the inestimable privilege which your coming has conferred upon us? Oh, Mr Oriel, I do so wonder at it! To me it is so delightful! The morning service in the dark church is so beautiful, so touching!'

‘I suppose they think it is a bore getting up so early,' said Mr Oriel.

‘Ah, a bore!' said Miss Gushing, in an enthusiastic tone of depreciation. ‘How insensate they must be! To me it gives a new charm to life. It quiets one for the day; makes one so much fitter for one's daily trials and daily troubles. Does it not, Mr Oriel?'

‘I look upon morning prayer as an imperative duty, certainly.'

‘Oh, certainly, a most imperative duty; but so delicious at the same time. I spoke to Mrs Umbleby about it, but she said she could not leave the children.'

‘No: I dare say not,' said Mr Oriel.

‘And Mr Umbleby said his business kept him up so late at night.'

‘Very probably. I hardly expect the attendance of men of business.'

‘But the servants might come, mightn't they, Mr Oriel?'

‘I fear that servants seldom can have time for daily prayers in church.'

‘Oh, ah, no; perhaps not.' And then Miss Gushing began to bethink herself of whom should be composed the congregation which it must be presumed Mr Oriel wished to see around him. But on this matter he did not enlighten her.

Then Miss Gushing took to fasting on Fridays, and made some futile attempts to induce her priest to give her the comfort of confessional absolution. But, unfortunately, the zeal of the master waxed cool as that of the pupil waxed hot; and, at last, when the young thing returned to Greshamsbury from an autumn excursion which she had made with Mrs Umbleby to Weston-super-Mare, she found that the delicious morning services had died a natural death. Miss Gushing did not on that account give up the game,
but she was bound to fight with no particular advantage in her favour.

Miss Oriel, though a good Churchwoman, was by no means a convert to her brother's extremist views, and perhaps gave but scanty credit to the Gushings, Athelings, and Opie Greens for the sincerity of their religion. But, nevertheless, she and her brother were staunch friends; and she still hoped to see the day when he might be induced to think that an English parson might get through his parish work with the assistance of a wife better than he could do so without such feminine encumbrance. The girl whom she selected for his bride was not the young thing, but Beatrice Gresham.

And at last it seemed probable to Mr Oriel's nearest friends that he was in a fair way to be overcome. Not that he had begun to make love to Beatrice, or committed himself by the utterance of any opinion as to the propriety of clerical marriages; but he daily became looser about his peculiar tenets, raved less immoderately than heretofore as to the atrocity of the Greshamsbury church pews, and was observed to take some opportunities of conversing alone with Beatrice. Beatrice had always denied the imputation – this had usually been made by Mary in their happy days – with vehement asseverations of anger; and Miss Gushing had tittered, and expressed herself as supposing that great people's daughters might be as barefaced as they pleased.

All this had happened previous to the great Greshamsbury feud. Mr Oriel gradually got himself into a way of sauntering up to the great house, sauntering into the drawing-room for the purpose, as I am sure he thought, of talking to Lady Arabella, and then of sauntering home again, having usually found an opportunity for saying a few words to Beatrice during the visit. This went on all through the feud up to the period of Lady Arabella's illness; and then one morning, about a month before the date fixed for Frank's return, Mr Oriel found himself engaged to Miss Beatrice Gresham.

From the day that Miss Gushing heard of it – which was not, however, for some considerable time after this – she became an Independent Methodist. She could no longer, she said at first, have any faith in any religion; and for an hour or so she was almost tempted to swear that she could no longer have any faith
in any man. She had nearly completed a worked cover for a credence-table when the news reached her, as to which, in the young enthusiasm of her heart, she had not been able to remain silent; it had already been promised to Mr Oriel; that promise she swore should not be kept. He was an apostate, she said, from his principles; an utter pervert; a false, designing man, with whom she would never have trusted herself alone on dark mornings had she known that he had such grovelling, worldly inclinations. So Miss Gushing became an Independent Methodist; the credence-table covering was cut up into slippers for the preacher's feet; and the young thing herself, more happy in this direction than she had been in the other, became the arbiter of that preacher's domestic happiness.

But this little history of Miss Gushing's future life is premature. Mr Oriel became engaged demurely, nay, almost silently, to Beatrice, and no one out of their own immediate families was at the time informed of the matter. It was arranged very differently from those two other matches – embryo, or not embryo, those, namely, of Augusta with Mr Moffat, and Frank with Mary Thorne. All Barsetshire had heard of them; but that of Beatrice and Mr Oriel was managed in a much more private manner.

‘I do think you are a happy girl,' said Patience to her one morning.

‘Indeed I am.'

‘He is so good. You don't know how good he is as yet; he never thinks of himself, and thinks so much of those he loves.'

Beatrice took her friend's hand in her own and kissed it. She was full of joy. When a girl is about to be married, when she may lawfully talk of her love, there is no music in her ears so sweet as the praises of her lover.

‘I made up my mind from the first that he should marry you.'

‘Nonsense, Patience.'

‘I did, indeed. I made up my mind that he should marry; and there were only two to choose from.'

‘Me and Miss Gushing,' said Beatrice, laughing.

‘No; not exactly Miss Gushing. I had not many fears for Caleb there.'

‘I declare she's very pretty,' said Beatrice, who could afford to be good-natured. Now Miss Gushing certainly was pretty; and
would have been very pretty had her nose not turned up so much, and could she have parted her hair in the centre.

‘Well, I am very glad you chose me; – if it was you who chose,' said Beatrice, modestly; having, however, in her own mind a strong opinion that Mr Oriel had chosen for himself, and had never had any doubt in the matter. ‘And who was the other?'

‘Can't you guess?'

‘I won't guess any more; perhaps Mrs Green.'

‘Oh no; certainly not a widow. I don't like widows marrying. But of course you could guess if you would; of course it was Mary Thorne. But I soon saw Mary would not do, for two reasons; Caleb would never have liked her well enough nor would she ever have liked him.'

‘Not like him! oh, I hope she will; I do so love Mary Thorne.'

‘So do I, dearly; and so does Caleb; but he could never have loved her as he does you.'

‘But, Patience, have you told Mary?'

‘No, I have told no one, and shall not without your leave.'

‘Ah, you must tell her. Tell it her with my best, and kindest, warmest love. Tell her how happy I am, and how I long to talk to her. Tell her that I will have her for my bridesmaid. Oh! I do hope that before that all this horrid quarrel will be settled.'

Patience undertook the commission, and did tell Mary; did give her also the message which Beatrice had sent. And Mary was rejoiced to hear it; for though, as Patience had said of her, she had never herself felt any inclination to fall in love with Mr Oriel, she believed him to be one in whose hands her friend's happiness would be secure. Then, by degrees, the conversation changed from the loves of Mr Oriel and Beatrice to the troubles of Frank Gresham and herself.

‘She says, that let what will happen you shall be one of her bridesmaids.'

‘Ah, yes, dear Trichy! that was settled between us in auld lang syne; but those settlements are all unsettled now, must all be broken. No, I cannot be her bridesmaid; but I shall yet hope to see her once before her marriage.'

‘And why not be her bridesmaid? Lady Arabella will hardly object to that.'

‘Lady Arabella!' said Mary, curling her lip with deep scorn. ‘I
do not care that for Lady Arabella,' and she let her silver thimble fall from her fingers on to the table. ‘If Beatrice invited me to her wedding, she might manage as to that; I should ask no question as to Lady Arabella.'

‘Then why not come to it?'

She remained silent for a while, and then boldly answered, ‘Though I do not care for Lady Arabella, I do care for Mr Gresham: – and I do care for his son.'

‘But the squire always loved you.'

‘Yes, and therefore I will not be there to vex his sight. I will tell you the truth, Patience. I can never be in that house again till Frank Gresham is a married man, or till I am about to be a married woman. I do not think they have treated me well, but I will not treat them ill.'

‘I am sure you will not do that,' said Miss Oriel.

‘I will endeavour not to do so; and, therefore, will go to none of their fêtes! No, Patience.' And then she turned her head to the arm of the sofa, and silently, without audible sobs, hiding her face, she endeavoured to get rid of her tears unseen. For one moment she had all but resolved to pour out the whole truth of her love into her friend's ears; but suddenly she changed her mind. Why should she talk of her own unhappiness? Why should she speak of her own love when she was fully determined not to speak of Frank's promises?

‘Mary, dear Mary.'

‘Anything but pity, Patience; anything but that,' said she, convulsively, swallowing down her sobs, and rubbing away her tears. ‘I cannot bear that. Tell Beatrice from me, that I wish her every happiness; and, with such a husband, I am sure she will be happy. I wish her every joy; give her my kindest love; but tell her I cannot be at her marriage. Oh, I should so like to see her; not there, you know, but here, in my own room, where I still have liberty to speak.'

‘But why should you decide now? She is not to be married yet, you know.'

‘Now, or this day twelvemonth, can make no difference. I will not go into that house again, unless – but never mind; I will not go into it at all; never, never again. If I could forgive her for myself, I could not forgive her for my uncle. But tell me, Patience,
might not Beatrice now come here? It is so dreadful to see her every Sunday in church and never to speak to her, never to kiss her. She seems to look away from me as though she too had chosen to quarrel with me.'

Miss Oriel promised to do her best. She could not imagine, she said, that such a visit could be objected to on such an occasion. She would not advise Beatrice to come without telling her mother; but she could not think that Lady Arabella would be so cruel as to make any objection, knowing, as she could not but know, that her daughter, when married, would be at liberty to choose her own friends.

‘Good-bye, Mary,' said Patience. ‘I wish I knew how to say more to comfort you.'

‘Oh, comfort! I don't want comfort. I want to be let alone.'

‘That's just it: you are so ferocious in your scorn, so unbending, so determined to take all the punishment that comes in your way.'

‘What I do take, I'll take without complaint,' said Mary; and then they kissed each other and parted.

IT must be remembered that Mary, among her miseries, had to suffer this: that since Frank's departure, now nearly twelve months ago, she had not heard a word about him; or rather, she had only heard that he was very much in love with some lady in London. This news reached her in a manner so circuitous, and from such a doubtful source; it seemed to her to savour so strongly of Lady Arabella's precautions, that she attributed it at once to malice, and blew it to the winds. It might not improbably be the case that Frank was untrue to her; but she would not take it for granted because she was now told so. It was more than probable that he should amuse himself with someone; flirting was his prevailing sin; and if he did flirt, the most would of course be made of it.