Love and Money (20 page)

But here the plan encountered some delay and difficulty. Of the twenty-one original Trustees, six still survived, the
full number having been kept up by subsequent elections. It was the duty of the Trustees to see that the chapel was administered in accordance with the provisions of the Trust Deed drawn up in 1849. By this Deed, the officiating pastor was required to preach in conformity with ten points of doctrine scheduled therein. While most of these ten points would be acceptable to Christians of every creed and age, others, now that they were set out clearly, struck some of the 1872 Resmond Street congregation as outdated; they viewed with a dubious eye the dogmas of the universal and total depravity of man and the eternal punishment of the wicked, especially when to these was added predestination, so that no escape from hell seemed possible for the majority of the human race. They had not meant their membership of Resmond Street Independent to imply the acceptance of such doctrines, which indeed had never been clearly put to them before. The Trustees, however, especially the surviving original six, felt themselves bound by the Deed, and from a sense of duty subjected all the pastoral candidates to a severe doctrinal scrutiny. Those who passed this test somehow failed in general attractiveness, while some who were otherwise reasonably acceptable seemed unsatisfactorily vague when rigorously questioned on theology in interviews. So the post of assistant pastor remained unfilled.

Until, one Sunday morning, the Rev. John Spencer Aquile occupied the pulpit.

A young man just over thirty, from a southern county whose accent agreeably flavoured his ringing speech, John Spencer Aquile was a convert from the Established Church, whose forms and traditions he had found too cramping, too fettering, in his unending search for religious truth. Though the circumstances of his life had not permitted him to acquire a university degree, he was widely and deeply read in English literature and history as well as in theology, and had been trained for the ministry in a Congregational College. Not handsome in the conventional sense, he was
tall and strong in frame, with a clear fair skin, abundant light brown hair and whisker, and very fine grey eyes. These could melt into tenderness, flash in righteous anger, or take on a look of piercing intellectual enquiry, in accordance with their owner's feelings, for John Aquile was utterly sincere. Though not in the least a coxcomb, and quite indifferent to the age or lack of fashion of his clothes, he was always completely fresh, clean and neat; you felt at once that he cleaned his boots and brushed his coat to the glory of the Lord. In addition to these qualities he had a strong, firm, vigorous, resonant voice; without any nonsense of affectation or obvious effort he filled Resmond Street Independent with clear, well-uttered words to its very rim. It was observed during the service that old Mr. Tolefree, with whom John Aquile had stayed the previous night, seemed smiling and happy, and brighter in mind than he had been for a long time; he made almost no mistakes, and uttered a decidedly significant prayer in which he asked that the congregation might be led to make a right and acceptable choice—of pastor, the whole congregation understood. A feeling of hope, of energy, of excitement, rippled along the pews; when Mr. Aquile at length ascended the pulpit the congregation very quickly settled their sealskins and bonnet-strings and frock-coat tails and gazing fixedly at the young minister, gave him all the attention any preacher could wish.

Choosing as his text Galatians 3, xi:
The just shall live by faith,
Mr. Aquile delivered, without the help of a single note, a really magnificent sermon. Plain, forthright, simple, so clearly arranged that a child could follow its reasoning, the discourse yet set forth such lofty ideals of what was just and what was faith, in such heart-stirring terms, that the Resmond Street congregation felt inspired and uplifted as it had
not done for years. Mr. Tolefree hung on the young minister's words spellbound, his old face beaming; among the congregation no one rustled and there was not a single cough. At exactly the right moment, the sermon closed in an eloquent passage; the congregation rose for the final hymn, and red velvet bags were handed round for the collection by
the Deacons on duty. It was then that, as I have been told, a Deacon gave a Trustee an enquiring lift of the eyebrows, and the Trustee, glancing downward and continuing to sing, quietly and discreetly turned up his thumb.

This Trustee, Councillor Frederick Starbotton by name, was one of the main figures in the drama which ensued. The owner, with a cousin, of a small but prosperous cloth manufacturing firm for which he acted as travelling representative, he often visited London, whence he brought gifts of an exciting kind—books, popular music, fashionable furbelows —for his only child, his daughter Eliza, of whom he was very proud. He was small and slight in stature, with a brilliant complexion and fair silky whiskers, which he wore
a la Dundreary
and took great pride in.
Dapper
is really the word to describe him, for he was a good deal of a dandy; he carried a silver-knobbed cane and wore lemon gloves—and of course an impeccable top hat and frock coat—to go to chapel. A shrewd business man, skilled in cloth and investing carefully in real estate, he does not at first sight appear the kind of man to play the role which fate assigned to him. But that Annotsfield men are full of surprises is the theme of this tale.

The reaction to Mr. Aquile's sermon was overwhelmingly favourable, and when Mr. Tolefree informed the Deacons that the sermon was, in fact, impromptu, they did not at first believe him. But yes, insisted the old man, his faded eyes sparkling with delight. Mr. Aquile had intended to preach on grace abounding—had indeed shown Mr. Tolefree his prepared notes on the subject the previous night; but the two ministers had by chance fallen to discussing the life of faith, they had sat up late discussing it, and Mr. Aquile at breakfast had informed the older man that his mind was full of it and he could speak on nothing else. Mr. Tolefree, who already felt a great affection for Aquile and wished him to gain the assistant's post, cautioned him against such a rash course—to offer an unprepared sermon to such experienced critics as the Resmond Street Deacons was to court disaster. To this Mr. Aquile had replied, with a quiet smile:

“I can no other.”

The congregation was amazed. What, between midnight and ten-thirty, compose such a thoroughly vertebrate address, find out such apt quotations, remember such illuminating human examples! It was a remarkable feat. The sermon on grace, heard in the evening, was just as well argued, though a little more tender in tone, which suited the starlight. The ordinary Resmond Street seat-holder felt that they were in luck's way, they could not have a better man.

The Trustees and Deacons were to hold a joint meeting on the following Friday to discuss the latest candidates. On Wednesday morning old Mr. Tolefree received a letter from John Aquile, thanking him for his hospitality, and saying that on the writer's return home on Monday, he had found awaiting him a definite offer of a post of assistant pastor in another church, with a fixed date for his decision.

“It is only fair to tell you this,” continued the letter, “though I should by no means wish you to understand that I mean necessarily to accept it. I liked much my experience in Annotsfield and should regard it as a privilege and honour to work under you.”

Mr. Tolefree hurried off as fast as his old legs would carry him to lay this letter before his chief Trustees. And it was here, perhaps, though I think here only, that the flaws in the West Riding character, as generally conceived, operated to bring about Resmond Street's doom. For the moment the Trustees and Deacons heard that there was a chance some other church might snatch Mr. Aquile away from them, he became doubly valuable in their eyes. It was not in their competitive industrial nineteenth-century nature to allow an advantage to be wrested from them in this way; their business instincts were roused, they came to the meeting in a fighting spirit. Accordingly Mr. Aquile's appointment was passed in a few moments, without that severe doctrinal examination which had been inflicted on the other applicants. It was only at the very moment when the question was being put to the vote that one of the original Trustees,
Brigg by name—Brigg is such a frequent appellation in Annotsfield that one often has to descend to three Christian names to distinguish individuals; this was John James Joshua—turned to his neighbour and remarked:

“I suppose he's all right by the Deed?”

“He was trained at the College,” replied his colleague, alluding to the Congregational establishment already referred to.

“Mr. Tolefree approved him,” put in a Deacon from the row behind.

“His text was sound,” said another.

Alderman Brigg nodded thoughtfully. In truth, the verse from which Mr. Aquile's morning text was taken, a verse several times quoted in his sermon, was considered by many to bear a particularly Trust Deed interpretation, since it stated that no man could be justified in the sight of God by law, that is, as the Alderman believed, by any amount of good works, but only by faith. That Mr. Aquile had chanced to speak on this text because Mr. Tolefree had opened the subject to him the night before had not then occurred to Alderman Brigg, though it might have done so if he had been given more time.

“We haven't heard such sermons in Resmond Street for a dozen years,” said Councillor Starbotton impatiently.

“We shall be lucky if we get Aquile at all, with those Norfolk chaps after him,” said another Brigg (William Thomas, no relation to the Alderman) grimly.

At this Alderman Brigg raised his hand, and the vote in favour of John Aquile was unanimous.

The young minister took up work in Resmond Street in the following January, and at once a tide of new fife flowed through the Resmond Street veins.

The Sunday School was revivified, for there was no longer any shortage of teachers; young women and young men were alike eager to work under Mr. Aquile. Their eagerness was not diminished by the high standards which he imposed;
pleasant, friendly, undemanding in personal relationships, in anything which concerned the Lord's work he was strict and even stern. All teachers had to attend special classes to ensure that their teaching of the children was sound and good; any slackness in preparation, attendance or handling was immediately noticed and firmly rebuked. Admirable sermons continued to pour from the Resmond Street pulpit; on ordinary Sundays the congregation awaited with keen interest their assistant pastor's often recondite choice of text; on the great occasions of the Christian year, when the subject of his discourse was as it were pre-selected, Mr. Aquile always had something new to say. The choir augmented itself, so did the (temperance) Band of Hope; a Dorcas Society and a Mothers' Meeting, the latter conducted by Mrs. John James Joshua Brigg, sprang into being; the collections for Home Missions (for which Mr. Aquile preached) went up by leaps and bounds.

In the following winter Mr. Aquile began to conduct on Wednesday afternoons—previously his only free time— literature classes for the ladies of his congregation. A good many of the young women who flocked to the first few of these soon fell off, for the intellectual travail required was beyond their range. Miss Eliza Starbotton and Miss Lucy Tolefree, however, were amongst those who attended very regularly.

Surprise was expressed in some quarters at the assiduity of Miss Starbotton, for she was regarded as the beauty of Resmond Street, absorbed almost entirely in the acquirement of masculine admiration. Small and deliciously slight, with a round little face and a snub nose, Eliza had big “baby blue” eyes, her father's brilliant complexion, and masses of long and really beautiful fair hair, which veiled her to the waist when it escaped its controlling hairpins and came down. (Somehow, at parties, at picnics, on walks, when skating, in fact wherever admiring males were present, Eliza's hair always
did
come down.) She was a good deal spoiled and petted by her father; indeed it was rumoured that Councillor Starbotton had replied solemnly to one suitor for her hand:
“ Eliza is a hothouse flower.” Why therefore should she trouble to attend literature classes? Especially as she had recently accepted the suitor aforesaid, who chanced to be Alderman Brigg's grandson, James Joshua Henry. Miss Starbotton could not, therefore—so argued Resmond Street —take any matrimonial interest in Mr. Aquile. So why did she go to his classes?

Miss Tolefree of course was considered both as beyond the age of such hopes, and as genuinely interested in literature. But the existence of these speculations indicated the general awareness that there were other young ladies in the congregation who took a warmer tone towards Mr. Aquile. (His very name, so unYorkshire, was so excitingly strange, rang so romantically in their ears.) But they were obliged to admire the assistant pastor wistfully and from afar, for he seemed not susceptible to any delicate feminine blandishments, while anything of a bolder kind simply died in his presence—vulgarity could not exist beneath the clear piercing glance of those luminous eyes. Mr. Aquile was apt, too, to foil the little schemes of the young ladies' mothers to entangle him with their daughters' charms, for when they invited him to tea (high Yorkshire tea) he was usually unable to accept owing to some platform or pulpit engagement, and when they made him presents he accepted them with warm thanks but on behalf of the poor. The Resmond Street congregation did not take umbrage on this account, however; being Yorkshire folk, they liked a man to hold his end up and
be
a man—they could not abide a fool who let himself be led by the nose.

For all the good causes of the town Mr. Aquile spoke on platforms; he sat on committees and exercised a sane and sensible influence on their deliberations; yet he never neglected Resmond Street business for more showy affairs, but always faithfully and eagerly performed anything he had promised to do. In leaving the Established Church for his present faith, he had experienced doubts and perplexities, anguish of mind, alienation (even though only temporary) from his family; in a word he had suffered. Accordingly he
was well able to enter into the sufferings of others, and not a few in Annotsfield confided in him and asked his advice. Young ministers of other denominations told him their spiritual and congregational perplexities; sons confided their difficulties about their over-strict fathers, and perplexed fathers about their wayward sons. Warm-hearted, generous, tender to the weak, Mr. Aquile could (and did) speak sternly where any meanness or false pride displayed itself. But it was noticeable that all who confided in him became thenceforward his firm friends.