Shirley (42 page)

Donne happened to come into the drawing-room while Shirley, sitting on the sofa, formed the centre of a tolerably wide circle. She had already forgotten her exasperation against him, and she bowed and smiled good-humouredly. The disposition of the man was then seen. He knew neither how

to decline the advance with dignity, as one whose just pride has been wounded, nor how to meet it with frankness, as one who is glad to forget and forgive. His punishment had impressed him with no

sense of shame, and he did not experience that feeling on encountering his chastiser. He was not vigorous enough in evil to be actively malignant—he merely passed by sheepishly with a rated, scowling look. Nothing could ever again reconcile him to his enemy; while no passion of resentment,

for even sharper and more ignominious inflictions, could his lymphatic nature know.

"He was not worth a scene!" said Shirley to Caroline. "What a fool I was! To revenge on poor Donne his silly spite at Yorkshire is something like crushing a gnat for attacking the hide of a rhinoceros. Had I been a gentleman, I believe I should have helped him off the premises by dint of physical force. I am glad now I only employed the moral weapon. But he must come near me no more. I don't like him. He irritates me. There is not even amusement to be had out of him. Malone is

better sport."

It seemed as if Malone wished to justify the preference, for the words were scarcely out of the speaker's mouth when Peter Augustus came up, all in
grande tenue
, gloved and scented, with his hair oiled and brushed to perfection, and bearing in one hand a huge bunch of cabbage-roses, five or six

in full blow. These he presented to the heiress with a grace to which the most cunning pencil could do

but defective justice. And who, after this, could dare to say that Peter was not a lady's man? He had

gathered and he had given flowers; he had offered a sentimental, a poetic tribute at the shrine of Love

or Mammon. Hercules holding the distaff was but a faint type of Peter bearing the roses. He must have

thought this himself, for he seemed amazed at what he had done. He backed without a word; he was

going away with a husky chuckle of self-satisfaction; then he bethought himself to stop and turn, to

ascertain by ocular testimony that he really had presented a bouquet. Yes, there were the six red cabbages on the purple satin lap, a very white hand, with some gold rings on the fingers, slightly holding them together, and streaming ringlets, half hiding a laughing face, drooped over them. Only

half
hiding! Peter saw the laugh; it was unmistakable. He was made a joke of; his gallantry, his chivalry, were the subject of a jest for a petticoat—for two petticoats: Miss Helstone too was smiling.

Moreover, he felt he was seen through, and Peter grew black as a thunder-cloud. When Shirley looked

up, a fell eye was fastened on her. Malone, at least, had energy enough in hate. She saw it in his glance.

"Peter
is
worth a scene, and shall have it, if he likes, one day," she whispered to her friend.

And now—solemn and sombre as to their colour, though bland enough as to their faces—appeared

at the dining-room door the three rectors. They had hitherto been busy in the church, and were now

coming to take some little refreshment for the body, ere the march commenced. The large morocco-

covered easy-chair had been left vacant for Dr. Boultby. He was put into it, and Caroline, obeying the

instigations of Shirley, who told her now was the time to play the hostess, hastened to hand to her uncle's vast, revered, and, on the whole, worthy friend, a glass of wine and a plate of macaroons.

Boultby's churchwardens, patrons of the Sunday school both, as he insisted on their being, were already beside him; Mrs. Sykes and the other ladies of his congregation were on his right hand and on

his left, expressing their hopes that he was not fatigued, their fears that the day would be too warm for him. Mrs. Boultby, who held an opinion that when her lord dropped asleep after a good dinner his face became as the face of an angel, was bending over him, tenderly wiping some perspiration, real

or imaginary, from his brow. Boultby, in short, was in his glory, and in a round, sound
voix de
poitrine
he rumbled out thanks for attentions and assurances of his tolerable health. Of Caroline he took no manner of notice as she came near, save to accept what she offered. He did not see her—he

never did see her; he hardly knew that such a person existed. He saw the macaroons, however, and being fond of sweets, possessed himself of a small handful thereof. The wine Mrs. Boultby insisted on

mingling with hot water, and qualifying with sugar and nutmeg.

Mr. Hall stood near an open window, breathing the fresh air and scent of flowers, and talking like a

brother to Miss Ainley. To him Caroline turned her attention with pleasure. "What should she bring

him? He must not help himself—he must be served by her." And she provided herself with a little salver, that she might offer him variety. Margaret Hall joined them; so did Miss Keeldar. The four ladies stood round their favourite pastor. They also had an idea that they looked on the face of an earthly angel. Cyril Hall was their pope, infallible to them as Dr. Thomas Boultby to his admirers. A

throng, too, enclosed the rector of Briarfield—twenty or more pressed round him; and no parson was

ever more potent in a circle than old Helstone. The curates, herding together after their manner, made

a constellation of three lesser planets. Divers young ladies watched them afar off, but ventured not nigh.

Mr. Helstone produced his watch. "Ten minutes to two," he announced aloud. "Time for all to fall into line. Come." He seized his shovel-hat and marched away. All rose and followed
en masse
.

The twelve hundred children were drawn up in three bodies of four hundred souls each; in the rear

of each regiment was stationed a band; between every twenty there was an interval, wherein Helstone

posted the teachers in pairs. To the van of the armies he summoned,—

"Grace Boultby and Mary Sykes lead out Whinbury.

"Margaret Hall and Mary Ann Ainley conduct Nunnely.

"Caroline Helstone and Shirley Keeldar head Briarfield."

Then again he gave command,—

"Mr. Donne to Whinbury; Mr. Sweeting to Nunnely; Mr. Malone to Briarfield."

And these gentlemen stepped up before the lady-generals.

The rectors passed to the full front; the parish clerks fell to the extreme rear. Helstone lifted his shovel-hat. In an instant out clashed the eight bells in the tower, loud swelled the sounding bands, flute spoke and clarion answered, deep rolled the drums, and away they marched.

The broad white road unrolled before the long procession, the sun and sky surveyed it cloudless,

the wind tossed the tree boughs above it, and the twelve hundred children and one hundred and forty

adults of which it was composed trod on in time and tune, with gay faces and glad hearts. It was a joyous scene, and a scene to do good. It was a day of happiness for rich and poor—the work, first of

God, and then of the clergy. Let England's priests have their due. They are a faulty set in some respects, being only of common flesh and blood like us all; but the land would be badly off without

them. Britain would miss her church, if that church fell. God save it! God also reform it!

17

Chapter

THE SCHOOL FEAST.

Not on combat bent, nor of foemen in search, was this priest-led and woman-officered company; yet

their music played martial tunes, and, to judge by the eyes and carriage of some—Miss Keeldar, for

instance—these sounds awoke, if not a martial, yet a longing spirit. Old Helstone, turning by chance,

looked into her face; and he laughed, and she laughed at him.

"There is no battle in prospect," he said; "our country does not want us to fight for it. No foe or tyrant is questioning or threatening our liberty. There is nothing to be done. We are only taking a walk. Keep your hand on the reins, captain, and slack the fire of that spirit. It is not wanted, the more's the pity."

"Take your own advice, doctor," was Shirley's response. To Caroline she murmured, "I'll borrow of imagination what reality will not give me. We are not soldiers—bloodshed is not my desire—or if

we are, we are soldiers of the Cross. Time has rolled back some hundreds of years, and we are bound

on a pilgrimage to Palestine. But no; that is too visionary. I need a sterner dream. We are Lowlanders

of Scotland, following a Covenanting captain up into the hills to hold a meeting out of the reach of

persecuting troopers. We know that battle may follow prayer; and as we believe that in the worst issue

of battle heaven must be our reward, we are ready and willing to redden the peat-moss with our blood. That music stirs my soul; it wakens all my life; it makes my heart beat—not with its temperate

daily pulse, but with a new, thrilling vigour. I almost long for danger—for a faith, a land, or at least a lover to defend."

"Look, Shirley!" interrupted Caroline. "What is that red speck above Stilbro' Brow? You have keener sight than I. Just turn your eagle eye to it."

Miss Keeldar looked. "I see," she said; then added presently, "there is a line of red. They are soldiers—cavalry soldiers," she subjoined quickly. "They ride fast. There are six of them. They will pass us. No; they have turned off to the right. They saw our procession, and avoid it by making a circuit. Where are they going?"

"Perhaps they are only exercising their horses."

"Perhaps so. We see them no more now."

Mr. Helstone here spoke.

"We shall pass through Royd Lane, to reach Nunnely Common by a short cut," said he.

And into the straits of Royd Lane they accordingly defiled. It was very narrow—so narrow that only two could walk abreast without falling into the ditch which ran along each side. They had gained

the middle of it, when excitement became obvious in the clerical commanders. Boultby's spectacles and Helstone's Rehoboam were agitated; the curates nudged each other; Mr. Hall turned to the ladies

and smiled.

"What is the matter?" was the demand.

He pointed with his staff to the end of the lane before them. Lo and behold! another, an opposition,

procession was there entering, headed also by men in black, and followed also, as they could now hear, by music.

"Is it our double?" asked Shirley, "our manifold wraith? Here is a card turned up."

"If you wanted a battle, you are likely to get one—at least of looks," whispered Caroline, laughing.

"They shall not pass us!" cried the curates unanimously; "we'll not give way!"

"Give way!" retorted Helstone sternly, turning round; "who talks of giving way? You, boys, mind what you are about. The ladies, I know, will be firm. I can trust them. There is not a churchwoman here but will stand her ground against these folks, for the honour of the Establishment.—What does

Miss Keeldar say?"

"She asks what is it."

"The Dissenting and Methodist schools, the Baptists, Independents, and Wesleyans, joined in unholy

alliance, and turning purposely into this lane with the intention of obstructing our march and driving

us back."

"Bad manners!" said Shirley, "and I hate bad manners. Of course, they must have a lesson."

"A lesson in politeness," suggested Mr. Hall, who was ever for peace; "not an example of rudeness."

Old Helstone moved on. Quickening his step, he marched some yards in advance of his company.

He had nearly reached the other sable leaders, when he who appeared to act as the hostile commander-in-chief—a large, greasy man, with black hair combed flat on his forehead—called a halt. The procession paused. He drew forth a hymn book, gave out a verse, set a tune, and they all struck up the most dolorous of canticles.

Helstone signed to his bands. They clashed out with all the power of brass. He desired them to play

"Rule, Britannia!" and ordered the children to join in vocally, which they did with enthusiastic spirit.

The enemy was sung and stormed down, his psalm quelled. As far as noise went, he was conquered.

"Now, follow me!" exclaimed Helstone; "not at a run, but at a firm, smart pace. Be steady, every child and woman of you. Keep together. Hold on by each other's skirts, if necessary."

And he strode on with such a determined and deliberate gait, and was, besides, so well seconded by

his scholars and teachers, who did exactly as he told them, neither running nor faltering, but marching with cool, solid impetus—the curates, too, being compelled to do the same, as they were between two fires, Helstone and Miss Keeldar, both of whom watched any deviation with lynx-eyed vigilance, and were ready, the one with his cane, the other with her parasol, to rebuke the slightest breach of orders, the least independent or irregular demonstration—that the body of Dissenters were

first amazed, then alarmed, then borne down and pressed back, and at last forced to turn tail and leave

the outlet from Royd Lane free. Boultby suffered in the onslaught, but Helstone and Malone, between

them, held him up, and brought him through the business, whole in limb, though sorely tried in wind.

The fat Dissenter who had given out the hymn was left sitting in the ditch. He was a spirit merchant

by trade, a leader of the Nonconformists, and, it was said, drank more water in that one afternoon than

he had swallowed for a twelvemonth before. Mr. Hall had taken care of Caroline, and Caroline of him. He and Miss Ainley made their own quiet comments to each other afterwards on the incident.

Miss Keeldar and Mr. Helstone shook hands heartily when they had fairly got the whole party through

the lane. The curates began to exult, but Mr. Helstone presently put the curb on their innocent spirits.

He remarked that they never had sense to know what to say, and had better hold their tongues; and he