Shirley
elevation of his piety, won him friends in every grade. His poor clerk
and sexton delighted in him; the noble patron of his living esteemed him
highly. It was only with young, handsome, fashionable, and stylish
ladies he felt a little shy. Being himself a plain man--plain in aspect,
plain in manners, plain in speech--he seemed to fear their dash,
elegance, and airs. But Miss Helstone had neither dash nor airs, and her
native elegance was of a very quiet order--quiet as the beauty of a
ground-loving hedge-flower. He was a fluent, cheerful, agreeable talker.
Caroline could talk too in a _tête-à-tête_. She liked Mr. Hall to come
and take the seat next her in a party, and thus secure her from Peter
Augustus Malone, Joseph Donne, or John Sykes; and Mr. Hall never failed
to avail himself of this privilege when he possibly could. Such
preference shown by a single gentleman to a single lady would certainly,
in ordinary cases, have set in motion the tongues of the gossips; but
Cyril Hall was forty-five years old, slightly bald, and slightly gray,
and nobody ever said or thought he was likely to be married to Miss
Helstone. Nor did he think so himself. He was wedded already to his
books and his parish. His kind sister Margaret, spectacled and learned
like himself, made him happy in his single state; he considered it too
late to change. Besides, he had known Caroline as a pretty little girl.
She had sat on his knee many a time; he had bought her toys and given
her books; he felt that her friendship for him was mixed with a sort of
filial respect; he could not have brought himself to attempt to give
another colour to her sentiments, and his serene mind could glass a fair
image without feeling its depths troubled by the reflection.
When Miss Ainley arrived, she was made kindly welcome by every one. Mrs.
Pryor and Margaret Hall made room for her on the sofa between them; and
when the three were seated, they formed a trio which the gay and
thoughtless would have scorned, indeed, as quite worthless and
unattractive--a middle-aged widow and two plain, spectacled old
maids--yet which had its own quiet value, as many a suffering and
friendless human being knew.
Shirley opened the business and showed the plan.
"I know the hand which drew up that," said Mr. Hall, glancing at Miss
Ainley, and smiling benignantly. His approbation was won at once.
Boultby heard and deliberated with bent brow and protruded under lip.
His consent he considered too weighty to be given in a hurry. Helstone
glanced sharply round with an alert, suspicious expression, as if he
apprehended that female craft was at work, and that something in
petticoats was somehow trying underhand to acquire too much influence,
and make itself of too much importance. Shirley caught and comprehended
the expression. "This scheme is nothing," said she carelessly. "It is
only an outline--a mere suggestion. You, gentlemen, are requested to
draw up rules of your own."
And she directly fetched her writing-case, smiling queerly to herself as
she bent over the table where it stood. She produced a sheet of paper, a
new pen, drew an arm-chair to the table, and presenting her hand to old
Helstone, begged permission to install him in it. For a minute he was a
little stiff, and stood wrinkling his copper-coloured forehead
strangely. At last he muttered, "Well, you are neither my wife nor my
daughter, so I'll be led for once; but mind--I know I _am_ led. Your
little female manœuvres don't blind me."
"Oh!" said Shirley, dipping the pen in the ink, and putting it into his
hand, "you must regard me as Captain Keeldar to-day. This is quite a
gentleman's affair--yours and mine entirely, doctor" (so she had dubbed
the rector). "The ladies there are only to be our aides-de-camp, and at
their peril they speak, till we have settled the whole business."
He smiled a little grimly, and began to write. He soon interrupted
himself to ask questions, and consult his brethren, disdainfully lifting
his glance over the curly heads of the two girls and the demure caps of
the elder ladies, to meet the winking glasses and gray pates of the
priests. In the discussion which ensued, all three gentlemen, to their
infinite credit, showed a thorough acquaintance with the poor of their
parishes--an even minute knowledge of their separate wants. Each rector
knew where clothing was needed, where food would be most acceptable,
where money could be bestowed with a probability of it being judiciously
laid out. Wherever their memories fell short, Miss Ainley or Miss Hall,
if applied to, could help them out; but both ladies took care not to
speak unless spoken to. Neither of them wanted to be foremost, but each
sincerely desired to be useful; and useful the clergy consented to make
them--with which boon they were content.
Shirley stood behind the rectors, leaning over their shoulders now and
then to glance at the rules drawn up and the list of cases making out,
listening to all they said, and still at intervals smiling her queer
smile--a smile not ill-natured, but significant--too significant to be
generally thought amiable. Men rarely like such of their fellows as read
their inward nature too clearly and truly. It is good for women,
especially, to be endowed with a soft blindness; to have mild, dim eyes,
that never penetrate below the surface of things--that take all for what
it seems. Thousands, knowing this, keep their eyelids drooped on system;
but the most downcast glance has its loophole, through which it can, on
occasion, take its sentinel-survey of life. I remember once seeing a
pair of blue eyes, that were usually thought sleepy, secretly on the
alert, and I knew by their expression--an expression which chilled my
blood, it was in that quarter so wondrously unexpected--that for years
they had been accustomed to silent soul-reading. The world called the
owner of these blue eyes _bonne petite femme_ (she was not an
Englishwoman). I learned her nature afterwards--got it off by
heart--studied it in its farthest, most hidden recesses. She was the
finest, deepest, subtlest schemer in Europe.
When all was at length settled to Miss Keeldar's mind, and the clergy
had entered so fully into the spirit of her plans as to head the
subscription-list with their signatures for £50 each, she ordered supper
to be served, having previously directed Mrs. Gill to exercise her
utmost skill in the preparation of this repast. Mr. Hall was no _bon
vivant_--he was naturally an abstemious man, indifferent to luxury; but
Boultby and Helstone both liked good cookery. The _recherché_ supper
consequently put them into excellent humour. They did justice to it,
though in a gentlemanly way--not in the mode Mr. Donne would have done
had he been present. A glass of fine wine was likewise tasted, with
discerning though most decorous relish. Captain Keeldar was complimented
on his taste; the compliment charmed him. It had been his aim to gratify
and satisfy his priestly guests. He had succeeded, and was radiant with
glee.
CHAPTER XV.
MR. DONNE'S EXODUS.
The next day Shirley expressed to Caroline how delighted she felt that
the little party had gone off so well.
"I rather like to entertain a circle of gentlemen," said she. "It is
amusing to observe how they enjoy a judiciously concocted repast. For
ourselves, you see, these choice wines and these scientific dishes are
of no importance to us; but gentlemen seem to retain something of the
_naïveté_ of children about food, and one likes to please them--that is,
when they show the becoming, decent self-government of our admirable
rectors. I watch Moore sometimes, to try and discover how he can be
pleased; but he has not that child's simplicity about him. Did you ever
find out his accessible point, Caroline? you have seen more of him than
I."
"It is not, at any rate, that of my uncle and Dr. Boultby," returned
Caroline, smiling. She always felt a sort of shy pleasure in following
Miss Keeldar's lead respecting the discussion of her cousin's character.
Left to herself, she would never have touched on the subject; but when
invited, the temptation of talking about him of whom she was ever
thinking was irresistible. "But," she added, "I really don't know what
it is, for I never watched Robert in my life but my scrutiny was
presently baffled by finding he was watching me."
"There it is!" exclaimed Shirley. "You can't fix your eyes on him but
his presently flash on you. He is never off his guard. He won't give you
an advantage. Even when he does not look at you, his thoughts seem to be
busy amongst your own thoughts, tracing your words and actions to their
source, contemplating your motives at his ease. Oh! I know that sort of
character, or something in the same style. It is one that piques me
singularly. How does it affect you?"
This question was a specimen of one of Shirley's sharp, sudden turns.
Caroline used to be fluttered by them at first, but she had now got into
the way of parrying these home-thrusts like a little Quakeress.
"Pique you? In what way does it pique you?" she said.
"Here he comes!" suddenly exclaimed Shirley, breaking off, starting up
and running to the window. "Here comes a diversion. I never told you of
a superb conquest I have made lately--made at those parties to which I
can never persuade you to accompany me; and the thing has been done
without effort or intention on my part--that I aver. There is the
bell--and, by all that's delicious! there are two of them. Do they never
hunt, then, except in couples? You may have one, Lina, and you may take
your choice. I hope I am generous enough. Listen to Tartar!"
The black-muzzled, tawny dog, a glimpse of which was seen in the chapter
which first introduced its mistress to the reader, here gave tongue in
the hall, amidst whose hollow space the deep bark resounded formidably.
A growl more terrible than the bark, menacing as muttered thunder,
succeeded.
"Listen!" again cried Shirley, laughing. "You would think that the
prelude to a bloody onslaught. They will be frightened. They don't know
old Tartar as I do. They are not aware his uproars are all sound and
fury, signifying nothing!"
Some bustle was heard. "Down, sir, down!" exclaimed a high-toned,
imperious voice, and then came a crack of a cane or whip. Immediately
there was a yell--a scutter--a run--a positive tumult.
"O Malone, Malone!"
"Down! down! down!" cried the high voice.
"He really is worrying them!" exclaimed Shirley. "They have struck him.
A blow is what he is not used to, and will not take."
Out she ran. A gentleman was fleeing up the oak staircase, making for
refuge in the gallery or chambers in hot haste; another was backing fast
to the stairfoot, wildly flourishing a knotty stick, at the same time
reiterating, "Down! down! down!" while the tawny dog bayed, bellowed,
howled at him, and a group of servants came bundling from the kitchen.
The dog made a spring; the second gentleman turned tail and rushed after
his comrade. The first was already safe in a bedroom; he held the door
against his fellow--nothing so merciless as terror. But the other
fugitive struggled hard; the door was about to yield to his strength.
"Gentlemen," was uttered in Miss Keeldar's silvery but vibrating tones,
"spare my locks, if you please. Calm yourselves! Come down! Look at
Tartar; he won't harm a cat."
She was caressing the said Tartar. He lay crouched at her feet, his fore
paws stretched out, his tail still in threatening agitation, his
nostrils snorting, his bulldog eyes conscious of a dull fire. He was an
honest, phlegmatic, stupid, but stubborn canine character. He loved his
mistress and John--the man who fed him--but was mostly indifferent to
the rest of the world. Quiet enough he was, unless struck or threatened