Shirley
exasperated--straight she walked to her garden gates, wide she flung
them open.
"Walk through," she said austerely, "and pretty quickly, and set foot on
this pavement no more."
Donne was astounded. He had thought all the time he was showing himself
off to high advantage, as a lofty-souled person of the first "ton;" he
imagined he was producing a crushing impression. Had he not expressed
disdain of everything in Yorkshire? What more conclusive proof could be
given that he was better than anything there? And yet here was he about
to be turned like a dog out of a Yorkshire garden! Where, under such
circumstances, was the "concatenation accordingly"?
"Rid me of you instantly--instantly!" reiterated Shirley, as he
lingered.
"Madam--a clergyman! turn out a clergyman!"
"Off! Were you an archbishop you have proved yourself no gentleman, and
must go. Quick!"
She was quite resolved. There was no trifling with her. Besides, Tartar
was again rising; he perceived symptoms of a commotion; he manifested a
disposition to join in. There was evidently nothing for it but to go,
and Donne made his exodus, the heiress sweeping him a deep curtsy as she
closed the gates on him.
"How dare the pompous priest abuse his flock! How dare the lisping
cockney revile Yorkshire!" was her sole observation on the circumstance,
as she returned to the table.
Ere long the little party broke up; Miss Keeldar's ruffled and darkened
brow, curled lip, and incensed eye gave no invitation to further social
enjoyment.
CHAPTER XVI.
WHITSUNTIDE.
The fund prospered. By dint of Miss Keeldar's example, the three
rectors' vigorous exertions, and the efficient though quiet aid of their
spinster and spectacled lieutenants, Mary Ann Ainley and Margaret Hall,
a handsome sum was raised; and this being judiciously managed, served
for the present greatly to alleviate the distress of the unemployed
poor. The neighbourhood seemed to grow calmer. For a fortnight past no
cloth had been destroyed; no outrage on mill or mansion had been
committed in the three parishes. Shirley was sanguine that the evil she
wished to avert was almost escaped, that the threatened storm was
passing over. With the approach of summer she felt certain that trade
would improve--it always did; and then this weary war could not last for
ever; peace must return one day. With peace, what an impulse would be
given to commerce!
Such was the usual tenor of her observations to her tenant, Gérard
Moore, whenever she met him where they could converse; and Moore would
listen very quietly--too quietly to satisfy her. She would then by her
impatient glance demand something more from him--some explanation, or at
least some additional remark. Smiling in his way, with that expression
which gave a remarkable cast of sweetness to his mouth, while his brow
remained grave, he would answer to the effect that himself too trusted
in the finite nature of the war; that it was indeed on that ground the
anchor of his hopes was fixed; thereon his speculations depended. "For
you are aware," he would continue, "that I now work Hollow's Mill
entirely on speculation. I sell nothing; there is no market for my
goods. I manufacture for a future day. I make myself ready to take
advantage of the first opening that shall occur. Three months ago this
was impossible to me; I had exhausted both credit and capital. You well
know who came to my rescue, from what hand I received the loan which
saved me. It is on the strength of that loan I am enabled to continue
the bold game which, a while since, I feared I should never play more.
Total ruin I know will follow loss, and I am aware that gain is
doubtful; but I am quite cheerful. So long as I can be active, so long
as I can strive, so long, in short, as my hands are not tied, it is
impossible for me to be depressed. One year--nay, but six months--of the
reign of the olive, and I am safe; for, as you say, peace will give an
impulse to commerce. In this you are right; but as to the restored
tranquillity of the neighbourhood, as to the permanent good effect of
your charitable fund, I doubt. Eleemosynary relief never yet
tranquillized the working-classes--it never made them grateful; it is
not in human nature that it should. I suppose, were all things ordered
aright, they ought not to be in a position to need that humiliating
relief; and this they feel. We should feel it were we so placed.
Besides, to whom should they be grateful? To you, to the clergy perhaps,
but not to us mill-owners. They hate us worse than ever. Then the
disaffected here are in correspondence with the disaffected elsewhere.
Nottingham is one of their headquarters, Manchester another, Birmingham
a third. The subalterns receive orders from their chiefs; they are in a
good state of discipline; no blow is struck without mature deliberation.
In sultry weather you have seen the sky threaten thunder day by day, and
yet night after night the clouds have cleared, and the sun has set
quietly; but the danger was not gone--it was only delayed. The
long-threatening storm is sure to break at last. There is analogy
between the moral and physical atmosphere."
"Well, Mr. Moore" (so these conferences always ended), "take care of
yourself. If you think that I have ever done you any good, reward me by
promising to take care of yourself."
"I do; I will take close and watchful care. I wish to live, not to die.
The future opens like Eden before me; and still, when I look deep into
the shades of my paradise, I see a vision that I like better than seraph
or cherub glide across remote vistas."
"Do you? Pray, what vision?"
"I see----"
The maid came bustling in with the tea-things.
The early part of that May, as we have seen, was fine; the middle was
wet; but in the last week, at change of moon, it cleared again. A fresh
wind swept off the silver-white, deep-piled rain-clouds, bearing them,
mass on mass, to the eastern horizon, on whose verge they dwindled, and
behind whose rim they disappeared, leaving the vault behind all pure
blue space, ready for the reign of the summer sun. That sun rose broad
on Whitsuntide. The gathering of the schools was signalized by splendid
weather.
Whit-Tuesday was the great day, in preparation for which the two large
schoolrooms of Briarfield, built by the present rector, chiefly at his
own expense, were cleaned out, whitewashed, repainted, and decorated
with flowers and evergreens--some from the rectory garden, two cartloads
from Fieldhead, and a wheel-barrowful from the more stingy domain of De
Walden, the residence of Mr. Wynne. In these schoolrooms twenty tables,
each calculated to accommodate twenty guests, were laid out, surrounded
with benches, and covered with white cloths. Above them were suspended
at least some twenty cages, containing as many canaries, according to a
fancy of the district, specially cherished by Mr. Helstone's clerk, who
delighted in the piercing song of these birds, and knew that amidst
confusion of tongues they always carolled loudest. These tables, be it
understood, were not spread for the twelve hundred scholars to be
assembled from the three parishes, but only for the patrons and teachers
of the schools. The children's feast was to be spread in the open air.
At one o'clock the troops were to come in; at two they were to be
marshalled; till four they were to parade the parish; then came the
feast, and afterwards the meeting, with music and speechifying in the
church.
Why Briarfield was chosen for the point of rendezvous--the scene of the
_fête_--should be explained. It was not because it was the largest or
most populous parish--Whinbury far outdid it in that respect; nor
because it was the oldest, antique as were the hoary church and
rectory--Nunnely's low-roofed temple and mossy parsonage, buried both in
coeval oaks, outstanding sentinels of Nunnwood, were older still. It was
simply because Mr. Helstone willed it so, and Mr. Helstone's will was
stronger than that of Boultby or Hall; the former _could_ not, the
latter _would_ not, dispute a point of precedence with their resolute
and imperious brother. They let him lead and rule.
This notable anniversary had always hitherto been a trying day to
Caroline Helstone, because it dragged her perforce into public,
compelling her to face all that was wealthy, respectable, influential in
the neighbourhood; in whose presence, but for the kind countenance of
Mr. Hall, she would have appeared unsupported. Obliged to be
conspicuous; obliged to walk at the head of her regiment as the rector's
niece, and first teacher of the first class; obliged to make tea at the
first table for a mixed multitude of ladies and gentlemen, and to do all
this without the countenance of mother, aunt, or other chaperon--she,
meantime, being a nervous person, who mortally feared publicity--it will
be comprehended that, under these circumstances, she trembled at the
approach of Whitsuntide.
But this year Shirley was to be with her, and that changed the aspect of
the trial singularly--it changed it utterly. It was a trial no
longer--it was almost an enjoyment. Miss Keeldar was better in her
single self than a host of ordinary friends. Quite self-possessed, and
always spirited and easy; conscious of her social importance, yet never
presuming upon it--it would be enough to give one courage only to look
at her. The only fear was lest the heiress should not be punctual to
tryst. She often had a careless way of lingering behind time, and
Caroline knew her uncle would not wait a second for any one. At the
moment of the church clock tolling two, the bells would clash out and
the march begin. She must look after Shirley, then, in this matter, or
her expected companion would fail her.
Whit-Tuesday saw her rise almost with the sun. She, Fanny, and Eliza
were busy the whole morning arranging the rectory parlours in first-rate
company order, and setting out a collation of cooling
refreshments--wine, fruit, cakes--on the dining-room sideboard. Then she
had to dress in her freshest and fairest attire of white muslin: the
perfect fineness of the day and the solemnity of the occasion warranted,
and even exacted, such costume. Her new sash--a birthday present from
Margaret Hall, which she had reason to believe Cyril himself had bought,
and in return for which she had indeed given him a set of cambric bands
in a handsome case--was tied by the dexterous fingers of Fanny, who took
no little pleasure in arraying her fair young mistress for the occasion.
Her simple bonnet had been trimmed to correspond with her sash; her
pretty but inexpensive scarf of white crape suited her dress. When ready
she formed a picture, not bright enough to dazzle, but fair enough to
interest; not brilliantly striking, but very delicately pleasing--a
picture in which sweetness of tint, purity of air, and grace of mien
atoned for the absence of rich colouring and magnificent contour. What
her brown eye and clear forehead showed of her mind was in keeping with
her dress and face--modest, gentle, and, though pensive, harmonious. It
appeared that neither lamb nor dove need fear her, but would welcome
rather, in her look of simplicity and softness, a sympathy with their
own natures, or with the natures we ascribe to them.
After all, she was an imperfect, faulty human being, fair enough of
form, hue, and array, but, as Cyril Hall said, neither so good nor so
great as the withered Miss Ainley, now putting on her best black gown
and Quaker drab shawl and bonnet in her own narrow cottage chamber.
Away Caroline went, across some very sequestered fields and through some
quite hidden lanes, to Fieldhead. She glided quickly under the green
hedges and across the greener leas. There was no dust, no moisture, to