with a nod.
‘Captain Pendle, protect me,’ laughed Miss Arden. ‘I decline to be called a peacock.’
‘You are a golden bird of paradise, Miss Arden.’
‘Ah, that is a pretty compliment, Captain Pendle. Thank you!’
While George laughed, Cargrim, rather tired of these zoological comparisons, strove to change the subject by an allusion to the adventure of the previous night. ‘The man who attacked you was certainly a wolf,’ he said decisively.
‘Who was the man?’ asked Miss Whichello, carefully weighing herself some cheese.
‘Some tramp who had been in the wars,’ replied George, carelessly; ‘a discharged soldier, I daresay. At least, he had a long red scar on his villainous-looking face. I saw it in the moonlight, marking him as with the brand of Cain.’
‘A scar!’ repeated Miss Whichello, in so altered a tone that Cargrim stared at her, and hastened to explain further, so as to learn, if possible, the meaning of her strange look.
‘A scar on the right cheek,’ he said slowly, ‘from the ear to the mouth.’
‘What kind of a looking man is he?’ asked the old lady, pushing away her plate with a nervous gesture.
‘Something like a gipsy—lean, tall and swarthy, with jet-black eyes and an evil expression. He talks like an educated person.’
‘You seem to know all about him, Cargrim,’ said Captain Pendle, in some surprise, while Miss Whichello, her rosy face pale and scared, sat silently staring at the tablecloth.
‘I have several times been to an hotel called The Derby Winner,’ explained the chaplain, ‘to see a sick woman; and there I came across this scamp several times. He stays there, I believe!’
‘What is his name?’ asked Miss Whichello, hoarsely.
‘Jentham, I have been informed.’
‘Jentham! I don’t know the name.’
‘I don’t suppose you know the man either, aunty?’
‘No, my love,’ replied Miss Whichello, in a low voice. ‘I don’t suppose I know the man either. Is he still at The Derby Winner, Mr Cargrim?’
‘I believe so; he portions his time between that hotel and a gipsy camp on Southberry Common.’
‘What is he doing here?’
‘Really, my dear lady, I do not know.’
‘Aunty, one would think you knew the man,’ said Mab, amazed at her aunt’s emotion.
‘No, Mab, I do not,’ said Miss Whichello, vehemently; more so than the remark warranted. ‘But if he attacks people on the high road he should certainly be shut up. Well, good people,’ she added, with an attempt at her former lively manner, ‘if you are finished we will return to the drawing-room.’
All attempts to restore the earlier harmony of the visit failed, for the conversation languished and Miss Whichello was silent and distraught. The young men shortly took their leave, and the old lady seemed glad to be rid of them. Outside, George and Cargrim separated, as neither was anxious for the other’s company. As the chaplain walked to the palace he reflected on the strange conduct of Miss Whichello.
‘She knows something about Jentham,’ he thought. ‘I wonder if she has a secret also.’
Chapter XII.
Bell Mosk Pays a Visit
Although the palace was so near Beorminster, and the sphere of Gabriel’s labours lay in the vicinity of the cathedral, Bishop Pendle did not judge it wise that his youngest son should dwell beneath the paternal roof. To teach him independence, to strengthen his will and character, and because he considered that a clergyman should, to a certain extent, share the lot of those amongst whom he laboured, the bishop arranged that Gabriel should inhabit lodgings in the old town, not far from The Derby Winner. It was by reason of this contiguity that Gabriel became acquainted with the handsome barmaid of the hotel, and as he was a more weak-natured man than his father dreamed of, it soon came about that he fell in love with the girl. Matters between them had gone much further than even Cargrim with all his suspicions guessed, for in the skilful hands of Miss Mosk the curate was as clay, and for some time he had been engaged to his charmer. No one knew this, not even Mrs Mosk, for the fair Bell was quite capable of keeping a secret; but Gabriel was firmly bound to her by honour, and Bell possessed a ring, which she kept in the drawer of her looking-glass and wore in secret, as symbolic of an engagement she did not dare to reveal.
On Sunday evening she arrayed herself in her best garments, and putting on this ring, told her mother that she was going to church. At first Mrs Mosk feebly objected, as her husband was away in Southberry and would not be back all night; but as Bell declared that she wanted some amusement after working hard at pulling beer all the week, Mrs Mosk gave way. She did not approve of Bell’s mention of evening service as amusement, but she did approve of her going to church, so when the young lady had exhibited herself to the invalid in all her finery, she went away in the greatest good-humour. As the evening was hot, she had put on a dress of pale blue muslin adorned with white ribbons, a straw hat with many flowers and feathers, and to finish off her costume, her gloves and shoes and sunshade were white. As these cool colours rather toned down the extreme red of her healthy complexion, she really looked very well; and when Gabriel saw her seated in a pew near the pulpit, behaving as demurely as a cat that is after cream, he could not but think how pretty and pious she was. It was probably the first time that piety had ever been associated with Bell’s character, although she was not a bad girl on the whole; but that Gabriel should gift her with such a quality showed how green and innocent he was as regards the sex.
The church in which he preached was an ancient building at the foot of the hill, crowned by the cathedral. It was built of rough, grey stone, in the Norman style of architecture, and very little had been done to adorn it either within or without, as the worshippers were few and poor, and Low Church in their tendencies. Those who liked pomp and colour and ritual could find all three in the minster, so there was no necessity to hold elaborate services in this grey, cold, little chapel. In her heart Bell preferred the cathedral with its music and choir, its many celebrants and fashionable congregation, but out of diplomacy she came to sit under Gabriel and follow him as her spiritual guide. Nevertheless, she thought less of him in this capacity, than as a future husband likely to raise her to a position worthy of her beauty and merits, of both of which she entertained a most excellent opinion.
As usual, the pews were half empty, but Gabriel, being a devout parson, performed the service with much earnestness. He read the lessons, lent his voice to the assistance of the meagre choir, and preached a short but sensible discourse which pleased everyone. Bell did not hear much of it, for her mind was busy with hopes that Gabriel would shortly induce his father to receive her as a daughter-in-law. It is true that she saw difficulties in the way, but, to a clever woman like herself, she did not think them unconquerable. Having gone so far as to engage herself to the young man, she was determined to go to the whole length and benefit as much as possible for her sacrifice—as she thought it—of accepting the somewhat trying position of a curate’s wife. With her bold good looks and aggressive love of dress and amusement,
