Mrs. Speers's man had treated Mr. Foker's servant to drink at Baymouth for a similar purpose. It was said that Pen had hanged himself for despair in the orchard, and that his uncle had cut him down; that, on the contrary, it was Miss Costigan who was jilted, and not young Arthur; and that the affair had only been hushed up by the payment of a large sum of money, the exact amount of which there were several people in Clavering could testify--the sum of course varying according to the calculation of the individual narrator of the story.
Pen shook his mane and raged like a furious lion when these scandals, affecting Miss Costigan's honor and his own, came to his ears. Why was not Pybus a man (she had whiskers enough), that he might call her out and shoot her? Seeing Simcoe pass by, Pen glared at him so from his saddle on Rebecca, and clutched his whip in a manner so menacing, that that clergyman went home and wrote a sermon, or thought over a sermon (for he delivered oral testimony at great length), in which he spoke of Jezebel, theatrical entertainments (a double cut this--for Doctor Portman, the rector of the old church, was known to frequent such), and of youth going to perdition, in a manner which made it clear to every capacity that Pen was the individual meant, and on the road alluded to.
What stories more were there not against young Pendennis, while he sate sulking, Achilles-like in his tent, for the loss of his ravished Briseis?
After the affair with Hobnell, Pen was pronounced to be a murderer as well as a profligate, and his name became a name of terror and a byword in Clavering. But this was not all; he was not the only one of the family about whom the village began to chatter, and his unlucky mother was the next to become a victim to their gossip.
"It is all settled," said Mrs. Pybus to Mrs. Speers, "the boy is to go to college, and then the widow is to console herself."
"He's been there every day, in the most open manner, my dear," continued Mrs. Speers.
"Enough to make poor Mr. Pendennis turn in his grave," said Mrs.
Wapshot.
"She never liked him, that we know," says No. 1.
"Married him for his money. Every body knows that; was a penniless hanger-on of Lady Pontypool's," says No. 2.
"It's rather too open, though, to encourage a lover under pretense of having a tutor for your son," cried No. 3.
"Hush! here comes Mrs. Portman," some one said; as the good rector's wife entered Madame Fribsby's shop, to inspect her monthly book of fashions just arrived from London. And the fact is, that Madame Fribsby had been able to hold out no longer; and one day, after she and her lodger had been talking of Pen's approaching departure, and the curate had gone off to give one of his last lessons to that gentleman, Madame Fribsby had communicated to Mrs. Pybus, who happened to step in with Mrs. Speers, her strong suspicion, her certainty almost, that there was an attachment between a certain clerical gentleman and a certain lady, whose naughty son was growing quite unmanageable, and that a certain marriage would take place pretty soon.
Mrs. Portman saw it all, of course, when the matter was mentioned. What a sly fox that curate was! He was low-church, and she never liked him.
And to think of Mrs. Pendennis taking a fancy to him after she had been married to such a man as Mr. Pendennis! She could hardly stay five minutes at Madame Fribsby's, so eager was she to run to the Rectory and give Doctor Portman the news.
When Doctor Portman heard this piece of intelligence, he was in such a rage with his curate, that his first movement was to break with Mr. Smirke, and to beg him to transfer his services to some other parish. "That milksop of a creature pretend to be worthy of such a woman as Mrs. Pendennis," broke out the doctor: "where will impudence stop next?"
"She is much too old for Mr. Smirke," Mrs. Portman remarked: "why, poor dear Mrs. Pendennis might be his mother almost."
"You always choose the most charitable reason, Betsy," cried the rector.
"A matron with a son grown up--she would never think of marrying again."
"You only think _men_ should marry again, Doctor Portman," answered his lady, bridling up.
"You stupid old woman," said the doctor, "when I am gone, you shall marry whomsoever you like. I will leave orders in my will, my dear, to that effect: and I'll bequeath a ring to my successor, and my ghost shall come and dance at your wedding."
"It is cruel for a clergyman to talk so," the lady answered, with a ready whimper: but these little breezes used to pass very rapidly over the surface of the doctor's domestic bliss; and were followed by a great calm and sunshine. The doctor adopted a plan for soothing Mrs. Portman's ruffled countenance, which has a great effect when it is tried between a worthy couple who are sincerely fond of one another; and which I think becomes "John Anderson" at three-score, just as much as it used to do when he was a black haired young Jo of five-and-twenty.
"Hadn't you better speak to Mr. Smirke, John?" Mrs. Portman asked.
"When Pen goes to college, _cadit quaestio_," replied the rector, "Smirke's visits at Fairoaks will cease of themselves, and there will be no need to bother the widow. She has trouble enough on her hands, with the affairs of that silly young scapegrace, without being pestered by the tittle-tattle of this place. It is all an invention, of that fool, Fribsby."
"Against whom I always warned you--you know I did, my dear John,"
interposed Mrs. Portman.
"That you did; you very often do, my love," the doctor answered, with a laugh. "It is not from want of warning on your part, I am sure, that I have formed my opinion of most women with whom we are acquainted. Madam Fribsby is a fool, and fond of gossip, and so are some other folks. But she is good to the poor: she takes care of her mother, and she comes to church twice every Sunday. And as for Smirke, my dear--" here the doctor's face assumed for one moment a comical expression, which Mrs.
Portman did not perceive (for she was looking out of the drawing-room window, and wondering what Mrs. Pybus could want, cheapening fowls again in the market, when she had had poultry from Livermore's two days before)--"and as for Mr. Smirke, my dear Betsy, will you promise me that you will never breathe to any mortal what I am going to tell you as a profound secret?"
"What is it, my dear John?--of course I won't," answered the rector's lady.
"Well then--I can not say it is a fact, mind--but if you find that Smirke is at this moment--ay, and has been for years--engaged to a young lady, a Miss--a Miss Thompson, if you will have the name, who lives on Clapham Common--yes, on Clapham Common, not far from Mrs. Smirke's house, what becomes of your story then about Smirke and Mrs. Pendennis?"
"Why did you not tell me this before?" asked the doctor's wife.--"How long have you known it?--How we all of us have been deceived in that man!"
"Why should I meddle in other folks' business, my dear?" the doctor answered. "I know how to keep a secret--and perhaps this is only an invention like that other absurd story; at least, Madam Portman, I should never have told you this but for the other, which I beg you to contradict whenever you hear it." And so saying the doctor went away to his study, and Mrs. Portman, seeing that the day was a remarkably fine one, thought she would take advantage of the weather and pay a few visits.
The doctor looking out of his study window saw the wife of his bosom presently issue forth, attired in her best. She crossed the market-place, saluting the market-women right and left, and giving a glance at the grocery and general emporium at the corner: then entering London-street (formerly Hog Lane), she stopped for a minute at Madame Fribsby's window, and looking at the fashions which hung up there, seemed hesitating whether she should enter; but she passed on, and never stopped again until she came to Mrs. Pybus's little green gate and garden, through which she went to that lady's cottage.
There, of course, her husband lost sight of Mrs. Portman. "Oh, what a long bow I have pulled," he said inwardly--"Goodness forgive me! and shot my own flesh and blood. There must be no more tattling and scandal about that house. I must stop it, and speak to Smirke. I'll ask him to dinner this very day."
Having a sermon to compose, the doctor sat down to that work, and was so engaged in the composition, that he had not concluded it until near five o'clock in the afternoon: when he stepped over to Mr. Smirke's lodgings, to put his hospitable intentions, regarding that gentleman, into effect.
He reached Madame Fribsby's door, just as the curate issued from it.
Mr. Smirke was magnificently dressed, and as he turned out his toes he showed a pair of elegant open-worked silk stockings and glossy pumps.
His white cravat was arranged in a splendid stiff tie, and his gold shirt studs shone on his spotless linen. His hair was curled round his fair temples. Had he borrowed Madame Fribsby's irons to give that curly grace? His white cambric pocket handkerchief was scented with the most delicious Eau-de-Cologne.
"_O gracilis puer_,"--cried the doctor.--"Whither are you bound? I wanted you to come home to dinner."
[Illustration]
"I am engaged to dine at--at Fairoaks," said Mr. Smirke, blushing faintly and whisking the scented pocket-handkerchief, and his pony being in waiting, he mounted and rode away simpering down the street. No accident befell him that day, and he arrived with his tie in the very best order at Mrs. Pendennis's house.
CHAPTER XVII.
WHICH CONCLUDES THE FIRST PART OF THIS HISTORY.
[Illustration]
The curate had gone on his daily errand to Fairoaks, and was up-stairs in Pen's study pretending to read with his pupil, in the early part of that very afternoon when Mrs. Portman after transacting business with Mrs. Pybus had found the weather so exceedingly fine that she pursued her walk as far as Fairoaks, in order to pay a visit to her dear friend there. In the course of their conversation, the rector's lady told Mrs. Pendennis and the major a very great secret about the curate, Mr.
Smirke, which was no less than that he had an attachment, a very old attachment, which he had long kept quite private.
"And on whom is it that Mr. Smirke has bestowed his heart?" asked Mrs.
Pendennis, with a superb air, but rather an inward alarm.
"Why, my dear," the other lady answered, "when he first came and used to dine at the Rectory, people said we wanted him for Myra, and we were forced to give up asking him. Then they used to say he was smitten in another quarter; but I always contradicted it, for my part, and said that you--"
"That _I_," cried Mrs. Pendennis; "people are very impertinent, I am sure. Mr. Smirke came here as Arthur's tutor, and I am surprised that any body should dare to speak so--"
"'Pon my soul, it is a _little_ too much," the major said, laying down the newspaper and the double eye-glass.
"I've no patience with that Mrs. Pybus," Helen continued, indignantly.
"I told her there was no truth in it," Mrs. Portman said. "I always said so, my dear: and now it comes out that my demure gentleman has been engaged to a young lady--Miss Thompson, of Clapham Common, ever so long: and I am delighted, for my part, and on Myra's account, too, for an unmarried curate is always objectionable about one's house: and of course it is strictly private, but I thought I would tell you, as it might remove unpleasantnesses. But mind: not one word, if you please, about the story."
Mrs. Pendennis said, with perfect sincerity, that she was exceedingly glad to hear the news: and hoped Mr. Smirke, who was a very kind and amiable man, would have a deserving wife: and when her visitor went away, Helen and her brother talked of the matter with great satisfaction, the kind lady rebuking herself for her haughty behavior to Mr. Smirke, whom she had avoided of late, instead of being grateful to him for his constant attention to Arthur.