Books: The Pillars of the House, V1

C >> Charlotte M. Yonge >> The Pillars of the House, V1

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There was plenty besides to think of; and the late summer and early
autumn rolled cheerily away. The wonderful remnant of Felix's
birthday gift was partly applied to the hire of a chair for Geraldine
upon every favourable evening; and as the boys themselves were always
ready to act as horses, they obtained it on moderate terms, which
made the sum hold out in a marvellous manner. And not only were these
drives delight unimaginable to the little maid, but the frequent
breaths of pure air seemed to give her vigour; she ate more, smiled
more, and moved with less pain and difficulty, so that the thought of
a partial recovery began to seem far less impossible.

The children trooping about her, she used to be drawn to the nearest
bit of greensward, tree, or copse, and there would occupy herself
with the attempt to sketch, often in company with Edgar; and with a
few hints from her father, would be busied for days after with the
finishing them, or sometimes the idealising them, and filling them
with the personages she had read of in books of history or fiction.
She was a sensitive little body, who found it hard not to be fretful,
when told that it was very ill-natured to object to having her paints
daubed over her drawings by Lance, Robina, and Angel--an accusation
often brought against her by rough, kindly Sibby, and sometimes even
by Wilmet in an extremity: while Mamma's subdued entreaty, that she
would do something to please the little ones, if it could be without
mischief to herself, always humiliated her more than anything else,
and made her ready to leave all to their mercy, save for deference to
Edgar, and gratitude to Felix. Robina would look on soberly enough in
admiration; but Lance's notions of art were comic, and Fulbert's were
arbitrary, and both were imperiously carried out with due contempt
for the inferior sex, and were sure to infect both the little
sisters.

Then, of course, so many holiday boys were hard to keep in order.
Clement had a strong propensity in that direction; he was a grave,
quiet boy, without much sense of the absurd, and was generally the
victim of Edgar's wit; but, on the other hand, he was much in the
habit of objecting to anything Edgar or Fulbert proposed, and thereby
giving forbidden or doubtful amusements double zest. He was never
_in_ mischief, and yet he was never an element of peace.

All this, however, was mitigated when the holidays ended, and Lance
was allowed to follow his brothers to school, while Bobbie
importantly trotted in the wake of her sisters. Mamma and Cherry felt
it no small comfort to have no one at home who did not sleep away two
or three of the morning hours; and the lessons that the little girl
delighted to prepare for her father went on in peace--the arithmetic,
the French, the Latin, and even the verses of Greek Testament, that
he always said rested him.

And he was 'quite well,' he said himself; and though his wife never
confirmed this reply, he was everywhere as usual--in church, in
schools of all kinds, in parish meetings, by sick-beds, or in
cottages, as bright and as popular as ever, perhaps the more so that
he was more transparently thin, and every stranger started at the
sound of his cough, though the Bexley people had grown weary of
repeating the same augury for four or five years, and began, like 'my
Lady,' to call it 'constitutional.'

So came the autumn Ember Week; and Mr. Audley had to go to receive
Priests' Orders, and afterwards to spend the next fortnight with his
parents, who complained that they had not seen him once since he had
settled at Bexley. The last week was the break-up of summer weather,
and Mr. Bevan caught cold, and was rheumatic, there were two funerals
on wet and windy days, and when Mr. Audley, on Lady Price's
entreating summons, wrenched himself from a murmuring home, and,
starting by an early train, arrived half through the St. Michael's
Day Service, it was to see Mr. Underwood looking indeed like some
ethereal ascetic saint, with his bright eyes and wasted features, and
to hear him preach in extempore--as was his custom--a sermon on the
blessedness of angel helps, which in its intense fervour, almost
rapture, was to many as if it came from a white-winged angel himself.
Mr. Audley glided into his own place, and met Felix's look of relief.
The sermon was finished, and the blessing given; but before he could
descend the steps, the cough had come on, and with it severe
haemorrhage. They had to send one startled boy for Mrs. Underwood,
and another for the doctor, and it was an hour before he could be
taken home in a chair. No one ever forgot that sermon, for it was the
last he ever preached. He was very ill indeed for several days, but
still hopeful and cheerful; and as the weather mended, and the calm
brightness of October set in, he rallied, and came downstairs again,
not looking many degrees more wan and hectic than before, with a mind
as alert as usual, and his kind heart much gratified by the many
attentions of his parishioners during his illness.

During the worst, Mrs. Underwood had been obliged to keep one of the
elder girls at home--Wilmet at first, both by her own desire and that
of Alda; but it was soon made a special matter of entreaty by Miss
Pearson, that the substitution might not take place; the little class
was always naughty under Alda, and something the same effect seemed
to be produced on Angela and Bernard. They made so much less
disturbance when entrusted to Cherry, that the mother often sent Alda
to sit by papa, even though she knew he liked nothing so well as to
have his little pupil's soft voice repeating to him the Latin hymns
she loved to learn on purpose. Alda read or sang to him very
prettily, and they were very happy together; but then Wilmet could do
that as well, and also mind the babies, or do invalid cookery, and
supplement Sibby's defects, and set the mother free for the one
occupation she cared for most--the constant watching of that wasted
countenance.

But all was better. He had been able to collect his children for
their evening's Bible lesson and Sunday Catechism, and to resume the
preparation of Edgar and Geraldine for their Confirmation, though it
was at least a year distant, and even had spoken of sending for
others of his catechumens. Wilmet and Alda were both at school, the
two babies out with Sibby, Mamma at work, Papa dreaming over a
Comment on the Epistle to the Philippians, which was very near his
heart, and he always called his holiday work, and Geraldine reading
on her little couch when there was a sharp ring at the bell, and
after an interval, the girl who daily came in to help, announced
'Lady Price.'

Even my Lady had been startled and softened by the reality of Mr.
Underwood's illness, and remorseful for having coddled her husband at
his expense; she had sent many enquiries, some dainties, and a good
many recipes; and she had made no objection to Mr. Bevan's frequent
and affectionate visits, nor even to his making it obvious that
however little his senior curate might do that winter, he would not
accept his resignation for the present.

It was enough to make Mr. Underwood feel absolutely warm and grateful
to his old tormentor, as he rose, not without some effort, held out
his hand to her, and cheerily answered her inquiries for his cough.
She even discussed the berries in the hedges, and the prospects of a
mild winter, in a friendly, hesitating tone; and actually commended
Mr. Underwood's last pupil-teacher, before she began--'I am afraid I
am come upon a disagreeable business.'

Mr. Underwood expected to hear of his own inefficiency; or perhaps
that Mr. Audley had adopted some habit my Lady disapproved, or that
the schoolmaster was misbehaving, or that some Christmas dole was to
be curtailed, and that he would have to announce it because Mr. Bevan
would not. He was not prepared to hear, 'Are you aware that--in
short--perhaps you can explain it, but has not your son Felix been
spending a good deal of money--for him, I mean--lately?'

'Felix had a present from his godfather,' said Mr. Underwood, not at
all moved, so secure was he that this must be an exaggeration.

'Last summer, I heard of that. It was laid out on a picnic,' said
Lady Price, severely.

'It was intended to be so spent,' said the curate; 'but people were
so good-natured, that very little actually went that way, and the
remainder was left in his own hands.'

'Yes, Mr. Underwood, but I am afraid that remainder has been made to
cover a good deal of which you do not know!'

Mrs. Underwood flushed, and would have started forward. Her husband
looked at her with a reassuring smile. My Lady, evidently angered at
their blindness, went on, 'It is a painful duty, Mr. Underwood,
especially in your present state; but I think it due to you, as the
father of a family, to state what I have learned.'

'Thank you. What is it?'

'Have you reckoned the number of times the chair has been hired?' and
as he shook his head, 'That alone would amount to more than a pound.
Besides which, your daughters have been provided with books and
music--fruit has been bought--all amiable ways of spending money, no
doubt; but the question is, how was it procured?'

'Indeed,' said Mr. Underwood, still pausing.

'And,' added the lady, 'the means can, I am afraid, be hardly
doubted, though possibly the boy may have done it in ignorance.
Indeed, one of his sisters allowed as much.'

'What did she allow, Lady Price?'

'That--that it was won at play, Mr. Underwood. You know Mr. Froggatt
gives his boy an absurd amount of pocket-money, and when she was
taxed with this, your daughter--Alda is her name, I believe--allowed
that--'

'Papa, Papa!' breathlessly broke out Cherry, who had been forgotten
on her little sofa all this time, but now dashed forward, stumping
impetuously with her crutch--'Papa, it's all Alda, how can she be so
horrid?'

'What is it, my dear?' said Mr. Underwood. 'You can explain it, I
see. Tell Lady Price what you mean, Geraldine,' he added gravely, to
compose the child, who was sobbing with excitement and indignation.

'O Lady Price!' she cried, facing about with her hair over her face,
'he earned it--he earned every bit of it! How could any one think he
did not?'

'Earned it? What does that mean, little girl!' said Lady Price, still
severely. 'If he did the boy's exercises for him--

'No, no, no,' interrupted Geraldine, 'it was old Mr. Froggatt. He
asked Felix to look over the papers he had to print for the boys'
work at the Grammar School, because it is all Latin and Greek, and
Charles Froggatt is so careless and inaccurate, that he can't be
trusted.'

The faces of the father and mother had entirely cleared; but Lady
Price coughed drily, saying, 'And you did not know of this
arrangement?'

Geraldine's eyes began to twinkle with tears. 'I don't know what
Felix will say to me for telling now,' she said.

'It must have come to light some time, though concealment is always a
proof of shame,' began Lady Price in a consoling tone that filled the
little lame girl with a fresh passion, drawing up her head.

'Shame! Nobody's ashamed! Only Mamma and Felix and Wilmet never will
bear that Papa should know how terribly we do want things sometimes.'

And Geraldine, overpowered by her own unguarded words, ran into her
mother's arms, and hid her face on her shoulder.

'Thank you, Lady Price,' said Mr. Underwood gravely. 'I am glad my
little girl has been able to satisfy you that Felix has honestly
earned whatever he may have spent.'

'If you are satisfied,' returned the lady, 'it is not my affair; but
I must say I should like to know of such transactions among my
children.'

'Sometimes one is glad to have a boy to be perfectly trusted,' said
Mr. Underwood.

'But you will speak to him!'

'Certainly I shall.'

Lady Price felt that she must go, and rose up with an endeavour to
retract. 'Well, it is a relief to Mr. Bevan and me to find your son
not consciously in fault, for it would have been a most serious
thing. And in such a matter as this, of course you can do as _you_
please.'

To this Mr. Underwood made no reply, as none was necessary, but only
saw her out to the door in that extremely polite manner that always
made her feel smallest, and then he dropped into his chair again,
with a curl of the lip, and the murmur, 'not consciously!'

'O Papa, Papa!' cried Cherry.

'Dear Felix!' said the mother, with tears in her eyes; 'but what can
Alda have been saying?'

Cherry was about to speak again, but her father gently put her aside.
A little quietness now, if you please, my dear; and send Felix to me
when he comes in. Let me have him alone, but don't say anything to
him.'

There was no need to send Felix to his father, for he came in of his
own accord, radiant, with a paper containing a report of a public
meeting on Church matters that his father had been wishing to see.

'Thanks, my boy,' said Mr. Underwood; 'where does this come from?'

'From Froggatt's father. It was only fourpence.'

'But, Felix, repeated fourpences must exhaust even that Fortunatus'
purse of Admiral Chester's.'

Felix coloured. 'Yes, Papa, I wanted to tell you; but I waited till
you were better.'

'You will hardly find a better time than the present,' said Mr
Underwood.

'It is only this,' said Felix, with a little hesitation. 'You know
there's a good deal of printing to be done for the school sometimes--
the questions in Latin and Greek and Algebra, and even when Mr. Ryder
does have the proofs, it wants some one who really understands to see
that the corrections are properly done. Old Smith used to do it, by
real force of Chinese accuracy, but he has been ill for some time,
and Mr. Froggatt can't see to do it himself, and Charlie won't, and
can't be trusted either. So one day, when I was reading in the shop,
Mr. Froggatt asked me to see if a thing was right; and it went on: he
asked me after a time to take anything I liked, and I did get some
school books we all wanted; but after that, just when you were ill, I
could not help telling him I had rather have the money. O Father!'
cried the boy, struck by a certain look of distress, 'did I do
wrong?'

'Not in the least, my boy. Go on; what does he give you?'

'Exactly at the rate he gave Smith for doing the same work,' said
Felix: 'it always was an extra for being so troublesome. It was seven
shillings last week--generally it comes to three or four and
sixpence.'

'And when do you do it?'

'I run in after I come out of school for half an hour. Last Saturday
I corrected a sheet of the Pursuivant, because Mr. Froggatt had to
go out, and that made it more. And, Father, Mr. Froggatt says that
poor old Smith will never be fit for work again.'

'Then I suppose these welcome earnings of yours will end when he has
a successor?'

Felix came nearer. 'Papa,' he said, 'Mr. Froggatt told me that if
Charlie would only have taken to the work, he would have done without
another man in Smith's place, and got him gradually into editing the
paper too. He said he wished I was not a gentleman's son, for if I
had not been so I should have suited him exactly, and should be worth
a guinea a week even now. And, Father, do not you really think I had
better take it?'

'You, Felix!' Mr. Underwood was exceedingly startled for the moment.

'You see,' said Felix rather grimly, leaning his head on the
mantelshelf, and looking into the fire, 'any other way I can only be
an expense for years upon years, even if I did get a scholarship.'

His face was crimson, and his teeth set. Mr. Underwood lay back in
his chair for some seconds; then said in a low voice, 'I see you know
all about it, Felix; and that I am going to leave you as heavy a
burthen as ever lad took on willing shoulders.'

Felix knew well enough, but his father had never uttered a word of
despondency to him before, and he could only go on gazing steadfastly
into the fire with an inarticulate moan.

Mr. Underwood opened the first leaf of a volume of St. Augustine,
beside him, a relic of former days, the family shield and motto
within--namely, a cross potent, or crutch-shaped, and the old English
motto, 'UNDER WODE, UNDER RODE.'

'Under wood, under rood,' he repeated. 'It was once but sing-song to
me. Now what a sermon! The load is the Cross. Bear thy cross, and thy
cross will bear thee, like little Geraldine's cross potent--Rod and
Rood, Cross and Crutch--all the same etymologically and veritably.'

'Don't call them a burthen, pray!' said Felix, with a sense both of
deprecation and of being unable to turn to the point.

'My boy, I am afraid I was thinking more of myself than of you. I am
an ungrateful fool; and when a crutch is offered to me, I take hold
of it as a log instead of a rood. I did not know how much pride there
was left in me till I found what a bitter pill this is!'

Felix was more crimson than ever. 'Ought I not--' he began.

'The _ought_ is not on your side, Felix. It is not all folly, I hope;
but I had thought you would have been a better parson than your
father.'

There were tears in the boy's eyes now. 'There are the others; I may
be able to help them.'

'And,' added Mr. Underwood, 'I know that to be a really poor priest,
there should be no one dependent on one, or it becomes "Put me into
one of the priest's offices, that I may eat a piece of bread." It is
lowering! Yes, you are right. Even suppose you could be educated, by
the time you were ordained, you would still have half these poor
children on your hands, and it would only be my own story over again,
and beginning younger. You are right, Felix, but I never saw the
possibility so fully before. I am glad some inward doubt held me back
from the impulse to dedicate my first-born.'

'It shall be one of the others instead,' said Felix in his throat.

Mr. Underwood smiled a little, and put his finger on the verse in his
beloved Epistle--'Look not every man on his own things but every man
also on the things of others.'

'You really wish this. Do you consider what it involves?' he said.

'I think I do,' said Felix in a stifled voice.

'This is not as if it were a great publisher,' continued Mr.
Underwood, 'with whom there would be no loss of position or real
society; but a little bookseller in a country town is a mere
tradesman, and though a man like Audley may take you up from time to
time, it will never be on an absolute equality; and it will be more
and more forgotten who you were. You will have to live in yourself
and your home, depending on no one else.'

'I can stand that,' said Felix, smiling. 'Father, indeed I thought of
all that. Of course I don't like it, but I don't see how it is to be
helped.'

'Sit down, Felix: let us go over it again. I suppose you don't know
what our subsistence is at present.'

'I know you have 250 pounds a year from Mr. Bevan.'

'Yes, I had 200 pounds at first, and he added the 50 pounds when the
third curate was given up. That goes with me, of course, if not
before. On the other hand, my poor good uncle, the wisest thing he
ever did, made me insure my life for 5000, pounds so there will be 150
pounds a year to depend on, besides what we had of our own, only 2350
pounds left of it now. I have had to break into it for the doctor's
bills, but at least there are no debts. Thank God, we have been saved
from debt! I think,' he continued, 'that probably it will have to be
brought down to twenty-two hundred before you have done with me. On
the whole, then, there will be about 180 pounds a year for you all to
live upon. Are you understanding, Felix?'

For the boy's anxious look had gone out of his face, and given place
to a stunned expression which was only dispelled with a sudden start
by his father's inquiry. 'Yes, yes,' he said recalling himself.

'I have left it all absolutely to your mother,' said Mr. Underwood.
'She will depend more and more on you, Felix; and I have made up my
mind to expect that no help will come to you but from yourselves.
Except that I hope some of you may be educated by clergy orphan
schools, but you are too old for that now. Felix, I believe it may be
right, but it is very sore to break off your education.'

'I shall try to keep it up,' said Felix, 'in case anything should
ever turn up'

'A guinea a week!' said Mr. Underwood, thoughtfully. 'It would make
you all not much worse off than you are now, when I am out of the
way. And yet--' A violent cough came on. 'We must wait, Felix,' he
said, when he had recovered himself. 'I must have time to think; I
will speak to you to-morrow.'

Felix left him, very grave and subdued. He buried himself in his
tasks for the next day, hardly looked up or smiled at little
Bernard's most earnest attempts at a game of play, and had not a word
for even Cherry, only when Wilmet begged anxiously to know if he
thought Papa worse, he answered that he believed not particularly so.

Alda was sent to carry some tea to her father that evening. As she
set it down on the table before him, he said gently, 'My dear, I want
to know what has been passing among you and your school-fellows about
Felix.'

'Oh, nothing, Papa,' said Alda rather hastily. 'Some nonsense or
other is always going on.'

'Very true, no doubt; nor do I wish to be informed of general
nonsense, but of that which concerns you. What have you been saying
or hearing said about Felix?'

'Oh, it's nonsense, Papa. Some of the girls will say anything
disagreeable.'

'You need not have any scruples on Felix's account, Alda; I know
exactly what he has done.' I want you to tell me what is being said--
or you have allowed to be said--about it.'

'That horrible Miss Price!' was all the answer be got.

He sat upright--laid on Alda's wrist a long bony burning hand, whose
clasp she did not forget for weeks, and forcing her to look at him,
said, 'Did you allow it to be believed that your brother Felix was a
gambler?'

'Papa! I never said so!' cried Alda, beginning to sob.

'Command yourself, Alda; I am not fit for a scene, and I may not be
able to speak to you many times again.'

These words--far more new and startling to Alda than to her brother--
appalled her into quietness.

'What did you say, Alda? or was it the deceit of silence?'

She hung her head, but spoke at last.

'I only said boys had ways and means! They did tease and plague so. I
do believe Carry Price counts every grape that goes into this house--
and they would know how I got my new music--and little Robina would
tell--and then came something about Mr. Froggatt; and if they knew--'

'If they knew what?'

'Papa, you have no idea how nasty some of them are.'

'My poor child, I am afraid I have some idea by seeing how nasty they
are making you! Gambling more creditable than honest labour!'

Alda had it on the tip of her tongue to say winning things was not
gambling, but she knew that argument would be choked down; and she
also knew that though she had spoken truth as to her words, she had
allowed remarks to pass without protest on the luck and licence that
the model boy allowed himself, and she was bitterly displeased with
the treachery of Miss Price.

'These old rags of folly don't look pretty on other folk,' he sighed
pleasantly. 'Alda, listen to me. What I have heard today gives me
more fears for you than for any one of my children. Did you ever
hear that false shame leads to true shame? Never shuffle again!
Remember, nothing is mean that is not sin, and an acted falsehood
like this is sin and shame both--while your brother's deed is an
honour.

Alda was obliged to go away murmuring within herself, 'That's all
true: it is very good of Felix, and I should not have equivocated, I
know; but those stupid girls, how is one to live with them?'

Felix was not quite dressed the next morning when his mother came to
the door of the attic that he shared with Edgar and Fulbert.

'He wants to speak to you before church, Felix. It has been a very
bad night, and the sooner this is settled the better.'

'O Mother, I am very sorry--'

'It can't be helped, my dear boy. I think it will really be a great
relief to him.'

'And you, Mother, do you mind?'

'Dear Felix, all minding, except to have you all well, and fed and
clothed, was worn out of me years ago. I can't feel anything in it
but that it will keep you by me, my dear good helpful boy.'

Felix's heart leapt up, as it had not done for many a long day; but
it soon sank again. The children had never been admitted to their
father's room in the early morning, and Felix thought he must be
suddenly worse when he saw him in bed propped by pillows, pale and
wearied; but the usual bright smile made him like himself.

'All right, old fellow,' he said brightly. 'Don't come up to me. I'm
incog. till I'm up and dressed. Are you in the same mind?'

'Yes, Father.'

'Then ask Mr. Froggatt to do me the favour of coming to speak to me
any time after eleven o'clock that may suit him. I must understand
what he offers you. The nonsense is conquered, Felix; more shame for
me that it has followed me so far: but the sense remains. I must try
to be sure that this sacrifice of yours is a right one to be
accepted. Any way, my boy, I thank and bless you for it, and God will
bless such a beginning. There's the bell, be off,' he concluded.