Collected works of j s f.., p.29
Collected Works of J S Fletcher, page 29
He rang the bell and directed the two footmen to bring in certain cases which they would find in his study. Presently they returned carrying two large oblong boxes of cedar-wood, afterwards going back and bringing two more.
“These four cases,” said Lestrange, “contain a complete collection of Eastern female attire — Greek, Egyptian, Hebrew, and so on. It was formed for me by an old antiquary at Damascus, whose work on Eastern habits and customs lies on that table. Now, Miss Julia, shall we feast our eyes on these vanities?”
“I am afraid it is very wrong,” sighed Miss Julia. “But, after all, it is interesting. Please open the boxes, Frank.”
I am not going to describe the garments which came from the huge cedar-wood cases. There were dozens of them, all wrapped in some curiously-scented paper, and each distinctive of a certain nation and period. To Tom Christmas and me they were a mass of white, blue, and red; but Julia and Maggie Primrose were in raptures over them. Lestrange, who had commenced a learned lecture on the tastes of various nationalities as illustrated by female costumes, was soon left out in the cold, while the ladies admired, and exclaimed, and criticised, and wondered.
“But you know,” said Miss Julia, “one cannot admire these things properly without trying them on. Don’t you know that there is nothing so pleasing to the female mind as the trying on of new gowns? How should I look, for instance, in this Greek dress?”
“Like Juno, or Minerva,” suggested Tom Christmas. “Better array yourself in it, Julia, and pose before us.’”
“Nay,” she said. “I am too old. But you, Maggie, might wear it. Come, if Mr. Lestrange will allow me, I will attire you as a Greek maiden.”
I could not make out what was coming over Julia Christmas. She was actually turning frivolous and making herself agreeable to everybody, and I began to look upon Lestrange as an enchanter. Julia caught up the Greek dress and with a little laugh of amusement led Maggie to the door. But the little Primrose, suddenly struck shy, hung back.
“Oh, but—” she cried, and looked, not at Tom Christmas, but at Lestrange. He glanced back at her, and she followed Julia out of the room.
We were silent after they had gone, and we could hear them laughing and talking in the little room which Lestrange had had fitted up specially for them. Presently Julia returned, and we all looked round in expectancy.
There was a heavy curtain of dark material hanging before the door of the little room, and on its threshold, one white arm holding the curtain back, stood a fair Greek maiden. Tom Christmas started to his feet in surprise.
“Maggie!” he cried.
“Nay,” said Lestrange, “but Galatea. Galatea as she comes forward to greet the master who has called her into rosy life.”
She was, indeed, Galatea stepping down from the pedestal. Her arms and neck were bare, her brown hair was knotted up in the correct style, a great gold belt spanned the dainty waist and gold bracelets pressed the white arms. The long white draperies falling in straight lines to the sandalled feet arranged themselves artistically about the perfect figure. As she stood there, one arm holding back the dark curtain, one hand falling at her side, her breast gently heaving beneath the crossed folds of white, her head slightly bent and her face covered with soft maidenly blushes, she looked the very counterfeit of Pygmalion’s statue sprung to life.
“Do I find favour in the eyes of my lord?” she said, softly. And she raised her eyes and looked, not at Tom Christmas, but at Lestrange.
“Why, Maggie!” cried Tom, “I did not know you were so beautiful. Frank, could you dress me up to look like that? Would my snub nose and red hair come out well in ancient Greek toggery?”
And then we all laughed; and, after we had admired the Greek dress again, Maggie slipped away and soon came back to us in nineteenth-century garb.
Somehow no one seemed in a humour for conversation that night, and we began strolling about the rooms examining the various curiosities which Lestrange had picked up. Tom and Maggie and I wandered into Lestrange’s study, there to inspect some old manuscripts, and left Julia and our host talking by the fire in the drawing-room. We stayed looking at the books and papers for half an hour, and then, finding my companions rather dull company, I went back to the others.
The carpets in Lestrange’s rooms were very soft and thick, and an elephant might have walked over them without making his presence known. At any rate I reached the folding-doors, which opened out of the dining-room, without their hearing me approach. And, standing there, I looked into the room and saw that Lestrange and Julia were standing side by side near the fire, and that the estimable old lady who had played hostess had gone to sleep in an easy-chair set in one of the recesses. Julia was speaking, and when I caught her voice I stood still, not knowing whether to retire or enter.
“You have soon forgotten,” she was saying, with something of bitterness in her voice.
“Soon? Come, Julia, eight years is a long slice out of thirty. — And, remember, you would not listen to me eight years ago.”
“You were only a boy then,” she said.
“Quite true — I was a boy. Don’t be angry, Julia. It can’t be. I shall never marry.”
“You would have married eagerly enough, then? she said.
“I dare say. But I shall not now.”
She turned away from him, and walked across to the window. I also turned and went back to the study, considerably mystified. So there had been passages of a romantic nature between Frank Lestrange and Julia Christmas, had there? That explained Julia’s change of manner during the past few days.
Surprises seemed to be thickening about our little domestic circle just then. When we reached home at half-past eleven that night, we were met at the door by Sarah Ann, who, in a high state of excitement, informed us that the Reverend Mr. Dumbury was awaiting our arrival and meanwhile talking to Mrs. Christmas.
We went into the dining-room, all three of us, wondering what had brought the faithful Mr. Dumbury to call upon us at that time of night. Certainly he did not live very far away; but we had never been honoured with such a late visit from him, so far as I knew.
Mr. Dumbury sat by the fire, his neat shoes turned to the cheery blaze, and his hands spread over his capacious stomach. I noticed at once that he had some great news to communicate, for his well-fed countenance wore a highly important expression, and the glance of his eye betokened triumph and gratification. He was naturally a rather pompous man, but on this occasion his grandeur seemed to overpower, and almost metamorphose him. He rose as we entered and shook hands all round with us, balancing his gold glasses in the other hand very gracefully.
“And what brings you here, Mr. Dumbury, at this disreputable hour?” asked Tom Christmas. “I hope you have some good news for us.”
Mr. Dumbury assumed an elegant and would-be-easy position, and coughed.
“I have just informed your worthy mother,” he said, looking at Julia Christmas with approving eyes, “that a great burden has been cast upon me.”
This was rather a doleful beginning. But I quickly found that Mr. Dumbury’s utterances were somewhat of the nature of parables.
“The Prime Minister, my dear friends,” he resumed, looking round on us with an air of importance, “the Prime Minister, Lord Bigborough, has asked my acceptance of the Bishopric of Grandchester.”
He watched us narrowly to catch the effect of this announcement. Tom Christmas and I were speechless, but I heard Julia catch her breath sharply.
“It is a very heavy responsibility,” said Mr. Dumbury, “a very heavy responsibility indeed. The see of Grandchester is one of our most important sees.”
“What is it worth, sir?” asked Tom Christmas, bluntly.
“I am not — er — quite sure,” said Mr. Dumbury, modestly. “But I almost fancy the emoluments are about six thousand pounds per annum.”
“Six thousand pounds a year!” said Tom.
“Take it, sir, take it.”
“My dear young friend,” said Mr. Dumbury, blandly, “it is not at the stipend of an office that a humble vessel should look. He must consider whether he be called.”
“How do you feel about it, sir?” asked Tom.
“I have prayerfully considered the matter,” said Mr. Dumbury, slowly, and with due emphasis, “and I am now consulting the more responsible of my flock. I have also to-day consulted several clerical brethren. I may say that all advise me to accept Her Majesty’s offer. Her Majesty, the Prime Minister tells me, has heard much of my humble efforts in this part of London. It is very pleasing, my friends, to know that one’s efforts are appreciated.”
“Very gratifying indeed, sir,” said Tom.
“My dear Miss Christmas,” said Mr. Dumbury, “you have always been a very earnest member of my congregation. I feel that your advice, your sisterly advice, in this weighty matter, will much help me in arriving at a decision. What do you say?”
Julia Christmas had remained very quiet after hearing her pastor’s news. She had kept her eyes fixed on the fire and was evidently thinking hard about something. She looked up as Mr. Dumbury addressed her, and turned her face towards him.
“My advice is — accept,” she said in a low voice. “Accept — by all means.”
Mr. Dumbury heaved a sigh — whether of regret or of gratification I cannot say.
“I will take the advice of my kind friends,” he said. “It will be a serious responsibility, very serious. There are some four hundred beneficed clergy in my — in the diocese of Grandchester, and about half as many curates.”
“I hope it is in a pleasant neighbourhood, sir,” said Mrs. Christmas, who was getting sleepy, and began to mix up dioceses and livings.
“The palace,” said Mr. Dumbury, speaking as if he had been used to palaces all his life, “is a most delightful residence, and is situated about three miles out of Grandchester in the midst of a very large park. The society round Grandchester is very select. Truly, it is an onerous position. Ah, my dear friends, to what responsibility am I committing myself.”
“Well, sir, I congratulate you with all my heart,” said Tom Christmas, who seemed unable to get the six thousand pounds out of his head. “And I hope you will live long to enjoy your good fortune.”
“Thank you, Thomas, thank you. It is consoling to know that one has the wishes of one’s friends. Ah, if my dear old friend Christmas had but lived, how invaluable would his advice have been at this moment! Julia, my dear friend, may I have a few words with you in private? With your dear mother’s permission.”
Julia Christmas rose from her chair, perfectly self-possessed, perfectly cool, and walked into the next room, the Bishop-to-be holding the door open for her. He followed her and closed it behind them.
“Well, of all the games!” said Tom Christmas. “Whatever will happen next? After seeing my Maggie in that masquerading dress, and now hearing that old Dumbury is to be a Right Reverend Lord, I’m almost prepared for anything. What will be the next thing, do you think, Len?”
“We shall have a wire from Spivey, saying that he has taken you into partnership, Tom Christmas.”
“I wish that would come true,” he said. “And see, Len, the dear old marm is going to sleep. I wish my Lord Bishop would go.”
But before Mrs. Christmas had fairly dropped off, Dumbury and Julia returned, the former very pompous, the latter still self-possessed, but with a little more colour in her cheeks than when she had left the room.
“My dear madam,” said Mr. Dumbury, “my dear friend Thomas, my dear young gentleman,” condescendingly turning his episcopal eyes on me, “I have another announcement to make. Our dear Julia has promised to become Mrs. Dumbury at an early date. It is not good for man to live alone, and the Apostle saith that a Bishop should be the husband of one wife. Wherefore I have selected my dear Julia, whom I have known from infancy, and whose worthy father was my first vicar.”
Whereupon Mrs. Christmas wept, and kissed her daughter, and blew her nose very loudly and very often, and said she had always known it from the very first, and Tom and I shook hands with Dumbury and wished him great happiness. And I think we were all a little moved, except Julia, who was as self-possessed as ever.
The events of that day had been so exciting that I could not sleep when I went to bed; and, after tossing about for quite an hour, I resolved to get up and read, hoping that that would send me to sleep. But I found that I had no work of a soporific nature in my bedroom, so I carefully opened the door and stole downstairs, intending to lay hold of a volume of sermons which I had seen in the dining-room, and trust to their aid in seeking a healthy slumber. I reached the room without making any sound; but, before I could enter it, I saw that Julia Christmas had not gone to bed yet, and was standing before the fire gazing at something.
Presently she moved, and I saw that she was looking at a small box which stood on the table at her side. She unlocked it as I stood there and took from it two or three things which were worthless in themselves, but evidently valuable to her, judging by the way in which she held them and looked at them. There were some flowers, and one or two letters, and a photograph.
She stood looking at them a long time, and then she suddenly pressed the portrait to her lips and kissed it passionately. And that over, she tore it into little pieces and threw them with the flowers and the letters into the few ashes that were still burning in the hearth. And I went back to bed, feeling that Julia Christmas was a strange woman and a clever one.
In about a month from then she and Dumbury were married and went away to the South of France for a few weeks, after which they returned for Dumbury’s consecration, which took place at Grandchester Cathedral, and was a very imposing ceremony. And then they settled down at the palace and began to rule their diocese with strong arms.
As for me, and Tom, and Tom’s mother, things went on in pretty much the same way. I advised Tom to follow his sister’s example and get married, but he said that he would wait until the coming spring, when he believed Mr. Spivey would give him a substantial increase in his salary. But as Mrs. Christmas wanted a companion, Maggie Primrose gave up her situation at the millinery place, and came to live with us, and Mrs. Christmas grew very fond of her, and was not so much afraid of her as she had been of Julia. And we cleared all the dreadful Emma Jane Piper books out of the front room and made it very cheerful, and used to smoke elsewhere than in the kitchen.
And sometimes, during that winter, Lestrange used to call on us.
CHAPTER VIII.
TOM GOES OVER SEAS.
BEFORE SPRING CAME round again, Mr. Spivey, instead of increasing Tom Christmas’s salary, had charged him with an important commission, the duties of which were calculated to take him far away from Paternoster Row for many a month. Mr. Spivey, who rarely read anything except for special reasons, had been reading up about our Australian colonies, and he formed the idea — that is to say, it “occurred” to him — that a branch of his business might be established with much profit and advantage in Melbourne or Sydney. He accordingly proposed to send Tom Christmas out there in order to carry this new idea into practical working order. I don’t think Tom cared very much about leaving England for so many months. He was to start in March and return about the end of November; and, I dare say, it seemed a long time to him. As for Maggie Primrose, she was against it altogether, and begged Tom to stay at home. Even when he had explained to her how much it would be to his advantage to fall in with Mr. Spivey’s wishes, she was opposed to it. I think our little Primrose felt safe when Tom was near and unsafe when he was away. At any rate, she took the news very much to heart, and was terribly uneasy about it from the moment it was settled upon until the time of his departure.
When Tom Christmas first told me of Mr. Spivey’s proposal, I strongly advised him to marry before he went away. The sea-trip, I said, would do Maggie good, and he would not feel so lonely as he would if alone in a strange country. But he shook his head at my proposal and said it would not do.
“In the first place, Len,” he said, “I could not afford to take Maggie with me. Secondly, there is no one to leave with my mother.”
“Mrs. Christmas might go to the Bishop’s for a few months,” I suggested.
Tom shook his head.
“I don’t think she would care to do that,” he answered. “No, I shall get back as quickly as possible, Len, and then we will have a wedding, and you shall be my best man. I suppose we shall have to invite Dumbury to officiate, Len, shall we not?”
“I suppose so, Tom Christmas. If we do not we shall have to settle matters with Mrs. Dumbury.”
“Fancy me being married by a real live Bishop!” he said, laughing. “We shall have to insert the announcement in the papers, I suppose, Len. It will look like the marriage of some big swell instead of that of poor Tom Christmas. But perhaps, Len, his lordship of Grandchester will not condescend to tie the knot.”
“If I know anything of his lordship’s lady, Tom Christmas, I think he will condescend.”
“Why, yes,” said Tom, with a thoughtful expression. “I fancy Julia has the whip hand of him.”
As, indeed, she had. Julia Christmas had married Bishop Dumbury with a view to her own advancement; and she had made up her mind that her husband should gratify her ambition in every way. She meant him to be Archbishop of Canterbury, or, at any rate, of York; nay, I think she would not have objected to his turning Papist, providing he could by any means have attained to the Papal Chair. She decided when she married him that he should make his mark in something beside his episcopal duties, and she also decided that the best way in which he could do so was by following her commands instead of trusting to his own powers. So that Dumbury, after a few weeks of married life, discovered that he had married a strong-minded woman who believed herself capable of managing his affairs better than he could manage them himself.
In those days Julia Dumbury was a very busy woman. After they returned from the honeymoon and Dumbury had been consecrated Bishop, she plunged into active work, and immediately gained a name and fame amongst the more influential people of the diocese. She went about her self-imposed duties with tremendous energy, but did not forget her hereditary duties as Bishop’s wife. The clergy round about Grandchester, who had been disposed to look askance at Mrs. Dumbury, soon made up their minds to worship the rising sun, and came to her dinnerparties with smooth countenances and well-oiled tongues. Gentlemen, who wanted anything in the way of preferment, also quickly discovered that it was far better to consult the Bishop’s wife, than to apply direct to the Bishop. Young incumbents, who had been endeavouring to muster up courage to assume coloured stoles and burn candles, ceased their ceremonial labours on learning that Mrs. Dumbury was decidedly opposed to Ritualism in any shape or form. Rumour soon spreads amongst people who have little to do; and everybody in the diocese of Grandchester quickly learnt that Bishop Dumbury’s lady was the real power of Grandchester Palace.
“These four cases,” said Lestrange, “contain a complete collection of Eastern female attire — Greek, Egyptian, Hebrew, and so on. It was formed for me by an old antiquary at Damascus, whose work on Eastern habits and customs lies on that table. Now, Miss Julia, shall we feast our eyes on these vanities?”
“I am afraid it is very wrong,” sighed Miss Julia. “But, after all, it is interesting. Please open the boxes, Frank.”
I am not going to describe the garments which came from the huge cedar-wood cases. There were dozens of them, all wrapped in some curiously-scented paper, and each distinctive of a certain nation and period. To Tom Christmas and me they were a mass of white, blue, and red; but Julia and Maggie Primrose were in raptures over them. Lestrange, who had commenced a learned lecture on the tastes of various nationalities as illustrated by female costumes, was soon left out in the cold, while the ladies admired, and exclaimed, and criticised, and wondered.
“But you know,” said Miss Julia, “one cannot admire these things properly without trying them on. Don’t you know that there is nothing so pleasing to the female mind as the trying on of new gowns? How should I look, for instance, in this Greek dress?”
“Like Juno, or Minerva,” suggested Tom Christmas. “Better array yourself in it, Julia, and pose before us.’”
“Nay,” she said. “I am too old. But you, Maggie, might wear it. Come, if Mr. Lestrange will allow me, I will attire you as a Greek maiden.”
I could not make out what was coming over Julia Christmas. She was actually turning frivolous and making herself agreeable to everybody, and I began to look upon Lestrange as an enchanter. Julia caught up the Greek dress and with a little laugh of amusement led Maggie to the door. But the little Primrose, suddenly struck shy, hung back.
“Oh, but—” she cried, and looked, not at Tom Christmas, but at Lestrange. He glanced back at her, and she followed Julia out of the room.
We were silent after they had gone, and we could hear them laughing and talking in the little room which Lestrange had had fitted up specially for them. Presently Julia returned, and we all looked round in expectancy.
There was a heavy curtain of dark material hanging before the door of the little room, and on its threshold, one white arm holding the curtain back, stood a fair Greek maiden. Tom Christmas started to his feet in surprise.
“Maggie!” he cried.
“Nay,” said Lestrange, “but Galatea. Galatea as she comes forward to greet the master who has called her into rosy life.”
She was, indeed, Galatea stepping down from the pedestal. Her arms and neck were bare, her brown hair was knotted up in the correct style, a great gold belt spanned the dainty waist and gold bracelets pressed the white arms. The long white draperies falling in straight lines to the sandalled feet arranged themselves artistically about the perfect figure. As she stood there, one arm holding back the dark curtain, one hand falling at her side, her breast gently heaving beneath the crossed folds of white, her head slightly bent and her face covered with soft maidenly blushes, she looked the very counterfeit of Pygmalion’s statue sprung to life.
“Do I find favour in the eyes of my lord?” she said, softly. And she raised her eyes and looked, not at Tom Christmas, but at Lestrange.
“Why, Maggie!” cried Tom, “I did not know you were so beautiful. Frank, could you dress me up to look like that? Would my snub nose and red hair come out well in ancient Greek toggery?”
And then we all laughed; and, after we had admired the Greek dress again, Maggie slipped away and soon came back to us in nineteenth-century garb.
Somehow no one seemed in a humour for conversation that night, and we began strolling about the rooms examining the various curiosities which Lestrange had picked up. Tom and Maggie and I wandered into Lestrange’s study, there to inspect some old manuscripts, and left Julia and our host talking by the fire in the drawing-room. We stayed looking at the books and papers for half an hour, and then, finding my companions rather dull company, I went back to the others.
The carpets in Lestrange’s rooms were very soft and thick, and an elephant might have walked over them without making his presence known. At any rate I reached the folding-doors, which opened out of the dining-room, without their hearing me approach. And, standing there, I looked into the room and saw that Lestrange and Julia were standing side by side near the fire, and that the estimable old lady who had played hostess had gone to sleep in an easy-chair set in one of the recesses. Julia was speaking, and when I caught her voice I stood still, not knowing whether to retire or enter.
“You have soon forgotten,” she was saying, with something of bitterness in her voice.
“Soon? Come, Julia, eight years is a long slice out of thirty. — And, remember, you would not listen to me eight years ago.”
“You were only a boy then,” she said.
“Quite true — I was a boy. Don’t be angry, Julia. It can’t be. I shall never marry.”
“You would have married eagerly enough, then? she said.
“I dare say. But I shall not now.”
She turned away from him, and walked across to the window. I also turned and went back to the study, considerably mystified. So there had been passages of a romantic nature between Frank Lestrange and Julia Christmas, had there? That explained Julia’s change of manner during the past few days.
Surprises seemed to be thickening about our little domestic circle just then. When we reached home at half-past eleven that night, we were met at the door by Sarah Ann, who, in a high state of excitement, informed us that the Reverend Mr. Dumbury was awaiting our arrival and meanwhile talking to Mrs. Christmas.
We went into the dining-room, all three of us, wondering what had brought the faithful Mr. Dumbury to call upon us at that time of night. Certainly he did not live very far away; but we had never been honoured with such a late visit from him, so far as I knew.
Mr. Dumbury sat by the fire, his neat shoes turned to the cheery blaze, and his hands spread over his capacious stomach. I noticed at once that he had some great news to communicate, for his well-fed countenance wore a highly important expression, and the glance of his eye betokened triumph and gratification. He was naturally a rather pompous man, but on this occasion his grandeur seemed to overpower, and almost metamorphose him. He rose as we entered and shook hands all round with us, balancing his gold glasses in the other hand very gracefully.
“And what brings you here, Mr. Dumbury, at this disreputable hour?” asked Tom Christmas. “I hope you have some good news for us.”
Mr. Dumbury assumed an elegant and would-be-easy position, and coughed.
“I have just informed your worthy mother,” he said, looking at Julia Christmas with approving eyes, “that a great burden has been cast upon me.”
This was rather a doleful beginning. But I quickly found that Mr. Dumbury’s utterances were somewhat of the nature of parables.
“The Prime Minister, my dear friends,” he resumed, looking round on us with an air of importance, “the Prime Minister, Lord Bigborough, has asked my acceptance of the Bishopric of Grandchester.”
He watched us narrowly to catch the effect of this announcement. Tom Christmas and I were speechless, but I heard Julia catch her breath sharply.
“It is a very heavy responsibility,” said Mr. Dumbury, “a very heavy responsibility indeed. The see of Grandchester is one of our most important sees.”
“What is it worth, sir?” asked Tom Christmas, bluntly.
“I am not — er — quite sure,” said Mr. Dumbury, modestly. “But I almost fancy the emoluments are about six thousand pounds per annum.”
“Six thousand pounds a year!” said Tom.
“Take it, sir, take it.”
“My dear young friend,” said Mr. Dumbury, blandly, “it is not at the stipend of an office that a humble vessel should look. He must consider whether he be called.”
“How do you feel about it, sir?” asked Tom.
“I have prayerfully considered the matter,” said Mr. Dumbury, slowly, and with due emphasis, “and I am now consulting the more responsible of my flock. I have also to-day consulted several clerical brethren. I may say that all advise me to accept Her Majesty’s offer. Her Majesty, the Prime Minister tells me, has heard much of my humble efforts in this part of London. It is very pleasing, my friends, to know that one’s efforts are appreciated.”
“Very gratifying indeed, sir,” said Tom.
“My dear Miss Christmas,” said Mr. Dumbury, “you have always been a very earnest member of my congregation. I feel that your advice, your sisterly advice, in this weighty matter, will much help me in arriving at a decision. What do you say?”
Julia Christmas had remained very quiet after hearing her pastor’s news. She had kept her eyes fixed on the fire and was evidently thinking hard about something. She looked up as Mr. Dumbury addressed her, and turned her face towards him.
“My advice is — accept,” she said in a low voice. “Accept — by all means.”
Mr. Dumbury heaved a sigh — whether of regret or of gratification I cannot say.
“I will take the advice of my kind friends,” he said. “It will be a serious responsibility, very serious. There are some four hundred beneficed clergy in my — in the diocese of Grandchester, and about half as many curates.”
“I hope it is in a pleasant neighbourhood, sir,” said Mrs. Christmas, who was getting sleepy, and began to mix up dioceses and livings.
“The palace,” said Mr. Dumbury, speaking as if he had been used to palaces all his life, “is a most delightful residence, and is situated about three miles out of Grandchester in the midst of a very large park. The society round Grandchester is very select. Truly, it is an onerous position. Ah, my dear friends, to what responsibility am I committing myself.”
“Well, sir, I congratulate you with all my heart,” said Tom Christmas, who seemed unable to get the six thousand pounds out of his head. “And I hope you will live long to enjoy your good fortune.”
“Thank you, Thomas, thank you. It is consoling to know that one has the wishes of one’s friends. Ah, if my dear old friend Christmas had but lived, how invaluable would his advice have been at this moment! Julia, my dear friend, may I have a few words with you in private? With your dear mother’s permission.”
Julia Christmas rose from her chair, perfectly self-possessed, perfectly cool, and walked into the next room, the Bishop-to-be holding the door open for her. He followed her and closed it behind them.
“Well, of all the games!” said Tom Christmas. “Whatever will happen next? After seeing my Maggie in that masquerading dress, and now hearing that old Dumbury is to be a Right Reverend Lord, I’m almost prepared for anything. What will be the next thing, do you think, Len?”
“We shall have a wire from Spivey, saying that he has taken you into partnership, Tom Christmas.”
“I wish that would come true,” he said. “And see, Len, the dear old marm is going to sleep. I wish my Lord Bishop would go.”
But before Mrs. Christmas had fairly dropped off, Dumbury and Julia returned, the former very pompous, the latter still self-possessed, but with a little more colour in her cheeks than when she had left the room.
“My dear madam,” said Mr. Dumbury, “my dear friend Thomas, my dear young gentleman,” condescendingly turning his episcopal eyes on me, “I have another announcement to make. Our dear Julia has promised to become Mrs. Dumbury at an early date. It is not good for man to live alone, and the Apostle saith that a Bishop should be the husband of one wife. Wherefore I have selected my dear Julia, whom I have known from infancy, and whose worthy father was my first vicar.”
Whereupon Mrs. Christmas wept, and kissed her daughter, and blew her nose very loudly and very often, and said she had always known it from the very first, and Tom and I shook hands with Dumbury and wished him great happiness. And I think we were all a little moved, except Julia, who was as self-possessed as ever.
The events of that day had been so exciting that I could not sleep when I went to bed; and, after tossing about for quite an hour, I resolved to get up and read, hoping that that would send me to sleep. But I found that I had no work of a soporific nature in my bedroom, so I carefully opened the door and stole downstairs, intending to lay hold of a volume of sermons which I had seen in the dining-room, and trust to their aid in seeking a healthy slumber. I reached the room without making any sound; but, before I could enter it, I saw that Julia Christmas had not gone to bed yet, and was standing before the fire gazing at something.
Presently she moved, and I saw that she was looking at a small box which stood on the table at her side. She unlocked it as I stood there and took from it two or three things which were worthless in themselves, but evidently valuable to her, judging by the way in which she held them and looked at them. There were some flowers, and one or two letters, and a photograph.
She stood looking at them a long time, and then she suddenly pressed the portrait to her lips and kissed it passionately. And that over, she tore it into little pieces and threw them with the flowers and the letters into the few ashes that were still burning in the hearth. And I went back to bed, feeling that Julia Christmas was a strange woman and a clever one.
In about a month from then she and Dumbury were married and went away to the South of France for a few weeks, after which they returned for Dumbury’s consecration, which took place at Grandchester Cathedral, and was a very imposing ceremony. And then they settled down at the palace and began to rule their diocese with strong arms.
As for me, and Tom, and Tom’s mother, things went on in pretty much the same way. I advised Tom to follow his sister’s example and get married, but he said that he would wait until the coming spring, when he believed Mr. Spivey would give him a substantial increase in his salary. But as Mrs. Christmas wanted a companion, Maggie Primrose gave up her situation at the millinery place, and came to live with us, and Mrs. Christmas grew very fond of her, and was not so much afraid of her as she had been of Julia. And we cleared all the dreadful Emma Jane Piper books out of the front room and made it very cheerful, and used to smoke elsewhere than in the kitchen.
And sometimes, during that winter, Lestrange used to call on us.
CHAPTER VIII.
TOM GOES OVER SEAS.
BEFORE SPRING CAME round again, Mr. Spivey, instead of increasing Tom Christmas’s salary, had charged him with an important commission, the duties of which were calculated to take him far away from Paternoster Row for many a month. Mr. Spivey, who rarely read anything except for special reasons, had been reading up about our Australian colonies, and he formed the idea — that is to say, it “occurred” to him — that a branch of his business might be established with much profit and advantage in Melbourne or Sydney. He accordingly proposed to send Tom Christmas out there in order to carry this new idea into practical working order. I don’t think Tom cared very much about leaving England for so many months. He was to start in March and return about the end of November; and, I dare say, it seemed a long time to him. As for Maggie Primrose, she was against it altogether, and begged Tom to stay at home. Even when he had explained to her how much it would be to his advantage to fall in with Mr. Spivey’s wishes, she was opposed to it. I think our little Primrose felt safe when Tom was near and unsafe when he was away. At any rate, she took the news very much to heart, and was terribly uneasy about it from the moment it was settled upon until the time of his departure.
When Tom Christmas first told me of Mr. Spivey’s proposal, I strongly advised him to marry before he went away. The sea-trip, I said, would do Maggie good, and he would not feel so lonely as he would if alone in a strange country. But he shook his head at my proposal and said it would not do.
“In the first place, Len,” he said, “I could not afford to take Maggie with me. Secondly, there is no one to leave with my mother.”
“Mrs. Christmas might go to the Bishop’s for a few months,” I suggested.
Tom shook his head.
“I don’t think she would care to do that,” he answered. “No, I shall get back as quickly as possible, Len, and then we will have a wedding, and you shall be my best man. I suppose we shall have to invite Dumbury to officiate, Len, shall we not?”
“I suppose so, Tom Christmas. If we do not we shall have to settle matters with Mrs. Dumbury.”
“Fancy me being married by a real live Bishop!” he said, laughing. “We shall have to insert the announcement in the papers, I suppose, Len. It will look like the marriage of some big swell instead of that of poor Tom Christmas. But perhaps, Len, his lordship of Grandchester will not condescend to tie the knot.”
“If I know anything of his lordship’s lady, Tom Christmas, I think he will condescend.”
“Why, yes,” said Tom, with a thoughtful expression. “I fancy Julia has the whip hand of him.”
As, indeed, she had. Julia Christmas had married Bishop Dumbury with a view to her own advancement; and she had made up her mind that her husband should gratify her ambition in every way. She meant him to be Archbishop of Canterbury, or, at any rate, of York; nay, I think she would not have objected to his turning Papist, providing he could by any means have attained to the Papal Chair. She decided when she married him that he should make his mark in something beside his episcopal duties, and she also decided that the best way in which he could do so was by following her commands instead of trusting to his own powers. So that Dumbury, after a few weeks of married life, discovered that he had married a strong-minded woman who believed herself capable of managing his affairs better than he could manage them himself.
In those days Julia Dumbury was a very busy woman. After they returned from the honeymoon and Dumbury had been consecrated Bishop, she plunged into active work, and immediately gained a name and fame amongst the more influential people of the diocese. She went about her self-imposed duties with tremendous energy, but did not forget her hereditary duties as Bishop’s wife. The clergy round about Grandchester, who had been disposed to look askance at Mrs. Dumbury, soon made up their minds to worship the rising sun, and came to her dinnerparties with smooth countenances and well-oiled tongues. Gentlemen, who wanted anything in the way of preferment, also quickly discovered that it was far better to consult the Bishop’s wife, than to apply direct to the Bishop. Young incumbents, who had been endeavouring to muster up courage to assume coloured stoles and burn candles, ceased their ceremonial labours on learning that Mrs. Dumbury was decidedly opposed to Ritualism in any shape or form. Rumour soon spreads amongst people who have little to do; and everybody in the diocese of Grandchester quickly learnt that Bishop Dumbury’s lady was the real power of Grandchester Palace.
