The tidings to be made in a pleasant spirit were not long waited for,—or, at any rate, the first instalment of them. On the 2nd of September there arrived a large hamper9 full of partridges, addressed to Mrs. Fenwick in the Earl’s own handwriting. “The very first fruits,” said the Vicar, as he went down to inspect the plentiful10 provision thus made for the vicarage larder11. Well;—it was certainly better to have partridges from Turnover than accusations12 of immorality13 and infidelity. The Vicar so declared at once, but his wife would not at first agree with him. “I really should have such pleasure in packing them up and sending them back,” said she.
“Indeed, you shall do nothing of the kind.”
“The idea of a basket of birds to atone14 for such insults and calumny15 as that man has heaped on you!”
“The birds will be only a first instalment,” said the Vicar,—and then there were more quips and quirks about that. It was presumed by Mr. Fenwick that the second instalment would be the first pheasants shot in October. But the second instalment came before September was over in the shape of the following note:—
Turnover Park, 20th September, 186—.
The Marquis of Trowbridge and the Ladies Sophie and Carolina Stowte request that Mr. and Mrs. Fenwick will do them the honour of coming to Turnover Park on Monday the 6th October, and staying till Saturday the 11th.
“That’s an instalment indeed,” said Mrs. Fenwick. “And now what on earth are we to do?” The Vicar admitted that it had become very serious. “We must either go, and endure a terrible time of it,” continued Mrs. Fenwick, “or we must show him very plainly that we will have nothing more to do with him. I don’t see why we are to be annoyed, merely because he is a Marquis.”
“It won’t be because he is a Marquis.”
“Why then? You can’t say that you love the old man, or that the Ladies Sophie and Carolina Stowte are the women you’d have me choose for companions, or that that soapy, silky, humbugging Lord St. George is to your taste.”
“I am not sure about St. George. He can be everything to everybody, and would make an excellent bishop16.”
“You know you don’t like him, and you know also that you will have a very bad time of it at Turnover.”
“I could shoot pheasants all the week.”
“Yes,—with a conviction at the time that the Ladies Sophie and Carolina were calling you an infidel behind your back for doing so. As for myself I feel perfectly17 certain that I should spar with them.”
“It isn’t because he’s a Marquis,” said the Vicar, carrying on his argument after a long pause. “If I know myself, I think I may say that that has no allurement18 for me. And, to tell the truth, had he been simply a Marquis, and had I been at liberty to indulge my own wishes, I would never have allowed myself to be talked out of my righteous anger by that soft-tongued son of his. But to us he is a man of the very greatest importance, because he owns the land on which the people live with whom we are concerned. It is for their welfare that he and I should be on good terms together; and therefore if you don’t mind the sacrifice, I think we’ll go.”
“What;—for the whole week, Frank?”
The Vicar was of opinion that the week might be judiciously19 curtailed20 by two days; and, consequently, Mrs. Fenwick presented her compliments to the Ladies Sophie and Carolina Stowte, and expressed the great pleasure which she and Mr. Fenwick would have in going to Turnover Park on the Tuesday, and staying till the Friday.
“So that I shall only be shooting two days,” said the Vicar, “which will modify the aspect of my infidelity considerably21.”
They went to Turnover Castle. The poor old Marquis had rather a bad time of it for the hour or two previous to their arrival. It had become an acknowledged fact now in the county that Sam Brattle had had nothing to do with the murder of Farmer Trumbull, and that his acquaintance with the murderers had sprung from his desire to see his unfortunate sister settled in marriage with a man whom he at the time did not know to be disreputable. There had therefore been a reaction in favour of Sam Brattle, whom the county now began to regard as something of a hero. The Marquis, understanding all that, had come to be aware that he had wronged the Vicar in that matter of the murder. And then, though he had been told upon very good authority,—no less than that of his daughters, who had been so informed by the sisters of a most exemplary neighbouring curate,—that Mr. Fenwick was a man who believed “just next to nothing,” and would just as soon associate with a downright Pagan like old Brattle, as with any professing22 Christian,—still there was the fact of the Bishop’s good opinion; and, though the Marquis was a self-willed man, to him a bishop was always a bishop. It was also clear to him that he had been misled in those charges which he had made against the Vicar in that matter of poor Carry Brattle’s residence at Salisbury. Something of the truth of the girl’s history had come to the ears of the Marquis, and he had been made to believe that he had been wrong. Then there was the affair of the chapel, in which, under his son’s advice, he was at this moment expending23 ￡700 in rectifying24 the mistake which he had made. In giving the Marquis his due we must acknowledge that he cared but little about the money. Marquises, though they may have large properties, are not always in possession of any number of loose hundreds which they can throw away without feeling the loss. Nor was the Marquis of Trowbridge so circumstanced now. But that trouble did not gall26 him nearly so severely27 as the necessity which was on him to rectify25 an error made by himself. He had done a foolish thing. Under no circumstances should the chapel have been built on that spot. He knew it now, and he knew that he must apologise. Noblesse oblige. The old lord was very stupid, very wrong-headed, and sometimes very arrogant28; but he would not do a wrong if he knew it, and nothing on earth would make him tell a wilful29 lie. The epithet30 indeed might have been omitted; for a lie is not a lie unless it be wilful.
Lord Trowbridge passed the hours of this Tuesday morning under the frightful31 sense of the necessity for apologising;—and yet he remembered well the impudence32 of the man, how he had ventured to allude33 to the Ladies Stowte, likening them to—to—to—! It was terrible to be thought of. And his lordship remembered, too, how this man had written about the principal entrance to his own mansion34 as though it had been no more than the entrance to any other man’s house! Though the thorns still rankled35 in his own flesh, he had to own that he himself had been wrong.
And he did it,—with an honesty that was beyond the reach of his much more clever son. When the Fenwicks arrived, they were taken into the drawing-room, in which were sitting the Ladies Sophie and Carolina with various guests already assembled at the Castle. In a minute or two the Marquis shuffled36 in and shook hands with the two new comers. Then he shuffled about the room for another minute or two, and at last got his arm through that of the Vicar, and led him away into his own sanctum. “Mr. Fenwick,” he said, “I think it best to express my regret at once for two things that have occurred.”
“It does not signify, my lord.”
“But it does signify to me, and if you will listen to me for a moment I shall take your doing so as a favour added to that which you have conferred upon me in coming here.” The Vicar could only bow and listen. “I am sorry, Mr. Fenwick, that I should have written to the bishop of this diocese in reference to your conduct.” Fenwick found it very difficult to hold his tongue when this was said. He imagined that the Marquis was going to excuse himself about the chapel,—and about the chapel he cared nothing at all. But as to that letter to the bishop, he did feel that the less said about it the better. He restrained himself, however, and the Marquis went on. “Things had been told me, Mr. Fenwick;—and I thought that I was doing my duty.”
“It did me no harm, my lord.”
“I believe not. I had been misinformed,—and I apologise.” The Marquis paused, and the Vicar bowed. It is probable that the Vicar did not at all know how deep at that moment were the sufferings of the Marquis. “And now as to the chapel,” continued the Marquis.
“My lord, that is such a trifle that you must let me say that it is not and has not been of the slightest consequence.”
“I was misled as to that bit of ground.”
“I only wish, my lord, that the chapel could stand there.”
“That is impossible. The land has been appropriated to other purposes, and though we have all been a little in the dark about our own rights, right must be done. I will only add that I have the greatest satisfaction in seeing you and Mrs. Fenwick at Turnover, and that I hope the satisfaction may often be repeated.” Then he led the way back into the drawing-room, and the evil hour had passed over his head.
Upon the whole, things went very well with both the Vicar and his wife during their visit. He did go out shooting one day, and was treated very civilly by the Turnover gamekeeper, though he was prepared with no five-pound note at the end of his day’s amusement. When he returned to the house, his host congratulated him on his performance just as cordially as though he had been one of the laity37. On the next day he rode over with Lord St. George to see the County Hunt kennels38, which were then at Charleycoats, and nobody seemed to think him very wicked because he ventured to have an opinion about hounds. Mrs. Fenwick’s amusements were, perhaps, less exciting, but she went through them with equanimity39. She was taken to see the parish schools, and was walked into the parish church,—in which the Stowte family were possessed40 of an enormous recess41 called a pew, but which was in truth a room, with a fireplace in it. Mrs. Fenwick thought it did not look very much like a church; but as the Ladies Stowte were clearly very proud of it she held her peace as to that idea. And so the visit to Turnover Park was made, and the Fenwicks were driven home.
“After all, there’s nothing like burying the hatchet42,” said he.
“But who sharpened the hatchet?” asked Mrs. Fenwick.
“Never mind who sharpened it. We’ve buried it.”
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1
quirks
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| n.奇事，巧合( quirk的名词复数 )；怪癖 | |
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2
turnover
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| n.人员流动率，人事变动率；营业额，成交量 | |
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3
demolition
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| n.破坏,毁坏,毁坏之遗迹 | |
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4
chapel
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| n.小教堂，殡仪馆 | |
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5
devout
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| adj.虔诚的，虔敬的，衷心的 (n.devoutness) | |
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6
Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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7
tottering
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| adj.蹒跚的，动摇的v.走得或动得不稳( totter的现在分词 )；踉跄；蹒跚；摇摇欲坠 | |
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8
prostration
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| n. 平伏, 跪倒, 疲劳 | |
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9
hamper
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| vt.妨碍，束缚，限制；n.(有盖的)大篮子 | |
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10
plentiful
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| adj.富裕的，丰富的 | |
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11
larder
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| n.食物贮藏室，食品橱 | |
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12
accusations
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| n.指责( accusation的名词复数 )；指控；控告；（被告发、控告的）罪名 | |
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13
immorality
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| n. 不道德, 无道义 | |
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14
atone
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| v.赎罪，补偿 | |
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15
calumny
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| n.诽谤，污蔑，中伤 | |
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16
bishop
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| n.主教，（国际象棋）象 | |
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17
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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18
allurement
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| n.诱惑物 | |
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19
judiciously
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| adv.明断地，明智而审慎地 | |
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20
curtailed
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| v.截断，缩短( curtail的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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21
considerably
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| adv.极大地；相当大地；在很大程度上 | |
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22
professing
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| 声称( profess的现在分词 )； 宣称； 公开表明； 信奉 | |
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23
expending
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| v.花费( expend的现在分词 )；使用（钱等）做某事；用光；耗尽 | |
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24
rectifying
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| 改正，矫正( rectify的现在分词 )； 精馏； 蒸流； 整流 | |
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25
rectify
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| v.订正，矫正，改正 | |
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26
gall
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| v.使烦恼，使焦躁，难堪；n.磨难 | |
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27
severely
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| adv.严格地；严厉地；非常恶劣地 | |
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28
arrogant
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| adj.傲慢的，自大的 | |
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29
wilful
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| adj.任性的，故意的 | |
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30
epithet
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| n.（用于褒贬人物等的）表述形容词，修饰语 | |
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31
frightful
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| adj.可怕的；讨厌的 | |
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32
impudence
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| n.厚颜无耻；冒失；无礼 | |
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33
allude
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| v.提及，暗指 | |
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34
mansion
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| n.大厦，大楼；宅第 | |
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35
rankled
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| v.（使）痛苦不已，（使）怨恨不已( rankle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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36
shuffled
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| v.洗（纸牌）( shuffle的过去式和过去分词 )；拖着脚步走；粗心地做；摆脱尘世的烦恼 | |
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37
laity
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| n.俗人；门外汉 | |
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38
kennels
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| n.主人外出时的小动物寄养处，养狗场；狗窝( kennel的名词复数 )；养狗场 | |
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39
equanimity
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| n.沉着，镇定 | |
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40
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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41
recess
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| n.短期休息，壁凹（墙上装架子，柜子等凹处） | |
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42
hatchet
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| n.短柄小斧；v.扼杀 | |
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