Dr. Wortle's School Part 17

DR. WORTLE'S SCHOOL.

PART V.

CHAPTER I.

MR. PUDDICOMBE'S BOOT.

IT was not to be expected that the matter should be kept out of the county newspaper, or even from those in the metropolis. There was too much of romance in the story, too good a tale to be told, for any such hope. The man's former life and the woman's, the disappearance of her husband and his reappearance after his reported death, the departure of the couple from St. Louis and the coming of Lefroy to Bowick, formed together a most attractive subject. But it could not be told without reference to Dr.

Wortle's school, to Dr. Wortle's position as clergyman of the parish,--and also to the fact which was considered by his enemies to be of all the facts the most d.a.m.ning, that Mr. Peac.o.c.ke had for a time been allowed to preach in the parish church. The 'Broughton Gazette,' a newspaper which was supposed to be altogether devoted to the interest of the diocese, was very eloquent on this subject. "We do not desire," said the 'Broughton Gazette,' "to make any remarks as to the management of Dr. Wortle's school. We leave all that between him and the parents of the boys who are educated there. We are perfectly aware that Dr. Wortle himself is a scholar, and that his school has been deservedly successful. It is advisable, no doubt, that in such an establishment none should be employed whose lives are openly immoral;--but as we have said before, it is not our purpose to insist upon this. Parents, if they feel themselves to be aggrieved, can remedy the evil by withdrawing their sons. But when we consider the great power which is placed in the hands of an inc.u.mbent of a parish, that he is endowed as it were with the freehold of his pulpit, that he may put up whom he will to preach the Gospel to his paris.h.i.+oners, even in a certain degree in opposition to his bishop, we think that we do no more than our duty in calling attention to such a case as this." Then the whole story was told at great length, so as to give the "we" of the 'Broughton Gazette' a happy opportunity of making its leading article not only much longer, but much more amusing, than usual. "We must say,"

continued the writer, as he concluded his narrative, "that this man should not have been allowed to preach in the Bowick pulpit. He is no doubt a clergyman of the Church of England, and Dr. Wortle was within his rights in asking for his a.s.sistance; but the inc.u.mbent of a parish is responsible for those he employs, and that responsibility now rests on Dr. Wortle."

There was a great deal in this that made the Doctor very angry,--so angry that he did not know how to restrain himself. The matter had been argued as though he had employed the clergyman in his church after he had known the history. "For aught I know," he said to Mrs. Wortle, "any curate coming to me might have three wives, all alive."

"That would be most improbable," said Mrs. Wortle.

"So was all this improbable,--just as improbable. Nothing could be more improbable. Do we not all feel overcome with pity for the poor woman because she encountered trouble that was so improbable? How much more improbable was it that I should come across a clergyman who had encountered such improbabilities." In answer to this Mrs. Wortle could only shake her head, not at all understanding the purport of her husband's argument.

But what was said about his school hurt him more than what was said about his church. In regard to his church he was impregnable. Not even the Bishop could touch him,--or even annoy him much. But this "penny-a-liner," as the Doctor indignantly called him, had attacked him in his tenderest point. After declaring that he did not intend to meddle with the school, he had gone on to point out that an immoral person had been employed there, and had then invited all parents to take away their sons. "He doesn't know what moral and immoral means," said the Doctor, again pleading his own case to his own wife. "As far as I know, it would be hard to find a man of a higher moral feeling than Mr. Peac.o.c.ke, or a woman than his wife."

"I suppose they ought to have separated when it was found out," said Mrs.

Wortle.

"No, no," he shouted; "I hold that they were right. He was right to cling to her, and she was bound to obey him. Such a fellow as that,"--and he crushed the paper up in his hand in his wrath, as though he were crus.h.i.+ng the editor himself,--"such a fellow as that knows nothing of morality, nothing of honour, nothing of tenderness. What he did I would have done, and I'll stick to him through it all in spite of the Bishop, in spite of the newspapers, and in spite of all the rancour of all my enemies." Then he got up and walked about the room in such a fury that his wife did not dare to speak to him. Should he or should he not answer the newspaper?

That was a question which for the first two days after he had read the article greatly perplexed him. He would have been very ready to advise any other man what to do in such a case. "Never notice what may be written about you in a newspaper," he would have said. Such is the advice which a man always gives to his friend. But when the case comes to himself he finds it sometimes almost impossible to follow it. "What's the use? Who cares what the 'Broughton Gazette' says? let it pa.s.s, and it will be forgotten in three days. If you stir the mud yourself, it will hang about you for months. It is just what they want you to do. They cannot go on by themselves, and so the subject dies away from them; but if you write rejoinders they have a contributor working for them for nothing, and one whose writing will be much more acceptable to their readers than any that comes from their own anonymous scribes. It is very disagreeable to be worried like a rat by a dog; but why should you go into the kennel and unnecessarily put yourself in the way of it?" The Doctor had said this more than once to clerical friends who were burning with indignation at something that had been written about them. But now he was burning himself, and could hardly keep his fingers from pen and ink.

In this emergency he went to Mr. Puddicombe, not, as he said to himself, for advice, but in order that he might hear what Mr. Puddicombe would have to say about it. He did not like Mr. Puddicombe, but he believed in him,--which was more than he quite did with the Bishop. Mr. Puddicombe would tell him his true thoughts. Mr. Puddicombe would be unpleasant very likely; but he would be sincere and friendly. So he went to Mr.

Puddicombe. "It seems to me," he said, "almost necessary that I should answer such allegations as these for the sake of truth."

"You are not responsible for the truth of the 'Broughton Gazette,"' said Mr. Puddicombe.

"But I am responsible to a certain degree that false reports shall not be spread abroad as to what is done in my church."

"You can contradict nothing that the newspaper has said."

"It is implied," said the Doctor, "that I allowed Mr. Peac.o.c.ke to preach in my church after I knew his marriage was informal."

"There is no such statement in the paragraph," said Mr. Puddicombe, after attentive reperusal of the article. "The writer has written in a hurry, as such writers generally do, but has made no statement such as you presume. Were you to answer him, you could only do so by an elaborate statement of the exact facts of the case. It can hardly be worth your while, in defending yourself against the 'Broughton Gazette,' to tell the whole story in public of Mr. Peac.o.c.ke's life and fortunes."

"You would pa.s.s it over altogether?"

"Certainly I would."

"And so acknowledge the truth of all that the newspaper says."

"I do not know that the paper says anything untrue," said Mr. Puddicombe, not looking the Doctor in the face, with his eyes turned to the ground, but evidently with the determination to say what he thought, however unpleasant it might be. "The fact is that you have fallen into a--misfortune."

"I don't acknowledge it at all," said the Doctor.

"All your friends at any rate will think so, let the story be told as it may. It was a misfortune that this lady whom you had taken into your establishment should have proved not to be the gentleman's wife. When I am taking a walk through the fields and get one of my feet deeper than usual into the mud, I always endeavour to bear it as well as I may before the eyes of those who meet me rather than make futile efforts to get rid of the dirt and look as though nothing had happened. The dirt, when it is rubbed and smudged and sc.r.a.ped is more palpably dirt than the honest mud."

"I will not admit that I am dirty at all," said the Doctor.

"Nor do I, in the case which I describe. I admit nothing; but I let those who see me form their own opinion. If any one asks me about my boot I tell him that it is a matter of no consequence. I advise you to do the same. You will only make the smudges more palpable if you write to the 'Broughton Gazette."'

"Would you say nothing to the boys' parents?" asked the Doctor.

"There, perhaps, I am not a judge, as I never kept a school;--but I think not. If any father writes to you, then tell him the truth."

If the matter had gone no farther than this, the Doctor might probably have left Mr. Puddicombe's house with a sense of thankfulness for the kindness rendered to him; but he did go farther, and endeavoured to extract from his friend some sense of the injustice shown by the Bishop, the Stantiloups, the newspaper, and his enemies in general through the diocese. But here he failed signally. "I really think, Dr. Wortle, that you could not have expected it otherwise."

"Expect that people should lie?"

"I don't know about lies. If people have told lies I have not seen them or heard them. I don't think the Bishop has lied."

"I don't mean the Bishop; though I do think that he has shown a great want of what I may call liberality towards a clergyman in his diocese."

"No doubt he thinks you have been wrong. By liberality you mean sympathy.

Why should you expect him to sympathise with your wrong-doing?"

"What have I done wrong?"

"You have countenanced immorality and deceit in a brother clergyman."

"I deny it," said the Doctor, rising up impetuously from his chair.

"Then I do not understand the position, Dr. Wortle. That is all I can say."

"To my thinking, Mr. Puddicombe, I never came across a better man than Mr.

Peac.o.c.ke in my life."

"I cannot make comparisons. As to the best man I ever met in my life I might have to acknowledge that even he had done wrong in certain circ.u.mstances. As the matter is forced upon me, I have to express my opinion that a great sin was committed both by the man and by the woman.

You not only condone the sin, but declare both by your words and deeds that you sympathise with the sin as well as with the sinners. You have no right to expect that the Bishop will sympathise with you in that;--nor can it be but that in such a country as this the voices of many will be loud against you."

"And yours as loud as any," said the Doctor, angrily.

"That is unkind and unjust," said Mr. Puddicombe. "What I have said, I have said to yourself, and not to others; and what I have said, I have said in answer to questions asked by yourself." Then the Doctor apologised with what grace he could. But when he left the house his heart was still bitter against Mr. Puddicombe.

He was almost ashamed of himself as he rode back to Bowick,--first, because he had condescended to ask advice, and then because, after having asked it, he had been so thoroughly scolded. There was no one whom Mr.

Puddicombe would admit to have been wrong in the matter except the Doctor himself. And yet though he had been so counselled and so scolded, he had found himself obliged to apologize before he left the house! And, too, he had been made to understand that he had better not rush into print.

Though the 'Broughton Gazette' should come to the attack again and again, he must hold his peace. That reference to Mr. Puddicombe's dirty boot had convinced him. He could see the thoroughly squalid look of the boot that had been sc.r.a.ped in vain, and appreciate the wholesomeness of the unadulterated mud. There was more in the man than he had ever acknowledged before. There was a consistency in him, and a courage, and an honesty of purpose. But there was no softness of heart. Had there been a grain of tenderness there, he could not have spoken so often as he had done of Mrs. Peac.o.c.ke without expressing some grief at the unmerited sorrows to which that poor lady had been subjected.

His own heart melted with ruth as he thought, while riding home, of the cruelty to which she had been and was subjected. She was all alone there, waiting, waiting, waiting, till the dreary days should have gone by. And if no good news should come, if Mr. Peac.o.c.ke should return with tidings that her husband was alive and well, what should she do then? What would the world then have in store for her? "If it were me," said the Doctor to himself, "I'd take her to some other home and treat her as my wife in spite of all the Puddicombes in creation;--in spite of all the bishops."

The Doctor, though he was a self-a.s.serting and somewhat violent man, was thoroughly soft-hearted. It is to be hoped that the reader has already learned as much as that;--a man with a kind, tender, affectionate nature.

It would perhaps be unfair to raise a question whether he would have done as much, been so willing to sacrifice himself, for a plain woman. Had Mr.

Stantiloup, or Sir Samuel Griffin if he had suddenly come again to life, been found to have prior wives also living, would the Doctor have found shelter for them in their ignominy and trouble? Mrs. Wortle, who knew her husband thoroughly, was sure that he would not have done so. Mrs.

Peac.o.c.ke was a very beautiful woman, and the Doctor was a man who thoroughly admired beauty. To say that Mrs. Wortle was jealous would be quite untrue. She liked to see her husband talking to a pretty woman, because he would be sure to be in a good humour and sure to make the best of himself. She loved to see him s.h.i.+ne. But she almost wished that Mrs.