Dr. Wortle's School Part 23

"I cannot imagine myself in such a position. I could not, at any rate, have written such a letter as that, even if I would; and should have been afraid to write it if I could. I value peace and quiet too greatly to quarrel with my bishop,--unless, indeed, he should attempt to impose upon my conscience. There was nothing of that kind here. I think I should have seen that he had made a mistake, and have pa.s.sed it over."

The Doctor, as he rode home, was, on the whole, better pleased with his visit than he had expected to be. He had been told that his letter was argumentative and true, and that in itself had been much.

At the end of the week he received a reply from the Bishop, and found that it was not, at any rate, written by the chaplain.

"MY DEAR DR. WORTLE," said the reply; "your letter has pained me exceedingly, because I find that I have caused you a degree of annoyance which I am certainly very sorry I have inflicted. When I wrote to you in my letter,--which I certainly did not intend as an admonition,--about the metropolitan press, I only meant to tell you, for your own information, that the newspapers were making reference to your affair with Mr.

Peac.o.c.ke. I doubt whether I knew anything of the nature of 'Everybody's Business.' I am not sure even whether I had ever actually read the words to which you object so strongly. At any rate, they had had no weight with me. If I had read them,--which I probably did very cursorily,--they did not rest on my mind at all when I wrote to you. My object was to caution you, not at all as to your own conduct, but as to others who were speaking evil of you.

"As to the action of which you spoke so strongly when I had the pleasure of seeing you here, I am very glad that you abandoned it, for your own sake and for mine, and the sake of all us generally to whom the peace of the Church is dear.

"As to the nature of the language in which you have found yourself compelled to write to me, I must remind you that it is unusual as coming from a clergyman to a bishop. I am, however, ready to admit that the circ.u.mstances of the case were unusual, and I can understand that you should have felt the matter severely. Under these circ.u.mstances, I trust that the affair may now be allowed to rest without any breach of those kind feelings which have hitherto existed between us.--Yours very faithfully,

"C. BROUGHTON."

"It is a beastly letter," the Doctor said to himself, when he had read it, "a beastly letter;" and then he put it away without saying any more about it to himself or to any one else. It had appeared to him to be a "beastly letter," because it had exactly the effect which the Bishop had intended.

It did not eat "humble pie;" it did not give him the full satisfaction of a complete apology; and yet it left no room for a further rejoinder. It had declared that no censure had been intended, and expressed sorrow that annoyance had been caused. But yet to the Doctor's thinking it was an unmanly letter. "Not intended as an admonition!" Then why had the Bishop written in that severely affectionate and episcopal style? He had intended it as an admonition, and the excuse was false. So thought the Doctor, and comprised all his criticism in the one epithet given above.

After that he put the letter away, and determined to think no more about it.

"Will you come in and see Mrs. Peac.o.c.ke after lunch?" the Doctor said to his wife the next morning. They paid their visit together; and after that, when the Doctor called on the lady, he was generally accompanied by Mrs. Wortle. So much had been effected by 'Everybody's Business,' and its abominations.

CHAPTER VI.

THE JOURNEY.

WE will now follow Mr. Peac.o.c.ke for a while upon his journey. He began his close connection with Robert Lefroy by paying the man's bill at the inn before he left Broughton, and after that found himself called upon to defray every trifle of expense incurred as they went along. Lefroy was very anxious to stay for a week in town. It would, no doubt, have been two weeks or a month had his companion given way;--but on this matter a line of conduct had been fixed by Mr. Peac.o.c.ke in conjunction with the Doctor from which he never departed. "If you will not be guided by me, I will go without you," Mr. Peac.o.c.ke had said, "and leave you to follow your own devices on your own resources."

"And what can you do by yourself?"

"Most probably I shall be able to learn all that I want to learn. It may be that I shall fail to learn anything either with you or without you. I am willing to make the attempt with you if you will come along at once;--but I will not be delayed for a single day. I shall go whether you go or stay." Then Lefroy had yielded, and had agreed to be put on board a German steamer starting from Southampton to New York.

But an hour or two before the steamer started he made a revelation. "This is all gammon, Peac.o.c.ke," he said, when on board.

"What is all gammon?"

"My taking you across to the States."

"Why is it gammon?"

"Because Ferdinand died more than a year since;--almost immediately after you took her off."

"Why did you not tell me that at Bowick?"

"Because you were so uncommon uncivil. Was it likely I should have told you that when you cut up so uncommon rough?"

"An honest man would have told me the very moment that he saw me."

"When one's poor brother has died, one does not blurt it like that all at once."

"Your poor brother!"

"Why not my poor brother as well as anybody else's? And her husband too!

How was I to let it out in that sort of way? At any rate he is dead as Julius Caesar. I saw him buried,--right away at 'Frisco."

"Did he go to San Francisco?"

"Yes,--we both went there right away from St. Louis. When we got up to St. Louis we were on our way with them other fellows. n.o.body meant to disturb you; but Ferdy got drunk, and would go and have a spree, as he called it."

"A spree, indeed!"

"But we were off by train to Kansas at five o'clock the next morning. The devil wouldn't keep him sober, and he died of D.T. the day after we got him to 'Frisco. So there's the truth of it, and you needn't go to New York at all. Hand me the dollars. I'll be off to the States; and you can go back and marry the widow,--or leave her alone, just as you please."

They were down below when this story was told, sitting on their portmanteaus in the little cabin in which they were to sleep. The prospect of the journey certainly had no attraction for Mr. Peac.o.c.ke. His companion was most distasteful to him; the s.h.i.+p was abominable; the expense was most severe. How glad would he avoid it all if it were possible! "You know it all as well as if you were there," said Robert, "and were standing on his grave." He did believe it. The man in all probability had at the last moment told the true story. Why not go back and be married again? The Doctor could be got to believe it.

But then if it were not true? It was only for a moment that he doubted.

"I must go to 'Frisco all the same," he said.

"Why so?"

"Because I must in truth stand upon his grave. I must have proof that he has been buried there."

"Then you may go by yourself," said Robert Lefroy. He had said this more than once or twice already, and had been made to change his tone. He could go or stay as he pleased, but no money would be paid to him until Peac.o.c.ke had in his possession positive proof of Ferdinand Lefroy's death.

So the two made their unpleasant journey to New York together. There was complaining on the way, even as to the amount of liquor that should be allowed. Peac.o.c.ke would pay for nothing that he did not himself order.

Lefroy had some small funds of his own, and was frequently drunk while on board. There were many troubles; but still they did at last reach New York.

Then there was a great question whether they would go on direct from thence to San Francisco, or delay themselves three or four days by going round by St. Louis. Lefroy was anxious to go to St. Louis,--and on that account Peac.o.c.ke was almost resolved to take tickets direct through for San Francisco. Why should Lefroy wish to go to St. Louis? But then, if the story were altogether false, some truth might be learned at St. Louis; and it was at last decided that thither they would go. As they went on from town to town, changing carriages first at one place and then at another, Lefroy's manner became worse and worse, and his language more and more threatening. Peac.o.c.ke was asked whether he thought a man was to be brought all that distance without being paid for his time. "You will be paid when you have performed your part of the bargain," said Peac.o.c.ke.

"I'll see some part of the money at St. Louis," said Lefroy, "or I'll know the reason why. A thousand dollars! What are a thousand dollars? Hand out the money." This was said as they were sitting together in a corner or separated portion of the smoking-room of a little hotel at which they were waiting for a steamer which was to take them down the Mississippi to St.

Louis. Peac.o.c.ke looked round and saw that they were alone.

"I shall hand out nothing till I see your brother's grave," said Peac.o.c.ke.

"You won't?"

"Not a dollar! What is the good of your going on like that? You ought to know me well enough by this time."

"But you do not know me well enough. You must have taken me for a very tame sort o' critter."

"Perhaps I have."

"Maybe you'll change your mind."

"Perhaps I shall. It is quite possible that you should murder me. But you will not get any money by that."

"Murder you. You ain't worth murdering." Then they sat in silence, waiting another hour and a half till the steamboat came. The reader will understand that it must have been a bad time for Mr. Peac.o.c.ke.