Chapter 132
Not gratuitously by fate, thought Mr. Ashley. Its own misdoings have brought the evil upon it. "Where is Cyril?" he asked aloud. "He ought to bestir himself to help you, now."
"Cyril!" echoed Mrs. Dare, a bitter scowl rising to her face. "_He_ help us! You know what Cyril is."
As they went out, they met Cyril. What a contrast the two cousins presented, side by side!--he and William might be called such. The one--fine, n.o.ble, intellectual; his countenance setting forth its own truth, candour, honour; making the best in his walk of life, of the talents entrusted to him by G.o.d. The other--slouching, untidy, all but ragged; his offensive doings too plainly shown in his bloated face, his inflamed eyes: letting his talents and his days run to worse than waste; a burden to himself and to those around him. And yet, in their boyhood days, how great had been Cyril's advantages over William Halliburton's!
They walked away arm-in-arm, William and Mr. Ashley. A short visit to the manufactory in pa.s.sing, and then they continued their way home, taking it purposely through Honey Fair.
Honey Fair! Could _that_ be Honey Fair? Honey Fair used to be an unsightly, inodorous place, where mud, garbage, and children ran riot together: a species, in short, of capacious pigsty. But look at it now.
The paths are well kept, the road is clean and cared for. Her Majesty's state coach-and-eight might drive down it, and the horses would not have to tread gingerly. The houses are the same; small and large bear evidence of care, of thrift, of a respectable cla.s.s of inmates. The windows are no longer stuffed with rags, or the palings broken. And that little essay--the a.s.sembling at Robert East's, and William Halliburton--had led to the change.
Men and women had been awakened to self-respect; to the duty of striving to live well and to do well; to the solemn thought that there is another world after this, where their works, good or bad, would follow them.
They had learned to reflect that it _might_ be possible that one phase of a lost soul's punishment after death, will lie in remembering the duties it ought to have performed in life. They knew, without any effort of reflection, that it is a remembrance which makes the sting of many a death-bed. Formerly, Honey Fair had believed (those who had thought about it) that their duties in this world and any duties which lay in preparing for the next, were as wide apart as the two poles. Of that they had now learned the fallacy. Honey Fair had grown serene. Children were taken out of the streets to be sent to school; the Messrs. Bankes had been discarded, for the women had grown wiser; and, for all the custom the "Horned Ram" obtained from Honey Fair, it might have shut itself up. In short, Honey Fair had been awakened, speaking from a moderate point of view, to enlightenment; to the social improvements of an advancing and a thinking age.
This was a grand day with Honey Fair, as Mr. Ashley and William knew, when they turned to walk through it. Mr. Ashley had purchased that building you have heard of, for a comparative trifle, and made Honey Fair a present of it. It was very useful. It did for their schools, their night meetings, their provident clubs; and to-night a treat was to be held in it. The men expected that Mr. Ashley would look in, and Henry Ashley had sent round his chemical apparatus to give them some experiments, and had bought a great magic-lantern. The place was now called the "Ashley Inst.i.tute." Some thought--Mr. Ashley for one--that the "Halliburton Inst.i.tute" would have been more consonant with fact; but William had resolutely withstood it. The piece of waste land behind it had been converted into a sort of playground and garden. The children were not watched in it incessantly, and screamed at:--"You'll destroy those flowers!" "You'll break that window!" "You are tearing up the shrubs!" No: they were made to understand that they were _trusted_ not to do these things; and they took the trust to themselves, and were proud of it. You may train a child to this, if you will.
As they pa.s.sed the house of Charlotte East, she was turning in at her garden gate; and, standing at the window, dandling a baby, was Caroline Mason. Caroline was servant to Charlotte now, and that was Charlotte's baby; for Charlotte was no longer Charlotte East, but Mrs. Thorneycroft.
She curtsied as they came up.
"Good afternoon, gentlemen. I have been round to the rooms to show them how to arrange the evergreens. I hope they will have a pleasant evening!"
"They!" echoed Mr. Ashley. "Are you not coming yourself?"
"I think not, sir. Adam and Robert will be there, of course; but I can't well leave baby!"
"Nonsense, Charlotte!" exclaimed William. "What harm will happen to the baby? Are you afraid of its running away?"
"Ah, sir, you don't understand babies yet."
"That has to come," laughed Mr. Ashley.
"I understand enough about babies to p.r.o.nounce that one a most exacting infant, if you can't leave it for an hour
"You must come, Charlotte. My wife intends to be there."
"Well, sir,--I know I should like it. Perhaps I can manage to run round for an hour, leaving Caroline to listen."
"How does Caroline go on?" inquired Mr. Ashley.
"Sir, never a better young woman went into a house. That was a dreadful lesson to her, and it has taught her what nothing else could. I believe that Honey Fair will respect her in time."
"My opinion is, that Honey Fair would not be going far out of its way to respect her now," remarked William. "Once a false step is taken, it is very much the fas.h.i.+on to go tripping over others. Caroline, on the contrary, has been using all her poor endeavours ever since to retrieve that first mistake."
"I could not wish for a better servant," said Charlotte. "Of course, I could not keep a servant for housework alone, and Caroline nearly earns her food helping me at the gloves. I am pleased, and she is grateful.
Yes, sir, it is as you say--Honey Fair ought to respect her. It will come in time."
"As most good things come, that are striven for in the right way,"
remarked Mr. Ashley.
CHAPTER XXV.
a.s.sIZE TIME.
Once more, in this, the almost concluding chapter of the history, are we obliged to take notice of a.s.size Sat.u.r.day. Once more had the high sheriff's procession gone out to receive the judges; and never had the cathedral bells rung out more clearly, or the streets and windows been so thronged.
A blast, shrill and loud, from the advancing heralds, was borne on the air of the bright March afternoon, as the cavalcade advanced up East Street. The javelin-men rode next, two abreast, in the plain dark Ashley livery, the points of their javelins glittering in the suns.h.i.+ne, scarcely able to advance for the crowd. A feverish crowd. Little cared they to-day for the proud trumpets, the javelin-bearers, the various attractions that made their delight on other of those days; they cared only for that stately equipage in the rear. Not for its four prancing horses, its silver ornaments, its portly coachman on the hammer-cloth; not even for the very judges themselves; but for the master of that carriage, the high sheriff, Thomas Ashley.
He sat in it, its only plainly attired inmate. The scarlet robes, the flowing wigs of the judges, were opposite to him; beside him were the rich black silk robes of his chaplain, the vicar of Deoffam. A crowd of gentlemen on horseback followed--a crowd Helstonleigh had rarely seen.
William was one of them. The popularity of a high sheriff may be judged by the number of his attendants, when he goes out to meet the judges.
Half Helstonleigh had placed itself on horseback that day, to do honour to Thomas Ashley.
Occupying a conspicuous position in the street were the Ashley workmen.
Clean and shaved, they had surrept.i.tiously conveyed their best coats to the manufactory; and, with the first peal of the college bells, had rushed out, dressed--every soul--leaving the manufactory alone in its glory, and Samuel Lynn to take care of it. The shout they raised, as the sheriff's carriage drew near, deafened the street. It was out of all manner of etiquette or precedence to cheer the sheriff when in attendance on the judges; but who could be angry with them? Not Mr.
Ashley. Their lords.h.i.+ps looked out astonished. One of the judges you have met before--Sir William Leader; the other was Mr. Justice Keene.
The judges gazed from the carriage, wondering what the shouts could mean. They saw a respectable-looking body of men--not respectable in dress only, but in face--gathered there, bareheaded, and cheering the carriage with all their might and main.
"What can that be for?" cried Mr. Justice Keene.
"I believe it must be meant for me," observed Mr. Ashley, taken by surprise as much as the judges were. "Foolish fellows! Your lords.h.i.+ps must understand that they are the workmen belonging to my manufactory."
But his eyes were dim, as he leaned forward and acknowledged the greeting. Such a shout followed upon it! The judges, used to shouting as they were, had rarely heard the like, so deep and heartfelt was it.
"There's genuine good-feeling in that cheer," said Sir William Leader.
"I like to hear it. It is more than lip deep."
The dinner party for the judges that night was given at the deanery. Not a more honoured guest had it than the high sheriff. His chaplain was with him, and William and Frank were also guests. What did the Dares think of the Halliburtons now?
The Dares, just then, were too much occupied with their own concerns to think of them at all. They were planning how to get out to Australia.
Their daughter Julia, more dutiful than some daughters might prove themselves, had offered an asylum to her father and mother, if they would go out to Sydney. Her sisters, she wrote word, would find good situations there as governesses--probably in time find husbands.
They were wild to go. They wanted to get away from mortifying Helstonleigh, and to try their fortunes in a new world. The pa.s.sage money was the difficulty. Julia had not sent it, possibly not supposing they were so very badly off; she did not know yet of the last touch to their misfortunes. How could they sc.r.a.pe together even enough for a steerage pa.s.sage? Mr. Ashley's private opinion was that he should have to furnish it. Ah! he was a good man. Never a better, never a more considerate to others than Thomas Ashley.
Sunday morning rose to the ringing again of the cathedral bells--bells that do not condescend to ring except on rare occasions--telling that it was some day of note in Helstonleigh. It was a fine day, sunny, and very warm for March, and the glittering east window reflected its colours upon a crowd such as the cathedral had rarely seen a.s.sembled within its walls for divine service, even on those thronging days, a.s.size Sundays.
The procession extended nearly the whole way from the grand entrance gates to the choir, pa.s.sing through the body and the nave. The high sheriff's men, standing so still, their formidable javelins in rest, had enough to do to retain their places, from the pressure of the crowd, as they kept the line of way. The bishop in his robes, the clergy in their white garments and scarlet or black hoods, the long line of college boys in their surplices, the lay-clerks, yet in white. Not (as you were told of yesterday) on them; not on the mayor and corporation, with their chains and gowns; not on the grey-wigged judges, their fiery trains held up behind, glaring cynosure of eyes on other days, was the attention of that crowd fixed; but on him who walked, calm, dignified, quiet, in immediate attendance on the judges--their revered fellow-citizen, Thomas Ashley. In attendance on _him_ was his chaplain, his black gown, so contrasting with the glare and glitter, marking him out conspicuously.
The organ had burst forth as they entered the great gates, simultaneously with the ceasing of the bells which had been sending their melody over the city. With some difficulty, places were found for those of note; but many a score stood that day. The bishop had gone on to his throne; and opposite to him, in the archdeacon's stall, the appointed place for the preacher on a.s.size Sundays, sat the sheriff's chaplain. Sir William Leader was shown to the dean's stall; Mr. Justice Keene to the sub-dean's; the dean sitting next the one, the high sheriff next the other. William Halliburton was in a canon's stall; Frank--handsome Frank!--found a place amidst many other barristers. And in the ladies' pew, underneath the dean, seated with the dean's wife, were Mrs. Ashley, her daughter, and Mrs. Halliburton.
The Reverend Mr. Keating chanted the service, putting his best voice into it. They gave that fine anthem, "Behold, G.o.d is my salvation." Very good were the services and the singing that day. The dean, the prebendary in residence, and Mr. Keating went to the communion-table for the commandments, and thus the service drew to an end. As they were conducted back to their stall, a verger with his silver mace cleared a s.p.a.ce for the sheriff's chaplain to ascend the pulpit stairs, the preacher of the day.
How the college boys gazed at him! Only a short time before (comparatively speaking) he had been one of them, a college boy himself; some of the seniors (juniors then) had been school-fellows with him. Now he was the Reverend Edgar Halliburton, chief personage for the moment in that cathedral. To the boys' eyes he seemed to look dark; except on a.s.size Sundays, they were accustomed to see only white robes in that pulpit.
"Too young to give us a good sermon," thought half the congregation, as they scanned him. Nevertheless, they liked his countenance; its grave earnest look. He gave out his text, a verse from Ecclesiastes: