Mr. Spivey's Clerk/Chapter 7

The supper-party at our house was a very grand affair indeed, for Miss Julia put her heart and soul into it and served up a banquet fit for the gods. I have always thought that if Julia Christmas had a weakness it was in the housekeeping way. She liked to see spotless linen, and bright glass and silver, and flowers, and plenty of light, for all of which things she would I doubt not have easily found Scriptural authority if required. When she heard that her father's old pupil was coming to visit us, she immediately commenced preparations, and got out all the best silver, together with many other wonderful things; so that Tom and I, when the ​eventful evening came, were quite surprised, and mentally wondered if we were not dreaming.

It is really wonderful how indulgent women of the Julia Christmas type are to men like Lestrange. She knew all about his freaks; she knew that he was what is called "wild;" she remembered that he was a graceless lad and likely to develop into a graceless man; she must have known from his novel—which she read, because he had written it—that his record was a not over cleanly one; and yet, in spite of all, she killed the fatted calf for him, and proposed to make exceeding merry over his coming. Nay, more, she who was usually so plainly attired, came downstairs that night in purple satin, looking a new woman. She had a fine, well-developed figure, and a commanding presence, and in her fine gown looked more like a duchess than a member of Mr. Dumbury's congregation. She had also caused her mother to array herself in a very fine silk dress, which ​rustled exceedingly, and she had made the old lady a new cap, so that Mrs. Christmas sat in her easy-chair, and marvelled at her own finery. Indeed, her gala attire gave reins to her imagination, and she told me and Maggie Primrose many long and very particular stories about bygone days.

Maggie, too, looked at her best that night. I cannot remember how she was dressed; but I know that she and Julia Christmas made an agreeable contrast and showed each other off. The one was a strong, self-possessed woman, whose will no earthly power could bend or break; the other a pretty, childish girl, whose will could be swayed in any direction, if one did but set about the work in the right way.

It was nine o'clock when Lestrange arrived. He was in evening dress, and looked taller and handsomer than when I had seen him previously. He shook hands reverently with Mrs. Christmas, making some appropriate allusion to ​the last time he had seen her; greeted Julia with the hearty good-will which young men so often show to a good-looking woman who is a few years their senior; bowed in the most courtly fashion before Maggie, and congratulated her in brief, well-chosen terms; and was good enough to shake hands with me. His well-bred air and good looks carried him into everybody's favour; his exquisite tact put us all at home with him in five minutes. He addressed Miss Christmas as "Julia," and bade her remember that when he last saw her she had been accustomed to call him "Frank," a reminiscence which pleased Miss Julia immensely, and brought a blush to her round cheek.

We were all very merry during the meal. Everybody was in good spirits, and everybody talked. Lestrange and Tom Christmas were full of old Oxford memories, and the one spurred the other on, though neither of them needed much prompting, for Lestrange was a ready ​talker, and Tom, once set going, was the longest-winded man I ever knew. I don't think I talked much, for I was very hungry, and few men can talk and eat. But I kept my ears and eyes open, and I saw that Lestrange often glanced at Maggie Primrose, and that Maggie's round eyes were often turned on him.

After supper we all sat round the fire, and were very comfortable. Often nowadays, closing my eyes, I can see the little circle again. Mrs. Christmas sat in her arm-chair, I sat next her, and Lestrange sat in an easy-chair next me; then came Julia at his right hand, and Tom Christmas sat at the opposite side of the hearth, with Maggie Primrose, on a low seat, between him and the fire. It was all very nice and very comfortable, and Miss Julia actually informed us that we might smoke, and never coughed once.

And then some one, Tom, I think, induced Lestrange to tell us something of his travels. ​He was reticent at first, but when Julia also prompted him to give an account of himself, he hastened to comply. And, having asked our permission, he turned down the lights, saying that the firelight was so much more fitting to the telling of stories, and so there we sat, with the shadows dancing about the room and Lestrange talking.

I don't think I have ever heard a man speak who had such a beautiful voice as he had. Every note was a pleasure to listen to, every tone was modulated to a nicety. His voice sank and fell as he talked, and made a stream of melody. And yet all was unconscious, all without effort. I don't think he knew that he had such a good voice; if he did, he never betrayed the knowledge in the slightest degree.

He had seen a great deal, and was able to tell us of some wonderful sights and adventures. He had been with an exploring party to the ​North Cape, and with a noted traveller through Africa. He had lived all alone for six months in North-West America, and had penetrated a long way into the interior of Australia. He had helped to dig for ancient Greek remains in the Morea, and had found traces of long-lost nations in South America. He had been shipwrecked in the Atlantic, and becalmed in the Pacific. He had, in fact, though in a much more extensive fashion than the poet imagined, surveyed mankind from China to Peru.

I am bound to say, in fairness to him, that Lestrange left himself out of his narrative at much as possible. There was no dragging of his own name and deeds into the exciting adventures he told of; nay, it might have been of some one else's travels that he was speaking, so little did we hear of himself in direct fashion. And yet somehow his every word seemed to bring him more vividly before our eyes as the hero of his story. We sat spell-bound while he ​talked, and I think none of us had even a desire to interrupt him by a question.

Once, catching a glimpse of Maggie Primrose's face as the firelight danced up, I saw that she was watching Lestrange, her eyes fixed upon him with an expression which I had never seen there before. An uneasy feeling broke over me when I saw that, and I began to wish that Tom's friend was not so brilliant. Othello the Black could win a Christian maiden from her father; might not this modern knight cause the modern maiden to waver in her allegiance to the poor squire who could tell of nothing but hard work?

It was past midnight when Lestrange went away. I walked with him to the nearest cab-stand. Out of the house his mood changed, and he began to talk about the change in Tom Christmas's fortunes.

"What a life!" he said. "To serve a fellow ​like Spivey, a man who throws his h's about like pepper, and was probably taught to read in a Board School! And now all the spirit seems to have gone from him."

"From whom?"

"From Tom Christmas. He used to be full of spirit; and now he looks broken down and worn."

"And yet he is happy."

He gave me a glance out of his dark eyes.

"Happy? There are so many sorts of happiness. The slave is happy, I suppose, in knowing that his meals and clothes are provided for."

"Tom Christmas is happy in being content."

"Content? Now of all the damnable cant in this world, that of content is the very worst! A man never should be content. Of course it is in the catechisms; and Julia Christmas would tell us that it is our first duty to be content with the state to which we have been called. ​Luckily, Mr. Tempest, this world's law is not contentment but progress, otherwise we should all be dirty savages, eating each other, and little better than the apes and gorillas."

I knew he was so far right there that I said nothing in answer. Presently he began to speak of Julia Christmas.

"A fine woman," he said. "And a clever woman. A bigot, of course. She always will be a bigot. But she will do well. In the Middle Ages she would have been either Lucrezia Borgia or St. Teresa. I should have preferred her as Lucrezia. Adversity, I think, has destroyed Tom's spirit, but Julia has a lot in reserve. I suppose it is conservation of energy."

He got into a cab, ordered the man to drive to a well-known club and went away, and I walked home, feeling somehow ill at ease. In the square I overtook Tom Christmas, who had been conducting Maggie to Mrs. Migson's.

​"What a grand fellow he is, Len, and what a splendid talker!" said honest Tom. "I could have sat and listened to him all night. Did you ever hear any one who could talk as he can?"

"No," I answered, for I never had.

"It was most curious to notice the effect his story had on Maggie," continued Tom. "As we sat in the firelight I had my hand on hers, and sometimes the pulse beat quite quickly and sometimes it went slowly. You remember him telling us of that thrilling adventure with a lion in Africa? When he came to the critical moment Maggie's pulse all but stopped; when the danger was over it began to beat furiously. She told me afterwards that she could almost see the whole scene."

"Your friend Lestrange's powers of conversation are very brilliant, Tom—and very dangerous."

"Yes," he said, as if he had hardly heard me. And we began to talk of something else.

Before leaving us, Lestrange had asked us ⟨all⟩ ​to go and dine with him at his chambers on the following Saturday evening. He had selected that day because Tom and I were able to leave the City earlier on Saturdays than on other days. He had asked a lady friend, he said, to play the part of hostess, and he should take no refusal from any of us. And we all promised to go, Julia, however, making an express stipulation that we should be allowed to depart not later than eleven o'clock.

It was a very grand entertainment which Lestrange gave us that Saturday evening. He occupied a suite of very fine rooms in Jermyn Street, and one room seemed to have been fitted up as a drawing-room for the occasion. Here, on various stands and tables, were arranged a large collection of objects which Lestrange had brought together during his five years of travel. For an hour before dinner he showed us these, exhibiting things which we had often heard and read of, but never seen, and making his descriptions so real ​and graphic that we felt as though we were living in some enchanted palace.

Lestrange's rooms, indeed, seemed more like a fairy scene from the Arabian Nights than a set of apartments in prosaic London. There was no hideous glare of gas; everything was lighted by coloured lamps. He had prepared a retiring-room for the ladies, and I caught a glimpse of its magnificent appointments, bathed in a rose-tinted light, as we passed the open door. The dining-room seemed to glow with light, and the table was a glittering mass of silver. Flowers of the most expensive varieties were everywhere. Three men-servants, evidently highly-trained in their calling, waited upon us. Tom Christmas whispered to me that Lestrange had been getting up an extra swell affair in honour of the ladies.

It was seven o'clock when we went to dinner and nearly nine when the ladies left us. We followed them within a few minutes, and very soon Tom Christmas, who had an insatiable ​thirst for knowledge, asked Lestrange to give us some further particulars of his adventures. And Maggie Primrose seconded the request with a glance from her brown eyes.

"Are you not tired of my adventures?" he said. "Come, I will show you something better worth seeing than my stories are worth hearing—something that will interest the ladies; though you, Julia, I fear, will tell me that I am paying you a doubtful compliment in saying so."

"Whatever it is, let us see it, Frank," said Julia Christmas. "On you be the blame if we are tempted."

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.