The Case of Richard Meynell by Mrs. Humphry Ward

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"Certainly I admit it." Barron drew himself erect, with a slight frown,
as though tacitly protesting against certain suggestions in Flaxman's
manner and voice. "But now let us look at another line of evidence. You
as a newcomer are probably quite unaware of the gossip there has always
been in this neighbourhood, ever since Sir Ralph Wilton's death, on the
subject of Sir Ralph's will. That will in a special paragraph committed
Hester Fox-Wilton to Richard Meynell's guardianship in remarkable terms;
no provision whatever was made for the girl under Sir Ralph's will, and
it is notorious that he treated her quite differently from his other
children. From the moment also of the French journey, Sir Ralph's
character and temper appeared to change. I have inquired of a good many
persons as to this; of course with absolute discretion. He was a man of
narrow Evangelical opinions"--at the word "narrow" Flaxman threw a
sudden glance at the speaker--"and of strict veracity. My belief is that
his later life was darkened by the falsehood to which he and his wife
committed themselves. Finally, let me ask you to look at the young lady
herself; at the extraordinary difference between her and her supposed
family; at her extraordinary likeness--to the Rector."

Flaxman raised his eyebrows at the last words, his aspect expressing
disbelief and disgust even more strongly than before. Barron glanced at
him, and then, after a moment, resumed in another manner, loftily
explanatory:

"I need not say that personally I find myself mixed up in such a business
with the utmost reluctance."

"Naturally," put in Flaxman dryly. "The risks attaching to it are simply
gigantic."

"I am aware of it. But as I have already pointed out to you, by some
strange means--connected I have no doubt with the woman, Judith Sabin,
though I cannot throw any light upon them--the story is no longer in my
exclusive possession, and how many people are already aware of it and may
be aware of it we cannot tell. I thought it well to come to you in the
first instance, because I know that--you have taken some part lately--in
Meynell's campaign."

"Ah!" thought Flaxman--"now we've come to it!"

Aloud he said:

"By which I suppose you mean that I am a subscriber to the Reform Fund,
and that I have become a personal friend of Meynell's? You are quite
right. Both my wife and I greatly like and respect the Rector." He laid
stress on the words.

"It was for that very reason--let me repeat--that I came to you. You have
influence with Meynell; and I want to persuade you, if I can, to use it."
The speaker paused a moment, looking steadily at Flaxman. "What I venture
to suggest is that you should inform him of the stories that are now
current. It is surely just that he should be informed. And then--we
have to consider the bearings of this report on the unhappy situation in
the diocese. How can we prevent its being made use of? It would be
impossible. You know what the feeling is--you know what people are. In
Meynell's own interest, and in that of the poor lady whose name is
involved with his in this scandal, would it not be desirable in every
way that he should now quietly withdraw from this parish and from
the public contest in which he is engaged? Any excuse would be
sufficient--health--overwork--anything. The scandal would then die out of
itself. There is not one of us--those on Meynell's side, or those against
him--who would not in such a case do his utmost to stamp it out. But--if
he persists--both in living here, and in exciting public opinion as he is
now doing--the story will certainly come out! Nothing can possibly stop
it."

Barron leant back and folded his arms. Flaxman's eyes sparkled. He felt
an insane desire to run the substantial gentleman sitting opposite to the
door and dismiss him with violence. But he restrained himself.

"I am greatly obliged to you for your belief in the power of my good
offices," he said, with a very frosty smile, "but I am afraid I must ask
to be excused. Of course if the matter became serious, legal action would
be taken very promptly."

"How can legal action be taken?" interrupted Barron roughly. "Whatever
may be the case with regard to Meynell and her identification of him,
Judith Sabin's story is true. Of that I am entirely convinced."

But he had hardly spoken before he felt that he had made a false step.
Flaxman's light blue eyes fixed him.

"The story with regard to Miss Puttenham?"

"Precisely."

"Then it comes to this: Supposing that woman's statement to be true,
the private history of a poor lady who has lived an unblemished life in
this village for many years is to be dragged to light--for what? In
order--excuse my plain speaking--to blackmail Richard Meynell, and to
force him to desist from the public campaign in which he is now engaged?
These are hardly measures likely, I think, to commend themselves to some
of your allies, Mr. Barron!"

Barron had sprung up in his chair.

"What my allies may or may not think is nothing to me. I am of course
guided by my own judgment and conscience. And I altogether protest
against the word you have just employed. I came to you, Mr. Flaxman, I
can honestly say, in the interests of peace!--in the interests of Meynell
himself."

"But you admit that there is really no evidence worthy of the name
connecting Meynell with the story at all!" said Flaxman, turning upon
him. "The crazy impression of a woman dying of brain disease--some gossip
about Sir Ralph's will--a likeness that many people have never perceived!
What does it amount to? Nothing!--nothing at all!--less than nothing!"

"I can only say that I disagree with you." The voice was that of a
rancorous obstinacy at last unveiled. "I believe that the woman's
identification was a just one--though I admit that the proof is
difficult. But then perhaps I approach the matter in one way, and you in
another. A man, Mr. Flaxman, in my belief, does not throw over the faith
of Christ for nothing! No! Such things are long prepared. Conscience, my
dear sir, conscience breaks down first. The man becomes a hypocrite in
his private life before he openly throws off the restraints of religion.
That is the sad sequence of events. I have watched it many times."

Flaxman had grown rather white. The man beside him seemed to him a kind
of monstrosity. He thought of Meynell, of the eager refinement, the clean
idealism, the visionary kindness of the man--and compared it with the
"muddy vesture," mental and physical, of Meynell's accuser.

Nevertheless, as he held himself in with difficulty he began to perceive
more plainly than he had yet done some of the intricacies of the
situation.

"I have nothing to do," he said, in a tone that he endeavoured to make
reasonably calm, "nor has anybody, with generalization of that kind, in a
case like this. The point is--could Meynell, being what he is, what we
all know him to be, have not only betrayed a young girl, but have then
failed to do her the elementary justice of marrying her? And the reply is
that the thing is incredible!"

"You forget that Meynell was extremely poor, and had his brothers to
educate--"

Flaxman shrugged his shoulders in laughing contempt.

"Meynell desert the mother of his child--because of poverty--because of
his brothers' education!--_Meynell_! You have known him some years--I
only for a few months. But go into the cottages here--talk to the
people--ask them, not what he believes, but what he _is_--what he has
been to them. Get one of them, if you can, to credit this absurdity!"

"The Rector's intimate friendship with Miss Puttenham has long been an
astonishment--sometimes a scandal--to the village!" exclaimed Barron,
doggedly.

Flaxman stared at him in a blank amazement, then flushed. He took a turn
up and down the room, after which he returned to the fireside, composed.
What was the use of arguing with such a disputant? He felt as though the
mere conversation were an insult to Meynell, in which he was forced to
participate.

He took a seat deliberately, and put on his magisterial manner, which,
however, was much more delicately and unassumingly authoritative than
that of other men.

"I think we had better clear up our ideas. You bring me a story--a
painful story--concerning a lady with whom we are both acquainted, which
may or may not be true. Whether it is true or not is no concern of ours.
Neither you nor I have anything to do with it, and legal penalties would
certainly follow the diffusion of it. You invite me to connect with it
the name of a man for whom I have the deepest respect and admiration; who
bears an absolutely stainless record; and you threaten to make use of the
charge in connection with the heresy trials now coming on. Now let me
give you my advice--for what it may be worth. I should say--as you have
asked my opinion--have nothing whatever to do with the matter! If anybody
else brings you anonymous letters, tell them something of the law of
libel--and something too of the guilt of slander! After all, with a
little good will, these are matters that are as easily quelled as raised.
A charge so preposterous has only to be firmly met to die away. It is
your influence, and not mine, which is important in this matter. You are
a permanent resident, and I a mere bird of passage. And"--Flaxman's
countenance kindled--"let me just remind you of this: if you want to
strengthen Meynell's cause--if you want to win him thousands of new
adherents--you have only to launch against him a calumny which is sure
to break down--and will inevitably recoil upon you!"

The two men had risen. Barron's face, handsome in feature, save for some
thickened lines and the florid tint of the cheeks, had somehow emptied
itself of expression while Flaxman was speaking.

"Your advice is no doubt excellent," he said quietly, as he buttoned his
coat, "but it is hardly practical. If there is one anonymous letter,
there are probably others. If there are letters--there is sure to be
talk--and talk cannot be stopped. And in time everything gets into the
newspapers."

Flaxman hesitated a moment. Something warned him not to push matters to
extremities--to make no breach with Barron--to keep him in play.

"I admit, of course, if this goes beyond a certain point it may be
necessary to go to Meynell--it may be necessary for Meynell to go to his
Bishop. But at present, if you _desire_ to suppress the thing, you have
only to keep your own counsel--and wait. Dawes is a good fellow, and
will, I am sure, say nothing. I could, if need be, speak to him myself. I
was able to get his boy into a job not long ago."

Barron straightened his shoulders slowly.

"Should I be doing right--should I be doing my duty--in assisting to
suppress it--always supposing that it could be suppressed--my convictions
being what they are?"

Then--suddenly--it was borne in on Flaxman that in the whole interview
there had been no genuine desire whatever on Barron's part for advice and
consultation. He had come determined on a certain course, and the object
of the visit had been, in truth, merely to convey to one of Meynell's
supporters a hint of the coming attack, and some intimation of its
strength. The visit had been in fact a threat--a move in Barron's game.

"That, of course, is a question which I cannot presume to decide," said
Flaxman, with cold politeness. His manner changed instantly. Peremptorily
dismissing the subject, he became, on the spot, the mere suave and
courteous host of an interesting house; he pointed out the pictures and
the view, and led the way to the hall.

As he took leave, Barron stiffly intimated that he should not himself be
able to attend Mrs. Flaxman's party that evening; but his daughter and
sons hoped to have the pleasure of obeying her invitation.

"Delighted to see them," said Flaxman, standing in the doorway, with his
hands in his pockets. "Do you know Edward Norham?"

"I have never met him."

"A splendid fellow--likely I think to be the head of the Ministry before
the year's out. My wife was determined to bring him and Meynell together.
He seems to have the traditional interest in theology without which no
English premier is complete."

Pursued by this parting shot, Barron retired, and Flaxman went back
thoughtfully to his wife's sitting-room. Should he tell her? Certainly.
Her ready wits and quick brain were indispensable in the battle that
might be coming. Now that he was relieved from Barron's bodily presence,
he was by no means inclined to pooh-pooh the communication which had been
made to him.

As he approached his wife's door he heard voices. Catharine! He
remembered that she was to lunch and spend the day with Rose. Now what to
do! Devoted as he was to his sister-in-law, he was scarcely inclined to
trust her with the incident of the morning.

But as soon as he opened the door, Rose ran upon him, drew him in and
closed it. Catharine was sitting on the sofa--with a pale, kindled
look--a letter in her hand.

"Catharine has had an abominable letter, Hugh!--the most scandalous
thing!"

Flaxman took it from Catharine's hand, looked it through, and turned it
over. The same script, a little differently disguised, and practically
the same letter, as that which had been shown him in the library! But it
began with a reference to the part which Mrs. Elsmere and her daughter
had played in the terrible accident of the preceding week, which showed
that the rogue responsible for it was at least a rogue possessed of some
local and personal information.

Flaxman laid it down, and looked at his sister-in-law.

"Well?"

Catharine met his eyes with the clear intensity of her own.

"Isn't it hard to understand how anybody can do such a thing as that?"
she said, with her patient sigh--the sigh of an angel grieving over the
perversity of men.

Flaxman dropped on the sofa beside her.

"You feel with me, that it is a mere clumsy attempt to injure Meynell, in
the interests of the campaign against him?" he asked her, eagerly.

"I don't know about that," said Catharine slowly--a shining sadness in
her look. "But I do know that it could only injure those who are trying
to fight his errors--if it could be supposed that they had stooped to
such weapons!"

"You dear woman!" cried Flaxman, impulsively, and he raised her hand to
his lips. Catharine and Rose looked their astonishment. Whereupon he gave
them the history of the hour he had just passed through.

CHAPTER XII

But although what one may call the natural freemasonry of the children of
light had come in to protect Catharine from any touch of that greedy
credulity which had fastened on Barron; though she and Rose and Hugh
Flaxman were at one in their contemptuous repudiation of Barron's reading
of the story, the story itself, so far as it concerned Alice Puttenham
and Hester, found in all their minds but little resistance.

"It may--it may be true," said Catharine gently. "If so--what she has
gone through! Poor, poor thing!"

And as she spoke--her thin fingers clasped on her black dress, the
nun-like veil falling about her shoulders, her aspect had the frank
simplicity of those who for their Lord's sake have faced the ugly things
of life.

"What a shame--what an outrage--that any of us here should know a word
about it!" cried Rose, her small foot beating on the floor, the hot
colour in her cheek. "How shall we ever be able to face her to-night?"

Flaxman started.

"Miss Puttenham is coming to-night?"

"Certainly. She comes with Mary--who was to pick her up--after dinner."

Flaxman patrolled the room a little, in meditation. Finally he stopped
before his wife.

"You must realize, darling, that we may be all walking on the edge of a
volcano to-night."

"If only Henry Barron were!--and I might be behind to give the last
little _chiquenade_!" cried Rose.

Flaxman devoutly echoed the wish.

"But the point is--are there any more of these letters out? If so, we may
hear of others to-night. Then--what to do? Do I make straight for
Meynell?"

They pondered it.

"Impossible to leave Meynell in ignorance," said Flaxman--"if the thing
spreads Meynell of course would be perfectly justified--in his ward's
interests--in denying the whole matter absolutely, true or no. But can
he?--with Barron in reserve--using the Sabin woman's tale for his own
purposes?"

Catharine's face, a little sternly set, showed the obscure conflict
behind.

"He cannot say what is false," she said stiffly. "But he can refuse to
answer."

Flaxman looked at her with an expression as confident as her own.

"To protect a woman, my dear Catharine--a man may say anything in the
world--almost."

Catharine made no reply, but her quiet face showed she did not agree with
him.

"That child Hester!" Rose emerged suddenly from a mental voyage
of recollection and conjecture. "Now one understands why Lady
Fox-Wilton--stupid woman!--has never seemed to care a rap for her. It
must indeed be annoying to have to mother a child so much handsomer than
your own."

"I think I am very sorry for Sir Ralph Fox-Wilton," said Catharine, after
a moment.

Rose assented.

"Yes!--just an ordinary dull, pig-headed country gentleman confronted
with a situation that only occurs in plays to which you don't demean
yourself by going!--and obliged to tell and act a string of lies, when
lies happen to be just one of the vices you're not inclined to! And then
afterward you find yourself let in for living years and years with a bad
conscience--hating the cuckoo-child, too, more and more as it grows up.
Yes!--I am quite sorry for Sir Ralph!"

"By the way!"--Flaxman looked up--"Do you know I am sure that I saw
Miss Fox-Wilton--with Philip Meryon--in Hewlett's spinney this morning. I
came back from Markborough by a path I had never discovered before--and
there, sure enough, they were. They heard me on the path, I think, and
vanished most effectively. The wood is very thick. But I am sure it was
they--though they were some distance from me."

Rose exclaimed.

"Naughty, _naughty_ child: She has been absolutely forbidden to see
him, the whole Fox-Wilton family have made themselves into gaolers and
spies--and she just outwits them all! Poor Alice Puttenham hovers about
her--trying to distract and amuse her--and has no more influence than a
fly. And as for the Rector, it would be absurd, if it weren't enraging!
Look at all there is on his shoulders just now--the way people appeal to
him from all over England to come and speak--or consult--or organize--(I
don't want to be controversial, Catharine, darling!--but there it is).
And he can't make up his mind to leave Upcote for twenty-four hours till
this girl is safely off the scene! He means to take her to Paris himself
on Monday. I only hope he has found a proper sort of Gorgon to leave her
with!"

Flaxman could not but reflect that the whole relation of Meynell to his
ward might well give openings to such a scoundrel like the writer of the
anonymous letters, who was certainly acquainted with local affairs. But
he did not express this feeling aloud. Meanwhile Catharine, who showed an
interest in Hester which surprised both him and Rose, began to question
him on the subject of Philip Meryon. Meryon's mother, it seemed, had been
an intimate friend of one of Flaxman's sisters, Lady Helen Varley, and
Flaxman was well acquainted with the young man's most unsatisfactory
record. He drew a picture of the gradual degeneracy of the handsome lad
who had been the hope and delight of his warm-hearted, excitable mother;
of her deepening disappointment and premature death.

"Helen kept up with him for a time, for his mother's sake, but unluckily
he has put himself beyond the pale now, one way and another. It is too
disastrous about this pretty child! What on earth does she see in him?"

"Simply a means of escaping from her home," said Rose--"the situation
working out! But who knows whether he hasn't got a wife already? Nobody
should trust this young man farther than they can see him."

"It musn't--it can't be allowed!" said Catharine, with energy. And, as
she spoke, she seemed to feel again the soft bloom of Hester's young
cheek against her own, just as when she had drawn the girl to her, in
that instinctive caress. The deep maternity in Catharine had never yet
found scope enough in the love of one child.

Then, with a still keener sense of the various difficulties rising along
Meynell's path, Flaxman and Rose returned to the anxious discussion of
Barron's move and how to meet it. Catharine listened, saying little; and
it was presently settled that Flaxman should himself call on Dawes, the
colliery manager, that afternoon, and should write strongly to Barron,
putting on paper the overwhelming arguments, both practical and ethical,
in favour of silence--always supposing there were no further
developments.

"Tell me"--said Rose presently, when Flaxman had left the sisters
alone--"Mary of course knows nothing of that letter?"

Catharine flushed.

"How could she?" She looked almost haughtily at her sister.

Rose murmured an excuse. "Would it be possible to keep all knowledge from
Mary that there _was_ a scandal--of some sort--in circulation, if the
thing developed?"

Catharine, holding her head high, thought it would not only be possible,
but imperative.

Rose glanced at her uncertainly. Catharine was the only person of whom
she had ever been afraid. But at last she took the plunge.

"Catharine!--don't be angry with me--but I think Mary is interested in
Richard Meynell."

"Why should I be angry?" said Catharine. She had coloured a little, but
she was perfectly composed. With her gray hair, and her plain widow's
dress, she threw her sister's charming mondanity into bright relief. But
beauty--loftily understood--lay with Catharine.

"It _is_ ill luck--his opinions!" cried Rose, laying her hand upon her
sister's.

"Opinions are not 'luck,'" said Catharine, with a rather cold smile.

"You mean we are responsible for them? Perhaps we are, if we are
responsible for anything--which I sometimes doubt. But you like
him--personally?" The tone was almost pleading.

"I think he is a good man."

"And if--if--they do fall in love--what are we all to do?"

Rose looked half whimsically--half entreatingly at her sister.

"Wait till the case arises," said Catharine, rather sharply. "And please
don't interfere. You are too fond of match-making, Rose!"

"I am--I just ache to be at it, all the time. But I wouldn't do anything
that would be a grief to you."

Catharine was silent a moment. Then she said in a tone that went to the
listener's heart:

"Whatever happened--will be God's will."

She sat motionless, her eyes drooped, her features a little drawn and
pale; her thoughts--Rose knew it--in the past.

* * * * *

Flaxman came back from his interview with Dawes, reporting that nothing
could have been in better taste or feeling than Dawes's view of the
matter. As far as the Rector was concerned--and he had told Mr. Barron
so--the story was ridiculous, the mere blunder of a crazy woman; and, for
the rest, what had they to do in Upcote with ferreting into other
people's private affairs? He had locked up the letter in case it might
some time be necessary to hand it to the police, and didn't intend
himself to say a word to anybody. If the thing went any further, why of
course the Rector must be informed. Otherwise silence was best. He had
given a piece of his mind to Mr. Barron and "didn't want to be mixed up
in any such business." "As far as I'm concerned, Mr. Flaxman, I'm
fighting for the Church and her Creeds--I'm not out for backbiting!"

"Nice man!"--said Rose, with enthusiasm--"Why didn't I ask him to-night!"

"But"--resumed Flaxman--"he warned me that if any letter of the kind got
into the hands of a certain Miss Nairn in the village there might be
trouble."

"Miss Nairn?--Miss Nairn?" The sisters looked at each other. "Oh, I
know--the lady in black we saw in church the day the revolution began--a
strange little shrivelled spinster-thing who lives in that house by the
post-office. She quarrelled mortally with the Rector last year, because
she ill-treated a little servant girl of hers, and the Rector
remonstrated."

"Well, she's one of the 'aggrieved.'"

"They seem to be an odd crew! There's the old sea-captain that lives in
that queer house with the single yew tree and the boarded-up window on
the edge of the Heath. He's one of them. He used to come to church about
once a quarter and wrote the Rector interminable letters on the meaning
of Ezekiel. Then there's the publican--East--who nearly lost his license
last year--he always put it down to the Rector and vowed he'd be even
with him. I must say, the church in Upcote seems rather put to it for
defenders!"

"In Upcote," corrected Flaxman. "That's because of Meynell's personal
hold. Plenty of 'em--quite immaculate--elsewhere. However, Dawes is a
perfectly decent, honest man, and grieved to the heart by the Rector's
performances."

Catharine had waited silently to hear this remark, and then went away to
write a letter.

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