Part 9 (1/2)

As she finally turned into the vicarage, she cast one look back at the church. It rose among the houses high into the air. The sunset fired the wet tiles of the roof and gilded the cross upon the lantern. She thought of That which was within.

CHAPTER V

WEALTHY MISS PRITCHETT AND POOR GUSSIE DAVIES ENTER THE VICARAGE GARDEN

”Todgers,” Mr. Stephens remarked to Lucy, as they went down into the garden after lunch on Sat.u.r.day, ”could do it when it chose.”

The last preparations for the garden party were being made. The big marquee was erected, the tennis lawns were newly marked, there was a small stand for the string band.

Waiters, looking oddly out of their element in the brilliant suns.h.i.+ne, which showed dress-coats, serviceable enough at night, tinged with a metallic green like a magpie's wing, were moving about with baskets of strawberries and zinc boxes of ice.

The old-fas.h.i.+oned garden, an oasis in the wilderness of brick all around, was brilliant with sunflowers, stocks, and geraniums; the lawns were fresh and green. The curate was in tennis flannels and an Oxford blazer, and Lucy meditated upon the influence of clothes, as her betters had done before her. Stephens seemed to have put off his priesthood with his tippet and ca.s.sock, and the jaunty cap covered a head which seemed as if it had never worn a berretta. Lucy found, to her own surprise, that she liked the man less so. It was a total inversion of her ordinary ideas. She began to think that a priest should be robed always.

Miss Ca.s.s, the housekeeper, in a new cap, came up to them. Lucy had talked to the woman for more than an hour on Friday afternoon, and the prejudice caused by her appearance was removed.

”I hope everything is satisfactory, Miss,” she said. ”It all seems to be going on well. The men from Whiteley's know their business.”

”It all seems splendid, Miss Ca.s.s,” Lucy said. ”I'm sure it couldn't be better. Have the band people come?”

”Yes, Miss, and the piano-entertainer too. They're having some refreshment in the library. His Reverence is telling them funny stories, Miss.”

She hurried away to superintend further arrangements.

”The vicar is always so fine,” the young man said, with a delighted enthusiasm in his chief that was always pleasant for Lucy to hear. ”He gets on with men so well; such a lot of parsons don't. There's nothing effeminate about the vicar. He's a man's man. I'll bet every one of those fellows in there will go away feeling they've made a friend, and that parsons aren't such scalawags after all.”

A burst of laughter came from the door leading into the garden, as if to confirm his words, and Father Blantyre descended the steps with a little knot of men dressed in something between livery and uniform, carrying oddly shaped cases of black waterproof in their hands.

Laughing and joking, the men made their way towards the music stands.

The vicar came up to Lucy. ”How will it do?” he said. ”It seems all right. Just walk round with me, my dear, and I'll give ye a few tips how to play hostess in Hornham.”

They strolled away together. ”Now, ye'll be careful, won't ye, mavourneen?” he said rather anxiously. ”The folk coming this afternoon require more management and tact than any I've ever met. They'll all have what they think is the high society manner--and ye mustn't laugh at um, poor dears. I love 'em all, and I won't have you making fun of them. I like them better in church than in society, I'm quite free to admit to you, and their souls are more interesting than their bodies!

Perhaps half a dozen people here this afternoon will be what you'd call gentlefolk--the doctor, Dr. Hibbert, and a few others. The rest of them will be fearfully genteel. The young gentlemen will be back early from the city, and they'll come in flannels and wear public-school ribbons round their hats, roses in their b.u.t.ton-holes and crimson silk c.u.mmerbunds!”

”Good heavens!” Lucy said.

”Yes, and they'll all want to flirt with ye, in a very superfine, polite sort of way, and mind ye let um! They'll ask if they might 'a.s.sist you to a little claret cup,' and say all sorts of strange things. But they're good enough at heart, only they will be so polite!”

”And the women?”

Father Blantyre shrugged his shoulders. ”You'll find them rather difficult,” he said. ”You bet they see your name in the papers--they all read the 'Fas.h.i.+onable Intelligence'--confound um!--and the att.i.tude will be a little hostile. But be civil for my sake, dear. I hate all this just as much as you do. I can get in touch with them spiritually, but socially I find it hard. But I think it's the right thing to do, to entertain them all once or twice a year, and they do enjoy themselves!

And I owe them a deep, deep debt of grat.i.tude for their loyalty during this trying week. I have had dozens and dozens of letters and calls.

Every one has rallied to the church in a wonderful and touching way since the Sunday affair. G.o.d bless them all!”

Lucy squeezed his arm with sympathy. In an hour, the guests began to arrive.

Lucy and her brother met them by the garden door of the house. It was a gay scene enough. A brilliant flood of afternoon suns.h.i.+ne irradiated everything; the women were well and fas.h.i.+onably dressed, the band played, and every one seemed happy.