Part 17 (2/2)

”You are too well acquainted with me, Mrs. Sweeting, to suppose I should condescend to notice this contemptible stuff or alter my course to please all Langborough. Why did you take the trouble to report it to me?”

”Because, sir, I wouldn't for the world you should think I was mixed up with them; and if my husband doesn't vote for you my name isn't Sweeting.”

”I am much obliged to you. I see your motives: you are straightforward and I respect you.”

Mrs. Sweeting thanked him and departed. His first feeling was wrath.

Never was there a man less likely to be cowed. He put on his hat and walked to his committee-room, where he found Mr. Bingham.

”No doubt, I suppose, Mr. Bingham?”

”Don't know, Doctor; the Radicals have got a strong candidate in Jem Casey. Some of our people will turn, I'm afraid, and split their votes.”

”Split votes! with a fellow like that! How can there be any splitting between an honest man and a rascal?”

”There shouldn't be, sir, but--” Mr. Bingham hesitated--”I suppose there may be personal considerations.”

”Personal considerations! what do you mean? Let us have no more of these Langborough tricks. Out with it, Bingham! Who are the persons and what are the considerations?”

”I really can't say, Doctor, but perhaps you may not be as popular as you were. You've--” but Mr. Bingham's strength again completely failed him, and he took a sudden turn--”You've taken a decided line lately at several of our meetings.”

The Doctor looked steadily at Mr. Bingham, who felt that every corner of his pitiful soul was visible.

”The line I have taken you have generally supported. That is not what you mean. If I am defeated I shall be defeated by equivocating cowardice, and I shall consider myself honoured.”

The Doctor strode out of the room. He knew now that he was the common property of the town, and that every tongue was wagging about him and a woman, but he was defiant. The next morning he saw painted in white paint on his own wall -

”My dearly beloved, for all you're so bold, To-morrow you'll find you're left out in the cold; And, Doctor, the reason you need not to ax, It's because of a dressmaker--Mrs. F---fax.”

He was going out just as the gardener was about to obliterate the inscription.

”Leave it, Robert, leave it; let the filthy scoundrels perpetuate their own disgrace.”

The result of the election was curious. Two of the Church candidates were returned at the top of the poll. Jem Casey came next. Dr.

Midleton and the other two Radical and Dissenting candidates were defeated. There were between seventy and eighty plumpers for the two successful Churchmen, and about five-and-twenty split votes for them and Casey, who had distinguished himself by his coa.r.s.e attacks on the Doctor. Mr. Bingham had a bad cold, and did not vote. On the following Sunday the church was fuller than usual. The Doctor preached on behalf of the Society for the Propagation of the Gospel. He did not allude directly to any of the events of the preceding week, but at the close of his sermon he said--”It has been frequently objected that we ought not to spend money on missions to the heathen abroad as there is such a field of labour at home. The answer to that objection is that there is more hope of the heathen than of many of our countrymen. This has been a nominally Christian land for centuries, but even now many deadly sins are not considered sinful, and it is an easier task to save the savage than to convince those, for example, whose tongue, to use the words of the apostle, is set on fire of h.e.l.l, that they are in danger of d.a.m.nation. I hope, therefore, my brethren, that you will give liberally.”

On Monday Langborough was amazed to find Mrs. Fairfax's shop closed.

She had left the town. She had taken a post-chaise on Sat.u.r.day and had met the up-mail at Thaxton cross-roads. Her scanty furniture had disappeared. The carrier could but inform Langborough that he had orders to deliver her goods at Great Ormond Street whence he brought them. Mrs. Bingham went to London shortly afterwards and called at Great Ormond Street to inquire for Mrs. Fairfax. n.o.body of that name lived there, and the door was somewhat abruptly shut in her face. She came back convinced that Mrs. Fairfax was what Mrs. Cobb called ”a bad lot.”

”Do you believe,” said she, ”that a woman who gives a false name can be respectable? We want no further proof.”

n.o.body wanted further proof. No Langborough lady needed any proof if a reputation was to be blasted.

”It's an alibi,” said Mrs. Harrop. ”That's what Tom Cranch the poacher did, and he was hung.”

”An alias, I believe, is the correct term,” said Miss Tarrant. ”It means the a.s.sumption of a name which is not your own, a most discreditable device, one to which actresses and women to whose occupation I can only allude, uniformly resort. How thankful we ought to be that our respected Rector's eyes must now be opened and that he has escaped the snare! It was impossible that he could be permanently attracted by vice and vulgarity. It is singular how much more acute a woman's perception often is than a man's. I saw through this creature at once.”

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