Part 46 (2/2)

An odour of millefleurs rustled by them as Charles Honeyman accompanied by his ecclesiastical valet, pa.s.sed the pew from the vestry, and took his place at the desk. Formerly he used to wear a flaunting scarf over his surplice, which was very wide and full; and Clive remembered when as a boy he entered the sacred robing-room, how his uncle used to pat and puff out the scarf and the sleeves of his vestment, and to arrange the natty curl on his forehead and take his place, a fine example of florid church decoration. Now the scarf was trimmed down to be as narrow as your neckcloth, and hung loose and straight over the back; the ephod was cut straight and as close and short as might be,--I believe there was a little tr.i.m.m.i.n.g of lace to the narrow sleeves, and a slight arabesque of tape, or other substance, round the edge of the surplice. As for the curl on the forehead, it was no more visible than the Maypole in the Strand, or the Cross at Charing. Honeyman's hair was parted down the middle, short in front, and curling delicately round his ears and the back of his head. He read the service in a swift manner, and with a gentle tw.a.n.g. When the music began, he stood with head on one side, and two slim fingers on the book, as composed as a statue in a mediaeval niche. It was fine to hear Sherrick, who had an uncommonly good voice, join in the musical parts of the service. The produce of the market-gardener decorated the church here and there; and the impresario of the establishment, having picked up a Flemish painted window from old Moss in Wardour Street, had placed it in his chapel. Labels of faint green and gold, with long Gothic letters painted thereon, meandered over the organ-loft and galleries, and strove to give as mediaeval a look to Lady Whittlesea's as the place was capable of a.s.suming.

In the sermon Charles dropped the tw.a.n.g with the surplice, and the priest gave way to the preacher. He preached short stirring discourses on the subjects of the day. It happened that a n.o.ble young prince, the hope of a nation, and heir of a royal house, had just then died by a sudden accident. Absalom, the son of David, furnished Honeyman with a parallel. He drew a picture of the two deaths, of the grief of kings, of the fate that is superior to them. It was, indeed, a stirring discourse, and caused thrills through the crowd to whom Charles imparted it.

”Famous, ain't it?” says Sherrick, giving Clive a hand when the rite was over. ”How he's come out, hasn't he? Didn't think he had it in him.”

Sherrick seemed to have become of late impressed with the splendour of Charles's talents, and spoke of him--was it not disrespectful?--as a manager would of a successful tragedian. Let us pardon Sherrick: he had been in the theatrical way. ”That Irishman was no go at all,” he whispered to Mr. Newcome, ”got rid of him,--let's see, at Michaelmas.”

On account of Clive's tender years, and natural levity, a little inattention may be allowed to the youth, who certainly looked about him very eagerly during the service. The house was filled by the ornamental cla.s.ses, the bonnets of the newest Parisian fas.h.i.+on. Away in a darkling corner, under the organ, sate a squad of footmen. Surely that powdered one in livery wore Lady Kew's colours? So Clive looked under all the bonnets, and presently spied old Lady Kew's face, as grim and yellow as her bra.s.s knocker, and by it Ethel's beauteous countenance. He dashed out of church when the congregation rose to depart. ”Stop and see Honeyman, won't you?” asked Sherrick, surprised.

”Yes, yes; come back again,” said Clive, and was gone.

He kept his word, and returned presently. The young Marquis and an elderly lady were in Lady Kew's company. Clive had pa.s.sed close under Lady Kew's venerable Roman nose without causing that organ to bow in ever so slight a degree towards the ground. Ethel had recognised him with a smile and a nod. My lord was whispering one of his n.o.ble pleasantries in her ear. She laughed at the speech or the speaker.

The steps of a fine belozenged carriage were let down with a bang. The Yellow One had jumped up behind it, by the side of his brother Giant Canary. Lady Kew's equipage had disappeared, and Mrs. Canterton's was stopping the way.

Clive returned to the chapel by the little door near to the Vestiarium.

All the congregation had poured out by this time. Only two ladies were standing near the pulpit; and Sherrick, with his hands rattling his money in his pockets, was pacing up and down the aisle.

”Capital house, Mr. Newcome, wasn't it? I counted no less than fourteen n.o.bs. The Princess of Moncontour and her husband, I suppose, that chap with the beard, who yawns so during the sermon. I'm blessed, if I didn't think he'd have yawned his head off. Countess of Kew, and her daughter; Countess of Canterton, and the Honourable Miss Fetlock--no, Lady Fetlock. A Countess's daughter is a lady, I'm dashed if she ain't. Lady Glenlivat and her sons; the most n.o.ble the Marquis of Farintosh, and Lord Enry Roy; that makes seven--no, nine--with the Prince and Princess.--Julia, my dear, you came out like a good un to-day. Never heard you in finer voice. Remember Mr. Clive Newcome?”

Mr. Clive made bows to the ladies, who acknowledged him by graceful curtsies. Miss Sherrick was always looking to the vestry-door.

”How's the old Colonel? The best feller--excuse my calling him a feller--but he is, and a good one too. I went to see Mr. Binnie, my other tenant. He looks a little yellow about the gills, Mr. Binnie. Very proud woman that is who lives with him--uncommon haughty. When will you come down and take your mutton in the Regent's Park, Mr. Clive? There's some tolerable good wine down there. Our reverend gent drops in and takes a gla.s.s, don't he, missis?”

”We shall be most 'appy to see Mr. Newcome, I'm sure,” says the handsome and good-natured Mrs. Sherrick. ”Won't we, Julia?”

”Oh, certainly,” says Julia, who seems rather absent. And behold, at this moment the reverend gent enters from the vestry. Both the ladies run towards him, holding forth their hands.

”Oh, Mr. Honeyman! What a sermon! Me and Julia cried so up in the organ-loft; we thought you would have heard us. Didn't we, Julia?”

”Oh, yes,” says Julia, whose hand the pastor is now pressing.

”When you described the young man, I thought of my poor boy, didn't I, Julia?” cries the mother, with tears streaming down her face.

”We had a loss more than ten years ago,” whispers Sherrick to Clive gravely. ”And she's always thinking of it. Women are so.”

Clive was touched and pleased by this exhibition of kind feeling.

”You know his mother was an Absalom,” the good wife continues, pointing to her husband. ”Most respectable diamond merchants in----”

”Hold your tongue, Betsy, and leave my poor old mother alone; do now,”

says Mr. Sherrick darkly. Clive is in his uncle's fond embrace by this time, who rebukes him for not having called in Walpole Street.

”Now, when will you two gents come up to my shop to 'ave a family dinner?” asks Sherrick.

”Ah, Mr. Newcome, do come,” says Julia in her deep rich voice, looking up to him with her great black eyes. And if Clive had been a vain fellow like some folks, who knows but he might have thought he had made an impression on the handsome Julia?

”Thursday, now make it Thursday, if Mr. H. is disengaged. Come along, girls, for the flies bites the ponies when they're a-standing still and makes 'em mad this weather. Anything you like for dinner? Cut of salmon and cuc.u.mber? No, pickled salmon's best this weather.”

”Whatever you give me, you know I'm thankful!” says Honeyman, in a sweet sad voice, to the two ladies, who were standing looking at him, the mother's hand clasped in the daughter's.

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