God's Good Man by Marie Corelli (best young adult book series .txt) đ
- Author: Marie Corelli
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âDonât mention it, Mrs. Spruce!â said Walden amicably, and then, determining to bring the worthy woman sharply round to the real object of her visit, he gave a side-glance at the clock. âIs there anything you want me to do for you this morning? Iâm rather busyââ
âBegginâ your pardon, Iâm sure, sir, for troubling you at all!â knowinâ as I do that what with the moithering old folks and the maupsing young ones, your âands is always full. But when I got the letter this morning, I says to my husband, WilliamââWilliam,â says I, very loud, for the poor creatureâs growing so deaf that by and by I shall be usinâ a pâlice whistle to make him âear meââWilliam,â says I, âthere is only one man in this village whoâs got the right to give advice when advice is asked for. Of course thereâs no call for us to follow advice, even when we gets it,âhowsomever, itâs only respectable for decent church-going folks to see the minister of the parish whenever thereâs any fear of our makinâ a slip of our souls and goinâ wrong. Therefore, William,â says I, shaking him By the arm to make the poor silly fool understand me, âitâs to Passon Walden Iâm goinâ this morninâ with this letter,âto Passon Walden, dâye âear?â And he nodded his head wise-like, for all the world as though there were a bit of sense in it, (which there ainât), and agrees with me;âfor the Lord, knows, if William doesnât, that it may make an awsome change for him as well as for me. And I do confess Iâve been took back.â
Following as best he could the entangled thread of the estimable ladyâs discourse, Walden grasped the fact, albeit vaguely, that some unexpected letter with unexpected news in it had arrived to trouble the Sprucesâ domestic peace. Suppressing a slight yawn, he endeavoured to assume the proper show of interest which every village parson is expected to display on the shortest notice concerning any subject, from the birth of the latest baby parishioner, to the death of the earliest sucking pig.
âIâm sorry youâre in trouble, Mrs. Spruce,â he said kindly; âWhat letter are you speaking of? You see I donât quite understandââ
âWhich itâs not to be expected you should, sir!â replied Mrs. Spruce with an air of triumph,ââConsiderinâ as you werânât here when she left, and the Manor has been what you may call a stately âome of England deserted as most stately âomes are, for moreân ten years, you couldnât be expected to understand!â
The Reverend John looked as he felt, completely mystified. He âwasnât here when she left.â Who was âsheâ? With all his naturally sweet temper he began to feel slightly irritated.
âReally, Mrs. Spruce,â he said, endeavouring to throw an inflection of sternness into his mellow voice, âI must ask you to explain matters a little more clearly. I know that the Manor has been practically shut up ever since Iâve been here,âthat you are the housekeeper in charge, and that your husband is woodman or forester there,âbut beyond this I know nothing. So you must not talk in riddles, Mrs. Spruce,ââhere his kind smile shone out againââEven as a boy I was never good at guessing them! And I am getting old now.â
âSo you are, sirâso you are!â agreed Mrs. Spruce sympathetically; âAnd âtis a shame for me to come worryinâ of you,âfor no one more truly than myself can feel pity for the weariness of the flesh, when âtis just a burden to the bones and no pleasure in the carryinâ of it, though you donât put much of it on, Passon Walden, you donât, I do assure you! But itâs Gospel truth that some folks wears thin like a knife, while others wears thick like a pig, and there is no stopping them,âeither way beinâ the Lordâs will,âbut Iâm feelinâ real okkard myself to have put you about, Passon, only as I said, Iâve been took back,âand hereâs the letter, sir, which if you will kindly glance your hi over, you will tell me whether Iâve done the right thing to call on my way down here and get in a couple of scrubbers at eighteen-pence a day, which is dear, but they wonât come for less, jest to get some of the rough dirt off the floors afore polishinâ, which polishinâ will have to be done whether we will or no, for the boards are solid oak, and beinâ ancient take the shine quickly, which is a mercy, for this day week is none too far off, seeinâ all thatâs put upon me suddint.â
Here, being short of breath, she paused, and fumbling in a large black calico pocket which hung loosely at her side, attached to her ample waist by a string, she drew out with great care a rather large, square-looking missive, and then rising from her chair with much fluttering of her black gown and mysterious creaking sound, as of tight under-wear strained to breaking point, she held it out toward Walden, who had durng her last oratorical outburst unconsciously put his hand to his head in a daze of bewilderment.
âThere is the letter sir,â she continued, in the tone of one who should say: âThere is the warrant for executionââââShort and sweet,â as the farmerâs wife said when she ate the pigâs tail what dropped off while the animal was a-roastinâ.â
Allowing this brilliant simile to pass without comment, Walden took the thick, creamy-white object she offered and found himself considering it with a curious disfavour. It was a strictly âfashionableâ make of envelope, and was addressed in a particularly bold and assertive hand-writing to
MRS. SPRUCE, Housekeeper, Abbotâs Manor, St. Rest.
Opening it, the Reverend John read as follows:
âMiss Vancourt begs to inform Mrs. Spruce that she will arrive at Abbotâs Manor on the 7th inst., to remain there in residence. Mrs. Spruce is requested to engage the necessary household servants, as Miss Vancourt will bring none except the groom in charge of her two hunters.â
Over and over again Walden read this curt and commonplace note, with a sense of irritation which he knew was perfectly absurd, but which, nevertheless, defied all reason. The paper on which it was written was thick and satiny,âand there was a faint artificial odour of violets about it which annoyed him. He hated scented notepaper. Deliberately he replaced it in its envelope, and holding it for a moment as he again studied the superscription, he addressed the expectant Mrs. Spruce, who had re-seated herself and was waiting for him to speak.
âWell, Mrs. Spruce, I donât think you need any advice from me on such a simple matter as this,â he said slowly. âYour duty is quite plain. You must obey orders. Miss Vancourt is, I suppose, the mistress of Abbotâs Manor?â
âShe is, sir,âof course it all belongs to Miss Marylliaââ
âMissâwhat?â interrupted Walden, with a sudden lightening of his dark blue eyes.
âMaryllia, sir. It is a kind of family name, pronounced âMa-rill- yer,ââ explained Mrs. Spruce with considerable pomposity; âMany folks never gets it rightâit wants knowledge and practice. But if you remember the pictures in the gallery at the Manor, sir, you may call to mind one of the ancestresses of the Vancourts, painted in a viâlet velvet; ridinâ dress and holdinâ a huntinâ crop, and the name underneath is âMary Ella Adelgisa de Vaignecourtâ and it was after her that the old Squire called his daughter Maryllia, rollinâ the two fust names, Mary Elia, into one, as it were, just to make a name what none of his forebears had ever had. He was a queer man, the old Squireâhe wouldnât a-cared whether the name was Christian or heathen.â
âI suppose not.â said the Reverend John carelessly, rising and pushing back his chair with a slightly impatient gesture; whereupon Mrs. Spruce rose too, and stood âat attention,â her loosened bonnet- strings flying and her large black calico pocket well in evidence to the front of her skirt.
âHereâs your letter, Mrs. Spruce;â and as she took it from his hand with a curtsey he continued: âThere is evidently nothing for it but to get the house in order by the day appointed and do your best to please the lady. I can quite understand that you feel a little worried at having to prepare everything so quickly and unexpectedly,âbut after all, you must have often thought that Miss Vancourtâs return to her old home was likely to happen at any time.â
âWhich I never did, sir!â declared Mrs. Spruce emphatically, âNo, sir, never! For when the old Squire died, she was jest a slip of fifteen and her uncle, the Squireâs own twin brother, what had married an American heiress with somethinâ like a hundred million of money, so Iâm told, took her straight away and adopted her like, and the regâler pay for keepinâ up the Manor and grounds has been sent to us through a Bank, and so far weâve got nothinâ to complain of beinâ all strictly honourable both ways, but of Miss Vancourt we never heard a thing. And Mr. Oliver Leach he is the agent of the property, and he ainât never said a word,âand we think, me and my husband, that he donât know nothinâ of her cominâ back, and should we tell him, sir? Or would you reckon that weâd better keep a still tongue in our heads till she do come? For thereâs no knowinâ why or wherefore sheâs cominâ,âthough we did hear her poor uncle died two years ago, and we wondered where she and her aunt with the hundred million was got toâbut mebbe sheâll change her mind and not come, after all?â
âI should certainly not count upon that, if I were you, Mrs. Spruce,â said Walden decisively; âYour business is to keep everything in order for the ladyâs arrival; but I donât think,âI really donât think, you are at all bound to inform Mr. Oliver Leach of the matter. He will no doubt find out for himself. or receive his orders direct from Miss Vancourt.â Here he paused. âHow old did you say she was when, she went away from home?â
âFifteen, sir. That was nigh eleven years ago,âjust one week after the Squireâs funeral, and a year afore you came here, sir. Sheâs gettinâ on for seven-and-twenty now.â
âQuite a woman, then,â said Walden lightly; âOld enough to know her own mind at any rate. Do you remember her?â
âPerfectly well, sir,âa little flitterinâ creature all eyes and hair, with a saucy way of tossinâ her curls about, and a trick of singinâ and shoutinâ all over the place. She used to climb the pine trees and sit in them and pelt her father with the cones. Oh, yes, sir, she was a terrible child to rule, and itâs Gospel truth there was no ruling her, for the governesses came and went like the seasons, one in, tâother out. Ay, but the Lord knows Iâll never forget the scream she gave when the Squire was brought home from the hunting field stone dead!â
Here John Walden turned his head towards her with an air of more interest than he had yet shown.
âAh!âHow was that?â he enquired.
âHe was killed jumpinâ a fence;â went on Mrs. Spruce; âA fine, handsome gentleman,âthey say heâd been wild in his youth; anyhow he got married in London to a great Court beauty, so Iâve been told. And after the wedding, they went travelling allover the world for a year and a half, and just when they was expected âome Mrs.
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