The Perpetual Curate

that which he has filled hitherto. Mr. Leeson knows how much a curate has to live upon, but I am afraid that is all he does know of such a life as Mr. Wentworth’s.” Mrs. Morgan paused for a moment to get breath, for her excitement was considerable, and she had many wrongs to avenge. “There is a great deal of difference in curates as well as in other things,” said the indignant woman. “I have reason to know that Mr. Wentworth will remain in Carlingford in quite a different position. Now and then, even in this world, things come right like a fairy tale⁠—that is, when the authority is in the right hands;” the Rector’s wife went on, with a smile at her husband, which disarmed that astonished man. “Perhaps if Mr. Leeson had the same inducement as Mr. Wentworth, he too would make up his mind to remain in Carlingford.” Mrs. Morgan got up, as she made this speech, with a rustle and sweep of drapery which seemed all addressed to the unhappy Curate, who stumbled upon his feet like the other gentlemen, but dared not for his life have approached her to open the door. Mr. Leeson felt that he had received his congé, as he sank back into his chair. He was much too stunned to speculate on the subject, or ask himself what was going to happen. Whatever was going to happen, there was an end of him. He had eaten the last All Souls pudding that he ever would have presented to him under that roof. He sank back in the depth of despair upon his seat, and suffered the claret to pass him in the agony of his feelings. Mr. Wentworth and Mrs. Morgan were avenged.

This was how it came to be noised abroad in Carlingford that some great change of a highly favourable character was about to occur in the circumstances and position of the Curate of St. Roque’s. It was discussed next day throughout the town, as soon as people had taken breath after telling each other about Rosa Elsworthy, who had indisputably been carried off from her uncle’s house on the previous night. When the Wentworth family were at dinner, and just as the board was being spread in the Rectory, where Mrs. Morgan was half an hour later than usual, having company, it had been discovered in Elsworthy’s that the prison was vacant, and the poor little bird had flown. Mr. Wentworth was aware of a tumult about the shop when he went to the Miss Wodehouses, but was preoccupied, and paid no attention; but Mr. Leeson, who was not preoccupied, had already heard all about it when he entered the Rectory. That day it was all over the town, as may be supposed. The poor, little, wicked, unfortunate creature had disappeared, no one knew how, at the moment, apparently, when Elsworthy went to the railway for the evening papers, a time when the errand-boys were generally rampant in the well-conducted shop. Mrs. Elsworthy, for her part, had seized that moment to relieve her soul by confiding to Mrs. Hayles next door how she was worrited to death with one thing and another, and did not expect to be alive to tell the tale if things went on like this for another month, but that Elsworthy was infatuated like, and wouldn’t send the hussy away, his wife complained to her sympathetic neighbour. When Elsworthy came back, however, he was struck by the silence in the house, and sent the reluctant woman upstairs⁠—“To see if she’s been and made away with herself, I suppose,” the indignant wife said, as she obeyed, leaving Mrs. Hayles full of curiosity on the steps of the door. Mrs. Elsworthy, however uttered a shriek a moment after, and came down, with a frightened face, carrying a large pincushion, upon which, skewered through and through with the biggest pin she could find, Rosa had deposited her letter of leave-taking. This important document was read over in the shop by an ever-increasing group, as the news got abroad⁠—for Elsworthy, like his wife, lost his head, and rushed about hither and thither, asking wild questions as to who had seen her last. Perhaps, at the bottom, he was not so desperate as he looked, but was rather grateful than angry with Rosa for solving the difficulty. This is what the poor little runaway said:⁠—

Dear Uncle and Aunt⁠—I write a line to let you know that them as can do better for me than any belonging to me has took me away for good. Don’t make no reflections, please, nor blame nobody; for I never could have done no good nor had any ’appiness at Carlingford after all as has happened. I don’t bear no grudge, though aunt has been so unkind; but I forgive her, and uncle also. My love to all friends; and you may tell Bob Hayles as I won’t forget him, but will order all my physic regular at his father’s shop.⁠—Your affectionate niece,

Rosa.

P.S.⁠—Uncle has no occasion to mind, for them as has took charge of me has promised to make a lady of me, as he always said I was worthy of; and I leave all my things for aunt’s relations, as I can’t wear such poor clothes in my new station of life.

Such was the girl’s letter, with its natural impertinences and natural touch of kindness; and it made a great commotion in the neighbourhood, where a few spasmodic search-parties were made up with no real intentions, and came to nothing, as was to be expected. It was a dreadful thing to be sure, to happen to a respectable family; but when things had gone so far, the neighbours, on the whole, were inclined to believe it was the best thing Rosa could have done; and the Elsworthys, husband and wife, were concluded to be of the same opinion. When Carlingford had exhausted this subject, and had duly