“I’ll take my paper,” said the young man, who was not satisfied—“so there’s no news, isn’t there?—all well, and everything going on as usual?” And the look which the suspicious Curate bent upon Mr. Elsworthy made that virtuous individual, as he himself described it, “shake in his shoes.”
“Much as usual, sir,” said the frightened clerk—“nothing new as I hear of but gossip, and that aint a thing to interest a clergyman. There’s always one report or another flying about, but them follies aint for your hearing. Nothing more,” continued Mr. Elsworthy, conscious of guilt, and presenting a very tremulous countenance to the inspection of his suspicious auditor, “not if it was my last word—nothing but gossip, as you wouldn’t care to hear.”
“I might possibly care to hear if it concerned myself,” said the Curate—“or anybody I am interested in,” he added, after a little pause, with rather a forced smile—which convinced Mr. Elsworthy that his clergyman had heard all about Rosa, and that the days of his incumbency as clerk of St. Roque’s were numbered.
“Well, sir, if you did hear, it aint no blame of mine,” said the injured bookseller; “such a notion would never have come into my mind—no man, I make bold to say, is more particular about keeping to his own rank of life nor me. What you did, sir, you did out of the kindness of your heart, and I’d sooner sell up and go off to the end of the world than impose upon a gentleman. Her aunt’s took her away,” continued Mr. Elsworthy, lowering his voice, and cautiously pointing to the back of the shop—“She’ll not bother you no more.”
“She!—who?” cried the Perpetual Curate, in sudden consternation. He was utterly bewildered by the introduction of a female actor into the little drama, and immediately ran over in his mind all the women he could think of who could, by any possibility, be involved in mysterious relations with his brother Jack.
“She’s but a child,” said Elsworthy, pathetically; “she don’t know nothing about the ways o’ the world. If she was a bit proud o’ being noticed, there wasn’t no harm in that. But seeing as there’s nothing in this world that folks won’t make a talk of when they’ve started, her aunt, as is very partic’lar, has took her away. Not as I’m meaning no reproach to you, Mr. Wentworth; but she’s a loss to us, is Rosa. She was a cheerful little thing, say the worst of her,” said Mr. Elsworthy; “going a-singing and a-chirping out and in the shop; and I won’t deny as the place looks desolate, now she’s away. But that aint neither here nor there. It was for her good, as my missis says. Most things as is unpleasant is sent for good, they tell me; and I wouldn’t—not for any comfort to myself—have a talk got up about the clergyman—”
By this time Mr. Wentworth had awakened to a sense of the real meaning of Elsworthy’s talk. He sat upright on his chair, and looked into the face of the worthy shopkeeper until the poor man trembled. “A talk about the clergyman?” said the Curate. “About me, do you mean? and what has little Rosa to do with me? Have you gone crazy in Carlingford—what is the meaning of it all?” He sat with his elbows on the counter, looking at his trembling adherent—looking through and through him, as Elsworthy said. “I should be glad of an explanation; what does it mean?” said Mr. Wentworth, with a look which there was no evading; and the clerk of St. Roque’s cast an anxious glance round him for help. He would have accepted it from any quarter at that overwhelming moment; but there was not even an errand-boy to divert from him the Curate’s terrible eyes.
“I—I don’t know—I—can’t tell how it got up,” said the unhappy man, who had not even his “missis” in the parlour as a moral support. “One thing as I know is, it wasn’t no blame o’ mine. I as good as went down on my knees to them three respected ladies when they come to inquire. I said as it was kindness in you a-seeing of the child home, and didn’t mean nothing more. I ask you, sir, what could I do?” cried Mr. Elsworthy. “Folks in Carlingford will talk o’ two straws if they’re a-seen a-blowing up Grange Lane on the same breath o’ wind. I couldn’t do no more nor contradict it,” cried Rosa’s guardian, getting excited in his self-defence; “and to save your feelings, Mr. Wentworth, and put it out o’ folks’s power to talk, the missis has been and took her away.”
“To save my feelings!” said the Curate, with a laugh of contempt and vexation and impatience which it was not pleasant to hear. At another moment an accusation so ridiculous would have troubled him very little; but just now, with a sudden gleam of insight, he saw all the complications which might spring out of it to confuse further the path which he already felt to be so burdened. “I’ll tell you what, Elsworthy,” said Mr. Wentworth; “if you don’t want to make me your enemy instead of your friend, you’ll send for this child instantly, without a day’s delay. Tell your wife that my orders are that she should come back directly. My feelings! do the people in Carlingford think me an idiot, I wonder?” said the Curate, walking up and down to relieve his mind.
“I don’t know, sir, I’m sure,” said Elsworthy, who thought some answer was required of him. To tell the truth, Rosa’s uncle felt a little spiteful. He did not see matters in exactly the same light as Mr. Wentworth did. At the
