Mr. Wentworth gave him a quick look, struck by the changed tone, but unable to make out whether it might not be stupidity. “You understand what I mean, Elsworthy,” he said, with his loftiest air. “If Rosa does not return instantly, I shall be seriously offended. How you and your friends could be such utter idiots as to get up this ridiculous fiction, I can’t conceive; but the sooner it’s over the better. I expect to see her back tomorrow,” said the Curate, taking up his bag and looking with an absolute despotism, which exasperated the man, in Elsworthy’s face.
“You may be sure, sir, if she knows as you want to see her, she’ll come,” said the worm which had been trampled on; “and them as asks me why, am I to say it was the clergyman’s orders?” said Elsworthy, looking up in his turn with a consciousness of power. “That means a deal, does that. I wouldn’t take it upon me to say as much, not of myself; but if them’s your orders, Mr. Wentworth—”
“It appears to me, Elsworthy,” said the Curate, who was inwardly in a towering passion, though outwardly calm enough, “either that you’ve been drinking or that you mean to be impertinent—which is it?”
“Me!—drinking, sir?” cried the shopkeeper. “If I had been one as was given that way, I wouldn’t have attended to your interests not as I have done. There aint another man in Carlingford as has stood up for his clergyman as I have; and as for little Rosa, sir, most folks as had right notions would have inquired into that; but being as I trusted in you, I wasn’t the one to make any talk. I’ve said to everybody as has asked me that there wasn’t nothing in it but kindness. I don’t say as I hadn’t my own thoughts—for gentlemen don’t go walking up Grange Lane with a pretty little creature like that all for nothing; but instead o’ making anything of that, or leading of you on, or putting it in the child’s head to give you encouragement, what was it I did but send her away afore you came home, that you mightn’t be led into temptation! And instead of feelin’ grateful, you say I’ve been drinking! It’s a thing as I scorn to answer,” said Mr. Elsworthy; “there aint no need to make any reply—all Carlingford knows me; but as for Rosa, if it is understood plain between us that it’s your wish, I aint the man to interfere,” continued Rosa’s guardian, with a smile which drove the Curate frantic; “but she hasn’t got no father, poor thing, and it’s my business to look after her; and I’ll not bring her back, Mr. Wentworth, unless it’s understood between us plain.”
Strong language, forcible, but unclerical, was on the Curate’s lips, and it was only with an effort that he restrained himself. “Look here, Elsworthy,” he said; “it will be better for you not to exasperate me. You understand perfectly what I mean. I repeat, Rosa must come back, and that instantly. It is quite unnecessary to explain to you why I insist upon this, for you comprehend it. Pshaw! don’t let us have any more of this absurdity,” he exclaimed, impatiently. “No more, I tell you. Your wife is not such a fool. Let anybody who inquires about me understand that I have come back, and am quite able to account for all my actions,” said the Curate, shouldering his bag. He was just about leaving the shop when Elsworthy rushed after him in an access of alarm and repentance.
“One moment, sir,” cried the shopkeeper; “there aint no offence, Mr. Wentworth? I am sure there aint nobody in Carlingford as means better, or would do as much for his clergyman. One moment, sir; there was one thing I forgot to mention. Mr. Wodehouse, sir, has been took bad. There was a message up a couple of hours ago to know when you was expected home. He’s had a stroke, and they don’t think as he’ll get over it—being a man of a full ’abit of body,” said Mr. Elsworthy in haste, lest the Curate should break in on his unfinished speech, “makes it dangerous. I’ve had my fears this long time past.”
“A stroke,” said the Curate—“a fit, do you mean? When, and how? and, good heavens! to think that you have been wasting my time with rubbish, and knew this!” Mr. Wentworth tossed down his travelling-bag again, and wiped his forehead nervously. He had forgotten his real anxiety in the irritation of the moment. Now it returned upon him with double force. “How did it come on?” he asked, “and when?” and stood waiting for the answer, with a world of other questions, which he could not put to Elsworthy, hanging on his lips.
“I have a deal of respect for that family, sir,” said Elsworthy; “they have had troubles as few folks in Carlingford know of. How close they have kep’ things, to be sure!—but not so close as them that has good memories, and can put two and two together, couldn’t call to mind. My opinion, sir, if you believe me,” said the clerk of St. Roque’s, approaching close to the Curate’s ear, “is, that it’s something concerning the son.”
“The son!” said Mr. Wentworth, with a troubled look. Then, after a pause, he added, as if his exclamation had been an oversight, “What son? has Mr. Wodehouse a son?”
“To think as they should have been so
