“A great misfortune, Jeffrey?”
“I am afraid so. Look at this.” Then he handed to her a letter from a nobleman living at a great distance—at a distance so great that Mrs. Stantiloup would hardly have reached him there—expressing his intention to withdraw his two boys from the school at Christmas.
“He doesn’t give this as a reason.”
“No; we are not acquainted with each other personally, and he could hardly have alluded to my conduct in this matter. It was easier for him to give a mere notice such as this. But not the less do I understand it. The intention was that the elder Mowbray should remain for another year, and the younger for two years. Of course he is at liberty to change his mind; nor do I feel myself entitled to complain. A school such as mine must depend on the credit of the establishment. He has heard, no doubt, something of the story which has injured our credit, and it is natural that he should take the boys away.”
“Do you think that the school will be put an end to?”
“It looks very like it.”
“Altogether?”
“I shall not care to drag it on as a failure. I am too old now to begin again with a new attempt if this collapses. I have no offers to fill up the vacancies. The parents of those who remain, of course, will know how it is going with the school. I shall not be disposed to let it die of itself. My idea at present is to carry it on without saying anything till the Christmas holidays, and then to give notice to the parents that the establishment will be closed at Midsummer.”
“Will it make you very unhappy?”
“No doubt it will. A man does not like to fail. I am not sure but what I am less able to bear such failure than most men.”
“But you have sometimes thought of giving it up.”
“Have I? I have not known it. Why should I give it up? Why should any man give up a profession while he has health and strength to carry it on?”
“You have another.”
“Yes; but it is not the one to which my energies have been chiefly applied. The work of a parish such as this can be done by one person. I have always had a curate. It is, moreover, nonsense to say that a man does not care most for that by which he makes his money. I am to give up over £2,000 a-year, which I have had not a trouble but a delight in making! It is like coming to the end of one’s life.”
“Oh, Jeffrey!”
“It has to be looked in the face, you know.”
“I wish—I wish they had never come.”
“What is the good of wishing? They came, and according to my way of thinking I did my duty by them. Much as I am grieved by this, I protest that I would do the same again were it again to be done. Do you think that I would be deterred from what I thought to be right by the machinations of a she-dragon such as that?”
“Has she done it?”
“Well, I think so,” said the Doctor, after some little hesitation. “I think it has been, in truth, her doing. There has been a grand opportunity for slander, and she has used it with uncommon skill. It was a wonderful chance in her favour. She has been enabled without actual lies—lies which could be proved to be lies—to spread abroad reports which have been absolutely damning. And she has succeeded in getting hold of the very people through whom she could injure me. Of course all this correspondence with the Bishop has helped. The Bishop hasn’t kept it as a secret. Why should he?”
“The Bishop has had nothing to do with the school,” said Mrs. Wortle.
“No; but the things have been mixed up together. Do you think it would have no effect with such a woman as Lady Anne Clifford, to be told that the Bishop had censured my conduct severely? If it had not been for Mrs. Stantiloup, the Bishop would have heard nothing about it. It is her doing. And it pains me to feel that I have to give her credit for her skill and her energy.”
“Her wickedness, you mean.”
“What does it signify whether she has been wicked or not in this matter?”
“Oh, Jeffrey!”
“Her wickedness is a matter of course. We all knew that beforehand. If a person has to be wicked, it is a great thing for him to be successful in his wickedness. He would have to pay the final penalty even if he failed. To be wicked and to do nothing is to be mean all round. I am afraid that Mrs. Stantiloup will have succeeded in her wickedness.”
VII
Lord Bracy’s Letter
The school and the parish went on through August and September, and up to the middle of October, very quietly. The quarrel between the Bishop and the Doctor had altogether subsided. People in the diocese had ceased to talk continually of Mr. and Mrs. Peacocke. There was still alive a certain interest as to what might be the ultimate fate of the poor lady; but other matters had come up, and she no longer formed the one topic of conversation at all meetings. The twenty boys at the school felt that, as their numbers had been diminished, so also had their reputation. They were less loud, and,
