health.’
‘What!’ cried Gabriel, anxiously. ‘Is he ill?’
‘I think so; some nervous trouble brought on by worry.’
‘By worry! Has my father anything on his mind likely to worry him to that extent?’
Cargrim coughed significantly. ‘I think so,’ said he again. ‘He has not been himself since the visit of that stranger to the palace. I fancy the man must have brought bad news.’
‘Did the bishop tell you so?’
‘No; but I am observant, you know.’
Privately, Gabriel considered that Cargrim was a great deal too observant, and also of a meddlesome nature, else why had he come to spy out matters which did not concern him. Needless to say, Gabriel was thinking of Bell at this moment. However, he made no comment on the chaplain’s speech, but merely remarked that doubtless the bishop had his own reasons for keeping silent, and advised Cargrim to wait until he was consulted in connection with the matter, before troubling himself unnecessarily about it ‘My father knows his own business best,’ finished Gabriel, stiffly, ‘if you will forgive my speaking so plainly.’
‘Certainly, certainly, Pendle; but I owe a great deal to your father, and I would do much to save him from annoyance. By the way,’ with an abrupt change of subject, ‘do you know that I saw the stranger who called at the palace two nights ago during the reception?’
‘When? Where?’
‘At that hotel, this evening. He looks a dangerous man.’
Gabriel shrugged his shoulders. ‘It seems to me, Cargrim, that you are making a mountain out of a mole hill. A stranger sees my father, and afterwards you meet him at a public-house; there is nothing strange in that.’
‘You forget,’ hinted Cargrim, sweetly, ‘this man caused your father’s illness.’
‘We can’t be sure of that; and in any case, my father is quite clever enough to deal with his own affairs. I see no reason why you should have hunted me out to talk such nonsense. Good-night, Cargrim,’ and with a curt nod the curate stalked away, considerably annoyed by the meddlesome spirit manifested by the chaplain. He had never liked the man, and, now that he was in this interfering mood, liked him less than ever. It would be as well, thought Gabriel, that Mr Cargrim should be dismissed from his confidential office as soon as possible. Otherwise he might cause trouble, and Gabriel mentally thought of the high-coloured young lady in the bar. His conscience was not at ease regarding his admiration for her; and he dreaded lest the officious Cargrim should talk about her to the bishop. Altogether the chaplain, like a hornet, had annoyed both Dr Pendle and his son; and the bishop in London and Gabriel in Beorminster were anything but well disposed towards this clerical busybody, who minded everyone’s business instead of his own. It is such people who stir up muddy water and cause mischief.
Meanwhile, the busybody looked after the curate with an evil smile; and, gratified at having aroused such irritation as the abrupt parting signified, turned back to The Derby Winner. He had seen Bell, he had spoken to Gabriel, he had even secured an unsatisfactory conversation with the unknown man. Now he wished to question Mrs Mosk and acquaint himself with her nature and attitude. Also he desired to question her concerning the military stranger; and with this resolve presented himself again before Miss Mosk, smiling and undaunted.
‘What is it?’ asked the young lady, who had been nursing her grievances.
‘A mere trifle, Miss Mosk; I wish to see your mother.’
‘Why?’ was Bell’s blunt demand.
‘My reasons are for Mrs Mosk’s ears alone.’
‘Oh, are they? Well, I’m afraid you can’t see my mother. In the first place, she’s too ill to receive anyone; and in the second, my father does not like clergymen.’
‘Dear! dear! not even Mr Pendle?’
‘Mr Pendle is an exception,’ retorted Bell, blushing, and again fell to wiping the counter in a fury, so as to keep her hands from Mr Cargrim’s ears.
‘I wish to see Mrs Mosk particularly,’ reiterated Cargrim, who was bent upon carrying his point. ‘If not, your father will do.’
‘My father is absent in Southberry. Why do you want to see my mother?’
‘I’ll tell her that myself—with your permission,’ said Cargrim, suavely.
‘You sha’n’t, then,’ cried Bell, and flung down her duster with sparkling eyes.
‘In that case I must go away,’ replied Cargrim, seeing he was beaten, ‘and I thank you, Miss Mosk, for your politeness. By the way,’ he added, as he half returned, ‘will you tell that gentleman with the scar on the cheek that I wish to see him also?’
‘Seems to me you wish to see everybody about here,’ said Bell, scornfully. ‘I’ll tell Mr Jentham if you like. Now go away; I’m busy.’
‘Jentham!’ repeated Cargrim, as he walked homeward. ‘Now, I wonder if I’ll find that name in the bishop’s cheque-book.’
Chapter VII.
An Interesting Conversation
When Mr Cargrim took an idea into his head it was not easy to get it out again, and to this resolute obstinacy he owed no small part of his success. He was like the famous drop of water and would wear away any human stone, however hard it might be. Again and again, when baffled, he returned with gentle persistence to the object he had in view, and however strong of will his adversary happened to be, that will was bound, in the long run, to yield to the incessant attacks of the chaplain. At the present moment he desired to have an interview with Mrs Mosk, and he was determined to obtain one in spite of Bell’s refusal. However, he had no time to waste on the persuasive method, as he wished to see the invalid before the bishop returned. To achieve this end he enlisted the services of Mrs Pansey.
That good lady sometimes indulged in a species of persecution she termed district-visiting, which usually consisted in her thrusting herself at untoward times into poor people’s houses and asking them questions about their private affairs. When she had learned all she wished to know, and had given her advice in the tone of a command not to be disobeyed, she would retire, leaving the evidence of her trail behind her in the shape of a nauseous little tract with an abusive title. It was no use any poor creature refusing to see Mrs Pansey, for she forced herself into the most private chambers, and never would retire unless she thought fit to do so of her own will. It was for this reason that Cargrim suggested the good lady should call upon Mrs Mosk, for he knew well that neither the father, nor the daughter, nor the whole assembled domestics of the hotel, would be able to stop her from making her way to the bedside of the invalid; and in the devastated rear of Mrs Pansey the chaplain intended to follow.
His principal object in seeing Mrs Mosk was to discover what she knew about the man called Jentham. He was lodging at The Derby Winner, as Cargrim ascertained by later inquiry, and it was probable that the inmates of the hotel knew something as to the reasons of his stay in Beorminster. Mr Mosk, being as obstinate as a mule, was not likely to tell Cargrim anything he desired to learn. Bell, detesting the chaplain, as she took no pains to conceal, would probably refuse to hold a conversation with him; but Mrs Mosk, being weak-minded and ill, might be led by dexterous questioning to tell all she knew. And what she did know might, in Cargrim’s opinion, throw more light on Jentham’s connection with the bishop. Therefore, the next morning, Cargrim called on the archdeacon’s widow to inveigle her into persecuting Mrs Mosk with a call. Mrs Pansey, with all her acuteness, could not see that she was being made use of—luckily for Cargrim.
‘I hear the poor woman is very ill,’ sighed the chaplain, after he had introduced the subject, ‘and I fear that her daughter does not give her