Ivy Compton-Burnett - Dolores

“By the way, my dear, I met your sister and brother-in-law this morning; and we are to spend the evening with them on Wednesday. Cassell is to be there, and Mrs Merton-Vane, and the new Wesleyan minister; so we shall be quite a party. A queer enough party in all conscience; but one cannot pick and choose one’s company in a village. I thought it best to accept. That was right, I suppose?”

“Yes; Carrie would be vexed if we refused. She always wants to show us off to the Wesleyan ministers. Dissenters are proud of being related to church-people, just as the Americans are the nation who set most value on a title,” said Mrs Hutton, who was no longer hampered by her native sectarianism.

There was a general laugh; and for the next few minutes Mrs Hutton was sprightly and talkative.

“I suppose that Bertram and I must go on foot and leave the trap to you ladies, so that you can keep your furbelows in order?” said the Reverend Cleveland, with a laboured effort to maintain the geniality of his daughter’s homecoming.

Bertram smiled and agreed, but Mrs Hutton was silent. The knowledge that Bertram and Dolores were included in her sister’s hospitality killed any pleasure in her thoughts of it. Her husband confined his formality with his eldest daughter to his own home; and she saw the evening resolve itself into hours of humiliation under her sister’s eyes.

“I cannot think,” she observed to her husband when they were alone later, “why Carrie cannot ever ask us to her house without Dolores and Bertram. They are no imaginable relation of hers.”

The Reverend Cleveland was silent. Silence was neither taxing nor self-committing. He often availed himself of it.

“It is such a very peculiar thing,” continued Mrs Hutton, not soothed by this unreadiness of response. “It seems as if my path is to be continually dogged by my stepchildren. Any one would think that it was you and not I who was related to Caroline.”

Mr Hutton rose and moved towards the door. He was not a man of recreant spirit any more than he was a man of words; but there were matters where his powers of endurance were minimised.

“Well, well, I expect she means it for the best,” he said. “I daresay they think that, as you have the stepchildren, it would not help your position to refuse to recognise them’

“Well, Vicar! ” said Mr Blackwood, with genial emphasis, as he welcomed Mr Hutton into his drawing-room. “I am glad to see you one of our party again. Well, Bertram, you are growing a fine, strapping young fellow. I declare you will soon have left your father behind you. I declare that he will, Vicar — I declare that he will.”

Mr Hutton shook hands with his host, gave a covered glance at the Wesleyan minister, observed to Dr Cassell that the evening was dry, and fell into silence; feeling that the initiative due from an ordained Churchman in Dissenting company was at an end.

“Now, Vicar,” said Mr Blackwood loudly, in the tone of one proceeding to the main business, “let me introduce you to Mr Billing; who for the next three years will be amongst us as our minister; and, I hope — am sure, indeed, if he is minded as we are — as our friend. Now, one of the advantages we Wesleyans have over you Church of England people”—Mr Blackwood’s utterance of the last words implied that he did not see himself what especial significance they carried—“is that we have the services — and the friendship — of a different member of our body every three years; instead of being tied to one man all our lives, whether we like him or no. Mr Billing, — Mr Hutton, my brother-in-law — at least, I suppose he is my brother-in-law. I am not well up in these marriage relationships. At any rate our wives are sisters. I can tell you that for a certainty.”

Mr Billing, a wholesome little man of forty, with smooth, red cheeks and twinkling little eyes, excellent both as a man and a Methodist, as his fathers had been before him, but falling short of them in not being excellent as a grocer as well, offered a tentative hand to the member of the body his host referred to with this measure of tact; and underwent increase of humility rather than the opposite process in goodwill, as the latter bent his head with entire remoteness of expression.

“Now, this is what I like to see!” exclaimed Mr Blackwood, who was untroubled by exaggerated keenness of perception. “I like to see people of different sects mingling together, and associating in a friendly way with one another. It is my belief that that is how it was intended to be. I confess that I am a thorough Wesleyan, born and bred, myself; but that does not prevent my being able to see, and be glad of what is good in other sects. What do you say, doctor?”

“Yes — yes, certainly,” said Dr Cassell, in a parenthetical tone, without raising his head.

“Yes, yes, that is the attitude,” said Mr Billing, with a quick and rather indistinct utterance, which gave an idea of hurrying that its want of culture might be missed; “that is the attitude we should strive to get at. I trust — I think we are given grounds for hoping — that the day will come when it is the universal attitude. I think — it is thought, you know — that we are to judge that from the prophets.”

“‘If a man hath all things else, and hath not charity, it profiteth him nothing,’” said Dr Cassell, with deliberate distinctness and a smile.

Mr Billing gave the doctor a glance of some esteem, and laughed, saying, “Yes, exactly.” Mr Blackwood, who was addicted to inattentiveness, made no response: and the Reverend Cleveland followed the latter example; an effort to attain an expression of utter disregard resulting in one of the same degree of disgust.

After a minute’s silence, during which Mr Billing fidgeted amiably, half turning to one and another as though desirous of talk but unprovided with a topic, the door opened to admit the ladies — Mrs Cassell, Mrs Blackwood, and Mrs Hutton; followed by Dolores and the three eldest children of Mr and Mrs Blackwood. Behind came Mrs Merton-Vane, the wife of the agent of the local nobleman — a comely, kindly, foolish matron, whose foremost quality was a persistence in appending her husband’s Christian name by a hyphen to his surname, and regarding his post as agent to a nobleman as establishing his own family as noble. She had chosen to sweep alone into the view of Mr Hutton, whose acceptance of dissenting hospitality was her reason for doing the same.

Mrs Blackwood turned her attention to the introductions to Mr Billing; reserving for him the chief of her cordiality; and looking annoyed by the air assumed towards him by her eldest daughter — a dainty, naughty maiden a little younger than Dolores; who turned away after a careless bow and began to chatter with a favourite’s audacity to the Reverend Cleveland. Herbert, a quiet-mannered youth of seventeen, shook hands, and stood aside talking to Dolores and Bertram. Lettice, a stolid — looking girl with a sweet expression, remained with her eyes fixed on his face, while her mother entered into talk.

“I did so enjoy your sermon on Sunday, Mr Billing, and so did my husband. I was so struck by parts of it, that I came straight home and made some notes of them. You know I sometimes speak myself on these subjects in my humble way; and I found your sermon was so very suggestive.”

“Indeed, indeed, was that so?” said Mr Billing, jumping slightly in his seat, as was his wont when he was nervous or grateful. “I–I am glad, Mrs Blackwood.”

“How ve-ry nice for you to hear Mr Bil-ling!” said Mrs Merton-Vane, who had a trick of pronouncing occasional words with a break in the middle, to the accompaniment of an inclination of her head. “How ve-ry nice!”