Sabine Baring-Gould - Arminell, Vol. 1

Miss Inglett was very different in type from her step-mother; a tall, handsome girl, with dark hair cut short, like a boy’s, and eyes of violet blue. She had a skin of the purest olive, no rose whatever in her cheeks, as transparent as Lady Lamerton’s, but of a warmer tone, like the mellow of an old painting, whereas that of her step-mother had the freshness and crudeness of a picture from the easel sent to the Royal Academy on the first of May.

Arminell differed from Lady Lamerton in expression as completely as in type of feature and colour. She had an unusual breadth of brow, whereas Lady Lamerton’s forehead was narrow. Her eyes had not that patient gentleness that filled the dark blue orbs of her ladyship, they were quick and sparkling. Her lips, somewhat prominent, were full, warm and contemptuous. She held her head erect, with a curl of the mouth, and a contraction of the brows, that expressed impatience at the task on which she was engaged.

On the left side of Miss Inglett sat Captain Tubb, engaged on the illumination of the souls of the senior boys. Captain Tubb held no commission in the army or navy, not even in the volunteers. He was, in fact, only the manager of a lime-quarry in the parish, on the estate of Lord Lamerton, but such heads over gangs of quarry and mining men bear among the people the courtesy-title of captain.

Mr. Tubb was a short, pale man with shiny face much polished, and with sandy moustache and beard. When he was in perplexity, he put his hand to his mouth, and stroked his moustache, or his beard under the chin, turned it up, and nibbled at the ends.

Some folk said that the captain taught in school so as to stand well with her ladyship, who would speak a word for him to my lord; but the rector thought, more charitably, he did it for his soul’s and conscience sake. Captain Tubb was a simple man, except in his business, and in that he was sharp enough. Perhaps he taught a class from mixed motives, and thought it would help him on a bit in both worlds.

“Yes,” said Lady Lamerton, “yes, Fanny White, go on. As the list of the canonical books is known to you all, I require you to learn the names of these books which, as the sixth article says, are read for example of life and instruction of manners; but yet are not applied to establish any doctrine. After that we will proceed to learn by heart the names of the Homilies, twenty-one in all, given in the thirty-fifth article, which are the more important, because they are not even read and hardly any one has a copy of them. Go on with the uncanonical books. Third Book of Esdras, Fourth Book of Esdras.”

“Tobit,” whispered the timid Fanny White, and curtsied.

“Quite right, Tobit – go on. It is most important for your soul’s health that you should know what books are not canonical, and in their sequence. What comes after Tobit?”

“Judith,” faltered Fanny.

“Then a portion of Esther, not found in Hebrew. What next?”

“Wisdom,” shouted the next girl, Polly Woodley.

“True, but do not be so forward, Polly; I am asking Fanny White.”

“Ecclesiasticks,” in a timid, doubtful sigh from Fanny, who raised her eyes to the boards above, detected an eye inspecting her through a knot-hole, laughed, and then turned crimson.

“Not sticks,” said Lady Lamerton, sweetly, “you must say – cus.”

A dead silence and great doubt fell on the class.

“Yes, go on – cus.”

Then faintly from Fanny, “Please, my lady, mother says I b’aint to swear.”

“I don’t mind,” exclaimed the irrepressible Polly Woodley, starting up, and thrusting her hand forward into Lady Lamerton’s face, “Darn it.”

Her ladyship fell back in her chair; the eye was withdrawn from the hole in the floor, and a laugh exploded upstairs.

“I – I didn’t mean that,” explained the lady, “I meant, not Ecclesiastics, nor Ecclesiastes, which is canonical, but Ecclesiasti – cus, which is not.”

Just then a loud, rolling, grinding sound made itself heard through the school-room, drowning the voices of the teachers and covering the asides of the taught.

“Dear me,” said Lady Lamerton, “there is the keeper’s wife rocking the cradle again. One of you run upstairs and ask her very kindly to desist. It is impossible for any one to hear what is going on below with that thunder rolling above.”

“Please, my lady,” said Polly, peeping up through the nearest knot in the superjacent plank, “it b’aint Mrs. Crooks, it be Bessie as is rocking of the baby. Wicked creetur not to be at school.”

“It does not matter who rocks the cradle,” said her ladyship, “nor are we justified in judging others. One of you – not all at once – you, Polly Woodley, ask Bessie to leave the cradle alone till later.”

The whole school listened breathlessly as the girl went out, tramped up the outside slate steps to the floor occupied by the keeper’s family above, and heard her say: —

“Now then, Bessie! What be you a-making that racket for? My lady says she’ll pull your nose unless you stop at once. My lady’s doing her best to teach us to cuss downstairs, and her can’t hear her own voice wi’out screeching like a magpie.”

Then up rose Lady Lamerton in great agitation.

“That girl is intolerable. She shall not have a ticket for good conduct to-day. I will go – no, you run, Joan Ball, and make her return. I will have a proper school-room built. This shall not occur again.”

Then Captain Tubb rose to his full height, stood on a stool, put his mouth to the orifice in the plank, placed his hands about his mouth and roared through the hole: “Her ladyship saith Come down.”

Presently with unabashed self-satisfaction Polly Woodley reappeared.

“When I send you on an errand,” said Lady Lamerton severely, “deliver it as given. I am much displeased.”

“Yes, my lady, thank you,” answered Polly with cheerful face, and resumed her seat in class.

“Now boys,” said Captain Tubb to his class, which was composed of the senior male scholars, including Tom Metters, the rascal who had put the inscriptions in the mouths of Moses and Aaron. “Now boys, attention. The cradle and Polly Woodley are nothing to you. We will proceed with what we were about.”

“Please, sir,” said Tom Metters, thrusting forth his hand as a semaphore, “what do Quinquagesima, Septuagesima and the lot of they rummy names mean?”

“Rummy,” reproved Captain Tubb, “is an improper term to employ. Say, remarkable. Quinquagesima” – he stroked his moustache, then brightened – “it is the name of a Sunday.”

“I know, sir, but why is it so called?”

“Why are you called Tom Metters?” asked the captain as a feeble effort to turn the tables.

“I be called Tom after my uncle, and Metters is my father’s name – but Quinquagesima?”

“Quin-qua-gess-im-a!” mused the Captain, and looked furtively towards my lady for help, but she was engrossed in teaching her class what books were not to be employed for the establishment of doctrine, and did not notice the appeal.

“Yes, sir,” persisted Metters, holding him as a ferret holds the throat of a rabbit, “Quinquagesima.”

“I think,” said Tubb eagerly, “we were engaged on David’s mighty men. Go on with the mighty men.”

“But, please sir, I do want to know about Quinquagesima, cruel bad.”

“Quin-qua-gess-ima,” sighed Capt. Tubb, nibbling the ends of his beard; then again in a lower sigh, “Quin-qua-gess-ima?” He looked at Arminell for enlightenment, but in vain. She was listening amused and scornful.

“Gessima – gessima!” said Mr Tubb; then falteringly: “It’s a sort of creeper, over veranders.”

He saw a flash in Arminell’s eye, and took it as encouragement. Then, with confidence he advanced.