The Trial of Parson Finch. A novel

Chapter I

A NEW YEAR MORNING. The birthday of the year 1754 was smiled on by the sun. There was not a cloud in the sky to mar his greeting — a smiling greeting, but lacking warmth. Jack Frost had been abroad before him, and had taken possession of all things — a possession the sun was not able to oust him from, though shining his brightest. The very breeze seemed to have been paralysed by the keenness of the frost, and to have no power to toy with its accustomed playthings. The sprays in the hedgerows, and the slender twigs on the upper branches of the trees, instead of swaying and bending in time with the song of the wind, were stiff and motionless, glinting and sparkling with millions of diamonds sprinkled over them by the hoar-frost. It was vain for the sun to attempt to melt this array of fragile jewels ; they glittered B and laughed at his impotent efforts, stealing his light to increase and enhance their own beauty.

The whole surface of the land was wrapped in a robe of virgin white, of some depth, for the rough inequalities below were only faintly indicated by gentle undulations on the surface ; and the long yellow stems of grass, the relics of last summer's beauty, that pierced the whiteness seemed stunted and short. Here, too, the frost had been at work, and while dredging jewels broadcast had hardened the surface to receive them, so that it required something more weighty than a hedgerow songster to make an im pression on the level plain. The boles of the trees and the bushy and straggling hedges, which would have disgusted a practical and hard-driven farmer of our days, stood out dark against the whiteness beyond, save where the feathery flakes of the storm of the previous night had lodged, and had been cemented in their positions by the power of Jack Frost.

The old year must have died hard, and in a tempest, for it was evident the snow had not floated silently to the earth, but had been driven and tossed a plaything of the blast. Against the northern and sunless side of the hedges it lay in great white mounds, and had been blown throu^'i the gaps, forming smaller tumuli on the opposite side, with now and then curious circular cavities, the edges of which were sharp and clean as though cut by a knife, which had been formed by some eddy or draught that had found it:; way over the sheltering bank. The scene was one of rare beauty, and though the cold was severe, its keenness was not noticed owing to the absence of wind. It is an excellent opportunity to introduce the reader to the locality in which many of the events of this history happened, and I intend to take advantage of it.

Pray, then, to imagine yourself standing in the centre of a broad turnpike road, with your face towards the east. Before you the land falls and rises, and the road disappears and reappears again in the dips and on the high lands in front, growing more and more narrow in the distance until it loses itself beneath a wood. Over this, and a good five miles away, lies the sea, apparently smooth as a sheet of glass, but flecked here and there with sparkles of light that tell of rolling masses of water hurrying in towards the shore. On your left hand the ground falls away rapidly, and down at the bottom of the valley runs the tidal river Brant, crossed by a many-arched, narrow, gray stone bridge, to which a branch road leads down from the one upon which we are standing. From the further end of the bridge a similar road climbs the opposite hill and is lost to view over the crest.

Between us and the river, partly on its bank, and partly on the slope of the elevation on which we stand, lies the cluster of cottages, farmhouses, and Parsonage, surrounding the low-roofed church, with the dumpy square tower at its western end, which forms the village of Fletton. The cottages are all of them built of lath and plaster, and B the whitewash on their walls rivals the whiteness of the surrounding snow. Could you see their roofs, you would find them, without exception, to be thatched with straw, but at the present time they are hidden beneath a thick layer of snow. The farmhouses, of which there are two or three, are of more imposing appearance, being built of red brick, with red-tiled roofs, and the extent of their gardens and farm-buildings proclaim their occupiers to be men of substance in the farming world.

The land about Fletton is good and productive, and the owners or tenants are one and all able to get a good living out of it, even if they do not do more, and save money. They are thrifty, careful men, these Fletton yeomen, content to work hard from morning to night, overlooking their men, and even lending a hand themselves when occasion requires, while their wives and daughters manage the poultry yard and dairy, and prepare their meals for them at home, instead of wasting their time over dress and trashy music, as is generally the case nowadays. In the eighteenth century, farmers did not so often come to grief as do those of a century later, in spite of superior education and scientific cultivation. Farms then descended from father to son, and from son to grandson, in long lines without ever a break.

And the seasons were no better then than they are now. But the farmers knew their place, and did not attempt to step out of it. The " ordinary " at the neighbouring town, and the local race meetings and fairs, were sufficient excitement for them and their families, and they would as soon have thought of running up to London for a month's sightseeing as they would of not touching their hats to the Squire and the Parson. The comfortable stone-built house with the mullion windows looking over the grass-plot surrounded by towering elms, the tops, however, of which are below your feet as you stand looking down, is the Parsonage. It has farm-buildings behind, for there is a glebe attached to it, and the Parson of Fletton generally finds time to give attention to a material flock as well as his spiritual one.

It lies close to the church ; the garden of the one bounds the graveyard of the other, and the occupier can watch his congregation gather on the Sunday morning, and not leave his study until the service bell begins, and still be in time to commence " When the wicked man " as it ceases. And now, reader, turn your eyes to the right. The ground again rises, and a little in front of you you will observe two stone gate-posts surmounted by what look like gigantic marbles, or Christmas puddings in stone. On these posts hang iron gates, which from year's end to year's end are propped wide open, probably on account of there being no lodge to contain a gatekeeper who should open them to visitors. From these gates winds a broad, well-kept drive up the hill, now passing beneath a clump of trees, now crossing the open, until it ends in a circular sweep before the stone steps leading up to the main entrance of a substantially built stone house in the Elizabethan style.

Only the upper portion of the building is visible from the road owing to the clumps of laurels and evergreens which fringe the grass-plot sur rounding three sides of the house, and which, with the assistance of a haha, divide it from the park. This house, known as The Grange, is the residence of the Squire of the village, and crowns the high land in this direction. From its windows the finest views in the country can be obtained. On one side you can, through the gaps in the evergreens, purposely made, gain glimpses of the village nestling in the valley far below. On the opposite side the view stretches for miles and miles over an undulating high land plentifully wooded ; while from the side between these two the same view can be obtained that I have attempted to describe as lying before you when standing in the road.

On this New Year's morning, on which we make the acquaintance of Fletton, a young man was seated on some railings which divided the road leading down to the village from the fields. He was apparently about six-and-twenty years of age, and strongly built. He was clad in the costume of the well-to-do middle-class of the period, and his thick, long brown hair was confined by a ribbon behind his well-formed head. His features were strongly marked and handsome, and as he wore no hair upon his face you were able to observe the determined form of his mouth. His eyes were somewhat large and quiescent, and lacked the restless, active look so often to be seen in young faces. There was an expression of care and anxiety about his features, and he appeared to be deeply engaged in thought. His three-cornered hat was pushed back from his forehead, and he occasionally leant forward and looked down the road leading from the village as if he were expecting some one.

At length his patience was rewarded, and he sprang to the ground, shook the long skirts of his brown cloth coat into position, replaced his hat, and straightened his scarf, as the figure of a young girl was to be seen slowly mounting the ascent. She was clad in a dark green robe, some what short, for walking, and trimmed down the front with dark fur, a short cloak or tippet was over her shoulders, while a close-fitting hood of the same material, and also edged with fur, formed a becoming frame for a saucy, merry face. Her hair was light and curly ; her eyes blue, and full of life and merriment. Her mouth was small, and seemed made for smiles alone. The frosty air and the exercise had bestowed on her a colour which many a city maid would have given pounds to possess. As she approached, the young man stepped forward from the railings, and, catching sight of him, she smiled and nodded, making as pretty a picture as could be found in all England.

He, in turn, raised his hat, and made the formal and stately bow then in vogue when greeting a lady. " Hey-day ! Mr. Trevor Finch, this is an unexpected pleasure. Who would have thought of meeting you here at this hour?" said the maiden, drawing a little hand from the immense muff she carried before her, and extending it towards him. " Not many people, perhaps, Miss Letty ; but surely you did not think I should allow this day to pass with out seeing you and wishing you a Happy New Year," replied Trevor Finch, taking her hand as though it be longed to a queen. " No. Now I come to think on it, I don't think you would, Mr. Trevor. At least, had you done so, I should have concluded something was amiss. It would not have been like you." " Then let me act up to my character at once, and wish you a very, very Happy New Year, and many of them, and may each succeeding one be more happy than its predecessor."

"Thank you, Mr. Trevor, that is prettily put; and, what is better, you mean it, I know ; and in these days of daintily turned compliments and polite nothings, that is no small recommendation. But you shall not have all the politeness on your side alone, so let me re-echo your wish with regard to yourself, and believe me when I tell you it comes from my heart." " I do believe you, Miss Letty ; and that belief goes some way towards the fulfilment of your wish. But whether this year is to be a happy or a sad one to me remains to be seen. Had I the ordering of my own affairs, I think I could contrive that it should be purely happy. But, unfor tunately, I do not possess that power." "Fie ! Mr. Trevor; what would your father say if he heard you giving play to such sentiments ? He would be shocked ; and next Sunday morning we should all in church be treated to a discourse on presumption, which had been composed entirely for your benefit and behoof, and you would not surely wish that?"

And Letty Seymour's pretty lips curled in smiles at the idea. " No, Miss Letty, I would spare you that, for in your case I'll be sworn it would be uncalled for." " Thank you again, fair sir," with a little curtsy. " But you do not seem to me to be starting the new year with very sanguine expectations. Are you ? " " I don't know, Miss Letty, of a truth. One minute things look bright and rosy, and the world seems very fair ; the next, everything seems to change, and I am full of doubt and fears. Last night as I stood at the Parsonage door, waiting to hear the bells at midnight, and to let the new year into the house, a feeling came into my mind that this year would be one of great misery or great happiness to me ; that it would be the most important and the turning point of my life. I cannot account for the feeling ; I have never felt anything like it before, and it exerted a strange influence over me.

I could not shake it off, and when, at length, I went to bed, I lay awake some hours thinking over it." " It is curious, Mr. Trevor, but surely there must have been some cause that gave rise to it. Perhaps you have had some troubles or worries of late. Have you ? " "Worries? No. Troubles? Well, perhaps so; but then they have been of my own making. But must you go in now ? " For by this time the young people, who had been walking as they chatted, had reached the plum-pudding crowned gate-posts, and the girl had stopped, for through them her way led to The Grange, where she resided with her father, Captain Seymour. " No, I don't think I need, just at present, and the morning is so purely fine that it seems well-nigh a sin not to take advantage of it. But perhaps I am detaining you ? " " Indeed, no. Let us walk along here, we shall be in the sunshine all the way," and the pair moved onward again.

For some time neither of them spoke, and then Trevor Finch suddenly said : " You are not going to London again, are you, Miss Letty ? " The girl looked at him a moment in surprise, and then laughingly replied : "No. Not that I know of. Certainly not at present. Why, I have only just returned. My aunt has had quite sufficient of my company for some time, I should imagine. But why do you ask ? Are you anxious that Fletton should be rid of my presence ? " with a saucy smile. " No, no, on my oath 'tis quite the reverse," replied Trevor, anxiously. " The place is so different when you are away ; it is dull and unbearable." " Thank you, once more." " I am but speaking the truth, I do assure you, at any rate as far as I am myself concerned. I hate it when you are not here. And I doubt not you must find it strangely dull.

London must be so much more enjoyable with its gaieties, its routs, its concerts, its assemblies, and its shops. What must you think of us all, dull country boors, when you return ? " " I think — I think " The girl hesitated, and blushed, and then continued rapidly : " You seem to forget, Mr. Trevor, that Fletton is my home, and that I was born here. London is passing pleasant for a time with its attractions and its gaiety, but it is not home." " You do like it, then. I knew it must be so, else you would not have stayed away from us so long. You were a full two months and three days in town." " So long as that? Did you count the days? " " Yes, I did, over and over again." " My aunt wanted me, you see." " Of course she did ; there is little doubt of that ; and yet if you had wished to return, there were means of doing so, I am well assured."

These words were uttered with a tinge of ill-humour and jealousy, which Letty was quick to detect. " Perhaps so," she replied, bridling. Trevor took no notice, but continued : " Did you ever think of your old friends in the country, I often used to wonder. You had so many other matters to claim your attention, and so many new friends, too, L'll be sworn." " Of course I had," and some thoughts that flashed through Letty's mind caused her face and neck to turn scarlet ; but the knowledge that Trevor had missed her was pleasant to her, and sufficient to restore her to good humour again, and it was with a merry smile that she replied : " But you must not think me so heartless that I should forget all my old friends among new ones. Some of them were pleasant and agreeable, but they were not like the old ones."

"I wish I had known this when you were away; it would have saved me many an hour of misery and wretchedness " " Nonsense, Mr. Trevor ; you don't expect me to believe that? I am vain, I know, but not so vain as to think that poor little I can have anything to do with your happiness." Trevor stood stock still, and gazed at the blushing face turned towards his a moment or two before he replied : "Letty, you must hear me now. I did not intend to speak yet, but your words compel me. I had meant to have kept my love for you a secret in my own breast, until I was sure of yours in return ; but I can do so no longer Now you know why this year is to be one of happiness 01 misery for me — why I have been troubled of late. Letty, 1 love you with all my heart and soul, and it was the thought that some of the young gallants of town might have secured the treasure I sought that drove me nearly out of my wits.

I felt so helpless when you were away ; I had no chance against them, I was not near you, and if I had been I should have made a very poor show in comparison with them, outwardly ; but not one among them could have offered you stronger, purer, or more devoted love. Tell me, Letty, that I have not hoped in vain. Give me the answer I am longing for, dearest. Tell me that my poor love is not despised, but that you can give me yours in return. Is it not so, Letty ? " For the girl had bent her head, and her eyes were fixed on the snow, which she was scraping into a little heap with her foot, while Trevor Finch spoke these words. He paused for her reply, and when she at length looked up, all the gladness had vanished from her face, and a look of pain and sadness was there instead, as she replied : " Oh, Trevor, I wish you had not said this.

It cannot be — it cannot be. We have been friends for some time now, and I like you very, very much, but not in that way. You must not think of such a thing. You must know I hate giving you pain, but it is kinder to tell you at once this cannot be. I am so sorry, Trevor, you should ever have thought of such a thing. Now you must forget it, and look out for some one who can really love you as you deserve to be loved. Don't think any more about me, I am not worthy of it." "Not worthy of my love? What do you mean, Letty? There is no one else in the world it can be given to. It is you or no one. Don't give me your answer now, darling ; take time to think it over ; but remember, whatever you may decide, my love is yours — and yours alone." "No, Trevor, it cannot be. You had better take my answer at once, I can give you no other.

I cannot love you as you deserve to be loved. Believe me, I mean each word I speak, though I know they are giving you pain." " You doubt my love. I see how it is ; you do not think it will last, and put it down to some passing fancy. But it is not that, I swear ; it is the love of my life, and once given it will not be taken back. I wish I could prove its strength to you. There is nothing I would not do for you, dearest. I would give my life this moment if in so doing I could spare you a moment's pain." " Hush, Trevor, hush ; you must not talk like that. It is the last thing I should do to doubt you. I believe that you do love me truly and devotedly, and I am sorry for it, for I cannot give you my love in return." "Then some one has stolen it from me. I was pre pared for this, though I tried to cheat myself into believing that it was not so.

You do not answer? Then I am right ; and in that case my chance is a poor one, for the man who has won your heart will quickly find what a treasure he has gained, and will not part with it easily. God grant that he may prove worthy of it. May I know who it is, dear ? " " Oh, Trevor, do not talk like that. I have not said that I care for any one, and " "Can I have mistaken? Have I been a blind fool, and your heart is still free ? Oh, my darling, my darling, there is a still a chance for me;" and he made as though he would have taken her to his breast, but she saw his intention, and stepping back a pace, said : " No, no, Trevor, I have told you it can never be ; you must take my word, and do not ask me any questions." In an instant his face changed again, and the look of hope that had suddenly come upon it as suddenly dis appeared again, as he said : " I see it, I see it.

Forgive me, little one ; I will ask no questions ; I will not trouble you any more ; but I shall live in hope; no one can stop me doing that, not even you." " No, Trevor, I cannot. I can only warn you that it will be useless. Why will you not take my answer at once and for ever ? You will be happier if you do." " No, Letty, I cannot. A man without hope may as well be in his grave. But this I will promise — I will trouble you no more, and I will try to act the part of a friend to you ; but I shall continue to hope until the ceremony before God's table makes such hope a sin. Then, and then only will I give up hope. In the meantime, as far as the world is concerned, I will attempt to resume the posi tion I have always occupied with you. And, Letty, you must look upon me as a friend who is willing any moment gladly to lay down his life for you ; and should at any time occasion arise when I can be of service to you, you are to look to me at once, no matter what that service may cost.

Will you do this, Letty ? Promise me." "How good you are to me, Trevor, and I don't deserve such kindness from you. I hope the occasion may never come, but if it should I will look to you." " Thank you, Letty ; that is something, at any rate." " And now I must be going back. Will you walk with me? I don't think you know how I feel this. I know I have made you miserable — you who have been nothing but kindness to me from the very first. But it is not in my power to give you any other answer." "Don't say another word, Letty. I understand you, and for the present I would rather say no more about it. You will not see me play the part of a broken-hearted boy. I shall try to bear my disappointment with a good grace, and let the world be none the wiser, but in my own heart I shall continue to hope."

" I wish you would not, Trevor. It would be better so. Put me quite out of your life, and seek for some one else who can love you." They had reached the gates by this time, and the girl continued : " I will not ask you to come in to-day, it would not be good for either of us ; but I hope what has taken place may make no difference in your coming to see us as formerly." " No, it shall make no difference. And now, good-bye. You may not see me again for a little time, but after that things will be the same as formerly ; " and then, with a sad smile: "This year promises to be a happy one for me, does it not?" And without giving her time to reply, Trevor bowed to her and turned away from the gates. As Letty walked up the drive towards the house, her thoughts were busy. She was truly sorry for her friend, and yet in her heart she was not sorry that she had been compelled to give him that answer.

The young man was right; some one else now occupied the position in her heart that had been his before she had paid that visit to her aunt. As soon as she gained the house she went straight to her own room, and there indulged in the feminine luxury of a good cry. She felt considerably better on recovering from this. It had, as it were, cleared the air; and having bathed her eyes, she went down to dinner, and chatted as gaily and merrily with her father, Captain Seymour, as if there were no such person in the world as Trevor Finch. c

Chapter II. Eli Drury Receives

A TROUNCING. When young Finch turned away from Captain Seymour's gates, he did not go straight home. He wanted to be by himself for a time, to recover before he faced the world again. For, let a man be as strong as may be, the sudden shattering of all the hopes which have been occupying his heart and thoughts for months is no light matter, and requires some courage and determination to face bravely. Trevor Finch was not one of those who wear their hearts on their sleeves, and seek to obtain pity and sympathy by so doing. He did not care about the world knowing of his disappointment. It was no business of theirs; it was a matter solely between himself and Letty Seymour, and he intended that it should remain so, and that the world should be none the wiser with regard to it. Still it was a crushing blow to him, and he felt it deeply.

He required time to pull himself together after receiving it. He wanted to be quite alone, and with this object in view he left the road, and taking to the fields, he made a bee-line straight away for three miles, jumping or scrambling through the hedges that came in his way. The exercise did him good, and when he at length again approached the village he felt able to mix with his fellow-men without giving any sign of the sorrow that was gripping at his heart. He had been thinking whether he had told Letty the real truth, and whether he was really prepared to act as he had said. He came to the conclusion that he was, and that were he called upon that moment to make some great sacrifice for her, he would gladly undertake it — though her declaration that she never could love him was still ringing in his ears.

He was con vinced his love was no idle fancy, but fixed and steadfast, and that it never would alter. He did not approach the village by the path by which he had left it, but by one running along the bank of the Brant. He was not far from the cottages when he heard a shout of hoarse laughter, followed by a sound between a scream and a yell, a weird, uncanny sound, that would have puzzled a stranger to tell what gave birth to it. But Trevor recognised it, and, hurrying forward, he came in sight of two figures apparently engaged in a snowball fight. One of them belonged to a young giant of over six feet, with shoulders and frame in proportion. There could not be a doubt about his immense strength, but it was animal strength, nothing more. His features were massive and of a low type ; and the coarse and brutal expression was heightened by a bloated and puffy appearance that be tokened frequent and prolonged visits to the "King's Head," the village inn. c His opponent was a youth or young man whose years it would have been very difficult to guess, for his features indicated an age which his frame and limbs did not warrant.