St. Wynfrith and its Inmates: the story of an almshouse

Front matter

PRICE 3/6 EACH. JONATHAN MERLE. A West Country Story of the Times. By Elisabeth Boyd Bayly. 5th Edition. " Rich in character and incident, and as charming in substance as it is elevated in tone. In general character it frequently and pleasantly reminds us of the work of Dr. George MacDonald." — Spectator. ALFREDA HOLME. A Story of Australian Life. By Elisabeth Boyd Bayly. 3rd Edition. " It is not often that we meet with a narrative of experiences so full of freshness and force as are to be found in this excellent ' Story of Social Life in Australia.' " — Temperance Record. London: farrold and Sons, io & li, Warwick Lane, E.C. BY EVELYN EVERETT-GREEN Author of " Tom Heron of Sax," " The Church and the King," " Don Carlos," etc. Second Edition LONDON JARROLD & SONS, io & n, WARWICK LANE, E.C. [AU rights reserved] 1S94 CONTENTS.

CHAPTER l'ACE I. Within the Gates ... ... ... 7 II. Without the Gates ... ... ... 26 III. Chaplain and Patroness ... ... 43 IV. Poor Miss Trench ... ... ... 58 V. The New Inmate ... ... ... 79 VI. The First Days ... ... ... 97 VII. Lady Artingale's Visit ... .".. 117 VIII. Mrs. Dosser at Home ... ... 139 IX. The Competition ... ... ... 157 X. The Chaplain's Brother ... ... 174 XI. Midsummer Gaieties ... ... ... 193 XII. Shadow at the Priory ... ... 213 XIII. The Award of Merit ... ... 224 XIV. Excitement ... ... ... ... 246 XV. Anonymous ... ... ... ... 264 XVI. The Storm Races ... ... ... 2S2 CONTENTS. VI CHAPTER TAGE XVII. Condemned ... ... ... ... 300 XVIII. Molly's Choice ... ... ... 317 XIX. Disappeared ... ... ... ... 335 XX. A Confession ... ... ... 353 XXI. Cleared Up ... ... ... ... 369 XXII. Christmas at St. Wyn frith's ... ... 3S6

Chapter I. Within The Gates

tc HANGES, changes, changes ! Nowt but changes now-a-days ! It's time they put I underground. I'm too old to take kind to new ways, that I be ! " and the speaker wiped his face with a faded red handkerchief, and looked round him with a querulous air of uneasiness and appeal. He was a very old man, dressed in the uniform of St. Wynfrith's bedesmen, and he was sitting beside a stove in a large and rather bare room, which had been built with the idea of being made into a dining hall, but had never within the memory of any of the present members of the community been used for that purpose. It was the place where any of the inmates of St. Wynfrith's were permitted to gather during the afternoon hours of the day, where newspapers were sent by kindly-disposed persons, and where games might even be played did any of the old folk care to play them.

Sometimes little entertainments were got up for them in the Hall, as it was called, and as it had a row of sunny south windows overlooking the road, it was a favourite place with the old folk, wearied with the monotony of the quiet quadrangle upon which their tiny cottages opened. In summer time the sunny quadrangle, with its bright little gardens and its smooth centre square of velvet turf, was a pleasant enough place to sit and chat in ; but during the winter months the Hall was the general rendezvous. To-day, as April was only just growing warm and pleasant, and the sun was but just beginning to shine with any real power and heat, the gardens and gravel paths had not attractions for the old folk, and they preferred the stove and the sunny windows of the Hall. There were five men and three women gathered there this afternoon, and it was evident from the expressions upon their faces that something of interest was under discussion.

The old man's remark was followed by a subdued murmur from the women, and by something very like a groan from one of the men ; but a tall, stal wart, grizzled old soldier, with an empty sleeve pinned across his breast, smiled as he laid his hand upon the shoulder of the bent old man in the easy chair, and his voice was cheerful and hearty as he said, " Come, come, cheer up, Daddy ! I can't see as any thing so bad has happened yet, nor why it should, for the matter of that." " It's all very well for you to talk, Sergeant," replied the old man fretfully, "you're young yet — and young folk allers likes a bit o' change. But I'm an old man, and I don't take no-how to new-fangled ways. It was a great mistake o' the Lord's to take old Janet and to leave me. She were younger than I by a good bit, and not near so afflicted.

Folks do say as the Lord knows best : but it do seem as if He'd made a bit of a blunder that time." " Daddy Dale, have a care of your words. You go nigh to blaspheming your Maker," spoke a clear and sonorous voice from the shelter of a distant window. The old man seemed to cower a little into himself, and muttered something unintelligible that might have been an apology either to the speaker or to an offended Deity, whilst the Sergeant turned upon the former, who like wise wore the dress of the male inmates of St. Wynfrith's, and said in his quick, decisive way, " There, there, Master Hall, poor old Daddy don't mean no harm. It's only his way of talking. Don't go for to scare him with taking him up so short." " Sergeant Drill," returned the other old man with a look of cold severity upon his face, " I have ever made it a principle through life to rebuke vice in whatever form it takes whenever I meet it, regardless of consequences to myself.

Yon old man is standing upon the very brink of the grave. Any moment he might be called to his last account. Can I then stand by and hear him calling his Maker to account, and setting up his puny wisdom above that of the Almighty? Nay ! Not for a moment ! I will boldly rebuke him to his face." " I don't see where the boldness comes in, with a poor helpless old man like that, who scarce knows what he says, or what is said to him," returned the old soldier bluntly, seeming in no wise daunted by the tragic air and stern eloquence of the other man — possibly he had grown too well used to his high sounding speech to pay any respect to it. " Let the poor old fellow be. He won't be with us so much longer I take it. He means no harm, and in course he doesn't take kindly to changes — though for my part I can't see that we have had much to complain of in that way as yet."

"Nothing to complain of, Sergeant ! " cried a sharp voice from the little table where the three women sat together turning over some illustrated papers. " Nothing to complain of with a Papist parson turned loose upon us as Chaplain : and now a new bedeswoman to be chosen — and I make no manner of doubt she'll be a Papist too. If you don't call that something to be afraid of, I don't know what you will." " Sergeant Drill is never afraid of changes," spoke another new voice in a mocking tone, as a little bent man hobbled forward towards the stove, turning his gleaming eyes first upon one and then upon another of the group with a sneering expression that was not altogether pleasant to see : " because he knows how to change his coat — or turn it — so as to be in with every new fashion ; and though he's a soldier by profession, he can sail his ship with every wind that blows, so that he's safe and happy whatever is going on.

Oh no ! It's natural enough that he don't mind what changes go on round him. He's ready for them all !" For a moment the old soldier drew his grizzled brows together as if tempted to make a sharp rejoinder to this taunt ; but after a brief pause he seemed to think better of it. Perhaps he was too well used to Andrew Robinson's acrimonious remarks to heed them any more than he heeded the denunciatory eloquence of Robert Hall, an ex-local preacher, who had apparently been called to his vocation on the strength of his name, for he had never prospered in the world cither in a sacred or secular calling, though he had acquired a few of what Robinson designated " the tricks of the trade." The old soldier had long taken the measure of both, and was not easily induced to bandy words with either. He fancied, perhaps with some reason, that they were jealous of him because several little offices of trust were accorded to him, and because he received a small extra sum weekly for ringing the bell of the little chapel for the daily service, and seeing it duly opened and closed.

So ignoring the taunts levelled at him, the old soldier approached the table where the women sat, saying in his pleasant crisp voice, that had not altogether lost the ring of authority gained during his days of active service, " Come, now, Mrs. Webster, I don't quite know why you are in such a taking about Papists and Papist ways. Mr. Beresford is no more a Papist than I am. He do things a bit different from old Chaplain — I'm not the one to deny it — but that don't make him a Papist. Why, all over the world things have changed a bit as the years have gone on ; and I can't see that they have changed for the worse, and — " "Can't you, Sergeant?" sniffed the woman addressed by the men as Mrs. Webster, and by the women as Martha. " Well, as I always do say, there's none so blind as them as won't see, and I never did have no opinion of men-folks.

Why, any fool can lead a man by the nose. But if he ain't a Papist he's a Jesuit in disguise — and I can't see much to choose between 'em ! " and Martha Webster shut her mouth with a snap and looked round with a glance of triumph, as though she had delivered herself of an unanswerable argument. Now the Sergeant, although a man of narrow educa tion and limited knowledge, had yet seen considerably more of the world than the rest of the inmates of St. Wynfrith's, and had thus picked up a wider view of life than is altogether common with men of his class. He was tickled by Martha's line of argument without exactly knowing why, and as the flicker of amusement passed across his weather-beaten face, he caught an answering smile in the eyes of quiet little Mary Cree, and as Mary Cree, before she had become so crippled with rheumatic gout as to be incapable of earning her living, had been a village schoolmistress, she was held by the other members of the community to be a person of vast knowledge and information.

Without being all that, she was at least a very fairly well-read woman, and was an eager devourer of books of all kinds, which were lent her by the patronesses of St. Wynfrith's, who frequently visited the Almshouse. The Sergeant, seeing her amusement, resolved to continue the conversation further, and sitting down in an unoccupied chair near at hand, he bent forward towards Martha Webster. " Now look here, missus ; I'm an ignorant sort of a fellow myself, and don't know much about these matters, but I like to be instructed by them as understands them better. What may be the difference now between a Jesuit and a Papist? because I thought as all Jesuits were Papists, only a bit worse may be than the rest of their kind." "And so they be— nasty designing things!" cried Martha, flushing up, but skilfully avoiding a direct answer to the question.

" Them Jesuits are worse than any other sort of Papists— creeping into widows' houses, and deceiving the very elect. I've heerd tell of them and their ways, and I wouldn't trust one of them — no, not though he transformed himself into an angel of light, like we know his master the devil knows how to do. And I say as it's enough to make the old founders turn in their graves having Papists and Jesuits foisted into the old place ; and I don't care who hears me say it — that I don't— not if it's Mr. Beresford himself." " But I can't make no sense of you thinking that Mr. Beresford is a Jesuit or a Papist either," objected the Sergeant. " If he was, the Pope wouldn't let him come here and take our services. Why I do know some'ut about Papists — we've had 'em in the ranks before now, and their Priests is mighty particular, and they don't let 'em go to any place but their own.

And I'm main sure that the Pope wouldn't let any Papist take one of our Protestant Churches and read our Protestant service in it. What do you think about it, Miss Cree ? " " I'm quite sure it could not be done," answered the little woman brightly. She was a cheerful soul despite her infirmities, and since coming to St. Wynfrith's six years ago, her health had greatly improved, and she often felt herself to be what she called "the most fortunate creature in the world." She had very little use of her hands still, but except in very damp or cold weather she had ceased to suffer any severe pain, and was as happy as the day was long. " Why, the gentlefolk who choose the Chaplain — it may be the Bishop himself, for all I know — know all about him if we don't ; and if Mr. Beresford had been a Papist or anything the least bit like it, why it would have been known, and he would never — he could not have been sent here.

Besides hc never would have come. As you say, Sergeant, the Roman Catholics are much more afraid of going to our Protestant services than we are of going to theirs. Lots of folk who travel abroad go to hear mass sung in some of their big churches, and are none the worse for it — generally coming away thankful that they have churches where the service is all done in English, and where all can bear a share in it, instead of letting the priests do everything — even to taking the Communion for the people — as if anyone could do that for another. But the Roman Catholics never come near our places. I don't think their priests let them. Perhaps they are afraid they might hear things they don't wish them to know. I'm sure I don't know. But I do know that it wouldn't be possible to put a Roman Catholic Priest as Chaplain here : and we needn't be afraid of that — whether we like Mr. Beresford's new ways or not."

Martha Webster tossed her head. She did not like being contradicted even by Miss Cree, who was a favourite with everybody in the community ; but on the other hand she had a dim perception that Mary Cree knew a good deal more than she did, and that she could not very well sustain an argument against her. So she pursed up her mouth and looked unutterable things, whilst Lydia Golightly, a queer little soft-footed wizened being, who was always reported to be " as thick as thieves with Martlia Webster," took up the word by saying, " Well, if Mr. Beresford isn't half a Papist, as I fully believe him to be, nobody can say that my lady isn't a real Papist from top to toe." Nobody seemed able to contradict that statement ; but the Sergeant drew his bushy brows together as he remarked, "Anyhow, she is a sweet and gentle lady as ever breathed, and as kind as can be to everybody here.

I don't see that we have any cause to trouble our heads about her religion. She don't gird at us or interfere with our beliefs; and why should we mind what hers are ? " "Why?" echoed Martha sharply. "Why, Sergeant, what a question to ask ! Don't you know that the next nomination to a vacancy here belongs to the master of the Priory House ; and everybody says that Lord Artingale is just led by the nose by his pretty young wife, and she a rabid red-hot Papist. She'll send some creeping Jesuit or Papist in amongst us, you'll see ; and all the peace and quiet of the place'll be gone from the day as she comes in." " Changes — changes — changes ! " groaned old Daddy from his chair. " To think that I should live to see the likes o' that ! It do seem a sad mistake now that old Janet were took instead of I." Robert Hall made a step forward and struck one of his favourite attitudes, raising his voice so as to drown Daddy's quavering tones.

"Friends," he cried, "if this thing should come to pass. If this great iniquity should be done, and this Papist Jezebel be foisted upon us here, may we not take it as a glorious opportunity of striking a blow at the very stronghold of Satan, and tearing from his clasp his helpless prey? May not good come out of evil — and the very thing by which he hopes to undo us, be the means of his own discomfiture ? " " You think it would be a fine chance for you to convert her, I suppose, spouting Robert?" sneered Andrew Robinson, with a low and not too amiable laugh. " You think your talents are rusting here, eh ? And you would like to give them a little exercise. Well, I don't mind laying you a pretty heavy bet you don't succeed. You may talk yourself black in the face every blessed day of your life, as you would love to do ; but it'll take something more than your precious spouting to make a single reasonable being think one hail s breadth different from what he did before.

You've been preaching at me these last five years or better, and you've only showed me so far what an uncommon vain fool a man can be who thinks he's got the gift of the gab." Hall flushed angrily. There was often a good deal of slightly acid disputing amongst the members of this little community ; but on the whole the disagreement was on the surface — the spice and salt as it were of a monotonous existence, whilst at heart there was good fellowship and agreement. But it could not be denied that between Robert Hall and Andrew Robinson a somewhat bitter antagonism existed. Robert was a well-meaning man in his way, but his religious views were very narrow and bigoted, and he w-as consumed by an overmastering vanity and love of display. Andrew, on the contrary, was an almost professed unbeliever, and the marvel was how he had ever been elected as one of the bedesmen of the old foundation.

He had been admitted whilst suffering from some obscure malady which was then thought to be fast killing him, and illness and suffering had so far softened him as to make him appear a fitting recipient of the benefits of the institution. Without the least intentional hypocrisy he had allowed himself to appear a man of different calibre from his true self, and had been rejoiced over as a lost sheep restored to the fold. The peaceful life, sufficient food, and the care he had received, had given him back a wonderful access of health and strength. He had taken out, as it were, a new lease of life, and in so doing had to a great extent fallen back into his former methods of thought and speech. Whilst submitting out wardly to all the rules and regulations of the institution, always being in his place in the chapel, and receiving the visits of the Chaplain and the patrons of the place with submissive decorum, he indulged himself before his fellow inmates with a freedom of speech that sometimes shocked them not a little, and it was whispered even in higher quarters that Robinson was a pronounced Socialist, if not a veritable Free-thinker, and there were not wanting those who said openly that it was a great mistake he had ever been admitted to St. Wynfrith's. But once there, there was no means of getting him out, even had anyone desired to go as far as that.

So long as he lived he must be a fixture there ; and there were not lacking those who hoped that the new Chaplain, Mr. Basil Beresford, would succeed in obtaining an influence over him that good old Mr. Ridley with his gentle, kindly, easy-going nature had never possessed. But to return to the two angry men eyeing each other askance in the big common room. Andrew had plainly thrown down the gauntlet, and Robert never failed to take it up. Quarrels between these two were of so frequent occurrence as to cause little commotion in the community ; but peace-loving Mary Cree always strove to gloss over any disturbance and induce a better state of feeling between the irritated pair, or if she could not do that, to change the subject, or propose an adroit question which should change the current of their thoughts.

So now she looked up to say quietly, " I scarce think it is possible, Mr. Hall, that a Roman Catholic could be admitted to St. Wynfrith's. There are always rules and regulations, though we may not know IT all about them. And then, if what I have always heard about them be true, no Romanist would consent to come to such a place, or would be permitted to enter it by the Priest he or she was under. I think we had better wait quietly to see who is appointed to Janet's cottage, and try to make her welcome when she comes. I make no doubt it will be some lonely old soul in sore need of a kind word. It seems to me it would be a sad pity to make a stranger and a sort of enemy of her at once." "You speak very true, Miss Cree," spoke a queer, muffled voice from the other side of the stove. This voice came from a man whose age would be hard to guess.

He had a smooth ruddy face, almost like a baby's, and his hair was lint white, and looked as if it had been that colour ever since his birth, as it bore no appearance of having been frosted by age. " Softie Joe" was the name by which he generally went at St. Wynfrith's, though upon the books he figured as Joseph Blake. He was a mild, inoffensive creature, with a decided " bee in his bonnet," and a dog-like affection for Mary Cree, that principally evinced itself in remarks like the one that had just passed his lips, echoing and emphasising any statement she might make, whether or no he really understood its significance. Nobody except Mary herself ever took the trouble to try and draw out the dormant faculties of the half-witted man ; but she gave a considerable amount of time and pains to the task.

She had taught him to read at the cost of infinite patience, and she always declared that " Softie Joe" was by no means as soft or as stupid as he looked. His mind was in a torpid state, often seeming almost absent ; but when some unexpected touch awoke the sleeping soul, a flash of intelligence would break forth that often startled the observer, and showed that there was material upon which to work, however unpromising it might appear at the outset to be. Of course nobody heeded the words he spoke now — he did not look for any attention and was made quite happy by Mary Cree's bright little smile of acknow ledgment. The argument might have been continued with heat and acrimony for an almost indefinite time, since the subject of changes and innovations was one which was stirring St. Wynfrith's Almshouse to its very depths, had it not been that the great clock in the quadrangle now chimed the hour of four, and at this magic sound all the three women rose up with one accord.

" Tea time ! " cried Mary Cree briskly. " At least time to see ail our kettles set on to boil. We can enjoy our afternoon cup of tea, can't we, Daddy? — whether there are changes at St. Wynfrith's or not. Shall I run across and see to yours ? — or will Joe do it for you ? " " I'll do it and welcome, Miss Cree ! " cried Joe, starting up with alacrity, " and I'll do yours with pleasure too if you'll let me." " Thanks, Joe, but I can manage my own myself. I am getting so clever with my fingers now. But you can come in after chapel for your reading lesson. I've got a new book that I think you will be pleased with. Mr. Beresford brought it himself yesterday." Joe grinned rather foolishly, but looked highly delighted, and shambled away to the men's side of the quadrangle, whilst the Sergeant supported old Daddy's tottering steps to his own domicile.

The women had gone out already, and the little quadrangle of St. Wynfrith's was for the moment alive with moving figures. It was a pretty quiet place, old enough to be picturesque and hoary, yet kept in excellent repair, and as trim and bright as loving care and the bright spring sunshine could make it. The patrons of the old foundation were numerous, and the Almshouse was a pride and pleasure to many. Some spoke of the place with a mocking smile as "the toy and plaything of the gentry;" but these were in the minority, and most of the residents of the little township of St. Wynfrith's were proud of the pretty buildings and their long history. It was something for their friends to do to pay a visit to the Almshouse; and the little chapel within the gates was a really beautiful little bit of mediæval Gothic.

There was a fine old gate-way too, by which entrance to the precincts was obtained, and in the gate-way a clock-tower that chimed the quarters with remarkable sweetness and precision. To the immediate right of the gate-way and facing south towards the road as did the gate, was the Matron's house, and corresponding to this was the big Hall, or common-room, already alluded to. On passing through the gate-way the eye was first taken by the little church and the Chaplain's house which occupied the whole space opposite. To the right were five tiny little cottages with bright slips of garden in front — the women's side. To the left were five more cottages precisely similar and little gardens to match for the men. A wide gravel walk ran the whole way round, in the centre of which was a smooth expanse of green sward with a stone cross in the centre.

The little church was of hoary-looking grey stone, and was cruciform in its construction ; but the other buildings (with the exception of the Chaplain's house which was of the same date as the church and in the same style) were of warm red brick, mellowed to a soft dull tint, and plentifully adorned with ivy and creepers. It was just the kind of place likely to impress the beholder with the idea that all within those walls must be harmony and peace — that no storms could disturb the restful calm which brooded over the precincts — that envyings, strife or heart-burnings could find no place therein. And yet — and yet — is not human nature the same everywhere ? And very frailly human were these old folk who called St. Wynfrith's their home. Martha Webster and Lydia Golightly were slowly making their way home together across the sunny space.

Their heads were very close as they pursued their leisurely way. " I think I'll get old Granny to take her tea with me to-day, and you shall come too, Lydia. We must get Granny on our side. I've a sally-lunn which my niece from the town brought me. Granny likes a bit of hot bread with her tea. Let's go and fetch her. We must get Granny on our side." She repeated this phrase in so meaning a tone that Lydia gave a queer little upward glance out of her small pale eyes and asked tentatively, " Our side, Martha ? " '• Why, yes — our side. We shall have to look very sharp what we're about, Lydia, with all these new-fangled ways and folk. That there Mary Cree is something like the Sergeant — only it seems worser in a woman than a man — she will always go sucking up to new folk and making believe to like them and their ways.