Eli's Children: The Chronicles of an Unhappy Family. George Manville Fenn
of the governors of Lawford School, with the Rector in the chair.
The meeting, according to custom, had been called for the vestry-room, which would only comfortably hold six, and then adjourned to the King’s Head, where the townspeople and those interested in the important event were gathered in force.
Thirty years before, when Humphrey Bone obtained his appointment, only three people were present—to wit, the then rector of the parish and a couple of governors. But there was no opposition in those days. Dissent had not taken so strong a hold on the little town, and the disposition for making a party fight over every trifling matter had not grown into the ascendant.
On this particular day, however, though to a man every one present, whether Nonconformist or supporter of Church and State, would have stoutly denied that party feeling or local politics had anything to do with his presence, it was very evident that there were two opposing sides, and that the meeting was pretty evenly divided between the supporters of the Rector, who believed in the time being come for the appointment of a new master, and those who nailed their colours to the mast old style, and openly declared that any change made must be for the worse.
Humphrey Bone was there one of the first, making the boards echo with his thick boot, and it was noticed that the said boot had been thoroughly blacked, that Humphrey was well shaved, his hair had been cut, and that he had on a clean white shirt.
Fullerton was there, too, talking to him aside, and Tomlinson, Smithson, and Warton soon put in an appearance, one and all looking as important and solemn as if the constitution of the country were at stake, in place of so mild a question as that which was to be settled—whether Humphrey Bone was to be superseded, or not.
The room was growing pretty full. Michael Ross, the tanner, had entered, followed by his son, who looked very pale and determined, speaking in a quick, decided way to Portlock, the churchwarden, who came up and shook hands with both his father and him in turn.
Then the Rector entered, followed by Cyril, who sauntered into the room with a careless air, nodding at first one and then another, till his eyes met those of Luke Ross, when he started slightly, but returned the keen fixed gaze with one full of angry resentment before looking down.
Then there was a little bustle and settling down in seats as the Rector took the chair. The vestry clerk opened a big calf-skin covered book, stuck a new quill pen behind his ear, and drew the ink a little nearer to him, when there was a breathless pause, during which all who could looked from Luke Ross, the young, to Humphrey Bone, the old, as if they were the champions of the two causes assembled here, and as though they were expected to come forward in front of the Rector’s chair and do battle manfully for the post.
Then the Rector quietly announced that the meeting that day was for the purpose of confirming the appointment of the new master to the boys’ school, and also to accept the resignation of the late master, Mr. Humphrey Bone.
“Never resigned,” shouted that individual; and he involuntarily wiped his mouth, as if to remove all traces of his having been seeking for support at the King’s Head bar.
Mr. Mallow frowned slightly, and there was a low buzz of satisfaction on one side of the room.
“Didn’t resign, and don’t want to resign,” said Humphrey Bone more loudly, being encouraged by the looks of approbation he received.
“And to confirm the dismissal of Mr. Humphrey Bone from the office of master of the school,” said the Rector, firmly. “I beg pardon, gentlemen, I was under the impression that Mr. Bone had resigned. I may add, gentlemen, that the preliminaries have been settled at the former meeting, and all that is requisite now is for a majority of the governors to sign the minute that the clerk to the vestry will prepare. If any gentleman has a remark or two he would like to make, we shall be most happy to hear him.”
“Yes, that’s easy enough to say,” whispered Warton to Smithson. “He’s used to speaking in public. I always feel as if my heart’s getting into my mouth.”
“Mr. Fullerton, I think, wishes to address you, gentlemen,” said the Rector, smiling and sitting down.
Mr. Fullerton looked as if he would have liked to strangle the Rector for that smile. It was a perfectly innocent smile, in no wise directed at the would-be speaker, but it seemed to Fullerton that the Rector was ridiculing him, and it put him off his text for the moment, but he recovered himself, and in a very florid speech, full of wanderings from the point, opposed the appointment of a new master on the ground that Humphrey Bone having been duly nominated and appointed, unless he had in some special way become unfit for his post, the Rector had no right to dismiss him.
Mr. Bone uttered a very loud “Hear, hear!”
Two more of the townsmen, followers of Fullerton, rose in turn to speak, but were silenced on the spot by the announcement of the Rector, that this was not an ordinary meeting of ratepayers, but of the governors of the school, who alone had a right to make any motion and speak to the proposition before the meeting.
This being so, Tomlinson was forced into action by his neighbour, and in smooth tones regretted that he was compelled to go in opposition to “our worthy Rector,” but, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera, he must object to the appointment of so young a man as Mr. Luke Ross to so important a post, and after a long speech, in which he went round and round the subject a dozen times, he ended by declaring that he should vote against the appointment.
To his annoyance, the Rector, as the meeting went on, found himself undoubtedly in the minority, and he felt bitterly the position in which Luke Ross had been placed.
Just then, however, a couple of the governors, upon whom he knew that he could depend, entered the room, and the tables, he felt, were turned.
Luke had been sitting, chafing at every word that had been said against his appointment, and every now and then, as he met Cyril Mallow’s eye, it seemed to him to be full of triumph at his discomfiture.
Then, too, he kept glancing at Portlock, and as he did so the bluff, wealthy farmer’s words came back, mingled with the contempt he seemed to feel for the pittance that was to be the young master’s for the first few years.
Five hundred a year—five hundred a year—seemed to keep repeating itself to Luke Ross, as his eyes once more met those of Cyril Mallow, whose countenance wore a decided sneer.
“Then now, gentlemen, I think,” said the Rector, “we will proceed to vote.”
“Stop!” cried Luke Ross.
It was on the impulse of the moment. He had had no such thought when he entered the room.
“We will hear you, Mr. Ross, after the voting is over,” said the Rector, quietly.
“No, sir,” replied Luke, “I must ask you to hear me first. I have decided not to accept the post.”
There was a dead silence in the room for a few moments after Luke Ross’s decisive words, a silence broken by Humphrey Bone, who relieved the excitement under which he laboured by starting from his seat, and bringing his thick-soled boot down with a tremendous clump upon the floor.
“Do I understand you to say, Mr. Ross, that you decline the post?” exclaimed the Rector.
“Yes, sir, definitely,” replied Luke. “I could not, under the circumstances, think of accepting the appointment.”
There was another pause here, and then, led by Fullerton, the opposition party broke into a loud cheer.
“Silence if you please, gentlemen,” exclaimed the Rector, with a greater show of indignation than any one present remembered him to have displayed. “This is no time for showing party feeling. Of course, as Mr. Ross declines to accept the appointment—”
“But he don’t,” cried old Michael Ross, “he wants time to think it over.”
“Hush, father,” exclaimed the young man, firmly, “I know my own mind. Mr. Mallow, I am sorry to have given all this trouble,