The Fall of Doctor Onslow (13 page)

‘I am afraid it will be just such another miserable day as yesterday,’ said Chatty, pouring out tea.

‘Yes, I am afraid you are right,’ said Louisa, who because she had not seen him till they sat down to breakfast, guessed that Onslow had already had his interview with Anstey-Ward. She supposed that her husband had spent a long time in conversation with him – she did not know that unable to face her, he had spent half an hour on the chilly verandah, having nowhere else to go but the bedroom he shared with her.

‘Miss Anstey-Ward,’ said Onslow, who had worried his wife by saying almost nothing till now, ‘Mrs Onslow and I must leave you very soon after breakfast. Would it be possible for us to hire a conveyance to take us to the station from somewhere round about?’

‘Oh! But hiring a conveyance is not at all necessary. We have just set up our own carriage, which can very easily take you – it is such a convenience to have one’s own carriage.’ Chatty had been pressing her brother to set one up for years.

‘I should hate to be without one, I own,’ said Louisa, and refrained from glancing at Anstey-Ward, who had the power to deprive her of the means of keeping a carriage.

‘We are much obliged to you, Miss Anstey-Ward,’ said Onslow. He was thinking of how he would tell Louisa everything as soon as they were on their way, now that he had to some extent mastered his sense of shame.

Anstey-Ward, like Onslow, thought that all these civilities were even more painful than those uttered yesterday.
Yet now all was over, he hated Onslow less than he had done, and so he wondered why this should be so. With an effort he said:

‘We shall be very glad indeed to convey you to the station, Dr Onslow,’ and all his listeners were faintly embarrassed by a polite remark made too late.

The meal finally came to an end. Chatty stayed in the breakfast-parlour, Anstey-Ward went once more to the library, and the Onslows, making excuses, went upstairs. Once they were in their room, Onslow said:

‘I have spoken to him.’ Having avoided Louisa before breakfast, he now felt he could not wait even till they were on their way to Salisbury. He also suspected that she guessed what had happened, and would in any case demand to be told. He could not put her off a second time.

‘Oh Dr Onslow, tell me.’

‘He is implacable. There is nothing else to say.’

‘Oh no,’ said Louisa, putting a hand to her cheek. ‘No, I can’t believe it.’

‘It is what we expected, after all. Is it not?’

‘No.’ She meant it: she had been entirely convinced that a compromise would be settled on, such as a not too immediate resignation followed by the acceptance of a bishopric, or at least a deanery. At last she said, not looking at Onslow: ‘The documents he spoke of – what were they?’

He blushed at the mention of them.

‘Evidence I could not dispute.’ Then there was a pause, and Onslow took out his watch and examined it. He said at length: ‘It is less than it might be. I must be thankful there is to be no scandal.’ He thought what excellent control he was keeping, and pictured himself abandoning it.

‘I suppose so,’ muttered Louisa, in whose mind a plan was quickly forming.

Raising her head, ignoring the hand he stretched out to her, she told him that he must excuse her and then went out of the room. Onslow supposed she was going to answer a call of nature, and was angry with her for having one at such a moment.

Louisa sped downstairs and went straight to the library,
into which she had seen Anstey-Ward disappear. She knocked on the door and heard his surprised-sounding voice calling ‘Come in.’

‘Why, Mrs Onslow!’ he said when she entered, though the knock had given him an idea of who it was. Chatty would not have knocked, and he could not think that Onslow would have done so. ‘What can I do for you, ma’am? Pray sit down!’ he said, as he had said to her husband earlier. He got up and placed a chair for her, which she accepted. Then she said:

‘You can do a great deal for me, Dr Anstey-Ward. I have come to ask you to be a little less harsh towards my husband.’

He started. She folded her hands neatly in her lap, and there was silence.

‘Dr Onslow does not know I have come down to talk to you,’ Louisa offered as Anstey-Ward said nothing. ‘I am hoping you will listen to a wife’s plea.’ She knew her words were melodramatic, but her tone was light. Anstey-Ward, shocked though he was, rather liked the touch of melodrama. It was something outside the whole range of his experience.

‘I don’t know what you mean by a little less harsh, ma’am,’ he said, wishing he could think of something better to say. He wondered just how much she knew, whether Onslow had fobbed her off with some story.

‘Will you not let him remain at Charton till Christmas?’ she said, leaning forward. Louisa was keeping her voice under strict control, just as Onslow had kept his. ‘Then, you see, if he informs the trustees of his coming resignation now, it will not look in any way odd. I am sure you are as desirous of preventing disagreeable gossip as we are, Dr Anstey-Ward.’

Anstey-Ward looked at her face and realised that Louisa knew everything, that she was no such sheltered innocent as he, far more than Onslow, thought all women should be. All her light conversation of last night, and at breakfast, had been a mere act – he felt a fool for having supposed there was a need to deceive her as much as Chatty.
Distressed though he was by her duplicity, Anstey-Ward was also relieved: for to have her understand like a man was better than to have her ask him awkward questions, as had been his fear when she first came into the room. And he would not feel like a merciless brute, denying the requests of a woman who knew. Yet on the other hand, he thought, it was dreadful not to do whatever he could to comfort a guiltless creature who for all her boldness, must have suffered terribly when her husband confessed.

In his conflict, Anstey-Ward said nothing, but only watched her, waiting to learn more.

‘I do not think I could bear it if there were such gossip,’ she said. ‘You will understand that, I am very sure, Dr Anstey-Ward.’

He decided there was nothing for it but to talk to her as though this were a perfectly ordinary situation. He said:

‘Yes indeed, but Mrs Onslow, I do not see that Dr Onslow’s leaving Charton at the end of this half-year need give rise to gossip of the kind you mean. He has only to plead ill-health.’

Louisa thought this excuse would be extremely likely to lead to gossip, for Onslow was so healthy that he had not contracted an infectious complaint, not even influenza, since he was a child. His stomach was absolutely sound, and occasional migraines were the only illness to which he was subject.

‘I am afraid everyone would know that was untrue, sir.’

‘No, no,’ he assured her. ‘There are any number of diseases from which men who appear perfectly healthy may suffer. I suggest severe and persistent migraine.’ It was unfortunate that he picked on this condition. ‘That would account also for his refusal to accept high preferment – he would be thinking the work would be too much for him.’ He added, clearing his throat: ‘I take it you know what I have required of Dr Onslow.’

‘I know,’ said Louisa. ‘Yes, I do know. But as for ill-health being a sufficient excuse for his refusing high preferment, it might serve with regard to a bishopric, but a dean has no work to speak of. A deanery would be the very
thing for him in those circumstances. Dr Anstey-Ward, will you not compromise even so far as to allow him to accept a deanery? Only to prevent disagreeable talk? You insist on his resigning immediately, will you not even grant me this?’

‘I’m sorry, but I cannot go back on what I have said, Mrs Onslow.’

‘Then you are condemning us both to a life of wretchedness,’ she said, quite gently.

‘Forgive me, but I’ve yet to learn that the life of a parish clergyman is one of wretchedness.’

Changing tack, Louisa said, still softly and reasonably:

‘What have
I
done to deserve this? Is it right that I should be punished too? You see I am quite frank with you.’

Anstey-Ward did not like to point out that she had accepted Onslow for better for worse, and so he simply looked at her, and fiddled with his watch-chain. In spite of his stern view of the marriage vow, he did feel it was dreadful to ruin Louisa as well as her husband – it was only that he saw no alternative.

‘I’m sorry, Mrs Onslow,’ he said at last. ‘But I ought to tell you that it is largely for your sake I do not wish to make a scandal out of this. Were it not for you I might think otherwise.’

‘I suppose I must thank you for that. I do thank you.’

There was a pause. Then Louisa said:

‘You know, Dr Anstey-Ward, my husband has sincerely repented of his error.’

‘I’m glad to hear that, Mrs Onslow.’

‘In the circumstances, is it right for you to insist on having your way? He is in such agony of mind.’ She added: ‘I daresay he did not tell you so, but then he is very proud. He would never tell you that he had repented.’

‘I know, ma’am.’

‘Dr Anstey-Ward, precisely what right have you to condemn him in this way? I ask you that in all seriousness, not to be insulting. Do you indeed have the right to judge him? Like God?’

Anstey-Ward took out his watch and wound it.

‘I’m not sure, Mrs Onslow. But however that may be, I –’

‘You acknowledge that you have not. Oh, Dr Anstey-Ward, you know it is not Christian to behave in this way.’

‘I don’t know about that,’ he said. ‘Christians have behaved in all manner of ways.’

Louisa leant forward in her chair, and made a concession. ‘Perhaps, perhaps you do have the right to ask him to resign from Charton, where he is open to temptation, but do you have the right as a fellow Christian to punish him in other ways? Can you not leave vengeance to God? When Dr Onslow is so bitterly repentant, so determined never to err again? Oh, Dr Anstey-Ward, please listen to me!’

He was now looking at her eager, anxious, pretty face, and the expression on his own face was miserable. She could see that her persistence was softening him at last.

‘You know in your heart that you do not have the right to cause so much unhappiness,’ she said.

‘Perhaps not,’ he said, ‘yet I still cannot think it right for Dr Onslow to hold a high position in the church. And I don’t think it right that a clergyman should be quite so ambitious.’

Louisa ignored this last remark, and said:

‘But think of the great good he has done since he came to Charton. In many ways he is the best of headmasters. Is he not as much entitled to a reward for the good he has done as he is entitled to be punished for his fault?’

Anstey-Ward said nothing: he knew that Onslow had done much good.

‘Dr Anstey-Ward, I suspect you of being a kind man at heart. Can I not appeal to your kindness as well as to your sense of what is right?’

Anstey-Ward got up from his chair and walked rapidly towards the window, for it was terrible to hear Louisa voice his conscientious doubts – and he did like to think of himself as a kindly, tolerant and generous man. Seeing him rise, Louisa rose too, sure that she was on the point of
victory, or at least of achieving a compromise. She said, quite lightly:

‘Is it right for you to punish him so severely for such a little weakness, so small a fault?’

Then he turned round and faced her again.

‘It is not so small a fault, Mrs Onslow. You are mistaken.’

She could see that she had said the wrong thing: Anstey-Ward’s tone of voice was very firm.

‘But you will own…’ she began.

‘Mrs Onslow, your husband’s fault is a very grave one, and whether I have the right or not, what I am doing is just. I do not wish to hurt you, that’s the last thing I want, but it is a question of justice.’

She could not bear the thought that triumph had eluded her so narrowly, and as Anstey-Ward went back towards his chair, she threw herself down on her knees in one last desperate move. It was as though she had never before truly wanted Onslow to be a bishop.

‘Dr Anstey-Ward, I promise you on my honour as a Christian woman that Dr Onslow’s peculiarities have never interfered with his running of the school. Can you not have a little pity?’

‘Mrs Onslow, I beg you! Pray get up now!’

‘He has been the best of headmasters, the boys love him, is it indeed right to wreck the rest of his life?’

‘Please, please! This is useless, ma’am, I cannot think your husband fit to be a schoolmaster, nor a clergyman either!’

At that moment, Onslow opened the library door, and stepped in, and saw his wife kneeling there. On her tear-streaked face there was an expression of guilty surprise. For a moment they all looked at one another in silence, then Onslow took two paces forward and said icily:

‘Get up, Mrs Onslow.’

Anstey-Ward thought Onslow was being harsh: in spite of his intransigence, he was moved by the sight of this delicate bishop’s daughter on her knees.

‘Get up.’

Louisa attempted to obey him, but her skirts and the
stays that made her breathless made it difficult for her to rise without help when she was exhausted by emotion.

‘Help me,’ she muttered.

Anstey-Ward took a step forward, but retreated at a look from Onslow, who assisted his wife with the air of one touching dirt. When Louisa was on her feet again, Anstey-Ward said awkwardly:

‘I would like to say a few words to Mrs Onslow. They may be painful for you to hear, Dr Onslow.’

Onslow said: ‘Are you asking me to go out of the room and leave you to continue the tête-à-tête you are enjoying?’

‘You might say that.’

Onslow turned away from him, not condescending to make any reply, and Anstey-Ward coloured angrily. He wanted very much to explain to Louisa why her husband’s was not so small a fault, explain that she had been misled and that he was not so unjustly vengeful as she supposed.

‘I shall be glad,’ said Onslow, ‘if you will be good enough to have your carriage brought round. It is time we were gone.’

Anstey-Ward pulled the bell in silence in response to this arrogant request, and as he did so, he assured himself that he had found the perfect solution, whatever Louisa might think.