Minnie's Bishop and Other Stories/Eleanor's Enterprise

Y DEAR ELEANOR," said Lady Kenure, decisively, "the thing is simply preposterous. The Archdeacon, I am quite sure, thoroughly agrees with me."

Eleanor Brooks looked contemptuously at the Archdeacon. She, also, was quite sure that he would agree with Lady Kenure. He was a plump, kindly little man who loved quiet, and therefore took Lady Kenure's side in all matters of dispute. He had been invited to afternoon tea, just as the prophet Balaam was invited to spend a week with the King of Moab, in order that he might add the weight of an ecclesiastical malediction to the condemnation already pronounced on Eleanor's enterprise. He set down his cup with a sigh and cleared his throat.

"Miss Brooks' plan," he said mildly, "is highly creditable to her. It is an evidence of rare good feeling; but it must, I fear, be regarded as impracticable."

He spoke pompously, very much as he did in the pulpit, but not because such a way of talking was natural or pleasant to him. No man was simpler, no man less conscious of his own dignity on ordinary occasions than the Archdeacon. But when he was in the presence of Lady Kenure he could not help expressing himself in rounded periods.

"You hear what the Archdeacon says," said Lady Kenure to her niece. "Your plan is quite impracticable. I felt sure that he would agree with me."

"I am sorry," said Eleanor obstinately, "that I cannot agree either with you or the Archdeacon."

"Your uncle," said Lady Kenure, "is seriously angry, very seriously angry indeed."

Eleanor smiled. The Archdeacon's eyes—neither of the ladies was looking at him—twinkled. It was not easy for any one who knew Lord Kenure to be much frightened by the threat of his anger. He was an old gentleman who had long before, in the early years of his married life, learned to take a humorous view of life. He and the Archdeacon had a good deal in common, and were excellent friends. They both made a habit of agreeing with Lady Kenure.

"The philanthropic methods," said the Archdeacon, "adapted for the amelioration of the lapsed masses of the great English cities would be quite out of place in Western Connaught. As I understand you, Miss Brooks, you propose to establish what is called a settlement among our poor people similar to those which are doing such excellent work in the East End of London."

"I hope to do that in the end," said Eleanor Brooks, "but at first I shall simply take lodgings in one of the cottages. I shall learn by personal experience how the people live, get into touch with them, and gradually elevate them. A settlement, as we understand the word in England, may come afterwards. I must begin by mastering the problem of these agricultural slums"

"Preposterous," said Lady Kenure.

"An important Government Board," said the Archdeacon, "is already engaged "

"You will understand, Eleanor," said Lady Kenure, "that if you persist in this absurd plan you will render it impossible for me to ask you here again. I cannot have you in this house if you make a public fool of yourself."

"My dear aunt," said Eleanor, "I've lived and worked in a London settlement ever since I left Girton, and you never made the slightest objection"

"What is possible in London," said Lady Kenure, "is out of the question here. London and Connaught are entirely different places. The Archdeacon, I am sure, agrees with me in that."

The Archdeacon did, and said so. He even appealed to Miss Brooks, calling on her to admit that her aunt's statement was true. She turned on him.

"I can't understand," she said, "how you can be content to live in the midst of all this degradation and misery without making the smallest effort to elevate the poor people around you. As a clergyman, I should have supposed"

"Eleanor," said Lady Kenure, "I shall not allow you to speak disrespectfully of the Church in this house."

"There is a Government Board," said the Archdeacon, "which is using every effort to"

"If," said Lady Kenure, interrupting him and addressing her niece, "you have no more sense of decency than to mix up the sacred truths of religion with your own ridiculous fads, I am exceedingly sorry that I asked the Archdeacon here this afternoon. You ought to consider"

The Archdeacon felt for his hat, which he had laid down beside his chair.

"If Miss Brooks," he said, rising to his feet as he spoke, "would take counsel with some of the officials of the Government Board of which I spoke, men who have been engaged for years in the kind of work which Miss Brooks has at heart"

"I don't wonder that you are going," said Lady Kenure. "After the way Eleanor has spoken to you I couldn't expect"

She rang the bell, and the Archdeacon left the room in charge of a servant.

"His lordship," said the footman, "would be obliged if you'd speak to him for a few minutes in the library."

Lord Kenure rose from a deep chair and welcomed the Archdeacon. He told the footman to shut the door, and then took a box of cigars from the chimney-piece.

"You need one," he said. "You must. Have a nip of whisky?"

The Archdeacon refused the whisky, but he lit a cigar. He felt that his nerves required soothing.

"How did it end?" asked Lord Kenure.

"It hasn't exactly ended yet," said the Archdeacon. "But I think that Miss Brooks will get her own way. She's very like Lady Kenure in some respects."

"Very. That's what makes things so difficult for me."

"I don't see what you can do in the matter," said the Archdeacon. "Lady Kenure said you would be very angry, but I don't think Miss Brooks believed her."

"Did you succeed in making out exactly what it is she means to do?—Eleanor, I mean. I've heard the subject discussed a good deal, but somehow I failed to pick up the details. They both seemed to think I understood; but I didn't."

"Miss Brooks," said the Archdeacon, "means to go and live in one of the cabins"

"On my estate?"

"So I understand. She wants to get into touch with the people's life in order that she may elevate them and"

"Did she say elevate?"

"I think so. She certainly meant it."

"Good heavens!" said Lord Kenure, "how frightful!"

"It is. The people won't understand it in the least. It's all very well doing that kind of thing in London. I don't know much about London, but I've been led to believe that the lapsed masses there are educated up to philanthropy, and like it. Our people are quite different. They won't have the remotest idea what she's at, and they won't know how to treat her. It will be very awkward, very awkward indeed. Almost anything may happen."

"We must do our best," said Lord Kenure, "to save her from serious unpleasantness. I have a great affection for Eleanor. I shouldn't like"

"But what can we do? We're perfectly helpless."

"We might select a house for her to go to," said Lord Kenure, "a decent house in which they could give her a room to herself."

"I doubt if she'd go to it to please you."

"She wouldn't, of course; but you might recommend her strongly not to go to that particular house, and I should definitely forbid her."

"Ah!" said the Archdeacon.

"She's very like her aunt in some respects," said Lord Kenure. "Now, can you suggest a house?"

"Tom Geraghty, of Cloonacarragh, is a respectable man, and his wife is a very decent woman. They have seven children, but I think they could manage to pack in so that Miss Brooks could have the room at the back of the kitchen."

"Could you see Tom some time to-morrow and explain things to him a bit?"

"Of course."

"Get him to understand," said Lord Kenure, "that when she begins to elevate him he's to be elevated, gradually, of course, but without making a fuss about it. I'll pay anything you think reasonable up to a pound a week."

"Tom will be all right," said the Archdeacon. "The whole difficulty will be with his wife. You see, the elevating is sure to begin inside the house. It'll be very hard on Mrs. Geraghty. She has enough on her hands as it is with seven children."

"I suppose I'd better give her a pound a week, too. It'll come very expensive if Eleanor holds out for any time."

"She won't," said the Archdeacon, confidently.

"I'll send down some house-linen," said Lord Kenure; "I expect the Geraghty's sheets"

"I don't think they'll have any sheets."

"And food, of course. You must arrange that with Mrs. Geraghty."

"I'm sure," said the Archdeacon, "that Miss Brooks will insist on eating exactly what the Geraghtys have. She spoke in the most determined way. I don't think she'll agree"

"Then I must feed the whole Geraghty family while she's there. I shall send cold pies and boiled hams and pressed beef and things of that sort down to the rectory every evening, and you must get Tom Geraghty to fetch them after dark. Mrs. Geraghty will present them at meal times as if they were the ordinary food of the family. I don't suppose Tom or the children will object."

"Not in the least; but"

The Archdeacon paused. He saw a serious objection to the plan, but he did not like to put it into words. Lady Kenure, following the advice given by Solomon's mother, looked well to the ways of her household, and it would not be easy to smuggle large quantities of pies, hams, and beef out of the kitchen of Kenure Castle without detection.

"The Geraghtys," said the Archdeacon, "will be delighted, but"

Lord Kenure caught his meaning.

"I'll pay for it all myself," he said; "and I'll tip the cook to keep her quiet. After all, why shouldn't I tip my own cook? I'm constantly having to tip other people's butlers. I suppose I shall have to tip the housemaid, too, so as to get the sheets and things. I suppose it is the housemaid, the upper housemaid, that has the charge of them. Do you happen to know, Archdeacon, if it is the upper housemaid? There's no use my tipping the wrong woman. This business will be expensive enough without that."

"I don't know," said the Archdeacon. "There's a servant called the stillroom maid, and it might be her."

"It's not," said Lord Kenure. "She manages the jam. I know that. They'd never give the jam and bed-clothes to the same woman. Think how unpleasant it would be if she went straight from the one to the other without washing her hands."

"I still think," said the Archdeacon, "that it would be much better if Miss Brooks could be persuaded to consult the officials of the Board. I'm sure they'd find her a job of some sort which would suit her. They employ all kinds of people, and I expect they'd be glad enough to give Miss Brooks a roving inspectorship, especialy [sic] as she wouldn't want to be paid."

"There's no use talking about that."

"I suppose not. But wouldn't it be as well for you to try her?"

"You tell me," said Lord Kenure, "that her mind is made up, and if it is we can't alter it. She's very like her aunt in some respects, and you know as well as I do"

"Yes," said the Archdeacon sadly.

"You see the Geraghtys," said Lord Kenure, "and I'll make all arrangements with the cook and the housemaid. We can do no more."

A week later the Archdeacon dined at Kenure Castle. He had the honour of giving his arm to Lady Kenure and the pleasure of sitting opposite a pleasant-looking girl, another niece, this time quite unlike her aunt in appearance and character, who had been summoned by telegram to take Eleanor's place in the household. She chatted cheerfully about motoring in France and appeared to be uninterested in any branch of philanthropic work. Eleanor's enterprise was not even mentioned during dinner. Afterwards, when the ladies had left the room, the Archdeacon introduced the subject.

"Tom Geraghty was up with me last night," he said.

"Well?" said Lord Kenure. "How is she getting on? She's had two days of it now."

"Capitally so far," said the Archdeacon. "There's hardly been a hitch. Tom likes her greatly, and his wife is getting reconciled to the situation."

"I suppose she's scarcely got into her stride yet. I mean to say she hasn't started trying to elevate them."

"Oh, yes, she has. She began at once. The very minute she arrived she swept out the kitchen and then offered to cook the dinner. Mrs. Geraghty said there was no necessity for her to trouble about that, because the dinner was all cooked except the potatoes. It was, you know. She had the cold chicken pie, the ham, and the pressed beef which had been sent down the night before."

"I hope she didn't bring them all out at once. That would be likely to rouse Eleanor's suspicions."

"No," said the Archdeacon, "I warned her not to do that. I told her to begin with the ham. She kept the pie and the pressed beef in a cupboard until she noticed the thorough way Miss Brooks cleaned the kitchen. Then she hid them under the bed and told the children she'd skelp any one she found crawling after them. Dinner went off very well. Miss Brooks said she supposed the ham came from one of their own pigs, and Tom said it did, and that he'd cured it himself. By the way, I wish you'd tell the cook not to glaze the next one. Tom said she asked his wife a lot of questions about the glazing, and Mrs. Geraghty had to say that the eldest girl learned to do it from a travelling cookery teacher the Board sent round."

"That might very well have been true," said Lord Kenure. "The last cookery demonstration that was held in the convent they were icing cakes."

"It might have been true," said the Archdeacon, "but as a matter of fact it wasn't. The Geraghty girl has never been near a cookery class."

"What happened next?"

"After dinner Miss Brooks helped to wash up. Then she took Mrs. Geraghty out for a walk and talked to her about the way mothers ought to bring up children. Tom says his wife took it very well, better than he would have expected, considering that she has seven children and must know something about them, whereas Miss Brooks has none."

"That wouldn't prevent her knowing all about them," said Lord Kenure. "Her aunt has no children either, and she runs a Mothers' Union."

"In the evening," said the Archdeacon, "there was very nearly being a row. Miss Brooks wanted to wash all the children—bath them, you know. The children naturally objected. So did Mrs. Geraghty. She regarded the proposal as a personal insult."

"I expect Eleanor bathed them all the same."

"She did. Tom took his wife outside the house, and reasoned with her. He had a hard job, and in the end he had to tell her that you were paying him £2 a week to be kind to Miss Brooks, as well as the food you sent down. He hadn't mentioned the money before, thinking, I suppose, that he'd be able to keep it in his own pocket."

"Did he own up to the whole £2 at once?"

"No, he didn't. He began at 7s. 6d., and rose by 5s. a week, until his wife agreed to have the children bathed. She gave in at 37s. 6d., and then he thought he might as well confess to the extra half-crown. He was in a bad temper when he had finished, and by his own account he threatened the children in the most frightful way if any one of them dared so much as to whimper, however hard Miss Brooks scrubbed them. Mrs. Geraghty did her best with them, too, once she heard about the money. She promised them a slice of ham each to eat in bed if they allowed Miss Brooks to do what she liked to them."

"I should think that nearly finished the ham."

"It did. Fortunately, they had eggs enough to go round at breakfast next morning. Miss Brooks gave Mrs. Geraghty a great talking to about the way she made tea. She threw out what was in the tea-pot—stewed, I expect. You know the way the country people like it. She said it was poison, and made some fresh. Tom said it was the poorest stuff he ever tasted, but he put up with it. After breakfast Miss Brooks turned to and tidied the house. Mrs. Geraghty was perfectly right in moving the pie and the pressed beef when she did. The cupboard was one of the first places Miss Brooks went for. She threw out a lot of things. Tom says his wife said they were valuable clothes, and that he expected you'd pay for them."

"I shall have to, of course."

"Miss Brooks called them dirty rags and used a word about them which Tom appeared to think was profane, but, as far as I could make out, it was nothing worse than 'insanitary.' That kept her pretty well occupied till dinner time. There was very nearly being trouble then over the pie."

"Was it glazed, too?"

"It was, but that wouldn't have mattered. Mrs. Geraghty had explained the glazing quite satisfactorily. Unfortunately, Miss Brooks recognised the dish. It appears to have been some peculiar kind of earthenware"

"Good heavens!" said Lord Kenure. "What a fool the cook is! She must have sent it down in one of those purple dishes my wife bought two years ago in Bavaria. No wonder Eleanor looked crooked at it. I don't suppose there's any of that crockery in Ireland outside of this house. What happened?"

"Tom couldn't think what to say. All he could do, according to his own account, was to wink at his wife. Miss Brooks caught him in the act. Whether she had any suspicion of the truth or not, I can't say. If she had, Mrs. Geraghty put her off the track completely."

"How did she do it? I'd have thought that was an uncommonly nasty situation."

"She said she'd stolen the dish, and told a long story about one day she was up here selling eggs, and saw the dish lying outside on the kitchen window-sill. Miss Brooks didn't say a word at the time, but afterwards she gave Mrs. Geraghty an awful talking to. The poor woman was sitting under a haystack when Tom found her. She said she wouldn't go through it again if you doubled the money you were giving. It took Tom all his time to pacify her. In the evening Miss Brooks bathed all the children again. Fortunately Tom had bought twopennyworth of sweets, thinking something of the sort might happen, so there wasn't much trouble. Mrs. Geraghty was too cowed to make a fuss, but she wouldn't let Miss Brooks touch the baby. The rest of them she left to their fate."

"I don't suppose it'll do them any harm," said Lord Kenure.

"I don't know. That amount of washing must be very severe when you're not used to it. Tom says the eldest girl had a frightful cold after the first night, and that he wouldn't be surprised if she was in consumption this morning. I didn't hear how she was."

"She'll hardly die, I suppose?"

"She'll die some day," said the Archdeacon; "and even if it's not till she's eighty everybody will always put it down to the washing. They'll say it undermined her constitution."

A footman entered the room while the Archdeacon was speaking. "I beg pardon, sir," he said, "but there's a man of the name of Geraghty at the door who wants to see you."

"Geraghty!" said the Archdeacon. "Not Tom Geraghty?"

"I'll inquire, sir."

"If it is Tom Geraghty," said Lord Kenure, "you'd better show him in here."

"Something must have gone wrong," said the Archdeacon when the footman left the room; "something serious, I fear."

"Can that child possibly have died?"

"I don't think so. Not yet. The most rapid cases last a few weeks."

"Perhaps he's only come to return the pie-dish. Eleanor would very likely insist on some act of reparation of that kind."

The footman, having satisfied himself that he had got the right man, ushered Tom Geraghty into the dining-room.

"Is she dead?" asked the Archdeacon, "or is it only the pie-dish?"

"She is not dead," said Geraghty, "but she's gone from us after using language the like of which I never listened to, and what's more, won't stand."

"You ought to have brought her up better," said the Archdeacon. "It must have been from you that she learned to swear."

"Brought her up!" said Geraghty. "If I'd had the bringing up of that one I'd"

"Who are you talking about?" asked Lord Kenure. "Your own daughter or Miss Brooks?"

"It's the young lady," said Geraghty, "that his reverence sent down to us. Faith, it's hard-earned money what a man would get for keeping the likes of her. Never a minute's peace there's been in the house since she came into it, and at the latter end she turned outrageous altogether."

"What happened?" asked the Archdeacon.

"Take a glass of whisky," said Lord Kenure. "It's there on the sideboard behind you; and then tell us what has happened as calmly as you can."

The whisky did something to restore Tom Geraghty's temper.

"There was talk at dinner," he said, "about the bit of meat that was in it, the same that his lordship sent down."

"The pressed beef," said Lord Kenure. "Was there anything wrong with it?"

"I wouldn't ask to fault it myself," said Geraghty, "but the young lady seemed someways uneasy in her mind about it. There was no end to the questions she was asking. At the latter end herself said it was a present she had from a niece of her own that was cook in a big hotel beyond in America, who did be sending a trifle home to the children now and again."

"Did she believe that?" asked Lord Kenure.

"I wouldn't say she did, but she let it pass. And we got on quiet and easy enough till near bedtime, barring that she had the children's tempers riz with washing them again, and me after forgetting to buy sweets for them. Anyway that passed off too, and away with her to bed. I'll say that much for her, she was always one for going early to her bed. Well, hardly ever had I got my pipe lit before she was in on us, and her with very little on her, so that I'd be ashamed. 'What's up with you now?' says herself. 'Is it mad you are?' 'Look at that,' says she, holding up the end of one of the sheets your lordship was after sending down for her. 'What of it?' says I, 'is it not good enough for you?' 'Look at it,' she says, 'what's that in the corner of it? Is all you have in this house stole?' says she. I looked at it, and sure enough there was a kind of a little crown in the corner of it and a big 'K' underneath that. 'You blasted robbers,' says she, 'May the devil'"

"Come now," said Lord Kenure, "those can't be her exact words.

"If they're not," said Geraghty, "they're mighty like them. Only hers was worse. I'd have stood it myself on account of the respect I have for your lordship and his reverence here, but herself up and told her the truth."

"The whole of it?" said Lord Kenure.

"Every word," said Geraghty, "and you never seen a young lady so put about. At the end of that she went back and put her clothes on her"

The footman entered the room while Geraghty was speaking.

"Her ladyship's compliments, my lord, and she'd be obliged if your lordship would join her in the big drawing-room."

"James," said Lord Kenure, "is Miss Brooks there?"

"Miss Brooks has just come in, my lord."

"Come along, Archdeacon," said Lord Kenure.

"I think," said the Archdeacon, "that I shall slip off home. You will make my apologies to Lady Kenure."

"No, I won't. You shall come with me. You are just as much responsible as I am."

He took the Archdeacon by the arm, and they went together into the drawing-room. Lady Kenure sat on the sofa, with her arm round Eleanor, who looked dishevelled. The other niece sat on a remote chair by herself, and seemed nervous and frightened. Lord Kenure glanced at the Archdeacon. His eyes expressed apprehension. The situation was sufficiently uncomfortable.

"I want some explanation," said Lady Kenure, "of the way in which Eleanor has been treated."

"Tom Geraghty," said Lord Kenure, "is still in the dining-room. I will go and fetch him."

"Let me go," said the Archdeacon.

"Who is this Tom Geraghty?"

"He's the man in whose house I stayed," said Eleanor.

"I always said the whole thing was preposterous, preposterous and absurd to the last degree, but"

"It was," said Lord Kenure, with an air of relief. "I don't see that Eleanor has any one to blame but herself."

"But," said Lady Kenure emphatically, "that's no reason why the poor girl should have been held up to public ridicule. Will you kindly explain to me"

"The cook," said Lord Kenure, "glazed the ham and the pie without orders from me. I suppose she glazed the pressed beef, too. I didn't tell her to."

"I mean to speak to the cook to-morrow morning," said Lady Kenure, "and pack her back to London as soon as ever I can get another."

"She deserves it thoroughly," said Lord Kenure.

"But that will not explain the extraordinary conspiracy"

"It was the Archdeacon who suggested"

"I suggested nothing," said the Archdeacon, "except that Miss Brooks should get into touch with the officials of the Board which has charge of this district. I still think that would have been the proper course for her to take. In fact, I am more convinced of it than ever."

"Eleanor, my dear," said Lady Kenure, turning to her niece, "you are over-tired. I think you had better go to bed. I shall find out from your uncle exactly what has happened."

Eleanor, followed by the other niece, who seemed glad to escape, left the room.

"I think," said the Archdeacon, "that I had better say good-night."

"Good-night!" said Lady Kenure, frigidly. "I do not profess to understand how you can reconcile your conscience—your conscience as a dignitary of the Church—to the part you have played in humiliating an unfortunate girl, who was trying to do the sort of work which you have systematically neglected."

"Miss Brooks said something like that before," said the Archdeacon. "I can only say that as long as there is a Government Board"

"Good-night!" said Lady Kenure, decisively.

Lord Kenure looked sadly after the Archdeacon. Then he sat down and folded his hands. He had a bad half-hour before him.