“‘Let the woman learn in silence, with all subjection. I suffer not a woman to teach, nor to usurp authority over the man, but to be in silence. For Adam was first formed, then Eve.’”
“What has that to do with the business?” interjected Shirley. “That smacks of rights of primogeniture. I’ll bring it up to Mr. Yorke the first time he inveighs against those rights.”
“And,” continued Joe Scott, “Adam was not deceived, but the woman being deceived was in the transgression.”
“More shame to Adam to sin with his eyes open!” cried Miss Keeldar. “To confess the honest truth, Joe, I never was easy in my mind concerning that chapter. It puzzles me.”
“It is very plain, miss. He that runs may read.”
“He may read it in his own fashion,” remarked Caroline, now joining in the dialogue for the first time. “You allow the right of private judgment, I suppose, Joe?”
“My certy, that I do! I allow and claim it for every line of the holy Book.”
“Women may exercise it as well as men?”
“Nay. Women is to take their husbands’ opinion, both in politics and religion. It’s wholesomest for them.”
“Oh! oh!” exclaimed both Shirley and Caroline.
“To be sure; no doubt on’t,” persisted the stubborn overlooker.
“Consider yourself groaned down, and cried shame over, for such a stupid observation,” said Miss Keeldar. “You might as well say men are to take the opinions of their priests without examination. Of what value would a religion so adopted be? It would be mere blind, besotted superstition.”
“And what is your reading, Miss Helstone, o’ these words o’ St. Paul’s?”
“Hem! I–I account for them in this way. He wrote that chapter for a particular congregation of Christians, under peculiar circumstances; and besides, I dare say, if I could read the original Greek, I should find that many of the words have been wrongly translated, perhaps misapprehended altogether. It would be possible, I doubt not, with a little ingenuity, to give the passage quite a contrary turn – to make it say, ‘Let the woman speak out whenever she sees fit to make an objection.’ ‘It is permitted to a woman to teach and to exercise authority as much as may be. Man, meantime, cannot do better than hold his peace;’ and so on.”
“That willn’t wash, miss.”
“I dare say it will. My notions are dyed in faster colours than yours, Joe. Mr. Scott, you are a thoroughly dogmatical person, and always were. I like William better than you.”
“Joe is well enough in his own house,” said Shirley. “I have seen him as quiet as a lamb at home. There is not a better nor a kinder husband in Briarfield. He does not dogmatize to his wife.”
“My wife is a hard-working, plain woman; time and trouble has ta’en all the conceit out of her. But that is not the case with you, young misses. And then you reckon to have so much knowledge; and i’ my thoughts it’s only superficial sort o’ vanities you’re acquainted with. I can tell – happen a year sin’—one day Miss Caroline coming into our counting house when I war packing up summat behind t’ great desk, and she didn’t see me, and she brought a slate wi’ a sum on it to t’ maister. It war only a bit of a sum in practice, that our Harry would have settled i’ two minutes. She couldn’t do it. Mr. Moore had to show her how. And when he did show her, she couldn’t understand him.”
“Nonsense, Joe!”
“Nay, it’s no nonsense. And Miss Shirley there reckons to hearken to t’ maister when he’s talking ower trade, so attentive like, as if she followed him word for word, and all war as clear as a lady’s looking glass to her een; and all t’ while she’s peeping and peeping out o’ t’ window to see if t’ mare stands quiet; and then looking at a bit of a splash on her riding-skirt; and then glancing glegly round at wer counting house cobwebs and dust, and thinking what mucky folk we are, and what a grand ride she’ll have just i’ now ower Nunnely Common. She hears no more o’ Mr. Moore’s talk nor if he spake Hebrew.”
“Joe, you are a real slanderer. I would give you your answer, only the people are coming out of church. We must leave you. Man of prejudice, good-bye. – William, good-bye. – Children, come up to Fieldhead tomorrow, and you shall choose what you like best out of Mrs. Gill’s storeroom.”
Chapter XIX A Summer Night
The hour was now that of dusk. A clear air favoured the kindling of the stars.
“There will be just light enough to show me the way home,” said Miss Keeldar, as she prepared to take leave of Caroline at the rectory garden door.
“You must not go alone, Shirley; Fanny shall accompany you.”
“That she shall not. Of what need I be afraid in my own parish? I would walk from Fieldhead to the church any fine midsummer night, three hours later than this, for the mere pleasure of seeing the stars and the chance of meeting a fairy.”
“But just wait till the crowd is cleared away.”
“Agreed. There are the five Misses Armitage streaming by. Here comes Mrs. Sykes’s phaeton, Mr. Wynne’s close carriage, Mrs. Birtwhistle’s car. I don’t wish to go through the ceremony of bidding them all good-bye, so we will step into the garden and take shelter amongst the laburnums for an instant.”
The rectors, their curates, and their churchwardens now issued from the church porch. There was a great confabulation, shaking of hands, congratulation on speeches, recommendation to be careful of the night air, etc. By degrees the throng dispersed, the carriages drove off. Miss Keeldar was just emerging from her flowery refuge when Mr. Helstone entered the garden and met her.
“Oh, I want you!” he said. “I was afraid you were already gone. – Caroline, come here.”
Caroline came, expecting, as Shirley did, a lecture on not having been visible at church. Other subjects, however, occupied the rector’s mind.
“I shall not sleep at home tonight,” he continued. “I have just met with an old friend, and promised to accompany him. I shall return probably about noon tomorrow. Thomas, the clerk, is engaged, and I cannot get him to sleep in the house, as I usually do when I am absent for a night. Now.”
“Now,” interrupted Shirley, “you want me as a gentleman – the first gentleman in Briarfield, in short – to supply your place, be master of the rectory and guardian of your niece and maids while you are away?”
“Exactly, captain. I thought the post would suit you. Will you favour Caroline so far as to be her guest for one night? Will you stay here instead of going back to Fieldhead?”
“And what will Mrs. Pryor do? she expects me home.”
“I will send her word. Come, make up your mind to stay. It grows late; the dew falls heavily. You and Caroline will enjoy each other’s society, I doubt not.”
“I promise you, then, to stay with Caroline,” replied Shirley. “As you say, we shall enjoy each other’s society. We will not be separated tonight. Now, rejoin your old friend, and fear nothing for us.”
“If there should chance to be any disturbance in the night, captain; if you should hear the picking of a lock, the cutting out of a pane of glass, a stealthy tread of steps about the house (and I need not fear to tell you, who bear a well-tempered, mettlesome heart under your girl’s ribbon sash, that such little incidents are very possible in the present time), what would you do?”
“Don’t know; faint, perhaps – fall down, and have to be picked up again. But, doctor, if you assign me the post of honour, you must give me arms. What weapons are there in your stronghold?”
“You could not wield a sword?”
“No; I could manage the carving-knife better.”
“You will find a good one in the dining room sideboard – a lady’s knife, light to handle, and as sharp-pointed as a poniard.”
“It will suit Caroline. But you must give me a brace of pistols. I know you have pistols.”
“I have two pairs. One pair I can place at your disposal. You will find them suspended over the mantelpiece of my study in cloth cases.”