Mildred Arkell Volume Iii Part 11

"If Mr. Arkell tells us, please, sir," responded a timid junior, who fancied Mr. Prattleton looked particularly at him.

The choristers did not stir, and Prattleton was savage. "King's scholars, move up, and shove."

Some of the king's scholars hesitated, especially those of the lower school. It was no light matter to disobey the senior chorister in the cathedral. Others moved up, and proceeded to "shove." Henry Arkell calmly turned to one of his own juniors.

"Hardcast, go into the vestry, and ask Mr. Wilberforce to step here.

Should he have gone into college, fetch him out of the chanting-desk."

"Remain where you are, Hardcast," foamed Prattleton. "I dare you to stir."

Hardcast, a little chap of ten, was already off, but he turned round at the word. "I am not under your orders, Mr. Prattleton, when the senior chorister's present."

A few minutes, and then the Reverend Mr. Wilberforce, in his surplice and hood, was seen advancing. Hardcast had fetched him out of the chanting-desk.

"What's all this? what hubbub are you boys making? I'll flog you all to-morrow. Arkell, Prattleton, what's the matter?"

"I thought it better to send for you, sir, than to have a disturbance here," said Arkell.

"A disturbance here! You had better not attempt it."

"Don't the king's scholars take precedence of the choristers, sir?"

demanded Prattleton.

"No, they don't," returned the master. "If you have not been years enough in the college to know the rules, Mr. Prattleton, you had better return to the bottom of school, and learn them. Arkell, in this place, you have the command. King's scholars move down, and be quick over it: and I'll flog you all round," concluded Mr. Wilberforce, "if you strike up a dispute in college again."

The master turned tail, and strode back as fast as his short legs would carry him: for the dean and chapter, marshalled by a verger and the bedesmen, were crossing the cathedral; and a flourish of trumpets, outside, told of the approach of the judges. The Reverend Mr.

Wilberforce was going to take the chanting for an old minor canon whose voice was cracked, and he would hardly recover breath to begin.

The choristers all grinned at the master's decision, save Arkell and Aultane, junior: the latter, though second chorister, took part with Prattleton, because he hated Arkell; and as the judges pa.s.sed in their flowing scarlet robes with the trains held up behind, and their imposing wigs, so terrible to look at, the bows of the choristers were much more gracious than those of the king's scholars. The additional mob, teeming in after the judges' procession, was unlimited; and a rare field had the boys and their pins that day.

The hubbub and the bustle of the morning pa.s.sed, and the cathedral bell was again tolling out for afternoon service. Save the dust, and there was plenty of that, no trace remained of the morning's scene. The king's scholars were already in their seats in the choir, and the ten choristers stood at the choir entrance, for they always waited there to go in with the dean and chapter. One of them, and it was Mr.

Wilberforce's own son, had made a mistake in the morning in fastening his own surplice to a countrywoman's purple stuff gown, instead of two gowns together; and, when they came to part company, the surplice proved the weakest. The consequence was an enormous rent, and it had just taken the nine other choristers and three lay-clerks five minutes and seventeen pins, fished out of different pockets, to do it up in any way decent. Young Wilberforce, during the process, rehearsing a tale over in his mind, for home, about that horrid rusty nail that would stick out of the vestry door.

The choristers stood facing each other, five on a side, and the dean and canons would pa.s.s between them when they came in. They stood at an equidistance, one from the other, and it was high treason against the college rules for them to move an inch from their places. Arkell headed one line, Aultane the other, the two being face to face. Suddenly a college boy, who was late, came flying from the cloisters and dashed into the choir, to crave the keys of the schoolroom from the senior boy, that he might procure his surplice. It was Lewis junior; so, against the rules, Prattleton condescended to give him the keys; almost any other boy he would have told to whistle for them, and marked him up for punishment as "absent." Prattleton chose to patronise him, on account of his friendship with Lewis senior. Lewis came out again, full pelt, swinging the keys in his hand, rather vain of showing to the choristers that he had succeeded in obtaining them, just as two little old gentlemen were advancing from the front entrance.

"Hi, Lewis! stop a moment," called out Aultane, in a loud whisper, as he crossed over and went behind Arkell.

"Return to your place, Aultane," said Arkell.

Mr. Aultane chose to be deaf.

"Aultane, to your place," repeated Henry Arkell, his tone one of hasty authority. "Do you see who are approaching?"

Aultane looked round in a fl.u.s.ter. But not a soul could he see, save a straggler or two making their way to the side aisles; and two insignificant little old men, arm-in-arm, close at hand, in rusty black clothes and brown wigs. n.o.body to affect _him_.

"I shall return when I please," said he, commencing a whispered parley with Lewis.

"Return this instant, Aultane. I _order_ you."

"You be----"

The word was not a blessing, but you are at liberty to subst.i.tute one.

The little old men, to whom each chorister had bowed profoundly as they pa.s.sed him, turned, and bent their severe yellow faces upon Aultane.

Lewis junior crept away petrified; and Aultane, with the red flush of shame on his brow, slunk back to his place. They were the learned judges.

They positively were. But no wonder Aultane had failed to recognise them, for they bore no more resemblance to the fierce and fiery visions of the morning, than do two old-fashioned black crows to stately peac.o.c.ks.

"What may your name be, sir?" inquired the yellower of the two. Aultane hung his head in an agony: he was wondering whether they could order him before them on the morrow and transport him. Wilberforce was in another agony, lest those four keen eyes should wander to his damaged surplice and the pins. Somebody else answered: "Aultane, my lord."

The judges pa.s.sed on. Arkell would not look towards Aultane: he was too n.o.ble to add, even by a glance, to the confusion of a fallen enemy: but the other choristers were not so considerate, and Aultane burst into a flow of bad language.

"Be silent," authoritatively interrupted Henry Arkell. "More of this, and I will report you to the dean."

"I shan't be silent," cried Aultane, in his pa.s.sionate rage. "There! not for you." Beside himself with anger, he crossed over, and raised his hand to strike Arkell. But one of the s.e.xtons, happening to come out of the choir, arrested Aultane, and whirled him back.

"Do you know where you are, sir?"

In another moment they were surrounded. The dean's wife and daughter had come up; and, following them, sneaked Lewis junior, who was settling himself into his surplice. Mrs. Beauclerc pa.s.sed on, but Georgina stopped. Even as she went into college, she would sometimes stop and chatter to the boys.

"You were quarrelling, young gentlemen! What is the grievance?"

"That beggar threatened to report me to the dean," cried Aultane, too angry to care what he said, or to whom he spoke.

"Then I know you deserved it; as you often do," rejoined Miss Beauclerc; "but I'd keep a civil tongue in my head, if I were you, Aultane. I only wonder he has not reported you before. You should have me for your senior."

"If he does go in and report me, please tell the dean to ask him where his gold medal is," foamed Aultane. "And to make him answer it."

"What do you mean?" she questioned.

"_He_ knows. If the dean offered him a thousand half-crowns for his medal, he could not produce it."

"What does he mean?" repeated Miss Beauclerc, looking at Henry Arkell.

He could not answer: he literally could not. Could he have dropped down without life at Georgina's feet, it had been welcome, rather than that she should hear of an act, which, to his peculiarly refined temperament, bore an aspect of shame so utter. His face flushed a vivid red, and then grew white as his surplice.

"He can't tell you," said Aultane; "that is, he won't. He has put it into p.a.w.n."

"And his watch too," squeaked Lewis, from behind, who had heard of the affair from Aultane.

Henry Arkell raised his eyes for one deprecating moment to Miss Beauclerc's face; she was struck with their look of patient anguish. She cast an annihilating frown at Lewis, and, raising her finger haughtily motioned Aultane to his place. "I believe nothing ill of _you_," she whispered to Henry, as she pa.s.sed on to the choir.

The next to come in was Mr. St. John. "What's the matter?" he hurriedly said to Henry, who had not a vestige of colour in his cheeks or lips.

"Nothing, thank you, Mr. St. John."

Mr. St. John went on, and Lewis skulked to his seat, in his wake.

Lewis's place was midway on the bench on the decani side, seven boys being above him and seven below him. The choristers were on raised seats in front of the lay-clerks, five on one side the choir, five opposite on the other; Arkell, as senior, heading the five on the decani side.

The dean and canons came in, and the service began. While the afternoon psalms were being sung, Mr. Wilberforce p.r.i.c.ked the roll, a parchment containing the names of the members of the cathedral, from the dean downwards, marking those who were present. Aultane left his place and took the roll to the dean, continuing his way to the organ-loft, to inquire what anthem had been put up. He brought word back to Arkell, 'The Lord is very great and terrible. Beckwith.' Aultane would as soon have exchanged words with the yellow-faced little man sitting in the stall next the dean, as with Arkell, just then, but his duty was obligatory. He spoke sullenly, and crossed to his seat on the opposite side, and Arkell rose and reported the anthem to the lay-clerks behind him. Mr. Wilberforce was then reading the first lesson.