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<title>XVI: The New Gentleman</title>
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<h2 epub:type="ordinal z3998:roman">XVI</h2>
<p epub:type="title">The New Gentleman</p>
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<p>It seems difficult to imagine what connection there could be between Phoebe Beecham’s appearance in Grange Lane and the interview which took place there between her and the “new gentleman,” and <abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mr.</abbr> May’s sudden onslaught upon his family, which ended in Reginald’s acceptance of the chaplaincy. But yet the connection was very distinct. Not even the Mays, in their excitement over the appearance of a stranger in Carlingford, could be more surprised than Phoebe was when her solitary walk was interrupted by the apparition across the street of a known person, a face familiar to her in other regions. “<abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mr.</abbr> Northcote!” she cried, with a little start of surprise. As for the stranger, he made but two steps across Grange Lane in his delight at the sight of her. Not that he was Phoebe’s lover, or possessed by any previous enthusiasm for the girl whom he had met about half-a-dozen times in his life, and of whom he knew little more than that she was the daughter of a “brother clergyman;” for both <abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mr.</abbr> Beecham and he were in the habit of using that word, whether appropriate or inappropriate. This was the explanation of the white necktie and the formal dress which had puzzled Ursula.</p>
<p>Horace Northcote was not of <abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mr.</abbr> Beecham’s class. He was not well-to-do and genial, bent upon keeping up his congregation and his popularity, and trying to ignore as much as he could the social superiority of the Church without making himself in any way offensive to her. He was a political Nonconformist, a vigorous champion of the Disestablishment Society, more successful on the platform than in the pulpit, and strenuously of opinion in his heart of hearts that the Church was the great drawback to all progress in England, an incubus of which the nation would gladly be rid. His dress was one of the signs of his character and meaning. Strong in a sense of his own clerical position, he believed in uniform as devoutly as any Ritualist, but he would not plagiarise the Anglican livery and walk about in a modified soutane and round hat like “our brethren in the Established Church,” as <abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mr.</abbr> Beecham kindly called them. To young Northcote they were not brethren, but enemies, and though he smiled superior at the folly which stigmatised an <abbr epub:type="z3998:initialism">M.B.</abbr> waistcoat, yet he scorned to copy. Accordingly his frock coat was not long, but of the extremest solemnity of cut and hue, his white tie was of the stiffest, his tall hat of the most uncompromising character. He would not veil for a day in easier and more ordinary habiliments the distinct position he assumed as clerical, yet not of the clergy; a teacher of men, though not a priest of the Anglican inspiration. He could not help feeling that his appearance, as he moved about the streets, was one which might well thrill Anglican bosoms with a flutter of terror. He was the Church’s avowed enemy, and upon this he stood as his claim to the honour of those who thought with him. This was very different from the views held by the pastor of the Crescent Chapel, who was very willing to be on the best terms with the Church, and would have liked to glide into closer and closer amity, and perhaps finally to melt away altogether in her broad bosom, like a fat raindrop contributing noiselessly to swell the sea. It was not, however, any feeling of this difference which made Phoebe draw herself back instinctively after the first start of recognition. Across her mind, even while she held out her hand to the stranger, there flashed a sudden recollection of her grandmother and her grandfather, and all the homely belongings which he, a minister of the connection, could not be kept in ignorance of. It was but a momentary pang. Phoebe was not so foolish as to shrink before the inevitable, or to attempt by foolish expedients to stave off such a danger. She shrank for a second, then drew herself up and shook off all such ignoble cares. “I am myself whatever happens,” was her reflection; and she said with something like security:</p>
<p>“I am so glad to meet you, <abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mr.</abbr> Northcote; what an unexpected pleasure to see you here!”</p>
<p>“It is a most unexpected pleasure for me, I assure you,” he said, “and a very great one.” He spoke with unaffected honesty; for indeed his plunge into the society of Salem Chapel had given him a shock not easily got over, and the appearance of a being of his own species, among all these excellent poulterers and grocers, was a relief unspeakable; and then he added, “May I walk with you, if you are going to walk?”</p>
<p>“Surely,” said Phoebe with momentary hesitation, and it was just at this moment that she perceived Ursula on the other side of the road, and, glad of the diversion, waved her hand to her, and said, “How do you do?”</p>
<p>“A friend of yours?” said <abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mr.</abbr> Northcote, following her gesture with his eyes, and feeling more and more glad that he had met her. “I passed those young ladies just now, and heard some of their conversation, which amused me. Do they belong to our people? If you will not be angry, Miss Beecham, I must say that I should be glad to meet somebody belonging to us, who is not—who is more like—the people one meets elsewhere.”</p>
<p>“Well,” said Phoebe, “we are always talking of wanting something original; I think on the whole I am of your opinion; still there is nothing very great or striking about most of the people one meets anywhere.”</p>
<p>“Yes; society is flat enough,” said the young man. “But—it is strange and rather painful, though perhaps it is wrong to say so—why, I wonder, are all our people of one class? Perhaps you have not seen much of them here? All of one class, and that—”</p>
<p>“Not an attractive class,” said Phoebe, with a little sigh. “Yes, I know.”</p>
<p>“Anything but an attractive class; not the so-called working men and suchlike. One can get on with them. It is very unpleasant to have to say it; buying and selling now as we have it in Manchester does not contract the mind. I suppose we all buy and sell more and less. How is it? When it is tea and sugar—”</p>
<p>“Or butter and cheese,” said Phoebe with a laugh, which she could not quite keep from embarrassment. “I must be honest and tell you before you go any further. You don’t know that I belong to the Tozers, <abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mr.</abbr> Northcote, who are in that line of business. Don’t look so dreadfully distressed. Perhaps I shouldn’t have told you, had you not been sure to find out. Old <abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mr.</abbr> Tozer is my grandfather, and I am staying there. It is quite simple. Papa came to Carlingford when he was a young clergyman, newly ordained. He was pastor at Salem Chapel, and married mamma, who was the daughter of one of the chief members. I did not know myself when I came to Carlingford that they actually kept a shop, and I did not like it. Don’t apologize, please. It is a very difficult question,” said Phoebe philosophically, partly to ease herself, partly to set him at his ease, “what is best to do in such a case. To be educated in another sphere and brought down to this, is hard. One cannot feel the same for one’s relations; and yet one’s poor little bit of education, one’s petty manners, what are these to interfere with blood relationships? And to keep everybody down to the condition they were born, why, that is the old way—”</p>
<p>“Miss Beecham, I don’t know what to say. I never meant—I could not tell. There are excellent, most excellent people in all classes.”</p>
<p>“Exactly so,” said Phoebe, with a laugh. “We all know that; one man is as good as another—if not better. A butterman is as good as a lord; but—” she added, with a little elevation of her eyebrows and shrug of her shoulders, “not so pleasant to be connected with. And you don’t say anything about my difficulty, <abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mr.</abbr> Northcote. You don’t realize it perhaps, as I do. Which is best: for everybody to continue in the position he was born in, or for an honest shopkeeper to educate his children and push them up higher until they come to feel themselves members of a different class, and to be ashamed of him? Either way, you know, it is hard.”</p>
<p>Northcote was at his wit’s end. He had no fellow-feeling for this difficulty. His friends were all much better off than he was as a poor minister. They were Manchester people, with two or three generations of wealth behind them, relations of whom nobody need be ashamed; and he was himself deeply humiliated and distressed to have said anything which could humiliate Phoebe, who rose immeasurably in his estimation in consequence of her bold avowal, though he himself would have sacrificed a great deal rather than put himself on the Tozer level. He did not know what to say.</p>
<p>“Miss Beecham, you know as well as I do, how falsely our opinions are formed in this respect, how conventional we are. What is position after all? To a grand Seigneur, for instance, the difference between his steward and his <i xml:lang="fr">laquais</i> seems nothing, but to the steward it is a great gulf. I—I mean—the whole question is conventional—position, or station, or rank—”</p>
<p>Phoebe smiled. “I don’t think that is quite the question,” she said, “but never mind. I suppose you are here on some mission? You would not come to Carlingford for pleasure.”</p>
<p>“Nay,” said Northcote, with a reproachful tone. “I should have thought you must have heard of our Meeting. It is for tonight. I have come from the Disestablishment Society with some other friends; but it has been my fate to come on before to make the arrangements. The others come today.”</p>
<p>“A hard fate, <abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mr.</abbr> Northcote.”</p>
<p>“I thought so this morning. I have not been much in the way of the country congregations. I was confounded; but, Miss Beecham, I no longer think my fate hard since I have met you. Your noble simplicity and frankness have taught me a lesson.”</p>
<p>“It is not noble at all,” said Phoebe; “if I had not been sure you must find out I should have said nothing about it. Now I fear I must turn back.”</p>
<p>“But you will come to the Meeting,” he said, turning with her. He felt it necessary to be obsequious to Phoebe, after the terrible mistake he had made.</p>
<p>“Not unless grandpapa insists. I should like to hear your speech,” said Phoebe; “but I don’t object to the Established Church as you do, neither does papa when you push him hard. I don’t think England would be much nicer if we were all Dissenters. To be sure we might be more civil to each other.”</p>
<p>“If there were no Dissenters, you mean.”</p>
<p>“It comes to much the same thing; congregations are not pleasant masters, are they, <abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mr.</abbr> Northcote? I know some people—one at least,” said Phoebe, “who is often very insolent to papa; and we have to put up with it—for the sake of peace, papa says. I don’t think in the Church that any leading member could be so insolent to a clergyman.”</p>
<p>“That is perhaps rather—forgive me—a narrow, personal view.”</p>
<p>“Wait till you get a charge, and have to please the congregation and the leading members!” cried Phoebe. “I know what you are thinking: it is just like a woman to look at a public question so. Very well; after all women are half the world, and their opinion is as good as another.”</p>
<p>“I have the greatest respect for your opinion,” said young Northcote; “but we must not think of individual grievances. The system, with all its wrongs, is what occupies me. I have heard something—even here—this very day—What is it, my good friend? I am busy now—another time; or if you want me, my lodgings are—”</p>
<p>A glance, half of pain, half of fun, came into Phoebe’s eyes. “It is grandpapa!” she said.</p>
<p>“You shouldn’t speak in that tone, sir, not to your elders, and maybe your betters,” said Tozer, in his greasy old coat. “Ministers take a deal upon them; but an old member like me, and one as has stood by the connection through thick and thin, ain’t the one to be called your good friend. Well, if you begs pardon, of course there ain’t no more to be said; and if you know our Phoebe—Phoebe, junior, as I calls her. What of the meeting, <abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mr.</abbr> Northcote? I hope you’ll give it them Church folks ’ot and strong, sir. They do give themselves airs, to be sure, in Carlingford. Most of our folks is timid, seeing for one thing as their best customers belong to the Church. That don’t touch me, not nowadays,” said Tozer, with a laugh, “not that I was ever one as concealed my convictions. I hope you’ll give it ’em ’ot and strong.”</p>
<p>“I shall say what I think,” said the young man bewildered. He was by no means broken into the ways of the connection, and his pride rebelled at the idea of being schooled by this old shopkeeper; but the sight of Phoebe standing by not only checked his rebellious sentiments, but filled him with a sympathetic thrill of feeling. What it must be for that girl to own this old man, to live with him, and feel herself shut into his society and friends of his choosing—to hear herself spoken of as Phoebe, junior! The idea made him shiver, and this caught old Tozer’s always hospitable eye.</p>
<p>“You’re chilly,” he said, “and I don’t wonder after the dreadful weather we’ve had. Few passes my door without a bite or a sup, specially at teatime, <abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mr.</abbr> Nor’cote, which is sociable time, as I always says. Come in and warm yourself and have a cup of tea. There is nothing as pleases my old woman so much as to get out her best tea-things for a minister; she ’as a great respect for ministers, has <abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mrs.</abbr> Tozer, sir; and now she’s got Phoebe to show off as well as the chiney. Come along, sir, I can’t take no refusal. It’s just our time for tea.”</p>
<p>Northcote made an unavailing attempt to get away, but partly it appeared to him that to refuse the invitation might look to Phoebe like a pretence of superiority on his part, and partly he was interested in herself, and was very well aware he should get no company so good in Carlingford, even with the drawback of the old shop-people among whom she lived. How strange it was to see her in the dress of which <abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mrs.</abbr> Sam Hurst had raved, and of which even the young Nonconformist vaguely divined the excellence, putting her daintily-gloved hand upon old Tozer’s greasy sleeve, walking home with the shuffling old man, about whose social position no one could make the least mistake! He turned with them, with a sensation of thankfulness that it was in Grange Lane, Carlingford, where nobody knew him. As for Phoebe, no such comfort was in her mind; everybody knew her here, or rather, everybody knew old Tozer. No disguise was possible to her. The only way to redeem the position was to carry it with a high hand, as she did, holding her head erect, and playing her part so that all the world might see and wonder. “I think you had better come, <abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mr.</abbr> Northcote, and have some tea,” she said graciously, when the awestricken young man was floundering in efforts to excuse himself. Old Tozer chuckled and rubbed his hands.</p>
<p>“Take Phoebe’s advice,” he said, “Phoebe’s the sensiblest girl I know; so was her mother before her, as married one of the most popular preachers in the connection, though I say it as shouldn’t. My old woman always said as our Phoebe was cut out for a minister’s wife. And Phoebe junior’s just such another,” cried the admiring grandfather. Heavens above! did this mean traps and snares for himself, or did the old shopkeeper think of him, Horace Northcote, as another possible victim? If he had but known with what sincere compassionate toleration Phoebe regarded him, as a young man whom she might be kind to, he might have been saved all alarm on this point. The idea that a small undistinguished Dissenting minister should think her capable of marrying him, was a humiliation which did not enter into Phoebe’s head.</p>
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