Silly, romantic Miss Crawley, far from being horrified
at the courage of her favourite, always used to pay
his debts after his duels; and would not listen to
a word that was whispered against his morality.
“He will sow his wild oats,” she would
say, “and is worth far more than that puling
hypocrite of a brother of his.”
Arcadian Simplicity
Besides these honest folks at the Hall (whose simplicity
and sweet rural purity surely show the advantage of
a country life over a town one), we must introduce
the reader to their relatives and neighbours at the
Rectory, Bute Crawley and his wife.
The Reverend Bute Crawley was a tall, stately, jolly,
shovel-hatted man, far more popular in his county
than the Baronet his brother. At college he pulled
stroke-oar in the Christchurch boat, and had thrashed
all the best bruisers of the “town.”
He carried his taste for boxing and athletic exercises
into private life; there was not a fight within twenty
miles at which he was not present, nor a race, nor
a coursing match, nor a regatta, nor a ball, nor an
election, nor a visitation dinner, nor indeed a good
dinner in the whole county, but he found means to
attend it. You might see his bay mare and gig-lamps
a score of miles away from his Rectory House, whenever
there was any dinner-party at Fuddleston, or at Roxby,
or at Wapshot Hall, or at the great lords of the county,
with all of whom he was intimate. He had a fine
voice; sang “A southerly wind and a cloudy sky”;
and gave the “whoop” in chorus with general
applause. He rode to hounds in a pepper-and-salt
frock, and was one of the best fishermen in the county.
Mrs. Crawley, the rector’s wife, was a smart
little body, who wrote this worthy divine’s
sermons. Being of a domestic turn, and keeping
the house a great deal with her daughters, she ruled
absolutely within the Rectory, wisely giving her husband
full liberty without. He was welcome to come
and go, and dine abroad as many days as his fancy
dictated, for Mrs. Crawley was a saving woman and knew
the price of port wine. Ever since Mrs. Bute
carried off the young Rector of Queen’s Crawley
(she was of a good family, daughter of the late Lieut.-Colonel
Hector McTavish, and she and her mother played for
Bute and won him at Harrowgate), she had been a prudent
and thrifty wife to him. In spite of her care,
however, he was always in debt. It took him
at least ten years to pay off his college bills contracted
during his father’s lifetime. In the year
179-, when he was just clear of these incumbrances,
he gave the odds of 100 to 1 (in twenties) against
Kangaroo, who won the Derby. The Rector was
obliged to take up the money at a ruinous interest,
and had been struggling ever since. His sister
helped him with a hundred now and then, but of course
his great hope was in her death— when “hang
it” (as he would say), “Matilda must leave
me half her money.”
