A London Season by Anthea Bell

that Mr. Spalding, an excellent man, of course, who is curate of this parish — only I don ’ t wish to — but Lady Emberley was so set on it, and whatever I say he still seems to think it is a settled thing, which I find excessively trying — dear me, I am explaining it all so badly!”
    “Let me guess!” said Sir Edmund, considerably entertained. “The excellent clerical gentleman, curate of this parish, is the — what did you call it? — provision my deplorable old cousin saw fit to make for you? And he is now intent upon either making you an offer of marriage, or renewing one he has made before?”
    “Yes, that ’ s it in a nutshell,” said Elinor, grateful for his quick perception. “Only he can ’ t do so if you are present, sir, can he?” she added in an urgent whisper, as heavy footsteps approached.
    “I hardly think so,” said Sir Edmund, encouragingly. In this opinion, however, he was to find himself mistaken.

 
    4
    I t was plain from the outset that the tall and rather stout clergyman who now entered the drawing room, as good as brushing Mrs. Howell aside, was not to be deterred from any purpose he had in mind by so trifling a detail as the presence of a third party who was, in addition, a total stranger to him. Composing herself with an effort, Miss Radley performed the introductions. Mr. Spalding, advancing towards Sir Edmund with measured tread, shook his hand vigorously and at length. His ruddy, well-fleshed face wore a beaming smile, and with so much amiability in evidence, Sir Edmund was hard put to it to account for the instant dislike which he found he had taken to the clergyman. Jacob was a smooth man , he said to himself involuntarily, despite the fact that he had just learnt Mr. Spalding ’ s given name to be Samuel. Perhaps it was the smoothness of chin (freshly shaven for this visit?) and partial baldness of pate that suggested that patriarchal attribute. Sir Edmund judged Mr. Spalding to be about his own age. His bearing was one of great assurance, not to say self - consequence.
    “Delighted to make your acquaintance, Sir Edmund, delighted!” said he, effusively. “Well, well, and so you are the heir! Pray allow me to offer my congratulations!” Here his countenance suddenly assumed an expression of great gravity, as he added, “and of course my condolences upon Lady Emberley ’ s death too, sir! So excellent, so Godfearing a woman, so truly thoughtful of others — so gratifyingly appreciative of our parochial work here in bringing spiritual comfort to the poor, as we may see even after her death!”
    Sir Edmund suddenly recollected where he had met with the name of Samuel Spalding before. That gentleman must be referring to the solitary bequest made by Lady Emberley to anyone but himself as her designated heir: the sum of three thousand pounds left to the Reverend Mr. Spalding, of the Church of St Mary. In fact, Lady Emberley had made no stipulation as to its use for bringing spiritual comfort to the poor, who in Sir Edmund ’ s experience generally preferred the material variety. He interrupted Mr. Spalding ’ s encomiums to say civilly, but with no especial warmth, that he feared he himself had not met Lady Emberley for years, and though he supposed time might have mellowed her, he could not feel that her disposal of her estate did her much credit. “I myself,” he remarked, “am not at all satisfied with the way things have been left, as I have been telling Miss —”
    Far from taking this as implying any criticism of the bequest made to himself, Mr. Spalding cried almost gleefully, “Aha! I take your meaning, Sir Edmund, indeed, I take your meaning! I apprehend — ”
    But here a loud trill upon the pianoforte interrupted him, and he glanced round, startled. “What in the world is that, Elinor?”
    “Sir Edmund ’ s ward, Miss Grafton, is practising on the instrument in the book-room,” she told him.
    “I see. I see. Well, well, very agreeable, I am sure!