The present temple had been built about 1870 and was considered very satisfactory.It was solid and free from draughts and took the central heating very well.The graveyard also was new and shiny, with no bones in it remoter than the memories of the present generation could compass.The church clock was a very late addition -put up by subscription five years ago-and its clamour was so up to date and smart that it was a cross between the whistle of a steam-engine and a rich and prosperous dinner-bell.
All this was rightly felt to be very satisfactory.As Miss Purves said: "So far as the dear Church goes, no one had any right to complain about anything."When Maggie had first arrived in Skeaton her duties with regard to the Church were made quite plain to her.She was expected to take one of the classes in Sunday school, to attend Choir practice on Friday evening, to be on the Committees for Old Women's Comforts, Our Brave Lads' Guild, and the Girls' Friendly Society, to look after the flowers for the Altar, and to attend Paul's Bible Class on Wednesdays.
She had no objection to any of these things-they were, after all, part of her "job." She found that they amused her, and her life must be full, full, full." No time to think--No time to think," some little voice far, far within her cried.But on Grace's return difficulties at once arose.Grace had, hitherto, done all these things.She had, as she called it, "Played a large part in the life of our Church." She was bored with them all, the Choir practices, the Committees, the Altar flowers, and the rest; she was only too pleased that Maggie should do the hard work--it was quite fair that she, Grace, should have a rest.At the same time she did not at all want to surrender the power that doing these things had given her.
She did not wish Maggie to take her place, but she wanted her to support the burden-very difficult this especially if you are not good at "thinking things out."Grace never could "think things out." It seemed as though her thoughts loved wilfully to tease and confuse her.Then when she was completely tangled, and bewildered, her temper rose, slowly, stealthily, but with a mighty force behind it; suddenly as a flood bursts the walls that have been trying to resist it, it would sweep the chambers of her mind, submerging, drowning the flock of panic-stricken little ideas.
She then would "lose her temper" so much to her own surprise that she at once decided that some one else must be responsible.A few days after her return she decided that she "must not let these things go," so she told Maggie that she would attend the Committee of Old Women's Comforts and be responsible for the Choir practice.
But on her return to these functions she found that she was bored and tired and cross; they were really intolerable, she had been doing them for years and years and years.It was too bad that Maggie should suffer her to take them on her shoulders.What did Maggie think she was a clergyman's wife for? Did Maggie imagine that there were no responsibilities attached to her position?
Grace did not say these things, but she thought them.She did not of course admit to herself that she wanted Maggie both to go and not to go.She simply knew that there was a "grievance" and Maggie was responsible for it.But at present she was silent...
The next factor in the rapidly developing situation was Mr.Toms.
One day early in April Maggie went for a little walk by herself along the lane that led to Marsden Wood.Marsden Wood was the most sinister of all the woods; there had once been a murder there, but even had there not, the grim bleakness of the trees and bushes, the absence of all clear paths through its tangles and thickets made it a sinister place.She turned at the very edge of the wood and set her face back towards Skeaton.
The day had been wild and windy with recurrent showers of rain, but now there was a break, the chilly April sun broke through the clouds and scattered the hedges and fields with primrose light.
Faintly and with a gentle rhythm the murmur of the sea came across the land and the air was sweet with the sea-salt and the fresh scent of the grass after rain.Maggie stood for a moment, breathing in the spring air and watching the watery blue thread its timid way through banks of grey cloud.A rich gleam of sunlight struck the path at her feet.
She saw then, coming towards her, a man and a woman.The woman was ordinary enough, a middle-aged, prim, stiffly dressed person with a pale shy face, timid in her walk and depressed in mouth and eyes.
The man was a stout, short, thick-set fellow with a rosy smiling face.At once Maggie noticed his smile.He was dressed very smartly in a black coat and waist-coat and pepper-and-salt trousers.His bowler was cocked a little to one side.She passed them and the little round man, looking her full in the face, smiled so happily and with so radiant an amiability that she was compelled to respond.
The woman did not look at her.
Long after she had left them she thought of the little man's smile.
There was something that, in spite of herself, reminded her both of Uncle Mathew and Martin.She felt a sudden and warm kinship, something that she had not known since her arrival in Skeaton.Had she not struggled with herself every kind of reminiscence of her London life would have come crowding about her.This meeting was like the first little warning tap upon the wall...
On her return she spoke of it.
"Oh," said Paul, "that must have been poor little Mr.Toms with his sister.""Poor?" asked Maggie.
"Yes.He's queer in his head, you know," said Paul."Quite harmless, but he has the strangest ideas."Maggie noticed then that Grace shivered and the whole of her face worked with an odd emotion of horror and disgust.
