"My uncle most outrageously sold the advowson to the Simeon Trustees, it
being the only part of my inheritance he could alienate from me, whom he
loathed. He knew nothing would enrage me more than that, and the result
is that I've got a fellow as vicar who preaches in a black gown and has
evening communion twice a month. That is why I took such pleasure in
planting a monastery in the parish; and if only that old time-server the
Bishop of Silchester would licence a chaplain to the community, I should
get my Sunday Mass in my own parish despite my uncle's simeony, as I
call it. As it is with Burrowes away all the time raising funds, I don't
get a Mass at the Abbey and I have to go to the next parish, which is
four miles away and appears highly undignified for the squire."
"And you can't get him out?" said Mark.
"If I did get him out, I should be afflicted with another one just as
bad. The Simeon Trustees only appoint people of the stamp of Mr.
Choules, my present enemy. He's a horrid little man with a gaunt wife
six feet high who beats her children and, if village gossip be true, her
husband as well. Now you can see Malford Place, which is let to
Middlesborough, as I told you."
Mark looked at the great Georgian house with its lawns and cedars and
gateposts surmounted by stone wyverns.
Pages:
388
389
390
391
392
393
394
395
396
397
398
399
400
401
402
403
404
405
406
407
408
409
410
411
412