Asphodel : $b a novelBraddon, M. E. (Mary Elizabeth)
General
Asphodel : $b a novel
Braddon, M. E. (Mary Elizabeth)
English fiction -- 19th century
The living of Baddesley-with-Arden was one of those fat sinecures
which are usually given to men of good family and considerable private
means. The Reverend Marmaduke Ferrers was the descendant of a race
well rooted in the soil, and had, by the demise of two bachelor uncles
and three maiden aunts, accumulated to himself a handsome property,
in land, and houses, and the safer kind of public securities. These
legacies had fallen in at longish intervals, some of the aunts being
slow in relaxing their grip upon this world’s gear; but had all the
wealth of a Westminster or a Rothschild been poured into the Reverend
Marmaduke’s lap, he would not have renounced the great tithes of
Baddesley-with-Arden, or the important, and, in a manner, judicial
and dictatorial position which he held as Rector of those two small
parishes. Mr. Ferrers loved the exercise of authority on a small
scale. He had an autocratic mind, but it was a very small mind, and it
suited him to be the autocrat of two insignificant pastoral villages,
rather than to measure his power against the men of cities. To hector
Giles for getting drunk on a Saturday night, to lecture Joan for her
absence from church on Sunday, afforded the Rector as much delight as
a bigger man might have felt in towering over the riot of a Republican
chamber or proroguing a Rump parliament. Mr. Ferrers had been Rector
of Baddesley thirty years, and in all that time he had never once
thought of taking to himself a wife. He had a lovely old Rectory and a
lovelier garden; he had the best servants in the neighbourhood—partly
because he was a most exacting master, and partly because he paid his
housekeeper largely, and made her responsible for everybody else. The
whole machinery of his life worked with a delightful smoothness. He
had nothing to gain from matrimony in the way of domestic comfort; and
there is always the possibility of loss. Thus it happened that although
he had gone on admiring Miss Lawford for a round dozen years, talking
of her as a most ladylike and remarkably well-informed person, pouring
all his small grievances into her ear, confiding to her the most
recondite details of any little complaint from which he happened to
suffer, consulting her about his garden, his stable, his parish, it had
never occurred to him that he should improve his condition or increase
his happiness by making the lady his wife.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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