But Princhester was different.
Princhester made one think that recently there had been a second and much more serious Fall.
Princhester was industrial and unashamed.It was a countryside savagely invaded by forges and mine shafts and gaunt black things.It was scarred and impeded and discoloured.Even before that invasion, when the heather was not in flower it must have been a black country.Its people were dour uncandid individuals, who slanted their heads and knitted their brows to look at you.
Occasionally one saw woods brown and blistered by the gases from chemical works.Here and there remained old rectories, closely reminiscent of the dear old home at Otteringham, jostled and elbowed and overshadowed by horrible iron cylinders belching smoke and flame.The fine old abbey church of Princhester, which was the cathedral of the new diocese, looked when first he saw it like a lady Abbess who had taken to drink and slept in a coal truck.She minced apologetically upon the market-place; the parvenu Town Hall patronized and protected her as if she were a poor relation....
The old aristocracy of the countryside was unpicturesquely decayed.The branch of the Walshinghams, Lady Ella's cousins, who lived near Pringle, was poor, proud and ignoble.And extremely unpopular.The rich people of the country were self-made and inclined to nonconformity, the working-people were not strictly speaking a "poor," they were highly paid, badly housed, and deeply resentful.They went in vast droves to football matches, and did not care a rap if it rained.The prevailing wind was sarcastic.To come here from London was to come from atmospheric blue-greys to ashen-greys, from smoke and soft smut to grime and black grimness.
The bishop had been charmed by the historical associations of Princhester when first the see was put before his mind.His realization of his diocese was a profound shock.
Only one hint had he had of what was coming.He had met during his season of congratulations Lord Gatling dining unusually at the Athenaeum.Lord Gatling and he did not talk frequently, but on this occasion the great racing peer came over to him."You will feel like a cherub in a stokehole," Lord Gatling had said....
"They used to heave lumps of slag at old Hood's gaiters," said Lord Gatling.
"In London a bishop's a lord and a lark and nobody minds him,"said Lord Gatling, "but Princhester is different.It isn't used to bishops....Well,--I hope you'll get to like 'em."(3)
Trouble began with a fearful row about the position of the bishop's palace.Hood had always evaded this question, and a number of strong-willed self-made men of wealth and influence, full of local patriotism and that competitive spirit which has made England what it is, already intensely irritated by Hood's prevarications, were resolved to pin his successor to an immediate decision.Of this the new bishop was unaware.Mindful of a bishop's constant need to travel, he was disposed to seek a home within easy reach of Pringle Junction, from which nearly every point in the diocese could be simply and easily reached.
This fell in with Lady Ella's liking for the rare rural quiet of the Kibe valley and the neighbourhood of her cousins the Walshinghams.Unhappily it did not fall in with the inflexible resolution of each and every one of the six leading towns of the see to put up, own, obtrude, boast, and swagger about the biggest and showiest thing in episcopal palaces in all industrial England, and the new bishop had already taken a short lease and gone some way towards the acquisition of Ganford House, two miles from Pringle, before he realized the strength and fury of these local ambitions.
At first the magnates and influences seemed to be fighting only among themselves, and he was so ill-advised as to broach the Ganford House project as a compromise that would glorify no one unfairly, and leave the erection of an episcopal palace for some future date when he perhaps would have the good fortune to have passed to "where beyond these voices there is peace," forgetting altogether among other oversights the importance of architects and builders in local affairs.His proposal seemed for a time to concentrate the rich passions of the whole countryside upon himself and his wife.
Because they did not leave Lady Ella alone.The Walshinghams were already unpopular in their county on account of a poverty and shyness that made them seem "stuck up" to successful captains of industry only too ready with the hand of friendship, the iron grip indeed of friendship, consciously hospitable and eager for admission and endorsements.And Princhester in particular was under the sway of that enterprising weekly, The White Blackbird, which was illustrated by, which indeed monopolized the gifts of, that brilliant young caricaturist "The Snicker."It had seemed natural for Lady Ella to acquiesce in the proposals of the leading Princhester photographer.She had always helped where she could in her husband's public work, and she had been popular upon her own merits in Wealdstone.The portrait was abominable enough in itself; it dwelt on her chin, doubled her age, and denied her gentleness, but it was a mere starting-point for the subtle extravagance of The Snicker's poisonous gift....
The thing came upon the bishop suddenly from the book-stall at Pringle Junction.
He kept it carefully from Lady Ella....It was only later that he found that a copy of The White Blackbird had been sent to her, and that she was keeping the horror from him.It was in her vein that she should reproach herself for being a vulnerable side to him.
