The Bishops Secret | Page 2

a
renowned social bully, and like most bullies she gained her ends by
scaring the lives out of meeker and better-bred people than herself.
These latter feared her 'scenes' as she rejoiced in them, and as she knew
the pasts of her friends from their cradle upwards, she usually contrived,
by a pitiless use of her famous memory, to put to rout anyone so
ill-advised as to attempt a stand against her domineering authority.
When her tall, gaunt figure--invariably arrayed in the blackest of black
silks--was sighted in a room, those present either scuttled out of the
way or judiciously held their peace, for everyone knew Mrs Pansey's
talent for twisting the simplest observation into some evil shape
calculated to get its author into trouble. She excelled in this particular
method of making mischief. Possessed of ample means and ample
leisure, both of these helped her materially to build up her reputation of
a philanthropic bully. She literally swooped down upon the poor, taking
one and all in charge to be fed, physicked, worked and guided
according to her own ideas. In return for benefits conferred, she
demanded an unconditional surrender of free will. Nobody was to have
an opinion but Mrs Pansey; nobody knew what was good for them
unless their ideas coincided with those of their patroness--which they
never did. Mrs Pansey had never been a mother, yet, in her own
opinion, there was nothing about children she did not know. She had
not studied medicine, therefore she dubbed the doctors a pack of fools,
saying she could cure where they failed. Be they tinkers, tailors,

soldiers, sailors, Mrs Pansey invariably knew more about their
vocations than they themselves did or were ever likely to do. In short,
this celebrated lady--for her reputation was more than local--was what
the American so succinctly terms a 'she-boss'; and in a less enlightened
age she would indubitably have been ducked in the Beorflete river as a
meddlesome, scolding, clattering jade. Indeed, had anyone been so
brave as to ignore the flight of time and thus suppress her, the
righteousness of the act would most assuredly have remained
unquestioned.
Now, as Miss Norsham wanted, for her own purposes, to 'know the
ropes,' she was fortunate to come within the gloom of Mrs Pansey's
silken robes. For Mrs Pansey certainly knew everyone, if she did not
know everything, and whomsoever she chaperoned had to be received
by Beorminster society, whether Beorminster society liked it or not. All
protégées of Mrs Pansey sheltered under the ægis of her terrible
reputation, and woe to the daring person who did not accept them as the
most charming, the cleverest, and in every way the most desirable of
their sex. But in the memory of man, no one had ever sustained battle
against Mrs Pansey, and so this feminine Selkirk remained monarch of
all she surveyed, and ruled over a community consisting mainly of
canons, vicars and curates, with their respective wives and offsprings.
There were times when her subjects made use of language not precisely
ecclesiastic, and not infrequently Mrs Pansey's name was mentally
included in the Commination Service.
Thus it chanced that Daisy, the spinster, found herself in Mrs Pansey's
carriage on her way to the episcopalian reception, extremely well
pleased with herself, her dress, her position, and her social guardian
angel. The elder lady was impressively gloomy in her usual black silk,
fashioned after the early Victorian mode, when elegance invariably
gave place to utility. Her headgear dated back to the later Georgian
epoch. It consisted mainly of a gauze turban twinkling with jet
ornaments. Her bosom was defended by a cuirass of cold-looking steel
beads, finished off at the throat by a gigantic brooch, containing the
portrait and hair of the late archdeacon. Her skirts were lengthy and
voluminous, so that they swept the floor with a creepy rustle like the

frou-frou of a brocaded spectre. She wore black silk mittens, and on
either bony wrist a band of black velvet clasped with a large cameo set
hideously in pale gold. Thus attired--a veritable caricature by
Leech--this survival of a prehistoric age sat rigidly upright and mangled
the reputations of all and sundry.
Miss Norsham, in all but age, was very modern indeed. Her neck was
lean; her arms were thin. She made up for lack of quality by display of
quantity. In her décolleté costume she appeared as if composed of
bones and diamonds. The diamonds represented the bulk of Miss
Norsham's wealth, and she used them not only for the adornment of her
uncomely person, but for the deception of any possible suitor into the
belief that she was well dowered. She affected gauzy fabrics and
fluttering baby ribbons, so that her dress was as the fleecy flakes of
snow clinging to a