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Updated: May 4, 2025
He lived "over Harlow way," as the natives expressed it; he was what was called in those parts a rabid Anglican, because he preached in his surplice and had services on the Saints' days, and the vicar of Billingsfield did not sympathise in his views.
Angleside had been in Cambridge before and consequently lost no time in returning to Billingsfield when the examination was over.
And now she was living on five hundred a year in one of his own cottages, hiding her shame in desolate Billingsfield, the shame of her husband, the forger. It was such a hopeless position, the squire thought. No one could help her, no one could do anything for her.
He had been a Fellow of Trinity College, Cambridge, within a few years of taking his degree, wherein he had obtained high honours. But he had married and had found himself obliged to accept the first living offered to him, to wit, the vicarage of Billingsfield, whereof his college held the rectory and received the great tithes.
Neither the vicar nor his host believed that there was any hurry; if Goddard ever succeeded in getting to Billingsfield it would not be to-day, nor to-morrow either.
Goddard came to live in Billingsfield the Ambroses soon discovered that she was a very well-educated woman, that she appeared to have read much and to have read intelligently, and that she was on the whole decidedly interesting. It was long, however, before Mrs. Ambrose entirely conquered a certain antipathy she felt for her, and which she explained after her own fashion. Mrs.
Juxon was still making Stamboul jump the stick before the cottage, but as far as he could see in the dusk, Mrs. Goddard and Nellie had disappeared within. John felt that he was very unhappy. "Mr. Ambrose," he began. Then he stopped and hesitated. "Mr. Ambrose," he continued at last, "you never told me half the news of Billingsfield in your letters." "You mean about Mrs. Goddard?
Juxon thought of marrying Mrs. Goddard. He had now resolved to return to Cambridge at once and to work his hardest until the Tripos was over. He would then come back to Billingsfield and, with his honours fresh upon him and the prospect of immediate success before him, he would throw himself at Mrs. Goddard's feet. But of course he must have one farewell interview. Oh, those farewell interviews!
She presented an imposing appearance, as usual; her grey skirt, drawn up a little from the mud, revealed a bright red petticoat and those stout shoes which she regarded as so essential to health; she wore moreover a capacious sealskin jacket and a dark bonnet with certain jet flowers, which for many years had been regarded by the inhabitants of Billingsfield as the distinctive badge of a gentlewoman.
"He is disguised as a poor tramp," she said sorrowfully. "He wears a smock-frock and an old hat I think. He is pale oh, poor, poor Walter!" she cried again bursting into tears. Mr. Ambrose could say nothing. There was nothing to be said. He rose and took his hat the old tall hat he wore to his parishioners' funerals. They were very primitive people in Billingsfield. "I will go at once," he said.
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