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Updated: June 12, 2025
"Yes," he said; "Canon Parkyn, the Rector here, wrote to the late Lord Blandamer begging for a subscription to the restoration fund for the church, but never got any answer." Westray flung something like a sneer into his tone, and was already sorry for his ungracious words before he had finished speaking. But the other seemed to take no offence, where some would have been offended.
Could it be that the Bishop had some idea of making Mr Sharnall organist in his private chapel, for there was no vacancy in the Cathedral? Conjecture charged the blank wall of mystery full tilt, and retired broken from the assault. After talking of nothing else for many hours, Mrs Parkyn declared that the matter had no interest at all for her.
"Are you sure the people who live there are called Parkyn?" He turned his head at this, and treated me quite excusably to a stare of amazement. "Well considerin' I've lived in these parts five-an'-forty year, man and boy, I reckon I ought to be sure." The reproof was just, and I apologised. Nevertheless Parkyn was not the name I wanted. What was the name? And why did I want it?
If Canon Parkyn had been a High Churchman, Cousin Joliffe would have been High Church; but the Canon being Low-Church, Cousin Joliffe was an earnest evangelical, as he delighted to describe himself.
So, after dinner, Canon Parkyn retired to his "study," and composed a properly fulsome letter, in which he attributed all the noblest possible motives and qualities to Lord Blandamer, and invoked all the most unctuously conceived blessings upon his head.
The Rector contented himself with the permission, however ungraciously accorded, and found himself a little later in Mr Sharnall's room. "Mrs Parkyn was hoping that she might have prevailed on you to lunch with us on the day of the Confirmation.
The Rector and his wife sat in the "study," a dark room on the north side of the rectory-house, made sinister from without by dank laurestinus, and from within by glass cases of badly-stuffed birds. A Bradshaw lay on the table before them. "He cannot be driving from Carisbury," Mrs Parkyn said. "Dr Willis does not keep at all the same sort of stables that his predecessor kept.
The visit of the Bishop of Carisbury to Cullerne was an important matter, and necessitated some forethought and arrangement. "The Bishop must, of course, lunch with us," Mrs Parkyn said to her husband; "you will ask him, of course, to lunch, my dear." "Oh yes, certainly," replied the Canon; "I wrote yesterday to ask him to lunch."
Canon Parkyn would not, he said, pander to sensationalism by any allusion in his discourse, nor could the Dead March, he conceived, be played with propriety under such very unpleasant circumstances.
It was the indignant gesture with which "Alice," the Pride of Dumballin Village, received the loathsome advances of the bloated aristocrat, Sir Parkyns Parkyn, and had at Marysville, a few nights before, brought down the house. This effect was, I think, however, lost upon Rand.
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