diff options
Diffstat (limited to 'old')
| -rw-r--r-- | old/394-0_20130224.txt | 7014 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/394-0_20130224.zip | bin | 160228 -> 0 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/394-0_20210429.txt | 7010 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/394-0_20210429.zip | bin | 160271 -> 0 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/394-h_20130224.htm | 8283 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/394-h_20130224.zip | bin | 8900176 -> 0 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/394-h_20210429.htm | 8230 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/394-h_20210429.zip | bin | 170056 -> 0 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/crnfd10.txt | 7344 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/crnfd10.zip | bin | 157531 -> 0 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/crnfd10h.htm | 7199 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/crnfd10h.zip | bin | 159158 -> 0 bytes |
12 files changed, 0 insertions, 45080 deletions
diff --git a/old/394-0_20130224.txt b/old/394-0_20130224.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 17a80cd..0000000 --- a/old/394-0_20130224.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,7014 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook, Cranford, by Elizabeth Cleghorn Gaskell, -Illustrated by C. E. Brocks - - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org - - - - - -Title: Cranford - - -Author: Elizabeth Cleghorn Gaskell - - - -Release Date: February 24, 2013 [eBook #394] -[This file was first posted on December 7, 1995] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - - -***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CRANFORD*** - - -Transcribed from the 1907 J. M. Dent edition by David Price, email -ccx074@pglaf.org. Extra proofing by Margaret Price. - - [Picture: “Oh, sir! can you be Peter?”] - - - - - - CRANFORD - - - _by_ - _Elizabeth Cleghorn Gaskell_ - - [Picture: Picture of lady pouring tea] - - _With twenty-five coloured illustrations_ - _by C. E. Brock_ - - [Picture: Decorative graphic] - - 1904 - - _London_. _J. M. Dent & Co._ - _New York_. _E. P. Dutton & Co._ - - - - -CONTENTS - - _CHAPTER I_ -_Our Society_ 1 - _CHAPTER II_ -_The Captain_ 16 - _CHAPTER III_ -_A Love Affair of Long Ago_ 36 - _CHAPTER IV_ -_A Visit to an Old Bachelor_ 49 - _CHAPTER V_ -_Old Letters_ 65 - _CHAPTER VI_ -_Poor Peter_ 80 - _CHAPTER VII_ -_Visiting_ 96 - _CHAPTER VIII_ -“_Your Ladyship_” 110 - _CHAPTER IX_ -_Signor Brunoni_ 128 - _CHAPTER X_ -_The Panic_ 142 - _CHAPTER XI_ -_Samuel Brown_ 161 - _CHAPTER XII_ -_Engaged to be Married_ 177 - _CHAPTER XIII_ -_Stopped Payment_ 189 - _CHAPTER XIV_ -_Friends in Need_ 204 - _CHAPTER XV_ -_A Happy Return_ 228 - _CHAPTER XVI_ -_Peace to Cranford_ 245 - -LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS - -“_Oh, sir_! _Can you be Peter_?” Frontispiece -_Title-page_ — -_A magnificent family red silk umbrella_ 3 -_Meekly going to her pasture_ 8 -_Endeavouring to beguile her into conversation_ 14 -_She brought the affrighted carter . . . into the 24 -drawing-room_ -“_With his arm round Miss Jessie’s waist_!” 33 -_Mr Holbrook . . . bade us good-bye_ 48 -_Now_, _what colour are ash-buds in March_? 54 -_I made us of the time to think of many other 74 -things_ -“_Confound the woman_!” 82 -_The temptation of the comfortable arm-chair had 106 -been too much for her_ -_Mr Mulliner_ 117 -_We gave her a tea-spoonful of currant jelly_ 124 -_Afraid of matrimonial reports_ 140 -_Asked him to take care of us_ 148 -_Slaughterous and indiscriminate directions_ 157 -_Would stretch out their little arms_ 170 -“_What do you think_, _Miss Matty_?” 179 -_Standing over him like a bold dragoon_ 190 -“_You must give me your note_, _Mr Dobson_, _if 198 -you please_” -“_Please_, _ma’am, he wants to marry me off hand_” 213 -_Miss Matty and I sat assenting to accounts_ 220 -_Smiling glory . . . and becoming blushes_ 231 -_I went to call Miss Matty_ 234 - - * * * * * - -_Most of the three-colour blocks used in this book have been made by the -Graphic Photo-Engraving Co._, _London_ - - - - -CHAPTER I—OUR SOCIETY - - -IN the first place, Cranford is in possession of the Amazons; all the -holders of houses above a certain rent are women. If a married couple -come to settle in the town, somehow the gentleman disappears; he is -either fairly frightened to death by being the only man in the Cranford -evening parties, or he is accounted for by being with his regiment, his -ship, or closely engaged in business all the week in the great -neighbouring commercial town of Drumble, distant only twenty miles on a -railroad. In short, whatever does become of the gentlemen, they are not -at Cranford. What could they do if they were there? The surgeon has his -round of thirty miles, and sleeps at Cranford; but every man cannot be a -surgeon. For keeping the trim gardens full of choice flowers without a -weed to speck them; for frightening away little boys who look wistfully -at the said flowers through the railings; for rushing out at the geese -that occasionally venture in to the gardens if the gates are left open; -for deciding all questions of literature and politics without troubling -themselves with unnecessary reasons or arguments; for obtaining clear and -correct knowledge of everybody’s affairs in the parish; for keeping their -neat maid-servants in admirable order; for kindness (somewhat -dictatorial) to the poor, and real tender good offices to each other -whenever they are in distress, the ladies of Cranford are quite -sufficient. “A man,” as one of them observed to me once, “is _so_ in the -way in the house!” Although the ladies of Cranford know all each other’s -proceedings, they are exceedingly indifferent to each other’s opinions. -Indeed, as each has her own individuality, not to say eccentricity, -pretty strongly developed, nothing is so easy as verbal retaliation; but, -somehow, good-will reigns among them to a considerable degree. - -The Cranford ladies have only an occasional little quarrel, spirited out -in a few peppery words and angry jerks of the head; just enough to -prevent the even tenor of their lives from becoming too flat. Their -dress is very independent of fashion; as they observe, “What does it -signify how we dress here at Cranford, where everybody knows us?” And if -they go from home, their reason is equally cogent, “What does it signify -how we dress here, where nobody knows us?” The materials of their -clothes are, in general, good and plain, and most of them are nearly as -scrupulous as Miss Tyler, of cleanly memory; but I will answer for it, -the last gigot, the last tight and scanty petticoat in wear in England, -was seen in Cranford—and seen without a smile. - - [Picture: A magnificent family red silk umbrella] - -I can testify to a magnificent family red silk umbrella, under which a -gentle little spinster, left alone of many brothers and sisters, used to -patter to church on rainy days. Have you any red silk umbrellas in -London? We had a tradition of the first that had ever been seen in -Cranford; and the little boys mobbed it, and called it “a stick in -petticoats.” It might have been the very red silk one I have described, -held by a strong father over a troop of little ones; the poor little -lady—the survivor of all—could scarcely carry it. - -Then there were rules and regulations for visiting and calls; and they -were announced to any young people who might be staying in the town, with -all the solemnity with which the old Manx laws were read once a year on -the Tinwald Mount. - -“Our friends have sent to inquire how you are after your journey -to-night, my dear” (fifteen miles in a gentleman’s carriage); “they will -give you some rest to-morrow, but the next day, I have no doubt, they -will call; so be at liberty after twelve—from twelve to three are our -calling hours.” - -Then, after they had called— - -“It is the third day; I dare say your mamma has told you, my dear, never -to let more than three days elapse between receiving a call and returning -it; and also, that you are never to stay longer than a quarter of an -hour.” - -“But am I to look at my watch? How am I to find out when a quarter of an -hour has passed?” - -“You must keep thinking about the time, my dear, and not allow yourself -to forget it in conversation.” - -As everybody had this rule in their minds, whether they received or paid -a call, of course no absorbing subject was ever spoken about. We kept -ourselves to short sentences of small talk, and were punctual to our -time. - -I imagine that a few of the gentlefolks of Cranford were poor, and had -some difficulty in making both ends meet; but they were like the -Spartans, and concealed their smart under a smiling face. We none of us -spoke of money, because that subject savoured of commerce and trade, and -though some might be poor, we were all aristocratic. The Cranfordians -had that kindly _esprit de corps_ which made them overlook all -deficiencies in success when some among them tried to conceal their -poverty. When Mrs Forrester, for instance, gave a party in her -baby-house of a dwelling, and the little maiden disturbed the ladies on -the sofa by a request that she might get the tea-tray out from -underneath, everyone took this novel proceeding as the most natural thing -in the world, and talked on about household forms and ceremonies as if we -all believed that our hostess had a regular servants’ hall, second table, -with housekeeper and steward, instead of the one little charity-school -maiden, whose short ruddy arms could never have been strong enough to -carry the tray upstairs, if she had not been assisted in private by her -mistress, who now sat in state, pretending not to know what cakes were -sent up, though she knew, and we knew, and she knew that we knew, and we -knew that she knew that we knew, she had been busy all the morning making -tea-bread and sponge-cakes. - -There were one or two consequences arising from this general but -unacknowledged poverty, and this very much acknowledged gentility, which -were not amiss, and which might be introduced into many circles of -society to their great improvement. For instance, the inhabitants of -Cranford kept early hours, and clattered home in their pattens, under the -guidance of a lantern-bearer, about nine o’clock at night; and the whole -town was abed and asleep by half-past ten. Moreover, it was considered -“vulgar” (a tremendous word in Cranford) to give anything expensive, in -the way of eatable or drinkable, at the evening entertainments. Wafer -bread-and-butter and sponge-biscuits were all that the Honourable Mrs -Jamieson gave; and she was sister-in-law to the late Earl of Glenmire, -although she did practise such “elegant economy.” - -“Elegant economy!” How naturally one falls back into the phraseology of -Cranford! There, economy was always “elegant,” and money-spending always -“vulgar and ostentatious”; a sort of sour-grapeism which made us very -peaceful and satisfied. I never shall forget the dismay felt when a -certain Captain Brown came to live at Cranford, and openly spoke about -his being poor—not in a whisper to an intimate friend, the doors and -windows being previously closed, but in the public street! in a loud -military voice! alleging his poverty as a reason for not taking a -particular house. The ladies of Cranford were already rather moaning -over the invasion of their territories by a man and a gentleman. He was -a half-pay captain, and had obtained some situation on a neighbouring -railroad, which had been vehemently petitioned against by the little -town; and if, in addition to his masculine gender, and his connection -with the obnoxious railroad, he was so brazen as to talk of being -poor—why, then, indeed, he must be sent to Coventry. Death was as true -and as common as poverty; yet people never spoke about that, loud out in -the streets. It was a word not to be mentioned to ears polite. We had -tacitly agreed to ignore that any with whom we associated on terms of -visiting equality could ever be prevented by poverty from doing anything -that they wished. If we walked to or from a party, it was because the -night was _so_ fine, or the air _so_ refreshing, not because sedan-chairs -were expensive. If we wore prints, instead of summer silks, it was -because we preferred a washing material; and so on, till we blinded -ourselves to the vulgar fact that we were, all of us, people of very -moderate means. Of course, then, we did not know what to make of a man -who could speak of poverty as if it was not a disgrace. Yet, somehow, -Captain Brown made himself respected in Cranford, and was called upon, in -spite of all resolutions to the contrary. I was surprised to hear his -opinions quoted as authority at a visit which I paid to Cranford about a -year after he had settled in the town. My own friends had been among the -bitterest opponents of any proposal to visit the Captain and his -daughters, only twelve months before; and now he was even admitted in the -tabooed hours before twelve. True, it was to discover the cause of a -smoking chimney, before the fire was lighted; but still Captain Brown -walked upstairs, nothing daunted, spoke in a voice too large for the -room, and joked quite in the way of a tame man about the house. He had -been blind to all the small slights, and omissions of trivial ceremonies, -with which he had been received. He had been friendly, though the -Cranford ladies had been cool; he had answered small sarcastic -compliments in good faith; and with his manly frankness had overpowered -all the shrinking which met him as a man who was not ashamed to be poor. -And, at last, his excellent masculine common sense, and his facility in -devising expedients to overcome domestic dilemmas, had gained him an -extraordinary place as authority among the Cranford ladies. He himself -went on in his course, as unaware of his popularity as he had been of the -reverse; and I am sure he was startled one day when he found his advice -so highly esteemed as to make some counsel which he had given in jest to -be taken in sober, serious earnest. - -It was on this subject: An old lady had an Alderney cow, which she looked -upon as a daughter. You could not pay the short quarter of an hour call -without being told of the wonderful milk or wonderful intelligence of -this animal. The whole town knew and kindly regarded Miss Betsy Barker’s -Alderney; therefore great was the sympathy and regret when, in an -unguarded moment, the poor cow tumbled into a lime-pit. She moaned so -loudly that she was soon heard and rescued; but meanwhile the poor beast -had lost most of her hair, and came out looking naked, cold, and -miserable, in a bare skin. Everybody pitied the animal, though a few -could not restrain their smiles at her droll appearance. Miss Betsy -Barker absolutely cried with sorrow and dismay; and it was said she -thought of trying a bath of oil. This remedy, perhaps, was recommended -by some one of the number whose advice she asked; but the proposal, if -ever it was made, was knocked on the head by Captain Brown’s decided “Get -her a flannel waistcoat and flannel drawers, ma’am, if you wish to keep -her alive. But my advice is, kill the poor creature at once.” - -Miss Betsy Barker dried her eyes, and thanked the Captain heartily; she -set to work, and by-and-by all the town turned out to see the Alderney -meekly going to her pasture, clad in dark grey flannel. I have watched -her myself many a time. Do you ever see cows dressed in grey flannel in -London? - - [Picture: Meekly going to her pasture] - -Captain Brown had taken a small house on the outskirts of the town, where -he lived with his two daughters. He must have been upwards of sixty at -the time of the first visit I paid to Cranford after I had left it as a -residence. But he had a wiry, well-trained, elastic figure, a stiff -military throw-back of his head, and a springing step, which made him -appear much younger than he was. His eldest daughter looked almost as -old as himself, and betrayed the fact that his real was more than his -apparent age. Miss Brown must have been forty; she had a sickly, pained, -careworn expression on her face, and looked as if the gaiety of youth had -long faded out of sight. Even when young she must have been plain and -hard-featured. Miss Jessie Brown was ten years younger than her sister, -and twenty shades prettier. Her face was round and dimpled. Miss -Jenkyns once said, in a passion against Captain Brown (the cause of which -I will tell you presently), “that she thought it was time for Miss Jessie -to leave off her dimples, and not always to be trying to look like a -child.” It was true there was something childlike in her face; and there -will be, I think, till she dies, though she should live to a hundred. -Her eyes were large blue wondering eyes, looking straight at you; her -nose was unformed and snub, and her lips were red and dewy; she wore her -hair, too, in little rows of curls, which heightened this appearance. I -do not know whether she was pretty or not; but I liked her face, and so -did everybody, and I do not think she could help her dimples. She had -something of her father’s jauntiness of gait and manner; and any female -observer might detect a slight difference in the attire of the two -sisters—that of Miss Jessie being about two pounds per annum more -expensive than Miss Brown’s. Two pounds was a large sum in Captain -Brown’s annual disbursements. - -Such was the impression made upon me by the Brown family when I first saw -them all together in Cranford Church. The Captain I had met before—on -the occasion of the smoky chimney, which he had cured by some simple -alteration in the flue. In church, he held his double eye-glass to his -eyes during the Morning Hymn, and then lifted up his head erect and sang -out loud and joyfully. He made the responses louder than the clerk—an -old man with a piping feeble voice, who, I think, felt aggrieved at the -Captain’s sonorous bass, and quivered higher and higher in consequence. - -On coming out of church, the brisk Captain paid the most gallant -attention to his two daughters. He nodded and smiled to his -acquaintances; but he shook hands with none until he had helped Miss -Brown to unfurl her umbrella, had relieved her of her prayer-book, and -had waited patiently till she, with trembling nervous hands, had taken up -her gown to walk through the wet roads. - -I wonder what the Cranford ladies did with Captain Brown at their -parties. We had often rejoiced, in former days, that there was no -gentleman to be attended to, and to find conversation for, at the -card-parties. We had congratulated ourselves upon the snugness of the -evenings; and, in our love for gentility, and distaste of mankind, we had -almost persuaded ourselves that to be a man was to be “vulgar”; so that -when I found my friend and hostess, Miss Jenkyns, was going to have a -party in my honour, and that Captain and the Miss Browns were invited, I -wondered much what would be the course of the evening. Card-tables, with -green baize tops, were set out by daylight, just as usual; it was the -third week in November, so the evenings closed in about four. Candles, -and clean packs of cards, were arranged on each table. The fire was made -up; the neat maid-servant had received her last directions; and there we -stood, dressed in our best, each with a candle-lighter in our hands, -ready to dart at the candles as soon as the first knock came. Parties in -Cranford were solemn festivities, making the ladies feel gravely elated -as they sat together in their best dresses. As soon as three had -arrived, we sat down to “Preference,” I being the unlucky fourth. The -next four comers were put down immediately to another table; and -presently the tea-trays, which I had seen set out in the store-room as I -passed in the morning, were placed each on the middle of a card-table. -The china was delicate egg-shell; the old-fashioned silver glittered with -polishing; but the eatables were of the slightest description. While the -trays were yet on the tables, Captain and the Miss Browns came in; and I -could see that, somehow or other, the Captain was a favourite with all -the ladies present. Ruffled brows were smoothed, sharp voices lowered at -his approach. Miss Brown looked ill, and depressed almost to gloom. -Miss Jessie smiled as usual, and seemed nearly as popular as her father. -He immediately and quietly assumed the man’s place in the room; attended -to every one’s wants, lessened the pretty maid-servant’s labour by -waiting on empty cups and bread-and-butterless ladies; and yet did it all -in so easy and dignified a manner, and so much as if it were a matter of -course for the strong to attend to the weak, that he was a true man -throughout. He played for threepenny points with as grave an interest as -if they had been pounds; and yet, in all his attention to strangers, he -had an eye on his suffering daughter—for suffering I was sure she was, -though to many eyes she might only appear to be irritable. Miss Jessie -could not play cards: but she talked to the sitters-out, who, before her -coming, had been rather inclined to be cross. She sang, too, to an old -cracked piano, which I think had been a spinet in its youth. Miss Jessie -sang, “Jock of Hazeldean” a little out of tune; but we were none of us -musical, though Miss Jenkyns beat time, out of time, by way of appearing -to be so. - -It was very good of Miss Jenkyns to do this; for I had seen that, a -little before, she had been a good deal annoyed by Miss Jessie Brown’s -unguarded admission (_à propos_ of Shetland wool) that she had an uncle, -her mother’s brother, who was a shop-keeper in Edinburgh. Miss Jenkyns -tried to drown this confession by a terrible cough—for the Honourable Mrs -Jamieson was sitting at a card-table nearest Miss Jessie, and what would -she say or think if she found out she was in the same room with a -shop-keeper’s niece! But Miss Jessie Brown (who had no tact, as we all -agreed the next morning) _would_ repeat the information, and assure Miss -Pole she could easily get her the identical Shetland wool required, -“through my uncle, who has the best assortment of Shetland goods of any -one in Edinbro’.” It was to take the taste of this out of our mouths, -and the sound of this out of our ears, that Miss Jenkyns proposed music; -so I say again, it was very good of her to beat time to the song. - -When the trays re-appeared with biscuits and wine, punctually at a -quarter to nine, there was conversation, comparing of cards, and talking -over tricks; but by-and-by Captain Brown sported a bit of literature. - -“Have you seen any numbers of ‘The Pickwick Papers’?” said he. (They -were then publishing in parts.) “Capital thing!” - -Now Miss Jenkyns was daughter of a deceased rector of Cranford; and, on -the strength of a number of manuscript sermons, and a pretty good library -of divinity, considered herself literary, and looked upon any -conversation about books as a challenge to her. So she answered and -said, “Yes, she had seen them; indeed, she might say she had read them.” - -“And what do you think of them?” exclaimed Captain Brown. “Aren’t they -famously good?” - -So urged Miss Jenkyns could not but speak. - -“I must say, I don’t think they are by any means equal to Dr Johnson. -Still, perhaps, the author is young. Let him persevere, and who knows -what he may become if he will take the great Doctor for his model?” This -was evidently too much for Captain Brown to take placidly; and I saw the -words on the tip of his tongue before Miss Jenkyns had finished her -sentence. - -“It is quite a different sort of thing, my dear madam,” he began. - -“I am quite aware of that,” returned she. “And I make allowances, -Captain Brown.” - -“Just allow me to read you a scene out of this month’s number,” pleaded -he. “I had it only this morning, and I don’t think the company can have -read it yet.” - -“As you please,” said she, settling herself with an air of resignation. -He read the account of the “swarry” which Sam Weller gave at Bath. Some -of us laughed heartily. _I_ did not dare, because I was staying in the -house. Miss Jenkyns sat in patient gravity. When it was ended, she -turned to me, and said with mild dignity— - -“Fetch me ‘Rasselas,’ my dear, out of the book-room.” - -When I had brought it to her, she turned to Captain Brown— - -“Now allow _me_ to read you a scene, and then the present company can -judge between your favourite, Mr Boz, and Dr Johnson.” - -She read one of the conversations between Rasselas and Imlac, in a -high-pitched, majestic voice: and when she had ended, she said, “I -imagine I am now justified in my preference of Dr Johnson as a writer of -fiction.” The Captain screwed his lips up, and drummed on the table, but -he did not speak. She thought she would give him a finishing blow or -two. - - [Picture: Endeavouring to beguile her into conversation] - -“I consider it vulgar, and below the dignity of literature, to publish in -numbers.” - -“How was the _Rambler_ published, ma’am?” asked Captain Brown in a low -voice, which I think Miss Jenkyns could not have heard. - -“Dr Johnson’s style is a model for young beginners. My father -recommended it to me when I began to write letters—I have formed my own -style upon it; I recommended it to your favourite.” - -“I should be very sorry for him to exchange his style for any such -pompous writing,” said Captain Brown. - -Miss Jenkyns felt this as a personal affront, in a way of which the -Captain had not dreamed. Epistolary writing she and her friends -considered as her _forte_. Many a copy of many a letter have I seen -written and corrected on the slate, before she “seized the half-hour just -previous to post-time to assure” her friends of this or of that; and Dr -Johnson was, as she said, her model in these compositions. She drew -herself up with dignity, and only replied to Captain Brown’s last remark -by saying, with marked emphasis on every syllable, “I prefer Dr Johnson -to Mr Boz.” - -It is said—I won’t vouch for the fact—that Captain Brown was heard to -say, _sotto voce_, “D-n Dr Johnson!” If he did, he was penitent -afterwards, as he showed by going to stand near Miss Jenkyns’ arm-chair, -and endeavouring to beguile her into conversation on some more pleasing -subject. But she was inexorable. The next day she made the remark I -have mentioned about Miss Jessie’s dimples. - - - - -CHAPTER II—THE CAPTAIN - - -IT was impossible to live a month at Cranford and not know the daily -habits of each resident; and long before my visit was ended I knew much -concerning the whole Brown trio. There was nothing new to be discovered -respecting their poverty; for they had spoken simply and openly about -that from the very first. They made no mystery of the necessity for -their being economical. All that remained to be discovered was the -Captain’s infinite kindness of heart, and the various modes in which, -unconsciously to himself, he manifested it. Some little anecdotes were -talked about for some time after they occurred. As we did not read much, -and as all the ladies were pretty well suited with servants, there was a -dearth of subjects for conversation. We therefore discussed the -circumstance of the Captain taking a poor old woman’s dinner out of her -hands one very slippery Sunday. He had met her returning from the -bakehouse as he came from church, and noticed her precarious footing; -and, with the grave dignity with which he did everything, he relieved her -of her burden, and steered along the street by her side, carrying her -baked mutton and potatoes safely home. This was thought very eccentric; -and it was rather expected that he would pay a round of calls, on the -Monday morning, to explain and apologise to the Cranford sense of -propriety: but he did no such thing: and then it was decided that he was -ashamed, and was keeping out of sight. In a kindly pity for him, we -began to say, “After all, the Sunday morning’s occurrence showed great -goodness of heart,” and it was resolved that he should be comforted on -his next appearance amongst us; but, lo! he came down upon us, untouched -by any sense of shame, speaking loud and bass as ever, his head thrown -back, his wig as jaunty and well-curled as usual, and we were obliged to -conclude he had forgotten all about Sunday. - -Miss Pole and Miss Jessie Brown had set up a kind of intimacy on the -strength of the Shetland wool and the new knitting stitches; so it -happened that when I went to visit Miss Pole I saw more of the Browns -than I had done while staying with Miss Jenkyns, who had never got over -what she called Captain Brown’s disparaging remarks upon Dr Johnson as a -writer of light and agreeable fiction. I found that Miss Brown was -seriously ill of some lingering, incurable complaint, the pain occasioned -by which gave the uneasy expression to her face that I had taken for -unmitigated crossness. Cross, too, she was at times, when the nervous -irritability occasioned by her disease became past endurance. Miss -Jessie bore with her at these times, even more patiently than she did -with the bitter self-upbraidings by which they were invariably succeeded. -Miss Brown used to accuse herself, not merely of hasty and irritable -temper, but also of being the cause why her father and sister were -obliged to pinch, in order to allow her the small luxuries which were -necessaries in her condition. She would so fain have made sacrifices for -them, and have lightened their cares, that the original generosity of her -disposition added acerbity to her temper. All this was borne by Miss -Jessie and her father with more than placidity—with absolute tenderness. -I forgave Miss Jessie her singing out of tune, and her juvenility of -dress, when I saw her at home. I came to perceive that Captain Brown’s -dark Brutus wig and padded coat (alas! too often threadbare) were -remnants of the military smartness of his youth, which he now wore -unconsciously. He was a man of infinite resources, gained in his barrack -experience. As he confessed, no one could black his boots to please him -except himself; but, indeed, he was not above saving the little -maid-servant’s labours in every way—knowing, most likely, that his -daughter’s illness made the place a hard one. - -He endeavoured to make peace with Miss Jenkyns soon after the memorable -dispute I have named, by a present of a wooden fire-shovel (his own -making), having heard her say how much the grating of an iron one annoyed -her. She received the present with cool gratitude, and thanked him -formally. When he was gone, she bade me put it away in the lumber-room; -feeling, probably, that no present from a man who preferred Mr Boz to Dr -Johnson could be less jarring than an iron fire-shovel. - -Such was the state of things when I left Cranford and went to Drumble. I -had, however, several correspondents, who kept me _au fait_ as to the -proceedings of the dear little town. There was Miss Pole, who was -becoming as much absorbed in crochet as she had been once in knitting, -and the burden of whose letter was something like, “But don’t you forget -the white worsted at Flint’s” of the old song; for at the end of every -sentence of news came a fresh direction as to some crochet commission -which I was to execute for her. Miss Matilda Jenkyns (who did not mind -being called Miss Matty, when Miss Jenkyns was not by) wrote nice, kind, -rambling letters, now and then venturing into an opinion of her own; but -suddenly pulling herself up, and either begging me not to name what she -had said, as Deborah thought differently, and _she_ knew, or else putting -in a postscript to the effect that, since writing the above, she had been -talking over the subject with Deborah, and was quite convinced that, -etc.—(here probably followed a recantation of every opinion she had given -in the letter). Then came Miss Jenkyns—Deborah, as she liked Miss Matty -to call her, her father having once said that the Hebrew name ought to be -so pronounced. I secretly think she took the Hebrew prophetess for a -model in character; and, indeed, she was not unlike the stern prophetess -in some ways, making allowance, of course, for modern customs and -difference in dress. Miss Jenkyns wore a cravat, and a little bonnet -like a jockey-cap, and altogether had the appearance of a strong-minded -woman; although she would have despised the modern idea of women being -equal to men. Equal, indeed! she knew they were superior. But to return -to her letters. Everything in them was stately and grand like herself. -I have been looking them over (dear Miss Jenkyns, how I honoured her!) -and I will give an extract, more especially because it relates to our -friend Captain Brown:— - -“The Honourable Mrs Jamieson has only just quitted me; and, in the course -of conversation, she communicated to me the intelligence that she had -yesterday received a call from her revered husband’s quondam friend, Lord -Mauleverer. You will not easily conjecture what brought his lordship -within the precincts of our little town. It was to see Captain Brown, -with whom, it appears, his lordship was acquainted in the ‘plumed wars,’ -and who had the privilege of averting destruction from his lordship’s -head when some great peril was impending over it, off the misnomered Cape -of Good Hope. You know our friend the Honourable Mrs Jamieson’s -deficiency in the spirit of innocent curiosity, and you will therefore -not be so much surprised when I tell you she was quite unable to disclose -to me the exact nature of the peril in question. I was anxious, I -confess, to ascertain in what manner Captain Brown, with his limited -establishment, could receive so distinguished a guest; and I discovered -that his lordship retired to rest, and, let us hope, to refreshing -slumbers, at the Angel Hotel; but shared the Brunonian meals during the -two days that he honoured Cranford with his august presence. Mrs -Johnson, our civil butcher’s wife, informs me that Miss Jessie purchased -a leg of lamb; but, besides this, I can hear of no preparation whatever -to give a suitable reception to so distinguished a visitor. Perhaps they -entertained him with ‘the feast of reason and the flow of soul’; and to -us, who are acquainted with Captain Brown’s sad want of relish for ‘the -pure wells of English undefiled,’ it may be matter for congratulation -that he has had the opportunity of improving his taste by holding -converse with an elegant and refined member of the British aristocracy. -But from some mundane failings who is altogether free?” - -Miss Pole and Miss Matty wrote to me by the same post. Such a piece of -news as Lord Mauleverer’s visit was not to be lost on the Cranford -letter-writers: they made the most of it. Miss Matty humbly apologised -for writing at the same time as her sister, who was so much more capable -than she to describe the honour done to Cranford; but in spite of a -little bad spelling, Miss Matty’s account gave me the best idea of the -commotion occasioned by his lordship’s visit, after it had occurred; for, -except the people at the Angel, the Browns, Mrs Jamieson, and a little -lad his lordship had sworn at for driving a dirty hoop against the -aristocratic legs, I could not hear of any one with whom his lordship had -held conversation. - -My next visit to Cranford was in the summer. There had been neither -births, deaths, nor marriages since I was there last. Everybody lived in -the same house, and wore pretty nearly the same well-preserved, -old-fashioned clothes. The greatest event was, that Miss Jenkyns had -purchased a new carpet for the drawing-room. Oh, the busy work Miss -Matty and I had in chasing the sunbeams, as they fell in an afternoon -right down on this carpet through the blindless window! We spread -newspapers over the places and sat down to our book or our work; and, lo! -in a quarter of an hour the sun had moved, and was blazing away on a -fresh spot; and down again we went on our knees to alter the position of -the newspapers. We were very busy, too, one whole morning, before Miss -Jenkyns gave her party, in following her directions, and in cutting out -and stitching together pieces of newspaper so as to form little paths to -every chair set for the expected visitors, lest their shoes might dirty -or defile the purity of the carpet. Do you make paper paths for every -guest to walk upon in London? - -Captain Brown and Miss Jenkyns were not very cordial to each other. The -literary dispute, of which I had seen the beginning, was a “raw,” the -slightest touch on which made them wince. It was the only difference of -opinion they had ever had; but that difference was enough. Miss Jenkyns -could not refrain from talking at Captain Brown; and, though he did not -reply, he drummed with his fingers, which action she felt and resented as -very disparaging to Dr Johnson. He was rather ostentatious in his -preference of the writings of Mr Boz; would walk through the streets so -absorbed in them that he all but ran against Miss Jenkyns; and though his -apologies were earnest and sincere, and though he did not, in fact, do -more than startle her and himself, she owned to me she had rather he had -knocked her down, if he had only been reading a higher style of -literature. The poor, brave Captain! he looked older, and more worn, and -his clothes were very threadbare. But he seemed as bright and cheerful -as ever, unless he was asked about his daughter’s health. - -“She suffers a great deal, and she must suffer more: we do what we can to -alleviate her pain;—God’s will be done!” He took off his hat at these -last words. I found, from Miss Matty, that everything had been done, in -fact. A medical man, of high repute in that country neighbourhood, had -been sent for, and every injunction he had given was attended to, -regardless of expense. Miss Matty was sure they denied themselves many -things in order to make the invalid comfortable; but they never spoke -about it; and as for Miss Jessie!—“I really think she’s an angel,” said -poor Miss Matty, quite overcome. “To see her way of bearing with Miss -Brown’s crossness, and the bright face she puts on after she’s been -sitting up a whole night and scolded above half of it, is quite -beautiful. Yet she looks as neat and as ready to welcome the Captain at -breakfast-time as if she had been asleep in the Queen’s bed all night. -My dear! you could never laugh at her prim little curls or her pink bows -again if you saw her as I have done.” I could only feel very penitent, -and greet Miss Jessie with double respect when I met her next. She -looked faded and pinched; and her lips began to quiver, as if she was -very weak, when she spoke of her sister. But she brightened, and sent -back the tears that were glittering in her pretty eyes, as she said— - -“But, to be sure, what a town Cranford is for kindness! I don’t suppose -any one has a better dinner than usual cooked but the best part of all -comes in a little covered basin for my sister. The poor people will -leave their earliest vegetables at our door for her. They speak short -and gruff, as if they were ashamed of it: but I am sure it often goes to -my heart to see their thoughtfulness.” The tears now came back and -overflowed; but after a minute or two she began to scold herself, and -ended by going away the same cheerful Miss Jessie as ever. - -“But why does not this Lord Mauleverer do something for the man who saved -his life?” said I. - -“Why, you see, unless Captain Brown has some reason for it, he never -speaks about being poor; and he walked along by his lordship looking as -happy and cheerful as a prince; and as they never called attention to -their dinner by apologies, and as Miss Brown was better that day, and all -seemed bright, I daresay his lordship never knew how much care there was -in the background. He did send game in the winter pretty often, but now -he is gone abroad.” - -I had often occasion to notice the use that was made of fragments and -small opportunities in Cranford; the rose-leaves that were gathered ere -they fell to make into a potpourri for someone who had no garden; the -little bundles of lavender flowers sent to strew the drawers of some -town-dweller, or to burn in the chamber of some invalid. Things that -many would despise, and actions which it seemed scarcely worth while to -perform, were all attended to in Cranford. Miss Jenkyns stuck an apple -full of cloves, to be heated and smell pleasantly in Miss Brown’s room; -and as she put in each clove she uttered a Johnsonian sentence. Indeed, -she never could think of the Browns without talking Johnson; and, as they -were seldom absent from her thoughts just then, I heard many a rolling, -three-piled sentence. - -Captain Brown called one day to thank Miss Jenkyns for many little -kindnesses, which I did not know until then that she had rendered. He -had suddenly become like an old man; his deep bass voice had a quavering -in it, his eyes looked dim, and the lines on his face were deep. He did -not—could not—speak cheerfully of his daughter’s state, but he talked -with manly, pious resignation, and not much. Twice over he said, “What -Jessie has been to us, God only knows!” and after the second time, he got -up hastily, shook hands all round without speaking, and left the room. - -That afternoon we perceived little groups in the street, all listening -with faces aghast to some tale or other. Miss Jenkyns wondered what -could be the matter for some time before she took the undignified step of -sending Jenny out to inquire. - -Jenny came back with a white face of terror. “Oh, ma’am! Oh, Miss -Jenkyns, ma’am! Captain Brown is killed by them nasty cruel railroads!” -and she burst into tears. She, along with many others, had experienced -the poor Captain’s kindness. - -“How?—where—where? Good God! Jenny, don’t waste time in crying, but -tell us something.” Miss Matty rushed out into the street at once, and -collared the man who was telling the tale. - - [Picture: She brought the affrighted carter . . . into the drawing-room] - -“Come in—come to my sister at once, Miss Jenkyns, the rector’s daughter. -Oh, man, man! say it is not true,” she cried, as she brought the -affrighted carter, sleeking down his hair, into the drawing-room, where -he stood with his wet boots on the new carpet, and no one regarded it. - -“Please, mum, it is true. I seed it myself,” and he shuddered at the -recollection. “The Captain was a-reading some new book as he was deep -in, a-waiting for the down train; and there was a little lass as wanted -to come to its mammy, and gave its sister the slip, and came toddling -across the line. And he looked up sudden, at the sound of the train -coming, and seed the child, and he darted on the line and cotched it up, -and his foot slipped, and the train came over him in no time. O Lord, -Lord! Mum, it’s quite true, and they’ve come over to tell his daughters. -The child’s safe, though, with only a bang on its shoulder as he threw it -to its mammy. Poor Captain would be glad of that, mum, wouldn’t he? God -bless him!” The great rough carter puckered up his manly face, and -turned away to hide his tears. I turned to Miss Jenkyns. She looked -very ill, as if she were going to faint, and signed to me to open the -window. - -“Matilda, bring me my bonnet. I must go to those girls. God pardon me, -if ever I have spoken contemptuously to the Captain!” - -Miss Jenkyns arrayed herself to go out, telling Miss Matilda to give the -man a glass of wine. While she was away, Miss Matty and I huddled over -the fire, talking in a low and awe-struck voice. I know we cried quietly -all the time. - -Miss Jenkyns came home in a silent mood, and we durst not ask her many -questions. She told us that Miss Jessie had fainted, and that she and -Miss Pole had had some difficulty in bringing her round; but that, as -soon as she recovered, she begged one of them to go and sit with her -sister. - -“Mr Hoggins says she cannot live many days, and she shall be spared this -shock,” said Miss Jessie, shivering with feelings to which she dared not -give way. - -“But how can you manage, my dear?” asked Miss Jenkyns; “you cannot bear -up, she must see your tears.” - -“God will help me—I will not give way—she was asleep when the news came; -she may be asleep yet. She would be so utterly miserable, not merely at -my father’s death, but to think of what would become of me; she is so -good to me.” She looked up earnestly in their faces with her soft true -eyes, and Miss Pole told Miss Jenkyns afterwards she could hardly bear -it, knowing, as she did, how Miss Brown treated her sister. - -However, it was settled according to Miss Jessie’s wish. Miss Brown was -to be told her father had been summoned to take a short journey on -railway business. They had managed it in some way—Miss Jenkyns could not -exactly say how. Miss Pole was to stop with Miss Jessie. Mrs Jamieson -had sent to inquire. And this was all we heard that night; and a -sorrowful night it was. The next day a full account of the fatal -accident was in the county paper which Miss Jenkyns took in. Her eyes -were very weak, she said, and she asked me to read it. When I came to -the “gallant gentleman was deeply engaged in the perusal of a number of -‘Pickwick,’ which he had just received,” Miss Jenkyns shook her head long -and solemnly, and then sighed out, “Poor, dear, infatuated man!” - -The corpse was to be taken from the station to the parish church, there -to be interred. Miss Jessie had set her heart on following it to the -grave; and no dissuasives could alter her resolve. Her restraint upon -herself made her almost obstinate; she resisted all Miss Pole’s -entreaties and Miss Jenkyns’ advice. At last Miss Jenkyns gave up the -point; and after a silence, which I feared portended some deep -displeasure against Miss Jessie, Miss Jenkyns said she should accompany -the latter to the funeral. - -“It is not fit for you to go alone. It would be against both propriety -and humanity were I to allow it.” - -Miss Jessie seemed as if she did not half like this arrangement; but her -obstinacy, if she had any, had been exhausted in her determination to go -to the interment. She longed, poor thing, I have no doubt, to cry alone -over the grave of the dear father to whom she had been all in all, and to -give way, for one little half-hour, uninterrupted by sympathy and -unobserved by friendship. But it was not to be. That afternoon Miss -Jenkyns sent out for a yard of black crape, and employed herself busily -in trimming the little black silk bonnet I have spoken about. When it -was finished she put it on, and looked at us for approbation—admiration -she despised. I was full of sorrow, but, by one of those whimsical -thoughts which come unbidden into our heads, in times of deepest grief, I -no sooner saw the bonnet than I was reminded of a helmet; and in that -hybrid bonnet, half helmet, half jockey-cap, did Miss Jenkyns attend -Captain Brown’s funeral, and, I believe, supported Miss Jessie with a -tender, indulgent firmness which was invaluable, allowing her to weep her -passionate fill before they left. - -Miss Pole, Miss Matty, and I, meanwhile attended to Miss Brown: and hard -work we found it to relieve her querulous and never-ending complaints. -But if we were so weary and dispirited, what must Miss Jessie have been! -Yet she came back almost calm as if she had gained a new strength. She -put off her mourning dress, and came in, looking pale and gentle, -thanking us each with a soft long pressure of the hand. She could even -smile—a faint, sweet, wintry smile—as if to reassure us of her power to -endure; but her look made our eyes fill suddenly with tears, more than if -she had cried outright. - -It was settled that Miss Pole was to remain with her all the watching -livelong night; and that Miss Matty and I were to return in the morning -to relieve them, and give Miss Jessie the opportunity for a few hours of -sleep. But when the morning came, Miss Jenkyns appeared at the -breakfast-table, equipped in her helmet-bonnet, and ordered Miss Matty to -stay at home, as she meant to go and help to nurse. She was evidently in -a state of great friendly excitement, which she showed by eating her -breakfast standing, and scolding the household all round. - -No nursing—no energetic strong-minded woman could help Miss Brown now. -There was that in the room as we entered which was stronger than us all, -and made us shrink into solemn awestruck helplessness. Miss Brown was -dying. We hardly knew her voice, it was so devoid of the complaining -tone we had always associated with it. Miss Jessie told me afterwards -that it, and her face too, were just what they had been formerly, when -her mother’s death left her the young anxious head of the family, of whom -only Miss Jessie survived. - -She was conscious of her sister’s presence, though not, I think, of ours. -We stood a little behind the curtain: Miss Jessie knelt with her face -near her sister’s, in order to catch the last soft awful whispers. - -“Oh, Jessie! Jessie! How selfish I have been! God forgive me for -letting you sacrifice yourself for me as you did! I have so loved -you—and yet I have thought only of myself. God forgive me!” - -“Hush, love! hush!” said Miss Jessie, sobbing. - -“And my father, my dear, dear father! I will not complain now, if God -will give me strength to be patient. But, oh, Jessie! tell my father how -I longed and yearned to see him at last, and to ask his forgiveness. He -can never know now how I loved him—oh! if I might but tell him, before I -die! What a life of sorrow his has been, and I have done so little to -cheer him!” - -A light came into Miss Jessie’s face. “Would it comfort you, dearest, to -think that he does know?—would it comfort you, love, to know that his -cares, his sorrows”—Her voice quivered, but she steadied it into -calmness—“Mary! he has gone before you to the place where the weary are -at rest. He knows now how you loved him.” - -A strange look, which was not distress, came over Miss Brown’s face. She -did not speak for come time, but then we saw her lips form the words, -rather than heard the sound—“Father, mother, Harry, Archy;”—then, as if -it were a new idea throwing a filmy shadow over her darkened mind—“But -you will be alone, Jessie!” - -Miss Jessie had been feeling this all during the silence, I think; for -the tears rolled down her cheeks like rain, at these words, and she could -not answer at first. Then she put her hands together tight, and lifted -them up, and said—but not to us—“Though He slay me, yet will I trust in -Him.” - -In a few moments more Miss Brown lay calm and still—never to sorrow or -murmur more. - -After this second funeral, Miss Jenkyns insisted that Miss Jessie should -come to stay with her rather than go back to the desolate house, which, -in fact, we learned from Miss Jessie, must now be given up, as she had -not wherewithal to maintain it. She had something above twenty pounds a -year, besides the interest of the money for which the furniture would -sell; but she could not live upon that: and so we talked over her -qualifications for earning money. - -“I can sew neatly,” said she, “and I like nursing. I think, too, I could -manage a house, if any one would try me as housekeeper; or I would go -into a shop as saleswoman, if they would have patience with me at first.” - -Miss Jenkyns declared, in an angry voice, that she should do no such -thing; and talked to herself about “some people having no idea of their -rank as a captain’s daughter,” nearly an hour afterwards, when she -brought Miss Jessie up a basin of delicately-made arrowroot, and stood -over her like a dragoon until the last spoonful was finished: then she -disappeared. Miss Jessie began to tell me some more of the plans which -had suggested themselves to her, and insensibly fell into talking of the -days that were past and gone, and interested me so much I neither knew -nor heeded how time passed. We were both startled when Miss Jenkyns -reappeared, and caught us crying. I was afraid lest she would be -displeased, as she often said that crying hindered digestion, and I knew -she wanted Miss Jessie to get strong; but, instead, she looked queer and -excited, and fidgeted round us without saying anything. At last she -spoke. - -“I have been so much startled—no, I’ve not been at all startled—don’t -mind me, my dear Miss Jessie—I’ve been very much surprised—in fact, I’ve -had a caller, whom you knew once, my dear Miss Jessie”— - -Miss Jessie went very white, then flushed scarlet, and looked eagerly at -Miss Jenkyns. - -“A gentleman, my dear, who wants to know if you would see him.” - -“Is it?—it is not”—stammered out Miss Jessie—and got no farther. - -“This is his card,” said Miss Jenkyns, giving it to Miss Jessie; and -while her head was bent over it, Miss Jenkyns went through a series of -winks and odd faces to me, and formed her lips into a long sentence, of -which, of course, I could not understand a word. - -“May he come up?” asked Miss Jenkyns at last. - -“Oh, yes! certainly!” said Miss Jessie, as much as to say, this is your -house, you may show any visitor where you like. She took up some -knitting of Miss Matty’s and began to be very busy, though I could see -how she trembled all over. - -Miss Jenkyns rang the bell, and told the servant who answered it to show -Major Gordon upstairs; and, presently, in walked a tall, fine, -frank-looking man of forty or upwards. He shook hands with Miss Jessie; -but he could not see her eyes, she kept them so fixed on the ground. -Miss Jenkyns asked me if I would come and help her to tie up the -preserves in the store-room; and though Miss Jessie plucked at my gown, -and even looked up at me with begging eye, I durst not refuse to go where -Miss Jenkyns asked. Instead of tying up preserves in the store-room, -however, we went to talk in the dining-room; and there Miss Jenkyns told -me what Major Gordon had told her; how he had served in the same regiment -with Captain Brown, and had become acquainted with Miss Jessie, then a -sweet-looking, blooming girl of eighteen; how the acquaintance had grown -into love on his part, though it had been some years before he had -spoken; how, on becoming possessed, through the will of an uncle, of a -good estate in Scotland, he had offered and been refused, though with so -much agitation and evident distress that he was sure she was not -indifferent to him; and how he had discovered that the obstacle was the -fell disease which was, even then, too surely threatening her sister. -She had mentioned that the surgeons foretold intense suffering; and there -was no one but herself to nurse her poor Mary, or cheer and comfort her -father during the time of illness. They had had long discussions; and on -her refusal to pledge herself to him as his wife when all should be over, -he had grown angry, and broken off entirely, and gone abroad, believing -that she was a cold-hearted person whom he would do well to forget. He -had been travelling in the East, and was on his return home when, at -Rome, he saw the account of Captain Brown’s death in _Galignani_. - -Just then Miss Matty, who had been out all the morning, and had only -lately returned to the house, burst in with a face of dismay and outraged -propriety. - -“Oh, goodness me!” she said. “Deborah, there’s a gentleman sitting in -the drawing-room with his arm round Miss Jessie’s waist!” Miss Matty’s -eyes looked large with terror. - - [Picture: “With his arm around Miss Jessie’s waist!”] - -Miss Jenkyns snubbed her down in an instant. - -“The most proper place in the world for his arm to be in. Go away, -Matilda, and mind your own business.” This from her sister, who had -hitherto been a model of feminine decorum, was a blow for poor Miss -Matty, and with a double shock she left the room. - -The last time I ever saw poor Miss Jenkyns was many years after this. -Mrs Gordon had kept up a warm and affectionate intercourse with all at -Cranford. Miss Jenkyns, Miss Matty, and Miss Pole had all been to visit -her, and returned with wonderful accounts of her house, her husband, her -dress, and her looks. For, with happiness, something of her early bloom -returned; she had been a year or two younger than we had taken her for. -Her eyes were always lovely, and, as Mrs Gordon, her dimples were not out -of place. At the time to which I have referred, when I last saw Miss -Jenkyns, that lady was old and feeble, and had lost something of her -strong mind. Little Flora Gordon was staying with the Misses Jenkyns, -and when I came in she was reading aloud to Miss Jenkyns, who lay feeble -and changed on the sofa. Flora put down the _Rambler_ when I came in. - -“Ah!” said Miss Jenkyns, “you find me changed, my dear. I can’t see as I -used to do. If Flora were not here to read to me, I hardly know how I -should get through the day. Did you ever read the _Rambler_? It’s a -wonderful book—wonderful! and the most improving reading for Flora” -(which I daresay it would have been, if she could have read half the -words without spelling, and could have understood the meaning of a -third), “better than that strange old book, with the queer name, poor -Captain Brown was killed for reading—that book by Mr Boz, you know—‘Old -Poz’; when I was a girl—but that’s a long time ago—I acted Lucy in ‘Old -Poz.’” She babbled on long enough for Flora to get a good long spell at -the “Christmas Carol,” which Miss Matty had left on the table. - - - - -CHAPTER III—A LOVE AFFAIR OF LONG AGO - - -I THOUGHT that probably my connection with Cranford would cease after -Miss Jenkyns’s death; at least, that it would have to be kept up by -correspondence, which bears much the same relation to personal -intercourse that the books of dried plants I sometimes see (“Hortus -Siccus,” I think they call the thing) do to the living and fresh flowers -in the lanes and meadows. I was pleasantly surprised, therefore, by -receiving a letter from Miss Pole (who had always come in for a -supplementary week after my annual visit to Miss Jenkyns) proposing that -I should go and stay with her; and then, in a couple of days after my -acceptance, came a note from Miss Matty, in which, in a rather circuitous -and very humble manner, she told me how much pleasure I should confer if -I could spend a week or two with her, either before or after I had been -at Miss Pole’s; “for,” she said, “since my dear sister’s death I am well -aware I have no attractions to offer; it is only to the kindness of my -friends that I can owe their company.” - -Of course I promised to come to dear Miss Matty as soon as I had ended my -visit to Miss Pole; and the day after my arrival at Cranford I went to -see her, much wondering what the house would be like without Miss -Jenkyns, and rather dreading the changed aspect of things. Miss Matty -began to cry as soon as she saw me. She was evidently nervous from -having anticipated my call. I comforted her as well as I could; and I -found the best consolation I could give was the honest praise that came -from my heart as I spoke of the deceased. Miss Matty slowly shook her -head over each virtue as it was named and attributed to her sister; and -at last she could not restrain the tears which had long been silently -flowing, but hid her face behind her handkerchief and sobbed aloud. - -“Dear Miss Matty,” said I, taking her hand—for indeed I did not know in -what way to tell her how sorry I was for her, left deserted in the world. -She put down her handkerchief and said— - -“My dear, I’d rather you did not call me Matty. She did not like it; but -I did many a thing she did not like, I’m afraid—and now she’s gone! If -you please, my love, will you call me Matilda?” - -I promised faithfully, and began to practise the new name with Miss Pole -that very day; and, by degrees, Miss Matilda’s feeling on the subject was -known through Cranford, and we all tried to drop the more familiar name, -but with so little success that by-and-by we gave up the attempt. - -My visit to Miss Pole was very quiet. Miss Jenkyns had so long taken the -lead in Cranford that now she was gone, they hardly knew how to give a -party. The Honourable Mrs Jamieson, to whom Miss Jenkyns herself had -always yielded the post of honour, was fat and inert, and very much at -the mercy of her old servants. If they chose that she should give a -party, they reminded her of the necessity for so doing: if not, she let -it alone. There was all the more time for me to hear old-world stories -from Miss Pole, while she sat knitting, and I making my father’s shirts. -I always took a quantity of plain sewing to Cranford; for, as we did not -read much, or walk much, I found it a capital time to get through my -work. One of Miss Pole’s stories related to a shadow of a love affair -that was dimly perceived or suspected long years before. - -Presently, the time arrived when I was to remove to Miss Matilda’s house. -I found her timid and anxious about the arrangements for my comfort. -Many a time, while I was unpacking, did she come backwards and forwards -to stir the fire which burned all the worse for being so frequently -poked. - -“Have you drawers enough, dear?” asked she. “I don’t know exactly how my -sister used to arrange them. She had capital methods. I am sure she -would have trained a servant in a week to make a better fire than this, -and Fanny has been with me four months.” - -This subject of servants was a standing grievance, and I could not wonder -much at it; for if gentlemen were scarce, and almost unheard of in the -“genteel society” of Cranford, they or their counterparts—handsome young -men—abounded in the lower classes. The pretty neat servant-maids had -their choice of desirable “followers”; and their mistresses, without -having the sort of mysterious dread of men and matrimony that Miss -Matilda had, might well feel a little anxious lest the heads of their -comely maids should be turned by the joiner, or the butcher, or the -gardener, who were obliged, by their callings, to come to the house, and -who, as ill-luck would have it, were generally handsome and unmarried. -Fanny’s lovers, if she had any—and Miss Matilda suspected her of so many -flirtations that, if she had not been very pretty, I should have doubted -her having one—were a constant anxiety to her mistress. She was -forbidden, by the articles of her engagement, to have “followers”; and -though she had answered, innocently enough, doubling up the hem of her -apron as she spoke, “Please, ma’am, I never had more than one at a time,” -Miss Matty prohibited that one. But a vision of a man seemed to haunt -the kitchen. Fanny assured me that it was all fancy, or else I should -have said myself that I had seen a man’s coat-tails whisk into the -scullery once, when I went on an errand into the store-room at night; and -another evening, when, our watches having stopped, I went to look at the -clock, there was a very odd appearance, singularly like a young man -squeezed up between the clock and the back of the open kitchen-door: and -I thought Fanny snatched up the candle very hastily, so as to throw the -shadow on the clock face, while she very positively told me the time -half-an-hour too early, as we found out afterwards by the church clock. -But I did not add to Miss Matty’s anxieties by naming my suspicions, -especially as Fanny said to me, the next day, that it was such a queer -kitchen for having odd shadows about it, she really was almost afraid to -stay; “for you know, miss,” she added, “I don’t see a creature from six -o’clock tea, till Missus rings the bell for prayers at ten.” - -However, it so fell out that Fanny had to leave and Miss Matilda begged -me to stay and “settle her” with the new maid; to which I consented, -after I had heard from my father that he did not want me at home. The -new servant was a rough, honest-looking, country girl, who had only lived -in a farm place before; but I liked her looks when she came to be hired; -and I promised Miss Matilda to put her in the ways of the house. The -said ways were religiously such as Miss Matilda thought her sister would -approve. Many a domestic rule and regulation had been a subject of -plaintive whispered murmur to me during Miss Jenkyns’s life; but now that -she was gone, I do not think that even I, who was a favourite, durst have -suggested an alteration. To give an instance: we constantly adhered to -the forms which were observed, at meal-times, in “my father, the rector’s -house.” Accordingly, we had always wine and dessert; but the decanters -were only filled when there was a party, and what remained was seldom -touched, though we had two wine-glasses apiece every day after dinner, -until the next festive occasion arrived, when the state of the remainder -wine was examined into in a family council. The dregs were often given -to the poor: but occasionally, when a good deal had been left at the last -party (five months ago, it might be), it was added to some of a fresh -bottle, brought up from the cellar. I fancy poor Captain Brown did not -much like wine, for I noticed he never finished his first glass, and most -military men take several. Then, as to our dessert, Miss Jenkyns used to -gather currants and gooseberries for it herself, which I sometimes -thought would have tasted better fresh from the trees; but then, as Miss -Jenkyns observed, there would have been nothing for dessert in -summer-time. As it was, we felt very genteel with our two glasses -apiece, and a dish of gooseberries at the top, of currants and biscuits -at the sides, and two decanters at the bottom. When oranges came in, a -curious proceeding was gone through. Miss Jenkyns did not like to cut -the fruit; for, as she observed, the juice all ran out nobody knew where; -sucking (only I think she used some more recondite word) was in fact the -only way of enjoying oranges; but then there was the unpleasant -association with a ceremony frequently gone through by little babies; and -so, after dessert, in orange season, Miss Jenkyns and Miss Matty used to -rise up, possess themselves each of an orange in silence, and withdraw to -the privacy of their own rooms to indulge in sucking oranges. - -I had once or twice tried, on such occasions, to prevail on Miss Matty to -stay, and had succeeded in her sister’s lifetime. I held up a screen, -and did not look, and, as she said, she tried not to make the noise very -offensive; but now that she was left alone, she seemed quite horrified -when I begged her to remain with me in the warm dining-parlour, and enjoy -her orange as she liked best. And so it was in everything. Miss -Jenkyns’s rules were made more stringent than ever, because the framer of -them was gone where there could be no appeal. In all things else Miss -Matilda was meek and undecided to a fault. I have heard Fanny turn her -round twenty times in a morning about dinner, just as the little hussy -chose; and I sometimes fancied she worked on Miss Matilda’s weakness in -order to bewilder her, and to make her feel more in the power of her -clever servant. I determined that I would not leave her till I had seen -what sort of a person Martha was; and, if I found her trustworthy, I -would tell her not to trouble her mistress with every little decision. - -Martha was blunt and plain-spoken to a fault; otherwise she was a brisk, -well-meaning, but very ignorant girl. She had not been with us a week -before Miss Matilda and I were astounded one morning by the receipt of a -letter from a cousin of hers, who had been twenty or thirty years in -India, and who had lately, as we had seen by the “Army List,” returned to -England, bringing with him an invalid wife who had never been introduced -to her English relations. Major Jenkyns wrote to propose that he and his -wife should spend a night at Cranford, on his way to Scotland—at the inn, -if it did not suit Miss Matilda to receive them into her house; in which -case they should hope to be with her as much as possible during the day. -Of course it _must_ suit her, as she said; for all Cranford knew that she -had her sister’s bedroom at liberty; but I am sure she wished the Major -had stopped in India and forgotten his cousins out and out. - -“Oh! how must I manage?” asked she helplessly. “If Deborah had been -alive she would have known what to do with a gentleman-visitor. Must I -put razors in his dressing-room? Dear! dear! and I’ve got none. Deborah -would have had them. And slippers, and coat-brushes?” I suggested that -probably he would bring all these things with him. “And after dinner, -how am I to know when to get up and leave him to his wine? Deborah would -have done it so well; she would have been quite in her element. Will he -want coffee, do you think?” I undertook the management of the coffee, -and told her I would instruct Martha in the art of waiting—in which it -must be owned she was terribly deficient—and that I had no doubt Major -and Mrs Jenkyns would understand the quiet mode in which a lady lived by -herself in a country town. But she was sadly fluttered. I made her -empty her decanters and bring up two fresh bottles of wine. I wished I -could have prevented her from being present at my instructions to Martha, -for she frequently cut in with some fresh direction, muddling the poor -girl’s mind as she stood open-mouthed, listening to us both. - -“Hand the vegetables round,” said I (foolishly, I see now—for it was -aiming at more than we could accomplish with quietness and simplicity); -and then, seeing her look bewildered, I added, “take the vegetables round -to people, and let them help themselves.” - -“And mind you go first to the ladies,” put in Miss Matilda. “Always go -to the ladies before gentlemen when you are waiting.” - -“I’ll do it as you tell me, ma’am,” said Martha; “but I like lads best.” - -We felt very uncomfortable and shocked at this speech of Martha’s, yet I -don’t think she meant any harm; and, on the whole, she attended very well -to our directions, except that she “nudged” the Major when he did not -help himself as soon as she expected to the potatoes, while she was -handing them round. - -The major and his wife were quiet unpretending people enough when they -did come; languid, as all East Indians are, I suppose. We were rather -dismayed at their bringing two servants with them, a Hindoo body-servant -for the Major, and a steady elderly maid for his wife; but they slept at -the inn, and took off a good deal of the responsibility by attending -carefully to their master’s and mistress’s comfort. Martha, to be sure, -had never ended her staring at the East Indian’s white turban and brown -complexion, and I saw that Miss Matilda shrunk away from him a little as -he waited at dinner. Indeed, she asked me, when they were gone, if he -did not remind me of Blue Beard? On the whole, the visit was most -satisfactory, and is a subject of conversation even now with Miss -Matilda; at the time it greatly excited Cranford, and even stirred up the -apathetic and Honourable Mrs Jamieson to some expression of interest, -when I went to call and thank her for the kind answers she had vouchsafed -to Miss Matilda’s inquiries as to the arrangement of a gentleman’s -dressing-room—answers which I must confess she had given in the wearied -manner of the Scandinavian prophetess— - - “Leave me, leave me to repose.” - -And _now_ I come to the love affair. - -It seems that Miss Pole had a cousin, once or twice removed, who had -offered to Miss Matty long ago. Now this cousin lived four or five miles -from Cranford on his own estate; but his property was not large enough to -entitle him to rank higher than a yeoman; or rather, with something of -the “pride which apes humility,” he had refused to push himself on, as so -many of his class had done, into the ranks of the squires. He would not -allow himself to be called Thomas Holbrook, _Esq._; he even sent back -letters with this address, telling the post-mistress at Cranford that his -name was _Mr_ Thomas Holbrook, yeoman. He rejected all domestic -innovations; he would have the house door stand open in summer and shut -in winter, without knocker or bell to summon a servant. The closed fist -or the knob of a stick did this office for him if he found the door -locked. He despised every refinement which had not its root deep down in -humanity. If people were not ill, he saw no necessity for moderating his -voice. He spoke the dialect of the country in perfection, and constantly -used it in conversation; although Miss Pole (who gave me these -particulars) added, that he read aloud more beautifully and with more -feeling than any one she had ever heard, except the late rector. - -“And how came Miss Matilda not to marry him?” asked I. - -“Oh, I don’t know. She was willing enough, I think; but you know Cousin -Thomas would not have been enough of a gentleman for the rector and Miss -Jenkyns.” - -“Well! but they were not to marry him,” said I, impatiently. - -“No; but they did not like Miss Matty to marry below her rank. You know -she was the rector’s daughter, and somehow they are related to Sir Peter -Arley: Miss Jenkyns thought a deal of that.” - -“Poor Miss Matty!” said I. - -“Nay, now, I don’t know anything more than that he offered and was -refused. Miss Matty might not like him—and Miss Jenkyns might never have -said a word—it is only a guess of mine.” - -“Has she never seen him since?” I inquired. - -“No, I think not. You see Woodley, Cousin Thomas’s house, lies half-way -between Cranford and Misselton; and I know he made Misselton his -market-town very soon after he had offered to Miss Matty; and I don’t -think he has been into Cranford above once or twice since—once, when I -was walking with Miss Matty, in High Street, and suddenly she darted from -me, and went up Shire Lane. A few minutes after I was startled by -meeting Cousin Thomas.” - -“How old is he?” I asked, after a pause of castle-building. - -“He must be about seventy, I think, my dear,” said Miss Pole, blowing up -my castle, as if by gun-powder, into small fragments. - -Very soon after—at least during my long visit to Miss Matilda—I had the -opportunity of seeing Mr Holbrook; seeing, too, his first encounter with -his former love, after thirty or forty years’ separation. I was helping -to decide whether any of the new assortment of coloured silks which they -had just received at the shop would do to match a grey and black -mousseline-delaine that wanted a new breadth, when a tall, thin, Don -Quixote-looking old man came into the shop for some woollen gloves. I -had never seen the person (who was rather striking) before, and I watched -him rather attentively while Miss Matty listened to the shopman. The -stranger wore a blue coat with brass buttons, drab breeches, and gaiters, -and drummed with his fingers on the counter until he was attended to. -When he answered the shop-boy’s question, “What can I have the pleasure -of showing you to-day, sir?” I saw Miss Matilda start, and then suddenly -sit down; and instantly I guessed who it was. She had made some inquiry -which had to be carried round to the other shopman. - -“Miss Jenkyns wants the black sarsenet two-and-twopence the yard”; and Mr -Holbrook had caught the name, and was across the shop in two strides. - -“Matty—Miss Matilda—Miss Jenkyns! God bless my soul! I should not have -known you. How are you? how are you?” He kept shaking her hand in a way -which proved the warmth of his friendship; but he repeated so often, as -if to himself, “I should not have known you!” that any sentimental -romance which I might be inclined to build was quite done away with by -his manner. - -However, he kept talking to us all the time we were in the shop; and then -waving the shopman with the unpurchased gloves on one side, with “Another -time, sir! another time!” he walked home with us. I am happy to say my -client, Miss Matilda, also left the shop in an equally bewildered state, -not having purchased either green or red silk. Mr Holbrook was evidently -full with honest loud-spoken joy at meeting his old love again; he -touched on the changes that had taken place; he even spoke of Miss -Jenkyns as “Your poor sister! Well, well! we have all our faults”; and -bade us good-bye with many a hope that he should soon see Miss Matty -again. She went straight to her room, and never came back till our early -tea-time, when I thought she looked as if she had been crying. - - [Picture: Mr Holbrook . . . bade us good-bye] - - - - -CHAPTER IV—A VISIT TO AN OLD BACHELOR - - -A FEW days after, a note came from Mr Holbrook, asking us—impartially -asking both of us—in a formal, old-fashioned style, to spend a day at his -house—a long June day—for it was June now. He named that he had also -invited his cousin, Miss Pole; so that we might join in a fly, which -could be put up at his house. - -I expected Miss Matty to jump at this invitation; but, no! Miss Pole and -I had the greatest difficulty in persuading her to go. She thought it -was improper; and was even half annoyed when we utterly ignored the idea -of any impropriety in her going with two other ladies to see her old -lover. Then came a more serious difficulty. She did not think Deborah -would have liked her to go. This took us half a day’s good hard talking -to get over; but, at the first sentence of relenting, I seized the -opportunity, and wrote and despatched an acceptance in her name—fixing -day and hour, that all might be decided and done with. - -The next morning she asked me if I would go down to the shop with her; -and there, after much hesitation, we chose out three caps to be sent home -and tried on, that the most becoming might be selected to take with us on -Thursday. - -She was in a state of silent agitation all the way to Woodley. She had -evidently never been there before; and, although she little dreamt I knew -anything of her early story, I could perceive she was in a tremor at the -thought of seeing the place which might have been her home, and round -which it is probable that many of her innocent girlish imaginations had -clustered. It was a long drive there, through paved jolting lanes. Miss -Matilda sat bolt upright, and looked wistfully out of the windows as we -drew near the end of our journey. The aspect of the country was quiet -and pastoral. Woodley stood among fields; and there was an old-fashioned -garden where roses and currant-bushes touched each other, and where the -feathery asparagus formed a pretty background to the pinks and -gilly-flowers; there was no drive up to the door. We got out at a little -gate, and walked up a straight box-edged path. - -“My cousin might make a drive, I think,” said Miss Pole, who was afraid -of ear-ache, and had only her cap on. - -“I think it is very pretty,” said Miss Matty, with a soft plaintiveness -in her voice, and almost in a whisper, for just then Mr Holbrook appeared -at the door, rubbing his hands in very effervescence of hospitality. He -looked more like my idea of Don Quixote than ever, and yet the likeness -was only external. His respectable housekeeper stood modestly at the -door to bid us welcome; and, while she led the elder ladies upstairs to a -bedroom, I begged to look about the garden. My request evidently pleased -the old gentleman, who took me all round the place and showed me his -six-and-twenty cows, named after the different letters of the alphabet. -As we went along, he surprised me occasionally by repeating apt and -beautiful quotations from the poets, ranging easily from Shakespeare and -George Herbert to those of our own day. He did this as naturally as if -he were thinking aloud, and their true and beautiful words were the best -expression he could find for what he was thinking or feeling. To be sure -he called Byron “my Lord Byrron,” and pronounced the name of Goethe -strictly in accordance with the English sound of the letters—“As Goethe -says, ‘Ye ever-verdant palaces,’” &c. Altogether, I never met with a -man, before or since, who had spent so long a life in a secluded and not -impressive country, with ever-increasing delight in the daily and yearly -change of season and beauty. - -When he and I went in, we found that dinner was nearly ready in the -kitchen—for so I suppose the room ought to be called, as there were oak -dressers and cupboards all round, all over by the side of the fireplace, -and only a small Turkey carpet in the middle of the flag-floor. The room -might have been easily made into a handsome dark oak dining-parlour by -removing the oven and a few other appurtenances of a kitchen, which were -evidently never used, the real cooking-place being at some distance. The -room in which we were expected to sit was a stiffly-furnished, ugly -apartment; but that in which we did sit was what Mr Holbrook called the -counting-house, where he paid his labourers their weekly wages at a great -desk near the door. The rest of the pretty sitting-room—looking into the -orchard, and all covered over with dancing tree-shadows—was filled with -books. They lay on the ground, they covered the walls, they strewed the -table. He was evidently half ashamed and half proud of his extravagance -in this respect. They were of all kinds—poetry and wild weird tales -prevailing. He evidently chose his books in accordance with his own -tastes, not because such and such were classical or established -favourites. - -“Ah!” he said, “we farmers ought not to have much time for reading; yet -somehow one can’t help it.” - -“What a pretty room!” said Miss Matty, _sotto voce_. - -“What a pleasant place!” said I, aloud, almost simultaneously. - -“Nay! if you like it,” replied he; “but can you sit on these great, black -leather, three-cornered chairs? I like it better than the best parlour; -but I thought ladies would take that for the smarter place.” - -It was the smarter place, but, like most smart things, not at all pretty, -or pleasant, or home-like; so, while we were at dinner, the servant-girl -dusted and scrubbed the counting-house chairs, and we sat there all the -rest of the day. - -We had pudding before meat; and I thought Mr Holbrook was going to make -some apology for his old-fashioned ways, for he began— - -“I don’t know whether you like newfangled ways.” - -“Oh, not at all!” said Miss Matty. - -“No more do I,” said he. “My house-keeper _will_ have these in her new -fashion; or else I tell her that, when I was a young man, we used to keep -strictly to my father’s rule, ‘No broth, no ball; no ball, no beef’; and -always began dinner with broth. Then we had suet puddings, boiled in the -broth with the beef: and then the meat itself. If we did not sup our -broth, we had no ball, which we liked a deal better; and the beef came -last of all, and only those had it who had done justice to the broth and -the ball. Now folks begin with sweet things, and turn their dinners -topsy-turvy.” - -When the ducks and green peas came, we looked at each other in dismay; we -had only two-pronged, black-handled forks. It is true the steel was as -bright as silver; but what were we to do? Miss Matty picked up her peas, -one by one, on the point of the prongs, much as Aminé ate her grains of -rice after her previous feast with the Ghoul. Miss Pole sighed over her -delicate young peas as she left them on one side of her plate untasted, -for they _would_ drop between the prongs. I looked at my host: the peas -were going wholesale into his capacious mouth, shovelled up by his large -round-ended knife. I saw, I imitated, I survived! My friends, in spite -of my precedent, could not muster up courage enough to do an ungenteel -thing; and, if Mr Holbrook had not been so heartily hungry, he would -probably have seen that the good peas went away almost untouched. - -After dinner, a clay pipe was brought in, and a spittoon; and, asking us -to retire to another room, where he would soon join us, if we disliked -tobacco-smoke, he presented his pipe to Miss Matty, and requested her to -fill the bowl. This was a compliment to a lady in his youth; but it was -rather inappropriate to propose it as an honour to Miss Matty, who had -been trained by her sister to hold smoking of every kind in utter -abhorrence. But if it was a shock to her refinement, it was also a -gratification to her feelings to be thus selected; so she daintily -stuffed the strong tobacco into the pipe, and then we withdrew. - -“It is very pleasant dining with a bachelor,” said Miss Matty softly, as -we settled ourselves in the counting-house. “I only hope it is not -improper; so many pleasant things are!” - -“What a number of books he has!” said Miss Pole, looking round the room. -“And how dusty they are!” - -“I think it must be like one of the great Dr Johnson’s rooms,” said Miss -Matty. “What a superior man your cousin must be!” - -“Yes!” said Miss Pole, “he’s a great reader; but I am afraid he has got -into very uncouth habits with living alone.” - -“Oh! uncouth is too hard a word. I should call him eccentric; very -clever people always are!” replied Miss Matty. - - [Picture: Now, what colour are ash-buds in March] - -When Mr Holbrook returned, he proposed a walk in the fields; but the two -elder ladies were afraid of damp, and dirt, and had only very unbecoming -calashes to put on over their caps; so they declined, and I was again his -companion in a turn which he said he was obliged to take to see after his -men. He strode along, either wholly forgetting my existence, or soothed -into silence by his pipe—and yet it was not silence exactly. He walked -before me with a stooping gait, his hands clasped behind him; and, as -some tree or cloud, or glimpse of distant upland pastures, struck him, he -quoted poetry to himself, saying it out loud in a grand sonorous voice, -with just the emphasis that true feeling and appreciation give. We came -upon an old cedar tree, which stood at one end of the house— - - “The cedar spreads his dark-green layers of shade.” - -“Capital term—‘layers!’ Wonderful man!” I did not know whether he was -speaking to me or not; but I put in an assenting “wonderful,” although I -knew nothing about it, just because I was tired of being forgotten, and -of being consequently silent. - -He turned sharp round. “Ay! you may say ‘wonderful.’ Why, when I saw -the review of his poems in _Blackwood_, I set off within an hour, and -walked seven miles to Misselton (for the horses were not in the way) and -ordered them. Now, what colour are ash-buds in March?” - -Is the man going mad? thought I. He is very like Don Quixote. - -“What colour are they, I say?” repeated he vehemently. - -“I am sure I don’t know, sir,” said I, with the meekness of ignorance. - -“I knew you didn’t. No more did I—an old fool that I am!—till this young -man comes and tells me. Black as ash-buds in March. And I’ve lived all -my life in the country; more shame for me not to know. Black: they are -jet-black, madam.” And he went off again, swinging along to the music of -some rhyme he had got hold of. - -When we came back, nothing would serve him but he must read us the poems -he had been speaking of; and Miss Pole encouraged him in his proposal, I -thought, because she wished me to hear his beautiful reading, of which -she had boasted; but she afterwards said it was because she had got to a -difficult part of her crochet, and wanted to count her stitches without -having to talk. Whatever he had proposed would have been right to Miss -Matty; although she did fall sound asleep within five minutes after he -had begun a long poem, called “Locksley Hall,” and had a comfortable nap, -unobserved, till he ended; when the cessation of his voice wakened her -up, and she said, feeling that something was expected, and that Miss Pole -was counting— - -“What a pretty book!” - -“Pretty, madam! it’s beautiful! Pretty, indeed!” - -“Oh yes! I meant beautiful!” said she, fluttered at his disapproval of -her word. “It is so like that beautiful poem of Dr Johnson’s my sister -used to read—I forget the name of it; what was it, my dear?” turning to -me. - -“Which do you mean, ma’am? What was it about?” - -“I don’t remember what it was about, and I’ve quite forgotten what the -name of it was; but it was written by Dr Johnson, and was very beautiful, -and very like what Mr Holbrook has just been reading.” - -“I don’t remember it,” said he reflectively. “But I don’t know Dr -Johnson’s poems well. I must read them.” - -As we were getting into the fly to return, I heard Mr Holbrook say he -should call on the ladies soon, and inquire how they got home; and this -evidently pleased and fluttered Miss Matty at the time he said it; but -after we had lost sight of the old house among the trees her sentiments -towards the master of it were gradually absorbed into a distressing -wonder as to whether Martha had broken her word, and seized on the -opportunity of her mistress’s absence to have a “follower.” Martha -looked good, and steady, and composed enough, as she came to help us out; -she was always careful of Miss Matty, and to-night she made use of this -unlucky speech— - -“Eh! dear ma’am, to think of your going out in an evening in such a thin -shawl! It’s no better than muslin. At your age, ma’am, you should be -careful.” - -“My age!” said Miss Matty, almost speaking crossly, for her, for she was -usually gentle—“My age! Why, how old do you think I am, that you talk -about my age?” - -“Well, ma’am, I should say you were not far short of sixty: but folks’ -looks is often against them—and I’m sure I meant no harm.” - -“Martha, I’m not yet fifty-two!” said Miss Matty, with grave emphasis; -for probably the remembrance of her youth had come very vividly before -her this day, and she was annoyed at finding that golden time so far away -in the past. - -But she never spoke of any former and more intimate acquaintance with Mr -Holbrook. She had probably met with so little sympathy in her early -love, that she had shut it up close in her heart; and it was only by a -sort of watching, which I could hardly avoid since Miss Pole’s -confidence, that I saw how faithful her poor heart had been in its sorrow -and its silence. - -She gave me some good reason for wearing her best cap every day, and sat -near the window, in spite of her rheumatism, in order to see, without -being seen, down into the street. - -He came. He put his open palms upon his knees, which were far apart, as -he sat with his head bent down, whistling, after we had replied to his -inquiries about our safe return. Suddenly he jumped up— - -“Well, madam! have you any commands for Paris? I am going there in a -week or two.” - -“To Paris!” we both exclaimed. - -“Yes, madam! I’ve never been there, and always had a wish to go; and I -think if I don’t go soon, I mayn’t go at all; so as soon as the hay is -got in I shall go, before harvest time.” - -We were so much astonished that we had no commissions. - -Just as he was going out of the room, he turned back, with his favourite -exclamation— - -“God bless my soul, madam! but I nearly forgot half my errand. Here are -the poems for you you admired so much the other evening at my house.” He -tugged away at a parcel in his coat-pocket. “Good-bye, miss,” said he; -“good-bye, Matty! take care of yourself.” And he was gone. But he had -given her a book, and he had called her Matty, just as he used to do -thirty years to. - -“I wish he would not go to Paris,” said Miss Matilda anxiously. “I don’t -believe frogs will agree with him; he used to have to be very careful -what he ate, which was curious in so strong-looking a young man.” - -Soon after this I took my leave, giving many an injunction to Martha to -look after her mistress, and to let me know if she thought that Miss -Matilda was not so well; in which case I would volunteer a visit to my -old friend, without noticing Martha’s intelligence to her. - -Accordingly I received a line or two from Martha every now and then; and, -about November I had a note to say her mistress was “very low and sadly -off her food”; and the account made me so uneasy that, although Martha -did not decidedly summon me, I packed up my things and went. - -I received a warm welcome, in spite of the little flurry produced by my -impromptu visit, for I had only been able to give a day’s notice. Miss -Matilda looked miserably ill; and I prepared to comfort and cosset her. - -I went down to have a private talk with Martha. - -“How long has your mistress been so poorly?” I asked, as I stood by the -kitchen fire. - -“Well! I think it’s better than a fortnight; it is, I know; it was one -Tuesday, after Miss Pole had been, that she went into this moping way. I -thought she was tired, and it would go off with a night’s rest; but no! -she has gone on and on ever since, till I thought it my duty to write to -you, ma’am.” - -“You did quite right, Martha. It is a comfort to think she has so -faithful a servant about her. And I hope you find your place -comfortable?” - -“Well, ma’am, missus is very kind, and there’s plenty to eat and drink, -and no more work but what I can do easily—but—” Martha hesitated. - -“But what, Martha?” - -“Why, it seems so hard of missus not to let me have any followers; -there’s such lots of young fellows in the town; and many a one has as -much as offered to keep company with me; and I may never be in such a -likely place again, and it’s like wasting an opportunity. Many a girl as -I know would have ’em unbeknownst to missus; but I’ve given my word, and -I’ll stick to it; or else this is just the house for missus never to be -the wiser if they did come: and it’s such a capable kitchen—there’s such -dark corners in it—I’d be bound to hide any one. I counted up last -Sunday night—for I’ll not deny I was crying because I had to shut the -door in Jem Hearn’s face, and he’s a steady young man, fit for any girl; -only I had given missus my word.” Martha was all but crying again; and I -had little comfort to give her, for I knew, from old experience, of the -horror with which both the Miss Jenkynses looked upon “followers”; and in -Miss Matty’s present nervous state this dread was not likely to be -lessened. - -I went to see Miss Pole the next day, and took her completely by -surprise, for she had not been to see Miss Matilda for two days. - -“And now I must go back with you, my dear, for I promised to let her know -how Thomas Holbrook went on; and, I’m sorry to say, his housekeeper has -sent me word to-day that he hasn’t long to live. Poor Thomas! that -journey to Paris was quite too much for him. His housekeeper says he has -hardly ever been round his fields since, but just sits with his hands on -his knees in the counting-house, not reading or anything, but only saying -what a wonderful city Paris was! Paris has much to answer for if it’s -killed my cousin Thomas, for a better man never lived.” - -“Does Miss Matilda know of his illness?” asked I—a new light as to the -cause of her indisposition dawning upon me. - -“Dear! to be sure, yes! Has not she told you? I let her know a -fortnight ago, or more, when first I heard of it. How odd she shouldn’t -have told you!” - -Not at all, I thought; but I did not say anything. I felt almost guilty -of having spied too curiously into that tender heart, and I was not going -to speak of its secrets—hidden, Miss Matty believed, from all the world. -I ushered Miss Pole into Miss Matilda’s little drawing-room, and then -left them alone. But I was not surprised when Martha came to my bedroom -door, to ask me to go down to dinner alone, for that missus had one of -her bad headaches. She came into the drawing-room at tea-time, but it -was evidently an effort to her; and, as if to make up for some -reproachful feeling against her late sister, Miss Jenkyns, which had been -troubling her all the afternoon, and for which she now felt penitent, she -kept telling me how good and how clever Deborah was in her youth; how she -used to settle what gowns they were to wear at all the parties (faint, -ghostly ideas of grim parties, far away in the distance, when Miss Matty -and Miss Pole were young!); and how Deborah and her mother had started -the benefit society for the poor, and taught girls cooking and plain -sewing; and how Deborah had once danced with a lord; and how she used to -visit at Sir Peter Arley’s, and tried to remodel the quiet rectory -establishment on the plans of Arley Hall, where they kept thirty -servants; and how she had nursed Miss Matty through a long, long illness, -of which I had never heard before, but which I now dated in my own mind -as following the dismissal of the suit of Mr Holbrook. So we talked -softly and quietly of old times through the long November evening. - -The next day Miss Pole brought us word that Mr Holbrook was dead. Miss -Matty heard the news in silence; in fact, from the account of the -previous day, it was only what we had to expect. Miss Pole kept calling -upon us for some expression of regret, by asking if it was not sad that -he was gone, and saying— - -“To think of that pleasant day last June, when he seemed so well! And he -might have lived this dozen years if he had not gone to that wicked -Paris, where they are always having revolutions.” - -She paused for some demonstration on our part. I saw Miss Matty could -not speak, she was trembling so nervously; so I said what I really felt; -and after a call of some duration—all the time of which I have no doubt -Miss Pole thought Miss Matty received the news very calmly—our visitor -took her leave. - -Miss Matty made a strong effort to conceal her feelings—a concealment she -practised even with me, for she has never alluded to Mr Holbrook again, -although the book he gave her lies with her Bible on the little table by -her bedside. She did not think I heard her when she asked the little -milliner of Cranford to make her caps something like the Honourable Mrs -Jamieson’s, or that I noticed the reply— - -“But she wears widows’ caps, ma’am?” - -“Oh! I only meant something in that style; not widows’, of course, but -rather like Mrs Jamieson’s.” - -This effort at concealment was the beginning of the tremulous motion of -head and hands which I have seen ever since in Miss Matty. - -The evening of the day on which we heard of Mr Holbrook’s death, Miss -Matilda was very silent and thoughtful; after prayers she called Martha -back and then she stood uncertain what to say. - -“Martha!” she said, at last, “you are young”—and then she made so long a -pause that Martha, to remind her of her half-finished sentence, dropped a -curtsey, and said— - -“Yes, please, ma’am; two-and-twenty last third of October, please, -ma’am.” - -“And, perhaps, Martha, you may some time meet with a young man you like, -and who likes you. I did say you were not to have followers; but if you -meet with such a young man, and tell me, and I find he is respectable, I -have no objection to his coming to see you once a week. God forbid!” -said she in a low voice, “that I should grieve any young hearts.” She -spoke as if she were providing for some distant contingency, and was -rather startled when Martha made her ready eager answer— - -“Please, ma’am, there’s Jem Hearn, and he’s a joiner making -three-and-sixpence a-day, and six foot one in his stocking-feet, please, -ma’am; and if you’ll ask about him to-morrow morning, every one will give -him a character for steadiness; and he’ll be glad enough to come -to-morrow night, I’ll be bound.” - -Though Miss Matty was startled, she submitted to Fate and Love. - - - - -CHAPTER V—OLD LETTERS - - -I HAVE often noticed that almost every one has his own individual small -economies—careful habits of saving fractions of pennies in some one -peculiar direction—any disturbance of which annoys him more than spending -shillings or pounds on some real extravagance. An old gentleman of my -acquaintance, who took the intelligence of the failure of a Joint-Stock -Bank, in which some of his money was invested, with stoical mildness, -worried his family all through a long summer’s day because one of them -had torn (instead of cutting) out the written leaves of his now useless -bank-book; of course, the corresponding pages at the other end came out -as well, and this little unnecessary waste of paper (his private economy) -chafed him more than all the loss of his money. Envelopes fretted his -soul terribly when they first came in; the only way in which he could -reconcile himself to such waste of his cherished article was by patiently -turning inside out all that were sent to him, and so making them serve -again. Even now, though tamed by age, I see him casting wistful glances -at his daughters when they send a whole inside of a half-sheet of note -paper, with the three lines of acceptance to an invitation, written on -only one of the sides. I am not above owning that I have this human -weakness myself. String is my foible. My pockets get full of little -hanks of it, picked up and twisted together, ready for uses that never -come. I am seriously annoyed if any one cuts the string of a parcel -instead of patiently and faithfully undoing it fold by fold. How people -can bring themselves to use india-rubber rings, which are a sort of -deification of string, as lightly as they do, I cannot imagine. To me an -india-rubber ring is a precious treasure. I have one which is not -new—one that I picked up off the floor nearly six years ago. I have -really tried to use it, but my heart failed me, and I could not commit -the extravagance. - -Small pieces of butter grieve others. They cannot attend to conversation -because of the annoyance occasioned by the habit which some people have -of invariably taking more butter than they want. Have you not seen the -anxious look (almost mesmeric) which such persons fix on the article? -They would feel it a relief if they might bury it out of their sight by -popping it into their own mouths and swallowing it down; and they are -really made happy if the person on whose plate it lies unused suddenly -breaks off a piece of toast (which he does not want at all) and eats up -his butter. They think that this is not waste. - -Now Miss Matty Jenkyns was chary of candles. We had many devices to use -as few as possible. In the winter afternoons she would sit knitting for -two or three hours—she could do this in the dark, or by firelight—and -when I asked if I might not ring for candles to finish stitching my -wristbands, she told me to “keep blind man’s holiday.” They were usually -brought in with tea; but we only burnt one at a time. As we lived in -constant preparation for a friend who might come in any evening (but who -never did), it required some contrivance to keep our two candles of the -same length, ready to be lighted, and to look as if we burnt two always. -The candles took it in turns; and, whatever we might be talking about or -doing, Miss Matty’s eyes were habitually fixed upon the candle, ready to -jump up and extinguish it and to light the other before they had become -too uneven in length to be restored to equality in the course of the -evening. - -One night, I remember this candle economy particularly annoyed me. I had -been very much tired of my compulsory “blind man’s holiday,” especially -as Miss Matty had fallen asleep, and I did not like to stir the fire and -run the risk of awakening her; so I could not even sit on the rug, and -scorch myself with sewing by firelight, according to my usual custom. I -fancied Miss Matty must be dreaming of her early life; for she spoke one -or two words in her uneasy sleep bearing reference to persons who were -dead long before. When Martha brought in the lighted candle and tea, -Miss Matty started into wakefulness, with a strange, bewildered look -around, as if we were not the people she expected to see about her. -There was a little sad expression that shadowed her face as she -recognised me; but immediately afterwards she tried to give me her usual -smile. All through tea-time her talk ran upon the days of her childhood -and youth. Perhaps this reminded her of the desirableness of looking -over all the old family letters, and destroying such as ought not to be -allowed to fall into the hands of strangers; for she had often spoken of -the necessity of this task, but had always shrunk from it, with a timid -dread of something painful. To-night, however, she rose up after tea and -went for them—in the dark; for she piqued herself on the precise neatness -of all her chamber arrangements, and used to look uneasily at me when I -lighted a bed-candle to go to another room for anything. When she -returned there was a faint, pleasant smell of Tonquin beans in the room. -I had always noticed this scent about any of the things which had -belonged to her mother; and many of the letters were addressed to -her—yellow bundles of love-letters, sixty or seventy years old. - -Miss Matty undid the packet with a sigh; but she stifled it directly, as -if it were hardly right to regret the flight of time, or of life either. -We agreed to look them over separately, each taking a different letter -out of the same bundle and describing its contents to the other before -destroying it. I never knew what sad work the reading of old letters was -before that evening, though I could hardly tell why. The letters were as -happy as letters could be—at least those early letters were. There was -in them a vivid and intense sense of the present time, which seemed so -strong and full, as if it could never pass away, and as if the warm, -living hearts that so expressed themselves could never die, and be as -nothing to the sunny earth. I should have felt less melancholy, I -believe, if the letters had been more so. I saw the tears stealing down -the well-worn furrows of Miss Matty’s cheeks, and her spectacles often -wanted wiping. I trusted at last that she would light the other candle, -for my own eyes were rather dim, and I wanted more light to see the pale, -faded ink; but no, even through her tears, she saw and remembered her -little economical ways. - -The earliest set of letters were two bundles tied together, and ticketed -(in Miss Jenkyns’s handwriting) “Letters interchanged between my -ever-honoured father and my dearly-beloved mother, prior to their -marriage, in July 1774.” I should guess that the rector of Cranford was -about twenty-seven years of age when he wrote those letters; and Miss -Matty told me that her mother was just eighteen at the time of her -wedding. With my idea of the rector derived from a picture in the -dining-parlour, stiff and stately, in a huge full-bottomed wig, with -gown, cassock, and bands, and his hand upon a copy of the only sermon he -ever published—it was strange to read these letters. They were full of -eager, passionate ardour; short homely sentences, right fresh from the -heart (very different from the grand Latinised, Johnsonian style of the -printed sermon preached before some judge at assize time). His letters -were a curious contrast to those of his girl-bride. She was evidently -rather annoyed at his demands upon her for expressions of love, and could -not quite understand what he meant by repeating the same thing over in so -many different ways; but what she was quite clear about was a longing for -a white “Paduasoy”—whatever that might be; and six or seven letters were -principally occupied in asking her lover to use his influence with her -parents (who evidently kept her in good order) to obtain this or that -article of dress, more especially the white “Paduasoy.” He cared nothing -how she was dressed; she was always lovely enough for him, as he took -pains to assure her, when she begged him to express in his answers a -predilection for particular pieces of finery, in order that she might -show what he said to her parents. But at length he seemed to find out -that she would not be married till she had a “trousseau” to her mind; and -then he sent her a letter, which had evidently accompanied a whole box -full of finery, and in which he requested that she might be dressed in -everything her heart desired. This was the first letter, ticketed in a -frail, delicate hand, “From my dearest John.” Shortly afterwards they -were married, I suppose, from the intermission in their correspondence. - -“We must burn them, I think,” said Miss Matty, looking doubtfully at me. -“No one will care for them when I am gone.” And one by one she dropped -them into the middle of the fire, watching each blaze up, die out, and -rise away, in faint, white, ghostly semblance, up the chimney, before she -gave another to the same fate. The room was light enough now; but I, -like her, was fascinated into watching the destruction of those letters, -into which the honest warmth of a manly heart had been poured forth. - -The next letter, likewise docketed by Miss Jenkyns, was endorsed, “Letter -of pious congratulation and exhortation from my venerable grandfather to -my beloved mother, on occasion of my own birth. Also some practical -remarks on the desirability of keeping warm the extremities of infants, -from my excellent grandmother.” - -The first part was, indeed, a severe and forcible picture of the -responsibilities of mothers, and a warning against the evils that were in -the world, and lying in ghastly wait for the little baby of two days old. -His wife did not write, said the old gentleman, because he had forbidden -it, she being indisposed with a sprained ankle, which (he said) quite -incapacitated her from holding a pen. However, at the foot of the page -was a small “T.O.,” and on turning it over, sure enough, there was a -letter to “my dear, dearest Molly,” begging her, when she left her room, -whatever she did, to go _up_ stairs before going _down_: and telling her -to wrap her baby’s feet up in flannel, and keep it warm by the fire, -although it was summer, for babies were so tender. - -It was pretty to see from the letters, which were evidently exchanged -with some frequency between the young mother and the grandmother, how the -girlish vanity was being weeded out of her heart by love for her baby. -The white “Paduasoy” figured again in the letters, with almost as much -vigour as before. In one, it was being made into a christening cloak for -the baby. It decked it when it went with its parents to spend a day or -two at Arley Hall. It added to its charms, when it was “the prettiest -little baby that ever was seen. Dear mother, I wish you could see her! -Without any pershality, I do think she will grow up a regular bewty!” I -thought of Miss Jenkyns, grey, withered, and wrinkled, and I wondered if -her mother had known her in the courts of heaven: and then I knew that -she had, and that they stood there in angelic guise. - -There was a great gap before any of the rector’s letters appeared. And -then his wife had changed her mode of her endorsement. It was no longer -from, “My dearest John;” it was from “My Honoured Husband.” The letters -were written on occasion of the publication of the same sermon which was -represented in the picture. The preaching before “My Lord Judge,” and -the “publishing by request,” was evidently the culminating point—the -event of his life. It had been necessary for him to go up to London to -superintend it through the press. Many friends had to be called upon and -consulted before he could decide on any printer fit for so onerous a -task; and at length it was arranged that J. and J. Rivingtons were to -have the honourable responsibility. The worthy rector seemed to be -strung up by the occasion to a high literary pitch, for he could hardly -write a letter to his wife without cropping out into Latin. I remember -the end of one of his letters ran thus: “I shall ever hold the virtuous -qualities of my Molly in remembrance, _dum memor ipse mei_, _dum spiritus -regit artus_,” which, considering that the English of his correspondent -was sometimes at fault in grammar, and often in spelling, might be taken -as a proof of how much he “idealised his Molly;” and, as Miss Jenkyns -used to say, “People talk a great deal about idealising now-a-days, -whatever that may mean.” But this was nothing to a fit of writing -classical poetry which soon seized him, in which his Molly figured away -as “Maria.” The letter containing the _carmen_ was endorsed by her, -“Hebrew verses sent me by my honoured husband. I thowt to have had a -letter about killing the pig, but must wait. Mem., to send the poetry to -Sir Peter Arley, as my husband desires.” And in a post-scriptum note in -his handwriting it was stated that the Ode had appeared in the -_Gentleman’s Magazine_, December 1782. - -Her letters back to her husband (treasured as fondly by him as if they -had been _M. T. Ciceronis Epistolæ_) were more satisfactory to an absent -husband and father than his could ever have been to her. She told him -how Deborah sewed her seam very neatly every day, and read to her in the -books he had set her; how she was a very “forrard,” good child, but would -ask questions her mother could not answer, but how she did not let -herself down by saying she did not know, but took to stirring the fire, -or sending the “forrard” child on an errand. Matty was now the mother’s -darling, and promised (like her sister at her age), to be a great beauty. -I was reading this aloud to Miss Matty, who smiled and sighed a little at -the hope, so fondly expressed, that “little Matty might not be vain, even -if she were a bewty.” - -“I had very pretty hair, my dear,” said Miss Matilda; “and not a bad -mouth.” And I saw her soon afterwards adjust her cap and draw herself -up. - -But to return to Mrs Jenkyns’s letters. She told her husband about the -poor in the parish; what homely domestic medicines she had administered; -what kitchen physic she had sent. She had evidently held his displeasure -as a rod in pickle over the heads of all the ne’er-do-wells. She asked -for his directions about the cows and pigs; and did not always obtain -them, as I have shown before. - -The kind old grandmother was dead when a little boy was born, soon after -the publication of the sermon; but there was another letter of -exhortation from the grandfather, more stringent and admonitory than -ever, now that there was a boy to be guarded from the snares of the -world. He described all the various sins into which men might fall, -until I wondered how any man ever came to a natural death. The gallows -seemed as if it must have been the termination of the lives of most of -the grandfather’s friends and acquaintance; and I was not surprised at -the way in which he spoke of this life being “a vale of tears.” - -It seemed curious that I should never have heard of this brother before; -but I concluded that he had died young, or else surely his name would -have been alluded to by his sisters. - -By-and-by we came to packets of Miss Jenkyns’s letters. These Miss Matty -did regret to burn. She said all the others had been only interesting to -those who loved the writers, and that it seemed as if it would have hurt -her to allow them to fall into the hands of strangers, who had not known -her dear mother, and how good she was, although she did not always spell, -quite in the modern fashion; but Deborah’s letters were so very superior! -Any one might profit by reading them. It was a long time since she had -read Mrs Chapone, but she knew she used to think that Deborah could have -said the same things quite as well; and as for Mrs Carter! people thought -a deal of her letters, just because she had written “Epictetus,” but she -was quite sure Deborah would never have made use of such a common -expression as “I canna be fashed!” - - [Picture: I made use of the time to think of many other things] - -Miss Matty did grudge burning these letters, it was evident. She would -not let them be carelessly passed over with any quiet reading, and -skipping, to myself. She took them from me, and even lighted the second -candle in order to read them aloud with a proper emphasis, and without -stumbling over the big words. Oh dear! how I wanted facts instead of -reflections, before those letters were concluded! They lasted us two -nights; and I won’t deny that I made use of the time to think of many -other things, and yet I was always at my post at the end of each -sentence. - -The rector’s letters, and those of his wife and mother-in-law, had all -been tolerably short and pithy, written in a straight hand, with the -lines very close together. Sometimes the whole letter was contained on a -mere scrap of paper. The paper was very yellow, and the ink very brown; -some of the sheets were (as Miss Matty made me observe) the old original -post, with the stamp in the corner representing a post-boy riding for -life and twanging his horn. The letters of Mrs Jenkyns and her mother -were fastened with a great round red wafer; for it was before Miss -Edgeworth’s “patronage” had banished wafers from polite society. It was -evident, from the tenor of what was said, that franks were in great -request, and were even used as a means of paying debts by needy members -of Parliament. The rector sealed his epistles with an immense coat of -arms, and showed by the care with which he had performed this ceremony -that he expected they should be cut open, not broken by any thoughtless -or impatient hand. Now, Miss Jenkyns’s letters were of a later date in -form and writing. She wrote on the square sheet which we have learned to -call old-fashioned. Her hand was admirably calculated, together with her -use of many-syllabled words, to fill up a sheet, and then came the pride -and delight of crossing. Poor Miss Matty got sadly puzzled with this, -for the words gathered size like snowballs, and towards the end of her -letter Miss Jenkyns used to become quite sesquipedalian. In one to her -father, slightly theological and controversial in its tone, she had -spoken of Herod, Tetrarch of Idumea. Miss Matty read it “Herod Petrarch -of Etruria,” and was just as well pleased as if she had been right. - -I can’t quite remember the date, but I think it was in 1805 that Miss -Jenkyns wrote the longest series of letters—on occasion of her absence on -a visit to some friends near Newcastle-upon-Tyne. These friends were -intimate with the commandant of the garrison there, and heard from him of -all the preparations that were being made to repel the invasion of -Buonaparte, which some people imagined might take place at the mouth of -the Tyne. Miss Jenkyns was evidently very much alarmed; and the first -part of her letters was often written in pretty intelligible English, -conveying particulars of the preparations which were made in the family -with whom she was residing against the dreaded event; the bundles of -clothes that were packed up ready for a flight to Alston Moor (a wild -hilly piece of ground between Northumberland and Cumberland); the signal -that was to be given for this flight, and for the simultaneous turning -out of the volunteers under arms—which said signal was to consist (if I -remember rightly) in ringing the church bells in a particular and ominous -manner. One day, when Miss Jenkyns and her hosts were at a dinner-party -in Newcastle, this warning summons was actually given (not a very wise -proceeding, if there be any truth in the moral attached to the fable of -the Boy and the Wolf; but so it was), and Miss Jenkyns, hardly recovered -from her fright, wrote the next day to describe the sound, the breathless -shock, the hurry and alarm; and then, taking breath, she added, “How -trivial, my dear father, do all our apprehensions of the last evening -appear, at the present moment, to calm and enquiring minds!” And here -Miss Matty broke in with— - -“But, indeed, my dear, they were not at all trivial or trifling at the -time. I know I used to wake up in the night many a time and think I -heard the tramp of the French entering Cranford. Many people talked of -hiding themselves in the salt mines—and meat would have kept capitally -down there, only perhaps we should have been thirsty. And my father -preached a whole set of sermons on the occasion; one set in the mornings, -all about David and Goliath, to spirit up the people to fighting with -spades or bricks, if need were; and the other set in the afternoons, -proving that Napoleon (that was another name for Bony, as we used to call -him) was all the same as an Apollyon and Abaddon. I remember my father -rather thought he should be asked to print this last set; but the parish -had, perhaps, had enough of them with hearing.” - -Peter Marmaduke Arley Jenkyns (“poor Peter!” as Miss Matty began to call -him) was at school at Shrewsbury by this time. The rector took up his -pen, and rubbed up his Latin once more, to correspond with his boy. It -was very clear that the lad’s were what are called show letters. They -were of a highly mental description, giving an account of his studies, -and his intellectual hopes of various kinds, with an occasional quotation -from the classics; but, now and then, the animal nature broke out in such -a little sentence as this, evidently written in a trembling hurry, after -the letter had been inspected: “Mother dear, do send me a cake, and put -plenty of citron in.” The “mother dear” probably answered her boy in the -form of cakes and “goody,” for there were none of her letters among this -set; but a whole collection of the rector’s, to whom the Latin in his -boy’s letters was like a trumpet to the old war-horse. I do not know -much about Latin, certainly, and it is, perhaps, an ornamental language, -but not very useful, I think—at least to judge from the bits I remember -out of the rector’s letters. One was, “You have not got that town in -your map of Ireland; but _Bonus Bernardus non videt omnia_, as the -Proverbia say.” Presently it became very evident that “poor Peter” got -himself into many scrapes. There were letters of stilted penitence to -his father, for some wrong-doing; and among them all was a badly-written, -badly-sealed, badly-directed, blotted note:—“My dear, dear, dear, dearest -mother, I will be a better boy; I will, indeed; but don’t, please, be ill -for me; I am not worth it; but I will be good, darling mother.” - -Miss Matty could not speak for crying, after she had read this note. She -gave it to me in silence, and then got up and took it to her sacred -recesses in her own room, for fear, by any chance, it might get burnt. -“Poor Peter!” she said; “he was always in scrapes; he was too easy. They -led him wrong, and then left him in the lurch. But he was too fond of -mischief. He could never resist a joke. Poor Peter!” - - - - -CHAPTER VI—POOR PETER - - -POOR Peter’s career lay before him rather pleasantly mapped out by kind -friends, but _Bonus Bernardus non videt omnia_, in this map too. He was -to win honours at the Shrewsbury School, and carry them thick to -Cambridge, and after that, a living awaited him, the gift of his -godfather, Sir Peter Arley. Poor Peter! his lot in life was very -different to what his friends had hoped and planned. Miss Matty told me -all about it, and I think it was a relief when she had done so. - -He was the darling of his mother, who seemed to dote on all her children, -though she was, perhaps, a little afraid of Deborah’s superior -acquirements. Deborah was the favourite of her father, and when Peter -disappointed him, she became his pride. The sole honour Peter brought -away from Shrewsbury was the reputation of being the best good fellow -that ever was, and of being the captain of the school in the art of -practical joking. His father was disappointed, but set about remedying -the matter in a manly way. He could not afford to send Peter to read -with any tutor, but he could read with him himself; and Miss Matty told -me much of the awful preparations in the way of dictionaries and lexicons -that were made in her father’s study the morning Peter began. - -“My poor mother!” said she. “I remember how she used to stand in the -hall, just near enough the study-door, to catch the tone of my father’s -voice. I could tell in a moment if all was going right, by her face. -And it did go right for a long time.” - -“What went wrong at last?” said I. “That tiresome Latin, I dare say.” - -“No! it was not the Latin. Peter was in high favour with my father, for -he worked up well for him. But he seemed to think that the Cranford -people might be joked about, and made fun of, and they did not like it; -nobody does. He was always hoaxing them; ‘hoaxing’ is not a pretty word, -my dear, and I hope you won’t tell your father I used it, for I should -not like him to think that I was not choice in my language, after living -with such a woman as Deborah. And be sure you never use it yourself. I -don’t know how it slipped out of my mouth, except it was that I was -thinking of poor Peter and it was always his expression. But he was a -very gentlemanly boy in many things. He was like dear Captain Brown in -always being ready to help any old person or a child. Still, he did like -joking and making fun; and he seemed to think the old ladies in Cranford -would believe anything. There were many old ladies living here then; we -are principally ladies now, I know, but we are not so old as the ladies -used to be when I was a girl. I could laugh to think of some of Peter’s -jokes. No, my dear, I won’t tell you of them, because they might not -shock you as they ought to do, and they were very shocking. He even took -in my father once, by dressing himself up as a lady that was passing -through the town and wished to see the Rector of Cranford, ‘who had -published that admirable Assize Sermon.’ Peter said he was awfully -frightened himself when he saw how my father took it all in, and even -offered to copy out all his Napoleon Buonaparte sermons for her—him, I -mean—no, her, for Peter was a lady then. He told me he was more -terrified than he ever was before, all the time my father was speaking. -He did not think my father would have believed him; and yet if he had -not, it would have been a sad thing for Peter. As it was, he was none so -glad of it, for my father kept him hard at work copying out all those -twelve Buonaparte sermons for the lady—that was for Peter himself, you -know. He was the lady. And once when he wanted to go fishing, Peter -said, ‘Confound the woman!’—very bad language, my dear, but Peter was not -always so guarded as he should have been; my father was so angry with -him, it nearly frightened me out of my wits: and yet I could hardly keep -from laughing at the little curtseys Peter kept making, quite slyly, -whenever my father spoke of the lady’s excellent taste and sound -discrimination.” - - [Picture: Confound the woman] - -“Did Miss Jenkyns know of these tricks?” said I. - -“Oh, no! Deborah would have been too much shocked. No, no one knew but -me. I wish I had always known of Peter’s plans; but sometimes he did not -tell me. He used to say the old ladies in the town wanted something to -talk about; but I don’t think they did. They had the _St James’s -Chronicle_ three times a week, just as we have now, and we have plenty to -say; and I remember the clacking noise there always was when some of the -ladies got together. But, probably, schoolboys talk more than ladies. -At last there was a terrible, sad thing happened.” Miss Matty got up, -went to the door, and opened it; no one was there. She rang the bell for -Martha, and when Martha came, her mistress told her to go for eggs to a -farm at the other end of the town. - -“I will lock the door after you, Martha. You are not afraid to go, are -you?” - -“No, ma’am, not at all; Jem Hearn will be only too proud to go with me.” - -Miss Matty drew herself up, and as soon as we were alone, she wished that -Martha had more maidenly reserve. - -“We’ll put out the candle, my dear. We can talk just as well by -firelight, you know. There! Well, you see, Deborah had gone from home -for a fortnight or so; it was a very still, quiet day, I remember, -overhead; and the lilacs were all in flower, so I suppose it was spring. -My father had gone out to see some sick people in the parish; I recollect -seeing him leave the house with his wig and shovel-hat and cane. What -possessed our poor Peter I don’t know; he had the sweetest temper, and -yet he always seemed to like to plague Deborah. She never laughed at his -jokes, and thought him ungenteel, and not careful enough about improving -his mind; and that vexed him. - -“Well! he went to her room, it seems, and dressed himself in her old -gown, and shawl, and bonnet; just the things she used to wear in -Cranford, and was known by everywhere; and he made the pillow into a -little—you are sure you locked the door, my dear, for I should not like -anyone to hear—into—into a little baby, with white long clothes. It was -only, as he told me afterwards, to make something to talk about in the -town; he never thought of it as affecting Deborah. And he went and -walked up and down in the Filbert walk—just half-hidden by the rails, and -half-seen; and he cuddled his pillow, just like a baby, and talked to it -all the nonsense people do. Oh dear! and my father came stepping stately -up the street, as he always did; and what should he see but a little -black crowd of people—I daresay as many as twenty—all peeping through his -garden rails. So he thought, at first, they were only looking at a new -rhododendron that was in full bloom, and that he was very proud of; and -he walked slower, that they might have more time to admire. And he -wondered if he could make out a sermon from the occasion, and thought, -perhaps, there was some relation between the rhododendrons and the lilies -of the field. My poor father! When he came nearer, he began to wonder -that they did not see him; but their heads were all so close together, -peeping and peeping! My father was amongst them, meaning, he said, to -ask them to walk into the garden with him, and admire the beautiful -vegetable production, when—oh, my dear, I tremble to think of it—he -looked through the rails himself, and saw—I don’t know what he thought he -saw, but old Clare told me his face went quite grey-white with anger, and -his eyes blazed out under his frowning black brows; and he spoke out—oh, -so terribly!—and bade them all stop where they were—not one of them to -go, not one of them to stir a step; and, swift as light, he was in at the -garden door, and down the Filbert walk, and seized hold of poor Peter, -and tore his clothes off his back—bonnet, shawl, gown, and all—and threw -the pillow among the people over the railings: and then he was very, very -angry indeed, and before all the people he lifted up his cane and flogged -Peter! - -“My dear, that boy’s trick, on that sunny day, when all seemed going -straight and well, broke my mother’s heart, and changed my father for -life. It did, indeed. Old Clare said, Peter looked as white as my -father; and stood as still as a statue to be flogged; and my father -struck hard! When my father stopped to take breath, Peter said, ‘Have -you done enough, sir?’ quite hoarsely, and still standing quite quiet. I -don’t know what my father said—or if he said anything. But old Clare -said, Peter turned to where the people outside the railing were, and made -them a low bow, as grand and as grave as any gentleman; and then walked -slowly into the house. I was in the store-room helping my mother to make -cowslip wine. I cannot abide the wine now, nor the scent of the flowers; -they turn me sick and faint, as they did that day, when Peter came in, -looking as haughty as any man—indeed, looking like a man, not like a boy. -‘Mother!’ he said, ‘I am come to say, God bless you for ever.’ I saw his -lips quiver as he spoke; and I think he durst not say anything more -loving, for the purpose that was in his heart. She looked at him rather -frightened, and wondering, and asked him what was to do. He did not -smile or speak, but put his arms round her and kissed her as if he did -not know how to leave off; and before she could speak again, he was gone. -We talked it over, and could not understand it, and she bade me go and -seek my father, and ask what it was all about. I found him walking up -and down, looking very highly displeased. - -“‘Tell your mother I have flogged Peter, and that he richly deserved it.’ - -“I durst not ask any more questions. When I told my mother, she sat -down, quite faint, for a minute. I remember, a few days after, I saw the -poor, withered cowslip flowers thrown out to the leaf heap, to decay and -die there. There was no making of cowslip wine that year at the -rectory—nor, indeed, ever after. - -“Presently my mother went to my father. I know I thought of Queen Esther -and King Ahasuerus; for my mother was very pretty and delicate-looking, -and my father looked as terrible as King Ahasuerus. Some time after they -came out together; and then my mother told me what had happened, and that -she was going up to Peter’s room at my father’s desire—though she was not -to tell Peter this—to talk the matter over with him. But no Peter was -there. We looked over the house; no Peter was there! Even my father, -who had not liked to join in the search at first, helped us before long. -The rectory was a very old house—steps up into a room, steps down into a -room, all through. At first, my mother went calling low and soft, as if -to reassure the poor boy, ‘Peter! Peter, dear! it’s only me;’ but, -by-and-by, as the servants came back from the errands my father had sent -them, in different directions, to find where Peter was—as we found he was -not in the garden, nor the hayloft, nor anywhere about—my mother’s cry -grew louder and wilder, Peter! Peter, my darling! where are you?’ for -then she felt and understood that that long kiss meant some sad kind of -‘good-bye.’ The afternoon went on—my mother never resting, but seeking -again and again in every possible place that had been looked into twenty -times before, nay, that she had looked into over and over again herself. -My father sat with his head in his hands, not speaking except when his -messengers came in, bringing no tidings; then he lifted up his face, so -strong and sad, and told them to go again in some new direction. My -mother kept passing from room to room, in and out of the house, moving -noiselessly, but never ceasing. Neither she nor my father durst leave -the house, which was the meeting-place for all the messengers. At last -(and it was nearly dark), my father rose up. He took hold of my mother’s -arm as she came with wild, sad pace through one door, and quickly towards -another. She started at the touch of his hand, for she had forgotten all -in the world but Peter. - -“‘Molly!’ said he, ‘I did not think all this would happen.’ He looked -into her face for comfort—her poor face all wild and white; for neither -she nor my father had dared to acknowledge—much less act upon—the terror -that was in their hearts, lest Peter should have made away with himself. -My father saw no conscious look in his wife’s hot, dreary eyes, and he -missed the sympathy that she had always been ready to give him—strong man -as he was, and at the dumb despair in her face his tears began to flow. -But when she saw this, a gentle sorrow came over her countenance, and she -said, ‘Dearest John! don’t cry; come with me, and we’ll find him,’ almost -as cheerfully as if she knew where he was. And she took my father’s -great hand in her little soft one, and led him along, the tears dropping -as he walked on that same unceasing, weary walk, from room to room, -through house and garden. - -“Oh, how I wished for Deborah! I had no time for crying, for now all -seemed to depend on me. I wrote for Deborah to come home. I sent a -message privately to that same Mr Holbrook’s house—poor Mr Holbrook;—you -know who I mean. I don’t mean I sent a message to him, but I sent one -that I could trust to know if Peter was at his house. For at one time Mr -Holbrook was an occasional visitor at the rectory—you know he was Miss -Pole’s cousin—and he had been very kind to Peter, and taught him how to -fish—he was very kind to everybody, and I thought Peter might have gone -off there. But Mr Holbrook was from home, and Peter had never been seen. -It was night now; but the doors were all wide open, and my father and -mother walked on and on; it was more than an hour since he had joined -her, and I don’t believe they had ever spoken all that time. I was -getting the parlour fire lighted, and one of the servants was preparing -tea, for I wanted them to have something to eat and drink and warm them, -when old Clare asked to speak to me. - -“‘I have borrowed the nets from the weir, Miss Matty. Shall we drag the -ponds to-night, or wait for the morning?’ - -“I remember staring in his face to gather his meaning; and when I did, I -laughed out loud. The horror of that new thought—our bright, darling -Peter, cold, and stark, and dead! I remember the ring of my own laugh -now. - -“The next day Deborah was at home before I was myself again. She would -not have been so weak as to give way as I had done; but my screams (my -horrible laughter had ended in crying) had roused my sweet dear mother, -whose poor wandering wits were called back and collected as soon as a -child needed her care. She and Deborah sat by my bedside; I knew by the -looks of each that there had been no news of Peter—no awful, ghastly -news, which was what I most had dreaded in my dull state between sleeping -and waking. - -“The same result of all the searching had brought something of the same -relief to my mother, to whom, I am sure, the thought that Peter might -even then be hanging dead in some of the familiar home places had caused -that never-ending walk of yesterday. Her soft eyes never were the same -again after that; they had always a restless, craving look, as if seeking -for what they could not find. Oh! it was an awful time; coming down like -a thunder-bolt on the still sunny day when the lilacs were all in bloom.” - -“Where was Mr Peter?” said I. - -“He had made his way to Liverpool; and there was war then; and some of -the king’s ships lay off the mouth of the Mersey; and they were only too -glad to have a fine likely boy such as him (five foot nine he was), come -to offer himself. The captain wrote to my father, and Peter wrote to my -mother. Stay! those letters will be somewhere here.” - -We lighted the candle, and found the captain’s letter and Peter’s too. -And we also found a little simple begging letter from Mrs Jenkyns to -Peter, addressed to him at the house of an old schoolfellow whither she -fancied he might have gone. They had returned it unopened; and unopened -it had remained ever since, having been inadvertently put by among the -other letters of that time. This is it:— - - “MY DEAREST PETER,—You did not think we should be so sorry as we are, - I know, or you would never have gone away. You are too good. Your - father sits and sighs till my heart aches to hear him. He cannot - hold up his head for grief; and yet he only did what he thought was - right. Perhaps he has been too severe, and perhaps I have not been - kind enough; but God knows how we love you, my dear only boy. Don - looks so sorry you are gone. Come back, and make us happy, who love - you so much. I know you will come back.” - -But Peter did not come back. That spring day was the last time he ever -saw his mother’s face. The writer of the letter—the last—the only person -who had ever seen what was written in it, was dead long ago; and I, a -stranger, not born at the time when this occurrence took place, was the -one to open it. - -The captain’s letter summoned the father and mother to Liverpool -instantly, if they wished to see their boy; and, by some of the wild -chances of life, the captain’s letter had been detained somewhere, -somehow. - -Miss Matty went on, “And it was racetime, and all the post-horses at -Cranford were gone to the races; but my father and mother set off in our -own gig—and oh! my dear, they were too late—the ship was gone! And now -read Peter’s letter to my mother!” - -It was full of love, and sorrow, and pride in his new profession, and a -sore sense of his disgrace in the eyes of the people at Cranford; but -ending with a passionate entreaty that she would come and see him before -he left the Mersey: “Mother; we may go into battle. I hope we shall, and -lick those French: but I must see you again before that time.” - -“And she was too late,” said Miss Matty; “too late!” - -We sat in silence, pondering on the full meaning of those sad, sad words. -At length I asked Miss Matty to tell me how her mother bore it. - -“Oh!” she said, “she was patience itself. She had never been strong, and -this weakened her terribly. My father used to sit looking at her: far -more sad than she was. He seemed as if he could look at nothing else -when she was by; and he was so humble—so very gentle now. He would, -perhaps, speak in his old way—laying down the law, as it were—and then, -in a minute or two, he would come round and put his hand on our -shoulders, and ask us in a low voice, if he had said anything to hurt us. -I did not wonder at his speaking so to Deborah, for she was so clever; -but I could not bear to hear him talking so to me. - -“But, you see, he saw what we did not—that it was killing my mother. -Yes! killing her (put out the candle, my dear; I can talk better in the -dark), for she was but a frail woman, and ill-fitted to stand the fright -and shock she had gone through; and she would smile at him and comfort -him, not in words, but in her looks and tones, which were always cheerful -when he was there. And she would speak of how she thought Peter stood a -good chance of being admiral very soon—he was so brave and clever; and -how she thought of seeing him in his navy uniform, and what sort of hats -admirals wore; and how much more fit he was to be a sailor than a -clergyman; and all in that way, just to make my father think she was -quite glad of what came of that unlucky morning’s work, and the flogging -which was always in his mind, as we all knew. But oh, my dear! the -bitter, bitter crying she had when she was alone; and at last, as she -grew weaker, she could not keep her tears in when Deborah or me was by, -and would give us message after message for Peter (his ship had gone to -the Mediterranean, or somewhere down there, and then he was ordered off -to India, and there was no overland route then); but she still said that -no one knew where their death lay in wait, and that we were not to think -hers was near. We did not think it, but we knew it, as we saw her fading -away. - -“Well, my dear, it’s very foolish of me, I know, when in all likelihood I -am so near seeing her again. - -“And only think, love! the very day after her death—for she did not live -quite a twelvemonth after Peter went away—the very day after—came a -parcel for her from India—from her poor boy. It was a large, soft, white -Indian shawl, with just a little narrow border all round; just what my -mother would have liked. - -“We thought it might rouse my father, for he had sat with her hand in his -all night long; so Deborah took it in to him, and Peter’s letter to her, -and all. At first, he took no notice; and we tried to make a kind of -light careless talk about the shawl, opening it out and admiring it. -Then, suddenly, he got up, and spoke: ‘She shall be buried in it,’ he -said; ‘Peter shall have that comfort; and she would have liked it.’ - -“Well, perhaps it was not reasonable, but what could we do or say? One -gives people in grief their own way. He took it up and felt it: ‘It is -just such a shawl as she wished for when she was married, and her mother -did not give it her. I did not know of it till after, or she should have -had it—she should; but she shall have it now.’ - -“My mother looked so lovely in her death! She was always pretty, and now -she looked fair, and waxen, and young—younger than Deborah, as she stood -trembling and shivering by her. We decked her in the long soft folds; -she lay smiling, as if pleased; and people came—all Cranford came—to beg -to see her, for they had loved her dearly, as well they might; and the -countrywomen brought posies; old Clare’s wife brought some white violets -and begged they might lie on her breast. - -“Deborah said to me, the day of my mother’s funeral, that if she had a -hundred offers she never would marry and leave my father. It was not -very likely she would have so many—I don’t know that she had one; but it -was not less to her credit to say so. She was such a daughter to my -father as I think there never was before or since. His eyes failed him, -and she read book after book, and wrote, and copied, and was always at -his service in any parish business. She could do many more things than -my poor mother could; she even once wrote a letter to the bishop for my -father. But he missed my mother sorely; the whole parish noticed it. -Not that he was less active; I think he was more so, and more patient in -helping every one. I did all I could to set Deborah at liberty to be -with him; for I knew I was good for little, and that my best work in the -world was to do odd jobs quietly, and set others at liberty. But my -father was a changed man.” - -“Did Mr Peter ever come home?” - -“Yes, once. He came home a lieutenant; he did not get to be admiral. -And he and my father were such friends! My father took him into every -house in the parish, he was so proud of him. He never walked out without -Peter’s arm to lean upon. Deborah used to smile (I don’t think we ever -laughed again after my mother’s death), and say she was quite put in a -corner. Not but what my father always wanted her when there was -letter-writing or reading to be done, or anything to be settled.” - -“And then?” said I, after a pause. - -“Then Peter went to sea again; and, by-and-by, my father died, blessing -us both, and thanking Deborah for all she had been to him; and, of -course, our circumstances were changed; and, instead of living at the -rectory, and keeping three maids and a man, we had to come to this small -house, and be content with a servant-of-all-work; but, as Deborah used to -say, we have always lived genteelly, even if circumstances have compelled -us to simplicity. Poor Deborah!” - -“And Mr Peter?” asked I. - -“Oh, there was some great war in India—I forget what they call it—and we -have never heard of Peter since then. I believe he is dead myself; and -it sometimes fidgets me that we have never put on mourning for him. And -then again, when I sit by myself, and all the house is still, I think I -hear his step coming up the street, and my heart begins to flutter and -beat; but the sound always goes past—and Peter never comes. - -“That’s Martha back? No! _I’ll_ go, my dear; I can always find my way -in the dark, you know. And a blow of fresh air at the door will do my -head good, and it’s rather got a trick of aching.” - -So she pattered off. I had lighted the candle, to give the room a -cheerful appearance against her return. - -“Was it Martha?” asked I. - -“Yes. And I am rather uncomfortable, for I heard such a strange noise, -just as I was opening the door.” - -“Where?’ I asked, for her eyes were round with affright. - -“In the street—just outside—it sounded like”— - -“Talking?” I put in, as she hesitated a little. - -“No! kissing”— - - - - -CHAPTER VII—VISITING - - -ONE morning, as Miss Matty and I sat at our work—it was before twelve -o’clock, and Miss Matty had not changed the cap with yellow ribbons that -had been Miss Jenkyns’s best, and which Miss Matty was now wearing out in -private, putting on the one made in imitation of Mrs Jamieson’s at all -times when she expected to be seen—Martha came up, and asked if Miss -Betty Barker might speak to her mistress. Miss Matty assented, and -quickly disappeared to change the yellow ribbons, while Miss Barker came -upstairs; but, as she had forgotten her spectacles, and was rather -flurried by the unusual time of the visit, I was not surprised to see her -return with one cap on the top of the other. She was quite unconscious -of it herself, and looked at us, with bland satisfaction. Nor do I think -Miss Barker perceived it; for, putting aside the little circumstance that -she was not so young as she had been, she was very much absorbed in her -errand, which she delivered herself of with an oppressive modesty that -found vent in endless apologies. - -Miss Betty Barker was the daughter of the old clerk at Cranford who had -officiated in Mr Jenkyns’s time. She and her sister had had pretty good -situations as ladies’ maids, and had saved money enough to set up a -milliner’s shop, which had been patronised by the ladies in the -neighbourhood. Lady Arley, for instance, would occasionally give Miss -Barkers the pattern of an old cap of hers, which they immediately copied -and circulated among the _élite_ of Cranford. I say the _élite_, for -Miss Barkers had caught the trick of the place, and piqued themselves -upon their “aristocratic connection.” They would not sell their caps and -ribbons to anyone without a pedigree. Many a farmer’s wife or daughter -turned away huffed from Miss Barkers’ select millinery, and went rather -to the universal shop, where the profits of brown soap and moist sugar -enabled the proprietor to go straight to (Paris, he said, until he found -his customers too patriotic and John Bullish to wear what the Mounseers -wore) London, where, as he often told his customers, Queen Adelaide had -appeared, only the very week before, in a cap exactly like the one he -showed them, trimmed with yellow and blue ribbons, and had been -complimented by King William on the becoming nature of her head-dress. - -Miss Barkers, who confined themselves to truth, and did not approve of -miscellaneous customers, throve notwithstanding. They were self-denying, -good people. Many a time have I seen the eldest of them (she that had -been maid to Mrs Jamieson) carrying out some delicate mess to a poor -person. They only aped their betters in having “nothing to do” with the -class immediately below theirs. And when Miss Barker died, their profits -and income were found to be such that Miss Betty was justified in -shutting up shop and retiring from business. She also (as I think I have -before said) set up her cow; a mark of respectability in Cranford almost -as decided as setting up a gig is among some people. She dressed finer -than any lady in Cranford; and we did not wonder at it; for it was -understood that she was wearing out all the bonnets and caps and -outrageous ribbons which had once formed her stock-in-trade. It was five -or six years since she had given up shop, so in any other place than -Cranford her dress might have been considered _passée_. - -And now Miss Betty Barker had called to invite Miss Matty to tea at her -house on the following Tuesday. She gave me also an impromptu -invitation, as I happened to be a visitor—though I could see she had a -little fear lest, since my father had gone to live in Drumble, he might -have engaged in that “horrid cotton trade,” and so dragged his family -down out of “aristocratic society.” She prefaced this invitation with so -many apologies that she quite excited my curiosity. “Her presumption” -was to be excused. What had she been doing? She seemed so over-powered -by it I could only think that she had been writing to Queen Adelaide to -ask for a receipt for washing lace; but the act which she so -characterised was only an invitation she had carried to her sister’s -former mistress, Mrs Jamieson. “Her former occupation considered, could -Miss Matty excuse the liberty?” Ah! thought I, she has found out that -double cap, and is going to rectify Miss Matty’s head-dress. No! it was -simply to extend her invitation to Miss Matty and to me. Miss Matty -bowed acceptance; and I wondered that, in the graceful action, she did -not feel the unusual weight and extraordinary height of her head-dress. -But I do not think she did, for she recovered her balance, and went on -talking to Miss Betty in a kind, condescending manner, very different -from the fidgety way she would have had if she had suspected how singular -her appearance was. “Mrs Jamieson is coming, I think you said?” asked -Miss Matty. - -“Yes. Mrs Jamieson most kindly and condescendingly said she would be -happy to come. One little stipulation she made, that she should bring -Carlo. I told her that if I had a weakness, it was for dogs.” - -“And Miss Pole?” questioned Miss Matty, who was thinking of her pool at -Preference, in which Carlo would not be available as a partner. - -“I am going to ask Miss Pole. Of course, I could not think of asking her -until I had asked you, madam—the rector’s daughter, madam. Believe me, I -do not forget the situation my father held under yours.” - -“And Mrs Forrester, of course?” - -“And Mrs Forrester. I thought, in fact, of going to her before I went to -Miss Pole. Although her circumstances are changed, madam, she was born -at Tyrrell, and we can never forget her alliance to the Bigges, of -Bigelow Hall.” - -Miss Matty cared much more for the little circumstance of her being a -very good card-player. - -“Mrs Fitz-Adam—I suppose”— - -“No, madam. I must draw a line somewhere. Mrs Jamieson would not, I -think, like to meet Mrs Fitz-Adam. I have the greatest respect for Mrs -Fitz-Adam—but I cannot think her fit society for such ladies as Mrs -Jamieson and Miss Matilda Jenkyns.” - -Miss Betty Barker bowed low to Miss Matty, and pursed up her mouth. She -looked at me with sidelong dignity, as much as to say, although a retired -milliner, she was no democrat, and understood the difference of ranks. - -“May I beg you to come as near half-past six to my little dwelling, as -possible, Miss Matilda? Mrs Jamieson dines at five, but has kindly -promised not to delay her visit beyond that time—half-past six.” And -with a swimming curtsey Miss Betty Barker took her leave. - -My prophetic soul foretold a visit that afternoon from Miss Pole, who -usually came to call on Miss Matilda after any event—or indeed in sight -of any event—to talk it over with her. - -“Miss Betty told me it was to be a choice and select few,” said Miss -Pole, as she and Miss Matty compared notes. - -“Yes, so she said. Not even Mrs Fitz-Adam.” - -Now Mrs Fitz-Adam was the widowed sister of the Cranford surgeon, whom I -have named before. Their parents were respectable farmers, content with -their station. The name of these good people was Hoggins. Mr Hoggins -was the Cranford doctor now; we disliked the name and considered it -coarse; but, as Miss Jenkyns said, if he changed it to Piggins it would -not be much better. We had hoped to discover a relationship between him -and that Marchioness of Exeter whose name was Molly Hoggins; but the man, -careless of his own interests, utterly ignored and denied any such -relationship, although, as dear Miss Jenkyns had said, he had a sister -called Mary, and the same Christian names were very apt to run in -families. - -Soon after Miss Mary Hoggins married Mr Fitz-Adam, she disappeared from -the neighbourhood for many years. She did not move in a sphere in -Cranford society sufficiently high to make any of us care to know what Mr -Fitz-Adam was. He died and was gathered to his fathers without our ever -having thought about him at all. And then Mrs Fitz-Adam reappeared in -Cranford (“as bold as a lion,” Miss Pole said), a well-to-do widow, -dressed in rustling black silk, so soon after her husband’s death that -poor Miss Jenkyns was justified in the remark she made, that “bombazine -would have shown a deeper sense of her loss.” - -I remember the convocation of ladies who assembled to decide whether or -not Mrs Fitz-Adam should be called upon by the old blue-blooded -inhabitants of Cranford. She had taken a large rambling house, which had -been usually considered to confer a patent of gentility upon its tenant, -because, once upon a time, seventy or eighty years before, the spinster -daughter of an earl had resided in it. I am not sure if the inhabiting -this house was not also believed to convey some unusual power of -intellect; for the earl’s daughter, Lady Jane, had a sister, Lady Anne, -who had married a general officer in the time of the American war, and -this general officer had written one or two comedies, which were still -acted on the London boards, and which, when we saw them advertised, made -us all draw up, and feel that Drury Lane was paying a very pretty -compliment to Cranford. Still, it was not at all a settled thing that -Mrs Fitz-Adam was to be visited, when dear Miss Jenkyns died; and, with -her, something of the clear knowledge of the strict code of gentility -went out too. As Miss Pole observed, “As most of the ladies of good -family in Cranford were elderly spinsters, or widows without children, if -we did not relax a little, and become less exclusive, by-and-by we should -have no society at all.” - -Mrs Forrester continued on the same side. - -“She had always understood that Fitz meant something aristocratic; there -was Fitz-Roy—she thought that some of the King’s children had been called -Fitz-Roy; and there was Fitz-Clarence, now—they were the children of dear -good King William the Fourth. Fitz-Adam!—it was a pretty name, and she -thought it very probably meant ‘Child of Adam.’ No one, who had not some -good blood in their veins, would dare to be called Fitz; there was a deal -in a name—she had had a cousin who spelt his name with two little -ffs—ffoulkes—and he always looked down upon capital letters and said they -belonged to lately-invented families. She had been afraid he would die a -bachelor, he was so very choice. When he met with a Mrs ffarringdon, at -a watering-place, he took to her immediately; and a very pretty genteel -woman she was—a widow, with a very good fortune; and ‘my cousin,’ Mr -ffoulkes, married her; and it was all owing to her two little ffs.” - -Mrs Fitz-Adam did not stand a chance of meeting with a Mr Fitz-anything -in Cranford, so that could not have been her motive for settling there. -Miss Matty thought it might have been the hope of being admitted into the -society of the place, which would certainly be a very agreeable rise for -_ci-devant_ Miss Hoggins; and if this had been her hope it would be cruel -to disappoint her. - -So everybody called upon Mrs Fitz-Adam—everybody but Mrs Jamieson, who -used to show how honourable she was by never seeing Mrs Fitz-Adam when -they met at the Cranford parties. There would be only eight or ten -ladies in the room, and Mrs Fitz-Adam was the largest of all, and she -invariably used to stand up when Mrs Jamieson came in, and curtsey very -low to her whenever she turned in her direction—so low, in fact, that I -think Mrs Jamieson must have looked at the wall above her, for she never -moved a muscle of her face, no more than if she had not seen her. Still -Mrs Fitz-Adam persevered. - -The spring evenings were getting bright and long when three or four -ladies in calashes met at Miss Barker’s door. Do you know what a calash -is? It is a covering worn over caps, not unlike the heads fastened on -old-fashioned gigs; but sometimes it is not quite so large. This kind of -head-gear always made an awful impression on the children in Cranford; -and now two or three left off their play in the quiet sunny little -street, and gathered in wondering silence round Miss Pole, Miss Matty, -and myself. We were silent too, so that we could hear loud, suppressed -whispers inside Miss Barker’s house: “Wait, Peggy! wait till I’ve run -upstairs and washed my hands. When I cough, open the door; I’ll not be a -minute.” - -And, true enough it was not a minute before we heard a noise, between a -sneeze and a crow; on which the door flew open. Behind it stood a -round-eyed maiden, all aghast at the honourable company of calashes, who -marched in without a word. She recovered presence of mind enough to -usher us into a small room, which had been the shop, but was now -converted into a temporary dressing-room. There we unpinned and shook -ourselves, and arranged our features before the glass into a sweet and -gracious company-face; and then, bowing backwards with “After you, -ma’am,” we allowed Mrs Forrester to take precedence up the narrow -staircase that led to Miss Barker’s drawing-room. There she sat, as -stately and composed as though we had never heard that odd-sounding -cough, from which her throat must have been even then sore and rough. -Kind, gentle, shabbily-dressed Mrs Forrester was immediately conducted to -the second place of honour—a seat arranged something like Prince Albert’s -near the Queen’s—good, but not so good. The place of pre-eminence was, -of course, reserved for the Honourable Mrs Jamieson, who presently came -panting up the stairs—Carlo rushing round her on her progress, as if he -meant to trip her up. - -And now Miss Betty Barker was a proud and happy woman! She stirred the -fire, and shut the door, and sat as near to it as she could, quite on the -edge of her chair. When Peggy came in, tottering under the weight of the -tea-tray, I noticed that Miss Barker was sadly afraid lest Peggy should -not keep her distance sufficiently. She and her mistress were on very -familiar terms in their every-day intercourse, and Peggy wanted now to -make several little confidences to her, which Miss Barker was on thorns -to hear, but which she thought it her duty, as a lady, to repress. So -she turned away from all Peggy’s asides and signs; but she made one or -two very malapropos answers to what was said; and at last, seized with a -bright idea, she exclaimed, “Poor, sweet Carlo! I’m forgetting him. -Come downstairs with me, poor ittie doggie, and it shall have its tea, it -shall!” - -In a few minutes she returned, bland and benignant as before; but I -thought she had forgotten to give the “poor ittie doggie” anything to -eat, judging by the avidity with which he swallowed down chance pieces of -cake. The tea-tray was abundantly loaded—I was pleased to see it, I was -so hungry; but I was afraid the ladies present might think it vulgarly -heaped up. I know they would have done at their own houses; but somehow -the heaps disappeared here. I saw Mrs Jamieson eating seed-cake, slowly -and considerately, as she did everything; and I was rather surprised, for -I knew she had told us, on the occasion of her last party, that she never -had it in her house, it reminded her so much of scented soap. She always -gave us Savoy biscuits. However, Mrs Jamieson was kindly indulgent to -Miss Barker’s want of knowledge of the customs of high life; and, to -spare her feelings, ate three large pieces of seed-cake, with a placid, -ruminating expression of countenance, not unlike a cow’s. - -After tea there was some little demur and difficulty. We were six in -number; four could play at Preference, and for the other two there was -Cribbage. But all, except myself (I was rather afraid of the Cranford -ladies at cards, for it was the most earnest and serious business they -ever engaged in), were anxious to be of the “pool.” Even Miss Barker, -while declaring she did not know Spadille from Manille, was evidently -hankering to take a hand. The dilemma was soon put an end to by a -singular kind of noise. If a baron’s daughter-in-law could ever be -supposed to snore, I should have said Mrs Jamieson did so then; for, -overcome by the heat of the room, and inclined to doze by nature, the -temptation of that very comfortable arm-chair had been too much for her, -and Mrs Jamieson was nodding. Once or twice she opened her eyes with an -effort, and calmly but unconsciously smiled upon us; but by-and-by, even -her benevolence was not equal to this exertion, and she was sound asleep. - - [Picture: The temptation of the comfortable arm-chair had been too much - for her] - -“It is very gratifying to me,” whispered Miss Barker at the card-table to -her three opponents, whom, notwithstanding her ignorance of the game, she -was “basting” most unmercifully—“very gratifying indeed, to see how -completely Mrs Jamieson feels at home in my poor little dwelling; she -could not have paid me a greater compliment.” - -Miss Barker provided me with some literature in the shape of three or -four handsomely-bound fashion-books ten or twelve years old, observing, -as she put a little table and a candle for my especial benefit, that she -knew young people liked to look at pictures. Carlo lay and snorted, and -started at his mistress’s feet. He, too, was quite at home. - -The card-table was an animated scene to watch; four ladies’ heads, with -niddle-noddling caps, all nearly meeting over the middle of the table in -their eagerness to whisper quick enough and loud enough: and every now -and then came Miss Barker’s “Hush, ladies! if you please, hush! Mrs -Jamieson is asleep.” - -It was very difficult to steer clear between Mrs Forrester’s deafness and -Mrs Jamieson’s sleepiness. But Miss Barker managed her arduous task -well. She repeated the whisper to Mrs Forrester, distorting her face -considerably, in order to show, by the motions of her lips, what was -said; and then she smiled kindly all round at us, and murmured to -herself, “Very gratifying, indeed; I wish my poor sister had been alive -to see this day.” - -Presently the door was thrown wide open; Carlo started to his feet, with -a loud snapping bark, and Mrs Jamieson awoke: or, perhaps, she had not -been asleep—as she said almost directly, the room had been so light she -had been glad to keep her eyes shut, but had been listening with great -interest to all our amusing and agreeable conversation. Peggy came in -once more, red with importance. Another tray! “Oh, gentility!” thought -I, “can yon endure this last shock?” For Miss Barker had ordered (nay, I -doubt not, prepared, although she did say, “Why, Peggy, what have you -brought us?” and looked pleasantly surprised at the unexpected pleasure) -all sorts of good things for supper—scalloped oysters, potted lobsters, -jelly, a dish called “little Cupids” (which was in great favour with the -Cranford ladies, although too expensive to be given, except on solemn and -state occasions—macaroons sopped in brandy, I should have called it, if I -had not known its more refined and classical name). In short, we were -evidently to be feasted with all that was sweetest and best; and we -thought it better to submit graciously, even at the cost of our -gentility—which never ate suppers in general, but which, like most -non-supper-eaters, was particularly hungry on all special occasions. - -Miss Barker, in her former sphere, had, I daresay, been made acquainted -with the beverage they call cherry-brandy. We none of us had ever seen -such a thing, and rather shrank back when she proffered it us—“just a -little, leetle glass, ladies; after the oysters and lobsters, you know. -Shell-fish are sometimes thought not very wholesome.” We all shook our -heads like female mandarins; but, at last, Mrs Jamieson suffered herself -to be persuaded, and we followed her lead. It was not exactly -unpalatable, though so hot and so strong that we thought ourselves bound -to give evidence that we were not accustomed to such things by coughing -terribly—almost as strangely as Miss Barker had done, before we were -admitted by Peggy. - -“It’s very strong,” said Miss Pole, as she put down her empty glass; “I -do believe there’s spirit in it.” - -“Only a little drop—just necessary to make it keep,” said Miss Barker. -“You know we put brandy-pepper over our preserves to make them keep. I -often feel tipsy myself from eating damson tart.” - -I question whether damson tart would have opened Mrs Jamieson’s heart as -the cherry-brandy did; but she told us of a coming event, respecting -which she had been quite silent till that moment. - -“My sister-in-law, Lady Glenmire, is coming to stay with me.” - -There was a chorus of “Indeed!” and then a pause. Each one rapidly -reviewed her wardrobe, as to its fitness to appear in the presence of a -baron’s widow; for, of course, a series of small festivals were always -held in Cranford on the arrival of a visitor at any of our friends’ -houses. We felt very pleasantly excited on the present occasion. - -Not long after this the maids and the lanterns were announced. Mrs -Jamieson had the sedan-chair, which had squeezed itself into Miss -Barker’s narrow lobby with some difficulty, and most literally “stopped -the way.” It required some skilful manoeuvring on the part of the old -chairmen (shoemakers by day, but when summoned to carry the sedan dressed -up in a strange old livery—long great-coats, with small capes, coeval -with the sedan, and similar to the dress of the class in Hogarth’s -pictures) to edge, and back, and try at it again, and finally to succeed -in carrying their burden out of Miss Barker’s front door. Then we heard -their quick pit-a-pat along the quiet little street as we put on our -calashes and pinned up our gowns; Miss Barker hovering about us with -offers of help, which, if she had not remembered her former occupation, -and wished us to forget it, would have been much more pressing. - - - - -CHAPTER VIII—“YOUR LADYSHIP” - - -EARLY the next morning—directly after twelve—Miss Pole made her -appearance at Miss Matty’s. Some very trifling piece of business was -alleged as a reason for the call; but there was evidently something -behind. At last out it came. - -“By the way, you’ll think I’m strangely ignorant; but, do you really -know, I am puzzled how we ought to address Lady Glenmire. Do you say, -‘Your Ladyship,’ where you would say ‘you’ to a common person? I have -been puzzling all morning; and are we to say ‘My Lady,’ instead of -‘Ma’am?’ Now you knew Lady Arley—will you kindly tell me the most -correct way of speaking to the peerage?” - -Poor Miss Matty! she took off her spectacles and she put them on -again—but how Lady Arley was addressed, she could not remember. - -“It is so long ago,” she said. “Dear! dear! how stupid I am! I don’t -think I ever saw her more than twice. I know we used to call Sir Peter, -‘Sir Peter’—but he came much oftener to see us than Lady Arley did. -Deborah would have known in a minute. ‘My lady’—‘your ladyship.’ It -sounds very strange, and as if it was not natural. I never thought of it -before; but, now you have named it, I am all in a puzzle.” - -It was very certain Miss Pole would obtain no wise decision from Miss -Matty, who got more bewildered every moment, and more perplexed as to -etiquettes of address. - -“Well, I really think,” said Miss Pole, “I had better just go and tell -Mrs Forrester about our little difficulty. One sometimes grows nervous; -and yet one would not have Lady Glenmire think we were quite ignorant of -the etiquettes of high life in Cranford.” - -“And will you just step in here, dear Miss Pole, as you come back, -please, and tell me what you decide upon? Whatever you and Mrs Forrester -fix upon, will be quite right, I’m sure. ‘Lady Arley,’ ‘Sir Peter,’” -said Miss Matty to herself, trying to recall the old forms of words. - -“Who is Lady Glenmire?” asked I. - -“Oh, she’s the widow of Mr Jamieson—that’s Mrs Jamieson’s late husband, -you know—widow of his eldest brother. Mrs Jamieson was a Miss Walker, -daughter of Governor Walker. ‘Your ladyship.’ My dear, if they fix on -that way of speaking, you must just let me practice a little on you -first, for I shall feel so foolish and hot saying it the first time to -Lady Glenmire.” - -It was really a relief to Miss Matty when Mrs Jamieson came on a very -unpolite errand. I notice that apathetic people have more quiet -impertinence than others; and Mrs Jamieson came now to insinuate pretty -plainly that she did not particularly wish that the Cranford ladies -should call upon her sister-in-law. I can hardly say how she made this -clear; for I grew very indignant and warm, while with slow deliberation -she was explaining her wishes to Miss Matty, who, a true lady herself, -could hardly understand the feeling which made Mrs Jamieson wish to -appear to her noble sister-in-law as if she only visited “county” -families. Miss Matty remained puzzled and perplexed long after I had -found out the object of Mrs Jamieson’s visit. - -When she did understand the drift of the honourable lady’s call, it was -pretty to see with what quiet dignity she received the intimation thus -uncourteously given. She was not in the least hurt—she was of too gentle -a spirit for that; nor was she exactly conscious of disapproving of Mrs -Jamieson’s conduct; but there was something of this feeling in her mind, -I am sure, which made her pass from the subject to others in a less -flurried and more composed manner than usual. Mrs Jamieson was, indeed, -the more flurried of the two, and I could see she was glad to take her -leave. - -A little while afterwards Miss Pole returned, red and indignant. “Well! -to be sure! You’ve had Mrs Jamieson here, I find from Martha; and we are -not to call on Lady Glenmire. Yes! I met Mrs Jamieson, half-way between -here and Mrs Forrester’s, and she told me; she took me so by surprise, I -had nothing to say. I wish I had thought of something very sharp and -sarcastic; I dare say I shall to-night. And Lady Glenmire is but the -widow of a Scotch baron after all! I went on to look at Mrs Forrester’s -Peerage, to see who this lady was, that is to be kept under a glass case: -widow of a Scotch peer—never sat in the House of Lords—and as poor as -Job, I dare say; and she—fifth daughter of some Mr Campbell or other. -You are the daughter of a rector, at any rate, and related to the Arleys; -and Sir Peter might have been Viscount Arley, every one says.” - -Miss Matty tried to soothe Miss Pole, but in vain. That lady, usually so -kind and good-humoured, was now in a full flow of anger. - -“And I went and ordered a cap this morning, to be quite ready,” said she -at last, letting out the secret which gave sting to Mrs Jamieson’s -intimation. “Mrs Jamieson shall see if it is so easy to get me to make -fourth at a pool when she has none of her fine Scotch relations with -her!” - -In coming out of church, the first Sunday on which Lady Glenmire appeared -in Cranford, we sedulously talked together, and turned our backs on Mrs -Jamieson and her guest. If we might not call on her, we would not even -look at her, though we were dying with curiosity to know what she was -like. We had the comfort of questioning Martha in the afternoon. Martha -did not belong to a sphere of society whose observation could be an -implied compliment to Lady Glenmire, and Martha had made good use of her -eyes. - -“Well, ma’am! is it the little lady with Mrs Jamieson, you mean? I -thought you would like more to know how young Mrs Smith was dressed; her -being a bride.” (Mrs Smith was the butcher’s wife). - -Miss Pole said, “Good gracious me! as if we cared about a Mrs Smith;” but -was silent as Martha resumed her speech. - -“The little lady in Mrs Jamieson’s pew had on, ma’am, rather an old black -silk, and a shepherd’s plaid cloak, ma’am, and very bright black eyes she -had, ma’am, and a pleasant, sharp face; not over young, ma’am, but yet, I -should guess, younger than Mrs Jamieson herself. She looked up and down -the church, like a bird, and nipped up her petticoats, when she came out, -as quick and sharp as ever I see. I’ll tell you what, ma’am, she’s more -like Mrs Deacon, at the ‘Coach and Horses,’ nor any one.” - -“Hush, Martha!” said Miss Matty, “that’s not respectful.” - -“Isn’t it, ma’am? I beg pardon, I’m sure; but Jem Hearn said so as well. -He said, she was just such a sharp, stirring sort of a body”— - -“Lady,” said Miss Pole. - -“Lady—as Mrs Deacon.” - -Another Sunday passed away, and we still averted our eyes from Mrs -Jamieson and her guest, and made remarks to ourselves that we thought -were very severe—almost too much so. Miss Matty was evidently uneasy at -our sarcastic manner of speaking. - -Perhaps by this time Lady Glenmire had found out that Mrs Jamieson’s was -not the gayest, liveliest house in the world; perhaps Mrs Jamieson had -found out that most of the county families were in London, and that those -who remained in the country were not so alive as they might have been to -the circumstance of Lady Glenmire being in their neighbourhood. Great -events spring out of small causes; so I will not pretend to say what -induced Mrs Jamieson to alter her determination of excluding the Cranford -ladies, and send notes of invitation all round for a small party on the -following Tuesday. Mr Mulliner himself brought them round. He _would_ -always ignore the fact of there being a back-door to any house, and gave -a louder rat-tat than his mistress, Mrs Jamieson. He had three little -notes, which he carried in a large basket, in order to impress his -mistress with an idea of their great weight, though they might easily -have gone into his waistcoat pocket. - -Miss Matty and I quietly decided that we would have a previous engagement -at home: it was the evening on which Miss Matty usually made -candle-lighters of all the notes and letters of the week; for on Mondays -her accounts were always made straight—not a penny owing from the week -before; so, by a natural arrangement, making candle-lighters fell upon a -Tuesday evening, and gave us a legitimate excuse for declining Mrs -Jamieson’s invitation. But before our answer was written, in came Miss -Pole, with an open note in her hand. - -“So!” she said. “Ah! I see you have got your note, too. Better late -than never. I could have told my Lady Glenmire she would be glad enough -of our society before a fortnight was over.” - -“Yes,” said Miss Matty, “we’re asked for Tuesday evening. And perhaps -you would just kindly bring your work across and drink tea with us that -night. It is my usual regular time for looking over the last week’s -bills, and notes, and letters, and making candle-lighters of them; but -that does not seem quite reason enough for saying I have a previous -engagement at home, though I meant to make it do. Now, if you would -come, my conscience would be quite at ease, and luckily the note is not -written yet.” - -I saw Miss Pole’s countenance change while Miss Matty was speaking. - -“Don’t you mean to go then?” asked she. - -“Oh, no!” said, Miss Matty quietly. “You don’t either, I suppose?” - -“I don’t know,” replied Miss Pole. “Yes, I think I do,” said she, rather -briskly; and on seeing Miss Matty look surprised, she added, “You see, -one would not like Mrs Jamieson to think that anything she could do, or -say, was of consequence enough to give offence; it would be a kind of -letting down of ourselves, that I, for one, should not like. It would be -too flattering to Mrs Jamieson if we allowed her to suppose that what she -had said affected us a week, nay ten days afterwards.” - -“Well! I suppose it is wrong to be hurt and annoyed so long about -anything; and, perhaps, after all, she did not mean to vex us. But I -must say, I could not have brought myself to say the things Mrs Jamieson -did about our not calling. I really don’t think I shall go.” - -“Oh, come! Miss Matty, you must go; you know our friend Mrs Jamieson is -much more phlegmatic than most people, and does not enter into the little -delicacies of feeling which you possess in so remarkable a degree.” - -“I thought you possessed them, too, that day Mrs Jamieson called to tell -us not to go,” said Miss Matty innocently. - -But Miss Pole, in addition to her delicacies of feeling, possessed a very -smart cap, which she was anxious to show to an admiring world; and so she -seemed to forget all her angry words uttered not a fortnight before, and -to be ready to act on what she called the great Christian principle of -“Forgive and forget”; and she lectured dear Miss Matty so long on this -head that she absolutely ended by assuring her it was her duty, as a -deceased rector’s daughter, to buy a new cap and go to the party at Mrs -Jamieson’s. So “we were most happy to accept,” instead of “regretting -that we were obliged to decline.” - - [Picture: Mr Mulliner] - -The expenditure on dress in Cranford was principally in that one article -referred to. If the heads were buried in smart new caps, the ladies were -like ostriches, and cared not what became of their bodies. Old gowns, -white and venerable collars, any number of brooches, up and down and -everywhere (some with dogs’ eyes painted in them; some that were like -small picture-frames with mausoleums and weeping-willows neatly executed -in hair inside; some, again, with miniatures of ladies and gentlemen -sweetly smiling out of a nest of stiff muslin), old brooches for a -permanent ornament, and new caps to suit the fashion of the day—the -ladies of Cranford always dressed with chaste elegance and propriety, as -Miss Barker once prettily expressed it. - -And with three new caps, and a greater array of brooches than had ever -been seen together at one time since Cranford was a town, did Mrs -Forrester, and Miss Matty, and Miss Pole appear on that memorable Tuesday -evening. I counted seven brooches myself on Miss Pole’s dress. Two were -fixed negligently in her cap (one was a butterfly made of Scotch pebbles, -which a vivid imagination might believe to be the real insect); one -fastened her net neckerchief; one her collar; one ornamented the front of -her gown, midway between her throat and waist; and another adorned the -point of her stomacher. Where the seventh was I have forgotten, but it -was somewhere about her, I am sure. - -But I am getting on too fast, in describing the dresses of the company. -I should first relate the gathering on the way to Mrs Jamieson’s. That -lady lived in a large house just outside the town. A road which had -known what it was to be a street ran right before the house, which opened -out upon it without any intervening garden or court. Whatever the sun -was about, he never shone on the front of that house. To be sure, the -living-rooms were at the back, looking on to a pleasant garden; the front -windows only belonged to kitchens and housekeepers’ rooms, and pantries, -and in one of them Mr Mulliner was reported to sit. Indeed, looking -askance, we often saw the back of a head covered with hair powder, which -also extended itself over his coat-collar down to his very waist; and -this imposing back was always engaged in reading the _St James’s -Chronicle_, opened wide, which, in some degree, accounted for the length -of time the said newspaper was in reaching us—equal subscribers with Mrs -Jamieson, though, in right of her honourableness, she always had the -reading of it first. This very Tuesday, the delay in forwarding the last -number had been particularly aggravating; just when both Miss Pole and -Miss Matty, the former more especially, had been wanting to see it, in -order to coach up the Court news ready for the evening’s interview with -aristocracy. Miss Pole told us she had absolutely taken time by the -forelock, and been dressed by five o’clock, in order to be ready if the -_St James’s Chronicle_ should come in at the last moment—the very _St -James’s Chronicle_ which the powdered head was tranquilly and composedly -reading as we passed the accustomed window this evening. - -“The impudence of the man!” said Miss Pole, in a low indignant whisper. -“I should like to ask him whether his mistress pays her quarter-share for -his exclusive use.” - -We looked at her in admiration of the courage of her thought; for Mr -Mulliner was an object of great awe to all of us. He seemed never to -have forgotten his condescension in coming to live at Cranford. Miss -Jenkyns, at times, had stood forth as the undaunted champion of her sex, -and spoken to him on terms of equality; but even Miss Jenkyns could get -no higher. In his pleasantest and most gracious moods he looked like a -sulky cockatoo. He did not speak except in gruff monosyllables. He -would wait in the hall when we begged him not to wait, and then look -deeply offended because we had kept him there, while, with trembling, -hasty hands we prepared ourselves for appearing in company. - -Miss Pole ventured on a small joke as we went upstairs, intended, though -addressed to us, to afford Mr Mulliner some slight amusement. We all -smiled, in order to seem as if we felt at our ease, and timidly looked -for Mr Mulliner’s sympathy. Not a muscle of that wooden face had -relaxed; and we were grave in an instant. - -Mrs Jamieson’s drawing-room was cheerful; the evening sun came streaming -into it, and the large square window was clustered round with flowers. -The furniture was white and gold; not the later style, Louis Quatorze, I -think they call it, all shells and twirls; no, Mrs Jamieson’s chairs and -tables had not a curve or bend about them. The chair and table legs -diminished as they neared the ground, and were straight and square in all -their corners. The chairs were all a-row against the walls, with the -exception of four or five which stood in a circle round the fire. They -were railed with white bars across the back and knobbed with gold; -neither the railings nor the knobs invited to ease. There was a japanned -table devoted to literature, on which lay a Bible, a Peerage, and a -Prayer-Book. There was another square Pembroke table dedicated to the -Fine Arts, on which were a kaleidoscope, conversation-cards, puzzle-cards -(tied together to an interminable length with faded pink satin ribbon), -and a box painted in fond imitation of the drawings which decorate -tea-chests. Carlo lay on the worsted-worked rug, and ungraciously barked -at us as we entered. Mrs Jamieson stood up, giving us each a torpid -smile of welcome, and looking helplessly beyond us at Mr Mulliner, as if -she hoped he would place us in chairs, for, if he did not, she never -could. I suppose he thought we could find our way to the circle round -the fire, which reminded me of Stonehenge, I don’t know why. Lady -Glenmire came to the rescue of our hostess, and, somehow or other, we -found ourselves for the first time placed agreeably, and not formally, in -Mrs Jamieson’s house. Lady Glenmire, now we had time to look at her, -proved to be a bright little woman of middle age, who had been very -pretty in the days of her youth, and who was even yet very -pleasant-looking. I saw Miss Pole appraising her dress in the first five -minutes, and I take her word when she said the next day— - -“My dear! ten pounds would have purchased every stitch she had on—lace -and all.” - -It was pleasant to suspect that a peeress could be poor, and partly -reconciled us to the fact that her husband had never sat in the House of -Lords; which, when we first heard of it, seemed a kind of swindling us -out of our prospects on false pretences; a sort of “A Lord and No Lord” -business. - -We were all very silent at first. We were thinking what we could talk -about, that should be high enough to interest My Lady. There had been a -rise in the price of sugar, which, as preserving-time was near, was a -piece of intelligence to all our house-keeping hearts, and would have -been the natural topic if Lady Glenmire had not been by. But we were not -sure if the peerage ate preserves—much less knew how they were made. At -last, Miss Pole, who had always a great deal of courage and _savoir -faire_, spoke to Lady Glenmire, who on her part had seemed just as much -puzzled to know how to break the silence as we were. - -“Has your ladyship been to Court lately?” asked she; and then gave a -little glance round at us, half timid and half triumphant, as much as to -say, “See how judiciously I have chosen a subject befitting the rank of -the stranger.” - -“I never was there in my life,” said Lady Glenmire, with a broad Scotch -accent, but in a very sweet voice. And then, as if she had been too -abrupt, she added: “We very seldom went to London—only twice, in fact, -during all my married life; and before I was married my father had far -too large a family” (fifth daughter of Mr Campbell was in all our minds, -I am sure) “to take us often from our home, even to Edinburgh. Ye’ll -have been in Edinburgh, maybe?” said she, suddenly brightening up with -the hope of a common interest. We had none of us been there; but Miss -Pole had an uncle who once had passed a night there, which was very -pleasant. - -Mrs Jamieson, meanwhile, was absorbed in wonder why Mr Mulliner did not -bring the tea; and at length the wonder oozed out of her mouth. - -“I had better ring the bell, my dear, had not I?” said Lady Glenmire -briskly. - -“No—I think not—Mulliner does not like to be hurried.” - -We should have liked our tea, for we dined at an earlier hour than Mrs -Jamieson. I suspect Mr Mulliner had to finish the _St James’s Chronicle_ -before he chose to trouble himself about tea. His mistress fidgeted and -fidgeted, and kept saying, “I can’t think why Mulliner does not bring -tea. I can’t think what he can be about.” And Lady Glenmire at last -grew quite impatient, but it was a pretty kind of impatience after all; -and she rang the bell rather sharply, on receiving a half-permission from -her sister-in-law to do so. Mr Mulliner appeared in dignified surprise. -“Oh!” said Mrs Jamieson, “Lady Glenmire rang the bell; I believe it was -for tea.” - -In a few minutes tea was brought. Very delicate was the china, very old -the plate, very thin the bread and butter, and very small the lumps of -sugar. Sugar was evidently Mrs Jamieson’s favourite economy. I question -if the little filigree sugar-tongs, made something like scissors, could -have opened themselves wide enough to take up an honest, vulgar -good-sized piece; and when I tried to seize two little minnikin pieces at -once, so as not to be detected in too many returns to the sugar-basin, -they absolutely dropped one, with a little sharp clatter, quite in a -malicious and unnatural manner. But before this happened we had had a -slight disappointment. In the little silver jug was cream, in the larger -one was milk. As soon as Mr Mulliner came in, Carlo began to beg, which -was a thing our manners forebade us to do, though I am sure we were just -as hungry; and Mrs Jamieson said she was certain we would excuse her if -she gave her poor dumb Carlo his tea first. She accordingly mixed a -saucerful for him, and put it down for him to lap; and then she told us -how intelligent and sensible the dear little fellow was; he knew cream -quite well, and constantly refused tea with only milk in it: so the milk -was left for us; but we silently thought we were quite as intelligent and -sensible as Carlo, and felt as if insult were added to injury when we -were called upon to admire the gratitude evinced by his wagging his tail -for the cream which should have been ours. - -After tea we thawed down into common-life subjects. We were thankful to -Lady Glenmire for having proposed some more bread and butter, and this -mutual want made us better acquainted with her than we should ever have -been with talking about the Court, though Miss Pole did say she had hoped -to know how the dear Queen was from some one who had seen her. - -The friendship begun over bread and butter extended on to cards. Lady -Glenmire played Preference to admiration, and was a complete authority as -to Ombre and Quadrille. Even Miss Pole quite forgot to say “my lady,” -and “your ladyship,” and said “Basto! ma’am”; “you have Spadille, I -believe,” just as quietly as if we had never held the great Cranford -Parliament on the subject of the proper mode of addressing a peeress. - -As a proof of how thoroughly we had forgotten that we were in the -presence of one who might have sat down to tea with a coronet, instead of -a cap, on her head, Mrs Forrester related a curious little fact to Lady -Glenmire—an anecdote known to the circle of her intimate friends, but of -which even Mrs Jamieson was not aware. It related to some fine old lace, -the sole relic of better days, which Lady Glenmire was admiring on Mrs -Forrester’s collar. - -“Yes,” said that lady, “such lace cannot be got now for either love or -money; made by the nuns abroad, they tell me. They say that they can’t -make it now even there. But perhaps they can, now they’ve passed the -Catholic Emancipation Bill. I should not wonder. But, in the meantime, -I treasure up my lace very much. I daren’t even trust the washing of it -to my maid” (the little charity school-girl I have named before, but who -sounded well as “my maid”). “I always wash it myself. And once it had a -narrow escape. Of course, your ladyship knows that such lace must never -be starched or ironed. Some people wash it in sugar and water, and some -in coffee, to make it the right yellow colour; but I myself have a very -good receipt for washing it in milk, which stiffens it enough, and gives -it a very good creamy colour. Well, ma’am, I had tacked it together (and -the beauty of this fine lace is that, when it is wet, it goes into a very -little space), and put it to soak in milk, when, unfortunately, I left -the room; on my return, I found pussy on the table, looking very like a -thief, but gulping very uncomfortably, as if she was half-chocked with -something she wanted to swallow and could not. And, would you believe -it? At first I pitied her, and said ‘Poor pussy! poor pussy!’ till, all -at once, I looked and saw the cup of milk empty—cleaned out! ‘You -naughty cat!’ said I, and I believe I was provoked enough to give her a -slap, which did no good, but only helped the lace down—just as one slaps -a choking child on the back. I could have cried, I was so vexed; but I -determined I would not give the lace up without a struggle for it. I -hoped the lace might disagree with her, at any rate; but it would have -been too much for Job, if he had seen, as I did, that cat come in, quite -placid and purring, not a quarter of an hour after, and almost expecting -to be stroked. ‘No, pussy!’ said I, ‘if you have any conscience you -ought not to expect that!’ And then a thought struck me; and I rang the -bell for my maid, and sent her to Mr Hoggins, with my compliments, and -would he be kind enough to lend me one of his top-boots for an hour? I -did not think there was anything odd in the message; but Jenny said the -young men in the surgery laughed as if they would be ill at my wanting a -top-boot. When it came, Jenny and I put pussy in, with her forefeet -straight down, so that they were fastened, and could not scratch, and we -gave her a teaspoonful of current-jelly in which (your ladyship must -excuse me) I had mixed some tartar emetic. I shall never forget how -anxious I was for the next half-hour. I took pussy to my own room, and -spread a clean towel on the floor. I could have kissed her when she -returned the lace to sight, very much as it had gone down. Jenny had -boiling water ready, and we soaked it and soaked it, and spread it on a -lavender-bush in the sun before I could touch it again, even to put it in -milk. But now your ladyship would never guess that it had been in -pussy’s inside.” - - [Picture: We gave her a teaspoonful of current-jelly] - -We found out, in the course of the evening, that Lady Glenmire was going -to pay Mrs Jamieson a long visit, as she had given up her apartments in -Edinburgh, and had no ties to take her back there in a hurry. On the -whole, we were rather glad to hear this, for she had made a pleasant -impression upon us; and it was also very comfortable to find, from things -which dropped out in the course of conversation, that, in addition to -many other genteel qualities, she was far removed from the “vulgarity of -wealth.” - -“Don’t you find it very unpleasant walking?” asked Mrs Jamieson, as our -respective servants were announced. It was a pretty regular question -from Mrs Jamieson, who had her own carriage in the coach-house, and -always went out in a sedan-chair to the very shortest distances. The -answers were nearly as much a matter of course. - -“Oh dear, no! it is so pleasant and still at night!” “Such a refreshment -after the excitement of a party!” “The stars are so beautiful!” This -last was from Miss Matty. - -“Are you fond of astronomy?” Lady Glenmire asked. - -“Not very,” replied Miss Matty, rather confused at the moment to remember -which was astronomy and which was astrology—but the answer was true under -either circumstance, for she read, and was slightly alarmed at Francis -Moore’s astrological predictions; and, as to astronomy, in a private and -confidential conversation, she had told me she never could believe that -the earth was moving constantly, and that she would not believe it if she -could, it made her feel so tired and dizzy whenever she thought about it. - -In our pattens we picked our way home with extra care that night, so -refined and delicate were our perceptions after drinking tea with “my -lady.” - - - - -CHAPTER IX—SIGNOR BRUNONI - - -SOON after the events of which I gave an account in my last paper, I was -summoned home by my father’s illness; and for a time I forgot, in anxiety -about him, to wonder how my dear friends at Cranford were getting on, or -how Lady Glenmire could reconcile herself to the dulness of the long -visit which she was still paying to her sister-in-law, Mrs Jamieson. -When my father grew a little stronger I accompanied him to the seaside, -so that altogether I seemed banished from Cranford, and was deprived of -the opportunity of hearing any chance intelligence of the dear little -town for the greater part of that year. - -Late in November—when we had returned home again, and my father was once -more in good health—I received a letter from Miss Matty; and a very -mysterious letter it was. She began many sentences without ending them, -running them one into another, in much the same confused sort of way in -which written words run together on blotting-paper. All I could make out -was that, if my father was better (which she hoped he was), and would -take warning and wear a great-coat from Michaelmas to Lady-day, if -turbans were in fashion, could I tell her? Such a piece of gaiety was -going to happen as had not been seen or known of since Wombwell’s lions -came, when one of them ate a little child’s arm; and she was, perhaps, -too old to care about dress, but a new cap she must have; and, having -heard that turbans were worn, and some of the county families likely to -come, she would like to look tidy, if I would bring her a cap from the -milliner I employed; and oh, dear! how careless of her to forget that she -wrote to beg I would come and pay her a visit next Tuesday; when she -hoped to have something to offer me in the way of amusement, which she -would not now more particularly describe, only sea-green was her -favourite colour. So she ended her letter; but in a P.S. she added, she -thought she might as well tell me what was the peculiar attraction to -Cranford just now; Signor Brunoni was going to exhibit his wonderful -magic in the Cranford Assembly Rooms on Wednesday and Friday evening in -the following week. - -I was very glad to accept the invitation from my dear Miss Matty, -independently of the conjuror, and most particularly anxious to prevent -her from disfiguring her small, gentle, mousey face with a great -Saracen’s head turban; and accordingly, I bought her a pretty, neat, -middle-aged cap, which, however, was rather a disappointment to her when, -on my arrival, she followed me into my bedroom, ostensibly to poke the -fire, but in reality, I do believe, to see if the sea-green turban was -not inside the cap-box with which I had travelled. It was in vain that I -twirled the cap round on my hand to exhibit back and side fronts: her -heart had been set upon a turban, and all she could do was to say, with -resignation in her look and voice— - -“I am sure you did your best, my dear. It is just like the caps all the -ladies in Cranford are wearing, and they have had theirs for a year, I -dare say. I should have liked something newer, I confess—something more -like the turbans Miss Betty Barker tells me Queen Adelaide wears; but it -is very pretty, my dear. And I dare say lavender will wear better than -sea-green. Well, after all, what is dress, that we should care anything -about it? You’ll tell me if you want anything, my dear. Here is the -bell. I suppose turbans have not got down to Drumble yet?” - -So saying, the dear old lady gently bemoaned herself out of the room, -leaving me to dress for the evening, when, as she informed me, she -expected Miss Pole and Mrs Forrester, and she hoped I should not feel -myself too much tired to join the party. Of course I should not; and I -made some haste to unpack and arrange my dress; but, with all my speed, I -heard the arrivals and the buzz of conversation in the next room before I -was ready. Just as I opened the door, I caught the words, “I was foolish -to expect anything very genteel out of the Drumble shops; poor girl! she -did her best, I’ve no doubt.” But, for all that, I had rather that she -blamed Drumble and me than disfigured herself with a turban. - -Miss Pole was always the person, in the trio of Cranford ladies now -assembled, to have had adventures. She was in the habit of spending the -morning in rambling from shop to shop, not to purchase anything (except -an occasional reel of cotton or a piece of tape), but to see the new -articles and report upon them, and to collect all the stray pieces of -intelligence in the town. She had a way, too, of demurely popping hither -and thither into all sorts of places to gratify her curiosity on any -point—a way which, if she had not looked so very genteel and prim, might -have been considered impertinent. And now, by the expressive way in -which she cleared her throat, and waited for all minor subjects (such as -caps and turbans) to be cleared off the course, we knew she had something -very particular to relate, when the due pause came—and I defy any people -possessed of common modesty to keep up a conversation long, where one -among them sits up aloft in silence, looking down upon all the things -they chance to say as trivial and contemptible compared to what they -could disclose, if properly entreated. Miss Pole began— - -“As I was stepping out of Gordon’s shop to-day, I chanced to go into the -‘George’ (my Betty has a second-cousin who is chambermaid there, and I -thought Betty would like to hear how she was), and, not seeing anyone -about, I strolled up the staircase, and found myself in the passage -leading to the Assembly Room (you and I remember the Assembly Room, I am -sure, Miss Matty! and the minuets de la cour!); so I went on, not -thinking of what I was about, when, all at once, I perceived that I was -in the middle of the preparations for to-morrow night—the room being -divided with great clothes-maids, over which Crosby’s men were tacking -red flannel; very dark and odd it seemed; it quite bewildered me, and I -was going on behind the screens, in my absence of mind, when a gentleman -(quite the gentleman, I can assure you) stepped forwards and asked if I -had any business he could arrange for me. He spoke such pretty broken -English, I could not help thinking of Thaddeus of Warsaw, and the -Hungarian Brothers, and Santo Sebastiani; and while I was busy picturing -his past life to myself, he had bowed me out of the room. But wait a -minute! You have not heard half my story yet! I was going downstairs, -when who should I meet but Betty’s second-cousin. So, of course, I -stopped to speak to her for Betty’s sake; and she told me that I had -really seen the conjuror—the gentleman who spoke broken English was -Signor Brunoni himself. Just at this moment he passed us on the stairs, -making such a graceful bow! in reply to which I dropped a curtsey—all -foreigners have such polite manners, one catches something of it. But -when he had gone downstairs, I bethought me that I had dropped my glove -in the Assembly Room (it was safe in my muff all the time, but I never -found it till afterwards); so I went back, and, just as I was creeping up -the passage left on one side of the great screen that goes nearly across -the room, who should I see but the very same gentleman that had met me -before, and passed me on the stairs, coming now forwards from the inner -part of the room, to which there is no entrance—you remember, Miss -Matty—and just repeating, in his pretty broken English, the inquiry if I -had any business there—I don’t mean that he put it quite so bluntly, but -he seemed very determined that I should not pass the screen—so, of -course, I explained about my glove, which, curiously enough, I found at -that very moment.” - -Miss Pole, then, had seen the conjuror—the real, live conjuror! and -numerous were the questions we all asked her. “Had he a beard?” “Was he -young, or old?” “Fair, or dark?” “Did he look”—(unable to shape my -question prudently, I put it in another form)—“How did he look?” In -short, Miss Pole was the heroine of the evening, owing to her morning’s -encounter. If she was not the rose (that is to say the conjuror) she had -been near it. - -Conjuration, sleight of hand, magic, witchcraft, were the subjects of the -evening. Miss Pole was slightly sceptical, and inclined to think there -might be a scientific solution found for even the proceedings of the -Witch of Endor. Mrs Forrester believed everything, from ghosts to -death-watches. Miss Matty ranged between the two—always convinced by the -last speaker. I think she was naturally more inclined to Mrs Forrester’s -side, but a desire of proving herself a worthy sister to Miss Jenkyns -kept her equally balanced—Miss Jenkyns, who would never allow a servant -to call the little rolls of tallow that formed themselves round candles -“winding-sheets,” but insisted on their being spoken of as -“roley-poleys!” A sister of hers to be superstitious! It would never -do. - -After tea, I was despatched downstairs into the dining-parlour for that -volume of the old Encyclopædia which contained the nouns beginning with -C, in order that Miss Pole might prime herself with scientific -explanations for the tricks of the following evening. It spoilt the pool -at Preference which Miss Matty and Mrs Forrester had been looking forward -to, for Miss Pole became so much absorbed in her subject, and the plates -by which it was illustrated, that we felt it would be cruel to disturb -her otherwise than by one or two well-timed yawns, which I threw in now -and then, for I was really touched by the meek way in which the two -ladies were bearing their disappointment. But Miss Pole only read the -more zealously, imparting to us no more information than this— - -“Ah! I see; I comprehend perfectly. A represents the ball. Put A -between B and D—no! between C and F, and turn the second joint of the -third finger of your left hand over the wrist of your right H. Very -clear indeed! My dear Mrs Forrester, conjuring and witchcraft is a mere -affair of the alphabet. Do let me read you this one passage?” - -Mrs Forrester implored Miss Pole to spare her, saying, from a child -upwards, she never could understand being read aloud to; and I dropped -the pack of cards, which I had been shuffling very audibly, and by this -discreet movement I obliged Miss Pole to perceive that Preference was to -have been the order of the evening, and to propose, rather unwillingly, -that the pool should commence. The pleasant brightness that stole over -the other two ladies’ faces on this! Miss Matty had one or two twinges -of self-reproach for having interrupted Miss Pole in her studies: and did -not remember her cards well, or give her full attention to the game, -until she had soothed her conscience by offering to lend the volume of -the Encyclopædia to Miss Pole, who accepted it thankfully, and said Betty -should take it home when she came with the lantern. - -The next evening we were all in a little gentle flutter at the idea of -the gaiety before us. Miss Matty went up to dress betimes, and hurried -me until I was ready, when we found we had an hour-and-a-half to wait -before the “doors opened at seven precisely.” And we had only twenty -yards to go! However, as Miss Matty said, it would not do to get too -much absorbed in anything, and forget the time; so she thought we had -better sit quietly, without lighting the candles, till five minutes to -seven. So Miss Matty dozed, and I knitted. - -At length we set off; and at the door under the carriage-way at the -“George,” we met Mrs Forrester and Miss Pole: the latter was discussing -the subject of the evening with more vehemence than ever, and throwing -X’s and B’s at our heads like hailstones. She had even copied one or two -of the “receipts”—as she called them—for the different tricks, on backs -of letters, ready to explain and to detect Signor Brunoni’s arts. - -We went into the cloak-room adjoining the Assembly Room; Miss Matty gave -a sigh or two to her departed youth, and the remembrance of the last time -she had been there, as she adjusted her pretty new cap before the -strange, quaint old mirror in the cloak-room. The Assembly Room had been -added to the inn, about a hundred years before, by the different county -families, who met together there once a month during the winter to dance -and play at cards. Many a county beauty had first swung through the -minuet that she afterwards danced before Queen Charlotte in this very -room. It was said that one of the Gunnings had graced the apartment with -her beauty; it was certain that a rich and beautiful widow, Lady -Williams, had here been smitten with the noble figure of a young artist, -who was staying with some family in the neighbourhood for professional -purposes, and accompanied his patrons to the Cranford Assembly. And a -pretty bargain poor Lady Williams had of her handsome husband, if all -tales were true. Now, no beauty blushed and dimpled along the sides of -the Cranford Assembly Room; no handsome artist won hearts by his bow, -_chapeau bras_ in hand; the old room was dingy; the salmon-coloured paint -had faded into a drab; great pieces of plaster had chipped off from the -fine wreaths and festoons on its walls; but still a mouldy odour of -aristocracy lingered about the place, and a dusty recollection of the -days that were gone made Miss Matty and Mrs Forrester bridle up as they -entered, and walk mincingly up the room, as if there were a number of -genteel observers, instead of two little boys with a stick of toffee -between them with which to beguile the time. - -We stopped short at the second front row; I could hardly understand why, -until I heard Miss Pole ask a stray waiter if any of the county families -were expected; and when he shook his head, and believed not, Mrs -Forrester and Miss Matty moved forwards, and our party represented a -conversational square. The front row was soon augmented and enriched by -Lady Glenmire and Mrs Jamieson. We six occupied the two front rows, and -our aristocratic seclusion was respected by the groups of shop-keepers -who strayed in from time to time and huddled together on the back -benches. At least I conjectured so, from the noise they made, and the -sonorous bumps they gave in sitting down; but when, in weariness of the -obstinate green curtain that would not draw up, but would stare at me -with two odd eyes, seen through holes, as in the old tapestry story, I -would fain have looked round at the merry chattering people behind me, -Miss Pole clutched my arm, and begged me not to turn, for “it was not the -thing.” What “the thing” was, I never could find out, but it must have -been something eminently dull and tiresome. However, we all sat eyes -right, square front, gazing at the tantalising curtain, and hardly -speaking intelligibly, we were so afraid of being caught in the vulgarity -of making any noise in a place of public amusement. Mrs Jamieson was the -most fortunate, for she fell asleep. - -At length the eyes disappeared—the curtain quivered—one side went up -before the other, which stuck fast; it was dropped again, and, with a -fresh effort, and a vigorous pull from some unseen hand, it flew up, -revealing to our sight a magnificent gentleman in the Turkish costume, -seated before a little table, gazing at us (I should have said with the -same eyes that I had last seen through the hole in the curtain) with calm -and condescending dignity, “like a being of another sphere,” as I heard a -sentimental voice ejaculate behind me. - -“That’s not Signor Brunoni!” said Miss Pole decidedly; and so audibly -that I am sure he heard, for he glanced down over his flowing beard at -our party with an air of mute reproach. “Signor Brunoni had no beard—but -perhaps he’ll come soon.” So she lulled herself into patience. -Meanwhile, Miss Matty had reconnoitred through her eye-glass, wiped it, -and looked again. Then she turned round, and said to me, in a kind, -mild, sorrowful tone— - -“You see, my dear, turbans _are_ worn.” - -But we had no time for more conversation. The Grand Turk, as Miss Pole -chose to call him, arose and announced himself as Signor Brunoni. - -“I don’t believe him!” exclaimed Miss Pole, in a defiant manner. He -looked at her again, with the same dignified upbraiding in his -countenance. “I don’t!” she repeated more positively than ever. “Signor -Brunoni had not got that muffy sort of thing about his chin, but looked -like a close-shaved Christian gentleman.” - -Miss Pole’s energetic speeches had the good effect of wakening up Mrs -Jamieson, who opened her eyes wide, in sign of the deepest attention—a -proceeding which silenced Miss Pole and encouraged the Grand Turk to -proceed, which he did in very broken English—so broken that there was no -cohesion between the parts of his sentences; a fact which he himself -perceived at last, and so left off speaking and proceeded to action. - -Now we _were_ astonished. How he did his tricks I could not imagine; no, -not even when Miss Pole pulled out her pieces of paper and began reading -aloud—or at least in a very audible whisper—the separate “receipts” for -the most common of his tricks. If ever I saw a man frown and look -enraged, I saw the Grand Turk frown at Miss Pole; but, as she said, what -could be expected but unchristian looks from a Mussulman? If Miss Pole -were sceptical, and more engrossed with her receipts and diagrams than -with his tricks, Miss Matty and Mrs Forrester were mystified and -perplexed to the highest degree. Mrs Jamieson kept taking her spectacles -off and wiping them, as if she thought it was something defective in them -which made the legerdemain; and Lady Glenmire, who had seen many curious -sights in Edinburgh, was very much struck with the tricks, and would not -at all agree with Miss Pole, who declared that anybody could do them with -a little practice, and that she would, herself, undertake to do all he -did, with two hours given to study the Encyclopædia and make her third -finger flexible. - -At last Miss Matty and Mrs Forrester became perfectly awestricken. They -whispered together. I sat just behind them, so I could not help hearing -what they were saying. Miss Matty asked Mrs Forrester “if she thought it -was quite right to have come to see such things? She could not help -fearing they were lending encouragement to something that was not quite”— -A little shake of the head filled up the blank. Mrs Forrester replied, -that the same thought had crossed her mind; she too was feeling very -uncomfortable, it was so very strange. She was quite certain that it was -her pocket-handkerchief which was in that loaf just now; and it had been -in her own hand not five minutes before. She wondered who had furnished -the bread? She was sure it could not be Dakin, because he was the -churchwarden. Suddenly Miss Matty half-turned towards me— - -“Will you look, my dear—you are a stranger in the town, and it won’t give -rise to unpleasant reports—will you just look round and see if the rector -is here? If he is, I think we may conclude that this wonderful man is -sanctioned by the Church, and that will be a great relief to my mind.” - -I looked, and I saw the tall, thin, dry, dusty rector, sitting surrounded -by National School boys, guarded by troops of his own sex from any -approach of the many Cranford spinsters. His kind face was all agape -with broad smiles, and the boys around him were in chinks of laughing. I -told Miss Matty that the Church was smiling approval, which set her mind -at ease. - - [Picture: Afraid of matrimonial reports] - -I have never named Mr Hayter, the rector, because I, as a well-to-do and -happy young woman, never came in contact with him. He was an old -bachelor, but as afraid of matrimonial reports getting abroad about him -as any girl of eighteen: and he would rush into a shop or dive down an -entry, sooner than encounter any of the Cranford ladies in the street; -and, as for the Preference parties, I did not wonder at his not accepting -invitations to them. To tell the truth, I always suspected Miss Pole of -having given very vigorous chase to Mr Hayter when he first came to -Cranford; and not the less, because now she appeared to share so vividly -in his dread lest her name should ever be coupled with his. He found all -his interests among the poor and helpless; he had treated the National -School boys this very night to the performance; and virtue was for once -its own reward, for they guarded him right and left, and clung round him -as if he had been the queen-bee and they the swarm. He felt so safe in -their environment that he could even afford to give our party a bow as we -filed out. Miss Pole ignored his presence, and pretended to be absorbed -in convincing us that we had been cheated, and had not seen Signor -Brunoni after all. - - - - -CHAPTER X—THE PANIC - - -I THINK a series of circumstances dated from Signor Brunoni’s visit to -Cranford, which seemed at the time connected in our minds with him, -though I don’t know that he had anything really to do with them. All at -once all sorts of uncomfortable rumours got afloat in the town. There -were one or two robberies—real _bonâ fide_ robberies; men had up before -the magistrates and committed for trial—and that seemed to make us all -afraid of being robbed; and for a long time, at Miss Matty’s, I know, we -used to make a regular expedition all round the kitchens and cellars -every night, Miss Matty leading the way, armed with the poker, I -following with the hearth-brush, and Martha carrying the shovel and -fire-irons with which to sound the alarm; and by the accidental hitting -together of them she often frightened us so much that we bolted ourselves -up, all three together, in the back-kitchen, or store-room, or wherever -we happened to be, till, when our affright was over, we recollected -ourselves and set out afresh with double valiance. By day we heard -strange stories from the shopkeepers and cottagers, of carts that went -about in the dead of night, drawn by horses shod with felt, and guarded -by men in dark clothes, going round the town, no doubt in search of some -unwatched house or some unfastened door. - -Miss Pole, who affected great bravery herself, was the principal person -to collect and arrange these reports so as to make them assume their most -fearful aspect. But we discovered that she had begged one of Mr -Hoggins’s worn-out hats to hang up in her lobby, and we (at least I) had -doubts as to whether she really would enjoy the little adventure of -having her house broken into, as she protested she should. Miss Matty -made no secret of being an arrant coward, but she went regularly through -her housekeeper’s duty of inspection—only the hour for this became -earlier and earlier, till at last we went the rounds at half-past six, -and Miss Matty adjourned to bed soon after seven, “in order to get the -night over the sooner.” - -Cranford had so long piqued itself on being an honest and moral town that -it had grown to fancy itself too genteel and well-bred to be otherwise, -and felt the stain upon its character at this time doubly. But we -comforted ourselves with the assurance which we gave to each other that -the robberies could never have been committed by any Cranford person; it -must have been a stranger or strangers who brought this disgrace upon the -town, and occasioned as many precautions as if we were living among the -Red Indians or the French. - -This last comparison of our nightly state of defence and fortification -was made by Mrs Forrester, whose father had served under General Burgoyne -in the American war, and whose husband had fought the French in Spain. -She indeed inclined to the idea that, in some way, the French were -connected with the small thefts, which were ascertained facts, and the -burglaries and highway robberies, which were rumours. She had been -deeply impressed with the idea of French spies at some time in her life; -and the notion could never be fairly eradicated, but sprang up again from -time to time. And now her theory was this:—The Cranford people respected -themselves too much, and were too grateful to the aristocracy who were so -kind as to live near the town, ever to disgrace their bringing up by -being dishonest or immoral; therefore, we must believe that the robbers -were strangers—if strangers, why not foreigners?—if foreigners, who so -likely as the French? Signor Brunoni spoke broken English like a -Frenchman; and, though he wore a turban like a Turk, Mrs Forrester had -seen a print of Madame de Staël with a turban on, and another of Mr Denon -in just such a dress as that in which the conjuror had made his -appearance, showing clearly that the French, as well as the Turks, wore -turbans. There could be no doubt Signor Brunoni was a Frenchman—a French -spy come to discover the weak and undefended places of England, and -doubtless he had his accomplices. For her part, she, Mrs Forrester, had -always had her own opinion of Miss Pole’s adventure at the “George -Inn”—seeing two men where only one was believed to be. French people had -ways and means which, she was thankful to say, the English knew nothing -about; and she had never felt quite easy in her mind about going to see -that conjuror—it was rather too much like a forbidden thing, though the -rector was there. In short, Mrs Forrester grew more excited than we had -ever known her before, and, being an officer’s daughter and widow, we -looked up to her opinion, of course. - -Really I do not know how much was true or false in the reports which flew -about like wildfire just at this time; but it seemed to me then that -there was every reason to believe that at Mardon (a small town about -eight miles from Cranford) houses and shops were entered by holes made in -the walls, the bricks being silently carried away in the dead of the -night, and all done so quietly that no sound was heard either in or out -of the house. Miss Matty gave it up in despair when she heard of this. -“What was the use,” said she, “of locks and bolts, and bells to the -windows, and going round the house every night? That last trick was fit -for a conjuror. Now she did believe that Signor Brunoni was at the -bottom of it.” - -One afternoon, about five o’clock, we were startled by a hasty knock at -the door. Miss Matty bade me run and tell Martha on no account to open -the door till she (Miss Matty) had reconnoitred through the window; and -she armed herself with a footstool to drop down on the head of the -visitor, in case he should show a face covered with black crape, as he -looked up in answer to her inquiry of who was there. But it was nobody -but Miss Pole and Betty. The former came upstairs, carrying a little -hand-basket, and she was evidently in a state of great agitation. - -“Take care of that!” said she to me, as I offered to relieve her of her -basket. “It’s my plate. I am sure there is a plan to rob my house -to-night. I am come to throw myself on your hospitality, Miss Matty. -Betty is going to sleep with her cousin at the ‘George.’ I can sit up -here all night if you will allow me; but my house is so far from any -neighbours, and I don’t believe we could be heard if we screamed ever -so!” - -“But,” said Miss Matty, “what has alarmed you so much? Have you seen any -men lurking about the house?” - -“Oh, yes!” answered Miss Pole. “Two very bad-looking men have gone three -times past the house, very slowly; and an Irish beggar-woman came not -half-an-hour ago, and all but forced herself in past Betty, saying her -children were starving, and she must speak to the mistress. You see, she -said ‘mistress,’ though there was a hat hanging up in the hall, and it -would have been more natural to have said ‘master.’ But Betty shut the -door in her face, and came up to me, and we got the spoons together, and -sat in the parlour-window watching till we saw Thomas Jones going from -his work, when we called to him and asked him to take care of us into the -town.” - -We might have triumphed over Miss Pole, who had professed such bravery -until she was frightened; but we were too glad to perceive that she -shared in the weaknesses of humanity to exult over her; and I gave up my -room to her very willingly, and shared Miss Matty’s bed for the night. -But before we retired, the two ladies rummaged up, out of the recesses of -their memory, such horrid stories of robbery and murder that I quite -quaked in my shoes. Miss Pole was evidently anxious to prove that such -terrible events had occurred within her experience that she was justified -in her sudden panic; and Miss Matty did not like to be outdone, and -capped every story with one yet more horrible, till it reminded me oddly -enough, of an old story I had read somewhere, of a nightingale and a -musician, who strove one against the other which could produce the most -admirable music, till poor Philomel dropped down dead. - -One of the stories that haunted me for a long time afterwards was of a -girl who was left in charge of a great house in Cumberland on some -particular fair-day, when the other servants all went off to the -gaieties. The family were away in London, and a pedlar came by, and -asked to leave his large and heavy pack in the kitchen, saying he would -call for it again at night; and the girl (a gamekeeper’s daughter), -roaming about in search of amusement, chanced to hit upon a gun hanging -up in the hall, and took it down to look at the chasing; and it went off -through the open kitchen door, hit the pack, and a slow dark thread of -blood came oozing out. (How Miss Pole enjoyed this part of the story, -dwelling on each word as if she loved it!) She rather hurried over the -further account of the girl’s bravery, and I have but a confused idea -that, somehow, she baffled the robbers with Italian irons, heated -red-hot, and then restored to blackness by being dipped in grease. - -We parted for the night with an awe-stricken wonder as to what we should -hear of in the morning—and, on my part, with a vehement desire for the -night to be over and gone: I was so afraid lest the robbers should have -seen, from some dark lurking-place, that Miss Pole had carried off her -plate, and thus have a double motive for attacking our house. - - [Picture: Asked him to take care of us] - -But until Lady Glenmire came to call next day we heard of nothing -unusual. The kitchen fire-irons were in exactly the same position -against the back door as when Martha and I had skilfully piled them up, -like spillikins, ready to fall with an awful clatter if only a cat had -touched the outside panels. I had wondered what we should all do if thus -awakened and alarmed, and had proposed to Miss Matty that we should cover -up our faces under the bedclothes so that there should be no danger of -the robbers thinking that we could identify them; but Miss Matty, who was -trembling very much, scouted this idea, and said we owed it to society to -apprehend them, and that she should certainly do her best to lay hold of -them and lock them up in the garret till morning. - -When Lady Glenmire came, we almost felt jealous of her. Mrs Jamieson’s -house had really been attacked; at least there were men’s footsteps to be -seen on the flower borders, underneath the kitchen windows, “where nae -men should be;” and Carlo had barked all through the night as if -strangers were abroad. Mrs Jamieson had been awakened by Lady Glenmire, -and they had rung the bell which communicated with Mr Mulliner’s room in -the third storey, and when his night-capped head had appeared over the -bannisters, in answer to the summons, they had told him of their alarm, -and the reasons for it; whereupon he retreated into his bedroom, and -locked the door (for fear of draughts, as he informed them in the -morning), and opened the window, and called out valiantly to say, if the -supposed robbers would come to him he would fight them; but, as Lady -Glenmire observed, that was but poor comfort, since they would have to -pass by Mrs Jamieson’s room and her own before they could reach him, and -must be of a very pugnacious disposition indeed if they neglected the -opportunities of robbery presented by the unguarded lower storeys, to go -up to a garret, and there force a door in order to get at the champion of -the house. Lady Glenmire, after waiting and listening for some time in -the drawing-room, had proposed to Mrs Jamieson that they should go to -bed; but that lady said she should not feel comfortable unless she sat up -and watched; and, accordingly, she packed herself warmly up on the sofa, -where she was found by the housemaid, when she came into the room at six -o’clock, fast asleep; but Lady Glenmire went to bed, and kept awake all -night. - -When Miss Pole heard of this, she nodded her head in great satisfaction. -She had been sure we should hear of something happening in Cranford that -night; and we had heard. It was clear enough they had first proposed to -attack her house; but when they saw that she and Betty were on their -guard, and had carried off the plate, they had changed their tactics and -gone to Mrs Jamieson’s, and no one knew what might have happened if Carlo -had not barked, like a good dog as he was! - -Poor Carlo! his barking days were nearly over. Whether the gang who -infested the neighbourhood were afraid of him, or whether they were -revengeful enough, for the way in which he had baffled them on the night -in question, to poison him; or whether, as some among the more uneducated -people thought, he died of apoplexy, brought on by too much feeding and -too little exercise; at any rate, it is certain that, two days after this -eventful night, Carlo was found dead, with his poor legs stretched out -stiff in the attitude of running, as if by such unusual exertion he could -escape the sure pursuer, Death. - -We were all sorry for Carlo, the old familiar friend who had snapped at -us for so many years; and the mysterious mode of his death made us very -uncomfortable. Could Signor Brunoni be at the bottom of this? He had -apparently killed a canary with only a word of command; his will seemed -of deadly force; who knew but what he might yet be lingering in the -neighbourhood willing all sorts of awful things! - -We whispered these fancies among ourselves in the evenings; but in the -mornings our courage came back with the daylight, and in a week’s time we -had got over the shock of Carlo’s death; all but Mrs Jamieson. She, poor -thing, felt it as she had felt no event since her husband’s death; -indeed, Miss Pole said, that as the Honourable Mr Jamieson drank a good -deal, and occasioned her much uneasiness, it was possible that Carlo’s -death might be the greater affliction. But there was always a tinge of -cynicism in Miss Pole’s remarks. However, one thing was clear and -certain—it was necessary for Mrs Jamieson to have some change of scene; -and Mr Mulliner was very impressive on this point, shaking his head -whenever we inquired after his mistress, and speaking of her loss of -appetite and bad nights very ominously; and with justice too, for if she -had two characteristics in her natural state of health they were a -facility of eating and sleeping. If she could neither eat nor sleep, she -must be indeed out of spirits and out of health. - -Lady Glenmire (who had evidently taken very kindly to Cranford) did not -like the idea of Mrs Jamieson’s going to Cheltenham, and more than once -insinuated pretty plainly that it was Mr Mulliner’s doing, who had been -much alarmed on the occasion of the house being attacked, and since had -said, more than once, that he felt it a very responsible charge to have -to defend so many women. Be that as it might, Mrs Jamieson went to -Cheltenham, escorted by Mr Mulliner; and Lady Glenmire remained in -possession of the house, her ostensible office being to take care that -the maid-servants did not pick up followers. She made a very -pleasant-looking dragon; and, as soon as it was arranged for her stay in -Cranford, she found out that Mrs Jamieson’s visit to Cheltenham was just -the best thing in the world. She had let her house in Edinburgh, and was -for the time house-less, so the charge of her sister-in-law’s comfortable -abode was very convenient and acceptable. - -Miss Pole was very much inclined to instal herself as a heroine, because -of the decided steps she had taken in flying from the two men and one -woman, whom she entitled “that murderous gang.” She described their -appearance in glowing colours, and I noticed that every time she went -over the story some fresh trait of villainy was added to their -appearance. One was tall—he grew to be gigantic in height before we had -done with him; he of course had black hair—and by-and-by it hung in -elf-locks over his forehead and down his back. The other was short and -broad—and a hump sprouted out on his shoulder before we heard the last of -him; he had red hair—which deepened into carroty; and she was almost sure -he had a cast in the eye—a decided squint. As for the woman, her eyes -glared, and she was masculine-looking—a perfect virago; most probably a -man dressed in woman’s clothes; afterwards, we heard of a beard on her -chin, and a manly voice and a stride. - -If Miss Pole was delighted to recount the events of that afternoon to all -inquirers, others were not so proud of their adventures in the robbery -line. Mr Hoggins, the surgeon, had been attacked at his own door by two -ruffians, who were concealed in the shadow of the porch, and so -effectually silenced him that he was robbed in the interval between -ringing his bell and the servant’s answering it. Miss Pole was sure it -would turn out that this robbery had been committed by “her men,” and -went the very day she heard the report to have her teeth examined, and to -question Mr Hoggins. She came to us afterwards; so we heard what she had -heard, straight and direct from the source, while we were yet in the -excitement and flutter of the agitation caused by the first intelligence; -for the event had only occurred the night before. - -“Well!” said Miss Pole, sitting down with the decision of a person who -has made up her mind as to the nature of life and the world (and such -people never tread lightly, or seat themselves without a bump), “well, -Miss Matty! men will be men. Every mother’s son of them wishes to be -considered Samson and Solomon rolled into one—too strong ever to be -beaten or discomfited—too wise ever to be outwitted. If you will notice, -they have always foreseen events, though they never tell one for one’s -warning before the events happen. My father was a man, and I know the -sex pretty well.” - -She had talked herself out of breath, and we should have been very glad -to fill up the necessary pause as chorus, but we did not exactly know -what to say, or which man had suggested this diatribe against the sex; so -we only joined in generally, with a grave shake of the head, and a soft -murmur of “They are very incomprehensible, certainly!” - -“Now, only think,” said she. “There, I have undergone the risk of having -one of my remaining teeth drawn (for one is terribly at the mercy of any -surgeon-dentist; and I, for one, always speak them fair till I have got -my mouth out of their clutches), and, after all, Mr Hoggins is too much -of a man to own that he was robbed last night.” - -“Not robbed!” exclaimed the chorus. - -“Don’t tell me!” Miss Pole exclaimed, angry that we could be for a moment -imposed upon. “I believe he was robbed, just as Betty told me, and he is -ashamed to own it; and, to be sure, it was very silly of him to be robbed -just at his own door; I daresay he feels that such a thing won’t raise -him in the eyes of Cranford society, and is anxious to conceal it—but he -need not have tried to impose upon me, by saying I must have heard an -exaggerated account of some petty theft of a neck of mutton, which, it -seems, was stolen out of the safe in his yard last week; he had the -impertinence to add, he believed that that was taken by the cat. I have -no doubt, if I could get at the bottom of it, it was that Irishman -dressed up in woman’s clothes, who came spying about my house, with the -story about the starving children.” - -After we had duly condemned the want of candour which Mr Hoggins had -evinced, and abused men in general, taking him for the representative and -type, we got round to the subject about which we had been talking when -Miss Pole came in; namely, how far, in the present disturbed state of the -country, we could venture to accept an invitation which Miss Matty had -just received from Mrs Forrester, to come as usual and keep the -anniversary of her wedding-day by drinking tea with her at five o’clock, -and playing a quiet pool afterwards. Mrs Forrester had said that she -asked us with some diffidence, because the roads were, she feared, very -unsafe. But she suggested that perhaps one of us would not object to -take the sedan, and that the others, by walking briskly, might keep up -with the long trot of the chairmen, and so we might all arrive safely at -Over Place, a suburb of the town. (No; that is too large an expression: -a small cluster of houses separated from Cranford by about two hundred -yards of a dark and lonely lane.) There was no doubt but that a similar -note was awaiting Miss Pole at home; so her call was a very fortunate -affair, as it enabled us to consult together. We would all much rather -have declined this invitation; but we felt that it would not be quite -kind to Mrs Forrester, who would otherwise be left to a solitary -retrospect of her not very happy or fortunate life. Miss Matty and Miss -Pole had been visitors on this occasion for many years, and now they -gallantly determined to nail their colours to the mast, and to go through -Darkness Lane rather than fail in loyalty to their friend. - -But when the evening came, Miss Matty (for it was she who was voted into -the chair, as she had a cold), before being shut down in the sedan, like -jack-in-a-box, implored the chairmen, whatever might befall, not to run -away and leave her fastened up there, to be murdered; and even after they -had promised, I saw her tighten her features into the stern determination -of a martyr, and she gave me a melancholy and ominous shake of the head -through the glass. However, we got there safely, only rather out of -breath, for it was who could trot hardest through Darkness Lane, and I am -afraid poor Miss Matty was sadly jolted. - -Mrs Forrester had made extra preparations, in acknowledgment of our -exertion in coming to see her through such dangers. The usual forms of -genteel ignorance as to what her servants might send up were all gone -through; and harmony and Preference seemed likely to be the order of the -evening, but for an interesting conversation that began I don’t know how, -but which had relation, of course, to the robbers who infested the -neighbourhood of Cranford. - -Having braved the dangers of Darkness Lane, and thus having a little -stock of reputation for courage to fall back upon; and also, I daresay, -desirous of proving ourselves superior to men (_videlicet_ Mr Hoggins) in -the article of candour, we began to relate our individual fears, and the -private precautions we each of us took. I owned that my pet apprehension -was eyes—eyes looking at me, and watching me, glittering out from some -dull, flat, wooden surface; and that if I dared to go up to my -looking-glass when I was panic-stricken, I should certainly turn it -round, with its back towards me, for fear of seeing eyes behind me -looking out of the darkness. I saw Miss Matty nerving herself up for a -confession; and at last out it came. She owned that, ever since she had -been a girl, she had dreaded being caught by her last leg, just as she -was getting into bed, by some one concealed under it. She said, when she -was younger and more active, she used to take a flying leap from a -distance, and so bring both her legs up safely into bed at once; but that -this had always annoyed Deborah, who piqued herself upon getting into bed -gracefully, and she had given it up in consequence. But now the old -terror would often come over her, especially since Miss Pole’s house had -been attacked (we had got quite to believe in the fact of the attack -having taken place), and yet it was very unpleasant to think of looking -under a bed, and seeing a man concealed, with a great, fierce face -staring out at you; so she had bethought herself of something—perhaps I -had noticed that she had told Martha to buy her a penny ball, such as -children play with—and now she rolled this ball under the bed every -night: if it came out on the other side, well and good; if not she always -took care to have her hand on the bell-rope, and meant to call out John -and Harry, just as if she expected men-servants to answer her ring. - -We all applauded this ingenious contrivance, and Miss Matty sank back -into satisfied silence, with a look at Mrs Forrester as if to ask for -_her_ private weakness. - -Mrs Forrester looked askance at Miss Pole, and tried to change the -subject a little by telling us that she had borrowed a boy from one of -the neighbouring cottages and promised his parents a hundredweight of -coals at Christmas, and his supper every evening, for the loan of him at -nights. She had instructed him in his possible duties when he first -came; and, finding him sensible, she had given him the Major’s sword (the -Major was her late husband), and desired him to put it very carefully -behind his pillow at night, turning the edge towards the head of the -pillow. He was a sharp lad, she was sure; for, spying out the Major’s -cocked hat, he had said, if he might have that to wear, he was sure he -could frighten two Englishmen, or four Frenchmen any day. But she had -impressed upon him anew that he was to lose no time in putting on hats or -anything else; but, if he heard any noise, he was to run at it with his -drawn sword. On my suggesting that some accident might occur from such -slaughterous and indiscriminate directions, and that he might rush on -Jenny getting up to wash, and have spitted her before he had discovered -that she was not a Frenchman, Mrs Forrester said she did not think that -that was likely, for he was a very sound sleeper, and generally had to be -well shaken or cold-pigged in a morning before they could rouse him. She -sometimes thought such dead sleep must be owing to the hearty suppers the -poor lad ate, for he was half-starved at home, and she told Jenny to see -that he got a good meal at night. - - [Picture: Slaughterous and indiscriminate directions] - -Still this was no confession of Mrs Forrester’s peculiar timidity, and we -urged her to tell us what she thought would frighten her more than -anything. She paused, and stirred the fire, and snuffed the candles, and -then she said, in a sounding whisper— - -“Ghosts!” - -She looked at Miss Pole, as much as to say, she had declared it, and -would stand by it. Such a look was a challenge in itself. Miss Pole -came down upon her with indigestion, spectral illusions, optical -delusions, and a great deal out of Dr Ferrier and Dr Hibbert besides. -Miss Matty had rather a leaning to ghosts, as I have mentioned before, -and what little she did say was all on Mrs Forrester’s side, who, -emboldened by sympathy, protested that ghosts were a part of her -religion; that surely she, the widow of a major in the army, knew what to -be frightened at, and what not; in short, I never saw Mrs Forrester so -warm either before or since, for she was a gentle, meek, enduring old -lady in most things. Not all the elder-wine that ever was mulled could -this night wash out the remembrance of this difference between Miss Pole -and her hostess. Indeed, when the elder-wine was brought in, it gave -rise to a new burst of discussion; for Jenny, the little maiden who -staggered under the tray, had to give evidence of having seen a ghost -with her own eyes, not so many nights ago, in Darkness Lane, the very -lane we were to go through on our way home. - -In spite of the uncomfortable feeling which this last consideration gave -me, I could not help being amused at Jenny’s position, which was -exceedingly like that of a witness being examined and cross-examined by -two counsel who are not at all scrupulous about asking leading questions. -The conclusion I arrived at was, that Jenny had certainly seen something -beyond what a fit of indigestion would have caused. A lady all in white, -and without her head, was what she deposed and adhered to, supported by a -consciousness of the secret sympathy of her mistress under the withering -scorn with which Miss Pole regarded her. And not only she, but many -others, had seen this headless lady, who sat by the roadside wringing her -hands as in deep grief. Mrs Forrester looked at us from time to time -with an air of conscious triumph; but then she had not to pass through -Darkness Lane before she could bury herself beneath her own familiar -bed-clothes. - -We preserved a discreet silence as to the headless lady while we were -putting on our things to go home, for there was no knowing how near the -ghostly head and ears might be, or what spiritual connection they might -be keeping up with the unhappy body in Darkness Lane; and, therefore, -even Miss Pole felt that it was as well not to speak lightly on such -subjects, for fear of vexing or insulting that woebegone trunk. At -least, so I conjecture; for, instead of the busy clatter usual in the -operation, we tied on our cloaks as sadly as mutes at a funeral. Miss -Matty drew the curtains round the windows of the chair to shut out -disagreeable sights, and the men (either because they were in spirits -that their labours were so nearly ended, or because they were going down -hill), set off at such a round and merry pace, that it was all Miss Pole -and I could do to keep up with them. She had breath for nothing beyond -an imploring “Don’t leave me!” uttered as she clutched my arm so tightly -that I could not have quitted her, ghost or no ghost. What a relief it -was when the men, weary of their burden and their quick trot, stopped -just where Headingley Causeway branches off from Darkness Lane! Miss -Pole unloosed me and caught at one of the men— - -“Could not you—could not you take Miss Matty round by Headingley -Causeway?—the pavement in Darkness Lane jolts so, and she is not very -strong.” - -A smothered voice was heard from the inside of the chair— - -“Oh! pray go on! What is the matter? What is the matter? I will give -you sixpence more to go on very fast; pray don’t stop here.” - -“And I’ll give you a shilling,” said Miss Pole, with tremulous dignity, -“if you’ll go by Headingley Causeway.” - -The two men grunted acquiescence and took up the chair, and went along -the causeway, which certainly answered Miss Pole’s kind purpose of saving -Miss Matty’s bones; for it was covered with soft, thick mud, and even a -fall there would have been easy till the getting-up came, when there -might have been some difficulty in extrication. - - - - -CHAPTER XI—SAMUEL BROWN - - -THE next morning I met Lady Glenmire and Miss Pole setting out on a long -walk to find some old woman who was famous in the neighbourhood for her -skill in knitting woollen stockings. Miss Pole said to me, with a smile -half-kindly and half-contemptuous upon her countenance, “I have been just -telling Lady Glenmire of our poor friend Mrs Forrester, and her terror of -ghosts. It comes from living so much alone, and listening to the -bug-a-boo stories of that Jenny of hers.” She was so calm and so much -above superstitious fears herself that I was almost ashamed to say how -glad I had been of her Headingley Causeway proposition the night before, -and turned off the conversation to something else. - -In the afternoon Miss Pole called on Miss Matty to tell her of the -adventure—the real adventure they had met with on their morning’s walk. -They had been perplexed about the exact path which they were to take -across the fields in order to find the knitting old woman, and had -stopped to inquire at a little wayside public-house, standing on the high -road to London, about three miles from Cranford. The good woman had -asked them to sit down and rest themselves while she fetched her husband, -who could direct them better than she could; and, while they were sitting -in the sanded parlour, a little girl came in. They thought that she -belonged to the landlady, and began some trifling conversation with her; -but, on Mrs Roberts’s return, she told them that the little thing was the -only child of a couple who were staying in the house. And then she began -a long story, out of which Lady Glenmire and Miss Pole could only gather -one or two decided facts, which were that, about six weeks ago, a light -spring-cart had broken down just before their door, in which there were -two men, one woman, and this child. One of the men was seriously hurt—no -bones broken, only “shaken,” the landlady called it; but he had probably -sustained some severe internal injury, for he had languished in their -house ever since, attended by his wife, the mother of this little girl. -Miss Pole had asked what he was, what he looked like. And Mrs Roberts -had made answer that he was not like a gentleman, nor yet like a common -person; if it had not been that he and his wife were such decent, quiet -people, she could almost have thought he was a mountebank, or something -of that kind, for they had a great box in the cart, full of she did not -know what. She had helped to unpack it, and take out their linen and -clothes, when the other man—his twin-brother, she believed he was—had -gone off with the horse and cart. - -Miss Pole had begun to have her suspicions at this point, and expressed -her idea that it was rather strange that the box and cart and horse and -all should have disappeared; but good Mrs Roberts seemed to have become -quite indignant at Miss Pole’s implied suggestion; in fact, Miss Pole -said she was as angry as if Miss Pole had told her that she herself was a -swindler. As the best way of convincing the ladies, she bethought her of -begging them to see the wife; and, as Miss Pole said, there was no -doubting the honest, worn, bronzed face of the woman, who at the first -tender word from Lady Glenmire, burst into tears, which she was too weak -to check until some word from the landlady made her swallow down her -sobs, in order that she might testify to the Christian kindness shown by -Mr and Mrs Roberts. Miss Pole came round with a swing to as vehement a -belief in the sorrowful tale as she had been sceptical before; and, as a -proof of this, her energy in the poor sufferer’s behalf was nothing -daunted when she found out that he, and no other, was our Signor Brunoni, -to whom all Cranford had been attributing all manner of evil this six -weeks past! Yes! his wife said his proper name was Samuel Brown—“Sam,” -she called him—but to the last we preferred calling him “the Signor”; it -sounded so much better. - -The end of their conversation with the Signora Brunoni was that it was -agreed that he should be placed under medical advice, and for any expense -incurred in procuring this Lady Glenmire promised to hold herself -responsible, and had accordingly gone to Mr Hoggins to beg him to ride -over to the “Rising Sun” that very afternoon, and examine into the -signor’s real state; and, as Miss Pole said, if it was desirable to -remove him to Cranford to be more immediately under Mr Hoggins’s eye, she -would undertake to see for lodgings and arrange about the rent. Mrs -Roberts had been as kind as could be all throughout, but it was evident -that their long residence there had been a slight inconvenience. - -Before Miss Pole left us, Miss Matty and I were as full of the morning’s -adventure as she was. We talked about it all the evening, turning it in -every possible light, and we went to bed anxious for the morning, when we -should surely hear from someone what Mr Hoggins thought and recommended; -for, as Miss Matty observed, though Mr Hoggins did say “Jack’s up,” “a -fig for his heels,” and called Preference “Pref.” she believed he was a -very worthy man and a very clever surgeon. Indeed, we were rather proud -of our doctor at Cranford, as a doctor. We often wished, when we heard -of Queen Adelaide or the Duke of Wellington being ill, that they would -send for Mr Hoggins; but, on consideration, we were rather glad they did -not, for, if we were ailing, what should we do if Mr Hoggins had been -appointed physician-in-ordinary to the Royal Family? As a surgeon we -were proud of him; but as a man—or rather, I should say, as a -gentleman—we could only shake our heads over his name and himself, and -wished that he had read Lord Chesterfield’s Letters in the days when his -manners were susceptible of improvement. Nevertheless, we all regarded -his dictum in the signor’s case as infallible, and when he said that with -care and attention he might rally, we had no more fear for him. - -But, although we had no more fear, everybody did as much as if there was -great cause for anxiety—as indeed there was until Mr Hoggins took charge -of him. Miss Pole looked out clean and comfortable, if homely, lodgings; -Miss Matty sent the sedan-chair for him, and Martha and I aired it well -before it left Cranford by holding a warming-pan full of red-hot coals in -it, and then shutting it up close, smoke and all, until the time when he -should get into it at the “Rising Sun.” Lady Glenmire undertook the -medical department under Mr Hoggins’s directions, and rummaged up all Mrs -Jamieson’s medicine glasses, and spoons, and bed-tables, in a -free-and-easy way, that made Miss Matty feel a little anxious as to what -that lady and Mr Mulliner might say, if they knew. Mrs Forrester made -some of the bread-jelly, for which she was so famous, to have ready as a -refreshment in the lodgings when he should arrive. A present of this -bread-jelly was the highest mark of favour dear Mrs Forrester could -confer. Miss Pole had once asked her for the receipt, but she had met -with a very decided rebuff; that lady told her that she could not part -with it to any one during her life, and that after her death it was -bequeathed, as her executors would find, to Miss Matty. What Miss Matty, -or, as Mrs Forrester called her (remembering the clause in her will and -the dignity of the occasion), Miss Matilda Jenkyns—might choose to do -with the receipt when it came into her possession—whether to make it -public, or to hand it down as an heirloom—she did not know, nor would she -dictate. And a mould of this admirable, digestible, unique bread-jelly -was sent by Mrs Forrester to our poor sick conjuror. Who says that the -aristocracy are proud? Here was a lady by birth a Tyrrell, and descended -from the great Sir Walter that shot King Rufus, and in whose veins ran -the blood of him who murdered the little princes in the Tower, going -every day to see what dainty dishes she could prepare for Samuel Brown, a -mountebank! But, indeed, it was wonderful to see what kind feelings were -called out by this poor man’s coming amongst us. And also wonderful to -see how the great Cranford panic, which had been occasioned by his first -coming in his Turkish dress, melted away into thin air on his second -coming—pale and feeble, and with his heavy, filmy eyes, that only -brightened a very little when they fell upon the countenance of his -faithful wife, or their pale and sorrowful little girl. - -Somehow we all forgot to be afraid. I daresay it was that finding out -that he, who had first excited our love of the marvellous by his -unprecedented arts, had not sufficient every-day gifts to manage a shying -horse, made us feel as if we were ourselves again. Miss Pole came with -her little basket at all hours of the evening, as if her lonely house and -the unfrequented road to it had never been infested by that “murderous -gang”; Mrs Forrester said she thought that neither Jenny nor she need -mind the headless lady who wept and wailed in Darkness Lane, for surely -the power was never given to such beings to harm those who went about to -try to do what little good was in their power, to which Jenny tremblingly -assented; but the mistress’s theory had little effect on the maid’s -practice until she had sewn two pieces of red flannel in the shape of a -cross on her inner garment. - -I found Miss Matty covering her penny ball—the ball that she used to roll -under her bed—with gay-coloured worsted in rainbow stripes. - -“My dear,” said she, “my heart is sad for that little careworn child. -Although her father is a conjuror, she looks as if she had never had a -good game of play in her life. I used to make very pretty balls in this -way when I was a girl, and I thought I would try if I could not make this -one smart and take it to Phoebe this afternoon. I think ‘the gang’ must -have left the neighbourhood, for one does not hear any more of their -violence and robbery now.” - -We were all of us far too full of the signor’s precarious state to talk -either about robbers or ghosts. Indeed, Lady Glenmire said she never had -heard of any actual robberies, except that two little boys had stolen -some apples from Farmer Benson’s orchard, and that some eggs had been -missed on a market-day off Widow Hayward’s stall. But that was expecting -too much of us; we could not acknowledge that we had only had this small -foundation for all our panic. Miss Pole drew herself up at this remark -of Lady Glenmire’s, and said “that she wished she could agree with her as -to the very small reason we had had for alarm, but with the recollection -of a man disguised as a woman who had endeavoured to force himself into -her house while his confederates waited outside; with the knowledge -gained from Lady Glenmire herself, of the footprints seen on Mrs -Jamieson’s flower borders; with the fact before her of the audacious -robbery committed on Mr Hoggins at his own door”—But here Lady Glenmire -broke in with a very strong expression of doubt as to whether this last -story was not an entire fabrication founded upon the theft of a cat; she -grew so red while she was saying all this that I was not surprised at -Miss Pole’s manner of bridling up, and I am certain, if Lady Glenmire had -not been “her ladyship,” we should have had a more emphatic contradiction -than the “Well, to be sure!” and similar fragmentary ejaculations, which -were all that she ventured upon in my lady’s presence. But when she was -gone Miss Pole began a long congratulation to Miss Matty that so far they -had escaped marriage, which she noticed always made people credulous to -the last degree; indeed, she thought it argued great natural credulity in -a woman if she could not keep herself from being married; and in what -Lady Glenmire had said about Mr Hoggins’s robbery we had a specimen of -what people came to if they gave way to such a weakness; evidently Lady -Glenmire would swallow anything if she could believe the poor vamped-up -story about a neck of mutton and a pussy with which he had tried to -impose on Miss Pole, only she had always been on her guard against -believing too much of what men said. - -We were thankful, as Miss Pole desired us to be, that we had never been -married; but I think, of the two, we were even more thankful that the -robbers had left Cranford; at least I judge so from a speech of Miss -Matty’s that evening, as we sat over the fire, in which she evidently -looked upon a husband as a great protector against thieves, burglars, and -ghosts; and said that she did not think that she should dare to be always -warning young people against matrimony, as Miss Pole did continually; to -be sure, marriage was a risk, as she saw, now she had had some -experience; but she remembered the time when she had looked forward to -being married as much as any one. - -“Not to any particular person, my dear,” said she, hastily checking -herself up, as if she were afraid of having admitted too much; “only the -old story, you know, of ladies always saying, ‘_When_ I marry,’ and -gentlemen, ‘_If_ I marry.’” It was a joke spoken in rather a sad tone, -and I doubt if either of us smiled; but I could not see Miss Matty’s face -by the flickering fire-light. In a little while she continued— - -“But, after all, I have not told you the truth. It is so long ago, and -no one ever knew how much I thought of it at the time, unless, indeed, my -dear mother guessed; but I may say that there was a time when I did not -think I should have been only Miss Matty Jenkyns all my life; for even if -I did meet with any one who wished to marry me now (and, as Miss Pole -says, one is never too safe), I could not take him—I hope he would not -take it too much to heart, but I could _not_ take him—or any one but the -person I once thought I should be married to; and he is dead and gone, -and he never knew how it all came about that I said ‘No,’ when I had -thought many and many a time—Well, it’s no matter what I thought. God -ordains it all, and I am very happy, my dear. No one has such kind -friends as I,” continued she, taking my hand and holding it in hers. - -If I had never known of Mr Holbrook, I could have said something in this -pause, but as I had, I could not think of anything that would come in -naturally, and so we both kept silence for a little time. - -“My father once made us,” she began, “keep a diary, in two columns; on -one side we were to put down in the morning what we thought would be the -course and events of the coming day, and at night we were to put down on -the other side what really had happened. It would be to some people -rather a sad way of telling their lives,” (a tear dropped upon my hand at -these words)—“I don’t mean that mine has been sad, only so very different -to what I expected. I remember, one winter’s evening, sitting over our -bedroom fire with Deborah—I remember it as if it were yesterday—and we -were planning our future lives, both of us were planning, though only she -talked about it. She said she should like to marry an archdeacon, and -write his charges; and you know, my dear, she never was married, and, for -aught I know, she never spoke to an unmarried archdeacon in her life. I -never was ambitious, nor could I have written charges, but I thought I -could manage a house (my mother used to call me her right hand), and I -was always so fond of little children—the shyest babies would stretch out -their little arms to come to me; when I was a girl, I was half my leisure -time nursing in the neighbouring cottages; but I don’t know how it was, -when I grew sad and grave—which I did a year or two after this time—the -little things drew back from me, and I am afraid I lost the knack, though -I am just as fond of children as ever, and have a strange yearning at my -heart whenever I see a mother with her baby in her arms. Nay, my dear” -(and by a sudden blaze which sprang up from a fall of the unstirred -coals, I saw that her eyes were full of tears—gazing intently on some -vision of what might have been), “do you know I dream sometimes that I -have a little child—always the same—a little girl of about two years old; -she never grows older, though I have dreamt about her for many years. I -don’t think I ever dream of any words or sound she makes; she is very -noiseless and still, but she comes to me when she is very sorry or very -glad, and I have wakened with the clasp of her dear little arms round my -neck. Only last night—perhaps because I had gone to sleep thinking of -this ball for Phoebe—my little darling came in my dream, and put up her -mouth to be kissed, just as I have seen real babies do to real mothers -before going to bed. But all this is nonsense, dear! only don’t be -frightened by Miss Pole from being married. I can fancy it may be a very -happy state, and a little credulity helps one on through life very -smoothly—better than always doubting and doubting and seeing difficulties -and disagreeables in everything.” - - [Picture: Would stretch out their little arms] - -If I had been inclined to be daunted from matrimony, it would not have -been Miss Pole to do it; it would have been the lot of poor Signor -Brunoni and his wife. And yet again, it was an encouragement to see how, -through all their cares and sorrows, they thought of each other and not -of themselves; and how keen were their joys, if they only passed through -each other, or through the little Phoebe. - -The signora told me, one day, a good deal about their lives up to this -period. It began by my asking her whether Miss Pole’s story of the -twin-brothers were true; it sounded so wonderful a likeness, that I -should have had my doubts, if Miss Pole had not been unmarried. But the -signora, or (as we found out she preferred to be called) Mrs Brown, said -it was quite true; that her brother-in-law was by many taken for her -husband, which was of great assistance to them in their profession; -“though,” she continued, “how people can mistake Thomas for the real -Signor Brunoni, I can’t conceive; but he says they do; so I suppose I -must believe him. Not but what he is a very good man; I am sure I don’t -know how we should have paid our bill at the ‘Rising Sun’ but for the -money he sends; but people must know very little about art if they can -take him for my husband. Why, Miss, in the ball trick, where my husband -spreads his fingers wide, and throws out his little finger with quite an -air and a grace, Thomas just clumps up his hand like a fist, and might -have ever so many balls hidden in it. Besides, he has never been in -India, and knows nothing of the proper sit of a turban.” - -“Have you been in India?” said I, rather astonished. - -“Oh, yes! many a year, ma’am. Sam was a sergeant in the 31st; and when -the regiment was ordered to India, I drew a lot to go, and I was more -thankful than I can tell; for it seemed as if it would only be a slow -death to me to part from my husband. But, indeed, ma’am, if I had known -all, I don’t know whether I would not rather have died there and then -than gone through what I have done since. To be sure, I’ve been able to -comfort Sam, and to be with him; but, ma’am, I’ve lost six children,” -said she, looking up at me with those strange eyes that I’ve never -noticed but in mothers of dead children—with a kind of wild look in them, -as if seeking for what they never more might find. “Yes! Six children -died off, like little buds nipped untimely, in that cruel India. I -thought, as each died, I never could—I never would—love a child again; -and when the next came, it had not only its own love, but the deeper love -that came from the thoughts of its little dead brothers and sisters. And -when Phoebe was coming, I said to my husband, ‘Sam, when the child is -born, and I am strong, I shall leave you; it will cut my heart cruel; but -if this baby dies too, I shall go mad; the madness is in me now; but if -you let me go down to Calcutta, carrying my baby step by step, it will, -maybe, work itself off; and I will save, and I will hoard, and I will -beg—and I will die, to get a passage home to England, where our baby may -live?’ God bless him! he said I might go; and he saved up his pay, and I -saved every pice I could get for washing or any way; and when Phoebe -came, and I grew strong again, I set off. It was very lonely; through -the thick forests, dark again with their heavy trees—along by the river’s -side (but I had been brought up near the Avon in Warwickshire, so that -flowing noise sounded like home)—from station to station, from Indian -village to village, I went along, carrying my child. I had seen one of -the officer’s ladies with a little picture, ma’am—done by a Catholic -foreigner, ma’am—of the Virgin and the little Saviour, ma’am. She had -him on her arm, and her form was softly curled round him, and their -cheeks touched. Well, when I went to bid good-bye to this lady, for whom -I had washed, she cried sadly; for she, too, had lost her children, but -she had not another to save, like me; and I was bold enough to ask her -would she give me that print. And she cried the more, and said her -children were with that little blessed Jesus; and gave it me, and told me -that she had heard it had been painted on the bottom of a cask, which -made it have that round shape. And when my body was very weary, and my -heart was sick (for there were times when I misdoubted if I could ever -reach my home, and there were times when I thought of my husband, and one -time when I thought my baby was dying), I took out that picture and -looked at it, till I could have thought the mother spoke to me, and -comforted me. And the natives were very kind. We could not understand -one another; but they saw my baby on my breast, and they came out to me, -and brought me rice and milk, and sometimes flowers—I have got some of -the flowers dried. Then, the next morning, I was so tired; and they -wanted me to stay with them—I could tell that—and tried to frighten me -from going into the deep woods, which, indeed, looked very strange and -dark; but it seemed to me as if Death was following me to take my baby -away from me; and as if I must go on, and on—and I thought how God had -cared for mothers ever since the world was made, and would care for me; -so I bade them good-bye, and set off afresh. And once when my baby was -ill, and both she and I needed rest, He led me to a place where I found a -kind Englishman lived, right in the midst of the natives.” - -“And you reached Calcutta safely at last?” - -“Yes, safely! Oh! when I knew I had only two days’ journey more before -me, I could not help it, ma’am—it might be idolatry, I cannot tell—but I -was near one of the native temples, and I went into it with my baby to -thank God for His great mercy; for it seemed to me that where others had -prayed before to their God, in their joy or in their agony, was of itself -a sacred place. And I got as servant to an invalid lady, who grew quite -fond of my baby aboard-ship; and, in two years’ time, Sam earned his -discharge, and came home to me, and to our child. Then he had to fix on -a trade; but he knew of none; and once, once upon a time, he had learnt -some tricks from an Indian juggler; so he set up conjuring, and it -answered so well that he took Thomas to help him—as his man, you know, -not as another conjuror, though Thomas has set it up now on his own hook. -But it has been a great help to us that likeness between the twins, and -made a good many tricks go off well that they made up together. And -Thomas is a good brother, only he has not the fine carriage of my -husband, so that I can’t think how he can be taken for Signor Brunoni -himself, as he says he is.” - -“Poor little Phoebe!” said I, my thoughts going back to the baby she -carried all those hundred miles. - -“Ah! you may say so! I never thought I should have reared her, though, -when she fell ill at Chunderabaddad; but that good, kind Aga Jenkyns took -us in, which I believe was the very saving of her.” - -“Jenkyns!” said I. - -“Yes, Jenkyns. I shall think all people of that name are kind; for here -is that nice old lady who comes every day to take Phoebe a walk!” - -But an idea had flashed through my head; could the Aga Jenkyns be the -lost Peter? True he was reported by many to be dead. But, equally true, -some had said that he had arrived at the dignity of Great Lama of Thibet. -Miss Matty thought he was alive. I would make further inquiry. - - - - -CHAPTER XII—ENGAGED TO BE MARRIED - - -WAS the “poor Peter” of Cranford the Aga Jenkyns of Chunderabaddad, or -was he not? As somebody says, that was the question. - -In my own home, whenever people had nothing else to do, they blamed me -for want of discretion. Indiscretion was my bug-bear fault. Everybody -has a bug-bear fault, a sort of standing characteristic—a _pièce de -résistance_ for their friends to cut at; and in general they cut and come -again. I was tired of being called indiscreet and incautious; and I -determined for once to prove myself a model of prudence and wisdom. I -would not even hint my suspicions respecting the Aga. I would collect -evidence and carry it home to lay before my father, as the family friend -of the two Miss Jenkynses. - -In my search after facts, I was often reminded of a description my father -had once given of a ladies’ committee that he had had to preside over. -He said he could not help thinking of a passage in Dickens, which spoke -of a chorus in which every man took the tune he knew best, and sang it to -his own satisfaction. So, at this charitable committee, every lady took -the subject uppermost in her mind, and talked about it to her own great -contentment, but not much to the advancement of the subject they had met -to discuss. But even that committee could have been nothing to the -Cranford ladies when I attempted to gain some clear and definite -information as to poor Peter’s height, appearance, and when and where he -was seen and heard of last. For instance, I remember asking Miss Pole -(and I thought the question was very opportune, for I put it when I met -her at a call at Mrs Forrester’s, and both the ladies had known Peter, -and I imagined that they might refresh each other’s memories)—I asked -Miss Pole what was the very last thing they had ever heard about him; and -then she named the absurd report to which I have alluded, about his -having been elected Great Lama of Thibet; and this was a signal for each -lady to go off on her separate idea. Mrs Forrester’s start was made on -the veiled prophet in Lalla Rookh—whether I thought he was meant for the -Great Lama, though Peter was not so ugly, indeed rather handsome, if he -had not been freckled. I was thankful to see her double upon Peter; but, -in a moment, the delusive lady was off upon Rowland’s Kalydor, and the -merits of cosmetics and hair oils in general, and holding forth so -fluently that I turned to listen to Miss Pole, who (through the llamas, -the beasts of burden) had got to Peruvian bonds, and the share market, -and her poor opinion of joint-stock banks in general, and of that one in -particular in which Miss Matty’s money was invested. In vain I put in -“When was it—in what year was it that you heard that Mr Peter was the -Great Lama?” They only joined issue to dispute whether llamas were -carnivorous animals or not; in which dispute they were not quite on fair -grounds, as Mrs Forrester (after they had grown warm and cool again) -acknowledged that she always confused carnivorous and graminivorous -together, just as she did horizontal and perpendicular; but then she -apologised for it very prettily, by saying that in her day the only use -people made of four-syllabled words was to teach how they should be -spelt. - -The only fact I gained from this conversation was that certainly Peter -had last been heard of in India, “or that neighbourhood”; and that this -scanty intelligence of his whereabouts had reached Cranford in the year -when Miss Pole had brought her Indian muslin gown, long since worn out -(we washed it and mended it, and traced its decline and fall into a -window-blind before we could go on); and in a year when Wombwell came to -Cranford, because Miss Matty had wanted to see an elephant in order that -she might the better imagine Peter riding on one; and had seen a -boa-constrictor too, which was more than she wished to imagine in her -fancy-pictures of Peter’s locality; and in a year when Miss Jenkyns had -learnt some piece of poetry off by heart, and used to say, at all the -Cranford parties, how Peter was “surveying mankind from China to Peru,” -which everybody had thought very grand, and rather appropriate, because -India was between China and Peru, if you took care to turn the globe to -the left instead of the right. - -I suppose all these inquiries of mine, and the consequent curiosity -excited in the minds of my friends, made us blind and deaf to what was -going on around us. It seemed to me as if the sun rose and shone, and as -if the rain rained on Cranford, just as usual, and I did not notice any -sign of the times that could be considered as a prognostic of any -uncommon event; and, to the best of my belief, not only Miss Matty and -Mrs Forrester, but even Miss Pole herself, whom we looked upon as a kind -of prophetess, from the knack she had of foreseeing things before they -came to pass—although she did not like to disturb her friends by telling -them her foreknowledge—even Miss Pole herself was breathless with -astonishment when she came to tell us of the astounding piece of news. -But I must recover myself; the contemplation of it, even at this distance -of time, has taken away my breath and my grammar, and unless I subdue my -emotion, my spelling will go too. - -We were sitting—Miss Matty and I—much as usual, she in the blue chintz -easy-chair, with her back to the light, and her knitting in her hand, I -reading aloud the _St James’s Chronicle_. A few minutes more, and we -should have gone to make the little alterations in dress usual before -calling-time (twelve o’clock) in Cranford. I remember the scene and the -date well. We had been talking of the signor’s rapid recovery since the -warmer weather had set in, and praising Mr Hoggins’s skill, and lamenting -his want of refinement and manner (it seems a curious coincidence that -this should have been our subject, but so it was), when a knock was -heard—a caller’s knock—three distinct taps—and we were flying (that is to -say, Miss Matty could not walk very fast, having had a touch of -rheumatism) to our rooms, to change cap and collars, when Miss Pole -arrested us by calling out, as she came up the stairs, “Don’t go—I can’t -wait—it is not twelve, I know—but never mind your dress—I must speak to -you.” We did our best to look as if it was not we who had made the -hurried movement, the sound of which she had heard; for, of course, we -did not like to have it supposed that we had any old clothes that it was -convenient to wear out in the “sanctuary of home,” as Miss Jenkyns once -prettily called the back parlour, where she was tying up preserves. So -we threw our gentility with double force into our manners, and very -genteel we were for two minutes while Miss Pole recovered breath, and -excited our curiosity strongly by lifting up her hands in amazement, and -bringing them down in silence, as if what she had to say was too big for -words, and could only be expressed by pantomime. - -“What do you think, Miss Matty? What _do_ you think? Lady Glenmire is -to marry—is to be married, I mean—Lady Glenmire—Mr Hoggins—Mr Hoggins is -going to marry Lady Glenmire!” - -“Marry!” said we. “Marry! Madness!” - - [Picture: What do you think, Miss Matty] - -“Marry!” said Miss Pole, with the decision that belonged to her -character. “_I_ said marry! as you do; and I also said, ‘What a fool my -lady is going to make of herself!’ I could have said ‘Madness!’ but I -controlled myself, for it was in a public shop that I heard of it. Where -feminine delicacy is gone to, I don’t know! You and I, Miss Matty, would -have been ashamed to have known that our marriage was spoken of in a -grocer’s shop, in the hearing of shopmen!” - -“But,” said Miss Matty, sighing as one recovering from a blow, “perhaps -it is not true. Perhaps we are doing her injustice.” - -“No,” said Miss Pole. “I have taken care to ascertain that. I went -straight to Mrs Fitz-Adam, to borrow a cookery-book which I knew she had; -and I introduced my congratulations _à propos_ of the difficulty -gentlemen must have in house-keeping; and Mrs Fitz-Adam bridled up, and -said that she believed it was true, though how and where I could have -heard it she did not know. She said her brother and Lady Glenmire had -come to an understanding at last. ‘Understanding!’ such a coarse word! -But my lady will have to come down to many a want of refinement. I have -reason to believe Mr Hoggins sups on bread-and-cheese and beer every -night. - -“Marry!” said Miss Matty once again. “Well! I never thought of it. Two -people that we know going to be married. It’s coming very near!” - -“So near that my heart stopped beating when I heard of it, while you -might have counted twelve,” said Miss Pole. - -“One does not know whose turn may come next. Here, in Cranford, poor -Lady Glenmire might have thought herself safe,” said Miss Matty, with a -gentle pity in her tones. - -“Bah!” said Miss Pole, with a toss of her head. “Don’t you remember poor -dear Captain Brown’s song ‘Tibbie Fowler,’ and the line— - - ‘Set her on the Tintock tap, - The wind will blaw a man till her.’” - -“That was because ‘Tibbie Fowler’ was rich, I think.” - -“Well! there was a kind of attraction about Lady Glenmire that I, for -one, should be ashamed to have.” - -I put in my wonder. “But how can she have fancied Mr Hoggins? I am not -surprised that Mr Hoggins has liked her.” - -“Oh! I don’t know. Mr Hoggins is rich, and very pleasant-looking,” said -Miss Matty, “and very good-tempered and kind-hearted.” - -“She has married for an establishment, that’s it. I suppose she takes -the surgery with it,” said Miss Pole, with a little dry laugh at her own -joke. But, like many people who think they have made a severe and -sarcastic speech, which yet is clever of its kind, she began to relax in -her grimness from the moment when she made this allusion to the surgery; -and we turned to speculate on the way in which Mrs Jamieson would receive -the news. The person whom she had left in charge of her house to keep -off followers from her maids to set up a follower of her own! And that -follower a man whom Mrs Jamieson had tabooed as vulgar, and inadmissible -to Cranford society, not merely on account of his name, but because of -his voice, his complexion, his boots, smelling of the stable, and -himself, smelling of drugs. Had he ever been to see Lady Glenmire at Mrs -Jamieson’s? Chloride of lime would not purify the house in its owner’s -estimation if he had. Or had their interviews been confined to the -occasional meetings in the chamber of the poor sick conjuror, to whom, -with all our sense of the _mésalliance_, we could not help allowing that -they had both been exceedingly kind? And now it turned out that a -servant of Mrs Jamieson’s had been ill, and Mr Hoggins had been attending -her for some weeks. So the wolf had got into the fold, and now he was -carrying off the shepherdess. What would Mrs Jamieson say? We looked -into the darkness of futurity as a child gazes after a rocket up in the -cloudy sky, full of wondering expectation of the rattle, the discharge, -and the brilliant shower of sparks and light. Then we brought ourselves -down to earth and the present time by questioning each other (being all -equally ignorant, and all equally without the slightest data to build any -conclusions upon) as to when IT would take place? Where? How much a -year Mr Hoggins had? Whether she would drop her title? And how Martha -and the other correct servants in Cranford would ever be brought to -announce a married couple as Lady Glenmire and Mr Hoggins? But would -they be visited? Would Mrs Jamieson let us? Or must we choose between -the Honourable Mrs Jamieson and the degraded Lady Glenmire? We all liked -Lady Glenmire the best. She was bright, and kind, and sociable, and -agreeable; and Mrs Jamieson was dull, and inert, and pompous, and -tiresome. But we had acknowledged the sway of the latter so long, that -it seemed like a kind of disloyalty now even to meditate disobedience to -the prohibition we anticipated. - -Mrs Forrester surprised us in our darned caps and patched collars; and we -forgot all about them in our eagerness to see how she would bear the -information, which we honourably left to Miss Pole, to impart, although, -if we had been inclined to take unfair advantage, we might have rushed in -ourselves, for she had a most out-of-place fit of coughing for five -minutes after Mrs Forrester entered the room. I shall never forget the -imploring expression of her eyes, as she looked at us over her -pocket-handkerchief. They said, as plain as words could speak, “Don’t -let Nature deprive me of the treasure which is mine, although for a time -I can make no use of it.” And we did not. - -Mrs Forrester’s surprise was equal to ours; and her sense of injury -rather greater, because she had to feel for her Order, and saw more fully -than we could do how such conduct brought stains on the aristocracy. - -When she and Miss Pole left us we endeavoured to subside into calmness; -but Miss Matty was really upset by the intelligence she had heard. She -reckoned it up, and it was more than fifteen years since she had heard of -any of her acquaintance going to be married, with the one exception of -Miss Jessie Brown; and, as she said, it gave her quite a shock, and made -her feel as if she could not think what would happen next. - -I don’t know whether it is a fancy of mine, or a real fact, but I have -noticed that, just after the announcement of an engagement in any set, -the unmarried ladies in that set flutter out in an unusual gaiety and -newness of dress, as much as to say, in a tacit and unconscious manner, -“We also are spinsters.” Miss Matty and Miss Pole talked and thought -more about bonnets, gowns, caps, and shawls, during the fortnight that -succeeded this call, than I had known them do for years before. But it -might be the spring weather, for it was a warm and pleasant March; and -merinoes and beavers, and woollen materials of all sorts were but -ungracious receptacles of the bright sun’s glancing rays. It had not -been Lady Glenmire’s dress that had won Mr Hoggins’s heart, for she went -about on her errands of kindness more shabby than ever. Although in the -hurried glimpses I caught of her at church or elsewhere she appeared -rather to shun meeting any of her friends, her face seemed to have almost -something of the flush of youth in it; her lips looked redder and more -trembling full than in their old compressed state, and her eyes dwelt on -all things with a lingering light, as if she was learning to love -Cranford and its belongings. Mr Hoggins looked broad and radiant, and -creaked up the middle aisle at church in a brand-new pair of top-boots—an -audible, as well as visible, sign of his purposed change of state; for -the tradition went, that the boots he had worn till now were the -identical pair in which he first set out on his rounds in Cranford -twenty-five years ago; only they had been new-pieced, high and low, top -and bottom, heel and sole, black leather and brown leather, more times -than any one could tell. - -None of the ladies in Cranford chose to sanction the marriage by -congratulating either of the parties. We wished to ignore the whole -affair until our liege lady, Mrs Jamieson, returned. Till she came back -to give us our cue, we felt that it would be better to consider the -engagement in the same light as the Queen of Spain’s legs—facts which -certainly existed, but the less said about the better. This restraint -upon our tongues—for you see if we did not speak about it to any of the -parties concerned, how could we get answers to the questions that we -longed to ask?—was beginning to be irksome, and our idea of the dignity -of silence was paling before our curiosity, when another direction was -given to our thoughts, by an announcement on the part of the principal -shopkeeper of Cranford, who ranged the trades from grocer and -cheesemonger to man-milliner, as occasion required, that the spring -fashions were arrived, and would be exhibited on the following Tuesday at -his rooms in High Street. Now Miss Matty had been only waiting for this -before buying herself a new silk gown. I had offered, it is true, to -send to Drumble for patterns, but she had rejected my proposal, gently -implying that she had not forgotten her disappointment about the -sea-green turban. I was thankful that I was on the spot now, to -counteract the dazzling fascination of any yellow or scarlet silk. - -I must say a word or two here about myself. I have spoken of my father’s -old friendship for the Jenkyns family; indeed, I am not sure if there was -not some distant relationship. He had willingly allowed me to remain all -the winter at Cranford, in consideration of a letter which Miss Matty had -written to him about the time of the panic, in which I suspect she had -exaggerated my powers and my bravery as a defender of the house. But now -that the days were longer and more cheerful, he was beginning to urge the -necessity of my return; and I only delayed in a sort of odd forlorn hope -that if I could obtain any clear information, I might make the account -given by the signora of the Aga Jenkyns tally with that of “poor Peter,” -his appearance and disappearance, which I had winnowed out of the -conversation of Miss Pole and Mrs Forrester. - - - - -CHAPTER XIII—STOPPED PAYMENT - - -THE very Tuesday morning on which Mr Johnson was going to show the -fashions, the post-woman brought two letters to the house. I say the -post-woman, but I should say the postman’s wife. He was a lame -shoemaker, a very clean, honest man, much respected in the town; but he -never brought the letters round except on unusual occasions, such as -Christmas Day or Good Friday; and on those days the letters, which should -have been delivered at eight in the morning, did not make their -appearance until two or three in the afternoon, for every one liked poor -Thomas, and gave him a welcome on these festive occasions. He used to -say, “He was welly stawed wi’ eating, for there were three or four houses -where nowt would serve ’em but he must share in their breakfast;” and by -the time he had done his last breakfast, he came to some other friend who -was beginning dinner; but come what might in the way of temptation, Tom -was always sober, civil, and smiling; and, as Miss Jenkyns used to say, -it was a lesson in patience, that she doubted not would call out that -precious quality in some minds, where, but for Thomas, it might have lain -dormant and undiscovered. Patience was certainly very dormant in Miss -Jenkyns’s mind. She was always expecting letters, and always drumming on -the table till the post-woman had called or gone past. On Christmas Day -and Good Friday she drummed from breakfast till church, from church-time -till two o’clock—unless when the fire wanted stirring, when she -invariably knocked down the fire-irons, and scolded Miss Matty for it. -But equally certain was the hearty welcome and the good dinner for -Thomas; Miss Jenkyns standing over him like a bold dragoon, questioning -him as to his children—what they were doing—what school they went to; -upbraiding him if another was likely to make its appearance, but sending -even the little babies the shilling and the mince-pie which was her gift -to all the children, with half-a-crown in addition for both father and -mother. The post was not half of so much consequence to dear Miss Matty; -but not for the world would she have diminished Thomas’s welcome and his -dole, though I could see that she felt rather shy over the ceremony, -which had been regarded by Miss Jenkyns as a glorious opportunity for -giving advice and benefiting her fellow-creatures. Miss Matty would -steal the money all in a lump into his hand, as if she were ashamed of -herself. Miss Jenkyns gave him each individual coin separate, with a -“There! that’s for yourself; that’s for Jenny,” etc. Miss Matty would -even beckon Martha out of the kitchen while he ate his food: and once, to -my knowledge, winked at its rapid disappearance into a blue cotton -pocket-handkerchief. Miss Jenkyns almost scolded him if he did not leave -a clean plate, however heaped it might have been, and gave an injunction -with every mouthful. - - [Picture: Standing over him like a bold dragoon] - -I have wandered a long way from the two letters that awaited us on the -breakfast-table that Tuesday morning. Mine was from my father. Miss -Matty’s was printed. My father’s was just a man’s letter; I mean it was -very dull, and gave no information beyond that he was well, that they had -had a good deal of rain, that trade was very stagnant, and there were -many disagreeable rumours afloat. He then asked me if I knew whether -Miss Matty still retained her shares in the Town and County Bank, as -there were very unpleasant reports about it; though nothing more than he -had always foreseen, and had prophesied to Miss Jenkyns years ago, when -she would invest their little property in it—the only unwise step that -clever woman had ever taken, to his knowledge (the only time she ever -acted against his advice, I knew). However, if anything had gone wrong, -of course I was not to think of leaving Miss Matty while I could be of -any use, etc. - -“Who is your letter from, my dear? Mine is a very civil invitation, -signed ‘Edwin Wilson,’ asking me to attend an important meeting of the -shareholders of the Town and County Bank, to be held in Drumble, on -Thursday the twenty-first. I am sure, it is very attentive of them to -remember me.” - -I did not like to hear of this “important meeting,” for, though I did not -know much about business, I feared it confirmed what my father said: -however, I thought, ill news always came fast enough, so I resolved to -say nothing about my alarm, and merely told her that my father was well, -and sent his kind regards to her. She kept turning over and admiring her -letter. At last she spoke— - -“I remember their sending one to Deborah just like this; but that I did -not wonder at, for everybody knew she was so clear-headed. I am afraid I -could not help them much; indeed, if they came to accounts, I should be -quite in the way, for I never could do sums in my head. Deborah, I know, -rather wished to go, and went so far as to order a new bonnet for the -occasion: but when the time came she had a bad cold; so they sent her a -very polite account of what they had done. Chosen a director, I think it -was. Do you think they want me to help them to choose a director? I am -sure I should choose your father at once!’ - -“My father has no shares in the bank,” said I. - -“Oh, no! I remember. He objected very much to Deborah’s buying any, I -believe. But she was quite the woman of business, and always judged for -herself; and here, you see, they have paid eight per cent. all these -years.” - -It was a very uncomfortable subject to me, with my half-knowledge; so I -thought I would change the conversation, and I asked at what time she -thought we had better go and see the fashions. “Well, my dear,” she -said, “the thing is this: it is not etiquette to go till after twelve; -but then, you see, all Cranford will be there, and one does not like to -be too curious about dress and trimmings and caps with all the world -looking on. It is never genteel to be over-curious on these occasions. -Deborah had the knack of always looking as if the latest fashion was -nothing new to her; a manner she had caught from Lady Arley, who did see -all the new modes in London, you know. So I thought we would just slip -down—for I do want this morning, soon after breakfast half-a-pound of -tea—and then we could go up and examine the things at our leisure, and -see exactly how my new silk gown must be made; and then, after twelve, we -could go with our minds disengaged, and free from thoughts of dress.” - -We began to talk of Miss Matty’s new silk gown. I discovered that it -would be really the first time in her life that she had had to choose -anything of consequence for herself: for Miss Jenkyns had always been the -more decided character, whatever her taste might have been; and it is -astonishing how such people carry the world before them by the mere force -of will. Miss Matty anticipated the sight of the glossy folds with as -much delight as if the five sovereigns, set apart for the purchase, could -buy all the silks in the shop; and (remembering my own loss of two hours -in a toyshop before I could tell on what wonder to spend a silver -threepence) I was very glad that we were going early, that dear Miss -Matty might have leisure for the delights of perplexity. - -If a happy sea-green could be met with, the gown was to be sea-green: if -not, she inclined to maize, and I to silver gray; and we discussed the -requisite number of breadths until we arrived at the shop-door. We were -to buy the tea, select the silk, and then clamber up the iron corkscrew -stairs that led into what was once a loft, though now a fashion -show-room. - -The young men at Mr Johnson’s had on their best looks; and their best -cravats, and pivoted themselves over the counter with surprising -activity. They wanted to show us upstairs at once; but on the principle -of business first and pleasure afterwards, we stayed to purchase the tea. -Here Miss Matty’s absence of mind betrayed itself. If she was made aware -that she had been drinking green tea at any time, she always thought it -her duty to lie awake half through the night afterward (I have known her -take it in ignorance many a time without such effects), and consequently -green tea was prohibited the house; yet to-day she herself asked for the -obnoxious article, under the impression that she was talking about the -silk. However, the mistake was soon rectified; and then the silks were -unrolled in good truth. By this time the shop was pretty well filled, -for it was Cranford market-day, and many of the farmers and country -people from the neighbourhood round came in, sleeking down their hair, -and glancing shyly about, from under their eyelids, as anxious to take -back some notion of the unusual gaiety to the mistress or the lasses at -home, and yet feeling that they were out of place among the smart shopmen -and gay shawls and summer prints. One honest-looking man, however, made -his way up to the counter at which we stood, and boldly asked to look at -a shawl or two. The other country folk confined themselves to the -grocery side; but our neighbour was evidently too full of some kind -intention towards mistress, wife or daughter, to be shy; and it soon -became a question with me, whether he or Miss Matty would keep their -shopmen the longest time. He thought each shawl more beautiful than the -last; and, as for Miss Matty, she smiled and sighed over each fresh bale -that was brought out; one colour set off another, and the heap together -would, as she said, make even the rainbow look poor. - -“I am afraid,” said she, hesitating, “Whichever I choose I shall wish I -had taken another. Look at this lovely crimson! it would be so warm in -winter. But spring is coming on, you know. I wish I could have a gown -for every season,” said she, dropping her voice—as we all did in Cranford -whenever we talked of anything we wished for but could not afford. -“However,” she continued in a louder and more cheerful tone, “it would -give me a great deal of trouble to take care of them if I had them; so, I -think, I’ll only take one. But which must it be, my dear?” - -And now she hovered over a lilac with yellow spots, while I pulled out a -quiet sage-green that had faded into insignificance under the more -brilliant colours, but which was nevertheless a good silk in its humble -way. Our attention was called off to our neighbour. He had chosen a -shawl of about thirty shillings’ value; and his face looked broadly -happy, under the anticipation, no doubt, of the pleasant surprise he -would give to some Molly or Jenny at home; he had tugged a leathern purse -out of his breeches-pocket, and had offered a five-pound note in payment -for the shawl, and for some parcels which had been brought round to him -from the grocery counter; and it was just at this point that he attracted -our notice. The shopman was examining the note with a puzzled, doubtful -air. - -“Town and County Bank! I am not sure, sir, but I believe we have -received a warning against notes issued by this bank only this morning. -I will just step and ask Mr Johnson, sir; but I’m afraid I must trouble -you for payment in cash, or in a note of a different bank.” - -I never saw a man’s countenance fall so suddenly into dismay and -bewilderment. It was almost piteous to see the rapid change. - -“Dang it!” said he, striking his fist down on the table, as if to try -which was the harder, “the chap talks as if notes and gold were to be had -for the picking up.” - -Miss Matty had forgotten her silk gown in her interest for the man. I -don’t think she had caught the name of the bank, and in my nervous -cowardice I was anxious that she should not; and so I began admiring the -yellow-spotted lilac gown that I had been utterly condemning only a -minute before. But it was of no use. - -“What bank was it? I mean, what bank did your note belong to?” - -“Town and County Bank.” - -“Let me see it,” said she quietly to the shopman, gently taking it out of -his hand, as he brought it back to return it to the farmer. - -Mr Johnson was very sorry, but, from information he had received, the -notes issued by that bank were little better than waste paper. - -“I don’t understand it,” said Miss Matty to me in a low voice. “That is -our bank, is it not?—the Town and County Bank?” - -“Yes,” said I. “This lilac silk will just match the ribbons in your new -cap, I believe,” I continued, holding up the folds so as to catch the -light, and wishing that the man would make haste and be gone, and yet -having a new wonder, that had only just sprung up, how far it was wise or -right in me to allow Miss Matty to make this expensive purchase, if the -affairs of the bank were really so bad as the refusal of the note -implied. - -But Miss Matty put on the soft dignified manner, peculiar to her, rarely -used, and yet which became her so well, and laying her hand gently on -mine, she said— - -“Never mind the silks for a few minutes, dear. I don’t understand you, -sir,” turning now to the shopman, who had been attending to the farmer. -“Is this a forged note?” - -“Oh, no, ma’am. It is a true note of its kind; but you see, ma’am, it is -a joint-stock bank, and there are reports out that it is likely to break. -Mr Johnson is only doing his duty, ma’am, as I am sure Mr Dobson knows.” - -But Mr Dobson could not respond to the appealing bow by any answering -smile. He was turning the note absently over in his fingers, looking -gloomily enough at the parcel containing the lately-chosen shawl. - -“It’s hard upon a poor man,” said he, “as earns every farthing with the -sweat of his brow. However, there’s no help for it. You must take back -your shawl, my man; Lizzle must go on with her cloak for a while. And -yon figs for the little ones—I promised them to ’em—I’ll take them; but -the ’bacco, and the other things”— - -“I will give you five sovereigns for your note, my good man,” said Miss -Matty. “I think there is some great mistake about it, for I am one of -the shareholders, and I’m sure they would have told me if things had not -been going on right.” - -The shopman whispered a word or two across the table to Miss Matty. She -looked at him with a dubious air. - -“Perhaps so,” said she. “But I don’t pretend to understand business; I -only know that if it is going to fail, and if honest people are to lose -their money because they have taken our notes—I can’t explain myself,” -said she, suddenly becoming aware that she had got into a long sentence -with four people for audience; “only I would rather exchange my gold for -the note, if you please,” turning to the farmer, “and then you can take -your wife the shawl. It is only going without my gown a few days -longer,” she continued, speaking to me. “Then, I have no doubt, -everything will be cleared up.” - -“But if it is cleared up the wrong way?” said I. - -“Why, then it will only have been common honesty in me, as a shareholder, -to have given this good man the money. I am quite clear about it in my -own mind; but, you know, I can never speak quite as comprehensibly as -others can, only you must give me your note, Mr Dobson, if you please, -and go on with your purchases with these sovereigns.” - - [Picture: You must give me your note, Mr Dobson, if you please] - -The man looked at her with silent gratitude—too awkward to put his thanks -into words; but he hung back for a minute or two, fumbling with his note. - -“I’m loth to make another one lose instead of me, if it is a loss; but, -you see, five pounds is a deal of money to a man with a family; and, as -you say, ten to one in a day or two the note will be as good as gold -again.” - -“No hope of that, my friend,” said the shopman. - -“The more reason why I should take it,” said Miss Matty quietly. She -pushed her sovereigns towards the man, who slowly laid his note down in -exchange. “Thank you. I will wait a day or two before I purchase any of -these silks; perhaps you will then have a greater choice. My dear, will -you come upstairs?” - -We inspected the fashions with as minute and curious an interest as if -the gown to be made after them had been bought. I could not see that the -little event in the shop below had in the least damped Miss Matty’s -curiosity as to the make of sleeves or the sit of skirts. She once or -twice exchanged congratulations with me on our private and leisurely view -of the bonnets and shawls; but I was, all the time, not so sure that our -examination was so utterly private, for I caught glimpses of a figure -dodging behind the cloaks and mantles; and, by a dexterous move, I came -face to face with Miss Pole, also in morning costume (the principal -feature of which was her being without teeth, and wearing a veil to -conceal the deficiency), come on the same errand as ourselves. But she -quickly took her departure, because, as she said, she had a bad headache, -and did not feel herself up to conversation. - -As we came down through the shop, the civil Mr Johnson was awaiting us; -he had been informed of the exchange of the note for gold, and with much -good feeling and real kindness, but with a little want of tact, he wished -to condole with Miss Matty, and impress upon her the true state of the -case. I could only hope that he had heard an exaggerated rumour for he -said that her shares were worse than nothing, and that the bank could not -pay a shilling in the pound. I was glad that Miss Matty seemed still a -little incredulous; but I could not tell how much of this was real or -assumed, with that self-control which seemed habitual to ladies of Miss -Matty’s standing in Cranford, who would have thought their dignity -compromised by the slightest expression of surprise, dismay, or any -similar feeling to an inferior in station, or in a public shop. However, -we walked home very silently. I am ashamed to say, I believe I was -rather vexed and annoyed at Miss Matty’s conduct in taking the note to -herself so decidedly. I had so set my heart upon her having a new silk -gown, which she wanted sadly; in general she was so undecided anybody -might turn her round; in this case I had felt that it was no use -attempting it, but I was not the less put out at the result. - -Somehow, after twelve o’clock, we both acknowledged to a sated curiosity -about the fashions, and to a certain fatigue of body (which was, in fact, -depression of mind) that indisposed us to go out again. But still we -never spoke of the note; till, all at once, something possessed me to ask -Miss Matty if she would think it her duty to offer sovereigns for all the -notes of the Town and County Bank she met with? I could have bitten my -tongue out the minute I had said it. She looked up rather sadly, and as -if I had thrown a new perplexity into her already distressed mind; and -for a minute or two she did not speak. Then she said—my own dear Miss -Matty—without a shade of reproach in her voice— - -“My dear, I never feel as if my mind was what people call very strong; -and it’s often hard enough work for me to settle what I ought to do with -the case right before me. I was very thankful to—I was very thankful, -that I saw my duty this morning, with the poor man standing by me; but -its rather a strain upon me to keep thinking and thinking what I should -do if such and such a thing happened; and, I believe, I had rather wait -and see what really does come; and I don’t doubt I shall be helped then -if I don’t fidget myself, and get too anxious beforehand. You know, -love, I’m not like Deborah. If Deborah had lived, I’ve no doubt she -would have seen after them, before they had got themselves into this -state.” - -We had neither of us much appetite for dinner, though we tried to talk -cheerfully about indifferent things. When we returned into the -drawing-room, Miss Matty unlocked her desk and began to look over her -account-books. I was so penitent for what I had said in the morning, -that I did not choose to take upon myself the presumption to suppose that -I could assist her; I rather left her alone, as, with puzzled brow, her -eye followed her pen up and down the ruled page. By-and-by she shut the -book, locked the desk, and came and drew a chair to mine, where I sat in -moody sorrow over the fire. I stole my hand into hers; she clasped it, -but did not speak a word. At last she said, with forced composure in her -voice, “If that bank goes wrong, I shall lose one hundred and forty-nine -pounds thirteen shillings and fourpence a year; I shall only have -thirteen pounds a year left.” I squeezed her hand hard and tight. I did -not know what to say. Presently (it was too dark to see her face) I felt -her fingers work convulsively in my grasp; and I knew she was going to -speak again. I heard the sobs in her voice as she said, “I hope it’s not -wrong—not wicked—but, oh! I am so glad poor Deborah is spared this. She -could not have borne to come down in the world—she had such a noble, -lofty spirit.” - -This was all she said about the sister who had insisted upon investing -their little property in that unlucky bank. We were later in lighting -the candle than usual that night, and until that light shamed us into -speaking, we sat together very silently and sadly. - -However, we took to our work after tea with a kind of forced cheerfulness -(which soon became real as far as it went), talking of that never-ending -wonder, Lady Glenmire’s engagement. Miss Matty was almost coming round -to think it a good thing. - -“I don’t mean to deny that men are troublesome in a house. I don’t judge -from my own experience, for my father was neatness itself, and wiped his -shoes on coming in as carefully as any woman; but still a man has a sort -of knowledge of what should be done in difficulties, that it is very -pleasant to have one at hand ready to lean upon. Now, Lady Glenmire, -instead of being tossed about, and wondering where she is to settle, will -be certain of a home among pleasant and kind people, such as our good -Miss Pole and Mrs Forrester. And Mr Hoggins is really a very personable -man; and as for his manners, why, if they are not very polished, I have -known people with very good hearts and very clever minds too, who were -not what some people reckoned refined, but who were both true and -tender.” - -She fell off into a soft reverie about Mr Holbrook, and I did not -interrupt her, I was so busy maturing a plan I had had in my mind for -some days, but which this threatened failure of the bank had brought to a -crisis. That night, after Miss Matty went to bed, I treacherously -lighted the candle again, and sat down in the drawing-room to compose a -letter to the Aga Jenkyns, a letter which should affect him if he were -Peter, and yet seem a mere statement of dry facts if he were a stranger. -The church clock pealed out two before I had done. - -The next morning news came, both official and otherwise, that the Town -and County Bank had stopped payment. Miss Matty was ruined. - -She tried to speak quietly to me; but when she came to the actual fact -that she would have but about five shillings a week to live upon, she -could not restrain a few tears. - -“I am not crying for myself, dear,” said she, wiping them away; “I -believe I am crying for the very silly thought of how my mother would -grieve if she could know; she always cared for us so much more than for -herself. But many a poor person has less, and I am not very extravagant, -and, thank God, when the neck of mutton, and Martha’s wages, and the rent -are paid, I have not a farthing owing. Poor Martha! I think she’ll be -sorry to leave me.” - -Miss Matty smiled at me through her tears, and she would fain have had me -see only the smile, not the tears. - - - - -CHAPTER XIV—FRIENDS IN NEED - - -IT was an example to me, and I fancy it might be to many others, to see -how immediately Miss Matty set about the retrenchment which she knew to -be right under her altered circumstances. While she went down to speak -to Martha, and break the intelligence to her, I stole out with my letter -to the Aga Jenkyns, and went to the signor’s lodgings to obtain the exact -address. I bound the signora to secrecy; and indeed her military manners -had a degree of shortness and reserve in them which made her always say -as little as possible, except when under the pressure of strong -excitement. Moreover (which made my secret doubly sure), the signor was -now so far recovered as to be looking forward to travelling and conjuring -again in the space of a few days, when he, his wife, and little Phoebe -would leave Cranford. Indeed, I found him looking over a great black and -red placard, in which the Signor Brunoni’s accomplishments were set -forth, and to which only the name of the town where he would next display -them was wanting. He and his wife were so much absorbed in deciding -where the red letters would come in with most effect (it might have been -the Rubric for that matter), that it was some time before I could get my -question asked privately, and not before I had given several decisions, -the which I questioned afterwards with equal wisdom of sincerity as soon -as the signor threw in his doubts and reasons on the important subject. -At last I got the address, spelt by sound, and very queer it looked. I -dropped it in the post on my way home, and then for a minute I stood -looking at the wooden pane with a gaping slit which divided me from the -letter but a moment ago in my hand. It was gone from me like life, never -to be recalled. It would get tossed about on the sea, and stained with -sea-waves perhaps, and be carried among palm-trees, and scented with all -tropical fragrance; the little piece of paper, but an hour ago so -familiar and commonplace, had set out on its race to the strange wild -countries beyond the Ganges! But I could not afford to lose much time on -this speculation. I hastened home, that Miss Matty might not miss me. -Martha opened the door to me, her face swollen with crying. As soon as -she saw me she burst out afresh, and taking hold of my arm she pulled me -in, and banged the door to, in order to ask me if indeed it was all true -that Miss Matty had been saying. - -“I’ll never leave her! No; I won’t. I telled her so, and said I could -not think how she could find in her heart to give me warning. I could -not have had the face to do it, if I’d been her. I might ha’ been just -as good for nothing as Mrs Fitz-Adam’s Rosy, who struck for wages after -living seven years and a half in one place. I said I was not one to go -and serve Mammon at that rate; that I knew when I’d got a good missus, if -she didn’t know when she’d got a good servant”— - -“But, Martha,” said I, cutting in while she wiped her eyes. - -“Don’t, ‘but Martha’ me,” she replied to my deprecatory tone. - -“Listen to reason”— - -“I’ll not listen to reason,” she said, now in full possession of her -voice, which had been rather choked with sobbing. “Reason always means -what someone else has got to say. Now I think what I’ve got to say is -good enough reason; but reason or not, I’ll say it, and I’ll stick to it. -I’ve money in the Savings Bank, and I’ve a good stock of clothes, and I’m -not going to leave Miss Matty. No, not if she gives me warning every -hour in the day!” - -She put her arms akimbo, as much as to say she defied me; and, indeed, I -could hardly tell how to begin to remonstrate with her, so much did I -feel that Miss Matty, in her increasing infirmity, needed the attendance -of this kind and faithful woman. - -“Well”—said I at last. - -“I’m thankful you begin with ‘well!’ If you’d have begun with ‘but,’ as -you did afore, I’d not ha’ listened to you. Now you may go on.” - -“I know you would be a great loss to Miss Matty, Martha”— - -“I telled her so. A loss she’d never cease to be sorry for,” broke in -Martha triumphantly. - -“Still, she will have so little—so very little—to live upon, that I don’t -see just now how she could find you food—she will even be pressed for her -own. I tell you this, Martha, because I feel you are like a friend to -dear Miss Matty, but you know she might not like to have it spoken -about.” - -Apparently this was even a blacker view of the subject than Miss Matty -had presented to her, for Martha just sat down on the first chair that -came to hand, and cried out loud (we had been standing in the kitchen). - -At last she put her apron down, and looking me earnestly in the face, -asked, “Was that the reason Miss Matty wouldn’t order a pudding to-day? -She said she had no great fancy for sweet things, and you and she would -just have a mutton chop. But I’ll be up to her. Never you tell, but -I’ll make her a pudding, and a pudding she’ll like, too, and I’ll pay for -it myself; so mind you see she eats it. Many a one has been comforted in -their sorrow by seeing a good dish come upon the table.” - -I was rather glad that Martha’s energy had taken the immediate and -practical direction of pudding-making, for it staved off the quarrelsome -discussion as to whether she should or should not leave Miss Matty’s -service. She began to tie on a clean apron, and otherwise prepare -herself for going to the shop for the butter, eggs, and what else she -might require. She would not use a scrap of the articles already in the -house for her cookery, but went to an old tea-pot in which her private -store of money was deposited, and took out what she wanted. - -I found Miss Matty very quiet, and not a little sad; but by-and-by she -tried to smile for my sake. It was settled that I was to write to my -father, and ask him to come over and hold a consultation, and as soon as -this letter was despatched we began to talk over future plans. Miss -Matty’s idea was to take a single room, and retain as much of her -furniture as would be necessary to fit up this, and sell the rest, and -there to quietly exist upon what would remain after paying the rent. For -my part, I was more ambitious and less contented. I thought of all the -things by which a woman, past middle age, and with the education common -to ladies fifty years ago, could earn or add to a living without -materially losing caste; but at length I put even this last clause on one -side, and wondered what in the world Miss Matty could do. - -Teaching was, of course, the first thing that suggested itself. If Miss -Matty could teach children anything, it would throw her among the little -elves in whom her soul delighted. I ran over her accomplishments. Once -upon a time I had heard her say she could play “Ah! vous dirai-je, -maman?” on the piano, but that was long, long ago; that faint shadow of -musical acquirement had died out years before. She had also once been -able to trace out patterns very nicely for muslin embroidery, by dint of -placing a piece of silver paper over the design to be copied, and holding -both against the window-pane while she marked the scollop and -eyelet-holes. But that was her nearest approach to the accomplishment of -drawing, and I did not think it would go very far. Then again, as to the -branches of a solid English education—fancy work and the use of the -globes—such as the mistress of the Ladies’ Seminary, to which all the -tradespeople in Cranford sent their daughters, professed to teach. Miss -Matty’s eyes were failing her, and I doubted if she could discover the -number of threads in a worsted-work pattern, or rightly appreciate the -different shades required for Queen Adelaide’s face in the loyal -wool-work now fashionable in Cranford. As for the use of the globes, I -had never been able to find it out myself, so perhaps I was not a good -judge of Miss Matty’s capability of instructing in this branch of -education; but it struck me that equators and tropics, and such mystical -circles, were very imaginary lines indeed to her, and that she looked -upon the signs of the Zodiac as so many remnants of the Black Art. - -What she piqued herself upon, as arts in which she excelled, was making -candle-lighters, or “spills” (as she preferred calling them), of coloured -paper, cut so as to resemble feathers, and knitting garters in a variety -of dainty stitches. I had once said, on receiving a present of an -elaborate pair, that I should feel quite tempted to drop one of them in -the street, in order to have it admired; but I found this little joke -(and it was a very little one) was such a distress to her sense of -propriety, and was taken with such anxious, earnest alarm, lest the -temptation might some day prove too strong for me, that I quite regretted -having ventured upon it. A present of these delicately-wrought garters, -a bunch of gay “spills,” or a set of cards on which sewing-silk was wound -in a mystical manner, were the well-known tokens of Miss Matty’s favour. -But would any one pay to have their children taught these arts? or, -indeed, would Miss Matty sell, for filthy lucre, the knack and the skill -with which she made trifles of value to those who loved her? - -I had to come down to reading, writing, and arithmetic; and, in reading -the chapter every morning, she always coughed before coming to long -words. I doubted her power of getting through a genealogical chapter, -with any number of coughs. Writing she did well and delicately—but -spelling! She seemed to think that the more out-of-the-way this was, and -the more trouble it cost her, the greater the compliment she paid to her -correspondent; and words that she would spell quite correctly in her -letters to me became perfect enigmas when she wrote to my father. - -No! there was nothing she could teach to the rising generation of -Cranford, unless they had been quick learners and ready imitators of her -patience, her humility, her sweetness, her quiet contentment with all -that she could not do. I pondered and pondered until dinner was -announced by Martha, with a face all blubbered and swollen with crying. - -Miss Matty had a few little peculiarities which Martha was apt to regard -as whims below her attention, and appeared to consider as childish -fancies of which an old lady of fifty-eight should try and cure herself. -But to-day everything was attended to with the most careful regard. The -bread was cut to the imaginary pattern of excellence that existed in Miss -Matty’s mind, as being the way which her mother had preferred, the -curtain was drawn so as to exclude the dead brick wall of a neighbour’s -stable, and yet left so as to show every tender leaf of the poplar which -was bursting into spring beauty. Martha’s tone to Miss Matty was just -such as that good, rough-spoken servant usually kept sacred for little -children, and which I had never heard her use to any grown-up person. - -I had forgotten to tell Miss Matty about the pudding, and I was afraid -she might not do justice to it, for she had evidently very little -appetite this day; so I seized the opportunity of letting her into the -secret while Martha took away the meat. Miss Matty’s eyes filled with -tears, and she could not speak, either to express surprise or delight, -when Martha returned bearing it aloft, made in the most wonderful -representation of a lion _couchant_ that ever was moulded. Martha’s face -gleamed with triumph as she set it down before Miss Matty with an -exultant “There!” Miss Matty wanted to speak her thanks, but could not; -so she took Martha’s hand and shook it warmly, which set Martha off -crying, and I myself could hardly keep up the necessary composure. -Martha burst out of the room, and Miss Matty had to clear her voice once -or twice before she could speak. At last she said, “I should like to -keep this pudding under a glass shade, my dear!” and the notion of the -lion _couchant_, with his currant eyes, being hoisted up to the place of -honour on a mantelpiece, tickled my hysterical fancy, and I began to -laugh, which rather surprised Miss Matty. - -“I am sure, dear, I have seen uglier things under a glass shade before -now,” said she. - -So had I, many a time and oft, and I accordingly composed my countenance -(and now I could hardly keep from crying), and we both fell to upon the -pudding, which was indeed excellent—only every morsel seemed to choke us, -our hearts were so full. - -We had too much to think about to talk much that afternoon. It passed -over very tranquilly. But when the tea-urn was brought in a new thought -came into my head. Why should not Miss Matty sell tea—be an agent to the -East India Tea Company which then existed? I could see no objections to -this plan, while the advantages were many—always supposing that Miss -Matty could get over the degradation of condescending to anything like -trade. Tea was neither greasy nor sticky—grease and stickiness being two -of the qualities which Miss Matty could not endure. No shop-window would -be required. A small, genteel notification of her being licensed to sell -tea would, it is true, be necessary, but I hoped that it could be placed -where no one would see it. Neither was tea a heavy article, so as to tax -Miss Matty’s fragile strength. The only thing against my plan was the -buying and selling involved. - -While I was giving but absent answers to the questions Miss Matty was -putting—almost as absently—we heard a clumping sound on the stairs, and a -whispering outside the door, which indeed once opened and shut as if by -some invisible agency. After a little while Martha came in, dragging -after her a great tall young man, all crimson with shyness, and finding -his only relief in perpetually sleeking down his hair. - -“Please, ma’am, he’s only Jem Hearn,” said Martha, by way of an -introduction; and so out of breath was she that I imagine she had had -some bodily struggle before she could overcome his reluctance to be -presented on the courtly scene of Miss Matilda Jenkyns’s drawing-room. - -“And please, ma’am, he wants to marry me off-hand. And please, ma’am, we -want to take a lodger—just one quiet lodger, to make our two ends meet; -and we’d take any house conformable; and, oh dear Miss Matty, if I may be -so bold, would you have any objections to lodging with us? Jem wants it -as much as I do.” [To Jem ]—“You great oaf! why can’t you back me!—But -he does want it all the same, very bad—don’t you, Jem?—only, you see, -he’s dazed at being called on to speak before quality.” - - [Picture: Please, ma’am, he wants to marry me off-hand] - -“It’s not that,” broke in Jem. “It’s that you’ve taken me all on a -sudden, and I didn’t think for to get married so soon—and such quick -words does flabbergast a man. It’s not that I’m against it, ma’am” -(addressing Miss Matty), “only Martha has such quick ways with her when -once she takes a thing into her head; and marriage, ma’am—marriage nails -a man, as one may say. I dare say I shan’t mind it after it’s once -over.” - -“Please, ma’am,” said Martha—who had plucked at his sleeve, and nudged -him with her elbow, and otherwise tried to interrupt him all the time he -had been speaking—“don’t mind him, he’ll come to; ’twas only last night -he was an-axing me, and an-axing me, and all the more because I said I -could not think of it for years to come, and now he’s only taken aback -with the suddenness of the joy; but you know, Jem, you are just as full -as me about wanting a lodger.” (Another great nudge.) - -“Ay! if Miss Matty would lodge with us—otherwise I’ve no mind to be -cumbered with strange folk in the house,” said Jem, with a want of tact -which I could see enraged Martha, who was trying to represent a lodger as -the great object they wished to obtain, and that, in fact, Miss Matty -would be smoothing their path and conferring a favour, if she would only -come and live with them. - -Miss Matty herself was bewildered by the pair; their, or rather Martha’s -sudden resolution in favour of matrimony staggered her, and stood between -her and the contemplation of the plan which Martha had at heart. Miss -Matty began— - -“Marriage is a very solemn thing, Martha.” - -“It is indeed, ma’am,” quoth Jem. “Not that I’ve no objections to -Martha.” - -“You’ve never let me a-be for asking me for to fix when I would be -married,” said Martha—her face all a-fire, and ready to cry with -vexation—“and now you’re shaming me before my missus and all.” - -“Nay, now! Martha don’t ee! don’t ee! only a man likes to have -breathing-time,” said Jem, trying to possess himself of her hand, but in -vain. Then seeing that she was more seriously hurt than he had imagined, -he seemed to try to rally his scattered faculties, and with more -straightforward dignity than, ten minutes before, I should have thought -it possible for him to assume, he turned to Miss Matty, and said, “I -hope, ma’am, you know that I am bound to respect every one who has been -kind to Martha. I always looked on her as to be my wife—some time; and -she has often and often spoken of you as the kindest lady that ever was; -and though the plain truth is, I would not like to be troubled with -lodgers of the common run, yet if, ma’am, you’d honour us by living with -us, I’m sure Martha would do her best to make you comfortable; and I’d -keep out of your way as much as I could, which I reckon would be the best -kindness such an awkward chap as me could do.” - -Miss Matty had been very busy with taking off her spectacles, wiping -them, and replacing them; but all she could say was, “Don’t let any -thought of me hurry you into marriage: pray don’t. Marriage is such a -very solemn thing!” - -“But Miss Matilda will think of your plan, Martha,” said I, struck with -the advantages that it offered, and unwilling to lose the opportunity of -considering about it. “And I’m sure neither she nor I can ever forget -your kindness; nor your’s either, Jem.” - -“Why, yes, ma’am! I’m sure I mean kindly, though I’m a bit fluttered by -being pushed straight ahead into matrimony, as it were, and mayn’t -express myself conformable. But I’m sure I’m willing enough, and give me -time to get accustomed; so, Martha, wench, what’s the use of crying so, -and slapping me if I come near?” - -This last was _sotto voce_, and had the effect of making Martha bounce -out of the room, to be followed and soothed by her lover. Whereupon Miss -Matty sat down and cried very heartily, and accounted for it by saying -that the thought of Martha being married so soon gave her quite a shock, -and that she should never forgive herself if she thought she was hurrying -the poor creature. I think my pity was more for Jem, of the two; but -both Miss Matty and I appreciated to the full the kindness of the honest -couple, although we said little about this, and a good deal about the -chances and dangers of matrimony. - -The next morning, very early, I received a note from Miss Pole, so -mysteriously wrapped up, and with so many seals on it to secure secrecy, -that I had to tear the paper before I could unfold it. And when I came -to the writing I could hardly understand the meaning, it was so involved -and oracular. I made out, however, that I was to go to Miss Pole’s at -eleven o’clock; the number _eleven_ being written in full length as well -as in numerals, and _A.M._ twice dashed under, as if I were very likely -to come at eleven at night, when all Cranford was usually a-bed and -asleep by ten. There was no signature except Miss Pole’s initials -reversed, P.E.; but as Martha had given me the note, “with Miss Pole’s -kind regards,” it needed no wizard to find out who sent it; and if the -writer’s name was to be kept secret, it was very well that I was alone -when Martha delivered it. - -I went as requested to Miss Pole’s. The door was opened to me by her -little maid Lizzy in Sunday trim, as if some grand event was impending -over this work-day. And the drawing-room upstairs was arranged in -accordance with this idea. The table was set out with the best green -card-cloth, and writing materials upon it. On the little chiffonier was -a tray with a newly-decanted bottle of cowslip wine, and some -ladies’-finger biscuits. Miss Pole herself was in solemn array, as if to -receive visitors, although it was only eleven o’clock. Mrs Forrester was -there, crying quietly and sadly, and my arrival seemed only to call forth -fresh tears. Before we had finished our greetings, performed with -lugubrious mystery of demeanour, there was another rat-tat-tat, and Mrs -Fitz-Adam appeared, crimson with walking and excitement. It seemed as if -this was all the company expected; for now Miss Pole made several -demonstrations of being about to open the business of the meeting, by -stirring the fire, opening and shutting the door, and coughing and -blowing her nose. Then she arranged us all round the table, taking care -to place me opposite to her; and last of all, she inquired of me if the -sad report was true, as she feared it was, that Miss Matty had lost all -her fortune? - -Of course, I had but one answer to make; and I never saw more unaffected -sorrow depicted on any countenances than I did there on the three before -me. - -“I wish Mrs Jamieson was here!” said Mrs Forrester at last; but to judge -from Mrs Fitz-Adam’s face, she could not second the wish. - -“But without Mrs Jamieson,” said Miss Pole, with just a sound of offended -merit in her voice, “we, the ladies of Cranford, in my drawing-room -assembled, can resolve upon something. I imagine we are none of us what -may be called rich, though we all possess a genteel competency, -sufficient for tastes that are elegant and refined, and would not, if -they could, be vulgarly ostentatious.” (Here I observed Miss Pole refer -to a small card concealed in her hand, on which I imagine she had put -down a few notes.) - -“Miss Smith,” she continued, addressing me (familiarly known as “Mary” to -all the company assembled, but this was a state occasion), “I have -conversed in private—I made it my business to do so yesterday -afternoon—with these ladies on the misfortune which has happened to our -friend, and one and all of us have agreed that while we have a -superfluity, it is not only a duty, but a pleasure—a true pleasure, -Mary!”—her voice was rather choked just here, and she had to wipe her -spectacles before she could go on—“to give what we can to assist her—Miss -Matilda Jenkyns. Only in consideration of the feelings of delicate -independence existing in the mind of every refined female”—I was sure she -had got back to the card now—“we wish to contribute our mites in a secret -and concealed manner, so as not to hurt the feelings I have referred to. -And our object in requesting you to meet us this morning is that, -believing you are the daughter—that your father is, in fact, her -confidential adviser, in all pecuniary matters, we imagined that, by -consulting with him, you might devise some mode in which our contribution -could be made to appear the legal due which Miss Matilda Jenkyns ought to -receive from— Probably your father, knowing her investments, can fill up -the blank.” - -Miss Pole concluded her address, and looked round for approval and -agreement. - -“I have expressed your meaning, ladies, have I not? And while Miss Smith -considers what reply to make, allow me to offer you some little -refreshment.” - -I had no great reply to make: I had more thankfulness at my heart for -their kind thoughts than I cared to put into words; and so I only mumbled -out something to the effect “that I would name what Miss Pole had said to -my father, and that if anything could be arranged for dear Miss -Matty,”—and here I broke down utterly, and had to be refreshed with a -glass of cowslip wine before I could check the crying which had been -repressed for the last two or three days. The worst was, all the ladies -cried in concert. Even Miss Pole cried, who had said a hundred times -that to betray emotion before any one was a sign of weakness and want of -self-control. She recovered herself into a slight degree of impatient -anger, directed against me, as having set them all off; and, moreover, I -think she was vexed that I could not make a speech back in return for -hers; and if I had known beforehand what was to be said, and had a card -on which to express the probable feelings that would rise in my heart, I -would have tried to gratify her. As it was, Mrs Forrester was the person -to speak when we had recovered our composure. - -“I don’t mind, among friends, stating that I—no! I’m not poor exactly, -but I don’t think I’m what you may call rich; I wish I were, for dear -Miss Matty’s sake—but, if you please, I’ll write down in a sealed paper -what I can give. I only wish it was more; my dear Mary, I do indeed.” - -Now I saw why paper, pens, and ink were provided. Every lady wrote down -the sum she could give annually, signed the paper, and sealed it -mysteriously. If their proposal was acceded to, my father was to be -allowed to open the papers, under pledge of secrecy. If not, they were -to be returned to their writers. - -When the ceremony had been gone through, I rose to depart; but each lady -seemed to wish to have a private conference with me. Miss Pole kept me -in the drawing-room to explain why, in Mrs Jamieson’s absence, she had -taken the lead in this “movement,” as she was pleased to call it, and -also to inform me that she had heard from good sources that Mrs Jamieson -was coming home directly in a state of high displeasure against her -sister-in-law, who was forthwith to leave her house, and was, she -believed, to return to Edinburgh that very afternoon. Of course this -piece of intelligence could not be communicated before Mrs Fitz-Adam, -more especially as Miss Pole was inclined to think that Lady Glenmire’s -engagement to Mr Hoggins could not possibly hold against the blaze of Mrs -Jamieson’s displeasure. A few hearty inquiries after Miss Matty’s health -concluded my interview with Miss Pole. - -On coming downstairs I found Mrs Forrester waiting for me at the entrance -to the dining-parlour; she drew me in, and when the door was shut, she -tried two or three times to begin on some subject, which was so -unapproachable apparently, that I began to despair of our ever getting to -a clear understanding. At last out it came; the poor old lady trembling -all the time as if it were a great crime which she was exposing to -daylight, in telling me how very, very little she had to live upon; a -confession which she was brought to make from a dread lest we should -think that the small contribution named in her paper bore any proportion -to her love and regard for Miss Matty. And yet that sum which she so -eagerly relinquished was, in truth, more than a twentieth part of what -she had to live upon, and keep house, and a little serving-maid, all as -became one born a Tyrrell. And when the whole income does not nearly -amount to a hundred pounds, to give up a twentieth of it will necessitate -many careful economies, and many pieces of self-denial, small and -insignificant in the world’s account, but bearing a different value in -another account-book that I have heard of. She did so wish she was rich, -she said, and this wish she kept repeating, with no thought of herself in -it, only with a longing, yearning desire to be able to heap up Miss -Matty’s measure of comforts. - -It was some time before I could console her enough to leave her; and -then, on quitting the house, I was waylaid by Mrs Fitz-Adam, who had also -her confidence to make of pretty nearly the opposite description. She -had not liked to put down all that she could afford and was ready to -give. She told me she thought she never could look Miss Matty in the -face again if she presumed to be giving her so much as she should like to -do. “Miss Matty!” continued she, “that I thought was such a fine young -lady when I was nothing but a country girl, coming to market with eggs -and butter and such like things. For my father, though well-to-do, would -always make me go on as my mother had done before me, and I had to come -into Cranford every Saturday, and see after sales, and prices, and what -not. And one day, I remember, I met Miss Matty in the lane that leads to -Combehurst; she was walking on the footpath, which, you know, is raised a -good way above the road, and a gentleman rode beside her, and was talking -to her, and she was looking down at some primroses she had gathered, and -pulling them all to pieces, and I do believe she was crying. But after -she had passed, she turned round and ran after me to ask—oh, so -kindly—about my poor mother, who lay on her death-bed; and when I cried -she took hold of my hand to comfort me—and the gentleman waiting for her -all the time—and her poor heart very full of something, I am sure; and I -thought it such an honour to be spoken to in that pretty way by the -rector’s daughter, who visited at Arley Hall. I have loved her ever -since, though perhaps I’d no right to do it; but if you can think of any -way in which I might be allowed to give a little more without any one -knowing it, I should be so much obliged to you, my dear. And my brother -would be delighted to doctor her for nothing—medicines, leeches, and all. -I know that he and her ladyship (my dear, I little thought in the days I -was telling you of that I should ever come to be sister-in-law to a -ladyship!) would do anything for her. We all would.” - -I told her I was quite sure of it, and promised all sorts of things in my -anxiety to get home to Miss Matty, who might well be wondering what had -become of me—absent from her two hours without being able to account for -it. She had taken very little note of time, however, as she had been -occupied in numberless little arrangements preparatory to the great step -of giving up her house. It was evidently a relief to her to be doing -something in the way of retrenchment, for, as she said, whenever she -paused to think, the recollection of the poor fellow with his bad -five-pound note came over her, and she felt quite dishonest; only if it -made her so uncomfortable, what must it not be doing to the directors of -the bank, who must know so much more of the misery consequent upon this -failure? She almost made me angry by dividing her sympathy between these -directors (whom she imagined overwhelmed by self-reproach for the -mismanagement of other people’s affairs) and those who were suffering -like her. Indeed, of the two, she seemed to think poverty a lighter -burden than self-reproach; but I privately doubted if the directors would -agree with her. - -Old hoards were taken out and examined as to their money value which -luckily was small, or else I don’t know how Miss Matty would have -prevailed upon herself to part with such things as her mother’s -wedding-ring, the strange, uncouth brooch with which her father had -disfigured his shirt-frill, &c. However, we arranged things a little in -order as to their pecuniary estimation, and were all ready for my father -when he came the next morning. - -I am not going to weary you with the details of all the business we went -through; and one reason for not telling about them is, that I did not -understand what we were doing at the time, and cannot recollect it now. -Miss Matty and I sat assenting to accounts, and schemes, and reports, and -documents, of which I do not believe we either of us understood a word; -for my father was clear-headed and decisive, and a capital man of -business, and if we made the slightest inquiry, or expressed the -slightest want of comprehension, he had a sharp way of saying, “Eh? eh? -it’s as clear as daylight. What’s your objection?” And as we had not -comprehended anything of what he had proposed, we found it rather -difficult to shape our objections; in fact, we never were sure if we had -any. So presently Miss Matty got into a nervously acquiescent state, and -said “Yes,” and “Certainly,” at every pause, whether required or not; but -when I once joined in as chorus to a “Decidedly,” pronounced by Miss -Matty in a tremblingly dubious tone, my father fired round at me and -asked me “What there was to decide?” And I am sure to this day I have -never known. But, in justice to him, I must say he had come over from -Drumble to help Miss Matty when he could ill spare the time, and when his -own affairs were in a very anxious state. - - [Picture: Miss Matty and I sat assenting to accounts] - -While Miss Matty was out of the room giving orders for luncheon—and sadly -perplexed between her desire of honouring my father by a delicate, dainty -meal, and her conviction that she had no right, now that all her money -was gone, to indulge this desire—I told him of the meeting of the -Cranford ladies at Miss Pole’s the day before. He kept brushing his hand -before his eyes as I spoke—and when I went back to Martha’s offer the -evening before, of receiving Miss Matty as a lodger, he fairly walked -away from me to the window, and began drumming with his fingers upon it. -Then he turned abruptly round, and said, “See, Mary, how a good, innocent -life makes friends all around. Confound it! I could make a good lesson -out of it if I were a parson; but, as it is, I can’t get a tail to my -sentences—only I’m sure you feel what I want to say. You and I will have -a walk after lunch and talk a bit more about these plans.” - -The lunch—a hot savoury mutton-chop, and a little of the cold loin sliced -and fried—was now brought in. Every morsel of this last dish was -finished, to Martha’s great gratification. Then my father bluntly told -Miss Matty he wanted to talk to me alone, and that he would stroll out -and see some of the old places, and then I could tell her what plan we -thought desirable. Just before we went out, she called me back and said, -“Remember, dear, I’m the only one left—I mean, there’s no one to be hurt -by what I do. I’m willing to do anything that’s right and honest; and I -don’t think, if Deborah knows where she is, she’ll care so very much if -I’m not genteel; because, you see, she’ll know all, dear. Only let me -see what I can do, and pay the poor people as far as I’m able.” - -I gave her a hearty kiss, and ran after my father. The result of our -conversation was this. If all parties were agreeable, Martha and Jem -were to be married with as little delay as possible, and they were to -live on in Miss Matty’s present abode; the sum which the Cranford ladies -had agreed to contribute annually being sufficient to meet the greater -part of the rent, and leaving Martha free to appropriate what Miss Matty -should pay for her lodgings to any little extra comforts required. About -the sale, my father was dubious at first. He said the old rectory -furniture, however carefully used and reverently treated, would fetch -very little; and that little would be but as a drop in the sea of the -debts of the Town and County Bank. But when I represented how Miss -Matty’s tender conscience would be soothed by feeling that she had done -what she could, he gave way; especially after I had told him the -five-pound note adventure, and he had scolded me well for allowing it. I -then alluded to my idea that she might add to her small income by selling -tea; and, to my surprise (for I had nearly given up the plan), my father -grasped at it with all the energy of a tradesman. I think he reckoned -his chickens before they were hatched, for he immediately ran up the -profits of the sales that she could effect in Cranford to more than -twenty pounds a year. The small dining-parlour was to be converted into -a shop, without any of its degrading characteristics; a table was to be -the counter; one window was to be retained unaltered, and the other -changed into a glass door. I evidently rose in his estimation for having -made this bright suggestion. I only hoped we should not both fall in -Miss Matty’s. - -But she was patient and content with all our arrangements. She knew, she -said, that we should do the best we could for her; and she only hoped, -only stipulated, that she should pay every farthing that she could be -said to owe, for her father’s sake, who had been so respected in -Cranford. My father and I had agreed to say as little as possible about -the bank, indeed never to mention it again, if it could be helped. Some -of the plans were evidently a little perplexing to her; but she had seen -me sufficiently snubbed in the morning for want of comprehension to -venture on too many inquiries now; and all passed over well with a hope -on her part that no one would be hurried into marriage on her account. -When we came to the proposal that she should sell tea, I could see it was -rather a shock to her; not on account of any personal loss of gentility -involved, but only because she distrusted her own powers of action in a -new line of life, and would timidly have preferred a little more -privation to any exertion for which she feared she was unfitted. -However, when she saw my father was bent upon it, she sighed, and said -she would try; and if she did not do well, of course she might give it -up. One good thing about it was, she did not think men ever bought tea; -and it was of men particularly she was afraid. They had such sharp loud -ways with them; and did up accounts, and counted their change so quickly! -Now, if she might only sell comfits to children, she was sure she could -please them! - - - - -CHAPTER XV—A HAPPY RETURN - - -BEFORE I left Miss Matty at Cranford everything had been comfortably -arranged for her. Even Mrs Jamieson’s approval of her selling tea had -been gained. That oracle had taken a few days to consider whether by so -doing Miss Matty would forfeit her right to the privileges of society in -Cranford. I think she had some little idea of mortifying Lady Glenmire -by the decision she gave at last; which was to this effect: that whereas -a married woman takes her husband’s rank by the strict laws of -precedence, an unmarried woman retains the station her father occupied. -So Cranford was allowed to visit Miss Matty; and, whether allowed or not, -it intended to visit Lady Glenmire. - -But what was our surprise—our dismay—when we learnt that Mr and _Mrs -Hoggins_ were returning on the following Tuesday! Mrs Hoggins! Had she -absolutely dropped her title, and so, in a spirit of bravado, cut the -aristocracy to become a Hoggins! She, who might have been called Lady -Glenmire to her dying day! Mrs Jamieson was pleased. She said it only -convinced her of what she had known from the first, that the creature had -a low taste. But “the creature” looked very happy on Sunday at church; -nor did we see it necessary to keep our veils down on that side of our -bonnets on which Mr and Mrs Hoggins sat, as Mrs Jamieson did; thereby -missing all the smiling glory of his face, and all the becoming blushes -of hers. I am not sure if Martha and Jem looked more radiant in the -afternoon, when they, too, made their first appearance. Mrs Jamieson -soothed the turbulence of her soul by having the blinds of her windows -drawn down, as if for a funeral, on the day when Mr and Mrs Hoggins -received callers; and it was with some difficulty that she was prevailed -upon to continue the _St James’s Chronicle_, so indignant was she with -its having inserted the announcement of the marriage. - - [Picture: Smiling glory . . . and becoming blushes] - -Miss Matty’s sale went off famously. She retained the furniture of her -sitting-room and bedroom; the former of which she was to occupy till -Martha could meet with a lodger who might wish to take it; and into this -sitting-room and bedroom she had to cram all sorts of things, which were -(the auctioneer assured her) bought in for her at the sale by an unknown -friend. I always suspected Mrs Fitz-Adam of this; but she must have had -an accessory, who knew what articles were particularly regarded by Miss -Matty on account of their associations with her early days. The rest of -the house looked rather bare, to be sure; all except one tiny bedroom, of -which my father allowed me to purchase the furniture for my occasional -use in case of Miss Matty’s illness. - -I had expended my own small store in buying all manner of comfits and -lozenges, in order to tempt the little people whom Miss Matty loved so -much to come about her. Tea in bright green canisters, and comfits in -tumblers—Miss Matty and I felt quite proud as we looked round us on the -evening before the shop was to be opened. Martha had scoured the boarded -floor to a white cleanness, and it was adorned with a brilliant piece of -oil-cloth, on which customers were to stand before the table-counter. -The wholesome smell of plaster and whitewash pervaded the apartment. A -very small “Matilda Jenkyns, licensed to sell tea,” was hidden under the -lintel of the new door, and two boxes of tea, with cabalistic -inscriptions all over them, stood ready to disgorge their contents into -the canisters. - -Miss Matty, as I ought to have mentioned before, had had some scruples of -conscience at selling tea when there was already Mr Johnson in the town, -who included it among his numerous commodities; and, before she could -quite reconcile herself to the adoption of her new business, she had -trotted down to his shop, unknown to me, to tell him of the project that -was entertained, and to inquire if it was likely to injure his business. -My father called this idea of hers “great nonsense,” and “wondered how -tradespeople were to get on if there was to be a continual consulting of -each other’s interests, which would put a stop to all competition -directly.” And, perhaps, it would not have done in Drumble, but in -Cranford it answered very well; for not only did Mr Johnson kindly put at -rest all Miss Matty’s scruples and fear of injuring his business, but I -have reason to know he repeatedly sent customers to her, saying that the -teas he kept were of a common kind, but that Miss Jenkyns had all the -choice sorts. And expensive tea is a very favourite luxury with -well-to-do tradespeople and rich farmers’ wives, who turn up their noses -at the Congou and Souchong prevalent at many tables of gentility, and -will have nothing else than Gunpowder and Pekoe for themselves. - -But to return to Miss Matty. It was really very pleasant to see how her -unselfishness and simple sense of justice called out the same good -qualities in others. She never seemed to think any one would impose upon -her, because she should be so grieved to do it to them. I have heard her -put a stop to the asseverations of the man who brought her coals by -quietly saying, “I am sure you would be sorry to bring me wrong weight;” -and if the coals were short measure that time, I don’t believe they ever -were again. People would have felt as much ashamed of presuming on her -good faith as they would have done on that of a child. But my father -says “such simplicity might be very well in Cranford, but would never do -in the world.” And I fancy the world must be very bad, for with all my -father’s suspicion of every one with whom he has dealings, and in spite -of all his many precautions, he lost upwards of a thousand pounds by -roguery only last year. - -I just stayed long enough to establish Miss Matty in her new mode of -life, and to pack up the library, which the rector had purchased. He had -written a very kind letter to Miss Matty, saying “how glad he should be -to take a library, so well selected as he knew that the late Mr Jenkyns’s -must have been, at any valuation put upon them.” And when she agreed to -this, with a touch of sorrowful gladness that they would go back to the -rectory and be arranged on the accustomed walls once more, he sent word -that he feared that he had not room for them all, and perhaps Miss Matty -would kindly allow him to leave some volumes on her shelves. But Miss -Matty said that she had her Bible and “Johnson’s Dictionary,” and should -not have much time for reading, she was afraid; still, I retained a few -books out of consideration for the rector’s kindness. - -The money which he had paid, and that produced by the sale, was partly -expended in the stock of tea, and part of it was invested against a rainy -day—_i.e._ old age or illness. It was but a small sum, it is true; and -it occasioned a few evasions of truth and white lies (all of which I -think very wrong indeed—in theory—and would rather not put them in -practice), for we knew Miss Matty would be perplexed as to her duty if -she were aware of any little reserve-fund being made for her while the -debts of the bank remained unpaid. Moreover, she had never been told of -the way in which her friends were contributing to pay the rent. I should -have liked to tell her this, but the mystery of the affair gave a -piquancy to their deed of kindness which the ladies were unwilling to -give up; and at first Martha had to shirk many a perplexed question as to -her ways and means of living in such a house, but by-and-by Miss Matty’s -prudent uneasiness sank down into acquiescence with the existing -arrangement. - -I left Miss Matty with a good heart. Her sales of tea during the first -two days had surpassed my most sanguine expectations. The whole country -round seemed to be all out of tea at once. The only alteration I could -have desired in Miss Matty’s way of doing business was, that she should -not have so plaintively entreated some of her customers not to buy green -tea—running it down as a slow poison, sure to destroy the nerves, and -produce all manner of evil. Their pertinacity in taking it, in spite of -all her warnings, distressed her so much that I really thought she would -relinquish the sale of it, and so lose half her custom; and I was driven -to my wits’ end for instances of longevity entirely attributable to a -persevering use of green tea. But the final argument, which settled the -question, was a happy reference of mine to the train-oil and tallow -candles which the Esquimaux not only enjoy but digest. After that she -acknowledged that “one man’s meat might be another man’s poison,” and -contented herself thence-forward with an occasional remonstrance when she -thought the purchaser was too young and innocent to be acquainted with -the evil effects green tea produced on some constitutions, and an -habitual sigh when people old enough to choose more wisely would prefer -it. - -I went over from Drumble once a quarter at least to settle the accounts, -and see after the necessary business letters. And, speaking of letters, -I began to be very much ashamed of remembering my letter to the Aga -Jenkyns, and very glad I had never named my writing to any one. I only -hoped the letter was lost. No answer came. No sign was made. - -About a year after Miss Matty set up shop, I received one of Martha’s -hieroglyphics, begging me to come to Cranford very soon. I was afraid -that Miss Matty was ill, and went off that very afternoon, and took -Martha by surprise when she saw me on opening the door. We went into the -kitchen as usual, to have our confidential conference, and then Martha -told me she was expecting her confinement very soon—in a week or two; and -she did not think Miss Matty was aware of it, and she wanted me to break -the news to her, “for indeed, miss,” continued Martha, crying -hysterically, “I’m afraid she won’t approve of it, and I’m sure I don’t -know who is to take care of her as she should be taken care of when I am -laid up.” - -I comforted Martha by telling her I would remain till she was about -again, and only wished she had told me her reason for this sudden -summons, as then I would have brought the requisite stock of clothes. -But Martha was so tearful and tender-spirited, and unlike her usual self, -that I said as little as possible about myself, and endeavoured rather to -comfort Martha under all the probable and possible misfortunes which came -crowding upon her imagination. - -I then stole out of the house-door, and made my appearance as if I were a -customer in the shop, just to take Miss Matty by surprise, and gain an -idea of how she looked in her new situation. It was warm May weather, so -only the little half-door was closed; and Miss Matty sat behind the -counter, knitting an elaborate pair of garters; elaborate they seemed to -me, but the difficult stitch was no weight upon her mind, for she was -singing in a low voice to herself as her needles went rapidly in and out. -I call it singing, but I dare say a musician would not use that word to -the tuneless yet sweet humming of the low worn voice. I found out from -the words, far more than from the attempt at the tune, that it was the -Old Hundredth she was crooning to herself; but the quiet continuous sound -told of content, and gave me a pleasant feeling, as I stood in the street -just outside the door, quite in harmony with that soft May morning. I -went in. At first she did not catch who it was, and stood up as if to -serve me; but in another minute watchful pussy had clutched her knitting, -which was dropped in eager joy at seeing me. I found, after we had had a -little conversation, that it was as Martha said, and that Miss Matty had -no idea of the approaching household event. So I thought I would let -things take their course, secure that when I went to her with the baby in -my arms, I should obtain that forgiveness for Martha which she was -needlessly frightening herself into believing that Miss Matty would -withhold, under some notion that the new claimant would require -attentions from its mother that it would be faithless treason to Miss -Matty to render. - -But I was right. I think that must be an hereditary quality, for my -father says he is scarcely ever wrong. One morning, within a week after -I arrived, I went to call Miss Matty, with a little bundle of flannel in -my arms. She was very much awe-struck when I showed her what it was, and -asked for her spectacles off the dressing-table, and looked at it -curiously, with a sort of tender wonder at its small perfection of parts. -She could not banish the thought of the surprise all day, but went about -on tiptoe, and was very silent. But she stole up to see Martha and they -both cried with joy, and she got into a complimentary speech to Jem, and -did not know how to get out of it again, and was only extricated from her -dilemma by the sound of the shop-bell, which was an equal relief to the -shy, proud, honest Jem, who shook my hand so vigorously when I -congratulated him, that I think I feel the pain of it yet. - - [Picture: I went to call Miss Matty] - -I had a busy life while Martha was laid up. I attended on Miss Matty, -and prepared her meals; I cast up her accounts, and examined into the -state of her canisters and tumblers. I helped her, too, occasionally, in -the shop; and it gave me no small amusement, and sometimes a little -uneasiness, to watch her ways there. If a little child came in to ask -for an ounce of almond-comfits (and four of the large kind which Miss -Matty sold weighed that much), she always added one more by “way of -make-weight,” as she called it, although the scale was handsomely turned -before; and when I remonstrated against this, her reply was, “The little -things like it so much!” There was no use in telling her that the fifth -comfit weighed a quarter of an ounce, and made every sale into a loss to -her pocket. So I remembered the green tea, and winged my shaft with a -feather out of her own plumage. I told her how unwholesome -almond-comfits were, and how ill excess in them might make the little -children. This argument produced some effect; for, henceforward, instead -of the fifth comfit, she always told them to hold out their tiny palms, -into which she shook either peppermint or ginger lozenges, as a -preventive to the dangers that might arise from the previous sale. -Altogether the lozenge trade, conducted on these principles, did not -promise to be remunerative; but I was happy to find she had made more -than twenty pounds during the last year by her sales of tea; and, -moreover, that now she was accustomed to it, she did not dislike the -employment, which brought her into kindly intercourse with many of the -people round about. If she gave them good weight, they, in their turn, -brought many a little country present to the “old rector’s daughter”; a -cream cheese, a few new-laid eggs, a little fresh ripe fruit, a bunch of -flowers. The counter was quite loaded with these offerings sometimes, as -she told me. - -As for Cranford in general, it was going on much as usual. The Jamieson -and Hoggins feud still raged, if a feud it could be called, when only one -side cared much about it. Mr and Mrs Hoggins were very happy together, -and, like most very happy people, quite ready to be friendly; indeed, Mrs -Hoggins was really desirous to be restored to Mrs Jamieson’s good graces, -because of the former intimacy. But Mrs Jamieson considered their very -happiness an insult to the Glenmire family, to which she had still the -honour to belong, and she doggedly refused and rejected every advance. -Mr Mulliner, like a faithful clansman, espoused his mistress’ side with -ardour. If he saw either Mr or Mrs Hoggins, he would cross the street, -and appear absorbed in the contemplation of life in general, and his own -path in particular, until he had passed them by. Miss Pole used to amuse -herself with wondering what in the world Mrs Jamieson would do, if either -she, or Mr Mulliner, or any other member of her household was taken ill; -she could hardly have the face to call in Mr Hoggins after the way she -had behaved to them. Miss Pole grew quite impatient for some -indisposition or accident to befall Mrs Jamieson or her dependents, in -order that Cranford might see how she would act under the perplexing -circumstances. - -Martha was beginning to go about again, and I had already fixed a limit, -not very far distant, to my visit, when one afternoon, as I was sitting -in the shop-parlour with Miss Matty—I remember the weather was colder now -than it had been in May, three weeks before, and we had a fire and kept -the door fully closed—we saw a gentleman go slowly past the window, and -then stand opposite to the door, as if looking out for the name which we -had so carefully hidden. He took out a double eyeglass and peered about -for some time before he could discover it. Then he came in. And, all on -a sudden, it flashed across me that it was the Aga himself! For his -clothes had an out-of-the-way foreign cut about them, and his face was -deep brown, as if tanned and re-tanned by the sun. His complexion -contrasted oddly with his plentiful snow-white hair, his eyes were dark -and piercing, and he had an odd way of contracting them and puckering up -his cheeks into innumerable wrinkles when he looked earnestly at objects. -He did so to Miss Matty when he first came in. His glance had first -caught and lingered a little upon me, but then turned, with the peculiar -searching look I have described, to Miss Matty. She was a little -fluttered and nervous, but no more so than she always was when any man -came into her shop. She thought that he would probably have a note, or a -sovereign at least, for which she would have to give change, which was an -operation she very much disliked to perform. But the present customer -stood opposite to her, without asking for anything, only looking fixedly -at her as he drummed upon the table with his fingers, just for all the -world as Miss Jenkyns used to do. Miss Matty was on the point of asking -him what he wanted (as she told me afterwards), when he turned sharp to -me: “Is your name Mary Smith?” - -“Yes!” said I. - -All my doubts as to his identity were set at rest, and I only wondered -what he would say or do next, and how Miss Matty would stand the joyful -shock of what he had to reveal. Apparently he was at a loss how to -announce himself, for he looked round at last in search of something to -buy, so as to gain time, and, as it happened, his eye caught on the -almond-comfits, and he boldly asked for a pound of “those things.” I -doubt if Miss Matty had a whole pound in the shop, and, besides the -unusual magnitude of the order, she was distressed with the idea of the -indigestion they would produce, taken in such unlimited quantities. She -looked up to remonstrate. Something of tender relaxation in his face -struck home to her heart. She said, “It is—oh, sir! can you be Peter?” -and trembled from head to foot. In a moment he was round the table and -had her in his arms, sobbing the tearless cries of old age. I brought -her a glass of wine, for indeed her colour had changed so as to alarm me -and Mr Peter too. He kept saying, “I have been too sudden for you, -Matty—I have, my little girl.” - -I proposed that she should go at once up into the drawing-room and lie -down on the sofa there. She looked wistfully at her brother, whose hand -she had held tight, even when nearly fainting; but on his assuring her -that he would not leave her, she allowed him to carry her upstairs. - -I thought that the best I could do was to run and put the kettle on the -fire for early tea, and then to attend to the shop, leaving the brother -and sister to exchange some of the many thousand things they must have to -say. I had also to break the news to Martha, who received it with a -burst of tears which nearly infected me. She kept recovering herself to -ask if I was sure it was indeed Miss Matty’s brother, for I had mentioned -that he had grey hair, and she had always heard that he was a very -handsome young man. Something of the same kind perplexed Miss Matty at -tea-time, when she was installed in the great easy-chair opposite to Mr -Jenkyns in order to gaze her fill. She could hardly drink for looking at -him, and as for eating, that was out of the question. - -“I suppose hot climates age people very quickly,” said she, almost to -herself. “When you left Cranford you had not a grey hair in your head.” - -“But how many years ago is that?” said Mr Peter, smiling. - -“Ah, true! yes, I suppose you and I are getting old. But still I did not -think we were so very old! But white hair is very becoming to you, -Peter,” she continued—a little afraid lest she had hurt him by revealing -how his appearance had impressed her. - -“I suppose I forgot dates too, Matty, for what do you think I have -brought for you from India? I have an Indian muslin gown and a pearl -necklace for you somewhere in my chest at Portsmouth.” He smiled as if -amused at the idea of the incongruity of his presents with the appearance -of his sister; but this did not strike her all at once, while the -elegance of the articles did. I could see that for a moment her -imagination dwelt complacently on the idea of herself thus attired; and -instinctively she put her hand up to her throat—that little delicate -throat which (as Miss Pole had told me) had been one of her youthful -charms; but the hand met the touch of folds of soft muslin in which she -was always swathed up to her chin, and the sensation recalled a sense of -the unsuitableness of a pearl necklace to her age. She said, “I’m afraid -I’m too old; but it was very kind of you to think of it. They are just -what I should have liked years ago—when I was young.” - -“So I thought, my little Matty. I remembered your tastes; they were so -like my dear mother’s.” At the mention of that name the brother and -sister clasped each other’s hands yet more fondly, and, although they -were perfectly silent, I fancied they might have something to say if they -were unchecked by my presence, and I got up to arrange my room for Mr -Peter’s occupation that night, intending myself to share Miss Matty’s -bed. But at my movement, he started up. “I must go and settle about a -room at the ‘George.’ My carpet-bag is there too.” - -“No!” said Miss Matty, in great distress—“you must not go; please, dear -Peter—pray, Mary—oh! you must not go!” - -She was so much agitated that we both promised everything she wished. -Peter sat down again and gave her his hand, which for better security she -held in both of hers, and I left the room to accomplish my arrangements. - -Long, long into the night, far, far into the morning, did Miss Matty and -I talk. She had much to tell me of her brother’s life and adventures, -which he had communicated to her as they had sat alone. She said all was -thoroughly clear to her; but I never quite understood the whole story; -and when in after days I lost my awe of Mr Peter enough to question him -myself, he laughed at my curiosity, and told me stories that sounded so -very much like Baron Munchausen’s, that I was sure he was making fun of -me. What I heard from Miss Matty was that he had been a volunteer at the -siege of Rangoon; had been taken prisoner by the Burmese; and somehow -obtained favour and eventual freedom from knowing how to bleed the chief -of the small tribe in some case of dangerous illness; that on his release -from years of captivity he had had his letters returned from England with -the ominous word “Dead” marked upon them; and, believing himself to be -the last of his race, he had settled down as an indigo planter, and had -proposed to spend the remainder of his life in the country to whose -inhabitants and modes of life he had become habituated, when my letter -had reached him; and, with the odd vehemence which characterised him in -age as it had done in youth, he had sold his land and all his possessions -to the first purchaser, and come home to the poor old sister, who was -more glad and rich than any princess when she looked at him. She talked -me to sleep at last, and then I was awakened by a slight sound at the -door, for which she begged my pardon as she crept penitently into bed; -but it seems that when I could no longer confirm her belief that the -long-lost was really here—under the same roof—she had begun to fear lest -it was only a waking dream of hers; that there never had been a Peter -sitting by her all that blessed evening—but that the real Peter lay dead -far away beneath some wild sea-wave, or under some strange eastern tree. -And so strong had this nervous feeling of hers become, that she was fain -to get up and go and convince herself that he was really there by -listening through the door to his even, regular breathing—I don’t like to -call it snoring, but I heard it myself through two closed doors—and -by-and-by it soothed Miss Matty to sleep. - -I don’t believe Mr Peter came home from India as rich as a nabob; he even -considered himself poor, but neither he nor Miss Matty cared much about -that. At any rate, he had enough to live upon “very genteelly” at -Cranford; he and Miss Matty together. And a day or two after his -arrival, the shop was closed, while troops of little urchins gleefully -awaited the shower of comfits and lozenges that came from time to time -down upon their faces as they stood up-gazing at Miss Matty’s -drawing-room windows. Occasionally Miss Matty would say to them -(half-hidden behind the curtains), “My dear children, don’t make -yourselves ill;” but a strong arm pulled her back, and a more rattling -shower than ever succeeded. A part of the tea was sent in presents to -the Cranford ladies; and some of it was distributed among the old people -who remembered Mr Peter in the days of his frolicsome youth. The Indian -muslin gown was reserved for darling Flora Gordon (Miss Jessie Brown’s -daughter). The Gordons had been on the Continent for the last few years, -but were now expected to return very soon; and Miss Matty, in her -sisterly pride, anticipated great delight in the joy of showing them Mr -Peter. The pearl necklace disappeared; and about that time many handsome -and useful presents made their appearance in the households of Miss Pole -and Mrs Forrester; and some rare and delicate Indian ornaments graced the -drawing-rooms of Mrs Jamieson and Mrs Fitz-Adam. I myself was not -forgotten. Among other things, I had the handsomest-bound and best -edition of Dr Johnson’s works that could be procured; and dear Miss -Matty, with tears in her eyes, begged me to consider it as a present from -her sister as well as herself. In short, no one was forgotten; and, what -was more, every one, however insignificant, who had shown kindness to -Miss Matty at any time, was sure of Mr Peter’s cordial regard. - - - - -CHAPTER XVI—PEACE TO CRANFORD - - -IT was not surprising that Mr Peter became such a favourite at Cranford. -The ladies vied with each other who should admire him most; and no -wonder, for their quiet lives were astonishingly stirred up by the -arrival from India—especially as the person arrived told more wonderful -stories than Sindbad the Sailor; and, as Miss Pole said, was quite as -good as an Arabian Night any evening. For my own part, I had vibrated -all my life between Drumble and Cranford, and I thought it was quite -possible that all Mr Peter’s stories might be true, although wonderful; -but when I found that, if we swallowed an anecdote of tolerable magnitude -one week, we had the dose considerably increased the next, I began to -have my doubts; especially as I noticed that when his sister was present -the accounts of Indian life were comparatively tame; not that she knew -more than we did, perhaps less. I noticed also that when the rector came -to call, Mr Peter talked in a different way about the countries he had -been in. But I don’t think the ladies in Cranford would have considered -him such a wonderful traveller if they had only heard him talk in the -quiet way he did to him. They liked him the better, indeed, for being -what they called “so very Oriental.” - -One day, at a select party in his honour, which Miss Pole gave, and from -which, as Mrs Jamieson honoured it with her presence, and had even -offered to send Mr Mulliner to wait, Mr and Mrs Hoggins and Mrs Fitz-Adam -were necessarily excluded—one day at Miss Pole’s, Mr Peter said he was -tired of sitting upright against the hard-backed uneasy chairs, and asked -if he might not indulge himself in sitting cross-legged. Miss Pole’s -consent was eagerly given, and down he went with the utmost gravity. But -when Miss Pole asked me, in an audible whisper, “if he did not remind me -of the Father of the Faithful?” I could not help thinking of poor Simon -Jones, the lame tailor, and while Mrs Jamieson slowly commented on the -elegance and convenience of the attitude, I remembered how we had all -followed that lady’s lead in condemning Mr Hoggins for vulgarity because -he simply crossed his legs as he sat still on his chair. Many of Mr -Peter’s ways of eating were a little strange amongst such ladies as Miss -Pole, and Miss Matty, and Mrs Jamieson, especially when I recollected the -untasted green peas and two-pronged forks at poor Mr Holbrook’s dinner. - -The mention of that gentleman’s name recalls to my mind a conversation -between Mr Peter and Miss Matty one evening in the summer after he -returned to Cranford. The day had been very hot, and Miss Matty had been -much oppressed by the weather, in the heat of which her brother revelled. -I remember that she had been unable to nurse Martha’s baby, which had -become her favourite employment of late, and which was as much at home in -her arms as in its mother’s, as long as it remained a light-weight, -portable by one so fragile as Miss Matty. This day to which I refer, -Miss Matty had seemed more than usually feeble and languid, and only -revived when the sun went down, and her sofa was wheeled to the open -window, through which, although it looked into the principal street of -Cranford, the fragrant smell of the neighbouring hayfields came in every -now and then, borne by the soft breezes that stirred the dull air of the -summer twilight, and then died away. The silence of the sultry -atmosphere was lost in the murmuring noises which came in from many an -open window and door; even the children were abroad in the street, late -as it was (between ten and eleven), enjoying the game of play for which -they had not had spirits during the heat of the day. It was a source of -satisfaction to Miss Matty to see how few candles were lighted, even in -the apartments of those houses from which issued the greatest signs of -life. Mr Peter, Miss Matty, and I had all been quiet, each with a -separate reverie, for some little time, when Mr Peter broke in— - -“Do you know, little Matty, I could have sworn you were on the high road -to matrimony when I left England that last time! If anybody had told me -you would have lived and died an old maid then, I should have laughed in -their faces.” - -Miss Matty made no reply, and I tried in vain to think of some subject -which should effectually turn the conversation; but I was very stupid; -and before I spoke he went on— - -“It was Holbrook, that fine manly fellow who lived at Woodley, that I -used to think would carry off my little Matty. You would not think it -now, I dare say, Mary; but this sister of mine was once a very pretty -girl—at least, I thought so, and so I’ve a notion did poor Holbrook. -What business had he to die before I came home to thank him for all his -kindness to a good-for-nothing cub as I was? It was that that made me -first think he cared for you; for in all our fishing expeditions it was -Matty, Matty, we talked about. Poor Deborah! What a lecture she read me -on having asked him home to lunch one day, when she had seen the Arley -carriage in the town, and thought that my lady might call. Well, that’s -long years ago; more than half a life-time, and yet it seems like -yesterday! I don’t know a fellow I should have liked better as a -brother-in-law. You must have played your cards badly, my little Matty, -somehow or another—wanted your brother to be a good go-between, eh, -little one?” said he, putting out his hand to take hold of hers as she -lay on the sofa. “Why, what’s this? you’re shivering and shaking, Matty, -with that confounded open window. Shut it, Mary, this minute!” - -I did so, and then stooped down to kiss Miss Matty, and see if she really -were chilled. She caught at my hand, and gave it a hard squeeze—but -unconsciously, I think—for in a minute or two she spoke to us quite in -her usual voice, and smiled our uneasiness away, although she patiently -submitted to the prescriptions we enforced of a warm bed and a glass of -weak negus. I was to leave Cranford the next day, and before I went I -saw that all the effects of the open window had quite vanished. I had -superintended most of the alterations necessary in the house and -household during the latter weeks of my stay. The shop was once more a -parlour: the empty resounding rooms again furnished up to the very -garrets. - -There had been some talk of establishing Martha and Jem in another house, -but Miss Matty would not hear of this. Indeed, I never saw her so much -roused as when Miss Pole had assumed it to be the most desirable -arrangement. As long as Martha would remain with Miss Matty, Miss Matty -was only too thankful to have her about her; yes, and Jem too, who was a -very pleasant man to have in the house, for she never saw him from week’s -end to week’s end. And as for the probable children, if they would all -turn out such little darlings as her god-daughter, Matilda, she should -not mind the number, if Martha didn’t. Besides, the next was to be -called Deborah—a point which Miss Matty had reluctantly yielded to -Martha’s stubborn determination that her first-born was to be Matilda. -So Miss Pole had to lower her colours, and even her voice, as she said to -me that, as Mr and Mrs Hearn were still to go on living in the same house -with Miss Matty, we had certainly done a wise thing in hiring Martha’s -niece as an auxiliary. - -I left Miss Matty and Mr Peter most comfortable and contented; the only -subject for regret to the tender heart of the one, and the social -friendly nature of the other, being the unfortunate quarrel between Mrs -Jamieson and the plebeian Hogginses and their following. In joke, I -prophesied one day that this would only last until Mrs Jamieson or Mr -Mulliner were ill, in which case they would only be too glad to be -friends with Mr Hoggins; but Miss Matty did not like my looking forward -to anything like illness in so light a manner, and before the year was -out all had come round in a far more satisfactory way. - -I received two Cranford letters on one auspicious October morning. Both -Miss Pole and Miss Matty wrote to ask me to come over and meet the -Gordons, who had returned to England alive and well with their two -children, now almost grown up. Dear Jessie Brown had kept her old kind -nature, although she had changed her name and station; and she wrote to -say that she and Major Gordon expected to be in Cranford on the -fourteenth, and she hoped and begged to be remembered to Mrs Jamieson -(named first, as became her honourable station), Miss Pole and Miss -Matty—could she ever forget their kindness to her poor father and -sister?—Mrs Forrester, Mr Hoggins (and here again came in an allusion to -kindness shown to the dead long ago), his new wife, who as such must -allow Mrs Gordon to desire to make her acquaintance, and who was, -moreover, an old Scotch friend of her husband’s. In short, every one was -named, from the rector—who had been appointed to Cranford in the interim -between Captain Brown’s death and Miss Jessie’s marriage, and was now -associated with the latter event—down to Miss Betty Barker. All were -asked to the luncheon; all except Mrs Fitz-Adam, who had come to live in -Cranford since Miss Jessie Brown’s days, and whom I found rather moping -on account of the omission. People wondered at Miss Betty Barker’s being -included in the honourable list; but, then, as Miss Pole said, we must -remember the disregard of the genteel proprieties of life in which the -poor captain had educated his girls, and for his sake we swallowed our -pride. Indeed, Mrs Jamieson rather took it as a compliment, as putting -Miss Betty (formerly _her_ maid) on a level with “those Hogginses.” - -But when I arrived in Cranford, nothing was as yet ascertained of Mrs -Jamieson’s own intentions; would the honourable lady go, or would she -not? Mr Peter declared that she should and she would; Miss Pole shook -her head and desponded. But Mr Peter was a man of resources. In the -first place, he persuaded Miss Matty to write to Mrs Gordon, and to tell -her of Mrs Fitz-Adam’s existence, and to beg that one so kind, and -cordial, and generous, might be included in the pleasant invitation. An -answer came back by return of post, with a pretty little note for Mrs -Fitz-Adam, and a request that Miss Matty would deliver it herself and -explain the previous omission. Mrs Fitz-Adam was as pleased as could be, -and thanked Miss Matty over and over again. Mr Peter had said, “Leave -Mrs Jamieson to me;” so we did; especially as we knew nothing that we -could do to alter her determination if once formed. - -I did not know, nor did Miss Matty, how things were going on, until Miss -Pole asked me, just the day before Mrs Gordon came, if I thought there -was anything between Mr Peter and Mrs Jamieson in the matrimonial line, -for that Mrs Jamieson was really going to the lunch at the “George.” She -had sent Mr Mulliner down to desire that there might be a footstool put -to the warmest seat in the room, as she meant to come, and knew that -their chairs were very high. Miss Pole had picked this piece of news up, -and from it she conjectured all sorts of things, and bemoaned yet more. -“If Peter should marry, what would become of poor dear Miss Matty? And -Mrs Jamieson, of all people!” Miss Pole seemed to think there were other -ladies in Cranford who would have done more credit to his choice, and I -think she must have had someone who was unmarried in her head, for she -kept saying, “It was so wanting in delicacy in a widow to think of such a -thing.” - -When I got back to Miss Matty’s I really did begin to think that Mr Peter -might be thinking of Mrs Jamieson for a wife, and I was as unhappy as -Miss Pole about it. He had the proof sheet of a great placard in his -hand. “Signor Brunoni, Magician to the King of Delhi, the Rajah of Oude, -and the great Lama of Thibet,” &c. &c., was going to “perform in Cranford -for one night only,” the very next night; and Miss Matty, exultant, -showed me a letter from the Gordons, promising to remain over this -gaiety, which Miss Matty said was entirely Peter’s doing. He had written -to ask the signor to come, and was to be at all the expenses of the -affair. Tickets were to be sent gratis to as many as the room would -hold. In short, Miss Matty was charmed with the plan, and said that -to-morrow Cranford would remind her of the Preston Guild, to which she -had been in her youth—a luncheon at the “George,” with the dear Gordons, -and the signor in the Assembly Room in the evening. But I—I looked only -at the fatal words:— - - “_Under the Patronage of the_ HONOURABLE MRS JAMIESON.” - -She, then, was chosen to preside over this entertainment of Mr Peter’s; -she was perhaps going to displace my dear Miss Matty in his heart, and -make her life lonely once more! I could not look forward to the morrow -with any pleasure; and every innocent anticipation of Miss Matty’s only -served to add to my annoyance. - -So, angry and irritated, and exaggerating every little incident which -could add to my irritation, I went on till we were all assembled in the -great parlour at the “George.” Major and Mrs Gordon and pretty Flora and -Mr Ludovic were all as bright and handsome and friendly as could be; but -I could hardly attend to them for watching Mr Peter, and I saw that Miss -Pole was equally busy. I had never seen Mrs Jamieson so roused and -animated before; her face looked full of interest in what Mr Peter was -saying. I drew near to listen. My relief was great when I caught that -his words were not words of love, but that, for all his grave face, he -was at his old tricks. He was telling her of his travels in India, and -describing the wonderful height of the Himalaya mountains: one touch -after another added to their size, and each exceeded the former in -absurdity; but Mrs Jamieson really enjoyed all in perfect good faith. I -suppose she required strong stimulants to excite her to come out of her -apathy. Mr Peter wound up his account by saying that, of course, at that -altitude there were none of the animals to be found that existed in the -lower regions; the game,—everything was different. Firing one day at -some flying creature, he was very much dismayed when it fell, to find -that he had shot a cherubim! Mr Peter caught my eye at this moment, and -gave me such a funny twinkle, that I felt sure he had no thoughts of Mrs -Jamieson as a wife from that time. She looked uncomfortably amazed— - -“But, Mr Peter, shooting a cherubim—don’t you think—I am afraid that was -sacrilege!” - -Mr Peter composed his countenance in a moment, and appeared shocked at -the idea, which, as he said truly enough, was now presented to him for -the first time; but then Mrs Jamieson must remember that he had been -living for a long time among savages—all of whom were heathens—some of -them, he was afraid, were downright Dissenters. Then, seeing Miss Matty -draw near, he hastily changed the conversation, and after a little while, -turning to me, he said, “Don’t be shocked, prim little Mary, at all my -wonderful stories. I consider Mrs Jamieson fair game, and besides I am -bent on propitiating her, and the first step towards it is keeping her -well awake. I bribed her here by asking her to let me have her name as -patroness for my poor conjuror this evening; and I don’t want to give her -time enough to get up her rancour against the Hogginses, who are just -coming in. I want everybody to be friends, for it harasses Matty so much -to hear of these quarrels. I shall go at it again by-and-by, so you need -not look shocked. I intend to enter the Assembly Room to-night with Mrs -Jamieson on one side, and my lady, Mrs Hoggins, on the other. You see if -I don’t.” - -Somehow or another he did; and fairly got them into conversation -together. Major and Mrs Gordon helped at the good work with their -perfect ignorance of any existing coolness between any of the inhabitants -of Cranford. - -Ever since that day there has been the old friendly sociability in -Cranford society; which I am thankful for, because of my dear Miss -Matty’s love of peace and kindliness. We all love Miss Matty, and I -somehow think we are all of us better when she is near us. - - * * * * * - - PRINTED BY - TURNBULL AND SPEARS, - EDINBURGH - - - - -***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CRANFORD*** - - -******* This file should be named 394-0.txt or 394-0.zip ******* - - -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: -http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/3/9/394 - - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, -set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to -copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to -protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project -Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you -charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If you -do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the -rules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose -such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and -research. They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do -practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks. Redistribution is -subject to the trademark license, especially commercial -redistribution. - - - -*** START: FULL LICENSE *** - -THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE -PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK - -To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free -distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work -(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project -Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project -Gutenberg-tm License available with this file or online at - www.gutenberg.org/license. - - -Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic works - -1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to -and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property -(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all -the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy -all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession. -If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the -terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or -entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8. - -1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be -used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who -agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few -things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works -even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See -paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement -and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic -works. See paragraph 1.E below. - -1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation" -or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the -collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an -individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are -located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from -copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative -works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg -are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project -Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by -freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of -this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with -the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by -keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project -Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others. - -1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern -what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in -a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check -the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement -before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or -creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project -Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning -the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United -States. - -1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: - -1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate -access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently -whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the -phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project -Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, -copied or distributed: - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org - -1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived -from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is -posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied -and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees -or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work -with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the -work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 -through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the -Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or -1.E.9. - -1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted -with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution -must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional -terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked -to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the -permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work. - -1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm -License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this -work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. - -1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this -electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without -prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with -active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project -Gutenberg-tm License. - -1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, -compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any -word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or -distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than -"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version -posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org), -you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a -copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon -request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other -form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm -License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. - -1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, -performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works -unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. - -1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing -access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided -that - -- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from - the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method - you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is - owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he - has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the - Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments - must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you - prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax - returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and - sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the - address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to - the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation." - -- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies - you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he - does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm - License. You must require such a user to return or - destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium - and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of - Project Gutenberg-tm works. - -- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any - money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the - electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days - of receipt of the work. - -- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free - distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. - -1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set -forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from -both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael -Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the -Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. - -1.F. - -1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable -effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread -public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm -collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic -works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain -"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or -corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual -property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a -computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by -your equipment. - -1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right -of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project -Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all -liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal -fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT -LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE -PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE -TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE -LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR -INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH -DAMAGE. - -1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a -defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can -receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a -written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you -received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with -your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with -the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a -refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity -providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to -receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy -is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further -opportunities to fix the problem. - -1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth -in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS', WITH NO OTHER -WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO -WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. - -1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied -warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. -If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the -law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be -interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by -the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any -provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions. - -1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the -trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone -providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance -with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, -promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works, -harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, -that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do -or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm -work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any -Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause. - - -Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm - -Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of -electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers -including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists -because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from -people in all walks of life. - -Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the -assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's -goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will -remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure -and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations. -To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation -and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 -and the Foundation information page at www.gutenberg.org - - -Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive -Foundation - -The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit -501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the -state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal -Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification -number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg -Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent -permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. - -The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S. -Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered -throughout numerous locations. Its business office is located at 809 -North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887. Email -contact links and up to date contact information can be found at the -Foundation's web site and official page at www.gutenberg.org/contact - -For additional contact information: - Dr. Gregory B. Newby - Chief Executive and Director - gbnewby@pglaf.org - -Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg -Literary Archive Foundation - -Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide -spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of -increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be -freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest -array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations -($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt -status with the IRS. - -The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating -charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United -States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a -considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up -with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations -where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To -SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any -particular state visit www.gutenberg.org/donate - -While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we -have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition -against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who -approach us with offers to donate. - -International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make -any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from -outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. - -Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation -methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other -ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. -To donate, please visit: www.gutenberg.org/donate - - -Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic -works. - -Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm -concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared -with anyone. For forty years, he produced and distributed Project -Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support. - -Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed -editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S. -unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily -keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. - -Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: - - www.gutenberg.org - -This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, -including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to -subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. diff --git a/old/394-0_20130224.zip b/old/394-0_20130224.zip Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index cdcb4bd..0000000 --- a/old/394-0_20130224.zip +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/394-0_20210429.txt b/old/394-0_20210429.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 2fef1ab..0000000 --- a/old/394-0_20210429.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,7010 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of Cranford, by Elizabeth Cleghorn Gaskell - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: Cranford - -Author: Elizabeth Cleghorn Gaskell - -Illustrator: C. E. Brocks - -Release Date: December 7, 1995 [eBook #394] -[Most recently updated: April 28, 2021] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -Produced by: David Price, -Margaret Price, and Richard Tonsing - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CRANFORD *** - - -Transcribed from the 1907 J. M. Dent edition by David Price, email -ccx074@pglaf.org. Extra proofing by Margaret Price. - - - [Picture: “Oh, sir! can you be Peter?”] - - - - - CRANFORD - - - _by_ - _Elizabeth Cleghorn Gaskell_ - - [Picture: Picture of lady pouring tea] - - _With twenty-five coloured illustrations_ - _by C. E. Brock_ - - [Picture: Decorative graphic] - - 1904 - - _London_. _J. M. Dent & Co._ - _New York_. _E. P. Dutton & Co._ - - - - -CONTENTS - - - _CHAPTER I_ -_Our Society_ 1 - _CHAPTER II_ -_The Captain_ 16 - _CHAPTER III_ -_A Love Affair of Long Ago_ 36 - _CHAPTER IV_ -_A Visit to an Old Bachelor_ 49 - _CHAPTER V_ -_Old Letters_ 65 - _CHAPTER VI_ -_Poor Peter_ 80 - _CHAPTER VII_ -_Visiting_ 96 - _CHAPTER VIII_ -“_Your Ladyship_” 110 - _CHAPTER IX_ -_Signor Brunoni_ 128 - _CHAPTER X_ -_The Panic_ 142 - _CHAPTER XI_ -_Samuel Brown_ 161 - _CHAPTER XII_ -_Engaged to be Married_ 177 - _CHAPTER XIII_ -_Stopped Payment_ 189 - _CHAPTER XIV_ -_Friends in Need_ 204 - _CHAPTER XV_ -_A Happy Return_ 228 - _CHAPTER XVI_ -_Peace to Cranford_ 245 - -LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS - -“_Oh, sir_! _Can you be Peter_?” Frontispiece -_Title-page_ — -_A magnificent family red silk umbrella_ 3 -_Meekly going to her pasture_ 8 -_Endeavouring to beguile her into conversation_ 14 -_She brought the affrighted carter . . . into the 24 -drawing-room_ -“_With his arm round Miss Jessie’s waist_!” 33 -_Mr Holbrook . . . bade us good-bye_ 48 -_Now_, _what colour are ash-buds in March_? 54 -_I made us of the time to think of many other 74 -things_ -“_Confound the woman_!” 82 -_The temptation of the comfortable arm-chair had 106 -been too much for her_ -_Mr Mulliner_ 117 -_We gave her a tea-spoonful of currant jelly_ 124 -_Afraid of matrimonial reports_ 140 -_Asked him to take care of us_ 148 -_Slaughterous and indiscriminate directions_ 157 -_Would stretch out their little arms_ 170 -“_What do you think_, _Miss Matty_?” 179 -_Standing over him like a bold dragoon_ 190 -“_You must give me your note_, _Mr Dobson_, _if 198 -you please_” -“_Please_, _ma’am, he wants to marry me off hand_” 213 -_Miss Matty and I sat assenting to accounts_ 220 -_Smiling glory . . . and becoming blushes_ 231 -_I went to call Miss Matty_ 234 - - * * * * * - -_Most of the three-colour blocks used in this book have been made by the -Graphic Photo-Engraving Co._, _London_ - - - - -CHAPTER I—OUR SOCIETY - - -IN the first place, Cranford is in possession of the Amazons; all the -holders of houses above a certain rent are women. If a married couple -come to settle in the town, somehow the gentleman disappears; he is -either fairly frightened to death by being the only man in the Cranford -evening parties, or he is accounted for by being with his regiment, his -ship, or closely engaged in business all the week in the great -neighbouring commercial town of Drumble, distant only twenty miles on a -railroad. In short, whatever does become of the gentlemen, they are not -at Cranford. What could they do if they were there? The surgeon has his -round of thirty miles, and sleeps at Cranford; but every man cannot be a -surgeon. For keeping the trim gardens full of choice flowers without a -weed to speck them; for frightening away little boys who look wistfully -at the said flowers through the railings; for rushing out at the geese -that occasionally venture in to the gardens if the gates are left open; -for deciding all questions of literature and politics without troubling -themselves with unnecessary reasons or arguments; for obtaining clear and -correct knowledge of everybody’s affairs in the parish; for keeping their -neat maid-servants in admirable order; for kindness (somewhat -dictatorial) to the poor, and real tender good offices to each other -whenever they are in distress, the ladies of Cranford are quite -sufficient. “A man,” as one of them observed to me once, “is _so_ in the -way in the house!” Although the ladies of Cranford know all each other’s -proceedings, they are exceedingly indifferent to each other’s opinions. -Indeed, as each has her own individuality, not to say eccentricity, -pretty strongly developed, nothing is so easy as verbal retaliation; but, -somehow, good-will reigns among them to a considerable degree. - -The Cranford ladies have only an occasional little quarrel, spirited out -in a few peppery words and angry jerks of the head; just enough to -prevent the even tenor of their lives from becoming too flat. Their -dress is very independent of fashion; as they observe, “What does it -signify how we dress here at Cranford, where everybody knows us?” And if -they go from home, their reason is equally cogent, “What does it signify -how we dress here, where nobody knows us?” The materials of their -clothes are, in general, good and plain, and most of them are nearly as -scrupulous as Miss Tyler, of cleanly memory; but I will answer for it, -the last gigot, the last tight and scanty petticoat in wear in England, -was seen in Cranford—and seen without a smile. - - [Picture: A magnificent family red silk umbrella] - -I can testify to a magnificent family red silk umbrella, under which a -gentle little spinster, left alone of many brothers and sisters, used to -patter to church on rainy days. Have you any red silk umbrellas in -London? We had a tradition of the first that had ever been seen in -Cranford; and the little boys mobbed it, and called it “a stick in -petticoats.” It might have been the very red silk one I have described, -held by a strong father over a troop of little ones; the poor little -lady—the survivor of all—could scarcely carry it. - -Then there were rules and regulations for visiting and calls; and they -were announced to any young people who might be staying in the town, with -all the solemnity with which the old Manx laws were read once a year on -the Tinwald Mount. - -“Our friends have sent to inquire how you are after your journey -to-night, my dear” (fifteen miles in a gentleman’s carriage); “they will -give you some rest to-morrow, but the next day, I have no doubt, they -will call; so be at liberty after twelve—from twelve to three are our -calling hours.” - -Then, after they had called— - -“It is the third day; I dare say your mamma has told you, my dear, never -to let more than three days elapse between receiving a call and returning -it; and also, that you are never to stay longer than a quarter of an -hour.” - -“But am I to look at my watch? How am I to find out when a quarter of an -hour has passed?” - -“You must keep thinking about the time, my dear, and not allow yourself -to forget it in conversation.” - -As everybody had this rule in their minds, whether they received or paid -a call, of course no absorbing subject was ever spoken about. We kept -ourselves to short sentences of small talk, and were punctual to our -time. - -I imagine that a few of the gentlefolks of Cranford were poor, and had -some difficulty in making both ends meet; but they were like the -Spartans, and concealed their smart under a smiling face. We none of us -spoke of money, because that subject savoured of commerce and trade, and -though some might be poor, we were all aristocratic. The Cranfordians -had that kindly _esprit de corps_ which made them overlook all -deficiencies in success when some among them tried to conceal their -poverty. When Mrs Forrester, for instance, gave a party in her -baby-house of a dwelling, and the little maiden disturbed the ladies on -the sofa by a request that she might get the tea-tray out from -underneath, everyone took this novel proceeding as the most natural thing -in the world, and talked on about household forms and ceremonies as if we -all believed that our hostess had a regular servants’ hall, second table, -with housekeeper and steward, instead of the one little charity-school -maiden, whose short ruddy arms could never have been strong enough to -carry the tray upstairs, if she had not been assisted in private by her -mistress, who now sat in state, pretending not to know what cakes were -sent up, though she knew, and we knew, and she knew that we knew, and we -knew that she knew that we knew, she had been busy all the morning making -tea-bread and sponge-cakes. - -There were one or two consequences arising from this general but -unacknowledged poverty, and this very much acknowledged gentility, which -were not amiss, and which might be introduced into many circles of -society to their great improvement. For instance, the inhabitants of -Cranford kept early hours, and clattered home in their pattens, under the -guidance of a lantern-bearer, about nine o’clock at night; and the whole -town was abed and asleep by half-past ten. Moreover, it was considered -“vulgar” (a tremendous word in Cranford) to give anything expensive, in -the way of eatable or drinkable, at the evening entertainments. Wafer -bread-and-butter and sponge-biscuits were all that the Honourable Mrs -Jamieson gave; and she was sister-in-law to the late Earl of Glenmire, -although she did practise such “elegant economy.” - -“Elegant economy!” How naturally one falls back into the phraseology of -Cranford! There, economy was always “elegant,” and money-spending always -“vulgar and ostentatious”; a sort of sour-grapeism which made us very -peaceful and satisfied. I never shall forget the dismay felt when a -certain Captain Brown came to live at Cranford, and openly spoke about -his being poor—not in a whisper to an intimate friend, the doors and -windows being previously closed, but in the public street! in a loud -military voice! alleging his poverty as a reason for not taking a -particular house. The ladies of Cranford were already rather moaning -over the invasion of their territories by a man and a gentleman. He was -a half-pay captain, and had obtained some situation on a neighbouring -railroad, which had been vehemently petitioned against by the little -town; and if, in addition to his masculine gender, and his connection -with the obnoxious railroad, he was so brazen as to talk of being -poor—why, then, indeed, he must be sent to Coventry. Death was as true -and as common as poverty; yet people never spoke about that, loud out in -the streets. It was a word not to be mentioned to ears polite. We had -tacitly agreed to ignore that any with whom we associated on terms of -visiting equality could ever be prevented by poverty from doing anything -that they wished. If we walked to or from a party, it was because the -night was _so_ fine, or the air _so_ refreshing, not because sedan-chairs -were expensive. If we wore prints, instead of summer silks, it was -because we preferred a washing material; and so on, till we blinded -ourselves to the vulgar fact that we were, all of us, people of very -moderate means. Of course, then, we did not know what to make of a man -who could speak of poverty as if it was not a disgrace. Yet, somehow, -Captain Brown made himself respected in Cranford, and was called upon, in -spite of all resolutions to the contrary. I was surprised to hear his -opinions quoted as authority at a visit which I paid to Cranford about a -year after he had settled in the town. My own friends had been among the -bitterest opponents of any proposal to visit the Captain and his -daughters, only twelve months before; and now he was even admitted in the -tabooed hours before twelve. True, it was to discover the cause of a -smoking chimney, before the fire was lighted; but still Captain Brown -walked upstairs, nothing daunted, spoke in a voice too large for the -room, and joked quite in the way of a tame man about the house. He had -been blind to all the small slights, and omissions of trivial ceremonies, -with which he had been received. He had been friendly, though the -Cranford ladies had been cool; he had answered small sarcastic -compliments in good faith; and with his manly frankness had overpowered -all the shrinking which met him as a man who was not ashamed to be poor. -And, at last, his excellent masculine common sense, and his facility in -devising expedients to overcome domestic dilemmas, had gained him an -extraordinary place as authority among the Cranford ladies. He himself -went on in his course, as unaware of his popularity as he had been of the -reverse; and I am sure he was startled one day when he found his advice -so highly esteemed as to make some counsel which he had given in jest to -be taken in sober, serious earnest. - -It was on this subject: An old lady had an Alderney cow, which she looked -upon as a daughter. You could not pay the short quarter of an hour call -without being told of the wonderful milk or wonderful intelligence of -this animal. The whole town knew and kindly regarded Miss Betsy Barker’s -Alderney; therefore great was the sympathy and regret when, in an -unguarded moment, the poor cow tumbled into a lime-pit. She moaned so -loudly that she was soon heard and rescued; but meanwhile the poor beast -had lost most of her hair, and came out looking naked, cold, and -miserable, in a bare skin. Everybody pitied the animal, though a few -could not restrain their smiles at her droll appearance. Miss Betsy -Barker absolutely cried with sorrow and dismay; and it was said she -thought of trying a bath of oil. This remedy, perhaps, was recommended -by some one of the number whose advice she asked; but the proposal, if -ever it was made, was knocked on the head by Captain Brown’s decided “Get -her a flannel waistcoat and flannel drawers, ma’am, if you wish to keep -her alive. But my advice is, kill the poor creature at once.” - -Miss Betsy Barker dried her eyes, and thanked the Captain heartily; she -set to work, and by-and-by all the town turned out to see the Alderney -meekly going to her pasture, clad in dark grey flannel. I have watched -her myself many a time. Do you ever see cows dressed in grey flannel in -London? - - [Picture: Meekly going to her pasture] - -Captain Brown had taken a small house on the outskirts of the town, where -he lived with his two daughters. He must have been upwards of sixty at -the time of the first visit I paid to Cranford after I had left it as a -residence. But he had a wiry, well-trained, elastic figure, a stiff -military throw-back of his head, and a springing step, which made him -appear much younger than he was. His eldest daughter looked almost as -old as himself, and betrayed the fact that his real was more than his -apparent age. Miss Brown must have been forty; she had a sickly, pained, -careworn expression on her face, and looked as if the gaiety of youth had -long faded out of sight. Even when young she must have been plain and -hard-featured. Miss Jessie Brown was ten years younger than her sister, -and twenty shades prettier. Her face was round and dimpled. Miss -Jenkyns once said, in a passion against Captain Brown (the cause of which -I will tell you presently), “that she thought it was time for Miss Jessie -to leave off her dimples, and not always to be trying to look like a -child.” It was true there was something childlike in her face; and there -will be, I think, till she dies, though she should live to a hundred. -Her eyes were large blue wondering eyes, looking straight at you; her -nose was unformed and snub, and her lips were red and dewy; she wore her -hair, too, in little rows of curls, which heightened this appearance. I -do not know whether she was pretty or not; but I liked her face, and so -did everybody, and I do not think she could help her dimples. She had -something of her father’s jauntiness of gait and manner; and any female -observer might detect a slight difference in the attire of the two -sisters—that of Miss Jessie being about two pounds per annum more -expensive than Miss Brown’s. Two pounds was a large sum in Captain -Brown’s annual disbursements. - -Such was the impression made upon me by the Brown family when I first saw -them all together in Cranford Church. The Captain I had met before—on -the occasion of the smoky chimney, which he had cured by some simple -alteration in the flue. In church, he held his double eye-glass to his -eyes during the Morning Hymn, and then lifted up his head erect and sang -out loud and joyfully. He made the responses louder than the clerk—an -old man with a piping feeble voice, who, I think, felt aggrieved at the -Captain’s sonorous bass, and quivered higher and higher in consequence. - -On coming out of church, the brisk Captain paid the most gallant -attention to his two daughters. He nodded and smiled to his -acquaintances; but he shook hands with none until he had helped Miss -Brown to unfurl her umbrella, had relieved her of her prayer-book, and -had waited patiently till she, with trembling nervous hands, had taken up -her gown to walk through the wet roads. - -I wonder what the Cranford ladies did with Captain Brown at their -parties. We had often rejoiced, in former days, that there was no -gentleman to be attended to, and to find conversation for, at the -card-parties. We had congratulated ourselves upon the snugness of the -evenings; and, in our love for gentility, and distaste of mankind, we had -almost persuaded ourselves that to be a man was to be “vulgar”; so that -when I found my friend and hostess, Miss Jenkyns, was going to have a -party in my honour, and that Captain and the Miss Browns were invited, I -wondered much what would be the course of the evening. Card-tables, with -green baize tops, were set out by daylight, just as usual; it was the -third week in November, so the evenings closed in about four. Candles, -and clean packs of cards, were arranged on each table. The fire was made -up; the neat maid-servant had received her last directions; and there we -stood, dressed in our best, each with a candle-lighter in our hands, -ready to dart at the candles as soon as the first knock came. Parties in -Cranford were solemn festivities, making the ladies feel gravely elated -as they sat together in their best dresses. As soon as three had -arrived, we sat down to “Preference,” I being the unlucky fourth. The -next four comers were put down immediately to another table; and -presently the tea-trays, which I had seen set out in the store-room as I -passed in the morning, were placed each on the middle of a card-table. -The china was delicate egg-shell; the old-fashioned silver glittered with -polishing; but the eatables were of the slightest description. While the -trays were yet on the tables, Captain and the Miss Browns came in; and I -could see that, somehow or other, the Captain was a favourite with all -the ladies present. Ruffled brows were smoothed, sharp voices lowered at -his approach. Miss Brown looked ill, and depressed almost to gloom. -Miss Jessie smiled as usual, and seemed nearly as popular as her father. -He immediately and quietly assumed the man’s place in the room; attended -to every one’s wants, lessened the pretty maid-servant’s labour by -waiting on empty cups and bread-and-butterless ladies; and yet did it all -in so easy and dignified a manner, and so much as if it were a matter of -course for the strong to attend to the weak, that he was a true man -throughout. He played for threepenny points with as grave an interest as -if they had been pounds; and yet, in all his attention to strangers, he -had an eye on his suffering daughter—for suffering I was sure she was, -though to many eyes she might only appear to be irritable. Miss Jessie -could not play cards: but she talked to the sitters-out, who, before her -coming, had been rather inclined to be cross. She sang, too, to an old -cracked piano, which I think had been a spinet in its youth. Miss Jessie -sang, “Jock of Hazeldean” a little out of tune; but we were none of us -musical, though Miss Jenkyns beat time, out of time, by way of appearing -to be so. - -It was very good of Miss Jenkyns to do this; for I had seen that, a -little before, she had been a good deal annoyed by Miss Jessie Brown’s -unguarded admission (_à propos_ of Shetland wool) that she had an uncle, -her mother’s brother, who was a shop-keeper in Edinburgh. Miss Jenkyns -tried to drown this confession by a terrible cough—for the Honourable Mrs -Jamieson was sitting at a card-table nearest Miss Jessie, and what would -she say or think if she found out she was in the same room with a -shop-keeper’s niece! But Miss Jessie Brown (who had no tact, as we all -agreed the next morning) _would_ repeat the information, and assure Miss -Pole she could easily get her the identical Shetland wool required, -“through my uncle, who has the best assortment of Shetland goods of any -one in Edinbro’.” It was to take the taste of this out of our mouths, -and the sound of this out of our ears, that Miss Jenkyns proposed music; -so I say again, it was very good of her to beat time to the song. - -When the trays re-appeared with biscuits and wine, punctually at a -quarter to nine, there was conversation, comparing of cards, and talking -over tricks; but by-and-by Captain Brown sported a bit of literature. - -“Have you seen any numbers of ‘The Pickwick Papers’?” said he. (They -were then publishing in parts.) “Capital thing!” - -Now Miss Jenkyns was daughter of a deceased rector of Cranford; and, on -the strength of a number of manuscript sermons, and a pretty good library -of divinity, considered herself literary, and looked upon any -conversation about books as a challenge to her. So she answered and -said, “Yes, she had seen them; indeed, she might say she had read them.” - -“And what do you think of them?” exclaimed Captain Brown. “Aren’t they -famously good?” - -So urged Miss Jenkyns could not but speak. - -“I must say, I don’t think they are by any means equal to Dr Johnson. -Still, perhaps, the author is young. Let him persevere, and who knows -what he may become if he will take the great Doctor for his model?” This -was evidently too much for Captain Brown to take placidly; and I saw the -words on the tip of his tongue before Miss Jenkyns had finished her -sentence. - -“It is quite a different sort of thing, my dear madam,” he began. - -“I am quite aware of that,” returned she. “And I make allowances, -Captain Brown.” - -“Just allow me to read you a scene out of this month’s number,” pleaded -he. “I had it only this morning, and I don’t think the company can have -read it yet.” - -“As you please,” said she, settling herself with an air of resignation. -He read the account of the “swarry” which Sam Weller gave at Bath. Some -of us laughed heartily. _I_ did not dare, because I was staying in the -house. Miss Jenkyns sat in patient gravity. When it was ended, she -turned to me, and said with mild dignity— - -“Fetch me ‘Rasselas,’ my dear, out of the book-room.” - -When I had brought it to her, she turned to Captain Brown— - -“Now allow _me_ to read you a scene, and then the present company can -judge between your favourite, Mr Boz, and Dr Johnson.” - -She read one of the conversations between Rasselas and Imlac, in a -high-pitched, majestic voice: and when she had ended, she said, “I -imagine I am now justified in my preference of Dr Johnson as a writer of -fiction.” The Captain screwed his lips up, and drummed on the table, but -he did not speak. She thought she would give him a finishing blow or -two. - - [Picture: Endeavouring to beguile her into conversation] - -“I consider it vulgar, and below the dignity of literature, to publish in -numbers.” - -“How was the _Rambler_ published, ma’am?” asked Captain Brown in a low -voice, which I think Miss Jenkyns could not have heard. - -“Dr Johnson’s style is a model for young beginners. My father -recommended it to me when I began to write letters—I have formed my own -style upon it; I recommended it to your favourite.” - -“I should be very sorry for him to exchange his style for any such -pompous writing,” said Captain Brown. - -Miss Jenkyns felt this as a personal affront, in a way of which the -Captain had not dreamed. Epistolary writing she and her friends -considered as her _forte_. Many a copy of many a letter have I seen -written and corrected on the slate, before she “seized the half-hour just -previous to post-time to assure” her friends of this or of that; and Dr -Johnson was, as she said, her model in these compositions. She drew -herself up with dignity, and only replied to Captain Brown’s last remark -by saying, with marked emphasis on every syllable, “I prefer Dr Johnson -to Mr Boz.” - -It is said—I won’t vouch for the fact—that Captain Brown was heard to -say, _sotto voce_, “D-n Dr Johnson!” If he did, he was penitent -afterwards, as he showed by going to stand near Miss Jenkyns’ arm-chair, -and endeavouring to beguile her into conversation on some more pleasing -subject. But she was inexorable. The next day she made the remark I -have mentioned about Miss Jessie’s dimples. - - - - -CHAPTER II—THE CAPTAIN - - -IT was impossible to live a month at Cranford and not know the daily -habits of each resident; and long before my visit was ended I knew much -concerning the whole Brown trio. There was nothing new to be discovered -respecting their poverty; for they had spoken simply and openly about -that from the very first. They made no mystery of the necessity for -their being economical. All that remained to be discovered was the -Captain’s infinite kindness of heart, and the various modes in which, -unconsciously to himself, he manifested it. Some little anecdotes were -talked about for some time after they occurred. As we did not read much, -and as all the ladies were pretty well suited with servants, there was a -dearth of subjects for conversation. We therefore discussed the -circumstance of the Captain taking a poor old woman’s dinner out of her -hands one very slippery Sunday. He had met her returning from the -bakehouse as he came from church, and noticed her precarious footing; -and, with the grave dignity with which he did everything, he relieved her -of her burden, and steered along the street by her side, carrying her -baked mutton and potatoes safely home. This was thought very eccentric; -and it was rather expected that he would pay a round of calls, on the -Monday morning, to explain and apologise to the Cranford sense of -propriety: but he did no such thing: and then it was decided that he was -ashamed, and was keeping out of sight. In a kindly pity for him, we -began to say, “After all, the Sunday morning’s occurrence showed great -goodness of heart,” and it was resolved that he should be comforted on -his next appearance amongst us; but, lo! he came down upon us, untouched -by any sense of shame, speaking loud and bass as ever, his head thrown -back, his wig as jaunty and well-curled as usual, and we were obliged to -conclude he had forgotten all about Sunday. - -Miss Pole and Miss Jessie Brown had set up a kind of intimacy on the -strength of the Shetland wool and the new knitting stitches; so it -happened that when I went to visit Miss Pole I saw more of the Browns -than I had done while staying with Miss Jenkyns, who had never got over -what she called Captain Brown’s disparaging remarks upon Dr Johnson as a -writer of light and agreeable fiction. I found that Miss Brown was -seriously ill of some lingering, incurable complaint, the pain occasioned -by which gave the uneasy expression to her face that I had taken for -unmitigated crossness. Cross, too, she was at times, when the nervous -irritability occasioned by her disease became past endurance. Miss -Jessie bore with her at these times, even more patiently than she did -with the bitter self-upbraidings by which they were invariably succeeded. -Miss Brown used to accuse herself, not merely of hasty and irritable -temper, but also of being the cause why her father and sister were -obliged to pinch, in order to allow her the small luxuries which were -necessaries in her condition. She would so fain have made sacrifices for -them, and have lightened their cares, that the original generosity of her -disposition added acerbity to her temper. All this was borne by Miss -Jessie and her father with more than placidity—with absolute tenderness. -I forgave Miss Jessie her singing out of tune, and her juvenility of -dress, when I saw her at home. I came to perceive that Captain Brown’s -dark Brutus wig and padded coat (alas! too often threadbare) were -remnants of the military smartness of his youth, which he now wore -unconsciously. He was a man of infinite resources, gained in his barrack -experience. As he confessed, no one could black his boots to please him -except himself; but, indeed, he was not above saving the little -maid-servant’s labours in every way—knowing, most likely, that his -daughter’s illness made the place a hard one. - -He endeavoured to make peace with Miss Jenkyns soon after the memorable -dispute I have named, by a present of a wooden fire-shovel (his own -making), having heard her say how much the grating of an iron one annoyed -her. She received the present with cool gratitude, and thanked him -formally. When he was gone, she bade me put it away in the lumber-room; -feeling, probably, that no present from a man who preferred Mr Boz to Dr -Johnson could be less jarring than an iron fire-shovel. - -Such was the state of things when I left Cranford and went to Drumble. I -had, however, several correspondents, who kept me _au fait_ as to the -proceedings of the dear little town. There was Miss Pole, who was -becoming as much absorbed in crochet as she had been once in knitting, -and the burden of whose letter was something like, “But don’t you forget -the white worsted at Flint’s” of the old song; for at the end of every -sentence of news came a fresh direction as to some crochet commission -which I was to execute for her. Miss Matilda Jenkyns (who did not mind -being called Miss Matty, when Miss Jenkyns was not by) wrote nice, kind, -rambling letters, now and then venturing into an opinion of her own; but -suddenly pulling herself up, and either begging me not to name what she -had said, as Deborah thought differently, and _she_ knew, or else putting -in a postscript to the effect that, since writing the above, she had been -talking over the subject with Deborah, and was quite convinced that, -etc.—(here probably followed a recantation of every opinion she had given -in the letter). Then came Miss Jenkyns—Deborah, as she liked Miss Matty -to call her, her father having once said that the Hebrew name ought to be -so pronounced. I secretly think she took the Hebrew prophetess for a -model in character; and, indeed, she was not unlike the stern prophetess -in some ways, making allowance, of course, for modern customs and -difference in dress. Miss Jenkyns wore a cravat, and a little bonnet -like a jockey-cap, and altogether had the appearance of a strong-minded -woman; although she would have despised the modern idea of women being -equal to men. Equal, indeed! she knew they were superior. But to return -to her letters. Everything in them was stately and grand like herself. -I have been looking them over (dear Miss Jenkyns, how I honoured her!) -and I will give an extract, more especially because it relates to our -friend Captain Brown:— - -“The Honourable Mrs Jamieson has only just quitted me; and, in the course -of conversation, she communicated to me the intelligence that she had -yesterday received a call from her revered husband’s quondam friend, Lord -Mauleverer. You will not easily conjecture what brought his lordship -within the precincts of our little town. It was to see Captain Brown, -with whom, it appears, his lordship was acquainted in the ‘plumed wars,’ -and who had the privilege of averting destruction from his lordship’s -head when some great peril was impending over it, off the misnomered Cape -of Good Hope. You know our friend the Honourable Mrs Jamieson’s -deficiency in the spirit of innocent curiosity, and you will therefore -not be so much surprised when I tell you she was quite unable to disclose -to me the exact nature of the peril in question. I was anxious, I -confess, to ascertain in what manner Captain Brown, with his limited -establishment, could receive so distinguished a guest; and I discovered -that his lordship retired to rest, and, let us hope, to refreshing -slumbers, at the Angel Hotel; but shared the Brunonian meals during the -two days that he honoured Cranford with his august presence. Mrs -Johnson, our civil butcher’s wife, informs me that Miss Jessie purchased -a leg of lamb; but, besides this, I can hear of no preparation whatever -to give a suitable reception to so distinguished a visitor. Perhaps they -entertained him with ‘the feast of reason and the flow of soul’; and to -us, who are acquainted with Captain Brown’s sad want of relish for ‘the -pure wells of English undefiled,’ it may be matter for congratulation -that he has had the opportunity of improving his taste by holding -converse with an elegant and refined member of the British aristocracy. -But from some mundane failings who is altogether free?” - -Miss Pole and Miss Matty wrote to me by the same post. Such a piece of -news as Lord Mauleverer’s visit was not to be lost on the Cranford -letter-writers: they made the most of it. Miss Matty humbly apologised -for writing at the same time as her sister, who was so much more capable -than she to describe the honour done to Cranford; but in spite of a -little bad spelling, Miss Matty’s account gave me the best idea of the -commotion occasioned by his lordship’s visit, after it had occurred; for, -except the people at the Angel, the Browns, Mrs Jamieson, and a little -lad his lordship had sworn at for driving a dirty hoop against the -aristocratic legs, I could not hear of any one with whom his lordship had -held conversation. - -My next visit to Cranford was in the summer. There had been neither -births, deaths, nor marriages since I was there last. Everybody lived in -the same house, and wore pretty nearly the same well-preserved, -old-fashioned clothes. The greatest event was, that Miss Jenkyns had -purchased a new carpet for the drawing-room. Oh, the busy work Miss -Matty and I had in chasing the sunbeams, as they fell in an afternoon -right down on this carpet through the blindless window! We spread -newspapers over the places and sat down to our book or our work; and, lo! -in a quarter of an hour the sun had moved, and was blazing away on a -fresh spot; and down again we went on our knees to alter the position of -the newspapers. We were very busy, too, one whole morning, before Miss -Jenkyns gave her party, in following her directions, and in cutting out -and stitching together pieces of newspaper so as to form little paths to -every chair set for the expected visitors, lest their shoes might dirty -or defile the purity of the carpet. Do you make paper paths for every -guest to walk upon in London? - -Captain Brown and Miss Jenkyns were not very cordial to each other. The -literary dispute, of which I had seen the beginning, was a “raw,” the -slightest touch on which made them wince. It was the only difference of -opinion they had ever had; but that difference was enough. Miss Jenkyns -could not refrain from talking at Captain Brown; and, though he did not -reply, he drummed with his fingers, which action she felt and resented as -very disparaging to Dr Johnson. He was rather ostentatious in his -preference of the writings of Mr Boz; would walk through the streets so -absorbed in them that he all but ran against Miss Jenkyns; and though his -apologies were earnest and sincere, and though he did not, in fact, do -more than startle her and himself, she owned to me she had rather he had -knocked her down, if he had only been reading a higher style of -literature. The poor, brave Captain! he looked older, and more worn, and -his clothes were very threadbare. But he seemed as bright and cheerful -as ever, unless he was asked about his daughter’s health. - -“She suffers a great deal, and she must suffer more: we do what we can to -alleviate her pain;—God’s will be done!” He took off his hat at these -last words. I found, from Miss Matty, that everything had been done, in -fact. A medical man, of high repute in that country neighbourhood, had -been sent for, and every injunction he had given was attended to, -regardless of expense. Miss Matty was sure they denied themselves many -things in order to make the invalid comfortable; but they never spoke -about it; and as for Miss Jessie!—“I really think she’s an angel,” said -poor Miss Matty, quite overcome. “To see her way of bearing with Miss -Brown’s crossness, and the bright face she puts on after she’s been -sitting up a whole night and scolded above half of it, is quite -beautiful. Yet she looks as neat and as ready to welcome the Captain at -breakfast-time as if she had been asleep in the Queen’s bed all night. -My dear! you could never laugh at her prim little curls or her pink bows -again if you saw her as I have done.” I could only feel very penitent, -and greet Miss Jessie with double respect when I met her next. She -looked faded and pinched; and her lips began to quiver, as if she was -very weak, when she spoke of her sister. But she brightened, and sent -back the tears that were glittering in her pretty eyes, as she said— - -“But, to be sure, what a town Cranford is for kindness! I don’t suppose -any one has a better dinner than usual cooked but the best part of all -comes in a little covered basin for my sister. The poor people will -leave their earliest vegetables at our door for her. They speak short -and gruff, as if they were ashamed of it: but I am sure it often goes to -my heart to see their thoughtfulness.” The tears now came back and -overflowed; but after a minute or two she began to scold herself, and -ended by going away the same cheerful Miss Jessie as ever. - -“But why does not this Lord Mauleverer do something for the man who saved -his life?” said I. - -“Why, you see, unless Captain Brown has some reason for it, he never -speaks about being poor; and he walked along by his lordship looking as -happy and cheerful as a prince; and as they never called attention to -their dinner by apologies, and as Miss Brown was better that day, and all -seemed bright, I daresay his lordship never knew how much care there was -in the background. He did send game in the winter pretty often, but now -he is gone abroad.” - -I had often occasion to notice the use that was made of fragments and -small opportunities in Cranford; the rose-leaves that were gathered ere -they fell to make into a potpourri for someone who had no garden; the -little bundles of lavender flowers sent to strew the drawers of some -town-dweller, or to burn in the chamber of some invalid. Things that -many would despise, and actions which it seemed scarcely worth while to -perform, were all attended to in Cranford. Miss Jenkyns stuck an apple -full of cloves, to be heated and smell pleasantly in Miss Brown’s room; -and as she put in each clove she uttered a Johnsonian sentence. Indeed, -she never could think of the Browns without talking Johnson; and, as they -were seldom absent from her thoughts just then, I heard many a rolling, -three-piled sentence. - -Captain Brown called one day to thank Miss Jenkyns for many little -kindnesses, which I did not know until then that she had rendered. He -had suddenly become like an old man; his deep bass voice had a quavering -in it, his eyes looked dim, and the lines on his face were deep. He did -not—could not—speak cheerfully of his daughter’s state, but he talked -with manly, pious resignation, and not much. Twice over he said, “What -Jessie has been to us, God only knows!” and after the second time, he got -up hastily, shook hands all round without speaking, and left the room. - -That afternoon we perceived little groups in the street, all listening -with faces aghast to some tale or other. Miss Jenkyns wondered what -could be the matter for some time before she took the undignified step of -sending Jenny out to inquire. - -Jenny came back with a white face of terror. “Oh, ma’am! Oh, Miss -Jenkyns, ma’am! Captain Brown is killed by them nasty cruel railroads!” -and she burst into tears. She, along with many others, had experienced -the poor Captain’s kindness. - -“How?—where—where? Good God! Jenny, don’t waste time in crying, but -tell us something.” Miss Matty rushed out into the street at once, and -collared the man who was telling the tale. - - [Picture: She brought the affrighted carter . . . into the drawing-room] - -“Come in—come to my sister at once, Miss Jenkyns, the rector’s daughter. -Oh, man, man! say it is not true,” she cried, as she brought the -affrighted carter, sleeking down his hair, into the drawing-room, where -he stood with his wet boots on the new carpet, and no one regarded it. - -“Please, mum, it is true. I seed it myself,” and he shuddered at the -recollection. “The Captain was a-reading some new book as he was deep -in, a-waiting for the down train; and there was a little lass as wanted -to come to its mammy, and gave its sister the slip, and came toddling -across the line. And he looked up sudden, at the sound of the train -coming, and seed the child, and he darted on the line and cotched it up, -and his foot slipped, and the train came over him in no time. O Lord, -Lord! Mum, it’s quite true, and they’ve come over to tell his daughters. -The child’s safe, though, with only a bang on its shoulder as he threw it -to its mammy. Poor Captain would be glad of that, mum, wouldn’t he? God -bless him!” The great rough carter puckered up his manly face, and -turned away to hide his tears. I turned to Miss Jenkyns. She looked -very ill, as if she were going to faint, and signed to me to open the -window. - -“Matilda, bring me my bonnet. I must go to those girls. God pardon me, -if ever I have spoken contemptuously to the Captain!” - -Miss Jenkyns arrayed herself to go out, telling Miss Matilda to give the -man a glass of wine. While she was away, Miss Matty and I huddled over -the fire, talking in a low and awe-struck voice. I know we cried quietly -all the time. - -Miss Jenkyns came home in a silent mood, and we durst not ask her many -questions. She told us that Miss Jessie had fainted, and that she and -Miss Pole had had some difficulty in bringing her round; but that, as -soon as she recovered, she begged one of them to go and sit with her -sister. - -“Mr Hoggins says she cannot live many days, and she shall be spared this -shock,” said Miss Jessie, shivering with feelings to which she dared not -give way. - -“But how can you manage, my dear?” asked Miss Jenkyns; “you cannot bear -up, she must see your tears.” - -“God will help me—I will not give way—she was asleep when the news came; -she may be asleep yet. She would be so utterly miserable, not merely at -my father’s death, but to think of what would become of me; she is so -good to me.” She looked up earnestly in their faces with her soft true -eyes, and Miss Pole told Miss Jenkyns afterwards she could hardly bear -it, knowing, as she did, how Miss Brown treated her sister. - -However, it was settled according to Miss Jessie’s wish. Miss Brown was -to be told her father had been summoned to take a short journey on -railway business. They had managed it in some way—Miss Jenkyns could not -exactly say how. Miss Pole was to stop with Miss Jessie. Mrs Jamieson -had sent to inquire. And this was all we heard that night; and a -sorrowful night it was. The next day a full account of the fatal -accident was in the county paper which Miss Jenkyns took in. Her eyes -were very weak, she said, and she asked me to read it. When I came to -the “gallant gentleman was deeply engaged in the perusal of a number of -‘Pickwick,’ which he had just received,” Miss Jenkyns shook her head long -and solemnly, and then sighed out, “Poor, dear, infatuated man!” - -The corpse was to be taken from the station to the parish church, there -to be interred. Miss Jessie had set her heart on following it to the -grave; and no dissuasives could alter her resolve. Her restraint upon -herself made her almost obstinate; she resisted all Miss Pole’s -entreaties and Miss Jenkyns’ advice. At last Miss Jenkyns gave up the -point; and after a silence, which I feared portended some deep -displeasure against Miss Jessie, Miss Jenkyns said she should accompany -the latter to the funeral. - -“It is not fit for you to go alone. It would be against both propriety -and humanity were I to allow it.” - -Miss Jessie seemed as if she did not half like this arrangement; but her -obstinacy, if she had any, had been exhausted in her determination to go -to the interment. She longed, poor thing, I have no doubt, to cry alone -over the grave of the dear father to whom she had been all in all, and to -give way, for one little half-hour, uninterrupted by sympathy and -unobserved by friendship. But it was not to be. That afternoon Miss -Jenkyns sent out for a yard of black crape, and employed herself busily -in trimming the little black silk bonnet I have spoken about. When it -was finished she put it on, and looked at us for approbation—admiration -she despised. I was full of sorrow, but, by one of those whimsical -thoughts which come unbidden into our heads, in times of deepest grief, I -no sooner saw the bonnet than I was reminded of a helmet; and in that -hybrid bonnet, half helmet, half jockey-cap, did Miss Jenkyns attend -Captain Brown’s funeral, and, I believe, supported Miss Jessie with a -tender, indulgent firmness which was invaluable, allowing her to weep her -passionate fill before they left. - -Miss Pole, Miss Matty, and I, meanwhile attended to Miss Brown: and hard -work we found it to relieve her querulous and never-ending complaints. -But if we were so weary and dispirited, what must Miss Jessie have been! -Yet she came back almost calm as if she had gained a new strength. She -put off her mourning dress, and came in, looking pale and gentle, -thanking us each with a soft long pressure of the hand. She could even -smile—a faint, sweet, wintry smile—as if to reassure us of her power to -endure; but her look made our eyes fill suddenly with tears, more than if -she had cried outright. - -It was settled that Miss Pole was to remain with her all the watching -livelong night; and that Miss Matty and I were to return in the morning -to relieve them, and give Miss Jessie the opportunity for a few hours of -sleep. But when the morning came, Miss Jenkyns appeared at the -breakfast-table, equipped in her helmet-bonnet, and ordered Miss Matty to -stay at home, as she meant to go and help to nurse. She was evidently in -a state of great friendly excitement, which she showed by eating her -breakfast standing, and scolding the household all round. - -No nursing—no energetic strong-minded woman could help Miss Brown now. -There was that in the room as we entered which was stronger than us all, -and made us shrink into solemn awestruck helplessness. Miss Brown was -dying. We hardly knew her voice, it was so devoid of the complaining -tone we had always associated with it. Miss Jessie told me afterwards -that it, and her face too, were just what they had been formerly, when -her mother’s death left her the young anxious head of the family, of whom -only Miss Jessie survived. - -She was conscious of her sister’s presence, though not, I think, of ours. -We stood a little behind the curtain: Miss Jessie knelt with her face -near her sister’s, in order to catch the last soft awful whispers. - -“Oh, Jessie! Jessie! How selfish I have been! God forgive me for -letting you sacrifice yourself for me as you did! I have so loved -you—and yet I have thought only of myself. God forgive me!” - -“Hush, love! hush!” said Miss Jessie, sobbing. - -“And my father, my dear, dear father! I will not complain now, if God -will give me strength to be patient. But, oh, Jessie! tell my father how -I longed and yearned to see him at last, and to ask his forgiveness. He -can never know now how I loved him—oh! if I might but tell him, before I -die! What a life of sorrow his has been, and I have done so little to -cheer him!” - -A light came into Miss Jessie’s face. “Would it comfort you, dearest, to -think that he does know?—would it comfort you, love, to know that his -cares, his sorrows”—Her voice quivered, but she steadied it into -calmness—“Mary! he has gone before you to the place where the weary are -at rest. He knows now how you loved him.” - -A strange look, which was not distress, came over Miss Brown’s face. She -did not speak for come time, but then we saw her lips form the words, -rather than heard the sound—“Father, mother, Harry, Archy;”—then, as if -it were a new idea throwing a filmy shadow over her darkened mind—“But -you will be alone, Jessie!” - -Miss Jessie had been feeling this all during the silence, I think; for -the tears rolled down her cheeks like rain, at these words, and she could -not answer at first. Then she put her hands together tight, and lifted -them up, and said—but not to us—“Though He slay me, yet will I trust in -Him.” - -In a few moments more Miss Brown lay calm and still—never to sorrow or -murmur more. - -After this second funeral, Miss Jenkyns insisted that Miss Jessie should -come to stay with her rather than go back to the desolate house, which, -in fact, we learned from Miss Jessie, must now be given up, as she had -not wherewithal to maintain it. She had something above twenty pounds a -year, besides the interest of the money for which the furniture would -sell; but she could not live upon that: and so we talked over her -qualifications for earning money. - -“I can sew neatly,” said she, “and I like nursing. I think, too, I could -manage a house, if any one would try me as housekeeper; or I would go -into a shop as saleswoman, if they would have patience with me at first.” - -Miss Jenkyns declared, in an angry voice, that she should do no such -thing; and talked to herself about “some people having no idea of their -rank as a captain’s daughter,” nearly an hour afterwards, when she -brought Miss Jessie up a basin of delicately-made arrowroot, and stood -over her like a dragoon until the last spoonful was finished: then she -disappeared. Miss Jessie began to tell me some more of the plans which -had suggested themselves to her, and insensibly fell into talking of the -days that were past and gone, and interested me so much I neither knew -nor heeded how time passed. We were both startled when Miss Jenkyns -reappeared, and caught us crying. I was afraid lest she would be -displeased, as she often said that crying hindered digestion, and I knew -she wanted Miss Jessie to get strong; but, instead, she looked queer and -excited, and fidgeted round us without saying anything. At last she -spoke. - -“I have been so much startled—no, I’ve not been at all startled—don’t -mind me, my dear Miss Jessie—I’ve been very much surprised—in fact, I’ve -had a caller, whom you knew once, my dear Miss Jessie”— - -Miss Jessie went very white, then flushed scarlet, and looked eagerly at -Miss Jenkyns. - -“A gentleman, my dear, who wants to know if you would see him.” - -“Is it?—it is not”—stammered out Miss Jessie—and got no farther. - -“This is his card,” said Miss Jenkyns, giving it to Miss Jessie; and -while her head was bent over it, Miss Jenkyns went through a series of -winks and odd faces to me, and formed her lips into a long sentence, of -which, of course, I could not understand a word. - -“May he come up?” asked Miss Jenkyns at last. - -“Oh, yes! certainly!” said Miss Jessie, as much as to say, this is your -house, you may show any visitor where you like. She took up some -knitting of Miss Matty’s and began to be very busy, though I could see -how she trembled all over. - -Miss Jenkyns rang the bell, and told the servant who answered it to show -Major Gordon upstairs; and, presently, in walked a tall, fine, -frank-looking man of forty or upwards. He shook hands with Miss Jessie; -but he could not see her eyes, she kept them so fixed on the ground. -Miss Jenkyns asked me if I would come and help her to tie up the -preserves in the store-room; and though Miss Jessie plucked at my gown, -and even looked up at me with begging eye, I durst not refuse to go where -Miss Jenkyns asked. Instead of tying up preserves in the store-room, -however, we went to talk in the dining-room; and there Miss Jenkyns told -me what Major Gordon had told her; how he had served in the same regiment -with Captain Brown, and had become acquainted with Miss Jessie, then a -sweet-looking, blooming girl of eighteen; how the acquaintance had grown -into love on his part, though it had been some years before he had -spoken; how, on becoming possessed, through the will of an uncle, of a -good estate in Scotland, he had offered and been refused, though with so -much agitation and evident distress that he was sure she was not -indifferent to him; and how he had discovered that the obstacle was the -fell disease which was, even then, too surely threatening her sister. -She had mentioned that the surgeons foretold intense suffering; and there -was no one but herself to nurse her poor Mary, or cheer and comfort her -father during the time of illness. They had had long discussions; and on -her refusal to pledge herself to him as his wife when all should be over, -he had grown angry, and broken off entirely, and gone abroad, believing -that she was a cold-hearted person whom he would do well to forget. He -had been travelling in the East, and was on his return home when, at -Rome, he saw the account of Captain Brown’s death in _Galignani_. - -Just then Miss Matty, who had been out all the morning, and had only -lately returned to the house, burst in with a face of dismay and outraged -propriety. - -“Oh, goodness me!” she said. “Deborah, there’s a gentleman sitting in -the drawing-room with his arm round Miss Jessie’s waist!” Miss Matty’s -eyes looked large with terror. - - [Picture: “With his arm around Miss Jessie’s waist!”] - -Miss Jenkyns snubbed her down in an instant. - -“The most proper place in the world for his arm to be in. Go away, -Matilda, and mind your own business.” This from her sister, who had -hitherto been a model of feminine decorum, was a blow for poor Miss -Matty, and with a double shock she left the room. - -The last time I ever saw poor Miss Jenkyns was many years after this. -Mrs Gordon had kept up a warm and affectionate intercourse with all at -Cranford. Miss Jenkyns, Miss Matty, and Miss Pole had all been to visit -her, and returned with wonderful accounts of her house, her husband, her -dress, and her looks. For, with happiness, something of her early bloom -returned; she had been a year or two younger than we had taken her for. -Her eyes were always lovely, and, as Mrs Gordon, her dimples were not out -of place. At the time to which I have referred, when I last saw Miss -Jenkyns, that lady was old and feeble, and had lost something of her -strong mind. Little Flora Gordon was staying with the Misses Jenkyns, -and when I came in she was reading aloud to Miss Jenkyns, who lay feeble -and changed on the sofa. Flora put down the _Rambler_ when I came in. - -“Ah!” said Miss Jenkyns, “you find me changed, my dear. I can’t see as I -used to do. If Flora were not here to read to me, I hardly know how I -should get through the day. Did you ever read the _Rambler_? It’s a -wonderful book—wonderful! and the most improving reading for Flora” -(which I daresay it would have been, if she could have read half the -words without spelling, and could have understood the meaning of a -third), “better than that strange old book, with the queer name, poor -Captain Brown was killed for reading—that book by Mr Boz, you know—‘Old -Poz’; when I was a girl—but that’s a long time ago—I acted Lucy in ‘Old -Poz.’” She babbled on long enough for Flora to get a good long spell at -the “Christmas Carol,” which Miss Matty had left on the table. - - - - -CHAPTER III—A LOVE AFFAIR OF LONG AGO - - -I THOUGHT that probably my connection with Cranford would cease after -Miss Jenkyns’s death; at least, that it would have to be kept up by -correspondence, which bears much the same relation to personal -intercourse that the books of dried plants I sometimes see (“Hortus -Siccus,” I think they call the thing) do to the living and fresh flowers -in the lanes and meadows. I was pleasantly surprised, therefore, by -receiving a letter from Miss Pole (who had always come in for a -supplementary week after my annual visit to Miss Jenkyns) proposing that -I should go and stay with her; and then, in a couple of days after my -acceptance, came a note from Miss Matty, in which, in a rather circuitous -and very humble manner, she told me how much pleasure I should confer if -I could spend a week or two with her, either before or after I had been -at Miss Pole’s; “for,” she said, “since my dear sister’s death I am well -aware I have no attractions to offer; it is only to the kindness of my -friends that I can owe their company.” - -Of course I promised to come to dear Miss Matty as soon as I had ended my -visit to Miss Pole; and the day after my arrival at Cranford I went to -see her, much wondering what the house would be like without Miss -Jenkyns, and rather dreading the changed aspect of things. Miss Matty -began to cry as soon as she saw me. She was evidently nervous from -having anticipated my call. I comforted her as well as I could; and I -found the best consolation I could give was the honest praise that came -from my heart as I spoke of the deceased. Miss Matty slowly shook her -head over each virtue as it was named and attributed to her sister; and -at last she could not restrain the tears which had long been silently -flowing, but hid her face behind her handkerchief and sobbed aloud. - -“Dear Miss Matty,” said I, taking her hand—for indeed I did not know in -what way to tell her how sorry I was for her, left deserted in the world. -She put down her handkerchief and said— - -“My dear, I’d rather you did not call me Matty. She did not like it; but -I did many a thing she did not like, I’m afraid—and now she’s gone! If -you please, my love, will you call me Matilda?” - -I promised faithfully, and began to practise the new name with Miss Pole -that very day; and, by degrees, Miss Matilda’s feeling on the subject was -known through Cranford, and we all tried to drop the more familiar name, -but with so little success that by-and-by we gave up the attempt. - -My visit to Miss Pole was very quiet. Miss Jenkyns had so long taken the -lead in Cranford that now she was gone, they hardly knew how to give a -party. The Honourable Mrs Jamieson, to whom Miss Jenkyns herself had -always yielded the post of honour, was fat and inert, and very much at -the mercy of her old servants. If they chose that she should give a -party, they reminded her of the necessity for so doing: if not, she let -it alone. There was all the more time for me to hear old-world stories -from Miss Pole, while she sat knitting, and I making my father’s shirts. -I always took a quantity of plain sewing to Cranford; for, as we did not -read much, or walk much, I found it a capital time to get through my -work. One of Miss Pole’s stories related to a shadow of a love affair -that was dimly perceived or suspected long years before. - -Presently, the time arrived when I was to remove to Miss Matilda’s house. -I found her timid and anxious about the arrangements for my comfort. -Many a time, while I was unpacking, did she come backwards and forwards -to stir the fire which burned all the worse for being so frequently -poked. - -“Have you drawers enough, dear?” asked she. “I don’t know exactly how my -sister used to arrange them. She had capital methods. I am sure she -would have trained a servant in a week to make a better fire than this, -and Fanny has been with me four months.” - -This subject of servants was a standing grievance, and I could not wonder -much at it; for if gentlemen were scarce, and almost unheard of in the -“genteel society” of Cranford, they or their counterparts—handsome young -men—abounded in the lower classes. The pretty neat servant-maids had -their choice of desirable “followers”; and their mistresses, without -having the sort of mysterious dread of men and matrimony that Miss -Matilda had, might well feel a little anxious lest the heads of their -comely maids should be turned by the joiner, or the butcher, or the -gardener, who were obliged, by their callings, to come to the house, and -who, as ill-luck would have it, were generally handsome and unmarried. -Fanny’s lovers, if she had any—and Miss Matilda suspected her of so many -flirtations that, if she had not been very pretty, I should have doubted -her having one—were a constant anxiety to her mistress. She was -forbidden, by the articles of her engagement, to have “followers”; and -though she had answered, innocently enough, doubling up the hem of her -apron as she spoke, “Please, ma’am, I never had more than one at a time,” -Miss Matty prohibited that one. But a vision of a man seemed to haunt -the kitchen. Fanny assured me that it was all fancy, or else I should -have said myself that I had seen a man’s coat-tails whisk into the -scullery once, when I went on an errand into the store-room at night; and -another evening, when, our watches having stopped, I went to look at the -clock, there was a very odd appearance, singularly like a young man -squeezed up between the clock and the back of the open kitchen-door: and -I thought Fanny snatched up the candle very hastily, so as to throw the -shadow on the clock face, while she very positively told me the time -half-an-hour too early, as we found out afterwards by the church clock. -But I did not add to Miss Matty’s anxieties by naming my suspicions, -especially as Fanny said to me, the next day, that it was such a queer -kitchen for having odd shadows about it, she really was almost afraid to -stay; “for you know, miss,” she added, “I don’t see a creature from six -o’clock tea, till Missus rings the bell for prayers at ten.” - -However, it so fell out that Fanny had to leave and Miss Matilda begged -me to stay and “settle her” with the new maid; to which I consented, -after I had heard from my father that he did not want me at home. The -new servant was a rough, honest-looking, country girl, who had only lived -in a farm place before; but I liked her looks when she came to be hired; -and I promised Miss Matilda to put her in the ways of the house. The -said ways were religiously such as Miss Matilda thought her sister would -approve. Many a domestic rule and regulation had been a subject of -plaintive whispered murmur to me during Miss Jenkyns’s life; but now that -she was gone, I do not think that even I, who was a favourite, durst have -suggested an alteration. To give an instance: we constantly adhered to -the forms which were observed, at meal-times, in “my father, the rector’s -house.” Accordingly, we had always wine and dessert; but the decanters -were only filled when there was a party, and what remained was seldom -touched, though we had two wine-glasses apiece every day after dinner, -until the next festive occasion arrived, when the state of the remainder -wine was examined into in a family council. The dregs were often given -to the poor: but occasionally, when a good deal had been left at the last -party (five months ago, it might be), it was added to some of a fresh -bottle, brought up from the cellar. I fancy poor Captain Brown did not -much like wine, for I noticed he never finished his first glass, and most -military men take several. Then, as to our dessert, Miss Jenkyns used to -gather currants and gooseberries for it herself, which I sometimes -thought would have tasted better fresh from the trees; but then, as Miss -Jenkyns observed, there would have been nothing for dessert in -summer-time. As it was, we felt very genteel with our two glasses -apiece, and a dish of gooseberries at the top, of currants and biscuits -at the sides, and two decanters at the bottom. When oranges came in, a -curious proceeding was gone through. Miss Jenkyns did not like to cut -the fruit; for, as she observed, the juice all ran out nobody knew where; -sucking (only I think she used some more recondite word) was in fact the -only way of enjoying oranges; but then there was the unpleasant -association with a ceremony frequently gone through by little babies; and -so, after dessert, in orange season, Miss Jenkyns and Miss Matty used to -rise up, possess themselves each of an orange in silence, and withdraw to -the privacy of their own rooms to indulge in sucking oranges. - -I had once or twice tried, on such occasions, to prevail on Miss Matty to -stay, and had succeeded in her sister’s lifetime. I held up a screen, -and did not look, and, as she said, she tried not to make the noise very -offensive; but now that she was left alone, she seemed quite horrified -when I begged her to remain with me in the warm dining-parlour, and enjoy -her orange as she liked best. And so it was in everything. Miss -Jenkyns’s rules were made more stringent than ever, because the framer of -them was gone where there could be no appeal. In all things else Miss -Matilda was meek and undecided to a fault. I have heard Fanny turn her -round twenty times in a morning about dinner, just as the little hussy -chose; and I sometimes fancied she worked on Miss Matilda’s weakness in -order to bewilder her, and to make her feel more in the power of her -clever servant. I determined that I would not leave her till I had seen -what sort of a person Martha was; and, if I found her trustworthy, I -would tell her not to trouble her mistress with every little decision. - -Martha was blunt and plain-spoken to a fault; otherwise she was a brisk, -well-meaning, but very ignorant girl. She had not been with us a week -before Miss Matilda and I were astounded one morning by the receipt of a -letter from a cousin of hers, who had been twenty or thirty years in -India, and who had lately, as we had seen by the “Army List,” returned to -England, bringing with him an invalid wife who had never been introduced -to her English relations. Major Jenkyns wrote to propose that he and his -wife should spend a night at Cranford, on his way to Scotland—at the inn, -if it did not suit Miss Matilda to receive them into her house; in which -case they should hope to be with her as much as possible during the day. -Of course it _must_ suit her, as she said; for all Cranford knew that she -had her sister’s bedroom at liberty; but I am sure she wished the Major -had stopped in India and forgotten his cousins out and out. - -“Oh! how must I manage?” asked she helplessly. “If Deborah had been -alive she would have known what to do with a gentleman-visitor. Must I -put razors in his dressing-room? Dear! dear! and I’ve got none. Deborah -would have had them. And slippers, and coat-brushes?” I suggested that -probably he would bring all these things with him. “And after dinner, -how am I to know when to get up and leave him to his wine? Deborah would -have done it so well; she would have been quite in her element. Will he -want coffee, do you think?” I undertook the management of the coffee, -and told her I would instruct Martha in the art of waiting—in which it -must be owned she was terribly deficient—and that I had no doubt Major -and Mrs Jenkyns would understand the quiet mode in which a lady lived by -herself in a country town. But she was sadly fluttered. I made her -empty her decanters and bring up two fresh bottles of wine. I wished I -could have prevented her from being present at my instructions to Martha, -for she frequently cut in with some fresh direction, muddling the poor -girl’s mind as she stood open-mouthed, listening to us both. - -“Hand the vegetables round,” said I (foolishly, I see now—for it was -aiming at more than we could accomplish with quietness and simplicity); -and then, seeing her look bewildered, I added, “take the vegetables round -to people, and let them help themselves.” - -“And mind you go first to the ladies,” put in Miss Matilda. “Always go -to the ladies before gentlemen when you are waiting.” - -“I’ll do it as you tell me, ma’am,” said Martha; “but I like lads best.” - -We felt very uncomfortable and shocked at this speech of Martha’s, yet I -don’t think she meant any harm; and, on the whole, she attended very well -to our directions, except that she “nudged” the Major when he did not -help himself as soon as she expected to the potatoes, while she was -handing them round. - -The major and his wife were quiet unpretending people enough when they -did come; languid, as all East Indians are, I suppose. We were rather -dismayed at their bringing two servants with them, a Hindoo body-servant -for the Major, and a steady elderly maid for his wife; but they slept at -the inn, and took off a good deal of the responsibility by attending -carefully to their master’s and mistress’s comfort. Martha, to be sure, -had never ended her staring at the East Indian’s white turban and brown -complexion, and I saw that Miss Matilda shrunk away from him a little as -he waited at dinner. Indeed, she asked me, when they were gone, if he -did not remind me of Blue Beard? On the whole, the visit was most -satisfactory, and is a subject of conversation even now with Miss -Matilda; at the time it greatly excited Cranford, and even stirred up the -apathetic and Honourable Mrs Jamieson to some expression of interest, -when I went to call and thank her for the kind answers she had vouchsafed -to Miss Matilda’s inquiries as to the arrangement of a gentleman’s -dressing-room—answers which I must confess she had given in the wearied -manner of the Scandinavian prophetess— - - “Leave me, leave me to repose.” - -And _now_ I come to the love affair. - -It seems that Miss Pole had a cousin, once or twice removed, who had -offered to Miss Matty long ago. Now this cousin lived four or five miles -from Cranford on his own estate; but his property was not large enough to -entitle him to rank higher than a yeoman; or rather, with something of -the “pride which apes humility,” he had refused to push himself on, as so -many of his class had done, into the ranks of the squires. He would not -allow himself to be called Thomas Holbrook, _Esq._; he even sent back -letters with this address, telling the post-mistress at Cranford that his -name was _Mr_ Thomas Holbrook, yeoman. He rejected all domestic -innovations; he would have the house door stand open in summer and shut -in winter, without knocker or bell to summon a servant. The closed fist -or the knob of a stick did this office for him if he found the door -locked. He despised every refinement which had not its root deep down in -humanity. If people were not ill, he saw no necessity for moderating his -voice. He spoke the dialect of the country in perfection, and constantly -used it in conversation; although Miss Pole (who gave me these -particulars) added, that he read aloud more beautifully and with more -feeling than any one she had ever heard, except the late rector. - -“And how came Miss Matilda not to marry him?” asked I. - -“Oh, I don’t know. She was willing enough, I think; but you know Cousin -Thomas would not have been enough of a gentleman for the rector and Miss -Jenkyns.” - -“Well! but they were not to marry him,” said I, impatiently. - -“No; but they did not like Miss Matty to marry below her rank. You know -she was the rector’s daughter, and somehow they are related to Sir Peter -Arley: Miss Jenkyns thought a deal of that.” - -“Poor Miss Matty!” said I. - -“Nay, now, I don’t know anything more than that he offered and was -refused. Miss Matty might not like him—and Miss Jenkyns might never have -said a word—it is only a guess of mine.” - -“Has she never seen him since?” I inquired. - -“No, I think not. You see Woodley, Cousin Thomas’s house, lies half-way -between Cranford and Misselton; and I know he made Misselton his -market-town very soon after he had offered to Miss Matty; and I don’t -think he has been into Cranford above once or twice since—once, when I -was walking with Miss Matty, in High Street, and suddenly she darted from -me, and went up Shire Lane. A few minutes after I was startled by -meeting Cousin Thomas.” - -“How old is he?” I asked, after a pause of castle-building. - -“He must be about seventy, I think, my dear,” said Miss Pole, blowing up -my castle, as if by gun-powder, into small fragments. - -Very soon after—at least during my long visit to Miss Matilda—I had the -opportunity of seeing Mr Holbrook; seeing, too, his first encounter with -his former love, after thirty or forty years’ separation. I was helping -to decide whether any of the new assortment of coloured silks which they -had just received at the shop would do to match a grey and black -mousseline-delaine that wanted a new breadth, when a tall, thin, Don -Quixote-looking old man came into the shop for some woollen gloves. I -had never seen the person (who was rather striking) before, and I watched -him rather attentively while Miss Matty listened to the shopman. The -stranger wore a blue coat with brass buttons, drab breeches, and gaiters, -and drummed with his fingers on the counter until he was attended to. -When he answered the shop-boy’s question, “What can I have the pleasure -of showing you to-day, sir?” I saw Miss Matilda start, and then suddenly -sit down; and instantly I guessed who it was. She had made some inquiry -which had to be carried round to the other shopman. - -“Miss Jenkyns wants the black sarsenet two-and-twopence the yard”; and Mr -Holbrook had caught the name, and was across the shop in two strides. - -“Matty—Miss Matilda—Miss Jenkyns! God bless my soul! I should not have -known you. How are you? how are you?” He kept shaking her hand in a way -which proved the warmth of his friendship; but he repeated so often, as -if to himself, “I should not have known you!” that any sentimental -romance which I might be inclined to build was quite done away with by -his manner. - -However, he kept talking to us all the time we were in the shop; and then -waving the shopman with the unpurchased gloves on one side, with “Another -time, sir! another time!” he walked home with us. I am happy to say my -client, Miss Matilda, also left the shop in an equally bewildered state, -not having purchased either green or red silk. Mr Holbrook was evidently -full with honest loud-spoken joy at meeting his old love again; he -touched on the changes that had taken place; he even spoke of Miss -Jenkyns as “Your poor sister! Well, well! we have all our faults”; and -bade us good-bye with many a hope that he should soon see Miss Matty -again. She went straight to her room, and never came back till our early -tea-time, when I thought she looked as if she had been crying. - - [Picture: Mr Holbrook . . . bade us good-bye] - - - - -CHAPTER IV—A VISIT TO AN OLD BACHELOR - - -A FEW days after, a note came from Mr Holbrook, asking us—impartially -asking both of us—in a formal, old-fashioned style, to spend a day at his -house—a long June day—for it was June now. He named that he had also -invited his cousin, Miss Pole; so that we might join in a fly, which -could be put up at his house. - -I expected Miss Matty to jump at this invitation; but, no! Miss Pole and -I had the greatest difficulty in persuading her to go. She thought it -was improper; and was even half annoyed when we utterly ignored the idea -of any impropriety in her going with two other ladies to see her old -lover. Then came a more serious difficulty. She did not think Deborah -would have liked her to go. This took us half a day’s good hard talking -to get over; but, at the first sentence of relenting, I seized the -opportunity, and wrote and despatched an acceptance in her name—fixing -day and hour, that all might be decided and done with. - -The next morning she asked me if I would go down to the shop with her; -and there, after much hesitation, we chose out three caps to be sent home -and tried on, that the most becoming might be selected to take with us on -Thursday. - -She was in a state of silent agitation all the way to Woodley. She had -evidently never been there before; and, although she little dreamt I knew -anything of her early story, I could perceive she was in a tremor at the -thought of seeing the place which might have been her home, and round -which it is probable that many of her innocent girlish imaginations had -clustered. It was a long drive there, through paved jolting lanes. Miss -Matilda sat bolt upright, and looked wistfully out of the windows as we -drew near the end of our journey. The aspect of the country was quiet -and pastoral. Woodley stood among fields; and there was an old-fashioned -garden where roses and currant-bushes touched each other, and where the -feathery asparagus formed a pretty background to the pinks and -gilly-flowers; there was no drive up to the door. We got out at a little -gate, and walked up a straight box-edged path. - -“My cousin might make a drive, I think,” said Miss Pole, who was afraid -of ear-ache, and had only her cap on. - -“I think it is very pretty,” said Miss Matty, with a soft plaintiveness -in her voice, and almost in a whisper, for just then Mr Holbrook appeared -at the door, rubbing his hands in very effervescence of hospitality. He -looked more like my idea of Don Quixote than ever, and yet the likeness -was only external. His respectable housekeeper stood modestly at the -door to bid us welcome; and, while she led the elder ladies upstairs to a -bedroom, I begged to look about the garden. My request evidently pleased -the old gentleman, who took me all round the place and showed me his -six-and-twenty cows, named after the different letters of the alphabet. -As we went along, he surprised me occasionally by repeating apt and -beautiful quotations from the poets, ranging easily from Shakespeare and -George Herbert to those of our own day. He did this as naturally as if -he were thinking aloud, and their true and beautiful words were the best -expression he could find for what he was thinking or feeling. To be sure -he called Byron “my Lord Byrron,” and pronounced the name of Goethe -strictly in accordance with the English sound of the letters—“As Goethe -says, ‘Ye ever-verdant palaces,’” &c. Altogether, I never met with a -man, before or since, who had spent so long a life in a secluded and not -impressive country, with ever-increasing delight in the daily and yearly -change of season and beauty. - -When he and I went in, we found that dinner was nearly ready in the -kitchen—for so I suppose the room ought to be called, as there were oak -dressers and cupboards all round, all over by the side of the fireplace, -and only a small Turkey carpet in the middle of the flag-floor. The room -might have been easily made into a handsome dark oak dining-parlour by -removing the oven and a few other appurtenances of a kitchen, which were -evidently never used, the real cooking-place being at some distance. The -room in which we were expected to sit was a stiffly-furnished, ugly -apartment; but that in which we did sit was what Mr Holbrook called the -counting-house, where he paid his labourers their weekly wages at a great -desk near the door. The rest of the pretty sitting-room—looking into the -orchard, and all covered over with dancing tree-shadows—was filled with -books. They lay on the ground, they covered the walls, they strewed the -table. He was evidently half ashamed and half proud of his extravagance -in this respect. They were of all kinds—poetry and wild weird tales -prevailing. He evidently chose his books in accordance with his own -tastes, not because such and such were classical or established -favourites. - -“Ah!” he said, “we farmers ought not to have much time for reading; yet -somehow one can’t help it.” - -“What a pretty room!” said Miss Matty, _sotto voce_. - -“What a pleasant place!” said I, aloud, almost simultaneously. - -“Nay! if you like it,” replied he; “but can you sit on these great, black -leather, three-cornered chairs? I like it better than the best parlour; -but I thought ladies would take that for the smarter place.” - -It was the smarter place, but, like most smart things, not at all pretty, -or pleasant, or home-like; so, while we were at dinner, the servant-girl -dusted and scrubbed the counting-house chairs, and we sat there all the -rest of the day. - -We had pudding before meat; and I thought Mr Holbrook was going to make -some apology for his old-fashioned ways, for he began— - -“I don’t know whether you like newfangled ways.” - -“Oh, not at all!” said Miss Matty. - -“No more do I,” said he. “My house-keeper _will_ have these in her new -fashion; or else I tell her that, when I was a young man, we used to keep -strictly to my father’s rule, ‘No broth, no ball; no ball, no beef’; and -always began dinner with broth. Then we had suet puddings, boiled in the -broth with the beef: and then the meat itself. If we did not sup our -broth, we had no ball, which we liked a deal better; and the beef came -last of all, and only those had it who had done justice to the broth and -the ball. Now folks begin with sweet things, and turn their dinners -topsy-turvy.” - -When the ducks and green peas came, we looked at each other in dismay; we -had only two-pronged, black-handled forks. It is true the steel was as -bright as silver; but what were we to do? Miss Matty picked up her peas, -one by one, on the point of the prongs, much as Aminé ate her grains of -rice after her previous feast with the Ghoul. Miss Pole sighed over her -delicate young peas as she left them on one side of her plate untasted, -for they _would_ drop between the prongs. I looked at my host: the peas -were going wholesale into his capacious mouth, shovelled up by his large -round-ended knife. I saw, I imitated, I survived! My friends, in spite -of my precedent, could not muster up courage enough to do an ungenteel -thing; and, if Mr Holbrook had not been so heartily hungry, he would -probably have seen that the good peas went away almost untouched. - -After dinner, a clay pipe was brought in, and a spittoon; and, asking us -to retire to another room, where he would soon join us, if we disliked -tobacco-smoke, he presented his pipe to Miss Matty, and requested her to -fill the bowl. This was a compliment to a lady in his youth; but it was -rather inappropriate to propose it as an honour to Miss Matty, who had -been trained by her sister to hold smoking of every kind in utter -abhorrence. But if it was a shock to her refinement, it was also a -gratification to her feelings to be thus selected; so she daintily -stuffed the strong tobacco into the pipe, and then we withdrew. - -“It is very pleasant dining with a bachelor,” said Miss Matty softly, as -we settled ourselves in the counting-house. “I only hope it is not -improper; so many pleasant things are!” - -“What a number of books he has!” said Miss Pole, looking round the room. -“And how dusty they are!” - -“I think it must be like one of the great Dr Johnson’s rooms,” said Miss -Matty. “What a superior man your cousin must be!” - -“Yes!” said Miss Pole, “he’s a great reader; but I am afraid he has got -into very uncouth habits with living alone.” - -“Oh! uncouth is too hard a word. I should call him eccentric; very -clever people always are!” replied Miss Matty. - - [Picture: Now, what colour are ash-buds in March] - -When Mr Holbrook returned, he proposed a walk in the fields; but the two -elder ladies were afraid of damp, and dirt, and had only very unbecoming -calashes to put on over their caps; so they declined, and I was again his -companion in a turn which he said he was obliged to take to see after his -men. He strode along, either wholly forgetting my existence, or soothed -into silence by his pipe—and yet it was not silence exactly. He walked -before me with a stooping gait, his hands clasped behind him; and, as -some tree or cloud, or glimpse of distant upland pastures, struck him, he -quoted poetry to himself, saying it out loud in a grand sonorous voice, -with just the emphasis that true feeling and appreciation give. We came -upon an old cedar tree, which stood at one end of the house— - - “The cedar spreads his dark-green layers of shade.” - -“Capital term—‘layers!’ Wonderful man!” I did not know whether he was -speaking to me or not; but I put in an assenting “wonderful,” although I -knew nothing about it, just because I was tired of being forgotten, and -of being consequently silent. - -He turned sharp round. “Ay! you may say ‘wonderful.’ Why, when I saw -the review of his poems in _Blackwood_, I set off within an hour, and -walked seven miles to Misselton (for the horses were not in the way) and -ordered them. Now, what colour are ash-buds in March?” - -Is the man going mad? thought I. He is very like Don Quixote. - -“What colour are they, I say?” repeated he vehemently. - -“I am sure I don’t know, sir,” said I, with the meekness of ignorance. - -“I knew you didn’t. No more did I—an old fool that I am!—till this young -man comes and tells me. Black as ash-buds in March. And I’ve lived all -my life in the country; more shame for me not to know. Black: they are -jet-black, madam.” And he went off again, swinging along to the music of -some rhyme he had got hold of. - -When we came back, nothing would serve him but he must read us the poems -he had been speaking of; and Miss Pole encouraged him in his proposal, I -thought, because she wished me to hear his beautiful reading, of which -she had boasted; but she afterwards said it was because she had got to a -difficult part of her crochet, and wanted to count her stitches without -having to talk. Whatever he had proposed would have been right to Miss -Matty; although she did fall sound asleep within five minutes after he -had begun a long poem, called “Locksley Hall,” and had a comfortable nap, -unobserved, till he ended; when the cessation of his voice wakened her -up, and she said, feeling that something was expected, and that Miss Pole -was counting— - -“What a pretty book!” - -“Pretty, madam! it’s beautiful! Pretty, indeed!” - -“Oh yes! I meant beautiful!” said she, fluttered at his disapproval of -her word. “It is so like that beautiful poem of Dr Johnson’s my sister -used to read—I forget the name of it; what was it, my dear?” turning to -me. - -“Which do you mean, ma’am? What was it about?” - -“I don’t remember what it was about, and I’ve quite forgotten what the -name of it was; but it was written by Dr Johnson, and was very beautiful, -and very like what Mr Holbrook has just been reading.” - -“I don’t remember it,” said he reflectively. “But I don’t know Dr -Johnson’s poems well. I must read them.” - -As we were getting into the fly to return, I heard Mr Holbrook say he -should call on the ladies soon, and inquire how they got home; and this -evidently pleased and fluttered Miss Matty at the time he said it; but -after we had lost sight of the old house among the trees her sentiments -towards the master of it were gradually absorbed into a distressing -wonder as to whether Martha had broken her word, and seized on the -opportunity of her mistress’s absence to have a “follower.” Martha -looked good, and steady, and composed enough, as she came to help us out; -she was always careful of Miss Matty, and to-night she made use of this -unlucky speech— - -“Eh! dear ma’am, to think of your going out in an evening in such a thin -shawl! It’s no better than muslin. At your age, ma’am, you should be -careful.” - -“My age!” said Miss Matty, almost speaking crossly, for her, for she was -usually gentle—“My age! Why, how old do you think I am, that you talk -about my age?” - -“Well, ma’am, I should say you were not far short of sixty: but folks’ -looks is often against them—and I’m sure I meant no harm.” - -“Martha, I’m not yet fifty-two!” said Miss Matty, with grave emphasis; -for probably the remembrance of her youth had come very vividly before -her this day, and she was annoyed at finding that golden time so far away -in the past. - -But she never spoke of any former and more intimate acquaintance with Mr -Holbrook. She had probably met with so little sympathy in her early -love, that she had shut it up close in her heart; and it was only by a -sort of watching, which I could hardly avoid since Miss Pole’s -confidence, that I saw how faithful her poor heart had been in its sorrow -and its silence. - -She gave me some good reason for wearing her best cap every day, and sat -near the window, in spite of her rheumatism, in order to see, without -being seen, down into the street. - -He came. He put his open palms upon his knees, which were far apart, as -he sat with his head bent down, whistling, after we had replied to his -inquiries about our safe return. Suddenly he jumped up— - -“Well, madam! have you any commands for Paris? I am going there in a -week or two.” - -“To Paris!” we both exclaimed. - -“Yes, madam! I’ve never been there, and always had a wish to go; and I -think if I don’t go soon, I mayn’t go at all; so as soon as the hay is -got in I shall go, before harvest time.” - -We were so much astonished that we had no commissions. - -Just as he was going out of the room, he turned back, with his favourite -exclamation— - -“God bless my soul, madam! but I nearly forgot half my errand. Here are -the poems for you you admired so much the other evening at my house.” He -tugged away at a parcel in his coat-pocket. “Good-bye, miss,” said he; -“good-bye, Matty! take care of yourself.” And he was gone. But he had -given her a book, and he had called her Matty, just as he used to do -thirty years to. - -“I wish he would not go to Paris,” said Miss Matilda anxiously. “I don’t -believe frogs will agree with him; he used to have to be very careful -what he ate, which was curious in so strong-looking a young man.” - -Soon after this I took my leave, giving many an injunction to Martha to -look after her mistress, and to let me know if she thought that Miss -Matilda was not so well; in which case I would volunteer a visit to my -old friend, without noticing Martha’s intelligence to her. - -Accordingly I received a line or two from Martha every now and then; and, -about November I had a note to say her mistress was “very low and sadly -off her food”; and the account made me so uneasy that, although Martha -did not decidedly summon me, I packed up my things and went. - -I received a warm welcome, in spite of the little flurry produced by my -impromptu visit, for I had only been able to give a day’s notice. Miss -Matilda looked miserably ill; and I prepared to comfort and cosset her. - -I went down to have a private talk with Martha. - -“How long has your mistress been so poorly?” I asked, as I stood by the -kitchen fire. - -“Well! I think it’s better than a fortnight; it is, I know; it was one -Tuesday, after Miss Pole had been, that she went into this moping way. I -thought she was tired, and it would go off with a night’s rest; but no! -she has gone on and on ever since, till I thought it my duty to write to -you, ma’am.” - -“You did quite right, Martha. It is a comfort to think she has so -faithful a servant about her. And I hope you find your place -comfortable?” - -“Well, ma’am, missus is very kind, and there’s plenty to eat and drink, -and no more work but what I can do easily—but—” Martha hesitated. - -“But what, Martha?” - -“Why, it seems so hard of missus not to let me have any followers; -there’s such lots of young fellows in the town; and many a one has as -much as offered to keep company with me; and I may never be in such a -likely place again, and it’s like wasting an opportunity. Many a girl as -I know would have ’em unbeknownst to missus; but I’ve given my word, and -I’ll stick to it; or else this is just the house for missus never to be -the wiser if they did come: and it’s such a capable kitchen—there’s such -dark corners in it—I’d be bound to hide any one. I counted up last -Sunday night—for I’ll not deny I was crying because I had to shut the -door in Jem Hearn’s face, and he’s a steady young man, fit for any girl; -only I had given missus my word.” Martha was all but crying again; and I -had little comfort to give her, for I knew, from old experience, of the -horror with which both the Miss Jenkynses looked upon “followers”; and in -Miss Matty’s present nervous state this dread was not likely to be -lessened. - -I went to see Miss Pole the next day, and took her completely by -surprise, for she had not been to see Miss Matilda for two days. - -“And now I must go back with you, my dear, for I promised to let her know -how Thomas Holbrook went on; and, I’m sorry to say, his housekeeper has -sent me word to-day that he hasn’t long to live. Poor Thomas! that -journey to Paris was quite too much for him. His housekeeper says he has -hardly ever been round his fields since, but just sits with his hands on -his knees in the counting-house, not reading or anything, but only saying -what a wonderful city Paris was! Paris has much to answer for if it’s -killed my cousin Thomas, for a better man never lived.” - -“Does Miss Matilda know of his illness?” asked I—a new light as to the -cause of her indisposition dawning upon me. - -“Dear! to be sure, yes! Has not she told you? I let her know a -fortnight ago, or more, when first I heard of it. How odd she shouldn’t -have told you!” - -Not at all, I thought; but I did not say anything. I felt almost guilty -of having spied too curiously into that tender heart, and I was not going -to speak of its secrets—hidden, Miss Matty believed, from all the world. -I ushered Miss Pole into Miss Matilda’s little drawing-room, and then -left them alone. But I was not surprised when Martha came to my bedroom -door, to ask me to go down to dinner alone, for that missus had one of -her bad headaches. She came into the drawing-room at tea-time, but it -was evidently an effort to her; and, as if to make up for some -reproachful feeling against her late sister, Miss Jenkyns, which had been -troubling her all the afternoon, and for which she now felt penitent, she -kept telling me how good and how clever Deborah was in her youth; how she -used to settle what gowns they were to wear at all the parties (faint, -ghostly ideas of grim parties, far away in the distance, when Miss Matty -and Miss Pole were young!); and how Deborah and her mother had started -the benefit society for the poor, and taught girls cooking and plain -sewing; and how Deborah had once danced with a lord; and how she used to -visit at Sir Peter Arley’s, and tried to remodel the quiet rectory -establishment on the plans of Arley Hall, where they kept thirty -servants; and how she had nursed Miss Matty through a long, long illness, -of which I had never heard before, but which I now dated in my own mind -as following the dismissal of the suit of Mr Holbrook. So we talked -softly and quietly of old times through the long November evening. - -The next day Miss Pole brought us word that Mr Holbrook was dead. Miss -Matty heard the news in silence; in fact, from the account of the -previous day, it was only what we had to expect. Miss Pole kept calling -upon us for some expression of regret, by asking if it was not sad that -he was gone, and saying— - -“To think of that pleasant day last June, when he seemed so well! And he -might have lived this dozen years if he had not gone to that wicked -Paris, where they are always having revolutions.” - -She paused for some demonstration on our part. I saw Miss Matty could -not speak, she was trembling so nervously; so I said what I really felt; -and after a call of some duration—all the time of which I have no doubt -Miss Pole thought Miss Matty received the news very calmly—our visitor -took her leave. - -Miss Matty made a strong effort to conceal her feelings—a concealment she -practised even with me, for she has never alluded to Mr Holbrook again, -although the book he gave her lies with her Bible on the little table by -her bedside. She did not think I heard her when she asked the little -milliner of Cranford to make her caps something like the Honourable Mrs -Jamieson’s, or that I noticed the reply— - -“But she wears widows’ caps, ma’am?” - -“Oh! I only meant something in that style; not widows’, of course, but -rather like Mrs Jamieson’s.” - -This effort at concealment was the beginning of the tremulous motion of -head and hands which I have seen ever since in Miss Matty. - -The evening of the day on which we heard of Mr Holbrook’s death, Miss -Matilda was very silent and thoughtful; after prayers she called Martha -back and then she stood uncertain what to say. - -“Martha!” she said, at last, “you are young”—and then she made so long a -pause that Martha, to remind her of her half-finished sentence, dropped a -curtsey, and said— - -“Yes, please, ma’am; two-and-twenty last third of October, please, -ma’am.” - -“And, perhaps, Martha, you may some time meet with a young man you like, -and who likes you. I did say you were not to have followers; but if you -meet with such a young man, and tell me, and I find he is respectable, I -have no objection to his coming to see you once a week. God forbid!” -said she in a low voice, “that I should grieve any young hearts.” She -spoke as if she were providing for some distant contingency, and was -rather startled when Martha made her ready eager answer— - -“Please, ma’am, there’s Jem Hearn, and he’s a joiner making -three-and-sixpence a-day, and six foot one in his stocking-feet, please, -ma’am; and if you’ll ask about him to-morrow morning, every one will give -him a character for steadiness; and he’ll be glad enough to come -to-morrow night, I’ll be bound.” - -Though Miss Matty was startled, she submitted to Fate and Love. - - - - -CHAPTER V—OLD LETTERS - - -I HAVE often noticed that almost every one has his own individual small -economies—careful habits of saving fractions of pennies in some one -peculiar direction—any disturbance of which annoys him more than spending -shillings or pounds on some real extravagance. An old gentleman of my -acquaintance, who took the intelligence of the failure of a Joint-Stock -Bank, in which some of his money was invested, with stoical mildness, -worried his family all through a long summer’s day because one of them -had torn (instead of cutting) out the written leaves of his now useless -bank-book; of course, the corresponding pages at the other end came out -as well, and this little unnecessary waste of paper (his private economy) -chafed him more than all the loss of his money. Envelopes fretted his -soul terribly when they first came in; the only way in which he could -reconcile himself to such waste of his cherished article was by patiently -turning inside out all that were sent to him, and so making them serve -again. Even now, though tamed by age, I see him casting wistful glances -at his daughters when they send a whole inside of a half-sheet of note -paper, with the three lines of acceptance to an invitation, written on -only one of the sides. I am not above owning that I have this human -weakness myself. String is my foible. My pockets get full of little -hanks of it, picked up and twisted together, ready for uses that never -come. I am seriously annoyed if any one cuts the string of a parcel -instead of patiently and faithfully undoing it fold by fold. How people -can bring themselves to use india-rubber rings, which are a sort of -deification of string, as lightly as they do, I cannot imagine. To me an -india-rubber ring is a precious treasure. I have one which is not -new—one that I picked up off the floor nearly six years ago. I have -really tried to use it, but my heart failed me, and I could not commit -the extravagance. - -Small pieces of butter grieve others. They cannot attend to conversation -because of the annoyance occasioned by the habit which some people have -of invariably taking more butter than they want. Have you not seen the -anxious look (almost mesmeric) which such persons fix on the article? -They would feel it a relief if they might bury it out of their sight by -popping it into their own mouths and swallowing it down; and they are -really made happy if the person on whose plate it lies unused suddenly -breaks off a piece of toast (which he does not want at all) and eats up -his butter. They think that this is not waste. - -Now Miss Matty Jenkyns was chary of candles. We had many devices to use -as few as possible. In the winter afternoons she would sit knitting for -two or three hours—she could do this in the dark, or by firelight—and -when I asked if I might not ring for candles to finish stitching my -wristbands, she told me to “keep blind man’s holiday.” They were usually -brought in with tea; but we only burnt one at a time. As we lived in -constant preparation for a friend who might come in any evening (but who -never did), it required some contrivance to keep our two candles of the -same length, ready to be lighted, and to look as if we burnt two always. -The candles took it in turns; and, whatever we might be talking about or -doing, Miss Matty’s eyes were habitually fixed upon the candle, ready to -jump up and extinguish it and to light the other before they had become -too uneven in length to be restored to equality in the course of the -evening. - -One night, I remember this candle economy particularly annoyed me. I had -been very much tired of my compulsory “blind man’s holiday,” especially -as Miss Matty had fallen asleep, and I did not like to stir the fire and -run the risk of awakening her; so I could not even sit on the rug, and -scorch myself with sewing by firelight, according to my usual custom. I -fancied Miss Matty must be dreaming of her early life; for she spoke one -or two words in her uneasy sleep bearing reference to persons who were -dead long before. When Martha brought in the lighted candle and tea, -Miss Matty started into wakefulness, with a strange, bewildered look -around, as if we were not the people she expected to see about her. -There was a little sad expression that shadowed her face as she -recognised me; but immediately afterwards she tried to give me her usual -smile. All through tea-time her talk ran upon the days of her childhood -and youth. Perhaps this reminded her of the desirableness of looking -over all the old family letters, and destroying such as ought not to be -allowed to fall into the hands of strangers; for she had often spoken of -the necessity of this task, but had always shrunk from it, with a timid -dread of something painful. To-night, however, she rose up after tea and -went for them—in the dark; for she piqued herself on the precise neatness -of all her chamber arrangements, and used to look uneasily at me when I -lighted a bed-candle to go to another room for anything. When she -returned there was a faint, pleasant smell of Tonquin beans in the room. -I had always noticed this scent about any of the things which had -belonged to her mother; and many of the letters were addressed to -her—yellow bundles of love-letters, sixty or seventy years old. - -Miss Matty undid the packet with a sigh; but she stifled it directly, as -if it were hardly right to regret the flight of time, or of life either. -We agreed to look them over separately, each taking a different letter -out of the same bundle and describing its contents to the other before -destroying it. I never knew what sad work the reading of old letters was -before that evening, though I could hardly tell why. The letters were as -happy as letters could be—at least those early letters were. There was -in them a vivid and intense sense of the present time, which seemed so -strong and full, as if it could never pass away, and as if the warm, -living hearts that so expressed themselves could never die, and be as -nothing to the sunny earth. I should have felt less melancholy, I -believe, if the letters had been more so. I saw the tears stealing down -the well-worn furrows of Miss Matty’s cheeks, and her spectacles often -wanted wiping. I trusted at last that she would light the other candle, -for my own eyes were rather dim, and I wanted more light to see the pale, -faded ink; but no, even through her tears, she saw and remembered her -little economical ways. - -The earliest set of letters were two bundles tied together, and ticketed -(in Miss Jenkyns’s handwriting) “Letters interchanged between my -ever-honoured father and my dearly-beloved mother, prior to their -marriage, in July 1774.” I should guess that the rector of Cranford was -about twenty-seven years of age when he wrote those letters; and Miss -Matty told me that her mother was just eighteen at the time of her -wedding. With my idea of the rector derived from a picture in the -dining-parlour, stiff and stately, in a huge full-bottomed wig, with -gown, cassock, and bands, and his hand upon a copy of the only sermon he -ever published—it was strange to read these letters. They were full of -eager, passionate ardour; short homely sentences, right fresh from the -heart (very different from the grand Latinised, Johnsonian style of the -printed sermon preached before some judge at assize time). His letters -were a curious contrast to those of his girl-bride. She was evidently -rather annoyed at his demands upon her for expressions of love, and could -not quite understand what he meant by repeating the same thing over in so -many different ways; but what she was quite clear about was a longing for -a white “Paduasoy”—whatever that might be; and six or seven letters were -principally occupied in asking her lover to use his influence with her -parents (who evidently kept her in good order) to obtain this or that -article of dress, more especially the white “Paduasoy.” He cared nothing -how she was dressed; she was always lovely enough for him, as he took -pains to assure her, when she begged him to express in his answers a -predilection for particular pieces of finery, in order that she might -show what he said to her parents. But at length he seemed to find out -that she would not be married till she had a “trousseau” to her mind; and -then he sent her a letter, which had evidently accompanied a whole box -full of finery, and in which he requested that she might be dressed in -everything her heart desired. This was the first letter, ticketed in a -frail, delicate hand, “From my dearest John.” Shortly afterwards they -were married, I suppose, from the intermission in their correspondence. - -“We must burn them, I think,” said Miss Matty, looking doubtfully at me. -“No one will care for them when I am gone.” And one by one she dropped -them into the middle of the fire, watching each blaze up, die out, and -rise away, in faint, white, ghostly semblance, up the chimney, before she -gave another to the same fate. The room was light enough now; but I, -like her, was fascinated into watching the destruction of those letters, -into which the honest warmth of a manly heart had been poured forth. - -The next letter, likewise docketed by Miss Jenkyns, was endorsed, “Letter -of pious congratulation and exhortation from my venerable grandfather to -my beloved mother, on occasion of my own birth. Also some practical -remarks on the desirability of keeping warm the extremities of infants, -from my excellent grandmother.” - -The first part was, indeed, a severe and forcible picture of the -responsibilities of mothers, and a warning against the evils that were in -the world, and lying in ghastly wait for the little baby of two days old. -His wife did not write, said the old gentleman, because he had forbidden -it, she being indisposed with a sprained ankle, which (he said) quite -incapacitated her from holding a pen. However, at the foot of the page -was a small “T.O.,” and on turning it over, sure enough, there was a -letter to “my dear, dearest Molly,” begging her, when she left her room, -whatever she did, to go _up_ stairs before going _down_: and telling her -to wrap her baby’s feet up in flannel, and keep it warm by the fire, -although it was summer, for babies were so tender. - -It was pretty to see from the letters, which were evidently exchanged -with some frequency between the young mother and the grandmother, how the -girlish vanity was being weeded out of her heart by love for her baby. -The white “Paduasoy” figured again in the letters, with almost as much -vigour as before. In one, it was being made into a christening cloak for -the baby. It decked it when it went with its parents to spend a day or -two at Arley Hall. It added to its charms, when it was “the prettiest -little baby that ever was seen. Dear mother, I wish you could see her! -Without any pershality, I do think she will grow up a regular bewty!” I -thought of Miss Jenkyns, grey, withered, and wrinkled, and I wondered if -her mother had known her in the courts of heaven: and then I knew that -she had, and that they stood there in angelic guise. - -There was a great gap before any of the rector’s letters appeared. And -then his wife had changed her mode of her endorsement. It was no longer -from, “My dearest John;” it was from “My Honoured Husband.” The letters -were written on occasion of the publication of the same sermon which was -represented in the picture. The preaching before “My Lord Judge,” and -the “publishing by request,” was evidently the culminating point—the -event of his life. It had been necessary for him to go up to London to -superintend it through the press. Many friends had to be called upon and -consulted before he could decide on any printer fit for so onerous a -task; and at length it was arranged that J. and J. Rivingtons were to -have the honourable responsibility. The worthy rector seemed to be -strung up by the occasion to a high literary pitch, for he could hardly -write a letter to his wife without cropping out into Latin. I remember -the end of one of his letters ran thus: “I shall ever hold the virtuous -qualities of my Molly in remembrance, _dum memor ipse mei_, _dum spiritus -regit artus_,” which, considering that the English of his correspondent -was sometimes at fault in grammar, and often in spelling, might be taken -as a proof of how much he “idealised his Molly;” and, as Miss Jenkyns -used to say, “People talk a great deal about idealising now-a-days, -whatever that may mean.” But this was nothing to a fit of writing -classical poetry which soon seized him, in which his Molly figured away -as “Maria.” The letter containing the _carmen_ was endorsed by her, -“Hebrew verses sent me by my honoured husband. I thowt to have had a -letter about killing the pig, but must wait. Mem., to send the poetry to -Sir Peter Arley, as my husband desires.” And in a post-scriptum note in -his handwriting it was stated that the Ode had appeared in the -_Gentleman’s Magazine_, December 1782. - -Her letters back to her husband (treasured as fondly by him as if they -had been _M. T. Ciceronis Epistolæ_) were more satisfactory to an absent -husband and father than his could ever have been to her. She told him -how Deborah sewed her seam very neatly every day, and read to her in the -books he had set her; how she was a very “forrard,” good child, but would -ask questions her mother could not answer, but how she did not let -herself down by saying she did not know, but took to stirring the fire, -or sending the “forrard” child on an errand. Matty was now the mother’s -darling, and promised (like her sister at her age), to be a great beauty. -I was reading this aloud to Miss Matty, who smiled and sighed a little at -the hope, so fondly expressed, that “little Matty might not be vain, even -if she were a bewty.” - -“I had very pretty hair, my dear,” said Miss Matilda; “and not a bad -mouth.” And I saw her soon afterwards adjust her cap and draw herself -up. - -But to return to Mrs Jenkyns’s letters. She told her husband about the -poor in the parish; what homely domestic medicines she had administered; -what kitchen physic she had sent. She had evidently held his displeasure -as a rod in pickle over the heads of all the ne’er-do-wells. She asked -for his directions about the cows and pigs; and did not always obtain -them, as I have shown before. - -The kind old grandmother was dead when a little boy was born, soon after -the publication of the sermon; but there was another letter of -exhortation from the grandfather, more stringent and admonitory than -ever, now that there was a boy to be guarded from the snares of the -world. He described all the various sins into which men might fall, -until I wondered how any man ever came to a natural death. The gallows -seemed as if it must have been the termination of the lives of most of -the grandfather’s friends and acquaintance; and I was not surprised at -the way in which he spoke of this life being “a vale of tears.” - -It seemed curious that I should never have heard of this brother before; -but I concluded that he had died young, or else surely his name would -have been alluded to by his sisters. - -By-and-by we came to packets of Miss Jenkyns’s letters. These Miss Matty -did regret to burn. She said all the others had been only interesting to -those who loved the writers, and that it seemed as if it would have hurt -her to allow them to fall into the hands of strangers, who had not known -her dear mother, and how good she was, although she did not always spell, -quite in the modern fashion; but Deborah’s letters were so very superior! -Any one might profit by reading them. It was a long time since she had -read Mrs Chapone, but she knew she used to think that Deborah could have -said the same things quite as well; and as for Mrs Carter! people thought -a deal of her letters, just because she had written “Epictetus,” but she -was quite sure Deborah would never have made use of such a common -expression as “I canna be fashed!” - - [Picture: I made use of the time to think of many other things] - -Miss Matty did grudge burning these letters, it was evident. She would -not let them be carelessly passed over with any quiet reading, and -skipping, to myself. She took them from me, and even lighted the second -candle in order to read them aloud with a proper emphasis, and without -stumbling over the big words. Oh dear! how I wanted facts instead of -reflections, before those letters were concluded! They lasted us two -nights; and I won’t deny that I made use of the time to think of many -other things, and yet I was always at my post at the end of each -sentence. - -The rector’s letters, and those of his wife and mother-in-law, had all -been tolerably short and pithy, written in a straight hand, with the -lines very close together. Sometimes the whole letter was contained on a -mere scrap of paper. The paper was very yellow, and the ink very brown; -some of the sheets were (as Miss Matty made me observe) the old original -post, with the stamp in the corner representing a post-boy riding for -life and twanging his horn. The letters of Mrs Jenkyns and her mother -were fastened with a great round red wafer; for it was before Miss -Edgeworth’s “patronage” had banished wafers from polite society. It was -evident, from the tenor of what was said, that franks were in great -request, and were even used as a means of paying debts by needy members -of Parliament. The rector sealed his epistles with an immense coat of -arms, and showed by the care with which he had performed this ceremony -that he expected they should be cut open, not broken by any thoughtless -or impatient hand. Now, Miss Jenkyns’s letters were of a later date in -form and writing. She wrote on the square sheet which we have learned to -call old-fashioned. Her hand was admirably calculated, together with her -use of many-syllabled words, to fill up a sheet, and then came the pride -and delight of crossing. Poor Miss Matty got sadly puzzled with this, -for the words gathered size like snowballs, and towards the end of her -letter Miss Jenkyns used to become quite sesquipedalian. In one to her -father, slightly theological and controversial in its tone, she had -spoken of Herod, Tetrarch of Idumea. Miss Matty read it “Herod Petrarch -of Etruria,” and was just as well pleased as if she had been right. - -I can’t quite remember the date, but I think it was in 1805 that Miss -Jenkyns wrote the longest series of letters—on occasion of her absence on -a visit to some friends near Newcastle-upon-Tyne. These friends were -intimate with the commandant of the garrison there, and heard from him of -all the preparations that were being made to repel the invasion of -Buonaparte, which some people imagined might take place at the mouth of -the Tyne. Miss Jenkyns was evidently very much alarmed; and the first -part of her letters was often written in pretty intelligible English, -conveying particulars of the preparations which were made in the family -with whom she was residing against the dreaded event; the bundles of -clothes that were packed up ready for a flight to Alston Moor (a wild -hilly piece of ground between Northumberland and Cumberland); the signal -that was to be given for this flight, and for the simultaneous turning -out of the volunteers under arms—which said signal was to consist (if I -remember rightly) in ringing the church bells in a particular and ominous -manner. One day, when Miss Jenkyns and her hosts were at a dinner-party -in Newcastle, this warning summons was actually given (not a very wise -proceeding, if there be any truth in the moral attached to the fable of -the Boy and the Wolf; but so it was), and Miss Jenkyns, hardly recovered -from her fright, wrote the next day to describe the sound, the breathless -shock, the hurry and alarm; and then, taking breath, she added, “How -trivial, my dear father, do all our apprehensions of the last evening -appear, at the present moment, to calm and enquiring minds!” And here -Miss Matty broke in with— - -“But, indeed, my dear, they were not at all trivial or trifling at the -time. I know I used to wake up in the night many a time and think I -heard the tramp of the French entering Cranford. Many people talked of -hiding themselves in the salt mines—and meat would have kept capitally -down there, only perhaps we should have been thirsty. And my father -preached a whole set of sermons on the occasion; one set in the mornings, -all about David and Goliath, to spirit up the people to fighting with -spades or bricks, if need were; and the other set in the afternoons, -proving that Napoleon (that was another name for Bony, as we used to call -him) was all the same as an Apollyon and Abaddon. I remember my father -rather thought he should be asked to print this last set; but the parish -had, perhaps, had enough of them with hearing.” - -Peter Marmaduke Arley Jenkyns (“poor Peter!” as Miss Matty began to call -him) was at school at Shrewsbury by this time. The rector took up his -pen, and rubbed up his Latin once more, to correspond with his boy. It -was very clear that the lad’s were what are called show letters. They -were of a highly mental description, giving an account of his studies, -and his intellectual hopes of various kinds, with an occasional quotation -from the classics; but, now and then, the animal nature broke out in such -a little sentence as this, evidently written in a trembling hurry, after -the letter had been inspected: “Mother dear, do send me a cake, and put -plenty of citron in.” The “mother dear” probably answered her boy in the -form of cakes and “goody,” for there were none of her letters among this -set; but a whole collection of the rector’s, to whom the Latin in his -boy’s letters was like a trumpet to the old war-horse. I do not know -much about Latin, certainly, and it is, perhaps, an ornamental language, -but not very useful, I think—at least to judge from the bits I remember -out of the rector’s letters. One was, “You have not got that town in -your map of Ireland; but _Bonus Bernardus non videt omnia_, as the -Proverbia say.” Presently it became very evident that “poor Peter” got -himself into many scrapes. There were letters of stilted penitence to -his father, for some wrong-doing; and among them all was a badly-written, -badly-sealed, badly-directed, blotted note:—“My dear, dear, dear, dearest -mother, I will be a better boy; I will, indeed; but don’t, please, be ill -for me; I am not worth it; but I will be good, darling mother.” - -Miss Matty could not speak for crying, after she had read this note. She -gave it to me in silence, and then got up and took it to her sacred -recesses in her own room, for fear, by any chance, it might get burnt. -“Poor Peter!” she said; “he was always in scrapes; he was too easy. They -led him wrong, and then left him in the lurch. But he was too fond of -mischief. He could never resist a joke. Poor Peter!” - - - - -CHAPTER VI—POOR PETER - - -POOR Peter’s career lay before him rather pleasantly mapped out by kind -friends, but _Bonus Bernardus non videt omnia_, in this map too. He was -to win honours at the Shrewsbury School, and carry them thick to -Cambridge, and after that, a living awaited him, the gift of his -godfather, Sir Peter Arley. Poor Peter! his lot in life was very -different to what his friends had hoped and planned. Miss Matty told me -all about it, and I think it was a relief when she had done so. - -He was the darling of his mother, who seemed to dote on all her children, -though she was, perhaps, a little afraid of Deborah’s superior -acquirements. Deborah was the favourite of her father, and when Peter -disappointed him, she became his pride. The sole honour Peter brought -away from Shrewsbury was the reputation of being the best good fellow -that ever was, and of being the captain of the school in the art of -practical joking. His father was disappointed, but set about remedying -the matter in a manly way. He could not afford to send Peter to read -with any tutor, but he could read with him himself; and Miss Matty told -me much of the awful preparations in the way of dictionaries and lexicons -that were made in her father’s study the morning Peter began. - -“My poor mother!” said she. “I remember how she used to stand in the -hall, just near enough the study-door, to catch the tone of my father’s -voice. I could tell in a moment if all was going right, by her face. -And it did go right for a long time.” - -“What went wrong at last?” said I. “That tiresome Latin, I dare say.” - -“No! it was not the Latin. Peter was in high favour with my father, for -he worked up well for him. But he seemed to think that the Cranford -people might be joked about, and made fun of, and they did not like it; -nobody does. He was always hoaxing them; ‘hoaxing’ is not a pretty word, -my dear, and I hope you won’t tell your father I used it, for I should -not like him to think that I was not choice in my language, after living -with such a woman as Deborah. And be sure you never use it yourself. I -don’t know how it slipped out of my mouth, except it was that I was -thinking of poor Peter and it was always his expression. But he was a -very gentlemanly boy in many things. He was like dear Captain Brown in -always being ready to help any old person or a child. Still, he did like -joking and making fun; and he seemed to think the old ladies in Cranford -would believe anything. There were many old ladies living here then; we -are principally ladies now, I know, but we are not so old as the ladies -used to be when I was a girl. I could laugh to think of some of Peter’s -jokes. No, my dear, I won’t tell you of them, because they might not -shock you as they ought to do, and they were very shocking. He even took -in my father once, by dressing himself up as a lady that was passing -through the town and wished to see the Rector of Cranford, ‘who had -published that admirable Assize Sermon.’ Peter said he was awfully -frightened himself when he saw how my father took it all in, and even -offered to copy out all his Napoleon Buonaparte sermons for her—him, I -mean—no, her, for Peter was a lady then. He told me he was more -terrified than he ever was before, all the time my father was speaking. -He did not think my father would have believed him; and yet if he had -not, it would have been a sad thing for Peter. As it was, he was none so -glad of it, for my father kept him hard at work copying out all those -twelve Buonaparte sermons for the lady—that was for Peter himself, you -know. He was the lady. And once when he wanted to go fishing, Peter -said, ‘Confound the woman!’—very bad language, my dear, but Peter was not -always so guarded as he should have been; my father was so angry with -him, it nearly frightened me out of my wits: and yet I could hardly keep -from laughing at the little curtseys Peter kept making, quite slyly, -whenever my father spoke of the lady’s excellent taste and sound -discrimination.” - - [Picture: Confound the woman] - -“Did Miss Jenkyns know of these tricks?” said I. - -“Oh, no! Deborah would have been too much shocked. No, no one knew but -me. I wish I had always known of Peter’s plans; but sometimes he did not -tell me. He used to say the old ladies in the town wanted something to -talk about; but I don’t think they did. They had the _St James’s -Chronicle_ three times a week, just as we have now, and we have plenty to -say; and I remember the clacking noise there always was when some of the -ladies got together. But, probably, schoolboys talk more than ladies. -At last there was a terrible, sad thing happened.” Miss Matty got up, -went to the door, and opened it; no one was there. She rang the bell for -Martha, and when Martha came, her mistress told her to go for eggs to a -farm at the other end of the town. - -“I will lock the door after you, Martha. You are not afraid to go, are -you?” - -“No, ma’am, not at all; Jem Hearn will be only too proud to go with me.” - -Miss Matty drew herself up, and as soon as we were alone, she wished that -Martha had more maidenly reserve. - -“We’ll put out the candle, my dear. We can talk just as well by -firelight, you know. There! Well, you see, Deborah had gone from home -for a fortnight or so; it was a very still, quiet day, I remember, -overhead; and the lilacs were all in flower, so I suppose it was spring. -My father had gone out to see some sick people in the parish; I recollect -seeing him leave the house with his wig and shovel-hat and cane. What -possessed our poor Peter I don’t know; he had the sweetest temper, and -yet he always seemed to like to plague Deborah. She never laughed at his -jokes, and thought him ungenteel, and not careful enough about improving -his mind; and that vexed him. - -“Well! he went to her room, it seems, and dressed himself in her old -gown, and shawl, and bonnet; just the things she used to wear in -Cranford, and was known by everywhere; and he made the pillow into a -little—you are sure you locked the door, my dear, for I should not like -anyone to hear—into—into a little baby, with white long clothes. It was -only, as he told me afterwards, to make something to talk about in the -town; he never thought of it as affecting Deborah. And he went and -walked up and down in the Filbert walk—just half-hidden by the rails, and -half-seen; and he cuddled his pillow, just like a baby, and talked to it -all the nonsense people do. Oh dear! and my father came stepping stately -up the street, as he always did; and what should he see but a little -black crowd of people—I daresay as many as twenty—all peeping through his -garden rails. So he thought, at first, they were only looking at a new -rhododendron that was in full bloom, and that he was very proud of; and -he walked slower, that they might have more time to admire. And he -wondered if he could make out a sermon from the occasion, and thought, -perhaps, there was some relation between the rhododendrons and the lilies -of the field. My poor father! When he came nearer, he began to wonder -that they did not see him; but their heads were all so close together, -peeping and peeping! My father was amongst them, meaning, he said, to -ask them to walk into the garden with him, and admire the beautiful -vegetable production, when—oh, my dear, I tremble to think of it—he -looked through the rails himself, and saw—I don’t know what he thought he -saw, but old Clare told me his face went quite grey-white with anger, and -his eyes blazed out under his frowning black brows; and he spoke out—oh, -so terribly!—and bade them all stop where they were—not one of them to -go, not one of them to stir a step; and, swift as light, he was in at the -garden door, and down the Filbert walk, and seized hold of poor Peter, -and tore his clothes off his back—bonnet, shawl, gown, and all—and threw -the pillow among the people over the railings: and then he was very, very -angry indeed, and before all the people he lifted up his cane and flogged -Peter! - -“My dear, that boy’s trick, on that sunny day, when all seemed going -straight and well, broke my mother’s heart, and changed my father for -life. It did, indeed. Old Clare said, Peter looked as white as my -father; and stood as still as a statue to be flogged; and my father -struck hard! When my father stopped to take breath, Peter said, ‘Have -you done enough, sir?’ quite hoarsely, and still standing quite quiet. I -don’t know what my father said—or if he said anything. But old Clare -said, Peter turned to where the people outside the railing were, and made -them a low bow, as grand and as grave as any gentleman; and then walked -slowly into the house. I was in the store-room helping my mother to make -cowslip wine. I cannot abide the wine now, nor the scent of the flowers; -they turn me sick and faint, as they did that day, when Peter came in, -looking as haughty as any man—indeed, looking like a man, not like a boy. -‘Mother!’ he said, ‘I am come to say, God bless you for ever.’ I saw his -lips quiver as he spoke; and I think he durst not say anything more -loving, for the purpose that was in his heart. She looked at him rather -frightened, and wondering, and asked him what was to do. He did not -smile or speak, but put his arms round her and kissed her as if he did -not know how to leave off; and before she could speak again, he was gone. -We talked it over, and could not understand it, and she bade me go and -seek my father, and ask what it was all about. I found him walking up -and down, looking very highly displeased. - -“‘Tell your mother I have flogged Peter, and that he richly deserved it.’ - -“I durst not ask any more questions. When I told my mother, she sat -down, quite faint, for a minute. I remember, a few days after, I saw the -poor, withered cowslip flowers thrown out to the leaf heap, to decay and -die there. There was no making of cowslip wine that year at the -rectory—nor, indeed, ever after. - -“Presently my mother went to my father. I know I thought of Queen Esther -and King Ahasuerus; for my mother was very pretty and delicate-looking, -and my father looked as terrible as King Ahasuerus. Some time after they -came out together; and then my mother told me what had happened, and that -she was going up to Peter’s room at my father’s desire—though she was not -to tell Peter this—to talk the matter over with him. But no Peter was -there. We looked over the house; no Peter was there! Even my father, -who had not liked to join in the search at first, helped us before long. -The rectory was a very old house—steps up into a room, steps down into a -room, all through. At first, my mother went calling low and soft, as if -to reassure the poor boy, ‘Peter! Peter, dear! it’s only me;’ but, -by-and-by, as the servants came back from the errands my father had sent -them, in different directions, to find where Peter was—as we found he was -not in the garden, nor the hayloft, nor anywhere about—my mother’s cry -grew louder and wilder, ‘Peter! Peter, my darling! where are you?’ for -then she felt and understood that that long kiss meant some sad kind of -‘good-bye.’ The afternoon went on—my mother never resting, but seeking -again and again in every possible place that had been looked into twenty -times before, nay, that she had looked into over and over again herself. -My father sat with his head in his hands, not speaking except when his -messengers came in, bringing no tidings; then he lifted up his face, so -strong and sad, and told them to go again in some new direction. My -mother kept passing from room to room, in and out of the house, moving -noiselessly, but never ceasing. Neither she nor my father durst leave -the house, which was the meeting-place for all the messengers. At last -(and it was nearly dark), my father rose up. He took hold of my mother’s -arm as she came with wild, sad pace through one door, and quickly towards -another. She started at the touch of his hand, for she had forgotten all -in the world but Peter. - -“‘Molly!’ said he, ‘I did not think all this would happen.’ He looked -into her face for comfort—her poor face all wild and white; for neither -she nor my father had dared to acknowledge—much less act upon—the terror -that was in their hearts, lest Peter should have made away with himself. -My father saw no conscious look in his wife’s hot, dreary eyes, and he -missed the sympathy that she had always been ready to give him—strong man -as he was, and at the dumb despair in her face his tears began to flow. -But when she saw this, a gentle sorrow came over her countenance, and she -said, ‘Dearest John! don’t cry; come with me, and we’ll find him,’ almost -as cheerfully as if she knew where he was. And she took my father’s -great hand in her little soft one, and led him along, the tears dropping -as he walked on that same unceasing, weary walk, from room to room, -through house and garden. - -“Oh, how I wished for Deborah! I had no time for crying, for now all -seemed to depend on me. I wrote for Deborah to come home. I sent a -message privately to that same Mr Holbrook’s house—poor Mr Holbrook;—you -know who I mean. I don’t mean I sent a message to him, but I sent one -that I could trust to know if Peter was at his house. For at one time Mr -Holbrook was an occasional visitor at the rectory—you know he was Miss -Pole’s cousin—and he had been very kind to Peter, and taught him how to -fish—he was very kind to everybody, and I thought Peter might have gone -off there. But Mr Holbrook was from home, and Peter had never been seen. -It was night now; but the doors were all wide open, and my father and -mother walked on and on; it was more than an hour since he had joined -her, and I don’t believe they had ever spoken all that time. I was -getting the parlour fire lighted, and one of the servants was preparing -tea, for I wanted them to have something to eat and drink and warm them, -when old Clare asked to speak to me. - -“‘I have borrowed the nets from the weir, Miss Matty. Shall we drag the -ponds to-night, or wait for the morning?’ - -“I remember staring in his face to gather his meaning; and when I did, I -laughed out loud. The horror of that new thought—our bright, darling -Peter, cold, and stark, and dead! I remember the ring of my own laugh -now. - -“The next day Deborah was at home before I was myself again. She would -not have been so weak as to give way as I had done; but my screams (my -horrible laughter had ended in crying) had roused my sweet dear mother, -whose poor wandering wits were called back and collected as soon as a -child needed her care. She and Deborah sat by my bedside; I knew by the -looks of each that there had been no news of Peter—no awful, ghastly -news, which was what I most had dreaded in my dull state between sleeping -and waking. - -“The same result of all the searching had brought something of the same -relief to my mother, to whom, I am sure, the thought that Peter might -even then be hanging dead in some of the familiar home places had caused -that never-ending walk of yesterday. Her soft eyes never were the same -again after that; they had always a restless, craving look, as if seeking -for what they could not find. Oh! it was an awful time; coming down like -a thunder-bolt on the still sunny day when the lilacs were all in bloom.” - -“Where was Mr Peter?” said I. - -“He had made his way to Liverpool; and there was war then; and some of -the king’s ships lay off the mouth of the Mersey; and they were only too -glad to have a fine likely boy such as him (five foot nine he was), come -to offer himself. The captain wrote to my father, and Peter wrote to my -mother. Stay! those letters will be somewhere here.” - -We lighted the candle, and found the captain’s letter and Peter’s too. -And we also found a little simple begging letter from Mrs Jenkyns to -Peter, addressed to him at the house of an old schoolfellow whither she -fancied he might have gone. They had returned it unopened; and unopened -it had remained ever since, having been inadvertently put by among the -other letters of that time. This is it:— - - “MY DEAREST PETER,—You did not think we should be so sorry as we are, - I know, or you would never have gone away. You are too good. Your - father sits and sighs till my heart aches to hear him. He cannot - hold up his head for grief; and yet he only did what he thought was - right. Perhaps he has been too severe, and perhaps I have not been - kind enough; but God knows how we love you, my dear only boy. Don - looks so sorry you are gone. Come back, and make us happy, who love - you so much. I know you will come back.” - -But Peter did not come back. That spring day was the last time he ever -saw his mother’s face. The writer of the letter—the last—the only person -who had ever seen what was written in it, was dead long ago; and I, a -stranger, not born at the time when this occurrence took place, was the -one to open it. - -The captain’s letter summoned the father and mother to Liverpool -instantly, if they wished to see their boy; and, by some of the wild -chances of life, the captain’s letter had been detained somewhere, -somehow. - -Miss Matty went on, “And it was racetime, and all the post-horses at -Cranford were gone to the races; but my father and mother set off in our -own gig—and oh! my dear, they were too late—the ship was gone! And now -read Peter’s letter to my mother!” - -It was full of love, and sorrow, and pride in his new profession, and a -sore sense of his disgrace in the eyes of the people at Cranford; but -ending with a passionate entreaty that she would come and see him before -he left the Mersey: “Mother; we may go into battle. I hope we shall, and -lick those French: but I must see you again before that time.” - -“And she was too late,” said Miss Matty; “too late!” - -We sat in silence, pondering on the full meaning of those sad, sad words. -At length I asked Miss Matty to tell me how her mother bore it. - -“Oh!” she said, “she was patience itself. She had never been strong, and -this weakened her terribly. My father used to sit looking at her: far -more sad than she was. He seemed as if he could look at nothing else -when she was by; and he was so humble—so very gentle now. He would, -perhaps, speak in his old way—laying down the law, as it were—and then, -in a minute or two, he would come round and put his hand on our -shoulders, and ask us in a low voice, if he had said anything to hurt us. -I did not wonder at his speaking so to Deborah, for she was so clever; -but I could not bear to hear him talking so to me. - -“But, you see, he saw what we did not—that it was killing my mother. -Yes! killing her (put out the candle, my dear; I can talk better in the -dark), for she was but a frail woman, and ill-fitted to stand the fright -and shock she had gone through; and she would smile at him and comfort -him, not in words, but in her looks and tones, which were always cheerful -when he was there. And she would speak of how she thought Peter stood a -good chance of being admiral very soon—he was so brave and clever; and -how she thought of seeing him in his navy uniform, and what sort of hats -admirals wore; and how much more fit he was to be a sailor than a -clergyman; and all in that way, just to make my father think she was -quite glad of what came of that unlucky morning’s work, and the flogging -which was always in his mind, as we all knew. But oh, my dear! the -bitter, bitter crying she had when she was alone; and at last, as she -grew weaker, she could not keep her tears in when Deborah or me was by, -and would give us message after message for Peter (his ship had gone to -the Mediterranean, or somewhere down there, and then he was ordered off -to India, and there was no overland route then); but she still said that -no one knew where their death lay in wait, and that we were not to think -hers was near. We did not think it, but we knew it, as we saw her fading -away. - -“Well, my dear, it’s very foolish of me, I know, when in all likelihood I -am so near seeing her again. - -“And only think, love! the very day after her death—for she did not live -quite a twelvemonth after Peter went away—the very day after—came a -parcel for her from India—from her poor boy. It was a large, soft, white -Indian shawl, with just a little narrow border all round; just what my -mother would have liked. - -“We thought it might rouse my father, for he had sat with her hand in his -all night long; so Deborah took it in to him, and Peter’s letter to her, -and all. At first, he took no notice; and we tried to make a kind of -light careless talk about the shawl, opening it out and admiring it. -Then, suddenly, he got up, and spoke: ‘She shall be buried in it,’ he -said; ‘Peter shall have that comfort; and she would have liked it.’ - -“Well, perhaps it was not reasonable, but what could we do or say? One -gives people in grief their own way. He took it up and felt it: ‘It is -just such a shawl as she wished for when she was married, and her mother -did not give it her. I did not know of it till after, or she should have -had it—she should; but she shall have it now.’ - -“My mother looked so lovely in her death! She was always pretty, and now -she looked fair, and waxen, and young—younger than Deborah, as she stood -trembling and shivering by her. We decked her in the long soft folds; -she lay smiling, as if pleased; and people came—all Cranford came—to beg -to see her, for they had loved her dearly, as well they might; and the -countrywomen brought posies; old Clare’s wife brought some white violets -and begged they might lie on her breast. - -“Deborah said to me, the day of my mother’s funeral, that if she had a -hundred offers she never would marry and leave my father. It was not -very likely she would have so many—I don’t know that she had one; but it -was not less to her credit to say so. She was such a daughter to my -father as I think there never was before or since. His eyes failed him, -and she read book after book, and wrote, and copied, and was always at -his service in any parish business. She could do many more things than -my poor mother could; she even once wrote a letter to the bishop for my -father. But he missed my mother sorely; the whole parish noticed it. -Not that he was less active; I think he was more so, and more patient in -helping every one. I did all I could to set Deborah at liberty to be -with him; for I knew I was good for little, and that my best work in the -world was to do odd jobs quietly, and set others at liberty. But my -father was a changed man.” - -“Did Mr Peter ever come home?” - -“Yes, once. He came home a lieutenant; he did not get to be admiral. -And he and my father were such friends! My father took him into every -house in the parish, he was so proud of him. He never walked out without -Peter’s arm to lean upon. Deborah used to smile (I don’t think we ever -laughed again after my mother’s death), and say she was quite put in a -corner. Not but what my father always wanted her when there was -letter-writing or reading to be done, or anything to be settled.” - -“And then?” said I, after a pause. - -“Then Peter went to sea again; and, by-and-by, my father died, blessing -us both, and thanking Deborah for all she had been to him; and, of -course, our circumstances were changed; and, instead of living at the -rectory, and keeping three maids and a man, we had to come to this small -house, and be content with a servant-of-all-work; but, as Deborah used to -say, we have always lived genteelly, even if circumstances have compelled -us to simplicity. Poor Deborah!” - -“And Mr Peter?” asked I. - -“Oh, there was some great war in India—I forget what they call it—and we -have never heard of Peter since then. I believe he is dead myself; and -it sometimes fidgets me that we have never put on mourning for him. And -then again, when I sit by myself, and all the house is still, I think I -hear his step coming up the street, and my heart begins to flutter and -beat; but the sound always goes past—and Peter never comes. - -“That’s Martha back? No! _I’ll_ go, my dear; I can always find my way -in the dark, you know. And a blow of fresh air at the door will do my -head good, and it’s rather got a trick of aching.” - -So she pattered off. I had lighted the candle, to give the room a -cheerful appearance against her return. - -“Was it Martha?” asked I. - -“Yes. And I am rather uncomfortable, for I heard such a strange noise, -just as I was opening the door.” - -“Where?” I asked, for her eyes were round with affright. - -“In the street—just outside—it sounded like”— - -“Talking?” I put in, as she hesitated a little. - -“No! kissing”— - - - - -CHAPTER VII—VISITING - - -ONE morning, as Miss Matty and I sat at our work—it was before twelve -o’clock, and Miss Matty had not changed the cap with yellow ribbons that -had been Miss Jenkyns’s best, and which Miss Matty was now wearing out in -private, putting on the one made in imitation of Mrs Jamieson’s at all -times when she expected to be seen—Martha came up, and asked if Miss -Betty Barker might speak to her mistress. Miss Matty assented, and -quickly disappeared to change the yellow ribbons, while Miss Barker came -upstairs; but, as she had forgotten her spectacles, and was rather -flurried by the unusual time of the visit, I was not surprised to see her -return with one cap on the top of the other. She was quite unconscious -of it herself, and looked at us, with bland satisfaction. Nor do I think -Miss Barker perceived it; for, putting aside the little circumstance that -she was not so young as she had been, she was very much absorbed in her -errand, which she delivered herself of with an oppressive modesty that -found vent in endless apologies. - -Miss Betty Barker was the daughter of the old clerk at Cranford who had -officiated in Mr Jenkyns’s time. She and her sister had had pretty good -situations as ladies’ maids, and had saved money enough to set up a -milliner’s shop, which had been patronised by the ladies in the -neighbourhood. Lady Arley, for instance, would occasionally give Miss -Barkers the pattern of an old cap of hers, which they immediately copied -and circulated among the _élite_ of Cranford. I say the _élite_, for -Miss Barkers had caught the trick of the place, and piqued themselves -upon their “aristocratic connection.” They would not sell their caps and -ribbons to anyone without a pedigree. Many a farmer’s wife or daughter -turned away huffed from Miss Barkers’ select millinery, and went rather -to the universal shop, where the profits of brown soap and moist sugar -enabled the proprietor to go straight to (Paris, he said, until he found -his customers too patriotic and John Bullish to wear what the Mounseers -wore) London, where, as he often told his customers, Queen Adelaide had -appeared, only the very week before, in a cap exactly like the one he -showed them, trimmed with yellow and blue ribbons, and had been -complimented by King William on the becoming nature of her head-dress. - -Miss Barkers, who confined themselves to truth, and did not approve of -miscellaneous customers, throve notwithstanding. They were self-denying, -good people. Many a time have I seen the eldest of them (she that had -been maid to Mrs Jamieson) carrying out some delicate mess to a poor -person. They only aped their betters in having “nothing to do” with the -class immediately below theirs. And when Miss Barker died, their profits -and income were found to be such that Miss Betty was justified in -shutting up shop and retiring from business. She also (as I think I have -before said) set up her cow; a mark of respectability in Cranford almost -as decided as setting up a gig is among some people. She dressed finer -than any lady in Cranford; and we did not wonder at it; for it was -understood that she was wearing out all the bonnets and caps and -outrageous ribbons which had once formed her stock-in-trade. It was five -or six years since she had given up shop, so in any other place than -Cranford her dress might have been considered _passée_. - -And now Miss Betty Barker had called to invite Miss Matty to tea at her -house on the following Tuesday. She gave me also an impromptu -invitation, as I happened to be a visitor—though I could see she had a -little fear lest, since my father had gone to live in Drumble, he might -have engaged in that “horrid cotton trade,” and so dragged his family -down out of “aristocratic society.” She prefaced this invitation with so -many apologies that she quite excited my curiosity. “Her presumption” -was to be excused. What had she been doing? She seemed so over-powered -by it I could only think that she had been writing to Queen Adelaide to -ask for a receipt for washing lace; but the act which she so -characterised was only an invitation she had carried to her sister’s -former mistress, Mrs Jamieson. “Her former occupation considered, could -Miss Matty excuse the liberty?” Ah! thought I, she has found out that -double cap, and is going to rectify Miss Matty’s head-dress. No! it was -simply to extend her invitation to Miss Matty and to me. Miss Matty -bowed acceptance; and I wondered that, in the graceful action, she did -not feel the unusual weight and extraordinary height of her head-dress. -But I do not think she did, for she recovered her balance, and went on -talking to Miss Betty in a kind, condescending manner, very different -from the fidgety way she would have had if she had suspected how singular -her appearance was. “Mrs Jamieson is coming, I think you said?” asked -Miss Matty. - -“Yes. Mrs Jamieson most kindly and condescendingly said she would be -happy to come. One little stipulation she made, that she should bring -Carlo. I told her that if I had a weakness, it was for dogs.” - -“And Miss Pole?” questioned Miss Matty, who was thinking of her pool at -Preference, in which Carlo would not be available as a partner. - -“I am going to ask Miss Pole. Of course, I could not think of asking her -until I had asked you, madam—the rector’s daughter, madam. Believe me, I -do not forget the situation my father held under yours.” - -“And Mrs Forrester, of course?” - -“And Mrs Forrester. I thought, in fact, of going to her before I went to -Miss Pole. Although her circumstances are changed, madam, she was born -at Tyrrell, and we can never forget her alliance to the Bigges, of -Bigelow Hall.” - -Miss Matty cared much more for the little circumstance of her being a -very good card-player. - -“Mrs Fitz-Adam—I suppose”— - -“No, madam. I must draw a line somewhere. Mrs Jamieson would not, I -think, like to meet Mrs Fitz-Adam. I have the greatest respect for Mrs -Fitz-Adam—but I cannot think her fit society for such ladies as Mrs -Jamieson and Miss Matilda Jenkyns.” - -Miss Betty Barker bowed low to Miss Matty, and pursed up her mouth. She -looked at me with sidelong dignity, as much as to say, although a retired -milliner, she was no democrat, and understood the difference of ranks. - -“May I beg you to come as near half-past six to my little dwelling, as -possible, Miss Matilda? Mrs Jamieson dines at five, but has kindly -promised not to delay her visit beyond that time—half-past six.” And -with a swimming curtsey Miss Betty Barker took her leave. - -My prophetic soul foretold a visit that afternoon from Miss Pole, who -usually came to call on Miss Matilda after any event—or indeed in sight -of any event—to talk it over with her. - -“Miss Betty told me it was to be a choice and select few,” said Miss -Pole, as she and Miss Matty compared notes. - -“Yes, so she said. Not even Mrs Fitz-Adam.” - -Now Mrs Fitz-Adam was the widowed sister of the Cranford surgeon, whom I -have named before. Their parents were respectable farmers, content with -their station. The name of these good people was Hoggins. Mr Hoggins -was the Cranford doctor now; we disliked the name and considered it -coarse; but, as Miss Jenkyns said, if he changed it to Piggins it would -not be much better. We had hoped to discover a relationship between him -and that Marchioness of Exeter whose name was Molly Hoggins; but the man, -careless of his own interests, utterly ignored and denied any such -relationship, although, as dear Miss Jenkyns had said, he had a sister -called Mary, and the same Christian names were very apt to run in -families. - -Soon after Miss Mary Hoggins married Mr Fitz-Adam, she disappeared from -the neighbourhood for many years. She did not move in a sphere in -Cranford society sufficiently high to make any of us care to know what Mr -Fitz-Adam was. He died and was gathered to his fathers without our ever -having thought about him at all. And then Mrs Fitz-Adam reappeared in -Cranford (“as bold as a lion,” Miss Pole said), a well-to-do widow, -dressed in rustling black silk, so soon after her husband’s death that -poor Miss Jenkyns was justified in the remark she made, that “bombazine -would have shown a deeper sense of her loss.” - -I remember the convocation of ladies who assembled to decide whether or -not Mrs Fitz-Adam should be called upon by the old blue-blooded -inhabitants of Cranford. She had taken a large rambling house, which had -been usually considered to confer a patent of gentility upon its tenant, -because, once upon a time, seventy or eighty years before, the spinster -daughter of an earl had resided in it. I am not sure if the inhabiting -this house was not also believed to convey some unusual power of -intellect; for the earl’s daughter, Lady Jane, had a sister, Lady Anne, -who had married a general officer in the time of the American war, and -this general officer had written one or two comedies, which were still -acted on the London boards, and which, when we saw them advertised, made -us all draw up, and feel that Drury Lane was paying a very pretty -compliment to Cranford. Still, it was not at all a settled thing that -Mrs Fitz-Adam was to be visited, when dear Miss Jenkyns died; and, with -her, something of the clear knowledge of the strict code of gentility -went out too. As Miss Pole observed, “As most of the ladies of good -family in Cranford were elderly spinsters, or widows without children, if -we did not relax a little, and become less exclusive, by-and-by we should -have no society at all.” - -Mrs Forrester continued on the same side. - -“She had always understood that Fitz meant something aristocratic; there -was Fitz-Roy—she thought that some of the King’s children had been called -Fitz-Roy; and there was Fitz-Clarence, now—they were the children of dear -good King William the Fourth. Fitz-Adam!—it was a pretty name, and she -thought it very probably meant ‘Child of Adam.’ No one, who had not some -good blood in their veins, would dare to be called Fitz; there was a deal -in a name—she had had a cousin who spelt his name with two little -ffs—ffoulkes—and he always looked down upon capital letters and said they -belonged to lately-invented families. She had been afraid he would die a -bachelor, he was so very choice. When he met with a Mrs ffarringdon, at -a watering-place, he took to her immediately; and a very pretty genteel -woman she was—a widow, with a very good fortune; and ‘my cousin,’ Mr -ffoulkes, married her; and it was all owing to her two little ffs.” - -Mrs Fitz-Adam did not stand a chance of meeting with a Mr Fitz-anything -in Cranford, so that could not have been her motive for settling there. -Miss Matty thought it might have been the hope of being admitted into the -society of the place, which would certainly be a very agreeable rise for -_ci-devant_ Miss Hoggins; and if this had been her hope it would be cruel -to disappoint her. - -So everybody called upon Mrs Fitz-Adam—everybody but Mrs Jamieson, who -used to show how honourable she was by never seeing Mrs Fitz-Adam when -they met at the Cranford parties. There would be only eight or ten -ladies in the room, and Mrs Fitz-Adam was the largest of all, and she -invariably used to stand up when Mrs Jamieson came in, and curtsey very -low to her whenever she turned in her direction—so low, in fact, that I -think Mrs Jamieson must have looked at the wall above her, for she never -moved a muscle of her face, no more than if she had not seen her. Still -Mrs Fitz-Adam persevered. - -The spring evenings were getting bright and long when three or four -ladies in calashes met at Miss Barker’s door. Do you know what a calash -is? It is a covering worn over caps, not unlike the heads fastened on -old-fashioned gigs; but sometimes it is not quite so large. This kind of -head-gear always made an awful impression on the children in Cranford; -and now two or three left off their play in the quiet sunny little -street, and gathered in wondering silence round Miss Pole, Miss Matty, -and myself. We were silent too, so that we could hear loud, suppressed -whispers inside Miss Barker’s house: “Wait, Peggy! wait till I’ve run -upstairs and washed my hands. When I cough, open the door; I’ll not be a -minute.” - -And, true enough it was not a minute before we heard a noise, between a -sneeze and a crow; on which the door flew open. Behind it stood a -round-eyed maiden, all aghast at the honourable company of calashes, who -marched in without a word. She recovered presence of mind enough to -usher us into a small room, which had been the shop, but was now -converted into a temporary dressing-room. There we unpinned and shook -ourselves, and arranged our features before the glass into a sweet and -gracious company-face; and then, bowing backwards with “After you, -ma’am,” we allowed Mrs Forrester to take precedence up the narrow -staircase that led to Miss Barker’s drawing-room. There she sat, as -stately and composed as though we had never heard that odd-sounding -cough, from which her throat must have been even then sore and rough. -Kind, gentle, shabbily-dressed Mrs Forrester was immediately conducted to -the second place of honour—a seat arranged something like Prince Albert’s -near the Queen’s—good, but not so good. The place of pre-eminence was, -of course, reserved for the Honourable Mrs Jamieson, who presently came -panting up the stairs—Carlo rushing round her on her progress, as if he -meant to trip her up. - -And now Miss Betty Barker was a proud and happy woman! She stirred the -fire, and shut the door, and sat as near to it as she could, quite on the -edge of her chair. When Peggy came in, tottering under the weight of the -tea-tray, I noticed that Miss Barker was sadly afraid lest Peggy should -not keep her distance sufficiently. She and her mistress were on very -familiar terms in their every-day intercourse, and Peggy wanted now to -make several little confidences to her, which Miss Barker was on thorns -to hear, but which she thought it her duty, as a lady, to repress. So -she turned away from all Peggy’s asides and signs; but she made one or -two very malapropos answers to what was said; and at last, seized with a -bright idea, she exclaimed, “Poor, sweet Carlo! I’m forgetting him. -Come downstairs with me, poor ittie doggie, and it shall have its tea, it -shall!” - -In a few minutes she returned, bland and benignant as before; but I -thought she had forgotten to give the “poor ittie doggie” anything to -eat, judging by the avidity with which he swallowed down chance pieces of -cake. The tea-tray was abundantly loaded—I was pleased to see it, I was -so hungry; but I was afraid the ladies present might think it vulgarly -heaped up. I know they would have done at their own houses; but somehow -the heaps disappeared here. I saw Mrs Jamieson eating seed-cake, slowly -and considerately, as she did everything; and I was rather surprised, for -I knew she had told us, on the occasion of her last party, that she never -had it in her house, it reminded her so much of scented soap. She always -gave us Savoy biscuits. However, Mrs Jamieson was kindly indulgent to -Miss Barker’s want of knowledge of the customs of high life; and, to -spare her feelings, ate three large pieces of seed-cake, with a placid, -ruminating expression of countenance, not unlike a cow’s. - -After tea there was some little demur and difficulty. We were six in -number; four could play at Preference, and for the other two there was -Cribbage. But all, except myself (I was rather afraid of the Cranford -ladies at cards, for it was the most earnest and serious business they -ever engaged in), were anxious to be of the “pool.” Even Miss Barker, -while declaring she did not know Spadille from Manille, was evidently -hankering to take a hand. The dilemma was soon put an end to by a -singular kind of noise. If a baron’s daughter-in-law could ever be -supposed to snore, I should have said Mrs Jamieson did so then; for, -overcome by the heat of the room, and inclined to doze by nature, the -temptation of that very comfortable arm-chair had been too much for her, -and Mrs Jamieson was nodding. Once or twice she opened her eyes with an -effort, and calmly but unconsciously smiled upon us; but by-and-by, even -her benevolence was not equal to this exertion, and she was sound asleep. - - [Picture: The temptation of the comfortable arm-chair had been too much - for her] - -“It is very gratifying to me,” whispered Miss Barker at the card-table to -her three opponents, whom, notwithstanding her ignorance of the game, she -was “basting” most unmercifully—“very gratifying indeed, to see how -completely Mrs Jamieson feels at home in my poor little dwelling; she -could not have paid me a greater compliment.” - -Miss Barker provided me with some literature in the shape of three or -four handsomely-bound fashion-books ten or twelve years old, observing, -as she put a little table and a candle for my especial benefit, that she -knew young people liked to look at pictures. Carlo lay and snorted, and -started at his mistress’s feet. He, too, was quite at home. - -The card-table was an animated scene to watch; four ladies’ heads, with -niddle-noddling caps, all nearly meeting over the middle of the table in -their eagerness to whisper quick enough and loud enough: and every now -and then came Miss Barker’s “Hush, ladies! if you please, hush! Mrs -Jamieson is asleep.” - -It was very difficult to steer clear between Mrs Forrester’s deafness and -Mrs Jamieson’s sleepiness. But Miss Barker managed her arduous task -well. She repeated the whisper to Mrs Forrester, distorting her face -considerably, in order to show, by the motions of her lips, what was -said; and then she smiled kindly all round at us, and murmured to -herself, “Very gratifying, indeed; I wish my poor sister had been alive -to see this day.” - -Presently the door was thrown wide open; Carlo started to his feet, with -a loud snapping bark, and Mrs Jamieson awoke: or, perhaps, she had not -been asleep—as she said almost directly, the room had been so light she -had been glad to keep her eyes shut, but had been listening with great -interest to all our amusing and agreeable conversation. Peggy came in -once more, red with importance. Another tray! “Oh, gentility!” thought -I, “can yon endure this last shock?” For Miss Barker had ordered (nay, I -doubt not, prepared, although she did say, “Why, Peggy, what have you -brought us?” and looked pleasantly surprised at the unexpected pleasure) -all sorts of good things for supper—scalloped oysters, potted lobsters, -jelly, a dish called “little Cupids” (which was in great favour with the -Cranford ladies, although too expensive to be given, except on solemn and -state occasions—macaroons sopped in brandy, I should have called it, if I -had not known its more refined and classical name). In short, we were -evidently to be feasted with all that was sweetest and best; and we -thought it better to submit graciously, even at the cost of our -gentility—which never ate suppers in general, but which, like most -non-supper-eaters, was particularly hungry on all special occasions. - -Miss Barker, in her former sphere, had, I daresay, been made acquainted -with the beverage they call cherry-brandy. We none of us had ever seen -such a thing, and rather shrank back when she proffered it us—“just a -little, leetle glass, ladies; after the oysters and lobsters, you know. -Shell-fish are sometimes thought not very wholesome.” We all shook our -heads like female mandarins; but, at last, Mrs Jamieson suffered herself -to be persuaded, and we followed her lead. It was not exactly -unpalatable, though so hot and so strong that we thought ourselves bound -to give evidence that we were not accustomed to such things by coughing -terribly—almost as strangely as Miss Barker had done, before we were -admitted by Peggy. - -“It’s very strong,” said Miss Pole, as she put down her empty glass; “I -do believe there’s spirit in it.” - -“Only a little drop—just necessary to make it keep,” said Miss Barker. -“You know we put brandy-pepper over our preserves to make them keep. I -often feel tipsy myself from eating damson tart.” - -I question whether damson tart would have opened Mrs Jamieson’s heart as -the cherry-brandy did; but she told us of a coming event, respecting -which she had been quite silent till that moment. - -“My sister-in-law, Lady Glenmire, is coming to stay with me.” - -There was a chorus of “Indeed!” and then a pause. Each one rapidly -reviewed her wardrobe, as to its fitness to appear in the presence of a -baron’s widow; for, of course, a series of small festivals were always -held in Cranford on the arrival of a visitor at any of our friends’ -houses. We felt very pleasantly excited on the present occasion. - -Not long after this the maids and the lanterns were announced. Mrs -Jamieson had the sedan-chair, which had squeezed itself into Miss -Barker’s narrow lobby with some difficulty, and most literally “stopped -the way.” It required some skilful manoeuvring on the part of the old -chairmen (shoemakers by day, but when summoned to carry the sedan dressed -up in a strange old livery—long great-coats, with small capes, coeval -with the sedan, and similar to the dress of the class in Hogarth’s -pictures) to edge, and back, and try at it again, and finally to succeed -in carrying their burden out of Miss Barker’s front door. Then we heard -their quick pit-a-pat along the quiet little street as we put on our -calashes and pinned up our gowns; Miss Barker hovering about us with -offers of help, which, if she had not remembered her former occupation, -and wished us to forget it, would have been much more pressing. - - - - -CHAPTER VIII—“YOUR LADYSHIP” - - -EARLY the next morning—directly after twelve—Miss Pole made her -appearance at Miss Matty’s. Some very trifling piece of business was -alleged as a reason for the call; but there was evidently something -behind. At last out it came. - -“By the way, you’ll think I’m strangely ignorant; but, do you really -know, I am puzzled how we ought to address Lady Glenmire. Do you say, -‘Your Ladyship,’ where you would say ‘you’ to a common person? I have -been puzzling all morning; and are we to say ‘My Lady,’ instead of -‘Ma’am?’ Now you knew Lady Arley—will you kindly tell me the most -correct way of speaking to the peerage?” - -Poor Miss Matty! she took off her spectacles and she put them on -again—but how Lady Arley was addressed, she could not remember. - -“It is so long ago,” she said. “Dear! dear! how stupid I am! I don’t -think I ever saw her more than twice. I know we used to call Sir Peter, -‘Sir Peter’—but he came much oftener to see us than Lady Arley did. -Deborah would have known in a minute. ‘My lady’—‘your ladyship.’ It -sounds very strange, and as if it was not natural. I never thought of it -before; but, now you have named it, I am all in a puzzle.” - -It was very certain Miss Pole would obtain no wise decision from Miss -Matty, who got more bewildered every moment, and more perplexed as to -etiquettes of address. - -“Well, I really think,” said Miss Pole, “I had better just go and tell -Mrs Forrester about our little difficulty. One sometimes grows nervous; -and yet one would not have Lady Glenmire think we were quite ignorant of -the etiquettes of high life in Cranford.” - -“And will you just step in here, dear Miss Pole, as you come back, -please, and tell me what you decide upon? Whatever you and Mrs Forrester -fix upon, will be quite right, I’m sure. ‘Lady Arley,’ ‘Sir Peter,’” -said Miss Matty to herself, trying to recall the old forms of words. - -“Who is Lady Glenmire?” asked I. - -“Oh, she’s the widow of Mr Jamieson—that’s Mrs Jamieson’s late husband, -you know—widow of his eldest brother. Mrs Jamieson was a Miss Walker, -daughter of Governor Walker. ‘Your ladyship.’ My dear, if they fix on -that way of speaking, you must just let me practice a little on you -first, for I shall feel so foolish and hot saying it the first time to -Lady Glenmire.” - -It was really a relief to Miss Matty when Mrs Jamieson came on a very -unpolite errand. I notice that apathetic people have more quiet -impertinence than others; and Mrs Jamieson came now to insinuate pretty -plainly that she did not particularly wish that the Cranford ladies -should call upon her sister-in-law. I can hardly say how she made this -clear; for I grew very indignant and warm, while with slow deliberation -she was explaining her wishes to Miss Matty, who, a true lady herself, -could hardly understand the feeling which made Mrs Jamieson wish to -appear to her noble sister-in-law as if she only visited “county” -families. Miss Matty remained puzzled and perplexed long after I had -found out the object of Mrs Jamieson’s visit. - -When she did understand the drift of the honourable lady’s call, it was -pretty to see with what quiet dignity she received the intimation thus -uncourteously given. She was not in the least hurt—she was of too gentle -a spirit for that; nor was she exactly conscious of disapproving of Mrs -Jamieson’s conduct; but there was something of this feeling in her mind, -I am sure, which made her pass from the subject to others in a less -flurried and more composed manner than usual. Mrs Jamieson was, indeed, -the more flurried of the two, and I could see she was glad to take her -leave. - -A little while afterwards Miss Pole returned, red and indignant. “Well! -to be sure! You’ve had Mrs Jamieson here, I find from Martha; and we are -not to call on Lady Glenmire. Yes! I met Mrs Jamieson, half-way between -here and Mrs Forrester’s, and she told me; she took me so by surprise, I -had nothing to say. I wish I had thought of something very sharp and -sarcastic; I dare say I shall to-night. And Lady Glenmire is but the -widow of a Scotch baron after all! I went on to look at Mrs Forrester’s -Peerage, to see who this lady was, that is to be kept under a glass case: -widow of a Scotch peer—never sat in the House of Lords—and as poor as -Job, I dare say; and she—fifth daughter of some Mr Campbell or other. -You are the daughter of a rector, at any rate, and related to the Arleys; -and Sir Peter might have been Viscount Arley, every one says.” - -Miss Matty tried to soothe Miss Pole, but in vain. That lady, usually so -kind and good-humoured, was now in a full flow of anger. - -“And I went and ordered a cap this morning, to be quite ready,” said she -at last, letting out the secret which gave sting to Mrs Jamieson’s -intimation. “Mrs Jamieson shall see if it is so easy to get me to make -fourth at a pool when she has none of her fine Scotch relations with -her!” - -In coming out of church, the first Sunday on which Lady Glenmire appeared -in Cranford, we sedulously talked together, and turned our backs on Mrs -Jamieson and her guest. If we might not call on her, we would not even -look at her, though we were dying with curiosity to know what she was -like. We had the comfort of questioning Martha in the afternoon. Martha -did not belong to a sphere of society whose observation could be an -implied compliment to Lady Glenmire, and Martha had made good use of her -eyes. - -“Well, ma’am! is it the little lady with Mrs Jamieson, you mean? I -thought you would like more to know how young Mrs Smith was dressed; her -being a bride.” (Mrs Smith was the butcher’s wife). - -Miss Pole said, “Good gracious me! as if we cared about a Mrs Smith;” but -was silent as Martha resumed her speech. - -“The little lady in Mrs Jamieson’s pew had on, ma’am, rather an old black -silk, and a shepherd’s plaid cloak, ma’am, and very bright black eyes she -had, ma’am, and a pleasant, sharp face; not over young, ma’am, but yet, I -should guess, younger than Mrs Jamieson herself. She looked up and down -the church, like a bird, and nipped up her petticoats, when she came out, -as quick and sharp as ever I see. I’ll tell you what, ma’am, she’s more -like Mrs Deacon, at the ‘Coach and Horses,’ nor any one.” - -“Hush, Martha!” said Miss Matty, “that’s not respectful.” - -“Isn’t it, ma’am? I beg pardon, I’m sure; but Jem Hearn said so as well. -He said, she was just such a sharp, stirring sort of a body”— - -“Lady,” said Miss Pole. - -“Lady—as Mrs Deacon.” - -Another Sunday passed away, and we still averted our eyes from Mrs -Jamieson and her guest, and made remarks to ourselves that we thought -were very severe—almost too much so. Miss Matty was evidently uneasy at -our sarcastic manner of speaking. - -Perhaps by this time Lady Glenmire had found out that Mrs Jamieson’s was -not the gayest, liveliest house in the world; perhaps Mrs Jamieson had -found out that most of the county families were in London, and that those -who remained in the country were not so alive as they might have been to -the circumstance of Lady Glenmire being in their neighbourhood. Great -events spring out of small causes; so I will not pretend to say what -induced Mrs Jamieson to alter her determination of excluding the Cranford -ladies, and send notes of invitation all round for a small party on the -following Tuesday. Mr Mulliner himself brought them round. He _would_ -always ignore the fact of there being a back-door to any house, and gave -a louder rat-tat than his mistress, Mrs Jamieson. He had three little -notes, which he carried in a large basket, in order to impress his -mistress with an idea of their great weight, though they might easily -have gone into his waistcoat pocket. - -Miss Matty and I quietly decided that we would have a previous engagement -at home: it was the evening on which Miss Matty usually made -candle-lighters of all the notes and letters of the week; for on Mondays -her accounts were always made straight—not a penny owing from the week -before; so, by a natural arrangement, making candle-lighters fell upon a -Tuesday evening, and gave us a legitimate excuse for declining Mrs -Jamieson’s invitation. But before our answer was written, in came Miss -Pole, with an open note in her hand. - -“So!” she said. “Ah! I see you have got your note, too. Better late -than never. I could have told my Lady Glenmire she would be glad enough -of our society before a fortnight was over.” - -“Yes,” said Miss Matty, “we’re asked for Tuesday evening. And perhaps -you would just kindly bring your work across and drink tea with us that -night. It is my usual regular time for looking over the last week’s -bills, and notes, and letters, and making candle-lighters of them; but -that does not seem quite reason enough for saying I have a previous -engagement at home, though I meant to make it do. Now, if you would -come, my conscience would be quite at ease, and luckily the note is not -written yet.” - -I saw Miss Pole’s countenance change while Miss Matty was speaking. - -“Don’t you mean to go then?” asked she. - -“Oh, no!” said, Miss Matty quietly. “You don’t either, I suppose?” - -“I don’t know,” replied Miss Pole. “Yes, I think I do,” said she, rather -briskly; and on seeing Miss Matty look surprised, she added, “You see, -one would not like Mrs Jamieson to think that anything she could do, or -say, was of consequence enough to give offence; it would be a kind of -letting down of ourselves, that I, for one, should not like. It would be -too flattering to Mrs Jamieson if we allowed her to suppose that what she -had said affected us a week, nay ten days afterwards.” - -“Well! I suppose it is wrong to be hurt and annoyed so long about -anything; and, perhaps, after all, she did not mean to vex us. But I -must say, I could not have brought myself to say the things Mrs Jamieson -did about our not calling. I really don’t think I shall go.” - -“Oh, come! Miss Matty, you must go; you know our friend Mrs Jamieson is -much more phlegmatic than most people, and does not enter into the little -delicacies of feeling which you possess in so remarkable a degree.” - -“I thought you possessed them, too, that day Mrs Jamieson called to tell -us not to go,” said Miss Matty innocently. - -But Miss Pole, in addition to her delicacies of feeling, possessed a very -smart cap, which she was anxious to show to an admiring world; and so she -seemed to forget all her angry words uttered not a fortnight before, and -to be ready to act on what she called the great Christian principle of -“Forgive and forget”; and she lectured dear Miss Matty so long on this -head that she absolutely ended by assuring her it was her duty, as a -deceased rector’s daughter, to buy a new cap and go to the party at Mrs -Jamieson’s. So “we were most happy to accept,” instead of “regretting -that we were obliged to decline.” - - [Picture: Mr Mulliner] - -The expenditure on dress in Cranford was principally in that one article -referred to. If the heads were buried in smart new caps, the ladies were -like ostriches, and cared not what became of their bodies. Old gowns, -white and venerable collars, any number of brooches, up and down and -everywhere (some with dogs’ eyes painted in them; some that were like -small picture-frames with mausoleums and weeping-willows neatly executed -in hair inside; some, again, with miniatures of ladies and gentlemen -sweetly smiling out of a nest of stiff muslin), old brooches for a -permanent ornament, and new caps to suit the fashion of the day—the -ladies of Cranford always dressed with chaste elegance and propriety, as -Miss Barker once prettily expressed it. - -And with three new caps, and a greater array of brooches than had ever -been seen together at one time since Cranford was a town, did Mrs -Forrester, and Miss Matty, and Miss Pole appear on that memorable Tuesday -evening. I counted seven brooches myself on Miss Pole’s dress. Two were -fixed negligently in her cap (one was a butterfly made of Scotch pebbles, -which a vivid imagination might believe to be the real insect); one -fastened her net neckerchief; one her collar; one ornamented the front of -her gown, midway between her throat and waist; and another adorned the -point of her stomacher. Where the seventh was I have forgotten, but it -was somewhere about her, I am sure. - -But I am getting on too fast, in describing the dresses of the company. -I should first relate the gathering on the way to Mrs Jamieson’s. That -lady lived in a large house just outside the town. A road which had -known what it was to be a street ran right before the house, which opened -out upon it without any intervening garden or court. Whatever the sun -was about, he never shone on the front of that house. To be sure, the -living-rooms were at the back, looking on to a pleasant garden; the front -windows only belonged to kitchens and housekeepers’ rooms, and pantries, -and in one of them Mr Mulliner was reported to sit. Indeed, looking -askance, we often saw the back of a head covered with hair powder, which -also extended itself over his coat-collar down to his very waist; and -this imposing back was always engaged in reading the _St James’s -Chronicle_, opened wide, which, in some degree, accounted for the length -of time the said newspaper was in reaching us—equal subscribers with Mrs -Jamieson, though, in right of her honourableness, she always had the -reading of it first. This very Tuesday, the delay in forwarding the last -number had been particularly aggravating; just when both Miss Pole and -Miss Matty, the former more especially, had been wanting to see it, in -order to coach up the Court news ready for the evening’s interview with -aristocracy. Miss Pole told us she had absolutely taken time by the -forelock, and been dressed by five o’clock, in order to be ready if the -_St James’s Chronicle_ should come in at the last moment—the very _St -James’s Chronicle_ which the powdered head was tranquilly and composedly -reading as we passed the accustomed window this evening. - -“The impudence of the man!” said Miss Pole, in a low indignant whisper. -“I should like to ask him whether his mistress pays her quarter-share for -his exclusive use.” - -We looked at her in admiration of the courage of her thought; for Mr -Mulliner was an object of great awe to all of us. He seemed never to -have forgotten his condescension in coming to live at Cranford. Miss -Jenkyns, at times, had stood forth as the undaunted champion of her sex, -and spoken to him on terms of equality; but even Miss Jenkyns could get -no higher. In his pleasantest and most gracious moods he looked like a -sulky cockatoo. He did not speak except in gruff monosyllables. He -would wait in the hall when we begged him not to wait, and then look -deeply offended because we had kept him there, while, with trembling, -hasty hands we prepared ourselves for appearing in company. - -Miss Pole ventured on a small joke as we went upstairs, intended, though -addressed to us, to afford Mr Mulliner some slight amusement. We all -smiled, in order to seem as if we felt at our ease, and timidly looked -for Mr Mulliner’s sympathy. Not a muscle of that wooden face had -relaxed; and we were grave in an instant. - -Mrs Jamieson’s drawing-room was cheerful; the evening sun came streaming -into it, and the large square window was clustered round with flowers. -The furniture was white and gold; not the later style, Louis Quatorze, I -think they call it, all shells and twirls; no, Mrs Jamieson’s chairs and -tables had not a curve or bend about them. The chair and table legs -diminished as they neared the ground, and were straight and square in all -their corners. The chairs were all a-row against the walls, with the -exception of four or five which stood in a circle round the fire. They -were railed with white bars across the back and knobbed with gold; -neither the railings nor the knobs invited to ease. There was a japanned -table devoted to literature, on which lay a Bible, a Peerage, and a -Prayer-Book. There was another square Pembroke table dedicated to the -Fine Arts, on which were a kaleidoscope, conversation-cards, puzzle-cards -(tied together to an interminable length with faded pink satin ribbon), -and a box painted in fond imitation of the drawings which decorate -tea-chests. Carlo lay on the worsted-worked rug, and ungraciously barked -at us as we entered. Mrs Jamieson stood up, giving us each a torpid -smile of welcome, and looking helplessly beyond us at Mr Mulliner, as if -she hoped he would place us in chairs, for, if he did not, she never -could. I suppose he thought we could find our way to the circle round -the fire, which reminded me of Stonehenge, I don’t know why. Lady -Glenmire came to the rescue of our hostess, and, somehow or other, we -found ourselves for the first time placed agreeably, and not formally, in -Mrs Jamieson’s house. Lady Glenmire, now we had time to look at her, -proved to be a bright little woman of middle age, who had been very -pretty in the days of her youth, and who was even yet very -pleasant-looking. I saw Miss Pole appraising her dress in the first five -minutes, and I take her word when she said the next day— - -“My dear! ten pounds would have purchased every stitch she had on—lace -and all.” - -It was pleasant to suspect that a peeress could be poor, and partly -reconciled us to the fact that her husband had never sat in the House of -Lords; which, when we first heard of it, seemed a kind of swindling us -out of our prospects on false pretences; a sort of “A Lord and No Lord” -business. - -We were all very silent at first. We were thinking what we could talk -about, that should be high enough to interest My Lady. There had been a -rise in the price of sugar, which, as preserving-time was near, was a -piece of intelligence to all our house-keeping hearts, and would have -been the natural topic if Lady Glenmire had not been by. But we were not -sure if the peerage ate preserves—much less knew how they were made. At -last, Miss Pole, who had always a great deal of courage and _savoir -faire_, spoke to Lady Glenmire, who on her part had seemed just as much -puzzled to know how to break the silence as we were. - -“Has your ladyship been to Court lately?” asked she; and then gave a -little glance round at us, half timid and half triumphant, as much as to -say, “See how judiciously I have chosen a subject befitting the rank of -the stranger.” - -“I never was there in my life,” said Lady Glenmire, with a broad Scotch -accent, but in a very sweet voice. And then, as if she had been too -abrupt, she added: “We very seldom went to London—only twice, in fact, -during all my married life; and before I was married my father had far -too large a family” (fifth daughter of Mr Campbell was in all our minds, -I am sure) “to take us often from our home, even to Edinburgh. Ye’ll -have been in Edinburgh, maybe?” said she, suddenly brightening up with -the hope of a common interest. We had none of us been there; but Miss -Pole had an uncle who once had passed a night there, which was very -pleasant. - -Mrs Jamieson, meanwhile, was absorbed in wonder why Mr Mulliner did not -bring the tea; and at length the wonder oozed out of her mouth. - -“I had better ring the bell, my dear, had not I?” said Lady Glenmire -briskly. - -“No—I think not—Mulliner does not like to be hurried.” - -We should have liked our tea, for we dined at an earlier hour than Mrs -Jamieson. I suspect Mr Mulliner had to finish the _St James’s Chronicle_ -before he chose to trouble himself about tea. His mistress fidgeted and -fidgeted, and kept saying, “I can’t think why Mulliner does not bring -tea. I can’t think what he can be about.” And Lady Glenmire at last -grew quite impatient, but it was a pretty kind of impatience after all; -and she rang the bell rather sharply, on receiving a half-permission from -her sister-in-law to do so. Mr Mulliner appeared in dignified surprise. -“Oh!” said Mrs Jamieson, “Lady Glenmire rang the bell; I believe it was -for tea.” - -In a few minutes tea was brought. Very delicate was the china, very old -the plate, very thin the bread and butter, and very small the lumps of -sugar. Sugar was evidently Mrs Jamieson’s favourite economy. I question -if the little filigree sugar-tongs, made something like scissors, could -have opened themselves wide enough to take up an honest, vulgar -good-sized piece; and when I tried to seize two little minnikin pieces at -once, so as not to be detected in too many returns to the sugar-basin, -they absolutely dropped one, with a little sharp clatter, quite in a -malicious and unnatural manner. But before this happened we had had a -slight disappointment. In the little silver jug was cream, in the larger -one was milk. As soon as Mr Mulliner came in, Carlo began to beg, which -was a thing our manners forebade us to do, though I am sure we were just -as hungry; and Mrs Jamieson said she was certain we would excuse her if -she gave her poor dumb Carlo his tea first. She accordingly mixed a -saucerful for him, and put it down for him to lap; and then she told us -how intelligent and sensible the dear little fellow was; he knew cream -quite well, and constantly refused tea with only milk in it: so the milk -was left for us; but we silently thought we were quite as intelligent and -sensible as Carlo, and felt as if insult were added to injury when we -were called upon to admire the gratitude evinced by his wagging his tail -for the cream which should have been ours. - -After tea we thawed down into common-life subjects. We were thankful to -Lady Glenmire for having proposed some more bread and butter, and this -mutual want made us better acquainted with her than we should ever have -been with talking about the Court, though Miss Pole did say she had hoped -to know how the dear Queen was from some one who had seen her. - -The friendship begun over bread and butter extended on to cards. Lady -Glenmire played Preference to admiration, and was a complete authority as -to Ombre and Quadrille. Even Miss Pole quite forgot to say “my lady,” -and “your ladyship,” and said “Basto! ma’am”; “you have Spadille, I -believe,” just as quietly as if we had never held the great Cranford -Parliament on the subject of the proper mode of addressing a peeress. - -As a proof of how thoroughly we had forgotten that we were in the -presence of one who might have sat down to tea with a coronet, instead of -a cap, on her head, Mrs Forrester related a curious little fact to Lady -Glenmire—an anecdote known to the circle of her intimate friends, but of -which even Mrs Jamieson was not aware. It related to some fine old lace, -the sole relic of better days, which Lady Glenmire was admiring on Mrs -Forrester’s collar. - -“Yes,” said that lady, “such lace cannot be got now for either love or -money; made by the nuns abroad, they tell me. They say that they can’t -make it now even there. But perhaps they can, now they’ve passed the -Catholic Emancipation Bill. I should not wonder. But, in the meantime, -I treasure up my lace very much. I daren’t even trust the washing of it -to my maid” (the little charity school-girl I have named before, but who -sounded well as “my maid”). “I always wash it myself. And once it had a -narrow escape. Of course, your ladyship knows that such lace must never -be starched or ironed. Some people wash it in sugar and water, and some -in coffee, to make it the right yellow colour; but I myself have a very -good receipt for washing it in milk, which stiffens it enough, and gives -it a very good creamy colour. Well, ma’am, I had tacked it together (and -the beauty of this fine lace is that, when it is wet, it goes into a very -little space), and put it to soak in milk, when, unfortunately, I left -the room; on my return, I found pussy on the table, looking very like a -thief, but gulping very uncomfortably, as if she was half-chocked with -something she wanted to swallow and could not. And, would you believe -it? At first I pitied her, and said ‘Poor pussy! poor pussy!’ till, all -at once, I looked and saw the cup of milk empty—cleaned out! ‘You -naughty cat!’ said I, and I believe I was provoked enough to give her a -slap, which did no good, but only helped the lace down—just as one slaps -a choking child on the back. I could have cried, I was so vexed; but I -determined I would not give the lace up without a struggle for it. I -hoped the lace might disagree with her, at any rate; but it would have -been too much for Job, if he had seen, as I did, that cat come in, quite -placid and purring, not a quarter of an hour after, and almost expecting -to be stroked. ‘No, pussy!’ said I, ‘if you have any conscience you -ought not to expect that!’ And then a thought struck me; and I rang the -bell for my maid, and sent her to Mr Hoggins, with my compliments, and -would he be kind enough to lend me one of his top-boots for an hour? I -did not think there was anything odd in the message; but Jenny said the -young men in the surgery laughed as if they would be ill at my wanting a -top-boot. When it came, Jenny and I put pussy in, with her forefeet -straight down, so that they were fastened, and could not scratch, and we -gave her a teaspoonful of current-jelly in which (your ladyship must -excuse me) I had mixed some tartar emetic. I shall never forget how -anxious I was for the next half-hour. I took pussy to my own room, and -spread a clean towel on the floor. I could have kissed her when she -returned the lace to sight, very much as it had gone down. Jenny had -boiling water ready, and we soaked it and soaked it, and spread it on a -lavender-bush in the sun before I could touch it again, even to put it in -milk. But now your ladyship would never guess that it had been in -pussy’s inside.” - - [Picture: We gave her a teaspoonful of current-jelly] - -We found out, in the course of the evening, that Lady Glenmire was going -to pay Mrs Jamieson a long visit, as she had given up her apartments in -Edinburgh, and had no ties to take her back there in a hurry. On the -whole, we were rather glad to hear this, for she had made a pleasant -impression upon us; and it was also very comfortable to find, from things -which dropped out in the course of conversation, that, in addition to -many other genteel qualities, she was far removed from the “vulgarity of -wealth.” - -“Don’t you find it very unpleasant walking?” asked Mrs Jamieson, as our -respective servants were announced. It was a pretty regular question -from Mrs Jamieson, who had her own carriage in the coach-house, and -always went out in a sedan-chair to the very shortest distances. The -answers were nearly as much a matter of course. - -“Oh dear, no! it is so pleasant and still at night!” “Such a refreshment -after the excitement of a party!” “The stars are so beautiful!” This -last was from Miss Matty. - -“Are you fond of astronomy?” Lady Glenmire asked. - -“Not very,” replied Miss Matty, rather confused at the moment to remember -which was astronomy and which was astrology—but the answer was true under -either circumstance, for she read, and was slightly alarmed at Francis -Moore’s astrological predictions; and, as to astronomy, in a private and -confidential conversation, she had told me she never could believe that -the earth was moving constantly, and that she would not believe it if she -could, it made her feel so tired and dizzy whenever she thought about it. - -In our pattens we picked our way home with extra care that night, so -refined and delicate were our perceptions after drinking tea with “my -lady.” - - - - -CHAPTER IX—SIGNOR BRUNONI - - -SOON after the events of which I gave an account in my last paper, I was -summoned home by my father’s illness; and for a time I forgot, in anxiety -about him, to wonder how my dear friends at Cranford were getting on, or -how Lady Glenmire could reconcile herself to the dulness of the long -visit which she was still paying to her sister-in-law, Mrs Jamieson. -When my father grew a little stronger I accompanied him to the seaside, -so that altogether I seemed banished from Cranford, and was deprived of -the opportunity of hearing any chance intelligence of the dear little -town for the greater part of that year. - -Late in November—when we had returned home again, and my father was once -more in good health—I received a letter from Miss Matty; and a very -mysterious letter it was. She began many sentences without ending them, -running them one into another, in much the same confused sort of way in -which written words run together on blotting-paper. All I could make out -was that, if my father was better (which she hoped he was), and would -take warning and wear a great-coat from Michaelmas to Lady-day, if -turbans were in fashion, could I tell her? Such a piece of gaiety was -going to happen as had not been seen or known of since Wombwell’s lions -came, when one of them ate a little child’s arm; and she was, perhaps, -too old to care about dress, but a new cap she must have; and, having -heard that turbans were worn, and some of the county families likely to -come, she would like to look tidy, if I would bring her a cap from the -milliner I employed; and oh, dear! how careless of her to forget that she -wrote to beg I would come and pay her a visit next Tuesday; when she -hoped to have something to offer me in the way of amusement, which she -would not now more particularly describe, only sea-green was her -favourite colour. So she ended her letter; but in a P.S. she added, she -thought she might as well tell me what was the peculiar attraction to -Cranford just now; Signor Brunoni was going to exhibit his wonderful -magic in the Cranford Assembly Rooms on Wednesday and Friday evening in -the following week. - -I was very glad to accept the invitation from my dear Miss Matty, -independently of the conjuror, and most particularly anxious to prevent -her from disfiguring her small, gentle, mousey face with a great -Saracen’s head turban; and accordingly, I bought her a pretty, neat, -middle-aged cap, which, however, was rather a disappointment to her when, -on my arrival, she followed me into my bedroom, ostensibly to poke the -fire, but in reality, I do believe, to see if the sea-green turban was -not inside the cap-box with which I had travelled. It was in vain that I -twirled the cap round on my hand to exhibit back and side fronts: her -heart had been set upon a turban, and all she could do was to say, with -resignation in her look and voice— - -“I am sure you did your best, my dear. It is just like the caps all the -ladies in Cranford are wearing, and they have had theirs for a year, I -dare say. I should have liked something newer, I confess—something more -like the turbans Miss Betty Barker tells me Queen Adelaide wears; but it -is very pretty, my dear. And I dare say lavender will wear better than -sea-green. Well, after all, what is dress, that we should care anything -about it? You’ll tell me if you want anything, my dear. Here is the -bell. I suppose turbans have not got down to Drumble yet?” - -So saying, the dear old lady gently bemoaned herself out of the room, -leaving me to dress for the evening, when, as she informed me, she -expected Miss Pole and Mrs Forrester, and she hoped I should not feel -myself too much tired to join the party. Of course I should not; and I -made some haste to unpack and arrange my dress; but, with all my speed, I -heard the arrivals and the buzz of conversation in the next room before I -was ready. Just as I opened the door, I caught the words, “I was foolish -to expect anything very genteel out of the Drumble shops; poor girl! she -did her best, I’ve no doubt.” But, for all that, I had rather that she -blamed Drumble and me than disfigured herself with a turban. - -Miss Pole was always the person, in the trio of Cranford ladies now -assembled, to have had adventures. She was in the habit of spending the -morning in rambling from shop to shop, not to purchase anything (except -an occasional reel of cotton or a piece of tape), but to see the new -articles and report upon them, and to collect all the stray pieces of -intelligence in the town. She had a way, too, of demurely popping hither -and thither into all sorts of places to gratify her curiosity on any -point—a way which, if she had not looked so very genteel and prim, might -have been considered impertinent. And now, by the expressive way in -which she cleared her throat, and waited for all minor subjects (such as -caps and turbans) to be cleared off the course, we knew she had something -very particular to relate, when the due pause came—and I defy any people -possessed of common modesty to keep up a conversation long, where one -among them sits up aloft in silence, looking down upon all the things -they chance to say as trivial and contemptible compared to what they -could disclose, if properly entreated. Miss Pole began— - -“As I was stepping out of Gordon’s shop to-day, I chanced to go into the -‘George’ (my Betty has a second-cousin who is chambermaid there, and I -thought Betty would like to hear how she was), and, not seeing anyone -about, I strolled up the staircase, and found myself in the passage -leading to the Assembly Room (you and I remember the Assembly Room, I am -sure, Miss Matty! and the minuets de la cour!); so I went on, not -thinking of what I was about, when, all at once, I perceived that I was -in the middle of the preparations for to-morrow night—the room being -divided with great clothes-maids, over which Crosby’s men were tacking -red flannel; very dark and odd it seemed; it quite bewildered me, and I -was going on behind the screens, in my absence of mind, when a gentleman -(quite the gentleman, I can assure you) stepped forwards and asked if I -had any business he could arrange for me. He spoke such pretty broken -English, I could not help thinking of Thaddeus of Warsaw, and the -Hungarian Brothers, and Santo Sebastiani; and while I was busy picturing -his past life to myself, he had bowed me out of the room. But wait a -minute! You have not heard half my story yet! I was going downstairs, -when who should I meet but Betty’s second-cousin. So, of course, I -stopped to speak to her for Betty’s sake; and she told me that I had -really seen the conjuror—the gentleman who spoke broken English was -Signor Brunoni himself. Just at this moment he passed us on the stairs, -making such a graceful bow! in reply to which I dropped a curtsey—all -foreigners have such polite manners, one catches something of it. But -when he had gone downstairs, I bethought me that I had dropped my glove -in the Assembly Room (it was safe in my muff all the time, but I never -found it till afterwards); so I went back, and, just as I was creeping up -the passage left on one side of the great screen that goes nearly across -the room, who should I see but the very same gentleman that had met me -before, and passed me on the stairs, coming now forwards from the inner -part of the room, to which there is no entrance—you remember, Miss -Matty—and just repeating, in his pretty broken English, the inquiry if I -had any business there—I don’t mean that he put it quite so bluntly, but -he seemed very determined that I should not pass the screen—so, of -course, I explained about my glove, which, curiously enough, I found at -that very moment.” - -Miss Pole, then, had seen the conjuror—the real, live conjuror! and -numerous were the questions we all asked her. “Had he a beard?” “Was he -young, or old?” “Fair, or dark?” “Did he look”—(unable to shape my -question prudently, I put it in another form)—“How did he look?” In -short, Miss Pole was the heroine of the evening, owing to her morning’s -encounter. If she was not the rose (that is to say the conjuror) she had -been near it. - -Conjuration, sleight of hand, magic, witchcraft, were the subjects of the -evening. Miss Pole was slightly sceptical, and inclined to think there -might be a scientific solution found for even the proceedings of the -Witch of Endor. Mrs Forrester believed everything, from ghosts to -death-watches. Miss Matty ranged between the two—always convinced by the -last speaker. I think she was naturally more inclined to Mrs Forrester’s -side, but a desire of proving herself a worthy sister to Miss Jenkyns -kept her equally balanced—Miss Jenkyns, who would never allow a servant -to call the little rolls of tallow that formed themselves round candles -“winding-sheets,” but insisted on their being spoken of as -“roley-poleys!” A sister of hers to be superstitious! It would never -do. - -After tea, I was despatched downstairs into the dining-parlour for that -volume of the old Encyclopædia which contained the nouns beginning with -C, in order that Miss Pole might prime herself with scientific -explanations for the tricks of the following evening. It spoilt the pool -at Preference which Miss Matty and Mrs Forrester had been looking forward -to, for Miss Pole became so much absorbed in her subject, and the plates -by which it was illustrated, that we felt it would be cruel to disturb -her otherwise than by one or two well-timed yawns, which I threw in now -and then, for I was really touched by the meek way in which the two -ladies were bearing their disappointment. But Miss Pole only read the -more zealously, imparting to us no more information than this— - -“Ah! I see; I comprehend perfectly. A represents the ball. Put A -between B and D—no! between C and F, and turn the second joint of the -third finger of your left hand over the wrist of your right H. Very -clear indeed! My dear Mrs Forrester, conjuring and witchcraft is a mere -affair of the alphabet. Do let me read you this one passage?” - -Mrs Forrester implored Miss Pole to spare her, saying, from a child -upwards, she never could understand being read aloud to; and I dropped -the pack of cards, which I had been shuffling very audibly, and by this -discreet movement I obliged Miss Pole to perceive that Preference was to -have been the order of the evening, and to propose, rather unwillingly, -that the pool should commence. The pleasant brightness that stole over -the other two ladies’ faces on this! Miss Matty had one or two twinges -of self-reproach for having interrupted Miss Pole in her studies: and did -not remember her cards well, or give her full attention to the game, -until she had soothed her conscience by offering to lend the volume of -the Encyclopædia to Miss Pole, who accepted it thankfully, and said Betty -should take it home when she came with the lantern. - -The next evening we were all in a little gentle flutter at the idea of -the gaiety before us. Miss Matty went up to dress betimes, and hurried -me until I was ready, when we found we had an hour-and-a-half to wait -before the “doors opened at seven precisely.” And we had only twenty -yards to go! However, as Miss Matty said, it would not do to get too -much absorbed in anything, and forget the time; so she thought we had -better sit quietly, without lighting the candles, till five minutes to -seven. So Miss Matty dozed, and I knitted. - -At length we set off; and at the door under the carriage-way at the -“George,” we met Mrs Forrester and Miss Pole: the latter was discussing -the subject of the evening with more vehemence than ever, and throwing -X’s and B’s at our heads like hailstones. She had even copied one or two -of the “receipts”—as she called them—for the different tricks, on backs -of letters, ready to explain and to detect Signor Brunoni’s arts. - -We went into the cloak-room adjoining the Assembly Room; Miss Matty gave -a sigh or two to her departed youth, and the remembrance of the last time -she had been there, as she adjusted her pretty new cap before the -strange, quaint old mirror in the cloak-room. The Assembly Room had been -added to the inn, about a hundred years before, by the different county -families, who met together there once a month during the winter to dance -and play at cards. Many a county beauty had first swung through the -minuet that she afterwards danced before Queen Charlotte in this very -room. It was said that one of the Gunnings had graced the apartment with -her beauty; it was certain that a rich and beautiful widow, Lady -Williams, had here been smitten with the noble figure of a young artist, -who was staying with some family in the neighbourhood for professional -purposes, and accompanied his patrons to the Cranford Assembly. And a -pretty bargain poor Lady Williams had of her handsome husband, if all -tales were true. Now, no beauty blushed and dimpled along the sides of -the Cranford Assembly Room; no handsome artist won hearts by his bow, -_chapeau bras_ in hand; the old room was dingy; the salmon-coloured paint -had faded into a drab; great pieces of plaster had chipped off from the -fine wreaths and festoons on its walls; but still a mouldy odour of -aristocracy lingered about the place, and a dusty recollection of the -days that were gone made Miss Matty and Mrs Forrester bridle up as they -entered, and walk mincingly up the room, as if there were a number of -genteel observers, instead of two little boys with a stick of toffee -between them with which to beguile the time. - -We stopped short at the second front row; I could hardly understand why, -until I heard Miss Pole ask a stray waiter if any of the county families -were expected; and when he shook his head, and believed not, Mrs -Forrester and Miss Matty moved forwards, and our party represented a -conversational square. The front row was soon augmented and enriched by -Lady Glenmire and Mrs Jamieson. We six occupied the two front rows, and -our aristocratic seclusion was respected by the groups of shop-keepers -who strayed in from time to time and huddled together on the back -benches. At least I conjectured so, from the noise they made, and the -sonorous bumps they gave in sitting down; but when, in weariness of the -obstinate green curtain that would not draw up, but would stare at me -with two odd eyes, seen through holes, as in the old tapestry story, I -would fain have looked round at the merry chattering people behind me, -Miss Pole clutched my arm, and begged me not to turn, for “it was not the -thing.” What “the thing” was, I never could find out, but it must have -been something eminently dull and tiresome. However, we all sat eyes -right, square front, gazing at the tantalising curtain, and hardly -speaking intelligibly, we were so afraid of being caught in the vulgarity -of making any noise in a place of public amusement. Mrs Jamieson was the -most fortunate, for she fell asleep. - -At length the eyes disappeared—the curtain quivered—one side went up -before the other, which stuck fast; it was dropped again, and, with a -fresh effort, and a vigorous pull from some unseen hand, it flew up, -revealing to our sight a magnificent gentleman in the Turkish costume, -seated before a little table, gazing at us (I should have said with the -same eyes that I had last seen through the hole in the curtain) with calm -and condescending dignity, “like a being of another sphere,” as I heard a -sentimental voice ejaculate behind me. - -“That’s not Signor Brunoni!” said Miss Pole decidedly; and so audibly -that I am sure he heard, for he glanced down over his flowing beard at -our party with an air of mute reproach. “Signor Brunoni had no beard—but -perhaps he’ll come soon.” So she lulled herself into patience. -Meanwhile, Miss Matty had reconnoitred through her eye-glass, wiped it, -and looked again. Then she turned round, and said to me, in a kind, -mild, sorrowful tone— - -“You see, my dear, turbans _are_ worn.” - -But we had no time for more conversation. The Grand Turk, as Miss Pole -chose to call him, arose and announced himself as Signor Brunoni. - -“I don’t believe him!” exclaimed Miss Pole, in a defiant manner. He -looked at her again, with the same dignified upbraiding in his -countenance. “I don’t!” she repeated more positively than ever. “Signor -Brunoni had not got that muffy sort of thing about his chin, but looked -like a close-shaved Christian gentleman.” - -Miss Pole’s energetic speeches had the good effect of wakening up Mrs -Jamieson, who opened her eyes wide, in sign of the deepest attention—a -proceeding which silenced Miss Pole and encouraged the Grand Turk to -proceed, which he did in very broken English—so broken that there was no -cohesion between the parts of his sentences; a fact which he himself -perceived at last, and so left off speaking and proceeded to action. - -Now we _were_ astonished. How he did his tricks I could not imagine; no, -not even when Miss Pole pulled out her pieces of paper and began reading -aloud—or at least in a very audible whisper—the separate “receipts” for -the most common of his tricks. If ever I saw a man frown and look -enraged, I saw the Grand Turk frown at Miss Pole; but, as she said, what -could be expected but unchristian looks from a Mussulman? If Miss Pole -were sceptical, and more engrossed with her receipts and diagrams than -with his tricks, Miss Matty and Mrs Forrester were mystified and -perplexed to the highest degree. Mrs Jamieson kept taking her spectacles -off and wiping them, as if she thought it was something defective in them -which made the legerdemain; and Lady Glenmire, who had seen many curious -sights in Edinburgh, was very much struck with the tricks, and would not -at all agree with Miss Pole, who declared that anybody could do them with -a little practice, and that she would, herself, undertake to do all he -did, with two hours given to study the Encyclopædia and make her third -finger flexible. - -At last Miss Matty and Mrs Forrester became perfectly awestricken. They -whispered together. I sat just behind them, so I could not help hearing -what they were saying. Miss Matty asked Mrs Forrester “if she thought it -was quite right to have come to see such things? She could not help -fearing they were lending encouragement to something that was not quite”— -A little shake of the head filled up the blank. Mrs Forrester replied, -that the same thought had crossed her mind; she too was feeling very -uncomfortable, it was so very strange. She was quite certain that it was -her pocket-handkerchief which was in that loaf just now; and it had been -in her own hand not five minutes before. She wondered who had furnished -the bread? She was sure it could not be Dakin, because he was the -churchwarden. Suddenly Miss Matty half-turned towards me— - -“Will you look, my dear—you are a stranger in the town, and it won’t give -rise to unpleasant reports—will you just look round and see if the rector -is here? If he is, I think we may conclude that this wonderful man is -sanctioned by the Church, and that will be a great relief to my mind.” - -I looked, and I saw the tall, thin, dry, dusty rector, sitting surrounded -by National School boys, guarded by troops of his own sex from any -approach of the many Cranford spinsters. His kind face was all agape -with broad smiles, and the boys around him were in chinks of laughing. I -told Miss Matty that the Church was smiling approval, which set her mind -at ease. - - [Picture: Afraid of matrimonial reports] - -I have never named Mr Hayter, the rector, because I, as a well-to-do and -happy young woman, never came in contact with him. He was an old -bachelor, but as afraid of matrimonial reports getting abroad about him -as any girl of eighteen: and he would rush into a shop or dive down an -entry, sooner than encounter any of the Cranford ladies in the street; -and, as for the Preference parties, I did not wonder at his not accepting -invitations to them. To tell the truth, I always suspected Miss Pole of -having given very vigorous chase to Mr Hayter when he first came to -Cranford; and not the less, because now she appeared to share so vividly -in his dread lest her name should ever be coupled with his. He found all -his interests among the poor and helpless; he had treated the National -School boys this very night to the performance; and virtue was for once -its own reward, for they guarded him right and left, and clung round him -as if he had been the queen-bee and they the swarm. He felt so safe in -their environment that he could even afford to give our party a bow as we -filed out. Miss Pole ignored his presence, and pretended to be absorbed -in convincing us that we had been cheated, and had not seen Signor -Brunoni after all. - - - - -CHAPTER X—THE PANIC - - -I THINK a series of circumstances dated from Signor Brunoni’s visit to -Cranford, which seemed at the time connected in our minds with him, -though I don’t know that he had anything really to do with them. All at -once all sorts of uncomfortable rumours got afloat in the town. There -were one or two robberies—real _bonâ fide_ robberies; men had up before -the magistrates and committed for trial—and that seemed to make us all -afraid of being robbed; and for a long time, at Miss Matty’s, I know, we -used to make a regular expedition all round the kitchens and cellars -every night, Miss Matty leading the way, armed with the poker, I -following with the hearth-brush, and Martha carrying the shovel and -fire-irons with which to sound the alarm; and by the accidental hitting -together of them she often frightened us so much that we bolted ourselves -up, all three together, in the back-kitchen, or store-room, or wherever -we happened to be, till, when our affright was over, we recollected -ourselves and set out afresh with double valiance. By day we heard -strange stories from the shopkeepers and cottagers, of carts that went -about in the dead of night, drawn by horses shod with felt, and guarded -by men in dark clothes, going round the town, no doubt in search of some -unwatched house or some unfastened door. - -Miss Pole, who affected great bravery herself, was the principal person -to collect and arrange these reports so as to make them assume their most -fearful aspect. But we discovered that she had begged one of Mr -Hoggins’s worn-out hats to hang up in her lobby, and we (at least I) had -doubts as to whether she really would enjoy the little adventure of -having her house broken into, as she protested she should. Miss Matty -made no secret of being an arrant coward, but she went regularly through -her housekeeper’s duty of inspection—only the hour for this became -earlier and earlier, till at last we went the rounds at half-past six, -and Miss Matty adjourned to bed soon after seven, “in order to get the -night over the sooner.” - -Cranford had so long piqued itself on being an honest and moral town that -it had grown to fancy itself too genteel and well-bred to be otherwise, -and felt the stain upon its character at this time doubly. But we -comforted ourselves with the assurance which we gave to each other that -the robberies could never have been committed by any Cranford person; it -must have been a stranger or strangers who brought this disgrace upon the -town, and occasioned as many precautions as if we were living among the -Red Indians or the French. - -This last comparison of our nightly state of defence and fortification -was made by Mrs Forrester, whose father had served under General Burgoyne -in the American war, and whose husband had fought the French in Spain. -She indeed inclined to the idea that, in some way, the French were -connected with the small thefts, which were ascertained facts, and the -burglaries and highway robberies, which were rumours. She had been -deeply impressed with the idea of French spies at some time in her life; -and the notion could never be fairly eradicated, but sprang up again from -time to time. And now her theory was this:—The Cranford people respected -themselves too much, and were too grateful to the aristocracy who were so -kind as to live near the town, ever to disgrace their bringing up by -being dishonest or immoral; therefore, we must believe that the robbers -were strangers—if strangers, why not foreigners?—if foreigners, who so -likely as the French? Signor Brunoni spoke broken English like a -Frenchman; and, though he wore a turban like a Turk, Mrs Forrester had -seen a print of Madame de Staël with a turban on, and another of Mr Denon -in just such a dress as that in which the conjuror had made his -appearance, showing clearly that the French, as well as the Turks, wore -turbans. There could be no doubt Signor Brunoni was a Frenchman—a French -spy come to discover the weak and undefended places of England, and -doubtless he had his accomplices. For her part, she, Mrs Forrester, had -always had her own opinion of Miss Pole’s adventure at the “George -Inn”—seeing two men where only one was believed to be. French people had -ways and means which, she was thankful to say, the English knew nothing -about; and she had never felt quite easy in her mind about going to see -that conjuror—it was rather too much like a forbidden thing, though the -rector was there. In short, Mrs Forrester grew more excited than we had -ever known her before, and, being an officer’s daughter and widow, we -looked up to her opinion, of course. - -Really I do not know how much was true or false in the reports which flew -about like wildfire just at this time; but it seemed to me then that -there was every reason to believe that at Mardon (a small town about -eight miles from Cranford) houses and shops were entered by holes made in -the walls, the bricks being silently carried away in the dead of the -night, and all done so quietly that no sound was heard either in or out -of the house. Miss Matty gave it up in despair when she heard of this. -“What was the use,” said she, “of locks and bolts, and bells to the -windows, and going round the house every night? That last trick was fit -for a conjuror. Now she did believe that Signor Brunoni was at the -bottom of it.” - -One afternoon, about five o’clock, we were startled by a hasty knock at -the door. Miss Matty bade me run and tell Martha on no account to open -the door till she (Miss Matty) had reconnoitred through the window; and -she armed herself with a footstool to drop down on the head of the -visitor, in case he should show a face covered with black crape, as he -looked up in answer to her inquiry of who was there. But it was nobody -but Miss Pole and Betty. The former came upstairs, carrying a little -hand-basket, and she was evidently in a state of great agitation. - -“Take care of that!” said she to me, as I offered to relieve her of her -basket. “It’s my plate. I am sure there is a plan to rob my house -to-night. I am come to throw myself on your hospitality, Miss Matty. -Betty is going to sleep with her cousin at the ‘George.’ I can sit up -here all night if you will allow me; but my house is so far from any -neighbours, and I don’t believe we could be heard if we screamed ever -so!” - -“But,” said Miss Matty, “what has alarmed you so much? Have you seen any -men lurking about the house?” - -“Oh, yes!” answered Miss Pole. “Two very bad-looking men have gone three -times past the house, very slowly; and an Irish beggar-woman came not -half-an-hour ago, and all but forced herself in past Betty, saying her -children were starving, and she must speak to the mistress. You see, she -said ‘mistress,’ though there was a hat hanging up in the hall, and it -would have been more natural to have said ‘master.’ But Betty shut the -door in her face, and came up to me, and we got the spoons together, and -sat in the parlour-window watching till we saw Thomas Jones going from -his work, when we called to him and asked him to take care of us into the -town.” - -We might have triumphed over Miss Pole, who had professed such bravery -until she was frightened; but we were too glad to perceive that she -shared in the weaknesses of humanity to exult over her; and I gave up my -room to her very willingly, and shared Miss Matty’s bed for the night. -But before we retired, the two ladies rummaged up, out of the recesses of -their memory, such horrid stories of robbery and murder that I quite -quaked in my shoes. Miss Pole was evidently anxious to prove that such -terrible events had occurred within her experience that she was justified -in her sudden panic; and Miss Matty did not like to be outdone, and -capped every story with one yet more horrible, till it reminded me oddly -enough, of an old story I had read somewhere, of a nightingale and a -musician, who strove one against the other which could produce the most -admirable music, till poor Philomel dropped down dead. - -One of the stories that haunted me for a long time afterwards was of a -girl who was left in charge of a great house in Cumberland on some -particular fair-day, when the other servants all went off to the -gaieties. The family were away in London, and a pedlar came by, and -asked to leave his large and heavy pack in the kitchen, saying he would -call for it again at night; and the girl (a gamekeeper’s daughter), -roaming about in search of amusement, chanced to hit upon a gun hanging -up in the hall, and took it down to look at the chasing; and it went off -through the open kitchen door, hit the pack, and a slow dark thread of -blood came oozing out. (How Miss Pole enjoyed this part of the story, -dwelling on each word as if she loved it!) She rather hurried over the -further account of the girl’s bravery, and I have but a confused idea -that, somehow, she baffled the robbers with Italian irons, heated -red-hot, and then restored to blackness by being dipped in grease. - -We parted for the night with an awe-stricken wonder as to what we should -hear of in the morning—and, on my part, with a vehement desire for the -night to be over and gone: I was so afraid lest the robbers should have -seen, from some dark lurking-place, that Miss Pole had carried off her -plate, and thus have a double motive for attacking our house. - - [Picture: Asked him to take care of us] - -But until Lady Glenmire came to call next day we heard of nothing -unusual. The kitchen fire-irons were in exactly the same position -against the back door as when Martha and I had skilfully piled them up, -like spillikins, ready to fall with an awful clatter if only a cat had -touched the outside panels. I had wondered what we should all do if thus -awakened and alarmed, and had proposed to Miss Matty that we should cover -up our faces under the bedclothes so that there should be no danger of -the robbers thinking that we could identify them; but Miss Matty, who was -trembling very much, scouted this idea, and said we owed it to society to -apprehend them, and that she should certainly do her best to lay hold of -them and lock them up in the garret till morning. - -When Lady Glenmire came, we almost felt jealous of her. Mrs Jamieson’s -house had really been attacked; at least there were men’s footsteps to be -seen on the flower borders, underneath the kitchen windows, “where nae -men should be;” and Carlo had barked all through the night as if -strangers were abroad. Mrs Jamieson had been awakened by Lady Glenmire, -and they had rung the bell which communicated with Mr Mulliner’s room in -the third storey, and when his night-capped head had appeared over the -bannisters, in answer to the summons, they had told him of their alarm, -and the reasons for it; whereupon he retreated into his bedroom, and -locked the door (for fear of draughts, as he informed them in the -morning), and opened the window, and called out valiantly to say, if the -supposed robbers would come to him he would fight them; but, as Lady -Glenmire observed, that was but poor comfort, since they would have to -pass by Mrs Jamieson’s room and her own before they could reach him, and -must be of a very pugnacious disposition indeed if they neglected the -opportunities of robbery presented by the unguarded lower storeys, to go -up to a garret, and there force a door in order to get at the champion of -the house. Lady Glenmire, after waiting and listening for some time in -the drawing-room, had proposed to Mrs Jamieson that they should go to -bed; but that lady said she should not feel comfortable unless she sat up -and watched; and, accordingly, she packed herself warmly up on the sofa, -where she was found by the housemaid, when she came into the room at six -o’clock, fast asleep; but Lady Glenmire went to bed, and kept awake all -night. - -When Miss Pole heard of this, she nodded her head in great satisfaction. -She had been sure we should hear of something happening in Cranford that -night; and we had heard. It was clear enough they had first proposed to -attack her house; but when they saw that she and Betty were on their -guard, and had carried off the plate, they had changed their tactics and -gone to Mrs Jamieson’s, and no one knew what might have happened if Carlo -had not barked, like a good dog as he was! - -Poor Carlo! his barking days were nearly over. Whether the gang who -infested the neighbourhood were afraid of him, or whether they were -revengeful enough, for the way in which he had baffled them on the night -in question, to poison him; or whether, as some among the more uneducated -people thought, he died of apoplexy, brought on by too much feeding and -too little exercise; at any rate, it is certain that, two days after this -eventful night, Carlo was found dead, with his poor legs stretched out -stiff in the attitude of running, as if by such unusual exertion he could -escape the sure pursuer, Death. - -We were all sorry for Carlo, the old familiar friend who had snapped at -us for so many years; and the mysterious mode of his death made us very -uncomfortable. Could Signor Brunoni be at the bottom of this? He had -apparently killed a canary with only a word of command; his will seemed -of deadly force; who knew but what he might yet be lingering in the -neighbourhood willing all sorts of awful things! - -We whispered these fancies among ourselves in the evenings; but in the -mornings our courage came back with the daylight, and in a week’s time we -had got over the shock of Carlo’s death; all but Mrs Jamieson. She, poor -thing, felt it as she had felt no event since her husband’s death; -indeed, Miss Pole said, that as the Honourable Mr Jamieson drank a good -deal, and occasioned her much uneasiness, it was possible that Carlo’s -death might be the greater affliction. But there was always a tinge of -cynicism in Miss Pole’s remarks. However, one thing was clear and -certain—it was necessary for Mrs Jamieson to have some change of scene; -and Mr Mulliner was very impressive on this point, shaking his head -whenever we inquired after his mistress, and speaking of her loss of -appetite and bad nights very ominously; and with justice too, for if she -had two characteristics in her natural state of health they were a -facility of eating and sleeping. If she could neither eat nor sleep, she -must be indeed out of spirits and out of health. - -Lady Glenmire (who had evidently taken very kindly to Cranford) did not -like the idea of Mrs Jamieson’s going to Cheltenham, and more than once -insinuated pretty plainly that it was Mr Mulliner’s doing, who had been -much alarmed on the occasion of the house being attacked, and since had -said, more than once, that he felt it a very responsible charge to have -to defend so many women. Be that as it might, Mrs Jamieson went to -Cheltenham, escorted by Mr Mulliner; and Lady Glenmire remained in -possession of the house, her ostensible office being to take care that -the maid-servants did not pick up followers. She made a very -pleasant-looking dragon; and, as soon as it was arranged for her stay in -Cranford, she found out that Mrs Jamieson’s visit to Cheltenham was just -the best thing in the world. She had let her house in Edinburgh, and was -for the time house-less, so the charge of her sister-in-law’s comfortable -abode was very convenient and acceptable. - -Miss Pole was very much inclined to instal herself as a heroine, because -of the decided steps she had taken in flying from the two men and one -woman, whom she entitled “that murderous gang.” She described their -appearance in glowing colours, and I noticed that every time she went -over the story some fresh trait of villainy was added to their -appearance. One was tall—he grew to be gigantic in height before we had -done with him; he of course had black hair—and by-and-by it hung in -elf-locks over his forehead and down his back. The other was short and -broad—and a hump sprouted out on his shoulder before we heard the last of -him; he had red hair—which deepened into carroty; and she was almost sure -he had a cast in the eye—a decided squint. As for the woman, her eyes -glared, and she was masculine-looking—a perfect virago; most probably a -man dressed in woman’s clothes; afterwards, we heard of a beard on her -chin, and a manly voice and a stride. - -If Miss Pole was delighted to recount the events of that afternoon to all -inquirers, others were not so proud of their adventures in the robbery -line. Mr Hoggins, the surgeon, had been attacked at his own door by two -ruffians, who were concealed in the shadow of the porch, and so -effectually silenced him that he was robbed in the interval between -ringing his bell and the servant’s answering it. Miss Pole was sure it -would turn out that this robbery had been committed by “her men,” and -went the very day she heard the report to have her teeth examined, and to -question Mr Hoggins. She came to us afterwards; so we heard what she had -heard, straight and direct from the source, while we were yet in the -excitement and flutter of the agitation caused by the first intelligence; -for the event had only occurred the night before. - -“Well!” said Miss Pole, sitting down with the decision of a person who -has made up her mind as to the nature of life and the world (and such -people never tread lightly, or seat themselves without a bump), “well, -Miss Matty! men will be men. Every mother’s son of them wishes to be -considered Samson and Solomon rolled into one—too strong ever to be -beaten or discomfited—too wise ever to be outwitted. If you will notice, -they have always foreseen events, though they never tell one for one’s -warning before the events happen. My father was a man, and I know the -sex pretty well.” - -She had talked herself out of breath, and we should have been very glad -to fill up the necessary pause as chorus, but we did not exactly know -what to say, or which man had suggested this diatribe against the sex; so -we only joined in generally, with a grave shake of the head, and a soft -murmur of “They are very incomprehensible, certainly!” - -“Now, only think,” said she. “There, I have undergone the risk of having -one of my remaining teeth drawn (for one is terribly at the mercy of any -surgeon-dentist; and I, for one, always speak them fair till I have got -my mouth out of their clutches), and, after all, Mr Hoggins is too much -of a man to own that he was robbed last night.” - -“Not robbed!” exclaimed the chorus. - -“Don’t tell me!” Miss Pole exclaimed, angry that we could be for a moment -imposed upon. “I believe he was robbed, just as Betty told me, and he is -ashamed to own it; and, to be sure, it was very silly of him to be robbed -just at his own door; I daresay he feels that such a thing won’t raise -him in the eyes of Cranford society, and is anxious to conceal it—but he -need not have tried to impose upon me, by saying I must have heard an -exaggerated account of some petty theft of a neck of mutton, which, it -seems, was stolen out of the safe in his yard last week; he had the -impertinence to add, he believed that that was taken by the cat. I have -no doubt, if I could get at the bottom of it, it was that Irishman -dressed up in woman’s clothes, who came spying about my house, with the -story about the starving children.” - -After we had duly condemned the want of candour which Mr Hoggins had -evinced, and abused men in general, taking him for the representative and -type, we got round to the subject about which we had been talking when -Miss Pole came in; namely, how far, in the present disturbed state of the -country, we could venture to accept an invitation which Miss Matty had -just received from Mrs Forrester, to come as usual and keep the -anniversary of her wedding-day by drinking tea with her at five o’clock, -and playing a quiet pool afterwards. Mrs Forrester had said that she -asked us with some diffidence, because the roads were, she feared, very -unsafe. But she suggested that perhaps one of us would not object to -take the sedan, and that the others, by walking briskly, might keep up -with the long trot of the chairmen, and so we might all arrive safely at -Over Place, a suburb of the town. (No; that is too large an expression: -a small cluster of houses separated from Cranford by about two hundred -yards of a dark and lonely lane.) There was no doubt but that a similar -note was awaiting Miss Pole at home; so her call was a very fortunate -affair, as it enabled us to consult together. We would all much rather -have declined this invitation; but we felt that it would not be quite -kind to Mrs Forrester, who would otherwise be left to a solitary -retrospect of her not very happy or fortunate life. Miss Matty and Miss -Pole had been visitors on this occasion for many years, and now they -gallantly determined to nail their colours to the mast, and to go through -Darkness Lane rather than fail in loyalty to their friend. - -But when the evening came, Miss Matty (for it was she who was voted into -the chair, as she had a cold), before being shut down in the sedan, like -jack-in-a-box, implored the chairmen, whatever might befall, not to run -away and leave her fastened up there, to be murdered; and even after they -had promised, I saw her tighten her features into the stern determination -of a martyr, and she gave me a melancholy and ominous shake of the head -through the glass. However, we got there safely, only rather out of -breath, for it was who could trot hardest through Darkness Lane, and I am -afraid poor Miss Matty was sadly jolted. - -Mrs Forrester had made extra preparations, in acknowledgment of our -exertion in coming to see her through such dangers. The usual forms of -genteel ignorance as to what her servants might send up were all gone -through; and harmony and Preference seemed likely to be the order of the -evening, but for an interesting conversation that began I don’t know how, -but which had relation, of course, to the robbers who infested the -neighbourhood of Cranford. - -Having braved the dangers of Darkness Lane, and thus having a little -stock of reputation for courage to fall back upon; and also, I daresay, -desirous of proving ourselves superior to men (_videlicet_ Mr Hoggins) in -the article of candour, we began to relate our individual fears, and the -private precautions we each of us took. I owned that my pet apprehension -was eyes—eyes looking at me, and watching me, glittering out from some -dull, flat, wooden surface; and that if I dared to go up to my -looking-glass when I was panic-stricken, I should certainly turn it -round, with its back towards me, for fear of seeing eyes behind me -looking out of the darkness. I saw Miss Matty nerving herself up for a -confession; and at last out it came. She owned that, ever since she had -been a girl, she had dreaded being caught by her last leg, just as she -was getting into bed, by some one concealed under it. She said, when she -was younger and more active, she used to take a flying leap from a -distance, and so bring both her legs up safely into bed at once; but that -this had always annoyed Deborah, who piqued herself upon getting into bed -gracefully, and she had given it up in consequence. But now the old -terror would often come over her, especially since Miss Pole’s house had -been attacked (we had got quite to believe in the fact of the attack -having taken place), and yet it was very unpleasant to think of looking -under a bed, and seeing a man concealed, with a great, fierce face -staring out at you; so she had bethought herself of something—perhaps I -had noticed that she had told Martha to buy her a penny ball, such as -children play with—and now she rolled this ball under the bed every -night: if it came out on the other side, well and good; if not she always -took care to have her hand on the bell-rope, and meant to call out John -and Harry, just as if she expected men-servants to answer her ring. - -We all applauded this ingenious contrivance, and Miss Matty sank back -into satisfied silence, with a look at Mrs Forrester as if to ask for -_her_ private weakness. - -Mrs Forrester looked askance at Miss Pole, and tried to change the -subject a little by telling us that she had borrowed a boy from one of -the neighbouring cottages and promised his parents a hundredweight of -coals at Christmas, and his supper every evening, for the loan of him at -nights. She had instructed him in his possible duties when he first -came; and, finding him sensible, she had given him the Major’s sword (the -Major was her late husband), and desired him to put it very carefully -behind his pillow at night, turning the edge towards the head of the -pillow. He was a sharp lad, she was sure; for, spying out the Major’s -cocked hat, he had said, if he might have that to wear, he was sure he -could frighten two Englishmen, or four Frenchmen any day. But she had -impressed upon him anew that he was to lose no time in putting on hats or -anything else; but, if he heard any noise, he was to run at it with his -drawn sword. On my suggesting that some accident might occur from such -slaughterous and indiscriminate directions, and that he might rush on -Jenny getting up to wash, and have spitted her before he had discovered -that she was not a Frenchman, Mrs Forrester said she did not think that -that was likely, for he was a very sound sleeper, and generally had to be -well shaken or cold-pigged in a morning before they could rouse him. She -sometimes thought such dead sleep must be owing to the hearty suppers the -poor lad ate, for he was half-starved at home, and she told Jenny to see -that he got a good meal at night. - - [Picture: Slaughterous and indiscriminate directions] - -Still this was no confession of Mrs Forrester’s peculiar timidity, and we -urged her to tell us what she thought would frighten her more than -anything. She paused, and stirred the fire, and snuffed the candles, and -then she said, in a sounding whisper— - -“Ghosts!” - -She looked at Miss Pole, as much as to say, she had declared it, and -would stand by it. Such a look was a challenge in itself. Miss Pole -came down upon her with indigestion, spectral illusions, optical -delusions, and a great deal out of Dr Ferrier and Dr Hibbert besides. -Miss Matty had rather a leaning to ghosts, as I have mentioned before, -and what little she did say was all on Mrs Forrester’s side, who, -emboldened by sympathy, protested that ghosts were a part of her -religion; that surely she, the widow of a major in the army, knew what to -be frightened at, and what not; in short, I never saw Mrs Forrester so -warm either before or since, for she was a gentle, meek, enduring old -lady in most things. Not all the elder-wine that ever was mulled could -this night wash out the remembrance of this difference between Miss Pole -and her hostess. Indeed, when the elder-wine was brought in, it gave -rise to a new burst of discussion; for Jenny, the little maiden who -staggered under the tray, had to give evidence of having seen a ghost -with her own eyes, not so many nights ago, in Darkness Lane, the very -lane we were to go through on our way home. - -In spite of the uncomfortable feeling which this last consideration gave -me, I could not help being amused at Jenny’s position, which was -exceedingly like that of a witness being examined and cross-examined by -two counsel who are not at all scrupulous about asking leading questions. -The conclusion I arrived at was, that Jenny had certainly seen something -beyond what a fit of indigestion would have caused. A lady all in white, -and without her head, was what she deposed and adhered to, supported by a -consciousness of the secret sympathy of her mistress under the withering -scorn with which Miss Pole regarded her. And not only she, but many -others, had seen this headless lady, who sat by the roadside wringing her -hands as in deep grief. Mrs Forrester looked at us from time to time -with an air of conscious triumph; but then she had not to pass through -Darkness Lane before she could bury herself beneath her own familiar -bed-clothes. - -We preserved a discreet silence as to the headless lady while we were -putting on our things to go home, for there was no knowing how near the -ghostly head and ears might be, or what spiritual connection they might -be keeping up with the unhappy body in Darkness Lane; and, therefore, -even Miss Pole felt that it was as well not to speak lightly on such -subjects, for fear of vexing or insulting that woebegone trunk. At -least, so I conjecture; for, instead of the busy clatter usual in the -operation, we tied on our cloaks as sadly as mutes at a funeral. Miss -Matty drew the curtains round the windows of the chair to shut out -disagreeable sights, and the men (either because they were in spirits -that their labours were so nearly ended, or because they were going down -hill), set off at such a round and merry pace, that it was all Miss Pole -and I could do to keep up with them. She had breath for nothing beyond -an imploring “Don’t leave me!” uttered as she clutched my arm so tightly -that I could not have quitted her, ghost or no ghost. What a relief it -was when the men, weary of their burden and their quick trot, stopped -just where Headingley Causeway branches off from Darkness Lane! Miss -Pole unloosed me and caught at one of the men— - -“Could not you—could not you take Miss Matty round by Headingley -Causeway?—the pavement in Darkness Lane jolts so, and she is not very -strong.” - -A smothered voice was heard from the inside of the chair— - -“Oh! pray go on! What is the matter? What is the matter? I will give -you sixpence more to go on very fast; pray don’t stop here.” - -“And I’ll give you a shilling,” said Miss Pole, with tremulous dignity, -“if you’ll go by Headingley Causeway.” - -The two men grunted acquiescence and took up the chair, and went along -the causeway, which certainly answered Miss Pole’s kind purpose of saving -Miss Matty’s bones; for it was covered with soft, thick mud, and even a -fall there would have been easy till the getting-up came, when there -might have been some difficulty in extrication. - - - - -CHAPTER XI—SAMUEL BROWN - - -THE next morning I met Lady Glenmire and Miss Pole setting out on a long -walk to find some old woman who was famous in the neighbourhood for her -skill in knitting woollen stockings. Miss Pole said to me, with a smile -half-kindly and half-contemptuous upon her countenance, “I have been just -telling Lady Glenmire of our poor friend Mrs Forrester, and her terror of -ghosts. It comes from living so much alone, and listening to the -bug-a-boo stories of that Jenny of hers.” She was so calm and so much -above superstitious fears herself that I was almost ashamed to say how -glad I had been of her Headingley Causeway proposition the night before, -and turned off the conversation to something else. - -In the afternoon Miss Pole called on Miss Matty to tell her of the -adventure—the real adventure they had met with on their morning’s walk. -They had been perplexed about the exact path which they were to take -across the fields in order to find the knitting old woman, and had -stopped to inquire at a little wayside public-house, standing on the high -road to London, about three miles from Cranford. The good woman had -asked them to sit down and rest themselves while she fetched her husband, -who could direct them better than she could; and, while they were sitting -in the sanded parlour, a little girl came in. They thought that she -belonged to the landlady, and began some trifling conversation with her; -but, on Mrs Roberts’s return, she told them that the little thing was the -only child of a couple who were staying in the house. And then she began -a long story, out of which Lady Glenmire and Miss Pole could only gather -one or two decided facts, which were that, about six weeks ago, a light -spring-cart had broken down just before their door, in which there were -two men, one woman, and this child. One of the men was seriously hurt—no -bones broken, only “shaken,” the landlady called it; but he had probably -sustained some severe internal injury, for he had languished in their -house ever since, attended by his wife, the mother of this little girl. -Miss Pole had asked what he was, what he looked like. And Mrs Roberts -had made answer that he was not like a gentleman, nor yet like a common -person; if it had not been that he and his wife were such decent, quiet -people, she could almost have thought he was a mountebank, or something -of that kind, for they had a great box in the cart, full of she did not -know what. She had helped to unpack it, and take out their linen and -clothes, when the other man—his twin-brother, she believed he was—had -gone off with the horse and cart. - -Miss Pole had begun to have her suspicions at this point, and expressed -her idea that it was rather strange that the box and cart and horse and -all should have disappeared; but good Mrs Roberts seemed to have become -quite indignant at Miss Pole’s implied suggestion; in fact, Miss Pole -said she was as angry as if Miss Pole had told her that she herself was a -swindler. As the best way of convincing the ladies, she bethought her of -begging them to see the wife; and, as Miss Pole said, there was no -doubting the honest, worn, bronzed face of the woman, who at the first -tender word from Lady Glenmire, burst into tears, which she was too weak -to check until some word from the landlady made her swallow down her -sobs, in order that she might testify to the Christian kindness shown by -Mr and Mrs Roberts. Miss Pole came round with a swing to as vehement a -belief in the sorrowful tale as she had been sceptical before; and, as a -proof of this, her energy in the poor sufferer’s behalf was nothing -daunted when she found out that he, and no other, was our Signor Brunoni, -to whom all Cranford had been attributing all manner of evil this six -weeks past! Yes! his wife said his proper name was Samuel Brown—“Sam,” -she called him—but to the last we preferred calling him “the Signor”; it -sounded so much better. - -The end of their conversation with the Signora Brunoni was that it was -agreed that he should be placed under medical advice, and for any expense -incurred in procuring this Lady Glenmire promised to hold herself -responsible, and had accordingly gone to Mr Hoggins to beg him to ride -over to the “Rising Sun” that very afternoon, and examine into the -signor’s real state; and, as Miss Pole said, if it was desirable to -remove him to Cranford to be more immediately under Mr Hoggins’s eye, she -would undertake to see for lodgings and arrange about the rent. Mrs -Roberts had been as kind as could be all throughout, but it was evident -that their long residence there had been a slight inconvenience. - -Before Miss Pole left us, Miss Matty and I were as full of the morning’s -adventure as she was. We talked about it all the evening, turning it in -every possible light, and we went to bed anxious for the morning, when we -should surely hear from someone what Mr Hoggins thought and recommended; -for, as Miss Matty observed, though Mr Hoggins did say “Jack’s up,” “a -fig for his heels,” and called Preference “Pref.” she believed he was a -very worthy man and a very clever surgeon. Indeed, we were rather proud -of our doctor at Cranford, as a doctor. We often wished, when we heard -of Queen Adelaide or the Duke of Wellington being ill, that they would -send for Mr Hoggins; but, on consideration, we were rather glad they did -not, for, if we were ailing, what should we do if Mr Hoggins had been -appointed physician-in-ordinary to the Royal Family? As a surgeon we -were proud of him; but as a man—or rather, I should say, as a -gentleman—we could only shake our heads over his name and himself, and -wished that he had read Lord Chesterfield’s Letters in the days when his -manners were susceptible of improvement. Nevertheless, we all regarded -his dictum in the signor’s case as infallible, and when he said that with -care and attention he might rally, we had no more fear for him. - -But, although we had no more fear, everybody did as much as if there was -great cause for anxiety—as indeed there was until Mr Hoggins took charge -of him. Miss Pole looked out clean and comfortable, if homely, lodgings; -Miss Matty sent the sedan-chair for him, and Martha and I aired it well -before it left Cranford by holding a warming-pan full of red-hot coals in -it, and then shutting it up close, smoke and all, until the time when he -should get into it at the “Rising Sun.” Lady Glenmire undertook the -medical department under Mr Hoggins’s directions, and rummaged up all Mrs -Jamieson’s medicine glasses, and spoons, and bed-tables, in a -free-and-easy way, that made Miss Matty feel a little anxious as to what -that lady and Mr Mulliner might say, if they knew. Mrs Forrester made -some of the bread-jelly, for which she was so famous, to have ready as a -refreshment in the lodgings when he should arrive. A present of this -bread-jelly was the highest mark of favour dear Mrs Forrester could -confer. Miss Pole had once asked her for the receipt, but she had met -with a very decided rebuff; that lady told her that she could not part -with it to any one during her life, and that after her death it was -bequeathed, as her executors would find, to Miss Matty. What Miss Matty, -or, as Mrs Forrester called her (remembering the clause in her will and -the dignity of the occasion), Miss Matilda Jenkyns—might choose to do -with the receipt when it came into her possession—whether to make it -public, or to hand it down as an heirloom—she did not know, nor would she -dictate. And a mould of this admirable, digestible, unique bread-jelly -was sent by Mrs Forrester to our poor sick conjuror. Who says that the -aristocracy are proud? Here was a lady by birth a Tyrrell, and descended -from the great Sir Walter that shot King Rufus, and in whose veins ran -the blood of him who murdered the little princes in the Tower, going -every day to see what dainty dishes she could prepare for Samuel Brown, a -mountebank! But, indeed, it was wonderful to see what kind feelings were -called out by this poor man’s coming amongst us. And also wonderful to -see how the great Cranford panic, which had been occasioned by his first -coming in his Turkish dress, melted away into thin air on his second -coming—pale and feeble, and with his heavy, filmy eyes, that only -brightened a very little when they fell upon the countenance of his -faithful wife, or their pale and sorrowful little girl. - -Somehow we all forgot to be afraid. I daresay it was that finding out -that he, who had first excited our love of the marvellous by his -unprecedented arts, had not sufficient every-day gifts to manage a shying -horse, made us feel as if we were ourselves again. Miss Pole came with -her little basket at all hours of the evening, as if her lonely house and -the unfrequented road to it had never been infested by that “murderous -gang”; Mrs Forrester said she thought that neither Jenny nor she need -mind the headless lady who wept and wailed in Darkness Lane, for surely -the power was never given to such beings to harm those who went about to -try to do what little good was in their power, to which Jenny tremblingly -assented; but the mistress’s theory had little effect on the maid’s -practice until she had sewn two pieces of red flannel in the shape of a -cross on her inner garment. - -I found Miss Matty covering her penny ball—the ball that she used to roll -under her bed—with gay-coloured worsted in rainbow stripes. - -“My dear,” said she, “my heart is sad for that little careworn child. -Although her father is a conjuror, she looks as if she had never had a -good game of play in her life. I used to make very pretty balls in this -way when I was a girl, and I thought I would try if I could not make this -one smart and take it to Phoebe this afternoon. I think ‘the gang’ must -have left the neighbourhood, for one does not hear any more of their -violence and robbery now.” - -We were all of us far too full of the signor’s precarious state to talk -either about robbers or ghosts. Indeed, Lady Glenmire said she never had -heard of any actual robberies, except that two little boys had stolen -some apples from Farmer Benson’s orchard, and that some eggs had been -missed on a market-day off Widow Hayward’s stall. But that was expecting -too much of us; we could not acknowledge that we had only had this small -foundation for all our panic. Miss Pole drew herself up at this remark -of Lady Glenmire’s, and said “that she wished she could agree with her as -to the very small reason we had had for alarm, but with the recollection -of a man disguised as a woman who had endeavoured to force himself into -her house while his confederates waited outside; with the knowledge -gained from Lady Glenmire herself, of the footprints seen on Mrs -Jamieson’s flower borders; with the fact before her of the audacious -robbery committed on Mr Hoggins at his own door”—But here Lady Glenmire -broke in with a very strong expression of doubt as to whether this last -story was not an entire fabrication founded upon the theft of a cat; she -grew so red while she was saying all this that I was not surprised at -Miss Pole’s manner of bridling up, and I am certain, if Lady Glenmire had -not been “her ladyship,” we should have had a more emphatic contradiction -than the “Well, to be sure!” and similar fragmentary ejaculations, which -were all that she ventured upon in my lady’s presence. But when she was -gone Miss Pole began a long congratulation to Miss Matty that so far they -had escaped marriage, which she noticed always made people credulous to -the last degree; indeed, she thought it argued great natural credulity in -a woman if she could not keep herself from being married; and in what -Lady Glenmire had said about Mr Hoggins’s robbery we had a specimen of -what people came to if they gave way to such a weakness; evidently Lady -Glenmire would swallow anything if she could believe the poor vamped-up -story about a neck of mutton and a pussy with which he had tried to -impose on Miss Pole, only she had always been on her guard against -believing too much of what men said. - -We were thankful, as Miss Pole desired us to be, that we had never been -married; but I think, of the two, we were even more thankful that the -robbers had left Cranford; at least I judge so from a speech of Miss -Matty’s that evening, as we sat over the fire, in which she evidently -looked upon a husband as a great protector against thieves, burglars, and -ghosts; and said that she did not think that she should dare to be always -warning young people against matrimony, as Miss Pole did continually; to -be sure, marriage was a risk, as she saw, now she had had some -experience; but she remembered the time when she had looked forward to -being married as much as any one. - -“Not to any particular person, my dear,” said she, hastily checking -herself up, as if she were afraid of having admitted too much; “only the -old story, you know, of ladies always saying, ‘_When_ I marry,’ and -gentlemen, ‘_If_ I marry.’” It was a joke spoken in rather a sad tone, -and I doubt if either of us smiled; but I could not see Miss Matty’s face -by the flickering fire-light. In a little while she continued— - -“But, after all, I have not told you the truth. It is so long ago, and -no one ever knew how much I thought of it at the time, unless, indeed, my -dear mother guessed; but I may say that there was a time when I did not -think I should have been only Miss Matty Jenkyns all my life; for even if -I did meet with any one who wished to marry me now (and, as Miss Pole -says, one is never too safe), I could not take him—I hope he would not -take it too much to heart, but I could _not_ take him—or any one but the -person I once thought I should be married to; and he is dead and gone, -and he never knew how it all came about that I said ‘No,’ when I had -thought many and many a time—Well, it’s no matter what I thought. God -ordains it all, and I am very happy, my dear. No one has such kind -friends as I,” continued she, taking my hand and holding it in hers. - -If I had never known of Mr Holbrook, I could have said something in this -pause, but as I had, I could not think of anything that would come in -naturally, and so we both kept silence for a little time. - -“My father once made us,” she began, “keep a diary, in two columns; on -one side we were to put down in the morning what we thought would be the -course and events of the coming day, and at night we were to put down on -the other side what really had happened. It would be to some people -rather a sad way of telling their lives,” (a tear dropped upon my hand at -these words)—“I don’t mean that mine has been sad, only so very different -to what I expected. I remember, one winter’s evening, sitting over our -bedroom fire with Deborah—I remember it as if it were yesterday—and we -were planning our future lives, both of us were planning, though only she -talked about it. She said she should like to marry an archdeacon, and -write his charges; and you know, my dear, she never was married, and, for -aught I know, she never spoke to an unmarried archdeacon in her life. I -never was ambitious, nor could I have written charges, but I thought I -could manage a house (my mother used to call me her right hand), and I -was always so fond of little children—the shyest babies would stretch out -their little arms to come to me; when I was a girl, I was half my leisure -time nursing in the neighbouring cottages; but I don’t know how it was, -when I grew sad and grave—which I did a year or two after this time—the -little things drew back from me, and I am afraid I lost the knack, though -I am just as fond of children as ever, and have a strange yearning at my -heart whenever I see a mother with her baby in her arms. Nay, my dear” -(and by a sudden blaze which sprang up from a fall of the unstirred -coals, I saw that her eyes were full of tears—gazing intently on some -vision of what might have been), “do you know I dream sometimes that I -have a little child—always the same—a little girl of about two years old; -she never grows older, though I have dreamt about her for many years. I -don’t think I ever dream of any words or sound she makes; she is very -noiseless and still, but she comes to me when she is very sorry or very -glad, and I have wakened with the clasp of her dear little arms round my -neck. Only last night—perhaps because I had gone to sleep thinking of -this ball for Phoebe—my little darling came in my dream, and put up her -mouth to be kissed, just as I have seen real babies do to real mothers -before going to bed. But all this is nonsense, dear! only don’t be -frightened by Miss Pole from being married. I can fancy it may be a very -happy state, and a little credulity helps one on through life very -smoothly—better than always doubting and doubting and seeing difficulties -and disagreeables in everything.” - - [Picture: Would stretch out their little arms] - -If I had been inclined to be daunted from matrimony, it would not have -been Miss Pole to do it; it would have been the lot of poor Signor -Brunoni and his wife. And yet again, it was an encouragement to see how, -through all their cares and sorrows, they thought of each other and not -of themselves; and how keen were their joys, if they only passed through -each other, or through the little Phoebe. - -The signora told me, one day, a good deal about their lives up to this -period. It began by my asking her whether Miss Pole’s story of the -twin-brothers were true; it sounded so wonderful a likeness, that I -should have had my doubts, if Miss Pole had not been unmarried. But the -signora, or (as we found out she preferred to be called) Mrs Brown, said -it was quite true; that her brother-in-law was by many taken for her -husband, which was of great assistance to them in their profession; -“though,” she continued, “how people can mistake Thomas for the real -Signor Brunoni, I can’t conceive; but he says they do; so I suppose I -must believe him. Not but what he is a very good man; I am sure I don’t -know how we should have paid our bill at the ‘Rising Sun’ but for the -money he sends; but people must know very little about art if they can -take him for my husband. Why, Miss, in the ball trick, where my husband -spreads his fingers wide, and throws out his little finger with quite an -air and a grace, Thomas just clumps up his hand like a fist, and might -have ever so many balls hidden in it. Besides, he has never been in -India, and knows nothing of the proper sit of a turban.” - -“Have you been in India?” said I, rather astonished. - -“Oh, yes! many a year, ma’am. Sam was a sergeant in the 31st; and when -the regiment was ordered to India, I drew a lot to go, and I was more -thankful than I can tell; for it seemed as if it would only be a slow -death to me to part from my husband. But, indeed, ma’am, if I had known -all, I don’t know whether I would not rather have died there and then -than gone through what I have done since. To be sure, I’ve been able to -comfort Sam, and to be with him; but, ma’am, I’ve lost six children,” -said she, looking up at me with those strange eyes that I’ve never -noticed but in mothers of dead children—with a kind of wild look in them, -as if seeking for what they never more might find. “Yes! Six children -died off, like little buds nipped untimely, in that cruel India. I -thought, as each died, I never could—I never would—love a child again; -and when the next came, it had not only its own love, but the deeper love -that came from the thoughts of its little dead brothers and sisters. And -when Phoebe was coming, I said to my husband, ‘Sam, when the child is -born, and I am strong, I shall leave you; it will cut my heart cruel; but -if this baby dies too, I shall go mad; the madness is in me now; but if -you let me go down to Calcutta, carrying my baby step by step, it will, -maybe, work itself off; and I will save, and I will hoard, and I will -beg—and I will die, to get a passage home to England, where our baby may -live?’ God bless him! he said I might go; and he saved up his pay, and I -saved every pice I could get for washing or any way; and when Phoebe -came, and I grew strong again, I set off. It was very lonely; through -the thick forests, dark again with their heavy trees—along by the river’s -side (but I had been brought up near the Avon in Warwickshire, so that -flowing noise sounded like home)—from station to station, from Indian -village to village, I went along, carrying my child. I had seen one of -the officer’s ladies with a little picture, ma’am—done by a Catholic -foreigner, ma’am—of the Virgin and the little Saviour, ma’am. She had -him on her arm, and her form was softly curled round him, and their -cheeks touched. Well, when I went to bid good-bye to this lady, for whom -I had washed, she cried sadly; for she, too, had lost her children, but -she had not another to save, like me; and I was bold enough to ask her -would she give me that print. And she cried the more, and said her -children were with that little blessed Jesus; and gave it me, and told me -that she had heard it had been painted on the bottom of a cask, which -made it have that round shape. And when my body was very weary, and my -heart was sick (for there were times when I misdoubted if I could ever -reach my home, and there were times when I thought of my husband, and one -time when I thought my baby was dying), I took out that picture and -looked at it, till I could have thought the mother spoke to me, and -comforted me. And the natives were very kind. We could not understand -one another; but they saw my baby on my breast, and they came out to me, -and brought me rice and milk, and sometimes flowers—I have got some of -the flowers dried. Then, the next morning, I was so tired; and they -wanted me to stay with them—I could tell that—and tried to frighten me -from going into the deep woods, which, indeed, looked very strange and -dark; but it seemed to me as if Death was following me to take my baby -away from me; and as if I must go on, and on—and I thought how God had -cared for mothers ever since the world was made, and would care for me; -so I bade them good-bye, and set off afresh. And once when my baby was -ill, and both she and I needed rest, He led me to a place where I found a -kind Englishman lived, right in the midst of the natives.” - -“And you reached Calcutta safely at last?” - -“Yes, safely! Oh! when I knew I had only two days’ journey more before -me, I could not help it, ma’am—it might be idolatry, I cannot tell—but I -was near one of the native temples, and I went into it with my baby to -thank God for His great mercy; for it seemed to me that where others had -prayed before to their God, in their joy or in their agony, was of itself -a sacred place. And I got as servant to an invalid lady, who grew quite -fond of my baby aboard-ship; and, in two years’ time, Sam earned his -discharge, and came home to me, and to our child. Then he had to fix on -a trade; but he knew of none; and once, once upon a time, he had learnt -some tricks from an Indian juggler; so he set up conjuring, and it -answered so well that he took Thomas to help him—as his man, you know, -not as another conjuror, though Thomas has set it up now on his own hook. -But it has been a great help to us that likeness between the twins, and -made a good many tricks go off well that they made up together. And -Thomas is a good brother, only he has not the fine carriage of my -husband, so that I can’t think how he can be taken for Signor Brunoni -himself, as he says he is.” - -“Poor little Phoebe!” said I, my thoughts going back to the baby she -carried all those hundred miles. - -“Ah! you may say so! I never thought I should have reared her, though, -when she fell ill at Chunderabaddad; but that good, kind Aga Jenkyns took -us in, which I believe was the very saving of her.” - -“Jenkyns!” said I. - -“Yes, Jenkyns. I shall think all people of that name are kind; for here -is that nice old lady who comes every day to take Phoebe a walk!” - -But an idea had flashed through my head; could the Aga Jenkyns be the -lost Peter? True he was reported by many to be dead. But, equally true, -some had said that he had arrived at the dignity of Great Lama of Thibet. -Miss Matty thought he was alive. I would make further inquiry. - - - - -CHAPTER XII—ENGAGED TO BE MARRIED - - -WAS the “poor Peter” of Cranford the Aga Jenkyns of Chunderabaddad, or -was he not? As somebody says, that was the question. - -In my own home, whenever people had nothing else to do, they blamed me -for want of discretion. Indiscretion was my bug-bear fault. Everybody -has a bug-bear fault, a sort of standing characteristic—a _pièce de -résistance_ for their friends to cut at; and in general they cut and come -again. I was tired of being called indiscreet and incautious; and I -determined for once to prove myself a model of prudence and wisdom. I -would not even hint my suspicions respecting the Aga. I would collect -evidence and carry it home to lay before my father, as the family friend -of the two Miss Jenkynses. - -In my search after facts, I was often reminded of a description my father -had once given of a ladies’ committee that he had had to preside over. -He said he could not help thinking of a passage in Dickens, which spoke -of a chorus in which every man took the tune he knew best, and sang it to -his own satisfaction. So, at this charitable committee, every lady took -the subject uppermost in her mind, and talked about it to her own great -contentment, but not much to the advancement of the subject they had met -to discuss. But even that committee could have been nothing to the -Cranford ladies when I attempted to gain some clear and definite -information as to poor Peter’s height, appearance, and when and where he -was seen and heard of last. For instance, I remember asking Miss Pole -(and I thought the question was very opportune, for I put it when I met -her at a call at Mrs Forrester’s, and both the ladies had known Peter, -and I imagined that they might refresh each other’s memories)—I asked -Miss Pole what was the very last thing they had ever heard about him; and -then she named the absurd report to which I have alluded, about his -having been elected Great Lama of Thibet; and this was a signal for each -lady to go off on her separate idea. Mrs Forrester’s start was made on -the veiled prophet in Lalla Rookh—whether I thought he was meant for the -Great Lama, though Peter was not so ugly, indeed rather handsome, if he -had not been freckled. I was thankful to see her double upon Peter; but, -in a moment, the delusive lady was off upon Rowland’s Kalydor, and the -merits of cosmetics and hair oils in general, and holding forth so -fluently that I turned to listen to Miss Pole, who (through the llamas, -the beasts of burden) had got to Peruvian bonds, and the share market, -and her poor opinion of joint-stock banks in general, and of that one in -particular in which Miss Matty’s money was invested. In vain I put in -“When was it—in what year was it that you heard that Mr Peter was the -Great Lama?” They only joined issue to dispute whether llamas were -carnivorous animals or not; in which dispute they were not quite on fair -grounds, as Mrs Forrester (after they had grown warm and cool again) -acknowledged that she always confused carnivorous and graminivorous -together, just as she did horizontal and perpendicular; but then she -apologised for it very prettily, by saying that in her day the only use -people made of four-syllabled words was to teach how they should be -spelt. - -The only fact I gained from this conversation was that certainly Peter -had last been heard of in India, “or that neighbourhood”; and that this -scanty intelligence of his whereabouts had reached Cranford in the year -when Miss Pole had brought her Indian muslin gown, long since worn out -(we washed it and mended it, and traced its decline and fall into a -window-blind before we could go on); and in a year when Wombwell came to -Cranford, because Miss Matty had wanted to see an elephant in order that -she might the better imagine Peter riding on one; and had seen a -boa-constrictor too, which was more than she wished to imagine in her -fancy-pictures of Peter’s locality; and in a year when Miss Jenkyns had -learnt some piece of poetry off by heart, and used to say, at all the -Cranford parties, how Peter was “surveying mankind from China to Peru,” -which everybody had thought very grand, and rather appropriate, because -India was between China and Peru, if you took care to turn the globe to -the left instead of the right. - -I suppose all these inquiries of mine, and the consequent curiosity -excited in the minds of my friends, made us blind and deaf to what was -going on around us. It seemed to me as if the sun rose and shone, and as -if the rain rained on Cranford, just as usual, and I did not notice any -sign of the times that could be considered as a prognostic of any -uncommon event; and, to the best of my belief, not only Miss Matty and -Mrs Forrester, but even Miss Pole herself, whom we looked upon as a kind -of prophetess, from the knack she had of foreseeing things before they -came to pass—although she did not like to disturb her friends by telling -them her foreknowledge—even Miss Pole herself was breathless with -astonishment when she came to tell us of the astounding piece of news. -But I must recover myself; the contemplation of it, even at this distance -of time, has taken away my breath and my grammar, and unless I subdue my -emotion, my spelling will go too. - -We were sitting—Miss Matty and I—much as usual, she in the blue chintz -easy-chair, with her back to the light, and her knitting in her hand, I -reading aloud the _St James’s Chronicle_. A few minutes more, and we -should have gone to make the little alterations in dress usual before -calling-time (twelve o’clock) in Cranford. I remember the scene and the -date well. We had been talking of the signor’s rapid recovery since the -warmer weather had set in, and praising Mr Hoggins’s skill, and lamenting -his want of refinement and manner (it seems a curious coincidence that -this should have been our subject, but so it was), when a knock was -heard—a caller’s knock—three distinct taps—and we were flying (that is to -say, Miss Matty could not walk very fast, having had a touch of -rheumatism) to our rooms, to change cap and collars, when Miss Pole -arrested us by calling out, as she came up the stairs, “Don’t go—I can’t -wait—it is not twelve, I know—but never mind your dress—I must speak to -you.” We did our best to look as if it was not we who had made the -hurried movement, the sound of which she had heard; for, of course, we -did not like to have it supposed that we had any old clothes that it was -convenient to wear out in the “sanctuary of home,” as Miss Jenkyns once -prettily called the back parlour, where she was tying up preserves. So -we threw our gentility with double force into our manners, and very -genteel we were for two minutes while Miss Pole recovered breath, and -excited our curiosity strongly by lifting up her hands in amazement, and -bringing them down in silence, as if what she had to say was too big for -words, and could only be expressed by pantomime. - -“What do you think, Miss Matty? What _do_ you think? Lady Glenmire is -to marry—is to be married, I mean—Lady Glenmire—Mr Hoggins—Mr Hoggins is -going to marry Lady Glenmire!” - -“Marry!” said we. “Marry! Madness!” - - [Picture: What do you think, Miss Matty] - -“Marry!” said Miss Pole, with the decision that belonged to her -character. “_I_ said marry! as you do; and I also said, ‘What a fool my -lady is going to make of herself!’ I could have said ‘Madness!’ but I -controlled myself, for it was in a public shop that I heard of it. Where -feminine delicacy is gone to, I don’t know! You and I, Miss Matty, would -have been ashamed to have known that our marriage was spoken of in a -grocer’s shop, in the hearing of shopmen!” - -“But,” said Miss Matty, sighing as one recovering from a blow, “perhaps -it is not true. Perhaps we are doing her injustice.” - -“No,” said Miss Pole. “I have taken care to ascertain that. I went -straight to Mrs Fitz-Adam, to borrow a cookery-book which I knew she had; -and I introduced my congratulations _à propos_ of the difficulty -gentlemen must have in house-keeping; and Mrs Fitz-Adam bridled up, and -said that she believed it was true, though how and where I could have -heard it she did not know. She said her brother and Lady Glenmire had -come to an understanding at last. ‘Understanding!’ such a coarse word! -But my lady will have to come down to many a want of refinement. I have -reason to believe Mr Hoggins sups on bread-and-cheese and beer every -night. - -“Marry!” said Miss Matty once again. “Well! I never thought of it. Two -people that we know going to be married. It’s coming very near!” - -“So near that my heart stopped beating when I heard of it, while you -might have counted twelve,” said Miss Pole. - -“One does not know whose turn may come next. Here, in Cranford, poor -Lady Glenmire might have thought herself safe,” said Miss Matty, with a -gentle pity in her tones. - -“Bah!” said Miss Pole, with a toss of her head. “Don’t you remember poor -dear Captain Brown’s song ‘Tibbie Fowler,’ and the line— - - ‘Set her on the Tintock tap, - The wind will blaw a man till her.’” - -“That was because ‘Tibbie Fowler’ was rich, I think.” - -“Well! there was a kind of attraction about Lady Glenmire that I, for -one, should be ashamed to have.” - -I put in my wonder. “But how can she have fancied Mr Hoggins? I am not -surprised that Mr Hoggins has liked her.” - -“Oh! I don’t know. Mr Hoggins is rich, and very pleasant-looking,” said -Miss Matty, “and very good-tempered and kind-hearted.” - -“She has married for an establishment, that’s it. I suppose she takes -the surgery with it,” said Miss Pole, with a little dry laugh at her own -joke. But, like many people who think they have made a severe and -sarcastic speech, which yet is clever of its kind, she began to relax in -her grimness from the moment when she made this allusion to the surgery; -and we turned to speculate on the way in which Mrs Jamieson would receive -the news. The person whom she had left in charge of her house to keep -off followers from her maids to set up a follower of her own! And that -follower a man whom Mrs Jamieson had tabooed as vulgar, and inadmissible -to Cranford society, not merely on account of his name, but because of -his voice, his complexion, his boots, smelling of the stable, and -himself, smelling of drugs. Had he ever been to see Lady Glenmire at Mrs -Jamieson’s? Chloride of lime would not purify the house in its owner’s -estimation if he had. Or had their interviews been confined to the -occasional meetings in the chamber of the poor sick conjuror, to whom, -with all our sense of the _mésalliance_, we could not help allowing that -they had both been exceedingly kind? And now it turned out that a -servant of Mrs Jamieson’s had been ill, and Mr Hoggins had been attending -her for some weeks. So the wolf had got into the fold, and now he was -carrying off the shepherdess. What would Mrs Jamieson say? We looked -into the darkness of futurity as a child gazes after a rocket up in the -cloudy sky, full of wondering expectation of the rattle, the discharge, -and the brilliant shower of sparks and light. Then we brought ourselves -down to earth and the present time by questioning each other (being all -equally ignorant, and all equally without the slightest data to build any -conclusions upon) as to when IT would take place? Where? How much a -year Mr Hoggins had? Whether she would drop her title? And how Martha -and the other correct servants in Cranford would ever be brought to -announce a married couple as Lady Glenmire and Mr Hoggins? But would -they be visited? Would Mrs Jamieson let us? Or must we choose between -the Honourable Mrs Jamieson and the degraded Lady Glenmire? We all liked -Lady Glenmire the best. She was bright, and kind, and sociable, and -agreeable; and Mrs Jamieson was dull, and inert, and pompous, and -tiresome. But we had acknowledged the sway of the latter so long, that -it seemed like a kind of disloyalty now even to meditate disobedience to -the prohibition we anticipated. - -Mrs Forrester surprised us in our darned caps and patched collars; and we -forgot all about them in our eagerness to see how she would bear the -information, which we honourably left to Miss Pole, to impart, although, -if we had been inclined to take unfair advantage, we might have rushed in -ourselves, for she had a most out-of-place fit of coughing for five -minutes after Mrs Forrester entered the room. I shall never forget the -imploring expression of her eyes, as she looked at us over her -pocket-handkerchief. They said, as plain as words could speak, “Don’t -let Nature deprive me of the treasure which is mine, although for a time -I can make no use of it.” And we did not. - -Mrs Forrester’s surprise was equal to ours; and her sense of injury -rather greater, because she had to feel for her Order, and saw more fully -than we could do how such conduct brought stains on the aristocracy. - -When she and Miss Pole left us we endeavoured to subside into calmness; -but Miss Matty was really upset by the intelligence she had heard. She -reckoned it up, and it was more than fifteen years since she had heard of -any of her acquaintance going to be married, with the one exception of -Miss Jessie Brown; and, as she said, it gave her quite a shock, and made -her feel as if she could not think what would happen next. - -I don’t know whether it is a fancy of mine, or a real fact, but I have -noticed that, just after the announcement of an engagement in any set, -the unmarried ladies in that set flutter out in an unusual gaiety and -newness of dress, as much as to say, in a tacit and unconscious manner, -“We also are spinsters.” Miss Matty and Miss Pole talked and thought -more about bonnets, gowns, caps, and shawls, during the fortnight that -succeeded this call, than I had known them do for years before. But it -might be the spring weather, for it was a warm and pleasant March; and -merinoes and beavers, and woollen materials of all sorts were but -ungracious receptacles of the bright sun’s glancing rays. It had not -been Lady Glenmire’s dress that had won Mr Hoggins’s heart, for she went -about on her errands of kindness more shabby than ever. Although in the -hurried glimpses I caught of her at church or elsewhere she appeared -rather to shun meeting any of her friends, her face seemed to have almost -something of the flush of youth in it; her lips looked redder and more -trembling full than in their old compressed state, and her eyes dwelt on -all things with a lingering light, as if she was learning to love -Cranford and its belongings. Mr Hoggins looked broad and radiant, and -creaked up the middle aisle at church in a brand-new pair of top-boots—an -audible, as well as visible, sign of his purposed change of state; for -the tradition went, that the boots he had worn till now were the -identical pair in which he first set out on his rounds in Cranford -twenty-five years ago; only they had been new-pieced, high and low, top -and bottom, heel and sole, black leather and brown leather, more times -than any one could tell. - -None of the ladies in Cranford chose to sanction the marriage by -congratulating either of the parties. We wished to ignore the whole -affair until our liege lady, Mrs Jamieson, returned. Till she came back -to give us our cue, we felt that it would be better to consider the -engagement in the same light as the Queen of Spain’s legs—facts which -certainly existed, but the less said about the better. This restraint -upon our tongues—for you see if we did not speak about it to any of the -parties concerned, how could we get answers to the questions that we -longed to ask?—was beginning to be irksome, and our idea of the dignity -of silence was paling before our curiosity, when another direction was -given to our thoughts, by an announcement on the part of the principal -shopkeeper of Cranford, who ranged the trades from grocer and -cheesemonger to man-milliner, as occasion required, that the spring -fashions were arrived, and would be exhibited on the following Tuesday at -his rooms in High Street. Now Miss Matty had been only waiting for this -before buying herself a new silk gown. I had offered, it is true, to -send to Drumble for patterns, but she had rejected my proposal, gently -implying that she had not forgotten her disappointment about the -sea-green turban. I was thankful that I was on the spot now, to -counteract the dazzling fascination of any yellow or scarlet silk. - -I must say a word or two here about myself. I have spoken of my father’s -old friendship for the Jenkyns family; indeed, I am not sure if there was -not some distant relationship. He had willingly allowed me to remain all -the winter at Cranford, in consideration of a letter which Miss Matty had -written to him about the time of the panic, in which I suspect she had -exaggerated my powers and my bravery as a defender of the house. But now -that the days were longer and more cheerful, he was beginning to urge the -necessity of my return; and I only delayed in a sort of odd forlorn hope -that if I could obtain any clear information, I might make the account -given by the signora of the Aga Jenkyns tally with that of “poor Peter,” -his appearance and disappearance, which I had winnowed out of the -conversation of Miss Pole and Mrs Forrester. - - - - -CHAPTER XIII—STOPPED PAYMENT - - -THE very Tuesday morning on which Mr Johnson was going to show the -fashions, the post-woman brought two letters to the house. I say the -post-woman, but I should say the postman’s wife. He was a lame -shoemaker, a very clean, honest man, much respected in the town; but he -never brought the letters round except on unusual occasions, such as -Christmas Day or Good Friday; and on those days the letters, which should -have been delivered at eight in the morning, did not make their -appearance until two or three in the afternoon, for every one liked poor -Thomas, and gave him a welcome on these festive occasions. He used to -say, “He was welly stawed wi’ eating, for there were three or four houses -where nowt would serve ’em but he must share in their breakfast;” and by -the time he had done his last breakfast, he came to some other friend who -was beginning dinner; but come what might in the way of temptation, Tom -was always sober, civil, and smiling; and, as Miss Jenkyns used to say, -it was a lesson in patience, that she doubted not would call out that -precious quality in some minds, where, but for Thomas, it might have lain -dormant and undiscovered. Patience was certainly very dormant in Miss -Jenkyns’s mind. She was always expecting letters, and always drumming on -the table till the post-woman had called or gone past. On Christmas Day -and Good Friday she drummed from breakfast till church, from church-time -till two o’clock—unless when the fire wanted stirring, when she -invariably knocked down the fire-irons, and scolded Miss Matty for it. -But equally certain was the hearty welcome and the good dinner for -Thomas; Miss Jenkyns standing over him like a bold dragoon, questioning -him as to his children—what they were doing—what school they went to; -upbraiding him if another was likely to make its appearance, but sending -even the little babies the shilling and the mince-pie which was her gift -to all the children, with half-a-crown in addition for both father and -mother. The post was not half of so much consequence to dear Miss Matty; -but not for the world would she have diminished Thomas’s welcome and his -dole, though I could see that she felt rather shy over the ceremony, -which had been regarded by Miss Jenkyns as a glorious opportunity for -giving advice and benefiting her fellow-creatures. Miss Matty would -steal the money all in a lump into his hand, as if she were ashamed of -herself. Miss Jenkyns gave him each individual coin separate, with a -“There! that’s for yourself; that’s for Jenny,” etc. Miss Matty would -even beckon Martha out of the kitchen while he ate his food: and once, to -my knowledge, winked at its rapid disappearance into a blue cotton -pocket-handkerchief. Miss Jenkyns almost scolded him if he did not leave -a clean plate, however heaped it might have been, and gave an injunction -with every mouthful. - - [Picture: Standing over him like a bold dragoon] - -I have wandered a long way from the two letters that awaited us on the -breakfast-table that Tuesday morning. Mine was from my father. Miss -Matty’s was printed. My father’s was just a man’s letter; I mean it was -very dull, and gave no information beyond that he was well, that they had -had a good deal of rain, that trade was very stagnant, and there were -many disagreeable rumours afloat. He then asked me if I knew whether -Miss Matty still retained her shares in the Town and County Bank, as -there were very unpleasant reports about it; though nothing more than he -had always foreseen, and had prophesied to Miss Jenkyns years ago, when -she would invest their little property in it—the only unwise step that -clever woman had ever taken, to his knowledge (the only time she ever -acted against his advice, I knew). However, if anything had gone wrong, -of course I was not to think of leaving Miss Matty while I could be of -any use, etc. - -“Who is your letter from, my dear? Mine is a very civil invitation, -signed ‘Edwin Wilson,’ asking me to attend an important meeting of the -shareholders of the Town and County Bank, to be held in Drumble, on -Thursday the twenty-first. I am sure, it is very attentive of them to -remember me.” - -I did not like to hear of this “important meeting,” for, though I did not -know much about business, I feared it confirmed what my father said: -however, I thought, ill news always came fast enough, so I resolved to -say nothing about my alarm, and merely told her that my father was well, -and sent his kind regards to her. She kept turning over and admiring her -letter. At last she spoke— - -“I remember their sending one to Deborah just like this; but that I did -not wonder at, for everybody knew she was so clear-headed. I am afraid I -could not help them much; indeed, if they came to accounts, I should be -quite in the way, for I never could do sums in my head. Deborah, I know, -rather wished to go, and went so far as to order a new bonnet for the -occasion: but when the time came she had a bad cold; so they sent her a -very polite account of what they had done. Chosen a director, I think it -was. Do you think they want me to help them to choose a director? I am -sure I should choose your father at once!” - -“My father has no shares in the bank,” said I. - -“Oh, no! I remember. He objected very much to Deborah’s buying any, I -believe. But she was quite the woman of business, and always judged for -herself; and here, you see, they have paid eight per cent. all these -years.” - -It was a very uncomfortable subject to me, with my half-knowledge; so I -thought I would change the conversation, and I asked at what time she -thought we had better go and see the fashions. “Well, my dear,” she -said, “the thing is this: it is not etiquette to go till after twelve; -but then, you see, all Cranford will be there, and one does not like to -be too curious about dress and trimmings and caps with all the world -looking on. It is never genteel to be over-curious on these occasions. -Deborah had the knack of always looking as if the latest fashion was -nothing new to her; a manner she had caught from Lady Arley, who did see -all the new modes in London, you know. So I thought we would just slip -down—for I do want this morning, soon after breakfast half-a-pound of -tea—and then we could go up and examine the things at our leisure, and -see exactly how my new silk gown must be made; and then, after twelve, we -could go with our minds disengaged, and free from thoughts of dress.” - -We began to talk of Miss Matty’s new silk gown. I discovered that it -would be really the first time in her life that she had had to choose -anything of consequence for herself: for Miss Jenkyns had always been the -more decided character, whatever her taste might have been; and it is -astonishing how such people carry the world before them by the mere force -of will. Miss Matty anticipated the sight of the glossy folds with as -much delight as if the five sovereigns, set apart for the purchase, could -buy all the silks in the shop; and (remembering my own loss of two hours -in a toyshop before I could tell on what wonder to spend a silver -threepence) I was very glad that we were going early, that dear Miss -Matty might have leisure for the delights of perplexity. - -If a happy sea-green could be met with, the gown was to be sea-green: if -not, she inclined to maize, and I to silver gray; and we discussed the -requisite number of breadths until we arrived at the shop-door. We were -to buy the tea, select the silk, and then clamber up the iron corkscrew -stairs that led into what was once a loft, though now a fashion -show-room. - -The young men at Mr Johnson’s had on their best looks; and their best -cravats, and pivoted themselves over the counter with surprising -activity. They wanted to show us upstairs at once; but on the principle -of business first and pleasure afterwards, we stayed to purchase the tea. -Here Miss Matty’s absence of mind betrayed itself. If she was made aware -that she had been drinking green tea at any time, she always thought it -her duty to lie awake half through the night afterward (I have known her -take it in ignorance many a time without such effects), and consequently -green tea was prohibited the house; yet to-day she herself asked for the -obnoxious article, under the impression that she was talking about the -silk. However, the mistake was soon rectified; and then the silks were -unrolled in good truth. By this time the shop was pretty well filled, -for it was Cranford market-day, and many of the farmers and country -people from the neighbourhood round came in, sleeking down their hair, -and glancing shyly about, from under their eyelids, as anxious to take -back some notion of the unusual gaiety to the mistress or the lasses at -home, and yet feeling that they were out of place among the smart shopmen -and gay shawls and summer prints. One honest-looking man, however, made -his way up to the counter at which we stood, and boldly asked to look at -a shawl or two. The other country folk confined themselves to the -grocery side; but our neighbour was evidently too full of some kind -intention towards mistress, wife or daughter, to be shy; and it soon -became a question with me, whether he or Miss Matty would keep their -shopmen the longest time. He thought each shawl more beautiful than the -last; and, as for Miss Matty, she smiled and sighed over each fresh bale -that was brought out; one colour set off another, and the heap together -would, as she said, make even the rainbow look poor. - -“I am afraid,” said she, hesitating, “Whichever I choose I shall wish I -had taken another. Look at this lovely crimson! it would be so warm in -winter. But spring is coming on, you know. I wish I could have a gown -for every season,” said she, dropping her voice—as we all did in Cranford -whenever we talked of anything we wished for but could not afford. -“However,” she continued in a louder and more cheerful tone, “it would -give me a great deal of trouble to take care of them if I had them; so, I -think, I’ll only take one. But which must it be, my dear?” - -And now she hovered over a lilac with yellow spots, while I pulled out a -quiet sage-green that had faded into insignificance under the more -brilliant colours, but which was nevertheless a good silk in its humble -way. Our attention was called off to our neighbour. He had chosen a -shawl of about thirty shillings’ value; and his face looked broadly -happy, under the anticipation, no doubt, of the pleasant surprise he -would give to some Molly or Jenny at home; he had tugged a leathern purse -out of his breeches-pocket, and had offered a five-pound note in payment -for the shawl, and for some parcels which had been brought round to him -from the grocery counter; and it was just at this point that he attracted -our notice. The shopman was examining the note with a puzzled, doubtful -air. - -“Town and County Bank! I am not sure, sir, but I believe we have -received a warning against notes issued by this bank only this morning. -I will just step and ask Mr Johnson, sir; but I’m afraid I must trouble -you for payment in cash, or in a note of a different bank.” - -I never saw a man’s countenance fall so suddenly into dismay and -bewilderment. It was almost piteous to see the rapid change. - -“Dang it!” said he, striking his fist down on the table, as if to try -which was the harder, “the chap talks as if notes and gold were to be had -for the picking up.” - -Miss Matty had forgotten her silk gown in her interest for the man. I -don’t think she had caught the name of the bank, and in my nervous -cowardice I was anxious that she should not; and so I began admiring the -yellow-spotted lilac gown that I had been utterly condemning only a -minute before. But it was of no use. - -“What bank was it? I mean, what bank did your note belong to?” - -“Town and County Bank.” - -“Let me see it,” said she quietly to the shopman, gently taking it out of -his hand, as he brought it back to return it to the farmer. - -Mr Johnson was very sorry, but, from information he had received, the -notes issued by that bank were little better than waste paper. - -“I don’t understand it,” said Miss Matty to me in a low voice. “That is -our bank, is it not?—the Town and County Bank?” - -“Yes,” said I. “This lilac silk will just match the ribbons in your new -cap, I believe,” I continued, holding up the folds so as to catch the -light, and wishing that the man would make haste and be gone, and yet -having a new wonder, that had only just sprung up, how far it was wise or -right in me to allow Miss Matty to make this expensive purchase, if the -affairs of the bank were really so bad as the refusal of the note -implied. - -But Miss Matty put on the soft dignified manner, peculiar to her, rarely -used, and yet which became her so well, and laying her hand gently on -mine, she said— - -“Never mind the silks for a few minutes, dear. I don’t understand you, -sir,” turning now to the shopman, who had been attending to the farmer. -“Is this a forged note?” - -“Oh, no, ma’am. It is a true note of its kind; but you see, ma’am, it is -a joint-stock bank, and there are reports out that it is likely to break. -Mr Johnson is only doing his duty, ma’am, as I am sure Mr Dobson knows.” - -But Mr Dobson could not respond to the appealing bow by any answering -smile. He was turning the note absently over in his fingers, looking -gloomily enough at the parcel containing the lately-chosen shawl. - -“It’s hard upon a poor man,” said he, “as earns every farthing with the -sweat of his brow. However, there’s no help for it. You must take back -your shawl, my man; Lizzle must go on with her cloak for a while. And -yon figs for the little ones—I promised them to ’em—I’ll take them; but -the ’bacco, and the other things”— - -“I will give you five sovereigns for your note, my good man,” said Miss -Matty. “I think there is some great mistake about it, for I am one of -the shareholders, and I’m sure they would have told me if things had not -been going on right.” - -The shopman whispered a word or two across the table to Miss Matty. She -looked at him with a dubious air. - -“Perhaps so,” said she. “But I don’t pretend to understand business; I -only know that if it is going to fail, and if honest people are to lose -their money because they have taken our notes—I can’t explain myself,” -said she, suddenly becoming aware that she had got into a long sentence -with four people for audience; “only I would rather exchange my gold for -the note, if you please,” turning to the farmer, “and then you can take -your wife the shawl. It is only going without my gown a few days -longer,” she continued, speaking to me. “Then, I have no doubt, -everything will be cleared up.” - -“But if it is cleared up the wrong way?” said I. - -“Why, then it will only have been common honesty in me, as a shareholder, -to have given this good man the money. I am quite clear about it in my -own mind; but, you know, I can never speak quite as comprehensibly as -others can, only you must give me your note, Mr Dobson, if you please, -and go on with your purchases with these sovereigns.” - - [Picture: You must give me your note, Mr Dobson, if you please] - -The man looked at her with silent gratitude—too awkward to put his thanks -into words; but he hung back for a minute or two, fumbling with his note. - -“I’m loth to make another one lose instead of me, if it is a loss; but, -you see, five pounds is a deal of money to a man with a family; and, as -you say, ten to one in a day or two the note will be as good as gold -again.” - -“No hope of that, my friend,” said the shopman. - -“The more reason why I should take it,” said Miss Matty quietly. She -pushed her sovereigns towards the man, who slowly laid his note down in -exchange. “Thank you. I will wait a day or two before I purchase any of -these silks; perhaps you will then have a greater choice. My dear, will -you come upstairs?” - -We inspected the fashions with as minute and curious an interest as if -the gown to be made after them had been bought. I could not see that the -little event in the shop below had in the least damped Miss Matty’s -curiosity as to the make of sleeves or the sit of skirts. She once or -twice exchanged congratulations with me on our private and leisurely view -of the bonnets and shawls; but I was, all the time, not so sure that our -examination was so utterly private, for I caught glimpses of a figure -dodging behind the cloaks and mantles; and, by a dexterous move, I came -face to face with Miss Pole, also in morning costume (the principal -feature of which was her being without teeth, and wearing a veil to -conceal the deficiency), come on the same errand as ourselves. But she -quickly took her departure, because, as she said, she had a bad headache, -and did not feel herself up to conversation. - -As we came down through the shop, the civil Mr Johnson was awaiting us; -he had been informed of the exchange of the note for gold, and with much -good feeling and real kindness, but with a little want of tact, he wished -to condole with Miss Matty, and impress upon her the true state of the -case. I could only hope that he had heard an exaggerated rumour for he -said that her shares were worse than nothing, and that the bank could not -pay a shilling in the pound. I was glad that Miss Matty seemed still a -little incredulous; but I could not tell how much of this was real or -assumed, with that self-control which seemed habitual to ladies of Miss -Matty’s standing in Cranford, who would have thought their dignity -compromised by the slightest expression of surprise, dismay, or any -similar feeling to an inferior in station, or in a public shop. However, -we walked home very silently. I am ashamed to say, I believe I was -rather vexed and annoyed at Miss Matty’s conduct in taking the note to -herself so decidedly. I had so set my heart upon her having a new silk -gown, which she wanted sadly; in general she was so undecided anybody -might turn her round; in this case I had felt that it was no use -attempting it, but I was not the less put out at the result. - -Somehow, after twelve o’clock, we both acknowledged to a sated curiosity -about the fashions, and to a certain fatigue of body (which was, in fact, -depression of mind) that indisposed us to go out again. But still we -never spoke of the note; till, all at once, something possessed me to ask -Miss Matty if she would think it her duty to offer sovereigns for all the -notes of the Town and County Bank she met with? I could have bitten my -tongue out the minute I had said it. She looked up rather sadly, and as -if I had thrown a new perplexity into her already distressed mind; and -for a minute or two she did not speak. Then she said—my own dear Miss -Matty—without a shade of reproach in her voice— - -“My dear, I never feel as if my mind was what people call very strong; -and it’s often hard enough work for me to settle what I ought to do with -the case right before me. I was very thankful to—I was very thankful, -that I saw my duty this morning, with the poor man standing by me; but -its rather a strain upon me to keep thinking and thinking what I should -do if such and such a thing happened; and, I believe, I had rather wait -and see what really does come; and I don’t doubt I shall be helped then -if I don’t fidget myself, and get too anxious beforehand. You know, -love, I’m not like Deborah. If Deborah had lived, I’ve no doubt she -would have seen after them, before they had got themselves into this -state.” - -We had neither of us much appetite for dinner, though we tried to talk -cheerfully about indifferent things. When we returned into the -drawing-room, Miss Matty unlocked her desk and began to look over her -account-books. I was so penitent for what I had said in the morning, -that I did not choose to take upon myself the presumption to suppose that -I could assist her; I rather left her alone, as, with puzzled brow, her -eye followed her pen up and down the ruled page. By-and-by she shut the -book, locked the desk, and came and drew a chair to mine, where I sat in -moody sorrow over the fire. I stole my hand into hers; she clasped it, -but did not speak a word. At last she said, with forced composure in her -voice, “If that bank goes wrong, I shall lose one hundred and forty-nine -pounds thirteen shillings and fourpence a year; I shall only have -thirteen pounds a year left.” I squeezed her hand hard and tight. I did -not know what to say. Presently (it was too dark to see her face) I felt -her fingers work convulsively in my grasp; and I knew she was going to -speak again. I heard the sobs in her voice as she said, “I hope it’s not -wrong—not wicked—but, oh! I am so glad poor Deborah is spared this. She -could not have borne to come down in the world—she had such a noble, -lofty spirit.” - -This was all she said about the sister who had insisted upon investing -their little property in that unlucky bank. We were later in lighting -the candle than usual that night, and until that light shamed us into -speaking, we sat together very silently and sadly. - -However, we took to our work after tea with a kind of forced cheerfulness -(which soon became real as far as it went), talking of that never-ending -wonder, Lady Glenmire’s engagement. Miss Matty was almost coming round -to think it a good thing. - -“I don’t mean to deny that men are troublesome in a house. I don’t judge -from my own experience, for my father was neatness itself, and wiped his -shoes on coming in as carefully as any woman; but still a man has a sort -of knowledge of what should be done in difficulties, that it is very -pleasant to have one at hand ready to lean upon. Now, Lady Glenmire, -instead of being tossed about, and wondering where she is to settle, will -be certain of a home among pleasant and kind people, such as our good -Miss Pole and Mrs Forrester. And Mr Hoggins is really a very personable -man; and as for his manners, why, if they are not very polished, I have -known people with very good hearts and very clever minds too, who were -not what some people reckoned refined, but who were both true and -tender.” - -She fell off into a soft reverie about Mr Holbrook, and I did not -interrupt her, I was so busy maturing a plan I had had in my mind for -some days, but which this threatened failure of the bank had brought to a -crisis. That night, after Miss Matty went to bed, I treacherously -lighted the candle again, and sat down in the drawing-room to compose a -letter to the Aga Jenkyns, a letter which should affect him if he were -Peter, and yet seem a mere statement of dry facts if he were a stranger. -The church clock pealed out two before I had done. - -The next morning news came, both official and otherwise, that the Town -and County Bank had stopped payment. Miss Matty was ruined. - -She tried to speak quietly to me; but when she came to the actual fact -that she would have but about five shillings a week to live upon, she -could not restrain a few tears. - -“I am not crying for myself, dear,” said she, wiping them away; “I -believe I am crying for the very silly thought of how my mother would -grieve if she could know; she always cared for us so much more than for -herself. But many a poor person has less, and I am not very extravagant, -and, thank God, when the neck of mutton, and Martha’s wages, and the rent -are paid, I have not a farthing owing. Poor Martha! I think she’ll be -sorry to leave me.” - -Miss Matty smiled at me through her tears, and she would fain have had me -see only the smile, not the tears. - - - - -CHAPTER XIV—FRIENDS IN NEED - - -IT was an example to me, and I fancy it might be to many others, to see -how immediately Miss Matty set about the retrenchment which she knew to -be right under her altered circumstances. While she went down to speak -to Martha, and break the intelligence to her, I stole out with my letter -to the Aga Jenkyns, and went to the signor’s lodgings to obtain the exact -address. I bound the signora to secrecy; and indeed her military manners -had a degree of shortness and reserve in them which made her always say -as little as possible, except when under the pressure of strong -excitement. Moreover (which made my secret doubly sure), the signor was -now so far recovered as to be looking forward to travelling and conjuring -again in the space of a few days, when he, his wife, and little Phoebe -would leave Cranford. Indeed, I found him looking over a great black and -red placard, in which the Signor Brunoni’s accomplishments were set -forth, and to which only the name of the town where he would next display -them was wanting. He and his wife were so much absorbed in deciding -where the red letters would come in with most effect (it might have been -the Rubric for that matter), that it was some time before I could get my -question asked privately, and not before I had given several decisions, -the which I questioned afterwards with equal wisdom of sincerity as soon -as the signor threw in his doubts and reasons on the important subject. -At last I got the address, spelt by sound, and very queer it looked. I -dropped it in the post on my way home, and then for a minute I stood -looking at the wooden pane with a gaping slit which divided me from the -letter but a moment ago in my hand. It was gone from me like life, never -to be recalled. It would get tossed about on the sea, and stained with -sea-waves perhaps, and be carried among palm-trees, and scented with all -tropical fragrance; the little piece of paper, but an hour ago so -familiar and commonplace, had set out on its race to the strange wild -countries beyond the Ganges! But I could not afford to lose much time on -this speculation. I hastened home, that Miss Matty might not miss me. -Martha opened the door to me, her face swollen with crying. As soon as -she saw me she burst out afresh, and taking hold of my arm she pulled me -in, and banged the door to, in order to ask me if indeed it was all true -that Miss Matty had been saying. - -“I’ll never leave her! No; I won’t. I telled her so, and said I could -not think how she could find in her heart to give me warning. I could -not have had the face to do it, if I’d been her. I might ha’ been just -as good for nothing as Mrs Fitz-Adam’s Rosy, who struck for wages after -living seven years and a half in one place. I said I was not one to go -and serve Mammon at that rate; that I knew when I’d got a good missus, if -she didn’t know when she’d got a good servant”— - -“But, Martha,” said I, cutting in while she wiped her eyes. - -“Don’t, ‘but Martha’ me,” she replied to my deprecatory tone. - -“Listen to reason”— - -“I’ll not listen to reason,” she said, now in full possession of her -voice, which had been rather choked with sobbing. “Reason always means -what someone else has got to say. Now I think what I’ve got to say is -good enough reason; but reason or not, I’ll say it, and I’ll stick to it. -I’ve money in the Savings Bank, and I’ve a good stock of clothes, and I’m -not going to leave Miss Matty. No, not if she gives me warning every -hour in the day!” - -She put her arms akimbo, as much as to say she defied me; and, indeed, I -could hardly tell how to begin to remonstrate with her, so much did I -feel that Miss Matty, in her increasing infirmity, needed the attendance -of this kind and faithful woman. - -“Well”—said I at last. - -“I’m thankful you begin with ‘well!’ If you’d have begun with ‘but,’ as -you did afore, I’d not ha’ listened to you. Now you may go on.” - -“I know you would be a great loss to Miss Matty, Martha”— - -“I telled her so. A loss she’d never cease to be sorry for,” broke in -Martha triumphantly. - -“Still, she will have so little—so very little—to live upon, that I don’t -see just now how she could find you food—she will even be pressed for her -own. I tell you this, Martha, because I feel you are like a friend to -dear Miss Matty, but you know she might not like to have it spoken -about.” - -Apparently this was even a blacker view of the subject than Miss Matty -had presented to her, for Martha just sat down on the first chair that -came to hand, and cried out loud (we had been standing in the kitchen). - -At last she put her apron down, and looking me earnestly in the face, -asked, “Was that the reason Miss Matty wouldn’t order a pudding to-day? -She said she had no great fancy for sweet things, and you and she would -just have a mutton chop. But I’ll be up to her. Never you tell, but -I’ll make her a pudding, and a pudding she’ll like, too, and I’ll pay for -it myself; so mind you see she eats it. Many a one has been comforted in -their sorrow by seeing a good dish come upon the table.” - -I was rather glad that Martha’s energy had taken the immediate and -practical direction of pudding-making, for it staved off the quarrelsome -discussion as to whether she should or should not leave Miss Matty’s -service. She began to tie on a clean apron, and otherwise prepare -herself for going to the shop for the butter, eggs, and what else she -might require. She would not use a scrap of the articles already in the -house for her cookery, but went to an old tea-pot in which her private -store of money was deposited, and took out what she wanted. - -I found Miss Matty very quiet, and not a little sad; but by-and-by she -tried to smile for my sake. It was settled that I was to write to my -father, and ask him to come over and hold a consultation, and as soon as -this letter was despatched we began to talk over future plans. Miss -Matty’s idea was to take a single room, and retain as much of her -furniture as would be necessary to fit up this, and sell the rest, and -there to quietly exist upon what would remain after paying the rent. For -my part, I was more ambitious and less contented. I thought of all the -things by which a woman, past middle age, and with the education common -to ladies fifty years ago, could earn or add to a living without -materially losing caste; but at length I put even this last clause on one -side, and wondered what in the world Miss Matty could do. - -Teaching was, of course, the first thing that suggested itself. If Miss -Matty could teach children anything, it would throw her among the little -elves in whom her soul delighted. I ran over her accomplishments. Once -upon a time I had heard her say she could play “Ah! vous dirai-je, -maman?” on the piano, but that was long, long ago; that faint shadow of -musical acquirement had died out years before. She had also once been -able to trace out patterns very nicely for muslin embroidery, by dint of -placing a piece of silver paper over the design to be copied, and holding -both against the window-pane while she marked the scollop and -eyelet-holes. But that was her nearest approach to the accomplishment of -drawing, and I did not think it would go very far. Then again, as to the -branches of a solid English education—fancy work and the use of the -globes—such as the mistress of the Ladies’ Seminary, to which all the -tradespeople in Cranford sent their daughters, professed to teach. Miss -Matty’s eyes were failing her, and I doubted if she could discover the -number of threads in a worsted-work pattern, or rightly appreciate the -different shades required for Queen Adelaide’s face in the loyal -wool-work now fashionable in Cranford. As for the use of the globes, I -had never been able to find it out myself, so perhaps I was not a good -judge of Miss Matty’s capability of instructing in this branch of -education; but it struck me that equators and tropics, and such mystical -circles, were very imaginary lines indeed to her, and that she looked -upon the signs of the Zodiac as so many remnants of the Black Art. - -What she piqued herself upon, as arts in which she excelled, was making -candle-lighters, or “spills” (as she preferred calling them), of coloured -paper, cut so as to resemble feathers, and knitting garters in a variety -of dainty stitches. I had once said, on receiving a present of an -elaborate pair, that I should feel quite tempted to drop one of them in -the street, in order to have it admired; but I found this little joke -(and it was a very little one) was such a distress to her sense of -propriety, and was taken with such anxious, earnest alarm, lest the -temptation might some day prove too strong for me, that I quite regretted -having ventured upon it. A present of these delicately-wrought garters, -a bunch of gay “spills,” or a set of cards on which sewing-silk was wound -in a mystical manner, were the well-known tokens of Miss Matty’s favour. -But would any one pay to have their children taught these arts? or, -indeed, would Miss Matty sell, for filthy lucre, the knack and the skill -with which she made trifles of value to those who loved her? - -I had to come down to reading, writing, and arithmetic; and, in reading -the chapter every morning, she always coughed before coming to long -words. I doubted her power of getting through a genealogical chapter, -with any number of coughs. Writing she did well and delicately—but -spelling! She seemed to think that the more out-of-the-way this was, and -the more trouble it cost her, the greater the compliment she paid to her -correspondent; and words that she would spell quite correctly in her -letters to me became perfect enigmas when she wrote to my father. - -No! there was nothing she could teach to the rising generation of -Cranford, unless they had been quick learners and ready imitators of her -patience, her humility, her sweetness, her quiet contentment with all -that she could not do. I pondered and pondered until dinner was -announced by Martha, with a face all blubbered and swollen with crying. - -Miss Matty had a few little peculiarities which Martha was apt to regard -as whims below her attention, and appeared to consider as childish -fancies of which an old lady of fifty-eight should try and cure herself. -But to-day everything was attended to with the most careful regard. The -bread was cut to the imaginary pattern of excellence that existed in Miss -Matty’s mind, as being the way which her mother had preferred, the -curtain was drawn so as to exclude the dead brick wall of a neighbour’s -stable, and yet left so as to show every tender leaf of the poplar which -was bursting into spring beauty. Martha’s tone to Miss Matty was just -such as that good, rough-spoken servant usually kept sacred for little -children, and which I had never heard her use to any grown-up person. - -I had forgotten to tell Miss Matty about the pudding, and I was afraid -she might not do justice to it, for she had evidently very little -appetite this day; so I seized the opportunity of letting her into the -secret while Martha took away the meat. Miss Matty’s eyes filled with -tears, and she could not speak, either to express surprise or delight, -when Martha returned bearing it aloft, made in the most wonderful -representation of a lion _couchant_ that ever was moulded. Martha’s face -gleamed with triumph as she set it down before Miss Matty with an -exultant “There!” Miss Matty wanted to speak her thanks, but could not; -so she took Martha’s hand and shook it warmly, which set Martha off -crying, and I myself could hardly keep up the necessary composure. -Martha burst out of the room, and Miss Matty had to clear her voice once -or twice before she could speak. At last she said, “I should like to -keep this pudding under a glass shade, my dear!” and the notion of the -lion _couchant_, with his currant eyes, being hoisted up to the place of -honour on a mantelpiece, tickled my hysterical fancy, and I began to -laugh, which rather surprised Miss Matty. - -“I am sure, dear, I have seen uglier things under a glass shade before -now,” said she. - -So had I, many a time and oft, and I accordingly composed my countenance -(and now I could hardly keep from crying), and we both fell to upon the -pudding, which was indeed excellent—only every morsel seemed to choke us, -our hearts were so full. - -We had too much to think about to talk much that afternoon. It passed -over very tranquilly. But when the tea-urn was brought in a new thought -came into my head. Why should not Miss Matty sell tea—be an agent to the -East India Tea Company which then existed? I could see no objections to -this plan, while the advantages were many—always supposing that Miss -Matty could get over the degradation of condescending to anything like -trade. Tea was neither greasy nor sticky—grease and stickiness being two -of the qualities which Miss Matty could not endure. No shop-window would -be required. A small, genteel notification of her being licensed to sell -tea would, it is true, be necessary, but I hoped that it could be placed -where no one would see it. Neither was tea a heavy article, so as to tax -Miss Matty’s fragile strength. The only thing against my plan was the -buying and selling involved. - -While I was giving but absent answers to the questions Miss Matty was -putting—almost as absently—we heard a clumping sound on the stairs, and a -whispering outside the door, which indeed once opened and shut as if by -some invisible agency. After a little while Martha came in, dragging -after her a great tall young man, all crimson with shyness, and finding -his only relief in perpetually sleeking down his hair. - -“Please, ma’am, he’s only Jem Hearn,” said Martha, by way of an -introduction; and so out of breath was she that I imagine she had had -some bodily struggle before she could overcome his reluctance to be -presented on the courtly scene of Miss Matilda Jenkyns’s drawing-room. - -“And please, ma’am, he wants to marry me off-hand. And please, ma’am, we -want to take a lodger—just one quiet lodger, to make our two ends meet; -and we’d take any house conformable; and, oh dear Miss Matty, if I may be -so bold, would you have any objections to lodging with us? Jem wants it -as much as I do.” [To Jem ]—“You great oaf! why can’t you back me!—But -he does want it all the same, very bad—don’t you, Jem?—only, you see, -he’s dazed at being called on to speak before quality.” - - [Picture: Please, ma’am, he wants to marry me off-hand] - -“It’s not that,” broke in Jem. “It’s that you’ve taken me all on a -sudden, and I didn’t think for to get married so soon—and such quick -words does flabbergast a man. It’s not that I’m against it, ma’am” -(addressing Miss Matty), “only Martha has such quick ways with her when -once she takes a thing into her head; and marriage, ma’am—marriage nails -a man, as one may say. I dare say I shan’t mind it after it’s once -over.” - -“Please, ma’am,” said Martha—who had plucked at his sleeve, and nudged -him with her elbow, and otherwise tried to interrupt him all the time he -had been speaking—“don’t mind him, he’ll come to; ’twas only last night -he was an-axing me, and an-axing me, and all the more because I said I -could not think of it for years to come, and now he’s only taken aback -with the suddenness of the joy; but you know, Jem, you are just as full -as me about wanting a lodger.” (Another great nudge.) - -“Ay! if Miss Matty would lodge with us—otherwise I’ve no mind to be -cumbered with strange folk in the house,” said Jem, with a want of tact -which I could see enraged Martha, who was trying to represent a lodger as -the great object they wished to obtain, and that, in fact, Miss Matty -would be smoothing their path and conferring a favour, if she would only -come and live with them. - -Miss Matty herself was bewildered by the pair; their, or rather Martha’s -sudden resolution in favour of matrimony staggered her, and stood between -her and the contemplation of the plan which Martha had at heart. Miss -Matty began— - -“Marriage is a very solemn thing, Martha.” - -“It is indeed, ma’am,” quoth Jem. “Not that I’ve no objections to -Martha.” - -“You’ve never let me a-be for asking me for to fix when I would be -married,” said Martha—her face all a-fire, and ready to cry with -vexation—“and now you’re shaming me before my missus and all.” - -“Nay, now! Martha don’t ee! don’t ee! only a man likes to have -breathing-time,” said Jem, trying to possess himself of her hand, but in -vain. Then seeing that she was more seriously hurt than he had imagined, -he seemed to try to rally his scattered faculties, and with more -straightforward dignity than, ten minutes before, I should have thought -it possible for him to assume, he turned to Miss Matty, and said, “I -hope, ma’am, you know that I am bound to respect every one who has been -kind to Martha. I always looked on her as to be my wife—some time; and -she has often and often spoken of you as the kindest lady that ever was; -and though the plain truth is, I would not like to be troubled with -lodgers of the common run, yet if, ma’am, you’d honour us by living with -us, I’m sure Martha would do her best to make you comfortable; and I’d -keep out of your way as much as I could, which I reckon would be the best -kindness such an awkward chap as me could do.” - -Miss Matty had been very busy with taking off her spectacles, wiping -them, and replacing them; but all she could say was, “Don’t let any -thought of me hurry you into marriage: pray don’t. Marriage is such a -very solemn thing!” - -“But Miss Matilda will think of your plan, Martha,” said I, struck with -the advantages that it offered, and unwilling to lose the opportunity of -considering about it. “And I’m sure neither she nor I can ever forget -your kindness; nor your’s either, Jem.” - -“Why, yes, ma’am! I’m sure I mean kindly, though I’m a bit fluttered by -being pushed straight ahead into matrimony, as it were, and mayn’t -express myself conformable. But I’m sure I’m willing enough, and give me -time to get accustomed; so, Martha, wench, what’s the use of crying so, -and slapping me if I come near?” - -This last was _sotto voce_, and had the effect of making Martha bounce -out of the room, to be followed and soothed by her lover. Whereupon Miss -Matty sat down and cried very heartily, and accounted for it by saying -that the thought of Martha being married so soon gave her quite a shock, -and that she should never forgive herself if she thought she was hurrying -the poor creature. I think my pity was more for Jem, of the two; but -both Miss Matty and I appreciated to the full the kindness of the honest -couple, although we said little about this, and a good deal about the -chances and dangers of matrimony. - -The next morning, very early, I received a note from Miss Pole, so -mysteriously wrapped up, and with so many seals on it to secure secrecy, -that I had to tear the paper before I could unfold it. And when I came -to the writing I could hardly understand the meaning, it was so involved -and oracular. I made out, however, that I was to go to Miss Pole’s at -eleven o’clock; the number _eleven_ being written in full length as well -as in numerals, and _A.M._ twice dashed under, as if I were very likely -to come at eleven at night, when all Cranford was usually a-bed and -asleep by ten. There was no signature except Miss Pole’s initials -reversed, P.E.; but as Martha had given me the note, “with Miss Pole’s -kind regards,” it needed no wizard to find out who sent it; and if the -writer’s name was to be kept secret, it was very well that I was alone -when Martha delivered it. - -I went as requested to Miss Pole’s. The door was opened to me by her -little maid Lizzy in Sunday trim, as if some grand event was impending -over this work-day. And the drawing-room upstairs was arranged in -accordance with this idea. The table was set out with the best green -card-cloth, and writing materials upon it. On the little chiffonier was -a tray with a newly-decanted bottle of cowslip wine, and some -ladies’-finger biscuits. Miss Pole herself was in solemn array, as if to -receive visitors, although it was only eleven o’clock. Mrs Forrester was -there, crying quietly and sadly, and my arrival seemed only to call forth -fresh tears. Before we had finished our greetings, performed with -lugubrious mystery of demeanour, there was another rat-tat-tat, and Mrs -Fitz-Adam appeared, crimson with walking and excitement. It seemed as if -this was all the company expected; for now Miss Pole made several -demonstrations of being about to open the business of the meeting, by -stirring the fire, opening and shutting the door, and coughing and -blowing her nose. Then she arranged us all round the table, taking care -to place me opposite to her; and last of all, she inquired of me if the -sad report was true, as she feared it was, that Miss Matty had lost all -her fortune? - -Of course, I had but one answer to make; and I never saw more unaffected -sorrow depicted on any countenances than I did there on the three before -me. - -“I wish Mrs Jamieson was here!” said Mrs Forrester at last; but to judge -from Mrs Fitz-Adam’s face, she could not second the wish. - -“But without Mrs Jamieson,” said Miss Pole, with just a sound of offended -merit in her voice, “we, the ladies of Cranford, in my drawing-room -assembled, can resolve upon something. I imagine we are none of us what -may be called rich, though we all possess a genteel competency, -sufficient for tastes that are elegant and refined, and would not, if -they could, be vulgarly ostentatious.” (Here I observed Miss Pole refer -to a small card concealed in her hand, on which I imagine she had put -down a few notes.) - -“Miss Smith,” she continued, addressing me (familiarly known as “Mary” to -all the company assembled, but this was a state occasion), “I have -conversed in private—I made it my business to do so yesterday -afternoon—with these ladies on the misfortune which has happened to our -friend, and one and all of us have agreed that while we have a -superfluity, it is not only a duty, but a pleasure—a true pleasure, -Mary!”—her voice was rather choked just here, and she had to wipe her -spectacles before she could go on—“to give what we can to assist her—Miss -Matilda Jenkyns. Only in consideration of the feelings of delicate -independence existing in the mind of every refined female”—I was sure she -had got back to the card now—“we wish to contribute our mites in a secret -and concealed manner, so as not to hurt the feelings I have referred to. -And our object in requesting you to meet us this morning is that, -believing you are the daughter—that your father is, in fact, her -confidential adviser, in all pecuniary matters, we imagined that, by -consulting with him, you might devise some mode in which our contribution -could be made to appear the legal due which Miss Matilda Jenkyns ought to -receive from— Probably your father, knowing her investments, can fill up -the blank.” - -Miss Pole concluded her address, and looked round for approval and -agreement. - -“I have expressed your meaning, ladies, have I not? And while Miss Smith -considers what reply to make, allow me to offer you some little -refreshment.” - -I had no great reply to make: I had more thankfulness at my heart for -their kind thoughts than I cared to put into words; and so I only mumbled -out something to the effect “that I would name what Miss Pole had said to -my father, and that if anything could be arranged for dear Miss -Matty,”—and here I broke down utterly, and had to be refreshed with a -glass of cowslip wine before I could check the crying which had been -repressed for the last two or three days. The worst was, all the ladies -cried in concert. Even Miss Pole cried, who had said a hundred times -that to betray emotion before any one was a sign of weakness and want of -self-control. She recovered herself into a slight degree of impatient -anger, directed against me, as having set them all off; and, moreover, I -think she was vexed that I could not make a speech back in return for -hers; and if I had known beforehand what was to be said, and had a card -on which to express the probable feelings that would rise in my heart, I -would have tried to gratify her. As it was, Mrs Forrester was the person -to speak when we had recovered our composure. - -“I don’t mind, among friends, stating that I—no! I’m not poor exactly, -but I don’t think I’m what you may call rich; I wish I were, for dear -Miss Matty’s sake—but, if you please, I’ll write down in a sealed paper -what I can give. I only wish it was more; my dear Mary, I do indeed.” - -Now I saw why paper, pens, and ink were provided. Every lady wrote down -the sum she could give annually, signed the paper, and sealed it -mysteriously. If their proposal was acceded to, my father was to be -allowed to open the papers, under pledge of secrecy. If not, they were -to be returned to their writers. - -When the ceremony had been gone through, I rose to depart; but each lady -seemed to wish to have a private conference with me. Miss Pole kept me -in the drawing-room to explain why, in Mrs Jamieson’s absence, she had -taken the lead in this “movement,” as she was pleased to call it, and -also to inform me that she had heard from good sources that Mrs Jamieson -was coming home directly in a state of high displeasure against her -sister-in-law, who was forthwith to leave her house, and was, she -believed, to return to Edinburgh that very afternoon. Of course this -piece of intelligence could not be communicated before Mrs Fitz-Adam, -more especially as Miss Pole was inclined to think that Lady Glenmire’s -engagement to Mr Hoggins could not possibly hold against the blaze of Mrs -Jamieson’s displeasure. A few hearty inquiries after Miss Matty’s health -concluded my interview with Miss Pole. - -On coming downstairs I found Mrs Forrester waiting for me at the entrance -to the dining-parlour; she drew me in, and when the door was shut, she -tried two or three times to begin on some subject, which was so -unapproachable apparently, that I began to despair of our ever getting to -a clear understanding. At last out it came; the poor old lady trembling -all the time as if it were a great crime which she was exposing to -daylight, in telling me how very, very little she had to live upon; a -confession which she was brought to make from a dread lest we should -think that the small contribution named in her paper bore any proportion -to her love and regard for Miss Matty. And yet that sum which she so -eagerly relinquished was, in truth, more than a twentieth part of what -she had to live upon, and keep house, and a little serving-maid, all as -became one born a Tyrrell. And when the whole income does not nearly -amount to a hundred pounds, to give up a twentieth of it will necessitate -many careful economies, and many pieces of self-denial, small and -insignificant in the world’s account, but bearing a different value in -another account-book that I have heard of. She did so wish she was rich, -she said, and this wish she kept repeating, with no thought of herself in -it, only with a longing, yearning desire to be able to heap up Miss -Matty’s measure of comforts. - -It was some time before I could console her enough to leave her; and -then, on quitting the house, I was waylaid by Mrs Fitz-Adam, who had also -her confidence to make of pretty nearly the opposite description. She -had not liked to put down all that she could afford and was ready to -give. She told me she thought she never could look Miss Matty in the -face again if she presumed to be giving her so much as she should like to -do. “Miss Matty!” continued she, “that I thought was such a fine young -lady when I was nothing but a country girl, coming to market with eggs -and butter and such like things. For my father, though well-to-do, would -always make me go on as my mother had done before me, and I had to come -into Cranford every Saturday, and see after sales, and prices, and what -not. And one day, I remember, I met Miss Matty in the lane that leads to -Combehurst; she was walking on the footpath, which, you know, is raised a -good way above the road, and a gentleman rode beside her, and was talking -to her, and she was looking down at some primroses she had gathered, and -pulling them all to pieces, and I do believe she was crying. But after -she had passed, she turned round and ran after me to ask—oh, so -kindly—about my poor mother, who lay on her death-bed; and when I cried -she took hold of my hand to comfort me—and the gentleman waiting for her -all the time—and her poor heart very full of something, I am sure; and I -thought it such an honour to be spoken to in that pretty way by the -rector’s daughter, who visited at Arley Hall. I have loved her ever -since, though perhaps I’d no right to do it; but if you can think of any -way in which I might be allowed to give a little more without any one -knowing it, I should be so much obliged to you, my dear. And my brother -would be delighted to doctor her for nothing—medicines, leeches, and all. -I know that he and her ladyship (my dear, I little thought in the days I -was telling you of that I should ever come to be sister-in-law to a -ladyship!) would do anything for her. We all would.” - -I told her I was quite sure of it, and promised all sorts of things in my -anxiety to get home to Miss Matty, who might well be wondering what had -become of me—absent from her two hours without being able to account for -it. She had taken very little note of time, however, as she had been -occupied in numberless little arrangements preparatory to the great step -of giving up her house. It was evidently a relief to her to be doing -something in the way of retrenchment, for, as she said, whenever she -paused to think, the recollection of the poor fellow with his bad -five-pound note came over her, and she felt quite dishonest; only if it -made her so uncomfortable, what must it not be doing to the directors of -the bank, who must know so much more of the misery consequent upon this -failure? She almost made me angry by dividing her sympathy between these -directors (whom she imagined overwhelmed by self-reproach for the -mismanagement of other people’s affairs) and those who were suffering -like her. Indeed, of the two, she seemed to think poverty a lighter -burden than self-reproach; but I privately doubted if the directors would -agree with her. - -Old hoards were taken out and examined as to their money value which -luckily was small, or else I don’t know how Miss Matty would have -prevailed upon herself to part with such things as her mother’s -wedding-ring, the strange, uncouth brooch with which her father had -disfigured his shirt-frill, &c. However, we arranged things a little in -order as to their pecuniary estimation, and were all ready for my father -when he came the next morning. - -I am not going to weary you with the details of all the business we went -through; and one reason for not telling about them is, that I did not -understand what we were doing at the time, and cannot recollect it now. -Miss Matty and I sat assenting to accounts, and schemes, and reports, and -documents, of which I do not believe we either of us understood a word; -for my father was clear-headed and decisive, and a capital man of -business, and if we made the slightest inquiry, or expressed the -slightest want of comprehension, he had a sharp way of saying, “Eh? eh? -it’s as clear as daylight. What’s your objection?” And as we had not -comprehended anything of what he had proposed, we found it rather -difficult to shape our objections; in fact, we never were sure if we had -any. So presently Miss Matty got into a nervously acquiescent state, and -said “Yes,” and “Certainly,” at every pause, whether required or not; but -when I once joined in as chorus to a “Decidedly,” pronounced by Miss -Matty in a tremblingly dubious tone, my father fired round at me and -asked me “What there was to decide?” And I am sure to this day I have -never known. But, in justice to him, I must say he had come over from -Drumble to help Miss Matty when he could ill spare the time, and when his -own affairs were in a very anxious state. - - [Picture: Miss Matty and I sat assenting to accounts] - -While Miss Matty was out of the room giving orders for luncheon—and sadly -perplexed between her desire of honouring my father by a delicate, dainty -meal, and her conviction that she had no right, now that all her money -was gone, to indulge this desire—I told him of the meeting of the -Cranford ladies at Miss Pole’s the day before. He kept brushing his hand -before his eyes as I spoke—and when I went back to Martha’s offer the -evening before, of receiving Miss Matty as a lodger, he fairly walked -away from me to the window, and began drumming with his fingers upon it. -Then he turned abruptly round, and said, “See, Mary, how a good, innocent -life makes friends all around. Confound it! I could make a good lesson -out of it if I were a parson; but, as it is, I can’t get a tail to my -sentences—only I’m sure you feel what I want to say. You and I will have -a walk after lunch and talk a bit more about these plans.” - -The lunch—a hot savoury mutton-chop, and a little of the cold loin sliced -and fried—was now brought in. Every morsel of this last dish was -finished, to Martha’s great gratification. Then my father bluntly told -Miss Matty he wanted to talk to me alone, and that he would stroll out -and see some of the old places, and then I could tell her what plan we -thought desirable. Just before we went out, she called me back and said, -“Remember, dear, I’m the only one left—I mean, there’s no one to be hurt -by what I do. I’m willing to do anything that’s right and honest; and I -don’t think, if Deborah knows where she is, she’ll care so very much if -I’m not genteel; because, you see, she’ll know all, dear. Only let me -see what I can do, and pay the poor people as far as I’m able.” - -I gave her a hearty kiss, and ran after my father. The result of our -conversation was this. If all parties were agreeable, Martha and Jem -were to be married with as little delay as possible, and they were to -live on in Miss Matty’s present abode; the sum which the Cranford ladies -had agreed to contribute annually being sufficient to meet the greater -part of the rent, and leaving Martha free to appropriate what Miss Matty -should pay for her lodgings to any little extra comforts required. About -the sale, my father was dubious at first. He said the old rectory -furniture, however carefully used and reverently treated, would fetch -very little; and that little would be but as a drop in the sea of the -debts of the Town and County Bank. But when I represented how Miss -Matty’s tender conscience would be soothed by feeling that she had done -what she could, he gave way; especially after I had told him the -five-pound note adventure, and he had scolded me well for allowing it. I -then alluded to my idea that she might add to her small income by selling -tea; and, to my surprise (for I had nearly given up the plan), my father -grasped at it with all the energy of a tradesman. I think he reckoned -his chickens before they were hatched, for he immediately ran up the -profits of the sales that she could effect in Cranford to more than -twenty pounds a year. The small dining-parlour was to be converted into -a shop, without any of its degrading characteristics; a table was to be -the counter; one window was to be retained unaltered, and the other -changed into a glass door. I evidently rose in his estimation for having -made this bright suggestion. I only hoped we should not both fall in -Miss Matty’s. - -But she was patient and content with all our arrangements. She knew, she -said, that we should do the best we could for her; and she only hoped, -only stipulated, that she should pay every farthing that she could be -said to owe, for her father’s sake, who had been so respected in -Cranford. My father and I had agreed to say as little as possible about -the bank, indeed never to mention it again, if it could be helped. Some -of the plans were evidently a little perplexing to her; but she had seen -me sufficiently snubbed in the morning for want of comprehension to -venture on too many inquiries now; and all passed over well with a hope -on her part that no one would be hurried into marriage on her account. -When we came to the proposal that she should sell tea, I could see it was -rather a shock to her; not on account of any personal loss of gentility -involved, but only because she distrusted her own powers of action in a -new line of life, and would timidly have preferred a little more -privation to any exertion for which she feared she was unfitted. -However, when she saw my father was bent upon it, she sighed, and said -she would try; and if she did not do well, of course she might give it -up. One good thing about it was, she did not think men ever bought tea; -and it was of men particularly she was afraid. They had such sharp loud -ways with them; and did up accounts, and counted their change so quickly! -Now, if she might only sell comfits to children, she was sure she could -please them! - - - - -CHAPTER XV—A HAPPY RETURN - - -BEFORE I left Miss Matty at Cranford everything had been comfortably -arranged for her. Even Mrs Jamieson’s approval of her selling tea had -been gained. That oracle had taken a few days to consider whether by so -doing Miss Matty would forfeit her right to the privileges of society in -Cranford. I think she had some little idea of mortifying Lady Glenmire -by the decision she gave at last; which was to this effect: that whereas -a married woman takes her husband’s rank by the strict laws of -precedence, an unmarried woman retains the station her father occupied. -So Cranford was allowed to visit Miss Matty; and, whether allowed or not, -it intended to visit Lady Glenmire. - -But what was our surprise—our dismay—when we learnt that Mr and _Mrs -Hoggins_ were returning on the following Tuesday! Mrs Hoggins! Had she -absolutely dropped her title, and so, in a spirit of bravado, cut the -aristocracy to become a Hoggins! She, who might have been called Lady -Glenmire to her dying day! Mrs Jamieson was pleased. She said it only -convinced her of what she had known from the first, that the creature had -a low taste. But “the creature” looked very happy on Sunday at church; -nor did we see it necessary to keep our veils down on that side of our -bonnets on which Mr and Mrs Hoggins sat, as Mrs Jamieson did; thereby -missing all the smiling glory of his face, and all the becoming blushes -of hers. I am not sure if Martha and Jem looked more radiant in the -afternoon, when they, too, made their first appearance. Mrs Jamieson -soothed the turbulence of her soul by having the blinds of her windows -drawn down, as if for a funeral, on the day when Mr and Mrs Hoggins -received callers; and it was with some difficulty that she was prevailed -upon to continue the _St James’s Chronicle_, so indignant was she with -its having inserted the announcement of the marriage. - - [Picture: Smiling glory . . . and becoming blushes] - -Miss Matty’s sale went off famously. She retained the furniture of her -sitting-room and bedroom; the former of which she was to occupy till -Martha could meet with a lodger who might wish to take it; and into this -sitting-room and bedroom she had to cram all sorts of things, which were -(the auctioneer assured her) bought in for her at the sale by an unknown -friend. I always suspected Mrs Fitz-Adam of this; but she must have had -an accessory, who knew what articles were particularly regarded by Miss -Matty on account of their associations with her early days. The rest of -the house looked rather bare, to be sure; all except one tiny bedroom, of -which my father allowed me to purchase the furniture for my occasional -use in case of Miss Matty’s illness. - -I had expended my own small store in buying all manner of comfits and -lozenges, in order to tempt the little people whom Miss Matty loved so -much to come about her. Tea in bright green canisters, and comfits in -tumblers—Miss Matty and I felt quite proud as we looked round us on the -evening before the shop was to be opened. Martha had scoured the boarded -floor to a white cleanness, and it was adorned with a brilliant piece of -oil-cloth, on which customers were to stand before the table-counter. -The wholesome smell of plaster and whitewash pervaded the apartment. A -very small “Matilda Jenkyns, licensed to sell tea,” was hidden under the -lintel of the new door, and two boxes of tea, with cabalistic -inscriptions all over them, stood ready to disgorge their contents into -the canisters. - -Miss Matty, as I ought to have mentioned before, had had some scruples of -conscience at selling tea when there was already Mr Johnson in the town, -who included it among his numerous commodities; and, before she could -quite reconcile herself to the adoption of her new business, she had -trotted down to his shop, unknown to me, to tell him of the project that -was entertained, and to inquire if it was likely to injure his business. -My father called this idea of hers “great nonsense,” and “wondered how -tradespeople were to get on if there was to be a continual consulting of -each other’s interests, which would put a stop to all competition -directly.” And, perhaps, it would not have done in Drumble, but in -Cranford it answered very well; for not only did Mr Johnson kindly put at -rest all Miss Matty’s scruples and fear of injuring his business, but I -have reason to know he repeatedly sent customers to her, saying that the -teas he kept were of a common kind, but that Miss Jenkyns had all the -choice sorts. And expensive tea is a very favourite luxury with -well-to-do tradespeople and rich farmers’ wives, who turn up their noses -at the Congou and Souchong prevalent at many tables of gentility, and -will have nothing else than Gunpowder and Pekoe for themselves. - -But to return to Miss Matty. It was really very pleasant to see how her -unselfishness and simple sense of justice called out the same good -qualities in others. She never seemed to think any one would impose upon -her, because she should be so grieved to do it to them. I have heard her -put a stop to the asseverations of the man who brought her coals by -quietly saying, “I am sure you would be sorry to bring me wrong weight;” -and if the coals were short measure that time, I don’t believe they ever -were again. People would have felt as much ashamed of presuming on her -good faith as they would have done on that of a child. But my father -says “such simplicity might be very well in Cranford, but would never do -in the world.” And I fancy the world must be very bad, for with all my -father’s suspicion of every one with whom he has dealings, and in spite -of all his many precautions, he lost upwards of a thousand pounds by -roguery only last year. - -I just stayed long enough to establish Miss Matty in her new mode of -life, and to pack up the library, which the rector had purchased. He had -written a very kind letter to Miss Matty, saying “how glad he should be -to take a library, so well selected as he knew that the late Mr Jenkyns’s -must have been, at any valuation put upon them.” And when she agreed to -this, with a touch of sorrowful gladness that they would go back to the -rectory and be arranged on the accustomed walls once more, he sent word -that he feared that he had not room for them all, and perhaps Miss Matty -would kindly allow him to leave some volumes on her shelves. But Miss -Matty said that she had her Bible and “Johnson’s Dictionary,” and should -not have much time for reading, she was afraid; still, I retained a few -books out of consideration for the rector’s kindness. - -The money which he had paid, and that produced by the sale, was partly -expended in the stock of tea, and part of it was invested against a rainy -day—_i.e._ old age or illness. It was but a small sum, it is true; and -it occasioned a few evasions of truth and white lies (all of which I -think very wrong indeed—in theory—and would rather not put them in -practice), for we knew Miss Matty would be perplexed as to her duty if -she were aware of any little reserve-fund being made for her while the -debts of the bank remained unpaid. Moreover, she had never been told of -the way in which her friends were contributing to pay the rent. I should -have liked to tell her this, but the mystery of the affair gave a -piquancy to their deed of kindness which the ladies were unwilling to -give up; and at first Martha had to shirk many a perplexed question as to -her ways and means of living in such a house, but by-and-by Miss Matty’s -prudent uneasiness sank down into acquiescence with the existing -arrangement. - -I left Miss Matty with a good heart. Her sales of tea during the first -two days had surpassed my most sanguine expectations. The whole country -round seemed to be all out of tea at once. The only alteration I could -have desired in Miss Matty’s way of doing business was, that she should -not have so plaintively entreated some of her customers not to buy green -tea—running it down as a slow poison, sure to destroy the nerves, and -produce all manner of evil. Their pertinacity in taking it, in spite of -all her warnings, distressed her so much that I really thought she would -relinquish the sale of it, and so lose half her custom; and I was driven -to my wits’ end for instances of longevity entirely attributable to a -persevering use of green tea. But the final argument, which settled the -question, was a happy reference of mine to the train-oil and tallow -candles which the Esquimaux not only enjoy but digest. After that she -acknowledged that “one man’s meat might be another man’s poison,” and -contented herself thence-forward with an occasional remonstrance when she -thought the purchaser was too young and innocent to be acquainted with -the evil effects green tea produced on some constitutions, and an -habitual sigh when people old enough to choose more wisely would prefer -it. - -I went over from Drumble once a quarter at least to settle the accounts, -and see after the necessary business letters. And, speaking of letters, -I began to be very much ashamed of remembering my letter to the Aga -Jenkyns, and very glad I had never named my writing to any one. I only -hoped the letter was lost. No answer came. No sign was made. - -About a year after Miss Matty set up shop, I received one of Martha’s -hieroglyphics, begging me to come to Cranford very soon. I was afraid -that Miss Matty was ill, and went off that very afternoon, and took -Martha by surprise when she saw me on opening the door. We went into the -kitchen as usual, to have our confidential conference, and then Martha -told me she was expecting her confinement very soon—in a week or two; and -she did not think Miss Matty was aware of it, and she wanted me to break -the news to her, “for indeed, miss,” continued Martha, crying -hysterically, “I’m afraid she won’t approve of it, and I’m sure I don’t -know who is to take care of her as she should be taken care of when I am -laid up.” - -I comforted Martha by telling her I would remain till she was about -again, and only wished she had told me her reason for this sudden -summons, as then I would have brought the requisite stock of clothes. -But Martha was so tearful and tender-spirited, and unlike her usual self, -that I said as little as possible about myself, and endeavoured rather to -comfort Martha under all the probable and possible misfortunes which came -crowding upon her imagination. - -I then stole out of the house-door, and made my appearance as if I were a -customer in the shop, just to take Miss Matty by surprise, and gain an -idea of how she looked in her new situation. It was warm May weather, so -only the little half-door was closed; and Miss Matty sat behind the -counter, knitting an elaborate pair of garters; elaborate they seemed to -me, but the difficult stitch was no weight upon her mind, for she was -singing in a low voice to herself as her needles went rapidly in and out. -I call it singing, but I dare say a musician would not use that word to -the tuneless yet sweet humming of the low worn voice. I found out from -the words, far more than from the attempt at the tune, that it was the -Old Hundredth she was crooning to herself; but the quiet continuous sound -told of content, and gave me a pleasant feeling, as I stood in the street -just outside the door, quite in harmony with that soft May morning. I -went in. At first she did not catch who it was, and stood up as if to -serve me; but in another minute watchful pussy had clutched her knitting, -which was dropped in eager joy at seeing me. I found, after we had had a -little conversation, that it was as Martha said, and that Miss Matty had -no idea of the approaching household event. So I thought I would let -things take their course, secure that when I went to her with the baby in -my arms, I should obtain that forgiveness for Martha which she was -needlessly frightening herself into believing that Miss Matty would -withhold, under some notion that the new claimant would require -attentions from its mother that it would be faithless treason to Miss -Matty to render. - -But I was right. I think that must be an hereditary quality, for my -father says he is scarcely ever wrong. One morning, within a week after -I arrived, I went to call Miss Matty, with a little bundle of flannel in -my arms. She was very much awe-struck when I showed her what it was, and -asked for her spectacles off the dressing-table, and looked at it -curiously, with a sort of tender wonder at its small perfection of parts. -She could not banish the thought of the surprise all day, but went about -on tiptoe, and was very silent. But she stole up to see Martha and they -both cried with joy, and she got into a complimentary speech to Jem, and -did not know how to get out of it again, and was only extricated from her -dilemma by the sound of the shop-bell, which was an equal relief to the -shy, proud, honest Jem, who shook my hand so vigorously when I -congratulated him, that I think I feel the pain of it yet. - - [Picture: I went to call Miss Matty] - -I had a busy life while Martha was laid up. I attended on Miss Matty, -and prepared her meals; I cast up her accounts, and examined into the -state of her canisters and tumblers. I helped her, too, occasionally, in -the shop; and it gave me no small amusement, and sometimes a little -uneasiness, to watch her ways there. If a little child came in to ask -for an ounce of almond-comfits (and four of the large kind which Miss -Matty sold weighed that much), she always added one more by “way of -make-weight,” as she called it, although the scale was handsomely turned -before; and when I remonstrated against this, her reply was, “The little -things like it so much!” There was no use in telling her that the fifth -comfit weighed a quarter of an ounce, and made every sale into a loss to -her pocket. So I remembered the green tea, and winged my shaft with a -feather out of her own plumage. I told her how unwholesome -almond-comfits were, and how ill excess in them might make the little -children. This argument produced some effect; for, henceforward, instead -of the fifth comfit, she always told them to hold out their tiny palms, -into which she shook either peppermint or ginger lozenges, as a -preventive to the dangers that might arise from the previous sale. -Altogether the lozenge trade, conducted on these principles, did not -promise to be remunerative; but I was happy to find she had made more -than twenty pounds during the last year by her sales of tea; and, -moreover, that now she was accustomed to it, she did not dislike the -employment, which brought her into kindly intercourse with many of the -people round about. If she gave them good weight, they, in their turn, -brought many a little country present to the “old rector’s daughter”; a -cream cheese, a few new-laid eggs, a little fresh ripe fruit, a bunch of -flowers. The counter was quite loaded with these offerings sometimes, as -she told me. - -As for Cranford in general, it was going on much as usual. The Jamieson -and Hoggins feud still raged, if a feud it could be called, when only one -side cared much about it. Mr and Mrs Hoggins were very happy together, -and, like most very happy people, quite ready to be friendly; indeed, Mrs -Hoggins was really desirous to be restored to Mrs Jamieson’s good graces, -because of the former intimacy. But Mrs Jamieson considered their very -happiness an insult to the Glenmire family, to which she had still the -honour to belong, and she doggedly refused and rejected every advance. -Mr Mulliner, like a faithful clansman, espoused his mistress’ side with -ardour. If he saw either Mr or Mrs Hoggins, he would cross the street, -and appear absorbed in the contemplation of life in general, and his own -path in particular, until he had passed them by. Miss Pole used to amuse -herself with wondering what in the world Mrs Jamieson would do, if either -she, or Mr Mulliner, or any other member of her household was taken ill; -she could hardly have the face to call in Mr Hoggins after the way she -had behaved to them. Miss Pole grew quite impatient for some -indisposition or accident to befall Mrs Jamieson or her dependents, in -order that Cranford might see how she would act under the perplexing -circumstances. - -Martha was beginning to go about again, and I had already fixed a limit, -not very far distant, to my visit, when one afternoon, as I was sitting -in the shop-parlour with Miss Matty—I remember the weather was colder now -than it had been in May, three weeks before, and we had a fire and kept -the door fully closed—we saw a gentleman go slowly past the window, and -then stand opposite to the door, as if looking out for the name which we -had so carefully hidden. He took out a double eyeglass and peered about -for some time before he could discover it. Then he came in. And, all on -a sudden, it flashed across me that it was the Aga himself! For his -clothes had an out-of-the-way foreign cut about them, and his face was -deep brown, as if tanned and re-tanned by the sun. His complexion -contrasted oddly with his plentiful snow-white hair, his eyes were dark -and piercing, and he had an odd way of contracting them and puckering up -his cheeks into innumerable wrinkles when he looked earnestly at objects. -He did so to Miss Matty when he first came in. His glance had first -caught and lingered a little upon me, but then turned, with the peculiar -searching look I have described, to Miss Matty. She was a little -fluttered and nervous, but no more so than she always was when any man -came into her shop. She thought that he would probably have a note, or a -sovereign at least, for which she would have to give change, which was an -operation she very much disliked to perform. But the present customer -stood opposite to her, without asking for anything, only looking fixedly -at her as he drummed upon the table with his fingers, just for all the -world as Miss Jenkyns used to do. Miss Matty was on the point of asking -him what he wanted (as she told me afterwards), when he turned sharp to -me: “Is your name Mary Smith?” - -“Yes!” said I. - -All my doubts as to his identity were set at rest, and I only wondered -what he would say or do next, and how Miss Matty would stand the joyful -shock of what he had to reveal. Apparently he was at a loss how to -announce himself, for he looked round at last in search of something to -buy, so as to gain time, and, as it happened, his eye caught on the -almond-comfits, and he boldly asked for a pound of “those things.” I -doubt if Miss Matty had a whole pound in the shop, and, besides the -unusual magnitude of the order, she was distressed with the idea of the -indigestion they would produce, taken in such unlimited quantities. She -looked up to remonstrate. Something of tender relaxation in his face -struck home to her heart. She said, “It is—oh, sir! can you be Peter?” -and trembled from head to foot. In a moment he was round the table and -had her in his arms, sobbing the tearless cries of old age. I brought -her a glass of wine, for indeed her colour had changed so as to alarm me -and Mr Peter too. He kept saying, “I have been too sudden for you, -Matty—I have, my little girl.” - -I proposed that she should go at once up into the drawing-room and lie -down on the sofa there. She looked wistfully at her brother, whose hand -she had held tight, even when nearly fainting; but on his assuring her -that he would not leave her, she allowed him to carry her upstairs. - -I thought that the best I could do was to run and put the kettle on the -fire for early tea, and then to attend to the shop, leaving the brother -and sister to exchange some of the many thousand things they must have to -say. I had also to break the news to Martha, who received it with a -burst of tears which nearly infected me. She kept recovering herself to -ask if I was sure it was indeed Miss Matty’s brother, for I had mentioned -that he had grey hair, and she had always heard that he was a very -handsome young man. Something of the same kind perplexed Miss Matty at -tea-time, when she was installed in the great easy-chair opposite to Mr -Jenkyns in order to gaze her fill. She could hardly drink for looking at -him, and as for eating, that was out of the question. - -“I suppose hot climates age people very quickly,” said she, almost to -herself. “When you left Cranford you had not a grey hair in your head.” - -“But how many years ago is that?” said Mr Peter, smiling. - -“Ah, true! yes, I suppose you and I are getting old. But still I did not -think we were so very old! But white hair is very becoming to you, -Peter,” she continued—a little afraid lest she had hurt him by revealing -how his appearance had impressed her. - -“I suppose I forgot dates too, Matty, for what do you think I have -brought for you from India? I have an Indian muslin gown and a pearl -necklace for you somewhere in my chest at Portsmouth.” He smiled as if -amused at the idea of the incongruity of his presents with the appearance -of his sister; but this did not strike her all at once, while the -elegance of the articles did. I could see that for a moment her -imagination dwelt complacently on the idea of herself thus attired; and -instinctively she put her hand up to her throat—that little delicate -throat which (as Miss Pole had told me) had been one of her youthful -charms; but the hand met the touch of folds of soft muslin in which she -was always swathed up to her chin, and the sensation recalled a sense of -the unsuitableness of a pearl necklace to her age. She said, “I’m afraid -I’m too old; but it was very kind of you to think of it. They are just -what I should have liked years ago—when I was young.” - -“So I thought, my little Matty. I remembered your tastes; they were so -like my dear mother’s.” At the mention of that name the brother and -sister clasped each other’s hands yet more fondly, and, although they -were perfectly silent, I fancied they might have something to say if they -were unchecked by my presence, and I got up to arrange my room for Mr -Peter’s occupation that night, intending myself to share Miss Matty’s -bed. But at my movement, he started up. “I must go and settle about a -room at the ‘George.’ My carpet-bag is there too.” - -“No!” said Miss Matty, in great distress—“you must not go; please, dear -Peter—pray, Mary—oh! you must not go!” - -She was so much agitated that we both promised everything she wished. -Peter sat down again and gave her his hand, which for better security she -held in both of hers, and I left the room to accomplish my arrangements. - -Long, long into the night, far, far into the morning, did Miss Matty and -I talk. She had much to tell me of her brother’s life and adventures, -which he had communicated to her as they had sat alone. She said all was -thoroughly clear to her; but I never quite understood the whole story; -and when in after days I lost my awe of Mr Peter enough to question him -myself, he laughed at my curiosity, and told me stories that sounded so -very much like Baron Munchausen’s, that I was sure he was making fun of -me. What I heard from Miss Matty was that he had been a volunteer at the -siege of Rangoon; had been taken prisoner by the Burmese; and somehow -obtained favour and eventual freedom from knowing how to bleed the chief -of the small tribe in some case of dangerous illness; that on his release -from years of captivity he had had his letters returned from England with -the ominous word “Dead” marked upon them; and, believing himself to be -the last of his race, he had settled down as an indigo planter, and had -proposed to spend the remainder of his life in the country to whose -inhabitants and modes of life he had become habituated, when my letter -had reached him; and, with the odd vehemence which characterised him in -age as it had done in youth, he had sold his land and all his possessions -to the first purchaser, and come home to the poor old sister, who was -more glad and rich than any princess when she looked at him. She talked -me to sleep at last, and then I was awakened by a slight sound at the -door, for which she begged my pardon as she crept penitently into bed; -but it seems that when I could no longer confirm her belief that the -long-lost was really here—under the same roof—she had begun to fear lest -it was only a waking dream of hers; that there never had been a Peter -sitting by her all that blessed evening—but that the real Peter lay dead -far away beneath some wild sea-wave, or under some strange eastern tree. -And so strong had this nervous feeling of hers become, that she was fain -to get up and go and convince herself that he was really there by -listening through the door to his even, regular breathing—I don’t like to -call it snoring, but I heard it myself through two closed doors—and -by-and-by it soothed Miss Matty to sleep. - -I don’t believe Mr Peter came home from India as rich as a nabob; he even -considered himself poor, but neither he nor Miss Matty cared much about -that. At any rate, he had enough to live upon “very genteelly” at -Cranford; he and Miss Matty together. And a day or two after his -arrival, the shop was closed, while troops of little urchins gleefully -awaited the shower of comfits and lozenges that came from time to time -down upon their faces as they stood up-gazing at Miss Matty’s -drawing-room windows. Occasionally Miss Matty would say to them -(half-hidden behind the curtains), “My dear children, don’t make -yourselves ill;” but a strong arm pulled her back, and a more rattling -shower than ever succeeded. A part of the tea was sent in presents to -the Cranford ladies; and some of it was distributed among the old people -who remembered Mr Peter in the days of his frolicsome youth. The Indian -muslin gown was reserved for darling Flora Gordon (Miss Jessie Brown’s -daughter). The Gordons had been on the Continent for the last few years, -but were now expected to return very soon; and Miss Matty, in her -sisterly pride, anticipated great delight in the joy of showing them Mr -Peter. The pearl necklace disappeared; and about that time many handsome -and useful presents made their appearance in the households of Miss Pole -and Mrs Forrester; and some rare and delicate Indian ornaments graced the -drawing-rooms of Mrs Jamieson and Mrs Fitz-Adam. I myself was not -forgotten. Among other things, I had the handsomest-bound and best -edition of Dr Johnson’s works that could be procured; and dear Miss -Matty, with tears in her eyes, begged me to consider it as a present from -her sister as well as herself. In short, no one was forgotten; and, what -was more, every one, however insignificant, who had shown kindness to -Miss Matty at any time, was sure of Mr Peter’s cordial regard. - - - - -CHAPTER XVI—PEACE TO CRANFORD - - -IT was not surprising that Mr Peter became such a favourite at Cranford. -The ladies vied with each other who should admire him most; and no -wonder, for their quiet lives were astonishingly stirred up by the -arrival from India—especially as the person arrived told more wonderful -stories than Sindbad the Sailor; and, as Miss Pole said, was quite as -good as an Arabian Night any evening. For my own part, I had vibrated -all my life between Drumble and Cranford, and I thought it was quite -possible that all Mr Peter’s stories might be true, although wonderful; -but when I found that, if we swallowed an anecdote of tolerable magnitude -one week, we had the dose considerably increased the next, I began to -have my doubts; especially as I noticed that when his sister was present -the accounts of Indian life were comparatively tame; not that she knew -more than we did, perhaps less. I noticed also that when the rector came -to call, Mr Peter talked in a different way about the countries he had -been in. But I don’t think the ladies in Cranford would have considered -him such a wonderful traveller if they had only heard him talk in the -quiet way he did to him. They liked him the better, indeed, for being -what they called “so very Oriental.” - -One day, at a select party in his honour, which Miss Pole gave, and from -which, as Mrs Jamieson honoured it with her presence, and had even -offered to send Mr Mulliner to wait, Mr and Mrs Hoggins and Mrs Fitz-Adam -were necessarily excluded—one day at Miss Pole’s, Mr Peter said he was -tired of sitting upright against the hard-backed uneasy chairs, and asked -if he might not indulge himself in sitting cross-legged. Miss Pole’s -consent was eagerly given, and down he went with the utmost gravity. But -when Miss Pole asked me, in an audible whisper, “if he did not remind me -of the Father of the Faithful?” I could not help thinking of poor Simon -Jones, the lame tailor, and while Mrs Jamieson slowly commented on the -elegance and convenience of the attitude, I remembered how we had all -followed that lady’s lead in condemning Mr Hoggins for vulgarity because -he simply crossed his legs as he sat still on his chair. Many of Mr -Peter’s ways of eating were a little strange amongst such ladies as Miss -Pole, and Miss Matty, and Mrs Jamieson, especially when I recollected the -untasted green peas and two-pronged forks at poor Mr Holbrook’s dinner. - -The mention of that gentleman’s name recalls to my mind a conversation -between Mr Peter and Miss Matty one evening in the summer after he -returned to Cranford. The day had been very hot, and Miss Matty had been -much oppressed by the weather, in the heat of which her brother revelled. -I remember that she had been unable to nurse Martha’s baby, which had -become her favourite employment of late, and which was as much at home in -her arms as in its mother’s, as long as it remained a light-weight, -portable by one so fragile as Miss Matty. This day to which I refer, -Miss Matty had seemed more than usually feeble and languid, and only -revived when the sun went down, and her sofa was wheeled to the open -window, through which, although it looked into the principal street of -Cranford, the fragrant smell of the neighbouring hayfields came in every -now and then, borne by the soft breezes that stirred the dull air of the -summer twilight, and then died away. The silence of the sultry -atmosphere was lost in the murmuring noises which came in from many an -open window and door; even the children were abroad in the street, late -as it was (between ten and eleven), enjoying the game of play for which -they had not had spirits during the heat of the day. It was a source of -satisfaction to Miss Matty to see how few candles were lighted, even in -the apartments of those houses from which issued the greatest signs of -life. Mr Peter, Miss Matty, and I had all been quiet, each with a -separate reverie, for some little time, when Mr Peter broke in— - -“Do you know, little Matty, I could have sworn you were on the high road -to matrimony when I left England that last time! If anybody had told me -you would have lived and died an old maid then, I should have laughed in -their faces.” - -Miss Matty made no reply, and I tried in vain to think of some subject -which should effectually turn the conversation; but I was very stupid; -and before I spoke he went on— - -“It was Holbrook, that fine manly fellow who lived at Woodley, that I -used to think would carry off my little Matty. You would not think it -now, I dare say, Mary; but this sister of mine was once a very pretty -girl—at least, I thought so, and so I’ve a notion did poor Holbrook. -What business had he to die before I came home to thank him for all his -kindness to a good-for-nothing cub as I was? It was that that made me -first think he cared for you; for in all our fishing expeditions it was -Matty, Matty, we talked about. Poor Deborah! What a lecture she read me -on having asked him home to lunch one day, when she had seen the Arley -carriage in the town, and thought that my lady might call. Well, that’s -long years ago; more than half a life-time, and yet it seems like -yesterday! I don’t know a fellow I should have liked better as a -brother-in-law. You must have played your cards badly, my little Matty, -somehow or another—wanted your brother to be a good go-between, eh, -little one?” said he, putting out his hand to take hold of hers as she -lay on the sofa. “Why, what’s this? you’re shivering and shaking, Matty, -with that confounded open window. Shut it, Mary, this minute!” - -I did so, and then stooped down to kiss Miss Matty, and see if she really -were chilled. She caught at my hand, and gave it a hard squeeze—but -unconsciously, I think—for in a minute or two she spoke to us quite in -her usual voice, and smiled our uneasiness away, although she patiently -submitted to the prescriptions we enforced of a warm bed and a glass of -weak negus. I was to leave Cranford the next day, and before I went I -saw that all the effects of the open window had quite vanished. I had -superintended most of the alterations necessary in the house and -household during the latter weeks of my stay. The shop was once more a -parlour: the empty resounding rooms again furnished up to the very -garrets. - -There had been some talk of establishing Martha and Jem in another house, -but Miss Matty would not hear of this. Indeed, I never saw her so much -roused as when Miss Pole had assumed it to be the most desirable -arrangement. As long as Martha would remain with Miss Matty, Miss Matty -was only too thankful to have her about her; yes, and Jem too, who was a -very pleasant man to have in the house, for she never saw him from week’s -end to week’s end. And as for the probable children, if they would all -turn out such little darlings as her god-daughter, Matilda, she should -not mind the number, if Martha didn’t. Besides, the next was to be -called Deborah—a point which Miss Matty had reluctantly yielded to -Martha’s stubborn determination that her first-born was to be Matilda. -So Miss Pole had to lower her colours, and even her voice, as she said to -me that, as Mr and Mrs Hearn were still to go on living in the same house -with Miss Matty, we had certainly done a wise thing in hiring Martha’s -niece as an auxiliary. - -I left Miss Matty and Mr Peter most comfortable and contented; the only -subject for regret to the tender heart of the one, and the social -friendly nature of the other, being the unfortunate quarrel between Mrs -Jamieson and the plebeian Hogginses and their following. In joke, I -prophesied one day that this would only last until Mrs Jamieson or Mr -Mulliner were ill, in which case they would only be too glad to be -friends with Mr Hoggins; but Miss Matty did not like my looking forward -to anything like illness in so light a manner, and before the year was -out all had come round in a far more satisfactory way. - -I received two Cranford letters on one auspicious October morning. Both -Miss Pole and Miss Matty wrote to ask me to come over and meet the -Gordons, who had returned to England alive and well with their two -children, now almost grown up. Dear Jessie Brown had kept her old kind -nature, although she had changed her name and station; and she wrote to -say that she and Major Gordon expected to be in Cranford on the -fourteenth, and she hoped and begged to be remembered to Mrs Jamieson -(named first, as became her honourable station), Miss Pole and Miss -Matty—could she ever forget their kindness to her poor father and -sister?—Mrs Forrester, Mr Hoggins (and here again came in an allusion to -kindness shown to the dead long ago), his new wife, who as such must -allow Mrs Gordon to desire to make her acquaintance, and who was, -moreover, an old Scotch friend of her husband’s. In short, every one was -named, from the rector—who had been appointed to Cranford in the interim -between Captain Brown’s death and Miss Jessie’s marriage, and was now -associated with the latter event—down to Miss Betty Barker. All were -asked to the luncheon; all except Mrs Fitz-Adam, who had come to live in -Cranford since Miss Jessie Brown’s days, and whom I found rather moping -on account of the omission. People wondered at Miss Betty Barker’s being -included in the honourable list; but, then, as Miss Pole said, we must -remember the disregard of the genteel proprieties of life in which the -poor captain had educated his girls, and for his sake we swallowed our -pride. Indeed, Mrs Jamieson rather took it as a compliment, as putting -Miss Betty (formerly _her_ maid) on a level with “those Hogginses.” - -But when I arrived in Cranford, nothing was as yet ascertained of Mrs -Jamieson’s own intentions; would the honourable lady go, or would she -not? Mr Peter declared that she should and she would; Miss Pole shook -her head and desponded. But Mr Peter was a man of resources. In the -first place, he persuaded Miss Matty to write to Mrs Gordon, and to tell -her of Mrs Fitz-Adam’s existence, and to beg that one so kind, and -cordial, and generous, might be included in the pleasant invitation. An -answer came back by return of post, with a pretty little note for Mrs -Fitz-Adam, and a request that Miss Matty would deliver it herself and -explain the previous omission. Mrs Fitz-Adam was as pleased as could be, -and thanked Miss Matty over and over again. Mr Peter had said, “Leave -Mrs Jamieson to me;” so we did; especially as we knew nothing that we -could do to alter her determination if once formed. - -I did not know, nor did Miss Matty, how things were going on, until Miss -Pole asked me, just the day before Mrs Gordon came, if I thought there -was anything between Mr Peter and Mrs Jamieson in the matrimonial line, -for that Mrs Jamieson was really going to the lunch at the “George.” She -had sent Mr Mulliner down to desire that there might be a footstool put -to the warmest seat in the room, as she meant to come, and knew that -their chairs were very high. Miss Pole had picked this piece of news up, -and from it she conjectured all sorts of things, and bemoaned yet more. -“If Peter should marry, what would become of poor dear Miss Matty? And -Mrs Jamieson, of all people!” Miss Pole seemed to think there were other -ladies in Cranford who would have done more credit to his choice, and I -think she must have had someone who was unmarried in her head, for she -kept saying, “It was so wanting in delicacy in a widow to think of such a -thing.” - -When I got back to Miss Matty’s I really did begin to think that Mr Peter -might be thinking of Mrs Jamieson for a wife, and I was as unhappy as -Miss Pole about it. He had the proof sheet of a great placard in his -hand. “Signor Brunoni, Magician to the King of Delhi, the Rajah of Oude, -and the great Lama of Thibet,” &c. &c., was going to “perform in Cranford -for one night only,” the very next night; and Miss Matty, exultant, -showed me a letter from the Gordons, promising to remain over this -gaiety, which Miss Matty said was entirely Peter’s doing. He had written -to ask the signor to come, and was to be at all the expenses of the -affair. Tickets were to be sent gratis to as many as the room would -hold. In short, Miss Matty was charmed with the plan, and said that -to-morrow Cranford would remind her of the Preston Guild, to which she -had been in her youth—a luncheon at the “George,” with the dear Gordons, -and the signor in the Assembly Room in the evening. But I—I looked only -at the fatal words:— - - “_Under the Patronage of the_ HONOURABLE MRS JAMIESON.” - -She, then, was chosen to preside over this entertainment of Mr Peter’s; -she was perhaps going to displace my dear Miss Matty in his heart, and -make her life lonely once more! I could not look forward to the morrow -with any pleasure; and every innocent anticipation of Miss Matty’s only -served to add to my annoyance. - -So, angry and irritated, and exaggerating every little incident which -could add to my irritation, I went on till we were all assembled in the -great parlour at the “George.” Major and Mrs Gordon and pretty Flora and -Mr Ludovic were all as bright and handsome and friendly as could be; but -I could hardly attend to them for watching Mr Peter, and I saw that Miss -Pole was equally busy. I had never seen Mrs Jamieson so roused and -animated before; her face looked full of interest in what Mr Peter was -saying. I drew near to listen. My relief was great when I caught that -his words were not words of love, but that, for all his grave face, he -was at his old tricks. He was telling her of his travels in India, and -describing the wonderful height of the Himalaya mountains: one touch -after another added to their size, and each exceeded the former in -absurdity; but Mrs Jamieson really enjoyed all in perfect good faith. I -suppose she required strong stimulants to excite her to come out of her -apathy. Mr Peter wound up his account by saying that, of course, at that -altitude there were none of the animals to be found that existed in the -lower regions; the game,—everything was different. Firing one day at -some flying creature, he was very much dismayed when it fell, to find -that he had shot a cherubim! Mr Peter caught my eye at this moment, and -gave me such a funny twinkle, that I felt sure he had no thoughts of Mrs -Jamieson as a wife from that time. She looked uncomfortably amazed— - -“But, Mr Peter, shooting a cherubim—don’t you think—I am afraid that was -sacrilege!” - -Mr Peter composed his countenance in a moment, and appeared shocked at -the idea, which, as he said truly enough, was now presented to him for -the first time; but then Mrs Jamieson must remember that he had been -living for a long time among savages—all of whom were heathens—some of -them, he was afraid, were downright Dissenters. Then, seeing Miss Matty -draw near, he hastily changed the conversation, and after a little while, -turning to me, he said, “Don’t be shocked, prim little Mary, at all my -wonderful stories. I consider Mrs Jamieson fair game, and besides I am -bent on propitiating her, and the first step towards it is keeping her -well awake. I bribed her here by asking her to let me have her name as -patroness for my poor conjuror this evening; and I don’t want to give her -time enough to get up her rancour against the Hogginses, who are just -coming in. I want everybody to be friends, for it harasses Matty so much -to hear of these quarrels. I shall go at it again by-and-by, so you need -not look shocked. I intend to enter the Assembly Room to-night with Mrs -Jamieson on one side, and my lady, Mrs Hoggins, on the other. You see if -I don’t.” - -Somehow or another he did; and fairly got them into conversation -together. Major and Mrs Gordon helped at the good work with their -perfect ignorance of any existing coolness between any of the inhabitants -of Cranford. - -Ever since that day there has been the old friendly sociability in -Cranford society; which I am thankful for, because of my dear Miss -Matty’s love of peace and kindliness. We all love Miss Matty, and I -somehow think we are all of us better when she is near us. - - * * * * * - - PRINTED BY - TURNBULL AND SPEARS, - EDINBURGH - - - - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CRANFORD *** - - -***** This file should be named 394-0.txt or 394-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/3/9/394 - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the -United States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part -of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm -concept and trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark, -and may not be used if you charge for an eBook, except by following -the terms of the trademark license, including paying royalties for use -of the Project Gutenberg trademark. If you do not charge anything for -copies of this eBook, complying with the trademark license is very -easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose such as creation -of derivative works, reports, performances and research. Project -Gutenberg eBooks may be modified and printed and given away--you may -do practically ANYTHING in the United States with eBooks not protected -by U.S. copyright law. Redistribution is subject to the trademark -license, especially commercial redistribution. - -START: FULL LICENSE - -THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE -PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK - -To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free -distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work -(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project -Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full -Project Gutenberg-tm License available with this file or online at -www.gutenberg.org/license. - -Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works - -1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to -and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property -(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all -the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or -destroy all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your -possession. If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a -Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound -by the terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the -person or entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph -1.E.8. - -1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be -used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who -agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few -things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works -even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See -paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this -agreement and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic works. See paragraph 1.E below. - -1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the -Foundation" or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection -of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual -works in the collection are in the public domain in the United -States. If an individual work is unprotected by copyright law in the -United States and you are located in the United States, we do not -claim a right to prevent you from copying, distributing, performing, -displaying or creating derivative works based on the work as long as -all references to Project Gutenberg are removed. Of course, we hope -that you will support the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting -free access to electronic works by freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm -works in compliance with the terms of this agreement for keeping the -Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with the work. You can easily -comply with the terms of this agreement by keeping this work in the -same format with its attached full Project Gutenberg-tm License when -you share it without charge with others. - -1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern -what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are -in a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, -check the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this -agreement before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, -distributing or creating derivative works based on this work or any -other Project Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no -representations concerning the copyright status of any work in any -country other than the United States. - -1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: - -1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other -immediate access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear -prominently whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work -on which the phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the -phrase "Project Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, -performed, viewed, copied or distributed: - - This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and - most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no - restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it - under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this - eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the - United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where - you are located before using this eBook. - -1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is -derived from texts not protected by U.S. copyright law (does not -contain a notice indicating that it is posted with permission of the -copyright holder), the work can be copied and distributed to anyone in -the United States without paying any fees or charges. If you are -redistributing or providing access to a work with the phrase "Project -Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the work, you must comply -either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 or -obtain permission for the use of the work and the Project Gutenberg-tm -trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. - -1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted -with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution -must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any -additional terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms -will be linked to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works -posted with the permission of the copyright holder found at the -beginning of this work. - -1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm -License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this -work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. - -1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this -electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without -prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with -active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project -Gutenberg-tm License. - -1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, -compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including -any word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access -to or distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format -other than "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official -version posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm website -(www.gutenberg.org), you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense -to the user, provide a copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means -of obtaining a copy upon request, of the work in its original "Plain -Vanilla ASCII" or other form. Any alternate format must include the -full Project Gutenberg-tm License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. - -1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, -performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works -unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. - -1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing -access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works -provided that: - -* You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from - the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method - you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is owed - to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he has - agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the Project - Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments must be paid - within 60 days following each date on which you prepare (or are - legally required to prepare) your periodic tax returns. Royalty - payments should be clearly marked as such and sent to the Project - Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the address specified in - Section 4, "Information about donations to the Project Gutenberg - Literary Archive Foundation." - -* You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies - you in writing (or by email) within 30 days of receipt that s/he - does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm - License. You must require such a user to return or destroy all - copies of the works possessed in a physical medium and discontinue - all use of and all access to other copies of Project Gutenberg-tm - works. - -* You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of - any money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the - electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days of - receipt of the work. - -* You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free - distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. - -1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic work or group of works on different terms than -are set forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing -from the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the manager of -the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the Foundation as set -forth in Section 3 below. - -1.F. - -1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable -effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread -works not protected by U.S. copyright law in creating the Project -Gutenberg-tm collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may -contain "Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate -or corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other -intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or -other medium, a computer virus, or computer codes that damage or -cannot be read by your equipment. - -1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right -of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project -Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all -liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal -fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT -LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE -PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE -TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE -LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR -INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH -DAMAGE. - -1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a -defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can -receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a -written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you -received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium -with your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you -with the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in -lieu of a refund. If you received the work electronically, the person -or entity providing it to you may choose to give you a second -opportunity to receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If -the second copy is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing -without further opportunities to fix the problem. - -1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth -in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS', WITH NO -OTHER WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT -LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. - -1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied -warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of -damages. If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement -violates the law of the state applicable to this agreement, the -agreement shall be interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or -limitation permitted by the applicable state law. The invalidity or -unenforceability of any provision of this agreement shall not void the -remaining provisions. - -1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the -trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone -providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in -accordance with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the -production, promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic works, harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, -including legal fees, that arise directly or indirectly from any of -the following which you do or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this -or any Project Gutenberg-tm work, (b) alteration, modification, or -additions or deletions to any Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any -Defect you cause. - -Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm - -Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of -electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of -computers including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It -exists because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations -from people in all walks of life. - -Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the -assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's -goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will -remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure -and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future -generations. To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation and how your efforts and donations can help, see -Sections 3 and 4 and the Foundation information page at -www.gutenberg.org - -Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation - -The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non-profit -501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the -state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal -Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification -number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent permitted by -U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. - -The Foundation's business office is located at 809 North 1500 West, -Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887. Email contact links and up -to date contact information can be found at the Foundation's website -and official page at www.gutenberg.org/contact - -Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg -Literary Archive Foundation - -Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without -widespread public support and donations to carry out its mission of -increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be -freely distributed in machine-readable form accessible by the widest -array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations -($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt -status with the IRS. - -The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating -charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United -States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a -considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up -with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations -where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To SEND -DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any particular -state visit www.gutenberg.org/donate - -While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we -have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition -against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who -approach us with offers to donate. - -International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make -any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from -outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. - -Please check the Project Gutenberg web pages for current donation -methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other -ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. To -donate, please visit: www.gutenberg.org/donate - -Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic -works - -Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project -Gutenberg-tm concept of a library of electronic works that could be -freely shared with anyone. For forty years, he produced and -distributed Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of -volunteer support. - -Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed -editions, all of which are confirmed as not protected by copyright in -the U.S. unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not -necessarily keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper -edition. - -Most people start at our website which has the main PG search -facility: www.gutenberg.org - -This website includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, -including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to -subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. - - diff --git a/old/394-0_20210429.zip b/old/394-0_20210429.zip Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 29088f6..0000000 --- a/old/394-0_20210429.zip +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/394-h_20130224.htm b/old/394-h_20130224.htm deleted file mode 100644 index 9b918ac..0000000 --- a/old/394-h_20130224.htm +++ /dev/null @@ -1,8283 +0,0 @@ -<!DOCTYPE html - PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" - "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> -<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> -<head> -<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=US-ASCII" /> -<title>Cranford, by Elizabeth Cleghorn Gaskell</title> - <style type="text/css"> -/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ -<!-- - P { margin-top: .75em; - margin-bottom: .75em; - } - P.gutsumm { margin-left: 5%;} - P.poetry {margin-left: 3%; } - .GutSmall { font-size: 0.7em; } - H1, H2 { - text-align: center; - margin-top: 2em; - margin-bottom: 2em; - } - H3, H4, H5 { - text-align: center; - margin-top: 1em; - margin-bottom: 1em; - } - BODY{margin-left: 10%; - margin-right: 10%; - } - table { border-collapse: collapse; } -table {margin-left:auto; margin-right:auto;} - td { vertical-align: top; border: 1px solid black;} - td p { margin: 0.2em; } - .blkquot {margin-left: 4em; margin-right: 4em;} /* block indent */ - - .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} - - .pagenum {position: absolute; - left: 92%; - font-size: small; - text-align: right; - font-weight: normal; - color: gray; - } - img { border: none; } - img.dc { float: left; width: 50px; height: 50px; } - p.gutindent { margin-left: 2em; } - div.gapspace { height: 0.8em; } - div.gapline { height: 0.8em; width: 100%; border-top: 1px solid;} - div.gapmediumline { height: 0.3em; width: 40%; margin-left:30%; - border-top: 1px solid; } - div.gapmediumdoubleline { height: 0.3em; width: 40%; margin-left:30%; - border-top: 1px solid; border-bottom: 1px solid;} - div.gapshortdoubleline { height: 0.3em; width: 20%; - margin-left: 40%; border-top: 1px solid; - border-bottom: 1px solid; } - div.gapdoubleline { height: 0.3em; width: 50%; - margin-left: 25%; border-top: 1px solid; - border-bottom: 1px solid;} - div.gapshortline { height: 0.3em; width: 20%; margin-left:40%; - border-top: 1px solid; } - .citation {vertical-align: super; - font-size: .8em; - text-decoration: none;} - img.floatleft { float: left; - margin-right: 1em; - margin-top: 0.5em; margin-bottom: 0.5em; } - img.floatright { float: right; - margin-left: 1em; margin-top: 0.5em; - margin-bottom: 0.5em; } - img.clearcenter {display: block; - margin-left: auto; - margin-right: auto; margin-top: 0.5em; - margin-bottom: 0.5em} - --> - /* XML end ]]>*/ - </style> -</head> -<body> -<pre> - -The Project Gutenberg eBook, Cranford, by Elizabeth Cleghorn Gaskell, -Illustrated by C. E. Brocks - - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org - - - - - -Title: Cranford - - -Author: Elizabeth Cleghorn Gaskell - - - -Release Date: February 24, 2013 [eBook #394] -[This file was first posted on December 7, 1995] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) - - -***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CRANFORD*** -</pre> -<p>Transcribed from the 1907 J. M. Dent edition by David Price, -email ccx074@pglaf.org. Extra proofing by Margaret -Price.</p> -<p style="text-align: center"> -<a href="images/fpb.jpg"> -<img alt= -"“Oh, sir! can you be Peter?”" -title= -"“Oh, sir! can you be Peter?”" -src="images/fps.jpg" /> -</a></p> -<h1>CRANFORD</h1> -<p style="text-align: center"><i>by</i><br /> -<i>Elizabeth Cleghorn Gaskell</i></p> -<p style="text-align: center"> -<a href="images/tpb.jpg"> -<img alt= -"Picture of lady pouring tea" -title= -"Picture of lady pouring tea" -src="images/tps.jpg" /> -</a></p> -<p style="text-align: center"><i>With twenty-five coloured -illustrations</i><br /> -<i>by C. E. Brock</i></p> -<p style="text-align: center"> -<a href="images/tp2b.jpg"> -<img alt= -"Decorative graphic" -title= -"Decorative graphic" -src="images/tp2s.jpg" /> -</a></p> -<p style="text-align: center">1904</p> -<p style="text-align: center"><i>London</i>. <i>J. M. Dent -& C</i><sup><i>o</i></sup><i>.</i><br /> -<i>New York</i>. <i>E. P. Dutton & -C</i><sup><i>o</i></sup><i>.</i></p> -<h2><a name="pagevii"></a><span class="pagenum">p. -vii</span>CONTENTS</h2> -<table> -<tr> -<td colspan="2"><p style="text-align: center"><i>CHAPTER -I</i></p> -</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td><p><i>Our Society</i></p> -</td> -<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a -href="#page1">1</a></span></p> -</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td colspan="2"><p style="text-align: center"><i>CHAPTER -II</i></p> -</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td><p><i>The Captain</i></p> -</td> -<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a -href="#page16">16</a></span></p> -</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td colspan="2"><p style="text-align: center"><i>CHAPTER -III</i></p> -</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td><p><i>A Love Affair of Long Ago</i></p> -</td> -<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a -href="#page36">36</a></span></p> -</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td colspan="2"><p style="text-align: center"><i>CHAPTER -IV</i></p> -</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td><p><i>A Visit to an Old Bachelor</i></p> -</td> -<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a -href="#page49">49</a></span></p> -</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td colspan="2"><p style="text-align: center"><i>CHAPTER -V</i></p> -</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td><p><i>Old Letters</i></p> -</td> -<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a -href="#page65">65</a></span></p> -</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td colspan="2"><p style="text-align: center"><i>CHAPTER -VI</i></p> -</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td><p><i>Poor Peter</i></p> -</td> -<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a -href="#page80">80</a></span></p> -</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td colspan="2"><p style="text-align: center"><i>CHAPTER -VII</i></p> -</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td><p><i>Visiting</i></p> -</td> -<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a -href="#page96">96</a></span></p> -</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td colspan="2"><p style="text-align: center"><a -name="pageviii"></a><span class="pagenum">p. -viii</span><i>CHAPTER VIII</i></p> -</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td><p>“<i>Your Ladyship</i>”</p> -</td> -<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a -href="#page110">110</a></span></p> -</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td colspan="2"><p style="text-align: center"><i>CHAPTER -IX</i></p> -</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td><p><i>Signor Brunoni</i></p> -</td> -<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a -href="#page128">128</a></span></p> -</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td colspan="2"><p style="text-align: center"><i>CHAPTER -X</i></p> -</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td><p><i>The Panic</i></p> -</td> -<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a -href="#page142">142</a></span></p> -</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td colspan="2"><p style="text-align: center"><i>CHAPTER -XI</i></p> -</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td><p><i>Samuel Brown</i></p> -</td> -<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a -href="#page161">161</a></span></p> -</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td colspan="2"><p style="text-align: center"><i>CHAPTER -XII</i></p> -</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td><p><i>Engaged to be Married</i></p> -</td> -<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a -href="#page177">177</a></span></p> -</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td colspan="2"><p style="text-align: center"><i>CHAPTER -XIII</i></p> -</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td><p><i>Stopped Payment</i></p> -</td> -<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a -href="#page189">189</a></span></p> -</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td colspan="2"><p style="text-align: center"><i>CHAPTER -XIV</i></p> -</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td><p><i>Friends in Need</i></p> -</td> -<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a -href="#page204">204</a></span></p> -</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td colspan="2"><p style="text-align: center"><i>CHAPTER -XV</i></p> -</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td><p><i>A Happy Return</i></p> -</td> -<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a -href="#page228">228</a></span></p> -</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td colspan="2"><p style="text-align: center"><i>CHAPTER -XVI</i></p> -</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td><p><i>Peace to Cranford</i></p> -</td> -<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a -href="#page245">245</a></span></p> -</td> -</tr> -</table> -<h2><a name="pageix"></a><span class="pagenum">p. ix</span>LIST -OF ILLUSTRATIONS</h2> -<table> -<tr> -<td><p>“<i>Oh, sir</i>! <i>Can you be -Peter</i>?”</p> -</td> -<td><p style="text-align: right">Frontispiece</p> -</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td><p><i>Title-page</i></p> -</td> -<td><p style="text-align: center">—</p> -</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td><p><i>A magnificent family red silk umbrella</i></p> -</td> -<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a -href="#page3">3</a></span></p> -</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td><p><i>Meekly going to her pasture</i></p> -</td> -<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a -href="#page8">8</a></span></p> -</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td><p><i>Endeavouring to beguile her into conversation</i></p> -</td> -<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a -href="#page14">14</a></span></p> -</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td><p><i>She brought the affrighted carter . . . into the -drawing-room</i></p> -</td> -<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a -href="#page24">24</a></span></p> -</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td><p>“<i>With his arm round Miss Jessie’s -waist</i>!”</p> -</td> -<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a -href="#page33">33</a></span></p> -</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td><p><i>Mr Holbrook . . . bade us good-bye</i></p> -</td> -<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a -href="#page48">48</a></span></p> -</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td><p><i>Now</i>, <i>what colour are ash-buds in March</i>?</p> -</td> -<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a -href="#page54">54</a></span></p> -</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td><p><i>I made us of the time to think of many other -things</i></p> -</td> -<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a -href="#page74">74</a></span></p> -</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td><p>“<i>Confound the woman</i>!”</p> -</td> -<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a -href="#page82">82</a></span></p> -</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td><p><i>The temptation of the comfortable arm-chair had been -too much for her</i></p> -</td> -<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a -href="#page106">106</a></span></p> -</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td><p><i>Mr Mulliner</i></p> -</td> -<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a -href="#page117">117</a></span></p> -</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td><p><i>We gave her a tea-spoonful of currant jelly</i></p> -</td> -<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a -href="#page124">124</a></span></p> -</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td><p><i>Afraid of matrimonial reports</i></p> -</td> -<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a -href="#page140">140</a></span></p> -</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td><p><a name="pagex"></a><span class="pagenum">p. -x</span><i>Asked him to take care of us</i></p> -</td> -<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a -href="#page148">148</a></span></p> -</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td><p><i>Slaughterous and indiscriminate directions</i></p> -</td> -<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a -href="#page157">157</a></span></p> -</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td><p><i>Would stretch out their little arms</i></p> -</td> -<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a -href="#page170">170</a></span></p> -</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td><p>“<i>What do you think</i>, <i>Miss -Matty</i>?”</p> -</td> -<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a -href="#page179">179</a></span></p> -</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td><p><i>Standing over him like a bold dragoon</i></p> -</td> -<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a -href="#page190">190</a></span></p> -</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td><p>“<i>You must give me your note</i>, <i>Mr -Dobson</i>, <i>if you please</i>”</p> -</td> -<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a -href="#page198">198</a></span></p> -</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td><p>“<i>Please</i>, <i>ma’am, he wants to marry me -off hand</i>”</p> -</td> -<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a -href="#page213">213</a></span></p> -</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td><p><i>Miss Matty and I sat assenting to accounts</i></p> -</td> -<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a -href="#page220">220</a></span></p> -</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td><p><i>Smiling glory . . . and becoming blushes</i></p> -</td> -<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a -href="#page231">231</a></span></p> -</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td><p><i>I went to call Miss Matty</i></p> -</td> -<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a -href="#page234">234</a></span></p> -</td> -</tr> -</table> - -<div class="gapspace"> </div> -<p><i>Most of the three-colour blocks used in this book have been -made by the Graphic Photo-Engraving Co.</i>, <i>London</i></p> -<h2><a name="page1"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 1</span>CHAPTER -I—OUR SOCIETY</h2> -<p><span class="smcap">In</span> the first place, Cranford is in -possession of the Amazons; all the holders of houses above a -certain rent are women. If a married couple come to settle -in the town, somehow the gentleman disappears; he is either -fairly frightened to death by being the only man in the Cranford -evening parties, or he is accounted for by being with his -regiment, his ship, or closely engaged in business all the week -in the great neighbouring commercial town of Drumble, distant -only twenty miles on a railroad. In short, whatever does -become of the gentlemen, they are not at Cranford. What -could they do if they were there? The surgeon has his round -of thirty miles, and sleeps at Cranford; but every man cannot be -a surgeon. For keeping the trim gardens full of choice -flowers without a weed to speck them; for frightening away little -boys who look wistfully at the said flowers through the railings; -for rushing out at the geese <a name="page2"></a><span -class="pagenum">p. 2</span>that occasionally venture in to the -gardens if the gates are left open; for deciding all questions of -literature and politics without troubling themselves with -unnecessary reasons or arguments; for obtaining clear and correct -knowledge of everybody’s affairs in the parish; for keeping -their neat maid-servants in admirable order; for kindness -(somewhat dictatorial) to the poor, and real tender good offices -to each other whenever they are in distress, the ladies of -Cranford are quite sufficient. “A man,” as one -of them observed to me once, “is <i>so</i> in the way in -the house!” Although the ladies of Cranford know all -each other’s proceedings, they are exceedingly indifferent -to each other’s opinions. Indeed, as each has her own -individuality, not to say eccentricity, pretty strongly -developed, nothing is so easy as verbal retaliation; but, -somehow, good-will reigns among them to a considerable -degree.</p> -<p>The Cranford ladies have only an occasional little quarrel, -spirited out in a few peppery words and angry jerks of the head; -just enough to prevent the even tenor of their lives from -becoming too flat. Their dress is very independent of -fashion; as they observe, “What does it signify how we -dress here at Cranford, where everybody knows us?” -And if they go from home, their reason is equally cogent, -“What does it signify how we dress here, where nobody knows -us?” The materials of their clothes are, in general, -good and plain, and most of them are nearly as scrupulous as Miss -Tyler, of cleanly memory; but I will answer for it, the last -gigot, the last tight and scanty petticoat in wear in England, -was seen in Cranford—and seen without a smile.</p> -<p style="text-align: center"> -<a href="images/p3b.jpg"> -<img alt= -"A magnificent family red silk umbrella" -title= -"A magnificent family red silk umbrella" -src="images/p3s.jpg" /> -</a></p> -<p><a name="page3"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 3</span>I can -testify to a magnificent family red silk umbrella, under which a -gentle little spinster, left alone of many brothers and sisters, -used to patter to church on rainy days. Have you any red -silk umbrellas in London? We had a tradition of the first -that had ever been seen in Cranford; and the little boys mobbed -it, and called it “a stick in petticoats.” It -might have been the very red silk one I have described, held by a -strong father over a troop of little ones; the poor little -lady—the survivor of all—could scarcely carry it.</p> -<p>Then there were rules and regulations for visiting and calls; -and they were announced to any young people who might be staying -in the town, with all the solemnity with which the old Manx laws -were read once a year on the Tinwald Mount.</p> -<p>“Our friends have sent to inquire how you are after your -journey to-night, my dear” (fifteen miles in a -gentleman’s carriage); “they will give you some rest -to-morrow, but the next day, I have no doubt, they will call; so -be at liberty after twelve—from twelve to three are our -calling hours.”</p> -<p>Then, after they had called—</p> -<p>“It is the third day; I dare say your mamma has told -you, my dear, never to let more than three days elapse between -receiving a call and returning it; and also, that you are never -to stay longer than a quarter of an hour.”</p> -<p>“But am I to look at my watch? How am I to find -out when a quarter of an hour has passed?”</p> -<p>“You must keep thinking about the time, my dear, and not -allow yourself to forget it in conversation.”</p> -<p><a name="page4"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 4</span>As -everybody had this rule in their minds, whether they received or -paid a call, of course no absorbing subject was ever spoken -about. We kept ourselves to short sentences of small talk, -and were punctual to our time.</p> -<p>I imagine that a few of the gentlefolks of Cranford were poor, -and had some difficulty in making both ends meet; but they were -like the Spartans, and concealed their smart under a smiling -face. We none of us spoke of money, because that subject -savoured of commerce and trade, and though some might be poor, we -were all aristocratic. The Cranfordians had that kindly -<i>esprit de corps</i> which made them overlook all deficiencies -in success when some among them tried to conceal their -poverty. When Mrs Forrester, for instance, gave a party in -her baby-house of a dwelling, and the little maiden disturbed the -ladies on the sofa by a request that she might get the tea-tray -out from underneath, everyone took this novel proceeding as the -most natural thing in the world, and talked on about household -forms and ceremonies as if we all believed that our hostess had a -regular servants’ hall, second table, with housekeeper and -steward, instead of the one little charity-school maiden, whose -short ruddy arms could never have been strong enough to carry the -tray upstairs, if she had not been assisted in private by her -mistress, who now sat in state, pretending not to know what cakes -were sent up, though she knew, and we knew, and she knew that we -knew, and we knew that she knew that we knew, she had been busy -all the morning making tea-bread and sponge-cakes.</p> -<p><a name="page5"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 5</span>There -were one or two consequences arising from this general but -unacknowledged poverty, and this very much acknowledged -gentility, which were not amiss, and which might be introduced -into many circles of society to their great improvement. -For instance, the inhabitants of Cranford kept early hours, and -clattered home in their pattens, under the guidance of a -lantern-bearer, about nine o’clock at night; and the whole -town was abed and asleep by half-past ten. Moreover, it was -considered “vulgar” (a tremendous word in Cranford) -to give anything expensive, in the way of eatable or drinkable, -at the evening entertainments. Wafer bread-and-butter and -sponge-biscuits were all that the Honourable Mrs Jamieson gave; -and she was sister-in-law to the late Earl of Glenmire, although -she did practise such “elegant economy.”</p> -<p>“Elegant economy!” How naturally one falls -back into the phraseology of Cranford! There, economy was -always “elegant,” and money-spending always -“vulgar and ostentatious”; a sort of sour-grapeism -which made us very peaceful and satisfied. I never shall -forget the dismay felt when a certain Captain Brown came to live -at Cranford, and openly spoke about his being poor—not in a -whisper to an intimate friend, the doors and windows being -previously closed, but in the public street! in a loud military -voice! alleging his poverty as a reason for not taking a -particular house. The ladies of Cranford were already -rather moaning over the invasion of their territories by a man -and a gentleman. He was a half-pay captain, and had -obtained some situation on a neighbouring railroad, which had <a -name="page6"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 6</span>been vehemently -petitioned against by the little town; and if, in addition to his -masculine gender, and his connection with the obnoxious railroad, -he was so brazen as to talk of being poor—why, then, -indeed, he must be sent to Coventry. Death was as true and -as common as poverty; yet people never spoke about that, loud out -in the streets. It was a word not to be mentioned to ears -polite. We had tacitly agreed to ignore that any with whom -we associated on terms of visiting equality could ever be -prevented by poverty from doing anything that they wished. -If we walked to or from a party, it was because the night was -<i>so</i> fine, or the air <i>so</i> refreshing, not because -sedan-chairs were expensive. If we wore prints, instead of -summer silks, it was because we preferred a washing material; and -so on, till we blinded ourselves to the vulgar fact that we were, -all of us, people of very moderate means. Of course, then, -we did not know what to make of a man who could speak of poverty -as if it was not a disgrace. Yet, somehow, Captain Brown -made himself respected in Cranford, and was called upon, in spite -of all resolutions to the contrary. I was surprised to hear -his opinions quoted as authority at a visit which I paid to -Cranford about a year after he had settled in the town. My -own friends had been among the bitterest opponents of any -proposal to visit the Captain and his daughters, only twelve -months before; and now he was even admitted in the tabooed hours -before twelve. True, it was to discover the cause of a -smoking chimney, before the fire was lighted; but still Captain -Brown walked upstairs, nothing daunted, spoke in a voice too -large for the room, and joked <a name="page7"></a><span -class="pagenum">p. 7</span>quite in the way of a tame man about -the house. He had been blind to all the small slights, and -omissions of trivial ceremonies, with which he had been -received. He had been friendly, though the Cranford ladies -had been cool; he had answered small sarcastic compliments in -good faith; and with his manly frankness had overpowered all the -shrinking which met him as a man who was not ashamed to be -poor. And, at last, his excellent masculine common sense, -and his facility in devising expedients to overcome domestic -dilemmas, had gained him an extraordinary place as authority -among the Cranford ladies. He himself went on in his -course, as unaware of his popularity as he had been of the -reverse; and I am sure he was startled one day when he found his -advice so highly esteemed as to make some counsel which he had -given in jest to be taken in sober, serious earnest.</p> -<p>It was on this subject: An old lady had an Alderney cow, which -she looked upon as a daughter. You could not pay the short -quarter of an hour call without being told of the wonderful milk -or wonderful intelligence of this animal. The whole town -knew and kindly regarded Miss Betsy Barker’s Alderney; -therefore great was the sympathy and regret when, in an unguarded -moment, the poor cow tumbled into a lime-pit. She moaned so -loudly that she was soon heard and rescued; but meanwhile the -poor beast had lost most of her hair, and came out looking naked, -cold, and miserable, in a bare skin. Everybody pitied the -animal, though a few could not restrain their smiles at her droll -appearance. Miss Betsy Barker absolutely cried with sorrow -and dismay; <a name="page8"></a><span class="pagenum">p. -8</span>and it was said she thought of trying a bath of -oil. This remedy, perhaps, was recommended by some one of -the number whose advice she asked; but the proposal, if ever it -was made, was knocked on the head by Captain Brown’s -decided “Get her a flannel waistcoat and flannel drawers, -ma’am, if you wish to keep her alive. But my advice -is, kill the poor creature at once.”</p> -<p>Miss Betsy Barker dried her eyes, and thanked the Captain -heartily; she set to work, and by-and-by all the town turned out -to see the Alderney meekly going to her pasture, clad in dark -grey flannel. I have watched her myself many a time. -Do you ever see cows dressed in grey flannel in London?</p> -<p style="text-align: center"> -<a href="images/p8b.jpg"> -<img alt= -"Meekly going to her pasture" -title= -"Meekly going to her pasture" -src="images/p8s.jpg" /> -</a></p> -<p>Captain Brown had taken a small house on the outskirts of the -town, where he lived with his two daughters. He must have -been upwards of sixty at the time of the first visit I paid to -Cranford after I had left it as a residence. But he had a -wiry, well-trained, elastic figure, a stiff military throw-back -of his head, and a springing step, which made him appear much -younger than he was. His eldest daughter looked almost as -old as himself, and betrayed the fact that his real was more than -his apparent age. Miss Brown must have been forty; she had -a sickly, pained, careworn expression on her face, and looked as -if the gaiety of youth had long faded out of sight. Even -when young she must have been plain and hard-featured. Miss -Jessie Brown was ten years younger than her sister, and twenty -shades prettier. Her face was round and dimpled. Miss -Jenkyns once said, in a passion against Captain Brown (the cause -of which I will tell you presently), <a name="page9"></a><span -class="pagenum">p. 9</span>“that she thought it was time -for Miss Jessie to leave off her dimples, and not always to be -trying to look like a child.” It was true there was -something childlike in her face; and there will be, I think, till -she dies, though she should live to a hundred. Her eyes -were large blue wondering eyes, looking straight at you; her nose -was unformed and snub, and her lips were red and dewy; she wore -her hair, too, in little rows of curls, which heightened this -appearance. I do not know whether she was pretty or not; -but I liked her face, and so did everybody, and I do not think -she could help her dimples. She had something of her -father’s jauntiness of gait and manner; and any female -observer might detect a slight difference in the attire of the -two sisters—that of Miss Jessie being about two pounds per -annum more expensive than Miss Brown’s. Two pounds -was a large sum in Captain Brown’s annual -disbursements.</p> -<p>Such was the impression made upon me by the Brown family when -I first saw them all together in Cranford Church. The -Captain I had met before—on the occasion of the smoky -chimney, which he had cured by some simple alteration in the -flue. In church, he held his double eye-glass to his eyes -during the Morning Hymn, and then lifted up his head erect and -sang out loud and joyfully. He made the responses louder -than the clerk—an old man with a piping feeble voice, who, -I think, felt aggrieved at the Captain’s sonorous bass, and -quivered higher and higher in consequence.</p> -<p>On coming out of church, the brisk Captain paid the most -gallant attention to his two daughters. <a -name="page10"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 10</span>He nodded and -smiled to his acquaintances; but he shook hands with none until -he had helped Miss Brown to unfurl her umbrella, had relieved her -of her prayer-book, and had waited patiently till she, with -trembling nervous hands, had taken up her gown to walk through -the wet roads.</p> -<p>I wonder what the Cranford ladies did with Captain Brown at -their parties. We had often rejoiced, in former days, that -there was no gentleman to be attended to, and to find -conversation for, at the card-parties. We had congratulated -ourselves upon the snugness of the evenings; and, in our love for -gentility, and distaste of mankind, we had almost persuaded -ourselves that to be a man was to be “vulgar”; so -that when I found my friend and hostess, Miss Jenkyns, was going -to have a party in my honour, and that Captain and the Miss -Browns were invited, I wondered much what would be the course of -the evening. Card-tables, with green baize tops, were set -out by daylight, just as usual; it was the third week in -November, so the evenings closed in about four. Candles, -and clean packs of cards, were arranged on each table. The -fire was made up; the neat maid-servant had received her last -directions; and there we stood, dressed in our best, each with a -candle-lighter in our hands, ready to dart at the candles as soon -as the first knock came. Parties in Cranford were solemn -festivities, making the ladies feel gravely elated as they sat -together in their best dresses. As soon as three had -arrived, we sat down to “Preference,” I being the -unlucky fourth. The next four comers were put down -immediately to another table; and presently the tea-trays, <a -name="page11"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 11</span>which I had -seen set out in the store-room as I passed in the morning, were -placed each on the middle of a card-table. The china was -delicate egg-shell; the old-fashioned silver glittered with -polishing; but the eatables were of the slightest -description. While the trays were yet on the tables, -Captain and the Miss Browns came in; and I could see that, -somehow or other, the Captain was a favourite with all the ladies -present. Ruffled brows were smoothed, sharp voices lowered -at his approach. Miss Brown looked ill, and depressed -almost to gloom. Miss Jessie smiled as usual, and seemed -nearly as popular as her father. He immediately and quietly -assumed the man’s place in the room; attended to every -one’s wants, lessened the pretty maid-servant’s -labour by waiting on empty cups and bread-and-butterless ladies; -and yet did it all in so easy and dignified a manner, and so much -as if it were a matter of course for the strong to attend to the -weak, that he was a true man throughout. He played for -threepenny points with as grave an interest as if they had been -pounds; and yet, in all his attention to strangers, he had an eye -on his suffering daughter—for suffering I was sure she was, -though to many eyes she might only appear to be irritable. -Miss Jessie could not play cards: but she talked to the -sitters-out, who, before her coming, had been rather inclined to -be cross. She sang, too, to an old cracked piano, which I -think had been a spinet in its youth. Miss Jessie sang, -“Jock of Hazeldean” a little out of tune; but we were -none of us musical, though Miss Jenkyns beat time, out of time, -by way of appearing to be so.</p> -<p><a name="page12"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 12</span>It was -very good of Miss Jenkyns to do this; for I had seen that, a -little before, she had been a good deal annoyed by Miss Jessie -Brown’s unguarded admission (<i>à propos</i> of -Shetland wool) that she had an uncle, her mother’s brother, -who was a shop-keeper in Edinburgh. Miss Jenkyns tried to -drown this confession by a terrible cough—for the -Honourable Mrs Jamieson was sitting at a card-table nearest Miss -Jessie, and what would she say or think if she found out she was -in the same room with a shop-keeper’s niece! But Miss -Jessie Brown (who had no tact, as we all agreed the next morning) -<i>would</i> repeat the information, and assure Miss Pole she -could easily get her the identical Shetland wool required, -“through my uncle, who has the best assortment of Shetland -goods of any one in Edinbro’.” It was to take -the taste of this out of our mouths, and the sound of this out of -our ears, that Miss Jenkyns proposed music; so I say again, it -was very good of her to beat time to the song.</p> -<p>When the trays re-appeared with biscuits and wine, punctually -at a quarter to nine, there was conversation, comparing of cards, -and talking over tricks; but by-and-by Captain Brown sported a -bit of literature.</p> -<p>“Have you seen any numbers of ‘The Pickwick -Papers’?” said he. (They were then publishing -in parts.) “Capital thing!”</p> -<p>Now Miss Jenkyns was daughter of a deceased rector of -Cranford; and, on the strength of a number of manuscript sermons, -and a pretty good library of divinity, considered herself -literary, and looked upon any conversation about books as a <a -name="page13"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 13</span>challenge to -her. So she answered and said, “Yes, she had seen -them; indeed, she might say she had read them.”</p> -<p>“And what do you think of them?” exclaimed Captain -Brown. “Aren’t they famously good?”</p> -<p>So urged Miss Jenkyns could not but speak.</p> -<p>“I must say, I don’t think they are by any means -equal to Dr Johnson. Still, perhaps, the author is -young. Let him persevere, and who knows what he may become -if he will take the great Doctor for his model?” This -was evidently too much for Captain Brown to take placidly; and I -saw the words on the tip of his tongue before Miss Jenkyns had -finished her sentence.</p> -<p>“It is quite a different sort of thing, my dear -madam,” he began.</p> -<p>“I am quite aware of that,” returned she. -“And I make allowances, Captain Brown.”</p> -<p>“Just allow me to read you a scene out of this -month’s number,” pleaded he. “I had it -only this morning, and I don’t think the company can have -read it yet.”</p> -<p>“As you please,” said she, settling herself with -an air of resignation. He read the account of the -“swarry” which Sam Weller gave at Bath. Some of -us laughed heartily. <i>I</i> did not dare, because I was -staying in the house. Miss Jenkyns sat in patient -gravity. When it was ended, she turned to me, and said with -mild dignity—</p> -<p>“Fetch me ‘Rasselas,’ my dear, out of the -book-room.”</p> -<p>When I had brought it to her, she turned to Captain -Brown—</p> -<p><a name="page14"></a><span class="pagenum">p. -14</span>“Now allow <i>me</i> to read you a scene, and then -the present company can judge between your favourite, Mr Boz, and -Dr Johnson.”</p> -<p>She read one of the conversations between Rasselas and Imlac, -in a high-pitched, majestic voice: and when she had ended, she -said, “I imagine I am now justified in my preference of Dr -Johnson as a writer of fiction.” The Captain screwed -his lips up, and drummed on the table, but he did not -speak. She thought she would give him a finishing blow or -two.</p> -<p style="text-align: center"> -<a href="images/p14b.jpg"> -<img alt= -"Endeavouring to beguile her into conversation" -title= -"Endeavouring to beguile her into conversation" -src="images/p14s.jpg" /> -</a></p> -<p>“I consider it vulgar, and below the dignity of -literature, to publish in numbers.”</p> -<p>“How was the <i>Rambler</i> published, -ma’am?” asked Captain Brown in a low voice, which I -think Miss Jenkyns could not have heard.</p> -<p>“Dr Johnson’s style is a model for young -beginners. My father recommended it to me when I began to -write letters—I have formed my own style upon it; I -recommended it to your favourite.”</p> -<p>“I should be very sorry for him to exchange his style -for any such pompous writing,” said Captain Brown.</p> -<p>Miss Jenkyns felt this as a personal affront, in a way of -which the Captain had not dreamed. Epistolary writing she -and her friends considered as her <i>forte</i>. Many a copy -of many a letter have I seen written and corrected on the slate, -before she “seized the half-hour just previous to post-time -to assure” her friends of this or of that; and Dr Johnson -was, as she said, her model in these compositions. She drew -herself up with dignity, <a name="page15"></a><span -class="pagenum">p. 15</span>and only replied to Captain -Brown’s last remark by saying, with marked emphasis on -every syllable, “I prefer Dr Johnson to Mr Boz.”</p> -<p>It is said—I won’t vouch for the fact—that -Captain Brown was heard to say, <i>sotto voce</i>, “D-n Dr -Johnson!” If he did, he was penitent afterwards, as -he showed by going to stand near Miss Jenkyns’ arm-chair, -and endeavouring to beguile her into conversation on some more -pleasing subject. But she was inexorable. The next -day she made the remark I have mentioned about Miss -Jessie’s dimples.</p> -<h2><a name="page16"></a><span class="pagenum">p. -16</span>CHAPTER II—THE CAPTAIN</h2> -<p><span class="smcap">It</span> was impossible to live a month -at Cranford and not know the daily habits of each resident; and -long before my visit was ended I knew much concerning the whole -Brown trio. There was nothing new to be discovered -respecting their poverty; for they had spoken simply and openly -about that from the very first. They made no mystery of the -necessity for their being economical. All that remained to -be discovered was the Captain’s infinite kindness of heart, -and the various modes in which, unconsciously to himself, he -manifested it. Some little anecdotes were talked about for -some time after they occurred. As we did not read much, and -as all the ladies were pretty well suited with servants, there -was a dearth of subjects for conversation. We therefore -discussed the circumstance of the Captain taking a poor old -woman’s dinner out of her hands one very slippery -Sunday. He had met her returning from the bakehouse as he -came from church, and noticed her precarious footing; and, with -the grave dignity with which he did everything, he relieved her -of her burden, and steered along the <a name="page17"></a><span -class="pagenum">p. 17</span>street by her side, carrying her -baked mutton and potatoes safely home. This was thought -very eccentric; and it was rather expected that he would pay a -round of calls, on the Monday morning, to explain and apologise -to the Cranford sense of propriety: but he did no such thing: and -then it was decided that he was ashamed, and was keeping out of -sight. In a kindly pity for him, we began to say, -“After all, the Sunday morning’s occurrence showed -great goodness of heart,” and it was resolved that he -should be comforted on his next appearance amongst us; but, lo! -he came down upon us, untouched by any sense of shame, speaking -loud and bass as ever, his head thrown back, his wig as jaunty -and well-curled as usual, and we were obliged to conclude he had -forgotten all about Sunday.</p> -<p>Miss Pole and Miss Jessie Brown had set up a kind of intimacy -on the strength of the Shetland wool and the new knitting -stitches; so it happened that when I went to visit Miss Pole I -saw more of the Browns than I had done while staying with Miss -Jenkyns, who had never got over what she called Captain -Brown’s disparaging remarks upon Dr Johnson as a writer of -light and agreeable fiction. I found that Miss Brown was -seriously ill of some lingering, incurable complaint, the pain -occasioned by which gave the uneasy expression to her face that I -had taken for unmitigated crossness. Cross, too, she was at -times, when the nervous irritability occasioned by her disease -became past endurance. Miss Jessie bore with her at these -times, even more patiently than she did with the bitter -self-upbraidings by which they <a name="page18"></a><span -class="pagenum">p. 18</span>were invariably succeeded. Miss -Brown used to accuse herself, not merely of hasty and irritable -temper, but also of being the cause why her father and sister -were obliged to pinch, in order to allow her the small luxuries -which were necessaries in her condition. She would so fain -have made sacrifices for them, and have lightened their cares, -that the original generosity of her disposition added acerbity to -her temper. All this was borne by Miss Jessie and her -father with more than placidity—with absolute -tenderness. I forgave Miss Jessie her singing out of tune, -and her juvenility of dress, when I saw her at home. I came -to perceive that Captain Brown’s dark Brutus wig and padded -coat (alas! too often threadbare) were remnants of the military -smartness of his youth, which he now wore unconsciously. He -was a man of infinite resources, gained in his barrack -experience. As he confessed, no one could black his boots -to please him except himself; but, indeed, he was not above -saving the little maid-servant’s labours in every -way—knowing, most likely, that his daughter’s illness -made the place a hard one.</p> -<p>He endeavoured to make peace with Miss Jenkyns soon after the -memorable dispute I have named, by a present of a wooden -fire-shovel (his own making), having heard her say how much the -grating of an iron one annoyed her. She received the -present with cool gratitude, and thanked him formally. When -he was gone, she bade me put it away in the lumber-room; feeling, -probably, that no present from a man who preferred Mr Boz to Dr -Johnson could be less jarring than an iron fire-shovel.</p> -<p>Such was the state of things when I left Cranford <a -name="page19"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 19</span>and went to -Drumble. I had, however, several correspondents, who kept -me <i>au fait</i> as to the proceedings of the dear little -town. There was Miss Pole, who was becoming as much -absorbed in crochet as she had been once in knitting, and the -burden of whose letter was something like, “But don’t -you forget the white worsted at Flint’s” of the old -song; for at the end of every sentence of news came a fresh -direction as to some crochet commission which I was to execute -for her. Miss Matilda Jenkyns (who did not mind being -called Miss Matty, when Miss Jenkyns was not by) wrote nice, -kind, rambling letters, now and then venturing into an opinion of -her own; but suddenly pulling herself up, and either begging me -not to name what she had said, as Deborah thought differently, -and <i>she</i> knew, or else putting in a postscript to the -effect that, since writing the above, she had been talking over -the subject with Deborah, and was quite convinced that, -etc.—(here probably followed a recantation of every opinion -she had given in the letter). Then came Miss -Jenkyns—Deborah, as she liked Miss Matty to call her, her -father having once said that the Hebrew name ought to be so -pronounced. I secretly think she took the Hebrew prophetess -for a model in character; and, indeed, she was not unlike the -stern prophetess in some ways, making allowance, of course, for -modern customs and difference in dress. Miss Jenkyns wore a -cravat, and a little bonnet like a jockey-cap, and altogether had -the appearance of a strong-minded woman; although she would have -despised the modern idea of women being equal to men. -Equal, indeed! she knew they were superior. But to return -to her letters. Everything <a name="page20"></a><span -class="pagenum">p. 20</span>in them was stately and grand like -herself. I have been looking them over (dear Miss Jenkyns, -how I honoured her!) and I will give an extract, more especially -because it relates to our friend Captain Brown:—</p> -<p>“The Honourable Mrs Jamieson has only just quitted me; -and, in the course of conversation, she communicated to me the -intelligence that she had yesterday received a call from her -revered husband’s quondam friend, Lord Mauleverer. -You will not easily conjecture what brought his lordship within -the precincts of our little town. It was to see Captain -Brown, with whom, it appears, his lordship was acquainted in the -‘plumed wars,’ and who had the privilege of averting -destruction from his lordship’s head when some great peril -was impending over it, off the misnomered Cape of Good -Hope. You know our friend the Honourable Mrs -Jamieson’s deficiency in the spirit of innocent curiosity, -and you will therefore not be so much surprised when I tell you -she was quite unable to disclose to me the exact nature of the -peril in question. I was anxious, I confess, to ascertain -in what manner Captain Brown, with his limited establishment, -could receive so distinguished a guest; and I discovered that his -lordship retired to rest, and, let us hope, to refreshing -slumbers, at the Angel Hotel; but shared the Brunonian meals -during the two days that he honoured Cranford with his august -presence. Mrs Johnson, our civil butcher’s wife, -informs me that Miss Jessie purchased a leg of lamb; but, besides -this, I can hear of no preparation whatever to give a suitable -reception to so distinguished a visitor. <a -name="page21"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 21</span>Perhaps they -entertained him with ‘the feast of reason and the flow of -soul’; and to us, who are acquainted with Captain -Brown’s sad want of relish for ‘the pure wells of -English undefiled,’ it may be matter for congratulation -that he has had the opportunity of improving his taste by holding -converse with an elegant and refined member of the British -aristocracy. But from some mundane failings who is -altogether free?”</p> -<p>Miss Pole and Miss Matty wrote to me by the same post. -Such a piece of news as Lord Mauleverer’s visit was not to -be lost on the Cranford letter-writers: they made the most of -it. Miss Matty humbly apologised for writing at the same -time as her sister, who was so much more capable than she to -describe the honour done to Cranford; but in spite of a little -bad spelling, Miss Matty’s account gave me the best idea of -the commotion occasioned by his lordship’s visit, after it -had occurred; for, except the people at the Angel, the Browns, -Mrs Jamieson, and a little lad his lordship had sworn at for -driving a dirty hoop against the aristocratic legs, I could not -hear of any one with whom his lordship had held conversation.</p> -<p>My next visit to Cranford was in the summer. There had -been neither births, deaths, nor marriages since I was there -last. Everybody lived in the same house, and wore pretty -nearly the same well-preserved, old-fashioned clothes. The -greatest event was, that Miss Jenkyns had purchased a new carpet -for the drawing-room. Oh, the busy work Miss Matty and I -had in chasing the sunbeams, as they fell in an afternoon right -down on this carpet through <a name="page22"></a><span -class="pagenum">p. 22</span>the blindless window! We spread -newspapers over the places and sat down to our book or our work; -and, lo! in a quarter of an hour the sun had moved, and was -blazing away on a fresh spot; and down again we went on our knees -to alter the position of the newspapers. We were very busy, -too, one whole morning, before Miss Jenkyns gave her party, in -following her directions, and in cutting out and stitching -together pieces of newspaper so as to form little paths to every -chair set for the expected visitors, lest their shoes might dirty -or defile the purity of the carpet. Do you make paper paths -for every guest to walk upon in London?</p> -<p>Captain Brown and Miss Jenkyns were not very cordial to each -other. The literary dispute, of which I had seen the -beginning, was a “raw,” the slightest touch on which -made them wince. It was the only difference of opinion they -had ever had; but that difference was enough. Miss Jenkyns -could not refrain from talking at Captain Brown; and, though he -did not reply, he drummed with his fingers, which action she felt -and resented as very disparaging to Dr Johnson. He was -rather ostentatious in his preference of the writings of Mr Boz; -would walk through the streets so absorbed in them that he all -but ran against Miss Jenkyns; and though his apologies were -earnest and sincere, and though he did not, in fact, do more than -startle her and himself, she owned to me she had rather he had -knocked her down, if he had only been reading a higher style of -literature. The poor, brave Captain! he looked older, and -more worn, and his clothes were very threadbare. But he -seemed as bright and cheerful <a name="page23"></a><span -class="pagenum">p. 23</span>as ever, unless he was asked about -his daughter’s health.</p> -<p>“She suffers a great deal, and she must suffer more: we -do what we can to alleviate her pain;—God’s will be -done!” He took off his hat at these last words. -I found, from Miss Matty, that everything had been done, in -fact. A medical man, of high repute in that country -neighbourhood, had been sent for, and every injunction he had -given was attended to, regardless of expense. Miss Matty -was sure they denied themselves many things in order to make the -invalid comfortable; but they never spoke about it; and as for -Miss Jessie!—“I really think she’s an -angel,” said poor Miss Matty, quite overcome. -“To see her way of bearing with Miss Brown’s -crossness, and the bright face she puts on after she’s been -sitting up a whole night and scolded above half of it, is quite -beautiful. Yet she looks as neat and as ready to welcome -the Captain at breakfast-time as if she had been asleep in the -Queen’s bed all night. My dear! you could never laugh -at her prim little curls or her pink bows again if you saw her as -I have done.” I could only feel very penitent, and -greet Miss Jessie with double respect when I met her next. -She looked faded and pinched; and her lips began to quiver, as if -she was very weak, when she spoke of her sister. But she -brightened, and sent back the tears that were glittering in her -pretty eyes, as she said—</p> -<p>“But, to be sure, what a town Cranford is for -kindness! I don’t suppose any one has a better dinner -than usual cooked but the best part of all comes in a little -covered basin for my sister. The <a name="page24"></a><span -class="pagenum">p. 24</span>poor people will leave their earliest -vegetables at our door for her. They speak short and gruff, -as if they were ashamed of it: but I am sure it often goes to my -heart to see their thoughtfulness.” The tears now -came back and overflowed; but after a minute or two she began to -scold herself, and ended by going away the same cheerful Miss -Jessie as ever.</p> -<p>“But why does not this Lord Mauleverer do something for -the man who saved his life?” said I.</p> -<p>“Why, you see, unless Captain Brown has some reason for -it, he never speaks about being poor; and he walked along by his -lordship looking as happy and cheerful as a prince; and as they -never called attention to their dinner by apologies, and as Miss -Brown was better that day, and all seemed bright, I daresay his -lordship never knew how much care there was in the -background. He did send game in the winter pretty often, -but now he is gone abroad.”</p> -<p>I had often occasion to notice the use that was made of -fragments and small opportunities in Cranford; the rose-leaves -that were gathered ere they fell to make into a potpourri for -someone who had no garden; the little bundles of lavender flowers -sent to strew the drawers of some town-dweller, or to burn in the -chamber of some invalid. Things that many would despise, -and actions which it seemed scarcely worth while to perform, were -all attended to in Cranford. Miss Jenkyns stuck an apple -full of cloves, to be heated and smell pleasantly in Miss -Brown’s room; and as she put in each clove she uttered a -Johnsonian sentence. Indeed, she never could think of the -Browns without talking Johnson; <a name="page25"></a><span -class="pagenum">p. 25</span>and, as they were seldom absent from -her thoughts just then, I heard many a rolling, three-piled -sentence.</p> -<p>Captain Brown called one day to thank Miss Jenkyns for many -little kindnesses, which I did not know until then that she had -rendered. He had suddenly become like an old man; his deep -bass voice had a quavering in it, his eyes looked dim, and the -lines on his face were deep. He did not—could -not—speak cheerfully of his daughter’s state, but he -talked with manly, pious resignation, and not much. Twice -over he said, “What Jessie has been to us, God only -knows!” and after the second time, he got up hastily, shook -hands all round without speaking, and left the room.</p> -<p>That afternoon we perceived little groups in the street, all -listening with faces aghast to some tale or other. Miss -Jenkyns wondered what could be the matter for some time before -she took the undignified step of sending Jenny out to -inquire.</p> -<p>Jenny came back with a white face of terror. “Oh, -ma’am! Oh, Miss Jenkyns, ma’am! Captain -Brown is killed by them nasty cruel railroads!” and she -burst into tears. She, along with many others, had -experienced the poor Captain’s kindness.</p> -<p>“How?—where—where? Good God! -Jenny, don’t waste time in crying, but tell us -something.” Miss Matty rushed out into the street at -once, and collared the man who was telling the tale.</p> -<p style="text-align: center"> -<a href="images/p24b.jpg"> -<img alt= -"She brought the affrighted carter . . . into the drawing-room" -title= -"She brought the affrighted carter . . . into the drawing-room" -src="images/p24s.jpg" /> -</a></p> -<p>“Come in—come to my sister at once, Miss Jenkyns, -the rector’s daughter. Oh, man, man! say it is not -true,” she cried, as she brought the affrighted carter, -sleeking down his hair, into the drawing-room, <a -name="page26"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 26</span>where he -stood with his wet boots on the new carpet, and no one regarded -it.</p> -<p>“Please, mum, it is true. I seed it myself,” -and he shuddered at the recollection. “The Captain -was a-reading some new book as he was deep in, a-waiting for the -down train; and there was a little lass as wanted to come to its -mammy, and gave its sister the slip, and came toddling across the -line. And he looked up sudden, at the sound of the train -coming, and seed the child, and he darted on the line and cotched -it up, and his foot slipped, and the train came over him in no -time. O Lord, Lord! Mum, it’s quite true, and -they’ve come over to tell his daughters. The -child’s safe, though, with only a bang on its shoulder as -he threw it to its mammy. Poor Captain would be glad of -that, mum, wouldn’t he? God bless him!” -The great rough carter puckered up his manly face, and turned -away to hide his tears. I turned to Miss Jenkyns. She -looked very ill, as if she were going to faint, and signed to me -to open the window.</p> -<p>“Matilda, bring me my bonnet. I must go to those -girls. God pardon me, if ever I have spoken contemptuously -to the Captain!”</p> -<p>Miss Jenkyns arrayed herself to go out, telling Miss Matilda -to give the man a glass of wine. While she was away, Miss -Matty and I huddled over the fire, talking in a low and -awe-struck voice. I know we cried quietly all the time.</p> -<p>Miss Jenkyns came home in a silent mood, and we durst not ask -her many questions. She told us that Miss Jessie had -fainted, and that she and Miss Pole had had some difficulty in -bringing her round; <a name="page27"></a><span class="pagenum">p. -27</span>but that, as soon as she recovered, she begged one of -them to go and sit with her sister.</p> -<p>“Mr Hoggins says she cannot live many days, and she -shall be spared this shock,” said Miss Jessie, shivering -with feelings to which she dared not give way.</p> -<p>“But how can you manage, my dear?” asked Miss -Jenkyns; “you cannot bear up, she must see your -tears.”</p> -<p>“God will help me—I will not give way—she -was asleep when the news came; she may be asleep yet. She -would be so utterly miserable, not merely at my father’s -death, but to think of what would become of me; she is so good to -me.” She looked up earnestly in their faces with her -soft true eyes, and Miss Pole told Miss Jenkyns afterwards she -could hardly bear it, knowing, as she did, how Miss Brown treated -her sister.</p> -<p>However, it was settled according to Miss Jessie’s -wish. Miss Brown was to be told her father had been -summoned to take a short journey on railway business. They -had managed it in some way—Miss Jenkyns could not exactly -say how. Miss Pole was to stop with Miss Jessie. Mrs -Jamieson had sent to inquire. And this was all we heard -that night; and a sorrowful night it was. The next day a -full account of the fatal accident was in the county paper which -Miss Jenkyns took in. Her eyes were very weak, she said, -and she asked me to read it. When I came to the -“gallant gentleman was deeply engaged in the perusal of a -number of ‘Pickwick,’ which he had just -received,” Miss Jenkyns shook her head long and solemnly, -and then sighed out, “Poor, dear, infatuated -man!”</p> -<p><a name="page28"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 28</span>The -corpse was to be taken from the station to the parish church, -there to be interred. Miss Jessie had set her heart on -following it to the grave; and no dissuasives could alter her -resolve. Her restraint upon herself made her almost -obstinate; she resisted all Miss Pole’s entreaties and Miss -Jenkyns’ advice. At last Miss Jenkyns gave up the -point; and after a silence, which I feared portended some deep -displeasure against Miss Jessie, Miss Jenkyns said she should -accompany the latter to the funeral.</p> -<p>“It is not fit for you to go alone. It would be -against both propriety and humanity were I to allow -it.”</p> -<p>Miss Jessie seemed as if she did not half like this -arrangement; but her obstinacy, if she had any, had been -exhausted in her determination to go to the interment. She -longed, poor thing, I have no doubt, to cry alone over the grave -of the dear father to whom she had been all in all, and to give -way, for one little half-hour, uninterrupted by sympathy and -unobserved by friendship. But it was not to be. That -afternoon Miss Jenkyns sent out for a yard of black crape, and -employed herself busily in trimming the little black silk bonnet -I have spoken about. When it was finished she put it on, -and looked at us for approbation—admiration she -despised. I was full of sorrow, but, by one of those -whimsical thoughts which come unbidden into our heads, in times -of deepest grief, I no sooner saw the bonnet than I was reminded -of a helmet; and in that hybrid bonnet, half helmet, half -jockey-cap, did Miss Jenkyns attend Captain Brown’s -funeral, and, I believe, supported Miss Jessie with a tender, <a -name="page29"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 29</span>indulgent -firmness which was invaluable, allowing her to weep her -passionate fill before they left.</p> -<p>Miss Pole, Miss Matty, and I, meanwhile attended to Miss -Brown: and hard work we found it to relieve her querulous and -never-ending complaints. But if we were so weary and -dispirited, what must Miss Jessie have been! Yet she came -back almost calm as if she had gained a new strength. She -put off her mourning dress, and came in, looking pale and gentle, -thanking us each with a soft long pressure of the hand. She -could even smile—a faint, sweet, wintry smile—as if -to reassure us of her power to endure; but her look made our eyes -fill suddenly with tears, more than if she had cried -outright.</p> -<p>It was settled that Miss Pole was to remain with her all the -watching livelong night; and that Miss Matty and I were to return -in the morning to relieve them, and give Miss Jessie the -opportunity for a few hours of sleep. But when the morning -came, Miss Jenkyns appeared at the breakfast-table, equipped in -her helmet-bonnet, and ordered Miss Matty to stay at home, as she -meant to go and help to nurse. She was evidently in a state -of great friendly excitement, which she showed by eating her -breakfast standing, and scolding the household all round.</p> -<p>No nursing—no energetic strong-minded woman could help -Miss Brown now. There was that in the room as we entered -which was stronger than us all, and made us shrink into solemn -awestruck helplessness. Miss Brown was dying. We -hardly knew her voice, it was so devoid of the complaining tone -we had always associated with it. Miss Jessie <a -name="page30"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 30</span>told me -afterwards that it, and her face too, were just what they had -been formerly, when her mother’s death left her the young -anxious head of the family, of whom only Miss Jessie -survived.</p> -<p>She was conscious of her sister’s presence, though not, -I think, of ours. We stood a little behind the curtain: -Miss Jessie knelt with her face near her sister’s, in order -to catch the last soft awful whispers.</p> -<p>“Oh, Jessie! Jessie! How selfish I have -been! God forgive me for letting you sacrifice yourself for -me as you did! I have so loved you—and yet I have -thought only of myself. God forgive me!”</p> -<p>“Hush, love! hush!” said Miss Jessie, sobbing.</p> -<p>“And my father, my dear, dear father! I will not -complain now, if God will give me strength to be patient. -But, oh, Jessie! tell my father how I longed and yearned to see -him at last, and to ask his forgiveness. He can never know -now how I loved him—oh! if I might but tell him, before I -die! What a life of sorrow his has been, and I have done so -little to cheer him!”</p> -<p>A light came into Miss Jessie’s face. “Would -it comfort you, dearest, to think that he does know?—would -it comfort you, love, to know that his cares, his -sorrows”—Her voice quivered, but she steadied it into -calmness—“Mary! he has gone before you to the place -where the weary are at rest. He knows now how you loved -him.”</p> -<p>A strange look, which was not distress, came over Miss -Brown’s face. She did not speak for come time, but -then we saw her lips form the words, <a name="page31"></a><span -class="pagenum">p. 31</span>rather than heard the -sound—“Father, mother, Harry, -Archy;”—then, as if it were a new idea throwing a -filmy shadow over her darkened mind—“But you will be -alone, Jessie!”</p> -<p>Miss Jessie had been feeling this all during the silence, I -think; for the tears rolled down her cheeks like rain, at these -words, and she could not answer at first. Then she put her -hands together tight, and lifted them up, and said—but not -to us—“Though He slay me, yet will I trust in -Him.”</p> -<p>In a few moments more Miss Brown lay calm and -still—never to sorrow or murmur more.</p> -<p>After this second funeral, Miss Jenkyns insisted that Miss -Jessie should come to stay with her rather than go back to the -desolate house, which, in fact, we learned from Miss Jessie, must -now be given up, as she had not wherewithal to maintain it. -She had something above twenty pounds a year, besides the -interest of the money for which the furniture would sell; but she -could not live upon that: and so we talked over her -qualifications for earning money.</p> -<p>“I can sew neatly,” said she, “and I like -nursing. I think, too, I could manage a house, if any one -would try me as housekeeper; or I would go into a shop as -saleswoman, if they would have patience with me at -first.”</p> -<p>Miss Jenkyns declared, in an angry voice, that she should do -no such thing; and talked to herself about “some people -having no idea of their rank as a captain’s -daughter,” nearly an hour afterwards, when she brought Miss -Jessie up a basin of delicately-made arrowroot, and stood over -her like a dragoon until the last spoonful was finished: then she -disappeared. <a name="page32"></a><span class="pagenum">p. -32</span>Miss Jessie began to tell me some more of the plans -which had suggested themselves to her, and insensibly fell into -talking of the days that were past and gone, and interested me so -much I neither knew nor heeded how time passed. We were -both startled when Miss Jenkyns reappeared, and caught us -crying. I was afraid lest she would be displeased, as she -often said that crying hindered digestion, and I knew she wanted -Miss Jessie to get strong; but, instead, she looked queer and -excited, and fidgeted round us without saying anything. At -last she spoke.</p> -<p>“I have been so much startled—no, I’ve not -been at all startled—don’t mind me, my dear Miss -Jessie—I’ve been very much surprised—in fact, -I’ve had a caller, whom you knew once, my dear Miss -Jessie”—</p> -<p>Miss Jessie went very white, then flushed scarlet, and looked -eagerly at Miss Jenkyns.</p> -<p>“A gentleman, my dear, who wants to know if you would -see him.”</p> -<p>“Is it?—it is not”—stammered out Miss -Jessie—and got no farther.</p> -<p>“This is his card,” said Miss Jenkyns, giving it -to Miss Jessie; and while her head was bent over it, Miss Jenkyns -went through a series of winks and odd faces to me, and formed -her lips into a long sentence, of which, of course, I could not -understand a word.</p> -<p>“May he come up?” asked Miss Jenkyns at last.</p> -<p>“Oh, yes! certainly!” said Miss Jessie, as much as -to say, this is your house, you may show any visitor where you -like. She took up some knitting of Miss Matty’s and -began to be very busy, though I could see how she trembled all -over.</p> -<p><a name="page33"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 33</span>Miss -Jenkyns rang the bell, and told the servant who answered it to -show Major Gordon upstairs; and, presently, in walked a tall, -fine, frank-looking man of forty or upwards. He shook hands -with Miss Jessie; but he could not see her eyes, she kept them so -fixed on the ground. Miss Jenkyns asked me if I would come -and help her to tie up the preserves in the store-room; and -though Miss Jessie plucked at my gown, and even looked up at me -with begging eye, I durst not refuse to go where Miss Jenkyns -asked. Instead of tying up preserves in the store-room, -however, we went to talk in the dining-room; and there Miss -Jenkyns told me what Major Gordon had told her; how he had served -in the same regiment with Captain Brown, and had become -acquainted with Miss Jessie, then a sweet-looking, blooming girl -of eighteen; how the acquaintance had grown into love on his -part, though it had been some years before he had spoken; how, on -becoming possessed, through the will of an uncle, of a good -estate in Scotland, he had offered and been refused, though with -so much agitation and evident distress that he was sure she was -not indifferent to him; and how he had discovered that the -obstacle was the fell disease which was, even then, too surely -threatening her sister. She had mentioned that the surgeons -foretold intense suffering; and there was no one but herself to -nurse her poor Mary, or cheer and comfort her father during the -time of illness. They had had long discussions; and on her -refusal to pledge herself to him as his wife when all should be -over, he had grown angry, and broken off entirely, and gone -abroad, believing that she was a cold-hearted person whom he -would do well to forget. <a name="page34"></a><span -class="pagenum">p. 34</span>He had been travelling in the East, -and was on his return home when, at Rome, he saw the account of -Captain Brown’s death in <i>Galignani</i>.</p> -<p>Just then Miss Matty, who had been out all the morning, and -had only lately returned to the house, burst in with a face of -dismay and outraged propriety.</p> -<p>“Oh, goodness me!” she said. “Deborah, -there’s a gentleman sitting in the drawing-room with his -arm round Miss Jessie’s waist!” Miss -Matty’s eyes looked large with terror.</p> -<p style="text-align: center"> -<a href="images/p33b.jpg"> -<img alt= -"“With his arm around Miss Jessie’s waist!”" -title= -"“With his arm around Miss Jessie’s waist!”" -src="images/p33s.jpg" /> -</a></p> -<p>Miss Jenkyns snubbed her down in an instant.</p> -<p>“The most proper place in the world for his arm to be -in. Go away, Matilda, and mind your own -business.” This from her sister, who had hitherto -been a model of feminine decorum, was a blow for poor Miss Matty, -and with a double shock she left the room.</p> -<p>The last time I ever saw poor Miss Jenkyns was many years -after this. Mrs Gordon had kept up a warm and affectionate -intercourse with all at Cranford. Miss Jenkyns, Miss Matty, -and Miss Pole had all been to visit her, and returned with -wonderful accounts of her house, her husband, her dress, and her -looks. For, with happiness, something of her early bloom -returned; she had been a year or two younger than we had taken -her for. Her eyes were always lovely, and, as Mrs Gordon, -her dimples were not out of place. At the time to which I -have referred, when I last saw Miss Jenkyns, that lady was old -and feeble, and had lost something of her strong mind. -Little Flora Gordon was staying with the Misses Jenkyns, and when -I came in she was reading aloud to Miss <a -name="page35"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 35</span>Jenkyns, who -lay feeble and changed on the sofa. Flora put down the -<i>Rambler</i> when I came in.</p> -<p>“Ah!” said Miss Jenkyns, “you find me -changed, my dear. I can’t see as I used to do. -If Flora were not here to read to me, I hardly know how I should -get through the day. Did you ever read the -<i>Rambler</i>? It’s a wonderful -book—wonderful! and the most improving reading for -Flora” (which I daresay it would have been, if she could -have read half the words without spelling, and could have -understood the meaning of a third), “better than that -strange old book, with the queer name, poor Captain Brown was -killed for reading—that book by Mr Boz, you -know—‘Old Poz’; when I was a girl—but -that’s a long time ago—I acted Lucy in ‘Old -Poz.’” She babbled on long enough for Flora to -get a good long spell at the “Christmas Carol,” which -Miss Matty had left on the table.</p> -<h2><a name="page36"></a><span class="pagenum">p. -36</span>CHAPTER III—A LOVE AFFAIR OF LONG AGO</h2> -<p>I <span class="smcap">thought</span> that probably my -connection with Cranford would cease after Miss Jenkyns’s -death; at least, that it would have to be kept up by -correspondence, which bears much the same relation to personal -intercourse that the books of dried plants I sometimes see -(“Hortus Siccus,” I think they call the thing) do to -the living and fresh flowers in the lanes and meadows. I -was pleasantly surprised, therefore, by receiving a letter from -Miss Pole (who had always come in for a supplementary week after -my annual visit to Miss Jenkyns) proposing that I should go and -stay with her; and then, in a couple of days after my acceptance, -came a note from Miss Matty, in which, in a rather circuitous and -very humble manner, she told me how much pleasure I should confer -if I could spend a week or two with her, either before or after I -had been at Miss Pole’s; “for,” she said, -“since my dear sister’s death I am well aware I have -no attractions to offer; it is only to the kindness of my friends -that I can owe their company.”</p> -<p>Of course I promised to come to dear Miss <a -name="page37"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 37</span>Matty as soon -as I had ended my visit to Miss Pole; and the day after my -arrival at Cranford I went to see her, much wondering what the -house would be like without Miss Jenkyns, and rather dreading the -changed aspect of things. Miss Matty began to cry as soon -as she saw me. She was evidently nervous from having -anticipated my call. I comforted her as well as I could; -and I found the best consolation I could give was the honest -praise that came from my heart as I spoke of the deceased. -Miss Matty slowly shook her head over each virtue as it was named -and attributed to her sister; and at last she could not restrain -the tears which had long been silently flowing, but hid her face -behind her handkerchief and sobbed aloud.</p> -<p>“Dear Miss Matty,” said I, taking her -hand—for indeed I did not know in what way to tell her how -sorry I was for her, left deserted in the world. She put -down her handkerchief and said—</p> -<p>“My dear, I’d rather you did not call me -Matty. She did not like it; but I did many a thing she did -not like, I’m afraid—and now she’s gone! -If you please, my love, will you call me Matilda?”</p> -<p>I promised faithfully, and began to practise the new name with -Miss Pole that very day; and, by degrees, Miss Matilda’s -feeling on the subject was known through Cranford, and we all -tried to drop the more familiar name, but with so little success -that by-and-by we gave up the attempt.</p> -<p>My visit to Miss Pole was very quiet. Miss Jenkyns had -so long taken the lead in Cranford that now she was gone, they -hardly knew how to give a party. The Honourable Mrs -Jamieson, to whom <a name="page38"></a><span class="pagenum">p. -38</span>Miss Jenkyns herself had always yielded the post of -honour, was fat and inert, and very much at the mercy of her old -servants. If they chose that she should give a party, they -reminded her of the necessity for so doing: if not, she let it -alone. There was all the more time for me to hear old-world -stories from Miss Pole, while she sat knitting, and I making my -father’s shirts. I always took a quantity of plain -sewing to Cranford; for, as we did not read much, or walk much, I -found it a capital time to get through my work. One of Miss -Pole’s stories related to a shadow of a love affair that -was dimly perceived or suspected long years before.</p> -<p>Presently, the time arrived when I was to remove to Miss -Matilda’s house. I found her timid and anxious about -the arrangements for my comfort. Many a time, while I was -unpacking, did she come backwards and forwards to stir the fire -which burned all the worse for being so frequently poked.</p> -<p>“Have you drawers enough, dear?” asked she. -“I don’t know exactly how my sister used to arrange -them. She had capital methods. I am sure she would -have trained a servant in a week to make a better fire than this, -and Fanny has been with me four months.”</p> -<p>This subject of servants was a standing grievance, and I could -not wonder much at it; for if gentlemen were scarce, and almost -unheard of in the “genteel society” of Cranford, they -or their counterparts—handsome young men—abounded in -the lower classes. The pretty neat servant-maids had their -choice of desirable “followers”; and their -mistresses, without having the sort of mysterious <a -name="page39"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 39</span>dread of men -and matrimony that Miss Matilda had, might well feel a little -anxious lest the heads of their comely maids should be turned by -the joiner, or the butcher, or the gardener, who were obliged, by -their callings, to come to the house, and who, as ill-luck would -have it, were generally handsome and unmarried. -Fanny’s lovers, if she had any—and Miss Matilda -suspected her of so many flirtations that, if she had not been -very pretty, I should have doubted her having one—were a -constant anxiety to her mistress. She was forbidden, by the -articles of her engagement, to have “followers”; and -though she had answered, innocently enough, doubling up the hem -of her apron as she spoke, “Please, ma’am, I never -had more than one at a time,” Miss Matty prohibited that -one. But a vision of a man seemed to haunt the -kitchen. Fanny assured me that it was all fancy, or else I -should have said myself that I had seen a man’s coat-tails -whisk into the scullery once, when I went on an errand into the -store-room at night; and another evening, when, our watches -having stopped, I went to look at the clock, there was a very odd -appearance, singularly like a young man squeezed up between the -clock and the back of the open kitchen-door: and I thought Fanny -snatched up the candle very hastily, so as to throw the shadow on -the clock face, while she very positively told me the time -half-an-hour too early, as we found out afterwards by the church -clock. But I did not add to Miss Matty’s anxieties by -naming my suspicions, especially as Fanny said to me, the next -day, that it was such a queer kitchen for having odd shadows -about it, she really was almost afraid to stay; “for <a -name="page40"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 40</span>you know, -miss,” she added, “I don’t see a creature from -six o’clock tea, till Missus rings the bell for prayers at -ten.”</p> -<p>However, it so fell out that Fanny had to leave and Miss -Matilda begged me to stay and “settle her” with the -new maid; to which I consented, after I had heard from my father -that he did not want me at home. The new servant was a -rough, honest-looking, country girl, who had only lived in a farm -place before; but I liked her looks when she came to be hired; -and I promised Miss Matilda to put her in the ways of the -house. The said ways were religiously such as Miss Matilda -thought her sister would approve. Many a domestic rule and -regulation had been a subject of plaintive whispered murmur to me -during Miss Jenkyns’s life; but now that she was gone, I do -not think that even I, who was a favourite, durst have suggested -an alteration. To give an instance: we constantly adhered -to the forms which were observed, at meal-times, in “my -father, the rector’s house.” Accordingly, we -had always wine and dessert; but the decanters were only filled -when there was a party, and what remained was seldom touched, -though we had two wine-glasses apiece every day after dinner, -until the next festive occasion arrived, when the state of the -remainder wine was examined into in a family council. The -dregs were often given to the poor: but occasionally, when a good -deal had been left at the last party (five months ago, it might -be), it was added to some of a fresh bottle, brought up from the -cellar. I fancy poor Captain Brown did not much like wine, -for I noticed he never finished his first glass, and <a -name="page41"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 41</span>most military -men take several. Then, as to our dessert, Miss Jenkyns -used to gather currants and gooseberries for it herself, which I -sometimes thought would have tasted better fresh from the trees; -but then, as Miss Jenkyns observed, there would have been nothing -for dessert in summer-time. As it was, we felt very genteel -with our two glasses apiece, and a dish of gooseberries at the -top, of currants and biscuits at the sides, and two decanters at -the bottom. When oranges came in, a curious proceeding was -gone through. Miss Jenkyns did not like to cut the fruit; -for, as she observed, the juice all ran out nobody knew where; -sucking (only I think she used some more recondite word) was in -fact the only way of enjoying oranges; but then there was the -unpleasant association with a ceremony frequently gone through by -little babies; and so, after dessert, in orange season, Miss -Jenkyns and Miss Matty used to rise up, possess themselves each -of an orange in silence, and withdraw to the privacy of their own -rooms to indulge in sucking oranges.</p> -<p>I had once or twice tried, on such occasions, to prevail on -Miss Matty to stay, and had succeeded in her sister’s -lifetime. I held up a screen, and did not look, and, as she -said, she tried not to make the noise very offensive; but now -that she was left alone, she seemed quite horrified when I begged -her to remain with me in the warm dining-parlour, and enjoy her -orange as she liked best. And so it was in -everything. Miss Jenkyns’s rules were made more -stringent than ever, because the framer of them was gone where -there could be no appeal. In all things else Miss Matilda -was meek and undecided to a fault. <a -name="page42"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 42</span>I have heard -Fanny turn her round twenty times in a morning about dinner, just -as the little hussy chose; and I sometimes fancied she worked on -Miss Matilda’s weakness in order to bewilder her, and to -make her feel more in the power of her clever servant. I -determined that I would not leave her till I had seen what sort -of a person Martha was; and, if I found her trustworthy, I would -tell her not to trouble her mistress with every little -decision.</p> -<p>Martha was blunt and plain-spoken to a fault; otherwise she -was a brisk, well-meaning, but very ignorant girl. She had -not been with us a week before Miss Matilda and I were astounded -one morning by the receipt of a letter from a cousin of hers, who -had been twenty or thirty years in India, and who had lately, as -we had seen by the “Army List,” returned to England, -bringing with him an invalid wife who had never been introduced -to her English relations. Major Jenkyns wrote to propose -that he and his wife should spend a night at Cranford, on his way -to Scotland—at the inn, if it did not suit Miss Matilda to -receive them into her house; in which case they should hope to be -with her as much as possible during the day. Of course it -<i>must</i> suit her, as she said; for all Cranford knew that she -had her sister’s bedroom at liberty; but I am sure she -wished the Major had stopped in India and forgotten his cousins -out and out.</p> -<p>“Oh! how must I manage?” asked she -helplessly. “If Deborah had been alive she would have -known what to do with a gentleman-visitor. Must I put -razors in his dressing-room? Dear! dear! and I’ve got -none. Deborah would have had <a name="page43"></a><span -class="pagenum">p. 43</span>them. And slippers, and -coat-brushes?” I suggested that probably he would -bring all these things with him. “And after dinner, -how am I to know when to get up and leave him to his wine? -Deborah would have done it so well; she would have been quite in -her element. Will he want coffee, do you -think?” I undertook the management of the coffee, and -told her I would instruct Martha in the art of waiting—in -which it must be owned she was terribly deficient—and that -I had no doubt Major and Mrs Jenkyns would understand the quiet -mode in which a lady lived by herself in a country town. -But she was sadly fluttered. I made her empty her decanters -and bring up two fresh bottles of wine. I wished I could -have prevented her from being present at my instructions to -Martha, for she frequently cut in with some fresh direction, -muddling the poor girl’s mind as she stood open-mouthed, -listening to us both.</p> -<p>“Hand the vegetables round,” said I (foolishly, I -see now—for it was aiming at more than we could accomplish -with quietness and simplicity); and then, seeing her look -bewildered, I added, “take the vegetables round to people, -and let them help themselves.”</p> -<p>“And mind you go first to the ladies,” put in Miss -Matilda. “Always go to the ladies before gentlemen -when you are waiting.”</p> -<p>“I’ll do it as you tell me, ma’am,” -said Martha; “but I like lads best.”</p> -<p>We felt very uncomfortable and shocked at this speech of -Martha’s, yet I don’t think she meant any harm; and, -on the whole, she attended very well to our directions, except -that she “nudged” <a name="page44"></a><span -class="pagenum">p. 44</span>the Major when he did not help -himself as soon as she expected to the potatoes, while she was -handing them round.</p> -<p>The major and his wife were quiet unpretending people enough -when they did come; languid, as all East Indians are, I -suppose. We were rather dismayed at their bringing two -servants with them, a Hindoo body-servant for the Major, and a -steady elderly maid for his wife; but they slept at the inn, and -took off a good deal of the responsibility by attending carefully -to their master’s and mistress’s comfort. -Martha, to be sure, had never ended her staring at the East -Indian’s white turban and brown complexion, and I saw that -Miss Matilda shrunk away from him a little as he waited at -dinner. Indeed, she asked me, when they were gone, if he -did not remind me of Blue Beard? On the whole, the visit -was most satisfactory, and is a subject of conversation even now -with Miss Matilda; at the time it greatly excited Cranford, and -even stirred up the apathetic and Honourable Mrs Jamieson to some -expression of interest, when I went to call and thank her for the -kind answers she had vouchsafed to Miss Matilda’s inquiries -as to the arrangement of a gentleman’s -dressing-room—answers which I must confess she had given in -the wearied manner of the Scandinavian prophetess—</p> -<blockquote><p style="text-align: center">“Leave me, leave -me to repose.”</p> -</blockquote> -<p>And <i>now</i> I come to the love affair.</p> -<p>It seems that Miss Pole had a cousin, once or twice removed, -who had offered to Miss Matty long ago. Now this cousin -lived four or five miles from <a name="page45"></a><span -class="pagenum">p. 45</span>Cranford on his own estate; but his -property was not large enough to entitle him to rank higher than -a yeoman; or rather, with something of the “pride which -apes humility,” he had refused to push himself on, as so -many of his class had done, into the ranks of the squires. -He would not allow himself to be called Thomas Holbrook, -<i>Esq.</i>; he even sent back letters with this address, telling -the post-mistress at Cranford that his name was <i>Mr</i> Thomas -Holbrook, yeoman. He rejected all domestic innovations; he -would have the house door stand open in summer and shut in -winter, without knocker or bell to summon a servant. The -closed fist or the knob of a stick did this office for him if he -found the door locked. He despised every refinement which -had not its root deep down in humanity. If people were not -ill, he saw no necessity for moderating his voice. He spoke -the dialect of the country in perfection, and constantly used it -in conversation; although Miss Pole (who gave me these -particulars) added, that he read aloud more beautifully and with -more feeling than any one she had ever heard, except the late -rector.</p> -<p>“And how came Miss Matilda not to marry him?” -asked I.</p> -<p>“Oh, I don’t know. She was willing enough, I -think; but you know Cousin Thomas would not have been enough of a -gentleman for the rector and Miss Jenkyns.”</p> -<p>“Well! but they were not to marry him,” said I, -impatiently.</p> -<p>“No; but they did not like Miss Matty to marry below her -rank. You know she was the <a name="page46"></a><span -class="pagenum">p. 46</span>rector’s daughter, and somehow -they are related to Sir Peter Arley: Miss Jenkyns thought a deal -of that.”</p> -<p>“Poor Miss Matty!” said I.</p> -<p>“Nay, now, I don’t know anything more than that he -offered and was refused. Miss Matty might not like -him—and Miss Jenkyns might never have said a word—it -is only a guess of mine.”</p> -<p>“Has she never seen him since?” I inquired.</p> -<p>“No, I think not. You see Woodley, Cousin -Thomas’s house, lies half-way between Cranford and -Misselton; and I know he made Misselton his market-town very soon -after he had offered to Miss Matty; and I don’t think he -has been into Cranford above once or twice since—once, when -I was walking with Miss Matty, in High Street, and suddenly she -darted from me, and went up Shire Lane. A few minutes after -I was startled by meeting Cousin Thomas.”</p> -<p>“How old is he?” I asked, after a pause of -castle-building.</p> -<p>“He must be about seventy, I think, my dear,” said -Miss Pole, blowing up my castle, as if by gun-powder, into small -fragments.</p> -<p>Very soon after—at least during my long visit to Miss -Matilda—I had the opportunity of seeing Mr Holbrook; -seeing, too, his first encounter with his former love, after -thirty or forty years’ separation. I was helping to -decide whether any of the new assortment of coloured silks which -they had just received at the shop would do to match a grey and -black mousseline-delaine that wanted a new breadth, when a tall, -thin, Don Quixote-looking old man <a name="page47"></a><span -class="pagenum">p. 47</span>came into the shop for some woollen -gloves. I had never seen the person (who was rather -striking) before, and I watched him rather attentively while Miss -Matty listened to the shopman. The stranger wore a blue -coat with brass buttons, drab breeches, and gaiters, and drummed -with his fingers on the counter until he was attended to. -When he answered the shop-boy’s question, “What can I -have the pleasure of showing you to-day, sir?” I saw Miss -Matilda start, and then suddenly sit down; and instantly I -guessed who it was. She had made some inquiry which had to -be carried round to the other shopman.</p> -<p>“Miss Jenkyns wants the black sarsenet two-and-twopence -the yard”; and Mr Holbrook had caught the name, and was -across the shop in two strides.</p> -<p>“Matty—Miss Matilda—Miss Jenkyns! God -bless my soul! I should not have known you. How are -you? how are you?” He kept shaking her hand in a way -which proved the warmth of his friendship; but he repeated so -often, as if to himself, “I should not have known -you!” that any sentimental romance which I might be -inclined to build was quite done away with by his manner.</p> -<p>However, he kept talking to us all the time we were in the -shop; and then waving the shopman with the unpurchased gloves on -one side, with “Another time, sir! another time!” he -walked home with us. I am happy to say my client, Miss -Matilda, also left the shop in an equally bewildered state, not -having purchased either green or red silk. Mr Holbrook was -evidently full with honest loud-spoken <a name="page48"></a><span -class="pagenum">p. 48</span>joy at meeting his old love again; he -touched on the changes that had taken place; he even spoke of -Miss Jenkyns as “Your poor sister! Well, well! we -have all our faults”; and bade us good-bye with many a hope -that he should soon see Miss Matty again. She went straight -to her room, and never came back till our early tea-time, when I -thought she looked as if she had been crying.</p> -<p style="text-align: center"> -<a href="images/p48b.jpg"> -<img alt= -"Mr Holbrook . . . bade us good-bye" -title= -"Mr Holbrook . . . bade us good-bye" -src="images/p48s.jpg" /> -</a></p> -<h2><a name="page49"></a><span class="pagenum">p. -49</span>CHAPTER IV—A VISIT TO AN OLD BACHELOR</h2> -<p>A <span class="smcap">few</span> days after, a note came from -Mr Holbrook, asking us—impartially asking both of -us—in a formal, old-fashioned style, to spend a day at his -house—a long June day—for it was June now. He -named that he had also invited his cousin, Miss Pole; so that we -might join in a fly, which could be put up at his house.</p> -<p>I expected Miss Matty to jump at this invitation; but, -no! Miss Pole and I had the greatest difficulty in -persuading her to go. She thought it was improper; and was -even half annoyed when we utterly ignored the idea of any -impropriety in her going with two other ladies to see her old -lover. Then came a more serious difficulty. She did -not think Deborah would have liked her to go. This took us -half a day’s good hard talking to get over; but, at the -first sentence of relenting, I seized the opportunity, and wrote -and despatched an acceptance in her name—fixing day and -hour, that all might be decided and done with.</p> -<p>The next morning she asked me if I would go down to the shop -with her; and there, after much <a name="page50"></a><span -class="pagenum">p. 50</span>hesitation, we chose out three caps -to be sent home and tried on, that the most becoming might be -selected to take with us on Thursday.</p> -<p>She was in a state of silent agitation all the way to -Woodley. She had evidently never been there before; and, -although she little dreamt I knew anything of her early story, I -could perceive she was in a tremor at the thought of seeing the -place which might have been her home, and round which it is -probable that many of her innocent girlish imaginations had -clustered. It was a long drive there, through paved jolting -lanes. Miss Matilda sat bolt upright, and looked wistfully -out of the windows as we drew near the end of our journey. -The aspect of the country was quiet and pastoral. Woodley -stood among fields; and there was an old-fashioned garden where -roses and currant-bushes touched each other, and where the -feathery asparagus formed a pretty background to the pinks and -gilly-flowers; there was no drive up to the door. We got -out at a little gate, and walked up a straight box-edged -path.</p> -<p>“My cousin might make a drive, I think,” said Miss -Pole, who was afraid of ear-ache, and had only her cap on.</p> -<p>“I think it is very pretty,” said Miss Matty, with -a soft plaintiveness in her voice, and almost in a whisper, for -just then Mr Holbrook appeared at the door, rubbing his hands in -very effervescence of hospitality. He looked more like my -idea of Don Quixote than ever, and yet the likeness was only -external. His respectable housekeeper stood modestly at the -door to bid us welcome; and, while she led <a -name="page51"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 51</span>the elder -ladies upstairs to a bedroom, I begged to look about the -garden. My request evidently pleased the old gentleman, who -took me all round the place and showed me his six-and-twenty -cows, named after the different letters of the alphabet. As -we went along, he surprised me occasionally by repeating apt and -beautiful quotations from the poets, ranging easily from -Shakespeare and George Herbert to those of our own day. He -did this as naturally as if he were thinking aloud, and their -true and beautiful words were the best expression he could find -for what he was thinking or feeling. To be sure he called -Byron “my Lord Byrron,” and pronounced the name of -Goethe strictly in accordance with the English sound of the -letters—“As Goethe says, ‘Ye ever-verdant -palaces,’” &c. Altogether, I never met with -a man, before or since, who had spent so long a life in a -secluded and not impressive country, with ever-increasing delight -in the daily and yearly change of season and beauty.</p> -<p>When he and I went in, we found that dinner was nearly ready -in the kitchen—for so I suppose the room ought to be -called, as there were oak dressers and cupboards all round, all -over by the side of the fireplace, and only a small Turkey carpet -in the middle of the flag-floor. The room might have been -easily made into a handsome dark oak dining-parlour by removing -the oven and a few other appurtenances of a kitchen, which were -evidently never used, the real cooking-place being at some -distance. The room in which we were expected to sit was a -stiffly-furnished, ugly apartment; but that in which we did sit -was what Mr Holbrook <a name="page52"></a><span -class="pagenum">p. 52</span>called the counting-house, where he -paid his labourers their weekly wages at a great desk near the -door. The rest of the pretty sitting-room—looking -into the orchard, and all covered over with dancing -tree-shadows—was filled with books. They lay on the -ground, they covered the walls, they strewed the table. He -was evidently half ashamed and half proud of his extravagance in -this respect. They were of all kinds—poetry and wild -weird tales prevailing. He evidently chose his books in -accordance with his own tastes, not because such and such were -classical or established favourites.</p> -<p>“Ah!” he said, “we farmers ought not to have -much time for reading; yet somehow one can’t help -it.”</p> -<p>“What a pretty room!” said Miss Matty, <i>sotto -voce</i>.</p> -<p>“What a pleasant place!” said I, aloud, almost -simultaneously.</p> -<p>“Nay! if you like it,” replied he; “but can -you sit on these great, black leather, three-cornered -chairs? I like it better than the best parlour; but I -thought ladies would take that for the smarter place.”</p> -<p>It was the smarter place, but, like most smart things, not at -all pretty, or pleasant, or home-like; so, while we were at -dinner, the servant-girl dusted and scrubbed the counting-house -chairs, and we sat there all the rest of the day.</p> -<p>We had pudding before meat; and I thought Mr Holbrook was -going to make some apology for his old-fashioned ways, for he -began—</p> -<p>“I don’t know whether you like newfangled -ways.”</p> -<p><a name="page53"></a><span class="pagenum">p. -53</span>“Oh, not at all!” said Miss Matty.</p> -<p>“No more do I,” said he. “My -house-keeper <i>will</i> have these in her new fashion; or else I -tell her that, when I was a young man, we used to keep strictly -to my father’s rule, ‘No broth, no ball; no ball, no -beef’; and always began dinner with broth. Then we -had suet puddings, boiled in the broth with the beef: and then -the meat itself. If we did not sup our broth, we had no -ball, which we liked a deal better; and the beef came last of -all, and only those had it who had done justice to the broth and -the ball. Now folks begin with sweet things, and turn their -dinners topsy-turvy.”</p> -<p>When the ducks and green peas came, we looked at each other in -dismay; we had only two-pronged, black-handled forks. It is -true the steel was as bright as silver; but what were we to -do? Miss Matty picked up her peas, one by one, on the point -of the prongs, much as Aminé ate her grains of rice after -her previous feast with the Ghoul. Miss Pole sighed over -her delicate young peas as she left them on one side of her plate -untasted, for they <i>would</i> drop between the prongs. I -looked at my host: the peas were going wholesale into his -capacious mouth, shovelled up by his large round-ended -knife. I saw, I imitated, I survived! My friends, in -spite of my precedent, could not muster up courage enough to do -an ungenteel thing; and, if Mr Holbrook had not been so heartily -hungry, he would probably have seen that the good peas went away -almost untouched.</p> -<p>After dinner, a clay pipe was brought in, and <a -name="page54"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 54</span>a spittoon; -and, asking us to retire to another room, where he would soon -join us, if we disliked tobacco-smoke, he presented his pipe to -Miss Matty, and requested her to fill the bowl. This was a -compliment to a lady in his youth; but it was rather -inappropriate to propose it as an honour to Miss Matty, who had -been trained by her sister to hold smoking of every kind in utter -abhorrence. But if it was a shock to her refinement, it was -also a gratification to her feelings to be thus selected; so she -daintily stuffed the strong tobacco into the pipe, and then we -withdrew.</p> -<p>“It is very pleasant dining with a bachelor,” said -Miss Matty softly, as we settled ourselves in the -counting-house. “I only hope it is not improper; so -many pleasant things are!”</p> -<p>“What a number of books he has!” said Miss Pole, -looking round the room. “And how dusty they -are!”</p> -<p>“I think it must be like one of the great Dr -Johnson’s rooms,” said Miss Matty. “What -a superior man your cousin must be!”</p> -<p>“Yes!” said Miss Pole, “he’s a great -reader; but I am afraid he has got into very uncouth habits with -living alone.”</p> -<p>“Oh! uncouth is too hard a word. I should call him -eccentric; very clever people always are!” replied Miss -Matty.</p> -<p style="text-align: center"> -<a href="images/p54b.jpg"> -<img alt= -"Now, what colour are ash-buds in March" -title= -"Now, what colour are ash-buds in March" -src="images/p54s.jpg" /> -</a></p> -<p>When Mr Holbrook returned, he proposed a walk in the fields; -but the two elder ladies were afraid of damp, and dirt, and had -only very unbecoming calashes to put on over their caps; so they -declined, and I was again his companion in a turn <a -name="page55"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 55</span>which he said -he was obliged to take to see after his men. He strode -along, either wholly forgetting my existence, or soothed into -silence by his pipe—and yet it was not silence -exactly. He walked before me with a stooping gait, his -hands clasped behind him; and, as some tree or cloud, or glimpse -of distant upland pastures, struck him, he quoted poetry to -himself, saying it out loud in a grand sonorous voice, with just -the emphasis that true feeling and appreciation give. We -came upon an old cedar tree, which stood at one end of the -house—</p> -<blockquote><p>“The cedar spreads his dark-green layers of -shade.”</p> -</blockquote> -<p>“Capital term—‘layers!’ -Wonderful man!” I did not know whether he was -speaking to me or not; but I put in an assenting -“wonderful,” although I knew nothing about it, just -because I was tired of being forgotten, and of being consequently -silent.</p> -<p>He turned sharp round. “Ay! you may say -‘wonderful.’ Why, when I saw the review of his -poems in <i>Blackwood</i>, I set off within an hour, and walked -seven miles to Misselton (for the horses were not in the way) and -ordered them. Now, what colour are ash-buds in -March?”</p> -<p>Is the man going mad? thought I. He is very like Don -Quixote.</p> -<p>“What colour are they, I say?” repeated he -vehemently.</p> -<p>“I am sure I don’t know, sir,” said I, with -the meekness of ignorance.</p> -<p>“I knew you didn’t. No more did I—an -old fool that I am!—till this young man comes and tells -me. Black as ash-buds in March. And I’ve lived -<a name="page56"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 56</span>all my -life in the country; more shame for me not to know. Black: -they are jet-black, madam.” And he went off again, -swinging along to the music of some rhyme he had got hold of.</p> -<p>When we came back, nothing would serve him but he must read us -the poems he had been speaking of; and Miss Pole encouraged him -in his proposal, I thought, because she wished me to hear his -beautiful reading, of which she had boasted; but she afterwards -said it was because she had got to a difficult part of her -crochet, and wanted to count her stitches without having to -talk. Whatever he had proposed would have been right to -Miss Matty; although she did fall sound asleep within five -minutes after he had begun a long poem, called “Locksley -Hall,” and had a comfortable nap, unobserved, till he -ended; when the cessation of his voice wakened her up, and she -said, feeling that something was expected, and that Miss Pole was -counting—</p> -<p>“What a pretty book!”</p> -<p>“Pretty, madam! it’s beautiful! Pretty, -indeed!”</p> -<p>“Oh yes! I meant beautiful!” said she, -fluttered at his disapproval of her word. “It is so -like that beautiful poem of Dr Johnson’s my sister used to -read—I forget the name of it; what was it, my dear?” -turning to me.</p> -<p>“Which do you mean, ma’am? What was it -about?”</p> -<p>“I don’t remember what it was about, and -I’ve quite forgotten what the name of it was; but it was -written by Dr Johnson, and was very beautiful, and very like what -Mr Holbrook has just been reading.”</p> -<p>“I don’t remember it,” said he -reflectively. <a name="page57"></a><span class="pagenum">p. -57</span>“But I don’t know Dr Johnson’s poems -well. I must read them.”</p> -<p>As we were getting into the fly to return, I heard Mr Holbrook -say he should call on the ladies soon, and inquire how they got -home; and this evidently pleased and fluttered Miss Matty at the -time he said it; but after we had lost sight of the old house -among the trees her sentiments towards the master of it were -gradually absorbed into a distressing wonder as to whether Martha -had broken her word, and seized on the opportunity of her -mistress’s absence to have a “follower.” -Martha looked good, and steady, and composed enough, as she came -to help us out; she was always careful of Miss Matty, and -to-night she made use of this unlucky speech—</p> -<p>“Eh! dear ma’am, to think of your going out in an -evening in such a thin shawl! It’s no better than -muslin. At your age, ma’am, you should be -careful.”</p> -<p>“My age!” said Miss Matty, almost speaking -crossly, for her, for she was usually gentle—“My -age! Why, how old do you think I am, that you talk about my -age?”</p> -<p>“Well, ma’am, I should say you were not far short -of sixty: but folks’ looks is often against them—and -I’m sure I meant no harm.”</p> -<p>“Martha, I’m not yet fifty-two!” said Miss -Matty, with grave emphasis; for probably the remembrance of her -youth had come very vividly before her this day, and she was -annoyed at finding that golden time so far away in the past.</p> -<p>But she never spoke of any former and more <a -name="page58"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 58</span>intimate -acquaintance with Mr Holbrook. She had probably met with so -little sympathy in her early love, that she had shut it up close -in her heart; and it was only by a sort of watching, which I -could hardly avoid since Miss Pole’s confidence, that I saw -how faithful her poor heart had been in its sorrow and its -silence.</p> -<p>She gave me some good reason for wearing her best cap every -day, and sat near the window, in spite of her rheumatism, in -order to see, without being seen, down into the street.</p> -<p>He came. He put his open palms upon his knees, which -were far apart, as he sat with his head bent down, whistling, -after we had replied to his inquiries about our safe -return. Suddenly he jumped up—</p> -<p>“Well, madam! have you any commands for Paris? I -am going there in a week or two.”</p> -<p>“To Paris!” we both exclaimed.</p> -<p>“Yes, madam! I’ve never been there, and -always had a wish to go; and I think if I don’t go soon, I -mayn’t go at all; so as soon as the hay is got in I shall -go, before harvest time.”</p> -<p>We were so much astonished that we had no commissions.</p> -<p>Just as he was going out of the room, he turned back, with his -favourite exclamation—</p> -<p>“God bless my soul, madam! but I nearly forgot half my -errand. Here are the poems for you you admired so much the -other evening at my house.” He tugged away at a -parcel in his coat-pocket. “Good-bye, miss,” -said he; “good-bye, Matty! take care of -yourself.” And he was gone. <a -name="page59"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 59</span>But he had -given her a book, and he had called her Matty, just as he used to -do thirty years to.</p> -<p>“I wish he would not go to Paris,” said Miss -Matilda anxiously. “I don’t believe frogs will -agree with him; he used to have to be very careful what he ate, -which was curious in so strong-looking a young man.”</p> -<p>Soon after this I took my leave, giving many an injunction to -Martha to look after her mistress, and to let me know if she -thought that Miss Matilda was not so well; in which case I would -volunteer a visit to my old friend, without noticing -Martha’s intelligence to her.</p> -<p>Accordingly I received a line or two from Martha every now and -then; and, about November I had a note to say her mistress was -“very low and sadly off her food”; and the account -made me so uneasy that, although Martha did not decidedly summon -me, I packed up my things and went.</p> -<p>I received a warm welcome, in spite of the little flurry -produced by my impromptu visit, for I had only been able to give -a day’s notice. Miss Matilda looked miserably ill; -and I prepared to comfort and cosset her.</p> -<p>I went down to have a private talk with Martha.</p> -<p>“How long has your mistress been so poorly?” I -asked, as I stood by the kitchen fire.</p> -<p>“Well! I think it’s better than a fortnight; -it is, I know; it was one Tuesday, after Miss Pole had been, that -she went into this moping way. I thought she was tired, and -it would go off with a night’s rest; but no! she has gone -on and on ever since, till I thought it my duty to write to you, -ma’am.”</p> -<p><a name="page60"></a><span class="pagenum">p. -60</span>“You did quite right, Martha. It is a -comfort to think she has so faithful a servant about her. -And I hope you find your place comfortable?”</p> -<p>“Well, ma’am, missus is very kind, and -there’s plenty to eat and drink, and no more work but what -I can do easily—but—” Martha hesitated.</p> -<p>“But what, Martha?”</p> -<p>“Why, it seems so hard of missus not to let me have any -followers; there’s such lots of young fellows in the town; -and many a one has as much as offered to keep company with me; -and I may never be in such a likely place again, and it’s -like wasting an opportunity. Many a girl as I know would -have ’em unbeknownst to missus; but I’ve given my -word, and I’ll stick to it; or else this is just the house -for missus never to be the wiser if they did come: and it’s -such a capable kitchen—there’s such dark corners in -it—I’d be bound to hide any one. I counted up -last Sunday night—for I’ll not deny I was crying -because I had to shut the door in Jem Hearn’s face, and -he’s a steady young man, fit for any girl; only I had given -missus my word.” Martha was all but crying again; and -I had little comfort to give her, for I knew, from old -experience, of the horror with which both the Miss Jenkynses -looked upon “followers”; and in Miss Matty’s -present nervous state this dread was not likely to be -lessened.</p> -<p>I went to see Miss Pole the next day, and took her completely -by surprise, for she had not been to see Miss Matilda for two -days.</p> -<p>“And now I must go back with you, my dear, for I -promised to let her know how Thomas Holbrook went on; and, -I’m sorry to say, his housekeeper has <a -name="page61"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 61</span>sent me word -to-day that he hasn’t long to live. Poor Thomas! that -journey to Paris was quite too much for him. His -housekeeper says he has hardly ever been round his fields since, -but just sits with his hands on his knees in the counting-house, -not reading or anything, but only saying what a wonderful city -Paris was! Paris has much to answer for if it’s -killed my cousin Thomas, for a better man never lived.”</p> -<p>“Does Miss Matilda know of his illness?” asked -I—a new light as to the cause of her indisposition dawning -upon me.</p> -<p>“Dear! to be sure, yes! Has not she told -you? I let her know a fortnight ago, or more, when first I -heard of it. How odd she shouldn’t have told -you!”</p> -<p>Not at all, I thought; but I did not say anything. I -felt almost guilty of having spied too curiously into that tender -heart, and I was not going to speak of its secrets—hidden, -Miss Matty believed, from all the world. I ushered Miss -Pole into Miss Matilda’s little drawing-room, and then left -them alone. But I was not surprised when Martha came to my -bedroom door, to ask me to go down to dinner alone, for that -missus had one of her bad headaches. She came into the -drawing-room at tea-time, but it was evidently an effort to her; -and, as if to make up for some reproachful feeling against her -late sister, Miss Jenkyns, which had been troubling her all the -afternoon, and for which she now felt penitent, she kept telling -me how good and how clever Deborah was in her youth; how she used -to settle what gowns they were to wear at all the parties (faint, -<a name="page62"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 62</span>ghostly -ideas of grim parties, far away in the distance, when Miss Matty -and Miss Pole were young!); and how Deborah and her mother had -started the benefit society for the poor, and taught girls -cooking and plain sewing; and how Deborah had once danced with a -lord; and how she used to visit at Sir Peter Arley’s, and -tried to remodel the quiet rectory establishment on the plans of -Arley Hall, where they kept thirty servants; and how she had -nursed Miss Matty through a long, long illness, of which I had -never heard before, but which I now dated in my own mind as -following the dismissal of the suit of Mr Holbrook. So we -talked softly and quietly of old times through the long November -evening.</p> -<p>The next day Miss Pole brought us word that Mr Holbrook was -dead. Miss Matty heard the news in silence; in fact, from -the account of the previous day, it was only what we had to -expect. Miss Pole kept calling upon us for some expression -of regret, by asking if it was not sad that he was gone, and -saying—</p> -<p>“To think of that pleasant day last June, when he seemed -so well! And he might have lived this dozen years if he had -not gone to that wicked Paris, where they are always having -revolutions.”</p> -<p>She paused for some demonstration on our part. I saw -Miss Matty could not speak, she was trembling so nervously; so I -said what I really felt; and after a call of some -duration—all the time of which I have no doubt Miss Pole -thought Miss Matty received the news very calmly—our -visitor took her leave.</p> -<p>Miss Matty made a strong effort to conceal her <a -name="page63"></a><span class="pagenum">p. -63</span>feelings—a concealment she practised even with me, -for she has never alluded to Mr Holbrook again, although the book -he gave her lies with her Bible on the little table by her -bedside. She did not think I heard her when she asked the -little milliner of Cranford to make her caps something like the -Honourable Mrs Jamieson’s, or that I noticed the -reply—</p> -<p>“But she wears widows’ caps, -ma’am?”</p> -<p>“Oh! I only meant something in that style; not -widows’, of course, but rather like Mrs -Jamieson’s.”</p> -<p>This effort at concealment was the beginning of the tremulous -motion of head and hands which I have seen ever since in Miss -Matty.</p> -<p>The evening of the day on which we heard of Mr -Holbrook’s death, Miss Matilda was very silent and -thoughtful; after prayers she called Martha back and then she -stood uncertain what to say.</p> -<p>“Martha!” she said, at last, “you are -young”—and then she made so long a pause that Martha, -to remind her of her half-finished sentence, dropped a curtsey, -and said—</p> -<p>“Yes, please, ma’am; two-and-twenty last third of -October, please, ma’am.”</p> -<p>“And, perhaps, Martha, you may some time meet with a -young man you like, and who likes you. I did say you were -not to have followers; but if you meet with such a young man, and -tell me, and I find he is respectable, I have no objection to his -coming to see you once a week. God forbid!” said she -in a low voice, “that I should grieve any young -hearts.” She spoke as if she were providing for some -distant <a name="page64"></a><span class="pagenum">p. -64</span>contingency, and was rather startled when Martha made -her ready eager answer—</p> -<p>“Please, ma’am, there’s Jem Hearn, and -he’s a joiner making three-and-sixpence a-day, and six foot -one in his stocking-feet, please, ma’am; and if -you’ll ask about him to-morrow morning, every one will give -him a character for steadiness; and he’ll be glad enough to -come to-morrow night, I’ll be bound.”</p> -<p>Though Miss Matty was startled, she submitted to Fate and -Love.</p> -<h2><a name="page65"></a><span class="pagenum">p. -65</span>CHAPTER V—OLD LETTERS</h2> -<p>I <span class="smcap">have</span> often noticed that almost -every one has his own individual small economies—careful -habits of saving fractions of pennies in some one peculiar -direction—any disturbance of which annoys him more than -spending shillings or pounds on some real extravagance. An -old gentleman of my acquaintance, who took the intelligence of -the failure of a Joint-Stock Bank, in which some of his money was -invested, with stoical mildness, worried his family all through a -long summer’s day because one of them had torn (instead of -cutting) out the written leaves of his now useless bank-book; of -course, the corresponding pages at the other end came out as -well, and this little unnecessary waste of paper (his private -economy) chafed him more than all the loss of his money. -Envelopes fretted his soul terribly when they first came in; the -only way in which he could reconcile himself to such waste of his -cherished article was by patiently turning inside out all that -were sent to him, and so making them serve again. Even now, -though tamed by age, I see him casting wistful glances at his -daughters when they send a <a name="page66"></a><span -class="pagenum">p. 66</span>whole inside of a half-sheet of note -paper, with the three lines of acceptance to an invitation, -written on only one of the sides. I am not above owning -that I have this human weakness myself. String is my -foible. My pockets get full of little hanks of it, picked -up and twisted together, ready for uses that never come. I -am seriously annoyed if any one cuts the string of a parcel -instead of patiently and faithfully undoing it fold by -fold. How people can bring themselves to use india-rubber -rings, which are a sort of deification of string, as lightly as -they do, I cannot imagine. To me an india-rubber ring is a -precious treasure. I have one which is not new—one -that I picked up off the floor nearly six years ago. I have -really tried to use it, but my heart failed me, and I could not -commit the extravagance.</p> -<p>Small pieces of butter grieve others. They cannot attend -to conversation because of the annoyance occasioned by the habit -which some people have of invariably taking more butter than they -want. Have you not seen the anxious look (almost mesmeric) -which such persons fix on the article? They would feel it a -relief if they might bury it out of their sight by popping it -into their own mouths and swallowing it down; and they are really -made happy if the person on whose plate it lies unused suddenly -breaks off a piece of toast (which he does not want at all) and -eats up his butter. They think that this is not waste.</p> -<p>Now Miss Matty Jenkyns was chary of candles. We had many -devices to use as few as possible. In the winter afternoons -she would sit knitting for two or three hours—she could do -this in the dark, or by <a name="page67"></a><span -class="pagenum">p. 67</span>firelight—and when I asked if I -might not ring for candles to finish stitching my wristbands, she -told me to “keep blind man’s holiday.” -They were usually brought in with tea; but we only burnt one at a -time. As we lived in constant preparation for a friend who -might come in any evening (but who never did), it required some -contrivance to keep our two candles of the same length, ready to -be lighted, and to look as if we burnt two always. The -candles took it in turns; and, whatever we might be talking about -or doing, Miss Matty’s eyes were habitually fixed upon the -candle, ready to jump up and extinguish it and to light the other -before they had become too uneven in length to be restored to -equality in the course of the evening.</p> -<p>One night, I remember this candle economy particularly annoyed -me. I had been very much tired of my compulsory -“blind man’s holiday,” especially as Miss Matty -had fallen asleep, and I did not like to stir the fire and run -the risk of awakening her; so I could not even sit on the rug, -and scorch myself with sewing by firelight, according to my usual -custom. I fancied Miss Matty must be dreaming of her early -life; for she spoke one or two words in her uneasy sleep bearing -reference to persons who were dead long before. When Martha -brought in the lighted candle and tea, Miss Matty started into -wakefulness, with a strange, bewildered look around, as if we -were not the people she expected to see about her. There -was a little sad expression that shadowed her face as she -recognised me; but immediately afterwards she tried to give me -her usual smile. All through tea-time her talk ran <a -name="page68"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 68</span>upon the days -of her childhood and youth. Perhaps this reminded her of -the desirableness of looking over all the old family letters, and -destroying such as ought not to be allowed to fall into the hands -of strangers; for she had often spoken of the necessity of this -task, but had always shrunk from it, with a timid dread of -something painful. To-night, however, she rose up after tea -and went for them—in the dark; for she piqued herself on -the precise neatness of all her chamber arrangements, and used to -look uneasily at me when I lighted a bed-candle to go to another -room for anything. When she returned there was a faint, -pleasant smell of Tonquin beans in the room. I had always -noticed this scent about any of the things which had belonged to -her mother; and many of the letters were addressed to -her—yellow bundles of love-letters, sixty or seventy years -old.</p> -<p>Miss Matty undid the packet with a sigh; but she stifled it -directly, as if it were hardly right to regret the flight of -time, or of life either. We agreed to look them over -separately, each taking a different letter out of the same bundle -and describing its contents to the other before destroying -it. I never knew what sad work the reading of old letters -was before that evening, though I could hardly tell why. -The letters were as happy as letters could be—at least -those early letters were. There was in them a vivid and -intense sense of the present time, which seemed so strong and -full, as if it could never pass away, and as if the warm, living -hearts that so expressed themselves could never die, and be as -nothing to the sunny earth. I should have felt less -melancholy, I believe, if the letters had been more so. <a -name="page69"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 69</span>I saw the -tears stealing down the well-worn furrows of Miss Matty’s -cheeks, and her spectacles often wanted wiping. I trusted -at last that she would light the other candle, for my own eyes -were rather dim, and I wanted more light to see the pale, faded -ink; but no, even through her tears, she saw and remembered her -little economical ways.</p> -<p>The earliest set of letters were two bundles tied together, -and ticketed (in Miss Jenkyns’s handwriting) “Letters -interchanged between my ever-honoured father and my -dearly-beloved mother, prior to their marriage, in July -1774.” I should guess that the rector of Cranford was -about twenty-seven years of age when he wrote those letters; and -Miss Matty told me that her mother was just eighteen at the time -of her wedding. With my idea of the rector derived from a -picture in the dining-parlour, stiff and stately, in a huge -full-bottomed wig, with gown, cassock, and bands, and his hand -upon a copy of the only sermon he ever published—it was -strange to read these letters. They were full of eager, -passionate ardour; short homely sentences, right fresh from the -heart (very different from the grand Latinised, Johnsonian style -of the printed sermon preached before some judge at assize -time). His letters were a curious contrast to those of his -girl-bride. She was evidently rather annoyed at his demands -upon her for expressions of love, and could not quite understand -what he meant by repeating the same thing over in so many -different ways; but what she was quite clear about was a longing -for a white “Paduasoy”—whatever that might be; -and six or seven letters were principally occupied in asking her -<a name="page70"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 70</span>lover to -use his influence with her parents (who evidently kept her in -good order) to obtain this or that article of dress, more -especially the white “Paduasoy.” He cared -nothing how she was dressed; she was always lovely enough for -him, as he took pains to assure her, when she begged him to -express in his answers a predilection for particular pieces of -finery, in order that she might show what he said to her -parents. But at length he seemed to find out that she would -not be married till she had a “trousseau” to her -mind; and then he sent her a letter, which had evidently -accompanied a whole box full of finery, and in which he requested -that she might be dressed in everything her heart desired. -This was the first letter, ticketed in a frail, delicate hand, -“From my dearest John.” Shortly afterwards they -were married, I suppose, from the intermission in their -correspondence.</p> -<p>“We must burn them, I think,” said Miss Matty, -looking doubtfully at me. “No one will care for them -when I am gone.” And one by one she dropped them into -the middle of the fire, watching each blaze up, die out, and rise -away, in faint, white, ghostly semblance, up the chimney, before -she gave another to the same fate. The room was light -enough now; but I, like her, was fascinated into watching the -destruction of those letters, into which the honest warmth of a -manly heart had been poured forth.</p> -<p>The next letter, likewise docketed by Miss Jenkyns, was -endorsed, “Letter of pious congratulation and exhortation -from my venerable grandfather to my beloved mother, on occasion -of my own birth. <a name="page71"></a><span -class="pagenum">p. 71</span>Also some practical remarks on the -desirability of keeping warm the extremities of infants, from my -excellent grandmother.”</p> -<p>The first part was, indeed, a severe and forcible picture of -the responsibilities of mothers, and a warning against the evils -that were in the world, and lying in ghastly wait for the little -baby of two days old. His wife did not write, said the old -gentleman, because he had forbidden it, she being indisposed with -a sprained ankle, which (he said) quite incapacitated her from -holding a pen. However, at the foot of the page was a small -“T.O.,” and on turning it over, sure enough, there -was a letter to “my dear, dearest Molly,” begging -her, when she left her room, whatever she did, to go <i>up</i> -stairs before going <i>down</i>: and telling her to wrap her -baby’s feet up in flannel, and keep it warm by the fire, -although it was summer, for babies were so tender.</p> -<p>It was pretty to see from the letters, which were evidently -exchanged with some frequency between the young mother and the -grandmother, how the girlish vanity was being weeded out of her -heart by love for her baby. The white -“Paduasoy” figured again in the letters, with almost -as much vigour as before. In one, it was being made into a -christening cloak for the baby. It decked it when it went -with its parents to spend a day or two at Arley Hall. It -added to its charms, when it was “the prettiest little baby -that ever was seen. Dear mother, I wish you could see -her! Without any pershality, I do think she will grow up a -regular bewty!” I thought of Miss Jenkyns, grey, -withered, and wrinkled, and I wondered if her mother had known -her in the courts <a name="page72"></a><span class="pagenum">p. -72</span>of heaven: and then I knew that she had, and that they -stood there in angelic guise.</p> -<p>There was a great gap before any of the rector’s letters -appeared. And then his wife had changed her mode of her -endorsement. It was no longer from, “My dearest -John;” it was from “My Honoured Husband.” -The letters were written on occasion of the publication of the -same sermon which was represented in the picture. The -preaching before “My Lord Judge,” and the -“publishing by request,” was evidently the -culminating point—the event of his life. It had been -necessary for him to go up to London to superintend it through -the press. Many friends had to be called upon and consulted -before he could decide on any printer fit for so onerous a task; -and at length it was arranged that J. and J. Rivingtons were to -have the honourable responsibility. The worthy rector -seemed to be strung up by the occasion to a high literary pitch, -for he could hardly write a letter to his wife without cropping -out into Latin. I remember the end of one of his letters -ran thus: “I shall ever hold the virtuous qualities of my -Molly in remembrance, <i>dum memor ipse mei</i>, <i>dum spiritus -regit artus</i>,” which, considering that the English of -his correspondent was sometimes at fault in grammar, and often in -spelling, might be taken as a proof of how much he -“idealised his Molly;” and, as Miss Jenkyns used to -say, “People talk a great deal about idealising now-a-days, -whatever that may mean.” But this was nothing to a -fit of writing classical poetry which soon seized him, in which -his Molly figured away as “Maria.” The letter -containing the <i>carmen</i> was endorsed by her, “Hebrew -verses sent me by <a name="page73"></a><span class="pagenum">p. -73</span>my honoured husband. I thowt to have had a letter -about killing the pig, but must wait. Mem., to send the -poetry to Sir Peter Arley, as my husband desires.” -And in a post-scriptum note in his handwriting it was stated that -the Ode had appeared in the <i>Gentleman’s Magazine</i>, -December 1782.</p> -<p>Her letters back to her husband (treasured as fondly by him as -if they had been <i>M. T. Ciceronis Epistolæ</i>) were more -satisfactory to an absent husband and father than his could ever -have been to her. She told him how Deborah sewed her seam -very neatly every day, and read to her in the books he had set -her; how she was a very “forrard,” good child, but -would ask questions her mother could not answer, but how she did -not let herself down by saying she did not know, but took to -stirring the fire, or sending the “forrard” child on -an errand. Matty was now the mother’s darling, and -promised (like her sister at her age), to be a great -beauty. I was reading this aloud to Miss Matty, who smiled -and sighed a little at the hope, so fondly expressed, that -“little Matty might not be vain, even if she were a -bewty.”</p> -<p>“I had very pretty hair, my dear,” said Miss -Matilda; “and not a bad mouth.” And I saw her -soon afterwards adjust her cap and draw herself up.</p> -<p>But to return to Mrs Jenkyns’s letters. She told -her husband about the poor in the parish; what homely domestic -medicines she had administered; what kitchen physic she had -sent. She had evidently held his displeasure as a rod in -pickle over the heads of all the ne’er-do-wells. She -asked for his directions <a name="page74"></a><span -class="pagenum">p. 74</span>about the cows and pigs; and did not -always obtain them, as I have shown before.</p> -<p>The kind old grandmother was dead when a little boy was born, -soon after the publication of the sermon; but there was another -letter of exhortation from the grandfather, more stringent and -admonitory than ever, now that there was a boy to be guarded from -the snares of the world. He described all the various sins -into which men might fall, until I wondered how any man ever came -to a natural death. The gallows seemed as if it must have -been the termination of the lives of most of the -grandfather’s friends and acquaintance; and I was not -surprised at the way in which he spoke of this life being -“a vale of tears.”</p> -<p>It seemed curious that I should never have heard of this -brother before; but I concluded that he had died young, or else -surely his name would have been alluded to by his sisters.</p> -<p>By-and-by we came to packets of Miss Jenkyns’s -letters. These Miss Matty did regret to burn. She -said all the others had been only interesting to those who loved -the writers, and that it seemed as if it would have hurt her to -allow them to fall into the hands of strangers, who had not known -her dear mother, and how good she was, although she did not -always spell, quite in the modern fashion; but Deborah’s -letters were so very superior! Any one might profit by -reading them. It was a long time since she had read Mrs -Chapone, but she knew she used to think that Deborah could have -said the same things quite as well; and as for Mrs Carter! people -thought a deal of her letters, just because she had <a -name="page75"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 75</span>written -“Epictetus,” but she was quite sure Deborah would -never have made use of such a common expression as “I canna -be fashed!”</p> -<p style="text-align: center"> -<a href="images/p74b.jpg"> -<img alt= -"I made use of the time to think of many other things" -title= -"I made use of the time to think of many other things" -src="images/p74s.jpg" /> -</a></p> -<p>Miss Matty did grudge burning these letters, it was -evident. She would not let them be carelessly passed over -with any quiet reading, and skipping, to myself. She took -them from me, and even lighted the second candle in order to read -them aloud with a proper emphasis, and without stumbling over the -big words. Oh dear! how I wanted facts instead of -reflections, before those letters were concluded! They -lasted us two nights; and I won’t deny that I made use of -the time to think of many other things, and yet I was always at -my post at the end of each sentence.</p> -<p>The rector’s letters, and those of his wife and -mother-in-law, had all been tolerably short and pithy, written in -a straight hand, with the lines very close together. -Sometimes the whole letter was contained on a mere scrap of -paper. The paper was very yellow, and the ink very brown; -some of the sheets were (as Miss Matty made me observe) the old -original post, with the stamp in the corner representing a -post-boy riding for life and twanging his horn. The letters -of Mrs Jenkyns and her mother were fastened with a great round -red wafer; for it was before Miss Edgeworth’s -“patronage” had banished wafers from polite -society. It was evident, from the tenor of what was said, -that franks were in great request, and were even used as a means -of paying debts by needy members of Parliament. The rector -sealed his epistles with an immense coat of arms, and showed by -the care with which he had performed this <a -name="page76"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 76</span>ceremony that -he expected they should be cut open, not broken by any -thoughtless or impatient hand. Now, Miss Jenkyns’s -letters were of a later date in form and writing. She wrote -on the square sheet which we have learned to call -old-fashioned. Her hand was admirably calculated, together -with her use of many-syllabled words, to fill up a sheet, and -then came the pride and delight of crossing. Poor Miss -Matty got sadly puzzled with this, for the words gathered size -like snowballs, and towards the end of her letter Miss Jenkyns -used to become quite sesquipedalian. In one to her father, -slightly theological and controversial in its tone, she had -spoken of Herod, Tetrarch of Idumea. Miss Matty read it -“Herod Petrarch of Etruria,” and was just as well -pleased as if she had been right.</p> -<p>I can’t quite remember the date, but I think it was in -1805 that Miss Jenkyns wrote the longest series of -letters—on occasion of her absence on a visit to some -friends near Newcastle-upon-Tyne. These friends were -intimate with the commandant of the garrison there, and heard -from him of all the preparations that were being made to repel -the invasion of Buonaparte, which some people imagined might take -place at the mouth of the Tyne. Miss Jenkyns was evidently -very much alarmed; and the first part of her letters was often -written in pretty intelligible English, conveying particulars of -the preparations which were made in the family with whom she was -residing against the dreaded event; the bundles of clothes that -were packed up ready for a flight to Alston Moor (a wild hilly -piece of ground between Northumberland and Cumberland); the -signal that <a name="page77"></a><span class="pagenum">p. -77</span>was to be given for this flight, and for the -simultaneous turning out of the volunteers under arms—which -said signal was to consist (if I remember rightly) in ringing the -church bells in a particular and ominous manner. One day, -when Miss Jenkyns and her hosts were at a dinner-party in -Newcastle, this warning summons was actually given (not a very -wise proceeding, if there be any truth in the moral attached to -the fable of the Boy and the Wolf; but so it was), and Miss -Jenkyns, hardly recovered from her fright, wrote the next day to -describe the sound, the breathless shock, the hurry and alarm; -and then, taking breath, she added, “How trivial, my dear -father, do all our apprehensions of the last evening appear, at -the present moment, to calm and enquiring minds!” And -here Miss Matty broke in with—</p> -<p>“But, indeed, my dear, they were not at all trivial or -trifling at the time. I know I used to wake up in the night -many a time and think I heard the tramp of the French entering -Cranford. Many people talked of hiding themselves in the -salt mines—and meat would have kept capitally down there, -only perhaps we should have been thirsty. And my father -preached a whole set of sermons on the occasion; one set in the -mornings, all about David and Goliath, to spirit up the people to -fighting with spades or bricks, if need were; and the other set -in the afternoons, proving that Napoleon (that was another name -for Bony, as we used to call him) was all the same as an Apollyon -and Abaddon. I remember my father rather thought he should -be asked to print this last set; but the parish had, perhaps, had -enough of them with hearing.”</p> -<p><a name="page78"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 78</span>Peter -Marmaduke Arley Jenkyns (“poor Peter!” as Miss Matty -began to call him) was at school at Shrewsbury by this -time. The rector took up his pen, and rubbed up his Latin -once more, to correspond with his boy. It was very clear -that the lad’s were what are called show letters. -They were of a highly mental description, giving an account of -his studies, and his intellectual hopes of various kinds, with an -occasional quotation from the classics; but, now and then, the -animal nature broke out in such a little sentence as this, -evidently written in a trembling hurry, after the letter had been -inspected: “Mother dear, do send me a cake, and put plenty -of citron in.” The “mother dear” probably -answered her boy in the form of cakes and “goody,” -for there were none of her letters among this set; but a whole -collection of the rector’s, to whom the Latin in his -boy’s letters was like a trumpet to the old -war-horse. I do not know much about Latin, certainly, and -it is, perhaps, an ornamental language, but not very useful, I -think—at least to judge from the bits I remember out of the -rector’s letters. One was, “You have not got -that town in your map of Ireland; but <i>Bonus Bernardus non -videt omnia</i>, as the Proverbia say.” Presently it -became very evident that “poor Peter” got himself -into many scrapes. There were letters of stilted penitence -to his father, for some wrong-doing; and among them all was a -badly-written, badly-sealed, badly-directed, blotted -note:—“My dear, dear, dear, dearest mother, I will be -a better boy; I will, indeed; but don’t, please, be ill for -me; I am not worth it; but I will be good, darling -mother.”</p> -<p><a name="page79"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 79</span>Miss -Matty could not speak for crying, after she had read this -note. She gave it to me in silence, and then got up and -took it to her sacred recesses in her own room, for fear, by any -chance, it might get burnt. “Poor Peter!” she -said; “he was always in scrapes; he was too easy. -They led him wrong, and then left him in the lurch. But he -was too fond of mischief. He could never resist a -joke. Poor Peter!”</p> -<h2><a name="page80"></a><span class="pagenum">p. -80</span>CHAPTER VI—POOR PETER</h2> -<p><span class="smcap">Poor</span> Peter’s career lay -before him rather pleasantly mapped out by kind friends, but -<i>Bonus Bernardus non videt omnia</i>, in this map too. He -was to win honours at the Shrewsbury School, and carry them thick -to Cambridge, and after that, a living awaited him, the gift of -his godfather, Sir Peter Arley. Poor Peter! his lot in life -was very different to what his friends had hoped and -planned. Miss Matty told me all about it, and I think it -was a relief when she had done so.</p> -<p>He was the darling of his mother, who seemed to dote on all -her children, though she was, perhaps, a little afraid of -Deborah’s superior acquirements. Deborah was the -favourite of her father, and when Peter disappointed him, she -became his pride. The sole honour Peter brought away from -Shrewsbury was the reputation of being the best good fellow that -ever was, and of being the captain of the school in the art of -practical joking. His father was disappointed, but set -about remedying the matter in a manly way. He could not -afford to send Peter to read with any tutor, but he could read -with <a name="page81"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 81</span>him -himself; and Miss Matty told me much of the awful preparations in -the way of dictionaries and lexicons that were made in her -father’s study the morning Peter began.</p> -<p>“My poor mother!” said she. “I -remember how she used to stand in the hall, just near enough the -study-door, to catch the tone of my father’s voice. I -could tell in a moment if all was going right, by her face. -And it did go right for a long time.”</p> -<p>“What went wrong at last?” said I. -“That tiresome Latin, I dare say.”</p> -<p>“No! it was not the Latin. Peter was in high -favour with my father, for he worked up well for him. But -he seemed to think that the Cranford people might be joked about, -and made fun of, and they did not like it; nobody does. He -was always hoaxing them; ‘hoaxing’ is not a pretty -word, <a name="page82"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 82</span>my -dear, and I hope you won’t tell your father I used it, for -I should not like him to think that I was not choice in my -language, after living with such a woman as Deborah. And be -sure you never use it yourself. I don’t know how it -slipped out of my mouth, except it was that I was thinking of -poor Peter and it was always his expression. But he was a -very gentlemanly boy in many things. He was like dear -Captain Brown in always being ready to help any old person or a -child. Still, he did like joking and making fun; and he -seemed to think the old ladies in Cranford would believe -anything. There were many old ladies living here then; we -are principally ladies now, I know, but we are not so old as the -ladies used to be when I was a girl. I could laugh to think -of some of Peter’s jokes. No, my dear, I won’t -tell you of them, because they might not shock you as they ought -to do, and they were very shocking. He even took in my -father once, by dressing himself up as a lady that was passing -through the town and wished to see the Rector of Cranford, -‘who had published that admirable Assize -Sermon.’ Peter said he was awfully frightened himself -when he saw how my father took it all in, and even offered to -copy out all his Napoleon Buonaparte sermons for her—him, I -mean—no, her, for Peter was a lady then. He told me -he was more terrified than he ever was before, all the time my -father was speaking. He did not think my father would have -believed him; and yet if he had not, it would have been a sad -thing for Peter. As it was, he was none so glad of it, for -my father kept him hard at work copying out all those twelve -Buonaparte sermons for the lady—that was for Peter himself, -you know. He was the lady. And once when he wanted to -go fishing, Peter said, ‘Confound the -woman!’—very bad language, my dear, but Peter was not -always so guarded as he should have been; my father was so angry -with him, it nearly frightened me out of my wits: and yet I could -hardly keep from laughing at the little curtseys Peter kept -making, quite slyly, whenever my father spoke of the lady’s -excellent taste and sound discrimination.”</p> -<p style="text-align: center"> -<a href="images/p82b.jpg"> -<img alt= -"Confound the woman" -title= -"Confound the woman" -src="images/p82s.jpg" /> -</a></p> -<p>“Did Miss Jenkyns know of these tricks?” said -I.</p> -<p>“Oh, no! Deborah would have been too much -shocked. No, no one knew but me. I wish I had always -known of Peter’s plans; but sometimes he did not tell -me. He used to say the old ladies in <a -name="page83"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 83</span>the town -wanted something to talk about; but I don’t think they -did. They had the <i>St James’s Chronicle</i> three -times a week, just as we have now, and we have plenty to say; and -I remember the clacking noise there always was when some of the -ladies got together. But, probably, schoolboys talk more -than ladies. At last there was a terrible, sad thing -happened.” Miss Matty got up, went to the door, and -opened it; no one was there. She rang the bell for Martha, -and when Martha came, her mistress told her to go for eggs to a -farm at the other end of the town.</p> -<p>“I will lock the door after you, Martha. You are -not afraid to go, are you?”</p> -<p>“No, ma’am, not at all; Jem Hearn will be only too -proud to go with me.”</p> -<p>Miss Matty drew herself up, and as soon as we were alone, she -wished that Martha had more maidenly reserve.</p> -<p>“We’ll put out the candle, my dear. We can -talk just as well by firelight, you know. There! -Well, you see, Deborah had gone from home for a fortnight or so; -it was a very still, quiet day, I remember, overhead; and the -lilacs were all in flower, so I suppose it was spring. My -father had gone out to see some sick people in the parish; I -recollect seeing him leave the house with his wig and shovel-hat -and cane. What possessed our poor Peter I don’t know; -he had the sweetest temper, and yet he always seemed to like to -plague Deborah. She never laughed at his jokes, and thought -him ungenteel, and not careful enough about improving his mind; -and that vexed him.</p> -<p><a name="page84"></a><span class="pagenum">p. -84</span>“Well! he went to her room, it seems, and dressed -himself in her old gown, and shawl, and bonnet; just the things -she used to wear in Cranford, and was known by everywhere; and he -made the pillow into a little—you are sure you locked the -door, my dear, for I should not like anyone to -hear—into—into a little baby, with white long -clothes. It was only, as he told me afterwards, to make -something to talk about in the town; he never thought of it as -affecting Deborah. And he went and walked up and down in -the Filbert walk—just half-hidden by the rails, and -half-seen; and he cuddled his pillow, just like a baby, and -talked to it all the nonsense people do. Oh dear! and my -father came stepping stately up the street, as he always did; and -what should he see but a little black crowd of people—I -daresay as many as twenty—all peeping through his garden -rails. So he thought, at first, they were only looking at a -new rhododendron that was in full bloom, and that he was very -proud of; and he walked slower, that they might have more time to -admire. And he wondered if he could make out a sermon from -the occasion, and thought, perhaps, there was some relation -between the rhododendrons and the lilies of the field. My -poor father! When he came nearer, he began to wonder that -they did not see him; but their heads were all so close together, -peeping and peeping! My father was amongst them, meaning, -he said, to ask them to walk into the garden with him, and admire -the beautiful vegetable production, when—oh, my dear, I -tremble to think of it—he looked through the rails himself, -and saw—I don’t know what he thought he saw, but old -Clare told me his <a name="page85"></a><span class="pagenum">p. -85</span>face went quite grey-white with anger, and his eyes -blazed out under his frowning black brows; and he spoke -out—oh, so terribly!—and bade them all stop where -they were—not one of them to go, not one of them to stir a -step; and, swift as light, he was in at the garden door, and down -the Filbert walk, and seized hold of poor Peter, and tore his -clothes off his back—bonnet, shawl, gown, and all—and -threw the pillow among the people over the railings: and then he -was very, very angry indeed, and before all the people he lifted -up his cane and flogged Peter!</p> -<p>“My dear, that boy’s trick, on that sunny day, -when all seemed going straight and well, broke my mother’s -heart, and changed my father for life. It did, -indeed. Old Clare said, Peter looked as white as my father; -and stood as still as a statue to be flogged; and my father -struck hard! When my father stopped to take breath, Peter -said, ‘Have you done enough, sir?’ quite hoarsely, -and still standing quite quiet. I don’t know what my -father said—or if he said anything. But old Clare -said, Peter turned to where the people outside the railing were, -and made them a low bow, as grand and as grave as any gentleman; -and then walked slowly into the house. I was in the -store-room helping my mother to make cowslip wine. I cannot -abide the wine now, nor the scent of the flowers; they turn me -sick and faint, as they did that day, when Peter came in, looking -as haughty as any man—indeed, looking like a man, not like -a boy. ‘Mother!’ he said, ‘I am come to -say, God bless you for ever.’ I saw his lips quiver -as he spoke; and I think he durst not say anything more loving, -for the purpose that was in his heart. She <a -name="page86"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 86</span>looked at him -rather frightened, and wondering, and asked him what was to -do. He did not smile or speak, but put his arms round her -and kissed her as if he did not know how to leave off; and before -she could speak again, he was gone. We talked it over, and -could not understand it, and she bade me go and seek my father, -and ask what it was all about. I found him walking up and -down, looking very highly displeased.</p> -<p>“‘Tell your mother I have flogged Peter, and that -he richly deserved it.’</p> -<p>“I durst not ask any more questions. When I told -my mother, she sat down, quite faint, for a minute. I -remember, a few days after, I saw the poor, withered cowslip -flowers thrown out to the leaf heap, to decay and die -there. There was no making of cowslip wine that year at the -rectory—nor, indeed, ever after.</p> -<p>“Presently my mother went to my father. I know I -thought of Queen Esther and King Ahasuerus; for my mother was -very pretty and delicate-looking, and my father looked as -terrible as King Ahasuerus. Some time after they came out -together; and then my mother told me what had happened, and that -she was going up to Peter’s room at my father’s -desire—though she was not to tell Peter this—to talk -the matter over with him. But no Peter was there. We -looked over the house; no Peter was there! Even my father, -who had not liked to join in the search at first, helped us -before long. The rectory was a very old house—steps -up into a room, steps down into a room, all through. At -first, my mother went calling low and soft, as if to reassure the -poor <a name="page87"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 87</span>boy, -‘Peter! Peter, dear! it’s only me;’ but, -by-and-by, as the servants came back from the errands my father -had sent them, in different directions, to find where Peter -was—as we found he was not in the garden, nor the hayloft, -nor anywhere about—my mother’s cry grew louder and -wilder, Peter! Peter, my darling! where are you?’ for -then she felt and understood that that long kiss meant some sad -kind of ‘good-bye.’ The afternoon went -on—my mother never resting, but seeking again and again in -every possible place that had been looked into twenty times -before, nay, that she had looked into over and over again -herself. My father sat with his head in his hands, not -speaking except when his messengers came in, bringing no tidings; -then he lifted up his face, so strong and sad, and told them to -go again in some new direction. My mother kept passing from -room to room, in and out of the house, moving noiselessly, but -never ceasing. Neither she nor my father durst leave the -house, which was the meeting-place for all the messengers. -At last (and it was nearly dark), my father rose up. He -took hold of my mother’s arm as she came with wild, sad -pace through one door, and quickly towards another. She -started at the touch of his hand, for she had forgotten all in -the world but Peter.</p> -<p>“‘Molly!’ said he, ‘I did not think -all this would happen.’ He looked into her face for -comfort—her poor face all wild and white; for neither she -nor my father had dared to acknowledge—much less act -upon—the terror that was in their hearts, lest Peter should -have made away with himself. My father saw no conscious -look in his wife’s hot, dreary <a name="page88"></a><span -class="pagenum">p. 88</span>eyes, and he missed the sympathy that -she had always been ready to give him—strong man as he was, -and at the dumb despair in her face his tears began to -flow. But when she saw this, a gentle sorrow came over her -countenance, and she said, ‘Dearest John! don’t cry; -come with me, and we’ll find him,’ almost as -cheerfully as if she knew where he was. And she took my -father’s great hand in her little soft one, and led him -along, the tears dropping as he walked on that same unceasing, -weary walk, from room to room, through house and garden.</p> -<p>“Oh, how I wished for Deborah! I had no time for -crying, for now all seemed to depend on me. I wrote for -Deborah to come home. I sent a message privately to that -same Mr Holbrook’s house—poor Mr Holbrook;—you -know who I mean. I don’t mean I sent a message to -him, but I sent one that I could trust to know if Peter was at -his house. For at one time Mr Holbrook was an occasional -visitor at the rectory—you know he was Miss Pole’s -cousin—and he had been very kind to Peter, and taught him -how to fish—he was very kind to everybody, and I thought -Peter might have gone off there. But Mr Holbrook was from -home, and Peter had never been seen. It was night now; but -the doors were all wide open, and my father and mother walked on -and on; it was more than an hour since he had joined her, and I -don’t believe they had ever spoken all that time. I -was getting the parlour fire lighted, and one of the servants was -preparing tea, for I wanted them to have something to eat and -drink and warm them, when old Clare asked to speak to me.</p> -<p>“‘I have borrowed the nets from the weir, Miss <a -name="page89"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 89</span>Matty. -Shall we drag the ponds to-night, or wait for the -morning?’</p> -<p>“I remember staring in his face to gather his meaning; -and when I did, I laughed out loud. The horror of that new -thought—our bright, darling Peter, cold, and stark, and -dead! I remember the ring of my own laugh now.</p> -<p>“The next day Deborah was at home before I was myself -again. She would not have been so weak as to give way as I -had done; but my screams (my horrible laughter had ended in -crying) had roused my sweet dear mother, whose poor wandering -wits were called back and collected as soon as a child needed her -care. She and Deborah sat by my bedside; I knew by the -looks of each that there had been no news of Peter—no -awful, ghastly news, which was what I most had dreaded in my dull -state between sleeping and waking.</p> -<p>“The same result of all the searching had brought -something of the same relief to my mother, to whom, I am sure, -the thought that Peter might even then be hanging dead in some of -the familiar home places had caused that never-ending walk of -yesterday. Her soft eyes never were the same again after -that; they had always a restless, craving look, as if seeking for -what they could not find. Oh! it was an awful time; coming -down like a thunder-bolt on the still sunny day when the lilacs -were all in bloom.”</p> -<p>“Where was Mr Peter?” said I.</p> -<p>“He had made his way to Liverpool; and there was war -then; and some of the king’s ships lay off the mouth of the -Mersey; and they were only too <a name="page90"></a><span -class="pagenum">p. 90</span>glad to have a fine likely boy such -as him (five foot nine he was), come to offer himself. The -captain wrote to my father, and Peter wrote to my mother. -Stay! those letters will be somewhere here.”</p> -<p>We lighted the candle, and found the captain’s letter -and Peter’s too. And we also found a little simple -begging letter from Mrs Jenkyns to Peter, addressed to him at the -house of an old schoolfellow whither she fancied he might have -gone. They had returned it unopened; and unopened it had -remained ever since, having been inadvertently put by among the -other letters of that time. This is it:—</p> -<blockquote><p>“<span class="smcap">My dearest -Peter</span>,—You did not think we should be so sorry as we -are, I know, or you would never have gone away. You are too -good. Your father sits and sighs till my heart aches to -hear him. He cannot hold up his head for grief; and yet he -only did what he thought was right. Perhaps he has been too -severe, and perhaps I have not been kind enough; but God knows -how we love you, my dear only boy. Don looks so sorry you -are gone. Come back, and make us happy, who love you so -much. I know you will come back.”</p> -</blockquote> -<p>But Peter did not come back. That spring day was the -last time he ever saw his mother’s face. The writer -of the letter—the last—the only person who had ever -seen what was written in it, was dead long ago; and I, a -stranger, not born at the time when this occurrence took place, -was the one to open it.</p> -<p>The captain’s letter summoned the father and <a -name="page91"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 91</span>mother to -Liverpool instantly, if they wished to see their boy; and, by -some of the wild chances of life, the captain’s letter had -been detained somewhere, somehow.</p> -<p>Miss Matty went on, “And it was racetime, and all the -post-horses at Cranford were gone to the races; but my father and -mother set off in our own gig—and oh! my dear, they were -too late—the ship was gone! And now read -Peter’s letter to my mother!”</p> -<p>It was full of love, and sorrow, and pride in his new -profession, and a sore sense of his disgrace in the eyes of the -people at Cranford; but ending with a passionate entreaty that -she would come and see him before he left the Mersey: -“Mother; we may go into battle. I hope we shall, and -lick those French: but I must see you again before that -time.”</p> -<p>“And she was too late,” said Miss Matty; -“too late!”</p> -<p>We sat in silence, pondering on the full meaning of those sad, -sad words. At length I asked Miss Matty to tell me how her -mother bore it.</p> -<p>“Oh!” she said, “she was patience -itself. She had never been strong, and this weakened her -terribly. My father used to sit looking at her: far more -sad than she was. He seemed as if he could look at nothing -else when she was by; and he was so humble—so very gentle -now. He would, perhaps, speak in his old way—laying -down the law, as it were—and then, in a minute or two, he -would come round and put his hand on our shoulders, and ask us in -a low voice, if he had said anything to hurt us. I did not -<a name="page92"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 92</span>wonder at -his speaking so to Deborah, for she was so clever; but I could -not bear to hear him talking so to me.</p> -<p>“But, you see, he saw what we did not—that it was -killing my mother. Yes! killing her (put out the candle, my -dear; I can talk better in the dark), for she was but a frail -woman, and ill-fitted to stand the fright and shock she had gone -through; and she would smile at him and comfort him, not in -words, but in her looks and tones, which were always cheerful -when he was there. And she would speak of how she thought -Peter stood a good chance of being admiral very soon—he was -so brave and clever; and how she thought of seeing him in his -navy uniform, and what sort of hats admirals wore; and how much -more fit he was to be a sailor than a clergyman; and all in that -way, just to make my father think she was quite glad of what came -of that unlucky morning’s work, and the flogging which was -always in his mind, as we all knew. But oh, my dear! the -bitter, bitter crying she had when she was alone; and at last, as -she grew weaker, she could not keep her tears in when Deborah or -me was by, and would give us message after message for Peter (his -ship had gone to the Mediterranean, or somewhere down there, and -then he was ordered off to India, and there was no overland route -then); but she still said that no one knew where their death lay -in wait, and that we were not to think hers was near. We -did not think it, but we knew it, as we saw her fading away.</p> -<p>“Well, my dear, it’s very foolish of me, I know, -when in all likelihood I am so near seeing her again.</p> -<p>“And only think, love! the very day after her <a -name="page93"></a><span class="pagenum">p. -93</span>death—for she did not live quite a twelvemonth -after Peter went away—the very day after—came a -parcel for her from India—from her poor boy. It was a -large, soft, white Indian shawl, with just a little narrow border -all round; just what my mother would have liked.</p> -<p>“We thought it might rouse my father, for he had sat -with her hand in his all night long; so Deborah took it in to -him, and Peter’s letter to her, and all. At first, he -took no notice; and we tried to make a kind of light careless -talk about the shawl, opening it out and admiring it. Then, -suddenly, he got up, and spoke: ‘She shall be buried in -it,’ he said; ‘Peter shall have that comfort; and she -would have liked it.’</p> -<p>“Well, perhaps it was not reasonable, but what could we -do or say? One gives people in grief their own way. -He took it up and felt it: ‘It is just such a shawl as she -wished for when she was married, and her mother did not give it -her. I did not know of it till after, or she should have -had it—she should; but she shall have it now.’</p> -<p>“My mother looked so lovely in her death! She was -always pretty, and now she looked fair, and waxen, and -young—younger than Deborah, as she stood trembling and -shivering by her. We decked her in the long soft folds; she -lay smiling, as if pleased; and people came—all Cranford -came—to beg to see her, for they had loved her dearly, as -well they might; and the countrywomen brought posies; old -Clare’s wife brought some white violets and begged they -might lie on her breast.</p> -<p>“Deborah said to me, the day of my mother’s <a -name="page94"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 94</span>funeral, that -if she had a hundred offers she never would marry and leave my -father. It was not very likely she would have so -many—I don’t know that she had one; but it was not -less to her credit to say so. She was such a daughter to my -father as I think there never was before or since. His eyes -failed him, and she read book after book, and wrote, and copied, -and was always at his service in any parish business. She -could do many more things than my poor mother could; she even -once wrote a letter to the bishop for my father. But he -missed my mother sorely; the whole parish noticed it. Not -that he was less active; I think he was more so, and more patient -in helping every one. I did all I could to set Deborah at -liberty to be with him; for I knew I was good for little, and -that my best work in the world was to do odd jobs quietly, and -set others at liberty. But my father was a changed -man.”</p> -<p>“Did Mr Peter ever come home?”</p> -<p>“Yes, once. He came home a lieutenant; he did not -get to be admiral. And he and my father were such -friends! My father took him into every house in the parish, -he was so proud of him. He never walked out without -Peter’s arm to lean upon. Deborah used to smile (I -don’t think we ever laughed again after my mother’s -death), and say she was quite put in a corner. Not but what -my father always wanted her when there was letter-writing or -reading to be done, or anything to be settled.”</p> -<p>“And then?” said I, after a pause.</p> -<p>“Then Peter went to sea again; and, by-and-by, my father -died, blessing us both, and thanking Deborah for all she had been -to him; and, of course, <a name="page95"></a><span -class="pagenum">p. 95</span>our circumstances were changed; and, -instead of living at the rectory, and keeping three maids and a -man, we had to come to this small house, and be content with a -servant-of-all-work; but, as Deborah used to say, we have always -lived genteelly, even if circumstances have compelled us to -simplicity. Poor Deborah!”</p> -<p>“And Mr Peter?” asked I.</p> -<p>“Oh, there was some great war in India—I forget -what they call it—and we have never heard of Peter since -then. I believe he is dead myself; and it sometimes fidgets -me that we have never put on mourning for him. And then -again, when I sit by myself, and all the house is still, I think -I hear his step coming up the street, and my heart begins to -flutter and beat; but the sound always goes past—and Peter -never comes.</p> -<p>“That’s Martha back? No! -<i>I’ll</i> go, my dear; I can always find my way in the -dark, you know. And a blow of fresh air at the door will do -my head good, and it’s rather got a trick of -aching.”</p> -<p>So she pattered off. I had lighted the candle, to give -the room a cheerful appearance against her return.</p> -<p>“Was it Martha?” asked I.</p> -<p>“Yes. And I am rather uncomfortable, for I heard -such a strange noise, just as I was opening the door.”</p> -<p>“Where?’ I asked, for her eyes were round with -affright.</p> -<p>“In the street—just outside—it sounded -like”—</p> -<p>“Talking?” I put in, as she hesitated a -little.</p> -<p>“No! kissing”—</p> -<h2><a name="page96"></a><span class="pagenum">p. -96</span>CHAPTER VII—VISITING</h2> -<p><span class="smcap">One</span> morning, as Miss Matty and I -sat at our work—it was before twelve o’clock, and -Miss Matty had not changed the cap with yellow ribbons that had -been Miss Jenkyns’s best, and which Miss Matty was now -wearing out in private, putting on the one made in imitation of -Mrs Jamieson’s at all times when she expected to be -seen—Martha came up, and asked if Miss Betty Barker might -speak to her mistress. Miss Matty assented, and quickly -disappeared to change the yellow ribbons, while Miss Barker came -upstairs; but, as she had forgotten her spectacles, and was -rather flurried by the unusual time of the visit, I was not -surprised to see her return with one cap on the top of the -other. She was quite unconscious of it herself, and looked -at us, with bland satisfaction. Nor do I think Miss Barker -perceived it; for, putting aside the little circumstance that she -was not so young as she had been, she was very much absorbed in -her errand, which she delivered herself of with an oppressive -modesty that found vent in endless apologies.</p> -<p>Miss Betty Barker was the daughter of the old <a -name="page97"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 97</span>clerk at -Cranford who had officiated in Mr Jenkyns’s time. She -and her sister had had pretty good situations as ladies’ -maids, and had saved money enough to set up a milliner’s -shop, which had been patronised by the ladies in the -neighbourhood. Lady Arley, for instance, would occasionally -give Miss Barkers the pattern of an old cap of hers, which they -immediately copied and circulated among the <i>élite</i> -of Cranford. I say the <i>élite</i>, for Miss -Barkers had caught the trick of the place, and piqued themselves -upon their “aristocratic connection.” They -would not sell their caps and ribbons to anyone without a -pedigree. Many a farmer’s wife or daughter turned -away huffed from Miss Barkers’ select millinery, and went -rather to the universal shop, where the profits of brown soap and -moist sugar enabled the proprietor to go straight to (Paris, he -said, until he found his customers too patriotic and John Bullish -to wear what the Mounseers wore) London, where, as he often told -his customers, Queen Adelaide had appeared, only the very week -before, in a cap exactly like the one he showed them, trimmed -with yellow and blue ribbons, and had been complimented by King -William on the becoming nature of her head-dress.</p> -<p>Miss Barkers, who confined themselves to truth, and did not -approve of miscellaneous customers, throve notwithstanding. -They were self-denying, good people. Many a time have I -seen the eldest of them (she that had been maid to Mrs Jamieson) -carrying out some delicate mess to a poor person. They only -aped their betters in having “nothing to do” with the -class immediately below theirs. And <a -name="page98"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 98</span>when Miss -Barker died, their profits and income were found to be such that -Miss Betty was justified in shutting up shop and retiring from -business. She also (as I think I have before said) set up -her cow; a mark of respectability in Cranford almost as decided -as setting up a gig is among some people. She dressed finer -than any lady in Cranford; and we did not wonder at it; for it -was understood that she was wearing out all the bonnets and caps -and outrageous ribbons which had once formed her -stock-in-trade. It was five or six years since she had -given up shop, so in any other place than Cranford her dress -might have been considered <i>passée</i>.</p> -<p>And now Miss Betty Barker had called to invite Miss Matty to -tea at her house on the following Tuesday. She gave me also -an impromptu invitation, as I happened to be a -visitor—though I could see she had a little fear lest, -since my father had gone to live in Drumble, he might have -engaged in that “horrid cotton trade,” and so dragged -his family down out of “aristocratic society.” -She prefaced this invitation with so many apologies that she -quite excited my curiosity. “Her presumption” -was to be excused. What had she been doing? She -seemed so over-powered by it I could only think that she had been -writing to Queen Adelaide to ask for a receipt for washing lace; -but the act which she so characterised was only an invitation she -had carried to her sister’s former mistress, Mrs -Jamieson. “Her former occupation considered, could -Miss Matty excuse the liberty?” Ah! thought I, she -has found out that double cap, and is going to rectify Miss -Matty’s head-dress. No! it was simply to extend her -invitation <a name="page99"></a><span class="pagenum">p. -99</span>to Miss Matty and to me. Miss Matty bowed -acceptance; and I wondered that, in the graceful action, she did -not feel the unusual weight and extraordinary height of her -head-dress. But I do not think she did, for she recovered -her balance, and went on talking to Miss Betty in a kind, -condescending manner, very different from the fidgety way she -would have had if she had suspected how singular her appearance -was. “Mrs Jamieson is coming, I think you -said?” asked Miss Matty.</p> -<p>“Yes. Mrs Jamieson most kindly and condescendingly -said she would be happy to come. One little stipulation she -made, that she should bring Carlo. I told her that if I had -a weakness, it was for dogs.”</p> -<p>“And Miss Pole?” questioned Miss Matty, who was -thinking of her pool at Preference, in which Carlo would not be -available as a partner.</p> -<p>“I am going to ask Miss Pole. Of course, I could -not think of asking her until I had asked you, madam—the -rector’s daughter, madam. Believe me, I do not forget -the situation my father held under yours.”</p> -<p>“And Mrs Forrester, of course?”</p> -<p>“And Mrs Forrester. I thought, in fact, of going -to her before I went to Miss Pole. Although her -circumstances are changed, madam, she was born at Tyrrell, and we -can never forget her alliance to the Bigges, of Bigelow -Hall.”</p> -<p>Miss Matty cared much more for the little circumstance of her -being a very good card-player.</p> -<p>“Mrs Fitz-Adam—I suppose”—</p> -<p>“No, madam. I must draw a line somewhere. <a -name="page100"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 100</span>Mrs -Jamieson would not, I think, like to meet Mrs Fitz-Adam. I -have the greatest respect for Mrs Fitz-Adam—but I cannot -think her fit society for such ladies as Mrs Jamieson and Miss -Matilda Jenkyns.”</p> -<p>Miss Betty Barker bowed low to Miss Matty, and pursed up her -mouth. She looked at me with sidelong dignity, as much as -to say, although a retired milliner, she was no democrat, and -understood the difference of ranks.</p> -<p>“May I beg you to come as near half-past six to my -little dwelling, as possible, Miss Matilda? Mrs Jamieson -dines at five, but has kindly promised not to delay her visit -beyond that time—half-past six.” And with a -swimming curtsey Miss Betty Barker took her leave.</p> -<p>My prophetic soul foretold a visit that afternoon from Miss -Pole, who usually came to call on Miss Matilda after any -event—or indeed in sight of any event—to talk it over -with her.</p> -<p>“Miss Betty told me it was to be a choice and select -few,” said Miss Pole, as she and Miss Matty compared -notes.</p> -<p>“Yes, so she said. Not even Mrs -Fitz-Adam.”</p> -<p>Now Mrs Fitz-Adam was the widowed sister of the Cranford -surgeon, whom I have named before. Their parents were -respectable farmers, content with their station. The name -of these good people was Hoggins. Mr Hoggins was the -Cranford doctor now; we disliked the name and considered it -coarse; but, as Miss Jenkyns said, if he changed it to Piggins it -would not be much better. We had hoped to discover a -relationship between him and that Marchioness of Exeter whose -name was Molly Hoggins; but the <a name="page101"></a><span -class="pagenum">p. 101</span>man, careless of his own interests, -utterly ignored and denied any such relationship, although, as -dear Miss Jenkyns had said, he had a sister called Mary, and the -same Christian names were very apt to run in families.</p> -<p>Soon after Miss Mary Hoggins married Mr Fitz-Adam, she -disappeared from the neighbourhood for many years. She did -not move in a sphere in Cranford society sufficiently high to -make any of us care to know what Mr Fitz-Adam was. He died -and was gathered to his fathers without our ever having thought -about him at all. And then Mrs Fitz-Adam reappeared in -Cranford (“as bold as a lion,” Miss Pole said), a -well-to-do widow, dressed in rustling black silk, so soon after -her husband’s death that poor Miss Jenkyns was justified in -the remark she made, that “bombazine would have shown a -deeper sense of her loss.”</p> -<p>I remember the convocation of ladies who assembled to decide -whether or not Mrs Fitz-Adam should be called upon by the old -blue-blooded inhabitants of Cranford. She had taken a large -rambling house, which had been usually considered to confer a -patent of gentility upon its tenant, because, once upon a time, -seventy or eighty years before, the spinster daughter of an earl -had resided in it. I am not sure if the inhabiting this -house was not also believed to convey some unusual power of -intellect; for the earl’s daughter, Lady Jane, had a -sister, Lady Anne, who had married a general officer in the time -of the American war, and this general officer had written one or -two comedies, which were still acted on the London boards, and -which, when we saw them advertised, made us all draw up, and feel -that Drury Lane <a name="page102"></a><span class="pagenum">p. -102</span>was paying a very pretty compliment to Cranford. -Still, it was not at all a settled thing that Mrs Fitz-Adam was -to be visited, when dear Miss Jenkyns died; and, with her, -something of the clear knowledge of the strict code of gentility -went out too. As Miss Pole observed, “As most of the -ladies of good family in Cranford were elderly spinsters, or -widows without children, if we did not relax a little, and become -less exclusive, by-and-by we should have no society at -all.”</p> -<p>Mrs Forrester continued on the same side.</p> -<p>“She had always understood that Fitz meant something -aristocratic; there was Fitz-Roy—she thought that some of -the King’s children had been called Fitz-Roy; and there was -Fitz-Clarence, now—they were the children of dear good King -William the Fourth. Fitz-Adam!—it was a pretty name, -and she thought it very probably meant ‘Child of -Adam.’ No one, who had not some good blood in their -veins, would dare to be called Fitz; there was a deal in a -name—she had had a cousin who spelt his name with two -little ffs—ffoulkes—and he always looked down upon -capital letters and said they belonged to lately-invented -families. She had been afraid he would die a bachelor, he -was so very choice. When he met with a Mrs ffarringdon, at -a watering-place, he took to her immediately; and a very pretty -genteel woman she was—a widow, with a very good fortune; -and ‘my cousin,’ Mr ffoulkes, married her; and it was -all owing to her two little ffs.”</p> -<p>Mrs Fitz-Adam did not stand a chance of meeting with a Mr -Fitz-anything in Cranford, so that could not have been her motive -for settling <a name="page103"></a><span class="pagenum">p. -103</span>there. Miss Matty thought it might have been the -hope of being admitted into the society of the place, which would -certainly be a very agreeable rise for <i>ci-devant</i> Miss -Hoggins; and if this had been her hope it would be cruel to -disappoint her.</p> -<p>So everybody called upon Mrs Fitz-Adam—everybody but Mrs -Jamieson, who used to show how honourable she was by never seeing -Mrs Fitz-Adam when they met at the Cranford parties. There -would be only eight or ten ladies in the room, and Mrs Fitz-Adam -was the largest of all, and she invariably used to stand up when -Mrs Jamieson came in, and curtsey very low to her whenever she -turned in her direction—so low, in fact, that I think Mrs -Jamieson must have looked at the wall above her, for she never -moved a muscle of her face, no more than if she had not seen -her. Still Mrs Fitz-Adam persevered.</p> -<p>The spring evenings were getting bright and long when three or -four ladies in calashes met at Miss Barker’s door. Do -you know what a calash is? It is a covering worn over caps, -not unlike the heads fastened on old-fashioned gigs; but -sometimes it is not quite so large. This kind of head-gear -always made an awful impression on the children in Cranford; and -now two or three left off their play in the quiet sunny little -street, and gathered in wondering silence round Miss Pole, Miss -Matty, and myself. We were silent too, so that we could -hear loud, suppressed whispers inside Miss Barker’s house: -“Wait, Peggy! wait till I’ve run upstairs and washed -my hands. When I cough, open the door; I’ll not be a -minute.”</p> -<p><a name="page104"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 104</span>And, -true enough it was not a minute before we heard a noise, between -a sneeze and a crow; on which the door flew open. Behind it -stood a round-eyed maiden, all aghast at the honourable company -of calashes, who marched in without a word. She recovered -presence of mind enough to usher us into a small room, which had -been the shop, but was now converted into a temporary -dressing-room. There we unpinned and shook ourselves, and -arranged our features before the glass into a sweet and gracious -company-face; and then, bowing backwards with “After you, -ma’am,” we allowed Mrs Forrester to take precedence -up the narrow staircase that led to Miss Barker’s -drawing-room. There she sat, as stately and composed as -though we had never heard that odd-sounding cough, from which her -throat must have been even then sore and rough. Kind, -gentle, shabbily-dressed Mrs Forrester was immediately conducted -to the second place of honour—a seat arranged something -like Prince Albert’s near the Queen’s—good, but -not so good. The place of pre-eminence was, of course, -reserved for the Honourable Mrs Jamieson, who presently came -panting up the stairs—Carlo rushing round her on her -progress, as if he meant to trip her up.</p> -<p>And now Miss Betty Barker was a proud and happy woman! -She stirred the fire, and shut the door, and sat as near to it as -she could, quite on the edge of her chair. When Peggy came -in, tottering under the weight of the tea-tray, I noticed that -Miss Barker was sadly afraid lest Peggy should not keep her -distance sufficiently. She and her mistress were on very -familiar terms in their every-day intercourse, <a -name="page105"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 105</span>and Peggy -wanted now to make several little confidences to her, which Miss -Barker was on thorns to hear, but which she thought it her duty, -as a lady, to repress. So she turned away from all -Peggy’s asides and signs; but she made one or two very -malapropos answers to what was said; and at last, seized with a -bright idea, she exclaimed, “Poor, sweet Carlo! -I’m forgetting him. Come downstairs with me, poor -ittie doggie, and it shall have its tea, it shall!”</p> -<p>In a few minutes she returned, bland and benignant as before; -but I thought she had forgotten to give the “poor ittie -doggie” anything to eat, judging by the avidity with which -he swallowed down chance pieces of cake. The tea-tray was -abundantly loaded—I was pleased to see it, I was so hungry; -but I was afraid the ladies present might think it vulgarly -heaped up. I know they would have done at their own houses; -but somehow the heaps disappeared here. I saw Mrs Jamieson -eating seed-cake, slowly and considerately, as she did -everything; and I was rather surprised, for I knew she had told -us, on the occasion of her last party, that she never had it in -her house, it reminded her so much of scented soap. She -always gave us Savoy biscuits. However, Mrs Jamieson was -kindly indulgent to Miss Barker’s want of knowledge of the -customs of high life; and, to spare her feelings, ate three large -pieces of seed-cake, with a placid, ruminating expression of -countenance, not unlike a cow’s.</p> -<p>After tea there was some little demur and difficulty. We -were six in number; four could <a name="page106"></a><span -class="pagenum">p. 106</span>play at Preference, and for the -other two there was Cribbage. But all, except myself (I was -rather afraid of the Cranford ladies at cards, for it was the -most earnest and serious business they ever engaged in), were -anxious to be of the “pool.” Even Miss Barker, -while declaring she did not know Spadille from Manille, was -evidently hankering to take a hand. The dilemma was soon -put an end to by a singular kind of noise. If a -baron’s daughter-in-law could ever be supposed to snore, I -should have said Mrs Jamieson did so then; for, overcome by the -heat of the room, and inclined to doze by nature, the temptation -of that very comfortable arm-chair had been too much for her, and -Mrs Jamieson was nodding. Once or twice she opened her eyes -with an effort, and calmly but unconsciously smiled upon us; but -by-and-by, even her benevolence was not equal to this exertion, -and she was sound asleep.</p> -<p style="text-align: center"> -<a href="images/p106b.jpg"> -<img alt= -"The temptation of the comfortable arm-chair had been too much -for her" -title= -"The temptation of the comfortable arm-chair had been too much -for her" -src="images/p106s.jpg" /> -</a></p> -<p>“It is very gratifying to me,” whispered Miss -Barker at the card-table to her three opponents, whom, -notwithstanding her ignorance of the game, she was -“basting” most unmercifully—“very -gratifying indeed, to see how completely Mrs Jamieson feels at -home in my poor little dwelling; she could not have paid me a -greater compliment.”</p> -<p>Miss Barker provided me with some literature in the shape of -three or four handsomely-bound fashion-books ten or twelve years -old, observing, as she put a little table and a candle for my -especial benefit, that she knew young people liked to look at -pictures. Carlo lay and snorted, and started at his -mistress’s feet. He, too, was quite at home.</p> -<p>The card-table was an animated scene to watch; <a -name="page107"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 107</span>four -ladies’ heads, with niddle-noddling caps, all nearly -meeting over the middle of the table in their eagerness to -whisper quick enough and loud enough: and every now and then came -Miss Barker’s “Hush, ladies! if you please, -hush! Mrs Jamieson is asleep.”</p> -<p>It was very difficult to steer clear between Mrs -Forrester’s deafness and Mrs Jamieson’s -sleepiness. But Miss Barker managed her arduous task -well. She repeated the whisper to Mrs Forrester, distorting -her face considerably, in order to show, by the motions of her -lips, what was said; and then she smiled kindly all round at us, -and murmured to herself, “Very gratifying, indeed; I wish -my poor sister had been alive to see this day.”</p> -<p>Presently the door was thrown wide open; Carlo started to his -feet, with a loud snapping bark, and Mrs Jamieson awoke: or, -perhaps, she had not been asleep—as she said almost -directly, the room had been so light she had been glad to keep -her eyes shut, but had been listening with great interest to all -our amusing and agreeable conversation. Peggy came in once -more, red with importance. Another tray! “Oh, -gentility!” thought I, “can yon endure this last -shock?” For Miss Barker had ordered (nay, I doubt -not, prepared, although she did say, “Why, Peggy, what have -you brought us?” and looked pleasantly surprised at the -unexpected pleasure) all sorts of good things for -supper—scalloped oysters, potted lobsters, jelly, a dish -called “little Cupids” (which was in great favour -with the Cranford ladies, although too expensive to be given, -except on solemn and state occasions—macaroons sopped in -brandy, I should have called it, if I had not known its more <a -name="page108"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 108</span>refined and -classical name). In short, we were evidently to be feasted -with all that was sweetest and best; and we thought it better to -submit graciously, even at the cost of our gentility—which -never ate suppers in general, but which, like most -non-supper-eaters, was particularly hungry on all special -occasions.</p> -<p>Miss Barker, in her former sphere, had, I daresay, been made -acquainted with the beverage they call cherry-brandy. We -none of us had ever seen such a thing, and rather shrank back -when she proffered it us—“just a little, leetle -glass, ladies; after the oysters and lobsters, you know. -Shell-fish are sometimes thought not very wholesome.” -We all shook our heads like female mandarins; but, at last, Mrs -Jamieson suffered herself to be persuaded, and we followed her -lead. It was not exactly unpalatable, though so hot and so -strong that we thought ourselves bound to give evidence that we -were not accustomed to such things by coughing -terribly—almost as strangely as Miss Barker had done, -before we were admitted by Peggy.</p> -<p>“It’s very strong,” said Miss Pole, as she -put down her empty glass; “I do believe there’s -spirit in it.”</p> -<p>“Only a little drop—just necessary to make it -keep,” said Miss Barker. “You know we put -brandy-pepper over our preserves to make them keep. I often -feel tipsy myself from eating damson tart.”</p> -<p>I question whether damson tart would have opened Mrs -Jamieson’s heart as the cherry-brandy did; but she told us -of a coming event, respecting which she had been quite silent -till that moment.</p> -<p><a name="page109"></a><span class="pagenum">p. -109</span>“My sister-in-law, Lady Glenmire, is coming to -stay with me.”</p> -<p>There was a chorus of “Indeed!” and then a -pause. Each one rapidly reviewed her wardrobe, as to its -fitness to appear in the presence of a baron’s widow; for, -of course, a series of small festivals were always held in -Cranford on the arrival of a visitor at any of our friends’ -houses. We felt very pleasantly excited on the present -occasion.</p> -<p>Not long after this the maids and the lanterns were -announced. Mrs Jamieson had the sedan-chair, which had -squeezed itself into Miss Barker’s narrow lobby with some -difficulty, and most literally “stopped the -way.” It required some skilful manoeuvring on the -part of the old chairmen (shoemakers by day, but when summoned to -carry the sedan dressed up in a strange old livery—long -great-coats, with small capes, coeval with the sedan, and similar -to the dress of the class in Hogarth’s pictures) to edge, -and back, and try at it again, and finally to succeed in carrying -their burden out of Miss Barker’s front door. Then we -heard their quick pit-a-pat along the quiet little street as we -put on our calashes and pinned up our gowns; Miss Barker hovering -about us with offers of help, which, if she had not remembered -her former occupation, and wished us to forget it, would have -been much more pressing.</p> -<h2><a name="page110"></a><span class="pagenum">p. -110</span>CHAPTER VIII—“YOUR LADYSHIP”</h2> -<p><span class="smcap">Early</span> the next -morning—directly after twelve—Miss Pole made her -appearance at Miss Matty’s. Some very trifling piece -of business was alleged as a reason for the call; but there was -evidently something behind. At last out it came.</p> -<p>“By the way, you’ll think I’m strangely -ignorant; but, do you really know, I am puzzled how we ought to -address Lady Glenmire. Do you say, ‘Your -Ladyship,’ where you would say ‘you’ to a -common person? I have been puzzling all morning; and are we -to say ‘My Lady,’ instead of -‘Ma’am?’ Now you knew Lady -Arley—will you kindly tell me the most correct way of -speaking to the peerage?”</p> -<p>Poor Miss Matty! she took off her spectacles and she put them -on again—but how Lady Arley was addressed, she could not -remember.</p> -<p>“It is so long ago,” she said. “Dear! -dear! how stupid I am! I don’t think I ever saw her -more than twice. I know we used to call Sir Peter, -‘Sir Peter’—but he came much oftener to see us -than Lady Arley did. Deborah would have known in a <a -name="page111"></a><span class="pagenum">p. -111</span>minute. ‘My lady’—‘your -ladyship.’ It sounds very strange, and as if it was -not natural. I never thought of it before; but, now you -have named it, I am all in a puzzle.”</p> -<p>It was very certain Miss Pole would obtain no wise decision -from Miss Matty, who got more bewildered every moment, and more -perplexed as to etiquettes of address.</p> -<p>“Well, I really think,” said Miss Pole, “I -had better just go and tell Mrs Forrester about our little -difficulty. One sometimes grows nervous; and yet one would -not have Lady Glenmire think we were quite ignorant of the -etiquettes of high life in Cranford.”</p> -<p>“And will you just step in here, dear Miss Pole, as you -come back, please, and tell me what you decide upon? -Whatever you and Mrs Forrester fix upon, will be quite right, -I’m sure. ‘Lady Arley,’ ‘Sir -Peter,’” said Miss Matty to herself, trying to recall -the old forms of words.</p> -<p>“Who is Lady Glenmire?” asked I.</p> -<p>“Oh, she’s the widow of Mr -Jamieson—that’s Mrs Jamieson’s late husband, -you know—widow of his eldest brother. Mrs Jamieson -was a Miss Walker, daughter of Governor Walker. ‘Your -ladyship.’ My dear, if they fix on that way of -speaking, you must just let me practice a little on you first, -for I shall feel so foolish and hot saying it the first time to -Lady Glenmire.”</p> -<p>It was really a relief to Miss Matty when Mrs Jamieson came on -a very unpolite errand. I notice that apathetic people have -more quiet impertinence than others; and Mrs Jamieson came now to -insinuate <a name="page112"></a><span class="pagenum">p. -112</span>pretty plainly that she did not particularly wish that -the Cranford ladies should call upon her sister-in-law. I -can hardly say how she made this clear; for I grew very indignant -and warm, while with slow deliberation she was explaining her -wishes to Miss Matty, who, a true lady herself, could hardly -understand the feeling which made Mrs Jamieson wish to appear to -her noble sister-in-law as if she only visited -“county” families. Miss Matty remained puzzled -and perplexed long after I had found out the object of Mrs -Jamieson’s visit.</p> -<p>When she did understand the drift of the honourable -lady’s call, it was pretty to see with what quiet dignity -she received the intimation thus uncourteously given. She -was not in the least hurt—she was of too gentle a spirit -for that; nor was she exactly conscious of disapproving of Mrs -Jamieson’s conduct; but there was something of this feeling -in her mind, I am sure, which made her pass from the subject to -others in a less flurried and more composed manner than -usual. Mrs Jamieson was, indeed, the more flurried of the -two, and I could see she was glad to take her leave.</p> -<p>A little while afterwards Miss Pole returned, red and -indignant. “Well! to be sure! You’ve had -Mrs Jamieson here, I find from Martha; and we are not to call on -Lady Glenmire. Yes! I met Mrs Jamieson, half-way -between here and Mrs Forrester’s, and she told me; she took -me so by surprise, I had nothing to say. I wish I had -thought of something very sharp and sarcastic; I dare say I shall -to-night. And Lady Glenmire is but the widow of a Scotch -baron after all! I went on to look at <a -name="page113"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 113</span>Mrs -Forrester’s Peerage, to see who this lady was, that is to -be kept under a glass case: widow of a Scotch peer—never -sat in the House of Lords—and as poor as Job, I dare say; -and she—fifth daughter of some Mr Campbell or other. -You are the daughter of a rector, at any rate, and related to the -Arleys; and Sir Peter might have been Viscount Arley, every one -says.”</p> -<p>Miss Matty tried to soothe Miss Pole, but in vain. That -lady, usually so kind and good-humoured, was now in a full flow -of anger.</p> -<p>“And I went and ordered a cap this morning, to be quite -ready,” said she at last, letting out the secret which gave -sting to Mrs Jamieson’s intimation. “Mrs -Jamieson shall see if it is so easy to get me to make fourth at a -pool when she has none of her fine Scotch relations with -her!”</p> -<p>In coming out of church, the first Sunday on which Lady -Glenmire appeared in Cranford, we sedulously talked together, and -turned our backs on Mrs Jamieson and her guest. If we might -not call on her, we would not even look at her, though we were -dying with curiosity to know what she was like. We had the -comfort of questioning Martha in the afternoon. Martha did -not belong to a sphere of society whose observation could be an -implied compliment to Lady Glenmire, and Martha had made good use -of her eyes.</p> -<p>“Well, ma’am! is it the little lady with Mrs -Jamieson, you mean? I thought you would like more to know -how young Mrs Smith was dressed; her being a bride.” -(Mrs Smith was the butcher’s wife).</p> -<p>Miss Pole said, “Good gracious me! as if we <a -name="page114"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 114</span>cared about -a Mrs Smith;” but was silent as Martha resumed her -speech.</p> -<p>“The little lady in Mrs Jamieson’s pew had on, -ma’am, rather an old black silk, and a shepherd’s -plaid cloak, ma’am, and very bright black eyes she had, -ma’am, and a pleasant, sharp face; not over young, -ma’am, but yet, I should guess, younger than Mrs Jamieson -herself. She looked up and down the church, like a bird, -and nipped up her petticoats, when she came out, as quick and -sharp as ever I see. I’ll tell you what, ma’am, -she’s more like Mrs Deacon, at the ‘Coach and -Horses,’ nor any one.”</p> -<p>“Hush, Martha!” said Miss Matty, -“that’s not respectful.”</p> -<p>“Isn’t it, ma’am? I beg pardon, -I’m sure; but Jem Hearn said so as well. He said, she -was just such a sharp, stirring sort of a body”—</p> -<p>“Lady,” said Miss Pole.</p> -<p>“Lady—as Mrs Deacon.”</p> -<p>Another Sunday passed away, and we still averted our eyes from -Mrs Jamieson and her guest, and made remarks to ourselves that we -thought were very severe—almost too much so. Miss -Matty was evidently uneasy at our sarcastic manner of -speaking.</p> -<p>Perhaps by this time Lady Glenmire had found out that Mrs -Jamieson’s was not the gayest, liveliest house in the -world; perhaps Mrs Jamieson had found out that most of the county -families were in London, and that those who remained in the -country were not so alive as they might have been to the -circumstance of Lady Glenmire being in their neighbourhood. -Great events spring out of small causes; so I will not pretend to -say what induced Mrs Jamieson to <a name="page115"></a><span -class="pagenum">p. 115</span>alter her determination of excluding -the Cranford ladies, and send notes of invitation all round for a -small party on the following Tuesday. Mr Mulliner himself -brought them round. He <i>would</i> always ignore the fact -of there being a back-door to any house, and gave a louder -rat-tat than his mistress, Mrs Jamieson. He had three -little notes, which he carried in a large basket, in order to -impress his mistress with an idea of their great weight, though -they might easily have gone into his waistcoat pocket.</p> -<p>Miss Matty and I quietly decided that we would have a previous -engagement at home: it was the evening on which Miss Matty -usually made candle-lighters of all the notes and letters of the -week; for on Mondays her accounts were always made -straight—not a penny owing from the week before; so, by a -natural arrangement, making candle-lighters fell upon a Tuesday -evening, and gave us a legitimate excuse for declining Mrs -Jamieson’s invitation. But before our answer was -written, in came Miss Pole, with an open note in her hand.</p> -<p>“So!” she said. “Ah! I see you -have got your note, too. Better late than never. I -could have told my Lady Glenmire she would be glad enough of our -society before a fortnight was over.”</p> -<p>“Yes,” said Miss Matty, “we’re asked -for Tuesday evening. And perhaps you would just kindly -bring your work across and drink tea with us that night. It -is my usual regular time for looking over the last week’s -bills, and notes, and letters, and making candle-lighters of -them; but that does not seem quite reason enough for saying I -have a previous engagement at home, though I meant to make it -do. <a name="page116"></a><span class="pagenum">p. -116</span>Now, if you would come, my conscience would be quite at -ease, and luckily the note is not written yet.”</p> -<p>I saw Miss Pole’s countenance change while Miss Matty -was speaking.</p> -<p>“Don’t you mean to go then?” asked she.</p> -<p>“Oh, no!” said, Miss Matty quietly. -“You don’t either, I suppose?”</p> -<p>“I don’t know,” replied Miss Pole. -“Yes, I think I do,” said she, rather briskly; and on -seeing Miss Matty look surprised, she added, “You see, one -would not like Mrs Jamieson to think that anything she could do, -or say, was of consequence enough to give offence; it would be a -kind of letting down of ourselves, that I, for one, should not -like. It would be too flattering to Mrs Jamieson if we -allowed her to suppose that what she had said affected us a week, -nay ten days afterwards.”</p> -<p>“Well! I suppose it is wrong to be hurt and -annoyed so long about anything; and, perhaps, after all, she did -not mean to vex us. But I must say, I could not have -brought myself to say the things Mrs Jamieson did about our not -calling. I really don’t think I shall go.”</p> -<p>“Oh, come! Miss Matty, you must go; you know our -friend Mrs Jamieson is much more phlegmatic than most people, and -does not enter into the little delicacies of feeling which you -possess in so remarkable a degree.”</p> -<p>“I thought you possessed them, too, that day Mrs -Jamieson called to tell us not to go,” said Miss Matty -innocently.</p> -<p>But Miss Pole, in addition to her delicacies of feeling, -possessed a very smart cap, which she was <a -name="page117"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 117</span>anxious to -show to an admiring world; and so she seemed to forget all her -angry words uttered not a fortnight before, and to be ready to -act on what she called the great Christian principle of -“Forgive and forget”; and she lectured dear Miss -Matty so long on this head that she absolutely ended by assuring -her it was her duty, as a deceased rector’s daughter, to -buy a new cap and go to the party at Mrs Jamieson’s. -So “we were most happy to accept,” instead of -“regretting that we were obliged to decline.”</p> -<p style="text-align: center"> -<a href="images/p117b.jpg"> -<img alt= -"Mr Mulliner" -title= -"Mr Mulliner" -src="images/p117s.jpg" /> -</a></p> -<p>The expenditure on dress in Cranford was principally in that -one article referred to. If the heads were buried in smart -new caps, the ladies were like ostriches, and cared not what -became of their bodies. Old gowns, white and venerable -collars, any number of brooches, up and down and everywhere (some -with dogs’ eyes painted in them; some that were like small -picture-frames with mausoleums and weeping-willows neatly -executed in hair inside; some, again, with miniatures of ladies -and gentlemen sweetly smiling out of a nest of stiff muslin), old -brooches for a permanent ornament, and new caps to suit the -fashion of the day—the ladies of Cranford always dressed -with chaste elegance and propriety, as Miss Barker once prettily -expressed it.</p> -<p>And with three new caps, and a greater array of brooches than -had ever been seen together at one time since Cranford was a -town, did Mrs Forrester, and Miss Matty, and Miss Pole appear on -that memorable Tuesday evening. I counted seven brooches -myself on Miss Pole’s dress. Two were fixed -negligently in her cap (one was a butterfly <a -name="page118"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 118</span>made of -Scotch pebbles, which a vivid imagination might believe to be the -real insect); one fastened her net neckerchief; one her collar; -one ornamented the front of her gown, midway between her throat -and waist; and another adorned the point of her stomacher. -Where the seventh was I have forgotten, but it was somewhere -about her, I am sure.</p> -<p>But I am getting on too fast, in describing the dresses of the -company. I should first relate the gathering on the way to -Mrs Jamieson’s. That lady lived in a large house just -outside the town. A road which had known what it was to be -a street ran right before the house, which opened out upon it -without any intervening garden or court. Whatever the sun -was about, he never shone on the front of that house. To be -sure, the living-rooms were at the back, looking on to a pleasant -garden; the front windows only belonged to kitchens and -housekeepers’ rooms, and pantries, and in one of them Mr -Mulliner was reported to sit. Indeed, looking askance, we -often saw the back of a head covered with hair powder, which also -extended itself over his coat-collar down to his very waist; and -this imposing back was always engaged in reading the <i>St -James’s Chronicle</i>, opened wide, which, in some degree, -accounted for the length of time the said newspaper was in -reaching us—equal subscribers with Mrs Jamieson, though, in -right of her honourableness, she always had the reading of it -first. This very Tuesday, the delay in forwarding the last -number had been particularly aggravating; just when both Miss -Pole and Miss Matty, the former more especially, had been wanting -to see it, in order to coach up the Court news ready <a -name="page119"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 119</span>for the -evening’s interview with aristocracy. Miss Pole told -us she had absolutely taken time by the forelock, and been -dressed by five o’clock, in order to be ready if the <i>St -James’s Chronicle</i> should come in at the last -moment—the very <i>St James’s Chronicle</i> which the -powdered head was tranquilly and composedly reading as we passed -the accustomed window this evening.</p> -<p>“The impudence of the man!” said Miss Pole, in a -low indignant whisper. “I should like to ask him -whether his mistress pays her quarter-share for his exclusive -use.”</p> -<p>We looked at her in admiration of the courage of her thought; -for Mr Mulliner was an object of great awe to all of us. He -seemed never to have forgotten his condescension in coming to -live at Cranford. Miss Jenkyns, at times, had stood forth -as the undaunted champion of her sex, and spoken to him on terms -of equality; but even Miss Jenkyns could get no higher. In -his pleasantest and most gracious moods he looked like a sulky -cockatoo. He did not speak except in gruff -monosyllables. He would wait in the hall when we begged him -not to wait, and then look deeply offended because we had kept -him there, while, with trembling, hasty hands we prepared -ourselves for appearing in company.</p> -<p>Miss Pole ventured on a small joke as we went upstairs, -intended, though addressed to us, to afford Mr Mulliner some -slight amusement. We all smiled, in order to seem as if we -felt at our ease, and timidly looked for Mr Mulliner’s -sympathy. Not a muscle of that wooden face had relaxed; and -we were grave in an instant.</p> -<p><a name="page120"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 120</span>Mrs -Jamieson’s drawing-room was cheerful; the evening sun came -streaming into it, and the large square window was clustered -round with flowers. The furniture was white and gold; not -the later style, Louis Quatorze, I think they call it, all shells -and twirls; no, Mrs Jamieson’s chairs and tables had not a -curve or bend about them. The chair and table legs -diminished as they neared the ground, and were straight and -square in all their corners. The chairs were all a-row -against the walls, with the exception of four or five which stood -in a circle round the fire. They were railed with white -bars across the back and knobbed with gold; neither the railings -nor the knobs invited to ease. There was a japanned table -devoted to literature, on which lay a Bible, a Peerage, and a -Prayer-Book. There was another square Pembroke table -dedicated to the Fine Arts, on which were a kaleidoscope, -conversation-cards, puzzle-cards (tied together to an -interminable length with faded pink satin ribbon), and a box -painted in fond imitation of the drawings which decorate -tea-chests. Carlo lay on the worsted-worked rug, and -ungraciously barked at us as we entered. Mrs Jamieson stood -up, giving us each a torpid smile of welcome, and looking -helplessly beyond us at Mr Mulliner, as if she hoped he would -place us in chairs, for, if he did not, she never could. I -suppose he thought we could find our way to the circle round the -fire, which reminded me of Stonehenge, I don’t know -why. Lady Glenmire came to the rescue of our hostess, and, -somehow or other, we found ourselves for the first time placed -agreeably, and not formally, in Mrs Jamieson’s house. -Lady Glenmire, now we had time to look at her, <a -name="page121"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 121</span>proved to -be a bright little woman of middle age, who had been very pretty -in the days of her youth, and who was even yet very -pleasant-looking. I saw Miss Pole appraising her dress in -the first five minutes, and I take her word when she said the -next day—</p> -<p>“My dear! ten pounds would have purchased every stitch -she had on—lace and all.”</p> -<p>It was pleasant to suspect that a peeress could be poor, and -partly reconciled us to the fact that her husband had never sat -in the House of Lords; which, when we first heard of it, seemed a -kind of swindling us out of our prospects on false pretences; a -sort of “A Lord and No Lord” business.</p> -<p>We were all very silent at first. We were thinking what -we could talk about, that should be high enough to interest My -Lady. There had been a rise in the price of sugar, which, -as preserving-time was near, was a piece of intelligence to all -our house-keeping hearts, and would have been the natural topic -if Lady Glenmire had not been by. But we were not sure if -the peerage ate preserves—much less knew how they were -made. At last, Miss Pole, who had always a great deal of -courage and <i>savoir faire</i>, spoke to Lady Glenmire, who on -her part had seemed just as much puzzled to know how to break the -silence as we were.</p> -<p>“Has your ladyship been to Court lately?” asked -she; and then gave a little glance round at us, half timid and -half triumphant, as much as to say, “See how judiciously I -have chosen a subject befitting the rank of the -stranger.”</p> -<p>“I never was there in my life,” said Lady <a -name="page122"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 122</span>Glenmire, -with a broad Scotch accent, but in a very sweet voice. And -then, as if she had been too abrupt, she added: “We very -seldom went to London—only twice, in fact, during all my -married life; and before I was married my father had far too -large a family” (fifth daughter of Mr Campbell was in all -our minds, I am sure) “to take us often from our home, even -to Edinburgh. Ye’ll have been in Edinburgh, -maybe?” said she, suddenly brightening up with the hope of -a common interest. We had none of us been there; but Miss -Pole had an uncle who once had passed a night there, which was -very pleasant.</p> -<p>Mrs Jamieson, meanwhile, was absorbed in wonder why Mr -Mulliner did not bring the tea; and at length the wonder oozed -out of her mouth.</p> -<p>“I had better ring the bell, my dear, had not I?” -said Lady Glenmire briskly.</p> -<p>“No—I think not—Mulliner does not like to be -hurried.”</p> -<p>We should have liked our tea, for we dined at an earlier hour -than Mrs Jamieson. I suspect Mr Mulliner had to finish the -<i>St James’s Chronicle</i> before he chose to trouble -himself about tea. His mistress fidgeted and fidgeted, and -kept saying, “I can’t think why Mulliner does not -bring tea. I can’t think what he can be -about.” And Lady Glenmire at last grew quite -impatient, but it was a pretty kind of impatience after all; and -she rang the bell rather sharply, on receiving a half-permission -from her sister-in-law to do so. Mr Mulliner appeared in -dignified surprise. “Oh!” said Mrs Jamieson, -“Lady Glenmire rang the bell; I believe it was for -tea.”</p> -<p><a name="page123"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 123</span>In a -few minutes tea was brought. Very delicate was the china, -very old the plate, very thin the bread and butter, and very -small the lumps of sugar. Sugar was evidently Mrs -Jamieson’s favourite economy. I question if the -little filigree sugar-tongs, made something like scissors, could -have opened themselves wide enough to take up an honest, vulgar -good-sized piece; and when I tried to seize two little minnikin -pieces at once, so as not to be detected in too many returns to -the sugar-basin, they absolutely dropped one, with a little sharp -clatter, quite in a malicious and unnatural manner. But -before this happened we had had a slight disappointment. In -the little silver jug was cream, in the larger one was -milk. As soon as Mr Mulliner came in, Carlo began to beg, -which was a thing our manners forebade us to do, though I am sure -we were just as hungry; and Mrs Jamieson said she was certain we -would excuse her if she gave her poor dumb Carlo his tea -first. She accordingly mixed a saucerful for him, and put -it down for him to lap; and then she told us how intelligent and -sensible the dear little fellow was; he knew cream quite well, -and constantly refused tea with only milk in it: so the milk was -left for us; but we silently thought we were quite as intelligent -and sensible as Carlo, and felt as if insult were added to injury -when we were called upon to admire the gratitude evinced by his -wagging his tail for the cream which should have been ours.</p> -<p>After tea we thawed down into common-life subjects. We -were thankful to Lady Glenmire for having proposed some more -bread and butter, and this mutual want made us better acquainted -with her <a name="page124"></a><span class="pagenum">p. -124</span>than we should ever have been with talking about the -Court, though Miss Pole did say she had hoped to know how the -dear Queen was from some one who had seen her.</p> -<p>The friendship begun over bread and butter extended on to -cards. Lady Glenmire played Preference to admiration, and -was a complete authority as to Ombre and Quadrille. Even -Miss Pole quite forgot to say “my lady,” and -“your ladyship,” and said “Basto! -ma’am”; “you have Spadille, I believe,” -just as quietly as if we had never held the great Cranford -Parliament on the subject of the proper mode of addressing a -peeress.</p> -<p>As a proof of how thoroughly we had forgotten that we were in -the presence of one who might have sat down to tea with a -coronet, instead of a cap, on her head, Mrs Forrester related a -curious little fact to Lady Glenmire—an anecdote known to -the circle of her intimate friends, but of which even Mrs -Jamieson was not aware. It related to some fine old lace, -the sole relic of better days, which Lady Glenmire was admiring -on Mrs Forrester’s collar.</p> -<p>“Yes,” said that lady, “such lace cannot be -got now for either love or money; made by the nuns abroad, they -tell me. They say that they can’t make it now even -there. But perhaps they can, now they’ve passed the -Catholic Emancipation Bill. I should not wonder. But, -in the meantime, I treasure up my lace very much. I -daren’t even trust the washing of it to my maid” (the -little charity school-girl I have named before, but who sounded -well as “my maid”). “I always wash it -myself. And once <a name="page125"></a><span -class="pagenum">p. 125</span>it had a narrow escape. Of -course, your ladyship knows that such lace must never be starched -or ironed. Some people wash it in sugar and water, and some -in coffee, to make it the right yellow colour; but I myself have -a very good receipt for washing it in milk, which stiffens it -enough, and gives it a very good creamy colour. Well, -ma’am, I had tacked it together (and the beauty of this -fine lace is that, when it is wet, it goes into a very little -space), and put it to soak in milk, when, unfortunately, I left -the room; on my return, I found pussy on the table, looking very -like a thief, but gulping very uncomfortably, as if she was -half-chocked with something she wanted to swallow and could -not. And, would you believe it? At first I pitied -her, and said ‘Poor pussy! poor pussy!’ till, all at -once, I looked and saw the cup of milk empty—cleaned -out! ‘You naughty cat!’ said I, and I believe I -was provoked enough to give her a slap, which did no good, but -only helped the lace down—just as one slaps a choking child -on the back. I could have cried, I was so vexed; but I -determined I would not give the lace up without a struggle for -it. I hoped the lace might disagree with her, at any rate; -but it would have been too much for Job, if he had seen, as I -did, that cat come in, quite placid and purring, not a quarter of -an hour after, and almost expecting to be stroked. -‘No, pussy!’ said I, ‘if you have any -conscience you ought not to expect that!’ And then a -thought struck me; and I rang the bell for my maid, and sent her -to Mr Hoggins, with my compliments, and would he be kind enough -to lend me one of his top-boots <a name="page126"></a><span -class="pagenum">p. 126</span>for an hour? I did not think -there was anything odd in the message; but Jenny said the young -men in the surgery laughed as if they would be ill at my wanting -a top-boot. When it came, Jenny and I put pussy in, with -her forefeet straight down, so that they were fastened, and could -not scratch, and we gave her a teaspoonful of current-jelly in -which (your ladyship must excuse me) I had mixed some tartar -emetic. I shall never forget how anxious I was for the next -half-hour. I took pussy to my own room, and spread a clean -towel on the floor. I could have kissed her when she -returned the lace to sight, very much as it had gone down. -Jenny had boiling water ready, and we soaked it and soaked it, -and spread it on a lavender-bush in the sun before I could touch -it again, even to put it in milk. But now your ladyship -would never guess that it had been in pussy’s -inside.”</p> -<p style="text-align: center"> -<a href="images/p124b.jpg"> -<img alt= -"We gave her a teaspoonful of current-jelly" -title= -"We gave her a teaspoonful of current-jelly" -src="images/p124s.jpg" /> -</a></p> -<p>We found out, in the course of the evening, that Lady Glenmire -was going to pay Mrs Jamieson a long visit, as she had given up -her apartments in Edinburgh, and had no ties to take her back -there in a hurry. On the whole, we were rather glad to hear -this, for she had made a pleasant impression upon us; and it was -also very comfortable to find, from things which dropped out in -the course of conversation, that, in addition to many other -genteel qualities, she was far removed from the “vulgarity -of wealth.”</p> -<p>“Don’t you find it very unpleasant walking?” -asked Mrs Jamieson, as our respective servants were -announced. It was a pretty regular question from Mrs -Jamieson, who had her own carriage in the <a -name="page127"></a><span class="pagenum">p. -127</span>coach-house, and always went out in a sedan-chair to -the very shortest distances. The answers were nearly as -much a matter of course.</p> -<p>“Oh dear, no! it is so pleasant and still at -night!” “Such a refreshment after the -excitement of a party!” “The stars are so -beautiful!” This last was from Miss Matty.</p> -<p>“Are you fond of astronomy?” Lady Glenmire -asked.</p> -<p>“Not very,” replied Miss Matty, rather confused at -the moment to remember which was astronomy and which was -astrology—but the answer was true under either -circumstance, for she read, and was slightly alarmed at Francis -Moore’s astrological predictions; and, as to astronomy, in -a private and confidential conversation, she had told me she -never could believe that the earth was moving constantly, and -that she would not believe it if she could, it made her feel so -tired and dizzy whenever she thought about it.</p> -<p>In our pattens we picked our way home with extra care that -night, so refined and delicate were our perceptions after -drinking tea with “my lady.”</p> -<h2><a name="page128"></a><span class="pagenum">p. -128</span>CHAPTER IX—SIGNOR BRUNONI</h2> -<p><span class="smcap">Soon</span> after the events of which I -gave an account in my last paper, I was summoned home by my -father’s illness; and for a time I forgot, in anxiety about -him, to wonder how my dear friends at Cranford were getting on, -or how Lady Glenmire could reconcile herself to the dulness of -the long visit which she was still paying to her sister-in-law, -Mrs Jamieson. When my father grew a little stronger I -accompanied him to the seaside, so that altogether I seemed -banished from Cranford, and was deprived of the opportunity of -hearing any chance intelligence of the dear little town for the -greater part of that year.</p> -<p>Late in November—when we had returned home again, and my -father was once more in good health—I received a letter -from Miss Matty; and a very mysterious letter it was. She -began many sentences without ending them, running them one into -another, in much the same confused sort of way in which written -words run together on blotting-paper. All I could make out -was that, if my father was better (which she hoped he was), and -would take warning and wear a great-coat from Michaelmas to -Lady-day, <a name="page129"></a><span class="pagenum">p. -129</span>if turbans were in fashion, could I tell her? -Such a piece of gaiety was going to happen as had not been seen -or known of since Wombwell’s lions came, when one of them -ate a little child’s arm; and she was, perhaps, too old to -care about dress, but a new cap she must have; and, having heard -that turbans were worn, and some of the county families likely to -come, she would like to look tidy, if I would bring her a cap -from the milliner I employed; and oh, dear! how careless of her -to forget that she wrote to beg I would come and pay her a visit -next Tuesday; when she hoped to have something to offer me in the -way of amusement, which she would not now more particularly -describe, only sea-green was her favourite colour. So she -ended her letter; but in a P.S. she added, she thought she might -as well tell me what was the peculiar attraction to Cranford just -now; Signor Brunoni was going to exhibit his wonderful magic in -the Cranford Assembly Rooms on Wednesday and Friday evening in -the following week.</p> -<p>I was very glad to accept the invitation from my dear Miss -Matty, independently of the conjuror, and most particularly -anxious to prevent her from disfiguring her small, gentle, mousey -face with a great Saracen’s head turban; and accordingly, I -bought her a pretty, neat, middle-aged cap, which, however, was -rather a disappointment to her when, on my arrival, she followed -me into my bedroom, ostensibly to poke the fire, but in reality, -I do believe, to see if the sea-green turban was not inside the -cap-box with which I had travelled. It was in vain that I -twirled the cap round on my hand to exhibit back and side fronts: -her heart had been set upon a turban, and all she <a -name="page130"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 130</span>could do -was to say, with resignation in her look and voice—</p> -<p>“I am sure you did your best, my dear. It is just -like the caps all the ladies in Cranford are wearing, and they -have had theirs for a year, I dare say. I should have liked -something newer, I confess—something more like the turbans -Miss Betty Barker tells me Queen Adelaide wears; but it is very -pretty, my dear. And I dare say lavender will wear better -than sea-green. Well, after all, what is dress, that we -should care anything about it? You’ll tell me if you -want anything, my dear. Here is the bell. I suppose -turbans have not got down to Drumble yet?”</p> -<p>So saying, the dear old lady gently bemoaned herself out of -the room, leaving me to dress for the evening, when, as she -informed me, she expected Miss Pole and Mrs Forrester, and she -hoped I should not feel myself too much tired to join the -party. Of course I should not; and I made some haste to -unpack and arrange my dress; but, with all my speed, I heard the -arrivals and the buzz of conversation in the next room before I -was ready. Just as I opened the door, I caught the words, -“I was foolish to expect anything very genteel out of the -Drumble shops; poor girl! she did her best, I’ve no -doubt.” But, for all that, I had rather that she -blamed Drumble and me than disfigured herself with a turban.</p> -<p>Miss Pole was always the person, in the trio of Cranford -ladies now assembled, to have had adventures. She was in -the habit of spending the morning in rambling from shop to shop, -not to purchase anything (except an occasional reel of cotton or -a piece <a name="page131"></a><span class="pagenum">p. -131</span>of tape), but to see the new articles and report upon -them, and to collect all the stray pieces of intelligence in the -town. She had a way, too, of demurely popping hither and -thither into all sorts of places to gratify her curiosity on any -point—a way which, if she had not looked so very genteel -and prim, might have been considered impertinent. And now, -by the expressive way in which she cleared her throat, and waited -for all minor subjects (such as caps and turbans) to be cleared -off the course, we knew she had something very particular to -relate, when the due pause came—and I defy any people -possessed of common modesty to keep up a conversation long, where -one among them sits up aloft in silence, looking down upon all -the things they chance to say as trivial and contemptible -compared to what they could disclose, if properly -entreated. Miss Pole began—</p> -<p>“As I was stepping out of Gordon’s shop to-day, I -chanced to go into the ‘George’ (my Betty has a -second-cousin who is chambermaid there, and I thought Betty would -like to hear how she was), and, not seeing anyone about, I -strolled up the staircase, and found myself in the passage -leading to the Assembly Room (you and I remember the Assembly -Room, I am sure, Miss Matty! and the minuets de la cour!); so I -went on, not thinking of what I was about, when, all at once, I -perceived that I was in the middle of the preparations for -to-morrow night—the room being divided with great -clothes-maids, over which Crosby’s men were tacking red -flannel; very dark and odd it seemed; it quite bewildered me, and -I was going on behind the screens, in my absence of mind, when a -gentleman (quite the <a name="page132"></a><span -class="pagenum">p. 132</span>gentleman, I can assure you) stepped -forwards and asked if I had any business he could arrange for -me. He spoke such pretty broken English, I could not help -thinking of Thaddeus of Warsaw, and the Hungarian Brothers, and -Santo Sebastiani; and while I was busy picturing his past life to -myself, he had bowed me out of the room. But wait a -minute! You have not heard half my story yet! I was -going downstairs, when who should I meet but Betty’s -second-cousin. So, of course, I stopped to speak to her for -Betty’s sake; and she told me that I had really seen the -conjuror—the gentleman who spoke broken English was Signor -Brunoni himself. Just at this moment he passed us on the -stairs, making such a graceful bow! in reply to which I dropped a -curtsey—all foreigners have such polite manners, one -catches something of it. But when he had gone downstairs, I -bethought me that I had dropped my glove in the Assembly Room (it -was safe in my muff all the time, but I never found it till -afterwards); so I went back, and, just as I was creeping up the -passage left on one side of the great screen that goes nearly -across the room, who should I see but the very same gentleman -that had met me before, and passed me on the stairs, coming now -forwards from the inner part of the room, to which there is no -entrance—you remember, Miss Matty—and just repeating, -in his pretty broken English, the inquiry if I had any business -there—I don’t mean that he put it quite so bluntly, -but he seemed very determined that I should not pass the -screen—so, of course, I explained about my glove, which, -curiously enough, I found at that very moment.”</p> -<p><a name="page133"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 133</span>Miss -Pole, then, had seen the conjuror—the real, live conjuror! -and numerous were the questions we all asked her. -“Had he a beard?” “Was he young, or -old?” “Fair, or dark?” “Did -he look”—(unable to shape my question prudently, I -put it in another form)—“How did he -look?” In short, Miss Pole was the heroine of the -evening, owing to her morning’s encounter. If she was -not the rose (that is to say the conjuror) she had been near -it.</p> -<p>Conjuration, sleight of hand, magic, witchcraft, were the -subjects of the evening. Miss Pole was slightly sceptical, -and inclined to think there might be a scientific solution found -for even the proceedings of the Witch of Endor. Mrs -Forrester believed everything, from ghosts to -death-watches. Miss Matty ranged between the -two—always convinced by the last speaker. I think she -was naturally more inclined to Mrs Forrester’s side, but a -desire of proving herself a worthy sister to Miss Jenkyns kept -her equally balanced—Miss Jenkyns, who would never allow a -servant to call the little rolls of tallow that formed themselves -round candles “winding-sheets,” but insisted on their -being spoken of as “roley-poleys!” A sister of -hers to be superstitious! It would never do.</p> -<p>After tea, I was despatched downstairs into the dining-parlour -for that volume of the old Encyclopædia which contained the -nouns beginning with C, in order that Miss Pole might prime -herself with scientific explanations for the tricks of the -following evening. It spoilt the pool at Preference which -Miss Matty and Mrs Forrester had been looking forward to, for -Miss Pole became so much absorbed in her subject, <a -name="page134"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 134</span>and the -plates by which it was illustrated, that we felt it would be -cruel to disturb her otherwise than by one or two well-timed -yawns, which I threw in now and then, for I was really touched by -the meek way in which the two ladies were bearing their -disappointment. But Miss Pole only read the more zealously, -imparting to us no more information than this—</p> -<p>“Ah! I see; I comprehend perfectly. A represents -the ball. Put A between B and D—no! between C and F, -and turn the second joint of the third finger of your left hand -over the wrist of your right H. Very clear indeed! My -dear Mrs Forrester, conjuring and witchcraft is a mere affair of -the alphabet. Do let me read you this one -passage?”</p> -<p>Mrs Forrester implored Miss Pole to spare her, saying, from a -child upwards, she never could understand being read aloud to; -and I dropped the pack of cards, which I had been shuffling very -audibly, and by this discreet movement I obliged Miss Pole to -perceive that Preference was to have been the order of the -evening, and to propose, rather unwillingly, that the pool should -commence. The pleasant brightness that stole over the other -two ladies’ faces on this! Miss Matty had one or two -twinges of self-reproach for having interrupted Miss Pole in her -studies: and did not remember her cards well, or give her full -attention to the game, until she had soothed her conscience by -offering to lend the volume of the Encyclopædia to Miss -Pole, who accepted it thankfully, and said Betty should take it -home when she came with the lantern.</p> -<p><a name="page135"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 135</span>The -next evening we were all in a little gentle flutter at the idea -of the gaiety before us. Miss Matty went up to dress -betimes, and hurried me until I was ready, when we found we had -an hour-and-a-half to wait before the “doors opened at -seven precisely.” And we had only twenty yards to -go! However, as Miss Matty said, it would not do to get too -much absorbed in anything, and forget the time; so she thought we -had better sit quietly, without lighting the candles, till five -minutes to seven. So Miss Matty dozed, and I knitted.</p> -<p>At length we set off; and at the door under the carriage-way -at the “George,” we met Mrs Forrester and Miss Pole: -the latter was discussing the subject of the evening with more -vehemence than ever, and throwing X’s and B’s at our -heads like hailstones. She had even copied one or two of -the “receipts”—as she called them—for the -different tricks, on backs of letters, ready to explain and to -detect Signor Brunoni’s arts.</p> -<p>We went into the cloak-room adjoining the Assembly Room; Miss -Matty gave a sigh or two to her departed youth, and the -remembrance of the last time she had been there, as she adjusted -her pretty new cap before the strange, quaint old mirror in the -cloak-room. The Assembly Room had been added to the inn, -about a hundred years before, by the different county families, -who met together there once a month during the winter to dance -and play at cards. Many a county beauty had first swung -through the minuet that she afterwards danced before Queen -Charlotte in this very room. It was said that one of the -Gunnings had graced the apartment <a name="page136"></a><span -class="pagenum">p. 136</span>with her beauty; it was certain that -a rich and beautiful widow, Lady Williams, had here been smitten -with the noble figure of a young artist, who was staying with -some family in the neighbourhood for professional purposes, and -accompanied his patrons to the Cranford Assembly. And a -pretty bargain poor Lady Williams had of her handsome husband, if -all tales were true. Now, no beauty blushed and dimpled -along the sides of the Cranford Assembly Room; no handsome artist -won hearts by his bow, <i>chapeau bras</i> in hand; the old room -was dingy; the salmon-coloured paint had faded into a drab; great -pieces of plaster had chipped off from the fine wreaths and -festoons on its walls; but still a mouldy odour of aristocracy -lingered about the place, and a dusty recollection of the days -that were gone made Miss Matty and Mrs Forrester bridle up as -they entered, and walk mincingly up the room, as if there were a -number of genteel observers, instead of two little boys with a -stick of toffee between them with which to beguile the time.</p> -<p>We stopped short at the second front row; I could hardly -understand why, until I heard Miss Pole ask a stray waiter if any -of the county families were expected; and when he shook his head, -and believed not, Mrs Forrester and Miss Matty moved forwards, -and our party represented a conversational square. The -front row was soon augmented and enriched by Lady Glenmire and -Mrs Jamieson. We six occupied the two front rows, and our -aristocratic seclusion was respected by the groups of -shop-keepers who strayed in from time to time and huddled -together on the back benches. At least I conjectured <a -name="page137"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 137</span>so, from -the noise they made, and the sonorous bumps they gave in sitting -down; but when, in weariness of the obstinate green curtain that -would not draw up, but would stare at me with two odd eyes, seen -through holes, as in the old tapestry story, I would fain have -looked round at the merry chattering people behind me, Miss Pole -clutched my arm, and begged me not to turn, for “it was not -the thing.” What “the thing” was, I never -could find out, but it must have been something eminently dull -and tiresome. However, we all sat eyes right, square front, -gazing at the tantalising curtain, and hardly speaking -intelligibly, we were so afraid of being caught in the vulgarity -of making any noise in a place of public amusement. Mrs -Jamieson was the most fortunate, for she fell asleep.</p> -<p>At length the eyes disappeared—the curtain -quivered—one side went up before the other, which stuck -fast; it was dropped again, and, with a fresh effort, and a -vigorous pull from some unseen hand, it flew up, revealing to our -sight a magnificent gentleman in the Turkish costume, seated -before a little table, gazing at us (I should have said with the -same eyes that I had last seen through the hole in the curtain) -with calm and condescending dignity, “like a being of -another sphere,” as I heard a sentimental voice ejaculate -behind me.</p> -<p>“That’s not Signor Brunoni!” said Miss Pole -decidedly; and so audibly that I am sure he heard, for he glanced -down over his flowing beard at our party with an air of mute -reproach. “Signor Brunoni had no beard—but -perhaps he’ll come soon.” So she lulled herself -into patience. Meanwhile, Miss <a name="page138"></a><span -class="pagenum">p. 138</span>Matty had reconnoitred through her -eye-glass, wiped it, and looked again. Then she turned -round, and said to me, in a kind, mild, sorrowful tone—</p> -<p>“You see, my dear, turbans <i>are</i> worn.”</p> -<p>But we had no time for more conversation. The Grand -Turk, as Miss Pole chose to call him, arose and announced himself -as Signor Brunoni.</p> -<p>“I don’t believe him!” exclaimed Miss Pole, -in a defiant manner. He looked at her again, with the same -dignified upbraiding in his countenance. “I -don’t!” she repeated more positively than ever. -“Signor Brunoni had not got that muffy sort of thing about -his chin, but looked like a close-shaved Christian -gentleman.”</p> -<p>Miss Pole’s energetic speeches had the good effect of -wakening up Mrs Jamieson, who opened her eyes wide, in sign of -the deepest attention—a proceeding which silenced Miss Pole -and encouraged the Grand Turk to proceed, which he did in very -broken English—so broken that there was no cohesion between -the parts of his sentences; a fact which he himself perceived at -last, and so left off speaking and proceeded to action.</p> -<p>Now we <i>were</i> astonished. How he did his tricks I -could not imagine; no, not even when Miss Pole pulled out her -pieces of paper and began reading aloud—or at least in a -very audible whisper—the separate “receipts” -for the most common of his tricks. If ever I saw a man -frown and look enraged, I saw the Grand Turk frown at Miss Pole; -but, as she said, what could be expected but unchristian looks -from a Mussulman? If Miss Pole were sceptical, and more -engrossed with her receipts <a name="page139"></a><span -class="pagenum">p. 139</span>and diagrams than with his tricks, -Miss Matty and Mrs Forrester were mystified and perplexed to the -highest degree. Mrs Jamieson kept taking her spectacles off -and wiping them, as if she thought it was something defective in -them which made the legerdemain; and Lady Glenmire, who had seen -many curious sights in Edinburgh, was very much struck with the -tricks, and would not at all agree with Miss Pole, who declared -that anybody could do them with a little practice, and that she -would, herself, undertake to do all he did, with two hours given -to study the Encyclopædia and make her third finger -flexible.</p> -<p>At last Miss Matty and Mrs Forrester became perfectly -awestricken. They whispered together. I sat just -behind them, so I could not help hearing what they were -saying. Miss Matty asked Mrs Forrester “if she -thought it was quite right to have come to see such things? -She could not help fearing they were lending encouragement to -something that was not quite”— A little shake -of the head filled up the blank. Mrs Forrester replied, -that the same thought had crossed her mind; she too was feeling -very uncomfortable, it was so very strange. She was quite -certain that it was her pocket-handkerchief which was in that -loaf just now; and it had been in her own hand not five minutes -before. She wondered who had furnished the bread? She -was sure it could not be Dakin, because he was the -churchwarden. Suddenly Miss Matty half-turned towards -me—</p> -<p>“Will you look, my dear—you are a stranger in the -town, and it won’t give rise to unpleasant <a -name="page140"></a><span class="pagenum">p. -140</span>reports—will you just look round and see if the -rector is here? If he is, I think we may conclude that this -wonderful man is sanctioned by the Church, and that will be a -great relief to my mind.”</p> -<p>I looked, and I saw the tall, thin, dry, dusty rector, sitting -surrounded by National School boys, guarded by troops of his own -sex from any approach of the many Cranford spinsters. His -kind face was all agape with broad smiles, and the boys around -him were in chinks of laughing. I told Miss Matty that the -Church was smiling approval, which set her mind at ease.</p> -<p style="text-align: center"> -<a href="images/p140b.jpg"> -<img alt= -"Afraid of matrimonial reports" -title= -"Afraid of matrimonial reports" -src="images/p140s.jpg" /> -</a></p> -<p>I have never named Mr Hayter, the rector, because I, as a -well-to-do and happy young woman, never came in contact with -him. He was an old bachelor, but as afraid of matrimonial -reports getting abroad about him as any girl of eighteen: and he -would rush into a shop or dive down an entry, sooner than -encounter any of the Cranford ladies in the street; and, as for -the Preference parties, I did not wonder at his not accepting -invitations to them. To tell the truth, I always suspected -Miss Pole of having given very vigorous chase to Mr Hayter when -he first came to Cranford; and not the less, because now she -appeared to share so vividly in his dread lest her name should -ever be coupled with his. He found all his interests among -the poor and helpless; he had treated the National School boys -this very night to the performance; and virtue was for once its -own reward, for they guarded him right and left, and clung round -him as if he had been the queen-bee and they the swarm. He -felt so safe in their <a name="page141"></a><span -class="pagenum">p. 141</span>environment that he could even -afford to give our party a bow as we filed out. Miss Pole -ignored his presence, and pretended to be absorbed in convincing -us that we had been cheated, and had not seen Signor Brunoni -after all.</p> -<h2><a name="page142"></a><span class="pagenum">p. -142</span>CHAPTER X—THE PANIC</h2> -<p>I <span class="smcap">think</span> a series of circumstances -dated from Signor Brunoni’s visit to Cranford, which seemed -at the time connected in our minds with him, though I don’t -know that he had anything really to do with them. All at -once all sorts of uncomfortable rumours got afloat in the -town. There were one or two robberies—real -<i>bonâ fide</i> robberies; men had up before the -magistrates and committed for trial—and that seemed to make -us all afraid of being robbed; and for a long time, at Miss -Matty’s, I know, we used to make a regular expedition all -round the kitchens and cellars every night, Miss Matty leading -the way, armed with the poker, I following with the hearth-brush, -and Martha carrying the shovel and fire-irons with which to sound -the alarm; and by the accidental hitting together of them she -often frightened us so much that we bolted ourselves up, all -three together, in the back-kitchen, or store-room, or wherever -we happened to be, till, when our affright was over, we -recollected ourselves and set out afresh with double -valiance. By day we heard strange stories from the -shopkeepers and <a name="page143"></a><span class="pagenum">p. -143</span>cottagers, of carts that went about in the dead of -night, drawn by horses shod with felt, and guarded by men in dark -clothes, going round the town, no doubt in search of some -unwatched house or some unfastened door.</p> -<p>Miss Pole, who affected great bravery herself, was the -principal person to collect and arrange these reports so as to -make them assume their most fearful aspect. But we -discovered that she had begged one of Mr Hoggins’s worn-out -hats to hang up in her lobby, and we (at least I) had doubts as -to whether she really would enjoy the little adventure of having -her house broken into, as she protested she should. Miss -Matty made no secret of being an arrant coward, but she went -regularly through her housekeeper’s duty of -inspection—only the hour for this became earlier and -earlier, till at last we went the rounds at half-past six, and -Miss Matty adjourned to bed soon after seven, “in order to -get the night over the sooner.”</p> -<p>Cranford had so long piqued itself on being an honest and -moral town that it had grown to fancy itself too genteel and -well-bred to be otherwise, and felt the stain upon its character -at this time doubly. But we comforted ourselves with the -assurance which we gave to each other that the robberies could -never have been committed by any Cranford person; it must have -been a stranger or strangers who brought this disgrace upon the -town, and occasioned as many precautions as if we were living -among the Red Indians or the French.</p> -<p>This last comparison of our nightly state of defence and -fortification was made by Mrs Forrester, <a -name="page144"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 144</span>whose -father had served under General Burgoyne in the American war, and -whose husband had fought the French in Spain. She indeed -inclined to the idea that, in some way, the French were connected -with the small thefts, which were ascertained facts, and the -burglaries and highway robberies, which were rumours. She -had been deeply impressed with the idea of French spies at some -time in her life; and the notion could never be fairly -eradicated, but sprang up again from time to time. And now -her theory was this:—The Cranford people respected -themselves too much, and were too grateful to the aristocracy who -were so kind as to live near the town, ever to disgrace their -bringing up by being dishonest or immoral; therefore, we must -believe that the robbers were strangers—if strangers, why -not foreigners?—if foreigners, who so likely as the -French? Signor Brunoni spoke broken English like a -Frenchman; and, though he wore a turban like a Turk, Mrs -Forrester had seen a print of Madame de Staël with a turban -on, and another of Mr Denon in just such a dress as that in which -the conjuror had made his appearance, showing clearly that the -French, as well as the Turks, wore turbans. There could be -no doubt Signor Brunoni was a Frenchman—a French spy come -to discover the weak and undefended places of England, and -doubtless he had his accomplices. For her part, she, Mrs -Forrester, had always had her own opinion of Miss Pole’s -adventure at the “George Inn”—seeing two men -where only one was believed to be. French people had ways -and means which, she was thankful to say, the English knew -nothing about; and she had never felt quite easy in her mind <a -name="page145"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 145</span>about going -to see that conjuror—it was rather too much like a -forbidden thing, though the rector was there. In short, Mrs -Forrester grew more excited than we had ever known her before, -and, being an officer’s daughter and widow, we looked up to -her opinion, of course.</p> -<p>Really I do not know how much was true or false in the reports -which flew about like wildfire just at this time; but it seemed -to me then that there was every reason to believe that at Mardon -(a small town about eight miles from Cranford) houses and shops -were entered by holes made in the walls, the bricks being -silently carried away in the dead of the night, and all done so -quietly that no sound was heard either in or out of the -house. Miss Matty gave it up in despair when she heard of -this. “What was the use,” said she, “of -locks and bolts, and bells to the windows, and going round the -house every night? That last trick was fit for a -conjuror. Now she did believe that Signor Brunoni was at -the bottom of it.”</p> -<p>One afternoon, about five o’clock, we were startled by a -hasty knock at the door. Miss Matty bade me run and tell -Martha on no account to open the door till she (Miss Matty) had -reconnoitred through the window; and she armed herself with a -footstool to drop down on the head of the visitor, in case he -should show a face covered with black crape, as he looked up in -answer to her inquiry of who was there. But it was nobody -but Miss Pole and Betty. The former came upstairs, carrying -a little hand-basket, and she was evidently in a state of great -agitation.</p> -<p><a name="page146"></a><span class="pagenum">p. -146</span>“Take care of that!” said she to me, as I -offered to relieve her of her basket. “It’s my -plate. I am sure there is a plan to rob my house -to-night. I am come to throw myself on your hospitality, -Miss Matty. Betty is going to sleep with her cousin at the -‘George.’ I can sit up here all night if you -will allow me; but my house is so far from any neighbours, and I -don’t believe we could be heard if we screamed ever -so!”</p> -<p>“But,” said Miss Matty, “what has alarmed -you so much? Have you seen any men lurking about the -house?”</p> -<p>“Oh, yes!” answered Miss Pole. “Two -very bad-looking men have gone three times past the house, very -slowly; and an Irish beggar-woman came not half-an-hour ago, and -all but forced herself in past Betty, saying her children were -starving, and she must speak to the mistress. You see, she -said ‘mistress,’ though there was a hat hanging up in -the hall, and it would have been more natural to have said -‘master.’ But Betty shut the door in her face, -and came up to me, and we got the spoons together, and sat in the -parlour-window watching till we saw Thomas Jones going from his -work, when we called to him and asked him to take care of us into -the town.”</p> -<p>We might have triumphed over Miss Pole, who had professed such -bravery until she was frightened; but we were too glad to -perceive that she shared in the weaknesses of humanity to exult -over her; and I gave up my room to her very willingly, and shared -Miss Matty’s bed for the night. But before we -retired, the two ladies rummaged up, out of the recesses of their -memory, such horrid stories of <a name="page147"></a><span -class="pagenum">p. 147</span>robbery and murder that I quite -quaked in my shoes. Miss Pole was evidently anxious to -prove that such terrible events had occurred within her -experience that she was justified in her sudden panic; and Miss -Matty did not like to be outdone, and capped every story with one -yet more horrible, till it reminded me oddly enough, of an old -story I had read somewhere, of a nightingale and a musician, who -strove one against the other which could produce the most -admirable music, till poor Philomel dropped down dead.</p> -<p>One of the stories that haunted me for a long time afterwards -was of a girl who was left in charge of a great house in -Cumberland on some particular fair-day, when the other servants -all went off to the gaieties. The family were away in -London, and a pedlar came by, and asked to leave his large and -heavy pack in the kitchen, saying he would call for it again at -night; and the girl (a gamekeeper’s daughter), roaming -about in search of amusement, chanced to hit upon a gun hanging -up in the hall, and took it down to look at the chasing; and it -went off through the open kitchen door, hit the pack, and a slow -dark thread of blood came oozing out. (How Miss Pole enjoyed this -part of the story, dwelling on each word as if she loved -it!) She rather hurried over the further account of the -girl’s bravery, and I have but a confused idea that, -somehow, she baffled the robbers with Italian irons, heated -red-hot, and then restored to blackness by being dipped in -grease.</p> -<p>We parted for the night with an awe-stricken wonder as to what -we should hear of in the morning—and, on my part, with a -vehement desire for the night to be over and gone: I was so -afraid lest the <a name="page148"></a><span class="pagenum">p. -148</span>robbers should have seen, from some dark lurking-place, -that Miss Pole had carried off her plate, and thus have a double -motive for attacking our house.</p> -<p style="text-align: center"> -<a href="images/p148b.jpg"> -<img alt= -"Asked him to take care of us" -title= -"Asked him to take care of us" -src="images/p148s.jpg" /> -</a></p> -<p>But until Lady Glenmire came to call next day we heard of -nothing unusual. The kitchen fire-irons were in exactly the -same position against the back door as when Martha and I had -skilfully piled them up, like spillikins, ready to fall with an -awful clatter if only a cat had touched the outside panels. -I had wondered what we should all do if thus awakened and -alarmed, and had proposed to Miss Matty that we should cover up -our faces under the bedclothes so that there should be no danger -of the robbers thinking that we could identify them; but Miss -Matty, who was trembling very much, scouted this idea, and said -we owed it to society to apprehend them, and that she should -certainly do her best to lay hold of them and lock them up in the -garret till morning.</p> -<p>When Lady Glenmire came, we almost felt jealous of her. -Mrs Jamieson’s house had really been attacked; at least -there were men’s footsteps to be seen on the flower -borders, underneath the kitchen windows, “where nae men -should be;” and Carlo had barked all through the night as -if strangers were abroad. Mrs Jamieson had been awakened by -Lady Glenmire, and they had rung the bell which communicated with -Mr Mulliner’s room in the third storey, and when his -night-capped head had appeared over the bannisters, in answer to -the summons, they had told him of their alarm, and the reasons -for it; whereupon he retreated into his bedroom, and locked the -door (for fear of draughts, as he informed them <a -name="page149"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 149</span>in the -morning), and opened the window, and called out valiantly to say, -if the supposed robbers would come to him he would fight them; -but, as Lady Glenmire observed, that was but poor comfort, since -they would have to pass by Mrs Jamieson’s room and her own -before they could reach him, and must be of a very pugnacious -disposition indeed if they neglected the opportunities of robbery -presented by the unguarded lower storeys, to go up to a garret, -and there force a door in order to get at the champion of the -house. Lady Glenmire, after waiting and listening for some -time in the drawing-room, had proposed to Mrs Jamieson that they -should go to bed; but that lady said she should not feel -comfortable unless she sat up and watched; and, accordingly, she -packed herself warmly up on the sofa, where she was found by the -housemaid, when she came into the room at six o’clock, fast -asleep; but Lady Glenmire went to bed, and kept awake all -night.</p> -<p>When Miss Pole heard of this, she nodded her head in great -satisfaction. She had been sure we should hear of something -happening in Cranford that night; and we had heard. It was -clear enough they had first proposed to attack her house; but -when they saw that she and Betty were on their guard, and had -carried off the plate, they had changed their tactics and gone to -Mrs Jamieson’s, and no one knew what might have happened if -Carlo had not barked, like a good dog as he was!</p> -<p>Poor Carlo! his barking days were nearly over. Whether -the gang who infested the neighbourhood were afraid of him, or -whether they were revengeful enough, for the way in which he had -baffled them on <a name="page150"></a><span class="pagenum">p. -150</span>the night in question, to poison him; or whether, as -some among the more uneducated people thought, he died of -apoplexy, brought on by too much feeding and too little exercise; -at any rate, it is certain that, two days after this eventful -night, Carlo was found dead, with his poor legs stretched out -stiff in the attitude of running, as if by such unusual exertion -he could escape the sure pursuer, Death.</p> -<p>We were all sorry for Carlo, the old familiar friend who had -snapped at us for so many years; and the mysterious mode of his -death made us very uncomfortable. Could Signor Brunoni be -at the bottom of this? He had apparently killed a canary -with only a word of command; his will seemed of deadly force; who -knew but what he might yet be lingering in the neighbourhood -willing all sorts of awful things!</p> -<p>We whispered these fancies among ourselves in the evenings; -but in the mornings our courage came back with the daylight, and -in a week’s time we had got over the shock of Carlo’s -death; all but Mrs Jamieson. She, poor thing, felt it as -she had felt no event since her husband’s death; indeed, -Miss Pole said, that as the Honourable Mr Jamieson drank a good -deal, and occasioned her much uneasiness, it was possible that -Carlo’s death might be the greater affliction. But -there was always a tinge of cynicism in Miss Pole’s -remarks. However, one thing was clear and certain—it -was necessary for Mrs Jamieson to have some change of scene; and -Mr Mulliner was very impressive on this point, shaking his head -whenever we inquired after his mistress, and speaking of her loss -of appetite and bad nights very ominously; <a -name="page151"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 151</span>and with -justice too, for if she had two characteristics in her natural -state of health they were a facility of eating and -sleeping. If she could neither eat nor sleep, she must be -indeed out of spirits and out of health.</p> -<p>Lady Glenmire (who had evidently taken very kindly to -Cranford) did not like the idea of Mrs Jamieson’s going to -Cheltenham, and more than once insinuated pretty plainly that it -was Mr Mulliner’s doing, who had been much alarmed on the -occasion of the house being attacked, and since had said, more -than once, that he felt it a very responsible charge to have to -defend so many women. Be that as it might, Mrs Jamieson -went to Cheltenham, escorted by Mr Mulliner; and Lady Glenmire -remained in possession of the house, her ostensible office being -to take care that the maid-servants did not pick up -followers. She made a very pleasant-looking dragon; and, as -soon as it was arranged for her stay in Cranford, she found out -that Mrs Jamieson’s visit to Cheltenham was just the best -thing in the world. She had let her house in Edinburgh, and -was for the time house-less, so the charge of her -sister-in-law’s comfortable abode was very convenient and -acceptable.</p> -<p>Miss Pole was very much inclined to instal herself as a -heroine, because of the decided steps she had taken in flying -from the two men and one woman, whom she entitled “that -murderous gang.” She described their appearance in -glowing colours, and I noticed that every time she went over the -story some fresh trait of villainy was added to their -appearance. One was tall—he grew to be gigantic in -height before we had done with him; he of course <a -name="page152"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 152</span>had black -hair—and by-and-by it hung in elf-locks over his forehead -and down his back. The other was short and broad—and -a hump sprouted out on his shoulder before we heard the last of -him; he had red hair—which deepened into carroty; and she -was almost sure he had a cast in the eye—a decided -squint. As for the woman, her eyes glared, and she was -masculine-looking—a perfect virago; most probably a man -dressed in woman’s clothes; afterwards, we heard of a beard -on her chin, and a manly voice and a stride.</p> -<p>If Miss Pole was delighted to recount the events of that -afternoon to all inquirers, others were not so proud of their -adventures in the robbery line. Mr Hoggins, the surgeon, -had been attacked at his own door by two ruffians, who were -concealed in the shadow of the porch, and so effectually silenced -him that he was robbed in the interval between ringing his bell -and the servant’s answering it. Miss Pole was sure it -would turn out that this robbery had been committed by “her -men,” and went the very day she heard the report to have -her teeth examined, and to question Mr Hoggins. She came to -us afterwards; so we heard what she had heard, straight and -direct from the source, while we were yet in the excitement and -flutter of the agitation caused by the first intelligence; for -the event had only occurred the night before.</p> -<p>“Well!” said Miss Pole, sitting down with the -decision of a person who has made up her mind as to the nature of -life and the world (and such people never tread lightly, or seat -themselves without a bump), “well, Miss Matty! men will be -men. <a name="page153"></a><span class="pagenum">p. -153</span>Every mother’s son of them wishes to be -considered Samson and Solomon rolled into one—too strong -ever to be beaten or discomfited—too wise ever to be -outwitted. If you will notice, they have always foreseen -events, though they never tell one for one’s warning before -the events happen. My father was a man, and I know the sex -pretty well.”</p> -<p>She had talked herself out of breath, and we should have been -very glad to fill up the necessary pause as chorus, but we did -not exactly know what to say, or which man had suggested this -diatribe against the sex; so we only joined in generally, with a -grave shake of the head, and a soft murmur of “They are -very incomprehensible, certainly!”</p> -<p>“Now, only think,” said she. “There, I -have undergone the risk of having one of my remaining teeth drawn -(for one is terribly at the mercy of any surgeon-dentist; and I, -for one, always speak them fair till I have got my mouth out of -their clutches), and, after all, Mr Hoggins is too much of a man -to own that he was robbed last night.”</p> -<p>“Not robbed!” exclaimed the chorus.</p> -<p>“Don’t tell me!” Miss Pole exclaimed, angry -that we could be for a moment imposed upon. “I -believe he was robbed, just as Betty told me, and he is ashamed -to own it; and, to be sure, it was very silly of him to be robbed -just at his own door; I daresay he feels that such a thing -won’t raise him in the eyes of Cranford society, and is -anxious to conceal it—but he need not have tried to impose -upon me, by saying I must have heard an exaggerated account of -some petty theft of a neck of mutton, which, it seems, was stolen -out of the safe in his <a name="page154"></a><span -class="pagenum">p. 154</span>yard last week; he had the -impertinence to add, he believed that that was taken by the -cat. I have no doubt, if I could get at the bottom of it, -it was that Irishman dressed up in woman’s clothes, who -came spying about my house, with the story about the starving -children.”</p> -<p>After we had duly condemned the want of candour which Mr -Hoggins had evinced, and abused men in general, taking him for -the representative and type, we got round to the subject about -which we had been talking when Miss Pole came in; namely, how -far, in the present disturbed state of the country, we could -venture to accept an invitation which Miss Matty had just -received from Mrs Forrester, to come as usual and keep the -anniversary of her wedding-day by drinking tea with her at five -o’clock, and playing a quiet pool afterwards. Mrs -Forrester had said that she asked us with some diffidence, -because the roads were, she feared, very unsafe. But she -suggested that perhaps one of us would not object to take the -sedan, and that the others, by walking briskly, might keep up -with the long trot of the chairmen, and so we might all arrive -safely at Over Place, a suburb of the town. (No; that is -too large an expression: a small cluster of houses separated from -Cranford by about two hundred yards of a dark and lonely -lane.) There was no doubt but that a similar note was -awaiting Miss Pole at home; so her call was a very fortunate -affair, as it enabled us to consult together. We would all -much rather have declined this invitation; but we felt that it -would not be quite kind to Mrs Forrester, who would otherwise be -left to a solitary retrospect of her not <a -name="page155"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 155</span>very happy -or fortunate life. Miss Matty and Miss Pole had been -visitors on this occasion for many years, and now they gallantly -determined to nail their colours to the mast, and to go through -Darkness Lane rather than fail in loyalty to their friend.</p> -<p>But when the evening came, Miss Matty (for it was she who was -voted into the chair, as she had a cold), before being shut down -in the sedan, like jack-in-a-box, implored the chairmen, whatever -might befall, not to run away and leave her fastened up there, to -be murdered; and even after they had promised, I saw her tighten -her features into the stern determination of a martyr, and she -gave me a melancholy and ominous shake of the head through the -glass. However, we got there safely, only rather out of -breath, for it was who could trot hardest through Darkness Lane, -and I am afraid poor Miss Matty was sadly jolted.</p> -<p>Mrs Forrester had made extra preparations, in acknowledgment -of our exertion in coming to see her through such dangers. -The usual forms of genteel ignorance as to what her servants -might send up were all gone through; and harmony and Preference -seemed likely to be the order of the evening, but for an -interesting conversation that began I don’t know how, but -which had relation, of course, to the robbers who infested the -neighbourhood of Cranford.</p> -<p>Having braved the dangers of Darkness Lane, and thus having a -little stock of reputation for courage to fall back upon; and -also, I daresay, desirous of proving ourselves superior to men -(<i>videlicet</i> Mr Hoggins) in the article of candour, we <a -name="page156"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 156</span>began to -relate our individual fears, and the private precautions we each -of us took. I owned that my pet apprehension was -eyes—eyes looking at me, and watching me, glittering out -from some dull, flat, wooden surface; and that if I dared to go -up to my looking-glass when I was panic-stricken, I should -certainly turn it round, with its back towards me, for fear of -seeing eyes behind me looking out of the darkness. I saw -Miss Matty nerving herself up for a confession; and at last out -it came. She owned that, ever since she had been a girl, -she had dreaded being caught by her last leg, just as she was -getting into bed, by some one concealed under it. She said, -when she was younger and more active, she used to take a flying -leap from a distance, and so bring both her legs up safely into -bed at once; but that this had always annoyed Deborah, who piqued -herself upon getting into bed gracefully, and she had given it up -in consequence. But now the old terror would often come -over her, especially since Miss Pole’s house had been -attacked (we had got quite to believe in the fact of the attack -having taken place), and yet it was very unpleasant to think of -looking under a bed, and seeing a man concealed, with a great, -fierce face staring out at you; so she had bethought herself of -something—perhaps I had noticed that she had told Martha to -buy her a penny ball, such as children play with—and now -she rolled this ball under the bed every night: if it came out on -the other side, well and good; if not she always took care to -have her hand on the bell-rope, and meant to call out John and -Harry, just as if she expected men-servants to answer her -ring.</p> -<p><a name="page157"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 157</span>We -all applauded this ingenious contrivance, and Miss Matty sank -back into satisfied silence, with a look at Mrs Forrester as if -to ask for <i>her</i> private weakness.</p> -<p>Mrs Forrester looked askance at Miss Pole, and tried to change -the subject a little by telling us that she had borrowed a boy -from one of the neighbouring cottages and promised his parents a -hundredweight of coals at Christmas, and his supper every -evening, for the loan of him at nights. She had instructed -him in his possible duties when he first came; and, finding him -sensible, she had given him the Major’s sword (the Major -was her late husband), and desired him to put it very carefully -behind his pillow at night, turning the edge towards the head of -the pillow. He was a sharp lad, she was sure; for, spying -out the Major’s cocked hat, he had said, if he might have -that to wear, he was sure he could frighten two Englishmen, or -four Frenchmen any day. But she had impressed upon him anew -that he was to lose no time in putting on hats or anything else; -but, if he heard any noise, he was to run at it with his drawn -sword. On my suggesting that some accident might occur from -such slaughterous and indiscriminate directions, and that he -might rush on Jenny getting up to wash, and have spitted her -before he had discovered that she was not a Frenchman, Mrs -Forrester said she did not think that that was likely, for he was -a very sound sleeper, and generally had to be well shaken or -cold-pigged in a morning before they could rouse him. She -sometimes thought such dead sleep must be owing to the hearty -suppers the poor lad ate, for he was <a name="page158"></a><span -class="pagenum">p. 158</span>half-starved at home, and she told -Jenny to see that he got a good meal at night.</p> -<p style="text-align: center"> -<a href="images/p157b.jpg"> -<img alt= -"Slaughterous and indiscriminate directions" -title= -"Slaughterous and indiscriminate directions" -src="images/p157s.jpg" /> -</a></p> -<p>Still this was no confession of Mrs Forrester’s peculiar -timidity, and we urged her to tell us what she thought would -frighten her more than anything. She paused, and stirred -the fire, and snuffed the candles, and then she said, in a -sounding whisper—</p> -<p>“Ghosts!”</p> -<p>She looked at Miss Pole, as much as to say, she had declared -it, and would stand by it. Such a look was a challenge in -itself. Miss Pole came down upon her with indigestion, -spectral illusions, optical delusions, and a great deal out of Dr -Ferrier and Dr Hibbert besides. Miss Matty had rather a -leaning to ghosts, as I have mentioned before, and what little -she did say was all on Mrs Forrester’s side, who, -emboldened by sympathy, protested that ghosts were a part of her -religion; that surely she, the widow of a major in the army, knew -what to be frightened at, and what not; in short, I never saw Mrs -Forrester so warm either before or since, for she was a gentle, -meek, enduring old lady in most things. Not all the -elder-wine that ever was mulled could this night wash out the -remembrance of this difference between Miss Pole and her -hostess. Indeed, when the elder-wine was brought in, it -gave rise to a new burst of discussion; for Jenny, the little -maiden who staggered under the tray, had to give evidence of -having seen a ghost with her own eyes, not so many nights ago, in -Darkness Lane, the very lane we were to go through on our way -home.</p> -<p>In spite of the uncomfortable feeling which this last -consideration gave me, I could not help being <a -name="page159"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 159</span>amused at -Jenny’s position, which was exceedingly like that of a -witness being examined and cross-examined by two counsel who are -not at all scrupulous about asking leading questions. The -conclusion I arrived at was, that Jenny had certainly seen -something beyond what a fit of indigestion would have -caused. A lady all in white, and without her head, was what -she deposed and adhered to, supported by a consciousness of the -secret sympathy of her mistress under the withering scorn with -which Miss Pole regarded her. And not only she, but many -others, had seen this headless lady, who sat by the roadside -wringing her hands as in deep grief. Mrs Forrester looked -at us from time to time with an air of conscious triumph; but -then she had not to pass through Darkness Lane before she could -bury herself beneath her own familiar bed-clothes.</p> -<p>We preserved a discreet silence as to the headless lady while -we were putting on our things to go home, for there was no -knowing how near the ghostly head and ears might be, or what -spiritual connection they might be keeping up with the unhappy -body in Darkness Lane; and, therefore, even Miss Pole felt that -it was as well not to speak lightly on such subjects, for fear of -vexing or insulting that woebegone trunk. At least, so I -conjecture; for, instead of the busy clatter usual in the -operation, we tied on our cloaks as sadly as mutes at a -funeral. Miss Matty drew the curtains round the windows of -the chair to shut out disagreeable sights, and the men (either -because they were in spirits that their labours were so nearly -ended, or <a name="page160"></a><span class="pagenum">p. -160</span>because they were going down hill), set off at such a -round and merry pace, that it was all Miss Pole and I could do to -keep up with them. She had breath for nothing beyond an -imploring “Don’t leave me!” uttered as she -clutched my arm so tightly that I could not have quitted her, -ghost or no ghost. What a relief it was when the men, weary -of their burden and their quick trot, stopped just where -Headingley Causeway branches off from Darkness Lane! Miss -Pole unloosed me and caught at one of the men—</p> -<p>“Could not you—could not you take Miss Matty round -by Headingley Causeway?—the pavement in Darkness Lane jolts -so, and she is not very strong.”</p> -<p>A smothered voice was heard from the inside of the -chair—</p> -<p>“Oh! pray go on! What is the matter? What is -the matter? I will give you sixpence more to go on very -fast; pray don’t stop here.”</p> -<p>“And I’ll give you a shilling,” said Miss -Pole, with tremulous dignity, “if you’ll go by -Headingley Causeway.”</p> -<p>The two men grunted acquiescence and took up the chair, and -went along the causeway, which certainly answered Miss -Pole’s kind purpose of saving Miss Matty’s bones; for -it was covered with soft, thick mud, and even a fall there would -have been easy till the getting-up came, when there might have -been some difficulty in extrication.</p> -<h2><a name="page161"></a><span class="pagenum">p. -161</span>CHAPTER XI—SAMUEL BROWN</h2> -<p><span class="smcap">The</span> next morning I met Lady -Glenmire and Miss Pole setting out on a long walk to find some -old woman who was famous in the neighbourhood for her skill in -knitting woollen stockings. Miss Pole said to me, with a -smile half-kindly and half-contemptuous upon her countenance, -“I have been just telling Lady Glenmire of our poor friend -Mrs Forrester, and her terror of ghosts. It comes from -living so much alone, and listening to the bug-a-boo stories of -that Jenny of hers.” She was so calm and so much -above superstitious fears herself that I was almost ashamed to -say how glad I had been of her Headingley Causeway proposition -the night before, and turned off the conversation to something -else.</p> -<p>In the afternoon Miss Pole called on Miss Matty to tell her of -the adventure—the real adventure they had met with on their -morning’s walk. They had been perplexed about the -exact path which they were to take across the fields in order to -find the knitting old woman, and had stopped to inquire at a -little wayside public-house, standing on the high road to London, -about three miles from Cranford. <a -name="page162"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 162</span>The good -woman had asked them to sit down and rest themselves while she -fetched her husband, who could direct them better than she could; -and, while they were sitting in the sanded parlour, a little girl -came in. They thought that she belonged to the landlady, -and began some trifling conversation with her; but, on Mrs -Roberts’s return, she told them that the little thing was -the only child of a couple who were staying in the house. -And then she began a long story, out of which Lady Glenmire and -Miss Pole could only gather one or two decided facts, which were -that, about six weeks ago, a light spring-cart had broken down -just before their door, in which there were two men, one woman, -and this child. One of the men was seriously hurt—no -bones broken, only “shaken,” the landlady called it; -but he had probably sustained some severe internal injury, for he -had languished in their house ever since, attended by his wife, -the mother of this little girl. Miss Pole had asked what he -was, what he looked like. And Mrs Roberts had made answer -that he was not like a gentleman, nor yet like a common person; -if it had not been that he and his wife were such decent, quiet -people, she could almost have thought he was a mountebank, or -something of that kind, for they had a great box in the cart, -full of she did not know what. She had helped to unpack it, -and take out their linen and clothes, when the other -man—his twin-brother, she believed he was—had gone -off with the horse and cart.</p> -<p>Miss Pole had begun to have her suspicions at this point, and -expressed her idea that it was rather strange that the box and -cart and horse and all should <a name="page163"></a><span -class="pagenum">p. 163</span>have disappeared; but good Mrs -Roberts seemed to have become quite indignant at Miss -Pole’s implied suggestion; in fact, Miss Pole said she was -as angry as if Miss Pole had told her that she herself was a -swindler. As the best way of convincing the ladies, she -bethought her of begging them to see the wife; and, as Miss Pole -said, there was no doubting the honest, worn, bronzed face of the -woman, who at the first tender word from Lady Glenmire, burst -into tears, which she was too weak to check until some word from -the landlady made her swallow down her sobs, in order that she -might testify to the Christian kindness shown by Mr and Mrs -Roberts. Miss Pole came round with a swing to as vehement a -belief in the sorrowful tale as she had been sceptical before; -and, as a proof of this, her energy in the poor sufferer’s -behalf was nothing daunted when she found out that he, and no -other, was our Signor Brunoni, to whom all Cranford had been -attributing all manner of evil this six weeks past! Yes! -his wife said his proper name was Samuel -Brown—“Sam,” she called him—but to the -last we preferred calling him “the Signor”; it -sounded so much better.</p> -<p>The end of their conversation with the Signora Brunoni was -that it was agreed that he should be placed under medical advice, -and for any expense incurred in procuring this Lady Glenmire -promised to hold herself responsible, and had accordingly gone to -Mr Hoggins to beg him to ride over to the “Rising -Sun” that very afternoon, and examine into the -signor’s real state; and, as Miss Pole said, if it was -desirable to remove him to Cranford to be more immediately under -Mr Hoggins’s eye, she would <a name="page164"></a><span -class="pagenum">p. 164</span>undertake to see for lodgings and -arrange about the rent. Mrs Roberts had been as kind as -could be all throughout, but it was evident that their long -residence there had been a slight inconvenience.</p> -<p>Before Miss Pole left us, Miss Matty and I were as full of the -morning’s adventure as she was. We talked about it -all the evening, turning it in every possible light, and we went -to bed anxious for the morning, when we should surely hear from -someone what Mr Hoggins thought and recommended; for, as Miss -Matty observed, though Mr Hoggins did say “Jack’s -up,” “a fig for his heels,” and called -Preference “Pref.” she believed he was a very worthy -man and a very clever surgeon. Indeed, we were rather proud -of our doctor at Cranford, as a doctor. We often wished, -when we heard of Queen Adelaide or the Duke of Wellington being -ill, that they would send for Mr Hoggins; but, on consideration, -we were rather glad they did not, for, if we were ailing, what -should we do if Mr Hoggins had been appointed -physician-in-ordinary to the Royal Family? As a surgeon we -were proud of him; but as a man—or rather, I should say, as -a gentleman—we could only shake our heads over his name and -himself, and wished that he had read Lord Chesterfield’s -Letters in the days when his manners were susceptible of -improvement. Nevertheless, we all regarded his dictum in -the signor’s case as infallible, and when he said that with -care and attention he might rally, we had no more fear for -him.</p> -<p>But, although we had no more fear, everybody did as much as if -there was great cause for anxiety—as indeed there was until -Mr Hoggins took charge of <a name="page165"></a><span -class="pagenum">p. 165</span>him. Miss Pole looked out -clean and comfortable, if homely, lodgings; Miss Matty sent the -sedan-chair for him, and Martha and I aired it well before it -left Cranford by holding a warming-pan full of red-hot coals in -it, and then shutting it up close, smoke and all, until the time -when he should get into it at the “Rising Sun.” -Lady Glenmire undertook the medical department under Mr -Hoggins’s directions, and rummaged up all Mrs -Jamieson’s medicine glasses, and spoons, and bed-tables, in -a free-and-easy way, that made Miss Matty feel a little anxious -as to what that lady and Mr Mulliner might say, if they -knew. Mrs Forrester made some of the bread-jelly, for which -she was so famous, to have ready as a refreshment in the lodgings -when he should arrive. A present of this bread-jelly was -the highest mark of favour dear Mrs Forrester could confer. -Miss Pole had once asked her for the receipt, but she had met -with a very decided rebuff; that lady told her that she could not -part with it to any one during her life, and that after her death -it was bequeathed, as her executors would find, to Miss -Matty. What Miss Matty, or, as Mrs Forrester called her -(remembering the clause in her will and the dignity of the -occasion), Miss Matilda Jenkyns—might choose to do with the -receipt when it came into her possession—whether to make it -public, or to hand it down as an heirloom—she did not know, -nor would she dictate. And a mould of this admirable, -digestible, unique bread-jelly was sent by Mrs Forrester to our -poor sick conjuror. Who says that the aristocracy are -proud? Here was a lady by birth a Tyrrell, and descended -from the great Sir Walter that shot King Rufus, and in whose -veins ran the <a name="page166"></a><span class="pagenum">p. -166</span>blood of him who murdered the little princes in the -Tower, going every day to see what dainty dishes she could -prepare for Samuel Brown, a mountebank! But, indeed, it was -wonderful to see what kind feelings were called out by this poor -man’s coming amongst us. And also wonderful to see -how the great Cranford panic, which had been occasioned by his -first coming in his Turkish dress, melted away into thin air on -his second coming—pale and feeble, and with his heavy, -filmy eyes, that only brightened a very little when they fell -upon the countenance of his faithful wife, or their pale and -sorrowful little girl.</p> -<p>Somehow we all forgot to be afraid. I daresay it was -that finding out that he, who had first excited our love of the -marvellous by his unprecedented arts, had not sufficient -every-day gifts to manage a shying horse, made us feel as if we -were ourselves again. Miss Pole came with her little basket -at all hours of the evening, as if her lonely house and the -unfrequented road to it had never been infested by that -“murderous gang”; Mrs Forrester said she thought that -neither Jenny nor she need mind the headless lady who wept and -wailed in Darkness Lane, for surely the power was never given to -such beings to harm those who went about to try to do what little -good was in their power, to which Jenny tremblingly assented; but -the mistress’s theory had little effect on the maid’s -practice until she had sewn two pieces of red flannel in the -shape of a cross on her inner garment.</p> -<p>I found Miss Matty covering her penny ball—the ball that -she used to roll under her bed—with gay-coloured worsted in -rainbow stripes.</p> -<p><a name="page167"></a><span class="pagenum">p. -167</span>“My dear,” said she, “my heart is sad -for that little careworn child. Although her father is a -conjuror, she looks as if she had never had a good game of play -in her life. I used to make very pretty balls in this way -when I was a girl, and I thought I would try if I could not make -this one smart and take it to Phoebe this afternoon. I -think ‘the gang’ must have left the neighbourhood, -for one does not hear any more of their violence and robbery -now.”</p> -<p>We were all of us far too full of the signor’s -precarious state to talk either about robbers or ghosts. -Indeed, Lady Glenmire said she never had heard of any actual -robberies, except that two little boys had stolen some apples -from Farmer Benson’s orchard, and that some eggs had been -missed on a market-day off Widow Hayward’s stall. But -that was expecting too much of us; we could not acknowledge that -we had only had this small foundation for all our panic. -Miss Pole drew herself up at this remark of Lady -Glenmire’s, and said “that she wished she could agree -with her as to the very small reason we had had for alarm, but -with the recollection of a man disguised as a woman who had -endeavoured to force himself into her house while his -confederates waited outside; with the knowledge gained from Lady -Glenmire herself, of the footprints seen on Mrs Jamieson’s -flower borders; with the fact before her of the audacious robbery -committed on Mr Hoggins at his own door”—But here -Lady Glenmire broke in with a very strong expression of doubt as -to whether this last story was not an entire fabrication founded -upon the theft of a cat; she grew <a name="page168"></a><span -class="pagenum">p. 168</span>so red while she was saying all this -that I was not surprised at Miss Pole’s manner of bridling -up, and I am certain, if Lady Glenmire had not been “her -ladyship,” we should have had a more emphatic contradiction -than the “Well, to be sure!” and similar fragmentary -ejaculations, which were all that she ventured upon in my -lady’s presence. But when she was gone Miss Pole -began a long congratulation to Miss Matty that so far they had -escaped marriage, which she noticed always made people credulous -to the last degree; indeed, she thought it argued great natural -credulity in a woman if she could not keep herself from being -married; and in what Lady Glenmire had said about Mr -Hoggins’s robbery we had a specimen of what people came to -if they gave way to such a weakness; evidently Lady Glenmire -would swallow anything if she could believe the poor vamped-up -story about a neck of mutton and a pussy with which he had tried -to impose on Miss Pole, only she had always been on her guard -against believing too much of what men said.</p> -<p>We were thankful, as Miss Pole desired us to be, that we had -never been married; but I think, of the two, we were even more -thankful that the robbers had left Cranford; at least I judge so -from a speech of Miss Matty’s that evening, as we sat over -the fire, in which she evidently looked upon a husband as a great -protector against thieves, burglars, and ghosts; and said that -she did not think that she should dare to be always warning young -people against matrimony, as Miss Pole did continually; to be -sure, marriage was a risk, as she saw, now she had had some -experience; but she remembered the <a name="page169"></a><span -class="pagenum">p. 169</span>time when she had looked forward to -being married as much as any one.</p> -<p>“Not to any particular person, my dear,” said she, -hastily checking herself up, as if she were afraid of having -admitted too much; “only the old story, you know, of ladies -always saying, ‘<i>When</i> I marry,’ and gentlemen, -‘<i>If</i> I marry.’” It was a joke -spoken in rather a sad tone, and I doubt if either of us smiled; -but I could not see Miss Matty’s face by the flickering -fire-light. In a little while she continued—</p> -<p>“But, after all, I have not told you the truth. It -is so long ago, and no one ever knew how much I thought of it at -the time, unless, indeed, my dear mother guessed; but I may say -that there was a time when I did not think I should have been -only Miss Matty Jenkyns all my life; for even if I did meet with -any one who wished to marry me now (and, as Miss Pole says, one -is never too safe), I could not take him—I hope he would -not take it too much to heart, but I could <i>not</i> take -him—or any one but the person I once thought I should be -married to; and he is dead and gone, and he never knew how it all -came about that I said ‘No,’ when I had thought many -and many a time—Well, it’s no matter what I -thought. God ordains it all, and I am very happy, my -dear. No one has such kind friends as I,” continued -she, taking my hand and holding it in hers.</p> -<p>If I had never known of Mr Holbrook, I could have said -something in this pause, but as I had, I could not think of -anything that would come in naturally, and so we both kept -silence for a little time.</p> -<p>“My father once made us,” she began, “keep a -<a name="page170"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 170</span>diary, -in two columns; on one side we were to put down in the morning -what we thought would be the course and events of the coming day, -and at night we were to put down on the other side what really -had happened. It would be to some people rather a sad way -of telling their lives,” (a tear dropped upon my hand at -these words)—“I don’t mean that mine has been -sad, only so very different to what I expected. I remember, -one winter’s evening, sitting over our bedroom fire with -Deborah—I remember it as if it were yesterday—and we -were planning our future lives, both of us were planning, though -only she talked about it. She said she should like to marry -an archdeacon, and write his charges; and you know, my dear, she -never was married, and, for aught I know, she never spoke to an -unmarried archdeacon in her life. I never was ambitious, -nor could I have written charges, but I thought I could manage a -house (my mother used to call me her right hand), and I was -always so fond of little children—the shyest babies would -stretch out their little arms to come to me; when I was a girl, I -was half my leisure time nursing in the neighbouring cottages; -but I don’t know how it was, when I grew sad and -grave—which I did a year or two after this time—the -little things drew back from me, and I am afraid I lost the -knack, though I am just as fond of children as ever, and have a -strange yearning at my heart whenever I see a mother with her -baby in her arms. Nay, my dear” (and by a sudden -blaze which sprang up from a fall of the unstirred coals, I saw -that her eyes were full of tears—gazing intently on some -vision of what might have been), “do you know I dream -sometimes <a name="page171"></a><span class="pagenum">p. -171</span>that I have a little child—always the -same—a little girl of about two years old; she never grows -older, though I have dreamt about her for many years. I -don’t think I ever dream of any words or sound she makes; -she is very noiseless and still, but she comes to me when she is -very sorry or very glad, and I have wakened with the clasp of her -dear little arms round my neck. Only last -night—perhaps because I had gone to sleep thinking of this -ball for Phoebe—my little darling came in my dream, and put -up her mouth to be kissed, just as I have seen real babies do to -real mothers before going to bed. But all this is nonsense, -dear! only don’t be frightened by Miss Pole from being -married. I can fancy it may be a very happy state, and a -little credulity helps one on through life very -smoothly—better than always doubting and doubting and -seeing difficulties and disagreeables in everything.”</p> -<p style="text-align: center"> -<a href="images/p170b.jpg"> -<img alt= -"Would stretch out their little arms" -title= -"Would stretch out their little arms" -src="images/p170s.jpg" /> -</a></p> -<p>If I had been inclined to be daunted from matrimony, it would -not have been Miss Pole to do it; it would have been the lot of -poor Signor Brunoni and his wife. And yet again, it was an -encouragement to see how, through all their cares and sorrows, -they thought of each other and not of themselves; and how keen -were their joys, if they only passed through each other, or -through the little Phoebe.</p> -<p>The signora told me, one day, a good deal about their lives up -to this period. It began by my asking her whether Miss -Pole’s story of the twin-brothers were true; it sounded so -wonderful a likeness, that I should have had my doubts, if Miss -Pole had not been unmarried. But the signora, or (as we -found <a name="page172"></a><span class="pagenum">p. -172</span>out she preferred to be called) Mrs Brown, said it was -quite true; that her brother-in-law was by many taken for her -husband, which was of great assistance to them in their -profession; “though,” she continued, “how -people can mistake Thomas for the real Signor Brunoni, I -can’t conceive; but he says they do; so I suppose I must -believe him. Not but what he is a very good man; I am sure -I don’t know how we should have paid our bill at the -‘Rising Sun’ but for the money he sends; but people -must know very little about art if they can take him for my -husband. Why, Miss, in the ball trick, where my husband -spreads his fingers wide, and throws out his little finger with -quite an air and a grace, Thomas just clumps up his hand like a -fist, and might have ever so many balls hidden in it. -Besides, he has never been in India, and knows nothing of the -proper sit of a turban.”</p> -<p>“Have you been in India?” said I, rather -astonished.</p> -<p>“Oh, yes! many a year, ma’am. Sam was a -sergeant in the 31st; and when the regiment was ordered to India, -I drew a lot to go, and I was more thankful than I can tell; for -it seemed as if it would only be a slow death to me to part from -my husband. But, indeed, ma’am, if I had known all, I -don’t know whether I would not rather have died there and -then than gone through what I have done since. To be sure, -I’ve been able to comfort Sam, and to be with him; but, -ma’am, I’ve lost six children,” said she, -looking up at me with those strange eyes that I’ve never -noticed but in mothers of dead children—with a kind of wild -look in them, as if seeking for what <a name="page173"></a><span -class="pagenum">p. 173</span>they never more might find. -“Yes! Six children died off, like little buds nipped -untimely, in that cruel India. I thought, as each died, I -never could—I never would—love a child again; and -when the next came, it had not only its own love, but the deeper -love that came from the thoughts of its little dead brothers and -sisters. And when Phoebe was coming, I said to my husband, -‘Sam, when the child is born, and I am strong, I shall -leave you; it will cut my heart cruel; but if this baby dies too, -I shall go mad; the madness is in me now; but if you let me go -down to Calcutta, carrying my baby step by step, it will, maybe, -work itself off; and I will save, and I will hoard, and I will -beg—and I will die, to get a passage home to England, where -our baby may live?’ God bless him! he said I might -go; and he saved up his pay, and I saved every pice I could get -for washing or any way; and when Phoebe came, and I grew strong -again, I set off. It was very lonely; through the thick -forests, dark again with their heavy trees—along by the -river’s side (but I had been brought up near the Avon in -Warwickshire, so that flowing noise sounded like home)—from -station to station, from Indian village to village, I went along, -carrying my child. I had seen one of the officer’s -ladies with a little picture, ma’am—done by a -Catholic foreigner, ma’am—of the Virgin and the -little Saviour, ma’am. She had him on her arm, and -her form was softly curled round him, and their cheeks -touched. Well, when I went to bid good-bye to this lady, -for whom I had washed, she cried sadly; for she, too, had lost -her children, but she had not another to save, like me; and I was -bold enough to ask her would she <a name="page174"></a><span -class="pagenum">p. 174</span>give me that print. And she -cried the more, and said her children were with that little -blessed Jesus; and gave it me, and told me that she had heard it -had been painted on the bottom of a cask, which made it have that -round shape. And when my body was very weary, and my heart -was sick (for there were times when I misdoubted if I could ever -reach my home, and there were times when I thought of my husband, -and one time when I thought my baby was dying), I took out that -picture and looked at it, till I could have thought the mother -spoke to me, and comforted me. And the natives were very -kind. We could not understand one another; but they saw my -baby on my breast, and they came out to me, and brought me rice -and milk, and sometimes flowers—I have got some of the -flowers dried. Then, the next morning, I was so tired; and -they wanted me to stay with them—I could tell -that—and tried to frighten me from going into the deep -woods, which, indeed, looked very strange and dark; but it seemed -to me as if Death was following me to take my baby away from me; -and as if I must go on, and on—and I thought how God had -cared for mothers ever since the world was made, and would care -for me; so I bade them good-bye, and set off afresh. And -once when my baby was ill, and both she and I needed rest, He led -me to a place where I found a kind Englishman lived, right in the -midst of the natives.”</p> -<p>“And you reached Calcutta safely at last?”</p> -<p>“Yes, safely! Oh! when I knew I had only two -days’ journey more before me, I could not help it, -ma’am—it might be idolatry, I cannot tell—but I -was near one of the native temples, and I went into <a -name="page175"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 175</span>it with my -baby to thank God for His great mercy; for it seemed to me that -where others had prayed before to their God, in their joy or in -their agony, was of itself a sacred place. And I got as -servant to an invalid lady, who grew quite fond of my baby -aboard-ship; and, in two years’ time, Sam earned his -discharge, and came home to me, and to our child. Then he -had to fix on a trade; but he knew of none; and once, once upon a -time, he had learnt some tricks from an Indian juggler; so he set -up conjuring, and it answered so well that he took Thomas to help -him—as his man, you know, not as another conjuror, though -Thomas has set it up now on his own hook. But it has been a -great help to us that likeness between the twins, and made a good -many tricks go off well that they made up together. And -Thomas is a good brother, only he has not the fine carriage of my -husband, so that I can’t think how he can be taken for -Signor Brunoni himself, as he says he is.”</p> -<p>“Poor little Phoebe!” said I, my thoughts going -back to the baby she carried all those hundred miles.</p> -<p>“Ah! you may say so! I never thought I should have -reared her, though, when she fell ill at Chunderabaddad; but that -good, kind Aga Jenkyns took us in, which I believe was the very -saving of her.”</p> -<p>“Jenkyns!” said I.</p> -<p>“Yes, Jenkyns. I shall think all people of that -name are kind; for here is that nice old lady who comes every day -to take Phoebe a walk!”</p> -<p>But an idea had flashed through my head; <a -name="page176"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 176</span>could the -Aga Jenkyns be the lost Peter? True he was reported by many -to be dead. But, equally true, some had said that he had -arrived at the dignity of Great Lama of Thibet. Miss Matty -thought he was alive. I would make further inquiry.</p> -<h2><a name="page177"></a><span class="pagenum">p. -177</span>CHAPTER XII—ENGAGED TO BE MARRIED</h2> -<p><span class="smcap">Was</span> the “poor Peter” of -Cranford the Aga Jenkyns of Chunderabaddad, or was he not? -As somebody says, that was the question.</p> -<p>In my own home, whenever people had nothing else to do, they -blamed me for want of discretion. Indiscretion was my -bug-bear fault. Everybody has a bug-bear fault, a sort of -standing characteristic—a <i>pièce de -résistance</i> for their friends to cut at; and in general -they cut and come again. I was tired of being called -indiscreet and incautious; and I determined for once to prove -myself a model of prudence and wisdom. I would not even -hint my suspicions respecting the Aga. I would collect -evidence and carry it home to lay before my father, as the family -friend of the two Miss Jenkynses.</p> -<p>In my search after facts, I was often reminded of a -description my father had once given of a ladies’ committee -that he had had to preside over. He said he could not help -thinking of a passage in Dickens, which spoke of a chorus in -which every man took the tune he knew best, and sang it to his -own satisfaction. So, at this charitable committee, every -lady took the subject uppermost in her mind, and talked <a -name="page178"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 178</span>about it to -her own great contentment, but not much to the advancement of the -subject they had met to discuss. But even that committee -could have been nothing to the Cranford ladies when I attempted -to gain some clear and definite information as to poor -Peter’s height, appearance, and when and where he was seen -and heard of last. For instance, I remember asking Miss -Pole (and I thought the question was very opportune, for I put it -when I met her at a call at Mrs Forrester’s, and both the -ladies had known Peter, and I imagined that they might refresh -each other’s memories)—I asked Miss Pole what was the -very last thing they had ever heard about him; and then she named -the absurd report to which I have alluded, about his having been -elected Great Lama of Thibet; and this was a signal for each lady -to go off on her separate idea. Mrs Forrester’s start -was made on the veiled prophet in Lalla Rookh—whether I -thought he was meant for the Great Lama, though Peter was not so -ugly, indeed rather handsome, if he had not been freckled. -I was thankful to see her double upon Peter; but, in a moment, -the delusive lady was off upon Rowland’s Kalydor, and the -merits of cosmetics and hair oils in general, and holding forth -so fluently that I turned to listen to Miss Pole, who (through -the llamas, the beasts of burden) had got to Peruvian bonds, and -the share market, and her poor opinion of joint-stock banks in -general, and of that one in particular in which Miss -Matty’s money was invested. In vain I put in -“When was it—in what year was it that you heard that -Mr Peter was the Great Lama?” They only joined issue -to dispute whether llamas <a name="page179"></a><span -class="pagenum">p. 179</span>were carnivorous animals or not; in -which dispute they were not quite on fair grounds, as Mrs -Forrester (after they had grown warm and cool again) acknowledged -that she always confused carnivorous and graminivorous together, -just as she did horizontal and perpendicular; but then she -apologised for it very prettily, by saying that in her day the -only use people made of four-syllabled words was to teach how -they should be spelt.</p> -<p>The only fact I gained from this conversation was that -certainly Peter had last been heard of in India, “or that -neighbourhood”; and that this scanty intelligence of his -whereabouts had reached Cranford in the year when Miss Pole had -brought her Indian muslin gown, long since worn out (we washed it -and mended it, and traced its decline and fall into a -window-blind before we could go on); and in a year when Wombwell -came to Cranford, because Miss Matty had wanted to see an -elephant in order that she might the better imagine Peter riding -on one; and had seen a boa-constrictor too, which was more than -she wished to imagine in her fancy-pictures of Peter’s -locality; and in a year when Miss Jenkyns had learnt some piece -of poetry off by heart, and used to say, at all the Cranford -parties, how Peter was “surveying mankind from China to -Peru,” which everybody had thought very grand, and rather -appropriate, because India was between China and Peru, if you -took care to turn the globe to the left instead of the right.</p> -<p>I suppose all these inquiries of mine, and the consequent -curiosity excited in the minds of my <a name="page180"></a><span -class="pagenum">p. 180</span>friends, made us blind and deaf to -what was going on around us. It seemed to me as if the sun -rose and shone, and as if the rain rained on Cranford, just as -usual, and I did not notice any sign of the times that could be -considered as a prognostic of any uncommon event; and, to the -best of my belief, not only Miss Matty and Mrs Forrester, but -even Miss Pole herself, whom we looked upon as a kind of -prophetess, from the knack she had of foreseeing things before -they came to pass—although she did not like to disturb her -friends by telling them her foreknowledge—even Miss Pole -herself was breathless with astonishment when she came to tell us -of the astounding piece of news. But I must recover myself; -the contemplation of it, even at this distance of time, has taken -away my breath and my grammar, and unless I subdue my emotion, my -spelling will go too.</p> -<p>We were sitting—Miss Matty and I—much as usual, -she in the blue chintz easy-chair, with her back to the light, -and her knitting in her hand, I reading aloud the <i>St -James’s Chronicle</i>. A few minutes more, and we -should have gone to make the little alterations in dress usual -before calling-time (twelve o’clock) in Cranford. I -remember the scene and the date well. We had been talking -of the signor’s rapid recovery since the warmer weather had -set in, and praising Mr Hoggins’s skill, and lamenting his -want of refinement and manner (it seems a curious coincidence -that this should have been our subject, but so it was), when a -knock was heard—a caller’s knock—three distinct -taps—and we were flying (that is to say, Miss Matty could -not walk very fast, having <a name="page181"></a><span -class="pagenum">p. 181</span>had a touch of rheumatism) to our -rooms, to change cap and collars, when Miss Pole arrested us by -calling out, as she came up the stairs, “Don’t -go—I can’t wait—it is not twelve, I -know—but never mind your dress—I must speak to -you.” We did our best to look as if it was not we who -had made the hurried movement, the sound of which she had heard; -for, of course, we did not like to have it supposed that we had -any old clothes that it was convenient to wear out in the -“sanctuary of home,” as Miss Jenkyns once prettily -called the back parlour, where she was tying up preserves. -So we threw our gentility with double force into our manners, and -very genteel we were for two minutes while Miss Pole recovered -breath, and excited our curiosity strongly by lifting up her -hands in amazement, and bringing them down in silence, as if what -she had to say was too big for words, and could only be expressed -by pantomime.</p> -<p>“What do you think, Miss Matty? What <i>do</i> you -think? Lady Glenmire is to marry—is to be married, I -mean—Lady Glenmire—Mr Hoggins—Mr Hoggins is -going to marry Lady Glenmire!”</p> -<p>“Marry!” said we. “Marry! -Madness!”</p> -<p style="text-align: center"> -<a href="images/p179b.jpg"> -<img alt= -"What do you think, Miss Matty" -title= -"What do you think, Miss Matty" -src="images/p179s.jpg" /> -</a></p> -<p>“Marry!” said Miss Pole, with the decision that -belonged to her character. “<i>I</i> said marry! as -you do; and I also said, ‘What a fool my lady is going to -make of herself!’ I could have said -‘Madness!’ but I controlled myself, for it was in a -public shop that I heard of it. Where feminine delicacy is -gone to, I don’t know! You and I, Miss Matty, would -have been ashamed to have known that our marriage was spoken of -in a grocer’s shop, in the hearing of shopmen!”</p> -<p><a name="page182"></a><span class="pagenum">p. -182</span>“But,” said Miss Matty, sighing as one -recovering from a blow, “perhaps it is not true. -Perhaps we are doing her injustice.”</p> -<p>“No,” said Miss Pole. “I have taken -care to ascertain that. I went straight to Mrs Fitz-Adam, -to borrow a cookery-book which I knew she had; and I introduced -my congratulations <i>à propos</i> of the difficulty -gentlemen must have in house-keeping; and Mrs Fitz-Adam bridled -up, and said that she believed it was true, though how and where -I could have heard it she did not know. She said her -brother and Lady Glenmire had come to an understanding at -last. ‘Understanding!’ such a coarse -word! But my lady will have to come down to many a want of -refinement. I have reason to believe Mr Hoggins sups on -bread-and-cheese and beer every night.</p> -<p>“Marry!” said Miss Matty once again. -“Well! I never thought of it. Two people that -we know going to be married. It’s coming very -near!”</p> -<p>“So near that my heart stopped beating when I heard of -it, while you might have counted twelve,” said Miss -Pole.</p> -<p>“One does not know whose turn may come next. Here, -in Cranford, poor Lady Glenmire might have thought herself -safe,” said Miss Matty, with a gentle pity in her -tones.</p> -<p>“Bah!” said Miss Pole, with a toss of her -head. “Don’t you remember poor dear Captain -Brown’s song ‘Tibbie Fowler,’ and the -line—</p> -<blockquote><p>‘Set her on the Tintock tap,<br /> -The wind will blaw a man till her.’”</p> -</blockquote> -<p><a name="page183"></a><span class="pagenum">p. -183</span>“That was because ‘Tibbie Fowler’ was -rich, I think.”</p> -<p>“Well! there was a kind of attraction about Lady -Glenmire that I, for one, should be ashamed to have.”</p> -<p>I put in my wonder. “But how can she have fancied -Mr Hoggins? I am not surprised that Mr Hoggins has liked -her.”</p> -<p>“Oh! I don’t know. Mr Hoggins is rich, -and very pleasant-looking,” said Miss Matty, “and -very good-tempered and kind-hearted.”</p> -<p>“She has married for an establishment, that’s -it. I suppose she takes the surgery with it,” said -Miss Pole, with a little dry laugh at her own joke. But, -like many people who think they have made a severe and sarcastic -speech, which yet is clever of its kind, she began to relax in -her grimness from the moment when she made this allusion to the -surgery; and we turned to speculate on the way in which Mrs -Jamieson would receive the news. The person whom she had -left in charge of her house to keep off followers from her maids -to set up a follower of her own! And that follower a man -whom Mrs Jamieson had tabooed as vulgar, and inadmissible to -Cranford society, not merely on account of his name, but because -of his voice, his complexion, his boots, smelling of the stable, -and himself, smelling of drugs. Had he ever been to see -Lady Glenmire at Mrs Jamieson’s? Chloride of lime -would not purify the house in its owner’s estimation if he -had. Or had their interviews been confined to the -occasional meetings in the chamber of the poor sick conjuror, to -whom, with all our sense of the <i>mésalliance</i>, we -could <a name="page184"></a><span class="pagenum">p. -184</span>not help allowing that they had both been exceedingly -kind? And now it turned out that a servant of Mrs -Jamieson’s had been ill, and Mr Hoggins had been attending -her for some weeks. So the wolf had got into the fold, and -now he was carrying off the shepherdess. What would Mrs -Jamieson say? We looked into the darkness of futurity as a -child gazes after a rocket up in the cloudy sky, full of -wondering expectation of the rattle, the discharge, and the -brilliant shower of sparks and light. Then we brought -ourselves down to earth and the present time by questioning each -other (being all equally ignorant, and all equally without the -slightest data to build any conclusions upon) as to when <span -class="GutSmall">IT</span> would take place? Where? -How much a year Mr Hoggins had? Whether she would drop her -title? And how Martha and the other correct servants in -Cranford would ever be brought to announce a married couple as -Lady Glenmire and Mr Hoggins? But would they be -visited? Would Mrs Jamieson let us? Or must we choose -between the Honourable Mrs Jamieson and the degraded Lady -Glenmire? We all liked Lady Glenmire the best. She -was bright, and kind, and sociable, and agreeable; and Mrs -Jamieson was dull, and inert, and pompous, and tiresome. -But we had acknowledged the sway of the latter so long, that it -seemed like a kind of disloyalty now even to meditate -disobedience to the prohibition we anticipated.</p> -<p>Mrs Forrester surprised us in our darned caps and patched -collars; and we forgot all about them in our eagerness to see how -she would bear the information, which we honourably left to Miss -Pole, to <a name="page185"></a><span class="pagenum">p. -185</span>impart, although, if we had been inclined to take -unfair advantage, we might have rushed in ourselves, for she had -a most out-of-place fit of coughing for five minutes after Mrs -Forrester entered the room. I shall never forget the -imploring expression of her eyes, as she looked at us over her -pocket-handkerchief. They said, as plain as words could -speak, “Don’t let Nature deprive me of the treasure -which is mine, although for a time I can make no use of -it.” And we did not.</p> -<p>Mrs Forrester’s surprise was equal to ours; and her -sense of injury rather greater, because she had to feel for her -Order, and saw more fully than we could do how such conduct -brought stains on the aristocracy.</p> -<p>When she and Miss Pole left us we endeavoured to subside into -calmness; but Miss Matty was really upset by the intelligence she -had heard. She reckoned it up, and it was more than fifteen -years since she had heard of any of her acquaintance going to be -married, with the one exception of Miss Jessie Brown; and, as she -said, it gave her quite a shock, and made her feel as if she -could not think what would happen next.</p> -<p>I don’t know whether it is a fancy of mine, or a real -fact, but I have noticed that, just after the announcement of an -engagement in any set, the unmarried ladies in that set flutter -out in an unusual gaiety and newness of dress, as much as to say, -in a tacit and unconscious manner, “We also are -spinsters.” Miss Matty and Miss Pole talked and -thought more about bonnets, gowns, caps, and shawls, during the -fortnight that succeeded this call, <a name="page186"></a><span -class="pagenum">p. 186</span>than I had known them do for years -before. But it might be the spring weather, for it was a -warm and pleasant March; and merinoes and beavers, and woollen -materials of all sorts were but ungracious receptacles of the -bright sun’s glancing rays. It had not been Lady -Glenmire’s dress that had won Mr Hoggins’s heart, for -she went about on her errands of kindness more shabby than -ever. Although in the hurried glimpses I caught of her at -church or elsewhere she appeared rather to shun meeting any of -her friends, her face seemed to have almost something of the -flush of youth in it; her lips looked redder and more trembling -full than in their old compressed state, and her eyes dwelt on -all things with a lingering light, as if she was learning to love -Cranford and its belongings. Mr Hoggins looked broad and -radiant, and creaked up the middle aisle at church in a brand-new -pair of top-boots—an audible, as well as visible, sign of -his purposed change of state; for the tradition went, that the -boots he had worn till now were the identical pair in which he -first set out on his rounds in Cranford twenty-five years ago; -only they had been new-pieced, high and low, top and bottom, heel -and sole, black leather and brown leather, more times than any -one could tell.</p> -<p>None of the ladies in Cranford chose to sanction the marriage -by congratulating either of the parties. We wished to -ignore the whole affair until our liege lady, Mrs Jamieson, -returned. Till she came back to give us our cue, we felt -that it would be better to consider the engagement in the same -light as the Queen of Spain’s legs—facts which -certainly existed, but the less said about the better. This -restraint <a name="page187"></a><span class="pagenum">p. -187</span>upon our tongues—for you see if we did not speak -about it to any of the parties concerned, how could we get -answers to the questions that we longed to ask?—was -beginning to be irksome, and our idea of the dignity of silence -was paling before our curiosity, when another direction was given -to our thoughts, by an announcement on the part of the principal -shopkeeper of Cranford, who ranged the trades from grocer and -cheesemonger to man-milliner, as occasion required, that the -spring fashions were arrived, and would be exhibited on the -following Tuesday at his rooms in High Street. Now Miss -Matty had been only waiting for this before buying herself a new -silk gown. I had offered, it is true, to send to Drumble -for patterns, but she had rejected my proposal, gently implying -that she had not forgotten her disappointment about the sea-green -turban. I was thankful that I was on the spot now, to -counteract the dazzling fascination of any yellow or scarlet -silk.</p> -<p>I must say a word or two here about myself. I have -spoken of my father’s old friendship for the Jenkyns -family; indeed, I am not sure if there was not some distant -relationship. He had willingly allowed me to remain all the -winter at Cranford, in consideration of a letter which Miss Matty -had written to him about the time of the panic, in which I -suspect she had exaggerated my powers and my bravery as a -defender of the house. But now that the days were longer -and more cheerful, he was beginning to urge the necessity of my -return; and I only delayed in a sort of odd forlorn hope that if -I could obtain any clear information, I might <a -name="page188"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 188</span>make the -account given by the signora of the Aga Jenkyns tally with that -of “poor Peter,” his appearance and disappearance, -which I had winnowed out of the conversation of Miss Pole and Mrs -Forrester.</p> -<h2><a name="page189"></a><span class="pagenum">p. -189</span>CHAPTER XIII—STOPPED PAYMENT</h2> -<p><span class="smcap">The</span> very Tuesday morning on which -Mr Johnson was going to show the fashions, the post-woman brought -two letters to the house. I say the post-woman, but I -should say the postman’s wife. He was a lame -shoemaker, a very clean, honest man, much respected in the town; -but he never brought the letters round except on unusual -occasions, such as Christmas Day or Good Friday; and on those -days the letters, which should have been delivered at eight in -the morning, did not make their appearance until two or three in -the afternoon, for every one liked poor Thomas, and gave him a -welcome on these festive occasions. He used to say, -“He was welly stawed wi’ eating, for there were three -or four houses where nowt would serve ’em but he must share -in their breakfast;” and by the time he had done his last -breakfast, he came to some other friend who was beginning dinner; -but come what might in the way of temptation, Tom was always -sober, civil, and smiling; and, as Miss Jenkyns used to say, it -was a lesson in patience, that she doubted not would call out -that precious quality in some <a name="page190"></a><span -class="pagenum">p. 190</span>minds, where, but for Thomas, it -might have lain dormant and undiscovered. Patience was -certainly very dormant in Miss Jenkyns’s mind. She -was always expecting letters, and always drumming on the table -till the post-woman had called or gone past. On Christmas -Day and Good Friday she drummed from breakfast till church, from -church-time till two o’clock—unless when the fire -wanted stirring, when she invariably knocked down the fire-irons, -and scolded Miss Matty for it. But equally certain was the -hearty welcome and the good dinner for Thomas; Miss Jenkyns -standing over him like a bold dragoon, questioning him as to his -children—what they were doing—what school they went -to; upbraiding him if another was likely to make its appearance, -but sending even the little babies the shilling and the mince-pie -which was her gift to all the children, with half-a-crown in -addition for both father and mother. The post was not half -of so much consequence to dear Miss Matty; but not for the world -would she have diminished Thomas’s welcome and his dole, -though I could see that she felt rather shy over the ceremony, -which had been regarded by Miss Jenkyns as a glorious opportunity -for giving advice and benefiting her fellow-creatures. Miss -Matty would steal the money all in a lump into his hand, as if -she were ashamed of herself. Miss Jenkyns gave him each -individual coin separate, with a “There! that’s for -yourself; that’s for Jenny,” etc. Miss Matty -would even beckon Martha out of the kitchen while he ate his -food: and once, to my knowledge, winked at its rapid -disappearance into a blue cotton pocket-handkerchief. Miss -Jenkyns almost scolded him if he <a name="page191"></a><span -class="pagenum">p. 191</span>did not leave a clean plate, however -heaped it might have been, and gave an injunction with every -mouthful.</p> -<p style="text-align: center"> -<a href="images/p190b.jpg"> -<img alt= -"Standing over him like a bold dragoon" -title= -"Standing over him like a bold dragoon" -src="images/p190s.jpg" /> -</a></p> -<p>I have wandered a long way from the two letters that awaited -us on the breakfast-table that Tuesday morning. Mine was -from my father. Miss Matty’s was printed. My -father’s was just a man’s letter; I mean it was very -dull, and gave no information beyond that he was well, that they -had had a good deal of rain, that trade was very stagnant, and -there were many disagreeable rumours afloat. He then asked -me if I knew whether Miss Matty still retained her shares in the -Town and County Bank, as there were very unpleasant reports about -it; though nothing more than he had always foreseen, and had -prophesied to Miss Jenkyns years ago, when she would invest their -little property in it—the only unwise step that clever -woman had ever taken, to his knowledge (the only time she ever -acted against his advice, I knew). However, if anything had -gone wrong, of course I was not to think of leaving Miss Matty -while I could be of any use, etc.</p> -<p>“Who is your letter from, my dear? Mine is a very -civil invitation, signed ‘Edwin Wilson,’ asking me to -attend an important meeting of the shareholders of the Town and -County Bank, to be held in Drumble, on Thursday the -twenty-first. I am sure, it is very attentive of them to -remember me.”</p> -<p>I did not like to hear of this “important -meeting,” for, though I did not know much about business, I -feared it confirmed what my father said: however, I thought, ill -news always came fast enough, so I resolved to say nothing about -my alarm, and merely <a name="page192"></a><span -class="pagenum">p. 192</span>told her that my father was well, -and sent his kind regards to her. She kept turning over and -admiring her letter. At last she spoke—</p> -<p>“I remember their sending one to Deborah just like this; -but that I did not wonder at, for everybody knew she was so -clear-headed. I am afraid I could not help them much; -indeed, if they came to accounts, I should be quite in the way, -for I never could do sums in my head. Deborah, I know, -rather wished to go, and went so far as to order a new bonnet for -the occasion: but when the time came she had a bad cold; so they -sent her a very polite account of what they had done. -Chosen a director, I think it was. Do you think they want -me to help them to choose a director? I am sure I should -choose your father at once!’</p> -<p>“My father has no shares in the bank,” said I.</p> -<p>“Oh, no! I remember. He objected very much -to Deborah’s buying any, I believe. But she was quite -the woman of business, and always judged for herself; and here, -you see, they have paid eight per cent. all these -years.”</p> -<p>It was a very uncomfortable subject to me, with my -half-knowledge; so I thought I would change the conversation, and -I asked at what time she thought we had better go and see the -fashions. “Well, my dear,” she said, “the -thing is this: it is not etiquette to go till after twelve; but -then, you see, all Cranford will be there, and one does not like -to be too curious about dress and trimmings and caps with all the -world looking on. It is never genteel to be over-curious on -these occasions. Deborah had the knack of always looking as -if the latest fashion was <a name="page193"></a><span -class="pagenum">p. 193</span>nothing new to her; a manner she had -caught from Lady Arley, who did see all the new modes in London, -you know. So I thought we would just slip down—for I -do want this morning, soon after breakfast half-a-pound of -tea—and then we could go up and examine the things at our -leisure, and see exactly how my new silk gown must be made; and -then, after twelve, we could go with our minds disengaged, and -free from thoughts of dress.”</p> -<p>We began to talk of Miss Matty’s new silk gown. I -discovered that it would be really the first time in her life -that she had had to choose anything of consequence for herself: -for Miss Jenkyns had always been the more decided character, -whatever her taste might have been; and it is astonishing how -such people carry the world before them by the mere force of -will. Miss Matty anticipated the sight of the glossy folds -with as much delight as if the five sovereigns, set apart for the -purchase, could buy all the silks in the shop; and (remembering -my own loss of two hours in a toyshop before I could tell on what -wonder to spend a silver threepence) I was very glad that we were -going early, that dear Miss Matty might have leisure for the -delights of perplexity.</p> -<p>If a happy sea-green could be met with, the gown was to be -sea-green: if not, she inclined to maize, and I to silver gray; -and we discussed the requisite number of breadths until we -arrived at the shop-door. We were to buy the tea, select -the silk, and then clamber up the iron corkscrew stairs that led -into what was once a loft, though now a fashion show-room.</p> -<p>The young men at Mr Johnson’s had on their <a -name="page194"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 194</span>best looks; -and their best cravats, and pivoted themselves over the counter -with surprising activity. They wanted to show us upstairs -at once; but on the principle of business first and pleasure -afterwards, we stayed to purchase the tea. Here Miss -Matty’s absence of mind betrayed itself. If she was -made aware that she had been drinking green tea at any time, she -always thought it her duty to lie awake half through the night -afterward (I have known her take it in ignorance many a time -without such effects), and consequently green tea was prohibited -the house; yet to-day she herself asked for the obnoxious -article, under the impression that she was talking about the -silk. However, the mistake was soon rectified; and then the -silks were unrolled in good truth. By this time the shop -was pretty well filled, for it was Cranford market-day, and many -of the farmers and country people from the neighbourhood round -came in, sleeking down their hair, and glancing shyly about, from -under their eyelids, as anxious to take back some notion of the -unusual gaiety to the mistress or the lasses at home, and yet -feeling that they were out of place among the smart shopmen and -gay shawls and summer prints. One honest-looking man, -however, made his way up to the counter at which we stood, and -boldly asked to look at a shawl or two. The other country -folk confined themselves to the grocery side; but our neighbour -was evidently too full of some kind intention towards mistress, -wife or daughter, to be shy; and it soon became a question with -me, whether he or Miss Matty would keep their shopmen the longest -time. He thought each shawl more beautiful than the last; -and, as for Miss <a name="page195"></a><span class="pagenum">p. -195</span>Matty, she smiled and sighed over each fresh bale that -was brought out; one colour set off another, and the heap -together would, as she said, make even the rainbow look poor.</p> -<p>“I am afraid,” said she, hesitating, -“Whichever I choose I shall wish I had taken another. -Look at this lovely crimson! it would be so warm in winter. -But spring is coming on, you know. I wish I could have a -gown for every season,” said she, dropping her -voice—as we all did in Cranford whenever we talked of -anything we wished for but could not afford. -“However,” she continued in a louder and more -cheerful tone, “it would give me a great deal of trouble to -take care of them if I had them; so, I think, I’ll only -take one. But which must it be, my dear?”</p> -<p>And now she hovered over a lilac with yellow spots, while I -pulled out a quiet sage-green that had faded into insignificance -under the more brilliant colours, but which was nevertheless a -good silk in its humble way. Our attention was called off -to our neighbour. He had chosen a shawl of about thirty -shillings’ value; and his face looked broadly happy, under -the anticipation, no doubt, of the pleasant surprise he would -give to some Molly or Jenny at home; he had tugged a leathern -purse out of his breeches-pocket, and had offered a five-pound -note in payment for the shawl, and for some parcels which had -been brought round to him from the grocery counter; and it was -just at this point that he attracted our notice. The -shopman was examining the note with a puzzled, doubtful air.</p> -<p>“Town and County Bank! I am not sure, <a -name="page196"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 196</span>sir, but I -believe we have received a warning against notes issued by this -bank only this morning. I will just step and ask Mr -Johnson, sir; but I’m afraid I must trouble you for payment -in cash, or in a note of a different bank.”</p> -<p>I never saw a man’s countenance fall so suddenly into -dismay and bewilderment. It was almost piteous to see the -rapid change.</p> -<p>“Dang it!” said he, striking his fist down on the -table, as if to try which was the harder, “the chap talks -as if notes and gold were to be had for the picking -up.”</p> -<p>Miss Matty had forgotten her silk gown in her interest for the -man. I don’t think she had caught the name of the -bank, and in my nervous cowardice I was anxious that she should -not; and so I began admiring the yellow-spotted lilac gown that I -had been utterly condemning only a minute before. But it -was of no use.</p> -<p>“What bank was it? I mean, what bank did your note -belong to?”</p> -<p>“Town and County Bank.”</p> -<p>“Let me see it,” said she quietly to the shopman, -gently taking it out of his hand, as he brought it back to return -it to the farmer.</p> -<p>Mr Johnson was very sorry, but, from information he had -received, the notes issued by that bank were little better than -waste paper.</p> -<p>“I don’t understand it,” said Miss Matty to -me in a low voice. “That is our bank, is it -not?—the Town and County Bank?”</p> -<p>“Yes,” said I. “This lilac silk will -just match the ribbons in your new cap, I believe,” I -continued, <a name="page197"></a><span class="pagenum">p. -197</span>holding up the folds so as to catch the light, and -wishing that the man would make haste and be gone, and yet having -a new wonder, that had only just sprung up, how far it was wise -or right in me to allow Miss Matty to make this expensive -purchase, if the affairs of the bank were really so bad as the -refusal of the note implied.</p> -<p>But Miss Matty put on the soft dignified manner, peculiar to -her, rarely used, and yet which became her so well, and laying -her hand gently on mine, she said—</p> -<p>“Never mind the silks for a few minutes, dear. I -don’t understand you, sir,” turning now to the -shopman, who had been attending to the farmer. “Is -this a forged note?”</p> -<p>“Oh, no, ma’am. It is a true note of its -kind; but you see, ma’am, it is a joint-stock bank, and -there are reports out that it is likely to break. Mr -Johnson is only doing his duty, ma’am, as I am sure Mr -Dobson knows.”</p> -<p>But Mr Dobson could not respond to the appealing bow by any -answering smile. He was turning the note absently over in -his fingers, looking gloomily enough at the parcel containing the -lately-chosen shawl.</p> -<p>“It’s hard upon a poor man,” said he, -“as earns every farthing with the sweat of his brow. -However, there’s no help for it. You must take back -your shawl, my man; Lizzle must go on with her cloak for a -while. And yon figs for the little ones—I promised -them to ’em—I’ll take them; but the -’bacco, and the other things”—</p> -<p>“I will give you five sovereigns for your note, <a -name="page198"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 198</span>my good -man,” said Miss Matty. “I think there is some -great mistake about it, for I am one of the shareholders, and -I’m sure they would have told me if things had not been -going on right.”</p> -<p>The shopman whispered a word or two across the table to Miss -Matty. She looked at him with a dubious air.</p> -<p>“Perhaps so,” said she. “But I -don’t pretend to understand business; I only know that if -it is going to fail, and if honest people are to lose their money -because they have taken our notes—I can’t explain -myself,” said she, suddenly becoming aware that she had got -into a long sentence with four people for audience; “only I -would rather exchange my gold for the note, if you please,” -turning to the farmer, “and then you can take your wife the -shawl. It is only going without my gown a few days -longer,” she continued, speaking to me. “Then, -I have no doubt, everything will be cleared up.”</p> -<p>“But if it is cleared up the wrong way?” said -I.</p> -<p>“Why, then it will only have been common honesty in me, -as a shareholder, to have given this good man the money. I -am quite clear about it in my own mind; but, you know, I can -never speak quite as comprehensibly as others can, only you must -give me your note, Mr Dobson, if you please, and go on with your -purchases with these sovereigns.”</p> -<p style="text-align: center"> -<a href="images/p198b.jpg"> -<img alt= -"You must give me your note, Mr Dobson, if you please" -title= -"You must give me your note, Mr Dobson, if you please" -src="images/p198s.jpg" /> -</a></p> -<p>The man looked at her with silent gratitude—too awkward -to put his thanks into words; but he hung back for a minute or -two, fumbling with his note.</p> -<p>“I’m loth to make another one lose instead of me, -if it is a loss; but, you see, five pounds is a <a -name="page199"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 199</span>deal of -money to a man with a family; and, as you say, ten to one in a -day or two the note will be as good as gold again.”</p> -<p>“No hope of that, my friend,” said the -shopman.</p> -<p>“The more reason why I should take it,” said Miss -Matty quietly. She pushed her sovereigns towards the man, -who slowly laid his note down in exchange. “Thank -you. I will wait a day or two before I purchase any of -these silks; perhaps you will then have a greater choice. -My dear, will you come upstairs?”</p> -<p>We inspected the fashions with as minute and curious an -interest as if the gown to be made after them had been -bought. I could not see that the little event in the shop -below had in the least damped Miss Matty’s curiosity as to -the make of sleeves or the sit of skirts. She once or twice -exchanged congratulations with me on our private and leisurely -view of the bonnets and shawls; but I was, all the time, not so -sure that our examination was so utterly private, for I caught -glimpses of a figure dodging behind the cloaks and mantles; and, -by a dexterous move, I came face to face with Miss Pole, also in -morning costume (the principal feature of which was her being -without teeth, and wearing a veil to conceal the deficiency), -come on the same errand as ourselves. But she quickly took -her departure, because, as she said, she had a bad headache, and -did not feel herself up to conversation.</p> -<p>As we came down through the shop, the civil Mr Johnson was -awaiting us; he had been informed of the exchange of the note for -gold, and with much <a name="page200"></a><span -class="pagenum">p. 200</span>good feeling and real kindness, but -with a little want of tact, he wished to condole with Miss Matty, -and impress upon her the true state of the case. I could -only hope that he had heard an exaggerated rumour for he said -that her shares were worse than nothing, and that the bank could -not pay a shilling in the pound. I was glad that Miss Matty -seemed still a little incredulous; but I could not tell how much -of this was real or assumed, with that self-control which seemed -habitual to ladies of Miss Matty’s standing in Cranford, -who would have thought their dignity compromised by the slightest -expression of surprise, dismay, or any similar feeling to an -inferior in station, or in a public shop. However, we -walked home very silently. I am ashamed to say, I believe I -was rather vexed and annoyed at Miss Matty’s conduct in -taking the note to herself so decidedly. I had so set my -heart upon her having a new silk gown, which she wanted sadly; in -general she was so undecided anybody might turn her round; in -this case I had felt that it was no use attempting it, but I was -not the less put out at the result.</p> -<p>Somehow, after twelve o’clock, we both acknowledged to a -sated curiosity about the fashions, and to a certain fatigue of -body (which was, in fact, depression of mind) that indisposed us -to go out again. But still we never spoke of the note; -till, all at once, something possessed me to ask Miss Matty if -she would think it her duty to offer sovereigns for all the notes -of the Town and County Bank she met with? I could have -bitten my tongue out the minute I had said it. She looked -up rather sadly, and as if I had thrown a new perplexity into her -already distressed <a name="page201"></a><span class="pagenum">p. -201</span>mind; and for a minute or two she did not speak. -Then she said—my own dear Miss Matty—without a shade -of reproach in her voice—</p> -<p>“My dear, I never feel as if my mind was what people -call very strong; and it’s often hard enough work for me to -settle what I ought to do with the case right before me. I -was very thankful to—I was very thankful, that I saw my -duty this morning, with the poor man standing by me; but its -rather a strain upon me to keep thinking and thinking what I -should do if such and such a thing happened; and, I believe, I -had rather wait and see what really does come; and I don’t -doubt I shall be helped then if I don’t fidget myself, and -get too anxious beforehand. You know, love, I’m not -like Deborah. If Deborah had lived, I’ve no doubt she -would have seen after them, before they had got themselves into -this state.”</p> -<p>We had neither of us much appetite for dinner, though we tried -to talk cheerfully about indifferent things. When we -returned into the drawing-room, Miss Matty unlocked her desk and -began to look over her account-books. I was so penitent for -what I had said in the morning, that I did not choose to take -upon myself the presumption to suppose that I could assist her; I -rather left her alone, as, with puzzled brow, her eye followed -her pen up and down the ruled page. By-and-by she shut the -book, locked the desk, and came and drew a chair to mine, where I -sat in moody sorrow over the fire. I stole my hand into -hers; she clasped it, but did not speak a word. At last she -said, with forced composure in her voice, “If that bank -goes wrong, I shall lose one hundred and forty-nine pounds -thirteen shillings and fourpence <a name="page202"></a><span -class="pagenum">p. 202</span>a year; I shall only have thirteen -pounds a year left.” I squeezed her hand hard and -tight. I did not know what to say. Presently (it was -too dark to see her face) I felt her fingers work convulsively in -my grasp; and I knew she was going to speak again. I heard -the sobs in her voice as she said, “I hope it’s not -wrong—not wicked—but, oh! I am so glad poor -Deborah is spared this. She could not have borne to come -down in the world—she had such a noble, lofty -spirit.”</p> -<p>This was all she said about the sister who had insisted upon -investing their little property in that unlucky bank. We -were later in lighting the candle than usual that night, and -until that light shamed us into speaking, we sat together very -silently and sadly.</p> -<p>However, we took to our work after tea with a kind of forced -cheerfulness (which soon became real as far as it went), talking -of that never-ending wonder, Lady Glenmire’s -engagement. Miss Matty was almost coming round to think it -a good thing.</p> -<p>“I don’t mean to deny that men are troublesome in -a house. I don’t judge from my own experience, for my -father was neatness itself, and wiped his shoes on coming in as -carefully as any woman; but still a man has a sort of knowledge -of what should be done in difficulties, that it is very pleasant -to have one at hand ready to lean upon. Now, Lady Glenmire, -instead of being tossed about, and wondering where she is to -settle, will be certain of a home among pleasant and kind people, -such as our good Miss Pole and Mrs Forrester. And Mr -Hoggins is really a very personable man; and as for his manners, -why, if they are not very polished, I have known people with very -<a name="page203"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 203</span>good -hearts and very clever minds too, who were not what some people -reckoned refined, but who were both true and tender.”</p> -<p>She fell off into a soft reverie about Mr Holbrook, and I did -not interrupt her, I was so busy maturing a plan I had had in my -mind for some days, but which this threatened failure of the bank -had brought to a crisis. That night, after Miss Matty went -to bed, I treacherously lighted the candle again, and sat down in -the drawing-room to compose a letter to the Aga Jenkyns, a letter -which should affect him if he were Peter, and yet seem a mere -statement of dry facts if he were a stranger. The church -clock pealed out two before I had done.</p> -<p>The next morning news came, both official and otherwise, that -the Town and County Bank had stopped payment. Miss Matty -was ruined.</p> -<p>She tried to speak quietly to me; but when she came to the -actual fact that she would have but about five shillings a week -to live upon, she could not restrain a few tears.</p> -<p>“I am not crying for myself, dear,” said she, -wiping them away; “I believe I am crying for the very silly -thought of how my mother would grieve if she could know; she -always cared for us so much more than for herself. But many -a poor person has less, and I am not very extravagant, and, thank -God, when the neck of mutton, and Martha’s wages, and the -rent are paid, I have not a farthing owing. Poor -Martha! I think she’ll be sorry to leave -me.”</p> -<p>Miss Matty smiled at me through her tears, and she would fain -have had me see only the smile, not the tears.</p> -<h2><a name="page204"></a><span class="pagenum">p. -204</span>CHAPTER XIV—FRIENDS IN NEED</h2> -<p><span class="smcap">It</span> was an example to me, and I -fancy it might be to many others, to see how immediately Miss -Matty set about the retrenchment which she knew to be right under -her altered circumstances. While she went down to speak to -Martha, and break the intelligence to her, I stole out with my -letter to the Aga Jenkyns, and went to the signor’s -lodgings to obtain the exact address. I bound the signora -to secrecy; and indeed her military manners had a degree of -shortness and reserve in them which made her always say as little -as possible, except when under the pressure of strong -excitement. Moreover (which made my secret doubly sure), -the signor was now so far recovered as to be looking forward to -travelling and conjuring again in the space of a few days, when -he, his wife, and little Phoebe would leave Cranford. -Indeed, I found him looking over a great black and red placard, -in which the Signor Brunoni’s accomplishments were set -forth, and to which only the name of the town where he would next -display them was wanting. He and his wife were so much -absorbed in deciding where the red <a name="page205"></a><span -class="pagenum">p. 205</span>letters would come in with most -effect (it might have been the Rubric for that matter), that it -was some time before I could get my question asked privately, and -not before I had given several decisions, the which I questioned -afterwards with equal wisdom of sincerity as soon as the signor -threw in his doubts and reasons on the important subject. -At last I got the address, spelt by sound, and very queer it -looked. I dropped it in the post on my way home, and then -for a minute I stood looking at the wooden pane with a gaping -slit which divided me from the letter but a moment ago in my -hand. It was gone from me like life, never to be -recalled. It would get tossed about on the sea, and stained -with sea-waves perhaps, and be carried among palm-trees, and -scented with all tropical fragrance; the little piece of paper, -but an hour ago so familiar and commonplace, had set out on its -race to the strange wild countries beyond the Ganges! But I -could not afford to lose much time on this speculation. I -hastened home, that Miss Matty might not miss me. Martha -opened the door to me, her face swollen with crying. As -soon as she saw me she burst out afresh, and taking hold of my -arm she pulled me in, and banged the door to, in order to ask me -if indeed it was all true that Miss Matty had been saying.</p> -<p>“I’ll never leave her! No; I -won’t. I telled her so, and said I could not think -how she could find in her heart to give me warning. I could -not have had the face to do it, if I’d been her. I -might ha’ been just as good for nothing as Mrs -Fitz-Adam’s Rosy, who struck for wages after living seven -years and a half in one place. I said I was not one to go -<a name="page206"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 206</span>and -serve Mammon at that rate; that I knew when I’d got a good -missus, if she didn’t know when she’d got a good -servant”—</p> -<p>“But, Martha,” said I, cutting in while she wiped -her eyes.</p> -<p>“Don’t, ‘but Martha’ me,” she -replied to my deprecatory tone.</p> -<p>“Listen to reason”—</p> -<p>“I’ll not listen to reason,” she said, now -in full possession of her voice, which had been rather choked -with sobbing. “Reason always means what someone else -has got to say. Now I think what I’ve got to say is -good enough reason; but reason or not, I’ll say it, and -I’ll stick to it. I’ve money in the Savings -Bank, and I’ve a good stock of clothes, and I’m not -going to leave Miss Matty. No, not if she gives me warning -every hour in the day!”</p> -<p>She put her arms akimbo, as much as to say she defied me; and, -indeed, I could hardly tell how to begin to remonstrate with her, -so much did I feel that Miss Matty, in her increasing infirmity, -needed the attendance of this kind and faithful woman.</p> -<p>“Well”—said I at last.</p> -<p>“I’m thankful you begin with -‘well!’ If you’d have begun with -‘but,’ as you did afore, I’d not ha’ -listened to you. Now you may go on.”</p> -<p>“I know you would be a great loss to Miss Matty, -Martha”—</p> -<p>“I telled her so. A loss she’d never cease -to be sorry for,” broke in Martha triumphantly.</p> -<p>“Still, she will have so little—so very -little—to live upon, that I don’t see just now how -she could find you food—she will even be pressed for her -own. <a name="page207"></a><span class="pagenum">p. -207</span>I tell you this, Martha, because I feel you are like a -friend to dear Miss Matty, but you know she might not like to -have it spoken about.”</p> -<p>Apparently this was even a blacker view of the subject than -Miss Matty had presented to her, for Martha just sat down on the -first chair that came to hand, and cried out loud (we had been -standing in the kitchen).</p> -<p>At last she put her apron down, and looking me earnestly in -the face, asked, “Was that the reason Miss Matty -wouldn’t order a pudding to-day? She said she had no -great fancy for sweet things, and you and she would just have a -mutton chop. But I’ll be up to her. Never you -tell, but I’ll make her a pudding, and a pudding -she’ll like, too, and I’ll pay for it myself; so mind -you see she eats it. Many a one has been comforted in their -sorrow by seeing a good dish come upon the table.”</p> -<p>I was rather glad that Martha’s energy had taken the -immediate and practical direction of pudding-making, for it -staved off the quarrelsome discussion as to whether she should or -should not leave Miss Matty’s service. She began to -tie on a clean apron, and otherwise prepare herself for going to -the shop for the butter, eggs, and what else she might -require. She would not use a scrap of the articles already -in the house for her cookery, but went to an old tea-pot in which -her private store of money was deposited, and took out what she -wanted.</p> -<p>I found Miss Matty very quiet, and not a little sad; but -by-and-by she tried to smile for my sake. It was settled -that I was to write to my father, and ask him to come over and -hold a consultation, and as <a name="page208"></a><span -class="pagenum">p. 208</span>soon as this letter was despatched -we began to talk over future plans. Miss Matty’s idea -was to take a single room, and retain as much of her furniture as -would be necessary to fit up this, and sell the rest, and there -to quietly exist upon what would remain after paying the -rent. For my part, I was more ambitious and less -contented. I thought of all the things by which a woman, -past middle age, and with the education common to ladies fifty -years ago, could earn or add to a living without materially -losing caste; but at length I put even this last clause on one -side, and wondered what in the world Miss Matty could do.</p> -<p>Teaching was, of course, the first thing that suggested -itself. If Miss Matty could teach children anything, it -would throw her among the little elves in whom her soul -delighted. I ran over her accomplishments. Once upon -a time I had heard her say she could play “Ah! vous -dirai-je, maman?” on the piano, but that was long, long -ago; that faint shadow of musical acquirement had died out years -before. She had also once been able to trace out patterns -very nicely for muslin embroidery, by dint of placing a piece of -silver paper over the design to be copied, and holding both -against the window-pane while she marked the scollop and -eyelet-holes. But that was her nearest approach to the -accomplishment of drawing, and I did not think it would go very -far. Then again, as to the branches of a solid English -education—fancy work and the use of the globes—such -as the mistress of the Ladies’ Seminary, to which all the -tradespeople in Cranford sent their daughters, professed to -teach. Miss Matty’s eyes <a name="page209"></a><span -class="pagenum">p. 209</span>were failing her, and I doubted if -she could discover the number of threads in a worsted-work -pattern, or rightly appreciate the different shades required for -Queen Adelaide’s face in the loyal wool-work now -fashionable in Cranford. As for the use of the globes, I -had never been able to find it out myself, so perhaps I was not a -good judge of Miss Matty’s capability of instructing in -this branch of education; but it struck me that equators and -tropics, and such mystical circles, were very imaginary lines -indeed to her, and that she looked upon the signs of the Zodiac -as so many remnants of the Black Art.</p> -<p>What she piqued herself upon, as arts in which she excelled, -was making candle-lighters, or “spills” (as she -preferred calling them), of coloured paper, cut so as to resemble -feathers, and knitting garters in a variety of dainty -stitches. I had once said, on receiving a present of an -elaborate pair, that I should feel quite tempted to drop one of -them in the street, in order to have it admired; but I found this -little joke (and it was a very little one) was such a distress to -her sense of propriety, and was taken with such anxious, earnest -alarm, lest the temptation might some day prove too strong for -me, that I quite regretted having ventured upon it. A -present of these delicately-wrought garters, a bunch of gay -“spills,” or a set of cards on which sewing-silk was -wound in a mystical manner, were the well-known tokens of Miss -Matty’s favour. But would any one pay to have their -children taught these arts? or, indeed, would Miss Matty sell, -for filthy lucre, the knack and the skill with which she made -trifles of value to those who loved her?</p> -<p><a name="page210"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 210</span>I had -to come down to reading, writing, and arithmetic; and, in reading -the chapter every morning, she always coughed before coming to -long words. I doubted her power of getting through a -genealogical chapter, with any number of coughs. Writing -she did well and delicately—but spelling! She seemed -to think that the more out-of-the-way this was, and the more -trouble it cost her, the greater the compliment she paid to her -correspondent; and words that she would spell quite correctly in -her letters to me became perfect enigmas when she wrote to my -father.</p> -<p>No! there was nothing she could teach to the rising generation -of Cranford, unless they had been quick learners and ready -imitators of her patience, her humility, her sweetness, her quiet -contentment with all that she could not do. I pondered and -pondered until dinner was announced by Martha, with a face all -blubbered and swollen with crying.</p> -<p>Miss Matty had a few little peculiarities which Martha was apt -to regard as whims below her attention, and appeared to consider -as childish fancies of which an old lady of fifty-eight should -try and cure herself. But to-day everything was attended to -with the most careful regard. The bread was cut to the -imaginary pattern of excellence that existed in Miss -Matty’s mind, as being the way which her mother had -preferred, the curtain was drawn so as to exclude the dead brick -wall of a neighbour’s stable, and yet left so as to show -every tender leaf of the poplar which was bursting into spring -beauty. Martha’s tone to Miss Matty was just such as -that good, rough-spoken servant usually kept sacred for <a -name="page211"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 211</span>little -children, and which I had never heard her use to any grown-up -person.</p> -<p>I had forgotten to tell Miss Matty about the pudding, and I -was afraid she might not do justice to it, for she had evidently -very little appetite this day; so I seized the opportunity of -letting her into the secret while Martha took away the -meat. Miss Matty’s eyes filled with tears, and she -could not speak, either to express surprise or delight, when -Martha returned bearing it aloft, made in the most wonderful -representation of a lion <i>couchant</i> that ever was -moulded. Martha’s face gleamed with triumph as she -set it down before Miss Matty with an exultant -“There!” Miss Matty wanted to speak her thanks, -but could not; so she took Martha’s hand and shook it -warmly, which set Martha off crying, and I myself could hardly -keep up the necessary composure. Martha burst out of the -room, and Miss Matty had to clear her voice once or twice before -she could speak. At last she said, “I should like to -keep this pudding under a glass shade, my dear!” and the -notion of the lion <i>couchant</i>, with his currant eyes, being -hoisted up to the place of honour on a mantelpiece, tickled my -hysterical fancy, and I began to laugh, which rather surprised -Miss Matty.</p> -<p>“I am sure, dear, I have seen uglier things under a -glass shade before now,” said she.</p> -<p>So had I, many a time and oft, and I accordingly composed my -countenance (and now I could hardly keep from crying), and we -both fell to upon the pudding, which was indeed -excellent—only every morsel seemed to choke us, our hearts -were so full.</p> -<p>We had too much to think about to talk much <a -name="page212"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 212</span>that -afternoon. It passed over very tranquilly. But when -the tea-urn was brought in a new thought came into my head. -Why should not Miss Matty sell tea—be an agent to the East -India Tea Company which then existed? I could see no -objections to this plan, while the advantages were -many—always supposing that Miss Matty could get over the -degradation of condescending to anything like trade. Tea -was neither greasy nor sticky—grease and stickiness being -two of the qualities which Miss Matty could not endure. No -shop-window would be required. A small, genteel -notification of her being licensed to sell tea would, it is true, -be necessary, but I hoped that it could be placed where no one -would see it. Neither was tea a heavy article, so as to tax -Miss Matty’s fragile strength. The only thing against -my plan was the buying and selling involved.</p> -<p>While I was giving but absent answers to the questions Miss -Matty was putting—almost as absently—we heard a -clumping sound on the stairs, and a whispering outside the door, -which indeed once opened and shut as if by some invisible -agency. After a little while Martha came in, dragging after -her a great tall young man, all crimson with shyness, and finding -his only relief in perpetually sleeking down his hair.</p> -<p>“Please, ma’am, he’s only Jem Hearn,” -said Martha, by way of an introduction; and so out of breath was -she that I imagine she had had some bodily struggle before she -could overcome his reluctance to be presented on the courtly -scene of Miss Matilda Jenkyns’s drawing-room.</p> -<p>“And please, ma’am, he wants to marry me <a -name="page213"></a><span class="pagenum">p. -213</span>off-hand. And please, ma’am, we want to -take a lodger—just one quiet lodger, to make our two ends -meet; and we’d take any house conformable; and, oh dear -Miss Matty, if I may be so bold, would you have any objections to -lodging with us? Jem wants it as much as I do.” -[To Jem ]—“You great oaf! why can’t you back -me!—But he does want it all the same, very -bad—don’t you, Jem?—only, you see, he’s -dazed at being called on to speak before quality.”</p> -<p style="text-align: center"> -<a href="images/p213b.jpg"> -<img alt= -"Please, ma’am, he wants to marry me off-hand" -title= -"Please, ma’am, he wants to marry me off-hand" -src="images/p213s.jpg" /> -</a></p> -<p>“It’s not that,” broke in Jem. -“It’s that you’ve taken me all on a sudden, and -I didn’t think for to get married so soon—and such -quick words does flabbergast a man. It’s not that -I’m against it, ma’am” (addressing Miss Matty), -“only Martha has such quick ways with her when once she -takes a thing into her head; and marriage, -ma’am—marriage nails a man, as one may say. I -dare say I shan’t mind it after it’s once -over.”</p> -<p>“Please, ma’am,” said Martha—who had -plucked at his sleeve, and nudged him with her elbow, and -otherwise tried to interrupt him all the time he had been -speaking—“don’t mind him, he’ll come to; -’twas only last night he was an-axing me, and an-axing me, -and all the more because I said I could not think of it for years -to come, and now he’s only taken aback with the suddenness -of the joy; but you know, Jem, you are just as full as me about -wanting a lodger.” (Another great nudge.)</p> -<p>“Ay! if Miss Matty would lodge with us—otherwise -I’ve no mind to be cumbered with strange folk in the -house,” said Jem, with a want of tact which I could see -enraged Martha, who was trying to represent a lodger as the great -object they wished <a name="page214"></a><span class="pagenum">p. -214</span>to obtain, and that, in fact, Miss Matty would be -smoothing their path and conferring a favour, if she would only -come and live with them.</p> -<p>Miss Matty herself was bewildered by the pair; their, or -rather Martha’s sudden resolution in favour of matrimony -staggered her, and stood between her and the contemplation of the -plan which Martha had at heart. Miss Matty began—</p> -<p>“Marriage is a very solemn thing, Martha.”</p> -<p>“It is indeed, ma’am,” quoth Jem. -“Not that I’ve no objections to Martha.”</p> -<p>“You’ve never let me a-be for asking me for to fix -when I would be married,” said Martha—her face all -a-fire, and ready to cry with vexation—“and now -you’re shaming me before my missus and all.”</p> -<p>“Nay, now! Martha don’t ee! don’t ee! -only a man likes to have breathing-time,” said Jem, trying -to possess himself of her hand, but in vain. Then seeing -that she was more seriously hurt than he had imagined, he seemed -to try to rally his scattered faculties, and with more -straightforward dignity than, ten minutes before, I should have -thought it possible for him to assume, he turned to Miss Matty, -and said, “I hope, ma’am, you know that I am bound to -respect every one who has been kind to Martha. I always -looked on her as to be my wife—some time; and she has often -and often spoken of you as the kindest lady that ever was; and -though the plain truth is, I would not like to be troubled with -lodgers of the common run, yet if, ma’am, you’d -honour us by living with us, I’m sure Martha would do her -best to make you comfortable; and I’d keep out of your way -as much as I could, which I reckon would be <a -name="page215"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 215</span>the best -kindness such an awkward chap as me could do.”</p> -<p>Miss Matty had been very busy with taking off her spectacles, -wiping them, and replacing them; but all she could say was, -“Don’t let any thought of me hurry you into marriage: -pray don’t. Marriage is such a very solemn -thing!”</p> -<p>“But Miss Matilda will think of your plan, -Martha,” said I, struck with the advantages that it -offered, and unwilling to lose the opportunity of considering -about it. “And I’m sure neither she nor I can -ever forget your kindness; nor your’s either, -Jem.”</p> -<p>“Why, yes, ma’am! I’m sure I mean -kindly, though I’m a bit fluttered by being pushed straight -ahead into matrimony, as it were, and mayn’t express myself -conformable. But I’m sure I’m willing enough, -and give me time to get accustomed; so, Martha, wench, -what’s the use of crying so, and slapping me if I come -near?”</p> -<p>This last was <i>sotto voce</i>, and had the effect of making -Martha bounce out of the room, to be followed and soothed by her -lover. Whereupon Miss Matty sat down and cried very -heartily, and accounted for it by saying that the thought of -Martha being married so soon gave her quite a shock, and that she -should never forgive herself if she thought she was hurrying the -poor creature. I think my pity was more for Jem, of the -two; but both Miss Matty and I appreciated to the full the -kindness of the honest couple, although we said little about -this, and a good deal about the chances and dangers of -matrimony.</p> -<p><a name="page216"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 216</span>The -next morning, very early, I received a note from Miss Pole, so -mysteriously wrapped up, and with so many seals on it to secure -secrecy, that I had to tear the paper before I could unfold -it. And when I came to the writing I could hardly -understand the meaning, it was so involved and oracular. I -made out, however, that I was to go to Miss Pole’s at -eleven o’clock; the number <i>eleven</i> being written in -full length as well as in numerals, and <i>A.M.</i> twice dashed -under, as if I were very likely to come at eleven at night, when -all Cranford was usually a-bed and asleep by ten. There was -no signature except Miss Pole’s initials reversed, P.E.; -but as Martha had given me the note, “with Miss -Pole’s kind regards,” it needed no wizard to find out -who sent it; and if the writer’s name was to be kept -secret, it was very well that I was alone when Martha delivered -it.</p> -<p>I went as requested to Miss Pole’s. The door was -opened to me by her little maid Lizzy in Sunday trim, as if some -grand event was impending over this work-day. And the -drawing-room upstairs was arranged in accordance with this -idea. The table was set out with the best green card-cloth, -and writing materials upon it. On the little chiffonier was -a tray with a newly-decanted bottle of cowslip wine, and some -ladies’-finger biscuits. Miss Pole herself was in -solemn array, as if to receive visitors, although it was only -eleven o’clock. Mrs Forrester was there, crying -quietly and sadly, and my arrival seemed only to call forth fresh -tears. Before we had finished our greetings, performed with -lugubrious mystery of demeanour, there was another rat-tat-tat, -<a name="page217"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 217</span>and Mrs -Fitz-Adam appeared, crimson with walking and excitement. It -seemed as if this was all the company expected; for now Miss Pole -made several demonstrations of being about to open the business -of the meeting, by stirring the fire, opening and shutting the -door, and coughing and blowing her nose. Then she arranged -us all round the table, taking care to place me opposite to her; -and last of all, she inquired of me if the sad report was true, -as she feared it was, that Miss Matty had lost all her -fortune?</p> -<p>Of course, I had but one answer to make; and I never saw more -unaffected sorrow depicted on any countenances than I did there -on the three before me.</p> -<p>“I wish Mrs Jamieson was here!” said Mrs Forrester -at last; but to judge from Mrs Fitz-Adam’s face, she could -not second the wish.</p> -<p>“But without Mrs Jamieson,” said Miss Pole, with -just a sound of offended merit in her voice, “we, the -ladies of Cranford, in my drawing-room assembled, can resolve -upon something. I imagine we are none of us what may be -called rich, though we all possess a genteel competency, -sufficient for tastes that are elegant and refined, and would -not, if they could, be vulgarly ostentatious.” (Here -I observed Miss Pole refer to a small card concealed in her hand, -on which I imagine she had put down a few notes.)</p> -<p>“Miss Smith,” she continued, addressing me -(familiarly known as “Mary” to all the company -assembled, but this was a state occasion), “I have -conversed in private—I made it my business to do <a -name="page218"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 218</span>so -yesterday afternoon—with these ladies on the misfortune -which has happened to our friend, and one and all of us have -agreed that while we have a superfluity, it is not only a duty, -but a pleasure—a true pleasure, Mary!”—her -voice was rather choked just here, and she had to wipe her -spectacles before she could go on—“to give what we -can to assist her—Miss Matilda Jenkyns. Only in -consideration of the feelings of delicate independence existing -in the mind of every refined female”—I was sure she -had got back to the card now—“we wish to contribute -our mites in a secret and concealed manner, so as not to hurt the -feelings I have referred to. And our object in requesting -you to meet us this morning is that, believing you are the -daughter—that your father is, in fact, her confidential -adviser, in all pecuniary matters, we imagined that, by -consulting with him, you might devise some mode in which our -contribution could be made to appear the legal due which Miss -Matilda Jenkyns ought to receive from— Probably your -father, knowing her investments, can fill up the -blank.”</p> -<p>Miss Pole concluded her address, and looked round for approval -and agreement.</p> -<p>“I have expressed your meaning, ladies, have I -not? And while Miss Smith considers what reply to make, -allow me to offer you some little refreshment.”</p> -<p>I had no great reply to make: I had more thankfulness at my -heart for their kind thoughts than I cared to put into words; and -so I only mumbled out something to the effect “that I would -name what Miss Pole had said to my father, and that if anything -<a name="page219"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 219</span>could be -arranged for dear Miss Matty,”—and here I broke down -utterly, and had to be refreshed with a glass of cowslip wine -before I could check the crying which had been repressed for the -last two or three days. The worst was, all the ladies cried -in concert. Even Miss Pole cried, who had said a hundred -times that to betray emotion before any one was a sign of -weakness and want of self-control. She recovered herself -into a slight degree of impatient anger, directed against me, as -having set them all off; and, moreover, I think she was vexed -that I could not make a speech back in return for hers; and if I -had known beforehand what was to be said, and had a card on which -to express the probable feelings that would rise in my heart, I -would have tried to gratify her. As it was, Mrs Forrester -was the person to speak when we had recovered our composure.</p> -<p>“I don’t mind, among friends, stating that -I—no! I’m not poor exactly, but I don’t -think I’m what you may call rich; I wish I were, for dear -Miss Matty’s sake—but, if you please, I’ll -write down in a sealed paper what I can give. I only wish -it was more; my dear Mary, I do indeed.”</p> -<p>Now I saw why paper, pens, and ink were provided. Every -lady wrote down the sum she could give annually, signed the -paper, and sealed it mysteriously. If their proposal was -acceded to, my father was to be allowed to open the papers, under -pledge of secrecy. If not, they were to be returned to -their writers.</p> -<p>When the ceremony had been gone through, I rose to depart; but -each lady seemed to wish to <a name="page220"></a><span -class="pagenum">p. 220</span>have a private conference with -me. Miss Pole kept me in the drawing-room to explain why, -in Mrs Jamieson’s absence, she had taken the lead in this -“movement,” as she was pleased to call it, and also -to inform me that she had heard from good sources that Mrs -Jamieson was coming home directly in a state of high displeasure -against her sister-in-law, who was forthwith to leave her house, -and was, she believed, to return to Edinburgh that very -afternoon. Of course this piece of intelligence could not -be communicated before Mrs Fitz-Adam, more especially as Miss -Pole was inclined to think that Lady Glenmire’s engagement -to Mr Hoggins could not possibly hold against the blaze of Mrs -Jamieson’s displeasure. A few hearty inquiries after -Miss Matty’s health concluded my interview with Miss -Pole.</p> -<p>On coming downstairs I found Mrs Forrester waiting for me at -the entrance to the dining-parlour; she drew me in, and when the -door was shut, she tried two or three times to begin on some -subject, which was so unapproachable apparently, that I began to -despair of our ever getting to a clear understanding. At -last out it came; the poor old lady trembling all the time as if -it were a great crime which she was exposing to daylight, in -telling me how very, very little she had to live upon; a -confession which she was brought to make from a dread lest we -should think that the small contribution named in her paper bore -any proportion to her love and regard for Miss Matty. And -yet that sum which she so eagerly relinquished was, in truth, -more than a twentieth part of what she had to live upon, and keep -house, and a little serving-maid, all as became one born a <a -name="page221"></a><span class="pagenum">p. -221</span>Tyrrell. And when the whole income does not -nearly amount to a hundred pounds, to give up a twentieth of it -will necessitate many careful economies, and many pieces of -self-denial, small and insignificant in the world’s -account, but bearing a different value in another account-book -that I have heard of. She did so wish she was rich, she -said, and this wish she kept repeating, with no thought of -herself in it, only with a longing, yearning desire to be able to -heap up Miss Matty’s measure of comforts.</p> -<p>It was some time before I could console her enough to leave -her; and then, on quitting the house, I was waylaid by Mrs -Fitz-Adam, who had also her confidence to make of pretty nearly -the opposite description. She had not liked to put down all -that she could afford and was ready to give. She told me -she thought she never could look Miss Matty in the face again if -she presumed to be giving her so much as she should like to -do. “Miss Matty!” continued she, “that I -thought was such a fine young lady when I was nothing but a -country girl, coming to market with eggs and butter and such like -things. For my father, though well-to-do, would always make -me go on as my mother had done before me, and I had to come into -Cranford every Saturday, and see after sales, and prices, and -what not. And one day, I remember, I met Miss Matty in the -lane that leads to Combehurst; she was walking on the footpath, -which, you know, is raised a good way above the road, and a -gentleman rode beside her, and was talking to her, and she was -looking down at some primroses she had gathered, and pulling them -all <a name="page222"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 222</span>to -pieces, and I do believe she was crying. But after she had -passed, she turned round and ran after me to ask—oh, so -kindly—about my poor mother, who lay on her death-bed; and -when I cried she took hold of my hand to comfort me—and the -gentleman waiting for her all the time—and her poor heart -very full of something, I am sure; and I thought it such an -honour to be spoken to in that pretty way by the rector’s -daughter, who visited at Arley Hall. I have loved her ever -since, though perhaps I’d no right to do it; but if you can -think of any way in which I might be allowed to give a little -more without any one knowing it, I should be so much obliged to -you, my dear. And my brother would be delighted to doctor -her for nothing—medicines, leeches, and all. I know -that he and her ladyship (my dear, I little thought in the days I -was telling you of that I should ever come to be sister-in-law to -a ladyship!) would do anything for her. We all -would.”</p> -<p>I told her I was quite sure of it, and promised all sorts of -things in my anxiety to get home to Miss Matty, who might well be -wondering what had become of me—absent from her two hours -without being able to account for it. She had taken very -little note of time, however, as she had been occupied in -numberless little arrangements preparatory to the great step of -giving up her house. It was evidently a relief to her to be -doing something in the way of retrenchment, for, as she said, -whenever she paused to think, the recollection of the poor fellow -with his bad five-pound note came over her, and she felt quite -dishonest; only if it made her so uncomfortable, <a -name="page223"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 223</span>what must -it not be doing to the directors of the bank, who must know so -much more of the misery consequent upon this failure? She -almost made me angry by dividing her sympathy between these -directors (whom she imagined overwhelmed by self-reproach for the -mismanagement of other people’s affairs) and those who were -suffering like her. Indeed, of the two, she seemed to think -poverty a lighter burden than self-reproach; but I privately -doubted if the directors would agree with her.</p> -<p>Old hoards were taken out and examined as to their money value -which luckily was small, or else I don’t know how Miss -Matty would have prevailed upon herself to part with such things -as her mother’s wedding-ring, the strange, uncouth brooch -with which her father had disfigured his shirt-frill, -&c. However, we arranged things a little in order as to -their pecuniary estimation, and were all ready for my father when -he came the next morning.</p> -<p>I am not going to weary you with the details of all the -business we went through; and one reason for not telling about -them is, that I did not understand what we were doing at the -time, and cannot recollect it now. Miss Matty and I sat -assenting to accounts, and schemes, and reports, and documents, -of which I do not believe we either of us understood a word; for -my father was clear-headed and decisive, and a capital man of -business, and if we made the slightest inquiry, or expressed the -slightest want of comprehension, he had a sharp way of saying, -“Eh? eh? it’s as clear as daylight. -What’s your objection?” And as we had not -comprehended anything of what he had proposed, we found it rather -difficult <a name="page224"></a><span class="pagenum">p. -224</span>to shape our objections; in fact, we never were sure if -we had any. So presently Miss Matty got into a nervously -acquiescent state, and said “Yes,” and -“Certainly,” at every pause, whether required or not; -but when I once joined in as chorus to a “Decidedly,” -pronounced by Miss Matty in a tremblingly dubious tone, my father -fired round at me and asked me “What there was to -decide?” And I am sure to this day I have never -known. But, in justice to him, I must say he had come over -from Drumble to help Miss Matty when he could ill spare the time, -and when his own affairs were in a very anxious state.</p> -<p style="text-align: center"> -<a href="images/p220b.jpg"> -<img alt= -"Miss Matty and I sat assenting to accounts" -title= -"Miss Matty and I sat assenting to accounts" -src="images/p220s.jpg" /> -</a></p> -<p>While Miss Matty was out of the room giving orders for -luncheon—and sadly perplexed between her desire of -honouring my father by a delicate, dainty meal, and her -conviction that she had no right, now that all her money was -gone, to indulge this desire—I told him of the meeting of -the Cranford ladies at Miss Pole’s the day before. He -kept brushing his hand before his eyes as I spoke—and when -I went back to Martha’s offer the evening before, of -receiving Miss Matty as a lodger, he fairly walked away from me -to the window, and began drumming with his fingers upon it. -Then he turned abruptly round, and said, “See, Mary, how a -good, innocent life makes friends all around. Confound -it! I could make a good lesson out of it if I were a -parson; but, as it is, I can’t get a tail to my -sentences—only I’m sure you feel what I want to -say. You and I will have a walk after lunch and talk a bit -more about these plans.”</p> -<p>The lunch—a hot savoury mutton-chop, and a <a -name="page225"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 225</span>little of -the cold loin sliced and fried—was now brought in. -Every morsel of this last dish was finished, to Martha’s -great gratification. Then my father bluntly told Miss Matty -he wanted to talk to me alone, and that he would stroll out and -see some of the old places, and then I could tell her what plan -we thought desirable. Just before we went out, she called -me back and said, “Remember, dear, I’m the only one -left—I mean, there’s no one to be hurt by what I -do. I’m willing to do anything that’s right and -honest; and I don’t think, if Deborah knows where she is, -she’ll care so very much if I’m not genteel; because, -you see, she’ll know all, dear. Only let me see what -I can do, and pay the poor people as far as I’m -able.”</p> -<p>I gave her a hearty kiss, and ran after my father. The -result of our conversation was this. If all parties were -agreeable, Martha and Jem were to be married with as little delay -as possible, and they were to live on in Miss Matty’s -present abode; the sum which the Cranford ladies had agreed to -contribute annually being sufficient to meet the greater part of -the rent, and leaving Martha free to appropriate what Miss Matty -should pay for her lodgings to any little extra comforts -required. About the sale, my father was dubious at -first. He said the old rectory furniture, however carefully -used and reverently treated, would fetch very little; and that -little would be but as a drop in the sea of the debts of the Town -and County Bank. But when I represented how Miss -Matty’s tender conscience would be soothed by feeling that -she had done what she could, he gave way; especially after I had -told him the <a name="page226"></a><span class="pagenum">p. -226</span>five-pound note adventure, and he had scolded me well -for allowing it. I then alluded to my idea that she might -add to her small income by selling tea; and, to my surprise (for -I had nearly given up the plan), my father grasped at it with all -the energy of a tradesman. I think he reckoned his chickens -before they were hatched, for he immediately ran up the profits -of the sales that she could effect in Cranford to more than -twenty pounds a year. The small dining-parlour was to be -converted into a shop, without any of its degrading -characteristics; a table was to be the counter; one window was to -be retained unaltered, and the other changed into a glass -door. I evidently rose in his estimation for having made -this bright suggestion. I only hoped we should not both -fall in Miss Matty’s.</p> -<p>But she was patient and content with all our -arrangements. She knew, she said, that we should do the -best we could for her; and she only hoped, only stipulated, that -she should pay every farthing that she could be said to owe, for -her father’s sake, who had been so respected in -Cranford. My father and I had agreed to say as little as -possible about the bank, indeed never to mention it again, if it -could be helped. Some of the plans were evidently a little -perplexing to her; but she had seen me sufficiently snubbed in -the morning for want of comprehension to venture on too many -inquiries now; and all passed over well with a hope on her part -that no one would be hurried into marriage on her account. -When we came to the proposal that she should sell tea, I could -see it was rather a shock to her; not on account of any personal -loss of gentility involved, but only because <a -name="page227"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 227</span>she -distrusted her own powers of action in a new line of life, and -would timidly have preferred a little more privation to any -exertion for which she feared she was unfitted. However, -when she saw my father was bent upon it, she sighed, and said she -would try; and if she did not do well, of course she might give -it up. One good thing about it was, she did not think men -ever bought tea; and it was of men particularly she was -afraid. They had such sharp loud ways with them; and did up -accounts, and counted their change so quickly! Now, if she -might only sell comfits to children, she was sure she could -please them!</p> -<h2><a name="page228"></a><span class="pagenum">p. -228</span>CHAPTER XV—A HAPPY RETURN</h2> -<p><span class="smcap">Before</span> I left Miss Matty at -Cranford everything had been comfortably arranged for her. -Even Mrs Jamieson’s approval of her selling tea had been -gained. That oracle had taken a few days to consider -whether by so doing Miss Matty would forfeit her right to the -privileges of society in Cranford. I think she had some -little idea of mortifying Lady Glenmire by the decision she gave -at last; which was to this effect: that whereas a married woman -takes her husband’s rank by the strict laws of precedence, -an unmarried woman retains the station her father occupied. -So Cranford was allowed to visit Miss Matty; and, whether allowed -or not, it intended to visit Lady Glenmire.</p> -<p>But what was our surprise—our dismay—when we -learnt that Mr and <i>Mrs Hoggins</i> were returning on the -following Tuesday! Mrs Hoggins! Had she absolutely -dropped her title, and so, in a spirit of bravado, cut the -aristocracy to become a Hoggins! She, who might have been -called Lady Glenmire to her dying day! Mrs Jamieson was -pleased. She said it only convinced her of what she had -known <a name="page229"></a><span class="pagenum">p. -229</span>from the first, that the creature had a low -taste. But “the creature” looked very happy on -Sunday at church; nor did we see it necessary to keep our veils -down on that side of our bonnets on which Mr and Mrs Hoggins sat, -as Mrs Jamieson did; thereby missing all the smiling glory of his -face, and all the becoming blushes of hers. I am not sure -if Martha and Jem looked more radiant in the afternoon, when -they, too, made their first appearance. Mrs Jamieson -soothed the turbulence of her soul by having the blinds of her -windows drawn down, as if for a funeral, on the day when Mr and -Mrs Hoggins received callers; and it was with some difficulty -that she was prevailed upon to continue the <i>St James’s -Chronicle</i>, so indignant was she with its having inserted the -announcement of the marriage.</p> -<p style="text-align: center"> -<a href="images/p231b.jpg"> -<img alt= -"Smiling glory . . . and becoming blushes" -title= -"Smiling glory . . . and becoming blushes" -src="images/p231s.jpg" /> -</a></p> -<p>Miss Matty’s sale went off famously. She retained -the furniture of her sitting-room and bedroom; the former of -which she was to occupy till Martha could meet with a lodger who -might wish to take it; and into this sitting-room and bedroom she -had to cram all sorts of things, which were (the auctioneer -assured her) bought in for her at the sale by an unknown -friend. I always suspected Mrs Fitz-Adam of this; but she -must have had an accessory, who knew what articles were -particularly regarded by Miss Matty on account of their -associations with her early days. The rest of the house -looked rather bare, to be sure; all except one tiny bedroom, of -which my father allowed me to purchase the furniture for my -occasional use in case of Miss Matty’s illness.</p> -<p>I had expended my own small store in buying all manner of -comfits and lozenges, in order to tempt <a -name="page230"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 230</span>the little -people whom Miss Matty loved so much to come about her. Tea -in bright green canisters, and comfits in tumblers—Miss -Matty and I felt quite proud as we looked round us on the evening -before the shop was to be opened. Martha had scoured the -boarded floor to a white cleanness, and it was adorned with a -brilliant piece of oil-cloth, on which customers were to stand -before the table-counter. The wholesome smell of plaster -and whitewash pervaded the apartment. A very small -“Matilda Jenkyns, licensed to sell tea,” was hidden -under the lintel of the new door, and two boxes of tea, with -cabalistic inscriptions all over them, stood ready to disgorge -their contents into the canisters.</p> -<p>Miss Matty, as I ought to have mentioned before, had had some -scruples of conscience at selling tea when there was already Mr -Johnson in the town, who included it among his numerous -commodities; and, before she could quite reconcile herself to the -adoption of her new business, she had trotted down to his shop, -unknown to me, to tell him of the project that was entertained, -and to inquire if it was likely to injure his business. My -father called this idea of hers “great nonsense,” and -“wondered how tradespeople were to get on if there was to -be a continual consulting of each other’s interests, which -would put a stop to all competition directly.” And, -perhaps, it would not have done in Drumble, but in Cranford it -answered very well; for not only did Mr Johnson kindly put at -rest all Miss Matty’s scruples and fear of injuring his -business, but I have reason to know he repeatedly sent customers -to her, saying that the teas he kept were of a common kind, but -that <a name="page231"></a><span class="pagenum">p. -231</span>Miss Jenkyns had all the choice sorts. And -expensive tea is a very favourite luxury with well-to-do -tradespeople and rich farmers’ wives, who turn up their -noses at the Congou and Souchong prevalent at many tables of -gentility, and will have nothing else than Gunpowder and Pekoe -for themselves.</p> -<p>But to return to Miss Matty. It was really very pleasant -to see how her unselfishness and simple sense of justice called -out the same good qualities in others. She never seemed to -think any one would impose upon her, because she should be so -grieved to do it to them. I have heard her put a stop to -the asseverations of the man who brought her coals by quietly -saying, “I am sure you would be sorry to bring me wrong -weight;” and if the coals were short measure that time, I -don’t believe they ever were again. People would have -felt as much ashamed of presuming on her good faith as they would -have done on that of a child. But my father says -“such simplicity might be very well in Cranford, but would -never do in the world.” And I fancy the world must be -very bad, for with all my father’s suspicion of every one -with whom he has dealings, and in spite of all his many -precautions, he lost upwards of a thousand pounds by roguery only -last year.</p> -<p>I just stayed long enough to establish Miss Matty in her new -mode of life, and to pack up the library, which the rector had -purchased. He had written a very kind letter to Miss Matty, -saying “how glad he should be to take a library, so well -selected as he knew that the late Mr Jenkyns’s must have -been, at any valuation put upon them.” And when she -agreed to this, with a touch of sorrowful <a -name="page232"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 232</span>gladness -that they would go back to the rectory and be arranged on the -accustomed walls once more, he sent word that he feared that he -had not room for them all, and perhaps Miss Matty would kindly -allow him to leave some volumes on her shelves. But Miss -Matty said that she had her Bible and “Johnson’s -Dictionary,” and should not have much time for reading, she -was afraid; still, I retained a few books out of consideration -for the rector’s kindness.</p> -<p>The money which he had paid, and that produced by the sale, -was partly expended in the stock of tea, and part of it was -invested against a rainy day—<i>i.e.</i> old age or -illness. It was but a small sum, it is true; and it -occasioned a few evasions of truth and white lies (all of which I -think very wrong indeed—in theory—and would rather -not put them in practice), for we knew Miss Matty would be -perplexed as to her duty if she were aware of any little -reserve-fund being made for her while the debts of the bank -remained unpaid. Moreover, she had never been told of the -way in which her friends were contributing to pay the rent. -I should have liked to tell her this, but the mystery of the -affair gave a piquancy to their deed of kindness which the ladies -were unwilling to give up; and at first Martha had to shirk many -a perplexed question as to her ways and means of living in such a -house, but by-and-by Miss Matty’s prudent uneasiness sank -down into acquiescence with the existing arrangement.</p> -<p>I left Miss Matty with a good heart. Her sales of tea -during the first two days had surpassed my most sanguine -expectations. The whole country round seemed to be all out -of tea at once. The only <a name="page233"></a><span -class="pagenum">p. 233</span>alteration I could have desired in -Miss Matty’s way of doing business was, that she should not -have so plaintively entreated some of her customers not to buy -green tea—running it down as a slow poison, sure to destroy -the nerves, and produce all manner of evil. Their -pertinacity in taking it, in spite of all her warnings, -distressed her so much that I really thought she would relinquish -the sale of it, and so lose half her custom; and I was driven to -my wits’ end for instances of longevity entirely -attributable to a persevering use of green tea. But the -final argument, which settled the question, was a happy reference -of mine to the train-oil and tallow candles which the Esquimaux -not only enjoy but digest. After that she acknowledged that -“one man’s meat might be another man’s -poison,” and contented herself thence-forward with an -occasional remonstrance when she thought the purchaser was too -young and innocent to be acquainted with the evil effects green -tea produced on some constitutions, and an habitual sigh when -people old enough to choose more wisely would prefer it.</p> -<p>I went over from Drumble once a quarter at least to settle the -accounts, and see after the necessary business letters. -And, speaking of letters, I began to be very much ashamed of -remembering my letter to the Aga Jenkyns, and very glad I had -never named my writing to any one. I only hoped the letter -was lost. No answer came. No sign was made.</p> -<p>About a year after Miss Matty set up shop, I received one of -Martha’s hieroglyphics, begging me to come to Cranford very -soon. I was afraid that Miss Matty was ill, and went off -that very afternoon, <a name="page234"></a><span -class="pagenum">p. 234</span>and took Martha by surprise when she -saw me on opening the door. We went into the kitchen as -usual, to have our confidential conference, and then Martha told -me she was expecting her confinement very soon—in a week or -two; and she did not think Miss Matty was aware of it, and she -wanted me to break the news to her, “for indeed, -miss,” continued Martha, crying hysterically, -“I’m afraid she won’t approve of it, and -I’m sure I don’t know who is to take care of her as -she should be taken care of when I am laid up.”</p> -<p>I comforted Martha by telling her I would remain till she was -about again, and only wished she had told me her reason for this -sudden summons, as then I would have brought the requisite stock -of clothes. But Martha was so tearful and tender-spirited, -and unlike her usual self, that I said as little as possible -about myself, and endeavoured rather to comfort Martha under all -the probable and possible misfortunes which came crowding upon -her imagination.</p> -<p>I then stole out of the house-door, and made my appearance as -if I were a customer in the shop, just to take Miss Matty by -surprise, and gain an idea of how she looked in her new -situation. It was warm May weather, so only the little -half-door was closed; and Miss Matty sat behind the counter, -knitting an elaborate pair of garters; elaborate they seemed to -me, but the difficult stitch was no weight upon her mind, for she -was singing in a low voice to herself as her needles went rapidly -in and out. I call it singing, but I dare say a musician -would not use that word to the tuneless yet sweet humming of the -low worn <a name="page235"></a><span class="pagenum">p. -235</span>voice. I found out from the words, far more than -from the attempt at the tune, that it was the Old Hundredth she -was crooning to herself; but the quiet continuous sound told of -content, and gave me a pleasant feeling, as I stood in the street -just outside the door, quite in harmony with that soft May -morning. I went in. At first she did not catch who it -was, and stood up as if to serve me; but in another minute -watchful pussy had clutched her knitting, which was dropped in -eager joy at seeing me. I found, after we had had a little -conversation, that it was as Martha said, and that Miss Matty had -no idea of the approaching household event. So I thought I -would let things take their course, secure that when I went to -her with the baby in my arms, I should obtain that forgiveness -for Martha which she was needlessly frightening herself into -believing that Miss Matty would withhold, under some notion that -the new claimant would require attentions from its mother that it -would be faithless treason to Miss Matty to render.</p> -<p>But I was right. I think that must be an hereditary -quality, for my father says he is scarcely ever wrong. One -morning, within a week after I arrived, I went to call Miss -Matty, with a little bundle of flannel in my arms. She was -very much awe-struck when I showed her what it was, and asked for -her spectacles off the dressing-table, and looked at it -curiously, with a sort of tender wonder at its small perfection -of parts. She could not banish the thought of the surprise -all day, but went about on tiptoe, and was very silent. But -she stole up to see Martha and they both cried with joy, and <a -name="page236"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 236</span>she got -into a complimentary speech to Jem, and did not know how to get -out of it again, and was only extricated from her dilemma by the -sound of the shop-bell, which was an equal relief to the shy, -proud, honest Jem, who shook my hand so vigorously when I -congratulated him, that I think I feel the pain of it yet.</p> -<p style="text-align: center"> -<a href="images/p234b.jpg"> -<img alt= -"I went to call Miss Matty" -title= -"I went to call Miss Matty" -src="images/p234s.jpg" /> -</a></p> -<p>I had a busy life while Martha was laid up. I attended -on Miss Matty, and prepared her meals; I cast up her accounts, -and examined into the state of her canisters and tumblers. -I helped her, too, occasionally, in the shop; and it gave me no -small amusement, and sometimes a little uneasiness, to watch her -ways there. If a little child came in to ask for an ounce -of almond-comfits (and four of the large kind which Miss Matty -sold weighed that much), she always added one more by “way -of make-weight,” as she called it, although the scale was -handsomely turned before; and when I remonstrated against this, -her reply was, “The little things like it so -much!” There was no use in telling her that the fifth -comfit weighed a quarter of an ounce, and made every sale into a -loss to her pocket. So I remembered the green tea, and -winged my shaft with a feather out of her own plumage. I -told her how unwholesome almond-comfits were, and how ill excess -in them might make the little children. This argument -produced some effect; for, henceforward, instead of the fifth -comfit, she always told them to hold out their tiny palms, into -which she shook either peppermint or ginger lozenges, as a -preventive to the dangers that might arise from the previous -sale. Altogether the lozenge trade, conducted on these -principles, did <a name="page237"></a><span class="pagenum">p. -237</span>not promise to be remunerative; but I was happy to find -she had made more than twenty pounds during the last year by her -sales of tea; and, moreover, that now she was accustomed to it, -she did not dislike the employment, which brought her into kindly -intercourse with many of the people round about. If she -gave them good weight, they, in their turn, brought many a little -country present to the “old rector’s daughter”; -a cream cheese, a few new-laid eggs, a little fresh ripe fruit, a -bunch of flowers. The counter was quite loaded with these -offerings sometimes, as she told me.</p> -<p>As for Cranford in general, it was going on much as -usual. The Jamieson and Hoggins feud still raged, if a feud -it could be called, when only one side cared much about it. -Mr and Mrs Hoggins were very happy together, and, like most very -happy people, quite ready to be friendly; indeed, Mrs Hoggins was -really desirous to be restored to Mrs Jamieson’s good -graces, because of the former intimacy. But Mrs Jamieson -considered their very happiness an insult to the Glenmire family, -to which she had still the honour to belong, and she doggedly -refused and rejected every advance. Mr Mulliner, like a -faithful clansman, espoused his mistress’ side with -ardour. If he saw either Mr or Mrs Hoggins, he would cross -the street, and appear absorbed in the contemplation of life in -general, and his own path in particular, until he had passed them -by. Miss Pole used to amuse herself with wondering what in -the world Mrs Jamieson would do, if either she, or Mr Mulliner, -or any other member of her household was taken ill; she could -hardly have the face to call in <a name="page238"></a><span -class="pagenum">p. 238</span>Mr Hoggins after the way she had -behaved to them. Miss Pole grew quite impatient for some -indisposition or accident to befall Mrs Jamieson or her -dependents, in order that Cranford might see how she would act -under the perplexing circumstances.</p> -<p>Martha was beginning to go about again, and I had already -fixed a limit, not very far distant, to my visit, when one -afternoon, as I was sitting in the shop-parlour with Miss -Matty—I remember the weather was colder now than it had -been in May, three weeks before, and we had a fire and kept the -door fully closed—we saw a gentleman go slowly past the -window, and then stand opposite to the door, as if looking out -for the name which we had so carefully hidden. He took out -a double eyeglass and peered about for some time before he could -discover it. Then he came in. And, all on a sudden, -it flashed across me that it was the Aga himself! For his -clothes had an out-of-the-way foreign cut about them, and his -face was deep brown, as if tanned and re-tanned by the sun. -His complexion contrasted oddly with his plentiful snow-white -hair, his eyes were dark and piercing, and he had an odd way of -contracting them and puckering up his cheeks into innumerable -wrinkles when he looked earnestly at objects. He did so to -Miss Matty when he first came in. His glance had first -caught and lingered a little upon me, but then turned, with the -peculiar searching look I have described, to Miss Matty. -She was a little fluttered and nervous, but no more so than she -always was when any man came into her shop. She thought -that he would probably have a note, or a sovereign at least, for -which she would <a name="page239"></a><span class="pagenum">p. -239</span>have to give change, which was an operation she very -much disliked to perform. But the present customer stood -opposite to her, without asking for anything, only looking -fixedly at her as he drummed upon the table with his fingers, -just for all the world as Miss Jenkyns used to do. Miss -Matty was on the point of asking him what he wanted (as she told -me afterwards), when he turned sharp to me: “Is your name -Mary Smith?”</p> -<p>“Yes!” said I.</p> -<p>All my doubts as to his identity were set at rest, and I only -wondered what he would say or do next, and how Miss Matty would -stand the joyful shock of what he had to reveal. Apparently -he was at a loss how to announce himself, for he looked round at -last in search of something to buy, so as to gain time, and, as -it happened, his eye caught on the almond-comfits, and he boldly -asked for a pound of “those things.” I doubt if -Miss Matty had a whole pound in the shop, and, besides the -unusual magnitude of the order, she was distressed with the idea -of the indigestion they would produce, taken in such unlimited -quantities. She looked up to remonstrate. Something -of tender relaxation in his face struck home to her heart. -She said, “It is—oh, sir! can you be Peter?” -and trembled from head to foot. In a moment he was round -the table and had her in his arms, sobbing the tearless cries of -old age. I brought her a glass of wine, for indeed her -colour had changed so as to alarm me and Mr Peter too. He -kept saying, “I have been too sudden for you, Matty—I -have, my little girl.”</p> -<p>I proposed that she should go at once up into the <a -name="page240"></a><span class="pagenum">p. -240</span>drawing-room and lie down on the sofa there. She -looked wistfully at her brother, whose hand she had held tight, -even when nearly fainting; but on his assuring her that he would -not leave her, she allowed him to carry her upstairs.</p> -<p>I thought that the best I could do was to run and put the -kettle on the fire for early tea, and then to attend to the shop, -leaving the brother and sister to exchange some of the many -thousand things they must have to say. I had also to break -the news to Martha, who received it with a burst of tears which -nearly infected me. She kept recovering herself to ask if I -was sure it was indeed Miss Matty’s brother, for I had -mentioned that he had grey hair, and she had always heard that he -was a very handsome young man. Something of the same kind -perplexed Miss Matty at tea-time, when she was installed in the -great easy-chair opposite to Mr Jenkyns in order to gaze her -fill. She could hardly drink for looking at him, and as for -eating, that was out of the question.</p> -<p>“I suppose hot climates age people very quickly,” -said she, almost to herself. “When you left Cranford -you had not a grey hair in your head.”</p> -<p>“But how many years ago is that?” said Mr Peter, -smiling.</p> -<p>“Ah, true! yes, I suppose you and I are getting -old. But still I did not think we were so very old! -But white hair is very becoming to you, Peter,” she -continued—a little afraid lest she had hurt him by -revealing how his appearance had impressed her.</p> -<p>“I suppose I forgot dates too, Matty, for what do you -think I have brought for you from India? I have an Indian -muslin gown and a pearl necklace for you <a -name="page241"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 241</span>somewhere -in my chest at Portsmouth.” He smiled as if amused at -the idea of the incongruity of his presents with the appearance -of his sister; but this did not strike her all at once, while the -elegance of the articles did. I could see that for a moment -her imagination dwelt complacently on the idea of herself thus -attired; and instinctively she put her hand up to her -throat—that little delicate throat which (as Miss Pole had -told me) had been one of her youthful charms; but the hand met -the touch of folds of soft muslin in which she was always swathed -up to her chin, and the sensation recalled a sense of the -unsuitableness of a pearl necklace to her age. She said, -“I’m afraid I’m too old; but it was very kind -of you to think of it. They are just what I should have -liked years ago—when I was young.”</p> -<p>“So I thought, my little Matty. I remembered your -tastes; they were so like my dear mother’s.” At -the mention of that name the brother and sister clasped each -other’s hands yet more fondly, and, although they were -perfectly silent, I fancied they might have something to say if -they were unchecked by my presence, and I got up to arrange my -room for Mr Peter’s occupation that night, intending myself -to share Miss Matty’s bed. But at my movement, he -started up. “I must go and settle about a room at the -‘George.’ My carpet-bag is there -too.”</p> -<p>“No!” said Miss Matty, in great -distress—“you must not go; please, dear -Peter—pray, Mary—oh! you must not go!”</p> -<p>She was so much agitated that we both promised everything she -wished. Peter sat down again and gave her his hand, which -for better security she held <a name="page242"></a><span -class="pagenum">p. 242</span>in both of hers, and I left the room -to accomplish my arrangements.</p> -<p>Long, long into the night, far, far into the morning, did Miss -Matty and I talk. She had much to tell me of her -brother’s life and adventures, which he had communicated to -her as they had sat alone. She said all was thoroughly -clear to her; but I never quite understood the whole story; and -when in after days I lost my awe of Mr Peter enough to question -him myself, he laughed at my curiosity, and told me stories that -sounded so very much like Baron Munchausen’s, that I was -sure he was making fun of me. What I heard from Miss Matty -was that he had been a volunteer at the siege of Rangoon; had -been taken prisoner by the Burmese; and somehow obtained favour -and eventual freedom from knowing how to bleed the chief of the -small tribe in some case of dangerous illness; that on his -release from years of captivity he had had his letters returned -from England with the ominous word “Dead” marked upon -them; and, believing himself to be the last of his race, he had -settled down as an indigo planter, and had proposed to spend the -remainder of his life in the country to whose inhabitants and -modes of life he had become habituated, when my letter had -reached him; and, with the odd vehemence which characterised him -in age as it had done in youth, he had sold his land and all his -possessions to the first purchaser, and come home to the poor old -sister, who was more glad and rich than any princess when she -looked at him. She talked me to sleep at last, and then I -was awakened by a slight sound at the door, for which she begged -my pardon as she crept penitently into bed; but it <a -name="page243"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 243</span>seems that -when I could no longer confirm her belief that the long-lost was -really here—under the same roof—she had begun to fear -lest it was only a waking dream of hers; that there never had -been a Peter sitting by her all that blessed evening—but -that the real Peter lay dead far away beneath some wild sea-wave, -or under some strange eastern tree. And so strong had this -nervous feeling of hers become, that she was fain to get up and -go and convince herself that he was really there by listening -through the door to his even, regular breathing—I -don’t like to call it snoring, but I heard it myself -through two closed doors—and by-and-by it soothed Miss -Matty to sleep.</p> -<p>I don’t believe Mr Peter came home from India as rich as -a nabob; he even considered himself poor, but neither he nor Miss -Matty cared much about that. At any rate, he had enough to -live upon “very genteelly” at Cranford; he and Miss -Matty together. And a day or two after his arrival, the -shop was closed, while troops of little urchins gleefully awaited -the shower of comfits and lozenges that came from time to time -down upon their faces as they stood up-gazing at Miss -Matty’s drawing-room windows. Occasionally Miss Matty -would say to them (half-hidden behind the curtains), “My -dear children, don’t make yourselves ill;” but a -strong arm pulled her back, and a more rattling shower than ever -succeeded. A part of the tea was sent in presents to the -Cranford ladies; and some of it was distributed among the old -people who remembered Mr Peter in the days of his frolicsome -youth. The Indian muslin gown was reserved for darling -Flora Gordon (Miss Jessie Brown’s daughter). The <a -name="page244"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 244</span>Gordons had -been on the Continent for the last few years, but were now -expected to return very soon; and Miss Matty, in her sisterly -pride, anticipated great delight in the joy of showing them Mr -Peter. The pearl necklace disappeared; and about that time -many handsome and useful presents made their appearance in the -households of Miss Pole and Mrs Forrester; and some rare and -delicate Indian ornaments graced the drawing-rooms of Mrs -Jamieson and Mrs Fitz-Adam. I myself was not -forgotten. Among other things, I had the handsomest-bound -and best edition of Dr Johnson’s works that could be -procured; and dear Miss Matty, with tears in her eyes, begged me -to consider it as a present from her sister as well as -herself. In short, no one was forgotten; and, what was -more, every one, however insignificant, who had shown kindness to -Miss Matty at any time, was sure of Mr Peter’s cordial -regard.</p> -<h2><a name="page245"></a><span class="pagenum">p. -245</span>CHAPTER XVI—PEACE TO CRANFORD</h2> -<p><span class="smcap">It</span> was not surprising that Mr Peter -became such a favourite at Cranford. The ladies vied with -each other who should admire him most; and no wonder, for their -quiet lives were astonishingly stirred up by the arrival from -India—especially as the person arrived told more wonderful -stories than Sindbad the Sailor; and, as Miss Pole said, was -quite as good as an Arabian Night any evening. For my own -part, I had vibrated all my life between Drumble and Cranford, -and I thought it was quite possible that all Mr Peter’s -stories might be true, although wonderful; but when I found that, -if we swallowed an anecdote of tolerable magnitude one week, we -had the dose considerably increased the next, I began to have my -doubts; especially as I noticed that when his sister was present -the accounts of Indian life were comparatively tame; not that she -knew more than we did, perhaps less. I noticed also that -when the rector came to call, Mr Peter talked in a different way -about the countries he had been in. But I don’t think -the ladies in Cranford would have considered him such a wonderful -traveller if they had only heard <a name="page246"></a><span -class="pagenum">p. 246</span>him talk in the quiet way he did to -him. They liked him the better, indeed, for being what they -called “so very Oriental.”</p> -<p>One day, at a select party in his honour, which Miss Pole -gave, and from which, as Mrs Jamieson honoured it with her -presence, and had even offered to send Mr Mulliner to wait, Mr -and Mrs Hoggins and Mrs Fitz-Adam were necessarily -excluded—one day at Miss Pole’s, Mr Peter said he was -tired of sitting upright against the hard-backed uneasy chairs, -and asked if he might not indulge himself in sitting -cross-legged. Miss Pole’s consent was eagerly given, -and down he went with the utmost gravity. But when Miss -Pole asked me, in an audible whisper, “if he did not remind -me of the Father of the Faithful?” I could not help -thinking of poor Simon Jones, the lame tailor, and while Mrs -Jamieson slowly commented on the elegance and convenience of the -attitude, I remembered how we had all followed that lady’s -lead in condemning Mr Hoggins for vulgarity because he simply -crossed his legs as he sat still on his chair. Many of Mr -Peter’s ways of eating were a little strange amongst such -ladies as Miss Pole, and Miss Matty, and Mrs Jamieson, especially -when I recollected the untasted green peas and two-pronged forks -at poor Mr Holbrook’s dinner.</p> -<p>The mention of that gentleman’s name recalls to my mind -a conversation between Mr Peter and Miss Matty one evening in the -summer after he returned to Cranford. The day had been very -hot, and Miss Matty had been much oppressed by the weather, in -the heat of which her brother revelled. I remember that she -had been unable to nurse Martha’s baby, <a -name="page247"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 247</span>which had -become her favourite employment of late, and which was as much at -home in her arms as in its mother’s, as long as it remained -a light-weight, portable by one so fragile as Miss Matty. -This day to which I refer, Miss Matty had seemed more than -usually feeble and languid, and only revived when the sun went -down, and her sofa was wheeled to the open window, through which, -although it looked into the principal street of Cranford, the -fragrant smell of the neighbouring hayfields came in every now -and then, borne by the soft breezes that stirred the dull air of -the summer twilight, and then died away. The silence of the -sultry atmosphere was lost in the murmuring noises which came in -from many an open window and door; even the children were abroad -in the street, late as it was (between ten and eleven), enjoying -the game of play for which they had not had spirits during the -heat of the day. It was a source of satisfaction to Miss -Matty to see how few candles were lighted, even in the apartments -of those houses from which issued the greatest signs of -life. Mr Peter, Miss Matty, and I had all been quiet, each -with a separate reverie, for some little time, when Mr Peter -broke in—</p> -<p>“Do you know, little Matty, I could have sworn you were -on the high road to matrimony when I left England that last -time! If anybody had told me you would have lived and died -an old maid then, I should have laughed in their -faces.”</p> -<p>Miss Matty made no reply, and I tried in vain to think of some -subject which should effectually turn the conversation; but I was -very stupid; and before I spoke he went on—</p> -<p><a name="page248"></a><span class="pagenum">p. -248</span>“It was Holbrook, that fine manly fellow who -lived at Woodley, that I used to think would carry off my little -Matty. You would not think it now, I dare say, Mary; but -this sister of mine was once a very pretty girl—at least, I -thought so, and so I’ve a notion did poor Holbrook. -What business had he to die before I came home to thank him for -all his kindness to a good-for-nothing cub as I was? It was -that that made me first think he cared for you; for in all our -fishing expeditions it was Matty, Matty, we talked about. -Poor Deborah! What a lecture she read me on having asked -him home to lunch one day, when she had seen the Arley carriage -in the town, and thought that my lady might call. Well, -that’s long years ago; more than half a life-time, and yet -it seems like yesterday! I don’t know a fellow I -should have liked better as a brother-in-law. You must have -played your cards badly, my little Matty, somehow or -another—wanted your brother to be a good go-between, eh, -little one?” said he, putting out his hand to take hold of -hers as she lay on the sofa. “Why, what’s this? -you’re shivering and shaking, Matty, with that confounded -open window. Shut it, Mary, this minute!”</p> -<p>I did so, and then stooped down to kiss Miss Matty, and see if -she really were chilled. She caught at my hand, and gave it -a hard squeeze—but unconsciously, I think—for in a -minute or two she spoke to us quite in her usual voice, and -smiled our uneasiness away, although she patiently submitted to -the prescriptions we enforced of a warm bed and a glass of weak -negus. I was to leave Cranford the next day, and before I -went I saw that all the effects <a name="page249"></a><span -class="pagenum">p. 249</span>of the open window had quite -vanished. I had superintended most of the alterations -necessary in the house and household during the latter weeks of -my stay. The shop was once more a parlour: the empty -resounding rooms again furnished up to the very garrets.</p> -<p>There had been some talk of establishing Martha and Jem in -another house, but Miss Matty would not hear of this. -Indeed, I never saw her so much roused as when Miss Pole had -assumed it to be the most desirable arrangement. As long as -Martha would remain with Miss Matty, Miss Matty was only too -thankful to have her about her; yes, and Jem too, who was a very -pleasant man to have in the house, for she never saw him from -week’s end to week’s end. And as for the -probable children, if they would all turn out such little -darlings as her god-daughter, Matilda, she should not mind the -number, if Martha didn’t. Besides, the next was to be -called Deborah—a point which Miss Matty had reluctantly -yielded to Martha’s stubborn determination that her -first-born was to be Matilda. So Miss Pole had to lower her -colours, and even her voice, as she said to me that, as Mr and -Mrs Hearn were still to go on living in the same house with Miss -Matty, we had certainly done a wise thing in hiring -Martha’s niece as an auxiliary.</p> -<p>I left Miss Matty and Mr Peter most comfortable and contented; -the only subject for regret to the tender heart of the one, and -the social friendly nature of the other, being the unfortunate -quarrel between Mrs Jamieson and the plebeian Hogginses and their -following. In joke, I prophesied one day <a -name="page250"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 250</span>that this -would only last until Mrs Jamieson or Mr Mulliner were ill, in -which case they would only be too glad to be friends with Mr -Hoggins; but Miss Matty did not like my looking forward to -anything like illness in so light a manner, and before the year -was out all had come round in a far more satisfactory way.</p> -<p>I received two Cranford letters on one auspicious October -morning. Both Miss Pole and Miss Matty wrote to ask me to -come over and meet the Gordons, who had returned to England alive -and well with their two children, now almost grown up. Dear -Jessie Brown had kept her old kind nature, although she had -changed her name and station; and she wrote to say that she and -Major Gordon expected to be in Cranford on the fourteenth, and -she hoped and begged to be remembered to Mrs Jamieson (named -first, as became her honourable station), Miss Pole and Miss -Matty—could she ever forget their kindness to her poor -father and sister?—Mrs Forrester, Mr Hoggins (and here -again came in an allusion to kindness shown to the dead long -ago), his new wife, who as such must allow Mrs Gordon to desire -to make her acquaintance, and who was, moreover, an old Scotch -friend of her husband’s. In short, every one was -named, from the rector—who had been appointed to Cranford -in the interim between Captain Brown’s death and Miss -Jessie’s marriage, and was now associated with the latter -event—down to Miss Betty Barker. All were asked to -the luncheon; all except Mrs Fitz-Adam, who had come to live in -Cranford since Miss Jessie Brown’s days, and whom I found -rather moping on account of the omission. People wondered -at Miss <a name="page251"></a><span class="pagenum">p. -251</span>Betty Barker’s being included in the honourable -list; but, then, as Miss Pole said, we must remember the -disregard of the genteel proprieties of life in which the poor -captain had educated his girls, and for his sake we swallowed our -pride. Indeed, Mrs Jamieson rather took it as a compliment, -as putting Miss Betty (formerly <i>her</i> maid) on a level with -“those Hogginses.”</p> -<p>But when I arrived in Cranford, nothing was as yet ascertained -of Mrs Jamieson’s own intentions; would the honourable lady -go, or would she not? Mr Peter declared that she should and -she would; Miss Pole shook her head and desponded. But Mr -Peter was a man of resources. In the first place, he -persuaded Miss Matty to write to Mrs Gordon, and to tell her of -Mrs Fitz-Adam’s existence, and to beg that one so kind, and -cordial, and generous, might be included in the pleasant -invitation. An answer came back by return of post, with a -pretty little note for Mrs Fitz-Adam, and a request that Miss -Matty would deliver it herself and explain the previous -omission. Mrs Fitz-Adam was as pleased as could be, and -thanked Miss Matty over and over again. Mr Peter had said, -“Leave Mrs Jamieson to me;” so we did; especially as -we knew nothing that we could do to alter her determination if -once formed.</p> -<p>I did not know, nor did Miss Matty, how things were going on, -until Miss Pole asked me, just the day before Mrs Gordon came, if -I thought there was anything between Mr Peter and Mrs Jamieson in -the matrimonial line, for that Mrs Jamieson was really going to -the lunch at the “George.” She <a -name="page252"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 252</span>had sent Mr -Mulliner down to desire that there might be a footstool put to -the warmest seat in the room, as she meant to come, and knew that -their chairs were very high. Miss Pole had picked this -piece of news up, and from it she conjectured all sorts of -things, and bemoaned yet more. “If Peter should -marry, what would become of poor dear Miss Matty? And Mrs -Jamieson, of all people!” Miss Pole seemed to think -there were other ladies in Cranford who would have done more -credit to his choice, and I think she must have had someone who -was unmarried in her head, for she kept saying, “It was so -wanting in delicacy in a widow to think of such a -thing.”</p> -<p>When I got back to Miss Matty’s I really did begin to -think that Mr Peter might be thinking of Mrs Jamieson for a wife, -and I was as unhappy as Miss Pole about it. He had the -proof sheet of a great placard in his hand. “Signor -Brunoni, Magician to the King of Delhi, the Rajah of Oude, and -the great Lama of Thibet,” &c. &c., was going to -“perform in Cranford for one night only,” the very -next night; and Miss Matty, exultant, showed me a letter from the -Gordons, promising to remain over this gaiety, which Miss Matty -said was entirely Peter’s doing. He had written to -ask the signor to come, and was to be at all the expenses of the -affair. Tickets were to be sent gratis to as many as the -room would hold. In short, Miss Matty was charmed with the -plan, and said that to-morrow Cranford would remind her of the -Preston Guild, to which she had been in her youth—a -luncheon at the “George,” with the dear Gordons, and -the signor <a name="page253"></a><span class="pagenum">p. -253</span>in the Assembly Room in the evening. But -I—I looked only at the fatal words:—</p> -<blockquote><p>“<i>Under the Patronage of the</i> <span -class="smcap">Honourable Mrs Jamieson</span>.”</p> -</blockquote> -<p>She, then, was chosen to preside over this entertainment of Mr -Peter’s; she was perhaps going to displace my dear Miss -Matty in his heart, and make her life lonely once more! I -could not look forward to the morrow with any pleasure; and every -innocent anticipation of Miss Matty’s only served to add to -my annoyance.</p> -<p>So, angry and irritated, and exaggerating every little -incident which could add to my irritation, I went on till we were -all assembled in the great parlour at the -“George.” Major and Mrs Gordon and pretty Flora -and Mr Ludovic were all as bright and handsome and friendly as -could be; but I could hardly attend to them for watching Mr -Peter, and I saw that Miss Pole was equally busy. I had -never seen Mrs Jamieson so roused and animated before; her face -looked full of interest in what Mr Peter was saying. I drew -near to listen. My relief was great when I caught that his -words were not words of love, but that, for all his grave face, -he was at his old tricks. He was telling her of his travels -in India, and describing the wonderful height of the Himalaya -mountains: one touch after another added to their size, and each -exceeded the former in absurdity; but Mrs Jamieson really enjoyed -all in perfect good faith. I suppose she required strong -stimulants to excite her to come out of her apathy. Mr -Peter wound up his account by saying that, of course, at that -altitude there were none of the animals to be found that <a -name="page254"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 254</span>existed in -the lower regions; the game,—everything was -different. Firing one day at some flying creature, he was -very much dismayed when it fell, to find that he had shot a -cherubim! Mr Peter caught my eye at this moment, and gave -me such a funny twinkle, that I felt sure he had no thoughts of -Mrs Jamieson as a wife from that time. She looked -uncomfortably amazed—</p> -<p>“But, Mr Peter, shooting a cherubim—don’t -you think—I am afraid that was sacrilege!”</p> -<p>Mr Peter composed his countenance in a moment, and appeared -shocked at the idea, which, as he said truly enough, was now -presented to him for the first time; but then Mrs Jamieson must -remember that he had been living for a long time among -savages—all of whom were heathens—some of them, he -was afraid, were downright Dissenters. Then, seeing Miss -Matty draw near, he hastily changed the conversation, and after a -little while, turning to me, he said, “Don’t be -shocked, prim little Mary, at all my wonderful stories. I -consider Mrs Jamieson fair game, and besides I am bent on -propitiating her, and the first step towards it is keeping her -well awake. I bribed her here by asking her to let me have -her name as patroness for my poor conjuror this evening; and I -don’t want to give her time enough to get up her rancour -against the Hogginses, who are just coming in. I want -everybody to be friends, for it harasses Matty so much to hear of -these quarrels. I shall go at it again by-and-by, so you -need not look shocked. I intend to enter the Assembly Room -to-night with Mrs Jamieson on one side, and my lady, Mrs Hoggins, -on the other. You see if I don’t.”</p> -<p><a name="page255"></a><span class="pagenum">p. -255</span>Somehow or another he did; and fairly got them into -conversation together. Major and Mrs Gordon helped at the -good work with their perfect ignorance of any existing coolness -between any of the inhabitants of Cranford.</p> -<p>Ever since that day there has been the old friendly -sociability in Cranford society; which I am thankful for, because -of my dear Miss Matty’s love of peace and kindliness. -We all love Miss Matty, and I somehow think we are all of us -better when she is near us.</p> - -<div class="gapspace"> </div> -<p style="text-align: center"><a name="page256"></a><span -class="pagenum">p. 256</span><span class="GutSmall">PRINTED -BY</span><br /> -<span class="GutSmall">TURNBULL AND SPEARS,</span><br /> -<span class="GutSmall">EDINBURGH</span></p> -<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CRANFORD***</p> -<pre> - - -***** This file should be named 394-h.htm or 394-h.zip****** - - -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: -http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/3/9/394 - - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, -set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to -copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to -protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project -Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you -charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If you -do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the -rules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose -such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and -research. They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do -practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks. Redistribution is -subject to the trademark license, especially commercial -redistribution. - - - -*** START: FULL LICENSE *** - -THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE -PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK - -To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free -distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work -(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project -Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project -Gutenberg-tm License available with this file or online at - www.gutenberg.org/license. - - -Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic works - -1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to -and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property -(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all -the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy -all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession. -If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the -terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or -entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8. - -1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be -used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who -agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few -things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works -even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See -paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement -and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic -works. See paragraph 1.E below. - -1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation" -or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the -collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an -individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are -located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from -copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative -works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg -are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project -Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by -freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of -this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with -the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by -keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project -Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others. - -1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern -what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in -a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check -the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement -before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or -creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project -Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning -the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United -States. - -1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: - -1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate -access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently -whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the -phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project -Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, -copied or distributed: - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org - -1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived -from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is -posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied -and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees -or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work -with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the -work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 -through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the -Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or -1.E.9. - -1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted -with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution -must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional -terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked -to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the -permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work. - -1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm -License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this -work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. - -1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this -electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without -prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with -active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project -Gutenberg-tm License. - -1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, -compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any -word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or -distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than -"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version -posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org), -you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a -copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon -request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other -form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm -License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. - -1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, -performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works -unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. - -1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing -access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided -that - -- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from - the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method - you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is - owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he - has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the - Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments - must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you - prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax - returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and - sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the - address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to - the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation." - -- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies - you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he - does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm - License. You must require such a user to return or - destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium - and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of - Project Gutenberg-tm works. - -- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any - money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the - electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days - of receipt of the work. - -- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free - distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. - -1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set -forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from -both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael -Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the -Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. - -1.F. - -1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable -effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread -public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm -collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic -works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain -"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or -corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual -property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a -computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by -your equipment. - -1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right -of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project -Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all -liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal -fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT -LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE -PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE -TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE -LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR -INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH -DAMAGE. - -1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a -defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can -receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a -written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you -received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with -your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with -the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a -refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity -providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to -receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy -is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further -opportunities to fix the problem. - -1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth -in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS', WITH NO OTHER -WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO -WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. - -1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied -warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. -If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the -law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be -interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by -the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any -provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions. - -1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the -trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone -providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance -with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, -promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works, -harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, -that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do -or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm -work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any -Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause. - - -Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm - -Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of -electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers -including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists -because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from -people in all walks of life. - -Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the -assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's -goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will -remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure -and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations. -To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation -and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 -and the Foundation information page at www.gutenberg.org - - -Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive -Foundation - -The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit -501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the -state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal -Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification -number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg -Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent -permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. - -The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S. -Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered -throughout numerous locations. Its business office is located at 809 -North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887. Email -contact links and up to date contact information can be found at the -Foundation's web site and official page at www.gutenberg.org/contact - -For additional contact information: - Dr. Gregory B. Newby - Chief Executive and Director - gbnewby@pglaf.org - -Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg -Literary Archive Foundation - -Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide -spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of -increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be -freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest -array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations -($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt -status with the IRS. - -The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating -charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United -States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a -considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up -with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations -where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To -SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any -particular state visit www.gutenberg.org/donate - -While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we -have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition -against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who -approach us with offers to donate. - -International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make -any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from -outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. - -Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation -methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other -ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. -To donate, please visit: www.gutenberg.org/donate - - -Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic -works. - -Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm -concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared -with anyone. For forty years, he produced and distributed Project -Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support. - -Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed -editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S. -unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily -keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. - -Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: - - www.gutenberg.org - -This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, -including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to -subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. -</pre></body> -</html> diff --git a/old/394-h_20130224.zip b/old/394-h_20130224.zip Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 6be28b8..0000000 --- a/old/394-h_20130224.zip +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/394-h_20210429.htm b/old/394-h_20210429.htm deleted file mode 100644 index e99e4de..0000000 --- a/old/394-h_20210429.htm +++ /dev/null @@ -1,8230 +0,0 @@ -<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" - "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> -<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> - <head> - <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=UTF-8" /> - <title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Cranford, by Elizabeth Cleghorn Gaskell</title> - <link rel="coverpage" href="images/cover.jpg" /> - <style type="text/css"> - p { margin-top: .75em; - margin-bottom: .75em; - } - .gutsmall { font-size: 0.7em; } - h1, h2 { - text-align: center; - margin-top: 2em; - margin-bottom: 2em; - } - h3, h4, h5 { - text-align: center; - margin-top: 1em; - margin-bottom: 1em; - } - body{margin-left: 10%; - margin-right: 10%; - } - table { border-collapse: collapse; } -table {margin-left:auto; margin-right:auto;} - td { vertical-align: top; border: 1px solid black;} - td p { margin: 0.2em; } - - .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} - - .pagenum {position: absolute; - left: 92%; - font-size: small; - text-align: right; - font-weight: normal; - color: gray; - } - .indexpageno {font-size: small; - text-align: right; - font-weight: normal;} - img { border: none; } - div.gapspace { height: 0.8em; } - -div.chapter {page-break-before: always;} -h2,h3 {page-break-before: avoid;} - </style> -</head> -<body> -<div style='text-align:center; font-size:1.2em; font-weight:bold;'>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Title, by Author</div> -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online -at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you -are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the -country where you are located before using this eBook. -</div> -<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: Cranford</div> -<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Elizabeth Cleghorn Gaskell</div> -<div style='display:block;margin:1em 0'>Release Date: December 7, 1995 [eBook #394]<br /> -[Most recently updated: April 28, 2021]</div> -<div style='display:block;margin:1em 0'>Language: English</div> -<div style='display:block;margin:1em 0'>Character set encoding: UTF-8</div> -<div style='display:block; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Produced by: David Price, -Margaret -Price, and Richard Tonsing</div> -<div style='margin-top:2em;margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CRANFORD ***</div> - -<p>Transcribed from the 1907 J. M. Dent edition by David Price, -email ccx074@pglaf.org. Extra proofing by Margaret -Price.</p> -<p style="text-align: center"> -<a href="images/fpb.jpg"> -<img alt= -"“Oh, sir! can you be Peter?”" -title= -"“Oh, sir! can you be Peter?”" -src="images/fps.jpg" /> -</a></p> -<h1>CRANFORD</h1> -<p style="text-align: center"><i>by</i><br /> -<i>Elizabeth Cleghorn Gaskell</i></p> -<p style="text-align: center"> -<a href="images/tpb.jpg"> -<img alt= -"Picture of lady pouring tea" -title= -"Picture of lady pouring tea" -src="images/tps.jpg" /> -</a></p> -<p style="text-align: center"><i>With twenty-five coloured -illustrations</i><br /> -<i>by C. E. Brock</i></p> -<p style="text-align: center"> -<a href="images/tp2b.jpg"> -<img alt= -"Decorative graphic" -title= -"Decorative graphic" -src="images/tp2s.jpg" /> -</a></p> -<p style="text-align: center">1904</p> -<p style="text-align: center"><i>London. J. M. Dent -& C<sup>o</sup>.</i><br /> -<i>New York. E. P. Dutton & -C<sup>o</sup>.</i> -<a name="pagevii"></a><span class="pagenum">p. -vii</span></p><div class='chapter' /><h2>CONTENTS</h2> -<table> -<tr> -<td colspan="2" style="text-align: center"><i>CHAPTER -I</i></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td><i>Our Society</i></td> -<td style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a -href="#page1">1</a></span></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td colspan="2" style="text-align: center"><i>CHAPTER -II</i></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td><i>The Captain</i></td> -<td style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a -href="#page16">16</a></span></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td colspan="2" style="text-align: center"><i>CHAPTER -III</i></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td><i>A Love Affair of Long Ago</i></td> -<td style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a -href="#page36">36</a></span></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td colspan="2" style="text-align: center"><i>CHAPTER -IV</i></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td><i>A Visit to an Old Bachelor</i></td> -<td style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a -href="#page49">49</a></span></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td colspan="2" style="text-align: center"><i>CHAPTER -V</i></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td><i>Old Letters</i></td> -<td style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a -href="#page65">65</a></span></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td colspan="2" style="text-align: center"><i>CHAPTER -VI</i></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td><i>Poor Peter</i></td> -<td style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a -href="#page80">80</a></span></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td colspan="2" style="text-align: center"><i>CHAPTER -VII</i></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td><i>Visiting</i></td> -<td style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a -href="#page96">96</a></span></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td colspan="2" style="text-align: center"><a -name="pageviii"></a><span class="pagenum">p. -viii</span><i>CHAPTER VIII</i></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td>“<i>Your Ladyship</i>”</td> -<td style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a -href="#page110">110</a></span></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td colspan="2" style="text-align: center"><i>CHAPTER -IX</i></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td><i>Signor Brunoni</i></td> -<td style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a -href="#page128">128</a></span></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td colspan="2" style="text-align: center"><i>CHAPTER -X</i></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td><i>The Panic</i></td> -<td style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a -href="#page142">142</a></span></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td colspan="2" style="text-align: center"><i>CHAPTER -XI</i></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td><i>Samuel Brown</i></td> -<td style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a -href="#page161">161</a></span></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td colspan="2" style="text-align: center"><i>CHAPTER -XII</i></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td><i>Engaged to be Married</i></td> -<td style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a -href="#page177">177</a></span></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td colspan="2" style="text-align: center"><i>CHAPTER -XIII</i></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td><i>Stopped Payment</i></td> -<td style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a -href="#page189">189</a></span></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td colspan="2" style="text-align: center"><i>CHAPTER -XIV</i></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td><i>Friends in Need</i></td> -<td style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a -href="#page204">204</a></span></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td colspan="2" style="text-align: center"><i>CHAPTER -XV</i></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td><i>A Happy Return</i></td> -<td style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a -href="#page228">228</a></span></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td colspan="2" style="text-align: center"><i>CHAPTER -XVI</i></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td><i>Peace to Cranford</i></td> -<td style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a -href="#page245">245</a></span></td> -</tr> -</table> -<div class='chapter' /><h2><a name="pageix"></a><span class="pagenum">p. ix</span>LIST -OF ILLUSTRATIONS</h2> -<table> -<tr> -<td>“<i>Oh, sir</i>! <i>Can you be -Peter</i>?”</td> -<td style="text-align: right">Frontispiece</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td><i>Title-page</i></td> -<td style="text-align: center">—</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td><i>A magnificent family red silk umbrella</i></td> -<td style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a -href="#page3">3</a></span></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td><i>Meekly going to her pasture</i></td> -<td style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a -href="#page8">8</a></span></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td><i>Endeavouring to beguile her into conversation</i></td> -<td style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a -href="#page14">14</a></span></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td><i>She brought the affrighted carter . . . into the -drawing-room</i></td> -<td style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a -href="#page24">24</a></span></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td>“<i>With his arm round Miss Jessie’s -waist</i>!”</td> -<td style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a -href="#page33">33</a></span></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td><i>Mr Holbrook . . . bade us good-bye</i></td> -<td style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a -href="#page48">48</a></span></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td><i>Now</i>, <i>what colour are ash-buds in March</i>?</td> -<td style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a -href="#page54">54</a></span></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td><i>I made us of the time to think of many other -things</i></td> -<td style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a -href="#page74">74</a></span></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td>“<i>Confound the woman</i>!”</td> -<td style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a -href="#page82">82</a></span></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td><i>The temptation of the comfortable arm-chair had been -too much for her</i></td> -<td style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a -href="#page106">106</a></span></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td><i>Mr Mulliner</i></td> -<td style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a -href="#page117">117</a></span></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td><i>We gave her a tea-spoonful of currant jelly</i></td> -<td style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a -href="#page124">124</a></span></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td><i>Afraid of matrimonial reports</i></td> -<td style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a -href="#page140">140</a></span></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td><a name="pagex"></a><span class="pagenum">p. -x</span><i>Asked him to take care of us</i></td> -<td style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a -href="#page148">148</a></span></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td><i>Slaughterous and indiscriminate directions</i></td> -<td style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a -href="#page157">157</a></span></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td><i>Would stretch out their little arms</i></td> -<td style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a -href="#page170">170</a></span></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td>“<i>What do you think</i>, <i>Miss -Matty</i>?”</td> -<td style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a -href="#page179">179</a></span></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td><i>Standing over him like a bold dragoon</i></td> -<td style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a -href="#page190">190</a></span></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td>“<i>You must give me your note</i>, <i>Mr -Dobson</i>, <i>if you please</i>”</td> -<td style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a -href="#page198">198</a></span></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td>“<i>Please</i>, <i>ma’am, he wants to marry me -off hand</i>”</td> -<td style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a -href="#page213">213</a></span></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td><i>Miss Matty and I sat assenting to accounts</i></td> -<td style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a -href="#page220">220</a></span></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td><i>Smiling glory . . . and becoming blushes</i></td> -<td style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a -href="#page231">231</a></span></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td><i>I went to call Miss Matty</i></td> -<td style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a -href="#page234">234</a></span></td> -</tr> -</table> - -<div class="gapspace"> </div> -<p><i>Most of the three-colour blocks used in this book have been -made by the Graphic Photo-Engraving Co.</i>, <i>London</i> -<a name="page1"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 1</span></p><div class='chapter' /><h2>CHAPTER -I—OUR SOCIETY</h2> -<p><span class="smcap">In</span> the first place, Cranford is in -possession of the Amazons; all the holders of houses above a -certain rent are women. If a married couple come to settle -in the town, somehow the gentleman disappears; he is either -fairly frightened to death by being the only man in the Cranford -evening parties, or he is accounted for by being with his -regiment, his ship, or closely engaged in business all the week -in the great neighbouring commercial town of Drumble, distant -only twenty miles on a railroad. In short, whatever does -become of the gentlemen, they are not at Cranford. What -could they do if they were there? The surgeon has his round -of thirty miles, and sleeps at Cranford; but every man cannot be -a surgeon. For keeping the trim gardens full of choice -flowers without a weed to speck them; for frightening away little -boys who look wistfully at the said flowers through the railings; -for rushing out at the geese <a name="page2"></a><span -class="pagenum">p. 2</span>that occasionally venture in to the -gardens if the gates are left open; for deciding all questions of -literature and politics without troubling themselves with -unnecessary reasons or arguments; for obtaining clear and correct -knowledge of everybody’s affairs in the parish; for keeping -their neat maid-servants in admirable order; for kindness -(somewhat dictatorial) to the poor, and real tender good offices -to each other whenever they are in distress, the ladies of -Cranford are quite sufficient. “A man,” as one -of them observed to me once, “is <i>so</i> in the way in -the house!” Although the ladies of Cranford know all -each other’s proceedings, they are exceedingly indifferent -to each other’s opinions. Indeed, as each has her own -individuality, not to say eccentricity, pretty strongly -developed, nothing is so easy as verbal retaliation; but, -somehow, good-will reigns among them to a considerable -degree.</p> -<p>The Cranford ladies have only an occasional little quarrel, -spirited out in a few peppery words and angry jerks of the head; -just enough to prevent the even tenor of their lives from -becoming too flat. Their dress is very independent of -fashion; as they observe, “What does it signify how we -dress here at Cranford, where everybody knows us?” -And if they go from home, their reason is equally cogent, -“What does it signify how we dress here, where nobody knows -us?” The materials of their clothes are, in general, -good and plain, and most of them are nearly as scrupulous as Miss -Tyler, of cleanly memory; but I will answer for it, the last -gigot, the last tight and scanty petticoat in wear in England, -was seen in Cranford—and seen without a smile.</p> -<p style="text-align: center"> -<a href="images/p3b.jpg"> -<img alt= -"A magnificent family red silk umbrella" -title= -"A magnificent family red silk umbrella" -src="images/p3s.jpg" /> -</a></p> -<p><a name="page3"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 3</span>I can -testify to a magnificent family red silk umbrella, under which a -gentle little spinster, left alone of many brothers and sisters, -used to patter to church on rainy days. Have you any red -silk umbrellas in London? We had a tradition of the first -that had ever been seen in Cranford; and the little boys mobbed -it, and called it “a stick in petticoats.” It -might have been the very red silk one I have described, held by a -strong father over a troop of little ones; the poor little -lady—the survivor of all—could scarcely carry it.</p> -<p>Then there were rules and regulations for visiting and calls; -and they were announced to any young people who might be staying -in the town, with all the solemnity with which the old Manx laws -were read once a year on the Tinwald Mount.</p> -<p>“Our friends have sent to inquire how you are after your -journey to-night, my dear” (fifteen miles in a -gentleman’s carriage); “they will give you some rest -to-morrow, but the next day, I have no doubt, they will call; so -be at liberty after twelve—from twelve to three are our -calling hours.”</p> -<p>Then, after they had called—</p> -<p>“It is the third day; I dare say your mamma has told -you, my dear, never to let more than three days elapse between -receiving a call and returning it; and also, that you are never -to stay longer than a quarter of an hour.”</p> -<p>“But am I to look at my watch? How am I to find -out when a quarter of an hour has passed?”</p> -<p>“You must keep thinking about the time, my dear, and not -allow yourself to forget it in conversation.”</p> -<p><a name="page4"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 4</span>As -everybody had this rule in their minds, whether they received or -paid a call, of course no absorbing subject was ever spoken -about. We kept ourselves to short sentences of small talk, -and were punctual to our time.</p> -<p>I imagine that a few of the gentlefolks of Cranford were poor, -and had some difficulty in making both ends meet; but they were -like the Spartans, and concealed their smart under a smiling -face. We none of us spoke of money, because that subject -savoured of commerce and trade, and though some might be poor, we -were all aristocratic. The Cranfordians had that kindly -<i>esprit de corps</i> which made them overlook all deficiencies -in success when some among them tried to conceal their -poverty. When Mrs Forrester, for instance, gave a party in -her baby-house of a dwelling, and the little maiden disturbed the -ladies on the sofa by a request that she might get the tea-tray -out from underneath, everyone took this novel proceeding as the -most natural thing in the world, and talked on about household -forms and ceremonies as if we all believed that our hostess had a -regular servants’ hall, second table, with housekeeper and -steward, instead of the one little charity-school maiden, whose -short ruddy arms could never have been strong enough to carry the -tray upstairs, if she had not been assisted in private by her -mistress, who now sat in state, pretending not to know what cakes -were sent up, though she knew, and we knew, and she knew that we -knew, and we knew that she knew that we knew, she had been busy -all the morning making tea-bread and sponge-cakes.</p> -<p><a name="page5"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 5</span>There -were one or two consequences arising from this general but -unacknowledged poverty, and this very much acknowledged -gentility, which were not amiss, and which might be introduced -into many circles of society to their great improvement. -For instance, the inhabitants of Cranford kept early hours, and -clattered home in their pattens, under the guidance of a -lantern-bearer, about nine o’clock at night; and the whole -town was abed and asleep by half-past ten. Moreover, it was -considered “vulgar” (a tremendous word in Cranford) -to give anything expensive, in the way of eatable or drinkable, -at the evening entertainments. Wafer bread-and-butter and -sponge-biscuits were all that the Honourable Mrs Jamieson gave; -and she was sister-in-law to the late Earl of Glenmire, although -she did practise such “elegant economy.”</p> -<p>“Elegant economy!” How naturally one falls -back into the phraseology of Cranford! There, economy was -always “elegant,” and money-spending always -“vulgar and ostentatious”; a sort of sour-grapeism -which made us very peaceful and satisfied. I never shall -forget the dismay felt when a certain Captain Brown came to live -at Cranford, and openly spoke about his being poor—not in a -whisper to an intimate friend, the doors and windows being -previously closed, but in the public street! in a loud military -voice! alleging his poverty as a reason for not taking a -particular house. The ladies of Cranford were already -rather moaning over the invasion of their territories by a man -and a gentleman. He was a half-pay captain, and had -obtained some situation on a neighbouring railroad, which had <a -name="page6"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 6</span>been vehemently -petitioned against by the little town; and if, in addition to his -masculine gender, and his connection with the obnoxious railroad, -he was so brazen as to talk of being poor—why, then, -indeed, he must be sent to Coventry. Death was as true and -as common as poverty; yet people never spoke about that, loud out -in the streets. It was a word not to be mentioned to ears -polite. We had tacitly agreed to ignore that any with whom -we associated on terms of visiting equality could ever be -prevented by poverty from doing anything that they wished. -If we walked to or from a party, it was because the night was -<i>so</i> fine, or the air <i>so</i> refreshing, not because -sedan-chairs were expensive. If we wore prints, instead of -summer silks, it was because we preferred a washing material; and -so on, till we blinded ourselves to the vulgar fact that we were, -all of us, people of very moderate means. Of course, then, -we did not know what to make of a man who could speak of poverty -as if it was not a disgrace. Yet, somehow, Captain Brown -made himself respected in Cranford, and was called upon, in spite -of all resolutions to the contrary. I was surprised to hear -his opinions quoted as authority at a visit which I paid to -Cranford about a year after he had settled in the town. My -own friends had been among the bitterest opponents of any -proposal to visit the Captain and his daughters, only twelve -months before; and now he was even admitted in the tabooed hours -before twelve. True, it was to discover the cause of a -smoking chimney, before the fire was lighted; but still Captain -Brown walked upstairs, nothing daunted, spoke in a voice too -large for the room, and joked <a name="page7"></a><span -class="pagenum">p. 7</span>quite in the way of a tame man about -the house. He had been blind to all the small slights, and -omissions of trivial ceremonies, with which he had been -received. He had been friendly, though the Cranford ladies -had been cool; he had answered small sarcastic compliments in -good faith; and with his manly frankness had overpowered all the -shrinking which met him as a man who was not ashamed to be -poor. And, at last, his excellent masculine common sense, -and his facility in devising expedients to overcome domestic -dilemmas, had gained him an extraordinary place as authority -among the Cranford ladies. He himself went on in his -course, as unaware of his popularity as he had been of the -reverse; and I am sure he was startled one day when he found his -advice so highly esteemed as to make some counsel which he had -given in jest to be taken in sober, serious earnest.</p> -<p>It was on this subject: An old lady had an Alderney cow, which -she looked upon as a daughter. You could not pay the short -quarter of an hour call without being told of the wonderful milk -or wonderful intelligence of this animal. The whole town -knew and kindly regarded Miss Betsy Barker’s Alderney; -therefore great was the sympathy and regret when, in an unguarded -moment, the poor cow tumbled into a lime-pit. She moaned so -loudly that she was soon heard and rescued; but meanwhile the -poor beast had lost most of her hair, and came out looking naked, -cold, and miserable, in a bare skin. Everybody pitied the -animal, though a few could not restrain their smiles at her droll -appearance. Miss Betsy Barker absolutely cried with sorrow -and dismay; <a name="page8"></a><span class="pagenum">p. -8</span>and it was said she thought of trying a bath of -oil. This remedy, perhaps, was recommended by some one of -the number whose advice she asked; but the proposal, if ever it -was made, was knocked on the head by Captain Brown’s -decided “Get her a flannel waistcoat and flannel drawers, -ma’am, if you wish to keep her alive. But my advice -is, kill the poor creature at once.”</p> -<p>Miss Betsy Barker dried her eyes, and thanked the Captain -heartily; she set to work, and by-and-by all the town turned out -to see the Alderney meekly going to her pasture, clad in dark -grey flannel. I have watched her myself many a time. -Do you ever see cows dressed in grey flannel in London?</p> -<p style="text-align: center"> -<a href="images/p8b.jpg"> -<img alt= -"Meekly going to her pasture" -title= -"Meekly going to her pasture" -src="images/p8s.jpg" /> -</a></p> -<p>Captain Brown had taken a small house on the outskirts of the -town, where he lived with his two daughters. He must have -been upwards of sixty at the time of the first visit I paid to -Cranford after I had left it as a residence. But he had a -wiry, well-trained, elastic figure, a stiff military throw-back -of his head, and a springing step, which made him appear much -younger than he was. His eldest daughter looked almost as -old as himself, and betrayed the fact that his real was more than -his apparent age. Miss Brown must have been forty; she had -a sickly, pained, careworn expression on her face, and looked as -if the gaiety of youth had long faded out of sight. Even -when young she must have been plain and hard-featured. Miss -Jessie Brown was ten years younger than her sister, and twenty -shades prettier. Her face was round and dimpled. Miss -Jenkyns once said, in a passion against Captain Brown (the cause -of which I will tell you presently), <a name="page9"></a><span -class="pagenum">p. 9</span>“that she thought it was time -for Miss Jessie to leave off her dimples, and not always to be -trying to look like a child.” It was true there was -something childlike in her face; and there will be, I think, till -she dies, though she should live to a hundred. Her eyes -were large blue wondering eyes, looking straight at you; her nose -was unformed and snub, and her lips were red and dewy; she wore -her hair, too, in little rows of curls, which heightened this -appearance. I do not know whether she was pretty or not; -but I liked her face, and so did everybody, and I do not think -she could help her dimples. She had something of her -father’s jauntiness of gait and manner; and any female -observer might detect a slight difference in the attire of the -two sisters—that of Miss Jessie being about two pounds per -annum more expensive than Miss Brown’s. Two pounds -was a large sum in Captain Brown’s annual -disbursements.</p> -<p>Such was the impression made upon me by the Brown family when -I first saw them all together in Cranford Church. The -Captain I had met before—on the occasion of the smoky -chimney, which he had cured by some simple alteration in the -flue. In church, he held his double eye-glass to his eyes -during the Morning Hymn, and then lifted up his head erect and -sang out loud and joyfully. He made the responses louder -than the clerk—an old man with a piping feeble voice, who, -I think, felt aggrieved at the Captain’s sonorous bass, and -quivered higher and higher in consequence.</p> -<p>On coming out of church, the brisk Captain paid the most -gallant attention to his two daughters. <a -name="page10"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 10</span>He nodded and -smiled to his acquaintances; but he shook hands with none until -he had helped Miss Brown to unfurl her umbrella, had relieved her -of her prayer-book, and had waited patiently till she, with -trembling nervous hands, had taken up her gown to walk through -the wet roads.</p> -<p>I wonder what the Cranford ladies did with Captain Brown at -their parties. We had often rejoiced, in former days, that -there was no gentleman to be attended to, and to find -conversation for, at the card-parties. We had congratulated -ourselves upon the snugness of the evenings; and, in our love for -gentility, and distaste of mankind, we had almost persuaded -ourselves that to be a man was to be “vulgar”; so -that when I found my friend and hostess, Miss Jenkyns, was going -to have a party in my honour, and that Captain and the Miss -Browns were invited, I wondered much what would be the course of -the evening. Card-tables, with green baize tops, were set -out by daylight, just as usual; it was the third week in -November, so the evenings closed in about four. Candles, -and clean packs of cards, were arranged on each table. The -fire was made up; the neat maid-servant had received her last -directions; and there we stood, dressed in our best, each with a -candle-lighter in our hands, ready to dart at the candles as soon -as the first knock came. Parties in Cranford were solemn -festivities, making the ladies feel gravely elated as they sat -together in their best dresses. As soon as three had -arrived, we sat down to “Preference,” I being the -unlucky fourth. The next four comers were put down -immediately to another table; and presently the tea-trays, <a -name="page11"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 11</span>which I had -seen set out in the store-room as I passed in the morning, were -placed each on the middle of a card-table. The china was -delicate egg-shell; the old-fashioned silver glittered with -polishing; but the eatables were of the slightest -description. While the trays were yet on the tables, -Captain and the Miss Browns came in; and I could see that, -somehow or other, the Captain was a favourite with all the ladies -present. Ruffled brows were smoothed, sharp voices lowered -at his approach. Miss Brown looked ill, and depressed -almost to gloom. Miss Jessie smiled as usual, and seemed -nearly as popular as her father. He immediately and quietly -assumed the man’s place in the room; attended to every -one’s wants, lessened the pretty maid-servant’s -labour by waiting on empty cups and bread-and-butterless ladies; -and yet did it all in so easy and dignified a manner, and so much -as if it were a matter of course for the strong to attend to the -weak, that he was a true man throughout. He played for -threepenny points with as grave an interest as if they had been -pounds; and yet, in all his attention to strangers, he had an eye -on his suffering daughter—for suffering I was sure she was, -though to many eyes she might only appear to be irritable. -Miss Jessie could not play cards: but she talked to the -sitters-out, who, before her coming, had been rather inclined to -be cross. She sang, too, to an old cracked piano, which I -think had been a spinet in its youth. Miss Jessie sang, -“Jock of Hazeldean” a little out of tune; but we were -none of us musical, though Miss Jenkyns beat time, out of time, -by way of appearing to be so.</p> -<p><a name="page12"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 12</span>It was -very good of Miss Jenkyns to do this; for I had seen that, a -little before, she had been a good deal annoyed by Miss Jessie -Brown’s unguarded admission (<i>à propos</i> of -Shetland wool) that she had an uncle, her mother’s brother, -who was a shop-keeper in Edinburgh. Miss Jenkyns tried to -drown this confession by a terrible cough—for the -Honourable Mrs Jamieson was sitting at a card-table nearest Miss -Jessie, and what would she say or think if she found out she was -in the same room with a shop-keeper’s niece! But Miss -Jessie Brown (who had no tact, as we all agreed the next morning) -<i>would</i> repeat the information, and assure Miss Pole she -could easily get her the identical Shetland wool required, -“through my uncle, who has the best assortment of Shetland -goods of any one in Edinbro’.” It was to take -the taste of this out of our mouths, and the sound of this out of -our ears, that Miss Jenkyns proposed music; so I say again, it -was very good of her to beat time to the song.</p> -<p>When the trays re-appeared with biscuits and wine, punctually -at a quarter to nine, there was conversation, comparing of cards, -and talking over tricks; but by-and-by Captain Brown sported a -bit of literature.</p> -<p>“Have you seen any numbers of ‘The Pickwick -Papers’?” said he. (They were then publishing -in parts.) “Capital thing!”</p> -<p>Now Miss Jenkyns was daughter of a deceased rector of -Cranford; and, on the strength of a number of manuscript sermons, -and a pretty good library of divinity, considered herself -literary, and looked upon any conversation about books as a <a -name="page13"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 13</span>challenge to -her. So she answered and said, “Yes, she had seen -them; indeed, she might say she had read them.”</p> -<p>“And what do you think of them?” exclaimed Captain -Brown. “Aren’t they famously good?”</p> -<p>So urged Miss Jenkyns could not but speak.</p> -<p>“I must say, I don’t think they are by any means -equal to Dr Johnson. Still, perhaps, the author is -young. Let him persevere, and who knows what he may become -if he will take the great Doctor for his model?” This -was evidently too much for Captain Brown to take placidly; and I -saw the words on the tip of his tongue before Miss Jenkyns had -finished her sentence.</p> -<p>“It is quite a different sort of thing, my dear -madam,” he began.</p> -<p>“I am quite aware of that,” returned she. -“And I make allowances, Captain Brown.”</p> -<p>“Just allow me to read you a scene out of this -month’s number,” pleaded he. “I had it -only this morning, and I don’t think the company can have -read it yet.”</p> -<p>“As you please,” said she, settling herself with -an air of resignation. He read the account of the -“swarry” which Sam Weller gave at Bath. Some of -us laughed heartily. <i>I</i> did not dare, because I was -staying in the house. Miss Jenkyns sat in patient -gravity. When it was ended, she turned to me, and said with -mild dignity—</p> -<p>“Fetch me ‘Rasselas,’ my dear, out of the -book-room.”</p> -<p>When I had brought it to her, she turned to Captain -Brown—</p> -<p><a name="page14"></a><span class="pagenum">p. -14</span>“Now allow <i>me</i> to read you a scene, and then -the present company can judge between your favourite, Mr Boz, and -Dr Johnson.”</p> -<p>She read one of the conversations between Rasselas and Imlac, -in a high-pitched, majestic voice: and when she had ended, she -said, “I imagine I am now justified in my preference of Dr -Johnson as a writer of fiction.” The Captain screwed -his lips up, and drummed on the table, but he did not -speak. She thought she would give him a finishing blow or -two.</p> -<p style="text-align: center"> -<a href="images/p14b.jpg"> -<img alt= -"Endeavouring to beguile her into conversation" -title= -"Endeavouring to beguile her into conversation" -src="images/p14s.jpg" /> -</a></p> -<p>“I consider it vulgar, and below the dignity of -literature, to publish in numbers.”</p> -<p>“How was the <i>Rambler</i> published, -ma’am?” asked Captain Brown in a low voice, which I -think Miss Jenkyns could not have heard.</p> -<p>“Dr Johnson’s style is a model for young -beginners. My father recommended it to me when I began to -write letters—I have formed my own style upon it; I -recommended it to your favourite.”</p> -<p>“I should be very sorry for him to exchange his style -for any such pompous writing,” said Captain Brown.</p> -<p>Miss Jenkyns felt this as a personal affront, in a way of -which the Captain had not dreamed. Epistolary writing she -and her friends considered as her <i>forte</i>. Many a copy -of many a letter have I seen written and corrected on the slate, -before she “seized the half-hour just previous to post-time -to assure” her friends of this or of that; and Dr Johnson -was, as she said, her model in these compositions. She drew -herself up with dignity, <a name="page15"></a><span -class="pagenum">p. 15</span>and only replied to Captain -Brown’s last remark by saying, with marked emphasis on -every syllable, “I prefer Dr Johnson to Mr Boz.”</p> -<p>It is said—I won’t vouch for the fact—that -Captain Brown was heard to say, <i>sotto voce</i>, “D-n Dr -Johnson!” If he did, he was penitent afterwards, as -he showed by going to stand near Miss Jenkyns’ arm-chair, -and endeavouring to beguile her into conversation on some more -pleasing subject. But she was inexorable. The next -day she made the remark I have mentioned about Miss -Jessie’s dimples.</p> -<div class='chapter' /><h2><a name="page16"></a><span class="pagenum">p. -16</span>CHAPTER II—THE CAPTAIN</h2> -<p><span class="smcap">It</span> was impossible to live a month -at Cranford and not know the daily habits of each resident; and -long before my visit was ended I knew much concerning the whole -Brown trio. There was nothing new to be discovered -respecting their poverty; for they had spoken simply and openly -about that from the very first. They made no mystery of the -necessity for their being economical. All that remained to -be discovered was the Captain’s infinite kindness of heart, -and the various modes in which, unconsciously to himself, he -manifested it. Some little anecdotes were talked about for -some time after they occurred. As we did not read much, and -as all the ladies were pretty well suited with servants, there -was a dearth of subjects for conversation. We therefore -discussed the circumstance of the Captain taking a poor old -woman’s dinner out of her hands one very slippery -Sunday. He had met her returning from the bakehouse as he -came from church, and noticed her precarious footing; and, with -the grave dignity with which he did everything, he relieved her -of her burden, and steered along the <a name="page17"></a><span -class="pagenum">p. 17</span>street by her side, carrying her -baked mutton and potatoes safely home. This was thought -very eccentric; and it was rather expected that he would pay a -round of calls, on the Monday morning, to explain and apologise -to the Cranford sense of propriety: but he did no such thing: and -then it was decided that he was ashamed, and was keeping out of -sight. In a kindly pity for him, we began to say, -“After all, the Sunday morning’s occurrence showed -great goodness of heart,” and it was resolved that he -should be comforted on his next appearance amongst us; but, lo! -he came down upon us, untouched by any sense of shame, speaking -loud and bass as ever, his head thrown back, his wig as jaunty -and well-curled as usual, and we were obliged to conclude he had -forgotten all about Sunday.</p> -<p>Miss Pole and Miss Jessie Brown had set up a kind of intimacy -on the strength of the Shetland wool and the new knitting -stitches; so it happened that when I went to visit Miss Pole I -saw more of the Browns than I had done while staying with Miss -Jenkyns, who had never got over what she called Captain -Brown’s disparaging remarks upon Dr Johnson as a writer of -light and agreeable fiction. I found that Miss Brown was -seriously ill of some lingering, incurable complaint, the pain -occasioned by which gave the uneasy expression to her face that I -had taken for unmitigated crossness. Cross, too, she was at -times, when the nervous irritability occasioned by her disease -became past endurance. Miss Jessie bore with her at these -times, even more patiently than she did with the bitter -self-upbraidings by which they <a name="page18"></a><span -class="pagenum">p. 18</span>were invariably succeeded. Miss -Brown used to accuse herself, not merely of hasty and irritable -temper, but also of being the cause why her father and sister -were obliged to pinch, in order to allow her the small luxuries -which were necessaries in her condition. She would so fain -have made sacrifices for them, and have lightened their cares, -that the original generosity of her disposition added acerbity to -her temper. All this was borne by Miss Jessie and her -father with more than placidity—with absolute -tenderness. I forgave Miss Jessie her singing out of tune, -and her juvenility of dress, when I saw her at home. I came -to perceive that Captain Brown’s dark Brutus wig and padded -coat (alas! too often threadbare) were remnants of the military -smartness of his youth, which he now wore unconsciously. He -was a man of infinite resources, gained in his barrack -experience. As he confessed, no one could black his boots -to please him except himself; but, indeed, he was not above -saving the little maid-servant’s labours in every -way—knowing, most likely, that his daughter’s illness -made the place a hard one.</p> -<p>He endeavoured to make peace with Miss Jenkyns soon after the -memorable dispute I have named, by a present of a wooden -fire-shovel (his own making), having heard her say how much the -grating of an iron one annoyed her. She received the -present with cool gratitude, and thanked him formally. When -he was gone, she bade me put it away in the lumber-room; feeling, -probably, that no present from a man who preferred Mr Boz to Dr -Johnson could be less jarring than an iron fire-shovel.</p> -<p>Such was the state of things when I left Cranford <a -name="page19"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 19</span>and went to -Drumble. I had, however, several correspondents, who kept -me <i>au fait</i> as to the proceedings of the dear little -town. There was Miss Pole, who was becoming as much -absorbed in crochet as she had been once in knitting, and the -burden of whose letter was something like, “But don’t -you forget the white worsted at Flint’s” of the old -song; for at the end of every sentence of news came a fresh -direction as to some crochet commission which I was to execute -for her. Miss Matilda Jenkyns (who did not mind being -called Miss Matty, when Miss Jenkyns was not by) wrote nice, -kind, rambling letters, now and then venturing into an opinion of -her own; but suddenly pulling herself up, and either begging me -not to name what she had said, as Deborah thought differently, -and <i>she</i> knew, or else putting in a postscript to the -effect that, since writing the above, she had been talking over -the subject with Deborah, and was quite convinced that, -etc.—(here probably followed a recantation of every opinion -she had given in the letter). Then came Miss -Jenkyns—Deborah, as she liked Miss Matty to call her, her -father having once said that the Hebrew name ought to be so -pronounced. I secretly think she took the Hebrew prophetess -for a model in character; and, indeed, she was not unlike the -stern prophetess in some ways, making allowance, of course, for -modern customs and difference in dress. Miss Jenkyns wore a -cravat, and a little bonnet like a jockey-cap, and altogether had -the appearance of a strong-minded woman; although she would have -despised the modern idea of women being equal to men. -Equal, indeed! she knew they were superior. But to return -to her letters. Everything <a name="page20"></a><span -class="pagenum">p. 20</span>in them was stately and grand like -herself. I have been looking them over (dear Miss Jenkyns, -how I honoured her!) and I will give an extract, more especially -because it relates to our friend Captain Brown:—</p> -<p>“The Honourable Mrs Jamieson has only just quitted me; -and, in the course of conversation, she communicated to me the -intelligence that she had yesterday received a call from her -revered husband’s quondam friend, Lord Mauleverer. -You will not easily conjecture what brought his lordship within -the precincts of our little town. It was to see Captain -Brown, with whom, it appears, his lordship was acquainted in the -‘plumed wars,’ and who had the privilege of averting -destruction from his lordship’s head when some great peril -was impending over it, off the misnomered Cape of Good -Hope. You know our friend the Honourable Mrs -Jamieson’s deficiency in the spirit of innocent curiosity, -and you will therefore not be so much surprised when I tell you -she was quite unable to disclose to me the exact nature of the -peril in question. I was anxious, I confess, to ascertain -in what manner Captain Brown, with his limited establishment, -could receive so distinguished a guest; and I discovered that his -lordship retired to rest, and, let us hope, to refreshing -slumbers, at the Angel Hotel; but shared the Brunonian meals -during the two days that he honoured Cranford with his august -presence. Mrs Johnson, our civil butcher’s wife, -informs me that Miss Jessie purchased a leg of lamb; but, besides -this, I can hear of no preparation whatever to give a suitable -reception to so distinguished a visitor. <a -name="page21"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 21</span>Perhaps they -entertained him with ‘the feast of reason and the flow of -soul’; and to us, who are acquainted with Captain -Brown’s sad want of relish for ‘the pure wells of -English undefiled,’ it may be matter for congratulation -that he has had the opportunity of improving his taste by holding -converse with an elegant and refined member of the British -aristocracy. But from some mundane failings who is -altogether free?”</p> -<p>Miss Pole and Miss Matty wrote to me by the same post. -Such a piece of news as Lord Mauleverer’s visit was not to -be lost on the Cranford letter-writers: they made the most of -it. Miss Matty humbly apologised for writing at the same -time as her sister, who was so much more capable than she to -describe the honour done to Cranford; but in spite of a little -bad spelling, Miss Matty’s account gave me the best idea of -the commotion occasioned by his lordship’s visit, after it -had occurred; for, except the people at the Angel, the Browns, -Mrs Jamieson, and a little lad his lordship had sworn at for -driving a dirty hoop against the aristocratic legs, I could not -hear of any one with whom his lordship had held conversation.</p> -<p>My next visit to Cranford was in the summer. There had -been neither births, deaths, nor marriages since I was there -last. Everybody lived in the same house, and wore pretty -nearly the same well-preserved, old-fashioned clothes. The -greatest event was, that Miss Jenkyns had purchased a new carpet -for the drawing-room. Oh, the busy work Miss Matty and I -had in chasing the sunbeams, as they fell in an afternoon right -down on this carpet through <a name="page22"></a><span -class="pagenum">p. 22</span>the blindless window! We spread -newspapers over the places and sat down to our book or our work; -and, lo! in a quarter of an hour the sun had moved, and was -blazing away on a fresh spot; and down again we went on our knees -to alter the position of the newspapers. We were very busy, -too, one whole morning, before Miss Jenkyns gave her party, in -following her directions, and in cutting out and stitching -together pieces of newspaper so as to form little paths to every -chair set for the expected visitors, lest their shoes might dirty -or defile the purity of the carpet. Do you make paper paths -for every guest to walk upon in London?</p> -<p>Captain Brown and Miss Jenkyns were not very cordial to each -other. The literary dispute, of which I had seen the -beginning, was a “raw,” the slightest touch on which -made them wince. It was the only difference of opinion they -had ever had; but that difference was enough. Miss Jenkyns -could not refrain from talking at Captain Brown; and, though he -did not reply, he drummed with his fingers, which action she felt -and resented as very disparaging to Dr Johnson. He was -rather ostentatious in his preference of the writings of Mr Boz; -would walk through the streets so absorbed in them that he all -but ran against Miss Jenkyns; and though his apologies were -earnest and sincere, and though he did not, in fact, do more than -startle her and himself, she owned to me she had rather he had -knocked her down, if he had only been reading a higher style of -literature. The poor, brave Captain! he looked older, and -more worn, and his clothes were very threadbare. But he -seemed as bright and cheerful <a name="page23"></a><span -class="pagenum">p. 23</span>as ever, unless he was asked about -his daughter’s health.</p> -<p>“She suffers a great deal, and she must suffer more: we -do what we can to alleviate her pain;—God’s will be -done!” He took off his hat at these last words. -I found, from Miss Matty, that everything had been done, in -fact. A medical man, of high repute in that country -neighbourhood, had been sent for, and every injunction he had -given was attended to, regardless of expense. Miss Matty -was sure they denied themselves many things in order to make the -invalid comfortable; but they never spoke about it; and as for -Miss Jessie!—“I really think she’s an -angel,” said poor Miss Matty, quite overcome. -“To see her way of bearing with Miss Brown’s -crossness, and the bright face she puts on after she’s been -sitting up a whole night and scolded above half of it, is quite -beautiful. Yet she looks as neat and as ready to welcome -the Captain at breakfast-time as if she had been asleep in the -Queen’s bed all night. My dear! you could never laugh -at her prim little curls or her pink bows again if you saw her as -I have done.” I could only feel very penitent, and -greet Miss Jessie with double respect when I met her next. -She looked faded and pinched; and her lips began to quiver, as if -she was very weak, when she spoke of her sister. But she -brightened, and sent back the tears that were glittering in her -pretty eyes, as she said—</p> -<p>“But, to be sure, what a town Cranford is for -kindness! I don’t suppose any one has a better dinner -than usual cooked but the best part of all comes in a little -covered basin for my sister. The <a name="page24"></a><span -class="pagenum">p. 24</span>poor people will leave their earliest -vegetables at our door for her. They speak short and gruff, -as if they were ashamed of it: but I am sure it often goes to my -heart to see their thoughtfulness.” The tears now -came back and overflowed; but after a minute or two she began to -scold herself, and ended by going away the same cheerful Miss -Jessie as ever.</p> -<p>“But why does not this Lord Mauleverer do something for -the man who saved his life?” said I.</p> -<p>“Why, you see, unless Captain Brown has some reason for -it, he never speaks about being poor; and he walked along by his -lordship looking as happy and cheerful as a prince; and as they -never called attention to their dinner by apologies, and as Miss -Brown was better that day, and all seemed bright, I daresay his -lordship never knew how much care there was in the -background. He did send game in the winter pretty often, -but now he is gone abroad.”</p> -<p>I had often occasion to notice the use that was made of -fragments and small opportunities in Cranford; the rose-leaves -that were gathered ere they fell to make into a potpourri for -someone who had no garden; the little bundles of lavender flowers -sent to strew the drawers of some town-dweller, or to burn in the -chamber of some invalid. Things that many would despise, -and actions which it seemed scarcely worth while to perform, were -all attended to in Cranford. Miss Jenkyns stuck an apple -full of cloves, to be heated and smell pleasantly in Miss -Brown’s room; and as she put in each clove she uttered a -Johnsonian sentence. Indeed, she never could think of the -Browns without talking Johnson; <a name="page25"></a><span -class="pagenum">p. 25</span>and, as they were seldom absent from -her thoughts just then, I heard many a rolling, three-piled -sentence.</p> -<p>Captain Brown called one day to thank Miss Jenkyns for many -little kindnesses, which I did not know until then that she had -rendered. He had suddenly become like an old man; his deep -bass voice had a quavering in it, his eyes looked dim, and the -lines on his face were deep. He did not—could -not—speak cheerfully of his daughter’s state, but he -talked with manly, pious resignation, and not much. Twice -over he said, “What Jessie has been to us, God only -knows!” and after the second time, he got up hastily, shook -hands all round without speaking, and left the room.</p> -<p>That afternoon we perceived little groups in the street, all -listening with faces aghast to some tale or other. Miss -Jenkyns wondered what could be the matter for some time before -she took the undignified step of sending Jenny out to -inquire.</p> -<p>Jenny came back with a white face of terror. “Oh, -ma’am! Oh, Miss Jenkyns, ma’am! Captain -Brown is killed by them nasty cruel railroads!” and she -burst into tears. She, along with many others, had -experienced the poor Captain’s kindness.</p> -<p>“How?—where—where? Good God! -Jenny, don’t waste time in crying, but tell us -something.” Miss Matty rushed out into the street at -once, and collared the man who was telling the tale.</p> -<p style="text-align: center"> -<a href="images/p24b.jpg"> -<img alt= -"She brought the affrighted carter . . . into the drawing-room" -title= -"She brought the affrighted carter . . . into the drawing-room" -src="images/p24s.jpg" /> -</a></p> -<p>“Come in—come to my sister at once, Miss Jenkyns, -the rector’s daughter. Oh, man, man! say it is not -true,” she cried, as she brought the affrighted carter, -sleeking down his hair, into the drawing-room, <a -name="page26"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 26</span>where he -stood with his wet boots on the new carpet, and no one regarded -it.</p> -<p>“Please, mum, it is true. I seed it myself,” -and he shuddered at the recollection. “The Captain -was a-reading some new book as he was deep in, a-waiting for the -down train; and there was a little lass as wanted to come to its -mammy, and gave its sister the slip, and came toddling across the -line. And he looked up sudden, at the sound of the train -coming, and seed the child, and he darted on the line and cotched -it up, and his foot slipped, and the train came over him in no -time. O Lord, Lord! Mum, it’s quite true, and -they’ve come over to tell his daughters. The -child’s safe, though, with only a bang on its shoulder as -he threw it to its mammy. Poor Captain would be glad of -that, mum, wouldn’t he? God bless him!” -The great rough carter puckered up his manly face, and turned -away to hide his tears. I turned to Miss Jenkyns. She -looked very ill, as if she were going to faint, and signed to me -to open the window.</p> -<p>“Matilda, bring me my bonnet. I must go to those -girls. God pardon me, if ever I have spoken contemptuously -to the Captain!”</p> -<p>Miss Jenkyns arrayed herself to go out, telling Miss Matilda -to give the man a glass of wine. While she was away, Miss -Matty and I huddled over the fire, talking in a low and -awe-struck voice. I know we cried quietly all the time.</p> -<p>Miss Jenkyns came home in a silent mood, and we durst not ask -her many questions. She told us that Miss Jessie had -fainted, and that she and Miss Pole had had some difficulty in -bringing her round; <a name="page27"></a><span class="pagenum">p. -27</span>but that, as soon as she recovered, she begged one of -them to go and sit with her sister.</p> -<p>“Mr Hoggins says she cannot live many days, and she -shall be spared this shock,” said Miss Jessie, shivering -with feelings to which she dared not give way.</p> -<p>“But how can you manage, my dear?” asked Miss -Jenkyns; “you cannot bear up, she must see your -tears.”</p> -<p>“God will help me—I will not give way—she -was asleep when the news came; she may be asleep yet. She -would be so utterly miserable, not merely at my father’s -death, but to think of what would become of me; she is so good to -me.” She looked up earnestly in their faces with her -soft true eyes, and Miss Pole told Miss Jenkyns afterwards she -could hardly bear it, knowing, as she did, how Miss Brown treated -her sister.</p> -<p>However, it was settled according to Miss Jessie’s -wish. Miss Brown was to be told her father had been -summoned to take a short journey on railway business. They -had managed it in some way—Miss Jenkyns could not exactly -say how. Miss Pole was to stop with Miss Jessie. Mrs -Jamieson had sent to inquire. And this was all we heard -that night; and a sorrowful night it was. The next day a -full account of the fatal accident was in the county paper which -Miss Jenkyns took in. Her eyes were very weak, she said, -and she asked me to read it. When I came to the -“gallant gentleman was deeply engaged in the perusal of a -number of ‘Pickwick,’ which he had just -received,” Miss Jenkyns shook her head long and solemnly, -and then sighed out, “Poor, dear, infatuated -man!”</p> -<p><a name="page28"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 28</span>The -corpse was to be taken from the station to the parish church, -there to be interred. Miss Jessie had set her heart on -following it to the grave; and no dissuasives could alter her -resolve. Her restraint upon herself made her almost -obstinate; she resisted all Miss Pole’s entreaties and Miss -Jenkyns’ advice. At last Miss Jenkyns gave up the -point; and after a silence, which I feared portended some deep -displeasure against Miss Jessie, Miss Jenkyns said she should -accompany the latter to the funeral.</p> -<p>“It is not fit for you to go alone. It would be -against both propriety and humanity were I to allow -it.”</p> -<p>Miss Jessie seemed as if she did not half like this -arrangement; but her obstinacy, if she had any, had been -exhausted in her determination to go to the interment. She -longed, poor thing, I have no doubt, to cry alone over the grave -of the dear father to whom she had been all in all, and to give -way, for one little half-hour, uninterrupted by sympathy and -unobserved by friendship. But it was not to be. That -afternoon Miss Jenkyns sent out for a yard of black crape, and -employed herself busily in trimming the little black silk bonnet -I have spoken about. When it was finished she put it on, -and looked at us for approbation—admiration she -despised. I was full of sorrow, but, by one of those -whimsical thoughts which come unbidden into our heads, in times -of deepest grief, I no sooner saw the bonnet than I was reminded -of a helmet; and in that hybrid bonnet, half helmet, half -jockey-cap, did Miss Jenkyns attend Captain Brown’s -funeral, and, I believe, supported Miss Jessie with a tender, <a -name="page29"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 29</span>indulgent -firmness which was invaluable, allowing her to weep her -passionate fill before they left.</p> -<p>Miss Pole, Miss Matty, and I, meanwhile attended to Miss -Brown: and hard work we found it to relieve her querulous and -never-ending complaints. But if we were so weary and -dispirited, what must Miss Jessie have been! Yet she came -back almost calm as if she had gained a new strength. She -put off her mourning dress, and came in, looking pale and gentle, -thanking us each with a soft long pressure of the hand. She -could even smile—a faint, sweet, wintry smile—as if -to reassure us of her power to endure; but her look made our eyes -fill suddenly with tears, more than if she had cried -outright.</p> -<p>It was settled that Miss Pole was to remain with her all the -watching livelong night; and that Miss Matty and I were to return -in the morning to relieve them, and give Miss Jessie the -opportunity for a few hours of sleep. But when the morning -came, Miss Jenkyns appeared at the breakfast-table, equipped in -her helmet-bonnet, and ordered Miss Matty to stay at home, as she -meant to go and help to nurse. She was evidently in a state -of great friendly excitement, which she showed by eating her -breakfast standing, and scolding the household all round.</p> -<p>No nursing—no energetic strong-minded woman could help -Miss Brown now. There was that in the room as we entered -which was stronger than us all, and made us shrink into solemn -awestruck helplessness. Miss Brown was dying. We -hardly knew her voice, it was so devoid of the complaining tone -we had always associated with it. Miss Jessie <a -name="page30"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 30</span>told me -afterwards that it, and her face too, were just what they had -been formerly, when her mother’s death left her the young -anxious head of the family, of whom only Miss Jessie -survived.</p> -<p>She was conscious of her sister’s presence, though not, -I think, of ours. We stood a little behind the curtain: -Miss Jessie knelt with her face near her sister’s, in order -to catch the last soft awful whispers.</p> -<p>“Oh, Jessie! Jessie! How selfish I have -been! God forgive me for letting you sacrifice yourself for -me as you did! I have so loved you—and yet I have -thought only of myself. God forgive me!”</p> -<p>“Hush, love! hush!” said Miss Jessie, sobbing.</p> -<p>“And my father, my dear, dear father! I will not -complain now, if God will give me strength to be patient. -But, oh, Jessie! tell my father how I longed and yearned to see -him at last, and to ask his forgiveness. He can never know -now how I loved him—oh! if I might but tell him, before I -die! What a life of sorrow his has been, and I have done so -little to cheer him!”</p> -<p>A light came into Miss Jessie’s face. “Would -it comfort you, dearest, to think that he does know?—would -it comfort you, love, to know that his cares, his -sorrows”—Her voice quivered, but she steadied it into -calmness—“Mary! he has gone before you to the place -where the weary are at rest. He knows now how you loved -him.”</p> -<p>A strange look, which was not distress, came over Miss -Brown’s face. She did not speak for come time, but -then we saw her lips form the words, <a name="page31"></a><span -class="pagenum">p. 31</span>rather than heard the -sound—“Father, mother, Harry, -Archy;”—then, as if it were a new idea throwing a -filmy shadow over her darkened mind—“But you will be -alone, Jessie!”</p> -<p>Miss Jessie had been feeling this all during the silence, I -think; for the tears rolled down her cheeks like rain, at these -words, and she could not answer at first. Then she put her -hands together tight, and lifted them up, and said—but not -to us—“Though He slay me, yet will I trust in -Him.”</p> -<p>In a few moments more Miss Brown lay calm and -still—never to sorrow or murmur more.</p> -<p>After this second funeral, Miss Jenkyns insisted that Miss -Jessie should come to stay with her rather than go back to the -desolate house, which, in fact, we learned from Miss Jessie, must -now be given up, as she had not wherewithal to maintain it. -She had something above twenty pounds a year, besides the -interest of the money for which the furniture would sell; but she -could not live upon that: and so we talked over her -qualifications for earning money.</p> -<p>“I can sew neatly,” said she, “and I like -nursing. I think, too, I could manage a house, if any one -would try me as housekeeper; or I would go into a shop as -saleswoman, if they would have patience with me at -first.”</p> -<p>Miss Jenkyns declared, in an angry voice, that she should do -no such thing; and talked to herself about “some people -having no idea of their rank as a captain’s -daughter,” nearly an hour afterwards, when she brought Miss -Jessie up a basin of delicately-made arrowroot, and stood over -her like a dragoon until the last spoonful was finished: then she -disappeared. <a name="page32"></a><span class="pagenum">p. -32</span>Miss Jessie began to tell me some more of the plans -which had suggested themselves to her, and insensibly fell into -talking of the days that were past and gone, and interested me so -much I neither knew nor heeded how time passed. We were -both startled when Miss Jenkyns reappeared, and caught us -crying. I was afraid lest she would be displeased, as she -often said that crying hindered digestion, and I knew she wanted -Miss Jessie to get strong; but, instead, she looked queer and -excited, and fidgeted round us without saying anything. At -last she spoke.</p> -<p>“I have been so much startled—no, I’ve not -been at all startled—don’t mind me, my dear Miss -Jessie—I’ve been very much surprised—in fact, -I’ve had a caller, whom you knew once, my dear Miss -Jessie”—</p> -<p>Miss Jessie went very white, then flushed scarlet, and looked -eagerly at Miss Jenkyns.</p> -<p>“A gentleman, my dear, who wants to know if you would -see him.”</p> -<p>“Is it?—it is not”—stammered out Miss -Jessie—and got no farther.</p> -<p>“This is his card,” said Miss Jenkyns, giving it -to Miss Jessie; and while her head was bent over it, Miss Jenkyns -went through a series of winks and odd faces to me, and formed -her lips into a long sentence, of which, of course, I could not -understand a word.</p> -<p>“May he come up?” asked Miss Jenkyns at last.</p> -<p>“Oh, yes! certainly!” said Miss Jessie, as much as -to say, this is your house, you may show any visitor where you -like. She took up some knitting of Miss Matty’s and -began to be very busy, though I could see how she trembled all -over.</p> -<p><a name="page33"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 33</span>Miss -Jenkyns rang the bell, and told the servant who answered it to -show Major Gordon upstairs; and, presently, in walked a tall, -fine, frank-looking man of forty or upwards. He shook hands -with Miss Jessie; but he could not see her eyes, she kept them so -fixed on the ground. Miss Jenkyns asked me if I would come -and help her to tie up the preserves in the store-room; and -though Miss Jessie plucked at my gown, and even looked up at me -with begging eye, I durst not refuse to go where Miss Jenkyns -asked. Instead of tying up preserves in the store-room, -however, we went to talk in the dining-room; and there Miss -Jenkyns told me what Major Gordon had told her; how he had served -in the same regiment with Captain Brown, and had become -acquainted with Miss Jessie, then a sweet-looking, blooming girl -of eighteen; how the acquaintance had grown into love on his -part, though it had been some years before he had spoken; how, on -becoming possessed, through the will of an uncle, of a good -estate in Scotland, he had offered and been refused, though with -so much agitation and evident distress that he was sure she was -not indifferent to him; and how he had discovered that the -obstacle was the fell disease which was, even then, too surely -threatening her sister. She had mentioned that the surgeons -foretold intense suffering; and there was no one but herself to -nurse her poor Mary, or cheer and comfort her father during the -time of illness. They had had long discussions; and on her -refusal to pledge herself to him as his wife when all should be -over, he had grown angry, and broken off entirely, and gone -abroad, believing that she was a cold-hearted person whom he -would do well to forget. <a name="page34"></a><span -class="pagenum">p. 34</span>He had been travelling in the East, -and was on his return home when, at Rome, he saw the account of -Captain Brown’s death in <i>Galignani</i>.</p> -<p>Just then Miss Matty, who had been out all the morning, and -had only lately returned to the house, burst in with a face of -dismay and outraged propriety.</p> -<p>“Oh, goodness me!” she said. “Deborah, -there’s a gentleman sitting in the drawing-room with his -arm round Miss Jessie’s waist!” Miss -Matty’s eyes looked large with terror.</p> -<p style="text-align: center"> -<a href="images/p33b.jpg"> -<img alt= -"“With his arm around Miss Jessie’s waist!”" -title= -"“With his arm around Miss Jessie’s waist!”" -src="images/p33s.jpg" /> -</a></p> -<p>Miss Jenkyns snubbed her down in an instant.</p> -<p>“The most proper place in the world for his arm to be -in. Go away, Matilda, and mind your own -business.” This from her sister, who had hitherto -been a model of feminine decorum, was a blow for poor Miss Matty, -and with a double shock she left the room.</p> -<p>The last time I ever saw poor Miss Jenkyns was many years -after this. Mrs Gordon had kept up a warm and affectionate -intercourse with all at Cranford. Miss Jenkyns, Miss Matty, -and Miss Pole had all been to visit her, and returned with -wonderful accounts of her house, her husband, her dress, and her -looks. For, with happiness, something of her early bloom -returned; she had been a year or two younger than we had taken -her for. Her eyes were always lovely, and, as Mrs Gordon, -her dimples were not out of place. At the time to which I -have referred, when I last saw Miss Jenkyns, that lady was old -and feeble, and had lost something of her strong mind. -Little Flora Gordon was staying with the Misses Jenkyns, and when -I came in she was reading aloud to Miss <a -name="page35"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 35</span>Jenkyns, who -lay feeble and changed on the sofa. Flora put down the -<i>Rambler</i> when I came in.</p> -<p>“Ah!” said Miss Jenkyns, “you find me -changed, my dear. I can’t see as I used to do. -If Flora were not here to read to me, I hardly know how I should -get through the day. Did you ever read the -<i>Rambler</i>? It’s a wonderful -book—wonderful! and the most improving reading for -Flora” (which I daresay it would have been, if she could -have read half the words without spelling, and could have -understood the meaning of a third), “better than that -strange old book, with the queer name, poor Captain Brown was -killed for reading—that book by Mr Boz, you -know—‘Old Poz’; when I was a girl—but -that’s a long time ago—I acted Lucy in ‘Old -Poz.’” She babbled on long enough for Flora to -get a good long spell at the “Christmas Carol,” which -Miss Matty had left on the table. -<a name="page36"></a><span class="pagenum">p. -36</span></p><div class='chapter' /><h2>CHAPTER III—A LOVE AFFAIR OF LONG AGO</h2> -<p>I <span class="smcap">thought</span> that probably my -connection with Cranford would cease after Miss Jenkyns’s -death; at least, that it would have to be kept up by -correspondence, which bears much the same relation to personal -intercourse that the books of dried plants I sometimes see -(“Hortus Siccus,” I think they call the thing) do to -the living and fresh flowers in the lanes and meadows. I -was pleasantly surprised, therefore, by receiving a letter from -Miss Pole (who had always come in for a supplementary week after -my annual visit to Miss Jenkyns) proposing that I should go and -stay with her; and then, in a couple of days after my acceptance, -came a note from Miss Matty, in which, in a rather circuitous and -very humble manner, she told me how much pleasure I should confer -if I could spend a week or two with her, either before or after I -had been at Miss Pole’s; “for,” she said, -“since my dear sister’s death I am well aware I have -no attractions to offer; it is only to the kindness of my friends -that I can owe their company.”</p> -<p>Of course I promised to come to dear Miss <a -name="page37"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 37</span>Matty as soon -as I had ended my visit to Miss Pole; and the day after my -arrival at Cranford I went to see her, much wondering what the -house would be like without Miss Jenkyns, and rather dreading the -changed aspect of things. Miss Matty began to cry as soon -as she saw me. She was evidently nervous from having -anticipated my call. I comforted her as well as I could; -and I found the best consolation I could give was the honest -praise that came from my heart as I spoke of the deceased. -Miss Matty slowly shook her head over each virtue as it was named -and attributed to her sister; and at last she could not restrain -the tears which had long been silently flowing, but hid her face -behind her handkerchief and sobbed aloud.</p> -<p>“Dear Miss Matty,” said I, taking her -hand—for indeed I did not know in what way to tell her how -sorry I was for her, left deserted in the world. She put -down her handkerchief and said—</p> -<p>“My dear, I’d rather you did not call me -Matty. She did not like it; but I did many a thing she did -not like, I’m afraid—and now she’s gone! -If you please, my love, will you call me Matilda?”</p> -<p>I promised faithfully, and began to practise the new name with -Miss Pole that very day; and, by degrees, Miss Matilda’s -feeling on the subject was known through Cranford, and we all -tried to drop the more familiar name, but with so little success -that by-and-by we gave up the attempt.</p> -<p>My visit to Miss Pole was very quiet. Miss Jenkyns had -so long taken the lead in Cranford that now she was gone, they -hardly knew how to give a party. The Honourable Mrs -Jamieson, to whom <a name="page38"></a><span class="pagenum">p. -38</span>Miss Jenkyns herself had always yielded the post of -honour, was fat and inert, and very much at the mercy of her old -servants. If they chose that she should give a party, they -reminded her of the necessity for so doing: if not, she let it -alone. There was all the more time for me to hear old-world -stories from Miss Pole, while she sat knitting, and I making my -father’s shirts. I always took a quantity of plain -sewing to Cranford; for, as we did not read much, or walk much, I -found it a capital time to get through my work. One of Miss -Pole’s stories related to a shadow of a love affair that -was dimly perceived or suspected long years before.</p> -<p>Presently, the time arrived when I was to remove to Miss -Matilda’s house. I found her timid and anxious about -the arrangements for my comfort. Many a time, while I was -unpacking, did she come backwards and forwards to stir the fire -which burned all the worse for being so frequently poked.</p> -<p>“Have you drawers enough, dear?” asked she. -“I don’t know exactly how my sister used to arrange -them. She had capital methods. I am sure she would -have trained a servant in a week to make a better fire than this, -and Fanny has been with me four months.”</p> -<p>This subject of servants was a standing grievance, and I could -not wonder much at it; for if gentlemen were scarce, and almost -unheard of in the “genteel society” of Cranford, they -or their counterparts—handsome young men—abounded in -the lower classes. The pretty neat servant-maids had their -choice of desirable “followers”; and their -mistresses, without having the sort of mysterious <a -name="page39"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 39</span>dread of men -and matrimony that Miss Matilda had, might well feel a little -anxious lest the heads of their comely maids should be turned by -the joiner, or the butcher, or the gardener, who were obliged, by -their callings, to come to the house, and who, as ill-luck would -have it, were generally handsome and unmarried. -Fanny’s lovers, if she had any—and Miss Matilda -suspected her of so many flirtations that, if she had not been -very pretty, I should have doubted her having one—were a -constant anxiety to her mistress. She was forbidden, by the -articles of her engagement, to have “followers”; and -though she had answered, innocently enough, doubling up the hem -of her apron as she spoke, “Please, ma’am, I never -had more than one at a time,” Miss Matty prohibited that -one. But a vision of a man seemed to haunt the -kitchen. Fanny assured me that it was all fancy, or else I -should have said myself that I had seen a man’s coat-tails -whisk into the scullery once, when I went on an errand into the -store-room at night; and another evening, when, our watches -having stopped, I went to look at the clock, there was a very odd -appearance, singularly like a young man squeezed up between the -clock and the back of the open kitchen-door: and I thought Fanny -snatched up the candle very hastily, so as to throw the shadow on -the clock face, while she very positively told me the time -half-an-hour too early, as we found out afterwards by the church -clock. But I did not add to Miss Matty’s anxieties by -naming my suspicions, especially as Fanny said to me, the next -day, that it was such a queer kitchen for having odd shadows -about it, she really was almost afraid to stay; “for <a -name="page40"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 40</span>you know, -miss,” she added, “I don’t see a creature from -six o’clock tea, till Missus rings the bell for prayers at -ten.”</p> -<p>However, it so fell out that Fanny had to leave and Miss -Matilda begged me to stay and “settle her” with the -new maid; to which I consented, after I had heard from my father -that he did not want me at home. The new servant was a -rough, honest-looking, country girl, who had only lived in a farm -place before; but I liked her looks when she came to be hired; -and I promised Miss Matilda to put her in the ways of the -house. The said ways were religiously such as Miss Matilda -thought her sister would approve. Many a domestic rule and -regulation had been a subject of plaintive whispered murmur to me -during Miss Jenkyns’s life; but now that she was gone, I do -not think that even I, who was a favourite, durst have suggested -an alteration. To give an instance: we constantly adhered -to the forms which were observed, at meal-times, in “my -father, the rector’s house.” Accordingly, we -had always wine and dessert; but the decanters were only filled -when there was a party, and what remained was seldom touched, -though we had two wine-glasses apiece every day after dinner, -until the next festive occasion arrived, when the state of the -remainder wine was examined into in a family council. The -dregs were often given to the poor: but occasionally, when a good -deal had been left at the last party (five months ago, it might -be), it was added to some of a fresh bottle, brought up from the -cellar. I fancy poor Captain Brown did not much like wine, -for I noticed he never finished his first glass, and <a -name="page41"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 41</span>most military -men take several. Then, as to our dessert, Miss Jenkyns -used to gather currants and gooseberries for it herself, which I -sometimes thought would have tasted better fresh from the trees; -but then, as Miss Jenkyns observed, there would have been nothing -for dessert in summer-time. As it was, we felt very genteel -with our two glasses apiece, and a dish of gooseberries at the -top, of currants and biscuits at the sides, and two decanters at -the bottom. When oranges came in, a curious proceeding was -gone through. Miss Jenkyns did not like to cut the fruit; -for, as she observed, the juice all ran out nobody knew where; -sucking (only I think she used some more recondite word) was in -fact the only way of enjoying oranges; but then there was the -unpleasant association with a ceremony frequently gone through by -little babies; and so, after dessert, in orange season, Miss -Jenkyns and Miss Matty used to rise up, possess themselves each -of an orange in silence, and withdraw to the privacy of their own -rooms to indulge in sucking oranges.</p> -<p>I had once or twice tried, on such occasions, to prevail on -Miss Matty to stay, and had succeeded in her sister’s -lifetime. I held up a screen, and did not look, and, as she -said, she tried not to make the noise very offensive; but now -that she was left alone, she seemed quite horrified when I begged -her to remain with me in the warm dining-parlour, and enjoy her -orange as she liked best. And so it was in -everything. Miss Jenkyns’s rules were made more -stringent than ever, because the framer of them was gone where -there could be no appeal. In all things else Miss Matilda -was meek and undecided to a fault. <a -name="page42"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 42</span>I have heard -Fanny turn her round twenty times in a morning about dinner, just -as the little hussy chose; and I sometimes fancied she worked on -Miss Matilda’s weakness in order to bewilder her, and to -make her feel more in the power of her clever servant. I -determined that I would not leave her till I had seen what sort -of a person Martha was; and, if I found her trustworthy, I would -tell her not to trouble her mistress with every little -decision.</p> -<p>Martha was blunt and plain-spoken to a fault; otherwise she -was a brisk, well-meaning, but very ignorant girl. She had -not been with us a week before Miss Matilda and I were astounded -one morning by the receipt of a letter from a cousin of hers, who -had been twenty or thirty years in India, and who had lately, as -we had seen by the “Army List,” returned to England, -bringing with him an invalid wife who had never been introduced -to her English relations. Major Jenkyns wrote to propose -that he and his wife should spend a night at Cranford, on his way -to Scotland—at the inn, if it did not suit Miss Matilda to -receive them into her house; in which case they should hope to be -with her as much as possible during the day. Of course it -<i>must</i> suit her, as she said; for all Cranford knew that she -had her sister’s bedroom at liberty; but I am sure she -wished the Major had stopped in India and forgotten his cousins -out and out.</p> -<p>“Oh! how must I manage?” asked she -helplessly. “If Deborah had been alive she would have -known what to do with a gentleman-visitor. Must I put -razors in his dressing-room? Dear! dear! and I’ve got -none. Deborah would have had <a name="page43"></a><span -class="pagenum">p. 43</span>them. And slippers, and -coat-brushes?” I suggested that probably he would -bring all these things with him. “And after dinner, -how am I to know when to get up and leave him to his wine? -Deborah would have done it so well; she would have been quite in -her element. Will he want coffee, do you -think?” I undertook the management of the coffee, and -told her I would instruct Martha in the art of waiting—in -which it must be owned she was terribly deficient—and that -I had no doubt Major and Mrs Jenkyns would understand the quiet -mode in which a lady lived by herself in a country town. -But she was sadly fluttered. I made her empty her decanters -and bring up two fresh bottles of wine. I wished I could -have prevented her from being present at my instructions to -Martha, for she frequently cut in with some fresh direction, -muddling the poor girl’s mind as she stood open-mouthed, -listening to us both.</p> -<p>“Hand the vegetables round,” said I (foolishly, I -see now—for it was aiming at more than we could accomplish -with quietness and simplicity); and then, seeing her look -bewildered, I added, “take the vegetables round to people, -and let them help themselves.”</p> -<p>“And mind you go first to the ladies,” put in Miss -Matilda. “Always go to the ladies before gentlemen -when you are waiting.”</p> -<p>“I’ll do it as you tell me, ma’am,” -said Martha; “but I like lads best.”</p> -<p>We felt very uncomfortable and shocked at this speech of -Martha’s, yet I don’t think she meant any harm; and, -on the whole, she attended very well to our directions, except -that she “nudged” <a name="page44"></a><span -class="pagenum">p. 44</span>the Major when he did not help -himself as soon as she expected to the potatoes, while she was -handing them round.</p> -<p>The major and his wife were quiet unpretending people enough -when they did come; languid, as all East Indians are, I -suppose. We were rather dismayed at their bringing two -servants with them, a Hindoo body-servant for the Major, and a -steady elderly maid for his wife; but they slept at the inn, and -took off a good deal of the responsibility by attending carefully -to their master’s and mistress’s comfort. -Martha, to be sure, had never ended her staring at the East -Indian’s white turban and brown complexion, and I saw that -Miss Matilda shrunk away from him a little as he waited at -dinner. Indeed, she asked me, when they were gone, if he -did not remind me of Blue Beard? On the whole, the visit -was most satisfactory, and is a subject of conversation even now -with Miss Matilda; at the time it greatly excited Cranford, and -even stirred up the apathetic and Honourable Mrs Jamieson to some -expression of interest, when I went to call and thank her for the -kind answers she had vouchsafed to Miss Matilda’s inquiries -as to the arrangement of a gentleman’s -dressing-room—answers which I must confess she had given in -the wearied manner of the Scandinavian prophetess—</p> -<blockquote><p style="text-align: center">“Leave me, leave -me to repose.”</p> -</blockquote> -<p>And <i>now</i> I come to the love affair.</p> -<p>It seems that Miss Pole had a cousin, once or twice removed, -who had offered to Miss Matty long ago. Now this cousin -lived four or five miles from <a name="page45"></a><span -class="pagenum">p. 45</span>Cranford on his own estate; but his -property was not large enough to entitle him to rank higher than -a yeoman; or rather, with something of the “pride which -apes humility,” he had refused to push himself on, as so -many of his class had done, into the ranks of the squires. -He would not allow himself to be called Thomas Holbrook, -<i>Esq.</i>; he even sent back letters with this address, telling -the post-mistress at Cranford that his name was <i>Mr</i> Thomas -Holbrook, yeoman. He rejected all domestic innovations; he -would have the house door stand open in summer and shut in -winter, without knocker or bell to summon a servant. The -closed fist or the knob of a stick did this office for him if he -found the door locked. He despised every refinement which -had not its root deep down in humanity. If people were not -ill, he saw no necessity for moderating his voice. He spoke -the dialect of the country in perfection, and constantly used it -in conversation; although Miss Pole (who gave me these -particulars) added, that he read aloud more beautifully and with -more feeling than any one she had ever heard, except the late -rector.</p> -<p>“And how came Miss Matilda not to marry him?” -asked I.</p> -<p>“Oh, I don’t know. She was willing enough, I -think; but you know Cousin Thomas would not have been enough of a -gentleman for the rector and Miss Jenkyns.”</p> -<p>“Well! but they were not to marry him,” said I, -impatiently.</p> -<p>“No; but they did not like Miss Matty to marry below her -rank. You know she was the <a name="page46"></a><span -class="pagenum">p. 46</span>rector’s daughter, and somehow -they are related to Sir Peter Arley: Miss Jenkyns thought a deal -of that.”</p> -<p>“Poor Miss Matty!” said I.</p> -<p>“Nay, now, I don’t know anything more than that he -offered and was refused. Miss Matty might not like -him—and Miss Jenkyns might never have said a word—it -is only a guess of mine.”</p> -<p>“Has she never seen him since?” I inquired.</p> -<p>“No, I think not. You see Woodley, Cousin -Thomas’s house, lies half-way between Cranford and -Misselton; and I know he made Misselton his market-town very soon -after he had offered to Miss Matty; and I don’t think he -has been into Cranford above once or twice since—once, when -I was walking with Miss Matty, in High Street, and suddenly she -darted from me, and went up Shire Lane. A few minutes after -I was startled by meeting Cousin Thomas.”</p> -<p>“How old is he?” I asked, after a pause of -castle-building.</p> -<p>“He must be about seventy, I think, my dear,” said -Miss Pole, blowing up my castle, as if by gun-powder, into small -fragments.</p> -<p>Very soon after—at least during my long visit to Miss -Matilda—I had the opportunity of seeing Mr Holbrook; -seeing, too, his first encounter with his former love, after -thirty or forty years’ separation. I was helping to -decide whether any of the new assortment of coloured silks which -they had just received at the shop would do to match a grey and -black mousseline-delaine that wanted a new breadth, when a tall, -thin, Don Quixote-looking old man <a name="page47"></a><span -class="pagenum">p. 47</span>came into the shop for some woollen -gloves. I had never seen the person (who was rather -striking) before, and I watched him rather attentively while Miss -Matty listened to the shopman. The stranger wore a blue -coat with brass buttons, drab breeches, and gaiters, and drummed -with his fingers on the counter until he was attended to. -When he answered the shop-boy’s question, “What can I -have the pleasure of showing you to-day, sir?” I saw Miss -Matilda start, and then suddenly sit down; and instantly I -guessed who it was. She had made some inquiry which had to -be carried round to the other shopman.</p> -<p>“Miss Jenkyns wants the black sarsenet two-and-twopence -the yard”; and Mr Holbrook had caught the name, and was -across the shop in two strides.</p> -<p>“Matty—Miss Matilda—Miss Jenkyns! God -bless my soul! I should not have known you. How are -you? how are you?” He kept shaking her hand in a way -which proved the warmth of his friendship; but he repeated so -often, as if to himself, “I should not have known -you!” that any sentimental romance which I might be -inclined to build was quite done away with by his manner.</p> -<p>However, he kept talking to us all the time we were in the -shop; and then waving the shopman with the unpurchased gloves on -one side, with “Another time, sir! another time!” he -walked home with us. I am happy to say my client, Miss -Matilda, also left the shop in an equally bewildered state, not -having purchased either green or red silk. Mr Holbrook was -evidently full with honest loud-spoken <a name="page48"></a><span -class="pagenum">p. 48</span>joy at meeting his old love again; he -touched on the changes that had taken place; he even spoke of -Miss Jenkyns as “Your poor sister! Well, well! we -have all our faults”; and bade us good-bye with many a hope -that he should soon see Miss Matty again. She went straight -to her room, and never came back till our early tea-time, when I -thought she looked as if she had been crying.</p> -<p style="text-align: center"> -<a href="images/p48b.jpg"> -<img alt= -"Mr Holbrook . . . bade us good-bye" -title= -"Mr Holbrook . . . bade us good-bye" -src="images/p48s.jpg" /> -</a></p> -<div class='chapter' /><h2><a name="page49"></a><span class="pagenum">p. -49</span>CHAPTER IV—A VISIT TO AN OLD BACHELOR</h2> -<p>A <span class="smcap">few</span> days after, a note came from -Mr Holbrook, asking us—impartially asking both of -us—in a formal, old-fashioned style, to spend a day at his -house—a long June day—for it was June now. He -named that he had also invited his cousin, Miss Pole; so that we -might join in a fly, which could be put up at his house.</p> -<p>I expected Miss Matty to jump at this invitation; but, -no! Miss Pole and I had the greatest difficulty in -persuading her to go. She thought it was improper; and was -even half annoyed when we utterly ignored the idea of any -impropriety in her going with two other ladies to see her old -lover. Then came a more serious difficulty. She did -not think Deborah would have liked her to go. This took us -half a day’s good hard talking to get over; but, at the -first sentence of relenting, I seized the opportunity, and wrote -and despatched an acceptance in her name—fixing day and -hour, that all might be decided and done with.</p> -<p>The next morning she asked me if I would go down to the shop -with her; and there, after much <a name="page50"></a><span -class="pagenum">p. 50</span>hesitation, we chose out three caps -to be sent home and tried on, that the most becoming might be -selected to take with us on Thursday.</p> -<p>She was in a state of silent agitation all the way to -Woodley. She had evidently never been there before; and, -although she little dreamt I knew anything of her early story, I -could perceive she was in a tremor at the thought of seeing the -place which might have been her home, and round which it is -probable that many of her innocent girlish imaginations had -clustered. It was a long drive there, through paved jolting -lanes. Miss Matilda sat bolt upright, and looked wistfully -out of the windows as we drew near the end of our journey. -The aspect of the country was quiet and pastoral. Woodley -stood among fields; and there was an old-fashioned garden where -roses and currant-bushes touched each other, and where the -feathery asparagus formed a pretty background to the pinks and -gilly-flowers; there was no drive up to the door. We got -out at a little gate, and walked up a straight box-edged -path.</p> -<p>“My cousin might make a drive, I think,” said Miss -Pole, who was afraid of ear-ache, and had only her cap on.</p> -<p>“I think it is very pretty,” said Miss Matty, with -a soft plaintiveness in her voice, and almost in a whisper, for -just then Mr Holbrook appeared at the door, rubbing his hands in -very effervescence of hospitality. He looked more like my -idea of Don Quixote than ever, and yet the likeness was only -external. His respectable housekeeper stood modestly at the -door to bid us welcome; and, while she led <a -name="page51"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 51</span>the elder -ladies upstairs to a bedroom, I begged to look about the -garden. My request evidently pleased the old gentleman, who -took me all round the place and showed me his six-and-twenty -cows, named after the different letters of the alphabet. As -we went along, he surprised me occasionally by repeating apt and -beautiful quotations from the poets, ranging easily from -Shakespeare and George Herbert to those of our own day. He -did this as naturally as if he were thinking aloud, and their -true and beautiful words were the best expression he could find -for what he was thinking or feeling. To be sure he called -Byron “my Lord Byrron,” and pronounced the name of -Goethe strictly in accordance with the English sound of the -letters—“As Goethe says, ‘Ye ever-verdant -palaces,’” &c. Altogether, I never met with -a man, before or since, who had spent so long a life in a -secluded and not impressive country, with ever-increasing delight -in the daily and yearly change of season and beauty.</p> -<p>When he and I went in, we found that dinner was nearly ready -in the kitchen—for so I suppose the room ought to be -called, as there were oak dressers and cupboards all round, all -over by the side of the fireplace, and only a small Turkey carpet -in the middle of the flag-floor. The room might have been -easily made into a handsome dark oak dining-parlour by removing -the oven and a few other appurtenances of a kitchen, which were -evidently never used, the real cooking-place being at some -distance. The room in which we were expected to sit was a -stiffly-furnished, ugly apartment; but that in which we did sit -was what Mr Holbrook <a name="page52"></a><span -class="pagenum">p. 52</span>called the counting-house, where he -paid his labourers their weekly wages at a great desk near the -door. The rest of the pretty sitting-room—looking -into the orchard, and all covered over with dancing -tree-shadows—was filled with books. They lay on the -ground, they covered the walls, they strewed the table. He -was evidently half ashamed and half proud of his extravagance in -this respect. They were of all kinds—poetry and wild -weird tales prevailing. He evidently chose his books in -accordance with his own tastes, not because such and such were -classical or established favourites.</p> -<p>“Ah!” he said, “we farmers ought not to have -much time for reading; yet somehow one can’t help -it.”</p> -<p>“What a pretty room!” said Miss Matty, <i>sotto -voce</i>.</p> -<p>“What a pleasant place!” said I, aloud, almost -simultaneously.</p> -<p>“Nay! if you like it,” replied he; “but can -you sit on these great, black leather, three-cornered -chairs? I like it better than the best parlour; but I -thought ladies would take that for the smarter place.”</p> -<p>It was the smarter place, but, like most smart things, not at -all pretty, or pleasant, or home-like; so, while we were at -dinner, the servant-girl dusted and scrubbed the counting-house -chairs, and we sat there all the rest of the day.</p> -<p>We had pudding before meat; and I thought Mr Holbrook was -going to make some apology for his old-fashioned ways, for he -began—</p> -<p>“I don’t know whether you like newfangled -ways.”</p> -<p><a name="page53"></a><span class="pagenum">p. -53</span>“Oh, not at all!” said Miss Matty.</p> -<p>“No more do I,” said he. “My -house-keeper <i>will</i> have these in her new fashion; or else I -tell her that, when I was a young man, we used to keep strictly -to my father’s rule, ‘No broth, no ball; no ball, no -beef’; and always began dinner with broth. Then we -had suet puddings, boiled in the broth with the beef: and then -the meat itself. If we did not sup our broth, we had no -ball, which we liked a deal better; and the beef came last of -all, and only those had it who had done justice to the broth and -the ball. Now folks begin with sweet things, and turn their -dinners topsy-turvy.”</p> -<p>When the ducks and green peas came, we looked at each other in -dismay; we had only two-pronged, black-handled forks. It is -true the steel was as bright as silver; but what were we to -do? Miss Matty picked up her peas, one by one, on the point -of the prongs, much as Aminé ate her grains of rice after -her previous feast with the Ghoul. Miss Pole sighed over -her delicate young peas as she left them on one side of her plate -untasted, for they <i>would</i> drop between the prongs. I -looked at my host: the peas were going wholesale into his -capacious mouth, shovelled up by his large round-ended -knife. I saw, I imitated, I survived! My friends, in -spite of my precedent, could not muster up courage enough to do -an ungenteel thing; and, if Mr Holbrook had not been so heartily -hungry, he would probably have seen that the good peas went away -almost untouched.</p> -<p>After dinner, a clay pipe was brought in, and <a -name="page54"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 54</span>a spittoon; -and, asking us to retire to another room, where he would soon -join us, if we disliked tobacco-smoke, he presented his pipe to -Miss Matty, and requested her to fill the bowl. This was a -compliment to a lady in his youth; but it was rather -inappropriate to propose it as an honour to Miss Matty, who had -been trained by her sister to hold smoking of every kind in utter -abhorrence. But if it was a shock to her refinement, it was -also a gratification to her feelings to be thus selected; so she -daintily stuffed the strong tobacco into the pipe, and then we -withdrew.</p> -<p>“It is very pleasant dining with a bachelor,” said -Miss Matty softly, as we settled ourselves in the -counting-house. “I only hope it is not improper; so -many pleasant things are!”</p> -<p>“What a number of books he has!” said Miss Pole, -looking round the room. “And how dusty they -are!”</p> -<p>“I think it must be like one of the great Dr -Johnson’s rooms,” said Miss Matty. “What -a superior man your cousin must be!”</p> -<p>“Yes!” said Miss Pole, “he’s a great -reader; but I am afraid he has got into very uncouth habits with -living alone.”</p> -<p>“Oh! uncouth is too hard a word. I should call him -eccentric; very clever people always are!” replied Miss -Matty.</p> -<p style="text-align: center"> -<a href="images/p54b.jpg"> -<img alt= -"Now, what colour are ash-buds in March" -title= -"Now, what colour are ash-buds in March" -src="images/p54s.jpg" /> -</a></p> -<p>When Mr Holbrook returned, he proposed a walk in the fields; -but the two elder ladies were afraid of damp, and dirt, and had -only very unbecoming calashes to put on over their caps; so they -declined, and I was again his companion in a turn <a -name="page55"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 55</span>which he said -he was obliged to take to see after his men. He strode -along, either wholly forgetting my existence, or soothed into -silence by his pipe—and yet it was not silence -exactly. He walked before me with a stooping gait, his -hands clasped behind him; and, as some tree or cloud, or glimpse -of distant upland pastures, struck him, he quoted poetry to -himself, saying it out loud in a grand sonorous voice, with just -the emphasis that true feeling and appreciation give. We -came upon an old cedar tree, which stood at one end of the -house—</p> -<blockquote><p>“The cedar spreads his dark-green layers of -shade.”</p> -</blockquote> -<p>“Capital term—‘layers!’ -Wonderful man!” I did not know whether he was -speaking to me or not; but I put in an assenting -“wonderful,” although I knew nothing about it, just -because I was tired of being forgotten, and of being consequently -silent.</p> -<p>He turned sharp round. “Ay! you may say -‘wonderful.’ Why, when I saw the review of his -poems in <i>Blackwood</i>, I set off within an hour, and walked -seven miles to Misselton (for the horses were not in the way) and -ordered them. Now, what colour are ash-buds in -March?”</p> -<p>Is the man going mad? thought I. He is very like Don -Quixote.</p> -<p>“What colour are they, I say?” repeated he -vehemently.</p> -<p>“I am sure I don’t know, sir,” said I, with -the meekness of ignorance.</p> -<p>“I knew you didn’t. No more did I—an -old fool that I am!—till this young man comes and tells -me. Black as ash-buds in March. And I’ve lived -<a name="page56"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 56</span>all my -life in the country; more shame for me not to know. Black: -they are jet-black, madam.” And he went off again, -swinging along to the music of some rhyme he had got hold of.</p> -<p>When we came back, nothing would serve him but he must read us -the poems he had been speaking of; and Miss Pole encouraged him -in his proposal, I thought, because she wished me to hear his -beautiful reading, of which she had boasted; but she afterwards -said it was because she had got to a difficult part of her -crochet, and wanted to count her stitches without having to -talk. Whatever he had proposed would have been right to -Miss Matty; although she did fall sound asleep within five -minutes after he had begun a long poem, called “Locksley -Hall,” and had a comfortable nap, unobserved, till he -ended; when the cessation of his voice wakened her up, and she -said, feeling that something was expected, and that Miss Pole was -counting—</p> -<p>“What a pretty book!”</p> -<p>“Pretty, madam! it’s beautiful! Pretty, -indeed!”</p> -<p>“Oh yes! I meant beautiful!” said she, -fluttered at his disapproval of her word. “It is so -like that beautiful poem of Dr Johnson’s my sister used to -read—I forget the name of it; what was it, my dear?” -turning to me.</p> -<p>“Which do you mean, ma’am? What was it -about?”</p> -<p>“I don’t remember what it was about, and -I’ve quite forgotten what the name of it was; but it was -written by Dr Johnson, and was very beautiful, and very like what -Mr Holbrook has just been reading.”</p> -<p>“I don’t remember it,” said he -reflectively. <a name="page57"></a><span class="pagenum">p. -57</span>“But I don’t know Dr Johnson’s poems -well. I must read them.”</p> -<p>As we were getting into the fly to return, I heard Mr Holbrook -say he should call on the ladies soon, and inquire how they got -home; and this evidently pleased and fluttered Miss Matty at the -time he said it; but after we had lost sight of the old house -among the trees her sentiments towards the master of it were -gradually absorbed into a distressing wonder as to whether Martha -had broken her word, and seized on the opportunity of her -mistress’s absence to have a “follower.” -Martha looked good, and steady, and composed enough, as she came -to help us out; she was always careful of Miss Matty, and -to-night she made use of this unlucky speech—</p> -<p>“Eh! dear ma’am, to think of your going out in an -evening in such a thin shawl! It’s no better than -muslin. At your age, ma’am, you should be -careful.”</p> -<p>“My age!” said Miss Matty, almost speaking -crossly, for her, for she was usually gentle—“My -age! Why, how old do you think I am, that you talk about my -age?”</p> -<p>“Well, ma’am, I should say you were not far short -of sixty: but folks’ looks is often against them—and -I’m sure I meant no harm.”</p> -<p>“Martha, I’m not yet fifty-two!” said Miss -Matty, with grave emphasis; for probably the remembrance of her -youth had come very vividly before her this day, and she was -annoyed at finding that golden time so far away in the past.</p> -<p>But she never spoke of any former and more <a -name="page58"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 58</span>intimate -acquaintance with Mr Holbrook. She had probably met with so -little sympathy in her early love, that she had shut it up close -in her heart; and it was only by a sort of watching, which I -could hardly avoid since Miss Pole’s confidence, that I saw -how faithful her poor heart had been in its sorrow and its -silence.</p> -<p>She gave me some good reason for wearing her best cap every -day, and sat near the window, in spite of her rheumatism, in -order to see, without being seen, down into the street.</p> -<p>He came. He put his open palms upon his knees, which -were far apart, as he sat with his head bent down, whistling, -after we had replied to his inquiries about our safe -return. Suddenly he jumped up—</p> -<p>“Well, madam! have you any commands for Paris? I -am going there in a week or two.”</p> -<p>“To Paris!” we both exclaimed.</p> -<p>“Yes, madam! I’ve never been there, and -always had a wish to go; and I think if I don’t go soon, I -mayn’t go at all; so as soon as the hay is got in I shall -go, before harvest time.”</p> -<p>We were so much astonished that we had no commissions.</p> -<p>Just as he was going out of the room, he turned back, with his -favourite exclamation—</p> -<p>“God bless my soul, madam! but I nearly forgot half my -errand. Here are the poems for you you admired so much the -other evening at my house.” He tugged away at a -parcel in his coat-pocket. “Good-bye, miss,” -said he; “good-bye, Matty! take care of -yourself.” And he was gone. <a -name="page59"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 59</span>But he had -given her a book, and he had called her Matty, just as he used to -do thirty years to.</p> -<p>“I wish he would not go to Paris,” said Miss -Matilda anxiously. “I don’t believe frogs will -agree with him; he used to have to be very careful what he ate, -which was curious in so strong-looking a young man.”</p> -<p>Soon after this I took my leave, giving many an injunction to -Martha to look after her mistress, and to let me know if she -thought that Miss Matilda was not so well; in which case I would -volunteer a visit to my old friend, without noticing -Martha’s intelligence to her.</p> -<p>Accordingly I received a line or two from Martha every now and -then; and, about November I had a note to say her mistress was -“very low and sadly off her food”; and the account -made me so uneasy that, although Martha did not decidedly summon -me, I packed up my things and went.</p> -<p>I received a warm welcome, in spite of the little flurry -produced by my impromptu visit, for I had only been able to give -a day’s notice. Miss Matilda looked miserably ill; -and I prepared to comfort and cosset her.</p> -<p>I went down to have a private talk with Martha.</p> -<p>“How long has your mistress been so poorly?” I -asked, as I stood by the kitchen fire.</p> -<p>“Well! I think it’s better than a fortnight; -it is, I know; it was one Tuesday, after Miss Pole had been, that -she went into this moping way. I thought she was tired, and -it would go off with a night’s rest; but no! she has gone -on and on ever since, till I thought it my duty to write to you, -ma’am.”</p> -<p><a name="page60"></a><span class="pagenum">p. -60</span>“You did quite right, Martha. It is a -comfort to think she has so faithful a servant about her. -And I hope you find your place comfortable?”</p> -<p>“Well, ma’am, missus is very kind, and -there’s plenty to eat and drink, and no more work but what -I can do easily—but—” Martha hesitated.</p> -<p>“But what, Martha?”</p> -<p>“Why, it seems so hard of missus not to let me have any -followers; there’s such lots of young fellows in the town; -and many a one has as much as offered to keep company with me; -and I may never be in such a likely place again, and it’s -like wasting an opportunity. Many a girl as I know would -have ’em unbeknownst to missus; but I’ve given my -word, and I’ll stick to it; or else this is just the house -for missus never to be the wiser if they did come: and it’s -such a capable kitchen—there’s such dark corners in -it—I’d be bound to hide any one. I counted up -last Sunday night—for I’ll not deny I was crying -because I had to shut the door in Jem Hearn’s face, and -he’s a steady young man, fit for any girl; only I had given -missus my word.” Martha was all but crying again; and -I had little comfort to give her, for I knew, from old -experience, of the horror with which both the Miss Jenkynses -looked upon “followers”; and in Miss Matty’s -present nervous state this dread was not likely to be -lessened.</p> -<p>I went to see Miss Pole the next day, and took her completely -by surprise, for she had not been to see Miss Matilda for two -days.</p> -<p>“And now I must go back with you, my dear, for I -promised to let her know how Thomas Holbrook went on; and, -I’m sorry to say, his housekeeper has <a -name="page61"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 61</span>sent me word -to-day that he hasn’t long to live. Poor Thomas! that -journey to Paris was quite too much for him. His -housekeeper says he has hardly ever been round his fields since, -but just sits with his hands on his knees in the counting-house, -not reading or anything, but only saying what a wonderful city -Paris was! Paris has much to answer for if it’s -killed my cousin Thomas, for a better man never lived.”</p> -<p>“Does Miss Matilda know of his illness?” asked -I—a new light as to the cause of her indisposition dawning -upon me.</p> -<p>“Dear! to be sure, yes! Has not she told -you? I let her know a fortnight ago, or more, when first I -heard of it. How odd she shouldn’t have told -you!”</p> -<p>Not at all, I thought; but I did not say anything. I -felt almost guilty of having spied too curiously into that tender -heart, and I was not going to speak of its secrets—hidden, -Miss Matty believed, from all the world. I ushered Miss -Pole into Miss Matilda’s little drawing-room, and then left -them alone. But I was not surprised when Martha came to my -bedroom door, to ask me to go down to dinner alone, for that -missus had one of her bad headaches. She came into the -drawing-room at tea-time, but it was evidently an effort to her; -and, as if to make up for some reproachful feeling against her -late sister, Miss Jenkyns, which had been troubling her all the -afternoon, and for which she now felt penitent, she kept telling -me how good and how clever Deborah was in her youth; how she used -to settle what gowns they were to wear at all the parties (faint, -<a name="page62"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 62</span>ghostly -ideas of grim parties, far away in the distance, when Miss Matty -and Miss Pole were young!); and how Deborah and her mother had -started the benefit society for the poor, and taught girls -cooking and plain sewing; and how Deborah had once danced with a -lord; and how she used to visit at Sir Peter Arley’s, and -tried to remodel the quiet rectory establishment on the plans of -Arley Hall, where they kept thirty servants; and how she had -nursed Miss Matty through a long, long illness, of which I had -never heard before, but which I now dated in my own mind as -following the dismissal of the suit of Mr Holbrook. So we -talked softly and quietly of old times through the long November -evening.</p> -<p>The next day Miss Pole brought us word that Mr Holbrook was -dead. Miss Matty heard the news in silence; in fact, from -the account of the previous day, it was only what we had to -expect. Miss Pole kept calling upon us for some expression -of regret, by asking if it was not sad that he was gone, and -saying—</p> -<p>“To think of that pleasant day last June, when he seemed -so well! And he might have lived this dozen years if he had -not gone to that wicked Paris, where they are always having -revolutions.”</p> -<p>She paused for some demonstration on our part. I saw -Miss Matty could not speak, she was trembling so nervously; so I -said what I really felt; and after a call of some -duration—all the time of which I have no doubt Miss Pole -thought Miss Matty received the news very calmly—our -visitor took her leave.</p> -<p>Miss Matty made a strong effort to conceal her <a -name="page63"></a><span class="pagenum">p. -63</span>feelings—a concealment she practised even with me, -for she has never alluded to Mr Holbrook again, although the book -he gave her lies with her Bible on the little table by her -bedside. She did not think I heard her when she asked the -little milliner of Cranford to make her caps something like the -Honourable Mrs Jamieson’s, or that I noticed the -reply—</p> -<p>“But she wears widows’ caps, -ma’am?”</p> -<p>“Oh! I only meant something in that style; not -widows’, of course, but rather like Mrs -Jamieson’s.”</p> -<p>This effort at concealment was the beginning of the tremulous -motion of head and hands which I have seen ever since in Miss -Matty.</p> -<p>The evening of the day on which we heard of Mr -Holbrook’s death, Miss Matilda was very silent and -thoughtful; after prayers she called Martha back and then she -stood uncertain what to say.</p> -<p>“Martha!” she said, at last, “you are -young”—and then she made so long a pause that Martha, -to remind her of her half-finished sentence, dropped a curtsey, -and said—</p> -<p>“Yes, please, ma’am; two-and-twenty last third of -October, please, ma’am.”</p> -<p>“And, perhaps, Martha, you may some time meet with a -young man you like, and who likes you. I did say you were -not to have followers; but if you meet with such a young man, and -tell me, and I find he is respectable, I have no objection to his -coming to see you once a week. God forbid!” said she -in a low voice, “that I should grieve any young -hearts.” She spoke as if she were providing for some -distant <a name="page64"></a><span class="pagenum">p. -64</span>contingency, and was rather startled when Martha made -her ready eager answer—</p> -<p>“Please, ma’am, there’s Jem Hearn, and -he’s a joiner making three-and-sixpence a-day, and six foot -one in his stocking-feet, please, ma’am; and if -you’ll ask about him to-morrow morning, every one will give -him a character for steadiness; and he’ll be glad enough to -come to-morrow night, I’ll be bound.”</p> -<p>Though Miss Matty was startled, she submitted to Fate and -Love.</p> -<div class='chapter' /><h2><a name="page65"></a><span class="pagenum">p. -65</span>CHAPTER V—OLD LETTERS</h2> -<p>I <span class="smcap">have</span> often noticed that almost -every one has his own individual small economies—careful -habits of saving fractions of pennies in some one peculiar -direction—any disturbance of which annoys him more than -spending shillings or pounds on some real extravagance. An -old gentleman of my acquaintance, who took the intelligence of -the failure of a Joint-Stock Bank, in which some of his money was -invested, with stoical mildness, worried his family all through a -long summer’s day because one of them had torn (instead of -cutting) out the written leaves of his now useless bank-book; of -course, the corresponding pages at the other end came out as -well, and this little unnecessary waste of paper (his private -economy) chafed him more than all the loss of his money. -Envelopes fretted his soul terribly when they first came in; the -only way in which he could reconcile himself to such waste of his -cherished article was by patiently turning inside out all that -were sent to him, and so making them serve again. Even now, -though tamed by age, I see him casting wistful glances at his -daughters when they send a <a name="page66"></a><span -class="pagenum">p. 66</span>whole inside of a half-sheet of note -paper, with the three lines of acceptance to an invitation, -written on only one of the sides. I am not above owning -that I have this human weakness myself. String is my -foible. My pockets get full of little hanks of it, picked -up and twisted together, ready for uses that never come. I -am seriously annoyed if any one cuts the string of a parcel -instead of patiently and faithfully undoing it fold by -fold. How people can bring themselves to use india-rubber -rings, which are a sort of deification of string, as lightly as -they do, I cannot imagine. To me an india-rubber ring is a -precious treasure. I have one which is not new—one -that I picked up off the floor nearly six years ago. I have -really tried to use it, but my heart failed me, and I could not -commit the extravagance.</p> -<p>Small pieces of butter grieve others. They cannot attend -to conversation because of the annoyance occasioned by the habit -which some people have of invariably taking more butter than they -want. Have you not seen the anxious look (almost mesmeric) -which such persons fix on the article? They would feel it a -relief if they might bury it out of their sight by popping it -into their own mouths and swallowing it down; and they are really -made happy if the person on whose plate it lies unused suddenly -breaks off a piece of toast (which he does not want at all) and -eats up his butter. They think that this is not waste.</p> -<p>Now Miss Matty Jenkyns was chary of candles. We had many -devices to use as few as possible. In the winter afternoons -she would sit knitting for two or three hours—she could do -this in the dark, or by <a name="page67"></a><span -class="pagenum">p. 67</span>firelight—and when I asked if I -might not ring for candles to finish stitching my wristbands, she -told me to “keep blind man’s holiday.” -They were usually brought in with tea; but we only burnt one at a -time. As we lived in constant preparation for a friend who -might come in any evening (but who never did), it required some -contrivance to keep our two candles of the same length, ready to -be lighted, and to look as if we burnt two always. The -candles took it in turns; and, whatever we might be talking about -or doing, Miss Matty’s eyes were habitually fixed upon the -candle, ready to jump up and extinguish it and to light the other -before they had become too uneven in length to be restored to -equality in the course of the evening.</p> -<p>One night, I remember this candle economy particularly annoyed -me. I had been very much tired of my compulsory -“blind man’s holiday,” especially as Miss Matty -had fallen asleep, and I did not like to stir the fire and run -the risk of awakening her; so I could not even sit on the rug, -and scorch myself with sewing by firelight, according to my usual -custom. I fancied Miss Matty must be dreaming of her early -life; for she spoke one or two words in her uneasy sleep bearing -reference to persons who were dead long before. When Martha -brought in the lighted candle and tea, Miss Matty started into -wakefulness, with a strange, bewildered look around, as if we -were not the people she expected to see about her. There -was a little sad expression that shadowed her face as she -recognised me; but immediately afterwards she tried to give me -her usual smile. All through tea-time her talk ran <a -name="page68"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 68</span>upon the days -of her childhood and youth. Perhaps this reminded her of -the desirableness of looking over all the old family letters, and -destroying such as ought not to be allowed to fall into the hands -of strangers; for she had often spoken of the necessity of this -task, but had always shrunk from it, with a timid dread of -something painful. To-night, however, she rose up after tea -and went for them—in the dark; for she piqued herself on -the precise neatness of all her chamber arrangements, and used to -look uneasily at me when I lighted a bed-candle to go to another -room for anything. When she returned there was a faint, -pleasant smell of Tonquin beans in the room. I had always -noticed this scent about any of the things which had belonged to -her mother; and many of the letters were addressed to -her—yellow bundles of love-letters, sixty or seventy years -old.</p> -<p>Miss Matty undid the packet with a sigh; but she stifled it -directly, as if it were hardly right to regret the flight of -time, or of life either. We agreed to look them over -separately, each taking a different letter out of the same bundle -and describing its contents to the other before destroying -it. I never knew what sad work the reading of old letters -was before that evening, though I could hardly tell why. -The letters were as happy as letters could be—at least -those early letters were. There was in them a vivid and -intense sense of the present time, which seemed so strong and -full, as if it could never pass away, and as if the warm, living -hearts that so expressed themselves could never die, and be as -nothing to the sunny earth. I should have felt less -melancholy, I believe, if the letters had been more so. <a -name="page69"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 69</span>I saw the -tears stealing down the well-worn furrows of Miss Matty’s -cheeks, and her spectacles often wanted wiping. I trusted -at last that she would light the other candle, for my own eyes -were rather dim, and I wanted more light to see the pale, faded -ink; but no, even through her tears, she saw and remembered her -little economical ways.</p> -<p>The earliest set of letters were two bundles tied together, -and ticketed (in Miss Jenkyns’s handwriting) “Letters -interchanged between my ever-honoured father and my -dearly-beloved mother, prior to their marriage, in July -1774.” I should guess that the rector of Cranford was -about twenty-seven years of age when he wrote those letters; and -Miss Matty told me that her mother was just eighteen at the time -of her wedding. With my idea of the rector derived from a -picture in the dining-parlour, stiff and stately, in a huge -full-bottomed wig, with gown, cassock, and bands, and his hand -upon a copy of the only sermon he ever published—it was -strange to read these letters. They were full of eager, -passionate ardour; short homely sentences, right fresh from the -heart (very different from the grand Latinised, Johnsonian style -of the printed sermon preached before some judge at assize -time). His letters were a curious contrast to those of his -girl-bride. She was evidently rather annoyed at his demands -upon her for expressions of love, and could not quite understand -what he meant by repeating the same thing over in so many -different ways; but what she was quite clear about was a longing -for a white “Paduasoy”—whatever that might be; -and six or seven letters were principally occupied in asking her -<a name="page70"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 70</span>lover to -use his influence with her parents (who evidently kept her in -good order) to obtain this or that article of dress, more -especially the white “Paduasoy.” He cared -nothing how she was dressed; she was always lovely enough for -him, as he took pains to assure her, when she begged him to -express in his answers a predilection for particular pieces of -finery, in order that she might show what he said to her -parents. But at length he seemed to find out that she would -not be married till she had a “trousseau” to her -mind; and then he sent her a letter, which had evidently -accompanied a whole box full of finery, and in which he requested -that she might be dressed in everything her heart desired. -This was the first letter, ticketed in a frail, delicate hand, -“From my dearest John.” Shortly afterwards they -were married, I suppose, from the intermission in their -correspondence.</p> -<p>“We must burn them, I think,” said Miss Matty, -looking doubtfully at me. “No one will care for them -when I am gone.” And one by one she dropped them into -the middle of the fire, watching each blaze up, die out, and rise -away, in faint, white, ghostly semblance, up the chimney, before -she gave another to the same fate. The room was light -enough now; but I, like her, was fascinated into watching the -destruction of those letters, into which the honest warmth of a -manly heart had been poured forth.</p> -<p>The next letter, likewise docketed by Miss Jenkyns, was -endorsed, “Letter of pious congratulation and exhortation -from my venerable grandfather to my beloved mother, on occasion -of my own birth. <a name="page71"></a><span -class="pagenum">p. 71</span>Also some practical remarks on the -desirability of keeping warm the extremities of infants, from my -excellent grandmother.”</p> -<p>The first part was, indeed, a severe and forcible picture of -the responsibilities of mothers, and a warning against the evils -that were in the world, and lying in ghastly wait for the little -baby of two days old. His wife did not write, said the old -gentleman, because he had forbidden it, she being indisposed with -a sprained ankle, which (he said) quite incapacitated her from -holding a pen. However, at the foot of the page was a small -“T.O.,” and on turning it over, sure enough, there -was a letter to “my dear, dearest Molly,” begging -her, when she left her room, whatever she did, to go <i>up</i> -stairs before going <i>down</i>: and telling her to wrap her -baby’s feet up in flannel, and keep it warm by the fire, -although it was summer, for babies were so tender.</p> -<p>It was pretty to see from the letters, which were evidently -exchanged with some frequency between the young mother and the -grandmother, how the girlish vanity was being weeded out of her -heart by love for her baby. The white -“Paduasoy” figured again in the letters, with almost -as much vigour as before. In one, it was being made into a -christening cloak for the baby. It decked it when it went -with its parents to spend a day or two at Arley Hall. It -added to its charms, when it was “the prettiest little baby -that ever was seen. Dear mother, I wish you could see -her! Without any pershality, I do think she will grow up a -regular bewty!” I thought of Miss Jenkyns, grey, -withered, and wrinkled, and I wondered if her mother had known -her in the courts <a name="page72"></a><span class="pagenum">p. -72</span>of heaven: and then I knew that she had, and that they -stood there in angelic guise.</p> -<p>There was a great gap before any of the rector’s letters -appeared. And then his wife had changed her mode of her -endorsement. It was no longer from, “My dearest -John;” it was from “My Honoured Husband.” -The letters were written on occasion of the publication of the -same sermon which was represented in the picture. The -preaching before “My Lord Judge,” and the -“publishing by request,” was evidently the -culminating point—the event of his life. It had been -necessary for him to go up to London to superintend it through -the press. Many friends had to be called upon and consulted -before he could decide on any printer fit for so onerous a task; -and at length it was arranged that J. and J. Rivingtons were to -have the honourable responsibility. The worthy rector -seemed to be strung up by the occasion to a high literary pitch, -for he could hardly write a letter to his wife without cropping -out into Latin. I remember the end of one of his letters -ran thus: “I shall ever hold the virtuous qualities of my -Molly in remembrance, <i>dum memor ipse mei</i>, <i>dum spiritus -regit artus</i>,” which, considering that the English of -his correspondent was sometimes at fault in grammar, and often in -spelling, might be taken as a proof of how much he -“idealised his Molly;” and, as Miss Jenkyns used to -say, “People talk a great deal about idealising now-a-days, -whatever that may mean.” But this was nothing to a -fit of writing classical poetry which soon seized him, in which -his Molly figured away as “Maria.” The letter -containing the <i>carmen</i> was endorsed by her, “Hebrew -verses sent me by <a name="page73"></a><span class="pagenum">p. -73</span>my honoured husband. I thowt to have had a letter -about killing the pig, but must wait. Mem., to send the -poetry to Sir Peter Arley, as my husband desires.” -And in a post-scriptum note in his handwriting it was stated that -the Ode had appeared in the <i>Gentleman’s Magazine</i>, -December 1782.</p> -<p>Her letters back to her husband (treasured as fondly by him as -if they had been <i>M. T. Ciceronis Epistolæ</i>) were more -satisfactory to an absent husband and father than his could ever -have been to her. She told him how Deborah sewed her seam -very neatly every day, and read to her in the books he had set -her; how she was a very “forrard,” good child, but -would ask questions her mother could not answer, but how she did -not let herself down by saying she did not know, but took to -stirring the fire, or sending the “forrard” child on -an errand. Matty was now the mother’s darling, and -promised (like her sister at her age), to be a great -beauty. I was reading this aloud to Miss Matty, who smiled -and sighed a little at the hope, so fondly expressed, that -“little Matty might not be vain, even if she were a -bewty.”</p> -<p>“I had very pretty hair, my dear,” said Miss -Matilda; “and not a bad mouth.” And I saw her -soon afterwards adjust her cap and draw herself up.</p> -<p>But to return to Mrs Jenkyns’s letters. She told -her husband about the poor in the parish; what homely domestic -medicines she had administered; what kitchen physic she had -sent. She had evidently held his displeasure as a rod in -pickle over the heads of all the ne’er-do-wells. She -asked for his directions <a name="page74"></a><span -class="pagenum">p. 74</span>about the cows and pigs; and did not -always obtain them, as I have shown before.</p> -<p>The kind old grandmother was dead when a little boy was born, -soon after the publication of the sermon; but there was another -letter of exhortation from the grandfather, more stringent and -admonitory than ever, now that there was a boy to be guarded from -the snares of the world. He described all the various sins -into which men might fall, until I wondered how any man ever came -to a natural death. The gallows seemed as if it must have -been the termination of the lives of most of the -grandfather’s friends and acquaintance; and I was not -surprised at the way in which he spoke of this life being -“a vale of tears.”</p> -<p>It seemed curious that I should never have heard of this -brother before; but I concluded that he had died young, or else -surely his name would have been alluded to by his sisters.</p> -<p>By-and-by we came to packets of Miss Jenkyns’s -letters. These Miss Matty did regret to burn. She -said all the others had been only interesting to those who loved -the writers, and that it seemed as if it would have hurt her to -allow them to fall into the hands of strangers, who had not known -her dear mother, and how good she was, although she did not -always spell, quite in the modern fashion; but Deborah’s -letters were so very superior! Any one might profit by -reading them. It was a long time since she had read Mrs -Chapone, but she knew she used to think that Deborah could have -said the same things quite as well; and as for Mrs Carter! people -thought a deal of her letters, just because she had <a -name="page75"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 75</span>written -“Epictetus,” but she was quite sure Deborah would -never have made use of such a common expression as “I canna -be fashed!”</p> -<p style="text-align: center"> -<a href="images/p74b.jpg"> -<img alt= -"I made use of the time to think of many other things" -title= -"I made use of the time to think of many other things" -src="images/p74s.jpg" /> -</a></p> -<p>Miss Matty did grudge burning these letters, it was -evident. She would not let them be carelessly passed over -with any quiet reading, and skipping, to myself. She took -them from me, and even lighted the second candle in order to read -them aloud with a proper emphasis, and without stumbling over the -big words. Oh dear! how I wanted facts instead of -reflections, before those letters were concluded! They -lasted us two nights; and I won’t deny that I made use of -the time to think of many other things, and yet I was always at -my post at the end of each sentence.</p> -<p>The rector’s letters, and those of his wife and -mother-in-law, had all been tolerably short and pithy, written in -a straight hand, with the lines very close together. -Sometimes the whole letter was contained on a mere scrap of -paper. The paper was very yellow, and the ink very brown; -some of the sheets were (as Miss Matty made me observe) the old -original post, with the stamp in the corner representing a -post-boy riding for life and twanging his horn. The letters -of Mrs Jenkyns and her mother were fastened with a great round -red wafer; for it was before Miss Edgeworth’s -“patronage” had banished wafers from polite -society. It was evident, from the tenor of what was said, -that franks were in great request, and were even used as a means -of paying debts by needy members of Parliament. The rector -sealed his epistles with an immense coat of arms, and showed by -the care with which he had performed this <a -name="page76"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 76</span>ceremony that -he expected they should be cut open, not broken by any -thoughtless or impatient hand. Now, Miss Jenkyns’s -letters were of a later date in form and writing. She wrote -on the square sheet which we have learned to call -old-fashioned. Her hand was admirably calculated, together -with her use of many-syllabled words, to fill up a sheet, and -then came the pride and delight of crossing. Poor Miss -Matty got sadly puzzled with this, for the words gathered size -like snowballs, and towards the end of her letter Miss Jenkyns -used to become quite sesquipedalian. In one to her father, -slightly theological and controversial in its tone, she had -spoken of Herod, Tetrarch of Idumea. Miss Matty read it -“Herod Petrarch of Etruria,” and was just as well -pleased as if she had been right.</p> -<p>I can’t quite remember the date, but I think it was in -1805 that Miss Jenkyns wrote the longest series of -letters—on occasion of her absence on a visit to some -friends near Newcastle-upon-Tyne. These friends were -intimate with the commandant of the garrison there, and heard -from him of all the preparations that were being made to repel -the invasion of Buonaparte, which some people imagined might take -place at the mouth of the Tyne. Miss Jenkyns was evidently -very much alarmed; and the first part of her letters was often -written in pretty intelligible English, conveying particulars of -the preparations which were made in the family with whom she was -residing against the dreaded event; the bundles of clothes that -were packed up ready for a flight to Alston Moor (a wild hilly -piece of ground between Northumberland and Cumberland); the -signal that <a name="page77"></a><span class="pagenum">p. -77</span>was to be given for this flight, and for the -simultaneous turning out of the volunteers under arms—which -said signal was to consist (if I remember rightly) in ringing the -church bells in a particular and ominous manner. One day, -when Miss Jenkyns and her hosts were at a dinner-party in -Newcastle, this warning summons was actually given (not a very -wise proceeding, if there be any truth in the moral attached to -the fable of the Boy and the Wolf; but so it was), and Miss -Jenkyns, hardly recovered from her fright, wrote the next day to -describe the sound, the breathless shock, the hurry and alarm; -and then, taking breath, she added, “How trivial, my dear -father, do all our apprehensions of the last evening appear, at -the present moment, to calm and enquiring minds!” And -here Miss Matty broke in with—</p> -<p>“But, indeed, my dear, they were not at all trivial or -trifling at the time. I know I used to wake up in the night -many a time and think I heard the tramp of the French entering -Cranford. Many people talked of hiding themselves in the -salt mines—and meat would have kept capitally down there, -only perhaps we should have been thirsty. And my father -preached a whole set of sermons on the occasion; one set in the -mornings, all about David and Goliath, to spirit up the people to -fighting with spades or bricks, if need were; and the other set -in the afternoons, proving that Napoleon (that was another name -for Bony, as we used to call him) was all the same as an Apollyon -and Abaddon. I remember my father rather thought he should -be asked to print this last set; but the parish had, perhaps, had -enough of them with hearing.”</p> -<p><a name="page78"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 78</span>Peter -Marmaduke Arley Jenkyns (“poor Peter!” as Miss Matty -began to call him) was at school at Shrewsbury by this -time. The rector took up his pen, and rubbed up his Latin -once more, to correspond with his boy. It was very clear -that the lad’s were what are called show letters. -They were of a highly mental description, giving an account of -his studies, and his intellectual hopes of various kinds, with an -occasional quotation from the classics; but, now and then, the -animal nature broke out in such a little sentence as this, -evidently written in a trembling hurry, after the letter had been -inspected: “Mother dear, do send me a cake, and put plenty -of citron in.” The “mother dear” probably -answered her boy in the form of cakes and “goody,” -for there were none of her letters among this set; but a whole -collection of the rector’s, to whom the Latin in his -boy’s letters was like a trumpet to the old -war-horse. I do not know much about Latin, certainly, and -it is, perhaps, an ornamental language, but not very useful, I -think—at least to judge from the bits I remember out of the -rector’s letters. One was, “You have not got -that town in your map of Ireland; but <i>Bonus Bernardus non -videt omnia</i>, as the Proverbia say.” Presently it -became very evident that “poor Peter” got himself -into many scrapes. There were letters of stilted penitence -to his father, for some wrong-doing; and among them all was a -badly-written, badly-sealed, badly-directed, blotted -note:—“My dear, dear, dear, dearest mother, I will be -a better boy; I will, indeed; but don’t, please, be ill for -me; I am not worth it; but I will be good, darling -mother.”</p> -<p><a name="page79"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 79</span>Miss -Matty could not speak for crying, after she had read this -note. She gave it to me in silence, and then got up and -took it to her sacred recesses in her own room, for fear, by any -chance, it might get burnt. “Poor Peter!” she -said; “he was always in scrapes; he was too easy. -They led him wrong, and then left him in the lurch. But he -was too fond of mischief. He could never resist a -joke. Poor Peter!”</p> -<div class='chapter' /><h2><a name="page80"></a><span class="pagenum">p. -80</span>CHAPTER VI—POOR PETER</h2> -<p><span class="smcap">Poor</span> Peter’s career lay -before him rather pleasantly mapped out by kind friends, but -<i>Bonus Bernardus non videt omnia</i>, in this map too. He -was to win honours at the Shrewsbury School, and carry them thick -to Cambridge, and after that, a living awaited him, the gift of -his godfather, Sir Peter Arley. Poor Peter! his lot in life -was very different to what his friends had hoped and -planned. Miss Matty told me all about it, and I think it -was a relief when she had done so.</p> -<p>He was the darling of his mother, who seemed to dote on all -her children, though she was, perhaps, a little afraid of -Deborah’s superior acquirements. Deborah was the -favourite of her father, and when Peter disappointed him, she -became his pride. The sole honour Peter brought away from -Shrewsbury was the reputation of being the best good fellow that -ever was, and of being the captain of the school in the art of -practical joking. His father was disappointed, but set -about remedying the matter in a manly way. He could not -afford to send Peter to read with any tutor, but he could read -with <a name="page81"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 81</span>him -himself; and Miss Matty told me much of the awful preparations in -the way of dictionaries and lexicons that were made in her -father’s study the morning Peter began.</p> -<p>“My poor mother!” said she. “I -remember how she used to stand in the hall, just near enough the -study-door, to catch the tone of my father’s voice. I -could tell in a moment if all was going right, by her face. -And it did go right for a long time.”</p> -<p>“What went wrong at last?” said I. -“That tiresome Latin, I dare say.”</p> -<p>“No! it was not the Latin. Peter was in high -favour with my father, for he worked up well for him. But -he seemed to think that the Cranford people might be joked about, -and made fun of, and they did not like it; nobody does. He -was always hoaxing them; ‘hoaxing’ is not a pretty -word, <a name="page82"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 82</span>my -dear, and I hope you won’t tell your father I used it, for -I should not like him to think that I was not choice in my -language, after living with such a woman as Deborah. And be -sure you never use it yourself. I don’t know how it -slipped out of my mouth, except it was that I was thinking of -poor Peter and it was always his expression. But he was a -very gentlemanly boy in many things. He was like dear -Captain Brown in always being ready to help any old person or a -child. Still, he did like joking and making fun; and he -seemed to think the old ladies in Cranford would believe -anything. There were many old ladies living here then; we -are principally ladies now, I know, but we are not so old as the -ladies used to be when I was a girl. I could laugh to think -of some of Peter’s jokes. No, my dear, I won’t -tell you of them, because they might not shock you as they ought -to do, and they were very shocking. He even took in my -father once, by dressing himself up as a lady that was passing -through the town and wished to see the Rector of Cranford, -‘who had published that admirable Assize -Sermon.’ Peter said he was awfully frightened himself -when he saw how my father took it all in, and even offered to -copy out all his Napoleon Buonaparte sermons for her—him, I -mean—no, her, for Peter was a lady then. He told me -he was more terrified than he ever was before, all the time my -father was speaking. He did not think my father would have -believed him; and yet if he had not, it would have been a sad -thing for Peter. As it was, he was none so glad of it, for -my father kept him hard at work copying out all those twelve -Buonaparte sermons for the lady—that was for Peter himself, -you know. He was the lady. And once when he wanted to -go fishing, Peter said, ‘Confound the -woman!’—very bad language, my dear, but Peter was not -always so guarded as he should have been; my father was so angry -with him, it nearly frightened me out of my wits: and yet I could -hardly keep from laughing at the little curtseys Peter kept -making, quite slyly, whenever my father spoke of the lady’s -excellent taste and sound discrimination.”</p> -<p style="text-align: center"> -<a href="images/p82b.jpg"> -<img alt= -"Confound the woman" -title= -"Confound the woman" -src="images/p82s.jpg" /> -</a></p> -<p>“Did Miss Jenkyns know of these tricks?” said -I.</p> -<p>“Oh, no! Deborah would have been too much -shocked. No, no one knew but me. I wish I had always -known of Peter’s plans; but sometimes he did not tell -me. He used to say the old ladies in <a -name="page83"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 83</span>the town -wanted something to talk about; but I don’t think they -did. They had the <i>St James’s Chronicle</i> three -times a week, just as we have now, and we have plenty to say; and -I remember the clacking noise there always was when some of the -ladies got together. But, probably, schoolboys talk more -than ladies. At last there was a terrible, sad thing -happened.” Miss Matty got up, went to the door, and -opened it; no one was there. She rang the bell for Martha, -and when Martha came, her mistress told her to go for eggs to a -farm at the other end of the town.</p> -<p>“I will lock the door after you, Martha. You are -not afraid to go, are you?”</p> -<p>“No, ma’am, not at all; Jem Hearn will be only too -proud to go with me.”</p> -<p>Miss Matty drew herself up, and as soon as we were alone, she -wished that Martha had more maidenly reserve.</p> -<p>“We’ll put out the candle, my dear. We can -talk just as well by firelight, you know. There! -Well, you see, Deborah had gone from home for a fortnight or so; -it was a very still, quiet day, I remember, overhead; and the -lilacs were all in flower, so I suppose it was spring. My -father had gone out to see some sick people in the parish; I -recollect seeing him leave the house with his wig and shovel-hat -and cane. What possessed our poor Peter I don’t know; -he had the sweetest temper, and yet he always seemed to like to -plague Deborah. She never laughed at his jokes, and thought -him ungenteel, and not careful enough about improving his mind; -and that vexed him.</p> -<p><a name="page84"></a><span class="pagenum">p. -84</span>“Well! he went to her room, it seems, and dressed -himself in her old gown, and shawl, and bonnet; just the things -she used to wear in Cranford, and was known by everywhere; and he -made the pillow into a little—you are sure you locked the -door, my dear, for I should not like anyone to -hear—into—into a little baby, with white long -clothes. It was only, as he told me afterwards, to make -something to talk about in the town; he never thought of it as -affecting Deborah. And he went and walked up and down in -the Filbert walk—just half-hidden by the rails, and -half-seen; and he cuddled his pillow, just like a baby, and -talked to it all the nonsense people do. Oh dear! and my -father came stepping stately up the street, as he always did; and -what should he see but a little black crowd of people—I -daresay as many as twenty—all peeping through his garden -rails. So he thought, at first, they were only looking at a -new rhododendron that was in full bloom, and that he was very -proud of; and he walked slower, that they might have more time to -admire. And he wondered if he could make out a sermon from -the occasion, and thought, perhaps, there was some relation -between the rhododendrons and the lilies of the field. My -poor father! When he came nearer, he began to wonder that -they did not see him; but their heads were all so close together, -peeping and peeping! My father was amongst them, meaning, -he said, to ask them to walk into the garden with him, and admire -the beautiful vegetable production, when—oh, my dear, I -tremble to think of it—he looked through the rails himself, -and saw—I don’t know what he thought he saw, but old -Clare told me his <a name="page85"></a><span class="pagenum">p. -85</span>face went quite grey-white with anger, and his eyes -blazed out under his frowning black brows; and he spoke -out—oh, so terribly!—and bade them all stop where -they were—not one of them to go, not one of them to stir a -step; and, swift as light, he was in at the garden door, and down -the Filbert walk, and seized hold of poor Peter, and tore his -clothes off his back—bonnet, shawl, gown, and all—and -threw the pillow among the people over the railings: and then he -was very, very angry indeed, and before all the people he lifted -up his cane and flogged Peter!</p> -<p>“My dear, that boy’s trick, on that sunny day, -when all seemed going straight and well, broke my mother’s -heart, and changed my father for life. It did, -indeed. Old Clare said, Peter looked as white as my father; -and stood as still as a statue to be flogged; and my father -struck hard! When my father stopped to take breath, Peter -said, ‘Have you done enough, sir?’ quite hoarsely, -and still standing quite quiet. I don’t know what my -father said—or if he said anything. But old Clare -said, Peter turned to where the people outside the railing were, -and made them a low bow, as grand and as grave as any gentleman; -and then walked slowly into the house. I was in the -store-room helping my mother to make cowslip wine. I cannot -abide the wine now, nor the scent of the flowers; they turn me -sick and faint, as they did that day, when Peter came in, looking -as haughty as any man—indeed, looking like a man, not like -a boy. ‘Mother!’ he said, ‘I am come to -say, God bless you for ever.’ I saw his lips quiver -as he spoke; and I think he durst not say anything more loving, -for the purpose that was in his heart. She <a -name="page86"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 86</span>looked at him -rather frightened, and wondering, and asked him what was to -do. He did not smile or speak, but put his arms round her -and kissed her as if he did not know how to leave off; and before -she could speak again, he was gone. We talked it over, and -could not understand it, and she bade me go and seek my father, -and ask what it was all about. I found him walking up and -down, looking very highly displeased.</p> -<p>“‘Tell your mother I have flogged Peter, and that -he richly deserved it.’</p> -<p>“I durst not ask any more questions. When I told -my mother, she sat down, quite faint, for a minute. I -remember, a few days after, I saw the poor, withered cowslip -flowers thrown out to the leaf heap, to decay and die -there. There was no making of cowslip wine that year at the -rectory—nor, indeed, ever after.</p> -<p>“Presently my mother went to my father. I know I -thought of Queen Esther and King Ahasuerus; for my mother was -very pretty and delicate-looking, and my father looked as -terrible as King Ahasuerus. Some time after they came out -together; and then my mother told me what had happened, and that -she was going up to Peter’s room at my father’s -desire—though she was not to tell Peter this—to talk -the matter over with him. But no Peter was there. We -looked over the house; no Peter was there! Even my father, -who had not liked to join in the search at first, helped us -before long. The rectory was a very old house—steps -up into a room, steps down into a room, all through. At -first, my mother went calling low and soft, as if to reassure the -poor <a name="page87"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 87</span>boy, -‘Peter! Peter, dear! it’s only me;’ but, -by-and-by, as the servants came back from the errands my father -had sent them, in different directions, to find where Peter -was—as we found he was not in the garden, nor the hayloft, -nor anywhere about—my mother’s cry grew louder and -wilder, ‘Peter! Peter, my darling! where are you?’ for -then she felt and understood that that long kiss meant some sad -kind of ‘good-bye.’ The afternoon went -on—my mother never resting, but seeking again and again in -every possible place that had been looked into twenty times -before, nay, that she had looked into over and over again -herself. My father sat with his head in his hands, not -speaking except when his messengers came in, bringing no tidings; -then he lifted up his face, so strong and sad, and told them to -go again in some new direction. My mother kept passing from -room to room, in and out of the house, moving noiselessly, but -never ceasing. Neither she nor my father durst leave the -house, which was the meeting-place for all the messengers. -At last (and it was nearly dark), my father rose up. He -took hold of my mother’s arm as she came with wild, sad -pace through one door, and quickly towards another. She -started at the touch of his hand, for she had forgotten all in -the world but Peter.</p> -<p>“‘Molly!’ said he, ‘I did not think -all this would happen.’ He looked into her face for -comfort—her poor face all wild and white; for neither she -nor my father had dared to acknowledge—much less act -upon—the terror that was in their hearts, lest Peter should -have made away with himself. My father saw no conscious -look in his wife’s hot, dreary <a name="page88"></a><span -class="pagenum">p. 88</span>eyes, and he missed the sympathy that -she had always been ready to give him—strong man as he was, -and at the dumb despair in her face his tears began to -flow. But when she saw this, a gentle sorrow came over her -countenance, and she said, ‘Dearest John! don’t cry; -come with me, and we’ll find him,’ almost as -cheerfully as if she knew where he was. And she took my -father’s great hand in her little soft one, and led him -along, the tears dropping as he walked on that same unceasing, -weary walk, from room to room, through house and garden.</p> -<p>“Oh, how I wished for Deborah! I had no time for -crying, for now all seemed to depend on me. I wrote for -Deborah to come home. I sent a message privately to that -same Mr Holbrook’s house—poor Mr Holbrook;—you -know who I mean. I don’t mean I sent a message to -him, but I sent one that I could trust to know if Peter was at -his house. For at one time Mr Holbrook was an occasional -visitor at the rectory—you know he was Miss Pole’s -cousin—and he had been very kind to Peter, and taught him -how to fish—he was very kind to everybody, and I thought -Peter might have gone off there. But Mr Holbrook was from -home, and Peter had never been seen. It was night now; but -the doors were all wide open, and my father and mother walked on -and on; it was more than an hour since he had joined her, and I -don’t believe they had ever spoken all that time. I -was getting the parlour fire lighted, and one of the servants was -preparing tea, for I wanted them to have something to eat and -drink and warm them, when old Clare asked to speak to me.</p> -<p>“‘I have borrowed the nets from the weir, Miss <a -name="page89"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 89</span>Matty. -Shall we drag the ponds to-night, or wait for the -morning?’</p> -<p>“I remember staring in his face to gather his meaning; -and when I did, I laughed out loud. The horror of that new -thought—our bright, darling Peter, cold, and stark, and -dead! I remember the ring of my own laugh now.</p> -<p>“The next day Deborah was at home before I was myself -again. She would not have been so weak as to give way as I -had done; but my screams (my horrible laughter had ended in -crying) had roused my sweet dear mother, whose poor wandering -wits were called back and collected as soon as a child needed her -care. She and Deborah sat by my bedside; I knew by the -looks of each that there had been no news of Peter—no -awful, ghastly news, which was what I most had dreaded in my dull -state between sleeping and waking.</p> -<p>“The same result of all the searching had brought -something of the same relief to my mother, to whom, I am sure, -the thought that Peter might even then be hanging dead in some of -the familiar home places had caused that never-ending walk of -yesterday. Her soft eyes never were the same again after -that; they had always a restless, craving look, as if seeking for -what they could not find. Oh! it was an awful time; coming -down like a thunder-bolt on the still sunny day when the lilacs -were all in bloom.”</p> -<p>“Where was Mr Peter?” said I.</p> -<p>“He had made his way to Liverpool; and there was war -then; and some of the king’s ships lay off the mouth of the -Mersey; and they were only too <a name="page90"></a><span -class="pagenum">p. 90</span>glad to have a fine likely boy such -as him (five foot nine he was), come to offer himself. The -captain wrote to my father, and Peter wrote to my mother. -Stay! those letters will be somewhere here.”</p> -<p>We lighted the candle, and found the captain’s letter -and Peter’s too. And we also found a little simple -begging letter from Mrs Jenkyns to Peter, addressed to him at the -house of an old schoolfellow whither she fancied he might have -gone. They had returned it unopened; and unopened it had -remained ever since, having been inadvertently put by among the -other letters of that time. This is it:—</p> -<blockquote><p>“<span class="smcap">My dearest -Peter</span>,—You did not think we should be so sorry as we -are, I know, or you would never have gone away. You are too -good. Your father sits and sighs till my heart aches to -hear him. He cannot hold up his head for grief; and yet he -only did what he thought was right. Perhaps he has been too -severe, and perhaps I have not been kind enough; but God knows -how we love you, my dear only boy. Don looks so sorry you -are gone. Come back, and make us happy, who love you so -much. I know you will come back.”</p> -</blockquote> -<p>But Peter did not come back. That spring day was the -last time he ever saw his mother’s face. The writer -of the letter—the last—the only person who had ever -seen what was written in it, was dead long ago; and I, a -stranger, not born at the time when this occurrence took place, -was the one to open it.</p> -<p>The captain’s letter summoned the father and <a -name="page91"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 91</span>mother to -Liverpool instantly, if they wished to see their boy; and, by -some of the wild chances of life, the captain’s letter had -been detained somewhere, somehow.</p> -<p>Miss Matty went on, “And it was racetime, and all the -post-horses at Cranford were gone to the races; but my father and -mother set off in our own gig—and oh! my dear, they were -too late—the ship was gone! And now read -Peter’s letter to my mother!”</p> -<p>It was full of love, and sorrow, and pride in his new -profession, and a sore sense of his disgrace in the eyes of the -people at Cranford; but ending with a passionate entreaty that -she would come and see him before he left the Mersey: -“Mother; we may go into battle. I hope we shall, and -lick those French: but I must see you again before that -time.”</p> -<p>“And she was too late,” said Miss Matty; -“too late!”</p> -<p>We sat in silence, pondering on the full meaning of those sad, -sad words. At length I asked Miss Matty to tell me how her -mother bore it.</p> -<p>“Oh!” she said, “she was patience -itself. She had never been strong, and this weakened her -terribly. My father used to sit looking at her: far more -sad than she was. He seemed as if he could look at nothing -else when she was by; and he was so humble—so very gentle -now. He would, perhaps, speak in his old way—laying -down the law, as it were—and then, in a minute or two, he -would come round and put his hand on our shoulders, and ask us in -a low voice, if he had said anything to hurt us. I did not -<a name="page92"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 92</span>wonder at -his speaking so to Deborah, for she was so clever; but I could -not bear to hear him talking so to me.</p> -<p>“But, you see, he saw what we did not—that it was -killing my mother. Yes! killing her (put out the candle, my -dear; I can talk better in the dark), for she was but a frail -woman, and ill-fitted to stand the fright and shock she had gone -through; and she would smile at him and comfort him, not in -words, but in her looks and tones, which were always cheerful -when he was there. And she would speak of how she thought -Peter stood a good chance of being admiral very soon—he was -so brave and clever; and how she thought of seeing him in his -navy uniform, and what sort of hats admirals wore; and how much -more fit he was to be a sailor than a clergyman; and all in that -way, just to make my father think she was quite glad of what came -of that unlucky morning’s work, and the flogging which was -always in his mind, as we all knew. But oh, my dear! the -bitter, bitter crying she had when she was alone; and at last, as -she grew weaker, she could not keep her tears in when Deborah or -me was by, and would give us message after message for Peter (his -ship had gone to the Mediterranean, or somewhere down there, and -then he was ordered off to India, and there was no overland route -then); but she still said that no one knew where their death lay -in wait, and that we were not to think hers was near. We -did not think it, but we knew it, as we saw her fading away.</p> -<p>“Well, my dear, it’s very foolish of me, I know, -when in all likelihood I am so near seeing her again.</p> -<p>“And only think, love! the very day after her <a -name="page93"></a><span class="pagenum">p. -93</span>death—for she did not live quite a twelvemonth -after Peter went away—the very day after—came a -parcel for her from India—from her poor boy. It was a -large, soft, white Indian shawl, with just a little narrow border -all round; just what my mother would have liked.</p> -<p>“We thought it might rouse my father, for he had sat -with her hand in his all night long; so Deborah took it in to -him, and Peter’s letter to her, and all. At first, he -took no notice; and we tried to make a kind of light careless -talk about the shawl, opening it out and admiring it. Then, -suddenly, he got up, and spoke: ‘She shall be buried in -it,’ he said; ‘Peter shall have that comfort; and she -would have liked it.’</p> -<p>“Well, perhaps it was not reasonable, but what could we -do or say? One gives people in grief their own way. -He took it up and felt it: ‘It is just such a shawl as she -wished for when she was married, and her mother did not give it -her. I did not know of it till after, or she should have -had it—she should; but she shall have it now.’</p> -<p>“My mother looked so lovely in her death! She was -always pretty, and now she looked fair, and waxen, and -young—younger than Deborah, as she stood trembling and -shivering by her. We decked her in the long soft folds; she -lay smiling, as if pleased; and people came—all Cranford -came—to beg to see her, for they had loved her dearly, as -well they might; and the countrywomen brought posies; old -Clare’s wife brought some white violets and begged they -might lie on her breast.</p> -<p>“Deborah said to me, the day of my mother’s <a -name="page94"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 94</span>funeral, that -if she had a hundred offers she never would marry and leave my -father. It was not very likely she would have so -many—I don’t know that she had one; but it was not -less to her credit to say so. She was such a daughter to my -father as I think there never was before or since. His eyes -failed him, and she read book after book, and wrote, and copied, -and was always at his service in any parish business. She -could do many more things than my poor mother could; she even -once wrote a letter to the bishop for my father. But he -missed my mother sorely; the whole parish noticed it. Not -that he was less active; I think he was more so, and more patient -in helping every one. I did all I could to set Deborah at -liberty to be with him; for I knew I was good for little, and -that my best work in the world was to do odd jobs quietly, and -set others at liberty. But my father was a changed -man.”</p> -<p>“Did Mr Peter ever come home?”</p> -<p>“Yes, once. He came home a lieutenant; he did not -get to be admiral. And he and my father were such -friends! My father took him into every house in the parish, -he was so proud of him. He never walked out without -Peter’s arm to lean upon. Deborah used to smile (I -don’t think we ever laughed again after my mother’s -death), and say she was quite put in a corner. Not but what -my father always wanted her when there was letter-writing or -reading to be done, or anything to be settled.”</p> -<p>“And then?” said I, after a pause.</p> -<p>“Then Peter went to sea again; and, by-and-by, my father -died, blessing us both, and thanking Deborah for all she had been -to him; and, of course, <a name="page95"></a><span -class="pagenum">p. 95</span>our circumstances were changed; and, -instead of living at the rectory, and keeping three maids and a -man, we had to come to this small house, and be content with a -servant-of-all-work; but, as Deborah used to say, we have always -lived genteelly, even if circumstances have compelled us to -simplicity. Poor Deborah!”</p> -<p>“And Mr Peter?” asked I.</p> -<p>“Oh, there was some great war in India—I forget -what they call it—and we have never heard of Peter since -then. I believe he is dead myself; and it sometimes fidgets -me that we have never put on mourning for him. And then -again, when I sit by myself, and all the house is still, I think -I hear his step coming up the street, and my heart begins to -flutter and beat; but the sound always goes past—and Peter -never comes.</p> -<p>“That’s Martha back? No! -<i>I’ll</i> go, my dear; I can always find my way in the -dark, you know. And a blow of fresh air at the door will do -my head good, and it’s rather got a trick of -aching.”</p> -<p>So she pattered off. I had lighted the candle, to give -the room a cheerful appearance against her return.</p> -<p>“Was it Martha?” asked I.</p> -<p>“Yes. And I am rather uncomfortable, for I heard -such a strange noise, just as I was opening the door.”</p> -<p>“Where?” I asked, for her eyes were round with -affright.</p> -<p>“In the street—just outside—it sounded -like”—</p> -<p>“Talking?” I put in, as she hesitated a -little.</p> -<p>“No! kissing”— -<a name="page96"></a><span class="pagenum">p. -96</span></p><div class='chapter' /><h2>CHAPTER VII—VISITING</h2> -<p><span class="smcap">One</span> morning, as Miss Matty and I -sat at our work—it was before twelve o’clock, and -Miss Matty had not changed the cap with yellow ribbons that had -been Miss Jenkyns’s best, and which Miss Matty was now -wearing out in private, putting on the one made in imitation of -Mrs Jamieson’s at all times when she expected to be -seen—Martha came up, and asked if Miss Betty Barker might -speak to her mistress. Miss Matty assented, and quickly -disappeared to change the yellow ribbons, while Miss Barker came -upstairs; but, as she had forgotten her spectacles, and was -rather flurried by the unusual time of the visit, I was not -surprised to see her return with one cap on the top of the -other. She was quite unconscious of it herself, and looked -at us, with bland satisfaction. Nor do I think Miss Barker -perceived it; for, putting aside the little circumstance that she -was not so young as she had been, she was very much absorbed in -her errand, which she delivered herself of with an oppressive -modesty that found vent in endless apologies.</p> -<p>Miss Betty Barker was the daughter of the old <a -name="page97"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 97</span>clerk at -Cranford who had officiated in Mr Jenkyns’s time. She -and her sister had had pretty good situations as ladies’ -maids, and had saved money enough to set up a milliner’s -shop, which had been patronised by the ladies in the -neighbourhood. Lady Arley, for instance, would occasionally -give Miss Barkers the pattern of an old cap of hers, which they -immediately copied and circulated among the <i>élite</i> -of Cranford. I say the <i>élite</i>, for Miss -Barkers had caught the trick of the place, and piqued themselves -upon their “aristocratic connection.” They -would not sell their caps and ribbons to anyone without a -pedigree. Many a farmer’s wife or daughter turned -away huffed from Miss Barkers’ select millinery, and went -rather to the universal shop, where the profits of brown soap and -moist sugar enabled the proprietor to go straight to (Paris, he -said, until he found his customers too patriotic and John Bullish -to wear what the Mounseers wore) London, where, as he often told -his customers, Queen Adelaide had appeared, only the very week -before, in a cap exactly like the one he showed them, trimmed -with yellow and blue ribbons, and had been complimented by King -William on the becoming nature of her head-dress.</p> -<p>Miss Barkers, who confined themselves to truth, and did not -approve of miscellaneous customers, throve notwithstanding. -They were self-denying, good people. Many a time have I -seen the eldest of them (she that had been maid to Mrs Jamieson) -carrying out some delicate mess to a poor person. They only -aped their betters in having “nothing to do” with the -class immediately below theirs. And <a -name="page98"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 98</span>when Miss -Barker died, their profits and income were found to be such that -Miss Betty was justified in shutting up shop and retiring from -business. She also (as I think I have before said) set up -her cow; a mark of respectability in Cranford almost as decided -as setting up a gig is among some people. She dressed finer -than any lady in Cranford; and we did not wonder at it; for it -was understood that she was wearing out all the bonnets and caps -and outrageous ribbons which had once formed her -stock-in-trade. It was five or six years since she had -given up shop, so in any other place than Cranford her dress -might have been considered <i>passée</i>.</p> -<p>And now Miss Betty Barker had called to invite Miss Matty to -tea at her house on the following Tuesday. She gave me also -an impromptu invitation, as I happened to be a -visitor—though I could see she had a little fear lest, -since my father had gone to live in Drumble, he might have -engaged in that “horrid cotton trade,” and so dragged -his family down out of “aristocratic society.” -She prefaced this invitation with so many apologies that she -quite excited my curiosity. “Her presumption” -was to be excused. What had she been doing? She -seemed so over-powered by it I could only think that she had been -writing to Queen Adelaide to ask for a receipt for washing lace; -but the act which she so characterised was only an invitation she -had carried to her sister’s former mistress, Mrs -Jamieson. “Her former occupation considered, could -Miss Matty excuse the liberty?” Ah! thought I, she -has found out that double cap, and is going to rectify Miss -Matty’s head-dress. No! it was simply to extend her -invitation <a name="page99"></a><span class="pagenum">p. -99</span>to Miss Matty and to me. Miss Matty bowed -acceptance; and I wondered that, in the graceful action, she did -not feel the unusual weight and extraordinary height of her -head-dress. But I do not think she did, for she recovered -her balance, and went on talking to Miss Betty in a kind, -condescending manner, very different from the fidgety way she -would have had if she had suspected how singular her appearance -was. “Mrs Jamieson is coming, I think you -said?” asked Miss Matty.</p> -<p>“Yes. Mrs Jamieson most kindly and condescendingly -said she would be happy to come. One little stipulation she -made, that she should bring Carlo. I told her that if I had -a weakness, it was for dogs.”</p> -<p>“And Miss Pole?” questioned Miss Matty, who was -thinking of her pool at Preference, in which Carlo would not be -available as a partner.</p> -<p>“I am going to ask Miss Pole. Of course, I could -not think of asking her until I had asked you, madam—the -rector’s daughter, madam. Believe me, I do not forget -the situation my father held under yours.”</p> -<p>“And Mrs Forrester, of course?”</p> -<p>“And Mrs Forrester. I thought, in fact, of going -to her before I went to Miss Pole. Although her -circumstances are changed, madam, she was born at Tyrrell, and we -can never forget her alliance to the Bigges, of Bigelow -Hall.”</p> -<p>Miss Matty cared much more for the little circumstance of her -being a very good card-player.</p> -<p>“Mrs Fitz-Adam—I suppose”—</p> -<p>“No, madam. I must draw a line somewhere. <a -name="page100"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 100</span>Mrs -Jamieson would not, I think, like to meet Mrs Fitz-Adam. I -have the greatest respect for Mrs Fitz-Adam—but I cannot -think her fit society for such ladies as Mrs Jamieson and Miss -Matilda Jenkyns.”</p> -<p>Miss Betty Barker bowed low to Miss Matty, and pursed up her -mouth. She looked at me with sidelong dignity, as much as -to say, although a retired milliner, she was no democrat, and -understood the difference of ranks.</p> -<p>“May I beg you to come as near half-past six to my -little dwelling, as possible, Miss Matilda? Mrs Jamieson -dines at five, but has kindly promised not to delay her visit -beyond that time—half-past six.” And with a -swimming curtsey Miss Betty Barker took her leave.</p> -<p>My prophetic soul foretold a visit that afternoon from Miss -Pole, who usually came to call on Miss Matilda after any -event—or indeed in sight of any event—to talk it over -with her.</p> -<p>“Miss Betty told me it was to be a choice and select -few,” said Miss Pole, as she and Miss Matty compared -notes.</p> -<p>“Yes, so she said. Not even Mrs -Fitz-Adam.”</p> -<p>Now Mrs Fitz-Adam was the widowed sister of the Cranford -surgeon, whom I have named before. Their parents were -respectable farmers, content with their station. The name -of these good people was Hoggins. Mr Hoggins was the -Cranford doctor now; we disliked the name and considered it -coarse; but, as Miss Jenkyns said, if he changed it to Piggins it -would not be much better. We had hoped to discover a -relationship between him and that Marchioness of Exeter whose -name was Molly Hoggins; but the <a name="page101"></a><span -class="pagenum">p. 101</span>man, careless of his own interests, -utterly ignored and denied any such relationship, although, as -dear Miss Jenkyns had said, he had a sister called Mary, and the -same Christian names were very apt to run in families.</p> -<p>Soon after Miss Mary Hoggins married Mr Fitz-Adam, she -disappeared from the neighbourhood for many years. She did -not move in a sphere in Cranford society sufficiently high to -make any of us care to know what Mr Fitz-Adam was. He died -and was gathered to his fathers without our ever having thought -about him at all. And then Mrs Fitz-Adam reappeared in -Cranford (“as bold as a lion,” Miss Pole said), a -well-to-do widow, dressed in rustling black silk, so soon after -her husband’s death that poor Miss Jenkyns was justified in -the remark she made, that “bombazine would have shown a -deeper sense of her loss.”</p> -<p>I remember the convocation of ladies who assembled to decide -whether or not Mrs Fitz-Adam should be called upon by the old -blue-blooded inhabitants of Cranford. She had taken a large -rambling house, which had been usually considered to confer a -patent of gentility upon its tenant, because, once upon a time, -seventy or eighty years before, the spinster daughter of an earl -had resided in it. I am not sure if the inhabiting this -house was not also believed to convey some unusual power of -intellect; for the earl’s daughter, Lady Jane, had a -sister, Lady Anne, who had married a general officer in the time -of the American war, and this general officer had written one or -two comedies, which were still acted on the London boards, and -which, when we saw them advertised, made us all draw up, and feel -that Drury Lane <a name="page102"></a><span class="pagenum">p. -102</span>was paying a very pretty compliment to Cranford. -Still, it was not at all a settled thing that Mrs Fitz-Adam was -to be visited, when dear Miss Jenkyns died; and, with her, -something of the clear knowledge of the strict code of gentility -went out too. As Miss Pole observed, “As most of the -ladies of good family in Cranford were elderly spinsters, or -widows without children, if we did not relax a little, and become -less exclusive, by-and-by we should have no society at -all.”</p> -<p>Mrs Forrester continued on the same side.</p> -<p>“She had always understood that Fitz meant something -aristocratic; there was Fitz-Roy—she thought that some of -the King’s children had been called Fitz-Roy; and there was -Fitz-Clarence, now—they were the children of dear good King -William the Fourth. Fitz-Adam!—it was a pretty name, -and she thought it very probably meant ‘Child of -Adam.’ No one, who had not some good blood in their -veins, would dare to be called Fitz; there was a deal in a -name—she had had a cousin who spelt his name with two -little ffs—ffoulkes—and he always looked down upon -capital letters and said they belonged to lately-invented -families. She had been afraid he would die a bachelor, he -was so very choice. When he met with a Mrs ffarringdon, at -a watering-place, he took to her immediately; and a very pretty -genteel woman she was—a widow, with a very good fortune; -and ‘my cousin,’ Mr ffoulkes, married her; and it was -all owing to her two little ffs.”</p> -<p>Mrs Fitz-Adam did not stand a chance of meeting with a Mr -Fitz-anything in Cranford, so that could not have been her motive -for settling <a name="page103"></a><span class="pagenum">p. -103</span>there. Miss Matty thought it might have been the -hope of being admitted into the society of the place, which would -certainly be a very agreeable rise for <i>ci-devant</i> Miss -Hoggins; and if this had been her hope it would be cruel to -disappoint her.</p> -<p>So everybody called upon Mrs Fitz-Adam—everybody but Mrs -Jamieson, who used to show how honourable she was by never seeing -Mrs Fitz-Adam when they met at the Cranford parties. There -would be only eight or ten ladies in the room, and Mrs Fitz-Adam -was the largest of all, and she invariably used to stand up when -Mrs Jamieson came in, and curtsey very low to her whenever she -turned in her direction—so low, in fact, that I think Mrs -Jamieson must have looked at the wall above her, for she never -moved a muscle of her face, no more than if she had not seen -her. Still Mrs Fitz-Adam persevered.</p> -<p>The spring evenings were getting bright and long when three or -four ladies in calashes met at Miss Barker’s door. Do -you know what a calash is? It is a covering worn over caps, -not unlike the heads fastened on old-fashioned gigs; but -sometimes it is not quite so large. This kind of head-gear -always made an awful impression on the children in Cranford; and -now two or three left off their play in the quiet sunny little -street, and gathered in wondering silence round Miss Pole, Miss -Matty, and myself. We were silent too, so that we could -hear loud, suppressed whispers inside Miss Barker’s house: -“Wait, Peggy! wait till I’ve run upstairs and washed -my hands. When I cough, open the door; I’ll not be a -minute.”</p> -<p><a name="page104"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 104</span>And, -true enough it was not a minute before we heard a noise, between -a sneeze and a crow; on which the door flew open. Behind it -stood a round-eyed maiden, all aghast at the honourable company -of calashes, who marched in without a word. She recovered -presence of mind enough to usher us into a small room, which had -been the shop, but was now converted into a temporary -dressing-room. There we unpinned and shook ourselves, and -arranged our features before the glass into a sweet and gracious -company-face; and then, bowing backwards with “After you, -ma’am,” we allowed Mrs Forrester to take precedence -up the narrow staircase that led to Miss Barker’s -drawing-room. There she sat, as stately and composed as -though we had never heard that odd-sounding cough, from which her -throat must have been even then sore and rough. Kind, -gentle, shabbily-dressed Mrs Forrester was immediately conducted -to the second place of honour—a seat arranged something -like Prince Albert’s near the Queen’s—good, but -not so good. The place of pre-eminence was, of course, -reserved for the Honourable Mrs Jamieson, who presently came -panting up the stairs—Carlo rushing round her on her -progress, as if he meant to trip her up.</p> -<p>And now Miss Betty Barker was a proud and happy woman! -She stirred the fire, and shut the door, and sat as near to it as -she could, quite on the edge of her chair. When Peggy came -in, tottering under the weight of the tea-tray, I noticed that -Miss Barker was sadly afraid lest Peggy should not keep her -distance sufficiently. She and her mistress were on very -familiar terms in their every-day intercourse, <a -name="page105"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 105</span>and Peggy -wanted now to make several little confidences to her, which Miss -Barker was on thorns to hear, but which she thought it her duty, -as a lady, to repress. So she turned away from all -Peggy’s asides and signs; but she made one or two very -malapropos answers to what was said; and at last, seized with a -bright idea, she exclaimed, “Poor, sweet Carlo! -I’m forgetting him. Come downstairs with me, poor -ittie doggie, and it shall have its tea, it shall!”</p> -<p>In a few minutes she returned, bland and benignant as before; -but I thought she had forgotten to give the “poor ittie -doggie” anything to eat, judging by the avidity with which -he swallowed down chance pieces of cake. The tea-tray was -abundantly loaded—I was pleased to see it, I was so hungry; -but I was afraid the ladies present might think it vulgarly -heaped up. I know they would have done at their own houses; -but somehow the heaps disappeared here. I saw Mrs Jamieson -eating seed-cake, slowly and considerately, as she did -everything; and I was rather surprised, for I knew she had told -us, on the occasion of her last party, that she never had it in -her house, it reminded her so much of scented soap. She -always gave us Savoy biscuits. However, Mrs Jamieson was -kindly indulgent to Miss Barker’s want of knowledge of the -customs of high life; and, to spare her feelings, ate three large -pieces of seed-cake, with a placid, ruminating expression of -countenance, not unlike a cow’s.</p> -<p>After tea there was some little demur and difficulty. We -were six in number; four could <a name="page106"></a><span -class="pagenum">p. 106</span>play at Preference, and for the -other two there was Cribbage. But all, except myself (I was -rather afraid of the Cranford ladies at cards, for it was the -most earnest and serious business they ever engaged in), were -anxious to be of the “pool.” Even Miss Barker, -while declaring she did not know Spadille from Manille, was -evidently hankering to take a hand. The dilemma was soon -put an end to by a singular kind of noise. If a -baron’s daughter-in-law could ever be supposed to snore, I -should have said Mrs Jamieson did so then; for, overcome by the -heat of the room, and inclined to doze by nature, the temptation -of that very comfortable arm-chair had been too much for her, and -Mrs Jamieson was nodding. Once or twice she opened her eyes -with an effort, and calmly but unconsciously smiled upon us; but -by-and-by, even her benevolence was not equal to this exertion, -and she was sound asleep.</p> -<p style="text-align: center"> -<a href="images/p106b.jpg"> -<img alt= -"The temptation of the comfortable arm-chair had been too much -for her" -title= -"The temptation of the comfortable arm-chair had been too much -for her" -src="images/p106s.jpg" /> -</a></p> -<p>“It is very gratifying to me,” whispered Miss -Barker at the card-table to her three opponents, whom, -notwithstanding her ignorance of the game, she was -“basting” most unmercifully—“very -gratifying indeed, to see how completely Mrs Jamieson feels at -home in my poor little dwelling; she could not have paid me a -greater compliment.”</p> -<p>Miss Barker provided me with some literature in the shape of -three or four handsomely-bound fashion-books ten or twelve years -old, observing, as she put a little table and a candle for my -especial benefit, that she knew young people liked to look at -pictures. Carlo lay and snorted, and started at his -mistress’s feet. He, too, was quite at home.</p> -<p>The card-table was an animated scene to watch; <a -name="page107"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 107</span>four -ladies’ heads, with niddle-noddling caps, all nearly -meeting over the middle of the table in their eagerness to -whisper quick enough and loud enough: and every now and then came -Miss Barker’s “Hush, ladies! if you please, -hush! Mrs Jamieson is asleep.”</p> -<p>It was very difficult to steer clear between Mrs -Forrester’s deafness and Mrs Jamieson’s -sleepiness. But Miss Barker managed her arduous task -well. She repeated the whisper to Mrs Forrester, distorting -her face considerably, in order to show, by the motions of her -lips, what was said; and then she smiled kindly all round at us, -and murmured to herself, “Very gratifying, indeed; I wish -my poor sister had been alive to see this day.”</p> -<p>Presently the door was thrown wide open; Carlo started to his -feet, with a loud snapping bark, and Mrs Jamieson awoke: or, -perhaps, she had not been asleep—as she said almost -directly, the room had been so light she had been glad to keep -her eyes shut, but had been listening with great interest to all -our amusing and agreeable conversation. Peggy came in once -more, red with importance. Another tray! “Oh, -gentility!” thought I, “can yon endure this last -shock?” For Miss Barker had ordered (nay, I doubt -not, prepared, although she did say, “Why, Peggy, what have -you brought us?” and looked pleasantly surprised at the -unexpected pleasure) all sorts of good things for -supper—scalloped oysters, potted lobsters, jelly, a dish -called “little Cupids” (which was in great favour -with the Cranford ladies, although too expensive to be given, -except on solemn and state occasions—macaroons sopped in -brandy, I should have called it, if I had not known its more <a -name="page108"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 108</span>refined and -classical name). In short, we were evidently to be feasted -with all that was sweetest and best; and we thought it better to -submit graciously, even at the cost of our gentility—which -never ate suppers in general, but which, like most -non-supper-eaters, was particularly hungry on all special -occasions.</p> -<p>Miss Barker, in her former sphere, had, I daresay, been made -acquainted with the beverage they call cherry-brandy. We -none of us had ever seen such a thing, and rather shrank back -when she proffered it us—“just a little, leetle -glass, ladies; after the oysters and lobsters, you know. -Shell-fish are sometimes thought not very wholesome.” -We all shook our heads like female mandarins; but, at last, Mrs -Jamieson suffered herself to be persuaded, and we followed her -lead. It was not exactly unpalatable, though so hot and so -strong that we thought ourselves bound to give evidence that we -were not accustomed to such things by coughing -terribly—almost as strangely as Miss Barker had done, -before we were admitted by Peggy.</p> -<p>“It’s very strong,” said Miss Pole, as she -put down her empty glass; “I do believe there’s -spirit in it.”</p> -<p>“Only a little drop—just necessary to make it -keep,” said Miss Barker. “You know we put -brandy-pepper over our preserves to make them keep. I often -feel tipsy myself from eating damson tart.”</p> -<p>I question whether damson tart would have opened Mrs -Jamieson’s heart as the cherry-brandy did; but she told us -of a coming event, respecting which she had been quite silent -till that moment.</p> -<p><a name="page109"></a><span class="pagenum">p. -109</span>“My sister-in-law, Lady Glenmire, is coming to -stay with me.”</p> -<p>There was a chorus of “Indeed!” and then a -pause. Each one rapidly reviewed her wardrobe, as to its -fitness to appear in the presence of a baron’s widow; for, -of course, a series of small festivals were always held in -Cranford on the arrival of a visitor at any of our friends’ -houses. We felt very pleasantly excited on the present -occasion.</p> -<p>Not long after this the maids and the lanterns were -announced. Mrs Jamieson had the sedan-chair, which had -squeezed itself into Miss Barker’s narrow lobby with some -difficulty, and most literally “stopped the -way.” It required some skilful manoeuvring on the -part of the old chairmen (shoemakers by day, but when summoned to -carry the sedan dressed up in a strange old livery—long -great-coats, with small capes, coeval with the sedan, and similar -to the dress of the class in Hogarth’s pictures) to edge, -and back, and try at it again, and finally to succeed in carrying -their burden out of Miss Barker’s front door. Then we -heard their quick pit-a-pat along the quiet little street as we -put on our calashes and pinned up our gowns; Miss Barker hovering -about us with offers of help, which, if she had not remembered -her former occupation, and wished us to forget it, would have -been much more pressing.</p> -<div class='chapter' /><h2><a name="page110"></a><span class="pagenum">p. -110</span>CHAPTER VIII—“YOUR LADYSHIP”</h2> -<p><span class="smcap">Early</span> the next -morning—directly after twelve—Miss Pole made her -appearance at Miss Matty’s. Some very trifling piece -of business was alleged as a reason for the call; but there was -evidently something behind. At last out it came.</p> -<p>“By the way, you’ll think I’m strangely -ignorant; but, do you really know, I am puzzled how we ought to -address Lady Glenmire. Do you say, ‘Your -Ladyship,’ where you would say ‘you’ to a -common person? I have been puzzling all morning; and are we -to say ‘My Lady,’ instead of -‘Ma’am?’ Now you knew Lady -Arley—will you kindly tell me the most correct way of -speaking to the peerage?”</p> -<p>Poor Miss Matty! she took off her spectacles and she put them -on again—but how Lady Arley was addressed, she could not -remember.</p> -<p>“It is so long ago,” she said. “Dear! -dear! how stupid I am! I don’t think I ever saw her -more than twice. I know we used to call Sir Peter, -‘Sir Peter’—but he came much oftener to see us -than Lady Arley did. Deborah would have known in a <a -name="page111"></a><span class="pagenum">p. -111</span>minute. ‘My lady’—‘your -ladyship.’ It sounds very strange, and as if it was -not natural. I never thought of it before; but, now you -have named it, I am all in a puzzle.”</p> -<p>It was very certain Miss Pole would obtain no wise decision -from Miss Matty, who got more bewildered every moment, and more -perplexed as to etiquettes of address.</p> -<p>“Well, I really think,” said Miss Pole, “I -had better just go and tell Mrs Forrester about our little -difficulty. One sometimes grows nervous; and yet one would -not have Lady Glenmire think we were quite ignorant of the -etiquettes of high life in Cranford.”</p> -<p>“And will you just step in here, dear Miss Pole, as you -come back, please, and tell me what you decide upon? -Whatever you and Mrs Forrester fix upon, will be quite right, -I’m sure. ‘Lady Arley,’ ‘Sir -Peter,’” said Miss Matty to herself, trying to recall -the old forms of words.</p> -<p>“Who is Lady Glenmire?” asked I.</p> -<p>“Oh, she’s the widow of Mr -Jamieson—that’s Mrs Jamieson’s late husband, -you know—widow of his eldest brother. Mrs Jamieson -was a Miss Walker, daughter of Governor Walker. ‘Your -ladyship.’ My dear, if they fix on that way of -speaking, you must just let me practice a little on you first, -for I shall feel so foolish and hot saying it the first time to -Lady Glenmire.”</p> -<p>It was really a relief to Miss Matty when Mrs Jamieson came on -a very unpolite errand. I notice that apathetic people have -more quiet impertinence than others; and Mrs Jamieson came now to -insinuate <a name="page112"></a><span class="pagenum">p. -112</span>pretty plainly that she did not particularly wish that -the Cranford ladies should call upon her sister-in-law. I -can hardly say how she made this clear; for I grew very indignant -and warm, while with slow deliberation she was explaining her -wishes to Miss Matty, who, a true lady herself, could hardly -understand the feeling which made Mrs Jamieson wish to appear to -her noble sister-in-law as if she only visited -“county” families. Miss Matty remained puzzled -and perplexed long after I had found out the object of Mrs -Jamieson’s visit.</p> -<p>When she did understand the drift of the honourable -lady’s call, it was pretty to see with what quiet dignity -she received the intimation thus uncourteously given. She -was not in the least hurt—she was of too gentle a spirit -for that; nor was she exactly conscious of disapproving of Mrs -Jamieson’s conduct; but there was something of this feeling -in her mind, I am sure, which made her pass from the subject to -others in a less flurried and more composed manner than -usual. Mrs Jamieson was, indeed, the more flurried of the -two, and I could see she was glad to take her leave.</p> -<p>A little while afterwards Miss Pole returned, red and -indignant. “Well! to be sure! You’ve had -Mrs Jamieson here, I find from Martha; and we are not to call on -Lady Glenmire. Yes! I met Mrs Jamieson, half-way -between here and Mrs Forrester’s, and she told me; she took -me so by surprise, I had nothing to say. I wish I had -thought of something very sharp and sarcastic; I dare say I shall -to-night. And Lady Glenmire is but the widow of a Scotch -baron after all! I went on to look at <a -name="page113"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 113</span>Mrs -Forrester’s Peerage, to see who this lady was, that is to -be kept under a glass case: widow of a Scotch peer—never -sat in the House of Lords—and as poor as Job, I dare say; -and she—fifth daughter of some Mr Campbell or other. -You are the daughter of a rector, at any rate, and related to the -Arleys; and Sir Peter might have been Viscount Arley, every one -says.”</p> -<p>Miss Matty tried to soothe Miss Pole, but in vain. That -lady, usually so kind and good-humoured, was now in a full flow -of anger.</p> -<p>“And I went and ordered a cap this morning, to be quite -ready,” said she at last, letting out the secret which gave -sting to Mrs Jamieson’s intimation. “Mrs -Jamieson shall see if it is so easy to get me to make fourth at a -pool when she has none of her fine Scotch relations with -her!”</p> -<p>In coming out of church, the first Sunday on which Lady -Glenmire appeared in Cranford, we sedulously talked together, and -turned our backs on Mrs Jamieson and her guest. If we might -not call on her, we would not even look at her, though we were -dying with curiosity to know what she was like. We had the -comfort of questioning Martha in the afternoon. Martha did -not belong to a sphere of society whose observation could be an -implied compliment to Lady Glenmire, and Martha had made good use -of her eyes.</p> -<p>“Well, ma’am! is it the little lady with Mrs -Jamieson, you mean? I thought you would like more to know -how young Mrs Smith was dressed; her being a bride.” -(Mrs Smith was the butcher’s wife).</p> -<p>Miss Pole said, “Good gracious me! as if we <a -name="page114"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 114</span>cared about -a Mrs Smith;” but was silent as Martha resumed her -speech.</p> -<p>“The little lady in Mrs Jamieson’s pew had on, -ma’am, rather an old black silk, and a shepherd’s -plaid cloak, ma’am, and very bright black eyes she had, -ma’am, and a pleasant, sharp face; not over young, -ma’am, but yet, I should guess, younger than Mrs Jamieson -herself. She looked up and down the church, like a bird, -and nipped up her petticoats, when she came out, as quick and -sharp as ever I see. I’ll tell you what, ma’am, -she’s more like Mrs Deacon, at the ‘Coach and -Horses,’ nor any one.”</p> -<p>“Hush, Martha!” said Miss Matty, -“that’s not respectful.”</p> -<p>“Isn’t it, ma’am? I beg pardon, -I’m sure; but Jem Hearn said so as well. He said, she -was just such a sharp, stirring sort of a body”—</p> -<p>“Lady,” said Miss Pole.</p> -<p>“Lady—as Mrs Deacon.”</p> -<p>Another Sunday passed away, and we still averted our eyes from -Mrs Jamieson and her guest, and made remarks to ourselves that we -thought were very severe—almost too much so. Miss -Matty was evidently uneasy at our sarcastic manner of -speaking.</p> -<p>Perhaps by this time Lady Glenmire had found out that Mrs -Jamieson’s was not the gayest, liveliest house in the -world; perhaps Mrs Jamieson had found out that most of the county -families were in London, and that those who remained in the -country were not so alive as they might have been to the -circumstance of Lady Glenmire being in their neighbourhood. -Great events spring out of small causes; so I will not pretend to -say what induced Mrs Jamieson to <a name="page115"></a><span -class="pagenum">p. 115</span>alter her determination of excluding -the Cranford ladies, and send notes of invitation all round for a -small party on the following Tuesday. Mr Mulliner himself -brought them round. He <i>would</i> always ignore the fact -of there being a back-door to any house, and gave a louder -rat-tat than his mistress, Mrs Jamieson. He had three -little notes, which he carried in a large basket, in order to -impress his mistress with an idea of their great weight, though -they might easily have gone into his waistcoat pocket.</p> -<p>Miss Matty and I quietly decided that we would have a previous -engagement at home: it was the evening on which Miss Matty -usually made candle-lighters of all the notes and letters of the -week; for on Mondays her accounts were always made -straight—not a penny owing from the week before; so, by a -natural arrangement, making candle-lighters fell upon a Tuesday -evening, and gave us a legitimate excuse for declining Mrs -Jamieson’s invitation. But before our answer was -written, in came Miss Pole, with an open note in her hand.</p> -<p>“So!” she said. “Ah! I see you -have got your note, too. Better late than never. I -could have told my Lady Glenmire she would be glad enough of our -society before a fortnight was over.”</p> -<p>“Yes,” said Miss Matty, “we’re asked -for Tuesday evening. And perhaps you would just kindly -bring your work across and drink tea with us that night. It -is my usual regular time for looking over the last week’s -bills, and notes, and letters, and making candle-lighters of -them; but that does not seem quite reason enough for saying I -have a previous engagement at home, though I meant to make it -do. <a name="page116"></a><span class="pagenum">p. -116</span>Now, if you would come, my conscience would be quite at -ease, and luckily the note is not written yet.”</p> -<p>I saw Miss Pole’s countenance change while Miss Matty -was speaking.</p> -<p>“Don’t you mean to go then?” asked she.</p> -<p>“Oh, no!” said, Miss Matty quietly. -“You don’t either, I suppose?”</p> -<p>“I don’t know,” replied Miss Pole. -“Yes, I think I do,” said she, rather briskly; and on -seeing Miss Matty look surprised, she added, “You see, one -would not like Mrs Jamieson to think that anything she could do, -or say, was of consequence enough to give offence; it would be a -kind of letting down of ourselves, that I, for one, should not -like. It would be too flattering to Mrs Jamieson if we -allowed her to suppose that what she had said affected us a week, -nay ten days afterwards.”</p> -<p>“Well! I suppose it is wrong to be hurt and -annoyed so long about anything; and, perhaps, after all, she did -not mean to vex us. But I must say, I could not have -brought myself to say the things Mrs Jamieson did about our not -calling. I really don’t think I shall go.”</p> -<p>“Oh, come! Miss Matty, you must go; you know our -friend Mrs Jamieson is much more phlegmatic than most people, and -does not enter into the little delicacies of feeling which you -possess in so remarkable a degree.”</p> -<p>“I thought you possessed them, too, that day Mrs -Jamieson called to tell us not to go,” said Miss Matty -innocently.</p> -<p>But Miss Pole, in addition to her delicacies of feeling, -possessed a very smart cap, which she was <a -name="page117"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 117</span>anxious to -show to an admiring world; and so she seemed to forget all her -angry words uttered not a fortnight before, and to be ready to -act on what she called the great Christian principle of -“Forgive and forget”; and she lectured dear Miss -Matty so long on this head that she absolutely ended by assuring -her it was her duty, as a deceased rector’s daughter, to -buy a new cap and go to the party at Mrs Jamieson’s. -So “we were most happy to accept,” instead of -“regretting that we were obliged to decline.”</p> -<p style="text-align: center"> -<a href="images/p117b.jpg"> -<img alt= -"Mr Mulliner" -title= -"Mr Mulliner" -src="images/p117s.jpg" /> -</a></p> -<p>The expenditure on dress in Cranford was principally in that -one article referred to. If the heads were buried in smart -new caps, the ladies were like ostriches, and cared not what -became of their bodies. Old gowns, white and venerable -collars, any number of brooches, up and down and everywhere (some -with dogs’ eyes painted in them; some that were like small -picture-frames with mausoleums and weeping-willows neatly -executed in hair inside; some, again, with miniatures of ladies -and gentlemen sweetly smiling out of a nest of stiff muslin), old -brooches for a permanent ornament, and new caps to suit the -fashion of the day—the ladies of Cranford always dressed -with chaste elegance and propriety, as Miss Barker once prettily -expressed it.</p> -<p>And with three new caps, and a greater array of brooches than -had ever been seen together at one time since Cranford was a -town, did Mrs Forrester, and Miss Matty, and Miss Pole appear on -that memorable Tuesday evening. I counted seven brooches -myself on Miss Pole’s dress. Two were fixed -negligently in her cap (one was a butterfly <a -name="page118"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 118</span>made of -Scotch pebbles, which a vivid imagination might believe to be the -real insect); one fastened her net neckerchief; one her collar; -one ornamented the front of her gown, midway between her throat -and waist; and another adorned the point of her stomacher. -Where the seventh was I have forgotten, but it was somewhere -about her, I am sure.</p> -<p>But I am getting on too fast, in describing the dresses of the -company. I should first relate the gathering on the way to -Mrs Jamieson’s. That lady lived in a large house just -outside the town. A road which had known what it was to be -a street ran right before the house, which opened out upon it -without any intervening garden or court. Whatever the sun -was about, he never shone on the front of that house. To be -sure, the living-rooms were at the back, looking on to a pleasant -garden; the front windows only belonged to kitchens and -housekeepers’ rooms, and pantries, and in one of them Mr -Mulliner was reported to sit. Indeed, looking askance, we -often saw the back of a head covered with hair powder, which also -extended itself over his coat-collar down to his very waist; and -this imposing back was always engaged in reading the <i>St -James’s Chronicle</i>, opened wide, which, in some degree, -accounted for the length of time the said newspaper was in -reaching us—equal subscribers with Mrs Jamieson, though, in -right of her honourableness, she always had the reading of it -first. This very Tuesday, the delay in forwarding the last -number had been particularly aggravating; just when both Miss -Pole and Miss Matty, the former more especially, had been wanting -to see it, in order to coach up the Court news ready <a -name="page119"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 119</span>for the -evening’s interview with aristocracy. Miss Pole told -us she had absolutely taken time by the forelock, and been -dressed by five o’clock, in order to be ready if the <i>St -James’s Chronicle</i> should come in at the last -moment—the very <i>St James’s Chronicle</i> which the -powdered head was tranquilly and composedly reading as we passed -the accustomed window this evening.</p> -<p>“The impudence of the man!” said Miss Pole, in a -low indignant whisper. “I should like to ask him -whether his mistress pays her quarter-share for his exclusive -use.”</p> -<p>We looked at her in admiration of the courage of her thought; -for Mr Mulliner was an object of great awe to all of us. He -seemed never to have forgotten his condescension in coming to -live at Cranford. Miss Jenkyns, at times, had stood forth -as the undaunted champion of her sex, and spoken to him on terms -of equality; but even Miss Jenkyns could get no higher. In -his pleasantest and most gracious moods he looked like a sulky -cockatoo. He did not speak except in gruff -monosyllables. He would wait in the hall when we begged him -not to wait, and then look deeply offended because we had kept -him there, while, with trembling, hasty hands we prepared -ourselves for appearing in company.</p> -<p>Miss Pole ventured on a small joke as we went upstairs, -intended, though addressed to us, to afford Mr Mulliner some -slight amusement. We all smiled, in order to seem as if we -felt at our ease, and timidly looked for Mr Mulliner’s -sympathy. Not a muscle of that wooden face had relaxed; and -we were grave in an instant.</p> -<p><a name="page120"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 120</span>Mrs -Jamieson’s drawing-room was cheerful; the evening sun came -streaming into it, and the large square window was clustered -round with flowers. The furniture was white and gold; not -the later style, Louis Quatorze, I think they call it, all shells -and twirls; no, Mrs Jamieson’s chairs and tables had not a -curve or bend about them. The chair and table legs -diminished as they neared the ground, and were straight and -square in all their corners. The chairs were all a-row -against the walls, with the exception of four or five which stood -in a circle round the fire. They were railed with white -bars across the back and knobbed with gold; neither the railings -nor the knobs invited to ease. There was a japanned table -devoted to literature, on which lay a Bible, a Peerage, and a -Prayer-Book. There was another square Pembroke table -dedicated to the Fine Arts, on which were a kaleidoscope, -conversation-cards, puzzle-cards (tied together to an -interminable length with faded pink satin ribbon), and a box -painted in fond imitation of the drawings which decorate -tea-chests. Carlo lay on the worsted-worked rug, and -ungraciously barked at us as we entered. Mrs Jamieson stood -up, giving us each a torpid smile of welcome, and looking -helplessly beyond us at Mr Mulliner, as if she hoped he would -place us in chairs, for, if he did not, she never could. I -suppose he thought we could find our way to the circle round the -fire, which reminded me of Stonehenge, I don’t know -why. Lady Glenmire came to the rescue of our hostess, and, -somehow or other, we found ourselves for the first time placed -agreeably, and not formally, in Mrs Jamieson’s house. -Lady Glenmire, now we had time to look at her, <a -name="page121"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 121</span>proved to -be a bright little woman of middle age, who had been very pretty -in the days of her youth, and who was even yet very -pleasant-looking. I saw Miss Pole appraising her dress in -the first five minutes, and I take her word when she said the -next day—</p> -<p>“My dear! ten pounds would have purchased every stitch -she had on—lace and all.”</p> -<p>It was pleasant to suspect that a peeress could be poor, and -partly reconciled us to the fact that her husband had never sat -in the House of Lords; which, when we first heard of it, seemed a -kind of swindling us out of our prospects on false pretences; a -sort of “A Lord and No Lord” business.</p> -<p>We were all very silent at first. We were thinking what -we could talk about, that should be high enough to interest My -Lady. There had been a rise in the price of sugar, which, -as preserving-time was near, was a piece of intelligence to all -our house-keeping hearts, and would have been the natural topic -if Lady Glenmire had not been by. But we were not sure if -the peerage ate preserves—much less knew how they were -made. At last, Miss Pole, who had always a great deal of -courage and <i>savoir faire</i>, spoke to Lady Glenmire, who on -her part had seemed just as much puzzled to know how to break the -silence as we were.</p> -<p>“Has your ladyship been to Court lately?” asked -she; and then gave a little glance round at us, half timid and -half triumphant, as much as to say, “See how judiciously I -have chosen a subject befitting the rank of the -stranger.”</p> -<p>“I never was there in my life,” said Lady <a -name="page122"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 122</span>Glenmire, -with a broad Scotch accent, but in a very sweet voice. And -then, as if she had been too abrupt, she added: “We very -seldom went to London—only twice, in fact, during all my -married life; and before I was married my father had far too -large a family” (fifth daughter of Mr Campbell was in all -our minds, I am sure) “to take us often from our home, even -to Edinburgh. Ye’ll have been in Edinburgh, -maybe?” said she, suddenly brightening up with the hope of -a common interest. We had none of us been there; but Miss -Pole had an uncle who once had passed a night there, which was -very pleasant.</p> -<p>Mrs Jamieson, meanwhile, was absorbed in wonder why Mr -Mulliner did not bring the tea; and at length the wonder oozed -out of her mouth.</p> -<p>“I had better ring the bell, my dear, had not I?” -said Lady Glenmire briskly.</p> -<p>“No—I think not—Mulliner does not like to be -hurried.”</p> -<p>We should have liked our tea, for we dined at an earlier hour -than Mrs Jamieson. I suspect Mr Mulliner had to finish the -<i>St James’s Chronicle</i> before he chose to trouble -himself about tea. His mistress fidgeted and fidgeted, and -kept saying, “I can’t think why Mulliner does not -bring tea. I can’t think what he can be -about.” And Lady Glenmire at last grew quite -impatient, but it was a pretty kind of impatience after all; and -she rang the bell rather sharply, on receiving a half-permission -from her sister-in-law to do so. Mr Mulliner appeared in -dignified surprise. “Oh!” said Mrs Jamieson, -“Lady Glenmire rang the bell; I believe it was for -tea.”</p> -<p><a name="page123"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 123</span>In a -few minutes tea was brought. Very delicate was the china, -very old the plate, very thin the bread and butter, and very -small the lumps of sugar. Sugar was evidently Mrs -Jamieson’s favourite economy. I question if the -little filigree sugar-tongs, made something like scissors, could -have opened themselves wide enough to take up an honest, vulgar -good-sized piece; and when I tried to seize two little minnikin -pieces at once, so as not to be detected in too many returns to -the sugar-basin, they absolutely dropped one, with a little sharp -clatter, quite in a malicious and unnatural manner. But -before this happened we had had a slight disappointment. In -the little silver jug was cream, in the larger one was -milk. As soon as Mr Mulliner came in, Carlo began to beg, -which was a thing our manners forebade us to do, though I am sure -we were just as hungry; and Mrs Jamieson said she was certain we -would excuse her if she gave her poor dumb Carlo his tea -first. She accordingly mixed a saucerful for him, and put -it down for him to lap; and then she told us how intelligent and -sensible the dear little fellow was; he knew cream quite well, -and constantly refused tea with only milk in it: so the milk was -left for us; but we silently thought we were quite as intelligent -and sensible as Carlo, and felt as if insult were added to injury -when we were called upon to admire the gratitude evinced by his -wagging his tail for the cream which should have been ours.</p> -<p>After tea we thawed down into common-life subjects. We -were thankful to Lady Glenmire for having proposed some more -bread and butter, and this mutual want made us better acquainted -with her <a name="page124"></a><span class="pagenum">p. -124</span>than we should ever have been with talking about the -Court, though Miss Pole did say she had hoped to know how the -dear Queen was from some one who had seen her.</p> -<p>The friendship begun over bread and butter extended on to -cards. Lady Glenmire played Preference to admiration, and -was a complete authority as to Ombre and Quadrille. Even -Miss Pole quite forgot to say “my lady,” and -“your ladyship,” and said “Basto! -ma’am”; “you have Spadille, I believe,” -just as quietly as if we had never held the great Cranford -Parliament on the subject of the proper mode of addressing a -peeress.</p> -<p>As a proof of how thoroughly we had forgotten that we were in -the presence of one who might have sat down to tea with a -coronet, instead of a cap, on her head, Mrs Forrester related a -curious little fact to Lady Glenmire—an anecdote known to -the circle of her intimate friends, but of which even Mrs -Jamieson was not aware. It related to some fine old lace, -the sole relic of better days, which Lady Glenmire was admiring -on Mrs Forrester’s collar.</p> -<p>“Yes,” said that lady, “such lace cannot be -got now for either love or money; made by the nuns abroad, they -tell me. They say that they can’t make it now even -there. But perhaps they can, now they’ve passed the -Catholic Emancipation Bill. I should not wonder. But, -in the meantime, I treasure up my lace very much. I -daren’t even trust the washing of it to my maid” (the -little charity school-girl I have named before, but who sounded -well as “my maid”). “I always wash it -myself. And once <a name="page125"></a><span -class="pagenum">p. 125</span>it had a narrow escape. Of -course, your ladyship knows that such lace must never be starched -or ironed. Some people wash it in sugar and water, and some -in coffee, to make it the right yellow colour; but I myself have -a very good receipt for washing it in milk, which stiffens it -enough, and gives it a very good creamy colour. Well, -ma’am, I had tacked it together (and the beauty of this -fine lace is that, when it is wet, it goes into a very little -space), and put it to soak in milk, when, unfortunately, I left -the room; on my return, I found pussy on the table, looking very -like a thief, but gulping very uncomfortably, as if she was -half-chocked with something she wanted to swallow and could -not. And, would you believe it? At first I pitied -her, and said ‘Poor pussy! poor pussy!’ till, all at -once, I looked and saw the cup of milk empty—cleaned -out! ‘You naughty cat!’ said I, and I believe I -was provoked enough to give her a slap, which did no good, but -only helped the lace down—just as one slaps a choking child -on the back. I could have cried, I was so vexed; but I -determined I would not give the lace up without a struggle for -it. I hoped the lace might disagree with her, at any rate; -but it would have been too much for Job, if he had seen, as I -did, that cat come in, quite placid and purring, not a quarter of -an hour after, and almost expecting to be stroked. -‘No, pussy!’ said I, ‘if you have any -conscience you ought not to expect that!’ And then a -thought struck me; and I rang the bell for my maid, and sent her -to Mr Hoggins, with my compliments, and would he be kind enough -to lend me one of his top-boots <a name="page126"></a><span -class="pagenum">p. 126</span>for an hour? I did not think -there was anything odd in the message; but Jenny said the young -men in the surgery laughed as if they would be ill at my wanting -a top-boot. When it came, Jenny and I put pussy in, with -her forefeet straight down, so that they were fastened, and could -not scratch, and we gave her a teaspoonful of current-jelly in -which (your ladyship must excuse me) I had mixed some tartar -emetic. I shall never forget how anxious I was for the next -half-hour. I took pussy to my own room, and spread a clean -towel on the floor. I could have kissed her when she -returned the lace to sight, very much as it had gone down. -Jenny had boiling water ready, and we soaked it and soaked it, -and spread it on a lavender-bush in the sun before I could touch -it again, even to put it in milk. But now your ladyship -would never guess that it had been in pussy’s -inside.”</p> -<p style="text-align: center"> -<a href="images/p124b.jpg"> -<img alt= -"We gave her a teaspoonful of current-jelly" -title= -"We gave her a teaspoonful of current-jelly" -src="images/p124s.jpg" /> -</a></p> -<p>We found out, in the course of the evening, that Lady Glenmire -was going to pay Mrs Jamieson a long visit, as she had given up -her apartments in Edinburgh, and had no ties to take her back -there in a hurry. On the whole, we were rather glad to hear -this, for she had made a pleasant impression upon us; and it was -also very comfortable to find, from things which dropped out in -the course of conversation, that, in addition to many other -genteel qualities, she was far removed from the “vulgarity -of wealth.”</p> -<p>“Don’t you find it very unpleasant walking?” -asked Mrs Jamieson, as our respective servants were -announced. It was a pretty regular question from Mrs -Jamieson, who had her own carriage in the <a -name="page127"></a><span class="pagenum">p. -127</span>coach-house, and always went out in a sedan-chair to -the very shortest distances. The answers were nearly as -much a matter of course.</p> -<p>“Oh dear, no! it is so pleasant and still at -night!” “Such a refreshment after the -excitement of a party!” “The stars are so -beautiful!” This last was from Miss Matty.</p> -<p>“Are you fond of astronomy?” Lady Glenmire -asked.</p> -<p>“Not very,” replied Miss Matty, rather confused at -the moment to remember which was astronomy and which was -astrology—but the answer was true under either -circumstance, for she read, and was slightly alarmed at Francis -Moore’s astrological predictions; and, as to astronomy, in -a private and confidential conversation, she had told me she -never could believe that the earth was moving constantly, and -that she would not believe it if she could, it made her feel so -tired and dizzy whenever she thought about it.</p> -<p>In our pattens we picked our way home with extra care that -night, so refined and delicate were our perceptions after -drinking tea with “my lady.” -<a name="page128"></a><span class="pagenum">p. -128</span></p><div class='chapter' /><h2>CHAPTER IX—SIGNOR BRUNONI</h2> -<p><span class="smcap">Soon</span> after the events of which I -gave an account in my last paper, I was summoned home by my -father’s illness; and for a time I forgot, in anxiety about -him, to wonder how my dear friends at Cranford were getting on, -or how Lady Glenmire could reconcile herself to the dulness of -the long visit which she was still paying to her sister-in-law, -Mrs Jamieson. When my father grew a little stronger I -accompanied him to the seaside, so that altogether I seemed -banished from Cranford, and was deprived of the opportunity of -hearing any chance intelligence of the dear little town for the -greater part of that year.</p> -<p>Late in November—when we had returned home again, and my -father was once more in good health—I received a letter -from Miss Matty; and a very mysterious letter it was. She -began many sentences without ending them, running them one into -another, in much the same confused sort of way in which written -words run together on blotting-paper. All I could make out -was that, if my father was better (which she hoped he was), and -would take warning and wear a great-coat from Michaelmas to -Lady-day, <a name="page129"></a><span class="pagenum">p. -129</span>if turbans were in fashion, could I tell her? -Such a piece of gaiety was going to happen as had not been seen -or known of since Wombwell’s lions came, when one of them -ate a little child’s arm; and she was, perhaps, too old to -care about dress, but a new cap she must have; and, having heard -that turbans were worn, and some of the county families likely to -come, she would like to look tidy, if I would bring her a cap -from the milliner I employed; and oh, dear! how careless of her -to forget that she wrote to beg I would come and pay her a visit -next Tuesday; when she hoped to have something to offer me in the -way of amusement, which she would not now more particularly -describe, only sea-green was her favourite colour. So she -ended her letter; but in a P.S. she added, she thought she might -as well tell me what was the peculiar attraction to Cranford just -now; Signor Brunoni was going to exhibit his wonderful magic in -the Cranford Assembly Rooms on Wednesday and Friday evening in -the following week.</p> -<p>I was very glad to accept the invitation from my dear Miss -Matty, independently of the conjuror, and most particularly -anxious to prevent her from disfiguring her small, gentle, mousey -face with a great Saracen’s head turban; and accordingly, I -bought her a pretty, neat, middle-aged cap, which, however, was -rather a disappointment to her when, on my arrival, she followed -me into my bedroom, ostensibly to poke the fire, but in reality, -I do believe, to see if the sea-green turban was not inside the -cap-box with which I had travelled. It was in vain that I -twirled the cap round on my hand to exhibit back and side fronts: -her heart had been set upon a turban, and all she <a -name="page130"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 130</span>could do -was to say, with resignation in her look and voice—</p> -<p>“I am sure you did your best, my dear. It is just -like the caps all the ladies in Cranford are wearing, and they -have had theirs for a year, I dare say. I should have liked -something newer, I confess—something more like the turbans -Miss Betty Barker tells me Queen Adelaide wears; but it is very -pretty, my dear. And I dare say lavender will wear better -than sea-green. Well, after all, what is dress, that we -should care anything about it? You’ll tell me if you -want anything, my dear. Here is the bell. I suppose -turbans have not got down to Drumble yet?”</p> -<p>So saying, the dear old lady gently bemoaned herself out of -the room, leaving me to dress for the evening, when, as she -informed me, she expected Miss Pole and Mrs Forrester, and she -hoped I should not feel myself too much tired to join the -party. Of course I should not; and I made some haste to -unpack and arrange my dress; but, with all my speed, I heard the -arrivals and the buzz of conversation in the next room before I -was ready. Just as I opened the door, I caught the words, -“I was foolish to expect anything very genteel out of the -Drumble shops; poor girl! she did her best, I’ve no -doubt.” But, for all that, I had rather that she -blamed Drumble and me than disfigured herself with a turban.</p> -<p>Miss Pole was always the person, in the trio of Cranford -ladies now assembled, to have had adventures. She was in -the habit of spending the morning in rambling from shop to shop, -not to purchase anything (except an occasional reel of cotton or -a piece <a name="page131"></a><span class="pagenum">p. -131</span>of tape), but to see the new articles and report upon -them, and to collect all the stray pieces of intelligence in the -town. She had a way, too, of demurely popping hither and -thither into all sorts of places to gratify her curiosity on any -point—a way which, if she had not looked so very genteel -and prim, might have been considered impertinent. And now, -by the expressive way in which she cleared her throat, and waited -for all minor subjects (such as caps and turbans) to be cleared -off the course, we knew she had something very particular to -relate, when the due pause came—and I defy any people -possessed of common modesty to keep up a conversation long, where -one among them sits up aloft in silence, looking down upon all -the things they chance to say as trivial and contemptible -compared to what they could disclose, if properly -entreated. Miss Pole began—</p> -<p>“As I was stepping out of Gordon’s shop to-day, I -chanced to go into the ‘George’ (my Betty has a -second-cousin who is chambermaid there, and I thought Betty would -like to hear how she was), and, not seeing anyone about, I -strolled up the staircase, and found myself in the passage -leading to the Assembly Room (you and I remember the Assembly -Room, I am sure, Miss Matty! and the minuets de la cour!); so I -went on, not thinking of what I was about, when, all at once, I -perceived that I was in the middle of the preparations for -to-morrow night—the room being divided with great -clothes-maids, over which Crosby’s men were tacking red -flannel; very dark and odd it seemed; it quite bewildered me, and -I was going on behind the screens, in my absence of mind, when a -gentleman (quite the <a name="page132"></a><span -class="pagenum">p. 132</span>gentleman, I can assure you) stepped -forwards and asked if I had any business he could arrange for -me. He spoke such pretty broken English, I could not help -thinking of Thaddeus of Warsaw, and the Hungarian Brothers, and -Santo Sebastiani; and while I was busy picturing his past life to -myself, he had bowed me out of the room. But wait a -minute! You have not heard half my story yet! I was -going downstairs, when who should I meet but Betty’s -second-cousin. So, of course, I stopped to speak to her for -Betty’s sake; and she told me that I had really seen the -conjuror—the gentleman who spoke broken English was Signor -Brunoni himself. Just at this moment he passed us on the -stairs, making such a graceful bow! in reply to which I dropped a -curtsey—all foreigners have such polite manners, one -catches something of it. But when he had gone downstairs, I -bethought me that I had dropped my glove in the Assembly Room (it -was safe in my muff all the time, but I never found it till -afterwards); so I went back, and, just as I was creeping up the -passage left on one side of the great screen that goes nearly -across the room, who should I see but the very same gentleman -that had met me before, and passed me on the stairs, coming now -forwards from the inner part of the room, to which there is no -entrance—you remember, Miss Matty—and just repeating, -in his pretty broken English, the inquiry if I had any business -there—I don’t mean that he put it quite so bluntly, -but he seemed very determined that I should not pass the -screen—so, of course, I explained about my glove, which, -curiously enough, I found at that very moment.”</p> -<p><a name="page133"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 133</span>Miss -Pole, then, had seen the conjuror—the real, live conjuror! -and numerous were the questions we all asked her. -“Had he a beard?” “Was he young, or -old?” “Fair, or dark?” “Did -he look”—(unable to shape my question prudently, I -put it in another form)—“How did he -look?” In short, Miss Pole was the heroine of the -evening, owing to her morning’s encounter. If she was -not the rose (that is to say the conjuror) she had been near -it.</p> -<p>Conjuration, sleight of hand, magic, witchcraft, were the -subjects of the evening. Miss Pole was slightly sceptical, -and inclined to think there might be a scientific solution found -for even the proceedings of the Witch of Endor. Mrs -Forrester believed everything, from ghosts to -death-watches. Miss Matty ranged between the -two—always convinced by the last speaker. I think she -was naturally more inclined to Mrs Forrester’s side, but a -desire of proving herself a worthy sister to Miss Jenkyns kept -her equally balanced—Miss Jenkyns, who would never allow a -servant to call the little rolls of tallow that formed themselves -round candles “winding-sheets,” but insisted on their -being spoken of as “roley-poleys!” A sister of -hers to be superstitious! It would never do.</p> -<p>After tea, I was despatched downstairs into the dining-parlour -for that volume of the old Encyclopædia which contained the -nouns beginning with C, in order that Miss Pole might prime -herself with scientific explanations for the tricks of the -following evening. It spoilt the pool at Preference which -Miss Matty and Mrs Forrester had been looking forward to, for -Miss Pole became so much absorbed in her subject, <a -name="page134"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 134</span>and the -plates by which it was illustrated, that we felt it would be -cruel to disturb her otherwise than by one or two well-timed -yawns, which I threw in now and then, for I was really touched by -the meek way in which the two ladies were bearing their -disappointment. But Miss Pole only read the more zealously, -imparting to us no more information than this—</p> -<p>“Ah! I see; I comprehend perfectly. A represents -the ball. Put A between B and D—no! between C and F, -and turn the second joint of the third finger of your left hand -over the wrist of your right H. Very clear indeed! My -dear Mrs Forrester, conjuring and witchcraft is a mere affair of -the alphabet. Do let me read you this one -passage?”</p> -<p>Mrs Forrester implored Miss Pole to spare her, saying, from a -child upwards, she never could understand being read aloud to; -and I dropped the pack of cards, which I had been shuffling very -audibly, and by this discreet movement I obliged Miss Pole to -perceive that Preference was to have been the order of the -evening, and to propose, rather unwillingly, that the pool should -commence. The pleasant brightness that stole over the other -two ladies’ faces on this! Miss Matty had one or two -twinges of self-reproach for having interrupted Miss Pole in her -studies: and did not remember her cards well, or give her full -attention to the game, until she had soothed her conscience by -offering to lend the volume of the Encyclopædia to Miss -Pole, who accepted it thankfully, and said Betty should take it -home when she came with the lantern.</p> -<p><a name="page135"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 135</span>The -next evening we were all in a little gentle flutter at the idea -of the gaiety before us. Miss Matty went up to dress -betimes, and hurried me until I was ready, when we found we had -an hour-and-a-half to wait before the “doors opened at -seven precisely.” And we had only twenty yards to -go! However, as Miss Matty said, it would not do to get too -much absorbed in anything, and forget the time; so she thought we -had better sit quietly, without lighting the candles, till five -minutes to seven. So Miss Matty dozed, and I knitted.</p> -<p>At length we set off; and at the door under the carriage-way -at the “George,” we met Mrs Forrester and Miss Pole: -the latter was discussing the subject of the evening with more -vehemence than ever, and throwing X’s and B’s at our -heads like hailstones. She had even copied one or two of -the “receipts”—as she called them—for the -different tricks, on backs of letters, ready to explain and to -detect Signor Brunoni’s arts.</p> -<p>We went into the cloak-room adjoining the Assembly Room; Miss -Matty gave a sigh or two to her departed youth, and the -remembrance of the last time she had been there, as she adjusted -her pretty new cap before the strange, quaint old mirror in the -cloak-room. The Assembly Room had been added to the inn, -about a hundred years before, by the different county families, -who met together there once a month during the winter to dance -and play at cards. Many a county beauty had first swung -through the minuet that she afterwards danced before Queen -Charlotte in this very room. It was said that one of the -Gunnings had graced the apartment <a name="page136"></a><span -class="pagenum">p. 136</span>with her beauty; it was certain that -a rich and beautiful widow, Lady Williams, had here been smitten -with the noble figure of a young artist, who was staying with -some family in the neighbourhood for professional purposes, and -accompanied his patrons to the Cranford Assembly. And a -pretty bargain poor Lady Williams had of her handsome husband, if -all tales were true. Now, no beauty blushed and dimpled -along the sides of the Cranford Assembly Room; no handsome artist -won hearts by his bow, <i>chapeau bras</i> in hand; the old room -was dingy; the salmon-coloured paint had faded into a drab; great -pieces of plaster had chipped off from the fine wreaths and -festoons on its walls; but still a mouldy odour of aristocracy -lingered about the place, and a dusty recollection of the days -that were gone made Miss Matty and Mrs Forrester bridle up as -they entered, and walk mincingly up the room, as if there were a -number of genteel observers, instead of two little boys with a -stick of toffee between them with which to beguile the time.</p> -<p>We stopped short at the second front row; I could hardly -understand why, until I heard Miss Pole ask a stray waiter if any -of the county families were expected; and when he shook his head, -and believed not, Mrs Forrester and Miss Matty moved forwards, -and our party represented a conversational square. The -front row was soon augmented and enriched by Lady Glenmire and -Mrs Jamieson. We six occupied the two front rows, and our -aristocratic seclusion was respected by the groups of -shop-keepers who strayed in from time to time and huddled -together on the back benches. At least I conjectured <a -name="page137"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 137</span>so, from -the noise they made, and the sonorous bumps they gave in sitting -down; but when, in weariness of the obstinate green curtain that -would not draw up, but would stare at me with two odd eyes, seen -through holes, as in the old tapestry story, I would fain have -looked round at the merry chattering people behind me, Miss Pole -clutched my arm, and begged me not to turn, for “it was not -the thing.” What “the thing” was, I never -could find out, but it must have been something eminently dull -and tiresome. However, we all sat eyes right, square front, -gazing at the tantalising curtain, and hardly speaking -intelligibly, we were so afraid of being caught in the vulgarity -of making any noise in a place of public amusement. Mrs -Jamieson was the most fortunate, for she fell asleep.</p> -<p>At length the eyes disappeared—the curtain -quivered—one side went up before the other, which stuck -fast; it was dropped again, and, with a fresh effort, and a -vigorous pull from some unseen hand, it flew up, revealing to our -sight a magnificent gentleman in the Turkish costume, seated -before a little table, gazing at us (I should have said with the -same eyes that I had last seen through the hole in the curtain) -with calm and condescending dignity, “like a being of -another sphere,” as I heard a sentimental voice ejaculate -behind me.</p> -<p>“That’s not Signor Brunoni!” said Miss Pole -decidedly; and so audibly that I am sure he heard, for he glanced -down over his flowing beard at our party with an air of mute -reproach. “Signor Brunoni had no beard—but -perhaps he’ll come soon.” So she lulled herself -into patience. Meanwhile, Miss <a name="page138"></a><span -class="pagenum">p. 138</span>Matty had reconnoitred through her -eye-glass, wiped it, and looked again. Then she turned -round, and said to me, in a kind, mild, sorrowful tone—</p> -<p>“You see, my dear, turbans <i>are</i> worn.”</p> -<p>But we had no time for more conversation. The Grand -Turk, as Miss Pole chose to call him, arose and announced himself -as Signor Brunoni.</p> -<p>“I don’t believe him!” exclaimed Miss Pole, -in a defiant manner. He looked at her again, with the same -dignified upbraiding in his countenance. “I -don’t!” she repeated more positively than ever. -“Signor Brunoni had not got that muffy sort of thing about -his chin, but looked like a close-shaved Christian -gentleman.”</p> -<p>Miss Pole’s energetic speeches had the good effect of -wakening up Mrs Jamieson, who opened her eyes wide, in sign of -the deepest attention—a proceeding which silenced Miss Pole -and encouraged the Grand Turk to proceed, which he did in very -broken English—so broken that there was no cohesion between -the parts of his sentences; a fact which he himself perceived at -last, and so left off speaking and proceeded to action.</p> -<p>Now we <i>were</i> astonished. How he did his tricks I -could not imagine; no, not even when Miss Pole pulled out her -pieces of paper and began reading aloud—or at least in a -very audible whisper—the separate “receipts” -for the most common of his tricks. If ever I saw a man -frown and look enraged, I saw the Grand Turk frown at Miss Pole; -but, as she said, what could be expected but unchristian looks -from a Mussulman? If Miss Pole were sceptical, and more -engrossed with her receipts <a name="page139"></a><span -class="pagenum">p. 139</span>and diagrams than with his tricks, -Miss Matty and Mrs Forrester were mystified and perplexed to the -highest degree. Mrs Jamieson kept taking her spectacles off -and wiping them, as if she thought it was something defective in -them which made the legerdemain; and Lady Glenmire, who had seen -many curious sights in Edinburgh, was very much struck with the -tricks, and would not at all agree with Miss Pole, who declared -that anybody could do them with a little practice, and that she -would, herself, undertake to do all he did, with two hours given -to study the Encyclopædia and make her third finger -flexible.</p> -<p>At last Miss Matty and Mrs Forrester became perfectly -awestricken. They whispered together. I sat just -behind them, so I could not help hearing what they were -saying. Miss Matty asked Mrs Forrester “if she -thought it was quite right to have come to see such things? -She could not help fearing they were lending encouragement to -something that was not quite”— A little shake -of the head filled up the blank. Mrs Forrester replied, -that the same thought had crossed her mind; she too was feeling -very uncomfortable, it was so very strange. She was quite -certain that it was her pocket-handkerchief which was in that -loaf just now; and it had been in her own hand not five minutes -before. She wondered who had furnished the bread? She -was sure it could not be Dakin, because he was the -churchwarden. Suddenly Miss Matty half-turned towards -me—</p> -<p>“Will you look, my dear—you are a stranger in the -town, and it won’t give rise to unpleasant <a -name="page140"></a><span class="pagenum">p. -140</span>reports—will you just look round and see if the -rector is here? If he is, I think we may conclude that this -wonderful man is sanctioned by the Church, and that will be a -great relief to my mind.”</p> -<p>I looked, and I saw the tall, thin, dry, dusty rector, sitting -surrounded by National School boys, guarded by troops of his own -sex from any approach of the many Cranford spinsters. His -kind face was all agape with broad smiles, and the boys around -him were in chinks of laughing. I told Miss Matty that the -Church was smiling approval, which set her mind at ease.</p> -<p style="text-align: center"> -<a href="images/p140b.jpg"> -<img alt= -"Afraid of matrimonial reports" -title= -"Afraid of matrimonial reports" -src="images/p140s.jpg" /> -</a></p> -<p>I have never named Mr Hayter, the rector, because I, as a -well-to-do and happy young woman, never came in contact with -him. He was an old bachelor, but as afraid of matrimonial -reports getting abroad about him as any girl of eighteen: and he -would rush into a shop or dive down an entry, sooner than -encounter any of the Cranford ladies in the street; and, as for -the Preference parties, I did not wonder at his not accepting -invitations to them. To tell the truth, I always suspected -Miss Pole of having given very vigorous chase to Mr Hayter when -he first came to Cranford; and not the less, because now she -appeared to share so vividly in his dread lest her name should -ever be coupled with his. He found all his interests among -the poor and helpless; he had treated the National School boys -this very night to the performance; and virtue was for once its -own reward, for they guarded him right and left, and clung round -him as if he had been the queen-bee and they the swarm. He -felt so safe in their <a name="page141"></a><span -class="pagenum">p. 141</span>environment that he could even -afford to give our party a bow as we filed out. Miss Pole -ignored his presence, and pretended to be absorbed in convincing -us that we had been cheated, and had not seen Signor Brunoni -after all.</p> -<div class='chapter' /><h2><a name="page142"></a><span class="pagenum">p. -142</span>CHAPTER X—THE PANIC</h2> -<p>I <span class="smcap">think</span> a series of circumstances -dated from Signor Brunoni’s visit to Cranford, which seemed -at the time connected in our minds with him, though I don’t -know that he had anything really to do with them. All at -once all sorts of uncomfortable rumours got afloat in the -town. There were one or two robberies—real -<i>bonâ fide</i> robberies; men had up before the -magistrates and committed for trial—and that seemed to make -us all afraid of being robbed; and for a long time, at Miss -Matty’s, I know, we used to make a regular expedition all -round the kitchens and cellars every night, Miss Matty leading -the way, armed with the poker, I following with the hearth-brush, -and Martha carrying the shovel and fire-irons with which to sound -the alarm; and by the accidental hitting together of them she -often frightened us so much that we bolted ourselves up, all -three together, in the back-kitchen, or store-room, or wherever -we happened to be, till, when our affright was over, we -recollected ourselves and set out afresh with double -valiance. By day we heard strange stories from the -shopkeepers and <a name="page143"></a><span class="pagenum">p. -143</span>cottagers, of carts that went about in the dead of -night, drawn by horses shod with felt, and guarded by men in dark -clothes, going round the town, no doubt in search of some -unwatched house or some unfastened door.</p> -<p>Miss Pole, who affected great bravery herself, was the -principal person to collect and arrange these reports so as to -make them assume their most fearful aspect. But we -discovered that she had begged one of Mr Hoggins’s worn-out -hats to hang up in her lobby, and we (at least I) had doubts as -to whether she really would enjoy the little adventure of having -her house broken into, as she protested she should. Miss -Matty made no secret of being an arrant coward, but she went -regularly through her housekeeper’s duty of -inspection—only the hour for this became earlier and -earlier, till at last we went the rounds at half-past six, and -Miss Matty adjourned to bed soon after seven, “in order to -get the night over the sooner.”</p> -<p>Cranford had so long piqued itself on being an honest and -moral town that it had grown to fancy itself too genteel and -well-bred to be otherwise, and felt the stain upon its character -at this time doubly. But we comforted ourselves with the -assurance which we gave to each other that the robberies could -never have been committed by any Cranford person; it must have -been a stranger or strangers who brought this disgrace upon the -town, and occasioned as many precautions as if we were living -among the Red Indians or the French.</p> -<p>This last comparison of our nightly state of defence and -fortification was made by Mrs Forrester, <a -name="page144"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 144</span>whose -father had served under General Burgoyne in the American war, and -whose husband had fought the French in Spain. She indeed -inclined to the idea that, in some way, the French were connected -with the small thefts, which were ascertained facts, and the -burglaries and highway robberies, which were rumours. She -had been deeply impressed with the idea of French spies at some -time in her life; and the notion could never be fairly -eradicated, but sprang up again from time to time. And now -her theory was this:—The Cranford people respected -themselves too much, and were too grateful to the aristocracy who -were so kind as to live near the town, ever to disgrace their -bringing up by being dishonest or immoral; therefore, we must -believe that the robbers were strangers—if strangers, why -not foreigners?—if foreigners, who so likely as the -French? Signor Brunoni spoke broken English like a -Frenchman; and, though he wore a turban like a Turk, Mrs -Forrester had seen a print of Madame de Staël with a turban -on, and another of Mr Denon in just such a dress as that in which -the conjuror had made his appearance, showing clearly that the -French, as well as the Turks, wore turbans. There could be -no doubt Signor Brunoni was a Frenchman—a French spy come -to discover the weak and undefended places of England, and -doubtless he had his accomplices. For her part, she, Mrs -Forrester, had always had her own opinion of Miss Pole’s -adventure at the “George Inn”—seeing two men -where only one was believed to be. French people had ways -and means which, she was thankful to say, the English knew -nothing about; and she had never felt quite easy in her mind <a -name="page145"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 145</span>about going -to see that conjuror—it was rather too much like a -forbidden thing, though the rector was there. In short, Mrs -Forrester grew more excited than we had ever known her before, -and, being an officer’s daughter and widow, we looked up to -her opinion, of course.</p> -<p>Really I do not know how much was true or false in the reports -which flew about like wildfire just at this time; but it seemed -to me then that there was every reason to believe that at Mardon -(a small town about eight miles from Cranford) houses and shops -were entered by holes made in the walls, the bricks being -silently carried away in the dead of the night, and all done so -quietly that no sound was heard either in or out of the -house. Miss Matty gave it up in despair when she heard of -this. “What was the use,” said she, “of -locks and bolts, and bells to the windows, and going round the -house every night? That last trick was fit for a -conjuror. Now she did believe that Signor Brunoni was at -the bottom of it.”</p> -<p>One afternoon, about five o’clock, we were startled by a -hasty knock at the door. Miss Matty bade me run and tell -Martha on no account to open the door till she (Miss Matty) had -reconnoitred through the window; and she armed herself with a -footstool to drop down on the head of the visitor, in case he -should show a face covered with black crape, as he looked up in -answer to her inquiry of who was there. But it was nobody -but Miss Pole and Betty. The former came upstairs, carrying -a little hand-basket, and she was evidently in a state of great -agitation.</p> -<p><a name="page146"></a><span class="pagenum">p. -146</span>“Take care of that!” said she to me, as I -offered to relieve her of her basket. “It’s my -plate. I am sure there is a plan to rob my house -to-night. I am come to throw myself on your hospitality, -Miss Matty. Betty is going to sleep with her cousin at the -‘George.’ I can sit up here all night if you -will allow me; but my house is so far from any neighbours, and I -don’t believe we could be heard if we screamed ever -so!”</p> -<p>“But,” said Miss Matty, “what has alarmed -you so much? Have you seen any men lurking about the -house?”</p> -<p>“Oh, yes!” answered Miss Pole. “Two -very bad-looking men have gone three times past the house, very -slowly; and an Irish beggar-woman came not half-an-hour ago, and -all but forced herself in past Betty, saying her children were -starving, and she must speak to the mistress. You see, she -said ‘mistress,’ though there was a hat hanging up in -the hall, and it would have been more natural to have said -‘master.’ But Betty shut the door in her face, -and came up to me, and we got the spoons together, and sat in the -parlour-window watching till we saw Thomas Jones going from his -work, when we called to him and asked him to take care of us into -the town.”</p> -<p>We might have triumphed over Miss Pole, who had professed such -bravery until she was frightened; but we were too glad to -perceive that she shared in the weaknesses of humanity to exult -over her; and I gave up my room to her very willingly, and shared -Miss Matty’s bed for the night. But before we -retired, the two ladies rummaged up, out of the recesses of their -memory, such horrid stories of <a name="page147"></a><span -class="pagenum">p. 147</span>robbery and murder that I quite -quaked in my shoes. Miss Pole was evidently anxious to -prove that such terrible events had occurred within her -experience that she was justified in her sudden panic; and Miss -Matty did not like to be outdone, and capped every story with one -yet more horrible, till it reminded me oddly enough, of an old -story I had read somewhere, of a nightingale and a musician, who -strove one against the other which could produce the most -admirable music, till poor Philomel dropped down dead.</p> -<p>One of the stories that haunted me for a long time afterwards -was of a girl who was left in charge of a great house in -Cumberland on some particular fair-day, when the other servants -all went off to the gaieties. The family were away in -London, and a pedlar came by, and asked to leave his large and -heavy pack in the kitchen, saying he would call for it again at -night; and the girl (a gamekeeper’s daughter), roaming -about in search of amusement, chanced to hit upon a gun hanging -up in the hall, and took it down to look at the chasing; and it -went off through the open kitchen door, hit the pack, and a slow -dark thread of blood came oozing out. (How Miss Pole enjoyed this -part of the story, dwelling on each word as if she loved -it!) She rather hurried over the further account of the -girl’s bravery, and I have but a confused idea that, -somehow, she baffled the robbers with Italian irons, heated -red-hot, and then restored to blackness by being dipped in -grease.</p> -<p>We parted for the night with an awe-stricken wonder as to what -we should hear of in the morning—and, on my part, with a -vehement desire for the night to be over and gone: I was so -afraid lest the <a name="page148"></a><span class="pagenum">p. -148</span>robbers should have seen, from some dark lurking-place, -that Miss Pole had carried off her plate, and thus have a double -motive for attacking our house.</p> -<p style="text-align: center"> -<a href="images/p148b.jpg"> -<img alt= -"Asked him to take care of us" -title= -"Asked him to take care of us" -src="images/p148s.jpg" /> -</a></p> -<p>But until Lady Glenmire came to call next day we heard of -nothing unusual. The kitchen fire-irons were in exactly the -same position against the back door as when Martha and I had -skilfully piled them up, like spillikins, ready to fall with an -awful clatter if only a cat had touched the outside panels. -I had wondered what we should all do if thus awakened and -alarmed, and had proposed to Miss Matty that we should cover up -our faces under the bedclothes so that there should be no danger -of the robbers thinking that we could identify them; but Miss -Matty, who was trembling very much, scouted this idea, and said -we owed it to society to apprehend them, and that she should -certainly do her best to lay hold of them and lock them up in the -garret till morning.</p> -<p>When Lady Glenmire came, we almost felt jealous of her. -Mrs Jamieson’s house had really been attacked; at least -there were men’s footsteps to be seen on the flower -borders, underneath the kitchen windows, “where nae men -should be;” and Carlo had barked all through the night as -if strangers were abroad. Mrs Jamieson had been awakened by -Lady Glenmire, and they had rung the bell which communicated with -Mr Mulliner’s room in the third storey, and when his -night-capped head had appeared over the bannisters, in answer to -the summons, they had told him of their alarm, and the reasons -for it; whereupon he retreated into his bedroom, and locked the -door (for fear of draughts, as he informed them <a -name="page149"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 149</span>in the -morning), and opened the window, and called out valiantly to say, -if the supposed robbers would come to him he would fight them; -but, as Lady Glenmire observed, that was but poor comfort, since -they would have to pass by Mrs Jamieson’s room and her own -before they could reach him, and must be of a very pugnacious -disposition indeed if they neglected the opportunities of robbery -presented by the unguarded lower storeys, to go up to a garret, -and there force a door in order to get at the champion of the -house. Lady Glenmire, after waiting and listening for some -time in the drawing-room, had proposed to Mrs Jamieson that they -should go to bed; but that lady said she should not feel -comfortable unless she sat up and watched; and, accordingly, she -packed herself warmly up on the sofa, where she was found by the -housemaid, when she came into the room at six o’clock, fast -asleep; but Lady Glenmire went to bed, and kept awake all -night.</p> -<p>When Miss Pole heard of this, she nodded her head in great -satisfaction. She had been sure we should hear of something -happening in Cranford that night; and we had heard. It was -clear enough they had first proposed to attack her house; but -when they saw that she and Betty were on their guard, and had -carried off the plate, they had changed their tactics and gone to -Mrs Jamieson’s, and no one knew what might have happened if -Carlo had not barked, like a good dog as he was!</p> -<p>Poor Carlo! his barking days were nearly over. Whether -the gang who infested the neighbourhood were afraid of him, or -whether they were revengeful enough, for the way in which he had -baffled them on <a name="page150"></a><span class="pagenum">p. -150</span>the night in question, to poison him; or whether, as -some among the more uneducated people thought, he died of -apoplexy, brought on by too much feeding and too little exercise; -at any rate, it is certain that, two days after this eventful -night, Carlo was found dead, with his poor legs stretched out -stiff in the attitude of running, as if by such unusual exertion -he could escape the sure pursuer, Death.</p> -<p>We were all sorry for Carlo, the old familiar friend who had -snapped at us for so many years; and the mysterious mode of his -death made us very uncomfortable. Could Signor Brunoni be -at the bottom of this? He had apparently killed a canary -with only a word of command; his will seemed of deadly force; who -knew but what he might yet be lingering in the neighbourhood -willing all sorts of awful things!</p> -<p>We whispered these fancies among ourselves in the evenings; -but in the mornings our courage came back with the daylight, and -in a week’s time we had got over the shock of Carlo’s -death; all but Mrs Jamieson. She, poor thing, felt it as -she had felt no event since her husband’s death; indeed, -Miss Pole said, that as the Honourable Mr Jamieson drank a good -deal, and occasioned her much uneasiness, it was possible that -Carlo’s death might be the greater affliction. But -there was always a tinge of cynicism in Miss Pole’s -remarks. However, one thing was clear and certain—it -was necessary for Mrs Jamieson to have some change of scene; and -Mr Mulliner was very impressive on this point, shaking his head -whenever we inquired after his mistress, and speaking of her loss -of appetite and bad nights very ominously; <a -name="page151"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 151</span>and with -justice too, for if she had two characteristics in her natural -state of health they were a facility of eating and -sleeping. If she could neither eat nor sleep, she must be -indeed out of spirits and out of health.</p> -<p>Lady Glenmire (who had evidently taken very kindly to -Cranford) did not like the idea of Mrs Jamieson’s going to -Cheltenham, and more than once insinuated pretty plainly that it -was Mr Mulliner’s doing, who had been much alarmed on the -occasion of the house being attacked, and since had said, more -than once, that he felt it a very responsible charge to have to -defend so many women. Be that as it might, Mrs Jamieson -went to Cheltenham, escorted by Mr Mulliner; and Lady Glenmire -remained in possession of the house, her ostensible office being -to take care that the maid-servants did not pick up -followers. She made a very pleasant-looking dragon; and, as -soon as it was arranged for her stay in Cranford, she found out -that Mrs Jamieson’s visit to Cheltenham was just the best -thing in the world. She had let her house in Edinburgh, and -was for the time house-less, so the charge of her -sister-in-law’s comfortable abode was very convenient and -acceptable.</p> -<p>Miss Pole was very much inclined to instal herself as a -heroine, because of the decided steps she had taken in flying -from the two men and one woman, whom she entitled “that -murderous gang.” She described their appearance in -glowing colours, and I noticed that every time she went over the -story some fresh trait of villainy was added to their -appearance. One was tall—he grew to be gigantic in -height before we had done with him; he of course <a -name="page152"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 152</span>had black -hair—and by-and-by it hung in elf-locks over his forehead -and down his back. The other was short and broad—and -a hump sprouted out on his shoulder before we heard the last of -him; he had red hair—which deepened into carroty; and she -was almost sure he had a cast in the eye—a decided -squint. As for the woman, her eyes glared, and she was -masculine-looking—a perfect virago; most probably a man -dressed in woman’s clothes; afterwards, we heard of a beard -on her chin, and a manly voice and a stride.</p> -<p>If Miss Pole was delighted to recount the events of that -afternoon to all inquirers, others were not so proud of their -adventures in the robbery line. Mr Hoggins, the surgeon, -had been attacked at his own door by two ruffians, who were -concealed in the shadow of the porch, and so effectually silenced -him that he was robbed in the interval between ringing his bell -and the servant’s answering it. Miss Pole was sure it -would turn out that this robbery had been committed by “her -men,” and went the very day she heard the report to have -her teeth examined, and to question Mr Hoggins. She came to -us afterwards; so we heard what she had heard, straight and -direct from the source, while we were yet in the excitement and -flutter of the agitation caused by the first intelligence; for -the event had only occurred the night before.</p> -<p>“Well!” said Miss Pole, sitting down with the -decision of a person who has made up her mind as to the nature of -life and the world (and such people never tread lightly, or seat -themselves without a bump), “well, Miss Matty! men will be -men. <a name="page153"></a><span class="pagenum">p. -153</span>Every mother’s son of them wishes to be -considered Samson and Solomon rolled into one—too strong -ever to be beaten or discomfited—too wise ever to be -outwitted. If you will notice, they have always foreseen -events, though they never tell one for one’s warning before -the events happen. My father was a man, and I know the sex -pretty well.”</p> -<p>She had talked herself out of breath, and we should have been -very glad to fill up the necessary pause as chorus, but we did -not exactly know what to say, or which man had suggested this -diatribe against the sex; so we only joined in generally, with a -grave shake of the head, and a soft murmur of “They are -very incomprehensible, certainly!”</p> -<p>“Now, only think,” said she. “There, I -have undergone the risk of having one of my remaining teeth drawn -(for one is terribly at the mercy of any surgeon-dentist; and I, -for one, always speak them fair till I have got my mouth out of -their clutches), and, after all, Mr Hoggins is too much of a man -to own that he was robbed last night.”</p> -<p>“Not robbed!” exclaimed the chorus.</p> -<p>“Don’t tell me!” Miss Pole exclaimed, angry -that we could be for a moment imposed upon. “I -believe he was robbed, just as Betty told me, and he is ashamed -to own it; and, to be sure, it was very silly of him to be robbed -just at his own door; I daresay he feels that such a thing -won’t raise him in the eyes of Cranford society, and is -anxious to conceal it—but he need not have tried to impose -upon me, by saying I must have heard an exaggerated account of -some petty theft of a neck of mutton, which, it seems, was stolen -out of the safe in his <a name="page154"></a><span -class="pagenum">p. 154</span>yard last week; he had the -impertinence to add, he believed that that was taken by the -cat. I have no doubt, if I could get at the bottom of it, -it was that Irishman dressed up in woman’s clothes, who -came spying about my house, with the story about the starving -children.”</p> -<p>After we had duly condemned the want of candour which Mr -Hoggins had evinced, and abused men in general, taking him for -the representative and type, we got round to the subject about -which we had been talking when Miss Pole came in; namely, how -far, in the present disturbed state of the country, we could -venture to accept an invitation which Miss Matty had just -received from Mrs Forrester, to come as usual and keep the -anniversary of her wedding-day by drinking tea with her at five -o’clock, and playing a quiet pool afterwards. Mrs -Forrester had said that she asked us with some diffidence, -because the roads were, she feared, very unsafe. But she -suggested that perhaps one of us would not object to take the -sedan, and that the others, by walking briskly, might keep up -with the long trot of the chairmen, and so we might all arrive -safely at Over Place, a suburb of the town. (No; that is -too large an expression: a small cluster of houses separated from -Cranford by about two hundred yards of a dark and lonely -lane.) There was no doubt but that a similar note was -awaiting Miss Pole at home; so her call was a very fortunate -affair, as it enabled us to consult together. We would all -much rather have declined this invitation; but we felt that it -would not be quite kind to Mrs Forrester, who would otherwise be -left to a solitary retrospect of her not <a -name="page155"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 155</span>very happy -or fortunate life. Miss Matty and Miss Pole had been -visitors on this occasion for many years, and now they gallantly -determined to nail their colours to the mast, and to go through -Darkness Lane rather than fail in loyalty to their friend.</p> -<p>But when the evening came, Miss Matty (for it was she who was -voted into the chair, as she had a cold), before being shut down -in the sedan, like jack-in-a-box, implored the chairmen, whatever -might befall, not to run away and leave her fastened up there, to -be murdered; and even after they had promised, I saw her tighten -her features into the stern determination of a martyr, and she -gave me a melancholy and ominous shake of the head through the -glass. However, we got there safely, only rather out of -breath, for it was who could trot hardest through Darkness Lane, -and I am afraid poor Miss Matty was sadly jolted.</p> -<p>Mrs Forrester had made extra preparations, in acknowledgment -of our exertion in coming to see her through such dangers. -The usual forms of genteel ignorance as to what her servants -might send up were all gone through; and harmony and Preference -seemed likely to be the order of the evening, but for an -interesting conversation that began I don’t know how, but -which had relation, of course, to the robbers who infested the -neighbourhood of Cranford.</p> -<p>Having braved the dangers of Darkness Lane, and thus having a -little stock of reputation for courage to fall back upon; and -also, I daresay, desirous of proving ourselves superior to men -(<i>videlicet</i> Mr Hoggins) in the article of candour, we <a -name="page156"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 156</span>began to -relate our individual fears, and the private precautions we each -of us took. I owned that my pet apprehension was -eyes—eyes looking at me, and watching me, glittering out -from some dull, flat, wooden surface; and that if I dared to go -up to my looking-glass when I was panic-stricken, I should -certainly turn it round, with its back towards me, for fear of -seeing eyes behind me looking out of the darkness. I saw -Miss Matty nerving herself up for a confession; and at last out -it came. She owned that, ever since she had been a girl, -she had dreaded being caught by her last leg, just as she was -getting into bed, by some one concealed under it. She said, -when she was younger and more active, she used to take a flying -leap from a distance, and so bring both her legs up safely into -bed at once; but that this had always annoyed Deborah, who piqued -herself upon getting into bed gracefully, and she had given it up -in consequence. But now the old terror would often come -over her, especially since Miss Pole’s house had been -attacked (we had got quite to believe in the fact of the attack -having taken place), and yet it was very unpleasant to think of -looking under a bed, and seeing a man concealed, with a great, -fierce face staring out at you; so she had bethought herself of -something—perhaps I had noticed that she had told Martha to -buy her a penny ball, such as children play with—and now -she rolled this ball under the bed every night: if it came out on -the other side, well and good; if not she always took care to -have her hand on the bell-rope, and meant to call out John and -Harry, just as if she expected men-servants to answer her -ring.</p> -<p><a name="page157"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 157</span>We -all applauded this ingenious contrivance, and Miss Matty sank -back into satisfied silence, with a look at Mrs Forrester as if -to ask for <i>her</i> private weakness.</p> -<p>Mrs Forrester looked askance at Miss Pole, and tried to change -the subject a little by telling us that she had borrowed a boy -from one of the neighbouring cottages and promised his parents a -hundredweight of coals at Christmas, and his supper every -evening, for the loan of him at nights. She had instructed -him in his possible duties when he first came; and, finding him -sensible, she had given him the Major’s sword (the Major -was her late husband), and desired him to put it very carefully -behind his pillow at night, turning the edge towards the head of -the pillow. He was a sharp lad, she was sure; for, spying -out the Major’s cocked hat, he had said, if he might have -that to wear, he was sure he could frighten two Englishmen, or -four Frenchmen any day. But she had impressed upon him anew -that he was to lose no time in putting on hats or anything else; -but, if he heard any noise, he was to run at it with his drawn -sword. On my suggesting that some accident might occur from -such slaughterous and indiscriminate directions, and that he -might rush on Jenny getting up to wash, and have spitted her -before he had discovered that she was not a Frenchman, Mrs -Forrester said she did not think that that was likely, for he was -a very sound sleeper, and generally had to be well shaken or -cold-pigged in a morning before they could rouse him. She -sometimes thought such dead sleep must be owing to the hearty -suppers the poor lad ate, for he was <a name="page158"></a><span -class="pagenum">p. 158</span>half-starved at home, and she told -Jenny to see that he got a good meal at night.</p> -<p style="text-align: center"> -<a href="images/p157b.jpg"> -<img alt= -"Slaughterous and indiscriminate directions" -title= -"Slaughterous and indiscriminate directions" -src="images/p157s.jpg" /> -</a></p> -<p>Still this was no confession of Mrs Forrester’s peculiar -timidity, and we urged her to tell us what she thought would -frighten her more than anything. She paused, and stirred -the fire, and snuffed the candles, and then she said, in a -sounding whisper—</p> -<p>“Ghosts!”</p> -<p>She looked at Miss Pole, as much as to say, she had declared -it, and would stand by it. Such a look was a challenge in -itself. Miss Pole came down upon her with indigestion, -spectral illusions, optical delusions, and a great deal out of Dr -Ferrier and Dr Hibbert besides. Miss Matty had rather a -leaning to ghosts, as I have mentioned before, and what little -she did say was all on Mrs Forrester’s side, who, -emboldened by sympathy, protested that ghosts were a part of her -religion; that surely she, the widow of a major in the army, knew -what to be frightened at, and what not; in short, I never saw Mrs -Forrester so warm either before or since, for she was a gentle, -meek, enduring old lady in most things. Not all the -elder-wine that ever was mulled could this night wash out the -remembrance of this difference between Miss Pole and her -hostess. Indeed, when the elder-wine was brought in, it -gave rise to a new burst of discussion; for Jenny, the little -maiden who staggered under the tray, had to give evidence of -having seen a ghost with her own eyes, not so many nights ago, in -Darkness Lane, the very lane we were to go through on our way -home.</p> -<p>In spite of the uncomfortable feeling which this last -consideration gave me, I could not help being <a -name="page159"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 159</span>amused at -Jenny’s position, which was exceedingly like that of a -witness being examined and cross-examined by two counsel who are -not at all scrupulous about asking leading questions. The -conclusion I arrived at was, that Jenny had certainly seen -something beyond what a fit of indigestion would have -caused. A lady all in white, and without her head, was what -she deposed and adhered to, supported by a consciousness of the -secret sympathy of her mistress under the withering scorn with -which Miss Pole regarded her. And not only she, but many -others, had seen this headless lady, who sat by the roadside -wringing her hands as in deep grief. Mrs Forrester looked -at us from time to time with an air of conscious triumph; but -then she had not to pass through Darkness Lane before she could -bury herself beneath her own familiar bed-clothes.</p> -<p>We preserved a discreet silence as to the headless lady while -we were putting on our things to go home, for there was no -knowing how near the ghostly head and ears might be, or what -spiritual connection they might be keeping up with the unhappy -body in Darkness Lane; and, therefore, even Miss Pole felt that -it was as well not to speak lightly on such subjects, for fear of -vexing or insulting that woebegone trunk. At least, so I -conjecture; for, instead of the busy clatter usual in the -operation, we tied on our cloaks as sadly as mutes at a -funeral. Miss Matty drew the curtains round the windows of -the chair to shut out disagreeable sights, and the men (either -because they were in spirits that their labours were so nearly -ended, or <a name="page160"></a><span class="pagenum">p. -160</span>because they were going down hill), set off at such a -round and merry pace, that it was all Miss Pole and I could do to -keep up with them. She had breath for nothing beyond an -imploring “Don’t leave me!” uttered as she -clutched my arm so tightly that I could not have quitted her, -ghost or no ghost. What a relief it was when the men, weary -of their burden and their quick trot, stopped just where -Headingley Causeway branches off from Darkness Lane! Miss -Pole unloosed me and caught at one of the men—</p> -<p>“Could not you—could not you take Miss Matty round -by Headingley Causeway?—the pavement in Darkness Lane jolts -so, and she is not very strong.”</p> -<p>A smothered voice was heard from the inside of the -chair—</p> -<p>“Oh! pray go on! What is the matter? What is -the matter? I will give you sixpence more to go on very -fast; pray don’t stop here.”</p> -<p>“And I’ll give you a shilling,” said Miss -Pole, with tremulous dignity, “if you’ll go by -Headingley Causeway.”</p> -<p>The two men grunted acquiescence and took up the chair, and -went along the causeway, which certainly answered Miss -Pole’s kind purpose of saving Miss Matty’s bones; for -it was covered with soft, thick mud, and even a fall there would -have been easy till the getting-up came, when there might have -been some difficulty in extrication. -<a name="page161"></a><span class="pagenum">p. -161</span></p><div class='chapter' /><h2>CHAPTER XI—SAMUEL BROWN</h2> -<p><span class="smcap">The</span> next morning I met Lady -Glenmire and Miss Pole setting out on a long walk to find some -old woman who was famous in the neighbourhood for her skill in -knitting woollen stockings. Miss Pole said to me, with a -smile half-kindly and half-contemptuous upon her countenance, -“I have been just telling Lady Glenmire of our poor friend -Mrs Forrester, and her terror of ghosts. It comes from -living so much alone, and listening to the bug-a-boo stories of -that Jenny of hers.” She was so calm and so much -above superstitious fears herself that I was almost ashamed to -say how glad I had been of her Headingley Causeway proposition -the night before, and turned off the conversation to something -else.</p> -<p>In the afternoon Miss Pole called on Miss Matty to tell her of -the adventure—the real adventure they had met with on their -morning’s walk. They had been perplexed about the -exact path which they were to take across the fields in order to -find the knitting old woman, and had stopped to inquire at a -little wayside public-house, standing on the high road to London, -about three miles from Cranford. <a -name="page162"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 162</span>The good -woman had asked them to sit down and rest themselves while she -fetched her husband, who could direct them better than she could; -and, while they were sitting in the sanded parlour, a little girl -came in. They thought that she belonged to the landlady, -and began some trifling conversation with her; but, on Mrs -Roberts’s return, she told them that the little thing was -the only child of a couple who were staying in the house. -And then she began a long story, out of which Lady Glenmire and -Miss Pole could only gather one or two decided facts, which were -that, about six weeks ago, a light spring-cart had broken down -just before their door, in which there were two men, one woman, -and this child. One of the men was seriously hurt—no -bones broken, only “shaken,” the landlady called it; -but he had probably sustained some severe internal injury, for he -had languished in their house ever since, attended by his wife, -the mother of this little girl. Miss Pole had asked what he -was, what he looked like. And Mrs Roberts had made answer -that he was not like a gentleman, nor yet like a common person; -if it had not been that he and his wife were such decent, quiet -people, she could almost have thought he was a mountebank, or -something of that kind, for they had a great box in the cart, -full of she did not know what. She had helped to unpack it, -and take out their linen and clothes, when the other -man—his twin-brother, she believed he was—had gone -off with the horse and cart.</p> -<p>Miss Pole had begun to have her suspicions at this point, and -expressed her idea that it was rather strange that the box and -cart and horse and all should <a name="page163"></a><span -class="pagenum">p. 163</span>have disappeared; but good Mrs -Roberts seemed to have become quite indignant at Miss -Pole’s implied suggestion; in fact, Miss Pole said she was -as angry as if Miss Pole had told her that she herself was a -swindler. As the best way of convincing the ladies, she -bethought her of begging them to see the wife; and, as Miss Pole -said, there was no doubting the honest, worn, bronzed face of the -woman, who at the first tender word from Lady Glenmire, burst -into tears, which she was too weak to check until some word from -the landlady made her swallow down her sobs, in order that she -might testify to the Christian kindness shown by Mr and Mrs -Roberts. Miss Pole came round with a swing to as vehement a -belief in the sorrowful tale as she had been sceptical before; -and, as a proof of this, her energy in the poor sufferer’s -behalf was nothing daunted when she found out that he, and no -other, was our Signor Brunoni, to whom all Cranford had been -attributing all manner of evil this six weeks past! Yes! -his wife said his proper name was Samuel -Brown—“Sam,” she called him—but to the -last we preferred calling him “the Signor”; it -sounded so much better.</p> -<p>The end of their conversation with the Signora Brunoni was -that it was agreed that he should be placed under medical advice, -and for any expense incurred in procuring this Lady Glenmire -promised to hold herself responsible, and had accordingly gone to -Mr Hoggins to beg him to ride over to the “Rising -Sun” that very afternoon, and examine into the -signor’s real state; and, as Miss Pole said, if it was -desirable to remove him to Cranford to be more immediately under -Mr Hoggins’s eye, she would <a name="page164"></a><span -class="pagenum">p. 164</span>undertake to see for lodgings and -arrange about the rent. Mrs Roberts had been as kind as -could be all throughout, but it was evident that their long -residence there had been a slight inconvenience.</p> -<p>Before Miss Pole left us, Miss Matty and I were as full of the -morning’s adventure as she was. We talked about it -all the evening, turning it in every possible light, and we went -to bed anxious for the morning, when we should surely hear from -someone what Mr Hoggins thought and recommended; for, as Miss -Matty observed, though Mr Hoggins did say “Jack’s -up,” “a fig for his heels,” and called -Preference “Pref.” she believed he was a very worthy -man and a very clever surgeon. Indeed, we were rather proud -of our doctor at Cranford, as a doctor. We often wished, -when we heard of Queen Adelaide or the Duke of Wellington being -ill, that they would send for Mr Hoggins; but, on consideration, -we were rather glad they did not, for, if we were ailing, what -should we do if Mr Hoggins had been appointed -physician-in-ordinary to the Royal Family? As a surgeon we -were proud of him; but as a man—or rather, I should say, as -a gentleman—we could only shake our heads over his name and -himself, and wished that he had read Lord Chesterfield’s -Letters in the days when his manners were susceptible of -improvement. Nevertheless, we all regarded his dictum in -the signor’s case as infallible, and when he said that with -care and attention he might rally, we had no more fear for -him.</p> -<p>But, although we had no more fear, everybody did as much as if -there was great cause for anxiety—as indeed there was until -Mr Hoggins took charge of <a name="page165"></a><span -class="pagenum">p. 165</span>him. Miss Pole looked out -clean and comfortable, if homely, lodgings; Miss Matty sent the -sedan-chair for him, and Martha and I aired it well before it -left Cranford by holding a warming-pan full of red-hot coals in -it, and then shutting it up close, smoke and all, until the time -when he should get into it at the “Rising Sun.” -Lady Glenmire undertook the medical department under Mr -Hoggins’s directions, and rummaged up all Mrs -Jamieson’s medicine glasses, and spoons, and bed-tables, in -a free-and-easy way, that made Miss Matty feel a little anxious -as to what that lady and Mr Mulliner might say, if they -knew. Mrs Forrester made some of the bread-jelly, for which -she was so famous, to have ready as a refreshment in the lodgings -when he should arrive. A present of this bread-jelly was -the highest mark of favour dear Mrs Forrester could confer. -Miss Pole had once asked her for the receipt, but she had met -with a very decided rebuff; that lady told her that she could not -part with it to any one during her life, and that after her death -it was bequeathed, as her executors would find, to Miss -Matty. What Miss Matty, or, as Mrs Forrester called her -(remembering the clause in her will and the dignity of the -occasion), Miss Matilda Jenkyns—might choose to do with the -receipt when it came into her possession—whether to make it -public, or to hand it down as an heirloom—she did not know, -nor would she dictate. And a mould of this admirable, -digestible, unique bread-jelly was sent by Mrs Forrester to our -poor sick conjuror. Who says that the aristocracy are -proud? Here was a lady by birth a Tyrrell, and descended -from the great Sir Walter that shot King Rufus, and in whose -veins ran the <a name="page166"></a><span class="pagenum">p. -166</span>blood of him who murdered the little princes in the -Tower, going every day to see what dainty dishes she could -prepare for Samuel Brown, a mountebank! But, indeed, it was -wonderful to see what kind feelings were called out by this poor -man’s coming amongst us. And also wonderful to see -how the great Cranford panic, which had been occasioned by his -first coming in his Turkish dress, melted away into thin air on -his second coming—pale and feeble, and with his heavy, -filmy eyes, that only brightened a very little when they fell -upon the countenance of his faithful wife, or their pale and -sorrowful little girl.</p> -<p>Somehow we all forgot to be afraid. I daresay it was -that finding out that he, who had first excited our love of the -marvellous by his unprecedented arts, had not sufficient -every-day gifts to manage a shying horse, made us feel as if we -were ourselves again. Miss Pole came with her little basket -at all hours of the evening, as if her lonely house and the -unfrequented road to it had never been infested by that -“murderous gang”; Mrs Forrester said she thought that -neither Jenny nor she need mind the headless lady who wept and -wailed in Darkness Lane, for surely the power was never given to -such beings to harm those who went about to try to do what little -good was in their power, to which Jenny tremblingly assented; but -the mistress’s theory had little effect on the maid’s -practice until she had sewn two pieces of red flannel in the -shape of a cross on her inner garment.</p> -<p>I found Miss Matty covering her penny ball—the ball that -she used to roll under her bed—with gay-coloured worsted in -rainbow stripes.</p> -<p><a name="page167"></a><span class="pagenum">p. -167</span>“My dear,” said she, “my heart is sad -for that little careworn child. Although her father is a -conjuror, she looks as if she had never had a good game of play -in her life. I used to make very pretty balls in this way -when I was a girl, and I thought I would try if I could not make -this one smart and take it to Phoebe this afternoon. I -think ‘the gang’ must have left the neighbourhood, -for one does not hear any more of their violence and robbery -now.”</p> -<p>We were all of us far too full of the signor’s -precarious state to talk either about robbers or ghosts. -Indeed, Lady Glenmire said she never had heard of any actual -robberies, except that two little boys had stolen some apples -from Farmer Benson’s orchard, and that some eggs had been -missed on a market-day off Widow Hayward’s stall. But -that was expecting too much of us; we could not acknowledge that -we had only had this small foundation for all our panic. -Miss Pole drew herself up at this remark of Lady -Glenmire’s, and said “that she wished she could agree -with her as to the very small reason we had had for alarm, but -with the recollection of a man disguised as a woman who had -endeavoured to force himself into her house while his -confederates waited outside; with the knowledge gained from Lady -Glenmire herself, of the footprints seen on Mrs Jamieson’s -flower borders; with the fact before her of the audacious robbery -committed on Mr Hoggins at his own door”—But here -Lady Glenmire broke in with a very strong expression of doubt as -to whether this last story was not an entire fabrication founded -upon the theft of a cat; she grew <a name="page168"></a><span -class="pagenum">p. 168</span>so red while she was saying all this -that I was not surprised at Miss Pole’s manner of bridling -up, and I am certain, if Lady Glenmire had not been “her -ladyship,” we should have had a more emphatic contradiction -than the “Well, to be sure!” and similar fragmentary -ejaculations, which were all that she ventured upon in my -lady’s presence. But when she was gone Miss Pole -began a long congratulation to Miss Matty that so far they had -escaped marriage, which she noticed always made people credulous -to the last degree; indeed, she thought it argued great natural -credulity in a woman if she could not keep herself from being -married; and in what Lady Glenmire had said about Mr -Hoggins’s robbery we had a specimen of what people came to -if they gave way to such a weakness; evidently Lady Glenmire -would swallow anything if she could believe the poor vamped-up -story about a neck of mutton and a pussy with which he had tried -to impose on Miss Pole, only she had always been on her guard -against believing too much of what men said.</p> -<p>We were thankful, as Miss Pole desired us to be, that we had -never been married; but I think, of the two, we were even more -thankful that the robbers had left Cranford; at least I judge so -from a speech of Miss Matty’s that evening, as we sat over -the fire, in which she evidently looked upon a husband as a great -protector against thieves, burglars, and ghosts; and said that -she did not think that she should dare to be always warning young -people against matrimony, as Miss Pole did continually; to be -sure, marriage was a risk, as she saw, now she had had some -experience; but she remembered the <a name="page169"></a><span -class="pagenum">p. 169</span>time when she had looked forward to -being married as much as any one.</p> -<p>“Not to any particular person, my dear,” said she, -hastily checking herself up, as if she were afraid of having -admitted too much; “only the old story, you know, of ladies -always saying, ‘<i>When</i> I marry,’ and gentlemen, -‘<i>If</i> I marry.’” It was a joke -spoken in rather a sad tone, and I doubt if either of us smiled; -but I could not see Miss Matty’s face by the flickering -fire-light. In a little while she continued—</p> -<p>“But, after all, I have not told you the truth. It -is so long ago, and no one ever knew how much I thought of it at -the time, unless, indeed, my dear mother guessed; but I may say -that there was a time when I did not think I should have been -only Miss Matty Jenkyns all my life; for even if I did meet with -any one who wished to marry me now (and, as Miss Pole says, one -is never too safe), I could not take him—I hope he would -not take it too much to heart, but I could <i>not</i> take -him—or any one but the person I once thought I should be -married to; and he is dead and gone, and he never knew how it all -came about that I said ‘No,’ when I had thought many -and many a time—Well, it’s no matter what I -thought. God ordains it all, and I am very happy, my -dear. No one has such kind friends as I,” continued -she, taking my hand and holding it in hers.</p> -<p>If I had never known of Mr Holbrook, I could have said -something in this pause, but as I had, I could not think of -anything that would come in naturally, and so we both kept -silence for a little time.</p> -<p>“My father once made us,” she began, “keep a -<a name="page170"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 170</span>diary, -in two columns; on one side we were to put down in the morning -what we thought would be the course and events of the coming day, -and at night we were to put down on the other side what really -had happened. It would be to some people rather a sad way -of telling their lives,” (a tear dropped upon my hand at -these words)—“I don’t mean that mine has been -sad, only so very different to what I expected. I remember, -one winter’s evening, sitting over our bedroom fire with -Deborah—I remember it as if it were yesterday—and we -were planning our future lives, both of us were planning, though -only she talked about it. She said she should like to marry -an archdeacon, and write his charges; and you know, my dear, she -never was married, and, for aught I know, she never spoke to an -unmarried archdeacon in her life. I never was ambitious, -nor could I have written charges, but I thought I could manage a -house (my mother used to call me her right hand), and I was -always so fond of little children—the shyest babies would -stretch out their little arms to come to me; when I was a girl, I -was half my leisure time nursing in the neighbouring cottages; -but I don’t know how it was, when I grew sad and -grave—which I did a year or two after this time—the -little things drew back from me, and I am afraid I lost the -knack, though I am just as fond of children as ever, and have a -strange yearning at my heart whenever I see a mother with her -baby in her arms. Nay, my dear” (and by a sudden -blaze which sprang up from a fall of the unstirred coals, I saw -that her eyes were full of tears—gazing intently on some -vision of what might have been), “do you know I dream -sometimes <a name="page171"></a><span class="pagenum">p. -171</span>that I have a little child—always the -same—a little girl of about two years old; she never grows -older, though I have dreamt about her for many years. I -don’t think I ever dream of any words or sound she makes; -she is very noiseless and still, but she comes to me when she is -very sorry or very glad, and I have wakened with the clasp of her -dear little arms round my neck. Only last -night—perhaps because I had gone to sleep thinking of this -ball for Phoebe—my little darling came in my dream, and put -up her mouth to be kissed, just as I have seen real babies do to -real mothers before going to bed. But all this is nonsense, -dear! only don’t be frightened by Miss Pole from being -married. I can fancy it may be a very happy state, and a -little credulity helps one on through life very -smoothly—better than always doubting and doubting and -seeing difficulties and disagreeables in everything.”</p> -<p style="text-align: center"> -<a href="images/p170b.jpg"> -<img alt= -"Would stretch out their little arms" -title= -"Would stretch out their little arms" -src="images/p170s.jpg" /> -</a></p> -<p>If I had been inclined to be daunted from matrimony, it would -not have been Miss Pole to do it; it would have been the lot of -poor Signor Brunoni and his wife. And yet again, it was an -encouragement to see how, through all their cares and sorrows, -they thought of each other and not of themselves; and how keen -were their joys, if they only passed through each other, or -through the little Phoebe.</p> -<p>The signora told me, one day, a good deal about their lives up -to this period. It began by my asking her whether Miss -Pole’s story of the twin-brothers were true; it sounded so -wonderful a likeness, that I should have had my doubts, if Miss -Pole had not been unmarried. But the signora, or (as we -found <a name="page172"></a><span class="pagenum">p. -172</span>out she preferred to be called) Mrs Brown, said it was -quite true; that her brother-in-law was by many taken for her -husband, which was of great assistance to them in their -profession; “though,” she continued, “how -people can mistake Thomas for the real Signor Brunoni, I -can’t conceive; but he says they do; so I suppose I must -believe him. Not but what he is a very good man; I am sure -I don’t know how we should have paid our bill at the -‘Rising Sun’ but for the money he sends; but people -must know very little about art if they can take him for my -husband. Why, Miss, in the ball trick, where my husband -spreads his fingers wide, and throws out his little finger with -quite an air and a grace, Thomas just clumps up his hand like a -fist, and might have ever so many balls hidden in it. -Besides, he has never been in India, and knows nothing of the -proper sit of a turban.”</p> -<p>“Have you been in India?” said I, rather -astonished.</p> -<p>“Oh, yes! many a year, ma’am. Sam was a -sergeant in the 31st; and when the regiment was ordered to India, -I drew a lot to go, and I was more thankful than I can tell; for -it seemed as if it would only be a slow death to me to part from -my husband. But, indeed, ma’am, if I had known all, I -don’t know whether I would not rather have died there and -then than gone through what I have done since. To be sure, -I’ve been able to comfort Sam, and to be with him; but, -ma’am, I’ve lost six children,” said she, -looking up at me with those strange eyes that I’ve never -noticed but in mothers of dead children—with a kind of wild -look in them, as if seeking for what <a name="page173"></a><span -class="pagenum">p. 173</span>they never more might find. -“Yes! Six children died off, like little buds nipped -untimely, in that cruel India. I thought, as each died, I -never could—I never would—love a child again; and -when the next came, it had not only its own love, but the deeper -love that came from the thoughts of its little dead brothers and -sisters. And when Phoebe was coming, I said to my husband, -‘Sam, when the child is born, and I am strong, I shall -leave you; it will cut my heart cruel; but if this baby dies too, -I shall go mad; the madness is in me now; but if you let me go -down to Calcutta, carrying my baby step by step, it will, maybe, -work itself off; and I will save, and I will hoard, and I will -beg—and I will die, to get a passage home to England, where -our baby may live?’ God bless him! he said I might -go; and he saved up his pay, and I saved every pice I could get -for washing or any way; and when Phoebe came, and I grew strong -again, I set off. It was very lonely; through the thick -forests, dark again with their heavy trees—along by the -river’s side (but I had been brought up near the Avon in -Warwickshire, so that flowing noise sounded like home)—from -station to station, from Indian village to village, I went along, -carrying my child. I had seen one of the officer’s -ladies with a little picture, ma’am—done by a -Catholic foreigner, ma’am—of the Virgin and the -little Saviour, ma’am. She had him on her arm, and -her form was softly curled round him, and their cheeks -touched. Well, when I went to bid good-bye to this lady, -for whom I had washed, she cried sadly; for she, too, had lost -her children, but she had not another to save, like me; and I was -bold enough to ask her would she <a name="page174"></a><span -class="pagenum">p. 174</span>give me that print. And she -cried the more, and said her children were with that little -blessed Jesus; and gave it me, and told me that she had heard it -had been painted on the bottom of a cask, which made it have that -round shape. And when my body was very weary, and my heart -was sick (for there were times when I misdoubted if I could ever -reach my home, and there were times when I thought of my husband, -and one time when I thought my baby was dying), I took out that -picture and looked at it, till I could have thought the mother -spoke to me, and comforted me. And the natives were very -kind. We could not understand one another; but they saw my -baby on my breast, and they came out to me, and brought me rice -and milk, and sometimes flowers—I have got some of the -flowers dried. Then, the next morning, I was so tired; and -they wanted me to stay with them—I could tell -that—and tried to frighten me from going into the deep -woods, which, indeed, looked very strange and dark; but it seemed -to me as if Death was following me to take my baby away from me; -and as if I must go on, and on—and I thought how God had -cared for mothers ever since the world was made, and would care -for me; so I bade them good-bye, and set off afresh. And -once when my baby was ill, and both she and I needed rest, He led -me to a place where I found a kind Englishman lived, right in the -midst of the natives.”</p> -<p>“And you reached Calcutta safely at last?”</p> -<p>“Yes, safely! Oh! when I knew I had only two -days’ journey more before me, I could not help it, -ma’am—it might be idolatry, I cannot tell—but I -was near one of the native temples, and I went into <a -name="page175"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 175</span>it with my -baby to thank God for His great mercy; for it seemed to me that -where others had prayed before to their God, in their joy or in -their agony, was of itself a sacred place. And I got as -servant to an invalid lady, who grew quite fond of my baby -aboard-ship; and, in two years’ time, Sam earned his -discharge, and came home to me, and to our child. Then he -had to fix on a trade; but he knew of none; and once, once upon a -time, he had learnt some tricks from an Indian juggler; so he set -up conjuring, and it answered so well that he took Thomas to help -him—as his man, you know, not as another conjuror, though -Thomas has set it up now on his own hook. But it has been a -great help to us that likeness between the twins, and made a good -many tricks go off well that they made up together. And -Thomas is a good brother, only he has not the fine carriage of my -husband, so that I can’t think how he can be taken for -Signor Brunoni himself, as he says he is.”</p> -<p>“Poor little Phoebe!” said I, my thoughts going -back to the baby she carried all those hundred miles.</p> -<p>“Ah! you may say so! I never thought I should have -reared her, though, when she fell ill at Chunderabaddad; but that -good, kind Aga Jenkyns took us in, which I believe was the very -saving of her.”</p> -<p>“Jenkyns!” said I.</p> -<p>“Yes, Jenkyns. I shall think all people of that -name are kind; for here is that nice old lady who comes every day -to take Phoebe a walk!”</p> -<p>But an idea had flashed through my head; <a -name="page176"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 176</span>could the -Aga Jenkyns be the lost Peter? True he was reported by many -to be dead. But, equally true, some had said that he had -arrived at the dignity of Great Lama of Thibet. Miss Matty -thought he was alive. I would make further inquiry.</p> -<div class='chapter' /><h2><a name="page177"></a><span class="pagenum">p. -177</span>CHAPTER XII—ENGAGED TO BE MARRIED</h2> -<p><span class="smcap">Was</span> the “poor Peter” of -Cranford the Aga Jenkyns of Chunderabaddad, or was he not? -As somebody says, that was the question.</p> -<p>In my own home, whenever people had nothing else to do, they -blamed me for want of discretion. Indiscretion was my -bug-bear fault. Everybody has a bug-bear fault, a sort of -standing characteristic—a <i>pièce de -résistance</i> for their friends to cut at; and in general -they cut and come again. I was tired of being called -indiscreet and incautious; and I determined for once to prove -myself a model of prudence and wisdom. I would not even -hint my suspicions respecting the Aga. I would collect -evidence and carry it home to lay before my father, as the family -friend of the two Miss Jenkynses.</p> -<p>In my search after facts, I was often reminded of a -description my father had once given of a ladies’ committee -that he had had to preside over. He said he could not help -thinking of a passage in Dickens, which spoke of a chorus in -which every man took the tune he knew best, and sang it to his -own satisfaction. So, at this charitable committee, every -lady took the subject uppermost in her mind, and talked <a -name="page178"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 178</span>about it to -her own great contentment, but not much to the advancement of the -subject they had met to discuss. But even that committee -could have been nothing to the Cranford ladies when I attempted -to gain some clear and definite information as to poor -Peter’s height, appearance, and when and where he was seen -and heard of last. For instance, I remember asking Miss -Pole (and I thought the question was very opportune, for I put it -when I met her at a call at Mrs Forrester’s, and both the -ladies had known Peter, and I imagined that they might refresh -each other’s memories)—I asked Miss Pole what was the -very last thing they had ever heard about him; and then she named -the absurd report to which I have alluded, about his having been -elected Great Lama of Thibet; and this was a signal for each lady -to go off on her separate idea. Mrs Forrester’s start -was made on the veiled prophet in Lalla Rookh—whether I -thought he was meant for the Great Lama, though Peter was not so -ugly, indeed rather handsome, if he had not been freckled. -I was thankful to see her double upon Peter; but, in a moment, -the delusive lady was off upon Rowland’s Kalydor, and the -merits of cosmetics and hair oils in general, and holding forth -so fluently that I turned to listen to Miss Pole, who (through -the llamas, the beasts of burden) had got to Peruvian bonds, and -the share market, and her poor opinion of joint-stock banks in -general, and of that one in particular in which Miss -Matty’s money was invested. In vain I put in -“When was it—in what year was it that you heard that -Mr Peter was the Great Lama?” They only joined issue -to dispute whether llamas <a name="page179"></a><span -class="pagenum">p. 179</span>were carnivorous animals or not; in -which dispute they were not quite on fair grounds, as Mrs -Forrester (after they had grown warm and cool again) acknowledged -that she always confused carnivorous and graminivorous together, -just as she did horizontal and perpendicular; but then she -apologised for it very prettily, by saying that in her day the -only use people made of four-syllabled words was to teach how -they should be spelt.</p> -<p>The only fact I gained from this conversation was that -certainly Peter had last been heard of in India, “or that -neighbourhood”; and that this scanty intelligence of his -whereabouts had reached Cranford in the year when Miss Pole had -brought her Indian muslin gown, long since worn out (we washed it -and mended it, and traced its decline and fall into a -window-blind before we could go on); and in a year when Wombwell -came to Cranford, because Miss Matty had wanted to see an -elephant in order that she might the better imagine Peter riding -on one; and had seen a boa-constrictor too, which was more than -she wished to imagine in her fancy-pictures of Peter’s -locality; and in a year when Miss Jenkyns had learnt some piece -of poetry off by heart, and used to say, at all the Cranford -parties, how Peter was “surveying mankind from China to -Peru,” which everybody had thought very grand, and rather -appropriate, because India was between China and Peru, if you -took care to turn the globe to the left instead of the right.</p> -<p>I suppose all these inquiries of mine, and the consequent -curiosity excited in the minds of my <a name="page180"></a><span -class="pagenum">p. 180</span>friends, made us blind and deaf to -what was going on around us. It seemed to me as if the sun -rose and shone, and as if the rain rained on Cranford, just as -usual, and I did not notice any sign of the times that could be -considered as a prognostic of any uncommon event; and, to the -best of my belief, not only Miss Matty and Mrs Forrester, but -even Miss Pole herself, whom we looked upon as a kind of -prophetess, from the knack she had of foreseeing things before -they came to pass—although she did not like to disturb her -friends by telling them her foreknowledge—even Miss Pole -herself was breathless with astonishment when she came to tell us -of the astounding piece of news. But I must recover myself; -the contemplation of it, even at this distance of time, has taken -away my breath and my grammar, and unless I subdue my emotion, my -spelling will go too.</p> -<p>We were sitting—Miss Matty and I—much as usual, -she in the blue chintz easy-chair, with her back to the light, -and her knitting in her hand, I reading aloud the <i>St -James’s Chronicle</i>. A few minutes more, and we -should have gone to make the little alterations in dress usual -before calling-time (twelve o’clock) in Cranford. I -remember the scene and the date well. We had been talking -of the signor’s rapid recovery since the warmer weather had -set in, and praising Mr Hoggins’s skill, and lamenting his -want of refinement and manner (it seems a curious coincidence -that this should have been our subject, but so it was), when a -knock was heard—a caller’s knock—three distinct -taps—and we were flying (that is to say, Miss Matty could -not walk very fast, having <a name="page181"></a><span -class="pagenum">p. 181</span>had a touch of rheumatism) to our -rooms, to change cap and collars, when Miss Pole arrested us by -calling out, as she came up the stairs, “Don’t -go—I can’t wait—it is not twelve, I -know—but never mind your dress—I must speak to -you.” We did our best to look as if it was not we who -had made the hurried movement, the sound of which she had heard; -for, of course, we did not like to have it supposed that we had -any old clothes that it was convenient to wear out in the -“sanctuary of home,” as Miss Jenkyns once prettily -called the back parlour, where she was tying up preserves. -So we threw our gentility with double force into our manners, and -very genteel we were for two minutes while Miss Pole recovered -breath, and excited our curiosity strongly by lifting up her -hands in amazement, and bringing them down in silence, as if what -she had to say was too big for words, and could only be expressed -by pantomime.</p> -<p>“What do you think, Miss Matty? What <i>do</i> you -think? Lady Glenmire is to marry—is to be married, I -mean—Lady Glenmire—Mr Hoggins—Mr Hoggins is -going to marry Lady Glenmire!”</p> -<p>“Marry!” said we. “Marry! -Madness!”</p> -<p style="text-align: center"> -<a href="images/p179b.jpg"> -<img alt= -"What do you think, Miss Matty" -title= -"What do you think, Miss Matty" -src="images/p179s.jpg" /> -</a></p> -<p>“Marry!” said Miss Pole, with the decision that -belonged to her character. “<i>I</i> said marry! as -you do; and I also said, ‘What a fool my lady is going to -make of herself!’ I could have said -‘Madness!’ but I controlled myself, for it was in a -public shop that I heard of it. Where feminine delicacy is -gone to, I don’t know! You and I, Miss Matty, would -have been ashamed to have known that our marriage was spoken of -in a grocer’s shop, in the hearing of shopmen!”</p> -<p><a name="page182"></a><span class="pagenum">p. -182</span>“But,” said Miss Matty, sighing as one -recovering from a blow, “perhaps it is not true. -Perhaps we are doing her injustice.”</p> -<p>“No,” said Miss Pole. “I have taken -care to ascertain that. I went straight to Mrs Fitz-Adam, -to borrow a cookery-book which I knew she had; and I introduced -my congratulations <i>à propos</i> of the difficulty -gentlemen must have in house-keeping; and Mrs Fitz-Adam bridled -up, and said that she believed it was true, though how and where -I could have heard it she did not know. She said her -brother and Lady Glenmire had come to an understanding at -last. ‘Understanding!’ such a coarse -word! But my lady will have to come down to many a want of -refinement. I have reason to believe Mr Hoggins sups on -bread-and-cheese and beer every night.</p> -<p>“Marry!” said Miss Matty once again. -“Well! I never thought of it. Two people that -we know going to be married. It’s coming very -near!”</p> -<p>“So near that my heart stopped beating when I heard of -it, while you might have counted twelve,” said Miss -Pole.</p> -<p>“One does not know whose turn may come next. Here, -in Cranford, poor Lady Glenmire might have thought herself -safe,” said Miss Matty, with a gentle pity in her -tones.</p> -<p>“Bah!” said Miss Pole, with a toss of her -head. “Don’t you remember poor dear Captain -Brown’s song ‘Tibbie Fowler,’ and the -line—</p> -<blockquote><p>‘Set her on the Tintock tap,<br /> -The wind will blaw a man till her.’”</p> -</blockquote> -<p><a name="page183"></a><span class="pagenum">p. -183</span>“That was because ‘Tibbie Fowler’ was -rich, I think.”</p> -<p>“Well! there was a kind of attraction about Lady -Glenmire that I, for one, should be ashamed to have.”</p> -<p>I put in my wonder. “But how can she have fancied -Mr Hoggins? I am not surprised that Mr Hoggins has liked -her.”</p> -<p>“Oh! I don’t know. Mr Hoggins is rich, -and very pleasant-looking,” said Miss Matty, “and -very good-tempered and kind-hearted.”</p> -<p>“She has married for an establishment, that’s -it. I suppose she takes the surgery with it,” said -Miss Pole, with a little dry laugh at her own joke. But, -like many people who think they have made a severe and sarcastic -speech, which yet is clever of its kind, she began to relax in -her grimness from the moment when she made this allusion to the -surgery; and we turned to speculate on the way in which Mrs -Jamieson would receive the news. The person whom she had -left in charge of her house to keep off followers from her maids -to set up a follower of her own! And that follower a man -whom Mrs Jamieson had tabooed as vulgar, and inadmissible to -Cranford society, not merely on account of his name, but because -of his voice, his complexion, his boots, smelling of the stable, -and himself, smelling of drugs. Had he ever been to see -Lady Glenmire at Mrs Jamieson’s? Chloride of lime -would not purify the house in its owner’s estimation if he -had. Or had their interviews been confined to the -occasional meetings in the chamber of the poor sick conjuror, to -whom, with all our sense of the <i>mésalliance</i>, we -could <a name="page184"></a><span class="pagenum">p. -184</span>not help allowing that they had both been exceedingly -kind? And now it turned out that a servant of Mrs -Jamieson’s had been ill, and Mr Hoggins had been attending -her for some weeks. So the wolf had got into the fold, and -now he was carrying off the shepherdess. What would Mrs -Jamieson say? We looked into the darkness of futurity as a -child gazes after a rocket up in the cloudy sky, full of -wondering expectation of the rattle, the discharge, and the -brilliant shower of sparks and light. Then we brought -ourselves down to earth and the present time by questioning each -other (being all equally ignorant, and all equally without the -slightest data to build any conclusions upon) as to when <span -class="gutsmall">IT</span> would take place? Where? -How much a year Mr Hoggins had? Whether she would drop her -title? And how Martha and the other correct servants in -Cranford would ever be brought to announce a married couple as -Lady Glenmire and Mr Hoggins? But would they be -visited? Would Mrs Jamieson let us? Or must we choose -between the Honourable Mrs Jamieson and the degraded Lady -Glenmire? We all liked Lady Glenmire the best. She -was bright, and kind, and sociable, and agreeable; and Mrs -Jamieson was dull, and inert, and pompous, and tiresome. -But we had acknowledged the sway of the latter so long, that it -seemed like a kind of disloyalty now even to meditate -disobedience to the prohibition we anticipated.</p> -<p>Mrs Forrester surprised us in our darned caps and patched -collars; and we forgot all about them in our eagerness to see how -she would bear the information, which we honourably left to Miss -Pole, to <a name="page185"></a><span class="pagenum">p. -185</span>impart, although, if we had been inclined to take -unfair advantage, we might have rushed in ourselves, for she had -a most out-of-place fit of coughing for five minutes after Mrs -Forrester entered the room. I shall never forget the -imploring expression of her eyes, as she looked at us over her -pocket-handkerchief. They said, as plain as words could -speak, “Don’t let Nature deprive me of the treasure -which is mine, although for a time I can make no use of -it.” And we did not.</p> -<p>Mrs Forrester’s surprise was equal to ours; and her -sense of injury rather greater, because she had to feel for her -Order, and saw more fully than we could do how such conduct -brought stains on the aristocracy.</p> -<p>When she and Miss Pole left us we endeavoured to subside into -calmness; but Miss Matty was really upset by the intelligence she -had heard. She reckoned it up, and it was more than fifteen -years since she had heard of any of her acquaintance going to be -married, with the one exception of Miss Jessie Brown; and, as she -said, it gave her quite a shock, and made her feel as if she -could not think what would happen next.</p> -<p>I don’t know whether it is a fancy of mine, or a real -fact, but I have noticed that, just after the announcement of an -engagement in any set, the unmarried ladies in that set flutter -out in an unusual gaiety and newness of dress, as much as to say, -in a tacit and unconscious manner, “We also are -spinsters.” Miss Matty and Miss Pole talked and -thought more about bonnets, gowns, caps, and shawls, during the -fortnight that succeeded this call, <a name="page186"></a><span -class="pagenum">p. 186</span>than I had known them do for years -before. But it might be the spring weather, for it was a -warm and pleasant March; and merinoes and beavers, and woollen -materials of all sorts were but ungracious receptacles of the -bright sun’s glancing rays. It had not been Lady -Glenmire’s dress that had won Mr Hoggins’s heart, for -she went about on her errands of kindness more shabby than -ever. Although in the hurried glimpses I caught of her at -church or elsewhere she appeared rather to shun meeting any of -her friends, her face seemed to have almost something of the -flush of youth in it; her lips looked redder and more trembling -full than in their old compressed state, and her eyes dwelt on -all things with a lingering light, as if she was learning to love -Cranford and its belongings. Mr Hoggins looked broad and -radiant, and creaked up the middle aisle at church in a brand-new -pair of top-boots—an audible, as well as visible, sign of -his purposed change of state; for the tradition went, that the -boots he had worn till now were the identical pair in which he -first set out on his rounds in Cranford twenty-five years ago; -only they had been new-pieced, high and low, top and bottom, heel -and sole, black leather and brown leather, more times than any -one could tell.</p> -<p>None of the ladies in Cranford chose to sanction the marriage -by congratulating either of the parties. We wished to -ignore the whole affair until our liege lady, Mrs Jamieson, -returned. Till she came back to give us our cue, we felt -that it would be better to consider the engagement in the same -light as the Queen of Spain’s legs—facts which -certainly existed, but the less said about the better. This -restraint <a name="page187"></a><span class="pagenum">p. -187</span>upon our tongues—for you see if we did not speak -about it to any of the parties concerned, how could we get -answers to the questions that we longed to ask?—was -beginning to be irksome, and our idea of the dignity of silence -was paling before our curiosity, when another direction was given -to our thoughts, by an announcement on the part of the principal -shopkeeper of Cranford, who ranged the trades from grocer and -cheesemonger to man-milliner, as occasion required, that the -spring fashions were arrived, and would be exhibited on the -following Tuesday at his rooms in High Street. Now Miss -Matty had been only waiting for this before buying herself a new -silk gown. I had offered, it is true, to send to Drumble -for patterns, but she had rejected my proposal, gently implying -that she had not forgotten her disappointment about the sea-green -turban. I was thankful that I was on the spot now, to -counteract the dazzling fascination of any yellow or scarlet -silk.</p> -<p>I must say a word or two here about myself. I have -spoken of my father’s old friendship for the Jenkyns -family; indeed, I am not sure if there was not some distant -relationship. He had willingly allowed me to remain all the -winter at Cranford, in consideration of a letter which Miss Matty -had written to him about the time of the panic, in which I -suspect she had exaggerated my powers and my bravery as a -defender of the house. But now that the days were longer -and more cheerful, he was beginning to urge the necessity of my -return; and I only delayed in a sort of odd forlorn hope that if -I could obtain any clear information, I might <a -name="page188"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 188</span>make the -account given by the signora of the Aga Jenkyns tally with that -of “poor Peter,” his appearance and disappearance, -which I had winnowed out of the conversation of Miss Pole and Mrs -Forrester. -<a name="page189"></a><span class="pagenum">p. -189</span></p><div class='chapter' /><h2>CHAPTER XIII—STOPPED PAYMENT</h2> -<p><span class="smcap">The</span> very Tuesday morning on which -Mr Johnson was going to show the fashions, the post-woman brought -two letters to the house. I say the post-woman, but I -should say the postman’s wife. He was a lame -shoemaker, a very clean, honest man, much respected in the town; -but he never brought the letters round except on unusual -occasions, such as Christmas Day or Good Friday; and on those -days the letters, which should have been delivered at eight in -the morning, did not make their appearance until two or three in -the afternoon, for every one liked poor Thomas, and gave him a -welcome on these festive occasions. He used to say, -“He was welly stawed wi’ eating, for there were three -or four houses where nowt would serve ’em but he must share -in their breakfast;” and by the time he had done his last -breakfast, he came to some other friend who was beginning dinner; -but come what might in the way of temptation, Tom was always -sober, civil, and smiling; and, as Miss Jenkyns used to say, it -was a lesson in patience, that she doubted not would call out -that precious quality in some <a name="page190"></a><span -class="pagenum">p. 190</span>minds, where, but for Thomas, it -might have lain dormant and undiscovered. Patience was -certainly very dormant in Miss Jenkyns’s mind. She -was always expecting letters, and always drumming on the table -till the post-woman had called or gone past. On Christmas -Day and Good Friday she drummed from breakfast till church, from -church-time till two o’clock—unless when the fire -wanted stirring, when she invariably knocked down the fire-irons, -and scolded Miss Matty for it. But equally certain was the -hearty welcome and the good dinner for Thomas; Miss Jenkyns -standing over him like a bold dragoon, questioning him as to his -children—what they were doing—what school they went -to; upbraiding him if another was likely to make its appearance, -but sending even the little babies the shilling and the mince-pie -which was her gift to all the children, with half-a-crown in -addition for both father and mother. The post was not half -of so much consequence to dear Miss Matty; but not for the world -would she have diminished Thomas’s welcome and his dole, -though I could see that she felt rather shy over the ceremony, -which had been regarded by Miss Jenkyns as a glorious opportunity -for giving advice and benefiting her fellow-creatures. Miss -Matty would steal the money all in a lump into his hand, as if -she were ashamed of herself. Miss Jenkyns gave him each -individual coin separate, with a “There! that’s for -yourself; that’s for Jenny,” etc. Miss Matty -would even beckon Martha out of the kitchen while he ate his -food: and once, to my knowledge, winked at its rapid -disappearance into a blue cotton pocket-handkerchief. Miss -Jenkyns almost scolded him if he <a name="page191"></a><span -class="pagenum">p. 191</span>did not leave a clean plate, however -heaped it might have been, and gave an injunction with every -mouthful.</p> -<p style="text-align: center"> -<a href="images/p190b.jpg"> -<img alt= -"Standing over him like a bold dragoon" -title= -"Standing over him like a bold dragoon" -src="images/p190s.jpg" /> -</a></p> -<p>I have wandered a long way from the two letters that awaited -us on the breakfast-table that Tuesday morning. Mine was -from my father. Miss Matty’s was printed. My -father’s was just a man’s letter; I mean it was very -dull, and gave no information beyond that he was well, that they -had had a good deal of rain, that trade was very stagnant, and -there were many disagreeable rumours afloat. He then asked -me if I knew whether Miss Matty still retained her shares in the -Town and County Bank, as there were very unpleasant reports about -it; though nothing more than he had always foreseen, and had -prophesied to Miss Jenkyns years ago, when she would invest their -little property in it—the only unwise step that clever -woman had ever taken, to his knowledge (the only time she ever -acted against his advice, I knew). However, if anything had -gone wrong, of course I was not to think of leaving Miss Matty -while I could be of any use, etc.</p> -<p>“Who is your letter from, my dear? Mine is a very -civil invitation, signed ‘Edwin Wilson,’ asking me to -attend an important meeting of the shareholders of the Town and -County Bank, to be held in Drumble, on Thursday the -twenty-first. I am sure, it is very attentive of them to -remember me.”</p> -<p>I did not like to hear of this “important -meeting,” for, though I did not know much about business, I -feared it confirmed what my father said: however, I thought, ill -news always came fast enough, so I resolved to say nothing about -my alarm, and merely <a name="page192"></a><span -class="pagenum">p. 192</span>told her that my father was well, -and sent his kind regards to her. She kept turning over and -admiring her letter. At last she spoke—</p> -<p>“I remember their sending one to Deborah just like this; -but that I did not wonder at, for everybody knew she was so -clear-headed. I am afraid I could not help them much; -indeed, if they came to accounts, I should be quite in the way, -for I never could do sums in my head. Deborah, I know, -rather wished to go, and went so far as to order a new bonnet for -the occasion: but when the time came she had a bad cold; so they -sent her a very polite account of what they had done. -Chosen a director, I think it was. Do you think they want -me to help them to choose a director? I am sure I should -choose your father at once!”</p> -<p>“My father has no shares in the bank,” said I.</p> -<p>“Oh, no! I remember. He objected very much -to Deborah’s buying any, I believe. But she was quite -the woman of business, and always judged for herself; and here, -you see, they have paid eight per cent. all these -years.”</p> -<p>It was a very uncomfortable subject to me, with my -half-knowledge; so I thought I would change the conversation, and -I asked at what time she thought we had better go and see the -fashions. “Well, my dear,” she said, “the -thing is this: it is not etiquette to go till after twelve; but -then, you see, all Cranford will be there, and one does not like -to be too curious about dress and trimmings and caps with all the -world looking on. It is never genteel to be over-curious on -these occasions. Deborah had the knack of always looking as -if the latest fashion was <a name="page193"></a><span -class="pagenum">p. 193</span>nothing new to her; a manner she had -caught from Lady Arley, who did see all the new modes in London, -you know. So I thought we would just slip down—for I -do want this morning, soon after breakfast half-a-pound of -tea—and then we could go up and examine the things at our -leisure, and see exactly how my new silk gown must be made; and -then, after twelve, we could go with our minds disengaged, and -free from thoughts of dress.”</p> -<p>We began to talk of Miss Matty’s new silk gown. I -discovered that it would be really the first time in her life -that she had had to choose anything of consequence for herself: -for Miss Jenkyns had always been the more decided character, -whatever her taste might have been; and it is astonishing how -such people carry the world before them by the mere force of -will. Miss Matty anticipated the sight of the glossy folds -with as much delight as if the five sovereigns, set apart for the -purchase, could buy all the silks in the shop; and (remembering -my own loss of two hours in a toyshop before I could tell on what -wonder to spend a silver threepence) I was very glad that we were -going early, that dear Miss Matty might have leisure for the -delights of perplexity.</p> -<p>If a happy sea-green could be met with, the gown was to be -sea-green: if not, she inclined to maize, and I to silver gray; -and we discussed the requisite number of breadths until we -arrived at the shop-door. We were to buy the tea, select -the silk, and then clamber up the iron corkscrew stairs that led -into what was once a loft, though now a fashion show-room.</p> -<p>The young men at Mr Johnson’s had on their <a -name="page194"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 194</span>best looks; -and their best cravats, and pivoted themselves over the counter -with surprising activity. They wanted to show us upstairs -at once; but on the principle of business first and pleasure -afterwards, we stayed to purchase the tea. Here Miss -Matty’s absence of mind betrayed itself. If she was -made aware that she had been drinking green tea at any time, she -always thought it her duty to lie awake half through the night -afterward (I have known her take it in ignorance many a time -without such effects), and consequently green tea was prohibited -the house; yet to-day she herself asked for the obnoxious -article, under the impression that she was talking about the -silk. However, the mistake was soon rectified; and then the -silks were unrolled in good truth. By this time the shop -was pretty well filled, for it was Cranford market-day, and many -of the farmers and country people from the neighbourhood round -came in, sleeking down their hair, and glancing shyly about, from -under their eyelids, as anxious to take back some notion of the -unusual gaiety to the mistress or the lasses at home, and yet -feeling that they were out of place among the smart shopmen and -gay shawls and summer prints. One honest-looking man, -however, made his way up to the counter at which we stood, and -boldly asked to look at a shawl or two. The other country -folk confined themselves to the grocery side; but our neighbour -was evidently too full of some kind intention towards mistress, -wife or daughter, to be shy; and it soon became a question with -me, whether he or Miss Matty would keep their shopmen the longest -time. He thought each shawl more beautiful than the last; -and, as for Miss <a name="page195"></a><span class="pagenum">p. -195</span>Matty, she smiled and sighed over each fresh bale that -was brought out; one colour set off another, and the heap -together would, as she said, make even the rainbow look poor.</p> -<p>“I am afraid,” said she, hesitating, -“Whichever I choose I shall wish I had taken another. -Look at this lovely crimson! it would be so warm in winter. -But spring is coming on, you know. I wish I could have a -gown for every season,” said she, dropping her -voice—as we all did in Cranford whenever we talked of -anything we wished for but could not afford. -“However,” she continued in a louder and more -cheerful tone, “it would give me a great deal of trouble to -take care of them if I had them; so, I think, I’ll only -take one. But which must it be, my dear?”</p> -<p>And now she hovered over a lilac with yellow spots, while I -pulled out a quiet sage-green that had faded into insignificance -under the more brilliant colours, but which was nevertheless a -good silk in its humble way. Our attention was called off -to our neighbour. He had chosen a shawl of about thirty -shillings’ value; and his face looked broadly happy, under -the anticipation, no doubt, of the pleasant surprise he would -give to some Molly or Jenny at home; he had tugged a leathern -purse out of his breeches-pocket, and had offered a five-pound -note in payment for the shawl, and for some parcels which had -been brought round to him from the grocery counter; and it was -just at this point that he attracted our notice. The -shopman was examining the note with a puzzled, doubtful air.</p> -<p>“Town and County Bank! I am not sure, <a -name="page196"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 196</span>sir, but I -believe we have received a warning against notes issued by this -bank only this morning. I will just step and ask Mr -Johnson, sir; but I’m afraid I must trouble you for payment -in cash, or in a note of a different bank.”</p> -<p>I never saw a man’s countenance fall so suddenly into -dismay and bewilderment. It was almost piteous to see the -rapid change.</p> -<p>“Dang it!” said he, striking his fist down on the -table, as if to try which was the harder, “the chap talks -as if notes and gold were to be had for the picking -up.”</p> -<p>Miss Matty had forgotten her silk gown in her interest for the -man. I don’t think she had caught the name of the -bank, and in my nervous cowardice I was anxious that she should -not; and so I began admiring the yellow-spotted lilac gown that I -had been utterly condemning only a minute before. But it -was of no use.</p> -<p>“What bank was it? I mean, what bank did your note -belong to?”</p> -<p>“Town and County Bank.”</p> -<p>“Let me see it,” said she quietly to the shopman, -gently taking it out of his hand, as he brought it back to return -it to the farmer.</p> -<p>Mr Johnson was very sorry, but, from information he had -received, the notes issued by that bank were little better than -waste paper.</p> -<p>“I don’t understand it,” said Miss Matty to -me in a low voice. “That is our bank, is it -not?—the Town and County Bank?”</p> -<p>“Yes,” said I. “This lilac silk will -just match the ribbons in your new cap, I believe,” I -continued, <a name="page197"></a><span class="pagenum">p. -197</span>holding up the folds so as to catch the light, and -wishing that the man would make haste and be gone, and yet having -a new wonder, that had only just sprung up, how far it was wise -or right in me to allow Miss Matty to make this expensive -purchase, if the affairs of the bank were really so bad as the -refusal of the note implied.</p> -<p>But Miss Matty put on the soft dignified manner, peculiar to -her, rarely used, and yet which became her so well, and laying -her hand gently on mine, she said—</p> -<p>“Never mind the silks for a few minutes, dear. I -don’t understand you, sir,” turning now to the -shopman, who had been attending to the farmer. “Is -this a forged note?”</p> -<p>“Oh, no, ma’am. It is a true note of its -kind; but you see, ma’am, it is a joint-stock bank, and -there are reports out that it is likely to break. Mr -Johnson is only doing his duty, ma’am, as I am sure Mr -Dobson knows.”</p> -<p>But Mr Dobson could not respond to the appealing bow by any -answering smile. He was turning the note absently over in -his fingers, looking gloomily enough at the parcel containing the -lately-chosen shawl.</p> -<p>“It’s hard upon a poor man,” said he, -“as earns every farthing with the sweat of his brow. -However, there’s no help for it. You must take back -your shawl, my man; Lizzle must go on with her cloak for a -while. And yon figs for the little ones—I promised -them to ’em—I’ll take them; but the -’bacco, and the other things”—</p> -<p>“I will give you five sovereigns for your note, <a -name="page198"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 198</span>my good -man,” said Miss Matty. “I think there is some -great mistake about it, for I am one of the shareholders, and -I’m sure they would have told me if things had not been -going on right.”</p> -<p>The shopman whispered a word or two across the table to Miss -Matty. She looked at him with a dubious air.</p> -<p>“Perhaps so,” said she. “But I -don’t pretend to understand business; I only know that if -it is going to fail, and if honest people are to lose their money -because they have taken our notes—I can’t explain -myself,” said she, suddenly becoming aware that she had got -into a long sentence with four people for audience; “only I -would rather exchange my gold for the note, if you please,” -turning to the farmer, “and then you can take your wife the -shawl. It is only going without my gown a few days -longer,” she continued, speaking to me. “Then, -I have no doubt, everything will be cleared up.”</p> -<p>“But if it is cleared up the wrong way?” said -I.</p> -<p>“Why, then it will only have been common honesty in me, -as a shareholder, to have given this good man the money. I -am quite clear about it in my own mind; but, you know, I can -never speak quite as comprehensibly as others can, only you must -give me your note, Mr Dobson, if you please, and go on with your -purchases with these sovereigns.”</p> -<p style="text-align: center"> -<a href="images/p198b.jpg"> -<img alt= -"You must give me your note, Mr Dobson, if you please" -title= -"You must give me your note, Mr Dobson, if you please" -src="images/p198s.jpg" /> -</a></p> -<p>The man looked at her with silent gratitude—too awkward -to put his thanks into words; but he hung back for a minute or -two, fumbling with his note.</p> -<p>“I’m loth to make another one lose instead of me, -if it is a loss; but, you see, five pounds is a <a -name="page199"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 199</span>deal of -money to a man with a family; and, as you say, ten to one in a -day or two the note will be as good as gold again.”</p> -<p>“No hope of that, my friend,” said the -shopman.</p> -<p>“The more reason why I should take it,” said Miss -Matty quietly. She pushed her sovereigns towards the man, -who slowly laid his note down in exchange. “Thank -you. I will wait a day or two before I purchase any of -these silks; perhaps you will then have a greater choice. -My dear, will you come upstairs?”</p> -<p>We inspected the fashions with as minute and curious an -interest as if the gown to be made after them had been -bought. I could not see that the little event in the shop -below had in the least damped Miss Matty’s curiosity as to -the make of sleeves or the sit of skirts. She once or twice -exchanged congratulations with me on our private and leisurely -view of the bonnets and shawls; but I was, all the time, not so -sure that our examination was so utterly private, for I caught -glimpses of a figure dodging behind the cloaks and mantles; and, -by a dexterous move, I came face to face with Miss Pole, also in -morning costume (the principal feature of which was her being -without teeth, and wearing a veil to conceal the deficiency), -come on the same errand as ourselves. But she quickly took -her departure, because, as she said, she had a bad headache, and -did not feel herself up to conversation.</p> -<p>As we came down through the shop, the civil Mr Johnson was -awaiting us; he had been informed of the exchange of the note for -gold, and with much <a name="page200"></a><span -class="pagenum">p. 200</span>good feeling and real kindness, but -with a little want of tact, he wished to condole with Miss Matty, -and impress upon her the true state of the case. I could -only hope that he had heard an exaggerated rumour for he said -that her shares were worse than nothing, and that the bank could -not pay a shilling in the pound. I was glad that Miss Matty -seemed still a little incredulous; but I could not tell how much -of this was real or assumed, with that self-control which seemed -habitual to ladies of Miss Matty’s standing in Cranford, -who would have thought their dignity compromised by the slightest -expression of surprise, dismay, or any similar feeling to an -inferior in station, or in a public shop. However, we -walked home very silently. I am ashamed to say, I believe I -was rather vexed and annoyed at Miss Matty’s conduct in -taking the note to herself so decidedly. I had so set my -heart upon her having a new silk gown, which she wanted sadly; in -general she was so undecided anybody might turn her round; in -this case I had felt that it was no use attempting it, but I was -not the less put out at the result.</p> -<p>Somehow, after twelve o’clock, we both acknowledged to a -sated curiosity about the fashions, and to a certain fatigue of -body (which was, in fact, depression of mind) that indisposed us -to go out again. But still we never spoke of the note; -till, all at once, something possessed me to ask Miss Matty if -she would think it her duty to offer sovereigns for all the notes -of the Town and County Bank she met with? I could have -bitten my tongue out the minute I had said it. She looked -up rather sadly, and as if I had thrown a new perplexity into her -already distressed <a name="page201"></a><span class="pagenum">p. -201</span>mind; and for a minute or two she did not speak. -Then she said—my own dear Miss Matty—without a shade -of reproach in her voice—</p> -<p>“My dear, I never feel as if my mind was what people -call very strong; and it’s often hard enough work for me to -settle what I ought to do with the case right before me. I -was very thankful to—I was very thankful, that I saw my -duty this morning, with the poor man standing by me; but its -rather a strain upon me to keep thinking and thinking what I -should do if such and such a thing happened; and, I believe, I -had rather wait and see what really does come; and I don’t -doubt I shall be helped then if I don’t fidget myself, and -get too anxious beforehand. You know, love, I’m not -like Deborah. If Deborah had lived, I’ve no doubt she -would have seen after them, before they had got themselves into -this state.”</p> -<p>We had neither of us much appetite for dinner, though we tried -to talk cheerfully about indifferent things. When we -returned into the drawing-room, Miss Matty unlocked her desk and -began to look over her account-books. I was so penitent for -what I had said in the morning, that I did not choose to take -upon myself the presumption to suppose that I could assist her; I -rather left her alone, as, with puzzled brow, her eye followed -her pen up and down the ruled page. By-and-by she shut the -book, locked the desk, and came and drew a chair to mine, where I -sat in moody sorrow over the fire. I stole my hand into -hers; she clasped it, but did not speak a word. At last she -said, with forced composure in her voice, “If that bank -goes wrong, I shall lose one hundred and forty-nine pounds -thirteen shillings and fourpence <a name="page202"></a><span -class="pagenum">p. 202</span>a year; I shall only have thirteen -pounds a year left.” I squeezed her hand hard and -tight. I did not know what to say. Presently (it was -too dark to see her face) I felt her fingers work convulsively in -my grasp; and I knew she was going to speak again. I heard -the sobs in her voice as she said, “I hope it’s not -wrong—not wicked—but, oh! I am so glad poor -Deborah is spared this. She could not have borne to come -down in the world—she had such a noble, lofty -spirit.”</p> -<p>This was all she said about the sister who had insisted upon -investing their little property in that unlucky bank. We -were later in lighting the candle than usual that night, and -until that light shamed us into speaking, we sat together very -silently and sadly.</p> -<p>However, we took to our work after tea with a kind of forced -cheerfulness (which soon became real as far as it went), talking -of that never-ending wonder, Lady Glenmire’s -engagement. Miss Matty was almost coming round to think it -a good thing.</p> -<p>“I don’t mean to deny that men are troublesome in -a house. I don’t judge from my own experience, for my -father was neatness itself, and wiped his shoes on coming in as -carefully as any woman; but still a man has a sort of knowledge -of what should be done in difficulties, that it is very pleasant -to have one at hand ready to lean upon. Now, Lady Glenmire, -instead of being tossed about, and wondering where she is to -settle, will be certain of a home among pleasant and kind people, -such as our good Miss Pole and Mrs Forrester. And Mr -Hoggins is really a very personable man; and as for his manners, -why, if they are not very polished, I have known people with very -<a name="page203"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 203</span>good -hearts and very clever minds too, who were not what some people -reckoned refined, but who were both true and tender.”</p> -<p>She fell off into a soft reverie about Mr Holbrook, and I did -not interrupt her, I was so busy maturing a plan I had had in my -mind for some days, but which this threatened failure of the bank -had brought to a crisis. That night, after Miss Matty went -to bed, I treacherously lighted the candle again, and sat down in -the drawing-room to compose a letter to the Aga Jenkyns, a letter -which should affect him if he were Peter, and yet seem a mere -statement of dry facts if he were a stranger. The church -clock pealed out two before I had done.</p> -<p>The next morning news came, both official and otherwise, that -the Town and County Bank had stopped payment. Miss Matty -was ruined.</p> -<p>She tried to speak quietly to me; but when she came to the -actual fact that she would have but about five shillings a week -to live upon, she could not restrain a few tears.</p> -<p>“I am not crying for myself, dear,” said she, -wiping them away; “I believe I am crying for the very silly -thought of how my mother would grieve if she could know; she -always cared for us so much more than for herself. But many -a poor person has less, and I am not very extravagant, and, thank -God, when the neck of mutton, and Martha’s wages, and the -rent are paid, I have not a farthing owing. Poor -Martha! I think she’ll be sorry to leave -me.”</p> -<p>Miss Matty smiled at me through her tears, and she would fain -have had me see only the smile, not the tears.</p> -<div class='chapter' /><h2><a name="page204"></a><span class="pagenum">p. -204</span>CHAPTER XIV—FRIENDS IN NEED</h2> -<p><span class="smcap">It</span> was an example to me, and I -fancy it might be to many others, to see how immediately Miss -Matty set about the retrenchment which she knew to be right under -her altered circumstances. While she went down to speak to -Martha, and break the intelligence to her, I stole out with my -letter to the Aga Jenkyns, and went to the signor’s -lodgings to obtain the exact address. I bound the signora -to secrecy; and indeed her military manners had a degree of -shortness and reserve in them which made her always say as little -as possible, except when under the pressure of strong -excitement. Moreover (which made my secret doubly sure), -the signor was now so far recovered as to be looking forward to -travelling and conjuring again in the space of a few days, when -he, his wife, and little Phoebe would leave Cranford. -Indeed, I found him looking over a great black and red placard, -in which the Signor Brunoni’s accomplishments were set -forth, and to which only the name of the town where he would next -display them was wanting. He and his wife were so much -absorbed in deciding where the red <a name="page205"></a><span -class="pagenum">p. 205</span>letters would come in with most -effect (it might have been the Rubric for that matter), that it -was some time before I could get my question asked privately, and -not before I had given several decisions, the which I questioned -afterwards with equal wisdom of sincerity as soon as the signor -threw in his doubts and reasons on the important subject. -At last I got the address, spelt by sound, and very queer it -looked. I dropped it in the post on my way home, and then -for a minute I stood looking at the wooden pane with a gaping -slit which divided me from the letter but a moment ago in my -hand. It was gone from me like life, never to be -recalled. It would get tossed about on the sea, and stained -with sea-waves perhaps, and be carried among palm-trees, and -scented with all tropical fragrance; the little piece of paper, -but an hour ago so familiar and commonplace, had set out on its -race to the strange wild countries beyond the Ganges! But I -could not afford to lose much time on this speculation. I -hastened home, that Miss Matty might not miss me. Martha -opened the door to me, her face swollen with crying. As -soon as she saw me she burst out afresh, and taking hold of my -arm she pulled me in, and banged the door to, in order to ask me -if indeed it was all true that Miss Matty had been saying.</p> -<p>“I’ll never leave her! No; I -won’t. I telled her so, and said I could not think -how she could find in her heart to give me warning. I could -not have had the face to do it, if I’d been her. I -might ha’ been just as good for nothing as Mrs -Fitz-Adam’s Rosy, who struck for wages after living seven -years and a half in one place. I said I was not one to go -<a name="page206"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 206</span>and -serve Mammon at that rate; that I knew when I’d got a good -missus, if she didn’t know when she’d got a good -servant”—</p> -<p>“But, Martha,” said I, cutting in while she wiped -her eyes.</p> -<p>“Don’t, ‘but Martha’ me,” she -replied to my deprecatory tone.</p> -<p>“Listen to reason”—</p> -<p>“I’ll not listen to reason,” she said, now -in full possession of her voice, which had been rather choked -with sobbing. “Reason always means what someone else -has got to say. Now I think what I’ve got to say is -good enough reason; but reason or not, I’ll say it, and -I’ll stick to it. I’ve money in the Savings -Bank, and I’ve a good stock of clothes, and I’m not -going to leave Miss Matty. No, not if she gives me warning -every hour in the day!”</p> -<p>She put her arms akimbo, as much as to say she defied me; and, -indeed, I could hardly tell how to begin to remonstrate with her, -so much did I feel that Miss Matty, in her increasing infirmity, -needed the attendance of this kind and faithful woman.</p> -<p>“Well”—said I at last.</p> -<p>“I’m thankful you begin with -‘well!’ If you’d have begun with -‘but,’ as you did afore, I’d not ha’ -listened to you. Now you may go on.”</p> -<p>“I know you would be a great loss to Miss Matty, -Martha”—</p> -<p>“I telled her so. A loss she’d never cease -to be sorry for,” broke in Martha triumphantly.</p> -<p>“Still, she will have so little—so very -little—to live upon, that I don’t see just now how -she could find you food—she will even be pressed for her -own. <a name="page207"></a><span class="pagenum">p. -207</span>I tell you this, Martha, because I feel you are like a -friend to dear Miss Matty, but you know she might not like to -have it spoken about.”</p> -<p>Apparently this was even a blacker view of the subject than -Miss Matty had presented to her, for Martha just sat down on the -first chair that came to hand, and cried out loud (we had been -standing in the kitchen).</p> -<p>At last she put her apron down, and looking me earnestly in -the face, asked, “Was that the reason Miss Matty -wouldn’t order a pudding to-day? She said she had no -great fancy for sweet things, and you and she would just have a -mutton chop. But I’ll be up to her. Never you -tell, but I’ll make her a pudding, and a pudding -she’ll like, too, and I’ll pay for it myself; so mind -you see she eats it. Many a one has been comforted in their -sorrow by seeing a good dish come upon the table.”</p> -<p>I was rather glad that Martha’s energy had taken the -immediate and practical direction of pudding-making, for it -staved off the quarrelsome discussion as to whether she should or -should not leave Miss Matty’s service. She began to -tie on a clean apron, and otherwise prepare herself for going to -the shop for the butter, eggs, and what else she might -require. She would not use a scrap of the articles already -in the house for her cookery, but went to an old tea-pot in which -her private store of money was deposited, and took out what she -wanted.</p> -<p>I found Miss Matty very quiet, and not a little sad; but -by-and-by she tried to smile for my sake. It was settled -that I was to write to my father, and ask him to come over and -hold a consultation, and as <a name="page208"></a><span -class="pagenum">p. 208</span>soon as this letter was despatched -we began to talk over future plans. Miss Matty’s idea -was to take a single room, and retain as much of her furniture as -would be necessary to fit up this, and sell the rest, and there -to quietly exist upon what would remain after paying the -rent. For my part, I was more ambitious and less -contented. I thought of all the things by which a woman, -past middle age, and with the education common to ladies fifty -years ago, could earn or add to a living without materially -losing caste; but at length I put even this last clause on one -side, and wondered what in the world Miss Matty could do.</p> -<p>Teaching was, of course, the first thing that suggested -itself. If Miss Matty could teach children anything, it -would throw her among the little elves in whom her soul -delighted. I ran over her accomplishments. Once upon -a time I had heard her say she could play “Ah! vous -dirai-je, maman?” on the piano, but that was long, long -ago; that faint shadow of musical acquirement had died out years -before. She had also once been able to trace out patterns -very nicely for muslin embroidery, by dint of placing a piece of -silver paper over the design to be copied, and holding both -against the window-pane while she marked the scollop and -eyelet-holes. But that was her nearest approach to the -accomplishment of drawing, and I did not think it would go very -far. Then again, as to the branches of a solid English -education—fancy work and the use of the globes—such -as the mistress of the Ladies’ Seminary, to which all the -tradespeople in Cranford sent their daughters, professed to -teach. Miss Matty’s eyes <a name="page209"></a><span -class="pagenum">p. 209</span>were failing her, and I doubted if -she could discover the number of threads in a worsted-work -pattern, or rightly appreciate the different shades required for -Queen Adelaide’s face in the loyal wool-work now -fashionable in Cranford. As for the use of the globes, I -had never been able to find it out myself, so perhaps I was not a -good judge of Miss Matty’s capability of instructing in -this branch of education; but it struck me that equators and -tropics, and such mystical circles, were very imaginary lines -indeed to her, and that she looked upon the signs of the Zodiac -as so many remnants of the Black Art.</p> -<p>What she piqued herself upon, as arts in which she excelled, -was making candle-lighters, or “spills” (as she -preferred calling them), of coloured paper, cut so as to resemble -feathers, and knitting garters in a variety of dainty -stitches. I had once said, on receiving a present of an -elaborate pair, that I should feel quite tempted to drop one of -them in the street, in order to have it admired; but I found this -little joke (and it was a very little one) was such a distress to -her sense of propriety, and was taken with such anxious, earnest -alarm, lest the temptation might some day prove too strong for -me, that I quite regretted having ventured upon it. A -present of these delicately-wrought garters, a bunch of gay -“spills,” or a set of cards on which sewing-silk was -wound in a mystical manner, were the well-known tokens of Miss -Matty’s favour. But would any one pay to have their -children taught these arts? or, indeed, would Miss Matty sell, -for filthy lucre, the knack and the skill with which she made -trifles of value to those who loved her?</p> -<p><a name="page210"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 210</span>I had -to come down to reading, writing, and arithmetic; and, in reading -the chapter every morning, she always coughed before coming to -long words. I doubted her power of getting through a -genealogical chapter, with any number of coughs. Writing -she did well and delicately—but spelling! She seemed -to think that the more out-of-the-way this was, and the more -trouble it cost her, the greater the compliment she paid to her -correspondent; and words that she would spell quite correctly in -her letters to me became perfect enigmas when she wrote to my -father.</p> -<p>No! there was nothing she could teach to the rising generation -of Cranford, unless they had been quick learners and ready -imitators of her patience, her humility, her sweetness, her quiet -contentment with all that she could not do. I pondered and -pondered until dinner was announced by Martha, with a face all -blubbered and swollen with crying.</p> -<p>Miss Matty had a few little peculiarities which Martha was apt -to regard as whims below her attention, and appeared to consider -as childish fancies of which an old lady of fifty-eight should -try and cure herself. But to-day everything was attended to -with the most careful regard. The bread was cut to the -imaginary pattern of excellence that existed in Miss -Matty’s mind, as being the way which her mother had -preferred, the curtain was drawn so as to exclude the dead brick -wall of a neighbour’s stable, and yet left so as to show -every tender leaf of the poplar which was bursting into spring -beauty. Martha’s tone to Miss Matty was just such as -that good, rough-spoken servant usually kept sacred for <a -name="page211"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 211</span>little -children, and which I had never heard her use to any grown-up -person.</p> -<p>I had forgotten to tell Miss Matty about the pudding, and I -was afraid she might not do justice to it, for she had evidently -very little appetite this day; so I seized the opportunity of -letting her into the secret while Martha took away the -meat. Miss Matty’s eyes filled with tears, and she -could not speak, either to express surprise or delight, when -Martha returned bearing it aloft, made in the most wonderful -representation of a lion <i>couchant</i> that ever was -moulded. Martha’s face gleamed with triumph as she -set it down before Miss Matty with an exultant -“There!” Miss Matty wanted to speak her thanks, -but could not; so she took Martha’s hand and shook it -warmly, which set Martha off crying, and I myself could hardly -keep up the necessary composure. Martha burst out of the -room, and Miss Matty had to clear her voice once or twice before -she could speak. At last she said, “I should like to -keep this pudding under a glass shade, my dear!” and the -notion of the lion <i>couchant</i>, with his currant eyes, being -hoisted up to the place of honour on a mantelpiece, tickled my -hysterical fancy, and I began to laugh, which rather surprised -Miss Matty.</p> -<p>“I am sure, dear, I have seen uglier things under a -glass shade before now,” said she.</p> -<p>So had I, many a time and oft, and I accordingly composed my -countenance (and now I could hardly keep from crying), and we -both fell to upon the pudding, which was indeed -excellent—only every morsel seemed to choke us, our hearts -were so full.</p> -<p>We had too much to think about to talk much <a -name="page212"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 212</span>that -afternoon. It passed over very tranquilly. But when -the tea-urn was brought in a new thought came into my head. -Why should not Miss Matty sell tea—be an agent to the East -India Tea Company which then existed? I could see no -objections to this plan, while the advantages were -many—always supposing that Miss Matty could get over the -degradation of condescending to anything like trade. Tea -was neither greasy nor sticky—grease and stickiness being -two of the qualities which Miss Matty could not endure. No -shop-window would be required. A small, genteel -notification of her being licensed to sell tea would, it is true, -be necessary, but I hoped that it could be placed where no one -would see it. Neither was tea a heavy article, so as to tax -Miss Matty’s fragile strength. The only thing against -my plan was the buying and selling involved.</p> -<p>While I was giving but absent answers to the questions Miss -Matty was putting—almost as absently—we heard a -clumping sound on the stairs, and a whispering outside the door, -which indeed once opened and shut as if by some invisible -agency. After a little while Martha came in, dragging after -her a great tall young man, all crimson with shyness, and finding -his only relief in perpetually sleeking down his hair.</p> -<p>“Please, ma’am, he’s only Jem Hearn,” -said Martha, by way of an introduction; and so out of breath was -she that I imagine she had had some bodily struggle before she -could overcome his reluctance to be presented on the courtly -scene of Miss Matilda Jenkyns’s drawing-room.</p> -<p>“And please, ma’am, he wants to marry me <a -name="page213"></a><span class="pagenum">p. -213</span>off-hand. And please, ma’am, we want to -take a lodger—just one quiet lodger, to make our two ends -meet; and we’d take any house conformable; and, oh dear -Miss Matty, if I may be so bold, would you have any objections to -lodging with us? Jem wants it as much as I do.” -[To Jem ]—“You great oaf! why can’t you back -me!—But he does want it all the same, very -bad—don’t you, Jem?—only, you see, he’s -dazed at being called on to speak before quality.”</p> -<p style="text-align: center"> -<a href="images/p213b.jpg"> -<img alt= -"Please, ma’am, he wants to marry me off-hand" -title= -"Please, ma’am, he wants to marry me off-hand" -src="images/p213s.jpg" /> -</a></p> -<p>“It’s not that,” broke in Jem. -“It’s that you’ve taken me all on a sudden, and -I didn’t think for to get married so soon—and such -quick words does flabbergast a man. It’s not that -I’m against it, ma’am” (addressing Miss Matty), -“only Martha has such quick ways with her when once she -takes a thing into her head; and marriage, -ma’am—marriage nails a man, as one may say. I -dare say I shan’t mind it after it’s once -over.”</p> -<p>“Please, ma’am,” said Martha—who had -plucked at his sleeve, and nudged him with her elbow, and -otherwise tried to interrupt him all the time he had been -speaking—“don’t mind him, he’ll come to; -’twas only last night he was an-axing me, and an-axing me, -and all the more because I said I could not think of it for years -to come, and now he’s only taken aback with the suddenness -of the joy; but you know, Jem, you are just as full as me about -wanting a lodger.” (Another great nudge.)</p> -<p>“Ay! if Miss Matty would lodge with us—otherwise -I’ve no mind to be cumbered with strange folk in the -house,” said Jem, with a want of tact which I could see -enraged Martha, who was trying to represent a lodger as the great -object they wished <a name="page214"></a><span class="pagenum">p. -214</span>to obtain, and that, in fact, Miss Matty would be -smoothing their path and conferring a favour, if she would only -come and live with them.</p> -<p>Miss Matty herself was bewildered by the pair; their, or -rather Martha’s sudden resolution in favour of matrimony -staggered her, and stood between her and the contemplation of the -plan which Martha had at heart. Miss Matty began—</p> -<p>“Marriage is a very solemn thing, Martha.”</p> -<p>“It is indeed, ma’am,” quoth Jem. -“Not that I’ve no objections to Martha.”</p> -<p>“You’ve never let me a-be for asking me for to fix -when I would be married,” said Martha—her face all -a-fire, and ready to cry with vexation—“and now -you’re shaming me before my missus and all.”</p> -<p>“Nay, now! Martha don’t ee! don’t ee! -only a man likes to have breathing-time,” said Jem, trying -to possess himself of her hand, but in vain. Then seeing -that she was more seriously hurt than he had imagined, he seemed -to try to rally his scattered faculties, and with more -straightforward dignity than, ten minutes before, I should have -thought it possible for him to assume, he turned to Miss Matty, -and said, “I hope, ma’am, you know that I am bound to -respect every one who has been kind to Martha. I always -looked on her as to be my wife—some time; and she has often -and often spoken of you as the kindest lady that ever was; and -though the plain truth is, I would not like to be troubled with -lodgers of the common run, yet if, ma’am, you’d -honour us by living with us, I’m sure Martha would do her -best to make you comfortable; and I’d keep out of your way -as much as I could, which I reckon would be <a -name="page215"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 215</span>the best -kindness such an awkward chap as me could do.”</p> -<p>Miss Matty had been very busy with taking off her spectacles, -wiping them, and replacing them; but all she could say was, -“Don’t let any thought of me hurry you into marriage: -pray don’t. Marriage is such a very solemn -thing!”</p> -<p>“But Miss Matilda will think of your plan, -Martha,” said I, struck with the advantages that it -offered, and unwilling to lose the opportunity of considering -about it. “And I’m sure neither she nor I can -ever forget your kindness; nor your’s either, -Jem.”</p> -<p>“Why, yes, ma’am! I’m sure I mean -kindly, though I’m a bit fluttered by being pushed straight -ahead into matrimony, as it were, and mayn’t express myself -conformable. But I’m sure I’m willing enough, -and give me time to get accustomed; so, Martha, wench, -what’s the use of crying so, and slapping me if I come -near?”</p> -<p>This last was <i>sotto voce</i>, and had the effect of making -Martha bounce out of the room, to be followed and soothed by her -lover. Whereupon Miss Matty sat down and cried very -heartily, and accounted for it by saying that the thought of -Martha being married so soon gave her quite a shock, and that she -should never forgive herself if she thought she was hurrying the -poor creature. I think my pity was more for Jem, of the -two; but both Miss Matty and I appreciated to the full the -kindness of the honest couple, although we said little about -this, and a good deal about the chances and dangers of -matrimony.</p> -<p><a name="page216"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 216</span>The -next morning, very early, I received a note from Miss Pole, so -mysteriously wrapped up, and with so many seals on it to secure -secrecy, that I had to tear the paper before I could unfold -it. And when I came to the writing I could hardly -understand the meaning, it was so involved and oracular. I -made out, however, that I was to go to Miss Pole’s at -eleven o’clock; the number <i>eleven</i> being written in -full length as well as in numerals, and <i>A.M.</i> twice dashed -under, as if I were very likely to come at eleven at night, when -all Cranford was usually a-bed and asleep by ten. There was -no signature except Miss Pole’s initials reversed, P.E.; -but as Martha had given me the note, “with Miss -Pole’s kind regards,” it needed no wizard to find out -who sent it; and if the writer’s name was to be kept -secret, it was very well that I was alone when Martha delivered -it.</p> -<p>I went as requested to Miss Pole’s. The door was -opened to me by her little maid Lizzy in Sunday trim, as if some -grand event was impending over this work-day. And the -drawing-room upstairs was arranged in accordance with this -idea. The table was set out with the best green card-cloth, -and writing materials upon it. On the little chiffonier was -a tray with a newly-decanted bottle of cowslip wine, and some -ladies’-finger biscuits. Miss Pole herself was in -solemn array, as if to receive visitors, although it was only -eleven o’clock. Mrs Forrester was there, crying -quietly and sadly, and my arrival seemed only to call forth fresh -tears. Before we had finished our greetings, performed with -lugubrious mystery of demeanour, there was another rat-tat-tat, -<a name="page217"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 217</span>and Mrs -Fitz-Adam appeared, crimson with walking and excitement. It -seemed as if this was all the company expected; for now Miss Pole -made several demonstrations of being about to open the business -of the meeting, by stirring the fire, opening and shutting the -door, and coughing and blowing her nose. Then she arranged -us all round the table, taking care to place me opposite to her; -and last of all, she inquired of me if the sad report was true, -as she feared it was, that Miss Matty had lost all her -fortune?</p> -<p>Of course, I had but one answer to make; and I never saw more -unaffected sorrow depicted on any countenances than I did there -on the three before me.</p> -<p>“I wish Mrs Jamieson was here!” said Mrs Forrester -at last; but to judge from Mrs Fitz-Adam’s face, she could -not second the wish.</p> -<p>“But without Mrs Jamieson,” said Miss Pole, with -just a sound of offended merit in her voice, “we, the -ladies of Cranford, in my drawing-room assembled, can resolve -upon something. I imagine we are none of us what may be -called rich, though we all possess a genteel competency, -sufficient for tastes that are elegant and refined, and would -not, if they could, be vulgarly ostentatious.” (Here -I observed Miss Pole refer to a small card concealed in her hand, -on which I imagine she had put down a few notes.)</p> -<p>“Miss Smith,” she continued, addressing me -(familiarly known as “Mary” to all the company -assembled, but this was a state occasion), “I have -conversed in private—I made it my business to do <a -name="page218"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 218</span>so -yesterday afternoon—with these ladies on the misfortune -which has happened to our friend, and one and all of us have -agreed that while we have a superfluity, it is not only a duty, -but a pleasure—a true pleasure, Mary!”—her -voice was rather choked just here, and she had to wipe her -spectacles before she could go on—“to give what we -can to assist her—Miss Matilda Jenkyns. Only in -consideration of the feelings of delicate independence existing -in the mind of every refined female”—I was sure she -had got back to the card now—“we wish to contribute -our mites in a secret and concealed manner, so as not to hurt the -feelings I have referred to. And our object in requesting -you to meet us this morning is that, believing you are the -daughter—that your father is, in fact, her confidential -adviser, in all pecuniary matters, we imagined that, by -consulting with him, you might devise some mode in which our -contribution could be made to appear the legal due which Miss -Matilda Jenkyns ought to receive from— Probably your -father, knowing her investments, can fill up the -blank.”</p> -<p>Miss Pole concluded her address, and looked round for approval -and agreement.</p> -<p>“I have expressed your meaning, ladies, have I -not? And while Miss Smith considers what reply to make, -allow me to offer you some little refreshment.”</p> -<p>I had no great reply to make: I had more thankfulness at my -heart for their kind thoughts than I cared to put into words; and -so I only mumbled out something to the effect “that I would -name what Miss Pole had said to my father, and that if anything -<a name="page219"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 219</span>could be -arranged for dear Miss Matty,”—and here I broke down -utterly, and had to be refreshed with a glass of cowslip wine -before I could check the crying which had been repressed for the -last two or three days. The worst was, all the ladies cried -in concert. Even Miss Pole cried, who had said a hundred -times that to betray emotion before any one was a sign of -weakness and want of self-control. She recovered herself -into a slight degree of impatient anger, directed against me, as -having set them all off; and, moreover, I think she was vexed -that I could not make a speech back in return for hers; and if I -had known beforehand what was to be said, and had a card on which -to express the probable feelings that would rise in my heart, I -would have tried to gratify her. As it was, Mrs Forrester -was the person to speak when we had recovered our composure.</p> -<p>“I don’t mind, among friends, stating that -I—no! I’m not poor exactly, but I don’t -think I’m what you may call rich; I wish I were, for dear -Miss Matty’s sake—but, if you please, I’ll -write down in a sealed paper what I can give. I only wish -it was more; my dear Mary, I do indeed.”</p> -<p>Now I saw why paper, pens, and ink were provided. Every -lady wrote down the sum she could give annually, signed the -paper, and sealed it mysteriously. If their proposal was -acceded to, my father was to be allowed to open the papers, under -pledge of secrecy. If not, they were to be returned to -their writers.</p> -<p>When the ceremony had been gone through, I rose to depart; but -each lady seemed to wish to <a name="page220"></a><span -class="pagenum">p. 220</span>have a private conference with -me. Miss Pole kept me in the drawing-room to explain why, -in Mrs Jamieson’s absence, she had taken the lead in this -“movement,” as she was pleased to call it, and also -to inform me that she had heard from good sources that Mrs -Jamieson was coming home directly in a state of high displeasure -against her sister-in-law, who was forthwith to leave her house, -and was, she believed, to return to Edinburgh that very -afternoon. Of course this piece of intelligence could not -be communicated before Mrs Fitz-Adam, more especially as Miss -Pole was inclined to think that Lady Glenmire’s engagement -to Mr Hoggins could not possibly hold against the blaze of Mrs -Jamieson’s displeasure. A few hearty inquiries after -Miss Matty’s health concluded my interview with Miss -Pole.</p> -<p>On coming downstairs I found Mrs Forrester waiting for me at -the entrance to the dining-parlour; she drew me in, and when the -door was shut, she tried two or three times to begin on some -subject, which was so unapproachable apparently, that I began to -despair of our ever getting to a clear understanding. At -last out it came; the poor old lady trembling all the time as if -it were a great crime which she was exposing to daylight, in -telling me how very, very little she had to live upon; a -confession which she was brought to make from a dread lest we -should think that the small contribution named in her paper bore -any proportion to her love and regard for Miss Matty. And -yet that sum which she so eagerly relinquished was, in truth, -more than a twentieth part of what she had to live upon, and keep -house, and a little serving-maid, all as became one born a <a -name="page221"></a><span class="pagenum">p. -221</span>Tyrrell. And when the whole income does not -nearly amount to a hundred pounds, to give up a twentieth of it -will necessitate many careful economies, and many pieces of -self-denial, small and insignificant in the world’s -account, but bearing a different value in another account-book -that I have heard of. She did so wish she was rich, she -said, and this wish she kept repeating, with no thought of -herself in it, only with a longing, yearning desire to be able to -heap up Miss Matty’s measure of comforts.</p> -<p>It was some time before I could console her enough to leave -her; and then, on quitting the house, I was waylaid by Mrs -Fitz-Adam, who had also her confidence to make of pretty nearly -the opposite description. She had not liked to put down all -that she could afford and was ready to give. She told me -she thought she never could look Miss Matty in the face again if -she presumed to be giving her so much as she should like to -do. “Miss Matty!” continued she, “that I -thought was such a fine young lady when I was nothing but a -country girl, coming to market with eggs and butter and such like -things. For my father, though well-to-do, would always make -me go on as my mother had done before me, and I had to come into -Cranford every Saturday, and see after sales, and prices, and -what not. And one day, I remember, I met Miss Matty in the -lane that leads to Combehurst; she was walking on the footpath, -which, you know, is raised a good way above the road, and a -gentleman rode beside her, and was talking to her, and she was -looking down at some primroses she had gathered, and pulling them -all <a name="page222"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 222</span>to -pieces, and I do believe she was crying. But after she had -passed, she turned round and ran after me to ask—oh, so -kindly—about my poor mother, who lay on her death-bed; and -when I cried she took hold of my hand to comfort me—and the -gentleman waiting for her all the time—and her poor heart -very full of something, I am sure; and I thought it such an -honour to be spoken to in that pretty way by the rector’s -daughter, who visited at Arley Hall. I have loved her ever -since, though perhaps I’d no right to do it; but if you can -think of any way in which I might be allowed to give a little -more without any one knowing it, I should be so much obliged to -you, my dear. And my brother would be delighted to doctor -her for nothing—medicines, leeches, and all. I know -that he and her ladyship (my dear, I little thought in the days I -was telling you of that I should ever come to be sister-in-law to -a ladyship!) would do anything for her. We all -would.”</p> -<p>I told her I was quite sure of it, and promised all sorts of -things in my anxiety to get home to Miss Matty, who might well be -wondering what had become of me—absent from her two hours -without being able to account for it. She had taken very -little note of time, however, as she had been occupied in -numberless little arrangements preparatory to the great step of -giving up her house. It was evidently a relief to her to be -doing something in the way of retrenchment, for, as she said, -whenever she paused to think, the recollection of the poor fellow -with his bad five-pound note came over her, and she felt quite -dishonest; only if it made her so uncomfortable, <a -name="page223"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 223</span>what must -it not be doing to the directors of the bank, who must know so -much more of the misery consequent upon this failure? She -almost made me angry by dividing her sympathy between these -directors (whom she imagined overwhelmed by self-reproach for the -mismanagement of other people’s affairs) and those who were -suffering like her. Indeed, of the two, she seemed to think -poverty a lighter burden than self-reproach; but I privately -doubted if the directors would agree with her.</p> -<p>Old hoards were taken out and examined as to their money value -which luckily was small, or else I don’t know how Miss -Matty would have prevailed upon herself to part with such things -as her mother’s wedding-ring, the strange, uncouth brooch -with which her father had disfigured his shirt-frill, -&c. However, we arranged things a little in order as to -their pecuniary estimation, and were all ready for my father when -he came the next morning.</p> -<p>I am not going to weary you with the details of all the -business we went through; and one reason for not telling about -them is, that I did not understand what we were doing at the -time, and cannot recollect it now. Miss Matty and I sat -assenting to accounts, and schemes, and reports, and documents, -of which I do not believe we either of us understood a word; for -my father was clear-headed and decisive, and a capital man of -business, and if we made the slightest inquiry, or expressed the -slightest want of comprehension, he had a sharp way of saying, -“Eh? eh? it’s as clear as daylight. -What’s your objection?” And as we had not -comprehended anything of what he had proposed, we found it rather -difficult <a name="page224"></a><span class="pagenum">p. -224</span>to shape our objections; in fact, we never were sure if -we had any. So presently Miss Matty got into a nervously -acquiescent state, and said “Yes,” and -“Certainly,” at every pause, whether required or not; -but when I once joined in as chorus to a “Decidedly,” -pronounced by Miss Matty in a tremblingly dubious tone, my father -fired round at me and asked me “What there was to -decide?” And I am sure to this day I have never -known. But, in justice to him, I must say he had come over -from Drumble to help Miss Matty when he could ill spare the time, -and when his own affairs were in a very anxious state.</p> -<p style="text-align: center"> -<a href="images/p220b.jpg"> -<img alt= -"Miss Matty and I sat assenting to accounts" -title= -"Miss Matty and I sat assenting to accounts" -src="images/p220s.jpg" /> -</a></p> -<p>While Miss Matty was out of the room giving orders for -luncheon—and sadly perplexed between her desire of -honouring my father by a delicate, dainty meal, and her -conviction that she had no right, now that all her money was -gone, to indulge this desire—I told him of the meeting of -the Cranford ladies at Miss Pole’s the day before. He -kept brushing his hand before his eyes as I spoke—and when -I went back to Martha’s offer the evening before, of -receiving Miss Matty as a lodger, he fairly walked away from me -to the window, and began drumming with his fingers upon it. -Then he turned abruptly round, and said, “See, Mary, how a -good, innocent life makes friends all around. Confound -it! I could make a good lesson out of it if I were a -parson; but, as it is, I can’t get a tail to my -sentences—only I’m sure you feel what I want to -say. You and I will have a walk after lunch and talk a bit -more about these plans.”</p> -<p>The lunch—a hot savoury mutton-chop, and a <a -name="page225"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 225</span>little of -the cold loin sliced and fried—was now brought in. -Every morsel of this last dish was finished, to Martha’s -great gratification. Then my father bluntly told Miss Matty -he wanted to talk to me alone, and that he would stroll out and -see some of the old places, and then I could tell her what plan -we thought desirable. Just before we went out, she called -me back and said, “Remember, dear, I’m the only one -left—I mean, there’s no one to be hurt by what I -do. I’m willing to do anything that’s right and -honest; and I don’t think, if Deborah knows where she is, -she’ll care so very much if I’m not genteel; because, -you see, she’ll know all, dear. Only let me see what -I can do, and pay the poor people as far as I’m -able.”</p> -<p>I gave her a hearty kiss, and ran after my father. The -result of our conversation was this. If all parties were -agreeable, Martha and Jem were to be married with as little delay -as possible, and they were to live on in Miss Matty’s -present abode; the sum which the Cranford ladies had agreed to -contribute annually being sufficient to meet the greater part of -the rent, and leaving Martha free to appropriate what Miss Matty -should pay for her lodgings to any little extra comforts -required. About the sale, my father was dubious at -first. He said the old rectory furniture, however carefully -used and reverently treated, would fetch very little; and that -little would be but as a drop in the sea of the debts of the Town -and County Bank. But when I represented how Miss -Matty’s tender conscience would be soothed by feeling that -she had done what she could, he gave way; especially after I had -told him the <a name="page226"></a><span class="pagenum">p. -226</span>five-pound note adventure, and he had scolded me well -for allowing it. I then alluded to my idea that she might -add to her small income by selling tea; and, to my surprise (for -I had nearly given up the plan), my father grasped at it with all -the energy of a tradesman. I think he reckoned his chickens -before they were hatched, for he immediately ran up the profits -of the sales that she could effect in Cranford to more than -twenty pounds a year. The small dining-parlour was to be -converted into a shop, without any of its degrading -characteristics; a table was to be the counter; one window was to -be retained unaltered, and the other changed into a glass -door. I evidently rose in his estimation for having made -this bright suggestion. I only hoped we should not both -fall in Miss Matty’s.</p> -<p>But she was patient and content with all our -arrangements. She knew, she said, that we should do the -best we could for her; and she only hoped, only stipulated, that -she should pay every farthing that she could be said to owe, for -her father’s sake, who had been so respected in -Cranford. My father and I had agreed to say as little as -possible about the bank, indeed never to mention it again, if it -could be helped. Some of the plans were evidently a little -perplexing to her; but she had seen me sufficiently snubbed in -the morning for want of comprehension to venture on too many -inquiries now; and all passed over well with a hope on her part -that no one would be hurried into marriage on her account. -When we came to the proposal that she should sell tea, I could -see it was rather a shock to her; not on account of any personal -loss of gentility involved, but only because <a -name="page227"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 227</span>she -distrusted her own powers of action in a new line of life, and -would timidly have preferred a little more privation to any -exertion for which she feared she was unfitted. However, -when she saw my father was bent upon it, she sighed, and said she -would try; and if she did not do well, of course she might give -it up. One good thing about it was, she did not think men -ever bought tea; and it was of men particularly she was -afraid. They had such sharp loud ways with them; and did up -accounts, and counted their change so quickly! Now, if she -might only sell comfits to children, she was sure she could -please them!<a name="page228"></a><span class="pagenum">p. -228</span></p><div class='chapter' /><h2>CHAPTER XV—A HAPPY RETURN</h2> -<p><span class="smcap">Before</span> I left Miss Matty at -Cranford everything had been comfortably arranged for her. -Even Mrs Jamieson’s approval of her selling tea had been -gained. That oracle had taken a few days to consider -whether by so doing Miss Matty would forfeit her right to the -privileges of society in Cranford. I think she had some -little idea of mortifying Lady Glenmire by the decision she gave -at last; which was to this effect: that whereas a married woman -takes her husband’s rank by the strict laws of precedence, -an unmarried woman retains the station her father occupied. -So Cranford was allowed to visit Miss Matty; and, whether allowed -or not, it intended to visit Lady Glenmire.</p> -<p>But what was our surprise—our dismay—when we -learnt that Mr and <i>Mrs Hoggins</i> were returning on the -following Tuesday! Mrs Hoggins! Had she absolutely -dropped her title, and so, in a spirit of bravado, cut the -aristocracy to become a Hoggins! She, who might have been -called Lady Glenmire to her dying day! Mrs Jamieson was -pleased. She said it only convinced her of what she had -known <a name="page229"></a><span class="pagenum">p. -229</span>from the first, that the creature had a low -taste. But “the creature” looked very happy on -Sunday at church; nor did we see it necessary to keep our veils -down on that side of our bonnets on which Mr and Mrs Hoggins sat, -as Mrs Jamieson did; thereby missing all the smiling glory of his -face, and all the becoming blushes of hers. I am not sure -if Martha and Jem looked more radiant in the afternoon, when -they, too, made their first appearance. Mrs Jamieson -soothed the turbulence of her soul by having the blinds of her -windows drawn down, as if for a funeral, on the day when Mr and -Mrs Hoggins received callers; and it was with some difficulty -that she was prevailed upon to continue the <i>St James’s -Chronicle</i>, so indignant was she with its having inserted the -announcement of the marriage.</p> -<p style="text-align: center"> -<a href="images/p231b.jpg"> -<img alt= -"Smiling glory . . . and becoming blushes" -title= -"Smiling glory . . . and becoming blushes" -src="images/p231s.jpg" /> -</a></p> -<p>Miss Matty’s sale went off famously. She retained -the furniture of her sitting-room and bedroom; the former of -which she was to occupy till Martha could meet with a lodger who -might wish to take it; and into this sitting-room and bedroom she -had to cram all sorts of things, which were (the auctioneer -assured her) bought in for her at the sale by an unknown -friend. I always suspected Mrs Fitz-Adam of this; but she -must have had an accessory, who knew what articles were -particularly regarded by Miss Matty on account of their -associations with her early days. The rest of the house -looked rather bare, to be sure; all except one tiny bedroom, of -which my father allowed me to purchase the furniture for my -occasional use in case of Miss Matty’s illness.</p> -<p>I had expended my own small store in buying all manner of -comfits and lozenges, in order to tempt <a -name="page230"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 230</span>the little -people whom Miss Matty loved so much to come about her. Tea -in bright green canisters, and comfits in tumblers—Miss -Matty and I felt quite proud as we looked round us on the evening -before the shop was to be opened. Martha had scoured the -boarded floor to a white cleanness, and it was adorned with a -brilliant piece of oil-cloth, on which customers were to stand -before the table-counter. The wholesome smell of plaster -and whitewash pervaded the apartment. A very small -“Matilda Jenkyns, licensed to sell tea,” was hidden -under the lintel of the new door, and two boxes of tea, with -cabalistic inscriptions all over them, stood ready to disgorge -their contents into the canisters.</p> -<p>Miss Matty, as I ought to have mentioned before, had had some -scruples of conscience at selling tea when there was already Mr -Johnson in the town, who included it among his numerous -commodities; and, before she could quite reconcile herself to the -adoption of her new business, she had trotted down to his shop, -unknown to me, to tell him of the project that was entertained, -and to inquire if it was likely to injure his business. My -father called this idea of hers “great nonsense,” and -“wondered how tradespeople were to get on if there was to -be a continual consulting of each other’s interests, which -would put a stop to all competition directly.” And, -perhaps, it would not have done in Drumble, but in Cranford it -answered very well; for not only did Mr Johnson kindly put at -rest all Miss Matty’s scruples and fear of injuring his -business, but I have reason to know he repeatedly sent customers -to her, saying that the teas he kept were of a common kind, but -that <a name="page231"></a><span class="pagenum">p. -231</span>Miss Jenkyns had all the choice sorts. And -expensive tea is a very favourite luxury with well-to-do -tradespeople and rich farmers’ wives, who turn up their -noses at the Congou and Souchong prevalent at many tables of -gentility, and will have nothing else than Gunpowder and Pekoe -for themselves.</p> -<p>But to return to Miss Matty. It was really very pleasant -to see how her unselfishness and simple sense of justice called -out the same good qualities in others. She never seemed to -think any one would impose upon her, because she should be so -grieved to do it to them. I have heard her put a stop to -the asseverations of the man who brought her coals by quietly -saying, “I am sure you would be sorry to bring me wrong -weight;” and if the coals were short measure that time, I -don’t believe they ever were again. People would have -felt as much ashamed of presuming on her good faith as they would -have done on that of a child. But my father says -“such simplicity might be very well in Cranford, but would -never do in the world.” And I fancy the world must be -very bad, for with all my father’s suspicion of every one -with whom he has dealings, and in spite of all his many -precautions, he lost upwards of a thousand pounds by roguery only -last year.</p> -<p>I just stayed long enough to establish Miss Matty in her new -mode of life, and to pack up the library, which the rector had -purchased. He had written a very kind letter to Miss Matty, -saying “how glad he should be to take a library, so well -selected as he knew that the late Mr Jenkyns’s must have -been, at any valuation put upon them.” And when she -agreed to this, with a touch of sorrowful <a -name="page232"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 232</span>gladness -that they would go back to the rectory and be arranged on the -accustomed walls once more, he sent word that he feared that he -had not room for them all, and perhaps Miss Matty would kindly -allow him to leave some volumes on her shelves. But Miss -Matty said that she had her Bible and “Johnson’s -Dictionary,” and should not have much time for reading, she -was afraid; still, I retained a few books out of consideration -for the rector’s kindness.</p> -<p>The money which he had paid, and that produced by the sale, -was partly expended in the stock of tea, and part of it was -invested against a rainy day—<i>i.e.</i> old age or -illness. It was but a small sum, it is true; and it -occasioned a few evasions of truth and white lies (all of which I -think very wrong indeed—in theory—and would rather -not put them in practice), for we knew Miss Matty would be -perplexed as to her duty if she were aware of any little -reserve-fund being made for her while the debts of the bank -remained unpaid. Moreover, she had never been told of the -way in which her friends were contributing to pay the rent. -I should have liked to tell her this, but the mystery of the -affair gave a piquancy to their deed of kindness which the ladies -were unwilling to give up; and at first Martha had to shirk many -a perplexed question as to her ways and means of living in such a -house, but by-and-by Miss Matty’s prudent uneasiness sank -down into acquiescence with the existing arrangement.</p> -<p>I left Miss Matty with a good heart. Her sales of tea -during the first two days had surpassed my most sanguine -expectations. The whole country round seemed to be all out -of tea at once. The only <a name="page233"></a><span -class="pagenum">p. 233</span>alteration I could have desired in -Miss Matty’s way of doing business was, that she should not -have so plaintively entreated some of her customers not to buy -green tea—running it down as a slow poison, sure to destroy -the nerves, and produce all manner of evil. Their -pertinacity in taking it, in spite of all her warnings, -distressed her so much that I really thought she would relinquish -the sale of it, and so lose half her custom; and I was driven to -my wits’ end for instances of longevity entirely -attributable to a persevering use of green tea. But the -final argument, which settled the question, was a happy reference -of mine to the train-oil and tallow candles which the Esquimaux -not only enjoy but digest. After that she acknowledged that -“one man’s meat might be another man’s -poison,” and contented herself thence-forward with an -occasional remonstrance when she thought the purchaser was too -young and innocent to be acquainted with the evil effects green -tea produced on some constitutions, and an habitual sigh when -people old enough to choose more wisely would prefer it.</p> -<p>I went over from Drumble once a quarter at least to settle the -accounts, and see after the necessary business letters. -And, speaking of letters, I began to be very much ashamed of -remembering my letter to the Aga Jenkyns, and very glad I had -never named my writing to any one. I only hoped the letter -was lost. No answer came. No sign was made.</p> -<p>About a year after Miss Matty set up shop, I received one of -Martha’s hieroglyphics, begging me to come to Cranford very -soon. I was afraid that Miss Matty was ill, and went off -that very afternoon, <a name="page234"></a><span -class="pagenum">p. 234</span>and took Martha by surprise when she -saw me on opening the door. We went into the kitchen as -usual, to have our confidential conference, and then Martha told -me she was expecting her confinement very soon—in a week or -two; and she did not think Miss Matty was aware of it, and she -wanted me to break the news to her, “for indeed, -miss,” continued Martha, crying hysterically, -“I’m afraid she won’t approve of it, and -I’m sure I don’t know who is to take care of her as -she should be taken care of when I am laid up.”</p> -<p>I comforted Martha by telling her I would remain till she was -about again, and only wished she had told me her reason for this -sudden summons, as then I would have brought the requisite stock -of clothes. But Martha was so tearful and tender-spirited, -and unlike her usual self, that I said as little as possible -about myself, and endeavoured rather to comfort Martha under all -the probable and possible misfortunes which came crowding upon -her imagination.</p> -<p>I then stole out of the house-door, and made my appearance as -if I were a customer in the shop, just to take Miss Matty by -surprise, and gain an idea of how she looked in her new -situation. It was warm May weather, so only the little -half-door was closed; and Miss Matty sat behind the counter, -knitting an elaborate pair of garters; elaborate they seemed to -me, but the difficult stitch was no weight upon her mind, for she -was singing in a low voice to herself as her needles went rapidly -in and out. I call it singing, but I dare say a musician -would not use that word to the tuneless yet sweet humming of the -low worn <a name="page235"></a><span class="pagenum">p. -235</span>voice. I found out from the words, far more than -from the attempt at the tune, that it was the Old Hundredth she -was crooning to herself; but the quiet continuous sound told of -content, and gave me a pleasant feeling, as I stood in the street -just outside the door, quite in harmony with that soft May -morning. I went in. At first she did not catch who it -was, and stood up as if to serve me; but in another minute -watchful pussy had clutched her knitting, which was dropped in -eager joy at seeing me. I found, after we had had a little -conversation, that it was as Martha said, and that Miss Matty had -no idea of the approaching household event. So I thought I -would let things take their course, secure that when I went to -her with the baby in my arms, I should obtain that forgiveness -for Martha which she was needlessly frightening herself into -believing that Miss Matty would withhold, under some notion that -the new claimant would require attentions from its mother that it -would be faithless treason to Miss Matty to render.</p> -<p>But I was right. I think that must be an hereditary -quality, for my father says he is scarcely ever wrong. One -morning, within a week after I arrived, I went to call Miss -Matty, with a little bundle of flannel in my arms. She was -very much awe-struck when I showed her what it was, and asked for -her spectacles off the dressing-table, and looked at it -curiously, with a sort of tender wonder at its small perfection -of parts. She could not banish the thought of the surprise -all day, but went about on tiptoe, and was very silent. But -she stole up to see Martha and they both cried with joy, and <a -name="page236"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 236</span>she got -into a complimentary speech to Jem, and did not know how to get -out of it again, and was only extricated from her dilemma by the -sound of the shop-bell, which was an equal relief to the shy, -proud, honest Jem, who shook my hand so vigorously when I -congratulated him, that I think I feel the pain of it yet.</p> -<p style="text-align: center"> -<a href="images/p234b.jpg"> -<img alt= -"I went to call Miss Matty" -title= -"I went to call Miss Matty" -src="images/p234s.jpg" /> -</a></p> -<p>I had a busy life while Martha was laid up. I attended -on Miss Matty, and prepared her meals; I cast up her accounts, -and examined into the state of her canisters and tumblers. -I helped her, too, occasionally, in the shop; and it gave me no -small amusement, and sometimes a little uneasiness, to watch her -ways there. If a little child came in to ask for an ounce -of almond-comfits (and four of the large kind which Miss Matty -sold weighed that much), she always added one more by “way -of make-weight,” as she called it, although the scale was -handsomely turned before; and when I remonstrated against this, -her reply was, “The little things like it so -much!” There was no use in telling her that the fifth -comfit weighed a quarter of an ounce, and made every sale into a -loss to her pocket. So I remembered the green tea, and -winged my shaft with a feather out of her own plumage. I -told her how unwholesome almond-comfits were, and how ill excess -in them might make the little children. This argument -produced some effect; for, henceforward, instead of the fifth -comfit, she always told them to hold out their tiny palms, into -which she shook either peppermint or ginger lozenges, as a -preventive to the dangers that might arise from the previous -sale. Altogether the lozenge trade, conducted on these -principles, did <a name="page237"></a><span class="pagenum">p. -237</span>not promise to be remunerative; but I was happy to find -she had made more than twenty pounds during the last year by her -sales of tea; and, moreover, that now she was accustomed to it, -she did not dislike the employment, which brought her into kindly -intercourse with many of the people round about. If she -gave them good weight, they, in their turn, brought many a little -country present to the “old rector’s daughter”; -a cream cheese, a few new-laid eggs, a little fresh ripe fruit, a -bunch of flowers. The counter was quite loaded with these -offerings sometimes, as she told me.</p> -<p>As for Cranford in general, it was going on much as -usual. The Jamieson and Hoggins feud still raged, if a feud -it could be called, when only one side cared much about it. -Mr and Mrs Hoggins were very happy together, and, like most very -happy people, quite ready to be friendly; indeed, Mrs Hoggins was -really desirous to be restored to Mrs Jamieson’s good -graces, because of the former intimacy. But Mrs Jamieson -considered their very happiness an insult to the Glenmire family, -to which she had still the honour to belong, and she doggedly -refused and rejected every advance. Mr Mulliner, like a -faithful clansman, espoused his mistress’ side with -ardour. If he saw either Mr or Mrs Hoggins, he would cross -the street, and appear absorbed in the contemplation of life in -general, and his own path in particular, until he had passed them -by. Miss Pole used to amuse herself with wondering what in -the world Mrs Jamieson would do, if either she, or Mr Mulliner, -or any other member of her household was taken ill; she could -hardly have the face to call in <a name="page238"></a><span -class="pagenum">p. 238</span>Mr Hoggins after the way she had -behaved to them. Miss Pole grew quite impatient for some -indisposition or accident to befall Mrs Jamieson or her -dependents, in order that Cranford might see how she would act -under the perplexing circumstances.</p> -<p>Martha was beginning to go about again, and I had already -fixed a limit, not very far distant, to my visit, when one -afternoon, as I was sitting in the shop-parlour with Miss -Matty—I remember the weather was colder now than it had -been in May, three weeks before, and we had a fire and kept the -door fully closed—we saw a gentleman go slowly past the -window, and then stand opposite to the door, as if looking out -for the name which we had so carefully hidden. He took out -a double eyeglass and peered about for some time before he could -discover it. Then he came in. And, all on a sudden, -it flashed across me that it was the Aga himself! For his -clothes had an out-of-the-way foreign cut about them, and his -face was deep brown, as if tanned and re-tanned by the sun. -His complexion contrasted oddly with his plentiful snow-white -hair, his eyes were dark and piercing, and he had an odd way of -contracting them and puckering up his cheeks into innumerable -wrinkles when he looked earnestly at objects. He did so to -Miss Matty when he first came in. His glance had first -caught and lingered a little upon me, but then turned, with the -peculiar searching look I have described, to Miss Matty. -She was a little fluttered and nervous, but no more so than she -always was when any man came into her shop. She thought -that he would probably have a note, or a sovereign at least, for -which she would <a name="page239"></a><span class="pagenum">p. -239</span>have to give change, which was an operation she very -much disliked to perform. But the present customer stood -opposite to her, without asking for anything, only looking -fixedly at her as he drummed upon the table with his fingers, -just for all the world as Miss Jenkyns used to do. Miss -Matty was on the point of asking him what he wanted (as she told -me afterwards), when he turned sharp to me: “Is your name -Mary Smith?”</p> -<p>“Yes!” said I.</p> -<p>All my doubts as to his identity were set at rest, and I only -wondered what he would say or do next, and how Miss Matty would -stand the joyful shock of what he had to reveal. Apparently -he was at a loss how to announce himself, for he looked round at -last in search of something to buy, so as to gain time, and, as -it happened, his eye caught on the almond-comfits, and he boldly -asked for a pound of “those things.” I doubt if -Miss Matty had a whole pound in the shop, and, besides the -unusual magnitude of the order, she was distressed with the idea -of the indigestion they would produce, taken in such unlimited -quantities. She looked up to remonstrate. Something -of tender relaxation in his face struck home to her heart. -She said, “It is—oh, sir! can you be Peter?” -and trembled from head to foot. In a moment he was round -the table and had her in his arms, sobbing the tearless cries of -old age. I brought her a glass of wine, for indeed her -colour had changed so as to alarm me and Mr Peter too. He -kept saying, “I have been too sudden for you, Matty—I -have, my little girl.”</p> -<p>I proposed that she should go at once up into the <a -name="page240"></a><span class="pagenum">p. -240</span>drawing-room and lie down on the sofa there. She -looked wistfully at her brother, whose hand she had held tight, -even when nearly fainting; but on his assuring her that he would -not leave her, she allowed him to carry her upstairs.</p> -<p>I thought that the best I could do was to run and put the -kettle on the fire for early tea, and then to attend to the shop, -leaving the brother and sister to exchange some of the many -thousand things they must have to say. I had also to break -the news to Martha, who received it with a burst of tears which -nearly infected me. She kept recovering herself to ask if I -was sure it was indeed Miss Matty’s brother, for I had -mentioned that he had grey hair, and she had always heard that he -was a very handsome young man. Something of the same kind -perplexed Miss Matty at tea-time, when she was installed in the -great easy-chair opposite to Mr Jenkyns in order to gaze her -fill. She could hardly drink for looking at him, and as for -eating, that was out of the question.</p> -<p>“I suppose hot climates age people very quickly,” -said she, almost to herself. “When you left Cranford -you had not a grey hair in your head.”</p> -<p>“But how many years ago is that?” said Mr Peter, -smiling.</p> -<p>“Ah, true! yes, I suppose you and I are getting -old. But still I did not think we were so very old! -But white hair is very becoming to you, Peter,” she -continued—a little afraid lest she had hurt him by -revealing how his appearance had impressed her.</p> -<p>“I suppose I forgot dates too, Matty, for what do you -think I have brought for you from India? I have an Indian -muslin gown and a pearl necklace for you <a -name="page241"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 241</span>somewhere -in my chest at Portsmouth.” He smiled as if amused at -the idea of the incongruity of his presents with the appearance -of his sister; but this did not strike her all at once, while the -elegance of the articles did. I could see that for a moment -her imagination dwelt complacently on the idea of herself thus -attired; and instinctively she put her hand up to her -throat—that little delicate throat which (as Miss Pole had -told me) had been one of her youthful charms; but the hand met -the touch of folds of soft muslin in which she was always swathed -up to her chin, and the sensation recalled a sense of the -unsuitableness of a pearl necklace to her age. She said, -“I’m afraid I’m too old; but it was very kind -of you to think of it. They are just what I should have -liked years ago—when I was young.”</p> -<p>“So I thought, my little Matty. I remembered your -tastes; they were so like my dear mother’s.” At -the mention of that name the brother and sister clasped each -other’s hands yet more fondly, and, although they were -perfectly silent, I fancied they might have something to say if -they were unchecked by my presence, and I got up to arrange my -room for Mr Peter’s occupation that night, intending myself -to share Miss Matty’s bed. But at my movement, he -started up. “I must go and settle about a room at the -‘George.’ My carpet-bag is there -too.”</p> -<p>“No!” said Miss Matty, in great -distress—“you must not go; please, dear -Peter—pray, Mary—oh! you must not go!”</p> -<p>She was so much agitated that we both promised everything she -wished. Peter sat down again and gave her his hand, which -for better security she held <a name="page242"></a><span -class="pagenum">p. 242</span>in both of hers, and I left the room -to accomplish my arrangements.</p> -<p>Long, long into the night, far, far into the morning, did Miss -Matty and I talk. She had much to tell me of her -brother’s life and adventures, which he had communicated to -her as they had sat alone. She said all was thoroughly -clear to her; but I never quite understood the whole story; and -when in after days I lost my awe of Mr Peter enough to question -him myself, he laughed at my curiosity, and told me stories that -sounded so very much like Baron Munchausen’s, that I was -sure he was making fun of me. What I heard from Miss Matty -was that he had been a volunteer at the siege of Rangoon; had -been taken prisoner by the Burmese; and somehow obtained favour -and eventual freedom from knowing how to bleed the chief of the -small tribe in some case of dangerous illness; that on his -release from years of captivity he had had his letters returned -from England with the ominous word “Dead” marked upon -them; and, believing himself to be the last of his race, he had -settled down as an indigo planter, and had proposed to spend the -remainder of his life in the country to whose inhabitants and -modes of life he had become habituated, when my letter had -reached him; and, with the odd vehemence which characterised him -in age as it had done in youth, he had sold his land and all his -possessions to the first purchaser, and come home to the poor old -sister, who was more glad and rich than any princess when she -looked at him. She talked me to sleep at last, and then I -was awakened by a slight sound at the door, for which she begged -my pardon as she crept penitently into bed; but it <a -name="page243"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 243</span>seems that -when I could no longer confirm her belief that the long-lost was -really here—under the same roof—she had begun to fear -lest it was only a waking dream of hers; that there never had -been a Peter sitting by her all that blessed evening—but -that the real Peter lay dead far away beneath some wild sea-wave, -or under some strange eastern tree. And so strong had this -nervous feeling of hers become, that she was fain to get up and -go and convince herself that he was really there by listening -through the door to his even, regular breathing—I -don’t like to call it snoring, but I heard it myself -through two closed doors—and by-and-by it soothed Miss -Matty to sleep.</p> -<p>I don’t believe Mr Peter came home from India as rich as -a nabob; he even considered himself poor, but neither he nor Miss -Matty cared much about that. At any rate, he had enough to -live upon “very genteelly” at Cranford; he and Miss -Matty together. And a day or two after his arrival, the -shop was closed, while troops of little urchins gleefully awaited -the shower of comfits and lozenges that came from time to time -down upon their faces as they stood up-gazing at Miss -Matty’s drawing-room windows. Occasionally Miss Matty -would say to them (half-hidden behind the curtains), “My -dear children, don’t make yourselves ill;” but a -strong arm pulled her back, and a more rattling shower than ever -succeeded. A part of the tea was sent in presents to the -Cranford ladies; and some of it was distributed among the old -people who remembered Mr Peter in the days of his frolicsome -youth. The Indian muslin gown was reserved for darling -Flora Gordon (Miss Jessie Brown’s daughter). The <a -name="page244"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 244</span>Gordons had -been on the Continent for the last few years, but were now -expected to return very soon; and Miss Matty, in her sisterly -pride, anticipated great delight in the joy of showing them Mr -Peter. The pearl necklace disappeared; and about that time -many handsome and useful presents made their appearance in the -households of Miss Pole and Mrs Forrester; and some rare and -delicate Indian ornaments graced the drawing-rooms of Mrs -Jamieson and Mrs Fitz-Adam. I myself was not -forgotten. Among other things, I had the handsomest-bound -and best edition of Dr Johnson’s works that could be -procured; and dear Miss Matty, with tears in her eyes, begged me -to consider it as a present from her sister as well as -herself. In short, no one was forgotten; and, what was -more, every one, however insignificant, who had shown kindness to -Miss Matty at any time, was sure of Mr Peter’s cordial -regard.</p> -<div class='chapter' /><h2><a name="page245"></a><span class="pagenum">p. -245</span>CHAPTER XVI—PEACE TO CRANFORD</h2> -<p><span class="smcap">It</span> was not surprising that Mr Peter -became such a favourite at Cranford. The ladies vied with -each other who should admire him most; and no wonder, for their -quiet lives were astonishingly stirred up by the arrival from -India—especially as the person arrived told more wonderful -stories than Sindbad the Sailor; and, as Miss Pole said, was -quite as good as an Arabian Night any evening. For my own -part, I had vibrated all my life between Drumble and Cranford, -and I thought it was quite possible that all Mr Peter’s -stories might be true, although wonderful; but when I found that, -if we swallowed an anecdote of tolerable magnitude one week, we -had the dose considerably increased the next, I began to have my -doubts; especially as I noticed that when his sister was present -the accounts of Indian life were comparatively tame; not that she -knew more than we did, perhaps less. I noticed also that -when the rector came to call, Mr Peter talked in a different way -about the countries he had been in. But I don’t think -the ladies in Cranford would have considered him such a wonderful -traveller if they had only heard <a name="page246"></a><span -class="pagenum">p. 246</span>him talk in the quiet way he did to -him. They liked him the better, indeed, for being what they -called “so very Oriental.”</p> -<p>One day, at a select party in his honour, which Miss Pole -gave, and from which, as Mrs Jamieson honoured it with her -presence, and had even offered to send Mr Mulliner to wait, Mr -and Mrs Hoggins and Mrs Fitz-Adam were necessarily -excluded—one day at Miss Pole’s, Mr Peter said he was -tired of sitting upright against the hard-backed uneasy chairs, -and asked if he might not indulge himself in sitting -cross-legged. Miss Pole’s consent was eagerly given, -and down he went with the utmost gravity. But when Miss -Pole asked me, in an audible whisper, “if he did not remind -me of the Father of the Faithful?” I could not help -thinking of poor Simon Jones, the lame tailor, and while Mrs -Jamieson slowly commented on the elegance and convenience of the -attitude, I remembered how we had all followed that lady’s -lead in condemning Mr Hoggins for vulgarity because he simply -crossed his legs as he sat still on his chair. Many of Mr -Peter’s ways of eating were a little strange amongst such -ladies as Miss Pole, and Miss Matty, and Mrs Jamieson, especially -when I recollected the untasted green peas and two-pronged forks -at poor Mr Holbrook’s dinner.</p> -<p>The mention of that gentleman’s name recalls to my mind -a conversation between Mr Peter and Miss Matty one evening in the -summer after he returned to Cranford. The day had been very -hot, and Miss Matty had been much oppressed by the weather, in -the heat of which her brother revelled. I remember that she -had been unable to nurse Martha’s baby, <a -name="page247"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 247</span>which had -become her favourite employment of late, and which was as much at -home in her arms as in its mother’s, as long as it remained -a light-weight, portable by one so fragile as Miss Matty. -This day to which I refer, Miss Matty had seemed more than -usually feeble and languid, and only revived when the sun went -down, and her sofa was wheeled to the open window, through which, -although it looked into the principal street of Cranford, the -fragrant smell of the neighbouring hayfields came in every now -and then, borne by the soft breezes that stirred the dull air of -the summer twilight, and then died away. The silence of the -sultry atmosphere was lost in the murmuring noises which came in -from many an open window and door; even the children were abroad -in the street, late as it was (between ten and eleven), enjoying -the game of play for which they had not had spirits during the -heat of the day. It was a source of satisfaction to Miss -Matty to see how few candles were lighted, even in the apartments -of those houses from which issued the greatest signs of -life. Mr Peter, Miss Matty, and I had all been quiet, each -with a separate reverie, for some little time, when Mr Peter -broke in—</p> -<p>“Do you know, little Matty, I could have sworn you were -on the high road to matrimony when I left England that last -time! If anybody had told me you would have lived and died -an old maid then, I should have laughed in their -faces.”</p> -<p>Miss Matty made no reply, and I tried in vain to think of some -subject which should effectually turn the conversation; but I was -very stupid; and before I spoke he went on—</p> -<p><a name="page248"></a><span class="pagenum">p. -248</span>“It was Holbrook, that fine manly fellow who -lived at Woodley, that I used to think would carry off my little -Matty. You would not think it now, I dare say, Mary; but -this sister of mine was once a very pretty girl—at least, I -thought so, and so I’ve a notion did poor Holbrook. -What business had he to die before I came home to thank him for -all his kindness to a good-for-nothing cub as I was? It was -that that made me first think he cared for you; for in all our -fishing expeditions it was Matty, Matty, we talked about. -Poor Deborah! What a lecture she read me on having asked -him home to lunch one day, when she had seen the Arley carriage -in the town, and thought that my lady might call. Well, -that’s long years ago; more than half a life-time, and yet -it seems like yesterday! I don’t know a fellow I -should have liked better as a brother-in-law. You must have -played your cards badly, my little Matty, somehow or -another—wanted your brother to be a good go-between, eh, -little one?” said he, putting out his hand to take hold of -hers as she lay on the sofa. “Why, what’s this? -you’re shivering and shaking, Matty, with that confounded -open window. Shut it, Mary, this minute!”</p> -<p>I did so, and then stooped down to kiss Miss Matty, and see if -she really were chilled. She caught at my hand, and gave it -a hard squeeze—but unconsciously, I think—for in a -minute or two she spoke to us quite in her usual voice, and -smiled our uneasiness away, although she patiently submitted to -the prescriptions we enforced of a warm bed and a glass of weak -negus. I was to leave Cranford the next day, and before I -went I saw that all the effects <a name="page249"></a><span -class="pagenum">p. 249</span>of the open window had quite -vanished. I had superintended most of the alterations -necessary in the house and household during the latter weeks of -my stay. The shop was once more a parlour: the empty -resounding rooms again furnished up to the very garrets.</p> -<p>There had been some talk of establishing Martha and Jem in -another house, but Miss Matty would not hear of this. -Indeed, I never saw her so much roused as when Miss Pole had -assumed it to be the most desirable arrangement. As long as -Martha would remain with Miss Matty, Miss Matty was only too -thankful to have her about her; yes, and Jem too, who was a very -pleasant man to have in the house, for she never saw him from -week’s end to week’s end. And as for the -probable children, if they would all turn out such little -darlings as her god-daughter, Matilda, she should not mind the -number, if Martha didn’t. Besides, the next was to be -called Deborah—a point which Miss Matty had reluctantly -yielded to Martha’s stubborn determination that her -first-born was to be Matilda. So Miss Pole had to lower her -colours, and even her voice, as she said to me that, as Mr and -Mrs Hearn were still to go on living in the same house with Miss -Matty, we had certainly done a wise thing in hiring -Martha’s niece as an auxiliary.</p> -<p>I left Miss Matty and Mr Peter most comfortable and contented; -the only subject for regret to the tender heart of the one, and -the social friendly nature of the other, being the unfortunate -quarrel between Mrs Jamieson and the plebeian Hogginses and their -following. In joke, I prophesied one day <a -name="page250"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 250</span>that this -would only last until Mrs Jamieson or Mr Mulliner were ill, in -which case they would only be too glad to be friends with Mr -Hoggins; but Miss Matty did not like my looking forward to -anything like illness in so light a manner, and before the year -was out all had come round in a far more satisfactory way.</p> -<p>I received two Cranford letters on one auspicious October -morning. Both Miss Pole and Miss Matty wrote to ask me to -come over and meet the Gordons, who had returned to England alive -and well with their two children, now almost grown up. Dear -Jessie Brown had kept her old kind nature, although she had -changed her name and station; and she wrote to say that she and -Major Gordon expected to be in Cranford on the fourteenth, and -she hoped and begged to be remembered to Mrs Jamieson (named -first, as became her honourable station), Miss Pole and Miss -Matty—could she ever forget their kindness to her poor -father and sister?—Mrs Forrester, Mr Hoggins (and here -again came in an allusion to kindness shown to the dead long -ago), his new wife, who as such must allow Mrs Gordon to desire -to make her acquaintance, and who was, moreover, an old Scotch -friend of her husband’s. In short, every one was -named, from the rector—who had been appointed to Cranford -in the interim between Captain Brown’s death and Miss -Jessie’s marriage, and was now associated with the latter -event—down to Miss Betty Barker. All were asked to -the luncheon; all except Mrs Fitz-Adam, who had come to live in -Cranford since Miss Jessie Brown’s days, and whom I found -rather moping on account of the omission. People wondered -at Miss <a name="page251"></a><span class="pagenum">p. -251</span>Betty Barker’s being included in the honourable -list; but, then, as Miss Pole said, we must remember the -disregard of the genteel proprieties of life in which the poor -captain had educated his girls, and for his sake we swallowed our -pride. Indeed, Mrs Jamieson rather took it as a compliment, -as putting Miss Betty (formerly <i>her</i> maid) on a level with -“those Hogginses.”</p> -<p>But when I arrived in Cranford, nothing was as yet ascertained -of Mrs Jamieson’s own intentions; would the honourable lady -go, or would she not? Mr Peter declared that she should and -she would; Miss Pole shook her head and desponded. But Mr -Peter was a man of resources. In the first place, he -persuaded Miss Matty to write to Mrs Gordon, and to tell her of -Mrs Fitz-Adam’s existence, and to beg that one so kind, and -cordial, and generous, might be included in the pleasant -invitation. An answer came back by return of post, with a -pretty little note for Mrs Fitz-Adam, and a request that Miss -Matty would deliver it herself and explain the previous -omission. Mrs Fitz-Adam was as pleased as could be, and -thanked Miss Matty over and over again. Mr Peter had said, -“Leave Mrs Jamieson to me;” so we did; especially as -we knew nothing that we could do to alter her determination if -once formed.</p> -<p>I did not know, nor did Miss Matty, how things were going on, -until Miss Pole asked me, just the day before Mrs Gordon came, if -I thought there was anything between Mr Peter and Mrs Jamieson in -the matrimonial line, for that Mrs Jamieson was really going to -the lunch at the “George.” She <a -name="page252"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 252</span>had sent Mr -Mulliner down to desire that there might be a footstool put to -the warmest seat in the room, as she meant to come, and knew that -their chairs were very high. Miss Pole had picked this -piece of news up, and from it she conjectured all sorts of -things, and bemoaned yet more. “If Peter should -marry, what would become of poor dear Miss Matty? And Mrs -Jamieson, of all people!” Miss Pole seemed to think -there were other ladies in Cranford who would have done more -credit to his choice, and I think she must have had someone who -was unmarried in her head, for she kept saying, “It was so -wanting in delicacy in a widow to think of such a -thing.”</p> -<p>When I got back to Miss Matty’s I really did begin to -think that Mr Peter might be thinking of Mrs Jamieson for a wife, -and I was as unhappy as Miss Pole about it. He had the -proof sheet of a great placard in his hand. “Signor -Brunoni, Magician to the King of Delhi, the Rajah of Oude, and -the great Lama of Thibet,” &c. &c., was going to -“perform in Cranford for one night only,” the very -next night; and Miss Matty, exultant, showed me a letter from the -Gordons, promising to remain over this gaiety, which Miss Matty -said was entirely Peter’s doing. He had written to -ask the signor to come, and was to be at all the expenses of the -affair. Tickets were to be sent gratis to as many as the -room would hold. In short, Miss Matty was charmed with the -plan, and said that to-morrow Cranford would remind her of the -Preston Guild, to which she had been in her youth—a -luncheon at the “George,” with the dear Gordons, and -the signor <a name="page253"></a><span class="pagenum">p. -253</span>in the Assembly Room in the evening. But -I—I looked only at the fatal words:—</p> -<blockquote><p>“<i>Under the Patronage of the</i> <span -class="smcap">Honourable Mrs Jamieson</span>.”</p> -</blockquote> -<p>She, then, was chosen to preside over this entertainment of Mr -Peter’s; she was perhaps going to displace my dear Miss -Matty in his heart, and make her life lonely once more! I -could not look forward to the morrow with any pleasure; and every -innocent anticipation of Miss Matty’s only served to add to -my annoyance.</p> -<p>So, angry and irritated, and exaggerating every little -incident which could add to my irritation, I went on till we were -all assembled in the great parlour at the -“George.” Major and Mrs Gordon and pretty Flora -and Mr Ludovic were all as bright and handsome and friendly as -could be; but I could hardly attend to them for watching Mr -Peter, and I saw that Miss Pole was equally busy. I had -never seen Mrs Jamieson so roused and animated before; her face -looked full of interest in what Mr Peter was saying. I drew -near to listen. My relief was great when I caught that his -words were not words of love, but that, for all his grave face, -he was at his old tricks. He was telling her of his travels -in India, and describing the wonderful height of the Himalaya -mountains: one touch after another added to their size, and each -exceeded the former in absurdity; but Mrs Jamieson really enjoyed -all in perfect good faith. I suppose she required strong -stimulants to excite her to come out of her apathy. Mr -Peter wound up his account by saying that, of course, at that -altitude there were none of the animals to be found that <a -name="page254"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 254</span>existed in -the lower regions; the game,—everything was -different. Firing one day at some flying creature, he was -very much dismayed when it fell, to find that he had shot a -cherubim! Mr Peter caught my eye at this moment, and gave -me such a funny twinkle, that I felt sure he had no thoughts of -Mrs Jamieson as a wife from that time. She looked -uncomfortably amazed—</p> -<p>“But, Mr Peter, shooting a cherubim—don’t -you think—I am afraid that was sacrilege!”</p> -<p>Mr Peter composed his countenance in a moment, and appeared -shocked at the idea, which, as he said truly enough, was now -presented to him for the first time; but then Mrs Jamieson must -remember that he had been living for a long time among -savages—all of whom were heathens—some of them, he -was afraid, were downright Dissenters. Then, seeing Miss -Matty draw near, he hastily changed the conversation, and after a -little while, turning to me, he said, “Don’t be -shocked, prim little Mary, at all my wonderful stories. I -consider Mrs Jamieson fair game, and besides I am bent on -propitiating her, and the first step towards it is keeping her -well awake. I bribed her here by asking her to let me have -her name as patroness for my poor conjuror this evening; and I -don’t want to give her time enough to get up her rancour -against the Hogginses, who are just coming in. I want -everybody to be friends, for it harasses Matty so much to hear of -these quarrels. I shall go at it again by-and-by, so you -need not look shocked. I intend to enter the Assembly Room -to-night with Mrs Jamieson on one side, and my lady, Mrs Hoggins, -on the other. You see if I don’t.”</p> -<p><a name="page255"></a><span class="pagenum">p. -255</span>Somehow or another he did; and fairly got them into -conversation together. Major and Mrs Gordon helped at the -good work with their perfect ignorance of any existing coolness -between any of the inhabitants of Cranford.</p> -<p>Ever since that day there has been the old friendly -sociability in Cranford society; which I am thankful for, because -of my dear Miss Matty’s love of peace and kindliness. -We all love Miss Matty, and I somehow think we are all of us -better when she is near us.</p> - -<div class="gapspace"> </div> -<p style="text-align: center"><a name="page256"></a><span -class="pagenum">p. 256</span><span class="gutsmall">PRINTED -BY</span><br /> -<span class="gutsmall">TURNBULL AND SPEARS,</span><br /> -<span class="gutsmall">EDINBURGH</span></p> - - - - -<div style='display:block;margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CRANFORD ***</div> -<div style='display:block;margin:1em 0;'>This file should be named 394-h.htm or 394-h.zip</div> -<div style='display:block;margin:1em 0;'>This and all associated files of various formats will be found in https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/3/9/394</div> -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will -be renamed. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part -of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project -Gutenberg™ electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG™ -concept and trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark, -and may not be used if you charge for an eBook, except by following -the terms of the trademark license, including paying royalties for use -of the Project Gutenberg trademark. If you do not charge anything for -copies of this eBook, complying with the trademark license is very -easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose such as creation -of derivative works, reports, performances and research. Project -Gutenberg eBooks may be modified and printed and given away--you may -do practically ANYTHING in the United States with eBooks not protected -by U.S. copyright law. Redistribution is subject to the trademark -license, especially commercial redistribution. -</div> - -<div style='margin:0.83em 0; font-size:1.1em; text-align:center'>START: FULL LICENSE<br /> -<span style='font-size:smaller'>THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE<br /> -PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK</span> -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -To protect the Project Gutenberg™ mission of promoting the free -distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work -(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase “Project -Gutenberg”), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full -Project Gutenberg™ License available with this file or online at -www.gutenberg.org/license. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; font-size:1.1em; margin:1em 0; font-weight:bold'> -Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg™ electronic works -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg™ -electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to -and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property -(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all -the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or -destroy all copies of Project Gutenberg™ electronic works in your -possession. If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a -Project Gutenberg™ electronic work and you do not agree to be bound -by the terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person -or entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -1.B. “Project Gutenberg” is a registered trademark. It may only be -used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who -agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few -things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg™ electronic works -even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See -paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project -Gutenberg™ electronic works if you follow the terms of this -agreement and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg™ -electronic works. See paragraph 1.E below. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation (“the -Foundation” or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection -of Project Gutenberg™ electronic works. Nearly all the individual -works in the collection are in the public domain in the United -States. If an individual work is unprotected by copyright law in the -United States and you are located in the United States, we do not -claim a right to prevent you from copying, distributing, performing, -displaying or creating derivative works based on the work as long as -all references to Project Gutenberg are removed. Of course, we hope -that you will support the Project Gutenberg™ mission of promoting -free access to electronic works by freely sharing Project Gutenberg™ -works in compliance with the terms of this agreement for keeping the -Project Gutenberg™ name associated with the work. You can easily -comply with the terms of this agreement by keeping this work in the -same format with its attached full Project Gutenberg™ License when -you share it without charge with others. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern -what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are -in a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, -check the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this -agreement before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, -distributing or creating derivative works based on this work or any -other Project Gutenberg™ work. The Foundation makes no -representations concerning the copyright status of any work in any -country other than the United States. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other -immediate access to, the full Project Gutenberg™ License must appear -prominently whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg™ work (any work -on which the phrase “Project Gutenberg” appears, or with which the -phrase “Project Gutenberg” is associated) is accessed, displayed, -performed, viewed, copied or distributed: -</div> - -<blockquote> - <div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> - This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most - other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions - whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms - of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online - at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you - are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws - of the country where you are located before using this eBook. - </div> -</blockquote> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg™ electronic work is -derived from texts not protected by U.S. copyright law (does not -contain a notice indicating that it is posted with permission of the -copyright holder), the work can be copied and distributed to anyone in -the United States without paying any fees or charges. If you are -redistributing or providing access to a work with the phrase “Project -Gutenberg” associated with or appearing on the work, you must comply -either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 or -obtain permission for the use of the work and the Project Gutenberg™ -trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg™ electronic work is posted -with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution -must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any -additional terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms -will be linked to the Project Gutenberg™ License for all works -posted with the permission of the copyright holder found at the -beginning of this work. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg™ -License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this -work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg™. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this -electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without -prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with -active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project -Gutenberg™ License. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, -compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including -any word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access -to or distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg™ work in a format -other than “Plain Vanilla ASCII” or other format used in the official -version posted on the official Project Gutenberg™ website -(www.gutenberg.org), you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense -to the user, provide a copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means -of obtaining a copy upon request, of the work in its original “Plain -Vanilla ASCII” or other form. Any alternate format must include the -full Project Gutenberg™ License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, -performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg™ works -unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing -access to or distributing Project Gutenberg™ electronic works -provided that: -</div> - -<div style='margin-left:0.7em;'> - <div style='text-indent:-0.7em'> - • You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from - the use of Project Gutenberg™ works calculated using the method - you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is owed - to the owner of the Project Gutenberg™ trademark, but he has - agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the Project - Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments must be paid - within 60 days following each date on which you prepare (or are - legally required to prepare) your periodic tax returns. Royalty - payments should be clearly marked as such and sent to the Project - Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the address specified in - Section 4, “Information about donations to the Project Gutenberg - Literary Archive Foundation.” - </div> - - <div style='text-indent:-0.7em'> - • You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies - you in writing (or by email) within 30 days of receipt that s/he - does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg™ - License. You must require such a user to return or destroy all - copies of the works possessed in a physical medium and discontinue - all use of and all access to other copies of Project Gutenberg™ - works. - </div> - - <div style='text-indent:-0.7em'> - • You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of - any money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the - electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days of - receipt of the work. - </div> - - <div style='text-indent:-0.7em'> - • You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free - distribution of Project Gutenberg™ works. - </div> -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project -Gutenberg™ electronic work or group of works on different terms than -are set forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing -from the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the manager of -the Project Gutenberg™ trademark. Contact the Foundation as set -forth in Section 3 below. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -1.F. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable -effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread -works not protected by U.S. copyright law in creating the Project -Gutenberg™ collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg™ -electronic works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may -contain “Defects,” such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate -or corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other -intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or -other medium, a computer virus, or computer codes that damage or -cannot be read by your equipment. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the “Right -of Replacement or Refund” described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project -Gutenberg™ trademark, and any other party distributing a Project -Gutenberg™ electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all -liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal -fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT -LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE -PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE -TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE -LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR -INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH -DAMAGE. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a -defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can -receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a -written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you -received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium -with your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you -with the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in -lieu of a refund. If you received the work electronically, the person -or entity providing it to you may choose to give you a second -opportunity to receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If -the second copy is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing -without further opportunities to fix the problem. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth -in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you ‘AS-IS’, WITH NO -OTHER WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT -LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied -warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of -damages. If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement -violates the law of the state applicable to this agreement, the -agreement shall be interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or -limitation permitted by the applicable state law. The invalidity or -unenforceability of any provision of this agreement shall not void the -remaining provisions. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the -trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone -providing copies of Project Gutenberg™ electronic works in -accordance with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the -production, promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg™ -electronic works, harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, -including legal fees, that arise directly or indirectly from any of -the following which you do or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this -or any Project Gutenberg™ work, (b) alteration, modification, or -additions or deletions to any Project Gutenberg™ work, and (c) any -Defect you cause. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; font-size:1.1em; margin:1em 0; font-weight:bold'> -Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg™ -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Project Gutenberg™ is synonymous with the free distribution of -electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of -computers including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It -exists because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations -from people in all walks of life. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the -assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg™’s -goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg™ collection will -remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure -and permanent future for Project Gutenberg™ and future -generations. To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation and how your efforts and donations can help, see -Sections 3 and 4 and the Foundation information page at www.gutenberg.org. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; font-size:1.1em; margin:1em 0; font-weight:bold'> -Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non-profit -501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the -state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal -Revenue Service. The Foundation’s EIN or federal tax identification -number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent permitted by -U.S. federal laws and your state’s laws. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -The Foundation’s business office is located at 809 North 1500 West, -Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887. Email contact links and up -to date contact information can be found at the Foundation’s website -and official page at www.gutenberg.org/contact -</div> - -<div style='display:block; font-size:1.1em; margin:1em 0; font-weight:bold'> -Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Project Gutenberg™ depends upon and cannot survive without widespread -public support and donations to carry out its mission of -increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be -freely distributed in machine-readable form accessible by the widest -array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations -($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt -status with the IRS. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating -charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United -States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a -considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up -with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations -where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To SEND -DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any particular state -visit <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/donate/">www.gutenberg.org/donate</a>. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we -have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition -against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who -approach us with offers to donate. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make -any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from -outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Please check the Project Gutenberg web pages for current donation -methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other -ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. To -donate, please visit: www.gutenberg.org/donate -</div> - -<div style='display:block; font-size:1.1em; margin:1em 0; font-weight:bold'> -Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg™ electronic works -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project -Gutenberg™ concept of a library of electronic works that could be -freely shared with anyone. For forty years, he produced and -distributed Project Gutenberg™ eBooks with only a loose network of -volunteer support. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Project Gutenberg™ eBooks are often created from several printed -editions, all of which are confirmed as not protected by copyright in -the U.S. unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not -necessarily keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper -edition. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Most people start at our website which has the main PG search -facility: <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -This website includes information about Project Gutenberg™, -including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to -subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. -</div> - </body> -</html> diff --git a/old/394-h_20210429.zip b/old/394-h_20210429.zip Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 83b1005..0000000 --- a/old/394-h_20210429.zip +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/crnfd10.txt b/old/crnfd10.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 5f1df15..0000000 --- a/old/crnfd10.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,7344 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Cranford, by Elizabeth Cleghorn Gaskell - -Copyright laws are changing all over the world. Be sure to check the -copyright laws for your country before downloading or redistributing -this or any other Project Gutenberg eBook. - -This header should be the first thing seen when viewing this Project -Gutenberg file. Please do not remove it. Do not change or edit the -header without written permission. - -Please read the "legal small print," and other information about the -eBook and Project Gutenberg at the bottom of this file. Included is -important information about your specific rights and restrictions in -how the file may be used. You can also find out about how to make a -donation to Project Gutenberg, and how to get involved. - - -**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** - -**eBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** - -*****These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!***** - - -Title: Cranford - -Author: Elizabeth Cleghorn Gaskell - -Release Date: January, 1996 [EBook #394] -[This file was first posted on December 7, 1995] -[Most recently updated: August 18, 2002] - -Edition: 10 - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ASCII - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, CRANFORD *** - - - - -Transcribed from the 1907 J. M. Dent edition by David Price, email -ccx074@coventry.ac.uk. Extra proofing by Margaret Price. - - - - -CRANFORD - - - - -CHAPTER I--OUR SOCIETY - - - -In the first place, Cranford is in possession of the Amazons; all -the holders of houses above a certain rent are women. If a married -couple come to settle in the town, somehow the gentleman -disappears; he is either fairly frightened to death by being the -only man in the Cranford evening parties, or he is accounted for by -being with his regiment, his ship, or closely engaged in business -all the week in the great neighbouring commercial town of Drumble, -distant only twenty miles on a railroad. In short, whatever does -become of the gentlemen, they are not at Cranford. What could they -do if they were there? The surgeon has his round of thirty miles, -and sleeps at Cranford; but every man cannot be a surgeon. For -keeping the trim gardens full of choice flowers without a weed to -speck them; for frightening away little boys who look wistfully at -the said flowers through the railings; for rushing out at the geese -that occasionally venture in to the gardens if the gates are left -open; for deciding all questions of literature and politics without -troubling themselves with unnecessary reasons or arguments; for -obtaining clear and correct knowledge of everybody's affairs in the -parish; for keeping their neat maid-servants in admirable order; -for kindness (somewhat dictatorial) to the poor, and real tender -good offices to each other whenever they are in distress, the -ladies of Cranford are quite sufficient. "A man," as one of them -observed to me once, "is SO in the way in the house!" Although the -ladies of Cranford know all each other's proceedings, they are -exceedingly indifferent to each other's opinions. Indeed, as each -has her own individuality, not to say eccentricity, pretty strongly -developed, nothing is so easy as verbal retaliation; but, somehow, -good-will reigns among them to a considerable degree. - -The Cranford ladies have only an occasional little quarrel, -spirited out in a few peppery words and angry jerks of the head; -just enough to prevent the even tenor of their lives from becoming -too flat. Their dress is very independent of fashion; as they -observe, "What does it signify how we dress here at Cranford, where -everybody knows us?" And if they go from home, their reason is -equally cogent, "What does it signify how we dress here, where -nobody knows us?" The materials of their clothes are, in general, -good and plain, and most of them are nearly as scrupulous as Miss -Tyler, of cleanly memory; but I will answer for it, the last gigot, -the last tight and scanty petticoat in wear in England, was seen in -Cranford--and seen without a smile. - -I can testify to a magnificent family red silk umbrella, under -which a gentle little spinster, left alone of many brothers and -sisters, used to patter to church on rainy days. Have you any red -silk umbrellas in London? We had a tradition of the first that had -ever been seen in Cranford; and the little boys mobbed it, and -called it "a stick in petticoats." It might have been the very red -silk one I have described, held by a strong father over a troop of -little ones; the poor little lady--the survivor of all--could -scarcely carry it. - -Then there were rules and regulations for visiting and calls; and -they were announced to any young people who might be staying in the -town, with all the solemnity with which the old Manx laws were read -once a year on the Tinwald Mount. - -"Our friends have sent to inquire how you are after your journey -to-night, my dear" (fifteen miles in a gentleman's carriage); "they -will give you some rest to-morrow, but the next day, I have no -doubt, they will call; so be at liberty after twelve--from twelve -to three are our calling hours." - -Then, after they had called - - -"It is the third day; I dare say your mamma has told you, my dear, -never to let more than three days elapse between receiving a call -and returning it; and also, that you are never to stay longer than -a quarter of an hour." - -"But am I to look at my watch? How am I to find out when a quarter -of an hour has passed?" - -"You must keep thinking about the time, my dear, and not allow -yourself to forget it in conversation." - -As everybody had this rule in their minds, whether they received or -paid a call, of course no absorbing subject was ever spoken about. -We kept ourselves to short sentences of small talk, and were -punctual to our time. - -I imagine that a few of the gentlefolks of Cranford were poor, and -had some difficulty in making both ends meet; but they were like -the Spartans, and concealed their smart under a smiling face. We -none of us spoke of money, because that subject savoured of -commerce and trade, and though some might be poor, we were all -aristocratic. The Cranfordians had that kindly esprit de corps -which made them overlook all deficiencies in success when some -among them tried to conceal their poverty. When Mrs Forrester, for -instance, gave a party in her baby-house of a dwelling, and the -little maiden disturbed the ladies on the sofa by a request that -she might get the tea-tray out from underneath, everyone took this -novel proceeding as the most natural thing in the world, and talked -on about household forms and ceremonies as if we all believed that -our hostess had a regular servants' hall, second table, with -housekeeper and steward, instead of the one little charity-school -maiden, whose short ruddy arms could never have been strong enough -to carry the tray upstairs, if she had not been assisted in private -by her mistress, who now sat in state, pretending not to know what -cakes were sent up, though she knew, and we knew, and she knew that -we knew, and we knew that she knew that we knew, she had been busy -all the morning making tea-bread and sponge-cakes. - -There were one or two consequences arising from this general but -unacknowledged poverty, and this very much acknowledged gentility, -which were not amiss, and which might be introduced into many -circles of society to their great improvement. For instance, the -inhabitants of Cranford kept early hours, and clattered home in -their pattens, under the guidance of a lantern-bearer, about nine -o'clock at night; and the whole town was abed and asleep by half- -past ten. Moreover, it was considered "vulgar" (a tremendous word -in Cranford) to give anything expensive, in the way of eatable or -drinkable, at the evening entertainments. Wafer bread-and-butter -and sponge-biscuits were all that the Honourable Mrs Jamieson gave; -and she was sister-in-law to the late Earl of Glenmire, although -she did practise such "elegant economy." - -"Elegant economy!" How naturally one falls back into the -phraseology of Cranford! There, economy was always "elegant," and -money-spending always "vulgar and ostentatious"; a sort of sour- -grapeism which made us very peaceful and satisfied. I never shall -forget the dismay felt when a certain Captain Brown came to live at -Cranford, and openly spoke about his being poor--not in a whisper -to an intimate friend, the doors and windows being previously -closed, but in the public street! in a loud military voice! -alleging his poverty as a reason for not taking a particular house. -The ladies of Cranford were already rather moaning over the -invasion of their territories by a man and a gentleman. He was a -half-pay captain, and had obtained some situation on a neighbouring -railroad, which had been vehemently petitioned against by the -little town; and if, in addition to his masculine gender, and his -connection with the obnoxious railroad, he was so brazen as to talk -of being poor--why, then, indeed, he must be sent to Coventry. -Death was as true and as common as poverty; yet people never spoke -about that, loud out in the streets. It was a word not to be -mentioned to ears polite. We had tacitly agreed to ignore that any -with whom we associated on terms of visiting equality could ever be -prevented by poverty from doing anything that they wished. If we -walked to or from a party, it was because the night was SO fine, or -the air SO refreshing, not because sedan-chairs were expensive. If -we wore prints, instead of summer silks, it was because we -preferred a washing material; and so on, till we blinded ourselves -to the vulgar fact that we were, all of us, people of very moderate -means. Of course, then, we did not know what to make of a man who -could speak of poverty as if it was not a disgrace. Yet, somehow, -Captain Brown made himself respected in Cranford, and was called -upon, in spite of all resolutions to the contrary. I was surprised -to hear his opinions quoted as authority at a visit which I paid to -Cranford about a year after he had settled in the town. My own -friends had been among the bitterest opponents of any proposal to -visit the Captain and his daughters, only twelve months before; and -now he was even admitted in the tabooed hours before twelve. True, -it was to discover the cause of a smoking chimney, before the fire -was lighted; but still Captain Brown walked upstairs, nothing -daunted, spoke in a voice too large for the room, and joked quite -in the way of a tame man about the house. He had been blind to all -the small slights, and omissions of trivial ceremonies, with which -he had been received. He had been friendly, though the Cranford -ladies had been cool; he had answered small sarcastic compliments -in good faith; and with his manly frankness had overpowered all the -shrinking which met him as a man who was not ashamed to be poor. -And, at last, his excellent masculine common sense, and his -facility in devising expedients to overcome domestic dilemmas, had -gained him an extraordinary place as authority among the Cranford -ladies. He himself went on in his course, as unaware of his -popularity as he had been of the reverse; and I am sure he was -startled one day when he found his advice so highly esteemed as to -make some counsel which he had given in jest to be taken in sober, -serious earnest. - -It was on this subject: An old lady had an Alderney cow, which she -looked upon as a daughter. You could not pay the short quarter of -an hour call without being told of the wonderful milk or wonderful -intelligence of this animal. The whole town knew and kindly -regarded Miss Betsy Barker's Alderney; therefore great was the -sympathy and regret when, in an unguarded moment, the poor cow -tumbled into a lime-pit. She moaned so loudly that she was soon -heard and rescued; but meanwhile the poor beast had lost most of -her hair, and came out looking naked, cold, and miserable, in a -bare skin. Everybody pitied the animal, though a few could not -restrain their smiles at her droll appearance. Miss Betsy Barker -absolutely cried with sorrow and dismay; and it was said she -thought of trying a bath of oil. This remedy, perhaps, was -recommended by some one of the number whose advice she asked; but -the proposal, if ever it was made, was knocked on the head by -Captain Brown's decided "Get her a flannel waistcoat and flannel -drawers, ma'am, if you wish to keep her alive. But my advice is, -kill the poor creature at once." - -Miss Betsy Barker dried her eyes, and thanked the Captain heartily; -she set to work, and by-and-by all the town turned out to see the -Alderney meekly going to her pasture, clad in dark grey flannel. I -have watched her myself many a time. Do you ever see cows dressed -in grey flannel in London? - -Captain Brown had taken a small house on the outskirts of the town, -where he lived with his two daughters. He must have been upwards -of sixty at the time of the first visit I paid to Cranford after I -had left it as a residence. But he had a wiry, well-trained, -elastic figure, a stiff military throw-back of his head, and a -springing step, which made him appear much younger than he was. -His eldest daughter looked almost as old as himself, and betrayed -the fact that his real was more than his apparent age. Miss Brown -must have been forty; she had a sickly, pained, careworn expression -on her face, and looked as if the gaiety of youth had long faded -out of sight. Even when young she must have been plain and hard- -featured. Miss Jessie Brown was ten years younger than her sister, -and twenty shades prettier. Her face was round and dimpled. Miss -Jenkyns once said, in a passion against Captain Brown (the cause of -which I will tell you presently), "that she thought it was time for -Miss Jessie to leave off her dimples, and not always to be trying -to look like a child." It was true there was something childlike -in her face; and there will be, I think, till she dies, though she -should live to a hundred. Her eyes were large blue wondering eyes, -looking straight at you; her nose was unformed and snub, and her -lips were red and dewy; she wore her hair, too, in little rows of -curls, which heightened this appearance. I do not know whether she -was pretty or not; but I liked her face, and so did everybody, and -I do not think she could help her dimples. She had something of -her father's jauntiness of gait and manner; and any female observer -might detect a slight difference in the attire of the two sisters-- -that of Miss Jessie being about two pounds per annum more expensive -than Miss Brown's. Two pounds was a large sum in Captain Brown's -annual disbursements. - -Such was the impression made upon me by the Brown family when I -first saw them all together in Cranford Church. The Captain I had -met before--on the occasion of the smoky chimney, which he had -cured by some simple alteration in the flue. In church, he held -his double eye-glass to his eyes during the Morning Hymn, and then -lifted up his head erect and sang out loud and joyfully. He made -the responses louder than the clerk--an old man with a piping -feeble voice, who, I think, felt aggrieved at the Captain's -sonorous bass, and quivered higher and higher in consequence. - -On coming out of church, the brisk Captain paid the most gallant -attention to his two daughters. - -He nodded and smiled to his acquaintances; but he shook hands with -none until he had helped Miss Brown to unfurl her umbrella, had -relieved her of her prayer-book, and had waited patiently till she, -with trembling nervous hands, had taken up her gown to walk through -the wet roads. - -I wonder what the Cranford ladies did with Captain Brown at their -parties. We had often rejoiced, in former days, that there was no -gentleman to be attended to, and to find conversation for, at the -card-parties. We had congratulated ourselves upon the snugness of -the evenings; and, in our love for gentility, and distaste of -mankind, we had almost persuaded ourselves that to be a man was to -be "vulgar"; so that when I found my friend and hostess, Miss -Jenkyns, was going to have a party in my honour, and that Captain -and the Miss Browns were invited, I wondered much what would be the -course of the evening. Card-tables, with green baize tops, were -set out by daylight, just as usual; it was the third week in -November, so the evenings closed in about four. Candles, and clean -packs of cards, were arranged on each table. The fire was made up; -the neat maid-servant had received her last directions; and there -we stood, dressed in our best, each with a candle-lighter in our -hands, ready to dart at the candles as soon as the first knock -came. Parties in Cranford were solemn festivities, making the -ladies feel gravely elated as they sat together in their best -dresses. As soon as three had arrived, we sat down to -"Preference," I being the unlucky fourth. The next four comers -were put down immediately to another table; and presently the tea- -trays, which I had seen set out in the store-room as I passed in -the morning, were placed each on the middle of a card-table. The -china was delicate egg-shell; the old-fashioned silver glittered -with polishing; but the eatables were of the slightest description. -While the trays were yet on the tables, Captain and the Miss Browns -came in; and I could see that, somehow or other, the Captain was a -favourite with all the ladies present. Ruffled brows were -smoothed, sharp voices lowered at his approach. Miss Brown looked -ill, and depressed almost to gloom. Miss Jessie smiled as usual, -and seemed nearly as popular as her father. He immediately and -quietly assumed the man's place in the room; attended to every -one's wants, lessened the pretty maid-servant's labour by waiting -on empty cups and bread-and-butterless ladies; and yet did it all -in so easy and dignified a manner, and so much as if it were a -matter of course for the strong to attend to the weak, that he was -a true man throughout. He played for threepenny points with as -grave an interest as if they had been pounds; and yet, in all his -attention to strangers, he had an eye on his suffering daughter-- -for suffering I was sure she was, though to many eyes she might -only appear to be irritable. Miss Jessie could not play cards: -but she talked to the sitters-out, who, before her coming, had been -rather inclined to be cross. She sang, too, to an old cracked -piano, which I think had been a spinet in its youth. Miss Jessie -sang, "Jock of Hazeldean" a little out of tune; but we were none of -us musical, though Miss Jenkyns beat time, out of time, by way of -appearing to be so. - -It was very good of Miss Jenkyns to do this; for I had seen that, a -little before, she had been a good deal annoyed by Miss Jessie -Brown's unguarded admission (a propos of Shetland wool) that she -had an uncle, her mother's brother, who was a shop-keeper in -Edinburgh. Miss Jenkyns tried to drown this confession by a -terrible cough--for the Honourable Mrs Jamieson was sitting at a -card-table nearest Miss Jessie, and what would she say or think if -she found out she was in the same room with a shop-keeper's niece! -But Miss Jessie Brown (who had no tact, as we all agreed the next -morning) WOULD repeat the information, and assure Miss Pole she -could easily get her the identical Shetland wool required, "through -my uncle, who has the best assortment of Shetland goods of any one -in Edinbro'." It was to take the taste of this out of our mouths, -and the sound of this out of our ears, that Miss Jenkyns proposed -music; so I say again, it was very good of her to beat time to the -song. - -When the trays re-appeared with biscuits and wine, punctually at a -quarter to nine, there was conversation, comparing of cards, and -talking over tricks; but by-and-by Captain Brown sported a bit of -literature. - -"Have you seen any numbers of 'The Pickwick Papers'?" said he. -(They we're then publishing in parts.) "Capital thing!" - -Now Miss Jenkyns was daughter of a deceased rector of Cranford; -and, on the strength of a number of manuscript sermons, and a -pretty good library of divinity, considered herself literary, and -looked upon any conversation about books as a challenge to her. So -she answered and said, "Yes, she had seen them; indeed, she might -say she had read them." - -"And what do you think of them?" exclaimed Captain Brown. "Aren't -they famously good?" - -So urged Miss Jenkyns could not but speak. - -"I must say, I don't think they are by any means equal to Dr -Johnson. Still, perhaps, the author is young. Let him persevere, -and who knows what he may become if he will take the great Doctor -for his model?" This was evidently too much for Captain Brown to -take placidly; and I saw the words on the tip of his tongue before -Miss Jenkyns had finished her sentence. - -"It is quite a different sort of thing, my dear madam," he began. - -"I am quite aware of that," returned she. "And I make allowances, -Captain Brown." - -"Just allow me to read you a scene out of this month's number," -pleaded he. "I had it only this morning, and I don't think the -company can have read it yet." - -"As you please," said she, settling herself with an air of -resignation. He read the account of the "swarry" which Sam Weller -gave at Bath. Some of us laughed heartily. _I_ did not dare, -because I was staying in the house. Miss Jenkyns sat in patient -gravity. When it was ended, she turned to me, and said with mild -dignity - - -"Fetch me 'Rasselas,' my dear, out of the book-room." - -When I had brought it to her, she turned to Captain Brown - - -"Now allow me to read you a scene, and then the present company can -judge between your favourite, Mr Boz, and Dr Johnson." - -She read one of the conversations between Rasselas and Imlac, in a -high-pitched, majestic voice: and when she had ended, she said, "I -imagine I am now justified in my preference of Dr Johnson as a -writer of fiction." The Captain screwed his lips up, and drummed -on the table, but he did not speak. She thought she would give him -a finishing blow or two. - -"I consider it vulgar, and below the dignity of literature, to -publish in numbers." - -"How was the Rambler published, ma'am?" asked Captain Brown in a -low voice, which I think Miss Jenkyns could not have heard. - -"Dr Johnson's style is a model for young beginners. My father -recommended it to me when I began to write letters--I have formed -my own style upon it; I recommended it to your favourite." - -"I should be very sorry for him to exchange his style for any such -pompous writing," said Captain Brown. - -Miss Jenkyns felt this as a personal affront, in a way of which the -Captain had not dreamed. Epistolary writing she and her friends -considered as her forte. Many a copy of many a letter have I seen -written and corrected on the slate, before she "seized the half- -hour just previous to post-time to assure" her friends of this or -of that; and Dr Johnson was, as she said, her model in these -compositions. She drew herself up with dignity, and only replied -to Captain Brown's last remark by saying, with marked emphasis on -every syllable, "I prefer Dr Johnson to Mr Boz." - -It is said--I won't vouch for the fact--that Captain Brown was -heard to say, sotto voce, "D-n Dr Johnson!" If he did, he was -penitent afterwards, as he showed by going to stand near Miss -Jenkyns' arm-chair, and endeavouring to beguile her into -conversation on some more pleasing subject. But she was -inexorable. The next day she made the remark I have mentioned -about Miss Jessie's dimples. - - - -CHAPTER II--THE CAPTAIN - - - -It was impossible to live a month at Cranford and not know the -daily habits of each resident; and long before my visit was ended I -knew much concerning the whole Brown trio. There was nothing new -to be discovered respecting their poverty; for they had spoken -simply and openly about that from the very first. They made no -mystery of the necessity for their being economical. All that -remained to be discovered was the Captain's infinite kindness of -heart, and the various modes in which, unconsciously to himself, he -manifested it. Some little anecdotes were talked about for some -time after they occurred. As we did not read much, and as all the -ladies were pretty well suited with servants, there was a dearth of -subjects for conversation. We therefore discussed the circumstance -of the Captain taking a poor old woman's dinner out of her hands -one very slippery Sunday. He had met her returning from the -bakehouse as he came from church, and noticed her precarious -footing; and, with the grave dignity with which he did everything, -he relieved her of her burden, and steered along the street by her -side, carrying her baked mutton and potatoes safely home. This was -thought very eccentric; and it was rather expected that he would -pay a round of calls, on the Monday morning, to explain and -apologise to the Cranford sense of propriety: but he did no such -thing: and then it was decided that he was ashamed, and was -keeping out of sight. In a kindly pity for him, we began to say, -"After all, the Sunday morning's occurrence showed great goodness -of heart," and it was resolved that he should be comforted on his -next appearance amongst us; but, lo! he came down upon us, -untouched by any sense of shame, speaking loud and bass as ever, -his head thrown back, his wig as jaunty and well-curled as usual, -and we were obliged to conclude he had forgotten all about Sunday. - -Miss Pole and Miss Jessie Brown had set up a kind of intimacy on -the strength of the Shetland wool and the new knitting stitches; so -it happened that when I went to visit Miss Pole I saw more of the -Browns than I had done while staying with Miss Jenkyns, who had -never got over what she called Captain Brown's disparaging remarks -upon Dr Johnson as a writer of light and agreeable fiction. I -found that Miss Brown was seriously ill of some lingering, -incurable complaint, the pain occasioned by which gave the uneasy -expression to her face that I had taken for unmitigated crossness. -Cross, too, she was at times, when the nervous irritability -occasioned by her disease became past endurance. Miss Jessie bore -with her at these times, even more patiently than she did with the -bitter self-upbraidings by which they were invariably succeeded. -Miss Brown used to accuse herself, not merely of hasty and -irritable temper, but also of being the cause why her father and -sister were obliged to pinch, in order to allow her the small -luxuries which were necessaries in her condition. She would so -fain have made sacrifices for them, and have lightened their cares, -that the original generosity of her disposition added acerbity to -her temper. All this was borne by Miss Jessie and her father with -more than placidity--with absolute tenderness. I forgave Miss -Jessie her singing out of tune, and her juvenility of dress, when I -saw her at home. I came to perceive that Captain Brown's dark -Brutus wig and padded coat (alas! too often threadbare) were -remnants of the military smartness of his youth, which he now wore -unconsciously. He was a man of infinite resources, gained in his -barrack experience. As he confessed, no one could black his boots -to please him except himself; but, indeed, he was not above saving -the little maid-servant's labours in every way--knowing, most -likely, that his daughter's illness made the place a hard one. - -He endeavoured to make peace with Miss Jenkyns soon after the -memorable dispute I have named, by a present of a wooden fire- -shovel (his own making), having heard her say how much the grating -of an iron one annoyed her. She received the present with cool -gratitude, and thanked him formally. When he was gone, she bade me -put it away in the lumber-room; feeling, probably, that no present -from a man who preferred Mr Boz to Dr Johnson could be less jarring -than an iron fire-shovel. - -Such was the state of things when I left Cranford and went to -Drumble. I had, however, several correspondents, who kept me au -fait as to the proceedings of the dear little town. There was Miss -Pole, who was becoming as much absorbed in crochet as she had been -once in knitting, and the burden of whose letter was something -like, "But don't you forget the white worsted at Flint's" of the -old song; for at the end of every sentence of news came a fresh -direction as to some crochet commission which I was to execute for -her. Miss Matilda Jenkyns (who did not mind being called Miss -Matty, when Miss Jenkyns was not by) wrote nice, kind, rambling -letters, now and then venturing into an opinion of her own; but -suddenly pulling herself up, and either begging me not to name what -she had said, as Deborah thought differently, and SHE knew, or else -putting in a postscript to the effect that, since writing the -above, she had been talking over the subject with Deborah, and was -quite convinced that, etc.--(here probably followed a recantation -of every opinion she had given in the letter). Then came Miss -Jenkyns--Deborah, as she liked Miss Matty to call her, her father -having once said that the Hebrew name ought to be so pronounced. I -secretly think she took the Hebrew prophetess for a model in -character; and, indeed, she was not unlike the stern prophetess in -some ways, making allowance, of course, for modern customs and -difference in dress. Miss Jenkyns wore a cravat, and a little -bonnet like a jockey-cap, and altogether had the appearance of a -strong-minded woman; although she would have despised the modern -idea of women being equal to men. Equal, indeed! she knew they -were superior. But to return to her letters. Everything in them -was stately and grand like herself. I have been looking them over -(dear Miss Jenkyns, how I honoured her!) and I will give an -extract, more especially because it relates to our friend Captain -Brown:- - -"The Honourable Mrs Jamieson has only just quitted me; and, in the -course of conversation, she communicated to me the intelligence -that she had yesterday received a call from her revered husband's -quondam friend, Lord Mauleverer. You will not easily conjecture -what brought his lordship within the precincts of our little town. -It was to see Captain Brown, with whom, it appears, his lordship -was acquainted in the 'plumed wars,' and who had the privilege of -averting destruction from his lordship's head when some great peril -was impending over it, off the misnomered Cape of Good Hope. You -know our friend the Honourable Mrs Jamieson's deficiency in the -spirit of innocent curiosity, and you will therefore not be so much -surprised when I tell you she was quite unable to disclose to me -the exact nature of the peril in question. I was anxious, I -confess, to ascertain in what manner Captain Brown, with his -limited establishment, could receive so distinguished a guest; and -I discovered that his lordship retired to rest, and, let us hope, -to refreshing slumbers, at the Angel Hotel; but shared the -Brunonian meals during the two days that he honoured Cranford with -his august presence. Mrs Johnson, our civil butcher's wife, -informs me that Miss Jessie purchased a leg of lamb; but, besides -this, I can hear of no preparation whatever to give a suitable -reception to so distinguished a visitor. Perhaps they entertained -him with 'the feast of reason and the flow of soul'; and to us, who -are acquainted with Captain Brown's sad want of relish for 'the -pure wells of English undefiled,' it may be matter for -congratulation that he has had the opportunity of improving his -taste by holding converse with an elegant and refined member of the -British aristocracy. But from some mundane failings who is -altogether free?" - -Miss Pole and Miss Matty wrote to me by the same post. Such a -piece of news as Lord Mauleverer's visit was not to be lost on the -Cranford letter-writers: they made the most of it. Miss Matty -humbly apologised for writing at the same time as her sister, who -was so much more capable than she to describe the honour done to -Cranford; but in spite of a little bad spelling, Miss Matty's -account gave me the best idea of the commotion occasioned by his -lordship's visit, after it had occurred; for, except the people at -the Angel, the Browns, Mrs Jamieson, and a little lad his lordship -had sworn at for driving a dirty hoop against the aristocratic -legs, I could not hear of any one with whom his lordship had held -conversation. - -My next visit to Cranford was in the summer. There had been -neither births, deaths, nor marriages since I was there last. -Everybody lived in the same house, and wore pretty nearly the same -well-preserved, old-fashioned clothes. The greatest event was, -that Miss Jenkyns had purchased a new carpet for the drawing-room. -Oh, the busy work Miss Matty and I had in chasing the sunbeams, as -they fell in an afternoon right down on this carpet through the -blindless window! We spread newspapers over the places and sat -down to our book or our work; and, lo! in a quarter of an hour the -sun had moved, and was blazing away on a fresh spot; and down again -we went on our knees to alter the position of the newspapers. We -were very busy, too, one whole morning, before Miss Jenkyns gave -her party, in following her directions, and in cutting out and -stitching together pieces of newspaper so as to form little paths -to every chair set for the expected visitors, lest their shoes -might dirty or defile the purity of the carpet. Do you make paper -paths for every guest to walk upon in London? - -Captain Brown and Miss Jenkyns were not very cordial to each other. -The literary dispute, of which I had seen the beginning, was a -"raw," the slightest touch on which made them wince. It was the -only difference of opinion they had ever had; but that difference -was enough. Miss Jenkyns could not refrain from talking at Captain -Brown; and, though he did not reply, he drummed with his fingers, -which action she felt and resented as very disparaging to Dr -Johnson. He was rather ostentatious in his preference of the -writings of Mr Boz; would walk through the streets so absorbed in -them that he all but ran against Miss Jenkyns; and though his -apologies were earnest and sincere, and though he did not, in fact, -do more than startle her and himself, she owned to me she had -rather he had knocked her down, if he had only been reading a -higher style of literature. The poor, brave Captain! he looked -older, and more worn, and his clothes were very threadbare. But he -seemed as bright and cheerful as ever, unless he was asked about -his daughter's health. - -"She suffers a great deal, and she must suffer more: we do what we -can to alleviate her pain;--God's will be done!" He took off his -hat at these last words. I found, from Miss Matty, that everything -had been done, in fact. A medical man, of high repute in that -country neighbourhood, had been sent for, and every injunction he -had given was attended to, regardless of expense. Miss Matty was -sure they denied themselves many things in order to make the -invalid comfortable; but they never spoke about it; and as for Miss -Jessie!--"I really think she's an angel," said poor Miss Matty, -quite overcome. "To see her way of bearing with Miss Brown's -crossness, and the bright face she puts on after she's been sitting -up a whole night and scolded above half of it, is quite beautiful. -Yet she looks as neat and as ready to welcome the Captain at -breakfast-time as if she had been asleep in the Queen's bed all -night. My dear! you could never laugh at her prim little curls or -her pink bows again if you saw her as I have done." I could only -feel very penitent, and greet Miss Jessie with double respect when -I met her next. She looked faded and pinched; and her lips began -to quiver, as if she was very weak, when she spoke of her sister. -But she brightened, and sent back the tears that were glittering in -her pretty eyes, as she said - - -"But, to be sure, what a town Cranford is for kindness! I don't -suppose any one has a better dinner than usual cooked but the best -part of all comes in a little covered basin for my sister. The -poor people will leave their earliest vegetables at our door for -her. They speak short and gruff, as if they were ashamed of it: -but I am sure it often goes to my heart to see their -thoughtfulness." The tears now came back and overflowed; but after -a minute or two she began to scold herself, and ended by going away -the same cheerful Miss Jessie as ever. - -"But why does not this Lord Mauleverer do something for the man who -saved his life?" said I. - -"Why, you see, unless Captain Brown has some reason for it, he -never speaks about being poor; and he walked along by his lordship -looking as happy and cheerful as a prince; and as they never called -attention to their dinner by apologies, and as Miss Brown was -better that day, and all seemed bright, I daresay his lordship -never knew how much care there was in the background. He did send -game in the winter pretty often, but now he is gone abroad." - -I had often occasion to notice the use that was made of fragments -and small opportunities in Cranford; the rose-leaves that were -gathered ere they fell to make into a potpourri for someone who had -no garden; the little bundles of lavender flowers sent to strew the -drawers of some town-dweller, or to burn in the chamber of some -invalid. Things that many would despise, and actions which it -seemed scarcely worth while to perform, were all attended to in -Cranford. Miss Jenkyns stuck an apple full of cloves, to be heated -and smell pleasantly in Miss Brown's room; and as she put in each -clove she uttered a Johnsonian sentence. Indeed, she never could -think of the Browns without talking Johnson; and, as they were -seldom absent from her thoughts just then, I heard many a rolling, -three-piled sentence. - -Captain Brown called one day to thank Mist Jenkyns for many little -kindnesses, which I did not know until then that she had rendered. -He had suddenly become like an old man; his deep bass voice had a -quavering in it, his eyes looked dim, and the lines on his face -were deep. He did not--could not--speak cheerfully of his -daughter's state, but he talked with manly, pious resignation, and -not much. Twice over he said, "What Jessie has been to us, God -only knows!" and after the second time, he got up hastily, shook -hands all round without speaking, and left the room. - -That afternoon we perceived little groups in the street, all -listening with faces aghast to some tale or other. Miss Jenkyns -wondered what could be the matter for some time before she took the -undignified step of sending Jenny out to inquire. - -Jenny came back with a white face of terror. "Oh, ma'am! Oh, Miss -Jenkyns, ma'am! Captain Brown is killed by them nasty cruel -railroads!" and she burst into tears. She, along with many others, -had experienced the poor Captain's kindness. - -"How?--where--where? Good God! Jenny, don't waste time in crying, -but tell us something." Miss Matty rushed out into the street at -once, and collared the man who was telling the tale. - -"Come in--come to my sister at once, Miss Jenkyns, the rector's -daughter. Oh, man, man! say it is not true," she cried, as she -brought the affrighted carter, sleeking down his hair, into the -drawing-room, where he stood with his wet boots on the new carpet, -and no one regarded it. - -"Please, mum, it is true. I seed it myself," and he shuddered at -the recollection. "The Captain was a-reading some new book as he -was deep in, a-waiting for the down train; and there was a little -lass as wanted to come to its mammy, and gave its sister the slip, -and came toddling across the line. And he looked up sudden, at the -sound of the train coming, and seed the child, and he darted on the -line and cotched it up, and his foot slipped, and the train came -over him in no time. O Lord, Lord! Mum, it's quite true, and -they've come over to tell his daughters. The child's safe, though, -with only a bang on its shoulder as he threw it to its mammy. Poor -Captain would be glad of that, mum, wouldn't he? God bless him!" -The great rough carter puckered up his manly face, and turned away -to hide his tears. I turned to Miss Jenkyns. She looked very ill, -as if she were going to faint, and signed to me to open the window. - -"Matilda, bring me my bonnet. I must go to those girls. God -pardon me, if ever I have spoken contemptuously to the Captain!" - -Miss Jenkyns arrayed herself to go out, telling Miss Matilda to -give the man a glass of wine. While she was away, Miss Matty and I -huddled over the fire, talking in a low and awe-struck voice. I -know we cried quietly all the time. - -Miss Jenkyns came home in a silent mood, and we durst not ask her -many questions. She told us that Miss Jessie had fainted, and that -she and Miss Pole had had some difficulty in bringing her round; -but that, as soon as she recovered, she begged one of them to go -and sit with her sister. - -"Mr Hoggins says she cannot live many days, and she shall be spared -this shock," said Miss Jessie, shivering with feelings to which she -dared not give way. - -"But how can you manage, my dear?" asked Miss Jenkyns; "you cannot -bear up, she must see your tears." - -"God will help me--I will not give way--she was asleep when the -news came; she may be asleep yet. She would be so utterly -miserable, not merely at my father's death, but to think of what -would become of me; she is so good to me." She looked up earnestly -in their faces with her soft true eyes, and Miss Pole told Miss -Jenkyns afterwards she could hardly bear it, knowing, as she did, -how Miss Brown treated her sister. - -However, it was settled according to Miss Jessie's wish. Miss -Brown was to be told her father had been summoned to take a short -journey on railway business. They had managed it in some way--Miss -Jenkyns could not exactly say how. Miss Pole was to stop with Miss -Jessie. Mrs Jamieson had sent to inquire. And this was all we -heard that night; and a sorrowful night it was. The next day a -full account of the fatal accident was in the county paper which -Miss Jenkyns took in. Her eyes were very weak, she said, and she -asked me to read it. When I came to the "gallant gentleman was -deeply engaged in the perusal of a number of 'Pickwick,' which he -had just received," Miss Jenkyns shook her head long and solemnly, -and then sighed out, "Poor, dear, infatuated man!" - -The corpse was to be taken from the station to the parish church, -there to be interred. Miss Jessie had set her heart on following -it to the grave; and no dissuasives could alter her resolve. Her -restraint upon herself made her almost obstinate; she resisted all -Miss Pole's entreaties and Miss Jenkyns' advice. At last Miss -Jenkyns gave up the point; and after a silence, which I feared -portended some deep displeasure against Miss Jessie, Miss Jenkyns -said she should accompany the latter to the funeral. - -"It is not fit for you to go alone. It would be against both -propriety and humanity were I to allow it." - -Miss Jessie seemed as if she did not half like this arrangement; -but her obstinacy, if she had any, had been exhausted in her -determination to go to the interment. She longed, poor thing, I -have no doubt, to cry alone over the grave of the dear father to -whom she had been all in all, and to give way, for one little half- -hour, uninterrupted by sympathy and unobserved by friendship. But -it was not to be. That afternoon Miss Jenkyns sent out for a yard -of black crape, and employed herself busily in trimming the little -black silk bonnet I have spoken about. When it was finished she -put it on, and looked at us for approbation--admiration she -despised. I was full of sorrow, but, by one of those whimsical -thoughts which come unbidden into our heads, in times of deepest -grief, I no sooner saw the bonnet than I was reminded of a helmet; -and in that hybrid bonnet, half helmet, half jockey-cap, did Miss -Jenkyns attend Captain Brown's funeral, and, I believe, supported -Miss Jessie with a tender, indulgent firmness which was invaluable, -allowing her to weep her passionate fill before they left. - -Miss Pole, Miss Matty, and I, meanwhile attended to Miss Brown: -and hard work we found it to relieve her querulous and never-ending -complaints. But if we were so weary and dispirited, what must Miss -Jessie have been! Yet she came back almost calm as if she had -gained a new strength. She put off her mourning dress, and came -in, looking pale and gentle, thanking us each with a soft long -pressure of the hand. She could even smile--a faint, sweet, wintry -smile--as if to reassure us of her power to endure; but her look -made our eyes fill suddenly with tears, more than if she had cried -outright. - -It was settled that Miss Pole was to remain with her all the -watching livelong night; and that Miss Matty and I were to return -in the morning to relieve them, and give Miss Jessie the -opportunity for a few hours of sleep. But when the morning came, -Miss Jenkyns appeared at the breakfast-table, equipped in her -helmet-bonnet, and ordered Miss Matty to stay at home, as she meant -to go and help to nurse. She was evidently in a state of great -friendly excitement, which she showed by eating her breakfast -standing, and scolding the household all round. - -No nursing--no energetic strong-minded woman could help Miss Brown -now. There was that in the room as we entered which was stronger -than us all, and made us shrink into solemn awestruck helplessness. -Miss Brown was dying. We hardly knew her voice, it was so devoid -of the complaining tone we had always associated with it. Miss -Jessie told me afterwards that it, and her face too, were just what -they had been formerly, when her mother's death left her the young -anxious head of the family, of whom only Miss Jessie survived. - -She was conscious of her sister's presence, though not, I think, of -ours. We stood a little behind the curtain: Miss Jessie knelt -with her face near her sister's, in order to catch the last soft -awful whispers. - -"Oh, Jessie! Jessie! How selfish I have been! God forgive me for -letting you sacrifice yourself for me as you did! I have so loved -you--and yet I have thought only of myself. God forgive me!" - -"Hush, love! hush!" said Miss Jessie, sobbing. - -"And my father, my dear, dear father! I will not complain now, if -God will give me strength to be patient. But, oh, Jessie! tell my -father how I longed and yearned to see him at last, and to ask his -forgiveness. He can never know now how I loved him--oh! if I might -but tell him, before I die! What a life of sorrow his has been, -and I have done so little to cheer him!" - -A light came into Miss Jessie's face. "Would it comfort you, -dearest, to think that he does know?--would it comfort you, love, -to know that his cares, his sorrows"--Her voice quivered, but she -steadied it into calmness--"Mary! he has gone before you to the -place where the weary are at rest. He knows now how you loved -him." - -A strange look, which was not distress, came over Miss Brown's -face. She did not speak for come time, but then we saw her lips -form the words, rather than heard the sound--"Father, mother, -Harry, Archy;"--then, as if it were a new idea throwing a filmy -shadow over her darkened mind--"But you will be alone, Jessie!" - -Miss Jessie had been feeling this all during the silence, I think; -for the tears rolled down her cheeks like rain, at these words, and -she could not answer at first. Then she put her hands together -tight, and lifted them up, and said--but not to us--"Though He slay -me, yet will I trust in Him." - -In a few moments more Miss Brown lay calm and still--never to -sorrow or murmur more. - -After this second funeral, Miss Jenkyns insisted that Miss Jessie -should come to stay with her rather than go back to the desolate -house, which, in fact, we learned from Miss Jessie, must now be -given up, as she had not wherewithal to maintain it. She had -something above twenty pounds a year, besides the interest of the -money for which the furniture would sell; but she could not live -upon that: and so we talked over her qualifications for earning -money. - -"I can sew neatly," said she, "and I like nursing. I think, too, I -could manage a house, if any one would try me as housekeeper; or I -would go into a shop as saleswoman, if they would have patience -with me at first." - -Miss Jenkyns declared, in an angry voice, that she should do no -such thing; and talked to herself about "some people having no idea -of their rank as a captain's daughter," nearly an hour afterwards, -when she brought Miss Jessie up a basin of delicately-made -arrowroot, and stood over her like a dragoon until the last -spoonful was finished: then she disappeared. Miss Jessie began to -tell me some more of the plans which had suggested themselves to -her, and insensibly fell into talking of the days that were past -and gone, and interested me so much I neither knew nor heeded how -time passed. We were both startled when Miss Jenkyns reappeared, -and caught us crying. I was afraid lest she would be displeased, -as she often said that crying hindered digestion, and I knew she -wanted Miss Jessie to get strong; but, instead, she looked queer -and excited, and fidgeted round us without saying anything. At -last she spoke. - -"I have been so much startled--no, I've not been at all startled-- -don't mind me, my dear Miss Jessie--I've been very much surprised-- -in fact, I've had a caller, whom you knew once, my dear Miss -Jessie" - - -Miss Jessie went very white, then flushed scarlet, and looked -eagerly at Miss Jenkyns. - -"A gentleman, my dear, who wants to know if you would see him." - -"Is it?--it is not"--stammered out Miss Jessie--and got no farther. - -"This is his card," said Miss Jenkyns, giving it to Miss Jessie; -and while her head was bent over it, Miss Jenkyns went through a -series of winks and odd faces to me, and formed her lips into a -long sentence, of which, of course, I could not understand a word. - -"May he come up?" asked Miss Jenkyns at last. - -"Oh, yes! certainly!" said Miss Jessie, as much as to say, this is -your house, you may show any visitor where you like. She took up -some knitting of Miss Matty's and began to be very busy, though I -could see how she trembled all over. - -Miss Jenkyns rang the bell, and told the servant who answered it to -show Major Gordon upstairs; and, presently, in walked a tall, fine, -frank-looking man of forty or upwards. He shook hands with Miss -Jessie; but he could not see her eyes, she kept them so fixed on -the ground. Miss Jenkyns asked me if I would come and help her to -tie up the preserves in the store-room; and though Miss Jessie -plucked at my gown, and even looked up at me with begging eye, I -durst not refuse to go where Miss Jenkyns asked. Instead of tying -up preserves in the store-room, however, we went to talk in the -dining-room; and there Miss Jenkyns told me what Major Gordon had -told her; how he had served in the same regiment with Captain -Brown, and had become acquainted with Miss Jessie, then a sweet- -looking, blooming girl of eighteen; how the acquaintance had grown -into love on his part, though it had been some years before he had -spoken; how, on becoming possessed, through the will of an uncle, -of a good estate in Scotland, he had offered and been refused, -though with so much agitation and evident distress that he was sure -she was not indifferent to him; and how he had discovered that the -obstacle was the fell disease which was, even then, too surely -threatening her sister. She had mentioned that the surgeons -foretold intense suffering; and there was no one but herself to -nurse her poor Mary, or cheer and comfort her father during the -time of illness. They had had long discussions; and on her refusal -to pledge herself to him as his wife when all should be over, he -had grown angry, and broken off entirely, and gone abroad, -believing that she was a cold-hearted person whom he would do well -to forget. - -He had been travelling in the East, and was on his return home -when, at Rome, he saw the account of Captain Brown's death in -Galignani. - -Just then Miss Matty, who had been out all the morning, and had -only lately returned to the house, burst in with a face of dismay -and outraged propriety. - -"Oh, goodness me!" she said. "Deborah, there's a gentleman sitting -in the drawing-room with his arm round Miss Jessie's waist!" Miss -Matty's eyes looked large with terror. - -Miss Jenkyns snubbed her down in an instant. - -"The most proper place in the world for his arm to be in. Go away, -Matilda, and mind your own business." This from her sister, who -had hitherto been a model of feminine decorum, was a blow for poor -Miss Matty, and with a double shock she left the room. - -The last time I ever saw poor Miss Jenkyns was many years after -this. Mrs Gordon had kept up a warm and affectionate intercourse -with all at Cranford. Miss Jenkyns, Miss Matty, and Miss Pole had -all been to visit her, and returned with wonderful accounts of her -house, her husband, her dress, and her looks. For, with happiness, -something of her early bloom returned; she had been a year or two -younger than we had taken her for. Her eyes were always lovely, -and, as Mrs Gordon, her dimples were not out of place. At the time -to which I have referred, when I last saw Miss Jenkyns, that lady -was old and feeble, and had lost something of her strong mind. -Little Flora Gordon was staying with the Misses Jenkyns, and when I -came in she was reading aloud to Miss Jenkyns, who lay feeble and -changed on the sofa. Flora put down the Rambler when I came in. - -"Ah!" said Miss Jenkyns, "you find me changed, my dear. If can't -see as I used to do. I Flora were not here to read to me, I hardly -know how I should get through the day. Did you ever read the -Rambler? It's a wonderful book--wonderful! and the most improving -reading for Flora" (which I daresay it would have been, if she -could have read half the words without spelling, and could have -understood the meaning of a third), "better than that strange old -book, with the queer name, poor Captain Brown was killed for -reading--that book by Mr Boz, you know--'Old Poz'; when I was a -girl--but that's a long time ago--I acted Lucy in 'Old Poz.'" She -babbled on long enough for Flora to get a good long spell at the -"Christmas Carol," which Miss Matty had left on the table. - - - -CHAPTER III--A LOVE AFFAIR OF LONG AGO - - - -I thought that probably my connection with Cranford would cease -after Miss Jenkyns's death; at least, that it would have to be kept -up by correspondence, which bears much the same relation to -personal intercourse that the books of dried plants I sometimes see -("Hortus Siccus," I think they call the thing) do to the living and -fresh flowers in the lines and meadows. I was pleasantly -surprised, therefore, by receiving a letter from Miss Pole (who had -always come in for a supplementary week after my annual visit to -Miss Jenkyns) proposing that I should go and stay with her; and -then, in a couple of days after my acceptance, came a note from -Miss Matty, in which, in a rather circuitous and very humble -manner, she told me how much pleasure I should confer if I could -spend a week or two with her, either before or after I had been at -Miss Pole's; "for," she said, "since my dear sister's death I am -well aware I have no attractions to offer; it is only to the -kindness of my friends that I can owe their company." - -Of course I promised to come to dear Miss Matty as soon as I had -ended my visit to Miss Pole; and the day after my arrival at -Cranford I went to see her, much wondering what the house would be -like without Miss Jenkyns, and rather dreading the changed aspect -of things. Miss Matty began to cry as soon as she saw me. She was -evidently nervous from having anticipated my call. I comforted her -as well as I could; and I found the best consolation I could give -was the honest praise that came from my heart as I spoke of the -deceased. Miss Matty slowly shook her head over each virtue as it -was named and attributed to her sister; and at last she could not -restrain the tears which had long been silently flowing, but hid -her face behind her handkerchief and sobbed aloud. - -"Dear Miss Matty," said I, taking her hand--for indeed I did not -know in what way to tell her how sorry I was for her, left deserted -in the world. She put down her handkerchief and said - - -"My dear, I'd rather you did not call me Matty. She did not like -it; but I did many a thing she did not like, I'm afraid--and now -she's gone! If you please, my love, will you call me Matilda?" - -I promised faithfully, and began to practise the new name with Miss -Pole that very day; and, by degrees, Miss Matilda's feeling on the -subject was known through Cranford, and we all tried to drop the -more familiar name, but with so little success that by-and-by we -gave up the attempt. - -My visit to Miss Pole was very quiet. Miss Jenkyns had so long -taken the lead in Cranford that now she was gone, they hardly knew -how to give a party. The Honourable Mrs Jamieson, to whom Miss -Jenkyns herself had always yielded the post of honour, was fat and -inert, and very much at the mercy of her old servants. If they -chose that she should give a party, they reminded her of the -necessity for so doing: if not, she let it alone. There was all -the more time for me to hear old-world stories from Miss Pole, -while she sat knitting, and I making my father's shirts. I always -took a quantity of plain sewing to Cranford; for, as we did not -read much, or walk much, I found it a capital time to get through -my work. One of Miss Pole's stories related to a shadow of a love -affair that was dimly perceived or suspected long years before. - -Presently, the time arrived when I was to remove to Miss Matilda's -house. I found her timid and anxious about the arrangements for my -comfort. Many a time, while I was unpacking, did she come -backwards and forwards to stir the fire which burned all the worse -for being so frequently poked. - -"Have you drawers enough, dear?" asked she. "I don't know exactly -how my sister used to arrange them. She had capital methods. I am -sure she would have trained a servant in a week to make a better -fire than this, and Fanny has been with me four months." - -This subject of servants was a standing grievance, and I could not -wonder much at it; for if gentlemen were scarce, and almost unheard -of in the "genteel society" of Cranford, they or their -counterparts--handsome young men--abounded in the lower classes. -The pretty neat servant-maids had their choice of desirable -"followers"; and their mistresses, without having the sort of -mysterious dread of men and matrimony that Miss Matilda had, might -well feel a little anxious lest the heads of their comely maids -should be turned by the joiner, or the butcher, or the gardener, -who were obliged, by their callings, to come to the house, and who, -as ill-luck would have it, were generally handsome and unmarried. -Fanny's lovers, if she had any--and Miss Matilda suspected her of -so many flirtations that, if she had not been very pretty, I should -have doubted her having one--were a constant anxiety to her -mistress. She was forbidden, by the articles of her engagement, to -have "followers"; and though she had answered, innocently enough, -doubling up the hem of her apron as she spoke, "Please, ma'am, I -never had more than one at a time," Miss Matty prohibited that one. -But a vision of a man seemed to haunt the kitchen. Fanny assured -me that it was all fancy, or else I should have said myself that I -had seen a man's coat-tails whisk into the scullery once, when I -went on an errand into the store-room at night; and another -evening, when, our watches having stopped, I went to look at the -clock, there was a very odd appearance, singularly like a young man -squeezed up between the clock and the back of the open kitchen- -door: and I thought Fanny snatched up the candle very hastily, so -as to throw the shadow on the clock face, while she very positively -told me the time half-an-hour too early, as we found out afterwards -by the church clock. But I did not add to Miss Matty's anxieties -by naming my suspicions, especially as Fanny said to me, the next -day, that it was such a queer kitchen for having odd shadows about -it, she really was almost afraid to stay; "for you know, miss," she -added, "I don't see a creature from six o'clock tea, till Missus -rings the bell for prayers at ten." - -However, it so fell out that Fanny had to leave and Miss Matilda -begged me to stay and "settle her" with the new maid; to which I -consented, after I had heard from my father that he did not want me -at home. The new servant was a rough, honest-looking, country -girl, who had only lived in a farm place before; but I liked her -looks when she came to be hired; and I promised Miss Matilda to put -her in the ways of the house. The said ways were religiously such -as Miss Matilda thought her sister would approve. Many a domestic -rule and regulation had been a subject of plaintive whispered -murmur to me during Miss Jenkyns's life; but now that she was gone, -I do not think that even I, who was a favourite, durst have -suggested an alteration. To give an instance: we constantly -adhered to the forms which were observed, at meal-times, in "my -father, the rector's house." Accordingly, we had always wine and -dessert; but the decanters were only filled when there was a party, -and what remained was seldom touched, though we had two wine- -glasses apiece every day after dinner, until the next festive -occasion arrived, when the state of the remainder wine was examined -into in a family council. The dregs were often given to the poor: -but occasionally, when a good deal had been left at the last party -(five months ago, it might be), it was added to some of a fresh -bottle, brought up from the cellar. I fancy poor Captain Brown did -not much like wine, for I noticed he never finished his first -glass, and most military men take several. Then, as to our -dessert, Miss Jenkyns used to gather currants and gooseberries for -it herself, which I sometimes thought would have tasted better -fresh from the trees; but then, as Miss Jenkyns observed, there -would have been nothing for dessert in summer-time. As it was, we -felt very genteel with our two glasses apiece, and a dish of -gooseberries at the top, of currants and biscuits at the sides, and -two decanters at the bottom. When oranges came in, a curious -proceeding was gone through. Miss Jenkyns did not like to cut the -fruit; for, as she observed, the juice all ran out nobody knew -where; sucking (only I think she used some more recondite word) was -in fact the only way of enjoying oranges; but then there was the -unpleasant association with a ceremony frequently gone through by -little babies; and so, after dessert, in orange season, Miss -Jenkyns and Miss Matty used to rise up, possess themselves each of -an orange in silence, and withdraw to the privacy of their own -rooms to indulge in sucking oranges. - -I had once or twice tried, on such occasions, to prevail on Miss -Matty to stay, and had succeeded in her sister's lifetime. I held -up a screen, and did not look, and, as she said, she tried not to -make the noise very offensive; but now that she was left alone, she -seemed quite horrified when I begged her to remain with me in the -warm dining-parlour, and enjoy her orange as she liked best. And -so it was in everything. Miss Jenkyns's rules were made more -stringent than ever, because the framer of them was gone where -there could be no appeal. In all things else Miss Matilda was meek -and undecided to a fault. I have heard Fanny turn her round twenty -times in a morning about dinner, just as the little hussy chose; -and I sometimes fancied she worked on Miss Matilda's weakness in -order to bewilder her, and to make her feel more in the power of -her clever servant. I determined that I would not leave her till I -had seen what sort of a person Martha was; and, if I found her -trustworthy, I would tell her not to trouble her mistress with -every little decision. - -Martha was blunt and plain-spoken to a fault; otherwise she was a -brisk, well-meaning, but very ignorant girl. She had not been with -us a week before Miss Matilda and I were astounded one morning by -the receipt of a letter from a cousin of hers, who had been twenty -or thirty years in India, and who had lately, as we had seen by the -"Army List," returned to England, bringing with him an invalid wife -who had never been introduced to her English relations. Major -Jenkyns wrote to propose that he and his wife should spend a night -at Cranford, on his way to Scotland--at the inn, if it did not suit -Miss Matilda to receive them into her house; in which case they -should hope to be with her as much as possible during the day. Of -course it MUST suit her, as she said; for all Cranford knew that -she had her sister's bedroom at liberty; but I am sure she wished -the Major had stopped in India and forgotten his cousins out and -out. - -"Oh! how must I manage?" asked she helplessly. "If Deborah had -been alive she would have known what to do with a gentleman- -visitor. Must I put razors in his dressing-room? Dear! dear! and -I've got none. Deborah would have had them. And slippers, and -coat-brushes?" I suggested that probably he would bring all these -things with him. "And after dinner, how am I to know when to get -up and leave him to his wine? Deborah would have done it so well; -she would have been quite in her element. Will he want coffee, do -you think?" I undertook the management of the coffee, and told her -I would instruct Martha in the art of waiting--in which it must be -owned she was terribly deficient--and that I had no doubt Major and -Mrs Jenkyns would understand the quiet mode in which a lady lived -by herself in a country town. But she was sadly fluttered. I made -her empty her decanters and bring up two fresh bottles of wine. I -wished I could have prevented her from being present at my -instructions to Martha, for she frequently cut in with some fresh -direction, muddling the poor girl's mind as she stood open-mouthed, -listening to us both. - -"Hand the vegetables round," said I (foolishly, I see now--for it -was aiming at more than we could accomplish with quietness and -simplicity); and then, seeing her look bewildered, I added, "take -the vegetables round to people, and let them help themselves." - -"And mind you go first to the ladies," put in Miss Matilda. -"Always go to the ladies before gentlemen when you are waiting." - -"I'll do it as you tell me, ma'am," said Martha; "but I like lads -best." - -We felt very uncomfortable and shocked at this speech of Martha's, -yet I don't think she meant any harm; and, on the whole, she -attended very well to our directions, except that she "nudged" the -Major when he did not help himself as soon as she expected to the -potatoes, while she was handing them round. - -The major and his wife were quiet unpretending people enough when -they did come; languid, as all East Indians are, I suppose. We -were rather dismayed at their bringing two servants with them, a -Hindoo body-servant for the Major, and a steady elderly maid for -his wife; but they slept at the inn, and took off a good deal of -the responsibility by attending carefully to their master's and -mistress's comfort. Martha, to be sure, had never ended her -staring at the East Indian's white turban and brown complexion, and -I saw that Miss Matilda shrunk away from him a little as he waited -at dinner. Indeed, she asked me, when they were gone, if he did -not remind me of Blue Beard? On the whole, the visit was most -satisfactory, and is a subject of conversation even now with Miss -Matilda; at the time it greatly excited Cranford, and even stirred -up the apathetic and Honourable Mrs Jamieson to some expression of -interest, when I went to call and thank her for the kind answers -she had vouchsafed to Miss Matilda's inquiries as to the -arrangement of a gentleman's dressing-room--answers which I must -confess she had given in the wearied manner of the Scandinavian -prophetess - - - -"Leave me, leave me to repose." - - -And NOW I come to the love affair. - -It seems that Miss Pole had a cousin, once or twice removed, who -had offered to Miss Matty long ago. Now this cousin lived four or -five miles from Cranford on his own estate; but his property was -not large enough to entitle him to rank higher than a yeoman; or -rather, with something of the "pride which apes humility," he had -refused to push himself on, as so many of his class had done, into -the ranks of the squires. He would not allow himself to be called -Thomas Holbrook, ESQ.; he even sent back letters with this address, -telling the post-mistress at Cranford that his name was MR Thomas -Holbrook, yeoman. He rejected all domestic innovations; he would -have the house door stand open in summer and shut in winter, -without knocker or bell to summon a servant. The closed fist or -the knob of a stick did this office for him if he found the door -locked. He despised every refinement which had not its root deep -down in humanity. If people were not ill, he saw no necessity for -moderating his voice. He spoke the dialect of the country in -perfection, and constantly used it in conversation; although Miss -Pole (who gave me these particulars) added, that he read aloud more -beautifully and with more feeling than any one she had ever heard, -except the late rector. - -"And how came Miss Matilda not to marry him?" asked I. - -"Oh, I don't know. She was willing enough, I think; but you know -Cousin Thomas would not have been enough of a gentleman for the -rector and Miss Jenkyns." - -"Well! but they were not to marry him," said I, impatiently. - -"No; but they did not like Miss Matty to marry below her rank. You -know she was the rector's daughter, and somehow they are related to -Sir Peter Arley: Miss Jenkyns thought a deal of that." - -"Poor Miss Matty!" said I. - -"Nay, now, I don't know anything more than that he offered and was -refused. Miss Matty might not like him--and Miss Jenkyns might -never have said a word--it is only a guess of mine." - -"Has she never seen him since?" I inquired. - -"No, I think not. You see Woodley, Cousin Thomas's house, lies -half-way between Cranford and Misselton; and I know he made -Misselton his market-town very soon after he had offered to Miss -Matty; and I don't think he has been into Cranford above once or -twice since--once, when I was walking with Miss Matty, in High -Street, and suddenly she darted from me, and went up Shire Lane. A -few minutes after I was startled by meeting Cousin Thomas." - -"How old is he?" I asked, after a pause of castle-building. - -"He must be about seventy, I think, my dear," said Miss Pole, -blowing up my castle, as if by gun-powder, into small fragments. - -Very soon after--at least during my long visit to Miss Matilda--I -had the opportunity of seeing Mr Holbrook; seeing, too, his first -encounter with his former love, after thirty or forty years' -separation. I was helping to decide whether any of the new -assortment of coloured silks which they had just received at the -shop would do to match a grey and black mousseline-delaine that -wanted a new breadth, when a tall, thin, Don Quixote-looking old -man came into the shop for some woollen gloves. I had never seen -the person (who was rather striking) before, and I watched him -rather attentively while Miss Matty listened to the shopman. The -stranger wore a blue coat with brass buttons, drab breeches, and -gaiters, and drummed with his fingers on the counter until he was -attended to. When he answered the shop-boy's question, "What can I -have the pleasure of showing you to-day, sir?" I saw Miss Matilda -start, and then suddenly sit down; and instantly I guessed who it -was. She had made some inquiry which had to be carried round to -the other shopman. - -"Miss Jenkyns wants the black sarsenet two-and-twopence the yard"; -and Mr Holbrook had caught the name, and was across the shop in two -strides. - -"Matty--Miss Matilda--Miss Jenkyns! God bless my soul! I should -not have known you. How are you? how are you?" He kept shaking -her hand in a way which proved the warmth of his friendship; but he -repeated so often, as if to himself, "I should not have known you!" -that any sentimental romance which I might be inclined to build was -quite done away with by his manner. - -However, he kept talking to us all the time we were in the shop; -and then waving the shopman with the unpurchased gloves on one -side, with "Another time, sir! another time!" he walked home with -us. I am happy to say my client, Miss Matilda, also left the shop -in an equally bewildered state, not having purchased either green -or red silk. Mr Holbrook was evidently full with honest loud- -spoken joy at meeting his old love again; he touched on the changes -that had taken place; he even spoke of Miss Jenkyns as "Your poor -sister! Well, well! we have all our faults"; and bade us good-bye -with many a hope that he should soon see Miss Matty again. She -went straight to her room, and never came back till our early tea- -time, when I thought she looked as if she had been crying. - - - -CHAPTER IV--A VISIT TO AN OLD BACHELOR - - - -A few days after, a note came from Mr Holbrook, asking us-- -impartially asking both of us--in a formal, old-fashioned style, to -spend a day at his house--a long June day--for it was June now. He -named that he had also invited his cousin, Miss Pole; so that we -might join in a fly, which could be put up at his house. - -I expected Miss Matty to jump at this invitation; but, no! Miss -Pole and I had the greatest difficulty in persuading her to go. -She thought it was improper; and was even half annoyed when we -utterly ignored the idea of any impropriety in her going with two -other ladies to see her old lover. Then came a more serious -difficulty. She did not think Deborah would have liked her to go. -This took us half a day's good hard talking to get over; but, at -the first sentence of relenting, I seized the opportunity, and -wrote and despatched an acceptance in her name--fixing day and -hour, that all might be decided and done with. - -The next morning she asked me if I would go down to the shop with -her; and there, after much hesitation, we chose out three caps to -be sent home and tried on, that the most becoming might be selected -to take with us on Thursday. - -She was in a state of silent agitation all the way to Woodley. She -had evidently never been there before; and, although she little -dreamt I knew anything of her early story, I could perceive she was -in a tremor at the thought of seeing the place which might have -been her home, and round which it is probable that many of her -innocent girlish imaginations had clustered. It was a long drive -there, through paved jolting lanes. Miss Matilda sat bolt upright, -and looked wistfully out of the windows as we drew near the end of -our journey. The aspect of the country was quiet and pastoral. -Woodley stood among fields; and there was an old-fashioned garden -where roses and currant-bushes touched each other, and where the -feathery asparagus formed a pretty background to the pinks and -gilly-flowers; there was no drive up to the door. We got out at a -little gate, and walked up a straight box-edged path. - -"My cousin might make a drive, I think," said Miss Pole, who was -afraid of ear-ache, and had only her cap on. - -"I think it is very pretty," said Miss Matty, with a soft -plaintiveness in her voice, and almost in a whisper, for just then -Mr Holbrook appeared at the door, rubbing his hands in very -effervescence of hospitality. He looked more like my idea of Don -Quixote than ever, and yet the likeness was only external. His -respectable housekeeper stood modestly at the door to bid us -welcome; and, while she led the elder ladies upstairs to a bedroom, -I begged to look about the garden. My request evidently pleased -the old gentleman, who took me all round the place and showed me -his six-and-twenty cows, named after the different letters of the -alphabet. As we went along, he surprised me occasionally by -repeating apt and beautiful quotations from the poets, ranging -easily from Shakespeare and George Herbert to those of our own day. -He did this as naturally as if he were thinking aloud, and their -true and beautiful words were the best expression he could find for -what he was thinking or feeling. To be sure he called Byron "my -Lord Byrron," and pronounced the name of Goethe strictly in -accordance with the English sound of the letters--"As Goethe says, -'Ye ever-verdant palaces,'" &c. Altogether, I never met with a -man, before or since, who had spent so long a life in a secluded -and not impressive country, with ever-increasing delight in the -daily and yearly change of season and beauty. - -When he and I went in, we found that dinner was nearly ready in the -kitchen--for so I suppose the room ought to be called, as there -were oak dressers and cupboards all round, all over by the side of -the fireplace, and only a small Turkey carpet in the middle of the -flag-floor. The room might have been easily made into a handsome -dark oak dining-parlour by removing the oven and a few other -appurtenances of a kitchen, which were evidently never used, the -real cooking-place being at some distance. The room in which we -were expected to sit was a stiffly-furnished, ugly apartment; but -that in which we did sit was what Mr Holbrook called the counting- -house, where he paid his labourers their weekly wages at a great -desk near the door. The rest of the pretty sitting-room--looking -into the orchard, and all covered over with dancing tree-shadows-- -was filled with books. They lay on the ground, they covered the -walls, they strewed the table. He was evidently half ashamed and -half proud of his extravagance in this respect. They were of all -kinds--poetry and wild weird tales prevailing. He evidently chose -his books in accordance with his own tastes, not because such and -such were classical or established favourites. - -"Ah!" he said, "we farmers ought not to have much time for reading; -yet somehow one can't help it." - -"What a pretty room!" said Miss Matty, sotto voce. - -"What a pleasant place!" said I, aloud, almost simultaneously. - -"Nay! if you like it," replied he; "but can you sit on these great, -black leather, three-cornered chairs? I like it better than the -best parlour; but I thought ladies would take that for the smarter -place." - -It was the smarter place, but, like most smart things, not at all -pretty, or pleasant, or home-like; so, while we were at dinner, the -servant-girl dusted and scrubbed the counting-house chairs, and we -sat there all the rest of the day. - -We had pudding before meat; and I thought Mr Holbrook was going to -make some apology for his old-fashioned ways, for he began - - -"I don't know whether you like newfangled ways." - -"Oh, not at all!" said Miss Matty. - -"No more do I," said he. "My house-keeper WILL have these in her -new fashion; or else I tell her that, when I was a young man, we -used to keep strictly to my father's rule, 'No broth, no ball; no -ball, no beef'; and always began dinner with broth. Then we had -suet puddings, boiled in the broth with the beef: and then the -meat itself. If we did not sup our broth, we had no ball, which we -liked a deal better; and the beef came last of all, and only those -had it who had done justice to the broth and the ball. Now folks -begin with sweet things, and turn their dinners topsy-turvy." - -When the ducks and green peas came, we looked at each other in -dismay; we had only two-pronged, black-handled forks. It is true -the steel was as bright as silver; but what were we to do? Miss -Matty picked up her peas, one by one, on the point of the prongs, -much as Amine ate her grains of rice after her previous feast with -the Ghoul. Miss Pole sighed over her delicate young peas as she -left them on one side of her plate untasted, for they WOULD drop -between the prongs. I looked at my host: the peas were going -wholesale into his capacious mouth, shovelled up by his large -round-ended knife. I saw, I imitated, I survived! My friends, in -spite of my precedent, could not muster up courage enough to do an -ungenteel thing; and, if Mr Holbrook had not been so heartily -hungry, he would probably have seen that the good peas went away -almost untouched. - -After dinner, a clay pipe was brought in, and a spittoon; and, -asking us to retire to another room, where he would soon join us, -if we disliked tobacco-smoke, he presented his pipe to Miss Matty, -and requested her to fill the bowl. This was a compliment to a -lady in his youth; but it was rather inappropriate to propose it as -an honour to Miss Matty, who had been trained by her sister to hold -smoking of every kind in utter abhorrence. But if it was a shock -to her refinement, it was also a gratification to her feelings to -be thus selected; so she daintily stuffed the strong tobacco into -the pipe, and then we withdrew. - -"It is very pleasant dining with a bachelor," said Miss Matty -softly, as we settled ourselves in the counting-house. "I only -hope it is not improper; so many pleasant things are!" - -"What a number of books he has!" said Miss Pole, looking round the -room. "And how dusty they are!" - -"I think it must be like one of the great Dr Johnson's rooms," said -Miss Matty. "What a superior man your cousin must be!" - -"Yes!" said Miss Pole, "he's a great reader; but I am afraid he has -got into very uncouth habits with living alone." - -"Oh! uncouth is too hard a word. I should call him eccentric; very -clever people always are!" replied Miss Matty. - -When Mr Holbrook returned, he proposed a walk in the fields; but -the two elder ladies were afraid of damp, and dirt, and had only -very unbecoming calashes to put on over their caps; so they -declined, and I was again his companion in a turn which he said he -was obliged to take to see after his men. He strode along, either -wholly forgetting my existence, or soothed into silence by his -pipe--and yet it was not silence exactly. He walked before me with -a stooping gait, his hands clasped behind him; and, as some tree or -cloud, or glimpse of distant upland pastures, struck him, he quoted -poetry to himself, saying it out loud in a grand sonorous voice, -with just the emphasis that true feeling and appreciation give. We -came upon an old cedar tree, which stood at one end of the house - - - -"The cedar spreads his dark-green layers of shade." - - -"Capital term--'layers!' Wonderful man!" I did not know whether -he was speaking to me or not; but I put in an assenting -"wonderful," although I knew nothing about it, just because I was -tired of being forgotten, and of being consequently silent. - -He turned sharp round. "Ay! you may say 'wonderful.' Why, when I -saw the review of his poems in Blackwood, I set off within an hour, -and walked seven miles to Misselton (for the horses were not in the -way) and ordered them. Now, what colour are ash-buds in March?" - -Is the man going mad? thought I. He is very like Don Quixote. - -"What colour are they, I say?" repeated he vehemently. - -"I am sure I don't know, sir," said I, with the meekness of -ignorance. - -"I knew you didn't. No more did I--an old fool that I am!--till -this young man comes and tells me. Black as ash-buds in March. -And I've lived all my life in the country; more shame for me not to -know. Black: they are jet-black, madam." And he went off again, -swinging along to the music of some rhyme he had got hold of. - -When we came back, nothing would serve him but he must read us the -poems he had been speaking of; and Miss Pole encouraged him in his -proposal, I thought, because she wished me to hear his beautiful -reading, of which she had boasted; but she afterwards said it was -because she had got to a difficult part of her crochet, and wanted -to count her stitches without having to talk. Whatever he had -proposed would have been right to Miss Matty; although she did fall -sound asleep within five minutes after he had begun a long poem, -called "Locksley Hall," and had a comfortable nap, unobserved, till -he ended; when the cessation of his voice wakened her up, and she -said, feeling that something was expected, and that Miss Pole was -counting - - -"What a pretty book!" - -"Pretty, madam! it's beautiful! Pretty, indeed!" - -"Oh yes! I meant beautiful" said she, fluttered at his disapproval -of her word. "It is so like that beautiful poem of Dr Johnson's my -sister used to read--I forget the name of it; what was it, my -dear?" turning to me. - -"Which do you mean, ma'am? What was it about?" - -"I don't remember what it was about, and I've quite forgotten what -the name of it was; but it was written by Dr Johnson, and was very -beautiful, and very like what Mr Holbrook has just been reading." - -"I don't remember it," said he reflectively. "But I don't know Dr -Johnson's poems well. I must read them." - -As we were getting into the fly to return, I heard Mr Holbrook say -he should call on the ladies soon, and inquire how they got home; -and this evidently pleased and fluttered Miss Matty at the time he -said it; but after we had lost sight of the old house among the -trees her sentiments towards the master of it were gradually -absorbed into a distressing wonder as to whether Martha had broken -her word, and seized on the opportunity of her mistress's absence -to have a "follower." Martha looked good, and steady, and composed -enough, as she came to help us out; she was always careful of Miss -Matty, and to-night she made use of this unlucky speech - - -"Eh! dear ma'am, to think of your going out in an evening in such a -thin shawl! It's no better than muslin. At your age, ma'am, you -should be careful." - -"My age!" said Miss Matty, almost speaking crossly, for her, for -she was usually gentle--"My age! Why, how old do you think I am, -that you talk about my age?" - -"Well, ma'am, I should say you were not far short of sixty: but -folks' looks is often against them--and I'm sure I meant no harm." - -"Martha, I'm not yet fifty-two!" said Miss Matty, with grave -emphasis; for probably the remembrance of her youth had come very -vividly before her this day, and she was annoyed at finding that -golden time so far away in the past. - -But she never spoke of any former and more intimate acquaintance -with Mr Holbrook. She had probably met with so little sympathy in -her early love, that she had shut it up close in her heart; and it -was only by a sort of watching, which I could hardly avoid since -Miss Pole's confidence, that I saw how faithful her poor heart had -been in its sorrow and its silence. - -She gave me some good reason for wearing her best cap every day, -and sat near the window, in spite of her rheumatism, in order to -see, without being seen, down into the street. - -He came. He put his open palms upon his knees, which were far -apart, as he sat with his head bent down, whistling, after we had -replied to his inquiries about our safe return. Suddenly he jumped -up - - -"Well, madam! have you any commands for Paris? I am going there in -a week or two." - -"To Paris!" we both exclaimed. - -"Yes, madam! I've never been there, and always had a wish to go; -and I think if I don't go soon, I mayn't go at all; so as soon as -the hay is got in I shall go, before harvest time." - -We were so much astonished that we had no commissions. - -Just as he was going out of the room, he turned back, with his -favourite exclamation - - -"God bless my soul, madam! but I nearly forgot half my errand. -Here are the poems for you you admired so much the other evening at -my house." He tugged away at a parcel in his coat-pocket. "Good- -bye, miss," said he; "good-bye, Matty! take care of yourself." And -he was gone. - -But he had given her a book, and he had called her Matty, just as -he used to do thirty years to. - -"I wish he would not go to Paris," said Miss Matilda anxiously. "I -don't believe frogs will agree with him; he used to have to be very -careful what he ate, which was curious in so strong-looking a young -man." - -Soon after this I took my leave, giving many an injunction to -Martha to look after her mistress, and to let me know if she -thought that Miss Matilda was not so well; in which case I would -volunteer a visit to my old friend, without noticing Martha's -intelligence to her. - -Accordingly I received a line or two from Martha every now and -then; and, about November I had a note to say her mistress was -"very low and sadly off her food"; and the account made me so -uneasy that, although Martha did not decidedly summon me, I packed -up my things and went. - -I received a warm welcome, in spite of the little flurry produced -by my impromptu visit, for I had only been able to give a day's -notice. Miss Matilda looked miserably ill; and I prepared to -comfort and cosset her. - -I went down to have a private talk with Martha. - -"How long has your mistress been so poorly?" I asked, as I stood by -the kitchen fire. - -"Well! I think its better than a fortnight; it is, I know; it was -one Tuesday, after Miss Pole had been, that she went into this -moping way. I thought she was tired, and it would go off with a -night's rest; but no! she has gone on and on ever since, till I -thought it my duty to write to you, ma'am." - -"You did quite right, Martha. It is a comfort to think she has so -faithful a servant about her. And I hope you find your place -comfortable?" - -"Well, ma'am, missus is very kind, and there's plenty to eat and -drink, and no more work but what I can do easily--but--" Martha -hesitated. - -"But what, Martha?" - -"Why, it seems so hard of missus not to let me have any followers; -there's such lots of young fellows in the town; and many a one has -as much as offered to keep company with me; and I may never be in -such a likely place again, and it's like wasting an opportunity. -Many a girl as I know would have 'em unbeknownst to missus; but -I've given my word, and I'll stick to it; or else this is just the -house for missus never to be the wiser if they did come: and it's -such a capable kitchen--there's such dark corners in it--I'd be -bound to hide any one. I counted up last Sunday night--for I'll -not deny I was crying because I had to shut the door in Jem Hearn's -face, and he's a steady young man, fit for any girl; only I had -given missus my word." Martha was all but crying again; and I had -little comfort to give her, for I knew, from old experience, of the -horror with which both the Miss Jenkynses looked upon "followers"; -and in Miss Matty's present nervous state this dread was not likely -to be lessened. - -I went to see Miss Pole the next day, and took her completely by -surprise, for she had not been to see Miss Matilda for two days. - -"And now I must go back with you, my dear, for I promised to let -her know how Thomas Holbrook went on; and, I'm sorry to say, his -housekeeper has sent me word to-day that he hasn't long to live. -Poor Thomas! that journey to Paris was quite too much for him. His -housekeeper says he has hardly ever been round his fields since, -but just sits with his hands on his knees in the counting-house, -not reading or anything, but only saying what a wonderful city -Paris was! Paris has much to answer for if it's killed my cousin -Thomas, for a better man never lived." - -"Does Miss Matilda know of his illness?" asked I--a new light as to -the cause of her indisposition dawning upon me. - -"Dear! to be sure, yes! Has not she told you? I let her know a -fortnight ago, or more, when first I heard of it. How odd she -shouldn't have told you!" - -Not at all, I thought; but I did not say anything. I felt almost -guilty of having spied too curiously into that tender heart, and I -was not going to speak of its secrets--hidden, Miss Matty believed, -from all the world. I ushered Miss Pole into Miss Matilda's little -drawing-room, and then left them alone. But I was not surprised -when Martha came to my bedroom door, to ask me to go down to dinner -alone, for that missus had one of her bad headaches. She came into -the drawing-room at tea-time, but it was evidently an effort to -her; and, as if to make up for some reproachful feeling against her -late sister, Miss Jenkyns, which had been troubling her all the -afternoon, and for which she now felt penitent, she kept telling me -how good and how clever Deborah was in her youth; how she used to -settle what gowns they were to wear at all the parties (faint, -ghostly ideas of grim parties, far away in the distance, when Miss -Matty and Miss Pole were young!); and how Deborah and her mother -had started the benefit society for the poor, and taught girls -cooking and plain sewing; and how Deborah had once danced with a -lord; and how she used to visit at Sir Peter Arley's, and tried to -remodel the quiet rectory establishment on the plans of Arley Hall, -where they kept thirty servants; and how she had nursed Miss Matty -through a long, long illness, of which I had never heard before, -but which I now dated in my own mind as following the dismissal of -the suit of Mr Holbrook. So we talked softly and quietly of old -times through the long November evening. - -The next day Miss Pole brought us word that Mr Holbrook was dead. -Miss Matty heard the news in silence; in fact, from the account of -the previous day, it was only what we had to expect. Miss Pole -kept calling upon us for some expression of regret, by asking if it -was not sad that he was gone, and saying - - -"To think of that pleasant day last June, when he seemed so well! -And he might have lived this dozen years if he had not gone to that -wicked Paris, where they are always having revolutions." - -She paused for some demonstration on our part. I saw Miss Matty -could not speak, she was trembling so nervously; so I said what I -really felt; and after a call of some duration--all the time of -which I have no doubt Miss Pole thought Miss Matty received the -news very calmly--our visitor took her leave. - -Miss Matty made a strong effort to conceal her feelings--a -concealment she practised even with me, for she has never alluded -to Mr Holbrook again, although the book he gave her lies with her -Bible on the little table by her bedside. She did not think I -heard her when she asked the little milliner of Cranford to make -her caps something like the Honourable Mrs Jamieson's, or that I -noticed the reply - - -"But she wears widows' caps, ma'am?" - -"Oh! I only meant something in that style; not widows', of course, -but rather like Mrs Jamieson's." - -This effort at concealment was the beginning of the tremulous -motion of head and hands which I have seen ever since in Miss -Matty. - -The evening of the day on which we heard of Mr Holbrook's death, -Miss Matilda was very silent and thoughtful; after prayers she -called Martha back and then she stood uncertain what to say. - -"Martha!" she said, at last, "you are young"--and then she made so -long a pause that Martha, to remind her of her half-finished -sentence, dropped a curtsey, and said - - -"Yes, please, ma'am; two-and-twenty last third of October, please, -ma'am." - -"And, perhaps, Martha, you may some time meet with a young man you -like, and who likes you. I did say you were not to have followers; -but if you meet with such a young man, and tell me, and I find he -is respectable, I have no objection to his coming to see you once a -week. God forbid!" said she in a low voice, "that I should grieve -any young hearts." She spoke as if she were providing for some -distant contingency, and was rather startled when Martha made her -ready eager answer - - -"Please, ma'am, there's Jem Hearn, and he's a joiner making three- -and-sixpence a-day, and six foot one in his stocking-feet, please, -ma'am; and if you'll ask about him to-morrow morning, every one -will give him a character for steadiness; and he'll be glad enough -to come to-morrow night, I'll be bound." - -Though Miss Matty was startled, she submitted to Fate and Love. - - - -CHAPTER V--OLD LETTERS - - - -I have often noticed that almost every one has his own individual -small economies--careful habits of saving fractions of pennies in -some one peculiar direction--any disturbance of which annoys him -more than spending shillings or pounds on some real extravagance. -An old gentleman of my acquaintance, who took the intelligence of -the failure of a Joint-Stock Bank, in which some of his money was -invested, with stoical mildness, worried his family all through a -long summer's day because one of them had torn (instead of cutting) -out the written leaves of his now useless bank-book; of course, the -corresponding pages at the other end came out as well, and this -little unnecessary waste of paper (his private economy) chafed him -more than all the loss of his money. Envelopes fretted his soul -terribly when they first came in; the only way in which he could -reconcile himself to such waste of his cherished article was by -patiently turning inside out all that were sent to him, and so -making them serve again. Even now, though tamed by age, I see him -casting wistful glances at his daughters when they send a whole -inside of a half-sheet of note paper, with the three lines of -acceptance to an invitation, written on only one of the sides. I -am not above owning that I have this human weakness myself. String -is my foible. My pockets get full of little hanks of it, picked up -and twisted together, ready for uses that never come. I am -seriously annoyed if any one cuts the string of a parcel instead of -patiently and faithfully undoing it fold by fold. How people can -bring themselves to use india-rubber rings, which are a sort of -deification of string, as lightly as they do, I cannot imagine. To -me an india-rubber ring is a precious treasure. I have one which -is not new--one that I picked up off the floor nearly six years -ago. I have really tried to use it, but my heart failed me, and I -could not commit the extravagance. - -Small pieces of butter grieve others. They cannot attend to -conversation because of the annoyance occasioned by the habit which -some people have of invariably taking more butter than they want. -Have you not seen the anxious look (almost mesmeric) which such -persons fix on the article? They would feel it a relief if they -might bury it out of their sight by popping it into their own -mouths and swallowing it down; and they are really made happy if -the person on whose plate it lies unused suddenly breaks off a -piece of toast (which he does not want at all) and eats up his -butter. They think that this is not waste. - -Now Miss Matty Jenkyns was chary of candles. We had many devices -to use as few as possible. In the winter afternoons she would sit -knitting for two or three hours--she could do this in the dark, or -by firelight--and when I asked if I might not ring for candles to -finish stitching my wristbands, she told me to "keep blind man's -holiday." They were usually brought in with tea; but we only burnt -one at a time. As we lived in constant preparation for a friend -who might come in any evening (but who never did), it required some -contrivance to keep our two candles of the same length, ready to be -lighted, and to look as if we burnt two always. The candles took -it in turns; and, whatever we might be talking about or doing, Miss -Matty's eyes were habitually fixed upon the candle, ready to jump -up and extinguish it and to light the other before they had become -too uneven in length to be restored to equality in the course of -the evening. - -One night, I remember this candle economy particularly annoyed me. -I had been very much tired of my compulsory "blind man's holiday," -especially as Miss Matty had fallen asleep, and I did not like to -stir the fire and run the risk of awakening her; so I could not -even sit on the rug, and scorch myself with sewing by firelight, -according to my usual custom. I fancied Miss Matty must be -dreaming of her early life; for she spoke one or two words in her -uneasy sleep bearing reference to persons who were dead long -before. When Martha brought in the lighted candle and tea, Miss -Matty started into wakefulness, with a strange, bewildered look -around, as if we were not the people she expected to see about her. -There was a little sad expression that shadowed her face as she -recognised me; but immediately afterwards she tried to give me her -usual smile. All through tea-time her talk ran upon the days of -her childhood and youth. Perhaps this reminded her of the -desirableness of looking over all the old family letters, and -destroying such as ought not to be allowed to fall into the hands -of strangers; for she had often spoken of the necessity of this -task, but had always shrunk from it, with a timid dread of -something painful. To-night, however, she rose up after tea and -went for them--in the dark; for she piqued herself on the precise -neatness of all her chamber arrangements, and used to look uneasily -at me when I lighted a bed-candle to go to another room for -anything. When she returned there was a faint, pleasant smell of -Tonquin beans in the room. I had always noticed this scent about -any of the things which had belonged to her mother; and many of the -letters were addressed to her--yellow bundles of love-letters, -sixty or seventy years old. - -Miss Matty undid the packet with a sigh; but she stifled it -directly, as if it were hardly right to regret the flight of time, -or of life either. We agreed to look them over separately, each -taking a different letter out of the same bundle and describing its -contents to the other before destroying it. I never knew what sad -work the reading of old-letters was before that evening, though I -could hardly tell why. The letters were as happy as letters could -be--at least those early letters were. There was in them a vivid -and intense sense of the present time, which seemed so strong and -full, as if it could never pass away, and as if the warm, living -hearts that so expressed themselves could never die, and be as -nothing to the sunny earth. I should have felt less melancholy, I -believe, if the letters had been more so. I saw the tears stealing -down the well-worn furrows of Miss Matty's cheeks, and her -spectacles often wanted wiping. I trusted at last that she would -light the other candle, for my own eyes were rather dim, and I -wanted more light to see the pale, faded ink; but no, even through -her tears, she saw and remembered her little economical ways. - -The earliest set of letters were two bundles tied together, and -ticketed (in Miss Jenkyns's handwriting) "Letters interchanged -between my ever-honoured father and my dearly-beloved mother, prior -to their marriage, in July 1774." I should guess that the rector -of Cranford was about twenty-seven years of age when he wrote those -letters; and Miss Matty told me that her mother was just eighteen -at the time of her wedding. With my idea of the rector derived -from a picture in the dining-parlour, stiff and stately, in a huge -full-bottomed wig, with gown, cassock, and bands, and his hand upon -a copy of the only sermon he ever published--it was strange to read -these letters. They were full of eager, passionate ardour; short -homely sentences, right fresh from the heart (very different from -the grand Latinised, Johnsonian style of the printed sermon -preached before some judge at assize time). His letters were a -curious contrast to those of his girl-bride. She was evidently -rather annoyed at his demands upon her for expressions of love, and -could not quite understand what he meant by repeating the same -thing over in so many different ways; but what she was quite clear -about was a longing for a white "Paduasoy"--whatever that might be; -and six or seven letters were principally occupied in asking her -lover to use his influence with her parents (who evidently kept her -in good order) to obtain this or that article of dress, more -especially the white "Paduasoy." He cared nothing how she was -dressed; she was always lovely enough for him, as he took pains to -assure her, when she begged him to express in his answers a -predilection for particular pieces of finery, in order that she -might show what he said to her parents. But at length he seemed to -find out that she would not be married till she had a "trousseau" -to her mind; and then he sent her a letter, which had evidently -accompanied a whole box full of finery, and in which he requested -that she might be dressed in everything her heart desired. This -was the first letter, ticketed in a frail, delicate hand, "From my -dearest John." Shortly afterwards they were married, I suppose, -from the intermission in their correspondence. - -"We must burn them, I think," said Miss Matty, looking doubtfully -at me. "No one will care for them when I am gone." And one by one -she dropped them into the middle of the fire, watching each blaze -up, die out, and rise away, in faint, white, ghostly semblance, up -the chimney, before she gave another to the same fate. The room -was light enough now; but I, like her, was fascinated into watching -the destruction of those letters, into which the honest warmth of a -manly heart had been poured forth. - -The next letter, likewise docketed by Miss Jenkyns, was endorsed, -"Letter of pious congratulation and exhortation from my venerable -grandfather to my beloved mother, on occasion of my own birth. -Also some practical remarks on the desirability of keeping warm the -extremities of infants, from my excellent grandmother." - -The first part was, indeed, a severe and forcible picture of the -responsibilities of mothers, and a warning against the evils that -were in the world, and lying in ghastly wait for the little baby of -two days old. His wife did not write, said the old gentleman, -because he had forbidden it, she being indisposed with a sprained -ankle, which (he said) quite incapacitated her from holding a pen. -However, at the foot of the page was a small "T.O.," and on turning -it over, sure enough, there was a letter to "my dear, dearest -Molly," begging her, when she left her room, whatever she did, to -go UP stairs before going DOWN: and telling her to wrap her baby's -feet up in flannel, and keep it warm by the fire, although it was -summer, for babies were so tender. - -It was pretty to see from the letters, which were evidently -exchanged with some frequency between the young mother and the -grandmother, how the girlish vanity was being weeded out of her -heart by love for her baby. The white "Paduasoy" figured again in -the letters, with almost as much vigour as before. In one, it was -being made into a christening cloak for the baby. It decked it -when it went with its parents to spend a day or two at Arley Hall. -It added to its charms, when it was "the prettiest little baby that -ever was seen. Dear mother, I wish you could see her! Without any -pershality, I do think she will grow up a regular bewty!" I -thought of Miss Jenkyns, grey, withered, and wrinkled, and I -wondered if her mother had known her in the courts of heaven: and -then I knew that she had, and that they stood there in angelic -guise. - -There was a great gap before any of the rector's letters appeared. -And then his wife had changed her mode of her endorsement. It was -no longer from, "My dearest John;" it was from "My Honoured -Husband." The letters were written on occasion of the publication -of the same sermon which was represented in the picture. The -preaching before "My Lord Judge," and the "publishing by request," -was evidently the culminating point--the event of his life. It had -been necessary for him to go up to London to superintend it through -the press. Many friends had to be called upon and consulted before -he could decide on any printer fit for so onerous a task; and at -length it was arranged that J. and J. Rivingtons were to have the -honourable responsibility. The worthy rector seemed to be strung -up by the occasion to a high literary pitch, for he could hardly -write a letter to his wife without cropping out into Latin. I -remember the end of one of his letters ran thus: "I shall ever -hold the virtuous qualities of my Molly in remembrance, dum memor -ipse mei, dum spiritus regit artus," which, considering that the -English of his correspondent was sometimes at fault in grammar, and -often in spelling, might be taken as a proof of how much he -"idealised his Molly;" and, as Miss Jenkyns used to say, "People -talk a great deal about idealising now-a-days, whatever that may -mean." But this was nothing to a fit of writing classical poetry -which soon seized him, in which his Molly figured away as "Maria." -The letter containing the carmen was endorsed by her, "Hebrew -verses sent me by my honoured husband. I thowt to have had a -letter about killing the pig, but must wait. Mem., to send the -poetry to Sir Peter Arley, as my husband desires." And in a post- -scriptum note in his handwriting it was stated that the Ode had -appeared in the Gentleman's Magazine, December 1782. - -Her letters back to her husband (treasured as fondly by him as if -they had been M. T. Ciceronis Epistolae) were more satisfactory to -an absent husband and father than his could ever have been to her. -She told him how Deborah sewed her seam very neatly every day, and -read to her in the books he had set her; how she was a very -"forrard," good child, but would ask questions her mother could not -answer, but how she did not let herself down by saying she did not -know, but took to stirring the fire, or sending the "forrard" child -on an errand. Matty was now the mother's darling, and promised -(like her sister at her age), to be a great beauty. I was reading -this aloud to Miss Matty, who smiled and sighed a little at the -hope, so fondly expressed, that "little Matty might not be vain, -even if she were a bewty." - -"I had very pretty hair, my dear," said Mist Matilda; "and not a -bad mouth." And I saw her soon afterwards adjust her cap and draw -herself up. - -But to return to Mrs Jenkyns's letters. She told her husband about -the poor in the parish; what homely domestic medicines she had -administered; what kitchen physic she had sent. She had evidently -held his displeasure as a rod in pickle over the heads of all the -ne'er-do-wells. She asked for his directions about the cows and -pigs; and did not always obtain them, as I have shown before. - -The kind old grandmother was dead when a little boy was born, soon -after the publication of the sermon; but there was another letter -of exhortation from the grandfather, more stringent and admonitory -than ever, now that there was a boy to be guarded from the snares -of the world. He described all the various sins into which men -might fall, until I wondered how any man ever came to a natural -death. The gallows seemed as if it must have been the termination -of the lives of most of the grandfather's friends and acquaintance; -and I was not surprised at the way in which he spoke of this life -being "a vale of tears." - -It seemed curious that I should never have heard of this brother -before; but I concluded that he had died young, or else surely his -name would have been alluded to by his sisters. - -By-and-by we came to packets of Miss Jenkyns's letters. These Miss -Matty did regret to burn. She said all the others had been only -interesting to those who loved the writers, and that it seemed as -if it would have hurt her to allow them to fall into the hands of -strangers, who had not known her dear mother, and how good she was, -although she did not always spell, quite in the modern fashion; but -Deborah's letters were so very superior! Any one might profit by -reading them. It was a long time since she had read Mrs Chapone, -but she knew she used to think that Deborah could have said the -same things quite as well; and as for Mrs Carter! people thought a -deal of her letters, just because she had written "Epictetus," but -she was quite sure Deborah would never have made use of such a -common expression as "I canna be fashed!" - -Miss Matty did grudge burning these letters, it was evident. She -would not let them be carelessly passed over with any quiet -reading, and skipping, to myself. She took them from me, and even -lighted the second candle in order to read them aloud with a proper -emphasis, and without stumbling over the big words. Oh dear! how I -wanted facts instead of reflections, before those letters were -concluded! They lasted us two nights; and I won't deny that I made -use of the time to think of many other things, and yet I was always -at my post at the end of each sentence. - -The rector's letters, and those of his wife and mother-in-law, had -all been tolerably short and pithy, written in a straight hand, -with the lines very close together. Sometimes the whole letter was -contained on a mere scrap of paper. The paper was very yellow, and -the ink very brown; some of the sheets were (as Miss Matty made me -observe) the old original post, with the stamp in the corner -representing a post-boy riding for life and twanging his horn. The -letters of Mrs Jenkyns and her mother were fastened with a great -round red wafer; for it was before Miss Edgeworth's "patronage" had -banished wafers from polite society. It was evident, from the -tenor of what was said, that franks were in great request, and were -even used as a means of paying debts by needy members of -Parliament. The rector sealed his epistles with an immense coat of -arms, and showed by the care with which he had performed this -ceremony that he expected they should be cut open, not broken by -any thoughtless or impatient hand. Now, Miss Jenkyns's letters -were of a later date in form and writing. She wrote on the square -sheet which we have learned to call old-fashioned. Her hand was -admirably calculated, together with her use of many-syllabled -words, to fill up a sheet, and then came the pride and delight of -crossing. Poor Miss Matty got sadly puzzled with this, for the -words gathered size like snowballs, and towards the end of her -letter Miss Jenkyns used to become quite sesquipedalian. In one to -her father, slightly theological and controversial in its tone, she -had spoken of Herod, Tetrarch of Idumea. Miss Matty read it "Herod -Petrarch of Etruria," and was just as well pleased as if she had -been right. - -I can't quite remember the date, but I think it was in 1805 that -Miss Jenkyns wrote the longest series of letters--on occasion of -her absence on a visit to some friends near Newcastle-upon-Tyne. -These friends were intimate with the commandant of the garrison -there, and heard from him of all the preparations that were being -made to repel the invasion of Buonaparte, which some people -imagined might take place at the mouth of the Tyne. Miss Jenkyns -was evidently very much alarmed; and the first part of her letters -was often written in pretty intelligible English, conveying -particulars of the preparations which were made in the family with -whom she was residing against the dreaded event; the bundles of -clothes that were packed up ready for a flight to Alston Moor (a -wild hilly piece of ground between Northumberland and Cumberland); -the signal that was to be given for this flight, and for the -simultaneous turning out of the volunteers under arms--which said -signal was to consist (if I remember rightly) in ringing the church -bells in a particular and ominous manner. One day, when Miss -Jenkyns and her hosts were at a dinner-party in Newcastle, this -warning summons was actually given (not a very wise proceeding, if -there be any truth in the moral attached to the fable of the Boy -and the Wolf; but so it was), and Miss Jenkyns, hardly recovered -from her fright, wrote the next day to describe the sound, the -breathless shock, the hurry and alarm; and then, taking breath, she -added, "How trivial, my dear father, do all our apprehensions of -the last evening appear, at the present moment, to calm and -enquiring minds!" And here Miss Matty broke in with - - -"But, indeed, my dear, they were not at all trivial or trifling at -the time. I know I used to wake up in the night many a time and -think I heard the tramp of the French entering Cranford. Many -people talked of hiding themselves in the salt mines--and meat -would have kept capitally down there, only perhaps we should have -been thirsty. And my father preached a whole set of sermons on the -occasion; one set in the mornings, all about David and Goliath, to -spirit up the people to fighting with spades or bricks, if need -were; and the other set in the afternoons, proving that Napoleon -(that was another name for Bony, as we used to call him) was all -the same as an Apollyon and Abaddon. I remember my father rather -thought he should be asked to print this last set; but the parish -had, perhaps, had enough of them with hearing." - -Peter Marmaduke Arley Jenkyns ("poor Peter!" as Miss Matty began to -call him) was at school at Shrewsbury by this time. The rector -took up his pen, and rubbed up his Latin once more, to correspond -with his boy. It was very clear that the lad's were what are -called show letters. They were of a highly mental description, -giving an account of his studies, and his intellectual hopes of -various kinds, with an occasional quotation from the classics; but, -now and then, the animal nature broke out in such a little sentence -as this, evidently written in a trembling hurry, after the letter -had been inspected: "Mother dear, do send me a cake, and put -plenty of citron in." The "mother dear" probably answered her boy -in the form of cakes and "goody," for there were none of her -letters among this set; but a whole collection of the rector's, to -whom the Latin in his boy's letters was like a trumpet to the old -war-horse. I do not know much about Latin, certainly, and it is, -perhaps, an ornamental language, but not very useful, I think--at -least to judge from the bits I remember out of the rector's -letters. One was, "You have not got that town in your map of -Ireland; but Bonus Bernardus non videt omnia, as the Proverbia -say." Presently it became very evident that "poor Peter" got -himself into many scrapes. There were letters of stilted penitence -to his father, for some wrong-doing; and among them all was a -badly-written, badly-sealed, badly-directed, blotted note:- "My -dear, dear, dear, dearest mother, I will be a better boy; I will, -indeed; but don't, please, be ill for me; I am not worth it; but I -will be good, darling mother." - -Miss Matty could not speak for crying, after she had read this -note. She gave it to me in silence, and then got up and took it to -her sacred recesses in her own room, for fear, by any chance, it -might get burnt. "Poor Peter!" she said; "he was always in -scrapes; he was too easy. They led him wrong, and then left him in -the lurch. But he was too fond of mischief. He could never resist -a joke. Poor Peter!" - - - -CHAPTER VI--POOR PETER - - - -Poor Peter's career lay before him rather pleasantly mapped out by -kind friends, but Bonus Bernardus non videt omnia, in this map too. -He was to win honours at the Shrewsbury School, and carry them -thick to Cambridge, and after that, a living awaited him, the gift -of his godfather, Sir Peter Arley. Poor Peter! his lot in life was -very different to what his friends had hoped and planned. Miss -Matty told me all about it, and I think it was a relief when she -had done so. - -He was the darling of his mother, who seemed to dote on all her -children, though she was, perhaps, a little afraid of Deborah's -superior acquirements. Deborah was the favourite of her father, -and when Peter disappointed him, she became his pride. The sole -honour Peter brought away from Shrewsbury was the reputation of -being the best good fellow that ever was, and of being the captain -of the school in the art of practical joking. His father was -disappointed, but set about remedying the matter in a manly way. -He could not afford to send Peter to read with any tutor, but he -could read with him himself; and Miss Matty told me much of the -awful preparations in the way of dictionaries and lexicons that -were made in her father's study the morning Peter began. - -"My poor mother!" said she. "I remember how she used to stand in -the hall, just near enough the study-door, to catch the tone of my -father's voice. I could tell in a moment if all was going right, -by her face. And it did go right for a long time." - -"What went wrong at last?" said I. "That tiresome Latin, I dare -say." - -"No! it was not the Latin. Peter was in high favour with my -father, for he worked up well for him. But he seemed to think that -the Cranford people might be joked about, and made fun of, and they -did not like it; nobody does. He was always hoaxing them; -'hoaxing' is not a pretty word, my dear, and I hope you won't tell -your father I used it, for I should not like him to think that I -was not choice in my language, after living with such a woman as -Deborah. And be sure you never use it yourself. I don't know how -it slipped out of my mouth, except it was that I was thinking of -poor Peter and it was always his expression. But he was a very -gentlemanly boy in many things. He was like dear Captain Brown in -always being ready to help any old person or a child. Still, he -did like joking and making fun; and he seemed to think the old -ladies in Cranford would believe anything. There were many old -ladies living here then; we are principally ladies now, I know, but -we are not so old as the ladies used to be when I was a girl. I -could laugh to think of some of Peter's jokes. No, my dear, I -won't tell you of them, because they might not shock you as they -ought to do, and they were very shocking. He even took in my -father once, by dressing himself up as a lady that was passing -through the town and wished to see the Rector of Cranford, 'who had -published that admirable Assize Sermon.' Peter said he was awfully -frightened himself when he saw how my father took it all in, and -even offered to copy out all his Napoleon Buonaparte sermons for -her--him, I mean--no, her, for Peter was a lady then. He told me -he was more terrified than he ever was before, all the time my -father was speaking. He did not think my father would have -believed him; and yet if he had not, it would have been a sad thing -for Peter. As it was, he was none so glad of it, for my father -kept him hard at work copying out all those twelve Buonaparte -sermons for the lady--that was for Peter himself, you know. He was -the lady. And once when he wanted to go fishing, Peter said, -'Confound the woman!'--very bad language, my dear, but Peter was -not always so guarded as he should have been; my father was so -angry with him, it nearly frightened me out of my wits: and yet I -could hardly keep from laughing at the little curtseys Peter kept -making, quite slyly, whenever my father spoke of the lady's -excellent taste and sound discrimination." - -"Did Miss Jenkyns know of these tricks?" said I. - -"Oh, no! Deborah would have been too much shocked. No, no one -knew but me. I wish I had always known of Peter's plans; but -sometimes he did not tell me. He used to say the old ladies in the -town wanted something to talk about; but I don't think they did. -They had the St James's Chronicle three times a week, just as we -have now, and we have plenty to say; and I remember the clacking -noise there always was when some of the ladies got together. But, -probably, schoolboys talk more than ladies. At last there was a -terrible, sad thing happened." Miss Matty got up, went to the -door, and opened it; no one was there. She rang the bell for -Martha, and when Martha came, her mistress told her to go for eggs -to a farm at the other end of the town. - -"I will lock the door after you, Martha. You are not afraid to go, -are you?" - -"No, ma'am, not at all; Jem Hearn will be only too proud to go with -me." - -Miss Matty drew herself up, and as soon as we were alone, she -wished that Martha had more maidenly reserve. - -"We'll put out the candle, my dear. We can talk just as well by -firelight, you know. There! Well, you see, Deborah had gone from -home for a fortnight or so; it was a very still, quiet day, I -remember, overhead; and the lilacs were all in flower, so I suppose -it was spring. My father had gone out to see some sick people in -the parish; I recollect seeing him leave the house with his wig and -shovel-hat and cane. What possessed our poor Peter I don't know; -he had the sweetest temper, and yet he always seemed to like to -plague Deborah. She never laughed at his jokes, and thought him -ungenteel, and not careful enough about improving his mind; and -that vexed him. - -"Well! he went to her room, it seems, and dressed himself in her -old gown, and shawl, and bonnet; just the things she used to wear -in Cranford, and was known by everywhere; and he made the pillow -into a little--you are sure you locked the door, my dear, for I -should not like anyone to hear--into--into a little baby, with -white long clothes. It was only, as he told me afterwards, to make -something to talk about in the town; he never thought of it as -affecting Deborah. And he went and walked up and down in the -Filbert walk--just half-hidden by the rails, and half-seen; and he -cuddled his pillow, just like a baby, and talked to it all the -nonsense people do. Oh dear! and my father came stepping stately -up the street, as he always did; and what should he see but a -little black crowd of people--I daresay as many as twenty--all -peeping through his garden rails. So he thought, at first, they -were only looking at a new rhododendron that was in full bloom, and -that he was very proud of; and he walked slower, that they might -have more time to admire. And he wondered if he could make out a -sermon from the occasion, and thought, perhaps, there was some -relation between the rhododendrons and the lilies of the field. My -poor father! When he came nearer, he began to wonder that they did -not see him; but their heads were all so close together, peeping -and peeping! My father was amongst them, meaning, he said, to ask -them to walk into the garden with him, and admire the beautiful -vegetable production, when--oh, my dear, I tremble to think of it-- -he looked through the rails himself, and saw--I don't know what he -thought he saw, but old Clare told me his face went quite grey- -white with anger, and his eyes blazed out under his frowning black -brows; and he spoke out--oh, so terribly!--and bade them all stop -where they were--not one of them to go, not one of them to stir a -step; and, swift as light, he was in at the garden door, and down -the Filbert walk, and seized hold of poor Peter, and tore his -clothes off his back--bonnet, shawl, gown, and all--and threw the -pillow among the people over the railings: and then he was very, -very angry indeed, and before all the people he lifted up his cane -and flogged Peter! - -"My dear, that boy's trick, on that sunny day, when all seemed -going straight and well, broke my mother's heart, and changed my -father for life. It did, indeed. Old Clare said, Peter looked as -white as my father; and stood as still as a statue to be flogged; -and my father struck hard! When my father stopped to take breath, -Peter said, 'Have you done enough, sir?' quite hoarsely, and still -standing quite quiet. I don't know what my father said--or if he -said anything. But old Clare said, Peter turned to where the -people outside the railing were, and made them a low bow, as grand -and as grave as any gentleman; and then walked slowly into the -house. I was in the store-room helping my mother to make cowslip -wine. I cannot abide the wine now, nor the scent of the flowers; -they turn me sick and faint, as they did that day, when Peter came -in, looking as haughty as any man--indeed, looking like a man, not -like a boy. 'Mother!' he said, 'I am come to say, God bless you -for ever.' I saw his lips quiver as he spoke; and I think he durst -not say anything more loving, for the purpose that was in his -heart. She looked at him rather frightened, and wondering, and -asked him what was to do. He did not smile or speak, but put his -arms round her and kissed her as if he did not know how to leave -off; and before she could speak again, he was gone. We talked it -over, and could not understand it, and she bade me go and seek my -father, and ask what it was all about. I found him walking up and -down, looking very highly displeased. - -"'Tell your mother I have flogged Peter, and that he richly -deserved it.' - -"I durst not ask any more questions. When I told my mother, she -sat down, quite faint, for a minute. I remember, a few days after, -I saw the poor, withered cowslip flowers thrown out to the leaf -heap, to decay and die there. There was no making of cowslip wine -that year at the rectory--nor, indeed, ever after. - -"Presently my mother went to my father. I know I thought of Queen -Esther and King Ahasuerus; for my mother was very pretty and -delicate-looking, and my father looked as terrible as King -Ahasuerus. Some time after they came out together; and then my -mother told me what had happened, and that she was going up to -Peter's room at my father's desire--though she was not to tell -Peter this--to talk the matter over with him. But no Peter was -there. We looked over the house; no Peter was there! Even my -father, who had not liked to join in the search at first, helped us -before long. The rectory was a very old house--steps up into a -room, steps down into a room, all through. At first, my mother -went calling low and soft, as if to reassure the poor boy, 'Peter! -Peter, dear! it's only me;' but, by-and-by, as the servants came -back from the errands my father had sent them, in different -directions, to find where Peter was--as we found he was not in the -garden, nor the hayloft, nor anywhere about--my mother's cry grew -louder and wilder, Peter! Peter, my darling! where are you?' for -then she felt and understood that that long kiss meant some sad -kind of 'good-bye.' The afternoon went on--my mother never -resting, but seeking again and again in every possible place that -had been looked into twenty times before, nay, that she had looked -into over and over again herself. My father sat with his head in -his hands, not speaking except when his messengers came in, -bringing no tidings; then he lifted up his face, so strong and sad, -and told them to go again in some new direction. My mother kept -passing from room to room, in and out of the house, moving -noiselessly, but never ceasing. Neither she nor my father durst -leave the house, which was the meeting-place for all the -messengers. At last (and it was nearly dark), my father rose up. -He took hold of my mother's arm as she came with wild, sad pace -through one door, and quickly towards another. She started at the -touch of his hand, for she had forgotten all in the world but -Peter. - -"'Molly!' said he, 'I did not think all this would happen.' He -looked into her face for comfort--her poor face all wild and white; -for neither she nor my father had dared to acknowledge--much less -act upon--the terror that was in their hearts, lest Peter should -have made away with himself. My father saw no conscious look in -his wife's hot, dreary eyes, and he missed the sympathy that she -had always been ready to give him--strong man as he was, and at the -dumb despair in her face his tears began to flow. But when she saw -this, a gentle sorrow came over her countenance, and she said, -'Dearest John! don't cry; come with me, and we'll find him,' almost -as cheerfully as if she knew where he was. And she took my -father's great hand in her little soft one, and led him along, the -tears dropping as he walked on that same unceasing, weary walk, -from room to room, through house and garden. - -"Oh, how I wished for Deborah! I had no time for crying, for now -all seemed to depend on me. I wrote for Deborah to come home. I -sent a message privately to that same Mr Holbrook's house--poor Mr -Holbrook;--you know who I mean. I don't mean I sent a message to -him, but I sent one that I could trust to know if Peter was at his -house. For at one time Mr Holbrook was an occasional visitor at -the rectory--you know he was Miss Pole's cousin--and he had been -very kind to Peter, and taught him how to fish--he was very kind to -everybody, and I thought Peter might have gone off there. But Mr -Holbrook was from home, and Peter had never been seen. It was -night now; but the doors were all wide open, and my father and -mother walked on and on; it was more than an hour since he had -joined her, and I don't believe they had ever spoken all that time. -I was getting the parlour fire lighted, and one of the servants was -preparing tea, for I wanted them to have something to eat and drink -and warm them, when old Clare asked to speak to me. - -"'I have borrowed the nets from the weir, Miss Matty. Shall we -drag the ponds to-night, or wait for the morning?' - -"I remember staring in his face to gather his meaning; and when I -did, I laughed out loud. The horror of that new thought--our -bright, darling Peter, cold, and stark, and dead! I remember the -ring of my own laugh now. - -"The next day Deborah was at home before I was myself again. She -would not have been so weak as to give way as I had done; but my -screams (my horrible laughter had ended in crying) had roused my -sweet dear mother, whose poor wandering wits were called back and -collected as soon as a child needed her care. She and Deborah sat -by my bedside; I knew by the looks of each that there had been no -news of Peter--no awful, ghastly news, which was what I most had -dreaded in my dull state between sleeping and waking. - -"The same result of all the searching had brought something of the -same relief to my mother, to whom, I am sure, the thought that -Peter might even then be hanging dead in some of the familiar home -places had caused that never-ending walk of yesterday. Her soft -eyes never were the same again after that; they had always a -restless, craving look, as if seeking for what they could not find. -Oh! it was an awful time; coming down like a thunder-bolt on the -still sunny day when the lilacs were all in bloom." - -"Where was Mr Peter?" said I. - -"He had made his way to Liverpool; and there was war then; and some -of the king's ships lay off the mouth of the Mersey; and they were -only too glad to have a fine likely boy such as him (five foot nine -he was), come to offer himself. The captain wrote to my father, -and Peter wrote to my mother. Stay! those letters will be -somewhere here." - -We lighted the candle, and found the captain's letter and Peter's -too. And we also found a little simple begging letter from Mrs -Jenkyns to Peter, addressed to him at the house of an old -schoolfellow whither she fancied he might have gone. They had -returned it unopened; and unopened it had remained ever since, -having been inadvertently put by among the other letters of that -time. This is it:- - - -"MY DEAREST PETER,--You did not think we should be so sorry as we -are, I know, or you would never have gone away. You are too good. -Your father sits and sighs till my heart aches to hear him. He -cannot hold up his head for grief; and yet he only did what he -thought was right. Perhaps he has been too severe, and perhaps I -have not been kind enough; but God knows how we love you, my dear -only boy. Don looks so sorry you are gone. Come back, and make us -happy, who love you so much. I know you will come back." - - -But Peter did not come back. That spring day was the last time he -ever saw his mother's face. The writer of the letter--the last-- -the only person who had ever seen what was written in it, was dead -long ago; and I, a stranger, not born at the time when this -occurrence took place, was the one to open it. - -The captain's letter summoned the father and mother to Liverpool -instantly, if they wished to see their boy; and, by some of the -wild chances of life, the captain's letter had been detained -somewhere, somehow. - -Miss Matty went on, "And it was racetime, and all the post-horses -at Cranford were gone to the races; but my father and mother set -off in our own gig--and oh! my dear, they were too late--the ship -was gone! And now read Peter's letter to my mother!" - -It was full of love, and sorrow, and pride in his new profession, -and a sore sense of his disgrace in the eyes of the people at -Cranford; but ending with a passionate entreaty that she would come -and see him before he left the Mersey: "Mother; we may go into -battle. I hope we shall, and lick those French: but I must see -you again before that time." - -"And she was too late," said Miss Matty; "too late!" - -We sat in silence, pondering on the full meaning of those sad, sad -words. At length I asked Miss Matty to tell me how her mother bore -it. - -"Oh!" she said, "she was patience itself. She had never been -strong, and this weakened her terribly. My father used to sit -looking at her: far more sad than she was. He seemed as if he -could look at nothing else when she was by; and he was so humble-- -so very gentle now. He would, perhaps, speak in his old way-- -laying down the law, as it were--and then, in a minute or two, he -would come round and put his hand on our shoulders, and ask us in a -low voice, if he had said anything to hurt us. I did not wonder at -his speaking so to Deborah, for she was so clever; but I could not -bear to hear him talking so to me. - -"But, you see, he saw what we did not--that it was killing my -mother. Yes! killing her (put out the candle, my dear; I can talk -better in the dark), for she was but a frail woman, and ill-fitted -to stand the fright and shock she had gone through; and she would -smile at him and comfort him, not in words, but in her looks and -tones, which were always cheerful when he was there. And she would -speak of how she thought Peter stood a good chance of being admiral -very soon--he was so brave and clever; and how she thought of -seeing him in his navy uniform, and what sort of hats admirals -wore; and how much more fit he was to be a sailor than a clergyman; -and all in that way, just to make my father think she was quite -glad of what came of that unlucky morning's work, and the flogging -which was always in his mind, as we all knew. But oh, my dear! the -bitter, bitter crying she had when she was alone; and at last, as -she grew weaker, she could not keep her tears in when Deborah or me -was by, and would give us message after message for Peter (his ship -had gone to the Mediterranean, or somewhere down there, and then he -was ordered off to India, and there was no overland route then); -but she still said that no one knew where their death lay in wait, -and that we were not to think hers was near. We did not think it, -but we knew it, as we saw her fading away. - -"Well, my dear, it's very foolish of me, I know, when in all -likelihood I am so near seeing her again. - -"And only think, love! the very day after her death--for she did -not live quite a twelvemonth after Peter went away--the very day -after--came a parcel for her from India--from her poor boy. It was -a large, soft, white Indian shawl, with just a little narrow border -all round; just what my mother would have liked. - -"We thought it might rouse my father, for he had sat with her hand -in his all night long; so Deborah took it in to him, and Peter's -letter to her, and all. At first, he took no notice; and we tried -to make a kind of light careless talk about the shawl, opening it -out and admiring it. Then, suddenly, he got up, and spoke: 'She -shall be buried in it,' he said; 'Peter shall have that comfort; -and she would have liked it.' - -"Well, perhaps it was not reasonable, but what could we do or say? -One gives people in grief their own way. He took it up and felt -it: 'It is just such a shawl as she wished for when she was -married, and her mother did not give it her. I did not know of it -till after, or she should have had it--she should; but she shall -have it now.' - -"My mother looked so lovely in her death! She was always pretty, -and now she looked fair, and waxen, and young--younger than -Deborah, as she stood trembling and shivering by her. We decked -her in the long soft folds; she lay smiling, as if pleased; and -people came--all Cranford came--to beg to see her, for they had -loved her dearly, as well they might; and the countrywomen brought -posies; old Clare's wife brought some white violets and begged they -might lie on her breast. - -"Deborah said to me, the day of my mother's funeral, that if she -had a hundred offers she never would marry and leave my father. It -was not very likely she would have so many--I don't know that she -had one; but it was not less to her credit to say so. She was such -a daughter to my father as I think there never was before or since. -His eyes failed him, and she read book after book, and wrote, and -copied, and was always at his service in any parish business. She -could do many more things than my poor mother could; she even once -wrote a letter to the bishop for my father. But he missed my -mother sorely; the whole parish noticed it. Not that he was less -active; I think he was more so, and more patient in helping every -one. I did all I could to set Deborah at liberty to be with him; -for I knew I was good for little, and that my best work in the -world was to do odd jobs quietly, and set others at liberty. But -my father was a changed man." - -"Did Mr Peter ever come home?" - -"Yes, once. He came home a lieutenant; he did not get to be -admiral. And he and my father were such friends! My father took -him into every house in the parish, he was so proud of him. He -never walked out without Peter's arm to lean upon. Deborah used to -smile (I don't think we ever laughed again after my mother's -death), and say she was quite put in a corner. Not but what my -father always wanted her when there was letter-writing or reading -to be done, or anything to be settled." - -"And then?" said I, after a pause. - -"Then Peter went to sea again; and, by-and-by, my father died, -blessing us both, and thanking Deborah for all she had been to him; -and, of course, our circumstances were changed; and, instead of -living at the rectory, and keeping three maids and a man, we had to -come to this small house, and be content with a servant-of-all- -work; but, as Deborah used to say, we have always lived genteelly, -even if circumstances have compelled us to simplicity. Poor -Deborah!" - -"And Mr Peter?" asked I. - -"Oh, there was some great war in India--I forget what they call it- --and we have never heard of Peter since then. I believe he is dead -myself; and it sometimes fidgets me that we have never put on -mourning for him. And then again, when I sit by myself, and all -the house is still, I think I hear his step coming up the street, -and my heart begins to flutter and beat; but the sound always goes -past--and Peter never comes. - -"That's Martha back? No! I'LL go, my dear; I can always find my -way in the dark, you know. And a blow of fresh air at the door -will do my head good, and it's rather got a trick of aching." - -So she pattered off. I had lighted the candle, to give the room a -cheerful appearance against her return. - -"Was it Martha?" asked I. - -"Yes. And I am rather uncomfortable, for I heard such a strange -noise, just as I was opening the door." - -"Where?' I asked, for her eyes were round with affright. - -"In the street--just outside--it sounded like" - - -"Talking?" I put in, as she hesitated a little. - -"No! kissing" - - - - -CHAPTER VII--VISITING - - - -One morning, as Miss Matty and I sat at our work--it was before -twelve o'clock, and Miss Matty had not changed the cap with yellow -ribbons that had been Miss Jenkyns's best, and which Miss Matty was -now wearing out in private, putting on the one made in imitation of -Mrs Jamieson's at all times when she expected to be seen--Martha -came up, and asked if Miss Betty Barker might speak to her -mistress. Miss Matty assented, and quickly disappeared to change -the yellow ribbons, while Miss Barker came upstairs; but, as she -had forgotten her spectacles, and was rather flurried by the -unusual time of the visit, I was not surprised to see her return -with one cap on the top of the other. She was quite unconscious of -it herself, and looked at us, with bland satisfaction. Nor do I -think Miss Barker perceived it; for, putting aside the little -circumstance that she was not so young as she had been, she was -very much absorbed in her errand, which she delivered herself of -with an oppressive modesty that found vent in endless apologies. - -Miss Betty Barker was the daughter of the old clerk at Cranford who -had officiated in Mr Jenkyns's time. She and her sister had had -pretty good situations as ladies' maids, and had saved money enough -to set up a milliner's shop, which had been patronised by the -ladies in the neighbourhood. Lady Arley, for instance, would -occasionally give Miss Barkers the pattern of an old cap of hers, -which they immediately copied and circulated among the elite of -Cranford. I say the elite, for Miss Barkers had caught the trick -of the place, and piqued themselves upon their "aristocratic -connection." They would not sell their caps and ribbons to anyone -without a pedigree. Many a farmer's wife or daughter turned away -huffed from Miss Barkers' select millinery, and went rather to the -universal shop, where the profits of brown soap and moist sugar -enabled the proprietor to go straight to (Paris, he said, until he -found his customers too patriotic and John Bullish to wear what the -Mounseers wore) London, where, as he often told his customers, -Queen Adelaide had appeared, only the very week before, in a cap -exactly like the one he showed them, trimmed with yellow and blue -ribbons, and had been complimented by King William on the becoming -nature of her head-dress. - -Miss Barkers, who confined themselves to truth, and did not approve -of miscellaneous customers, throve notwithstanding. They were -self-denying, good people. Many a time have I seen the eldest of -them (she that had been maid to Mrs Jamieson) carrying out some -delicate mess to a poor person. They only aped their betters in -having "nothing to do" with the class immediately below theirs. -And when Miss Barker died, their profits and income were found to -be such that Miss Betty was justified in shutting up shop and -retiring from business. She also (as I think I have before said) -set up her cow; a mark of respectability in Cranford almost as -decided as setting up a gig is among some people. She dressed -finer than any lady in Cranford; and we did not wonder at it; for -it was understood that she was wearing out all the bonnets and caps -and outrageous ribbons which had once formed her stock-in-trade. -It was five or six years since she had given up shop, so in any -other place than Cranford her dress might have been considered -passee. - -And now Miss Betty Barker had called to invite Miss Matty to tea at -her house on the following Tuesday. She gave me also an impromptu -invitation, as I happened to be a visitor--though I could see she -had a little fear lest, since my father had gone to live in -Drumble, he might have engaged in that "horrid cotton trade," and -so dragged his family down out of "aristocratic society." She -prefaced this invitation with so many apologies that she quite -excited my curiosity. "Her presumption" was to be excused. What -had she been doing? She seemed so over-powered by it I could only -think that she had been writing to Queen Adelaide to ask for a -receipt for washing lace; but the act which she so characterised -was only an invitation she had carried to her sister's former -mistress, Mrs Jamieson. "Her former occupation considered, could -Miss Matty excuse the liberty?" Ah! thought I, she has found out -that double cap, and is going to rectify Miss Matty's head-dress. -No! it was simply to extend her invitation to Miss Matty and to me. -Miss Matty bowed acceptance; and I wondered that, in the graceful -action, she did not feel the unusual weight and extraordinary -height of her head-dress. But I do not think she did, for she -recovered her balance, and went on talking to Miss Betty in a kind, -condescending manner, very different from the fidgety way she would -have had if she had suspected how singular her appearance was. -"Mrs Jamieson is coming, I think you said?" asked Miss Matty. - -"Yes. Mrs Jamieson most kindly and condescendingly said she would -be happy to come. One little stipulation she made, that she should -bring Carlo. I told her that if I had a weakness, it was for -dogs." - -"And Miss Pole?" questioned Miss Matty, who was thinking of her -pool at Preference, in which Carlo would not be available as a -partner. - -"I am going to ask Miss Pole. Of course, I could not think of -asking her until I had asked you, madam--the rector's daughter, -madam. Believe me, I do not forget the situation my father held -under yours." - -"And Mrs Forrester, of course?" - -"And Mrs Forrester. I thought, in fact, of going to her before I -went to Miss Pole. Although her circumstances are changed, madam, -she was born at Tyrrell, and we can never forget her alliance to -the Bigges, of Bigelow Hall." - -Miss Matty cared much more for the little circumstance of her being -a very good card-player. - -"Mrs Fitz-Adam--I suppose" - - -"No, madam. I must draw a line somewhere. Mrs Jamieson would not, -I think, like to meet Mrs Fitz-Adam. I have the greatest respect -for Mrs Fitz-Adam--but I cannot think her fit society for such -ladies as Mrs Jamieson and Miss Matilda Jenkyns." - -Miss Betty Barker bowed low to Miss Matty, and pursed up her mouth. -She looked at me with sidelong dignity, as much as to say, although -a retired milliner, she was no democrat, and understood the -difference of ranks. - -"May I beg you to come as near half-past six to my little dwelling, -as possible, Miss Matilda? Mrs Jamieson dines at five, but has -kindly promised not to delay her visit beyond that time--half-past -six." And with a swimming curtsey Miss Betty Barker took her -leave. - -My prophetic soul foretold a visit that afternoon from Miss Pole, -who usually came to call on Miss Matilda after any event--or indeed -in sight of any event--to talk it over with her. - -"Miss Betty told me it was to be a choice and select few," said -Miss Pole, as she and Miss Matty compared notes. - -"Yes, so she said. Not even Mrs Fitz-Adam." - -Now Mrs Fitz-Adam was the widowed sister of the Cranford surgeon, -whom I have named before. Their parents were respectable farmers, -content with their station. The name of these good people was -Hoggins. Mr Hoggins was the Cranford doctor now; we disliked the -name and considered it coarse; but, as Miss Jenkyns said, if he -changed it to Piggins it would not be much better. We had hoped to -discover a relationship between him and that Marchioness of Exeter -whose name was Molly Hoggins; but the man, careless of his own -interests, utterly ignored and denied any such relationship, -although, as dear Miss Jenkyns had said, he had a sister called -Mary, and the same Christian names were very apt to run in -families. - -Soon after Miss Mary Hoggins married Mr Fitz-Adam, she disappeared -from the neighbourhood for many years. She did not move in a -sphere in Cranford society sufficiently high to make any of us care -to know what Mr Fitz-Adam was. He died and was gathered to his -fathers without our ever having thought about him at all. And then -Mrs Fitz-Adam reappeared in Cranford ("as bold as a lion," Miss -Pole said), a well-to-do widow, dressed in rustling black silk, so -soon after her husband's death that poor Miss Jenkyns was justified -in the remark she made, that "bombazine would have shown a deeper -sense of her loss." - -I remember the convocation of ladies who assembled to decide -whether or not Mrs Fitz-Adam should be called upon by the old blue- -blooded inhabitants of Cranford. She had taken a large rambling -house, which had been usually considered to confer a patent of -gentility upon its tenant, because, once upon a time, seventy or -eighty years before, the spinster daughter of an earl had resided -in it. I am not sure if the inhabiting this house was not also -believed to convey some unusual power of intellect; for the earl's -daughter, Lady Jane, had a sister, Lady Anne, who had married a -general officer in the time of the American war, and this general -officer had written one or two comedies, which were still acted on -the London boards, and which, when we saw them advertised, made us -all draw up, and feel that Drury Lane was paying a very pretty -compliment to Cranford. Still, it was not at all a settled thing -that Mrs Fitz-Adam was to be visited, when dear Miss Jenkyns died; -and, with her, something of the clear knowledge of the strict code -of gentility went out too. As Miss Pole observed, "As most of the -ladies of good family in Cranford were elderly spinsters, or widows -without children, if we did not relax a little, and become less -exclusive, by-and-by we should have no society at all." - -Mrs Forrester continued on the same side. - -"She had always understood that Fitz meant something aristocratic; -there was Fitz-Roy--she thought that some of the King's children -had been called Fitz-Roy; and there was Fitz-Clarence, now--they -were the children of dear good King William the Fourth. Fitz- -Adam!--it was a pretty name, and she thought it very probably meant -'Child of Adam.' No one, who had not some good blood in their -veins, would dare to be called Fitz; there was a deal in a name-- -she had had a cousin who spelt his name with two little ffs-- -ffoulkes--and he always looked down upon capital letters and said -they belonged to lately-invented families. She had been afraid he -would die a bachelor, he was so very choice. When he met with a -Mrs ffarringdon, at a watering-place, he took to her immediately; -and a very pretty genteel woman she was--a widow, with a very good -fortune; and 'my cousin,' Mr ffoulkes, married her; and it was all -owing to her two little ffs." - -Mrs Fitz-Adam did not stand a chance of meeting with a Mr Fitz- -anything in Cranford, so that could not have been her motive for -settling there. Miss Matty thought it might have been the hope of -being admitted into the society of the place, which would certainly -be a very agreeable rise for ci-devant Miss Hoggins; and if this -had been her hope it would be cruel to disappoint her. - -So everybody called upon Mrs Fitz-Adam--everybody but Mrs Jamieson, -who used to show how honourable she was by never seeing Mrs Fitz- -Adam when they met at the Cranford parties. There would be only -eight or ten ladies in the room, and Mrs Fitz-Adam was the largest -of all, and she invariably used to stand up when Mrs Jamieson came -in, and curtsey very low to her whenever she turned in her -direction--so low, in fact, that I think Mrs Jamieson must have -looked at the wall above her, for she never moved a muscle of her -face, no more than if she had not seen her. Still Mrs Fitz-Adam -persevered. - -The spring evenings were getting bright and long when three or four -ladies in calashes met at Miss Barker's door. Do you know what a -calash is? It is a covering worn over caps, not unlike the heads -fastened on old-fashioned gigs; but sometimes it is not quite so -large. This kind of head-gear always made an awful impression on -the children in Cranford; and now two or three left off their play -in the quiet sunny little street, and gathered in wondering silence -round Miss Pole, Miss Matty, and myself. We were silent too, so -that we could hear loud, suppressed whispers inside Miss Barker's -house: "Wait, Peggy! wait till I've run upstairs and washed my -hands. When I cough, open the door; I'll not be a minute." - -And, true enough it was not a minute before we heard a noise, -between a sneeze and a crow; on which the door flew open. Behind -it stood a round-eyed maiden, all aghast at the honourable company -of calashes, who marched in without a word. She recovered presence -of mind enough to usher us into a small room, which had been the -shop, but was now converted into a temporary dressing-room. There -we unpinned and shook ourselves, and arranged our features before -the glass into a sweet and gracious company-face; and then, bowing -backwards with "After you, ma'am," we allowed Mrs Forrester to take -precedence up the narrow staircase that led to Miss Barker's -drawing-room. There she sat, as stately and composed as though we -had never heard that odd-sounding cough, from which her throat must -have been even then sore and rough. Kind, gentle, shabbily-dressed -Mrs Forrester was immediately conducted to the second place of -honour--a seat arranged something like Prince Albert's near the -Queen's--good, but not so good. The place of pre-eminence was, of -course, reserved for the Honourable Mrs Jamieson, who presently -came panting up the stairs--Carlo rushing round her on her -progress, as if he meant to trip her up. - -And now Miss Betty Barker was a proud and happy woman! She stirred -the fire, and shut the door, and sat as near to it as she could, -quite on the edge of her chair. When Peggy came in, tottering -under the weight of the tea-tray, I noticed that Miss Barker was -sadly afraid lest Peggy should not keep her distance sufficiently. -She and her mistress were on very familiar terms in their every-day -intercourse, and Peggy wanted now to make several little -confidences to her, which Miss Barker was on thorns to hear, but -which she thought it her duty, as a lady, to repress. So she -turned away from all Peggy's asides and signs; but she made one or -two very malapropos answers to what was said; and at last, seized -with a bright idea, she exclaimed, "Poor, sweet Carlo! I'm -forgetting him. Come downstairs with me, poor ittie doggie, and it -shall have its tea, it shall!" - -In a few minutes she returned, bland and benignant as before; but I -thought she had forgotten to give the "poor ittie doggie" anything -to eat, judging by the avidity with which he swallowed down chance -pieces of cake. The tea-tray was abundantly loaded--I was pleased -to see it, I was so hungry; but I was afraid the ladies present -might think it vulgarly heaped up. I know they would have done at -their own houses; but somehow the heaps disappeared here. I saw -Mrs Jamieson eating seed-cake, slowly and considerately, as she did -everything; and I was rather surprised, for I knew she had told us, -on the occasion of her last party, that she never had it in her -house, it reminded her so much of scented soap. She always gave us -Savoy biscuits. However, Mrs Jamieson was kindly indulgent to Miss -Barker's want of knowledge of the customs of high life; and, to -spare her feelings, ate three large pieces of seed-cake, with a -placid, ruminating expression of countenance, not unlike a cow's. - -After tea there was some little demur and difficulty. We were six -in number; four could play at Preference, and for the other two -there was Cribbage. But all, except myself (I was rather afraid of -the Cranford ladies at cards, for it was the most earnest and -serious business they ever engaged in), were anxious to be of the -"pool." Even Miss Barker, while declaring she did not know -Spadille from Manille, was evidently hankering to take a hand. The -dilemma was soon put an end to by a singular kind of noise. If a -baron's daughter-in-law could ever be supposed to snore, I should -have said Mrs Jamieson did so then; for, overcome by the heat of -the room, and inclined to doze by nature, the temptation of that -very comfortable arm-chair had been too much for her, and Mrs -Jamieson was nodding. Once or twice she opened her eyes with an -effort, and calmly but unconsciously smiled upon us; but by-and-by, -even her benevolence was not equal to this exertion, and she was -sound asleep. - -"It is very gratifying to me," whispered Miss Barker at the card- -table to her three opponents, whom, notwithstanding her ignorance -of the game, she was "basting" most unmercifully--"very gratifying -indeed, to see how completely Mrs Jamieson feels at home in my poor -little dwelling; she could not have paid me a greater compliment." - -Miss Barker provided me with some literature in the shape of three -or four handsomely-bound fashion-books ten or twelve years old, -observing, as she put a little table and a candle for my especial -benefit, that she knew young people liked to look at pictures. -Carlo lay and snorted, and started at his mistress's feet. He, -too, was quite at home. - -The card-table was an animated scene to watch; four ladies' heads, -with niddle-noddling caps, all nearly meeting over the middle of -the table in their eagerness to whisper quick enough and loud -enough: and every now and then came Miss Barker's "Hush, ladies! -if you please, hush! Mrs Jamieson is asleep." - -It was very difficult to steer clear between Mrs Forrester's -deafness and Mrs Jamieson's sleepiness. But Miss Barker managed -her arduous task well. She repeated the whisper to Mrs Forrester, -distorting her face considerably, in order to show, by the motions -of her lips, what was said; and then she smiled kindly all round at -us, and murmured to herself, "Very gratifying, indeed; I wish my -poor sister had been alive to see this day." - -Presently the door was thrown wide open; Carlo started to his feet, -with a loud snapping bark, and Mrs Jamieson awoke: or, perhaps, -she had not been asleep--as she said almost directly, the room had -been so light she had been glad to keep her eyes shut, but had been -listening with great interest to all our amusing and agreeable -conversation. Peggy came in once more, red with importance. -Another tray! "Oh, gentility!" thought I, "can yon endure this -last shock?" For Miss Barker had ordered (nay, I doubt not, -prepared, although she did say, "Why, Peggy, what have you brought -us?" and looked pleasantly surprised at the unexpected pleasure) -all sorts of good things for supper--scalloped oysters, potted -lobsters, jelly, a dish called "little Cupids" (which was in great -favour with the Cranford ladies, although too expensive to be -given, except on solemn and state occasions--macaroons sopped in -brandy, I should have called it, if I had not known its more -refined and classical name). In short, we were evidently to be -feasted with all that was sweetest and best; and we thought it -better to submit graciously, even at the cost of our gentility-- -which never ate suppers in general, but which, like most non- -supper-eaters, was particularly hungry on all special occasions. - -Miss Barker, in her former sphere, had, I daresay, been made -acquainted with the beverage they call cherry-brandy. We none of -us had ever seen such a thing, and rather shrank back when she -proffered it us--"just a little, leetle glass, ladies; after the -oysters and lobsters, you know. Shell-fish are sometimes thought -not very wholesome." We all shook our heads like female mandarins; -but, at last, Mrs Jamieson suffered herself to be persuaded, and we -followed her lead. It was not exactly unpalatable, though so hot -and so strong that we thought ourselves bound to give evidence that -we were not accustomed to such things by coughing terribly--almost -as strangely as Miss Barker had done, before we were admitted by -Peggy. - -"It's very strong," said Miss Pole, as she put down her empty -glass; "I do believe there's spirit in it." - -"Only a little drop--just necessary to make it keep," said Miss -Barker. "You know we put brandy-pepper over our preserves to make -them keep. I often feel tipsy myself from eating damson tart." - -I question whether damson tart would have opened Mrs Jamieson's -heart as the cherry-brandy did; but she told us of a coming event, -respecting which she had been quite silent till that moment. - -"My sister-in-law, Lady Glenmire, is coming to stay with me." - -There was a chorus of "Indeed!" and then a pause. Each one rapidly -reviewed her wardrobe, as to its fitness to appear in the presence -of a baron's widow; for, of course, a series of small festivals -were always held in Cranford on the arrival of a visitor at any of -our friends' houses. We felt very pleasantly excited on the -present occasion. - -Not long after this the maids and the lanterns were announced. Mrs -Jamieson had the sedan-chair, which had squeezed itself into Miss -Barker's narrow lobby with some difficulty, and most literally -"stopped the way." It required some skilful manoeuvring on the -part of the old chairmen (shoemakers by day, but when summoned to -carry the sedan dressed up in a strange old livery--long great- -coats, with small capes, coeval with the sedan, and similar to the -dress of the class in Hogarth's pictures) to edge, and back, and -try at it again, and finally to succeed in carrying their burden -out of Miss Barker's front door. Then we heard their quick pit-a- -pat along the quiet little street as we put on our calashes and -pinned up our gowns; Miss Barker hovering about us with offers of -help, which, if she had not remembered her former occupation, and -wished us to forget it, would have been much more pressing. - - - -CHAPTER VIII--"YOUR LADYSHIP" - - - -Early the next morning--directly after twelve--Miss Pole made her -appearance at Miss Matty's. Some very trifling piece of business -was alleged as a reason for the call; but there was evidently -something behind. At last out it came. - -"By the way, you'll think I'm strangely ignorant; but, do you -really know, I am puzzled how we ought to address Lady Glenmire. -Do you say, 'Your Ladyship,' where you would say 'you' to a common -person? I have been puzzling all morning; and are we to say 'My -Lady,' instead of 'Ma'am?' Now you knew Lady Arley--will you -kindly tell me the most correct way of speaking to the peerage?" - -Poor Miss Matty! she took off her spectacles and she put them on -again--but how Lady Arley was addressed, she could not remember. - -"It is so long ago," she said. "Dear! dear! how stupid I am! I -don't think I ever saw her more than twice. I know we used to call -Sir Peter, 'Sir Peter'--but he came much oftener to see us than -Lady Arley did. Deborah would have known in a minute. 'My lady'-- -'your ladyship.' It sounds very strange, and as if it was not -natural. I never thought of it before; but, now you have named it, -I am all in a puzzle." - -It was very certain Miss Pole would obtain no wise decision from -Miss Matty, who got more bewildered every moment, and more -perplexed as to etiquettes of address. - -"Well, I really think," said Miss Pole, "I had better just go and -tell Mrs Forrester about our little difficulty. One sometimes -grows nervous; and yet one would not have Lady Glenmire think we -were quite ignorant of the etiquettes of high life in Cranford." - -"And will you just step in here, dear Miss Pole, as you come back, -please, and tell me what you decide upon? Whatever you and Mrs -Forrester fix upon, will be quite right, I'm sure. 'Lady Arley,' -'Sir Peter,'" said Miss Matty to herself, trying to recall the old -forms of words. - -"Who is Lady Glenmire?" asked I. - -"Oh, she's the widow of Mr Jamieson--that's Mrs Jamieson's late -husband, you know--widow of his eldest brother. Mrs Jamieson was a -Miss Walker, daughter of Governor Walker. 'Your ladyship.' My -dear, if they fix on that way of speaking, you must just let me -practice a little on you first, for I shall feel so foolish and hot -saying it the first time to Lady Glenmire." - -It was really a relief to Miss Matty when Mrs Jamieson came on a -very unpolite errand. I notice that apathetic people have more -quiet impertinence than others; and Mrs Jamieson came now to -insinuate pretty plainly that she did not particularly wish that -the Cranford ladies should call upon her sister-in-law. I can -hardly say how she made this clear; for I grew very indignant and -warm, while with slow deliberation she was explaining her wishes to -Miss Matty, who, a true lady herself, could hardly understand the -feeling which made Mrs Jamieson wish to appear to her noble sister- -in-law as if she only visited "county" families. Miss Matty -remained puzzled and perplexed long after I had found out the -object of Mrs Jamieson's visit. - -When she did understand the drift of the honourable lady's call, it -was pretty to see with what quiet dignity she received the -intimation thus uncourteously given. She was not in the least -hurt--she was of too gentle a spirit for that; nor was she exactly -conscious of disapproving of Mrs Jamieson's conduct; but there was -something of this feeling in her mind, I am sure, which made her -pass from the subject to others in a less flurried and more -composed manner than usual. Mrs Jamieson was, indeed, the more -flurried of the two, and I could see she was glad to take her -leave. - -A little while afterwards Miss Pole returned, red and indignant. -"Well! to be sure! You've had Mrs Jamieson here, I find from -Martha; and we are not to call on Lady Glenmire. Yes! I met Mrs -Jamieson, half-way between here and Mrs Forrester's, and she told -me; she took me so by surprise, I had nothing to say. I wish I had -thought of something very sharp and sarcastic; I dare say I shall -to-night. And Lady Glenmire is but the widow of a Scotch baron -after all! I went on to look at Mrs Forrester's Peerage, to see -who this lady was, that is to be kept under a glass case: widow of -a Scotch peer--never sat in the House of Lords--and as poor as job, -I dare say; and she--fifth daughter of some Mr Campbell or other. -You are the daughter of a rector, at any rate, and related to the -Arleys; and Sir Peter might have been Viscount Arley, every one -says." - -Miss Matty tried to soothe Miss Pole, but in vain. That lady, -usually so kind and good-humoured, was now in a full flow of anger. - -"And I went and ordered a cap this morning, to be quite ready," -said she at last, letting out the secret which gave sting to Mrs -Jamieson's intimation. "Mrs Jamieson shall see if it is so easy to -get me to make fourth at a pool when she has none of her fine -Scotch relations with her!" - -In coming out of church, the first Sunday on which Lady Glenmire -appeared in Cranford, we sedulously talked together, and turned our -backs on Mrs Jamieson and her guest. If we might not call on her, -we would not even look at her, though we were dying with curiosity -to know what she was like. We had the comfort of questioning -Martha in the afternoon. Martha did not belong to a sphere of -society whose observation could be an implied compliment to Lady -Glenmire, and Martha had made good use of her eyes. - -"Well, ma'am! is it the little lady with Mrs Jamieson, you mean? I -thought you would like more to know how young Mrs Smith was -dressed; her being a bride." (Mrs Smith was the butcher's wife). - -Miss Pole said, "Good gracious me! as if we cared about a Mrs -Smith;" but was silent as Martha resumed her speech. - -"The little lady in Mrs Jamieson's pew had on, ma'am, rather an old -black silk, and a shepherd's plaid cloak, ma'am, and very bright -black eyes she had, ma'am, and a pleasant, sharp face; not over -young, ma'am, but yet, I should guess, younger than Mrs Jamieson -herself. She looked up and down the church, like a bird, and -nipped up her petticoats, when she came out, as quick and sharp as -ever I see. I'll tell you what, ma'am, she's more like Mrs Deacon, -at the 'Coach and Horses,' nor any one." - -"Hush, Martha!" said Miss Matty, "that's not respectful." - -"Isn't it, ma'am? I beg pardon, I'm sure; but Jem Hearn said so as -well. He said, she was just such a sharp, stirring sort of a body" -- - -"Lady," said Miss Pole. - -"Lady--as Mrs Deacon." - -Another Sunday passed away, and we still averted our eyes from Mrs -Jamieson and her guest, and made remarks to ourselves that we -thought were very severe--almost too much so. Miss Matty was -evidently uneasy at our sarcastic manner of speaking. - -Perhaps by this time Lady Glenmire had found out that Mrs -Jamieson's was not the gayest, liveliest house in the world; -perhaps Mrs Jamieson had found out that most of the county families -were in London, and that those who remained in the country were not -so alive as they might have been to the circumstance of Lady -Glenmire being in their neighbourhood. Great events spring out of -small causes; so I will not pretend to say what induced Mrs -Jamieson to alter her determination of excluding the Cranford -ladies, and send notes of invitation all round for a small party on -the following Tuesday. Mr Mulliner himself brought them round. He -WOULD always ignore the fact of there being a back-door to any -house, and gave a louder rat-tat than his mistress, Mrs Jamieson. -He had three little notes, which he carried in a large basket, in -order to impress his mistress with an idea of their great weight, -though they might easily have gone into his waistcoat pocket. - -Miss Matty and I quietly decided that we would have a previous -engagement at home: it was the evening on which Miss Matty usually -made candle-lighters of all the notes and letters of the week; for -on Mondays her accounts were always made straight--not a penny -owing from the week before; so, by a natural arrangement, making -candle-lighters fell upon a Tuesday evening, and gave us a -legitimate excuse for declining Mrs Jamieson's invitation. But -before our answer was written, in came Miss Pole, with an open note -in her hand. - -"So!" she said. "Ah! I see you have got your note, too. Better -late than never. I could have told my Lady Glenmire she would be -glad enough of our society before a fortnight was over." - -"Yes," said Miss Matty, "we're asked for Tuesday evening. And -perhaps you would just kindly bring your work across and drink tea -with us that night. It is my usual regular time for looking over -the last week's bills, and notes, and letters, and making candle- -lighters of them; but that does not seem quite reason enough for -saying I have a previous engagement at home, though I meant to make -it do. Now, if you would come, my conscience would be quite at -ease, and luckily the note is not written yet." - -I saw Miss Pole's countenance change while Miss Matty was speaking. - -"Don't you mean to go then?" asked she. - -"Oh, no!" said, Miss Matty quietly. "You don't either, I suppose?" - -"I don't know," replied Miss Pole. "Yes, I think I do," said she, -rather briskly; and on seeing Miss Matty look surprised, she added, -"You see, one would not like Mrs Jamieson to think that anything -she could do, or say, was of consequence enough to give offence; it -would be a kind of letting down of ourselves, that I, for one, -should not like. It would be too flattering to Mrs Jamieson if we -allowed her to suppose that what she had said affected us a week, -nay ten days afterwards." - -"Well! I suppose it is wrong to be hurt and annoyed so long about -anything; and, perhaps, after all, she did not mean to vex us. But -I must say, I could not have brought myself to say the things Mrs -Jamieson did about our not calling. I really don't think I shall -go." - -"Oh, come! Miss Matty, you must go; you know our friend Mrs -Jamieson is much more phlegmatic than most people, and does not -enter into the little delicacies of feeling which you possess in so -remarkable a degree." - -"I thought you possessed them, too, that day Mrs Jamieson called to -tell us not to go," said Miss Matty innocently. - -But Miss Pole, in addition to her delicacies of feeling, possessed -a very smart cap, which she was anxious to show to an admiring -world; and so she seemed to forget all her angry words uttered not -a fortnight before, and to be ready to act on what she called the -great Christian principle of "Forgive and forget"; and she lectured -dear Miss Matty so long on this head that she absolutely ended by -assuring her it was her duty, as a deceased rector's daughter, to -buy a new cap and go to the party at Mrs Jamieson's. So "we were -most happy to accept," instead of "regretting that we were obliged -to decline." - -The expenditure on dress in Cranford was principally in that one -article referred to. If the heads were buried in smart new caps, -the ladies were like ostriches, and cared not what became of their -bodies. Old gowns, white and venerable collars, any number of -brooches, up and down and everywhere (some with dogs' eyes painted -in them; some that were like small picture-frames with mausoleums -and weeping-willows neatly executed in hair inside; some, again, -with miniatures of ladies and gentlemen sweetly smiling out of a -nest of stiff muslin), old brooches for a permanent ornament, and -new caps to suit the fashion of the day--the ladies of Cranford -always dressed with chaste elegance and propriety, as Miss Barker -once prettily expressed it. - -And with three new caps, and a greater array of brooches than had -ever been seen together at one time since Cranford was a town, did -Mrs Forrester, and Miss Matty, and Miss Pole appear on that -memorable Tuesday evening. I counted seven brooches myself on Miss -Pole's dress. Two were fixed negligently in her cap (one was a -butterfly made of Scotch pebbles, which a vivid imagination might -believe to be the real insect); one fastened her net neckerchief; -one her collar; one ornamented the front of her gown, midway -between her throat and waist; and another adorned the point of her -stomacher. Where the seventh was I have forgotten, but it was -somewhere about her, I am sure. - -But I am getting on too fast, in describing the dresses of the -company. I should first relate the gathering on the way to Mrs -Jamieson's. That lady lived in a large house just outside the -town. A road which had known what it was to be a street ran right -before the house, which opened out upon it without any intervening -garden or court. Whatever the sun was about, he never shone on the -front of that house. To be sure, the living-rooms were at the -back, looking on to a pleasant garden; the front windows only -belonged to kitchens and housekeepers' rooms, and pantries, and in -one of them Mr Mulliner was reported to sit. Indeed, looking -askance, we often saw the back of a head covered with hair powder, -which also extended itself over his coat-collar down to his very -waist; and this imposing back was always engaged in reading the St -James's Chronicle, opened wide, which, in some degree, accounted -for the length of time the said newspaper was in reaching us--equal -subscribers with Mrs Jamieson, though, in right of her -honourableness, she always had the reading of it first. This very -Tuesday, the delay in forwarding the last number had been -particularly aggravating; just when both Miss Pole and Miss Matty, -the former more especially, had been wanting to see it, in order to -coach up the Court news ready for the evening's interview with -aristocracy. Miss Pole told us she had absolutely taken time by -the forelock, and been dressed by five o'clock, in order to be -ready if the St James's Chronicle should come in at the last -moment--the very St James's Chronicle which the powdered head was -tranquilly and composedly reading as we passed the accustomed -window this evening. - -"The impudence of the man!" said Miss Pole, in a low indignant -whisper. "I should like to ask him whether his mistress pays her -quarter-share for his exclusive use." - -We looked at her in admiration of the courage of her thought; for -Mr Mulliner was an object of great awe to all of us. He seemed -never to have forgotten his condescension in coming to live at -Cranford. Miss Jenkyns, at times, had stood forth as the undaunted -champion of her sex, and spoken to him on terms of equality; but -even Miss Jenkyns could get no higher. In his pleasantest and most -gracious moods he looked like a sulky cockatoo. He did not speak -except in gruff monosyllables. He would wait in the hall when we -begged him not to wait, and then look deeply offended because we -had kept him there, while, with trembling, hasty hands we prepared -ourselves for appearing in company. - -Miss Pole ventured on a small joke as we went upstairs, intended, -though addressed to us, to afford Mr Mulliner some slight -amusement. We all smiled, in order to seem as if we felt at our -ease, and timidly looked for Mr Mulliner's sympathy. Not a muscle -of that wooden face had relaxed; and we were grave in an instant. - -Mrs Jamieson's drawing-room was cheerful; the evening sun came -streaming into it, and the large square window was clustered round -with flowers. The furniture was white and gold; not the later -style, Louis Quatorze, I think they call it, all shells and twirls; -no, Mrs Jamieson's chairs and tables had not a curve or bend about -them. The chair and table legs diminished as they neared the -ground, and were straight and square in all their corners. The -chairs were all a-row against the walls, with the exception of four -or five which stood in a circle round the fire. They were railed -with white bars across the back and knobbed with gold; neither the -railings nor the knobs invited to ease. There was a japanned table -devoted to literature, on which lay a Bible, a Peerage, and a -Prayer-Book. There was another square Pembroke table dedicated to -the Fine Arts, on which were a kaleidoscope, conversation-cards, -puzzle-cards (tied together to an interminable length with faded -pink satin ribbon), and a box painted in fond imitation of the -drawings which decorate tea-chests. Carlo lay on the worsted- -worked rug, and ungraciously barked at us as we entered. Mrs -Jamieson stood up, giving us each a torpid smile of welcome, and -looking helplessly beyond us at Mr Mulliner, as if she hoped he -would place us in chairs, for, if he did not, she never could. I -suppose he thought we could find our way to the circle round the -fire, which reminded me of Stonehenge, I don't know why. Lady -Glenmire came to the rescue of our hostess, and, somehow or other, -we found ourselves for the first time placed agreeably, and not -formally, in Mrs Jamieson's house. Lady Glenmire, now we had time -to look at her, proved to be a bright little woman of middle age, -who had been very pretty in the days of her youth, and who was even -yet very pleasant-looking. I saw Miss Pole appraising her dress in -the first five minutes, and I take her word when she said the next -day - - -"My dear! ten pounds would have purchased every stitch she had on-- -lace and all." - -It was pleasant to suspect that a peeress could be poor, and partly -reconciled us to the fact that her husband had never sat in the -House of Lords; which, when we first heard of it, seemed a kind of -swindling us out of our prospects on false pretences; a sort of "A -Lord and No Lord" business. - -We were all very silent at first. We were thinking what we could -talk about, that should be high enough to interest My Lady. There -had been a rise in the price of sugar, which, as preserving-time -was near, was a piece of intelligence to all our house-keeping -hearts, and would have been the natural topic if Lady Glenmire had -not been by. But we were not sure if the peerage ate preserves-- -much less knew how they were made. At last, Miss Pole, who had -always a great deal of courage and savoir faire, spoke to Lady -Glenmire, who on her part had seemed just as much puzzled to know -how to break the silence as we were. - -"Has your ladyship been to Court lately?" asked she; and then gave -a little glance round at us, half timid and half triumphant, as -much as to say, "See how judiciously I have chosen a subject -befitting the rank of the stranger." - -"I never was there in my life," said Lady Glenmire, with a broad -Scotch accent, but in a very sweet voice. And then, as if she had -been too abrupt, she added: "We very seldom went to London--only -twice, in fact, during all my married life; and before I was -married my father had far too large a family" (fifth daughter of Mr -Campbell was in all our minds, I am sure) "to take us often from -our home, even to Edinburgh. Ye'll have been in Edinburgh, maybe?" -said she, suddenly brightening up with the hope of a common -interest. We had none of us been there; but Miss Pole had an uncle -who once had passed a night there, which was very pleasant. - -Mrs Jamieson, meanwhile, was absorbed in wonder why Mr Mulliner did -not bring the tea; and at length the wonder oozed out of her mouth. - -"I had better ring the bell, my dear, had not I?" said Lady -Glenmire briskly. - -"No--I think not--Mulliner does not like to be hurried." - -We should have liked our tea, for we dined at an earlier hour than -Mrs Jamieson. I suspect Mr Mulliner had to finish the St James's -Chronicle before he chose to trouble himself about tea. His -mistress fidgeted and fidgeted, and kept saying, I can't think why -Mulliner does not bring tea. I can't think what he can be about." -And Lady Glenmire at last grew quite impatient, but it was a pretty -kind of impatience after all; and she rang the bell rather sharply, -on receiving a half-permission from her sister-in-law to do so. Mr -Mulliner appeared in dignified surprise. "Oh!" said Mrs Jamieson, -"Lady Glenmire rang the bell; I believe it was for tea." - -In a few minutes tea was brought. Very delicate was the china, -very old the plate, very thin the bread and butter, and very small -the lumps of sugar. Sugar was evidently Mrs Jamieson's favourite -economy. I question if the little filigree sugar-tongs, made -something like scissors, could have opened themselves wide enough -to take up an honest, vulgar good-sized piece; and when I tried to -seize two little minnikin pieces at once, so as not to be detected -in too many returns to the sugar-basin, they absolutely dropped -one, with a little sharp clatter, quite in a malicious and -unnatural manner. But before this happened we had had a slight -disappointment. In the little silver jug was cream, in the larger -one was milk. As soon as Mr Mulliner came in, Carlo began to beg, -which was a thing our manners forebade us to do, though I am sure -we were just as hungry; and Mrs Jamieson said she was certain we -would excuse her if she gave her poor dumb Carlo his tea first. -She accordingly mixed a saucerful for him, and put it down for him -to lap; and then she told us how intelligent and sensible the dear -little fellow was; he knew cream quite well, and constantly refused -tea with only milk in it: so the milk was left for us; but we -silently thought we were quite as intelligent and sensible as -Carlo, and felt as if insult were added to injury when we were -called upon to admire the gratitude evinced by his wagging his tail -for the cream which should have been ours. - -After tea we thawed down into common-life subjects. We were -thankful to Lady Glenmire for having proposed some more bread and -butter, and this mutual want made us better acquainted with her -than we should ever have been with talking about the Court, though -Miss Pole did say she had hoped to know how the dear Queen was from -some one who had seen her. - -The friendship begun over bread and butter extended on to cards. -Lady Glenmire played Preference to admiration, and was a complete -authority as to Ombre and Quadrille. Even Miss Pole quite forgot -to say "my lady," and "your ladyship," and said "Basto! ma'am"; -"you have Spadille, I believe," just as quietly as if we had never -held the great Cranford Parliament on the subject of the proper -mode of addressing a peeress. - -As a proof of how thoroughly we had forgotten that we were in the -presence of one who might have sat down to tea with a coronet, -instead of a cap, on her head, Mrs Forrester related a curious -little fact to Lady Glenmire--an anecdote known to the circle of -her intimate friends, but of which even Mrs Jamieson was not aware. -It related to some fine old lace, the sole relic of better days, -which Lady Glenmire was admiring on Mrs Forrester's collar. - -"Yes," said that lady, "such lace cannot be got now for either love -or money; made by the nuns abroad, they tell me. They say that -they can't make it now even there. But perhaps they can, now -they've passed the Catholic Emancipation Bill. I should not -wonder. But, in the meantime, I treasure up my lace very much. I -daren't even trust the washing of it to my maid" (the little -charity school-girl I have named before, but who sounded well as -"my maid"). "I always wash it myself. And once it had a narrow -escape. Of course, your ladyship knows that such lace must never -be starched or ironed. Some people wash it in sugar and water, and -some in coffee, to make it the right yellow colour; but I myself -have a very good receipt for washing it in milk, which stiffens it -enough, and gives it a very good creamy colour. Well, ma'am, I had -tacked it together (and the beauty of this fine lace is that, when -it is wet, it goes into a very little space), and put it to soak in -milk, when, unfortunately, I left the room; on my return, I found -pussy on the table, looking very like a thief, but gulping very -uncomfortably, as if she was half-chocked with something she wanted -to swallow and could not. And, would you believe it? At first I -pitied her, and said 'Poor pussy! poor pussy!' till, all at once, I -looked and saw the cup of milk empty--cleaned out! 'You naughty -cat!' said I, and I believe I was provoked enough to give her a -slap, which did no good, but only helped the lace down--just as one -slaps a choking child on the back. I could have cried, I was so -vexed; but I determined I would not give the lace up without a -struggle for it. I hoped the lace might disagree with her, at any -rate; but it would have been too much for Job, if he had seen, as I -did, that cat come in, quite placid and purring, not a quarter of -an hour after, and almost expecting to be stroked. 'No, pussy!' -said I, 'if you have any conscience you ought not to expect that!' -And then a thought struck me; and I rang the bell for my maid, and -sent her to Mr Hoggins, with my compliments, and would he be kind -enough to lend me one of his top-boots for an hour? I did not -think there was anything odd in the message; but Jenny said the -young men in the surgery laughed as if they would be ill at my -wanting a top-boot. When it came, Jenny and I put pussy in, with -her forefeet straight down, so that they were fastened, and could -not scratch, and we gave her a teaspoonful of current-jelly in -which (your ladyship must excuse me) I had mixed some tartar -emetic. I shall never forget how anxious I was for the next half- -hour. I took pussy to my own room, and spread a clean towel on the -floor. I could have kissed her when she returned the lace to -sight, very much as it had gone down. Jenny had boiling water -ready, and we soaked it and soaked it, and spread it on a lavender- -bush in the sun before I could touch it again, even to put it in -milk. But now your ladyship would never guess that it had been in -pussy's inside." - -We found out, in the course of the evening, that Lady Glenmire was -going to pay Mrs Jamieson a long visit, as she had given up her -apartments in Edinburgh, and had no ties to take her back there in -a hurry. On the whole, we were rather glad to hear this, for she -had made a pleasant impression upon us; and it was also very -comfortable to find, from things which dropped out in the course of -conversation, that, in addition to many other genteel qualities, -she was far removed from the "vulgarity of wealth." - -"Don't you find it very unpleasant walking?" asked Mrs Jamieson, as -our respective servants were announced. It was a pretty regular -question from Mrs Jamieson, who had her own carriage in the coach- -house, and always went out in a sedan-chair to the very shortest -distances. The answers were nearly as much a matter of course. - -"Oh dear, no! it is so pleasant and still at night!" "Such a -refreshment after the excitement of a party!" "The stars are so -beautiful!" This last was from Miss Matty. - -"Are you fond of astronomy?" Lady Glenmire asked. - -"Not very," replied Miss Matty, rather confused at the moment to -remember which was astronomy and which was astrology--but the -answer was true under either circumstance, for she read, and was -slightly alarmed at Francis Moore's astrological predictions; and, -as to astronomy, in a private and confidential conversation, she -had told me she never could believe that the earth was moving -constantly, and that she would not believe it if she could, it made -her feel so tired and dizzy whenever she thought about it. - -In our pattens we picked our way home with extra care that night, -so refined and delicate were our perceptions after drinking tea -with "my lady." - - - -CHAPTER IX--SIGNOR BRUNONI - - - -Soon after the events of which I gave an account in my last paper, -I was summoned home by my father's illness; and for a time I -forgot, in anxiety about him, to wonder how my dear friends at -Cranford were getting on, or how Lady Glenmire could reconcile -herself to the dulness of the long visit which she was still paying -to her sister-in-law, Mrs Jamieson. When my father grew a little -stronger I accompanied him to the seaside, so that altogether I -seemed banished from Cranford, and was deprived of the opportunity -of hearing any chance intelligence of the dear little town for the -greater part of that year. - -Late in November--when we had returned home again, and my father -was once more in good health--I received a letter from Miss Matty; -and a very mysterious letter it was. She began many sentences -without ending them, running them one into another, in much the -same confused sort of way in which written words run together on -blotting-paper. All I could make out was that, if my father was -better (which she hoped he was), and would take warning and wear a -great-coat from Michaelmas to Lady-day, if turbans were in fashion, -could I tell her? Such a piece of gaiety was going to happen as -had not been seen or known of since Wombwell's lions came, when one -of them ate a little child's arm; and she was, perhaps, too old to -care about dress, but a new cap she must have; and, having heard -that turbans were worn, and some of the county families likely to -come, she would like to look tidy, if I would bring her a cap from -the milliner I employed; and oh, dear! how careless of her to -forget that she wrote to beg I would come and pay her a visit next -Tuesday; when she hoped to have something to offer me in the way of -amusement, which she would not now more particularly describe, only -sea-green was her favourite colour. So she ended her letter; but -in a P.S. she added, she thought she might as well tell me what was -the peculiar attraction to Cranford just now; Signor Brunoni was -going to exhibit his wonderful magic in the Cranford Assembly Rooms -on Wednesday and Friday evening in the following week. - -I was very glad to accept the invitation from my dear Miss Matty, -independently of the conjuror, and most particularly anxious to -prevent her from disfiguring her small, gentle, mousey face with a -great Saracen's head turban; and accordingly, I bought her a -pretty, neat, middle-aged cap, which, however, was rather a -disappointment to her when, on my arrival, she followed me into my -bedroom, ostensibly to poke the fire, but in reality, I do believe, -to see if the sea-green turban was not inside the cap-box with -which I had travelled. It was in vain that I twirled the cap round -on my hand to exhibit back and side fronts: her heart had been set -upon a turban, and all she could do was to say, with resignation in -her look and voice - - -"I am sure you did your best, my dear. It is just like the caps -all the ladies in Cranford are wearing, and they have had theirs -for a year, I dare say. I should have liked something newer, I -confess--something more like the turbans Miss Betty Barker tells me -Queen Adelaide wears; but it is very pretty, my dear. And I dare -say lavender will wear better than sea-green. Well, after all, -what is dress, that we should care anything about it? You'll tell -me if you want anything, my dear. Here is the bell. I suppose -turbans have not got down to Drumble yet?" - -So saying, the dear old lady gently bemoaned herself out of the -room, leaving me to dress for the evening, when, as she informed -me, she expected Miss Pole and Mrs Forrester, and she hoped I -should not feel myself too much tired to join the party. Of course -I should not; and I made some haste to unpack and arrange my dress; -but, with all my speed, I heard the arrivals and the buzz of -conversation in the next room before I was ready. Just as I opened -the door, I caught the words, "I was foolish to expect anything -very genteel out of the Drumble shops; poor girl! she did her best, -I've no doubt." But, for all that, I had rather that she blamed -Drumble and me than disfigured herself with a turban. - -Miss Pole was always the person, in the trio of Cranford ladies now -assembled, to have had adventures. She was in the habit of -spending the morning in rambling from shop to shop, not to purchase -anything (except an occasional reel of cotton or a piece of tape), -but to see the new articles and report upon them, and to collect -all the stray pieces of intelligence in the town. She had a way, -too, of demurely popping hither and thither into all sorts of -places to gratify her curiosity on any point--a way which, if she -had not looked so very genteel and prim, might have been considered -impertinent. And now, by the expressive way in which she cleared -her throat, and waited for all minor subjects (such as caps and -turbans) to be cleared off the course, we knew she had something -very particular to relate, when the due pause came--and I defy any -people possessed of common modesty to keep up a conversation long, -where one among them sits up aloft in silence, looking down upon -all the things they chance to say as trivial and contemptible -compared to what they could disclose, if properly entreated. Miss -Pole began - - -"As I was stepping out of Gordon's shop to-day, I chanced to go -into the 'George' (my Betty has a second-cousin who is chambermaid -there, and I thought Betty would like to hear how she was), and, -not seeing anyone about, I strolled up the staircase, and found -myself in the passage leading to the Assembly Room (you and I -remember the Assembly Room, I am sure, Miss Matty! and the minuets -de la cour!); so I went on, not thinking of what I was about, when, -all at once, I perceived that I was in the middle of the -preparations for to-morrow night--the room being divided with great -clothes-maids, over which Crosby's men were tacking red flannel; -very dark and odd it seemed; it quite bewildered me, and I was -going on behind the screens, in my absence of mind, when a -gentleman (quite the gentleman, I can assure you) stepped forwards -and asked if I had any business he could arrange for me. He spoke -such pretty broken English, I could not help thinking of Thaddeus -of Warsaw, and the Hungarian Brothers, and Santo Sebastiani; and -while I was busy picturing his past life to myself, he had bowed me -out of the room. But wait a minute! You have not heard half my -story yet! I was going downstairs, when who should I meet but -Betty's second-cousin. So, of course, I stopped to speak to her -for Betty's sake; and she told me that I had really seen the -conjuror--the gentleman who spoke broken English was Signor Brunoni -himself. Just at this moment he passed us on the stairs, making -such a graceful bow! in reply to which I dropped a curtsey--all -foreigners have such polite manners, one catches something of it. -But when he had gone downstairs, I bethought me that I had dropped -my glove in the Assembly Room (it was safe in my muff all the time, -but I never found it till afterwards); so I went back, and, just as -I was creeping up the passage left on one side of the great screen -that goes nearly across the room, who should I see but the very -same gentleman that had met me before, and passed me on the stairs, -coming now forwards from the inner part of the room, to which there -is no entrance--you remember, Miss Matty--and just repeating, in -his pretty broken English, the inquiry if I had any business there- --I don't mean that he put it quite so bluntly, but he seemed very -determined that I should not pass the screen--so, of course, I -explained about my glove, which, curiously enough, I found at that -very moment." - -Miss Pole, then, had seen the conjuror--the real, live conjuror! -and numerous were the questions we all asked her. "Had he a -beard?" "Was he young, or old?" "Fair, or dark?" "Did he look"-- -(unable to shape my question prudently, I put it in another form)-- -"How did he look?" In short, Miss Pole was the heroine of the -evening, owing to her morning's encounter. If she was not the rose -(that is to say the conjuror) she had been near it. - -Conjuration, sleight of hand, magic, witchcraft, were the subjects -of the evening. Miss Pole was slightly sceptical, and inclined to -think there might be a scientific solution found for even the -proceedings of the Witch of Endor. Mrs Forrester believed -everything, from ghosts to death-watches. Miss Matty ranged -between the two--always convinced by the last speaker. I think she -was naturally more inclined to Mrs Forrester's side, but a desire -of proving herself a worthy sister to Miss Jenkyns kept her equally -balanced--Miss Jenkyns, who would never allow a servant to call the -little rolls of tallow that formed themselves round candles -"winding-sheets," but insisted on their being spoken of as "roley- -poleys!" A sister of hers to be superstitious! It would never do. - -After tea, I was despatched downstairs into the dining-parlour for -that volume of the old Encyclopaedia which contained the nouns -beginning with C, in order that Miss Pole might prime herself with -scientific explanations for the tricks of the following evening. -It spoilt the pool at Preference which Miss Matty and Mrs Forrester -had been looking forward to, for Miss Pole became so much absorbed -in her subject, and the plates by which it was illustrated, that we -felt it would be cruel to disturb her otherwise than by one or two -well-timed yawns, which I threw in now and then, for I was really -touched by the meek way in which the two ladies were bearing their -disappointment. But Miss Pole only read the more zealously, -imparting to us no more information than this - - -"Ah! I see; I comprehend perfectly. A represents the ball. Put A -between B and D--no! between C and F, and turn the second joint of -the third finger of your left hand over the wrist of your right H. -Very clear indeed! My dear Mrs Forrester, conjuring and witchcraft -is a mere affair of the alphabet. Do let me read you this one -passage?" - -Mrs Forrester implored Miss Pole to spare her, saying, from a child -upwards, she never could understand being read aloud to; and I -dropped the pack of cards, which I had been shuffling very audibly, -and by this discreet movement I obliged Miss Pole to perceive that -Preference was to have been the order of the evening, and to -propose, rather unwillingly, that the pool should commence. The -pleasant brightness that stole over the other two ladies' faces on -this! Miss Matty had one or two twinges of self-reproach for -having interrupted Miss Pole in her studies: and did not remember -her cards well, or give her full attention to the game, until she -had soothed her conscience by offering to lend the volume of the -Encyclopaedia to Miss Pole, who accepted it thankfully, and said -Betty should take it home when she came with the lantern. - -The next evening we were all in a little gentle flutter at the idea -of the gaiety before us. Miss Matty went up to dress betimes, and -hurried me until I was ready, when we found we had an hour-and-a- -half to wait before the "doors opened at seven precisely." And we -had only twenty yards to go! However, as Miss Matty said, it would -not do to get too much absorbed in anything, and forget the time; -so she thought we had better sit quietly, without lighting the -candles, till five minutes to seven. So Miss Matty dozed, and I -knitted. - -At length we set off; and at the door under the carriage-way at the -"George," we met Mrs Forrester and Miss Pole: the latter was -discussing the subject of the evening with more vehemence than -ever, and throwing X's and B's at our heads like hailstones. She -had even copied one or two of the "receipts"--as she called them-- -for the different tricks, on backs of letters, ready to explain and -to detect Signor Brunoni's arts. - -We went into the cloak-room adjoining the Assembly Room; Miss Matty -gave a sigh or two to her departed youth, and the remembrance of -the last time she had been there, as she adjusted her pretty new -cap before the strange, quaint old mirror in the cloak-room. The -Assembly Room had been added to the inn, about a hundred years -before, by the different county families, who met together there -once a month during the winter to dance and play at cards. Many a -county beauty had first swung through the minuet that she -afterwards danced before Queen Charlotte in this very room. It was -said that one of the Gunnings had graced the apartment with her -beauty; it was certain that a rich and beautiful widow, Lady -Williams, had here been smitten with the noble figure of a young -artist, who was staying with some family in the neighbourhood for -professional purposes, and accompanied his patrons to the Cranford -Assembly. And a pretty bargain poor Lady Williams had of her -handsome husband, if all tales were true. Now, no beauty blushed -and dimpled along the sides of the Cranford Assembly Room; no -handsome artist won hearts by his bow, chapeau bras in hand; the -old room was dingy; the salmon-coloured paint had faded into a -drab; great pieces of plaster had chipped off from the fine wreaths -and festoons on its walls; but still a mouldy odour of aristocracy -lingered about the place, and a dusty recollection of the days that -were gone made Miss Matty and Mrs Forrester bridle up as they -entered, and walk mincingly up the room, as if there were a number -of genteel observers, instead of two little boys with a stick of -toffee between them with which to beguile the time. - -We stopped short at the second front row; I could hardly understand -why, until I heard Miss Pole ask a stray waiter if any of the -county families were expected; and when he shook his head, and -believed not, Mrs Forrester and Miss Matty moved forwards, and our -party represented a conversational square. The front row was soon -augmented and enriched by Lady Glenmire and Mrs Jamieson. We six -occupied the two front rows, and our aristocratic seclusion was -respected by the groups of shop-keepers who strayed in from time to -time and huddled together on the back benches. At least I -conjectured so, from the noise they made, and the sonorous bumps -they gave in sitting down; but when, in weariness of the obstinate -green curtain that would not draw up, but would stare at me with -two odd eyes, seen through holes, as in the old tapestry story, I -would fain have looked round at the merry chattering people behind -me, Miss Pole clutched my arm, and begged me not to turn, for "it -was not the thing." What "the thing" was, I never could find out, -but it must have been something eminently dull and tiresome. -However, we all sat eyes right, square front, gazing at the -tantalising curtain, and hardly speaking intelligibly, we were so -afraid of being caught in the vulgarity of making any noise in a -place of public amusement. Mrs Jamieson was the most fortunate, -for she fell asleep. - -At length the eyes disappeared--the curtain quivered--one side went -up before the other, which stuck fast; it was dropped again, and, -with a fresh effort, and a vigorous pull from some unseen hand, it -flew up, revealing to our sight a magnificent gentleman in the -Turkish costume, seated before a little table, gazing at us (I -should have said with the same eyes that I had last seen through -the hole in the curtain) with calm and condescending dignity, "like -a being of another sphere," as I heard a sentimental voice -ejaculate behind me. - -"That's not Signor Brunoni!" said Miss Pole decidedly; and so -audibly that I am sure he heard, for he glanced down over his -flowing beard at our party with an air of mute reproach. "Signor -Brunoni had no beard--but perhaps he'll come soon." So she lulled -herself into patience. Meanwhile, Miss Matty had reconnoitred -through her eye-glass, wiped it, and looked again. Then she turned -round, and said to me, in a kind, mild, sorrowful tone - - -"You see, my dear, turbans ARE worn." - -But we had no time for more conversation. The Grand Turk, as Miss -Pole chose to call him, arose and announced himself as Signor -Brunoni. - -"I don't believe him!" exclaimed Miss Pole, in a defiant manner. -He looked at her again, with the same dignified upbraiding in his -countenance. "I don't!" she repeated more positively than ever. -"Signor Brunoni had not got that muffy sort of thing about his -chin, but looked like a close-shaved Christian gentleman." - -Miss Pole's energetic speeches had the good effect of wakening up -Mrs Jamieson, who opened her eyes wide, in sign of the deepest -attention--a proceeding which silenced Miss Pole and encouraged the -Grand Turk to proceed, which he did in very broken English--so -broken that there was no cohesion between the parts of his -sentences; a fact which he himself perceived at last, and so left -off speaking and proceeded to action. - -Now we WERE astonished. How he did his tricks I could not imagine; -no, not even when Miss Pole pulled out her pieces of paper and -began reading aloud--or at least in a very audible whisper--the -separate "receipts" for the most common of his tricks. If ever I -saw a man frown and look enraged, I saw the Grand Turk frown at -Miss Pole; but, as she said, what could be expected but unchristian -looks from a Mussulman? If Miss Pole were sceptical, and more -engrossed with her receipts and diagrams than with his tricks, Miss -Matty and Mrs Forrester were mystified and perplexed to the highest -degree. Mrs Jamieson kept taking her spectacles off and wiping -them, as if she thought it was something defective in them which -made the legerdemain; and Lady Glenmire, who had seen many curious -sights in Edinburgh, was very much struck with the tricks, and -would not at all agree with Miss Pole, who declared that anybody -could do them with a little practice, and that she would, herself, -undertake to do all he did, with two hours given to study the -Encyclopaedia and make her third finger flexible. - -At last Miss Matty and Mrs Forrester became perfectly awestricken. -They whispered together. I sat just behind them, so I could not -help hearing what they were saying. Miss Matty asked Mrs Forrester -"if she thought it was quite right to have come to see such things? -She could not help fearing they were lending encouragement to -something that was not quite"-- A little shake of the head filled -up the blank. Mrs Forrester replied, that the same thought had -crossed her mind; she too was feeling very uncomfortable, it was so -very strange. She was quite certain that it was her pocket- -handkerchief which was in that loaf just now; and it had been in -her own hand not five minutes before. She wondered who had -furnished the bread? She was sure it could not be Dakin, because -he was the churchwarden. Suddenly Miss Matty half-turned towards -me - - -"Will you look, my dear--you are a stranger in the town, and it -won't give rise to unpleasant reports--will you just look round and -see if the rector is here? If he is, I think we may conclude that -this wonderful man is sanctioned by the Church, and that will be a -great relief to my mind. - -I looked, and I saw the tall, thin, dry, dusty rector, sitting -surrounded by National School boys, guarded by troops of his own -sex from any approach of the many Cranford spinsters. His kind -face was all agape with broad smiles, and the boys around him were -in chinks of laughing. I told Miss Matty that the Church was -smiling approval, which set her mind at ease. - -I have never named Mr Hayter, the rector, because I, as a well-to- -do and happy young woman, never came in contact with him. He was -an old bachelor, but as afraid of matrimonial reports getting -abroad about him as any girl of eighteen: and he would rush into a -shop or dive down an entry, sooner than encounter any of the -Cranford ladies in the street; and, as for the Preference parties, -I did not wonder at his not accepting invitations to them. To tell -the truth, I always suspected Miss Pole of having given very -vigorous chase to Mr Hayter when he first came to Cranford; and not -the less, because now she appeared to share so vividly in his dread -lest her name should ever be coupled with his. He found all his -interests among the poor and helpless; he had treated the National -School boys this very night to the performance; and virtue was for -once its own reward, for they guarded him right and left, and clung -round him as if he had been the queen-bee and they the swarm. He -felt so safe in their environment that he could even afford to give -our party a bow as we filed out. Miss Pole ignored his presence, -and pretended to be absorbed in convincing us that we had been -cheated, and had not seen Signor Brunoni after all. - - - -CHAPTER X--THE PANIC - - - -I think a series of circumstances dated from Signor Brunoni's visit -to Cranford, which seemed at the time connected in our minds with -him, though I don't know that he had anything really to do with -them. All at once all sorts of uncomfortable rumours got afloat in -the town. There were one or two robberies--real bona fide -robberies; men had up before the magistrates and committed for -trial--and that seemed to make us all afraid of being robbed; and -for a long time, at Miss Matty's, I know, we used to make a regular -expedition all round the kitchens and cellars every night, Miss -Matty leading the way, armed with the poker, I following with the -hearth-brush, and Martha carrying the shovel and fire-irons with -which to sound the alarm; and by the accidental hitting together of -them she often frightened us so much that we bolted ourselves up, -all three together, in the back-kitchen, or store-room, or wherever -we happened to be, till, when our affright was over, we recollected -ourselves and set out afresh with double valiance. By day we heard -strange stories from the shopkeepers and cottagers, of carts that -went about in the dead of night, drawn by horses shod with felt, -and guarded by men in dark clothes, going round the town, no doubt -in search of some unwatched house or some unfastened door. - -Miss Pole, who affected great bravery herself, was the principal -person to collect and arrange these reports so as to make them -assume their most fearful aspect. But we discovered that she had -begged one of Mr Hoggins's worn-out hats to hang up in her lobby, -and we (at least I) had doubts as to whether she really would enjoy -the little adventure of having her house broken into, as she -protested she should. Miss Matty made no secret of being an arrant -coward, but she went regularly through her housekeeper's duty of -inspection--only the hour for this became earlier and earlier, till -at last we went the rounds at half-past six, and Miss Matty -adjourned to bed soon after seven, "in order to get the night over -the sooner." - -Cranford had so long piqued itself on being an honest and moral -town that it had grown to fancy itself too genteel and well-bred to -be otherwise, and felt the stain upon its character at this time -doubly. But we comforted ourselves with the assurance which we -gave to each other that the robberies could never have been -committed by any Cranford person; it must have been a stranger or -strangers who brought this disgrace upon the town, and occasioned -as many precautions as if we were living among the Red Indians or -the French. - -This last comparison of our nightly state of defence and -fortification was made by Mrs Forrester, whose father had served -under General Burgoyne in the American war, and whose husband had -fought the French in Spain. She indeed inclined to the idea that, -in some way, the French were connected with the small thefts, which -were ascertained facts, and the burglaries and highway robberies, -which were rumours. She had been deeply impressed with the idea of -French spies at some time in her life; and the notion could never -be fairly eradicated, but sprang up again from time to time. And -now her theory was this:- The Cranford people respected themselves -too much, and were too grateful to the aristocracy who were so kind -as to live near the town, ever to disgrace their bringing up by -being dishonest or immoral; therefore, we must believe that the -robbers were strangers--if strangers, why not foreigners?--if -foreigners, who so likely as the French? Signor Brunoni spoke -broken English like a Frenchman; and, though he wore a turban like -a Turk, Mrs Forrester had seen a print of Madame de Stael with a -turban on, and another of Mr Denon in just such a dress as that in -which the conjuror had made his appearance, showing clearly that -the French, as well as the Turks, wore turbans. There could be no -doubt Signor Brunoni was a Frenchman--a French spy come to discover -the weak and undefended places of England, and doubtless he had his -accomplices. For her part, she, Mrs Forrester, had always had her -own opinion of Miss Pole's adventure at the "George Inn"--seeing -two men where only one was believed to be. French people had ways -and means which, she was thankful to say, the English knew nothing -about; and she had never felt quite easy in her mind about going to -see that conjuror--it was rather too much like a forbidden thing, -though the rector was there. In short, Mrs Forrester grew more -excited than we had ever known her before, and, being an officer's -daughter and widow, we looked up to her opinion, of course. - -Really I do not know how much was true or false in the reports -which flew about like wildfire just at this time; but it seemed to -me then that there was every reason to believe that at Mardon (a -small town about eight miles from Cranford) houses and shops were -entered by holes made in the walls, the bricks being silently -carried away in the dead of the night, and all done so quietly that -no sound was heard either in or out of the house. Miss Matty gave -it up in despair when she heard of this. "What was the use," said -she, "of locks and bolts, and bells to the windows, and going round -the house every night? That last trick was fit for a conjuror. -Now she did believe that Signor Brunoni was at the bottom of it." - -One afternoon, about five o'clock, we were startled by a hasty -knock at the door. Miss Matty bade me run and tell Martha on no -account to open the door till she (Miss Matty) had reconnoitred -through the window; and she armed herself with a footstool to drop -down on the head of the visitor, in case he should show a face -covered with black crape, as he looked up in answer to her inquiry -of who was there. But it was nobody but Miss Pole and Betty. The -former came upstairs, carrying a little hand-basket, and she was -evidently in a state of great agitation. - -"Take care of that!" said she to me, as I offered to relieve her of -her basket. "It's my plate. I am sure there is a plan to rob my -house to-night. I am come to throw myself on your hospitality, -Miss Matty. Betty is going to sleep with her cousin at the -'George.' I can sit up here all night if you will allow me; but my -house is so far from any neighbours, and I don't believe we could -be heard if we screamed ever so!" - -"But," said Miss Matty, "what has alarmed you so much? Have you -seen any men lurking about the house?" - -"Oh, yes!" answered Miss Pole. "Two very bad-looking men have gone -three times past the house, very slowly; and an Irish beggar-woman -came not half-an-hour ago, and all but forced herself in past -Betty, saying her children were starving, and she must speak to the -mistress. You see, she said 'mistress,' though there was a hat -hanging up in the hall, and it would have been more natural to have -said 'master.' But Betty shut the door in her face, and came up to -me, and we got the spoons together, and sat in the parlour-window -watching till we saw Thomas Jones going from his work, when we -called to him and asked him to take care of us into the town." - -We might have triumphed over Miss Pole, who had professed such -bravery until she was frightened; but we were too glad to perceive -that she shared in the weaknesses of humanity to exult over her; -and I gave up my room to her very willingly, and shared Miss -Matty's bed for the night. But before we retired, the two ladies -rummaged up, out of the recesses of their memory, such horrid -stories of robbery and murder that I quite quaked in my shoes. -Miss Pole was evidently anxious to prove that such terrible events -had occurred within her experience that she was justified in her -sudden panic; and Miss Matty did not like to be outdone, and capped -every story with one yet more horrible, till it reminded me oddly -enough, of an old story I had read somewhere, of a nightingale and -a musician, who strove one against the other which could produce -the most admirable music, till poor Philomel dropped down dead. - -One of the stories that haunted me for a long time afterwards was -of a girl who was left in charge of a great house in Cumberland on -some particular fair-day, when the other servants all went off to -the gaieties. The family were away in London, and a pedlar came -by, and asked to leave his large and heavy pack in the kitchen, -saying he would call for it again at night; and the girl (a -gamekeeper's daughter), roaming about in search of amusement, -chanced to hit upon a gun hanging up in the hall, and took it down -to look at the chasing; and it went off through the open kitchen -door, hit the pack, and a slow dark thread of blood came oozing -out. (How Miss Pole enjoyed this part of the story, dwelling on -each word as if she loved it!) She rather hurried over the further -account of the girl's bravery, and I have but a confused idea that, -somehow, she baffled the robbers with Italian irons, heated red- -hot, and then restored to blackness by being dipped in grease. - -We parted for the night with an awe-stricken wonder as to what we -should hear of in the morning--and, on my part, with a vehement -desire for the night to be over and gone: I was so afraid lest the -robbers should have seen, from some dark lurking-place, that Miss -Pole had carried off her plate, and thus have a double motive for -attacking our house. - -But until Lady Glenmire came to call next day we heard of nothing -unusual. The kitchen fire-irons were in exactly the same position -against the back door as when Martha and I had skilfully piled them -up, like spillikins, ready to fall with an awful clatter if only a -cat had touched the outside panels. I had wondered what we should -all do if thus awakened and alarmed, and had proposed to Miss Matty -that we should cover up our faces under the bedclothes so that -there should be no danger of the robbers thinking that we could -identify them; but Miss Matty, who was trembling very much, scouted -this idea, and said we owed it to society to apprehend them, and -that she should certainly do her best to lay hold of them and lock -them up in the garret till morning. - -When Lady Glenmire came, we almost felt jealous of her. Mrs -Jamieson's house had really been attacked; at least there were -men's footsteps to be seen on the flower borders, underneath the -kitchen windows, "where nae men should be;" and Carlo had barked -all through the night as if strangers were abroad. Mrs Jamieson -had been awakened by Lady Glenmire, and they had rung the bell -which communicated with Mr Mulliner's room in the third storey, and -when his night-capped head had appeared over the bannisters, in -answer to the summons, they had told him of their alarm, and the -reasons for it; whereupon he retreated into his bedroom, and locked -the door (for fear of draughts, as he informed them in the -morning), and opened the window, and called out valiantly to say, -if the supposed robbers would come to him he would fight them; but, -as Lady Glenmire observed, that was but poor comfort, since they -would have to pass by Mrs Jamieson's room and her own before they -could reach him, and must be of a very pugnacious disposition -indeed if they neglected the opportunities of robbery presented by -the unguarded lower storeys, to go up to a garret, and there force -a door in order to get at the champion of the house. Lady -Glenmire, after waiting and listening for some time in the drawing- -room, had proposed to Mrs Jamieson that they should go to bed; but -that lady said she should not feel comfortable unless she sat up -and watched; and, accordingly, she packed herself warmly up on the -sofa, where she was found by the housemaid, when she came into the -room at six o'clock, fast asleep; but Lady Glenmire went to bed, -and kept awake all night. - -When Miss Pole heard of this, she nodded her head in great -satisfaction. She had been sure we should hear of something -happening in Cranford that night; and we had heard. It was clear -enough they had first proposed to attack her house; but when they -saw that she and Betty were on their guard, and had carried off the -plate, they had changed their tactics and gone to Mrs Jamieson's, -and no one knew what might have happened if Carlo had not barked, -like a good dog as he was! - -Poor Carlo! his barking days were nearly over. Whether the gang -who infested the neighbourhood were afraid of him, or whether they -were revengeful enough, for the way in which he had baffled them on -the night in question, to poison him; or whether, as some among the -more uneducated people thought, he died of apoplexy, brought on by -too much feeding and too little exercise; at any rate, it is -certain that, two days after this eventful night, Carlo was found -dead, with his poor legs stretched out stiff in the attitude of -running, as if by such unusual exertion he could escape the sure -pursuer, Death. - -We were all sorry for Carlo, the old familiar friend who had -snapped at us for so many years; and the mysterious mode of his -death made us very uncomfortable. Could Signor Brunoni be at the -bottom of this? He had apparently killed a canary with only a word -of command; his will seemed of deadly force; who knew but what he -might yet be lingering in the neighbourhood willing all sorts of -awful things! - -We whispered these fancies among ourselves in the evenings; but in -the mornings our courage came back with the daylight, and in a -week's time we had got over the shock of Carlo's death; all but Mrs -Jamieson. She, poor thing, felt it as she had felt no event since -her husband's death; indeed, Miss Pole said, that as the Honourable -Mr Jamieson drank a good deal, and occasioned her much uneasiness, -it was possible that Carlo's death might be the greater affliction. -But there was always a tinge of cynicism in Miss Pole's remarks. -However, one thing was clear and certain--it was necessary for Mrs -Jamieson to have some change of scene; and Mr Mulliner was very -impressive on this point, shaking his head whenever we inquired -after his mistress, and speaking of her loss of appetite and bad -nights very ominously; and with justice too, for if she had two -characteristics in her natural state of health they were a facility -of eating and sleeping. If she could neither eat nor sleep, she -must be indeed out of spirits and out of health. - -Lady Glenmire (who had evidently taken very kindly to Cranford) did -not like the idea of Mrs Jamieson's going to Cheltenham, and more -than once insinuated pretty plainly that it was Mr Mulliner's -doing, who had been much alarmed on the occasion of the house being -attacked, and since had said, more than once, that he felt it a -very responsible charge to have to defend so many women. Be that -as it might, Mrs Jamieson went to Cheltenham, escorted by Mr -Mulliner; and Lady Glenmire remained in possession of the house, -her ostensible office being to take care that the maid-servants did -not pick up followers. She made a very pleasant-looking dragon; -and, as soon as it was arranged for her stay in Cranford, she found -out that Mrs Jamieson's visit to Cheltenham was just the best thing -in the world. She had let her house in Edinburgh, and was for the -time house-less, so the charge of her sister-in-law's comfortable -abode was very convenient and acceptable. - -Miss Pole was very much inclined to instal herself as a heroine, -because of the decided steps she had taken in flying from the two -men and one woman, whom she entitled "that murderous gang." She -described their appearance in glowing colours, and I noticed that -every time she went over the story some fresh trait of villainy was -added to their appearance. One was tall--he grew to be gigantic in -height before we had done with him; he of course had black hair-- -and by-and-by it hung in elf-locks over his forehead and down his -back. The other was short and broad--and a hump sprouted out on -his shoulder before we heard the last of him; he had red hair-- -which deepened into carroty; and she was almost sure he had a cast -in the eye--a decided squint. As for the woman, her eyes glared, -and she was masculine-looking--a perfect virago; most probably a -man dressed in woman's clothes; afterwards, we heard of a beard on -her chin, and a manly voice and a stride. - -If Miss Pole was delighted to recount the events of that afternoon -to all inquirers, others were not so proud of their adventures in -the robbery line. Mr Hoggins, the surgeon, had been attacked at -his own door by two ruffians, who were concealed in the shadow of -the porch, and so effectually silenced him that he was robbed in -the interval between ringing his bell and the servant's answering -it. Miss Pole was sure it would turn out that this robbery had -been commited by "her men," and went the very day she heard the -report to have her teeth examined, and to question Mr Hoggins. She -came to us afterwards; so we heard what she had heard, straight and -direct from the source, while we were yet in the excitement and -flutter of the agitation caused by the first intelligence; for the -event had only occurred the night before. - -"Well!" said Miss Pole, sitting down with the decision of a person -who has made up her mind as to the nature of life and the world -(and such people never tread lightly, or seat themselves without a -bump), "well, Miss Matty! men will be men. Every mother's son of -them wishes to be considered Samson and Solomon rolled into one-- -too strong ever to be beaten or discomfited--too wise ever to be -outwitted. If you will notice, they have always foreseen events, -though they never tell one for one's warning before the events -happen. My father was a man, and I know the sex pretty well." - -She had talked herself out of breath, and we should have been very -glad to fill up the necessary pause as chorus, but we did not -exactly know what to say, or which man had suggested this diatribe -against the sex; so we only joined in generally, with a grave shake -of the head, and a soft murmur of "They are very incomprehensible, -certainly!" - -"Now, only think," said she. "There, I have undergone the risk of -having one of my remaining teeth drawn (for one is terribly at the -mercy of any surgeon-dentist; and I, for one, always speak them -fair till I have got my mouth out of their clutches), and, after -all, Mr Hoggins is too much of a man to own that he was robbed last -night." - -"Not robbed!" exclaimed the chorus. - -"Don't tell me!" Miss Pole exclaimed, angry that we could be for a -moment imposed upon. "I believe he was robbed, just as Betty told -me, and he is ashamed to own it; and, to be sure, it was very silly -of him to be robbed just at his own door; I daresay he feels that -such a thing won't raise him in the eyes of Cranford society, and -is anxious to conceal it--but he need not have tried to impose upon -me, by saying I must have heard an exaggerated account of some -petty theft of a neck of mutton, which, it seems, was stolen out of -the safe in his yard last week; he had the impertinence to add, he -believed that that was taken by the cat. I have no doubt, if I -could get at the bottom of it, it was that Irishman dressed up in -woman's clothes, who came spying about my house, with the story -about the starving children." - -After we had duly condemned the want of candour which Mr Hoggins -had evinced, and abused men in general, taking him for the -representative and type, we got round to the subject about which we -had been talking when Miss Pole came in; namely, how far, in the -present disturbed state of the country, we could venture to accept -an invitation which Miss Matty had just received from Mrs -Forrester, to come as usual and keep the anniversary of her -wedding-day by drinking tea with her at five o'clock, and playing a -quiet pool afterwards. Mrs Forrester had said that she asked us -with some diffidence, because the roads were, she feared, very -unsafe. But she suggested that perhaps one of us would not object -to take the sedan, and that the others, by walking briskly, might -keep up with the long trot of the chairmen, and so we might all -arrive safely at Over Place, a suburb of the town. (No; that is -too large an expression: a small cluster of houses separated from -Cranford by about two hundred yards of a dark and lonely lane.) -There was no doubt but that a similar note was awaiting Miss Pole -at home; so her call was a very fortunate affair, as it enabled us -to consult together. We would all much rather have declined this -invitation; but we felt that it would not be quite kind to Mrs -Forrester, who would otherwise be left to a solitary retrospect of -her not very happy or fortunate life. Miss Matty and Miss Pole had -been visitors on this occasion for many years, and now they -gallantly determined to nail their colours to the mast, and to go -through Darkness Lane rather than fail in loyalty to their friend. - -But when the evening came, Miss Matty (for it was she who was voted -into the chair, as she had a cold), before being shut down in the -sedan, like jack-in-a-box, implored the chairmen, whatever might -befall, not to run away and leave her fastened up there, to be -murdered; and even after they had promised, I saw her tighten her -features into the stern determination of a martyr, and she gave me -a melancholy and ominous shake of the head through the glass. -However, we got there safely, only rather out of breath, for it was -who could trot hardest through Darkness Lane, and I am afraid poor -Miss Matty was sadly jolted. - -Mrs Forrester had made extra preparations, in acknowledgment of our -exertion in coming to see her through such dangers. The usual -forms of genteel ignorance as to what her servants might send up -were all gone through; and harmony and Preference seemed likely to -be the order of the evening, but for an interesting conversation -that began I don't know how, but which had relation, of course, to -the robbers who infested the neighbourhood of Cranford. - -Having braved the dangers of Darkness Lane, and thus having a -little stock of reputation for courage to fall back upon; and also, -I daresay, desirous of proving ourselves superior to men (videlicet -Mr Hoggins) in the article of candour, we began to relate our -individual fears, and the private precautions we each of us took. -I owned that my pet apprehension was eyes--eyes looking at me, and -watching me, glittering out from some dull, flat, wooden surface; -and that if I dared to go up to my looking-glass when I was panic- -stricken, I should certainly turn it round, with its back towards -me, for fear of seeing eyes behind me looking out of the darkness. -I saw Miss Matty nerving herself up for a confession; and at last -out it came. She owned that, ever since she had been a girl, she -had dreaded being caught by her last leg, just as she was getting -into bed, by some one concealed under it. She said, when she was -younger and more active, she used to take a flying leap from a -distance, and so bring both her legs up safely into bed at once; -but that this had always annoyed Deborah, who piqued herself upon -getting into bed gracefully, and she had given it up in -consequence. But now the old terror would often come over her, -especially since Miss Pole's house had been attacked (we had got -quite to believe in the fact of the attack having taken place), and -yet it was very unpleasant to think of looking under a bed, and -seeing a man concealed, with a great, fierce face staring out at -you; so she had bethought herself of something--perhaps I had -noticed that she had told Martha to buy her a penny ball, such as -children play with--and now she rolled this ball under the bed -every night: if it came out on the other side, well and good; if -not she always took care to have her hand on the bell-rope, and -meant to call out John and Harry, just as if she expected men- -servants to answer her ring. - -We all applauded this ingenious contrivance, and Miss Matty sank -back into satisfied silence, with a look at Mrs Forrester as if to -ask for HER private weakness. - -Mrs Forrester looked askance at Miss Pole, and tried to change the -subject a little by telling us that she had borrowed a boy from one -of the neighbouring cottages and promised his parents a -hundredweight of coals at Christmas, and his supper every evening, -for the loan of him at nights. She had instructed him in his -possible duties when he first came; and, finding him sensible, she -had given him the Major's sword (the Major was her late husband), -and desired him to put it very carefully behind his pillow at -night, turning the edge towards the head of the pillow. He was a -sharp lad, she was sure; for, spying out the Major's cocked hat, he -had said, if he might have that to wear, he was sure he could -frighten two Englishmen, or four Frenchmen any day. But she had -impressed upon him anew that he was to lose no time in putting on -hats or anything else; but, if he heard any noise, he was to run at -it with his drawn sword. On my suggesting that some accident might -occur from such slaughterous and indiscriminate directions, and -that he might rush on Jenny getting up to wash, and have spitted -her before he had discovered that she was not a Frenchman, Mrs -Forrester said she did not think that that was likely, for he was a -very sound sleeper, and generally had to be well shaken or cold- -pigged in a morning before they could rouse him. She sometimes -thought such dead sleep must be owing to the hearty suppers the -poor lad ate, for he was half-starved at home, and she told Jenny -to see that he got a good meal at night. - -Still this was no confession of Mrs Forrester's peculiar timidity, -and we urged her to tell us what she thought would frighten her -more than anything. She paused, and stirred the fire, and snuffed -the candles, and then she said, in a sounding whisper - - -"Ghosts!" - -She looked at Miss Pole, as much as to say, she had declared it, -and would stand by it. Such a look was a challenge in itself. -Miss Pole came down upon her with indigestion, spectral illusions, -optical delusions, and a great deal out of Dr Ferrier and Dr -Hibbert besides. Miss Matty had rather a leaning to ghosts, as I -have mentioned before, and what little she did say was all on Mrs -Forrester's side, who, emboldened by sympathy, protested that -ghosts were a part of her religion; that surely she, the widow of a -major in the army, knew what to be frightened at, and what not; in -short, I never saw Mrs Forrester so warm either before or since, -for she was a gentle, meek, enduring old lady in most things. Not -all the elder-wine that ever was mulled could this night wash out -the remembrance of this difference between Miss Pole and her -hostess. Indeed, when the elder-wine was brought in, it gave rise -to a new burst of discussion; for Jenny, the little maiden who -staggered under the tray, had to give evidence of having seen a -ghost with her own eyes, not so many nights ago, in Darkness Lane, -the very lane we were to go through on our way home. - -In spite of the uncomfortable feeling which this last consideration -gave me, I could not help being amused at Jenny's position, which -was exceedingly like that of a witness being examined and cross- -examined by two counsel who are not at all scrupulous about asking -leading questions. The conclusion I arrived at was, that Jenny had -certainly seen something beyond what a fit of indigestion would -have caused. A lady all in white, and without her head, was what -she deposed and adhered to, supported by a consciousness of the -secret sympathy of her mistress under the withering scorn with -which Miss Pole regarded her. And not only she, but many others, -had seen this headless lady, who sat by the roadside wringing her -hands as in deep grief. Mrs Forrester looked at us from time to -time with an air of conscious triumph; but then she had not to pass -through Darkness Lane before she could bury herself beneath her own -familiar bed-clothes. - -We preserved a discreet silence as to the headless lady while we -were putting on our things to go home, for there was no knowing how -near the ghostly head and ears might be, or what spiritual -connection they might be keeping up with the unhappy body in -Darkness Lane; and, therefore, even Miss Pole felt that it was as -well not to speak lightly on such subjects, for fear of vexing or -insulting that woebegone trunk. At least, so I conjecture; for, -instead of the busy clatter usual in the operation, we tied on our -cloaks as sadly as mutes at a funeral. Miss Matty drew the -curtains round the windows of the chair to shut out disagreeable -sights, and the men (either because they were in spirits that their -labours were so nearly ended, or because they were going down -hill), set off at such a round and merry pace, that it was all Miss -Pole and I could do to keep up with them. She had breath for -nothing beyond an imploring "Don't leave me!" uttered as she -clutched my arm so tightly that I could not have quitted her, ghost -or no ghost. What a relief it was when the men, weary of their -burden and their quick trot, stopped just where Headingley Causeway -branches off from Darkness Lane! Miss Pole unloosed me and caught -at one of the men - - -"Could not you--could not you take Miss Matty round by Headingley -Causeway?--the pavement in Darkness Lane jolts so, and she is not -very strong." - -A smothered voice was heard from the inside of the chair - - -"Oh! pray go on! What is the matter? What is the matter? I will -give you sixpence more to go on very fast; pray don't stop here." - -"And I'll give you a shilling," said Miss Pole, with tremulous -dignity, "if you'll go by Headingley Causeway." - -The two men grunted acquiescence and took up the chair, and went -along the causeway, which certainly answered Miss Pole's kind -purpose of saving Miss Matty's bones; for it was covered with soft, -thick mud, and even a fall there would have been easy till the -getting-up came, when there might have been some difficulty in -extrication. - - - -CHAPTER XI--SAMUEL BROWN - - - -The next morning I met Lady Glenmire and Miss Pole setting out on a -long walk to find some old woman who was famous in the -neighbourhood for her skill in knitting woollen stockings. Miss -Pole said to me, with a smile half-kindly and half-contemptuous -upon her countenance, "I have been just telling Lady Glenmire of -our poor friend Mrs Forrester, and her terror of ghosts. It comes -from living so much alone, and listening to the bug-a-boo stories -of that Jenny of hers." She was so calm and so much above -superstitious fears herself that I was almost ashamed to say how -glad I had been of her Headingley Causeway proposition the night -before, and turned off the conversation to something else. - -In the afternoon Miss Pole called on Miss Matty to tell her of the -adventure--the real adventure they had met with on their morning's -walk. They had been perplexed about the exact path which they were -to take across the fields in order to find the knitting old woman, -and had stopped to inquire at a little wayside public-house, -standing on the high road to London, about three miles from -Cranford. The good woman had asked them to sit down and rest -themselves while she fetched her husband, who could direct them -better than she could; and, while they were sitting in the sanded -parlour, a little girl came in. They thought that she belonged to -the landlady, and began some trifling conversation with her; but, -on Mrs Roberts's return, she told them that the little thing was -the only child of a couple who were staying in the house. And then -she began a long story, out of which Lady Glenmire and Miss Pole -could only gather one or two decided facts, which were that, about -six weeks ago, a light spring-cart had broken down just before -their door, in which there were two men, one woman, and this child. -One of the men was seriously hurt--no bones broken, only "shaken," -the landlady called it; but he had probably sustained some severe -internal injury, for he had languished in their house ever since, -attended by his wife, the mother of this little girl. Miss Pole -had asked what he was, what he looked like. And Mrs Roberts had -made answer that he was not like a gentleman, nor yet like a common -person; if it had not been that he and his wife were such decent, -quiet people, she could almost have thought he was a mountebank, or -something of that kind, for they had a great box in the cart, full -of she did not know what. She had helped to unpack it, and take -out their linen and clothes, when the other man--his twin-brother, -she believed he was--had gone off with the horse and cart. - -Miss Pole had begun to have her suspicions at this point, and -expressed her idea that it was rather strange that the box and cart -and horse and all should have disappeared; but good Mrs Roberts -seemed to have become quite indignant at Miss Pole's implied -suggestion; in fact, Miss Pole said she was as angry as if Miss -Pole had told her that she herself was a swindler. As the best way -of convincing the ladies, she bethought her of begging them to see -the wife; and, as Miss Pole said, there was no doubting the honest, -worn, bronzed face of the woman, who at the first tender word from -Lady Glenmire, burst into tears, which she was too weak to check -until some word from the landlady made her swallow down her sobs, -in order that she might testify to the Christian kindness shown by -Mr and Mrs Roberts. Miss Pole came round with a swing to as -vehement a belief in the sorrowful tale as she had been sceptical -before; and, as a proof of this, her energy in the poor sufferer's -behalf was nothing daunted when she found out that he, and no -other, was our Signor Brunoni, to whom all Cranford had been -attributing all manner of evil this six weeks past! Yes! his wife -said his proper name was Samuel Brown--"Sam," she called him--but -to the last we preferred calling him "the Signor"; it sounded so -much better. - -The end of their conversation with the Signora Brunoni was that it -was agreed that he should be placed under medical advice, and for -any expense incurred in procuring this Lady Glenmire promised to -hold herself responsible, and had accordingly gone to Mr Hoggins to -beg him to ride over to the "Rising Sun" that very afternoon, and -examine into the signor's real state; and, as Miss Pole said, if it -was desirable to remove him to Cranford to be more immediately -under Mr Hoggins's eye, she would undertake to see for lodgings and -arrange about the rent. Mrs Roberts had been as kind as could be -all throughout, but it was evident that their long residence there -had been a slight inconvenience. - -Before Miss Pole left us, Miss Matty and I were as full of the -morning's adventure as she was. We talked about it all the -evening, turning it in every possible light, and we went to bed -anxious for the morning, when we should surely hear from someone -what Mr Hoggins thought and recommended; for, as Miss Matty -observed, though Mr Hoggins did say "Jack's up," "a fig for his -heels," and called Preference "Pref." she believed he was a very -worthy man and a very clever surgeon. Indeed, we were rather proud -of our doctor at Cranford, as a doctor. We often wished, when we -heard of Queen Adelaide or the Duke of Wellington being ill, that -they would send for Mr Hoggins; but, on consideration, we were -rather glad they did not, for, if we were ailing, what should we do -if Mr Hoggins had been appointed physician-in-ordinary to the Royal -Family? As a surgeon we were proud of him; but as a man--or -rather, I should say, as a gentleman--we could only shake our heads -over his name and himself, and wished that he had read Lord -Chesterfield's Letters in the days when his manners were -susceptible of improvement. Nevertheless, we all regarded his -dictum in the signor's case as infallible, and when he said that -with care and attention he might rally, we had no more fear for -him. - -But, although we had no more fear, everybody did as much as if -there was great cause for anxiety--as indeed there was until Mr -Hoggins took charge of him. Miss Pole looked out clean and -comfortable, if homely, lodgings; Miss Matty sent the sedan-chair -for him, and Martha and I aired it well before it left Cranford by -holding a warming-pan full of red-hot coals in it, and then -shutting it up close, smoke and all, until the time when he should -get into it at the "Rising Sun." Lady Glenmire undertook the -medical department under Mr Hoggins's directions, and rummaged up -all Mrs Jamieson's medicine glasses, and spoons, and bed-tables, in -a free-and-easy way, that made Miss Matty feel a little anxious as -to what that lady and Mr Mulliner might say, if they knew. Mrs -Forrester made some of the bread-jelly, for which she was so -famous, to have ready as a refreshment in the lodgings when he -should arrive. A present of this bread-jelly was the highest mark -of favour dear Mrs Forrester could confer. Miss Pole had once -asked her for the receipt, but she had met with a very decided -rebuff; that lady told her that she could not part with it to any -one during her life, and that after her death it was bequeathed, as -her executors would find, to Miss Matty. What Miss Matty, or, as -Mrs Forrester called her (remembering the clause in her will and -the dignity of the occasion), Miss Matilda Jenkyns--might choose to -do with the receipt when it came into her possession--whether to -make it public, or to hand it down as an heirloom--she did not -know, nor would she dictate. And a mould of this admirable, -digestible, unique bread-jelly was sent by Mrs Forrester to our -poor sick conjuror. Who says that the aristocracy are proud? Here -was a lady by birth a Tyrrell, and descended from the great Sir -Walter that shot King Rufus, and in whose veins ran the blood of -him who murdered the little princes in the Tower, going every day -to see what dainty dishes she could prepare for Samuel Brown, a -mountebank! But, indeed, it was wonderful to see what kind -feelings were called out by this poor man's coming amongst us. And -also wonderful to see how the great Cranford panic, which had been -occasioned by his first coming in his Turkish dress, melted away -into thin air on his second coming--pale and feeble, and with his -heavy, filmy eyes, that only brightened a very little when they -fell upon the countenance of his faithful wife, or their pale and -sorrowful little girl. - -Somehow we all forgot to be afraid. I daresay it was that finding -out that he, who had first excited our love of the marvellous by -his unprecedented arts, had not sufficient every-day gifts to -manage a shying horse, made us feel as if we were ourselves again. -Miss Pole came with her little basket at all hours of the evening, -as if her lonely house and the unfrequented road to it had never -been infested by that "murderous gang"; Mrs Forrester said she -thought that neither Jenny nor she need mind the headless lady who -wept and wailed in Darkness Lane, for surely the power was never -given to such beings to harm those who went about to try to do what -little good was in their power, to which Jenny tremblingly -assented; but the mistress's theory had little effect on the maid's -practice until she had sewn two pieces of red flannel in the shape -of a cross on her inner garment. - -I found Miss Matty covering her penny ball--the ball that she used -to roll under her bed--with gay-coloured worsted in rainbow -stripes. - -"My dear," said she, "my heart is sad for that little careworn -child. Although her father is a conjuror, she looks as if she had -never had a good game of play in her life. I used to make very -pretty balls in this way when I was a girl, and I thought I would -try if I could not make this one smart and take it to Phoebe this -afternoon. I think 'the gang' must have left the neighbourhood, -for one does not hear any more of their violence and robbery now." - -We were all of us far too full of the signor's precarious state to -talk either about robbers or ghosts. Indeed, Lady Glenmire said -she never had heard of any actual robberies, except that two little -boys had stolen some apples from Farmer Benson's orchard, and that -some eggs had been missed on a market-day off Widow Hayward's -stall. But that was expecting too much of us; we could not -acknowledge that we had only had this small foundation for all our -panic. Miss Pole drew herself up at this remark of Lady -Glenmire's, and said "that she wished she could agree with her as -to the very small reason we had had for alarm, but with the -recollection of a man disguised as a woman who had endeavoured to -force himself into her house while his confederates waited outside; -with the knowledge gained from Lady Glenmire herself, of the -footprints seen on Mrs Jamieson's flower borders; with the fact -before her of the audacious robbery committed on Mr Hoggins at his -own door"--But here Lady Glenmire broke in with a very strong -expression of doubt as to whether this last story was not an entire -fabrication founded upon the theft of a cat; she grew so red while -she was saying all this that I was not surprised at Miss Pole's -manner of bridling up, and I am certain, if Lady Glenmire had not -been "her ladyship," we should have had a more emphatic -contradiction than the "Well, to be sure!" and similar fragmentary -ejaculations, which were all that she ventured upon in my lady's -presence. But when she was gone Miss Pole began a long -congratulation to Miss Matty that so far they had escaped marriage, -which she noticed always made people credulous to the last degree; -indeed, she thought it argued great natural credulity in a woman if -she could not keep herself from being married; and in what Lady -Glenmire had said about Mr Hoggins's robbery we had a specimen of -what people came to if they gave way to such a weakness; evidently -Lady Glenmire would swallow anything if she could believe the poor -vamped-up story about a neck of mutton and a pussy with which he -had tried to impose on Miss Pole, only she had always been on her -guard against believing too much of what men said. - -We were thankful, as Miss Pole desired us to be, that we had never -been married; but I think, of the two, we were even more thankful -that the robbers had left Cranford; at least I judge so from a -speech of Miss Matty's that evening, as we sat over the fire, in -which she evidently looked upon a husband as a great protector -against thieves, burglars, and ghosts; and said that she did not -think that she should dare to be always warning young people -against matrimony, as Miss Pole did continually; to be sure, -marriage was a risk, as she saw, now she had had some experience; -but she remembered the time when she had looked forward to being -married as much as any one. - -"Not to any particular person, my dear," said she, hastily checking -herself up, as if she were afraid of having admitted too much; -"only the old story, you know, of ladies always saying, 'WHEN I -marry,' and gentlemen, 'IF I marry.'" It was a joke spoken in -rather a sad tone, and I doubt if either of us smiled; but I could -not see Miss Matty's face by the flickering fire-light. In a -little while she continued - - -"But, after all, I have not told you the truth. It is so long ago, -and no one ever knew how much I thought of it at the time, unless, -indeed, my dear mother guessed; but I may say that there was a time -when I did not think I should have been only Miss Matty Jenkyns all -my life; for even if I did meet with any one who wished to marry me -now (and, as Miss Pole says, one is never too safe), I could not -take him--I hope he would not take it too much to heart, but I -could NOT take him--or any one but the person I once thought I -should be married to; and he is dead and gone, and he never knew -how it all came about that I said 'No,' when I had thought many and -many a time--Well, it's no matter what I thought. God ordains it -all, and I am very happy, my dear. No one has such kind friends as -I," continued she, taking my hand and holding it in hers. - -If I had never known of Mr Holbrook, I could have said something in -this pause, but as I had, I could not think of anything that would -come in naturally, and so we both kept silence for a little time. - -"My father once made us," she began, "keep a diary, in two columns; -on one side we were to put down in the morning what we thought -would be the course and events of the coming day, and at night we -were to put down on the other side what really had happened. It -would be to some people rather a sad way of telling their lives," -(a tear dropped upon my hand at these words)--"I don't mean that -mine has been sad, only so very different to what I expected. I -remember, one winter's evening, sitting over our bedroom fire with -Deborah--I remember it as if it were yesterday--and we were -planning our future lives, both of us were planning, though only -she talked about it. She said she should like to marry an -archdeacon, and write his charges; and you know, my dear, she never -was married, and, for aught I know, she never spoke to an unmarried -archdeacon in her life. I never was ambitious, nor could I have -written charges, but I thought I could manage a house (my mother -used to call me her right hand), and I was always so fond of little -children--the shyest babies would stretch out their little arms to -come to me; when I was a girl, I was half my leisure time nursing -in the neighbouring cottages; but I don't know how it was, when I -grew sad and grave--which I did a year or two after this time--the -little things drew back from me, and I am afraid I lost the knack, -though I am just as fond of children as ever, and have a strange -yearning at my heart whenever I see a mother with her baby in her -arms. Nay, my dear" (and by a sudden blaze which sprang up from a -fall of the unstirred coals, I saw that her eyes were full of -tears--gazing intently on some vision of what might have been), "do -you know I dream sometimes that I have a little child--always the -same--a little girl of about two years old; she never grows older, -though I have dreamt about her for many years. I don't think I -ever dream of any words or sound she makes; she is very noiseless -and still, but she comes to me when she is very sorry or very glad, -and I have wakened with the clasp of her dear little arms round my -neck. Only last night--perhaps because I had gone to sleep -thinking of this ball for Phoebe--my little darling came in my -dream, and put up her mouth to be kissed, just as I have seen real -babies do to real mothers before going to bed. But all this is -nonsense, dear! only don't be frightened by Miss Pole from being -married. I can fancy it may be a very happy state, and a little -credulity helps one on through life very smoothly--better than -always doubting and doubting and seeing difficulties and -disagreeables in everything." - -If I had been inclined to be daunted from matrimony, it would not -have been Miss Pole to do it; it would have been the lot of poor -Signor Brunoni and his wife. And yet again, it was an -encouragement to see how, through all their cares and sorrows, they -thought of each other and not of themselves; and how keen were -their joys, if they only passed through each other, or through the -little Phoebe. - -The signora told me, one day, a good deal about their lives up to -this period. It began by my asking her whether Miss Pole's story -of the twin-brothers were true; it sounded so wonderful a likeness, -that I should have had my doubts, if Miss Pole had not been -unmarried. But the signora, or (as we found out she preferred to -be called) Mrs Brown, said it was quite true; that her brother-in- -law was by many taken for her husband, which was of great -assistance to them in their profession; "though," she continued, -"how people can mistake Thomas for the real Signor Brunoni, I can't -conceive; but he says they do; so I suppose I must believe him. -Not but what he is a very good man; I am sure I don't know how we -should have paid our bill at the 'Rising Sun' but for the money he -sends; but people must know very little about art if they can take -him for my husband. Why, Miss, in the ball trick, where my husband -spreads his fingers wide, and throws out his little finger with -quite an air and a grace, Thomas just clumps up his hand like a -fist, and might have ever so many balls hidden in it. Besides, he -has never been in India, and knows nothing of the proper sit of a -turban." - -"Have you been in India?" said I, rather astonished. - -"Oh, yes! many a year, ma'am. Sam was a sergeant in the 31st; and -when the regiment was ordered to India, I drew a lot to go, and I -was more thankful than I can tell; for it seemed as if it would -only be a slow death to me to part from my husband. But, indeed, -ma'am, if I had known all, I don't know whether I would not rather -have died there and then than gone through what I have done since. -To be sure, I've been able to comfort Sam, and to be with him; but, -ma'am, I've lost six children," said she, looking up at me with -those strange eyes that I've never noticed but in mothers of dead -children--with a kind of wild look in them, as if seeking for what -they never more might find. "Yes! Six children died off, like -little buds nipped untimely, in that cruel India. I thought, as -each died, I never could--I never would--love a child again; and -when the next came, it had not only its own love, but the deeper -love that came from the thoughts of its little dead brothers and -sisters. And when Phoebe was coming, I said to my husband, 'Sam, -when the child is born, and I am strong, I shall leave you; it will -cut my heart cruel; but if this baby dies too, I shall go mad; the -madness is in me now; but if you let me go down to Calcutta, -carrying my baby step by step, it will, maybe, work itself off; and -I will save, and I will hoard, and I will beg--and I will die, to -get a passage home to England, where our baby may live?' God bless -him! he said I might go; and he saved up his pay, and I saved every -pice I could get for washing or any way; and when Phoebe came, and -I grew strong again, I set off. It was very lonely; through the -thick forests, dark again with their heavy trees--along by the -river's side (but I had been brought up near the Avon in -Warwickshire, so that flowing noise sounded like home)--from -station to station, from Indian village to village, I went along, -carrying my child. I had seen one of the officer's ladies with a -little picture, ma'am--done by a Catholic foreigner, ma'am--of the -Virgin and the little Saviour, ma'am. She had him on her arm, and -her form was softly curled round him, and their cheeks touched. -Well, when I went to bid good-bye to this lady, for whom I had -washed, she cried sadly; for she, too, had lost her children, but -she had not another to save, like me; and I was bold enough to ask -her would she give me that print. And she cried the more, and said -her children were with that little blessed Jesus; and gave it me, -and told me that she had heard it had been painted on the bottom of -a cask, which made it have that round shape. And when my body was -very weary, and my heart was sick (for there were times when I -misdoubted if I could ever reach my home, and there were times when -I thought of my husband, and one time when I thought my baby was -dying), I took out that picture and looked at it, till I could have -thought the mother spoke to me, and comforted me. And the natives -were very kind. We could not understand one another; but they saw -my baby on my breast, and they came out to me, and brought me rice -and milk, and sometimes flowers--I have got some of the flowers -dried. Then, the next morning, I was so tired; and they wanted me -to stay with them--I could tell that--and tried to frighten me from -going into the deep woods, which, indeed, looked very strange and -dark; but it seemed to me as if Death was following me to take my -baby away from me; and as if I must go on, and on--and I thought -how God had cared for mothers ever since the world was made, and -would care for me; so I bade them good-bye, and set off afresh. -And once when my baby was ill, and both she and I needed rest, He -led me to a place where I found a kind Englishman lived, right in -the midst of the natives." - -"And you reached Calcutta safely at last?" - -"Yes, safely! Oh! when I knew I had only two days' journey more -before me, I could not help it, ma'am--it might be idolatry, I -cannot tell--but I was near one of the native temples, and I went -into it with my baby to thank God for His great mercy; for it -seemed to me that where others had prayed before to their God, in -their joy or in their agony, was of itself a sacred place. And I -got as servant to an invalid lady, who grew quite fond of my baby -aboard-ship; and, in two years' time, Sam earned his discharge, and -came home to me, and to our child. Then he had to fix on a trade; -but he knew of none; and once, once upon a time, he had learnt some -tricks from an Indian juggler; so he set up conjuring, and it -answered so well that he took Thomas to help him--as his man, you -know, not as another conjuror, though Thomas has set it up now on -his own hook. But it has been a great help to us that likeness -between the twins, and made a good many tricks go off well that -they made up together. And Thomas is a good brother, only he has -not the fine carriage of my husband, so that I can't think how he -can be taken for Signor Brunoni himself, as he says he is." - -"Poor little Phoebe!" said I, my thoughts going back to the baby -she carried all those hundred miles. - -"Ah! you may say so! I never thought I should have reared her, -though, when she fell ill at Chunderabaddad; but that good, kind -Aga Jenkyns took us in, which I believe was the very saving of -her." - -"Jenkyns!" said I. - -"Yes, Jenkyns. I shall think all people of that name are kind; for -here is that nice old lady who comes every day to take Phoebe a -walk!" - -But an idea had flashed through my head; could the Aga Jenkyns be -the lost Peter? True he was reported by many to be dead. But, -equally true, some had said that he had arrived at the dignity of -Great Lama of Thibet. Miss Matty thought he was alive. I would -make further inquiry. - - - -CHAPTER XII--ENGAGED TO BE MARRIED - - - -Was the "poor Peter" of Cranford the Aga Jenkyns of Chunderabaddad, -or was he not? As somebody says, that was the question. - -In my own home, whenever people had nothing else to do, they blamed -me for want of discretion. Indiscretion was my bug-bear fault. -Everybody has a bug-bear fault, a sort of standing characteristic-- -a piece de resistance for their friends to cut at; and in general -they cut and come again. I was tired of being called indiscreet -and incautious; and I determined for once to prove myself a model -of prudence and wisdom. I would not even hint my suspicions -respecting the Aga. I would collect evidence and carry it home to -lay before my father, as the family friend of the two Miss -Jenkynses. - -In my search after facts, I was often reminded of a description my -father had once given of a ladies' committee that he had had to -preside over. He said he could not help thinking of a passage in -Dickens, which spoke of a chorus in which every man took the tune -he knew best, and sang it to his own satisfaction. So, at this -charitable committee, every lady took the subject uppermost in her -mind, and talked about it to her own great contentment, but not -much to the advancement of the subject they had met to discuss. -But even that committee could have been nothing to the Cranford -ladies when I attempted to gain some clear and definite information -as to poor Peter's height, appearance, and when and where he was -seen and heard of last. For instance, I remember asking Miss Pole -(and I thought the question was very opportune, for I put it when I -met her at a call at Mrs Forrester's, and both the ladies had known -Peter, and I imagined that they might refresh each other's -memories)--I asked Miss Pole what was the very last thing they had -ever heard about him; and then she named the absurd report to which -I have alluded, about his having been elected Great Lama of Thibet; -and this was a signal for each lady to go off on her separate idea. -Mrs Forrester's start was made on the veiled prophet in Lalla -Rookh--whether I thought he was meant for the Great Lama, though -Peter was not so ugly, indeed rather handsome, if he had not been -freckled. I was thankful to see her double upon Peter; but, in a -moment, the delusive lady was off upon Rowland's Kalydor, and the -merits of cosmetics and hair oils in general, and holding forth so -fluently that I turned to listen to Miss Pole, who (through the -llamas, the beasts of burden) had got to Peruvian bonds, and the -share market, and her poor opinion of joint-stock banks in general, -and of that one in particular in which Miss Matty's money was -invested. In vain I put in "When was it--in what year was it that -you heard that Mr Peter was the Great Lama?" They only joined -issue to dispute whether llamas were carnivorous animals or not; in -which dispute they were not quite on fair grounds, as Mrs Forrester -(after they had grown warm and cool again) acknowledged that she -always confused carnivorous and graminivorous together, just as she -did horizontal and perpendicular; but then she apologised for it -very prettily, by saying that in her day the only use people made -of four-syllabled words was to teach how they should be spelt. - -The only fact I gained from this conversation was that certainly -Peter had last been heard of in India, "or that neighbourhood"; and -that this scanty intelligence of his whereabouts had reached -Cranford in the year when Miss Pole had brought her Indian muslin -gown, long since worn out (we washed it and mended it, and traced -its decline and fall into a window-blind before we could go on); -and in a year when Wombwell came to Cranford, because Miss Matty -had wanted to see an elephant in order that she might the better -imagine Peter riding on one; and had seen a boa-constrictor too, -which was more than she wished to imagine in her fancy-pictures of -Peter's locality; and in a year when Miss Jenkyns had learnt some -piece of poetry off by heart, and used to say, at all the Cranford -parties, how Peter was "surveying mankind from China to Peru," -which everybody had thought very grand, and rather appropriate, -because India was between China and Peru, if you took care to turn -the globe to the left instead of the right. - -I suppose all these inquiries of mine, and the consequent curiosity -excited in the minds of my friends, made us blind and deaf to what -was going on around us. It seemed to me as if the sun rose and -shone, and as if the rain rained on Cranford, just as usual, and I -did not notice any sign of the times that could be considered as a -prognostic of any uncommon event; and, to the best of my belief, -not only Miss Matty and Mrs Forrester, but even Miss Pole herself, -whom we looked upon as a kind of prophetess, from the knack she had -of foreseeing things before they came to pass--although she did not -like to disturb her friends by telling them her foreknowledge--even -Miss Pole herself was breathless with astonishment when she came to -tell us of the astounding piece of news. But I must recover -myself; the contemplation of it, even at this distance of time, has -taken away my breath and my grammar, and unless I subdue my -emotion, my spelling will go too. - -We were sitting--Miss Matty and I--much as usual, she in the blue -chintz easy-chair, with her back to the light, and her knitting in -her hand, I reading aloud the St James's Chronicle. A few minutes -more, and we should have gone to make the little alterations in -dress usual before calling-time (twelve o'clock) in Cranford. I -remember the scene and the date well. We had been talking of the -signor's rapid recovery since the warmer weather had set in, and -praising Mr Hoggins's skill, and lamenting his want of refinement -and manner (it seems a curious coincidence that this should have -been our subject, but so it was), when a knock was heard--a -caller's knock--three distinct taps--and we were flying (that is to -say, Miss Matty could not walk very fast, having had a touch of -rheumatism) to our rooms, to change cap and collars, when Miss Pole -arrested us by calling out, as she came up the stairs, "Don't go--I -can't wait--it is not twelve, I know--but never mind your dress--I -must speak to you." We did our best to look as if it was not we -who had made the hurried movement, the sound of which she had -heard; for, of course, we did not like to have it supposed that we -had any old clothes that it was convenient to wear out in the -"sanctuary of home," as Miss Jenkyns once prettily called the back -parlour, where she was tying up preserves. So we threw our -gentility with double force into our manners, and very genteel we -were for two minutes while Miss Pole recovered breath, and excited -our curiosity strongly by lifting up her hands in amazement, and -bringing them down in silence, as if what she had to say was too -big for words, and could only be expressed by pantomime. - -"What do you think, Miss Matty? What DO you think? Lady Glenmire -is to marry--is to be married, I mean--Lady Glenmire--Mr Hoggins-- -Mr Hoggins is going to marry Lady Glenmire!" - -"Marry!" said we. "Marry! Madness!" - -"Marry!" said Miss Pole, with the decision that belonged to her -character. "_I_ said marry! as you do; and I also said, 'What a -fool my lady is going to make of herself!' I could have said -'Madness!' but I controlled myself, for it was in a public shop -that I heard of it. Where feminine delicacy is gone to, I don't -know! You and I, Miss Matty, would have been ashamed to have known -that our marriage was spoken of in a grocer's shop, in the hearing -of shopmen!" - -"But," said Miss Matty, sighing as one recovering from a blow, -"perhaps it is not true. Perhaps we are doing her injustice." - -"No," said Miss Pole. "I have taken care to ascertain that. I -went straight to Mrs Fitz-Adam, to borrow a cookery-book which I -knew she had; and I introduced my congratulations a propos of the -difficulty gentlemen must have in house-keeping; and Mrs Fitz-Adam -bridled up, and said that she believed it was true, though how and -where I could have heard it she did not know. She said her brother -and Lady Glenmire had come to an understanding at last. -'Understanding!' such a coarse word! But my lady will have to come -down to many a want of refinement. I have reason to believe Mr -Hoggins sups on bread-and-cheese and beer every night. - -"Marry!" said Miss Matty once again. "Well! I never thought of -it. Two people that we know going to be married. It's coming very -near!" - -"So near that my heart stopped beating when I heard of it, while -you might have counted twelve," said Miss Pole. - -"One does not know whose turn may come next. Here, in Cranford, -poor Lady Glenmire might have thought herself safe," said Miss -Matty, with a gentle pity in her tones. - -"Bah!" said Miss Pole, with a toss of her head. "Don't you -remember poor dear Captain Brown's song 'Tibbie Fowler,' and the -line - - - -'Set her on the Tintock tap, -The wind will blaw a man till her.'" - - -"That was because 'Tibbie Fowler' was rich, I think." - -"Well! there was a kind of attraction about Lady Glenmire that I, -for one, should be ashamed to have." - -I put in my wonder. "But how can she have fancied Mr Hoggins? I -am not surprised that Mr Hoggins has liked her." - -"Oh! I don't know. Mr Hoggins is rich, and very pleasant- -looking," said Miss Matty, "and very good-tempered and kind- -hearted." - -"She has married for an establishment, that's it. I suppose she -takes the surgery with it," said Miss Pole, with a little dry laugh -at her own joke. But, like many people who think they have made a -severe and sarcastic speech, which yet is clever of its kind, she -began to relax in her grimness from the moment when she made this -allusion to the surgery; and we turned to speculate on the way in -which Mrs Jamieson would receive the news. The person whom she had -left in charge of her house to keep off followers from her maids to -set up a follower of her own! And that follower a man whom Mrs -Jamieson had tabooed as vulgar, and inadmissible to Cranford -society, not merely on account of his name, but because of his -voice, his complexion, his boots, smelling of the stable, and -himself, smelling of drugs. Had he ever been to see Lady Glenmire -at Mrs Jamieson's? Chloride of lime would not purify the house in -its owner's estimation if he had. Or had their interviews been -confined to the occasional meetings in the chamber of the poor sick -conjuror, to whom, with all our sense of the mesalliance, we could -not help allowing that they had both been exceedingly kind? And -now it turned out that a servant of Mrs Jamieson's had been ill, -and Mr Hoggins had been attending her for some weeks. So the wolf -had got into the fold, and now he was carrying off the shepherdess. -What would Mrs Jamieson say? We looked into the darkness of -futurity as a child gazes after a rocket up in the cloudy sky, full -of wondering expectation of the rattle, the discharge, and the -brilliant shower of sparks and light. Then we brought ourselves -down to earth and the present time by questioning each other (being -all equally ignorant, and all equally without the slightest data to -build any conclusions upon) as to when IT would take place? Where? -How much a year Mr Hoggins had? Whether she would drop her title? -And how Martha and the other correct servants in Cranford would -ever be brought to announce a married couple as Lady Glenmire and -Mr Hoggins? But would they be visited? Would Mrs Jamieson let us? -Or must we choose between the Honourable Mrs Jamieson and the -degraded Lady Glenmire? We all liked Lady Glenmire the best. She -was bright, and kind, and sociable, and agreeable; and Mrs Jamieson -was dull, and inert, and pompous, and tiresome. But we had -acknowledged the sway of the latter so long, that it seemed like a -kind of disloyalty now even to meditate disobedience to the -prohibition we anticipated. - -Mrs Forrester surprised us in our darned caps and patched collars; -and we forgot all about them in our eagerness to see how she would -bear the information, which we honourably left to Miss Pole, to -impart, although, if we had been inclined to take unfair advantage, -we might have rushed in ourselves, for she had a most out-of-place -fit of coughing for five minutes after Mrs Forrester entered the -room. I shall never forget the imploring expression of her eyes, -as she looked at us over her pocket-handkerchief. They said, as -plain as words could speak, "Don't let Nature deprive me of the -treasure which is mine, although for a time I can make no use of -it." And we did not. - -Mrs Forrester's surprise was equal to ours; and her sense of injury -rather greater, because she had to feel for her Order, and saw more -fully than we could do how such conduct brought stains on the -aristocracy. - -When she and Miss Pole left us we endeavoured to subside into -calmness; but Miss Matty was really upset by the intelligence she -had heard. She reckoned it up, and it was more than fifteen years -since she had heard of any of her acquaintance going to be married, -with the one exception of Miss Jessie Brown; and, as she said, it -gave her quite a shock, and made her feel as if she could not think -what would happen next. - -I don't know whether it is a fancy of mine, or a real fact, but I -have noticed that, just after the announcement of an engagement in -any set, the unmarried ladies in that set flutter out in an unusual -gaiety and newness of dress, as much as to say, in a tacit and -unconscious manner, "We also are spinsters." Miss Matty and Miss -Pole talked and thought more about bonnets, gowns, caps, and -shawls, during the fortnight that succeeded this call, than I had -known them do for years before. But it might be the spring -weather, for it was a warm and pleasant March; and merinoes and -beavers, and woollen materials of all sorts were but ungracious -receptacles of the bright sun's glancing rays. It had not been -Lady Glenmire's dress that had won Mr Hoggins's heart, for she went -about on her errands of kindness more shabby than ever. Although -in the hurried glimpses I caught of her at church or elsewhere she -appeared rather to shun meeting any of her friends, her face seemed -to have almost something of the flush of youth in it; her lips -looked redder and more trembling full than in their old compressed -state, and her eyes dwelt on all things with a lingering light, as -if she was learning to love Cranford and its belongings. Mr -Hoggins looked broad and radiant, and creaked up the middle aisle -at church in a brand-new pair of top-boots--an audible, as well as -visible, sign of his purposed change of state; for the tradition -went, that the boots he had worn till now were the identical pair -in which he first set out on his rounds in Cranford twenty-five -years ago; only they had been new-pieced, high and low, top and -bottom, heel and sole, black leather and brown leather, more times -than any one could tell. - -None of the ladies in Cranford chose to sanction the marriage by -congratulating either of the parties. We wished to ignore the -whole affair until our liege lady, Mrs Jamieson, returned. Till -she came back to give us our cue, we felt that it would be better -to consider the engagement in the same light as the Queen of -Spain's legs--facts which certainly existed, but the less said -about the better. This restraint upon our tongues--for you see if -we did not speak about it to any of the parties concerned, how -could we get answers to the questions that we longed to ask?--was -beginning to be irksome, and our idea of the dignity of silence was -paling before our curiosity, when another direction was given to -our thoughts, by an announcement on the part of the principal -shopkeeper of Cranford, who ranged the trades from grocer and -cheesemonger to man-milliner, as occasion required, that the spring -fashions were arrived, and would be exhibited on the following -Tuesday at his rooms in High Street. Now Miss Matty had been only -waiting for this before buying herself a new silk gown. I had -offered, it is true, to send to Drumble for patterns, but she had -rejected my proposal, gently implying that she had not forgotten -her disappointment about the sea-green turban. I was thankful that -I was on the spot now, to counteract the dazzling fascination of -any yellow or scarlet silk. - -I must say a word or two here about myself. I have spoken of my -father's old friendship for the Jenkyns family; indeed, I am not -sure if there was not some distant relationship. He had willingly -allowed me to remain all the winter at Cranford, in consideration -of a letter which Miss Matty had written to him about the time of -the panic, in which I suspect she had exaggerated my powers and my -bravery as a defender of the house. But now that the days were -longer and more cheerful, he was beginning to urge the necessity of -my return; and I only delayed in a sort of odd forlorn hope that if -I could obtain any clear information, I might make the account -given by the signora of the Aga Jenkyns tally with that of "poor -Peter," his appearance and disappearance, which I had winnowed out -of the conversation of Miss Pole and Mrs Forrester. - - - -CHAPTER XIII--STOPPED PAYMENT - - - -The very Tuesday morning on which Mr Johnson was going to show the -fashions, the post-woman brought two letters to the house. I say -the post-woman, but I should say the postman's wife. He was a lame -shoemaker, a very clean, honest man, much respected in the town; -but he never brought the letters round except on unusual occasions, -such as Christmas Day or Good Friday; and on those days the -letters, which should have been delivered at eight in the morning, -did not make their appearance until two or three in the afternoon, -for every one liked poor Thomas, and gave him a welcome on these -festive occasions. He used to say, "He was welly stawed wi' -eating, for there were three or four houses where nowt would serve -'em but he must share in their breakfast;" and by the time he had -done his last breakfast, he came to some other friend who was -beginning dinner; but come what might in the way of temptation, Tom -was always sober, civil, and smiling; and, as Miss Jenkyns used to -say, it was a lesson in patience, that she doubted not would call -out that precious quality in some minds, where, but for Thomas, it -might have lain dormant and undiscovered. Patience was certainly -very dormant in Miss Jenkyns's mind. She was always expecting -letters, and always drumming on the table till the post-woman had -called or gone past. On Christmas Day and Good Friday she drummed -from breakfast till church, from church-time till two o'clock-- -unless when the fire wanted stirring, when she invariably knocked -down the fire-irons, and scolded Miss Matty for it. But equally -certain was the hearty welcome and the good dinner for Thomas; Miss -Jenkyns standing over him like a bold dragoon, questioning him as -to his children--what they were doing--what school they went to; -upbraiding him if another was likely to make its appearance, but -sending even the little babies the shilling and the mince-pie which -was her gift to all the children, with half-a-crown in addition for -both father and mother. The post was not half of so much -consequence to dear Miss Matty; but not for the world would she -have diminished Thomas's welcome and his dole, though I could see -that she felt rather shy over the ceremony, which had been regarded -by Miss Jenkyns as a glorious opportunity for giving advice and -benefiting her fellow-creatures. Miss Matty would steal the money -all in a lump into his hand, as if she were ashamed of herself. -Miss Jenkyns gave him each individual coin separate, with a "There! -that's for yourself; that's for Jenny," etc. Miss Matty would even -beckon Martha out of the kitchen while he ate his food: and once, -to my knowledge, winked at its rapid disappearance into a blue -cotton pocket-handkerchief. Miss Jenkyns almost scolded him if he -did not leave a clean plate, however heaped it might have been, and -gave an injunction with every mouthful. - -I have wandered a long way from the two letters that awaited us on -the breakfast-table that Tuesday morning. Mine was from my father. -Miss Matty's was printed. My father's was just a man's letter; I -mean it was very dull, and gave no information beyond that he was -well, that they had had a good deal of rain, that trade was very -stagnant, and there were many disagreeable rumours afloat. He then -asked me if I knew whether Miss Matty still retained her shares in -the Town and County Bank, as there were very unpleasant reports -about it; though nothing more than he had always foreseen, and had -prophesied to Miss Jenkyns years ago, when she would invest their -little property in it--the only unwise step that clever woman had -ever taken, to his knowledge (the only time she ever acted against -his advice, I knew). However, if anything had gone wrong, of -course I was not to think of leaving Miss Matty while I could be of -any use, etc. - -"Who is your letter from, my dear? Mine is a very civil -invitation, signed 'Edwin Wilson,' asking me to attend an important -meeting of the shareholders of the Town and County Bank, to be held -in Drumble, on Thursday the twenty-first. I am sure, it is very -attentive of them to remember me." - -I did not like to hear of this "important meeting," for, though I -did not know much about business, I feared it confirmed what my -father said: however, I thought, ill news always came fast enough, -so I resolved to say nothing about my alarm, and merely told her -that my father was well, and sent his kind regards to her. She -kept turning over and admiring her letter. At last she spoke - - -"I remember their sending one to Deborah just like this; but that I -did not wonder at, for everybody knew she was so clear-headed. I -am afraid I could not help them much; indeed, if they came to -accounts, I should be quite in the way, for I never could do sums -in my head. Deborah, I know, rather wished to go, and went so far -as to order a new bonnet for the occasion: but when the time came -she had a bad cold; so they sent her a very polite account of what -they had done. Chosen a director, I think it was. Do you think -they want me to help them to choose a director? I am sure I should -choose your father at once!' - -"My father has no shares in the bank," said I. - -"Oh, no! I remember. He objected very much to Deborah's buying -any, I believe. But she was quite the woman of business, and -always judged for herself; and here, you see, they have paid eight -per cent. all these years." - -It was a very uncomfortable subject to me, with my half-knowledge; -so I thought I would change the conversation, and I asked at what -time she thought we had better go and see the fashions. "Well, my -dear," she said, "the thing is this: it is not etiquette to go -till after twelve; but then, you see, all Cranford will be there, -and one does not like to be too curious about dress and trimmings -and caps with all the world looking on. It is never genteel to be -over-curious on these occasions. Deborah had the knack of always -looking as if the latest fashion was nothing new to her; a manner -she had caught from Lady Arley, who did see all the new modes in -London, you know. So I thought we would just slip down--for I do -want this morning, soon after breakfast half-a-pound of tea--and -then we could go up and examine the things at our leisure, and see -exactly how my new silk gown must be made; and then, after twelve, -we could go with our minds disengaged, and free from thoughts of -dress." - -We began to talk of Miss Matty's new silk gown. I discovered that -it would be really the first time in her life that she had had to -choose anything of consequence for herself: for Miss Jenkyns had -always been the more decided character, whatever her taste might -have been; and it is astonishing how such people carry the world -before them by the mere force of will. Miss Matty anticipated the -sight of the glossy folds with as much delight as if the five -sovereigns, set apart for the purchase, could buy all the silks in -the shop; and (remembering my own loss of two hours in a toyshop -before I could tell on what wonder to spend a silver threepence) I -was very glad that we were going early, that dear Miss Matty might -have leisure for the delights of perplexity. - -If a happy sea-green could be met with, the gown was to be sea- -green: if not, she inclined to maize, and I to silver gray; and we -discussed the requisite number of breadths until we arrived at the -shop-door. We were to buy the tea, select the silk, and then -clamber up the iron corkscrew stairs that led into what was once a -loft, though now a fashion show-room. - -The young men at Mr Johnson's had on their best looks; and their -best cravats, and pivoted themselves over the counter with -surprising activity. They wanted to show us upstairs at once; but -on the principle of business first and pleasure afterwards, we -stayed to purchase the tea. Here Miss Matty's absence of mind -betrayed itself. If she was made aware that she had been drinking -green tea at any time, she always thought it her duty to lie awake -half through the night afterward (I have known her take it in -ignorance many a time without such effects), and consequently green -tea was prohibited the house; yet to-day she herself asked for the -obnoxious article, under the impression that she was talking about -the silk. However, the mistake was soon rectified; and then the -silks were unrolled in good truth. By this time the shop was -pretty well filled, for it was Cranford market-day, and many of the -farmers and country people from the neighbourhood round came in, -sleeking down their hair, and glancing shyly about, from under -their eyelids, as anxious to take back some notion of the unusual -gaiety to the mistress or the lasses at home, and yet feeling that -they were out of place among the smart shopmen and gay shawls and -summer prints. One honest-looking man, however, made his way up to -the counter at which we stood, and boldly asked to look at a shawl -or two. The other country folk confined themselves to the grocery -side; but our neighbour was evidently too full of some kind -intention towards mistress, wife or daughter, to be shy; and it -soon became a question with me, whether he or Miss Matty would keep -their shopmen the longest time. He thought each shawl more -beautiful than the last; and, as for Miss Matty, she smiled and -sighed over each fresh bale that was brought out; one colour set -off another, and the heap together would, as she said, make even -the rainbow look poor. - -"I am afraid," said she, hesitating, "Whichever I choose I shall -wish I had taken another. Look at this lovely crimson! it would be -so warm in winter. But spring is coming on, you know. I wish I -could have a gown for every season," said she, dropping her voice-- -as we all did in Cranford whenever we talked of anything we wished -for but could not afford. "However," she continued in a louder and -more cheerful tone, "it would give me a great deal of trouble to -take care of them if I had them; so, I think, I'll only take one. -But which must it be, my dear?" - -And now she hovered over a lilac with yellow spots, while I pulled -out a quiet sage-green that had faded into insignificance under the -more brilliant colours, but which was nevertheless a good silk in -its humble way. Our attention was called off to our neighbour. He -had chosen a shawl of about thirty shillings' value; and his face -looked broadly happy, under the anticipation, no doubt, of the -pleasant surprise he would give to some Molly or Jenny at home; he -had tugged a leathern purse out of his breeches-pocket, and had -offered a five-pound note in payment for the shawl, and for some -parcels which had been brought round to him from the grocery -counter; and it was just at this point that he attracted our -notice. The shopman was examining the note with a puzzled, -doubtful air. - -"Town and County Bank! I am not sure, sir, but I believe we have -received a warning against notes issued by this bank only this -morning. I will just step and ask Mr Johnson, sir; but I'm afraid -I must trouble you for payment in cash, or in a note of a different -bank." - -I never saw a man's countenance fall so suddenly into dismay and -bewilderment. It was almost piteous to see the rapid change. - -"Dang it!" said he, striking his fist down on the table, as if to -try which was the harder, "the chap talks as if notes and gold were -to be had for the picking up." - -Miss Matty had forgotten her silk gown in her interest for the man. -I don't think she had caught the name of the bank, and in my -nervous cowardice I was anxious that she should not; and so I began -admiring the yellow-spotted lilac gown that I had been utterly -condemning only a minute before. But it was of no use. - -"What bank was it? I mean, what bank did your note belong to?" - -"Town and County Bank." - -"Let me see it," said she quietly to the shopman, gently taking it -out of his hand, as he brought it back to return it to the farmer. - -Mr Johnson was very sorry, but, from information he had received, -the notes issued by that bank were little better than waste paper. - -"I don't understand it," said Miss Matty to me in a low voice. -"That is our bank, is it not?--the Town and County Bank?" - -"Yes," said I. "This lilac silk will just match the ribbons in -your new cap, I believe," I continued, holding up the folds so as -to catch the light, and wishing that the man would make haste and -be gone, and yet having a new wonder, that had only just sprung up, -how far it was wise or right in me to allow Miss Matty to make this -expensive purchase, if the affairs of the bank were really so bad -as the refusal of the note implied. - -But Miss Matty put on the soft dignified manner, peculiar to her, -rarely used, and yet which became her so well, and laying her hand -gently on mine, she said - - -"Never mind the silks for a few minutes, dear. I don't understand -you, sir," turning now to the shopman, who had been attending to -the farmer. "Is this a forged note?" - -"Oh, no, ma'am. It is a true note of its kind; but you see, ma'am, -it is a joint-stock bank, and there are reports out that it is -likely to break. Mr Johnson is only doing his duty, ma'am, as I am -sure Mr Dobson knows." - -But Mr Dobson could not respond to the appealing bow by any -answering smile. He was turning the note absently over in his -fingers, looking gloomily enough at the parcel containing the -lately-chosen shawl. - -"It's hard upon a poor man," said he, "as earns every farthing with -the sweat of his brow. However, there's no help for it. You must -take back your shawl, my man; Lizzle must go on with her cloak for -a while. And yon figs for the little ones--I promised them to 'em- --I'll take them; but the 'bacco, and the other things" - - -"I will give you five sovereigns for your note, my good man," said -Miss Matty. "I think there is some great mistake about it, for I -am one of the shareholders, and I'm sure they would have told me if -things had not been going on right." - -The shopman whispered a word or two across the table to Miss Matty. -She looked at him with a dubious air. - -"Perhaps so," said she. "But I don't pretend to understand -business; I only know that if it is going to fail, and if honest -people are to lose their money because they have taken our notes--I -can't explain myself," said she, suddenly becoming aware that she -had got into a long sentence with four people for audience; "only I -would rather exchange my gold for the note, if you please," turning -to the farmer, "and then you can take your wife the shawl. It is -only going without my gown a few days longer," she continued, -speaking to me. "Then, I have no doubt, everything will be cleared -up." - -"But if it is cleared up the wrong way?" said I. - -"Why, then it will only have been common honesty in me, as a -shareholder, to have given this good man the money. I am quite -clear about it in my own mind; but, you know, I can never speak -quite as comprehensibly as others can, only you must give me your -note, Mr Dobson, if you please, and go on with your purchases with -these sovereigns." - -The man looked at her with silent gratitude--too awkward to put his -thanks into words; but he hung back for a minute or two, fumbling -with his note. - -"I'm loth to make another one lose instead of me, if it is a loss; -but, you see, five pounds is a deal of money to a man with a -family; and, as you say, ten to one in a day or two the note will -be as good as gold again." - -"No hope of that, my friend," said the shopman. - -"The more reason why I should take it," said Miss Matty quietly. -She pushed her sovereigns towards the man, who slowly laid his note -down in exchange. "Thank you. I will wait a day or two before I -purchase any of these silks; perhaps you will then have a greater -choice. My dear, will you come upstairs?" - -We inspected the fashions with as minute and curious an interest as -if the gown to be made after them had been bought. I could not see -that the little event in the shop below had in the least damped -Miss Matty's curiosity as to the make of sleeves or the sit of -skirts. She once or twice exchanged congratulations with me on our -private and leisurely view of the bonnets and shawls; but I was, -all the time, not so sure that our examination was so utterly -private, for I caught glimpses of a figure dodging behind the -cloaks and mantles; and, by a dexterous move, I came face to face -with Miss Pole, also in morning costume (the principal feature of -which was her being without teeth, and wearing a veil to conceal -the deficiency), come on the same errand as ourselves. But she -quickly took her departure, because, as she said, she had a bad -headache, and did not feel herself up to conversation. - -As we came down through the shop, the civil Mr Johnson was awaiting -us; he had been informed of the exchange of the note for gold, and -with much good feeling and real kindness, but with a little want of -tact, he wished to condole with Miss Matty, and impress upon her -the true state of the case. I could only hope that he had heard an -exaggerated rumour for he said that her shares were worse than -nothing, and that the bank could not pay a shilling in the pound. -I was glad that Miss Matty seemed still a little incredulous; but I -could not tell how much of this was real or assumed, with that -self-control which seemed habitual to ladies of Miss Matty's -standing in Cranford, who would have thought their dignity -compromised by the slightest expression of surprise, dismay, or any -similar feeling to an inferior in station, or in a public shop. -However, we walked home very silently. I am ashamed to say, I -believe I was rather vexed and annoyed at Miss Matty's conduct in -taking the note to herself so decidedly. I had so set my heart -upon her having a new silk gown, which she wanted sadly; in general -she was so undecided anybody might turn her round; in this case I -had felt that it was no use attempting it, but I was not the less -put out at the result. - -Somehow, after twelve o'clock, we both acknowledged to a sated -curiosity about the fashions, and to a certain fatigue of body -(which was, in fact, depression of mind) that indisposed us to go -out again. But still we never spoke of the note; till, all at -once, something possessed me to ask Miss Matty if she would think -it her duty to offer sovereigns for all the notes of the Town and -County Bank she met with? I could have bitten my tongue out the -minute I had said it. She looked up rather sadly, and as if I had -thrown a new perplexity into her already distressed mind; and for a -minute or two she did not speak. Then she said--my own dear Miss -Matty--without a shade of reproach in her voice - - -"My dear, I never feel as if my mind was what people call very -strong; and it's often hard enough work for me to settle what I -ought to do with the case right before me. I was very thankful to- --I was very thankful, that I saw my duty this morning, with the -poor man standing by me; but its rather a strain upon me to keep -thinking and thinking what I should do if such and such a thing -happened; and, I believe, I had rather wait and see what really -does come; and I don't doubt I shall be helped then if I don't -fidget myself, and get too anxious beforehand. You know, love, I'm -not like Deborah. If Deborah had lived, I've no doubt she would -have seen after them, before they had got themselves into this -state." - -We had neither of us much appetite for dinner, though we tried to -talk cheerfully about indifferent things. When we returned into -the drawing-room, Miss Matty unlocked her desk and began to look -over her account-books. I was so penitent for what I had said in -the morning, that I did not choose to take upon myself the -presumption to suppose that I could assist her; I rather left her -alone, as, with puzzled brow, her eye followed her pen up and down -the ruled page. By-and-by she shut the book, locked the desk, and -came and drew a chair to mine, where I sat in moody sorrow over the -fire. I stole my hand into hers; she clasped it, but did not speak -a word. At last she said, with forced composure in her voice, "If -that bank goes wrong, I shall lose one hundred and forty-nine -pounds thirteen shillings and fourpence a year; I shall only have -thirteen pounds a year left." I squeezed her hand hard and tight. -I did not know what to say. Presently (it was too dark to see her -face) I felt her fingers work convulsively in my grasp; and I knew -she was going to speak again. I heard the sobs in her voice as she -said, "I hope it's not wrong--not wicked--but, oh! I am so glad -poor Deborah is spared this. She could not have borne to come down -in the world--she had such a noble, lofty spirit." - -This was all she said about the sister who had insisted upon -investing their little property in that unlucky bank. We were -later in lighting the candle than usual that night, and until that -light shamed us into speaking, we sat together very silently and -sadly. - -However, we took to our work after tea with a kind of forced -cheerfulness (which soon became real as far as it went), talking of -that never-ending wonder, Lady Glenmire's engagement. Miss Matty -was almost coming round to think it a good thing. - -"I don't mean to deny that men are troublesome in a house. I don't -judge from my own experience, for my father was neatness itself, -and wiped his shoes on coming in as carefully as any woman; but -still a man has a sort of knowledge of what should be done in -difficulties, that it is very pleasant to have one at hand ready to -lean upon. Now, Lady Glenmire, instead of being tossed about, and -wondering where she is to settle, will be certain of a home among -pleasant and kind people, such as our good Miss Pole and Mrs -Forrester. And Mr Hoggins is really a very personable man; and as -for his manners, why, if they are not very polished, I have known -people with very good hearts and very clever minds too, who were -not what some people reckoned refined, but who were both true and -tender." - -She fell off into a soft reverie about Mr Holbrook, and I did not -interrupt her, I was so busy maturing a plan I had had in my mind -for some days, but which this threatened failure of the bank had -brought to a crisis. That night, after Miss Matty went to bed, I -treacherously lighted the candle again, and sat down in the -drawing-room to compose a letter to the Aga Jenkyns, a letter which -should affect him if he were Peter, and yet seem a mere statement -of dry facts if he were a stranger. The church clock pealed out -two before I had done. - -The next morning news came, both official and otherwise, that the -Town and County Bank had stopped payment. Miss Matty was ruined. - -She tried to speak quietly to me; but when she came to the actual -fact that she would have but about five shillings a week to live -upon, she could not restrain a few tears. - -"I am not crying for myself, dear," said she, wiping them away; "I -believe I am crying for the very silly thought of how my mother -would grieve if she could know; she always cared for us so much -more than for herself. But many a poor person has less, and I am -not very extravagant, and, thank God, when the neck of mutton, and -Martha's wages, and the rent are paid, I have not a farthing owing. -Poor Martha! I think she'll be sorry to leave me." - -Miss Matty smiled at me through her tears, and she would fain have -had me see only the smile, not the tears. - - - -CHAPTER XIV--FRIENDS IN NEED - - - -It was an example to me, and I fancy it might be to many others, to -see how immediately Miss Matty set about the retrenchment which she -knew to be right under her altered circumstances. While she went -down to speak to Martha, and break the intelligence to her, I stole -out with my letter to the Aga Jenkyns, and went to the signor's -lodgings to obtain the exact address. I bound the signora to -secrecy; and indeed her military manners had a degree of shortness -and reserve in them which made her always say as little as -possible, except when under the pressure of strong excitement. -Moreover (which made my secret doubly sure), the signor was now so -far recovered as to be looking forward to travelling and conjuring -again in the space of a few days, when he, his wife, and little -Phoebe would leave Cranford. Indeed, I found him looking over a -great black and red placard, in which the Signor Brunoni's -accomplishments were set forth, and to which only the name of the -town where he would next display them was wanting. He and his wife -were so much absorbed in deciding where the red letters would come -in with most effect (it might have been the Rubric for that -matter), that it was some time before I could get my question asked -privately, and not before I had given several decisions, the which -I questioned afterwards with equal wisdom of sincerity as soon as -the signor threw in his doubts and reasons on the important -subject. At last I got the address, spelt by sound, and very queer -it looked. I dropped it in the post on my way home, and then for a -minute I stood looking at the wooden pane with a gaping slit which -divided me from the letter but a moment ago in my hand. It was -gone from me like life, never to be recalled. It would get tossed -about on the sea, and stained with sea-waves perhaps, and be -carried among palm-trees, and scented with all tropical fragrance; -the little piece of paper, but an hour ago so familiar and -commonplace, had set out on its race to the strange wild countries -beyond the Ganges! But I could not afford to lose much time on -this speculation. I hastened home, that Miss Matty might not miss -me. Martha opened the door to me, her face swollen with crying. -As soon as she saw me she burst out afresh, and taking hold of my -arm she pulled me in, and banged the door to, in order to ask me if -indeed it was all true that Miss Matty had been saying. - -"I'll never leave her! No; I won't. I telled her so, and said I -could not think how she could find in her heart to give me warning. -I could not have had the face to do it, if I'd been her. I might -ha' been just as good for nothing as Mrs Fitz-Adam's Rosy, who -struck for wages after living seven years and a half in one place. -I said I was not one to go and serve Mammon at that rate; that I -knew when I'd got a good missus, if she didn't know when she'd got -a good servant" - - -"But, Martha," said I, cutting in while she wiped her eyes. - -"Don't, 'but Martha' me," she replied to my deprecatory tone. - -"Listen to reason" - - -"I'll not listen to reason," she said, now in full possession of -her voice, which had been rather choked with sobbing. "Reason -always means what someone else has got to say. Now I think what -I've got to say is good enough reason; but reason or not, I'll say -it, and I'll stick to it. I've money in the Savings Bank, and I've -a good stock of clothes, and I'm not going to leave Miss Matty. -No, not if she gives me warning every hour in the day!" - -She put her arms akimbo, as much as to say she defied me; and, -indeed, I could hardly tell how to begin to remonstrate with her, -so much did I feel that Miss Matty, in her increasing infirmity, -needed the attendance of this kind and faithful woman. - -"Well"--said I at last. - -"I'm thankful you begin with 'well!' If you'd have begun with -'but,' as you did afore, I'd not ha' listened to you. Now you may -go on." - -"I know you would be a great loss to Miss Matty, Martha" - - -"I telled her so. A loss she'd never cease to be sorry for," broke -in Martha triumphantly. - -"Still, she will have so little--so very little--to live upon, that -I don't see just now how she could find you food--she will even be -pressed for her own. I tell you this, Martha, because I feel you -are like a friend to dear Miss Matty, but you know she might not -like to have it spoken about." - -Apparently this was even a blacker view of the subject than Miss -Matty had presented to her, for Martha just sat down on the first -chair that came to hand, and cried out loud (we had been standing -in the kitchen). - -At last she put her apron down, and looking me earnestly in the -face, asked, "Was that the reason Miss Matty wouldn't order a -pudding to-day? She said she had no great fancy for sweet things, -and you and she would just have a mutton chop. But I'll be up to -her. Never you tell, but I'll make her a pudding, and a pudding -she'll like, too, and I'll pay for it myself; so mind you see she -eats it. Many a one has been comforted in their sorrow by seeing a -good dish come upon the table." - -I was rather glad that Martha's energy had taken the immediate and -practical direction of pudding-making, for it staved off the -quarrelsome discussion as to whether she should or should not leave -Miss Matty's service. She began to tie on a clean apron, and -otherwise prepare herself for going to the shop for the butter, -eggs, and what else she might require. She would not use a scrap -of the articles already in the house for her cookery, but went to -an old tea-pot in which her private store of money was deposited, -and took out what she wanted. - -I found Miss Matty very quiet, and not a little sad; but by-and-by -she tried to smile for my sake. It was settled that I was to write -to my father, and ask him to come over and hold a consultation, and -as soon as this letter was despatched we began to talk over future -plans. Miss Matty's idea was to take a single room, and retain as -much of her furniture as would be necessary to fit up this, and -sell the rest, and there to quietly exist upon what would remain -after paying the rent. For my part, I was more ambitious and less -contented. I thought of all the things by which a woman, past -middle age, and with the education common to ladies fifty years -ago, could earn or add to a living without materially losing caste; -but at length I put even this last clause on one side, and wondered -what in the world Miss Matty could do. - -Teaching was, of course, the first thing that suggested itself. If -Miss Matty could teach children anything, it would throw her among -the little elves in whom her soul delighted. I ran over her -accomplishments. Once upon a time I had heard her say she could -play "Ah! vous dirai-je, maman?" on the piano, but that was long, -long ago; that faint shadow of musical acquirement had died out -years before. She had also once been able to trace out patterns -very nicely for muslin embroidery, by dint of placing a piece of -silver paper over the design to be copied, and holding both against -the window-pane while she marked the scollop and eyelet-holes. But -that was her nearest approach to the accomplishment of drawing, and -I did not think it would go very far. Then again, as to the -branches of a solid English education--fancy work and the use of -the globes--such as the mistress of the Ladies' Seminary, to which -all the tradespeople in Cranford sent their daughters, professed to -teach. Miss Matty's eyes were failing her, and I doubted if she -could discover the number of threads in a worsted-work pattern, or -rightly appreciate the different shades required for Queen -Adelaide's face in the loyal wool-work now fashionable in Cranford. -As for the use of the globes, I had never been able to find it out -myself, so perhaps I was not a good judge of Miss Matty's -capability of instructing in this branch of education; but it -struck me that equators and tropics, and such mystical circles, -were very imaginary lines indeed to her, and that she looked upon -the signs of the Zodiac as so many remnants of the Black Art. - -What she piqued herself upon, as arts in which she excelled, was -making candle-lighters, or "spills" (as she preferred calling -them), of coloured paper, cut so as to resemble feathers, and -knitting garters in a variety of dainty stitches. I had once said, -on receiving a present of an elaborate pair, that I should feel -quite tempted to drop one of them in the street, in order to have -it admired; but I found this little joke (and it was a very little -one) was such a distress to her sense of propriety, and was taken -with such anxious, earnest alarm, lest the temptation might some -day prove too strong for me, that I quite regretted having ventured -upon it. A present of these delicately-wrought garters, a bunch of -gay "spills," or a set of cards on which sewing-silk was wound in a -mystical manner, were the well-known tokens of Miss Matty's favour. -But would any one pay to have their children taught these arts? or, -indeed, would Miss Matty sell, for filthy lucre, the knack and the -skill with which she made trifles of value to those who loved her? - -I had to come down to reading, writing, and arithmetic; and, in -reading the chapter every morning, she always coughed before coming -to long words. I doubted her power of getting through a -genealogical chapter, with any number of coughs. Writing she did -well and delicately--but spelling! She seemed to think that the -more out-of-the-way this was, and the more trouble it cost her, the -greater the compliment she paid to her correspondent; and words -that she would spell quite correctly in her letters to me became -perfect enigmas when she wrote to my father. - -No! there was nothing she could teach to the rising generation of -Cranford, unless they had been quick learners and ready imitators -of her patience, her humility, her sweetness, her quiet contentment -with all that she could not do. I pondered and pondered until -dinner was announced by Martha, with a face all blubbered and -swollen with crying. - -Miss Matty had a few little peculiarities which Martha was apt to -regard as whims below her attention, and appeared to consider as -childish fancies of which an old lady of fifty-eight should try and -cure herself. But to-day everything was attended to with the most -careful regard. The bread was cut to the imaginary pattern of -excellence that existed in Miss Matty's mind, as being the way -which her mother had preferred, the curtain was drawn so as to -exclude the dead brick wall of a neighbour's stable, and yet left -so as to show every tender leaf of the poplar which was bursting -into spring beauty. Martha's tone to Miss Matty was just such as -that good, rough-spoken servant usually kept sacred for little -children, and which I had never heard her use to any grown-up -person. - -I had forgotten to tell Miss Matty about the pudding, and I was -afraid she might not do justice to it, for she had evidently very -little appetite this day; so I seized the opportunity of letting -her into the secret while Martha took away the meat. Miss Matty's -eyes filled with tears, and she could not speak, either to express -surprise or delight, when Martha returned bearing it aloft, made in -the most wonderful representation of a lion couchant that ever was -moulded. Martha's face gleamed with triumph as she set it down -before Miss Matty with an exultant "There!" Miss Matty wanted to -speak her thanks, but could not; so she took Martha's hand and -shook it warmly, which set Martha off crying, and I myself could -hardly keep up the necessary composure. Martha burst out of the -room, and Miss Matty had to clear her voice once or twice before -she could speak. At last she said, "I should like to keep this -pudding under a glass shade, my dear!" and the notion of the lion -couchant, with his currant eyes, being hoisted up to the place of -honour on a mantelpiece, tickled my hysterical fancy, and I began -to laugh, which rather surprised Miss Matty. - -"I am sure, dear, I have seen uglier things under a glass shade -before now," said she. - -So had I, many a time and oft, and I accordingly composed my -countenance (and now I could hardly keep from crying), and we both -fell to upon the pudding, which was indeed excellent--only every -morsel seemed to choke us, our hearts were so full. - -We had too much to think about to talk much that afternoon. It -passed over very tranquilly. But when the tea-urn was brought in a -new thought came into my head. Why should not Miss Matty sell tea- --be an agent to the East India Tea Company which then existed? I -could see no objections to this plan, while the advantages were -many--always supposing that Miss Matty could get over the -degradation of condescending to anything like trade. Tea was -neither greasy nor sticky--grease and stickiness being two of the -qualities which Miss Matty could not endure. No shop-window would -be required. A small, genteel notification of her being licensed -to sell tea would, it is true, be necessary, but I hoped that it -could be placed where no one would see it. Neither was tea a heavy -article, so as to tax Miss Matty's fragile strength. The only -thing against my plan was the buying and selling involved. - -While I was giving but absent answers to the questions Miss Matty -was putting--almost as absently--we heard a clumping sound on the -stairs, and a whispering outside the door, which indeed once opened -and shut as if by some invisible agency. After a little while -Martha came in, dragging after her a great tall young man, all -crimson with shyness, and finding his only relief in perpetually -sleeking down his hair. - -"Please, ma'am, he's only Jem Hearn," said Martha, by way of an -introduction; and so out of breath was she that I imagine she had -had some bodily struggle before she could overcome his reluctance -to be presented on the courtly scene of Miss Matilda Jenkyns's -drawing-room. - -"And please, ma'am, he wants to marry me off-hand. And please, -ma'am, we want to take a lodger--just one quiet lodger, to make our -two ends meet; and we'd take any house conformable; and, oh dear -Miss Matty, if I may be so bold, would you have any objections to -lodging with us? Jem wants it as much as I do." [To Jem ]--"You -great oaf! why can't you back me!--But he does want it all the -same, very bad--don't you, Jem?--only, you see, he's dazed at being -called on to speak before quality." - -"It's not that," broke in Jem. "It's that you've taken me all on a -sudden, and I didn't think for to get married so soon--and such -quick words does flabbergast a man. It's not that I'm against it, -ma'am" (addressing Miss Matty), "only Martha has such quick ways -with her when once she takes a thing into her head; and marriage, -ma'am--marriage nails a man, as one may say. I dare say I shan't -mind it after it's once over." - -"Please, ma'am," said Martha--who had plucked at his sleeve, and -nudged him with her elbow, and otherwise tried to interrupt him all -the time he had been speaking--"don't mind him, he'll come to; -'twas only last night he was an-axing me, and an-axing me, and all -the more because I said I could not think of it for years to come, -and now he's only taken aback with the suddenness of the joy; but -you know, Jem, you are just as full as me about wanting a lodger." -(Another great nudge.) - -"Ay! if Miss Matty would lodge with us--otherwise I've no mind to -be cumbered with strange folk in the house," said Jem, with a want -of tact which I could see enraged Martha, who was trying to -represent a lodger as the great object they wished to obtain, and -that, in fact, Miss Matty would be smoothing their path and -conferring a favour, if she would only come and live with them. - -Miss Matty herself was bewildered by the pair; their, or rather -Martha's sudden resolution in favour of matrimony staggered her, -and stood between her and the contemplation of the plan which -Martha had at heart. Miss Matty began - - -"Marriage is a very solemn thing, Martha." - -"It is indeed, ma'am," quoth Jem. "Not that I've no objections to -Martha." - -"You've never let me a-be for asking me for to fix when I would be -married," said Martha--her face all a-fire, and ready to cry with -vexation--"and now you're shaming me before my missus and all." - -"Nay, now! Martha don't ee! don't ee! only a man likes to have -breathing-time," said Jem, trying to possess himself of her hand, -but in vain. Then seeing that she was more seriously hurt than he -had imagined, he seemed to try to rally his scattered faculties, -and with more straightforward dignity than, ten minutes before, I -should have thought it possible for him to assume, he turned to -Miss Matty, and said, "I hope, ma'am, you know that I am bound to -respect every one who has been kind to Martha. I always looked on -her as to be my wife--some time; and she has often and often spoken -of you as the kindest lady that ever was; and though the plain -truth is, I would not like to be troubled with lodgers of the -common run, yet if, ma'am, you'd honour us by living with us, I'm -sure Martha would do her best to make you comfortable; and I'd keep -out of your way as much as I could, which I reckon would be the -best kindness such an awkward chap as me could do." - -Miss Matty had been very busy with taking off her spectacles, -wiping them, and replacing them; but all she could say was, "Don't -let any thought of me hurry you into marriage: pray don't. -Marriage is such a very solemn thing!" - -"But Miss Matilda will think of your plan, Martha," said I, struck -with the advantages that it offered, and unwilling to lose the -opportunity of considering about it. "And I'm sure neither she nor -I can ever forget your kindness; nor your's either, Jem." - -"Why, yes, ma'am! I'm sure I mean kindly, though I'm a bit -fluttered by being pushed straight ahead into matrimony, as it -were, and mayn't express myself conformable. But I'm sure I'm -willing enough, and give me time to get accustomed; so, Martha, -wench, what's the use of crying so, and slapping me if I come -near?" - -This last was sotto voce, and had the effect of making Martha -bounce out of the room, to be followed and soothed by her lover. -Whereupon Miss Matty sat down and cried very heartily, and -accounted for it by saying that the thought of Martha being married -so soon gave her quite a shock, and that she should never forgive -herself if she thought she was hurrying the poor creature. I think -my pity was more for Jem, of the two; but both Miss Matty and I -appreciated to the full the kindness of the honest couple, although -we said little about this, and a good deal about the chances and -dangers of matrimony. - -The next morning, very early, I received a note from Miss Pole, so -mysteriously wrapped up, and with so many seals on it to secure -secrecy, that I had to tear the paper before I could unfold it. -And when I came to the writing I could hardly understand the -meaning, it was so involved and oracular. I made out, however, -that I was to go to Miss Pole's at eleven o'clock; the number -ELEVEN being written in full length as well as in numerals, and -A.M. twice dashed under, as if I were very likely to come at eleven -at night, when all Cranford was usually a-bed and asleep by ten. -There was no signature except Miss Pole's initials reversed, P.E.; -but as Martha had given me the note, "with Miss Pole's kind -regards," it needed no wizard to find out who sent it; and if the -writer's name was to be kept secret, it was very well that I was -alone when Martha delivered it. - -I went as requested to Miss Pole's. The door was opened to me by -her little maid Lizzy in Sunday trim, as if some grand event was -impending over this work-day. And the drawing-room upstairs was -arranged in accordance with this idea. The table was set out with -the best green card-cloth, and writing materials upon it. On the -little chiffonier was a tray with a newly-decanted bottle of -cowslip wine, and some ladies'-finger biscuits. Miss Pole herself -was in solemn array, as if to receive visitors, although it was -only eleven o'clock. Mrs Forrester was there, crying quietly and -sadly, and my arrival seemed only to call forth fresh tears. -Before we had finished our greetings, performed with lugubrious -mystery of demeanour, there was another rat-tat-tat, and Mrs Fitz- -Adam appeared, crimson with walking and excitement. It seemed as -if this was all the company expected; for now Miss Pole made -several demonstrations of being about to open the business of the -meeting, by stirring the fire, opening and shutting the door, and -coughing and blowing her nose. Then she arranged us all round the -table, taking care to place me opposite to her; and last of all, -she inquired of me if the sad report was true, as she feared it -was, that Miss Matty had lost all her fortune? - -Of course, I had but one answer to make; and I never saw more -unaffected sorrow depicted on any countenances than I did there on -the three before me. - -I wish Mrs Jamieson was here!" said Mrs Forrester at last; but to -judge from Mrs Fitz-Adam's face, she could not second the wish. - -"But without Mrs Jamieson," said Miss Pole, with just a sound of -offended merit in her voice, "we, the ladies of Cranford, in my -drawing-room assembled, can resolve upon something. I imagine we -are none of us what may be called rich, though we all possess a -genteel competency, sufficient for tastes that are elegant and -refined, and would not, if they could, be vulgarly ostentatious." -(Here I observed Miss Pole refer to a small card concealed in her -hand, on which I imagine she had put down a few notes.) - -"Miss Smith," she continued, addressing me (familiarly known as -"Mary" to all the company assembled, but this was a state -occasion), "I have conversed in private--I made it my business to -do so yesterday afternoon--with these ladies on the misfortune -which has happened to our friend, and one and all of us have agreed -that while we have a superfluity, it is not only a duty, but a -pleasure--a true pleasure, Mary!"--her voice was rather choked just -here, and she had to wipe her spectacles before she could go on-- -"to give what we can to assist her--Miss Matilda Jenkyns. Only in -consideration of the feelings of delicate independence existing in -the mind of every refined female"--I was sure she had got back to -the card now--"we wish to contribute our mites in a secret and -concealed manner, so as not to hurt the feelings I have referred -to. And our object in requesting you to meet us this morning is -that, believing you are the daughter--that your father is, in fact, -her confidential adviser, in all pecuniary matters, we imagined -that, by consulting with him, you might devise some mode in which -our contribution could be made to appear the legal due which Miss -Matilda Jenkyns ought to receive from-- Probably your father, -knowing her investments, can fill up the blank." - -Miss Pole concluded her address, and looked round for approval and -agreement. - -"I have expressed your meaning, ladies, have I not? And while Miss -Smith considers what reply to make, allow me to offer you some -little refreshment." - -I had no great reply to make: I had more thankfulness at my heart -for their kind thoughts than I cared to put into words; and so I -only mumbled out something to the effect "that I would name what -Miss Pole had said to my father, and that if anything could be -arranged for dear Miss Matty,"--and here I broke down utterly, and -had to be refreshed with a glass of cowslip wine before I could -check the crying which had been repressed for the last two or three -days. The worst was, all the ladies cried in concert. Even Miss -Pole cried, who had said a hundred times that to betray emotion -before any one was a sign of weakness and want of self-control. -She recovered herself into a slight degree of impatient anger, -directed against me, as having set them all off; and, moreover, I -think she was vexed that I could not make a speech back in return -for hers; and if I had known beforehand what was to be said, and -had a card on which to express the probable feelings that would -rise in my heart, I would have tried to gratify her. As it was, -Mrs Forrester was the person to speak when we had recovered our -composure. - -"I don't mind, among friends, stating that I--no! I'm not poor -exactly, but I don't think I'm what you may call rich; I wish I -were, for dear Miss Matty's sake--but, if you please, I'll write -down in a sealed paper what I can give. I only wish it was more; -my dear Mary, I do indeed." - -Now I saw why paper, pens, and ink were provided. Every lady wrote -down the sum she could give annually, signed the paper, and sealed -it mysteriously. If their proposal was acceded to, my father was -to be allowed to open the papers, under pledge of secrecy. If not, -they were to be returned to their writers. - -When the ceremony had been gone through, I rose to depart; but each -lady seemed to wish to have a private conference with me. Miss -Pole kept me in the drawing-room to explain why, in Mrs Jamieson's -absence, she had taken the lead in this "movement," as she was -pleased to call it, and also to inform me that she had heard from -good sources that Mrs Jamieson was coming home directly in a state -of high displeasure against her sister-in-law, who was forthwith to -leave her house, and was, she believed, to return to Edinburgh that -very afternoon. Of course this piece of intelligence could not be -communicated before Mrs Fitz-Adam, more especially as Miss Pole was -inclined to think that Lady Glenmire's engagement to Mr Hoggins -could not possibly hold against the blaze of Mrs Jamieson's -displeasure. A few hearty inquiries after Miss Matty's health -concluded my interview with Miss Pole. - -On coming downstairs I found Mrs Forrester waiting for me at the -entrance to the dining-parlour; she drew me in, and when the door -was shut, she tried two or three times to begin on some subject, -which was so unapproachable apparently, that I began to despair of -our ever getting to a clear understanding. At last out it came; -the poor old lady trembling all the time as if it were a great -crime which she was exposing to daylight, in telling me how very, -very little she had to live upon; a confession which she was -brought to make from a dread lest we should think that the small -contribution named in her paper bore any proportion to her love and -regard for Miss Matty. And yet that sum which she so eagerly -relinquished was, in truth, more than a twentieth part of what she -had to live upon, and keep house, and a little serving-maid, all as -became one born a Tyrrell. And when the whole income does not -nearly amount to a hundred pounds, to give up a twentieth of it -will necessitate many careful economies, and many pieces of self- -denial, small and insignificant in the world's account, but bearing -a different value in another account-book that I have heard of. -She did so wish she was rich, she said, and this wish she kept -repeating, with no thought of herself in it, only with a longing, -yearning desire to be able to heap up Miss Matty's measure of -comforts. - -It was some time before I could console her enough to leave her; -and then, on quitting the house, I was waylaid by Mrs Fitz-Adam, -who had also her confidence to make of pretty nearly the opposite -description. She had not liked to put down all that she could -afford and was ready to give. She told me she thought she never -could look Miss Matty in the face again if she presumed to be -giving her so much as she should like to do. "Miss Matty!" -continued she, "that I thought was such a fine young lady when I -was nothing but a country girl, coming to market with eggs and -butter and such like things. For my father, though well-to-do, -would always make me go on as my mother had done before me, and I -had to come into Cranford every Saturday, and see after sales, and -prices, and what not. And one day, I remember, I met Miss Matty in -the lane that leads to Combehurst; she was walking on the footpath, -which, you know, is raised a good way above the road, and a -gentleman rode beside her, and was talking to her, and she was -looking down at some primroses she had gathered, and pulling them -all to pieces, and I do believe she was crying. But after she had -passed, she turned round and ran after me to ask--oh, so kindly-- -about my poor mother, who lay on her death-bed; and when I cried -she took hold of my hand to comfort me--and the gentleman waiting -for her all the time--and her poor heart very full of something, I -am sure; and I thought it such an honour to be spoken to in that -pretty way by the rector's daughter, who visited at Arley Hall. I -have loved her ever since, though perhaps I'd no right to do it; -but if you can think of any way in which I might be allowed to give -a little more without any one knowing it, I should be so much -obliged to you, my dear. And my brother would be delighted to -doctor her for nothing--medicines, leeches, and all. I know that -he and her ladyship (my dear, I little thought in the days I was -telling you of that I should ever come to be sister-in-law to a -ladyship!) would do anything for her. We all would." - -I told her I was quite sure of it, and promised all sorts of things -in my anxiety to get home to Miss Matty, who might well be -wondering what had become of me--absent from her two hours without -being able to account for it. She had taken very little note of -time, however, as she had been occupied in numberless little -arrangements preparatory to the great step of giving up her house. -It was evidently a relief to her to be doing something in the way -of retrenchment, for, as she said, whenever she paused to think, -the recollection of the poor fellow with his bad five-pound note -came over her, and she felt quite dishonest; only if it made her so -uncomfortable, what must it not be doing to the directors of the -bank, who must know so much more of the misery consequent upon this -failure? She almost made me angry by dividing her sympathy between -these directors (whom she imagined overwhelmed by self-reproach for -the mismanagement of other people's affairs) and those who were -suffering like her. Indeed, of the two, she seemed to think -poverty a lighter burden than self-reproach; but I privately -doubted if the directors would agree with her. - -Old hoards were taken out and examined as to their money value -which luckily was small, or else I don't know how Miss Matty would -have prevailed upon herself to part with such things as her -mother's wedding-ring, the strange, uncouth brooch with which her -father had disfigured his shirt-frill, &c. However, we arranged -things a little in order as to their pecuniary estimation, and were -all ready for my father when he came the next morning. - -I am not going to weary you with the details of all the business we -went through; and one reason for not telling about them is, that I -did not understand what we were doing at the time, and cannot -recollect it now. Miss Matty and I sat assenting to accounts, and -schemes, and reports, and documents, of which I do not believe we -either of us understood a word; for my father was clear-headed and -decisive, and a capital man of business, and if we made the -slightest inquiry, or expressed the slightest want of -comprehension, he had a sharp way of saying, "Eh? eh? it's as dear -as daylight. What's your objection?" And as we had not -comprehended anything of what he had proposed, we found it rather -difficult to shape our objections; in fact, we never were sure if -we had any. So presently Miss Matty got into a nervously -acquiescent state, and said "Yes," and "Certainly," at every pause, -whether required or not; but when I once joined in as chorus to a -"Decidedly," pronounced by Miss Matty in a tremblingly dubious -tone, my father fired round at me and asked me "What there was to -decide?" And I am sure to this day I have never known. But, in -justice to him, I must say he had come over from Drumble to help -Miss Matty when he could ill spare the time, and when his own -affairs were in a very anxious state. - -While Miss Matty was out of the room giving orders for luncheon-- -and sadly perplexed between her desire of honouring my father by a -delicate, dainty meal, and her conviction that she had no right, -now that all her money was gone, to indulge this desire--I told him -of the meeting of the Cranford ladies at Miss Pole's the day -before. He kept brushing his hand before his eyes as I spoke--and -when I went back to Martha's offer the evening before, of receiving -Miss Matty as a lodger, he fairly walked away from me to the -window, and began drumming with his fingers upon it. Then he -turned abruptly round, and said, "See, Mary, how a good, innocent -life makes friends all around. Confound it! I could make a good -lesson out of it if I were a parson; but, as it is, I can't get a -tail to my sentences--only I'm sure you feel what I want to say. -You and I will have a walk after lunch and talk a bit more about -these plans." - -The lunch--a hot savoury mutton-chop, and a little of the cold loin -sliced and fried--was now brought in. Every morsel of this last -dish was finished, to Martha's great gratification. Then my father -bluntly told Miss Matty he wanted to talk to me alone, and that he -would stroll out and see some of the old places, and then I could -tell her what plan we thought desirable. Just before we went out, -she called me back and said, "Remember, dear, I'm the only one -left--I mean, there's no one to be hurt by what I do. I'm willing -to do anything that's right and honest; and I don't think, if -Deborah knows where she is, she'll care so very much if I'm not -genteel; because, you see, she'll know all, dear. Only let me see -what I can do, and pay the poor people as far as I'm able." - -I gave her a hearty kiss, and ran after my father. The result of -our conversation was this. If all parties were agreeable, Martha -and Jem were to be married with as little delay as possible, and -they were to live on in Miss Matty's present abode; the sum which -the Cranford ladies had agreed to contribute annually being -sufficient to meet the greater part of the rent, and leaving Martha -free to appropriate what Miss Matty should pay for her lodgings to -any little extra comforts required. About the sale, my father was -dubious at first. He said the old rectory furniture, however -carefully used and reverently treated, would fetch very little; and -that little would be but as a drop in the sea of the debts of the -Town and County Bank. But when I represented how Miss Matty's -tender conscience would be soothed by feeling that she had done -what she could, he gave way; especially after I had told him the -five-pound note adventure, and he had scolded me well for allowing -it. I then alluded to my idea that she might add to her small -income by selling tea; and, to my surprise (for I had nearly given -up the plan), my father grasped at it with all the energy of a -tradesman. I think he reckoned his chickens before they were -hatched, for he immediately ran up the profits of the sales that -she could effect in Cranford to more than twenty pounds a year. -The small dining-parlour was to be converted into a shop, without -any of its degrading characteristics; a table was to be the -counter; one window was to be retained unaltered, and the other -changed into a glass door. I evidently rose in his estimation for -having made this bright suggestion. I only hoped we should not -both fall in Miss Matty's. - -But she was patient and content with all our arrangements. She -knew, she said, that we should do the best we could for her; and -she only hoped, only stipulated, that she should pay every farthing -that she could be said to owe, for her father's sake, who had been -so respected in Cranford. My father and I had agreed to say as -little as possible about the bank, indeed never to mention it -again, if it could be helped. Some of the plans were evidently a -little perplexing to her; but she had seen me sufficiently snubbed -in the morning for want of comprehension to venture on too many -inquiries now; and all passed over well with a hope on her part -that no one would be hurried into marriage on her account. When we -came to the proposal that she should sell tea, I could see it was -rather a shock to her; not on account of any personal loss of -gentility involved, but only because she distrusted her own powers -of action in a new line of life, and would timidly have preferred a -little more privation to any exertion for which she feared she was -unfitted. However, when she saw my father was bent upon it, she -sighed, and said she would try; and if she did not do well, of -course she might give it up. One good thing about it was, she did -not think men ever bought tea; and it was of men particularly she -was afraid. They had such sharp loud ways with them; and did up -accounts, and counted their change so quickly! Now, if she might -only sell comfits to children, she was sure she could please them! - - - -CHAPTER XV--A HAPPY RETURN - - - -Before I left Miss Matty at Cranford everything had been -comfortably arranged for her. Even Mrs Jamieson's approval of her -selling tea had been gained. That oracle had taken a few days to -consider whether by so doing Miss Matty would forfeit her right to -the privileges of society in Cranford. I think she had some little -idea of mortifying Lady Glenmire by the decision she gave at last; -which was to this effect: that whereas a married woman takes her -husband's rank by the strict laws of precedence, an unmarried woman -retains the station her father occupied. So Cranford was allowed -to visit Miss Matty; and, whether allowed or not, it intended to -visit Lady Glenmire. - -But what was our surprise--our dismay--when we learnt that Mr and -MRS HOGGINS were returning on the following Tuesday! Mrs Hoggins! -Had she absolutely dropped her title, and so, in a spirit of -bravado, cut the aristocracy to become a Hoggins! She, who might -have been called Lady Glenmire to her dying day! Mrs Jamieson was -pleased. She said it only convinced her of what she had known from -the first, that the creature had a low taste. But "the creature" -looked very happy on Sunday at church; nor did we see it necessary -to keep our veils down on that side of our bonnets on which Mr and -Mrs Hoggins sat, as Mrs Jamieson did; thereby missing all the -smiling glory of his face, and all the becoming blushes of hers. I -am not sure if Martha and Jem looked more radiant in the afternoon, -when they, too, made their first appearance. Mrs Jamieson soothed -the turbulence of her soul by having the blinds of her windows -drawn down, as if for a funeral, on the day when Mr and Mrs Hoggins -received callers; and it was with some difficulty that she was -prevailed upon to continue the St James's Chronicle, so indignant -was she with its having inserted the announcement of the marriage. - -Miss Matty's sale went off famously. She retained the furniture of -her sitting-room and bedroom; the former of which she was to occupy -till Martha could meet with a lodger who might wish to take it; and -into this sitting-room and bedroom she had to cram all sorts of -things, which were (the auctioneer assured her) bought in for her -at the sale by an unknown friend. I always suspected Mrs Fitz-Adam -of this; but she must have had an accessory, who knew what articles -were particularly regarded by Miss Matty on account of their -associations with her early days. The rest of the house looked -rather bare, to be sure; all except one tiny bedroom, of which my -father allowed me to purchase the furniture for my occasional use -in case of Miss Matty's illness. - -I had expended my own small store in buying all manner of comfits -and lozenges, in order to tempt the little people whom Miss Matty -loved so much to come about her. Tea in bright green canisters, -and comfits in tumblers--Miss Matty and I felt quite proud as we -looked round us on the evening before the shop was to be opened. -Martha had scoured the boarded floor to a white cleanness, and it -was adorned with a brilliant piece of oil-cloth, on which customers -were to stand before the table-counter. The wholesome smell of -plaster and whitewash pervaded the apartment. A very small -"Matilda Jenkyns, licensed to sell tea," was hidden under the -lintel of the new door, and two boxes of tea, with cabalistic -inscriptions all over them, stood ready to disgorge their contents -into the canisters. - -Miss Matty, as I ought to have mentioned before, had had some -scruples of conscience at selling tea when there was already Mr -Johnson in the town, who included it among his numerous -commodities; and, before she could quite reconcile herself to the -adoption of her new business, she had trotted down to his shop, -unknown to me, to tell him of the project that was entertained, and -to inquire if it was likely to injure his business. My father -called this idea of hers "great nonsense," and "wondered how -tradespeople were to get on if there was to be a continual -consulting of each other's interests, which would put a stop to all -competition directly." And, perhaps, it would not have done in -Drumble, but in Cranford it answered very well; for not only did Mr -Johnson kindly put at rest all Miss Matty's scruples and fear of -injuring his business, but I have reason to know he repeatedly sent -customers to her, saying that the teas he kept were of a common -kind, but that Miss Jenkyns had all the choice sorts. And -expensive tea is a very favourite luxury with well-to-do -tradespeople and rich farmers' wives, who turn up their noses at -the Congou and Souchong prevalent at many tables of gentility, and -will have nothing else than Gunpowder and Pekoe for themselves. - -But to return to Miss Matty. It was really very pleasant to see -how her unselfishness and simple sense of justice called out the -same good qualities in others. She never seemed to think any one -would impose upon her, because she should be so grieved to do it to -them. I have heard her put a stop to the asseverations of the man -who brought her coals by quietly saying, "I am sure you would be -sorry to bring me wrong weight;" and if the coals were short -measure that time, I don't believe they ever were again. People -would have felt as much ashamed of presuming on her good faith as -they would have done on that of a child. But my father says "such -simplicity might be very well in Cranford, but would never do in -the world." And I fancy the world must be very bad, for with all -my father's suspicion of every one with whom he has dealings, and -in spite of all his many precautions, he lost upwards of a thousand -pounds by roguery only last year. - -I just stayed long enough to establish Miss Matty in her new mode -of life, and to pack up the library, which the rector had -purchased. He had written a very kind letter to Miss Matty, saying -"how glad he should be to take a library, so well selected as he -knew that the late Mr Jenkyns's must have been, at any valuation -put upon them." And when she agreed to this, with a touch of -sorrowful gladness that they would go back to the rectory and be -arranged on the accustomed walls once more, he sent word that he -feared that he had not room for them all, and perhaps Miss Matty -would kindly allow him to leave some volumes on her shelves. But -Miss Matty said that she had her Bible and "Johnson's Dictionary," -and should not have much time for reading, she was afraid; still, I -retained a few books out of consideration for the rector's -kindness. - -The money which he had paid, and that produced by the sale, was -partly expended in the stock of tea, and part of it was invested -against a rainy day--i.e. old age or illness. It was but a small -sum, it is true; and it occasioned a few evasions of truth and -white lies (all of which I think very wrong indeed--in theory--and -would rather not put them in practice), for we knew Miss Matty -would be perplexed as to her duty if she were aware of any little -reserve--fund being made for her while the debts of the bank -remained unpaid. Moreover, she had never been told of the way in -which her friends were contributing to pay the rent. I should have -liked to tell her this, but the mystery of the affair gave a -piquancy to their deed of kindness which the ladies were unwilling -to give up; and at first Martha had to shirk many a perplexed -question as to her ways and means of living in such a house, but -by-and-by Miss Matty's prudent uneasiness sank down into -acquiescence with the existing arrangement. - -I left Miss Matty with a good heart. Her sales of tea during the -first two days had surpassed my most sanguine expectations. The -whole country round seemed to be all out of tea at once. The only -alteration I could have desired in Miss Matty's way of doing -business was, that she should not have so plaintively entreated -some of her customers not to buy green tea--running it down as a -slow poison, sure to destroy the nerves, and produce all manner of -evil. Their pertinacity in taking it, in spite of all her -warnings, distressed her so much that I really thought she would -relinquish the sale of it, and so lose half her custom; and I was -driven to my wits' end for instances of longevity entirely -attributable to a persevering use of green tea. But the final -argument, which settled the question, was a happy reference of mine -to the train-oil and tallow candles which the Esquimaux not only -enjoy but digest. After that she acknowledged that "one man's meat -might be another man's poison," and contented herself thence- -forward with an occasional remonstrance when she thought the -purchaser was too young and innocent to be acquainted with the evil -effects green tea produced on some constitutions, and an habitual -sigh when people old enough to choose more wisely would prefer it. - -I went over from Drumble once a quarter at least to settle the -accounts, and see after the necessary business letters. And, -speaking of letters, I began to be very much ashamed of remembering -my letter to the Aga Jenkyns, and very glad I had never named my -writing to any one. I only hoped the letter was lost. No answer -came. No sign was made. - -About a year after Miss Matty set up shop, I received one of -Martha's hieroglyphics, begging me to come to Cranford very soon. -I was afraid that Miss Matty was ill, and went off that very -afternoon, and took Martha by surprise when she saw me on opening -the door. We went into the kitchen as usual, to have our -confidential conference, and then Martha told me she was expecting -her confinement very soon--in a week or two; and she did not think -Miss Matty was aware of it, and she wanted me to break the news to -her, "for indeed, miss," continued Martha, crying hysterically, -"I'm afraid she won't approve of it, and I'm sure I don't know who -is to take care of her as she should be taken care of when I am -laid up." - -I comforted Martha by telling her I would remain till she was about -again, and only wished she had told me her reason for this sudden -summons, as then I would have brought the requisite stock of -clothes. But Martha was so tearful and tender-spirited, and unlike -her usual self, that I said as little as possible about myself, and -endeavoured rather to comfort Martha under all the probable and -possible misfortunes which came crowding upon her imagination. - -I then stole out of the house-door, and made my appearance as if I -were a customer in the shop, just to take Miss Matty by surprise, -and gain an idea of how she looked in her new situation. It was -warm May weather, so only the little half-door was closed; and Miss -Matty sat behind the counter, knitting an elaborate pair of -garters; elaborate they seemed to me, but the difficult stitch was -no weight upon her mind, for she was singing in a low voice to -herself as her needles went rapidly in and out. I call it singing, -but I dare say a musician would not use that word to the tuneless -yet sweet humming of the low worn voice. I found out from the -words, far more than from the attempt at the tune, that it was the -Old Hundredth she was crooning to herself; but the quiet continuous -sound told of content, and gave me a pleasant feeling, as I stood -in the street just outside the door, quite in harmony with that -soft May morning. I went in. At first she did not catch who it -was, and stood up as if to serve me; but in another minute watchful -pussy had clutched her knitting, which was dropped in eager joy at -seeing me. I found, after we had had a little conversation, that -it was as Martha said, and that Miss Matty had no idea of the -approaching household event. So I thought I would let things take -their course, secure that when I went to her with the baby in my -arms, I should obtain that forgiveness for Martha which she was -needlessly frightening herself into believing that Miss Matty would -withhold, under some notion that the new claimant would require -attentions from its mother that it would be faithless treason to -Miss Matty to render. - -But I was right. I think that must be an hereditary quality, for -my father says he is scarcely ever wrong. One morning, within a -week after I arrived, I went to call Miss Matty, with a little -bundle of flannel in my arms. She was very much awe-struck when I -showed her what it was, and asked for her spectacles off the -dressing-table, and looked at it curiously, with a sort of tender -wonder at its small perfection of parts. She could not banish the -thought of the surprise all day, but went about on tiptoe, and was -very silent. But she stole up to see Martha and they both cried -with joy, and she got into a complimentary speech to Jem, and did -not know how to get out of it again, and was only extricated from -her dilemma by the sound of the shop-bell, which was an equal -relief to the shy, proud, honest Jem, who shook my hand so -vigorously when I congratulated him, that I think I feel the pain -of it yet. - -I had a busy life while Martha was laid up. I attended on Miss -Matty, and prepared her meals; I cast up her accounts, and examined -into the state of her canisters and tumblers. I helped her, too, -occasionally, in the shop; and it gave me no small amusement, and -sometimes a little uneasiness, to watch her ways there. If a -little child came in to ask for an ounce of almond-comfits (and -four of the large kind which Miss Matty sold weighed that much), -she always added one more by "way of make-weight," as she called -it, although the scale was handsomely turned before; and when I -remonstrated against this, her reply was, "The little things like -it so much!" There was no use in telling her that the fifth comfit -weighed a quarter of an ounce, and made every sale into a loss to -her pocket. So I remembered the green tea, and winged my shaft -with a feather out of her own plumage. I told her how unwholesome -almond-comfits were, and how ill excess in them might make the -little children. This argument produced some effect; for, -henceforward, instead of the fifth comfit, she always told them to -hold out their tiny palms, into which she shook either peppermint -or ginger lozenges, as a preventive to the dangers that might arise -from the previous sale. Altogether the lozenge trade, conducted on -these principles, did not promise to be remunerative; but I was -happy to find she had made more than twenty pounds during the last -year by her sales of tea; and, moreover, that now she was -accustomed to it, she did not dislike the employment, which brought -her into kindly intercourse with many of the people round about. -If she gave them good weight, they, in their turn, brought many a -little country present to the "old rector's daughter"; a cream -cheese, a few new-laid eggs, a little fresh ripe fruit, a bunch of -flowers. The counter was quite loaded with these offerings -sometimes, as she told me. - -As for Cranford in general, it was going on much as usual. The -Jamieson and Hoggins feud still raged, if a feud it could be -called, when only one side cared much about it. Mr and Mrs Hoggins -were very happy together, and, like most very happy people, quite -ready to be friendly; indeed, Mrs Hoggins was really desirous to be -restored to Mrs Jamieson's good graces, because of the former -intimacy. But Mrs Jamieson considered their very happiness an -insult to the Glenmire family, to which she had still the honour to -belong, and she doggedly refused and rejected every advance. Mr -Mulliner, like a faithful clansman, espoused his mistress' side -with ardour. If he saw either Mr or Mrs Hoggins, he would cross -the street, and appear absorbed in the contemplation of life in -general, and his own path in particular, until he had passed them -by. Miss Pole used to amuse herself with wondering what in the -world Mrs Jamieson would do, if either she, or Mr Mulliner, or any -other member of her household was taken ill; she could hardly have -the face to call in Mr Hoggins after the way she had behaved to -them. Miss Pole grew quite impatient for some indisposition or -accident to befall Mrs Jamieson or her dependents, in order that -Cranford might see how she would act under the perplexing -circumstances. - -Martha was beginning to go about again, and I had already fixed a -limit, not very far distant, to my visit, when one afternoon, as I -was sitting in the shop-parlour with Miss Matty--I remember the -weather was colder now than it had been in May, three weeks before, -and we had a fire and kept the door fully closed--we saw a -gentleman go slowly past the window, and then stand opposite to the -door, as if looking out for the name which we had so carefully -hidden. He took out a double eyeglass and peered about for some -time before he could discover it. Then he came in. And, all on a -sudden, it flashed across me that it was the Aga himself! For his -clothes had an out-of-the-way foreign cut about them, and his face -was deep brown, as if tanned and re-tanned by the sun. His -complexion contrasted oddly with his plentiful snow-white hair, his -eyes were dark and piercing, and he had an odd way of contracting -them and puckering up his cheeks into innumerable wrinkles when he -looked earnestly at objects. He did so to Miss Matty when he first -came in. His glance had first caught and lingered a little upon -me, but then turned, with the peculiar searching look I have -described, to Miss Matty. She was a little fluttered and nervous, -but no more so than she always was when any man came into her shop. -She thought that he would probably have a note, or a sovereign at -least, for which she would have to give change, which was an -operation she very much disliked to perform. But the present -customer stood opposite to her, without asking for anything, only -looking fixedly at her as he drummed upon the table with his -fingers, just for all the world as Miss Jenkyns used to do. Miss -Matty was on the point of asking him what he wanted (as she told me -afterwards), when he turned sharp to me: "Is your name Mary -Smith?" - -"Yes!" said I. - -All my doubts as to his identity were set at rest, and I only -wondered what he would say or do next, and how Miss Matty would -stand the joyful shock of what he had to reveal. Apparently he was -at a loss how to announce himself, for he looked round at last in -search of something to buy, so as to gain time, and, as it -happened, his eye caught on the almond-comfits, and he boldly asked -for a pound of "those things." I doubt if Miss Matty had a whole -pound in the shop, and, besides the unusual magnitude of the order, -she was distressed with the idea of the indigestion they would -produce, taken in such unlimited quantities. She looked up to -remonstrate. Something of tender relaxation in his face struck -home to her heart. She said, "It is--oh, sir! can you be Peter?" -and trembled from head to foot. In a moment he was round the table -and had her in his arms, sobbing the tearless cries of old age. I -brought her a glass of wine, for indeed her colour had changed so -as to alarm me and Mr Peter too. He kept saying, "I have been too -sudden for you, Matty--I have, my little girl." - -I proposed that she should go at once up into the drawing-room and -lie down on the sofa there. She looked wistfully at her brother, -whose hand she had held tight, even when nearly fainting; but on -his assuring her that he would not leave her, she allowed him to -carry her upstairs. - -I thought that the best I could do was to run and put the kettle on -the fire for early tea, and then to attend to the shop, leaving the -brother and sister to exchange some of the many thousand things -they must have to say. I had also to break the news to Martha, who -received it with a burst of tears which nearly infected me. She -kept recovering herself to ask if I was sure it was indeed Miss -Matty's brother, for I had mentioned that he had grey hair, and she -had always heard that he was a very handsome young man. Something -of the same kind perplexed Miss Matty at tea-time, when she was -installed in the great easy-chair opposite to Mr Jenkyns in order -to gaze her fill. She could hardly drink for looking at him, and -as for eating, that was out of the question. - -"I suppose hot climates age people very quickly," said she, almost -to herself. "When you left Cranford you had not a grey hair in -your head." - -"But how many years ago is that?" said Mr Peter, smiling. - -"Ah, true! yes, I suppose you and I are getting old. But still I -did not think we were so very old! But white hair is very becoming -to you, Peter," she continued--a little afraid lest she had hurt -him by revealing how his appearance had impressed her. - -"I suppose I forgot dates too, Matty, for what do you think I have -brought for you from India? I have an Indian muslin gown and a -pearl necklace for you somewhere in my chest at Portsmouth." He -smiled as if amused at the idea of the incongruity of his presents -with the appearance of his sister; but this did not strike her all -at once, while the elegance of the articles did. I could see that -for a moment her imagination dwelt complacently on the idea of -herself thus attired; and instinctively she put her hand up to her -throat--that little delicate throat which (as Miss Pole had told -me) had been one of her youthful charms; but the hand met the touch -of folds of soft muslin in which she was always swathed up to her -chin, and the sensation recalled a sense of the unsuitableness of a -pearl necklace to her age. She said, "I'm afraid I'm too old; but -it was very kind of you to think of it. They are just what I -should have liked years ago--when I was young." - -"So I thought, my little Matty. I remembered your tastes; they -were so like my dear mother's." At the mention of that name the -brother and sister clasped each other's hands yet more fondly, and, -although they were perfectly silent, I fancied they might have -something to say if they were unchecked by my presence, and I got -up to arrange my room for Mr Peter's occupation that night, -intending myself to share Miss Matty's bed. But at my movement, he -started up. "I must go and settle about a room at the 'George.' -My carpet-bag is there too." - -"No!" said Miss Matty, in great distress--"you must not go; please, -dear Peter--pray, Mary--oh! you must not go!" - -She was so much agitated that we both promised everything she -wished. Peter sat down again and gave her his hand, which for -better security she held in both of hers, and I left the room to -accomplish my arrangements. - -Long, long into the night, far, far into the morning, did Miss -Matty and I talk. She had much to tell me of her brother's life -and adventures, which he had communicated to her as they had sat -alone. She said all was thoroughly clear to her; but I never quite -understood the whole story; and when in after days I lost my awe of -Mr Peter enough to question him myself, he laughed at my curiosity, -and told me stories that sounded so very much like Baron -Munchausen's, that I was sure he was making fun of me. What I -heard from Miss Matty was that he had been a volunteer at the siege -of Rangoon; had been taken prisoner by the Burmese; and somehow -obtained favour and eventual freedom from knowing how to bleed the -chief of the small tribe in some case of dangerous illness; that on -his release from years of captivity he had had his letters returned -from England with the ominous word "Dead" marked upon them; and, -believing himself to be the last of his race, he had settled down -as an indigo planter, and had proposed to spend the remainder of -his life in the country to whose inhabitants and modes of life he -had become habituated, when my letter had reached him; and, with -the odd vehemence which characterised him in age as it had done in -youth, he had sold his land and all his possessions to the first -purchaser, and come home to the poor old sister, who was more glad -and rich than any princess when she looked at him. She talked me -to sleep at last, and then I was awakened by a slight sound at the -door, for which she begged my pardon as she crept penitently into -bed; but it seems that when I could no longer confirm her belief -that the long-lost was really here--under the same roof--she had -begun to fear lest it was only a waking dream of hers; that there -never had been a Peter sitting by her all that blessed evening--but -that the real Peter lay dead far away beneath some wild sea-wave, -or under some strange eastern tree. And so strong had this nervous -feeling of hers become, that she was fain to get up and go and -convince herself that he was really there by listening through the -door to his even, regular breathing--I don't like to call it -snoring, but I heard it myself through two closed doors--and by- -and-by it soothed Miss Matty to sleep. - -I don't believe Mr Peter came home from India as rich as a nabob; -he even considered himself poor, but neither he nor Miss Matty -cared much about that. At any rate, he had enough to live upon -"very genteelly" at Cranford; he and Miss Matty together. And a -day or two after his arrival, the shop was closed, while troops of -little urchins gleefully awaited the shower of comfits and lozenges -that came from time to time down upon their faces as they stood up- -gazing at Miss Matty's drawing-room windows. Occasionally Miss -Matty would say to them (half-hidden behind the curtains), "My dear -children, don't make yourselves ill;" but a strong arm pulled her -back, and a more rattling shower than ever succeeded. A part of -the tea was sent in presents to the Cranford ladies; and some of it -was distributed among the old people who remembered Mr Peter in the -days of his frolicsome youth. The Indian muslin gown was reserved -for darling Flora Gordon (Miss Jessie Brown's daughter). The -Gordons had been on the Continent for the last few years, but were -now expected to return very soon; and Miss Matty, in her sisterly -pride, anticipated great delight in the joy of showing them Mr -Peter. The pearl necklace disappeared; and about that time many -handsome and useful presents made their appearance in the -households of Miss Pole and Mrs Forrester; and some rare and -delicate Indian ornaments graced the drawing-rooms of Mrs Jamieson -and Mrs Fitz-Adam. I myself was not forgotten. Among other -things, I had the handsomest-bound and best edition of Dr Johnson's -works that could be procured; and dear Miss Matty, with tears in -her eyes, begged me to consider it as a present from her sister as -well as herself. In short, no one was forgotten; and, what was -more, every one, however insignificant, who had shown kindness to -Miss Matty at any time, was sure of Mr Peter's cordial regard. - - - -CHAPTER XVI--PEACE TO CRANFORD - - - -It was not surprising that Mr Peter became such a favourite at -Cranford. The ladies vied with each other who should admire him -most; and no wonder, for their quiet lives were astonishingly -stirred up by the arrival from India--especially as the person -arrived told more wonderful stories than Sindbad the Sailor; and, -as Miss Pole said, was quite as good as an Arabian Night any -evening. For my own part, I had vibrated all my life between -Drumble and Cranford, and I thought it was quite possible that all -Mr Peter's stories might be true, although wonderful; but when I -found that, if we swallowed an anecdote of tolerable magnitude one -week, we had the dose considerably increased the next, I began to -have my doubts; especially as I noticed that when his sister was -present the accounts of Indian life were comparatively tame; not -that she knew more than we did, perhaps less. I noticed also that -when the rector came to call, Mr Peter talked in a different way -about the countries he had been in. But I don't think the ladies -in Cranford would have considered him such a wonderful traveller if -they had only heard him talk in the quiet way he did to him. They -liked him the better, indeed, for being what they called "so very -Oriental." - -One day, at a select party in his honour, which Miss Pole gave, and -from which, as Mrs Jamieson honoured it with her presence, and had -even offered to send Mr Mulliner to wait, Mr and Mrs Hoggins and -Mrs Fitz-Adam were necessarily--excluded one day at Miss Pole's, Mr -Peter said he was tired of sitting upright against the hard-backed -uneasy chairs, and asked if he might not indulge himself in sitting -cross-legged. Miss Pole's consent was eagerly given, and down he -went with the utmost gravity. But when Miss Pole asked me, in an -audible whisper, "if he did not remind me of the Father of the -Faithful?" I could not help thinking of poor Simon Jones, the lame -tailor, and while Mrs Jamieson slowly commented on the elegance and -convenience of the attitude, I remembered how we had all followed -that lady's lead in condemning Mr Hoggins for vulgarity because he -simply crossed his legs as he sat still on his chair. Many of Mr -Peter's ways of eating were a little strange amongst such ladies as -Miss Pole, and Miss Matty, and Mrs Jamieson, especially when I -recollected the untasted green peas and two-pronged forks at poor -Mr Holbrook's dinner. - -The mention of that gentleman's name recalls to my mind a -conversation between Mr Peter and Miss Matty one evening in the -summer after he returned to Cranford. The day had been very hot, -and Miss Matty had been much oppressed by the weather, in the heat -of which her brother revelled. I remember that she had been unable -to nurse Martha's baby, which had become her favourite employment -of late, and which was as much at home in her arms as in its -mother's, as long as it remained a light-weight, portable by one so -fragile as Miss Matty. This day to which I refer, Miss Matty had -seemed more than usually feeble and languid, and only revived when -the sun went down, and her sofa was wheeled to the open window, -through which, although it looked into the principal street of -Cranford, the fragrant smell of the neighbouring hayfields came in -every now and then, borne by the soft breezes that stirred the dull -air of the summer twilight, and then died away. The silence of the -sultry atmosphere was lost in the murmuring noises which came in -from many an open window and door; even the children were abroad in -the street, late as it was (between ten and eleven), enjoying the -game of play for which they had not had spirits during the heat of -the day. It was a source of satisfaction to Miss Matty to see how -few candles were lighted, even in the apartments of those houses -from which issued the greatest signs of life. Mr Peter, Miss -Matty, and I had all been quiet, each with a separate reverie, for -some little time, when Mr Peter broke in - - -"Do you know, little Matty, I could have sworn you were on the high -road to matrimony when I left England that last time! If anybody -had told me you would have lived and died an old maid then, I -should have laughed in their faces." - -Miss Matty made no reply, and I tried in vain to think of some -subject which should effectually turn the conversation; but I was -very stupid; and before I spoke he went on - - -"It was Holbrook, that fine manly fellow who lived at Woodley, that -I used to think would carry off my little Matty. You would not -think it now, I dare say, Mary; but this sister of mine was once a -very pretty girl--at least, I thought so, and so I've a notion did -poor Holbrook. What business had he to die before I came home to -thank him for all his kindness to a good-for-nothing cub as I was? -It was that that made me first think he cared for you; for in all -our fishing expeditions it was Matty, Matty, we talked about. Poor -Deborah! What a lecture she read me on having asked him home to -lunch one day, when she had seen the Arley carriage in the town, -and thought that my lady might call. Well, that's long years ago; -more than half a life-time, and yet it seems like yesterday! I -don't know a fellow I should have liked better as a brother-in-law. -You must have played your cards badly, my little Matty, somehow or -another--wanted your brother to be a good go-between, eh, little -one?" said he, putting out his hand to take hold of hers as she lay -on the sofa. "Why, what's this? you're shivering and shaking, -Matty, with that confounded open window. Shut it, Mary, this -minute!" - -I did so, and then stooped down to kiss Miss Matty, and see if she -really were chilled. She caught at my hand, and gave it a hard -squeeze--but unconsciously, I think--for in a minute or two she -spoke to us quite in her usual voice, and smiled our uneasiness -away, although she patiently submitted to the prescriptions we -enforced of a warm bed and a glass of weak negus. I was to leave -Cranford the next day, and before I went I saw that all the effects -of the open window had quite vanished. I had superintended most of -the alterations necessary in the house and household during the -latter weeks of my stay. The shop was once more a parlour: the -empty resounding rooms again furnished up to the very garrets. - -There had been some talk of establishing Martha and Jem in another -house, but Miss Matty would not hear of this. Indeed, I never saw -her so much roused as when Miss Pole had assumed it to be the most -desirable arrangement. As long as Martha would remain with Miss -Matty, Miss Matty was only too thankful to have her about her; yes, -and Jem too, who was a very pleasant man to have in the house, for -she never saw him from week's end to week's end. And as for the -probable children, if they would all turn out such little darlings -as her god-daughter, Matilda, she should not mind the number, if -Martha didn't. Besides, the next was to be called Deborah--a point -which Miss Matty had reluctantly yielded to Martha's stubborn -determination that her first-born was to be Matilda. So Miss Pole -had to lower her colours, and even her voice, as she said to me -that, as Mr and Mrs Hearn were still to go on living in the same -house with Miss Matty, we had certainly done a wise thing in hiring -Martha's niece as an auxiliary. - -I left Miss Matty and Mr Peter most comfortable and contented; the -only subject for regret to the tender heart of the one, and the -social friendly nature of the other, being the unfortunate quarrel -between Mrs Jamieson and the plebeian Hogginses and their -following. In joke, I prophesied one day that this would only last -until Mrs Jamieson or Mr Mulliner were ill, in which case they -would only be too glad to be friends with Mr Hoggins; but Miss -Matty did not like my looking forward to anything like illness in -so light a manner, and before the year was out all had come round -in a far more satisfactory way. - -I received two Cranford letters on one auspicious October morning. -Both Miss Pole and Miss Matty wrote to ask me to come over and meet -the Gordons, who had returned to England alive and well with their -two children, now almost grown up. Dear Jessie Brown had kept her -old kind nature, although she had changed her name and station; and -she wrote to say that she and Major Gordon expected to be in -Cranford on the fourteenth, and she hoped and begged to be -remembered to Mrs Jamieson (named first, as became her honourable -station), Miss Pole and Miss Matty--could she ever forget their -kindness to her poor father and sister?--Mrs Forrester, Mr Hoggins -(and here again came in an allusion to kindness shown to the dead -long ago), his new wife, who as such must allow Mrs Gordon to -desire to make her acquaintance, and who was, moreover, an old -Scotch friend of her husband's. In short, every one was named, -from the rector--who had been appointed to Cranford in the interim -between Captain Brown's death and Miss Jessie's marriage, and was -now associated with the latter event--down to Miss Betty Barker. -All were asked to the luncheon; all except Mrs Fitz-Adam, who had -come to live in Cranford since Miss Jessie Brown's days, and whom I -found rather moping on account of the omission. People wondered at -Miss Betty Barker's being included in the honourable list; but, -then, as Miss Pole said, we must remember the disregard of the -genteel proprieties of life in which the poor captain had educated -his girls, and for his sake we swallowed our pride. Indeed, Mrs -Jamieson rather took it as a compliment, as putting Miss Betty -(formerly HER maid) on a level with "those Hogginses." - -But when I arrived in Cranford, nothing was as yet ascertained of -Mrs Jamieson's own intentions; would the honourable lady go, or -would she not? Mr Peter declared that she should and she would; -Miss Pole shook her head and desponded. But Mr Peter was a man of -resources. In the first place, he persuaded Miss Matty to write to -Mrs Gordon, and to tell her of Mrs Fitz-Adam's existence, and to -beg that one so kind, and cordial, and generous, might be included -in the pleasant invitation. An answer came back by return of post, -with a pretty little note for Mrs Fitz-Adam, and a request that -Miss Matty would deliver it herself and explain the previous -omission. Mrs Fitz-Adam was as pleased as could be, and thanked -Miss Matty over and over again. Mr Peter had said, "Leave Mrs -Jamieson to me;" so we did; especially as we knew nothing that we -could do to alter her determination if once formed. - -I did not know, nor did Miss Matty, how things were going on, until -Miss Pole asked me, just the day before Mrs Gordon came, if I -thought there was anything between Mr Peter and Mrs Jamieson in the -matrimonial line, for that Mrs Jamieson was really going to the -lunch at the "George." She had sent Mr Mulliner down to desire -that there might be a footstool put to the warmest seat in the -room, as she meant to come, and knew that their chairs were very -high. Miss Pole had picked this piece of news up, and from it she -conjectured all sorts of things, and bemoaned yet more. "If Peter -should marry, what would become of poor dear Miss Matty? And Mrs -Jamieson, of all people!" Miss Pole seemed to think there were -other ladies in Cranford who would have done more credit to his -choice, and I think she must have had someone who was unmarried in -her head, for she kept saying, "It was so wanting in delicacy in a -widow to think of such a thing." - -When I got back to Miss Matty's I really did begin to think that Mr -Peter might be thinking of Mrs Jamieson for a wife, and I was as -unhappy as Miss Pole about it. He had the proof sheet of a great -placard in his hand. "Signor Brunoni, Magician to the King of -Delhi, the Rajah of Oude, and the great Lama of Thibet," &c. &c., -was going to "perform in Cranford for one night only," the very -next night; and Miss Matty, exultant, showed me a letter from the -Gordons, promising to remain over this gaiety, which Miss Matty -said was entirely Peter's doing. He had written to ask the signor -to come, and was to be at all the expenses of the affair. Tickets -were to be sent gratis to as many as the room would hold. In -short, Miss Matty was charmed with the plan, and said that to- -morrow Cranford would remind her of the Preston Guild, to which she -had been in her youth--a luncheon at the "George," with the dear -Gordons, and the signor in the Assembly Room in the evening. But -I--I looked only at the fatal words:- - - -"UNDER THE PATRONAGE OF THE HONOURABLE MRS JAMIESON." - - -She, then, was chosen to preside over this entertainment of Mr -Peter's; she was perhaps going to displace my dear Miss Matty in -his heart, and make her life lonely once more! I could not look -forward to the morrow with any pleasure; and every innocent -anticipation of Miss Matty's only served to add to my annoyance. - -So, angry and irritated, and exaggerating every little incident -which could add to my irritation, I went on till we were all -assembled in the great parlour at the "George." Major and Mrs -Gordon and pretty Flora and Mr Ludovic were all as bright and -handsome and friendly as could be; but I could hardly attend to -them for watching Mr Peter, and I saw that Miss Pole was equally -busy. I had never seen Mrs Jamieson so roused and animated before; -her face looked full of interest in what Mr Peter was saying. I -drew near to listen. My relief was great when I caught that his -words were not words of love, but that, for all his grave face, he -was at his old tricks. He was telling her of his travels in India, -and describing the wonderful height of the Himalaya mountains: one -touch after another added to their size, and each exceeded the -former in absurdity; but Mrs Jamieson really enjoyed all in perfect -good faith. I suppose she required strong stimulants to excite her -to come out of her apathy. Mr Peter wound up his account by saying -that, of course, at that altitude there were none of the animals to -be found that existed in the lower regions; the game,--everything -was different. Firing one day at some flying creature, he was very -much dismayed when it fell, to find that he had shot a cherubim! -Mr Peter caught my eye at this moment, and gave me such a funny -twinkle, that I felt sure he had no thoughts of Mrs Jamieson as a -wife from that time. She looked uncomfortably amazed - - -"But, Mr Peter, shooting a cherubim--don't you think--I am afraid -that was sacrilege!" - -Mr Peter composed his countenance in a moment, and appeared shocked -at the idea, which, as he said truly enough, was now presented to -him for the first time; but then Mrs Jamieson must remember that he -had been living for a long time among savages--all of whom were -heathens--some of them, he was afraid, were downright Dissenters. -Then, seeing Miss Matty draw near, he hastily changed the -conversation, and after a little while, turning to me, he said, -"Don't be shocked, prim little Mary, at all my wonderful stories. -I consider Mrs Jamieson fair game, and besides I am bent on -propitiating her, and the first step towards it is keeping her well -awake. I bribed her here by asking her to let me have her name as -patroness for my poor conjuror this evening; and I don't want to -give her time enough to get up her rancour against the Hogginses, -who are just coming in. I want everybody to be friends, for it -harasses Matty so much to hear of these quarrels. I shall go at it -again by-and-by, so you need not look shocked. I intend to enter -the Assembly Room to-night with Mrs Jamieson on one side, and my -lady, Mrs Hoggins, on the other. You see if I don't." - -Somehow or another he did; and fairly got them into conversation -together. Major and Mrs Gordon helped at the good work with their -perfect ignorance of any existing coolness between any of the -inhabitants of Cranford. - -Ever since that day there has been the old friendly sociability in -Cranford society; which I am thankful for, because of my dear Miss -Matty's love of peace and kindliness. We all love Miss Matty, and -I somehow think we are all of us better when she is near us. - - - - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, CRANFORD *** - -This file should be named crnfd10.txt or crnfd10.zip -Corrected EDITIONS of our eBooks get a new NUMBER, crnfd11.txt -VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, crnfd10a.txt - -Project Gutenberg eBooks are often created from several printed -editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the US -unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we usually do not -keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. - -We are now trying to release all our eBooks one year in advance -of the official release dates, leaving time for better editing. -Please be encouraged to tell us about any error or corrections, -even years after the official publication date. - -Please note neither this listing nor its contents are final til -midnight of the last day of the month of any such announcement. -The official release date of all Project Gutenberg eBooks is at -Midnight, Central Time, of the last day of the stated month. A -preliminary version may often be posted for suggestion, comment -and editing by those who wish to do so. - -Most people start at our Web sites at: -http://gutenberg.net or -http://promo.net/pg - -These Web sites include award-winning information about Project -Gutenberg, including how to donate, how to help produce our new -eBooks, and how to subscribe to our email newsletter (free!). - - -Those of you who want to download any eBook before announcement -can get to them as follows, and just download by date. This is -also a good way to get them instantly upon announcement, as the -indexes our cataloguers produce obviously take a while after an -announcement goes out in the Project Gutenberg Newsletter. - -http://www.ibiblio.org/gutenberg/etext04 or -ftp://ftp.ibiblio.org/pub/docs/books/gutenberg/etext04 - -Or /etext03, 02, 01, 00, 99, 98, 97, 96, 95, 94, 93, 92, 92, 91 or 90 - -Just search by the first five letters of the filename you want, -as it appears in our Newsletters. - - -Information about Project Gutenberg (one page) - -We produce about two million dollars for each hour we work. The -time it takes us, a rather conservative estimate, is fifty hours -to get any eBook selected, entered, proofread, edited, copyright -searched and analyzed, the copyright letters written, etc. Our -projected audience is one hundred million readers. If the value -per text is nominally estimated at one dollar then we produce $2 -million dollars per hour in 2002 as we release over 100 new text -files per month: 1240 more eBooks in 2001 for a total of 4000+ -We are already on our way to trying for 2000 more eBooks in 2002 -If they reach just 1-2% of the world's population then the total -will reach over half a trillion eBooks given away by year's end. - -The Goal of Project Gutenberg is to Give Away 1 Trillion eBooks! -This is ten thousand titles each to one hundred million readers, -which is only about 4% of the present number of computer users. - -Here is the briefest record of our progress (* means estimated): - -eBooks Year Month - - 1 1971 July - 10 1991 January - 100 1994 January - 1000 1997 August - 1500 1998 October - 2000 1999 December - 2500 2000 December - 3000 2001 November - 4000 2001 October/November - 6000 2002 December* - 9000 2003 November* -10000 2004 January* - - -The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation has been created -to secure a future for Project Gutenberg into the next millennium. - -We need your donations more than ever! - -As of February, 2002, contributions are being solicited from people -and organizations in: Alabama, Alaska, Arkansas, Connecticut, -Delaware, District of Columbia, Florida, Georgia, Hawaii, Illinois, -Indiana, Iowa, Kansas, Kentucky, Louisiana, Maine, Massachusetts, -Michigan, Mississippi, Missouri, Montana, Nebraska, Nevada, New -Hampshire, New Jersey, New Mexico, New York, North Carolina, Ohio, -Oklahoma, Oregon, Pennsylvania, Rhode Island, South Carolina, South -Dakota, Tennessee, Texas, Utah, Vermont, Virginia, Washington, West -Virginia, Wisconsin, and Wyoming. - -We have filed in all 50 states now, but these are the only ones -that have responded. - -As the requirements for other states are met, additions to this list -will be made and fund raising will begin in the additional states. -Please feel free to ask to check the status of your state. - -In answer to various questions we have received on this: - -We are constantly working on finishing the paperwork to legally -request donations in all 50 states. If your state is not listed and -you would like to know if we have added it since the list you have, -just ask. - -While we cannot solicit donations from people in states where we are -not yet registered, we know of no prohibition against accepting -donations from donors in these states who approach us with an offer to -donate. - -International donations are accepted, but we don't know ANYTHING about -how to make them tax-deductible, or even if they CAN be made -deductible, and don't have the staff to handle it even if there are -ways. - -Donations by check or money order may be sent to: - -Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation -PMB 113 -1739 University Ave. -Oxford, MS 38655-4109 - -Contact us if you want to arrange for a wire transfer or payment -method other than by check or money order. - -The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation has been approved by -the US Internal Revenue Service as a 501(c)(3) organization with EIN -[Employee Identification Number] 64-622154. Donations are -tax-deductible to the maximum extent permitted by law. As fund-raising -requirements for other states are met, additions to this list will be -made and fund-raising will begin in the additional states. - -We need your donations more than ever! - -You can get up to date donation information online at: - -http://www.gutenberg.net/donation.html - - -*** - -If you can't reach Project Gutenberg, -you can always email directly to: - -Michael S. Hart <hart@pobox.com> - -Prof. Hart will answer or forward your message. - -We would prefer to send you information by email. - - -**The Legal Small Print** - - -(Three Pages) - -***START**THE SMALL PRINT!**FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN EBOOKS**START*** -Why is this "Small Print!" statement here? You know: lawyers. -They tell us you might sue us if there is something wrong with -your copy of this eBook, even if you got it for free from -someone other than us, and even if what's wrong is not our -fault. So, among other things, this "Small Print!" statement -disclaims most of our liability to you. It also tells you how -you may distribute copies of this eBook if you want to. - -*BEFORE!* YOU USE OR READ THIS EBOOK -By using or reading any part of this PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm -eBook, you indicate that you understand, agree to and accept -this "Small Print!" statement. If you do not, you can receive -a refund of the money (if any) you paid for this eBook by -sending a request within 30 days of receiving it to the person -you got it from. If you received this eBook on a physical -medium (such as a disk), you must return it with your request. - -ABOUT PROJECT GUTENBERG-TM EBOOKS -This PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm eBook, like most PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm eBooks, -is a "public domain" work distributed by Professor Michael S. Hart -through the Project Gutenberg Association (the "Project"). -Among other things, this means that no one owns a United States copyright -on or for this work, so the Project (and you!) can copy and -distribute it in the United States without permission and -without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, set forth -below, apply if you wish to copy and distribute this eBook -under the "PROJECT GUTENBERG" trademark. - -Please do not use the "PROJECT GUTENBERG" trademark to market -any commercial products without permission. - -To create these eBooks, the Project expends considerable -efforts to identify, transcribe and proofread public domain -works. Despite these efforts, the Project's eBooks and any -medium they may be on may contain "Defects". Among other -things, Defects may take the form of incomplete, inaccurate or -corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other -intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged -disk or other eBook medium, a computer virus, or computer -codes that damage or cannot be read by your equipment. - -LIMITED WARRANTY; DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES -But for the "Right of Replacement or Refund" described below, -[1] Michael Hart and the Foundation (and any other party you may -receive this eBook from as a PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm eBook) disclaims -all liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including -legal fees, and [2] YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE OR -UNDER STRICT LIABILITY, OR FOR BREACH OF WARRANTY OR CONTRACT, -INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE -OR INCIDENTAL DAMAGES, EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE -POSSIBILITY OF SUCH DAMAGES. - -If you discover a Defect in this eBook within 90 days of -receiving it, you can receive a refund of the money (if any) -you paid for it by sending an explanatory note within that -time to the person you received it from. If you received it -on a physical medium, you must return it with your note, and -such person may choose to alternatively give you a replacement -copy. If you received it electronically, such person may -choose to alternatively give you a second opportunity to -receive it electronically. - -THIS EBOOK IS OTHERWISE PROVIDED TO YOU "AS-IS". NO OTHER -WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, ARE MADE TO YOU AS -TO THE EBOOK OR ANY MEDIUM IT MAY BE ON, INCLUDING BUT NOT -LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR A -PARTICULAR PURPOSE. - -Some states do not allow disclaimers of implied warranties or -the exclusion or limitation of consequential damages, so the -above disclaimers and exclusions may not apply to you, and you -may have other legal rights. - -INDEMNITY -You will indemnify and hold Michael Hart, the Foundation, -and its trustees and agents, and any volunteers associated -with the production and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm -texts harmless, from all liability, cost and expense, including -legal fees, that arise directly or indirectly from any of the -following that you do or cause: [1] distribution of this eBook, -[2] alteration, modification, or addition to the eBook, -or [3] any Defect. - -DISTRIBUTION UNDER "PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm" -You may distribute copies of this eBook electronically, or by -disk, book or any other medium if you either delete this -"Small Print!" and all other references to Project Gutenberg, -or: - -[1] Only give exact copies of it. Among other things, this - requires that you do not remove, alter or modify the - eBook or this "small print!" statement. You may however, - if you wish, distribute this eBook in machine readable - binary, compressed, mark-up, or proprietary form, - including any form resulting from conversion by word - processing or hypertext software, but only so long as - *EITHER*: - - [*] The eBook, when displayed, is clearly readable, and - does *not* contain characters other than those - intended by the author of the work, although tilde - (~), asterisk (*) and underline (_) characters may - be used to convey punctuation intended by the - author, and additional characters may be used to - indicate hypertext links; OR - - [*] The eBook may be readily converted by the reader at - no expense into plain ASCII, EBCDIC or equivalent - form by the program that displays the eBook (as is - the case, for instance, with most word processors); - OR - - [*] You provide, or agree to also provide on request at - no additional cost, fee or expense, a copy of the - eBook in its original plain ASCII form (or in EBCDIC - or other equivalent proprietary form). - -[2] Honor the eBook refund and replacement provisions of this - "Small Print!" statement. - -[3] Pay a trademark license fee to the Foundation of 20% of the - gross profits you derive calculated using the method you - already use to calculate your applicable taxes. If you - don't derive profits, no royalty is due. Royalties are - payable to "Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation" - the 60 days following each date you prepare (or were - legally required to prepare) your annual (or equivalent - periodic) tax return. Please contact us beforehand to - let us know your plans and to work out the details. - -WHAT IF YOU *WANT* TO SEND MONEY EVEN IF YOU DON'T HAVE TO? -Project Gutenberg is dedicated to increasing the number of -public domain and licensed works that can be freely distributed -in machine readable form. - -The Project gratefully accepts contributions of money, time, -public domain materials, or royalty free copyright licenses. -Money should be paid to the: -"Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation." - -If you are interested in contributing scanning equipment or -software or other items, please contact Michael Hart at: -hart@pobox.com - -[Portions of this eBook's header and trailer may be reprinted only -when distributed free of all fees. Copyright (C) 2001, 2002 by -Michael S. Hart. Project Gutenberg is a TradeMark and may not be -used in any sales of Project Gutenberg eBooks or other materials be -they hardware or software or any other related product without -express permission.] - -*END THE SMALL PRINT! FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN EBOOKS*Ver.02/11/02*END* - diff --git a/old/crnfd10.zip b/old/crnfd10.zip Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 8752be8..0000000 --- a/old/crnfd10.zip +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/crnfd10h.htm b/old/crnfd10h.htm deleted file mode 100644 index 32dada0..0000000 --- a/old/crnfd10h.htm +++ /dev/null @@ -1,7199 +0,0 @@ -<!DOCTYPE HTML PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD HTML 4.01//EN"> -<html> -<head> -<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=US-ASCII"> -<title>Cranford</title> -</head> -<body> -<h2> -<a href="#startoftext">Cranford, by Elizabeth Cleghorn Gaskell</a> -</h2> -<pre> -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Cranford, by Elizabeth Cleghorn Gaskell - -Copyright laws are changing all over the world. Be sure to check the -copyright laws for your country before downloading or redistributing -this or any other Project Gutenberg eBook. - -This header should be the first thing seen when viewing this Project -Gutenberg file. Please do not remove it. Do not change or edit the -header without written permission. - -Please read the "legal small print," and other information about the -eBook and Project Gutenberg at the bottom of this file. Included is -important information about your specific rights and restrictions in -how the file may be used. You can also find out about how to make a -donation to Project Gutenberg, and how to get involved. - - -**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** - -**eBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** - -*****These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!***** - - -Title: Cranford - -Author: Elizabeth Cleghorn Gaskell - -Release Date: January, 1996 [EBook #394] -[This file was first posted on December 7, 1995] -[Most recently updated: August 18, 2002] - -Edition: 10 - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ASCII -</pre> -<p> -<a name="startoftext"></a> -Transcribed from the 1907 J. M. Dent edition by David Price, email ccx074@coventry.ac.uk. -Extra proofing by Margaret Price.<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -CRANFORD<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -CHAPTER I - OUR SOCIETY<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -In the first place, Cranford is in possession of the Amazons; all the -holders of houses above a certain rent are women. If a married -couple come to settle in the town, somehow the gentleman disappears; -he is either fairly frightened to death by being the only man in the -Cranford evening parties, or he is accounted for by being with his regiment, -his ship, or closely engaged in business all the week in the great neighbouring -commercial town of Drumble, distant only twenty miles on a railroad. -In short, whatever does become of the gentlemen, they are not at Cranford. -What could they do if they were there? The surgeon has his round -of thirty miles, and sleeps at Cranford; but every man cannot be a surgeon. -For keeping the trim gardens full of choice flowers without a weed to -speck them; for frightening away little boys who look wistfully at the -said flowers through the railings; for rushing out at the geese that -occasionally venture in to the gardens if the gates are left open; for -deciding all questions of literature and politics without troubling -themselves with unnecessary reasons or arguments; for obtaining clear -and correct knowledge of everybody’s affairs in the parish; for -keeping their neat maid-servants in admirable order; for kindness (somewhat -dictatorial) to the poor, and real tender good offices to each other -whenever they are in distress, the ladies of Cranford are quite sufficient. -“A man,” as one of them observed to me once, “is <i>so</i> -in the way in the house!” Although the ladies of Cranford -know all each other’s proceedings, they are exceedingly indifferent -to each other’s opinions. Indeed, as each has her own individuality, -not to say eccentricity, pretty strongly developed, nothing is so easy -as verbal retaliation; but, somehow, good-will reigns among them to -a considerable degree.<br> -<br> -The Cranford ladies have only an occasional little quarrel, spirited -out in a few peppery words and angry jerks of the head; just enough -to prevent the even tenor of their lives from becoming too flat. -Their dress is very independent of fashion; as they observe, “What -does it signify how we dress here at Cranford, where everybody knows -us?” And if they go from home, their reason is equally cogent, -“What does it signify how we dress here, where nobody knows us?” -The materials of their clothes are, in general, good and plain, and -most of them are nearly as scrupulous as Miss Tyler, of cleanly memory; -but I will answer for it, the last gigot, the last tight and scanty -petticoat in wear in England, was seen in Cranford - and seen without -a smile.<br> -<br> -I can testify to a magnificent family red silk umbrella, under which -a gentle little spinster, left alone of many brothers and sisters, used -to patter to church on rainy days. Have you any red silk umbrellas -in London? We had a tradition of the first that had ever been -seen in Cranford; and the little boys mobbed it, and called it “a -stick in petticoats.” It might have been the very red silk -one I have described, held by a strong father over a troop of little -ones; the poor little lady - the survivor of all - could scarcely carry -it.<br> -<br> -Then there were rules and regulations for visiting and calls; and they -were announced to any young people who might be staying in the town, -with all the solemnity with which the old Manx laws were read once a -year on the Tinwald Mount.<br> -<br> -“Our friends have sent to inquire how you are after your journey -to-night, my dear” (fifteen miles in a gentleman’s carriage); -“they will give you some rest to-morrow, but the next day, I have -no doubt, they will call; so be at liberty after twelve - from twelve -to three are our calling hours.”<br> -<br> -Then, after they had called -<br> -<br> -“It is the third day; I dare say your mamma has told you, my dear, -never to let more than three days elapse between receiving a call and -returning it; and also, that you are never to stay longer than a quarter -of an hour.”<br> -<br> -“But am I to look at my watch? How am I to find out when -a quarter of an hour has passed?”<br> -<br> -“You must keep thinking about the time, my dear, and not allow -yourself to forget it in conversation.”<br> -<br> -As everybody had this rule in their minds, whether they received or -paid a call, of course no absorbing subject was ever spoken about. -We kept ourselves to short sentences of small talk, and were punctual -to our time.<br> -<br> -I imagine that a few of the gentlefolks of Cranford were poor, and had -some difficulty in making both ends meet; but they were like the Spartans, -and concealed their smart under a smiling face. We none of us -spoke of money, because that subject savoured of commerce and trade, -and though some might be poor, we were all aristocratic. The Cranfordians -had that kindly <i>esprit de corps</i> which made them overlook all -deficiencies in success when some among them tried to conceal their -poverty. When Mrs Forrester, for instance, gave a party in her -baby-house of a dwelling, and the little maiden disturbed the ladies -on the sofa by a request that she might get the tea-tray out from underneath, -everyone took this novel proceeding as the most natural thing in the -world, and talked on about household forms and ceremonies as if we all -believed that our hostess had a regular servants’ hall, second -table, with housekeeper and steward, instead of the one little charity-school -maiden, whose short ruddy arms could never have been strong enough to -carry the tray upstairs, if she had not been assisted in private by -her mistress, who now sat in state, pretending not to know what cakes -were sent up, though she knew, and we knew, and she knew that we knew, -and we knew that she knew that we knew, she had been busy all the morning -making tea-bread and sponge-cakes.<br> -<br> -There were one or two consequences arising from this general but unacknowledged -poverty, and this very much acknowledged gentility, which were not amiss, -and which might be introduced into many circles of society to their -great improvement. For instance, the inhabitants of Cranford kept -early hours, and clattered home in their pattens, under the guidance -of a lantern-bearer, about nine o’clock at night; and the whole -town was abed and asleep by half-past ten. Moreover, it was considered -“vulgar” (a tremendous word in Cranford) to give anything -expensive, in the way of eatable or drinkable, at the evening entertainments. -Wafer bread-and-butter and sponge-biscuits were all that the Honourable -Mrs Jamieson gave; and she was sister-in-law to the late Earl of Glenmire, -although she did practise such “elegant economy.”<br> -<br> -“Elegant economy!” How naturally one falls back into -the phraseology of Cranford! There, economy was always “elegant,” -and money-spending always “vulgar and ostentatious”; a sort -of sour-grapeism which made us very peaceful and satisfied. I -never shall forget the dismay felt when a certain Captain Brown came -to live at Cranford, and openly spoke about his being poor - not in -a whisper to an intimate friend, the doors and windows being previously -closed, but in the public street! in a loud military voice! alleging -his poverty as a reason for not taking a particular house. The -ladies of Cranford were already rather moaning over the invasion of -their territories by a man and a gentleman. He was a half-pay -captain, and had obtained some situation on a neighbouring railroad, -which had been vehemently petitioned against by the little town; and -if, in addition to his masculine gender, and his connection with the -obnoxious railroad, he was so brazen as to talk of being poor - why, -then, indeed, he must be sent to Coventry. Death was as true and -as common as poverty; yet people never spoke about that, loud out in -the streets. It was a word not to be mentioned to ears polite. -We had tacitly agreed to ignore that any with whom we associated on -terms of visiting equality could ever be prevented by poverty from doing -anything that they wished. If we walked to or from a party, it -was because the night was <i>so</i> fine, or the air <i>so</i> refreshing, -not because sedan-chairs were expensive. If we wore prints, instead -of summer silks, it was because we preferred a washing material; and -so on, till we blinded ourselves to the vulgar fact that we were, all -of us, people of very moderate means. Of course, then, we did -not know what to make of a man who could speak of poverty as if it was -not a disgrace. Yet, somehow, Captain Brown made himself respected -in Cranford, and was called upon, in spite of all resolutions to the -contrary. I was surprised to hear his opinions quoted as authority -at a visit which I paid to Cranford about a year after he had settled -in the town. My own friends had been among the bitterest opponents -of any proposal to visit the Captain and his daughters, only twelve -months before; and now he was even admitted in the tabooed hours before -twelve. True, it was to discover the cause of a smoking chimney, -before the fire was lighted; but still Captain Brown walked upstairs, -nothing daunted, spoke in a voice too large for the room, and joked -quite in the way of a tame man about the house. He had been blind -to all the small slights, and omissions of trivial ceremonies, with -which he had been received. He had been friendly, though the Cranford -ladies had been cool; he had answered small sarcastic compliments in -good faith; and with his manly frankness had overpowered all the shrinking -which met him as a man who was not ashamed to be poor. And, at -last, his excellent masculine common sense, and his facility in devising -expedients to overcome domestic dilemmas, had gained him an extraordinary -place as authority among the Cranford ladies. He himself went -on in his course, as unaware of his popularity as he had been of the -reverse; and I am sure he was startled one day when he found his advice -so highly esteemed as to make some counsel which he had given in jest -to be taken in sober, serious earnest.<br> -<br> -It was on this subject: An old lady had an Alderney cow, which she looked -upon as a daughter. You could not pay the short quarter of an -hour call without being told of the wonderful milk or wonderful intelligence -of this animal. The whole town knew and kindly regarded Miss Betsy -Barker’s Alderney; therefore great was the sympathy and regret -when, in an unguarded moment, the poor cow tumbled into a lime-pit. -She moaned so loudly that she was soon heard and rescued; but meanwhile -the poor beast had lost most of her hair, and came out looking naked, -cold, and miserable, in a bare skin. Everybody pitied the animal, -though a few could not restrain their smiles at her droll appearance. -Miss Betsy Barker absolutely cried with sorrow and dismay; and it was -said she thought of trying a bath of oil. This remedy, perhaps, -was recommended by some one of the number whose advice she asked; but -the proposal, if ever it was made, was knocked on the head by Captain -Brown’s decided “Get her a flannel waistcoat and flannel -drawers, ma’am, if you wish to keep her alive. But my advice -is, kill the poor creature at once.”<br> -<br> -Miss Betsy Barker dried her eyes, and thanked the Captain heartily; -she set to work, and by-and-by all the town turned out to see the Alderney -meekly going to her pasture, clad in dark grey flannel. I have -watched her myself many a time. Do you ever see cows dressed in -grey flannel in London?<br> -<br> -Captain Brown had taken a small house on the outskirts of the town, -where he lived with his two daughters. He must have been upwards -of sixty at the time of the first visit I paid to Cranford after I had -left it as a residence. But he had a wiry, well-trained, elastic -figure, a stiff military throw-back of his head, and a springing step, -which made him appear much younger than he was. His eldest daughter -looked almost as old as himself, and betrayed the fact that his real -was more than his apparent age. Miss Brown must have been forty; -she had a sickly, pained, careworn expression on her face, and looked -as if the gaiety of youth had long faded out of sight. Even when -young she must have been plain and hard-featured. Miss Jessie -Brown was ten years younger than her sister, and twenty shades prettier. -Her face was round and dimpled. Miss Jenkyns once said, in a passion -against Captain Brown (the cause of which I will tell you presently), -“that she thought it was time for Miss Jessie to leave off her -dimples, and not always to be trying to look like a child.” -It was true there was something childlike in her face; and there will -be, I think, till she dies, though she should live to a hundred. -Her eyes were large blue wondering eyes, looking straight at you; her -nose was unformed and snub, and her lips were red and dewy; she wore -her hair, too, in little rows of curls, which heightened this appearance. -I do not know whether she was pretty or not; but I liked her face, and -so did everybody, and I do not think she could help her dimples. -She had something of her father’s jauntiness of gait and manner; -and any female observer might detect a slight difference in the attire -of the two sisters - that of Miss Jessie being about two pounds per -annum more expensive than Miss Brown’s. Two pounds was a -large sum in Captain Brown’s annual disbursements.<br> -<br> -Such was the impression made upon me by the Brown family when I first -saw them all together in Cranford Church. The Captain I had met -before - on the occasion of the smoky chimney, which he had cured by -some simple alteration in the flue. In church, he held his double -eye-glass to his eyes during the Morning Hymn, and then lifted up his -head erect and sang out loud and joyfully. He made the responses -louder than the clerk - an old man with a piping feeble voice, who, -I think, felt aggrieved at the Captain’s sonorous bass, and quivered -higher and higher in consequence.<br> -<br> -On coming out of church, the brisk Captain paid the most gallant attention -to his two daughters.<br> -<br> -He nodded and smiled to his acquaintances; but he shook hands with none -until he had helped Miss Brown to unfurl her umbrella, had relieved -her of her prayer-book, and had waited patiently till she, with trembling -nervous hands, had taken up her gown to walk through the wet roads.<br> -<br> -I wonder what the Cranford ladies did with Captain Brown at their parties. -We had often rejoiced, in former days, that there was no gentleman to -be attended to, and to find conversation for, at the card-parties. -We had congratulated ourselves upon the snugness of the evenings; and, -in our love for gentility, and distaste of mankind, we had almost persuaded -ourselves that to be a man was to be “vulgar”; so that when -I found my friend and hostess, Miss Jenkyns, was going to have a party -in my honour, and that Captain and the Miss Browns were invited, I wondered -much what would be the course of the evening. Card-tables, with -green baize tops, were set out by daylight, just as usual; it was the -third week in November, so the evenings closed in about four. -Candles, and clean packs of cards, were arranged on each table. -The fire was made up; the neat maid-servant had received her last directions; -and there we stood, dressed in our best, each with a candle-lighter -in our hands, ready to dart at the candles as soon as the first knock -came. Parties in Cranford were solemn festivities, making the -ladies feel gravely elated as they sat together in their best dresses. -As soon as three had arrived, we sat down to “Preference,” -I being the unlucky fourth. The next four comers were put down -immediately to another table; and presently the tea-trays, which I had -seen set out in the store-room as I passed in the morning, were placed -each on the middle of a card-table. The china was delicate egg-shell; -the old-fashioned silver glittered with polishing; but the eatables -were of the slightest description. While the trays were yet on -the tables, Captain and the Miss Browns came in; and I could see that, -somehow or other, the Captain was a favourite with all the ladies present. -Ruffled brows were smoothed, sharp voices lowered at his approach. -Miss Brown looked ill, and depressed almost to gloom. Miss Jessie -smiled as usual, and seemed nearly as popular as her father. He -immediately and quietly assumed the man’s place in the room; attended -to every one’s wants, lessened the pretty maid-servant’s -labour by waiting on empty cups and bread-and-butterless ladies; and -yet did it all in so easy and dignified a manner, and so much as if -it were a matter of course for the strong to attend to the weak, that -he was a true man throughout. He played for threepenny points -with as grave an interest as if they had been pounds; and yet, in all -his attention to strangers, he had an eye on his suffering daughter -- for suffering I was sure she was, though to many eyes she might only -appear to be irritable. Miss Jessie could not play cards: but -she talked to the sitters-out, who, before her coming, had been rather -inclined to be cross. She sang, too, to an old cracked piano, -which I think had been a spinet in its youth. Miss Jessie sang, -“Jock of Hazeldean” a little out of tune; but we were none -of us musical, though Miss Jenkyns beat time, out of time, by way of -appearing to be so.<br> -<br> -It was very good of Miss Jenkyns to do this; for I had seen that, a -little before, she had been a good deal annoyed by Miss Jessie Brown’s -unguarded admission (<i>à propos</i> of Shetland wool) that she -had an uncle, her mother’s brother, who was a shop-keeper in Edinburgh. -Miss Jenkyns tried to drown this confession by a terrible cough - for -the Honourable Mrs Jamieson was sitting at a card-table nearest Miss -Jessie, and what would she say or think if she found out she was in -the same room with a shop-keeper’s niece! But Miss Jessie -Brown (who had no tact, as we all agreed the next morning) <i>would</i> -repeat the information, and assure Miss Pole she could easily get her -the identical Shetland wool required, “through my uncle, who has -the best assortment of Shetland goods of any one in Edinbro’.” -It was to take the taste of this out of our mouths, and the sound of -this out of our ears, that Miss Jenkyns proposed music; so I say again, -it was very good of her to beat time to the song.<br> -<br> -When the trays re-appeared with biscuits and wine, punctually at a quarter -to nine, there was conversation, comparing of cards, and talking over -tricks; but by-and-by Captain Brown sported a bit of literature.<br> -<br> -“Have you seen any numbers of ‘The Pickwick Papers’?” -said he. (They we’re then publishing in parts.) “Capital -thing!”<br> -<br> -Now Miss Jenkyns was daughter of a deceased rector of Cranford; and, -on the strength of a number of manuscript sermons, and a pretty good -library of divinity, considered herself literary, and looked upon any -conversation about books as a challenge to her. So she answered -and said, “Yes, she had seen them; indeed, she might say she had -read them.”<br> -<br> -“And what do you think of them?” exclaimed Captain Brown. -“Aren’t they famously good?”<br> -<br> -So urged Miss Jenkyns could not but speak.<br> -<br> -“I must say, I don’t think they are by any means equal to -Dr Johnson. Still, perhaps, the author is young. Let him -persevere, and who knows what he may become if he will take the great -Doctor for his model?” This was evidently too much for Captain -Brown to take placidly; and I saw the words on the tip of his tongue -before Miss Jenkyns had finished her sentence.<br> -<br> -“It is quite a different sort of thing, my dear madam,” -he began.<br> -<br> -“I am quite aware of that,” returned she. “And -I make allowances, Captain Brown.”<br> -<br> -“Just allow me to read you a scene out of this month’s number,” -pleaded he. “I had it only this morning, and I don’t -think the company can have read it yet.”<br> -<br> -“As you please,” said she, settling herself with an air -of resignation. He read the account of the “swarry” -which Sam Weller gave at Bath. Some of us laughed heartily. -<i>I</i> did not dare, because I was staying in the house. Miss -Jenkyns sat in patient gravity. When it was ended, she turned -to me, and said with mild dignity -<br> -<br> -“Fetch me ‘Rasselas,’ my dear, out of the book-room.”<br> -<br> -When I had brought it to her, she turned to Captain Brown -<br> -<br> -“Now allow me to read you a scene, and then the present company -can judge between your favourite, Mr Boz, and Dr Johnson.”<br> -<br> -She read one of the conversations between Rasselas and Imlac, in a high-pitched, -majestic voice: and when she had ended, she said, “I imagine I -am now justified in my preference of Dr Johnson as a writer of fiction.” -The Captain screwed his lips up, and drummed on the table, but he did -not speak. She thought she would give him a finishing blow or -two.<br> -<br> -“I consider it vulgar, and below the dignity of literature, to -publish in numbers.”<br> -<br> -“How was the <i>Rambler</i> published, ma’am?” asked -Captain Brown in a low voice, which I think Miss Jenkyns could not have -heard.<br> -<br> -“Dr Johnson’s style is a model for young beginners. -My father recommended it to me when I began to write letters - I have -formed my own style upon it; I recommended it to your favourite.”<br> -<br> -“I should be very sorry for him to exchange his style for any -such pompous writing,” said Captain Brown.<br> -<br> -Miss Jenkyns felt this as a personal affront, in a way of which the -Captain had not dreamed. Epistolary writing she and her friends -considered as her <i>forte</i>. Many a copy of many a letter have -I seen written and corrected on the slate, before she “seized -the half-hour just previous to post-time to assure” her friends -of this or of that; and Dr Johnson was, as she said, her model in these -compositions. She drew herself up with dignity, and only replied -to Captain Brown’s last remark by saying, with marked emphasis -on every syllable, “I prefer Dr Johnson to Mr Boz.”<br> -<br> -It is said - I won’t vouch for the fact - that Captain Brown was -heard to say, <i>sotto voce</i>, “D-n Dr Johnson!” -If he did, he was penitent afterwards, as he showed by going to stand -near Miss Jenkyns’ arm-chair, and endeavouring to beguile her -into conversation on some more pleasing subject. But she was inexorable. -The next day she made the remark I have mentioned about Miss Jessie’s -dimples.<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -CHAPTER II - THE CAPTAIN<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -It was impossible to live a month at Cranford and not know the daily -habits of each resident; and long before my visit was ended I knew much -concerning the whole Brown trio. There was nothing new to be discovered -respecting their poverty; for they had spoken simply and openly about -that from the very first. They made no mystery of the necessity -for their being economical. All that remained to be discovered -was the Captain’s infinite kindness of heart, and the various -modes in which, unconsciously to himself, he manifested it. Some -little anecdotes were talked about for some time after they occurred. -As we did not read much, and as all the ladies were pretty well suited -with servants, there was a dearth of subjects for conversation. -We therefore discussed the circumstance of the Captain taking a poor -old woman’s dinner out of her hands one very slippery Sunday. -He had met her returning from the bakehouse as he came from church, -and noticed her precarious footing; and, with the grave dignity with -which he did everything, he relieved her of her burden, and steered -along the street by her side, carrying her baked mutton and potatoes -safely home. This was thought very eccentric; and it was rather -expected that he would pay a round of calls, on the Monday morning, -to explain and apologise to the Cranford sense of propriety: but he -did no such thing: and then it was decided that he was ashamed, and -was keeping out of sight. In a kindly pity for him, we began to -say, “After all, the Sunday morning’s occurrence showed -great goodness of heart,” and it was resolved that he should be -comforted on his next appearance amongst us; but, lo! he came down upon -us, untouched by any sense of shame, speaking loud and bass as ever, -his head thrown back, his wig as jaunty and well-curled as usual, and -we were obliged to conclude he had forgotten all about Sunday.<br> -<br> -Miss Pole and Miss Jessie Brown had set up a kind of intimacy on the -strength of the Shetland wool and the new knitting stitches; so it happened -that when I went to visit Miss Pole I saw more of the Browns than I -had done while staying with Miss Jenkyns, who had never got over what -she called Captain Brown’s disparaging remarks upon Dr Johnson -as a writer of light and agreeable fiction. I found that Miss -Brown was seriously ill of some lingering, incurable complaint, the -pain occasioned by which gave the uneasy expression to her face that -I had taken for unmitigated crossness. Cross, too, she was at -times, when the nervous irritability occasioned by her disease became -past endurance. Miss Jessie bore with her at these times, even -more patiently than she did with the bitter self-upbraidings by which -they were invariably succeeded. Miss Brown used to accuse herself, -not merely of hasty and irritable temper, but also of being the cause -why her father and sister were obliged to pinch, in order to allow her -the small luxuries which were necessaries in her condition. She -would so fain have made sacrifices for them, and have lightened their -cares, that the original generosity of her disposition added acerbity -to her temper. All this was borne by Miss Jessie and her father -with more than placidity - with absolute tenderness. I forgave -Miss Jessie her singing out of tune, and her juvenility of dress, when -I saw her at home. I came to perceive that Captain Brown’s -dark Brutus wig and padded coat (alas! too often threadbare) were remnants -of the military smartness of his youth, which he now wore unconsciously. -He was a man of infinite resources, gained in his barrack experience. -As he confessed, no one could black his boots to please him except himself; -but, indeed, he was not above saving the little maid-servant’s -labours in every way - knowing, most likely, that his daughter’s -illness made the place a hard one.<br> -<br> -He endeavoured to make peace with Miss Jenkyns soon after the memorable -dispute I have named, by a present of a wooden fire-shovel (his own -making), having heard her say how much the grating of an iron one annoyed -her. She received the present with cool gratitude, and thanked -him formally. When he was gone, she bade me put it away in the -lumber-room; feeling, probably, that no present from a man who preferred -Mr Boz to Dr Johnson could be less jarring than an iron fire-shovel.<br> -<br> -Such was the state of things when I left Cranford and went to Drumble. -I had, however, several correspondents, who kept me <i>au fait</i> as -to the proceedings of the dear little town. There was Miss Pole, -who was becoming as much absorbed in crochet as she had been once in -knitting, and the burden of whose letter was something like, “But -don’t you forget the white worsted at Flint’s” of -the old song; for at the end of every sentence of news came a fresh -direction as to some crochet commission which I was to execute for her. -Miss Matilda Jenkyns (who did not mind being called Miss Matty, when -Miss Jenkyns was not by) wrote nice, kind, rambling letters, now and -then venturing into an opinion of her own; but suddenly pulling herself -up, and either begging me not to name what she had said, as Deborah -thought differently, and <i>she</i> knew, or else putting in a postscript -to the effect that, since writing the above, she had been talking over -the subject with Deborah, and was quite convinced that, etc. - (here -probably followed a recantation of every opinion she had given in the -letter). Then came Miss Jenkyns - Deborah, as she liked Miss Matty -to call her, her father having once said that the Hebrew name ought -to be so pronounced. I secretly think she took the Hebrew prophetess -for a model in character; and, indeed, she was not unlike the stern -prophetess in some ways, making allowance, of course, for modern customs -and difference in dress. Miss Jenkyns wore a cravat, and a little -bonnet like a jockey-cap, and altogether had the appearance of a strong-minded -woman; although she would have despised the modern idea of women being -equal to men. Equal, indeed! she knew they were superior. -But to return to her letters. Everything in them was stately and -grand like herself. I have been looking them over (dear Miss Jenkyns, -how I honoured her!) and I will give an extract, more especially because -it relates to our friend Captain Brown:-<br> -<br> -“The Honourable Mrs Jamieson has only just quitted me; and, in -the course of conversation, she communicated to me the intelligence -that she had yesterday received a call from her revered husband’s -quondam friend, Lord Mauleverer. You will not easily conjecture -what brought his lordship within the precincts of our little town. -It was to see Captain Brown, with whom, it appears, his lordship was -acquainted in the ‘plumed wars,’ and who had the privilege -of averting destruction from his lordship’s head when some great -peril was impending over it, off the misnomered Cape of Good Hope. -You know our friend the Honourable Mrs Jamieson’s deficiency in -the spirit of innocent curiosity, and you will therefore not be so much -surprised when I tell you she was quite unable to disclose to me the -exact nature of the peril in question. I was anxious, I confess, -to ascertain in what manner Captain Brown, with his limited establishment, -could receive so distinguished a guest; and I discovered that his lordship -retired to rest, and, let us hope, to refreshing slumbers, at the Angel -Hotel; but shared the Brunonian meals during the two days that he honoured -Cranford with his august presence. Mrs Johnson, our civil butcher’s -wife, informs me that Miss Jessie purchased a leg of lamb; but, besides -this, I can hear of no preparation whatever to give a suitable reception -to so distinguished a visitor. Perhaps they entertained him with -‘the feast of reason and the flow of soul’; and to us, who -are acquainted with Captain Brown’s sad want of relish for ‘the -pure wells of English undefiled,’ it may be matter for congratulation -that he has had the opportunity of improving his taste by holding converse -with an elegant and refined member of the British aristocracy. -But from some mundane failings who is altogether free?”<br> -<br> -Miss Pole and Miss Matty wrote to me by the same post. Such a -piece of news as Lord Mauleverer’s visit was not to be lost on -the Cranford letter-writers: they made the most of it. Miss Matty -humbly apologised for writing at the same time as her sister, who was -so much more capable than she to describe the honour done to Cranford; -but in spite of a little bad spelling, Miss Matty’s account gave -me the best idea of the commotion occasioned by his lordship’s -visit, after it had occurred; for, except the people at the Angel, the -Browns, Mrs Jamieson, and a little lad his lordship had sworn at for -driving a dirty hoop against the aristocratic legs, I could not hear -of any one with whom his lordship had held conversation.<br> -<br> -My next visit to Cranford was in the summer. There had been neither -births, deaths, nor marriages since I was there last. Everybody -lived in the same house, and wore pretty nearly the same well-preserved, -old-fashioned clothes. The greatest event was, that Miss Jenkyns -had purchased a new carpet for the drawing-room. Oh, the busy -work Miss Matty and I had in chasing the sunbeams, as they fell in an -afternoon right down on this carpet through the blindless window! -We spread newspapers over the places and sat down to our book or our -work; and, lo! in a quarter of an hour the sun had moved, and was blazing -away on a fresh spot; and down again we went on our knees to alter the -position of the newspapers. We were very busy, too, one whole -morning, before Miss Jenkyns gave her party, in following her directions, -and in cutting out and stitching together pieces of newspaper so as -to form little paths to every chair set for the expected visitors, lest -their shoes might dirty or defile the purity of the carpet. Do -you make paper paths for every guest to walk upon in London?<br> -<br> -Captain Brown and Miss Jenkyns were not very cordial to each other. -The literary dispute, of which I had seen the beginning, was a “raw,” -the slightest touch on which made them wince. It was the only -difference of opinion they had ever had; but that difference was enough. -Miss Jenkyns could not refrain from talking at Captain Brown; and, though -he did not reply, he drummed with his fingers, which action she felt -and resented as very disparaging to Dr Johnson. He was rather -ostentatious in his preference of the writings of Mr Boz; would walk -through the streets so absorbed in them that he all but ran against -Miss Jenkyns; and though his apologies were earnest and sincere, and -though he did not, in fact, do more than startle her and himself, she -owned to me she had rather he had knocked her down, if he had only been -reading a higher style of literature. The poor, brave Captain! -he looked older, and more worn, and his clothes were very threadbare. -But he seemed as bright and cheerful as ever, unless he was asked about -his daughter’s health.<br> -<br> -“She suffers a great deal, and she must suffer more: we do what -we can to alleviate her pain; - God’s will be done!” -He took off his hat at these last words. I found, from Miss Matty, -that everything had been done, in fact. A medical man, of high -repute in that country neighbourhood, had been sent for, and every injunction -he had given was attended to, regardless of expense. Miss Matty -was sure they denied themselves many things in order to make the invalid -comfortable; but they never spoke about it; and as for Miss Jessie! -- “I really think she’s an angel,” said poor Miss -Matty, quite overcome. “To see her way of bearing with Miss -Brown’s crossness, and the bright face she puts on after she’s -been sitting up a whole night and scolded above half of it, is quite -beautiful. Yet she looks as neat and as ready to welcome the Captain -at breakfast-time as if she had been asleep in the Queen’s bed -all night. My dear! you could never laugh at her prim little curls -or her pink bows again if you saw her as I have done.” I -could only feel very penitent, and greet Miss Jessie with double respect -when I met her next. She looked faded and pinched; and her lips -began to quiver, as if she was very weak, when she spoke of her sister. -But she brightened, and sent back the tears that were glittering in -her pretty eyes, as she said -<br> -<br> -“But, to be sure, what a town Cranford is for kindness! -I don’t suppose any one has a better dinner than usual cooked -but the best part of all comes in a little covered basin for my sister. -The poor people will leave their earliest vegetables at our door for -her. They speak short and gruff, as if they were ashamed of it: -but I am sure it often goes to my heart to see their thoughtfulness.” -The tears now came back and overflowed; but after a minute or two she -began to scold herself, and ended by going away the same cheerful Miss -Jessie as ever.<br> -<br> -“But why does not this Lord Mauleverer do something for the man -who saved his life?” said I.<br> -<br> -“Why, you see, unless Captain Brown has some reason for it, he -never speaks about being poor; and he walked along by his lordship looking -as happy and cheerful as a prince; and as they never called attention -to their dinner by apologies, and as Miss Brown was better that day, -and all seemed bright, I daresay his lordship never knew how much care -there was in the background. He did send game in the winter pretty -often, but now he is gone abroad.”<br> -<br> -I had often occasion to notice the use that was made of fragments and -small opportunities in Cranford; the rose-leaves that were gathered -ere they fell to make into a potpourri for someone who had no garden; -the little bundles of lavender flowers sent to strew the drawers of -some town-dweller, or to burn in the chamber of some invalid. -Things that many would despise, and actions which it seemed scarcely -worth while to perform, were all attended to in Cranford. Miss -Jenkyns stuck an apple full of cloves, to be heated and smell pleasantly -in Miss Brown’s room; and as she put in each clove she uttered -a Johnsonian sentence. Indeed, she never could think of the Browns -without talking Johnson; and, as they were seldom absent from her thoughts -just then, I heard many a rolling, three-piled sentence.<br> -<br> -Captain Brown called one day to thank Mist Jenkyns for many little kindnesses, -which I did not know until then that she had rendered. He had -suddenly become like an old man; his deep bass voice had a quavering -in it, his eyes looked dim, and the lines on his face were deep. -He did not - could not - speak cheerfully of his daughter’s state, -but he talked with manly, pious resignation, and not much. Twice -over he said, “What Jessie has been to us, God only knows!” -and after the second time, he got up hastily, shook hands all round -without speaking, and left the room.<br> -<br> -That afternoon we perceived little groups in the street, all listening -with faces aghast to some tale or other. Miss Jenkyns wondered -what could be the matter for some time before she took the undignified -step of sending Jenny out to inquire.<br> -<br> -Jenny came back with a white face of terror. “Oh, ma’am! -Oh, Miss Jenkyns, ma’am! Captain Brown is killed by them -nasty cruel railroads!” and she burst into tears. She, along -with many others, had experienced the poor Captain’s kindness.<br> -<br> -“How? - where - where? Good God! Jenny, don’t -waste time in crying, but tell us something.” Miss Matty -rushed out into the street at once, and collared the man who was telling -the tale.<br> -<br> -“Come in - come to my sister at once, Miss Jenkyns, the rector’s -daughter. Oh, man, man! say it is not true,” she cried, -as she brought the affrighted carter, sleeking down his hair, into the -drawing-room, where he stood with his wet boots on the new carpet, and -no one regarded it.<br> -<br> -“Please, mum, it is true. I seed it myself,” and he -shuddered at the recollection. “The Captain was a-reading -some new book as he was deep in, a-waiting for the down train; and there -was a little lass as wanted to come to its mammy, and gave its sister -the slip, and came toddling across the line. And he looked up -sudden, at the sound of the train coming, and seed the child, and he -darted on the line and cotched it up, and his foot slipped, and the -train came over him in no time. O Lord, Lord! Mum, it’s -quite true, and they’ve come over to tell his daughters. -The child’s safe, though, with only a bang on its shoulder as -he threw it to its mammy. Poor Captain would be glad of that, -mum, wouldn’t he? God bless him!” The great -rough carter puckered up his manly face, and turned away to hide his -tears. I turned to Miss Jenkyns. She looked very ill, as -if she were going to faint, and signed to me to open the window.<br> -<br> -“Matilda, bring me my bonnet. I must go to those girls. -God pardon me, if ever I have spoken contemptuously to the Captain!”<br> -<br> -Miss Jenkyns arrayed herself to go out, telling Miss Matilda to give -the man a glass of wine. While she was away, Miss Matty and I -huddled over the fire, talking in a low and awe-struck voice. -I know we cried quietly all the time.<br> -<br> -Miss Jenkyns came home in a silent mood, and we durst not ask her many -questions. She told us that Miss Jessie had fainted, and that -she and Miss Pole had had some difficulty in bringing her round; but -that, as soon as she recovered, she begged one of them to go and sit -with her sister.<br> -<br> -“Mr Hoggins says she cannot live many days, and she shall be spared -this shock,” said Miss Jessie, shivering with feelings to which -she dared not give way.<br> -<br> -“But how can you manage, my dear?” asked Miss Jenkyns; “you -cannot bear up, she must see your tears.”<br> -<br> -“God will help me - I will not give way - she was asleep when -the news came; she may be asleep yet. She would be so utterly -miserable, not merely at my father’s death, but to think of what -would become of me; she is so good to me.” She looked up -earnestly in their faces with her soft true eyes, and Miss Pole told -Miss Jenkyns afterwards she could hardly bear it, knowing, as she did, -how Miss Brown treated her sister.<br> -<br> -However, it was settled according to Miss Jessie’s wish. -Miss Brown was to be told her father had been summoned to take a short -journey on railway business. They had managed it in some way - -Miss Jenkyns could not exactly say how. Miss Pole was to stop -with Miss Jessie. Mrs Jamieson had sent to inquire. And -this was all we heard that night; and a sorrowful night it was. -The next day a full account of the fatal accident was in the county -paper which Miss Jenkyns took in. Her eyes were very weak, she -said, and she asked me to read it. When I came to the “gallant -gentleman was deeply engaged in the perusal of a number of ‘Pickwick,’ -which he had just received,” Miss Jenkyns shook her head long -and solemnly, and then sighed out, “Poor, dear, infatuated man!”<br> -<br> -The corpse was to be taken from the station to the parish church, there -to be interred. Miss Jessie had set her heart on following it -to the grave; and no dissuasives could alter her resolve. Her -restraint upon herself made her almost obstinate; she resisted all Miss -Pole’s entreaties and Miss Jenkyns’ advice. At last -Miss Jenkyns gave up the point; and after a silence, which I feared -portended some deep displeasure against Miss Jessie, Miss Jenkyns said -she should accompany the latter to the funeral.<br> -<br> -“It is not fit for you to go alone. It would be against -both propriety and humanity were I to allow it.”<br> -<br> -Miss Jessie seemed as if she did not half like this arrangement; but -her obstinacy, if she had any, had been exhausted in her determination -to go to the interment. She longed, poor thing, I have no doubt, -to cry alone over the grave of the dear father to whom she had been -all in all, and to give way, for one little half-hour, uninterrupted -by sympathy and unobserved by friendship. But it was not to be. -That afternoon Miss Jenkyns sent out for a yard of black crape, and -employed herself busily in trimming the little black silk bonnet I have -spoken about. When it was finished she put it on, and looked at -us for approbation - admiration she despised. I was full of sorrow, -but, by one of those whimsical thoughts which come unbidden into our -heads, in times of deepest grief, I no sooner saw the bonnet than I -was reminded of a helmet; and in that hybrid bonnet, half helmet, half -jockey-cap, did Miss Jenkyns attend Captain Brown’s funeral, and, -I believe, supported Miss Jessie with a tender, indulgent firmness which -was invaluable, allowing her to weep her passionate fill before they -left.<br> -<br> -Miss Pole, Miss Matty, and I, meanwhile attended to Miss Brown: and -hard work we found it to relieve her querulous and never-ending complaints. -But if we were so weary and dispirited, what must Miss Jessie have been! -Yet she came back almost calm as if she had gained a new strength. -She put off her mourning dress, and came in, looking pale and gentle, -thanking us each with a soft long pressure of the hand. She could -even smile - a faint, sweet, wintry smile - as if to reassure us of -her power to endure; but her look made our eyes fill suddenly with tears, -more than if she had cried outright.<br> -<br> -It was settled that Miss Pole was to remain with her all the watching -livelong night; and that Miss Matty and I were to return in the morning -to relieve them, and give Miss Jessie the opportunity for a few hours -of sleep. But when the morning came, Miss Jenkyns appeared at -the breakfast-table, equipped in her helmet-bonnet, and ordered Miss -Matty to stay at home, as she meant to go and help to nurse. She -was evidently in a state of great friendly excitement, which she showed -by eating her breakfast standing, and scolding the household all round.<br> -<br> -No nursing - no energetic strong-minded woman could help Miss Brown -now. There was that in the room as we entered which was stronger -than us all, and made us shrink into solemn awestruck helplessness. -Miss Brown was dying. We hardly knew her voice, it was so devoid -of the complaining tone we had always associated with it. Miss -Jessie told me afterwards that it, and her face too, were just what -they had been formerly, when her mother’s death left her the young -anxious head of the family, of whom only Miss Jessie survived.<br> -<br> -She was conscious of her sister’s presence, though not, I think, -of ours. We stood a little behind the curtain: Miss Jessie knelt -with her face near her sister’s, in order to catch the last soft -awful whispers.<br> -<br> -“Oh, Jessie! Jessie! How selfish I have been! -God forgive me for letting you sacrifice yourself for me as you did! -I have so loved you - and yet I have thought only of myself. God -forgive me!”<br> -<br> -“Hush, love! hush!” said Miss Jessie, sobbing.<br> -<br> -“And my father, my dear, dear father! I will not complain -now, if God will give me strength to be patient. But, oh, Jessie! -tell my father how I longed and yearned to see him at last, and to ask -his forgiveness. He can never know now how I loved him - oh! if -I might but tell him, before I die! What a life of sorrow his -has been, and I have done so little to cheer him!”<br> -<br> -A light came into Miss Jessie’s face. “Would it comfort -you, dearest, to think that he does know? - would it comfort you, love, -to know that his cares, his sorrows” - Her voice quivered, but -she steadied it into calmness - “Mary! he has gone before you -to the place where the weary are at rest. He knows now how you -loved him.”<br> -<br> -A strange look, which was not distress, came over Miss Brown’s -face. She did not speak for come time, but then we saw her lips -form the words, rather than heard the sound - “Father, mother, -Harry, Archy;” - then, as if it were a new idea throwing a filmy -shadow over her darkened mind - “But you will be alone, Jessie!”<br> -<br> -Miss Jessie had been feeling this all during the silence, I think; for -the tears rolled down her cheeks like rain, at these words, and she -could not answer at first. Then she put her hands together tight, -and lifted them up, and said - but not to us - “Though He slay -me, yet will I trust in Him.”<br> -<br> -In a few moments more Miss Brown lay calm and still - never to sorrow -or murmur more.<br> -<br> -After this second funeral, Miss Jenkyns insisted that Miss Jessie should -come to stay with her rather than go back to the desolate house, which, -in fact, we learned from Miss Jessie, must now be given up, as she had -not wherewithal to maintain it. She had something above twenty -pounds a year, besides the interest of the money for which the furniture -would sell; but she could not live upon that: and so we talked over -her qualifications for earning money.<br> -<br> -“I can sew neatly,” said she, “and I like nursing. -I think, too, I could manage a house, if any one would try me as housekeeper; -or I would go into a shop as saleswoman, if they would have patience -with me at first.”<br> -<br> -Miss Jenkyns declared, in an angry voice, that she should do no such -thing; and talked to herself about “some people having no idea -of their rank as a captain’s daughter,” nearly an hour afterwards, -when she brought Miss Jessie up a basin of delicately-made arrowroot, -and stood over her like a dragoon until the last spoonful was finished: -then she disappeared. Miss Jessie began to tell me some more of -the plans which had suggested themselves to her, and insensibly fell -into talking of the days that were past and gone, and interested me -so much I neither knew nor heeded how time passed. We were both -startled when Miss Jenkyns reappeared, and caught us crying. I -was afraid lest she would be displeased, as she often said that crying -hindered digestion, and I knew she wanted Miss Jessie to get strong; -but, instead, she looked queer and excited, and fidgeted round us without -saying anything. At last she spoke.<br> -<br> -“I have been so much startled - no, I’ve not been at all -startled - don’t mind me, my dear Miss Jessie - I’ve been -very much surprised - in fact, I’ve had a caller, whom you knew -once, my dear Miss Jessie” -<br> -<br> -Miss Jessie went very white, then flushed scarlet, and looked eagerly -at Miss Jenkyns.<br> -<br> -“A gentleman, my dear, who wants to know if you would see him.”<br> -<br> -“Is it? - it is not” - stammered out Miss Jessie - and got -no farther.<br> -<br> -“This is his card,” said Miss Jenkyns, giving it to Miss -Jessie; and while her head was bent over it, Miss Jenkyns went through -a series of winks and odd faces to me, and formed her lips into a long -sentence, of which, of course, I could not understand a word.<br> -<br> -“May he come up?” asked Miss Jenkyns at last.<br> -<br> -“Oh, yes! certainly!” said Miss Jessie, as much as to say, -this is your house, you may show any visitor where you like. She -took up some knitting of Miss Matty’s and began to be very busy, -though I could see how she trembled all over.<br> -<br> -Miss Jenkyns rang the bell, and told the servant who answered it to -show Major Gordon upstairs; and, presently, in walked a tall, fine, -frank-looking man of forty or upwards. He shook hands with Miss -Jessie; but he could not see her eyes, she kept them so fixed on the -ground. Miss Jenkyns asked me if I would come and help her to -tie up the preserves in the store-room; and though Miss Jessie plucked -at my gown, and even looked up at me with begging eye, I durst not refuse -to go where Miss Jenkyns asked. Instead of tying up preserves -in the store-room, however, we went to talk in the dining-room; and -there Miss Jenkyns told me what Major Gordon had told her; how he had -served in the same regiment with Captain Brown, and had become acquainted -with Miss Jessie, then a sweet-looking, blooming girl of eighteen; how -the acquaintance had grown into love on his part, though it had been -some years before he had spoken; how, on becoming possessed, through -the will of an uncle, of a good estate in Scotland, he had offered and -been refused, though with so much agitation and evident distress that -he was sure she was not indifferent to him; and how he had discovered -that the obstacle was the fell disease which was, even then, too surely -threatening her sister. She had mentioned that the surgeons foretold -intense suffering; and there was no one but herself to nurse her poor -Mary, or cheer and comfort her father during the time of illness. -They had had long discussions; and on her refusal to pledge herself -to him as his wife when all should be over, he had grown angry, and -broken off entirely, and gone abroad, believing that she was a cold-hearted -person whom he would do well to forget.<br> -<br> -He had been travelling in the East, and was on his return home when, -at Rome, he saw the account of Captain Brown’s death in <i>Galignani</i>.<br> -<br> -Just then Miss Matty, who had been out all the morning, and had only -lately returned to the house, burst in with a face of dismay and outraged -propriety.<br> -<br> -“Oh, goodness me!” she said. “Deborah, there’s -a gentleman sitting in the drawing-room with his arm round Miss Jessie’s -waist!” Miss Matty’s eyes looked large with terror.<br> -<br> -Miss Jenkyns snubbed her down in an instant.<br> -<br> -“The most proper place in the world for his arm to be in. -Go away, Matilda, and mind your own business.” This from -her sister, who had hitherto been a model of feminine decorum, was a -blow for poor Miss Matty, and with a double shock she left the room.<br> -<br> -The last time I ever saw poor Miss Jenkyns was many years after this. -Mrs Gordon had kept up a warm and affectionate intercourse with all -at Cranford. Miss Jenkyns, Miss Matty, and Miss Pole had all been -to visit her, and returned with wonderful accounts of her house, her -husband, her dress, and her looks. For, with happiness, something -of her early bloom returned; she had been a year or two younger than -we had taken her for. Her eyes were always lovely, and, as Mrs -Gordon, her dimples were not out of place. At the time to which -I have referred, when I last saw Miss Jenkyns, that lady was old and -feeble, and had lost something of her strong mind. Little Flora -Gordon was staying with the Misses Jenkyns, and when I came in she was -reading aloud to Miss Jenkyns, who lay feeble and changed on the sofa. -Flora put down the <i>Rambler</i> when I came in.<br> -<br> -“Ah!” said Miss Jenkyns, “you find me changed, my -dear. If can’t see as I used to do. I Flora were not -here to read to me, I hardly know how I should get through the day. -Did you ever read the <i>Rambler</i>? It’s a wonderful book -- wonderful! and the most improving reading for Flora” (which -I daresay it would have been, if she could have read half the words -without spelling, and could have understood the meaning of a third), -“better than that strange old book, with the queer name, poor -Captain Brown was killed for reading - that book by Mr Boz, you know -- ‘Old Poz’; when I was a girl - but that’s a long -time ago - I acted Lucy in ‘Old Poz.’” She babbled -on long enough for Flora to get a good long spell at the “Christmas -Carol,” which Miss Matty had left on the table.<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -CHAPTER III - A LOVE AFFAIR OF LONG AGO<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -I thought that probably my connection with Cranford would cease after -Miss Jenkyns’s death; at least, that it would have to be kept -up by correspondence, which bears much the same relation to personal -intercourse that the books of dried plants I sometimes see (“Hortus -Siccus,” I think they call the thing) do to the living and fresh -flowers in the lines and meadows. I was pleasantly surprised, -therefore, by receiving a letter from Miss Pole (who had always come -in for a supplementary week after my annual visit to Miss Jenkyns) proposing -that I should go and stay with her; and then, in a couple of days after -my acceptance, came a note from Miss Matty, in which, in a rather circuitous -and very humble manner, she told me how much pleasure I should confer -if I could spend a week or two with her, either before or after I had -been at Miss Pole’s; “for,” she said, “since -my dear sister’s death I am well aware I have no attractions to -offer; it is only to the kindness of my friends that I can owe their -company.”<br> -<br> -Of course I promised to come to dear Miss Matty as soon as I had ended -my visit to Miss Pole; and the day after my arrival at Cranford I went -to see her, much wondering what the house would be like without Miss -Jenkyns, and rather dreading the changed aspect of things. Miss -Matty began to cry as soon as she saw me. She was evidently nervous -from having anticipated my call. I comforted her as well as I -could; and I found the best consolation I could give was the honest -praise that came from my heart as I spoke of the deceased. Miss -Matty slowly shook her head over each virtue as it was named and attributed -to her sister; and at last she could not restrain the tears which had -long been silently flowing, but hid her face behind her handkerchief -and sobbed aloud.<br> -<br> -“Dear Miss Matty,” said I, taking her hand - for indeed -I did not know in what way to tell her how sorry I was for her, left -deserted in the world. She put down her handkerchief and said --<br> -<br> -“My dear, I’d rather you did not call me Matty. She -did not like it; but I did many a thing she did not like, I’m -afraid - and now she’s gone! If you please, my love, will -you call me Matilda?”<br> -<br> -I promised faithfully, and began to practise the new name with Miss -Pole that very day; and, by degrees, Miss Matilda’s feeling on -the subject was known through Cranford, and we all tried to drop the -more familiar name, but with so little success that by-and-by we gave -up the attempt.<br> -<br> -My visit to Miss Pole was very quiet. Miss Jenkyns had so long -taken the lead in Cranford that now she was gone, they hardly knew how -to give a party. The Honourable Mrs Jamieson, to whom Miss Jenkyns -herself had always yielded the post of honour, was fat and inert, and -very much at the mercy of her old servants. If they chose that -she should give a party, they reminded her of the necessity for so doing: -if not, she let it alone. There was all the more time for me to -hear old-world stories from Miss Pole, while she sat knitting, and I -making my father’s shirts. I always took a quantity of plain -sewing to Cranford; for, as we did not read much, or walk much, I found -it a capital time to get through my work. One of Miss Pole’s -stories related to a shadow of a love affair that was dimly perceived -or suspected long years before.<br> -<br> -Presently, the time arrived when I was to remove to Miss Matilda’s -house. I found her timid and anxious about the arrangements for -my comfort. Many a time, while I was unpacking, did she come backwards -and forwards to stir the fire which burned all the worse for being so -frequently poked.<br> -<br> -“Have you drawers enough, dear?” asked she. “I -don’t know exactly how my sister used to arrange them. She -had capital methods. I am sure she would have trained a servant -in a week to make a better fire than this, and Fanny has been with me -four months.”<br> -<br> -This subject of servants was a standing grievance, and I could not wonder -much at it; for if gentlemen were scarce, and almost unheard of in the -“genteel society” of Cranford, they or their counterparts -- handsome young men - abounded in the lower classes. The pretty -neat servant-maids had their choice of desirable “followers”; -and their mistresses, without having the sort of mysterious dread of -men and matrimony that Miss Matilda had, might well feel a little anxious -lest the heads of their comely maids should be turned by the joiner, -or the butcher, or the gardener, who were obliged, by their callings, -to come to the house, and who, as ill-luck would have it, were generally -handsome and unmarried. Fanny’s lovers, if she had any - -and Miss Matilda suspected her of so many flirtations that, if she had -not been very pretty, I should have doubted her having one - were a -constant anxiety to her mistress. She was forbidden, by the articles -of her engagement, to have “followers”; and though she had -answered, innocently enough, doubling up the hem of her apron as she -spoke, “Please, ma’am, I never had more than one at a time,” -Miss Matty prohibited that one. But a vision of a man seemed to -haunt the kitchen. Fanny assured me that it was all fancy, or -else I should have said myself that I had seen a man’s coat-tails -whisk into the scullery once, when I went on an errand into the store-room -at night; and another evening, when, our watches having stopped, I went -to look at the clock, there was a very odd appearance, singularly like -a young man squeezed up between the clock and the back of the open kitchen-door: -and I thought Fanny snatched up the candle very hastily, so as to throw -the shadow on the clock face, while she very positively told me the -time half-an-hour too early, as we found out afterwards by the church -clock. But I did not add to Miss Matty’s anxieties by naming -my suspicions, especially as Fanny said to me, the next day, that it -was such a queer kitchen for having odd shadows about it, she really -was almost afraid to stay; “for you know, miss,” she added, -“I don’t see a creature from six o’clock tea, till -Missus rings the bell for prayers at ten.”<br> -<br> -However, it so fell out that Fanny had to leave and Miss Matilda begged -me to stay and “settle her” with the new maid; to which -I consented, after I had heard from my father that he did not want me -at home. The new servant was a rough, honest-looking, country -girl, who had only lived in a farm place before; but I liked her looks -when she came to be hired; and I promised Miss Matilda to put her in -the ways of the house. The said ways were religiously such as -Miss Matilda thought her sister would approve. Many a domestic -rule and regulation had been a subject of plaintive whispered murmur -to me during Miss Jenkyns’s life; but now that she was gone, I -do not think that even I, who was a favourite, durst have suggested -an alteration. To give an instance: we constantly adhered to the -forms which were observed, at meal-times, in “my father, the rector’s -house.” Accordingly, we had always wine and dessert; but -the decanters were only filled when there was a party, and what remained -was seldom touched, though we had two wine-glasses apiece every day -after dinner, until the next festive occasion arrived, when the state -of the remainder wine was examined into in a family council. The -dregs were often given to the poor: but occasionally, when a good deal -had been left at the last party (five months ago, it might be), it was -added to some of a fresh bottle, brought up from the cellar. I -fancy poor Captain Brown did not much like wine, for I noticed he never -finished his first glass, and most military men take several. -Then, as to our dessert, Miss Jenkyns used to gather currants and gooseberries -for it herself, which I sometimes thought would have tasted better fresh -from the trees; but then, as Miss Jenkyns observed, there would have -been nothing for dessert in summer-time. As it was, we felt very -genteel with our two glasses apiece, and a dish of gooseberries at the -top, of currants and biscuits at the sides, and two decanters at the -bottom. When oranges came in, a curious proceeding was gone through. -Miss Jenkyns did not like to cut the fruit; for, as she observed, the -juice all ran out nobody knew where; sucking (only I think she used -some more recondite word) was in fact the only way of enjoying oranges; -but then there was the unpleasant association with a ceremony frequently -gone through by little babies; and so, after dessert, in orange season, -Miss Jenkyns and Miss Matty used to rise up, possess themselves each -of an orange in silence, and withdraw to the privacy of their own rooms -to indulge in sucking oranges.<br> -<br> -I had once or twice tried, on such occasions, to prevail on Miss Matty -to stay, and had succeeded in her sister’s lifetime. I held -up a screen, and did not look, and, as she said, she tried not to make -the noise very offensive; but now that she was left alone, she seemed -quite horrified when I begged her to remain with me in the warm dining-parlour, -and enjoy her orange as she liked best. And so it was in everything. -Miss Jenkyns’s rules were made more stringent than ever, because -the framer of them was gone where there could be no appeal. In -all things else Miss Matilda was meek and undecided to a fault. -I have heard Fanny turn her round twenty times in a morning about dinner, -just as the little hussy chose; and I sometimes fancied she worked on -Miss Matilda’s weakness in order to bewilder her, and to make -her feel more in the power of her clever servant. I determined -that I would not leave her till I had seen what sort of a person Martha -was; and, if I found her trustworthy, I would tell her not to trouble -her mistress with every little decision.<br> -<br> -Martha was blunt and plain-spoken to a fault; otherwise she was a brisk, -well-meaning, but very ignorant girl. She had not been with us -a week before Miss Matilda and I were astounded one morning by the receipt -of a letter from a cousin of hers, who had been twenty or thirty years -in India, and who had lately, as we had seen by the “Army List,” -returned to England, bringing with him an invalid wife who had never -been introduced to her English relations. Major Jenkyns wrote -to propose that he and his wife should spend a night at Cranford, on -his way to Scotland - at the inn, if it did not suit Miss Matilda to -receive them into her house; in which case they should hope to be with -her as much as possible during the day. Of course it <i>must</i> -suit her, as she said; for all Cranford knew that she had her sister’s -bedroom at liberty; but I am sure she wished the Major had stopped in -India and forgotten his cousins out and out.<br> -<br> -“Oh! how must I manage?” asked she helplessly. “If -Deborah had been alive she would have known what to do with a gentleman-visitor. -Must I put razors in his dressing-room? Dear! dear! and I’ve -got none. Deborah would have had them. And slippers, and -coat-brushes?” I suggested that probably he would bring -all these things with him. “And after dinner, how am I to -know when to get up and leave him to his wine? Deborah would have -done it so well; she would have been quite in her element. Will -he want coffee, do you think?” I undertook the management -of the coffee, and told her I would instruct Martha in the art of waiting -- in which it must be owned she was terribly deficient - and that I -had no doubt Major and Mrs Jenkyns would understand the quiet mode in -which a lady lived by herself in a country town. But she was sadly -fluttered. I made her empty her decanters and bring up two fresh -bottles of wine. I wished I could have prevented her from being -present at my instructions to Martha, for she frequently cut in with -some fresh direction, muddling the poor girl’s mind as she stood -open-mouthed, listening to us both.<br> -<br> -“Hand the vegetables round,” said I (foolishly, I see now -- for it was aiming at more than we could accomplish with quietness -and simplicity); and then, seeing her look bewildered, I added, “take -the vegetables round to people, and let them help themselves.”<br> -<br> -“And mind you go first to the ladies,” put in Miss Matilda. -“Always go to the ladies before gentlemen when you are waiting.”<br> -<br> -“I’ll do it as you tell me, ma’am,” said Martha; -“but I like lads best.”<br> -<br> -We felt very uncomfortable and shocked at this speech of Martha’s, -yet I don’t think she meant any harm; and, on the whole, she attended -very well to our directions, except that she “nudged” the -Major when he did not help himself as soon as she expected to the potatoes, -while she was handing them round.<br> -<br> -The major and his wife were quiet unpretending people enough when they -did come; languid, as all East Indians are, I suppose. We were -rather dismayed at their bringing two servants with them, a Hindoo body-servant -for the Major, and a steady elderly maid for his wife; but they slept -at the inn, and took off a good deal of the responsibility by attending -carefully to their master’s and mistress’s comfort. -Martha, to be sure, had never ended her staring at the East Indian’s -white turban and brown complexion, and I saw that Miss Matilda shrunk -away from him a little as he waited at dinner. Indeed, she asked -me, when they were gone, if he did not remind me of Blue Beard? -On the whole, the visit was most satisfactory, and is a subject of conversation -even now with Miss Matilda; at the time it greatly excited Cranford, -and even stirred up the apathetic and Honourable Mrs Jamieson to some -expression of interest, when I went to call and thank her for the kind -answers she had vouchsafed to Miss Matilda’s inquiries as to the -arrangement of a gentleman’s dressing-room - answers which I must -confess she had given in the wearied manner of the Scandinavian prophetess --<br> -<br> -<br> -“Leave me, leave me to repose.”<br> -<br> -<br> -And <i>now</i> I come to the love affair.<br> -<br> -It seems that Miss Pole had a cousin, once or twice removed, who had -offered to Miss Matty long ago. Now this cousin lived four or -five miles from Cranford on his own estate; but his property was not -large enough to entitle him to rank higher than a yeoman; or rather, -with something of the “pride which apes humility,” he had -refused to push himself on, as so many of his class had done, into the -ranks of the squires. He would not allow himself to be called -Thomas Holbrook, <i>Esq</i>.; he even sent back letters with this address, -telling the post-mistress at Cranford that his name was <i>Mr</i> Thomas -Holbrook, yeoman. He rejected all domestic innovations; he would -have the house door stand open in summer and shut in winter, without -knocker or bell to summon a servant. The closed fist or the knob -of a stick did this office for him if he found the door locked. -He despised every refinement which had not its root deep down in humanity. -If people were not ill, he saw no necessity for moderating his voice. -He spoke the dialect of the country in perfection, and constantly used -it in conversation; although Miss Pole (who gave me these particulars) -added, that he read aloud more beautifully and with more feeling than -any one she had ever heard, except the late rector.<br> -<br> -“And how came Miss Matilda not to marry him?” asked I.<br> -<br> -“Oh, I don’t know. She was willing enough, I think; -but you know Cousin Thomas would not have been enough of a gentleman -for the rector and Miss Jenkyns.”<br> -<br> -“Well! but they were not to marry him,” said I, impatiently.<br> -<br> -“No; but they did not like Miss Matty to marry below her rank. -You know she was the rector’s daughter, and somehow they are related -to Sir Peter Arley: Miss Jenkyns thought a deal of that.”<br> -<br> -“Poor Miss Matty!” said I.<br> -<br> -“Nay, now, I don’t know anything more than that he offered -and was refused. Miss Matty might not like him - and Miss Jenkyns -might never have said a word - it is only a guess of mine.”<br> -<br> -“Has she never seen him since?” I inquired.<br> -<br> -“No, I think not. You see Woodley, Cousin Thomas’s -house, lies half-way between Cranford and Misselton; and I know he made -Misselton his market-town very soon after he had offered to Miss Matty; -and I don’t think he has been into Cranford above once or twice -since - once, when I was walking with Miss Matty, in High Street, and -suddenly she darted from me, and went up Shire Lane. A few minutes -after I was startled by meeting Cousin Thomas.”<br> -<br> -“How old is he?” I asked, after a pause of castle-building.<br> -<br> -“He must be about seventy, I think, my dear,” said Miss -Pole, blowing up my castle, as if by gun-powder, into small fragments.<br> -<br> -Very soon after - at least during my long visit to Miss Matilda - I -had the opportunity of seeing Mr Holbrook; seeing, too, his first encounter -with his former love, after thirty or forty years’ separation. -I was helping to decide whether any of the new assortment of coloured -silks which they had just received at the shop would do to match a grey -and black mousseline-delaine that wanted a new breadth, when a tall, -thin, Don Quixote-looking old man came into the shop for some woollen -gloves. I had never seen the person (who was rather striking) -before, and I watched him rather attentively while Miss Matty listened -to the shopman. The stranger wore a blue coat with brass buttons, -drab breeches, and gaiters, and drummed with his fingers on the counter -until he was attended to. When he answered the shop-boy’s -question, “What can I have the pleasure of showing you to-day, -sir?” I saw Miss Matilda start, and then suddenly sit down; and -instantly I guessed who it was. She had made some inquiry which -had to be carried round to the other shopman.<br> -<br> -“Miss Jenkyns wants the black sarsenet two-and-twopence the yard”; -and Mr Holbrook had caught the name, and was across the shop in two -strides.<br> -<br> -“Matty - Miss Matilda - Miss Jenkyns! God bless my soul! -I should not have known you. How are you? how are you?” -He kept shaking her hand in a way which proved the warmth of his friendship; -but he repeated so often, as if to himself, “I should not have -known you!” that any sentimental romance which I might be inclined -to build was quite done away with by his manner.<br> -<br> -However, he kept talking to us all the time we were in the shop; and -then waving the shopman with the unpurchased gloves on one side, with -“Another time, sir! another time!” he walked home with us. -I am happy to say my client, Miss Matilda, also left the shop in an -equally bewildered state, not having purchased either green or red silk. -Mr Holbrook was evidently full with honest loud-spoken joy at meeting -his old love again; he touched on the changes that had taken place; -he even spoke of Miss Jenkyns as “Your poor sister! Well, -well! we have all our faults”; and bade us good-bye with many -a hope that he should soon see Miss Matty again. She went straight -to her room, and never came back till our early tea-time, when I thought -she looked as if she had been crying.<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -CHAPTER IV - A VISIT TO AN OLD BACHELOR<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -A few days after, a note came from Mr Holbrook, asking us - impartially -asking both of us - in a formal, old-fashioned style, to spend a day -at his house - a long June day - for it was June now. He named -that he had also invited his cousin, Miss Pole; so that we might join -in a fly, which could be put up at his house.<br> -<br> -I expected Miss Matty to jump at this invitation; but, no! Miss -Pole and I had the greatest difficulty in persuading her to go. -She thought it was improper; and was even half annoyed when we utterly -ignored the idea of any impropriety in her going with two other ladies -to see her old lover. Then came a more serious difficulty. -She did not think Deborah would have liked her to go. This took -us half a day’s good hard talking to get over; but, at the first -sentence of relenting, I seized the opportunity, and wrote and despatched -an acceptance in her name - fixing day and hour, that all might be decided -and done with.<br> -<br> -The next morning she asked me if I would go down to the shop with her; -and there, after much hesitation, we chose out three caps to be sent -home and tried on, that the most becoming might be selected to take -with us on Thursday.<br> -<br> -She was in a state of silent agitation all the way to Woodley. -She had evidently never been there before; and, although she little -dreamt I knew anything of her early story, I could perceive she was -in a tremor at the thought of seeing the place which might have been -her home, and round which it is probable that many of her innocent girlish -imaginations had clustered. It was a long drive there, through -paved jolting lanes. Miss Matilda sat bolt upright, and looked -wistfully out of the windows as we drew near the end of our journey. -The aspect of the country was quiet and pastoral. Woodley stood -among fields; and there was an old-fashioned garden where roses and -currant-bushes touched each other, and where the feathery asparagus -formed a pretty background to the pinks and gilly-flowers; there was -no drive up to the door. We got out at a little gate, and walked -up a straight box-edged path.<br> -<br> -“My cousin might make a drive, I think,” said Miss Pole, -who was afraid of ear-ache, and had only her cap on.<br> -<br> -“I think it is very pretty,” said Miss Matty, with a soft -plaintiveness in her voice, and almost in a whisper, for just then Mr -Holbrook appeared at the door, rubbing his hands in very effervescence -of hospitality. He looked more like my idea of Don Quixote than -ever, and yet the likeness was only external. His respectable -housekeeper stood modestly at the door to bid us welcome; and, while -she led the elder ladies upstairs to a bedroom, I begged to look about -the garden. My request evidently pleased the old gentleman, who -took me all round the place and showed me his six-and-twenty cows, named -after the different letters of the alphabet. As we went along, -he surprised me occasionally by repeating apt and beautiful quotations -from the poets, ranging easily from Shakespeare and George Herbert to -those of our own day. He did this as naturally as if he were thinking -aloud, and their true and beautiful words were the best expression he -could find for what he was thinking or feeling. To be sure he -called Byron “my Lord Byrron,” and pronounced the name of -Goethe strictly in accordance with the English sound of the letters -- “As Goethe says, ‘Ye ever-verdant palaces,’” -&c. Altogether, I never met with a man, before or since, who -had spent so long a life in a secluded and not impressive country, with -ever-increasing delight in the daily and yearly change of season and -beauty.<br> -<br> -When he and I went in, we found that dinner was nearly ready in the -kitchen - for so I suppose the room ought to be called, as there were -oak dressers and cupboards all round, all over by the side of the fireplace, -and only a small Turkey carpet in the middle of the flag-floor. -The room might have been easily made into a handsome dark oak dining-parlour -by removing the oven and a few other appurtenances of a kitchen, which -were evidently never used, the real cooking-place being at some distance. -The room in which we were expected to sit was a stiffly-furnished, ugly -apartment; but that in which we did sit was what Mr Holbrook called -the counting-house, where he paid his labourers their weekly wages at -a great desk near the door. The rest of the pretty sitting-room -- looking into the orchard, and all covered over with dancing tree-shadows -- was filled with books. They lay on the ground, they covered -the walls, they strewed the table. He was evidently half ashamed -and half proud of his extravagance in this respect. They were -of all kinds - poetry and wild weird tales prevailing. He evidently -chose his books in accordance with his own tastes, not because such -and such were classical or established favourites.<br> -<br> -“Ah!” he said, “we farmers ought not to have much -time for reading; yet somehow one can’t help it.”<br> -<br> -“What a pretty room!” said Miss Matty, <i>sotto voce</i>.<br> -<br> -“What a pleasant place!” said I, aloud, almost simultaneously.<br> -<br> -“Nay! if you like it,” replied he; “but can you sit -on these great, black leather, three-cornered chairs? I like it -better than the best parlour; but I thought ladies would take that for -the smarter place.”<br> -<br> -It was the smarter place, but, like most smart things, not at all pretty, -or pleasant, or home-like; so, while we were at dinner, the servant-girl -dusted and scrubbed the counting-house chairs, and we sat there all -the rest of the day.<br> -<br> -We had pudding before meat; and I thought Mr Holbrook was going to make -some apology for his old-fashioned ways, for he began -<br> -<br> -“I don’t know whether you like newfangled ways.”<br> -<br> -“Oh, not at all!” said Miss Matty.<br> -<br> -“No more do I,” said he. “My house-keeper <i>will</i> -have these in her new fashion; or else I tell her that, when I was a -young man, we used to keep strictly to my father’s rule, ‘No -broth, no ball; no ball, no beef’; and always began dinner with -broth. Then we had suet puddings, boiled in the broth with the -beef: and then the meat itself. If we did not sup our broth, we -had no ball, which we liked a deal better; and the beef came last of -all, and only those had it who had done justice to the broth and the -ball. Now folks begin with sweet things, and turn their dinners -topsy-turvy.”<br> -<br> -When the ducks and green peas came, we looked at each other in dismay; -we had only two-pronged, black-handled forks. It is true the steel -was as bright as silver; but what were we to do? Miss Matty picked -up her peas, one by one, on the point of the prongs, much as Aminé -ate her grains of rice after her previous feast with the Ghoul. -Miss Pole sighed over her delicate young peas as she left them on one -side of her plate untasted, for they <i>would</i> drop between the prongs. -I looked at my host: the peas were going wholesale into his capacious -mouth, shovelled up by his large round-ended knife. I saw, I imitated, -I survived! My friends, in spite of my precedent, could not muster -up courage enough to do an ungenteel thing; and, if Mr Holbrook had -not been so heartily hungry, he would probably have seen that the good -peas went away almost untouched.<br> -<br> -After dinner, a clay pipe was brought in, and a spittoon; and, asking -us to retire to another room, where he would soon join us, if we disliked -tobacco-smoke, he presented his pipe to Miss Matty, and requested her -to fill the bowl. This was a compliment to a lady in his youth; -but it was rather inappropriate to propose it as an honour to Miss Matty, -who had been trained by her sister to hold smoking of every kind in -utter abhorrence. But if it was a shock to her refinement, it -was also a gratification to her feelings to be thus selected; so she -daintily stuffed the strong tobacco into the pipe, and then we withdrew.<br> -<br> -“It is very pleasant dining with a bachelor,” said Miss -Matty softly, as we settled ourselves in the counting-house. “I -only hope it is not improper; so many pleasant things are!”<br> -<br> -“What a number of books he has!” said Miss Pole, looking -round the room. “And how dusty they are!”<br> -<br> -“I think it must be like one of the great Dr Johnson’s rooms,” -said Miss Matty. “What a superior man your cousin must be!”<br> -<br> -“Yes!” said Miss Pole, “he’s a great reader; -but I am afraid he has got into very uncouth habits with living alone.”<br> -<br> -“Oh! uncouth is too hard a word. I should call him eccentric; -very clever people always are!” replied Miss Matty.<br> -<br> -When Mr Holbrook returned, he proposed a walk in the fields; but the -two elder ladies were afraid of damp, and dirt, and had only very unbecoming -calashes to put on over their caps; so they declined, and I was again -his companion in a turn which he said he was obliged to take to see -after his men. He strode along, either wholly forgetting my existence, -or soothed into silence by his pipe - and yet it was not silence exactly. -He walked before me with a stooping gait, his hands clasped behind him; -and, as some tree or cloud, or glimpse of distant upland pastures, struck -him, he quoted poetry to himself, saying it out loud in a grand sonorous -voice, with just the emphasis that true feeling and appreciation give. -We came upon an old cedar tree, which stood at one end of the house --<br> -<br> -<br> -“The cedar spreads his dark-green layers of shade.”<br> -<br> -<br> -“Capital term - ‘layers!’ Wonderful man!” -I did not know whether he was speaking to me or not; but I put in an -assenting “wonderful,” although I knew nothing about it, -just because I was tired of being forgotten, and of being consequently -silent.<br> -<br> -He turned sharp round. “Ay! you may say ‘wonderful.’ -Why, when I saw the review of his poems in <i>Blackwood</i>, I set off -within an hour, and walked seven miles to Misselton (for the horses -were not in the way) and ordered them. Now, what colour are ash-buds -in March?”<br> -<br> -Is the man going mad? thought I. He is very like Don Quixote.<br> -<br> -“What colour are they, I say?” repeated he vehemently.<br> -<br> -“I am sure I don’t know, sir,” said I, with the meekness -of ignorance.<br> -<br> -“I knew you didn’t. No more did I - an old fool that -I am! - till this young man comes and tells me. Black as ash-buds -in March. And I’ve lived all my life in the country; more -shame for me not to know. Black: they are jet-black, madam.” -And he went off again, swinging along to the music of some rhyme he -had got hold of.<br> -<br> -When we came back, nothing would serve him but he must read us the poems -he had been speaking of; and Miss Pole encouraged him in his proposal, -I thought, because she wished me to hear his beautiful reading, of which -she had boasted; but she afterwards said it was because she had got -to a difficult part of her crochet, and wanted to count her stitches -without having to talk. Whatever he had proposed would have been -right to Miss Matty; although she did fall sound asleep within five -minutes after he had begun a long poem, called “Locksley Hall,” -and had a comfortable nap, unobserved, till he ended; when the cessation -of his voice wakened her up, and she said, feeling that something was -expected, and that Miss Pole was counting -<br> -<br> -“What a pretty book!”<br> -<br> -“Pretty, madam! it’s beautiful! Pretty, indeed!”<br> -<br> -“Oh yes! I meant beautiful” said she, fluttered at -his disapproval of her word. “It is so like that beautiful -poem of Dr Johnson’s my sister used to read - I forget the name -of it; what was it, my dear?” turning to me.<br> -<br> -“Which do you mean, ma’am? What was it about?”<br> -<br> -“I don’t remember what it was about, and I’ve quite -forgotten what the name of it was; but it was written by Dr Johnson, -and was very beautiful, and very like what Mr Holbrook has just been -reading.”<br> -<br> -“I don’t remember it,” said he reflectively. -“But I don’t know Dr Johnson’s poems well. I -must read them.”<br> -<br> -As we were getting into the fly to return, I heard Mr Holbrook say he -should call on the ladies soon, and inquire how they got home; and this -evidently pleased and fluttered Miss Matty at the time he said it; but -after we had lost sight of the old house among the trees her sentiments -towards the master of it were gradually absorbed into a distressing -wonder as to whether Martha had broken her word, and seized on the opportunity -of her mistress’s absence to have a “follower.” -Martha looked good, and steady, and composed enough, as she came to -help us out; she was always careful of Miss Matty, and to-night she -made use of this unlucky speech -<br> -<br> -“Eh! dear ma’am, to think of your going out in an evening -in such a thin shawl! It’s no better than muslin. -At your age, ma’am, you should be careful.”<br> -<br> -“My age!” said Miss Matty, almost speaking crossly, for -her, for she was usually gentle - “My age! Why, how old -do you think I am, that you talk about my age?”<br> -<br> -“Well, ma’am, I should say you were not far short of sixty: -but folks’ looks is often against them - and I’m sure I -meant no harm.”<br> -<br> -“Martha, I’m not yet fifty-two!” said Miss Matty, -with grave emphasis; for probably the remembrance of her youth had come -very vividly before her this day, and she was annoyed at finding that -golden time so far away in the past.<br> -<br> -But she never spoke of any former and more intimate acquaintance with -Mr Holbrook. She had probably met with so little sympathy in her -early love, that she had shut it up close in her heart; and it was only -by a sort of watching, which I could hardly avoid since Miss Pole’s -confidence, that I saw how faithful her poor heart had been in its sorrow -and its silence.<br> -<br> -She gave me some good reason for wearing her best cap every day, and -sat near the window, in spite of her rheumatism, in order to see, without -being seen, down into the street.<br> -<br> -He came. He put his open palms upon his knees, which were far -apart, as he sat with his head bent down, whistling, after we had replied -to his inquiries about our safe return. Suddenly he jumped up --<br> -<br> -“Well, madam! have you any commands for Paris? I am going -there in a week or two.”<br> -<br> -“To Paris!” we both exclaimed.<br> -<br> -“Yes, madam! I’ve never been there, and always had -a wish to go; and I think if I don’t go soon, I mayn’t go -at all; so as soon as the hay is got in I shall go, before harvest time.”<br> -<br> -We were so much astonished that we had no commissions.<br> -<br> -Just as he was going out of the room, he turned back, with his favourite -exclamation -<br> -<br> -“God bless my soul, madam! but I nearly forgot half my errand. -Here are the poems for you you admired so much the other evening at -my house.” He tugged away at a parcel in his coat-pocket. -“Good-bye, miss,” said he; “good-bye, Matty! take -care of yourself.” And he was gone.<br> -<br> -But he had given her a book, and he had called her Matty, just as he -used to do thirty years to.<br> -<br> -“I wish he would not go to Paris,” said Miss Matilda anxiously. -“I don’t believe frogs will agree with him; he used to have -to be very careful what he ate, which was curious in so strong-looking -a young man.”<br> -<br> -Soon after this I took my leave, giving many an injunction to Martha -to look after her mistress, and to let me know if she thought that Miss -Matilda was not so well; in which case I would volunteer a visit to -my old friend, without noticing Martha’s intelligence to her.<br> -<br> -Accordingly I received a line or two from Martha every now and then; -and, about November I had a note to say her mistress was “very -low and sadly off her food”; and the account made me so uneasy -that, although Martha did not decidedly summon me, I packed up my things -and went.<br> -<br> -I received a warm welcome, in spite of the little flurry produced by -my impromptu visit, for I had only been able to give a day’s notice. -Miss Matilda looked miserably ill; and I prepared to comfort and cosset -her.<br> -<br> -I went down to have a private talk with Martha.<br> -<br> -“How long has your mistress been so poorly?” I asked, as -I stood by the kitchen fire.<br> -<br> -“Well! I think its better than a fortnight; it is, I know; -it was one Tuesday, after Miss Pole had been, that she went into this -moping way. I thought she was tired, and it would go off with -a night’s rest; but no! she has gone on and on ever since, till -I thought it my duty to write to you, ma’am.”<br> -<br> -“You did quite right, Martha. It is a comfort to think she -has so faithful a servant about her. And I hope you find your -place comfortable?”<br> -<br> -“Well, ma’am, missus is very kind, and there’s plenty -to eat and drink, and no more work but what I can do easily - but - -” Martha hesitated.<br> -<br> -“But what, Martha?”<br> -<br> -“Why, it seems so hard of missus not to let me have any followers; -there’s such lots of young fellows in the town; and many a one -has as much as offered to keep company with me; and I may never be in -such a likely place again, and it’s like wasting an opportunity. -Many a girl as I know would have ’em unbeknownst to missus; but -I’ve given my word, and I’ll stick to it; or else this is -just the house for missus never to be the wiser if they did come: and -it’s such a capable kitchen - there’s such dark corners -in it - I’d be bound to hide any one. I counted up last -Sunday night - for I’ll not deny I was crying because I had to -shut the door in Jem Hearn’s face, and he’s a steady young -man, fit for any girl; only I had given missus my word.” -Martha was all but crying again; and I had little comfort to give her, -for I knew, from old experience, of the horror with which both the Miss -Jenkynses looked upon “followers”; and in Miss Matty’s -present nervous state this dread was not likely to be lessened.<br> -<br> -I went to see Miss Pole the next day, and took her completely by surprise, -for she had not been to see Miss Matilda for two days.<br> -<br> -“And now I must go back with you, my dear, for I promised to let -her know how Thomas Holbrook went on; and, I’m sorry to say, his -housekeeper has sent me word to-day that he hasn’t long to live. -Poor Thomas! that journey to Paris was quite too much for him. -His housekeeper says he has hardly ever been round his fields since, -but just sits with his hands on his knees in the counting-house, not -reading or anything, but only saying what a wonderful city Paris was! -Paris has much to answer for if it’s killed my cousin Thomas, -for a better man never lived.”<br> -<br> -“Does Miss Matilda know of his illness?” asked I - a new -light as to the cause of her indisposition dawning upon me.<br> -<br> -“Dear! to be sure, yes! Has not she told you? I let -her know a fortnight ago, or more, when first I heard of it. How -odd she shouldn’t have told you!”<br> -<br> -Not at all, I thought; but I did not say anything. I felt almost -guilty of having spied too curiously into that tender heart, and I was -not going to speak of its secrets - hidden, Miss Matty believed, from -all the world. I ushered Miss Pole into Miss Matilda’s little -drawing-room, and then left them alone. But I was not surprised -when Martha came to my bedroom door, to ask me to go down to dinner -alone, for that missus had one of her bad headaches. She came -into the drawing-room at tea-time, but it was evidently an effort to -her; and, as if to make up for some reproachful feeling against her -late sister, Miss Jenkyns, which had been troubling her all the afternoon, -and for which she now felt penitent, she kept telling me how good and -how clever Deborah was in her youth; how she used to settle what gowns -they were to wear at all the parties (faint, ghostly ideas of grim parties, -far away in the distance, when Miss Matty and Miss Pole were young!); -and how Deborah and her mother had started the benefit society for the -poor, and taught girls cooking and plain sewing; and how Deborah had -once danced with a lord; and how she used to visit at Sir Peter Arley’s, -and tried to remodel the quiet rectory establishment on the plans of -Arley Hall, where they kept thirty servants; and how she had nursed -Miss Matty through a long, long illness, of which I had never heard -before, but which I now dated in my own mind as following the dismissal -of the suit of Mr Holbrook. So we talked softly and quietly of -old times through the long November evening.<br> -<br> -The next day Miss Pole brought us word that Mr Holbrook was dead. -Miss Matty heard the news in silence; in fact, from the account of the -previous day, it was only what we had to expect. Miss Pole kept -calling upon us for some expression of regret, by asking if it was not -sad that he was gone, and saying -<br> -<br> -“To think of that pleasant day last June, when he seemed so well! -And he might have lived this dozen years if he had not gone to that -wicked Paris, where they are always having revolutions.”<br> -<br> -She paused for some demonstration on our part. I saw Miss Matty -could not speak, she was trembling so nervously; so I said what I really -felt; and after a call of some duration - all the time of which I have -no doubt Miss Pole thought Miss Matty received the news very calmly -- our visitor took her leave.<br> -<br> -Miss Matty made a strong effort to conceal her feelings - a concealment -she practised even with me, for she has never alluded to Mr Holbrook -again, although the book he gave her lies with her Bible on the little -table by her bedside. She did not think I heard her when she asked -the little milliner of Cranford to make her caps something like the -Honourable Mrs Jamieson’s, or that I noticed the reply -<br> -<br> -“But she wears widows’ caps, ma’am?”<br> -<br> -“Oh! I only meant something in that style; not widows’, -of course, but rather like Mrs Jamieson’s.”<br> -<br> -This effort at concealment was the beginning of the tremulous motion -of head and hands which I have seen ever since in Miss Matty.<br> -<br> -The evening of the day on which we heard of Mr Holbrook’s death, -Miss Matilda was very silent and thoughtful; after prayers she called -Martha back and then she stood uncertain what to say.<br> -<br> -“Martha!” she said, at last, “you are young” -- and then she made so long a pause that Martha, to remind her of her -half-finished sentence, dropped a curtsey, and said -<br> -<br> -“Yes, please, ma’am; two-and-twenty last third of October, -please, ma’am.”<br> -<br> -“And, perhaps, Martha, you may some time meet with a young man -you like, and who likes you. I did say you were not to have followers; -but if you meet with such a young man, and tell me, and I find he is -respectable, I have no objection to his coming to see you once a week. -God forbid!” said she in a low voice, “that I should grieve -any young hearts.” She spoke as if she were providing for -some distant contingency, and was rather startled when Martha made her -ready eager answer -<br> -<br> -“Please, ma’am, there’s Jem Hearn, and he’s -a joiner making three-and-sixpence a-day, and six foot one in his stocking-feet, -please, ma’am; and if you’ll ask about him to-morrow morning, -every one will give him a character for steadiness; and he’ll -be glad enough to come to-morrow night, I’ll be bound.”<br> -<br> -Though Miss Matty was startled, she submitted to Fate and Love.<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -CHAPTER V - OLD LETTERS<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -I have often noticed that almost every one has his own individual small -economies - careful habits of saving fractions of pennies in some one -peculiar direction - any disturbance of which annoys him more than spending -shillings or pounds on some real extravagance. An old gentleman -of my acquaintance, who took the intelligence of the failure of a Joint-Stock -Bank, in which some of his money was invested, with stoical mildness, -worried his family all through a long summer’s day because one -of them had torn (instead of cutting) out the written leaves of his -now useless bank-book; of course, the corresponding pages at the other -end came out as well, and this little unnecessary waste of paper (his -private economy) chafed him more than all the loss of his money. -Envelopes fretted his soul terribly when they first came in; the only -way in which he could reconcile himself to such waste of his cherished -article was by patiently turning inside out all that were sent to him, -and so making them serve again. Even now, though tamed by age, -I see him casting wistful glances at his daughters when they send a -whole inside of a half-sheet of note paper, with the three lines of -acceptance to an invitation, written on only one of the sides. -I am not above owning that I have this human weakness myself. -String is my foible. My pockets get full of little hanks of it, -picked up and twisted together, ready for uses that never come. -I am seriously annoyed if any one cuts the string of a parcel instead -of patiently and faithfully undoing it fold by fold. How people -can bring themselves to use india-rubber rings, which are a sort of -deification of string, as lightly as they do, I cannot imagine. -To me an india-rubber ring is a precious treasure. I have one -which is not new - one that I picked up off the floor nearly six years -ago. I have really tried to use it, but my heart failed me, and -I could not commit the extravagance.<br> -<br> -Small pieces of butter grieve others. They cannot attend to conversation -because of the annoyance occasioned by the habit which some people have -of invariably taking more butter than they want. Have you not -seen the anxious look (almost mesmeric) which such persons fix on the -article? They would feel it a relief if they might bury it out -of their sight by popping it into their own mouths and swallowing it -down; and they are really made happy if the person on whose plate it -lies unused suddenly breaks off a piece of toast (which he does not -want at all) and eats up his butter. They think that this is not -waste.<br> -<br> -Now Miss Matty Jenkyns was chary of candles. We had many devices -to use as few as possible. In the winter afternoons she would -sit knitting for two or three hours - she could do this in the dark, -or by firelight - and when I asked if I might not ring for candles to -finish stitching my wristbands, she told me to “keep blind man’s -holiday.” They were usually brought in with tea; but we -only burnt one at a time. As we lived in constant preparation -for a friend who might come in any evening (but who never did), it required -some contrivance to keep our two candles of the same length, ready to -be lighted, and to look as if we burnt two always. The candles -took it in turns; and, whatever we might be talking about or doing, -Miss Matty’s eyes were habitually fixed upon the candle, ready -to jump up and extinguish it and to light the other before they had -become too uneven in length to be restored to equality in the course -of the evening.<br> -<br> -One night, I remember this candle economy particularly annoyed me. -I had been very much tired of my compulsory “blind man’s -holiday,” especially as Miss Matty had fallen asleep, and I did -not like to stir the fire and run the risk of awakening her; so I could -not even sit on the rug, and scorch myself with sewing by firelight, -according to my usual custom. I fancied Miss Matty must be dreaming -of her early life; for she spoke one or two words in her uneasy sleep -bearing reference to persons who were dead long before. When Martha -brought in the lighted candle and tea, Miss Matty started into wakefulness, -with a strange, bewildered look around, as if we were not the people -she expected to see about her. There was a little sad expression -that shadowed her face as she recognised me; but immediately afterwards -she tried to give me her usual smile. All through tea-time her -talk ran upon the days of her childhood and youth. Perhaps this -reminded her of the desirableness of looking over all the old family -letters, and destroying such as ought not to be allowed to fall into -the hands of strangers; for she had often spoken of the necessity of -this task, but had always shrunk from it, with a timid dread of something -painful. To-night, however, she rose up after tea and went for -them - in the dark; for she piqued herself on the precise neatness of -all her chamber arrangements, and used to look uneasily at me when I -lighted a bed-candle to go to another room for anything. When -she returned there was a faint, pleasant smell of Tonquin beans in the -room. I had always noticed this scent about any of the things -which had belonged to her mother; and many of the letters were addressed -to her - yellow bundles of love-letters, sixty or seventy years old.<br> -<br> -Miss Matty undid the packet with a sigh; but she stifled it directly, -as if it were hardly right to regret the flight of time, or of life -either. We agreed to look them over separately, each taking a -different letter out of the same bundle and describing its contents -to the other before destroying it. I never knew what sad work -the reading of old-letters was before that evening, though I could hardly -tell why. The letters were as happy as letters could be - at least -those early letters were. There was in them a vivid and intense -sense of the present time, which seemed so strong and full, as if it -could never pass away, and as if the warm, living hearts that so expressed -themselves could never die, and be as nothing to the sunny earth. -I should have felt less melancholy, I believe, if the letters had been -more so. I saw the tears stealing down the well-worn furrows of -Miss Matty’s cheeks, and her spectacles often wanted wiping. -I trusted at last that she would light the other candle, for my own -eyes were rather dim, and I wanted more light to see the pale, faded -ink; but no, even through her tears, she saw and remembered her little -economical ways.<br> -<br> -The earliest set of letters were two bundles tied together, and ticketed -(in Miss Jenkyns’s handwriting) “Letters interchanged between -my ever-honoured father and my dearly-beloved mother, prior to their -marriage, in July 1774.” I should guess that the rector -of Cranford was about twenty-seven years of age when he wrote those -letters; and Miss Matty told me that her mother was just eighteen at -the time of her wedding. With my idea of the rector derived from -a picture in the dining-parlour, stiff and stately, in a huge full-bottomed -wig, with gown, cassock, and bands, and his hand upon a copy of the -only sermon he ever published - it was strange to read these letters. -They were full of eager, passionate ardour; short homely sentences, -right fresh from the heart (very different from the grand Latinised, -Johnsonian style of the printed sermon preached before some judge at -assize time). His letters were a curious contrast to those of -his girl-bride. She was evidently rather annoyed at his demands -upon her for expressions of love, and could not quite understand what -he meant by repeating the same thing over in so many different ways; -but what she was quite clear about was a longing for a white “Paduasoy” -- whatever that might be; and six or seven letters were principally -occupied in asking her lover to use his influence with her parents (who -evidently kept her in good order) to obtain this or that article of -dress, more especially the white “Paduasoy.” He cared -nothing how she was dressed; she was always lovely enough for him, as -he took pains to assure her, when she begged him to express in his answers -a predilection for particular pieces of finery, in order that she might -show what he said to her parents. But at length he seemed to find -out that she would not be married till she had a “trousseau” -to her mind; and then he sent her a letter, which had evidently accompanied -a whole box full of finery, and in which he requested that she might -be dressed in everything her heart desired. This was the first -letter, ticketed in a frail, delicate hand, “From my dearest John.” -Shortly afterwards they were married, I suppose, from the intermission -in their correspondence.<br> -<br> -“We must burn them, I think,” said Miss Matty, looking doubtfully -at me. “No one will care for them when I am gone.” -And one by one she dropped them into the middle of the fire, watching -each blaze up, die out, and rise away, in faint, white, ghostly semblance, -up the chimney, before she gave another to the same fate. The -room was light enough now; but I, like her, was fascinated into watching -the destruction of those letters, into which the honest warmth of a -manly heart had been poured forth.<br> -<br> -The next letter, likewise docketed by Miss Jenkyns, was endorsed, “Letter -of pious congratulation and exhortation from my venerable grandfather -to my beloved mother, on occasion of my own birth. Also some practical -remarks on the desirability of keeping warm the extremities of infants, -from my excellent grandmother.”<br> -<br> -The first part was, indeed, a severe and forcible picture of the responsibilities -of mothers, and a warning against the evils that were in the world, -and lying in ghastly wait for the little baby of two days old. -His wife did not write, said the old gentleman, because he had forbidden -it, she being indisposed with a sprained ankle, which (he said) quite -incapacitated her from holding a pen. However, at the foot of -the page was a small “T.O.,” and on turning it over, sure -enough, there was a letter to “my dear, dearest Molly,” -begging her, when she left her room, whatever she did, to go <i>up</i> -stairs before going <i>down</i>: and telling her to wrap her baby’s -feet up in flannel, and keep it warm by the fire, although it was summer, -for babies were so tender.<br> -<br> -It was pretty to see from the letters, which were evidently exchanged -with some frequency between the young mother and the grandmother, how -the girlish vanity was being weeded out of her heart by love for her -baby. The white “Paduasoy” figured again in the letters, -with almost as much vigour as before. In one, it was being made -into a christening cloak for the baby. It decked it when it went -with its parents to spend a day or two at Arley Hall. It added -to its charms, when it was “the prettiest little baby that ever -was seen. Dear mother, I wish you could see her! Without -any pershality, I do think she will grow up a regular bewty!” -I thought of Miss Jenkyns, grey, withered, and wrinkled, and I wondered -if her mother had known her in the courts of heaven: and then I knew -that she had, and that they stood there in angelic guise.<br> -<br> -There was a great gap before any of the rector’s letters appeared. -And then his wife had changed her mode of her endorsement. It -was no longer from, “My dearest John;” it was from “My -Honoured Husband.” The letters were written on occasion -of the publication of the same sermon which was represented in the picture. -The preaching before “My Lord Judge,” and the “publishing -by request,” was evidently the culminating point - the event of -his life. It had been necessary for him to go up to London to -superintend it through the press. Many friends had to be called -upon and consulted before he could decide on any printer fit for so -onerous a task; and at length it was arranged that J. and J. Rivingtons -were to have the honourable responsibility. The worthy rector -seemed to be strung up by the occasion to a high literary pitch, for -he could hardly write a letter to his wife without cropping out into -Latin. I remember the end of one of his letters ran thus: “I -shall ever hold the virtuous qualities of my Molly in remembrance, <i>dum -memor ipse mei, dum spiritus regit artus</i>,” which, considering -that the English of his correspondent was sometimes at fault in grammar, -and often in spelling, might be taken as a proof of how much he “idealised -his Molly;” and, as Miss Jenkyns used to say, “People talk -a great deal about idealising now-a-days, whatever that may mean.” -But this was nothing to a fit of writing classical poetry which soon -seized him, in which his Molly figured away as “Maria.” -The letter containing the <i>carmen</i> was endorsed by her, “Hebrew -verses sent me by my honoured husband. I thowt to have had a letter -about killing the pig, but must wait. Mem., to send the poetry -to Sir Peter Arley, as my husband desires.” And in a post-scriptum -note in his handwriting it was stated that the Ode had appeared in the -<i>Gentleman’s Magazine</i>, December 1782.<br> -<br> -Her letters back to her husband (treasured as fondly by him as if they -had been <i>M. T. Ciceronis Epistolae</i>) were more satisfactory to -an absent husband and father than his could ever have been to her. -She told him how Deborah sewed her seam very neatly every day, and read -to her in the books he had set her; how she was a very “forrard,” -good child, but would ask questions her mother could not answer, but -how she did not let herself down by saying she did not know, but took -to stirring the fire, or sending the “forrard” child on -an errand. Matty was now the mother’s darling, and promised -(like her sister at her age), to be a great beauty. I was reading -this aloud to Miss Matty, who smiled and sighed a little at the hope, -so fondly expressed, that “little Matty might not be vain, even -if she were a bewty.”<br> -<br> -“I had very pretty hair, my dear,” said Mist Matilda; “and -not a bad mouth.” And I saw her soon afterwards adjust her -cap and draw herself up.<br> -<br> -But to return to Mrs Jenkyns’s letters. She told her husband -about the poor in the parish; what homely domestic medicines she had -administered; what kitchen physic she had sent. She had evidently -held his displeasure as a rod in pickle over the heads of all the ne’er-do-wells. -She asked for his directions about the cows and pigs; and did not always -obtain them, as I have shown before.<br> -<br> -The kind old grandmother was dead when a little boy was born, soon after -the publication of the sermon; but there was another letter of exhortation -from the grandfather, more stringent and admonitory than ever, now that -there was a boy to be guarded from the snares of the world. He -described all the various sins into which men might fall, until I wondered -how any man ever came to a natural death. The gallows seemed as -if it must have been the termination of the lives of most of the grandfather’s -friends and acquaintance; and I was not surprised at the way in which -he spoke of this life being “a vale of tears.”<br> -<br> -It seemed curious that I should never have heard of this brother before; -but I concluded that he had died young, or else surely his name would -have been alluded to by his sisters.<br> -<br> -By-and-by we came to packets of Miss Jenkyns’s letters. -These Miss Matty did regret to burn. She said all the others had -been only interesting to those who loved the writers, and that it seemed -as if it would have hurt her to allow them to fall into the hands of -strangers, who had not known her dear mother, and how good she was, -although she did not always spell, quite in the modern fashion; but -Deborah’s letters were so very superior! Any one might profit -by reading them. It was a long time since she had read Mrs Chapone, -but she knew she used to think that Deborah could have said the same -things quite as well; and as for Mrs Carter! people thought a deal of -her letters, just because she had written “Epictetus,” but -she was quite sure Deborah would never have made use of such a common -expression as “I canna be fashed!”<br> -<br> -Miss Matty did grudge burning these letters, it was evident. She -would not let them be carelessly passed over with any quiet reading, -and skipping, to myself. She took them from me, and even lighted -the second candle in order to read them aloud with a proper emphasis, -and without stumbling over the big words. Oh dear! how I wanted -facts instead of reflections, before those letters were concluded! -They lasted us two nights; and I won’t deny that I made use of -the time to think of many other things, and yet I was always at my post -at the end of each sentence.<br> -<br> -The rector’s letters, and those of his wife and mother-in-law, -had all been tolerably short and pithy, written in a straight hand, -with the lines very close together. Sometimes the whole letter -was contained on a mere scrap of paper. The paper was very yellow, -and the ink very brown; some of the sheets were (as Miss Matty made -me observe) the old original post, with the stamp in the corner representing -a post-boy riding for life and twanging his horn. The letters -of Mrs Jenkyns and her mother were fastened with a great round red wafer; -for it was before Miss Edgeworth’s “patronage” had -banished wafers from polite society. It was evident, from the -tenor of what was said, that franks were in great request, and were -even used as a means of paying debts by needy members of Parliament. -The rector sealed his epistles with an immense coat of arms, and showed -by the care with which he had performed this ceremony that he expected -they should be cut open, not broken by any thoughtless or impatient -hand. Now, Miss Jenkyns’s letters were of a later date in -form and writing. She wrote on the square sheet which we have -learned to call old-fashioned. Her hand was admirably calculated, -together with her use of many-syllabled words, to fill up a sheet, and -then came the pride and delight of crossing. Poor Miss Matty got -sadly puzzled with this, for the words gathered size like snowballs, -and towards the end of her letter Miss Jenkyns used to become quite -sesquipedalian. In one to her father, slightly theological and -controversial in its tone, she had spoken of Herod, Tetrarch of Idumea. -Miss Matty read it “Herod Petrarch of Etruria,” and was -just as well pleased as if she had been right.<br> -<br> -I can’t quite remember the date, but I think it was in 1805 that -Miss Jenkyns wrote the longest series of letters - on occasion of her -absence on a visit to some friends near Newcastle-upon-Tyne. These -friends were intimate with the commandant of the garrison there, and -heard from him of all the preparations that were being made to repel -the invasion of Buonaparte, which some people imagined might take place -at the mouth of the Tyne. Miss Jenkyns was evidently very much -alarmed; and the first part of her letters was often written in pretty -intelligible English, conveying particulars of the preparations which -were made in the family with whom she was residing against the dreaded -event; the bundles of clothes that were packed up ready for a flight -to Alston Moor (a wild hilly piece of ground between Northumberland -and Cumberland); the signal that was to be given for this flight, and -for the simultaneous turning out of the volunteers under arms - which -said signal was to consist (if I remember rightly) in ringing the church -bells in a particular and ominous manner. One day, when Miss Jenkyns -and her hosts were at a dinner-party in Newcastle, this warning summons -was actually given (not a very wise proceeding, if there be any truth -in the moral attached to the fable of the Boy and the Wolf; but so it -was), and Miss Jenkyns, hardly recovered from her fright, wrote the -next day to describe the sound, the breathless shock, the hurry and -alarm; and then, taking breath, she added, “How trivial, my dear -father, do all our apprehensions of the last evening appear, at the -present moment, to calm and enquiring minds!” And here Miss -Matty broke in with -<br> -<br> -“But, indeed, my dear, they were not at all trivial or trifling -at the time. I know I used to wake up in the night many a time -and think I heard the tramp of the French entering Cranford. Many -people talked of hiding themselves in the salt mines - and meat would -have kept capitally down there, only perhaps we should have been thirsty. -And my father preached a whole set of sermons on the occasion; one set -in the mornings, all about David and Goliath, to spirit up the people -to fighting with spades or bricks, if need were; and the other set in -the afternoons, proving that Napoleon (that was another name for Bony, -as we used to call him) was all the same as an Apollyon and Abaddon. -I remember my father rather thought he should be asked to print this -last set; but the parish had, perhaps, had enough of them with hearing.”<br> -<br> -Peter Marmaduke Arley Jenkyns (“poor Peter!” as Miss Matty -began to call him) was at school at Shrewsbury by this time. The -rector took up his pen, and rubbed up his Latin once more, to correspond -with his boy. It was very clear that the lad’s were what -are called show letters. They were of a highly mental description, -giving an account of his studies, and his intellectual hopes of various -kinds, with an occasional quotation from the classics; but, now and -then, the animal nature broke out in such a little sentence as this, -evidently written in a trembling hurry, after the letter had been inspected: -“Mother dear, do send me a cake, and put plenty of citron in.” -The “mother dear” probably answered her boy in the form -of cakes and “goody,” for there were none of her letters -among this set; but a whole collection of the rector’s, to whom -the Latin in his boy’s letters was like a trumpet to the old war-horse. -I do not know much about Latin, certainly, and it is, perhaps, an ornamental -language, but not very useful, I think - at least to judge from the -bits I remember out of the rector’s letters. One was, “You -have not got that town in your map of Ireland; but <i>Bonus Bernardus -non videt omnia</i>, as the Proverbia say.” Presently it -became very evident that “poor Peter” got himself into many -scrapes. There were letters of stilted penitence to his father, -for some wrong-doing; and among them all was a badly-written, badly-sealed, -badly-directed, blotted note:- “My dear, dear, dear, dearest mother, -I will be a better boy; I will, indeed; but don’t, please, be -ill for me; I am not worth it; but I will be good, darling mother.”<br> -<br> -Miss Matty could not speak for crying, after she had read this note. -She gave it to me in silence, and then got up and took it to her sacred -recesses in her own room, for fear, by any chance, it might get burnt. -“Poor Peter!” she said; “he was always in scrapes; -he was too easy. They led him wrong, and then left him in the -lurch. But he was too fond of mischief. He could never resist -a joke. Poor Peter!”<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -CHAPTER VI - POOR PETER<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -Poor Peter’s career lay before him rather pleasantly mapped out -by kind friends, but <i>Bonus Bernardus non videt omnia</i>, in this -map too. He was to win honours at the Shrewsbury School, and carry -them thick to Cambridge, and after that, a living awaited him, the gift -of his godfather, Sir Peter Arley. Poor Peter! his lot in life -was very different to what his friends had hoped and planned. -Miss Matty told me all about it, and I think it was a relief when she -had done so.<br> -<br> -He was the darling of his mother, who seemed to dote on all her children, -though she was, perhaps, a little afraid of Deborah’s superior -acquirements. Deborah was the favourite of her father, and when -Peter disappointed him, she became his pride. The sole honour -Peter brought away from Shrewsbury was the reputation of being the best -good fellow that ever was, and of being the captain of the school in -the art of practical joking. His father was disappointed, but -set about remedying the matter in a manly way. He could not afford -to send Peter to read with any tutor, but he could read with him himself; -and Miss Matty told me much of the awful preparations in the way of -dictionaries and lexicons that were made in her father’s study -the morning Peter began.<br> -<br> -“My poor mother!” said she. “I remember how -she used to stand in the hall, just near enough the study-door, to catch -the tone of my father’s voice. I could tell in a moment -if all was going right, by her face. And it did go right for a -long time.”<br> -<br> -“What went wrong at last?” said I. “That tiresome -Latin, I dare say.”<br> -<br> -“No! it was not the Latin. Peter was in high favour with -my father, for he worked up well for him. But he seemed to think -that the Cranford people might be joked about, and made fun of, and -they did not like it; nobody does. He was always hoaxing them; -‘hoaxing’ is not a pretty word, my dear, and I hope you -won’t tell your father I used it, for I should not like him to -think that I was not choice in my language, after living with such a -woman as Deborah. And be sure you never use it yourself. -I don’t know how it slipped out of my mouth, except it was that -I was thinking of poor Peter and it was always his expression. -But he was a very gentlemanly boy in many things. He was like -dear Captain Brown in always being ready to help any old person or a -child. Still, he did like joking and making fun; and he seemed -to think the old ladies in Cranford would believe anything. There -were many old ladies living here then; we are principally ladies now, -I know, but we are not so old as the ladies used to be when I was a -girl. I could laugh to think of some of Peter’s jokes. -No, my dear, I won’t tell you of them, because they might not -shock you as they ought to do, and they were very shocking. He -even took in my father once, by dressing himself up as a lady that was -passing through the town and wished to see the Rector of Cranford, ‘who -had published that admirable Assize Sermon.’ Peter said -he was awfully frightened himself when he saw how my father took it -all in, and even offered to copy out all his Napoleon Buonaparte sermons -for her - him, I mean - no, her, for Peter was a lady then. He -told me he was more terrified than he ever was before, all the time -my father was speaking. He did not think my father would have -believed him; and yet if he had not, it would have been a sad thing -for Peter. As it was, he was none so glad of it, for my father -kept him hard at work copying out all those twelve Buonaparte sermons -for the lady - that was for Peter himself, you know. He was the -lady. And once when he wanted to go fishing, Peter said, ‘Confound -the woman!’ - very bad language, my dear, but Peter was not always -so guarded as he should have been; my father was so angry with him, -it nearly frightened me out of my wits: and yet I could hardly keep -from laughing at the little curtseys Peter kept making, quite slyly, -whenever my father spoke of the lady’s excellent taste and sound -discrimination.”<br> -<br> -“Did Miss Jenkyns know of these tricks?” said I.<br> -<br> -“Oh, no! Deborah would have been too much shocked. -No, no one knew but me. I wish I had always known of Peter’s -plans; but sometimes he did not tell me. He used to say the old -ladies in the town wanted something to talk about; but I don’t -think they did. They had the <i>St James’s Chronicle</i> -three times a week, just as we have now, and we have plenty to say; -and I remember the clacking noise there always was when some of the -ladies got together. But, probably, schoolboys talk more than -ladies. At last there was a terrible, sad thing happened.” -Miss Matty got up, went to the door, and opened it; no one was there. -She rang the bell for Martha, and when Martha came, her mistress told -her to go for eggs to a farm at the other end of the town.<br> -<br> -“I will lock the door after you, Martha. You are not afraid -to go, are you?”<br> -<br> -“No, ma’am, not at all; Jem Hearn will be only too proud -to go with me.”<br> -<br> -Miss Matty drew herself up, and as soon as we were alone, she wished -that Martha had more maidenly reserve.<br> -<br> -“We’ll put out the candle, my dear. We can talk just -as well by firelight, you know. There! Well, you see, Deborah -had gone from home for a fortnight or so; it was a very still, quiet -day, I remember, overhead; and the lilacs were all in flower, so I suppose -it was spring. My father had gone out to see some sick people -in the parish; I recollect seeing him leave the house with his wig and -shovel-hat and cane. What possessed our poor Peter I don’t -know; he had the sweetest temper, and yet he always seemed to like to -plague Deborah. She never laughed at his jokes, and thought him -ungenteel, and not careful enough about improving his mind; and that -vexed him.<br> -<br> -“Well! he went to her room, it seems, and dressed himself in her -old gown, and shawl, and bonnet; just the things she used to wear in -Cranford, and was known by everywhere; and he made the pillow into a -little - you are sure you locked the door, my dear, for I should not -like anyone to hear - into - into a little baby, with white long clothes. -It was only, as he told me afterwards, to make something to talk about -in the town; he never thought of it as affecting Deborah. And -he went and walked up and down in the Filbert walk - just half-hidden -by the rails, and half-seen; and he cuddled his pillow, just like a -baby, and talked to it all the nonsense people do. Oh dear! and -my father came stepping stately up the street, as he always did; and -what should he see but a little black crowd of people - I daresay as -many as twenty - all peeping through his garden rails. So he thought, -at first, they were only looking at a new rhododendron that was in full -bloom, and that he was very proud of; and he walked slower, that they -might have more time to admire. And he wondered if he could make -out a sermon from the occasion, and thought, perhaps, there was some -relation between the rhododendrons and the lilies of the field. -My poor father! When he came nearer, he began to wonder that they -did not see him; but their heads were all so close together, peeping -and peeping! My father was amongst them, meaning, he said, to -ask them to walk into the garden with him, and admire the beautiful -vegetable production, when - oh, my dear, I tremble to think of it - -he looked through the rails himself, and saw - I don’t know what -he thought he saw, but old Clare told me his face went quite grey-white -with anger, and his eyes blazed out under his frowning black brows; -and he spoke out - oh, so terribly! - and bade them all stop where they -were - not one of them to go, not one of them to stir a step; and, swift -as light, he was in at the garden door, and down the Filbert walk, and -seized hold of poor Peter, and tore his clothes off his back - bonnet, -shawl, gown, and all - and threw the pillow among the people over the -railings: and then he was very, very angry indeed, and before all the -people he lifted up his cane and flogged Peter!<br> -<br> -“My dear, that boy’s trick, on that sunny day, when all -seemed going straight and well, broke my mother’s heart, and changed -my father for life. It did, indeed. Old Clare said, Peter -looked as white as my father; and stood as still as a statue to be flogged; -and my father struck hard! When my father stopped to take breath, -Peter said, ‘Have you done enough, sir?’ quite hoarsely, -and still standing quite quiet. I don’t know what my father -said - or if he said anything. But old Clare said, Peter turned -to where the people outside the railing were, and made them a low bow, -as grand and as grave as any gentleman; and then walked slowly into -the house. I was in the store-room helping my mother to make cowslip -wine. I cannot abide the wine now, nor the scent of the flowers; -they turn me sick and faint, as they did that day, when Peter came in, -looking as haughty as any man - indeed, looking like a man, not like -a boy. ‘Mother!’ he said, ‘I am come to say, -God bless you for ever.’ I saw his lips quiver as he spoke; -and I think he durst not say anything more loving, for the purpose that -was in his heart. She looked at him rather frightened, and wondering, -and asked him what was to do. He did not smile or speak, but put -his arms round her and kissed her as if he did not know how to leave -off; and before she could speak again, he was gone. We talked -it over, and could not understand it, and she bade me go and seek my -father, and ask what it was all about. I found him walking up -and down, looking very highly displeased.<br> -<br> -“‘Tell your mother I have flogged Peter, and that he richly -deserved it.’<br> -<br> -“I durst not ask any more questions. When I told my mother, -she sat down, quite faint, for a minute. I remember, a few days -after, I saw the poor, withered cowslip flowers thrown out to the leaf -heap, to decay and die there. There was no making of cowslip wine -that year at the rectory - nor, indeed, ever after.<br> -<br> -“Presently my mother went to my father. I know I thought -of Queen Esther and King Ahasuerus; for my mother was very pretty and -delicate-looking, and my father looked as terrible as King Ahasuerus. -Some time after they came out together; and then my mother told me what -had happened, and that she was going up to Peter’s room at my -father’s desire - though she was not to tell Peter this - to talk -the matter over with him. But no Peter was there. We looked -over the house; no Peter was there! Even my father, who had not -liked to join in the search at first, helped us before long. The -rectory was a very old house - steps up into a room, steps down into -a room, all through. At first, my mother went calling low and -soft, as if to reassure the poor boy, ‘Peter! Peter, dear! -it’s only me;’ but, by-and-by, as the servants came back -from the errands my father had sent them, in different directions, to -find where Peter was - as we found he was not in the garden, nor the -hayloft, nor anywhere about - my mother’s cry grew louder and -wilder, Peter! Peter, my darling! where are you?’ for then -she felt and understood that that long kiss meant some sad kind of ‘good-bye.’ -The afternoon went on - my mother never resting, but seeking again and -again in every possible place that had been looked into twenty times -before, nay, that she had looked into over and over again herself. -My father sat with his head in his hands, not speaking except when his -messengers came in, bringing no tidings; then he lifted up his face, -so strong and sad, and told them to go again in some new direction. -My mother kept passing from room to room, in and out of the house, moving -noiselessly, but never ceasing. Neither she nor my father durst -leave the house, which was the meeting-place for all the messengers. -At last (and it was nearly dark), my father rose up. He took hold -of my mother’s arm as she came with wild, sad pace through one -door, and quickly towards another. She started at the touch of -his hand, for she had forgotten all in the world but Peter.<br> -<br> -“‘Molly!’ said he, ‘I did not think all this -would happen.’ He looked into her face for comfort - her -poor face all wild and white; for neither she nor my father had dared -to acknowledge - much less act upon - the terror that was in their hearts, -lest Peter should have made away with himself. My father saw no -conscious look in his wife’s hot, dreary eyes, and he missed the -sympathy that she had always been ready to give him - strong man as -he was, and at the dumb despair in her face his tears began to flow. -But when she saw this, a gentle sorrow came over her countenance, and -she said, ‘Dearest John! don’t cry; come with me, and we’ll -find him,’ almost as cheerfully as if she knew where he was. -And she took my father’s great hand in her little soft one, and -led him along, the tears dropping as he walked on that same unceasing, -weary walk, from room to room, through house and garden.<br> -<br> -“Oh, how I wished for Deborah! I had no time for crying, -for now all seemed to depend on me. I wrote for Deborah to come -home. I sent a message privately to that same Mr Holbrook’s -house - poor Mr Holbrook; - you know who I mean. I don’t -mean I sent a message to him, but I sent one that I could trust to know -if Peter was at his house. For at one time Mr Holbrook was an -occasional visitor at the rectory - you know he was Miss Pole’s -cousin - and he had been very kind to Peter, and taught him how to fish -- he was very kind to everybody, and I thought Peter might have gone -off there. But Mr Holbrook was from home, and Peter had never -been seen. It was night now; but the doors were all wide open, -and my father and mother walked on and on; it was more than an hour -since he had joined her, and I don’t believe they had ever spoken -all that time. I was getting the parlour fire lighted, and one -of the servants was preparing tea, for I wanted them to have something -to eat and drink and warm them, when old Clare asked to speak to me.<br> -<br> -“‘I have borrowed the nets from the weir, Miss Matty. -Shall we drag the ponds to-night, or wait for the morning?’<br> -<br> -“I remember staring in his face to gather his meaning; and when -I did, I laughed out loud. The horror of that new thought - our -bright, darling Peter, cold, and stark, and dead! I remember the -ring of my own laugh now.<br> -<br> -“The next day Deborah was at home before I was myself again. -She would not have been so weak as to give way as I had done; but my -screams (my horrible laughter had ended in crying) had roused my sweet -dear mother, whose poor wandering wits were called back and collected -as soon as a child needed her care. She and Deborah sat by my -bedside; I knew by the looks of each that there had been no news of -Peter - no awful, ghastly news, which was what I most had dreaded in -my dull state between sleeping and waking.<br> -<br> -“The same result of all the searching had brought something of -the same relief to my mother, to whom, I am sure, the thought that Peter -might even then be hanging dead in some of the familiar home places -had caused that never-ending walk of yesterday. Her soft eyes -never were the same again after that; they had always a restless, craving -look, as if seeking for what they could not find. Oh! it was an -awful time; coming down like a thunder-bolt on the still sunny day when -the lilacs were all in bloom.”<br> -<br> -“Where was Mr Peter?” said I.<br> -<br> -“He had made his way to Liverpool; and there was war then; and -some of the king’s ships lay off the mouth of the Mersey; and -they were only too glad to have a fine likely boy such as him (five -foot nine he was), come to offer himself. The captain wrote to -my father, and Peter wrote to my mother. Stay! those letters will -be somewhere here.”<br> -<br> -We lighted the candle, and found the captain’s letter and Peter’s -too. And we also found a little simple begging letter from Mrs -Jenkyns to Peter, addressed to him at the house of an old schoolfellow -whither she fancied he might have gone. They had returned it unopened; -and unopened it had remained ever since, having been inadvertently put -by among the other letters of that time. This is it:-<br> -<br> -<br> -“MY DEAREST PETER, - You did not think we should be so sorry as -we are, I know, or you would never have gone away. You are too -good. Your father sits and sighs till my heart aches to hear him. -He cannot hold up his head for grief; and yet he only did what he thought -was right. Perhaps he has been too severe, and perhaps I have -not been kind enough; but God knows how we love you, my dear only boy. -Don looks so sorry you are gone. Come back, and make us happy, -who love you so much. I know you will come back.”<br> -<br> -<br> -But Peter did not come back. That spring day was the last time -he ever saw his mother’s face. The writer of the letter -- the last - the only person who had ever seen what was written in it, -was dead long ago; and I, a stranger, not born at the time when this -occurrence took place, was the one to open it.<br> -<br> -The captain’s letter summoned the father and mother to Liverpool -instantly, if they wished to see their boy; and, by some of the wild -chances of life, the captain’s letter had been detained somewhere, -somehow.<br> -<br> -Miss Matty went on, “And it was racetime, and all the post-horses -at Cranford were gone to the races; but my father and mother set off -in our own gig - and oh! my dear, they were too late - the ship was -gone! And now read Peter’s letter to my mother!”<br> -<br> -It was full of love, and sorrow, and pride in his new profession, and -a sore sense of his disgrace in the eyes of the people at Cranford; -but ending with a passionate entreaty that she would come and see him -before he left the Mersey: “Mother; we may go into battle. -I hope we shall, and lick those French: but I must see you again before -that time.”<br> -<br> -“And she was too late,” said Miss Matty; “too late!”<br> -<br> -We sat in silence, pondering on the full meaning of those sad, sad words. -At length I asked Miss Matty to tell me how her mother bore it.<br> -<br> -“Oh!” she said, “she was patience itself. She -had never been strong, and this weakened her terribly. My father -used to sit looking at her: far more sad than she was. He seemed -as if he could look at nothing else when she was by; and he was so humble -- so very gentle now. He would, perhaps, speak in his old way -- laying down the law, as it were - and then, in a minute or two, he -would come round and put his hand on our shoulders, and ask us in a -low voice, if he had said anything to hurt us. I did not wonder -at his speaking so to Deborah, for she was so clever; but I could not -bear to hear him talking so to me.<br> -<br> -“But, you see, he saw what we did not - that it was killing my -mother. Yes! killing her (put out the candle, my dear; I can talk -better in the dark), for she was but a frail woman, and ill-fitted to -stand the fright and shock she had gone through; and she would smile -at him and comfort him, not in words, but in her looks and tones, which -were always cheerful when he was there. And she would speak of -how she thought Peter stood a good chance of being admiral very soon -- he was so brave and clever; and how she thought of seeing him in his -navy uniform, and what sort of hats admirals wore; and how much more -fit he was to be a sailor than a clergyman; and all in that way, just -to make my father think she was quite glad of what came of that unlucky -morning’s work, and the flogging which was always in his mind, -as we all knew. But oh, my dear! the bitter, bitter crying she -had when she was alone; and at last, as she grew weaker, she could not -keep her tears in when Deborah or me was by, and would give us message -after message for Peter (his ship had gone to the Mediterranean, or -somewhere down there, and then he was ordered off to India, and there -was no overland route then); but she still said that no one knew where -their death lay in wait, and that we were not to think hers was near. -We did not think it, but we knew it, as we saw her fading away.<br> -<br> -“Well, my dear, it’s very foolish of me, I know, when in -all likelihood I am so near seeing her again.<br> -<br> -“And only think, love! the very day after her death - for she -did not live quite a twelvemonth after Peter went away - the very day -after - came a parcel for her from India - from her poor boy. -It was a large, soft, white Indian shawl, with just a little narrow -border all round; just what my mother would have liked.<br> -<br> -“We thought it might rouse my father, for he had sat with her -hand in his all night long; so Deborah took it in to him, and Peter’s -letter to her, and all. At first, he took no notice; and we tried -to make a kind of light careless talk about the shawl, opening it out -and admiring it. Then, suddenly, he got up, and spoke: ‘She -shall be buried in it,’ he said; ‘Peter shall have that -comfort; and she would have liked it.’<br> -<br> -“Well, perhaps it was not reasonable, but what could we do or -say? One gives people in grief their own way. He took it -up and felt it: ‘It is just such a shawl as she wished for when -she was married, and her mother did not give it her. I did not -know of it till after, or she should have had it - she should; but she -shall have it now.’<br> -<br> -“My mother looked so lovely in her death! She was always -pretty, and now she looked fair, and waxen, and young - younger than -Deborah, as she stood trembling and shivering by her. We decked -her in the long soft folds; she lay smiling, as if pleased; and people -came - all Cranford came - to beg to see her, for they had loved her -dearly, as well they might; and the countrywomen brought posies; old -Clare’s wife brought some white violets and begged they might -lie on her breast.<br> -<br> -“Deborah said to me, the day of my mother’s funeral, that -if she had a hundred offers she never would marry and leave my father. -It was not very likely she would have so many - I don’t know that -she had one; but it was not less to her credit to say so. She -was such a daughter to my father as I think there never was before or -since. His eyes failed him, and she read book after book, and -wrote, and copied, and was always at his service in any parish business. -She could do many more things than my poor mother could; she even once -wrote a letter to the bishop for my father. But he missed my mother -sorely; the whole parish noticed it. Not that he was less active; -I think he was more so, and more patient in helping every one. -I did all I could to set Deborah at liberty to be with him; for I knew -I was good for little, and that my best work in the world was to do -odd jobs quietly, and set others at liberty. But my father was -a changed man.”<br> -<br> -“Did Mr Peter ever come home?”<br> -<br> -“Yes, once. He came home a lieutenant; he did not get to -be admiral. And he and my father were such friends! My father -took him into every house in the parish, he was so proud of him. -He never walked out without Peter’s arm to lean upon. Deborah -used to smile (I don’t think we ever laughed again after my mother’s -death), and say she was quite put in a corner. Not but what my -father always wanted her when there was letter-writing or reading to -be done, or anything to be settled.”<br> -<br> -“And then?” said I, after a pause.<br> -<br> -“Then Peter went to sea again; and, by-and-by, my father died, -blessing us both, and thanking Deborah for all she had been to him; -and, of course, our circumstances were changed; and, instead of living -at the rectory, and keeping three maids and a man, we had to come to -this small house, and be content with a servant-of-all-work; but, as -Deborah used to say, we have always lived genteelly, even if circumstances -have compelled us to simplicity. Poor Deborah!”<br> -<br> -“And Mr Peter?” asked I.<br> -<br> -“Oh, there was some great war in India - I forget what they call -it - and we have never heard of Peter since then. I believe he -is dead myself; and it sometimes fidgets me that we have never put on -mourning for him. And then again, when I sit by myself, and all -the house is still, I think I hear his step coming up the street, and -my heart begins to flutter and beat; but the sound always goes past -- and Peter never comes.<br> -<br> -“That’s Martha back? No! <i>I’ll</i> go, -my dear; I can always find my way in the dark, you know. And a -blow of fresh air at the door will do my head good, and it’s rather -got a trick of aching.”<br> -<br> -So she pattered off. I had lighted the candle, to give the room -a cheerful appearance against her return.<br> -<br> -“Was it Martha?” asked I.<br> -<br> -“Yes. And I am rather uncomfortable, for I heard such a -strange noise, just as I was opening the door.”<br> -<br> -“Where?’ I asked, for her eyes were round with affright.<br> -<br> -“In the street - just outside - it sounded like” -<br> -<br> -“Talking?” I put in, as she hesitated a little.<br> -<br> -“No! kissing” -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -CHAPTER VII - VISITING<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -One morning, as Miss Matty and I sat at our work - it was before twelve -o’clock, and Miss Matty had not changed the cap with yellow ribbons -that had been Miss Jenkyns’s best, and which Miss Matty was now -wearing out in private, putting on the one made in imitation of Mrs -Jamieson’s at all times when she expected to be seen - Martha -came up, and asked if Miss Betty Barker might speak to her mistress. -Miss Matty assented, and quickly disappeared to change the yellow ribbons, -while Miss Barker came upstairs; but, as she had forgotten her spectacles, -and was rather flurried by the unusual time of the visit, I was not -surprised to see her return with one cap on the top of the other. -She was quite unconscious of it herself, and looked at us, with bland -satisfaction. Nor do I think Miss Barker perceived it; for, putting -aside the little circumstance that she was not so young as she had been, -she was very much absorbed in her errand, which she delivered herself -of with an oppressive modesty that found vent in endless apologies.<br> -<br> -Miss Betty Barker was the daughter of the old clerk at Cranford who -had officiated in Mr Jenkyns’s time. She and her sister -had had pretty good situations as ladies’ maids, and had saved -money enough to set up a milliner’s shop, which had been patronised -by the ladies in the neighbourhood. Lady Arley, for instance, -would occasionally give Miss Barkers the pattern of an old cap of hers, -which they immediately copied and circulated among the elite of Cranford. -I say the <i>élite</i>, for Miss Barkers had caught the trick -of the place, and piqued themselves upon their “aristocratic connection.” -They would not sell their caps and ribbons to anyone without a pedigree. -Many a farmer’s wife or daughter turned away huffed from Miss -Barkers’ select millinery, and went rather to the universal shop, -where the profits of brown soap and moist sugar enabled the proprietor -to go straight to (Paris, he said, until he found his customers too -patriotic and John Bullish to wear what the Mounseers wore) London, -where, as he often told his customers, Queen Adelaide had appeared, -only the very week before, in a cap exactly like the one he showed them, -trimmed with yellow and blue ribbons, and had been complimented by King -William on the becoming nature of her head-dress.<br> -<br> -Miss Barkers, who confined themselves to truth, and did not approve -of miscellaneous customers, throve notwithstanding. They were -self-denying, good people. Many a time have I seen the eldest -of them (she that had been maid to Mrs Jamieson) carrying out some delicate -mess to a poor person. They only aped their betters in having -“nothing to do” with the class immediately below theirs. -And when Miss Barker died, their profits and income were found to be -such that Miss Betty was justified in shutting up shop and retiring -from business. She also (as I think I have before said) set up -her cow; a mark of respectability in Cranford almost as decided as setting -up a gig is among some people. She dressed finer than any lady -in Cranford; and we did not wonder at it; for it was understood that -she was wearing out all the bonnets and caps and outrageous ribbons -which had once formed her stock-in-trade. It was five or six years -since she had given up shop, so in any other place than Cranford her -dress might have been considered <i>passée</i>.<br> -<br> -And now Miss Betty Barker had called to invite Miss Matty to tea at -her house on the following Tuesday. She gave me also an impromptu -invitation, as I happened to be a visitor - though I could see she had -a little fear lest, since my father had gone to live in Drumble, he -might have engaged in that “horrid cotton trade,” and so -dragged his family down out of “aristocratic society.” -She prefaced this invitation with so many apologies that she quite excited -my curiosity. “Her presumption” was to be excused. -What had she been doing? She seemed so over-powered by it I could -only think that she had been writing to Queen Adelaide to ask for a -receipt for washing lace; but the act which she so characterised was -only an invitation she had carried to her sister’s former mistress, -Mrs Jamieson. “Her former occupation considered, could Miss -Matty excuse the liberty?” Ah! thought I, she has found -out that double cap, and is going to rectify Miss Matty’s head-dress. -No! it was simply to extend her invitation to Miss Matty and to me. -Miss Matty bowed acceptance; and I wondered that, in the graceful action, -she did not feel the unusual weight and extraordinary height of her -head-dress. But I do not think she did, for she recovered her -balance, and went on talking to Miss Betty in a kind, condescending -manner, very different from the fidgety way she would have had if she -had suspected how singular her appearance was. “Mrs Jamieson -is coming, I think you said?” asked Miss Matty.<br> -<br> -“Yes. Mrs Jamieson most kindly and condescendingly said -she would be happy to come. One little stipulation she made, that -she should bring Carlo. I told her that if I had a weakness, it -was for dogs.”<br> -<br> -“And Miss Pole?” questioned Miss Matty, who was thinking -of her pool at Preference, in which Carlo would not be available as -a partner.<br> -<br> -“I am going to ask Miss Pole. Of course, I could not think -of asking her until I had asked you, madam - the rector’s daughter, -madam. Believe me, I do not forget the situation my father held -under yours.”<br> -<br> -“And Mrs Forrester, of course?”<br> -<br> -“And Mrs Forrester. I thought, in fact, of going to her -before I went to Miss Pole. Although her circumstances are changed, -madam, she was born at Tyrrell, and we can never forget her alliance -to the Bigges, of Bigelow Hall.”<br> -<br> -Miss Matty cared much more for the little circumstance of her being -a very good card-player.<br> -<br> -“Mrs Fitz-Adam - I suppose” -<br> -<br> -“No, madam. I must draw a line somewhere. Mrs Jamieson -would not, I think, like to meet Mrs Fitz-Adam. I have the greatest -respect for Mrs Fitz-Adam - but I cannot think her fit society for such -ladies as Mrs Jamieson and Miss Matilda Jenkyns.”<br> -<br> -Miss Betty Barker bowed low to Miss Matty, and pursed up her mouth. -She looked at me with sidelong dignity, as much as to say, although -a retired milliner, she was no democrat, and understood the difference -of ranks.<br> -<br> -“May I beg you to come as near half-past six to my little dwelling, -as possible, Miss Matilda? Mrs Jamieson dines at five, but has -kindly promised not to delay her visit beyond that time - half-past -six.” And with a swimming curtsey Miss Betty Barker took -her leave.<br> -<br> -My prophetic soul foretold a visit that afternoon from Miss Pole, who -usually came to call on Miss Matilda after any event - or indeed in -sight of any event - to talk it over with her.<br> -<br> -“Miss Betty told me it was to be a choice and select few,” -said Miss Pole, as she and Miss Matty compared notes.<br> -<br> -“Yes, so she said. Not even Mrs Fitz-Adam.”<br> -<br> -Now Mrs Fitz-Adam was the widowed sister of the Cranford surgeon, whom -I have named before. Their parents were respectable farmers, content -with their station. The name of these good people was Hoggins. -Mr Hoggins was the Cranford doctor now; we disliked the name and considered -it coarse; but, as Miss Jenkyns said, if he changed it to Piggins it -would not be much better. We had hoped to discover a relationship -between him and that Marchioness of Exeter whose name was Molly Hoggins; -but the man, careless of his own interests, utterly ignored and denied -any such relationship, although, as dear Miss Jenkyns had said, he had -a sister called Mary, and the same Christian names were very apt to -run in families.<br> -<br> -Soon after Miss Mary Hoggins married Mr Fitz-Adam, she disappeared from -the neighbourhood for many years. She did not move in a sphere -in Cranford society sufficiently high to make any of us care to know -what Mr Fitz-Adam was. He died and was gathered to his fathers -without our ever having thought about him at all. And then Mrs -Fitz-Adam reappeared in Cranford (“as bold as a lion,” Miss -Pole said), a well-to-do widow, dressed in rustling black silk, so soon -after her husband’s death that poor Miss Jenkyns was justified -in the remark she made, that “bombazine would have shown a deeper -sense of her loss.”<br> -<br> -I remember the convocation of ladies who assembled to decide whether -or not Mrs Fitz-Adam should be called upon by the old blue-blooded inhabitants -of Cranford. She had taken a large rambling house, which had been -usually considered to confer a patent of gentility upon its tenant, -because, once upon a time, seventy or eighty years before, the spinster -daughter of an earl had resided in it. I am not sure if the inhabiting -this house was not also believed to convey some unusual power of intellect; -for the earl’s daughter, Lady Jane, had a sister, Lady Anne, who -had married a general officer in the time of the American war, and this -general officer had written one or two comedies, which were still acted -on the London boards, and which, when we saw them advertised, made us -all draw up, and feel that Drury Lane was paying a very pretty compliment -to Cranford. Still, it was not at all a settled thing that Mrs -Fitz-Adam was to be visited, when dear Miss Jenkyns died; and, with -her, something of the clear knowledge of the strict code of gentility -went out too. As Miss Pole observed, “As most of the ladies -of good family in Cranford were elderly spinsters, or widows without -children, if we did not relax a little, and become less exclusive, by-and-by -we should have no society at all.”<br> -<br> -Mrs Forrester continued on the same side.<br> -<br> -“She had always understood that Fitz meant something aristocratic; -there was Fitz-Roy - she thought that some of the King’s children -had been called Fitz-Roy; and there was Fitz-Clarence, now - they were -the children of dear good King William the Fourth. Fitz-Adam! -- it was a pretty name, and she thought it very probably meant ‘Child -of Adam.’ No one, who had not some good blood in their veins, -would dare to be called Fitz; there was a deal in a name - she had had -a cousin who spelt his name with two little ffs - ffoulkes - and he -always looked down upon capital letters and said they belonged to lately-invented -families. She had been afraid he would die a bachelor, he was -so very choice. When he met with a Mrs ffarringdon, at a watering-place, -he took to her immediately; and a very pretty genteel woman she was -- a widow, with a very good fortune; and ‘my cousin,’ Mr -ffoulkes, married her; and it was all owing to her two little ffs.”<br> -<br> -Mrs Fitz-Adam did not stand a chance of meeting with a Mr Fitz-anything -in Cranford, so that could not have been her motive for settling there. -Miss Matty thought it might have been the hope of being admitted into -the society of the place, which would certainly be a very agreeable -rise for <i>ci-devant</i> Miss Hoggins; and if this had been her hope -it would be cruel to disappoint her.<br> -<br> -So everybody called upon Mrs Fitz-Adam - everybody but Mrs Jamieson, -who used to show how honourable she was by never seeing Mrs Fitz-Adam -when they met at the Cranford parties. There would be only eight -or ten ladies in the room, and Mrs Fitz-Adam was the largest of all, -and she invariably used to stand up when Mrs Jamieson came in, and curtsey -very low to her whenever she turned in her direction - so low, in fact, -that I think Mrs Jamieson must have looked at the wall above her, for -she never moved a muscle of her face, no more than if she had not seen -her. Still Mrs Fitz-Adam persevered.<br> -<br> -The spring evenings were getting bright and long when three or four -ladies in calashes met at Miss Barker’s door. Do you know -what a calash is? It is a covering worn over caps, not unlike -the heads fastened on old-fashioned gigs; but sometimes it is not quite -so large. This kind of head-gear always made an awful impression -on the children in Cranford; and now two or three left off their play -in the quiet sunny little street, and gathered in wondering silence -round Miss Pole, Miss Matty, and myself. We were silent too, so -that we could hear loud, suppressed whispers inside Miss Barker’s -house: “Wait, Peggy! wait till I’ve run upstairs and washed -my hands. When I cough, open the door; I’ll not be a minute.”<br> -<br> -And, true enough it was not a minute before we heard a noise, between -a sneeze and a crow; on which the door flew open. Behind it stood -a round-eyed maiden, all aghast at the honourable company of calashes, -who marched in without a word. She recovered presence of mind -enough to usher us into a small room, which had been the shop, but was -now converted into a temporary dressing-room. There we unpinned -and shook ourselves, and arranged our features before the glass into -a sweet and gracious company-face; and then, bowing backwards with “After -you, ma’am,” we allowed Mrs Forrester to take precedence -up the narrow staircase that led to Miss Barker’s drawing-room. -There she sat, as stately and composed as though we had never heard -that odd-sounding cough, from which her throat must have been even then -sore and rough. Kind, gentle, shabbily-dressed Mrs Forrester was -immediately conducted to the second place of honour - a seat arranged -something like Prince Albert’s near the Queen’s - good, -but not so good. The place of pre-eminence was, of course, reserved -for the Honourable Mrs Jamieson, who presently came panting up the stairs -- Carlo rushing round her on her progress, as if he meant to trip her -up.<br> -<br> -And now Miss Betty Barker was a proud and happy woman! She stirred -the fire, and shut the door, and sat as near to it as she could, quite -on the edge of her chair. When Peggy came in, tottering under -the weight of the tea-tray, I noticed that Miss Barker was sadly afraid -lest Peggy should not keep her distance sufficiently. She and -her mistress were on very familiar terms in their every-day intercourse, -and Peggy wanted now to make several little confidences to her, which -Miss Barker was on thorns to hear, but which she thought it her duty, -as a lady, to repress. So she turned away from all Peggy’s -asides and signs; but she made one or two very malapropos answers to -what was said; and at last, seized with a bright idea, she exclaimed, -“Poor, sweet Carlo! I’m forgetting him. Come -downstairs with me, poor ittie doggie, and it shall have its tea, it -shall!”<br> -<br> -In a few minutes she returned, bland and benignant as before; but I -thought she had forgotten to give the “poor ittie doggie” -anything to eat, judging by the avidity with which he swallowed down -chance pieces of cake. The tea-tray was abundantly loaded - I -was pleased to see it, I was so hungry; but I was afraid the ladies -present might think it vulgarly heaped up. I know they would have -done at their own houses; but somehow the heaps disappeared here. -I saw Mrs Jamieson eating seed-cake, slowly and considerately, as she -did everything; and I was rather surprised, for I knew she had told -us, on the occasion of her last party, that she never had it in her -house, it reminded her so much of scented soap. She always gave -us Savoy biscuits. However, Mrs Jamieson was kindly indulgent -to Miss Barker’s want of knowledge of the customs of high life; -and, to spare her feelings, ate three large pieces of seed-cake, with -a placid, ruminating expression of countenance, not unlike a cow’s.<br> -<br> -After tea there was some little demur and difficulty. We were -six in number; four could play at Preference, and for the other two -there was Cribbage. But all, except myself (I was rather afraid -of the Cranford ladies at cards, for it was the most earnest and serious -business they ever engaged in), were anxious to be of the “pool.” -Even Miss Barker, while declaring she did not know Spadille from Manille, -was evidently hankering to take a hand. The dilemma was soon put -an end to by a singular kind of noise. If a baron’s daughter-in-law -could ever be supposed to snore, I should have said Mrs Jamieson did -so then; for, overcome by the heat of the room, and inclined to doze -by nature, the temptation of that very comfortable arm-chair had been -too much for her, and Mrs Jamieson was nodding. Once or twice -she opened her eyes with an effort, and calmly but unconsciously smiled -upon us; but by-and-by, even her benevolence was not equal to this exertion, -and she was sound asleep.<br> -<br> -“It is very gratifying to me,” whispered Miss Barker at -the card-table to her three opponents, whom, notwithstanding her ignorance -of the game, she was “basting” most unmercifully - “very -gratifying indeed, to see how completely Mrs Jamieson feels at home -in my poor little dwelling; she could not have paid me a greater compliment.”<br> -<br> -Miss Barker provided me with some literature in the shape of three or -four handsomely-bound fashion-books ten or twelve years old, observing, -as she put a little table and a candle for my especial benefit, that -she knew young people liked to look at pictures. Carlo lay and -snorted, and started at his mistress’s feet. He, too, was -quite at home.<br> -<br> -The card-table was an animated scene to watch; four ladies’ heads, -with niddle-noddling caps, all nearly meeting over the middle of the -table in their eagerness to whisper quick enough and loud enough: and -every now and then came Miss Barker’s “Hush, ladies! if -you please, hush! Mrs Jamieson is asleep.”<br> -<br> -It was very difficult to steer clear between Mrs Forrester’s deafness -and Mrs Jamieson’s sleepiness. But Miss Barker managed her -arduous task well. She repeated the whisper to Mrs Forrester, -distorting her face considerably, in order to show, by the motions of -her lips, what was said; and then she smiled kindly all round at us, -and murmured to herself, “Very gratifying, indeed; I wish my poor -sister had been alive to see this day.”<br> -<br> -Presently the door was thrown wide open; Carlo started to his feet, -with a loud snapping bark, and Mrs Jamieson awoke: or, perhaps, she -had not been asleep - as she said almost directly, the room had been -so light she had been glad to keep her eyes shut, but had been listening -with great interest to all our amusing and agreeable conversation. -Peggy came in once more, red with importance. Another tray! -“Oh, gentility!” thought I, “can yon endure this last -shock?” For Miss Barker had ordered (nay, I doubt not, prepared, -although she did say, “Why, Peggy, what have you brought us?” -and looked pleasantly surprised at the unexpected pleasure) all sorts -of good things for supper - scalloped oysters, potted lobsters, jelly, -a dish called “little Cupids” (which was in great favour -with the Cranford ladies, although too expensive to be given, except -on solemn and state occasions - macaroons sopped in brandy, I should -have called it, if I had not known its more refined and classical name). -In short, we were evidently to be feasted with all that was sweetest -and best; and we thought it better to submit graciously, even at the -cost of our gentility - which never ate suppers in general, but which, -like most non-supper-eaters, was particularly hungry on all special -occasions.<br> -<br> -Miss Barker, in her former sphere, had, I daresay, been made acquainted -with the beverage they call cherry-brandy. We none of us had ever -seen such a thing, and rather shrank back when she proffered it us - -“just a little, leetle glass, ladies; after the oysters and lobsters, -you know. Shell-fish are sometimes thought not very wholesome.” -We all shook our heads like female mandarins; but, at last, Mrs Jamieson -suffered herself to be persuaded, and we followed her lead. It -was not exactly unpalatable, though so hot and so strong that we thought -ourselves bound to give evidence that we were not accustomed to such -things by coughing terribly - almost as strangely as Miss Barker had -done, before we were admitted by Peggy.<br> -<br> -“It’s very strong,” said Miss Pole, as she put down -her empty glass; “I do believe there’s spirit in it.”<br> -<br> -“Only a little drop - just necessary to make it keep,” said -Miss Barker. “You know we put brandy-pepper over our preserves -to make them keep. I often feel tipsy myself from eating damson -tart.”<br> -<br> -I question whether damson tart would have opened Mrs Jamieson’s -heart as the cherry-brandy did; but she told us of a coming event, respecting -which she had been quite silent till that moment.<br> -<br> -“My sister-in-law, Lady Glenmire, is coming to stay with me.”<br> -<br> -There was a chorus of “Indeed!” and then a pause. -Each one rapidly reviewed her wardrobe, as to its fitness to appear -in the presence of a baron’s widow; for, of course, a series of -small festivals were always held in Cranford on the arrival of a visitor -at any of our friends’ houses. We felt very pleasantly excited -on the present occasion.<br> -<br> -Not long after this the maids and the lanterns were announced. -Mrs Jamieson had the sedan-chair, which had squeezed itself into Miss -Barker’s narrow lobby with some difficulty, and most literally -“stopped the way.” It required some skilful manoeuvring -on the part of the old chairmen (shoemakers by day, but when summoned -to carry the sedan dressed up in a strange old livery - long great-coats, -with small capes, coeval with the sedan, and similar to the dress of -the class in Hogarth’s pictures) to edge, and back, and try at -it again, and finally to succeed in carrying their burden out of Miss -Barker’s front door. Then we heard their quick pit-a-pat -along the quiet little street as we put on our calashes and pinned up -our gowns; Miss Barker hovering about us with offers of help, which, -if she had not remembered her former occupation, and wished us to forget -it, would have been much more pressing.<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -CHAPTER VIII - “YOUR LADYSHIP”<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -Early the next morning - directly after twelve - Miss Pole made her -appearance at Miss Matty’s. Some very trifling piece of -business was alleged as a reason for the call; but there was evidently -something behind. At last out it came.<br> -<br> -“By the way, you’ll think I’m strangely ignorant; -but, do you really know, I am puzzled how we ought to address Lady Glenmire. -Do you say, ‘Your Ladyship,’ where you would say ‘you’ -to a common person? I have been puzzling all morning; and are -we to say ‘My Lady,’ instead of ‘Ma’am?’ -Now you knew Lady Arley - will you kindly tell me the most correct way -of speaking to the peerage?”<br> -<br> -Poor Miss Matty! she took off her spectacles and she put them on again -- but how Lady Arley was addressed, she could not remember.<br> -<br> -“It is so long ago,” she said. “Dear! dear! -how stupid I am! I don’t think I ever saw her more than -twice. I know we used to call Sir Peter, ‘Sir Peter’ -- but he came much oftener to see us than Lady Arley did. Deborah -would have known in a minute. ‘My lady’ - ‘your -ladyship.’ It sounds very strange, and as if it was not -natural. I never thought of it before; but, now you have named -it, I am all in a puzzle.”<br> -<br> -It was very certain Miss Pole would obtain no wise decision from Miss -Matty, who got more bewildered every moment, and more perplexed as to -etiquettes of address.<br> -<br> -“Well, I really think,” said Miss Pole, “I had better -just go and tell Mrs Forrester about our little difficulty. One -sometimes grows nervous; and yet one would not have Lady Glenmire think -we were quite ignorant of the etiquettes of high life in Cranford.”<br> -<br> -“And will you just step in here, dear Miss Pole, as you come back, -please, and tell me what you decide upon? Whatever you and Mrs -Forrester fix upon, will be quite right, I’m sure. ‘Lady -Arley,’ ‘Sir Peter,’” said Miss Matty to herself, -trying to recall the old forms of words.<br> -<br> -“Who is Lady Glenmire?” asked I.<br> -<br> -“Oh, she’s the widow of Mr Jamieson - that’s Mrs Jamieson’s -late husband, you know - widow of his eldest brother. Mrs Jamieson -was a Miss Walker, daughter of Governor Walker. ‘Your ladyship.’ -My dear, if they fix on that way of speaking, you must just let me practice -a little on you first, for I shall feel so foolish and hot saying it -the first time to Lady Glenmire.”<br> -<br> -It was really a relief to Miss Matty when Mrs Jamieson came on a very -unpolite errand. I notice that apathetic people have more quiet -impertinence than others; and Mrs Jamieson came now to insinuate pretty -plainly that she did not particularly wish that the Cranford ladies -should call upon her sister-in-law. I can hardly say how she made -this clear; for I grew very indignant and warm, while with slow deliberation -she was explaining her wishes to Miss Matty, who, a true lady herself, -could hardly understand the feeling which made Mrs Jamieson wish to -appear to her noble sister-in-law as if she only visited “county” -families. Miss Matty remained puzzled and perplexed long after -I had found out the object of Mrs Jamieson’s visit.<br> -<br> -When she did understand the drift of the honourable lady’s call, -it was pretty to see with what quiet dignity she received the intimation -thus uncourteously given. She was not in the least hurt - she -was of too gentle a spirit for that; nor was she exactly conscious of -disapproving of Mrs Jamieson’s conduct; but there was something -of this feeling in her mind, I am sure, which made her pass from the -subject to others in a less flurried and more composed manner than usual. -Mrs Jamieson was, indeed, the more flurried of the two, and I could -see she was glad to take her leave.<br> -<br> -A little while afterwards Miss Pole returned, red and indignant. -“Well! to be sure! You’ve had Mrs Jamieson here, I -find from Martha; and we are not to call on Lady Glenmire. Yes! -I met Mrs Jamieson, half-way between here and Mrs Forrester’s, -and she told me; she took me so by surprise, I had nothing to say. -I wish I had thought of something very sharp and sarcastic; I dare say -I shall to-night. And Lady Glenmire is but the widow of a Scotch -baron after all! I went on to look at Mrs Forrester’s Peerage, -to see who this lady was, that is to be kept under a glass case: widow -of a Scotch peer - never sat in the House of Lords - and as poor as -job, I dare say; and she - fifth daughter of some Mr Campbell or other. -You are the daughter of a rector, at any rate, and related to the Arleys; -and Sir Peter might have been Viscount Arley, every one says.”<br> -<br> -Miss Matty tried to soothe Miss Pole, but in vain. That lady, -usually so kind and good-humoured, was now in a full flow of anger.<br> -<br> -“And I went and ordered a cap this morning, to be quite ready,” -said she at last, letting out the secret which gave sting to Mrs Jamieson’s -intimation. “Mrs Jamieson shall see if it is so easy to -get me to make fourth at a pool when she has none of her fine Scotch -relations with her!”<br> -<br> -In coming out of church, the first Sunday on which Lady Glenmire appeared -in Cranford, we sedulously talked together, and turned our backs on -Mrs Jamieson and her guest. If we might not call on her, we would -not even look at her, though we were dying with curiosity to know what -she was like. We had the comfort of questioning Martha in the -afternoon. Martha did not belong to a sphere of society whose -observation could be an implied compliment to Lady Glenmire, and Martha -had made good use of her eyes.<br> -<br> -“Well, ma’am! is it the little lady with Mrs Jamieson, you -mean? I thought you would like more to know how young Mrs Smith -was dressed; her being a bride.” (Mrs Smith was the butcher’s -wife).<br> -<br> -Miss Pole said, “Good gracious me! as if we cared about a Mrs -Smith;” but was silent as Martha resumed her speech.<br> -<br> -“The little lady in Mrs Jamieson’s pew had on, ma’am, -rather an old black silk, and a shepherd’s plaid cloak, ma’am, -and very bright black eyes she had, ma’am, and a pleasant, sharp -face; not over young, ma’am, but yet, I should guess, younger -than Mrs Jamieson herself. She looked up and down the church, -like a bird, and nipped up her petticoats, when she came out, as quick -and sharp as ever I see. I’ll tell you what, ma’am, -she’s more like Mrs Deacon, at the ‘Coach and Horses,’ -nor any one.”<br> -<br> -“Hush, Martha!” said Miss Matty, “that’s not -respectful.”<br> -<br> -“Isn’t it, ma’am? I beg pardon, I’m sure; -but Jem Hearn said so as well. He said, she was just such a sharp, -stirring sort of a body” -<br> -<br> -“Lady,” said Miss Pole.<br> -<br> -“Lady - as Mrs Deacon.”<br> -<br> -Another Sunday passed away, and we still averted our eyes from Mrs Jamieson -and her guest, and made remarks to ourselves that we thought were very -severe - almost too much so. Miss Matty was evidently uneasy at -our sarcastic manner of speaking.<br> -<br> -Perhaps by this time Lady Glenmire had found out that Mrs Jamieson’s -was not the gayest, liveliest house in the world; perhaps Mrs Jamieson -had found out that most of the county families were in London, and that -those who remained in the country were not so alive as they might have -been to the circumstance of Lady Glenmire being in their neighbourhood. -Great events spring out of small causes; so I will not pretend to say -what induced Mrs Jamieson to alter her determination of excluding the -Cranford ladies, and send notes of invitation all round for a small -party on the following Tuesday. Mr Mulliner himself brought them -round. He <i>would</i> always ignore the fact of there being a -back-door to any house, and gave a louder rat-tat than his mistress, -Mrs Jamieson. He had three little notes, which he carried in a -large basket, in order to impress his mistress with an idea of their -great weight, though they might easily have gone into his waistcoat -pocket.<br> -<br> -Miss Matty and I quietly decided that we would have a previous engagement -at home: it was the evening on which Miss Matty usually made candle-lighters -of all the notes and letters of the week; for on Mondays her accounts -were always made straight - not a penny owing from the week before; -so, by a natural arrangement, making candle-lighters fell upon a Tuesday -evening, and gave us a legitimate excuse for declining Mrs Jamieson’s -invitation. But before our answer was written, in came Miss Pole, -with an open note in her hand.<br> -<br> -“So!” she said. “Ah! I see you have got -your note, too. Better late than never. I could have told -my Lady Glenmire she would be glad enough of our society before a fortnight -was over.”<br> -<br> -“Yes,” said Miss Matty, “we’re asked for Tuesday -evening. And perhaps you would just kindly bring your work across -and drink tea with us that night. It is my usual regular time -for looking over the last week’s bills, and notes, and letters, -and making candle-lighters of them; but that does not seem quite reason -enough for saying I have a previous engagement at home, though I meant -to make it do. Now, if you would come, my conscience would be -quite at ease, and luckily the note is not written yet.”<br> -<br> -I saw Miss Pole’s countenance change while Miss Matty was speaking.<br> -<br> -“Don’t you mean to go then?” asked she.<br> -<br> -“Oh, no!” said, Miss Matty quietly. “You don’t -either, I suppose?”<br> -<br> -“I don’t know,” replied Miss Pole. “Yes, -I think I do,” said she, rather briskly; and on seeing Miss Matty -look surprised, she added, “You see, one would not like Mrs Jamieson -to think that anything she could do, or say, was of consequence enough -to give offence; it would be a kind of letting down of ourselves, that -I, for one, should not like. It would be too flattering to Mrs -Jamieson if we allowed her to suppose that what she had said affected -us a week, nay ten days afterwards.”<br> -<br> -“Well! I suppose it is wrong to be hurt and annoyed so long -about anything; and, perhaps, after all, she did not mean to vex us. -But I must say, I could not have brought myself to say the things Mrs -Jamieson did about our not calling. I really don’t think -I shall go.”<br> -<br> -“Oh, come! Miss Matty, you must go; you know our friend -Mrs Jamieson is much more phlegmatic than most people, and does not -enter into the little delicacies of feeling which you possess in so -remarkable a degree.”<br> -<br> -“I thought you possessed them, too, that day Mrs Jamieson called -to tell us not to go,” said Miss Matty innocently.<br> -<br> -But Miss Pole, in addition to her delicacies of feeling, possessed a -very smart cap, which she was anxious to show to an admiring world; -and so she seemed to forget all her angry words uttered not a fortnight -before, and to be ready to act on what she called the great Christian -principle of “Forgive and forget”; and she lectured dear -Miss Matty so long on this head that she absolutely ended by assuring -her it was her duty, as a deceased rector’s daughter, to buy a -new cap and go to the party at Mrs Jamieson’s. So “we -were most happy to accept,” instead of “regretting that -we were obliged to decline.”<br> -<br> -The expenditure on dress in Cranford was principally in that one article -referred to. If the heads were buried in smart new caps, the ladies -were like ostriches, and cared not what became of their bodies. -Old gowns, white and venerable collars, any number of brooches, up and -down and everywhere (some with dogs’ eyes painted in them; some -that were like small picture-frames with mausoleums and weeping-willows -neatly executed in hair inside; some, again, with miniatures of ladies -and gentlemen sweetly smiling out of a nest of stiff muslin), old brooches -for a permanent ornament, and new caps to suit the fashion of the day -- the ladies of Cranford always dressed with chaste elegance and propriety, -as Miss Barker once prettily expressed it.<br> -<br> -And with three new caps, and a greater array of brooches than had ever -been seen together at one time since Cranford was a town, did Mrs Forrester, -and Miss Matty, and Miss Pole appear on that memorable Tuesday evening. -I counted seven brooches myself on Miss Pole’s dress. Two -were fixed negligently in her cap (one was a butterfly made of Scotch -pebbles, which a vivid imagination might believe to be the real insect); -one fastened her net neckerchief; one her collar; one ornamented the -front of her gown, midway between her throat and waist; and another -adorned the point of her stomacher. Where the seventh was I have -forgotten, but it was somewhere about her, I am sure.<br> -<br> -But I am getting on too fast, in describing the dresses of the company. -I should first relate the gathering on the way to Mrs Jamieson’s. -That lady lived in a large house just outside the town. A road -which had known what it was to be a street ran right before the house, -which opened out upon it without any intervening garden or court. -Whatever the sun was about, he never shone on the front of that house. -To be sure, the living-rooms were at the back, looking on to a pleasant -garden; the front windows only belonged to kitchens and housekeepers’ -rooms, and pantries, and in one of them Mr Mulliner was reported to -sit. Indeed, looking askance, we often saw the back of a head -covered with hair powder, which also extended itself over his coat-collar -down to his very waist; and this imposing back was always engaged in -reading the <i>St James’s Chronicle</i>, opened wide, which, in -some degree, accounted for the length of time the said newspaper was -in reaching us - equal subscribers with Mrs Jamieson, though, in right -of her honourableness, she always had the reading of it first. -This very Tuesday, the delay in forwarding the last number had been -particularly aggravating; just when both Miss Pole and Miss Matty, the -former more especially, had been wanting to see it, in order to coach -up the Court news ready for the evening’s interview with aristocracy. -Miss Pole told us she had absolutely taken time by the forelock, and -been dressed by five o’clock, in order to be ready if the <i>St -James’s Chronicle</i> should come in at the last moment - the -very <i>St James’s Chronicle</i> which the powdered head was tranquilly -and composedly reading as we passed the accustomed window this evening.<br> -<br> -“The impudence of the man!” said Miss Pole, in a low indignant -whisper. “I should like to ask him whether his mistress -pays her quarter-share for his exclusive use.”<br> -<br> -We looked at her in admiration of the courage of her thought; for Mr -Mulliner was an object of great awe to all of us. He seemed never -to have forgotten his condescension in coming to live at Cranford. -Miss Jenkyns, at times, had stood forth as the undaunted champion of -her sex, and spoken to him on terms of equality; but even Miss Jenkyns -could get no higher. In his pleasantest and most gracious moods -he looked like a sulky cockatoo. He did not speak except in gruff -monosyllables. He would wait in the hall when we begged him not -to wait, and then look deeply offended because we had kept him there, -while, with trembling, hasty hands we prepared ourselves for appearing -in company.<br> -<br> -Miss Pole ventured on a small joke as we went upstairs, intended, though -addressed to us, to afford Mr Mulliner some slight amusement. -We all smiled, in order to seem as if we felt at our ease, and timidly -looked for Mr Mulliner’s sympathy. Not a muscle of that -wooden face had relaxed; and we were grave in an instant.<br> -<br> -Mrs Jamieson’s drawing-room was cheerful; the evening sun came -streaming into it, and the large square window was clustered round with -flowers. The furniture was white and gold; not the later style, -Louis Quatorze, I think they call it, all shells and twirls; no, Mrs -Jamieson’s chairs and tables had not a curve or bend about them. -The chair and table legs diminished as they neared the ground, and were -straight and square in all their corners. The chairs were all -a-row against the walls, with the exception of four or five which stood -in a circle round the fire. They were railed with white bars across -the back and knobbed with gold; neither the railings nor the knobs invited -to ease. There was a japanned table devoted to literature, on -which lay a Bible, a Peerage, and a Prayer-Book. There was another -square Pembroke table dedicated to the Fine Arts, on which were a kaleidoscope, -conversation-cards, puzzle-cards (tied together to an interminable length -with faded pink satin ribbon), and a box painted in fond imitation of -the drawings which decorate tea-chests. Carlo lay on the worsted-worked -rug, and ungraciously barked at us as we entered. Mrs Jamieson -stood up, giving us each a torpid smile of welcome, and looking helplessly -beyond us at Mr Mulliner, as if she hoped he would place us in chairs, -for, if he did not, she never could. I suppose he thought we could -find our way to the circle round the fire, which reminded me of Stonehenge, -I don’t know why. Lady Glenmire came to the rescue of our -hostess, and, somehow or other, we found ourselves for the first time -placed agreeably, and not formally, in Mrs Jamieson’s house. -Lady Glenmire, now we had time to look at her, proved to be a bright -little woman of middle age, who had been very pretty in the days of -her youth, and who was even yet very pleasant-looking. I saw Miss -Pole appraising her dress in the first five minutes, and I take her -word when she said the next day -<br> -<br> -“My dear! ten pounds would have purchased every stitch she had -on - lace and all.”<br> -<br> -It was pleasant to suspect that a peeress could be poor, and partly -reconciled us to the fact that her husband had never sat in the House -of Lords; which, when we first heard of it, seemed a kind of swindling -us out of our prospects on false pretences; a sort of “A Lord -and No Lord” business.<br> -<br> -We were all very silent at first. We were thinking what we could -talk about, that should be high enough to interest My Lady. There -had been a rise in the price of sugar, which, as preserving-time was -near, was a piece of intelligence to all our house-keeping hearts, and -would have been the natural topic if Lady Glenmire had not been by. -But we were not sure if the peerage ate preserves - much less knew how -they were made. At last, Miss Pole, who had always a great deal -of courage and <i>savoir</i> <i>faire</i>, spoke to Lady Glenmire, who -on her part had seemed just as much puzzled to know how to break the -silence as we were.<br> -<br> -“Has your ladyship been to Court lately?” asked she; and -then gave a little glance round at us, half timid and half triumphant, -as much as to say, “See how judiciously I have chosen a subject -befitting the rank of the stranger.”<br> -<br> -“I never was there in my life,” said Lady Glenmire, with -a broad Scotch accent, but in a very sweet voice. And then, as -if she had been too abrupt, she added: “We very seldom went to -London - only twice, in fact, during all my married life; and before -I was married my father had far too large a family” (fifth daughter -of Mr Campbell was in all our minds, I am sure) “to take us often -from our home, even to Edinburgh. Ye’ll have been in Edinburgh, -maybe?” said she, suddenly brightening up with the hope of a common -interest. We had none of us been there; but Miss Pole had an uncle -who once had passed a night there, which was very pleasant.<br> -<br> -Mrs Jamieson, meanwhile, was absorbed in wonder why Mr Mulliner did -not bring the tea; and at length the wonder oozed out of her mouth.<br> -<br> -“I had better ring the bell, my dear, had not I?” said Lady -Glenmire briskly.<br> -<br> -“No - I think not - Mulliner does not like to be hurried.”<br> -<br> -We should have liked our tea, for we dined at an earlier hour than Mrs -Jamieson. I suspect Mr Mulliner had to finish the <i>St James’s -Chronicle</i> before he chose to trouble himself about tea. His -mistress fidgeted and fidgeted, and kept saying, I can’t think -why Mulliner does not bring tea. I can’t think what he can -be about.” And Lady Glenmire at last grew quite impatient, -but it was a pretty kind of impatience after all; and she rang the bell -rather sharply, on receiving a half-permission from her sister-in-law -to do so. Mr Mulliner appeared in dignified surprise. “Oh!” -said Mrs Jamieson, “Lady Glenmire rang the bell; I believe it -was for tea.”<br> -<br> -In a few minutes tea was brought. Very delicate was the china, -very old the plate, very thin the bread and butter, and very small the -lumps of sugar. Sugar was evidently Mrs Jamieson’s favourite -economy. I question if the little filigree sugar-tongs, made something -like scissors, could have opened themselves wide enough to take up an -honest, vulgar good-sized piece; and when I tried to seize two little -minnikin pieces at once, so as not to be detected in too many returns -to the sugar-basin, they absolutely dropped one, with a little sharp -clatter, quite in a malicious and unnatural manner. But before -this happened we had had a slight disappointment. In the little -silver jug was cream, in the larger one was milk. As soon as Mr -Mulliner came in, Carlo began to beg, which was a thing our manners -forebade us to do, though I am sure we were just as hungry; and Mrs -Jamieson said she was certain we would excuse her if she gave her poor -dumb Carlo his tea first. She accordingly mixed a saucerful for -him, and put it down for him to lap; and then she told us how intelligent -and sensible the dear little fellow was; he knew cream quite well, and -constantly refused tea with only milk in it: so the milk was left for -us; but we silently thought we were quite as intelligent and sensible -as Carlo, and felt as if insult were added to injury when we were called -upon to admire the gratitude evinced by his wagging his tail for the -cream which should have been ours.<br> -<br> -After tea we thawed down into common-life subjects. We were thankful -to Lady Glenmire for having proposed some more bread and butter, and -this mutual want made us better acquainted with her than we should ever -have been with talking about the Court, though Miss Pole did say she -had hoped to know how the dear Queen was from some one who had seen -her.<br> -<br> -The friendship begun over bread and butter extended on to cards. -Lady Glenmire played Preference to admiration, and was a complete authority -as to Ombre and Quadrille. Even Miss Pole quite forgot to say -“my lady,” and “your ladyship,” and said “Basto! -ma’am”; “you have Spadille, I believe,” just -as quietly as if we had never held the great Cranford Parliament on -the subject of the proper mode of addressing a peeress.<br> -<br> -As a proof of how thoroughly we had forgotten that we were in the presence -of one who might have sat down to tea with a coronet, instead of a cap, -on her head, Mrs Forrester related a curious little fact to Lady Glenmire -- an anecdote known to the circle of her intimate friends, but of which -even Mrs Jamieson was not aware. It related to some fine old lace, -the sole relic of better days, which Lady Glenmire was admiring on Mrs -Forrester’s collar.<br> -<br> -“Yes,” said that lady, “such lace cannot be got now -for either love or money; made by the nuns abroad, they tell me. -They say that they can’t make it now even there. But perhaps -they can, now they’ve passed the Catholic Emancipation Bill. -I should not wonder. But, in the meantime, I treasure up my lace -very much. I daren’t even trust the washing of it to my -maid” (the little charity school-girl I have named before, but -who sounded well as “my maid”). “I always wash -it myself. And once it had a narrow escape. Of course, your -ladyship knows that such lace must never be starched or ironed. -Some people wash it in sugar and water, and some in coffee, to make -it the right yellow colour; but I myself have a very good receipt for -washing it in milk, which stiffens it enough, and gives it a very good -creamy colour. Well, ma’am, I had tacked it together (and -the beauty of this fine lace is that, when it is wet, it goes into a -very little space), and put it to soak in milk, when, unfortunately, -I left the room; on my return, I found pussy on the table, looking very -like a thief, but gulping very uncomfortably, as if she was half-chocked -with something she wanted to swallow and could not. And, would -you believe it? At first I pitied her, and said ‘Poor pussy! -poor pussy!’ till, all at once, I looked and saw the cup of milk -empty - cleaned out! ‘You naughty cat!’ said I, and -I believe I was provoked enough to give her a slap, which did no good, -but only helped the lace down - just as one slaps a choking child on -the back. I could have cried, I was so vexed; but I determined -I would not give the lace up without a struggle for it. I hoped -the lace might disagree with her, at any rate; but it would have been -too much for Job, if he had seen, as I did, that cat come in, quite -placid and purring, not a quarter of an hour after, and almost expecting -to be stroked. ‘No, pussy!’ said I, ‘if you -have any conscience you ought not to expect that!’ And then -a thought struck me; and I rang the bell for my maid, and sent her to -Mr Hoggins, with my compliments, and would he be kind enough to lend -me one of his top-boots for an hour? I did not think there was -anything odd in the message; but Jenny said the young men in the surgery -laughed as if they would be ill at my wanting a top-boot. When -it came, Jenny and I put pussy in, with her forefeet straight down, -so that they were fastened, and could not scratch, and we gave her a -teaspoonful of current-jelly in which (your ladyship must excuse me) -I had mixed some tartar emetic. I shall never forget how anxious -I was for the next half-hour. I took pussy to my own room, and -spread a clean towel on the floor. I could have kissed her when -she returned the lace to sight, very much as it had gone down. -Jenny had boiling water ready, and we soaked it and soaked it, and spread -it on a lavender-bush in the sun before I could touch it again, even -to put it in milk. But now your ladyship would never guess that -it had been in pussy’s inside.”<br> -<br> -We found out, in the course of the evening, that Lady Glenmire was going -to pay Mrs Jamieson a long visit, as she had given up her apartments -in Edinburgh, and had no ties to take her back there in a hurry. -On the whole, we were rather glad to hear this, for she had made a pleasant -impression upon us; and it was also very comfortable to find, from things -which dropped out in the course of conversation, that, in addition to -many other genteel qualities, she was far removed from the “vulgarity -of wealth.”<br> -<br> -“Don’t you find it very unpleasant walking?” asked -Mrs Jamieson, as our respective servants were announced. It was -a pretty regular question from Mrs Jamieson, who had her own carriage -in the coach-house, and always went out in a sedan-chair to the very -shortest distances. The answers were nearly as much a matter of -course.<br> -<br> -“Oh dear, no! it is so pleasant and still at night!” -“Such a refreshment after the excitement of a party!” -“The stars are so beautiful!” This last was from Miss -Matty.<br> -<br> -“Are you fond of astronomy?” Lady Glenmire asked.<br> -<br> -“Not very,” replied Miss Matty, rather confused at the moment -to remember which was astronomy and which was astrology - but the answer -was true under either circumstance, for she read, and was slightly alarmed -at Francis Moore’s astrological predictions; and, as to astronomy, -in a private and confidential conversation, she had told me she never -could believe that the earth was moving constantly, and that she would -not believe it if she could, it made her feel so tired and dizzy whenever -she thought about it.<br> -<br> -In our pattens we picked our way home with extra care that night, so -refined and delicate were our perceptions after drinking tea with “my -lady.”<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -CHAPTER IX - SIGNOR BRUNONI<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -Soon after the events of which I gave an account in my last paper, I -was summoned home by my father’s illness; and for a time I forgot, -in anxiety about him, to wonder how my dear friends at Cranford were -getting on, or how Lady Glenmire could reconcile herself to the dulness -of the long visit which she was still paying to her sister-in-law, Mrs -Jamieson. When my father grew a little stronger I accompanied -him to the seaside, so that altogether I seemed banished from Cranford, -and was deprived of the opportunity of hearing any chance intelligence -of the dear little town for the greater part of that year.<br> -<br> -Late in November - when we had returned home again, and my father was -once more in good health - I received a letter from Miss Matty; and -a very mysterious letter it was. She began many sentences without -ending them, running them one into another, in much the same confused -sort of way in which written words run together on blotting-paper. -All I could make out was that, if my father was better (which she hoped -he was), and would take warning and wear a great-coat from Michaelmas -to Lady-day, if turbans were in fashion, could I tell her? Such -a piece of gaiety was going to happen as had not been seen or known -of since Wombwell’s lions came, when one of them ate a little -child’s arm; and she was, perhaps, too old to care about dress, -but a new cap she must have; and, having heard that turbans were worn, -and some of the county families likely to come, she would like to look -tidy, if I would bring her a cap from the milliner I employed; and oh, -dear! how careless of her to forget that she wrote to beg I would come -and pay her a visit next Tuesday; when she hoped to have something to -offer me in the way of amusement, which she would not now more particularly -describe, only sea-green was her favourite colour. So she ended -her letter; but in a P.S. she added, she thought she might as well tell -me what was the peculiar attraction to Cranford just now; Signor Brunoni -was going to exhibit his wonderful magic in the Cranford Assembly Rooms -on Wednesday and Friday evening in the following week.<br> -<br> -I was very glad to accept the invitation from my dear Miss Matty, independently -of the conjuror, and most particularly anxious to prevent her from disfiguring -her small, gentle, mousey face with a great Saracen’s head turban; -and accordingly, I bought her a pretty, neat, middle-aged cap, which, -however, was rather a disappointment to her when, on my arrival, she -followed me into my bedroom, ostensibly to poke the fire, but in reality, -I do believe, to see if the sea-green turban was not inside the cap-box -with which I had travelled. It was in vain that I twirled the -cap round on my hand to exhibit back and side fronts: her heart had -been set upon a turban, and all she could do was to say, with resignation -in her look and voice -<br> -<br> -“I am sure you did your best, my dear. It is just like the -caps all the ladies in Cranford are wearing, and they have had theirs -for a year, I dare say. I should have liked something newer, I -confess - something more like the turbans Miss Betty Barker tells me -Queen Adelaide wears; but it is very pretty, my dear. And I dare -say lavender will wear better than sea-green. Well, after all, -what is dress, that we should care anything about it? You’ll -tell me if you want anything, my dear. Here is the bell. -I suppose turbans have not got down to Drumble yet?”<br> -<br> -So saying, the dear old lady gently bemoaned herself out of the room, -leaving me to dress for the evening, when, as she informed me, she expected -Miss Pole and Mrs Forrester, and she hoped I should not feel myself -too much tired to join the party. Of course I should not; and -I made some haste to unpack and arrange my dress; but, with all my speed, -I heard the arrivals and the buzz of conversation in the next room before -I was ready. Just as I opened the door, I caught the words, “I -was foolish to expect anything very genteel out of the Drumble shops; -poor girl! she did her best, I’ve no doubt.” But, -for all that, I had rather that she blamed Drumble and me than disfigured -herself with a turban.<br> -<br> -Miss Pole was always the person, in the trio of Cranford ladies now -assembled, to have had adventures. She was in the habit of spending -the morning in rambling from shop to shop, not to purchase anything -(except an occasional reel of cotton or a piece of tape), but to see -the new articles and report upon them, and to collect all the stray -pieces of intelligence in the town. She had a way, too, of demurely -popping hither and thither into all sorts of places to gratify her curiosity -on any point - a way which, if she had not looked so very genteel and -prim, might have been considered impertinent. And now, by the -expressive way in which she cleared her throat, and waited for all minor -subjects (such as caps and turbans) to be cleared off the course, we -knew she had something very particular to relate, when the due pause -came - and I defy any people possessed of common modesty to keep up -a conversation long, where one among them sits up aloft in silence, -looking down upon all the things they chance to say as trivial and contemptible -compared to what they could disclose, if properly entreated. Miss -Pole began -<br> -<br> -“As I was stepping out of Gordon’s shop to-day, I chanced -to go into the ‘George’ (my Betty has a second-cousin who -is chambermaid there, and I thought Betty would like to hear how she -was), and, not seeing anyone about, I strolled up the staircase, and -found myself in the passage leading to the Assembly Room (you and I -remember the Assembly Room, I am sure, Miss Matty! and the minuets de -la cour!); so I went on, not thinking of what I was about, when, all -at once, I perceived that I was in the middle of the preparations for -to-morrow night - the room being divided with great clothes-maids, over -which Crosby’s men were tacking red flannel; very dark and odd -it seemed; it quite bewildered me, and I was going on behind the screens, -in my absence of mind, when a gentleman (quite the gentleman, I can -assure you) stepped forwards and asked if I had any business he could -arrange for me. He spoke such pretty broken English, I could not -help thinking of Thaddeus of Warsaw, and the Hungarian Brothers, and -Santo Sebastiani; and while I was busy picturing his past life to myself, -he had bowed me out of the room. But wait a minute! You -have not heard half my story yet! I was going downstairs, when -who should I meet but Betty’s second-cousin. So, of course, -I stopped to speak to her for Betty’s sake; and she told me that -I had really seen the conjuror - the gentleman who spoke broken English -was Signor Brunoni himself. Just at this moment he passed us on -the stairs, making such a graceful bow! in reply to which I dropped -a curtsey - all foreigners have such polite manners, one catches something -of it. But when he had gone downstairs, I bethought me that I -had dropped my glove in the Assembly Room (it was safe in my muff all -the time, but I never found it till afterwards); so I went back, and, -just as I was creeping up the passage left on one side of the great -screen that goes nearly across the room, who should I see but the very -same gentleman that had met me before, and passed me on the stairs, -coming now forwards from the inner part of the room, to which there -is no entrance - you remember, Miss Matty - and just repeating, in his -pretty broken English, the inquiry if I had any business there - I don’t -mean that he put it quite so bluntly, but he seemed very determined -that I should not pass the screen - so, of course, I explained about -my glove, which, curiously enough, I found at that very moment.”<br> -<br> -Miss Pole, then, had seen the conjuror - the real, live conjuror! and -numerous were the questions we all asked her. “Had he a -beard?” “Was he young, or old?” “Fair, -or dark?” “Did he look” - (unable to shape my -question prudently, I put it in another form) - “How did he look?” -In short, Miss Pole was the heroine of the evening, owing to her morning’s -encounter. If she was not the rose (that is to say the conjuror) -she had been near it.<br> -<br> -Conjuration, sleight of hand, magic, witchcraft, were the subjects of -the evening. Miss Pole was slightly sceptical, and inclined to -think there might be a scientific solution found for even the proceedings -of the Witch of Endor. Mrs Forrester believed everything, from -ghosts to death-watches. Miss Matty ranged between the two - always -convinced by the last speaker. I think she was naturally more -inclined to Mrs Forrester’s side, but a desire of proving herself -a worthy sister to Miss Jenkyns kept her equally balanced - Miss Jenkyns, -who would never allow a servant to call the little rolls of tallow that -formed themselves round candles “winding-sheets,” but insisted -on their being spoken of as “roley-poleys!” A sister -of hers to be superstitious! It would never do.<br> -<br> -After tea, I was despatched downstairs into the dining-parlour for that -volume of the old Encyclopaedia which contained the nouns beginning -with C, in order that Miss Pole might prime herself with scientific -explanations for the tricks of the following evening. It spoilt -the pool at Preference which Miss Matty and Mrs Forrester had been looking -forward to, for Miss Pole became so much absorbed in her subject, and -the plates by which it was illustrated, that we felt it would be cruel -to disturb her otherwise than by one or two well-timed yawns, which -I threw in now and then, for I was really touched by the meek way in -which the two ladies were bearing their disappointment. But Miss -Pole only read the more zealously, imparting to us no more information -than this -<br> -<br> -“Ah! I see; I comprehend perfectly. A represents the ball. -Put A between B and D - no! between C and F, and turn the second joint -of the third finger of your left hand over the wrist of your right H. -Very clear indeed! My dear Mrs Forrester, conjuring and witchcraft -is a mere affair of the alphabet. Do let me read you this one -passage?”<br> -<br> -Mrs Forrester implored Miss Pole to spare her, saying, from a child -upwards, she never could understand being read aloud to; and I dropped -the pack of cards, which I had been shuffling very audibly, and by this -discreet movement I obliged Miss Pole to perceive that Preference was -to have been the order of the evening, and to propose, rather unwillingly, -that the pool should commence. The pleasant brightness that stole -over the other two ladies’ faces on this! Miss Matty had -one or two twinges of self-reproach for having interrupted Miss Pole -in her studies: and did not remember her cards well, or give her full -attention to the game, until she had soothed her conscience by offering -to lend the volume of the Encyclopaedia to Miss Pole, who accepted it -thankfully, and said Betty should take it home when she came with the -lantern.<br> -<br> -The next evening we were all in a little gentle flutter at the idea -of the gaiety before us. Miss Matty went up to dress betimes, -and hurried me until I was ready, when we found we had an hour-and-a-half -to wait before the “doors opened at seven precisely.” -And we had only twenty yards to go! However, as Miss Matty said, -it would not do to get too much absorbed in anything, and forget the -time; so she thought we had better sit quietly, without lighting the -candles, till five minutes to seven. So Miss Matty dozed, and -I knitted.<br> -<br> -At length we set off; and at the door under the carriage-way at the -“George,” we met Mrs Forrester and Miss Pole: the latter -was discussing the subject of the evening with more vehemence than ever, -and throwing X’s and B’s at our heads like hailstones. -She had even copied one or two of the “receipts” - as she -called them - for the different tricks, on backs of letters, ready to -explain and to detect Signor Brunoni’s arts.<br> -<br> -We went into the cloak-room adjoining the Assembly Room; Miss Matty -gave a sigh or two to her departed youth, and the remembrance of the -last time she had been there, as she adjusted her pretty new cap before -the strange, quaint old mirror in the cloak-room. The Assembly -Room had been added to the inn, about a hundred years before, by the -different county families, who met together there once a month during -the winter to dance and play at cards. Many a county beauty had -first swung through the minuet that she afterwards danced before Queen -Charlotte in this very room. It was said that one of the Gunnings -had graced the apartment with her beauty; it was certain that a rich -and beautiful widow, Lady Williams, had here been smitten with the noble -figure of a young artist, who was staying with some family in the neighbourhood -for professional purposes, and accompanied his patrons to the Cranford -Assembly. And a pretty bargain poor Lady Williams had of her handsome -husband, if all tales were true. Now, no beauty blushed and dimpled -along the sides of the Cranford Assembly Room; no handsome artist won -hearts by his bow, <i>chapeau bras</i> in hand; the old room was dingy; -the salmon-coloured paint had faded into a drab; great pieces of plaster -had chipped off from the fine wreaths and festoons on its walls; but -still a mouldy odour of aristocracy lingered about the place, and a -dusty recollection of the days that were gone made Miss Matty and Mrs -Forrester bridle up as they entered, and walk mincingly up the room, -as if there were a number of genteel observers, instead of two little -boys with a stick of toffee between them with which to beguile the time.<br> -<br> -We stopped short at the second front row; I could hardly understand -why, until I heard Miss Pole ask a stray waiter if any of the county -families were expected; and when he shook his head, and believed not, -Mrs Forrester and Miss Matty moved forwards, and our party represented -a conversational square. The front row was soon augmented and -enriched by Lady Glenmire and Mrs Jamieson. We six occupied the -two front rows, and our aristocratic seclusion was respected by the -groups of shop-keepers who strayed in from time to time and huddled -together on the back benches. At least I conjectured so, from -the noise they made, and the sonorous bumps they gave in sitting down; -but when, in weariness of the obstinate green curtain that would not -draw up, but would stare at me with two odd eyes, seen through holes, -as in the old tapestry story, I would fain have looked round at the -merry chattering people behind me, Miss Pole clutched my arm, and begged -me not to turn, for “it was not the thing.” What “the -thing” was, I never could find out, but it must have been something -eminently dull and tiresome. However, we all sat eyes right, square -front, gazing at the tantalising curtain, and hardly speaking intelligibly, -we were so afraid of being caught in the vulgarity of making any noise -in a place of public amusement. Mrs Jamieson was the most fortunate, -for she fell asleep.<br> -<br> -At length the eyes disappeared - the curtain quivered - one side went -up before the other, which stuck fast; it was dropped again, and, with -a fresh effort, and a vigorous pull from some unseen hand, it flew up, -revealing to our sight a magnificent gentleman in the Turkish costume, -seated before a little table, gazing at us (I should have said with -the same eyes that I had last seen through the hole in the curtain) -with calm and condescending dignity, “like a being of another -sphere,” as I heard a sentimental voice ejaculate behind me.<br> -<br> -“That’s not Signor Brunoni!” said Miss Pole decidedly; -and so audibly that I am sure he heard, for he glanced down over his -flowing beard at our party with an air of mute reproach. “Signor -Brunoni had no beard - but perhaps he’ll come soon.” -So she lulled herself into patience. Meanwhile, Miss Matty had -reconnoitred through her eye-glass, wiped it, and looked again. -Then she turned round, and said to me, in a kind, mild, sorrowful tone --<br> -<br> -“You see, my dear, turbans <i>are</i> worn.”<br> -<br> -But we had no time for more conversation. The Grand Turk, as Miss -Pole chose to call him, arose and announced himself as Signor Brunoni.<br> -<br> -“I don’t believe him!” exclaimed Miss Pole, in a defiant -manner. He looked at her again, with the same dignified upbraiding -in his countenance. “I don’t!” she repeated -more positively than ever. “Signor Brunoni had not got that -muffy sort of thing about his chin, but looked like a close-shaved Christian -gentleman.”<br> -<br> -Miss Pole’s energetic speeches had the good effect of wakening -up Mrs Jamieson, who opened her eyes wide, in sign of the deepest attention -- a proceeding which silenced Miss Pole and encouraged the Grand Turk -to proceed, which he did in very broken English - so broken that there -was no cohesion between the parts of his sentences; a fact which he -himself perceived at last, and so left off speaking and proceeded to -action.<br> -<br> -Now we <i>were</i> astonished. How he did his tricks I could not -imagine; no, not even when Miss Pole pulled out her pieces of paper -and began reading aloud - or at least in a very audible whisper - the -separate “receipts” for the most common of his tricks. -If ever I saw a man frown and look enraged, I saw the Grand Turk frown -at Miss Pole; but, as she said, what could be expected but unchristian -looks from a Mussulman? If Miss Pole were sceptical, and more -engrossed with her receipts and diagrams than with his tricks, Miss -Matty and Mrs Forrester were mystified and perplexed to the highest -degree. Mrs Jamieson kept taking her spectacles off and wiping -them, as if she thought it was something defective in them which made -the legerdemain; and Lady Glenmire, who had seen many curious sights -in Edinburgh, was very much struck with the tricks, and would not at -all agree with Miss Pole, who declared that anybody could do them with -a little practice, and that she would, herself, undertake to do all -he did, with two hours given to study the Encyclopaedia and make her -third finger flexible.<br> -<br> -At last Miss Matty and Mrs Forrester became perfectly awestricken. -They whispered together. I sat just behind them, so I could not -help hearing what they were saying. Miss Matty asked Mrs Forrester -“if she thought it was quite right to have come to see such things? -She could not help fearing they were lending encouragement to something -that was not quite” - A little shake of the head filled -up the blank. Mrs Forrester replied, that the same thought had -crossed her mind; she too was feeling very uncomfortable, it was so -very strange. She was quite certain that it was her pocket-handkerchief -which was in that loaf just now; and it had been in her own hand not -five minutes before. She wondered who had furnished the bread? -She was sure it could not be Dakin, because he was the churchwarden. -Suddenly Miss Matty half-turned towards me -<br> -<br> -“Will you look, my dear - you are a stranger in the town, and -it won’t give rise to unpleasant reports - will you just look -round and see if the rector is here? If he is, I think we may -conclude that this wonderful man is sanctioned by the Church, and that -will be a great relief to my mind.<br> -<br> -I looked, and I saw the tall, thin, dry, dusty rector, sitting surrounded -by National School boys, guarded by troops of his own sex from any approach -of the many Cranford spinsters. His kind face was all agape with -broad smiles, and the boys around him were in chinks of laughing. -I told Miss Matty that the Church was smiling approval, which set her -mind at ease.<br> -<br> -I have never named Mr Hayter, the rector, because I, as a well-to-do -and happy young woman, never came in contact with him. He was -an old bachelor, but as afraid of matrimonial reports getting abroad -about him as any girl of eighteen: and he would rush into a shop or -dive down an entry, sooner than encounter any of the Cranford ladies -in the street; and, as for the Preference parties, I did not wonder -at his not accepting invitations to them. To tell the truth, I -always suspected Miss Pole of having given very vigorous chase to Mr -Hayter when he first came to Cranford; and not the less, because now -she appeared to share so vividly in his dread lest her name should ever -be coupled with his. He found all his interests among the poor -and helpless; he had treated the National School boys this very night -to the performance; and virtue was for once its own reward, for they -guarded him right and left, and clung round him as if he had been the -queen-bee and they the swarm. He felt so safe in their environment -that he could even afford to give our party a bow as we filed out. -Miss Pole ignored his presence, and pretended to be absorbed in convincing -us that we had been cheated, and had not seen Signor Brunoni after all.<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -CHAPTER X - THE PANIC<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -I think a series of circumstances dated from Signor Brunoni’s -visit to Cranford, which seemed at the time connected in our minds with -him, though I don’t know that he had anything really to do with -them. All at once all sorts of uncomfortable rumours got afloat -in the town. There were one or two robberies - real <i>bonâ -fide</i> robberies; men had up before the magistrates and committed -for trial - and that seemed to make us all afraid of being robbed; and -for a long time, at Miss Matty’s, I know, we used to make a regular -expedition all round the kitchens and cellars every night, Miss Matty -leading the way, armed with the poker, I following with the hearth-brush, -and Martha carrying the shovel and fire-irons with which to sound the -alarm; and by the accidental hitting together of them she often frightened -us so much that we bolted ourselves up, all three together, in the back-kitchen, -or store-room, or wherever we happened to be, till, when our affright -was over, we recollected ourselves and set out afresh with double valiance. -By day we heard strange stories from the shopkeepers and cottagers, -of carts that went about in the dead of night, drawn by horses shod -with felt, and guarded by men in dark clothes, going round the town, -no doubt in search of some unwatched house or some unfastened door.<br> -<br> -Miss Pole, who affected great bravery herself, was the principal person -to collect and arrange these reports so as to make them assume their -most fearful aspect. But we discovered that she had begged one -of Mr Hoggins’s worn-out hats to hang up in her lobby, and we -(at least I) had doubts as to whether she really would enjoy the little -adventure of having her house broken into, as she protested she should. -Miss Matty made no secret of being an arrant coward, but she went regularly -through her housekeeper’s duty of inspection - only the hour for -this became earlier and earlier, till at last we went the rounds at -half-past six, and Miss Matty adjourned to bed soon after seven, “in -order to get the night over the sooner.”<br> -<br> -Cranford had so long piqued itself on being an honest and moral town -that it had grown to fancy itself too genteel and well-bred to be otherwise, -and felt the stain upon its character at this time doubly. But -we comforted ourselves with the assurance which we gave to each other -that the robberies could never have been committed by any Cranford person; -it must have been a stranger or strangers who brought this disgrace -upon the town, and occasioned as many precautions as if we were living -among the Red Indians or the French.<br> -<br> -This last comparison of our nightly state of defence and fortification -was made by Mrs Forrester, whose father had served under General Burgoyne -in the American war, and whose husband had fought the French in Spain. -She indeed inclined to the idea that, in some way, the French were connected -with the small thefts, which were ascertained facts, and the burglaries -and highway robberies, which were rumours. She had been deeply -impressed with the idea of French spies at some time in her life; and -the notion could never be fairly eradicated, but sprang up again from -time to time. And now her theory was this:- The Cranford people -respected themselves too much, and were too grateful to the aristocracy -who were so kind as to live near the town, ever to disgrace their bringing -up by being dishonest or immoral; therefore, we must believe that the -robbers were strangers - if strangers, why not foreigners? - if foreigners, -who so likely as the French? Signor Brunoni spoke broken English -like a Frenchman; and, though he wore a turban like a Turk, Mrs Forrester -had seen a print of Madame de Staël with a turban on, and another -of Mr Denon in just such a dress as that in which the conjuror had made -his appearance, showing clearly that the French, as well as the Turks, -wore turbans. There could be no doubt Signor Brunoni was a Frenchman -- a French spy come to discover the weak and undefended places of England, -and doubtless he had his accomplices. For her part, she, Mrs Forrester, -had always had her own opinion of Miss Pole’s adventure at the -“George Inn” - seeing two men where only one was believed -to be. French people had ways and means which, she was thankful -to say, the English knew nothing about; and she had never felt quite -easy in her mind about going to see that conjuror - it was rather too -much like a forbidden thing, though the rector was there. In short, -Mrs Forrester grew more excited than we had ever known her before, and, -being an officer’s daughter and widow, we looked up to her opinion, -of course.<br> -<br> -Really I do not know how much was true or false in the reports which -flew about like wildfire just at this time; but it seemed to me then -that there was every reason to believe that at Mardon (a small town -about eight miles from Cranford) houses and shops were entered by holes -made in the walls, the bricks being silently carried away in the dead -of the night, and all done so quietly that no sound was heard either -in or out of the house. Miss Matty gave it up in despair when -she heard of this. “What was the use,” said she, “of -locks and bolts, and bells to the windows, and going round the house -every night? That last trick was fit for a conjuror. Now -she did believe that Signor Brunoni was at the bottom of it.”<br> -<br> -One afternoon, about five o’clock, we were startled by a hasty -knock at the door. Miss Matty bade me run and tell Martha on no -account to open the door till she (Miss Matty) had reconnoitred through -the window; and she armed herself with a footstool to drop down on the -head of the visitor, in case he should show a face covered with black -crape, as he looked up in answer to her inquiry of who was there. -But it was nobody but Miss Pole and Betty. The former came upstairs, -carrying a little hand-basket, and she was evidently in a state of great -agitation.<br> -<br> -“Take care of that!” said she to me, as I offered to relieve -her of her basket. “It’s my plate. I am sure -there is a plan to rob my house to-night. I am come to throw myself -on your hospitality, Miss Matty. Betty is going to sleep with -her cousin at the ‘George.’ I can sit up here all -night if you will allow me; but my house is so far from any neighbours, -and I don’t believe we could be heard if we screamed ever so!”<br> -<br> -“But,” said Miss Matty, “what has alarmed you so much? -Have you seen any men lurking about the house?”<br> -<br> -“Oh, yes!” answered Miss Pole. “Two very bad-looking -men have gone three times past the house, very slowly; and an Irish -beggar-woman came not half-an-hour ago, and all but forced herself in -past Betty, saying her children were starving, and she must speak to -the mistress. You see, she said ‘mistress,’ though -there was a hat hanging up in the hall, and it would have been more -natural to have said ‘master.’ But Betty shut the -door in her face, and came up to me, and we got the spoons together, -and sat in the parlour-window watching till we saw Thomas Jones going -from his work, when we called to him and asked him to take care of us -into the town.”<br> -<br> -We might have triumphed over Miss Pole, who had professed such bravery -until she was frightened; but we were too glad to perceive that she -shared in the weaknesses of humanity to exult over her; and I gave up -my room to her very willingly, and shared Miss Matty’s bed for -the night. But before we retired, the two ladies rummaged up, -out of the recesses of their memory, such horrid stories of robbery -and murder that I quite quaked in my shoes. Miss Pole was evidently -anxious to prove that such terrible events had occurred within her experience -that she was justified in her sudden panic; and Miss Matty did not like -to be outdone, and capped every story with one yet more horrible, till -it reminded me oddly enough, of an old story I had read somewhere, of -a nightingale and a musician, who strove one against the other which -could produce the most admirable music, till poor Philomel dropped down -dead.<br> -<br> -One of the stories that haunted me for a long time afterwards was of -a girl who was left in charge of a great house in Cumberland on some -particular fair-day, when the other servants all went off to the gaieties. -The family were away in London, and a pedlar came by, and asked to leave -his large and heavy pack in the kitchen, saying he would call for it -again at night; and the girl (a gamekeeper’s daughter), roaming -about in search of amusement, chanced to hit upon a gun hanging up in -the hall, and took it down to look at the chasing; and it went off through -the open kitchen door, hit the pack, and a slow dark thread of blood -came oozing out. (How Miss Pole enjoyed this part of the story, dwelling -on each word as if she loved it!) She rather hurried over the -further account of the girl’s bravery, and I have but a confused -idea that, somehow, she baffled the robbers with Italian irons, heated -red-hot, and then restored to blackness by being dipped in grease.<br> -<br> -We parted for the night with an awe-stricken wonder as to what we should -hear of in the morning - and, on my part, with a vehement desire for -the night to be over and gone: I was so afraid lest the robbers should -have seen, from some dark lurking-place, that Miss Pole had carried -off her plate, and thus have a double motive for attacking our house.<br> -<br> -But until Lady Glenmire came to call next day we heard of nothing unusual. -The kitchen fire-irons were in exactly the same position against the -back door as when Martha and I had skilfully piled them up, like spillikins, -ready to fall with an awful clatter if only a cat had touched the outside -panels. I had wondered what we should all do if thus awakened -and alarmed, and had proposed to Miss Matty that we should cover up -our faces under the bedclothes so that there should be no danger of -the robbers thinking that we could identify them; but Miss Matty, who -was trembling very much, scouted this idea, and said we owed it to society -to apprehend them, and that she should certainly do her best to lay -hold of them and lock them up in the garret till morning.<br> -<br> -When Lady Glenmire came, we almost felt jealous of her. Mrs Jamieson’s -house had really been attacked; at least there were men’s footsteps -to be seen on the flower borders, underneath the kitchen windows, “where -nae men should be;” and Carlo had barked all through the night -as if strangers were abroad. Mrs Jamieson had been awakened by -Lady Glenmire, and they had rung the bell which communicated with Mr -Mulliner’s room in the third storey, and when his night-capped -head had appeared over the bannisters, in answer to the summons, they -had told him of their alarm, and the reasons for it; whereupon he retreated -into his bedroom, and locked the door (for fear of draughts, as he informed -them in the morning), and opened the window, and called out valiantly -to say, if the supposed robbers would come to him he would fight them; -but, as Lady Glenmire observed, that was but poor comfort, since they -would have to pass by Mrs Jamieson’s room and her own before they -could reach him, and must be of a very pugnacious disposition indeed -if they neglected the opportunities of robbery presented by the unguarded -lower storeys, to go up to a garret, and there force a door in order -to get at the champion of the house. Lady Glenmire, after waiting -and listening for some time in the drawing-room, had proposed to Mrs -Jamieson that they should go to bed; but that lady said she should not -feel comfortable unless she sat up and watched; and, accordingly, she -packed herself warmly up on the sofa, where she was found by the housemaid, -when she came into the room at six o’clock, fast asleep; but Lady -Glenmire went to bed, and kept awake all night.<br> -<br> -When Miss Pole heard of this, she nodded her head in great satisfaction. -She had been sure we should hear of something happening in Cranford -that night; and we had heard. It was clear enough they had first -proposed to attack her house; but when they saw that she and Betty were -on their guard, and had carried off the plate, they had changed their -tactics and gone to Mrs Jamieson’s, and no one knew what might -have happened if Carlo had not barked, like a good dog as he was!<br> -<br> -Poor Carlo! his barking days were nearly over. Whether the gang -who infested the neighbourhood were afraid of him, or whether they were -revengeful enough, for the way in which he had baffled them on the night -in question, to poison him; or whether, as some among the more uneducated -people thought, he died of apoplexy, brought on by too much feeding -and too little exercise; at any rate, it is certain that, two days after -this eventful night, Carlo was found dead, with his poor legs stretched -out stiff in the attitude of running, as if by such unusual exertion -he could escape the sure pursuer, Death.<br> -<br> -We were all sorry for Carlo, the old familiar friend who had snapped -at us for so many years; and the mysterious mode of his death made us -very uncomfortable. Could Signor Brunoni be at the bottom of this? -He had apparently killed a canary with only a word of command; his will -seemed of deadly force; who knew but what he might yet be lingering -in the neighbourhood willing all sorts of awful things!<br> -<br> -We whispered these fancies among ourselves in the evenings; but in the -mornings our courage came back with the daylight, and in a week’s -time we had got over the shock of Carlo’s death; all but Mrs Jamieson. -She, poor thing, felt it as she had felt no event since her husband’s -death; indeed, Miss Pole said, that as the Honourable Mr Jamieson drank -a good deal, and occasioned her much uneasiness, it was possible that -Carlo’s death might be the greater affliction. But there -was always a tinge of cynicism in Miss Pole’s remarks. However, -one thing was clear and certain - it was necessary for Mrs Jamieson -to have some change of scene; and Mr Mulliner was very impressive on -this point, shaking his head whenever we inquired after his mistress, -and speaking of her loss of appetite and bad nights very ominously; -and with justice too, for if she had two characteristics in her natural -state of health they were a facility of eating and sleeping. If -she could neither eat nor sleep, she must be indeed out of spirits and -out of health.<br> -<br> -Lady Glenmire (who had evidently taken very kindly to Cranford) did -not like the idea of Mrs Jamieson’s going to Cheltenham, and more -than once insinuated pretty plainly that it was Mr Mulliner’s -doing, who had been much alarmed on the occasion of the house being -attacked, and since had said, more than once, that he felt it a very -responsible charge to have to defend so many women. Be that as -it might, Mrs Jamieson went to Cheltenham, escorted by Mr Mulliner; -and Lady Glenmire remained in possession of the house, her ostensible -office being to take care that the maid-servants did not pick up followers. -She made a very pleasant-looking dragon; and, as soon as it was arranged -for her stay in Cranford, she found out that Mrs Jamieson’s visit -to Cheltenham was just the best thing in the world. She had let -her house in Edinburgh, and was for the time house-less, so the charge -of her sister-in-law’s comfortable abode was very convenient and -acceptable.<br> -<br> -Miss Pole was very much inclined to instal herself as a heroine, because -of the decided steps she had taken in flying from the two men and one -woman, whom she entitled “that murderous gang.” She -described their appearance in glowing colours, and I noticed that every -time she went over the story some fresh trait of villainy was added -to their appearance. One was tall - he grew to be gigantic in -height before we had done with him; he of course had black hair - and -by-and-by it hung in elf-locks over his forehead and down his back. -The other was short and broad - and a hump sprouted out on his shoulder -before we heard the last of him; he had red hair - which deepened into -carroty; and she was almost sure he had a cast in the eye - a decided -squint. As for the woman, her eyes glared, and she was masculine-looking -- a perfect virago; most probably a man dressed in woman’s clothes; -afterwards, we heard of a beard on her chin, and a manly voice and a -stride.<br> -<br> -If Miss Pole was delighted to recount the events of that afternoon to -all inquirers, others were not so proud of their adventures in the robbery -line. Mr Hoggins, the surgeon, had been attacked at his own door -by two ruffians, who were concealed in the shadow of the porch, and -so effectually silenced him that he was robbed in the interval between -ringing his bell and the servant’s answering it. Miss Pole -was sure it would turn out that this robbery had been commited by “her -men,” and went the very day she heard the report to have her teeth -examined, and to question Mr Hoggins. She came to us afterwards; -so we heard what she had heard, straight and direct from the source, -while we were yet in the excitement and flutter of the agitation caused -by the first intelligence; for the event had only occurred the night -before.<br> -<br> -“Well!” said Miss Pole, sitting down with the decision of -a person who has made up her mind as to the nature of life and the world -(and such people never tread lightly, or seat themselves without a bump), -“well, Miss Matty! men will be men. Every mother’s -son of them wishes to be considered Samson and Solomon rolled into one -- too strong ever to be beaten or discomfited - too wise ever to be -outwitted. If you will notice, they have always foreseen events, -though they never tell one for one’s warning before the events -happen. My father was a man, and I know the sex pretty well.”<br> -<br> -She had talked herself out of breath, and we should have been very glad -to fill up the necessary pause as chorus, but we did not exactly know -what to say, or which man had suggested this diatribe against the sex; -so we only joined in generally, with a grave shake of the head, and -a soft murmur of “They are very incomprehensible, certainly!”<br> -<br> -“Now, only think,” said she. “There, I have -undergone the risk of having one of my remaining teeth drawn (for one -is terribly at the mercy of any surgeon-dentist; and I, for one, always -speak them fair till I have got my mouth out of their clutches), and, -after all, Mr Hoggins is too much of a man to own that he was robbed -last night.”<br> -<br> -“Not robbed!” exclaimed the chorus.<br> -<br> -“Don’t tell me!” Miss Pole exclaimed, angry that we -could be for a moment imposed upon. “I believe he was robbed, -just as Betty told me, and he is ashamed to own it; and, to be sure, -it was very silly of him to be robbed just at his own door; I daresay -he feels that such a thing won’t raise him in the eyes of Cranford -society, and is anxious to conceal it - but he need not have tried to -impose upon me, by saying I must have heard an exaggerated account of -some petty theft of a neck of mutton, which, it seems, was stolen out -of the safe in his yard last week; he had the impertinence to add, he -believed that that was taken by the cat. I have no doubt, if I -could get at the bottom of it, it was that Irishman dressed up in woman’s -clothes, who came spying about my house, with the story about the starving -children.”<br> -<br> -After we had duly condemned the want of candour which Mr Hoggins had -evinced, and abused men in general, taking him for the representative -and type, we got round to the subject about which we had been talking -when Miss Pole came in; namely, how far, in the present disturbed state -of the country, we could venture to accept an invitation which Miss -Matty had just received from Mrs Forrester, to come as usual and keep -the anniversary of her wedding-day by drinking tea with her at five -o’clock, and playing a quiet pool afterwards. Mrs Forrester -had said that she asked us with some diffidence, because the roads were, -she feared, very unsafe. But she suggested that perhaps one of -us would not object to take the sedan, and that the others, by walking -briskly, might keep up with the long trot of the chairmen, and so we -might all arrive safely at Over Place, a suburb of the town. (No; -that is too large an expression: a small cluster of houses separated -from Cranford by about two hundred yards of a dark and lonely lane.) -There was no doubt but that a similar note was awaiting Miss Pole at -home; so her call was a very fortunate affair, as it enabled us to consult -together. We would all much rather have declined this invitation; -but we felt that it would not be quite kind to Mrs Forrester, who would -otherwise be left to a solitary retrospect of her not very happy or -fortunate life. Miss Matty and Miss Pole had been visitors on -this occasion for many years, and now they gallantly determined to nail -their colours to the mast, and to go through Darkness Lane rather than -fail in loyalty to their friend.<br> -<br> -But when the evening came, Miss Matty (for it was she who was voted -into the chair, as she had a cold), before being shut down in the sedan, -like jack-in-a-box, implored the chairmen, whatever might befall, not -to run away and leave her fastened up there, to be murdered; and even -after they had promised, I saw her tighten her features into the stern -determination of a martyr, and she gave me a melancholy and ominous -shake of the head through the glass. However, we got there safely, -only rather out of breath, for it was who could trot hardest through -Darkness Lane, and I am afraid poor Miss Matty was sadly jolted.<br> -<br> -Mrs Forrester had made extra preparations, in acknowledgment of our -exertion in coming to see her through such dangers. The usual -forms of genteel ignorance as to what her servants might send up were -all gone through; and harmony and Preference seemed likely to be the -order of the evening, but for an interesting conversation that began -I don’t know how, but which had relation, of course, to the robbers -who infested the neighbourhood of Cranford.<br> -<br> -Having braved the dangers of Darkness Lane, and thus having a little -stock of reputation for courage to fall back upon; and also, I daresay, -desirous of proving ourselves superior to men <i>(videlicet</i> Mr Hoggins) -in the article of candour, we began to relate our individual fears, -and the private precautions we each of us took. I owned that my -pet apprehension was eyes - eyes looking at me, and watching me, glittering -out from some dull, flat, wooden surface; and that if I dared to go -up to my looking-glass when I was panic-stricken, I should certainly -turn it round, with its back towards me, for fear of seeing eyes behind -me looking out of the darkness. I saw Miss Matty nerving herself -up for a confession; and at last out it came. She owned that, -ever since she had been a girl, she had dreaded being caught by her -last leg, just as she was getting into bed, by some one concealed under -it. She said, when she was younger and more active, she used to -take a flying leap from a distance, and so bring both her legs up safely -into bed at once; but that this had always annoyed Deborah, who piqued -herself upon getting into bed gracefully, and she had given it up in -consequence. But now the old terror would often come over her, -especially since Miss Pole’s house had been attacked (we had got -quite to believe in the fact of the attack having taken place), and -yet it was very unpleasant to think of looking under a bed, and seeing -a man concealed, with a great, fierce face staring out at you; so she -had bethought herself of something - perhaps I had noticed that she -had told Martha to buy her a penny ball, such as children play with -- and now she rolled this ball under the bed every night: if it came -out on the other side, well and good; if not she always took care to -have her hand on the bell-rope, and meant to call out John and Harry, -just as if she expected men-servants to answer her ring.<br> -<br> -We all applauded this ingenious contrivance, and Miss Matty sank back -into satisfied silence, with a look at Mrs Forrester as if to ask for -<i>her</i> private weakness.<br> -<br> -Mrs Forrester looked askance at Miss Pole, and tried to change the subject -a little by telling us that she had borrowed a boy from one of the neighbouring -cottages and promised his parents a hundredweight of coals at Christmas, -and his supper every evening, for the loan of him at nights. She -had instructed him in his possible duties when he first came; and, finding -him sensible, she had given him the Major’s sword (the Major was -her late husband), and desired him to put it very carefully behind his -pillow at night, turning the edge towards the head of the pillow. -He was a sharp lad, she was sure; for, spying out the Major’s -cocked hat, he had said, if he might have that to wear, he was sure -he could frighten two Englishmen, or four Frenchmen any day. But -she had impressed upon him anew that he was to lose no time in putting -on hats or anything else; but, if he heard any noise, he was to run -at it with his drawn sword. On my suggesting that some accident -might occur from such slaughterous and indiscriminate directions, and -that he might rush on Jenny getting up to wash, and have spitted her -before he had discovered that she was not a Frenchman, Mrs Forrester -said she did not think that that was likely, for he was a very sound -sleeper, and generally had to be well shaken or cold-pigged in a morning -before they could rouse him. She sometimes thought such dead sleep -must be owing to the hearty suppers the poor lad ate, for he was half-starved -at home, and she told Jenny to see that he got a good meal at night.<br> -<br> -Still this was no confession of Mrs Forrester’s peculiar timidity, -and we urged her to tell us what she thought would frighten her more -than anything. She paused, and stirred the fire, and snuffed the -candles, and then she said, in a sounding whisper -<br> -<br> -“Ghosts!”<br> -<br> -She looked at Miss Pole, as much as to say, she had declared it, and -would stand by it. Such a look was a challenge in itself. -Miss Pole came down upon her with indigestion, spectral illusions, optical -delusions, and a great deal out of Dr Ferrier and Dr Hibbert besides. -Miss Matty had rather a leaning to ghosts, as I have mentioned before, -and what little she did say was all on Mrs Forrester’s side, who, -emboldened by sympathy, protested that ghosts were a part of her religion; -that surely she, the widow of a major in the army, knew what to be frightened -at, and what not; in short, I never saw Mrs Forrester so warm either -before or since, for she was a gentle, meek, enduring old lady in most -things. Not all the elder-wine that ever was mulled could this -night wash out the remembrance of this difference between Miss Pole -and her hostess. Indeed, when the elder-wine was brought in, it -gave rise to a new burst of discussion; for Jenny, the little maiden -who staggered under the tray, had to give evidence of having seen a -ghost with her own eyes, not so many nights ago, in Darkness Lane, the -very lane we were to go through on our way home.<br> -<br> -In spite of the uncomfortable feeling which this last consideration -gave me, I could not help being amused at Jenny’s position, which -was exceedingly like that of a witness being examined and cross-examined -by two counsel who are not at all scrupulous about asking leading questions. -The conclusion I arrived at was, that Jenny had certainly seen something -beyond what a fit of indigestion would have caused. A lady all -in white, and without her head, was what she deposed and adhered to, -supported by a consciousness of the secret sympathy of her mistress -under the withering scorn with which Miss Pole regarded her. And -not only she, but many others, had seen this headless lady, who sat -by the roadside wringing her hands as in deep grief. Mrs Forrester -looked at us from time to time with an air of conscious triumph; but -then she had not to pass through Darkness Lane before she could bury -herself beneath her own familiar bed-clothes.<br> -<br> -We preserved a discreet silence as to the headless lady while we were -putting on our things to go home, for there was no knowing how near -the ghostly head and ears might be, or what spiritual connection they -might be keeping up with the unhappy body in Darkness Lane; and, therefore, -even Miss Pole felt that it was as well not to speak lightly on such -subjects, for fear of vexing or insulting that woebegone trunk. -At least, so I conjecture; for, instead of the busy clatter usual in -the operation, we tied on our cloaks as sadly as mutes at a funeral. -Miss Matty drew the curtains round the windows of the chair to shut -out disagreeable sights, and the men (either because they were in spirits -that their labours were so nearly ended, or because they were going -down hill), set off at such a round and merry pace, that it was all -Miss Pole and I could do to keep up with them. She had breath -for nothing beyond an imploring “Don’t leave me!” -uttered as she clutched my arm so tightly that I could not have quitted -her, ghost or no ghost. What a relief it was when the men, weary -of their burden and their quick trot, stopped just where Headingley -Causeway branches off from Darkness Lane! Miss Pole unloosed me -and caught at one of the men -<br> -<br> -“Could not you - could not you take Miss Matty round by Headingley -Causeway? - the pavement in Darkness Lane jolts so, and she is not very -strong.”<br> -<br> -A smothered voice was heard from the inside of the chair -<br> -<br> -“Oh! pray go on! What is the matter? What is the matter? -I will give you sixpence more to go on very fast; pray don’t stop -here.”<br> -<br> -“And I’ll give you a shilling,” said Miss Pole, with -tremulous dignity, “if you’ll go by Headingley Causeway.”<br> -<br> -The two men grunted acquiescence and took up the chair, and went along -the causeway, which certainly answered Miss Pole’s kind purpose -of saving Miss Matty’s bones; for it was covered with soft, thick -mud, and even a fall there would have been easy till the getting-up -came, when there might have been some difficulty in extrication.<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -CHAPTER XI - SAMUEL BROWN<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -The next morning I met Lady Glenmire and Miss Pole setting out on a -long walk to find some old woman who was famous in the neighbourhood -for her skill in knitting woollen stockings. Miss Pole said to -me, with a smile half-kindly and half-contemptuous upon her countenance, -“I have been just telling Lady Glenmire of our poor friend Mrs -Forrester, and her terror of ghosts. It comes from living so much -alone, and listening to the bug-a-boo stories of that Jenny of hers.” -She was so calm and so much above superstitious fears herself that I -was almost ashamed to say how glad I had been of her Headingley Causeway -proposition the night before, and turned off the conversation to something -else.<br> -<br> -In the afternoon Miss Pole called on Miss Matty to tell her of the adventure -- the real adventure they had met with on their morning’s walk. -They had been perplexed about the exact path which they were to take -across the fields in order to find the knitting old woman, and had stopped -to inquire at a little wayside public-house, standing on the high road -to London, about three miles from Cranford. The good woman had -asked them to sit down and rest themselves while she fetched her husband, -who could direct them better than she could; and, while they were sitting -in the sanded parlour, a little girl came in. They thought that -she belonged to the landlady, and began some trifling conversation with -her; but, on Mrs Roberts’s return, she told them that the little -thing was the only child of a couple who were staying in the house. -And then she began a long story, out of which Lady Glenmire and Miss -Pole could only gather one or two decided facts, which were that, about -six weeks ago, a light spring-cart had broken down just before their -door, in which there were two men, one woman, and this child. -One of the men was seriously hurt - no bones broken, only “shaken,” -the landlady called it; but he had probably sustained some severe internal -injury, for he had languished in their house ever since, attended by -his wife, the mother of this little girl. Miss Pole had asked -what he was, what he looked like. And Mrs Roberts had made answer -that he was not like a gentleman, nor yet like a common person; if it -had not been that he and his wife were such decent, quiet people, she -could almost have thought he was a mountebank, or something of that -kind, for they had a great box in the cart, full of she did not know -what. She had helped to unpack it, and take out their linen and -clothes, when the other man - his twin-brother, she believed he was -- had gone off with the horse and cart.<br> -<br> -Miss Pole had begun to have her suspicions at this point, and expressed -her idea that it was rather strange that the box and cart and horse -and all should have disappeared; but good Mrs Roberts seemed to have -become quite indignant at Miss Pole’s implied suggestion; in fact, -Miss Pole said she was as angry as if Miss Pole had told her that she -herself was a swindler. As the best way of convincing the ladies, -she bethought her of begging them to see the wife; and, as Miss Pole -said, there was no doubting the honest, worn, bronzed face of the woman, -who at the first tender word from Lady Glenmire, burst into tears, which -she was too weak to check until some word from the landlady made her -swallow down her sobs, in order that she might testify to the Christian -kindness shown by Mr and Mrs Roberts. Miss Pole came round with -a swing to as vehement a belief in the sorrowful tale as she had been -sceptical before; and, as a proof of this, her energy in the poor sufferer’s -behalf was nothing daunted when she found out that he, and no other, -was our Signor Brunoni, to whom all Cranford had been attributing all -manner of evil this six weeks past! Yes! his wife said his proper -name was Samuel Brown - “Sam,” she called him - but to the -last we preferred calling him “the Signor”; it sounded so -much better.<br> -<br> -The end of their conversation with the Signora Brunoni was that it was -agreed that he should be placed under medical advice, and for any expense -incurred in procuring this Lady Glenmire promised to hold herself responsible, -and had accordingly gone to Mr Hoggins to beg him to ride over to the -“Rising Sun” that very afternoon, and examine into the signor’s -real state; and, as Miss Pole said, if it was desirable to remove him -to Cranford to be more immediately under Mr Hoggins’s eye, she -would undertake to see for lodgings and arrange about the rent. -Mrs Roberts had been as kind as could be all throughout, but it was -evident that their long residence there had been a slight inconvenience.<br> -<br> -Before Miss Pole left us, Miss Matty and I were as full of the morning’s -adventure as she was. We talked about it all the evening, turning -it in every possible light, and we went to bed anxious for the morning, -when we should surely hear from someone what Mr Hoggins thought and -recommended; for, as Miss Matty observed, though Mr Hoggins did say -“Jack’s up,” “a fig for his heels,” and -called Preference “Pref.” she believed he was a very worthy -man and a very clever surgeon. Indeed, we were rather proud of -our doctor at Cranford, as a doctor. We often wished, when we -heard of Queen Adelaide or the Duke of Wellington being ill, that they -would send for Mr Hoggins; but, on consideration, we were rather glad -they did not, for, if we were ailing, what should we do if Mr Hoggins -had been appointed physician-in-ordinary to the Royal Family? -As a surgeon we were proud of him; but as a man - or rather, I should -say, as a gentleman - we could only shake our heads over his name and -himself, and wished that he had read Lord Chesterfield’s Letters -in the days when his manners were susceptible of improvement. -Nevertheless, we all regarded his dictum in the signor’s case -as infallible, and when he said that with care and attention he might -rally, we had no more fear for him.<br> -<br> -But, although we had no more fear, everybody did as much as if there -was great cause for anxiety - as indeed there was until Mr Hoggins took -charge of him. Miss Pole looked out clean and comfortable, if -homely, lodgings; Miss Matty sent the sedan-chair for him, and Martha -and I aired it well before it left Cranford by holding a warming-pan -full of red-hot coals in it, and then shutting it up close, smoke and -all, until the time when he should get into it at the “Rising -Sun.” Lady Glenmire undertook the medical department under -Mr Hoggins’s directions, and rummaged up all Mrs Jamieson’s -medicine glasses, and spoons, and bed-tables, in a free-and-easy way, -that made Miss Matty feel a little anxious as to what that lady and -Mr Mulliner might say, if they knew. Mrs Forrester made some of -the bread-jelly, for which she was so famous, to have ready as a refreshment -in the lodgings when he should arrive. A present of this bread-jelly -was the highest mark of favour dear Mrs Forrester could confer. -Miss Pole had once asked her for the receipt, but she had met with a -very decided rebuff; that lady told her that she could not part with -it to any one during her life, and that after her death it was bequeathed, -as her executors would find, to Miss Matty. What Miss Matty, or, -as Mrs Forrester called her (remembering the clause in her will and -the dignity of the occasion), Miss Matilda Jenkyns - might choose to -do with the receipt when it came into her possession - whether to make -it public, or to hand it down as an heirloom - she did not know, nor -would she dictate. And a mould of this admirable, digestible, -unique bread-jelly was sent by Mrs Forrester to our poor sick conjuror. -Who says that the aristocracy are proud? Here was a lady by birth -a Tyrrell, and descended from the great Sir Walter that shot King Rufus, -and in whose veins ran the blood of him who murdered the little princes -in the Tower, going every day to see what dainty dishes she could prepare -for Samuel Brown, a mountebank! But, indeed, it was wonderful -to see what kind feelings were called out by this poor man’s coming -amongst us. And also wonderful to see how the great Cranford panic, -which had been occasioned by his first coming in his Turkish dress, -melted away into thin air on his second coming - pale and feeble, and -with his heavy, filmy eyes, that only brightened a very little when -they fell upon the countenance of his faithful wife, or their pale and -sorrowful little girl.<br> -<br> -Somehow we all forgot to be afraid. I daresay it was that finding -out that he, who had first excited our love of the marvellous by his -unprecedented arts, had not sufficient every-day gifts to manage a shying -horse, made us feel as if we were ourselves again. Miss Pole came -with her little basket at all hours of the evening, as if her lonely -house and the unfrequented road to it had never been infested by that -“murderous gang”; Mrs Forrester said she thought that neither -Jenny nor she need mind the headless lady who wept and wailed in Darkness -Lane, for surely the power was never given to such beings to harm those -who went about to try to do what little good was in their power, to -which Jenny tremblingly assented; but the mistress’s theory had -little effect on the maid’s practice until she had sewn two pieces -of red flannel in the shape of a cross on her inner garment.<br> -<br> -I found Miss Matty covering her penny ball - the ball that she used -to roll under her bed - with gay-coloured worsted in rainbow stripes.<br> -<br> -“My dear,” said she, “my heart is sad for that little -careworn child. Although her father is a conjuror, she looks as -if she had never had a good game of play in her life. I used to -make very pretty balls in this way when I was a girl, and I thought -I would try if I could not make this one smart and take it to Phoebe -this afternoon. I think ‘the gang’ must have left -the neighbourhood, for one does not hear any more of their violence -and robbery now.”<br> -<br> -We were all of us far too full of the signor’s precarious state -to talk either about robbers or ghosts. Indeed, Lady Glenmire -said she never had heard of any actual robberies, except that two little -boys had stolen some apples from Farmer Benson’s orchard, and -that some eggs had been missed on a market-day off Widow Hayward’s -stall. But that was expecting too much of us; we could not acknowledge -that we had only had this small foundation for all our panic. -Miss Pole drew herself up at this remark of Lady Glenmire’s, and -said “that she wished she could agree with her as to the very -small reason we had had for alarm, but with the recollection of a man -disguised as a woman who had endeavoured to force himself into her house -while his confederates waited outside; with the knowledge gained from -Lady Glenmire herself, of the footprints seen on Mrs Jamieson’s -flower borders; with the fact before her of the audacious robbery committed -on Mr Hoggins at his own door” - But here Lady Glenmire broke -in with a very strong expression of doubt as to whether this last story -was not an entire fabrication founded upon the theft of a cat; she grew -so red while she was saying all this that I was not surprised at Miss -Pole’s manner of bridling up, and I am certain, if Lady Glenmire -had not been “her ladyship,” we should have had a more emphatic -contradiction than the “Well, to be sure!” and similar fragmentary -ejaculations, which were all that she ventured upon in my lady’s -presence. But when she was gone Miss Pole began a long congratulation -to Miss Matty that so far they had escaped marriage, which she noticed -always made people credulous to the last degree; indeed, she thought -it argued great natural credulity in a woman if she could not keep herself -from being married; and in what Lady Glenmire had said about Mr Hoggins’s -robbery we had a specimen of what people came to if they gave way to -such a weakness; evidently Lady Glenmire would swallow anything if she -could believe the poor vamped-up story about a neck of mutton and a -pussy with which he had tried to impose on Miss Pole, only she had always -been on her guard against believing too much of what men said.<br> -<br> -We were thankful, as Miss Pole desired us to be, that we had never been -married; but I think, of the two, we were even more thankful that the -robbers had left Cranford; at least I judge so from a speech of Miss -Matty’s that evening, as we sat over the fire, in which she evidently -looked upon a husband as a great protector against thieves, burglars, -and ghosts; and said that she did not think that she should dare to -be always warning young people against matrimony, as Miss Pole did continually; -to be sure, marriage was a risk, as she saw, now she had had some experience; -but she remembered the time when she had looked forward to being married -as much as any one.<br> -<br> -“Not to any particular person, my dear,” said she, hastily -checking herself up, as if she were afraid of having admitted too much; -“only the old story, you know, of ladies always saying, ‘<i>When</i> -I marry,’ and gentlemen, ‘<i>If</i> I marry.’” -It was a joke spoken in rather a sad tone, and I doubt if either of -us smiled; but I could not see Miss Matty’s face by the flickering -fire-light. In a little while she continued -<br> -<br> -“But, after all, I have not told you the truth. It is so -long ago, and no one ever knew how much I thought of it at the time, -unless, indeed, my dear mother guessed; but I may say that there was -a time when I did not think I should have been only Miss Matty Jenkyns -all my life; for even if I did meet with any one who wished to marry -me now (and, as Miss Pole says, one is never too safe), I could not -take him - I hope he would not take it too much to heart, but I could -<i>not</i> take him - or any one but the person I once thought I should -be married to; and he is dead and gone, and he never knew how it all -came about that I said ‘No,’ when I had thought many and -many a time - Well, it’s no matter what I thought. God ordains -it all, and I am very happy, my dear. No one has such kind friends -as I,” continued she, taking my hand and holding it in hers.<br> -<br> -If I had never known of Mr Holbrook, I could have said something in -this pause, but as I had, I could not think of anything that would come -in naturally, and so we both kept silence for a little time.<br> -<br> -“My father once made us,” she began, “keep a diary, -in two columns; on one side we were to put down in the morning what -we thought would be the course and events of the coming day, and at -night we were to put down on the other side what really had happened. -It would be to some people rather a sad way of telling their lives,” -(a tear dropped upon my hand at these words) - “I don’t -mean that mine has been sad, only so very different to what I expected. -I remember, one winter’s evening, sitting over our bedroom fire -with Deborah - I remember it as if it were yesterday - and we were planning -our future lives, both of us were planning, though only she talked about -it. She said she should like to marry an archdeacon, and write -his charges; and you know, my dear, she never was married, and, for -aught I know, she never spoke to an unmarried archdeacon in her life. -I never was ambitious, nor could I have written charges, but I thought -I could manage a house (my mother used to call me her right hand), and -I was always so fond of little children - the shyest babies would stretch -out their little arms to come to me; when I was a girl, I was half my -leisure time nursing in the neighbouring cottages; but I don’t -know how it was, when I grew sad and grave - which I did a year or two -after this time - the little things drew back from me, and I am afraid -I lost the knack, though I am just as fond of children as ever, and -have a strange yearning at my heart whenever I see a mother with her -baby in her arms. Nay, my dear” (and by a sudden blaze which -sprang up from a fall of the unstirred coals, I saw that her eyes were -full of tears - gazing intently on some vision of what might have been), -“do you know I dream sometimes that I have a little child - always -the same - a little girl of about two years old; she never grows older, -though I have dreamt about her for many years. I don’t think -I ever dream of any words or sound she makes; she is very noiseless -and still, but she comes to me when she is very sorry or very glad, -and I have wakened with the clasp of her dear little arms round my neck. -Only last night - perhaps because I had gone to sleep thinking of this -ball for Phoebe - my little darling came in my dream, and put up her -mouth to be kissed, just as I have seen real babies do to real mothers -before going to bed. But all this is nonsense, dear! only don’t -be frightened by Miss Pole from being married. I can fancy it -may be a very happy state, and a little credulity helps one on through -life very smoothly - better than always doubting and doubting and seeing -difficulties and disagreeables in everything.”<br> -<br> -If I had been inclined to be daunted from matrimony, it would not have -been Miss Pole to do it; it would have been the lot of poor Signor Brunoni -and his wife. And yet again, it was an encouragement to see how, -through all their cares and sorrows, they thought of each other and -not of themselves; and how keen were their joys, if they only passed -through each other, or through the little Phoebe.<br> -<br> -The signora told me, one day, a good deal about their lives up to this -period. It began by my asking her whether Miss Pole’s story -of the twin-brothers were true; it sounded so wonderful a likeness, -that I should have had my doubts, if Miss Pole had not been unmarried. -But the signora, or (as we found out she preferred to be called) Mrs -Brown, said it was quite true; that her brother-in-law was by many taken -for her husband, which was of great assistance to them in their profession; -“though,” she continued, “how people can mistake Thomas -for the real Signor Brunoni, I can’t conceive; but he says they -do; so I suppose I must believe him. Not but what he is a very -good man; I am sure I don’t know how we should have paid our bill -at the ‘Rising Sun’ but for the money he sends; but people -must know very little about art if they can take him for my husband. -Why, Miss, in the ball trick, where my husband spreads his fingers wide, -and throws out his little finger with quite an air and a grace, Thomas -just clumps up his hand like a fist, and might have ever so many balls -hidden in it. Besides, he has never been in India, and knows nothing -of the proper sit of a turban.”<br> -<br> -“Have you been in India?” said I, rather astonished.<br> -<br> -“Oh, yes! many a year, ma’am. Sam was a sergeant in -the 31st; and when the regiment was ordered to India, I drew a lot to -go, and I was more thankful than I can tell; for it seemed as if it -would only be a slow death to me to part from my husband. But, -indeed, ma’am, if I had known all, I don’t know whether -I would not rather have died there and then than gone through what I -have done since. To be sure, I’ve been able to comfort Sam, -and to be with him; but, ma’am, I’ve lost six children,” -said she, looking up at me with those strange eyes that I’ve never -noticed but in mothers of dead children - with a kind of wild look in -them, as if seeking for what they never more might find. “Yes! -Six children died off, like little buds nipped untimely, in that cruel -India. I thought, as each died, I never could - I never would -- love a child again; and when the next came, it had not only its own -love, but the deeper love that came from the thoughts of its little -dead brothers and sisters. And when Phoebe was coming, I said -to my husband, ‘Sam, when the child is born, and I am strong, -I shall leave you; it will cut my heart cruel; but if this baby dies -too, I shall go mad; the madness is in me now; but if you let me go -down to Calcutta, carrying my baby step by step, it will, maybe, work -itself off; and I will save, and I will hoard, and I will beg - and -I will die, to get a passage home to England, where our baby may live?’ -God bless him! he said I might go; and he saved up his pay, and I saved -every pice I could get for washing or any way; and when Phoebe came, -and I grew strong again, I set off. It was very lonely; through -the thick forests, dark again with their heavy trees - along by the -river’s side (but I had been brought up near the Avon in Warwickshire, -so that flowing noise sounded like home) - from station to station, -from Indian village to village, I went along, carrying my child. -I had seen one of the officer’s ladies with a little picture, -ma’am - done by a Catholic foreigner, ma’am - of the Virgin -and the little Saviour, ma’am. She had him on her arm, and -her form was softly curled round him, and their cheeks touched. -Well, when I went to bid good-bye to this lady, for whom I had washed, -she cried sadly; for she, too, had lost her children, but she had not -another to save, like me; and I was bold enough to ask her would she -give me that print. And she cried the more, and said her children -were with that little blessed Jesus; and gave it me, and told me that -she had heard it had been painted on the bottom of a cask, which made -it have that round shape. And when my body was very weary, and -my heart was sick (for there were times when I misdoubted if I could -ever reach my home, and there were times when I thought of my husband, -and one time when I thought my baby was dying), I took out that picture -and looked at it, till I could have thought the mother spoke to me, -and comforted me. And the natives were very kind. We could -not understand one another; but they saw my baby on my breast, and they -came out to me, and brought me rice and milk, and sometimes flowers -- I have got some of the flowers dried. Then, the next morning, -I was so tired; and they wanted me to stay with them - I could tell -that - and tried to frighten me from going into the deep woods, which, -indeed, looked very strange and dark; but it seemed to me as if Death -was following me to take my baby away from me; and as if I must go on, -and on - and I thought how God had cared for mothers ever since the -world was made, and would care for me; so I bade them good-bye, and -set off afresh. And once when my baby was ill, and both she and -I needed rest, He led me to a place where I found a kind Englishman -lived, right in the midst of the natives.”<br> -<br> -“And you reached Calcutta safely at last?”<br> -<br> -“Yes, safely! Oh! when I knew I had only two days’ -journey more before me, I could not help it, ma’am - it might -be idolatry, I cannot tell - but I was near one of the native temples, -and I went into it with my baby to thank God for His great mercy; for -it seemed to me that where others had prayed before to their God, in -their joy or in their agony, was of itself a sacred place. And -I got as servant to an invalid lady, who grew quite fond of my baby -aboard-ship; and, in two years’ time, Sam earned his discharge, -and came home to me, and to our child. Then he had to fix on a -trade; but he knew of none; and once, once upon a time, he had learnt -some tricks from an Indian juggler; so he set up conjuring, and it answered -so well that he took Thomas to help him - as his man, you know, not -as another conjuror, though Thomas has set it up now on his own hook. -But it has been a great help to us that likeness between the twins, -and made a good many tricks go off well that they made up together. -And Thomas is a good brother, only he has not the fine carriage of my -husband, so that I can’t think how he can be taken for Signor -Brunoni himself, as he says he is.”<br> -<br> -“Poor little Phoebe!” said I, my thoughts going back to -the baby she carried all those hundred miles.<br> -<br> -“Ah! you may say so! I never thought I should have reared -her, though, when she fell ill at Chunderabaddad; but that good, kind -Aga Jenkyns took us in, which I believe was the very saving of her.”<br> -<br> -“Jenkyns!” said I.<br> -<br> -“Yes, Jenkyns. I shall think all people of that name are -kind; for here is that nice old lady who comes every day to take Phoebe -a walk!”<br> -<br> -But an idea had flashed through my head; could the Aga Jenkyns be the -lost Peter? True he was reported by many to be dead. But, -equally true, some had said that he had arrived at the dignity of Great -Lama of Thibet. Miss Matty thought he was alive. I would -make further inquiry.<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -CHAPTER XII - ENGAGED TO BE MARRIED<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -Was the “poor Peter” of Cranford the Aga Jenkyns of Chunderabaddad, -or was he not? As somebody says, that was the question.<br> -<br> -In my own home, whenever people had nothing else to do, they blamed -me for want of discretion. Indiscretion was my bug-bear fault. -Everybody has a bug-bear fault, a sort of standing characteristic - -a <i>pièce de résistance</i> for their friends to cut -at; and in general they cut and come again. I was tired of being -called indiscreet and incautious; and I determined for once to prove -myself a model of prudence and wisdom. I would not even hint my -suspicions respecting the Aga. I would collect evidence and carry -it home to lay before my father, as the family friend of the two Miss -Jenkynses.<br> -<br> -In my search after facts, I was often reminded of a description my father -had once given of a ladies’ committee that he had had to preside -over. He said he could not help thinking of a passage in Dickens, -which spoke of a chorus in which every man took the tune he knew best, -and sang it to his own satisfaction. So, at this charitable committee, -every lady took the subject uppermost in her mind, and talked about -it to her own great contentment, but not much to the advancement of -the subject they had met to discuss. But even that committee could -have been nothing to the Cranford ladies when I attempted to gain some -clear and definite information as to poor Peter’s height, appearance, -and when and where he was seen and heard of last. For instance, -I remember asking Miss Pole (and I thought the question was very opportune, -for I put it when I met her at a call at Mrs Forrester’s, and -both the ladies had known Peter, and I imagined that they might refresh -each other’s memories) - I asked Miss Pole what was the very last -thing they had ever heard about him; and then she named the absurd report -to which I have alluded, about his having been elected Great Lama of -Thibet; and this was a signal for each lady to go off on her separate -idea. Mrs Forrester’s start was made on the veiled prophet -in Lalla Rookh - whether I thought he was meant for the Great Lama, -though Peter was not so ugly, indeed rather handsome, if he had not -been freckled. I was thankful to see her double upon Peter; but, -in a moment, the delusive lady was off upon Rowland’s Kalydor, -and the merits of cosmetics and hair oils in general, and holding forth -so fluently that I turned to listen to Miss Pole, who (through the llamas, -the beasts of burden) had got to Peruvian bonds, and the share market, -and her poor opinion of joint-stock banks in general, and of that one -in particular in which Miss Matty’s money was invested. -In vain I put in “When was it - in what year was it that you heard -that Mr Peter was the Great Lama?” They only joined issue -to dispute whether llamas were carnivorous animals or not; in which -dispute they were not quite on fair grounds, as Mrs Forrester (after -they had grown warm and cool again) acknowledged that she always confused -carnivorous and graminivorous together, just as she did horizontal and -perpendicular; but then she apologised for it very prettily, by saying -that in her day the only use people made of four-syllabled words was -to teach how they should be spelt.<br> -<br> -The only fact I gained from this conversation was that certainly Peter -had last been heard of in India, “or that neighbourhood”; -and that this scanty intelligence of his whereabouts had reached Cranford -in the year when Miss Pole had brought her Indian muslin gown, long -since worn out (we washed it and mended it, and traced its decline and -fall into a window-blind before we could go on); and in a year when -Wombwell came to Cranford, because Miss Matty had wanted to see an elephant -in order that she might the better imagine Peter riding on one; and -had seen a boa-constrictor too, which was more than she wished to imagine -in her fancy-pictures of Peter’s locality; and in a year when -Miss Jenkyns had learnt some piece of poetry off by heart, and used -to say, at all the Cranford parties, how Peter was “surveying -mankind from China to Peru,” which everybody had thought very -grand, and rather appropriate, because India was between China and Peru, -if you took care to turn the globe to the left instead of the right.<br> -<br> -I suppose all these inquiries of mine, and the consequent curiosity -excited in the minds of my friends, made us blind and deaf to what was -going on around us. It seemed to me as if the sun rose and shone, -and as if the rain rained on Cranford, just as usual, and I did not -notice any sign of the times that could be considered as a prognostic -of any uncommon event; and, to the best of my belief, not only Miss -Matty and Mrs Forrester, but even Miss Pole herself, whom we looked -upon as a kind of prophetess, from the knack she had of foreseeing things -before they came to pass - although she did not like to disturb her -friends by telling them her foreknowledge - even Miss Pole herself was -breathless with astonishment when she came to tell us of the astounding -piece of news. But I must recover myself; the contemplation of -it, even at this distance of time, has taken away my breath and my grammar, -and unless I subdue my emotion, my spelling will go too.<br> -<br> -We were sitting - Miss Matty and I - much as usual, she in the blue -chintz easy-chair, with her back to the light, and her knitting in her -hand, I reading aloud the <i>St James’s Chronicle</i>. A -few minutes more, and we should have gone to make the little alterations -in dress usual before calling-time (twelve o’clock) in Cranford. -I remember the scene and the date well. We had been talking of -the signor’s rapid recovery since the warmer weather had set in, -and praising Mr Hoggins’s skill, and lamenting his want of refinement -and manner (it seems a curious coincidence that this should have been -our subject, but so it was), when a knock was heard - a caller’s -knock - three distinct taps - and we were flying (that is to say, Miss -Matty could not walk very fast, having had a touch of rheumatism) to -our rooms, to change cap and collars, when Miss Pole arrested us by -calling out, as she came up the stairs, “Don’t go - I can’t -wait - it is not twelve, I know - but never mind your dress - I must -speak to you.” We did our best to look as if it was not -we who had made the hurried movement, the sound of which she had heard; -for, of course, we did not like to have it supposed that we had any -old clothes that it was convenient to wear out in the “sanctuary -of home,” as Miss Jenkyns once prettily called the back parlour, -where she was tying up preserves. So we threw our gentility with -double force into our manners, and very genteel we were for two minutes -while Miss Pole recovered breath, and excited our curiosity strongly -by lifting up her hands in amazement, and bringing them down in silence, -as if what she had to say was too big for words, and could only be expressed -by pantomime.<br> -<br> -“What do you think, Miss Matty? What <i>do</i> you think? -Lady Glenmire is to marry - is to be married, I mean - Lady Glenmire -- Mr Hoggins - Mr Hoggins is going to marry Lady Glenmire!”<br> -<br> -“Marry!” said we. “Marry! Madness!”<br> -<br> -“Marry!” said Miss Pole, with the decision that belonged -to her character. “<i>I</i> said marry! as you do; and I -also said, ‘What a fool my lady is going to make of herself!’ -I could have said ‘Madness!’ but I controlled myself, for -it was in a public shop that I heard of it. Where feminine delicacy -is gone to, I don’t know! You and I, Miss Matty, would have -been ashamed to have known that our marriage was spoken of in a grocer’s -shop, in the hearing of shopmen!”<br> -<br> -“But,” said Miss Matty, sighing as one recovering from a -blow, “perhaps it is not true. Perhaps we are doing her -injustice.”<br> -<br> -“No,” said Miss Pole. “I have taken care to -ascertain that. I went straight to Mrs Fitz-Adam, to borrow a -cookery-book which I knew she had; and I introduced my congratulations -<i>à propos</i> of the difficulty gentlemen must have in house-keeping; -and Mrs Fitz-Adam bridled up, and said that she believed it was true, -though how and where I could have heard it she did not know. She -said her brother and Lady Glenmire had come to an understanding at last. -‘Understanding!’ such a coarse word! But my lady will -have to come down to many a want of refinement. I have reason -to believe Mr Hoggins sups on bread-and-cheese and beer every night.<br> -<br> -“Marry!” said Miss Matty once again. “Well! -I never thought of it. Two people that we know going to be married. -It’s coming very near!”<br> -<br> -“So near that my heart stopped beating when I heard of it, while -you might have counted twelve,” said Miss Pole.<br> -<br> -“One does not know whose turn may come next. Here, in Cranford, -poor Lady Glenmire might have thought herself safe,” said Miss -Matty, with a gentle pity in her tones.<br> -<br> -“Bah!” said Miss Pole, with a toss of her head. “Don’t -you remember poor dear Captain Brown’s song ‘Tibbie Fowler,’ -and the line -<br> -<br> -<br> -‘Set her on the Tintock tap,<br> -The wind will blaw a man till her.’”<br> -<br> -<br> -“That was because ‘Tibbie Fowler’ was rich, I think.”<br> -<br> -“Well! there was a kind of attraction about Lady Glenmire that -I, for one, should be ashamed to have.”<br> -<br> -I put in my wonder. “But how can she have fancied Mr Hoggins? -I am not surprised that Mr Hoggins has liked her.”<br> -<br> -“Oh! I don’t know. Mr Hoggins is rich, and very -pleasant-looking,” said Miss Matty, “and very good-tempered -and kind-hearted.”<br> -<br> -“She has married for an establishment, that’s it. -I suppose she takes the surgery with it,” said Miss Pole, with -a little dry laugh at her own joke. But, like many people who -think they have made a severe and sarcastic speech, which yet is clever -of its kind, she began to relax in her grimness from the moment when -she made this allusion to the surgery; and we turned to speculate on -the way in which Mrs Jamieson would receive the news. The person -whom she had left in charge of her house to keep off followers from -her maids to set up a follower of her own! And that follower a -man whom Mrs Jamieson had tabooed as vulgar, and inadmissible to Cranford -society, not merely on account of his name, but because of his voice, -his complexion, his boots, smelling of the stable, and himself, smelling -of drugs. Had he ever been to see Lady Glenmire at Mrs Jamieson’s? -Chloride of lime would not purify the house in its owner’s estimation -if he had. Or had their interviews been confined to the occasional -meetings in the chamber of the poor sick conjuror, to whom, with all -our sense of the <i>mésalliance</i>, we could not help allowing -that they had both been exceedingly kind? And now it turned out -that a servant of Mrs Jamieson’s had been ill, and Mr Hoggins -had been attending her for some weeks. So the wolf had got into -the fold, and now he was carrying off the shepherdess. What would -Mrs Jamieson say? We looked into the darkness of futurity as a -child gazes after a rocket up in the cloudy sky, full of wondering expectation -of the rattle, the discharge, and the brilliant shower of sparks and -light. Then we brought ourselves down to earth and the present -time by questioning each other (being all equally ignorant, and all -equally without the slightest data to build any conclusions upon) as -to when IT would take place? Where? How much a year Mr Hoggins -had? Whether she would drop her title? And how Martha and -the other correct servants in Cranford would ever be brought to announce -a married couple as Lady Glenmire and Mr Hoggins? But would they -be visited? Would Mrs Jamieson let us? Or must we choose -between the Honourable Mrs Jamieson and the degraded Lady Glenmire? -We all liked Lady Glenmire the best. She was bright, and kind, -and sociable, and agreeable; and Mrs Jamieson was dull, and inert, and -pompous, and tiresome. But we had acknowledged the sway of the -latter so long, that it seemed like a kind of disloyalty now even to -meditate disobedience to the prohibition we anticipated.<br> -<br> -Mrs Forrester surprised us in our darned caps and patched collars; and -we forgot all about them in our eagerness to see how she would bear -the information, which we honourably left to Miss Pole, to impart, although, -if we had been inclined to take unfair advantage, we might have rushed -in ourselves, for she had a most out-of-place fit of coughing for five -minutes after Mrs Forrester entered the room. I shall never forget -the imploring expression of her eyes, as she looked at us over her pocket-handkerchief. -They said, as plain as words could speak, “Don’t let Nature -deprive me of the treasure which is mine, although for a time I can -make no use of it.” And we did not.<br> -<br> -Mrs Forrester’s surprise was equal to ours; and her sense of injury -rather greater, because she had to feel for her Order, and saw more -fully than we could do how such conduct brought stains on the aristocracy.<br> -<br> -When she and Miss Pole left us we endeavoured to subside into calmness; -but Miss Matty was really upset by the intelligence she had heard. -She reckoned it up, and it was more than fifteen years since she had -heard of any of her acquaintance going to be married, with the one exception -of Miss Jessie Brown; and, as she said, it gave her quite a shock, and -made her feel as if she could not think what would happen next.<br> -<br> -I don’t know whether it is a fancy of mine, or a real fact, but -I have noticed that, just after the announcement of an engagement in -any set, the unmarried ladies in that set flutter out in an unusual -gaiety and newness of dress, as much as to say, in a tacit and unconscious -manner, “We also are spinsters.” Miss Matty and Miss -Pole talked and thought more about bonnets, gowns, caps, and shawls, -during the fortnight that succeeded this call, than I had known them -do for years before. But it might be the spring weather, for it -was a warm and pleasant March; and merinoes and beavers, and woollen -materials of all sorts were but ungracious receptacles of the bright -sun’s glancing rays. It had not been Lady Glenmire’s -dress that had won Mr Hoggins’s heart, for she went about on her -errands of kindness more shabby than ever. Although in the hurried -glimpses I caught of her at church or elsewhere she appeared rather -to shun meeting any of her friends, her face seemed to have almost something -of the flush of youth in it; her lips looked redder and more trembling -full than in their old compressed state, and her eyes dwelt on all things -with a lingering light, as if she was learning to love Cranford and -its belongings. Mr Hoggins looked broad and radiant, and creaked -up the middle aisle at church in a brand-new pair of top-boots - an -audible, as well as visible, sign of his purposed change of state; for -the tradition went, that the boots he had worn till now were the identical -pair in which he first set out on his rounds in Cranford twenty-five -years ago; only they had been new-pieced, high and low, top and bottom, -heel and sole, black leather and brown leather, more times than any -one could tell.<br> -<br> -None of the ladies in Cranford chose to sanction the marriage by congratulating -either of the parties. We wished to ignore the whole affair until -our liege lady, Mrs Jamieson, returned. Till she came back to -give us our cue, we felt that it would be better to consider the engagement -in the same light as the Queen of Spain’s legs - facts which certainly -existed, but the less said about the better. This restraint upon -our tongues - for you see if we did not speak about it to any of the -parties concerned, how could we get answers to the questions that we -longed to ask? - was beginning to be irksome, and our idea of the dignity -of silence was paling before our curiosity, when another direction was -given to our thoughts, by an announcement on the part of the principal -shopkeeper of Cranford, who ranged the trades from grocer and cheesemonger -to man-milliner, as occasion required, that the spring fashions were -arrived, and would be exhibited on the following Tuesday at his rooms -in High Street. Now Miss Matty had been only waiting for this -before buying herself a new silk gown. I had offered, it is true, -to send to Drumble for patterns, but she had rejected my proposal, gently -implying that she had not forgotten her disappointment about the sea-green -turban. I was thankful that I was on the spot now, to counteract -the dazzling fascination of any yellow or scarlet silk.<br> -<br> -I must say a word or two here about myself. I have spoken of my -father’s old friendship for the Jenkyns family; indeed, I am not -sure if there was not some distant relationship. He had willingly -allowed me to remain all the winter at Cranford, in consideration of -a letter which Miss Matty had written to him about the time of the panic, -in which I suspect she had exaggerated my powers and my bravery as a -defender of the house. But now that the days were longer and more -cheerful, he was beginning to urge the necessity of my return; and I -only delayed in a sort of odd forlorn hope that if I could obtain any -clear information, I might make the account given by the signora of -the Aga Jenkyns tally with that of “poor Peter,” his appearance -and disappearance, which I had winnowed out of the conversation of Miss -Pole and Mrs Forrester.<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -CHAPTER XIII - STOPPED PAYMENT<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -The very Tuesday morning on which Mr Johnson was going to show the fashions, -the post-woman brought two letters to the house. I say the post-woman, -but I should say the postman’s wife. He was a lame shoemaker, -a very clean, honest man, much respected in the town; but he never brought -the letters round except on unusual occasions, such as Christmas Day -or Good Friday; and on those days the letters, which should have been -delivered at eight in the morning, did not make their appearance until -two or three in the afternoon, for every one liked poor Thomas, and -gave him a welcome on these festive occasions. He used to say, -“He was welly stawed wi’ eating, for there were three or -four houses where nowt would serve ’em but he must share in their -breakfast;” and by the time he had done his last breakfast, he -came to some other friend who was beginning dinner; but come what might -in the way of temptation, Tom was always sober, civil, and smiling; -and, as Miss Jenkyns used to say, it was a lesson in patience, that -she doubted not would call out that precious quality in some minds, -where, but for Thomas, it might have lain dormant and undiscovered. -Patience was certainly very dormant in Miss Jenkyns’s mind. -She was always expecting letters, and always drumming on the table till -the post-woman had called or gone past. On Christmas Day and Good -Friday she drummed from breakfast till church, from church-time till -two o’clock - unless when the fire wanted stirring, when she invariably -knocked down the fire-irons, and scolded Miss Matty for it. But -equally certain was the hearty welcome and the good dinner for Thomas; -Miss Jenkyns standing over him like a bold dragoon, questioning him -as to his children - what they were doing - what school they went to; -upbraiding him if another was likely to make its appearance, but sending -even the little babies the shilling and the mince-pie which was her -gift to all the children, with half-a-crown in addition for both father -and mother. The post was not half of so much consequence to dear -Miss Matty; but not for the world would she have diminished Thomas’s -welcome and his dole, though I could see that she felt rather shy over -the ceremony, which had been regarded by Miss Jenkyns as a glorious -opportunity for giving advice and benefiting her fellow-creatures. -Miss Matty would steal the money all in a lump into his hand, as if -she were ashamed of herself. Miss Jenkyns gave him each individual -coin separate, with a “There! that’s for yourself; that’s -for Jenny,” etc. Miss Matty would even beckon Martha out -of the kitchen while he ate his food: and once, to my knowledge, winked -at its rapid disappearance into a blue cotton pocket-handkerchief. -Miss Jenkyns almost scolded him if he did not leave a clean plate, however -heaped it might have been, and gave an injunction with every mouthful.<br> -<br> -I have wandered a long way from the two letters that awaited us on the -breakfast-table that Tuesday morning. Mine was from my father. -Miss Matty’s was printed. My father’s was just a man’s -letter; I mean it was very dull, and gave no information beyond that -he was well, that they had had a good deal of rain, that trade was very -stagnant, and there were many disagreeable rumours afloat. He -then asked me if I knew whether Miss Matty still retained her shares -in the Town and County Bank, as there were very unpleasant reports about -it; though nothing more than he had always foreseen, and had prophesied -to Miss Jenkyns years ago, when she would invest their little property -in it - the only unwise step that clever woman had ever taken, to his -knowledge (the only time she ever acted against his advice, I knew). -However, if anything had gone wrong, of course I was not to think of -leaving Miss Matty while I could be of any use, etc.<br> -<br> -“Who is your letter from, my dear? Mine is a very civil -invitation, signed ‘Edwin Wilson,’ asking me to attend an -important meeting of the shareholders of the Town and County Bank, to -be held in Drumble, on Thursday the twenty-first. I am sure, it -is very attentive of them to remember me.”<br> -<br> -I did not like to hear of this “important meeting,” for, -though I did not know much about business, I feared it confirmed what -my father said: however, I thought, ill news always came fast enough, -so I resolved to say nothing about my alarm, and merely told her that -my father was well, and sent his kind regards to her. She kept -turning over and admiring her letter. At last she spoke -<br> -<br> -“I remember their sending one to Deborah just like this; but that -I did not wonder at, for everybody knew she was so clear-headed. -I am afraid I could not help them much; indeed, if they came to accounts, -I should be quite in the way, for I never could do sums in my head. -Deborah, I know, rather wished to go, and went so far as to order a -new bonnet for the occasion: but when the time came she had a bad cold; -so they sent her a very polite account of what they had done. -Chosen a director, I think it was. Do you think they want me to -help them to choose a director? I am sure I should choose your -father at once!’<br> -<br> -“My father has no shares in the bank,” said I.<br> -<br> -“Oh, no! I remember. He objected very much to Deborah’s -buying any, I believe. But she was quite the woman of business, -and always judged for herself; and here, you see, they have paid eight -per cent. all these years.”<br> -<br> -It was a very uncomfortable subject to me, with my half-knowledge; so -I thought I would change the conversation, and I asked at what time -she thought we had better go and see the fashions. “Well, -my dear,” she said, “the thing is this: it is not etiquette -to go till after twelve; but then, you see, all Cranford will be there, -and one does not like to be too curious about dress and trimmings and -caps with all the world looking on. It is never genteel to be -over-curious on these occasions. Deborah had the knack of always -looking as if the latest fashion was nothing new to her; a manner she -had caught from Lady Arley, who did see all the new modes in London, -you know. So I thought we would just slip down - for I do want -this morning, soon after breakfast half-a-pound of tea - and then we -could go up and examine the things at our leisure, and see exactly how -my new silk gown must be made; and then, after twelve, we could go with -our minds disengaged, and free from thoughts of dress.”<br> -<br> -We began to talk of Miss Matty’s new silk gown. I discovered -that it would be really the first time in her life that she had had -to choose anything of consequence for herself: for Miss Jenkyns had -always been the more decided character, whatever her taste might have -been; and it is astonishing how such people carry the world before them -by the mere force of will. Miss Matty anticipated the sight of -the glossy folds with as much delight as if the five sovereigns, set -apart for the purchase, could buy all the silks in the shop; and (remembering -my own loss of two hours in a toyshop before I could tell on what wonder -to spend a silver threepence) I was very glad that we were going early, -that dear Miss Matty might have leisure for the delights of perplexity.<br> -<br> -If a happy sea-green could be met with, the gown was to be sea-green: -if not, she inclined to maize, and I to silver gray; and we discussed -the requisite number of breadths until we arrived at the shop-door. -We were to buy the tea, select the silk, and then clamber up the iron -corkscrew stairs that led into what was once a loft, though now a fashion -show-room.<br> -<br> -The young men at Mr Johnson’s had on their best looks; and their -best cravats, and pivoted themselves over the counter with surprising -activity. They wanted to show us upstairs at once; but on the -principle of business first and pleasure afterwards, we stayed to purchase -the tea. Here Miss Matty’s absence of mind betrayed itself. -If she was made aware that she had been drinking green tea at any time, -she always thought it her duty to lie awake half through the night afterward -(I have known her take it in ignorance many a time without such effects), -and consequently green tea was prohibited the house; yet to-day she -herself asked for the obnoxious article, under the impression that she -was talking about the silk. However, the mistake was soon rectified; -and then the silks were unrolled in good truth. By this time the -shop was pretty well filled, for it was Cranford market-day, and many -of the farmers and country people from the neighbourhood round came -in, sleeking down their hair, and glancing shyly about, from under their -eyelids, as anxious to take back some notion of the unusual gaiety to -the mistress or the lasses at home, and yet feeling that they were out -of place among the smart shopmen and gay shawls and summer prints. -One honest-looking man, however, made his way up to the counter at which -we stood, and boldly asked to look at a shawl or two. The other -country folk confined themselves to the grocery side; but our neighbour -was evidently too full of some kind intention towards mistress, wife -or daughter, to be shy; and it soon became a question with me, whether -he or Miss Matty would keep their shopmen the longest time. He -thought each shawl more beautiful than the last; and, as for Miss Matty, -she smiled and sighed over each fresh bale that was brought out; one -colour set off another, and the heap together would, as she said, make -even the rainbow look poor.<br> -<br> -“I am afraid,” said she, hesitating, “Whichever I -choose I shall wish I had taken another. Look at this lovely crimson! -it would be so warm in winter. But spring is coming on, you know. -I wish I could have a gown for every season,” said she, dropping -her voice - as we all did in Cranford whenever we talked of anything -we wished for but could not afford. “However,” she -continued in a louder and more cheerful tone, “it would give me -a great deal of trouble to take care of them if I had them; so, I think, -I’ll only take one. But which must it be, my dear?”<br> -<br> -And now she hovered over a lilac with yellow spots, while I pulled out -a quiet sage-green that had faded into insignificance under the more -brilliant colours, but which was nevertheless a good silk in its humble -way. Our attention was called off to our neighbour. He had -chosen a shawl of about thirty shillings’ value; and his face -looked broadly happy, under the anticipation, no doubt, of the pleasant -surprise he would give to some Molly or Jenny at home; he had tugged -a leathern purse out of his breeches-pocket, and had offered a five-pound -note in payment for the shawl, and for some parcels which had been brought -round to him from the grocery counter; and it was just at this point -that he attracted our notice. The shopman was examining the note -with a puzzled, doubtful air.<br> -<br> -“Town and County Bank! I am not sure, sir, but I believe -we have received a warning against notes issued by this bank only this -morning. I will just step and ask Mr Johnson, sir; but I’m -afraid I must trouble you for payment in cash, or in a note of a different -bank.”<br> -<br> -I never saw a man’s countenance fall so suddenly into dismay and -bewilderment. It was almost piteous to see the rapid change.<br> -<br> -“Dang it!” said he, striking his fist down on the table, -as if to try which was the harder, “the chap talks as if notes -and gold were to be had for the picking up.”<br> -<br> -Miss Matty had forgotten her silk gown in her interest for the man. -I don’t think she had caught the name of the bank, and in my nervous -cowardice I was anxious that she should not; and so I began admiring -the yellow-spotted lilac gown that I had been utterly condemning only -a minute before. But it was of no use.<br> -<br> -“What bank was it? I mean, what bank did your note belong -to?”<br> -<br> -“Town and County Bank.”<br> -<br> -“Let me see it,” said she quietly to the shopman, gently -taking it out of his hand, as he brought it back to return it to the -farmer.<br> -<br> -Mr Johnson was very sorry, but, from information he had received, the -notes issued by that bank were little better than waste paper.<br> -<br> -“I don’t understand it,” said Miss Matty to me in -a low voice. “That is our bank, is it not? - the Town and -County Bank?”<br> -<br> -“Yes,” said I. “This lilac silk will just match -the ribbons in your new cap, I believe,” I continued, holding -up the folds so as to catch the light, and wishing that the man would -make haste and be gone, and yet having a new wonder, that had only just -sprung up, how far it was wise or right in me to allow Miss Matty to -make this expensive purchase, if the affairs of the bank were really -so bad as the refusal of the note implied.<br> -<br> -But Miss Matty put on the soft dignified manner, peculiar to her, rarely -used, and yet which became her so well, and laying her hand gently on -mine, she said -<br> -<br> -“Never mind the silks for a few minutes, dear. I don’t -understand you, sir,” turning now to the shopman, who had been -attending to the farmer. “Is this a forged note?”<br> -<br> -“Oh, no, ma’am. It is a true note of its kind; but -you see, ma’am, it is a joint-stock bank, and there are reports -out that it is likely to break. Mr Johnson is only doing his duty, -ma’am, as I am sure Mr Dobson knows.”<br> -<br> -But Mr Dobson could not respond to the appealing bow by any answering -smile. He was turning the note absently over in his fingers, looking -gloomily enough at the parcel containing the lately-chosen shawl.<br> -<br> -“It’s hard upon a poor man,” said he, “as earns -every farthing with the sweat of his brow. However, there’s -no help for it. You must take back your shawl, my man; Lizzle -must go on with her cloak for a while. And yon figs for the little -ones - I promised them to ’em - I’ll take them; but the -’bacco, and the other things” -<br> -<br> -“I will give you five sovereigns for your note, my good man,” -said Miss Matty. “I think there is some great mistake about -it, for I am one of the shareholders, and I’m sure they would -have told me if things had not been going on right.”<br> -<br> -The shopman whispered a word or two across the table to Miss Matty. -She looked at him with a dubious air.<br> -<br> -“Perhaps so,” said she. “But I don’t pretend -to understand business; I only know that if it is going to fail, and -if honest people are to lose their money because they have taken our -notes - I can’t explain myself,” said she, suddenly becoming -aware that she had got into a long sentence with four people for audience; -“only I would rather exchange my gold for the note, if you please,” -turning to the farmer, “and then you can take your wife the shawl. -It is only going without my gown a few days longer,” she continued, -speaking to me. “Then, I have no doubt, everything will -be cleared up.”<br> -<br> -“But if it is cleared up the wrong way?” said I.<br> -<br> -“Why, then it will only have been common honesty in me, as a shareholder, -to have given this good man the money. I am quite clear about -it in my own mind; but, you know, I can never speak quite as comprehensibly -as others can, only you must give me your note, Mr Dobson, if you please, -and go on with your purchases with these sovereigns.”<br> -<br> -The man looked at her with silent gratitude - too awkward to put his -thanks into words; but he hung back for a minute or two, fumbling with -his note.<br> -<br> -“I’m loth to make another one lose instead of me, if it -is a loss; but, you see, five pounds is a deal of money to a man with -a family; and, as you say, ten to one in a day or two the note will -be as good as gold again.”<br> -<br> -“No hope of that, my friend,” said the shopman.<br> -<br> -“The more reason why I should take it,” said Miss Matty -quietly. She pushed her sovereigns towards the man, who slowly -laid his note down in exchange. “Thank you. I will -wait a day or two before I purchase any of these silks; perhaps you -will then have a greater choice. My dear, will you come upstairs?”<br> -<br> -We inspected the fashions with as minute and curious an interest as -if the gown to be made after them had been bought. I could not -see that the little event in the shop below had in the least damped -Miss Matty’s curiosity as to the make of sleeves or the sit of -skirts. She once or twice exchanged congratulations with me on -our private and leisurely view of the bonnets and shawls; but I was, -all the time, not so sure that our examination was so utterly private, -for I caught glimpses of a figure dodging behind the cloaks and mantles; -and, by a dexterous move, I came face to face with Miss Pole, also in -morning costume (the principal feature of which was her being without -teeth, and wearing a veil to conceal the deficiency), come on the same -errand as ourselves. But she quickly took her departure, because, -as she said, she had a bad headache, and did not feel herself up to -conversation.<br> -<br> -As we came down through the shop, the civil Mr Johnson was awaiting -us; he had been informed of the exchange of the note for gold, and with -much good feeling and real kindness, but with a little want of tact, -he wished to condole with Miss Matty, and impress upon her the true -state of the case. I could only hope that he had heard an exaggerated -rumour for he said that her shares were worse than nothing, and that -the bank could not pay a shilling in the pound. I was glad that -Miss Matty seemed still a little incredulous; but I could not tell how -much of this was real or assumed, with that self-control which seemed -habitual to ladies of Miss Matty’s standing in Cranford, who would -have thought their dignity compromised by the slightest expression of -surprise, dismay, or any similar feeling to an inferior in station, -or in a public shop. However, we walked home very silently. -I am ashamed to say, I believe I was rather vexed and annoyed at Miss -Matty’s conduct in taking the note to herself so decidedly. -I had so set my heart upon her having a new silk gown, which she wanted -sadly; in general she was so undecided anybody might turn her round; -in this case I had felt that it was no use attempting it, but I was -not the less put out at the result.<br> -<br> -Somehow, after twelve o’clock, we both acknowledged to a sated -curiosity about the fashions, and to a certain fatigue of body (which -was, in fact, depression of mind) that indisposed us to go out again. -But still we never spoke of the note; till, all at once, something possessed -me to ask Miss Matty if she would think it her duty to offer sovereigns -for all the notes of the Town and County Bank she met with? I -could have bitten my tongue out the minute I had said it. She -looked up rather sadly, and as if I had thrown a new perplexity into -her already distressed mind; and for a minute or two she did not speak. -Then she said - my own dear Miss Matty - without a shade of reproach -in her voice -<br> -<br> -“My dear, I never feel as if my mind was what people call very -strong; and it’s often hard enough work for me to settle what -I ought to do with the case right before me. I was very thankful -to - I was very thankful, that I saw my duty this morning, with the -poor man standing by me; but its rather a strain upon me to keep thinking -and thinking what I should do if such and such a thing happened; and, -I believe, I had rather wait and see what really does come; and I don’t -doubt I shall be helped then if I don’t fidget myself, and get -too anxious beforehand. You know, love, I’m not like Deborah. -If Deborah had lived, I’ve no doubt she would have seen after -them, before they had got themselves into this state.”<br> -<br> -We had neither of us much appetite for dinner, though we tried to talk -cheerfully about indifferent things. When we returned into the -drawing-room, Miss Matty unlocked her desk and began to look over her -account-books. I was so penitent for what I had said in the morning, -that I did not choose to take upon myself the presumption to suppose -that I could assist her; I rather left her alone, as, with puzzled brow, -her eye followed her pen up and down the ruled page. By-and-by -she shut the book, locked the desk, and came and drew a chair to mine, -where I sat in moody sorrow over the fire. I stole my hand into -hers; she clasped it, but did not speak a word. At last she said, -with forced composure in her voice, “If that bank goes wrong, -I shall lose one hundred and forty-nine pounds thirteen shillings and -fourpence a year; I shall only have thirteen pounds a year left.” -I squeezed her hand hard and tight. I did not know what to say. -Presently (it was too dark to see her face) I felt her fingers work -convulsively in my grasp; and I knew she was going to speak again. -I heard the sobs in her voice as she said, “I hope it’s -not wrong - not wicked - but, oh! I am so glad poor Deborah is -spared this. She could not have borne to come down in the world -- she had such a noble, lofty spirit.”<br> -<br> -This was all she said about the sister who had insisted upon investing -their little property in that unlucky bank. We were later in lighting -the candle than usual that night, and until that light shamed us into -speaking, we sat together very silently and sadly.<br> -<br> -However, we took to our work after tea with a kind of forced cheerfulness -(which soon became real as far as it went), talking of that never-ending -wonder, Lady Glenmire’s engagement. Miss Matty was almost -coming round to think it a good thing.<br> -<br> -“I don’t mean to deny that men are troublesome in a house. -I don’t judge from my own experience, for my father was neatness -itself, and wiped his shoes on coming in as carefully as any woman; -but still a man has a sort of knowledge of what should be done in difficulties, -that it is very pleasant to have one at hand ready to lean upon. -Now, Lady Glenmire, instead of being tossed about, and wondering where -she is to settle, will be certain of a home among pleasant and kind -people, such as our good Miss Pole and Mrs Forrester. And Mr Hoggins -is really a very personable man; and as for his manners, why, if they -are not very polished, I have known people with very good hearts and -very clever minds too, who were not what some people reckoned refined, -but who were both true and tender.”<br> -<br> -She fell off into a soft reverie about Mr Holbrook, and I did not interrupt -her, I was so busy maturing a plan I had had in my mind for some days, -but which this threatened failure of the bank had brought to a crisis. -That night, after Miss Matty went to bed, I treacherously lighted the -candle again, and sat down in the drawing-room to compose a letter to -the Aga Jenkyns, a letter which should affect him if he were Peter, -and yet seem a mere statement of dry facts if he were a stranger. -The church clock pealed out two before I had done.<br> -<br> -The next morning news came, both official and otherwise, that the Town -and County Bank had stopped payment. Miss Matty was ruined.<br> -<br> -She tried to speak quietly to me; but when she came to the actual fact -that she would have but about five shillings a week to live upon, she -could not restrain a few tears.<br> -<br> -“I am not crying for myself, dear,” said she, wiping them -away; “I believe I am crying for the very silly thought of how -my mother would grieve if she could know; she always cared for us so -much more than for herself. But many a poor person has less, and -I am not very extravagant, and, thank God, when the neck of mutton, -and Martha’s wages, and the rent are paid, I have not a farthing -owing. Poor Martha! I think she’ll be sorry to leave -me.”<br> -<br> -Miss Matty smiled at me through her tears, and she would fain have had -me see only the smile, not the tears.<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -CHAPTER XIV - FRIENDS IN NEED<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -It was an example to me, and I fancy it might be to many others, to -see how immediately Miss Matty set about the retrenchment which she -knew to be right under her altered circumstances. While she went -down to speak to Martha, and break the intelligence to her, I stole -out with my letter to the Aga Jenkyns, and went to the signor’s -lodgings to obtain the exact address. I bound the signora to secrecy; -and indeed her military manners had a degree of shortness and reserve -in them which made her always say as little as possible, except when -under the pressure of strong excitement. Moreover (which made -my secret doubly sure), the signor was now so far recovered as to be -looking forward to travelling and conjuring again in the space of a -few days, when he, his wife, and little Phoebe would leave Cranford. -Indeed, I found him looking over a great black and red placard, in which -the Signor Brunoni’s accomplishments were set forth, and to which -only the name of the town where he would next display them was wanting. -He and his wife were so much absorbed in deciding where the red letters -would come in with most effect (it might have been the Rubric for that -matter), that it was some time before I could get my question asked -privately, and not before I had given several decisions, the which I -questioned afterwards with equal wisdom of sincerity as soon as the -signor threw in his doubts and reasons on the important subject. -At last I got the address, spelt by sound, and very queer it looked. -I dropped it in the post on my way home, and then for a minute I stood -looking at the wooden pane with a gaping slit which divided me from -the letter but a moment ago in my hand. It was gone from me like -life, never to be recalled. It would get tossed about on the sea, -and stained with sea-waves perhaps, and be carried among palm-trees, -and scented with all tropical fragrance; the little piece of paper, -but an hour ago so familiar and commonplace, had set out on its race -to the strange wild countries beyond the Ganges! But I could not -afford to lose much time on this speculation. I hastened home, -that Miss Matty might not miss me. Martha opened the door to me, -her face swollen with crying. As soon as she saw me she burst -out afresh, and taking hold of my arm she pulled me in, and banged the -door to, in order to ask me if indeed it was all true that Miss Matty -had been saying.<br> -<br> -“I’ll never leave her! No; I won’t. I -telled her so, and said I could not think how she could find in her -heart to give me warning. I could not have had the face to do -it, if I’d been her. I might ha’ been just as good -for nothing as Mrs Fitz-Adam’s Rosy, who struck for wages after -living seven years and a half in one place. I said I was not one -to go and serve Mammon at that rate; that I knew when I’d got -a good missus, if she didn’t know when she’d got a good -servant” -<br> -<br> -“But, Martha,” said I, cutting in while she wiped her eyes.<br> -<br> -“Don’t, ‘but Martha’ me,” she replied -to my deprecatory tone.<br> -<br> -“Listen to reason” -<br> -<br> -“I’ll not listen to reason,” she said, now in full -possession of her voice, which had been rather choked with sobbing. -“Reason always means what someone else has got to say. Now -I think what I’ve got to say is good enough reason; but reason -or not, I’ll say it, and I’ll stick to it. I’ve -money in the Savings Bank, and I’ve a good stock of clothes, and -I’m not going to leave Miss Matty. No, not if she gives -me warning every hour in the day!”<br> -<br> -She put her arms akimbo, as much as to say she defied me; and, indeed, -I could hardly tell how to begin to remonstrate with her, so much did -I feel that Miss Matty, in her increasing infirmity, needed the attendance -of this kind and faithful woman.<br> -<br> -“Well” - said I at last.<br> -<br> -“I’m thankful you begin with ‘well!’ If -you’d have begun with ‘but,’ as you did afore, I’d -not ha’ listened to you. Now you may go on.”<br> -<br> -“I know you would be a great loss to Miss Matty, Martha” --<br> -<br> -“I telled her so. A loss she’d never cease to be sorry -for,” broke in Martha triumphantly.<br> -<br> -“Still, she will have so little - so very little - to live upon, -that I don’t see just now how she could find you food - she will -even be pressed for her own. I tell you this, Martha, because -I feel you are like a friend to dear Miss Matty, but you know she might -not like to have it spoken about.”<br> -<br> -Apparently this was even a blacker view of the subject than Miss Matty -had presented to her, for Martha just sat down on the first chair that -came to hand, and cried out loud (we had been standing in the kitchen).<br> -<br> -At last she put her apron down, and looking me earnestly in the face, -asked, “Was that the reason Miss Matty wouldn’t order a -pudding to-day? She said she had no great fancy for sweet things, -and you and she would just have a mutton chop. But I’ll -be up to her. Never you tell, but I’ll make her a pudding, -and a pudding she’ll like, too, and I’ll pay for it myself; -so mind you see she eats it. Many a one has been comforted in -their sorrow by seeing a good dish come upon the table.”<br> -<br> -I was rather glad that Martha’s energy had taken the immediate -and practical direction of pudding-making, for it staved off the quarrelsome -discussion as to whether she should or should not leave Miss Matty’s -service. She began to tie on a clean apron, and otherwise prepare -herself for going to the shop for the butter, eggs, and what else she -might require. She would not use a scrap of the articles already -in the house for her cookery, but went to an old tea-pot in which her -private store of money was deposited, and took out what she wanted.<br> -<br> -I found Miss Matty very quiet, and not a little sad; but by-and-by she -tried to smile for my sake. It was settled that I was to write -to my father, and ask him to come over and hold a consultation, and -as soon as this letter was despatched we began to talk over future plans. -Miss Matty’s idea was to take a single room, and retain as much -of her furniture as would be necessary to fit up this, and sell the -rest, and there to quietly exist upon what would remain after paying -the rent. For my part, I was more ambitious and less contented. -I thought of all the things by which a woman, past middle age, and with -the education common to ladies fifty years ago, could earn or add to -a living without materially losing caste; but at length I put even this -last clause on one side, and wondered what in the world Miss Matty could -do.<br> -<br> -Teaching was, of course, the first thing that suggested itself. -If Miss Matty could teach children anything, it would throw her among -the little elves in whom her soul delighted. I ran over her accomplishments. -Once upon a time I had heard her say she could play “Ah! vous -dirai-je, maman?” on the piano, but that was long, long ago; that -faint shadow of musical acquirement had died out years before. -She had also once been able to trace out patterns very nicely for muslin -embroidery, by dint of placing a piece of silver paper over the design -to be copied, and holding both against the window-pane while she marked -the scollop and eyelet-holes. But that was her nearest approach -to the accomplishment of drawing, and I did not think it would go very -far. Then again, as to the branches of a solid English education -- fancy work and the use of the globes - such as the mistress of the -Ladies’ Seminary, to which all the tradespeople in Cranford sent -their daughters, professed to teach. Miss Matty’s eyes were -failing her, and I doubted if she could discover the number of threads -in a worsted-work pattern, or rightly appreciate the different shades -required for Queen Adelaide’s face in the loyal wool-work now -fashionable in Cranford. As for the use of the globes, I had never -been able to find it out myself, so perhaps I was not a good judge of -Miss Matty’s capability of instructing in this branch of education; -but it struck me that equators and tropics, and such mystical circles, -were very imaginary lines indeed to her, and that she looked upon the -signs of the Zodiac as so many remnants of the Black Art.<br> -<br> -What she piqued herself upon, as arts in which she excelled, was making -candle-lighters, or “spills” (as she preferred calling them), -of coloured paper, cut so as to resemble feathers, and knitting garters -in a variety of dainty stitches. I had once said, on receiving -a present of an elaborate pair, that I should feel quite tempted to -drop one of them in the street, in order to have it admired; but I found -this little joke (and it was a very little one) was such a distress -to her sense of propriety, and was taken with such anxious, earnest -alarm, lest the temptation might some day prove too strong for me, that -I quite regretted having ventured upon it. A present of these -delicately-wrought garters, a bunch of gay “spills,” or -a set of cards on which sewing-silk was wound in a mystical manner, -were the well-known tokens of Miss Matty’s favour. But would -any one pay to have their children taught these arts? or, indeed, would -Miss Matty sell, for filthy lucre, the knack and the skill with which -she made trifles of value to those who loved her?<br> -<br> -I had to come down to reading, writing, and arithmetic; and, in reading -the chapter every morning, she always coughed before coming to long -words. I doubted her power of getting through a genealogical chapter, -with any number of coughs. Writing she did well and delicately -- but spelling! She seemed to think that the more out-of-the-way -this was, and the more trouble it cost her, the greater the compliment -she paid to her correspondent; and words that she would spell quite -correctly in her letters to me became perfect enigmas when she wrote -to my father.<br> -<br> -No! there was nothing she could teach to the rising generation of Cranford, -unless they had been quick learners and ready imitators of her patience, -her humility, her sweetness, her quiet contentment with all that she -could not do. I pondered and pondered until dinner was announced -by Martha, with a face all blubbered and swollen with crying.<br> -<br> -Miss Matty had a few little peculiarities which Martha was apt to regard -as whims below her attention, and appeared to consider as childish fancies -of which an old lady of fifty-eight should try and cure herself. -But to-day everything was attended to with the most careful regard. -The bread was cut to the imaginary pattern of excellence that existed -in Miss Matty’s mind, as being the way which her mother had preferred, -the curtain was drawn so as to exclude the dead brick wall of a neighbour’s -stable, and yet left so as to show every tender leaf of the poplar which -was bursting into spring beauty. Martha’s tone to Miss Matty -was just such as that good, rough-spoken servant usually kept sacred -for little children, and which I had never heard her use to any grown-up -person.<br> -<br> -I had forgotten to tell Miss Matty about the pudding, and I was afraid -she might not do justice to it, for she had evidently very little appetite -this day; so I seized the opportunity of letting her into the secret -while Martha took away the meat. Miss Matty’s eyes filled -with tears, and she could not speak, either to express surprise or delight, -when Martha returned bearing it aloft, made in the most wonderful representation -of a lion <i>couchant</i> that ever was moulded. Martha’s -face gleamed with triumph as she set it down before Miss Matty with -an exultant “There!” Miss Matty wanted to speak her -thanks, but could not; so she took Martha’s hand and shook it -warmly, which set Martha off crying, and I myself could hardly keep -up the necessary composure. Martha burst out of the room, and -Miss Matty had to clear her voice once or twice before she could speak. -At last she said, “I should like to keep this pudding under a -glass shade, my dear!” and the notion of the lion <i>couchant</i>, -with his currant eyes, being hoisted up to the place of honour on a -mantelpiece, tickled my hysterical fancy, and I began to laugh, which -rather surprised Miss Matty.<br> -<br> -“I am sure, dear, I have seen uglier things under a glass shade -before now,” said she.<br> -<br> -So had I, many a time and oft, and I accordingly composed my countenance -(and now I could hardly keep from crying), and we both fell to upon -the pudding, which was indeed excellent - only every morsel seemed to -choke us, our hearts were so full.<br> -<br> -We had too much to think about to talk much that afternoon. It -passed over very tranquilly. But when the tea-urn was brought -in a new thought came into my head. Why should not Miss Matty -sell tea - be an agent to the East India Tea Company which then existed? -I could see no objections to this plan, while the advantages were many -- always supposing that Miss Matty could get over the degradation of -condescending to anything like trade. Tea was neither greasy nor -sticky - grease and stickiness being two of the qualities which Miss -Matty could not endure. No shop-window would be required. -A small, genteel notification of her being licensed to sell tea would, -it is true, be necessary, but I hoped that it could be placed where -no one would see it. Neither was tea a heavy article, so as to -tax Miss Matty’s fragile strength. The only thing against -my plan was the buying and selling involved.<br> -<br> -While I was giving but absent answers to the questions Miss Matty was -putting - almost as absently - we heard a clumping sound on the stairs, -and a whispering outside the door, which indeed once opened and shut -as if by some invisible agency. After a little while Martha came -in, dragging after her a great tall young man, all crimson with shyness, -and finding his only relief in perpetually sleeking down his hair.<br> -<br> -“Please, ma’am, he’s only Jem Hearn,” said Martha, -by way of an introduction; and so out of breath was she that I imagine -she had had some bodily struggle before she could overcome his reluctance -to be presented on the courtly scene of Miss Matilda Jenkyns’s -drawing-room.<br> -<br> -“And please, ma’am, he wants to marry me off-hand. -And please, ma’am, we want to take a lodger - just one quiet lodger, -to make our two ends meet; and we’d take any house conformable; -and, oh dear Miss Matty, if I may be so bold, would you have any objections -to lodging with us? Jem wants it as much as I do.” -[To Jem ] - “You great oaf! why can’t you back me! - But -he does want it all the same, very bad - don’t you, Jem? - only, -you see, he’s dazed at being called on to speak before quality.”<br> -<br> -“It’s not that,” broke in Jem. “It’s -that you’ve taken me all on a sudden, and I didn’t think -for to get married so soon - and such quick words does flabbergast a -man. It’s not that I’m against it, ma’am” -(addressing Miss Matty), “only Martha has such quick ways with -her when once she takes a thing into her head; and marriage, ma’am -- marriage nails a man, as one may say. I dare say I shan’t -mind it after it’s once over.”<br> -<br> -“Please, ma’am,” said Martha - who had plucked at -his sleeve, and nudged him with her elbow, and otherwise tried to interrupt -him all the time he had been speaking - “don’t mind him, -he’ll come to; ’twas only last night he was an-axing me, -and an-axing me, and all the more because I said I could not think of -it for years to come, and now he’s only taken aback with the suddenness -of the joy; but you know, Jem, you are just as full as me about wanting -a lodger.” (Another great nudge.)<br> -<br> -“Ay! if Miss Matty would lodge with us - otherwise I’ve -no mind to be cumbered with strange folk in the house,” said Jem, -with a want of tact which I could see enraged Martha, who was trying -to represent a lodger as the great object they wished to obtain, and -that, in fact, Miss Matty would be smoothing their path and conferring -a favour, if she would only come and live with them.<br> -<br> -Miss Matty herself was bewildered by the pair; their, or rather Martha’s -sudden resolution in favour of matrimony staggered her, and stood between -her and the contemplation of the plan which Martha had at heart. -Miss Matty began -<br> -<br> -“Marriage is a very solemn thing, Martha.”<br> -<br> -“It is indeed, ma’am,” quoth Jem. “Not -that I’ve no objections to Martha.”<br> -<br> -“You’ve never let me a-be for asking me for to fix when -I would be married,” said Martha - her face all a-fire, and ready -to cry with vexation - “and now you’re shaming me before -my missus and all.”<br> -<br> -“Nay, now! Martha don’t ee! don’t ee! only a -man likes to have breathing-time,” said Jem, trying to possess -himself of her hand, but in vain. Then seeing that she was more -seriously hurt than he had imagined, he seemed to try to rally his scattered -faculties, and with more straightforward dignity than, ten minutes before, -I should have thought it possible for him to assume, he turned to Miss -Matty, and said, “I hope, ma’am, you know that I am bound -to respect every one who has been kind to Martha. I always looked -on her as to be my wife - some time; and she has often and often spoken -of you as the kindest lady that ever was; and though the plain truth -is, I would not like to be troubled with lodgers of the common run, -yet if, ma’am, you’d honour us by living with us, I’m -sure Martha would do her best to make you comfortable; and I’d -keep out of your way as much as I could, which I reckon would be the -best kindness such an awkward chap as me could do.”<br> -<br> -Miss Matty had been very busy with taking off her spectacles, wiping -them, and replacing them; but all she could say was, “Don’t -let any thought of me hurry you into marriage: pray don’t. -Marriage is such a very solemn thing!”<br> -<br> -“But Miss Matilda will think of your plan, Martha,” said -I, struck with the advantages that it offered, and unwilling to lose -the opportunity of considering about it. “And I’m -sure neither she nor I can ever forget your kindness; nor your’s -either, Jem.”<br> -<br> -“Why, yes, ma’am! I’m sure I mean kindly, though -I’m a bit fluttered by being pushed straight ahead into matrimony, -as it were, and mayn’t express myself conformable. But I’m -sure I’m willing enough, and give me time to get accustomed; so, -Martha, wench, what’s the use of crying so, and slapping me if -I come near?”<br> -<br> -This last was <i>sotto voce</i>, and had the effect of making Martha -bounce out of the room, to be followed and soothed by her lover. -Whereupon Miss Matty sat down and cried very heartily, and accounted -for it by saying that the thought of Martha being married so soon gave -her quite a shock, and that she should never forgive herself if she -thought she was hurrying the poor creature. I think my pity was -more for Jem, of the two; but both Miss Matty and I appreciated to the -full the kindness of the honest couple, although we said little about -this, and a good deal about the chances and dangers of matrimony.<br> -<br> -The next morning, very early, I received a note from Miss Pole, so mysteriously -wrapped up, and with so many seals on it to secure secrecy, that I had -to tear the paper before I could unfold it. And when I came to -the writing I could hardly understand the meaning, it was so involved -and oracular. I made out, however, that I was to go to Miss Pole’s -at eleven o’clock; the number <i>eleven</i> being written in full -length as well as in numerals, and A.M. twice dashed under, as if I -were very likely to come at eleven at night, when all Cranford was usually -a-bed and asleep by ten. There was no signature except Miss Pole’s -initials reversed, P.E.; but as Martha had given me the note, “with -Miss Pole’s kind regards,” it needed no wizard to find out -who sent it; and if the writer’s name was to be kept secret, it -was very well that I was alone when Martha delivered it.<br> -<br> -I went as requested to Miss Pole’s. The door was opened -to me by her little maid Lizzy in Sunday trim, as if some grand event -was impending over this work-day. And the drawing-room upstairs -was arranged in accordance with this idea. The table was set out -with the best green card-cloth, and writing materials upon it. -On the little chiffonier was a tray with a newly-decanted bottle of -cowslip wine, and some ladies’-finger biscuits. Miss Pole -herself was in solemn array, as if to receive visitors, although it -was only eleven o’clock. Mrs Forrester was there, crying -quietly and sadly, and my arrival seemed only to call forth fresh tears. -Before we had finished our greetings, performed with lugubrious mystery -of demeanour, there was another rat-tat-tat, and Mrs Fitz-Adam appeared, -crimson with walking and excitement. It seemed as if this was -all the company expected; for now Miss Pole made several demonstrations -of being about to open the business of the meeting, by stirring the -fire, opening and shutting the door, and coughing and blowing her nose. -Then she arranged us all round the table, taking care to place me opposite -to her; and last of all, she inquired of me if the sad report was true, -as she feared it was, that Miss Matty had lost all her fortune?<br> -<br> -Of course, I had but one answer to make; and I never saw more unaffected -sorrow depicted on any countenances than I did there on the three before -me.<br> -<br> -I wish Mrs Jamieson was here!” said Mrs Forrester at last; but -to judge from Mrs Fitz-Adam’s face, she could not second the wish.<br> -<br> -“But without Mrs Jamieson,” said Miss Pole, with just a -sound of offended merit in her voice, “we, the ladies of Cranford, -in my drawing-room assembled, can resolve upon something. I imagine -we are none of us what may be called rich, though we all possess a genteel -competency, sufficient for tastes that are elegant and refined, and -would not, if they could, be vulgarly ostentatious.” (Here -I observed Miss Pole refer to a small card concealed in her hand, on -which I imagine she had put down a few notes.)<br> -<br> -“Miss Smith,” she continued, addressing me (familiarly known -as “Mary” to all the company assembled, but this was a state -occasion), “I have conversed in private - I made it my business -to do so yesterday afternoon - with these ladies on the misfortune which -has happened to our friend, and one and all of us have agreed that while -we have a superfluity, it is not only a duty, but a pleasure - a true -pleasure, Mary!” - her voice was rather choked just here, and -she had to wipe her spectacles before she could go on - “to give -what we can to assist her - Miss Matilda Jenkyns. Only in consideration -of the feelings of delicate independence existing in the mind of every -refined female” - I was sure she had got back to the card now -- “we wish to contribute our mites in a secret and concealed manner, -so as not to hurt the feelings I have referred to. And our object -in requesting you to meet us this morning is that, believing you are -the daughter - that your father is, in fact, her confidential adviser, -in all pecuniary matters, we imagined that, by consulting with him, -you might devise some mode in which our contribution could be made to -appear the legal due which Miss Matilda Jenkyns ought to receive from -- Probably your father, knowing her investments, can fill up the -blank.”<br> -<br> -Miss Pole concluded her address, and looked round for approval and agreement.<br> -<br> -“I have expressed your meaning, ladies, have I not? And -while Miss Smith considers what reply to make, allow me to offer you -some little refreshment.”<br> -<br> -I had no great reply to make: I had more thankfulness at my heart for -their kind thoughts than I cared to put into words; and so I only mumbled -out something to the effect “that I would name what Miss Pole -had said to my father, and that if anything could be arranged for dear -Miss Matty,” - and here I broke down utterly, and had to be refreshed -with a glass of cowslip wine before I could check the crying which had -been repressed for the last two or three days. The worst was, -all the ladies cried in concert. Even Miss Pole cried, who had -said a hundred times that to betray emotion before any one was a sign -of weakness and want of self-control. She recovered herself into -a slight degree of impatient anger, directed against me, as having set -them all off; and, moreover, I think she was vexed that I could not -make a speech back in return for hers; and if I had known beforehand -what was to be said, and had a card on which to express the probable -feelings that would rise in my heart, I would have tried to gratify -her. As it was, Mrs Forrester was the person to speak when we -had recovered our composure.<br> -<br> -“I don’t mind, among friends, stating that I - no! -I’m not poor exactly, but I don’t think I’m what you -may call rich; I wish I were, for dear Miss Matty’s sake - but, -if you please, I’ll write down in a sealed paper what I can give. -I only wish it was more; my dear Mary, I do indeed.”<br> -<br> -Now I saw why paper, pens, and ink were provided. Every lady wrote -down the sum she could give annually, signed the paper, and sealed it -mysteriously. If their proposal was acceded to, my father was -to be allowed to open the papers, under pledge of secrecy. If -not, they were to be returned to their writers.<br> -<br> -When the ceremony had been gone through, I rose to depart; but each -lady seemed to wish to have a private conference with me. Miss -Pole kept me in the drawing-room to explain why, in Mrs Jamieson’s -absence, she had taken the lead in this “movement,” as she -was pleased to call it, and also to inform me that she had heard from -good sources that Mrs Jamieson was coming home directly in a state of -high displeasure against her sister-in-law, who was forthwith to leave -her house, and was, she believed, to return to Edinburgh that very afternoon. -Of course this piece of intelligence could not be communicated before -Mrs Fitz-Adam, more especially as Miss Pole was inclined to think that -Lady Glenmire’s engagement to Mr Hoggins could not possibly hold -against the blaze of Mrs Jamieson’s displeasure. A few hearty -inquiries after Miss Matty’s health concluded my interview with -Miss Pole.<br> -<br> -On coming downstairs I found Mrs Forrester waiting for me at the entrance -to the dining-parlour; she drew me in, and when the door was shut, she -tried two or three times to begin on some subject, which was so unapproachable -apparently, that I began to despair of our ever getting to a clear understanding. -At last out it came; the poor old lady trembling all the time as if -it were a great crime which she was exposing to daylight, in telling -me how very, very little she had to live upon; a confession which she -was brought to make from a dread lest we should think that the small -contribution named in her paper bore any proportion to her love and -regard for Miss Matty. And yet that sum which she so eagerly relinquished -was, in truth, more than a twentieth part of what she had to live upon, -and keep house, and a little serving-maid, all as became one born a -Tyrrell. And when the whole income does not nearly amount to a -hundred pounds, to give up a twentieth of it will necessitate many careful -economies, and many pieces of self-denial, small and insignificant in -the world’s account, but bearing a different value in another -account-book that I have heard of. She did so wish she was rich, -she said, and this wish she kept repeating, with no thought of herself -in it, only with a longing, yearning desire to be able to heap up Miss -Matty’s measure of comforts.<br> -<br> -It was some time before I could console her enough to leave her; and -then, on quitting the house, I was waylaid by Mrs Fitz-Adam, who had -also her confidence to make of pretty nearly the opposite description. -She had not liked to put down all that she could afford and was ready -to give. She told me she thought she never could look Miss Matty -in the face again if she presumed to be giving her so much as she should -like to do. “Miss Matty!” continued she, “that -I thought was such a fine young lady when I was nothing but a country -girl, coming to market with eggs and butter and such like things. -For my father, though well-to-do, would always make me go on as my mother -had done before me, and I had to come into Cranford every Saturday, -and see after sales, and prices, and what not. And one day, I -remember, I met Miss Matty in the lane that leads to Combehurst; she -was walking on the footpath, which, you know, is raised a good way above -the road, and a gentleman rode beside her, and was talking to her, and -she was looking down at some primroses she had gathered, and pulling -them all to pieces, and I do believe she was crying. But after -she had passed, she turned round and ran after me to ask - oh, so kindly -- about my poor mother, who lay on her death-bed; and when I cried she -took hold of my hand to comfort me - and the gentleman waiting for her -all the time - and her poor heart very full of something, I am sure; -and I thought it such an honour to be spoken to in that pretty way by -the rector’s daughter, who visited at Arley Hall. I have -loved her ever since, though perhaps I’d no right to do it; but -if you can think of any way in which I might be allowed to give a little -more without any one knowing it, I should be so much obliged to you, -my dear. And my brother would be delighted to doctor her for nothing -- medicines, leeches, and all. I know that he and her ladyship -(my dear, I little thought in the days I was telling you of that I should -ever come to be sister-in-law to a ladyship!) would do anything for -her. We all would.”<br> -<br> -I told her I was quite sure of it, and promised all sorts of things -in my anxiety to get home to Miss Matty, who might well be wondering -what had become of me - absent from her two hours without being able -to account for it. She had taken very little note of time, however, -as she had been occupied in numberless little arrangements preparatory -to the great step of giving up her house. It was evidently a relief -to her to be doing something in the way of retrenchment, for, as she -said, whenever she paused to think, the recollection of the poor fellow -with his bad five-pound note came over her, and she felt quite dishonest; -only if it made her so uncomfortable, what must it not be doing to the -directors of the bank, who must know so much more of the misery consequent -upon this failure? She almost made me angry by dividing her sympathy -between these directors (whom she imagined overwhelmed by self-reproach -for the mismanagement of other people’s affairs) and those who -were suffering like her. Indeed, of the two, she seemed to think -poverty a lighter burden than self-reproach; but I privately doubted -if the directors would agree with her.<br> -<br> -Old hoards were taken out and examined as to their money value which -luckily was small, or else I don’t know how Miss Matty would have -prevailed upon herself to part with such things as her mother’s -wedding-ring, the strange, uncouth brooch with which her father had -disfigured his shirt-frill, &c. However, we arranged things -a little in order as to their pecuniary estimation, and were all ready -for my father when he came the next morning.<br> -<br> -I am not going to weary you with the details of all the business we -went through; and one reason for not telling about them is, that I did -not understand what we were doing at the time, and cannot recollect -it now. Miss Matty and I sat assenting to accounts, and schemes, -and reports, and documents, of which I do not believe we either of us -understood a word; for my father was clear-headed and decisive, and -a capital man of business, and if we made the slightest inquiry, or -expressed the slightest want of comprehension, he had a sharp way of -saying, “Eh? eh? it’s as dear as daylight. What’s -your objection?” And as we had not comprehended anything -of what he had proposed, we found it rather difficult to shape our objections; -in fact, we never were sure if we had any. So presently Miss Matty -got into a nervously acquiescent state, and said “Yes,” -and “Certainly,” at every pause, whether required or not; -but when I once joined in as chorus to a “Decidedly,” pronounced -by Miss Matty in a tremblingly dubious tone, my father fired round at -me and asked me “What there was to decide?” And I -am sure to this day I have never known. But, in justice to him, -I must say he had come over from Drumble to help Miss Matty when he -could ill spare the time, and when his own affairs were in a very anxious -state.<br> -<br> -While Miss Matty was out of the room giving orders for luncheon - and -sadly perplexed between her desire of honouring my father by a delicate, -dainty meal, and her conviction that she had no right, now that all -her money was gone, to indulge this desire - I told him of the meeting -of the Cranford ladies at Miss Pole’s the day before. He -kept brushing his hand before his eyes as I spoke - and when I went -back to Martha’s offer the evening before, of receiving Miss Matty -as a lodger, he fairly walked away from me to the window, and began -drumming with his fingers upon it. Then he turned abruptly round, -and said, “See, Mary, how a good, innocent life makes friends -all around. Confound it! I could make a good lesson out -of it if I were a parson; but, as it is, I can’t get a tail to -my sentences - only I’m sure you feel what I want to say. -You and I will have a walk after lunch and talk a bit more about these -plans.”<br> -<br> -The lunch - a hot savoury mutton-chop, and a little of the cold loin -sliced and fried - was now brought in. Every morsel of this last -dish was finished, to Martha’s great gratification. Then -my father bluntly told Miss Matty he wanted to talk to me alone, and -that he would stroll out and see some of the old places, and then I -could tell her what plan we thought desirable. Just before we -went out, she called me back and said, “Remember, dear, I’m -the only one left - I mean, there’s no one to be hurt by what -I do. I’m willing to do anything that’s right and -honest; and I don’t think, if Deborah knows where she is, she’ll -care so very much if I’m not genteel; because, you see, she’ll -know all, dear. Only let me see what I can do, and pay the poor -people as far as I’m able.”<br> -<br> -I gave her a hearty kiss, and ran after my father. The result -of our conversation was this. If all parties were agreeable, Martha -and Jem were to be married with as little delay as possible, and they -were to live on in Miss Matty’s present abode; the sum which the -Cranford ladies had agreed to contribute annually being sufficient to -meet the greater part of the rent, and leaving Martha free to appropriate -what Miss Matty should pay for her lodgings to any little extra comforts -required. About the sale, my father was dubious at first. -He said the old rectory furniture, however carefully used and reverently -treated, would fetch very little; and that little would be but as a -drop in the sea of the debts of the Town and County Bank. But -when I represented how Miss Matty’s tender conscience would be -soothed by feeling that she had done what she could, he gave way; especially -after I had told him the five-pound note adventure, and he had scolded -me well for allowing it. I then alluded to my idea that she might -add to her small income by selling tea; and, to my surprise (for I had -nearly given up the plan), my father grasped at it with all the energy -of a tradesman. I think he reckoned his chickens before they were -hatched, for he immediately ran up the profits of the sales that she -could effect in Cranford to more than twenty pounds a year. The -small dining-parlour was to be converted into a shop, without any of -its degrading characteristics; a table was to be the counter; one window -was to be retained unaltered, and the other changed into a glass door. -I evidently rose in his estimation for having made this bright suggestion. -I only hoped we should not both fall in Miss Matty’s.<br> -<br> -But she was patient and content with all our arrangements. She -knew, she said, that we should do the best we could for her; and she -only hoped, only stipulated, that she should pay every farthing that -she could be said to owe, for her father’s sake, who had been -so respected in Cranford. My father and I had agreed to say as -little as possible about the bank, indeed never to mention it again, -if it could be helped. Some of the plans were evidently a little -perplexing to her; but she had seen me sufficiently snubbed in the morning -for want of comprehension to venture on too many inquiries now; and -all passed over well with a hope on her part that no one would be hurried -into marriage on her account. When we came to the proposal that -she should sell tea, I could see it was rather a shock to her; not on -account of any personal loss of gentility involved, but only because -she distrusted her own powers of action in a new line of life, and would -timidly have preferred a little more privation to any exertion for which -she feared she was unfitted. However, when she saw my father was -bent upon it, she sighed, and said she would try; and if she did not -do well, of course she might give it up. One good thing about -it was, she did not think men ever bought tea; and it was of men particularly -she was afraid. They had such sharp loud ways with them; and did -up accounts, and counted their change so quickly! Now, if she -might only sell comfits to children, she was sure she could please them!<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -CHAPTER XV - A HAPPY RETURN<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -Before I left Miss Matty at Cranford everything had been comfortably -arranged for her. Even Mrs Jamieson’s approval of her selling -tea had been gained. That oracle had taken a few days to consider -whether by so doing Miss Matty would forfeit her right to the privileges -of society in Cranford. I think she had some little idea of mortifying -Lady Glenmire by the decision she gave at last; which was to this effect: -that whereas a married woman takes her husband’s rank by the strict -laws of precedence, an unmarried woman retains the station her father -occupied. So Cranford was allowed to visit Miss Matty; and, whether -allowed or not, it intended to visit Lady Glenmire.<br> -<br> -But what was our surprise - our dismay - when we learnt that Mr and -<i>Mrs Hoggins</i> were returning on the following Tuesday! Mrs -Hoggins! Had she absolutely dropped her title, and so, in a spirit -of bravado, cut the aristocracy to become a Hoggins! She, who -might have been called Lady Glenmire to her dying day! Mrs Jamieson -was pleased. She said it only convinced her of what she had known -from the first, that the creature had a low taste. But “the -creature” looked very happy on Sunday at church; nor did we see -it necessary to keep our veils down on that side of our bonnets on which -Mr and Mrs Hoggins sat, as Mrs Jamieson did; thereby missing all the -smiling glory of his face, and all the becoming blushes of hers. -I am not sure if Martha and Jem looked more radiant in the afternoon, -when they, too, made their first appearance. Mrs Jamieson soothed -the turbulence of her soul by having the blinds of her windows drawn -down, as if for a funeral, on the day when Mr and Mrs Hoggins received -callers; and it was with some difficulty that she was prevailed upon -to continue the <i>St James’s Chronicle</i>, so indignant was -she with its having inserted the announcement of the marriage.<br> -<br> -Miss Matty’s sale went off famously. She retained the furniture -of her sitting-room and bedroom; the former of which she was to occupy -till Martha could meet with a lodger who might wish to take it; and -into this sitting-room and bedroom she had to cram all sorts of things, -which were (the auctioneer assured her) bought in for her at the sale -by an unknown friend. I always suspected Mrs Fitz-Adam of this; -but she must have had an accessory, who knew what articles were particularly -regarded by Miss Matty on account of their associations with her early -days. The rest of the house looked rather bare, to be sure; all -except one tiny bedroom, of which my father allowed me to purchase the -furniture for my occasional use in case of Miss Matty’s illness.<br> -<br> -I had expended my own small store in buying all manner of comfits and -lozenges, in order to tempt the little people whom Miss Matty loved -so much to come about her. Tea in bright green canisters, and -comfits in tumblers - Miss Matty and I felt quite proud as we looked -round us on the evening before the shop was to be opened. Martha -had scoured the boarded floor to a white cleanness, and it was adorned -with a brilliant piece of oil-cloth, on which customers were to stand -before the table-counter. The wholesome smell of plaster and whitewash -pervaded the apartment. A very small “Matilda Jenkyns, licensed -to sell tea,” was hidden under the lintel of the new door, and -two boxes of tea, with cabalistic inscriptions all over them, stood -ready to disgorge their contents into the canisters.<br> -<br> -Miss Matty, as I ought to have mentioned before, had had some scruples -of conscience at selling tea when there was already Mr Johnson in the -town, who included it among his numerous commodities; and, before she -could quite reconcile herself to the adoption of her new business, she -had trotted down to his shop, unknown to me, to tell him of the project -that was entertained, and to inquire if it was likely to injure his -business. My father called this idea of hers “great nonsense,” -and “wondered how tradespeople were to get on if there was to -be a continual consulting of each other’s interests, which would -put a stop to all competition directly.” And, perhaps, it -would not have done in Drumble, but in Cranford it answered very well; -for not only did Mr Johnson kindly put at rest all Miss Matty’s -scruples and fear of injuring his business, but I have reason to know -he repeatedly sent customers to her, saying that the teas he kept were -of a common kind, but that Miss Jenkyns had all the choice sorts. -And expensive tea is a very favourite luxury with well-to-do tradespeople -and rich farmers’ wives, who turn up their noses at the Congou -and Souchong prevalent at many tables of gentility, and will have nothing -else than Gunpowder and Pekoe for themselves.<br> -<br> -But to return to Miss Matty. It was really very pleasant to see -how her unselfishness and simple sense of justice called out the same -good qualities in others. She never seemed to think any one would -impose upon her, because she should be so grieved to do it to them. -I have heard her put a stop to the asseverations of the man who brought -her coals by quietly saying, “I am sure you would be sorry to -bring me wrong weight;” and if the coals were short measure that -time, I don’t believe they ever were again. People would -have felt as much ashamed of presuming on her good faith as they would -have done on that of a child. But my father says “such simplicity -might be very well in Cranford, but would never do in the world.” -And I fancy the world must be very bad, for with all my father’s -suspicion of every one with whom he has dealings, and in spite of all -his many precautions, he lost upwards of a thousand pounds by roguery -only last year.<br> -<br> -I just stayed long enough to establish Miss Matty in her new mode of -life, and to pack up the library, which the rector had purchased. -He had written a very kind letter to Miss Matty, saying “how glad -he should be to take a library, so well selected as he knew that the -late Mr Jenkyns’s must have been, at any valuation put upon them.” -And when she agreed to this, with a touch of sorrowful gladness that -they would go back to the rectory and be arranged on the accustomed -walls once more, he sent word that he feared that he had not room for -them all, and perhaps Miss Matty would kindly allow him to leave some -volumes on her shelves. But Miss Matty said that she had her Bible -and “Johnson’s Dictionary,” and should not have much -time for reading, she was afraid; still, I retained a few books out -of consideration for the rector’s kindness.<br> -<br> -The money which he had paid, and that produced by the sale, was partly -expended in the stock of tea, and part of it was invested against a -rainy day - <i>i.e</i>. old age or illness. It was but a small -sum, it is true; and it occasioned a few evasions of truth and white -lies (all of which I think very wrong indeed - in theory - and would -rather not put them in practice), for we knew Miss Matty would be perplexed -as to her duty if she were aware of any little reserve - fund being -made for her while the debts of the bank remained unpaid. Moreover, -she had never been told of the way in which her friends were contributing -to pay the rent. I should have liked to tell her this, but the -mystery of the affair gave a piquancy to their deed of kindness which -the ladies were unwilling to give up; and at first Martha had to shirk -many a perplexed question as to her ways and means of living in such -a house, but by-and-by Miss Matty’s prudent uneasiness sank down -into acquiescence with the existing arrangement.<br> -<br> -I left Miss Matty with a good heart. Her sales of tea during the -first two days had surpassed my most sanguine expectations. The -whole country round seemed to be all out of tea at once. The only -alteration I could have desired in Miss Matty’s way of doing business -was, that she should not have so plaintively entreated some of her customers -not to buy green tea - running it down as a slow poison, sure to destroy -the nerves, and produce all manner of evil. Their pertinacity -in taking it, in spite of all her warnings, distressed her so much that -I really thought she would relinquish the sale of it, and so lose half -her custom; and I was driven to my wits’ end for instances of -longevity entirely attributable to a persevering use of green tea. -But the final argument, which settled the question, was a happy reference -of mine to the train-oil and tallow candles which the Esquimaux not -only enjoy but digest. After that she acknowledged that “one -man’s meat might be another man’s poison,” and contented -herself thence-forward with an occasional remonstrance when she thought -the purchaser was too young and innocent to be acquainted with the evil -effects green tea produced on some constitutions, and an habitual sigh -when people old enough to choose more wisely would prefer it.<br> -<br> -I went over from Drumble once a quarter at least to settle the accounts, -and see after the necessary business letters. And, speaking of -letters, I began to be very much ashamed of remembering my letter to -the Aga Jenkyns, and very glad I had never named my writing to any one. -I only hoped the letter was lost. No answer came. No sign -was made.<br> -<br> -About a year after Miss Matty set up shop, I received one of Martha’s -hieroglyphics, begging me to come to Cranford very soon. I was -afraid that Miss Matty was ill, and went off that very afternoon, and -took Martha by surprise when she saw me on opening the door. We -went into the kitchen as usual, to have our confidential conference, -and then Martha told me she was expecting her confinement very soon -- in a week or two; and she did not think Miss Matty was aware of it, -and she wanted me to break the news to her, “for indeed, miss,” -continued Martha, crying hysterically, “I’m afraid she won’t -approve of it, and I’m sure I don’t know who is to take -care of her as she should be taken care of when I am laid up.”<br> -<br> -I comforted Martha by telling her I would remain till she was about -again, and only wished she had told me her reason for this sudden summons, -as then I would have brought the requisite stock of clothes. But -Martha was so tearful and tender-spirited, and unlike her usual self, -that I said as little as possible about myself, and endeavoured rather -to comfort Martha under all the probable and possible misfortunes which -came crowding upon her imagination.<br> -<br> -I then stole out of the house-door, and made my appearance as if I were -a customer in the shop, just to take Miss Matty by surprise, and gain -an idea of how she looked in her new situation. It was warm May -weather, so only the little half-door was closed; and Miss Matty sat -behind the counter, knitting an elaborate pair of garters; elaborate -they seemed to me, but the difficult stitch was no weight upon her mind, -for she was singing in a low voice to herself as her needles went rapidly -in and out. I call it singing, but I dare say a musician would -not use that word to the tuneless yet sweet humming of the low worn -voice. I found out from the words, far more than from the attempt -at the tune, that it was the Old Hundredth she was crooning to herself; -but the quiet continuous sound told of content, and gave me a pleasant -feeling, as I stood in the street just outside the door, quite in harmony -with that soft May morning. I went in. At first she did -not catch who it was, and stood up as if to serve me; but in another -minute watchful pussy had clutched her knitting, which was dropped in -eager joy at seeing me. I found, after we had had a little conversation, -that it was as Martha said, and that Miss Matty had no idea of the approaching -household event. So I thought I would let things take their course, -secure that when I went to her with the baby in my arms, I should obtain -that forgiveness for Martha which she was needlessly frightening herself -into believing that Miss Matty would withhold, under some notion that -the new claimant would require attentions from its mother that it would -be faithless treason to Miss Matty to render.<br> -<br> -But I was right. I think that must be an hereditary quality, for -my father says he is scarcely ever wrong. One morning, within -a week after I arrived, I went to call Miss Matty, with a little bundle -of flannel in my arms. She was very much awe-struck when I showed -her what it was, and asked for her spectacles off the dressing-table, -and looked at it curiously, with a sort of tender wonder at its small -perfection of parts. She could not banish the thought of the surprise -all day, but went about on tiptoe, and was very silent. But she -stole up to see Martha and they both cried with joy, and she got into -a complimentary speech to Jem, and did not know how to get out of it -again, and was only extricated from her dilemma by the sound of the -shop-bell, which was an equal relief to the shy, proud, honest Jem, -who shook my hand so vigorously when I congratulated him, that I think -I feel the pain of it yet.<br> -<br> -I had a busy life while Martha was laid up. I attended on Miss -Matty, and prepared her meals; I cast up her accounts, and examined -into the state of her canisters and tumblers. I helped her, too, -occasionally, in the shop; and it gave me no small amusement, and sometimes -a little uneasiness, to watch her ways there. If a little child -came in to ask for an ounce of almond-comfits (and four of the large -kind which Miss Matty sold weighed that much), she always added one -more by “way of make-weight,” as she called it, although -the scale was handsomely turned before; and when I remonstrated against -this, her reply was, “The little things like it so much!” -There was no use in telling her that the fifth comfit weighed a quarter -of an ounce, and made every sale into a loss to her pocket. So -I remembered the green tea, and winged my shaft with a feather out of -her own plumage. I told her how unwholesome almond-comfits were, -and how ill excess in them might make the little children. This -argument produced some effect; for, henceforward, instead of the fifth -comfit, she always told them to hold out their tiny palms, into which -she shook either peppermint or ginger lozenges, as a preventive to the -dangers that might arise from the previous sale. Altogether the -lozenge trade, conducted on these principles, did not promise to be -remunerative; but I was happy to find she had made more than twenty -pounds during the last year by her sales of tea; and, moreover, that -now she was accustomed to it, she did not dislike the employment, which -brought her into kindly intercourse with many of the people round about. -If she gave them good weight, they, in their turn, brought many a little -country present to the “old rector’s daughter”; a -cream cheese, a few new-laid eggs, a little fresh ripe fruit, a bunch -of flowers. The counter was quite loaded with these offerings -sometimes, as she told me.<br> -<br> -As for Cranford in general, it was going on much as usual. The -Jamieson and Hoggins feud still raged, if a feud it could be called, -when only one side cared much about it. Mr and Mrs Hoggins were -very happy together, and, like most very happy people, quite ready to -be friendly; indeed, Mrs Hoggins was really desirous to be restored -to Mrs Jamieson’s good graces, because of the former intimacy. -But Mrs Jamieson considered their very happiness an insult to the Glenmire -family, to which she had still the honour to belong, and she doggedly -refused and rejected every advance. Mr Mulliner, like a faithful -clansman, espoused his mistress’ side with ardour. If he -saw either Mr or Mrs Hoggins, he would cross the street, and appear -absorbed in the contemplation of life in general, and his own path in -particular, until he had passed them by. Miss Pole used to amuse -herself with wondering what in the world Mrs Jamieson would do, if either -she, or Mr Mulliner, or any other member of her household was taken -ill; she could hardly have the face to call in Mr Hoggins after the -way she had behaved to them. Miss Pole grew quite impatient for -some indisposition or accident to befall Mrs Jamieson or her dependents, -in order that Cranford might see how she would act under the perplexing -circumstances.<br> -<br> -Martha was beginning to go about again, and I had already fixed a limit, -not very far distant, to my visit, when one afternoon, as I was sitting -in the shop-parlour with Miss Matty - I remember the weather was colder -now than it had been in May, three weeks before, and we had a fire and -kept the door fully closed - we saw a gentleman go slowly past the window, -and then stand opposite to the door, as if looking out for the name -which we had so carefully hidden. He took out a double eyeglass -and peered about for some time before he could discover it. Then -he came in. And, all on a sudden, it flashed across me that it -was the Aga himself! For his clothes had an out-of-the-way foreign -cut about them, and his face was deep brown, as if tanned and re-tanned -by the sun. His complexion contrasted oddly with his plentiful -snow-white hair, his eyes were dark and piercing, and he had an odd -way of contracting them and puckering up his cheeks into innumerable -wrinkles when he looked earnestly at objects. He did so to Miss -Matty when he first came in. His glance had first caught and lingered -a little upon me, but then turned, with the peculiar searching look -I have described, to Miss Matty. She was a little fluttered and -nervous, but no more so than she always was when any man came into her -shop. She thought that he would probably have a note, or a sovereign -at least, for which she would have to give change, which was an operation -she very much disliked to perform. But the present customer stood -opposite to her, without asking for anything, only looking fixedly at -her as he drummed upon the table with his fingers, just for all the -world as Miss Jenkyns used to do. Miss Matty was on the point -of asking him what he wanted (as she told me afterwards), when he turned -sharp to me: “Is your name Mary Smith?”<br> -<br> -“Yes!” said I.<br> -<br> -All my doubts as to his identity were set at rest, and I only wondered -what he would say or do next, and how Miss Matty would stand the joyful -shock of what he had to reveal. Apparently he was at a loss how -to announce himself, for he looked round at last in search of something -to buy, so as to gain time, and, as it happened, his eye caught on the -almond-comfits, and he boldly asked for a pound of “those things.” -I doubt if Miss Matty had a whole pound in the shop, and, besides the -unusual magnitude of the order, she was distressed with the idea of -the indigestion they would produce, taken in such unlimited quantities. -She looked up to remonstrate. Something of tender relaxation in -his face struck home to her heart. She said, “It is - oh, -sir! can you be Peter?” and trembled from head to foot. -In a moment he was round the table and had her in his arms, sobbing -the tearless cries of old age. I brought her a glass of wine, -for indeed her colour had changed so as to alarm me and Mr Peter too. -He kept saying, “I have been too sudden for you, Matty - I have, -my little girl.”<br> -<br> -I proposed that she should go at once up into the drawing-room and lie -down on the sofa there. She looked wistfully at her brother, whose -hand she had held tight, even when nearly fainting; but on his assuring -her that he would not leave her, she allowed him to carry her upstairs.<br> -<br> -I thought that the best I could do was to run and put the kettle on -the fire for early tea, and then to attend to the shop, leaving the -brother and sister to exchange some of the many thousand things they -must have to say. I had also to break the news to Martha, who -received it with a burst of tears which nearly infected me. She -kept recovering herself to ask if I was sure it was indeed Miss Matty’s -brother, for I had mentioned that he had grey hair, and she had always -heard that he was a very handsome young man. Something of the -same kind perplexed Miss Matty at tea-time, when she was installed in -the great easy-chair opposite to Mr Jenkyns in order to gaze her fill. -She could hardly drink for looking at him, and as for eating, that was -out of the question.<br> -<br> -“I suppose hot climates age people very quickly,” said she, -almost to herself. “When you left Cranford you had not a -grey hair in your head.”<br> -<br> -“But how many years ago is that?” said Mr Peter, smiling.<br> -<br> -“Ah, true! yes, I suppose you and I are getting old. But -still I did not think we were so very old! But white hair is very -becoming to you, Peter,” she continued - a little afraid lest -she had hurt him by revealing how his appearance had impressed her.<br> -<br> -“I suppose I forgot dates too, Matty, for what do you think I -have brought for you from India? I have an Indian muslin gown -and a pearl necklace for you somewhere in my chest at Portsmouth.” -He smiled as if amused at the idea of the incongruity of his presents -with the appearance of his sister; but this did not strike her all at -once, while the elegance of the articles did. I could see that -for a moment her imagination dwelt complacently on the idea of herself -thus attired; and instinctively she put her hand up to her throat - -that little delicate throat which (as Miss Pole had told me) had been -one of her youthful charms; but the hand met the touch of folds of soft -muslin in which she was always swathed up to her chin, and the sensation -recalled a sense of the unsuitableness of a pearl necklace to her age. -She said, “I’m afraid I’m too old; but it was very -kind of you to think of it. They are just what I should have liked -years ago - when I was young.”<br> -<br> -“So I thought, my little Matty. I remembered your tastes; -they were so like my dear mother’s.” At the mention -of that name the brother and sister clasped each other’s hands -yet more fondly, and, although they were perfectly silent, I fancied -they might have something to say if they were unchecked by my presence, -and I got up to arrange my room for Mr Peter’s occupation that -night, intending myself to share Miss Matty’s bed. But at -my movement, he started up. “I must go and settle about -a room at the ‘George.’ My carpet-bag is there too.”<br> -<br> -“No!” said Miss Matty, in great distress - “you must -not go; please, dear Peter - pray, Mary - oh! you must not go!”<br> -<br> -She was so much agitated that we both promised everything she wished. -Peter sat down again and gave her his hand, which for better security -she held in both of hers, and I left the room to accomplish my arrangements.<br> -<br> -Long, long into the night, far, far into the morning, did Miss Matty -and I talk. She had much to tell me of her brother’s life -and adventures, which he had communicated to her as they had sat alone. -She said all was thoroughly clear to her; but I never quite understood -the whole story; and when in after days I lost my awe of Mr Peter enough -to question him myself, he laughed at my curiosity, and told me stories -that sounded so very much like Baron Munchausen’s, that I was -sure he was making fun of me. What I heard from Miss Matty was -that he had been a volunteer at the siege of Rangoon; had been taken -prisoner by the Burmese; and somehow obtained favour and eventual freedom -from knowing how to bleed the chief of the small tribe in some case -of dangerous illness; that on his release from years of captivity he -had had his letters returned from England with the ominous word “Dead” -marked upon them; and, believing himself to be the last of his race, -he had settled down as an indigo planter, and had proposed to spend -the remainder of his life in the country to whose inhabitants and modes -of life he had become habituated, when my letter had reached him; and, -with the odd vehemence which characterised him in age as it had done -in youth, he had sold his land and all his possessions to the first -purchaser, and come home to the poor old sister, who was more glad and -rich than any princess when she looked at him. She talked me to -sleep at last, and then I was awakened by a slight sound at the door, -for which she begged my pardon as she crept penitently into bed; but -it seems that when I could no longer confirm her belief that the long-lost -was really here - under the same roof - she had begun to fear lest it -was only a waking dream of hers; that there never had been a Peter sitting -by her all that blessed evening - but that the real Peter lay dead far -away beneath some wild sea-wave, or under some strange eastern tree. -And so strong had this nervous feeling of hers become, that she was -fain to get up and go and convince herself that he was really there -by listening through the door to his even, regular breathing - I don’t -like to call it snoring, but I heard it myself through two closed doors -- and by-and-by it soothed Miss Matty to sleep.<br> -<br> -I don’t believe Mr Peter came home from India as rich as a nabob; -he even considered himself poor, but neither he nor Miss Matty cared -much about that. At any rate, he had enough to live upon “very -genteelly” at Cranford; he and Miss Matty together. And -a day or two after his arrival, the shop was closed, while troops of -little urchins gleefully awaited the shower of comfits and lozenges -that came from time to time down upon their faces as they stood up-gazing -at Miss Matty’s drawing-room windows. Occasionally Miss -Matty would say to them (half-hidden behind the curtains), “My -dear children, don’t make yourselves ill;” but a strong -arm pulled her back, and a more rattling shower than ever succeeded. -A part of the tea was sent in presents to the Cranford ladies; and some -of it was distributed among the old people who remembered Mr Peter in -the days of his frolicsome youth. The Indian muslin gown was reserved -for darling Flora Gordon (Miss Jessie Brown’s daughter). -The Gordons had been on the Continent for the last few years, but were -now expected to return very soon; and Miss Matty, in her sisterly pride, -anticipated great delight in the joy of showing them Mr Peter. -The pearl necklace disappeared; and about that time many handsome and -useful presents made their appearance in the households of Miss Pole -and Mrs Forrester; and some rare and delicate Indian ornaments graced -the drawing-rooms of Mrs Jamieson and Mrs Fitz-Adam. I myself -was not forgotten. Among other things, I had the handsomest-bound -and best edition of Dr Johnson’s works that could be procured; -and dear Miss Matty, with tears in her eyes, begged me to consider it -as a present from her sister as well as herself. In short, no -one was forgotten; and, what was more, every one, however insignificant, -who had shown kindness to Miss Matty at any time, was sure of Mr Peter’s -cordial regard.<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -CHAPTER XVI - PEACE TO CRANFORD<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -It was not surprising that Mr Peter became such a favourite at Cranford. -The ladies vied with each other who should admire him most; and no wonder, -for their quiet lives were astonishingly stirred up by the arrival from -India - especially as the person arrived told more wonderful stories -than Sindbad the Sailor; and, as Miss Pole said, was quite as good as -an Arabian Night any evening. For my own part, I had vibrated -all my life between Drumble and Cranford, and I thought it was quite -possible that all Mr Peter’s stories might be true, although wonderful; -but when I found that, if we swallowed an anecdote of tolerable magnitude -one week, we had the dose considerably increased the next, I began to -have my doubts; especially as I noticed that when his sister was present -the accounts of Indian life were comparatively tame; not that she knew -more than we did, perhaps less. I noticed also that when the rector -came to call, Mr Peter talked in a different way about the countries -he had been in. But I don’t think the ladies in Cranford -would have considered him such a wonderful traveller if they had only -heard him talk in the quiet way he did to him. They liked him -the better, indeed, for being what they called “so very Oriental.”<br> -<br> -One day, at a select party in his honour, which Miss Pole gave, and -from which, as Mrs Jamieson honoured it with her presence, and had even -offered to send Mr Mulliner to wait, Mr and Mrs Hoggins and Mrs Fitz-Adam -were necessarily - excluded one day at Miss Pole’s, Mr Peter said -he was tired of sitting upright against the hard-backed uneasy chairs, -and asked if he might not indulge himself in sitting cross-legged. -Miss Pole’s consent was eagerly given, and down he went with the -utmost gravity. But when Miss Pole asked me, in an audible whisper, -“if he did not remind me of the Father of the Faithful?” -I could not help thinking of poor Simon Jones, the lame tailor, and -while Mrs Jamieson slowly commented on the elegance and convenience -of the attitude, I remembered how we had all followed that lady’s -lead in condemning Mr Hoggins for vulgarity because he simply crossed -his legs as he sat still on his chair. Many of Mr Peter’s -ways of eating were a little strange amongst such ladies as Miss Pole, -and Miss Matty, and Mrs Jamieson, especially when I recollected the -untasted green peas and two-pronged forks at poor Mr Holbrook’s -dinner.<br> -<br> -The mention of that gentleman’s name recalls to my mind a conversation -between Mr Peter and Miss Matty one evening in the summer after he returned -to Cranford. The day had been very hot, and Miss Matty had been -much oppressed by the weather, in the heat of which her brother revelled. -I remember that she had been unable to nurse Martha’s baby, which -had become her favourite employment of late, and which was as much at -home in her arms as in its mother’s, as long as it remained a -light-weight, portable by one so fragile as Miss Matty. This day -to which I refer, Miss Matty had seemed more than usually feeble and -languid, and only revived when the sun went down, and her sofa was wheeled -to the open window, through which, although it looked into the principal -street of Cranford, the fragrant smell of the neighbouring hayfields -came in every now and then, borne by the soft breezes that stirred the -dull air of the summer twilight, and then died away. The silence -of the sultry atmosphere was lost in the murmuring noises which came -in from many an open window and door; even the children were abroad -in the street, late as it was (between ten and eleven), enjoying the -game of play for which they had not had spirits during the heat of the -day. It was a source of satisfaction to Miss Matty to see how -few candles were lighted, even in the apartments of those houses from -which issued the greatest signs of life. Mr Peter, Miss Matty, -and I had all been quiet, each with a separate reverie, for some little -time, when Mr Peter broke in -<br> -<br> -“Do you know, little Matty, I could have sworn you were on the -high road to matrimony when I left England that last time! If -anybody had told me you would have lived and died an old maid then, -I should have laughed in their faces.”<br> -<br> -Miss Matty made no reply, and I tried in vain to think of some subject -which should effectually turn the conversation; but I was very stupid; -and before I spoke he went on -<br> -<br> -“It was Holbrook, that fine manly fellow who lived at Woodley, -that I used to think would carry off my little Matty. You would -not think it now, I dare say, Mary; but this sister of mine was once -a very pretty girl - at least, I thought so, and so I’ve a notion -did poor Holbrook. What business had he to die before I came home -to thank him for all his kindness to a good-for-nothing cub as I was? -It was that that made me first think he cared for you; for in all our -fishing expeditions it was Matty, Matty, we talked about. Poor -Deborah! What a lecture she read me on having asked him home to -lunch one day, when she had seen the Arley carriage in the town, and -thought that my lady might call. Well, that’s long years -ago; more than half a life-time, and yet it seems like yesterday! -I don’t know a fellow I should have liked better as a brother-in-law. -You must have played your cards badly, my little Matty, somehow or another -- wanted your brother to be a good go-between, eh, little one?” -said he, putting out his hand to take hold of hers as she lay on the -sofa. “Why, what’s this? you’re shivering and -shaking, Matty, with that confounded open window. Shut it, Mary, -this minute!”<br> -<br> -I did so, and then stooped down to kiss Miss Matty, and see if she really -were chilled. She caught at my hand, and gave it a hard squeeze -- but unconsciously, I think - for in a minute or two she spoke to us -quite in her usual voice, and smiled our uneasiness away, although she -patiently submitted to the prescriptions we enforced of a warm bed and -a glass of weak negus. I was to leave Cranford the next day, and -before I went I saw that all the effects of the open window had quite -vanished. I had superintended most of the alterations necessary -in the house and household during the latter weeks of my stay. -The shop was once more a parlour: the empty resounding rooms again furnished -up to the very garrets.<br> -<br> -There had been some talk of establishing Martha and Jem in another house, -but Miss Matty would not hear of this. Indeed, I never saw her -so much roused as when Miss Pole had assumed it to be the most desirable -arrangement. As long as Martha would remain with Miss Matty, Miss -Matty was only too thankful to have her about her; yes, and Jem too, -who was a very pleasant man to have in the house, for she never saw -him from week’s end to week’s end. And as for the -probable children, if they would all turn out such little darlings as -her god-daughter, Matilda, she should not mind the number, if Martha -didn’t. Besides, the next was to be called Deborah - a point -which Miss Matty had reluctantly yielded to Martha’s stubborn -determination that her first-born was to be Matilda. So Miss Pole -had to lower her colours, and even her voice, as she said to me that, -as Mr and Mrs Hearn were still to go on living in the same house with -Miss Matty, we had certainly done a wise thing in hiring Martha’s -niece as an auxiliary.<br> -<br> -I left Miss Matty and Mr Peter most comfortable and contented; the only -subject for regret to the tender heart of the one, and the social friendly -nature of the other, being the unfortunate quarrel between Mrs Jamieson -and the plebeian Hogginses and their following. In joke, I prophesied -one day that this would only last until Mrs Jamieson or Mr Mulliner -were ill, in which case they would only be too glad to be friends with -Mr Hoggins; but Miss Matty did not like my looking forward to anything -like illness in so light a manner, and before the year was out all had -come round in a far more satisfactory way.<br> -<br> -I received two Cranford letters on one auspicious October morning. -Both Miss Pole and Miss Matty wrote to ask me to come over and meet -the Gordons, who had returned to England alive and well with their two -children, now almost grown up. Dear Jessie Brown had kept her -old kind nature, although she had changed her name and station; and -she wrote to say that she and Major Gordon expected to be in Cranford -on the fourteenth, and she hoped and begged to be remembered to Mrs -Jamieson (named first, as became her honourable station), Miss Pole -and Miss Matty - could she ever forget their kindness to her poor father -and sister? - Mrs Forrester, Mr Hoggins (and here again came in an allusion -to kindness shown to the dead long ago), his new wife, who as such must -allow Mrs Gordon to desire to make her acquaintance, and who was, moreover, -an old Scotch friend of her husband’s. In short, every one -was named, from the rector - who had been appointed to Cranford in the -interim between Captain Brown’s death and Miss Jessie’s -marriage, and was now associated with the latter event - down to Miss -Betty Barker. All were asked to the luncheon; all except Mrs Fitz-Adam, -who had come to live in Cranford since Miss Jessie Brown’s days, -and whom I found rather moping on account of the omission. People -wondered at Miss Betty Barker’s being included in the honourable -list; but, then, as Miss Pole said, we must remember the disregard of -the genteel proprieties of life in which the poor captain had educated -his girls, and for his sake we swallowed our pride. Indeed, Mrs -Jamieson rather took it as a compliment, as putting Miss Betty (formerly -<i>her</i> maid) on a level with “those Hogginses.”<br> -<br> -But when I arrived in Cranford, nothing was as yet ascertained of Mrs -Jamieson’s own intentions; would the honourable lady go, or would -she not? Mr Peter declared that she should and she would; Miss -Pole shook her head and desponded. But Mr Peter was a man of resources. -In the first place, he persuaded Miss Matty to write to Mrs Gordon, -and to tell her of Mrs Fitz-Adam’s existence, and to beg that -one so kind, and cordial, and generous, might be included in the pleasant -invitation. An answer came back by return of post, with a pretty -little note for Mrs Fitz-Adam, and a request that Miss Matty would deliver -it herself and explain the previous omission. Mrs Fitz-Adam was -as pleased as could be, and thanked Miss Matty over and over again. -Mr Peter had said, “Leave Mrs Jamieson to me;” so we did; -especially as we knew nothing that we could do to alter her determination -if once formed.<br> -<br> -I did not know, nor did Miss Matty, how things were going on, until -Miss Pole asked me, just the day before Mrs Gordon came, if I thought -there was anything between Mr Peter and Mrs Jamieson in the matrimonial -line, for that Mrs Jamieson was really going to the lunch at the “George.” -She had sent Mr Mulliner down to desire that there might be a footstool -put to the warmest seat in the room, as she meant to come, and knew -that their chairs were very high. Miss Pole had picked this piece -of news up, and from it she conjectured all sorts of things, and bemoaned -yet more. “If Peter should marry, what would become of poor -dear Miss Matty? And Mrs Jamieson, of all people!” -Miss Pole seemed to think there were other ladies in Cranford who would -have done more credit to his choice, and I think she must have had someone -who was unmarried in her head, for she kept saying, “It was so -wanting in delicacy in a widow to think of such a thing.”<br> -<br> -When I got back to Miss Matty’s I really did begin to think that -Mr Peter might be thinking of Mrs Jamieson for a wife, and I was as -unhappy as Miss Pole about it. He had the proof sheet of a great -placard in his hand. “Signor Brunoni, Magician to the King -of Delhi, the Rajah of Oude, and the great Lama of Thibet,” &c. -&c., was going to “perform in Cranford for one night only,” -the very next night; and Miss Matty, exultant, showed me a letter from -the Gordons, promising to remain over this gaiety, which Miss Matty -said was entirely Peter’s doing. He had written to ask the -signor to come, and was to be at all the expenses of the affair. -Tickets were to be sent gratis to as many as the room would hold. -In short, Miss Matty was charmed with the plan, and said that to-morrow -Cranford would remind her of the Preston Guild, to which she had been -in her youth - a luncheon at the “George,” with the dear -Gordons, and the signor in the Assembly Room in the evening. But -I - I looked only at the fatal words:-<br> -<br> -<br> -“<i>Under the Patronage of the</i> HONOURABLE MRS JAMIESON.”<br> -<br> -<br> -She, then, was chosen to preside over this entertainment of Mr Peter’s; -she was perhaps going to displace my dear Miss Matty in his heart, and -make her life lonely once more! I could not look forward to the -morrow with any pleasure; and every innocent anticipation of Miss Matty’s -only served to add to my annoyance.<br> -<br> -So, angry and irritated, and exaggerating every little incident which -could add to my irritation, I went on till we were all assembled in -the great parlour at the “George.” Major and Mrs Gordon -and pretty Flora and Mr Ludovic were all as bright and handsome and -friendly as could be; but I could hardly attend to them for watching -Mr Peter, and I saw that Miss Pole was equally busy. I had never -seen Mrs Jamieson so roused and animated before; her face looked full -of interest in what Mr Peter was saying. I drew near to listen. -My relief was great when I caught that his words were not words of love, -but that, for all his grave face, he was at his old tricks. He -was telling her of his travels in India, and describing the wonderful -height of the Himalaya mountains: one touch after another added to their -size, and each exceeded the former in absurdity; but Mrs Jamieson really -enjoyed all in perfect good faith. I suppose she required strong -stimulants to excite her to come out of her apathy. Mr Peter wound -up his account by saying that, of course, at that altitude there were -none of the animals to be found that existed in the lower regions; the -game, - everything was different. Firing one day at some flying -creature, he was very much dismayed when it fell, to find that he had -shot a cherubim! Mr Peter caught my eye at this moment, and gave -me such a funny twinkle, that I felt sure he had no thoughts of Mrs -Jamieson as a wife from that time. She looked uncomfortably amazed --<br> -<br> -“But, Mr Peter, shooting a cherubim - don’t you think - -I am afraid that was sacrilege!”<br> -<br> -Mr Peter composed his countenance in a moment, and appeared shocked -at the idea, which, as he said truly enough, was now presented to him -for the first time; but then Mrs Jamieson must remember that he had -been living for a long time among savages - all of whom were heathens -- some of them, he was afraid, were downright Dissenters. Then, -seeing Miss Matty draw near, he hastily changed the conversation, and -after a little while, turning to me, he said, “Don’t be -shocked, prim little Mary, at all my wonderful stories. I consider -Mrs Jamieson fair game, and besides I am bent on propitiating her, and -the first step towards it is keeping her well awake. I bribed -her here by asking her to let me have her name as patroness for my poor -conjuror this evening; and I don’t want to give her time enough -to get up her rancour against the Hogginses, who are just coming in. -I want everybody to be friends, for it harasses Matty so much to hear -of these quarrels. I shall go at it again by-and-by, so you need -not look shocked. I intend to enter the Assembly Room to-night -with Mrs Jamieson on one side, and my lady, Mrs Hoggins, on the other. -You see if I don’t.”<br> -<br> -Somehow or another he did; and fairly got them into conversation together. -Major and Mrs Gordon helped at the good work with their perfect ignorance -of any existing coolness between any of the inhabitants of Cranford.<br> -<br> -Ever since that day there has been the old friendly sociability in Cranford -society; which I am thankful for, because of my dear Miss Matty’s -love of peace and kindliness. We all love Miss Matty, and I somehow -think we are all of us better when she is near us.<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, CRANFORD ***<br> -<pre> - -******This file should be named crnfd10h.htm or crnfd10h.zip****** -Corrected EDITIONS of our EBooks get a new NUMBER, crnfd11h.htm -VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, crnfd10ah.htm - -Project Gutenberg eBooks are often created from several printed -editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the US -unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we usually do not -keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. - -We are now trying to release all our eBooks one year in advance -of the official release dates, leaving time for better editing. -Please be encouraged to tell us about any error or corrections, -even years after the official publication date. - -Please note neither this listing nor its contents are final til -midnight of the last day of the month of any such announcement. -The official release date of all Project Gutenberg eBooks is at -Midnight, Central Time, of the last day of the stated month. A -preliminary version may often be posted for suggestion, comment -and editing by those who wish to do so. - -Most people start at our Web sites at: -http://gutenberg.net or -http://promo.net/pg - -These Web sites include award-winning information about Project -Gutenberg, including how to donate, how to help produce our new -eBooks, and how to subscribe to our email newsletter (free!). - - -Those of you who want to download any eBook before announcement -can get to them as follows, and just download by date. This is -also a good way to get them instantly upon announcement, as the -indexes our cataloguers produce obviously take a while after an -announcement goes out in the Project Gutenberg Newsletter. - -http://www.ibiblio.org/gutenberg/etext04 or -ftp://ftp.ibiblio.org/pub/docs/books/gutenberg/etext04 - -Or /etext03, 02, 01, 00, 99, 98, 97, 96, 95, 94, 93, 92, 92, 91 or 90 - -Just search by the first five letters of the filename you want, -as it appears in our Newsletters. - - -Information about Project Gutenberg (one page) - -We produce about two million dollars for each hour we work. The -time it takes us, a rather conservative estimate, is fifty hours -to get any eBook selected, entered, proofread, edited, copyright -searched and analyzed, the copyright letters written, etc. Our -projected audience is one hundred million readers. If the value -per text is nominally estimated at one dollar then we produce $2 -million dollars per hour in 2002 as we release over 100 new text -files per month: 1240 more eBooks in 2001 for a total of 4000+ -We are already on our way to trying for 2000 more eBooks in 2002 -If they reach just 1-2% of the world's population then the total -will reach over half a trillion eBooks given away by year's end. - -The Goal of Project Gutenberg is to Give Away 1 Trillion eBooks! -This is ten thousand titles each to one hundred million readers, -which is only about 4% of the present number of computer users. - -Here is the briefest record of our progress (* means estimated): - -eBooks Year Month - - 1 1971 July - 10 1991 January - 100 1994 January - 1000 1997 August - 1500 1998 October - 2000 1999 December - 2500 2000 December - 3000 2001 November - 4000 2001 October/November - 6000 2002 December* - 9000 2003 November* -10000 2004 January* - - -The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation has been created -to secure a future for Project Gutenberg into the next millennium. - -We need your donations more than ever! - -As of February, 2002, contributions are being solicited from people -and organizations in: Alabama, Alaska, Arkansas, Connecticut, -Delaware, District of Columbia, Florida, Georgia, Hawaii, Illinois, -Indiana, Iowa, Kansas, Kentucky, Louisiana, Maine, Massachusetts, -Michigan, Mississippi, Missouri, Montana, Nebraska, Nevada, New -Hampshire, New Jersey, New Mexico, New York, North Carolina, Ohio, -Oklahoma, Oregon, Pennsylvania, Rhode Island, South Carolina, South -Dakota, Tennessee, Texas, Utah, Vermont, Virginia, Washington, West -Virginia, Wisconsin, and Wyoming. - -We have filed in all 50 states now, but these are the only ones -that have responded. - -As the requirements for other states are met, additions to this list -will be made and fund raising will begin in the additional states. -Please feel free to ask to check the status of your state. - -In answer to various questions we have received on this: - -We are constantly working on finishing the paperwork to legally -request donations in all 50 states. If your state is not listed and -you would like to know if we have added it since the list you have, -just ask. - -While we cannot solicit donations from people in states where we are -not yet registered, we know of no prohibition against accepting -donations from donors in these states who approach us with an offer to -donate. - -International donations are accepted, but we don't know ANYTHING about -how to make them tax-deductible, or even if they CAN be made -deductible, and don't have the staff to handle it even if there are -ways. - -Donations by check or money order may be sent to: - -Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation -PMB 113 -1739 University Ave. -Oxford, MS 38655-4109 - -Contact us if you want to arrange for a wire transfer or payment -method other than by check or money order. - -The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation has been approved by -the US Internal Revenue Service as a 501(c)(3) organization with EIN -[Employee Identification Number] 64-622154. Donations are -tax-deductible to the maximum extent permitted by law. As fund-raising -requirements for other states are met, additions to this list will be -made and fund-raising will begin in the additional states. - -We need your donations more than ever! - -You can get up to date donation information online at: - -http://www.gutenberg.net/donation.html - - -*** - -If you can't reach Project Gutenberg, -you can always email directly to: - -Michael S. Hart hart@pobox.com - -Prof. Hart will answer or forward your message. - -We would prefer to send you information by email. - - -**The Legal Small Print** - - -(Three Pages) - -***START**THE SMALL PRINT!**FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN EBOOKS**START*** -Why is this "Small Print!" statement here? You know: lawyers. -They tell us you might sue us if there is something wrong with -your copy of this eBook, even if you got it for free from -someone other than us, and even if what's wrong is not our -fault. So, among other things, this "Small Print!" statement -disclaims most of our liability to you. It also tells you how -you may distribute copies of this eBook if you want to. - -*BEFORE!* YOU USE OR READ THIS EBOOK -By using or reading any part of this PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm -eBook, you indicate that you understand, agree to and accept -this "Small Print!" statement. If you do not, you can receive -a refund of the money (if any) you paid for this eBook by -sending a request within 30 days of receiving it to the person -you got it from. If you received this eBook on a physical -medium (such as a disk), you must return it with your request. - -ABOUT PROJECT GUTENBERG-TM EBOOKS -This PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm eBook, like most PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm eBooks, -is a "public domain" work distributed by Professor Michael S. Hart -through the Project Gutenberg Association (the "Project"). -Among other things, this means that no one owns a United States copyright -on or for this work, so the Project (and you!) can copy and -distribute it in the United States without permission and -without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, set forth -below, apply if you wish to copy and distribute this eBook -under the "PROJECT GUTENBERG" trademark. - -Please do not use the "PROJECT GUTENBERG" trademark to market -any commercial products without permission. - -To create these eBooks, the Project expends considerable -efforts to identify, transcribe and proofread public domain -works. Despite these efforts, the Project's eBooks and any -medium they may be on may contain "Defects". Among other -things, Defects may take the form of incomplete, inaccurate or -corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other -intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged -disk or other eBook medium, a computer virus, or computer -codes that damage or cannot be read by your equipment. - -LIMITED WARRANTY; DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES -But for the "Right of Replacement or Refund" described below, -[1] Michael Hart and the Foundation (and any other party you may -receive this eBook from as a PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm eBook) disclaims -all liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including -legal fees, and [2] YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE OR -UNDER STRICT LIABILITY, OR FOR BREACH OF WARRANTY OR CONTRACT, -INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE -OR INCIDENTAL DAMAGES, EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE -POSSIBILITY OF SUCH DAMAGES. - -If you discover a Defect in this eBook within 90 days of -receiving it, you can receive a refund of the money (if any) -you paid for it by sending an explanatory note within that -time to the person you received it from. If you received it -on a physical medium, you must return it with your note, and -such person may choose to alternatively give you a replacement -copy. If you received it electronically, such person may -choose to alternatively give you a second opportunity to -receive it electronically. - -THIS EBOOK IS OTHERWISE PROVIDED TO YOU "AS-IS". NO OTHER -WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, ARE MADE TO YOU AS -TO THE EBOOK OR ANY MEDIUM IT MAY BE ON, INCLUDING BUT NOT -LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR A -PARTICULAR PURPOSE. - -Some states do not allow disclaimers of implied warranties or -the exclusion or limitation of consequential damages, so the -above disclaimers and exclusions may not apply to you, and you -may have other legal rights. - -INDEMNITY -You will indemnify and hold Michael Hart, the Foundation, -and its trustees and agents, and any volunteers associated -with the production and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm -texts harmless, from all liability, cost and expense, including -legal fees, that arise directly or indirectly from any of the -following that you do or cause: [1] distribution of this eBook, -[2] alteration, modification, or addition to the eBook, -or [3] any Defect. - -DISTRIBUTION UNDER "PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm" -You may distribute copies of this eBook electronically, or by -disk, book or any other medium if you either delete this -"Small Print!" and all other references to Project Gutenberg, -or: - -[1] Only give exact copies of it. Among other things, this - requires that you do not remove, alter or modify the - eBook or this "small print!" statement. You may however, - if you wish, distribute this eBook in machine readable - binary, compressed, mark-up, or proprietary form, - including any form resulting from conversion by word - processing or hypertext software, but only so long as - *EITHER*: - - [*] The eBook, when displayed, is clearly readable, and - does *not* contain characters other than those - intended by the author of the work, although tilde - (~), asterisk (*) and underline (_) characters may - be used to convey punctuation intended by the - author, and additional characters may be used to - indicate hypertext links; OR - - [*] The eBook may be readily converted by the reader at - no expense into plain ASCII, EBCDIC or equivalent - form by the program that displays the eBook (as is - the case, for instance, with most word processors); - OR - - [*] You provide, or agree to also provide on request at - no additional cost, fee or expense, a copy of the - eBook in its original plain ASCII form (or in EBCDIC - or other equivalent proprietary form). - -[2] Honor the eBook refund and replacement provisions of this - "Small Print!" statement. - -[3] Pay a trademark license fee to the Foundation of 20% of the - gross profits you derive calculated using the method you - already use to calculate your applicable taxes. If you - don't derive profits, no royalty is due. Royalties are - payable to "Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation" - the 60 days following each date you prepare (or were - legally required to prepare) your annual (or equivalent - periodic) tax return. Please contact us beforehand to - let us know your plans and to work out the details. - -WHAT IF YOU *WANT* TO SEND MONEY EVEN IF YOU DON'T HAVE TO? -Project Gutenberg is dedicated to increasing the number of -public domain and licensed works that can be freely distributed -in machine readable form. - -The Project gratefully accepts contributions of money, time, -public domain materials, or royalty free copyright licenses. -Money should be paid to the: -"Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation." - -If you are interested in contributing scanning equipment or -software or other items, please contact Michael Hart at: -hart@pobox.com - -[Portions of this eBook's header and trailer may be reprinted only -when distributed free of all fees. Copyright (C) 2001, 2002 by -Michael S. Hart. Project Gutenberg is a TradeMark and may not be -used in any sales of Project Gutenberg eBooks or other materials be -they hardware or software or any other related product without -express permission.] - -*END THE SMALL PRINT! FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN EBOOKS*Ver.02/11/02*END* -</pre></body> -</html> diff --git a/old/crnfd10h.zip b/old/crnfd10h.zip Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index f10ec29..0000000 --- a/old/crnfd10h.zip +++ /dev/null |