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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. 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