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diff --git a/old/crnfd10h.htm b/old/crnfd10h.htm deleted file mode 100644 index 32dada0..0000000 --- a/old/crnfd10h.htm +++ /dev/null @@ -1,7199 +0,0 @@ -<!DOCTYPE HTML PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD HTML 4.01//EN"> -<html> -<head> -<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=US-ASCII"> -<title>Cranford</title> -</head> -<body> -<h2> -<a href="#startoftext">Cranford, by Elizabeth Cleghorn Gaskell</a> -</h2> -<pre> -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Cranford, by Elizabeth Cleghorn Gaskell - -Copyright laws are changing all over the world. Be sure to check the -copyright laws for your country before downloading or redistributing -this or any other Project Gutenberg eBook. - -This header should be the first thing seen when viewing this Project -Gutenberg file. Please do not remove it. Do not change or edit the -header without written permission. - -Please read the "legal small print," and other information about the -eBook and Project Gutenberg at the bottom of this file. Included is -important information about your specific rights and restrictions in -how the file may be used. You can also find out about how to make a -donation to Project Gutenberg, and how to get involved. - - -**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** - -**eBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** - -*****These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!***** - - -Title: Cranford - -Author: Elizabeth Cleghorn Gaskell - -Release Date: January, 1996 [EBook #394] -[This file was first posted on December 7, 1995] -[Most recently updated: August 18, 2002] - -Edition: 10 - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ASCII -</pre> -<p> -<a name="startoftext"></a> -Transcribed from the 1907 J. M. Dent edition by David Price, email ccx074@coventry.ac.uk. -Extra proofing by Margaret Price.<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -CRANFORD<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -CHAPTER I - OUR SOCIETY<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -In the first place, Cranford is in possession of the Amazons; all the -holders of houses above a certain rent are women. If a married -couple come to settle in the town, somehow the gentleman disappears; -he is either fairly frightened to death by being the only man in the -Cranford evening parties, or he is accounted for by being with his regiment, -his ship, or closely engaged in business all the week in the great neighbouring -commercial town of Drumble, distant only twenty miles on a railroad. -In short, whatever does become of the gentlemen, they are not at Cranford. -What could they do if they were there? The surgeon has his round -of thirty miles, and sleeps at Cranford; but every man cannot be a surgeon. -For keeping the trim gardens full of choice flowers without a weed to -speck them; for frightening away little boys who look wistfully at the -said flowers through the railings; for rushing out at the geese that -occasionally venture in to the gardens if the gates are left open; for -deciding all questions of literature and politics without troubling -themselves with unnecessary reasons or arguments; for obtaining clear -and correct knowledge of everybody’s affairs in the parish; for -keeping their neat maid-servants in admirable order; for kindness (somewhat -dictatorial) to the poor, and real tender good offices to each other -whenever they are in distress, the ladies of Cranford are quite sufficient. -“A man,” as one of them observed to me once, “is <i>so</i> -in the way in the house!” Although the ladies of Cranford -know all each other’s proceedings, they are exceedingly indifferent -to each other’s opinions. Indeed, as each has her own individuality, -not to say eccentricity, pretty strongly developed, nothing is so easy -as verbal retaliation; but, somehow, good-will reigns among them to -a considerable degree.<br> -<br> -The Cranford ladies have only an occasional little quarrel, spirited -out in a few peppery words and angry jerks of the head; just enough -to prevent the even tenor of their lives from becoming too flat. -Their dress is very independent of fashion; as they observe, “What -does it signify how we dress here at Cranford, where everybody knows -us?” And if they go from home, their reason is equally cogent, -“What does it signify how we dress here, where nobody knows us?” -The materials of their clothes are, in general, good and plain, and -most of them are nearly as scrupulous as Miss Tyler, of cleanly memory; -but I will answer for it, the last gigot, the last tight and scanty -petticoat in wear in England, was seen in Cranford - and seen without -a smile.<br> -<br> -I can testify to a magnificent family red silk umbrella, under which -a gentle little spinster, left alone of many brothers and sisters, used -to patter to church on rainy days. Have you any red silk umbrellas -in London? We had a tradition of the first that had ever been -seen in Cranford; and the little boys mobbed it, and called it “a -stick in petticoats.” It might have been the very red silk -one I have described, held by a strong father over a troop of little -ones; the poor little lady - the survivor of all - could scarcely carry -it.<br> -<br> -Then there were rules and regulations for visiting and calls; and they -were announced to any young people who might be staying in the town, -with all the solemnity with which the old Manx laws were read once a -year on the Tinwald Mount.<br> -<br> -“Our friends have sent to inquire how you are after your journey -to-night, my dear” (fifteen miles in a gentleman’s carriage); -“they will give you some rest to-morrow, but the next day, I have -no doubt, they will call; so be at liberty after twelve - from twelve -to three are our calling hours.”<br> -<br> -Then, after they had called -<br> -<br> -“It is the third day; I dare say your mamma has told you, my dear, -never to let more than three days elapse between receiving a call and -returning it; and also, that you are never to stay longer than a quarter -of an hour.”<br> -<br> -“But am I to look at my watch? How am I to find out when -a quarter of an hour has passed?”<br> -<br> -“You must keep thinking about the time, my dear, and not allow -yourself to forget it in conversation.”<br> -<br> -As everybody had this rule in their minds, whether they received or -paid a call, of course no absorbing subject was ever spoken about. -We kept ourselves to short sentences of small talk, and were punctual -to our time.<br> -<br> -I imagine that a few of the gentlefolks of Cranford were poor, and had -some difficulty in making both ends meet; but they were like the Spartans, -and concealed their smart under a smiling face. We none of us -spoke of money, because that subject savoured of commerce and trade, -and though some might be poor, we were all aristocratic. The Cranfordians -had that kindly <i>esprit de corps</i> which made them overlook all -deficiencies in success when some among them tried to conceal their -poverty. When Mrs Forrester, for instance, gave a party in her -baby-house of a dwelling, and the little maiden disturbed the ladies -on the sofa by a request that she might get the tea-tray out from underneath, -everyone took this novel proceeding as the most natural thing in the -world, and talked on about household forms and ceremonies as if we all -believed that our hostess had a regular servants’ hall, second -table, with housekeeper and steward, instead of the one little charity-school -maiden, whose short ruddy arms could never have been strong enough to -carry the tray upstairs, if she had not been assisted in private by -her mistress, who now sat in state, pretending not to know what cakes -were sent up, though she knew, and we knew, and she knew that we knew, -and we knew that she knew that we knew, she had been busy all the morning -making tea-bread and sponge-cakes.<br> -<br> -There were one or two consequences arising from this general but unacknowledged -poverty, and this very much acknowledged gentility, which were not amiss, -and which might be introduced into many circles of society to their -great improvement. For instance, the inhabitants of Cranford kept -early hours, and clattered home in their pattens, under the guidance -of a lantern-bearer, about nine o’clock at night; and the whole -town was abed and asleep by half-past ten. Moreover, it was considered -“vulgar” (a tremendous word in Cranford) to give anything -expensive, in the way of eatable or drinkable, at the evening entertainments. -Wafer bread-and-butter and sponge-biscuits were all that the Honourable -Mrs Jamieson gave; and she was sister-in-law to the late Earl of Glenmire, -although she did practise such “elegant economy.”<br> -<br> -“Elegant economy!” How naturally one falls back into -the phraseology of Cranford! There, economy was always “elegant,” -and money-spending always “vulgar and ostentatious”; a sort -of sour-grapeism which made us very peaceful and satisfied. I -never shall forget the dismay felt when a certain Captain Brown came -to live at Cranford, and openly spoke about his being poor - not in -a whisper to an intimate friend, the doors and windows being previously -closed, but in the public street! in a loud military voice! alleging -his poverty as a reason for not taking a particular house. The -ladies of Cranford were already rather moaning over the invasion of -their territories by a man and a gentleman. He was a half-pay -captain, and had obtained some situation on a neighbouring railroad, -which had been vehemently petitioned against by the little town; and -if, in addition to his masculine gender, and his connection with the -obnoxious railroad, he was so brazen as to talk of being poor - why, -then, indeed, he must be sent to Coventry. Death was as true and -as common as poverty; yet people never spoke about that, loud out in -the streets. It was a word not to be mentioned to ears polite. -We had tacitly agreed to ignore that any with whom we associated on -terms of visiting equality could ever be prevented by poverty from doing -anything that they wished. If we walked to or from a party, it -was because the night was <i>so</i> fine, or the air <i>so</i> refreshing, -not because sedan-chairs were expensive. If we wore prints, instead -of summer silks, it was because we preferred a washing material; and -so on, till we blinded ourselves to the vulgar fact that we were, all -of us, people of very moderate means. Of course, then, we did -not know what to make of a man who could speak of poverty as if it was -not a disgrace. Yet, somehow, Captain Brown made himself respected -in Cranford, and was called upon, in spite of all resolutions to the -contrary. I was surprised to hear his opinions quoted as authority -at a visit which I paid to Cranford about a year after he had settled -in the town. My own friends had been among the bitterest opponents -of any proposal to visit the Captain and his daughters, only twelve -months before; and now he was even admitted in the tabooed hours before -twelve. True, it was to discover the cause of a smoking chimney, -before the fire was lighted; but still Captain Brown walked upstairs, -nothing daunted, spoke in a voice too large for the room, and joked -quite in the way of a tame man about the house. He had been blind -to all the small slights, and omissions of trivial ceremonies, with -which he had been received. He had been friendly, though the Cranford -ladies had been cool; he had answered small sarcastic compliments in -good faith; and with his manly frankness had overpowered all the shrinking -which met him as a man who was not ashamed to be poor. And, at -last, his excellent masculine common sense, and his facility in devising -expedients to overcome domestic dilemmas, had gained him an extraordinary -place as authority among the Cranford ladies. He himself went -on in his course, as unaware of his popularity as he had been of the -reverse; and I am sure he was startled one day when he found his advice -so highly esteemed as to make some counsel which he had given in jest -to be taken in sober, serious earnest.<br> -<br> -It was on this subject: An old lady had an Alderney cow, which she looked -upon as a daughter. You could not pay the short quarter of an -hour call without being told of the wonderful milk or wonderful intelligence -of this animal. The whole town knew and kindly regarded Miss Betsy -Barker’s Alderney; therefore great was the sympathy and regret -when, in an unguarded moment, the poor cow tumbled into a lime-pit. -She moaned so loudly that she was soon heard and rescued; but meanwhile -the poor beast had lost most of her hair, and came out looking naked, -cold, and miserable, in a bare skin. Everybody pitied the animal, -though a few could not restrain their smiles at her droll appearance. -Miss Betsy Barker absolutely cried with sorrow and dismay; and it was -said she thought of trying a bath of oil. This remedy, perhaps, -was recommended by some one of the number whose advice she asked; but -the proposal, if ever it was made, was knocked on the head by Captain -Brown’s decided “Get her a flannel waistcoat and flannel -drawers, ma’am, if you wish to keep her alive. But my advice -is, kill the poor creature at once.”<br> -<br> -Miss Betsy Barker dried her eyes, and thanked the Captain heartily; -she set to work, and by-and-by all the town turned out to see the Alderney -meekly going to her pasture, clad in dark grey flannel. I have -watched her myself many a time. Do you ever see cows dressed in -grey flannel in London?<br> -<br> -Captain Brown had taken a small house on the outskirts of the town, -where he lived with his two daughters. He must have been upwards -of sixty at the time of the first visit I paid to Cranford after I had -left it as a residence. But he had a wiry, well-trained, elastic -figure, a stiff military throw-back of his head, and a springing step, -which made him appear much younger than he was. His eldest daughter -looked almost as old as himself, and betrayed the fact that his real -was more than his apparent age. Miss Brown must have been forty; -she had a sickly, pained, careworn expression on her face, and looked -as if the gaiety of youth had long faded out of sight. Even when -young she must have been plain and hard-featured. Miss Jessie -Brown was ten years younger than her sister, and twenty shades prettier. -Her face was round and dimpled. Miss Jenkyns once said, in a passion -against Captain Brown (the cause of which I will tell you presently), -“that she thought it was time for Miss Jessie to leave off her -dimples, and not always to be trying to look like a child.” -It was true there was something childlike in her face; and there will -be, I think, till she dies, though she should live to a hundred. -Her eyes were large blue wondering eyes, looking straight at you; her -nose was unformed and snub, and her lips were red and dewy; she wore -her hair, too, in little rows of curls, which heightened this appearance. -I do not know whether she was pretty or not; but I liked her face, and -so did everybody, and I do not think she could help her dimples. -She had something of her father’s jauntiness of gait and manner; -and any female observer might detect a slight difference in the attire -of the two sisters - that of Miss Jessie being about two pounds per -annum more expensive than Miss Brown’s. Two pounds was a -large sum in Captain Brown’s annual disbursements.<br> -<br> -Such was the impression made upon me by the Brown family when I first -saw them all together in Cranford Church. The Captain I had met -before - on the occasion of the smoky chimney, which he had cured by -some simple alteration in the flue. In church, he held his double -eye-glass to his eyes during the Morning Hymn, and then lifted up his -head erect and sang out loud and joyfully. He made the responses -louder than the clerk - an old man with a piping feeble voice, who, -I think, felt aggrieved at the Captain’s sonorous bass, and quivered -higher and higher in consequence.<br> -<br> -On coming out of church, the brisk Captain paid the most gallant attention -to his two daughters.<br> -<br> -He nodded and smiled to his acquaintances; but he shook hands with none -until he had helped Miss Brown to unfurl her umbrella, had relieved -her of her prayer-book, and had waited patiently till she, with trembling -nervous hands, had taken up her gown to walk through the wet roads.<br> -<br> -I wonder what the Cranford ladies did with Captain Brown at their parties. -We had often rejoiced, in former days, that there was no gentleman to -be attended to, and to find conversation for, at the card-parties. -We had congratulated ourselves upon the snugness of the evenings; and, -in our love for gentility, and distaste of mankind, we had almost persuaded -ourselves that to be a man was to be “vulgar”; so that when -I found my friend and hostess, Miss Jenkyns, was going to have a party -in my honour, and that Captain and the Miss Browns were invited, I wondered -much what would be the course of the evening. Card-tables, with -green baize tops, were set out by daylight, just as usual; it was the -third week in November, so the evenings closed in about four. -Candles, and clean packs of cards, were arranged on each table. -The fire was made up; the neat maid-servant had received her last directions; -and there we stood, dressed in our best, each with a candle-lighter -in our hands, ready to dart at the candles as soon as the first knock -came. Parties in Cranford were solemn festivities, making the -ladies feel gravely elated as they sat together in their best dresses. -As soon as three had arrived, we sat down to “Preference,” -I being the unlucky fourth. The next four comers were put down -immediately to another table; and presently the tea-trays, which I had -seen set out in the store-room as I passed in the morning, were placed -each on the middle of a card-table. The china was delicate egg-shell; -the old-fashioned silver glittered with polishing; but the eatables -were of the slightest description. While the trays were yet on -the tables, Captain and the Miss Browns came in; and I could see that, -somehow or other, the Captain was a favourite with all the ladies present. -Ruffled brows were smoothed, sharp voices lowered at his approach. -Miss Brown looked ill, and depressed almost to gloom. Miss Jessie -smiled as usual, and seemed nearly as popular as her father. He -immediately and quietly assumed the man’s place in the room; attended -to every one’s wants, lessened the pretty maid-servant’s -labour by waiting on empty cups and bread-and-butterless ladies; and -yet did it all in so easy and dignified a manner, and so much as if -it were a matter of course for the strong to attend to the weak, that -he was a true man throughout. He played for threepenny points -with as grave an interest as if they had been pounds; and yet, in all -his attention to strangers, he had an eye on his suffering daughter -- for suffering I was sure she was, though to many eyes she might only -appear to be irritable. Miss Jessie could not play cards: but -she talked to the sitters-out, who, before her coming, had been rather -inclined to be cross. She sang, too, to an old cracked piano, -which I think had been a spinet in its youth. Miss Jessie sang, -“Jock of Hazeldean” a little out of tune; but we were none -of us musical, though Miss Jenkyns beat time, out of time, by way of -appearing to be so.<br> -<br> -It was very good of Miss Jenkyns to do this; for I had seen that, a -little before, she had been a good deal annoyed by Miss Jessie Brown’s -unguarded admission (<i>à propos</i> of Shetland wool) that she -had an uncle, her mother’s brother, who was a shop-keeper in Edinburgh. -Miss Jenkyns tried to drown this confession by a terrible cough - for -the Honourable Mrs Jamieson was sitting at a card-table nearest Miss -Jessie, and what would she say or think if she found out she was in -the same room with a shop-keeper’s niece! But Miss Jessie -Brown (who had no tact, as we all agreed the next morning) <i>would</i> -repeat the information, and assure Miss Pole she could easily get her -the identical Shetland wool required, “through my uncle, who has -the best assortment of Shetland goods of any one in Edinbro’.” -It was to take the taste of this out of our mouths, and the sound of -this out of our ears, that Miss Jenkyns proposed music; so I say again, -it was very good of her to beat time to the song.<br> -<br> -When the trays re-appeared with biscuits and wine, punctually at a quarter -to nine, there was conversation, comparing of cards, and talking over -tricks; but by-and-by Captain Brown sported a bit of literature.<br> -<br> -“Have you seen any numbers of ‘The Pickwick Papers’?” -said he. (They we’re then publishing in parts.) “Capital -thing!”<br> -<br> -Now Miss Jenkyns was daughter of a deceased rector of Cranford; and, -on the strength of a number of manuscript sermons, and a pretty good -library of divinity, considered herself literary, and looked upon any -conversation about books as a challenge to her. So she answered -and said, “Yes, she had seen them; indeed, she might say she had -read them.”<br> -<br> -“And what do you think of them?” exclaimed Captain Brown. -“Aren’t they famously good?”<br> -<br> -So urged Miss Jenkyns could not but speak.<br> -<br> -“I must say, I don’t think they are by any means equal to -Dr Johnson. Still, perhaps, the author is young. Let him -persevere, and who knows what he may become if he will take the great -Doctor for his model?” This was evidently too much for Captain -Brown to take placidly; and I saw the words on the tip of his tongue -before Miss Jenkyns had finished her sentence.<br> -<br> -“It is quite a different sort of thing, my dear madam,” -he began.<br> -<br> -“I am quite aware of that,” returned she. “And -I make allowances, Captain Brown.”<br> -<br> -“Just allow me to read you a scene out of this month’s number,” -pleaded he. “I had it only this morning, and I don’t -think the company can have read it yet.”<br> -<br> -“As you please,” said she, settling herself with an air -of resignation. He read the account of the “swarry” -which Sam Weller gave at Bath. Some of us laughed heartily. -<i>I</i> did not dare, because I was staying in the house. Miss -Jenkyns sat in patient gravity. When it was ended, she turned -to me, and said with mild dignity -<br> -<br> -“Fetch me ‘Rasselas,’ my dear, out of the book-room.”<br> -<br> -When I had brought it to her, she turned to Captain Brown -<br> -<br> -“Now allow me to read you a scene, and then the present company -can judge between your favourite, Mr Boz, and Dr Johnson.”<br> -<br> -She read one of the conversations between Rasselas and Imlac, in a high-pitched, -majestic voice: and when she had ended, she said, “I imagine I -am now justified in my preference of Dr Johnson as a writer of fiction.” -The Captain screwed his lips up, and drummed on the table, but he did -not speak. She thought she would give him a finishing blow or -two.<br> -<br> -“I consider it vulgar, and below the dignity of literature, to -publish in numbers.”<br> -<br> -“How was the <i>Rambler</i> published, ma’am?” asked -Captain Brown in a low voice, which I think Miss Jenkyns could not have -heard.<br> -<br> -“Dr Johnson’s style is a model for young beginners. -My father recommended it to me when I began to write letters - I have -formed my own style upon it; I recommended it to your favourite.”<br> -<br> -“I should be very sorry for him to exchange his style for any -such pompous writing,” said Captain Brown.<br> -<br> -Miss Jenkyns felt this as a personal affront, in a way of which the -Captain had not dreamed. Epistolary writing she and her friends -considered as her <i>forte</i>. Many a copy of many a letter have -I seen written and corrected on the slate, before she “seized -the half-hour just previous to post-time to assure” her friends -of this or of that; and Dr Johnson was, as she said, her model in these -compositions. She drew herself up with dignity, and only replied -to Captain Brown’s last remark by saying, with marked emphasis -on every syllable, “I prefer Dr Johnson to Mr Boz.”<br> -<br> -It is said - I won’t vouch for the fact - that Captain Brown was -heard to say, <i>sotto voce</i>, “D-n Dr Johnson!” -If he did, he was penitent afterwards, as he showed by going to stand -near Miss Jenkyns’ arm-chair, and endeavouring to beguile her -into conversation on some more pleasing subject. But she was inexorable. -The next day she made the remark I have mentioned about Miss Jessie’s -dimples.<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -CHAPTER II - THE CAPTAIN<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -It was impossible to live a month at Cranford and not know the daily -habits of each resident; and long before my visit was ended I knew much -concerning the whole Brown trio. There was nothing new to be discovered -respecting their poverty; for they had spoken simply and openly about -that from the very first. They made no mystery of the necessity -for their being economical. All that remained to be discovered -was the Captain’s infinite kindness of heart, and the various -modes in which, unconsciously to himself, he manifested it. Some -little anecdotes were talked about for some time after they occurred. -As we did not read much, and as all the ladies were pretty well suited -with servants, there was a dearth of subjects for conversation. -We therefore discussed the circumstance of the Captain taking a poor -old woman’s dinner out of her hands one very slippery Sunday. -He had met her returning from the bakehouse as he came from church, -and noticed her precarious footing; and, with the grave dignity with -which he did everything, he relieved her of her burden, and steered -along the street by her side, carrying her baked mutton and potatoes -safely home. This was thought very eccentric; and it was rather -expected that he would pay a round of calls, on the Monday morning, -to explain and apologise to the Cranford sense of propriety: but he -did no such thing: and then it was decided that he was ashamed, and -was keeping out of sight. In a kindly pity for him, we began to -say, “After all, the Sunday morning’s occurrence showed -great goodness of heart,” and it was resolved that he should be -comforted on his next appearance amongst us; but, lo! he came down upon -us, untouched by any sense of shame, speaking loud and bass as ever, -his head thrown back, his wig as jaunty and well-curled as usual, and -we were obliged to conclude he had forgotten all about Sunday.<br> -<br> -Miss Pole and Miss Jessie Brown had set up a kind of intimacy on the -strength of the Shetland wool and the new knitting stitches; so it happened -that when I went to visit Miss Pole I saw more of the Browns than I -had done while staying with Miss Jenkyns, who had never got over what -she called Captain Brown’s disparaging remarks upon Dr Johnson -as a writer of light and agreeable fiction. I found that Miss -Brown was seriously ill of some lingering, incurable complaint, the -pain occasioned by which gave the uneasy expression to her face that -I had taken for unmitigated crossness. Cross, too, she was at -times, when the nervous irritability occasioned by her disease became -past endurance. Miss Jessie bore with her at these times, even -more patiently than she did with the bitter self-upbraidings by which -they were invariably succeeded. Miss Brown used to accuse herself, -not merely of hasty and irritable temper, but also of being the cause -why her father and sister were obliged to pinch, in order to allow her -the small luxuries which were necessaries in her condition. She -would so fain have made sacrifices for them, and have lightened their -cares, that the original generosity of her disposition added acerbity -to her temper. All this was borne by Miss Jessie and her father -with more than placidity - with absolute tenderness. I forgave -Miss Jessie her singing out of tune, and her juvenility of dress, when -I saw her at home. I came to perceive that Captain Brown’s -dark Brutus wig and padded coat (alas! too often threadbare) were remnants -of the military smartness of his youth, which he now wore unconsciously. -He was a man of infinite resources, gained in his barrack experience. -As he confessed, no one could black his boots to please him except himself; -but, indeed, he was not above saving the little maid-servant’s -labours in every way - knowing, most likely, that his daughter’s -illness made the place a hard one.<br> -<br> -He endeavoured to make peace with Miss Jenkyns soon after the memorable -dispute I have named, by a present of a wooden fire-shovel (his own -making), having heard her say how much the grating of an iron one annoyed -her. She received the present with cool gratitude, and thanked -him formally. When he was gone, she bade me put it away in the -lumber-room; feeling, probably, that no present from a man who preferred -Mr Boz to Dr Johnson could be less jarring than an iron fire-shovel.<br> -<br> -Such was the state of things when I left Cranford and went to Drumble. -I had, however, several correspondents, who kept me <i>au fait</i> as -to the proceedings of the dear little town. There was Miss Pole, -who was becoming as much absorbed in crochet as she had been once in -knitting, and the burden of whose letter was something like, “But -don’t you forget the white worsted at Flint’s” of -the old song; for at the end of every sentence of news came a fresh -direction as to some crochet commission which I was to execute for her. -Miss Matilda Jenkyns (who did not mind being called Miss Matty, when -Miss Jenkyns was not by) wrote nice, kind, rambling letters, now and -then venturing into an opinion of her own; but suddenly pulling herself -up, and either begging me not to name what she had said, as Deborah -thought differently, and <i>she</i> knew, or else putting in a postscript -to the effect that, since writing the above, she had been talking over -the subject with Deborah, and was quite convinced that, etc. - (here -probably followed a recantation of every opinion she had given in the -letter). Then came Miss Jenkyns - Deborah, as she liked Miss Matty -to call her, her father having once said that the Hebrew name ought -to be so pronounced. I secretly think she took the Hebrew prophetess -for a model in character; and, indeed, she was not unlike the stern -prophetess in some ways, making allowance, of course, for modern customs -and difference in dress. Miss Jenkyns wore a cravat, and a little -bonnet like a jockey-cap, and altogether had the appearance of a strong-minded -woman; although she would have despised the modern idea of women being -equal to men. Equal, indeed! she knew they were superior. -But to return to her letters. Everything in them was stately and -grand like herself. I have been looking them over (dear Miss Jenkyns, -how I honoured her!) and I will give an extract, more especially because -it relates to our friend Captain Brown:-<br> -<br> -“The Honourable Mrs Jamieson has only just quitted me; and, in -the course of conversation, she communicated to me the intelligence -that she had yesterday received a call from her revered husband’s -quondam friend, Lord Mauleverer. You will not easily conjecture -what brought his lordship within the precincts of our little town. -It was to see Captain Brown, with whom, it appears, his lordship was -acquainted in the ‘plumed wars,’ and who had the privilege -of averting destruction from his lordship’s head when some great -peril was impending over it, off the misnomered Cape of Good Hope. -You know our friend the Honourable Mrs Jamieson’s deficiency in -the spirit of innocent curiosity, and you will therefore not be so much -surprised when I tell you she was quite unable to disclose to me the -exact nature of the peril in question. I was anxious, I confess, -to ascertain in what manner Captain Brown, with his limited establishment, -could receive so distinguished a guest; and I discovered that his lordship -retired to rest, and, let us hope, to refreshing slumbers, at the Angel -Hotel; but shared the Brunonian meals during the two days that he honoured -Cranford with his august presence. Mrs Johnson, our civil butcher’s -wife, informs me that Miss Jessie purchased a leg of lamb; but, besides -this, I can hear of no preparation whatever to give a suitable reception -to so distinguished a visitor. Perhaps they entertained him with -‘the feast of reason and the flow of soul’; and to us, who -are acquainted with Captain Brown’s sad want of relish for ‘the -pure wells of English undefiled,’ it may be matter for congratulation -that he has had the opportunity of improving his taste by holding converse -with an elegant and refined member of the British aristocracy. -But from some mundane failings who is altogether free?”<br> -<br> -Miss Pole and Miss Matty wrote to me by the same post. Such a -piece of news as Lord Mauleverer’s visit was not to be lost on -the Cranford letter-writers: they made the most of it. Miss Matty -humbly apologised for writing at the same time as her sister, who was -so much more capable than she to describe the honour done to Cranford; -but in spite of a little bad spelling, Miss Matty’s account gave -me the best idea of the commotion occasioned by his lordship’s -visit, after it had occurred; for, except the people at the Angel, the -Browns, Mrs Jamieson, and a little lad his lordship had sworn at for -driving a dirty hoop against the aristocratic legs, I could not hear -of any one with whom his lordship had held conversation.<br> -<br> -My next visit to Cranford was in the summer. There had been neither -births, deaths, nor marriages since I was there last. Everybody -lived in the same house, and wore pretty nearly the same well-preserved, -old-fashioned clothes. The greatest event was, that Miss Jenkyns -had purchased a new carpet for the drawing-room. Oh, the busy -work Miss Matty and I had in chasing the sunbeams, as they fell in an -afternoon right down on this carpet through the blindless window! -We spread newspapers over the places and sat down to our book or our -work; and, lo! in a quarter of an hour the sun had moved, and was blazing -away on a fresh spot; and down again we went on our knees to alter the -position of the newspapers. We were very busy, too, one whole -morning, before Miss Jenkyns gave her party, in following her directions, -and in cutting out and stitching together pieces of newspaper so as -to form little paths to every chair set for the expected visitors, lest -their shoes might dirty or defile the purity of the carpet. Do -you make paper paths for every guest to walk upon in London?<br> -<br> -Captain Brown and Miss Jenkyns were not very cordial to each other. -The literary dispute, of which I had seen the beginning, was a “raw,” -the slightest touch on which made them wince. It was the only -difference of opinion they had ever had; but that difference was enough. -Miss Jenkyns could not refrain from talking at Captain Brown; and, though -he did not reply, he drummed with his fingers, which action she felt -and resented as very disparaging to Dr Johnson. He was rather -ostentatious in his preference of the writings of Mr Boz; would walk -through the streets so absorbed in them that he all but ran against -Miss Jenkyns; and though his apologies were earnest and sincere, and -though he did not, in fact, do more than startle her and himself, she -owned to me she had rather he had knocked her down, if he had only been -reading a higher style of literature. The poor, brave Captain! -he looked older, and more worn, and his clothes were very threadbare. -But he seemed as bright and cheerful as ever, unless he was asked about -his daughter’s health.<br> -<br> -“She suffers a great deal, and she must suffer more: we do what -we can to alleviate her pain; - God’s will be done!” -He took off his hat at these last words. I found, from Miss Matty, -that everything had been done, in fact. A medical man, of high -repute in that country neighbourhood, had been sent for, and every injunction -he had given was attended to, regardless of expense. Miss Matty -was sure they denied themselves many things in order to make the invalid -comfortable; but they never spoke about it; and as for Miss Jessie! -- “I really think she’s an angel,” said poor Miss -Matty, quite overcome. “To see her way of bearing with Miss -Brown’s crossness, and the bright face she puts on after she’s -been sitting up a whole night and scolded above half of it, is quite -beautiful. Yet she looks as neat and as ready to welcome the Captain -at breakfast-time as if she had been asleep in the Queen’s bed -all night. My dear! you could never laugh at her prim little curls -or her pink bows again if you saw her as I have done.” I -could only feel very penitent, and greet Miss Jessie with double respect -when I met her next. She looked faded and pinched; and her lips -began to quiver, as if she was very weak, when she spoke of her sister. -But she brightened, and sent back the tears that were glittering in -her pretty eyes, as she said -<br> -<br> -“But, to be sure, what a town Cranford is for kindness! -I don’t suppose any one has a better dinner than usual cooked -but the best part of all comes in a little covered basin for my sister. -The poor people will leave their earliest vegetables at our door for -her. They speak short and gruff, as if they were ashamed of it: -but I am sure it often goes to my heart to see their thoughtfulness.” -The tears now came back and overflowed; but after a minute or two she -began to scold herself, and ended by going away the same cheerful Miss -Jessie as ever.<br> -<br> -“But why does not this Lord Mauleverer do something for the man -who saved his life?” said I.<br> -<br> -“Why, you see, unless Captain Brown has some reason for it, he -never speaks about being poor; and he walked along by his lordship looking -as happy and cheerful as a prince; and as they never called attention -to their dinner by apologies, and as Miss Brown was better that day, -and all seemed bright, I daresay his lordship never knew how much care -there was in the background. He did send game in the winter pretty -often, but now he is gone abroad.”<br> -<br> -I had often occasion to notice the use that was made of fragments and -small opportunities in Cranford; the rose-leaves that were gathered -ere they fell to make into a potpourri for someone who had no garden; -the little bundles of lavender flowers sent to strew the drawers of -some town-dweller, or to burn in the chamber of some invalid. -Things that many would despise, and actions which it seemed scarcely -worth while to perform, were all attended to in Cranford. Miss -Jenkyns stuck an apple full of cloves, to be heated and smell pleasantly -in Miss Brown’s room; and as she put in each clove she uttered -a Johnsonian sentence. Indeed, she never could think of the Browns -without talking Johnson; and, as they were seldom absent from her thoughts -just then, I heard many a rolling, three-piled sentence.<br> -<br> -Captain Brown called one day to thank Mist Jenkyns for many little kindnesses, -which I did not know until then that she had rendered. He had -suddenly become like an old man; his deep bass voice had a quavering -in it, his eyes looked dim, and the lines on his face were deep. -He did not - could not - speak cheerfully of his daughter’s state, -but he talked with manly, pious resignation, and not much. Twice -over he said, “What Jessie has been to us, God only knows!” -and after the second time, he got up hastily, shook hands all round -without speaking, and left the room.<br> -<br> -That afternoon we perceived little groups in the street, all listening -with faces aghast to some tale or other. Miss Jenkyns wondered -what could be the matter for some time before she took the undignified -step of sending Jenny out to inquire.<br> -<br> -Jenny came back with a white face of terror. “Oh, ma’am! -Oh, Miss Jenkyns, ma’am! Captain Brown is killed by them -nasty cruel railroads!” and she burst into tears. She, along -with many others, had experienced the poor Captain’s kindness.<br> -<br> -“How? - where - where? Good God! Jenny, don’t -waste time in crying, but tell us something.” Miss Matty -rushed out into the street at once, and collared the man who was telling -the tale.<br> -<br> -“Come in - come to my sister at once, Miss Jenkyns, the rector’s -daughter. Oh, man, man! say it is not true,” she cried, -as she brought the affrighted carter, sleeking down his hair, into the -drawing-room, where he stood with his wet boots on the new carpet, and -no one regarded it.<br> -<br> -“Please, mum, it is true. I seed it myself,” and he -shuddered at the recollection. “The Captain was a-reading -some new book as he was deep in, a-waiting for the down train; and there -was a little lass as wanted to come to its mammy, and gave its sister -the slip, and came toddling across the line. And he looked up -sudden, at the sound of the train coming, and seed the child, and he -darted on the line and cotched it up, and his foot slipped, and the -train came over him in no time. O Lord, Lord! Mum, it’s -quite true, and they’ve come over to tell his daughters. -The child’s safe, though, with only a bang on its shoulder as -he threw it to its mammy. Poor Captain would be glad of that, -mum, wouldn’t he? God bless him!” The great -rough carter puckered up his manly face, and turned away to hide his -tears. I turned to Miss Jenkyns. She looked very ill, as -if she were going to faint, and signed to me to open the window.<br> -<br> -“Matilda, bring me my bonnet. I must go to those girls. -God pardon me, if ever I have spoken contemptuously to the Captain!”<br> -<br> -Miss Jenkyns arrayed herself to go out, telling Miss Matilda to give -the man a glass of wine. While she was away, Miss Matty and I -huddled over the fire, talking in a low and awe-struck voice. -I know we cried quietly all the time.<br> -<br> -Miss Jenkyns came home in a silent mood, and we durst not ask her many -questions. She told us that Miss Jessie had fainted, and that -she and Miss Pole had had some difficulty in bringing her round; but -that, as soon as she recovered, she begged one of them to go and sit -with her sister.<br> -<br> -“Mr Hoggins says she cannot live many days, and she shall be spared -this shock,” said Miss Jessie, shivering with feelings to which -she dared not give way.<br> -<br> -“But how can you manage, my dear?” asked Miss Jenkyns; “you -cannot bear up, she must see your tears.”<br> -<br> -“God will help me - I will not give way - she was asleep when -the news came; she may be asleep yet. She would be so utterly -miserable, not merely at my father’s death, but to think of what -would become of me; she is so good to me.” She looked up -earnestly in their faces with her soft true eyes, and Miss Pole told -Miss Jenkyns afterwards she could hardly bear it, knowing, as she did, -how Miss Brown treated her sister.<br> -<br> -However, it was settled according to Miss Jessie’s wish. -Miss Brown was to be told her father had been summoned to take a short -journey on railway business. They had managed it in some way - -Miss Jenkyns could not exactly say how. Miss Pole was to stop -with Miss Jessie. Mrs Jamieson had sent to inquire. And -this was all we heard that night; and a sorrowful night it was. -The next day a full account of the fatal accident was in the county -paper which Miss Jenkyns took in. Her eyes were very weak, she -said, and she asked me to read it. When I came to the “gallant -gentleman was deeply engaged in the perusal of a number of ‘Pickwick,’ -which he had just received,” Miss Jenkyns shook her head long -and solemnly, and then sighed out, “Poor, dear, infatuated man!”<br> -<br> -The corpse was to be taken from the station to the parish church, there -to be interred. Miss Jessie had set her heart on following it -to the grave; and no dissuasives could alter her resolve. Her -restraint upon herself made her almost obstinate; she resisted all Miss -Pole’s entreaties and Miss Jenkyns’ advice. At last -Miss Jenkyns gave up the point; and after a silence, which I feared -portended some deep displeasure against Miss Jessie, Miss Jenkyns said -she should accompany the latter to the funeral.<br> -<br> -“It is not fit for you to go alone. It would be against -both propriety and humanity were I to allow it.”<br> -<br> -Miss Jessie seemed as if she did not half like this arrangement; but -her obstinacy, if she had any, had been exhausted in her determination -to go to the interment. She longed, poor thing, I have no doubt, -to cry alone over the grave of the dear father to whom she had been -all in all, and to give way, for one little half-hour, uninterrupted -by sympathy and unobserved by friendship. But it was not to be. -That afternoon Miss Jenkyns sent out for a yard of black crape, and -employed herself busily in trimming the little black silk bonnet I have -spoken about. When it was finished she put it on, and looked at -us for approbation - admiration she despised. I was full of sorrow, -but, by one of those whimsical thoughts which come unbidden into our -heads, in times of deepest grief, I no sooner saw the bonnet than I -was reminded of a helmet; and in that hybrid bonnet, half helmet, half -jockey-cap, did Miss Jenkyns attend Captain Brown’s funeral, and, -I believe, supported Miss Jessie with a tender, indulgent firmness which -was invaluable, allowing her to weep her passionate fill before they -left.<br> -<br> -Miss Pole, Miss Matty, and I, meanwhile attended to Miss Brown: and -hard work we found it to relieve her querulous and never-ending complaints. -But if we were so weary and dispirited, what must Miss Jessie have been! -Yet she came back almost calm as if she had gained a new strength. -She put off her mourning dress, and came in, looking pale and gentle, -thanking us each with a soft long pressure of the hand. She could -even smile - a faint, sweet, wintry smile - as if to reassure us of -her power to endure; but her look made our eyes fill suddenly with tears, -more than if she had cried outright.<br> -<br> -It was settled that Miss Pole was to remain with her all the watching -livelong night; and that Miss Matty and I were to return in the morning -to relieve them, and give Miss Jessie the opportunity for a few hours -of sleep. But when the morning came, Miss Jenkyns appeared at -the breakfast-table, equipped in her helmet-bonnet, and ordered Miss -Matty to stay at home, as she meant to go and help to nurse. She -was evidently in a state of great friendly excitement, which she showed -by eating her breakfast standing, and scolding the household all round.<br> -<br> -No nursing - no energetic strong-minded woman could help Miss Brown -now. There was that in the room as we entered which was stronger -than us all, and made us shrink into solemn awestruck helplessness. -Miss Brown was dying. We hardly knew her voice, it was so devoid -of the complaining tone we had always associated with it. Miss -Jessie told me afterwards that it, and her face too, were just what -they had been formerly, when her mother’s death left her the young -anxious head of the family, of whom only Miss Jessie survived.<br> -<br> -She was conscious of her sister’s presence, though not, I think, -of ours. We stood a little behind the curtain: Miss Jessie knelt -with her face near her sister’s, in order to catch the last soft -awful whispers.<br> -<br> -“Oh, Jessie! Jessie! How selfish I have been! -God forgive me for letting you sacrifice yourself for me as you did! -I have so loved you - and yet I have thought only of myself. God -forgive me!”<br> -<br> -“Hush, love! hush!” said Miss Jessie, sobbing.<br> -<br> -“And my father, my dear, dear father! I will not complain -now, if God will give me strength to be patient. But, oh, Jessie! -tell my father how I longed and yearned to see him at last, and to ask -his forgiveness. He can never know now how I loved him - oh! if -I might but tell him, before I die! What a life of sorrow his -has been, and I have done so little to cheer him!”<br> -<br> -A light came into Miss Jessie’s face. “Would it comfort -you, dearest, to think that he does know? - would it comfort you, love, -to know that his cares, his sorrows” - Her voice quivered, but -she steadied it into calmness - “Mary! he has gone before you -to the place where the weary are at rest. He knows now how you -loved him.”<br> -<br> -A strange look, which was not distress, came over Miss Brown’s -face. She did not speak for come time, but then we saw her lips -form the words, rather than heard the sound - “Father, mother, -Harry, Archy;” - then, as if it were a new idea throwing a filmy -shadow over her darkened mind - “But you will be alone, Jessie!”<br> -<br> -Miss Jessie had been feeling this all during the silence, I think; for -the tears rolled down her cheeks like rain, at these words, and she -could not answer at first. Then she put her hands together tight, -and lifted them up, and said - but not to us - “Though He slay -me, yet will I trust in Him.”<br> -<br> -In a few moments more Miss Brown lay calm and still - never to sorrow -or murmur more.<br> -<br> -After this second funeral, Miss Jenkyns insisted that Miss Jessie should -come to stay with her rather than go back to the desolate house, which, -in fact, we learned from Miss Jessie, must now be given up, as she had -not wherewithal to maintain it. She had something above twenty -pounds a year, besides the interest of the money for which the furniture -would sell; but she could not live upon that: and so we talked over -her qualifications for earning money.<br> -<br> -“I can sew neatly,” said she, “and I like nursing. -I think, too, I could manage a house, if any one would try me as housekeeper; -or I would go into a shop as saleswoman, if they would have patience -with me at first.”<br> -<br> -Miss Jenkyns declared, in an angry voice, that she should do no such -thing; and talked to herself about “some people having no idea -of their rank as a captain’s daughter,” nearly an hour afterwards, -when she brought Miss Jessie up a basin of delicately-made arrowroot, -and stood over her like a dragoon until the last spoonful was finished: -then she disappeared. Miss Jessie began to tell me some more of -the plans which had suggested themselves to her, and insensibly fell -into talking of the days that were past and gone, and interested me -so much I neither knew nor heeded how time passed. We were both -startled when Miss Jenkyns reappeared, and caught us crying. I -was afraid lest she would be displeased, as she often said that crying -hindered digestion, and I knew she wanted Miss Jessie to get strong; -but, instead, she looked queer and excited, and fidgeted round us without -saying anything. At last she spoke.<br> -<br> -“I have been so much startled - no, I’ve not been at all -startled - don’t mind me, my dear Miss Jessie - I’ve been -very much surprised - in fact, I’ve had a caller, whom you knew -once, my dear Miss Jessie” -<br> -<br> -Miss Jessie went very white, then flushed scarlet, and looked eagerly -at Miss Jenkyns.<br> -<br> -“A gentleman, my dear, who wants to know if you would see him.”<br> -<br> -“Is it? - it is not” - stammered out Miss Jessie - and got -no farther.<br> -<br> -“This is his card,” said Miss Jenkyns, giving it to Miss -Jessie; and while her head was bent over it, Miss Jenkyns went through -a series of winks and odd faces to me, and formed her lips into a long -sentence, of which, of course, I could not understand a word.<br> -<br> -“May he come up?” asked Miss Jenkyns at last.<br> -<br> -“Oh, yes! certainly!” said Miss Jessie, as much as to say, -this is your house, you may show any visitor where you like. She -took up some knitting of Miss Matty’s and began to be very busy, -though I could see how she trembled all over.<br> -<br> -Miss Jenkyns rang the bell, and told the servant who answered it to -show Major Gordon upstairs; and, presently, in walked a tall, fine, -frank-looking man of forty or upwards. He shook hands with Miss -Jessie; but he could not see her eyes, she kept them so fixed on the -ground. Miss Jenkyns asked me if I would come and help her to -tie up the preserves in the store-room; and though Miss Jessie plucked -at my gown, and even looked up at me with begging eye, I durst not refuse -to go where Miss Jenkyns asked. Instead of tying up preserves -in the store-room, however, we went to talk in the dining-room; and -there Miss Jenkyns told me what Major Gordon had told her; how he had -served in the same regiment with Captain Brown, and had become acquainted -with Miss Jessie, then a sweet-looking, blooming girl of eighteen; how -the acquaintance had grown into love on his part, though it had been -some years before he had spoken; how, on becoming possessed, through -the will of an uncle, of a good estate in Scotland, he had offered and -been refused, though with so much agitation and evident distress that -he was sure she was not indifferent to him; and how he had discovered -that the obstacle was the fell disease which was, even then, too surely -threatening her sister. She had mentioned that the surgeons foretold -intense suffering; and there was no one but herself to nurse her poor -Mary, or cheer and comfort her father during the time of illness. -They had had long discussions; and on her refusal to pledge herself -to him as his wife when all should be over, he had grown angry, and -broken off entirely, and gone abroad, believing that she was a cold-hearted -person whom he would do well to forget.<br> -<br> -He had been travelling in the East, and was on his return home when, -at Rome, he saw the account of Captain Brown’s death in <i>Galignani</i>.<br> -<br> -Just then Miss Matty, who had been out all the morning, and had only -lately returned to the house, burst in with a face of dismay and outraged -propriety.<br> -<br> -“Oh, goodness me!” she said. “Deborah, there’s -a gentleman sitting in the drawing-room with his arm round Miss Jessie’s -waist!” Miss Matty’s eyes looked large with terror.<br> -<br> -Miss Jenkyns snubbed her down in an instant.<br> -<br> -“The most proper place in the world for his arm to be in. -Go away, Matilda, and mind your own business.” This from -her sister, who had hitherto been a model of feminine decorum, was a -blow for poor Miss Matty, and with a double shock she left the room.<br> -<br> -The last time I ever saw poor Miss Jenkyns was many years after this. -Mrs Gordon had kept up a warm and affectionate intercourse with all -at Cranford. Miss Jenkyns, Miss Matty, and Miss Pole had all been -to visit her, and returned with wonderful accounts of her house, her -husband, her dress, and her looks. For, with happiness, something -of her early bloom returned; she had been a year or two younger than -we had taken her for. Her eyes were always lovely, and, as Mrs -Gordon, her dimples were not out of place. At the time to which -I have referred, when I last saw Miss Jenkyns, that lady was old and -feeble, and had lost something of her strong mind. Little Flora -Gordon was staying with the Misses Jenkyns, and when I came in she was -reading aloud to Miss Jenkyns, who lay feeble and changed on the sofa. -Flora put down the <i>Rambler</i> when I came in.<br> -<br> -“Ah!” said Miss Jenkyns, “you find me changed, my -dear. If can’t see as I used to do. I Flora were not -here to read to me, I hardly know how I should get through the day. -Did you ever read the <i>Rambler</i>? It’s a wonderful book -- wonderful! and the most improving reading for Flora” (which -I daresay it would have been, if she could have read half the words -without spelling, and could have understood the meaning of a third), -“better than that strange old book, with the queer name, poor -Captain Brown was killed for reading - that book by Mr Boz, you know -- ‘Old Poz’; when I was a girl - but that’s a long -time ago - I acted Lucy in ‘Old Poz.’” She babbled -on long enough for Flora to get a good long spell at the “Christmas -Carol,” which Miss Matty had left on the table.<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -CHAPTER III - A LOVE AFFAIR OF LONG AGO<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -I thought that probably my connection with Cranford would cease after -Miss Jenkyns’s death; at least, that it would have to be kept -up by correspondence, which bears much the same relation to personal -intercourse that the books of dried plants I sometimes see (“Hortus -Siccus,” I think they call the thing) do to the living and fresh -flowers in the lines and meadows. I was pleasantly surprised, -therefore, by receiving a letter from Miss Pole (who had always come -in for a supplementary week after my annual visit to Miss Jenkyns) proposing -that I should go and stay with her; and then, in a couple of days after -my acceptance, came a note from Miss Matty, in which, in a rather circuitous -and very humble manner, she told me how much pleasure I should confer -if I could spend a week or two with her, either before or after I had -been at Miss Pole’s; “for,” she said, “since -my dear sister’s death I am well aware I have no attractions to -offer; it is only to the kindness of my friends that I can owe their -company.”<br> -<br> -Of course I promised to come to dear Miss Matty as soon as I had ended -my visit to Miss Pole; and the day after my arrival at Cranford I went -to see her, much wondering what the house would be like without Miss -Jenkyns, and rather dreading the changed aspect of things. Miss -Matty began to cry as soon as she saw me. She was evidently nervous -from having anticipated my call. I comforted her as well as I -could; and I found the best consolation I could give was the honest -praise that came from my heart as I spoke of the deceased. Miss -Matty slowly shook her head over each virtue as it was named and attributed -to her sister; and at last she could not restrain the tears which had -long been silently flowing, but hid her face behind her handkerchief -and sobbed aloud.<br> -<br> -“Dear Miss Matty,” said I, taking her hand - for indeed -I did not know in what way to tell her how sorry I was for her, left -deserted in the world. She put down her handkerchief and said --<br> -<br> -“My dear, I’d rather you did not call me Matty. She -did not like it; but I did many a thing she did not like, I’m -afraid - and now she’s gone! If you please, my love, will -you call me Matilda?”<br> -<br> -I promised faithfully, and began to practise the new name with Miss -Pole that very day; and, by degrees, Miss Matilda’s feeling on -the subject was known through Cranford, and we all tried to drop the -more familiar name, but with so little success that by-and-by we gave -up the attempt.<br> -<br> -My visit to Miss Pole was very quiet. Miss Jenkyns had so long -taken the lead in Cranford that now she was gone, they hardly knew how -to give a party. The Honourable Mrs Jamieson, to whom Miss Jenkyns -herself had always yielded the post of honour, was fat and inert, and -very much at the mercy of her old servants. If they chose that -she should give a party, they reminded her of the necessity for so doing: -if not, she let it alone. There was all the more time for me to -hear old-world stories from Miss Pole, while she sat knitting, and I -making my father’s shirts. I always took a quantity of plain -sewing to Cranford; for, as we did not read much, or walk much, I found -it a capital time to get through my work. One of Miss Pole’s -stories related to a shadow of a love affair that was dimly perceived -or suspected long years before.<br> -<br> -Presently, the time arrived when I was to remove to Miss Matilda’s -house. I found her timid and anxious about the arrangements for -my comfort. Many a time, while I was unpacking, did she come backwards -and forwards to stir the fire which burned all the worse for being so -frequently poked.<br> -<br> -“Have you drawers enough, dear?” asked she. “I -don’t know exactly how my sister used to arrange them. She -had capital methods. I am sure she would have trained a servant -in a week to make a better fire than this, and Fanny has been with me -four months.”<br> -<br> -This subject of servants was a standing grievance, and I could not wonder -much at it; for if gentlemen were scarce, and almost unheard of in the -“genteel society” of Cranford, they or their counterparts -- handsome young men - abounded in the lower classes. The pretty -neat servant-maids had their choice of desirable “followers”; -and their mistresses, without having the sort of mysterious dread of -men and matrimony that Miss Matilda had, might well feel a little anxious -lest the heads of their comely maids should be turned by the joiner, -or the butcher, or the gardener, who were obliged, by their callings, -to come to the house, and who, as ill-luck would have it, were generally -handsome and unmarried. Fanny’s lovers, if she had any - -and Miss Matilda suspected her of so many flirtations that, if she had -not been very pretty, I should have doubted her having one - were a -constant anxiety to her mistress. She was forbidden, by the articles -of her engagement, to have “followers”; and though she had -answered, innocently enough, doubling up the hem of her apron as she -spoke, “Please, ma’am, I never had more than one at a time,” -Miss Matty prohibited that one. But a vision of a man seemed to -haunt the kitchen. Fanny assured me that it was all fancy, or -else I should have said myself that I had seen a man’s coat-tails -whisk into the scullery once, when I went on an errand into the store-room -at night; and another evening, when, our watches having stopped, I went -to look at the clock, there was a very odd appearance, singularly like -a young man squeezed up between the clock and the back of the open kitchen-door: -and I thought Fanny snatched up the candle very hastily, so as to throw -the shadow on the clock face, while she very positively told me the -time half-an-hour too early, as we found out afterwards by the church -clock. But I did not add to Miss Matty’s anxieties by naming -my suspicions, especially as Fanny said to me, the next day, that it -was such a queer kitchen for having odd shadows about it, she really -was almost afraid to stay; “for you know, miss,” she added, -“I don’t see a creature from six o’clock tea, till -Missus rings the bell for prayers at ten.”<br> -<br> -However, it so fell out that Fanny had to leave and Miss Matilda begged -me to stay and “settle her” with the new maid; to which -I consented, after I had heard from my father that he did not want me -at home. The new servant was a rough, honest-looking, country -girl, who had only lived in a farm place before; but I liked her looks -when she came to be hired; and I promised Miss Matilda to put her in -the ways of the house. The said ways were religiously such as -Miss Matilda thought her sister would approve. Many a domestic -rule and regulation had been a subject of plaintive whispered murmur -to me during Miss Jenkyns’s life; but now that she was gone, I -do not think that even I, who was a favourite, durst have suggested -an alteration. To give an instance: we constantly adhered to the -forms which were observed, at meal-times, in “my father, the rector’s -house.” Accordingly, we had always wine and dessert; but -the decanters were only filled when there was a party, and what remained -was seldom touched, though we had two wine-glasses apiece every day -after dinner, until the next festive occasion arrived, when the state -of the remainder wine was examined into in a family council. The -dregs were often given to the poor: but occasionally, when a good deal -had been left at the last party (five months ago, it might be), it was -added to some of a fresh bottle, brought up from the cellar. I -fancy poor Captain Brown did not much like wine, for I noticed he never -finished his first glass, and most military men take several. -Then, as to our dessert, Miss Jenkyns used to gather currants and gooseberries -for it herself, which I sometimes thought would have tasted better fresh -from the trees; but then, as Miss Jenkyns observed, there would have -been nothing for dessert in summer-time. As it was, we felt very -genteel with our two glasses apiece, and a dish of gooseberries at the -top, of currants and biscuits at the sides, and two decanters at the -bottom. When oranges came in, a curious proceeding was gone through. -Miss Jenkyns did not like to cut the fruit; for, as she observed, the -juice all ran out nobody knew where; sucking (only I think she used -some more recondite word) was in fact the only way of enjoying oranges; -but then there was the unpleasant association with a ceremony frequently -gone through by little babies; and so, after dessert, in orange season, -Miss Jenkyns and Miss Matty used to rise up, possess themselves each -of an orange in silence, and withdraw to the privacy of their own rooms -to indulge in sucking oranges.<br> -<br> -I had once or twice tried, on such occasions, to prevail on Miss Matty -to stay, and had succeeded in her sister’s lifetime. I held -up a screen, and did not look, and, as she said, she tried not to make -the noise very offensive; but now that she was left alone, she seemed -quite horrified when I begged her to remain with me in the warm dining-parlour, -and enjoy her orange as she liked best. And so it was in everything. -Miss Jenkyns’s rules were made more stringent than ever, because -the framer of them was gone where there could be no appeal. In -all things else Miss Matilda was meek and undecided to a fault. -I have heard Fanny turn her round twenty times in a morning about dinner, -just as the little hussy chose; and I sometimes fancied she worked on -Miss Matilda’s weakness in order to bewilder her, and to make -her feel more in the power of her clever servant. I determined -that I would not leave her till I had seen what sort of a person Martha -was; and, if I found her trustworthy, I would tell her not to trouble -her mistress with every little decision.<br> -<br> -Martha was blunt and plain-spoken to a fault; otherwise she was a brisk, -well-meaning, but very ignorant girl. She had not been with us -a week before Miss Matilda and I were astounded one morning by the receipt -of a letter from a cousin of hers, who had been twenty or thirty years -in India, and who had lately, as we had seen by the “Army List,” -returned to England, bringing with him an invalid wife who had never -been introduced to her English relations. Major Jenkyns wrote -to propose that he and his wife should spend a night at Cranford, on -his way to Scotland - at the inn, if it did not suit Miss Matilda to -receive them into her house; in which case they should hope to be with -her as much as possible during the day. Of course it <i>must</i> -suit her, as she said; for all Cranford knew that she had her sister’s -bedroom at liberty; but I am sure she wished the Major had stopped in -India and forgotten his cousins out and out.<br> -<br> -“Oh! how must I manage?” asked she helplessly. “If -Deborah had been alive she would have known what to do with a gentleman-visitor. -Must I put razors in his dressing-room? Dear! dear! and I’ve -got none. Deborah would have had them. And slippers, and -coat-brushes?” I suggested that probably he would bring -all these things with him. “And after dinner, how am I to -know when to get up and leave him to his wine? Deborah would have -done it so well; she would have been quite in her element. Will -he want coffee, do you think?” I undertook the management -of the coffee, and told her I would instruct Martha in the art of waiting -- in which it must be owned she was terribly deficient - and that I -had no doubt Major and Mrs Jenkyns would understand the quiet mode in -which a lady lived by herself in a country town. But she was sadly -fluttered. I made her empty her decanters and bring up two fresh -bottles of wine. I wished I could have prevented her from being -present at my instructions to Martha, for she frequently cut in with -some fresh direction, muddling the poor girl’s mind as she stood -open-mouthed, listening to us both.<br> -<br> -“Hand the vegetables round,” said I (foolishly, I see now -- for it was aiming at more than we could accomplish with quietness -and simplicity); and then, seeing her look bewildered, I added, “take -the vegetables round to people, and let them help themselves.”<br> -<br> -“And mind you go first to the ladies,” put in Miss Matilda. -“Always go to the ladies before gentlemen when you are waiting.”<br> -<br> -“I’ll do it as you tell me, ma’am,” said Martha; -“but I like lads best.”<br> -<br> -We felt very uncomfortable and shocked at this speech of Martha’s, -yet I don’t think she meant any harm; and, on the whole, she attended -very well to our directions, except that she “nudged” the -Major when he did not help himself as soon as she expected to the potatoes, -while she was handing them round.<br> -<br> -The major and his wife were quiet unpretending people enough when they -did come; languid, as all East Indians are, I suppose. We were -rather dismayed at their bringing two servants with them, a Hindoo body-servant -for the Major, and a steady elderly maid for his wife; but they slept -at the inn, and took off a good deal of the responsibility by attending -carefully to their master’s and mistress’s comfort. -Martha, to be sure, had never ended her staring at the East Indian’s -white turban and brown complexion, and I saw that Miss Matilda shrunk -away from him a little as he waited at dinner. Indeed, she asked -me, when they were gone, if he did not remind me of Blue Beard? -On the whole, the visit was most satisfactory, and is a subject of conversation -even now with Miss Matilda; at the time it greatly excited Cranford, -and even stirred up the apathetic and Honourable Mrs Jamieson to some -expression of interest, when I went to call and thank her for the kind -answers she had vouchsafed to Miss Matilda’s inquiries as to the -arrangement of a gentleman’s dressing-room - answers which I must -confess she had given in the wearied manner of the Scandinavian prophetess --<br> -<br> -<br> -“Leave me, leave me to repose.”<br> -<br> -<br> -And <i>now</i> I come to the love affair.<br> -<br> -It seems that Miss Pole had a cousin, once or twice removed, who had -offered to Miss Matty long ago. Now this cousin lived four or -five miles from Cranford on his own estate; but his property was not -large enough to entitle him to rank higher than a yeoman; or rather, -with something of the “pride which apes humility,” he had -refused to push himself on, as so many of his class had done, into the -ranks of the squires. He would not allow himself to be called -Thomas Holbrook, <i>Esq</i>.; he even sent back letters with this address, -telling the post-mistress at Cranford that his name was <i>Mr</i> Thomas -Holbrook, yeoman. He rejected all domestic innovations; he would -have the house door stand open in summer and shut in winter, without -knocker or bell to summon a servant. The closed fist or the knob -of a stick did this office for him if he found the door locked. -He despised every refinement which had not its root deep down in humanity. -If people were not ill, he saw no necessity for moderating his voice. -He spoke the dialect of the country in perfection, and constantly used -it in conversation; although Miss Pole (who gave me these particulars) -added, that he read aloud more beautifully and with more feeling than -any one she had ever heard, except the late rector.<br> -<br> -“And how came Miss Matilda not to marry him?” asked I.<br> -<br> -“Oh, I don’t know. She was willing enough, I think; -but you know Cousin Thomas would not have been enough of a gentleman -for the rector and Miss Jenkyns.”<br> -<br> -“Well! but they were not to marry him,” said I, impatiently.<br> -<br> -“No; but they did not like Miss Matty to marry below her rank. -You know she was the rector’s daughter, and somehow they are related -to Sir Peter Arley: Miss Jenkyns thought a deal of that.”<br> -<br> -“Poor Miss Matty!” said I.<br> -<br> -“Nay, now, I don’t know anything more than that he offered -and was refused. Miss Matty might not like him - and Miss Jenkyns -might never have said a word - it is only a guess of mine.”<br> -<br> -“Has she never seen him since?” I inquired.<br> -<br> -“No, I think not. You see Woodley, Cousin Thomas’s -house, lies half-way between Cranford and Misselton; and I know he made -Misselton his market-town very soon after he had offered to Miss Matty; -and I don’t think he has been into Cranford above once or twice -since - once, when I was walking with Miss Matty, in High Street, and -suddenly she darted from me, and went up Shire Lane. A few minutes -after I was startled by meeting Cousin Thomas.”<br> -<br> -“How old is he?” I asked, after a pause of castle-building.<br> -<br> -“He must be about seventy, I think, my dear,” said Miss -Pole, blowing up my castle, as if by gun-powder, into small fragments.<br> -<br> -Very soon after - at least during my long visit to Miss Matilda - I -had the opportunity of seeing Mr Holbrook; seeing, too, his first encounter -with his former love, after thirty or forty years’ separation. -I was helping to decide whether any of the new assortment of coloured -silks which they had just received at the shop would do to match a grey -and black mousseline-delaine that wanted a new breadth, when a tall, -thin, Don Quixote-looking old man came into the shop for some woollen -gloves. I had never seen the person (who was rather striking) -before, and I watched him rather attentively while Miss Matty listened -to the shopman. The stranger wore a blue coat with brass buttons, -drab breeches, and gaiters, and drummed with his fingers on the counter -until he was attended to. When he answered the shop-boy’s -question, “What can I have the pleasure of showing you to-day, -sir?” I saw Miss Matilda start, and then suddenly sit down; and -instantly I guessed who it was. She had made some inquiry which -had to be carried round to the other shopman.<br> -<br> -“Miss Jenkyns wants the black sarsenet two-and-twopence the yard”; -and Mr Holbrook had caught the name, and was across the shop in two -strides.<br> -<br> -“Matty - Miss Matilda - Miss Jenkyns! God bless my soul! -I should not have known you. How are you? how are you?” -He kept shaking her hand in a way which proved the warmth of his friendship; -but he repeated so often, as if to himself, “I should not have -known you!” that any sentimental romance which I might be inclined -to build was quite done away with by his manner.<br> -<br> -However, he kept talking to us all the time we were in the shop; and -then waving the shopman with the unpurchased gloves on one side, with -“Another time, sir! another time!” he walked home with us. -I am happy to say my client, Miss Matilda, also left the shop in an -equally bewildered state, not having purchased either green or red silk. -Mr Holbrook was evidently full with honest loud-spoken joy at meeting -his old love again; he touched on the changes that had taken place; -he even spoke of Miss Jenkyns as “Your poor sister! Well, -well! we have all our faults”; and bade us good-bye with many -a hope that he should soon see Miss Matty again. She went straight -to her room, and never came back till our early tea-time, when I thought -she looked as if she had been crying.<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -CHAPTER IV - A VISIT TO AN OLD BACHELOR<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -A few days after, a note came from Mr Holbrook, asking us - impartially -asking both of us - in a formal, old-fashioned style, to spend a day -at his house - a long June day - for it was June now. He named -that he had also invited his cousin, Miss Pole; so that we might join -in a fly, which could be put up at his house.<br> -<br> -I expected Miss Matty to jump at this invitation; but, no! Miss -Pole and I had the greatest difficulty in persuading her to go. -She thought it was improper; and was even half annoyed when we utterly -ignored the idea of any impropriety in her going with two other ladies -to see her old lover. Then came a more serious difficulty. -She did not think Deborah would have liked her to go. This took -us half a day’s good hard talking to get over; but, at the first -sentence of relenting, I seized the opportunity, and wrote and despatched -an acceptance in her name - fixing day and hour, that all might be decided -and done with.<br> -<br> -The next morning she asked me if I would go down to the shop with her; -and there, after much hesitation, we chose out three caps to be sent -home and tried on, that the most becoming might be selected to take -with us on Thursday.<br> -<br> -She was in a state of silent agitation all the way to Woodley. -She had evidently never been there before; and, although she little -dreamt I knew anything of her early story, I could perceive she was -in a tremor at the thought of seeing the place which might have been -her home, and round which it is probable that many of her innocent girlish -imaginations had clustered. It was a long drive there, through -paved jolting lanes. Miss Matilda sat bolt upright, and looked -wistfully out of the windows as we drew near the end of our journey. -The aspect of the country was quiet and pastoral. Woodley stood -among fields; and there was an old-fashioned garden where roses and -currant-bushes touched each other, and where the feathery asparagus -formed a pretty background to the pinks and gilly-flowers; there was -no drive up to the door. We got out at a little gate, and walked -up a straight box-edged path.<br> -<br> -“My cousin might make a drive, I think,” said Miss Pole, -who was afraid of ear-ache, and had only her cap on.<br> -<br> -“I think it is very pretty,” said Miss Matty, with a soft -plaintiveness in her voice, and almost in a whisper, for just then Mr -Holbrook appeared at the door, rubbing his hands in very effervescence -of hospitality. He looked more like my idea of Don Quixote than -ever, and yet the likeness was only external. His respectable -housekeeper stood modestly at the door to bid us welcome; and, while -she led the elder ladies upstairs to a bedroom, I begged to look about -the garden. My request evidently pleased the old gentleman, who -took me all round the place and showed me his six-and-twenty cows, named -after the different letters of the alphabet. As we went along, -he surprised me occasionally by repeating apt and beautiful quotations -from the poets, ranging easily from Shakespeare and George Herbert to -those of our own day. He did this as naturally as if he were thinking -aloud, and their true and beautiful words were the best expression he -could find for what he was thinking or feeling. To be sure he -called Byron “my Lord Byrron,” and pronounced the name of -Goethe strictly in accordance with the English sound of the letters -- “As Goethe says, ‘Ye ever-verdant palaces,’” -&c. Altogether, I never met with a man, before or since, who -had spent so long a life in a secluded and not impressive country, with -ever-increasing delight in the daily and yearly change of season and -beauty.<br> -<br> -When he and I went in, we found that dinner was nearly ready in the -kitchen - for so I suppose the room ought to be called, as there were -oak dressers and cupboards all round, all over by the side of the fireplace, -and only a small Turkey carpet in the middle of the flag-floor. -The room might have been easily made into a handsome dark oak dining-parlour -by removing the oven and a few other appurtenances of a kitchen, which -were evidently never used, the real cooking-place being at some distance. -The room in which we were expected to sit was a stiffly-furnished, ugly -apartment; but that in which we did sit was what Mr Holbrook called -the counting-house, where he paid his labourers their weekly wages at -a great desk near the door. The rest of the pretty sitting-room -- looking into the orchard, and all covered over with dancing tree-shadows -- was filled with books. They lay on the ground, they covered -the walls, they strewed the table. He was evidently half ashamed -and half proud of his extravagance in this respect. They were -of all kinds - poetry and wild weird tales prevailing. He evidently -chose his books in accordance with his own tastes, not because such -and such were classical or established favourites.<br> -<br> -“Ah!” he said, “we farmers ought not to have much -time for reading; yet somehow one can’t help it.”<br> -<br> -“What a pretty room!” said Miss Matty, <i>sotto voce</i>.<br> -<br> -“What a pleasant place!” said I, aloud, almost simultaneously.<br> -<br> -“Nay! if you like it,” replied he; “but can you sit -on these great, black leather, three-cornered chairs? I like it -better than the best parlour; but I thought ladies would take that for -the smarter place.”<br> -<br> -It was the smarter place, but, like most smart things, not at all pretty, -or pleasant, or home-like; so, while we were at dinner, the servant-girl -dusted and scrubbed the counting-house chairs, and we sat there all -the rest of the day.<br> -<br> -We had pudding before meat; and I thought Mr Holbrook was going to make -some apology for his old-fashioned ways, for he began -<br> -<br> -“I don’t know whether you like newfangled ways.”<br> -<br> -“Oh, not at all!” said Miss Matty.<br> -<br> -“No more do I,” said he. “My house-keeper <i>will</i> -have these in her new fashion; or else I tell her that, when I was a -young man, we used to keep strictly to my father’s rule, ‘No -broth, no ball; no ball, no beef’; and always began dinner with -broth. Then we had suet puddings, boiled in the broth with the -beef: and then the meat itself. If we did not sup our broth, we -had no ball, which we liked a deal better; and the beef came last of -all, and only those had it who had done justice to the broth and the -ball. Now folks begin with sweet things, and turn their dinners -topsy-turvy.”<br> -<br> -When the ducks and green peas came, we looked at each other in dismay; -we had only two-pronged, black-handled forks. It is true the steel -was as bright as silver; but what were we to do? Miss Matty picked -up her peas, one by one, on the point of the prongs, much as Aminé -ate her grains of rice after her previous feast with the Ghoul. -Miss Pole sighed over her delicate young peas as she left them on one -side of her plate untasted, for they <i>would</i> drop between the prongs. -I looked at my host: the peas were going wholesale into his capacious -mouth, shovelled up by his large round-ended knife. I saw, I imitated, -I survived! My friends, in spite of my precedent, could not muster -up courage enough to do an ungenteel thing; and, if Mr Holbrook had -not been so heartily hungry, he would probably have seen that the good -peas went away almost untouched.<br> -<br> -After dinner, a clay pipe was brought in, and a spittoon; and, asking -us to retire to another room, where he would soon join us, if we disliked -tobacco-smoke, he presented his pipe to Miss Matty, and requested her -to fill the bowl. This was a compliment to a lady in his youth; -but it was rather inappropriate to propose it as an honour to Miss Matty, -who had been trained by her sister to hold smoking of every kind in -utter abhorrence. But if it was a shock to her refinement, it -was also a gratification to her feelings to be thus selected; so she -daintily stuffed the strong tobacco into the pipe, and then we withdrew.<br> -<br> -“It is very pleasant dining with a bachelor,” said Miss -Matty softly, as we settled ourselves in the counting-house. “I -only hope it is not improper; so many pleasant things are!”<br> -<br> -“What a number of books he has!” said Miss Pole, looking -round the room. “And how dusty they are!”<br> -<br> -“I think it must be like one of the great Dr Johnson’s rooms,” -said Miss Matty. “What a superior man your cousin must be!”<br> -<br> -“Yes!” said Miss Pole, “he’s a great reader; -but I am afraid he has got into very uncouth habits with living alone.”<br> -<br> -“Oh! uncouth is too hard a word. I should call him eccentric; -very clever people always are!” replied Miss Matty.<br> -<br> -When Mr Holbrook returned, he proposed a walk in the fields; but the -two elder ladies were afraid of damp, and dirt, and had only very unbecoming -calashes to put on over their caps; so they declined, and I was again -his companion in a turn which he said he was obliged to take to see -after his men. He strode along, either wholly forgetting my existence, -or soothed into silence by his pipe - and yet it was not silence exactly. -He walked before me with a stooping gait, his hands clasped behind him; -and, as some tree or cloud, or glimpse of distant upland pastures, struck -him, he quoted poetry to himself, saying it out loud in a grand sonorous -voice, with just the emphasis that true feeling and appreciation give. -We came upon an old cedar tree, which stood at one end of the house --<br> -<br> -<br> -“The cedar spreads his dark-green layers of shade.”<br> -<br> -<br> -“Capital term - ‘layers!’ Wonderful man!” -I did not know whether he was speaking to me or not; but I put in an -assenting “wonderful,” although I knew nothing about it, -just because I was tired of being forgotten, and of being consequently -silent.<br> -<br> -He turned sharp round. “Ay! you may say ‘wonderful.’ -Why, when I saw the review of his poems in <i>Blackwood</i>, I set off -within an hour, and walked seven miles to Misselton (for the horses -were not in the way) and ordered them. Now, what colour are ash-buds -in March?”<br> -<br> -Is the man going mad? thought I. He is very like Don Quixote.<br> -<br> -“What colour are they, I say?” repeated he vehemently.<br> -<br> -“I am sure I don’t know, sir,” said I, with the meekness -of ignorance.<br> -<br> -“I knew you didn’t. No more did I - an old fool that -I am! - till this young man comes and tells me. Black as ash-buds -in March. And I’ve lived all my life in the country; more -shame for me not to know. Black: they are jet-black, madam.” -And he went off again, swinging along to the music of some rhyme he -had got hold of.<br> -<br> -When we came back, nothing would serve him but he must read us the poems -he had been speaking of; and Miss Pole encouraged him in his proposal, -I thought, because she wished me to hear his beautiful reading, of which -she had boasted; but she afterwards said it was because she had got -to a difficult part of her crochet, and wanted to count her stitches -without having to talk. Whatever he had proposed would have been -right to Miss Matty; although she did fall sound asleep within five -minutes after he had begun a long poem, called “Locksley Hall,” -and had a comfortable nap, unobserved, till he ended; when the cessation -of his voice wakened her up, and she said, feeling that something was -expected, and that Miss Pole was counting -<br> -<br> -“What a pretty book!”<br> -<br> -“Pretty, madam! it’s beautiful! Pretty, indeed!”<br> -<br> -“Oh yes! I meant beautiful” said she, fluttered at -his disapproval of her word. “It is so like that beautiful -poem of Dr Johnson’s my sister used to read - I forget the name -of it; what was it, my dear?” turning to me.<br> -<br> -“Which do you mean, ma’am? What was it about?”<br> -<br> -“I don’t remember what it was about, and I’ve quite -forgotten what the name of it was; but it was written by Dr Johnson, -and was very beautiful, and very like what Mr Holbrook has just been -reading.”<br> -<br> -“I don’t remember it,” said he reflectively. -“But I don’t know Dr Johnson’s poems well. I -must read them.”<br> -<br> -As we were getting into the fly to return, I heard Mr Holbrook say he -should call on the ladies soon, and inquire how they got home; and this -evidently pleased and fluttered Miss Matty at the time he said it; but -after we had lost sight of the old house among the trees her sentiments -towards the master of it were gradually absorbed into a distressing -wonder as to whether Martha had broken her word, and seized on the opportunity -of her mistress’s absence to have a “follower.” -Martha looked good, and steady, and composed enough, as she came to -help us out; she was always careful of Miss Matty, and to-night she -made use of this unlucky speech -<br> -<br> -“Eh! dear ma’am, to think of your going out in an evening -in such a thin shawl! It’s no better than muslin. -At your age, ma’am, you should be careful.”<br> -<br> -“My age!” said Miss Matty, almost speaking crossly, for -her, for she was usually gentle - “My age! Why, how old -do you think I am, that you talk about my age?”<br> -<br> -“Well, ma’am, I should say you were not far short of sixty: -but folks’ looks is often against them - and I’m sure I -meant no harm.”<br> -<br> -“Martha, I’m not yet fifty-two!” said Miss Matty, -with grave emphasis; for probably the remembrance of her youth had come -very vividly before her this day, and she was annoyed at finding that -golden time so far away in the past.<br> -<br> -But she never spoke of any former and more intimate acquaintance with -Mr Holbrook. She had probably met with so little sympathy in her -early love, that she had shut it up close in her heart; and it was only -by a sort of watching, which I could hardly avoid since Miss Pole’s -confidence, that I saw how faithful her poor heart had been in its sorrow -and its silence.<br> -<br> -She gave me some good reason for wearing her best cap every day, and -sat near the window, in spite of her rheumatism, in order to see, without -being seen, down into the street.<br> -<br> -He came. He put his open palms upon his knees, which were far -apart, as he sat with his head bent down, whistling, after we had replied -to his inquiries about our safe return. Suddenly he jumped up --<br> -<br> -“Well, madam! have you any commands for Paris? I am going -there in a week or two.”<br> -<br> -“To Paris!” we both exclaimed.<br> -<br> -“Yes, madam! I’ve never been there, and always had -a wish to go; and I think if I don’t go soon, I mayn’t go -at all; so as soon as the hay is got in I shall go, before harvest time.”<br> -<br> -We were so much astonished that we had no commissions.<br> -<br> -Just as he was going out of the room, he turned back, with his favourite -exclamation -<br> -<br> -“God bless my soul, madam! but I nearly forgot half my errand. -Here are the poems for you you admired so much the other evening at -my house.” He tugged away at a parcel in his coat-pocket. -“Good-bye, miss,” said he; “good-bye, Matty! take -care of yourself.” And he was gone.<br> -<br> -But he had given her a book, and he had called her Matty, just as he -used to do thirty years to.<br> -<br> -“I wish he would not go to Paris,” said Miss Matilda anxiously. -“I don’t believe frogs will agree with him; he used to have -to be very careful what he ate, which was curious in so strong-looking -a young man.”<br> -<br> -Soon after this I took my leave, giving many an injunction to Martha -to look after her mistress, and to let me know if she thought that Miss -Matilda was not so well; in which case I would volunteer a visit to -my old friend, without noticing Martha’s intelligence to her.<br> -<br> -Accordingly I received a line or two from Martha every now and then; -and, about November I had a note to say her mistress was “very -low and sadly off her food”; and the account made me so uneasy -that, although Martha did not decidedly summon me, I packed up my things -and went.<br> -<br> -I received a warm welcome, in spite of the little flurry produced by -my impromptu visit, for I had only been able to give a day’s notice. -Miss Matilda looked miserably ill; and I prepared to comfort and cosset -her.<br> -<br> -I went down to have a private talk with Martha.<br> -<br> -“How long has your mistress been so poorly?” I asked, as -I stood by the kitchen fire.<br> -<br> -“Well! I think its better than a fortnight; it is, I know; -it was one Tuesday, after Miss Pole had been, that she went into this -moping way. I thought she was tired, and it would go off with -a night’s rest; but no! she has gone on and on ever since, till -I thought it my duty to write to you, ma’am.”<br> -<br> -“You did quite right, Martha. It is a comfort to think she -has so faithful a servant about her. And I hope you find your -place comfortable?”<br> -<br> -“Well, ma’am, missus is very kind, and there’s plenty -to eat and drink, and no more work but what I can do easily - but - -” Martha hesitated.<br> -<br> -“But what, Martha?”<br> -<br> -“Why, it seems so hard of missus not to let me have any followers; -there’s such lots of young fellows in the town; and many a one -has as much as offered to keep company with me; and I may never be in -such a likely place again, and it’s like wasting an opportunity. -Many a girl as I know would have ’em unbeknownst to missus; but -I’ve given my word, and I’ll stick to it; or else this is -just the house for missus never to be the wiser if they did come: and -it’s such a capable kitchen - there’s such dark corners -in it - I’d be bound to hide any one. I counted up last -Sunday night - for I’ll not deny I was crying because I had to -shut the door in Jem Hearn’s face, and he’s a steady young -man, fit for any girl; only I had given missus my word.” -Martha was all but crying again; and I had little comfort to give her, -for I knew, from old experience, of the horror with which both the Miss -Jenkynses looked upon “followers”; and in Miss Matty’s -present nervous state this dread was not likely to be lessened.<br> -<br> -I went to see Miss Pole the next day, and took her completely by surprise, -for she had not been to see Miss Matilda for two days.<br> -<br> -“And now I must go back with you, my dear, for I promised to let -her know how Thomas Holbrook went on; and, I’m sorry to say, his -housekeeper has sent me word to-day that he hasn’t long to live. -Poor Thomas! that journey to Paris was quite too much for him. -His housekeeper says he has hardly ever been round his fields since, -but just sits with his hands on his knees in the counting-house, not -reading or anything, but only saying what a wonderful city Paris was! -Paris has much to answer for if it’s killed my cousin Thomas, -for a better man never lived.”<br> -<br> -“Does Miss Matilda know of his illness?” asked I - a new -light as to the cause of her indisposition dawning upon me.<br> -<br> -“Dear! to be sure, yes! Has not she told you? I let -her know a fortnight ago, or more, when first I heard of it. How -odd she shouldn’t have told you!”<br> -<br> -Not at all, I thought; but I did not say anything. I felt almost -guilty of having spied too curiously into that tender heart, and I was -not going to speak of its secrets - hidden, Miss Matty believed, from -all the world. I ushered Miss Pole into Miss Matilda’s little -drawing-room, and then left them alone. But I was not surprised -when Martha came to my bedroom door, to ask me to go down to dinner -alone, for that missus had one of her bad headaches. She came -into the drawing-room at tea-time, but it was evidently an effort to -her; and, as if to make up for some reproachful feeling against her -late sister, Miss Jenkyns, which had been troubling her all the afternoon, -and for which she now felt penitent, she kept telling me how good and -how clever Deborah was in her youth; how she used to settle what gowns -they were to wear at all the parties (faint, ghostly ideas of grim parties, -far away in the distance, when Miss Matty and Miss Pole were young!); -and how Deborah and her mother had started the benefit society for the -poor, and taught girls cooking and plain sewing; and how Deborah had -once danced with a lord; and how she used to visit at Sir Peter Arley’s, -and tried to remodel the quiet rectory establishment on the plans of -Arley Hall, where they kept thirty servants; and how she had nursed -Miss Matty through a long, long illness, of which I had never heard -before, but which I now dated in my own mind as following the dismissal -of the suit of Mr Holbrook. So we talked softly and quietly of -old times through the long November evening.<br> -<br> -The next day Miss Pole brought us word that Mr Holbrook was dead. -Miss Matty heard the news in silence; in fact, from the account of the -previous day, it was only what we had to expect. Miss Pole kept -calling upon us for some expression of regret, by asking if it was not -sad that he was gone, and saying -<br> -<br> -“To think of that pleasant day last June, when he seemed so well! -And he might have lived this dozen years if he had not gone to that -wicked Paris, where they are always having revolutions.”<br> -<br> -She paused for some demonstration on our part. I saw Miss Matty -could not speak, she was trembling so nervously; so I said what I really -felt; and after a call of some duration - all the time of which I have -no doubt Miss Pole thought Miss Matty received the news very calmly -- our visitor took her leave.<br> -<br> -Miss Matty made a strong effort to conceal her feelings - a concealment -she practised even with me, for she has never alluded to Mr Holbrook -again, although the book he gave her lies with her Bible on the little -table by her bedside. She did not think I heard her when she asked -the little milliner of Cranford to make her caps something like the -Honourable Mrs Jamieson’s, or that I noticed the reply -<br> -<br> -“But she wears widows’ caps, ma’am?”<br> -<br> -“Oh! I only meant something in that style; not widows’, -of course, but rather like Mrs Jamieson’s.”<br> -<br> -This effort at concealment was the beginning of the tremulous motion -of head and hands which I have seen ever since in Miss Matty.<br> -<br> -The evening of the day on which we heard of Mr Holbrook’s death, -Miss Matilda was very silent and thoughtful; after prayers she called -Martha back and then she stood uncertain what to say.<br> -<br> -“Martha!” she said, at last, “you are young” -- and then she made so long a pause that Martha, to remind her of her -half-finished sentence, dropped a curtsey, and said -<br> -<br> -“Yes, please, ma’am; two-and-twenty last third of October, -please, ma’am.”<br> -<br> -“And, perhaps, Martha, you may some time meet with a young man -you like, and who likes you. I did say you were not to have followers; -but if you meet with such a young man, and tell me, and I find he is -respectable, I have no objection to his coming to see you once a week. -God forbid!” said she in a low voice, “that I should grieve -any young hearts.” She spoke as if she were providing for -some distant contingency, and was rather startled when Martha made her -ready eager answer -<br> -<br> -“Please, ma’am, there’s Jem Hearn, and he’s -a joiner making three-and-sixpence a-day, and six foot one in his stocking-feet, -please, ma’am; and if you’ll ask about him to-morrow morning, -every one will give him a character for steadiness; and he’ll -be glad enough to come to-morrow night, I’ll be bound.”<br> -<br> -Though Miss Matty was startled, she submitted to Fate and Love.<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -CHAPTER V - OLD LETTERS<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -I have often noticed that almost every one has his own individual small -economies - careful habits of saving fractions of pennies in some one -peculiar direction - any disturbance of which annoys him more than spending -shillings or pounds on some real extravagance. An old gentleman -of my acquaintance, who took the intelligence of the failure of a Joint-Stock -Bank, in which some of his money was invested, with stoical mildness, -worried his family all through a long summer’s day because one -of them had torn (instead of cutting) out the written leaves of his -now useless bank-book; of course, the corresponding pages at the other -end came out as well, and this little unnecessary waste of paper (his -private economy) chafed him more than all the loss of his money. -Envelopes fretted his soul terribly when they first came in; the only -way in which he could reconcile himself to such waste of his cherished -article was by patiently turning inside out all that were sent to him, -and so making them serve again. Even now, though tamed by age, -I see him casting wistful glances at his daughters when they send a -whole inside of a half-sheet of note paper, with the three lines of -acceptance to an invitation, written on only one of the sides. -I am not above owning that I have this human weakness myself. -String is my foible. My pockets get full of little hanks of it, -picked up and twisted together, ready for uses that never come. -I am seriously annoyed if any one cuts the string of a parcel instead -of patiently and faithfully undoing it fold by fold. How people -can bring themselves to use india-rubber rings, which are a sort of -deification of string, as lightly as they do, I cannot imagine. -To me an india-rubber ring is a precious treasure. I have one -which is not new - one that I picked up off the floor nearly six years -ago. I have really tried to use it, but my heart failed me, and -I could not commit the extravagance.<br> -<br> -Small pieces of butter grieve others. They cannot attend to conversation -because of the annoyance occasioned by the habit which some people have -of invariably taking more butter than they want. Have you not -seen the anxious look (almost mesmeric) which such persons fix on the -article? They would feel it a relief if they might bury it out -of their sight by popping it into their own mouths and swallowing it -down; and they are really made happy if the person on whose plate it -lies unused suddenly breaks off a piece of toast (which he does not -want at all) and eats up his butter. They think that this is not -waste.<br> -<br> -Now Miss Matty Jenkyns was chary of candles. We had many devices -to use as few as possible. In the winter afternoons she would -sit knitting for two or three hours - she could do this in the dark, -or by firelight - and when I asked if I might not ring for candles to -finish stitching my wristbands, she told me to “keep blind man’s -holiday.” They were usually brought in with tea; but we -only burnt one at a time. As we lived in constant preparation -for a friend who might come in any evening (but who never did), it required -some contrivance to keep our two candles of the same length, ready to -be lighted, and to look as if we burnt two always. The candles -took it in turns; and, whatever we might be talking about or doing, -Miss Matty’s eyes were habitually fixed upon the candle, ready -to jump up and extinguish it and to light the other before they had -become too uneven in length to be restored to equality in the course -of the evening.<br> -<br> -One night, I remember this candle economy particularly annoyed me. -I had been very much tired of my compulsory “blind man’s -holiday,” especially as Miss Matty had fallen asleep, and I did -not like to stir the fire and run the risk of awakening her; so I could -not even sit on the rug, and scorch myself with sewing by firelight, -according to my usual custom. I fancied Miss Matty must be dreaming -of her early life; for she spoke one or two words in her uneasy sleep -bearing reference to persons who were dead long before. When Martha -brought in the lighted candle and tea, Miss Matty started into wakefulness, -with a strange, bewildered look around, as if we were not the people -she expected to see about her. There was a little sad expression -that shadowed her face as she recognised me; but immediately afterwards -she tried to give me her usual smile. All through tea-time her -talk ran upon the days of her childhood and youth. Perhaps this -reminded her of the desirableness of looking over all the old family -letters, and destroying such as ought not to be allowed to fall into -the hands of strangers; for she had often spoken of the necessity of -this task, but had always shrunk from it, with a timid dread of something -painful. To-night, however, she rose up after tea and went for -them - in the dark; for she piqued herself on the precise neatness of -all her chamber arrangements, and used to look uneasily at me when I -lighted a bed-candle to go to another room for anything. When -she returned there was a faint, pleasant smell of Tonquin beans in the -room. I had always noticed this scent about any of the things -which had belonged to her mother; and many of the letters were addressed -to her - yellow bundles of love-letters, sixty or seventy years old.<br> -<br> -Miss Matty undid the packet with a sigh; but she stifled it directly, -as if it were hardly right to regret the flight of time, or of life -either. We agreed to look them over separately, each taking a -different letter out of the same bundle and describing its contents -to the other before destroying it. I never knew what sad work -the reading of old-letters was before that evening, though I could hardly -tell why. The letters were as happy as letters could be - at least -those early letters were. There was in them a vivid and intense -sense of the present time, which seemed so strong and full, as if it -could never pass away, and as if the warm, living hearts that so expressed -themselves could never die, and be as nothing to the sunny earth. -I should have felt less melancholy, I believe, if the letters had been -more so. I saw the tears stealing down the well-worn furrows of -Miss Matty’s cheeks, and her spectacles often wanted wiping. -I trusted at last that she would light the other candle, for my own -eyes were rather dim, and I wanted more light to see the pale, faded -ink; but no, even through her tears, she saw and remembered her little -economical ways.<br> -<br> -The earliest set of letters were two bundles tied together, and ticketed -(in Miss Jenkyns’s handwriting) “Letters interchanged between -my ever-honoured father and my dearly-beloved mother, prior to their -marriage, in July 1774.” I should guess that the rector -of Cranford was about twenty-seven years of age when he wrote those -letters; and Miss Matty told me that her mother was just eighteen at -the time of her wedding. With my idea of the rector derived from -a picture in the dining-parlour, stiff and stately, in a huge full-bottomed -wig, with gown, cassock, and bands, and his hand upon a copy of the -only sermon he ever published - it was strange to read these letters. -They were full of eager, passionate ardour; short homely sentences, -right fresh from the heart (very different from the grand Latinised, -Johnsonian style of the printed sermon preached before some judge at -assize time). His letters were a curious contrast to those of -his girl-bride. She was evidently rather annoyed at his demands -upon her for expressions of love, and could not quite understand what -he meant by repeating the same thing over in so many different ways; -but what she was quite clear about was a longing for a white “Paduasoy” -- whatever that might be; and six or seven letters were principally -occupied in asking her lover to use his influence with her parents (who -evidently kept her in good order) to obtain this or that article of -dress, more especially the white “Paduasoy.” He cared -nothing how she was dressed; she was always lovely enough for him, as -he took pains to assure her, when she begged him to express in his answers -a predilection for particular pieces of finery, in order that she might -show what he said to her parents. But at length he seemed to find -out that she would not be married till she had a “trousseau” -to her mind; and then he sent her a letter, which had evidently accompanied -a whole box full of finery, and in which he requested that she might -be dressed in everything her heart desired. This was the first -letter, ticketed in a frail, delicate hand, “From my dearest John.” -Shortly afterwards they were married, I suppose, from the intermission -in their correspondence.<br> -<br> -“We must burn them, I think,” said Miss Matty, looking doubtfully -at me. “No one will care for them when I am gone.” -And one by one she dropped them into the middle of the fire, watching -each blaze up, die out, and rise away, in faint, white, ghostly semblance, -up the chimney, before she gave another to the same fate. The -room was light enough now; but I, like her, was fascinated into watching -the destruction of those letters, into which the honest warmth of a -manly heart had been poured forth.<br> -<br> -The next letter, likewise docketed by Miss Jenkyns, was endorsed, “Letter -of pious congratulation and exhortation from my venerable grandfather -to my beloved mother, on occasion of my own birth. Also some practical -remarks on the desirability of keeping warm the extremities of infants, -from my excellent grandmother.”<br> -<br> -The first part was, indeed, a severe and forcible picture of the responsibilities -of mothers, and a warning against the evils that were in the world, -and lying in ghastly wait for the little baby of two days old. -His wife did not write, said the old gentleman, because he had forbidden -it, she being indisposed with a sprained ankle, which (he said) quite -incapacitated her from holding a pen. However, at the foot of -the page was a small “T.O.,” and on turning it over, sure -enough, there was a letter to “my dear, dearest Molly,” -begging her, when she left her room, whatever she did, to go <i>up</i> -stairs before going <i>down</i>: and telling her to wrap her baby’s -feet up in flannel, and keep it warm by the fire, although it was summer, -for babies were so tender.<br> -<br> -It was pretty to see from the letters, which were evidently exchanged -with some frequency between the young mother and the grandmother, how -the girlish vanity was being weeded out of her heart by love for her -baby. The white “Paduasoy” figured again in the letters, -with almost as much vigour as before. In one, it was being made -into a christening cloak for the baby. It decked it when it went -with its parents to spend a day or two at Arley Hall. It added -to its charms, when it was “the prettiest little baby that ever -was seen. Dear mother, I wish you could see her! Without -any pershality, I do think she will grow up a regular bewty!” -I thought of Miss Jenkyns, grey, withered, and wrinkled, and I wondered -if her mother had known her in the courts of heaven: and then I knew -that she had, and that they stood there in angelic guise.<br> -<br> -There was a great gap before any of the rector’s letters appeared. -And then his wife had changed her mode of her endorsement. It -was no longer from, “My dearest John;” it was from “My -Honoured Husband.” The letters were written on occasion -of the publication of the same sermon which was represented in the picture. -The preaching before “My Lord Judge,” and the “publishing -by request,” was evidently the culminating point - the event of -his life. It had been necessary for him to go up to London to -superintend it through the press. Many friends had to be called -upon and consulted before he could decide on any printer fit for so -onerous a task; and at length it was arranged that J. and J. Rivingtons -were to have the honourable responsibility. The worthy rector -seemed to be strung up by the occasion to a high literary pitch, for -he could hardly write a letter to his wife without cropping out into -Latin. I remember the end of one of his letters ran thus: “I -shall ever hold the virtuous qualities of my Molly in remembrance, <i>dum -memor ipse mei, dum spiritus regit artus</i>,” which, considering -that the English of his correspondent was sometimes at fault in grammar, -and often in spelling, might be taken as a proof of how much he “idealised -his Molly;” and, as Miss Jenkyns used to say, “People talk -a great deal about idealising now-a-days, whatever that may mean.” -But this was nothing to a fit of writing classical poetry which soon -seized him, in which his Molly figured away as “Maria.” -The letter containing the <i>carmen</i> was endorsed by her, “Hebrew -verses sent me by my honoured husband. I thowt to have had a letter -about killing the pig, but must wait. Mem., to send the poetry -to Sir Peter Arley, as my husband desires.” And in a post-scriptum -note in his handwriting it was stated that the Ode had appeared in the -<i>Gentleman’s Magazine</i>, December 1782.<br> -<br> -Her letters back to her husband (treasured as fondly by him as if they -had been <i>M. T. Ciceronis Epistolae</i>) were more satisfactory to -an absent husband and father than his could ever have been to her. -She told him how Deborah sewed her seam very neatly every day, and read -to her in the books he had set her; how she was a very “forrard,” -good child, but would ask questions her mother could not answer, but -how she did not let herself down by saying she did not know, but took -to stirring the fire, or sending the “forrard” child on -an errand. Matty was now the mother’s darling, and promised -(like her sister at her age), to be a great beauty. I was reading -this aloud to Miss Matty, who smiled and sighed a little at the hope, -so fondly expressed, that “little Matty might not be vain, even -if she were a bewty.”<br> -<br> -“I had very pretty hair, my dear,” said Mist Matilda; “and -not a bad mouth.” And I saw her soon afterwards adjust her -cap and draw herself up.<br> -<br> -But to return to Mrs Jenkyns’s letters. She told her husband -about the poor in the parish; what homely domestic medicines she had -administered; what kitchen physic she had sent. She had evidently -held his displeasure as a rod in pickle over the heads of all the ne’er-do-wells. -She asked for his directions about the cows and pigs; and did not always -obtain them, as I have shown before.<br> -<br> -The kind old grandmother was dead when a little boy was born, soon after -the publication of the sermon; but there was another letter of exhortation -from the grandfather, more stringent and admonitory than ever, now that -there was a boy to be guarded from the snares of the world. He -described all the various sins into which men might fall, until I wondered -how any man ever came to a natural death. The gallows seemed as -if it must have been the termination of the lives of most of the grandfather’s -friends and acquaintance; and I was not surprised at the way in which -he spoke of this life being “a vale of tears.”<br> -<br> -It seemed curious that I should never have heard of this brother before; -but I concluded that he had died young, or else surely his name would -have been alluded to by his sisters.<br> -<br> -By-and-by we came to packets of Miss Jenkyns’s letters. -These Miss Matty did regret to burn. She said all the others had -been only interesting to those who loved the writers, and that it seemed -as if it would have hurt her to allow them to fall into the hands of -strangers, who had not known her dear mother, and how good she was, -although she did not always spell, quite in the modern fashion; but -Deborah’s letters were so very superior! Any one might profit -by reading them. It was a long time since she had read Mrs Chapone, -but she knew she used to think that Deborah could have said the same -things quite as well; and as for Mrs Carter! people thought a deal of -her letters, just because she had written “Epictetus,” but -she was quite sure Deborah would never have made use of such a common -expression as “I canna be fashed!”<br> -<br> -Miss Matty did grudge burning these letters, it was evident. She -would not let them be carelessly passed over with any quiet reading, -and skipping, to myself. She took them from me, and even lighted -the second candle in order to read them aloud with a proper emphasis, -and without stumbling over the big words. Oh dear! how I wanted -facts instead of reflections, before those letters were concluded! -They lasted us two nights; and I won’t deny that I made use of -the time to think of many other things, and yet I was always at my post -at the end of each sentence.<br> -<br> -The rector’s letters, and those of his wife and mother-in-law, -had all been tolerably short and pithy, written in a straight hand, -with the lines very close together. Sometimes the whole letter -was contained on a mere scrap of paper. The paper was very yellow, -and the ink very brown; some of the sheets were (as Miss Matty made -me observe) the old original post, with the stamp in the corner representing -a post-boy riding for life and twanging his horn. The letters -of Mrs Jenkyns and her mother were fastened with a great round red wafer; -for it was before Miss Edgeworth’s “patronage” had -banished wafers from polite society. It was evident, from the -tenor of what was said, that franks were in great request, and were -even used as a means of paying debts by needy members of Parliament. -The rector sealed his epistles with an immense coat of arms, and showed -by the care with which he had performed this ceremony that he expected -they should be cut open, not broken by any thoughtless or impatient -hand. Now, Miss Jenkyns’s letters were of a later date in -form and writing. She wrote on the square sheet which we have -learned to call old-fashioned. Her hand was admirably calculated, -together with her use of many-syllabled words, to fill up a sheet, and -then came the pride and delight of crossing. Poor Miss Matty got -sadly puzzled with this, for the words gathered size like snowballs, -and towards the end of her letter Miss Jenkyns used to become quite -sesquipedalian. In one to her father, slightly theological and -controversial in its tone, she had spoken of Herod, Tetrarch of Idumea. -Miss Matty read it “Herod Petrarch of Etruria,” and was -just as well pleased as if she had been right.<br> -<br> -I can’t quite remember the date, but I think it was in 1805 that -Miss Jenkyns wrote the longest series of letters - on occasion of her -absence on a visit to some friends near Newcastle-upon-Tyne. These -friends were intimate with the commandant of the garrison there, and -heard from him of all the preparations that were being made to repel -the invasion of Buonaparte, which some people imagined might take place -at the mouth of the Tyne. Miss Jenkyns was evidently very much -alarmed; and the first part of her letters was often written in pretty -intelligible English, conveying particulars of the preparations which -were made in the family with whom she was residing against the dreaded -event; the bundles of clothes that were packed up ready for a flight -to Alston Moor (a wild hilly piece of ground between Northumberland -and Cumberland); the signal that was to be given for this flight, and -for the simultaneous turning out of the volunteers under arms - which -said signal was to consist (if I remember rightly) in ringing the church -bells in a particular and ominous manner. One day, when Miss Jenkyns -and her hosts were at a dinner-party in Newcastle, this warning summons -was actually given (not a very wise proceeding, if there be any truth -in the moral attached to the fable of the Boy and the Wolf; but so it -was), and Miss Jenkyns, hardly recovered from her fright, wrote the -next day to describe the sound, the breathless shock, the hurry and -alarm; and then, taking breath, she added, “How trivial, my dear -father, do all our apprehensions of the last evening appear, at the -present moment, to calm and enquiring minds!” And here Miss -Matty broke in with -<br> -<br> -“But, indeed, my dear, they were not at all trivial or trifling -at the time. I know I used to wake up in the night many a time -and think I heard the tramp of the French entering Cranford. Many -people talked of hiding themselves in the salt mines - and meat would -have kept capitally down there, only perhaps we should have been thirsty. -And my father preached a whole set of sermons on the occasion; one set -in the mornings, all about David and Goliath, to spirit up the people -to fighting with spades or bricks, if need were; and the other set in -the afternoons, proving that Napoleon (that was another name for Bony, -as we used to call him) was all the same as an Apollyon and Abaddon. -I remember my father rather thought he should be asked to print this -last set; but the parish had, perhaps, had enough of them with hearing.”<br> -<br> -Peter Marmaduke Arley Jenkyns (“poor Peter!” as Miss Matty -began to call him) was at school at Shrewsbury by this time. The -rector took up his pen, and rubbed up his Latin once more, to correspond -with his boy. It was very clear that the lad’s were what -are called show letters. They were of a highly mental description, -giving an account of his studies, and his intellectual hopes of various -kinds, with an occasional quotation from the classics; but, now and -then, the animal nature broke out in such a little sentence as this, -evidently written in a trembling hurry, after the letter had been inspected: -“Mother dear, do send me a cake, and put plenty of citron in.” -The “mother dear” probably answered her boy in the form -of cakes and “goody,” for there were none of her letters -among this set; but a whole collection of the rector’s, to whom -the Latin in his boy’s letters was like a trumpet to the old war-horse. -I do not know much about Latin, certainly, and it is, perhaps, an ornamental -language, but not very useful, I think - at least to judge from the -bits I remember out of the rector’s letters. One was, “You -have not got that town in your map of Ireland; but <i>Bonus Bernardus -non videt omnia</i>, as the Proverbia say.” Presently it -became very evident that “poor Peter” got himself into many -scrapes. There were letters of stilted penitence to his father, -for some wrong-doing; and among them all was a badly-written, badly-sealed, -badly-directed, blotted note:- “My dear, dear, dear, dearest mother, -I will be a better boy; I will, indeed; but don’t, please, be -ill for me; I am not worth it; but I will be good, darling mother.”<br> -<br> -Miss Matty could not speak for crying, after she had read this note. -She gave it to me in silence, and then got up and took it to her sacred -recesses in her own room, for fear, by any chance, it might get burnt. -“Poor Peter!” she said; “he was always in scrapes; -he was too easy. They led him wrong, and then left him in the -lurch. But he was too fond of mischief. He could never resist -a joke. Poor Peter!”<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -CHAPTER VI - POOR PETER<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -Poor Peter’s career lay before him rather pleasantly mapped out -by kind friends, but <i>Bonus Bernardus non videt omnia</i>, in this -map too. He was to win honours at the Shrewsbury School, and carry -them thick to Cambridge, and after that, a living awaited him, the gift -of his godfather, Sir Peter Arley. Poor Peter! his lot in life -was very different to what his friends had hoped and planned. -Miss Matty told me all about it, and I think it was a relief when she -had done so.<br> -<br> -He was the darling of his mother, who seemed to dote on all her children, -though she was, perhaps, a little afraid of Deborah’s superior -acquirements. Deborah was the favourite of her father, and when -Peter disappointed him, she became his pride. The sole honour -Peter brought away from Shrewsbury was the reputation of being the best -good fellow that ever was, and of being the captain of the school in -the art of practical joking. His father was disappointed, but -set about remedying the matter in a manly way. He could not afford -to send Peter to read with any tutor, but he could read with him himself; -and Miss Matty told me much of the awful preparations in the way of -dictionaries and lexicons that were made in her father’s study -the morning Peter began.<br> -<br> -“My poor mother!” said she. “I remember how -she used to stand in the hall, just near enough the study-door, to catch -the tone of my father’s voice. I could tell in a moment -if all was going right, by her face. And it did go right for a -long time.”<br> -<br> -“What went wrong at last?” said I. “That tiresome -Latin, I dare say.”<br> -<br> -“No! it was not the Latin. Peter was in high favour with -my father, for he worked up well for him. But he seemed to think -that the Cranford people might be joked about, and made fun of, and -they did not like it; nobody does. He was always hoaxing them; -‘hoaxing’ is not a pretty word, my dear, and I hope you -won’t tell your father I used it, for I should not like him to -think that I was not choice in my language, after living with such a -woman as Deborah. And be sure you never use it yourself. -I don’t know how it slipped out of my mouth, except it was that -I was thinking of poor Peter and it was always his expression. -But he was a very gentlemanly boy in many things. He was like -dear Captain Brown in always being ready to help any old person or a -child. Still, he did like joking and making fun; and he seemed -to think the old ladies in Cranford would believe anything. There -were many old ladies living here then; we are principally ladies now, -I know, but we are not so old as the ladies used to be when I was a -girl. I could laugh to think of some of Peter’s jokes. -No, my dear, I won’t tell you of them, because they might not -shock you as they ought to do, and they were very shocking. He -even took in my father once, by dressing himself up as a lady that was -passing through the town and wished to see the Rector of Cranford, ‘who -had published that admirable Assize Sermon.’ Peter said -he was awfully frightened himself when he saw how my father took it -all in, and even offered to copy out all his Napoleon Buonaparte sermons -for her - him, I mean - no, her, for Peter was a lady then. He -told me he was more terrified than he ever was before, all the time -my father was speaking. He did not think my father would have -believed him; and yet if he had not, it would have been a sad thing -for Peter. As it was, he was none so glad of it, for my father -kept him hard at work copying out all those twelve Buonaparte sermons -for the lady - that was for Peter himself, you know. He was the -lady. And once when he wanted to go fishing, Peter said, ‘Confound -the woman!’ - very bad language, my dear, but Peter was not always -so guarded as he should have been; my father was so angry with him, -it nearly frightened me out of my wits: and yet I could hardly keep -from laughing at the little curtseys Peter kept making, quite slyly, -whenever my father spoke of the lady’s excellent taste and sound -discrimination.”<br> -<br> -“Did Miss Jenkyns know of these tricks?” said I.<br> -<br> -“Oh, no! Deborah would have been too much shocked. -No, no one knew but me. I wish I had always known of Peter’s -plans; but sometimes he did not tell me. He used to say the old -ladies in the town wanted something to talk about; but I don’t -think they did. They had the <i>St James’s Chronicle</i> -three times a week, just as we have now, and we have plenty to say; -and I remember the clacking noise there always was when some of the -ladies got together. But, probably, schoolboys talk more than -ladies. At last there was a terrible, sad thing happened.” -Miss Matty got up, went to the door, and opened it; no one was there. -She rang the bell for Martha, and when Martha came, her mistress told -her to go for eggs to a farm at the other end of the town.<br> -<br> -“I will lock the door after you, Martha. You are not afraid -to go, are you?”<br> -<br> -“No, ma’am, not at all; Jem Hearn will be only too proud -to go with me.”<br> -<br> -Miss Matty drew herself up, and as soon as we were alone, she wished -that Martha had more maidenly reserve.<br> -<br> -“We’ll put out the candle, my dear. We can talk just -as well by firelight, you know. There! Well, you see, Deborah -had gone from home for a fortnight or so; it was a very still, quiet -day, I remember, overhead; and the lilacs were all in flower, so I suppose -it was spring. My father had gone out to see some sick people -in the parish; I recollect seeing him leave the house with his wig and -shovel-hat and cane. What possessed our poor Peter I don’t -know; he had the sweetest temper, and yet he always seemed to like to -plague Deborah. She never laughed at his jokes, and thought him -ungenteel, and not careful enough about improving his mind; and that -vexed him.<br> -<br> -“Well! he went to her room, it seems, and dressed himself in her -old gown, and shawl, and bonnet; just the things she used to wear in -Cranford, and was known by everywhere; and he made the pillow into a -little - you are sure you locked the door, my dear, for I should not -like anyone to hear - into - into a little baby, with white long clothes. -It was only, as he told me afterwards, to make something to talk about -in the town; he never thought of it as affecting Deborah. And -he went and walked up and down in the Filbert walk - just half-hidden -by the rails, and half-seen; and he cuddled his pillow, just like a -baby, and talked to it all the nonsense people do. Oh dear! and -my father came stepping stately up the street, as he always did; and -what should he see but a little black crowd of people - I daresay as -many as twenty - all peeping through his garden rails. So he thought, -at first, they were only looking at a new rhododendron that was in full -bloom, and that he was very proud of; and he walked slower, that they -might have more time to admire. And he wondered if he could make -out a sermon from the occasion, and thought, perhaps, there was some -relation between the rhododendrons and the lilies of the field. -My poor father! When he came nearer, he began to wonder that they -did not see him; but their heads were all so close together, peeping -and peeping! My father was amongst them, meaning, he said, to -ask them to walk into the garden with him, and admire the beautiful -vegetable production, when - oh, my dear, I tremble to think of it - -he looked through the rails himself, and saw - I don’t know what -he thought he saw, but old Clare told me his face went quite grey-white -with anger, and his eyes blazed out under his frowning black brows; -and he spoke out - oh, so terribly! - and bade them all stop where they -were - not one of them to go, not one of them to stir a step; and, swift -as light, he was in at the garden door, and down the Filbert walk, and -seized hold of poor Peter, and tore his clothes off his back - bonnet, -shawl, gown, and all - and threw the pillow among the people over the -railings: and then he was very, very angry indeed, and before all the -people he lifted up his cane and flogged Peter!<br> -<br> -“My dear, that boy’s trick, on that sunny day, when all -seemed going straight and well, broke my mother’s heart, and changed -my father for life. It did, indeed. Old Clare said, Peter -looked as white as my father; and stood as still as a statue to be flogged; -and my father struck hard! When my father stopped to take breath, -Peter said, ‘Have you done enough, sir?’ quite hoarsely, -and still standing quite quiet. I don’t know what my father -said - or if he said anything. But old Clare said, Peter turned -to where the people outside the railing were, and made them a low bow, -as grand and as grave as any gentleman; and then walked slowly into -the house. I was in the store-room helping my mother to make cowslip -wine. I cannot abide the wine now, nor the scent of the flowers; -they turn me sick and faint, as they did that day, when Peter came in, -looking as haughty as any man - indeed, looking like a man, not like -a boy. ‘Mother!’ he said, ‘I am come to say, -God bless you for ever.’ I saw his lips quiver as he spoke; -and I think he durst not say anything more loving, for the purpose that -was in his heart. She looked at him rather frightened, and wondering, -and asked him what was to do. He did not smile or speak, but put -his arms round her and kissed her as if he did not know how to leave -off; and before she could speak again, he was gone. We talked -it over, and could not understand it, and she bade me go and seek my -father, and ask what it was all about. I found him walking up -and down, looking very highly displeased.<br> -<br> -“‘Tell your mother I have flogged Peter, and that he richly -deserved it.’<br> -<br> -“I durst not ask any more questions. When I told my mother, -she sat down, quite faint, for a minute. I remember, a few days -after, I saw the poor, withered cowslip flowers thrown out to the leaf -heap, to decay and die there. There was no making of cowslip wine -that year at the rectory - nor, indeed, ever after.<br> -<br> -“Presently my mother went to my father. I know I thought -of Queen Esther and King Ahasuerus; for my mother was very pretty and -delicate-looking, and my father looked as terrible as King Ahasuerus. -Some time after they came out together; and then my mother told me what -had happened, and that she was going up to Peter’s room at my -father’s desire - though she was not to tell Peter this - to talk -the matter over with him. But no Peter was there. We looked -over the house; no Peter was there! Even my father, who had not -liked to join in the search at first, helped us before long. The -rectory was a very old house - steps up into a room, steps down into -a room, all through. At first, my mother went calling low and -soft, as if to reassure the poor boy, ‘Peter! Peter, dear! -it’s only me;’ but, by-and-by, as the servants came back -from the errands my father had sent them, in different directions, to -find where Peter was - as we found he was not in the garden, nor the -hayloft, nor anywhere about - my mother’s cry grew louder and -wilder, Peter! Peter, my darling! where are you?’ for then -she felt and understood that that long kiss meant some sad kind of ‘good-bye.’ -The afternoon went on - my mother never resting, but seeking again and -again in every possible place that had been looked into twenty times -before, nay, that she had looked into over and over again herself. -My father sat with his head in his hands, not speaking except when his -messengers came in, bringing no tidings; then he lifted up his face, -so strong and sad, and told them to go again in some new direction. -My mother kept passing from room to room, in and out of the house, moving -noiselessly, but never ceasing. Neither she nor my father durst -leave the house, which was the meeting-place for all the messengers. -At last (and it was nearly dark), my father rose up. He took hold -of my mother’s arm as she came with wild, sad pace through one -door, and quickly towards another. She started at the touch of -his hand, for she had forgotten all in the world but Peter.<br> -<br> -“‘Molly!’ said he, ‘I did not think all this -would happen.’ He looked into her face for comfort - her -poor face all wild and white; for neither she nor my father had dared -to acknowledge - much less act upon - the terror that was in their hearts, -lest Peter should have made away with himself. My father saw no -conscious look in his wife’s hot, dreary eyes, and he missed the -sympathy that she had always been ready to give him - strong man as -he was, and at the dumb despair in her face his tears began to flow. -But when she saw this, a gentle sorrow came over her countenance, and -she said, ‘Dearest John! don’t cry; come with me, and we’ll -find him,’ almost as cheerfully as if she knew where he was. -And she took my father’s great hand in her little soft one, and -led him along, the tears dropping as he walked on that same unceasing, -weary walk, from room to room, through house and garden.<br> -<br> -“Oh, how I wished for Deborah! I had no time for crying, -for now all seemed to depend on me. I wrote for Deborah to come -home. I sent a message privately to that same Mr Holbrook’s -house - poor Mr Holbrook; - you know who I mean. I don’t -mean I sent a message to him, but I sent one that I could trust to know -if Peter was at his house. For at one time Mr Holbrook was an -occasional visitor at the rectory - you know he was Miss Pole’s -cousin - and he had been very kind to Peter, and taught him how to fish -- he was very kind to everybody, and I thought Peter might have gone -off there. But Mr Holbrook was from home, and Peter had never -been seen. It was night now; but the doors were all wide open, -and my father and mother walked on and on; it was more than an hour -since he had joined her, and I don’t believe they had ever spoken -all that time. I was getting the parlour fire lighted, and one -of the servants was preparing tea, for I wanted them to have something -to eat and drink and warm them, when old Clare asked to speak to me.<br> -<br> -“‘I have borrowed the nets from the weir, Miss Matty. -Shall we drag the ponds to-night, or wait for the morning?’<br> -<br> -“I remember staring in his face to gather his meaning; and when -I did, I laughed out loud. The horror of that new thought - our -bright, darling Peter, cold, and stark, and dead! I remember the -ring of my own laugh now.<br> -<br> -“The next day Deborah was at home before I was myself again. -She would not have been so weak as to give way as I had done; but my -screams (my horrible laughter had ended in crying) had roused my sweet -dear mother, whose poor wandering wits were called back and collected -as soon as a child needed her care. She and Deborah sat by my -bedside; I knew by the looks of each that there had been no news of -Peter - no awful, ghastly news, which was what I most had dreaded in -my dull state between sleeping and waking.<br> -<br> -“The same result of all the searching had brought something of -the same relief to my mother, to whom, I am sure, the thought that Peter -might even then be hanging dead in some of the familiar home places -had caused that never-ending walk of yesterday. Her soft eyes -never were the same again after that; they had always a restless, craving -look, as if seeking for what they could not find. Oh! it was an -awful time; coming down like a thunder-bolt on the still sunny day when -the lilacs were all in bloom.”<br> -<br> -“Where was Mr Peter?” said I.<br> -<br> -“He had made his way to Liverpool; and there was war then; and -some of the king’s ships lay off the mouth of the Mersey; and -they were only too glad to have a fine likely boy such as him (five -foot nine he was), come to offer himself. The captain wrote to -my father, and Peter wrote to my mother. Stay! those letters will -be somewhere here.”<br> -<br> -We lighted the candle, and found the captain’s letter and Peter’s -too. And we also found a little simple begging letter from Mrs -Jenkyns to Peter, addressed to him at the house of an old schoolfellow -whither she fancied he might have gone. They had returned it unopened; -and unopened it had remained ever since, having been inadvertently put -by among the other letters of that time. This is it:-<br> -<br> -<br> -“MY DEAREST PETER, - You did not think we should be so sorry as -we are, I know, or you would never have gone away. You are too -good. Your father sits and sighs till my heart aches to hear him. -He cannot hold up his head for grief; and yet he only did what he thought -was right. Perhaps he has been too severe, and perhaps I have -not been kind enough; but God knows how we love you, my dear only boy. -Don looks so sorry you are gone. Come back, and make us happy, -who love you so much. I know you will come back.”<br> -<br> -<br> -But Peter did not come back. That spring day was the last time -he ever saw his mother’s face. The writer of the letter -- the last - the only person who had ever seen what was written in it, -was dead long ago; and I, a stranger, not born at the time when this -occurrence took place, was the one to open it.<br> -<br> -The captain’s letter summoned the father and mother to Liverpool -instantly, if they wished to see their boy; and, by some of the wild -chances of life, the captain’s letter had been detained somewhere, -somehow.<br> -<br> -Miss Matty went on, “And it was racetime, and all the post-horses -at Cranford were gone to the races; but my father and mother set off -in our own gig - and oh! my dear, they were too late - the ship was -gone! And now read Peter’s letter to my mother!”<br> -<br> -It was full of love, and sorrow, and pride in his new profession, and -a sore sense of his disgrace in the eyes of the people at Cranford; -but ending with a passionate entreaty that she would come and see him -before he left the Mersey: “Mother; we may go into battle. -I hope we shall, and lick those French: but I must see you again before -that time.”<br> -<br> -“And she was too late,” said Miss Matty; “too late!”<br> -<br> -We sat in silence, pondering on the full meaning of those sad, sad words. -At length I asked Miss Matty to tell me how her mother bore it.<br> -<br> -“Oh!” she said, “she was patience itself. She -had never been strong, and this weakened her terribly. My father -used to sit looking at her: far more sad than she was. He seemed -as if he could look at nothing else when she was by; and he was so humble -- so very gentle now. He would, perhaps, speak in his old way -- laying down the law, as it were - and then, in a minute or two, he -would come round and put his hand on our shoulders, and ask us in a -low voice, if he had said anything to hurt us. I did not wonder -at his speaking so to Deborah, for she was so clever; but I could not -bear to hear him talking so to me.<br> -<br> -“But, you see, he saw what we did not - that it was killing my -mother. Yes! killing her (put out the candle, my dear; I can talk -better in the dark), for she was but a frail woman, and ill-fitted to -stand the fright and shock she had gone through; and she would smile -at him and comfort him, not in words, but in her looks and tones, which -were always cheerful when he was there. And she would speak of -how she thought Peter stood a good chance of being admiral very soon -- he was so brave and clever; and how she thought of seeing him in his -navy uniform, and what sort of hats admirals wore; and how much more -fit he was to be a sailor than a clergyman; and all in that way, just -to make my father think she was quite glad of what came of that unlucky -morning’s work, and the flogging which was always in his mind, -as we all knew. But oh, my dear! the bitter, bitter crying she -had when she was alone; and at last, as she grew weaker, she could not -keep her tears in when Deborah or me was by, and would give us message -after message for Peter (his ship had gone to the Mediterranean, or -somewhere down there, and then he was ordered off to India, and there -was no overland route then); but she still said that no one knew where -their death lay in wait, and that we were not to think hers was near. -We did not think it, but we knew it, as we saw her fading away.<br> -<br> -“Well, my dear, it’s very foolish of me, I know, when in -all likelihood I am so near seeing her again.<br> -<br> -“And only think, love! the very day after her death - for she -did not live quite a twelvemonth after Peter went away - the very day -after - came a parcel for her from India - from her poor boy. -It was a large, soft, white Indian shawl, with just a little narrow -border all round; just what my mother would have liked.<br> -<br> -“We thought it might rouse my father, for he had sat with her -hand in his all night long; so Deborah took it in to him, and Peter’s -letter to her, and all. At first, he took no notice; and we tried -to make a kind of light careless talk about the shawl, opening it out -and admiring it. Then, suddenly, he got up, and spoke: ‘She -shall be buried in it,’ he said; ‘Peter shall have that -comfort; and she would have liked it.’<br> -<br> -“Well, perhaps it was not reasonable, but what could we do or -say? One gives people in grief their own way. He took it -up and felt it: ‘It is just such a shawl as she wished for when -she was married, and her mother did not give it her. I did not -know of it till after, or she should have had it - she should; but she -shall have it now.’<br> -<br> -“My mother looked so lovely in her death! She was always -pretty, and now she looked fair, and waxen, and young - younger than -Deborah, as she stood trembling and shivering by her. We decked -her in the long soft folds; she lay smiling, as if pleased; and people -came - all Cranford came - to beg to see her, for they had loved her -dearly, as well they might; and the countrywomen brought posies; old -Clare’s wife brought some white violets and begged they might -lie on her breast.<br> -<br> -“Deborah said to me, the day of my mother’s funeral, that -if she had a hundred offers she never would marry and leave my father. -It was not very likely she would have so many - I don’t know that -she had one; but it was not less to her credit to say so. She -was such a daughter to my father as I think there never was before or -since. His eyes failed him, and she read book after book, and -wrote, and copied, and was always at his service in any parish business. -She could do many more things than my poor mother could; she even once -wrote a letter to the bishop for my father. But he missed my mother -sorely; the whole parish noticed it. Not that he was less active; -I think he was more so, and more patient in helping every one. -I did all I could to set Deborah at liberty to be with him; for I knew -I was good for little, and that my best work in the world was to do -odd jobs quietly, and set others at liberty. But my father was -a changed man.”<br> -<br> -“Did Mr Peter ever come home?”<br> -<br> -“Yes, once. He came home a lieutenant; he did not get to -be admiral. And he and my father were such friends! My father -took him into every house in the parish, he was so proud of him. -He never walked out without Peter’s arm to lean upon. Deborah -used to smile (I don’t think we ever laughed again after my mother’s -death), and say she was quite put in a corner. Not but what my -father always wanted her when there was letter-writing or reading to -be done, or anything to be settled.”<br> -<br> -“And then?” said I, after a pause.<br> -<br> -“Then Peter went to sea again; and, by-and-by, my father died, -blessing us both, and thanking Deborah for all she had been to him; -and, of course, our circumstances were changed; and, instead of living -at the rectory, and keeping three maids and a man, we had to come to -this small house, and be content with a servant-of-all-work; but, as -Deborah used to say, we have always lived genteelly, even if circumstances -have compelled us to simplicity. Poor Deborah!”<br> -<br> -“And Mr Peter?” asked I.<br> -<br> -“Oh, there was some great war in India - I forget what they call -it - and we have never heard of Peter since then. I believe he -is dead myself; and it sometimes fidgets me that we have never put on -mourning for him. And then again, when I sit by myself, and all -the house is still, I think I hear his step coming up the street, and -my heart begins to flutter and beat; but the sound always goes past -- and Peter never comes.<br> -<br> -“That’s Martha back? No! <i>I’ll</i> go, -my dear; I can always find my way in the dark, you know. And a -blow of fresh air at the door will do my head good, and it’s rather -got a trick of aching.”<br> -<br> -So she pattered off. I had lighted the candle, to give the room -a cheerful appearance against her return.<br> -<br> -“Was it Martha?” asked I.<br> -<br> -“Yes. And I am rather uncomfortable, for I heard such a -strange noise, just as I was opening the door.”<br> -<br> -“Where?’ I asked, for her eyes were round with affright.<br> -<br> -“In the street - just outside - it sounded like” -<br> -<br> -“Talking?” I put in, as she hesitated a little.<br> -<br> -“No! kissing” -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -CHAPTER VII - VISITING<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -One morning, as Miss Matty and I sat at our work - it was before twelve -o’clock, and Miss Matty had not changed the cap with yellow ribbons -that had been Miss Jenkyns’s best, and which Miss Matty was now -wearing out in private, putting on the one made in imitation of Mrs -Jamieson’s at all times when she expected to be seen - Martha -came up, and asked if Miss Betty Barker might speak to her mistress. -Miss Matty assented, and quickly disappeared to change the yellow ribbons, -while Miss Barker came upstairs; but, as she had forgotten her spectacles, -and was rather flurried by the unusual time of the visit, I was not -surprised to see her return with one cap on the top of the other. -She was quite unconscious of it herself, and looked at us, with bland -satisfaction. Nor do I think Miss Barker perceived it; for, putting -aside the little circumstance that she was not so young as she had been, -she was very much absorbed in her errand, which she delivered herself -of with an oppressive modesty that found vent in endless apologies.<br> -<br> -Miss Betty Barker was the daughter of the old clerk at Cranford who -had officiated in Mr Jenkyns’s time. She and her sister -had had pretty good situations as ladies’ maids, and had saved -money enough to set up a milliner’s shop, which had been patronised -by the ladies in the neighbourhood. Lady Arley, for instance, -would occasionally give Miss Barkers the pattern of an old cap of hers, -which they immediately copied and circulated among the elite of Cranford. -I say the <i>élite</i>, for Miss Barkers had caught the trick -of the place, and piqued themselves upon their “aristocratic connection.” -They would not sell their caps and ribbons to anyone without a pedigree. -Many a farmer’s wife or daughter turned away huffed from Miss -Barkers’ select millinery, and went rather to the universal shop, -where the profits of brown soap and moist sugar enabled the proprietor -to go straight to (Paris, he said, until he found his customers too -patriotic and John Bullish to wear what the Mounseers wore) London, -where, as he often told his customers, Queen Adelaide had appeared, -only the very week before, in a cap exactly like the one he showed them, -trimmed with yellow and blue ribbons, and had been complimented by King -William on the becoming nature of her head-dress.<br> -<br> -Miss Barkers, who confined themselves to truth, and did not approve -of miscellaneous customers, throve notwithstanding. They were -self-denying, good people. Many a time have I seen the eldest -of them (she that had been maid to Mrs Jamieson) carrying out some delicate -mess to a poor person. They only aped their betters in having -“nothing to do” with the class immediately below theirs. -And when Miss Barker died, their profits and income were found to be -such that Miss Betty was justified in shutting up shop and retiring -from business. She also (as I think I have before said) set up -her cow; a mark of respectability in Cranford almost as decided as setting -up a gig is among some people. She dressed finer than any lady -in Cranford; and we did not wonder at it; for it was understood that -she was wearing out all the bonnets and caps and outrageous ribbons -which had once formed her stock-in-trade. It was five or six years -since she had given up shop, so in any other place than Cranford her -dress might have been considered <i>passée</i>.<br> -<br> -And now Miss Betty Barker had called to invite Miss Matty to tea at -her house on the following Tuesday. She gave me also an impromptu -invitation, as I happened to be a visitor - though I could see she had -a little fear lest, since my father had gone to live in Drumble, he -might have engaged in that “horrid cotton trade,” and so -dragged his family down out of “aristocratic society.” -She prefaced this invitation with so many apologies that she quite excited -my curiosity. “Her presumption” was to be excused. -What had she been doing? She seemed so over-powered by it I could -only think that she had been writing to Queen Adelaide to ask for a -receipt for washing lace; but the act which she so characterised was -only an invitation she had carried to her sister’s former mistress, -Mrs Jamieson. “Her former occupation considered, could Miss -Matty excuse the liberty?” Ah! thought I, she has found -out that double cap, and is going to rectify Miss Matty’s head-dress. -No! it was simply to extend her invitation to Miss Matty and to me. -Miss Matty bowed acceptance; and I wondered that, in the graceful action, -she did not feel the unusual weight and extraordinary height of her -head-dress. But I do not think she did, for she recovered her -balance, and went on talking to Miss Betty in a kind, condescending -manner, very different from the fidgety way she would have had if she -had suspected how singular her appearance was. “Mrs Jamieson -is coming, I think you said?” asked Miss Matty.<br> -<br> -“Yes. Mrs Jamieson most kindly and condescendingly said -she would be happy to come. One little stipulation she made, that -she should bring Carlo. I told her that if I had a weakness, it -was for dogs.”<br> -<br> -“And Miss Pole?” questioned Miss Matty, who was thinking -of her pool at Preference, in which Carlo would not be available as -a partner.<br> -<br> -“I am going to ask Miss Pole. Of course, I could not think -of asking her until I had asked you, madam - the rector’s daughter, -madam. Believe me, I do not forget the situation my father held -under yours.”<br> -<br> -“And Mrs Forrester, of course?”<br> -<br> -“And Mrs Forrester. I thought, in fact, of going to her -before I went to Miss Pole. Although her circumstances are changed, -madam, she was born at Tyrrell, and we can never forget her alliance -to the Bigges, of Bigelow Hall.”<br> -<br> -Miss Matty cared much more for the little circumstance of her being -a very good card-player.<br> -<br> -“Mrs Fitz-Adam - I suppose” -<br> -<br> -“No, madam. I must draw a line somewhere. Mrs Jamieson -would not, I think, like to meet Mrs Fitz-Adam. I have the greatest -respect for Mrs Fitz-Adam - but I cannot think her fit society for such -ladies as Mrs Jamieson and Miss Matilda Jenkyns.”<br> -<br> -Miss Betty Barker bowed low to Miss Matty, and pursed up her mouth. -She looked at me with sidelong dignity, as much as to say, although -a retired milliner, she was no democrat, and understood the difference -of ranks.<br> -<br> -“May I beg you to come as near half-past six to my little dwelling, -as possible, Miss Matilda? Mrs Jamieson dines at five, but has -kindly promised not to delay her visit beyond that time - half-past -six.” And with a swimming curtsey Miss Betty Barker took -her leave.<br> -<br> -My prophetic soul foretold a visit that afternoon from Miss Pole, who -usually came to call on Miss Matilda after any event - or indeed in -sight of any event - to talk it over with her.<br> -<br> -“Miss Betty told me it was to be a choice and select few,” -said Miss Pole, as she and Miss Matty compared notes.<br> -<br> -“Yes, so she said. Not even Mrs Fitz-Adam.”<br> -<br> -Now Mrs Fitz-Adam was the widowed sister of the Cranford surgeon, whom -I have named before. Their parents were respectable farmers, content -with their station. The name of these good people was Hoggins. -Mr Hoggins was the Cranford doctor now; we disliked the name and considered -it coarse; but, as Miss Jenkyns said, if he changed it to Piggins it -would not be much better. We had hoped to discover a relationship -between him and that Marchioness of Exeter whose name was Molly Hoggins; -but the man, careless of his own interests, utterly ignored and denied -any such relationship, although, as dear Miss Jenkyns had said, he had -a sister called Mary, and the same Christian names were very apt to -run in families.<br> -<br> -Soon after Miss Mary Hoggins married Mr Fitz-Adam, she disappeared from -the neighbourhood for many years. She did not move in a sphere -in Cranford society sufficiently high to make any of us care to know -what Mr Fitz-Adam was. He died and was gathered to his fathers -without our ever having thought about him at all. And then Mrs -Fitz-Adam reappeared in Cranford (“as bold as a lion,” Miss -Pole said), a well-to-do widow, dressed in rustling black silk, so soon -after her husband’s death that poor Miss Jenkyns was justified -in the remark she made, that “bombazine would have shown a deeper -sense of her loss.”<br> -<br> -I remember the convocation of ladies who assembled to decide whether -or not Mrs Fitz-Adam should be called upon by the old blue-blooded inhabitants -of Cranford. She had taken a large rambling house, which had been -usually considered to confer a patent of gentility upon its tenant, -because, once upon a time, seventy or eighty years before, the spinster -daughter of an earl had resided in it. I am not sure if the inhabiting -this house was not also believed to convey some unusual power of intellect; -for the earl’s daughter, Lady Jane, had a sister, Lady Anne, who -had married a general officer in the time of the American war, and this -general officer had written one or two comedies, which were still acted -on the London boards, and which, when we saw them advertised, made us -all draw up, and feel that Drury Lane was paying a very pretty compliment -to Cranford. Still, it was not at all a settled thing that Mrs -Fitz-Adam was to be visited, when dear Miss Jenkyns died; and, with -her, something of the clear knowledge of the strict code of gentility -went out too. As Miss Pole observed, “As most of the ladies -of good family in Cranford were elderly spinsters, or widows without -children, if we did not relax a little, and become less exclusive, by-and-by -we should have no society at all.”<br> -<br> -Mrs Forrester continued on the same side.<br> -<br> -“She had always understood that Fitz meant something aristocratic; -there was Fitz-Roy - she thought that some of the King’s children -had been called Fitz-Roy; and there was Fitz-Clarence, now - they were -the children of dear good King William the Fourth. Fitz-Adam! -- it was a pretty name, and she thought it very probably meant ‘Child -of Adam.’ No one, who had not some good blood in their veins, -would dare to be called Fitz; there was a deal in a name - she had had -a cousin who spelt his name with two little ffs - ffoulkes - and he -always looked down upon capital letters and said they belonged to lately-invented -families. She had been afraid he would die a bachelor, he was -so very choice. When he met with a Mrs ffarringdon, at a watering-place, -he took to her immediately; and a very pretty genteel woman she was -- a widow, with a very good fortune; and ‘my cousin,’ Mr -ffoulkes, married her; and it was all owing to her two little ffs.”<br> -<br> -Mrs Fitz-Adam did not stand a chance of meeting with a Mr Fitz-anything -in Cranford, so that could not have been her motive for settling there. -Miss Matty thought it might have been the hope of being admitted into -the society of the place, which would certainly be a very agreeable -rise for <i>ci-devant</i> Miss Hoggins; and if this had been her hope -it would be cruel to disappoint her.<br> -<br> -So everybody called upon Mrs Fitz-Adam - everybody but Mrs Jamieson, -who used to show how honourable she was by never seeing Mrs Fitz-Adam -when they met at the Cranford parties. There would be only eight -or ten ladies in the room, and Mrs Fitz-Adam was the largest of all, -and she invariably used to stand up when Mrs Jamieson came in, and curtsey -very low to her whenever she turned in her direction - so low, in fact, -that I think Mrs Jamieson must have looked at the wall above her, for -she never moved a muscle of her face, no more than if she had not seen -her. Still Mrs Fitz-Adam persevered.<br> -<br> -The spring evenings were getting bright and long when three or four -ladies in calashes met at Miss Barker’s door. Do you know -what a calash is? It is a covering worn over caps, not unlike -the heads fastened on old-fashioned gigs; but sometimes it is not quite -so large. This kind of head-gear always made an awful impression -on the children in Cranford; and now two or three left off their play -in the quiet sunny little street, and gathered in wondering silence -round Miss Pole, Miss Matty, and myself. We were silent too, so -that we could hear loud, suppressed whispers inside Miss Barker’s -house: “Wait, Peggy! wait till I’ve run upstairs and washed -my hands. When I cough, open the door; I’ll not be a minute.”<br> -<br> -And, true enough it was not a minute before we heard a noise, between -a sneeze and a crow; on which the door flew open. Behind it stood -a round-eyed maiden, all aghast at the honourable company of calashes, -who marched in without a word. She recovered presence of mind -enough to usher us into a small room, which had been the shop, but was -now converted into a temporary dressing-room. There we unpinned -and shook ourselves, and arranged our features before the glass into -a sweet and gracious company-face; and then, bowing backwards with “After -you, ma’am,” we allowed Mrs Forrester to take precedence -up the narrow staircase that led to Miss Barker’s drawing-room. -There she sat, as stately and composed as though we had never heard -that odd-sounding cough, from which her throat must have been even then -sore and rough. Kind, gentle, shabbily-dressed Mrs Forrester was -immediately conducted to the second place of honour - a seat arranged -something like Prince Albert’s near the Queen’s - good, -but not so good. The place of pre-eminence was, of course, reserved -for the Honourable Mrs Jamieson, who presently came panting up the stairs -- Carlo rushing round her on her progress, as if he meant to trip her -up.<br> -<br> -And now Miss Betty Barker was a proud and happy woman! She stirred -the fire, and shut the door, and sat as near to it as she could, quite -on the edge of her chair. When Peggy came in, tottering under -the weight of the tea-tray, I noticed that Miss Barker was sadly afraid -lest Peggy should not keep her distance sufficiently. She and -her mistress were on very familiar terms in their every-day intercourse, -and Peggy wanted now to make several little confidences to her, which -Miss Barker was on thorns to hear, but which she thought it her duty, -as a lady, to repress. So she turned away from all Peggy’s -asides and signs; but she made one or two very malapropos answers to -what was said; and at last, seized with a bright idea, she exclaimed, -“Poor, sweet Carlo! I’m forgetting him. Come -downstairs with me, poor ittie doggie, and it shall have its tea, it -shall!”<br> -<br> -In a few minutes she returned, bland and benignant as before; but I -thought she had forgotten to give the “poor ittie doggie” -anything to eat, judging by the avidity with which he swallowed down -chance pieces of cake. The tea-tray was abundantly loaded - I -was pleased to see it, I was so hungry; but I was afraid the ladies -present might think it vulgarly heaped up. I know they would have -done at their own houses; but somehow the heaps disappeared here. -I saw Mrs Jamieson eating seed-cake, slowly and considerately, as she -did everything; and I was rather surprised, for I knew she had told -us, on the occasion of her last party, that she never had it in her -house, it reminded her so much of scented soap. She always gave -us Savoy biscuits. However, Mrs Jamieson was kindly indulgent -to Miss Barker’s want of knowledge of the customs of high life; -and, to spare her feelings, ate three large pieces of seed-cake, with -a placid, ruminating expression of countenance, not unlike a cow’s.<br> -<br> -After tea there was some little demur and difficulty. We were -six in number; four could play at Preference, and for the other two -there was Cribbage. But all, except myself (I was rather afraid -of the Cranford ladies at cards, for it was the most earnest and serious -business they ever engaged in), were anxious to be of the “pool.” -Even Miss Barker, while declaring she did not know Spadille from Manille, -was evidently hankering to take a hand. The dilemma was soon put -an end to by a singular kind of noise. If a baron’s daughter-in-law -could ever be supposed to snore, I should have said Mrs Jamieson did -so then; for, overcome by the heat of the room, and inclined to doze -by nature, the temptation of that very comfortable arm-chair had been -too much for her, and Mrs Jamieson was nodding. Once or twice -she opened her eyes with an effort, and calmly but unconsciously smiled -upon us; but by-and-by, even her benevolence was not equal to this exertion, -and she was sound asleep.<br> -<br> -“It is very gratifying to me,” whispered Miss Barker at -the card-table to her three opponents, whom, notwithstanding her ignorance -of the game, she was “basting” most unmercifully - “very -gratifying indeed, to see how completely Mrs Jamieson feels at home -in my poor little dwelling; she could not have paid me a greater compliment.”<br> -<br> -Miss Barker provided me with some literature in the shape of three or -four handsomely-bound fashion-books ten or twelve years old, observing, -as she put a little table and a candle for my especial benefit, that -she knew young people liked to look at pictures. Carlo lay and -snorted, and started at his mistress’s feet. He, too, was -quite at home.<br> -<br> -The card-table was an animated scene to watch; four ladies’ heads, -with niddle-noddling caps, all nearly meeting over the middle of the -table in their eagerness to whisper quick enough and loud enough: and -every now and then came Miss Barker’s “Hush, ladies! if -you please, hush! Mrs Jamieson is asleep.”<br> -<br> -It was very difficult to steer clear between Mrs Forrester’s deafness -and Mrs Jamieson’s sleepiness. But Miss Barker managed her -arduous task well. She repeated the whisper to Mrs Forrester, -distorting her face considerably, in order to show, by the motions of -her lips, what was said; and then she smiled kindly all round at us, -and murmured to herself, “Very gratifying, indeed; I wish my poor -sister had been alive to see this day.”<br> -<br> -Presently the door was thrown wide open; Carlo started to his feet, -with a loud snapping bark, and Mrs Jamieson awoke: or, perhaps, she -had not been asleep - as she said almost directly, the room had been -so light she had been glad to keep her eyes shut, but had been listening -with great interest to all our amusing and agreeable conversation. -Peggy came in once more, red with importance. Another tray! -“Oh, gentility!” thought I, “can yon endure this last -shock?” For Miss Barker had ordered (nay, I doubt not, prepared, -although she did say, “Why, Peggy, what have you brought us?” -and looked pleasantly surprised at the unexpected pleasure) all sorts -of good things for supper - scalloped oysters, potted lobsters, jelly, -a dish called “little Cupids” (which was in great favour -with the Cranford ladies, although too expensive to be given, except -on solemn and state occasions - macaroons sopped in brandy, I should -have called it, if I had not known its more refined and classical name). -In short, we were evidently to be feasted with all that was sweetest -and best; and we thought it better to submit graciously, even at the -cost of our gentility - which never ate suppers in general, but which, -like most non-supper-eaters, was particularly hungry on all special -occasions.<br> -<br> -Miss Barker, in her former sphere, had, I daresay, been made acquainted -with the beverage they call cherry-brandy. We none of us had ever -seen such a thing, and rather shrank back when she proffered it us - -“just a little, leetle glass, ladies; after the oysters and lobsters, -you know. Shell-fish are sometimes thought not very wholesome.” -We all shook our heads like female mandarins; but, at last, Mrs Jamieson -suffered herself to be persuaded, and we followed her lead. It -was not exactly unpalatable, though so hot and so strong that we thought -ourselves bound to give evidence that we were not accustomed to such -things by coughing terribly - almost as strangely as Miss Barker had -done, before we were admitted by Peggy.<br> -<br> -“It’s very strong,” said Miss Pole, as she put down -her empty glass; “I do believe there’s spirit in it.”<br> -<br> -“Only a little drop - just necessary to make it keep,” said -Miss Barker. “You know we put brandy-pepper over our preserves -to make them keep. I often feel tipsy myself from eating damson -tart.”<br> -<br> -I question whether damson tart would have opened Mrs Jamieson’s -heart as the cherry-brandy did; but she told us of a coming event, respecting -which she had been quite silent till that moment.<br> -<br> -“My sister-in-law, Lady Glenmire, is coming to stay with me.”<br> -<br> -There was a chorus of “Indeed!” and then a pause. -Each one rapidly reviewed her wardrobe, as to its fitness to appear -in the presence of a baron’s widow; for, of course, a series of -small festivals were always held in Cranford on the arrival of a visitor -at any of our friends’ houses. We felt very pleasantly excited -on the present occasion.<br> -<br> -Not long after this the maids and the lanterns were announced. -Mrs Jamieson had the sedan-chair, which had squeezed itself into Miss -Barker’s narrow lobby with some difficulty, and most literally -“stopped the way.” It required some skilful manoeuvring -on the part of the old chairmen (shoemakers by day, but when summoned -to carry the sedan dressed up in a strange old livery - long great-coats, -with small capes, coeval with the sedan, and similar to the dress of -the class in Hogarth’s pictures) to edge, and back, and try at -it again, and finally to succeed in carrying their burden out of Miss -Barker’s front door. Then we heard their quick pit-a-pat -along the quiet little street as we put on our calashes and pinned up -our gowns; Miss Barker hovering about us with offers of help, which, -if she had not remembered her former occupation, and wished us to forget -it, would have been much more pressing.<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -CHAPTER VIII - “YOUR LADYSHIP”<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -Early the next morning - directly after twelve - Miss Pole made her -appearance at Miss Matty’s. Some very trifling piece of -business was alleged as a reason for the call; but there was evidently -something behind. At last out it came.<br> -<br> -“By the way, you’ll think I’m strangely ignorant; -but, do you really know, I am puzzled how we ought to address Lady Glenmire. -Do you say, ‘Your Ladyship,’ where you would say ‘you’ -to a common person? I have been puzzling all morning; and are -we to say ‘My Lady,’ instead of ‘Ma’am?’ -Now you knew Lady Arley - will you kindly tell me the most correct way -of speaking to the peerage?”<br> -<br> -Poor Miss Matty! she took off her spectacles and she put them on again -- but how Lady Arley was addressed, she could not remember.<br> -<br> -“It is so long ago,” she said. “Dear! dear! -how stupid I am! I don’t think I ever saw her more than -twice. I know we used to call Sir Peter, ‘Sir Peter’ -- but he came much oftener to see us than Lady Arley did. Deborah -would have known in a minute. ‘My lady’ - ‘your -ladyship.’ It sounds very strange, and as if it was not -natural. I never thought of it before; but, now you have named -it, I am all in a puzzle.”<br> -<br> -It was very certain Miss Pole would obtain no wise decision from Miss -Matty, who got more bewildered every moment, and more perplexed as to -etiquettes of address.<br> -<br> -“Well, I really think,” said Miss Pole, “I had better -just go and tell Mrs Forrester about our little difficulty. One -sometimes grows nervous; and yet one would not have Lady Glenmire think -we were quite ignorant of the etiquettes of high life in Cranford.”<br> -<br> -“And will you just step in here, dear Miss Pole, as you come back, -please, and tell me what you decide upon? Whatever you and Mrs -Forrester fix upon, will be quite right, I’m sure. ‘Lady -Arley,’ ‘Sir Peter,’” said Miss Matty to herself, -trying to recall the old forms of words.<br> -<br> -“Who is Lady Glenmire?” asked I.<br> -<br> -“Oh, she’s the widow of Mr Jamieson - that’s Mrs Jamieson’s -late husband, you know - widow of his eldest brother. Mrs Jamieson -was a Miss Walker, daughter of Governor Walker. ‘Your ladyship.’ -My dear, if they fix on that way of speaking, you must just let me practice -a little on you first, for I shall feel so foolish and hot saying it -the first time to Lady Glenmire.”<br> -<br> -It was really a relief to Miss Matty when Mrs Jamieson came on a very -unpolite errand. I notice that apathetic people have more quiet -impertinence than others; and Mrs Jamieson came now to insinuate pretty -plainly that she did not particularly wish that the Cranford ladies -should call upon her sister-in-law. I can hardly say how she made -this clear; for I grew very indignant and warm, while with slow deliberation -she was explaining her wishes to Miss Matty, who, a true lady herself, -could hardly understand the feeling which made Mrs Jamieson wish to -appear to her noble sister-in-law as if she only visited “county” -families. Miss Matty remained puzzled and perplexed long after -I had found out the object of Mrs Jamieson’s visit.<br> -<br> -When she did understand the drift of the honourable lady’s call, -it was pretty to see with what quiet dignity she received the intimation -thus uncourteously given. She was not in the least hurt - she -was of too gentle a spirit for that; nor was she exactly conscious of -disapproving of Mrs Jamieson’s conduct; but there was something -of this feeling in her mind, I am sure, which made her pass from the -subject to others in a less flurried and more composed manner than usual. -Mrs Jamieson was, indeed, the more flurried of the two, and I could -see she was glad to take her leave.<br> -<br> -A little while afterwards Miss Pole returned, red and indignant. -“Well! to be sure! You’ve had Mrs Jamieson here, I -find from Martha; and we are not to call on Lady Glenmire. Yes! -I met Mrs Jamieson, half-way between here and Mrs Forrester’s, -and she told me; she took me so by surprise, I had nothing to say. -I wish I had thought of something very sharp and sarcastic; I dare say -I shall to-night. And Lady Glenmire is but the widow of a Scotch -baron after all! I went on to look at Mrs Forrester’s Peerage, -to see who this lady was, that is to be kept under a glass case: widow -of a Scotch peer - never sat in the House of Lords - and as poor as -job, I dare say; and she - fifth daughter of some Mr Campbell or other. -You are the daughter of a rector, at any rate, and related to the Arleys; -and Sir Peter might have been Viscount Arley, every one says.”<br> -<br> -Miss Matty tried to soothe Miss Pole, but in vain. That lady, -usually so kind and good-humoured, was now in a full flow of anger.<br> -<br> -“And I went and ordered a cap this morning, to be quite ready,” -said she at last, letting out the secret which gave sting to Mrs Jamieson’s -intimation. “Mrs Jamieson shall see if it is so easy to -get me to make fourth at a pool when she has none of her fine Scotch -relations with her!”<br> -<br> -In coming out of church, the first Sunday on which Lady Glenmire appeared -in Cranford, we sedulously talked together, and turned our backs on -Mrs Jamieson and her guest. If we might not call on her, we would -not even look at her, though we were dying with curiosity to know what -she was like. We had the comfort of questioning Martha in the -afternoon. Martha did not belong to a sphere of society whose -observation could be an implied compliment to Lady Glenmire, and Martha -had made good use of her eyes.<br> -<br> -“Well, ma’am! is it the little lady with Mrs Jamieson, you -mean? I thought you would like more to know how young Mrs Smith -was dressed; her being a bride.” (Mrs Smith was the butcher’s -wife).<br> -<br> -Miss Pole said, “Good gracious me! as if we cared about a Mrs -Smith;” but was silent as Martha resumed her speech.<br> -<br> -“The little lady in Mrs Jamieson’s pew had on, ma’am, -rather an old black silk, and a shepherd’s plaid cloak, ma’am, -and very bright black eyes she had, ma’am, and a pleasant, sharp -face; not over young, ma’am, but yet, I should guess, younger -than Mrs Jamieson herself. She looked up and down the church, -like a bird, and nipped up her petticoats, when she came out, as quick -and sharp as ever I see. I’ll tell you what, ma’am, -she’s more like Mrs Deacon, at the ‘Coach and Horses,’ -nor any one.”<br> -<br> -“Hush, Martha!” said Miss Matty, “that’s not -respectful.”<br> -<br> -“Isn’t it, ma’am? I beg pardon, I’m sure; -but Jem Hearn said so as well. He said, she was just such a sharp, -stirring sort of a body” -<br> -<br> -“Lady,” said Miss Pole.<br> -<br> -“Lady - as Mrs Deacon.”<br> -<br> -Another Sunday passed away, and we still averted our eyes from Mrs Jamieson -and her guest, and made remarks to ourselves that we thought were very -severe - almost too much so. Miss Matty was evidently uneasy at -our sarcastic manner of speaking.<br> -<br> -Perhaps by this time Lady Glenmire had found out that Mrs Jamieson’s -was not the gayest, liveliest house in the world; perhaps Mrs Jamieson -had found out that most of the county families were in London, and that -those who remained in the country were not so alive as they might have -been to the circumstance of Lady Glenmire being in their neighbourhood. -Great events spring out of small causes; so I will not pretend to say -what induced Mrs Jamieson to alter her determination of excluding the -Cranford ladies, and send notes of invitation all round for a small -party on the following Tuesday. Mr Mulliner himself brought them -round. He <i>would</i> always ignore the fact of there being a -back-door to any house, and gave a louder rat-tat than his mistress, -Mrs Jamieson. He had three little notes, which he carried in a -large basket, in order to impress his mistress with an idea of their -great weight, though they might easily have gone into his waistcoat -pocket.<br> -<br> -Miss Matty and I quietly decided that we would have a previous engagement -at home: it was the evening on which Miss Matty usually made candle-lighters -of all the notes and letters of the week; for on Mondays her accounts -were always made straight - not a penny owing from the week before; -so, by a natural arrangement, making candle-lighters fell upon a Tuesday -evening, and gave us a legitimate excuse for declining Mrs Jamieson’s -invitation. But before our answer was written, in came Miss Pole, -with an open note in her hand.<br> -<br> -“So!” she said. “Ah! I see you have got -your note, too. Better late than never. I could have told -my Lady Glenmire she would be glad enough of our society before a fortnight -was over.”<br> -<br> -“Yes,” said Miss Matty, “we’re asked for Tuesday -evening. And perhaps you would just kindly bring your work across -and drink tea with us that night. It is my usual regular time -for looking over the last week’s bills, and notes, and letters, -and making candle-lighters of them; but that does not seem quite reason -enough for saying I have a previous engagement at home, though I meant -to make it do. Now, if you would come, my conscience would be -quite at ease, and luckily the note is not written yet.”<br> -<br> -I saw Miss Pole’s countenance change while Miss Matty was speaking.<br> -<br> -“Don’t you mean to go then?” asked she.<br> -<br> -“Oh, no!” said, Miss Matty quietly. “You don’t -either, I suppose?”<br> -<br> -“I don’t know,” replied Miss Pole. “Yes, -I think I do,” said she, rather briskly; and on seeing Miss Matty -look surprised, she added, “You see, one would not like Mrs Jamieson -to think that anything she could do, or say, was of consequence enough -to give offence; it would be a kind of letting down of ourselves, that -I, for one, should not like. It would be too flattering to Mrs -Jamieson if we allowed her to suppose that what she had said affected -us a week, nay ten days afterwards.”<br> -<br> -“Well! I suppose it is wrong to be hurt and annoyed so long -about anything; and, perhaps, after all, she did not mean to vex us. -But I must say, I could not have brought myself to say the things Mrs -Jamieson did about our not calling. I really don’t think -I shall go.”<br> -<br> -“Oh, come! Miss Matty, you must go; you know our friend -Mrs Jamieson is much more phlegmatic than most people, and does not -enter into the little delicacies of feeling which you possess in so -remarkable a degree.”<br> -<br> -“I thought you possessed them, too, that day Mrs Jamieson called -to tell us not to go,” said Miss Matty innocently.<br> -<br> -But Miss Pole, in addition to her delicacies of feeling, possessed a -very smart cap, which she was anxious to show to an admiring world; -and so she seemed to forget all her angry words uttered not a fortnight -before, and to be ready to act on what she called the great Christian -principle of “Forgive and forget”; and she lectured dear -Miss Matty so long on this head that she absolutely ended by assuring -her it was her duty, as a deceased rector’s daughter, to buy a -new cap and go to the party at Mrs Jamieson’s. So “we -were most happy to accept,” instead of “regretting that -we were obliged to decline.”<br> -<br> -The expenditure on dress in Cranford was principally in that one article -referred to. If the heads were buried in smart new caps, the ladies -were like ostriches, and cared not what became of their bodies. -Old gowns, white and venerable collars, any number of brooches, up and -down and everywhere (some with dogs’ eyes painted in them; some -that were like small picture-frames with mausoleums and weeping-willows -neatly executed in hair inside; some, again, with miniatures of ladies -and gentlemen sweetly smiling out of a nest of stiff muslin), old brooches -for a permanent ornament, and new caps to suit the fashion of the day -- the ladies of Cranford always dressed with chaste elegance and propriety, -as Miss Barker once prettily expressed it.<br> -<br> -And with three new caps, and a greater array of brooches than had ever -been seen together at one time since Cranford was a town, did Mrs Forrester, -and Miss Matty, and Miss Pole appear on that memorable Tuesday evening. -I counted seven brooches myself on Miss Pole’s dress. Two -were fixed negligently in her cap (one was a butterfly made of Scotch -pebbles, which a vivid imagination might believe to be the real insect); -one fastened her net neckerchief; one her collar; one ornamented the -front of her gown, midway between her throat and waist; and another -adorned the point of her stomacher. Where the seventh was I have -forgotten, but it was somewhere about her, I am sure.<br> -<br> -But I am getting on too fast, in describing the dresses of the company. -I should first relate the gathering on the way to Mrs Jamieson’s. -That lady lived in a large house just outside the town. A road -which had known what it was to be a street ran right before the house, -which opened out upon it without any intervening garden or court. -Whatever the sun was about, he never shone on the front of that house. -To be sure, the living-rooms were at the back, looking on to a pleasant -garden; the front windows only belonged to kitchens and housekeepers’ -rooms, and pantries, and in one of them Mr Mulliner was reported to -sit. Indeed, looking askance, we often saw the back of a head -covered with hair powder, which also extended itself over his coat-collar -down to his very waist; and this imposing back was always engaged in -reading the <i>St James’s Chronicle</i>, opened wide, which, in -some degree, accounted for the length of time the said newspaper was -in reaching us - equal subscribers with Mrs Jamieson, though, in right -of her honourableness, she always had the reading of it first. -This very Tuesday, the delay in forwarding the last number had been -particularly aggravating; just when both Miss Pole and Miss Matty, the -former more especially, had been wanting to see it, in order to coach -up the Court news ready for the evening’s interview with aristocracy. -Miss Pole told us she had absolutely taken time by the forelock, and -been dressed by five o’clock, in order to be ready if the <i>St -James’s Chronicle</i> should come in at the last moment - the -very <i>St James’s Chronicle</i> which the powdered head was tranquilly -and composedly reading as we passed the accustomed window this evening.<br> -<br> -“The impudence of the man!” said Miss Pole, in a low indignant -whisper. “I should like to ask him whether his mistress -pays her quarter-share for his exclusive use.”<br> -<br> -We looked at her in admiration of the courage of her thought; for Mr -Mulliner was an object of great awe to all of us. He seemed never -to have forgotten his condescension in coming to live at Cranford. -Miss Jenkyns, at times, had stood forth as the undaunted champion of -her sex, and spoken to him on terms of equality; but even Miss Jenkyns -could get no higher. In his pleasantest and most gracious moods -he looked like a sulky cockatoo. He did not speak except in gruff -monosyllables. He would wait in the hall when we begged him not -to wait, and then look deeply offended because we had kept him there, -while, with trembling, hasty hands we prepared ourselves for appearing -in company.<br> -<br> -Miss Pole ventured on a small joke as we went upstairs, intended, though -addressed to us, to afford Mr Mulliner some slight amusement. -We all smiled, in order to seem as if we felt at our ease, and timidly -looked for Mr Mulliner’s sympathy. Not a muscle of that -wooden face had relaxed; and we were grave in an instant.<br> -<br> -Mrs Jamieson’s drawing-room was cheerful; the evening sun came -streaming into it, and the large square window was clustered round with -flowers. The furniture was white and gold; not the later style, -Louis Quatorze, I think they call it, all shells and twirls; no, Mrs -Jamieson’s chairs and tables had not a curve or bend about them. -The chair and table legs diminished as they neared the ground, and were -straight and square in all their corners. The chairs were all -a-row against the walls, with the exception of four or five which stood -in a circle round the fire. They were railed with white bars across -the back and knobbed with gold; neither the railings nor the knobs invited -to ease. There was a japanned table devoted to literature, on -which lay a Bible, a Peerage, and a Prayer-Book. There was another -square Pembroke table dedicated to the Fine Arts, on which were a kaleidoscope, -conversation-cards, puzzle-cards (tied together to an interminable length -with faded pink satin ribbon), and a box painted in fond imitation of -the drawings which decorate tea-chests. Carlo lay on the worsted-worked -rug, and ungraciously barked at us as we entered. Mrs Jamieson -stood up, giving us each a torpid smile of welcome, and looking helplessly -beyond us at Mr Mulliner, as if she hoped he would place us in chairs, -for, if he did not, she never could. I suppose he thought we could -find our way to the circle round the fire, which reminded me of Stonehenge, -I don’t know why. Lady Glenmire came to the rescue of our -hostess, and, somehow or other, we found ourselves for the first time -placed agreeably, and not formally, in Mrs Jamieson’s house. -Lady Glenmire, now we had time to look at her, proved to be a bright -little woman of middle age, who had been very pretty in the days of -her youth, and who was even yet very pleasant-looking. I saw Miss -Pole appraising her dress in the first five minutes, and I take her -word when she said the next day -<br> -<br> -“My dear! ten pounds would have purchased every stitch she had -on - lace and all.”<br> -<br> -It was pleasant to suspect that a peeress could be poor, and partly -reconciled us to the fact that her husband had never sat in the House -of Lords; which, when we first heard of it, seemed a kind of swindling -us out of our prospects on false pretences; a sort of “A Lord -and No Lord” business.<br> -<br> -We were all very silent at first. We were thinking what we could -talk about, that should be high enough to interest My Lady. There -had been a rise in the price of sugar, which, as preserving-time was -near, was a piece of intelligence to all our house-keeping hearts, and -would have been the natural topic if Lady Glenmire had not been by. -But we were not sure if the peerage ate preserves - much less knew how -they were made. At last, Miss Pole, who had always a great deal -of courage and <i>savoir</i> <i>faire</i>, spoke to Lady Glenmire, who -on her part had seemed just as much puzzled to know how to break the -silence as we were.<br> -<br> -“Has your ladyship been to Court lately?” asked she; and -then gave a little glance round at us, half timid and half triumphant, -as much as to say, “See how judiciously I have chosen a subject -befitting the rank of the stranger.”<br> -<br> -“I never was there in my life,” said Lady Glenmire, with -a broad Scotch accent, but in a very sweet voice. And then, as -if she had been too abrupt, she added: “We very seldom went to -London - only twice, in fact, during all my married life; and before -I was married my father had far too large a family” (fifth daughter -of Mr Campbell was in all our minds, I am sure) “to take us often -from our home, even to Edinburgh. Ye’ll have been in Edinburgh, -maybe?” said she, suddenly brightening up with the hope of a common -interest. We had none of us been there; but Miss Pole had an uncle -who once had passed a night there, which was very pleasant.<br> -<br> -Mrs Jamieson, meanwhile, was absorbed in wonder why Mr Mulliner did -not bring the tea; and at length the wonder oozed out of her mouth.<br> -<br> -“I had better ring the bell, my dear, had not I?” said Lady -Glenmire briskly.<br> -<br> -“No - I think not - Mulliner does not like to be hurried.”<br> -<br> -We should have liked our tea, for we dined at an earlier hour than Mrs -Jamieson. I suspect Mr Mulliner had to finish the <i>St James’s -Chronicle</i> before he chose to trouble himself about tea. His -mistress fidgeted and fidgeted, and kept saying, I can’t think -why Mulliner does not bring tea. I can’t think what he can -be about.” And Lady Glenmire at last grew quite impatient, -but it was a pretty kind of impatience after all; and she rang the bell -rather sharply, on receiving a half-permission from her sister-in-law -to do so. Mr Mulliner appeared in dignified surprise. “Oh!” -said Mrs Jamieson, “Lady Glenmire rang the bell; I believe it -was for tea.”<br> -<br> -In a few minutes tea was brought. Very delicate was the china, -very old the plate, very thin the bread and butter, and very small the -lumps of sugar. Sugar was evidently Mrs Jamieson’s favourite -economy. I question if the little filigree sugar-tongs, made something -like scissors, could have opened themselves wide enough to take up an -honest, vulgar good-sized piece; and when I tried to seize two little -minnikin pieces at once, so as not to be detected in too many returns -to the sugar-basin, they absolutely dropped one, with a little sharp -clatter, quite in a malicious and unnatural manner. But before -this happened we had had a slight disappointment. In the little -silver jug was cream, in the larger one was milk. As soon as Mr -Mulliner came in, Carlo began to beg, which was a thing our manners -forebade us to do, though I am sure we were just as hungry; and Mrs -Jamieson said she was certain we would excuse her if she gave her poor -dumb Carlo his tea first. She accordingly mixed a saucerful for -him, and put it down for him to lap; and then she told us how intelligent -and sensible the dear little fellow was; he knew cream quite well, and -constantly refused tea with only milk in it: so the milk was left for -us; but we silently thought we were quite as intelligent and sensible -as Carlo, and felt as if insult were added to injury when we were called -upon to admire the gratitude evinced by his wagging his tail for the -cream which should have been ours.<br> -<br> -After tea we thawed down into common-life subjects. We were thankful -to Lady Glenmire for having proposed some more bread and butter, and -this mutual want made us better acquainted with her than we should ever -have been with talking about the Court, though Miss Pole did say she -had hoped to know how the dear Queen was from some one who had seen -her.<br> -<br> -The friendship begun over bread and butter extended on to cards. -Lady Glenmire played Preference to admiration, and was a complete authority -as to Ombre and Quadrille. Even Miss Pole quite forgot to say -“my lady,” and “your ladyship,” and said “Basto! -ma’am”; “you have Spadille, I believe,” just -as quietly as if we had never held the great Cranford Parliament on -the subject of the proper mode of addressing a peeress.<br> -<br> -As a proof of how thoroughly we had forgotten that we were in the presence -of one who might have sat down to tea with a coronet, instead of a cap, -on her head, Mrs Forrester related a curious little fact to Lady Glenmire -- an anecdote known to the circle of her intimate friends, but of which -even Mrs Jamieson was not aware. It related to some fine old lace, -the sole relic of better days, which Lady Glenmire was admiring on Mrs -Forrester’s collar.<br> -<br> -“Yes,” said that lady, “such lace cannot be got now -for either love or money; made by the nuns abroad, they tell me. -They say that they can’t make it now even there. But perhaps -they can, now they’ve passed the Catholic Emancipation Bill. -I should not wonder. But, in the meantime, I treasure up my lace -very much. I daren’t even trust the washing of it to my -maid” (the little charity school-girl I have named before, but -who sounded well as “my maid”). “I always wash -it myself. And once it had a narrow escape. Of course, your -ladyship knows that such lace must never be starched or ironed. -Some people wash it in sugar and water, and some in coffee, to make -it the right yellow colour; but I myself have a very good receipt for -washing it in milk, which stiffens it enough, and gives it a very good -creamy colour. Well, ma’am, I had tacked it together (and -the beauty of this fine lace is that, when it is wet, it goes into a -very little space), and put it to soak in milk, when, unfortunately, -I left the room; on my return, I found pussy on the table, looking very -like a thief, but gulping very uncomfortably, as if she was half-chocked -with something she wanted to swallow and could not. And, would -you believe it? At first I pitied her, and said ‘Poor pussy! -poor pussy!’ till, all at once, I looked and saw the cup of milk -empty - cleaned out! ‘You naughty cat!’ said I, and -I believe I was provoked enough to give her a slap, which did no good, -but only helped the lace down - just as one slaps a choking child on -the back. I could have cried, I was so vexed; but I determined -I would not give the lace up without a struggle for it. I hoped -the lace might disagree with her, at any rate; but it would have been -too much for Job, if he had seen, as I did, that cat come in, quite -placid and purring, not a quarter of an hour after, and almost expecting -to be stroked. ‘No, pussy!’ said I, ‘if you -have any conscience you ought not to expect that!’ And then -a thought struck me; and I rang the bell for my maid, and sent her to -Mr Hoggins, with my compliments, and would he be kind enough to lend -me one of his top-boots for an hour? I did not think there was -anything odd in the message; but Jenny said the young men in the surgery -laughed as if they would be ill at my wanting a top-boot. When -it came, Jenny and I put pussy in, with her forefeet straight down, -so that they were fastened, and could not scratch, and we gave her a -teaspoonful of current-jelly in which (your ladyship must excuse me) -I had mixed some tartar emetic. I shall never forget how anxious -I was for the next half-hour. I took pussy to my own room, and -spread a clean towel on the floor. I could have kissed her when -she returned the lace to sight, very much as it had gone down. -Jenny had boiling water ready, and we soaked it and soaked it, and spread -it on a lavender-bush in the sun before I could touch it again, even -to put it in milk. But now your ladyship would never guess that -it had been in pussy’s inside.”<br> -<br> -We found out, in the course of the evening, that Lady Glenmire was going -to pay Mrs Jamieson a long visit, as she had given up her apartments -in Edinburgh, and had no ties to take her back there in a hurry. -On the whole, we were rather glad to hear this, for she had made a pleasant -impression upon us; and it was also very comfortable to find, from things -which dropped out in the course of conversation, that, in addition to -many other genteel qualities, she was far removed from the “vulgarity -of wealth.”<br> -<br> -“Don’t you find it very unpleasant walking?” asked -Mrs Jamieson, as our respective servants were announced. It was -a pretty regular question from Mrs Jamieson, who had her own carriage -in the coach-house, and always went out in a sedan-chair to the very -shortest distances. The answers were nearly as much a matter of -course.<br> -<br> -“Oh dear, no! it is so pleasant and still at night!” -“Such a refreshment after the excitement of a party!” -“The stars are so beautiful!” This last was from Miss -Matty.<br> -<br> -“Are you fond of astronomy?” Lady Glenmire asked.<br> -<br> -“Not very,” replied Miss Matty, rather confused at the moment -to remember which was astronomy and which was astrology - but the answer -was true under either circumstance, for she read, and was slightly alarmed -at Francis Moore’s astrological predictions; and, as to astronomy, -in a private and confidential conversation, she had told me she never -could believe that the earth was moving constantly, and that she would -not believe it if she could, it made her feel so tired and dizzy whenever -she thought about it.<br> -<br> -In our pattens we picked our way home with extra care that night, so -refined and delicate were our perceptions after drinking tea with “my -lady.”<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -CHAPTER IX - SIGNOR BRUNONI<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -Soon after the events of which I gave an account in my last paper, I -was summoned home by my father’s illness; and for a time I forgot, -in anxiety about him, to wonder how my dear friends at Cranford were -getting on, or how Lady Glenmire could reconcile herself to the dulness -of the long visit which she was still paying to her sister-in-law, Mrs -Jamieson. When my father grew a little stronger I accompanied -him to the seaside, so that altogether I seemed banished from Cranford, -and was deprived of the opportunity of hearing any chance intelligence -of the dear little town for the greater part of that year.<br> -<br> -Late in November - when we had returned home again, and my father was -once more in good health - I received a letter from Miss Matty; and -a very mysterious letter it was. She began many sentences without -ending them, running them one into another, in much the same confused -sort of way in which written words run together on blotting-paper. -All I could make out was that, if my father was better (which she hoped -he was), and would take warning and wear a great-coat from Michaelmas -to Lady-day, if turbans were in fashion, could I tell her? Such -a piece of gaiety was going to happen as had not been seen or known -of since Wombwell’s lions came, when one of them ate a little -child’s arm; and she was, perhaps, too old to care about dress, -but a new cap she must have; and, having heard that turbans were worn, -and some of the county families likely to come, she would like to look -tidy, if I would bring her a cap from the milliner I employed; and oh, -dear! how careless of her to forget that she wrote to beg I would come -and pay her a visit next Tuesday; when she hoped to have something to -offer me in the way of amusement, which she would not now more particularly -describe, only sea-green was her favourite colour. So she ended -her letter; but in a P.S. she added, she thought she might as well tell -me what was the peculiar attraction to Cranford just now; Signor Brunoni -was going to exhibit his wonderful magic in the Cranford Assembly Rooms -on Wednesday and Friday evening in the following week.<br> -<br> -I was very glad to accept the invitation from my dear Miss Matty, independently -of the conjuror, and most particularly anxious to prevent her from disfiguring -her small, gentle, mousey face with a great Saracen’s head turban; -and accordingly, I bought her a pretty, neat, middle-aged cap, which, -however, was rather a disappointment to her when, on my arrival, she -followed me into my bedroom, ostensibly to poke the fire, but in reality, -I do believe, to see if the sea-green turban was not inside the cap-box -with which I had travelled. It was in vain that I twirled the -cap round on my hand to exhibit back and side fronts: her heart had -been set upon a turban, and all she could do was to say, with resignation -in her look and voice -<br> -<br> -“I am sure you did your best, my dear. It is just like the -caps all the ladies in Cranford are wearing, and they have had theirs -for a year, I dare say. I should have liked something newer, I -confess - something more like the turbans Miss Betty Barker tells me -Queen Adelaide wears; but it is very pretty, my dear. And I dare -say lavender will wear better than sea-green. Well, after all, -what is dress, that we should care anything about it? You’ll -tell me if you want anything, my dear. Here is the bell. -I suppose turbans have not got down to Drumble yet?”<br> -<br> -So saying, the dear old lady gently bemoaned herself out of the room, -leaving me to dress for the evening, when, as she informed me, she expected -Miss Pole and Mrs Forrester, and she hoped I should not feel myself -too much tired to join the party. Of course I should not; and -I made some haste to unpack and arrange my dress; but, with all my speed, -I heard the arrivals and the buzz of conversation in the next room before -I was ready. Just as I opened the door, I caught the words, “I -was foolish to expect anything very genteel out of the Drumble shops; -poor girl! she did her best, I’ve no doubt.” But, -for all that, I had rather that she blamed Drumble and me than disfigured -herself with a turban.<br> -<br> -Miss Pole was always the person, in the trio of Cranford ladies now -assembled, to have had adventures. She was in the habit of spending -the morning in rambling from shop to shop, not to purchase anything -(except an occasional reel of cotton or a piece of tape), but to see -the new articles and report upon them, and to collect all the stray -pieces of intelligence in the town. She had a way, too, of demurely -popping hither and thither into all sorts of places to gratify her curiosity -on any point - a way which, if she had not looked so very genteel and -prim, might have been considered impertinent. And now, by the -expressive way in which she cleared her throat, and waited for all minor -subjects (such as caps and turbans) to be cleared off the course, we -knew she had something very particular to relate, when the due pause -came - and I defy any people possessed of common modesty to keep up -a conversation long, where one among them sits up aloft in silence, -looking down upon all the things they chance to say as trivial and contemptible -compared to what they could disclose, if properly entreated. Miss -Pole began -<br> -<br> -“As I was stepping out of Gordon’s shop to-day, I chanced -to go into the ‘George’ (my Betty has a second-cousin who -is chambermaid there, and I thought Betty would like to hear how she -was), and, not seeing anyone about, I strolled up the staircase, and -found myself in the passage leading to the Assembly Room (you and I -remember the Assembly Room, I am sure, Miss Matty! and the minuets de -la cour!); so I went on, not thinking of what I was about, when, all -at once, I perceived that I was in the middle of the preparations for -to-morrow night - the room being divided with great clothes-maids, over -which Crosby’s men were tacking red flannel; very dark and odd -it seemed; it quite bewildered me, and I was going on behind the screens, -in my absence of mind, when a gentleman (quite the gentleman, I can -assure you) stepped forwards and asked if I had any business he could -arrange for me. He spoke such pretty broken English, I could not -help thinking of Thaddeus of Warsaw, and the Hungarian Brothers, and -Santo Sebastiani; and while I was busy picturing his past life to myself, -he had bowed me out of the room. But wait a minute! You -have not heard half my story yet! I was going downstairs, when -who should I meet but Betty’s second-cousin. So, of course, -I stopped to speak to her for Betty’s sake; and she told me that -I had really seen the conjuror - the gentleman who spoke broken English -was Signor Brunoni himself. Just at this moment he passed us on -the stairs, making such a graceful bow! in reply to which I dropped -a curtsey - all foreigners have such polite manners, one catches something -of it. But when he had gone downstairs, I bethought me that I -had dropped my glove in the Assembly Room (it was safe in my muff all -the time, but I never found it till afterwards); so I went back, and, -just as I was creeping up the passage left on one side of the great -screen that goes nearly across the room, who should I see but the very -same gentleman that had met me before, and passed me on the stairs, -coming now forwards from the inner part of the room, to which there -is no entrance - you remember, Miss Matty - and just repeating, in his -pretty broken English, the inquiry if I had any business there - I don’t -mean that he put it quite so bluntly, but he seemed very determined -that I should not pass the screen - so, of course, I explained about -my glove, which, curiously enough, I found at that very moment.”<br> -<br> -Miss Pole, then, had seen the conjuror - the real, live conjuror! and -numerous were the questions we all asked her. “Had he a -beard?” “Was he young, or old?” “Fair, -or dark?” “Did he look” - (unable to shape my -question prudently, I put it in another form) - “How did he look?” -In short, Miss Pole was the heroine of the evening, owing to her morning’s -encounter. If she was not the rose (that is to say the conjuror) -she had been near it.<br> -<br> -Conjuration, sleight of hand, magic, witchcraft, were the subjects of -the evening. Miss Pole was slightly sceptical, and inclined to -think there might be a scientific solution found for even the proceedings -of the Witch of Endor. Mrs Forrester believed everything, from -ghosts to death-watches. Miss Matty ranged between the two - always -convinced by the last speaker. I think she was naturally more -inclined to Mrs Forrester’s side, but a desire of proving herself -a worthy sister to Miss Jenkyns kept her equally balanced - Miss Jenkyns, -who would never allow a servant to call the little rolls of tallow that -formed themselves round candles “winding-sheets,” but insisted -on their being spoken of as “roley-poleys!” A sister -of hers to be superstitious! It would never do.<br> -<br> -After tea, I was despatched downstairs into the dining-parlour for that -volume of the old Encyclopaedia which contained the nouns beginning -with C, in order that Miss Pole might prime herself with scientific -explanations for the tricks of the following evening. It spoilt -the pool at Preference which Miss Matty and Mrs Forrester had been looking -forward to, for Miss Pole became so much absorbed in her subject, and -the plates by which it was illustrated, that we felt it would be cruel -to disturb her otherwise than by one or two well-timed yawns, which -I threw in now and then, for I was really touched by the meek way in -which the two ladies were bearing their disappointment. But Miss -Pole only read the more zealously, imparting to us no more information -than this -<br> -<br> -“Ah! I see; I comprehend perfectly. A represents the ball. -Put A between B and D - no! between C and F, and turn the second joint -of the third finger of your left hand over the wrist of your right H. -Very clear indeed! My dear Mrs Forrester, conjuring and witchcraft -is a mere affair of the alphabet. Do let me read you this one -passage?”<br> -<br> -Mrs Forrester implored Miss Pole to spare her, saying, from a child -upwards, she never could understand being read aloud to; and I dropped -the pack of cards, which I had been shuffling very audibly, and by this -discreet movement I obliged Miss Pole to perceive that Preference was -to have been the order of the evening, and to propose, rather unwillingly, -that the pool should commence. The pleasant brightness that stole -over the other two ladies’ faces on this! Miss Matty had -one or two twinges of self-reproach for having interrupted Miss Pole -in her studies: and did not remember her cards well, or give her full -attention to the game, until she had soothed her conscience by offering -to lend the volume of the Encyclopaedia to Miss Pole, who accepted it -thankfully, and said Betty should take it home when she came with the -lantern.<br> -<br> -The next evening we were all in a little gentle flutter at the idea -of the gaiety before us. Miss Matty went up to dress betimes, -and hurried me until I was ready, when we found we had an hour-and-a-half -to wait before the “doors opened at seven precisely.” -And we had only twenty yards to go! However, as Miss Matty said, -it would not do to get too much absorbed in anything, and forget the -time; so she thought we had better sit quietly, without lighting the -candles, till five minutes to seven. So Miss Matty dozed, and -I knitted.<br> -<br> -At length we set off; and at the door under the carriage-way at the -“George,” we met Mrs Forrester and Miss Pole: the latter -was discussing the subject of the evening with more vehemence than ever, -and throwing X’s and B’s at our heads like hailstones. -She had even copied one or two of the “receipts” - as she -called them - for the different tricks, on backs of letters, ready to -explain and to detect Signor Brunoni’s arts.<br> -<br> -We went into the cloak-room adjoining the Assembly Room; Miss Matty -gave a sigh or two to her departed youth, and the remembrance of the -last time she had been there, as she adjusted her pretty new cap before -the strange, quaint old mirror in the cloak-room. The Assembly -Room had been added to the inn, about a hundred years before, by the -different county families, who met together there once a month during -the winter to dance and play at cards. Many a county beauty had -first swung through the minuet that she afterwards danced before Queen -Charlotte in this very room. It was said that one of the Gunnings -had graced the apartment with her beauty; it was certain that a rich -and beautiful widow, Lady Williams, had here been smitten with the noble -figure of a young artist, who was staying with some family in the neighbourhood -for professional purposes, and accompanied his patrons to the Cranford -Assembly. And a pretty bargain poor Lady Williams had of her handsome -husband, if all tales were true. Now, no beauty blushed and dimpled -along the sides of the Cranford Assembly Room; no handsome artist won -hearts by his bow, <i>chapeau bras</i> in hand; the old room was dingy; -the salmon-coloured paint had faded into a drab; great pieces of plaster -had chipped off from the fine wreaths and festoons on its walls; but -still a mouldy odour of aristocracy lingered about the place, and a -dusty recollection of the days that were gone made Miss Matty and Mrs -Forrester bridle up as they entered, and walk mincingly up the room, -as if there were a number of genteel observers, instead of two little -boys with a stick of toffee between them with which to beguile the time.<br> -<br> -We stopped short at the second front row; I could hardly understand -why, until I heard Miss Pole ask a stray waiter if any of the county -families were expected; and when he shook his head, and believed not, -Mrs Forrester and Miss Matty moved forwards, and our party represented -a conversational square. The front row was soon augmented and -enriched by Lady Glenmire and Mrs Jamieson. We six occupied the -two front rows, and our aristocratic seclusion was respected by the -groups of shop-keepers who strayed in from time to time and huddled -together on the back benches. At least I conjectured so, from -the noise they made, and the sonorous bumps they gave in sitting down; -but when, in weariness of the obstinate green curtain that would not -draw up, but would stare at me with two odd eyes, seen through holes, -as in the old tapestry story, I would fain have looked round at the -merry chattering people behind me, Miss Pole clutched my arm, and begged -me not to turn, for “it was not the thing.” What “the -thing” was, I never could find out, but it must have been something -eminently dull and tiresome. However, we all sat eyes right, square -front, gazing at the tantalising curtain, and hardly speaking intelligibly, -we were so afraid of being caught in the vulgarity of making any noise -in a place of public amusement. Mrs Jamieson was the most fortunate, -for she fell asleep.<br> -<br> -At length the eyes disappeared - the curtain quivered - one side went -up before the other, which stuck fast; it was dropped again, and, with -a fresh effort, and a vigorous pull from some unseen hand, it flew up, -revealing to our sight a magnificent gentleman in the Turkish costume, -seated before a little table, gazing at us (I should have said with -the same eyes that I had last seen through the hole in the curtain) -with calm and condescending dignity, “like a being of another -sphere,” as I heard a sentimental voice ejaculate behind me.<br> -<br> -“That’s not Signor Brunoni!” said Miss Pole decidedly; -and so audibly that I am sure he heard, for he glanced down over his -flowing beard at our party with an air of mute reproach. “Signor -Brunoni had no beard - but perhaps he’ll come soon.” -So she lulled herself into patience. Meanwhile, Miss Matty had -reconnoitred through her eye-glass, wiped it, and looked again. -Then she turned round, and said to me, in a kind, mild, sorrowful tone --<br> -<br> -“You see, my dear, turbans <i>are</i> worn.”<br> -<br> -But we had no time for more conversation. The Grand Turk, as Miss -Pole chose to call him, arose and announced himself as Signor Brunoni.<br> -<br> -“I don’t believe him!” exclaimed Miss Pole, in a defiant -manner. He looked at her again, with the same dignified upbraiding -in his countenance. “I don’t!” she repeated -more positively than ever. “Signor Brunoni had not got that -muffy sort of thing about his chin, but looked like a close-shaved Christian -gentleman.”<br> -<br> -Miss Pole’s energetic speeches had the good effect of wakening -up Mrs Jamieson, who opened her eyes wide, in sign of the deepest attention -- a proceeding which silenced Miss Pole and encouraged the Grand Turk -to proceed, which he did in very broken English - so broken that there -was no cohesion between the parts of his sentences; a fact which he -himself perceived at last, and so left off speaking and proceeded to -action.<br> -<br> -Now we <i>were</i> astonished. How he did his tricks I could not -imagine; no, not even when Miss Pole pulled out her pieces of paper -and began reading aloud - or at least in a very audible whisper - the -separate “receipts” for the most common of his tricks. -If ever I saw a man frown and look enraged, I saw the Grand Turk frown -at Miss Pole; but, as she said, what could be expected but unchristian -looks from a Mussulman? If Miss Pole were sceptical, and more -engrossed with her receipts and diagrams than with his tricks, Miss -Matty and Mrs Forrester were mystified and perplexed to the highest -degree. Mrs Jamieson kept taking her spectacles off and wiping -them, as if she thought it was something defective in them which made -the legerdemain; and Lady Glenmire, who had seen many curious sights -in Edinburgh, was very much struck with the tricks, and would not at -all agree with Miss Pole, who declared that anybody could do them with -a little practice, and that she would, herself, undertake to do all -he did, with two hours given to study the Encyclopaedia and make her -third finger flexible.<br> -<br> -At last Miss Matty and Mrs Forrester became perfectly awestricken. -They whispered together. I sat just behind them, so I could not -help hearing what they were saying. Miss Matty asked Mrs Forrester -“if she thought it was quite right to have come to see such things? -She could not help fearing they were lending encouragement to something -that was not quite” - A little shake of the head filled -up the blank. Mrs Forrester replied, that the same thought had -crossed her mind; she too was feeling very uncomfortable, it was so -very strange. She was quite certain that it was her pocket-handkerchief -which was in that loaf just now; and it had been in her own hand not -five minutes before. She wondered who had furnished the bread? -She was sure it could not be Dakin, because he was the churchwarden. -Suddenly Miss Matty half-turned towards me -<br> -<br> -“Will you look, my dear - you are a stranger in the town, and -it won’t give rise to unpleasant reports - will you just look -round and see if the rector is here? If he is, I think we may -conclude that this wonderful man is sanctioned by the Church, and that -will be a great relief to my mind.<br> -<br> -I looked, and I saw the tall, thin, dry, dusty rector, sitting surrounded -by National School boys, guarded by troops of his own sex from any approach -of the many Cranford spinsters. His kind face was all agape with -broad smiles, and the boys around him were in chinks of laughing. -I told Miss Matty that the Church was smiling approval, which set her -mind at ease.<br> -<br> -I have never named Mr Hayter, the rector, because I, as a well-to-do -and happy young woman, never came in contact with him. He was -an old bachelor, but as afraid of matrimonial reports getting abroad -about him as any girl of eighteen: and he would rush into a shop or -dive down an entry, sooner than encounter any of the Cranford ladies -in the street; and, as for the Preference parties, I did not wonder -at his not accepting invitations to them. To tell the truth, I -always suspected Miss Pole of having given very vigorous chase to Mr -Hayter when he first came to Cranford; and not the less, because now -she appeared to share so vividly in his dread lest her name should ever -be coupled with his. He found all his interests among the poor -and helpless; he had treated the National School boys this very night -to the performance; and virtue was for once its own reward, for they -guarded him right and left, and clung round him as if he had been the -queen-bee and they the swarm. He felt so safe in their environment -that he could even afford to give our party a bow as we filed out. -Miss Pole ignored his presence, and pretended to be absorbed in convincing -us that we had been cheated, and had not seen Signor Brunoni after all.<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -CHAPTER X - THE PANIC<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -I think a series of circumstances dated from Signor Brunoni’s -visit to Cranford, which seemed at the time connected in our minds with -him, though I don’t know that he had anything really to do with -them. All at once all sorts of uncomfortable rumours got afloat -in the town. There were one or two robberies - real <i>bonâ -fide</i> robberies; men had up before the magistrates and committed -for trial - and that seemed to make us all afraid of being robbed; and -for a long time, at Miss Matty’s, I know, we used to make a regular -expedition all round the kitchens and cellars every night, Miss Matty -leading the way, armed with the poker, I following with the hearth-brush, -and Martha carrying the shovel and fire-irons with which to sound the -alarm; and by the accidental hitting together of them she often frightened -us so much that we bolted ourselves up, all three together, in the back-kitchen, -or store-room, or wherever we happened to be, till, when our affright -was over, we recollected ourselves and set out afresh with double valiance. -By day we heard strange stories from the shopkeepers and cottagers, -of carts that went about in the dead of night, drawn by horses shod -with felt, and guarded by men in dark clothes, going round the town, -no doubt in search of some unwatched house or some unfastened door.<br> -<br> -Miss Pole, who affected great bravery herself, was the principal person -to collect and arrange these reports so as to make them assume their -most fearful aspect. But we discovered that she had begged one -of Mr Hoggins’s worn-out hats to hang up in her lobby, and we -(at least I) had doubts as to whether she really would enjoy the little -adventure of having her house broken into, as she protested she should. -Miss Matty made no secret of being an arrant coward, but she went regularly -through her housekeeper’s duty of inspection - only the hour for -this became earlier and earlier, till at last we went the rounds at -half-past six, and Miss Matty adjourned to bed soon after seven, “in -order to get the night over the sooner.”<br> -<br> -Cranford had so long piqued itself on being an honest and moral town -that it had grown to fancy itself too genteel and well-bred to be otherwise, -and felt the stain upon its character at this time doubly. But -we comforted ourselves with the assurance which we gave to each other -that the robberies could never have been committed by any Cranford person; -it must have been a stranger or strangers who brought this disgrace -upon the town, and occasioned as many precautions as if we were living -among the Red Indians or the French.<br> -<br> -This last comparison of our nightly state of defence and fortification -was made by Mrs Forrester, whose father had served under General Burgoyne -in the American war, and whose husband had fought the French in Spain. -She indeed inclined to the idea that, in some way, the French were connected -with the small thefts, which were ascertained facts, and the burglaries -and highway robberies, which were rumours. She had been deeply -impressed with the idea of French spies at some time in her life; and -the notion could never be fairly eradicated, but sprang up again from -time to time. And now her theory was this:- The Cranford people -respected themselves too much, and were too grateful to the aristocracy -who were so kind as to live near the town, ever to disgrace their bringing -up by being dishonest or immoral; therefore, we must believe that the -robbers were strangers - if strangers, why not foreigners? - if foreigners, -who so likely as the French? Signor Brunoni spoke broken English -like a Frenchman; and, though he wore a turban like a Turk, Mrs Forrester -had seen a print of Madame de Staël with a turban on, and another -of Mr Denon in just such a dress as that in which the conjuror had made -his appearance, showing clearly that the French, as well as the Turks, -wore turbans. There could be no doubt Signor Brunoni was a Frenchman -- a French spy come to discover the weak and undefended places of England, -and doubtless he had his accomplices. For her part, she, Mrs Forrester, -had always had her own opinion of Miss Pole’s adventure at the -“George Inn” - seeing two men where only one was believed -to be. French people had ways and means which, she was thankful -to say, the English knew nothing about; and she had never felt quite -easy in her mind about going to see that conjuror - it was rather too -much like a forbidden thing, though the rector was there. In short, -Mrs Forrester grew more excited than we had ever known her before, and, -being an officer’s daughter and widow, we looked up to her opinion, -of course.<br> -<br> -Really I do not know how much was true or false in the reports which -flew about like wildfire just at this time; but it seemed to me then -that there was every reason to believe that at Mardon (a small town -about eight miles from Cranford) houses and shops were entered by holes -made in the walls, the bricks being silently carried away in the dead -of the night, and all done so quietly that no sound was heard either -in or out of the house. Miss Matty gave it up in despair when -she heard of this. “What was the use,” said she, “of -locks and bolts, and bells to the windows, and going round the house -every night? That last trick was fit for a conjuror. Now -she did believe that Signor Brunoni was at the bottom of it.”<br> -<br> -One afternoon, about five o’clock, we were startled by a hasty -knock at the door. Miss Matty bade me run and tell Martha on no -account to open the door till she (Miss Matty) had reconnoitred through -the window; and she armed herself with a footstool to drop down on the -head of the visitor, in case he should show a face covered with black -crape, as he looked up in answer to her inquiry of who was there. -But it was nobody but Miss Pole and Betty. The former came upstairs, -carrying a little hand-basket, and she was evidently in a state of great -agitation.<br> -<br> -“Take care of that!” said she to me, as I offered to relieve -her of her basket. “It’s my plate. I am sure -there is a plan to rob my house to-night. I am come to throw myself -on your hospitality, Miss Matty. Betty is going to sleep with -her cousin at the ‘George.’ I can sit up here all -night if you will allow me; but my house is so far from any neighbours, -and I don’t believe we could be heard if we screamed ever so!”<br> -<br> -“But,” said Miss Matty, “what has alarmed you so much? -Have you seen any men lurking about the house?”<br> -<br> -“Oh, yes!” answered Miss Pole. “Two very bad-looking -men have gone three times past the house, very slowly; and an Irish -beggar-woman came not half-an-hour ago, and all but forced herself in -past Betty, saying her children were starving, and she must speak to -the mistress. You see, she said ‘mistress,’ though -there was a hat hanging up in the hall, and it would have been more -natural to have said ‘master.’ But Betty shut the -door in her face, and came up to me, and we got the spoons together, -and sat in the parlour-window watching till we saw Thomas Jones going -from his work, when we called to him and asked him to take care of us -into the town.”<br> -<br> -We might have triumphed over Miss Pole, who had professed such bravery -until she was frightened; but we were too glad to perceive that she -shared in the weaknesses of humanity to exult over her; and I gave up -my room to her very willingly, and shared Miss Matty’s bed for -the night. But before we retired, the two ladies rummaged up, -out of the recesses of their memory, such horrid stories of robbery -and murder that I quite quaked in my shoes. Miss Pole was evidently -anxious to prove that such terrible events had occurred within her experience -that she was justified in her sudden panic; and Miss Matty did not like -to be outdone, and capped every story with one yet more horrible, till -it reminded me oddly enough, of an old story I had read somewhere, of -a nightingale and a musician, who strove one against the other which -could produce the most admirable music, till poor Philomel dropped down -dead.<br> -<br> -One of the stories that haunted me for a long time afterwards was of -a girl who was left in charge of a great house in Cumberland on some -particular fair-day, when the other servants all went off to the gaieties. -The family were away in London, and a pedlar came by, and asked to leave -his large and heavy pack in the kitchen, saying he would call for it -again at night; and the girl (a gamekeeper’s daughter), roaming -about in search of amusement, chanced to hit upon a gun hanging up in -the hall, and took it down to look at the chasing; and it went off through -the open kitchen door, hit the pack, and a slow dark thread of blood -came oozing out. (How Miss Pole enjoyed this part of the story, dwelling -on each word as if she loved it!) She rather hurried over the -further account of the girl’s bravery, and I have but a confused -idea that, somehow, she baffled the robbers with Italian irons, heated -red-hot, and then restored to blackness by being dipped in grease.<br> -<br> -We parted for the night with an awe-stricken wonder as to what we should -hear of in the morning - and, on my part, with a vehement desire for -the night to be over and gone: I was so afraid lest the robbers should -have seen, from some dark lurking-place, that Miss Pole had carried -off her plate, and thus have a double motive for attacking our house.<br> -<br> -But until Lady Glenmire came to call next day we heard of nothing unusual. -The kitchen fire-irons were in exactly the same position against the -back door as when Martha and I had skilfully piled them up, like spillikins, -ready to fall with an awful clatter if only a cat had touched the outside -panels. I had wondered what we should all do if thus awakened -and alarmed, and had proposed to Miss Matty that we should cover up -our faces under the bedclothes so that there should be no danger of -the robbers thinking that we could identify them; but Miss Matty, who -was trembling very much, scouted this idea, and said we owed it to society -to apprehend them, and that she should certainly do her best to lay -hold of them and lock them up in the garret till morning.<br> -<br> -When Lady Glenmire came, we almost felt jealous of her. Mrs Jamieson’s -house had really been attacked; at least there were men’s footsteps -to be seen on the flower borders, underneath the kitchen windows, “where -nae men should be;” and Carlo had barked all through the night -as if strangers were abroad. Mrs Jamieson had been awakened by -Lady Glenmire, and they had rung the bell which communicated with Mr -Mulliner’s room in the third storey, and when his night-capped -head had appeared over the bannisters, in answer to the summons, they -had told him of their alarm, and the reasons for it; whereupon he retreated -into his bedroom, and locked the door (for fear of draughts, as he informed -them in the morning), and opened the window, and called out valiantly -to say, if the supposed robbers would come to him he would fight them; -but, as Lady Glenmire observed, that was but poor comfort, since they -would have to pass by Mrs Jamieson’s room and her own before they -could reach him, and must be of a very pugnacious disposition indeed -if they neglected the opportunities of robbery presented by the unguarded -lower storeys, to go up to a garret, and there force a door in order -to get at the champion of the house. Lady Glenmire, after waiting -and listening for some time in the drawing-room, had proposed to Mrs -Jamieson that they should go to bed; but that lady said she should not -feel comfortable unless she sat up and watched; and, accordingly, she -packed herself warmly up on the sofa, where she was found by the housemaid, -when she came into the room at six o’clock, fast asleep; but Lady -Glenmire went to bed, and kept awake all night.<br> -<br> -When Miss Pole heard of this, she nodded her head in great satisfaction. -She had been sure we should hear of something happening in Cranford -that night; and we had heard. It was clear enough they had first -proposed to attack her house; but when they saw that she and Betty were -on their guard, and had carried off the plate, they had changed their -tactics and gone to Mrs Jamieson’s, and no one knew what might -have happened if Carlo had not barked, like a good dog as he was!<br> -<br> -Poor Carlo! his barking days were nearly over. Whether the gang -who infested the neighbourhood were afraid of him, or whether they were -revengeful enough, for the way in which he had baffled them on the night -in question, to poison him; or whether, as some among the more uneducated -people thought, he died of apoplexy, brought on by too much feeding -and too little exercise; at any rate, it is certain that, two days after -this eventful night, Carlo was found dead, with his poor legs stretched -out stiff in the attitude of running, as if by such unusual exertion -he could escape the sure pursuer, Death.<br> -<br> -We were all sorry for Carlo, the old familiar friend who had snapped -at us for so many years; and the mysterious mode of his death made us -very uncomfortable. Could Signor Brunoni be at the bottom of this? -He had apparently killed a canary with only a word of command; his will -seemed of deadly force; who knew but what he might yet be lingering -in the neighbourhood willing all sorts of awful things!<br> -<br> -We whispered these fancies among ourselves in the evenings; but in the -mornings our courage came back with the daylight, and in a week’s -time we had got over the shock of Carlo’s death; all but Mrs Jamieson. -She, poor thing, felt it as she had felt no event since her husband’s -death; indeed, Miss Pole said, that as the Honourable Mr Jamieson drank -a good deal, and occasioned her much uneasiness, it was possible that -Carlo’s death might be the greater affliction. But there -was always a tinge of cynicism in Miss Pole’s remarks. However, -one thing was clear and certain - it was necessary for Mrs Jamieson -to have some change of scene; and Mr Mulliner was very impressive on -this point, shaking his head whenever we inquired after his mistress, -and speaking of her loss of appetite and bad nights very ominously; -and with justice too, for if she had two characteristics in her natural -state of health they were a facility of eating and sleeping. If -she could neither eat nor sleep, she must be indeed out of spirits and -out of health.<br> -<br> -Lady Glenmire (who had evidently taken very kindly to Cranford) did -not like the idea of Mrs Jamieson’s going to Cheltenham, and more -than once insinuated pretty plainly that it was Mr Mulliner’s -doing, who had been much alarmed on the occasion of the house being -attacked, and since had said, more than once, that he felt it a very -responsible charge to have to defend so many women. Be that as -it might, Mrs Jamieson went to Cheltenham, escorted by Mr Mulliner; -and Lady Glenmire remained in possession of the house, her ostensible -office being to take care that the maid-servants did not pick up followers. -She made a very pleasant-looking dragon; and, as soon as it was arranged -for her stay in Cranford, she found out that Mrs Jamieson’s visit -to Cheltenham was just the best thing in the world. She had let -her house in Edinburgh, and was for the time house-less, so the charge -of her sister-in-law’s comfortable abode was very convenient and -acceptable.<br> -<br> -Miss Pole was very much inclined to instal herself as a heroine, because -of the decided steps she had taken in flying from the two men and one -woman, whom she entitled “that murderous gang.” She -described their appearance in glowing colours, and I noticed that every -time she went over the story some fresh trait of villainy was added -to their appearance. One was tall - he grew to be gigantic in -height before we had done with him; he of course had black hair - and -by-and-by it hung in elf-locks over his forehead and down his back. -The other was short and broad - and a hump sprouted out on his shoulder -before we heard the last of him; he had red hair - which deepened into -carroty; and she was almost sure he had a cast in the eye - a decided -squint. As for the woman, her eyes glared, and she was masculine-looking -- a perfect virago; most probably a man dressed in woman’s clothes; -afterwards, we heard of a beard on her chin, and a manly voice and a -stride.<br> -<br> -If Miss Pole was delighted to recount the events of that afternoon to -all inquirers, others were not so proud of their adventures in the robbery -line. Mr Hoggins, the surgeon, had been attacked at his own door -by two ruffians, who were concealed in the shadow of the porch, and -so effectually silenced him that he was robbed in the interval between -ringing his bell and the servant’s answering it. Miss Pole -was sure it would turn out that this robbery had been commited by “her -men,” and went the very day she heard the report to have her teeth -examined, and to question Mr Hoggins. She came to us afterwards; -so we heard what she had heard, straight and direct from the source, -while we were yet in the excitement and flutter of the agitation caused -by the first intelligence; for the event had only occurred the night -before.<br> -<br> -“Well!” said Miss Pole, sitting down with the decision of -a person who has made up her mind as to the nature of life and the world -(and such people never tread lightly, or seat themselves without a bump), -“well, Miss Matty! men will be men. Every mother’s -son of them wishes to be considered Samson and Solomon rolled into one -- too strong ever to be beaten or discomfited - too wise ever to be -outwitted. If you will notice, they have always foreseen events, -though they never tell one for one’s warning before the events -happen. My father was a man, and I know the sex pretty well.”<br> -<br> -She had talked herself out of breath, and we should have been very glad -to fill up the necessary pause as chorus, but we did not exactly know -what to say, or which man had suggested this diatribe against the sex; -so we only joined in generally, with a grave shake of the head, and -a soft murmur of “They are very incomprehensible, certainly!”<br> -<br> -“Now, only think,” said she. “There, I have -undergone the risk of having one of my remaining teeth drawn (for one -is terribly at the mercy of any surgeon-dentist; and I, for one, always -speak them fair till I have got my mouth out of their clutches), and, -after all, Mr Hoggins is too much of a man to own that he was robbed -last night.”<br> -<br> -“Not robbed!” exclaimed the chorus.<br> -<br> -“Don’t tell me!” Miss Pole exclaimed, angry that we -could be for a moment imposed upon. “I believe he was robbed, -just as Betty told me, and he is ashamed to own it; and, to be sure, -it was very silly of him to be robbed just at his own door; I daresay -he feels that such a thing won’t raise him in the eyes of Cranford -society, and is anxious to conceal it - but he need not have tried to -impose upon me, by saying I must have heard an exaggerated account of -some petty theft of a neck of mutton, which, it seems, was stolen out -of the safe in his yard last week; he had the impertinence to add, he -believed that that was taken by the cat. I have no doubt, if I -could get at the bottom of it, it was that Irishman dressed up in woman’s -clothes, who came spying about my house, with the story about the starving -children.”<br> -<br> -After we had duly condemned the want of candour which Mr Hoggins had -evinced, and abused men in general, taking him for the representative -and type, we got round to the subject about which we had been talking -when Miss Pole came in; namely, how far, in the present disturbed state -of the country, we could venture to accept an invitation which Miss -Matty had just received from Mrs Forrester, to come as usual and keep -the anniversary of her wedding-day by drinking tea with her at five -o’clock, and playing a quiet pool afterwards. Mrs Forrester -had said that she asked us with some diffidence, because the roads were, -she feared, very unsafe. But she suggested that perhaps one of -us would not object to take the sedan, and that the others, by walking -briskly, might keep up with the long trot of the chairmen, and so we -might all arrive safely at Over Place, a suburb of the town. (No; -that is too large an expression: a small cluster of houses separated -from Cranford by about two hundred yards of a dark and lonely lane.) -There was no doubt but that a similar note was awaiting Miss Pole at -home; so her call was a very fortunate affair, as it enabled us to consult -together. We would all much rather have declined this invitation; -but we felt that it would not be quite kind to Mrs Forrester, who would -otherwise be left to a solitary retrospect of her not very happy or -fortunate life. Miss Matty and Miss Pole had been visitors on -this occasion for many years, and now they gallantly determined to nail -their colours to the mast, and to go through Darkness Lane rather than -fail in loyalty to their friend.<br> -<br> -But when the evening came, Miss Matty (for it was she who was voted -into the chair, as she had a cold), before being shut down in the sedan, -like jack-in-a-box, implored the chairmen, whatever might befall, not -to run away and leave her fastened up there, to be murdered; and even -after they had promised, I saw her tighten her features into the stern -determination of a martyr, and she gave me a melancholy and ominous -shake of the head through the glass. However, we got there safely, -only rather out of breath, for it was who could trot hardest through -Darkness Lane, and I am afraid poor Miss Matty was sadly jolted.<br> -<br> -Mrs Forrester had made extra preparations, in acknowledgment of our -exertion in coming to see her through such dangers. The usual -forms of genteel ignorance as to what her servants might send up were -all gone through; and harmony and Preference seemed likely to be the -order of the evening, but for an interesting conversation that began -I don’t know how, but which had relation, of course, to the robbers -who infested the neighbourhood of Cranford.<br> -<br> -Having braved the dangers of Darkness Lane, and thus having a little -stock of reputation for courage to fall back upon; and also, I daresay, -desirous of proving ourselves superior to men <i>(videlicet</i> Mr Hoggins) -in the article of candour, we began to relate our individual fears, -and the private precautions we each of us took. I owned that my -pet apprehension was eyes - eyes looking at me, and watching me, glittering -out from some dull, flat, wooden surface; and that if I dared to go -up to my looking-glass when I was panic-stricken, I should certainly -turn it round, with its back towards me, for fear of seeing eyes behind -me looking out of the darkness. I saw Miss Matty nerving herself -up for a confession; and at last out it came. She owned that, -ever since she had been a girl, she had dreaded being caught by her -last leg, just as she was getting into bed, by some one concealed under -it. She said, when she was younger and more active, she used to -take a flying leap from a distance, and so bring both her legs up safely -into bed at once; but that this had always annoyed Deborah, who piqued -herself upon getting into bed gracefully, and she had given it up in -consequence. But now the old terror would often come over her, -especially since Miss Pole’s house had been attacked (we had got -quite to believe in the fact of the attack having taken place), and -yet it was very unpleasant to think of looking under a bed, and seeing -a man concealed, with a great, fierce face staring out at you; so she -had bethought herself of something - perhaps I had noticed that she -had told Martha to buy her a penny ball, such as children play with -- and now she rolled this ball under the bed every night: if it came -out on the other side, well and good; if not she always took care to -have her hand on the bell-rope, and meant to call out John and Harry, -just as if she expected men-servants to answer her ring.<br> -<br> -We all applauded this ingenious contrivance, and Miss Matty sank back -into satisfied silence, with a look at Mrs Forrester as if to ask for -<i>her</i> private weakness.<br> -<br> -Mrs Forrester looked askance at Miss Pole, and tried to change the subject -a little by telling us that she had borrowed a boy from one of the neighbouring -cottages and promised his parents a hundredweight of coals at Christmas, -and his supper every evening, for the loan of him at nights. She -had instructed him in his possible duties when he first came; and, finding -him sensible, she had given him the Major’s sword (the Major was -her late husband), and desired him to put it very carefully behind his -pillow at night, turning the edge towards the head of the pillow. -He was a sharp lad, she was sure; for, spying out the Major’s -cocked hat, he had said, if he might have that to wear, he was sure -he could frighten two Englishmen, or four Frenchmen any day. But -she had impressed upon him anew that he was to lose no time in putting -on hats or anything else; but, if he heard any noise, he was to run -at it with his drawn sword. On my suggesting that some accident -might occur from such slaughterous and indiscriminate directions, and -that he might rush on Jenny getting up to wash, and have spitted her -before he had discovered that she was not a Frenchman, Mrs Forrester -said she did not think that that was likely, for he was a very sound -sleeper, and generally had to be well shaken or cold-pigged in a morning -before they could rouse him. She sometimes thought such dead sleep -must be owing to the hearty suppers the poor lad ate, for he was half-starved -at home, and she told Jenny to see that he got a good meal at night.<br> -<br> -Still this was no confession of Mrs Forrester’s peculiar timidity, -and we urged her to tell us what she thought would frighten her more -than anything. She paused, and stirred the fire, and snuffed the -candles, and then she said, in a sounding whisper -<br> -<br> -“Ghosts!”<br> -<br> -She looked at Miss Pole, as much as to say, she had declared it, and -would stand by it. Such a look was a challenge in itself. -Miss Pole came down upon her with indigestion, spectral illusions, optical -delusions, and a great deal out of Dr Ferrier and Dr Hibbert besides. -Miss Matty had rather a leaning to ghosts, as I have mentioned before, -and what little she did say was all on Mrs Forrester’s side, who, -emboldened by sympathy, protested that ghosts were a part of her religion; -that surely she, the widow of a major in the army, knew what to be frightened -at, and what not; in short, I never saw Mrs Forrester so warm either -before or since, for she was a gentle, meek, enduring old lady in most -things. Not all the elder-wine that ever was mulled could this -night wash out the remembrance of this difference between Miss Pole -and her hostess. Indeed, when the elder-wine was brought in, it -gave rise to a new burst of discussion; for Jenny, the little maiden -who staggered under the tray, had to give evidence of having seen a -ghost with her own eyes, not so many nights ago, in Darkness Lane, the -very lane we were to go through on our way home.<br> -<br> -In spite of the uncomfortable feeling which this last consideration -gave me, I could not help being amused at Jenny’s position, which -was exceedingly like that of a witness being examined and cross-examined -by two counsel who are not at all scrupulous about asking leading questions. -The conclusion I arrived at was, that Jenny had certainly seen something -beyond what a fit of indigestion would have caused. A lady all -in white, and without her head, was what she deposed and adhered to, -supported by a consciousness of the secret sympathy of her mistress -under the withering scorn with which Miss Pole regarded her. And -not only she, but many others, had seen this headless lady, who sat -by the roadside wringing her hands as in deep grief. Mrs Forrester -looked at us from time to time with an air of conscious triumph; but -then she had not to pass through Darkness Lane before she could bury -herself beneath her own familiar bed-clothes.<br> -<br> -We preserved a discreet silence as to the headless lady while we were -putting on our things to go home, for there was no knowing how near -the ghostly head and ears might be, or what spiritual connection they -might be keeping up with the unhappy body in Darkness Lane; and, therefore, -even Miss Pole felt that it was as well not to speak lightly on such -subjects, for fear of vexing or insulting that woebegone trunk. -At least, so I conjecture; for, instead of the busy clatter usual in -the operation, we tied on our cloaks as sadly as mutes at a funeral. -Miss Matty drew the curtains round the windows of the chair to shut -out disagreeable sights, and the men (either because they were in spirits -that their labours were so nearly ended, or because they were going -down hill), set off at such a round and merry pace, that it was all -Miss Pole and I could do to keep up with them. She had breath -for nothing beyond an imploring “Don’t leave me!” -uttered as she clutched my arm so tightly that I could not have quitted -her, ghost or no ghost. What a relief it was when the men, weary -of their burden and their quick trot, stopped just where Headingley -Causeway branches off from Darkness Lane! Miss Pole unloosed me -and caught at one of the men -<br> -<br> -“Could not you - could not you take Miss Matty round by Headingley -Causeway? - the pavement in Darkness Lane jolts so, and she is not very -strong.”<br> -<br> -A smothered voice was heard from the inside of the chair -<br> -<br> -“Oh! pray go on! What is the matter? What is the matter? -I will give you sixpence more to go on very fast; pray don’t stop -here.”<br> -<br> -“And I’ll give you a shilling,” said Miss Pole, with -tremulous dignity, “if you’ll go by Headingley Causeway.”<br> -<br> -The two men grunted acquiescence and took up the chair, and went along -the causeway, which certainly answered Miss Pole’s kind purpose -of saving Miss Matty’s bones; for it was covered with soft, thick -mud, and even a fall there would have been easy till the getting-up -came, when there might have been some difficulty in extrication.<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -CHAPTER XI - SAMUEL BROWN<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -The next morning I met Lady Glenmire and Miss Pole setting out on a -long walk to find some old woman who was famous in the neighbourhood -for her skill in knitting woollen stockings. Miss Pole said to -me, with a smile half-kindly and half-contemptuous upon her countenance, -“I have been just telling Lady Glenmire of our poor friend Mrs -Forrester, and her terror of ghosts. It comes from living so much -alone, and listening to the bug-a-boo stories of that Jenny of hers.” -She was so calm and so much above superstitious fears herself that I -was almost ashamed to say how glad I had been of her Headingley Causeway -proposition the night before, and turned off the conversation to something -else.<br> -<br> -In the afternoon Miss Pole called on Miss Matty to tell her of the adventure -- the real adventure they had met with on their morning’s walk. -They had been perplexed about the exact path which they were to take -across the fields in order to find the knitting old woman, and had stopped -to inquire at a little wayside public-house, standing on the high road -to London, about three miles from Cranford. The good woman had -asked them to sit down and rest themselves while she fetched her husband, -who could direct them better than she could; and, while they were sitting -in the sanded parlour, a little girl came in. They thought that -she belonged to the landlady, and began some trifling conversation with -her; but, on Mrs Roberts’s return, she told them that the little -thing was the only child of a couple who were staying in the house. -And then she began a long story, out of which Lady Glenmire and Miss -Pole could only gather one or two decided facts, which were that, about -six weeks ago, a light spring-cart had broken down just before their -door, in which there were two men, one woman, and this child. -One of the men was seriously hurt - no bones broken, only “shaken,” -the landlady called it; but he had probably sustained some severe internal -injury, for he had languished in their house ever since, attended by -his wife, the mother of this little girl. Miss Pole had asked -what he was, what he looked like. And Mrs Roberts had made answer -that he was not like a gentleman, nor yet like a common person; if it -had not been that he and his wife were such decent, quiet people, she -could almost have thought he was a mountebank, or something of that -kind, for they had a great box in the cart, full of she did not know -what. She had helped to unpack it, and take out their linen and -clothes, when the other man - his twin-brother, she believed he was -- had gone off with the horse and cart.<br> -<br> -Miss Pole had begun to have her suspicions at this point, and expressed -her idea that it was rather strange that the box and cart and horse -and all should have disappeared; but good Mrs Roberts seemed to have -become quite indignant at Miss Pole’s implied suggestion; in fact, -Miss Pole said she was as angry as if Miss Pole had told her that she -herself was a swindler. As the best way of convincing the ladies, -she bethought her of begging them to see the wife; and, as Miss Pole -said, there was no doubting the honest, worn, bronzed face of the woman, -who at the first tender word from Lady Glenmire, burst into tears, which -she was too weak to check until some word from the landlady made her -swallow down her sobs, in order that she might testify to the Christian -kindness shown by Mr and Mrs Roberts. Miss Pole came round with -a swing to as vehement a belief in the sorrowful tale as she had been -sceptical before; and, as a proof of this, her energy in the poor sufferer’s -behalf was nothing daunted when she found out that he, and no other, -was our Signor Brunoni, to whom all Cranford had been attributing all -manner of evil this six weeks past! Yes! his wife said his proper -name was Samuel Brown - “Sam,” she called him - but to the -last we preferred calling him “the Signor”; it sounded so -much better.<br> -<br> -The end of their conversation with the Signora Brunoni was that it was -agreed that he should be placed under medical advice, and for any expense -incurred in procuring this Lady Glenmire promised to hold herself responsible, -and had accordingly gone to Mr Hoggins to beg him to ride over to the -“Rising Sun” that very afternoon, and examine into the signor’s -real state; and, as Miss Pole said, if it was desirable to remove him -to Cranford to be more immediately under Mr Hoggins’s eye, she -would undertake to see for lodgings and arrange about the rent. -Mrs Roberts had been as kind as could be all throughout, but it was -evident that their long residence there had been a slight inconvenience.<br> -<br> -Before Miss Pole left us, Miss Matty and I were as full of the morning’s -adventure as she was. We talked about it all the evening, turning -it in every possible light, and we went to bed anxious for the morning, -when we should surely hear from someone what Mr Hoggins thought and -recommended; for, as Miss Matty observed, though Mr Hoggins did say -“Jack’s up,” “a fig for his heels,” and -called Preference “Pref.” she believed he was a very worthy -man and a very clever surgeon. Indeed, we were rather proud of -our doctor at Cranford, as a doctor. We often wished, when we -heard of Queen Adelaide or the Duke of Wellington being ill, that they -would send for Mr Hoggins; but, on consideration, we were rather glad -they did not, for, if we were ailing, what should we do if Mr Hoggins -had been appointed physician-in-ordinary to the Royal Family? -As a surgeon we were proud of him; but as a man - or rather, I should -say, as a gentleman - we could only shake our heads over his name and -himself, and wished that he had read Lord Chesterfield’s Letters -in the days when his manners were susceptible of improvement. -Nevertheless, we all regarded his dictum in the signor’s case -as infallible, and when he said that with care and attention he might -rally, we had no more fear for him.<br> -<br> -But, although we had no more fear, everybody did as much as if there -was great cause for anxiety - as indeed there was until Mr Hoggins took -charge of him. Miss Pole looked out clean and comfortable, if -homely, lodgings; Miss Matty sent the sedan-chair for him, and Martha -and I aired it well before it left Cranford by holding a warming-pan -full of red-hot coals in it, and then shutting it up close, smoke and -all, until the time when he should get into it at the “Rising -Sun.” Lady Glenmire undertook the medical department under -Mr Hoggins’s directions, and rummaged up all Mrs Jamieson’s -medicine glasses, and spoons, and bed-tables, in a free-and-easy way, -that made Miss Matty feel a little anxious as to what that lady and -Mr Mulliner might say, if they knew. Mrs Forrester made some of -the bread-jelly, for which she was so famous, to have ready as a refreshment -in the lodgings when he should arrive. A present of this bread-jelly -was the highest mark of favour dear Mrs Forrester could confer. -Miss Pole had once asked her for the receipt, but she had met with a -very decided rebuff; that lady told her that she could not part with -it to any one during her life, and that after her death it was bequeathed, -as her executors would find, to Miss Matty. What Miss Matty, or, -as Mrs Forrester called her (remembering the clause in her will and -the dignity of the occasion), Miss Matilda Jenkyns - might choose to -do with the receipt when it came into her possession - whether to make -it public, or to hand it down as an heirloom - she did not know, nor -would she dictate. And a mould of this admirable, digestible, -unique bread-jelly was sent by Mrs Forrester to our poor sick conjuror. -Who says that the aristocracy are proud? Here was a lady by birth -a Tyrrell, and descended from the great Sir Walter that shot King Rufus, -and in whose veins ran the blood of him who murdered the little princes -in the Tower, going every day to see what dainty dishes she could prepare -for Samuel Brown, a mountebank! But, indeed, it was wonderful -to see what kind feelings were called out by this poor man’s coming -amongst us. And also wonderful to see how the great Cranford panic, -which had been occasioned by his first coming in his Turkish dress, -melted away into thin air on his second coming - pale and feeble, and -with his heavy, filmy eyes, that only brightened a very little when -they fell upon the countenance of his faithful wife, or their pale and -sorrowful little girl.<br> -<br> -Somehow we all forgot to be afraid. I daresay it was that finding -out that he, who had first excited our love of the marvellous by his -unprecedented arts, had not sufficient every-day gifts to manage a shying -horse, made us feel as if we were ourselves again. Miss Pole came -with her little basket at all hours of the evening, as if her lonely -house and the unfrequented road to it had never been infested by that -“murderous gang”; Mrs Forrester said she thought that neither -Jenny nor she need mind the headless lady who wept and wailed in Darkness -Lane, for surely the power was never given to such beings to harm those -who went about to try to do what little good was in their power, to -which Jenny tremblingly assented; but the mistress’s theory had -little effect on the maid’s practice until she had sewn two pieces -of red flannel in the shape of a cross on her inner garment.<br> -<br> -I found Miss Matty covering her penny ball - the ball that she used -to roll under her bed - with gay-coloured worsted in rainbow stripes.<br> -<br> -“My dear,” said she, “my heart is sad for that little -careworn child. Although her father is a conjuror, she looks as -if she had never had a good game of play in her life. I used to -make very pretty balls in this way when I was a girl, and I thought -I would try if I could not make this one smart and take it to Phoebe -this afternoon. I think ‘the gang’ must have left -the neighbourhood, for one does not hear any more of their violence -and robbery now.”<br> -<br> -We were all of us far too full of the signor’s precarious state -to talk either about robbers or ghosts. Indeed, Lady Glenmire -said she never had heard of any actual robberies, except that two little -boys had stolen some apples from Farmer Benson’s orchard, and -that some eggs had been missed on a market-day off Widow Hayward’s -stall. But that was expecting too much of us; we could not acknowledge -that we had only had this small foundation for all our panic. -Miss Pole drew herself up at this remark of Lady Glenmire’s, and -said “that she wished she could agree with her as to the very -small reason we had had for alarm, but with the recollection of a man -disguised as a woman who had endeavoured to force himself into her house -while his confederates waited outside; with the knowledge gained from -Lady Glenmire herself, of the footprints seen on Mrs Jamieson’s -flower borders; with the fact before her of the audacious robbery committed -on Mr Hoggins at his own door” - But here Lady Glenmire broke -in with a very strong expression of doubt as to whether this last story -was not an entire fabrication founded upon the theft of a cat; she grew -so red while she was saying all this that I was not surprised at Miss -Pole’s manner of bridling up, and I am certain, if Lady Glenmire -had not been “her ladyship,” we should have had a more emphatic -contradiction than the “Well, to be sure!” and similar fragmentary -ejaculations, which were all that she ventured upon in my lady’s -presence. But when she was gone Miss Pole began a long congratulation -to Miss Matty that so far they had escaped marriage, which she noticed -always made people credulous to the last degree; indeed, she thought -it argued great natural credulity in a woman if she could not keep herself -from being married; and in what Lady Glenmire had said about Mr Hoggins’s -robbery we had a specimen of what people came to if they gave way to -such a weakness; evidently Lady Glenmire would swallow anything if she -could believe the poor vamped-up story about a neck of mutton and a -pussy with which he had tried to impose on Miss Pole, only she had always -been on her guard against believing too much of what men said.<br> -<br> -We were thankful, as Miss Pole desired us to be, that we had never been -married; but I think, of the two, we were even more thankful that the -robbers had left Cranford; at least I judge so from a speech of Miss -Matty’s that evening, as we sat over the fire, in which she evidently -looked upon a husband as a great protector against thieves, burglars, -and ghosts; and said that she did not think that she should dare to -be always warning young people against matrimony, as Miss Pole did continually; -to be sure, marriage was a risk, as she saw, now she had had some experience; -but she remembered the time when she had looked forward to being married -as much as any one.<br> -<br> -“Not to any particular person, my dear,” said she, hastily -checking herself up, as if she were afraid of having admitted too much; -“only the old story, you know, of ladies always saying, ‘<i>When</i> -I marry,’ and gentlemen, ‘<i>If</i> I marry.’” -It was a joke spoken in rather a sad tone, and I doubt if either of -us smiled; but I could not see Miss Matty’s face by the flickering -fire-light. In a little while she continued -<br> -<br> -“But, after all, I have not told you the truth. It is so -long ago, and no one ever knew how much I thought of it at the time, -unless, indeed, my dear mother guessed; but I may say that there was -a time when I did not think I should have been only Miss Matty Jenkyns -all my life; for even if I did meet with any one who wished to marry -me now (and, as Miss Pole says, one is never too safe), I could not -take him - I hope he would not take it too much to heart, but I could -<i>not</i> take him - or any one but the person I once thought I should -be married to; and he is dead and gone, and he never knew how it all -came about that I said ‘No,’ when I had thought many and -many a time - Well, it’s no matter what I thought. God ordains -it all, and I am very happy, my dear. No one has such kind friends -as I,” continued she, taking my hand and holding it in hers.<br> -<br> -If I had never known of Mr Holbrook, I could have said something in -this pause, but as I had, I could not think of anything that would come -in naturally, and so we both kept silence for a little time.<br> -<br> -“My father once made us,” she began, “keep a diary, -in two columns; on one side we were to put down in the morning what -we thought would be the course and events of the coming day, and at -night we were to put down on the other side what really had happened. -It would be to some people rather a sad way of telling their lives,” -(a tear dropped upon my hand at these words) - “I don’t -mean that mine has been sad, only so very different to what I expected. -I remember, one winter’s evening, sitting over our bedroom fire -with Deborah - I remember it as if it were yesterday - and we were planning -our future lives, both of us were planning, though only she talked about -it. She said she should like to marry an archdeacon, and write -his charges; and you know, my dear, she never was married, and, for -aught I know, she never spoke to an unmarried archdeacon in her life. -I never was ambitious, nor could I have written charges, but I thought -I could manage a house (my mother used to call me her right hand), and -I was always so fond of little children - the shyest babies would stretch -out their little arms to come to me; when I was a girl, I was half my -leisure time nursing in the neighbouring cottages; but I don’t -know how it was, when I grew sad and grave - which I did a year or two -after this time - the little things drew back from me, and I am afraid -I lost the knack, though I am just as fond of children as ever, and -have a strange yearning at my heart whenever I see a mother with her -baby in her arms. Nay, my dear” (and by a sudden blaze which -sprang up from a fall of the unstirred coals, I saw that her eyes were -full of tears - gazing intently on some vision of what might have been), -“do you know I dream sometimes that I have a little child - always -the same - a little girl of about two years old; she never grows older, -though I have dreamt about her for many years. I don’t think -I ever dream of any words or sound she makes; she is very noiseless -and still, but she comes to me when she is very sorry or very glad, -and I have wakened with the clasp of her dear little arms round my neck. -Only last night - perhaps because I had gone to sleep thinking of this -ball for Phoebe - my little darling came in my dream, and put up her -mouth to be kissed, just as I have seen real babies do to real mothers -before going to bed. But all this is nonsense, dear! only don’t -be frightened by Miss Pole from being married. I can fancy it -may be a very happy state, and a little credulity helps one on through -life very smoothly - better than always doubting and doubting and seeing -difficulties and disagreeables in everything.”<br> -<br> -If I had been inclined to be daunted from matrimony, it would not have -been Miss Pole to do it; it would have been the lot of poor Signor Brunoni -and his wife. And yet again, it was an encouragement to see how, -through all their cares and sorrows, they thought of each other and -not of themselves; and how keen were their joys, if they only passed -through each other, or through the little Phoebe.<br> -<br> -The signora told me, one day, a good deal about their lives up to this -period. It began by my asking her whether Miss Pole’s story -of the twin-brothers were true; it sounded so wonderful a likeness, -that I should have had my doubts, if Miss Pole had not been unmarried. -But the signora, or (as we found out she preferred to be called) Mrs -Brown, said it was quite true; that her brother-in-law was by many taken -for her husband, which was of great assistance to them in their profession; -“though,” she continued, “how people can mistake Thomas -for the real Signor Brunoni, I can’t conceive; but he says they -do; so I suppose I must believe him. Not but what he is a very -good man; I am sure I don’t know how we should have paid our bill -at the ‘Rising Sun’ but for the money he sends; but people -must know very little about art if they can take him for my husband. -Why, Miss, in the ball trick, where my husband spreads his fingers wide, -and throws out his little finger with quite an air and a grace, Thomas -just clumps up his hand like a fist, and might have ever so many balls -hidden in it. Besides, he has never been in India, and knows nothing -of the proper sit of a turban.”<br> -<br> -“Have you been in India?” said I, rather astonished.<br> -<br> -“Oh, yes! many a year, ma’am. Sam was a sergeant in -the 31st; and when the regiment was ordered to India, I drew a lot to -go, and I was more thankful than I can tell; for it seemed as if it -would only be a slow death to me to part from my husband. But, -indeed, ma’am, if I had known all, I don’t know whether -I would not rather have died there and then than gone through what I -have done since. To be sure, I’ve been able to comfort Sam, -and to be with him; but, ma’am, I’ve lost six children,” -said she, looking up at me with those strange eyes that I’ve never -noticed but in mothers of dead children - with a kind of wild look in -them, as if seeking for what they never more might find. “Yes! -Six children died off, like little buds nipped untimely, in that cruel -India. I thought, as each died, I never could - I never would -- love a child again; and when the next came, it had not only its own -love, but the deeper love that came from the thoughts of its little -dead brothers and sisters. And when Phoebe was coming, I said -to my husband, ‘Sam, when the child is born, and I am strong, -I shall leave you; it will cut my heart cruel; but if this baby dies -too, I shall go mad; the madness is in me now; but if you let me go -down to Calcutta, carrying my baby step by step, it will, maybe, work -itself off; and I will save, and I will hoard, and I will beg - and -I will die, to get a passage home to England, where our baby may live?’ -God bless him! he said I might go; and he saved up his pay, and I saved -every pice I could get for washing or any way; and when Phoebe came, -and I grew strong again, I set off. It was very lonely; through -the thick forests, dark again with their heavy trees - along by the -river’s side (but I had been brought up near the Avon in Warwickshire, -so that flowing noise sounded like home) - from station to station, -from Indian village to village, I went along, carrying my child. -I had seen one of the officer’s ladies with a little picture, -ma’am - done by a Catholic foreigner, ma’am - of the Virgin -and the little Saviour, ma’am. She had him on her arm, and -her form was softly curled round him, and their cheeks touched. -Well, when I went to bid good-bye to this lady, for whom I had washed, -she cried sadly; for she, too, had lost her children, but she had not -another to save, like me; and I was bold enough to ask her would she -give me that print. And she cried the more, and said her children -were with that little blessed Jesus; and gave it me, and told me that -she had heard it had been painted on the bottom of a cask, which made -it have that round shape. And when my body was very weary, and -my heart was sick (for there were times when I misdoubted if I could -ever reach my home, and there were times when I thought of my husband, -and one time when I thought my baby was dying), I took out that picture -and looked at it, till I could have thought the mother spoke to me, -and comforted me. And the natives were very kind. We could -not understand one another; but they saw my baby on my breast, and they -came out to me, and brought me rice and milk, and sometimes flowers -- I have got some of the flowers dried. Then, the next morning, -I was so tired; and they wanted me to stay with them - I could tell -that - and tried to frighten me from going into the deep woods, which, -indeed, looked very strange and dark; but it seemed to me as if Death -was following me to take my baby away from me; and as if I must go on, -and on - and I thought how God had cared for mothers ever since the -world was made, and would care for me; so I bade them good-bye, and -set off afresh. And once when my baby was ill, and both she and -I needed rest, He led me to a place where I found a kind Englishman -lived, right in the midst of the natives.”<br> -<br> -“And you reached Calcutta safely at last?”<br> -<br> -“Yes, safely! Oh! when I knew I had only two days’ -journey more before me, I could not help it, ma’am - it might -be idolatry, I cannot tell - but I was near one of the native temples, -and I went into it with my baby to thank God for His great mercy; for -it seemed to me that where others had prayed before to their God, in -their joy or in their agony, was of itself a sacred place. And -I got as servant to an invalid lady, who grew quite fond of my baby -aboard-ship; and, in two years’ time, Sam earned his discharge, -and came home to me, and to our child. Then he had to fix on a -trade; but he knew of none; and once, once upon a time, he had learnt -some tricks from an Indian juggler; so he set up conjuring, and it answered -so well that he took Thomas to help him - as his man, you know, not -as another conjuror, though Thomas has set it up now on his own hook. -But it has been a great help to us that likeness between the twins, -and made a good many tricks go off well that they made up together. -And Thomas is a good brother, only he has not the fine carriage of my -husband, so that I can’t think how he can be taken for Signor -Brunoni himself, as he says he is.”<br> -<br> -“Poor little Phoebe!” said I, my thoughts going back to -the baby she carried all those hundred miles.<br> -<br> -“Ah! you may say so! I never thought I should have reared -her, though, when she fell ill at Chunderabaddad; but that good, kind -Aga Jenkyns took us in, which I believe was the very saving of her.”<br> -<br> -“Jenkyns!” said I.<br> -<br> -“Yes, Jenkyns. I shall think all people of that name are -kind; for here is that nice old lady who comes every day to take Phoebe -a walk!”<br> -<br> -But an idea had flashed through my head; could the Aga Jenkyns be the -lost Peter? True he was reported by many to be dead. But, -equally true, some had said that he had arrived at the dignity of Great -Lama of Thibet. Miss Matty thought he was alive. I would -make further inquiry.<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -CHAPTER XII - ENGAGED TO BE MARRIED<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -Was the “poor Peter” of Cranford the Aga Jenkyns of Chunderabaddad, -or was he not? As somebody says, that was the question.<br> -<br> -In my own home, whenever people had nothing else to do, they blamed -me for want of discretion. Indiscretion was my bug-bear fault. -Everybody has a bug-bear fault, a sort of standing characteristic - -a <i>pièce de résistance</i> for their friends to cut -at; and in general they cut and come again. I was tired of being -called indiscreet and incautious; and I determined for once to prove -myself a model of prudence and wisdom. I would not even hint my -suspicions respecting the Aga. I would collect evidence and carry -it home to lay before my father, as the family friend of the two Miss -Jenkynses.<br> -<br> -In my search after facts, I was often reminded of a description my father -had once given of a ladies’ committee that he had had to preside -over. He said he could not help thinking of a passage in Dickens, -which spoke of a chorus in which every man took the tune he knew best, -and sang it to his own satisfaction. So, at this charitable committee, -every lady took the subject uppermost in her mind, and talked about -it to her own great contentment, but not much to the advancement of -the subject they had met to discuss. But even that committee could -have been nothing to the Cranford ladies when I attempted to gain some -clear and definite information as to poor Peter’s height, appearance, -and when and where he was seen and heard of last. For instance, -I remember asking Miss Pole (and I thought the question was very opportune, -for I put it when I met her at a call at Mrs Forrester’s, and -both the ladies had known Peter, and I imagined that they might refresh -each other’s memories) - I asked Miss Pole what was the very last -thing they had ever heard about him; and then she named the absurd report -to which I have alluded, about his having been elected Great Lama of -Thibet; and this was a signal for each lady to go off on her separate -idea. Mrs Forrester’s start was made on the veiled prophet -in Lalla Rookh - whether I thought he was meant for the Great Lama, -though Peter was not so ugly, indeed rather handsome, if he had not -been freckled. I was thankful to see her double upon Peter; but, -in a moment, the delusive lady was off upon Rowland’s Kalydor, -and the merits of cosmetics and hair oils in general, and holding forth -so fluently that I turned to listen to Miss Pole, who (through the llamas, -the beasts of burden) had got to Peruvian bonds, and the share market, -and her poor opinion of joint-stock banks in general, and of that one -in particular in which Miss Matty’s money was invested. -In vain I put in “When was it - in what year was it that you heard -that Mr Peter was the Great Lama?” They only joined issue -to dispute whether llamas were carnivorous animals or not; in which -dispute they were not quite on fair grounds, as Mrs Forrester (after -they had grown warm and cool again) acknowledged that she always confused -carnivorous and graminivorous together, just as she did horizontal and -perpendicular; but then she apologised for it very prettily, by saying -that in her day the only use people made of four-syllabled words was -to teach how they should be spelt.<br> -<br> -The only fact I gained from this conversation was that certainly Peter -had last been heard of in India, “or that neighbourhood”; -and that this scanty intelligence of his whereabouts had reached Cranford -in the year when Miss Pole had brought her Indian muslin gown, long -since worn out (we washed it and mended it, and traced its decline and -fall into a window-blind before we could go on); and in a year when -Wombwell came to Cranford, because Miss Matty had wanted to see an elephant -in order that she might the better imagine Peter riding on one; and -had seen a boa-constrictor too, which was more than she wished to imagine -in her fancy-pictures of Peter’s locality; and in a year when -Miss Jenkyns had learnt some piece of poetry off by heart, and used -to say, at all the Cranford parties, how Peter was “surveying -mankind from China to Peru,” which everybody had thought very -grand, and rather appropriate, because India was between China and Peru, -if you took care to turn the globe to the left instead of the right.<br> -<br> -I suppose all these inquiries of mine, and the consequent curiosity -excited in the minds of my friends, made us blind and deaf to what was -going on around us. It seemed to me as if the sun rose and shone, -and as if the rain rained on Cranford, just as usual, and I did not -notice any sign of the times that could be considered as a prognostic -of any uncommon event; and, to the best of my belief, not only Miss -Matty and Mrs Forrester, but even Miss Pole herself, whom we looked -upon as a kind of prophetess, from the knack she had of foreseeing things -before they came to pass - although she did not like to disturb her -friends by telling them her foreknowledge - even Miss Pole herself was -breathless with astonishment when she came to tell us of the astounding -piece of news. But I must recover myself; the contemplation of -it, even at this distance of time, has taken away my breath and my grammar, -and unless I subdue my emotion, my spelling will go too.<br> -<br> -We were sitting - Miss Matty and I - much as usual, she in the blue -chintz easy-chair, with her back to the light, and her knitting in her -hand, I reading aloud the <i>St James’s Chronicle</i>. A -few minutes more, and we should have gone to make the little alterations -in dress usual before calling-time (twelve o’clock) in Cranford. -I remember the scene and the date well. We had been talking of -the signor’s rapid recovery since the warmer weather had set in, -and praising Mr Hoggins’s skill, and lamenting his want of refinement -and manner (it seems a curious coincidence that this should have been -our subject, but so it was), when a knock was heard - a caller’s -knock - three distinct taps - and we were flying (that is to say, Miss -Matty could not walk very fast, having had a touch of rheumatism) to -our rooms, to change cap and collars, when Miss Pole arrested us by -calling out, as she came up the stairs, “Don’t go - I can’t -wait - it is not twelve, I know - but never mind your dress - I must -speak to you.” We did our best to look as if it was not -we who had made the hurried movement, the sound of which she had heard; -for, of course, we did not like to have it supposed that we had any -old clothes that it was convenient to wear out in the “sanctuary -of home,” as Miss Jenkyns once prettily called the back parlour, -where she was tying up preserves. So we threw our gentility with -double force into our manners, and very genteel we were for two minutes -while Miss Pole recovered breath, and excited our curiosity strongly -by lifting up her hands in amazement, and bringing them down in silence, -as if what she had to say was too big for words, and could only be expressed -by pantomime.<br> -<br> -“What do you think, Miss Matty? What <i>do</i> you think? -Lady Glenmire is to marry - is to be married, I mean - Lady Glenmire -- Mr Hoggins - Mr Hoggins is going to marry Lady Glenmire!”<br> -<br> -“Marry!” said we. “Marry! Madness!”<br> -<br> -“Marry!” said Miss Pole, with the decision that belonged -to her character. “<i>I</i> said marry! as you do; and I -also said, ‘What a fool my lady is going to make of herself!’ -I could have said ‘Madness!’ but I controlled myself, for -it was in a public shop that I heard of it. Where feminine delicacy -is gone to, I don’t know! You and I, Miss Matty, would have -been ashamed to have known that our marriage was spoken of in a grocer’s -shop, in the hearing of shopmen!”<br> -<br> -“But,” said Miss Matty, sighing as one recovering from a -blow, “perhaps it is not true. Perhaps we are doing her -injustice.”<br> -<br> -“No,” said Miss Pole. “I have taken care to -ascertain that. I went straight to Mrs Fitz-Adam, to borrow a -cookery-book which I knew she had; and I introduced my congratulations -<i>à propos</i> of the difficulty gentlemen must have in house-keeping; -and Mrs Fitz-Adam bridled up, and said that she believed it was true, -though how and where I could have heard it she did not know. She -said her brother and Lady Glenmire had come to an understanding at last. -‘Understanding!’ such a coarse word! But my lady will -have to come down to many a want of refinement. I have reason -to believe Mr Hoggins sups on bread-and-cheese and beer every night.<br> -<br> -“Marry!” said Miss Matty once again. “Well! -I never thought of it. Two people that we know going to be married. -It’s coming very near!”<br> -<br> -“So near that my heart stopped beating when I heard of it, while -you might have counted twelve,” said Miss Pole.<br> -<br> -“One does not know whose turn may come next. Here, in Cranford, -poor Lady Glenmire might have thought herself safe,” said Miss -Matty, with a gentle pity in her tones.<br> -<br> -“Bah!” said Miss Pole, with a toss of her head. “Don’t -you remember poor dear Captain Brown’s song ‘Tibbie Fowler,’ -and the line -<br> -<br> -<br> -‘Set her on the Tintock tap,<br> -The wind will blaw a man till her.’”<br> -<br> -<br> -“That was because ‘Tibbie Fowler’ was rich, I think.”<br> -<br> -“Well! there was a kind of attraction about Lady Glenmire that -I, for one, should be ashamed to have.”<br> -<br> -I put in my wonder. “But how can she have fancied Mr Hoggins? -I am not surprised that Mr Hoggins has liked her.”<br> -<br> -“Oh! I don’t know. Mr Hoggins is rich, and very -pleasant-looking,” said Miss Matty, “and very good-tempered -and kind-hearted.”<br> -<br> -“She has married for an establishment, that’s it. -I suppose she takes the surgery with it,” said Miss Pole, with -a little dry laugh at her own joke. But, like many people who -think they have made a severe and sarcastic speech, which yet is clever -of its kind, she began to relax in her grimness from the moment when -she made this allusion to the surgery; and we turned to speculate on -the way in which Mrs Jamieson would receive the news. The person -whom she had left in charge of her house to keep off followers from -her maids to set up a follower of her own! And that follower a -man whom Mrs Jamieson had tabooed as vulgar, and inadmissible to Cranford -society, not merely on account of his name, but because of his voice, -his complexion, his boots, smelling of the stable, and himself, smelling -of drugs. Had he ever been to see Lady Glenmire at Mrs Jamieson’s? -Chloride of lime would not purify the house in its owner’s estimation -if he had. Or had their interviews been confined to the occasional -meetings in the chamber of the poor sick conjuror, to whom, with all -our sense of the <i>mésalliance</i>, we could not help allowing -that they had both been exceedingly kind? And now it turned out -that a servant of Mrs Jamieson’s had been ill, and Mr Hoggins -had been attending her for some weeks. So the wolf had got into -the fold, and now he was carrying off the shepherdess. What would -Mrs Jamieson say? We looked into the darkness of futurity as a -child gazes after a rocket up in the cloudy sky, full of wondering expectation -of the rattle, the discharge, and the brilliant shower of sparks and -light. Then we brought ourselves down to earth and the present -time by questioning each other (being all equally ignorant, and all -equally without the slightest data to build any conclusions upon) as -to when IT would take place? Where? How much a year Mr Hoggins -had? Whether she would drop her title? And how Martha and -the other correct servants in Cranford would ever be brought to announce -a married couple as Lady Glenmire and Mr Hoggins? But would they -be visited? Would Mrs Jamieson let us? Or must we choose -between the Honourable Mrs Jamieson and the degraded Lady Glenmire? -We all liked Lady Glenmire the best. She was bright, and kind, -and sociable, and agreeable; and Mrs Jamieson was dull, and inert, and -pompous, and tiresome. But we had acknowledged the sway of the -latter so long, that it seemed like a kind of disloyalty now even to -meditate disobedience to the prohibition we anticipated.<br> -<br> -Mrs Forrester surprised us in our darned caps and patched collars; and -we forgot all about them in our eagerness to see how she would bear -the information, which we honourably left to Miss Pole, to impart, although, -if we had been inclined to take unfair advantage, we might have rushed -in ourselves, for she had a most out-of-place fit of coughing for five -minutes after Mrs Forrester entered the room. I shall never forget -the imploring expression of her eyes, as she looked at us over her pocket-handkerchief. -They said, as plain as words could speak, “Don’t let Nature -deprive me of the treasure which is mine, although for a time I can -make no use of it.” And we did not.<br> -<br> -Mrs Forrester’s surprise was equal to ours; and her sense of injury -rather greater, because she had to feel for her Order, and saw more -fully than we could do how such conduct brought stains on the aristocracy.<br> -<br> -When she and Miss Pole left us we endeavoured to subside into calmness; -but Miss Matty was really upset by the intelligence she had heard. -She reckoned it up, and it was more than fifteen years since she had -heard of any of her acquaintance going to be married, with the one exception -of Miss Jessie Brown; and, as she said, it gave her quite a shock, and -made her feel as if she could not think what would happen next.<br> -<br> -I don’t know whether it is a fancy of mine, or a real fact, but -I have noticed that, just after the announcement of an engagement in -any set, the unmarried ladies in that set flutter out in an unusual -gaiety and newness of dress, as much as to say, in a tacit and unconscious -manner, “We also are spinsters.” Miss Matty and Miss -Pole talked and thought more about bonnets, gowns, caps, and shawls, -during the fortnight that succeeded this call, than I had known them -do for years before. But it might be the spring weather, for it -was a warm and pleasant March; and merinoes and beavers, and woollen -materials of all sorts were but ungracious receptacles of the bright -sun’s glancing rays. It had not been Lady Glenmire’s -dress that had won Mr Hoggins’s heart, for she went about on her -errands of kindness more shabby than ever. Although in the hurried -glimpses I caught of her at church or elsewhere she appeared rather -to shun meeting any of her friends, her face seemed to have almost something -of the flush of youth in it; her lips looked redder and more trembling -full than in their old compressed state, and her eyes dwelt on all things -with a lingering light, as if she was learning to love Cranford and -its belongings. Mr Hoggins looked broad and radiant, and creaked -up the middle aisle at church in a brand-new pair of top-boots - an -audible, as well as visible, sign of his purposed change of state; for -the tradition went, that the boots he had worn till now were the identical -pair in which he first set out on his rounds in Cranford twenty-five -years ago; only they had been new-pieced, high and low, top and bottom, -heel and sole, black leather and brown leather, more times than any -one could tell.<br> -<br> -None of the ladies in Cranford chose to sanction the marriage by congratulating -either of the parties. We wished to ignore the whole affair until -our liege lady, Mrs Jamieson, returned. Till she came back to -give us our cue, we felt that it would be better to consider the engagement -in the same light as the Queen of Spain’s legs - facts which certainly -existed, but the less said about the better. This restraint upon -our tongues - for you see if we did not speak about it to any of the -parties concerned, how could we get answers to the questions that we -longed to ask? - was beginning to be irksome, and our idea of the dignity -of silence was paling before our curiosity, when another direction was -given to our thoughts, by an announcement on the part of the principal -shopkeeper of Cranford, who ranged the trades from grocer and cheesemonger -to man-milliner, as occasion required, that the spring fashions were -arrived, and would be exhibited on the following Tuesday at his rooms -in High Street. Now Miss Matty had been only waiting for this -before buying herself a new silk gown. I had offered, it is true, -to send to Drumble for patterns, but she had rejected my proposal, gently -implying that she had not forgotten her disappointment about the sea-green -turban. I was thankful that I was on the spot now, to counteract -the dazzling fascination of any yellow or scarlet silk.<br> -<br> -I must say a word or two here about myself. I have spoken of my -father’s old friendship for the Jenkyns family; indeed, I am not -sure if there was not some distant relationship. He had willingly -allowed me to remain all the winter at Cranford, in consideration of -a letter which Miss Matty had written to him about the time of the panic, -in which I suspect she had exaggerated my powers and my bravery as a -defender of the house. But now that the days were longer and more -cheerful, he was beginning to urge the necessity of my return; and I -only delayed in a sort of odd forlorn hope that if I could obtain any -clear information, I might make the account given by the signora of -the Aga Jenkyns tally with that of “poor Peter,” his appearance -and disappearance, which I had winnowed out of the conversation of Miss -Pole and Mrs Forrester.<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -CHAPTER XIII - STOPPED PAYMENT<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -The very Tuesday morning on which Mr Johnson was going to show the fashions, -the post-woman brought two letters to the house. I say the post-woman, -but I should say the postman’s wife. He was a lame shoemaker, -a very clean, honest man, much respected in the town; but he never brought -the letters round except on unusual occasions, such as Christmas Day -or Good Friday; and on those days the letters, which should have been -delivered at eight in the morning, did not make their appearance until -two or three in the afternoon, for every one liked poor Thomas, and -gave him a welcome on these festive occasions. He used to say, -“He was welly stawed wi’ eating, for there were three or -four houses where nowt would serve ’em but he must share in their -breakfast;” and by the time he had done his last breakfast, he -came to some other friend who was beginning dinner; but come what might -in the way of temptation, Tom was always sober, civil, and smiling; -and, as Miss Jenkyns used to say, it was a lesson in patience, that -she doubted not would call out that precious quality in some minds, -where, but for Thomas, it might have lain dormant and undiscovered. -Patience was certainly very dormant in Miss Jenkyns’s mind. -She was always expecting letters, and always drumming on the table till -the post-woman had called or gone past. On Christmas Day and Good -Friday she drummed from breakfast till church, from church-time till -two o’clock - unless when the fire wanted stirring, when she invariably -knocked down the fire-irons, and scolded Miss Matty for it. But -equally certain was the hearty welcome and the good dinner for Thomas; -Miss Jenkyns standing over him like a bold dragoon, questioning him -as to his children - what they were doing - what school they went to; -upbraiding him if another was likely to make its appearance, but sending -even the little babies the shilling and the mince-pie which was her -gift to all the children, with half-a-crown in addition for both father -and mother. The post was not half of so much consequence to dear -Miss Matty; but not for the world would she have diminished Thomas’s -welcome and his dole, though I could see that she felt rather shy over -the ceremony, which had been regarded by Miss Jenkyns as a glorious -opportunity for giving advice and benefiting her fellow-creatures. -Miss Matty would steal the money all in a lump into his hand, as if -she were ashamed of herself. Miss Jenkyns gave him each individual -coin separate, with a “There! that’s for yourself; that’s -for Jenny,” etc. Miss Matty would even beckon Martha out -of the kitchen while he ate his food: and once, to my knowledge, winked -at its rapid disappearance into a blue cotton pocket-handkerchief. -Miss Jenkyns almost scolded him if he did not leave a clean plate, however -heaped it might have been, and gave an injunction with every mouthful.<br> -<br> -I have wandered a long way from the two letters that awaited us on the -breakfast-table that Tuesday morning. Mine was from my father. -Miss Matty’s was printed. My father’s was just a man’s -letter; I mean it was very dull, and gave no information beyond that -he was well, that they had had a good deal of rain, that trade was very -stagnant, and there were many disagreeable rumours afloat. He -then asked me if I knew whether Miss Matty still retained her shares -in the Town and County Bank, as there were very unpleasant reports about -it; though nothing more than he had always foreseen, and had prophesied -to Miss Jenkyns years ago, when she would invest their little property -in it - the only unwise step that clever woman had ever taken, to his -knowledge (the only time she ever acted against his advice, I knew). -However, if anything had gone wrong, of course I was not to think of -leaving Miss Matty while I could be of any use, etc.<br> -<br> -“Who is your letter from, my dear? Mine is a very civil -invitation, signed ‘Edwin Wilson,’ asking me to attend an -important meeting of the shareholders of the Town and County Bank, to -be held in Drumble, on Thursday the twenty-first. I am sure, it -is very attentive of them to remember me.”<br> -<br> -I did not like to hear of this “important meeting,” for, -though I did not know much about business, I feared it confirmed what -my father said: however, I thought, ill news always came fast enough, -so I resolved to say nothing about my alarm, and merely told her that -my father was well, and sent his kind regards to her. She kept -turning over and admiring her letter. At last she spoke -<br> -<br> -“I remember their sending one to Deborah just like this; but that -I did not wonder at, for everybody knew she was so clear-headed. -I am afraid I could not help them much; indeed, if they came to accounts, -I should be quite in the way, for I never could do sums in my head. -Deborah, I know, rather wished to go, and went so far as to order a -new bonnet for the occasion: but when the time came she had a bad cold; -so they sent her a very polite account of what they had done. -Chosen a director, I think it was. Do you think they want me to -help them to choose a director? I am sure I should choose your -father at once!’<br> -<br> -“My father has no shares in the bank,” said I.<br> -<br> -“Oh, no! I remember. He objected very much to Deborah’s -buying any, I believe. But she was quite the woman of business, -and always judged for herself; and here, you see, they have paid eight -per cent. all these years.”<br> -<br> -It was a very uncomfortable subject to me, with my half-knowledge; so -I thought I would change the conversation, and I asked at what time -she thought we had better go and see the fashions. “Well, -my dear,” she said, “the thing is this: it is not etiquette -to go till after twelve; but then, you see, all Cranford will be there, -and one does not like to be too curious about dress and trimmings and -caps with all the world looking on. It is never genteel to be -over-curious on these occasions. Deborah had the knack of always -looking as if the latest fashion was nothing new to her; a manner she -had caught from Lady Arley, who did see all the new modes in London, -you know. So I thought we would just slip down - for I do want -this morning, soon after breakfast half-a-pound of tea - and then we -could go up and examine the things at our leisure, and see exactly how -my new silk gown must be made; and then, after twelve, we could go with -our minds disengaged, and free from thoughts of dress.”<br> -<br> -We began to talk of Miss Matty’s new silk gown. I discovered -that it would be really the first time in her life that she had had -to choose anything of consequence for herself: for Miss Jenkyns had -always been the more decided character, whatever her taste might have -been; and it is astonishing how such people carry the world before them -by the mere force of will. Miss Matty anticipated the sight of -the glossy folds with as much delight as if the five sovereigns, set -apart for the purchase, could buy all the silks in the shop; and (remembering -my own loss of two hours in a toyshop before I could tell on what wonder -to spend a silver threepence) I was very glad that we were going early, -that dear Miss Matty might have leisure for the delights of perplexity.<br> -<br> -If a happy sea-green could be met with, the gown was to be sea-green: -if not, she inclined to maize, and I to silver gray; and we discussed -the requisite number of breadths until we arrived at the shop-door. -We were to buy the tea, select the silk, and then clamber up the iron -corkscrew stairs that led into what was once a loft, though now a fashion -show-room.<br> -<br> -The young men at Mr Johnson’s had on their best looks; and their -best cravats, and pivoted themselves over the counter with surprising -activity. They wanted to show us upstairs at once; but on the -principle of business first and pleasure afterwards, we stayed to purchase -the tea. Here Miss Matty’s absence of mind betrayed itself. -If she was made aware that she had been drinking green tea at any time, -she always thought it her duty to lie awake half through the night afterward -(I have known her take it in ignorance many a time without such effects), -and consequently green tea was prohibited the house; yet to-day she -herself asked for the obnoxious article, under the impression that she -was talking about the silk. However, the mistake was soon rectified; -and then the silks were unrolled in good truth. By this time the -shop was pretty well filled, for it was Cranford market-day, and many -of the farmers and country people from the neighbourhood round came -in, sleeking down their hair, and glancing shyly about, from under their -eyelids, as anxious to take back some notion of the unusual gaiety to -the mistress or the lasses at home, and yet feeling that they were out -of place among the smart shopmen and gay shawls and summer prints. -One honest-looking man, however, made his way up to the counter at which -we stood, and boldly asked to look at a shawl or two. The other -country folk confined themselves to the grocery side; but our neighbour -was evidently too full of some kind intention towards mistress, wife -or daughter, to be shy; and it soon became a question with me, whether -he or Miss Matty would keep their shopmen the longest time. He -thought each shawl more beautiful than the last; and, as for Miss Matty, -she smiled and sighed over each fresh bale that was brought out; one -colour set off another, and the heap together would, as she said, make -even the rainbow look poor.<br> -<br> -“I am afraid,” said she, hesitating, “Whichever I -choose I shall wish I had taken another. Look at this lovely crimson! -it would be so warm in winter. But spring is coming on, you know. -I wish I could have a gown for every season,” said she, dropping -her voice - as we all did in Cranford whenever we talked of anything -we wished for but could not afford. “However,” she -continued in a louder and more cheerful tone, “it would give me -a great deal of trouble to take care of them if I had them; so, I think, -I’ll only take one. But which must it be, my dear?”<br> -<br> -And now she hovered over a lilac with yellow spots, while I pulled out -a quiet sage-green that had faded into insignificance under the more -brilliant colours, but which was nevertheless a good silk in its humble -way. Our attention was called off to our neighbour. He had -chosen a shawl of about thirty shillings’ value; and his face -looked broadly happy, under the anticipation, no doubt, of the pleasant -surprise he would give to some Molly or Jenny at home; he had tugged -a leathern purse out of his breeches-pocket, and had offered a five-pound -note in payment for the shawl, and for some parcels which had been brought -round to him from the grocery counter; and it was just at this point -that he attracted our notice. The shopman was examining the note -with a puzzled, doubtful air.<br> -<br> -“Town and County Bank! I am not sure, sir, but I believe -we have received a warning against notes issued by this bank only this -morning. I will just step and ask Mr Johnson, sir; but I’m -afraid I must trouble you for payment in cash, or in a note of a different -bank.”<br> -<br> -I never saw a man’s countenance fall so suddenly into dismay and -bewilderment. It was almost piteous to see the rapid change.<br> -<br> -“Dang it!” said he, striking his fist down on the table, -as if to try which was the harder, “the chap talks as if notes -and gold were to be had for the picking up.”<br> -<br> -Miss Matty had forgotten her silk gown in her interest for the man. -I don’t think she had caught the name of the bank, and in my nervous -cowardice I was anxious that she should not; and so I began admiring -the yellow-spotted lilac gown that I had been utterly condemning only -a minute before. But it was of no use.<br> -<br> -“What bank was it? I mean, what bank did your note belong -to?”<br> -<br> -“Town and County Bank.”<br> -<br> -“Let me see it,” said she quietly to the shopman, gently -taking it out of his hand, as he brought it back to return it to the -farmer.<br> -<br> -Mr Johnson was very sorry, but, from information he had received, the -notes issued by that bank were little better than waste paper.<br> -<br> -“I don’t understand it,” said Miss Matty to me in -a low voice. “That is our bank, is it not? - the Town and -County Bank?”<br> -<br> -“Yes,” said I. “This lilac silk will just match -the ribbons in your new cap, I believe,” I continued, holding -up the folds so as to catch the light, and wishing that the man would -make haste and be gone, and yet having a new wonder, that had only just -sprung up, how far it was wise or right in me to allow Miss Matty to -make this expensive purchase, if the affairs of the bank were really -so bad as the refusal of the note implied.<br> -<br> -But Miss Matty put on the soft dignified manner, peculiar to her, rarely -used, and yet which became her so well, and laying her hand gently on -mine, she said -<br> -<br> -“Never mind the silks for a few minutes, dear. I don’t -understand you, sir,” turning now to the shopman, who had been -attending to the farmer. “Is this a forged note?”<br> -<br> -“Oh, no, ma’am. It is a true note of its kind; but -you see, ma’am, it is a joint-stock bank, and there are reports -out that it is likely to break. Mr Johnson is only doing his duty, -ma’am, as I am sure Mr Dobson knows.”<br> -<br> -But Mr Dobson could not respond to the appealing bow by any answering -smile. He was turning the note absently over in his fingers, looking -gloomily enough at the parcel containing the lately-chosen shawl.<br> -<br> -“It’s hard upon a poor man,” said he, “as earns -every farthing with the sweat of his brow. However, there’s -no help for it. You must take back your shawl, my man; Lizzle -must go on with her cloak for a while. And yon figs for the little -ones - I promised them to ’em - I’ll take them; but the -’bacco, and the other things” -<br> -<br> -“I will give you five sovereigns for your note, my good man,” -said Miss Matty. “I think there is some great mistake about -it, for I am one of the shareholders, and I’m sure they would -have told me if things had not been going on right.”<br> -<br> -The shopman whispered a word or two across the table to Miss Matty. -She looked at him with a dubious air.<br> -<br> -“Perhaps so,” said she. “But I don’t pretend -to understand business; I only know that if it is going to fail, and -if honest people are to lose their money because they have taken our -notes - I can’t explain myself,” said she, suddenly becoming -aware that she had got into a long sentence with four people for audience; -“only I would rather exchange my gold for the note, if you please,” -turning to the farmer, “and then you can take your wife the shawl. -It is only going without my gown a few days longer,” she continued, -speaking to me. “Then, I have no doubt, everything will -be cleared up.”<br> -<br> -“But if it is cleared up the wrong way?” said I.<br> -<br> -“Why, then it will only have been common honesty in me, as a shareholder, -to have given this good man the money. I am quite clear about -it in my own mind; but, you know, I can never speak quite as comprehensibly -as others can, only you must give me your note, Mr Dobson, if you please, -and go on with your purchases with these sovereigns.”<br> -<br> -The man looked at her with silent gratitude - too awkward to put his -thanks into words; but he hung back for a minute or two, fumbling with -his note.<br> -<br> -“I’m loth to make another one lose instead of me, if it -is a loss; but, you see, five pounds is a deal of money to a man with -a family; and, as you say, ten to one in a day or two the note will -be as good as gold again.”<br> -<br> -“No hope of that, my friend,” said the shopman.<br> -<br> -“The more reason why I should take it,” said Miss Matty -quietly. She pushed her sovereigns towards the man, who slowly -laid his note down in exchange. “Thank you. I will -wait a day or two before I purchase any of these silks; perhaps you -will then have a greater choice. My dear, will you come upstairs?”<br> -<br> -We inspected the fashions with as minute and curious an interest as -if the gown to be made after them had been bought. I could not -see that the little event in the shop below had in the least damped -Miss Matty’s curiosity as to the make of sleeves or the sit of -skirts. She once or twice exchanged congratulations with me on -our private and leisurely view of the bonnets and shawls; but I was, -all the time, not so sure that our examination was so utterly private, -for I caught glimpses of a figure dodging behind the cloaks and mantles; -and, by a dexterous move, I came face to face with Miss Pole, also in -morning costume (the principal feature of which was her being without -teeth, and wearing a veil to conceal the deficiency), come on the same -errand as ourselves. But she quickly took her departure, because, -as she said, she had a bad headache, and did not feel herself up to -conversation.<br> -<br> -As we came down through the shop, the civil Mr Johnson was awaiting -us; he had been informed of the exchange of the note for gold, and with -much good feeling and real kindness, but with a little want of tact, -he wished to condole with Miss Matty, and impress upon her the true -state of the case. I could only hope that he had heard an exaggerated -rumour for he said that her shares were worse than nothing, and that -the bank could not pay a shilling in the pound. I was glad that -Miss Matty seemed still a little incredulous; but I could not tell how -much of this was real or assumed, with that self-control which seemed -habitual to ladies of Miss Matty’s standing in Cranford, who would -have thought their dignity compromised by the slightest expression of -surprise, dismay, or any similar feeling to an inferior in station, -or in a public shop. However, we walked home very silently. -I am ashamed to say, I believe I was rather vexed and annoyed at Miss -Matty’s conduct in taking the note to herself so decidedly. -I had so set my heart upon her having a new silk gown, which she wanted -sadly; in general she was so undecided anybody might turn her round; -in this case I had felt that it was no use attempting it, but I was -not the less put out at the result.<br> -<br> -Somehow, after twelve o’clock, we both acknowledged to a sated -curiosity about the fashions, and to a certain fatigue of body (which -was, in fact, depression of mind) that indisposed us to go out again. -But still we never spoke of the note; till, all at once, something possessed -me to ask Miss Matty if she would think it her duty to offer sovereigns -for all the notes of the Town and County Bank she met with? I -could have bitten my tongue out the minute I had said it. She -looked up rather sadly, and as if I had thrown a new perplexity into -her already distressed mind; and for a minute or two she did not speak. -Then she said - my own dear Miss Matty - without a shade of reproach -in her voice -<br> -<br> -“My dear, I never feel as if my mind was what people call very -strong; and it’s often hard enough work for me to settle what -I ought to do with the case right before me. I was very thankful -to - I was very thankful, that I saw my duty this morning, with the -poor man standing by me; but its rather a strain upon me to keep thinking -and thinking what I should do if such and such a thing happened; and, -I believe, I had rather wait and see what really does come; and I don’t -doubt I shall be helped then if I don’t fidget myself, and get -too anxious beforehand. You know, love, I’m not like Deborah. -If Deborah had lived, I’ve no doubt she would have seen after -them, before they had got themselves into this state.”<br> -<br> -We had neither of us much appetite for dinner, though we tried to talk -cheerfully about indifferent things. When we returned into the -drawing-room, Miss Matty unlocked her desk and began to look over her -account-books. I was so penitent for what I had said in the morning, -that I did not choose to take upon myself the presumption to suppose -that I could assist her; I rather left her alone, as, with puzzled brow, -her eye followed her pen up and down the ruled page. By-and-by -she shut the book, locked the desk, and came and drew a chair to mine, -where I sat in moody sorrow over the fire. I stole my hand into -hers; she clasped it, but did not speak a word. At last she said, -with forced composure in her voice, “If that bank goes wrong, -I shall lose one hundred and forty-nine pounds thirteen shillings and -fourpence a year; I shall only have thirteen pounds a year left.” -I squeezed her hand hard and tight. I did not know what to say. -Presently (it was too dark to see her face) I felt her fingers work -convulsively in my grasp; and I knew she was going to speak again. -I heard the sobs in her voice as she said, “I hope it’s -not wrong - not wicked - but, oh! I am so glad poor Deborah is -spared this. She could not have borne to come down in the world -- she had such a noble, lofty spirit.”<br> -<br> -This was all she said about the sister who had insisted upon investing -their little property in that unlucky bank. We were later in lighting -the candle than usual that night, and until that light shamed us into -speaking, we sat together very silently and sadly.<br> -<br> -However, we took to our work after tea with a kind of forced cheerfulness -(which soon became real as far as it went), talking of that never-ending -wonder, Lady Glenmire’s engagement. Miss Matty was almost -coming round to think it a good thing.<br> -<br> -“I don’t mean to deny that men are troublesome in a house. -I don’t judge from my own experience, for my father was neatness -itself, and wiped his shoes on coming in as carefully as any woman; -but still a man has a sort of knowledge of what should be done in difficulties, -that it is very pleasant to have one at hand ready to lean upon. -Now, Lady Glenmire, instead of being tossed about, and wondering where -she is to settle, will be certain of a home among pleasant and kind -people, such as our good Miss Pole and Mrs Forrester. And Mr Hoggins -is really a very personable man; and as for his manners, why, if they -are not very polished, I have known people with very good hearts and -very clever minds too, who were not what some people reckoned refined, -but who were both true and tender.”<br> -<br> -She fell off into a soft reverie about Mr Holbrook, and I did not interrupt -her, I was so busy maturing a plan I had had in my mind for some days, -but which this threatened failure of the bank had brought to a crisis. -That night, after Miss Matty went to bed, I treacherously lighted the -candle again, and sat down in the drawing-room to compose a letter to -the Aga Jenkyns, a letter which should affect him if he were Peter, -and yet seem a mere statement of dry facts if he were a stranger. -The church clock pealed out two before I had done.<br> -<br> -The next morning news came, both official and otherwise, that the Town -and County Bank had stopped payment. Miss Matty was ruined.<br> -<br> -She tried to speak quietly to me; but when she came to the actual fact -that she would have but about five shillings a week to live upon, she -could not restrain a few tears.<br> -<br> -“I am not crying for myself, dear,” said she, wiping them -away; “I believe I am crying for the very silly thought of how -my mother would grieve if she could know; she always cared for us so -much more than for herself. But many a poor person has less, and -I am not very extravagant, and, thank God, when the neck of mutton, -and Martha’s wages, and the rent are paid, I have not a farthing -owing. Poor Martha! I think she’ll be sorry to leave -me.”<br> -<br> -Miss Matty smiled at me through her tears, and she would fain have had -me see only the smile, not the tears.<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -CHAPTER XIV - FRIENDS IN NEED<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -It was an example to me, and I fancy it might be to many others, to -see how immediately Miss Matty set about the retrenchment which she -knew to be right under her altered circumstances. While she went -down to speak to Martha, and break the intelligence to her, I stole -out with my letter to the Aga Jenkyns, and went to the signor’s -lodgings to obtain the exact address. I bound the signora to secrecy; -and indeed her military manners had a degree of shortness and reserve -in them which made her always say as little as possible, except when -under the pressure of strong excitement. Moreover (which made -my secret doubly sure), the signor was now so far recovered as to be -looking forward to travelling and conjuring again in the space of a -few days, when he, his wife, and little Phoebe would leave Cranford. -Indeed, I found him looking over a great black and red placard, in which -the Signor Brunoni’s accomplishments were set forth, and to which -only the name of the town where he would next display them was wanting. -He and his wife were so much absorbed in deciding where the red letters -would come in with most effect (it might have been the Rubric for that -matter), that it was some time before I could get my question asked -privately, and not before I had given several decisions, the which I -questioned afterwards with equal wisdom of sincerity as soon as the -signor threw in his doubts and reasons on the important subject. -At last I got the address, spelt by sound, and very queer it looked. -I dropped it in the post on my way home, and then for a minute I stood -looking at the wooden pane with a gaping slit which divided me from -the letter but a moment ago in my hand. It was gone from me like -life, never to be recalled. It would get tossed about on the sea, -and stained with sea-waves perhaps, and be carried among palm-trees, -and scented with all tropical fragrance; the little piece of paper, -but an hour ago so familiar and commonplace, had set out on its race -to the strange wild countries beyond the Ganges! But I could not -afford to lose much time on this speculation. I hastened home, -that Miss Matty might not miss me. Martha opened the door to me, -her face swollen with crying. As soon as she saw me she burst -out afresh, and taking hold of my arm she pulled me in, and banged the -door to, in order to ask me if indeed it was all true that Miss Matty -had been saying.<br> -<br> -“I’ll never leave her! No; I won’t. I -telled her so, and said I could not think how she could find in her -heart to give me warning. I could not have had the face to do -it, if I’d been her. I might ha’ been just as good -for nothing as Mrs Fitz-Adam’s Rosy, who struck for wages after -living seven years and a half in one place. I said I was not one -to go and serve Mammon at that rate; that I knew when I’d got -a good missus, if she didn’t know when she’d got a good -servant” -<br> -<br> -“But, Martha,” said I, cutting in while she wiped her eyes.<br> -<br> -“Don’t, ‘but Martha’ me,” she replied -to my deprecatory tone.<br> -<br> -“Listen to reason” -<br> -<br> -“I’ll not listen to reason,” she said, now in full -possession of her voice, which had been rather choked with sobbing. -“Reason always means what someone else has got to say. Now -I think what I’ve got to say is good enough reason; but reason -or not, I’ll say it, and I’ll stick to it. I’ve -money in the Savings Bank, and I’ve a good stock of clothes, and -I’m not going to leave Miss Matty. No, not if she gives -me warning every hour in the day!”<br> -<br> -She put her arms akimbo, as much as to say she defied me; and, indeed, -I could hardly tell how to begin to remonstrate with her, so much did -I feel that Miss Matty, in her increasing infirmity, needed the attendance -of this kind and faithful woman.<br> -<br> -“Well” - said I at last.<br> -<br> -“I’m thankful you begin with ‘well!’ If -you’d have begun with ‘but,’ as you did afore, I’d -not ha’ listened to you. Now you may go on.”<br> -<br> -“I know you would be a great loss to Miss Matty, Martha” --<br> -<br> -“I telled her so. A loss she’d never cease to be sorry -for,” broke in Martha triumphantly.<br> -<br> -“Still, she will have so little - so very little - to live upon, -that I don’t see just now how she could find you food - she will -even be pressed for her own. I tell you this, Martha, because -I feel you are like a friend to dear Miss Matty, but you know she might -not like to have it spoken about.”<br> -<br> -Apparently this was even a blacker view of the subject than Miss Matty -had presented to her, for Martha just sat down on the first chair that -came to hand, and cried out loud (we had been standing in the kitchen).<br> -<br> -At last she put her apron down, and looking me earnestly in the face, -asked, “Was that the reason Miss Matty wouldn’t order a -pudding to-day? She said she had no great fancy for sweet things, -and you and she would just have a mutton chop. But I’ll -be up to her. Never you tell, but I’ll make her a pudding, -and a pudding she’ll like, too, and I’ll pay for it myself; -so mind you see she eats it. Many a one has been comforted in -their sorrow by seeing a good dish come upon the table.”<br> -<br> -I was rather glad that Martha’s energy had taken the immediate -and practical direction of pudding-making, for it staved off the quarrelsome -discussion as to whether she should or should not leave Miss Matty’s -service. She began to tie on a clean apron, and otherwise prepare -herself for going to the shop for the butter, eggs, and what else she -might require. She would not use a scrap of the articles already -in the house for her cookery, but went to an old tea-pot in which her -private store of money was deposited, and took out what she wanted.<br> -<br> -I found Miss Matty very quiet, and not a little sad; but by-and-by she -tried to smile for my sake. It was settled that I was to write -to my father, and ask him to come over and hold a consultation, and -as soon as this letter was despatched we began to talk over future plans. -Miss Matty’s idea was to take a single room, and retain as much -of her furniture as would be necessary to fit up this, and sell the -rest, and there to quietly exist upon what would remain after paying -the rent. For my part, I was more ambitious and less contented. -I thought of all the things by which a woman, past middle age, and with -the education common to ladies fifty years ago, could earn or add to -a living without materially losing caste; but at length I put even this -last clause on one side, and wondered what in the world Miss Matty could -do.<br> -<br> -Teaching was, of course, the first thing that suggested itself. -If Miss Matty could teach children anything, it would throw her among -the little elves in whom her soul delighted. I ran over her accomplishments. -Once upon a time I had heard her say she could play “Ah! vous -dirai-je, maman?” on the piano, but that was long, long ago; that -faint shadow of musical acquirement had died out years before. -She had also once been able to trace out patterns very nicely for muslin -embroidery, by dint of placing a piece of silver paper over the design -to be copied, and holding both against the window-pane while she marked -the scollop and eyelet-holes. But that was her nearest approach -to the accomplishment of drawing, and I did not think it would go very -far. Then again, as to the branches of a solid English education -- fancy work and the use of the globes - such as the mistress of the -Ladies’ Seminary, to which all the tradespeople in Cranford sent -their daughters, professed to teach. Miss Matty’s eyes were -failing her, and I doubted if she could discover the number of threads -in a worsted-work pattern, or rightly appreciate the different shades -required for Queen Adelaide’s face in the loyal wool-work now -fashionable in Cranford. As for the use of the globes, I had never -been able to find it out myself, so perhaps I was not a good judge of -Miss Matty’s capability of instructing in this branch of education; -but it struck me that equators and tropics, and such mystical circles, -were very imaginary lines indeed to her, and that she looked upon the -signs of the Zodiac as so many remnants of the Black Art.<br> -<br> -What she piqued herself upon, as arts in which she excelled, was making -candle-lighters, or “spills” (as she preferred calling them), -of coloured paper, cut so as to resemble feathers, and knitting garters -in a variety of dainty stitches. I had once said, on receiving -a present of an elaborate pair, that I should feel quite tempted to -drop one of them in the street, in order to have it admired; but I found -this little joke (and it was a very little one) was such a distress -to her sense of propriety, and was taken with such anxious, earnest -alarm, lest the temptation might some day prove too strong for me, that -I quite regretted having ventured upon it. A present of these -delicately-wrought garters, a bunch of gay “spills,” or -a set of cards on which sewing-silk was wound in a mystical manner, -were the well-known tokens of Miss Matty’s favour. But would -any one pay to have their children taught these arts? or, indeed, would -Miss Matty sell, for filthy lucre, the knack and the skill with which -she made trifles of value to those who loved her?<br> -<br> -I had to come down to reading, writing, and arithmetic; and, in reading -the chapter every morning, she always coughed before coming to long -words. I doubted her power of getting through a genealogical chapter, -with any number of coughs. Writing she did well and delicately -- but spelling! She seemed to think that the more out-of-the-way -this was, and the more trouble it cost her, the greater the compliment -she paid to her correspondent; and words that she would spell quite -correctly in her letters to me became perfect enigmas when she wrote -to my father.<br> -<br> -No! there was nothing she could teach to the rising generation of Cranford, -unless they had been quick learners and ready imitators of her patience, -her humility, her sweetness, her quiet contentment with all that she -could not do. I pondered and pondered until dinner was announced -by Martha, with a face all blubbered and swollen with crying.<br> -<br> -Miss Matty had a few little peculiarities which Martha was apt to regard -as whims below her attention, and appeared to consider as childish fancies -of which an old lady of fifty-eight should try and cure herself. -But to-day everything was attended to with the most careful regard. -The bread was cut to the imaginary pattern of excellence that existed -in Miss Matty’s mind, as being the way which her mother had preferred, -the curtain was drawn so as to exclude the dead brick wall of a neighbour’s -stable, and yet left so as to show every tender leaf of the poplar which -was bursting into spring beauty. Martha’s tone to Miss Matty -was just such as that good, rough-spoken servant usually kept sacred -for little children, and which I had never heard her use to any grown-up -person.<br> -<br> -I had forgotten to tell Miss Matty about the pudding, and I was afraid -she might not do justice to it, for she had evidently very little appetite -this day; so I seized the opportunity of letting her into the secret -while Martha took away the meat. Miss Matty’s eyes filled -with tears, and she could not speak, either to express surprise or delight, -when Martha returned bearing it aloft, made in the most wonderful representation -of a lion <i>couchant</i> that ever was moulded. Martha’s -face gleamed with triumph as she set it down before Miss Matty with -an exultant “There!” Miss Matty wanted to speak her -thanks, but could not; so she took Martha’s hand and shook it -warmly, which set Martha off crying, and I myself could hardly keep -up the necessary composure. Martha burst out of the room, and -Miss Matty had to clear her voice once or twice before she could speak. -At last she said, “I should like to keep this pudding under a -glass shade, my dear!” and the notion of the lion <i>couchant</i>, -with his currant eyes, being hoisted up to the place of honour on a -mantelpiece, tickled my hysterical fancy, and I began to laugh, which -rather surprised Miss Matty.<br> -<br> -“I am sure, dear, I have seen uglier things under a glass shade -before now,” said she.<br> -<br> -So had I, many a time and oft, and I accordingly composed my countenance -(and now I could hardly keep from crying), and we both fell to upon -the pudding, which was indeed excellent - only every morsel seemed to -choke us, our hearts were so full.<br> -<br> -We had too much to think about to talk much that afternoon. It -passed over very tranquilly. But when the tea-urn was brought -in a new thought came into my head. Why should not Miss Matty -sell tea - be an agent to the East India Tea Company which then existed? -I could see no objections to this plan, while the advantages were many -- always supposing that Miss Matty could get over the degradation of -condescending to anything like trade. Tea was neither greasy nor -sticky - grease and stickiness being two of the qualities which Miss -Matty could not endure. No shop-window would be required. -A small, genteel notification of her being licensed to sell tea would, -it is true, be necessary, but I hoped that it could be placed where -no one would see it. Neither was tea a heavy article, so as to -tax Miss Matty’s fragile strength. The only thing against -my plan was the buying and selling involved.<br> -<br> -While I was giving but absent answers to the questions Miss Matty was -putting - almost as absently - we heard a clumping sound on the stairs, -and a whispering outside the door, which indeed once opened and shut -as if by some invisible agency. After a little while Martha came -in, dragging after her a great tall young man, all crimson with shyness, -and finding his only relief in perpetually sleeking down his hair.<br> -<br> -“Please, ma’am, he’s only Jem Hearn,” said Martha, -by way of an introduction; and so out of breath was she that I imagine -she had had some bodily struggle before she could overcome his reluctance -to be presented on the courtly scene of Miss Matilda Jenkyns’s -drawing-room.<br> -<br> -“And please, ma’am, he wants to marry me off-hand. -And please, ma’am, we want to take a lodger - just one quiet lodger, -to make our two ends meet; and we’d take any house conformable; -and, oh dear Miss Matty, if I may be so bold, would you have any objections -to lodging with us? Jem wants it as much as I do.” -[To Jem ] - “You great oaf! why can’t you back me! - But -he does want it all the same, very bad - don’t you, Jem? - only, -you see, he’s dazed at being called on to speak before quality.”<br> -<br> -“It’s not that,” broke in Jem. “It’s -that you’ve taken me all on a sudden, and I didn’t think -for to get married so soon - and such quick words does flabbergast a -man. It’s not that I’m against it, ma’am” -(addressing Miss Matty), “only Martha has such quick ways with -her when once she takes a thing into her head; and marriage, ma’am -- marriage nails a man, as one may say. I dare say I shan’t -mind it after it’s once over.”<br> -<br> -“Please, ma’am,” said Martha - who had plucked at -his sleeve, and nudged him with her elbow, and otherwise tried to interrupt -him all the time he had been speaking - “don’t mind him, -he’ll come to; ’twas only last night he was an-axing me, -and an-axing me, and all the more because I said I could not think of -it for years to come, and now he’s only taken aback with the suddenness -of the joy; but you know, Jem, you are just as full as me about wanting -a lodger.” (Another great nudge.)<br> -<br> -“Ay! if Miss Matty would lodge with us - otherwise I’ve -no mind to be cumbered with strange folk in the house,” said Jem, -with a want of tact which I could see enraged Martha, who was trying -to represent a lodger as the great object they wished to obtain, and -that, in fact, Miss Matty would be smoothing their path and conferring -a favour, if she would only come and live with them.<br> -<br> -Miss Matty herself was bewildered by the pair; their, or rather Martha’s -sudden resolution in favour of matrimony staggered her, and stood between -her and the contemplation of the plan which Martha had at heart. -Miss Matty began -<br> -<br> -“Marriage is a very solemn thing, Martha.”<br> -<br> -“It is indeed, ma’am,” quoth Jem. “Not -that I’ve no objections to Martha.”<br> -<br> -“You’ve never let me a-be for asking me for to fix when -I would be married,” said Martha - her face all a-fire, and ready -to cry with vexation - “and now you’re shaming me before -my missus and all.”<br> -<br> -“Nay, now! Martha don’t ee! don’t ee! only a -man likes to have breathing-time,” said Jem, trying to possess -himself of her hand, but in vain. Then seeing that she was more -seriously hurt than he had imagined, he seemed to try to rally his scattered -faculties, and with more straightforward dignity than, ten minutes before, -I should have thought it possible for him to assume, he turned to Miss -Matty, and said, “I hope, ma’am, you know that I am bound -to respect every one who has been kind to Martha. I always looked -on her as to be my wife - some time; and she has often and often spoken -of you as the kindest lady that ever was; and though the plain truth -is, I would not like to be troubled with lodgers of the common run, -yet if, ma’am, you’d honour us by living with us, I’m -sure Martha would do her best to make you comfortable; and I’d -keep out of your way as much as I could, which I reckon would be the -best kindness such an awkward chap as me could do.”<br> -<br> -Miss Matty had been very busy with taking off her spectacles, wiping -them, and replacing them; but all she could say was, “Don’t -let any thought of me hurry you into marriage: pray don’t. -Marriage is such a very solemn thing!”<br> -<br> -“But Miss Matilda will think of your plan, Martha,” said -I, struck with the advantages that it offered, and unwilling to lose -the opportunity of considering about it. “And I’m -sure neither she nor I can ever forget your kindness; nor your’s -either, Jem.”<br> -<br> -“Why, yes, ma’am! I’m sure I mean kindly, though -I’m a bit fluttered by being pushed straight ahead into matrimony, -as it were, and mayn’t express myself conformable. But I’m -sure I’m willing enough, and give me time to get accustomed; so, -Martha, wench, what’s the use of crying so, and slapping me if -I come near?”<br> -<br> -This last was <i>sotto voce</i>, and had the effect of making Martha -bounce out of the room, to be followed and soothed by her lover. -Whereupon Miss Matty sat down and cried very heartily, and accounted -for it by saying that the thought of Martha being married so soon gave -her quite a shock, and that she should never forgive herself if she -thought she was hurrying the poor creature. I think my pity was -more for Jem, of the two; but both Miss Matty and I appreciated to the -full the kindness of the honest couple, although we said little about -this, and a good deal about the chances and dangers of matrimony.<br> -<br> -The next morning, very early, I received a note from Miss Pole, so mysteriously -wrapped up, and with so many seals on it to secure secrecy, that I had -to tear the paper before I could unfold it. And when I came to -the writing I could hardly understand the meaning, it was so involved -and oracular. I made out, however, that I was to go to Miss Pole’s -at eleven o’clock; the number <i>eleven</i> being written in full -length as well as in numerals, and A.M. twice dashed under, as if I -were very likely to come at eleven at night, when all Cranford was usually -a-bed and asleep by ten. There was no signature except Miss Pole’s -initials reversed, P.E.; but as Martha had given me the note, “with -Miss Pole’s kind regards,” it needed no wizard to find out -who sent it; and if the writer’s name was to be kept secret, it -was very well that I was alone when Martha delivered it.<br> -<br> -I went as requested to Miss Pole’s. The door was opened -to me by her little maid Lizzy in Sunday trim, as if some grand event -was impending over this work-day. And the drawing-room upstairs -was arranged in accordance with this idea. The table was set out -with the best green card-cloth, and writing materials upon it. -On the little chiffonier was a tray with a newly-decanted bottle of -cowslip wine, and some ladies’-finger biscuits. Miss Pole -herself was in solemn array, as if to receive visitors, although it -was only eleven o’clock. Mrs Forrester was there, crying -quietly and sadly, and my arrival seemed only to call forth fresh tears. -Before we had finished our greetings, performed with lugubrious mystery -of demeanour, there was another rat-tat-tat, and Mrs Fitz-Adam appeared, -crimson with walking and excitement. It seemed as if this was -all the company expected; for now Miss Pole made several demonstrations -of being about to open the business of the meeting, by stirring the -fire, opening and shutting the door, and coughing and blowing her nose. -Then she arranged us all round the table, taking care to place me opposite -to her; and last of all, she inquired of me if the sad report was true, -as she feared it was, that Miss Matty had lost all her fortune?<br> -<br> -Of course, I had but one answer to make; and I never saw more unaffected -sorrow depicted on any countenances than I did there on the three before -me.<br> -<br> -I wish Mrs Jamieson was here!” said Mrs Forrester at last; but -to judge from Mrs Fitz-Adam’s face, she could not second the wish.<br> -<br> -“But without Mrs Jamieson,” said Miss Pole, with just a -sound of offended merit in her voice, “we, the ladies of Cranford, -in my drawing-room assembled, can resolve upon something. I imagine -we are none of us what may be called rich, though we all possess a genteel -competency, sufficient for tastes that are elegant and refined, and -would not, if they could, be vulgarly ostentatious.” (Here -I observed Miss Pole refer to a small card concealed in her hand, on -which I imagine she had put down a few notes.)<br> -<br> -“Miss Smith,” she continued, addressing me (familiarly known -as “Mary” to all the company assembled, but this was a state -occasion), “I have conversed in private - I made it my business -to do so yesterday afternoon - with these ladies on the misfortune which -has happened to our friend, and one and all of us have agreed that while -we have a superfluity, it is not only a duty, but a pleasure - a true -pleasure, Mary!” - her voice was rather choked just here, and -she had to wipe her spectacles before she could go on - “to give -what we can to assist her - Miss Matilda Jenkyns. Only in consideration -of the feelings of delicate independence existing in the mind of every -refined female” - I was sure she had got back to the card now -- “we wish to contribute our mites in a secret and concealed manner, -so as not to hurt the feelings I have referred to. And our object -in requesting you to meet us this morning is that, believing you are -the daughter - that your father is, in fact, her confidential adviser, -in all pecuniary matters, we imagined that, by consulting with him, -you might devise some mode in which our contribution could be made to -appear the legal due which Miss Matilda Jenkyns ought to receive from -- Probably your father, knowing her investments, can fill up the -blank.”<br> -<br> -Miss Pole concluded her address, and looked round for approval and agreement.<br> -<br> -“I have expressed your meaning, ladies, have I not? And -while Miss Smith considers what reply to make, allow me to offer you -some little refreshment.”<br> -<br> -I had no great reply to make: I had more thankfulness at my heart for -their kind thoughts than I cared to put into words; and so I only mumbled -out something to the effect “that I would name what Miss Pole -had said to my father, and that if anything could be arranged for dear -Miss Matty,” - and here I broke down utterly, and had to be refreshed -with a glass of cowslip wine before I could check the crying which had -been repressed for the last two or three days. The worst was, -all the ladies cried in concert. Even Miss Pole cried, who had -said a hundred times that to betray emotion before any one was a sign -of weakness and want of self-control. She recovered herself into -a slight degree of impatient anger, directed against me, as having set -them all off; and, moreover, I think she was vexed that I could not -make a speech back in return for hers; and if I had known beforehand -what was to be said, and had a card on which to express the probable -feelings that would rise in my heart, I would have tried to gratify -her. As it was, Mrs Forrester was the person to speak when we -had recovered our composure.<br> -<br> -“I don’t mind, among friends, stating that I - no! -I’m not poor exactly, but I don’t think I’m what you -may call rich; I wish I were, for dear Miss Matty’s sake - but, -if you please, I’ll write down in a sealed paper what I can give. -I only wish it was more; my dear Mary, I do indeed.”<br> -<br> -Now I saw why paper, pens, and ink were provided. Every lady wrote -down the sum she could give annually, signed the paper, and sealed it -mysteriously. If their proposal was acceded to, my father was -to be allowed to open the papers, under pledge of secrecy. If -not, they were to be returned to their writers.<br> -<br> -When the ceremony had been gone through, I rose to depart; but each -lady seemed to wish to have a private conference with me. Miss -Pole kept me in the drawing-room to explain why, in Mrs Jamieson’s -absence, she had taken the lead in this “movement,” as she -was pleased to call it, and also to inform me that she had heard from -good sources that Mrs Jamieson was coming home directly in a state of -high displeasure against her sister-in-law, who was forthwith to leave -her house, and was, she believed, to return to Edinburgh that very afternoon. -Of course this piece of intelligence could not be communicated before -Mrs Fitz-Adam, more especially as Miss Pole was inclined to think that -Lady Glenmire’s engagement to Mr Hoggins could not possibly hold -against the blaze of Mrs Jamieson’s displeasure. A few hearty -inquiries after Miss Matty’s health concluded my interview with -Miss Pole.<br> -<br> -On coming downstairs I found Mrs Forrester waiting for me at the entrance -to the dining-parlour; she drew me in, and when the door was shut, she -tried two or three times to begin on some subject, which was so unapproachable -apparently, that I began to despair of our ever getting to a clear understanding. -At last out it came; the poor old lady trembling all the time as if -it were a great crime which she was exposing to daylight, in telling -me how very, very little she had to live upon; a confession which she -was brought to make from a dread lest we should think that the small -contribution named in her paper bore any proportion to her love and -regard for Miss Matty. And yet that sum which she so eagerly relinquished -was, in truth, more than a twentieth part of what she had to live upon, -and keep house, and a little serving-maid, all as became one born a -Tyrrell. And when the whole income does not nearly amount to a -hundred pounds, to give up a twentieth of it will necessitate many careful -economies, and many pieces of self-denial, small and insignificant in -the world’s account, but bearing a different value in another -account-book that I have heard of. She did so wish she was rich, -she said, and this wish she kept repeating, with no thought of herself -in it, only with a longing, yearning desire to be able to heap up Miss -Matty’s measure of comforts.<br> -<br> -It was some time before I could console her enough to leave her; and -then, on quitting the house, I was waylaid by Mrs Fitz-Adam, who had -also her confidence to make of pretty nearly the opposite description. -She had not liked to put down all that she could afford and was ready -to give. She told me she thought she never could look Miss Matty -in the face again if she presumed to be giving her so much as she should -like to do. “Miss Matty!” continued she, “that -I thought was such a fine young lady when I was nothing but a country -girl, coming to market with eggs and butter and such like things. -For my father, though well-to-do, would always make me go on as my mother -had done before me, and I had to come into Cranford every Saturday, -and see after sales, and prices, and what not. And one day, I -remember, I met Miss Matty in the lane that leads to Combehurst; she -was walking on the footpath, which, you know, is raised a good way above -the road, and a gentleman rode beside her, and was talking to her, and -she was looking down at some primroses she had gathered, and pulling -them all to pieces, and I do believe she was crying. But after -she had passed, she turned round and ran after me to ask - oh, so kindly -- about my poor mother, who lay on her death-bed; and when I cried she -took hold of my hand to comfort me - and the gentleman waiting for her -all the time - and her poor heart very full of something, I am sure; -and I thought it such an honour to be spoken to in that pretty way by -the rector’s daughter, who visited at Arley Hall. I have -loved her ever since, though perhaps I’d no right to do it; but -if you can think of any way in which I might be allowed to give a little -more without any one knowing it, I should be so much obliged to you, -my dear. And my brother would be delighted to doctor her for nothing -- medicines, leeches, and all. I know that he and her ladyship -(my dear, I little thought in the days I was telling you of that I should -ever come to be sister-in-law to a ladyship!) would do anything for -her. We all would.”<br> -<br> -I told her I was quite sure of it, and promised all sorts of things -in my anxiety to get home to Miss Matty, who might well be wondering -what had become of me - absent from her two hours without being able -to account for it. She had taken very little note of time, however, -as she had been occupied in numberless little arrangements preparatory -to the great step of giving up her house. It was evidently a relief -to her to be doing something in the way of retrenchment, for, as she -said, whenever she paused to think, the recollection of the poor fellow -with his bad five-pound note came over her, and she felt quite dishonest; -only if it made her so uncomfortable, what must it not be doing to the -directors of the bank, who must know so much more of the misery consequent -upon this failure? She almost made me angry by dividing her sympathy -between these directors (whom she imagined overwhelmed by self-reproach -for the mismanagement of other people’s affairs) and those who -were suffering like her. Indeed, of the two, she seemed to think -poverty a lighter burden than self-reproach; but I privately doubted -if the directors would agree with her.<br> -<br> -Old hoards were taken out and examined as to their money value which -luckily was small, or else I don’t know how Miss Matty would have -prevailed upon herself to part with such things as her mother’s -wedding-ring, the strange, uncouth brooch with which her father had -disfigured his shirt-frill, &c. However, we arranged things -a little in order as to their pecuniary estimation, and were all ready -for my father when he came the next morning.<br> -<br> -I am not going to weary you with the details of all the business we -went through; and one reason for not telling about them is, that I did -not understand what we were doing at the time, and cannot recollect -it now. Miss Matty and I sat assenting to accounts, and schemes, -and reports, and documents, of which I do not believe we either of us -understood a word; for my father was clear-headed and decisive, and -a capital man of business, and if we made the slightest inquiry, or -expressed the slightest want of comprehension, he had a sharp way of -saying, “Eh? eh? it’s as dear as daylight. What’s -your objection?” And as we had not comprehended anything -of what he had proposed, we found it rather difficult to shape our objections; -in fact, we never were sure if we had any. So presently Miss Matty -got into a nervously acquiescent state, and said “Yes,” -and “Certainly,” at every pause, whether required or not; -but when I once joined in as chorus to a “Decidedly,” pronounced -by Miss Matty in a tremblingly dubious tone, my father fired round at -me and asked me “What there was to decide?” And I -am sure to this day I have never known. But, in justice to him, -I must say he had come over from Drumble to help Miss Matty when he -could ill spare the time, and when his own affairs were in a very anxious -state.<br> -<br> -While Miss Matty was out of the room giving orders for luncheon - and -sadly perplexed between her desire of honouring my father by a delicate, -dainty meal, and her conviction that she had no right, now that all -her money was gone, to indulge this desire - I told him of the meeting -of the Cranford ladies at Miss Pole’s the day before. He -kept brushing his hand before his eyes as I spoke - and when I went -back to Martha’s offer the evening before, of receiving Miss Matty -as a lodger, he fairly walked away from me to the window, and began -drumming with his fingers upon it. Then he turned abruptly round, -and said, “See, Mary, how a good, innocent life makes friends -all around. Confound it! I could make a good lesson out -of it if I were a parson; but, as it is, I can’t get a tail to -my sentences - only I’m sure you feel what I want to say. -You and I will have a walk after lunch and talk a bit more about these -plans.”<br> -<br> -The lunch - a hot savoury mutton-chop, and a little of the cold loin -sliced and fried - was now brought in. Every morsel of this last -dish was finished, to Martha’s great gratification. Then -my father bluntly told Miss Matty he wanted to talk to me alone, and -that he would stroll out and see some of the old places, and then I -could tell her what plan we thought desirable. Just before we -went out, she called me back and said, “Remember, dear, I’m -the only one left - I mean, there’s no one to be hurt by what -I do. I’m willing to do anything that’s right and -honest; and I don’t think, if Deborah knows where she is, she’ll -care so very much if I’m not genteel; because, you see, she’ll -know all, dear. Only let me see what I can do, and pay the poor -people as far as I’m able.”<br> -<br> -I gave her a hearty kiss, and ran after my father. The result -of our conversation was this. If all parties were agreeable, Martha -and Jem were to be married with as little delay as possible, and they -were to live on in Miss Matty’s present abode; the sum which the -Cranford ladies had agreed to contribute annually being sufficient to -meet the greater part of the rent, and leaving Martha free to appropriate -what Miss Matty should pay for her lodgings to any little extra comforts -required. About the sale, my father was dubious at first. -He said the old rectory furniture, however carefully used and reverently -treated, would fetch very little; and that little would be but as a -drop in the sea of the debts of the Town and County Bank. But -when I represented how Miss Matty’s tender conscience would be -soothed by feeling that she had done what she could, he gave way; especially -after I had told him the five-pound note adventure, and he had scolded -me well for allowing it. I then alluded to my idea that she might -add to her small income by selling tea; and, to my surprise (for I had -nearly given up the plan), my father grasped at it with all the energy -of a tradesman. I think he reckoned his chickens before they were -hatched, for he immediately ran up the profits of the sales that she -could effect in Cranford to more than twenty pounds a year. The -small dining-parlour was to be converted into a shop, without any of -its degrading characteristics; a table was to be the counter; one window -was to be retained unaltered, and the other changed into a glass door. -I evidently rose in his estimation for having made this bright suggestion. -I only hoped we should not both fall in Miss Matty’s.<br> -<br> -But she was patient and content with all our arrangements. She -knew, she said, that we should do the best we could for her; and she -only hoped, only stipulated, that she should pay every farthing that -she could be said to owe, for her father’s sake, who had been -so respected in Cranford. My father and I had agreed to say as -little as possible about the bank, indeed never to mention it again, -if it could be helped. Some of the plans were evidently a little -perplexing to her; but she had seen me sufficiently snubbed in the morning -for want of comprehension to venture on too many inquiries now; and -all passed over well with a hope on her part that no one would be hurried -into marriage on her account. When we came to the proposal that -she should sell tea, I could see it was rather a shock to her; not on -account of any personal loss of gentility involved, but only because -she distrusted her own powers of action in a new line of life, and would -timidly have preferred a little more privation to any exertion for which -she feared she was unfitted. However, when she saw my father was -bent upon it, she sighed, and said she would try; and if she did not -do well, of course she might give it up. One good thing about -it was, she did not think men ever bought tea; and it was of men particularly -she was afraid. They had such sharp loud ways with them; and did -up accounts, and counted their change so quickly! Now, if she -might only sell comfits to children, she was sure she could please them!<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -CHAPTER XV - A HAPPY RETURN<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -Before I left Miss Matty at Cranford everything had been comfortably -arranged for her. Even Mrs Jamieson’s approval of her selling -tea had been gained. That oracle had taken a few days to consider -whether by so doing Miss Matty would forfeit her right to the privileges -of society in Cranford. I think she had some little idea of mortifying -Lady Glenmire by the decision she gave at last; which was to this effect: -that whereas a married woman takes her husband’s rank by the strict -laws of precedence, an unmarried woman retains the station her father -occupied. So Cranford was allowed to visit Miss Matty; and, whether -allowed or not, it intended to visit Lady Glenmire.<br> -<br> -But what was our surprise - our dismay - when we learnt that Mr and -<i>Mrs Hoggins</i> were returning on the following Tuesday! Mrs -Hoggins! Had she absolutely dropped her title, and so, in a spirit -of bravado, cut the aristocracy to become a Hoggins! She, who -might have been called Lady Glenmire to her dying day! Mrs Jamieson -was pleased. She said it only convinced her of what she had known -from the first, that the creature had a low taste. But “the -creature” looked very happy on Sunday at church; nor did we see -it necessary to keep our veils down on that side of our bonnets on which -Mr and Mrs Hoggins sat, as Mrs Jamieson did; thereby missing all the -smiling glory of his face, and all the becoming blushes of hers. -I am not sure if Martha and Jem looked more radiant in the afternoon, -when they, too, made their first appearance. Mrs Jamieson soothed -the turbulence of her soul by having the blinds of her windows drawn -down, as if for a funeral, on the day when Mr and Mrs Hoggins received -callers; and it was with some difficulty that she was prevailed upon -to continue the <i>St James’s Chronicle</i>, so indignant was -she with its having inserted the announcement of the marriage.<br> -<br> -Miss Matty’s sale went off famously. She retained the furniture -of her sitting-room and bedroom; the former of which she was to occupy -till Martha could meet with a lodger who might wish to take it; and -into this sitting-room and bedroom she had to cram all sorts of things, -which were (the auctioneer assured her) bought in for her at the sale -by an unknown friend. I always suspected Mrs Fitz-Adam of this; -but she must have had an accessory, who knew what articles were particularly -regarded by Miss Matty on account of their associations with her early -days. The rest of the house looked rather bare, to be sure; all -except one tiny bedroom, of which my father allowed me to purchase the -furniture for my occasional use in case of Miss Matty’s illness.<br> -<br> -I had expended my own small store in buying all manner of comfits and -lozenges, in order to tempt the little people whom Miss Matty loved -so much to come about her. Tea in bright green canisters, and -comfits in tumblers - Miss Matty and I felt quite proud as we looked -round us on the evening before the shop was to be opened. Martha -had scoured the boarded floor to a white cleanness, and it was adorned -with a brilliant piece of oil-cloth, on which customers were to stand -before the table-counter. The wholesome smell of plaster and whitewash -pervaded the apartment. A very small “Matilda Jenkyns, licensed -to sell tea,” was hidden under the lintel of the new door, and -two boxes of tea, with cabalistic inscriptions all over them, stood -ready to disgorge their contents into the canisters.<br> -<br> -Miss Matty, as I ought to have mentioned before, had had some scruples -of conscience at selling tea when there was already Mr Johnson in the -town, who included it among his numerous commodities; and, before she -could quite reconcile herself to the adoption of her new business, she -had trotted down to his shop, unknown to me, to tell him of the project -that was entertained, and to inquire if it was likely to injure his -business. My father called this idea of hers “great nonsense,” -and “wondered how tradespeople were to get on if there was to -be a continual consulting of each other’s interests, which would -put a stop to all competition directly.” And, perhaps, it -would not have done in Drumble, but in Cranford it answered very well; -for not only did Mr Johnson kindly put at rest all Miss Matty’s -scruples and fear of injuring his business, but I have reason to know -he repeatedly sent customers to her, saying that the teas he kept were -of a common kind, but that Miss Jenkyns had all the choice sorts. -And expensive tea is a very favourite luxury with well-to-do tradespeople -and rich farmers’ wives, who turn up their noses at the Congou -and Souchong prevalent at many tables of gentility, and will have nothing -else than Gunpowder and Pekoe for themselves.<br> -<br> -But to return to Miss Matty. It was really very pleasant to see -how her unselfishness and simple sense of justice called out the same -good qualities in others. She never seemed to think any one would -impose upon her, because she should be so grieved to do it to them. -I have heard her put a stop to the asseverations of the man who brought -her coals by quietly saying, “I am sure you would be sorry to -bring me wrong weight;” and if the coals were short measure that -time, I don’t believe they ever were again. People would -have felt as much ashamed of presuming on her good faith as they would -have done on that of a child. But my father says “such simplicity -might be very well in Cranford, but would never do in the world.” -And I fancy the world must be very bad, for with all my father’s -suspicion of every one with whom he has dealings, and in spite of all -his many precautions, he lost upwards of a thousand pounds by roguery -only last year.<br> -<br> -I just stayed long enough to establish Miss Matty in her new mode of -life, and to pack up the library, which the rector had purchased. -He had written a very kind letter to Miss Matty, saying “how glad -he should be to take a library, so well selected as he knew that the -late Mr Jenkyns’s must have been, at any valuation put upon them.” -And when she agreed to this, with a touch of sorrowful gladness that -they would go back to the rectory and be arranged on the accustomed -walls once more, he sent word that he feared that he had not room for -them all, and perhaps Miss Matty would kindly allow him to leave some -volumes on her shelves. But Miss Matty said that she had her Bible -and “Johnson’s Dictionary,” and should not have much -time for reading, she was afraid; still, I retained a few books out -of consideration for the rector’s kindness.<br> -<br> -The money which he had paid, and that produced by the sale, was partly -expended in the stock of tea, and part of it was invested against a -rainy day - <i>i.e</i>. old age or illness. It was but a small -sum, it is true; and it occasioned a few evasions of truth and white -lies (all of which I think very wrong indeed - in theory - and would -rather not put them in practice), for we knew Miss Matty would be perplexed -as to her duty if she were aware of any little reserve - fund being -made for her while the debts of the bank remained unpaid. Moreover, -she had never been told of the way in which her friends were contributing -to pay the rent. I should have liked to tell her this, but the -mystery of the affair gave a piquancy to their deed of kindness which -the ladies were unwilling to give up; and at first Martha had to shirk -many a perplexed question as to her ways and means of living in such -a house, but by-and-by Miss Matty’s prudent uneasiness sank down -into acquiescence with the existing arrangement.<br> -<br> -I left Miss Matty with a good heart. Her sales of tea during the -first two days had surpassed my most sanguine expectations. The -whole country round seemed to be all out of tea at once. The only -alteration I could have desired in Miss Matty’s way of doing business -was, that she should not have so plaintively entreated some of her customers -not to buy green tea - running it down as a slow poison, sure to destroy -the nerves, and produce all manner of evil. Their pertinacity -in taking it, in spite of all her warnings, distressed her so much that -I really thought she would relinquish the sale of it, and so lose half -her custom; and I was driven to my wits’ end for instances of -longevity entirely attributable to a persevering use of green tea. -But the final argument, which settled the question, was a happy reference -of mine to the train-oil and tallow candles which the Esquimaux not -only enjoy but digest. After that she acknowledged that “one -man’s meat might be another man’s poison,” and contented -herself thence-forward with an occasional remonstrance when she thought -the purchaser was too young and innocent to be acquainted with the evil -effects green tea produced on some constitutions, and an habitual sigh -when people old enough to choose more wisely would prefer it.<br> -<br> -I went over from Drumble once a quarter at least to settle the accounts, -and see after the necessary business letters. And, speaking of -letters, I began to be very much ashamed of remembering my letter to -the Aga Jenkyns, and very glad I had never named my writing to any one. -I only hoped the letter was lost. No answer came. No sign -was made.<br> -<br> -About a year after Miss Matty set up shop, I received one of Martha’s -hieroglyphics, begging me to come to Cranford very soon. I was -afraid that Miss Matty was ill, and went off that very afternoon, and -took Martha by surprise when she saw me on opening the door. We -went into the kitchen as usual, to have our confidential conference, -and then Martha told me she was expecting her confinement very soon -- in a week or two; and she did not think Miss Matty was aware of it, -and she wanted me to break the news to her, “for indeed, miss,” -continued Martha, crying hysterically, “I’m afraid she won’t -approve of it, and I’m sure I don’t know who is to take -care of her as she should be taken care of when I am laid up.”<br> -<br> -I comforted Martha by telling her I would remain till she was about -again, and only wished she had told me her reason for this sudden summons, -as then I would have brought the requisite stock of clothes. But -Martha was so tearful and tender-spirited, and unlike her usual self, -that I said as little as possible about myself, and endeavoured rather -to comfort Martha under all the probable and possible misfortunes which -came crowding upon her imagination.<br> -<br> -I then stole out of the house-door, and made my appearance as if I were -a customer in the shop, just to take Miss Matty by surprise, and gain -an idea of how she looked in her new situation. It was warm May -weather, so only the little half-door was closed; and Miss Matty sat -behind the counter, knitting an elaborate pair of garters; elaborate -they seemed to me, but the difficult stitch was no weight upon her mind, -for she was singing in a low voice to herself as her needles went rapidly -in and out. I call it singing, but I dare say a musician would -not use that word to the tuneless yet sweet humming of the low worn -voice. I found out from the words, far more than from the attempt -at the tune, that it was the Old Hundredth she was crooning to herself; -but the quiet continuous sound told of content, and gave me a pleasant -feeling, as I stood in the street just outside the door, quite in harmony -with that soft May morning. I went in. At first she did -not catch who it was, and stood up as if to serve me; but in another -minute watchful pussy had clutched her knitting, which was dropped in -eager joy at seeing me. I found, after we had had a little conversation, -that it was as Martha said, and that Miss Matty had no idea of the approaching -household event. So I thought I would let things take their course, -secure that when I went to her with the baby in my arms, I should obtain -that forgiveness for Martha which she was needlessly frightening herself -into believing that Miss Matty would withhold, under some notion that -the new claimant would require attentions from its mother that it would -be faithless treason to Miss Matty to render.<br> -<br> -But I was right. I think that must be an hereditary quality, for -my father says he is scarcely ever wrong. One morning, within -a week after I arrived, I went to call Miss Matty, with a little bundle -of flannel in my arms. She was very much awe-struck when I showed -her what it was, and asked for her spectacles off the dressing-table, -and looked at it curiously, with a sort of tender wonder at its small -perfection of parts. She could not banish the thought of the surprise -all day, but went about on tiptoe, and was very silent. But she -stole up to see Martha and they both cried with joy, and she got into -a complimentary speech to Jem, and did not know how to get out of it -again, and was only extricated from her dilemma by the sound of the -shop-bell, which was an equal relief to the shy, proud, honest Jem, -who shook my hand so vigorously when I congratulated him, that I think -I feel the pain of it yet.<br> -<br> -I had a busy life while Martha was laid up. I attended on Miss -Matty, and prepared her meals; I cast up her accounts, and examined -into the state of her canisters and tumblers. I helped her, too, -occasionally, in the shop; and it gave me no small amusement, and sometimes -a little uneasiness, to watch her ways there. If a little child -came in to ask for an ounce of almond-comfits (and four of the large -kind which Miss Matty sold weighed that much), she always added one -more by “way of make-weight,” as she called it, although -the scale was handsomely turned before; and when I remonstrated against -this, her reply was, “The little things like it so much!” -There was no use in telling her that the fifth comfit weighed a quarter -of an ounce, and made every sale into a loss to her pocket. So -I remembered the green tea, and winged my shaft with a feather out of -her own plumage. I told her how unwholesome almond-comfits were, -and how ill excess in them might make the little children. This -argument produced some effect; for, henceforward, instead of the fifth -comfit, she always told them to hold out their tiny palms, into which -she shook either peppermint or ginger lozenges, as a preventive to the -dangers that might arise from the previous sale. Altogether the -lozenge trade, conducted on these principles, did not promise to be -remunerative; but I was happy to find she had made more than twenty -pounds during the last year by her sales of tea; and, moreover, that -now she was accustomed to it, she did not dislike the employment, which -brought her into kindly intercourse with many of the people round about. -If she gave them good weight, they, in their turn, brought many a little -country present to the “old rector’s daughter”; a -cream cheese, a few new-laid eggs, a little fresh ripe fruit, a bunch -of flowers. The counter was quite loaded with these offerings -sometimes, as she told me.<br> -<br> -As for Cranford in general, it was going on much as usual. The -Jamieson and Hoggins feud still raged, if a feud it could be called, -when only one side cared much about it. Mr and Mrs Hoggins were -very happy together, and, like most very happy people, quite ready to -be friendly; indeed, Mrs Hoggins was really desirous to be restored -to Mrs Jamieson’s good graces, because of the former intimacy. -But Mrs Jamieson considered their very happiness an insult to the Glenmire -family, to which she had still the honour to belong, and she doggedly -refused and rejected every advance. Mr Mulliner, like a faithful -clansman, espoused his mistress’ side with ardour. If he -saw either Mr or Mrs Hoggins, he would cross the street, and appear -absorbed in the contemplation of life in general, and his own path in -particular, until he had passed them by. Miss Pole used to amuse -herself with wondering what in the world Mrs Jamieson would do, if either -she, or Mr Mulliner, or any other member of her household was taken -ill; she could hardly have the face to call in Mr Hoggins after the -way she had behaved to them. Miss Pole grew quite impatient for -some indisposition or accident to befall Mrs Jamieson or her dependents, -in order that Cranford might see how she would act under the perplexing -circumstances.<br> -<br> -Martha was beginning to go about again, and I had already fixed a limit, -not very far distant, to my visit, when one afternoon, as I was sitting -in the shop-parlour with Miss Matty - I remember the weather was colder -now than it had been in May, three weeks before, and we had a fire and -kept the door fully closed - we saw a gentleman go slowly past the window, -and then stand opposite to the door, as if looking out for the name -which we had so carefully hidden. He took out a double eyeglass -and peered about for some time before he could discover it. Then -he came in. And, all on a sudden, it flashed across me that it -was the Aga himself! For his clothes had an out-of-the-way foreign -cut about them, and his face was deep brown, as if tanned and re-tanned -by the sun. His complexion contrasted oddly with his plentiful -snow-white hair, his eyes were dark and piercing, and he had an odd -way of contracting them and puckering up his cheeks into innumerable -wrinkles when he looked earnestly at objects. He did so to Miss -Matty when he first came in. His glance had first caught and lingered -a little upon me, but then turned, with the peculiar searching look -I have described, to Miss Matty. She was a little fluttered and -nervous, but no more so than she always was when any man came into her -shop. She thought that he would probably have a note, or a sovereign -at least, for which she would have to give change, which was an operation -she very much disliked to perform. But the present customer stood -opposite to her, without asking for anything, only looking fixedly at -her as he drummed upon the table with his fingers, just for all the -world as Miss Jenkyns used to do. Miss Matty was on the point -of asking him what he wanted (as she told me afterwards), when he turned -sharp to me: “Is your name Mary Smith?”<br> -<br> -“Yes!” said I.<br> -<br> -All my doubts as to his identity were set at rest, and I only wondered -what he would say or do next, and how Miss Matty would stand the joyful -shock of what he had to reveal. Apparently he was at a loss how -to announce himself, for he looked round at last in search of something -to buy, so as to gain time, and, as it happened, his eye caught on the -almond-comfits, and he boldly asked for a pound of “those things.” -I doubt if Miss Matty had a whole pound in the shop, and, besides the -unusual magnitude of the order, she was distressed with the idea of -the indigestion they would produce, taken in such unlimited quantities. -She looked up to remonstrate. Something of tender relaxation in -his face struck home to her heart. She said, “It is - oh, -sir! can you be Peter?” and trembled from head to foot. -In a moment he was round the table and had her in his arms, sobbing -the tearless cries of old age. I brought her a glass of wine, -for indeed her colour had changed so as to alarm me and Mr Peter too. -He kept saying, “I have been too sudden for you, Matty - I have, -my little girl.”<br> -<br> -I proposed that she should go at once up into the drawing-room and lie -down on the sofa there. She looked wistfully at her brother, whose -hand she had held tight, even when nearly fainting; but on his assuring -her that he would not leave her, she allowed him to carry her upstairs.<br> -<br> -I thought that the best I could do was to run and put the kettle on -the fire for early tea, and then to attend to the shop, leaving the -brother and sister to exchange some of the many thousand things they -must have to say. I had also to break the news to Martha, who -received it with a burst of tears which nearly infected me. She -kept recovering herself to ask if I was sure it was indeed Miss Matty’s -brother, for I had mentioned that he had grey hair, and she had always -heard that he was a very handsome young man. Something of the -same kind perplexed Miss Matty at tea-time, when she was installed in -the great easy-chair opposite to Mr Jenkyns in order to gaze her fill. -She could hardly drink for looking at him, and as for eating, that was -out of the question.<br> -<br> -“I suppose hot climates age people very quickly,” said she, -almost to herself. “When you left Cranford you had not a -grey hair in your head.”<br> -<br> -“But how many years ago is that?” said Mr Peter, smiling.<br> -<br> -“Ah, true! yes, I suppose you and I are getting old. But -still I did not think we were so very old! But white hair is very -becoming to you, Peter,” she continued - a little afraid lest -she had hurt him by revealing how his appearance had impressed her.<br> -<br> -“I suppose I forgot dates too, Matty, for what do you think I -have brought for you from India? I have an Indian muslin gown -and a pearl necklace for you somewhere in my chest at Portsmouth.” -He smiled as if amused at the idea of the incongruity of his presents -with the appearance of his sister; but this did not strike her all at -once, while the elegance of the articles did. I could see that -for a moment her imagination dwelt complacently on the idea of herself -thus attired; and instinctively she put her hand up to her throat - -that little delicate throat which (as Miss Pole had told me) had been -one of her youthful charms; but the hand met the touch of folds of soft -muslin in which she was always swathed up to her chin, and the sensation -recalled a sense of the unsuitableness of a pearl necklace to her age. -She said, “I’m afraid I’m too old; but it was very -kind of you to think of it. They are just what I should have liked -years ago - when I was young.”<br> -<br> -“So I thought, my little Matty. I remembered your tastes; -they were so like my dear mother’s.” At the mention -of that name the brother and sister clasped each other’s hands -yet more fondly, and, although they were perfectly silent, I fancied -they might have something to say if they were unchecked by my presence, -and I got up to arrange my room for Mr Peter’s occupation that -night, intending myself to share Miss Matty’s bed. But at -my movement, he started up. “I must go and settle about -a room at the ‘George.’ My carpet-bag is there too.”<br> -<br> -“No!” said Miss Matty, in great distress - “you must -not go; please, dear Peter - pray, Mary - oh! you must not go!”<br> -<br> -She was so much agitated that we both promised everything she wished. -Peter sat down again and gave her his hand, which for better security -she held in both of hers, and I left the room to accomplish my arrangements.<br> -<br> -Long, long into the night, far, far into the morning, did Miss Matty -and I talk. She had much to tell me of her brother’s life -and adventures, which he had communicated to her as they had sat alone. -She said all was thoroughly clear to her; but I never quite understood -the whole story; and when in after days I lost my awe of Mr Peter enough -to question him myself, he laughed at my curiosity, and told me stories -that sounded so very much like Baron Munchausen’s, that I was -sure he was making fun of me. What I heard from Miss Matty was -that he had been a volunteer at the siege of Rangoon; had been taken -prisoner by the Burmese; and somehow obtained favour and eventual freedom -from knowing how to bleed the chief of the small tribe in some case -of dangerous illness; that on his release from years of captivity he -had had his letters returned from England with the ominous word “Dead” -marked upon them; and, believing himself to be the last of his race, -he had settled down as an indigo planter, and had proposed to spend -the remainder of his life in the country to whose inhabitants and modes -of life he had become habituated, when my letter had reached him; and, -with the odd vehemence which characterised him in age as it had done -in youth, he had sold his land and all his possessions to the first -purchaser, and come home to the poor old sister, who was more glad and -rich than any princess when she looked at him. She talked me to -sleep at last, and then I was awakened by a slight sound at the door, -for which she begged my pardon as she crept penitently into bed; but -it seems that when I could no longer confirm her belief that the long-lost -was really here - under the same roof - she had begun to fear lest it -was only a waking dream of hers; that there never had been a Peter sitting -by her all that blessed evening - but that the real Peter lay dead far -away beneath some wild sea-wave, or under some strange eastern tree. -And so strong had this nervous feeling of hers become, that she was -fain to get up and go and convince herself that he was really there -by listening through the door to his even, regular breathing - I don’t -like to call it snoring, but I heard it myself through two closed doors -- and by-and-by it soothed Miss Matty to sleep.<br> -<br> -I don’t believe Mr Peter came home from India as rich as a nabob; -he even considered himself poor, but neither he nor Miss Matty cared -much about that. At any rate, he had enough to live upon “very -genteelly” at Cranford; he and Miss Matty together. And -a day or two after his arrival, the shop was closed, while troops of -little urchins gleefully awaited the shower of comfits and lozenges -that came from time to time down upon their faces as they stood up-gazing -at Miss Matty’s drawing-room windows. Occasionally Miss -Matty would say to them (half-hidden behind the curtains), “My -dear children, don’t make yourselves ill;” but a strong -arm pulled her back, and a more rattling shower than ever succeeded. -A part of the tea was sent in presents to the Cranford ladies; and some -of it was distributed among the old people who remembered Mr Peter in -the days of his frolicsome youth. The Indian muslin gown was reserved -for darling Flora Gordon (Miss Jessie Brown’s daughter). -The Gordons had been on the Continent for the last few years, but were -now expected to return very soon; and Miss Matty, in her sisterly pride, -anticipated great delight in the joy of showing them Mr Peter. -The pearl necklace disappeared; and about that time many handsome and -useful presents made their appearance in the households of Miss Pole -and Mrs Forrester; and some rare and delicate Indian ornaments graced -the drawing-rooms of Mrs Jamieson and Mrs Fitz-Adam. I myself -was not forgotten. Among other things, I had the handsomest-bound -and best edition of Dr Johnson’s works that could be procured; -and dear Miss Matty, with tears in her eyes, begged me to consider it -as a present from her sister as well as herself. In short, no -one was forgotten; and, what was more, every one, however insignificant, -who had shown kindness to Miss Matty at any time, was sure of Mr Peter’s -cordial regard.<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -CHAPTER XVI - PEACE TO CRANFORD<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -It was not surprising that Mr Peter became such a favourite at Cranford. -The ladies vied with each other who should admire him most; and no wonder, -for their quiet lives were astonishingly stirred up by the arrival from -India - especially as the person arrived told more wonderful stories -than Sindbad the Sailor; and, as Miss Pole said, was quite as good as -an Arabian Night any evening. For my own part, I had vibrated -all my life between Drumble and Cranford, and I thought it was quite -possible that all Mr Peter’s stories might be true, although wonderful; -but when I found that, if we swallowed an anecdote of tolerable magnitude -one week, we had the dose considerably increased the next, I began to -have my doubts; especially as I noticed that when his sister was present -the accounts of Indian life were comparatively tame; not that she knew -more than we did, perhaps less. I noticed also that when the rector -came to call, Mr Peter talked in a different way about the countries -he had been in. But I don’t think the ladies in Cranford -would have considered him such a wonderful traveller if they had only -heard him talk in the quiet way he did to him. They liked him -the better, indeed, for being what they called “so very Oriental.”<br> -<br> -One day, at a select party in his honour, which Miss Pole gave, and -from which, as Mrs Jamieson honoured it with her presence, and had even -offered to send Mr Mulliner to wait, Mr and Mrs Hoggins and Mrs Fitz-Adam -were necessarily - excluded one day at Miss Pole’s, Mr Peter said -he was tired of sitting upright against the hard-backed uneasy chairs, -and asked if he might not indulge himself in sitting cross-legged. -Miss Pole’s consent was eagerly given, and down he went with the -utmost gravity. But when Miss Pole asked me, in an audible whisper, -“if he did not remind me of the Father of the Faithful?” -I could not help thinking of poor Simon Jones, the lame tailor, and -while Mrs Jamieson slowly commented on the elegance and convenience -of the attitude, I remembered how we had all followed that lady’s -lead in condemning Mr Hoggins for vulgarity because he simply crossed -his legs as he sat still on his chair. Many of Mr Peter’s -ways of eating were a little strange amongst such ladies as Miss Pole, -and Miss Matty, and Mrs Jamieson, especially when I recollected the -untasted green peas and two-pronged forks at poor Mr Holbrook’s -dinner.<br> -<br> -The mention of that gentleman’s name recalls to my mind a conversation -between Mr Peter and Miss Matty one evening in the summer after he returned -to Cranford. The day had been very hot, and Miss Matty had been -much oppressed by the weather, in the heat of which her brother revelled. -I remember that she had been unable to nurse Martha’s baby, which -had become her favourite employment of late, and which was as much at -home in her arms as in its mother’s, as long as it remained a -light-weight, portable by one so fragile as Miss Matty. This day -to which I refer, Miss Matty had seemed more than usually feeble and -languid, and only revived when the sun went down, and her sofa was wheeled -to the open window, through which, although it looked into the principal -street of Cranford, the fragrant smell of the neighbouring hayfields -came in every now and then, borne by the soft breezes that stirred the -dull air of the summer twilight, and then died away. The silence -of the sultry atmosphere was lost in the murmuring noises which came -in from many an open window and door; even the children were abroad -in the street, late as it was (between ten and eleven), enjoying the -game of play for which they had not had spirits during the heat of the -day. It was a source of satisfaction to Miss Matty to see how -few candles were lighted, even in the apartments of those houses from -which issued the greatest signs of life. Mr Peter, Miss Matty, -and I had all been quiet, each with a separate reverie, for some little -time, when Mr Peter broke in -<br> -<br> -“Do you know, little Matty, I could have sworn you were on the -high road to matrimony when I left England that last time! If -anybody had told me you would have lived and died an old maid then, -I should have laughed in their faces.”<br> -<br> -Miss Matty made no reply, and I tried in vain to think of some subject -which should effectually turn the conversation; but I was very stupid; -and before I spoke he went on -<br> -<br> -“It was Holbrook, that fine manly fellow who lived at Woodley, -that I used to think would carry off my little Matty. You would -not think it now, I dare say, Mary; but this sister of mine was once -a very pretty girl - at least, I thought so, and so I’ve a notion -did poor Holbrook. What business had he to die before I came home -to thank him for all his kindness to a good-for-nothing cub as I was? -It was that that made me first think he cared for you; for in all our -fishing expeditions it was Matty, Matty, we talked about. Poor -Deborah! What a lecture she read me on having asked him home to -lunch one day, when she had seen the Arley carriage in the town, and -thought that my lady might call. Well, that’s long years -ago; more than half a life-time, and yet it seems like yesterday! -I don’t know a fellow I should have liked better as a brother-in-law. -You must have played your cards badly, my little Matty, somehow or another -- wanted your brother to be a good go-between, eh, little one?” -said he, putting out his hand to take hold of hers as she lay on the -sofa. “Why, what’s this? you’re shivering and -shaking, Matty, with that confounded open window. Shut it, Mary, -this minute!”<br> -<br> -I did so, and then stooped down to kiss Miss Matty, and see if she really -were chilled. She caught at my hand, and gave it a hard squeeze -- but unconsciously, I think - for in a minute or two she spoke to us -quite in her usual voice, and smiled our uneasiness away, although she -patiently submitted to the prescriptions we enforced of a warm bed and -a glass of weak negus. I was to leave Cranford the next day, and -before I went I saw that all the effects of the open window had quite -vanished. I had superintended most of the alterations necessary -in the house and household during the latter weeks of my stay. -The shop was once more a parlour: the empty resounding rooms again furnished -up to the very garrets.<br> -<br> -There had been some talk of establishing Martha and Jem in another house, -but Miss Matty would not hear of this. Indeed, I never saw her -so much roused as when Miss Pole had assumed it to be the most desirable -arrangement. As long as Martha would remain with Miss Matty, Miss -Matty was only too thankful to have her about her; yes, and Jem too, -who was a very pleasant man to have in the house, for she never saw -him from week’s end to week’s end. And as for the -probable children, if they would all turn out such little darlings as -her god-daughter, Matilda, she should not mind the number, if Martha -didn’t. Besides, the next was to be called Deborah - a point -which Miss Matty had reluctantly yielded to Martha’s stubborn -determination that her first-born was to be Matilda. So Miss Pole -had to lower her colours, and even her voice, as she said to me that, -as Mr and Mrs Hearn were still to go on living in the same house with -Miss Matty, we had certainly done a wise thing in hiring Martha’s -niece as an auxiliary.<br> -<br> -I left Miss Matty and Mr Peter most comfortable and contented; the only -subject for regret to the tender heart of the one, and the social friendly -nature of the other, being the unfortunate quarrel between Mrs Jamieson -and the plebeian Hogginses and their following. In joke, I prophesied -one day that this would only last until Mrs Jamieson or Mr Mulliner -were ill, in which case they would only be too glad to be friends with -Mr Hoggins; but Miss Matty did not like my looking forward to anything -like illness in so light a manner, and before the year was out all had -come round in a far more satisfactory way.<br> -<br> -I received two Cranford letters on one auspicious October morning. -Both Miss Pole and Miss Matty wrote to ask me to come over and meet -the Gordons, who had returned to England alive and well with their two -children, now almost grown up. Dear Jessie Brown had kept her -old kind nature, although she had changed her name and station; and -she wrote to say that she and Major Gordon expected to be in Cranford -on the fourteenth, and she hoped and begged to be remembered to Mrs -Jamieson (named first, as became her honourable station), Miss Pole -and Miss Matty - could she ever forget their kindness to her poor father -and sister? - Mrs Forrester, Mr Hoggins (and here again came in an allusion -to kindness shown to the dead long ago), his new wife, who as such must -allow Mrs Gordon to desire to make her acquaintance, and who was, moreover, -an old Scotch friend of her husband’s. In short, every one -was named, from the rector - who had been appointed to Cranford in the -interim between Captain Brown’s death and Miss Jessie’s -marriage, and was now associated with the latter event - down to Miss -Betty Barker. All were asked to the luncheon; all except Mrs Fitz-Adam, -who had come to live in Cranford since Miss Jessie Brown’s days, -and whom I found rather moping on account of the omission. People -wondered at Miss Betty Barker’s being included in the honourable -list; but, then, as Miss Pole said, we must remember the disregard of -the genteel proprieties of life in which the poor captain had educated -his girls, and for his sake we swallowed our pride. Indeed, Mrs -Jamieson rather took it as a compliment, as putting Miss Betty (formerly -<i>her</i> maid) on a level with “those Hogginses.”<br> -<br> -But when I arrived in Cranford, nothing was as yet ascertained of Mrs -Jamieson’s own intentions; would the honourable lady go, or would -she not? Mr Peter declared that she should and she would; Miss -Pole shook her head and desponded. But Mr Peter was a man of resources. -In the first place, he persuaded Miss Matty to write to Mrs Gordon, -and to tell her of Mrs Fitz-Adam’s existence, and to beg that -one so kind, and cordial, and generous, might be included in the pleasant -invitation. An answer came back by return of post, with a pretty -little note for Mrs Fitz-Adam, and a request that Miss Matty would deliver -it herself and explain the previous omission. Mrs Fitz-Adam was -as pleased as could be, and thanked Miss Matty over and over again. -Mr Peter had said, “Leave Mrs Jamieson to me;” so we did; -especially as we knew nothing that we could do to alter her determination -if once formed.<br> -<br> -I did not know, nor did Miss Matty, how things were going on, until -Miss Pole asked me, just the day before Mrs Gordon came, if I thought -there was anything between Mr Peter and Mrs Jamieson in the matrimonial -line, for that Mrs Jamieson was really going to the lunch at the “George.” -She had sent Mr Mulliner down to desire that there might be a footstool -put to the warmest seat in the room, as she meant to come, and knew -that their chairs were very high. Miss Pole had picked this piece -of news up, and from it she conjectured all sorts of things, and bemoaned -yet more. “If Peter should marry, what would become of poor -dear Miss Matty? And Mrs Jamieson, of all people!” -Miss Pole seemed to think there were other ladies in Cranford who would -have done more credit to his choice, and I think she must have had someone -who was unmarried in her head, for she kept saying, “It was so -wanting in delicacy in a widow to think of such a thing.”<br> -<br> -When I got back to Miss Matty’s I really did begin to think that -Mr Peter might be thinking of Mrs Jamieson for a wife, and I was as -unhappy as Miss Pole about it. He had the proof sheet of a great -placard in his hand. “Signor Brunoni, Magician to the King -of Delhi, the Rajah of Oude, and the great Lama of Thibet,” &c. -&c., was going to “perform in Cranford for one night only,” -the very next night; and Miss Matty, exultant, showed me a letter from -the Gordons, promising to remain over this gaiety, which Miss Matty -said was entirely Peter’s doing. He had written to ask the -signor to come, and was to be at all the expenses of the affair. -Tickets were to be sent gratis to as many as the room would hold. -In short, Miss Matty was charmed with the plan, and said that to-morrow -Cranford would remind her of the Preston Guild, to which she had been -in her youth - a luncheon at the “George,” with the dear -Gordons, and the signor in the Assembly Room in the evening. But -I - I looked only at the fatal words:-<br> -<br> -<br> -“<i>Under the Patronage of the</i> HONOURABLE MRS JAMIESON.”<br> -<br> -<br> -She, then, was chosen to preside over this entertainment of Mr Peter’s; -she was perhaps going to displace my dear Miss Matty in his heart, and -make her life lonely once more! I could not look forward to the -morrow with any pleasure; and every innocent anticipation of Miss Matty’s -only served to add to my annoyance.<br> -<br> -So, angry and irritated, and exaggerating every little incident which -could add to my irritation, I went on till we were all assembled in -the great parlour at the “George.” Major and Mrs Gordon -and pretty Flora and Mr Ludovic were all as bright and handsome and -friendly as could be; but I could hardly attend to them for watching -Mr Peter, and I saw that Miss Pole was equally busy. I had never -seen Mrs Jamieson so roused and animated before; her face looked full -of interest in what Mr Peter was saying. I drew near to listen. -My relief was great when I caught that his words were not words of love, -but that, for all his grave face, he was at his old tricks. He -was telling her of his travels in India, and describing the wonderful -height of the Himalaya mountains: one touch after another added to their -size, and each exceeded the former in absurdity; but Mrs Jamieson really -enjoyed all in perfect good faith. I suppose she required strong -stimulants to excite her to come out of her apathy. Mr Peter wound -up his account by saying that, of course, at that altitude there were -none of the animals to be found that existed in the lower regions; the -game, - everything was different. Firing one day at some flying -creature, he was very much dismayed when it fell, to find that he had -shot a cherubim! Mr Peter caught my eye at this moment, and gave -me such a funny twinkle, that I felt sure he had no thoughts of Mrs -Jamieson as a wife from that time. She looked uncomfortably amazed --<br> -<br> -“But, Mr Peter, shooting a cherubim - don’t you think - -I am afraid that was sacrilege!”<br> -<br> -Mr Peter composed his countenance in a moment, and appeared shocked -at the idea, which, as he said truly enough, was now presented to him -for the first time; but then Mrs Jamieson must remember that he had -been living for a long time among savages - all of whom were heathens -- some of them, he was afraid, were downright Dissenters. Then, -seeing Miss Matty draw near, he hastily changed the conversation, and -after a little while, turning to me, he said, “Don’t be -shocked, prim little Mary, at all my wonderful stories. I consider -Mrs Jamieson fair game, and besides I am bent on propitiating her, and -the first step towards it is keeping her well awake. I bribed -her here by asking her to let me have her name as patroness for my poor -conjuror this evening; and I don’t want to give her time enough -to get up her rancour against the Hogginses, who are just coming in. -I want everybody to be friends, for it harasses Matty so much to hear -of these quarrels. I shall go at it again by-and-by, so you need -not look shocked. I intend to enter the Assembly Room to-night -with Mrs Jamieson on one side, and my lady, Mrs Hoggins, on the other. -You see if I don’t.”<br> -<br> -Somehow or another he did; and fairly got them into conversation together. -Major and Mrs Gordon helped at the good work with their perfect ignorance -of any existing coolness between any of the inhabitants of Cranford.<br> -<br> -Ever since that day there has been the old friendly sociability in Cranford -society; which I am thankful for, because of my dear Miss Matty’s -love of peace and kindliness. 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