Framley Parsonage

by Anthony Trollope

  ‘Dear me!’ said Lady Lufton. ‘I declare you have been very prompt. And so Miss Robarts is over there! I should have thought Mr Crawley would have made a difficulty about the children.’

  ‘Well, he did; but they kidnapped them, – that is, Lucy and Mark did. The dean gave me such an account of it. Lucy brought them out by two’s and packed them in the pony-carriage, and then Mark drove off at a gallop while Mr Crawley stood calling to them in the road. The dean was there at the time and saw it all.’

  ‘That Miss Lucy of yours seems to be a very determined young lady when she takes a thing into her head,’ said Lady Lufton, now sitting down for the first time.

  ‘Yes, she is,’ said Mrs Robarts, having laid aside all her pleasant animation, for the discussion which she dreaded was now at hand.

  ‘A very determined young lady,’ continued Lady Lufton. ‘Of course, my dear Fanny, you know all this about Ludovic and your sister-in-law?’

  ‘Yes, she has told me about it.’

  ‘It is very unfortunate – very.’

  ‘I do not think Lucy has been to blame,’ said Mrs Robarts; and as she spoke the blood was already mounting to her cheeks.

  ‘Do not be too anxious to defend her, my dear, before any one accuses her. Whenever a person does that it looks as though their cause were weak.’

  ‘But my cause is not weak as far as Lucy is concerned; I feel quite sure that she has not been to blame.’

  ‘I know how obstinate you can be, Fanny, when you think it necessary to dub yourself any one’s champion. Don Quixote was not a better knight-errant than you are. But is it not a pity to take up your lance and shield before an enemy is within sight or hearing? But that was ever the way with your Don Quixotes.’

  ‘Perhaps there may be an enemy in ambush.’ That was Mrs Robarts’ thought to herself, but she did not dare to express it, so she remained silent.

  ‘My only hope is,’ continued Lady Lufton, ‘that when my back is turned you fight as gallantly for me.’

  ‘Ah, you are never under a cloud, like poor Lucy.’

  ‘Am I not? But, Fanny, you do not see all the clouds. The sun does not always shine for any of us, and the down-pouring rain and the heavy wind scatter also my fairest flowers, – as they have done hers, poor girl. Dear Fanny, I hope it may be long before any cloud comes across the brightness of your heaven. Of all the creatures I know you are the one most fitted for quiet continued sunshine.’

  And then Mrs Robarts did get up and embrace her friend, thus hiding the tears which were running down her face. Continued sunshine indeed! A dark spot had already gathered on her horizon which was likely to fall in a very waterspout of rain. What was to come of that terrible notice which was now lying in the desk under Lady Lufton’s very arm?

  ‘But I am not come here to croak like an old raven,’ continued Lady Lufton, when she had brought this embrace to an end. ‘It is probable that we all may have our sorrows; but I am quite sure of this, – that if we endeavour to do our duties honestly, we shall all find our consolation and all have our joys also. And now, my dear, let you and I say a few words about this unfortunate affair. It would not be natural if we were to hold our tongues to each other; would it?’

  ‘I suppose not,’ said Mrs Robarts.

  ‘We should always be conceiving worse than the truth, – each as to the other’s thoughts. Now, some time ago, when I spoke to you about your sister-in-law and Ludovic – I daresay you remember –’

  ‘Oh, yes, I remember.’

  ‘We both thought then that there would really be no danger. To tell you the plain truth I fancied, and indeed hoped, that his affections were engaged elsewhere; but I was altogether wrong then; wrong in thinking it, and wrong in hoping it.’

  Mrs Robarts knew well that Lady Lufton was alluding to Griselda Grantly, but she conceived that it would be discreet to say nothing herself on that subject at present. She remembered, however, Lucy’s flashing eye when the possibility of Lord Lufton making such a marriage was spoken of in the pony-carriage, and could not but feel glad that Lady Lufton had been disappointed.

  ‘I do not at all impute any blame to Miss Robarts for what has occurred since,’ continued her ladyship. ‘I wish you distinctly to understand that.’

  ‘I do not see how any one could blame her. She has behaved so nobly.’

  ‘It is of no use inquiring whether any one can. It is sufficient that I do not.’

  ‘But I think that is hardly sufficient,’ said Mrs Robarts, pertinaciously.

  ‘Is it not?’ asked her ladyship, raising her eyebrows.

  ‘No. Only think what Lucy has done and is doing. If she had chosen to say that she would accept your son I really do not know how you could have justly blamed her. I do not by any means say that I would have advised such a thing.’

  ‘I am glad of that, Fanny.’

  ‘I have not given any advice; nor is it needed. I know no one more able than Lucy to see clearly, by her own judgment, what course she ought to pursue. I should be afraid to advise one whose mind is so strong, and who, of her own nature, is so self-denying as she is. She is sacrificing herself now, because she will not be the means of bringing trouble and dissension between you and your son. If you ask me, Lady Lufton, I think you owe her a deep debt of gratitude. I do indeed. And as for blaming her – what has she done that you possibly could blame?’

  ‘Don Quixote on horseback!’ said Lady Lufton. ‘Fanny, I shall always call you Don Quixote, and some day or other I will get somebody to write your adventures. But the truth is this, my dear: there has been imprudence. You may call it mine, if you will – though I really hardly see how I am to take the blame. I could not do other than ask Miss Robarts to my house, and I could not very well turn my son out of it. In point of fact, it has been the old story.’

  ‘Exactly; the story that is as old as the world, and which will continue as long as people are born into it. It is a story of God’s own telling!’

  ‘But, my dear child, you do not mean that every young gentleman and every young lady should fall in love with each other directly they meet! Such a doctrine would be very inconvenient.’

  ‘No, I do not mean that. Lord Lufton and Miss Grantly did not fall in love with each other, though you meant them to do so. But was it not quite as natural that Lord Lufton and Lucy should do so instead?’

  ‘It is generally thought, Fanny, that young ladies should not give loose to their affections until they have been certified of their friends’ approval.’

  ‘And that young gentlemen of fortune may amuse themselves as they please! I know that is what the world teaches, but I cannot agree to the justice of it. The terrible suffering which Lucy has to endure makes me cry out against it. She did not seek your son. The moment she began to suspect that there might be danger she avoided him scrupulously. She would not go down to Framley Court, though her not doing so was remarked by yourself. She would hardly go out about the place lest she should meet him. She was contented to put herself altogether in the background till he should have pleased to leave the place. But he – he came to her here, and insisted on seeing her. He found her when I was out, and declared himself determined to speak to her. What was she to do? She did try to escape, but he stopped her at the door. Was it her fault that he made her an offer?’

  ‘My dear, no one has said so.’

  ‘Yes, but you do say so when you tell me that young ladies should not give play to their affections without permission. He persisted in saying to her, here, all that it pleased him, though she implored him to be silent. I cannot tell the words she used but she did implore him.’

  ‘I do not doubt that she behaved well.’

  ‘But he – he persisted, and begged her to accept his hand. She refused him then, Lady Lufton – not as some girls do, with a mock reserve, not intending to be taken at their words – but steadily, and, God forgive her, untruly. Knowing what your feelings would be, and knowing what the world would say, she declared to him that he was indifferent
to her. What more could she do in your behalf?’ And then Mrs Robarts paused.

  ‘I shall wait till you have done, Fanny.’

  ‘You spoke of girls giving loose to their affections. She did not do so. She went about her work exactly as she had done before. She did not even speak to me of what had passed – not then, at least. She determined that it should all be as though it had never been. She had learned to love your son; but that was her misfortune and she would get over it as she might. Tidings came to us here that he was engaged, or about to engage himself, to Miss Grantly.’

  ‘Those tidings were untrue.’

  ‘Yes, we know that now; but she did not know it then. Of course she could not but suffer; but she suffered within herself.’ Mrs Robarts, as she said this, remembered the pony-carriage and how Puck had been beaten. ‘She made no complaint that he had ill-treated her – not even to herself. She had thought it right to reject his offer; and there, as far as he was concerned, was to be an end of it.’

  ‘That would be a matter of course, I should suppose.’

  ‘But it was not a matter of course. Lady Lufton. He returned from London to Framley on purpose to repeat his offer. He sent for her brother – You talk of a young lady waiting for her friends’ approval. In this matter who would be Lucy’s friends?’

  ‘You and Mr Robarts of course.’

  ‘Exactly; her only friends. Well, Lord Lufton sent for Mark and repeated his offer to him. Mind you, Mark had never heard a word of this before, and you may guess whether or no he was surprised. Lord Lufton repeated his offer in the most formal manner and claimed permission to see Lucy. She refused to see him. She has never seen him since that day when, in opposition to all her efforts, he made his way into this room. Mark, – as I think very properly, – would have allowed Lord Lufton to come up here. Looking at both their ages and position he could have had no right to forbid it. But Lucy positively refused to see your son, and sent him a message instead, of the purport of which you are now aware – that she would never accept him unless she did so at your request.’

  ‘It was a very proper message.’

  ‘I say nothing about that. Had she accepted him I would not have blamed her: – and so I told her, Lady Lufton.’

  ‘I cannot understand your saying that, Fanny.’

  ‘Well; I did say so. I don’t want to argue now about myself, – whether I was right or wrong, but I did say so. Whatever sanction I could give she would have had. But she again chose to sacrifice herself, although I believe she regards him with as true a love as ever a girl felt for a man. Upon my word I don’t know that she is right. Those considerations for the world may perhaps be carried too far.’

  ‘I think that she was perfectly right.’

  ‘Very well, Lady Lufton; I can understand that. But after such sacrifice on her part – a sacrifice made entirely to you – how can you talk of “not blaming her?” Is that the language in which you speak of those whose conduct from first to last has been superlatively excellent? If she is open to blame at all, it is, – it is –’

  But here Mrs Robarts stopped herself. In defending her sister she had worked herself almost into a passion; but such a state of feeling was not customary to her, and now that she had spoken her mind she sank suddenly into silence.

  ‘It seems to me, Fanny, that you almost regret Miss Robarts’ decision,’ said Lady Lufton.

  ‘My wish in this matter is for her happiness, and I regret anything that may mar it.’

  ‘You think nothing then of our welfare, and yet I do not know to whom I might have looked for hearty friendship and for sympathy in difficulties, if not to you?’

  Poor Mrs Robarts was almost upset by this. A few months ago, before Lucy’s arrival, she would have declared that the interests of Lady Lufton’s family would have been paramount with her, after and next to those of her own husband. And even now, it seemed to argue so black an ingratitude on her part – this accusation that she was indifferent to them! From her childhood upwards she had revered and loved Lady Lufton, and for years had taught herself to regard her as an epitome of all that was good and gracious in woman. Lady Lufton’s theories of life had been accepted by her as the right theories, and those whom Lady Lufton had liked she had liked. But now it seemed that all these ideas which it had taken a life to build up were to be thrown to the ground, because she was bound to defend a sister-in-law whom she had only known for the last eight months. It was not that she regretted a word that she had spoken on Lucy’s behalf. Chance had thrown her and Lucy together, and, as Lucy was her sister, she should receive from her a sister’s treatment. But she did not the less feel how terrible would be the effect of any disseverance from Lady Lufton.

  ‘Oh, Lady Lufton,’ she said, ‘do not say that.’

  ‘But, Fanny, dear, I must speak as I find. You were talking about clouds just now, and do you think that all this is not a cloud in my sky? Ludovic tells me that he is attached to Miss Robarts, and you tell me that she is attached to him; and I am called upon to decide between them. Her very act obliges me to do so.’

  ‘Dear Lady Lufton,’ said Mrs Robarts, springing from her seat. It seemed to her at the moment as though the whole difficulty were to be solved by an act of grace on the part of her old friend.

  ‘And yet I cannot approve of such a marriage,’ said Lady Lufton.

  Mrs Robarts returned to her seat, saying nothing further.

  ‘Is not that a cloud on one’s horizon?’ continued her ladyship. ‘Do you think that I can be basking in the sunshine while I have such a weight upon my heart as that? Ludovic will soon be home, but instead of looking to his return with pleasure I dread it. I would prefer that he should remain in Norway. I would wish that he should stay away for months. And, Fanny, it is a great addition to my misfortune to feel that you do not sympathize with me.’

  Having said this, in a slow, sorrowful, and severe tone, Lady Lufton got up and took her departure. Of course Mrs Robarts did not let her go without assuring her that she did sympathize with her, – did love her as she ever had loved her. But wounds cannot be cured as easily as they may be inflicted, and Lady Lufton went her way with much real sorrow at her heart. She was proud and masterful, fond of her own way, and much too careful of the worldly dignities to which her lot had called her: but she was a woman who could cause no sorrow to those she loved without deep sorrow to herself.

  CHAPTER 42

  Touching Pitch

  IN these hot midsummer days, the end of June and the beginning of July, Mr Sowerby had but an uneasy time of it. At his sister’s instance, he had hurried up to London, and there had remained for days in attendance on the lawyers. He had to see new lawyers, Miss Dunstable’s men of business, quiet old cautious gentlemen whose place of business was in a dark alley behind the Bank, Messrs. Slow and Bideawhile by name, who had no scruple in detaining him for hours while they or their clerks talked to him about anything or about nothing. It was of vital consequence to Mr Sowerby that this business of his should be settled without delay, and yet these men, to whose care this settling was now confided, went on as though law processes were a sunny bank on which it delighted men to bask easily. And then, too, he had to go more than once to South Audley Street, which was a worse infliction; for the men in South Audley Street were less civil now than had been their wont. It was well understood there that Mr Sowerby was no longer a client of the duke’s, but his opponent; no longer his nominee and dependant, but his enemy in the county. ‘Chaldicotes,’ as old Mr Gumption remarked to young Mr Gagebee; ‘Chaldicotes, Gagebee, is a cooked goose, as far as Sowerby is concerned. And what difference could it make to him whether the duke is to own it or Miss Dunstable? For my part I cannot understand how a gentleman like Sowerby can like to see his property go into the hands of a gallipot wench whose money still smells of bad drugs. And nothing can be more ungrateful,’ he said, ‘than Sowerby’s conduct. He has held the county for five-and-twenty years without expense; and now that the time for payment has come, he b
egrudges the price.’ He called it no better than cheating, he did not – he, Mr Gumption. According to his ideas Sowerby was attempting to cheat the duke. It may be imagined, therefore, that Mr Sowerby did not feel any very great delight in attending at South Audley Street.

  And then rumour was spread about among all the bill-discounting leeches that blood was once more to be sucked from the Sowerby carcase. The rich Miss Dunstable had taken up his affairs; so much as that became known in the purlieus of the Goat and Compasses. Tom Tozer’s brother declared that she and Sowerby were going to make a match of it, and that any scrap of paper with Sowerby’s name on it would become worth its weight in bank-notes; but Tom Tozer himself – Tom, who was the real hero of the family – pooh-poohed at this, screwing up his nose, and alluding in most contemptuous terms to his brother’s softness. He knew better – as was indeed the fact. Miss Dunstable was buying up the squire, and by jingo she should buy them up – them, the Tozers, as well as others! They knew their value, the Tozers did; – whereupon they became more than ordinarily active.

  From them and all their brethren Mr Sowerby at this time endeavoured to keep his distance, but his endeavours were not altogether effectual. Whenever he could escape for a day or two from the lawyers he ran down to Chaldicotes; but Tom Tozer in his perseverance followed him there, and boldly sent in his name by the servant at the front-door.

  ‘Mr Sowerby is not just at home at the present moment,’ said the well-trained domestic.

  ‘I’ll wait about then,’ said Tom, seating himself on an heraldic stone griffin which flanked the big stone steps before the house. And in this way Mr Tozer gained his purpose. Sowerby was still contesting the county, and it behoved him not to let his enemies say that he was hiding himself. It had been a part of his bargain with Miss Dunstable that he should contest the county. She had taken it into her head that the duke had behaved badly, and she had resolved that he should be made to pay for it. ‘The duke,’ she said, ‘had meddled long enough;’ she would now see whether the Chaldicotes interest would not suffice of itself to return a member for the county, even in opposition to the duke. Mr Sowerby himself was so harassed at the time, that he would have given way on this point if he had had the power; but Miss Dunstable was determined, and he was obliged to yield to her. In this manner Mr Tom Tozer succeeded and did make his way into Mr Sowerby’s presence – of which intrusion one effect was the following letter from Mr Sowerby to his friend Mark Robarts: –