CHAPTER IX.
GRACE CRAWLEY GOES TO ALLINGTON.
The tidings of what had been done by the magistrates at their pettysessions was communicated the same night to Grace Crawley by MissPrettyman. Miss Anne Prettyman had heard the news within five minutesof the execution of the bail-bond, and had rushed to her sister withinformation as to the event. "They have found him guilty; they have,indeed. They have convicted him,--or whatever it is, because hecouldn't say where he got it." "You do not mean that they have senthim to prison?" "No;--not to prison not as yet, that is. I don'tunderstand it altogether; but he's to be tried again at the assizes.In the meantime he's to be out on bail. Major Grantly is to be thebail,--he and Mr. Robarts. That, I think, was very nice of him." Itwas undoubtedly the fact that Miss Anne Prettyman had received anaccession of pleasurable emotion when she learned that Mr. Crawleyhad not been sent away scathless, but had been condemned, as itwere, to a public trial at the assizes. And yet she would havedone anything in her power to save Grace Crawley, or even to saveher father. And it must be explained that Miss Anne Prettyman wassupposed to be specially efficient in teaching Roman history to herpupils, although she was so manifestly ignorant of the course oflaw in the country in which she lived. "Committed him," said MissPrettyman, correcting her sister with scorn. "They have not convictedhim. Had they convicted him, there could be no question of bail.""I don't know how all that is, Annabella, but at any rate MajorGrantly is to be the bailsman, and there is to be another trial atBarchester." "There cannot be more than one trial in a criminalcase," said Miss Prettyman, "unless the jury should disagree, orsomething of that kind. I suppose he has been committed, and that thetrial will take place at the assizes." "Exactly,--that's just it."Had Lord Lufton appeared as lictor, and had Thompson carried thefasces, Miss Anne would have known more about it.
The sad tidings were not told to Grace till the evening. Mrs.Crawley, when the inquiry was over before the magistrates, would fainhave had herself driven to the Miss Prettymans' school, that shemight see her daughter; but she felt that to be impossible whileher husband was in her charge. The father would of course have goneto his child, had the visit been suggested to him; but that wouldhave caused another terrible scene; and the mother, considering itall in her mind, thought it better to abstain. Miss Prettyman didher best to make poor Grace think that the affair had gone so farfavourably,--did her best, that is, without saying anything which herconscience told her to be false. "It is to be settled at the assizesin April," she said.
"And in the meantime what will become of papa?"
"Your papa will be at home, just as usual. He must have some one toadvise him. I dare say it would have been all over now if he wouldhave employed an attorney."
"But it seems so hard that an attorney should be wanted."
"My dear Grace, things in this world are hard."
"But they are always harder for papa and mamma than for anybodyelse." In answer to this, Miss Prettyman made some remarks intendedto be wise and kind at the same time. Grace, whose eyes were ladenwith tears, made no immediate reply to this, but reverted to herformer statement, that she must go home. "I cannot remain, MissPrettyman; I am so unhappy."
"Will you be more happy at home?"
"I can bear it better there."
The poor girl soon learned from the intended consolations of thosearound her, from the ill-considered kindnesses of the pupils, andfrom words which fell from the servants, that her father had infact been judged to be guilty, as far as judgment had as yet gone."They do say, miss, it's only because he hadn't a lawyer," said thehousekeeper. And if men so kind as Lord Lufton and Mr. Walker hadmade him out to be guilty, what could be expected from a stern judgedown from London, who would know nothing about her poor father andhis peculiarities, and from twelve jurymen who would be shopkeepersout of Barchester. It would kill her father, and then it would killher mother; and after that it would kill her also. And there was nomoney in the house at home. She knew it well. She had been paid threepounds a month for her services at the school, and the money for thelast two months had been sent to her mother. Yet, badly as she wantedanything that she might be able to earn, she knew that she couldnot go on teaching. It had come to be acknowledged by both theMiss Prettymans that any teaching on her part for the present wasimpossible. She would go home and perish with the rest of them. Therewas no room left for hope to her, or to any of her family. They hadaccused her father of being a common thief,--her father whom she knewto be so nobly honest, her father whom she believed to be among themost devoted of God's servants. He was accused of a paltry theft, andthe magistrates and lawyers and policemen among them had decided thatthe accusation was true! How could she look the girls in the faceafter that, or attempt to hold her own among the teachers!
On the next morning there came the letter from Miss Lily Dale, andwith that in her hand she again went to Miss Prettyman. She mustgo home, she said. She must at any rate see her mother. Could MissPrettyman be kind enough to send her home. "I haven't sixpence to payfor anything," she said, bursting out into tears; "and I haven't aright to ask for it." Then the statements which Miss Prettyman madein her eagerness to cover this latter misfortune were decidedlyfalse. There was so much money owing to Grace, she said; money forthis, money for that, money for anything or nothing! Ten pounds wouldhardly clear the account. "Nobody owes me anything; but if you'lllend me five shillings!" said Grace, in her agony. Miss Prettyman, asshe made her way through this difficulty, thought of Major Grantlyand his love. It would have been of no use, she knew. Had she broughtthem together on that Monday, Grace would have said nothing to him.Indeed such a meeting at such a time would have been improper.But, regarding Major Grantly, as she did, in the light of amillionaire,--for the wealth of the archdeacon was notorious,--shecould not but think it a pity that poor Grace should be begging forfive shillings. "You need not at any rate trouble yourself aboutmoney, Grace," said Miss Prettyman. "What is a pound or two more orless between you and me? It is almost unkind of you to think aboutit. Is that letter in your hand anything for me to see, my dear?"Then Grace explained that she did not wish to show Miss Dale'sletter, but that Miss Dale had asked her to go to Allington. "And youwill go," said Miss Prettyman. "It will be the best thing for you,and the best thing for your mother."
It was at last decided that Grace should go to her friend atAllington, and to Allington she went. She returned home for a day ortwo, and was persuaded by her mother to accept the invitation thathad been given her. At Hogglestock, while she was there, new troublescame up, of which something shall shortly be told; but they weretroubles in which Grace could give no assistance to her mother, andwhich, indeed, though they were in truth troubles, as will be seen,were so far beneficent that they stirred her father up to a certainaction which was in itself salutary. "I think it will be better thatyou should be away, dearest," said the mother, who now, for the firsttime, heard plainly all that poor Grace had to tell about MajorGrantly;--Grace having, heretofore, barely spoken, in most ambiguouswords, of Major Grantly as a gentleman whom she had met at Framley,and whom she had described as being "very nice."
In old days, long ago, Lucy Robarts, the present Lady Lufton, sisterof the Rev. Mark Robarts, the parson of Framley, had sojournedfor a while under Mr. Crawley's roof at Hogglestock. Peculiarcircumstances, which need not, perhaps, be told here, had givenoccasion for this visit. She had then resolved,--for her futuredestiny had been known to her before she left Mrs. Crawley'shouse,--that she would in coming days do much to befriend the familyof her friend; but the doing of much had been very difficult. And thedoing of anything had come to be very difficult through a certainindiscretion on Lord Lufton's part. Lord Lufton had offeredassistance, pecuniary assistance, to Mr. Crawley, which Mr. Crawleyhad rejected with outspoken anger. What was Lord Lufton to him thathis lordship should dare to come to him with his paltry money in hishand? But after a while, Lady Lufton, exercising some cunning in theoperations of her friendship, had persuaded her sister-in-law at theFramley parso
nage to have Grace Crawley over there as a visitor,--andthere she had been during the summer holidays previous to thecommencement of our story. And there, at Framley, she had becomeacquainted with Major Grantly, who was staying with Lord Lufton atFramley Court. She had then said something to her mother about MajorGrantly, something ambiguous, something about his being "very nice,"and the mother had thought how great was the pity that her daughter,who was "nice" too in her estimation, should have so few of thoseadjuncts to assist her which come from full pockets. She had thoughtno more about it then; but now she felt herself constrained to thinkmore. "I don't quite understand why he should have come to MissPrettyman on Monday," said Grace, "because he hardly knows her atall."
"I suppose it was on business," said Mrs. Crawley.
"No, mamma, it was not on business."
"How can you tell, dear?"
"Because Miss Prettyman said it was,--it was--to ask after me. Oh,mamma, I must tell you. I know he did like me."
"Did he ever say so to you, dearest?"
"Yes, mamma."
"And what did you tell him?"
"I told him nothing, mamma."
"And did he ask to see you on Monday?"
"No, mamma; I don't think he did. I think he understood it all toowell, for I could not have spoken to him then."
Mrs. Crawley pursued the cross-examination no further, but made upher mind that it would be better that her girl should be away fromher wretched home during this period of her life. If it were writtenin the book of fate that one of her children should be exempted fromthe series of misfortunes which seemed to fall, one after another,almost as a matter of course, upon her husband, upon her, and uponher family; if so great good fortune were in store for her Grace assuch a marriage as this which seemed to be so nearly offered to her,it might probably be well that Grace should be as little at home aspossible. Mrs. Crawley had heard nothing but good of Major Grantly;but she knew that the Grantlys were proud rich people,--who livedwith their heads high up in the county,--and it could hardly be thata son of the archdeacon would like to take his bride direct fromHogglestock parsonage.
It was settled that Grace should go to Allington as soon as a lettercould be received from Miss Dale in return to Grace's note, and onthe third morning after her arrival at home she started. None butthey who have themselves been poor gentry,--gentry so poor as not toknow how to raise a shilling,--can understand the peculiar bitternessof the trials which such poverty produces. The poverty of the normalpoor does not approach it; or, rather, the pangs arising from suchpoverty are altogether of a different sort. To be hungry and have nofood, to be cold and have no fuel, to be threatened with distraintfor one's few chairs and tables, and with the loss of the roof overone's head,--all these miseries, which, if they do not positivelyreach, are so frequently near to reaching the normal poor, are, nodoubt, the severest of the trials to which humanity is subjected.They threaten life,--or, if not life, then liberty,--reducing theabject one to a choice between captivity and starvation. By hook orcrook, the poor gentleman or poor lady,--let the one or the otherbe ever so poor,--does not often come to the last extremity of theworkhouse. There are such cases, but they are exceptional. Mrs.Crawley, through all her sufferings, had never yet found her cupboardto be absolutely bare, or the bread-pan to be actually empty. Butthere are pangs to which, at the time, starvation itself would seemto be preferable. The angry eyes of unpaid tradesmen, savage withan anger which one knows to be justifiable; the taunt of the poorservant who wants her wages; the gradual relinquishment of habitswhich the soft nurture of earlier, kinder years had made secondnature; the wan cheeks of the wife whose malady demands wine; therags of the husband whose outward occupations demand decency; theneglected children, who are learning not to be the children ofgentlefolk; and, worse than all, the alms and doles of half-generousfriends, the waning pride, the pride that will not wane, the growingdoubt whether it be not better to bow the head, and acknowledge toall the world that nothing of the pride of station is left,--that thehand is open to receive and ready to touch the cap, that the fallfrom the upper to the lower level has been accomplished,--these arethe pangs of poverty which drive the Crawleys of the world to thefrequent entertaining of that idea of the bare bodkin. It was settledthat Grace should go to Allington--but how about her clothes? Andthen, whence was to come the price of her journey?
"I don't think they'll mind about my being shabby at Allington. Theylive very quietly there."
"But you say that Miss Dale is so very nice in all her ways."
"Lily is very nice, mamma; but I shan't mind her so much as hermother, because she knows it all. I have told her everything."
"But you have given me all your money, dearest."
"Miss Prettyman told me I was to come to her," said Grace, who hadalready taken some small sum from the schoolmistress, which at oncehad gone into her mother's pocket, and into household purposes. "Shesaid I should be sure to go to Allington, and that of course I shouldgo to her, as I must pass through Silverbridge."
"I hope papa will not ask about it," said Mrs. Crawley. Luckily papadid not ask about it, being at the moment occupied much with otherthoughts and other troubles, and Grace was allowed to return bySilverbridge, and to take what was needed from Miss Prettyman. Whocan tell of the mending and patching, of the weary wearing midnighthours of needlework which were accomplished before the poor girlwent, so that she might not reach her friend's house in actual rags?And when the work was ended, what was there to show for it? I do notthink that the idea of the bare bodkin, as regarded herself, everflitted across Mrs. Crawley's brain,--she being one of those who arevery strong to endure; but it must have occurred to her very oftenthat the repose of the grave is sweet, and that there cometh afterdeath a levelling and making even of things, which would at last cureall her evils.
Grace no doubt looked forward to a levelling and making even ofthings,--or perhaps even to something more prosperous than that,which should come to her relief on this side of the grave. She couldnot but have high hopes in regard to her future destiny. Although,as has been said, she understood no more than she ought to haveunderstood from Miss Prettyman's account of the conversation withMajor Grantly, still, innocent as she was, she had understood much.She knew that the man loved her, and she knew also that she loved theman. She thoroughly comprehended that the present could be to her notime for listening to speeches of love, or for giving kind answers;but still I think that she did look for relief on this side of thegrave.
"Tut, tut," said Miss Prettyman as Grace in vain tried to conceal hertears up in the private sanctum. "You ought to know me by this time,and to have learned that I can understand things." The tears hadflown in return not only for the five gold sovereigns which MissPrettyman had pressed into her hand, but on account of the prettiest,soft, grey merino frock that ever charmed a girl's eye. "I shouldlike to know how many girls I have given dresses to, when they havebeen going out visiting. Law, my dear; they take them, many of them,from us old maids, almost as if we were only paying our debts ingiving them." And then Miss Anne gave her a cloth cloak, very warm,with pretty buttons and gimp trimmings,--just such a cloak as anygirl might like to wear who thought that she would be seen outwalking by her Major Grantly on a Christmas morning. Grace Crawleydid not expect to be seen out walking by her Major Grantly, butnevertheless she liked the cloak. By the power of her practical will,and by her true sympathy, the elder Miss Prettyman had for a whileconquered the annoyance which, on Grace's part, was attached to thereceiving of gifts, by the consciousness of her poverty; and whenMiss Anne, with some pride in the tone of her voice, expressed ahope that Grace would think the cloak pretty, Grace put her armspleasantly round her friend's neck, and declared that it was verypretty,--the prettiest cloak in all the world!
Grace was met at the Guestwick railway-station by her friend LilianDale, and was driven over to Allington in a pony carriage belongingto Lilian's uncle, the squire of the parish. I think she will beexcused in having put on her new cloak, not so muc
h because of thecold as with a view of making the best of herself before Mrs. Dale.And yet she knew that Mrs. Dale would know all the circumstances ofher poverty, and was very glad that it should be so. "I am so gladthat you have come, dear," said Lily. "It will be such a comfort."
"I am sure you are very good," said Grace.
"And mamma is so glad. From the moment that we both talked ourselvesinto eagerness about it,--while I was writing my letter, you know, weresolved that it must be so."
"I'm afraid I shall be a great trouble to Mrs. Dale."
"A trouble to mamma! Indeed you will not. You shall be a trouble tono one but me. I will have all the trouble myself, and the labour Idelight in shall physic my pain."
Grace Crawley could not during the journey be at home and at easeeven with her friend Lily. She was going to a strange house understrange circumstances. Her father had not indeed been tried and foundguilty of theft, but the charge of theft had been made against him,and the magistrates before whom it had been made had thought that thecharge was true. Grace knew that all the local newspapers had toldthe story, and was of course aware that Mrs. Dale would have heardit. Her own mind was full of it, and though she dreaded to speak ofit, yet she could not be silent. Miss Dale, who understood much ofthis, endeavoured to talk her friend into easiness; but she feared tobegin upon the one subject, and before the drive was over they were,both of them, too cold for much conversation. "There's mamma," saidMiss Dale as they drove up, turning out of the street of the villageto the door of Mrs. Dale's house. "She always knows, by instinct,when I am coming. You must understand now that you are among us,that mamma and I are not mother and daughter, but two loving oldladies, living together in peace and harmony. We do have ourquarrels,--whether the chicken shall be roast or boiled, but neveranything beyond that. Mamma, here is Grace, starved to death; and shesays if you don't give her some tea she will go back at once."
"I will give her some tea," said Mrs. Dale.
"And I am worse than she is, because I've been driving. It's all upwith Bernard and Mr. Green for the next week at least. It is freezingas hard as it can freeze, and they might as well try to hunt inLapland as here."
"They'll console themselves with skating," said Mrs. Dale.
"Have you ever observed, Grace," said Miss Dale, "how much amusementgentlemen require, and how imperative it is that some other gameshould be provided when one game fails?"
"Not particularly," said Grace.
"Oh, but it is so. Now, with women, it is supposed that they canamuse themselves or live without amusement. Once or twice in a year,perhaps something is done for them. There is an arrow-shootingparty, or a ball, or a picnic. But the catering for men's sport isnever-ending, and is always paramount to everything else. And yet thepet game of the day never goes off properly. In partridge time, thepartridges are wild, and won't come to be killed. In hunting timethe foxes won't run straight,--the wretches. They show no spirit,and will take to ground to save their brushes. Then comes a nippingfrost, and skating is proclaimed; but the ice is always rough, andthe woodcocks have deserted the country. And as for salmon,--when thesummer comes round I do really believe that they suffer a great dealabout the salmon. I'm sure they never catch any. So they go back totheir clubs and their cards, and their billiards, and abuse theircooks and blackball their friends. That's about it, mamma; is itnot?"
"You know more about it than I do, my dear."
"Because I have to listen to Bernard, as you never will do. We've gotsuch a Mr. Green down here, Grace. He's such a duck of a man,--suchtop-boots and all the rest of it. And yet they whisper to me thathe doesn't ride always to hounds. And to see him play billiardsis beautiful, only he never can make a stroke. I hope you playbilliards, Grace, because uncle Christopher has just had a new tableput up."
"I never saw a billiard-table yet," said Grace.
"Then Mr. Green shall teach you. He'll do anything that you ask him.If you don't approve the colour of the ball, he'll go to London toget you another one. Only you must be very careful about saying thatyou like anything before him, as he'll be sure to have it for youthe next day. Mamma happened to say that she wanted a four-pennypostage-stamp, and he walked off to Guestwick to get it for herinstantly, although it was lunch-time."
"He did nothing of the kind, Lily," said her mother. "He was goingto Guestwick, and was very good-natured, and brought me back apostage-stamp that I wanted."
"Of course he's good-natured, I know that. And there's my cousinBernard. He's Captain Dale, you know. But he prefers to be called Mr.Dale, because he has left the army, and has set up as junior squireof the parish. Uncle Christopher is the real squire; only Bernarddoes all the work. And now you know all about us. I'm afraid you'llfind us dull enough,--unless you can take a fancy to Mr. Green."
"Does Mr. Green live here?" asked Grace.
"No; he does not live here. I never heard of his living anywhere. Hewas something once, but I don't know what; and I don't think he'sanything now in particular. But he's Bernard's friend, and like mostmen, as one sees them, he never has much to do. Does Major Grantlyever go forth to fight his country's battles?" This last question sheasked in a low whisper, so that the words did not reach her mother.Grace blushed up to her eyes, however, as she answered,--
"I think that Major Grantly has left the army."
"We shall get her round in a day or two, mamma," said Lily Dale toher mother that night. "I'm sure it will be the best thing to forceher to talk of her troubles."
"I would not use too much force, my dear."
"Things are better when they're talked about. I'm sure they are. Andit will be good to make her accustomed to speak of Major Grantly.From what Mary Walker tells me, he certainly means it. And if so, sheshould be ready for it when it comes."
"Do not make her ready for what may never come."
"No, mamma; but she is at present such a child that she knows nothingof her own powers. She should be made to understand that it ispossible that even a Major Grantly may think himself fortunate inbeing allowed to love her."
"I should leave all that to Nature, if I were you," said Mrs. Dale.
The Last Chronicle of Barset Page 11
