The Last Chronicle of Barset

by Anthony Trollope

  CHAPTER XL.

  MR. TOOGOOD'S IDEAS ABOUT SOCIETY.

  A day or two after the interview which was described in the lastchapter John Eames dined with his uncle Mr. Thomas Toogood, inTavistock Square. He was in the habit of doing this about once amonth, and was a great favourite both with his cousins and with theirmother. Mr. Toogood did not give dinner-parties; always beggingthose whom he asked to enjoy his hospitality, to take pot luck, andtelling young men whom he could treat with familiarity,--such as hisnephew,--that if they wanted to be regaled a la Russe they must notcome to number 75, Tavistock Square. "A leg of mutton and trimmings;that will be about the outside of it," he would say; but he would addin a whisper,--"and a glass of port such as you don't get every dayof your life." Polly and Lucy Toogood were pretty girls, and merrywithal, and certain young men were well contented to accept theattorney's invitations,--whether attracted by the promised leg ofmutton, or the port wine, or the young ladies, I will not attempt tosay. But it had so happened that one young man, a clerk from JohnEames' office, had partaken so often of the pot luck and port winethat Polly Toogood had conquered him by her charms, and he was now aslave, waiting an appropriate time for matrimonial sacrifice. WilliamSummerkin was the young man's name; and as it was known that Mr.Summerkin was to inherit a fortune amounting to five thousand poundsfrom his maiden aunt, it was considered that Polly Toogood was notdoing amiss. "I'll give you three hundred pounds, my boy, just to puta few sheets on the beds," said Toogood the father, "and when the oldbirds are both dead she'll have a thousand pounds out of the nest.That's the extent of Polly's fortune;--so now you know." Summerkinwas, however, quite contented to have his own money settled on hisdarling Polly, and the whole thing was looked at with pleasant andpropitious eyes by the Toogood connection.

  When John Eames entered the drawing-room Summerkin and Polly werealready there. Summerkin blushed up to his eyes, of course, but Pollysat as demurely as though she had been accustomed to having loversall her life. "Mamma will be down almost immediately, John," saidPolly as soon as the first greetings were over, "and papa has comein, I know."

  "Summerkin," said Johnny, "I'm afraid you left the office before fouro'clock."

  "No, I did not," said Summerkin. "I deny it."

  "Polly," said her cousin, "you should keep him in better order. Hewill certainly come to grief if he goes on like this. I suppose youcould do without him for half an hour."

  "I don't want him, I can assure you," said Polly.

  "I have only been here just five minutes," said Summerkin, "and Icame because Mrs. Toogood asked me to do a commission."

  "That's civil to you, Polly," said John.

  "It's quite as civil as I wish him to be," said Polly. "And as foryou, John, everybody knows that you're a goose, and that you alwayswere a goose. Isn't he always doing foolish things at the office,William?" But as John Eames was rather a great man at the Income-taxOffice, Summerkin would not fall into his sweetheart's joke on thissubject, finding it easier and perhaps safer to twiddle the bodkinsin Polly's work-basket. Then Toogood and Mrs. Toogood entered theroom together, and the lovers were able to be alone again during thegeneral greeting with which Johnny was welcomed.

  "You don't know the Silverbridge people,--do you?" asked Mr. Toogood.Eames said that he did not. He had been at Silverbridge more thanonce, but did not know very much of the Silverbridgians. "BecauseWalker is coming to dine here. Walker is the leading man inSilverbridge."

  "And what is Walker;--besides being leading man in Silverbridge?"

  "He's a lawyer. Walker and Winthrop. Everybody knows Walker inBarsetshire. I've been down at Barchester since I saw you."

  "Have you indeed?" said Johnny.

  "And I'll tell you what I've been about. You know Mr. Crawley; don'tyou?"

  "The Hogglestock clergyman that has come to grief? I don't know himpersonally. He's a sort of cousin by marriage, you know."

  "Of course he is," said Mr. Toogood. "His wife is my first-cousin,and your mother's first-cousin. He came here to me the other day;--orrather to the shop. I had never seen the man before in my life, and avery queer fellow he is too. He came to me about this trouble of his,and of course I must do what I can for him. I got myself introducedto Walker, who has the management of the prosecution, and I asked himto come here and dine to-day."

  "And what sort of fellow did you find Crawley, uncle Tom?"

  "Such a queer fish;--so unlike anybody else in the world!"

  "But I suppose he did take the money?" said Johnny.

  "I don't know what to say about it. I don't indeed. If he took it hedidn't mean to steal it. I'm as sure that man didn't mean to stealtwenty pounds as I ever could be of anything. Perhaps I shall getsomething about it out of Walker after dinner." Then Mr. Walkerentered the room. "This is very kind of you, Mr. Walker; very indeed.I take it quite as a compliment, your coming in in this sort of way.It's just pot luck, you know, and nothing else." Mr. Walker of courseassured his host that he was delighted. "Just a leg of mutton and abottle of old port, Mr. Walker," continued Toogood. "We never getbeyond that in the way of dinner-giving; do we, Maria?"

  But Maria was at this moment descanting on the good luck of thefamily to her nephew,--and on one special piece of good luck whichhad just occurred. Mr. Summerkin's maiden aunt had declared herintention of giving up the fortune to the young people at once. Shehad enough to live upon, she said, and would therefore make twolovers happy. "And they're to be married on the first of May," saidLucy,--that Lucy of whom her father had boasted to Mr. Crawley thatshe knew Byron by heart,--"and won't that be jolly? Mamma is goingout to look for a house for them to-morrow. Fancy Polly with a houseof her own! Won't it be stunning? I wish you were going to be marriedtoo, Johnny."

  "Don't be a fool, Lucy."

  "Of course I know that you are in love. I hope you are not going togive over being in love, Johnny, because it is such fun."

  "Wait till you're caught yourself, my girl."

  "I don't mean to be caught till some great swell comes this way.And as great swells never do come into Tavistock Square I shan'thave a chance. I'll tell you what I would like; I'd like to have aCorsair,--or else a Giaour;--I think a Giaour would be nicest. Onlya Giaour wouldn't be a Giaour here, you know. Fancy a lover 'Whothundering comes on blackest steed, With slackened bit and hoof ofspeed.' Were not those the days to live in! But all that is over now,you know, and young people take houses in Woburn Place, instead ofbeing locked up, or drowned, or married to a hideous monster behind aveil. I suppose it's better as it is, for some reasons."

  "I think it must be more jolly, as you call it, Lucy."

  "I'm not quite sure. I know I'd go back and be Medora, if I could.Mamma is always telling Polly that she must be careful aboutWilliam's dinner. But Conrad didn't care for his dinner. 'Light toil!to cull and dress thy frugal fare! See, I have plucked the fruit thatpromised best.'"

  "And how often do you think Conrad got drunk?"

  "I don't think he got drunk at all. There is no reason why he should,any more than William. Come along, and take me down to dinner. Afterall, papa's leg of mutton is better than Medora's apples, when one isas hungry as I am."

  The leg of mutton on this occasion consisted of soup, fish, and abit of roast beef, and a couple of boiled fowls. "If I had only twochildren instead of twelve, Mr. Walker," said the host, "I'd give youa dinner a la Russe."

  "I don't begrudge Mrs. Toogood a single arrow in her quiver on thatscore," said Mr. Walker.

  "People are getting to be so luxurious that one can't live up to themat all," said Mrs. Toogood. "We dined out here with some new comersin the square only last week. We had asked them before, and they camequite in a quiet way,--just like this; and when we got there we foundthey'd four kinds of ices after dinner!"

  "And not a morsel of food on the table fit to eat," said Toogood."I never was so poisoned in my life. As for soup,--it was just thewashings of the pastrycook's kettle next door."

  "And how is one to live with such p
eople, Mr. Walker?" continued Mrs.Toogood. "Of course we can't ask them back again. We can't give themfour kinds of ices."

  "But would that be necessary? Perhaps they haven't got twelvechildren."

  "They haven't got any," said Toogood, triumphing; "not a chickbelonging to them. But you see one must do as other people do. Ihate anything grand. I wouldn't want more than this for myself, ifbank-notes were as plenty as curl-papers."

  "Nobody has any curl-papers now, papa," said Lucy.

  "But I can't bear to be outdone," said Mr. Toogood. "I think it'svery unpleasant,--people living in that sort of way. It's all verywell telling me that I needn't live so too;--and of course I don't.I can't afford to have four men in from the confectioner's, dressed asight better than myself, at ten shillings a head. I can't afford it,and I don't do it. But the worst of it is that I suffer because otherpeople do it. It stands to reason that I must either be driven alongwith the crowd, or else be left behind. Now, I don't like either.And what's the end of it? Why, I'm half carried away and half leftbehind."

  "Upon my word, papa, I don't think you're carried away at all," saidLucy.

  "Yes, I am; and I'm ashamed of myself. Mr. Walker, I don't dare toask you to drink a glass of wine with me in my own house,--that'swhat I don't,--because it's the proper thing for you to wait tillsomebody brings it you, and then to drink it by yourself. There is noknowing whether I mightn't offend you." And Mr. Toogood as he spokegrasped the decanter at his elbow. Mr. Walker grasped another at hiselbow, and the two attorneys took their glass of wine together.

  "A very queer case this is of my cousin Crawley's," said Toogood toWalker, when the ladies had left the dining-room.

  "A most distressing case. I never knew anything so much talked of inour part of the country."

  "He can't have been a popular man, I should say?"

  "No; not popular,--not in the ordinary way;--anything but that.Nobody knew him personally before this matter came up."

  "But a good clergyman, probably? I'm interested in the case, ofcourse, as his wife is my first-cousin. You will understand, however,that I know nothing of him. My father tried to be civil to him once,but Crawley wouldn't have it at all. We all thought he was mad then.I suppose he has done his duty in his parish?"

  "He has quarrelled with the bishop, you know,--out and out."

  "Has he, indeed? But I'm not sure that I think so very much aboutbishops, Mr. Walker."

  "That depends very much on the particular bishop. Some people sayours isn't all that a bishop ought to be, while others are very fondof him."

  "And Mr. Crawley belongs to the former set; that's all?" said Mr.Toogood.

  "No, Mr. Toogood; that isn't all. The worst of your cousin is thathe has an aptitude to quarrel with everybody. He is one of those menwho always think themselves to be ill-used. Now our dean, Dr. Arabin,has been his very old friend,--and as far as I can learn, a very goodfriend; but it seems that Mr. Crawley has done his best to quarrelwith him too."

  "He spoke of the dean in the highest terms to me."

  "He may do that,--and yet quarrel with him. He'd quarrel with his ownright hand, if he had nothing else to quarrel with. That makes thedifficulty, you see. He'll take nobody's advice. He thinks that we'reall against him."

  "I suppose the world has been heavy on him, Mr. Walker?"

  "The world has been very heavy on him," said John Eames, who had nowbeen left free to join the conversation, Mr. Summerkin having goneaway to his lady-love. "You must not judge him as you do other men."

  "That is just it," said Mr. Walker. "And to what result will thatbring us?"

  "That we ought to stretch a point in his favour," said Toogood.

  "But why?" asked the attorney from Silverbridge. "What do we meanwhen we say that one man isn't to be trusted as another? We simplyimply that he is not what we call responsible."

  "And I don't think Mr. Crawley is responsible," said Johnny.

  "Then how can he be fit to have charge of a parish?" said Mr. Walker."You see where the difficulty is. How it embarrasses one all round.The amount of evidence as to the cheque is, I think, sufficient toget a verdict in an ordinary case, and the Crown has no alternativebut so to treat it. Then his friends come forward,--and from sympathywith his sufferings, I desire to be ranked among the number,--andsay, 'Ah, but you should spare this man, because he is notresponsible.' Were he one who filled no position requiring specialresponsibility, that might be very well. His friends might undertaketo look after him, and the prosecution might perhaps be smothered.But Mr. Crawley holds a living, and if he escape he will betriumphant,--especially triumphant over the bishop. Now, if he hasreally taken this money, and if his only excuse be that he did notknow when he took it whether he was stealing or whether he wasnot,--for the sake of justice that ought not to be allowed." So spokeMr. Walker.

  "You think he certainly did steal the money?" said Johnny.

  "You have heard the evidence, no doubt?" said Mr. Walker.

  "I don't feel quite sure about it, yet," said Mr. Toogood.

  "Quite sure of what?" said Mr. Walker.

  "That the cheque was dropped in his house."

  "It was at any rate traced to his hands."

  "I have no doubt about that," said Toogood.

  "And he can't account for it," said Walker.

  "A man isn't bound to show where he got his money," said Johnny."Suppose that sovereign is marked," and Johnny produced a coin fromhis pocket, "and I don't know but what it is; and suppose it isproved to have belonged to some one who lost it, and then to betraced to my hands,--how am I to say where I got it? If I were asked,I should simply decline to answer."

  "But a cheque is not a sovereign, Mr. Eames," said Walker. "It ispresumed that a man can account for the possession of a cheque. Itmay be that a man should have a cheque in his possession and not beable to account for it, and should yet be open to no grave suspicion.In such a case a jury has to judge. Here is the fact: that Mr.Crawley has the cheque, and brings it into use some considerable timeafter it is drawn; and the additional fact that the drawer of thecheque had lost it, as he thought, in Mr. Crawley's house, and hadlooked for it there, soon after it was drawn, and long before it waspaid. A jury must judge; but, as a lawyer, I should say that theburden of disproof lies with Mr. Crawley."

  "Did you find out anything, Mr. Walker," said Toogood, "about the manwho drove Mr. Soames that day?"

  "No,--nothing."

  "The trap was from 'The Dragon' at Barchester, I think?"

  "Yes,--from 'The Dragon of Wantly.'"

  "A respectable sort of house?"

  "Pretty well for that, I believe. I've heard that the people arepoor," said Mr. Walker.

  "Somebody told me that they'd had a queer lot about the house, andthat three or four of them left just then. I think I heard that twoor three men from the place went to New Zealand together. It justcame out in conversation while I was in the inn-yard."

  "I have never heard anything of it," said Mr. Walker.

  "I don't say that it can help us."

  "I don't see that it can," said Mr. Walker.

  After that there was a pause, and Mr. Toogood pushed about the oldport, and made some very stinging remarks as to the claret-drinkingpropensities of the age. "Gladstone claret the most of it is, Ifancy," said Mr. Toogood. "I find that port wine which my fatherbought in the wood five-and-twenty years ago is good enough for me."Mr. Walker said that it was quite good enough for him, almost toogood, and that he thought that he had had enough of it. The hostthreatened another bottle, and was up to draw the cork,--rather tothe satisfaction of John Eames, who liked his uncle's port,--but Mr.Walker stopped him. "Not a drop more for me," he said. "You are quitesure?" "Quite sure." And Mr. Walker moved towards the door.

  "It's a great pity, Mr. Walker," said Toogood, going back to the oldsubject, "that this dean and his wife should be away."

  "I understand that they will both be home before the trial," said Mr.Walker.

  "Yes,--but you know how ve
ry important it is to learn beforehandexactly what your witnesses can prove and what they can't prove. Andmoreover, though neither the dean nor his wife might perhaps be ableto tell us anything themselves, they might help to put us on theproper scent. I think I'll send somebody after them. I think I will."

  "It would be a heavy expense, Mr. Toogood."

  "Yes," said Toogood, mournfully, thinking of the twelve children; "itwould be a heavy expense. But I never like to stick at a thing whenit ought to be done. I think I shall send a fellow after them."

  "I'll go," said Johnny.

  "How can you go?"

  "I'll make old Snuffle give me leave."

  "But will that lessen the expense?" said Mr. Walker.

  "Well, yes, I think it will," said John, modestly.

  "My nephew is a rich man, Mr. Walker," said Toogood.

  "That alters the case," said Mr. Walker. And thus, before they leftthe dining-room, it was settled that John Eames should be taughthis lesson and should seek both Mrs. Arabin and Dr. Arabin on theirtravels.