I EVERYMAN'S LIBRARY EDITED BY ERNEST RHYS FICTION CR AN FORD A TALE THE PUBLISHERS OF EVE1i}''M^^S £/B5^^?^WILL BE PLEASED TO SEND FREELY TO ALL APPLICANTS A LIST OF THE PUBLISHED AND PROJECTED VOLUMES TO BE COMPRISED UNDER THE FOLLOWING TWELVE HEADINGS: TRAVEL i^ SCIENCE ;^ FICTION THEOLOGY & PHILOSOPHY HISTORY ^ CLASSICAL FOR YOUNG PEOPLE ESSAYS 7^ ORATORY POETRY & DRAMA BIOGRAPHY ROMANCE IN TWO oFYLES- OF. BINDING, CLOTH FLAT . ;. BACJKl -CaUOUREt) TOP AND LEATHER ROUND CORNERS GILT TOP. London: j. M. DENT 8z CO. New York: E. P. BUTTON & CO. °tSIR*PHILIP'^SIDNEY XL LONDON.PUBLISHED byJMDENT-©CO AND IN NEW YORK BY EPDUTTON ©CO First Edit tony February 1 90 6 Second Edition ^ July 1 906 Third Edition, March 1 90 8 AH rights reserved printed bv tuhnbull and speaks, edinburgh W^=:/h:::^:^^^yi^?^Jt:P^^::^==$^^' t) CHAPTER I Our Society • . • CHAPTER II The Captain • • • CHAPTER in A Love Affair of Long Ago CHAPTER IV A Visit to an Old Bachelor CHAPTER V Old Letters . CHAPTER VI Poor Peter . CHAPTER VII Visiting . 282033 Page i6 36 49 65 80 vU riii ^ COO^EO^S '».?"missions of trivial ceremonies, with which he had peen received. He had been friendly, though the Gritiiford ladies had been cool ; he had answered small sarcastic compliments in good faith ; and with his manly frankness had overpowered all the shrink- ing 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. It was on this subject: \^n old lady had an Alderney cow,>which she looked upon as a daughter. You could nor pay the short quarter of an hour call without being told of the wonderful milk or wonder- ful intelligence of this animal. The whole town knew and kindly regarded Miss Betsy Barker's Alderney J 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 ; 8 C%/ftHF01^) and it was said she thought of trying a bath of c ql This remedy, perhaps, was recommended by solI! one of the number whose advice she asked ; but th.C proposal, if ever it was made, was knocked on the head by Captain Brown's decided ** Get her a flanuel waistcoat and flannel drawers, ma'am, if you wish to keep her alive. But my advice is, kill the poor creature at once." 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 ? 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 be- trayed the fact that his real was more than his apparent age. Mis5_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 Jessi e - B r own 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). OVR^SOCIETT 9 **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 some- thing 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. 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. On coming out of church, the brisk Captain paid the most gallant attention to his two daughters. 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. 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 /vhen 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/ Cardrtables, with green baize tops, were set out by daylight, just as usual j 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,"! being the unlucky fourth. The next four comers were put down immediately to another table ; and presently the tea- OVF^SOCIETT ir 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 polish- ing ; but the eatables were of the slightest descrip- tion. While the trays were yet on the tables, Captain and the Miss Brov/ns 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 ; at- tended 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. 12 C'E^tHJFO'Rfi It was very good of Miss Jenkyns to do this ; for 1 had seen that, a little before, she had been a good deal annoyed by Miss Jessie^ Brown's unguarded admission {h propos of Shetland wool) that she had "an~^ ^ttficle, her mother's brother, who was a shop- keeper in Edinburgh. Miss Jenkyns tried to drown this confession by a terrible cough — for the Honour- able 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) nvould repeat the information, and assure Miss Pole she could easily get her the identical Shetland wool re- quired, *' through my uncle, who has the best assort- ment of Shetland goods of any one in Edinbro*." It was to take the taste of this out of our mouths, and the sound of thif out of our ears, that Miss Jenkyns proposed music 5 so I say again, it was very good of her to beat time to the song. 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. ** Have you seen any numbers of * The Pick- wick Papers ' ? " said he. (They were then pub- lishing in parts.) " Capital thing ! " 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, i.ul looked upon any conversation about books as a OU'E^SOCIETr ig challenge to her. So she answered aad said, "Yes, she had seen them ; indeed, she might say she had read them," ** And what do you think of them ?" exclahned Captain Brown. " Aren't they famously good ? " So urged Miss Jenkyns could not but speak. **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. " It is quite a different sort of thing, my dear madam," he began. " I am quite aware of that," returned she. ** And I make allowances. Captain Brown." " Just allow me to read you a scene out of this month's number," pleaded he. " I had it only this m^orning, and I don't think the company can have read it yet." *' 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.- Jldid 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 — " Fetch me * Rasselas,' my dear, out of the book-room." When I had brought it to her, she turned to Captain Brown — 14 C'^^O'R^ " Now allow me to read you a scene, and then the present company can judge between your favourite, Mr Boz, and Dr Johnson." 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, hut he did not speak. She thought she would give him a finishing blow or two. ** I consider it vulgar, and below the dignity of literature, to publish in numbers." ** How was the Rambler published, ma'am ? " asked Captain Brown in a low voice, which I think Miss Jenkyns could not have heard. " 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." ** I should be very sorry for him to exchange his style for any such pompous writing," said Captain Brown. Miss Jenkyns felt this as a personal aifront, in a way of which the Captain had not dreamed. Epistolary writing she and her friends considered as her forte. 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, OVE^SOCIETT 15 and only replied to Captain Brown's last remark by saying, with marked emphasis on every syllable, ** I prefer Dr Johnson to Mr Boz." It is said — I won't vouch for the fact — that Captain Brown was heard to say, sotto voce, " D — n Dr Johnson ! " If he did, he was penitent after- wards, 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. CH^PTE'R^ II THE CAPTAIN It was impossible to live a month at Craaford 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^f ^ubj^i^ts 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 re- turning 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 ,6 f- V THE C^PTM:H^ 17 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 ail, 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. 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 John- son 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 i8 C%^3iF0%p 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 ab- solute 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. . 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 J feeling, probably, that no present from a man who preferred Mr Boz to Dr Johnson could be less jarring than an iron fire-shovel. > Such was the state of things whe4 I left Cranford THE C^PTMDi^ 19 and went to DrumbJe. ; I had, however, several corre^S£ondents, who kept me au fait as to the pro- ceedings 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 she knew, or else putting in a post- script 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 gives 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 womadT;' although she would have despised the modern idea of women being equal to men. Equal, indeed ! she knew they were superiorJ But to return to her letters. Every- 20 CR^^KFO^p thing in them was stately and grand like herself. I have been looking theni over (dear Miss Jeokyns, how I honoured her!) and I will give an extract, more especially because it relates to our friend Captain Brown : — ** 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 3^iil^verer. 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 lord- ship'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 dis- tinguished a guest ; and I discovered that his lord- ship 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. THE C^PT^i:\ 21 Perhaps they entertained him with * the feast of reason and the flow of soul * ; and to us, w^ho 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 oppor- tunity of improving his taste by holding converse with an elegant and refined member of the British aristocracy. But from some mundane fallings who is altogether free ? " Miss Pole and Miss Matty v/rote 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*^ 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. {^My next visit to Cranford was in the summer. There had been neither births, deaths, nor marriages since I was there las!^ Everybody lived in the same house, and wore pretty nearly the same well-pre- served, oJd-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 22 C1^^0^O9{p the biindiess 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 ? 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 j 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 THE c^ptm:h^ 23 as ever, unless he was asked about his daughter's health. " 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 every- thing 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 j but th^y 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 — «* 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 24 CR^DiFO^ 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. ** But why does not this Lord Mauleverer do something for the man who saved his life ? " said I. ** 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." I had often occasion to notice the use that was made of fragments and small opportunities in Cran- ford ; the rose-leaves that were gathered ere they fell to make into a pot-pourri 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; THE C^FT^ID^ 1$ and, as they were seldom absent from her thoughts ! jiast then, I heard many a rolling, three - piled ' sentence. Captain Brown called one day to thank Miss Jenkyns for many little kindnesses, which I did not know until then that she had rendered. (He had suddenly become like an old man y his diQe^ 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 ail round without speaking, and left the room. That afternoon we perceived little groups m 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. 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. " 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. ** Come in^ — come to my sister at once, Mis* Jenkyns, the rector's daughter. Oh, man, man ! say it is not true," she cried, as she brought the afTrighted csiner, sleeking down his hair, into the drawing- i6 C1{^3^07{p room, where he stood with his wet boots on the new carpet, and no one regarded it. " 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 cume 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. " Matilda, bring me my bonnet. I must go to those girls. God pardon me, if ever I have spoken contemptuously to the Captain ! " 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. 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 ; THE C^PTM^H^ 27 but that, as soon as she recovered, she begged one of them to go and sit with her sister. "Mr Hoggins says she cannot live many days, and she shall be spared this shock," said Miss Jessie, shiver- ing with feelings to which she dared not give way. " But how can you manage, my dear ? " asked Miss Jenkyns ; " you cannot bear up, she must see your tears." " 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 J enkyns afterwards she could hardly bear it, knowing, as she did, how Miss Brown treated her sister. 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 ail 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, <*Foor, dear, infatuated man ! ** 28 c%^:kfo%p The corpse was to be taken from the station to «he 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 dis- pleasure against Miss Jessie, Miss Jenkyns said she should accompany the latter to the funeral. ** It is not fit for you to go alone. It would be against both propriety and humanity were I to allow it." Miss Jessie seemed as if she did not half like this arrangement j 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 sym- pathy 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. THE C/iPTMV^ 29 indulgent firmDess which was invaluable, allowing her to weep her passionate fill before they left. Miss Pole, Miss Matty, and I, meanwhile attended to Miss Brown : and hard work we found it to relieve her querulous and never-ending com- plaints. 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. 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 oppor- tunity for a few hours of sleep. But when the morning came. Miss Jenkyns appeared at the break- fast-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. 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 30 C%^3^01ip 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. 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. / " 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 ! V '* Hush, love ! hush ! " said Miss Jessie, sobbing. ** And my father, my dear, dear father ! I wUi 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 ! " Alight 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." A strange look, which was not distress, came over Miss Brown's face. She did not speak for «ome time, but then we saw her lips form the words. THE C^PTMD^ 31 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 ! " 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." In a few moments more JMiss Brown lay calm and still — never to sorrow or murmur more. 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 IVIiss 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. " 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." 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 32 CR^^mjO^p 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. ** I have been so much startled — no, Fve not been at all startled — don't mind me, my dear Miss Jessie — Fve been very much surprised — in fact, IVe had a caller, whom you knew once, my dear Miss Jessie ^ Miss Jessie went very white, then flushed scarlet, and looked eagerly at Miss Jenkyns. " A gentleman, my dear, who wants to know if you would see him." **Is it ? — it is not" — stammered out Miss Jessie — and got no farther. " 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. ** May he come up ?" asked Miss Jenkyns at last. ** Oh, yes ! certainly ! " said Miss Jessie, as much flis 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. THE C^PTM^<^ 33 Miss Jenkyns rang the bell, and told the servant who answered it to show Major Gordon upstairs ; and, presently, in walked a talTTTine, 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 regi- ment 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 sufTering ; 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 ofp entirely, and gone abroad, believing that she was a cold~hearted person whom he would do well to forget. 34 CR^SiFO^p 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 Galignani. 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. ** 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. Miss Jenkyns snubbed her down in an instant. ** 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. 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 THE C^PTMV<^ 35 Jenkyns, who lay feeble and changed on the sofa. Flora put down the Rambler when I came in. " Ah ! " said Miss Jenkyns, " you find me changed, my dear. I can*t see as I used to do. If Flora were not here to read to me, I hardly know how I should get through the day. Did you ever read the Rambler ? It's a wonderful book — wonder- ful ! 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. CH^PTE'R^ III A LOVE AFFAIR OF LONG AGO 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 corre- spondence, which bears much the same relation to personal intercourse that the books of dried plants I sometimes see ("Hortus Siccus," I think they call the thing) do to the living and fresh flowers in the lanes and meadows. I was pleasantly surprised, therefore, by receiving a letter fromJVUss 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." /Of course I promised to come to dear Miss eyf LOVE t^FFMI^OF LOHG ^GO 37 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 j and I found the best consolation I. could give was the honest praise that cam^ 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 5 and at last she could not restrain the tears which had long been silently flow- ing, but hid her face behind her handkerchief and sobbed aloud. " 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 — ** 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, Tm afraid — and now she's gone ! If you please, my love, will you call me Matilda ? " 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. 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 38 C'^DiFO'EJC) 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. Presently, the time arrived when I was to re- move 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. ** 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." This subject of servants was a standing griev- ance, 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 Jl LOVE ^^FFJll'^OF LOdiS ^^0 39 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 un- married. 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 havii^g one — were a constant anxiety to her mistress. \ She was forbidden, by the articles of her engagemerlt, 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 pre hibited 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 stayj " for 40 C^O^O^ you know, miss," she added, " 1 doa*t see a creature from six o'clock tea, till Missus rings the bell for prayers at ten." 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 regula- tion 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 ^ LOVE .AFFM%^OF LOD^ ^GO 41 most military men take several. Then, as to oui 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 5 for, as she observed, the juice all ran out no- body 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 un- pleasant 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 J silence, and withdraw to the privacy of their own / rooms to indulge in sucking oranges. 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 en- joy 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. 42 C1{^3^01ip 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 de- termined 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. ^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 morn- ing 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 must suit her, as she said ; for all Cranford knew that she had her sisters bedroom at liberty ; but I am sure she wished the Major had stopped in India and forgotten his cousins out and out. "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 I dear ! and Fve got none. Deborah would have had e/f LOVE ^FFM'F^OF LO:>iG ^GO 43 them. And slippers, and coat-brushes ? " I sug- gested 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 5 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 io with some fresh direction, muddling the poor girl's mind as she stood open-mouthed, listening to us both. *' 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." " And mind you go first to the ladies," put in Miss Matilda. "Always go to the ladies before gentlemen when you are waiting." " ril do it as you tell me, ma'am," said Martha 5 ** but I like lads best." 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 ** 44 c(F07ip 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. 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 beauti- ful reading, of which she had boasted ; but she after- wards 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 — ** What a pretty book ! " '* Pretty, madam ! it*s beautiful ! Pretty, indeed ! " **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. " Which do you mean, ma'am ? What was it about?" ** 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." **I don't remember it," said he reflectivelv. .f VISIT TO ^:h^old B^CHELO'R^ 57 '* But I don't know Dr Johnson^s poems well. I must read them." 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 dis- tressing 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 — ** 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." '* 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 ? " ** 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." ** Martha, I'm not yet iifty-two ! " said Miss Matty, with grave emphasis ; for probably the re- membrance 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. But she never spoke of any former and more S8 C%f^02^i) 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. 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. 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 — ** Well, madam ! have you any commands for Paris ? I am going there in a week or two." ** To Paris ! " we both exclaimed. " Yes, madam ! Fve 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." We were so much astonished that we had no commissions. Just as he was going out of the room, he turned back, with his favourite exclamation — ** 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. e/f VISIT TO ^C^OLD B^CHEL01{ 59 But he had given her a book, and he had called her Matty, just as he used to do thirty years ago. " 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." 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. 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. 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. I went down to have a private talk with Martha. ** How long has your mistress been so poorly .? "^ I asked, as I stood by the kitchen fire. **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 v/as 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." 6o Cli^^HFO^ ** 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 ? " " 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. " But what, Martha ? '* ** 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 ofiered 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 j 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 " fol- lowers " ; and in Miss Matty's present nervous state this dread was not likely to be lessened. 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. " And now I must go back with you, my dear, for I promised to let her know how Thomas Holbrook wenr on j and, Fm sorry to say, his housekeeper has Ji VISIT TO tyfO^OLD B^CHELO^ 6i 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 I Paris has much to answer for if it's killed my cousin Thomas, for a better man never lived." *' Does Miss Matilda know of his illness ? " asked I — a new light as to the cause of her in- disposition dawning upon me. " 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 ! " Not at all, I thought ; but I did not say any- thing. 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, 62 CH^DiFO^ 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 Hail, 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. 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 — " To think of that pleasant day last June, when he seemed so well U And he might have lived this dozen years if he had not gone to that wicked Paris, where they are always having revolutions." She paused for some demonstration on our part. I saw Miss Matty could not speak, she was trembling 80 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. Miss Matty made a strong effort to conceal her ^ VISIT TO ^O^OLD Bt^CHELO'B^ 6g 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 — "But she wears widows* caps, ma*am?" " Oh ! I only meant something in that style ; not widows*, of course, but rather like Mrs Jamieson's." This effort at concealment was the beginning of the tremulous motion of head and hands which I have seen ever since in Miss Matty. The evening of the day on which we heard of Mr Holbrookes death. Miss Matilda was very silent and thoughtful ; after prayers she called Martha back and then she stood uncertain what to say. <* Martha ! " she said, at last, ** you are young — and then she made so long a pause that Martha, to remind her of her half-iinished sentence, dropped a curtsey, and said — " Yes, please, ma'am ; Jwo-and-twenty last third of October, please, ma'am." ** 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 S2 low voice, " that I should grieve any young hearts." She spoke as if she were providing for some distant 64 C%^3<^0%p contingency, and was rather startled when Martha made her ready eager answer^ — " 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." Though Miss Matty was startled, she submitted to Fate and Love. CH^PTEI^ V OLD LETTERS 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 acquaint- ance, 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 E «5 66 CF^^D^JO^p 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 faith- fully 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. Small pieces of butter grieve others. They cannot attend to conversation because of the annoy- ance 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 nor waste. •^ 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 OLD LETTEIIS 67 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. 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 68 C1^3^0'I{D apon 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. 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, \Jhich 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. OLD LETTER 69 I saw the tears stealing down the well-worn furrows of Miss Matty's cheeks, and her spectacles ofteD wanted wiping. I trusted at last that she would light the other candle, for my own eyes were rathes- 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. 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 1 774." 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-h^ottomed 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 coyid 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 " Faduasoy " — whatever that might be ; and six or seven letters were principally occupied iu asking her 70 C'B^:X£0^ 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 m 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. \ " 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. The next letter, likewise docketed by Miss ♦ Jenkyns, was endorsed, ** Letter of pious congratula- tioQ and exhortation from my venerable grandfather to my beloved mother, on occasion of my own birth. OLD LETTER 71 Also some practical remarks on the desirability of keeping warm the extremities of infants, from my excellent grandmother." 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 worl^l 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 in- capacitated 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 up stairs before going down : 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. 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 / 72 CH^^X^O^p of heaven : and then I knew that she had, and that they stood there in angelic guise. 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 re- presented 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 j 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, dum memor ipse met, dum spiritus regit artus^'' which, considering that the English of his cor- respondent 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 carmen was endorsed by her, "Hebrew verses j»ent me by OLD LETTE1{S 73 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 Gentlemar^s Magazine^ December 1 782. Her letters back to her husband (treasured as fondly by him as if they had been M. T. Ckeronls EpistoU) 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 j how she was a very " forrard," good child, but -would ask que^ions her mother could not answer, but how she did not let herself down by saying she did not know, but took to stirring the firej> 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 i* bewty." "I had very pretty hair, my dear," said Miss Matilda; "and not a bad mouth." And I saw her soon afterwards adjust her cap and draw her- self up. 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 5 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 directioEe 74 C'RJ[HFO'Rp about the cows and pigs ; and did not always obtain them, as I have shown before. 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 w^hich men might fall, until 1 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." f 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. 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 OLD LETTERS 75 written ** Epictetus," but she was quite sure Deborah would never have made use of such a common ex- pression as " I canna be fashed ! " 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. 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 represent- ing 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 thj» 76 C^^O^O'KP 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 ses- quipedalian. 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. I can't quite remember the date, but I think it was in 1 805 that Miss Jenkyns wrote the longest series of letters — on occasion of her absence on a visit to some friends near Newcastie-upon-Tyne. These friends were intimate with the commandant of the garrison there, and heard from him of all the prepara- sions 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 j 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 OLD LETTERS 77 waf; 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 ring- ing 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 pro- ceeding, 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 breath- less 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 — "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 ApoUyon and Abaddon. I re- member my father rather thought he should be asked to print this last set; but the parish had, perhaps, had enough of them with hearing.** 78 C'R^HPO'I^p Peter Marmaduke Arlev Jenkyns ( " poor Peter ! '' as Miss Matty begaa 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 corre- spond 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 Bonus Bernardus non v'ldet omnia, 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." OLD LETTER 75^ 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 ! " '^ POOR PETER Poor Peter's career lay before him rathe? pleasantly mapped out by kind friends, but Bonus Bernardus non •uidet omnia, 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 Peterl^is 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. He was the darling of his mother, who seemed to dote on ail her children, though she was, perhaps, £ 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 ir R manly way. He could not afford to send Peter to read with any tutor^ 'hM he coiM read with POO'B^PETE'R^ 8i 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 bega^t^. " My poor mother ! " said she. " I remember how she used to stand in the l^all, 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." " What went wrong at last ? " said I. " That tiresome Latin, I dare say." ** No ! it was not the Latin. Peter was in high favour with my father, for he worked up well for him. /bvLt he seemed to think that the Cranford people might be joked about^'and made fun of, and they did not like it j 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 prin- cipally 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, F 82 c'r^:kfo%p 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 admir- able 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, j * Confound the woman ! ' — very bad language, my 1 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." | " Did Miss Jenkyns know of these tricks ? " said I. " 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 POO'R^PETE'R^ 83 the town wanted something to talk about; but I don't think they did. They had the 5/ Jameses Chronicle 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. " I will lock the door after you, Martha. You are not afraid to go, are you ? " ** No, ma'am, not at all ; Jem Hearn will be only too proud to go with me." Miss Matty drew herself up, and as soon as we were alone, she wished that Martha had more maidenly reserve. "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 h.is mind ; and that vexed him. 84 C%^IKF01^> " Well ! he went to her room, it seems, and dressed himself in her old gown, and shav/1, and bonnet 5 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 POO'R^PETE'R^ 85 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 j 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 ! ** 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 86 C1^:NiF0'Hp 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. ** * Tell your mother I have flogged Peter, and that he richly deserved it.* " 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. *' Presently my mother went to my father. I know I thought of Queen Esther and King Ahasuerus j 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, v We looked over the house ; no Peter was there ! i 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 \werd calling low and soft, as if to reassure the poor POO'F^PETE^, 87 boy, * Peter ! Peter, dear ! it's only me ; * but, by- aad-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. " * 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 88 C%^:>QO^ 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. " 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 j — 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. ** * I have borrowed the nets from the weir. Miss POO'E^PETE'R^ 89 Matty. Shall we drag the ponds to-night, or walr for the morning ? ' "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. " 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. ** 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." ** Where was Mr Peter ? " said I. ** 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 90 Cl^O^Olip glad to have a fine likely boy such as him (five foot nine he was), come to offer himself. The captaia wrote to my father, and Peter wrote to my mother. Stay ! those letters will be somewhere here.*' 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 : — ** 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." 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 j and I, a stranger, not born at the time when this occurrence took place, was the one to open it. The captain's letter summoned the father and POOI^PETE'R^ 91 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. 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 oif 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 ! " 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 v/ith 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." " And she was too late," said Miss Matty ; " too late ! " 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. ** 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 92 d^^HFO^ (, wonder at his speaking so to Deborah, for she was so clever ; but I could not bear to hear him talking so to me. *< 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 cheer- ful 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. ** Well, my dear, it's very foolish of me, I know, when in all likelihood I am so near seeing her again, ** And only think, love ! the very day after her P00%^PETE1^ 93 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. " 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.' " 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.' *'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. ** Deborah said to me, the day of my mother's 94 C'E^DifO^p funeral, that if she had a hundred offers she neve? 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." " Did Mr Peter ever come home ? '* " Yes, once. He came home a lieutenant 5 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." " And then ? " said I, after a pause. " 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^ POOI^PETE'R^ ^S our circumstances were changed ; and, instead ol^ living at the rectory, and keeping three maids and & 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 ! '' " And Mr Peter ? " asked I. "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. " That's Martha back ? No ! Pll go, mj 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." So she pattered off. I had lighted the candle, to give the room a cheerful appearance against her return. ** Was it Martha ? " asked I. ** Yes. And I am rather uncomfortable, for I heard such a strange noise, just as I was opening the door." " Where ? " I asked, for her eyes were round with affright. "In the street — just outside— it sounded like "— " Talking ? " I put in, as she hesitated a little,, ** No ! kissing " VISITING 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. Miss BettyBarker was the daughter of the old VISITIO^ 97 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 e/ke of Cranford. I say the //// ** My sister-in-law, Lady Glenmire, is coming to j stay with me.'* 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. 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 3 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 J 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 havs been much more pressing. ** YOUR LADYSHIP " 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 some- thing behind. At last out it came. ** 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 ? " Poor Miss Matty ! she took off her spectacles and she put them on again — but how Lady Arley was addressed, she could not remember. *' 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 '*roui^Lt^DnHip** in 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." It was very certain Miss Pole would obtain no wise decision from Miss Matty, who got more be- wildered every moment, and more perplexed as to -^ etiquettes of address. "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." ** 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, Tm sure. *Lady Arley,' * Sir Peter,'" said Miss Matty to herself^ trying to recall the old forms of words. "Who is Lady Glenmire ?" asked L " 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." 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 in- 112 CR^SiFO^p (ismuate 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. 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 uncourteousiy 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. A little while afterwards Miss Pole returned, red and indignant. " Well ! to be sure ! YouVe 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 " rO C/^ LADYSHIP " 113 Mrs Forrester's Peerage, to see who this lady was, that is to be kept under a glass case : widow of ^. 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." 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. " 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 ! " 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 com- pliment to Lady Glenmire, and Martha had made good use of her eyes. " 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). Miss Pole said, ** Good gracious me ! as if we H 114 C%^ViFO%p cared about a Mrs Smith ; " but was silent as Martha rj.sumed her speech. / ** 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. Fii tell you what, ma'am, she's more like Mrs Deacon, at the * Coach and Horses,' nor any one." " Hush, Martha ! " said Miss Matty, ** that's not respectful." *' Isn't it, ma'am ? I beg pardon, I'm sure j but Jem Hearn said so as well. He said, she was just such a sharp, stirring sort of a body " — ** Lady," said Miss Pole. ** Lady — as Mrs Deacon." 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. Perhaps by this time Lady Glenmire had found out that Mrs Jamieson 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 " rO U1{^ L^DTSHIP " 1 15 alter her determination of excluding the Cranford ladies, and send notes of invitation all round for a smaJi party on the following Tuesday. Mr MuUiner himself brought them round, He nvould 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. 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. " 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." ** 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.. Ii6 C2^^02y) Now, if you would come, my conscience would be quite at ease, and luckily the note is not written yet," I saw Miss Pole's countenance change while Miss Matty was speaking. ** Don't you mean to go then ? " asked she. " Oh, no ! " said Miss Matty quietly. " You don't either, I suppose ? " ** 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 our- selves, 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." ** 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." ** 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." " I thought you possessed them, too, that day Mrs Jamieson called to tell us not to go," said Miss Matty innocently. But Miss JPole, in addition to her delicacies of feeling, possessed a very smart cap, which she was *' rouT^^L^DrsHiP" 117 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." 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 every- where (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. 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 ii8 CI^D^O^ made of Scotch pebbles, which a vivid imagination might believe to be the real iosect) j 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. 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 Muiliner 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 alwayt> engaged in reading the St Jameses Chronicle, 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 ** TO VH^ L^DTSHIP " 1 19 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 St James's Chronicky should come in at the last moment — the very 5/ Jameses Chronicle which the powdered head was tranquilly and com- posedly reading as we passed the accustomed window this evening. " 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." 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 1 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. 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. I20 CH^O^Olip 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 Jamie son'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 ex- ception 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 help- lessly 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. '' rOVR^L^DTSHIP'' 121 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 — **My dear! ten pounds would have purchased every stitch she had on — lace and all." 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. 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 savoir fairey spoke to Lady Glenmire, who on her part had seemed just as much puzzled to know how to break the silence as we were. ** 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." ** I never was there in my life," said Lady 122 C5^J^^02^ Glenmire, with a broad Scotch accent, but in a very sweet Toice. 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 ray 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'il 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 uncl-^ who once had passed a night there, which v/as very pleasant. Mrs Jamieson, meanwhile, was absorbed in wonder why Mr MuUiner did not bring the tea ; and at length the wonder oozed out of her mouth. "I had better ring the bell, my dear, had not I ? " said Lady Glenmire briskly. ** No — I think not — Mulliner does not like to be hurried." We should have liked our tea, for we dined at an earlier hour than Mrs Jamieson. I suspect Mr Mulliner had to finish the St Jameses Chronicle 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 Gieaiuire rang the bell ; I believe it was for tea." ** roui{^ L^DrsHip '» 123 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 disappoint- ment. 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 thiiig 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 saucerfui 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 wagginfy his tdl for the cream which should have been ours. After tea we thawed down into commoa-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 \ 124 c%^:hfo%p 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. The friendship begun over bread and butter extended on to cards. Lady Glenmire played Pre- ference 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. As a proof of how throughly 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. " Yes," said that lady, " such lace cannot be got now for either love or money j 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 " TO U(p9{^B9iu:N:pv^ 129 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 "WombwelFs 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 particu- larly 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. 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 dis- figuring 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 I30 C'R^3(go^ 139 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. 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 some- thing 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 — ** Will you look, my dear — you are a stranger in the town, and it won't give rise to unpleasant 140 c%/itKFO%p reports — will you just look round and see if the rector is here ? If he is, I think we may con- clude that this wonderful man is sanctioned by the Church, and that will be a great relief to my mind. 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. 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 iirst 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 Signer Brunoni after all. THE PANIC I THINK a series of circumstances dated frons Signer 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 bond fide 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 149 THE P^O^IC 143 cott , of carts that went about ia the dead of night irawn by horses shod with felt, and guarded by n M in dark clothes, going round the town, no doubt in search of some unwatched house or some unfastened door. 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." 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. This last comparison of our nightly state of defence and fortification was made by Mrs Forresterj 144 C^yiOiFO^Hp 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 Stael 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, vShe was thankful to say, the English knew nothing about ; and she had never felt quite easy in her mind THE p^:kic 145 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. 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." One afternoon, about five o'clock, we v/ere 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 j 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. 146 C%^3<^0%p " 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 neigh- bours, and I don't believe we could be heard if we screamed ever so ! " '* But," said Miss Matty, " what has alarmed you so much ? Have you seen any men lurking about the house .'' " ** 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." "We might have triumphed over Miss Pole, who had professed such bravery until she was frightened j 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 THE Pe/f3^C 147 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. 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 oiF 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 j 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 oft: 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. 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 \ 148 CF^O^O^p 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. 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. 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 THE P^O^C 149 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 comfort- able 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. 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 olf 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 ! 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 I50 d^^KPO"^ 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. 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 ail sorts of awful things! 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 afRiction. But there was always a tinge of cynicism in Miss Pole's remarks. However, one thing was clear and certain — it v/as necessary for Mrs Jamieson to have some change of scene ; and Mr MuUiner was very impressive on this point, shaking his head when- ever we inquired after his mistress, and speaking of her loss of appetite and bad nights very ominously ; THE P^O^C 151 and with justice too, for if she had two characteristics 10 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. 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. y^ Miss Pole was very much inclined to instal her- self 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 j he of course i52 c%^:>(F0i{p 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 pro- bably a man dressed in woman's clothes ; afterwards, we heard of a beard on her chin, and a manly voice and a stride. 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 in- telligence ; for the event had only occurred the night before. *' 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. THE p^:hic 153 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 out- witted. If you will notice, they have always fore- seen 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 welh" 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 ! " " 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.'* *' Not robbed ! " exclaimed the chorus. "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 exagger- ated account of some petty theft of a neck of mutton, which, it seems, was stolen out of the safe in his \ 154 CR^SiFOlip 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." 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 pkying 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 atf:iir, as it enabled us to consult together. . . . We would all much rather have declined this invitation 5 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 THE p^:kic 155 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. 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. 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 neighbour- hood of Cranford. Having braved the dangers of Darkness Lane, and thus having a little stock of reputation for courage to fall back upon j and also, I daresay, desirous of proving ourselves superior to men (yidelket Mr Hoggins) in the article of candour, we / 156 CR^V^O^ 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, fiat, 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. THE P^O^C 157 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 her private weakness. 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 French- man, 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 some- times thought such dead sleep must be owing to the hearty suppers the poor lad ate, for he was \ 158 C'R^HFO'^p half-starved at home, and she told Jenny to see that he got a good meal at night. 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 — ** Ghosts ! " 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 httle 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. In spite of the uncomfortable feeling which this last consideration gave me, I could not help being THE P^3iIC 159 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 with- out 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, v/ho 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. We preserved a discreet silence as to the head- less 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 disagree- able sights, and the men (either because they were in spirits that their labours were so nearly ended, or i6o C^OiFOTip 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 — • " 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." A smothered voice was heard from the inside of the chair — " 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." " And ril give you a shilling," said Miss Pole, with tremulous dignity, **if you'll go by Headingley Causeway." The two men grunted acquiescence and took up the chair, and went along the causeway, which cer- tainly 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. SAMUEL BROWN 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. 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. i62 C%^DiF01ip 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. Miss Pole had begun to have her suspicions at this point, and expressed her idea that it was rathe? strange that the box and cart and horse and all should SAMUEL Blip^O^ 163 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 5 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 m 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. 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 th*? *' Rising Sun" that very afternoon, and examine into the signer'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 i64 C<^3iF0%p 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. 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 Pre- ference "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 im- provement. 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. 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 St^^MUEL B^WV^ 165 him. Miss Pole looked out clean aod 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 Jenkyna — 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 admir- able, 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 Waiter that shot King Rufus, and in whose veins run the i66 C%ADiFO%p 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. 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 j but the mistress's theory had little eifect on the maid's practice until she had sewn two pieces of red flannel in the shape of a cross on her inner garment. 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. S^mUEL BliOTVO^ 167 ** 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." We were all of us far too full of the signer'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 founda- tion 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 recol- lection of a man disguised as a woman who had endeavoured to force himself into her house while his confederates waited outside j 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 i68 C'K^O^O'Rp 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. 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 s^muEL bi^tf:h^ 169 time when she had looked forward to being married as much as any one. "Not to any particular person, my dear," said' she, hastily checking herself up, as if she were afraid of having admitted too much j " only the old story, you know, of ladies always saying, * When I marry,' and gentlemen, * If 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— *'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 not 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. If 1 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, " My father once made os," she began, '* ktt^ % S70 C'^O^O'Rfi 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 iife.\j never was ambitious, nor could I have wntte% 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 S^OdUEL BligWSi^ 171 ' that I have a little child — always the same — a little ' girl of about two years old j 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 y 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." If J[ ha d 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 j 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. ' 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 j 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 172 C%^ViFO%D 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 con- tinued, "how people can mistake Thomas for U;e 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." " Have you been in India ? " said I, rather astonished. ** 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 Jdnd of wild look in them, as if seeking for what S^iMUEL B'RpWD<^ 173 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 wash- ing 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 174 ci{^:h^o%p 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." " And you reached Calcutta safely at last ^ " " 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 sj:mvEL bi^w:h^ 175 k 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 y 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." ''Poor little PhcEbe ! " said I, my thoughts going back to the baby she carried all those hundred miles. " 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 Jenkyas took us in, which I believe was the very saving of her." " Jenkyns ! " said I. " Yes, Jenkyns. I shall think ail people of that name are kind; for here is that nice old lady who comes every day to take Phoebe a walk ! " But an idea had flashed through my head j 176 C^J^tH^FO^p 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. CH^PTE%_ Xll ll ENGAGED TO BE MARRIED Was the "poor Peter" of Cranford the Aga Jenkyns of Chunderabaddad, or was he not ? As somebody says, that was the question. 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 hag a bug-bear fault, a sort of standing characteristic — a puce de resistance 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 deter- mined 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. 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 satis- faction. So, at this charitable committee, every lady took the subject uppermost in her mind, and talked M ^77 ^ 178 CF^DiFO"^ 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 oif 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 hand- some, 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 Hamas EO^G^GED TO BE m^'R^ED 179 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 car- nivorous and graminivorous together, just as she did horizontal and perpendicular j 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. 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. I suppose all these inquiries of mine, and the consequent curiosity excited in the minds of my i8o C1{^:XF01{D 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 breath- less 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. 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 St Jameses Chronicle. 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 EDiG^GED TO BE M^I^ED i8i had a touch of rheumatism) to our rooms, to change cap and collars, when Miss Pole arrested us by call- ing 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 j 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. " What do you think, Miss Matty ? What do 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 ! " " Marry ! " said we. " Marry ! Madness ! " " Marry ! " said Miss Pole, with the decision that belonged to her character. " 1 said marry ! as you do ; and I also said, * What a fool my lady ' is going to make of herself ! ' I could have said ' Mad- ness ! ' 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 ! " i82 C'li^O^O'Hp ** But,** said Miss Matty, sighing as one recover- ing from a blow, ** perhaps it is not true. Perhaps we are doing her injustice." " 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 a propos of the difficulty gentlemen must have in house-keeping j 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. "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 ! " " So near that my heart stopped beating when I heard of it, while you might have counted twelve," said Miss Pole. " 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. " 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— - • Set her on the Tintock tap, The wind will blaw a man till her.'" E3iG^GED TO BE M^%^ED 183 " That was because * Tibbie Fowler * was rich, I think." "Well! there was a kind of attraction about Lady Glenmire that I, for one, should be ashamed to have." I put in my wonder. " But how can she have fancied Mr Hoggins } I am not surprised that Mr Hoggins has liked her." " Oh ! I don't know. Mr Hoggins is rich, and very pleasant-looking," said Miss Matty, " and very good-tempered and kind-hearted." *' 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 Jamleson 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 mesalliance, we could 1 84 C^O^FO^ not help allowing that they had both been exceed- ingly 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 "V 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 Ilet us ^ Or must we choose between the Honour- able 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. 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 in- formation, which we honourably left to Miss Pole, to e:kg^ged to be m^'r^ed 185 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-handker- chief. 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. 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. 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. I don't know whether it is a fancy of mJne, 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, i86 C'R^SiFO'Ep 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 else- where 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 bran-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. None of the ladies in Cranford chose to sanction the marriage by congratulating either of the parties. We wished to ignore the whole afiair 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 EJ^^GED TO BE M^I^ED 187 upon our tongues — for you see if we did not speak about it to any of the parties concerned, how could v/e 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 Drumbie 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 counter- act the dazzling fascination of any yellow or scarlet silk. \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 i88 C%^DiFO%p make the account given by the signora of the Aga Jeukyns tally with that of '* poor Peter," his appearance and disappearance, which I had winnowed out of the conversation of Miss Pole and Mrs Forrester. V CH^PTEI^ XIII STOPPED PAYMENT 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 appear- ance until two or three in the afternoon, for every one liked poor Thomas, and gave him a welcome oil 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 190 di^^iV^O^p 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 bene- fiting 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-hand- kercliief. Miss Jenkyns almost scolded him if he STOPPED P^rMEHJ 191 did not leave a clean plate, however heaped \t might have been, and gave an injunction with every mouthful. 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 5. 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 theie/' 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 inveit their little property in it — the only unwise step that clever woman had ever taken, to his knowledge (th^ only time she ever acted against his advice, I knew) However, if anything had gone wrong, of course \ was not to think of leaving Miss Matty while I could be of any use, etc. " 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." I did not like to hear of this " important meet- ing,' 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 1 resolved to say nothing about my alarm, and merely 192 CI^DiFO'Hp 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 — **I remember their sending one to Deborah just like this ; but that I did not wonder at, for every- body 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." '* My father has no shares in the bank," said I. '* 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." 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 STOPPED P^rmEV ' C'R^^^HJO'^p 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. Somehow, after twelve o'clock, we both ac- knowledged 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 dis- STOPPED P^TMEtHJ 20I tressed 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 — " 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." 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 foorpence 202 C^^^KFO'Bp 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." 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. 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. ** 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 STOPPED P^r3dEtHT 203 good hearts and very clever minds too, who were not what some people reckoned refined, but who were both true and tender." 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. The next morning news came, both official and otherwise, that the Town and County Bank had stopped payment. Miss Matty was ruined. 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. '* 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." Miss Matty smiled at me through her tears, and she would fain have had me see only the smile, not the tears. CH^PTE^ XW FRIENDS IN NEED 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 in- telligence 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 h«r 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 f^e:hps i3^:n:eed 205 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 wisdom of which I questioned afterwards with equal 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. "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 Fd 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 gC' 2o6 C%^0iFO%p 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 " "But, Martha," said I, cutting in while she wiped her eyes. "Don't, *but Martha' me," she replied to my deprecatory tone. " Listen to reason " " 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 ! " 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. «* Well " said I at last. " I'm thankful you begin with * well ! ' If you'd ha' begun with * but,' as you did afore, I'd not ha' listened to you. Now you may go on." " I know you would be a great loss to Miss Matty, Martha" ** I telled her so. A loss she'd never cease to be sorry for," broke in Martha triumphantly. "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. F'ldEO^S IO^:n:EED 207 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." 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). 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." 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. 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 at 2o8 C'H^HFO'E^ sooQ 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 j but at length I put even this last clause on one side, and wondered what in the world Miss Matty could do. 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 accom- plishments. 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 FlilEO^S IO^:n:EED 209 were failing her, and I doubted if she could discover the number of threads in a worsted-work pattern, or rightly appreciate the difFferent 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. 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 ? ; 2IO C%^D<^0%p 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 corres- pondent ; and words that she would spell quite correctly in her letters to me became perfect enigmas when she wrote to my father. 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, v/ith a face all blubbered and swollen with crying. 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 v/as 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 fHIES^S IV^D^ED 211 little children, and which I had never heard her use to any grown-up person. 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 j 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 couchant that ever was moulded. Martha's face gleamed with triumph as she set it down before Miss Matty with an ex- ultant ** 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 couchant^ 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. "I am sure, dear, I have seen uglier things Nuder a glass shade before now," said she. 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. We had too much to think about to talk much 212 C%^t>{FO%p 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. \ 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. "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 reluct- ance to be presented on the courtly scene of Miss Matilda Jenkyns's drawing-room. ** 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 5 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." " 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." "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.) " 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 & lodger as the great object they wished 214 c'f^:kfo%p 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. 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 — ** Marriage is a very solemn thing, Martha." " It is indeed, ma*am," quoth Jem. ** Not that I've no objections to Martha." " YouVe 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." "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 inake you comfortable j 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." 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 ! " "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." '* 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 ? " This last was sofio voce, 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. 2i6 C'F^^O^FO'KP 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 under- stand 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 eleven 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. 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, F'l^EO^S 13^ V^EED 217 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, j as she feared it was, that Miss Matty had lost all her/ fortune? 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. ** 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. '* 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.) " 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 *?iy business to do 2i8 C%f^7{F0f(p to shape our objections ; in fact, we never were sure it 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 ov/n affairs were in a very anxious state. 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 Cran- ford ladies at Miss Pole's the day before. He kept brushing his hand before his eyes as I spoke — and wheo 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 v/ith 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." The lunch— a hot savoury mutton-chop, and a F1{IE0^S lO^V^ED 225 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 any- thing 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." 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 j 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 appro- priate 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 repre- sented 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 226 C'F^O^O'Rp 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 5 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. 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 be^ Fi{iE3^s i:j^iheed 227 cause she distrusted her own powers of action in a new line of life, and would timidly have preferred i:^ 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 ! V A HAPPY RETURN 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 j which was to this effect : that whereas a married woman takes her hus- band's rank by the strict laws of precedence, an un- married woman retains the station her father occupied. So Cranford was allowed to visit Miss Matty ; and, 1 whether allowed or not, it intended to visit Lady I Glenmire. But what was our surprise — our dismay — when we learnt that Mr and Mrs Hoggins 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 ^ H^ppr "i^TUTig^ 229 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 St Jameses Chronicle^ so indignant was she with its having inserted the announcement of the marriage. Miss Matty's sale went off famously. She re- tained 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 un- known 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. I had expended my own small store in buying all manner of comfits and lozenges, in order to tempt 230 CT^O^OT^ 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 whole- some 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 inscrip- tions all over them, stood ready to disgorge their contents into the canisters. 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 pro- ject 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 expen- sive 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. 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. I^just stayed long enough to establish Miss Matty in her new mode of Hfe, 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 232 C%fJS(i^O!Zy) 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. 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.e. 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 contribut- ing 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. 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 e^ H^PPT "J^TVR^ 233 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 per- severing 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 *{j:V%p him talk in the quiet way he did to him. They liked him the better, indeed, for being what they called " so very Oriental." 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 MuUiner 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 v/hile Mrs Jamieson slowly com- mented 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. 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, PE^CE TO C%^D^O%p 247 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 alj been quiet, each with a separate reverie, for some little time, when Mr Peter broke in — '* Do you know, Httle 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." 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 v/ent on — 248 C%ADiFO'Rp ** 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 Fve 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. WeJl, 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 ! " 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 PE^CE TO CUs^V^Olip 249 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. 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 ail 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, I left Miss Matty and Mr Peter most comfort- able 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 250 ci{^:hj:0%p that this would only last until Mrs Jamieson or Mr MuUiner 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 satis- factory way. 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 — couhl 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 FE^CE TO C'l{^O^VT{p 2 Si 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 Jamie- son rather took it as a compliment, as putting Miss Betty (formerly her maid) on a level with " those Hogginses." 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. 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 252 CB^tS^O^p 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." 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 j 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 PE./iCE TO c%a:kpo%p 253 in the Assembly Room in the evening. But I— 1 looked only at the fatal words : — " Undtr the Patronage of the HoNOURAULE JVIr3 Jamieson." 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; pnd every innocent anticipation of Miss Matty's only served to add to my annoyance. 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 bu'sy. 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 siz^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 254 C%^tKF01(p 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 — ** But, Mr Peter, shooting a cherubim — don't you think — I am afraid that was sacrilege ! " 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 con- versation, 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, Ml s Hoggins, on the other. You see if I don't." PE^CE TO C'E^3^0%p 255 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. Ever since that day there has been the old friendly sociability in Cranford society; which I am thankful for, because of my dear Miss Matty's love of peace and kindliness. We all love Miss Matty, and I somehow think we are all of us better when she is near us. I I M g^ rJ 5^ WWMt S*r 5- 1 ^n Ret book m ■ o ? to desk UEon o i :x) f^ Hh Si 2 :. 5 en ^ sr 3 to <-> no d which bo St date St i. tf> * rrowed. amped below. H Hi !2; U. C. BERKELEY LIBRARIES CDSEDI7btt vfLo'y'> UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY