CHAPTER LXXIII.
THERE IS COMFORT AT PLUMSTEAD.
Henry Grantly had written the following short letter to Mrs. Grantlywhen he made up his mind to pull down the auctioneer's bills.
DEAR MOTHER,--
I have postponed the sale, not liking to refuse you anything. As far as I can see, I shall still be forced to leave Cosby Lodge, as I certainly shall do all I can to make Grace Crawley my wife. I say this that there may be no misunderstanding with my father. The auctioneer has promised to have the bills removed.
Your affectionate son,
HENRY GRANTLY.
This had been written by the major on the Friday before Mr. Walkerhad brought up to him the tidings of Mr. Toogood and Mrs. Arabin'ssolution of the Crawley difficulty; but it did not reach Plumsteadtill the following morning. Mrs. Grantly immediately took the goodnews about the sale to her husband,--not of course showing him theletter, being far too wise for that, and giving him credit for beingtoo wise to ask for it. "Henry has arranged with the auctioneer," shesaid joyfully; "and the bills have been all pulled down."
"How do you know?"
"I've just heard from him. He has told me so. Come, my dear, let mehave the pleasure of hearing you say that things shall be pleasantagain between you and him. He has yielded."
"I don't see much yielding in it."
"He has done what you wanted. What more can he do?"
"I want him to come over here, and take an interest in things, andnot treat me as though I were nobody." Within an hour of this themajor had arrived at Plumstead, laden with the story of Mrs. Arabinand the cheque, and of Mr. Crawley's innocence,--laden not onlywith such tidings as he had received from Mr. Walker, but also withfurther details, which he had received from Mr. Toogood. For hehad come through Barchester, and had seen Mr. Toogood on his way.This was on the Saturday morning, and he had breakfasted with Mr.Toogood at "The Dragon of Wantly." Mr. Toogood had told him of hissuspicions,--how the red-nosed man had been stopped, and had beensummoned as a witness for Mr. Crawley's trial,--and how he was nowunder the surveillance of the police. Grantly had not cared very muchabout the red-nosed man, confining his present solicitude to thequestion whether Grace Crawley's father would certainly be shown tohave been innocent of the theft. "There's not a doubt about it,major," said Mr. Toogood; "not a doubt on earth. But we'd better be alittle quiet till your aunt comes home,--just a little quiet. She'llbe here in a day or two, and I won't budge till she comes." In spiteof his desire for quiescence Mr. Toogood consented to a revelationbeing at once made to the archdeacon and Mrs. Grantly. "And I'll tellyou what, major; as soon as ever Mrs. Arabin is here, and has givenus her own word to act on, you and I will go over to Hogglestock andastonish them. I should like to go myself, because, you see, Mrs.Crawley is my cousin, and we have taken a little trouble about thismatter." To this the major assented; but he altogether declined toassist in Mr. Toogood's speculations respecting the unfortunate DanStringer. It was agreed between them that for the present no visitshould be made to the palace, as it was thought that Mr. Thumble hadbetter be allowed to do the Hogglestock duties on the next Sunday.As matters went, however, Mr. Thumble did not do so. He had paid hislast visit to Hogglestock.
It may be as well to explain here that the unfortunate Mr. Snapperwas constrained to go out to Hogglestock on the Sunday which was nowapproaching,--which fell out as follows. It might be all very wellfor Mr. Toogood to arrange that he would not tell this person or thatperson of the news which he had brought down from London but as hehad told various people in Silverbridge, as he had told Mr. Soames,and as he had told the police at Barchester, of course the tale foundits way to the palace. Mr. Thumble heard it, and having come by thistime thoroughly to hate Hogglestock and all that belonged to it, hepleaded to Mr. Snapper that this report afforded ample reason why heneed not again visit that detestable parish. Mr. Snapper did not seeit in the same light. "You may be sure Mr. Crawley will not get intothe pulpit after his resignation, Mr. Thumble," said he.
"His resignation means nothing," said Thumble.
"It means a great deal," said Snapper; "and the duties must beprovided for."
"I won't provide for them," said Thumble; "and so you may tell thebishop." In these days Mr. Thumble was very angry with the bishop,for the bishop had not yet seen him since the death of Mrs. Proudie.
Mr. Snapper had no alternative but to go to the bishop. The bishopin these days was very mild to those whom he saw, given but to fewwords, and a little astray,--as though he had had one of his limbscut off,--as Mr. Snapper expressed it to Mrs. Snapper. "I shouldn'twonder if he felt as though all his limbs were cut off," said Mrs.Snapper; "you must give him time, and he'll come round by-and-by."I am inclined to think that Mrs. Snapper's opinion of the bishop'sfeelings and condition was correct. In his difficulty respectingHogglestock and Mr. Thumble Mr. Snapper went to the bishop, and spokeperhaps a little harshly of Mr. Thumble.
"I think, upon the whole, Snapper, that you had better go yourself,"said the bishop.
"Do you think so, my lord?" said Snapper. "It will be inconvenient."
"Everything is inconvenient; but you'd better go. And look here,Snapper, if I were you, I wouldn't say anything out at Hogglestockabout the cheque. We don't know what it may come to yet." Mr.Snapper, with a heavy heart, left his patron, not at all liking thetask that was before him. But his wife encouraged him to be obedient.He was the owner of a one-horse carriage, and the work was not,therefore, so hard to him as it would have been and had been to poorMr. Thumble. And, moreover, his wife promised to go with him. Mr.Snapper and Mrs. Snapper did go over to Hogglestock, and the dutywas done. Mrs. Snapper spoke a word or two to Mrs. Crawley, and Mr.Snapper spoke a word or two to Mr. Crawley; but not a word was saidabout the new news as to Mr. Soames's cheque, which were now almostcurrent in Barchester. Indeed, no whisper about it had as yet reachedHogglestock.
"One word with you, reverend sir," said Mr. Crawley to the chaplain,as the latter was coming out of the church, "as to the parish work,sir, during the week;--I should be glad if you would favour me withyour opinion."
"About what, Mr. Crawley?"
"Whether you think that I may be allowed, without scandal, to visitthe sick,--and to give instruction in the school."
"Surely;--surely, Mr. Crawley. Why not?"
"Mr. Thumble gave me to understand that the bishop was veryurgent that I should interfere in no way in the ministrationsof the parish. Twice did he enjoin on me that I should notinterfere,--unnecessarily, as it seemed to me."
"Quite unnecessary," said Mr. Snapper. "And the bishop will beobliged to you, Mr. Crawley, if you'll just see that the things go onall straight."
"I wish it were possible to know with accuracy what his idea ofstraightness is," said Mr. Crawley to his wife. "It may be thatthings are straight to him when they are buried as it were out ofsight, and put away without trouble. I hope it be not so with thebishop." When he went into his school and remembered,--as he didremember through every minute of his teaching--that he was to receiveno portion of the poor stipend which was allotted for the clericalduties of the parish, he told himself that there was gross injusticein the way in which things were being made straight at Hogglestock.
But we must go back to the major and to the archdeacon atPlumstead,--in which comfortable parish things were generally madestraight more easily than at Hogglestock. Henry Grantly went overfrom Barchester to Plumstead in a gig from the "Dragon," and madehis way at once into his father's study. The archdeacon was seatedthere with sundry manuscripts before him, and with one half-finishedmanuscript,--as was his wont on every Saturday morning. "Halloo,Harry," he said. "I didn't expect you in the least." It was barely anhour since he had told Mrs. Grantly that his complaint against hisson was that he wouldn't come and make himself comfortable at therectory.
"Father," said he, giving the archdeacon his hand, "you have heardnothing yet about Mr. Crawley?"
"No," said the archdeacon jumping up; "not
hing new;--what is it?"Many ideas about Mr. Crawley at that moment flitted across thearchdeacon's mind. Could it be that the unfortunate man had committedsuicide, overcome by his troubles?
"It has all come out. He got the cheque from my aunt."
"From your aunt Eleanor?"
"Yes; from my aunt Eleanor. She has telegraphed over from Veniceto say that she gave the identical cheque to Crawley. That is allwe know at present,--except that she has written an account of thematter to you, and that she will be here herself as quick as she cancome."
"Who got the message, Henry?"
"Crawley's lawyer,--a fellow named Toogood, a cousin of hiswife's;--a very decent fellow," added the major, remembering hownecessary it was that he should reconcile his father to all theCrawley belongings. "He's to be over here on Monday, and then willarrange what is to be done."
"Done in what way, Henry?"
"There's a great deal to be done yet. Crawley does not know himselfat this moment how the cheque got into his hands. He must be told,and something must be settled about the living. They've taken theliving away from him among them. And then the indictment must bequashed, or something of that kind done. Toogood has got hold of thescoundrel at Barchester who really stole the cheque from Soames;--orthinks that he has. It's that Dan Stringer."
"He's got hold of a regular scamp then. I never knew any good of DanStringer," said the archdeacon.
Then Mrs. Grantly was told, and the whole story was repeated again,with many expressions of commiseration in reference to all theCrawleys. The archdeacon did not join in these at first, being rathershy on that head. It was very hard for him to have to speak to hisson about the Crawleys as though they were people in all respectsestimable and well-conducted, and satisfactory. Mrs. Grantlyunderstood this so well, that every now and then she said somehalf-laughing word respecting Mr. Crawley's peculiarities, feelingthat in this way she might ease her husband's difficulties. "He mustbe the oddest man that ever lived," said Mrs. Grantly, "not to haveknown where he got the cheque." The archdeacon shook his head, andrubbed his hands as he walked about the room. "I suppose too muchlearning has upset him," said the archdeacon. "They say he's not verygood at talking English, but put him on in Greek and he never stops."
The archdeacon was perfectly aware that he had to admit Mr. Crawleyto his goodwill, and that as for Grace Crawley,--it was essentiallynecessary that she should be admitted to his heart of hearts. He hadpromised as much. It must be acknowledged that Archdeacon Grantlyalways kept his promises, and especially such promises as these. Andindeed it was the nature of the man that when he had been very angrywith those he loved, he should be unhappy until he had found someescape from his anger. He could not endure to have to own himselfto have been in the wrong, but he could be content with a veryincomplete recognition of his having been in the right. The postershad been pulled down and Mr. Crawley, as he was now told, had notstolen the cheque. That was sufficient. If his son would only drinka glass or two of wine with him comfortably, and talk dutifullyabout the Plumstead foxes, all should be held to be right, andGrace Crawley should be received with lavish paternal embraces. Thearchdeacon had kissed Grace once, and felt that he could do so againwithout an unpleasant strain upon his feelings.
"Say something to your father about the property after dinner," saidMrs. Grantly to her son when they were alone together.
"About what property?"
"About this property, or any property; you know what Imean;--something to show that you are interested about his affairs.He is doing the best he can to make things right." After dinner, overthe claret, Mr. Thorne's terrible sin in reference to the trappingof foxes was accordingly again brought up, and the archdeacon becamebeautifully irate, and expressed his animosity,--which he did not inthe least feel,--against an old friend with an energy which wouldhave delighted his wife, if she could have heard him. "I shall tellThorne my mind, certainly. He and I are very old friends; we haveknown each other all our lives; but I cannot put up with this kindof thing,--and I will not. It's all because he's afraid of his owngamekeeper." And yet the archdeacon had never ridden after a fox inhis life, and never meant to do so. Nor had he in truth been alwaysso very anxious that foxes should be found in his covers. That foxwhich had been so fortunately trapped just outside the Plumsteadproperty afforded a most pleasant escape for the steam of his anger.When he began to talk to his wife that evening about Mr. Thorne'swicked gamekeeper, she was so sure that all was right, that she saida word of her extreme desire to see Grace Crawley.
"If he is to marry her, we might as well have her over here," saidthe archdeacon.
"That's just what I was thinking," said Mrs. Grantly. And thus thingsat the rectory got themselves arranged.
On the Sunday morning the expected letter from Venice came tohand, and was read on that morning very anxiously, not only by Mrs.Grantly and the major, but by the archdeacon also, in spite of thesanctity of the day. Indeed the archdeacon had been very stoutlyanti-sabbatarial when the question of stopping the Sunday post toPlumstead had been mooted in the village, giving those who on thatoccasion were the special friends of the postman to understand thathe considered them to be numskulls, and little better than idiots.The postman, finding the parson to be against him, had seen thatthere was no chance for him, and had allowed the matter to drop. Mrs.Arabin's letter was long and eager, and full of repetitions, but itdid explain clearly to them the exact manner in which the cheque hadfound its way into Mr. Crawley's hand. "Francis came up to me," shesaid in her letter,--Francis being her husband, the dean,--"and askedme for the money, which I had promised to make up in a packet. Thepacket was not ready, and he would not wait, declaring that Mr.Crawley was in such a flurry that he did not like to leave him. Iwas therefore to bring it down to the door. I went to my desk, andthinking that I could spare the twenty pounds as well as the fifty, Iput the cheque into the envelope, together with the notes, and handedthe packet to Francis at the door. I think I told Francis afterwardsthat I put seventy pounds into the envelope, instead of fifty, but ofthis I will not be sure. _At any rate, Mr. Crawley got Mr. Soames'scheque from me._" These last words she underscored, and then went onto explain how the cheque had been paid to her a short time before byDan Stringer.
"Then Toogood has been right about the fellow," said the archdeacon.
"I hope they'll hang him," said Mrs. Grantly. "He must have known allthe time what dreadful misery he was bringing upon this unfortunatefamily."
"I don't suppose Dan Stringer cared much about that," said the major.
"Not a straw," said the archdeacon, and then all hurried off tochurch; and the archdeacon preached the sermon in the fabrication ofwhich he had been interrupted by his son, and which therefore barelyenabled him to turn the quarter of an hour from the giving out of histext. It was his constant practice to preach for full twenty minutes.
As Barchester lay on the direct road from Plumstead to Hogglestock,it was thought well that word should be sent to Mr. Toogood, desiringhim not to come out to Plumstead on the Monday morning. Major Grantlyproposed to call for him at "The Dragon," and to take him on fromthence to Hogglestock. "You had better take your mother's horses allthrough," said the archdeacon. The distance was very nearly twentymiles, and it was felt both by the mother and the son, that thearchdeacon must be in a good humour when he made such a propositionas that. It was not often that the rectory carriage-horses wereallowed to make long journeys. A run into Barchester and back, whichaltogether was under ten miles, was generally the extent of theirwork. "I meant to have posted from Barchester," said the major. "Youmay as well take the horses through," said the archdeacon. "Yourmother will not want them. And I suppose you might as well bring yourfriend Toogood back to dinner. We'll give him a bed."
"He must be a good sort of man," said Mrs. Grantly; "for I suppose hehas done all this for love?"
"Yes; and spent a lot of money out of his own pocket too!" said themajor enthusiastically. "And the joke of it is, that he has beendefending Crawley in Crawley'
s teeth. Mr. Crawley had refused toemploy counsel; but Toogood had made up his mind to have a barrister,on purpose that there might be a fuss about it in court. He thoughtthat it would tell with the jury in Crawley's favour."
"Bring him here, and we'll hear all about that from himself," saidthe archdeacon. The major, before he started, told his mother that heshould call at Framley Parsonage on his way back; but he said nothingon this subject to his father.
"I'll write to her in a day or two," said Mrs. Grantly, "and we'llhave things settled pleasantly."
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