The Last Chronicle of Barset (22 page)

Mr Crawley sat himself down by the obstinate fire, and began to arrange the sticks. ‘Dan, Dan,' said a voice from the bed, ‘sure you wouldn't let his reverence trouble himself with the fire.'

‘How be I to keep him from it, if he chooses? I didn't ax him.' Then Morris stood by and watched, and after a while Mr Crawley succeeded in his attempt.

‘How could it burn when you had not given the small spark a current of air to help it?' said Mr Crawley.

‘In course not,' said the woman, ‘but he be such a stupid.'

The husband said no word in acknowledgment of this compliment, nor did he thank Mr Crawley for what he had done, nor appear as though he intended to take any notice of him. He was going on with his work when Mr Crawley again interrupted him.

‘How did you get back from Silverbridge yesterday, Dan?'

‘Footed it – all the blessed way.'

‘It's only eight miles.'

‘And I footed it there, and that's sixteen. And I paid one-andsixpence for beer and grub – s'help me I did.'

‘Dan!' said the voice from the bed, rebuking him for the impropriety of his language.

‘Well; I beg pardon, but I did. And they guv' me two bob – just two plain shillings, by –'

‘Dan!'

‘And I'd 've arned three-and-six here at brickmaking easy; that's what I would. How's a poor man to live that way? They'll not cotch me at Barchester 'Sizes at that price; they may be sure of that. Look there – that's what I've got for my day.' And he put his hand into his breeches-pocket and fetched out a sixpence. ‘How's a man to fill his belly out of that? Damnation!'

‘Dan!'

‘Well, what did I say? Hold your jaw, will you, and not be halloaing at me that way? I know what I'm a saying of, and what I'm a doing of.'

‘I wish they'd given you something more with all my heart,' said Crawley.

‘We knows that,' cried the woman from the bed. ‘We is sure of that, your reverence.'

‘Sixpence!' said the man, scornfully. ‘If they'd have guv' me nothing at all but the run of my teeth at the public-house, I'd 've taken it better. But sixpence!'

Then there was a pause. ‘And what have they given to me?' said Mr Crawley, when the man's ill-humour about his sixpence had so far subsided as to allow of his busying himself again about the premises.

‘Yes, indeed – yes, indeed,' said the woman. ‘Yes, yes, we feel that; we do indeed, Mr Crawley.'

‘I tell you what, sir; for another sixpence I'd 've sworn you'd never guv' me the paper at all; and so I will now, if it bean't too late – sixpence or no sixpence. What do I care? d– them.'

‘Dan!'

‘And why shouldn't I? They hain't got brains enough among them to winny the truth from the lies – not among the lot of 'em. I'll swear afore the judge that you didn't give it me at all, if that'll do any good.'

‘Man, do you think I would have you perjure yourself, even if that would do me a service? And do you think that any man was ever served by a lie?'

‘Faix, among them chaps it don't do to tell them too much of the truth. Look at that!' And he brought out the sixpence again from his breeches-pocket. ‘And look at your reverence. Only that they've let you out for a while, they've been nigh as hard on you as though you were one of us.'

‘If they think that I stole it, they have been right,' said Mr Crawley.

‘It's been along of that chap, Soames,' said the woman. ‘The lord would've paid the money out of his own pocket and never said not a word.'

‘If they think that I've been a thief, they've done right,' repeated Mr Crawley. ‘But how can they think so? How can they think so? Have I lived like a thief among them?'

‘For the matter o' that, if a man ain't paid for his work by them as is his employers, he must pay hisself. Them's my notions. Look at that!' Whereupon he again pulled out the sixpence, and held it forth in the palm of his hand.

‘You believe, then,' said Mr Crawley, speaking very slowly, ‘that I did steal the money. Speak out, Dan; I shall not be angry. As you go you are honest men, and I want to know what such of you think about it.'

‘He don't think nothing of the kind,' said the woman, almost getting out of bed in her energy. ‘If he'd athought the like o' that in his head, I'd read 'un such a lesson he'd never think again the longest day he had to live.'

‘Speak out, Dan,' said the clergyman, not attending to the woman. ‘You can understand that no good can come of a lie.' Dan Morris scratched his head. ‘Speak out, man, when I tell you,' said Crawley.

‘Drat it all,' said Dan, ‘where's the use of so much jaw about it?'

‘Say you know his reverence is as innocent as the babe as isn't born,' said the woman.

‘No; I won't – say nothing of the kind,' said Dan.

‘Speak out the truth,' said Crawley.

‘They do say, among 'em,' said Dan, ‘that you picked it up, and then got woolgathering in your head till you didn't rightly know where it come from.' Then he paused. ‘And after a bit you guv' it me to get the money. Didn't you, now?'

‘I did.'

‘And they do say if a poor man had done it, it'd been stealing for sartin.'

‘And I'm a poor man – the poorest in all Hogglestock; and therefore, of course, it is stealing. Of course I am a thief. Yes; of course I am a thief. When did not the world believe the worst of the poor?' Having so spoken, Mr Crawley rose from his chair and hurried out of the cottage, waiting no further reply from Dan Morris or his wife. And as he made his way slowly home, not going there by the direct road, but by a long circuit, he told himself that there could be no sympathy for him anywhere. Even Dan Morris, the brickmaker, thought that he was a thief.

‘And am I a thief?' he said to himself, standing in the middle of the road, with his hands up to his forehead.

It was nearly nine before Mr Crawley got back to his house, and found his wife and daughter waiting breakfast for him. ‘I should not wonder if Grace were over here today,' said Mrs Crawley. ‘She'd better remain where she is,' said he. After this the meal passed almost without a word. When it was over, Jane, at a sign from her mother, went up to her father and asked him whether she should read with him. ‘Not now,' he said, ‘not just now. I must rest my brain before it will be fit for any work.' Then he got into the chair over the fire, and his wife began to fear that he would remain there all the day.

But the morning was not far advanced, when there came a visitor who disturbed him, and by disturbing him did real service. Just at ten there arrived at the little gate before the house a man on a pony, whom Jane espied, standing there by the pony's head and looking about for someone to relieve him from the charge of his steed. This was Mr Thumble, who had ridden over to Hogglestock on a poor spavined brute belonging to the bishop's stable, and which had once been the bishop's cob. Now it was the vehicle by which Mrs Proudie's episcopal messages were sent backwards and forwards through a twelve-miles ride round Barchester; and so many were the lady's requirements, that the poor animal by no means ate the hay of idleness. Mr Thumble had suggested to Mrs Proudie, after their interview with the bishop and the giving up of the letter to the clerical messenger's charge, that before hiring a gig from the Dragon of Wantley, he should be glad to know – looking as he always did to ‘Mary Anne and the children' – whence the price of the gig was to be returned to him. Mrs Proudie frowned at him – not with all the austerity of frowning which she could use when really angered, but simply with a frown which gave her some little time for thought, and would enable her to continue to rebuke if, after thinking, she should find that rebuke was needed. But mature consideration showed her that Mr Thumble's caution was not without reason. Were the bishop
energetic, or even the bishop's managing chaplain as energetic as he should be, Mr Crawley might, as Mrs Proudie felt assured, be made in some way to pay for a conveyance for Mr Thumble. But the energy was lacking, and the price of the gig, if the gig were ordered, would certainly fall ultimately on the bishop's shoulders. This was very sad. Mrs Proudie had often grieved over the necessary expenditure of episcopal surveillance, and had been heard to declare her opinion that a liberal allowance for secret service should be made in every diocese. What better could the Ecclesiastical Commissioners do with all those rich revenues which they had stolen from the bishops?
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But there was no such liberal allowance at present, and, therefore, Mrs Proudie, after having frowned at Mr Thumble for some seconds, desired him to take the grey cob. Now, Mr Thumble had ridden the grey cob before, and would much have preferred a gig. But even the grey cob was better than a gig at his own cost.

‘Mamma, there's a man at the gate wanting to come in,' said Jane. ‘I think he's a clergyman.'

Mr Crawley immediately raised his head, though he did not at once leave his chair. Mrs Crawley went to the window, and recognised the reverend visitor. ‘My dear, it is that Mr Thumble, who is so much with the bishop.'

‘What does Mr Thumble want with me?'

‘Nay, my dear; he will tell you that himself.' But Mrs Crawley, though she answered him with a voice intended to be cheerful, greatly feared the coming of this messenger from the palace. She perceived at once that the bishop was about to interfere with her husband in consequence of that which the magistrates had done yesterday.

‘Mamma, he doesn't know what to do with his pony,' said Jane.

‘Tell him to tie it to the rail,' said Mr Crawley. ‘If he has expected to find menials here, as he has them at the palace, he will be wrong. If he wants to come in here, let him tie the beast to the rail.' So Jane went out and sent a message to Mr Thumble by the girl, and Mr Thumble did tie the pony to the rail, and followed the girl into the house. Jane in the meantime had retired out by the back door to the school, but Mrs Crawley kept her ground. She kept her ground
although she believed almost that her husband would prefer to have the field to himself. As Mr Thumble did not at once enter the room, Mr Crawley stalked to the door, and stood with it open in his hand. Though he knew Mr Thumble's person, he was not acquainted with him, and therefore he simply bowed to the visitor, bowing more than once or twice with a cold courtesy, which did not put Mr Thumble altogether at his ease. ‘My name is Mr Thumble,' said the visitor – ‘The Reverend Caleb Thumble,' and he held the bishop's letter in his hand. Mr Crawley seemed to take no notice of the letter, but motioned Mr Thumble with his hand into the room.

‘I suppose you have come over from Barchester this morning?' said Mrs Crawley.

‘Yes, madam – from the palace.' Mr Thumble, though a humble man in positions in which he felt that humility would become him – a humble man to his betters, as he himself would have expressed it – had still about him something of that pride which naturally belonged to those clergymen who were closely attached to the palace at Barchester. Had he been sent on a message to Plumstead – could any such message from Barchester palace have been possible, he would have been properly humble in his demeanour to the archdeacon, or to Mrs Grantly had he been admitted to the august presence of that lady; but he was aware that humility would not become him on his present mission; he had been expressly ordered to be firm by Mrs Proudie, and firm he meant to be; and therefore, in communicating to Mrs Crawley the fact that he had come from the palace, he did load the tone of his voice with something of dignity which Mr Crawley might perhaps be excused for regarding as arrogance.

‘And what does the ‘‘palace'' want with me?' said Mr Crawley. Mrs Crawley knew at once that there was to be a battle. Nay, the battle had begun. Nor was she altogether sorry; for though she could not trust her husband to sit alone all day in his arm-chair over the fire, she could trust him to carry on a disputation with any other clergyman on any subject whatever. ‘What does the palace want with me?' And as Mr Crawley asked the question he stood erect, and looked Mr Thumble full in the face. Mr Thumble called to mind the fact, that Mr Crawley was a very poor man indeed – so poor that he owed
money all round the country to butchers and bakers, and the other fact, that he, Mr Thumble himself, did not owe money to anyone, his wife luckily having a little income of her own; and, strengthened by these remembrances, he endeavoured to bear Mr Crawley's attack with gallantry.

‘Of course, Mr Crawley, you are aware that this unfortunate affair at Silverbridge –'

‘I am not prepared, sir, to discuss the unfortunate affair at Silverbridge with a stranger. If you are the bearer of any message to me from the Bishop of Barchester, perhaps you will deliver it.'

‘I have brought a letter,' said Mr Thumble. Then Mr Crawley stretched out his hand without a word, and taking the letter with him to the window, read it very slowly. When he had made himself master of its contents, he refolded the letter, placed it again in the envelope, and returned to the spot where Mr Thumble was standing. ‘I will answer the Bishop's letter,' he said; ‘I will answer it of course, as it is fitting that I should do. Shall I ask you to wait for my reply, or shall I send it by course of post?'

‘I think, Mr Crawley, as the bishop wishes me to undertake the duty –'

‘You will not undertake the duty, Mr Thumble. You need not trouble yourself, for I shall not surrender my pulpit to you.'

‘But the bishop –'

‘I care nothing for the bishop in this matter.' So much he spoke in anger, and then he corrected himself. ‘I crave the bishop's pardon, and yours as his messenger, if in the heat occasioned by my strong feelings I have said aught which may savour of irreverence towards his lordship's office. I respect his lordship's high position as bishop of this diocese, and I bow to his commands in all things lawful. But I must not bow to him in things unlawful, nor must I abandon my duty before God at his bidding, unless his bidding be given in accordance with the canons of the Church and the laws of the land. It will be my duty, on the coming Sunday, to lead the prayers of my people in the church of my parish, and to preach to them from my pulpit; and that duty, with God's assistance, I will perform. Nor will I allow any clergyman to interfere with me in the performance of those sacred
offices – no, not though the bishop himself should be present with the object of enforcing his illegal command.' Mr Crawley spoke these words without hesitation, even with eloquence, standing upright, and with something of a noble anger gleaming over his poor wan face; and, I think, that while speaking them, he was happier than he had been for many a long day.