The Last Chronicle of Barset (89 page)

‘I don't know whether he is busy or not,' said the archdeacon, ‘but I tell you he is staying at Framley.'

‘From whom have you heard it?'

‘What matter does that make if it is so? I heard it from Flurry.'

‘Flurry may have been mistaken,' said Mrs Grantly.

‘It is not at all likely. Those people always know about such things. He heard it from the Framley keeper. I don't doubt but it's true, and I think that it's a great shame.'

‘A great shame that Henry should be at Framley! He has been there two or three times every year since he has lived in the county.'

‘It is a great shame that he should be had over there just at the time when that girl is there also. It is impossible to believe that such a thing is an accident.'

‘But, archdeacon, you do not mean to say that you think that Lady Lufton has arranged it?'

‘I don't know who has arranged it. Somebody has arranged it. If it is Robarts, that is almost worse. One could forgive a woman in such a matter better than one could a man.'

‘Psha!' Mrs Grantly's temper was never bitter, but at this moment it was not sweetened by her husband's very uncivil reference to her sex. ‘The whole idea is nonsense, and you should get it out of your head.'

‘Am I to get it out of my head that Henry wants to make this girl his wife, and that the two are at this moment at Framley together?' In this the archdeacon was wrong as to his facts. Major Grantly had
left Framley on the previous day, having stayed there only one night. ‘It is coming to that that one can trust no one – no one – literally no one.' Mrs Grantly perfectly understood that the archdeacon, in the agony of the moment, intended to exclude even herself from his confidence by that ‘no one'; but to this she was indifferent, understanding accurately when his words should be accepted as expressing his thoughts, and when they should be supposed to express only his anger.

‘The probability is that no one at Framley knew anything about Henry's partiality for Miss Crawley,' said Mrs Grantly.

‘I tell you I think they are both at Framley together.'

‘And I tell you that if they are, which I doubt, they are there simply by an accident. Besides, what does it matter? If they choose to marry each other, you and I cannot prevent them. They don't want any assistance from Lady Lufton, or anybody else. They have simply got to make up their own minds, and then no one can hinder them.'

‘And, therefore, you would like to see them brought together?'

‘I say nothing about that, archdeacon; but I do say that we must take these things as they come. What can we do? Henry may go and stay with Lady Lufton if he pleases. You and I cannot prevent him.'

After this the archdeacon walked away, and would not argue the matter any further with his wife at that moment. He knew very well that he could not get the better of her, and was apt at such moments to think that she took an unfair advantage of him by keeping her temper. But he could not get out of his head the idea that perhaps on this very day things were being arranged between his son and Grace Crawley at Framley; and he resolved that he himself would go over and see what might be done. He would, at any rate, tell all his trouble to Lady Lufton, and beg his old friend to assist him. He could not think that such a one as he had always known Lady Lufton to be would approve of a marriage between Henry Grantly and Grace Crawley. At any rate, he would learn the truth. He had once been told that Grace Crawley had herself refused to marry his son, feeling that she would do wrong to inflict so great an injury upon any gentleman. He had not believed in so great a virtue. He could not believe in it now – now, when he heard that Miss Crawley and his
son were staying together in the same parish. Somebody must be doing him an injury. It could hardly be chance. But his presence at Framley might even yet have a good effect, and he would at least learn the truth. So he had himself driven to Barchester, and from Barchester he took post-horses to Framley.

As he came near to the village, he grew to be somewhat ashamed of himself, or, at least, nervous as to the mode in which he would proceed. The driver, turning round to him, had suggested that he supposed he was to drive to ‘My lady's.' This injustice to Lord Lufton, to whom the house belonged, and with whom his mother lived as a guest, was very common in the county; for old Lady Lufton had lived at Framley Court through her son's long minority, and had kept the house there till his marriage; and even since his marriage she had been recognised as its presiding genius. It certainly was not the fault of old Lady Lufton, as she always spoke of everything as belonging either to her son or to her daughter-in-law. The archdeacon had been in doubt whether he would go to the Court or to the parsonage. Could he have done exactly as he wished, he would have left the chaise and walked to the parsonage, so as to reach it without the noise and fuss incidental to a postilion's arrival. But that was impossible. He could not drop into Framley as though he had come from the clouds, and, therefore, he told the man to do as he had suggested. ‘To my lady's?' said the postilion. The archdeacon assented, and the man, with loud cracks of his whip, and with a spasmodic gallop along the short avenue, took the archdeacon up to the door of Lord Lufton's house. He asked for Lord Lufton first, putting on his pleasantest smile, so that the servant should not suspect the purpose, of which he was somewhat ashamed. Was Lord Lufton at home? Lord Lufton was not at home. Lord Lufton had gone up to London that morning, intending to return the day after tomorrow; but both my ladies were at home. So the archdeacon was shown into the room where both my ladies were sitting – and with them he found Mrs Robarts. Anyone who had become acquainted with the habits of the Framley ladies would have known that this might very probably be the case. The archdeacon himself was as well aware as anyone of the modes of life at Framley. The lord's wife was the parson's sister, and the parson's
wife had from her infancy been the petted friend of the old lady. Of course they all lived very much together. Of course Mrs Robarts was as much at home in the drawing-room of Framley Court as she was in her own drawing-room at the parsonage. Nevertheless, the archdeacon thought himself to be hardly used when he found that Mrs Robarts was at the house.

‘My dear archdeacon, who ever expected to see you?' said old Lady Lufton. Then the two younger women greeted him. And they all smiled on him pleasantly, and seemed overjoyed to see him. He was, in truth, a great favourite at Framley, and each of the three was glad to welcome him. They believed in the archdeacon at Framley, and felt for him that sort of love which ladies in the country do feel for their elderly male friends. There was not one of the three who would not have taken much trouble to get anything for the archdeacon which they had thought the archdeacon would like. Even old Lady Lufton remembered what was his favourite soup, and always took care that he should have it when he dined at the Court. Young Lady Lufton would bring his tea to him as he sat in his chair. He was petted in the house, was allowed to poke the fire if he pleased, and called the servants by their names as though he were at home. He was compelled, therefore, to smile and to seem pleased; and it was not till after he had eaten his lunch, and had declared that he must return home to dinner, that the dowager gave him an opportunity of having the private conversation which he desired.

‘Can I have a few minutes' talk with you?' he said to her, whispering into her ear as they left the drawing-room together. So she led the way into her own sitting-room, telling him, as she asked him to be seated, that she had supposed that something special must have brought him over to Framley. ‘I should have asked you to come up here, even if you had not spoken,' she said.

‘Then perhaps you know what has brought me over?' said the archdeacon.

‘Not in the least,' said Lady Lufton. ‘I have not an idea. But I did not flatter myself that you would come so far on a morning call, merely to see us three ladies. I hope you did not want to see Ludovic, because he will not be back till tomorrow?'

‘I wanted to see you, Lady Lufton.'

‘That is lucky, as here I am. You may be pretty sure to find me here any day in the year.'

After this there was a little pause. The archdeacon hardly knew how to begin his story. In the first place he was in doubt whether Lady Lufton had ever heard of the preposterous match which his son had proposed to himself to make. In his anger at Plumstead he had felt sure that she knew all about it, and that she was assisting his son. But this belief had dwindled as his anger had dwindled; and as the chaise had entered the parish of Framley he had told himself that it was quite impossible that she should know anything about it. Her manner had certainly been altogether in her favour since he had been in her house. There had been nothing of the consciousness of guilt in her demeanour. But, nevertheless, there was the coincidence! How had it come to pass that Grace Crawley and his son should be at Framley together? It might, indeed, be just possible that Flurry might have been wrong, and that his son had not been there at all.

‘I suppose Miss Crawley is at the parsonage?' he said at last.

‘Oh, yes; she is still there, and will remain there I should think for the next ten days.'

‘Oh; I did not know,' said the archdeacon very coldly.

It seemed to Lady Lufton, who was as innocent as an unborn babe in the matter of the projected marriage, that her old friend was in a mind to persecute the Crawleys. He had on a former occasion taken upon himself to advise that Grace Crawley should not be entertained at Framley, and now it seemed that he had come all the way from Plumstead to say something further in the same strain. Lady Lufton, if he had anything further to say of that kind, would listen to him as a matter of course. She would listen to him and reply to him without temper. But she did not approve of it. She told herself silently that she did not approve of persecution or of interference. She therefore drew herself up, and pursed her mouth, and put on something of that look of severity which she could assume very visibly, if it so pleased her.

‘Yes; she is still there, and I think that her visit will do her a great deal of good,' said Lady Lufton.

‘When we talk of doing good to people,' said the archdeacon, ‘we often make terrible mistakes. It so often happens that we don't know when we are doing good and when we are doing harm.'

‘That is true, of course, Dr Grantly, and must be so necessarily, as our wisdom here below is so very limited. But I should think – as far as I can see, that is – that the kindness which my friend Mrs Robarts is showing to this young lady must be beneficial. You know, archdeacon, I explained to you before that I could not quite agree with you in what you said as to leaving these people alone till after the trial. I thought that help was necessary to them at once.'

The archdeacon sighed deeply. He ought to have been somewhat renovated in spirit by the tone in which Lady Lufton spoke to him, as it conveyed to him almost an absolute conviction that his first suspicion was incorrect. But any comfort which might have come to him from this source was marred by the feeling that he must announce his own disgrace. At any rate he must do so, unless he were contented to go back to Plumstead without having learned anything by his journey. He changed the tone of his voice, however, and asked a question – as it might be altogether on a different subject. ‘I heard yesterday,' he said, ‘that Henry was over here.'

‘He was here yesterday. He came the evening before, and dined and slept here, and went home yesterday morning.'

‘Was Miss Crawley with you that evening?'

‘Miss Crawley? No; she would not come. She thinks it best not to go out while her father is in his present unfortunate position; and she is right.'

‘She is quite right in that,' said the archdeacon; and then he paused again. He thought that it would be best for him to make a clean breast of it, and to trust to Lady Lufton's sympathy. ‘Did Henry go up to the parsonage?' he asked.

But still Lady Lufton did not suspect the truth. ‘I think he did,' she replied, with an air of surprise. ‘I think I heard that he went up there to call on Mrs Robarts after breakfast.'

‘No, Lady Lufton, he did not go up there to call on Mrs Robarts. He went up there because he is making a fool of himself about that Miss Crawley. That is the truth. Now you understand it all. I hope
that Mrs Robarts does not know it. I do hope for her own sake that Mrs Robarts does not know it.'

The archdeacon certainly had no longer any doubt as to Lady Lufton's innocence when he looked at her face as she heard these tidings. She had predicted that Grace Crawley would ‘make havoc,' and could not, therefore, be altogether surprised at the idea that some gentleman should have fallen in love with her; but she had never suspected that the havoc might be made so early in her days, or on so great a quarry. ‘You don't mean to tell me that Henry Grantly is in love with Grace Crawley?' she replied.

‘I mean to say that he says he is.'

‘Dear, dear, dear! I'm sure, archdeacon, that you will believe me when I say that I knew nothing about it.'

‘I am quite sure of that,' said the archdeacon dolefully.

‘Or I certainly should not have been glad to see him here. But the house, you know, is not mine, Dr Grantly. I could have done nothing if I had known it. But only to think – well, to be sure. She has lost no time, at any rate.'

Now this was not at all the light in which the archdeacon wished that the matter should be regarded. He had been desirous that Lady Lufton should be horror-stricken by the tidings, but it seemed to him that she regarded the iniquity almost as a good joke. What did it matter how young or how old the girl might be? She came of poor people – of people who had no friends – of disgraced people; and Lady Lufton ought to feel that such a marriage would be a terrible misfortune and a terrible crime. ‘I need hardly tell you, Lady Lufton,' said the archdeacon, ‘that I shall set my face against it as far as it is in my power to do so.'