Framley Parsonage

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As he drove home that morning he pronounced to himself the doom of
that footman, and the doom also of that saddle-horse. They at any
rate should go. And then he would spend no more money in trips
to Scotland; and above all, he would keep out of the bedrooms of
impoverished members of Parliament at the witching hour of midnight.
Such resolves did he make to himself as he drove home; and bethought
himself wearily how that L400 might be made to be forthcoming. As to
any assistance in the matter from Sowerby,--of that he gave himself
no promise. But he almost felt himself happy again as his wife came
out into the porch to meet him with a silk shawl over her head, and
pretending to shiver as she watched him descending from his gig. "My
dear old man," she said, as she led him into the warm drawing-room
with all his wrappings still about him, "you must be starved." But
Mark during the whole drive had been thinking too much of that
transaction in Mr. Sowerby's bedroom to remember that the air was
cold. Now he had his arm round his own dear Fanny's waist; but was he
to tell her of that transaction? At any rate he would not do it now,
while his two boys were in his arms, rubbing the moisture from his
whiskers with their kisses. After all, what is there equal to that
coming home?

"And so Lufton is here. I say, Frank, gently, old boy,"--Frank was
his eldest son--"you'll have baby into the fender."

"Let me take baby; it's impossible to hold the two of them, they
are so strong," said the proud mother. "Oh, yes, he came home early
yesterday."

"Have you seen him?"

"He was here yesterday, with her ladyship; and I lunched there
to-day. The letter came, you know, in time to stop the Merediths.
They don't go till to-morrow, so you will meet them after all. Sir
George is wild about it, but Lady Lufton would have her way. You
never saw her in such a state as she is."

"Good spirits, eh?"

"I should think so. All Lord Lufton's horses are coming, and he's to
be here till March."

"Till March!"

"So her ladyship whispered to me. She could not conceal her triumph
at his coming. He's going to give up Leicestershire this year
altogether. I wonder what has brought it all about?" Mark knew very
well what had brought it about; he had been made acquainted, as the
reader has also, with the price at which Lady Lufton had purchased
her son's visit. But no one had told Mrs. Robarts that the mother had
made her son a present of five thousand pounds.

"She's in a good humour about everything now," continued Fanny; "so
you need say nothing at all about Gatherum Castle."

"But she was very angry when she first heard it; was she not?"

"Well, Mark, to tell the truth, she was; and we had quite a scene
there up in her own room upstairs--Justinia and I. She had heard
something else that she did not like at the same time; and then--but
you know her way. She blazed up quite hot."

"And said all manner of horrid things about me."

"About the duke she did. You know she never did like the duke; and
for the matter of that, neither do I. I tell you that fairly, Master
Mark!"

"The duke is not so bad as he's painted."

"Ah, that's what you say about another great person. However, he
won't come here to trouble us, I suppose. And then I left her, not in
the best temper in the world; for I blazed up too, you must know."

"I am sure you did," said Mark, pressing his arm round her waist.

"And then we were going to have a dreadful war, I thought; and I came
home and wrote such a doleful letter to you. But what should happen
when I had just closed it, but in came her ladyship--all alone,
and-- But I can't tell you what she did or said, only she behaved
beautifully; just like herself too; so full of love and truth and
honesty. There's nobody like her, Mark; and she's better than all the
dukes that ever wore--whatever dukes do wear."

"Horns and hoofs; that's their usual apparel, according to you and
Lady Lufton," said he, remembering what Mr. Sowerby had said of
himself.

"You may say what you like about me, Mark, but you shan't abuse Lady
Lufton. And if horns and hoofs mean wickedness and dissipation,
I believe it's not far wrong. But get off your big coat and make
yourself comfortable." And that was all the scolding that Mark
Robarts got from his wife on the occasion of his great iniquity.

"I will certainly tell her about this bill transaction," he said to
himself; "but not to-day; not till after I have seen Lufton." That
evening they dined at Framley Court, and there they met the young
lord; they found also Lady Lufton still in high good-humour. Lord
Lufton himself was a fine, bright-looking young man; not so tall as
Mark Robarts, and with perhaps less intelligence marked on his face;
but his features were finer, and there was in his countenance a
thorough appearance of good-humour and sweet temper. It was, indeed,
a pleasant face to look upon, and dearly Lady Lufton loved to gaze at
it.

"Well, Mark, So you have been among the Philistines?" that was his
lordship's first remark. Robarts laughed as he took his friend's
hands, and bethought himself how truly that was the case; that he
was, in very truth, already "himself in bonds under Philistian
yoke." Alas, alas, it is very hard to break asunder the bonds of the
latter-day Philistines. When a Samson does now and then pull a temple
down about their ears, is he not sure to be engulfed in the ruin with
them? There is no horse-leech that sticks so fast as your latter-day
Philistine.

"So you have caught Sir George, after all," said Lady Lufton; and
that was nearly all she did say in allusion to his absence. There
was afterwards some conversation about the lecture, and from her
ladyship's remarks it certainly was apparent that she did not like
the people among whom the vicar had been lately staying; but she said
no word that was personal to him himself, or that could be taken
as a reproach. The little episode of Mrs. Proudie's address in the
lecture-room had already reached Framley, and it was only to be
expected that Lady Lufton should enjoy the joke. She would affect to
believe that the body of the lecture had been given by the bishop's
wife; and afterwards, when Mark described her costume at that Sunday
morning breakfast table, Lady Lufton would assume that such had been
the dress in which she had exercised her faculties in public.

"I would have given a five-pound note to have heard it," said Sir
George.

"So would not I," said Lady Lufton. "When one hears of such things
described so graphically as Mr. Robarts now tells it, one can hardly
help laughing. But it would give me great pain to see the wife of one
of our bishops place herself in such a situation. For he is a bishop
after all."

"Well, upon my word, my lady, I agree with Meredith," said Lord
Lufton. "It must have been good fun. As it did happen, you know,--as
the Church was doomed to the disgrace,--I should like to have heard
it."

"I know you would have been shocked, Ludovic."

"I should have got over that in time, mother. It would have been like
a bull-fight, I suppose--horrible to see, no doubt, but extremely
interesting. And Harold Smith, Mark; what did he do all the while?"

"It didn't take so very long, you know," said Robarts.

"And the poor bishop," said Lady Meredith; "how did he look? I really
do pity him."

"Well, he was asleep, I think."

"What, slept through it all?" said Sir George.

"It awakened him; and then he jumped up and said something."

"What, out loud, too?"

"Only one word, or so."

"What a disgraceful scene!" said Lady Lufton. "To those who remember
the good old man who was in the diocese before him it is perfectly
shocking. He confirmed you, Ludovic, and you ought to remember
him. It was over at Barchester, and you went and lunched with him
afterwards."

"I do remember; and especially this, that I never ate such tarts
in my life, before or since. The old man particularly called my
attention to them, and seemed remarkably pleased that I concurred in
his sentiments. There are no such tarts as those going in the palace,
now, I'll be bound."

"Mrs. Proudie will be very happy to do her best for you if you will
go and try," said Sir George.

"I beg that he will do no such thing," said Lady Lufton; and that was
the only severe word she said about any of Mark's visitings. As Sir
George Meredith was there, Robarts could say nothing then to Lord
Lufton about Mr. Sowerby and Mr. Sowerby's money affairs; but he did
make an appointment for a _tete-a-tete_ on the next morning.

"You must come down and see my nags, Mark; they came to-day. The
Merediths will be off at twelve, and then we can have an hour
together." Mark said he would, and then went home with his wife under
his arm.

"Well, now, is not she kind?" said Fanny, as soon as they were out on
the gravel together.

"She is kind; kinder than I can tell you just at present. But did you
ever know anything so bitter as she is to the poor bishop? And really
the bishop is not so bad."

"Yes; I know something much more bitter: and that is what she thinks
of the bishop's wife. And you know, Mark, it was so unladylike, her
getting up in that way. What must the people of Barchester think of
her?"

"As far as I could see, the people of Barchester liked it."

"Nonsense, Mark; they could not. But never mind that now. I want you
to own that she is good." And then Mrs. Robarts went on with another
long eulogy on the dowager. Since that affair of the pardon-begging
at the parsonage, Mrs. Robarts hardly knew how to think well enough
of her friend. And the evening had been so pleasant after the
dreadful storm and threatenings of hurricanes; her husband had been
so well received after his lapse of judgement; the wounds that had
looked so sore had been so thoroughly healed, and everything was so
pleasant. How all of this would have been changed had she known of
that little bill! At twelve the next morning the lord and the vicar
were walking through the Framley stables together. Quite a commotion
had been made there, for the larger portion of those buildings had of
late years seldom been used. But now all was crowding and activity.
Seven or eight very precious animals had followed Lord Lufton from
Leicestershire, and all of them required dimensions that were thought
to be rather excessive by the Framley old-fashioned groom. My lord,
however, had a head man of his own who took the matter quite into his
own hands. Mark, priest as he was, was quite worldly enough to be
fond of a good horse; and for some little time allowed Lord Lufton
to descant on the merit of this four-year-old filly, and that
magnificent Rattlebones colt, out of a Mousetrap mare; but he had
other things that lay heavy on his mind, and after bestowing half
an hour on the stud, he contrived to get his friend away to the
shrubbery walks.

"So you have settled with Sowerby," Robarts began by saying.

"Settled with him; yes, but do you know the price?"

"I believe that you have paid five thousand pounds."

"Yes, and about three before; and that in a matter in which I did not
really owe one shilling. Whatever I do in future, I'll keep out of
Sowerby's grip."

"But you don't think he has been unfair to you."

"Mark, to tell you the truth I have banished the affair from my mind,
and don't wish to take it up again. My mother has paid the money to
save the property, and of course I must pay her back. But I think
I may promise that I will not have any more money dealings with
Sowerby. I will not say that he is dishonest, but at any rate he is
sharp."

"Well, Lufton; what will you say when I tell you that I have put my
name to a bill for him, for four hundred pounds?"

"Say; why I should say--; but you're joking; a man in your position
would never do such a thing."

"But I have done it." Lord Lufton gave a long low whistle.

"He asked me the last night that I was there, making a great favour
of it, and declaring that no bill of his had ever yet been
dishonoured."

Lord Lufton whistled again. "No bill of his dishonoured! Why, the
pocket-books of the Jews are stuffed full of his dishonoured papers!
And you have really given him your name for four hundred pounds?"

"I have certainly."

"At what date?"

"Three months."

"And have you thought where you are to get the money?"

"I know very well that I can't get it, not at least by that time. The
bankers must renew it for me, and I must pay it by degrees. That is,
if Sowerby really does not take it up."

"It is just as likely that he will take up the National Debt."
Robarts then told him about the projected marriage with Miss
Dunstable, giving it as his opinion that the lady would probably
accept the gentleman.

"Not at all improbable," said his lordship, "for Sowerby is an
agreeable fellow; and if it be so, he will have all that he wants
for life. But his creditors will gain nothing. The duke, who has his
title-deeds, will doubtless get his money, and the estate will in
fact belong to the wife. But the small fry, such as you, will not get
a shilling." Poor Mark! He had had an inkling of this before; but it
had hardly presented itself to him in such certain terms. It was,
then, a positive fact, that in punishment for his weakness in having
signed that bill he would have to pay, not only four hundred pounds,
but four hundred pounds with interest, and expenses of renewal, and
commission, and bill stamps. Yes; he had certainly got among the
Philistines during that visit of his to the duke. It began to appear
to him pretty clearly that it would have been better for him to have
relinquished altogether the glories of Chaldicotes and Gatherum
Castle.

And now, how was he to tell his wife?




CHAPTER X

Lucy Robarts


And now, how was he to tell his wife? That was the consideration
heavy on Mark Robarts's mind when last we left him; and he turned
the matter often in his thoughts before he could bring himself to
a resolution. At last he did do so, and one may say that it was
not altogether a bad one, if only he could carry it out. He would
ascertain in what bank that bill of his had been discounted. He
would ask Sowerby, and if he could not learn from him, he would go
to the three banks in Barchester. That it had been taken to one of
them he felt tolerably certain. He would explain to the manager his
conviction that he would have to make good the amount, his inability
to do so at the end of the three months, and the whole state of his
income; and then the banker would explain to him how the matter might
be arranged. He thought that he could pay L50 every three months with
interest. As soon as this should have been concerted with the banker,
he would let his wife know all about it. Were he to tell her at the
present moment, while the matter was all unsettled, the intelligence
would frighten her into illness. But on the next morning there came
to him tidings by the hands of Robin postman, which for a long while
upset all his plans. The letter was from Exeter. His father had been
taken ill, and had very quickly been pronounced to be in danger. That
evening--the evening on which his sister wrote--the old man was much
worse, and it was desirable that Mark should go off to Exeter as
quickly as possible. Of course he went to Exeter--again leaving the
Framley souls at the mercy of the Welsh Low Churchman. Framley is
only four miles from Silverbridge, and at Silverbridge he was on
the direct road to the West. He was, therefore, at Exeter before
nightfall on that day. But, nevertheless, he arrived there too late
to see his father again alive. The old man's illness had been sudden
and rapid, and he expired without again seeing his eldest son. Mark
arrived at the house of mourning just as they were learning to
realize the full change in their position.

The doctor's career had been on the whole successful, but
nevertheless he did not leave behind him as much money as the world
had given him credit for possessing. Who ever does? Dr. Robarts had
educated a large family, had always lived with every comfort, and
had never possessed a shilling but what he had earned himself. A
physician's fees come in, no doubt, with comfortable rapidity as soon
as rich old gentlemen and middle-aged ladies begin to put their faith
in him; but fees run out almost with equal rapidity when a wife and
seven children are treated to everything that the world considers
most desirable. Mark, we have seen, had been educated at Harrow and
Oxford, and it may be said, therefore, that he had received his
patrimony early in life. For Gerald Robarts, the second brother, a
commission had been bought in a crack regiment. He also had been
lucky, having lived and become a captain in the Crimea; and the
purchase-money was lodged for his majority. And John Robarts, the
youngest, was a clerk in the Petty Bag Office, and was already
assistant private secretary to the Lord Petty Bag himself--a place of
considerable trust, if not hitherto of large emolument; and on his
education money had been spent freely, for in these days a young man
cannot get into the Petty Bag Office without knowing at least three
modern languages; and he must be well up in trigonometry too, in
Bible theology, or in one dead language--at his option. And the
doctor had four daughters. The two elder were married, including
that Blanche with whom Lord Lufton was to have fallen in love at the
vicar's wedding. A Devonshire squire had done this in the lord's
place; but on marrying her it was necessary that he should have a few
thousand pounds, two or three perhaps, and the old doctor had managed
that they should be forthcoming. The elder also had not been sent
away from the paternal mansion quite empty-handed. There were,
therefore, at the time of the doctor's death two children left at
home, of whom one only, Lucy, the younger, will come much across us
in the course of our story.

Mark stayed for ten days at Exeter, he and the Devonshire squire
having been named as executors in the will. In this document it was
explained that the doctor trusted that provision had been made for
most of his children. As for his dear son Mark, he said, he was aware
that he need be under no uneasiness. On hearing this read Mark smiled
sweetly, and looked very gracious; but, nevertheless, his heart did
sink somewhat within him, for there had been a hope that a small
windfall, coming now so opportunely, might enable him to rid himself
at once of that dreadful Sowerby incubus. And then the will went on
to declare that Mary, and Gerald, and Blanche, had also, by God's
providence, been placed beyond want. And here, looking into the
squire's face, one might have thought that his heart fell a little
also; for he had not so full a command of his feelings as his
brother-in-law, who had been so much more before the world. To John,
the assistant private secretary, was left a legacy of a thousand
pounds; and to Jane and Lucy certain sums in certain four per cents.,
which were quite sufficient to add an efficient value to the hands
of those young ladies in the eyes of most prudent young would-be
Benedicts. Over and beyond this there was nothing but the furniture,
which he desired might be sold, and the proceeds divided among them
all. It might come to sixty or seventy pounds a piece, and pay the
expenses incidental on his death. And then all men and women there
and thereabouts said that old Dr. Robarts had done well. His life
had been good and prosperous, and his will was just. And Mark, among
others, so declared--and was so convinced in spite of his own little
disappointment. And on the third morning after the reading of the
will Squire Crowdy, of Creamclotted Hall, altogether got over his
grief, and said that it was all right. And then it was decided that
Jane should go home with him--for there was a brother squire who,
it was thought, might have an eye to Jane;--and Lucy, the younger,
should be taken to Framley parsonage. In a fortnight from the receipt
of that letter Mark arrived at his own house with his sister Lucy
under his wing.

All this interfered greatly with Mark's wise resolution as to the
Sowerby-bill incubus. In the first place, he could not get to
Barchester as soon as he had intended, and then an idea came across
him that possibly it might be well that he should borrow the money of
his brother John, explaining the circumstances, of course, and paying
him due interest. But he had not liked to broach the subject when
they were there in Exeter, standing, as it were, over their father's
grave, and so the matter was postponed. There was still ample time
for arrangement before the bill would come due, and he would not tell
Fanny till he had made up his mind what that arrangement would be. It
would kill her, he said to himself over and over again, were he to
tell her of it without being able to tell her also that the means of
liquidating the debt were to be forthcoming.

And now I must say a word about Lucy Robarts. If one might only go
on without those descriptions how pleasant it would all be! But Lucy
Robarts has to play a forward part in this little drama, and those
who care for such matters must be made to understand something of her
form and likeness. When last we mentioned her as appearing, though
not in any prominent position, at her brother's wedding, she was only
sixteen; but now, at the time of her father's death, somewhat over
two years having since elapsed, she was nearly nineteen. Laying aside
for the sake of clearness that indefinite term of girl--for girls
are girls from the age of three up to forty-three, if not previously
married--dropping that generic word, we may say that then, at that
wedding of her brother, she was a child; and now, at the death of her
father, she was a woman. Nothing, perhaps, adds so much to womanhood,
turns the child so quickly into a woman, as such death-bed scenes as
these. Hitherto but little had fallen to Lucy to do in the way of
woman's duties. Of money transactions she had known nothing, beyond
a jocose attempt to make her annual allowance of twenty-five pounds
cover all her personal wants--an attempt which was made jocose by
the loving bounty of her father. Her sister, who was three years her
elder--for John came in between them--had managed the house; that
is, she had made the tea and talked to the house-keeper about the
dinners. But Lucy had sat at her father's elbow, had read to him of
evenings when he went to sleep, had brought him his slippers and
looked after the comforts of his easy chair. All this she had done
as a child; but when she stood at the coffin head, and knelt at the
coffin side, then she was a woman.

She was smaller in stature than either of her three sisters, to all
of whom had been acceded the praise of being fine women--a eulogy
which the people of Exeter, looking back at the elder sisters, and
the general remembrance of them which pervaded the city, were not
willing to extend to Lucy. "Dear--dear!" had been said of her; "poor
Lucy is not like a Robarts at all; is she, now, Mrs. Pole?"--for
as the daughters had become fine women, so had the sons grown into
stalwart men. And then Mrs. Pole had answered: "Not a bit; is she,
now? Only think what Blanche was at her age. But she has fine eyes,
for all that; and they do say she is the cleverest of them all." And
that, too, is so true a description of her that I do not know that
I can add much to it. She was not like Blanche; for Blanche had
a bright complexion, and a fine neck, and a noble bust, _et vera
incessu patuit Dea_--a true goddess, that is, as far as the eye
went. She had a grand idea, moreover, of an apple-pie, and had not
reigned eighteen months at Creamclotted Hall before she knew all the
mysteries of pigs and milk, and most of those appertaining to cider
and green cheese.

Lucy had no neck at all worth speaking of,--no neck, I mean, that
ever produced eloquence; she was brown, too, and had addicted herself
in nowise, as she undoubtedly should have done, to larder utility. In
regard to the neck and colour, poor girl, she could not help herself;
but in that other respect she must be held as having wasted her
opportunities. But then what eyes she had! Mrs. Pole was right there.
They flashed upon you, not always softly; indeed not often softly
if you were a stranger to her; but whether softly or savagely, with
a brilliancy that dazzled you as you looked at them. And who shall
say of what colour they were? Green, probably, for most eyes are
green--green or grey, if green be thought uncomely for an eye-colour.
But it was not their colour, but their fire, which struck one with
such surprise.

Lucy Robarts was thoroughly a brunette. Sometimes the dark tint
of her cheek was exquisitely rich and lovely, and the fringes of
her eyes were long and soft, and her small teeth, which one so
seldom saw, were white as pearls, and her hair, though short, was
beautifully soft--by no means black, but yet of so dark a shade of
brown. Blanche, too, was noted for fine teeth. They were white and
regular and lofty as a new row of houses in a French city. But then
when she laughed she was all teeth; as she was all neck when she sat
at the piano. But Lucy's teeth!--it was only now and again, when in
some sudden burst of wonder she would sit for a moment with her lips
apart, that the fine finished lines and dainty pearl-white colour
of that perfect set of ivory could be seen. Mrs. Pole would have
said a word of her teeth also, but that to her they had never been
made visible. "But they do say that she is the cleverest of them
all," Mrs. Pole had added, very properly. The people of Exeter had
expressed such an opinion, and had been quite just in doing so. I do
not know how it happens, but it always does happen, that everybody
in every small town knows which is the brightest-witted in every
family. In this respect Mrs. Pole had only expressed public opinion,
and public opinion was right. Lucy Robarts was blessed with an
intelligence keener than that of her brothers or sisters.