The Last Chronicle of Barset

A >> Anthony Trollope >> The Last Chronicle of Barset


He found Mrs Crawley sitting in the parlour with her bonnet and
shawl on, and Mr Crawley in the arm-chair, leaning over the fire. "I
suppose we had better go with you," said Mrs Crawley directly the
door was opened; for of course she had seen the arrival of the fly
from the window.

"The gentleman had better come with us if he'll be so kind," said
Thompson. "I've brought a close carriage for him."

"But I may go with him?" said the wife, with frightened voice. "I may
accompany my husband. He is not well, sir, and wants assistance."

Thompson thought about it for a moment before he spoke. There was
room in the fly for only two, or if for three, still he knew his
place better than to thrust himself inside together with his prisoner
and his prisoner's wife. He had been specially asked by Mr Walker to
be very civil. Only one could sit on the box with the driver, and
if the request was conceded the poor policeman must walk back. The
walk, however, would not kill the policeman. "All right, ma'am," said
Thompson;--"that is, if the gentleman will just pass his word not to
get out till I ask him."

"He will not! He will not!" said Mrs Crawley.

"I will pass my word for nothing," said Mr Crawley.

Upon hearing this, Thompson assumed a very long face, and shook his
head as he turned his eyes first towards the husband and then towards
the wife, and shrugged his shoulders, and compressing his lips, blew
out his breath, as though in this way he might blow off some of the
mingled sorrow and indignation with which the gentleman's words
afflicted him.

Mrs Crawley rose and came close to him. "You may take my word for it,
he will not stir. You may indeed. He thinks it incumbent on him not
to give any undertaking himself, because he feels himself to be so
harshly used."

"I don't know about harshness," said Thompson, brindling up. "A close
carriage brought and--"

"I will walk. If I am made to go, I will walk," shouted Mr Crawley.

"I did not allude to you,--or to Mr Walker," said the poor wife.
"I know you have been most kind. I meant the harshness of the
circumstances. Of course he is innocent, and you must feel for him."

"Yes, I feel for him, and for you too, ma'am."

"That is all I meant. He knows his own innocence, and therefore he is
unwilling to give way in anything."

"Of course he knows hisself, that's certain. But he'd better come in
the carriage, if only because of the dirt and slush."

"He will go in the carriage; and I will go with him. There will be
room for you there, sir."

Thompson looked up at the rain, and told himself that it was very
cold. Then he remembered Mr Walker's injunction, and bethought
himself that Mrs Crawley, in spite of her poverty, was a lady. He
conceived even unconsciously the idea that something was due to her
because of her poverty. "I'll go with the driver," said he, "but
he'll only give hisself a deal of trouble if he attempts to get out."

"He won't; he won't," said Mrs Crawley. "And I thank you with all my
heart."

"Come along, then," said Thompson.

She went up to her husband, hat in hand, and looking round to see
that she was not watched, put the hat on his head, and then lifted
him as it were from the chair. He did not refuse to be led, and
allowed her to throw round his shoulders the old cloak which was
hanging in the passage, and then he passed out, and was the first
to seat himself in the Silverbridge fly. His wife followed him, and
did not hear the blandishments with which Thompson instructed his
myrmidon to follow through the mud on foot. Slowly they made their
way through the lanes, and it was nearly twelve when the fly was
driven into the yard of the "George and Vulture" at Silverbridge.

Silverbridge, though it was blessed with a mayor and corporation, and
was blessed also with a Member of Parliament all to itself, was not
blessed with any courthouse. The magistrates were therefore compelled
to sit in the big room at the "George and Vulture", in which the
county balls were celebrated, and the meeting of the West Barsetshire
freemasons was held. That part of the country was, no doubt, very
much ashamed of its backwardness in this respect, but as yet nothing
had been done to remedy the evil. Thompson and his fly were therefore
driven into the yard of the inn, and Mr and Mrs Crawley were ushered
by him up into a little bed-chamber close adjoining to the big room
in which the magistrates were already assembled. "There's a bit of
fire here," said Thompson, "and you can make yourselves a little
warm." He himself was shivering with the cold. "When the gents is
ready in there, I'll just come and fetch you."

"I may go in with him?" said Mrs Crawley.

"I'll have a chair for you at the end of the table, just nigh to
him," said Thompson. "You can slip into it and say nothing to
nobody." Then he left them and went away to the magistrates.

Mr Crawley had not spoken a word since he had entered the vehicle.
Nor had she said much to him, but had sat with him holding his hand
in hers. Now he spoke to her,--"Where is it that we are?" he asked.

"At Silverbridge, dearest."

"But what is this chamber? And why are we here?"

"We are to wait here till the magistrates are ready. They are in the
next room."

"But this is the Inn?"

"Yes dear, it is the Inn."

"And I see crowds of people about." There were crowds of people
about. There had been men in the yard, and others standing about on
the stairs, and the public room was full of men who were curious to
see the clergyman who had stolen twenty pounds, and to hear what
would be the result of the case before the magistrates. He must be
committed; so, at least said everybody; but then there would be the
question of bail. Would the magistrates let him out on bail, and who
would be the bailsmen? "Why are the people here?" said Mr Crawley.

"I suppose it is a custom when the magistrates are sitting," said his
wife.

"They have come to see the degradation of a clergyman," said
he;--"and they will not be disappointed."

"Nothing can degrade but guilt," said his wife.

"Yes,--misfortune can degrade, and poverty. A man is degraded when
the cares of the world press so heavily upon him that he cannot rouse
himself. They have come to look at me as though I were a hunted
beast."

"It is but their custom always on such days."

"They have not always a clergyman before them as a criminal." Then he
was silent for a while, while she was chafing his cold hands. "Would
that I were dead, before they had brought me to this! Would that I
were dead!"

"Is it not right, dear, that we should all bear what He sends us?"

"Would that I were dead!" he repeated. "The load is too heavy for me
to bear, and I would that I were dead."

The time seemed to be very long before Thompson returned and asked
them to accompany him into the big room. When he did so, Mr Crawley
grasped hold of the chair as though he had resolved that he would not
go.

But his wife whispered a word to him, and he obeyed her. "He will
follow me," she said to the policeman. And in that way they went from
the smaller room into the large one. Thompson went first; Mrs Crawley
with her veil down came next; and the wretched man followed his wife,
with his eyes fixed upon the ground and his hands clasped together
upon his breast. He could at first have seen nothing, and could
hardly have known where he was when they placed him in a chair. She,
with better courage, contrived to look round through her veil, and
saw that there was a long board or table covered with green cloth,
and that six or seven gentlemen were sitting at one end of it, while
there seemed to be a crowd standing along the sides and about the
room. Her husband was seated at the other end of the table, near
the corner, and round the corner,--so that she might be close to
him,--her chair had been placed. On the other side of him there was
another chair, now empty, intended for any professional gentleman
whom he might choose to employ.

There were five magistrates sitting there. Lord Lufton, from Framley,
was in the chair;--a handsome man, still young, who was very popular
in the county. The cheque which had been cashed had borne his
signature, and he had consequently expressed his intention of not
sitting at the board; but Mr Walker, desirous of having him there,
had overruled him, showing him that the loss was not his loss. The
cheque, if stolen, had not been stolen from him. He was not the
prosecutor. "No, by Jove," said Lord Lufton, "if I could quash the
whole thing, I'd do it at once!"

"You can't do that, my lord, but you may help us at the board," said
Mr Walker.

Then there was the Hon George De Courcy, Lord De Courcy's brother,
from Castle Courcy. Lord De Courcy did not live in the county, but
his brother did so, and endeavoured to maintain the glory of the
family by the discretion of his conduct. He was not, perhaps, among
the wisest of men, but he did very well as a county magistrate,
holding his tongue, keeping his eyes open, and, on such occasions as
this, obeying Mr Walker in all things. Dr Tempest was also there, the
rector of the parish, he being both magistrate and clergyman. There
were many in Silverbridge who declared that Dr Tempest would have
done far better to stay away when a brother clergyman was thus to
be brought before the bench; but it had been long since Dr Tempest
had cared what was said about him in Silverbridge. He had become so
accustomed to the life he led as to like to be disliked, and to be
enamoured of unpopularity. So when Mr Walker had ventured to suggest
to him that, perhaps, he might not choose to be there, he had laughed
Mr Walker to scorn. "Of course I shall be there," he said. "I am
interested in the case,--very much interested. Of course I shall
be there." And had not Lord Lufton been present he would have made
himself more conspicuous by taking the chair. Mr Fothergill was the
fourth. Mr Fothergill was man of business to the Duke of Omnium, who
was the great owner of property in and about Silverbridge, and he was
the most active magistrate in that part of the county. He was a sharp
man, and not at all likely to have any predisposition in favour of a
clergyman. The fifth was Dr Thorne, of Chaldicotes, a gentleman whose
name has been already mentioned in these pages. He had been for many
years a medical man practising in a little village in the further
end of the county; but it had come to be his fate, late in life, to
marry a great heiress, with whose money the ancient house and domain
of Chaldicotes had been purchased from the Sowerbys. Since then Dr
Thorne had done his duty well as a country gentleman,--not, however,
without some little want of smoothness between him and the duke's
people.

Chaldicotes lay next to the duke's territory, and the duke had wished
to buy Chaldicotes. When Chaldicotes slipped through the duke's
fingers and went into the hands of Dr Thorne,--or of Dr Thorne's
wife,--the duke had been very angry with Mr Fothergill. Hence it had
come to pass that there had not always been smoothness between the
duke's people and the Chaldicotes people. It was now rumoured that
Dr Thorne intended to stand for the county on the next vacancy, and
that did not tend to make things smoother. On the right hand of Lord
Lufton sat Lord George and Mr Fothergill, and beyond Mr Fothergill
sat Mr Walker, and beyond Mr Walker sat Mr Walker's clerk. On the
left hand of the chairman were Dr Tempest and Dr Thorne, and a little
lower down was Mr Zachary Winthrop, who held the situation of clerk
to the magistrates. Many people in Silverbridge said that this was
all wrong, as Mr Winthrop was partner with Mr Walker, who was always
employed before the magistrates if there was any employment going for
an attorney. For this, however, Mr Walker cared very little. He had
so much of his own way in Silverbridge, that he was supposed to care
nothing for anybody.

There were many other gentlemen in the room, and some who knew Mr
Crawley with more or less intimacy. He, however, took notice of no
one, and when one friend, who had really known him well, came up
behind and spoke to him gently leaning over his chair, the poor man
hardly recognised his friend.

"I'm sure your husband won't forget me," said Mr Robarts, the
clergyman at Framley, as he gave his hand to that lady across the
back of Mr Crawley's chair.

"No, Mr Robarts, he does not forget you. But you must excuse him if
at this moment he is not quite himself. It is a trying situation for
a clergyman."

"I can understand all that; but I'll tell you why I have come. I
suppose this inquiry will finish the whole affair, and clear up
whatever may be the difficulty. But should it not do so, it may be
just possible, Mrs Crawley, that something may be said about bail. I
don't understand much about it, and I daresay you do not either; but
if there should be anything of that sort, let Mr Crawley name me. A
brother clergyman will be best, and I'll have some other gentleman
with me." Then he left without waiting for any answer.

At the same time there was a conversation going on between Mr Walker
and another attorney standing behind him, Mr Mason. "I'll go to him,"
said Walker, "and try to arrange it." So Mr Walker seated himself in
the empty chair beside Mr Crawley, and endeavoured to explain to the
wretched man, that he would do well to allow Mr Mason to assist him.
Mr Crawley seemed to listen to all that was said, and then turned
upon the speaker sharply: "I will have no one to assist me," he said
so loudly that every one in the room heard the words. "I am innocent.
Why should I want assistance? Nor have I money to pay for it." Mr
Mason made a quick movement forward, intending to explain that that
consideration need offer no impediment, but was stopped by further
speech from Mr Crawley. "I will have no one to help me," said he,
standing upright, and for the first time removing his hat from his
head. "Go on, and do what it is you have to do." After than he did
not sit down till the proceedings were nearly over, though he was
invited more than once by Lord Lufton to do so.

We need not go through all the evidence that was brought to bear upon
the question. It was proved that money for the cheque was paid to
Mr Crawley's messenger, and that this money was given to Mr Crawley.
When there occurred some little delay in the chain of evidence
necessary to show that Mr Crawley had signed and sent the cheque and
got the money, he became impatient. "Why do you trouble the man?" he
said. "I had the cheque, and I sent him; I got the money. Has any one
denied it, that you would strive to drive a poor man like that beyond
his wits?" Then Mr Soames and the manager of the bank showed what
inquiry had been made as soon as the cheque came back from the London
bank; how at first they had both thought that Mr Crawley could of
course explain the matter, and how he had explained it by a statement
which was manifestly untrue. Then there was evidence to prove that
the cheque could not have been paid to him by Mr Soames, and as this
was given, Mr Crawley shook his head and again became impatient.
"I erred in that," he exclaimed. "Of course I erred. In my haste
I thought it was so, and in my haste I said so. I am not good at
reckoning money and remembering sums; but I saw that I had been wrong
when my error was shown to me, and I acknowledged at once that I had
been wrong."

Up to this point he had behaved not only with so much spirit, but
with so much reason, that his wife began to hope that the importance
of the occasion had brought back the clearness of his mind, and that
he would, even now, be able to place himself right as the inquiry
went on. Then it was explained that Mr Crawley had stated that the
cheque had been given to him by Dean Arabin, as soon as it was shown
that it could not have been given to him by Mr Soames. In reference
to this, Mr Walker was obliged to explain that application had been
made to the dean, who was abroad, and that the dean had stated that
he had given fifty pounds to his friend. Mr Walker explained also
that the very notes of which this fifty pounds had consisted had been
traced back to Mr Crawley, and that they had no connexion with the
cheque or with the money which had been given for the cheque at the
bank.

Mr Soames stated that he had lost the cheque with a pocket-book; that
he had certainly lost it on the day on which he had called on Mr
Crawley at Hogglestock; and that he missed his pocket-book on his
journey back from Hogglestock to Barchester. At the moment of missing
it he remembered that he had taken the book out from his pocket
in Mr Crawley's room, and, at that moment, he had not doubted but
that he had left it in Mr Crawley's house. He had written and
sent to Mr Crawley to inquire, but had been assured that nothing
had been found. There had been no other property of value in the
pocket-book,--nothing but a few visiting-cards and a memorandum, and
he had therefore stopped the cheque at the London bank, and thought
no more about it.

Mr Crawley was then asked to explain in what way he came possessed of
the cheque. The question was first put by Lord Lufton; but it soon
fell into Mr Walker's hands, who certainly asked it with all the
kindness with which such an inquiry could be made. Could Mr Crawley
at all remember by what means that bit of paper had come into his
possession, or how long he had had it? He answered the last question
first. "It had been with him for months." And why had he kept it. He
looked round the room sternly, almost savagely, before he answered,
fixing his eyes for a moment upon almost every face around him as he
did so. Then he spoke. "I was driven by shame to keep it,--and then
by shame to use it." That this statement was true, no one in the room
doubted.

And then the other question was pressed upon him; and he lifted up
his hands, and raised his voice, and swore by the Saviour in whom he
trusted, that he knew not from whence the money had come to him. Why
then had he said that it had come from the dean? He had thought so.
The dean had given him money, covered up, in an enclosure, "so that
the touch of the coin might not add to my disgrace in taking his
alms," said the wretched man, thus speaking openly and freely in his
agony of the shame which he had striven so persistently to hide. He
had not seen the dean's monies as they had been given, and he had
thought that the cheque had been with them. Beyond that he could tell
them nothing.

Then there was a conference between the magistrates and Mr Walker, in
which Mr Walker submitted that the magistrates had no alternative but
to commit the gentleman. To this Lord Lufton demurred, and with him
Dr Thorne.

"I believe, as I am sitting here," said Lord Lufton, "that he has
told the truth, and that he does not know any more than I do from
whence the cheque came."

"I am quite sure he does not," said Dr Thorne.

Lord George remarked that it was the "queerest go he had ever come
across." Dr Tempest merely shook his head. Mr Fothergill pointed out
that even supposing the gentleman's statement to be true, it by no
means went towards establishing the gentleman's innocence. The cheque
had been traced to the gentleman's hands, and the gentleman was bound
to show how it had come into his possession. Even supposing that
the gentleman had found the cheque in his house, which was likely
enough, he was not thereby justified in changing it, and applying the
proceeds to his own purposes. Mr Walker told them that Mr Fothergill
was right, and that the only excuse to be made for Mr Crawley was
that he was out of his senses.

"I don't see it," said Lord Lufton. "I might have a lot of paper
money by me, and not know from Adam where I got it."

"But you would have to show where you got it, my lord, when inquiry
was made," said Mr Fothergill.

Lord Lufton, who was not particularly fond of Mr Fothergill, and was
very unwilling to be instructed by him in any of the duties of a
magistrate, turned his back at once upon the duke's agent; but within
three minutes afterwards he had submitted to the same instructions
from Mr Walker.

Mr Crawley had again seated himself, and during this period of the
affair was leaning over the table with his face buried on his arms.
Mrs Crawley sat by his side, utterly impotent as to any assistance,
just touching him with her hand, and waiting behind her veil till
she should be made to understand what was the decision of the
magistrates. This was at last communicated to her,--and to him,--in
a whisper by Mr Walker. Mr Crawley must understand that he was
committed to take his trial at Barchester, at the next assizes, which
would be held in April, but that bail would be taken;--his own bail
in five hundred pounds, and that of two others in two hundred and
fifty pounds each. And Mr Walker explained further that he and the
bailmen were ready, and that the bail-bond was prepared. The bailmen
were to be the Rev Mr Robarts and Major Grantly. In five minutes the
bond was signed and Mr Crawley was at liberty to go away, a free
man,--till the Barchester Assizes should come round in April.

Of all that was going on at this time Mr Crawley knew little or
nothing, and Mrs Crawley did not know much. She did say a word of
thanks to Mr Robarts, and begged that the same might be said to--the
other gentleman. If she had heard the Major's name she did not
remember it. Then they were led out back into the bedroom, where Mrs
Walker was found, anxious to do something, if she only knew what, to
comfort the wretched husband and the wretched wife. But what comfort
or consolation could there be within their reach? There was tea made
ready for them, and sandwiches cut from the Inn larder. And there was
sherry in the Inn decanter. But no such comfort as that was possible
for either of them.

They were taken home again in the fly, returning without the escort
of Mr Thompson, and as they went some few words were spoken by Mrs
Crawley. "Josiah," she said, "there will be a way out of this, even
yet, if you will only hold up your head and trust."

"There is a way out of it," he said. "There is a way. There is but
one way." When he had spoken she said no more, but resolved that her
eye should never be off him, no,--not for a moment. Then, when she
had gotten him once more into that front parlour, she threw her arms
round him and kissed him.




CHAPTER IX

Grace Crawley Goes to Allington


The tidings of what had been done by the magistrates at their petty
sessions was communicated the same night to Grace Crawley by Miss
Prettyman. Miss Anne Prettyman had heard the news within five minutes
of the execution of the bail-bond, and had rushed to her sister with
information as to the event. "They have found him guilty; they have,
indeed. They have convicted him,--or whatever it is, because he
couldn't say where he got it." "You do not mean that they have sent
him to prison?" "No;--not to prison; not as yet, that is. I don't
understand it altogether; but he's to be tried again at the assizes.
In the meantime he's to be out on bail. Major Grantly is to be the
bail,--and Mr Robarts. That, I think, was very nice of him." It
was undoubtedly the fact that Miss Anne Prettyman had received an
accession of pleasurable emotion when she learned that Mr Crawley had
not been sent away scatheless, but had been condemned, as it were, to
a public trial at the assizes. And yet she would have done anything
in her power to save Grace Crawley, or even to save her father. And
it must be explained that Miss Anne Prettyman was supposed to be
specially efficient in teaching Roman history to her pupils, although
she was so manifestly ignorant of the course of the law in the
country in which she lived. "Committed him," said Miss Prettyman,
correcting her sister with scorn. "They have not convicted him. Had
they convicted him, there could be no question of bail." "I don't
know how all that is, Annabella, but at any rate Major Grantly is
to be the bailsman, and there is to be another trial at Barchester."
"There cannot be more than one trial in a criminal case," said Miss
Prettyman, "unless the jury should disagree, or something of that
kind. I suppose he has been committed and that the trial will take
place at the assizes." "Exactly,--that's just it." Had Lord Lufton
appeared as lictor and had Thompson carried the fasces, Miss Anne
would have known more about it.

The sad tidings were not told to Grace till the evening. Mrs Crawley,
when the inquiry was over before the magistrates, would fain have had
herself driven to the Miss Prettymans' school, that she might see her
daughter; but she felt that to be impossible while her husband was in
her charge. The father would of course have gone to his child, had
the visit been suggested to him; but that would have caused another
terrible scene; and the mother, considering it all in her mind,
thought it better to abstain. Miss Prettyman did her best to make
poor Grace think that the affair had so far gone favourably,--did her
best, that is, without saying anything which her conscience told her
to be false. "It is to be settled at the assizes in April," she said.