Cranford
merinoes and beavers, and woollen materials of all sorts were but
ungracious receptacles of the bright sun’s glancing rays. It had not
been Lady Glenmire’s dress that had won Mr Hoggins’s heart, for she went
about on her errands of kindness more shabby than ever. Although in the
hurried glimpses I caught of her at church or elsewhere she appeared
rather to shun meeting any of her friends, her face seemed to have
almost something of the flush of youth in it; her lips looked redder and
more trembling full than in their old compressed state, and her eyes
dwelt on all things with a lingering light, as if she was learning to
love Cranford and its belongings. Mr Hoggins looked broad and radiant,
and creaked up the middle aisle at church in a brand-new pair of
top-boots—an audible, as well as visible, sign of his purposed change of
state; for the tradition went, that the boots he had worn till now were
the identical pair in which he first set out on his rounds in Cranford
twenty-five years ago; only they had been new-pieced, high and low, top
and bottom, heel and sole, black leather and brown leather, more times
than any one could tell.
None of the ladies in Cranford chose to sanction the marriage by
congratulating either of the parties. We wished to ignore the whole
affair until our liege lady, Mrs Jamieson, returned. Till she came back
to give us our cue, we felt that it would be better to consider the
engagement in the same light as the Queen of Spain’s legs—facts which
certainly existed, but the less said about the better. This restraint
upon our tongues—for you see if we did not speak about it to any of the
parties concerned, how could we get answers to the questions that we
longed to ask?—was beginning to be irksome, and our idea of the dignity
of silence was paling before our curiosity, when another direction was
given to our thoughts, by an announcement on the part of the principal
shopkeeper of Cranford, who ranged the trades from grocer and
cheesemonger to man-milliner, as occasion required, that the spring
fashions were arrived, and would be exhibited on the following Tuesday
at his rooms in High Street. Now Miss Matty had been only waiting for
this before buying herself a new silk gown. I had offered, it is true,
to send to Drumble for patterns, but she had rejected my proposal,
gently implying that she had not forgotten her disappointment about the
sea-green turban. I was thankful that I was on the spot now, to
counteract the dazzling fascination of any yellow or scarlet silk.
I must say a word or two here about myself. I have spoken of my
father’s old friendship for the Jenkyns family; indeed, I am not sure if
there was not some distant relationship. He had willingly allowed me to
remain all the winter at Cranford, in consideration of a letter which
Miss Matty had written to him about the time of the panic, in which I
suspect she had exaggerated my powers and my bravery as a defender of
the house. But now that the days were longer and more cheerful, he was
beginning to urge the necessity of my return; and I only delayed in a
sort of odd forlorn hope that if I could obtain any clear information, I
might make the account given by the signora of the Aga Jenkyns tally
with that of “poor Peter,” his appearance and disappearance, which I had
winnowed out of the conversation of Miss Pole and Mrs Forrester.
CHAPTER XIII.
STOPPED PAYMENT
THE very Tuesday morning on which Mr Johnson was going to show the
fashions, the post-woman brought two letters to the house. I say the
post-woman, but I should say the postman’s wife. He was a lame
shoemaker, a very clean, honest man, much respected in the town; but he
never brought the letters round except on unusual occasions, such as
Christmas Day or Good Friday; and on those days the letters, which
should have been delivered at eight in the morning, did not make their
appearance until two or three in the afternoon, for every one liked poor
Thomas, and gave him a welcome on these festive occasions. He used to
say, “He was welly stawed wi’ eating, for there were three or four
houses where nowt would serve ’em but he must share in their breakfast;”
and by the time he had done his last breakfast, he came to some other
friend who was beginning dinner; but come what might in the way of
temptation, Tom was always sober, civil, and smiling; and, as Miss
Jenkyns used to say, it was a lesson in patience, that she doubted not
would call out that precious quality in some minds, where, but for
Thomas, it might have lain dormant and undiscovered. Patience was
certainly very dormant in Miss Jenkyns’s mind. She was always expecting
letters, and always drumming on the table till the post-woman had called
or gone past. On Christmas Day and Good Friday she drummed from
breakfast till church, from church-time till two o’clock—unless when the
fire wanted stirring, when she invariably knocked down the fire-irons,
and scolded Miss Matty for it. But equally certain was the hearty
welcome and the good dinner for Thomas; Miss Jenkyns standing over him
like a bold dragoon, questioning him as to his children—what they were
doing—what school they went to; upbraiding him if another was likely to
make its appearance, but sending even the little babies the shilling and
the mince-pie which was her gift to all the children, with half-a-crown
in addition for both father and mother. The post was not half of so
much consequence to dear Miss Matty; but not for the world would she
have diminished Thomas’s welcome and his dole, though I could see that
she felt rather shy over the ceremony, which had been regarded by Miss
Jenkyns as a glorious opportunity for giving advice and benefiting her
fellow-creatures. Miss Matty would steal the money all in a lump into
his hand, as if she were ashamed of herself. Miss Jenkyns gave him each
individual coin separate, with a “There! that’s for yourself; that’s for
Jenny,” etc. Miss Matty would even beckon Martha out of the kitchen
while he ate his food: and once, to my knowledge, winked at its rapid
disappearance into a blue cotton pocket-handkerchief. Miss Jenkyns
almost scolded him if he did not leave a clean plate, however heaped it
might have been, and gave an injunction with every mouthful.
[Picture: Standing over him like a bold dragoon]
I have wandered a long way from the two letters that awaited us on the
breakfast-table that Tuesday morning. Mine was from my father. Miss
Matty’s was printed. My father’s was just a man’s letter; I mean it was
very dull, and gave no information beyond that he was well, that they
had had a good deal of rain, that trade was very stagnant, and there
were many disagreeable rumours afloat. He then asked me if I knew
whether Miss Matty still retained her shares in the Town and County
Bank, as there were very unpleasant reports about it; though nothing
more than he had always foreseen, and had prophesied to Miss Jenkyns
years ago, when she would invest their little property in it—the only
unwise step that clever woman had ever taken, to his knowledge (the only
time she ever acted against his advice, I knew). However, if anything
had gone wrong, of course I was not to think of leaving Miss Matty while
I could be of any use, etc.
“Who is your letter from, my dear? Mine is a very civil invitation,
signed ‘Edwin Wilson,’ asking me to attend an important meeting of the
shareholders of the Town and County Bank, to be held in Drumble, on
Thursday the twenty-first. I am sure, it is very attentive of them to
remember me.”
I did not like to hear of this “important meeting,” for, though I did
not know much about business, I feared it confirmed what my father said:
however, I thought, ill news always came fast enough, so I resolved to
say nothing about my alarm, and merely told her that my father was well,
and sent his kind regards to her. She kept turning over and admiring
her letter. At last she spoke—
“I remember their sending one to Deborah just like this; but that I did
not wonder at, for everybody knew she was so clear-headed. I am afraid
I could not help them much; indeed, if they came to accounts, I should
be quite in the way, for I never could do sums in my head. Deborah, I
know, rather wished to go, and went so far as to order a new bonnet for
the occasion: but when the time came she had a bad cold; so they sent
her a very polite account of what they had done. Chosen a director, I
think it was. Do you think they want me to help them to choose a
director? I am sure I should choose your father at once!”
“My father has no shares in the bank,” said I.
“Oh, no! I remember. He objected very much to Deborah’s buying any, I
believe. But she was quite the woman of business, and always judged for
herself; and here, you see, they have paid eight per cent. all these
years.”
It was a very uncomfortable subject to me, with my half-knowledge; so I
thought I would change the conversation, and I asked at what time she
thought we had better go and see the fashions. “Well, my dear,” she
said, “the thing is this: it is not etiquette to go till after twelve;
but then, you see, all Cranford will be there, and one does not like to
be too curious about dress and trimmings and caps with all the world
looking on. It is never genteel to be over-curious on these occasions.
Deborah had the knack of always looking as if the latest fashion was
nothing new to her; a manner she had caught from Lady Arley, who did
see all the new modes in London, you know. So I thought we would just
slip down this morning, soon after breakfast—for I do want half-a-pound
of tea—and then we could go up and examine the things at our leisure,
and see exactly how my new silk gown must be made; and then, after
twelve, we could go with our minds disengaged, and free from thoughts
of dress.”
We began to talk of Miss Matty’s new silk gown. I discovered that it
would be really the first time in her life that she had had to choose
anything of consequence for herself: for Miss Jenkyns had always been
the more decided character, whatever her taste might have been; and it
is astonishing how such people carry the world before them by the mere
force of will. Miss Matty anticipated the sight of the glossy folds
with as much delight as if the five sovereigns, set apart for the
purchase, could buy all the silks in the shop; and (remembering my own
loss of two hours in a toyshop before I could tell on what wonder to
spend a silver threepence) I was very glad that we were going early,
that dear Miss Matty might have leisure for the delights of perplexity.
If a happy sea-green could be met with, the gown was to be sea-green: if
not, she inclined to maize, and I to silver gray; and we discussed the
requisite number of breadths until we arrived at the shop-door. We were
to buy the tea, select the silk, and then clamber up the iron corkscrew
stairs that led into what was once a loft, though now a fashion
show-room.
The young men at Mr Johnson’s had on their best looks; and their best
cravats, and pivoted themselves over the counter with surprising
activity. They wanted to show us upstairs at once; but on the principle
of business first and pleasure afterwards, we stayed to purchase the
tea. Here Miss Matty’s absence of mind betrayed itself. If she was
made aware that she had been drinking green tea at any time, she always
thought it her duty to lie awake half through the night afterward (I
have known her take it in ignorance many a time without such effects),
and consequently green tea was prohibited the house; yet to-day she
herself asked for the obnoxious article, under the impression that she
was talking about the silk. However, the mistake was soon rectified;