Cranford
and then the silks were unrolled in good truth. By this time the shop
was pretty well filled, for it was Cranford market-day, and many of the
farmers and country people from the neighbourhood round came in,
sleeking down their hair, and glancing shyly about, from under their
eyelids, as anxious to take back some notion of the unusual gaiety to
the mistress or the lasses at home, and yet feeling that they were out
of place among the smart shopmen and gay shawls and summer prints. One
honest-looking man, however, made his way up to the counter at which we
stood, and boldly asked to look at a shawl or two. The other country
folk confined themselves to the grocery side; but our neighbour was
evidently too full of some kind intention towards mistress, wife or
daughter, to be shy; and it soon became a question with me, whether he
or Miss Matty would keep their shopmen the longest time. He thought
each shawl more beautiful than the last; and, as for Miss Matty, she
smiled and sighed over each fresh bale that was brought out; one colour
set off another, and the heap together would, as she said, make even the
rainbow look poor.
“I am afraid,” said she, hesitating, “whichever I choose I shall wish I
had taken another. Look at this lovely crimson! it would be so warm in
winter. But spring is coming on, you know. I wish I could have a gown
for every season,” said she, dropping her voice—as we all did in
Cranford whenever we talked of anything we wished for but could not
afford. “However,” she continued in a louder and more cheerful tone, “it
would give me a great deal of trouble to take care of them if I had
them; so, I think, I’ll only take one. But which must it be, my dear?”
And now she hovered over a lilac with yellow spots, while I pulled out a
quiet sage-green that had faded into insignificance under the more
brilliant colours, but which was nevertheless a good silk in its humble
way. Our attention was called off to our neighbour. He had chosen a
shawl of about thirty shillings’ value; and his face looked broadly
happy, under the anticipation, no doubt, of the pleasant surprise he
would give to some Molly or Jenny at home; he had tugged a leathern
purse out of his breeches-pocket, and had offered a five-pound note in
payment for the shawl, and for some parcels which had been brought round
to him from the grocery counter; and it was just at this point that he
attracted our notice. The shopman was examining the note with a
puzzled, doubtful air.
“Town and County Bank! I am not sure, sir, but I believe we have
received a warning against notes issued by this bank only this morning.
I will just step and ask Mr Johnson, sir; but I’m afraid I must trouble
you for payment in cash, or in a note of a different bank.”
I never saw a man’s countenance fall so suddenly into dismay and
bewilderment. It was almost piteous to see the rapid change.
“Dang it!” said he, striking his fist down on the table, as if to try
which was the harder, “the chap talks as if notes and gold were to be
had for the picking up.”
Miss Matty had forgotten her silk gown in her interest for the man. I
don’t think she had caught the name of the bank, and in my nervous
cowardice I was anxious that she should not; and so I began admiring the
yellow-spotted lilac gown that I had been utterly condemning only a
minute before. But it was of no use.
“What bank was it? I mean, what bank did your note belong to?”
“Town and County Bank.”
“Let me see it,” said she quietly to the shopman, gently taking it out
of his hand, as he brought it back to return it to the farmer.
Mr Johnson was very sorry, but, from information he had received, the
notes issued by that bank were little better than waste paper.
“I don’t understand it,” said Miss Matty to me in a low voice. “That is
our bank, is it not?—the Town and County Bank?”
“Yes,” said I. “This lilac silk will just match the ribbons in your new
cap, I believe,” I continued, holding up the folds so as to catch the
light, and wishing that the man would make haste and be gone, and yet
having a new wonder, that had only just sprung up, how far it was wise
or right in me to allow Miss Matty to make this expensive purchase, if
the affairs of the bank were really so bad as the refusal of the note
implied.
But Miss Matty put on the soft dignified manner, peculiar to her, rarely
used, and yet which became her so well, and laying her hand gently on
mine, she said—
“Never mind the silks for a few minutes, dear. I don’t understand you,
sir,” turning now to the shopman, who had been attending to the farmer.
“Is this a forged note?”
“Oh, no, ma’am. It is a true note of its kind; but you see, ma’am, it
is a joint-stock bank, and there are reports out that it is likely to
break. Mr Johnson is only doing his duty, ma’am, as I am sure Mr Dobson
knows.”
But Mr Dobson could not respond to the appealing bow by any answering
smile. He was turning the note absently over in his fingers, looking
gloomily enough at the parcel containing the lately-chosen shawl.
“It’s hard upon a poor man,” said he, “as earns every farthing with the
sweat of his brow. However, there’s no help for it. You must take back
your shawl, my man; Lizzle must go on with her cloak for a while. And
yon figs for the little ones—I promised them to ’em—I’ll take them; but
the ’bacco, and the other things”—
“I will give you five sovereigns for your note, my good man,” said Miss
Matty. “I think there is some great mistake about it, for I am one of
the shareholders, and I’m sure they would have told me if things had not
been going on right.”
The shopman whispered a word or two across the table to Miss Matty. She
looked at him with a dubious air.
“Perhaps so,” said she. “But I don’t pretend to understand business; I
only know that if it is going to fail, and if honest people are to lose
their money because they have taken our notes—I can’t explain myself,”
said she, suddenly becoming aware that she had got into a long sentence
with four people for audience; “only I would rather exchange my gold for
the note, if you please,” turning to the farmer, “and then you can take
your wife the shawl. It is only going without my gown a few days
longer,” she continued, speaking to me. “Then, I have no doubt,
everything will be cleared up.”
“But if it is cleared up the wrong way?” said I.
“Why, then it will only have been common honesty in me, as a
shareholder, to have given this good man the money. I am quite clear
about it in my own mind; but, you know, I can never speak quite as
comprehensibly as others can, only you must give me your note, Mr
Dobson, if you please, and go on with your purchases with these
sovereigns.”
[Picture: You must give me your note, Mr Dobson, if you please]
The man looked at her with silent gratitude—too awkward to put his
thanks into words; but he hung back for a minute or two, fumbling with
his note.
“I’m loth to make another one lose instead of me, if it is a loss; but,
you see, five pounds is a deal of money to a man with a family; and, as
you say, ten to one in a day or two the note will be as good as gold
again.”
“No hope of that, my friend,” said the shopman.
“The more reason why I should take it,” said Miss Matty quietly. She
pushed her sovereigns towards the man, who slowly laid his note down in
exchange. “Thank you. I will wait a day or two before I purchase any
of these silks; perhaps you will then have a greater choice. My dear,
will you come upstairs?”
We inspected the fashions with as minute and curious an interest as if
the gown to be made after them had been bought. I could not see that
the little event in the shop below had in the least damped Miss Matty’s
curiosity as to the make of sleeves or the sit of skirts. She once or
twice exchanged congratulations with me on our private and leisurely
view of the bonnets and shawls; but I was, all the time, not so sure
that our examination was so utterly private, for I caught glimpses of a
figure dodging behind the cloaks and mantles; and, by a dexterous move,
I came face to face with Miss Pole, also in morning costume (the
principal feature of which was her being without teeth, and wearing a
veil to conceal the deficiency), come on the same errand as ourselves.
But she quickly took her departure, because, as she said, she had a bad
headache, and did not feel herself up to conversation.
As we came down through the shop, the civil Mr Johnson was awaiting us;
he had been informed of the exchange of the note for gold, and with much
good feeling and real kindness, but with a little want of tact, he
wished to condole with Miss Matty, and impress upon her the true state
of the case. I could only hope that he had heard an exaggerated rumour
for he said that her shares were worse than nothing, and that the bank
could not pay a shilling in the pound. I was glad that Miss Matty
seemed still a little incredulous; but I could not tell how much of this
was real or assumed, with that self-control which seemed habitual to
ladies of Miss Matty’s standing in Cranford, who would have thought
their dignity compromised by the slightest expression of surprise,
dismay, or any similar feeling to an inferior in station, or in a public
shop. However, we walked home very silently. I am ashamed to say, I
believe I was rather vexed and annoyed at Miss Matty’s conduct in taking
the note to herself so decidedly. I had so set my heart upon her having
a new silk gown, which she wanted sadly; in general she was so undecided
anybody might turn her round; in this case I had felt that it was no use
attempting it, but I was not the less put out at the result.
Somehow, after twelve o’clock, we both acknowledged to a sated curiosity
about the fashions, and to a certain fatigue of body (which was, in
fact, depression of mind) that indisposed us to go out again. But still
we never spoke of the note; till, all at once, something possessed me to
ask Miss Matty if she would think it her duty to offer sovereigns for
all the notes of the Town and County Bank she met with? I could have
bitten my tongue out the minute I had said it. She looked up rather
sadly, and as if I had thrown a new perplexity into her already
distressed mind; and for a minute or two she did not speak. Then she
said—my own dear Miss Matty—without a shade of reproach in her voice—
“My dear, I never feel as if my mind was what people call very strong;
and it’s often hard enough work for me to settle what I ought to do with
the case right before me. I was very thankful to—I was very thankful,
that I saw my duty this morning, with the poor man standing by me; but
it’s rather a strain upon me to keep thinking and thinking what I should
do if such and such a thing happened; and, I believe, I had rather wait
and see what really does come; and I don’t doubt I shall be helped then
if I don’t fidget myself, and get too anxious beforehand. You know,
love, I’m not like Deborah. If Deborah had lived, I’ve no doubt she
would have seen after them, before they had got themselves into this
state.”
We had neither of us much appetite for dinner, though we tried to talk
cheerfully about indifferent things. When we returned into the
drawing-room, Miss Matty unlocked her desk and began to look over her
account-books. I was so penitent for what I had said in the morning,
that I did not choose to take upon myself the presumption to suppose
that I could assist her; I rather left her alone, as, with puzzled brow,
her eye followed her pen up and down the ruled page. By-and-by she shut
the book, locked the desk, and came and drew a chair to mine, where I
sat in moody sorrow over the fire. I stole my hand into hers; she