Framley Parsonage (78 page)

How long they sat together silent, I cannot say; counted by minutes the time would not probably have amounted to many, but to each of them the duration seemed considerable. Lady Lufton, while she was speaking, had contrived to get hold of Lucy’s hand, and she sat, still holding it, trying to look into Lucy’s
face, – which, however, she could hardly see, so much was it turned away. Neither, indeed, were Lady Lufton’s eyes perfectly dry. No answer came to her question, and therefore, after a while, it was necessary that she should speak again.

‘Must I go back to him, Lucy, and tell him that there is some other objection – something besides a stern old mother; some hindrance, perhaps, not so easily
overcome?’

‘No,’ said Lucy, and it was all which at the moment she could say.

‘What shall I tell him, then? Shall I say yes – simply yes?’

‘Simply yes,’ said Lucy.

‘And as to the stern old mother who thought her only son
too precious to be parted with at the first word – is nothing to be said to her?’

‘Oh, Lady Lufton!’

‘No forgiveness to be spoken, no sign of affection to be given? Is she
always to be regarded as stern and cross, vexatious and disagreeable?’

Lucy slowly turned round her head and looked up into her companion’s face. Though she had as yet no voice to speak of affection she could fill her eyes with love, and in that way make to her future mother all the promises that were needed.

‘Lucy, dearest Lucy, you must be very dear to me now.’ And then they were in each other’s
arms, kissing each other.

Lady Lufton now desired her coachman to drive up and down for some little space along the road while she completed her necessary conversation with Lucy. She wanted at first to carry her back to Framley that evening, promising to send her again to Mrs Crawley on the following morning – ‘till some permanent arrangement could be made,’ by which Lady Lufton intended the
substitution of a regular nurse for her future daughter-in-law, seeing that Lucy Robarts was now invested in her eyes with attributes which made it unbecoming that she should sit in attendance at Mrs Crawley’s bedside. But Lucy would not go back to Framley on that evening; no, nor on the next morning. She would be so glad if Fanny would come to her there, and then she would arrange about going home.

‘But Lucy, dear, what am I to say to Ludovic? Perhaps you would feel it awkward if he were to come to see you here.’

‘Oh, yes, Lady Lufton; pray tell him not to do that.’

‘And is that all that I am to tell him?’

‘Tell him – tell him – He won’t want you to tell him anything; – only I should like to be quiet for a day, Lady Lufton.’

‘Well, dearest, you shall be quiet; the day after to-morrow
then. – Mind we must not spare you any longer, because it will be right that you should be at home now. He would think it very hard if you were to be so near, and he was not to be allowed to look at you. And there will be some one else who will want to see you. I shall want to have you very near to me, for I shall be wretched, Lucy, if I cannot teach you to love me.’ In answer
to which Lucy did
find voice enough to make sundry promises.

And then she was put out of the carriage at the little wicket gate, and Lady Lufton was driven back to Framley. I wonder whether the servant when he held the door for Miss Robarts was conscious that he was waiting on his future mistress. I fancy that he was, for these sort of people always know everything and the peculiar courtesy of his demeanour as
he let down the carriage steps was very observable.

Lucy felt almost beside herself as she returned upstairs, not knowing what to do, or how to look, and with what words to speak. It behoved her to go at once to Mrs Crawley’s room, and yet she longed to be alone. She knew that she was quite unable either to conceal her thoughts or express them; nor did she wish at the present moment to talk to
any one about her happiness, – seeing that she could not at the present moment talk to Fanny Robarts. She went, however, without delay into Mrs Crawley’s room, and with that little eager way of speaking quickly which is so common with people who know that they are confused, said that she feared she had been a very long time away.

‘And was it Lady Lufton?’

‘Yes; it was Lady Lufton.’

‘Why, Lucy;
I did not know that you and her ladyship were such friends.’

‘She had something particular she wanted to say,’ said Lucy, avoiding the question, and avoiding also Mrs Crawley’s eyes; and then she sat down in her usual chair.

‘It was nothing unpleasant, I hope.’

‘No, nothing at all unpleasant; nothing of that kind. – Oh, Mrs Crawley, I’ll tell you some other time, but pray do not ask me now.’
And then she got up and escaped, for it was absolutely necessary that she should be alone.

When she reached her own room – that in which the children usually slept – she made a great effort to compose herself, but not altogether successfully. She got out her paper and blotting-book intending, as she said to herself, to write to Fanny, knowing, however, that the letter when written would be destroyed;
but she was not able even to form a word. Her hand was unsteady and her eyes were dim and her thoughts were incapable of being
fixed. She could only sit, and think, and wonder, and hope; occasionally wiping the tears from her eyes, and asking herself why her present frame of mind was so painful to her? During the last two or three months she had felt no fear of Lord Lufton, had always carried
herself before him on equal terms, and had been signally capable of doing so when he made his declaration to her at the parsonage; but now she looked forward with an undefined dread to the first moment in which she should see him.

And then she thought of a certain evening she had passed at Framley Court, and acknowledged to herself that there was some pleasure in looking back to that. Griselda
Grantly had been there, and all the constitutional powers of the two families had been at work to render easy a process of love-making between her and Lord Lufton. Lucy had seen and understood it all, without knowing that she understood it, and had, in a certain degree, suffered from beholding it. She had placed herself apart, not complaining – painfully conscious of some inferiority, but, at the
same time, almost boasting to herself that in her own way she was the superior. And then he had come behind her chair, whispering to her, speaking to her his first words of kindness and good nature, and she had resolved that she would be his friend -his friend, even though Griselda Grantly might be his wife. What those resolutions were worth had soon become manifest to her. She had soon confessed
to herself the result of that friendship, and had determined to bear her punishment with courage. But now-

She sat so for about an hour, and would fain have so sat out the day. But as this could not be she got up, and having washed her face and eyes returned to Mrs Crawley’s room. There she found Mr Crawley also, to her great joy, for she knew that while he was there no questions would be asked
of her. He was always very gentle to her, treating her with an old-fashioned polished respect – except when compelled on that one occasion by his sense of duty to accuse her of mendacity respecting the purveying of victuals -, but he had never become absolutely familiar with her as his wife had done; and it was well for her now that he had not done so, for she could not have talked about Lady Lufton.

In the evening, when the three were present, she did manage to say that she expected Mrs Robarts would come over on the following day.

‘We shall part with you, Miss Robarts, with the deepest regret,’ said Mr Crawley; ‘but we would not on any account keep you longer. Mrs Crawley can do without you now. What she would have done, had you not come to us, I am at a loss to think.’

‘I did not say
that I should go,’ said Lucy.

‘But you will,’ said Mrs Crawley. ‘Yes, dear, you will. I know that it is proper now that you should return. Nay, but we will not have you any longer. And the poor dear children, too, – they may return. How am I to thank Mrs Robarts for what she has done for us?’

It was settled that if Mrs Robarts came on the following day Lucy should go back with her; and then,
during the long watches of the night – for on this last night Lucy would not leave the bedside of her new friend till long after the dawn had broken – she did tell Mrs Crawley what was to be her destiny in life. To herself there seemed nothing strange in her new position; but to Mrs Crawley it was wonderful that she – she, poor as she was – should have an embryo peeress at her bedside, handing her
her cup to drink, and smoothing her pillow that she might be at rest. It was strange, and she could hardly maintain her accustomed familiarity. Lucy felt this, at the moment.

‘It must make no difference, you know,’ said she, eagerly; ‘none at all, between you and me. Promise me that it shall make no difference.’

The promise was, of course, exacted; but it was not possible that such a promise
should be kept.

Very early on the following morning – so early that it woke her while still in her first sleep – there came a letter for her from the parsonage. Mrs Robarts had written it, after her return home from Lady Lufton’s dinner.

The letter said:–

‘M
Y OWN OWN
D
ARLING,

‘How am I to congratulate you, and be eager enough in wishing you joy? I do wish you joy, and am so very happy. I write
now chiefly to say that I shall be over with you about twelve to-morrow, and that I
must
bring you away with me. If I did not some one else, by no means so trustworthy, would insist on doing it.’

But this, though it was thus stated to be the chief part of the letter, and though it might be so in matter, was by no means so in space. It was very long, for Mrs Robarts had sat writing it till past
midnight.

‘I will not say anything about him,’ she went on to say, after two pages had been filled with his name, ‘but I must tell you how beautifully she has behaved. You will own that she is a dear woman; will you not?’

Lucy had already owned it many times since the visit of yesterday, and had declared to herself, as she has continued to declare ever since, that she had never doubted it.

‘She took us by surprise when we got into the drawing-room before dinner, and she told us first of all that she had been to see you at Hoggle-stock. Lord Lufton, of course, could not keep the secret, but brought it out instantly. I can’t tell you now how he told it all, but I am sure you will believe that he did it in the best possible manner. He took my hand and pressed it half a dozen times, and
I thought he was going to do something else; but he did not, so you need not be jealous. And she was so nice to Mark, saying such things in praise of you, and paying all manner of compliments to your father. But Lord Lufton scolded her immensely for not bringing you. He said it was lackadaisical and nonsensical; but I could see how much he loved her for what she had done; and she could see it too,
for I know her ways, and know that she was delighted with him. She could not keep her eyes off him all the evening, and certainly I never did see him look so well.

‘And then while Lord Lufton and Mark were in the dining-room, where they remained a terribly long time, she would make me go through the house that she might show me your rooms, and explain how you were to be mistress there. She has
got it all arranged to perfection, and I am sure she has been thinking about it for years. Her great fear at present is that you and he should go and live at Lufton. If you have any gratitude in you, either to her or me, you will not let him do this. I consoled her by saying that there are not two stones upon one another at Lufton as yet; and I believe such is the case. Besides, everybody says that
it is the ugliest spot in the world. She went on to declare, with tears in her eyes, that if you were content to remain at Framley, she would never interfere in anything. I do think that she is the best woman that ever lived.’

So much as I have given of this letter formed but a small portion of it, but it comprises all that it is necessary that we should know. Exactly at twelve o’clock on that
day Puck the pony appeared, with Mrs Robarts and Grace Crawley behind him, Grace having been brought back as being capable of some service in the house. Nothing that was confidential, and very little that was loving, could be said at the moment, because Mr Crawley was there, waiting to bid Miss Robarts adieu; and he had not as yet been informed of what was to be the future fate of his visitor. So
they could only press each other’s hands and embrace, which to Lucy was almost a relief; for even to her sister-in-law she hardly as yet knew how to speak openly on this subject.

‘May God Almighty bless you, Miss Robarts,’ said Mr Crawley, as he stood in his dingy sitting-room ready to lead her out to the pony-carriage. ‘You have brought sunshine into this house, even in the time of sickness,
when there was no sunshine; and He will bless you. You have been the Good Samaritan, binding up the wounds of the afflicted, pouring in oil and balm. To the mother of my children you have given life, and to me you have brought light, and comfort, and good words, – making my spirit glad within me, as it had not been gladdened before. All this hath come of charity, which vaunteth not itself and is
not puffed up. Faith and hope are great and beautiful, but charity exceedeth them all.’
¹
And having so spoken, instead of leading her out, he went away and hid himself.

How Puck behaved himself as Fanny drove him back to Framley, and how those two ladies in the carriage behaved themselves – of that, perhaps, nothing further need be said.

B
UT
in spite of all these joyful tidings it must, alas! be remembered that Poena, that just but Rhadamanthine goddess, whom we moderns ordinarily call Punishment, or Nemesis when we wish to speak of her goddess-ship, very seldom fails to catch a wicked
man though she have sometimes a lame foot of her own,
¹
and though the wicked man may possibly get a start of her. In this instance
the wicked man had been our unfortunate friend Mark Robarts; wicked in that he had wittingly touched pitch, gone to Gatherum Castle, ridden fast mares across the country to Cobbold’s Ashes, and fallen very imprudently among the Tozers; and the instrument used by Nemesis was Mr Tom Towers of the
Jupiter
, than whom, in these our days, there is no deadlier scourge in the hands of that goddess.