Authors: Elizabeth Gaskell
She had not made up her mind where we should drive to when she got into
the carriage again. John Footman stood, bare-headed, waiting for orders.
"To Hathaway. My dears, if you are tired, or if you have anything to do
for Mrs. Medlicott, I can drop you at Barford Corner, and it is but a
quarter of an hour's brisk walk home."
But luckily we could safely say that Mrs. Medlicott did not want us; and
as we had whispered to each other, as we sat alone in the coach, that
surely my lady must have gone to Job Gregson's, we were far too anxious
to know the end of it all to say that we were tired. So we all set off
to Hathaway. Mr. Harry Lathom was a bachelor squire, thirty or thirty-
five years of age, more at home in the field than in the drawing-room,
and with sporting men than with ladies.
My lady did not alight, of course; it was Mr. Lathom's place to wait upon
her, and she bade the butler,—who had a smack of the gamekeeper in him,
very unlike our own powdered venerable fine gentleman at Hanbury,—tell
his master, with her compliments, that she wished to speak to him. You
may think how pleased we were to find that we should hear all that was
said; though, I think, afterwards we were half sorry when we saw how our
presence confused the squire, who would have found it bad enough to
answer my lady's questions, even without two eager girls for audience.
"Pray, Mr. Lathom," began my lady, something abruptly for her,—but she
was very full of her subject,—"what is this I hear about Job Gregson?"
Mr. Lathom looked annoyed and vexed, but dared not show it in his words.
"I gave out a warrant against him, my lady, for theft,—that is all. You
are doubtless aware of his character; a man who sets nets and springes in
long cover, and fishes wherever he takes a fancy. It is but a short step
from poaching to thieving."
"That is quite true," replied Lady Ludlow (who had a horror of poaching
for this very reason): "but I imagine you do not send a man to gaol on
account of his bad character."
"Rogues and vagabonds," said Mr. Lathom. "A man may be sent to prison
for being a vagabond; for no specific act, but for his general mode of
life."
He had the better of her ladyship for one moment; but then she answered—
"But in this case, the charge on which you committed him is for theft;
now his wife tells me he can prove he was some miles distant from
Holmwood, where the robbery took place, all that afternoon; she says you
had the evidence before you."
Mr. Lathom here interrupted my lady, by saying, in a somewhat sulky
manner—"No such evidence was brought before me when I gave the warrant.
I am not answerable for the other magistrates' decision, when they had
more evidence before them. It was they who committed him to gaol. I am
not responsible for that."
My lady did not often show signs of impatience; but we knew she was
feeling irritated, by the little perpetual tapping of her high-heeled
shoe against the bottom of the carriage. About the same time we, sitting
backwards, caught a glimpse of Mr. Gray through the open door, standing
in the shadow of the hall. Doubtless Lady Ludlow's arrival had
interrupted a conversation between Mr. Lathom and Mr. Gray. The latter
must have heard every word of what she was saying; but of this she was
not aware, and caught at Mr. Lathom's disclaimer of responsibility with
pretty much the same argument which she had heard (through our
repetition) that Mr. Gray had used not two hours before.
"And do you mean to say, Mr. Lathom, that you don't consider yourself
responsible for all injustice or wrong-doing that you might have
prevented, and have not? Nay, in this case the first germ of injustice
was your own mistake. I wish you had been with me a little while ago,
and seen the misery in that poor fellow's cottage." She spoke lower, and
Mr. Gray drew near, in a sort of involuntary manner; as if to hear all
she was saying. We saw him, and doubtless Mr. Lathom heard his footstep,
and knew who it was that was listening behind him, and approving of every
word that was said. He grew yet more sullen in manner; but still my lady
was my lady, and he dared not speak out before her, as he would have done
to Mr. Gray. Lady Ludlow, however, caught the look of stubborness in his
face, and it roused her as I had never seen her roused.
"I am sure you will not refuse, sir, to accept my bail. I offer to bail
the fellow out, and to be responsible for his appearance at the sessions.
What say you to that, Mr. Lathom?"
"The offence of theft is not bailable, my lady."
"Not in ordinary cases, I dare say. But I imagine this is an
extraordinary case. The man is sent to prison out of compliment to you,
and against all evidence, as far as I can learn. He will have to rot in
gaol for two months, and his wife and children to starve. I, Lady
Ludlow, offer to bail him out, and pledge myself for his appearance at
next quarter-sessions."
"It is against the law, my lady."
"Bah! Bah! Bah! Who makes laws? Such as I, in the House of Lords—such
as you, in the House of Commons. We, who make the laws in St. Stephen's,
may break the mere forms of them, when we have right on our sides, on our
own land, and amongst our own people."
"The lord-lieutenant may take away my commission, if he heard of it."
"And a very good thing for the county, Harry Lathom; and for you too, if
he did,—if you don't go on more wisely than you have begun. A pretty
set you and your brother magistrates are to administer justice through
the land! I always said a good despotism was the best form of
government; and I am twice as much in favour of it now I see what a
quorum is! My dears!" suddenly turning round to us, "if it would not
tire you to walk home, I would beg Mr. Lathom to take a seat in my coach,
and we would drive to Henley Gaol, and have the poor man out at once."
"A walk over the fields at this time of day is hardly fitting for young
ladies to take alone," said Mr. Lathom, anxious no doubt to escape from
his tete-a-tete drive with my lady, and possibly not quite prepared to go
to the illegal length of prompt measures, which she had in contemplation.
But Mr. Gray now stepped forward, too anxious for the release of the
prisoner to allow any obstacle to intervene which he could do away with.
To see Lady Ludlow's face when she first perceived whom she had had for
auditor and spectator of her interview with Mr. Lathom, was as good as a
play. She had been doing and saying the very things she had been so much
annoyed at Mr. Gray's saying and proposing only an hour or two ago. She
had been setting down Mr. Lathom pretty smartly, in the presence of the
very man to whom she had spoken of that gentleman as so sensible, and of
such a standing in the county, that it was presumption to question his
doings. But before Mr. Gray had finished his offer of escorting us back
to Hanbury Court, my lady had recovered herself. There was neither
surprise nor displeasure in her manner, as she answered—"I thank you,
Mr. Gray. I was not aware that you were here, but I think I can
understand on what errand you came. And seeing you here, recalls me to a
duty I owe Mr. Lathom. Mr. Lathom, I have spoken to you pretty
plainly,—forgetting, until I saw Mr. Gray, that only this very afternoon
I differed from him on this very question; taking completely, at that
time, the same view of the whole subject which you have done; thinking
that the county would be well rid of such a man as Job Gregson, whether
he had committed this theft or not. Mr. Gray and I did not part quite
friends," she continued, bowing towards him; "but it so happened that I
saw Job Gregson's wife and home,—I felt that Mr. Gray had been right and
I had been wrong, so, with the famous inconsistency of my sex, I came
hither to scold you," smiling towards Mr. Lathom, who looked half-sulky
yet, and did not relax a bit of his gravity at her smile, "for holding
the same opinions that I had done an hour before. Mr. Gray," (again
bowing towards him) "these young ladies will be very much obliged to you
for your escort, and so shall I. Mr. Lathom, may I beg of you to
accompany me to Henley?"
Mr. Gray bowed very low, and went very red; Mr. Lathom said something
which we none of us heard, but which was, I think, some remonstrance
against the course he was, as it were, compelled to take. Lady Ludlow,
however, took no notice of his murmur, but sat in an attitude of polite
expectancy; and as we turned off on our walk, I saw Mr. Lathom getting
into the coach with the air of a whipped hound. I must say, considering
my lady's feeling, I did not envy him his ride—though, I believe, he was
quite in the right as to the object of the ride being illegal.
Our walk home was very dull. We had no fears; and would far rather have
been without the awkward, blushing young man, into which Mr. Gray had
sunk. At every stile he hesitated,—sometimes he half got over it,
thinking that he could assist us better in that way; then he would turn
back unwilling to go before ladies. He had no ease of manner, as my lady
once said of him, though on any occasion of duty, he had an immense deal
of dignity.
As far as I can remember, it was very soon after this that I first began
to have the pain in my hip, which has ended in making me a cripple for
life. I hardly recollect more than one walk after our return under Mr.
Gray's escort from Mr. Lathom's. Indeed, at the time, I was not without
suspicions (which I never named) that the beginning of all the mischief
was a great jump I had taken from the top of one of the stiles on that
very occasion.
Well, it is a long while ago, and God disposes of us all, and I am not
going to tire you out with telling you how I thought and felt, and how,
when I saw what my life was to be, I could hardly bring myself to be
patient, but rather wished to die at once. You can every one of you
think for yourselves what becoming all at once useless and unable to
move, and by-and-by growing hopeless of cure, and feeling that one must
be a burden to some one all one's life long, would be to an active,
wilful, strong girl of seventeen, anxious to get on in the world, so as,
if possible, to help her brothers and sisters. So I shall only say, that
one among the blessings which arose out of what seemed at the time a
great, black sorrow was, that Lady Ludlow for many years took me, as it
were, into her own especial charge; and now, as I lie still and alone in
my old age, it is such a pleasure to think of her!
Mrs. Medlicott was great as a nurse, and I am sure I can never be
grateful enough to her memory for all her kindness. But she was puzzled
to know how to manage me in other ways. I used to have long, hard fits
of crying; and, thinking that I ought to go home—and yet what could they
do with me there?—and a hundred and fifty other anxious thoughts, some
of which I could tell to Mrs. Medlicott, and others I could not. Her way
of comforting me was hurrying away for some kind of tempting or
strengthening food—a basin of melted calves-foot jelly was, I am sure
she thought, a cure for every woe.
"There take it, dear, take it!" she would say; "and don't go on fretting
for what can't be helped."
But, I think, she got puzzled at length at the non-efficacy of good
things to eat; and one day, after I had limped down to see the doctor, in
Mrs. Medlicott's sitting-room—a room lined with cupboards, containing
preserves and dainties of all kinds, which she perpetually made, and
never touched herself—when I was returning to my bed-room to cry away
the afternoon, under pretence of arranging my clothes, John Footman
brought me a message from my lady (with whom the doctor had been having a
conversation) to bid me go to her in that private sitting-room at the end
of the suite of apartments, about which I spoke in describing the day of
my first arrival at Hanbury. I had hardly been in it since; as, when we
read to my lady, she generally sat in the small withdrawing-room out of
which this private room of hers opened. I suppose great people do not
require what we smaller people value so much,—I mean privacy. I do not
think that there was a room which my lady occupied that had not two
doors, and some of them had three or four. Then my lady had always Adams
waiting upon her in her bed-chamber; and it was Mrs. Medlicott's duty to
sit within call, as it were, in a sort of anteroom that led out of my
lady's own sitting-room, on the opposite side to the drawing-room door.
To fancy the house, you must take a great square and halve it by a line:
at one end of this line was the hall-door, or public entrance; at the
opposite the private entrance from a terrace, which was terminated at one
end by a sort of postern door in an old gray stone wall, beyond which lay
the farm buildings and offices; so that people could come in this way to
my lady on business, while, if she were going into the garden from her
own room, she had nothing to do but to pass through Mrs. Medlicott's
apartment, out into the lesser hall, and then turning to the right as she
passed on to the terrace, she could go down the flight of broad, shallow
steps at the corner of the house into the lovely garden, with stretching,
sweeping lawns, and gay flower-beds, and beautiful, bossy laurels, and
other blooming or massy shrubs, with full-grown beeches, or larches
feathering down to the ground a little farther off. The whole was set in
a frame, as it were, by the more distant woodlands. The house had been
modernized in the days of Queen Anne, I think; but the money had fallen
short that was requisite to carry out all the improvements, so it was
only the suite of withdrawing-rooms and the terrace-rooms, as far as the
private entrance, that had the new, long, high windows put in, and these
were old enough by this time to be draped with roses, and honeysuckles,
and pyracanthus, winter and summer long.
Well, to go back to that day when I limped into my lady's sitting-room,
trying hard to look as if I had not been crying, and not to walk as if I
was in much pain. I do not know whether my lady saw how near my tears
were to my eyes, but she told me she had sent for me, because she wanted
some help in arranging the drawers of her bureau, and asked me—just as
if it was a favour I was to do her—if I could sit down in the easy-chair
near the window—(all quietly arranged before I came in, with a
footstool, and a table quite near)—and assist her. You will wonder,
perhaps, why I was not bidden to sit or lie on the sofa; but (although I
found one there a morning or two afterwards, when I came down) the fact
was, that there was none in the room at this time. I have even fancied
that the easy-chair was brought in on purpose for me; for it was not the
chair in which I remembered my lady sitting the first time I saw her.
That chair was very much carved and gilded, with a countess' coronet at
the top. I tried it one day, some time afterwards, when my lady was out
of the room, and I had a fancy for seeing how I could move about, and
very uncomfortable it was. Now my chair (as I learnt to call it, and to
think it) was soft and luxurious, and seemed somehow to give one's body
rest just in that part where one most needed it.