Authors: Jean Stubbs
She took her time, pouring his tea, and asked if it was to his taste.
‘I dare say,’ he replied, stirring it absently.
He did not repel her as Ralph Fairbarrow had done, but she felt instinctively that he had some power over people and would use it where necessary. So she was wary with him.
‘I am glad to lay down my former burdens,’ said Charlotte simply, ‘not the least of which was a fear of ending my days in prison, either for debt or on account of our politics. You spoke of Ambrose, sir, did you wish to see him? I had not thought of sending him to school as yet’
‘I take it that you would wish to send him to Millbridge Grammar School, madam?’
‘I had hoped so, sir.’
‘You are very wise. There is no other school as good for sixty miles. So that is settled.’
He seemed to her to have pared away all the inessentials of life in order to concentrate his being upon life itself. His lean body, on which the respectable suit hung like a disregarded costume, was full of vitality. His eyes were intent upon some inner vision. He stirred his tea too long, forgetting what he was doing. The amount of sugar was not important to him. He did not care whether he had cream or lemon. He drank it.
‘So they released Thomas Hardy after all,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘We are not an entirely brutal nation, Mrs Longe. A charge of high treason carries a penalty of death by hanging, disembowelling and quartering. One does not condemn an honest shoemaker to such an end for starting the London Corresponding Society! But what a victory for true justice! After lying above five months in prison, and withstanding the fears and fatigues of a nine-day trial, to be drawn in triumph through the streets of London to the acclaim of the crowd! Why, it was almost worth his sufferings to see such a public affront to the Church and King mob.’
She knew he was trying out her sympathies, and resolved not to yield to his persuasion.
‘Was it worth his
wife’s
suffering, I wonder?’ Charlotte said coolly. ‘To see her home ransacked by officers. To lie in bed, helpless and pregnant, while they burst open the bureau and hunted through her linen for evidence of treason? To watch her husband being arrested, to hear the charge and imagine his death over and over again? And then to die in childbirth? Was that also a triumph, Mr Ackroyd, in your opinion?’
He looked up, surprised by her words.
‘That is bitterly spoken, Mrs Longe.’
‘It is bitterly felt,’ Charlotte answered, cold with recollection.
‘At least it was honest,’ he remarked, equally coldly. ‘I dare say it was the most honest comment you have made since you came here!’
She made up her mind to confront him.
‘What do you want with me, Mr Ackroyd? For I am not such a willing debater as will use the late Mrs Hardy for a topic!’
He was not a man who laughed out of enjoyment. Life had been too difficult, and in many ways too puzzling and contradictory. So he laughed short and sharp, admiring the economy of her behaviour.
‘I had not thought you could be so direct, Mrs Longe.’
‘Then you misjudged me, sir.’
‘I shall not do so again,’ he replied gravely, and ate his little cake in two bites, and wiped his fingers on his breeches, forgetting the tea-napkin she had laid beside him. ‘Mrs Longe, you will recollect Ralph Fairbarrow?’ A compression of her lips, a darkening of her eyes, answered him. ‘I saw him recently and he asked me to give you a message. I quote his words exactly, lest you think I am being impertinent on my own account. He said, “Tell our northern correspondent she has played long enough with her tea-parties. There is work to be done!”’
So that was what he was after?
Charlotte said coldly, ‘I gave Mr Fairbarrow my answer eighteen months ago, and it was final, sir.’
‘He seems to have thought you would change your mind, madam.’
‘Sir, I shall be very frank with you. All I have suffered since I came to Millbridge are fools, and I grant you they are hard to bear. But I sleep of nights without fear of the bailiff or of government agents. We can eat without wondering where the next meal will come from. Our clothes are warm. We can put coals on the fire, knowing the scuttle may be filled again. These are not small mercies to people who have lived as we did once. Perhaps you would repeat my words to Mr Fairbarrow, sir, as exactly as you can?’
He bowed his head, considering, then spoke in contempt.
‘I did indeed misjudge you, Mrs Longe. I had thought you asked more of life than its creature comforts. Man does not live by bread alone, though I know he must eat. But the woman’s world is a very small one!’
‘You seem to overlook my children, Mr Ackroyd, who must be cared for.’
‘Madam, your children cannot take up too much of your time or you would have none for gossiping!’ Here he looked scornfully round the pretty parlour.
He had gone far enough. Charlotte spoke with chilling rebuke.
‘You have been very free, sir, with your opinions — and those of Mr Fairbarrow — though I did not ask for them. Allow me to expound my own philosophy, which is drawn from close observation and owes more to practice than verbal brilliance. When I first met my husband I adored him, for I had never before heard such eloquence, seen such energy, known such visions. It seemed to me that he was exalted above all other men. Nothing was too trivial for his humane concern. He would argue half the night, travel half the country, write and publish tracts often at his own expense. What money he had was generously bestowed. He was entirely sincere, and without malice even to his enemies. Who could find fault with him?
‘But, sir, though he was constantly in attendance upon his ideas he neglected his human responsibilities. His family, who should have come first, came last and least. It was I who saw that they were clothed and fed, that the landlord was paid and the most pressing debtors satisfied. And this is something I have noticed in many men who call upon God or themselves to reform the world. They are so busy with Utopia that they do not mind their proper business. I know very well where mine lies, and I shall concern myself with it despite your opinion. Pray tell your friend to find some meddling fellow instead of me!’
She rose and rang the bell with such violence that Polly fairly ran to answer it.
‘Mr Ackroyd is going, Polly. Good-day to you, sir. Your hat is on my writing-desk!’
He bowed curtly, without reply. What reply could he have made? He took his leave of her. She watched him striding furiously across the High Street, one loose tail of his cravat whipping behind him in the wind, his hat crammed down upon his head. But the discourse ran on in her mind, and she gripped the curtain thinking of it.
‘A woman’s world may
seem
a small one, its horizon limited, its details petty, its pace immeasurably slow. But from these little daily tasks comes forth the whole of mankind. Were governments to run their nations half so well as a good woman runs her household we should have no war, no debt, no famine. So do not dismiss our lives out of hand. We know very well what we are about. And if you are intent upon righting the wrongs of the world, sir, then look closer to home and begin there!’
‘Told ‘im off, ‘ave you?’ said Polly knowingly, collecting the china. ‘Just like old times, Mrs Longe! It does you good to light off now and again, ma’am. You’ve been a-bottling up ever since we left London.’
She did not expect either a snub or an answer. She had acted too long as friend and spectator to give offence.
‘You can have your supper in peace and quiet tonight,’ Polly went on. ‘The children is having theirs with us, and Miss Jorrocks is properly put out and taking hers in her room!’
‘Why, what has put Miss Jarrett out?’ cried Charlotte.
‘She says as the rector’s lady looks down on her, ma’am.’
‘Oh, fiddle!’ said Charlotte crisply.
She did not mind a bit. She wanted to sit by herself and think over all she and Jack Ackroyd had said to each other, and to discover what had incensed her so much. He had acted, unwittingly, as a touch-paper to the anger pent up inside her. She had been wanting to quarrel with somebody all afternoon, and he had served her purpose very well.
It was true that she found Millbridge empty of excitement or purpose. For now she was thoroughly restored in strength she often recalled old friends and old times in Lock-yard; sometimes dreamed she was back there, but with her present safety and prosperity to soften its harsher outlines. And though she believed every word she had flung at Jack Ackroyd, still she had not told the full truth.
She had delighted in doing battle in a man’s world. She enjoyed the company of men, their toughness and simplicity, their direct approach to life. She missed Toby’s passionate commitment, his flow of ideas, his ability to make magic out of an evening with two friends over a pie from the cookshop. Even his faults had been fascinating, and he always admired her complementary virtues and had sworn to do better in future. She was sad to think she had used him only in the context of an argument. He was worth more than that. In her heart she asked his pardon, and received it.
Charlotte sat alone and late, lifted the velvet curtain and pondered on the quiet street, walked the silent rooms: listening to the long clock chiming her life away.
3rd
day
,
1st
month
,
20th
,
1795
My
dear
Friend
Dorcas
Howarth
,
For
Friend
thou
hast
been
to
me
over
these
Difficult
years
,
while
Our
Children
strove
for
their
Happiness
even
against
Us
who
mast
wished
them
Joy
.
I
am
at
last
able
to
take
upon
me
the
Sad
and
Loving
Task
of
writing
to
thee
Concerning
their
Marriage
.
The
Discipline
of
our
Society
being
necessarily
Strict
,
my
dear
Husband
cannot
Consent
to
this
Union
,
but
he
can
give
his
Assent
—
thus
saying
that
he
Loves
his
Child
and
wd
let
her
have
her
Way
,
but
yet
does
not
Approve
it
.
It
is
with
a
Sore
heart
that
I
tell
thee
we
cannot
Give
our
Daughter
her
Wedding
,
nor
shd
we
Attend
it
,
and
so
I
must
Beseech
you
to
take
our
Place
in
this
Matter
Can
I
ask
thee
to
be
such
a
Mother
to
our
Zelah
as
you
wd
be
to
yr
own
Sweet
Child
at
such
a
Moment
in
her
Life
?
I
fear
thou
wilt
Misunderstand
or
Mislike
us
hereafter
,
but
I
Pray
you
do
not
.
I
remain
thy
Sincere
Friend
.
Catherine
Scholes
.
*
26
January
1795
My
dear
Catherine
Scholes
,
I
believe
we
know
each
other
Well
enough
,
tho’
but
Good
Friends
on
Paper
,
not
to
Mislike
aught
but
the
Circumstances
in
which
we
find
ourselves
.
Nor
are
we
such
Bigots
as
to
believe
that
God
may
not
be
Worshipped
in
Many
Ways
,
and
still
Bless
and
Keep
us,
out
of
His
Mercy
.
It
is
with
a
Full
Heart
that
I
accept
the
Joyful
Task
of
giving
Zelah’s
Wedding
,
and
even
to
Ponder
upon
the
Mysterious
Goodness
of
God
in
allowing
me
a
Second
Daughter
whose
Marriage
will
take
place
within
the
Family
.
For
my
Charlotte
,
as
you
may
Recall
,
was
married
Secretly
,
which
caused
Great
Grief
,
tho’
now
she
is
Safely
Home
again
.
But
Surely
you
can
Visit
yr
Child
once
she
is
Settled
?
For
we
slid
all
Wish
to
Meet
you
and
Love
you
as
we
Love
yr
son
Caleb
.
Please
tell
Zelah
that
I
shall
write
again
to
her
Shortly
,
but
the
Weather
has
been
so
bad
that
the
Apples
were
Froze
in
the
loft
!
And
Charlotte
and
I
have
not
been
Able
to
Continue
with
our
Work
at
Belbrook
.
Last
Week
we
met
there
with
Two
Maids
,
but
the
Well
was
a
mask
of
ice
.
Perhaps
Zelah
cd
let
me
know
if
she
Wishes
me
to
Engage
her
Servants
from
Garth
?
I
desire
to
be
of
Service
to
her
,
but
not
to
Intrude
too
much
upon
her
Future
Life
.
Sincere
Friend
.
Dorcas
Howarth
.
*
3
February
1795
My
dear
Zelah
,
Tho’
we
know
each
other
not
as
yet
we
shall
be
Sisters
hereafter
,
and
therefore
I
write
to
Welcome
you
into
our
Family
and
to
tender
the
Hospitality
of
Thornton
House
for
the
time
before yr
Wedding
.
I
am
to
act
as
Chaperone
when
William
Calls
but
you
shall
not
find
me
an
Oppressive
one
!
We
thought
it
good
that
you
and
William
shd
have
Belbrook
Farm
to
yrselves
for
a
Week
after
yr
Marriage
,
so
Caleb
has
Invited
himself
back
to
Flawnes
Green
and
will
Work
from
there
.
We
wondered
whether
you
shd
be
Married
at
St
Mark’s
Church
in
Millbridge
,
and
have
the
Wedding
Dinner
at
Thornton
House
,
but
William
thought
—
and
we
believe
him
to
be
Right
—
that
the
Simple
and
Homely
Ceremony
at
St
John’s
in
Garth
wd
Suit
you
better
.
My
Mother
is
Agog
with
the
prospect
of
a
Vast
Reception
at
Kit’s
Hill
,
which
she
Swears
shall
be
a
Deal
more
Elegant
than
her
Boisterous
Feast
of
Four
-
and
-
Thirty
Year
ago
!
Of
that
,
and
of
Much
else
,
you
shall
Hear
from
our
own
lips
.
God
bless
and
Keep
you
,
dearest
Zelah.yr
Sister
Charlotte
.