THE FRAMLEY SET, AND THE CHALDICOTES SET.
It will be necessary that I should say a word or two of some of the
people named in the few preceding pages, and also of the localities
in which they lived.
Of Lady Lufton herself enough, perhaps, has been written to introduce
her to my readers. The Framley property belonged to her son; but
as Lufton Park—an ancient ramshackle place in another county—had
heretofore been the family residence of the Lufton family, Framley
Court had been apportioned to her for her residence for life. Lord
Lufton himself was still unmarried; and as he had no establishment
at Lufton Park—which indeed had not been inhabited since his
grandfather died—he lived with his mother when it suited him to
live anywhere in that neighbourhood. The widow would fain have seen
more of him than he allowed her to do. He had a shooting-lodge
in Scotland, and apartments in London, and a string of horses in
Leicestershire—much to the disgust of the county gentry around him,
who held that their own hunting was as good as any that England could
afford. His lordship, however, paid his subscription to the East
Barsetshire pack, and then thought himself at liberty to follow his
own pleasure as to his own amusement.
Framley itself was a pleasant country place, having about it nothing
of seignorial dignity or grandeur, but possessing everything
necessary for the comfort of country life. The house was a low
building of two stories, built at different periods, and devoid of
all pretensions to any style of architecture; but the rooms, though
not lofty, were warm and comfortable, and the gardens were trim and
neat beyond all others in the county. Indeed, it was for its gardens
only that Framley Court was celebrated.
Village there was none, properly speaking. The high road went winding
about through the Framley paddocks, shrubberies, and wood-skirted
home fields, for a mile and a half, not two hundred yards of which
ran in a straight line; and there was a cross-road which passed
down through the domain, whereby there came to be a locality called
Framley Cross. Here stood the “Lufton Arms,” and here, at Framley
Cross, the hounds occasionally would meet; for the Framley woods were
drawn in spite of the young lord’s truant disposition; and then, at
the Cross also, lived the shoemaker, who kept the post-office.
Framley church was distant from this just a quarter of a mile, and
stood immediately opposite to the chief entrance to Framley Court. It
was but a mean, ugly building, having been erected about a hundred
years since, when all churches then built were made to be mean and
ugly; nor was it large enough for the congregation, some of whom were
thus driven to the dissenting chapels, the Sions and Ebenezers, which
had got themselves established on each side of the parish, in putting
down which Lady Lufton thought that her pet parson was hardly as
energetic as he might be. It was, therefore, a matter near to Lady
Lufton’s heart to see a new church built, and she was urgent in her
eloquence, both with her son and with the vicar, to have this good
work commenced.
Beyond the church, but close to it, were the boys’ school and girls’
school, two distinct buildings, which owed their erection to Lady
Lufton’s energy; then came a neat little grocer’s shop, the neat
grocer being the clerk and sexton, and the neat grocer’s wife, the
pew-opener in the church. Podgens was their name, and they were great
favourites with her ladyship, both having been servants up at the
house.
And here the road took a sudden turn to the left, turning, as it
were, away from Framley Court; and just beyond the turn was the
vicarage, so that there was a little garden path running from the
back of the vicarage grounds into the churchyard, cutting the
Podgenses off into an isolated corner of their own;—from whence, to
tell the truth, the vicar would have been glad to banish them and
their cabbages, could he have had the power to do so. For has not
the small vineyard of Naboth been always an eyesore to neighbouring
potentates?
The potentate in this case had as little excuse as Ahab, for nothing
in the parsonage way could be more perfect than his parsonage. It
had all the details requisite for the house of a moderate gentleman
with moderate means, and none of those expensive superfluities which
immoderate gentlemen demand, or which themselves demand—immoderate
means. And then the gardens and paddocks were exactly suited to it;
and everything was in good order;—not exactly new, so as to be raw
and uncovered, and redolent of workmen; but just at that era of their
existence in which newness gives way to comfortable homeliness.
Other village at Framley there was none. At the back of the Court, up
one of those cross-roads, there was another small shop or two, and
there was a very neat cottage residence, in which lived the widow of
a former curate, another _protégé_ of Lady Lufton’s; and there was a
big, staring brick house, in which the present curate lived; but this
was a full mile distant from the church, and farther from Framley
Court, standing on that cross-road which runs from Framley Cross in a
direction away from the mansion. This gentleman, the Rev. Evan Jones,
might, from his age, have been the vicar’s father; but he had been
for many years curate of Framley; and though he was personally
disliked by Lady Lufton, as being Low Church in his principles, and
unsightly in his appearance, nevertheless, she would not urge his
removal. He had two or three pupils in that large brick house, and
if turned out from these and from his curacy, might find it difficult
to establish himself elsewhere. On this account mercy was extended
to the Rev. E. Jones, and, in spite of his red face and awkward
big feet, he was invited to dine at Framley Court, with his plain
daughter, once in every three months.
Over and above these, there was hardly a house in the parish of
Framley, outside the bounds of Framley Court, except those of farmers
and farm labourers; and yet the parish was of large extent.
Framley is in the eastern division of the county of Barsetshire,
which, as all the world knows, is, politically speaking, as true
blue a county as any in England. There have been backslidings even
here, it is true; but then, in what county have there not been such
backslidings? Where, in these pinchbeck days, can we hope to find
the old agricultural virtue in all its purity? But, among those
backsliders, I regret to say, that men now reckon Lord Lufton. Not
that he is a violent Whig, or perhaps that he is a Whig at all.
But he jeers and sneers at the old county doings; declares, when
solicited on the subject, that, as far as he is concerned, Mr. Bright
may sit for the county, if he pleases; and alleges, that being
unfortunately a peer, he has no right even to interest himself in
the question. All this is deeply regretted, for, in the old days,
there was no portion of the county more decidedly true blue than that
Framley district; and, indeed, up to the present day, the dowager is
able to give an occasional helping hand.
Chaldicotes is the seat of Nathaniel Sowerby, Esq., who, at the
moment supposed to be now present, is one of the members for the
Western Division of Barsetshire. But this Western Division can boast
none of the fine political attributes which grace its twin brother.
It is decidedly Whig, and is almost governed in its politics by one
or two great Whig families.
It has been said that Mark Robarts was about to pay a visit to
Chaldicotes, and it has been hinted that his wife would have been as
well pleased had this not been the case. Such was certainly the fact;
for she, dear, prudent, excellent wife as she was, knew that Mr.
Sowerby was not the most eligible friend in the world for a young
clergyman, and knew, also, that there was but one other house in the
whole county the name of which was so distasteful to Lady Lufton.
The reasons for this were, I may say, manifold. In the first place,
Mr. Sowerby was a Whig, and was seated in Parliament mainly by the
interest of that great Whig autocrat the Duke of Omnium, whose
residence was more dangerous even than that of Mr. Sowerby, and whom
Lady Lufton regarded as an impersonation of Lucifer upon earth. Mr.
Sowerby, too, was unmarried—as indeed, also, was Lord Lufton, much
to his mother’s grief. Mr. Sowerby, it is true, was fifty, whereas
the young lord was as yet only twenty-six, but, nevertheless, her
ladyship was becoming anxious on the subject. In her mind, every
man was bound to marry as soon as he could maintain a wife; and she
held an idea—a quite private tenet, of which she was herself but
imperfectly conscious—that men in general were inclined to neglect
this duty for their own selfish gratifications, that the wicked ones
encouraged the more innocent in this neglect, and that many would
not marry at all, were not an unseen coercion exercised against them
by the other sex. The Duke of Omnium was the very head of all such
sinners, and Lady Lufton greatly feared that her son might be made
subject to the baneful Omnium influence, by means of Mr. Sowerby and
Chaldicotes.
And then Mr. Sowerby was known to be a very poor man, with a very
large estate. He had wasted, men said, much on electioneering, and
more in gambling. A considerable portion of his property had already
gone into the hands of the duke, who, as a rule, bought up everything
around him that was to be purchased. Indeed it was said of him by his
enemies, that so covetous was he of Barsetshire property, that he
would lead a young neighbour on to his ruin, in order that he might
get his land. What—oh! what if he should come to be possessed in
this way of any of the fair acres of Framley Court? What if he should
become possessed of them all? It can hardly be wondered at that Lady
Lufton should not like Chaldicotes.
The Chaldicotes set, as Lady Lufton called them, were in every way
opposed to what a set should be according to her ideas. She liked
cheerful, quiet, well-to-do people, who loved their Church, their
country, and their Queen, and who were not too anxious to make a
noise in the world. She desired that all the farmers round her should
be able to pay their rents without trouble, that all the old women
should have warm flannel petticoats, that the working men should
be saved from rheumatism by healthy food and dry houses, that they
should all be obedient to their pastors and masters—temporal as well
as spiritual. That was her idea of loving her country. She desired
also that the copses should be full of pheasants, the stubble-field
of partridges, and the gorse covers of foxes;—in that way, also, she
loved her country. She had ardently longed, during that Crimean war,
that the Russians might be beaten—but not by the French, to the
exclusion of the English, as had seemed to her to be too much the
case; and hardly by the English under the dictatorship of Lord
Palmerston. Indeed, she had had but little faith in that war after
Lord Aberdeen had been expelled. If, indeed, Lord Derby could have
come in!
But now as to this Chaldicotes set. After all, there was nothing
so very dangerous about them; for it was in London, not in the
country, that Mr. Sowerby indulged, if he did indulge, his bachelor
mal-practices. Speaking of them as a set, the chief offender was
Mr. Harold Smith, or perhaps his wife. He also was a member of
Parliament, and, as many thought, a rising man. His father had been
for many years a debater in the House, and had held high office.
Harold, in early life, had intended himself for the cabinet; and if
working hard at his trade could ensure success, he ought to obtain
it sooner or later. He had already filled more than one subordinate
station, had been at the Treasury, and for a month or two at the
Admiralty, astonishing official mankind by his diligence. Those
last-named few months had been under Lord Aberdeen, with whom he had
been forced to retire. He was a younger son, and not possessed of any
large fortune. Politics as a profession was therefore of importance
to him. He had in early life married a sister of Mr. Sowerby; and
as the lady was some six or seven years older than himself, and had
brought with her but a scanty dowry, people thought that in this
matter Mr. Harold Smith had not been perspicacious. Mr. Harold Smith
was not personally a popular man with any party, though some judged
him to be eminently useful. He was laborious, well-informed, and, on
the whole, honest; but he was conceited, long-winded, and pompous.
Mrs. Harold Smith was the very opposite of her lord. She was a
clever, bright woman, good-looking for her time of life—and she was
now over forty—with a keen sense of the value of all worldly things,
and a keen relish for all the world’s pleasures. She was neither
laborious, nor well-informed, nor perhaps altogether honest—what
woman ever understood the necessity or recognized the advantage of
political honesty?—but then she was neither dull nor pompous, and
if she was conceited, she did not show it. She was a disappointed
woman, as regards her husband; seeing that she had married him on the
speculation that he would at once become politically important; and
as yet Mr. Smith had not quite fulfilled the prophecies of his early
life.
And Lady Lufton, when she spoke of the Chaldicotes set, distinctly
included, in her own mind, the Bishop of Barchester, and his wife
and daughter. Seeing that Bishop Proudie was, of course, a man much
addicted to religion and to religious thinking, and that Mr. Sowerby
himself had no peculiar religious sentiments whatever, there would
not at first sight appear to be ground for much intercourse, and
perhaps there was not much of such intercourse; but Mrs. Proudie
and Mrs. Harold Smith were firm friends of four or five years’
standing—ever since the Proudies came into the diocese; and
therefore the bishop was usually taken to Chaldicotes whenever Mrs.
Smith paid her brother a visit. Now Bishop Proudie was by no means
a High Church dignitary, and Lady Lufton had never forgiven him for
coming into that diocese. She had, instinctively, a high respect
for the episcopal office; but of Bishop Proudie himself she hardly
thought better than she did of Mr. Sowerby, or of that fabricator of
evil, the Duke of Omnium. Whenever Mr. Robarts would plead that in
going anywhere he would have the benefit of meeting the bishop, Lady
Lufton would slightly curl her upper lip. She could not say in words,
that Bishop Proudie—bishop as he certainly must be called—was no
better than he ought to be; but by that curl of her lip she did
explain to those who knew her that such was the inner feeling of her
heart.
And then it was understood—Mark Robarts, at least, had so heard,
and the information soon reached Framley Court—that Mr. Supplehouse
was to make one of the Chaldicotes party. Now Mr. Supplehouse was a
worse companion for a gentlemanlike, young, High Church, conservative
county parson than even Harold Smith. He also was in Parliament, and
had been extolled during the early days of that Russian war by some
portion of the metropolitan daily press, as the only man who could
save the country. Let him be in the ministry, the _Jupiter_ had said,
and there would be some hope of reform, some chance that England’s
ancient glory would not be allowed in these perilous times to go
headlong to oblivion. And upon this the ministry, not anticipating
much salvation from Mr. Supplehouse, but willing, as they usually
are, to have the _Jupiter_ at their back, did send for that
gentleman, and gave him some footing among them. But how can a man
born to save a nation, and to lead a people, be content to fill the
chair of an under-secretary? Supplehouse was not content, and soon
gave it to be understood that his place was much higher than any
yet tendered to him. The seals of high office, or war to the knife,
was the alternative which he offered to a much-belaboured Head of
Affairs—nothing doubting that the Head of Affairs would recognize
the claimant’s value, and would have before his eyes a wholesome fear
of the _Jupiter_. But the Head of Affairs, much belaboured as he was,
knew that he might pay too high even for Mr. Supplehouse and the
_Jupiter_; and the saviour of the nation was told that he might swing
his tomahawk. Since that time he had been swinging his tomahawk, but
not with so much effect as had been anticipated. He also was very
intimate with Mr. Sowerby, and was decidedly one of the Chaldicotes
set.
And there were many others included in the stigma whose sins were
political or religious rather than moral. But they were gall and
wormwood to Lady Lufton, who regarded them as children of the Lost
One, and who grieved with a mother’s grief when she knew that her son
was among them, and felt all a patron’s anger when she heard that her
clerical _protégé_ was about to seek such society. Mrs. Robarts might
well say that Lady Lufton would be annoyed.
“You won’t call at the house before you go, will you?” the wife asked
on the following morning. He was to start after lunch on that day,
driving himself in his own gig, so as to reach Chaldicotes, some
twenty-four miles distant, before dinner.
“No, I think not. What good should I do?”
“Well, I can’t explain; but I think I should call: partly, perhaps,
to show her that as I had determined to go, I was not afraid of
telling her so.”
“Afraid! That’s nonsense, Fanny. I’m not afraid of her. But I don’t
see why I should bring down upon myself the disagreeable things she
will say. Besides, I have not time. I must walk up and see Jones
about the duties; and then, what with getting ready, I shall have
enough to do to get off in time.”
He paid his visit to Mr. Jones, the curate, feeling no qualms
of conscience there, as he rather boasted of all the members of
Parliament he was going to meet, and of the bishop who would be with
them. Mr. Evan Jones was only his curate, and in speaking to him on
the matter he could talk as though it were quite the proper thing for
a vicar to meet his bishop at the house of a county member. And one
would be inclined to say that it was proper: only why could he not
talk of it in the same tone to Lady Lufton? And then, having kissed
his wife and children, he drove off, well pleased with his prospect
for the coming ten days, but already anticipating some discomfort on
his return.
On the three following days, Mrs. Robarts did not meet her ladyship.
She did not exactly take any steps to avoid such a meeting, but she
did not purposely go up to the big house. She went to her school as
usual, and made one or two calls among the farmers’ wives, but put
no foot within the Framley Court grounds. She was braver than her
husband, but even she did not wish to anticipate the evil day.
On the Saturday, just before it began to get dusk, when she was
thinking of preparing for the fatal plunge, her friend, Lady
Meredith, came to her.
“So, Fanny, we shall again be so unfortunate as to miss Mr. Robarts,”
said her ladyship.
“Yes. Did you ever know anything so unlucky? But he had promised Mr.
Sowerby before he heard that you were coming. Pray do not think that
he would have gone away had he known it.”
“We should have been sorry to keep him from so much more amusing a
party.”
“Now, Justinia, you are unfair. You intend to imply that he has gone
to Chaldicotes, because he likes it better than Framley Court; but
that is not the case. I hope Lady Lufton does not think that it is.”
Lady Meredith laughed as she put her arm round her friend’s waist.
“Don’t lose your eloquence in defending him to me,” she said. “You’ll
want all that for my mother.”
“But is your mother angry?” asked Mrs. Robarts, showing by her
countenance, how eager she was for true tidings on the subject.
“Well, Fanny, you know her ladyship as well as I do. She thinks so
very highly of the vicar of Framley, that she does begrudge him to
those politicians at Chaldicotes.”
“But, Justinia, the bishop is to be there, you know.”
“I don’t think that that consideration will at all reconcile my
mother to the gentleman’s absence. He ought to be very proud, I know,
to find that he is so much thought of. But come, Fanny, I want you to
walk back with me, and you can dress at the house. And now we’ll go
and look at the children.”
After that, as they walked together to Framley Court, Mrs. Robarts
made her friend promise that she would stand by her if any serious
attack were made on the absent clergyman.
“Are you going up to your room at once?” said the vicar’s wife,
as soon as they were inside the porch leading into the hall. Lady
Meredith immediately knew what her friend meant, and decided that the
evil day should not be postponed. “We had better go in and have it
over,” she said, “and then we shall be comfortable for the evening.”
So the drawing-room door was opened, and there was Lady Lufton alone
upon the sofa.
“Now, mamma,” said the daughter, “you mustn’t scold Fanny much about
Mr. Robarts. He has gone to preach a charity sermon before the
bishop, and under those circumstances, perhaps, he could not refuse.”
This was a stretch on the part of Lady Meredith—put in with much
good nature, no doubt; but still a stretch; for no one had supposed
that the bishop would remain at Chaldicotes for the Sunday.
“How do you do, Fanny?” said Lady Lufton, getting up. “I am not
going to scold her; and I don’t know how you can talk such nonsense,
Justinia. Of course, we are very sorry not to have Mr. Robarts; more
especially as he was not here the last Sunday that Sir George was
with us. I do like to see Mr. Robarts in his own church, certainly;
and I don’t like any other clergyman there as well. If Fanny takes
that for scolding, why—”
“Oh! no, Lady Lufton; and it’s so kind of you to say so. But Mr.
Robarts was so sorry that he had accepted this invitation to
Chaldicotes, before he heard that Sir George was coming, and—”
“Oh, I know that Chaldicotes has great attractions which we cannot
offer,” said Lady Lufton.
“Indeed, it was not that. But he was asked to preach, you know; and
Mr. Harold Smith—” Poor Fanny was only making it worse. Had she been
worldly wise, she would have accepted the little compliment implied
in Lady Lufton’s first rebuke, and then have held her peace.
“Oh, yes; the Harold Smiths! They are irresistible, I know. How could
any man refuse to join a party, graced both by Mrs. Harold Smith and
Mrs. Proudie—even though his duty should require him to stay away?”
“Now, mamma—” said Justinia.
“Well, my dear, what am I to say? You would not wish me to tell a
fib. I don’t like Mrs. Harold Smith—at least, what I hear of her;
for it has not been my fortune to meet her since her marriage. It
may be conceited; but to own the truth, I think that Mr. Robarts
would be better off with us at Framley than with the Harold Smiths at
Chaldicotes,—even though Mrs. Proudie be thrown into the bargain.”
It was nearly dark, and therefore the rising colour in the face of
Mrs. Robarts could not be seen. She, however, was too good a wife to
hear these things said without some anger within her bosom. She could
blame her husband in her own mind; but it was intolerable to her that
others should blame him in her hearing.
“He would undoubtedly be better off,” she said; “but then, Lady
Lufton, people can’t always go exactly where they will be best off.
Gentlemen sometimes must—”
“Well—well, my dear, that will do. He has not taken you, at any
rate; and so we will forgive him.” And Lady Lufton kissed her. “As it
is,”—and she affected a low whisper between the two young wives—“as
it is, we must e’en put up with poor old Evan Jones. He is to be here
to-night, and we must go and dress to receive him.”
And so they went off. Lady Lufton was quite good enough at heart to
like Mrs. Robarts all the better for standing up for her absent lord.