WHAT THE WORLD THOUGHT ABOUT IT.
Opinion in Silverbridge, at Barchester, and throughout the county,
was very much divided as to the guilt or innocence of Mr. Crawley. Up
to the time of Mrs. Crawley's visit to Silverbridge, the affair had
not been much discussed. To give Mr. Soames his due, he had been by
no means anxious to press the matter against the clergyman; but he
had been forced to go on with it. While the first cheque was missing,
Lord Lufton had sent him a second cheque for the money, and the loss
had thus fallen upon his lordship. The cheque had of course been
traced, and inquiry had of course been made as to Mr. Crawley's
possession of it. When that gentleman declared that he had received
it from Mr. Soames, Mr. Soames had been forced to contradict and to
resent such an assertion. When Mr. Crawley had afterwards said that
the money had come to him from the dean, and when the dean had shown
that this also was untrue, Mr. Soames, confident as he was that he
had dropped the pocket-book at Mr. Crawley's house, could not but
continue the investigation. He had done so with as much silence as
the nature of the work admitted. But by the day of the magistrates'
meeting at Silverbridge the subject had become common through the
county, and men's minds were very much divided.
All Hogglestock believed their parson to be innocent; but then all
Hogglestock believed him to be mad. At Silverbridge the tradesmen
with whom he had dealt, and to whom he had owed, and still owed,
money, all declared him to be innocent. They knew something of the
man personally, and could not believe him to be a thief. All the
ladies in Silverbridge, too, were sure of his innocence. It was to
them impossible that such a man should have stolen twenty pounds.
"My dear," said the eldest Miss Prettyman to poor Grace Crawley, "in
England, where the laws are good, no gentleman is ever made out to
be guilty when he is innocent; and your papa, of course, is innocent.
Therefore you should not trouble yourself." "It will break papa's
heart," Grace had said, and she did trouble herself. But the
gentlemen in Silverbridge were made of sterner stuff, and believed
the man to be guilty, clergyman and gentleman though he was. Mr.
Walker, who among the lights in Silverbridge was the leading light,
would not speak a word upon the subject to anybody; and then
everybody, who was anybody, knew that Mr. Walker was convinced of the
man's guilt. Had Mr. Walker believed him to be innocent, his tongue
would have been ready enough. John Walker, who was in the habit of
laughing at his father's good nature, had no doubt upon the subject.
Mr. Winthrop, Mr. Walker's partner, shook his head. People did not
think much of Mr. Winthrop, excepting certain unmarried ladies; for
Mr. Winthrop was a bachelor, and had plenty of money. People did not
think much of Mr. Winthrop; but still on this subject he might know
something, and when he shook his head he manifestly intended to
indicate guilt. And Dr. Tempest, the rector of Silverbridge, did
not hesitate to declare his belief in the guilt of the incumbent
of Hogglestock. No man reverences a clergyman, as a clergyman, so
slightly as a brother clergyman. To Dr. Tempest it appeared to be
neither very strange nor very terrible that Mr. Crawley should have
stolen twenty pounds. "What is a man to do," he said, "when he
sees his children starving? He should not have married on such a
preferment as that." Mr. Crawley had married, however, long before he
got the living of Hogglestock.
There were two Lady Luftons,--mother-in-law and daughter-in-law,--who
at this time were living together at Framley Hall, Lord Lufton's seat
in the county of Barset, and they were both thoroughly convinced
of Mr. Crawley's innocence. The elder lady had lived much among
clergymen, and could hardly, I think, by any means have been brought
to believe in the guilt of any man who had taken upon himself the
orders of the Church of England. She had also known Mr. Crawley
personally for some years, and was one of those who could not admit
to herself that any one was vile who had been near to herself. She
believed intensely in the wickedness of the outside world, of the
world which was far away from herself, and of which she never saw
anything; but they who were near to her, and who had even become dear
to her, or who even had been respected by her, were made, as it were,
saints in her imagination. They were brought into the inner circle,
and could hardly be expelled. She was an old woman who thought all
evil of those she did not know, and all good of those whom she did
know; and as she did know Mr. Crawley, she was quite sure he had not
stolen Mr. Soames's twenty pounds. She did know Mr. Soames also; and
thus there was a mystery for the unravelling of which she was very
anxious. And the young Lady Lufton was equally sure, and perhaps with
better reason for such certainty. She had, in truth, known more of
Mr. Crawley personally, than had any one in the county, unless it was
the dean. The younger Lady Lufton, the present Lord Lufton's wife,
had sojourned at one time in Mr. Crawley's house, amidst the Crawley
poverty, living as they lived, and nursing Mrs. Crawley through an
illness which had well nigh been fatal to her; and the younger Lady
Lufton believed in Mr. Crawley,--as Mr. Crawley also believed in her.
"It is quite impossible, my dear," the old woman said to her
daughter-in-law.
"Quite impossible, my lady." The dowager was always called "my
lady," both by her own daughter and by her son's wife, except in the
presence of their children, when she was addressed as "grandmamma."
"Think how well I knew him. It's no use talking of evidence. No
evidence would make me believe it."
"Nor me; and I think it a great shame that such a report should be
spread about."
"I suppose Mr. Soames could not help himself?" said the younger lady,
who was not herself very fond of Mr. Soames.
"Ludovic says that he has only done what he was obliged to do." The
Ludovic spoken of was Lord Lufton.
This took place in the morning, but in the evening the affair was
again discussed at Framley Hall. Indeed, for some days, there was
hardly any other subject held to be worthy of discussion in the
county. Mr. Robarts, the clergyman of the parish and the brother of
the younger Lady Lufton, was dining at the hall with his wife, and
the three ladies had together expressed their perfect conviction of
the falseness of the accusation. But when Lord Lufton and Mr. Robarts
were together after the ladies had left them there was much less of
this certainty expressed. "By Jove," said Lord Lufton, "I don't know
what to think of it. I wish with all my heart that Soames had said
nothing about it, and that the cheque had passed without remark."
"That was impossible. When the banker sent to Soames, he was obliged
to take the matter up."
"Of course he was. But I'm sorry that it was so. For the life of me I
can't conceive how the cheque got into Crawley's hands."
"I imagine that it had been lying in the house, and that Crawley had
come to think that it was his own."
"But, my dear Mark," said Lord Lufton, "excuse me if I say that
that's nonsense. What do we do when a poor man has come to think that
another man's property is his own? We send him to prison for making
the mistake."
"I hope they won't send Crawley to prison."
"I hope so too; but what is a jury to do?"
"You think it will go to a jury, then?"
"I do," said Lord Lufton. "I don't see how the magistrates can save
themselves from committing him. It is one of those cases in which
every one concerned would wish to drop it if it were only possible.
But it is not possible. On the evidence, as one sees it at present,
one is bound to say that it is a case for a jury."
"I believe that he is mad," said the brother parson.
"He always was, as far as I could learn," said the lord. "I never
knew him, myself. You do, I think?"
"Oh, yes. I know him." And the vicar of Framley became silent and
thoughtful as the memory of a certain interview between himself and
Mr. Crawley came back upon his mind. At that time the waters had
nearly closed over his head and Mr. Crawley had given him some
assistance. When the gentlemen had again found the ladies, they kept
their own doubts to themselves; for at Framley Hall, as at present
tenanted, female voices and female influences predominated over those
which came from the other sex.
At Barchester, the cathedral city of the county in which the Crawleys
lived, opinion was violently against Mr. Crawley. In the city Mrs.
Proudie, the wife of the bishop, was the leader of opinion in
general, and she was very strong in her belief of the man's guilt.
She had known much of clergymen all her life, as it behoved a
bishop's wife to do, and she had none of that mingled weakness and
ignorance which taught so many ladies in Barsetshire to suppose that
an ordained clergyman could not become a thief. She hated old Lady
Lufton with all her heart, and old Lady Lufton hated her as warmly.
Mrs. Proudie would say frequently that Lady Lufton was a conceited
old idiot, and Lady Lufton would declare as frequently that
Mrs. Proudie was a vulgar virago. It was known at the palace in
Barchester, that kindness had been shown to the Crawleys by the
family at Framley Hall, and this alone would have been sufficient to
make Mrs. Proudie believe that Mr. Crawley could have been guilty of
any crime. And as Mrs. Proudie believed, so did the bishop believe.
"It is a terrible disgrace to the diocese," said the bishop, shaking
his head, and patting his apron as he sat by his study fire.
"Fiddlestick!" said Mrs. Proudie.
"But, my dear,--a beneficed clergyman!"
"You must get rid of him; that's all. You must be firm whether he be
acquitted or convicted."
"But if he be acquitted, I cannot get rid of him, my dear."
"Yes, you can, if you are firm. And you must be firm. Is it not true
that he has been disgracefully involved in debt ever since he has
been there; that you have been pestered by letters from unfortunate
tradesmen who cannot get their money from him?"
"That is true, my dear, certainly."
"And is that kind of thing to go on? He cannot come to the palace as
all clergymen should do, because he has got no clothes to come in. I
saw him once about the lanes, and I never set my eyes on such an
object in my life! I would not believe that the man was a clergyman
till John told me. He is a disgrace to the diocese, and he must
be got rid of. I feel sure of his guilt, and I hope he will be
convicted. One is bound to hope that a guilty man should be
convicted. But if he escape conviction, you must sequestrate the
living because of the debts. The income is enough to get an excellent
curate. It would just do for Thumble." To all of which the bishop
made no further reply, but simply nodded his head and patted his
apron. He knew that he could not do exactly what his wife required of
him; but if it should so turn out that poor Crawley was found to be
guilty, then the matter would be comparatively easy.
"It should be an example to us, that we should look to our own steps,
my dear," said the bishop.
"That's all very well," said Mrs. Proudie, "but it has become your
duty, and mine too, to look to the steps of other people; and that
duty we must do."
"Of course, my dear; of course." That was the tone in which the
question of Mr. Crawley's alleged guilt was discussed at the palace.
We have already heard what was said on the subject at the house of
Archdeacon Grantly. As the days passed by, and as other tidings
came in, confirmatory of those which had before reached him, the
archdeacon felt himself unable not to believe in the man's guilt.
And the fear which he entertained as to his son's intended marriage
with Grace Crawley, tended to increase the strength of his belief.
Dr. Grantly had been a very successful man in the world, and on all
ordinary occasions had been able to show that bold front with which
success endows a man. But he still had his moments of weakness, and
feared greatly lest anything of misfortune should touch him, and mar
the comely roundness of his prosperity. He was very wealthy. The
wife of his bosom had been to him all that a wife should be. His
reputation in the clerical world stood very high. He had lived all
his life on terms of equality with the best of the gentry around
him. His only daughter had made a splendid marriage. His two sons
had hitherto done well in the world, not only as regarded their
happiness, but as to marriage also, and as to social standing. But
how great would be the fall if his son should at last marry the
daughter of a convicted thief! How would the Proudies rejoice over
him,--the Proudies who had been crushed to the ground by the success
of the Hartletop alliance; and how would the low-church curates who
swarmed in Barsetshire, gather together and scream in delight over
his dismay! "But why should we say that he is guilty?" said Mrs.
Grantly.
"It hardly matters as far as we are concerned, whether they find him
guilty or not," said the archdeacon; "if Henry marries that girl my
heart will be broken."
But perhaps to no one except to the Crawleys themselves had the
matter caused so much terrible anxiety as to the archdeacon's son. He
had told his father that he had made no offer of marriage to Grace
Crawley, and he had told the truth. But there are perhaps few men who
make such offers in direct terms without having already said and done
that which make such offers simply necessary as the final closing of
an accepted bargain. It was so at any rate between Major Grantly and
Miss Crawley, and Major Grantly acknowledged to himself that it was
so. He acknowledged also to himself that as regarded Grace herself
he had no wish to go back from his implied intentions. Nothing that
either his father or mother might say would shake him in that. But
could it be his duty to bind himself to the family of a convicted
thief? Could it be right that he should disgrace his father and his
mother and his sister and his one child by such a connection? He
had a man's heart, and the poverty of the Crawleys caused him no
solicitude. But he shrank from the contamination of a prison.