From _Cranford_.
And _now_ I come to the love affair.
It seems that Miss Pole had a cousin, once or twice removed, who had
offered to Miss Matty long ago. Now, this cousin lived four or five miles
from Cranford on his own estate; but his property was not large enough to
entitle him to rank higher than a yeoman; or rather, with something of
the “pride which apes humility,” he had refused to push himself on, as
so many of his class had done, into the ranks of the squires. He would
not allow himself to be called Thomas Holbrook, _Esq._: he even sent back
letters with this address, telling the postmistress at Cranford that his
name was _Mr._ Thomas Holbrook, yeoman.
* * * * *
He despised every refinement which had not its root deep down in
humanity. If people were not ill, he saw no necessity for moderating
his voice. He spoke the dialect of the country in perfection, and
constantly used it in conversation; although Miss Pole (who gave me these
particulars) added, that he read aloud more beautifully and with more
feeling than anyone she had ever heard, except the late Rector.
“And how came Miss Matilda not to marry him?” asked I.
“Oh, I don’t know. She was willing enough, I think; but you know Cousin
Thomas would not have been enough of a gentleman for the Rector, and Miss
Jenkyns.”
“Well! but they were not to marry him,” said I, impatiently.
“No; but they did not like Miss Matty to marry below her rank. You know
she was the Rector’s daughter, and somehow they are related to Sir Peter
Arley: Miss Jenkyns thought a deal of that.”
“Poor Miss Matty!” said I.
“Nay, now, I don’t know anything more than that he offered and was
refused. Miss Matty might not like him—and Miss Jenkyns might never have
said a word—it is only a guess of mine.”
“Has she never seen him since?”
“No, I think not. You see, Woodley, Cousin Thomas’s house, lies half-way
between Cranford and Misselton; and I know he made Misselton his market
town very soon after he had offered to Miss Matty; and I don’t think he
has been into Cranford above once or twice since—once, when I was walking
with Miss Matty, in High Street; and suddenly she darted from me, and
went up Shire Lane. A few minutes after, I was startled by meeting Cousin
Thomas.”
“How old is he?” I asked, after a pause of castle-building.
“He must be about seventy, I think, my dear,” said Miss Pole, blowing up
my castle, as if by gunpowder, into small fragments.
Very soon after—at least during my long visit to Miss Matilda—I had the
opportunity of seeing Mr. Holbrook; seeing, too, his first encounter
with his former love, after thirty or forty years’ separation. I was
helping to decide whether any of the new assortment of coloured silks
which they had just received at the shop, would do to match a grey and
black mousseline-de-laine that wanted a new breadth, when a tall, thin,
Don Quixote-looking old man came into the shop for some woollen gloves. I
had never seen the person (who was rather striking) before, and I watched
him rather attentively, while Miss Matty listened to the shopman. The
stranger wore a blue coat with brass buttons, drab breeches, and gaiters,
and drummed with his fingers on the counter until he was attended to.
When he answered the shop-boy’s question, “What can I have the pleasure
of showing you to-day, Sir?” I saw Miss Matilda start, and then suddenly
sit down; and instantly I guessed who it was. She had made some enquiry
which had to be carried round to the other shopman.
“Miss Jenkyns wants the black sarsenet two-and-twopence the yard”; and
Mr. Holbrook had caught the name, and was across the shop in two strides.
“Matty—Miss Matilda—Miss Jenkyns! God bless my soul! I should not have
known you. How are you? how are you?” He kept shaking her hand in a way
which proved the warmth of his friendship; but he repeated so often,
as if to himself, “I should not have known you!” that any sentimental
romance which I might be inclined to build, was quite done away with by
his manner.
However, he kept talking to us all the time we were in the shop; and
then waving the shopman with the unpurchased gloves on one side, with
“Another time, sir! another time!” he walked home with us. I am happy to
say my client, Miss Matilda, also left the shop in an equally bewildered
state, not having purchased either green or red silk. Mr. Holbrook was
evidently full with honest, loud-spoken joy at meeting his old love
again; he touched on the changes that had taken place; he even spoke of
Miss Jenkyns as “Your poor sister! Well, well! we have all our faults”;
and bade us good-bye with many a hope that he should soon see Miss Matty
again. She went straight to her room; and never came back till our early
tea-time, when I thought she looked as if she had been crying.