第298章

'One word with you, reverend sir,' said Mr Crawley to the chaplain, as the latter was coming out of the church, 'as to the parish work, sir, during the week--I should be glad if you would favour me with your opinion.'

'About what Mr Crawley?'

'Whether you think that I may be allowed, without scandal, to visit the sick--and to give instruction in the school.'

'Surely--surely, Mr Crawley. Why not?'

'Mr Thumble gave me to understand that the bishop was very urgent that Ishould interfere in no way in the ministrations of the parish. Twice he did enjoin on me that I should not interfere--unnecessarily, as it seemed to me.'

'Quite unnecessary,' said Mr Snapper. 'And the bishop will be obliged to you, Mr Crawley, if you'll just see that things go on all straight.'

'I wish it were possible to know with accuracy what his idea of straightness is,' said Mr Crawley to his wife. 'It may be that things are straight to him when they are buried as it were out of sight, and put away without trouble. I hope it be not so with the bishop.' When he went into his school and remembered--as he did remember through every minute of his teaching--that he was to receive no portion of the poor stipend which was allotted for the clerical duties of the parish, he told himself that there was gross injustice in the way in which things were being made straight at Hogglestock.

But we must go back to the major and the archdeacon at Plumstead --in which comfortable parish things were generally made straight more easily than at Hogglestock. Henry Grantly went over from Barchester to Plumstead in a gig from the 'The Dragon', and made his way at once into his father's study. The archdeacon was seated there with sundry manuscripts before him, and with one half-finished manuscript--as was his wont on every Saturday morning. 'Hallo, Harry,' he said. 'I didn't expect you in the least.' It was barely an hour since he had told Mrs Grantly that his complaint against his son was that he wouldn't come and make himself comfortable at the rectory.

'Father,' said he, giving the archdeacon his hand, 'you have heard nothing yet about Mr Crawley?'

'No,' said the archdeacon, jumping up; 'nothing new;--what is it?' Many ideas about Mr Crawley at that moment flitted across the archdeacon's mind. Could it be that the unfortunate man had committed suicide, overcome by his troubles?

'It has all come out. He got the cheque from my aunt.'

'From your aunt Eleanor?'

'Yes; from my aunt Eleanor. She has telegraphed over from Venice to say that she gave the identical cheque to Crawley. That is all we know at present--except that she has written an account of the matter to you, and that she will be here herself as quick as she can come.'

'Who got the message, Henry?'

'Crawley's lawyer--a fellow named Toogood, a cousin of his wife's--a very decent fellow,' added the major, remembering how necessary it was that he should reconcile his father to all the Crawley belongings. 'He's to be over here on Monday, and then will arrange what is to be done.'

'Done in what way, Henry?'

'There's a great deal to be done yet. Crawley does not know himself at this moment how the cheque got into his hands. He must be told and something must be settled about the living. They've taken the living away from him among them. And then the indictment must be quashed, or something of that kind done. Toogood has got hold of the scoundrel at Barchester who really stole the cheque from Soames;--or thinks he has.

It's that Dan Stringer.'

'He's got hold of a regular scamp, then. I never knew any good of Dan Stringer,' said the archdeacon.

Then Mrs Grantly was told, and the whole story was repeated again, with many expressions of commiseration in reference to all the Crawleys. The archdeacon did not join in these at first, being rather shy on that head. It was very hard for him to have to speak to his son about the Crawleys as though they were people in all respects estimable and well-conducted, and satisfactory. Mrs Grantly understood this so well, that every now and then she said some half-laughing word respecting Mr Crawley's peculiarities, feeling that in this way she might ease her husband's difficulties. 'He must be the oddest man that ever lived,' said Mrs Grantly, 'not to have known where he got the cheque.' The archdeacon shook his head, and rubbed his hands as he walked about the room. 'I suppose too much learning has upset him,' said the archdeacon.

'They say he's not very good at talking English, but put him in Greek and he never stops.'

The archdeacon was perfectly aware that he had to admit Mr Crawley to his goodwill, and that as for Grace Crawley--it was essentially necessary that she should be admitted to his heart of hearts. He had promised as much. It must be acknowledged that Archdeacon Grantly always kept his promises, and especially such promises as these. And indeed it was the nature of the man that when he had been angry with those he loved, he should be unhappy till he had found some escape from his anger. He could not endure to have to own to himself that he had been wrong, but he could be content with a very incomplete recognition of his having been in the right. The posters had been pulled down and Mr Crawley, as he was now told, had not stolen the cheque. That was sufficient. If his son would only drink a glass or two of wine with him comfortably, and talk dutifully about the Plumstead foxes, all should be held to be right, and Grace Crawley should be received with lavish paternal embraces. The archdeacon had kissed Grace once, and he felt that he could do so again without an unpleasant strain upon his feelings.