The Last Chronicle of Barset

Close, habited in his best suit of black, with most exact white cravat, and yet looking not quite like a clergyman⁠—with some touch of the undertaker in his gait. When he found that he was shown into the bishop’s room, and that the bishop was there⁠—and the bishop only⁠—his mind was relieved. It would have been better that the bishop should have written himself, or that the chaplain should have written in his lordship’s name; that, however, was a trifle.

But the bishop did not know what to say to him. If he intended to direct an inquiry to be made by the rural dean, it would be by no means becoming that he should consult Mr. Chadwick as to doing so. It might be well, or if not well at any rate not improper, that he should make the application to Dr. Tempest through Mr. Chadwick; but in that case he must give the order at once, and he still wished to avoid it if it were possible. Since he had been in the diocese no case so grave as this had been pushed upon him. The intervention of the rural dean in an ordinary way he had used⁠—had been made to use⁠—more than once, by his wife. A vicar had been absent a little too long from one parish, and there had been rumours about brandy-and-water in another. Once he had been very nearly in deep water because Mrs. Proudie had taken it in dudgeon that a certain young rector, who had been left a widower, had a very pretty governess for his children; and there had been that case, sadly notorious in the diocese at the time, of our excellent friend Mr. Robarts of Framley, when the bailiffs were in his house because he couldn’t pay his debts⁠—or rather, the debts of his friend for whom he had signed bills. But in all these cases some good fortune had intervened, and he had been saved from the terrible necessity of any ulterior process. But now⁠—now he was being driven beyond himself, and all to no purpose. If Mrs. Proudie would only wait three months the civil law would do it all for him. But here was Mr. Chadwick in the room, and he knew that it would be useless for him to attempt to talk to Mr. Chadwick about other matters, and so dismiss him. The wife of his bosom would be down upon them before Chadwick could be out of the room.

“H⁠—m⁠—ha. How d’ye do, Mr. Chadwick⁠—won’t you sit down?” Mr. Chadwick thanked his lordship, and sat down. “It’s very cold, isn’t it, Mr. Chadwick?”

“A hard frost, my lord, but a beautiful day.”

“Won’t you come near the fire?” The bishop knew that Mrs. Proudie was on the road, and had an eye to the proper strategical position of his forces. Mrs. Proudie would certainly take up her position in a certain chair from whence the light enabled her to rake her husband thoroughly. What advantage she might have from this he could not prevent;⁠—but he could so place Mr. Chadwick, that the lawyer should be more within the reach of his eye than that of his wife. So the bishop pointed to an armchair opposite to himself and near the fire, and Mr. Chadwick seated himself accordingly.

“This is a very sad affair about Mr. Crawley,” said the bishop.

“Very sad indeed,” said the lawyer. “I never pitied a man so much in my life, my lord.”

This was not exactly the line which the bishop was desirous of taking. “Of course he is to be pitied;⁠—of course he is. But from all I hear, Mr. Chadwick, I am afraid⁠—I am afraid we must not acquit him.”

“As to that, my lord, he has to stand his trial, of course.”

“But, you see, Mr. Chadwick, regarding him as a beneficed clergyman⁠—with a cure of souls⁠—the question is whether I should be justified in leaving him where he is till his trial shall come on.”

“Of course your lordship knows best about that, but⁠—”

“I know there is a difficulty. I know that. But I am inclined to think that in the interests of the parish I am bound to issue a commission of inquiry.”

“I believe your lordship has attempted to silence him, and that he has refused to comply.”

“I thought it better for everybody’s sake⁠—especially for his own, that he should for a while be relieved from his duties; but he is an obstinate man, a very obstinate man. I made the attempt with all consideration for his feelings.”

“He is hard put to it, my lord. I know the man and his pride. The dean has spoken of him to me more than once, and nobody knows him so well as the dean. If I might venture to offer an opinion⁠—”

“Good morning, Mr. Chadwick,” said Mrs. Proudie, coming into the room and taking her accustomed seat. “No thank you, no; I will stay away from the fire, if you please. His lordship has spoken to you no doubt about this unfortunate, wretched man?”

“We are speaking of him now, my dear.”

“Something must of course be done to put a stop to the crying disgrace of having such a man preaching from a pulpit in this diocese. When I think of the souls of the people in that poor village, my hair literally stands on end. And then he is disobedient!”

“That is the worst of it,” said the bishop. “It would have been so much better for himself if he would have allowed me to provide quietly for the services till the trial be over.”

“I could have told you, my lord, that he would not do that, from what I knew of him,” said Mr. Chadwick.

“But he must do it,” said Mrs. Proudie. “He must be made to do it.”

“His lordship will find it difficult,” said Mr. Chadwick.

“I can issue a commission, you know, to the rural dean,” said the bishop mildly.

“Yes, you can do that. And Dr. Tempest in two months’ time will have named