“But you know, Dr. Tempest, that you don’t agree with your bishop generally.”
“Then it is the more fortunate that I shall be able to agree with him on this occasion.”
Major Grantly was present at the dinner, and ventured to ask the doctor in the course of the evening what he thought would be done. “I should not venture to ask such a question, Dr. Tempest,” he said, “unless I had the strongest possible reason to justify my anxiety.”
“I don’t know that I can tell you anything, Major Grantly,” said the doctor. “We did not even see Mr. Crawley today. But the real truth is that he must stand or fall as the jury shall find him guilty or not guilty. It would be the same in any profession. Could a captain in the army hold up his head in his regiment after he had been tried and found guilty of stealing twenty pounds?”
“I don’t think he could,” said the major.
“Neither can a clergyman,” said the doctor. “The bishop can neither make him nor mar him. It is the jury that must do it.”
LV
Framley Parsonage
At this time Grace Crawley was at Framley Parsonage. Old Lady Lufton’s strategy had been quite intelligible, but some people said that in point of etiquette and judgment and moral conduct, it was indefensible. Her vicar, Mr. Robarts, had been selected to be one of the clergymen who was to sit in ecclesiastical judgment upon Mr. Crawley, and while he was so sitting Mr. Crawley’s daughter was staying in Mr. Robarts’ house as a visitor with his wife! It might be that there was no harm in this. Lady Lufton, when the apparent impropriety was pointed out to her by no less a person than Archdeacon Grantly, ridiculed the idea.
“My dear archdeacon,” Lady Lufton had said, “we all know the bishop to be such a fool and the bishop’s wife to be such a knave, that we cannot allow ourselves to be governed in this matter by ordinary rules. Do you not think that it is expedient to show how utterly we disregard his judgment and her malice?”
The archdeacon had hesitated much before he spoke to Lady Lufton, whether he should address himself to her or to Mr. Robarts—or indeed to Mrs. Robarts. But he had become aware that the proposition as to the visit had originated with Lady Lufton, and he had therefore decided on speaking to her. He had not condescended to say a word as to his son, nor would he so condescend. Nor could he go from Lady Lufton to Mr. Robarts, having once failed with her ladyship. Indeed, in giving him his due, we must acknowledge that his disapprobation of Lady Lufton’s strategy arose rather from his true conviction as to its impropriety, than from any fear lest this attention paid to Miss Crawley should tend to bring about her marriage with his son. By this time he hated the very name of Crawley. He hated it the more because in hating it he had to put himself for the time on the same side with Mrs. Proudie. But for all that he would not condescend to any unworthy mode of fighting. He thought it wrong that the young lady should be invited to Framley Parsonage at this moment, and he said so to the person who had, as he thought, in truth, given the invitation; but he would not allow his own personal motives to induce him to carry on the argument with Lady Lufton.
“The bishop is a fool,” he said, “and the bishop’s wife is a knave. Nevertheless I would not have had the young lady over to Framley at this moment. If, however, you think it right and Robarts thinks it right, there is an end of it.”
“Upon my word we do,” said Lady Lufton.
I am induced to think that Mr. Robarts was not quite confident of the expediency of what he was doing by the way in which he mentioned to Mr. Oriel the fact of Miss Crawley’s presence at the parsonage as he drove that gentleman home in his gig. They had been talking about Mr. Crawley when he suddenly turned himself round, so that he could look at his companion, and said, “Miss Crawley is staying with us at the parsonage at the present moment.”
“What! Mr. Crawley’s daughter?” said Mr. Oriel, showing plainly by his voice that the tidings had much surprised him.
“Yes; Mr. Crawley’s daughter.”
“Oh, indeed. I did not know that you were on those terms with the family.”
“We have known them for the last seven or eight years,” said Mark; “and though I should be giving you a false notion if I were to say that I myself have known them intimately—for Crawley is a man whom it is quite impossible to know intimately—yet the womankind at Framley have known them. My sister stayed with them over at Hogglestock for some time.”
“What; Lady Lufton?”
“Yes; my sister Lucy. It was just before her marriage. There was a lot of trouble, and the Crawleys were all ill, and she went to nurse them. And then the old lady took them up, and altogether there came to be a sort of feeling that they were to be regarded as friends. They are always in trouble, and now in this special trouble the women between them have thought it best to have the girl over at Framley. Of course I had a kind of feeling about this commission; but as I knew that it would make no difference with me I did not think it necessary to put my veto upon the visit.” Mr. Oriel said nothing further, but Mark Robarts was aware that Mr. Oriel did not quite approve of the visit.
That morning old Lady Lufton herself had come across to the parsonage with the express view of bidding all the parsonage party to come across to the hall to dine. “You can
