He spoke to his wife about it within a very few hours of the arrival of the tidings by those invisible wires. He had already told her that Miss Crawley was to go to Framley parsonage, and that he thought that Mrs. Robarts was wrong to receive her at such a time.
“It is only intended for good-nature,” Mrs. Grantly had said.
“It is misplaced good-nature at the present moment,” the archdeacon had replied. Mrs. Grantly had not thought it worth her while to undertake at the moment any strong defence of the Framley people. She knew well how odious was the name of Crawley in her husband’s ears, and she felt that the less that was said at present about the Crawleys the better for the peace of the rectory at Plumstead. She had therefore allowed the expression of his disapproval to pass unchallenged. But now he came upon her with a more bitter grievance, and she was obliged to argue the matter with him.
“What do you think?” said he; “Henry is at Framley.”
“He can hardly be staying there,” said Mrs. Grantly, “because I know that he is so very busy at home.” The business at home of which the major’s mother was speaking was his projected moving from Cosby Lodge, a subject which was also very odious to the archdeacon. He did not wish his son to move from Cosby Lodge. He could not endure the idea that his son should be known throughout the county to be giving up a residence because he could not afford to keep it. The archdeacon could have afforded to keep up two Cosby Lodges for his son, and would have been well pleased to do so, if only his son would not misbehave against him so shamefully! He could not bear that his son should be punished openly, before the eyes of all Barsetshire. Indeed he did not wish that his son should be punished at all. He simply desired that his son should recognize his father’s power to inflict punishment. It would be henbane to Archdeacon Grantly to have a poor son—a son living at Pau—among Frenchmen!—because he could not afford to live in England. Why had the archdeacon been careful of his money, adding house to house and field to field? He himself was contented—so he told himself—to die as he had lived in a country parsonage, working with the collar round his neck up to the day of his death, if God would allow him so to do. He was ambitious of no grandeur for himself. So he would tell himself—being partly oblivious of certain episodes in his own life. All his wealth had been got together for his children. He desired that his sons should be fitting brothers for their august sister. And now the son who was nearest to him, whom he was bent upon making a squire in his own county, wanted to marry the daughter of a man who had stolen twenty pounds, and when objection was made to so discreditable a connection, replied by packing up all his things and saying that he would go and live—at Pau! The archdeacon therefore did not like to hear of his son being very busy at home.
“I don’t know whether he’s busy or not,” said the archdeacon, “but I tell you he is staying at Framley.”
“From whom have you heard it?”
“What matter does that make if it is so? I heard it from Flurry.”
“Flurry may have been mistaken,” said Mrs. Grantly.
“It is not at all likely. Those people always know about such things. He heard it from the Framley keeper. I don’t doubt but it’s true, and I think that it’s a great shame.”
“A great shame that Henry should be at Framley! He has been there two or three times every year since he has lived in the county.”
“It is a great shame that he should be had over there just at the time when that girl is there also. It is impossible to believe that such a thing is an accident.”
“But, archdeacon, you do not mean to say that you think that Lady Lufton has arranged it?”
“I don’t know who has arranged it. Somebody has arranged it. If it is Robarts, that is almost worse. One could forgive a woman in such a matter better than one could a man.”
“Psha!” Mrs. Grantly’s temper was never bitter, but at this moment it was not sweetened by her husband’s very uncivil reference to her sex. “The whole idea is nonsense, and you should get it out of your head.”
“Am I to get it out of my head that Henry wants to make this girl his wife, and that the two are at this moment at Framley together?” In this the archdeacon was wrong as to his facts. Major Grantly had left Framley on the previous day, having stayed there only one night. “It is coming to that that one can trust no one—no one—literally no one.” Mrs. Grantly perfectly understood that the archdeacon, in the agony of the moment, intended to exclude even herself from his confidence by that “no one;” but to this she was indifferent, understanding accurately when his words should be accepted as expressing his thoughts, and when they should be supposed to express only his anger.
“The probability is that no one at Lufton knew anything about Henry’s partiality for Miss Crawley,” said Mrs. Grantly.
“I tell you I think they are both at Framley together.”
“And I tell you that if they are, which I doubt, they are there simply by an accident. Besides, what does it matter? If they choose to marry each other, you and I cannot prevent them. They don’t want any assistance from Lady Lufton, or anybody else. They have simply got to make up their own minds, and then no one can hinder them.”
“And, therefore, you would like to see them brought together?”
“I say nothing about that, archdeacon; but I do say that
