“I hope they’ll hang him,” said Mrs. Grantly. “He must have known all the time what dreadful misery he was bringing upon this unfortunate family.”
“I don’t suppose Dan Stringer cared much about that,” said the major.
“Not a straw,” said the archdeacon, and then all hurried off to church; and the archdeacon preached the sermon in the fabrication of which he had been interrupted by his son, and which therefore barely enabled him to turn the quarter of an hour from the giving out of his text. It was his constant practice to preach for full twenty minutes.
As Barchester lay on the direct road from Plumstead to Hogglestock, it was thought well that word should be sent to Mr. Toogood, desiring him not to come out to Plumstead on the Monday morning. Major Grantly proposed to call for him at The Dragon, and to take him on from thence to Hogglestock. “You had better take your mother’s horses all through,” said the archdeacon. The distance was very nearly twenty miles, and it was felt both by the mother and the son, that the archdeacon must be in a good humour when he made such a proposition as that. It was not often that the rectory carriage-horses were allowed to make long journeys. A run into Barchester and back, which altogether was under ten miles, was generally the extent of their work.
“I meant to have posted from Barchester,” said the major.
“You may as well take the horses through,” said the archdeacon. “Your mother will not want them. And I suppose you might as well bring your friend Toogood back to dinner. We’ll give him a bed.”
“He must be a good sort of man,” said Mrs. Grantly; “for I suppose he has done all this for love?”
“Yes; and spent a lot of money out of his own pocket too!” said the major enthusiastically. “And the joke of it is, that he has been defending Crawley in Crawley’s teeth. Mr. Crawley had refused to employ counsel; but Toogood had made up his mind to have a barrister, on purpose that there might be a fuss about it in court. He thought that it would tell with the jury in Crawley’s favour.”
“Bring him here, and we’ll hear all about that from himself,” said the archdeacon. The major, before he started, told his mother that he should call at Framley Parsonage on his way back; but he said nothing on this subject to his father.
“I’ll write to her in a day or two,” said Mrs. Grantly, “and we’ll have things settled pleasantly.”
LXXIV
The Crawleys Are Informed
Major Grantly made an early start, knowing that he had a long day’s work before him. He had written overnight to Mr. Toogood, naming the hour at which he would reach The Dragon, and was there punctual to the moment. When the attorney came out and got into the open carriage, while the groom held the steps for him, it was plain to be seen that the respect in which he was held at The Dragon was greatly increased. It was already known that he was going to Plumstead that night, and it was partly understood that he was engaged with the Grantly and Arabin faction in defending Mr. Crawley the clergyman against the Proudie faction. Dan Stringer, who was still at the inn, as he saw his enemy get into the Plumstead carriage, felt himself to be one of the palace party, and felt that if Mrs. Proudie had only lived till after the assizes all this heavy trouble would not have befallen him. The waiter with the dirty napkin stood at the door and bowed, thinking perhaps that as the Proudie party was going down in Barchester, it might be as well to be civil to Mr. Toogood. The days of the Stringers were probably drawing to a close at The Dragon of Wantly, and there was no knowing who might be the new landlord.
Henry Grantly and the lawyer found very little to say to each other on their long way out to Hogglestock. They were thinking, probably, much of the coming interview, and hardly knew how to express their thoughts to each other. “I will not take the carriage up to the house,” said the major, as they were entering the parish of Hogglestock; “particularly as the man must feed the horses.” So they got out at a farmhouse about half a mile from the church, where the offence of the carriage and livery-servant would be well out of Mr. Crawley’s sight, and from thence walked towards the parsonage. The church, and the school close to it, lay on their way, and as they passed by the school door they heard voices within. “I’ll bet twopence he’s there,” said Toogood. “They tell me he’s always either in one shop or the other. I’ll slip in and bring him out.” Mr. Toogood had assumed a comfortable air, as though the day’s work was to be good pastime, and even made occasional attempts at drollery. He had had his jokes about Dan Stringer, and had attempted to describe the absurdities of Mr. Crawley’s visit to Bedford Row. All this would have angered the major, had he not seen that it was assumed to cover something below of which Mr. Toogood was a little ashamed, but of which, as the major thought, Mr. Toogood had no cause to be ashamed. When, therefore, Toogood proposed to go into the school and bring Mr. Crawley out, as though the telling of their story would be the easiest thing in the world, the major did not stop him. Indeed he had no plan of his own ready. His mind was too intent on the tragedy which had occurred, and which was now to be brought to a close, to enable him to form any plan as to the best way of getting up the last scene. So Mr. Toogood, with quick and easy steps, entered the
