Part V
Little Grace turned to wave at her papa once more before climbing onto the sofa, seating herself in the very place where her papa sat moments ago. With the palms of her small hands, the two-year-old smoothed her gown, as her mother had taught her, very gracefully, making certain that her dress was covering her little ankles on the sofa (also as the way her mother taught her), and sat very quietly watching her grandfather with extraordinary interest.
Even though his granddaughter had been sitting near him for quite some time, in his customary manner, the very old Mr Woodhouse had hardly noticed much of what was happening near him. His constitution, contrary to what he believed all his life, had been kind to him. His many imaginary ailments and some true sicknesses had left the Hartfield Master a little feebler than other elderly persons of his age. The true cause of his frailty stemmed from the inactivity of his mind and his reclusiveness from physical exertion. But the old man was contented with what he had, or had not for that matter, all his life, and at this age, his basin of thin gruel and the advertiser pages were all that he required to pass the evenings.
At length, when the old gentleman laid down his papers and spectacles to look for the spoon for his gruel, he noticed the quiet little doll sitting very properly on the sofa.
The curious eyes of the two-year-old never strayed from her grandpapa, and when they caught his eyes, the bright smile on the cherubic child beamed directly at the old man.
The sight of the little child sitting in a vast sofa surprised Mr Woodhouse, certain oddness came over him, but he could not place his finger on what it was. It was not until after a long hard contemplation that he realized what was missing.
The old gentleman looked round and behind where he sat, searching for his granddaughter's parents and her nursery maid, yet, he had found none. The oddness hung in the air, but the old man could not help it. As the smile of the child shone so sparklingly at him, Mr Woodhouse smiled a very kind grandfatherly smile at the child, looked down to pick up his spoon, and sipped his gruel.
Other than the sound of him slurping his gruel, the space between the grandfather and granddaughter was presently filled with silence. Silence had never troubled Mr Woodhouse, in fact, to a man with delicate nerves silence was a comfort that he relished. But the same cannot be said for the two-year-old.
Little Grace had kept her promise to her papa and left her grandfather to his gruel and papers. Nevertheless, as she had seen on numerous occasions how her papa and mama waited for her grandfather to look up and smile before they would speak to him, now that her grandfather had looked up and smiled at her, even though he had looked back down, she was sure it was her turn to speak.
The distance between the sofa where she sat and her grandfather's armchair seemed far smaller when her papa was there; little Grace eyed the large gap between her and her grandpapa and decided to scoot to the end of the furniture where she could be closer to her grandfather when she spoke. And as soon as she had made certain that her dress was covering her ankles, she began her turn of speaking to him.
"Do you like gruel, Grandpapa?"
The silence broken by the bright voice felt a bit out of order to Mr Woodhouse, for more than two years, he had grown accustom to taking his gruel alone before retiring at night. Yet, how could the old gentleman fault a two-year-old for wrinkling his peace…
"Yes, I do, my dear," he replied with a very kind smile. Now that he felt more settled, Mr Woodhouse was happy to return to his gruel.
But as his spoon was hardly lifted out of the thin mixture, he heard the child again.
"You must like it very much, Grandpapa!"
Mr Woodhouse paused, looked up, nodding, with a smile that was a little more reserved than the one before, and said, "I do, my dear, I do."
The old gentleman sent his spoon to his mouth, yet, before he could swallow another enquiry came.
"You must like it very, very, very much, Grandpapa!' remarked the two-year-old enthusiastically. "You have gruel every meal and before bedtime every night!"
Albeit he was very much attached to his habitual silence, the grandfather was pleased by how observant his young granddaughter was.
"I do, my dear child, I really do, I have liked gruel all my life, since I was a boy!" Mr Woodhouse replied with a grand smile, and was about to purposely scoop a heaping spoonful from the basin to demonstrate to the child just how much he truly loved gruel.
"You mean," Grace returned immediately with even greater animation, "like the way William likes suckling Mama's milk? William LOVES Mama's milk, he drinks it every meal and before bedtime every night just like you, Grandpapa!"
The ear-to-ear grin on Mr Woodhouse instantly went crooked in the opposite direction. The image of his grandson suckling his daughter and him eating gruel side by side... felt... disgusting to the old man! With a frown, he stared at his basin of gruel, which had never been unenticing to him until this moment. Laying down his spoon, the grandfather smiled ruefully at his granddaughter with a reluctant nod and decided to return to his papers instead.
For a moment or two, a familiar silence, with the exception of the sound from him thumbing the newspaper pages, once again filled the room and comforted Mr Woodhouse.
But such peace did not last long before the child asked with irrepressible curiosity. "What are you reading, Grandpapa?"
Mr Woodhouse took a deep breath, peered at his grandchild from the edge of the papers with eyeglasses hanging on the tip of his nose. He looked round him once again, "Er… where is your mother… or father, my dear?" asked he.
"Mama is suckling William, and Papa went to be with Mama and William, Grandpapa!"
Compressing his cracked thin lips, the grandfather squeezed his brows.
"What about Nurse… and… your maid, my dear?"
"Nurse always stays with William when we are at Hartfield, Grandpapa, and Mama had sent Lucy home before we came because she heard from Mrs Hodges that Lucy's mama has fallen ill!"
"Poor Lucy's mother!" the kind hearted Hartfield Master sighed, slowly shaking his head, "Must be the dreadful cold that Mr Perry warned me about!"
Mr Woodhouse went on lamenting how his good friends Mrs Bates and Miss Bates had also been inflicted by the dreadful disease and wished all those who were stricken in Highbury would come out of the plight unscathed. And once he had finished, the old grandfather, forgetting that the little two-year-old had been waiting for him patiently while he sulked, opened his papers cocooning himself behind it again… until…
"What are you reading, Grandpapa?" Unlike her grandfather, little Grace had a stellar memory.
"Oh!" Now that the fuzzy old man was reminded of the child's previous enquiry, "Er…" feeling there was no one to pass the child to, "just… just… some advertisements, my dear…" he yielded very reluctantly.
"What are a-fur-ties-men, Grandpapa?"
Somehow, even this fuzzy old man could see the question coming!
Mr Woodhouse drew a helpless sigh, laid down his papers, and said, "Advertisements are..." he had to think for a moment, "…they are...announcements of goods for sale."
"Goods... for... sale?" Grace asked perplexedly, knitting her adorable brows.
"It means when someone has something to sell, they would place an advertisement in the newspapers to let people know what they have to sell."
"Would you read them to me, Grandpapa?" asked Grace very politely. And without invitation, the two-year-old slid down from the sofa onto her feet, took three steps in front of her grandfather, and reached her arms upward, positioning herself to be lifted onto her grandpapa's knee. All of these were customary for the two-year-old, for whenever her papa and mama read to her she was always lifted onto their knees.
But the two-year-old waited for a long time, her grandfather did not move an inch. Her bewildered eyes stared at her grandpapa, and in return, her grandpapa was staring at her with bewilderment of the same degree. The gaping between the grandfather and granddaughter went on for a while longer, eventually little Grace decided to take matter into her own hands, she lowered her arms, pressed her hands on her grandfather's kneecaps, and began climbing onto her grandpapa with alacrity.
The old grandfather was taken aback by the child's action for a moment before realising what his granddaughter was trying to do. He shifted very awkwardly in his armchair, for it had been too long since any child was on his knee. The last time must have been when Emma was at Grace's age. He could hardly remember what it had felt like, but the little that he could recollect was that his wife had placed little Emma on him only briefly before he handed their daughter back to her because his knees were hurting. Even then, it was very rare that their child was placed in his care, and he was at his younger state... but now... being so much older... and weak... the old gentleman did not know what to do!
Hesitatingly, Mr Woodhouse extended his feeble hands for Grace's small hands, which was presently struggling to get a grip on his unsteady knee. He tried to pull the child up over his knee, but his movements were as clumsy as his mind, and his thin arms could not bear even the weight of a young child. And when the first attempt in pulling Grace onto him failed, the old man was quick to give up and let his hands dropped from the child's arms unto his lap.
The determined two-year-old was not one to give up so easily, but as her grandfather was perched quite out of her reach and his hands no longer giving her the tug that she needed, little Grace decided that perhaps she needed not be on her grandfather's knee after all.
"Would you read to me, Grandpapa?" she asked, contented to be leaning on the arm of her grandfather's chair instead.
"Of... of course, my dear!"
What an immense relief that the child had given up on the notion of sitting on him! Mr Woodhouse was too glad to grant his granddaughter's wish and quickly unfolded his papers and began reading from whatever he saw that instant.
"'PRISONERS TRIED AND SENTENCED: At the half-yearly Assize Court on Monday, the following prisoners were tried…'"
"What are prisoners, Grandpapa?" Grace interrupted her grandfather.
"Prisoners are… those… who do bad things…"
"What bad things, Grandpapa?"
"Er… things that are... very, very bad…"
"What are things that are very, very bad, Grandpapa?"
"Steal-stealing… Stealing is very bad..."
"What is stealing, Grandpapa?"
"Stealing… is… when one takes what does not belong to one..."
"Why would anyone wish to steal, Grandpapa?"
"Because… because they wish for something that does not belong to them…"
"Why would they wish for something that does not belong to them, Grandpapa?"
"Because… because…"
"Would not their mama and papa give it to them, Grandpapa?"
"Er…"
"Is it because their mama and papa cannot afford it, Grandpapa?"
"I… suppose…"
"Mama says that there are mamas and papas in the parish who cannot afford to give enough food to their children and themselves, and that is why Mama visits them and brings them food every week, Grandpapa!"
"Your mother has always had the kindest of hearts, my dear child!" At last, a genuine warm smile, rather than an awkward twitch, came from Mr Woodhouse.
"And Mama says when I am old enough she would bring me with her when she visits the poor, Grandpapa!"
"That would be very kind of you and your mother, my dear. But do remember to put on one or two more cloaks when you go, the houses the poor live in are dreadfully draughty I heard!"
Little Grace nodded. "Is it why they steal?" she asked.
"Huh!" Mr Woodhouse was surprised by the enquiry. "Er… you mean they steal because their houses are draughty?"
Grace shook her head, pointing at the papers, "Is that why the prisoners steal? Because they need food?" she asked.
"Oh, no! These prisoners did not steal food; they had stolen shoes, tobacco, and silver watch."
"Why would one steal shoes, Grandpapa? And what is toe-back-coal?"
The many enquiries from the child had already had the head of the old man spinning. Mr Woodhouse feared that at any moment another deluge of questions would be flooding from the little mouth!
"Perhaps…" he forced a smile, "we should… er… read something else, my dear…" and he was very glad to see no objection from the child.
The grandfather turned several pages and found what he was looking for…
"Ah…" he grinned, "there it is, my favourite advertisement: The Essence of Mustard Pills for Flying Pains!"
But just when Mr Woodhouse was about to begin reading, little Grace's attention was caught by a word, which resembled the one her mother had taught her the day before, printed on the adjacent page.
"Is this about goat, Grandpapa?" she asked, pointing at the printed word.
Mr Woodhouse pushed his spectacles up closer to his eyes and followed the small finger. "Oh, no!" he shook his head, "This is not about goat, my dear."
"What is it about, Grandpapa?"
"It says, 'CAUTION TO SERVANTS – A maid servant, who lately engaged to live a year in a family at Highbury, and after a few weeks quitted her service without cause, was fined by the magistrate…'"
"The Magistrate!" Grace squealed in excitement, "That is my Papa!"
The old gentleman smiled and nodded indulgently. "You are right, my dear, you father is the magistrate!"
"What is it about Papa, Grandpapa?" the hazel eyes of the child gleamed.
Mr Woodhouse cleared his throat and read aloud, "'A maid servant, who lately engaged to live a year in a family at Highbury, and after a few weeks quitted her service without cause, was fined by the magistrate one guinea, which she was obliged to pay, or go to the gaol…'"
"What is a gaol, Grandpapa?" The child's insatiable curiosity was piqued.
The grandfather hesitated, fearing that the floodgate might be opening soon.
"What is a gaol, Grandpapa?" Grace bade again. "Is it like a goat?"
"No, oh, certainly no!" supplied Mr Woodhouse. The many questions from the child might easily fatigue the old man, but the good-natured grandfather was convinced that he must set his granddaughter's infantile mind straight on this matter.
"Remember the prisoners we spoke of, my dear?" he asked.
Grace nodded.
"A gaol is the place where prisoners live. For some prisoners, they are kept there awaiting their trials, but for others, they are confined there to pay for their misdeeds."
"Is gaol a nice place, Grandpapa?"
"Oh, no! It is the most dreadful place on earth!"
Little Grace gasped, "It is?" eyes widened.
"Surely, my dear, I have never been to a gaol in my life, but I would never wish to see or go near such dreadful place. I have heard that it is the darkest, dampest, filthiest place on earth, suffice to say that it must be very draughty, my child, unbefitting for any person to live! I have heard it from Miss Bates, who had heard it from Mr Cutts, who had heard it from one of his shady customers, that prisoners are chained to the floor by padlocks behind solid iron bars, and the rooms have walls of forbidden thickness with hardly a window to let air in, and being under the watchful eyes of ogre-like guards, once a prisoner goes inside, he or she would never see daylights again!"
The vivid image of the goal had frightened the child. The bright voice of the two-year-old turned mousy, "Will… will the prisoners see their mamas and papas again?" she asked her grandfather with visible fear in her eyes.
"Oh no! I do not think they could see their families again, my dear!"
"R-r-really?" Little Grace trembled.
And at this time Mr Woodhouse himself was sufficiently disturbed by the dreadful thought of such unwholesome place.
With disgust, "Let us speak no more of prisoners or gaol, my dear!" he suggested, "I think we should read my favourite advertisement instead."
Grace nodded, still shaken, and it was not until several moments later that her fear slowly began to dissipate.
Mr Woodhouse turned his eyes back to the newspaper, searching for the advertisement he was going to read before he was interrupted.
He smiled, found what he was looking for and began.
"'Essence of Mustard Pills for Flying Pains: Rheumatisms, Palsies, and Gouty Affections with their usual concomitants, Spasm, or flying pains, Flatulency, Indigestion, and general Debility, originating in whatever source, are relieved and frequently cured by Whitehead's Essence of Mustard Pills, after every other means had failed. The Fluid Essence of Mustard (used with the Pills, in those complaints where necessary) is perhaps the most active, penetrating, and effectual remedy in the world, generally curing the severest SPRAINS AND BRUISES in less than half the time usually taken by any other liniment or Embrocation…'"
While her grandfather was happily reading from his dear advertisement, the attention of the two-year-old was not nearly devoted to the magnificent properties of the magical Essence as her grandpapa did. And before Mr Woodhouse was halfway through the advertisement, curious thoughts began careening in little Grace's mind – such as, why her grandfather had a thick coat on his back and two woollen blankets on his lap when it was positively toasting outside, or why the hearth in Hartfield next to where her grandpapa sat always had a fire even when it made it difficult for her to breathe, or why when there were so many scrumptious treats on the dining-table at dinner, but her grandfather would only wish to eat a small egg that looked grotesque, and why was there hair poking out of her grandpapa's nostrils and ears, Mrs Bates who looked just as old as her grandpapa was the same way, it seemed that old people's hair grew on their faces not on their heads, surely, it must be very ticklish to them!
In that short duration, at least a dozen thoughts had whirled through Grace Isabella Knightley's head, but there was one – only one – matter, which she had learnt that very morning, kept lingering in her mind…
"Nurse said that Mama, Papa, and I used to live in Hartfield," Grace spoke up abruptly.
It was unusual that the attention of the old gentleman was caught in the first attempt, but the sudden remark from the child did precisely that – instantly, Mr Woodhouse paused his reading and went into silence.
"Is it true, Grandpapa?"
The grandfather looked hesitant.
"Is it true, Grandpapa?"
"It… it is true…" in a subdued voice, he replied.
"Nurse said that Mama gave birth to me in Hartfield, unlike William, who was born in Donwell Abbey. Is what Nurse said true, Grandpapa?"
"It… it… it is, my child," Mr Woodhouse nodded soberly, "you… you were born… in this house..." eyes staring blankly at a distance.
"Nurse also said that Mama, Papa, and I removed to the Abbey when I was a small baby just like William now… "
The grandfather's face went ash. He had never spoken to anyone of what happened two years ago, his heart could not bear the thoughts, and his mind had endeavoured not to think of it.
"Is it true, Grandpapa?" little Grace asked.
The grandfather was discomposed, being put to the path of the painful past had rendered the feeble man speechless, and he began to gasp for breaths.
"Is it true, Grandpapa?" his granddaughter implored again, every beckoning was like dagger shooting at her grandfather's chest.
"Grandpapa… Would not you tell me?"
Mr Woodhouse remained silent… but his granddaughter continued to press… until, at last, he was no longer able to turn a deaf ear on the child, and his unwilling heart forced him to relive what he had been unable to forget…
A/N: I always have fun writing Mr Woodhouse... and now little Grace and her grandpapa. :-) Hope you are at least a little intrigued... As always, thank you for reading! :-)