The following was inspired by the 2007 BBC series Cranford, adapted from Elizabeth Gaskell's Cranford, My Lady Ludlow, and Mr. Harrison's Confessions.
This chapter is for Jan, who takes the time to listen and to understand, and brings bucketloads of inspiration back from the U.K.
"I cannot say that I think you are very generous to the ladies, for, while you are proclaiming peace and good will to all men, emancipating all nations, you insist upon retaining absolute power over wives." Abigail Adams, in a letter to her husband, John.
Chapter 26: Remember the Ladies
"Now then, Jemima, go on."
At that the elder of Job Gregson's two little girls bent down to place a rather battered-looking bunch of wildflowers on the newest of the graves in the churchyard.
"There. That's fine." Job then turned to his eldest son. "Now, Harry," he said. "Read it just as you did before."
Harry opened the book to the place he had marked."'Who can find a virtuous woman?'" he read, his voice soft and solemn, yet clear. "'For her price is far above rubies. The heart of her husband doth safely trust in her, so that he shall have no need of spoil. She will do him good and not evil all the days of her life.'"
"'Far above rubies -- all the days of her life,'" murmured his father.
Harry gently and unobtrusively shut the Bible. He didn't think Dada would want to hear the rest of that chapter of Proverbs just then, and be reminded how grandly that virtuous woman had lived. Besides, it was always the part about the rubies that made him think of Mum.
"Are we going now, Dada?" said Malachi after a moment. Harry poked him in the shoulder.
Job Gregson looked at his second-eldest. "You walk on ahead, then," he said softly. "Harry, see to the little ones -- there's a good lad -- and you as well, Malachi. Mind how you go. I'll follow after."
"Are you sorry that you accompanied me?" asked Edward, breaking the silence they'd shared since they'd departed from Hareman's Lane.
"It was a sad thing to see, Edward, and yet perhaps I needed to know. That is, I understood a little of how Harry lived. But a family of eight in such a place --"
"That's all they had, Laurie. With the enclosure of common land, there was little choice," he said grimly.
"I cannot imagine what it was for Mrs. Gregson to keep house, or to care for her children, or simply to rise each day and face such a prospect."
"With no money, no proper home, and no neighbors," added Edward.
"And now, at last, that will change," said Laurie. "They will have a proper home, and not be so very alone."
"No, not so very alone. Perhaps some good --"
But he broke off before completing the sentence, and so she took it up herself.
"You mean that in tragedy people may prove kind."
"Sometimes," he said simply, looking straight ahead at the road. "And yet it will be difficult," he added after a moment, "even when they are my lady's tenants, even though they now have neighbors, kind neighbors, and Gregson's cousin to help with the housekeeping."
"Yes."
"It will be difficult enough for the children -- well, it will be for the older boys. The little ones do not understand, and I should think the girls too are of an age at which they know little more --"
"Than that Mama has gone."
Edward glanced over at her. "Yes. But Harry -- Harry will feel the loss completely, and intensely."
At that Laurie laid a hand on Edward's arm, and they continued on in silence for a moment.
"Harry said a curious thing to me the other day," she said at last. "He told me he hoped it was true that heaven has many mansions, that his mother might now be in a place as fine as Hanbury Court, with pictures and books and clocks and a soft bed to sleep in.
"But then he pondered that vision for a moment," she added, "and thought to ask me if she needed either beds or clocks now, where she is. I confessed I did not know, but told him that surely she was happy."
Her voice lowered to a whisper. "And then he said that if she'd had rooms like mine, with a little fireplace and windows with glass in them, then she should have been happy."
At that Edward glanced over and saw she was brushing away tears. He spoke not a word but brought the gig to a stop, and for a moment he sat quietly beside her.
"I think, Edward," she continued, "that that should have meant as much to Harry as to his mother."
"I know." He took her hand, somewhat distractedly, and sighed.
She turned to look at him. He appeared not to see anything around him -- not the springtime woods, not the road before them, not even herself -- but had withdrawn into himself, in thought, with his brow furrowed and his lips pressed together.
After a few moments he spoke. "There will come a time when Harry must realize that his father will want to remarry – yes, it is true, for all that it seems too soon to speak of such things. I do not say that out of coldness, Laurie, or in judgment of Job Gregson. Quite the contrary. But however deeply and sincerely he grieves -- and I've no doubt that he does -- the day will come when he takes a wife for himself, and a mother for his children. Indeed he must, and it will be no slight to Bella Gregson's memory."
"And yet – "
"And yet -- ?" he prompted, turning at last to look at her.
"Nothing. It is nothing, Edward."
"I own I do not know how you are to accomplish it all, Miss Galindo," said Augusta Tomkinson. "Making the coronets for May Day, and preparing for a wedding at the same time, and keeping your shop open besides!"
Miss Galindo, in the midst of wrapping several caps in tissue, gave her client a smile. "It seemed only right that I should help with the May Day pageant, Miss Tomkinson, as I have before. And since this is perhaps the last time I shall be free to do so, I gladly consented to participate."
"Oh, yes, marriage brings new obligations," said Miss Tomkinson. "You need not tell me so, for my dear sister has proven as much."
"Indeed I do not know when I have had so much to think of," said Caroline Goddard. "A home, a husband, and of course the dear little twins." She lowered her eyes. "You will forgive me, Miss Galindo, if I do not attend the meeting tomorrow night."
"Of course, Mrs. Goddard," said Miss Galindo warmly. "And surely your sister will make a full report, as your husband no doubt did following the gentlemen's discussion."
"And yet, Miss Galindo, I had rather hoped to persuade my sister to accompany me tomorrow evening," began Miss Tomkinson.
"Augusta, we have discussed this matter most thoroughly, and you know why I cannot," said her sister in a brittle voice.
"But I had thought you might take an interest in such a subject, as a -- as the stepmother of two young children," said Miss Tomkinson gently. "And you have been so much at home of late. A lively discussion might prove a tonic --"
"Pray do not advise me on my health, Augusta," replied her sister. "Do you not think I have been most careful in that regard?"
"Of course you have," murmured Miss Tomkinson. "I only meant it might rally your spirits if you -- "
"My spirits are best served, Augusta, by remaining quietly at home. I have no need to gad about of an evening as the other ladies do."
"Caroline!"
"Indeed I am sorry you cannot attend, Mrs. Goddard, but I quite understand your obligations," said Miss Galindo diplomatically.
"Shall you accompany your betrothed, Miss Galindo, to the discussion tomorrow?" said Miss Tomkinson, following suit by shifting the focus of conversation.
"Indeed I shall, Miss Tomkinson, though I shall offer no comment during the evening. Mr. Carter has heard his fill of my opinions," added Miss Galindo with a smile. "It is only fitting that the other ladies at last have their turn."
"Oh, have their turn they will, Miss Galindo!" said Miss Tomkinson, with an almost girlish enthusiasm. "And I own that I am looking forward to it as much as anyone. I have a great many questions I wish to ask your Mr. Carter, now that he has announced this most intriguing plan for a school."
"Are you sorry you accompanied me?"
"I think, Laurie, you can well guess the answer to that question," said Edward, shrugging off his coat. Even in modest candlelight she could see his features had assumed a telltale expression, the crease evident between his brows, the lips pressed firmly together.
"I confess, Edward, I had no notion that the discussion would rouse you to such anger," said Laurentia quietly.
"I am not angry," said Edward.
"You set your lips in that fashion, and I know you are angry!" she said, summoning some of her accustomed pertness, and a gently teasing smile.
"I was not aware that you made a study of my expressions," he said shortly.
"Of this one I must, for I have seen it often enough," she said, a note of irritation at last creeping into her voice
Edward let that comment pass, and Laurie began anew. "I know you had hoped for a better reception," she said softly. "Indeed I had wished the same myself. And yet you can be proud of your efforts this evening."
"Efforts there were -- I'll grant you that -- but of pride there is none!"
"Come now, Edward, that cannot be so," she said soothingly. "You spoke most eloquently, and indeed gave the ladies much to ponder."
"What I gave them, Laurie, was the occasion to raise objections," muttered Edward.
"No," she replied, watching him pace about the room. "I cannot agree with that. Edward, I think you mistake the questions posed by a few for general opposition to your plan."
"Then you must own there were a great many questions, for all that they were put to me only by certain ladies."
"Yes, and that was perhaps owing to the shyness of the many, and the boldness of the few.
"But was it not fitting, Edward, that the ladies had their turn to raise questions and concerns? You did not think it odd when the men did the same. Indeed on that occasion you expressed a degree of respect for Mr. Graves, who evidently saw no need to remain silent."
"And neither, it seems, did Miss Tomkinson."
"Miss Tomkinson's questions, Edward, were entirely sensible," said Laurie. "You cannot fault frank inquiries, or for that matter straightforward curiosity."
"Her curiosity, as you call it, was nigh-insatiable," said Edward wearily. "I did not expect such a cross-examination."
At that Laurie could not suppress a smile. "Indeed," she purred. "Miss Tomkinson ought to have made a remarkable barrister."
"It was rather like being summoned before the constable, or the magistrate."
"Then we must warn Mr. Graves and Sir Charles, lest they find themselves displaced." When that observation failed to raise a smile or even a response, Laurentia continued, more gently, "Edward, I do not believe that Miss Tomkinson is your adversary. Oh, it is true that her manner is at times brusque, and her countenance stern. But beneath that is a generous, even tender spirit. One need only consider her devotion to her sister, and to her stepniece and –nephew. She must indeed take an interest in the school, and might well prove a useful ally, in time."
"Laurie, do you think I mean to delay opening the school until I have won the approbation of the entire community?"
"No, Edward, that was not what I meant. But people will talk, especially when change is afoot. And I need not tell you that in this village notions of progress and education may prove unsettling -- yes, even to well-meaning folk. Oh, Edward, do you not see the value of setting their minds at rest by telling them of your plan, that they might understand it, if not embrace it outright?"
"Good God, Laurie, I have had this school in mind for many a year, long before you and I were acquainted." She flinched at that, but if he saw it, he made no acknowledgment.
"And now, if I am to proceed at all," he continued, "I must do so with only the most grudging acceptance on my lady's part. You will understand if I am not eager to solicit additional advice and counsel, especially when so many in the village seem to prefer gossip to rational discussion."
"That was most unfair," said Laurie softly.
He turned round to look at her. "Forgive me. I did not mean to speak harshly."
"Or unkindly, I suppose! Edward, do you not see that you thwart yourself by such a heedless dismissal of the ladies?" She watched his expression -- his eyes, stern and icy blue in the candlelight, and his lips once more drawn tightly together.
"Indeed you have many friends and allies among them," continued Laurie. "Mrs. Forrester, for one, has only the fondest respect for you. If she did not undertake to serve as your advocate this evening, it was, perhaps, only out of deference while you and the others were engaged in discussion.
"And what of Mrs. Harrison? She spoke most eloquently, indeed passionately, of our obligations to the young, especially those born not to privilege but to want. And she herself has served as teacher, and given lessons to her young brother. I dare say the other ladies are aware of that, and must take her words to heart. "
"Mrs. Harrison, Laurie, is a most admirable young woman, but she is barely out of girlhood, and surely the other ladies are aware of that as well."
"But her father, Edward, is the rector, and her husband one of the local physicians. As a consequence her understanding of matters moral and educational is uncommonly strong, for all that she is young. She must command a certain respect."
"As indeed she does. But that influence has been obtained through her father and husband -- through the men, if I may speak plainly."
A deep flush, evident even in candlelight, covered Laurie's face, and her warm, musical voice seemed at last strained when she spoke again.
"For all that you intend this school of yours for girls as well as boys, I sometimes think, Edward, that you regard the educated woman as a mere novelty, and not a very impressive one at that, much as Dr. Johnson viewed the Quakeress and her preaching."
"That is unfair," said Edward, his eyes glinting. "I have never disparaged the educated woman, or for that matter her command of the language."
"Then why object to lively discussion and debate in which women take part, equally and without apology?" said Laurie, regaining some control over her voice, and almost managing a soothing rather than challenging tone.
"I object to neither discussion nor debate. But it does try my patience, Laurie, that you should set me before a council of women, that they might pass judgment. Indeed I think you are never so well pleased as when you are introducing complications to all my plans."
"That was by no means my intent," she said softly, drawing closer to where he stood by the mantel. "And believe me, Edward, when I say that my regard for you is such that I delight in your success, and grieve at your disappointments."
"I doubt neither your good heart nor your intentions," said Edward. "Though I'd also observe that you take uncommon satisfaction in trouncing me in debate, or believing that you have, and in teasing me."
"I do love teasing you, Edward, but I do so affectionately, and then only when we are alone together --"
"Or with Harry."
"-- or with Harry; I grant you that. As for engaging you in debate, that is another of my honest pleasures. Indeed I should be disappointed if we no longer spoke to each other with frankness, with passion --"
"That is well enough when we are alone together," said Edward. "But consider that on many occasions your strength of feeling does not serve you well."
"Whatever do you mean?"
"I mean, Laurie, that passionate belief has more than once blinded you to the consequences of your actions."
"In what way?"
"I will speak plainly," he said, turning to face her. "You were most insistent, Laurie, that fairness demanded that I speak to the ladies very much as I had spoken to the men -- "
"That was only fair --"
"Allow me to finish. I admire your sense of justice, as well as your adherence to principle, but your passionate defense of both meant you evidently gave little thought to the outcome of tonight's meeting."
"Edward, it has only just concluded."
"It has indeed concluded," said Edward, his eyes darting about the room, "and in such a fashion!"
"In the main, the ladies gave you a respectful hearing," said Laurie briskly, "and either made dignified inquiries or proved too shy to do so."
"I do not think anyone would ever deem Mrs. Johnson too shy."
"Mrs. Johnson, Edward, does not want for boldness, and has no notion whatever of tact. That is perhaps owing to her profession. But I have never heard her address anyone in respectful tones. Have you not marked how she speaks to Dr. Harrison, and even Dr. Morgan?"
"She is the wife of our mayor, Laurie. Do you not think she might make things difficult for me?"
"You did not fear to speak frankly to Mr. Johnson, Edward. I cannot believe that Mrs. Johnson should prove more of an obstacle than her husband."
"I would not be so sanguine.
"And then Mrs. Jamieson took up the theme, and made short work of my entire argument for founding the school. Oh, she was most thorough, Laurie, even referring to the notable absence of my lady, and the truth that I cannot even claim the sanction of my own employer."
"But I have great hopes, Edward, that when the other ladies look back on this evening, they shall think only of your sincere --"
"Hopes? You will forgive me if I do not place my trust in your hopes, or in your notions of what is fair and just. Indeed there is very little, Laurie, that is fair and just in this world.
"But I need not remind you of that. There is a freshly dug grave in the churchyard that tells precisely that tale each day, and there's another one besides. You know something of that yourself.
"And there are the cold looks and harsh words and merciless judgments that one encounters in the streets and sitting rooms and at times even in the church itself. But you know something of that as well."
She flinched again, quite as if he had delivered a slap with his own hand, but she remained silent. He saw the look in her eyes, though, and opened his mouth to speak further, then evidently thought the better of it.
She too made no comment, but reached over to the mantel and picked up the candle standing there. For a moment she stood holding it, gazing at it, as if considering some plan.
Then she looked up at him. "Perhaps it is time," she said vaguely. Her voice was soft, her eyes sorrowful rather than angry.
She glided towards the door of the room, the candle lighting her way, and after a moment he followed her out of the room and into the hallway. She bustled unobtrusively ahead of him and opened the outer door while he collected hat and coat.
At the end of the hallway he turned to her. She said nothing further but was looking at him steadily with those eyes.
He looked down at her and saw that her lips were trembling, and so were her hands.
"Laurie." He bowed his head, pressed his own lips firmly together, and said nothing more. After another slight nod he strode out the door. She shut it behind him, leaving him without – unkissed, uncomprehending, and utterly undone.
He had made his best effort, Edward decided, and yet disquiet – no, guilt – had continued to torment him after his conversation with Laurie the other evening. Oh, he still believed she had been in the wrong, or at least misguided. He had indulged her little plan, and it had gone very badly indeed, though now her pride would not permit her to admit as much.
Dear God, he wished he might regain the past few days and take another course of action. He'd have persuaded her to allow him to proceed with his plans, and be spared the thousand questions and observations and disapproving looks of the women of the village. He winced at so much as the thought of Mrs. Johnson and her pinched, disdainful face, and her clipped pronouncements about the Irish and the ruin they'd bring to town. And Mrs. Jamieson, for all her veneer of graciousness and privilege, had been infinitely worse. No, he'd have gladly avoided the two of them altogether.
Perhaps he might even have done without the memory of Mrs. Gordon and her earnest gaze, or Mrs. Forrester's rapt expression, or the soft smiles of Miss Matty Jenkyns and her young companion, Miss Smith. And the gentle Mrs. Harrison, speaking in measured tones, no doubt thinking of that insatiable churchyard herself, and how soon it would claim them all -- perhaps he'd like to forget her as well.
But most of all he could not forget the expression on Laurie's face as he had left her that evening. For the thousandth time he wished he'd begged to remain with her a little longer, that he might explain all -- that he understood she'd made friends among the ladies in Cranford, and had perhaps believed they would rally in support of his efforts, that it was cruel that she had been disappointed of those hopes.
And he'd have said more, much more. He'd have told her that however great a fool he'd made of himself that evening, it was nothing compared with the hurt he had caused her.
Dear Laurie! He must go to her, and soon, and he would not go empty-handed. He'd buy her flowers, and this time he'd choose something especially beautiful, something that reminded her that she was cherished.
At that he wondered if he must spend the rest of his life buying her books of verse and bouquets of flowers. Well, if he did, so be it. They'd not had much of a courtship, and in recent years she'd not had much pleasure in her life – and nor, for that matter, had he. But he'd found it exhilarating to call upon her, to plan small presents and surprises, to think of the time they'd spend together and everything they might do, and then to have those precious hours when he could say very nearly anything he liked and find her willing to listen.
So he'd woo her, even if he'd already won her. He'd bring her flowers. She'd like that, and would no doubt prove receptive to his explanations, his apologies, and his touch. Yes, at length he'd take her in his arms, comfort and caress her, offer her every assurance of his regard.
That is, if only she would so much as open the door to him!
He was mentally weighing the merits of roses against those of tulips and had very nearly reached the doorstep of Mrs. Rhys's shop when he spied Miss Matty Jenkyns and Mary Smith, walking arm in arm, out of the corner of his eye. He liked both ladies very much indeed, not only for their kindness but their intelligence, yet he was in no humor to engage them in conversation this afternoon, not after the spectacle of the other evening. Escape, however, was impossible, as Miss Matty had seen him and indeed smiled in recognition.
Well, once more unto the breach.
"Good day to you, Mr. Carter," said Miss Matty in her husky voice. Miss Smith smiled and inclined her head as she curtsied to Mr. Carter, and he doffed his hat and bowed slightly.
"Miss Smith, Mr. Carter, has been telling my brother of our meeting the other night," said Miss Matty. "And Peter has been quite fascinated by the account dear Mary has provided."
"Indeed." Mr. Carter felt an uncomfortable blush spreading across his face.
"But of course my brother is not the only one to have taken a lively interest in your plan for the school. The neighbors have talked of little else for days."
At that Mr. Carter made no reply but felt his heart sinking ever lower. He was not comforted by the almost mischievous look that was now appearing in Miss Matty's eyes, or by the smile stealing across her lips.
"It would appear, Mr. Carter," she continued, "that you have at length become the hero of the village."
Miss Smith took up the theme. "Not many men, Mr. Carter, would have made a formal presentation to the ladies and indeed solicited their opinions concerning such an important project. We all know that you might have proceeded without a thought for anyone else's wishes, for that was only your right, as benefactor and founder.
"But you have chosen a more difficult course, indeed a more honorable one. I hope it may prove more rewarding than vexing."
"More rewarding than vexing," echoed Mr. Carter. "Yes."
"Indeed, Mr. Carter," said Miss Matty warmly, "we are all conscious of the respect you have shown us by presenting your plan beforehand. I confess I wish Sir Charles and Captain Brown had followed a similar course before construction of the railway proceeded."
"Perhaps you were not aware, Mr. Carter," said Miss Smith, smiling, "of the tremendous agitation that resulted when the ladies chanced to hear that the railway was to come to Cranford."
"But the plan was formed in such secrecy," said Miss Matty, frowning. "Indeed if Miss Pole and Mrs. Forrester had not overheard Sir Charles tell Miss Galindo of his own part in the scheme, we should have all remained wholly ignorant." She turned to Mr. Carter and added, in an indignant whisper, "And Captain Brown had been engaged to assist him, but had not so much as breathed a word of it to his own daughter!"
"Change is not always well received, Mr. Carter," added Miss Smith, "even when it must prove advantageous to the community."
"But how are we to learn whether something is advantageous or not if the men refuse to discuss it with us?" asked Miss Matty. "It is most vexing.
"But we shall make no such complaint against you, Mr. Carter," added Miss Matty, turning to him. "And I am certain that your school will be most welcome.
"Did you know, Mr. Carter, that it was once put to me that I should open a school? Fancy, such a notion!" she added with a husky chuckle. "I do not speak French, nor do I understand much of mathematics or science or geography." And here Miss Smith exchanged a glance, as well as a gentle smile, with Mr. Carter.
"As you can well imagine," continued Miss Matty, "such a school should never have been equal to the grand project you are now commencing, Mr. Carter.
"Things were so very different when I was a girl. Deborah and I remained at home, and my father undertook to teach us both, and my brother as well, though Peter was also sent away to school at Shrewsbury, of course, at least for a time.
"But we cannot be assured, though, Mr. Carter, that every child enjoys such devoted attention from a parent," said Miss Matty earnestly, "and so your school must open its doors. I hope it may be soon.
"Perhaps I can assist you in some way – unwaged, of course," added Miss Matty, delicately dropping her voice to a whisper. "I've no accomplishments myself, but I could help the little ones learn their letters and numbers, or assist the elder ones with their recitations."
"That is very kind of you, Miss Matty."
"And permit me to offer you my good wishes as well, Mr. Carter, and indeed my help, if you will accept it," added Miss Smith. "We do so want to see this plan succeed."
"Indeed we do," said Miss Matty. She gave another little chuckle. "After all, as Miss Pole has observed, we would not like to be called backward here!"
To be continued…
Note on Laurie's reference to Dr. Johnson:
"Sir, a woman preaching is like a dog's walking on his hind legs. It is not done well; but you are surprised to find it done at all." Samuel Johnson