Cranford, Chapter 3 - A Love Affair Of Long Ago

Hello there,

It's Mandy here.

Welcome back to Cranford by Elizabeth Gaskell.

Gaskell was actually born in London.

She was the youngest of eight children,

But because of infant mortality,

Which was very high in those days,

She and her brother John were the only children to survive infancy.

Also,

Sadly,

Her mother died just over a year after giving birth to Elizabeth.

Elizabeth's father sent her to live with her aunt in Knutsford,

Cheshire,

And that's where Elizabeth Gaskell was brought up.

So we're going to be listening to chapter three tonight,

But before I begin,

Please go right ahead and make yourself really comfortable.

Relax your hands,

Relax your shoulders,

Relax your jaw.

That's great.

Then I'll begin.

Chapter three,

A love affair of long ago.

I thought that probably my connection with Cranford would cease after Miss Jenkins' death,

At least that it would have to be kept up by correspondence,

Which bears much the same relation to personal intercourse that the books of dried plants I sometimes see,

Due to the living and fresh flowers in the lanes and meadows.

I was pleasantly surprised,

Therefore,

To receive a letter from Miss Pole,

Who had always come in for a supplementary week after my annual visit to Miss Jenkins,

Proposing that I should go and stay with her.

And then,

In a couple of days after my acceptance,

Came a note from Miss Matty,

In which,

In a rather circuitous and very humble manner,

She told me how much pleasure I should confer if I could spend a week or two with her,

Either before or after I had been at Miss Pole's,

For,

She said,

Since my dear sister's death,

I am well aware I have no attractions to offer.

It is only to the kindness of my friends that I can owe their company.

Of course,

I promised to come to dear Miss Matty as soon as I had ended my visit to Miss Pole,

And the day after my arrival at Cranford,

I went to see her,

Much wondering what the house would be like without Miss Jenkins,

And,

Rather dreading,

The changed aspect of things.

Miss Matty began to cry as soon as she saw me.

She was evidently nervous from having anticipated my call.

I comforted her as well as I could,

And I found the best consolation I could give was the honest praise that came from my heart as I spoke of the deceased.

Miss Matty slowly shook her head over each virtue,

As it was named and attributed to her sister,

And at last she couldn't restrain the tears,

Which had long been silently flowing,

But hid her face behind her handkerchief and sobbed aloud.

Dear Miss Matty,

Said I,

Taking her hand,

For indeed I didn't know in what way to tell her how sorry I was for her,

Left deserted in the world.

She put down her handkerchief and said,

My dear,

I'd rather you didn't call me Matty.

She didn't like it,

And I did many a thing she didn't like,

I'm afraid,

And now she's gone.

If you please,

My love,

Will you call me Matilda?

I promised,

Faithfully,

And began to practice the new name with Miss Pole that very day,

And by degrees Miss Matilda's feeling on the subject was known throughout Cranford,

And we all tried to drop the more familiar name,

But with so little success that by and by we gave up the attempt.

My visit to Miss Pole was very quiet.

Miss Jenkins had so long taken the lead in Cranford that now she was gone they hardly knew how to give a party.

The Honourable Mrs Jameson,

To whom Miss Jenkins herself had always yielded the post of honour,

Was fat and inert,

And very much at the mercy of her old servants.

If they chose that she should give a party they reminded her of the necessity for so doing,

If not she let it alone.

There was all the more time for me to hear old world stories from Miss Pole while she sat knitting and I making my father's shirts.

I always took a quantity of plain sewing to Cranford for,

As we didn't read much or walk much,

I found it a capital time to get through my work.

One of Miss Pole's stories related to a shadow of a love affair that was dimly perceived or suspected long years before.

Presently the time arrived when I was to remove to Miss Matilda's house.

I found her timid and anxious about the arrangements for my comfort.

Many a time,

While I was unpacking,

Did she come backwards and forwards to stir the fire,

Which burned all the worse for being so frequently poked.

Have you jaws enough,

Dear?

Asked she.

I don't know exactly how my sister used to arrange them.

She had capital methods.

I am sure she would have trained a servant in a week to make a better fire than this,

And Fanny has been with me four months.

This subject of servants was a standing grievance and I couldn't wonder much at it,

For if gentlemen were scarce and almost unheard of in the genteel society of Cranford,

They or their counterparts,

Handsome young men,

Abounded in the lower classes.

The pretty neat servant maids had their choice of desirable followers,

And their mistresses,

Without having the sort of mysterious dread of men and matrimony that Miss Matilda had,

Might well feel a little anxious lest the heads of their comely maids should be turned by the joiner,

Or the butcher,

Or the gardener,

Who were obliged by their callings to come to the house,

And who,

As ill luck would have it,

Were generally handsome and unmarried.

Fanny's lovers,

If she had any,

And Miss Matilda suspected her of so many flirtations,

That if she had not been very pretty,

I should have doubted her having one,

Were a constant anxiety to her mistress.

She was forbidden by the articles of her engagement to have followers,

And though she had answered innocently enough,

Doubling up the hem of her apron as she spoke,

Please,

Ma'am,

I never had more than one at a time,

Miss Matty prohibited that one.

But a vision of a man seemed to haunt the kitchen.

Fanny assured me that it was all fancy,

Or else I should have said myself that I had seen a man's coattails whisk into the scullery once,

When I went on an errand into the storeroom at night.

And another evening,

When,

Our watches having stopped,

I went to look at the clock,

There was a very odd appearance,

Singularly like a young man,

Squeezed up between the clock and the back of the open kitchen door.

And I thought Fanny snatched up the candle very hastily,

So as to throw the shadow on the clock face,

While she very positively told me the time,

Half an hour too early,

As we found out afterwards by the church clock.

But I didn't add to Miss Matty's anxieties by naming my suspicions,

Especially as Fanny said to me the next day,

That it was such a queer kitchen,

For having odd shadows about it,

She really was almost afraid to stay.

For,

You know Miss,

She added,

I don't see a creature from six o'clock tea,

Till missus rings the bell for prayers at ten.

However,

It so fell out that Fanny had to leave,

And Miss Matilda begged me to stay and settle her with the new maid,

To which I consented,

After I'd heard from my father that he didn't want me at home.

The new servant was a rough,

Honest-looking country girl,

Who had only lived in a farm place before,

But I liked her looks when she came to be hired,

And I promised Miss Matilda to put her in the ways of the house.

The said ways were religiously such,

As Miss Matilda thought her sister would approve.

Many a domestic rule and regulation had been a subject of plaintive whispered murmur to me during Miss Jenkins's life,

But now she was gone,

I do not think that even I,

Who was a favourite,

Durst have suggested an alteration.

To give one instance,

We constantly adhered to the forms which were observed at meal times in my father the rector's house.

Accordingly,

We always had wine and dessert,

But the decanters were only filled when there was a party,

And what remained was seldom touched,

Though we had two wine glasses apiece every day after dinner,

Until the next festive occasion arrived,

When the state of the remainder wine was examined into in a family council.

The dregs were often given to the poor,

But occasionally,

When a good deal had been left at the last party,

Five months ago it might be,

It was added to some of a fresh bottle brought up from the cellar.

I fancy poor Captain Brown did not much like wine,

For I noticed he never finished his first glass,

And most military men take several.

Then,

As to our dessert,

Miss Jenkins used to gather currants and gooseberries for it herself,

Which I sometimes thought would have tasted better fresh from the trees,

But then,

As Miss Jenkins observed,

There would have been nothing for dessert in summertime.

As it was,

We felt very genteel with our two glasses apiece,

And a dish of gooseberries at the top,

Of currants and biscuits at the side,

And two decanters at the bottom.

When oranges came in,

A curious proceeding was gone through.

Miss Jenkins didn't like to cut the fruit,

For,

As she observed,

The juice all ran out,

Nobody knew where.

Sucking,

Only I think she used some more recondite word,

Was in fact the only way of enjoying oranges,

But then there was the unpleasant association with a ceremony frequently gone through by little babies.

And so,

After dessert in orange season,

Miss Jenkins and Miss Matty used to rise up,

Possess themselves each of an orange in silence,

And withdraw to the privacy of their own rooms,

To indulge in sucking oranges.

I had once or twice tried,

On such occasions,

To prevail on Miss Matty to stay,

And had succeeded in her sister's lifetime.

I held up a screen,

And did not look,

And,

As she said,

She tried not to make the noise very offensive,

But now that she was left alone,

She seemed quite horrified when I begged her to remain with me in the warm dining parlour,

And enjoy her orange as she liked best.

And so it was in everything.

Miss Jenkins' rules were made more stringent than ever,

Because the framer of them was gone,

Where there could be no appeal.

In all things else,

Miss Matilda was meek and undecided,

To a fault.

I have heard Fanny turn around twenty times in a morning about dinner,

Just as the little hussy chose,

And I sometimes fancied she worked on Miss Matilda's weakness in order to bewilder her,

And to make her feel more in the power of her clever servant.

I determined that I would not leave her till I had seen what sort of a person Martha was,

And,

If I found her trustworthy,

I would tell her not to trouble her mistress with every little decision.

Martha was blunt and plain-spoken,

To a fault.

Otherwise she was a brisk,

Well-meaning,

But very ignorant girl.

She had not been with us a week before Miss Matilda and I were astounded one morning by the receipt of a letter from a cousin of hers,

Who had been twenty or thirty years in India,

And who had lately,

As we had seen by the army list,

Returned to England,

Bringing with him an invalid wife who had never been introduced to her English relations.

Major Jenkins wrote to propose that he and his wife should spend a night at Cranford on his way to Scotland at the inn,

If it didn't suit Miss Matilda to receive them into her house,

In which case they should hope to be with her as much as possible during the day.

Of course,

It must suit her,

As she said,

For all Cranford knew that she had her sister's bedroom at Liberty,

But I am sure she wished the major had stopped in India and forgotten his cousins out and out.

Oh,

How must I manage?

Asked she,

Helplessly.

If Deborah had been alive,

She would have known what to do with a gentleman visitor.

Must I put razors in his dressing-room?

Dear,

Dear,

And I've got none.

Deborah would have had them.

And slippers,

And coat-brushes.

I suggested that probably he would bring all these things with him.

And after dinner,

How am I to know when to get up and leave him to his wine?

Deborah would have done it so well.

She would have been quite in her element.

Will he want coffee,

Do you think?

I undertook the management of the coffee and told her I would instruct Martha in the art of waiting,

In which it must be owned she was terribly deficient,

And that I had no doubt Major and Mrs Jenkins would understand the quiet mode in which a lady lived by herself in a country town.

But she was sadly fluttered.

I made her empty her decanters and bring up two fresh bottles of wine.

I wished I could have prevented her from being present at my instructions to Martha,

For she frequently cut in with some fresh direction,

Muddling the poor girl's mind as she stood open-mouthed,

Listening to us both.

Hand the vegetables round,

Said I,

Foolishly I see now,

For it was aiming at more than we could accomplish with quietness and simplicity.

And then,

Seeing her look bewildered,

I added,

Take the vegetables round to people and let them help themselves.

And mind you go first to the ladies,

Put in Miss Matilda,

Always go to the ladies before gentlemen when you are waiting.

I'll do it as you tell me,

Ma'am,

Said Martha,

But I like the lads best.

We felt very uncomfortable and shocked at this speech of Martha's,

Yet I don't think she meant any harm,

And on the whole she attended very well to our directions,

Except that she nudged the major when he didn't help himself as soon as she expected to the potatoes.

The major and his wife were quiet,

Unpretending people enough when they did come,

Languid,

As all East Indians are,

I suppose.

We were rather dismayed at their bringing two servants with them,

A Hindu body-servant for the major and a steady elderly maid for his wife,

But they slept at the inn and took off a good deal of the responsibility by attending carefully to their master's and mistress's comfort.

Martha,

To be sure,

Had never ended her staring at the East Indian's white turban and brown complexion,

And I saw that Miss Matilda shrunk away from him a little as he waited at dinner.

Indeed,

She asked me when they were gone if he didn't remind me of Bluebeard.

On the whole,

Though,

The visit was most satisfactory and is a subject of conversation even now with Miss Matilda.

At the time,

It greatly excited Cranford and even stirred up the apathetic and honourable Mrs Jameson to some expression of interest.

When I went to call and thank her for the kind answers she had vouchsafed to Miss Matilda's enquiries as to the arrangement of a gentleman's dressing-room,

Answers which I must confess she had given in the wearied manner of the Scandinavian prophetess.

Leave me,

Leave me to repose.

And now I come to the love affair.

It seems that Miss Pole had a cousin,

Once or twice removed,

Who had offered to Miss Matty long ago.

Now this cousin lived four or five miles from Cranford on his own estate,

But his property was not large enough to entitle him to rank higher than a yeoman,

Or rather,

With something of the pride which apes humility,

He had refused to push himself on,

As so many of his class had done,

Into the ranks of the squires.

He would not allow himself to be called Thomas Holbrook,

A squire.

He even sent back letters with this address,

Telling the postmistress at Cranford that his name was Mr Thomas Holbrook,

Yeoman.

He rejected all domestic innovations.

He would have the house door stand open in summer and shut in winter,

Without knocker or bell to summon a servant.

The closed fist or the knob of a stick did this office for him,

If he found the door locked.

He despised every refinement which had not its root deep down in humanity.

If people were not ill,

He saw no necessity for moderating his voice.

He spoke the dialect of the country in perfection,

And constantly used it in conversation,

Although Miss Pole,

Who gave me these particulars,

Added that he read aloud more beautifully and with more feeling than anyone she had ever heard,

Except the late rector.

And how came Miss Matilda not to marry him?

I asked.

Oh,

I don't know.

She was willing enough,

I think.

But you know,

Cousin Thomas would not have been enough of a gentleman for the rector and Miss Jenkins.

Well,

But they were not to marry him,

Said I,

Impatiently.

No,

But they didn't like Miss Matty to marry below her rank.

You know,

She was the rector's daughter,

And somehow they are related to Sir Peter Arley.

Miss Jenkins thought a deal of that.

Poor Miss Matty,

Said I.

Nay,

Now,

I don't know anything more than that he offered and was refused.

Miss Matty might not like him,

And Miss Jenkins may never have said a word.

It is only a guess of mine.

Has she never seen him since,

I inquired.

I think not.

You see,

Woodley,

Cousin Thomas's house,

Lies halfway between Cranford and Mistleton,

And I know he made Mistleton his market town very soon after he had offered to Miss Matty,

And I don't think he has been into Cranford above once or twice since.

Once when I was walking with Miss Matty in the high street,

And suddenly she darted from me and went up Shire Lane.

A few minutes later I was startled by meeting Cousin Thomas.

How old is he,

I asked,

After a pause of castle building.

He must be about seventy,

I think,

My dear,

Said Miss Pole,

Blowing up my castle as if by gunpowder into small fragments.

Very soon after,

At least during my long visit to Miss Matilda,

I had the opportunity of seeing Mr Holbrook,

Seeing too his first encounter with his former love after thirty or forty years separation.

I was helping to decide whether any of the new assortment of coloured silks,

Which they had just received at the shop,

Would do to match a grey and black Mousseline de Laine that wanted a new breadth,

When a tall,

Thin,

Don Quixote-looking old man came into the shop for some woollen gloves.

I had never seen this person,

Who was rather striking,

Before,

And I watched him rather attentively while Miss Matty listened to the shopman.

The stranger wore a blue coat with brass buttons,

Drab breeches and gaiters,

And drummed with his fingers on the counter until he was attended to.

When he answered the shop boy's question,

What can I have the pleasure of showing you today,

Sir?

I saw Miss Matilda start,

And then suddenly sit down,

And instantly I guessed who it was.

She had made some inquiry,

Which had to be carried round to the other shopman.

Miss Jenkins wants the black sarsenette,

Two and t'uppence the yard,

And Mr Holbrook had caught the name,

And was across the shop in two strides.

Matty!

Miss Matilda!

Miss Jenkins!

God bless my soul!

I should not have known you.

How are you?

How are you?

He kept shaking her hand in a way which proved the warmth of his friendship,

But he repeated so often,

As if to himself,

I should not have known you,

That any sentimental romance which I might be inclined to build was quite done away with by his manner.

However,

He kept talking to us all the time we were in the shop,

And then,

Waving the shopman with the unpurchased gloves on one side,

With,

Another time,

Sir,

Another time,

He walked home with us.

I am happy to say my client,

Miss Matilda,

Also left the shop in an equally bewildered state,

Not having purchased either green or red silk.

Mr Holbrook was evidently full with honest,

Loud-spoken joy at meeting his old love again.

He touched on the changes that had taken place.

He even spoke of Miss Jenkins as,

Your poor sister,

Well,

Well,

We have all our faults,

And bade us good-bye with many a hope that he should soon see Miss Matty again.

She went straight to her room,

And never came back till our early tea-time,

When I thought she looked as if she had been crying.

To be continued