The great cry, however, did not take long, and Lucy was soon in the pony-carriage again. On this occasion her brother volunteered to drive her, and it was not understood that he was to bring back with him all the Crawley children. The whole thing had been arranged; the groom and his wife were to be taken into the house, and the big bedroom across the yard, usually occupied by them, was to be converted into a quarantine hospital until such time as it might be safe to pull down the yellow flag. They were about half-way on their road to Hogglestock, when they were overtaken by a man on horseback, whom, when he came up beside them, Mr Robarts recognized as Dr Arabin, Dean of Barchester, and head of the chapter to which he himself belonged. It immediately appeared that the dean was also going to Hogglestock, having heard of the misfortune that had befallen his friends there; he had, he said, started as soon the news reached him, in order that he might ascertain how best he might render assistance. To effect this he had undertaken a ride of nearly forty miles, and explained that he did not expect to reach home again much before midnight. ‘You pass by Framley?’ asked Robarts.
‘Yes, I do,’ said the dean.
‘Then of course you will dine with us as you go home; you and your horse also, which will be quite as important.’ This having been duly settled, and the proper ceremony of introduction having taken place between the dean and Lucy, they proceeded to discuss the character of Mr Crawley.
‘I have known him all my life,’ said the dean, ‘having been at school and college with him, and for years since that I was on terms of the closest intimacy with him; but in spite of that, I do not know how to help him in his need. A prouder-hearted man I never met, or one less willing to share his sorrows with his friends.’
‘I have often heard him speak of you,’ said Mark.
‘One of the bitterest feelings I have is that a man so dear to me should live so near to me, and that I should see so little of him. But what can I do? He will not come to my house; and when I go to his he is angry with me because I wear a shovel hat and ride on horseback.’
‘I should leave my hat and my horse at the borders of the last parish,’ said Lucy, timidly.
‘Well; yes, certainly; one ought not to give offence even in such matters as that; but my coat and waistcoat would then be equally objectionable. I have changed,— in outward matters I mean,— and he has not. That irritates him, and unless I could be what I was in the old days, he will not look at me with the same eyes;’ and then he rode on, in order, as he said, that the first pang of the interview might be over before Robarts and his sister came upon the scene. Mr Crawley was standing before his door, leaning over the little wooden railing, when the dean trotted up on his horse. He had come out after hours of close watching to get a few mouthfuls of the sweet summer air, and as he stood there he held the youngest of his children in his arms. The poor little baby sat there, quiet indeed, but hardly happy. This father, though he loved his offspring with an affection as intense as that which human nature can supply, was not gifted with the knack of making children fond of him; for it is hardly more than a knack, that aptitude which some men have of gaining the good graces of the young. Such men are not always the best fathers or the safest guardians; but they carry about with them a certain duc ad me which children recognize, and which in three minutes upsets all the barriers between five and five-and-forty. But Mr Crawley was a stern man, thinking ever of the souls and minds of his bairns — as a father should do; and thinking also that every season was fitted for operating on these souls and minds — as, perhaps, he should not have done as a father or as a teacher. And consequently his children avoided him when the choice was given them, thereby adding fresh wounds to his torn heart, but by no means quenching any of the great love with which he regarded them.
He was standing there thus with the placid little baby in his arms — a baby placid enough, but one that would not kiss him eagerly, and stroke his face with her soft little hands, as he would have had her do — when he saw the dean coming towards him. He was sharp-sighted as a lynx out in the open air, though now obliged to pore over his well-fingered books with spectacles on his nose; and thus he knew his friend from a long distance, and had time to meditate on the mode of his greeting. He too doubtless had come, if not with jelly and chicken, then with money and advice;— with money and advice such as a thriving dean might offer to a poor brother clergyman; and Mr Crawley, though no husband could be more anxious for a wife’s safety than he was, immediately put his back up and began to bethink himself how these tenders might be rejected.
‘How is she?’ were the first words which the dean spoke as he pulled up his horse close to the little gate, and put out his hand to take that of his friend.
‘How are you, Arabin?’ said he. ‘It is very kind of you to come so far, seeing how much there is to keep you at Barchester. I cannot say that she is any better, but I do not know that she is worse. Sometimes I fancy she is delirious, though I hardly know. At any rate her mind wanders, and then after that she sleeps.’
‘But is the fever less?’
‘Sometimes less, and sometimes more, I imagine.’
‘And the children?’
‘Poor things; they are well as yet.’
‘They must be taken from this, Crawley, as a matter of course.’
Mr Crawley fancied that there was a tone of authority in the dean’s advice, and immediately put himself into opposition.
‘I do not know how that may be; I have not yet made up my mind.’
‘But, my dear Crawley —’
‘Providence does not admit of such removals in all cases,’ said he. ‘Among the poorer classes the children must endure such perils.’
‘In many cases it is so,’ said the dean, by no means inclined to make an argument of it at the present moment; ‘but in this case they need not. You must allow me to make arrangements for sending for them, as of course your time is occupied here.’ Miss Robarts, though she had mentioned her intention of staying with Mrs Crawley, had said nothing of the Framley plan with reference to the children.
‘What you mean is that you intend to take the burden off my shoulders — in fact, pay for them. I cannot allow that, Arabin. They must take the lot of their father and their mother, as it is proper that they should do.’ Again the dean had no inclination for arguing, and thought it might be well to let the question of the children drop for a little while.
‘And there is no nurse with her?’ said he.
‘No, no; I am seeing to her myself at the present moment. A woman will be here just now.’
‘What woman?’
‘Well; her name is Mrs Stubbs; she lives in the parish. She will put her younger children to bed, and — and — but it’s no use troubling you with all that. There was a young lady talked of coming, but no doubt she has found it too inconvenient. It will be better as it is.’
‘You mean Miss Robarts; she will be here directly; I passed her as I came here;’ and as Dr Arabin was yet speaking, the noise of the carriage wheels was heard upon the road.
‘I will go in now;’ said Mr Crawley, ‘and see if she still sleeps;’ and then he entered the house, leaving the dean at the door still seated upon his horse. ‘He will be afraid of the infection, and I will not ask him to come in,’ said Mr Crawley to himself.
‘I shall seem to be prying into his poverty, if I enter unasked,’ said the dean to himself. And so he remained there till Puck, now acquainted with the locality, stopped at the door.
‘Have you not been in?’ said Robarts.
‘No; Crawley has been at the door talking to me; he will be here directly, I suppose;’ and then Mark Robarts also prepared himself to wait till the master of the house should reappear. But Lucy had not such punctilious misgivings; she did not much care now whether she offended Mr Crawley or no. Her idea was to place herself by the sick woman’s bedside, and to send the four children away;— with their father’s consent if it might be; but certainly without it if that consent were withheld. So she got down from the carriage, and taking certain packages in her hand made her way direct into the house.
‘There’s a big bundle under the seat, Mark,’ she said; ‘I’ll come and fetch it directly, if you’ll drag it out.’ For some five minutes the two dignitaries of the Church remained at the door, one on his cob, and the other in his low carriage, saying a few words to each other and waiting till some one should again appear from the house. ‘It is all arranged, indeed it is,’ were the first words which reached their ears, and these came from Lucy. ‘There will be no trouble at all, and no expense, and they shall all come back as soon as Mrs Crawley is able to get out of bed.’
‘But, Miss Robarts, I can assure —’ That was Mr Crawley’s voice, heard from him as he followed Miss Robarts to the door; but one of the elder children had then called him back into the sick room, and Lucy was left to do her worst.
‘Are you going to take the children back with you?’ said the dean.
‘Yes; Mrs Robarts has prepared for them.’
‘You can take greater liberties with my friend here than I can.’
‘It is all my sister’s doing,’ said Robarts. ‘Woman are always bolder in such matters than men.’ And then Lucy reappeared, bringing Bobby with her, and one of the younger children.
‘Do not mind what he says,’ said she, ‘but drive away when you have got them all. Tell Fanny I have put into the basket what things I could find, but they are very few. She must borrow things for Grace from Mrs Granger’s little girl’—(Mrs Granger was the wife of a Framley farmer);—‘and, Mark, turn Puck’s head round so that you may be off in a moment. I’ll have Grace and the other one here directly.’ And then, leaving her brother to pack Bobby and his little sister on the back part of the vehicle, she returned to her business in the house. She had just looked in at Mrs Crawley’s bed, and finding her awake, had smiled on her, and deposited her bundle in token of her intended stay, and then, without speaking a word, had gone on her errand about the children. She had called to Grace to show her where she might find such things as were to be taken to Framley, and having explained to the bairns, as well as she might, the destiny which immediately awaited them, prepared them for their departure without saying a word to Mr Crawley on the subject. Bobby and the elder of the two infants were stowed away safely in the back part of the carriage, where they allowed themselves to be placed without saying a word. They opened their eyes and stared at the dean, who sat by on his horse, and assented to such orders as Mr Robarts gave them,— no doubt with much surprise, but nevertheless in absolute silence.
‘Now, Grace, be quick, there’s a dear,’ said Lucy, returning with the infant in her arms. ‘And, Grace, mind you are very careful about the baby; and bring the basket; I’ll give it you when you are in.’ Grace and the other child were packed on to the other seat, and a basket with the children’s clothes put in on top of them. ‘That’ll do, Mark; good-bye; tell Fanny to be sure and send the day after tomorrow, and not to forget —’ and then she whispered into her brother’s ear an injunction about certain dairy comforts which might not be spoken of in the hearing of Mr Crawley. ‘Good-bye, dears; mind you are good children; you shall hear about mamma the day after ............