My Lady Ludlow (20 page)

His eyes were dilated, and I could almost have said they were full of
tears with his eagerness. But I am sure it is a bad plan to remind
people of decided opinions which they have once expressed, if you wish
them to modify those opinions. Now, Mr. Gray had done this with my lady;
and though I do not mean to say she was obstinate, yet she was not one to
retract.

She was silent for a moment or two before she replied.

"You ask me to suggest a remedy for an evil of the existence of which I
am not conscious," was her answer—very coldly, very gently given. "In
Mr. Mountford's time I heard no such complaints: whenever I see the
village children (and they are not unfrequent visitors at this house, on
one pretext or another), they are well and decently behaved."

"Oh, madam, you cannot judge," he broke in. "They are trained to respect
you in word and deed; you are the highest they ever look up to; they have
no notion of a higher."

"Nay, Mr. Gray," said my lady, smiling, "they are as loyally disposed as
any children can be. They come up here every fourth of June, and drink
his Majesty's health, and have buns, and (as Margaret Dawson can testify)
they take a great and respectful interest in all the pictures I can show
them of the royal family."

"But, madam, I think of something higher than any earthly dignities."

My lady coloured at the mistake she had made; for she herself was truly
pious. Yet when she resumed the subject, it seemed to me as if her tone
was a little sharper than before.

"Such want of reverence is, I should say, the clergyman's fault. You
must excuse me, Mr. Gray, if I speak plainly."

"My Lady, I want plain-speaking. I myself am not accustomed to those
ceremonies and forms which are, I suppose, the etiquette in your
ladyship's rank of life, and which seem to hedge you in from any power of
mine to touch you. Among those with whom I have passed my life hitherto,
it has been the custom to speak plainly out what we have felt earnestly.
So, instead of needing any apology from your ladyship for straightforward
speaking, I will meet what you say at once, and admit that it is the
clergyman's fault, in a great measure, when the children of his parish
swear, and curse, and are brutal, and ignorant of all saving grace; nay,
some of them of the very name of God. And because this guilt of mine, as
the clergyman of this parish, lies heavy on my soul, and every day leads
but from bad to worse, till I am utterly bewildered how to do good to
children who escape from me as it I were a monster, and who are growing
up to be men fit for and capable of any crime, but those requiring wit or
sense, I come to you, who seem to me all-powerful, as far as material
power goes—for your ladyship only knows the surface of things, and
barely that, that pass in your village—to help me with advice, and such
outward help as you can give."

Mr. Gray had stood up and sat down once or twice while he had been
speaking, in an agitated, nervous kind of way, and now he was interrupted
by a violent fit of coughing, after which he trembled all over.

My lady rang for a glass of water, and looked much distressed.

"Mr. Gray," said she, "I am sure you are not well; and that makes you
exaggerate childish faults into positive evils. It is always the case
with us when we are not strong in health. I hear of your exerting
yourself in every direction: you overwork yourself, and the consequence
is, that you imagine us all worse people than we are."

And my lady smiled very kindly and pleasantly at him, as he sat, a little
panting, a little flushed, trying to recover his breath. I am sure that
now they were brought face to face, she had quite forgotten all the
offence she had taken at his doings when she heard of them from others;
and, indeed, it was enough to soften any one's heart to see that young,
almost boyish face, looking in such anxiety and distress.

"Oh, my lady, what shall I do?" he asked, as soon as he could recover
breath, and with such an air of humility, that I am sure no one who had
seen it could have ever thought him conceited again. "The evil of this
world is too strong for me. I can do so little. It is all in vain. It
was only to-day—" and again the cough and agitation returned.

"My dear Mr. Gray," said my lady (the day before I could never have
believed she could have called him My dear), "you must take the advice of
an old woman about yourself. You are not fit to do anything just now but
attend to your own health: rest, and see a doctor (but, indeed, I will
take care of that), and when you are pretty strong again, you will find
that you have been magnifying evils to yourself."

"But, my lady, I cannot rest. The evils do exist, and the burden of
their continuance lies on my shoulders. I have no place to gather the
children together in, that I may teach them the things necessary to
salvation. The rooms in my own house are too small; but I have tried
them. I have money of my own; and, as your ladyship knows, I tried to
get a piece of leasehold property, on which to build a school-house at my
own expense. Your ladyship's lawyer comes forward, at your instructions,
to enforce some old feudal right, by which no building is allowed on
leasehold property without the sanction of the lady of the manor. It may
be all very true; but it was a cruel thing to do,—that is, if your
ladyship had known (which I am sure you do not) the real moral and
spiritual state of my poor parishioners. And now I come to you to know
what I am to do. Rest! I cannot rest, while children whom I could
possibly save are being left in their ignorance, their blasphemy, their
uncleanness, their cruelty. It is known through the village that your
ladyship disapproves of my efforts, and opposes all my plans. If you
think them wrong, foolish, ill-digested (I have been a student, living in
a college, and eschewing all society but that of pious men, until now: I
may not judge for the best, in my ignorance of this sinful human nature),
tell me of better plans and wiser projects for accomplishing my end; but
do not bid me rest, with Satan compassing me round, and stealing souls
away."

"Mr. Gray," said my lady, "there may be some truth in what you have said.
I do not deny it, though I think, in your present state of indisposition
and excitement, you exaggerate it much. I believe—nay, the experience
of a pretty long life has convinced me—that education is a bad thing, if
given indiscriminately. It unfits the lower orders for their duties, the
duties to which they are called by God; of submission to those placed in
authority over them; of contentment with that state of life to which it
has pleased God to call them, and of ordering themselves lowly and
reverently to all their betters. I have made this conviction of mine
tolerably evident to you; and I have expressed distinctly my
disapprobation of some of your ideas. You may imagine, then, that I was
not well pleased when I found that you had taken a rood or more of Farmer
Hale's land, and were laying the foundations of a school-house. You had
done this without asking for my permission, which, as Farmer Hale's liege
lady, ought to have been obtained legally, as well as asked for out of
courtesy. I put a stop to what I believed to be calculated to do harm to
a village, to a population in which, to say the least of it, I may be
disposed to take as much interest as you can do. How can reading, and
writing, and the multiplication-table (if you choose to go so far)
prevent blasphemy, and uncleanness, and cruelty? Really, Mr. Gray, I
hardly like to express myself so strongly on the subject in your present
state of health, as I should do at any other time. It seems to me that
books do little; character much; and character is not formed from books."

"I do not think of character: I think of souls. I must get some hold
upon these children, or what will become of them in the next world? I
must be found to have some power beyond what they have, and which they
are rendered capable of appreciating, before they will listen to me. At
present physical force is all they look up to; and I have none."

"Nay, Mr. Gray, by your own admission, they look up to me."

"They would not do anything your ladyship disliked if it was likely to
come to your knowledge; but if they could conceal it from you, the
knowledge of your dislike to a particular line of conduct would never
make them cease from pursuing it."

"Mr. Gray"—surprise in her air, and some little indignation—"they and
their fathers have lived on the Hanbury lands for generations!"

"I cannot help it, madam. I am telling you the truth, whether you
believe me or not." There was a pause; my lady looked perplexed, and
somewhat ruffled; Mr. Gray as though hopeless and wearied out. "Then, my
lady," said he, at last, rising as he spoke, "you can suggest nothing to
ameliorate the state of things which, I do assure you, does exist on your
lands, and among your tenants. Surely, you will not object to my using
Farmer Hale's great barn every Sabbath? He will allow me the use of it,
if your ladyship will grant your permission."

"You are not fit for any extra work at present," (and indeed he had been
coughing very much all through the conversation). "Give me time to
consider of it. Tell me what you wish to teach. You will be able to
take care of your health, and grow stronger while I consider. It shall
not be the worse for you, if you leave it in my hands for a time."

My lady spoke very kindly; but he was in too excited a state to recognize
the kindness, while the idea of delay was evidently a sore irritation. I
heard him say: "And I have so little time in which to do my work. Lord!
lay not this sin to my charge."

But my lady was speaking to the old butler, for whom, at her sign, I had
rung the bell some little time before. Now she turned round.

"Mr. Gray, I find I have some bottles of Malmsey, of the vintage of
seventeen hundred and seventy-eight, yet left. Malmsey, as perhaps you
know, used to be considered a specific for coughs arising from weakness.
You must permit me to send you half-a-dozen bottles, and, depend upon it,
you will take a more cheerful view of life and its duties before you have
finished them, especially if you will be so kind as to see Dr. Trevor,
who is coming to see me in the course of the week. By the time you are
strong enough to work, I will try and find some means of preventing the
children from using such bad language, and otherwise annoying you."

"My lady, it is the sin, and not the annoyance. I wish I could make you
understand." He spoke with some impatience; Poor fellow! he was too
weak, exhausted, and nervous. "I am perfectly well; I can set to work to-
morrow; I will do anything not to be oppressed with the thought of how
little I am doing. I do not want your wine. Liberty to act in the
manner I think right, will do me far more good. But it is of no use. It
is preordained that I am to be nothing but a cumberer of the ground. I
beg your ladyship's pardon for this call."

He stood up, and then turned dizzy. My lady looked on, deeply hurt, and
not a little offended, he held out his hand to her, and I could see that
she had a little hesitation before she took it. He then saw me, I almost
think, for the first time; and put out his hand once more, drew it back,
as if undecided, put it out again, and finally took hold of mine for an
instant in his damp, listless hand, and was gone.

Lady Ludlow was dissatisfied with both him and herself, I was sure.
Indeed, I was dissatisfied with the result of the interview myself. But
my lady was not one to speak out her feelings on the subject; nor was I
one to forget myself, and begin on a topic which she did not begin. She
came to me, and was very tender with me; so tender, that that, and the
thoughts of Mr. Gray's sick, hopeless, disappointed look, nearly made me
cry.

"You are tired, little one," said my lady. "Go and lie down in my room,
and hear what Medlicott and I can decide upon in the way of strengthening
dainties for that poor young man, who is killing himself with his over-
sensitive conscientiousness."

"Oh, my lady!" said I, and then I stopped.

"Well. What?" asked she.

"If you would but let him have Farmer Hale's barn at once, it would do
him more good than all."

"Pooh, pooh, child!" though I don't think she was displeased, "he is not
fit for more work just now. I shall go and write for Dr. Trevor."

And for the next half-hour, we did nothing but arrange physical comforts
and cures for poor Mr. Gray. At the end of the time, Mrs. Medlicott
said—

"Has your ladyship heard that Harry Gregson has fallen from a tree, and
broken his thigh-bone, and is like to be a cripple for life?"

"Harry Gregson! That black-eyed lad who read my letter? It all comes
from over-education!"

But I don't see how my lady could think it was over-education that made
Harry Gregson break his thigh, for the manner in which he met with the
accident was this:—

Mr. Horner, who had fallen sadly out of health since his wife's death,
had attached himself greatly to Harry Gregson. Now, Mr. Horner had a
cold manner to every one, and never spoke more than was necessary, at the
best of times. And, latterly, it had not been the best of times with
him. I dare say, he had had some causes for anxiety (of which I knew
nothing) about my lady's affairs; and he was evidently annoyed by my
lady's whim (as he once inadvertently called it) of placing Miss Galindo
under him in the position of a clerk. Yet he had always been friends, in
his quiet way, with Miss Galindo, and she devoted herself to her new
occupation with diligence and punctuality, although more than once she
had moaned to me over the orders for needlework which had been sent to
her, and which, owing to her occupation in the service of Lady Ludlow,
she had been unable to fulfil.