CHAPTER XVIII

The Widow's Persecution

Early on the following morning Mr. Slope was summoned to the bishop's

dressing-room, and went there fully expecting that he should find his

lordship very indignant and spirited up by his wife to repeat the

rebuke which she had administered on the previous day. Mr. Slope had

resolved that at any rate from him he would not stand it, and entered

the dressing-room in rather a combative disposition; but he found

the bishop in the most placid and gentlest of humours. His lordship

complained of being rather unwell, had a slight headache, and was

not quite the thing in his stomach; but there was nothing the matter

with his temper.

"Oh, Slope," said he, taking the chaplain's proffered hand,

"Archdeacon Grantly is to call on me this morning, and I really am

not fit to see him. I fear I must trouble you to see him for me;"

and then Dr. Proudie proceeded to explain what it was that must be

said to Dr. Grantly. He was to be told in fact, in the civilest words

in which the tidings could be conveyed, that Mr. Harding having

refused the wardenship, the appointment had been offered to Mr.

Quiverful and accepted by him.

Mr. Slope again pointed out to his patron that he thought he was

perhaps not quite wise in his decision, and this he did _sotto voce_.

But even with this precaution it was not safe to say much, and during

the little that he did say, the bishop made a very slight, but still

a very ominous gesture with his thumb towards the door which opened

from his dressing-room to some inner sanctuary. Mr. Slope at once

took the hint and said no more, but he perceived that there was to be

confidence between him and his patron, that the league desired by him

was to be made, and that this appointment of Mr. Quiverful was to be

the last sacrifice offered on the altar of conjugal obedience. All

this Mr. Slope read in the slight motion of the bishop's thumb, and

he read it correctly. There was no need of parchments and seals,

of attestations, explanations, and professions. The bargain was

understood between them, and Mr. Slope gave the bishop his hand

upon it. The bishop understood the little extra squeeze, and an

intelligible gleam of assent twinkled in his eye.

"Pray be civil to the archdeacon, Mr. Slope," said he out loud, "but

make him quite understand that in this matter Mr. Harding has put it

out of my power to oblige him."

It would be a calumny on Mrs. Proudie to suggest that she was sitting

in her bedroom with her ear at the keyhole during this interview.

She had within her a spirit of decorum which prevented her from

descending to such baseness. To put her ear to a keyhole, or to

listen at a chink, was a trick for a housemaid. Mrs. Proudie knew

this, and therefore did not do it; but she stationed herself as near

to the door as she well could, that she might, if possible, get the

advantage which the housemaid would have had, without descending to

the housemaid's artifice.

It was little, however, that she heard, and that little was only

sufficient to deceive her. She saw nothing of that friendly

pressure, perceived nothing of that concluded bargain; she did not

even dream of the treacherous resolves which those two false men had

made together to upset her in the pride of her station, to dash the

cup from her lip before she had drunk of it, to sweep away all her

power before she had tasted its sweets! Traitors that they were,

the husband of her bosom and the outcast whom she had fostered and

brought to the warmth of the world's brightest fireside! But neither

of them had the magnanimity of this woman. Though two men have thus

leagued themselves together against her, even yet the battle is not

lost.

Mr. Slope felt pretty sure that Dr. Grantly would decline the honour

of seeing him, and such turned out to be the case. The archdeacon,

when the palace door was opened to him, was greeted by a note.

Mr. Slope presented his compliments, &c. &c. The bishop was ill in

his room and very greatly regretted, &c. &c. Mr. Slope had been

charged with the bishop's views, and if agreeable to the archdeacon,

would do himself the honour, &c. &c. The archdeacon, however, was

not agreeable, and having read his note in the hall, crumpled it up

in his hand, and muttering something about sorrow for his lordship's

illness, took his leave, without sending as much as a verbal message

in answer to Mr. Slope's note.

"Ill!" said the archdeacon to himself as he flung himself into his

brougham. "The man is absolutely a coward. He is afraid to see me.

Ill, indeed!" The archdeacon was never ill himself, and did not

therefore understand that anyone else could in truth be prevented by

illness from keeping an appointment. He regarded all such excuses as

subterfuges, and in the present instance he was not far wrong.

Dr. Grantly desired to be driven to his father-in-law's lodgings in

the High Street, and hearing from the servant that Mr. Harding was

at his daughter's, followed him to Mrs. Bold's house, and there

found him. The archdeacon was fuming with rage when he got into the

drawing-room, and had by this time nearly forgotten the pusillanimity

of the bishop in the villainy of the chaplain.

"Look at that," said he, throwing Mr. Slope's crumpled note to Mr.

Harding. "I am to be told that if I choose I may have the honour of

seeing Mr. Slope, and that too after a positive engagement with the

bishop."

"But he says the bishop is ill," said Mr. Harding.

"Pshaw! You don't mean to say that you are deceived by such an

excuse as that. He was well enough yesterday. Now I tell you what,

I will see the bishop, and I will tell him also very plainly what I

think of his conduct. I will see him, or else Barchester will soon

be too hot to hold him."

Eleanor was sitting in the room, but Dr. Grantly had hardly noticed

her in his anger. Eleanor now said to him with the greatest innocence,

"I wish you had seen Mr. Slope, Dr. Grantly, because I think perhaps

it might have done good."

The archdeacon turned on her with almost brutal wrath. Had she at

once owned that she had accepted Mr. Slope for her second husband, he

could hardly have felt more convinced of her belonging body and soul

to the Slope and Proudie party than he now did on hearing her express

such a wish as this. Poor Eleanor!

"See him!" said the archdeacon glaring at her. "And why am I to be

called on to lower myself in the world's esteem and my own by coming

in contact with such a man as that? I have hitherto lived among

gentlemen, and do not mean to be dragged into other company by

anybody."

Poor Mr. Harding well knew what the archdeacon meant, but Eleanor

was as innocent as her own baby. She could not understand how the

archdeacon could consider himself to be dragged into bad company

by condescending to speak to Mr. Slope for a few minutes when the

interests of her father might be served by his doing so.

"I was talking for a full hour yesterday to Mr. Slope," said she with

some little assumption of dignity, "and I did not find myself lowered

by it."

"Perhaps not," said he. "But if you'll be good enough to allow me, I

shall judge for myself in such matters. And I tell you what, Eleanor;

it will be much better for you if you will allow yourself to be

guided also by the advice of those who are your friends. If you do

not, you will be apt to find that you have no friends left who can

advise you."

Eleanor blushed up to the roots of her hair. But even now she had

not the slightest idea of what was passing in the archdeacon's mind.

No thought of love-making or love-receiving had yet found its way to

her heart since the death of poor John Bold, and if it were possible

that such a thought should spring there, the man must be far different

from Mr. Slope that could give it birth.

Nevertheless Eleanor blushed deeply, for she felt she was charged

with improper conduct, and she did so with the more inward pain

because her father did not instantly rally to her side--that father

for whose sake and love she had submitted to be the receptacle of Mr.

Slope's confidence. She had given a detailed account of all that had

passed to her father, and though he had not absolutely agreed with

her about Mr. Slope's views touching the hospital, yet he had said

nothing to make her think that she had been wrong in talking to him.

She was far too angry to humble herself before her brother-in-law.

Indeed, she had never accustomed herself to be very abject before

him, and they had never been confidential allies. "I do not the

least understand what you mean, Dr. Grantly," said she. "I do not

know that I can accuse myself of doing anything that my friends

should disapprove. Mr. Slope called here expressly to ask what

Papa's wishes were about the hospital, and as I believe he called

with friendly intentions, I told him."

"Friendly intentions!" sneered the archdeacon.

"I believe you greatly wrong Mr. Slope," continued Eleanor, "but

I have explained this to Papa already; and as you do not seem to

approve of what I say, Dr. Grantly, I will with your permission leave

you and Papa together;" so saying, she walked slowly out of the room.

All this made Mr. Harding very unhappy. It was quite clear that

the archdeacon and his wife had made up their minds that Eleanor

was going to marry Mr. Slope. Mr. Harding could not really bring

himself to think that she would do so, but yet he could not deny

that circumstances made it appear that the man's company was not

disagreeable to her. She was now constantly seeing him, and yet she

received visits from no other unmarried gentleman. She always took

his part when his conduct was canvassed, although she was aware how

personally objectionable he was to her friends. Then, again, Mr.

Harding felt that if she should choose to become Mrs. Slope, he had

nothing that he could justly urge against her doing so. She had full

right to please herself, and he, as a father, could not say that she

would disgrace herself by marrying a clergyman who stood so well

before the world as Mr. Slope did. As for quarrelling with his

daughter on account of such a marriage, and separating himself from

her as the archdeacon had threatened to do, that, with Mr. Harding,

would be out of the question. If she should determine to marry this

man, he must get over his aversion as best he could. His Eleanor,

his own old companion in their old happy home, must still be the

friend of his bosom, the child of his heart. Let who would cast

her off, he would not. If it were fated that he should have to sit

in his old age at the same table with that man whom of all men he

disliked the most, he would meet his fate as best he might. Anything

to him would be preferable to the loss of his daughter.

Such being his feelings, he hardly knew how to take part with Eleanor

against the archdeacon, or with the archdeacon against Eleanor. It

will be said that he should never have suspected her.--Alas! he

never should have done so. But Mr. Harding was by no means a perfect

character. In his indecision, his weakness, his proneness to be led

by others, his want of self-confidence, he was very far from being

perfect. And then it must be remembered that such a marriage as that

which the archdeacon contemplated with disgust, which we who know

Mr. Slope so well would regard with equal disgust, did not appear so

monstrous to Mr. Harding because in his charity he did not hate the

chaplain as the archdeacon did, and as we do.

He was, however, very unhappy when his daughter left the room, and he

had recourse to an old trick of his that was customary to him in his

times of sadness. He began playing some slow tune upon an imaginary

violoncello, drawing one hand slowly backwards and forwards as though

he held a bow in it, and modulating the unreal chords with the other.

"She'll marry that man as sure as two and two make four," said the

practical archdeacon.

"I hope not, I hope not," said the father. "But if she does, what

can I say to her? I have no right to object to him."

"No right!" exclaimed Dr. Grantly.

"No right as her father. He is in my own profession and, for aught

we know, a good man."

To this the archdeacon would by no means assent. It was not well,

however, to argue the case against Eleanor in her own drawing-room,

and so they both walked forth and discussed the matter in all its

bearings under the elm-trees of the close. Mr. Harding also explained

to his son-in-law what had been the purport, at any rate the alleged

purport, of Mr. Slope's last visit to the widow. He, however, stated

that he could not bring himself to believe that Mr. Slope had any real

anxiety such as that he had pretended. "I cannot forget his demeanour

to myself," said Mr. Harding, "and it is not possible that his ideas

should have changed so soon."

"I see it all," said the archdeacon. "The sly _tartuffe_! He thinks

to buy the daughter by providing for the father. He means to show how

powerful he is, how good he is, and how much he is willing to do for

her _beaux yeux_; yes, I see it all now. But we'll be too many for him

yet, Mr. Harding;" he said, turning to his companion with some gravity

and pressing his hand upon the other's arm. "It would, perhaps, be

better for you to lose the hospital than get it on such terms."

"Lose it!" said Mr. Harding; "why I've lost it already. I don't want

it. I've made up my mind to do without it. I'll withdraw altogether.

I'll just go and write a line to the bishop and tell him that I

withdraw my claim altogether."

Nothing would have pleased him better than to be allowed to escape

from the trouble and difficulty in such a manner. But he was now

going too fast for the archdeacon.

"No--no--no! We'll do no such thing," said Dr. Grantly. "We'll still

have the hospital. I hardly doubt but that we'll have it. But not by

Mr. Slope's assistance. If that be necessary, we'll lose it; but we'll

have it, spite of his teeth, if we can. Arabin will be at Plumstead

to-morrow; you must come over and talk to him."

The two now turned into the cathedral library, which was used by the

clergymen of the close as a sort of ecclesiastical club-room, for

writing sermons and sometimes letters; also for reading theological

works and sometimes magazines and newspapers. The theological works

were not disturbed, perhaps, quite as often as from the appearance of

the building the outside public might have been led to expect. Here

the two allies settled on their course of action. The archdeacon

wrote a letter to the bishop, strongly worded, but still respectful,

in which he put forward his father-in-law's claim to the appointment

and expressed his own regret that he had not been able to see his

lordship when he called. Of Mr. Slope he made no mention whatsoever.

It was then settled that Mr. Harding should go out to Plumstead on

the following day, and after considerable discussion on the matter

the archdeacon proposed to ask Eleanor there also, so as to withdraw

her, if possible, from Mr. Slope's attentions. "A week or two," said

he, "may teach her what he is, and while she is there she will be out

of harm's way. Mr. Slope won't come there after her."

Eleanor was not a little surprised when her brother-in-law came back

and very civilly pressed her to go out to Plumstead with her father.

She instantly perceived that her father had been fighting her battles

for her behind her back. She felt thankful to him, and for his sake

she would not show her resentment to the archdeacon by refusing his

invitation. But she could not, she said, go on the morrow; she had

an invitation to drink tea at the Stanhopes, which she had promised

to accept. She would, she added, go with her father on the next day,

if he would wait; or she would follow him.

"The Stanhopes!" said Dr. Grantly. "I did not know you were so

intimate with them."

"I did not know it myself," said she, "till Miss Stanhope called

yesterday. However, I like her very much, and I have promised to go

and play chess with some of them."

"Have they a party there?" said the archdeacon, still fearful of Mr.

Slope.

"Oh, no," said Eleanor; "Miss Stanhope said there was to be nobody

at all. But she had heard that Mary had left me for a few weeks, and

she had learnt from someone that I play chess, and so she came over

on purpose to ask me to go in."

"Well, that's very friendly," said the ex-warden. "They certainly do

look more like foreigners than English people, but I dare say they

are none the worse for that."

The archdeacon was inclined to look upon the Stanhopes with favourable

eyes, and had nothing to object on the matter. It was therefore

arranged that Mr. Harding should postpone his visit to Plumstead for

one day and then take with him Eleanor, the baby, and the nurse.

Mr. Slope is certainly becoming of some importance in Barchester.