CHAPTER XIII.

STOPPED PAYMENT

THE very Tuesday morning on which Mr Johnson was going to show the

fashions, the post-woman brought two letters to the house. I say the

post-woman, but I should say the postman’s wife. He was a lame

shoemaker, a very clean, honest man, much respected in the town; but he

never brought the letters round except on unusual occasions, such as

Christmas Day or Good Friday; and on those days the letters, which

should have been delivered at eight in the morning, did not make their

appearance until two or three in the afternoon, for every one liked poor

Thomas, and gave him a welcome on these festive occasions. He used to

say, “He was welly stawed wi’ eating, for there were three or four

houses where nowt would serve ’em but he must share in their breakfast;”

and by the time he had done his last breakfast, he came to some other

friend who was beginning dinner; but come what might in the way of

temptation, Tom was always sober, civil, and smiling; and, as Miss

Jenkyns used to say, it was a lesson in patience, that she doubted not

would call out that precious quality in some minds, where, but for

Thomas, it might have lain dormant and undiscovered. Patience was

certainly very dormant in Miss Jenkyns’s mind. She was always expecting

letters, and always drumming on the table till the post-woman had called

or gone past. On Christmas Day and Good Friday she drummed from

breakfast till church, from church-time till two o’clock—unless when the

fire wanted stirring, when she invariably knocked down the fire-irons,

and scolded Miss Matty for it. But equally certain was the hearty

welcome and the good dinner for Thomas; Miss Jenkyns standing over him

like a bold dragoon, questioning him as to his children—what they were

doing—what school they went to; upbraiding him if another was likely to

make its appearance, but sending even the little babies the shilling and

the mince-pie which was her gift to all the children, with half-a-crown

in addition for both father and mother. The post was not half of so

much consequence to dear Miss Matty; but not for the world would she

have diminished Thomas’s welcome and his dole, though I could see that

she felt rather shy over the ceremony, which had been regarded by Miss

Jenkyns as a glorious opportunity for giving advice and benefiting her

fellow-creatures. Miss Matty would steal the money all in a lump into

his hand, as if she were ashamed of herself. Miss Jenkyns gave him each

individual coin separate, with a “There! that’s for yourself; that’s for

Jenny,” etc. Miss Matty would even beckon Martha out of the kitchen

while he ate his food: and once, to my knowledge, winked at its rapid

disappearance into a blue cotton pocket-handkerchief. Miss Jenkyns

almost scolded him if he did not leave a clean plate, however heaped it

might have been, and gave an injunction with every mouthful.

[Picture: Standing over him like a bold dragoon]

I have wandered a long way from the two letters that awaited us on the

breakfast-table that Tuesday morning. Mine was from my father. Miss

Matty’s was printed. My father’s was just a man’s letter; I mean it was

very dull, and gave no information beyond that he was well, that they

had had a good deal of rain, that trade was very stagnant, and there

were many disagreeable rumours afloat. He then asked me if I knew

whether Miss Matty still retained her shares in the Town and County

Bank, as there were very unpleasant reports about it; though nothing

more than he had always foreseen, and had prophesied to Miss Jenkyns

years ago, when she would invest their little property in it—the only

unwise step that clever woman had ever taken, to his knowledge (the only

time she ever acted against his advice, I knew). However, if anything

had gone wrong, of course I was not to think of leaving Miss Matty while

I could be of any use, etc.

“Who is your letter from, my dear? Mine is a very civil invitation,

signed ‘Edwin Wilson,’ asking me to attend an important meeting of the

shareholders of the Town and County Bank, to be held in Drumble, on

Thursday the twenty-first. I am sure, it is very attentive of them to

remember me.”

I did not like to hear of this “important meeting,” for, though I did

not know much about business, I feared it confirmed what my father said:

however, I thought, ill news always came fast enough, so I resolved to

say nothing about my alarm, and merely told her that my father was well,

and sent his kind regards to her. She kept turning over and admiring

her letter. At last she spoke—

“I remember their sending one to Deborah just like this; but that I did

not wonder at, for everybody knew she was so clear-headed. I am afraid

I could not help them much; indeed, if they came to accounts, I should

be quite in the way, for I never could do sums in my head. Deborah, I

know, rather wished to go, and went so far as to order a new bonnet for

the occasion: but when the time came she had a bad cold; so they sent

her a very polite account of what they had done. Chosen a director, I

think it was. Do you think they want me to help them to choose a

director? I am sure I should choose your father at once!”

“My father has no shares in the bank,” said I.

“Oh, no! I remember. He objected very much to Deborah’s buying any, I

believe. But she was quite the woman of business, and always judged for

herself; and here, you see, they have paid eight per cent. all these

years.”

It was a very uncomfortable subject to me, with my half-knowledge; so I

thought I would change the conversation, and I asked at what time she

thought we had better go and see the fashions. “Well, my dear,” she

said, “the thing is this: it is not etiquette to go till after twelve;

but then, you see, all Cranford will be there, and one does not like to

be too curious about dress and trimmings and caps with all the world

looking on. It is never genteel to be over-curious on these occasions.

Deborah had the knack of always looking as if the latest fashion was

nothing new to her; a manner she had caught from Lady Arley, who did

see all the new modes in London, you know. So I thought we would just

slip down this morning, soon after breakfast—for I do want half-a-pound

of tea—and then we could go up and examine the things at our leisure,

and see exactly how my new silk gown must be made; and then, after

twelve, we could go with our minds disengaged, and free from thoughts

of dress.”

We began to talk of Miss Matty’s new silk gown. I discovered that it

would be really the first time in her life that she had had to choose

anything of consequence for herself: for Miss Jenkyns had always been

the more decided character, whatever her taste might have been; and it

is astonishing how such people carry the world before them by the mere

force of will. Miss Matty anticipated the sight of the glossy folds

with as much delight as if the five sovereigns, set apart for the

purchase, could buy all the silks in the shop; and (remembering my own

loss of two hours in a toyshop before I could tell on what wonder to

spend a silver threepence) I was very glad that we were going early,

that dear Miss Matty might have leisure for the delights of perplexity.

If a happy sea-green could be met with, the gown was to be sea-green: if

not, she inclined to maize, and I to silver gray; and we discussed the

requisite number of breadths until we arrived at the shop-door. We were

to buy the tea, select the silk, and then clamber up the iron corkscrew

stairs that led into what was once a loft, though now a fashion

show-room.

The young men at Mr Johnson’s had on their best looks; and their best

cravats, and pivoted themselves over the counter with surprising

activity. They wanted to show us upstairs at once; but on the principle

of business first and pleasure afterwards, we stayed to purchase the

tea. Here Miss Matty’s absence of mind betrayed itself. If she was

made aware that she had been drinking green tea at any time, she always

thought it her duty to lie awake half through the night afterward (I

have known her take it in ignorance many a time without such effects),

and consequently green tea was prohibited the house; yet to-day she

herself asked for the obnoxious article, under the impression that she

was talking about the silk. However, the mistake was soon rectified;

and then the silks were unrolled in good truth. By this time the shop

was pretty well filled, for it was Cranford market-day, and many of the

farmers and country people from the neighbourhood round came in,

sleeking down their hair, and glancing shyly about, from under their

eyelids, as anxious to take back some notion of the unusual gaiety to

the mistress or the lasses at home, and yet feeling that they were out

of place among the smart shopmen and gay shawls and summer prints. One

honest-looking man, however, made his way up to the counter at which we

stood, and boldly asked to look at a shawl or two. The other country

folk confined themselves to the grocery side; but our neighbour was

evidently too full of some kind intention towards mistress, wife or

daughter, to be shy; and it soon became a question with me, whether he

or Miss Matty would keep their shopmen the longest time. He thought

each shawl more beautiful than the last; and, as for Miss Matty, she

smiled and sighed over each fresh bale that was brought out; one colour

set off another, and the heap together would, as she said, make even the

rainbow look poor.

“I am afraid,” said she, hesitating, “whichever I choose I shall wish I

had taken another. Look at this lovely crimson! it would be so warm in

winter. But spring is coming on, you know. I wish I could have a gown

for every season,” said she, dropping her voice—as we all did in

Cranford whenever we talked of anything we wished for but could not

afford. “However,” she continued in a louder and more cheerful tone, “it

would give me a great deal of trouble to take care of them if I had

them; so, I think, I’ll only take one. But which must it be, my dear?”

And now she hovered over a lilac with yellow spots, while I pulled out a

quiet sage-green that had faded into insignificance under the more

brilliant colours, but which was nevertheless a good silk in its humble

way. Our attention was called off to our neighbour. He had chosen a

shawl of about thirty shillings’ value; and his face looked broadly

happy, under the anticipation, no doubt, of the pleasant surprise he

would give to some Molly or Jenny at home; he had tugged a leathern

purse out of his breeches-pocket, and had offered a five-pound note in

payment for the shawl, and for some parcels which had been brought round

to him from the grocery counter; and it was just at this point that he

attracted our notice. The shopman was examining the note with a

puzzled, doubtful air.

“Town and County Bank! I am not sure, sir, but I believe we have

received a warning against notes issued by this bank only this morning.

I will just step and ask Mr Johnson, sir; but I’m afraid I must trouble

you for payment in cash, or in a note of a different bank.”

I never saw a man’s countenance fall so suddenly into dismay and

bewilderment. It was almost piteous to see the rapid change.

“Dang it!” said he, striking his fist down on the table, as if to try

which was the harder, “the chap talks as if notes and gold were to be

had for the picking up.”

Miss Matty had forgotten her silk gown in her interest for the man. I

don’t think she had caught the name of the bank, and in my nervous

cowardice I was anxious that she should not; and so I began admiring the

yellow-spotted lilac gown that I had been utterly condemning only a

minute before. But it was of no use.

“What bank was it? I mean, what bank did your note belong to?”

“Town and County Bank.”

“Let me see it,” said she quietly to the shopman, gently taking it out

of his hand, as he brought it back to return it to the farmer.

Mr Johnson was very sorry, but, from information he had received, the

notes issued by that bank were little better than waste paper.

“I don’t understand it,” said Miss Matty to me in a low voice. “That is

our bank, is it not?—the Town and County Bank?”

“Yes,” said I. “This lilac silk will just match the ribbons in your new

cap, I believe,” I continued, holding up the folds so as to catch the

light, and wishing that the man would make haste and be gone, and yet

having a new wonder, that had only just sprung up, how far it was wise

or right in me to allow Miss Matty to make this expensive purchase, if

the affairs of the bank were really so bad as the refusal of the note

implied.

But Miss Matty put on the soft dignified manner, peculiar to her, rarely

used, and yet which became her so well, and laying her hand gently on

mine, she said—

“Never mind the silks for a few minutes, dear. I don’t understand you,

sir,” turning now to the shopman, who had been attending to the farmer.

“Is this a forged note?”

“Oh, no, ma’am. It is a true note of its kind; but you see, ma’am, it

is a joint-stock bank, and there are reports out that it is likely to

break. Mr Johnson is only doing his duty, ma’am, as I am sure Mr Dobson

knows.”

But Mr Dobson could not respond to the appealing bow by any answering

smile. He was turning the note absently over in his fingers, looking

gloomily enough at the parcel containing the lately-chosen shawl.

“It’s hard upon a poor man,” said he, “as earns every farthing with the

sweat of his brow. However, there’s no help for it. You must take back

your shawl, my man; Lizzle must go on with her cloak for a while. And

yon figs for the little ones—I promised them to ’em—I’ll take them; but

the ’bacco, and the other things”—

“I will give you five sovereigns for your note, my good man,” said Miss

Matty. “I think there is some great mistake about it, for I am one of

the shareholders, and I’m sure they would have told me if things had not

been going on right.”

The shopman whispered a word or two across the table to Miss Matty. She

looked at him with a dubious air.

“Perhaps so,” said she. “But I don’t pretend to understand business; I

only know that if it is going to fail, and if honest people are to lose

their money because they have taken our notes—I can’t explain myself,”

said she, suddenly becoming aware that she had got into a long sentence

with four people for audience; “only I would rather exchange my gold for

the note, if you please,” turning to the farmer, “and then you can take

your wife the shawl. It is only going without my gown a few days

longer,” she continued, speaking to me. “Then, I have no doubt,

everything will be cleared up.”

“But if it is cleared up the wrong way?” said I.

“Why, then it will only have been common honesty in me, as a

shareholder, to have given this good man the money. I am quite clear

about it in my own mind; but, you know, I can never speak quite as

comprehensibly as others can, only you must give me your note, Mr

Dobson, if you please, and go on with your purchases with these

sovereigns.”

[Picture: You must give me your note, Mr Dobson, if you please]

The man looked at her with silent gratitude—too awkward to put his

thanks into words; but he hung back for a minute or two, fumbling with

his note.

“I’m loth to make another one lose instead of me, if it is a loss; but,

you see, five pounds is a deal of money to a man with a family; and, as

you say, ten to one in a day or two the note will be as good as gold

again.”

“No hope of that, my friend,” said the shopman.

“The more reason why I should take it,” said Miss Matty quietly. She

pushed her sovereigns towards the man, who slowly laid his note down in

exchange. “Thank you. I will wait a day or two before I purchase any

of these silks; perhaps you will then have a greater choice. My dear,

will you come upstairs?”

We inspected the fashions with as minute and curious an interest as if

the gown to be made after them had been bought. I could not see that

the little event in the shop below had in the least damped Miss Matty’s

curiosity as to the make of sleeves or the sit of skirts. She once or

twice exchanged congratulations with me on our private and leisurely

view of the bonnets and shawls; but I was, all the time, not so sure

that our examination was so utterly private, for I caught glimpses of a

figure dodging behind the cloaks and mantles; and, by a dexterous move,

I came face to face with Miss Pole, also in morning costume (the

principal feature of which was her being without teeth, and wearing a

veil to conceal the deficiency), come on the same errand as ourselves.

But she quickly took her departure, because, as she said, she had a bad

headache, and did not feel herself up to conversation.

As we came down through the shop, the civil Mr Johnson was awaiting us;

he had been informed of the exchange of the note for gold, and with much

good feeling and real kindness, but with a little want of tact, he

wished to condole with Miss Matty, and impress upon her the true state

of the case. I could only hope that he had heard an exaggerated rumour

for he said that her shares were worse than nothing, and that the bank

could not pay a shilling in the pound. I was glad that Miss Matty

seemed still a little incredulous; but I could not tell how much of this

was real or assumed, with that self-control which seemed habitual to

ladies of Miss Matty’s standing in Cranford, who would have thought

their dignity compromised by the slightest expression of surprise,

dismay, or any similar feeling to an inferior in station, or in a public

shop. However, we walked home very silently. I am ashamed to say, I

believe I was rather vexed and annoyed at Miss Matty’s conduct in taking

the note to herself so decidedly. I had so set my heart upon her having

a new silk gown, which she wanted sadly; in general she was so undecided

anybody might turn her round; in this case I had felt that it was no use

attempting it, but I was not the less put out at the result.

Somehow, after twelve o’clock, we both acknowledged to a sated curiosity

about the fashions, and to a certain fatigue of body (which was, in

fact, depression of mind) that indisposed us to go out again. But still

we never spoke of the note; till, all at once, something possessed me to

ask Miss Matty if she would think it her duty to offer sovereigns for

all the notes of the Town and County Bank she met with? I could have

bitten my tongue out the minute I had said it. She looked up rather

sadly, and as if I had thrown a new perplexity into her already

distressed mind; and for a minute or two she did not speak. Then she

said—my own dear Miss Matty—without a shade of reproach in her voice—

“My dear, I never feel as if my mind was what people call very strong;

and it’s often hard enough work for me to settle what I ought to do with

the case right before me. I was very thankful to—I was very thankful,

that I saw my duty this morning, with the poor man standing by me; but

it’s rather a strain upon me to keep thinking and thinking what I should

do if such and such a thing happened; and, I believe, I had rather wait

and see what really does come; and I don’t doubt I shall be helped then

if I don’t fidget myself, and get too anxious beforehand. You know,

love, I’m not like Deborah. If Deborah had lived, I’ve no doubt she

would have seen after them, before they had got themselves into this

state.”

We had neither of us much appetite for dinner, though we tried to talk

cheerfully about indifferent things. When we returned into the

drawing-room, Miss Matty unlocked her desk and began to look over her

account-books. I was so penitent for what I had said in the morning,

that I did not choose to take upon myself the presumption to suppose

that I could assist her; I rather left her alone, as, with puzzled brow,

her eye followed her pen up and down the ruled page. By-and-by she shut

the book, locked the desk, and came and drew a chair to mine, where I

sat in moody sorrow over the fire. I stole my hand into hers; she

clasped it, but did not speak a word. At last she said, with forced

composure in her voice, “If that bank goes wrong, I shall lose one

hundred and forty-nine pounds thirteen shillings and fourpence a year; I

shall only have thirteen pounds a year left.” I squeezed her hand hard

and tight. I did not know what to say. Presently (it was too dark to

see her face) I felt her fingers work convulsively in my grasp; and I

knew she was going to speak again. I heard the sobs in her voice as she

said, “I hope it’s not wrong—not wicked—but, oh! I am so glad poor

Deborah is spared this. She could not have borne to come down in the

world—she had such a noble, lofty spirit.”

This was all she said about the sister who had insisted upon investing

their little property in that unlucky bank. We were later in lighting

the candle than usual that night, and until that light shamed us into

speaking, we sat together very silently and sadly.

However, we took to our work after tea with a kind of forced

cheerfulness (which soon became real as far as it went), talking of that

never-ending wonder, Lady Glenmire’s engagement. Miss Matty was almost

coming round to think it a good thing.

“I don’t mean to deny that men are troublesome in a house. I don’t

judge from my own experience, for my father was neatness itself, and

wiped his shoes on coming in as carefully as any woman; but still a man

has a sort of knowledge of what should be done in difficulties, that it

is very pleasant to have one at hand ready to lean upon. Now, Lady

Glenmire, instead of being tossed about, and wondering where she is to

settle, will be certain of a home among pleasant and kind people, such

as our good Miss Pole and Mrs Forrester. And Mr Hoggins is really a

very personable man; and as for his manners, why, if they are not very

polished, I have known people with very good hearts and very clever

minds too, who were not what some people reckoned refined, but who were

both true and tender.”

She fell off into a soft reverie about Mr Holbrook, and I did not

interrupt her, I was so busy maturing a plan I had had in my mind for

some days, but which this threatened failure of the bank had brought to

a crisis. That night, after Miss Matty went to bed, I treacherously

lighted the candle again, and sat down in the drawing-room to compose a

letter to the Aga Jenkyns, a letter which should affect him if he were

Peter, and yet seem a mere statement of dry facts if he were a stranger.

The church clock pealed out two before I had done.

The next morning news came, both official and otherwise, that the Town

and County Bank had stopped payment. Miss Matty was ruined.

She tried to speak quietly to me; but when she came to the actual fact

that she would have but about five shillings a week to live upon, she

could not restrain a few tears.

“I am not crying for myself, dear,” said she, wiping them away; “I

believe I am crying for the very silly thought of how my mother would

grieve if she could know; she always cared for us so much more than for

herself. But many a poor person has less, and I am not very

extravagant, and, thank God, when the neck of mutton, and Martha’s

wages, and the rent are paid, I have not a farthing owing. Poor Martha!

I think she’ll be sorry to leave me.”

Miss Matty smiled at me through her tears, and she would fain have had

me see only the smile, not the tears.