Framley Parsonage by Anthony Trollope (good books to read for young adults TXT) 📕

refuse them, and barbarous also to have created the fracas of a refusal; but each parcel that was introduced was an additional weight laid on the sore withers of his pride, till the total burden became almost intolerable. All this his wife saw and recognized even in her illness, and did make some slight ineffectual efforts to give him ease; but Lucy in her new power was ruthless, and the chicken to make the chicken-broth was taken out of the basket under his very nose.

But Lucy did not remain long. She had made up her mind what it behoved her to do herself, and she was soon ready to return to Framley. “I shall be back again, Mr. Crawley,” she said, “probably this evening, and I shall stay with her till she is better.” “Nurses don’t want rooms,” she went on to say, when Mr. Crawley muttered something as to there being no bedchamber. “I shall make up some sort of a litter near her; you’ll see that I shall be very snug.” And then she got into the pony-chaise, and drove herself home.

XXXV The Story of King Cophetua

Lucy as she drove herself home had much as to which it was necessary that she should arouse her thoughts. That she would go back and nurse Mrs. Crawley through her fever she was resolved. She was free agent enough to take so much on herself, and to feel sure that she could carry it through. But how was she to redeem her promise about the children? Twenty plans ran through her mind, as to farmhouses in which they might be placed, or cottages which might be hired for them; but all these entailed the want of money; and at the present moment, were not all the inhabitants of the parsonage pledged to a dire economy? This use of the pony-carriage would have been illicit under any circumstances less pressing than the present, for it had been decided that the carriage, and even poor Puck himself, should be sold. She had, however, given her promise about the children, and though her own stock of money was very low, that promise should be redeemed.

When she reached the parsonage she was of course full of her schemes, but she found that another subject of interest had come up in her absence, which prevented her from obtaining the undivided attention of her sister-in-law to her present plans. Lady Lufton had returned that day, and immediately on her return had sent up a note addressed to Miss Lucy Robarts, which note was in Fanny’s hands when Lucy stepped out of the pony-carriage. The servant who brought it had asked for an answer, and a verbal answer had been sent, saying that Miss Robarts was away from home, and would herself send a reply when she returned. It cannot be denied that the colour came to Lucy’s face, and that her hand trembled when she took the note from Fanny in the drawing-room. Everything in the world to her might depend on what that note contained; and yet she did not open it at once, but stood with it in her hand, and when Fanny pressed her on the subject, still endeavoured to bring back the conversation to the subject of Mrs. Crawley.

But yet her mind was intent on the letter, and she had already augured ill from the handwriting and even from the words of the address. Had Lady Lufton intended to be propitious, she would have directed her letter to Miss Robarts, without the Christian name; so at least argued Lucy⁠—quite unconsciously, as one does argue in such matters. One forms half the conclusions of one’s life without any distinct knowledge that the premises have even passed through one’s mind.

They were now alone together, as Mark was out.

“Won’t you open her letter?” said Mrs. Robarts.

“Yes, immediately; but, Fanny, I must speak to you about Mrs. Crawley first. I must go back there this evening, and stay there; I have promised to do so, and shall certainly keep my promise. I have promised also that the children shall be taken away, and we must arrange about that. It is dreadful, the state she is in. There is no one to see to her but Mr. Crawley, and the children are altogether left to themselves.”

“Do you mean that you are going back to stay?”

“Yes, certainly; I have made a distinct promise that I would do so. And about the children; could not you manage for the children, Fanny⁠—not perhaps in the house; at least not at first perhaps?” And yet during all the time that she was thus speaking and pleading for the Crawleys, she was endeavouring to imagine what might be the contents of that letter which she held between her fingers.

“And is she so very ill?” asked Mrs. Robarts.

“I cannot say how ill she may be, except this, that she certainly has typhus fever. They have had some doctor or doctor’s assistant from Silverbridge; but it seems to me that they are greatly in want of better advice.”

“But, Lucy, will you not read your letter? It is astonishing to me that you should be so indifferent about it.”

Lucy was anything but indifferent, and now did proceed to tear the envelope. The note was very short, and ran in these words⁠—

My dear Miss Robarts⁠—I am particularly anxious to see you, and shall feel much obliged to you if you can step over to me here, at Framley Court. I must apologize for taking this liberty with you, but you will probably feel that an interview here would suit us both better than one at the parsonage. Truly yours,

M. Lufton.

“There; I am in for it now,” said Lucy, handing the note over to Mrs. Robarts. “I shall have to be talked to as never poor girl was talked to before; and when one thinks of what I have done, it is hard.”

“Yes; and of what you have not done.”

“Exactly; and of what I have not