There was certainly very much in this to provoke Mrs Crawley. It was not only that she knew well that her cousin would give ample and immediate attention, and lend himself thoroughly to the matter without any idea of payment--but that she could not quite believe that her husband's humility was true humility. She strove to believe it, but she knew that she failed. After all it was only a feeling on her part. There was no argument within herself about it. An unpleasant taste came across the palate of her mind, as such a savour will sometimes, from some unexpected source, come across the palate of the mouth. Well; she could only gulp at it, and swallow it an excuse it. Among the salad that comes from your garden a bitter leaf will now and then make its way into your salad-bowl. Alas, there were so many bitter leaves ever ****** their way into her bowl! 'What I mean is, Josiah, that no long explanation will be needed. I think from what I remember of him, that he would do for us anything that he could do.'
'Then I will go to the man, and will humble myself before him. Even that, hard as it is to me, may be a duty that I owe.' Mr Crawley as he said this was remembering the fact that he was a clergyman of the Church of England, and that he had a rank of his own in the country, which, did he ever do such a thing as go out for dinner in company, would establish for him a certain right of precedence; whereas this attorney, of whom he was speaking, was, so to say, nobody in the eyes of the world.
'There need be no humbling, Josiah, other than that which is due from a man to man in all circumstances. But never mind; we will not talk about that. If it seems good to you, go to Mr Toogood. I think that it is good. May I write to him and say that you will go?'
'I will write to him myself.'
Then the wife paused before she asked the next question--paused for some minute or two, and than asked it with anxious doubt--'And may I go with you, Josiah?'
'Why should two go when one can do the work?' he answered sharply. 'Have we money so much to command?'
'Indeed, no.'
'You should go and do it all, for you are wiser in these things than Iam, were it not that I may not dare to show--that I submit myself to my wife.'
'Nay, my dear!'
'But it is ay, my dear. It is so. This is a thing such as men do; not such as women do, unless they be forlorn and unaided of men. I know that I am weak where you are strong; that I am crazed where you are clear-witted.'
'I meant not that, Josiah. It was of your health that I thought.'
'Nevertheless it is as I say; but, for all that, it may not be that you should do my work. There are those watching me who would say, "Lo! He confesses himself incapable." And then someone would whisper something of a madhouse. Mary, I fear that worse than a prison.'
'May God in His mercy forbid such cruelty!'
'But I must look to it, my dear. Do you think that that woman, who sits at Barchester in high places, disgracing herself and that puny ecclesiastical lord who is her husband--do you think that she would not immure me if she could? She is a she-wolf--only less reasonable than the dumb brute as she sharpens her teeth in malice coming from anger, and not in malice coming from hunger as do the outer wolves of the forest. I tell you, Mary, that if she had a colourable ground for her action, she would swear tomorrow that I am mad.'
'You shall go alone to London.'
'Yes, I will go alone. They shall not say that I cannot yet do my own work as a man should do. I stood up before him, the puny man who is called a bishop, and before her who makes herself great by his littleness, and I scorned them both to their faces. Though the shoes which I had on were broken, as I myself could not but see when I stood, yet I was greater than they were with all their purple and fine linen.'
'But, Josiah, my cousin will not be harsh to you.'
'Well--and if he be not?'
'Ill-usage you can bear; and violent ill-usage, such as that which Mrs Proudie allowed herself to exhibit, you can repay with interest; but kindness seems to be too heavy a burden for you.'
'I will struggle. I will endeavour. I will speak but little, and, if possible, I will listen much. Now, my dear, I will write to this man, and you shall give me the address that is proper for him.' Then he wrote the letter, not accepting a word in the way of dictation from his wife, but 'craving great kindness of a short interview, for which he ventured to become a solicitor, urged thereto by his wife's assurance that one with whom he was connected by family ties would do as much as this for the possible preservation of the honour of the family.' In answer to this Mr Toogood wrote back as follows:--'Dear Mr Crawley, I will be at my office all Thursday morning next from ten to two, and will take care that you shan't be kept waiting for me above ten minutes. You parsons never like waiting. But hadn't you better come and breakfast with me and Maria at nine? Then we'd have a talk as we walked to the office. Yours always, THOMAS TOOGOOD.' And the letter was dated from the attorney's private house in Tavistock Square.
'I am sure he means to be kind,' said Mrs Crawley.
'Doubtless he means to be kind. But kindness is rough;--I will not say unmannerly, as the word would be harsh. I have never even seen the lady whom he calls Maria.'
'She is his wife!'
'So I would venture to suppose; but she is unknown to me. I will write again, and thank him, and say that I will be with him at ten to the moment.'