August 18, 2025 • 29 mins
In this captivating novella by the renowned Elizabeth Gaskell, we delve into the life and memories of the aristocratic Lady Ludlow, as narrated by her young charge, Margaret Dawson. Lady Ludlow embodies the resistance of the old English gentry to embrace social reform and technological advancements, including education for the less fortunate and a more lenient approach to religion. Through her reflections on friends from the tumultuous times of the French Revolution, she seeks to protect and mentor the many young ladies under her care. [Summary by Rosie]
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Speaker 1 (00:00):
Chapter eleven of My Lady Ludlow. This is a LibriVox recording.
All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more
information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox dot org. Recording
by Rosie. My Lady Ludlow by Elizabeth Gaskell, chapter eleven.
(00:20):
But I don't see how my lady could think it
was over education that made Henry Gregson break his thigh,
for the manner in which he met with the accident.
Was this mister Horner, who had fallen sadly out of
health since his wife's death, had attached himself greatly to
Harry Gregson. Now, mister Horner had a cold manner to everyone,
and never spoke more than was necessary at the best
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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.
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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 fulfill. The only living creature to whom the
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staid mister Horner could be said to be attached was
Harry Gregson. To my lady, he was a faithful and
devoted servant, looking keenly after her interests, and anxious to
forward them at any cost of trouble to himself. But
the more shrewd mister Horner was, the more probability was
there of his being annoyed at certain peculiarities of opinion,
which my Lady held with a quiet, gentle pertinacity, against
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which no arguments based on mere worldly and business calculations
made any way. This frequent opposition to views which mister
Horner entertained, although it did not interfere with this since
respect which the Lady and the steward felt for each other,
yet prevented any warmer feeling of affection from coming in.
It seems strange to say it, but I must repeat it.
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The only person for whom, since his wife's death, mister
Horner seemed to feel any love was the little imp
Harry Gregson, with his bright, watchful eyes, his tangled hair
hanging right down to his eyebrows. For all the world
like a sky terrier. This lad, half gipsy and whole poacher,
as many people esteemed him, hung about the silent respectable
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stayed mister Horner and followed his steps with something of
the affectionate fidelity of the dog which he resembled. I
suspect this demonstration of attachment to his person on Harry
Gregson's part was what one mister Horner's regard. In the
first instance, the steward had only chosen the lad out
as the cleverest instrument he could find for his purpose.
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And I don't mean to say that if Harry had
not been almost as shrewd as mister Horner himself was,
both by original disposition and subsequent experience, the steward would
have taken to him as he did. Let the lad
have shown ever so much affection for him. But even
to Harry, mister Horner was silent. Still it was pleasant
to find himself in many ways so readily understood to
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perceive that the crumbs of knowledge he let fall were
picked up by his little follower and hoarded like gold.
That here was one to hate the persons and things
whom mister Horner coldly disliked, and to reverence that admire
all those for whom he had any regard. Mister Horner
had never had a child, and unconsciously, I suppose something
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of the paternal feeling had begun to develop itself in
him Towards Harry Gregson. I heard one or two things
from different people which have always made me fancy that
mister Horner secretly and almost unconsciously hoped that Harry Gregson
might be trained so as to be first his clerk,
and next his assistant, and finally his successor in his
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stewardship to the Hanbury Estates, and finally his successor in
his stewardship to the Hanbury Estates. Harry's disgrace with my
lady in consequence of his reading the letter was a
deeper blow to mister Horner than his quiet manner would
ever have led any one to suppose, or than Lady
Ludlow ever dreamed of inflicting. I am sure probably Harry
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had a short, stern rebuke from mister Horner at the time,
for his manner was always hard, even to those he
cared for the most. But Harry's love was not to
be daunted or quelled by a few sharp words. I
dare say, from what I heard of them afterwards, that
Harry accompanied mister Horner in his walk over the farm
the very day of the rebuke, his presence apparently unnoticed
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by the agent by whom his absence would have been
painfully felt. Nevertheless, that was the way of it, as
I have been told. Mister Horner never bade Harry go
with him, never thanked him for going, or being at
his heels, ready to run on any errands straight as
the crow flies, to his point, and back to heel
in as short a time as possible. Yet, if Harry
were away, mister Horner never inquired the reason from any
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of the men who might be supposed to know whether
he was detained by his father or otherwise engaged. He
never asked Harry himself where he had been. But Miss
Galindo said that those laborers who knew mister Horner well
told her that he was always more quick eyed to shortcomings,
more savage like in fault finding on those days when
the lad was absent. Miss Galindo indeed was my great
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authority for most of the village news which I heard.
She it was who gave me the particulars of poor
Harry's accident. You see, my dear, she said, the little
poacher has taken some unaccountable fancy to my master. This
was the name by which Miss Galindo always spoke of
mister Horner to me, even since she had been, as
she called it, appointed his clerk. Now, if I had
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twenty hearts to lose, I could never spare a bit
of one of them for that good gray, square severe man.
But different people have different tastes. And here is that
little imp of a gipsy tinker, ready to turn slave
for my master. And odd enough, my master, who I
should have said beforehand, would have made short work of
Imp and IMP's family and have sent Hall the bang
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beggar after them in no time. My master, as they
tell me, is in his way quite fond of the lad,
and if he could, without vexing my lady too much,
he would have made him what the folks here called
a latiner. However, last night it seems that there was
a letter of some importance forgotten. I can't tell you
what it was about, my dear, though I know perfectly well,
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but service obliege as well as no bless and you
must take my word for it that it was important,
and one that I am surprised my master could forget
till too late for the post. The poor, good orderly
man is not what he was before his wife's death. Well,
it seems that he was sore annoyed by his forgetfulness,
And well he might be, and it was all the
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more vexatious, as he had no one to blame but himself.
As for that matter, I always scold somebody else when
I am in fault, but I suppose my master would
never think of doing that else It's a mighty relief. However,
he could eat no tea and was altogether put out
in gloomy, and the little faithful implad, perceiving all of this,
I suppose, got up like a page in an old ballad,
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and said he would run for his life across country
to Comberford, and see if he could not get there
before the bags were made up. So my master gave
him the letter, and nothing more was heard of the
poor fellow till this morning. For the father thought his
son was sleeping in mister Horner's barn, as he does occasionally,
it seems, and my master as was very natural that
he had gone to his father's and he had fallen
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down the old stone quarry, had he not. Yes, sure enough,
mister Gray had been up here fretting my lady with
some of his new fangled schemes. And because the young
man could not have it all his own way, from
what I understand, he was put out and thought he
would go home by the back lane instead of through
the village, where the folks would notice if the parson
looked glum. But however, it was a mercy, and I
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don't mind saying so, I and meaning it too, though
it may be like methodism. For as mister Gray walked
by the quarry, he heard a groan, and at first
he thought it was a lamb fallen down, and he
stood still, and then he heard it again, and then
I suppose he looked down and saw Harry. So he
let himself down by the boughs of the tree to
the ledge, where Harry lay half dead. And with his
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poor thigh broken. There he had lain ever since the
night before. He had been returning to tell the Master
that he had safely posted the letter. And the first
words he said when they recovered him from the exhausted
state he was in were Miss Galindo tried hard not
to whimper as she said it. It was in time, sir,
I see it. I put it in the bag with
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my own eyes. But where is he asked I how
did mister Gray get him out? Aye? There it is.
You see why the old gentleman. I daren't say devil
in Lady Ludlow's house is not so black as he
has painted. And mister Gray must have a deal of
good in him, as I say at times and then
the others when he has gone against me, I can't
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bear him, and think hanging too good for him. But
he lifted the poor lad as if he had been
a baby, I suppose, and carried him up the great
ledges that were formerly used for steps, and laid him
soft and easy on the wayside grass, and ran home
and got help and a door, and had him carried
to his house and laid on his bed, And then
somehow for the first time either he or any one
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else perceived it, he himself was all over blood, his
own blood. He had broken a blood vessel. And there
he lies in the little dressing room, as white and
as still as if he were dead, And the little
imp in mister Gray's own bed sound asleep. Now his
leg is set just as if linen sheets and a
feather bed were his native element. As one may say, really,
now he is doing so well, I've no patience with
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him lying there where mister Gray ought to be. It
is just what my lady always prophesied would come to
pass if there was any confusion of ranks. Poor mister Gray,
said I, thinking of his flushed face and his feverish,
restless ways, when he had been calling on my lady
not an hour before his exertions on Harry's behalf. And
I told Miss Galindo how ill I had thought him, Yes,
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said she, And that was the reason my lady had
sent for doctor Trevor. Well it has fallen out admirably,
for he looked well after that old donkey of a
prince and saw that he made no blunders. Now that
old donkey of a prince meant the village surgeon mister Prince,
between whom and Miss Galindo, there was war to the knife,
as they often met in the cottages when there was illness,
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and she had her queer old recipes, which he, with
his grand Pharmacopeia, held in infinite contempt. And the consequence
of their squabbling had been not long before this very
time that he had established a kind of rule that
into whatever sick room miss Galindo was admitted there, he
refused to visit. But Miss Galindo's prescriptions and visits cost
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nothing and were often backed by kitchen physic. So though
it was true that she never came, but she scolded
about something or other, she was generally preferred as medical
attendant to me, Prince. Yes, the old Donkey is obliged
to tolerate me and be civil to me, for you see,
I got there first and had possession, as it were.
And yet, my Lord the Donkey likes the credit of
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attending the parson and being in consultation with so grand
a county town doctor as doctor Trevor, and Doctor Trevor
is an old friend of mine. She sighed a little sometime,
I may tell you why, and treats me with infinite
bowing and respect. So the donkey not to be out
of medical fashion, bows too, though it is sadly against
the grain. And he pulled a face as if he
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had heard a slate pencil gritting against a slate. When
I told Doctor Trevor, I meant to sit up with
the two lads, for I call mister Gray little more
than a lad, and a pretty conceited one too at times.
But why should you set up, miss Galindo. It will
tire you sadly, not it. You see, there is Gregson's
mother to keep quiet, for she sits by her lad,
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fretting and sobbing, so that I'm afraid of her disturbing
mister Gray. And there's mister Gray to keep quiet for
Doctor Trevor says his life depends on it. And there
is medicine to be given to the one, and bandages
to be attended to for the other, and the wild
horde of gipsy brothers and sisters to be turned out,
and the father to be held in from showing too
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much gratitude to mister Gray, who can't hear it, and
who is to do it all but me? The good
servant is old Lame Betty, who once lived with me
and would leave me because she said I was always bothering.
There was a good deal of truth in what she said,
I grant, but she need not have said it. A
good deal of truth is best let alone at the
bottom of the well. And what can she do? Deaf
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as ever she can be too, So Miss Galindo went
her ways. But not the less was she at her
post in the morning, a little crosser and more silent
than usual. But the first was not to be wondered at,
and the last was rather a blessing. Lady Ludlow had
been extremely anxious about both mister Gray and Harry Gregson.
Kind and thoughtful in any case of illness and accident
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she always was, But somehow in this the feeling that
she was not quite what shall I call it? Friends?
Seems hardly the right word to use as to the
possible feeling between the Countess Ludlow and the little vagabond messenger,
who had only once been in her presence. That she
had hardly parted from either, as she could have wished
to do had death been near, made her more than
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usually anxious. Doctor Trevor was not to spare obtaining the
best medical advice the county could afford. Whatever he ordered
in the way of diet was to be prepared under
missus Medlicott's own eye, and sent down from the hall
to the parsonage. As mister Horner had given somewhat similar
directions in the case of Harry Gregson. At least there
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was rather a multiplicity of counselors and dainties than any
lack of them, And the second night mister Horner insisted
on taking the superintendence of the nursing himself, and sat
and snored by Harry's bedside, while the poor exhausted mother
lay by her child, thinking that she watched him, but
in reality fast asleep. As Miss Galindo told us for
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distrusting anyone's powers of watching and nursing but her own.
She had stolen across the quiet village street in cloak
and dressing gown, and found mister Gray in vain, trying
to reach the cup of barley water, which mister Horner
had placed just beyond his reach. In consequence of mister
Gray's illness, we had to have a strange curate to
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do duty, a man who dropped his hes and hurried
through the service, and yet had time enough to stand
in my lady's way, bowing to her as she came
out of church, and so subservient in manner that I
believed that, sooner than remained unnoticed by a countess, he
would have preferred being scolded or even cuffed. Now I
found out that great as was my Lady's liking and
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approval of respect, nay even reverence being paid to her
as a person of quality, a sort of tribute to
her order which she had no individual right to remit,
or indeed not to exact. Yet she, being personally simple, sincere,
and holding herself in low esteem, could not endure anything
like the servility of mister Cross, the temporary curate. She
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grew absolutely to loathe his perpetual smiling, and bowing his
instant agreement with the slightest opinion, she uttered his veering
round as she blew the wind. I have often said
that my lady did not talk much, as she might
have done had she lived among her equals. But we
all loved her so much that we had learned to
interpret all her little ways pretty truly, And I knew
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what particular terms of her head and contractions of her
delicate fingers meant as well as if she had expressed
herself in words. I began to suspect that my lady
would be very thankful to have mister Gray about again
and doing his duty, even with a conscientiousness that might
amount to worrying himself and fidgeting others. And although mister
Gray might hold her opinions in as little esteem as
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those of any simple gentlewoman, she was too sensible not
to feel how much flavor there was in his conversation
compared to that of mister Cross, who was only her
tasteless echo. As for Miss Galindo, she was utterly and
entirely a partisan of mister Grey's, almost ever since she
had begun to nurse him during his illness. You know,
I never set up for reasonableness, my lady, So I
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don't pretend to say, as I might do if I
were a sensible woman, and all that, that I am
convinced by mister Gray's arguments of this thing or to other.
For one thing, you see, poor fellow, he has never
been able to argue, or hardly indeed to speak. For
Doctor Trevor has been very peremptory, so there's been no
scope for arguing But what I mean is this, when
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I see a sick man thinking always of others and
never of himself, patient, humble, a trifle too much at times,
for I've caught him praying to be forgiven for having
neglected his work as a parish priest. Miss Glinda was
making horrible faces to keep back tears, squeezing up her
eyes in a way which would have amused me at
any other time. But when she was speaking of mister Gray,
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when I see a downright good religious man, I'm apt
to think he's got hold of the right clue, and
that I can do no better than hold on by
the tails of his coat and shut my eyes if
we've got to go over doubtful places on our road
to heaven. So, my lady, you must excuse me if
when he gets about again, he is all agog about
a Sunday school. For if he is, I shall be
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agog too, and perhaps twice as bad as him. For
you see, I've a strong constitution compared to his, and
strong ways of speaking and acting. And I tell your
ladyship this now because I think from your rank, and
still more, if I may say so, for all your
kindness to me long ago, down to this very day.
You were right to be first told of anything about
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me change of opinion. I can't exactly call it, for
I don't see the good of schools and teaching a
b C. Any more than I did before. Only mister
Gray does. So I'm to shut my eyes and leap
over the ditch to the side of education. I've told
Sally already that if she does not mind her work
but stands gossiping with Nelly Mather, I'll teach her her lessons.
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And I've never caught her with old Nelly since. I
think Miss Galindo's desertion to mister Gray's opinions in this
matter hurt my lady just a little bit. But she
only said, of course, if the parishioners wish for it,
mister Gray must have his Sunday school. I shall, in
that case withdraw my opposition. I am sorry. I cannot
alter my opinions as easily as you. My lady made
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herself smile as she said this. Miss Galindo saw it
was an effort to do so, she thought a minute
before she spoke again, Your ladyship has not seen mister
Gray as intimately as I have done. That's one thing
but as for the parishioners, they will follow your Ladyship's
lead in everything, so there is no chance of their
wishing for a Sunday school. I have never done anything
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to make them follow my lead, as you call it,
Miss Galindo, said my lady gravely. Yes you have, replied
Miss Galindo bluntly, and then correcting herself, she said, begging
your Ladyship's pardon, you have. Your ancestors have lived here
time out of mind, and have owned the land on
which their forefathers have lived ever since they were forefathers.
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You yourself, were born amongst them, and have been like
a little queen to them ever since, I might say,
and they've never known your ladyship do anything but what
was kind and gentle. But I leave fine speeches about
your ladyship to mister Cross. Only you, my lady, led
the thoughts of the parish, and save some of them
a world of trouble, for they could never tell what
was right if they had to think for themselves. It's
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all quite right that they should be guided by you,
my lady, if only you would agree with mister gray Well,
said my lady. I told him only the last day
that he was here that I would think about it.
I do believe I could make up my mind on
certain subjects better if I were left alone than while
being constantly talked to about them. My lady said this
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in her usual soft tones, but the words had a
tinge of impatience about them. Indeed, she was more ruffled
than I had often seen her. But checking herself in
an instant, she said, you don't know how mister Horner
drags in this subject of education. I propose of everything,
not that he says much about it at any time.
It is not his way, but he can not let
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the thing alone. I know why, my lady said, Miss Glindo,
that poor lad Harry Gregson will never be able to
earn his livelihood in any active way, but will be
lame for life. Now mister Horner thinks more of Harry
than of any one else in the world except perhaps
your ladyship. Was it not a pretty companionship for my lady?
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And he has schemes of his own for teaching Harry.
And if mister Gray could but have his school, mister
Horner and he think Harry might be a schoolmaster, as
your ladyship would not like to have him coming to
you as Stewart's clerk. I wish your ladyship would fall
into this plan. Mister Gray has it so at heart.
Miss Glindo looked wistfully at my lady as she said this,
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But my lady only said dryly, and rising at the
same time, as if to end the conversation. So, mister
Horner and mister Gray seem to have gone a long
way in advance of my consent to their plans. There,
exclaimed Miss Galindo, as my lady left the room with
an apology for going away, I have gone and done
mischief with my long, stupid tongue. To be sure, people
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plan a long way ahead of to day, more, especially
when one is a sick man lying all through the
weary day on a sofa. My lady will soon get
over her annoyance, said I, as it were apologetically. I
only stopped Miss Galindo's self reproaches to draw down her
wrath upon myself. And has not she a right to
be annoyed with me if she likes, and to keep
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annoyed as long as she likes? Am I complaining of
her that you need tell me that? Let me tell
you I have known my lady these thirty years, and
if she were to take me by the shoulders and
turn me out of the house, I should only love
her the more so, don't you think to come between
us with any little mincing peace making speeches. I have
been a mischief making parrot, and I like her the
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better for being vexed with me. So good bye to you, miss,
and wait till you know Lady Ludlow as well as
I do, before you next think of telling me. She
will soon get over her annoyance. And off Miss Galindo went.
I could not exactly tell what I had done wrong,
but I took care never again to come in between
my lady and her by any remark about the one
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to the other, for I saw that some most powerful
bond of grateful affection made Miss Glindo almost worship my lady. Meanwhile,
Harry Gregson was limping a little about in the village,
still finding his home in mister Grey's house, for there
he could most conveniently be kept under the doctor's eye
and receive the requisite care and enjoy the requisite nourishment.
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As soon as he was a little better, he was
to go to mister Horner's house, but as the steward
lived some distance out of the way and was much
from home, he had agreed to leave Harry at the
house to which he had first been taken until he
was quite strong again, and the more willingly, I suspect
from what I heard afterwards, because mister Gray gave up
all the little strength of speaking which he had to
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teaching Harry in the very manner which mister Horner most desired.
As for Greg's and the father, he wild man of
the woods, poacher tinker jack of all trades, was getting
tamed by this kindness to his child. Hitherto his hand
had been against every man, as every man's had been
against him. That affair before, the justice which I told
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you about, when mister Gray and even my lady had
interested themselves to get him released from unjust imprisonment, was
the first bit of justice he had ever met with.
It attracted him to the people and attached him to
the spot on which he had but squatted for a time.
I am not sure if any of the villagers were
grateful to him for remaining in their neighborhood instead of decamping,
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as he had often done before, for good reasons, doubtless
of personal safety. Harry was only one out of a
brood of ten or twelve children, some of whom had
earned for themselves no good character in service. One indeed,
had been actually transported for a robbery committed in a
distant part of the country, And the tale was yet
told in the village of how Gregson. The father came
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back from the trial in a state of wild rage,
striding through the place and uttering oaths of vengeance to himself,
his great black eyes gleaming out of his matted hair,
and his arms working by his side, and now and
then tossed up in his impotent despair. As I heard
the account, his wife followed him, child laden and weeping.
After this they had vanished from the country for a time,
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leaving their mud hovel locked up and the door key,
as the neighbors said, buried in a hedge bank. The
Gregsons had reappeared much about the same time that mister
Gray came to Hanbury. He had either never heard of
their evil character or considered that it gave them all
the more claims upon his Christian care. And the end
of it was that this rough, untamed, strong giant of
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a heathen was loyal slave to the weak, hectic, nervous,
self distrustful person. Gregson had also a kind of grumbling
respect for mister Horner. He did not quite like the
Steward's monopoly of his Harry the mother submitted to that
with a better grace, swallowing down her maternal jealousy and
the prospect of her child's advancement to a better and
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more respectable position than that in which his parents had
struggled through life. But mister Horner the steward and Gregson
the poacher and squatter had come into disagreeable contact too
often in former days for them to be perfectly cordial
at any future time, even now, when there was no
immediate cause for anything but gratitude for his child's sake.
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On Gregson's part, he would skulk out of mister Horner's
way if he saw him coming, and it took all
mister Horner's natural reserve and acquired self restraint to keep
him from occasionally holding up his father's life as a
warning to Harry. Now, Gregson had nothing of this desire
for avoidance with regard to mister Gray. The poacher had
a feeling of physical protection towards the parson, while the
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latter had shown the moral courage without which Gregson would
never have respect him, in coming right down upon him
more than once in the exercise of unlawful pursuits, and
simply and boldly telling him he was doing wrong, with
such a quiet reliance upon Gregson's better feeling. At the
same time that the strong poacher could not have lifted
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a finger against mister Gray, though it had been to
save himself from being apprehended and taken to the lock
ups the very next hour. He had rather listened to
the parsons bold words with an approving smile, much as
mister Gulliver might have harkened to a lecture from a lilipution.
But when grave words passed into kind deeds, Gregson's heart
mutely acknowledged its master and keeper. And the beauty of
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it all was that mister Gray knew nothing of the
good work he had done, or recognized himself as the
instrument which God had employed. He thanked God it is true,
fervently and often that the work was done, and loved
the wild man for his rough gratitude. But it never
occurred to the poor young clergyman, lying on his sick
bed and praying, as Miss Galindo had told us he
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did to be forgiven for his unprofitable life, to think
of Gregson's reclaimed soul as anything with which he had
had to do. It was now more than three months
since mister Gray had been at Hanbury Court. During all
that time he had been confined to his house, if
not to his sick bed, and he and my Lady
had never met since their last discussion and difference about
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Farmer Hale's barn. This was not my dear Lady's fault.
No one could have been more attentive in every way
to the slightest possible want of either of the Invalids,
especially of mister Gray. And she would have gone to
see him at his own house as she sent him word,
but that her foot had slipped upon the polished oak
staircase and her ankle had been sprained. So we had
(27:45):
never seen mister Gray since his illness. When one November
day he was announced as wishing to speak to my lady,
she was sitting in her room, the room in which
I lay now pretty constantly, and I remember she looked
startled when word was brought to her of mister Gray's
being at the hall. She could not go to him,
she was too lame for that. So she bade him
(28:05):
be shown into where she sat. Such a day for
him to go out, she exclaimed, looking at the fog
which had crept up to the windows and was sapping
the little remaining life in the brilliant Virginia creeper leaves.
That draperied the house on the terrace side. He came
in white, trembling, his large eyes wild and dilated. He
hastened up to Lady Ludlow's chair, and to my surprise,
(28:29):
took one of her hands and kissed it, without speaking,
yet shaking all over. Mister Gray, said she quickly, with sharp,
tremulous apprehension of some unknown evil. What is it? There
is something unusual about you. Something unusual has occurred, replied he,
forcing his words to be calm, as with great effort.
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A gentleman came to my house not half an hour ago,
a mister Howard. He came straight from Vienna, my son, said,
my dear lady, stretching out her arms in dumb questioning attitude.
The Lord gave, and the Lord taketh away. Blessed be
the name of the Lord. But my poor lady could
not echo the words. He was the last remaining child,
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and once she had been the joyful mother of nine
and of Chapter eleven. Recording by Rosy
Chapter eleven of My Lady Ludlow. This is a LibriVox recording.
All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more
information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox dot org. Recording
by Rosie. My Lady Ludlow by Elizabeth Gaskell, chapter eleven.
(00:20):
But I don't see how my lady could think it
was over education that made Henry Gregson break his thigh,
for the manner in which he met with the accident.
Was this mister Horner, who had fallen sadly out of
health since his wife's death, had attached himself greatly to
Harry Gregson. Now, mister Horner had a cold manner to everyone,
and never spoke more than was necessary at the best
(00:41):
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.
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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 fulfill. The only living creature to whom the
(01:24):
staid mister Horner could be said to be attached was
Harry Gregson. To my lady, he was a faithful and
devoted servant, looking keenly after her interests, and anxious to
forward them at any cost of trouble to himself. But
the more shrewd mister Horner was, the more probability was
there of his being annoyed at certain peculiarities of opinion,
which my Lady held with a quiet, gentle pertinacity, against
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which no arguments based on mere worldly and business calculations
made any way. This frequent opposition to views which mister
Horner entertained, although it did not interfere with this since
respect which the Lady and the steward felt for each other,
yet prevented any warmer feeling of affection from coming in.
It seems strange to say it, but I must repeat it.
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The only person for whom, since his wife's death, mister
Horner seemed to feel any love was the little imp
Harry Gregson, with his bright, watchful eyes, his tangled hair
hanging right down to his eyebrows. For all the world
like a sky terrier. This lad, half gipsy and whole poacher,
as many people esteemed him, hung about the silent respectable
(02:31):
stayed mister Horner and followed his steps with something of
the affectionate fidelity of the dog which he resembled. I
suspect this demonstration of attachment to his person on Harry
Gregson's part was what one mister Horner's regard. In the
first instance, the steward had only chosen the lad out
as the cleverest instrument he could find for his purpose.
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And I don't mean to say that if Harry had
not been almost as shrewd as mister Horner himself was,
both by original disposition and subsequent experience, the steward would
have taken to him as he did. Let the lad
have shown ever so much affection for him. But even
to Harry, mister Horner was silent. Still it was pleasant
to find himself in many ways so readily understood to
(03:16):
perceive that the crumbs of knowledge he let fall were
picked up by his little follower and hoarded like gold.
That here was one to hate the persons and things
whom mister Horner coldly disliked, and to reverence that admire
all those for whom he had any regard. Mister Horner
had never had a child, and unconsciously, I suppose something
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of the paternal feeling had begun to develop itself in
him Towards Harry Gregson. I heard one or two things
from different people which have always made me fancy that
mister Horner secretly and almost unconsciously hoped that Harry Gregson
might be trained so as to be first his clerk,
and next his assistant, and finally his successor in his
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stewardship to the Hanbury Estates, and finally his successor in
his stewardship to the Hanbury Estates. Harry's disgrace with my
lady in consequence of his reading the letter was a
deeper blow to mister Horner than his quiet manner would
ever have led any one to suppose, or than Lady
Ludlow ever dreamed of inflicting. I am sure probably Harry
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had a short, stern rebuke from mister Horner at the time,
for his manner was always hard, even to those he
cared for the most. But Harry's love was not to
be daunted or quelled by a few sharp words. I
dare say, from what I heard of them afterwards, that
Harry accompanied mister Horner in his walk over the farm
the very day of the rebuke, his presence apparently unnoticed
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by the agent by whom his absence would have been
painfully felt. Nevertheless, that was the way of it, as
I have been told. Mister Horner never bade Harry go
with him, never thanked him for going, or being at
his heels, ready to run on any errands straight as
the crow flies, to his point, and back to heel
in as short a time as possible. Yet, if Harry
were away, mister Horner never inquired the reason from any
(05:02):
of the men who might be supposed to know whether
he was detained by his father or otherwise engaged. He
never asked Harry himself where he had been. But Miss
Galindo said that those laborers who knew mister Horner well
told her that he was always more quick eyed to shortcomings,
more savage like in fault finding on those days when
the lad was absent. Miss Galindo indeed was my great
(05:25):
authority for most of the village news which I heard.
She it was who gave me the particulars of poor
Harry's accident. You see, my dear, she said, the little
poacher has taken some unaccountable fancy to my master. This
was the name by which Miss Galindo always spoke of
mister Horner to me, even since she had been, as
she called it, appointed his clerk. Now, if I had
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twenty hearts to lose, I could never spare a bit
of one of them for that good gray, square severe man.
But different people have different tastes. And here is that
little imp of a gipsy tinker, ready to turn slave
for my master. And odd enough, my master, who I
should have said beforehand, would have made short work of
Imp and IMP's family and have sent Hall the bang
(06:08):
beggar after them in no time. My master, as they
tell me, is in his way quite fond of the lad,
and if he could, without vexing my lady too much,
he would have made him what the folks here called
a latiner. However, last night it seems that there was
a letter of some importance forgotten. I can't tell you
what it was about, my dear, though I know perfectly well,
(06:28):
but service obliege as well as no bless and you
must take my word for it that it was important,
and one that I am surprised my master could forget
till too late for the post. The poor, good orderly
man is not what he was before his wife's death. Well,
it seems that he was sore annoyed by his forgetfulness,
And well he might be, and it was all the
(06:49):
more vexatious, as he had no one to blame but himself.
As for that matter, I always scold somebody else when
I am in fault, but I suppose my master would
never think of doing that else It's a mighty relief. However,
he could eat no tea and was altogether put out
in gloomy, and the little faithful implad, perceiving all of this,
I suppose, got up like a page in an old ballad,
(07:12):
and said he would run for his life across country
to Comberford, and see if he could not get there
before the bags were made up. So my master gave
him the letter, and nothing more was heard of the
poor fellow till this morning. For the father thought his
son was sleeping in mister Horner's barn, as he does occasionally,
it seems, and my master as was very natural that
he had gone to his father's and he had fallen
(07:35):
down the old stone quarry, had he not. Yes, sure enough,
mister Gray had been up here fretting my lady with
some of his new fangled schemes. And because the young
man could not have it all his own way, from
what I understand, he was put out and thought he
would go home by the back lane instead of through
the village, where the folks would notice if the parson
looked glum. But however, it was a mercy, and I
(07:57):
don't mind saying so, I and meaning it too, though
it may be like methodism. For as mister Gray walked
by the quarry, he heard a groan, and at first
he thought it was a lamb fallen down, and he
stood still, and then he heard it again, and then
I suppose he looked down and saw Harry. So he
let himself down by the boughs of the tree to
the ledge, where Harry lay half dead. And with his
(08:19):
poor thigh broken. There he had lain ever since the
night before. He had been returning to tell the Master
that he had safely posted the letter. And the first
words he said when they recovered him from the exhausted
state he was in were Miss Galindo tried hard not
to whimper as she said it. It was in time, sir,
I see it. I put it in the bag with
(08:39):
my own eyes. But where is he asked I how
did mister Gray get him out? Aye? There it is.
You see why the old gentleman. I daren't say devil
in Lady Ludlow's house is not so black as he
has painted. And mister Gray must have a deal of
good in him, as I say at times and then
the others when he has gone against me, I can't
(09:00):
bear him, and think hanging too good for him. But
he lifted the poor lad as if he had been
a baby, I suppose, and carried him up the great
ledges that were formerly used for steps, and laid him
soft and easy on the wayside grass, and ran home
and got help and a door, and had him carried
to his house and laid on his bed, And then
somehow for the first time either he or any one
(09:21):
else perceived it, he himself was all over blood, his
own blood. He had broken a blood vessel. And there
he lies in the little dressing room, as white and
as still as if he were dead, And the little
imp in mister Gray's own bed sound asleep. Now his
leg is set just as if linen sheets and a
feather bed were his native element. As one may say, really,
now he is doing so well, I've no patience with
(09:43):
him lying there where mister Gray ought to be. It
is just what my lady always prophesied would come to
pass if there was any confusion of ranks. Poor mister Gray,
said I, thinking of his flushed face and his feverish,
restless ways, when he had been calling on my lady
not an hour before his exertions on Harry's behalf. And
I told Miss Galindo how ill I had thought him, Yes,
(10:07):
said she, And that was the reason my lady had
sent for doctor Trevor. Well it has fallen out admirably,
for he looked well after that old donkey of a
prince and saw that he made no blunders. Now that
old donkey of a prince meant the village surgeon mister Prince,
between whom and Miss Galindo, there was war to the knife,
as they often met in the cottages when there was illness,
(10:28):
and she had her queer old recipes, which he, with
his grand Pharmacopeia, held in infinite contempt. And the consequence
of their squabbling had been not long before this very
time that he had established a kind of rule that
into whatever sick room miss Galindo was admitted there, he
refused to visit. But Miss Galindo's prescriptions and visits cost
(10:50):
nothing and were often backed by kitchen physic. So though
it was true that she never came, but she scolded
about something or other, she was generally preferred as medical
attendant to me, Prince. Yes, the old Donkey is obliged
to tolerate me and be civil to me, for you see,
I got there first and had possession, as it were.
And yet, my Lord the Donkey likes the credit of
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attending the parson and being in consultation with so grand
a county town doctor as doctor Trevor, and Doctor Trevor
is an old friend of mine. She sighed a little sometime,
I may tell you why, and treats me with infinite
bowing and respect. So the donkey not to be out
of medical fashion, bows too, though it is sadly against
the grain. And he pulled a face as if he
(11:33):
had heard a slate pencil gritting against a slate. When
I told Doctor Trevor, I meant to sit up with
the two lads, for I call mister Gray little more
than a lad, and a pretty conceited one too at times.
But why should you set up, miss Galindo. It will
tire you sadly, not it. You see, there is Gregson's
mother to keep quiet, for she sits by her lad,
(11:54):
fretting and sobbing, so that I'm afraid of her disturbing
mister Gray. And there's mister Gray to keep quiet for
Doctor Trevor says his life depends on it. And there
is medicine to be given to the one, and bandages
to be attended to for the other, and the wild
horde of gipsy brothers and sisters to be turned out,
and the father to be held in from showing too
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much gratitude to mister Gray, who can't hear it, and
who is to do it all but me? The good
servant is old Lame Betty, who once lived with me
and would leave me because she said I was always bothering.
There was a good deal of truth in what she said,
I grant, but she need not have said it. A
good deal of truth is best let alone at the
bottom of the well. And what can she do? Deaf
(12:36):
as ever she can be too, So Miss Galindo went
her ways. But not the less was she at her
post in the morning, a little crosser and more silent
than usual. But the first was not to be wondered at,
and the last was rather a blessing. Lady Ludlow had
been extremely anxious about both mister Gray and Harry Gregson.
Kind and thoughtful in any case of illness and accident
(12:59):
she always was, But somehow in this the feeling that
she was not quite what shall I call it? Friends?
Seems hardly the right word to use as to the
possible feeling between the Countess Ludlow and the little vagabond messenger,
who had only once been in her presence. That she
had hardly parted from either, as she could have wished
to do had death been near, made her more than
(13:21):
usually anxious. Doctor Trevor was not to spare obtaining the
best medical advice the county could afford. Whatever he ordered
in the way of diet was to be prepared under
missus Medlicott's own eye, and sent down from the hall
to the parsonage. As mister Horner had given somewhat similar
directions in the case of Harry Gregson. At least there
(13:42):
was rather a multiplicity of counselors and dainties than any
lack of them, And the second night mister Horner insisted
on taking the superintendence of the nursing himself, and sat
and snored by Harry's bedside, while the poor exhausted mother
lay by her child, thinking that she watched him, but
in reality fast asleep. As Miss Galindo told us for
(14:04):
distrusting anyone's powers of watching and nursing but her own.
She had stolen across the quiet village street in cloak
and dressing gown, and found mister Gray in vain, trying
to reach the cup of barley water, which mister Horner
had placed just beyond his reach. In consequence of mister
Gray's illness, we had to have a strange curate to
(14:24):
do duty, a man who dropped his hes and hurried
through the service, and yet had time enough to stand
in my lady's way, bowing to her as she came
out of church, and so subservient in manner that I
believed that, sooner than remained unnoticed by a countess, he
would have preferred being scolded or even cuffed. Now I
found out that great as was my Lady's liking and
(14:46):
approval of respect, nay even reverence being paid to her
as a person of quality, a sort of tribute to
her order which she had no individual right to remit,
or indeed not to exact. Yet she, being personally simple, sincere,
and holding herself in low esteem, could not endure anything
like the servility of mister Cross, the temporary curate. She
(15:08):
grew absolutely to loathe his perpetual smiling, and bowing his
instant agreement with the slightest opinion, she uttered his veering
round as she blew the wind. I have often said
that my lady did not talk much, as she might
have done had she lived among her equals. But we
all loved her so much that we had learned to
interpret all her little ways pretty truly, And I knew
(15:29):
what particular terms of her head and contractions of her
delicate fingers meant as well as if she had expressed
herself in words. I began to suspect that my lady
would be very thankful to have mister Gray about again
and doing his duty, even with a conscientiousness that might
amount to worrying himself and fidgeting others. And although mister
Gray might hold her opinions in as little esteem as
(15:51):
those of any simple gentlewoman, she was too sensible not
to feel how much flavor there was in his conversation
compared to that of mister Cross, who was only her
tasteless echo. As for Miss Galindo, she was utterly and
entirely a partisan of mister Grey's, almost ever since she
had begun to nurse him during his illness. You know,
I never set up for reasonableness, my lady, So I
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don't pretend to say, as I might do if I
were a sensible woman, and all that, that I am
convinced by mister Gray's arguments of this thing or to other.
For one thing, you see, poor fellow, he has never
been able to argue, or hardly indeed to speak. For
Doctor Trevor has been very peremptory, so there's been no
scope for arguing But what I mean is this, when
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I see a sick man thinking always of others and
never of himself, patient, humble, a trifle too much at times,
for I've caught him praying to be forgiven for having
neglected his work as a parish priest. Miss Glinda was
making horrible faces to keep back tears, squeezing up her
eyes in a way which would have amused me at
any other time. But when she was speaking of mister Gray,
(16:56):
when I see a downright good religious man, I'm apt
to think he's got hold of the right clue, and
that I can do no better than hold on by
the tails of his coat and shut my eyes if
we've got to go over doubtful places on our road
to heaven. So, my lady, you must excuse me if
when he gets about again, he is all agog about
a Sunday school. For if he is, I shall be
(17:17):
agog too, and perhaps twice as bad as him. For
you see, I've a strong constitution compared to his, and
strong ways of speaking and acting. And I tell your
ladyship this now because I think from your rank, and
still more, if I may say so, for all your
kindness to me long ago, down to this very day.
You were right to be first told of anything about
(17:38):
me change of opinion. I can't exactly call it, for
I don't see the good of schools and teaching a
b C. Any more than I did before. Only mister
Gray does. So I'm to shut my eyes and leap
over the ditch to the side of education. I've told
Sally already that if she does not mind her work
but stands gossiping with Nelly Mather, I'll teach her her lessons.
(18:00):
And I've never caught her with old Nelly since. I
think Miss Galindo's desertion to mister Gray's opinions in this
matter hurt my lady just a little bit. But she
only said, of course, if the parishioners wish for it,
mister Gray must have his Sunday school. I shall, in
that case withdraw my opposition. I am sorry. I cannot
alter my opinions as easily as you. My lady made
(18:24):
herself smile as she said this. Miss Galindo saw it
was an effort to do so, she thought a minute
before she spoke again, Your ladyship has not seen mister
Gray as intimately as I have done. That's one thing
but as for the parishioners, they will follow your Ladyship's
lead in everything, so there is no chance of their
wishing for a Sunday school. I have never done anything
(18:46):
to make them follow my lead, as you call it,
Miss Galindo, said my lady gravely. Yes you have, replied
Miss Galindo bluntly, and then correcting herself, she said, begging
your Ladyship's pardon, you have. Your ancestors have lived here
time out of mind, and have owned the land on
which their forefathers have lived ever since they were forefathers.
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You yourself, were born amongst them, and have been like
a little queen to them ever since, I might say,
and they've never known your ladyship do anything but what
was kind and gentle. But I leave fine speeches about
your ladyship to mister Cross. Only you, my lady, led
the thoughts of the parish, and save some of them
a world of trouble, for they could never tell what
was right if they had to think for themselves. It's
(19:28):
all quite right that they should be guided by you,
my lady, if only you would agree with mister gray Well,
said my lady. I told him only the last day
that he was here that I would think about it.
I do believe I could make up my mind on
certain subjects better if I were left alone than while
being constantly talked to about them. My lady said this
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in her usual soft tones, but the words had a
tinge of impatience about them. Indeed, she was more ruffled
than I had often seen her. But checking herself in
an instant, she said, you don't know how mister Horner
drags in this subject of education. I propose of everything,
not that he says much about it at any time.
It is not his way, but he can not let
(20:10):
the thing alone. I know why, my lady said, Miss Glindo,
that poor lad Harry Gregson will never be able to
earn his livelihood in any active way, but will be
lame for life. Now mister Horner thinks more of Harry
than of any one else in the world except perhaps
your ladyship. Was it not a pretty companionship for my lady?
(20:31):
And he has schemes of his own for teaching Harry.
And if mister Gray could but have his school, mister
Horner and he think Harry might be a schoolmaster, as
your ladyship would not like to have him coming to
you as Stewart's clerk. I wish your ladyship would fall
into this plan. Mister Gray has it so at heart.
Miss Glindo looked wistfully at my lady as she said this,
(20:53):
But my lady only said dryly, and rising at the
same time, as if to end the conversation. So, mister
Horner and mister Gray seem to have gone a long
way in advance of my consent to their plans. There,
exclaimed Miss Galindo, as my lady left the room with
an apology for going away, I have gone and done
mischief with my long, stupid tongue. To be sure, people
(21:15):
plan a long way ahead of to day, more, especially
when one is a sick man lying all through the
weary day on a sofa. My lady will soon get
over her annoyance, said I, as it were apologetically. I
only stopped Miss Galindo's self reproaches to draw down her
wrath upon myself. And has not she a right to
be annoyed with me if she likes, and to keep
(21:36):
annoyed as long as she likes? Am I complaining of
her that you need tell me that? Let me tell
you I have known my lady these thirty years, and
if she were to take me by the shoulders and
turn me out of the house, I should only love
her the more so, don't you think to come between
us with any little mincing peace making speeches. I have
been a mischief making parrot, and I like her the
(21:56):
better for being vexed with me. So good bye to you, miss,
and wait till you know Lady Ludlow as well as
I do, before you next think of telling me. She
will soon get over her annoyance. And off Miss Galindo went.
I could not exactly tell what I had done wrong,
but I took care never again to come in between
my lady and her by any remark about the one
(22:17):
to the other, for I saw that some most powerful
bond of grateful affection made Miss Glindo almost worship my lady. Meanwhile,
Harry Gregson was limping a little about in the village,
still finding his home in mister Grey's house, for there
he could most conveniently be kept under the doctor's eye
and receive the requisite care and enjoy the requisite nourishment.
(22:38):
As soon as he was a little better, he was
to go to mister Horner's house, but as the steward
lived some distance out of the way and was much
from home, he had agreed to leave Harry at the
house to which he had first been taken until he
was quite strong again, and the more willingly, I suspect
from what I heard afterwards, because mister Gray gave up
all the little strength of speaking which he had to
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teaching Harry in the very manner which mister Horner most desired.
As for Greg's and the father, he wild man of
the woods, poacher tinker jack of all trades, was getting
tamed by this kindness to his child. Hitherto his hand
had been against every man, as every man's had been
against him. That affair before, the justice which I told
(23:22):
you about, when mister Gray and even my lady had
interested themselves to get him released from unjust imprisonment, was
the first bit of justice he had ever met with.
It attracted him to the people and attached him to
the spot on which he had but squatted for a time.
I am not sure if any of the villagers were
grateful to him for remaining in their neighborhood instead of decamping,
(23:43):
as he had often done before, for good reasons, doubtless
of personal safety. Harry was only one out of a
brood of ten or twelve children, some of whom had
earned for themselves no good character in service. One indeed,
had been actually transported for a robbery committed in a
distant part of the country, And the tale was yet
told in the village of how Gregson. The father came
(24:05):
back from the trial in a state of wild rage,
striding through the place and uttering oaths of vengeance to himself,
his great black eyes gleaming out of his matted hair,
and his arms working by his side, and now and
then tossed up in his impotent despair. As I heard
the account, his wife followed him, child laden and weeping.
After this they had vanished from the country for a time,
(24:28):
leaving their mud hovel locked up and the door key,
as the neighbors said, buried in a hedge bank. The
Gregsons had reappeared much about the same time that mister
Gray came to Hanbury. He had either never heard of
their evil character or considered that it gave them all
the more claims upon his Christian care. And the end
of it was that this rough, untamed, strong giant of
(24:49):
a heathen was loyal slave to the weak, hectic, nervous,
self distrustful person. Gregson had also a kind of grumbling
respect for mister Horner. He did not quite like the
Steward's monopoly of his Harry the mother submitted to that
with a better grace, swallowing down her maternal jealousy and
the prospect of her child's advancement to a better and
(25:10):
more respectable position than that in which his parents had
struggled through life. But mister Horner the steward and Gregson
the poacher and squatter had come into disagreeable contact too
often in former days for them to be perfectly cordial
at any future time, even now, when there was no
immediate cause for anything but gratitude for his child's sake.
(25:33):
On Gregson's part, he would skulk out of mister Horner's
way if he saw him coming, and it took all
mister Horner's natural reserve and acquired self restraint to keep
him from occasionally holding up his father's life as a
warning to Harry. Now, Gregson had nothing of this desire
for avoidance with regard to mister Gray. The poacher had
a feeling of physical protection towards the parson, while the
(25:55):
latter had shown the moral courage without which Gregson would
never have respect him, in coming right down upon him
more than once in the exercise of unlawful pursuits, and
simply and boldly telling him he was doing wrong, with
such a quiet reliance upon Gregson's better feeling. At the
same time that the strong poacher could not have lifted
(26:16):
a finger against mister Gray, though it had been to
save himself from being apprehended and taken to the lock
ups the very next hour. He had rather listened to
the parsons bold words with an approving smile, much as
mister Gulliver might have harkened to a lecture from a lilipution.
But when grave words passed into kind deeds, Gregson's heart
mutely acknowledged its master and keeper. And the beauty of
(26:39):
it all was that mister Gray knew nothing of the
good work he had done, or recognized himself as the
instrument which God had employed. He thanked God it is true,
fervently and often that the work was done, and loved
the wild man for his rough gratitude. But it never
occurred to the poor young clergyman, lying on his sick
bed and praying, as Miss Galindo had told us he
(27:01):
did to be forgiven for his unprofitable life, to think
of Gregson's reclaimed soul as anything with which he had
had to do. It was now more than three months
since mister Gray had been at Hanbury Court. During all
that time he had been confined to his house, if
not to his sick bed, and he and my Lady
had never met since their last discussion and difference about
(27:23):
Farmer Hale's barn. This was not my dear Lady's fault.
No one could have been more attentive in every way
to the slightest possible want of either of the Invalids,
especially of mister Gray. And she would have gone to
see him at his own house as she sent him word,
but that her foot had slipped upon the polished oak
staircase and her ankle had been sprained. So we had
(27:45):
never seen mister Gray since his illness. When one November
day he was announced as wishing to speak to my lady,
she was sitting in her room, the room in which
I lay now pretty constantly, and I remember she looked
startled when word was brought to her of mister Gray's
being at the hall. She could not go to him,
she was too lame for that. So she bade him
(28:05):
be shown into where she sat. Such a day for
him to go out, she exclaimed, looking at the fog
which had crept up to the windows and was sapping
the little remaining life in the brilliant Virginia creeper leaves.
That draperied the house on the terrace side. He came
in white, trembling, his large eyes wild and dilated. He
hastened up to Lady Ludlow's chair, and to my surprise,
(28:29):
took one of her hands and kissed it, without speaking,
yet shaking all over. Mister Gray, said she quickly, with sharp,
tremulous apprehension of some unknown evil. What is it? There
is something unusual about you. Something unusual has occurred, replied he,
forcing his words to be calm, as with great effort.
(28:50):
A gentleman came to my house not half an hour ago,
a mister Howard. He came straight from Vienna, my son, said,
my dear lady, stretching out her arms in dumb questioning attitude.
The Lord gave, and the Lord taketh away. Blessed be
the name of the Lord. But my poor lady could
not echo the words. He was the last remaining child,
(29:13):
and once she had been the joyful mother of nine
and of Chapter eleven. Recording by Rosy
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