Shirley (37 page)

depresses, but corrodes; and that, I fear, is your portion. Will pity do you any good, Lina? If it will, take some from Shirley; she offers largely, and warrants the article genuine."

"Shirley, I never had a sister—you never had a sister; but it flashes on me at this moment how sisters feel towards each other—affection twined with their life, which no shocks of feeling can uproot, which little quarrels only trample an instant, that it may spring more freshly when the pressure is removed; affection that no passion can ultimately outrival, with which even love itself cannot do more than compete in force and truth. Love hurts us so, Shirley. It is so tormenting, so racking, and it burns away our strength with its flame. In affection is no pain and no fire, only sustenance and balm. I am supported and soothed when you—that is,
you only
—are near, Shirley. Do you believe me now?"

"I am always easy of belief when the creed pleases me. We really are friends, then, Lina, in spite of the black eclipse?"

"We really are," returned the other, drawing Shirley towards her, and making her sit down, "chance what may."

"Come, then; we will talk of something else than the Troubler." But at this moment the rector came in, and the "something else" of which Miss Keeldar was about to talk was not again alluded to till the moment of her departure. She then delayed a few minutes in the passage to say, "Caroline, I wish to tell you that I have a great weight on my mind; my conscience is quite uneasy as if I had committed,

or was going to commit, a crime. It is not my
private
conscience, you must understand, but my landed-proprietor and lord-of-the-manor conscience. I have got into the clutch of an eagle with iron

talons. I have fallen under a stern influence, which I scarcely approve, but cannot resist. Something will be done ere long, I fear, which it by no means pleases me to think of. To ease my mind, and to

prevent harm as far as I can, I mean to enter on a series of good works. Don't be surprised, therefore,

if you see me all at once turn outrageously charitable. I have no idea how to begin, but you must give

me some advice. We will talk more on the subject to-morrow; and just ask that excellent person, Miss

Ainley, to step up to Fieldhead. I have some notion of putting myself under her tuition. Won't she have

a precious pupil? Drop a hint to her, Lina, that, though a well-meaning, I am rather a neglected character, and then she will feel less scandalized at my ignorance about clothing societies and such things."

On the morrow Caroline found Shirley sitting gravely at her desk, with an account-book, a bundle

of banknotes, and a well-filled purse before her. She was looking mighty serious, but a little puzzled.

She said she had been "casting an eye" over the weekly expenditure in housekeeping at the hall, trying to find out where she could retrench; that she had also just given audience to Mrs. Gill, the cook, and

had sent that person away with a notion that her (Shirley's) brain was certainly crazed. "I have lectured her on the duty of being careful," said she, "in a way quite new to her. So eloquent was I on the text of economy that I surprised myself; for, you see, it is altogether a fresh idea. I never thought, much less spoke, on the subject till lately. But it is all theory; for when I came to the practical part I could retrench nothing. I had not firmness to take off a single pound of butter, or to prosecute to any clear

result an inquest into the destiny of either dripping, lard, bread, cold meat, or other kitchen perquisite whatever. I know we never get up illuminations at Fieldhead, but I could not ask the meaning of sundry quite unaccountable pounds of candles. We do not wash for the parish, yet I viewed in silence

items of soap and bleaching-powder calculated to satisfy the solicitude of the most anxious inquirer

after our position in reference to those articles. Carnivorous I am not, nor is Mrs. Pryor, nor is Mrs.

Gill herself, yet I only hemmed and opened my eyes a little wide when I saw butchers' bills whose figures seemed to prove that fact—falsehood, I mean. Caroline, you may laugh at me, but you can't

change me. I am a poltroon on certain points; I feel it. There is a base alloy of moral cowardice in my

composition. I blushed and hung my head before Mrs. Gill, when she ought to have been faltering confessions to me. I found it impossible to get up the spirit even to hint, much less to prove, to her

that she was a cheat. I have no calm dignity, no true courage about me."

"Shirley, what fit of self-injustice is this? My uncle, who is not given to speak well of women, says there are not ten thousand men in England as genuinely fearless as you."

"I am fearless, physically; I am never nervous about danger. I was not startled from self-possession when Mr. Wynne's great red bull rose with a bellow before my face, as I was crossing the cowslip lea

alone, stooped his begrimed, sullen head, and made a run at me; but I was afraid of seeing Mrs. Gill

brought to shame and confusion of face. You have twice—ten times—my strength of mind on certain

subjects, Caroline. You, whom no persuasion can induce to pass a bull, however quiet he looks, would

have firmly shown my housekeeper she had done wrong; then you would have gently and wisely admonished her; and at last, I dare say, provided she had seemed penitent, you would have very sweetly forgiven her. Of this conduct I am incapable. However, in spite of exaggerated imposition, I

still find we live within our means. I have money in hand, and I really must do some good with it. The

Briarfield poor are badly off; they must be helped. What ought I to do, think you, Lina? Had I not better distribute the cash at once?"

"No, indeed, Shirley; you will not manage properly. I have often noticed that your only notion of

charity is to give shillings and half-crowns in a careless, free-handed sort of way, which is liable to

continual abuse. You must have a prime minister, or you will get yourself into a series of scrapes.

You suggested Miss Ainley yourself; to Miss Ainley I will apply. And, meantime, promise to keep quiet, and not begin throwing away your money. What a great deal you have, Shirley! You must feel

very rich with all that?"

"Yes; I feel of consequence. It is not an immense sum, but I feel responsible for its disposal; and really this responsibility weighs on my mind more heavily than I could have expected. They say that

there are some families almost starving to death in Briarfield. Some of my own cottagers are in wretched circumstances. I must and will help them."

"Some people say we shouldn't give alms to the poor, Shirley."

"They are great fools for their pains. For those who are not hungry, it is easy to palaver about the degradation of charity, and so on: but they forget the brevity of life, as well as its bitterness. We have none of us long to live. Let us help each other through seasons of want and woe as well as we can,

without heeding in the least the scruples of vain philosophy."

"But you do help others, Shirley. You give a great deal as it is."

"Not enough. I must give more, or, I tell you, my brother's blood will some day be crying to Heaven against me. For, after all, if political incendiaries come here to kindle conflagration in the neighbourhood, and my property is attacked, I shall defend it like a tigress—I know I shall. Let me listen to Mercy as long as she is near me. Her voice once drowned by the shout of ruffian defiance,

and I shall be full of impulses to resist and quell. If once the poor gather and rise in the form of the mob, I shall turn against them as an aristocrat; if they bully me, I must defy: if they attack, I must resist, and I will."

"You talk like Robert."

"I feel like Robert, only more fierily. Let them meddle with Robert, or Robert's mill, or Robert's

interests, and I shall hate them. At present I am no patrician, nor do I regard the poor around me as

plebeians; but if once they violently wrong me or mine, and then presume to dictate to us, I shall quite forget pity for their wretchedness and respect for their poverty, in scorn of their ignorance and wrath

at their insolence."

"Shirley, how your eyes flash!"

"Because my soul burns. Would you, any more than me, let Robert be borne down by numbers?"

"If I had your power to aid Robert, I would use it as you mean to use it. If I could be such a friend to him as you can be, I would stand by him, as you mean to stand by him, till death."

"And now, Lina, though your eyes don't flash, they glow. You drop your lids; but I saw a kindled

spark. However, it is not yet come to fighting. What I want to do is to
prevent
mischief. I cannot forget, either day or night, that these embittered feelings of the poor against the rich have been generated in suffering: they would neither hate nor envy us if they did not deem us so much happier

than themselves. To allay this suffering, and thereby lessen this hate, let me, out of my abundance, give abundantly; and that the donation may go farther, let it be made wisely. To that intent, we must

introduce some clear, calm, practical sense into our councils. So go and fetch Miss Ainley."

Without another word Caroline put on her bonnet and departed. It may, perhaps, appear strange that

neither she nor Shirley thought of consulting Mrs. Pryor on their scheme; but they were wise in abstaining. To have consulted her—and this they knew by instinct—would only have been to involve

her in painful embarrassment. She was far better informed, better read, a deeper thinker than Miss Ainley, but of administrative energy, of executive activity, she had none. She would subscribe her own

modest mite to a charitable object willingly—secret almsgiving suited her; but in public plans, on a

large scale, she could take no part; as to originating them, that was out of the question. This Shirley

knew, and therefore she did not trouble Mrs. Pryor by unavailing conferences, which could only remind her of her own deficiencies, and do no good.

It was a bright day for Miss Ainley when she was summoned to Fieldhead to deliberate on projects

so congenial to her; when she was seated with all honour and deference at a table with paper, pen, ink,

and—what was best of all—cash before her, and requested to draw up a regular plan for

administering relief to the destitute poor of Briarfield. She, who knew them all, had studied their wants, had again and again felt in what way they might best be succoured, could the means of succour

only be found, was fully competent to the undertaking, and a meek exultation gladdened her kind heart as she felt herself able to answer clearly and promptly the eager questions put by the two young

girls, as she showed them in her answers how much and what serviceable knowledge she had acquired

of the condition of her fellow-creatures around her.

Shirley placed at her disposal £300, and at sight of the money Miss Ainley's eyes filled with joyful

tears; for she already saw the hungry fed, the naked clothed, the sick comforted thereby. She quickly

drew up a simple, sensible plan for its expenditure; and she assured them brighter times would now

come round, for she doubted not the lady of Fieldhead's example would be followed by others. She

should try to get additional subscriptions, and to form a fund; but first she must consult the clergy.

Yes, on that point she was peremptory. Mr. Helstone, Dr. Boultby, Mr. Hall,
must
be consulted (for not only must Briarfield be relieved, but Whinbury and Nunnely). It would, she averred, be presumption

in her to take a single step unauthorized by them.

The clergy were sacred beings in Miss Ainley's eyes; no matter what might be the insignificance of

the individual, his station made him holy. The very curates—who, in their trivial arrogance, were hardly worthy to tie her patten-strings, or carry her cotton umbrella, or check woollen shawl—she, in

her pure, sincere enthusiasm, looked upon as sucking saints. No matter how clearly their little vices

and enormous absurdities were pointed out to her, she could not see them; she was blind to ecclesiastical defects; the white surplice covered a multitude of sins.

Shirley, knowing this harmless infatuation on the part of her recently-chosen prime minister, stipulated expressly that the curates were to have no voice in the disposal of the money, that their meddling fingers were not to be inserted into the pie. The rectors, of course, must be paramount, and

they might be trusted. They had some experience, some sagacity, and Mr. Hall, at least, had sympathy

and loving-kindness for his fellow-men; but as for the youth under them, they must be set aside, kept

down, and taught that subordination and silence best became their years and capacity.

It was with some horror Miss Ainley heard this language. Caroline, however, interposing with a mild word or two in praise of Mr Sweeting, calmed her again. Sweeting was, indeed, her own favourite. She endeavoured to respect Messrs. Malone and Donne, but the slices of sponge-cake and

glasses of cowslip or primrose wine she had at different times administered to Sweeting, when he came to see her in her little cottage, were ever offered with sentiments of truly motherly regard. The

same innocuous collation she had once presented to Malone; but that personage evinced such open scorn of the offering, she had never ventured to renew it. To Donne she always served the treat, and

was happy to see his approbation of it proved beyond a doubt by the fact of his usually eating two pieces of cake, and putting a third in his pocket.

Indefatigable in her exertions where good was to be done, Miss Ainley would immediately have set

out on a walk of ten miles round to the three rectors, in order to show her plan, and humbly solicit

their approval; but Miss Keeldar interdicted this, and proposed, as an amendment, to collect the clergy