Cranford | Page 2

were read once a
year on the Tinwald Mount.
"Our friends have sent to inquire how you are after your journey
to-night, my dear" (fifteen miles in a gentleman's carriage); "they will
give you some rest to-morrow, but the next day, I have no doubt, they
will call; so be at liberty after twelve--from twelve to three are our
calling hours."
Then, after they had called -
"It is the third day; I dare say your mamma has told you, my dear,
never to let more than three days elapse between receiving a call and
returning it; and also, that you are never to stay longer than a quarter of

an hour."
"But am I to look at my watch? How am I to find out when a quarter of
an hour has passed?"
"You must keep thinking about the time, my dear, and not allow
yourself to forget it in conversation."
As everybody had this rule in their minds, whether they received or
paid a call, of course no absorbing subject was ever spoken about. We
kept ourselves to short sentences of small talk, and were punctual to
our time.
I imagine that a few of the gentlefolks of Cranford were poor, and had
some difficulty in making both ends meet; but they were like the
Spartans, and concealed their smart under a smiling face. We none of
us spoke of money, because that subject savoured of commerce and
trade, and though some might be poor, we were all aristocratic. The
Cranfordians had that kindly esprit de corps which made them overlook
all deficiencies in success when some among them tried to conceal their
poverty. When Mrs Forrester, for instance, gave a party in her
baby-house of a dwelling, and the little maiden disturbed the ladies on
the sofa by a request that she might get the tea-tray out from underneath,
everyone took this novel proceeding as the most natural thing in the
world, and talked on about household forms and ceremonies as if we all
believed that our hostess had a regular servants' hall, second table, with
housekeeper and steward, instead of the one little charity-school
maiden, whose short ruddy arms could never have been strong enough
to carry the tray upstairs, if she had not been assisted in private by her
mistress, who now sat in state, pretending not to know what cakes were
sent up, though she knew, and we knew, and she knew that we knew,
and we knew that she knew that we knew, she had been busy all the
morning making tea-bread and sponge-cakes.
There were one or two consequences arising from this general but
unacknowledged poverty, and this very much acknowledged gentility,
which were not amiss, and which might be introduced into many circles
of society to their great improvement. For instance, the inhabitants of
Cranford kept early hours, and clattered home in their pattens, under
the guidance of a lantern-bearer, about nine o'clock at night; and the
whole town was abed and asleep by half- past ten. Moreover, it was
considered "vulgar" (a tremendous word in Cranford) to give anything

expensive, in the way of eatable or drinkable, at the evening
entertainments. Wafer bread-and-butter and sponge-biscuits were all
that the Honourable Mrs Jamieson gave; and she was sister-in-law to
the late Earl of Glenmire, although she did practise such "elegant
economy."
"Elegant economy!" How naturally one falls back into the phraseology
of Cranford! There, economy was always "elegant," and
money-spending always "vulgar and ostentatious"; a sort of sour-
grapeism which made us very peaceful and satisfied. I never shall
forget the dismay felt when a certain Captain Brown came to live at
Cranford, and openly spoke about his being poor--not in a whisper to
an intimate friend, the doors and windows being previously closed, but
in the public street! in a loud military voice! alleging his poverty as a
reason for not taking a particular house. The ladies of Cranford were
already rather moaning over the invasion of their territories by a man
and a gentleman. He was a half-pay captain, and had obtained some
situation on a neighbouring railroad, which had been vehemently
petitioned against by the little town; and if, in addition to his masculine
gender, and his connection with the obnoxious railroad, he was so
brazen as to talk of being poor--why, then, indeed, he must be sent to
Coventry. Death was as true and as common as poverty; yet people
never spoke about that, loud out in the streets. It was a word not to be
mentioned to ears polite. We had tacitly agreed to ignore that any with
whom we associated on terms of visiting equality could ever be
prevented by poverty from doing anything that they wished. If we
walked to or from a party, it was