Thanks to everyone who has been reading C of C and watching for future chapters, and my deepest gratitude to theHuntgoeson, Solo Lady, AmyLouise2, Miss Laurentia, and others who've provided encouragement during difficult times.

Now, to quote Miss Matty, you must gird your loins. It is all go in Cranford!

Disclaimer: All this was inspired by the 2007 BBC series Cranford and Heidi Thomas's masterful script blending characters and story lines from several works by Elizabeth Gaskell.

Summary:

Autumn has arrived, along with an abundance of ripened apples in the Hanbury orchards, and perhaps an improvement in Lady Ludlow's circumstances.

Things are looking up as well for Harry Gregson, now working at the parish library and pursuing his studies under the tutelage of Reverend Hutton.

No doubt Miss Pole will solicit Harry's assistance as she establishes the Cranford Literary Society, the village's answer to the modern book club. She's already enlisted Mrs. Carter in a successful campaign to persuade the initially reluctant Miss Matilda Jenkyns to join, though the ladies will have to proceed without Jessie Gordon, who has gone to Scotland with her husband and their infant daughter, leaving her father, Captain Brown, to shift for himself.

But Jem and Martha Hearne, likewise the parents of a baby girl, remain happily settled in Cranford, making their home with Miss Matty and her brother, Peter. Mary Smith, however, has returned to her father's house in Manchester while her fiancé, Jack Marshland, is away performing the research that ought to secure his reputation and their future.

Meanwhile, Jack's colleague Frank Harrison continues a successful medical practice in Cranford and has recently learned that he and Sophy (née Hutton) are expecting a baby.

Sadly, there is no similarly joyful prospect for the Carters, though they are by no means without hopes and plans of their own. Edward's preparations for the village school are proceeding apace, and at Lady Ludlow's suggestion he is also considering taking Laurentia on a belated honeymoon.

But what is to become of that idea now that her ladyship has summoned Mr. Carter into her presence, and under ominous circumstances? Read on...

~.O.~

"My dear Miss Galindo, what will this world come to?" - My Lady Ludlow

~.O.~

Chapter 41: What Will This World Come To?

Mr. Carter, I have found you out.

Lady Ludlow had uttered the words suspecting it would not be in her estate manager's character to issue a torrent of explanations and apologies, and saw at once the correctness of her judgment, for Mr. Carter remained where he stood, wordless, motionless, save for the briefest lowering of his gaze.

She allowed the silence a moment to to work its effect before proceeding with her task: to reveal all she had learnt from her most unwilling informants, and spare nothing. Every intrigue, and every insult to honor, should be brought to light.

Mr. Carter suffered the recitation of the charges laid to his account with face grave and brow furrowed, pale eyes flickering with a sentiment Lady Ludlow could not identify - regret, perchance, which she might countenance, or defiance, which she would not.

For he had defied her, and most grievously.

~.O.~

"There was a time, Mr. Carter," she said at last, "when I believed you utterly incapable of subterfuge."

She spoke in a tone intended to convey the extent of her disappointment, but again her steward offered up no word of defense or apology, and only cast his eyes downward in guilty silence.

"There is one thing I must know," went on Lady Ludlow. "Have you concealed this arrangement from Laurentia as well?"

"Not entirely, my lady."

She had been expecting a denial, and Mr. Carter's admission pierced her very heart. Yet she summoned strength enough to continue the interrogation.

"'Not entirely'? In what fashion?"

"Mrs. Carter entered our marriage with the understanding that I had certain obligations, though she knows neither their extent nor their nature, only that I have made provision to discharge them while providing for her own welfare, now and in the future."

Laurentia had not been Mr. Carter's confederate, then, nor would she become his destitute widow. The relief afforded by that knowledge was enough to distract Lady Ludlow for an instant, till the livelier sentiment of anger drew her back to the purpose of the interview.

"I cannot fault a wife's trust in her husband," she said. "It is entirely excusable, indeed natural.

"Your defiance of my express wishes, however, is a transgression I cannot let pass."

At that Mr. Carter's demeanor was transformed, and his tongue loosed. "For all that I took the decision over your objections, madam, my conscience would not permit another course."

"Not your conscience, Mr. Carter, but your pride," replied Lady Ludlow, lingering over the word. "And obstinacy!"

"My lady, I would do whatever good still remains within my power," he said, yet more forcefully.

"You disregard my orders, deny my son his due, deceive even your own wife, and still you speak to me of 'good'? I wonder, Mr. Carter, that you can employ such an expression to describe your actions."

"Indeed I can, my lady, if they afford you -"

Here Mr. Carter checked himself, and frowned, as though another word might seal his fate. Yet after a moment he went on, quietly, though in a tone that suggested anything but penitence, "If they afford you a measure of protection."

"Protection?" repeated Lady Ludlow. "You presume to offer me protection, and I might well ask from what."

Again he frowned, and cast his eyes downward. "Forgive me for speaking so plainly, madam, but I fear your generosity has been much abused -"

"That is enough!" she said, moving away from him, and advancing towards the window. She had taken but a few steps when she stopped, and turned round to fix her eye once more on Mr. Carter. "We will put an end to this disgraceful business at once. This very morning you must draw up new arrangements, at my direction.

"Then you will remove yourself from this house, and from my presence, until such time as I summon you again. Do you take my meaning?"

At her words Mr. Carter had turned ashen, yet he replied without hesitation.

"Yes, my lady."

"Very well. Bid the gentlemen return, and we shall proceed."

With that Mr. Carter bowed in his accustomed manner and withdrew in silence. Yet for once Lady Ludlow detected no trace of humility in either gesture.

~.O.~

She herself presided over the composition of the necessary documents, stood witness as the gentlemen affixed their signatures, and betrayed no emotion as Mr. Carter again offered her the appropriate reverence and quietly withdrew to his office.

Immediately thereafter her visitors, curiously shamefaced, likewise took their leave, and she was left to solitude, and an intolerable weariness of body and spirit.

The window seat afforded a fine view of the grounds in their autumnal glory, and ought to have been a refuge, yet Lady Ludlow sank down upon the cushions without the least sensation of relief or refreshment. She felt nothing of triumph, either, despite putting an end to this latest stratagem of Mr. Carter's. The burdens of heart and position remained, and weighed upon her exceedingly.

To preserve Hanbury intact she had declined even the most generous of Sir Charles's proposals, but against her son's entreaties she had proven entirely powerless, and so had surrendered another vestige of security, that Septimus not be denied the comforts to which he had been born.

Afterwards she had submitted to a series of disagreeable but entirely necessary economies to ensure the survival of the estate, and that memory summoned an array of equally unwelcome ones, for it had been Mr. Carter who counseled moderation, and his future bride who assisted in effecting the changes with as much kindness as possible. Now Laurentia, once Septimus's playfellow, was wife to the author of this current mischief, even if she had played no role in it herself.

It was cruel enough to be parted from her son but bitterer still to be divided from the faithful Laurentia, when God had already seen fit to take to Himself Mrs. Medlicott and so many other relations and friends besides.

Her isolation was therefore complete, or nearly, for if Sir Charles remained a properly respectful neighbor, he was not a cordial one, and there were few others within distance of a tolerable carriage ride.

Even the number of her servants had been diminished, and it was with no small degree of pain that Lady Ludlow recalled the footmen and maids bustling about to make ready for garden parties, or Christmastide observances far grander than the Twelfth Night of the previous winter.

Nothing had so delighted her son and heir as Hanbury en fête. Yet the years had passed, and Septimus had not come to her, to behold all that she had so lovingly preserved for his enjoyment. Quite involuntarily Lady Ludlow recalled the parable of the ungrateful guests spurning the Master's summons to the wedding feast, but just as swiftly she banished the thought. Her son had only the best of reasons for dwelling abroad, and she must chide him neither for his absence, nor the infrequency of his correspondence, nor his declining to wait upon their relations, though the calls of grief and duty should remain unanswered.

~.O.~

Afterwards he had no memory of how he spent the rest of the day. Not in idleness, of course - there was, as always, a great deal to demand his attention - but he could recall no task completed, no conversation begun or concluded, save for the discourse with Lady Ludlow. That had endured for only a few moments, but he had forgotten none of it, neither the cold fury in her dark eyes nor the stern disappointment in her voice.

There was a time, Mr. Carter, when I believed you utterly incapable of subterfuge.

He felt the sting of the rebuke deeply, given that he had acted with an eye towards her ladyship's welfare. Yet he had also known she could never sanction any manner of defiance, regardless of the intent, and in the end he had perhaps accomplished more harm than good. With this rift the progress achieved for the estate might be utterly undone, and the village school placed in jeopardy. Worse still, his estrangement from Lady Ludlow should grieve Laurie, only recently recovered from a loss none of them dared mention anymore.

Yet he saw no choice but to move forward, to perform his work as diligently as heretofore, while praying to God for the wisdom to put it all right, and to find the words to speak to Laurie when he returned home that evening.

~.O.~

Afterwards Laurentia would recall it had been one of autumn's sweetest days: the sky an intense and unclouded blue, the trees resplendent in their seasonal raiment.

It had been a fine opportunity to tend the garden, and as she worked her mind turned once more to Edward's astonishing proposal of the previous evening. In truth, Laurentia did not believe anything could persuade her husband to leave Hanbury, and his myriad obligations, for even a few days. Still, that he had introduced the notion of a holiday at all, in characteristically gruff yet tender fashion, had moved her heart, and stirred her imagination. Indeed she was quite taken with the image of Edward at the seaside; his eyes seemed almost to have been fashioned to reflect sky and waves and rocky coast.

So the time passed, most pleasantly, until she repaired indoors to make ready for the evening - a comforting ritual, on this occasion accompanied by a frisson of anticipation, for, after her quarrel and reconciliation with Edward, she sensed he would arrive home expecting not only supper and conversation, but a good deal more.

That morning she had seen the bed was made up with fresh linen, and on coming in from the garden she arranged ivy and a few blossoms in a vase - not a bridal bouquet precisely, but most attractive on a bedside table.

When all was ready in their chamber, she went into the sitting-room, where a fire had already been laid, and Edward's book was resting in its usual spot upon the table, and her own workbasket stood waiting, though she suspected there should be little opportunity to sew before bedtime.

~.O.~

On arriving home he stood outside for a moment and looked upon their cottage, its stone and dark timber and lime-washed walls brightened by greenery and a few remaining blooms, as though he had never beheld it all before. A deep sadness filled him at the thought of leaving the place he had cherished these ten years and more. Still, he had chosen his course, and must see it to the end.

He opened the door to the promise of every imaginable comfort, and a welcome beyond his fondest hopes, but before he could utter so much as a word he heard Laurie ask him:

"Edward, whatever has happened?"

~.O.~

Throughout the day he had given considerable thought to what he must tell his wife - the truth, of course, tempered by the respect they both accorded Lady Ludlow - but now that Laurie was standing before him with an expression of frank concern, he felt as ill-prepared as he had that morning. Yet he must speak to her, and without delay.

"Neither illness nor accident, thank God," he said, bowing his head.

"And yet it is something quite serious," prompted Laurie, looking up at him expectantly.

"Yes, yes, concerning her ladyship - and myself.

"Come, and I shall explain." He put aside both hat and walking stick, then led his wife into the sitting-room and waited until she was settled into a chair.

"You know something of the arrangements I made before our marriage - the alterations to my will, the money invested in your name, and in Harry's.

"What you do not know is that I made provision as well for Lady Ludlow - not a legacy but rather the return of a portion of my earnings to her account. I numbered myself among her debtors, nothing more. It seemed only just after she had incurred such expense on my behalf."

"Edward," murmured Laurie, in a tone more of sorrow than reproach.

"My lady knew nothing of this, of course, and the sums were modest enough to escape notice, especially when she was much engaged with arranging new situations for her staff. But I need not remind you of that.

"The payment of interest alone had demanded unaccustomed economies, and I hoped, with time, to make progress against the mortgage itself. But there was something I had not foreseen.

"In the summer my lady wrote to Lord Septimus, entreating him to travel from Italy to the home of a relation not expected to survive the year, and advancing money enough for the journey. He accepted the funds, yet insisted his own health forbade any travel north.

"In his correspondence he made sport of his mother's improved circumstances, and reliance upon a mysterious benefactor. It was then that she made inquiries, and discovered what I had done. You can well imagine her response."

"She is very proud, Edward," said Laurie. "As are you."

At that his anger stirred once more. "It is no sin to pay an honest debt. I had hoped to persuade my lady of that."

"My love, neither you nor any man could bend her will, till she had decided for herself the cause was right."

That was true, and he knew it, indeed had known it since that bitterly cold Christmas Eve when Lady Ludlow intervened to win Job Gregson his freedom. That seemed an age ago now.

"But I did not intend to speak out of turn, or take Lady Ludlow's part," added Laurie, with matchless tact. "Pray continue, Edward."

"This morning she sent word that she had a matter of great importance to discuss with me. I arrived to find her ladyship's solicitor and banker already at her side - though she of course ordered them to wait outside, that we might speak to each other in private, a measure for which I was grateful.

"My lady was deeply angry, of course, that I had acted in disregard of her wishes, though in accord with my own conscience, that I might protect her from - from -"

"From a son who is both profligate and ungrateful," finished Laurie quietly.

"I did not put it so plainly, but my lady could hardly mistake my meaning, when I had been careful to put the money quite out of Lord Septimus's reach. Of course she could not allow such an arrangement to continue, and so had summoned her advisers."

"One of whom must prove Septimus's confederate."

"Yes," he said, lowering his eyes once again. "Yes, at least one.

"On Lady Ludlow's orders, we set to work, undoing all I had arranged months beforehand. Then my lady dismissed me from the house, though not from the estate, on the assurance that she should summon me again in due course. There was little doubt as to her meaning, and intent."

"Edward, she would not disregard your many years of faithful service!"

"I do not know that."

"With a few days' time, and contemplation," continued Laurentia, "her anger will have cooled, and heart perhaps changed."

"Nevertheless, we must prepare ourselves." He lowered his eyes. "I am sorry that I have subjected you to this, when we had thought to enjoy many happy years in this place."

"I am happy with you, Edward, and do not doubt I shall always be." All at once Laurie was standing very near, almost touching him. "And if God has brought us together, He can only have meant that we should together prove equal to any trial. I daresay till now He has given the both of us opportunity enough to show ourselves resourceful. I earned my living once, and should be quite willing to do my part if -"

"It shall not come to that." For all that he suspected that he had tried her ladyship's patience for the final time, he would not have Laurie again stitching caps and sewing feathers onto bonnets, on any grounds.

"No, I do not believe it shall," Laurie said, smiling, though he was certain he saw tears in her eyes. Then she added softly, "Give her time, Edward, but a little time, and all shall be well."

~.O.~

Laurentia had the fondest respect for Lady Ludlow, and the dearest love for Edward, and, despite acquaintance with their individual faults, could not believe they could forever resist a reconciliation, or stand fast against reason itself.

Still, they both of them had proven equally obstinate - Lady Ludlow in her devotion to Septimus, Edward in the demands of his conscience - and, perhaps, equally resigned to the bleakest possible vision of the future.

Yet if Laurentia might not yet approach her ladyship, she nevertheless could offer comfort to her husband, and for that reason saw to it that they kept to their rituals - sitting down to the evening meal, though Edward had but little appetite, and afterwards taking their accustomed places at the fireside.

As Laurentia set to work on her mending, and Edward took up his book, she asked if he might read aloud, and though he readily gave consent, she understood it was for her own benefit, not his.

Still, it was pleasant to listen to her husband read, in resonant voice, and to observe him by firelight. He had such fine hands, she thought, noting how his long fingers curved elegantly round the book.

Yet she saw as well that his brow remained furrowed by anxiety, and his eyes flickered with ill-concealed emotion. Thus she conceived a new plan, and awaited the opportunity to bring it to fruition.

"Edward," she said when he had been reading for a time, and paused for breath, "have you not read that passage twice over?" Not a lie, precisely, but an acceptable means of sowing the seeds of doubt and distraction.

"Have I?"

She smiled at him but made no direct reply for a moment, then said, "I should not like for you to exhaust yourself."

From the corner of her eye she could divine that he was studying her face - he suspected what she was about; that much was clear. Still, there was no harm in playacting further if it would grant him respite from his worries, and so after another brief pause she delivered her concluding line.

"Will you not come to bed?"

Laurentia heard rather than saw the book being closed, read it as consent, and briskly set about putting her workbasket in order. She did not intend to linger a moment longer than necessary, or leave Edward in any doubt of her intent.

~.O.~

Laurie asked him to read aloud, and though he had not the heart to think of novels or verse, he readily agreed, that she might have some diversion amid her worries.

Yet he found himself distracted, indeed continually losing his way, as his eyes turned from the page to Laurie's hands, busy as always with her needlework. Such fine hands she had, gentle and tender - though not cosseted, course; she had got her living by them. But she would not do so again, he resolved to himself, as long as it was in his power to provide -

"Edward, have you not read that passage twice over?"

He looked up and saw his wife gazing back at him, with a familiar - and provocative - expression in her eyes

"Have I?" Surely not, but then his thoughts had been decidedly elsewhere, and he had scarcely known whether he was following the text or not.

Laurie, her eyes once again on her work, did not answer immediately.

"I should not like for you to exhaust yourself," she said, after a little pause. "Will you not come to bed?"

She spoke the words simply, but with a subtle emphasis that left him in no doubt of her meaning. In a trice he had shut the book and laid it aside. When he looked up again Laurie was putting her workbasket in order, and though she was quick about it, he found himself growing impatient.

Make haste, my beloved...

She would receive his attentions that night - of that he had no doubt - and he must comfort and distract her as best he knew how, and all their sorrows should keep until the morning.

~.O.~

The following day he caught her smiling - though not at him; she did not look up, being too much engaged with arranging his neckcloth. But he could see she was dimpling in that sweet way she had, and coloring too, knowing he was watching her, and remembering how they had spent the time before sleep overtook them both.

Blushes or no, she had made her wishes plain, and been more than willing to fulfill his own. Such boldness suited her, though he should not have admitted as much early in their acquaintance, when she had shown such a marked talent for unsettling him. With time, though, he had learnt to enjoy her wit as well as her society, and to acknowledge her worth.

She was infinitely dear to him now, and he not help but agree it had been God Himself who had brought them together, that they should accomplish what good they might, and prove equal to any trial. With his wife's spirit and humor, and his own resolve, they should endure, and nothing on earth or in heaven would ever divide them.

~.O.~

From the corner of her eye she could see he was smiling. The expression suited him very well, and comforted her no end, as Edward had returned home the previous evening with little reason to smile.

She took secret pleasure as well in her own part in effecting the change in him, and the memory of that brought a smile to her own lips, and a flush to her skin, for though there was no shame in how they had spent the time before sleep overtook them, she had been rather startled at her own boldness. But her husband had made no objection - indeed, they had been entirely of one mind - and so they had begun their marriage anew.

Afterwards she drifted into blessed sleep, feeling as though the world had righted itself.

And if, when daylight returned, the world stubbornly remained as it had been, she nevertheless might take comfort in the deepened affection, and resolve, she and Edward shared. They truly were united now, and together should prove equal to any trials that might await them.

~.O.~

The autumn days passed, and Mr. Carter fulfilled his duties as though nothing had changed, though of course a great deal had, and still her ladyship sent no word.

As the harvest festival drew near, Mrs. Carter reminded her husband that Lady Ludlow was too practical to contemplate dismissing her estate manager at such a time, and too mindful of her duty to risk spoiling the day for both her tenants and the townspeople, especially when on this occasion the celebration was to commence with prayer.

In preparation for the service the ladies of the parish adorned the church with the fruits and flowers of the season, and carefully arranged the fine new linen altar cloth.

The hour of divine worship began with a hymn, and the assembled congregation in good voice - though Mrs. Forrester remarked afterwards that it all did not sound quite right without Captain Brown's deep, rumbling bass - and then proceeded to lessons and prayers. There was an audible murmur when, at a nod from Reverend Hutton, Harry Gregson got to his feet to read the psalm, but afterwards several of the ladies remarked that the boy had done admirably well, though Mrs. Jamieson observed that his accent was not all one might have wished.

Following the psalm, second lesson, and Gospel, the rector addressed the congregation, taking as his theme Saint Paul's counsel on enjoying abundance and suffering want with equanimity, and accepting with gratitude the generosity of friends - a subject all too familiar to several of his listeners.

It was clear, furthermore, that Reverend Hutton intended none of it as merely a philosophical exercise, for as soon as prayers had been offered and the concluding hymn sung, he led the congregation outdoors for the distribution of food to the poor and infirm. Mr. Carter, Mr. Goddard, and Mr. Johnson had seen to it that the baskets were ready beforehand, but it was left to Lady Ludlow, attended by the rector's younger daughters, to preside over the ceremony itself.

Miss Matilda Jenkyns, looking on, considered how there had been no such practice in her father's day, yet felt certain he ought to have approved, as would Deborah. At the memory of her sister Miss Matty unconsciously reached out to take Peter's arm, and her brother turned round, and smiled.

"Well, then, Matilda," he said, his eyes crinkling at the corners with merriment. "Let us see what adventures the day holds for us."

"Yes," said Miss Matty, returning the smile. "Let us."

~.O.~

Jem hadn't wanted to come, what with the baby being so wakeful the last few nights, and truth to tell, Martha had been half of a mind to stop at home. But it was a fine day - there wouldn't be many more like this - and Miss Matty had said they must all have a holiday, and make do with something simple for tea that evening.

So off they set together, she and Jem and the baby, to find Miss Matty and Mr. Jenkyns, who'd gone out early to church.

For all that she had a little one to think of now, Martha liked having the chance to walk out with Jem, just as they used to do, and see everything looking so fine, and smell the freshly baked apple tarts and other good things laid out for the festival.

Mind you, she did feel a bit sad to hear band tuning up. Here she was, trim and spry and not yet six and twenty, and left to sit apart while all the girls and lads were dancing. One festival would come and go, and then another, and she'd grow plump and plodding, or thin and harried, with ever more little ones to tug at her skirts.

"Oh, but you must dance," said Miss Matty. "You may not have the opportunity again until Christmas, or perhaps even May!"

Or ever, thought Martha grimly, only Miss Matty wasn't done.

"You and Jem go and enjoy yourselves, and I shall take the baby."

"Oh, I couldn't –"

"Do not worry, Martha. I shall be most careful."

"I'm sorry, ma'am. I didn't mean -"

But before she could say another word, Jem took hold of her hand, tightly.

"Come along now, and be quick about it." He smiled at Miss Matty and Mr. Jenkyns, and then pulled Martha along - and he was strong, Jem was - so they might take their places before the next dance began.

~.O.~

There were not enough gentlemen present, of course. This was, after all, Cranford.

And though Mrs. Morgan insisted she had not yet learnt the local dances well enough, and proposed that Dr. Morgan partner a few ladies of his acquaintance now and then while she caught her breath, Captain Brown could not be pressed into similar service, having been called away on some business concerning the railway.

Still, it was no grief to Miss Matty to sit and look on. Her brother had been most attentive, and found her a place with an excellent prospect, that she might watch the goings-on while sitting comfortably with the baby in her arms, for it was in caring for her young namesake that she found her greatest pleasure.

"I shall not take it amiss if you wish to dance as well, Peter," said Miss Matty generously. "I am quite happily settled here."

"Why, Matilda, are you matchmaking?"

The very question brought a blush to Miss Matty's cheeks. She had never been one for schemes and stratagems, and knew, moreover, that her brother did not actually require her help. Peter was a fine-looking man - she had noted how he drew admiring looks all about the village, or even in church of a Sunday - and a most diverting conversationalist.

Of course he was given to teasing as well, she remembered, and there was proof enough of that in the broad smile with which he met her look of honest concern.

"By no means," replied Miss Matty, blushing once more. "It is simply that I should not like for you to feel obliged to remain at my side."

"You will summon me in an instant if you require my assistance, or wish to return home?"

"Of course."

"Then I will most wholeheartedly perform my duty, Matilda, and as well furnish the ladies with adequate material for gossip - several days' worth, at least."

Miss Matty did not much care for the sound of that. "Just what do you mean to do?"

"I mean, Matilda, to disturb the social order. It is high time that Mrs. Jamieson had a conundrum or two to occupy her mind."

The little speech made Miss Matty uneasy, and it crossed her mind once again how Peter's beard lent him a roguish aspect. It was not that there was anything exactly improper in having a beard - it rendered many a gentleman quite distinguished, indeed near to a patriarch - but she was still not quite easy in her own mind about it, and could guess what Deborah ought to have said: that in her youth no man had gone about in such a state, and certainly Dr. Johnson had not.

"Oh, no, Peter. We are all of us too old for such games - "

"Games? I am in earnest. And I dare say the exercise shall prove beneficial as well," he added, cocking an eyebrow. Miss Matty could only imagine the look of alarm she was wearing, for Peter continued, more gently, "Do not worry, Matilda. Diversion is my intent, and not scandal."

Such words, however, were of little reassurance to his sister, but before she could give voice to her doubts, Peter strode off in the direction of a group of ladies, and Miss Matty could take no comfort but in the society of Martha and Jem's baby, though she was as yet too young for confidences.

~.O.~

And she could only look on as her brother approached the ladies. They had in an instant taken the measure of the situation, with Miss Pole assuming an expression of studied nonchalance, and Mrs. Forrester, her blue eyes fairly sparkling with anticipation, offering a most charming smile.

Miss Matty was wondering which of the two her brother would choose as his partner when, without warning, Mrs. Jamieson rose to her feet, deposited a squirming Giuseppe into Miss Pole's arms, and, with a pleasant smile and a gracious nod, took custody of Peter and conducted him in the direction of the music. Indeed she moved with such haste, he had not even time to offer a proper reverence, let alone issue his invitation. Miss Matty could not recall ever seeing such a thing done in Cranford.

Really, what should Deborah have made of it all?

~.O.~

Martha's feet were tired, but she did not much care, as she'd had a fine time, better than when she and Jem were walking out. She'd not thought to dance again, now that she was wed and had a little one to care for, but so it was.

Mind you, she'd had a great deal more than that to wonder at that day - Jem, for one, who seemed to have forgotten he was tired and cross, and had a dozen things to see to when their holiday was over. Then there were the ladies, who'd flown round Mr. Jenkyns like bees in a garden. But it had been at the last when the strangest thing of all happened.

The musicians were packing up their things, and the workmen taking away all the tables, and as always it made Martha a little sad to see it, as they'd have to wait a full year till the harvest festival came again.

Lady Ludlow's estate manager, Mr. Carter, was going up and down, giving orders the way he usually did, when Martha saw him turn round all sudden-like and see Mrs. Carter standing near, and instead of being cross the way a man usually was when he was stopped at his work, he smiled.

Martha shouldn't have known it even was Mr. Carter but for his brown coat and hat, and his walking stick. Everyone knew he never smiled, at anyone, and there he was, looking pleased as punch, and there was Mrs. Carter waiting for him, and blushing too, before the whole village.

Martha had never seen such goings-on - Mr. Carter smiling, and the ladies near to squabbling about Mr. Jenkyns, and Jem dancing about as though he'd not a care in the world, like he was Jack-in-the-Green once more, only with no leaves to cover him up.

Truly Martha did not know what the world was coming to, but she'd not complain if it went on the same way.

~.O.~

Job hadn't been in a humor to go to the festival, but his little ones had talked of nothing else for days, and in the end he'd given way, and marched the lot of them into the village, with the older ones looking after the younger, and him to keep his eye on Sarah, who'd as usual saved all her smiles for the village lads.

There was such a jumble of noise and bother, it was a job not to lose sight of any of the children, and that meant he couldn't stop them eating their fill of apple tarts and sweets. They'd all have bellyaches tomorrow, like as not, except for Harry, who'd been up at dawn to set out for the church and help with the service.

He'd done well, too. Job had heard as much from some of the ladies, and even from the rector.

Job hadn't wanted to like Reverend Hutton, with all his books and a pair of hands that, from the look of them, had never done any hard work. Still, he'd been kind to Harry, and the townspeople couldn't scorn the lad now, could they, when it was clear the rector set such store by him.

There had been a time when Job wanted nothing to do with the lot of them - they'd have seen him transported, and his sweet Bella in the workhouse, and all their little ones - but now he was in the employ of Lady Ludlow herself, and his eldest was welcome at the rectory any day of the week.

Truly the world had gone topsy-turvy.

~.O.~

It had been with some regret that Laurentia had watched the musicians gather up their instruments. Though the day itself had been most pleasant, she knew that in days to come the dusk should arrive earlier, and the cold rains return, to be followed due course by the snow. The year was drawing to its close, and though there was the promise of Christmastide and its myriad delights, there was also uncertainty, and not a little anxiety.

She had resolved to comfort and encourage Edward, and not give voice to her own doubts, but the departure of the musicians stirred up memories of Lady Ludlow's garden parties, and what appeared in hindsight a wholly carefree time. Of course it had been no such thing, but change itself must serve as reminder that there was no certain thing upon this earth -

Just at that moment Edward turned round and offered her a smile, as he had never done on this or any other public occasion save their wedding, and in spite of herself she blushed, and smiled in response. She felt her spirits rising as she watched her husband hasten to finish his work.

Darkness should fall, and winter beckon, and the world change all around them, yet they should find their way home, wherever that might prove to be, and together drive the dark away.

~.O.~

The autumn sun streamed through the windows, brightening the ocher walls, and warming the room as though summer had chosen to linger a while longer.

Yet it was not so, Lady Ludlow knew. The year was dying; she read the signs all about her. Each morning should be colder than the last, and every gloriously colored leaf would in time tumble to the ground and face decay.

Such a bleak prospect seemed beyond endurance just now, when she was still holding the letter - nearly as light upon her hand as a falling leaf, yet weighing as heavily on her heart as might a stone.

A stone. A monument raised to one departed.

There was no ceremony she might observe at Hanbury - save for offering prayers, and writing the letter of condolence, to be borne away and posted this very afternoon - and there should as well be no consolation, apart from the sacred Scripture. After all, she might not conjure her son from across the sea - indeed, for his health's sake, Septimus must embark on no travel before spring - and so would she be denied his company in the darkest of seasons.

Yet even in her bitterness she could not but recall the gentle admonition from Reverend Hutton, and indeed Saint Paul, that one must accept trials with patience, and kindnesses with gratitude. She had been found lacking in both respects, fancying herself ill-used while proving unkind and ungrateful.

Yet with God's help, she would make amends, and so it was that she sat down at her writing desk and once more took up the pen, not to compose a message of condolence this time, but to issue an invitation.

My dear Laurentia, she began, in a delicate yet clear hand. In these last days I have, by my silence, done you a great wrong...

To be continued...

~.O.~

AN:

The Internets suggest it was indeed in 1844 that a British cleric first opened a harvest festival with a church service, though in Cornwall, not Cheshire. Still, as Miss Pole reminds us, no one in Cranford would care to be thought backward.

The Reverend Hutton based his harvest service homily on Philippians 4:10-14. An additional Bible reference turned up before that when Mr. Carter thought of Chapter 8 of the Song of Solomon ("Make haste, my beloved...").

My dear readers, what will this world come to? Your guess is as good as mine, but while we're pondering that I'll keep working on this story. I'm too fond of the Carters - and the other characters - to leave you in the dark about their fates, and you'll have no doubt noticed several unresolved plot threads.

As always, reviews and other comments are welcome.