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257
Cranford
·
Elizabeth Cleghorn Gaskell
144
Really
I
do
not
know
how
much
was
true
or
false
in
the
reports
which
flew
about
like
wildfire
just
at
this
time;
but
it
seemed
to
me
then
that
there
was
every
reason
to
believe
that
at
Mardon
(a
small
town
about
eight
miles
from
Cranford)
houses
and
shops
were
entered
by
holes
made
in
the
walls,
the
bricks
being
silently
carried
away
in
the
dead
of
the
night,
and
all
done
so
quietly
that
no
sound
was
heard
either
in
or
out
of
the
house.
Miss
Matty
gave
it
up
in
despair
when
she
heard
of
this.
“What
was
the
use,”
said
she,
“of
locks
and
bolts,
and
bells
to
the
windows,
and
going
round
the
house
every
night?
That
last
trick
was
fit
for
a
conjuror.
Now
she
did
believe
that
Signor
Brunoni
was
at
the
bottom
of
it.”
One
afternoon,
about
five
o’clock,
we
were
startled
by
a
hasty
knock
at
the
door.
Miss
Matty
bade
me
run
and
tell
Martha
on
no
account
to
open
the
door
till
she
(Miss
Matty)
had
reconnoitred
through
the
window;
and
she
armed
herself
with
a
footstool
to
drop
down
on
the
head
of
the
visitor,
in
case
he
should
show
a
face
covered
with
black
crape,
as
he
looked
up
in
answer
to
her
inquiry
of
who
was
there.
But
it
was
nobody
but
Miss
Pole
and
Betty.
The
former
came
upstairs,
carrying
a
little
hand-basket,
and
she
was
evidently
in
a
state
of
great
agitation.
“Take
care
of
that!”
said
she
to
me,
as
I
offered
to
relieve
her
of
her
basket.
“It’s
my
plate.
I
am
sure
there
is
a
plan
to
rob
my
house
to-night.
I
am
come
to
throw
myself
on
your
hospitality,
Miss
Matty.
Betty
is
going
to
sleep
with
her
cousin
at
the
‘George.’
I
can
sit
up
here
all
night
if
you
will
allow
me;
but
my
house
is
so
far
from
any
neighbours,
and
I
don’t
believe
we
could
be
heard
if
we
screamed
ever
so!”
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