Books: He Knew He Was Right

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When therefore the clergyman of St. Diddulph's received a letter from
his niece, Nora, begging him to take her into his parsonage till Sir
Marmaduke should arrive in the course of the spring, and hinting also a
wish that her uncle Oliphant should see Mr Trevelyan and if possible
arrange that his other niece should also come to the parsonage, he was
very much perturbed in spirit. There was a long consultation between
him and his wife before anything could be settled, and it may be
doubted whether anything would have been settled, had not Mr Trevelyan
himself made his way to the parsonage, on the second day of the family
conference. Mr and Mrs Outhouse had both seen the necessity of sleeping
upon the matter. They had slept upon it, and the discourse between them
on the second day was so doubtful in its tone that more sleeping would
probably have been necessary had not Mr Trevelyan appeared and
compelled them to a decision.

'You must remember that I make no charge against her,' said Trevelyan,
after the matter had been discussed for about an hour.

'Then why should she not come back to you?' said Mr Outhouse, timidly.

'Some day she may if she will be obedient. But it cannot be now. She
has set me at defiance; and even yet it is too clear from the tone of
her letter to me that she thinks that she has been right to do so. How
could we live together in amity when she addresses me as a cruel
tyrant?'

'Why did she go away at first?' asked Mrs Outhouse.

'Because she would compromise my name by an intimacy which I did not
approve. But I do not come here to defend myself, Mrs Outhouse. You
probably think that I have been wrong. You are her friend; and to you,
I will not even say that I have been right. What I want you to
understand is this. She cannot come back to me now. It would not be for
my honour that she should do so.'

'But, sir would it not be for your welfare, as a Christian?' asked Mr
Outhouse.

'You must not be angry with me, if I say that I will not discuss that
just now. I did not come here to discuss it.'

'It is very sad for our poor niece,' said Mrs Outhouse. 'It is very sad
for me,' said Trevelyan, gloomily 'very sad, indeed. My home is
destroyed; my life is made solitary; I do not even see my own child.
She has her boy with her, and her sister. I have nobody.'

'I can't understand, for the life of me; why you should not live
together just like any other people,' said Mrs Outhouse, whose woman's
spirit was arising in her bosom. 'When people are married, they must
put up with something at least, most always.' This she added, lest it
might be for a moment imagined that she had had any cause for complaint
with her Mr Outhouse.

'Pray excuse me, Mrs Outhouse; but I cannot discuss that. The question
between us is this can you consent to receive your two nieces till
their father's return and if so, in what way shall I defray the expense
of their living? You will of course understand that I willingly
undertake the expense not only of my wife's maintenance and of her
sister's also, but that I will cheerfully allow anything that may be
required either for their comfort or recreation.'

'I cannot take my nieces into my house as lodgers,' said Mr Outhouse.

'No, not as lodgers; but of course you can understand that it is for me
to pay for my own wife. I know I owe you an apology for mentioning it
but how else could I make my request to you?'

'If Emily and Nora come here they must come as our guests,' said Mrs
Outhouse.

'Certainly,' said the clergyman. 'And if I am told they are in want of
a home they shall find one here till their father comes. But I am bound
to say that as regards the elder I think her home should be elsewhere.'

'Of course it should,' said Mrs Outhouse. 'I don't know anything about
the law, but it seems to me very odd that a young woman should be
turned out in this way. You say she has done nothing?'

'I will not argue the matter,' said Trevelyan.

'That's all very well, Mr Trevelyan,' said the lady, 'but she's my own
niece, and if I don't stand up for her I don't know who will. I never
heard such a thing in my life as a wife being sent away after such a
fashion as that. We wouldn't treat a cookmaid so; that we wouldn't. As
for coming here, she shall come if she pleases, but I shall always say
that it's the greatest shame I ever heard of.'

Nothing came of this visit at last. The lady grew in her anger; and Mr
Trevelyan, in his own defence, was driven to declare that his wife's
obstinate intimacy with Colonel Osborne had almost driven him out of
his senses. Before he left the parsonage he was brought even to tears
by his own narration of his own misery whereby Mr Outhouse was
considerably softened, although Mrs Outhouse became more and more stout
in the defence of her own sex. But nothing at last came of it.
Trevelyan insisted on paying for his wife, wherever she might be
placed; and when he found that this would not be permitted to him at
the parsonage, he was very anxious to take some small furnished house
in the neighbourhood, in which the two sisters might live for the next
six months under the wings of their uncle and aunt But even Mr Outhouse
was moved to pleasantry by this suggestion, as he explained the nature
of the tenements which were common at St. Diddulph's. Two rooms, front
and back, they might have for about five-and sixpence a week in a house
with three other families. 'But perhaps that is not exactly what you'd
like,' said Mr Outhouse. The interview ended with no result, and Mr
Trevelyan took his leave, declaring to himself that he was worse off
than the foxes, who have holes in which to lay their heads but it must
be presumed that his sufferings in this respect were to be by attorney;
as it was for his wife, and not for himself, that the necessary hole
was now required.

As soon as he was gone Mrs Outhouse answered Nora's letter, and without
meaning to be explicit, explained pretty closely what had taken place.
The spare bedroom at the parsonage was ready to receive either one or
both of the sisters till Sir Marmaduke should be in London, if one or
both of them should choose to come. And though there was no nursery at
the parsonage for Mr and Mrs Outhouse had been blessed with no children
still room should be made for the little boy. But they must come as
visitors 'as our own nieces,' said Mrs Outhouse. And she went on to say
that she would have nothing to do with the quarrel between Mr Trevelyan
and his wife. All such quarrels were very bad but as to this quarrel
she could take no part either one side or the other. Then she stated
that Mr Trevelyan had been at the parsonage, but that no arrangement
had been made, because Mr Trevelyan had insisted on paying for their
board and lodging.

This letter reached Nuncombe Putney before any reply was received by
Mrs Trevelyan from her husband. This was on the Saturday morning, and
Mrs Trevelyan had pledged herself to Mrs Stanbury that she would leave
the Clock House on the Monday. Of course, there was no need that she
should do so. Both Mrs Stanbury and Priscilla would now have willingly
consented to their remaining till Sir Marmaduke should be in England.
But Mrs Trevelyan's high spirit revolted against this after all that
had been said. She thought that she should hear from her husband on the
morrow, but the post on Sunday brought no letter from Trevelyan. On the
Saturday they had finished packing up so certain was Mrs Trevelyan that
some instructions as to her future destiny would be sent to her by her
lord.

At last they decided on the Sunday that they would both go at once to
St. Diddulph's; or perhaps it would be more correct to say that this
was the decision of the elder sister. Nora would willingly have yielded
to Priscilla's entreaties, and have remained. But Emily declared that
she could not, and would not, stay in the house. She had a few pounds
what would suffice for her' journey; and as Mr Trevelyan had not
thought proper to send his orders to her, she would go without them.
Mrs Outhouse was her aunt, and her nearest relative in England. Upon
whom else could she lean in this time of her great affliction? A
letter, therefore, was written to Mrs Outhouse, saying that the whole
party, including the boy and nurse, would be at St. Diddulph's on the
Monday evening, and the last cord was put to the boxes.

'I suppose that he is very angry,' Mrs Trevelyan said to her sister,
'but I do not feel that I care about that now. He shall have nothing to
complain of in reference to any gaiety on my part. I will see no one. I
will have no correspondence. But I will not remain here, after what he
has said to me, let him be ever so angry. I declare, as I think of it,
it seems to me that no woman was ever so cruelly treated as I have
been.' Then she wrote one further line to her husband.

'Not having received any orders from you, and having promised Mrs
Stanbury that I would leave this house on Monday, I go with Nora to my
aunt, Mrs Outhouse, to-morrow.

E. T.'

On the Sunday evening the four ladies drank tea together, and they all
made an effort to be civil, and even affectionate, to each other. Mrs
Trevelyan had at last allowed Priscilla to explain how it had come to
pass that she had told her brother that it would be better both for her
mother and for herself that the existing arrangements should be brought
to an end, and there had come to be an agreement between them that they
should all part in amity. But the conversation on the Sunday evening
was very difficult.

'I am sure we shall always think of you both with the greatest
kindness,' said Mrs Stanbury.

'As for me,' said Priscilla, 'your being with us has been a delight
that I cannot describe only it has been wrong.'

'I know too well,' said Mrs Trevelyan, 'that in our present
circumstances we are unable to carry delight with us anywhere.'

'You hardly understand what our life has been,' said Priscilla; 'but
the truth is that we had no right to receive you in such a house as
this. It has not been our way of living, and it cannot continue to be
so. It is not wonderful that people should talk of us. Had it been
called your house, it might have been better.'

'And what will you do now?' asked Nora.

'Get out of this place as soon as we can. It is often hard to go back
to the right path; but it may always be done or at least attempted.'

'It seems to me that I take misery with me wherever I go,' said Mrs
Trevelyan.

'My dear, it has not been your fault,' said Mrs Stanbury.

'I do not like to blame my brother,' said Priscilla, 'because he has
done his best to be good to us all and the punishment will fall
heaviest upon him, because he must pay for it.'

'He should not be allowed to pay a shilling,' said Mrs Trevelyan.

Then the morning came, and at seven o'clock the two sisters, with the
nurse and child, started for Lessboro' Station in Mrs Crocket's open
carriage, the luggage having been sent on in a cart. There were many
tears shed, and any one looking at the party would have thought that
very dear friends were being torn asunder.

'Mother,' said Priscilla, as soon as the parlour door was shut, and the
two were alone together, 'we must take care that we never are brought
again into such a mistake as that. They who protect the injured should
be strong themselves.'

CHAPTER XXX - DOROTHY MAKES UP HER MIND

It was true that most ill-natured things had been said at Lessboro' and
at Nuncombe Putney about Mrs Stanbury and the visitors at the Clock
House, and that these ill-natured things had spread themselves to
Exeter. Mrs Ellison of Lessboro', who was not the most good-natured
woman in the world, had told Mrs Merton of Nuncombe that she had been
told that the Colonel's visit to the lady had been made by express
arrangement between the Colonel and Mrs Stanbury. Mrs Merton, who was
very good-natured, but not the wisest woman in the world, had declared
that any such conduct on the part of Mrs Stanbury was quite impossible
'What does it matter which it is Priscilla or her mother?' Mrs Ellison
had said. 'These are the facts. Mrs Trevelyan has been sent there to be
out of the way of this Colonel; and the Colonel immediately comes down
and sees her at the Clock House. But when people are very poor they do
get driven to do almost anything.'

Mrs Merton, not being very wise, had conceived it to be her duty to
repeat this to Priscilla; and Mrs Ellison, not being very good-natured,
had conceived it to be hers to repeat it to Mrs MacHugh at Exeter. And
then Bozzle's coming had become known.

'Yes, Mrs MacHugh, a policeman in mufti down at Nuncombe! I wonder what
our friend in the Close here will think about it! I have always said,
you know, that if she wanted to keep things straight at Nuncombe, she
should have opened her purse-strings.'

From all which it may be understood, that Priscilla Stanbury's desire
to go back to their old way of living had not been without reason.

It may be imagined that Miss Stanbury of the Close did not receive with
equanimity the reports which reached her. And, of course, when she
discussed the matter either with Martha or with Dorothy, she fell back
upon her own early appreciation of the folly of the Clock House
arrangement. Nevertheless, she had called Mrs Ellison very bad names,
when she learned from her friend Mrs MacHugh what reports were being
spread by the lady from Lessboro'.

'Mrs Ellison! Yes; we all know Mrs Ellison. The bitterest tongue in
Devonshire, and the falsest! There are some people at Lessboro' who
would be well pleased if she paid her way there as well as those poor
women do at Nuncombe. I don't think much of what Mrs Ellison says.'

'But it is bad about the policeman,' said Mrs MacHugh.

'Of course it's bad. It's all bad. I'm not saying that it's not bad.
I'm glad I've got this other young woman out of it. It's all that young
man's doing. If I had a son of my own, I'd sooner follow him to the
grave than hear him call himself a Radical.'

Then, on a sudden, there came to the Close news that Mrs Trevelyan and
her sister were gone. On the very Monday on which they went, Priscilla
sent a note on to her sister, in which no special allusion was made to
Aunt Stanbury, but which was no doubt written with the intention that
the news should be communicated.

'Gone; are they? As it is past wishing that they hadn't come, it's the
best thing they could do now. And who is to pay the rent of the house,
now they have gone?' As this was a point on which Dorothy was not
prepared to trouble herself at present, she made no answer to the
question.

Dorothy at this time was in a state of very great perturbation on her
own account. The reader may perhaps remember that she had been much
startled by a proposition that had been made to her in reference to her
future life. Her aunt had suggested to her that she should become Mrs
Gibson. She had not as yet given any answer to that proposition, and
had indeed found it to be quite impossible to speak about it at all.
But there can be no doubt that the suggestion had opened out to her
altogether new views of life. Up to the moment of her aunt's speech to
her, the idea of her becoming a married woman had never presented
itself to her. In her humility it had not occurred to her that she
should be counted as one among the candidates for matrimony. Priscilla
had taught her to regard herself indeed, they had both regarded
themselves as born to eat and drink, as little as might be, and then to
die. Now, when she was told that she could, if she pleased, become Mrs
Gibson, she was almost lost in a whirl of new and confused ideas. Since
her aunt had spoken, Mr Gibson himself had dropped a hint or two which
seemed to her to indicate that he also must be in the secret. There had
been a party, with a supper, at Mrs Crumbie's, at which both the Miss
Frenches had been present. But Mr Gibson had taken her, Dorothy
Stanbury, out to supper, leaving both Camilla and Arabella behind him
in the drawing-room! During the quarter of an hour afterwards in which
the ladies were alone while the gentlemen were eating and drinking,
both Camilla and Arabella continued to wreak their vengeance. They
asked questions about Mrs Trevelyan, and suggested that Mr Gibson might
be sent over to put things right. But Miss Stanbury had heard them, and
had fallen upon them with a heavy hand.

'There's a good deal expected of Mr Gibson, my dears,' she said, 'which
it seems to me Mr Gibson is not inclined to perform.'

'It is quite indifferent to us what Mr Gibson may be inclined to
perform,' said Arabella. 'I'm sure we shan't interfere with Miss
Dorothy.'

As this was said quite out loud before all the other ladies, Dorothy
was overcome with shame. But her aunt comforted her when they were
again at home.

'Laws, my dear; what does it matter? When you're Mrs Gibson, you'll be
proud of it all.'

Was it then really written in the book of the Fates that she, Dorothy
Stanbury, was to become Mrs Gibson? Poor Dorothy began to feel that she
was called upon to exercise an amount of thought and personal decision
to which she had not been accustomed. Hitherto, in the things which she
had done, or left undone, she had received instructions which she could
obey. Had her mother and Priscilla told her positively not to go to her
aunt's house, she would have remained at Nuncombe without complaint.
Had her aunt since her coming given her orders as to her mode of life
enjoined, for instance, additional church attendances, or desired her
to perform menial services in the house she would have obeyed, from
custom, without a word. But when she was told that she was to marry Mr
Gibson, it did seem to her to be necessary to do something more than
obey. Did she love Mr Gibson? She tried hard to teach herself to think
that she might learn to love him. He was a nice-looking man enough,
with sandy hair, and a head rather bald, with thin lips, and a narrow
nose, who certainly did preach drawling sermons; but of whom everybody
said that he was a very excellent clergyman. He had a house and an
income, and all Exeter had long since decided that he was a man who
would certainly marry. He was one of those men of whom it may be said
that they have no possible claim to remain unmarried. He was fair game,
and unless he surrendered himself to be bagged before long, would
subject himself to just and loud complaint. The Miss Frenches had been
aware of this, and had thought to make sure of him among them. It was a
little hard upon them that the old maid of the Close, as they always
called Miss Stanbury, should interfere with them when their booty was
almost won. And they felt it to be the harder because Dorothy Stanbury
was, as they thought, so poor a creature. That Dorothy herself should
have any doubt as to accepting Mr Gibson, was an idea that never
occurred to them. But Dorothy had her doubts. When she came to think of
it, she remembered that she had never as yet spoken a word to Mr
Gibson, beyond such little trifling remarks as are made over a
tea-table. She might learn to love him, but she did not think that she
loved him as yet.

'I don't suppose all this will make any difference to Mr Gibson,' said
Miss Stanbury to her niece, on the morning after the receipt of
Priscilla's note stating that the Trevelyans had left Nuncombe.

Dorothy always blushed when Mr Gibson's name was mentioned, and she
blushed now. But she did not at all understand her aunt's allusion. 'I
don't know what you mean, aunt,' she said.

'Well, you know, my dear, what they say about Mrs Trevelyan and the
Clock House is not very nice. If Mr Gibson were to turn round and say
that the connection wasn't pleasant, no one would have a right to
complain.'

The faint customary blush on Dorothy's cheeks which Mr Gibson's name
had produced now covered her whole face even up to the roots of her
hair. 'If he believes bad of mamma, I'm sure, Aunt Stanbury, I don't
want to see him again.'

'That's all very fine, my dear, but a man has to think of himself, you
know.'

'Of course he thinks of himself. Why shouldn't he? I dare say he thinks
of himself more than I do.'

'Dorothy, don't be a fool. A good husband isn't to be caught every
day.'

'Aunt Stanbury, I don't want to catch any man.'

'Dorothy, don't be a fool.'

'I must say it. I don't suppose Mr Gibson thinks of me the least in the
world.'

'Psha! I tell you he does.'

'But as for mamma and Priscilla, I never could like anybody for a
moment who would be ashamed of them.'

She was most anxious to declare that, as far as she knew herself and
her own wishes at present, she entertained no partiality for Mr Gibson
no feeling which could become partiality even if Mr Gibson was to
declare himself willing to accept her mother and her sister with
herself. But she did not dare to say so. There was an instinct within
her which made it almost impossible to her to express an objection to a
suitor before the suitor had declared himself to be one. She could
speak out as touching her mother and her sister but as to her own
feelings she could express neither assent or dissent.

'I should like to have it settled soon,' said Miss Stanbury, in a
melancholy voice. Even to this Dorothy could make no reply. What did
soon mean? Perhaps in the course of a year or two. 'If it could be
arranged by the end of this week, it would be a great comfort to me.'
Dorothy almost fell off her chair, and was stricken altogether dumb. 'I
told you, I think, that Brooke Burgess is coming here?'

'You said he was to come some day.'

'He is to be here on Monday. I haven't seen him for more than twelve
years; and now he's to be here next week! Dear, dear! When I think
sometimes of all the hard words that have been spoken, and the harder
thoughts that have been in people's minds, I often regret that the
money ever came to me at all. I could have done without it, very well
very well.'

'But all the unpleasantness is over now, aunt.'

'I don't know about that. Unpleasantness of that kind is apt to rankle
long. But I wasn't going to give up my rights. Nobody but a coward does
that. They talked of going to law and trying the will, but they
wouldn't have got much by that. And then they abused me for two years.
When they had done and got sick of it, I told them they should have it
all back again as soon as I am dead. It won't be long now. This Burgess
is the elder nephew, and he shall have it all.'

'Is not he grateful?'

'No. Why should he be grateful? I don't do it for special love of him.
I don't want his gratitude; nor anybody's gratitude. Look at Hugh. I
did love him.'

'I am grateful, Aunt Stanbury.'

'Are you, my dear? Then show it by being a good wife to Mr Gibson, and
a happy wife. I want to get everything settled while Burgess is here.
If he is to have it, why should I keep him out of it whilst I live? I
wonder whether Mr Gibson would mind coming and living here, Dolly?'

The thing was coming so near to her that Dorothy began to feel that she
must, in truth, make up her mind, and let her aunt know also how it had
been made up. She was sensible enough to perceive that if she did not
prepare herself for the occasion she would find herself hampered by an
engagement simply because her aunt had presumed that it was out of the
question that she should not acquiesce. She would drift into marriage
with Mr Gibson against her will. Her greatest difficulty was the fact
that her aunt clearly had no doubt on the subject. And as for herself,
hitherto her feelings did not, on either side, go beyond doubts.
Assuredly it would be a very good thing for her to become Mrs Gibson,
if only she could create for herself some attachment for the man. At
the present moment her aunt said nothing more about Mr Gibson, having
her mind much occupied with the coming of Mr Brooke Burgess.

'I remember him twenty years ago and more; as nice a boy as you would
wish to see. His father was the fourth of the brothers. Dear, dear!
Three of them are gone; and the only one remaining is old Barty, whom
no one ever loved.'

The Burgesses had been great people in Exeter, having been both bankers
and brewers there, but the light of the family had paled; and though
Bartholomew Burgess, of whom Miss Stanbury declared that no one had
ever loved him, still had a share in the bank, it was well understood
in the city that the real wealth in the firm of Cropper and Burgess,
belonged to the Cropper family. Indeed the most considerable portion of
the fortune that had been realised by old Mr Burgess had come into the
possession of Miss Stanbury herself. Bartholomew Burgess had never
forgiven his brother's will, and between him and Jemima Stanbury the
feud was irreconcileable. The next brother, Tom Burgess, had been a
solicitor at Liverpool, and had done well there. But Miss Stanbury knew
nothing of the Tom Burgesses as she called them. The fourth brother,
Harry Burgess, had been a clergyman, and this Brooke Burgess, Junior,
who was now coming to the Close, had been left with a widowed mother,
the eldest of a large family. It need not now be told at length how
there had been ill-blood also between this clergyman and the heiress.
There had been attempts at friendship, and at one time Miss Stanbury
had received the Rev. Harry Burgess and all his family at the Close but
the attempts had not been successful; and though our old friend had
never wavered in her determination to leave the money all back to some
one of the Burgess family, and with this view had made a pilgrimage to
London some twelve years since, and had renewed her acquaintance with
the widow and the children, still there had been no comfortable
relations between her and any of the Burgess family. Old Barty Burgess,
whom she met in the Close, or saw in the High Street every day of her
life, was her great enemy. He had tried his best so at least she was
convinced to drive her out of the pale of society, years upon years
ago, by saying evil things of her. She had conquered in that combat.
Her victory had been complete, and she had triumphed after a most
signal fashion. But this triumph did not silence Barty's tongue, nor
soften his heart. When she prayed to be forgiven, as she herself
forgave others, she always exempted Barty Burgess from her prayers.
There are things which flesh and blood cannot do. She had not liked
Harry Burgess' widow, nor, for the matter of that, Harry Burgess
himself. When she had last seen the children she had not liked any of
them much, and had had her doubts even as to Brooke. But with that
branch of the family she was willing to try again. Brooke was now
coming to the Close, having received, however, an intimation, that if,
during his visit to Exeter, he chose to see his Uncle Barty, any such
intercourse must be kept quite in the background. While he remained in
Miss Stanbury's house he was to remain there as though there were no
such person as Mr Bartholomew Burgess in Exeter.