Books: He Knew He Was Right

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At this time Brooke Burgess was a man just turned thirty, and was a
clerk in the Ecclesiastical Record Office, in Somerset House. No doubt
the peculiar nature and name of the public department to which he was
attached had done something to recommend him to Miss Stan-bury.
Ecclesiastical records were things greatly to be reverenced in her
eyes, and she felt that a gentleman who handled them and dealt with
them would probably be sedate, gentlemanlike, and conservative. Brooke
Burgess, when she had last seen him, was just about to enter upon the
duties of the office. Then there had come offence, and she had in truth
known nothing of him from that day to this. The visitor was to be at
Exeter on the following Monday, and very much was done in preparation
of his coming. There was to be a dinner party on that very day, and
dinner parties were not common with Miss Stanbury. She had, however,
explained to Martha that she intended to put her best foot forward.
Martha understood perfectly that Mr Brooke Burgess was to be received
as the heir of property. Sir Peter Mancrudy, the great Devonshire
chemist, was coming to dinner, and Mr and Mrs Powel from Haldon people
of great distinction in that part of the county Mrs MacHugh of course;
and, equally of course, Mr Gibson. There was a deep discussion between
Miss Stanbury and Martha as to asking two of the Cliffords, and Mr and
Mrs Noel from Doddiscombeleigh. Martha had been very much in favour of
having twelve. Miss Stanbury had declared that with twelve she must
have two waiters from the greengrocers, and that two waiters would
overpower her own domesticities below stairs. Martha had declared that
she didn't care about them any more than if they were puppy dogs. But
Miss Stanbury had been quite firm against twelve. She had consented to
have ten for the sake of artistic arrangement at the table; 'They
should be pantaloons and petticoats alternate, you know,' she had said
to Martha and had therefore asked the Cliffords. But the Cliffords
could not come, and then she had declined to make any further attempt.
Indeed, a new idea had struck her. Brooke Burgess, her guest, should
sit at one end of the table, and Mr Gibson, the clergyman, at the
other. In this way the proper alternation would be effected. When
Martha heard this, Martha quite understood the extent of the good
fortune that was in store for Dorothy. If Mr Gibson was to be welcomed
in that way, it could only be in preparation of his becoming one of the
family.

And Dorothy herself became aware that she must make up her mind. It was
not so declared to her, but she came to understand that it was very
probable that something would occur on the coming Monday which would
require her to be ready with her answer on that day. And she was
greatly tormented by feeling that if she could not bring herself to
accept Mr Gibson should Mr Gibson propose to her, as to which she
continued to tell herself that the chance of such a thing must be very
remote indeed but that if he should propose to her, and if she could
not accept him, her aunt ought to know that it would be so before the
moment came. But yet she could not bring herself to speak to her aunt
as though any such proposition were possible.

It happened that during the week, on the Saturday, Priscilla came into
Exeter. Dorothy met her sister at the railway station, and then the two
walked together two miles and back along the Crediton Road. Aunt
Stanbury had consented to Priscilla coming to the Close, even though it
was not the day appointed for such visits; but the walk had been
preferred, and Dorothy felt that she would be able to ask for counsel
from the only human being to whom she could have brought herself to
confide the fact that a gentleman was expected to ask her to marry him.
But it was not till they had turned upon their walk, that she was able
to open her mouth on the subject even to her sister. Priscilla had been
very full of their own cares at Nuncombe, and had said much of her
determination to leave the Clock House and to return to the retirement
of some small cottage. She had already written to Hugh to this effect,
and during their walk had said much of her own folly in having
consented to so great a change in their mode of life. At last Dorothy
struck in with her story.

'Aunt Stanbury wants me to make a change too.'

'What change?' asked Priscilla anxiously.

'It is not my idea, Priscilla, and I don't think that there can be
anything in it. Indeed, I'm sure there isn't. I don't see how it's
possible that there should be.'

'But what is it, Dolly?'

'I suppose there can't be any harm in my telling you.'

'If it's anything concerning yourself, I should say not. If it concerns
Aunt Stanbury, I dare say she'd rather you held your tongue.'

'It concerns me most,' said Dorothy.

'She doesn't want you to leave her, does she?'

'Well; yes; no. By what she said last I shouldn't leave her at all in
that way. Only I'm sure it's not possible.'

'I am the worst hand in the world, Dolly, at guessing a riddle.'

'You've heard of that Mr Gibson, the clergyman haven't you?'

'Of course I have.'

'Well--. Mind, you know, it's only what Aunt Stanbury says. He has never
so much as opened his lips to me himself, except to say, "How do you
do?" and that kind of thing.'

'Aunt Stanbury wants you to marry him?'

'Yes!'

'Well?'

'Of course it's out of the question,' said Dorothy, sadly.

'I don't see why it should be out of the question,' said Priscilla,
proudly. 'Indeed, if Aunt Stanbury has said much about it, I should say
that Mr Gibson himself must have spoken to her.'

'Do you think he has?'

'I do not believe that my aunt would raise false hopes,' said
Priscilla.

'But I haven't any hopes. That is to say, I had never thought about
such a thing.'

'But you think about it now, Dolly?'

'I should never have dreamed about it, only for Aunt Stanbury.'

'But, dearest, you are dreaming of it now, are you not?'

'Only because she says that it is to be so. You don't know how generous
she is. She says that if it should be so, she will give me ever so much
money two thousand pounds!'

'Then I am quite sure that she and Mr Gibson must understand each
other.'

'Of course,' said Dorothy, sadly, 'if he were to think of such a thing
at all, it would only be because the money would be convenient.'

'Not at all,' said Priscilla, sternly with a sternness that was very
comfortable to her listener. 'Not at all. Why should not Mr Gibson love
you as well as any man ever loved any woman? You are nice-looking,'
Dorothy blushed beneath her hat even at her sister's praise 'and
good-tempered, and lovable in every way. And I think you are just
fitted to make a good wife. And you must not suppose, Dolly, that
because Mr Gibson wouldn't perhaps, have asked you without the money,
that therefore he is mercenary. It so often happens that a gentleman
can't marry unless the lady has some money!'

'But he hasn't asked me at all.'

'I suppose he will, dear.'

'I only know what Aunt Stanbury says.'

'You may be sure that he will ask you.'

'And what must I say, Priscilla?'

'What must you say? Nobody can tell you that, dear, but yourself. Do
you like him?'

'I don't dislike him.'

'Is that all?'

'I know him so very little, Priscilla. Everybody says he is very good
and then it's a great thing, isn't it, that he should be a clergyman?'

'I don't know about that.'

'I think it is. If it were possible that I should ever marry any one, I
should like a clergyman so much the best.'

'Then you do know what to say to him.'

'No, I don't, Priscilla. I don't know at all.'

'Look here, dearest. What my aunt offers to you is a very great step in
life. If you can accept this gentleman I think you would be happy and I
think, also, which should be of more importance for your consideration,
that you would make him happy. It is a brighter prospect, dear Dolly,
than to live either with us at Nuncombe, or even with Aunt Stanbury as
her niece.'

'But if I don't love him, Priscilla?'

'Then give it up, and be as you are, my own, own, dearest sister.'

'So I will,' said Dorothy, and at that time her mind was made up.

CHAPTER XXXI - MR BROOKE BURGESS

The hour at which Mr Brooke Burgess was to arrive had come round, and
Miss Stanbury was in a twitter, partly of expectation, and partly, it
must be confessed, of fear. Why there should be any fear she did not
herself know, as she had much to give and nothing to expect. But she
was afraid, and was conscious of it, and was out of temper because she
was ashamed of herself. Although it would be necessary that she should
again dress for dinner at six, she had put on a clean cap at four, and
appeared at that early hour in one of her gowns which was not
customarily in use for home purposes at that early hour. She felt that
she was 'an old fool' for her pains, and was consequently cross to poor
Dorothy. And there were other reasons for some display of harshness to
her niece. Mr Gibson had been at the house that very morning, and
Dorothy had given herself airs. At least, so Miss Stanbury thought. And
during the last three or four days, whenever Mr Gibson's name had been
mentioned, Dorothy had become silent, glum, and almost obstructive.
Miss Stanbury had been at the trouble of explaining that she was
specially anxious to have that little matter of the engagement settled
at once. She knew that she was going to behave with great generosity
that she was going to sacrifice, not her money only, of which she did
not think much, but a considerable portion of her authority, of which
she did think a great deal; and that she was about to behave in a
manner which demanded much gratitude. But it seemed to her that Dorothy
was not in the least grateful. Hugh had proved himself to be 'a mass of
ingratitude,' as she was in the habit of saying. None of the Burgesses
had ever shewn to her any gratitude for promises made to them, or,
indeed, for any substantial favours conferred upon them. And now
Dorothy, to whom a very seventh heaven of happiness had been opened a
seventh heaven, as it must be computed in comparison with her low
expectations now Dorothy was already shewing how thankless she could
become. Mr Gibson had not yet declared his passion, but he had freely
admitted to Miss Stanbury that he was prepared to do so. Priscilla had
been quite right in her suggestion that there was a clear understanding
between the clergyman and her aunt.

'I don't think he is come after all,' said Miss Stanbury, looking at
her watch. Had the train arrived at the moment that it was due, had the
expectant visitor jumped out of the railway carriage into a fly, and
had the driver galloped up to the Close, it might have been possible
that the wheels should have been at the door as Miss Stanbury spoke.

'It's hardly time yet, aunt.'

'Nonsense; it is time. The train comes in at four. I dare say he won't
come at all.'

'He is sure to come, aunt.'

'I've no doubt you know all about it better than any one else. You
usually do.' Then five minutes were passed in silence. 'Heaven and
earth! what shall I do with these people that are coming? And I told
them especially that it was to meet this young man! It's the way I am
always treated by everybody that I have about me.'

'The train might be ten minutes late, Aunt Stanbury.'

'Yes and monkeys might chew tobacco. There there's the omnibus at the
Cock and Bottle; the omnibus up from the train. Now, of course, he
won't come.'

'Perhaps he's walking, Aunt Stanbury.'

'Walking with his luggage on his shoulders? Is that your idea of the
way in which a London gentleman goes about? And there are two flies
coming up from the train, of course.' Miss Stanbury was obliged to fix
the side of her chair very close to the window in order that she might
see that part of the Close in which the vehicles of which she had
spoken were able to pass.

'Perhaps they are not coming from the train, Aunt Stanbury.'

'Perhaps a fiddlestick! You have lived here so much longer than I have
done that, of course, you must know all about it.' Then there was an
interval of another ten minutes, and even Dorothy was beginning to
think that Mr Burgess was not coming. 'I've given him up now,' said
Miss Stanbury. 'I think I'll send and put them all off.' Just at that
moment there came a knock at the door. But there was no cab. Dorothy's
conjecture had been right. The London gentleman had walked, and his
portmanteau had been carried behind him by a boy. 'How did he get
here?' exclaimed Miss Stanbury, as she heard the strange voice speaking
to Martha downstairs. But Dorothy knew better than to answer the
question.

'Miss Stanbury, I am very glad to see you,' said Mr Brooke Burgess, as
he entered the room. Miss Stanbury courtesied, and then took him by
both hands. 'You wouldn't have known me, I dare say,' he continued. 'A
black beard and a bald head do make a difference.'

'You are not bald at all,' said Miss Stanbury.

'I am beginning to be thin enough at the top. I am so glad to come to
you, and so much obliged to you for having me! How well I remember the
old room!'

'This is my niece, Miss Dorothy Stanbury, from Nuncombe Putney.'
Dorothy was about to make some formal acknowledgment of the
introduction, when Brooke Burgess came up to her, and shook her hand
heartily. 'She lives with me,' continued the aunt.

'And what has become of Hugh?' said Brooke.

'We never talk of him,' said Miss Stanbury gravely.

'I hope there's nothing wrong? I hear of him very often in London.'

'My aunt and he don't agree that's all,' said Dorothy.

'He has given up his profession as a barrister in which he might have
lived like a gentleman,' said Miss Stanbury, 'and has taken to writing
for a penny newspaper.'

'Everybody does that now, Miss Stanbury.'

'I hope you don't, Mr Burgess.'

'I! Nobody would print anything that I wrote. I don't write for
anything, certainly.'

'I'm very glad to hear it,' said Miss Stanbury.

Brooke Burgess, or Mr Brooke, as he came to be called very shortly by
the servants in the house, was a good-looking man, with black whiskers
and black hair, which, as he said, was beginning to be thin on the top
of his head, and pleasant small bright eyes. Dorothy thought that next
to her brother Hugh he was the most good-natured looking man she had
ever seen. He was rather below the middle height, and somewhat inclined
to be stout. But he would boast that he could still walk his twelve
miles in three hours, and would add that as long as he could do that he
would never recognise the necessity of putting himself on short
commons. He had a well-cut nose, not quite aquiline, but tending that
way, a chin with a dimple on it, and as sweet a mouth as ever declared
the excellence of a man's temper. Dorothy immediately began to compare
him with her brother Hugh, who was to her, of all men, the most
godlike. It never occurred to her to make any comparison between Mr
Gibson and Mr Burgess. Her brother Hugh was the most godlike of men;
but there was something godlike also about the new corner. Mr Gibson,
to Dorothy's eyes, was by no means divine;

'I used to call you Aunt Stanbury,' said Brooke Burgess to the old
lady; 'am I to go on doing it now?'

'You may call me what you like,' said Miss Stanbury. 'Only dear me I
never did see anybody so much altered.' Before she went up to dress
herself for dinner, Miss Stanbury was quite restored to her good
humour, as Dorothy could perceive.

The dinner passed off well enough. Mr Gibson, at the head of the table,
did, indeed, look very much out of his element, as though he conceived
that his position revealed to the outer world those ideas of his in
regard to Dorothy, which ought to have been secret for a while longer.
There are few men who do not feel ashamed of being paraded before the
world as acknowledged suitors, whereas ladies accept the position with
something almost of triumph. The lady perhaps regards herself as the
successful angler, whereas the gentleman is conscious of some
similitude to the unsuccessful fish. Mr Gibson, though he was not yet
gasping in the basket, had some presentiment of this feeling, which
made his present seat of honour unpleasant to him. Brooke Burgess, at
the other end of the table, was as gay as a lark. Mrs MacHugh sat on
one side of him, and Miss Stanbury on the other, and he laughed at the
two old ladies, reminding them of his former doings in Exeter how he
had hunted Mrs MacHugh's cat, and had stolen Aunt Stanbury's best
apricot jam, till everybody began to perceive that he was quite a
success. Even Sir Peter Mancrudy laughed at his jokes, and Mrs Powel,
from the other side of Sir Peter, stretched her head forward so that
she might become one of the gay party.

'There isn't a word of it true,' said Miss Stanbury. 'It's all pure
invention, and a great scandal. I never did such a thing in my life.'

'Didn't you though?' said Brooke Burgess. 'I remember it as well as if
it was yesterday, and old Dr. Ball, the prebendary, with the carbuncles
on his nose, saw it too!'

'Dr. Ball had no carbuncles on his nose,' said Mrs MacHugh. 'You'll say
next that I have carbuncles on my nose.'

'He had three. I remember each of them quite well, and so does Sir
Peter.'

Then everybody laughed; and Martha, who was in the room, knew that
Brooke Burgess was a complete success.

In the meantime Mr Gibson was talking to Dorothy; but Dorothy was
endeavouring to listen to the conversation at the other end of the
table. 'I found it very dirty on the roads to-day outside the city,'
said Mr Gibson.

'Very dirty,' said Dorothy, looking round at Mr Burgess, as she spoke.

'But the pavement in the High Street was dry enough.'

'Quite dry,' said Dorothy. Then there came a peal of laughter from Mrs
MacHugh and Sir Peter, and Dorothy wondered whether anybody before had
ever made those two steady old people laugh after that fashion.

'I should so like to get a drive with you up to the top of Haldon
Hill,' said Mr Gibson. 'When the weather gets fine, that is. Mrs Powel
was talking about it.'

'It would be very nice,' said Dorothy.

'You have never seen the view from Haldon Hill yet?' asked Mr Gibson.
But to this question Dorothy could make no answer. Miss Stanbury had
lifted one of the table-spoons, as though she was going to strike Mr
Brooke Burgess with the bowl of it. And this during a dinner party!
From that moment Dorothy turned herself round, and became one of the
listeners to the fun at the other end of the table; Poor Mr Gibson soon
found himself 'nowhere.'

'I never saw a man so much altered in my life,' said Mrs MacHugh, up in
the drawing-room.

'I don't remember that he used to be clever.'

'He was a bright boy!' said Miss Stanbury.

'But the Burgesses all used to be such serious, straitlaced people,'
said Mrs MacHugh. 'Excellent people,' she added, remembering the source
of her friend's wealth; 'but none of them like that.'

'I call him a very handsome man,' said Mrs Powel. 'I suppose he's not
married yet?'

'Oh, dear no,' said Miss Stanbury. 'There's time enough for him yet.'

'He'll find plenty here to set their caps at him,' said Mrs MacHugh.

'He's a little old for my girls,' said Mrs Powel, laughing. Mrs Powel
was the happy mother of four daughters, of whom the eldest was only
twelve.

'There are others who are more forward,' said Mrs MacHugh. 'What a
chance it would be for dear Arabella French!'

'Heaven forbid!' said Miss Stanbury.

'And then poor Mr Gibson wouldn't any longer be like the donkey between
two bundles of hay,' said Mrs Powel. Dorothy was quite determined that
she would never marry a man who was like a donkey between two bundles
of hay.

When the gentlemen came up into the drawing-room Dorothy was seated
behind the urn and tea-things at a large table, in such a position as
to be approached only at one side. There was one chair at her left
hand, but at her right hand there was no room for a seat only room for
some civil gentleman to take away full cups and bring them back empty.
Dorothy was not sufficiently ready-witted to see the danger of this
position till Mr Gibson had seated himself in the chair. Then it did
seem cruel to her that she should be thus besieged for the rest of the
evening as she had been also at dinner. While the tea was being
consumed Mr Gibson assisted at the service, asking ladies whether they
would have cake or bread and butter; but when all that was over Dorothy
was still in her prison, and Mr Gibson was still the jailer at the
gate. She soon perceived that everybody else was chatting and laughing,
and that Brooke Burgess was the centre of a little circle which had
formed itself quite at a distance from her seat. Once, twice, thrice
she meditated an escape, but she had not the courage to make the
attempt. She did not know how to manage it. She was conscious that her
aunt's eye was upon her, and that her aunt would expect her to listen
to Mr Gibson. At last she gave up all hope of moving, and was anxious
simply that Mr Gibson should confine himself to the dirt of the paths
and the noble prospect from Haldon Hill.

'I think we shall have more rain before we have done with it,' he said.
Twice before during the evening he had been very eloquent about the
rain.

'I dare say we shall,' said Dorothy. And then there came the sound of
loud laughter from Sir Peter, and Dorothy could see that he was poking
Brooke Burgess in the ribs. There had never been anything so gay before
since she had been in Exeter, and now she was hemmed up in that corner,
away from it all, by Mr Gibson!

'This Mr Burgess seems to be different from the other Burgesses,' said
Mr Gibson.

'I think he must be very clever,' said Dorothy.

'Well yes; in a sort of a way. What people call a Merry Andrew.'

'I like people who make me laugh and laugh themselves,' said Dorothy.

'I quite agree with you that laughter is a very good thing in its
place. I am not at all one of those who would make the world altogether
grave. There are serious things, and there must be serious moments.'

'Of course,' said Dorothy.

'And I think that serious conversation upon the whole has more
allurements than conversation which when you come to examine it is
found to mean nothing. Don't you?'

'I suppose everybody should mean something when he talks.'

'Just so. That is exactly my idea,' said Mr Gibson. 'On all such
subjects as that I should be so sorry if you and I did not agree. I
really should.' Then he paused, and Dorothy was so confounded by what
she conceived to be the dangers of the coming moment that she was
unable even to think what she ought to say. She heard Mrs MacHugh's
clear, sharp, merry voice, and she heard her aunt's tone of pretended
anger, and she heard Sir Peter's continued laughter, and Brooke Burgess
as he continued the telling of some story; but her own trouble was too
great to allow of her attending to what was going on at the other end
of the room. 'There is nothing as to which I am so anxious as that you
and I should agree about serious things,' said Mr Gibson.

'I suppose we do agree about going to church,' said Dorothy. She knew
that she could have made no speech more stupid, more senseless, more
inefficacious but what was she to say in answer to such an assurance?

'I hope so,' said Mr Gibson; 'and I think so. Your aunt is a most
excellent woman, and her opinion has very great weight with me on all
subjects even as to matters of church discipline and doctrine, in
which, as a clergyman, I am of course presumed to be more at home. But
your aunt is a woman among a thousand.'

'Of course I think she is very good.'

'And she is so right about this young man and her property. Don't you
think so?'

'Quite right, Mr Gibson.'

'Because, you know, to you, of course, being her near relative, and the
one she has singled out as the recipient of her kindness, it might have
been cause for some discontent.'

'Discontent to me, Mr Gibson!'

'I am quite sure your feelings are what they ought to be. And for
myself, if I ever were that is to say, supposing I could be in any way
interested .But perhaps it is premature to make any suggestion on that
head at present.'

'I don't at all understand what you mean, Mr Gibson.'

'I thought that perhaps I might take this opportunity of expressing-.
But, after all, the levity of the moment is hardly in accordance with
the sentiments which I should wish to express.'

'I think that I ought to go to my aunt now, Mr Gibson, as perhaps she
might want something.' Then she did push back her chair and stand upon
her legs-and Mr Gibson, after pausing for a moment, allowed her to
escape. Soon after that the visitors went, and Brooke Burgess was left
in the drawing-room with Miss Stanbury and Dorothy.

'How well I recollect all the people,' said Brooke; 'Sir Peter, and old
Mrs MacHugh; and Mrs Powel who then used to be called the beautiful
Miss Noel. And I remember every bit of furniture in the room.'

'Nothing changed except the old woman, Brooke,' said Miss Stanbury.

'Upon my word you are the least changed of all except that you don't
seem to be so terrible as you were then.'