Books: He Knew He Was Right

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'But, my pet, do not let that reasoning of Aunt Stanbury's about the
thirty young girls who would give their eyes for Mr Gibson, have any
weight with you. You should not take him because thirty other young
girls would be glad to have him. And do not think too much of that
respectability of which you speak. I would never advise my Dolly to
marry any man unless she could be respectable in her new position; but
that alone should go for nothing. Nor should our poverty. We shall not
starve. And even if we did, that would be but a poor excuse.

I can find no escape from this that you should love him before you say
that you will take him. But honest, loyal love need not, I take it, be
of that romantic kind which people write about in novels and poetry.
You need not think him to be perfect, or the best or grandest of men.
Your heart will tell you whether he is dear to you. And remember,
Dolly, that I shall remember that love itself must begin at some
precise time. Though you had not learned to love him when you wrote on
Tuesday, you may have begun to do so when you get this on Thursday.

If you find that you love him, then say that you will be his wife. If
your heart revolts from such a declaration as being false if you cannot
bring yourself to feel that you prefer him to others as the partner of
your life then tell him, with thanks for his courtesy, that it cannot
be as he would have it.

Yours always and ever most affectionately,

PRISCILLA.'

CHAPTER XXXV - MR GIBSON'S GOOD FORTUNE

'I'll bet you half-a-crown, my lad, you're thrown over at last, like
the rest of them. There's nothing she likes so much as taking some one
up in order that she may throw him over afterwards.' It was thus that
Mr Bartholomew Burgess cautioned his nephew Brooke.

'I'll take care that she shan't break my heart, Uncle Barty. I will go
my way and she may go hers, and she may give her money to the hospital
if she pleases.'

On the morning after his arrival Brooke Burgess had declared aloud in
Miss Stanbury's parlour that he was going over to the bank to see his
uncle. Now there was in this almost a breach of contract. Miss
Stanbury, when she invited the young man to Exeter, had stipulated that
there should be no intercourse between her house and the bank. 'Of
course, I shall not need to know where you go or where you don't go,'
she had written; 'but after all that has passed there must not be any
positive intercourse between my house and the bank And now he had
spoken of going over to C and B, as he called them, with the utmost
indifference. Miss Stanbury had looked very grave, but had said
nothing. She had determined to be on her guard, so that she should not
be driven to quarrel with Brooke if she could avoid it.

Bartholomew Burgess was a tall, thin, ill-tempered old man, as
well-known in Exeter as the cathedral, and respected after a fashion.
No one liked him. He said ill-natured things of all his neighbours, and
had never earned any reputation for doing good-natured acts. But he had
lived in Exeter for nearly seventy years, and had achieved that sort of
esteem which comes from long tenure. And he had committed no great
iniquities in the course of his fifty years of business. The bank had
never stopped payment, and he had robbed no one. He had not swallowed
up widows and orphans, and had done his work in the firm of Cropper and
Burgess after the old-fashioned safe manner, which leads neither to
riches nor to ruin. Therefore he was respected. But he was a
discontented, sour old man, who believed himself to have been injured
by all his own friends, who disliked his own partners because they had
bought that which had, at any rate, never belonged to him and whose
strongest passion it was to hate Miss Stanbury of the Close.

'She's got a parson by the hand now,' said the uncle, as he continued
his caution to the nephew.

'There was a clergyman there last night.'

'No doubt, and she'll play him off against you, and you against him;
and then she'll throw you both over. I know her.'

'She has got a right to do what she likes with her own, Uncle Barty.'

'And how did she get it? Never mind. I'm not going to set you against
her, if you're her favourite for the moment. She has a niece with her
there hasn't she?'

'One of her brother's daughters.'

'They say she's going to make that clergyman marry her.'

'What Mr Gibson?'

'Yes. They tell me he was as good as engaged to another girl one of the
Frenches of Heavitree. And therefore dear Jemima could do nothing
better than interfere. When she has succeeded in breaking the girl's
heart--'

'Which girl's heart, Uncle Barty?'

'The girl the man was to have married; when that's done she'll throw
Gibson over. You'll see. She'll refuse to give the girl a shilling. She
took the girl's brother by the hand ever so long, and then she threw
him over. And she'll throw the girl over too, and send her back to the
place she came from. And then she'll throw you over.'

'According to you, she must be the most malicious old woman that ever
was allowed to live!'

'I don't think there are many to beat her, as far as malice goes. But
you'll find out for yourself. I shouldn't be surprised if she were to
tell you before long that you were to marry the niece.'

'I shouldn't think that such very hard lines either,' said Brooke
Burgess.

'I've no doubt you may have her if you like,' said Barty, 'in spite of
Mr Gibson. Only I should recommend you to take care and get the money
first.'

When Brooke went back to the house in the Close, Miss Stanbury was
quite fussy in her silence. She would have given much to have been told
something about Barty, and, above all, to have learned what Barty had
said about herself. But she was far too proud even to mention the old
man's name of her own accord. She was quite sure that she had been
abused. She guessed, probably with tolerable accuracy, the kind of
things that had been said of her, and suggested to herself what answer
Brooke would make to such accusations. But she had resolved to cloak it
all in silence, and pretended for awhile not to remember the young
man's declared intention when he left the house. 'It seems odd to me,'
said Brooke, 'that Uncle Barty should always live alone as he does. He
must have a dreary time of it.'

'I don't know anything about your Uncle Barty's manner of living.'

'No I suppose not. You and he are not friends.'

'By no means, Brooke.'

'He lives there all alone in that poky bank-house, and nobody ever goes
near him. I wonder whether he has any friends in the city?'

'I really cannot tell you anything about his friends. And, to tell you
the truth, Brooke, I don't want to talk about your uncle. Of course,
you can go to see him when you please, but I'd rather you didn't tell
me of your visits afterwards.'

'There is nothing in the world I hate so much as a secret,' said he. He
had no intention in this of animadverting upon Miss Stanbury's secret
enmity, nor had he purposed to ask any question as to her relations
with the old man. He had alluded to his dislike of having secrets of
his own. But she misunderstood him.

'If you are anxious to know--' she said, becoming very red in the face.

'I am not at all curious to know. You quite mistake me.'

'He has chosen to believe or to say that he believed that I wronged him
in regard to his brother's will. I nursed his brother when he was dying
as I considered it to be my duty to do. I cannot tell you all that
story. It is too long, and too sad. Romance is very pretty in novels,
but the romance of a life is always a melancholy matter. They are most
happy who have no story to tell.'

'I quite believe that.'

'But your Uncle Barty chose to think indeed, I hardly know what he
thought. He said that the will was a will of my making. When it was
made I and his brother were apart; we were not even on speaking terms.
There had been a quarrel, and all manner of folly. I am not very proud
when I look back upon it. It is not that I think myself better than
others; but your Uncle Brooke's will was made before we had come
together again. When he was ill it was natural that I should go to him
after all that had passed between us. Eh, Brooke?'

'It was womanly.'

'But it made no difference about the will. Mr Bartholomew Burgess might
have known that at once, and must have known it afterwards. But he has
never acknowledged that he was wrong never even yet.'

'He could not bring himself to do that, I should say.'

'The will was no great triumph to me. I could have done without it. As
God is my judge, I would not have lifted up my little finger to get
either a part or the whole of poor Brooke's money. If I had known that
a word would have done it, I would have bitten my tongue before it
should have been spoken.' She had risen from her seat, and was speaking
with a solemnity that almost filled her listener with awe. She was a
woman short of stature; but now, as she stood over him, she seemed to
be tall and majestic. 'But when the man was dead,' she continued, 'and
the will was there the property was mine, and I was bound in duty to
exercise the privileges and bear the responsibilities which the dead
man had conferred upon me. It was Barty, then, who sent a low attorney
to me, offering me a compromise. What had I to compromise? Compromise!
No. If it was not mine by all the right the law could give, I would
sooner have starved than have had a crust of bread out of the money.'
She had now clenched both her fists, and was shaking them rapidly as
she stood over him, looking down upon him.

'Of course it was your own.'

'Yes. Though they asked me to compromise, and sent messages to me to
frighten me both Barty and your Uncle Tom; ay, and your father too,
Brooke; they did not dare to go to law. To law, indeed! If ever there
was a good will in the world, the will of your Uncle Brooke was good.
They could talk, and malign me, and tell lies as to dates, and strive
to make my name odious in the county; but they knew that the will was
good. They did not succeed very well in what they did attempt.'

'I would try to forget it all now, Aunt Stanbury.'

'Forget it! How is that to be done? How can the mind forget the history
of its own life? No I cannot forget it. I can forgive it.'

'Then why not forgive it?'

'I do. I have. Why else are you here?'

'But forgive old Uncle Barty also!'

'Has he forgiven me? Come now. If I wished to forgive him, how should I
begin? Would he be gracious if I went to him? Does he love me, do you
think or hate me? Uncle Barty is a good hater. It is the best point
about him. No, Brooke, we won't try the farce of a reconciliation after
a long life of enmity. Nobody would believe us, and we should not
believe each other.'

'Then I certainly would not try.'

'I do not mean to do so. The truth is, Brooke, you shall have it all
when I'm gone, if you don't turn against me. You won't take to writing
for penny newspapers, will you, Brooke?' As she asked the. question she
put one of her hands softly on his shoulder.

'I certainly shan't offend in that way.'

'And you won't be a Radical?'

'No, not a Radical.'

'I mean a man to follow Beales and Bright, a republican, a putter-down
of the Church, a hater of the Throne. You won't take up that line, will
you, Brooke?'

'It isn't my way at present, Aunt Stanbury. But a man shouldn't
promise.'

'Ah me! It makes me sad when I think what the country is coming to. I'm
told there are scores of members of Parliament who don't pronounce
their h's. When I was young, a member of Parliament used to be a
gentleman and they've taken to ordaining all manner of people. It used
to be the case that when you met a clergyman you met a gentleman.
By-the-bye, Brooke, what do you think of Mr Gibson?'

'Mr Gibson! To tell the truth, I haven't thought much about him yet.'

'But you must think about him. Perhaps you haven't thought about my
niece, Dolly Stanbury?'

'I think she's an uncommonly nice girl.'

'She's not to be nice for you, young man. She's to be married to Mr
Gibson.'

'Are they engaged?'

'Well, no; but I intend that they shall be. You won't begrudge that I
should give my little savings to one of my own name?'

'You don't know me, Aunt Stanbury, if you think that I should begrudge
anything that you might do with your money.'

'Dolly has been here a month or two. I think it's three months since
she came, and I do like her. She's soft and womanly, and hasn't taken
up those vile, filthy habits which almost all the girls have adopted.
Have you seen those Frenches with the things they have on their heads?'

'I was speaking to them yesterday.'

'Nasty sluts! You can see the grease on their foreheads when they try
to make their hair go back in the dirty French fashion. Dolly is not
like that is she?'

'She is not in the least like either of the Miss Frenches.'

'And now I want her to become Mrs Gibson. He is quite taken.'

'Is he?'

'Oh dear, yes. Didn't you see him the other night at dinner and
afterwards? Of course he knows that I can give her a little bit of
money, which always goes for something, Brooke. And I do think it would
be such a nice thing for Dolly.'

'And what does Dolly think about it?'

'There's the difficulty. She likes him well enough; I'm sure of that.
And she has no stuck-up ideas about herself. She isn't one of those who
think that almost nothing is good enough for them. But--'

'She has an objection.'

'I don't know what it is. I sometimes think she is so bashful and
modest she doesn't like to talk of being married even to an old woman
like me.'

'Dear me! That's not the way of the age is it, Aunt Stanbury?'

'It's coming to that, Brooke, that the girls will ask the men soon. Yes
and that they won't take a refusal either. I do believe that Camilla
French did ask Mr Gibson.'

'And what did Mr Gibson say?'

'Ah I can't tell you that. He knows too well what he's about to take
her. He's to come here on Friday at eleven, and you must be out of the
way. I shall be out of the way too. But if Dolly says a word to you
before that, mind you make her understand that she ought to accept
Gibson.'

'She's too good for him, according to my thinking.'

'Don't you be a fool. How can any young woman be too good for a
gentleman and a clergyman? Mr Gibson is a gentleman. Do you know only
you must not mention this that I have a kind of idea we could get
Nuncombe Putney for him. My father had the living, and my brother; and
I should like it to go on in the family.'

No opportunity came in the way of Brooke Burgess to say anything in
favour of Mr Gibson to Dorothy Stanbury. There did come to be very
quickly a sort of intimacy between her and her aunt's favourite; but
she was one not prone to talk about her own affairs. And as to such an
affair as this a question as to whether she should or should not give
herself in marriage to her suitor she, who could not speak of it even
to her own sister without a blush, who felt confused and almost
confounded when receiving her aunt's admonitions and instigations on
the subject, would not have endured to hear Brooke Burgess speak on the
matter. Dorothy did feel that a person easier to know than Brooke had
never come in her way. She had already said as much to him as she had
spoken to Mr Gibson in the three months that she had made his
acquaintance. They had talked about Exeter, and about Mrs MacHugh, and
the cathedral, and Tennyson's poems, and the London theatres, and Uncle
Barty, and the family quarrel. They had become quite confidential with
each other on some matters. But on this heavy subject of Mr Gibson and
his proposal of marriage not a word had been said. When Brooke once
mentioned Mr Gibson on the Thursday morning, Dorothy within a minute
had taken an opportunity of escaping from the room.

But circumstances did give him an opportunity of speaking to Mr Gibson.
On the Wednesday afternoon both he and Mr Gibson were invited to drink
tea at Mrs French's house on that evening. Such invitations at Exeter
were wont to be given at short dates, and both the gentlemen had said
that they would go. Then Arabella French had called in the Close and
had asked Miss Stanbury and Dorothy. It was well understood by Arabella
that Miss Stanbury herself would not drink tea at Heavitree. And it may
be that Dorothy's company was not in truth desired. The ladies both
declined. 'Don't you stay at home for me, my dear,' Miss Stanbury said
to her niece. But Dorothy had not been out without her aunt since she
had been at Exeter, and understood perfectly that it would not be wise
to commence the practice at the house of the Frenches. 'Mr Brooke is
coming, Miss Stanbury; and Mr Gibson,' Miss French said. And Miss
Stanbury had thought that there was some triumph in her tone. 'Mr
Brooke can go where he pleases, my dear,' Miss Stanbury replied. 'And
as for Mr Gibson, I am not his keeper.' The tone in which Miss Stanbury
spoke would have implied great imprudence, had not the two ladies
understood each other so thoroughly, and had not each known that it was
so.

There was the accustomed set of people in Mrs French's drawing-room the
Crumbies, and the Wrights, and the Apjohns. And Mrs MacHugh came also
knowing that there would be a rubber. 'Their naked shoulders don't hurt
me,' Mrs MacHugh said, when her friend almost scolded her for going to
the house. 'I'm not a young man. I don't care what they do to
themselves.' 'You might say as much if they went naked altogether,'
Miss Stanbury had replied in anger. 'If nobody else complained, I
shouldn't,' said Mrs MacHugh. Mrs MacHugh got her rubber; and as she
had gone for her rubber, on a distinct promise that there should be a
rubber, and as there was a rubber, she felt that she had no right to
say ill-natured things. 'What does it matter to me,' said Mrs MacHugh,
'how nasty she is? She's not going to be my wife.' 'Ugh!' exclaimed
Miss Stanbury, shaking her head both in anger and disgust.

Camilla French was by no means so bad as she was painted by Miss
Stanbury, and Brooke Burgess rather liked her than otherwise. And it
seemed to him that Mr Gibson did not at all dislike Arabella, and felt
no repugnance at either the lady's noddle or shoulders now that he was
removed from Miss Stanbury's influence. It was clear enough also that
Arabella had not given up the attempt, although she must have admitted
to herself that the claims of Dorothy Stanbury were very strong. On
this evening it seemed to have been specially permitted to Arabella,
who was the elder sister, to take into her own hands the management of
the case. Beholders of the game had hitherto declared that Mr Gibson's
safety was secured by the constant coupling of the sisters. Neither
would allow the other to hunt alone. But a common sense of the common
danger had made some special strategy necessary, and Camilla hardly
spoke a word to Mr Gibson during the evening. Let us hope that she
found some temporary consolation in the presence of the stranger.

'I hope you are going to stay with us ever so long, Mr Burgess?' said
Camilla.

'A month. That is ever so long isn't it? Why I mean to see all
Devonshire within that time. I feel already that I know Exeter
thoroughly and everybody in it.'

'I'm sure we are very much flattered.'

'As for you, Miss French, I've heard so much about you all my life,
that I felt that I knew you before I came here.'

'Who can have spoken to you about me?'

'You forget how many relatives I have in the city. Do you think my
Uncle Barty never writes to me?'

'Not about me.'

'Does he not? And do you suppose I don't hear from Miss Stanbury?'

'But she hates me. I know that.'

'And do you hate her?'

'No, indeed. I've the greatest respect for her. But she is a little
odd; isn't she, now, Mr Burgess? We all like her ever so much; and
we've known her ever so long, six or seven years since we were quite
young things. But she has such queer notions about girls.'

'What sort of notions?'

'She'd like them all to dress just like herself; and she thinks that
they should never talk to young men. If she was here she'd say I was
flirting with you, because we're sitting together.'

'But you are not; are you?'

'Of course I am not.'

'I wish you would,' said Brooke.

'I shouldn't know how to begin. I shouldn't, indeed. I don't know what
flirting means, and I don't know who does know. When young ladies and
gentlemen go out, I suppose they are intended to talk to each other.'

'But very often they, don't, you know.'

'I call that stupid,' said Camilla. 'And yet, when they do, all the old
maids say that the girls are flirting. I'll tell you one thing, Mr
Burgess. I don't care what any old maid says about me. I always talk to
people that I like, and if they choose to call me a flirt, they may.
It's my opinion that still waters run the deepest.'

'No doubt the noisy streams are very shallow,' said Brooke.

'You may call me a shallow stream if you like, Mr Burgess.'

'I meant nothing of the kind.'

'But what do you call Dorothy Stanbury? That's what I call still water.
She runs deep enough.'

'The quietest young lady I ever saw in my life.'

'Exactly. So quiet, but so clever. What do you think of Mr Gibson?'

'Everybody is asking me what I think of Mr Gibson.'

'You know what they say. They say he is to marry Dorothy Stanbury. Poor
man! I don't think his own consent has ever been asked yet but,
nevertheless, it's settled.'

'Just at present he seems to me to be what shall I say? I oughtn't to
say flirting with your sister; ought I?'

'Miss Stanbury would say so if she were here, no doubt. But the fact
is, Mr Burgess, we've known him almost since we were infants, and of
course we take an interest in his welfare. There has never been
anything more than that. Arabella is nothing more to him than I am.
Once, indeed but, however that does not signify. It would be nothing to
us, if he really liked Dorothy Stanbury. But as far as we can see and
we do see a good deal of him there is no such feeling on his part. Of
course we haven't asked. We should not think of such a thing. Mr Gibson
may do just as he likes for us. But I am not quite sure that Dorothy
Stanbury is just the girl that would make him a good wife. Of course
when you've known a person seven or eight years you do get anxious
about his happiness. Do you know, we think her perhaps a little sly.'

In the meantime, Mr Gibson was completely subject to the individual
charms of Arabella. Camilla had been quite correct in a part of her
description of their intimacy. She and her sister had known Mr Gibson
for seven or eight years; but nevertheless the intimacy could not with
truth be said to have commenced during the infancy of the young ladies,
even if the word were used in its legal sense. Seven or eight years,
however, is a long acquaintance; and there was, perhaps, something of a
real grievance in this Stanbury intervention. If it be a recognised
fact in society that young ladies are in want of husbands, and that an
effort on their part towards matrimony is not altogether impossible, it
must be recognised also that failure will be disagreeable, and
interference regarded with animosity. Miss Stanbury the elder was
undoubtedly interfering between Mr Gibson and the Frenches; and it is
neither manly nor womanly to submit to interference with one's dearest
prospects. It may, perhaps, be admitted that the Miss Frenches had
shown too much open ardour in their pursuit of Mr Gibson. Perhaps there
should have been no ardour and no pursuit. It may be that the theory of
womanhood is right which forbids to women any such attempts which
teaches them that they must ever be the pursued, never the pursuers. As
to that there shall be no discourse at present. But it must be granted
that whenever the pursuit has been attempted, it is not in human nature
to abandon it without an effort. That the French girls should be very
angry with Miss Stanbury, that they should put their heads together
with the intention of thwarting her, that they should think evil things
of poor Dorothy, that they should half despise Mr Gibson, and yet
resolve to keep their hold upon him as a chattel and a thing of value
that was almost their own, was not perhaps much to their discredit.

'You are a good deal at the house in the Close now,' said Arabella, in
her lowest voice in a voice so low that it was almost melancholy.

'Well; yes. Miss Stanbury, you know, has always been a staunch friend
of mine. And she takes an interest in my little church.' People say
that girls are sly; but men can be sly, too, sometimes.

'It seems that she has taken you so much away from us, Mr Gibson.'

'I don't know why you should say that, Miss French.'

'Perhaps I am wrong. One is apt to be sensitive about one's friends. We
seem to have known you so well. There is nobody else in Exeter that
mamma regards as she does you. But, of course, if you are happy with
Miss Stanbury that is everything.'

'I am speaking of the old lady,' said Mr Gibson, who, in spite of his
slyness, was here thrown a little off his guard.

'And I am speaking of the old lady too,' said Arabella. 'Of whom else
should I be speaking?'