Books: He Knew He Was Right

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'I suppose not,' said Mrs French.

'He hates Bella. I've known it all along, though I wouldn't say so. If
I were to sacrifice myself ever so it wouldn't be of any good and I
shan't do it.' In this way the matter was arranged.

At the end of the fortnight, however, Mr Gibson did not come nor at the
end of three weeks. Inquiries had of course been made, and it was
ascertained that he had gone into Cornwall for a parson's holiday of
thirteen days. That might be all very well. A man might want the
recruiting vigour of some change of air after such scenes as those Mr
Gibson had gone through with the Stanburys, and before his proposed
encounter with new perils. And he was a man so tied by the leg that his
escape could not be for any long time. He was back on the appointed
Sunday, and on the Wednesday Mrs French, under Camilla's instruction,
wrote to him a pretty little note. He replied that he would be with her
on the Saturday. It would then be nearly four weeks after the great day
with Miss Stanbury, but no one would be inclined to quarrel with so
short a delay as that. Arabella in the meantime had become fidgety and
unhappy. She seemed to understand that something was expected, being
quite unable to guess what that something might be. She was true
throughout these days to the simplicity of head-gear which Mr Gibson
had recommended to her, and seemed in her questions to her mother and
to Camilla to be more fearful of Dorothy Stanbury than of any other
enemy. 'Mamma, I think you ought to tell her,' said Camilla more than
once. But she had not been told when Mr Gibson came on the Saturday. It
may truly be said that the poor mother's pleasure in the prospects of
one daughter was altogether destroyed by the anticipation of the other
daughter's misery. Had Mr Gibson made Dorothy Stanbury his wife they
could have all comforted themselves together by the heat of their joint
animosity.

He came on the Saturday, and it was so managed that he was closeted
with Camilla before Arabella knew that he was in the house. There was a
quarter of an hour during which his work was easy, and perhaps
pleasant. When he began to explain his intention Camilla, with the
utmost frankness, informed him that her mother had told her all about
it. Then she turned her face on one side and put her hand in his; he
got his arm round her waist, gave her a kiss, and the thing was done.
Camilla was fully resolved that after such a betrothal it should not be
undone. She had behaved with sisterly forbearance, and would not now
lose the reward of virtue. Not a word was said of Arabella at this
interview till he was pressed to come and drink tea with them all that
night. He hesitated a moment; and then Camilla declared, with something
perhaps of imperious roughness in her manner, that he had better face
it all at once. 'Mamma will tell her, and she will understand,' said
Camilla. He hesitated again, but at last promised that he would come.

Whilst he was yet in the house Mrs French had told the whole story to
her poor elder daughter. 'What is he doing with Camilla?' Arabella had
asked with feverish excitement.

'Bella, darling don't you know?' said the mother.

'I know nothing. Everybody keeps me in the dark, and I am badly used.
What is it that he is doing?' Then Mrs French tried to take the poor
young woman in her arms, but Arabella would not submit to be embraced.
'Don't!' she exclaimed. 'Leave me alone. Nobody likes me, or cares a
bit about me! Why is Cammy with him there, all alone?'

'I suppose he is asking her to be his wife.' Then Arabella threw
herself in despair upon the bed, and wept without any further attempt
at control over her feelings. It was a death-blow to her last hope, and
all the world, as she looked upon the world then, was over for her. 'If
I could have arranged it the other way, you know that I would,' said
the mother.

'Mamma,' said Arabella jumping up, 'he shan't do it. He hasn't a right.
And as for her Oh, that she should treat me in this way! Didn't he tell
me the other night, when he drank tea here with me alone--'

'What did he tell you, Bella?'

'Never mind. Nothing shall ever make me speak to him again not if he
married her three times over; nor to her. She is a nasty, sly,
good-for-nothing thing!'

'But, Bella--'

'Don't talk to me, mamma. There never was such a thing done before
since people were people at all. She has been doing it all the time. I
know she has.'

Nevertheless Arabella did sit down to tea with the two lovers that
night. There was a terrible scene between her and Camilla; but Camilla
held her own; and Arabella, being the weaker of the two, was vanquished
by the expenditure of her own small energies. Camilla argued that as
her sister's chance was gone, and as the prize had come in her own way,
there was no good reason why it should be lost to the family
altogether, because Arabella could not win it. When Arabella called her
a treacherous vixen and a heartless, profligate hussy, she spoke out
freely, and said that she wasn't going to be abused. A gentleman to
whom she was attached had asked her for her hand, and she had given it.
If Arabella chose to make herself a fool she might but what would be
the effect? Simply that all the world would know that she, Arabella,
was disappointed. Poor Bella at last gave way, put on her discarded
chignon, and came down to tea. Mr Gibson was already in the room when
she entered it. 'Arabella,' he said, getting up to greet her, 'I hope
you will congratulate me.' He had planned his little speech and his
manner of making it, and had wisely decided that in this way might he
best get over the difficulty.

'Oh yes of course,' she said, with a little giggle, and then a sob, and
then a flood of tears.

'Dear Bella feels these things so strongly,' said Mrs French.

'We have never been parted yet,' said Camilla. Then Arabella tapped the
head of the sofa three or four times sharply with her knuckles. It was
the only protest against the reading of the scene which Camilla had
given of which she was capable at that moment. After that Mrs French
gave out the tea, Arabella curled herself upon the sofa as though she
were asleep, and the two lovers settled down to proper lover-like
conversation.

The reader may be sure that Camilla was not slow in making the fact of
her engagement notorious through the city. It was not probably true
that the tidings of her success had anything to do with Miss Stanbury's
illness; but it was reported by many that such was the case. It was in
November that the arrangement was made, and it certainly was true that
Miss Stanbury was rather ill about the same time. 'You know, you
naughty Lothario, that you did give her some ground to hope that she
might dispose of her unfortunate niece,' said Camilla playfully to her
own one, when this illness was discussed between them. 'But you are
caught now, and your wings are clipped, and you are never to be a
naughty Lothario again.' The clerical Don Juan bore it all, awkwardly
indeed, but with good humour, and declared that all his troubles of
that sort were over, now and for ever. Nevertheless he did not name the
day, and Camilla began to feel that there might be occasion for a
little more of that imperious roughness which she had at her command.

November was nearly over and nothing had been fixed about the day.
Arabella never condescended to speak to her sister on the subject; but
on more than one occasion made some inquiry of her mother. And she came
to perceive, or to think that she perceived, that her mother was still
anxious on the subject. 'I shouldn't wonder if he wasn't off some day
now,' she said at last to her mother.

'Don't say anything so dreadful, Bella.'

'It would serve Cammy quite right, and it's just what he's likely to
do.'

'It would kill me,' said the mother.

'I don't know about killing,' said Arabella; 'it's nothing to what I've
had to go through. I shouldn't pretend to be sorry if he were to go to
Hong-Kong tomorrow.'

But Mr Gibson had no idea of going to Hong-Kong. He was simply carrying
out his little scheme for securing the advantages of a 'long day'. He
was fully resolved to be married, and was contented to think that his
engagement was the best thing for him. To one or two male friends he
spoke of Camilla as the perfection of female virtue, and entertained no
smallest idea of ultimate escape. But a 'long day' is often a
convenience. A bill at three months sits easier on a man than one at
sixty days; and a bill at six months is almost as little of a burden as
no bill at all.

But Camilla was resolved that some day should be fixed. 'Thomas,' she
said to her lover one morning, as they were walking home together after
service at the cathedral, 'isn't this rather a fool's Paradise of
ours?'

'How a fool's Paradise?' asked the happy Thomas.

'What I mean is, dearest, that we ought to fix something. Mamma is
getting uneasy about her own plans.'

'In what way, dearest?'

'About a thousand things. She can't arrange anything till our plans are
made. Of course there are little troubles about money when people ain't
rich.' Then it occurred to her that this might seem to be a plea for
postponing rather than for hurrying the marriage, and she mended her
argument. 'The truth is, Thomas, she wants to know when the day is to
be fixed, and I've promised to ask. She said she'd ask you herself, but
I wouldn't let her do that.'

'We must think about it, of course,' said Thomas.

'But, my dear, there has been plenty of time for thinking. What do you
say to January?' This was on the last day of November.

'January!' exclaimed Thomas, in a tone that betrayed no triumph. 'I
couldn't get my services arranged for in January.'

'I thought a clergyman could always manage that for his marriage,' said
Camilla.

'Not in January. Besides, I was thinking you would like to be away in
warmer weather.'

They were still in November, and he was thinking of postponing it till
the summer! Camilla immediately perceived how necessary it was that she
should be plain with him. 'We shall not have warm weather, as you call
it, for a very long time, Thomas and I don't think that it would be
wise to wait for the weather at all. Indeed, I've begun to get my
things for doing it in the winter. Mamma said that she was sure January
would be the very latest. And it isn't as though we had to get
furniture or anything of that kind. Of course a lady shouldn't be
pressing.' She smiled sweetly and leaned on his arm as she said this.
'But I hate all girlish nonsense and that kind of thing. It is such a
bore to be kept waiting. I'm sure there's nothing to prevent it coming
off in February.'

The 31st of March was fixed before they reached Heavitree, and Camilla
went into her mother's house a happy woman. But Mr Gibson, as he went
home, thought that he had been hardly used. Here was a girl who hadn't
a shilling of money not a shilling till her mother died and who already
talked about his house, and his furniture, and his income as if it were
all her own! Circumstanced as she was, what right had she to press for
an early day? He was quite sure that Arabella would have been more
discreet and less exacting. He was very angry with his dear Cammy as he
went across the Close to his house.

CHAPTER LI - SHEWING WHAT HAPPENED DURING MISS STANBURY'S ILLNESS

It was on Christmas-day that Sir Peter Mancrudy, the highest authority
on such matters in the west of England, was sent for to see Miss
Stanbury; and Sir Peter had acknowledged that things were very serious.
He took Dorothy on one side, and told her that Mr Martin, the ordinary
practitioner, had treated the case, no doubt, quite wisely throughout;
that there was not a word to be said against Mr Martin, whose
experience was great, and whose discretion was undeniable; but,
nevertheless at least it seemed to Dorothy that this was the only
meaning to be attributed to Sir Peter's words Mr Martin had in this
case taken one line of treatment, when he ought to have taken another.
The plan of action was undoubtedly changed, and Mr Martin became very
fidgety, and ordered nothing without Sir Peter's sanction. Miss
Stanbury was suffering from bronchitis, and a complication of diseases
about her throat and chest. Barty Burgess declared to more than one
acquaintance in the little parlour behind the bank, that she would go
on drinking four or five glasses of new port wine every day, in direct
opposition to Martin's request. Camilla French heard the report, and
repeated it to her lover, and perhaps another person or two, with an
expression of her assured conviction that it must be false at any rate,
as regarded the fifth glass. Mrs MacHugh, who saw Martha daily, was
much frightened. The peril of such a friend disturbed equally the
repose and the pleasures of her life. Mrs Clifford was often at Miss
Stanbury's bedside and would have sat there reading for hours together,
had she not been made to understand by Martha that Miss Stanbury
preferred that Miss Dorothy should read to her. The sick woman received
the Sacrament weekly not from Mr Gibson, but from the hands of another
minor canon; and, though she never would admit her own danger, or allow
others to talk to her of it, it was known to them all that she admitted
it to herself because she had, with much personal annoyance, caused a
codicil to be added to her will. 'As you didn't marry that man,' she
said to Dorothy, 'I must change it again.' It was in vain that Dorothy
begged her not to trouble herself with such thoughts. 'That's trash,'
said Miss Stanbury, angrily. 'A person who has it is bound to trouble
himself about it. You don't suppose I'm afraid of dying do you?' she
added. Dorothy answered her with some commonplace declaring how
strongly they all expected to see her as well as ever. 'I'm not a bit
afraid to die,' said the old woman, wheezing, struggling with such
voice as she possessed; 'I'm not afraid of it, and I don't think I
shall die this time; but I'm not going to have mistakes when I'm gone.'
This was on the eve of the new year, and on the same night she asked
Dorothy to write to Brooke Burgess, and request him to come to Exeter.
This was Dorothy's letter:

'Exeter, 31st December, 186-.

MY DEAR MR BURGESS,

Perhaps I ought to have written before, to say that Aunt Stanbury is
not as well as we could wish her; but, as I know that you cannot very
well leave your office, I have thought it best not to say anything to
frighten you. But tonight Aunt herself has desired me to tell you that
she thinks you ought to know that she is ill, and that she wishes you
to come to Exeter for a day or two, if it is possible. Sir Peter
Mancrudy has been here every day since Christmas-day, and I believe he
thinks she may get over it. It is chiefly in the throat what they call
bronchitis and she has got to be very weak with it, and at the same
time very liable to inflammation. So I know that you will come if you
can.

Yours very truly,

DOROTHY STANBURY.

Perhaps I ought to tell you that she had her lawyer here with her the
day before yesterday; but she does not seem to think that she herself
is in danger. I read to her a good deal, and I think she is generally
asleep; when I stop she wakes, and I don't believe she gets any other
rest at all.'

When it was known in Exeter that Brooke Burgess had been sent for, then
the opinion became general that Miss Stanbury's days were numbered.
Questions were asked of Sir Peter at every corner of the street; but
Sir Peter was a discreet man, who could answer such questions without
giving any information. If it so pleased God, his patient would die;
but it was quite possible that she might live. That was the tenor of
Sir Peter's replies and they were read in any light, according to the
idiosyncrasies of the reader. Mrs MacHugh was quite sure that the
danger was over, and had a little game of cribbage on the sly with old
Miss Wright for, during the severity of Miss Stanbury's illness, whist
was put on one side in the vicinity of the Close. Barty Burgess was
still obdurate, and shook his head. He was of opinion that they might
soon gratify their curiosity, and see the last crowning iniquity of
this wickedest of old women. Mrs Clifford declared that it was all in
the hands of God; but that she saw no reason why Miss Stanbury should
not get about again. Mr Gibson thought that it was all up with his late
friend; and Camilla wished that at their last interview there had been
more of charity on the part of one whom she had regarded in past days
with respect and esteem. Mrs French, despondent about everything, was
quite despondent in this case. Martha almost despaired, and already was
burdened with the cares of a whole wardrobe of solemn funereal
clothing. She was seen peering in for half-an-hour at the windows and
doorway of a large warehouse for the sale of mourning. Giles Hickbody
would not speak above his breath, and took his beer standing; but
Dorothy was hopeful, and really believed that her aunt would recover.
Perhaps Sir Peter had spoken to her in terms less oracular than those
which he used towards the public.

Brooke Burgess came, and had an interview with Sir Peter, and to him
Sir Peter was under some obligation to speak plainly, as being the
person whom Miss Stanbury recognised as her heir. So Sir Peter declared
that his patient might perhaps live, and perhaps might die. 'The truth
is, Mr Burgess,' said Sir Peter, 'a doctor doesn't know so very much
more about these things than other people.' It was understood that
Brooke was to remain three days in Exeter, and then return to London.
He would, of course, come again if if anything should happen. Sir Peter
had been quite clear in his opinion, that no immediate result was to be
anticipated either in the one direction or the other. His patient was
doomed to a long illness; she might get over it, or she might succumb
to it.

Dorothy and Brooke were thus thrown much together during these three
days. Dorothy, indeed, spent most of her hours beside her aunt's bed,
instigating sleep by the reading of a certain series of sermons in
which Miss Stanbury had great faith; but nevertheless, there were some
minutes in which she and Brooke were necessarily together. They eat
their meals in each other's company, and there was a period in the
evening, before Dorothy began her night-watch in her aunt's room, at
which she took her tea while Martha was nurse in the room above. At
this time of the day she would remain an hour or more with Brooke; and
a great deal may be said between a man and a woman in an hour when the
will to say it is there. Brooke Burgess had by no means changed his
mind since he had declared it to Hugh Stanbury under the midnight lamps
of Long Acre, when warmed by the influence of oysters and whisky toddy.
The whisky toddy had in that instance brought out truth and not
falsehood as is ever the nature of whisky toddy and similar dangerous
provocatives. There is no saying truer than that which declares that
there is truth in wine. Wine is a dangerous thing, and should not be
made the exponent of truth, let the truth be good as it may; but it has
the merit of forcing a man to show his true colours. A man who is a
gentleman in his cups may be trusted to be a gentleman at all times. I
trust that the severe censor will not turn upon me, and tell me that no
gentleman in these days is ever to be seen in his cups. There are cups
of different degrees of depth; and cups do exist, even among gentlemen,
and seem disposed to hold their own let the censor be ever so severe.
The gentleman in his cups is a gentleman always; and the man who tells
his friend in his cups that he is in love, does so because the fact has
been very present to himself in his cooler and calmer moments. Brooke
Burgess, who had seen Hugh Stanbury on two or three occasions since
that of the oysters and toddy, had not spoken again of his regard for
Hugh's sister; but not the less was he determined to carry out his plan
and make Dorothy his wife if she would accept him. But could he ask her
while the old lady was, as it might be, dying in the house? He put this
question to himself as he travelled down to Exeter, and had told
himself that he must be guided for an answer by circumstances as they
might occur. Hugh had met him at the station as he started for Exeter,
and there had been a consultation between them as to the propriety of
bringing about, or of attempting to bring about, an interview between
Hugh and his aunt. 'Do whatever you like,' Hugh had said. 'I would go
down to her at a moment's warning, if she should express a desire to
see me.'

On the first night of Brooke's arrival this question had been discussed
between him and Dorothy. Dorothy had declared herself unable to give
advice. If any message were given to her she would deliver it to her
aunt; but she thought that anything said to her aunt on the subject had
better come from Brooke himself. 'You evidently are the person most
important to her,' Dorothy said, 'and she would listen to you when she
would not let any one else say a word.' Brooke promised that he would
think of it; and then Dorothy tripped up to relieve Martha, dreaming
nothing at all of that other doubt to which the important personage
downstairs was now subject. Dorothy was, in truth, very fond of the new
friend she had made; but it had never occurred to her that he might be
a possible suitor to her. Her old conception of herself that she was
beneath the notice of any man had only been partly disturbed by the
absolute fact of Mr Gibson's courtship. She had now heard of his
engagement with Camilla French, and saw in that complete proof that the
foolish man had been induced to offer his hand to her by the promise of
her aunt's money. If there had been a moment of exaltation a period in
which she had allowed herself to think that she was, as other women,
capable of making herself dear to a man it had been but a moment. And
now she rejoiced greatly that she had not acceded to the wishes of one
to whom it was so manifest that she had not made herself in the least
dear.

On the second day of his visit, Brooke was summoned to Miss Stanbury's
room at noon. She was forbidden to talk, and during a great portion of
the day could hardly speak without an effort; but there would be half
hours now and again in which she would become stronger than usual, at
which time nothing that Martha and Dorothy could say would induce her
to hold her tongue. When Brooke came to her on this occasion he found
her sitting up in bed with a great shawl round her; and he at once
perceived she was much more like her own self than on the former day.
She told him that she had been an old fool for sending for him, that
she had nothing special to say to him, that she had made no alteration
in her will in regard to him 'except that I have done something for
Dolly that will have to come out of your pocket, Brooke.' Brooke
declared that too much could not be done for a person so good, and
dear, and excellent as Dorothy Stanbury, let it come out of whose
pocket it might.'she is nothing to you, you know,' said Miss Stanbury.

'She is a great deal to me,' said Brooke.

'What is she?' asked Miss Stanbury.

'Oh a friend; a great friend.'

'Well; yes. I hope it may be so. But she won't have anything that I
haven't saved,' said Miss Stanbury. 'There are two houses at St.
Thomas's; but I bought them myself, Brooke out of the income.' Brooke
could only declare that as the whole property was hers, to do what she
liked with it as completely as though she had inherited it from her own
father, no one could have any right to ask questions as to when or how
this or that portion of the property had accrued. 'But I don't think
I'm going to die yet, Brooke,' she said. 'If it is God's will, I am
ready. Not that I'm fit, Brooke. God forbid that I should ever think
that. But I doubt whether I shall ever be fitter. I can go without
repining if He thinks best to take me.' Then he stood up by her
bedside, with his hand upon hers, and after some hesitation asked her
whether she would wish to see her nephew Hugh. 'No,' said she, sharply.
Brooke went on to say how pleased Hugh would have been to come to her.
'I don't think much of death-bed reconciliations,' said the old woman
grimly. 'I loved him dearly, but he didn't love me, and I don't know
what good we should do each other.' Brooke declared that Hugh did love
her; but he could not press the matter, and it was dropped.

On that evening at eight Dorothy came down to her tea. She had dined at
the same table with Brooke that afternoon, but a servant had been in
the room all the time and nothing had been said between them. As soon
as Brooke had got his tea he began to tell the story of his failure
about Hugh. He was sorry, he said, that he had spoken on the subject as
it had moved Miss Stanbury to an acrimony which he had not expected.

'She always declares that he never loved her,' said Dorothy.'she has
told me so twenty times.'