Books: He Knew He Was Right

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'This is papa,' said Nora. 'Papa, this is our friend, Mr Hugh
Stanbury.' The introduction was made in a manner almost absurdly
formal, but poor Nora's difficulties lay heavy upon her. Sir Marmaduke
muttered something but it was little more than a grunt. 'Mamma and
Emily are out,' continued Nora. 'I dare say they will be in soon.' Sir
Marmaduke looked round sharply at the man. Why was he to be encouraged
to stay till Lady Rowley should return? Lady Rowley did not want to see
him. It seemed to Sir Marmaduke, in the midst of his troubles, that
this was no time to be making new acquaintances. 'These are my sisters,
Mr Stanbury,' continued Nora. 'This is Sophia, and this is Lucy.'
Sophia and Lucy would have been thoroughly willing to receive their
sister's lover with genial kindness if they had been properly
instructed, and if the time had been opportune; but, as it was, they
had nothing to say. They, also, could only mutter some little sound
intended to be more courteous than their father's grunt. Poor Nora!

'I hope you are comfortable here,' said Hugh.

'The house is all very well,' said Nora, 'but we don't like the
neighbourhood.'

Hugh also felt that conversation was difficult. He had soon come to
perceive before he had been in the room half a minute that the
atmosphere was not favourable to his mission. There was to be no
embracing or permission for embracing on the present occasion. Had he
been left alone with Sir Marmaduke he would probably have told his
business plainly, let Sir Marmaduke's manner to him have been what it
might; but it was impossible for him to do this with three young ladies
in the room with him. Seeing that Nora was embarrassed by her
difficulties, and that Nora's father was cross and silent, he
endeavoured to talk to the other girls, and asked them concerning their
journey and the ship in which they had come. But it was very up-hill
work. Lucy and Sophy could talk as glibly as any young ladies home from
any colony and no higher degree of fluency can be expressed but now
they were cowed. Their elder sister was shamefully and most
undeservedly disgraced, and this man had had something they knew not
what to do with it. 'Is Priscilla quite well?' Nora asked at last.

'Quite well. I heard from her yesterday. You know they have left the
Clock House.'

'I had not heard it.'

'Oh yes and they are living in a small cottage just outside the
village. And what else do you think has happened?'

'Nothing bad, I hope, Mr Stanbury.'

'My sister Dorothy has left her aunt, and is living with them again at
Nuncombe.'

'Has there been a quarrel, Mr Stanbury?'

'Well, yes after a fashion there has, I suppose. But it is a long story
and would not interest Sir Marmaduke. The wonder is that Dorothy should
have been able to stay so long with my aunt. I will tell it you all
some day.' Sir Marmaduke could not understand why a long story about
this man's aunt and sister should be told to his daughter. He forgot as
men always do in such circumstances forget that, while he was living in
the Mandarins, his daughter, living in England, would of course pick up
new interest and become intimate with new histories. But he did not
forget that pressure of the hand which he had seen, and he determined
that his daughter Nora could not have any worse lover than the friend
of his elder daughter's husband.

Stanbury had just determined that he must go, that there was no
possibility for him either to say or do anything to promote his cause
at the present moment, when the circumstances were all changed by the
return home of Lady Rowley and Mrs Trevelyan. Lady Rowley knew, and had
for some days known, much more of Stanbury than had come to the ears of
Sir Marmaduke. She understood in the first place that the Stanburys had
been very good to her daughter, and she was aware that Hugh Stanbury
had thoroughly taken her daughter's part against his old friend
Trevelyan. She would therefore have been prepared to receive him kindly
had he not on this very morning been the subject of special
conversation between her and Emily. But, as it had happened, Mrs
Trevelyan had this very day told Lady Rowley the whole story of Nora's
love. The elder sister had not intended to be treacherous to the
younger; but in the thorough confidence which mutual grief and close
conference had created between the mother and daughter, everything had
at last come out, and Lady Rowley had learned the story, not only of
Hugh Stanbury's courtship, but of those rich offers which had been made
by the heir to the barony of Peterborough.

It must be acknowledged that Lady Rowley was greatly grieved and
thoroughly dismayed. It was not only that Mr Glascock was the eldest
son of a peer, but that he was represented by the poor suffering wife
of the ill-tempered man to be a man blessed with a disposition sweet as
an angel's. 'And she would have liked him,' Emily had said, 'if it had
not been for this unfortunate young man.' Lady Rowley was not worse
than are other mothers, not more ambitious, or more heartless, or more
worldly. She was a good mother, loving her children, and thoroughly
anxious for their welfare. But she would have liked to be the
mother-in-law of Lord Peterborough, and she would have liked, dearly,
to see her second daughter removed from the danger of those rocks
against which her eldest child had been shipwrecked. And when she asked
after Hugh Stanbury, and his means of maintaining a wife, the statement
which Mrs Trevelyan made was not comforting. 'He writes for a penny
newspaper and, I believe, writes very well,' Mrs Trevelyan had said.

'For a penny newspaper! Is that respectable?'

'His aunt, Miss Stanbury, seemed to think not. But I suppose men of
education do write for such things now. He says himself that it is very
precarious as an employment.'

'It must be precarious, Emily. And has he got nothing?'

'Not a penny of his own,' said Mrs Trevelyan.

Then Lady Rowley had thought again of Mr Glascock, and of the family
title, and of Markhams. And she thought of her present troubles, and of
the Mandarins, and the state of Sir Marmaduke's balance at the bankers
and of the other girls, and of all there was before her to do. Here had
been a very Apollo among suitors kneeling at her child's feet, and the
foolish girl had sent him away for the sake of a young man who wrote
for a penny newspaper! Was it worth the while of any woman to bring up
daughters with such results? Lady Rowley, therefore, when she was first
introduced to Hugh Stanbury, was not prepared to receive him with open
arms.

On this occasion the task of introducing him fell to Mrs Trevelyan, and
was done with much graciousness. Emily knew that Hugh Stanbury was her
friend, and would sympathise with her respecting her child. 'You have
heard what has happened to me?' she said. Stanbury, however, had heard
nothing of that kidnapping of the child. Though to the Rowleys it
seemed that such a deed of iniquity, done in the middle of London, must
have been known to all the world, he had not as yet been told of it and
now the story was given to him. Mrs Trevelyan herself told it, with
many tears and an agony of fresh grief; but still she told it as to one
whom she regarded as a sure friend, and from whom she knew that she
would receive sympathy. Sir Marmaduke sat by the while, still gloomy
and out of humour. Why was their family sorrow to be laid bare to this
stranger?

'It is the cruellest thing I ever heard,' said Hugh.

'A dastardly deed,' said Lady Rowley.

'But we all feel that for the time he can hardly know what he does,'
said Nora.

'And where is the child?' Stanbury asked.

'We have not the slightest idea,' said Lady Rowley. 'I have seen him,
and he refuses to tell us. He did say that my daughter should see her
boy; but he now accompanies his offer with such conditions that it is
impossible to listen to him.'

'And where is he?'

'We do not know where he lives. We can reach him only through a certain
man.'

'Ah, I know the man,' said Stanbury; 'one who was a policeman once. His
name is Bozzle.'

'That is the man,' said Sir Marmaduke. 'I have seen him.'

'And of course he will tell us nothing but what he is told to tell us,'
continued Lady Rowley. 'Can there be anything so horrible as this that
a wife should be bound to communicate with her own husband respecting
her own child through such a man as that?'

'One might possibly find out where he keeps the child,' said Hugh.

'If you could manage that, Mr Stanbury!' said Lady Rowley.

'I hardly see that it would do much good,' said Hugh. 'Indeed I do not
know why he should keep the place a secret. I suppose he has a right to
the boy until the mother shall have made good her claim before the
court.' He promised, however, that he would do his best to ascertain
where the child was kept, and where Trevelyan resided, and then having
been nearly an hour at the house he was forced to get up and take his
leave. He had said not a word to any one of the business that had
brought him there. He had not even whispered an assurance of his
affection to Nora. Till the two elder ladies had come in, and the
subject of the taking of the boy had been mooted, he had sat there as a
perfect stranger. He thought that it was manifest enough that Nora had
told her secret to no one. It seemed to him that Mrs Trevelyan must
have forgotten it that Nora herself must have forgotten it, if such
forgetting could be possible! He got up, however, and took his leave,
and was comforted in some slight degree by seeing that there was a tear
in Nora's eye.

'Who is he?' demanded Sir Marmaduke, as soon as the door was closed.

'He is a young man who was an intimate friend of Louis's,' answered Mrs
Trevelyan; 'but he is so no longer, because he sees how infatuated
Louis has been.'

'And why does he come here?'

'We know him very well,' continued Mrs Trevelyan. 'It was he that
arranged our journey down to Devonshire. He was very kind about it, and
so were his mother and sister. We have every reason to be grateful to
Mr Stanbury.' This was all very well, but Nora nevertheless felt that
the interview had been anything but successful.

'Has he any profession?' asked Sir Marmaduke.

'He writes for the press,' said Mrs Trevelyan.

'What do you mean books?'

'No for a newspaper.'

'For a penny newspaper,' said Nora boldly 'for the Daily Record.'

'Then I hope he won't come here any more,' said Sir Marmaduke. Nora
paused a moment, striving to find words for some speech which might be
true to her love and yet not unseemly but finding no such words ready,
she got up from her seat and walked out of the room. 'What is the
meaning of it all?' asked Sir Marmaduke. There was a silence for a
while, and then he repeated his question in another form. 'Is there any
reason for his coming here about Nora?'

'I think he is attached to Nora,' said Mrs Trevelyan. 'My dear,' said
Lady Rowley, 'perhaps we had better not speak about it just now.'

'I suppose he has not a penny in the world,' said Sir Marmaduke.

'He has what he earns,' said Mrs Trevelyan.

'If Nora understands her duty she will never let me hear his name
again,' said Sir Marmaduke. Then there was nothing more said, and as
soon as they could escape, both Lady Rowley and Mrs Trevelyan left the
room.

'I should have told you everything,' said Nora to her mother that
night. 'I had no intention to keep anything a secret from you. But we
have all been so unhappy about Louey, that we have had no heart to talk
of anything else.'

'I understand all that, my darling.'

'And I had meant that you should tell papa, for I supposed that he
would come. And I meant that he should go to papa himself. He intended
that himself only, to-day as things turned out.'

'Just so, dearest but it does not seem that he has got any income. It
would be very rash wouldn't it?'

'People must be rash sometimes. Everybody can't have an income without
earning it. I suppose people in professions do marry without having
fortunes.'

'When they have settled professions, Nora.'

'And why is not his a settled profession? I believe he receives quite
as much at seven and twenty as Uncle Oliphant does at sixty.'

'But your Uncle Oliphant's income is permanent.'

'Lawyers don't have permanent incomes, or doctors or merchants.'

'But those professions are regular and sure. They don't marry, without
fortunes, till they have made their incomes sure.'

'Mr Stanbury's income is sure. I don't know why it shouldn't be sure.
He goes on writing and writing every day, and it seems to me that of
all professions in the world it is the finest. I'd much sooner write
for a newspaper than be one of those old musty, fusty lawyers, who'll
say anything that they're paid to say.'

'My dearest Nora, all that is nonsense. You know as well as I do that
you should not marry a man when there is a doubt whether he can keep a
house over your head that is his position.'

'It is good enough for me, mamma.'

'And what is his income from writing?'

'It is quite enough for me, mamma. The truth is I have promised, and I
cannot go back from it. Dear, dear mamma, you won't quarrel with us,
and oppose us, and make papa hard against us. You can do what you like
with papa. I know that. Look at poor Emily. Plenty of money has not
made her happy.'

'If Mr Glascock had only asked you a week sooner,' said Lady Rowley,
with a handkerchief to her eyes.

'But you see he didn't, mamma.'

'When I think of it I cannot but weep;' and the poor mother burst out
into a full flood of tears 'such a man, so good, so gentle, and so
truly devoted to you.'

'Mamma, what's the good of that now?'

'Going down all the way to Devonshire after you!'

'So did Hugh, mamma.'

'A position that any girl in England would have envied you. I cannot
but feel it. And Emily says she is sure he would come back, if he got
the very slightest encouragement.'

'That is quite impossible, mamma.'

'Why should it be impossible? Emily declares that she never saw a man
so much in love in her life and she says also that she believes he is
abroad now simply because he is broken-hearted about it.'

'Mr Glascock, mamma, was very nice and good and all that; but indeed he
is not the man to suffer from a broken heart. And Emily is quite
mistaken. I told him the whole truth.'

'What truth?'

'That there was somebody else that I did love. Then he said that of
course that put an end to it all, and he wished me good-bye ever so
calmly.'

'How could you be so infatuated? Why should you have cut the ground
away from your feet in that way?'

'Because I chose that there should be an end to it. Now there has been
an end to it; and it is much better, mamma, that we should not think
about Mr Glascock any more. He will never come again to me and if he
did, I could only say the same thing.'

'You mustn't be surprised, Nora, if I'm unhappy; that is all. Of course
I must feel it. Such a connection as it would have been for your
sisters! Such a home for poor Emily in her trouble! And as for this
other man--'

'Mamma, don't speak ill of him.'

'If I say anything of him, I must say the truth,' said Lady Rowley.

'Don't say anything against him, mamma, because he is to be my husband.
Dear, dear mamma, you can't change me by anything you say. Perhaps I
have been foolish; but it is settled now. Don't make me wretched by
speaking against the man whom I mean to love all my life better than
all the world.'

'Think of Louis Trevelyan.'

'I will think of no one but Hugh Stanbury. I tried not to love him,
mamma. I tried to think that it was better to make believe that I loved
Mr Glascock. But he got the better of me, and conquered me, and I will
never rebel against him. You may help me, mamma but you can't change
me.'

CHAPTER LXIV - SIR MARMADUKE AT HIS CLUB

Sir Marmaduke had come away from his brother-in-law the parson in much
anger, for Mr Outhouse, with that mixture of obstinacy and honesty
which formed his character, had spoken hard words of Colonel Osborne,
and words which by implication had been hard also against Emily
Trevelyan. He had been very staunch to his niece when attacked by his
niece's husband; but when his sympathies and assistance were invoked by
Sir Marmaduke it seemed as though he had transferred his allegiance to
the other side. He pointed out to the unhappy father that Colonel
Osborne had behaved with great cruelty in going to Devonshire, that the
Stanburys had been untrue to their trust in allowing him to enter the
house, and that Emily had been 'indiscreet' in receiving him. When a
young woman is called indiscreet by her friends it may be assumed that
her character is very seriously assailed. Sir Marmaduke had understood
this, and on hearing the word had become wroth with his brother-in-law.
There had been hot words between them, and Mr Outhouse would not yield
an inch or retract a syllable. He conceived it to be his duty to advise
the father to caution his daughter with severity, to quarrel absolutely
with Colonel Osborne, and to let Trevelyan know that this had been
done. As to the child, Mr Outhouse expressed a strong opinion that the
father was legally entitled to the custody of his boy, and that nothing
could be done to recover the child, except what might be done with the
father's consent. In fact, Mr Outhouse made himself exceedingly
disagreeable, and sent away Sir Marmaduke with a very heavy heart.
Could it really be possible that his old friend Fred Osborne, who seven
or eight-and-twenty years ago had been potent among young ladies, had
really been making love to his old friend's married daughter? Sir
Marmaduke looked into himself, and conceived it to be quite out of the
question that he should make love to any one. A good dinner, good wine,
a good cigar, an easy chair, and a rubber of whist all these things,
with no work to do, and men of his own standing around him were the
pleasures of life which Sir Marmaduke desired. Now Fred Osborne was an
older man than he, and, though Fred Osborne did keep up a foolish
system of padded clothes and dyed whiskers, still at fifty-two or
fifty-three surely a man might be reckoned safe. And then, too, that
ancient friendship! Sir Marmaduke, who had lived all his life in the
comparative seclusion of a colony, thought perhaps more of that ancient
friendship than did the Colonel, who had lived amidst the blaze of
London life, and who had had many opportunities of changing his
friends. Some inkling of all this made its way into Sir Marmaduke's
bosom, as he thought of it with bitterness; and he determined that he
would have it out with his friend.

Hitherto he had enjoyed very few of those pleasant hours which he had
anticipated on his journey homewards. He had had no heart to go to his
club, and he had fancied that Colonel Osborne had been a little
backward in looking him up, and providing him with amusement. He had
suggested this to his wife, and she had told him that the Colonel had
been right not to come to Manchester Street. 'I have told Emily,' said
Lady Rowley, 'that she must not meet him, and she is quite of the same
opinion.' Nevertheless, there had been remissness. Sir Marmaduke felt
that it was so, in spite of his wife's excuses. In this way he was
becoming sore with everybody, and very unhappy. It did not at all
improve his temper when he was told that his second daughter had
refused an offer from Lord Peterborough's eldest son. 'Then she may go
into the workhouse for me,' the angry father had said, declaring at the
same time that he would never give his consent to her marriage with the
man who 'did dirty work' for the Daily Record as he, with his paternal
wisdom, chose to express it. But this cruel phrase was not spoken in
Nora's hearing, nor was it repeated to her. Lady Rowley knew her
husband, and was aware that he would on occasions change his opinion.

It was not till two or three days after his visit to St. Diddulph's
that he met Colonel Osborne. The Easter recess was then over, and
Colonel Osborne had just returned to London. They met on the door-steps
of 'The Acrobats,' and the Colonel immediately began with an apology.
'I have been so sorry to be away just when you are here upon my word I
have. But I was obliged to go down to the duchess's. I had promised
early in the winter; and those people are so angry if you put them off.
By George, it's almost as bad as putting off royalty.'

'D n the duchess,' said Sir Marmaduke.

'With all my heart,' said the Colonel 'only I thought it as well that I
should tell you the truth.'

'What I mean is, that the duchess and her people make no difference to
me. I hope you had a pleasant time; that's all.'

'Well yes, we had. One must get away somewhere at Easter. There is no
one left at the club, and there's no House, and no one asks one to
dinner in town. In fact, if one didn't go away one wouldn't know what
to do. There were ever so many people there that I liked to meet. Lady
Glencora was there, and uncommon pleasant she made it. That woman has
more to say for herself than any half-dozen men that I know. And Lord
Cantrip, your chief, was there. He said a word or two to me about you.'

'What sort of word?'

'He says he wishes you would read up some blue books, or papers, or
reports, or something of that kind, which he says that some of his
fellows have sent you. It seems that there are some new rules, or
orders, or fashions, which he wants you to have at your finger's ends.
Nothing could be more civil than he was but he just wished me to
mention this, knowing that you and I are likely to see each other.'

'I wish I had never come over,' said Sir Marmaduke.

'Why so?'

'They didn't bother me with their new rules and fashions over there.
When the papers came somebody read them, and that was enough. I could
do what they wanted me to do there.'

'And so you will here after a bit.'

'I'm not so sure of that. Those young fellows seem to forget that an
old dog can't learn new tricks. They've got a young brisk fellow there
who seems to think that a man should be an encyclopaedia of knowledge
because he has lived in a colony over twenty years.'

'That's the new under-secretary.'

'Never mind who it is. Osborne, just come up to the library, will you?
I want to speak to you.'

Then Sir Marmaduke, with considerable solemnity, led the way up to the
most deserted room in the club, and Colonel Osborne followed him, well
knowing that something was to be said about Emily Trevelyan.

Sir Marmaduke seated himself on a sofa, and his friend sat close beside
him. The room was quite deserted. It was four o'clock in the afternoon,
and the club was full of men. There were men in the morning-room, and
men in the drawing-room, and men in the card-room, and men in the
billiard-room; but no better choice of a chamber for a conference
intended to be silent and secret could have been made in all London
than that which had induced Sir Marmaduke to take his friend into the
library of 'The Acrobats.' And yet a great deal of money had been spent
in providing this library for 'The Acrobats.' Sir Marmaduke sat for
awhile silent, and had he sat silent for an hour, Colonel Osborne would
not have interrupted him. Then, at last, he began, with a voice that
was intended to be serious, but which struck upon the ear of his
companion as being affected and unlike the owner of it. 'This is a very
sad thing about my poor girl,' said Sir Marmaduke.

'Indeed it is. There is only one thing to be said about it, Rowley.'

'And what's that?'

'The man must be mad.'

'He is not so mad as to give us any relief by his madness poor as such
comfort would be. He has got Emily's child away from her, and I think
it will about kill her. And what is to become of her? As to taking her
back to the islands without her child, it is out of the question. I
never knew anything so cruel in my life.'

'And so absurd, you know.'

'Ah that's just the question. If anybody had asked me, I should have
said that you were the man of all men whom I could have best trusted.'

'Do you doubt it now?'

'I don't know what to think.'

'Do you mean to say that you suspect me and your daughter too?'

'No by heavens! Poor dear. If I suspected her, there would be an end of
all things with me. I could never get over that. No I don't suspect
her!' Sir Marmaduke had now dropped his affected tone, and was speaking
with natural energy.

'But you do me?'

'No if I did, I don't suppose I should be sitting with you here; but
they tell me--'

'They tell you what?'

'They tell me that that you did not behave wisely about it. Why could
you not let her alone when you found out how matters were going?'

'Who has been telling you this, Rowley?'

Sir Marmaduke considered for awhile, and then, remembering that Colonel
Osborne could hardly quarrel with a clergyman, told him the truth.
'Outhouse says that you have done her an irretrievable injury by going
down to Devonshire to her, and by writing to her.'

'Outhouse is an ass.'

'That is easily said but why did you go?'

'And why should I not go? What the deuce! Because a man like that
chooses to take vagaries into his head I am not to see my own
godchild!' Sir Marmaduke tried to remember whether the Colonel was in
fact the godfather of his eldest daughter, but he found that his mind
was quite a blank about his children's godfathers and godmothers. 'And
as for the letters I wish you could see them. The only letters which
had in them a word of importance were those about your coming home. I
was anxious to get that arranged, not only for your sake, but because
she was so eager about it.'