Books: He Knew He Was Right

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'250, Fleet Street,

20th April.

My Dear Sir Marmaduke Rowley

'I have just received your letter, and am indeed sorry that its
contents should be so little favourable to my hopes. I understand that
your objection to me is simply in regard to the smallness and
insecurity of my income. On the first point I may say that I have fair
hopes that it may be at once increased. As to the second, I believe I
may assert that it is as sure at least as the income of other
professional men, such as barristers, merchants, and doctors. I cannot
promise to say that I will not see your daughter. If she desires me to
do so of course I shall be guided by her views. I wish that might be
allowed an opportunity of seeing you, as think I could reverse or at
least mitigate some of the objections which you feel to our marriage.'

Yours most faithfully,

Hugh Stanbury.'

On the next day but one Sir Marmaduke came to him. He was sitting at
the office of the D. R., in a very small and dirty room at the back of
the house, and Sir Marmaduke found his way thither through a confused
crowd of compositors, pressmen, and printers' boys. He thought that he
had never before been in a place so foul, so dark, so crowded, and so
comfortless. He himself was accustomed to do his work, out in the
Islands, with many of the appanages of vice-royalty around him. He had
his secretary, and his, private secretary, and his inner-room, and his
waiting-room; and not unfrequently he had the honour of a dusky
sentinel walking before the door through which he was to be approached.
He had an idea that all gentlemen at their work had comfortable
appurtenances around them such as carpets, dispatch-boxes, unlimited
stationery, easy chairs for temporary leisure, big table-space, and a
small world of books around them to give at least a look of erudition
to their pursuits. There was nothing of the kind in the miserably dark
room occupied 'by Stanbury. He was sitting at a wretched little table
on which there was nothing but a morsel of blotting paper, a small
ink-bottle, and the paper on which he was scribbling. There was no
carpet there, and no dispatch box, and the only book in the room was a
little dog's-eared dictionary.'sir Marmaduke, I am so much obliged to
you for coming,' said Hugh. 'I fear you will find this place a little
rough, but we shall be all alone.'

'The place, Mr Stanbury, will not signify, I think'

'Not in the least--if you don't mind it. I got your letter, you know,
Sir Marmaduke.'

'And I have had your reply. I have come to you because you have
expressed a wish for an interview but I do not see that it will do any
good.'

'You are very kind for coming, indeed, Sir Marmaduke very kind. I
thought I might explain something to you about my income.'

'Can you tell me that you have any permanent income?'

'It goes on regularly from month to month;' Sir Marmaduke did not feel
the slightest respect for an income that was paid monthly. According to
his ideas, a gentleman's income should be paid quarterly, or perhaps
half-yearly. According to his view, a monthly salary was only one
degree better than weekly wages 'and I suppose that is permanence,'
said Hugh Stanbury.

'I cannot say that I so regard it.'

'A barrister gets his, you know, very irregularly. There is no saying
when he may have it.'

'But a barrister's profession is recognised as a profession among
gentlemen, Mr Stanbury.'

'And is not ours recognised? Which of us, barristers or men of
literature, have the most effect on the world at large? Who is most
thought of in London, Sir Marmaduke the Lord Chancellor or the Editor
of the "Jupiter"?'

'The Lord Chancellor a great deal,' said Sir Marmaduke, quite dismayed
by the audacity of the question.

'By no means, Sir Marmaduke,' said Stanbury, throwing out his hand
before him so as to give the energy of action to his words. 'He has the
higher rank. I will admit that.'

'I should think so,' said Sir Marmaduke.

'And the larger income.'

'Very much larger, I should say,' said Sir Marmaduke, with a smile.

'And he wears a wig.'

'Yes he wears a wig,' said Sir Marmaduke, hardly knowing in what spirit
to accept this assertion.

'And nobody cares one brass button for him or his opinions,' said
Stanbury, bringing down: his hand heavily on the little table for the
sake of emphasis.

'What, sir?'

'If you'll think of it, it is so.'

'Nobody cares for the Lord Chancellor!' It certainly is the fact that
gentlemen living in the Mandarin Islands do think more of the Lord
Chancellor, and the Lord Mayor, and the Lord-Lieutenant, and the Lord
Chamberlain, than they whose spheres of life bring them into closer
contact with those august functionaries. 'I presume, Mr Stanbury, that
a connection with a penny newspaper makes such opinions as these almost
a necessity.'

'Quite a necessity, Sir Marmaduke. No man can hold his own in print,
now-a-days, unless he can see the, difference between tinsel and gold.'

'And the Lord Chancellor, of course, is tinsel.'

'I do not say so. He may be a great lawyer and very useful. But his
lordship, and his wig, and his woolsack, are tinsel in comparison with
the real power possessed by the editor of a leading newspaper. If the
Lord Chancellor were to go to bed for a month, would he be much
missed?'

'I don't know, sir. I'm not in the secrets of the Cabinet. I should
think he would.'

'About as much as my grandmother but if the Editor of the Jupiter were
to be taken ill, it would work quite a commotion. For myself I should
be glad on public grounds because I don't like his mode of business.
But it would have an effect because he is a leading man.'

'I don't see what all this leads to, Mr Stanbury.'

'Only to this that we who write for the press thing that our calling is
recognised, and must be recognised as a profession. Talk of permanence,
Sir Marmaduke, are not the newspapers permanent? Do not they come out
regularly every day and more of them, and still more of them, are
always coming out? You do not expect a collapse among them.'

'There will be plenty of newspapers, I do not doubt more than plenty,
perhaps.'

'Somebody must write them and the writers will be paid.'

'Anybody could write the most of them, I should say.'

'I wish you would try, Sir Marmaduke. Just try your hand at a leading
article to-night, and read it yourself tomorrow morning.'

'I've a great deal too much to do, Mr Stanbury.'

'Just so. You have, no doubt, the affairs of your Government to look
to. We are all so apt to ignore the work of our neighbours! It seems to
me that I could go over and govern the Mandarins without the slightest
trouble in the world. But, no doubt, I am mistaken just as you are
about writing for the newspapers.'

'I do not know,' said Sir Marmaduke, rising from his chair with
dignity, 'that I called here to discuss such matters as these. As it
happens, you, Mr Stanbury, are not the Governor of the Mandarins, and I
have not the honour to write for the columns of the penny newspaper
with which you are associated. It is therefore useless to discuss what
either of us might do in the position held by the other.'

'Altogether useless, Sir Marmaduke except just for the fun of the
thing.'

'I do not see the fun, Mr Stanbury. I came here, at your request, to
hear what you might have to urge against the decision which I
expressed to you in reference to my daughter. As it seems that you have
nothing to urge, I will not take up your time further.'

'But I have a great deal to urge, and have urged a great deal.'

'Have you, indeed?'

'You have complained that my work is not permanent. I have shewn that
it is so permanent that there is no possibility of its coming to an
end. There must be newspapers, and the people trained to write them
must be employed. I have been at it now about two years. You know what
I earn. Could I have got so far in so short a time as a lawyer, a
doctor, a clergyman, a soldier, a sailor, a Government clerk, or in any
of those employments which you choose to call professions? I think that
is urging a great deal I think it is urging everything.'

'Very well, Mr Stanbury. I have listened to you, and in a certain
degree I admire your your your zeal and ingenuity, shall I say.'

'I didn't mean to call for admiration, Sir Marmaduke; but suppose you
say good sense and discrimination.'

'Let that pass. You must permit me to remark that your position is not
such as to justify me in trusting my daughter to your care. As my mind
on that matter is quite made up, as is that also of Lady Rowley, I must
ask you to give me your promise that your suit to my daughter shall be
discontinued.'

'What does she say about it, Sir Marmaduke?'

'What she has said to me has been for my ears, and not for yours.'

'What I say is for her ears and for yours, and for her mother's ears,
and for the ears of any who may choose to hear it. I will never give up
my suit to your daughter till I am forced to do so, by a full
conviction given me up. It is best to be plain, Sir Marmaduke, of
course.'

'I do not understand this, Mr Stanbury.'

'I mean to be quite clear.'

'I have always thought that when a gentleman was told by the head of a
family that he could not be made welcome in that family, it was
considered to be the duty of that gentleman as a gentleman to abandon
his vain pursuit. I have been brought up with that idea.'

'And I, Sir Marmaduke, have been brought up in the idea that when a man
has won the affections of a woman, it is the duty of that man as a man
to stick to her through thick and thin; and I mean to do my duty,
according to my idea.'

'Then, sir, I have nothing further to say, but to take my leave. I must
only caution you not to enter my doors.' As the passages were dark and
intricate, it was necessary that Stanbury should shew Sir Marmaduke
out, and this he did in silence. When they parted each of them lifted
his hat, and not a word more was said.

That same night there was a note put into Nora's hands as she was
following her mother out of one of the theatres. In the confusion she
did not even see the messenger who had handed it to her. Her sister
Lucy saw that she had taken the note, and questioned her about it
afterwards with discretion, however, and in privacy. This was the note:

'Dearest Love,

I have seen your father, who is stern after the manner of fathers. What
granite equals a parent's flinty bosom! For myself, I do not prefer
clandestine arrangements and rope-ladders; and you, dear, have nothing
of the Lydia about you. But I do like my own way, and like it
especially when you are at the end of the path. It is quite out of the
question that you should go back to those islands. I think I am
justified in already assuming enough of the husband to declare that
such going back must not be held for a moment in question. My
proposition is that you should authorise me to make such arrangements
as may be needed, in regard to licence, banns, or whatever else, and
that you should then simply walk from the house to the church and marry
me. You are of age, and can do as you please. Neither your father nor
mother can have any right to stop you. I do not doubt but that your
mother would accompany you, if she were fully satisfied of your
purpose. Write to me to the D. R.

Your own, ever and ever, and always,

H. S.

I shall try and get this given to you as you leave the theatre. If it
should fall into other hands, I don't much care. I'm not in the least
ashamed of what I am doing; and I hope that you are not.'

CHAPTER LXXII - THE DELIVERY OF THE LAMB

It is hoped that a certain quarter of lamb will not have been forgotten
a quarter of lamb that was sent as a peace-offering from Exeter to
Nuncombe Putney by the hands of Miss Stanbury's Martha, not with
purposes of corruption, not intended to buy back the allegiance of
Dorothy folded delicately and temptingly in one of the best table
napkins, with no idea of bribery, but sent as presents used to be sent
of old in the trains of great ambassadors as signs of friendship and
marks of true respect. Miss Stanbury was, no doubt, most anxious that
her niece should return to her, but was not, herself, low spirited
enough to conceive that a quarter of lamb could be efficacious in
procuring such return. If it might be that Dorothy's heart could be
touched by mention of the weariness of her aunt's solitary life; and
if, therefore, she would return, it would be very well; but it could
not be well to, unless the offer should come from Dorothy herself. All
of which Martha had been made to understand by her mistress,
considerable ingenuity having been exercised in the matter on each
side.

On her arrival at Lessboro', Martha had hired a fly, and been driven
out to Nuncombe Putney; but she felt, she knew not why, a dislike to be
taken in her carriage to the door of the cottage; and was put down in
the middle of the village, from whence she walked out to Mrs Stanbury's
abode, with the basket upon her arm. It was a good half mile, and the
lamb was heavy, for Miss Stanbury had suggested that a bottle of sherry
should be put in under the napkin and Martha was becoming tired of her
burden, when whom should she see on the road before her but Brooke
Burgess! As she said herself afterwards, it immediately occurred to
her, 'that all the fat was in the fire.' Here had this young man come
down, passing through Exeter without even a visit to Miss Stanbury, and
had clandestinely sought out the young woman whom he wasn't to marry;
and here was the young woman herself flying in her aunt's face, when
one scratch of a pen might ruin them both! Martha entertained a sacred,
awful, overcoming feeling about her mistress's will. That she was to
have something herself she supposed, and her anxiety was not on that
score; but she had heard so much about it, had realised so fully the
great power which Miss Stanbury possessed, and had had her own feelings
so rudely invaded by alterations in Miss Stanbury's plans, that she had
come to entertain an idea that all persons around her should
continually bear that will in their memory. Hugh had undoubtedly been
her favourite, and, could Martha have dictated the will herself, she
would still have made Hugh the heir; but she had realised the
resolution of her mistress so far as to confess that the bulk of the
property was to go back to a Burgess. But there were very many
Burgesses; and here was the one who had been selected flying in the
very face of the testatrix! What was to be done? Were she to go back
and not tell her mistress that she had seen Brooke Burgess at Nuncombe
then should the fact be found out would the devoted anger of Miss
Stanbury fall upon her own head? It would be absolutely necessary that
she should tell the story, let the consequences be what they might but
the consequences, probably, would be very dreadful. 'Mr Brooke, that is
not you?' she said, as she came up to him, putting her basket down in
the middle of the dusty road.

'Then who can it be?' said Brooke, giving her his hand to shake.

'But what do bring you here, Mr Brooke? Goodness me, what will missus
say?'

'I shall make that all straight. I'm going back to Exeter tomorrow.'
Then there were many questions and many answers. He was sojourning at
Mrs Crocket's, and had been there for the last two days. 'Dear, dear,
dear,' she said over and over again. 'Deary me, deary me!' and then she
asked him whether it was 'all along of Miss Dorothy' that he had come.
Of course, it was all along of Miss Dorothy. Brooke made no secret
about it. He had come down to see Dorothy's mother and sister, and to
say a bit of his own mind about future affairs and to see the beauties
of the country. When he talked about the beauties of the country,
Martha looked at him as the people of Lessboro' and Nuncombe Putney
should have looked at Colonel Osborne, when he talked of the church
porch at Cockchaffington. 'Beauties of the countries, Mr Brooke you
ought to be ashamed of yourself!' said Martha.

'But I ain't the least in the world,' said Brooke.

Then Martha took up her basket, and went on to the cottage, which had
been close in sight during their conversation in the road. She felt
angry with Dorothy. In such matters a woman is always angry with the
woman who has probably been quite passive, and rarely with the man, who
is ever the real transgressor. Having a man down after her at Nuncombe
Putney! It had never struck Martha as very horrible that Brooke Burgess
should fall in love with Dorothy in the city but this meeting, in the
remoteness of the country, out of sight even of the village, was almost
indecent; and all, too, with Miss Stanbury's will just, as one might
say, on the balance! Dorothy ought to have buried herself rather than
have allowed Brooke to see her at Nuncombe Putney; and Dorothy's mother
and Priscilla must be worse. She trudged on, however, with her lamb,
and soon found herself in the presence of the three ladies.

'What Martha!' said Dorothy.

'Yes, miss here I am. I'd have been here half-an-hour ago amost, if I
hadn't been stopped on the road.'

'And who stopped you?' asked Priscilla.

'Why Mr Brooke, of course.'

'And what did Mr Brooke say to you?' asked Dorothy.

Martha perceived at once that Dorothy was quite radiant. She told her
mistress that she had never seen Miss Dorothy look half so comely
before. 'Laws, ma'am, she brightened up and speckled about, till it did
your heart good to see her in spite of all.' But this was some time
afterwards.

'He didn't say very much,' replied Martha, gravely. 'But I've got very
much to tell you,' continued Dorothy. 'I'm engaged to be married to Mr
Brooke, and you must congratulate me. It is settled now, and mamma and
my sister know all about it.'

Martha, when she was thus asked directly for congratulation, hardly
knew at once how to express herself. Being fully aware of Miss
Stanbury's objection to the marriage, she could not venture to express
her approbation of it. It was very improper, in Martha's mind, that any
young woman should have a follower, when the 'missus' didn't approve of
it. She understood well enough that, in that matter of followers,
privileges are allowed to young ladies which are not accorded to maid
servants. A young lady may do things have young men to walk and talk
with them, to dance with them and embrace them, and perhaps even more
than this when for half so much a young woman would be turned into the
streets without a character. Martha knew all this, and knew also that
Miss Dorothy, though her mother lived in a very little cottage, was not
altogether debarred, in the matter of followers, from the privileges of
a lady. But yet Miss Dorothy's position was so very peculiar!

Look at that will or, rather, at that embryo will, which might be made
any day, which now probably would be made, and which might affect them
both so terribly! People who have not got money should not fly in the
face of those who have. Such at least was Martha's opinion very
strongly. How could she congratulate Miss Dorothy under the existing
circumstances. 'I do hope you will be happy, miss that you knows,' said
Martha, in her difficulty. 'And now, ma'am miss, I mean,' she added,
correcting herself, in obedience to Miss Stanbury's direct orders about
the present 'missus has just sent me over with a bit of lamb, and a
letter as is here in the basket, and to ask how you is and the other
ladies.'

'We are very much obliged,' said Mrs Stanbury, who had not understood
the point of Martha's speech.

'My sister is, I'm sure,' said Priscilla, who had understood it.

Dorothy had taken the letter, and had gone aside with it, and was
reading it very carefully. It touched her nearly, and there had come
tears into both her eyes, as she dwelt upon it. There was something in
her aunt's allusion to the condition of unmarried women which came home
to her especially. She knew her aunt's past history, and now she knew,
or hoped that she knew, something of her own future destiny. Her aunt
was desolate, whereas upon her the world smiled, most benignly. Brooke
had just informed her that he intended to make her his wife as speedily
as possible with her aunt's consent if possible, but if not, then
without it. He had ridiculed the idea of his being stopped by Miss
Stanbury's threats, and had said all this in such fashion that even
Priscilla herself had only listened and obeyed. He had spoken not a
word of his own income, and none of them had dreamed even of asking him
a question. He had been as a god in the little cottage, and all of them
had been ready to fall down and worship him. Mrs Stanbury had not known
how to treat him with sufficient deference, and, at the same time, with
sufficient affection. He had kissed them all round, and Priscilla had
felt an elation which was hardly intelligible to herself. Dorothy, who
was so much honoured, had come to enjoy a status in her mother's
estimation very different from that which she had previously possessed,
and had grown to be quite beautiful in her mother's eyes.

There was once a family of three ancient maiden ladies, much respected
and loved in the town in which they lived. Their manners of life were
well known among their friends, and excited no surprise; but a stranger
to the locality once asked of the elder why Miss Matilda, the younger,
always went first out of the room? 'Matilda once had an offer of
marriage,' said the dear simple old lady, who had never been so graced,
and who felt that such an episode in life was quite sufficient to
bestow brevet rank. It was believed by Mrs Stanbury that Dorothy's
honours would be carried further than those of Miss Matilda, but there
was much of the same feeling in the bosom of the mother towards the
fortunate daughter, who, in the eyes of a man, had seemed goodly enough
to be his wife.

With this swelling happiness round her heart, Dorothy read her aunt's
letter, and was infinitely softened. 'I had gotten somehow to love to
see your pretty face.' Dorothy had thought little enough of her own
beauty, but she liked being told by her aunt that her face had been
found to be pretty. 'I am very desolate and solitary here,' her aunt
said; and then had come those words about the state of maiden women and
then those other words, about women's duties, and her aunt's prayer on
her behalf. 'Dear Dorothy, be not such a one.' She held the letter to
her lips and to her bosom, and could hardly continue its perusal
because of her tears. Such prayers from the aged addressed to the young
are generally held in light esteem, but this adjuration was valued by
the girl to whom it was addressed. She put together the invitation or
rather the permission accorded to her, to make a visit to Exeter and
the intimation in the postscript that Martha knew her mistress's mind;
and then she returned to the sitting-room, in which Martha was still
seated with her mother, and took the old servant apart. 'Martha,' she
said, 'is my aunt happy now?'

'Well, miss.'

'She is strong again; is she not?'

'Sir Peter says she is getting well; and Mr Martin but Mr Martin isn't
much account.'

'She eats and drinks again?'

'Pretty well not as it used to be, you know, miss. I tell her she ought
to go somewheres but she don't like moving nohow. She never did. I tell
her if she'd go to Dawlish just for a week. But she don't think there's
a bed fit to sleep on, nowhere, except just her own.'

'She would go if Sir Peter told her.'

'She says that these movings are newfangled fashions, and that the air
didn't use to want changing for folk when she was young. I heard her
tell Sir Peter herself, that if she couldn't live at Exeter, she would
die there. She won't go nowheres, Miss Dorothy. She ain't careful to
live.'

'Tell me something, Martha; will you?'

'What is it, Miss Dorothy?'

'Be a dear good woman now, and tell me true. Would she be better if I
were with her?'

'She don't like being alone, miss. I don't know nobody as does.'

'But now, about Mr Brooke, you know.'

'Yes; Mr Brooke! That's it.'

'Of course, Martha, I love him better than anything in all the world. I
can't tell you how it was, but I think I loved him the very first
moment I saw him.'

'Dear, dear, dear!'

'I couldn't help it, Martha but it's no good talking about it, for of
course I shan't try to help it now. Only this that I would do anything
in the world for my aunt except that.'

'But she don't like it, Miss Dorothy. That is the truth, you know.'

'It can't be helped now, Martha; and of course she'll be told at once.
Shall I go and tell her? I'd go today if you think she would like it.'

'And Mr Brooke?'

'He is to go tomorrow.'

'And will you leave him here?'

'Why not? Nobody will hurt him. I don't mind a bit about having him
with me now. But I can tell you this. When he went away from us once it
made me very unhappy. Would Aunt Stanbury be glad to see me, Martha?'

Martha's reserve was at last broken down, and she expressed herself in
strong language. There was nothing on earth her mistress wanted so much
as to have her favourite niece back again. Martha acknowledged that
there were great difficulties about Brooke Burgess, and she did not see
her way clearly through them. Dorothy declared her purpose of telling
her aunt boldly at once. Martha shook her head, admiring the honesty
and courage, but doubting the result. She understood better than did
any one else the peculiarity of mind which made her mistress specially
anxious that none of the Stanbury family should enjoy any portion of
the Burgess money, beyond that which she herself had saved out of the
income. There had been moments in which Martha had hoped that this
prejudice might be overcome in favour of Hugh; but it had become
stronger as the old woman grew to be older and more feeble and it was
believed now to be settled as Fate.'she'd sooner give it all to old
Barty over the way,' Martha had once said, 'than let it go to her own
kith and kin. And if she do hate any human creature, she do hate Barty
Burgess.' She assented, however, to Dorothy's proposal; and, though Mrs
Stanbury and Priscilla were astounded by the precipitancy of the
measure they did not attempt to oppose it.