Books: He Knew He Was Right

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'I happened to meet him, and spoke two words to him,' said Arabella.
'Would you have me cut him?'

'I'll tell you what it is, Bella if there is any underhand game going
on that I don't understand, all Exeter shall be on fire before you
shall carry it out.'

Bella made no answer to this, but shrugged her shoulders. Camilla was
almost at a loss to guess what might be the truth. Would not any
sister, so accused on such an occasion, rebut the accusation with awful
wrath? But Arabella simply shrugged her shoulders, and went her way. It
was now the 16th of April, and there wanted but one short fortnight to
their marriage. The man had not the courage to jilt her! She felt sure
that he had not heart enough to do a deed of such audacity. And her
sister, too, was weak and a coward, and would lack the power to stand
on her legs and declare herself to be the perpetrator of such villany.
Her mother, as she knew well, would always have preferred that her
elder daughter should be the bride; but her mother was not the woman to
have the hardihood, now, in the eleventh hour, to favour such an
intrigue. Let her wish be what it might, she would not be strong enough
to carry through the accomplishment of it. They would all know that
that threat of hers of setting Exeter on fire would be carried out
after some fashion that would not be inadequate to the occasion. A
sister, a mother, a promised lover, all false all so damnably, cruelly
false! It was impossible. No history, no novel of most sensational
interest no wonderful villany that had ever been wrought into prose or
poetry, would have been equal to this. It was impossible. She told
herself so a score of times a day. And yet the circumstances were so
terribly suspicious! Mr Gibson's conduct as a lover was simply
disgraceful to him as a man and a clergyman. He was full of excuses,
which she knew to be false. He would never come near her if he could
help it. When he was with her, he was as cold as an archbishop both in
word and in action. Nothing would tempt him to any outward
manifestation of affection. He would talk of nothing but the poor women
of St. Peter-cum-Pumpkin in the city, and the fraudulent idleness of a
certain colleague in the cathedral services, who was always shirking
his work. He made her no presents. He never walked with her. He was
always gloomy and he had indeed so behaved himself in public that
people were beginning to talk of 'poor Mr Gibson.' And yet he could
meet Arabella on the sly in the lanes, and send notes to her by the
green-grocer's boy! Poor Mr Gibson indeed! Let her once get him well
over the 29th of April, and the people of Exeter might talk about poor
Mr Gibson if they pleased. And Bella's conduct was more wonderful
almost than that of Mr Gibson. With all her cowardice, she still held
up her head held it perhaps a little higher than was usual with her.
And. when that grievous accusation was made against her made and
repeated an accusation the very thought and sound of which would almost
have annihilated her had there been a decent feeling in her bosom, she
would simply shrug her shoulders and walk away. 'Camilla,' she had once
said, 'you will drive that man mad before you have done.' 'What is it
to you how I drive him?' Camilla had answered in her fury. Then
Arabella had again shrugged her shoulders and walked away. Between
Camilla and her mother, too, there had come to be an almost internecine
quarrel on a collateral point. Camilla was still carrying on a vast
arrangement which she called the preparation of her trousseau, but
which both Mrs French and Bella regarded as a spoliation of the
domestic nest, for the proud purposes of one of the younger birds. And
this had grown so fearfully that in two different places Mrs French had
found herself compelled to request that no further articles might be
supplied to Miss Camilla. The bride elect had rebelled, alleging that
as no fortune was to be provided for her, she had a right to take with
her such things as she could carry away in her trunks and boxes. Money
could be had at the bank, she said; and, after all, what were fifty
pounds more or less on such an occasion as this? And then she went into
a calculation to prove that her mother and sister would be made so much
richer by her absence, and that she was doing so much for them by her
marriage, that nothing could be more mean in them than that they should
hesitate to supply her with such things as she desired to make her
entrance into Mr Gibson's house respectable. But Mrs French was
obdurate, and Mr Gibson was desired to speak to her. Mr Gibson, in fear
and trembling, told her that she ought to repress her spirit of
extravagance. and Camilla at once foresaw that he would avail himself
of this plea against her should he find it possible at any time to
avail himself of any plea. She became ferocious, and, turning upon him,
told him to mind his own business. Was it not all for him that she was
doing it?'she was not,' she said, 'disposed to submit to any control in
such matters from him till he had assumed his legal right to it by
standing with her before the altar.' It came, however, to be known all
over Exeter that Miss Camilla's expenditure had been checked, and that,
in spite of the joys naturally incidental to a wedding, things were not
going well with the ladies at Heavitree.

At last the blow came. Camilla was aware that on a certain morning her
mother had been to Mr Gibson's house, and had held a long conference
with him. She could learn nothing of what took place there, for at that
moment she had taken upon herself to place herself on non-speaking
terms with her mother in consequence of those disgraceful orders which
had been given to the tradesmen. But Bella had not been at Mr Gibson's
house at the time, and Camilla, though she presumed that her own
conduct had been discussed in a manner very injurious to herself, did
not believe that any step was being then arranged which would be
positively antagonistic to her own views. The day fixed was now so
very, near, that there could, she felt, be no escape for the victim.
But she was wrong.

Mr Gibson had been found by Mrs French in a very excited state on that
occasion. He had wept, and pulled his hair, and torn open his
waistcoat, had spoken of himself as a wretch pleading, however, at the
same time, that he was more sinned against than sinning, had paced
about the room with his hands dashing against his brows, and at last
had flung himself prostrate on the ground. The meaning of it all was,
that he had tried very hard, and had found at last that 'he couldn't do
it.' 'I am ready to submit,' said he, 'to any verdict that you may
pronounce against me, but I should deceive you and deceive her if I
didn't say at once that I can't do it.' He went on to explain that
since he had unfortunately entered into his present engagement with
Camilla of whose position he spoke in quite a touching manner and since
he had found what was the condition of his own heart and feelings he
had consulted a friend who, if any merely human being was capable of
advising, might be implicitly trusted for advice in such a matter and
that this friend had told him that he was bound to give up the marriage
let the consequences to himself or to others be what they might.
'Although the skies should fall on me, I cannot stand at the hymeneal
altar with a lie in my mouth,' said Mr Gibson immediately upon his
rising from his prostrate condition on the floor. In such a position as
this a mother's fury would surely be very great! But Mrs French was
hardly furious. She cried, and begged him to think better of it, and
assured him that Camilla, when she should be calmed down by matrimony,
would not be so bad as she seemed but she was not furious. 'The truth
is, Mr Gibson,' she said through her tears, 'that, after all, you like
Bella best.' Mr Gibson owned that he did like Bella best, and although
no bargain was made between them then and there and such making of a
bargain then and there would hardly have been practicable it was
understood that Mrs French would not proceed to extremities if Mr
Gibson would still make himself forthcoming as a husband for the
advantage of one of the daughters of the family.

So far Mr Gibson had progressed towards a partial liberation from his
thraldom with a considerable amount of courage; but he was well aware
that the great act of daring still remained to be done. He had
suggested to Mrs French that she should settle the matter with Camilla
but this Mrs French had altogether declined to do. It must, she said,
come from himself. If she were to do it, she must sympathise with her
child; and such sympathy would be obstructive of the future
arrangements which were still to be made.'she always knew that I liked
Bella best,' said Mr Gibson still sobbing, still tearing his hair,
still pacing the room with his waistcoat torn open. 'I would not advise
you to tell her that,' said. Mrs French. Then Mrs French went home, and
early on the following morning it was thought good by Arabella that she
also should pay a visit at Ottery St. Mary's. 'Good-bye, Cammy,' said
Arabella as she went. 'Bella,' said Camilla, 'I wonder whether you are
a serpent. I do not think you can be so base a serpent as that.' 'I
declare, Cammy, you do say such odd things that no one can understand
what you mean.' And so she went.

On that morning Mr Gibson was walking at an early hour along the road
from Exeter to Cowley, contemplating his position and striving to
arrange his plans. What was he to do, and how was he to do it? He was
prepared to throw up his living, to abandon the cathedral, to leave the
diocese to make any sacrifice rather than take Camilla to his bosom.
Within the last six weeks he had learned to regard her with almost a
holy horror. He could not understand by what miracle of self-neglect he
had fallen into so perilous an abyss. He had long known Camilla's
temper. But in those days in which he had been beaten like a
shuttlecock between the Stanburys and the Frenches, he had lost his
head and had done he knew not what. 'Those whom the God chooses to
destroy, he first maddens,' said Mr Gibson to himself of himself,
throwing himself back upon early erudition and pagan philosophy. Then
he looked across to the river Exe, and thought that there was hardly
water enough there to cover the multiplicity of his sorrows.

But something must be done. He had proceeded so far in forming a
resolution, as he reached St. David's Church on his return homewards.
His sagacious friend had told him that as soon as he had altered his
mind, he was bound to let the lady know of it without delay. 'You must
remember,' said the sagacious friend, 'that you will owe her much very
much.' Mr Gibson was perplexed in his mind when he reflected how much
he might possibly be made to owe her if she should decide on appealing
to a jury of her countrymen for justice. But anything would be better
than his home at St. Peter's-cum-Pumpkin with Camilla sitting opposite
to him as his wife. Were there not distant lands in which a clergyman,
unfortunate but still energetic, might find work to do? Was there not
all America? and were there not Australia, New Zealand, Natal, all open
to him? Would not a missionary career among the Chinese be better for
him than St. Peter's-cum-Pumpkin with Camilla French for his wife? By
the time he had reached home his mind was made up. He would write a
letter to Camilla at once; and he would marry Arabella at once on any
day that might be fixed on condition that Camilla would submit to her
defeat without legal redress. If legal redress should be demanded, he
would put in evidence the fact that her own mother had been compelled
to caution the tradesmen of the city in regard to her extravagance.

He did write his letter in an agony of spirit. 'I sit down, Camilla,
with a sad heart and a reluctant hand,' he said, 'to communicate to you
a fatal truth. But truth should be made to prevail, and there is
nothing in man so cowardly, so detrimental, and so unmanly as its
concealment. I have looked into myself, and have inquired of myself,
and have assured myself, that were I to become your husband, I should
not make you happy. It would be of no use for me now to dilate on the
reasons which have convinced me but I am convinced, and I consider it
my duty to inform you so at once. I have been closeted with your
mother, and have made her understand that it is so.

I have not a word to say in my own justification but this that I am
sure I am acting honestly in telling you the truth. I would not wish to
say a word animadverting on yourself. If there must be blame in this
matter, I am willing to take it all on my own shoulders. But things
have been done of late, and words have been spoken, and habits have
displayed themselves, which would not, I am sure, conduce to our mutual
comfort in this world, or to our assistance to each other in our
struggles to reach the happiness of the world to come.

I think that you will agree with me, Camilla, that when a man or a
woman has fallen into such a mistake as that which I have now made, it
is best that it should be acknowledged. I know well that such a change
of arrangements as that which I now propose will be regarded most
unfavourably. But will not anything be better than the binding of a
matrimonial knot which cannot be again unloosed, and which we should
both regret?

I do not know that I need add anything further. What can I add further?
Only this that I am inflexible. Having resolved to take this step and
to bear the evil things that may be said of me for your happiness and
for my own tranquillity I shall not now relinquish my resolution. I do
not ask you to forgive me. I doubt much whether I shall ever be quite
able to forgive myself. The mistake which I have made is one which
should not have been committed. I do not ask you to forgive me; but I
do ask you to pray that I may be forgiven.

Yours, with feelings of the truest friendship,

THOMAS GIBSON.'

The letter had been very difficult, but he was rather proud of it than
otherwise when it was completed. He had felt that he was writing a
letter which not improbably might become public property. It was
necessary that he should be firm, that he should accuse himself a
little in order that he might excuse himself much, and that he should
hint at causes which might justify the rupture, though he should so
veil them as not to appear to defend his own delinquency by ungenerous
counter-accusation. When he had completed the letter, he thought that
he had done all this rather well, and he sent the despatch off to
Heavitree by the clerk of St. Peter's Church, with something of that
feeling of expressible relief which attends the final conquest over
some fatal and all but insuperable misfortune. He thought that he was
sure now that he would not have to marry Camilla on the 29th of the
month and there would probably be a period of some hours before he
would be called upon to hear or read Camilla's reply.

Camilla was alone when she received the letter, but she rushed at once
to her mother. 'There,' said she; 'there I knew that it was coming!'
Mrs French took the paper into her hands and gasped, and gazed at her
daughter without speaking. 'You knew of it, mother.'

'Yesterday when he told me, I knew of it.'

'And Bella knows it.'

'Not a word of it.'

'She does. I am sure she does. But it is all nothing. I will not accept
it. He cannot treat me so. I will drag him there but he shall come.'

'You can't make him, my dear.'

'I will make him. And you would help me, mamma, if you had any spirit.
What a fortnight before the time, when the things are all bought! Look
at the presents that have been sent! Mamma, he doesn't know me. And he
never would have done it, if it had not been for Bella never. She had
better take care, or there shall be such a tragedy that nobody ever
heard the like. If she thinks that she is going to be that man's wife
she is mistaken.' Then there was a pause for a moment.

'Mamma,' she said, 'I shall go to him at once. I do not care in the
least what anybody may say. I shall go to him at once.' Mrs French felt
that at this moment it was best that she should be silent.

CHAPTER LXXV - THE ROWLEYS GO OVER THE ALPS

By the thirteenth of May the Rowley family had established itself in
Florence, purposing to remain either there or at the baths of Lucca
till the end of June, at which time it was thought that Sir Marmaduke
should begin to make preparations for his journey back to the Islands.
Their future prospects were not altogether settled. It was not decided
whether Lady Rowley should at once return with him, whether Mrs
Trevelyan should return with him nor was it settled among them what
should be the fate of Nora Rowley. Nora Rowley was quite resolved
herself that she would not go back to the Islands, and had said as much
to her mother. Lady Rowley had not repeated this to Sir Marmaduke, and
was herself in doubt as to what might best be done. Girls are
understood by their mothers better than they are by their fathers. Lady
Rowley was beginning to be aware that Nora's obstinacy was too strong
to be overcome by mere words, and that other steps must be taken if she
were to be weaned from her pernicious passion for Hugh Stanbury. Mr
Glascock was still in Florence. Might she not be cured by further
overtures from Mr Glascock? The chance of securing such a son-in-law
was so important, so valuable, that no trouble was too great to be
incurred, even though the probability of success might not be great.

It must not, however, be supposed that Lady Rowley carried off all the
family to Italy, including Sir Marmaduke, simply in chase of Mr
Glascock. Anxious as she was on the subject, she was too proud, and
also too well-conditioned, to have suggested to herself such a journey
with such an object. Trevelyan had escaped from Willesden with the
child, and they had heard again through Stanbury that he had returned
to Italy. They had all agreed that it would be well that they should
leave London for awhile, and see something of the continent; and when
it was told to them that little Louis was probably in Florence, that
alone was reason enough for them to go thither. They would go to the
city till the heat was too great and the mosquitoes too powerful, and
then they would visit the baths of Lucca for a month. This was their
plan of action, and the cause for their plan; but Lady Rowley found
herself able to weave into it another little plan of her own of which
she said nothing to anybody. She was not running after Mr Glascock; but
if Mr Glascock should choose to run after them or her, who could say
that any harm had been done?

Nora had answered that proposition of her lover's to walk out of the
house in Manchester Street, and get married at the next church, in a
most discreet manner. She had declared that she would be true and firm,
but that she did not wish to draw upon herself the displeasure of her
father and mother. She did not, she said, look upon a clandestine
marriage as a happy resource. But this she added at the end of a long
and very sensible letter she intended to abide by her engagement, and
she did not intend to go back to the Mandarins. She did not say what
alternative she would choose in the event of her being unable to obtain
her father's consent before his return. She did not suggest what was to
become of her when Sir Marmaduke's leave of absence should be expired.
But her statement that she would not go back to the islands was
certainly made with more substantial vigour, though, perhaps, with less
of reasoning, than any other of the propositions made in her letter.
Then, in her postscript, she told him that they were all going to
Italy. 'Papa and mamma think that we ought to follow poor Mr Trevelyan.
The lawyer says that nothing can be done while he is away with the boy.
We are therefore all going to start to Florence. The journey is
delightful. I will not say whose presence will be wanting to make it
perfect.'

Before they started there came a letter to Nora from Dorothy, which
shall be given entire, because it will tell the reader more of
Dorothy's happiness than would be learned from any other mode of
narrative.

'The Close, Thursday.

Dearest Nora,

I have just had a letter from Hugh, and that makes me feel that I
should like to write to you. Dear Hugh has told me all about it, and I
do so hope that things may come right and that we may be sisters. He is
so good that I do not wonder that you should love him. He has been the
best son and the best brother in the world, and everybody speaks well
of him except my dear aunt, who is prejudiced because she does not like
newspapers. I need not praise him to you, for I dare say you think
quite as well of him as I do. I cannot tell you all the beautiful
things he says about you, but I dare say he has told them to you
himself.

I seem to know you so well because Priscilla has talked about you so
often. She says that she knew that you and my brother were fond of each
other because you growled at each other when you were together at the
Clock House, and never had any civil words to say before people. I
don't know whether growling is a sign of love, but Hugh does growl
sometimes when he is most affectionate. He growls at me, and I
understand him, and I like to be growled at. I wonder whether you like
him to growl at you.

And now I must tell you something about myself because if you are to be
my sister you ought to know it all. I also am going to be married to a
man whom I love oh, so dearly! His name is Mr Brooke Burgess, and he is
a great friend of my aunt's. At first she did not like our being
engaged, because of some family reason--but she has got over that, and
nothing can be kinder and nicer than she is. We are to be married here,
some day in June the 11th I think it will be. How I do wish you could
have been here to be my bridesmaid. It would have been so nice to have
had Hugh's sweetheart with me. He is a friend of Hugh's, and no doubt
you will hear all about him. The worst of it is that we must live in
London, because my husband as will be you see I call him mine already
is in an office there. And so poor Aunt Stanbury will be left all
alone. It will be very sad, and she is so wedded to Exeter that I fear
we shall not get her up to London.

I would describe Mr Burgess to you, only I do not suppose you would
care to hear about him. He is not so tall as Hugh, but he is a great
deal better looking. With you two the good looks are to be with the
wife; hut, with us, with the husband. Perhaps you think Hugh is
handsome. We used to declare that he was the ugliest boy in the
country. I don't suppose it makes very much difference. Brooke is
handsome, but I don't think I should like him the less if he were ever
so ugly.

Do you remember hearing about the Miss Frenches when you were in
Devonshire? There has come up such a terrible affair about them. A Mr
Gibson, a clergyman, was going to marry the younger; but has changed
his mind and wants to take the elder. I think he was in love with her
first.' Dorothy did not say a word about the little intermediate stage
of attachment to herself. 'All this is making a great noise in the
city, and some people think he should be punished severely. It seems to
me that a gentleman ought not to make such a mistake; but if he does,
he ought to own it. I hope they will let him marry the eider one. Aunt
Stanbury says it all comes from their wearing chignons. I wish you knew
Aunt Stanbury, because she is so good. Perhaps you wear a chignon. I
think Priscilla said that you did. It must not be large, if you come to
see Aunt Stanbury.

Pray write to me and believe that I hope to be your most affectionate
sister,

Dorothy Stanbury.

P.S. I am so happy, and I do so hope that you will be the same.'

This was received only a day before the departure of the Rowleys for
Italy, and was answered by a short note promising that Nora would write
to her correspondent from Florence.

There could be no doubt that Trevelyan had started with his boy,
fearing the result of the medical or legal interference with his
affairs which was about to be made at Sir Marmaduke's instance. He had
written a few words to his wife, neither commencing nor ending his note
after any usual fashion, telling her that he thought it expedient to
travel, that he had secured the services of a nurse for the little boy,
and that during his absence a certain income would, as heretofore, be
paid to her. He said nothing as to his probable return, or as to her
future life; nor was there anything to indicate whither he was going.
Stanbury, however, had learned from the faithless and frightened Bozzle
that Trevelyan's letters were to be sent after him to Florence. Mr
Bozzle, in giving this information, had acknowledged that his employer
was 'becoming no longer quite himself under his troubles,' and had
expressed his opinion that he ought to be 'looked after.' Bozzle had
made his money; and now, with a grain of humanity mixed with many
grains of faithlessness, reconciled it to himself to tell his master's
secrets to his master's enemies. What would a counsel be able to say
about his conduct in a court of law? That was the question which Bozzle
was always asking himself as to his own business. That he should be
abused by a barrister to a jury, and exposed as a spy and a fiend, was,
he thought, a matter of course. To be so abused was a part of his
profession. But it was expedient for him in all cases to secure some
loop-hole of apparent duty by which he might in part escape from such
censures. He was untrue to his employer now, because he thought that
his employer ought to be 'looked after.' He did, no doubt, take a
five-pound note from Hugh Stanbury; but then it was necessary that he
should live. He must be paid for his time. In this way Trevelyan
started for Florence, and within a week afterwards the Rowleys were
upon his track.