"I KNOW IT WILL DO."
Miss Stanbury carried her letter all the way to the chief post-office
in the city, having no faith whatever in those little subsidiary
receiving houses which are established in different parts of the
city. As for the iron pillar boxes which had been erected of late
years for the receipt of letters, one of which,--a most hateful thing
to her,--stood almost close to her own hall door, she had not the
faintest belief that any letter put into one of them would ever reach
its destination. She could not understand why people should not walk
with their letters to a respectable post-office instead of chucking
them into an iron stump,--as she called it,--out in the middle of the
street with nobody to look after it. Positive orders had been given
that no letter from her house should ever be put into the iron post.
Her epistle to her sister-in-law, of whom she never spoke otherwise
than as Mrs. Stanbury, was as follows:--
The Close, Exeter, 22nd April, 186--.
MY DEAR SISTER STANBURY,
Your son, Hugh, has taken to courses of which I do not
approve, and therefore I have put an end to my connection
with him. I shall be happy to entertain your daughter
Dorothy in my house if you and she approve of such a plan.
Should you agree to this, she will be welcome to receive
you or her sister,--_not her brother_,--in my house any
Wednesday morning between half-past nine and half-past
twelve. I will endeavour to make my house pleasant to her
and useful, and will make her an allowance of L25 per
annum for her clothes as long as she may remain with me. I
shall expect her to be regular at meals, to be constant in
going to church, and not to read modern novels.
I intend the arrangement to be permanent, but of course I
must retain the power of closing it if, and when, I shall
see fit. Its permanence must be contingent on my life. I
have no power of providing for any one _after my death_.
Yours truly,
JEMIMA STANBURY.
I hope the young lady does not have any false hair about
her.
When this note was received at Nuncombe Putney the amazement which it
occasioned was extreme. Mrs. Stanbury, the widow of the late vicar,
lived in a little morsel of a cottage on the outskirts of the
village, with her two daughters, Priscilla and Dorothy. Their whole
income, out of which it was necessary that they should pay rent for
their cottage, was less than L70 per annum. During the last few
months a five-pound note now and again had found its way to Nuncombe
Putney out of the coffers of the "D. R.;" but the ladies there were
most unwilling to be so relieved, thinking that their brother's
career was of infinitely more importance than their comforts or even
than their living. They were very poor, but they were accustomed
to poverty. The elder sister was older than Hugh, but Dorothy, the
younger, to whom this strange invitation was now made, was two years
younger than her brother, and was now nearly twenty-six. How they had
lived, and dressed themselves, and had continued to be called ladies
by the inhabitants of the village was, and is, and will be a mystery
to those who have had the spending of much larger incomes, but have
still been always poor. But they had lived, had gone to church every
Sunday in decent apparel, and had kept up friendly relations with the
family of the present vicar, and with one or two other neighbours.
When the letter had been read first by the mother, and then aloud,
and then by each of them separately, in the little sitting-room in
the cottage, there was silence among them,--for neither of them
desired to be the first to express an opinion. Nothing could be more
natural than the proposed arrangement, had it not been made unnatural
by a quarrel existing nearly throughout the whole life of the person
most nearly concerned. Priscilla, the elder daughter, was the one of
the family who was generally the ruler, and she at last expressed an
opinion adverse to the arrangement. "My dear, you would never be able
to bear it," said Priscilla.
"I suppose not," said Mrs. Stanbury, plaintively.
"I could try," said Dorothy.
"My dear, you don't know that woman," said Priscilla.
"Of course I don't know her," said Dorothy.
"She has always been very good to Hugh," said Mrs. Stanbury.
"I don't think she has been good to him at all," said Priscilla.
"But think what a saving it would be," said Dorothy. "And I could
send home half of what Aunt Stanbury says she would give me."
"You must not think of that," said Priscilla, "because she expects
you to be dressed."
"I should like to try," she said, before the morning was over,--"if
you and mamma don't think it would be wrong."
The conference that day ended in a written request to Aunt Stanbury
that a week might be allowed for consideration,--the letter being
written by Priscilla, but signed with her mother's name,--and with a
very long epistle to Hugh, in which each of the ladies took a part,
and in which advice and decision were demanded. It was very evident
to Hugh that his mother and Dorothy were for compliance, and that
Priscilla was for refusal. But he never doubted for a moment. "Of
course she will go," he said in his answer to Priscilla; "and she
must understand that Aunt Stanbury is a most excellent woman, as true
as the sun, thoroughly honest, with no fault but this, that she likes
her own way. Of course Dolly can go back again if she finds the house
too hard for her." Then he sent another five-pound note, observing
that Dolly's journey to Exeter would cost money, and that her
wardrobe would want some improvement.
"I'm very glad that it isn't me," said Priscilla, who, however, did
not attempt to oppose the decision of the man of the family. Dorothy
was greatly gratified by the excitement of the proposed change in
her life, and the following letter, the product of the wisdom of the
family, was written by Mrs. Stanbury:--
Nuncombe Putney, 1st May, 186--.
MY DEAR SISTER STANBURY,
We are all very thankful for the kindness of your offer,
which my daughter Dorothy will accept with feelings of
affectionate gratitude. I think you will find her docile,
good-tempered, and amiable; but a mother, of course,
speaks well of her own child. She will endeavour to comply
with your wishes in all things reasonable. She, of course,
understands that should the arrangement not suit, she will
come back home on the expression of your wish that it
should be so. And she will, of course, do the same, if she
should find that living in Exeter does not suit herself.
[This sentence was inserted at the instance of Priscilla,
after much urgent expostulation.] Dorothy will be ready
to go to you on any day you may fix after the 7th of this
month.
Believe me to remain,
Your affectionate sister-in-law,
P. STANBURY.
"She's going to come," said Miss Stanbury to Martha, holding the
letter in her hand.
"I never doubted her coming, ma'am," said Martha.
"And I mean her to stay, unless it's her own fault. She'll have the
small room up-stairs, looking out front, next to mine. And you must
go and fetch her."
"Go and fetch her, ma'am?"
"Yes. If you won't, I must."
"She ain't a child, ma'am. She's twenty-five years old, and surely
she can come to Exeter by herself, with a railroad all the way from
Lessboro'."
"There's no place a young woman is insulted in so bad as those
railway carriages, and I won't have her come by herself. If she is to
live with me, she shall begin decently at any rate."
Martha argued the matter, but was of course beaten, and on the day
fixed started early in the morning for Nuncombe Putney, and returned
in the afternoon to the Close with her charge. By the time that she
had reached the house she had in some degree reconciled herself to
the dangerous step that her mistress had taken, partly by perceiving
that in face Dorothy Stanbury was very like her brother Hugh, and
partly, perhaps, by finding that the young woman's manner to herself
was both gentle and sprightly. She knew well that gentleness alone,
without some back-bone of strength under it, would not long succeed
with Miss Stanbury. "As far as I can judge, ma'am, she's a sweet
young lady," said Martha, when she reported her arrival to her
mistress, who had retired up-stairs to her own room, in order that
she might thus hear a word of tidings from her lieutenant, before she
showed herself on the field of action.
"Sweet! I hate your sweets," said Miss Stanbury.
"Then why did you send for her, ma'am?"
"Because I was an old fool. But I must go down and receive her, I
suppose."
Then Miss Stanbury went down, almost trembling as she went. The
matter to her was one of vital importance. She was going to change
the whole tenour of her life for the sake,--as she told herself,--of
doing her duty by a relative whom she did not even know. But we may
fairly suppose that there had in truth been a feeling beyond that,
which taught her to desire to have some one near her to whom she
might not only do her duty as guardian, but whom she might also love.
She had tried this with her nephew; but her nephew had been too
strong for her, too far from her, too unlike to herself. When he came
to see her he had smoked a short pipe,--which had been shocking to
her,--and he had spoken of Reform, and Trades' Unions, and meetings
in the parks, as though they had not been Devil's ordinances. And he
was very shy of going to church,--utterly refusing to be taken there
twice on the same Sunday. And he had told his aunt that owing to a
peculiar and unfortunate weakness in his constitution he could not
listen to the reading of sermons. And then she was almost certain
that he had once kissed one of the maids! She had found it impossible
to manage him in any way; and when he positively declared himself as
permanently devoted to the degrading iniquities of penny newspapers,
she had thought it best to cast him off altogether. Now, thus late in
life, she was going to make another venture, to try an altogether new
mode of living,--in order, as she said to herself, that she might be
of some use to somebody,--but, no doubt, with a further unexpressed
hope in her bosom, that the solitude of her life might be relieved by
the companionship of some one whom she might love. She had arrayed
herself in a clean cap and her evening gown, and she went down-stairs
looking sternly, with a fully-developed idea that she must initiate
her new duties by assuming a mastery at once. But inwardly she
trembled, and was intensely anxious as to the first appearance of
her niece. Of course there would be a little morsel of a bonnet.
She hated those vile patches,--dirty flat daubs of millinery as
she called them; but they had become too general for her to refuse
admittance for such a thing within her doors. But a chignon, a
bandbox behind the noddle,--she would not endure. And then there were
other details of feminine gear, which shall not be specified, as to
which she was painfully anxious,--almost forgetting in her anxiety
that the dress of this young woman whom she was about to see must
have ever been regulated by the closest possible economy.
The first thing she saw on entering the room was a dark straw hat,
a straw hat with a strong penthouse flap to it, and her heart was
immediately softened.
"My dear," she said, "I am glad to see you."
Dorothy, who, on her part, was trembling also, whose position was one
to justify most intense anxiety, murmured some reply.
"Take off your hat," said the aunt, "and let me give you a kiss."
The hat was taken off and the kiss was given. There was certainly no
chignon there. Dorothy Stanbury was light haired, with almost flaxen
ringlets, worn after the old-fashioned way which we used to think so
pretty when we were young. She had very soft grey eyes, which ever
seemed to beseech you to do something when they looked at you, and
her mouth was a beseeching mouth. There are women who, even amidst
their strongest efforts at giving assistance to others, always look
as though they were asking aid themselves, and such a one was Dorothy
Stanbury. Her complexion was pale, but there was always present in
it a tint of pink running here and there, changing with every word
she spoke, changing indeed with every pulse of her heart. Nothing
ever was softer than her cheek; but her hands were thin and hard,
and almost fibrous with the working of the thread upon them. She
was rather tall than otherwise, but that extreme look of feminine
dependence which always accompanied her, took away something even
from the appearance of her height.
"These are all real, at any rate," said her aunt, taking hold of the
curls, "and won't be hurt by a little cold water."
Dorothy smiled but said nothing, and was then taken up to her
bed-room. Indeed, when the aunt and niece sat down to dinner together
Dorothy had hardly spoken. But Miss Stanbury had spoken, and things
upon the whole had gone very well.
"I hope you like roast chicken, my dear?" said Miss Stanbury.
"Oh, thank you."
"And bread sauce? Jane, I do hope the bread sauce is hot."
If the reader thinks that Miss Stanbury was indifferent to
considerations of the table, the reader is altogether ignorant of
Miss Stanbury's character. When Miss Stanbury gave her niece the
liver-wing, and picked out from the attendant sausages one that had
been well browned and properly broken in the frying, she meant to do
a real kindness.
"And now, my dear, there are mashed potatoes and bread sauce. As for
green vegetables, I don't know what has become of them. They tell me
I may have green peas from France at a shilling a quart; but if I
can't have English green peas, I won't have any."
Miss Stanbury was standing up as she said this,--as she always did on
such occasions, liking to have a full mastery over the dish.
"I hope you like it, my dear?"
"Everything is so very nice."
"That's right. I like to see a young woman with an appetite. Remember
that God sends the good things for us to eat; and as long as we
don't take more than our share, and give away something to those who
haven't a fair share of their own, I for one think it quite right to
enjoy my victuals. Jane, this bread sauce isn't hot. It never is hot.
Don't tell me; I know what hot is!"
Dorothy thought that her aunt was very angry; but Jane knew Miss
Stanbury better, and bore the scolding without shaking in her shoes.
"And now, my dear, you must take a glass of port wine. It will do you
good after your journey."
Dorothy attempted to explain that she never did drink any wine, but
her aunt talked down her scruples at once.
"One glass of port wine never did anybody any harm, and as there is
port wine, it must be intended that somebody should drink it."
Miss Stanbury, as she sipped hers out very slowly, seemed to enjoy it
much. Although May had come, there was a fire in the grate, and she
sat with her toes on the fender, and her silk dress folded up above
her knees. She sat quite silent in this position for a quarter of an
hour, every now and then raising her glass to her lips. Dorothy sat
silent also. To her, in the newness of her condition, speech was
impossible.
"I think it will do," said Miss Stanbury at last.
As Dorothy had no idea what would do, she could make no reply to
this.
"I'm sure it will do," said Miss Stanbury, after another short
interval. "You're as like my poor sister as two eggs. You don't have
headaches, do you?"
Dorothy said that she was not ordinarily affected in that way.
"When girls have headaches it comes from tight-lacing, and not
walking enough, and carrying all manner of nasty smells about with
them. I know what headaches mean. How is a woman not to have a
headache, when she carries a thing on the back of her poll as big
as a gardener's wheel-barrow? Come, it's a fine evening, and we'll
go out and look at the towers. You've never even seen them yet, I
suppose?"
So they went out, and finding the verger at the Cathedral door, he
being a great friend of Miss Stanbury's, they walked up and down the
aisles, and Dorothy was instructed as to what would be expected from
her in regard to the outward forms of religion. She was to go to the
Cathedral service on the morning of every week-day, and on Sundays in
the afternoon. On Sunday mornings she was to attend the little church
of St. Margaret. On Sunday evenings it was the practice of Miss
Stanbury to read a sermon in the dining-room to all of whom her
household consisted. Did Dorothy like daily services? Dorothy, who
was more patient than her brother, and whose life had been much less
energetic, said that she had no objection to going to church every
day when there was not too much to do.
"There never need be too much to do to attend the Lord's house," said
Miss Stanbury, somewhat angrily.
"Only if you've got to make the beds," said Dorothy.
"My dear, I beg your pardon," said Miss Stanbury. "I beg your pardon,
heartily. I'm a thoughtless old woman, I know. Never mind. Now, we'll
go in."
Later in the evening, when she gave her niece a candlestick to go to
bed, she repeated what she had said before.
"It'll do very well, my dear. I'm sure it'll do. But if you read in
bed either night or morning, I'll never forgive you."
This last caution was uttered with so much energy, that Dorothy gave
a little jump as she promised obedience.