THE STANBURY CORRESPONDENCE.
Half an hour after the proper time, when the others had finished
their tea and bread and butter, Nora Rowley came down among them pale
as a ghost. Her sister had gone to her while she was dressing, but
she had declared that she would prefer to be alone. She would be down
directly, she had said, and had completed her toilet without even the
assistance of her maid. She drank her cup of tea and pretended to eat
her toast; and then sat herself down, very wretchedly, to think of
it all again. It had been all within her grasp,--all of which she
had ever dreamed! And now it was gone! Each of her three companions
strove from time to time to draw her into conversation, but she
seemed to be resolute in her refusal. At first, till her utter
prostration had become a fact plainly recognised by them all, she
made some little attempt at an answer when a direct question was
asked of her; but after a while she only shook her head, and was
silent, giving way to absolute despair.
Late in the evening she went out into the garden, and Priscilla
followed her. It was now the end of July, and the summer was in its
glory. The ladies, during the day, would remain in the drawing-room
with the windows open and the blinds down, and would sit in the
evening reading and working, or perhaps pretending to read and work,
under the shade of a cedar which stood upon the lawn. No retirement
could possibly be more secluded than was that of the garden of the
Clock House. No stranger could see into it, or hear sounds from out
of it. Though it was not extensive, it was so well furnished with
those charming garden shrubs which, in congenial soils, become large
trees, that one party of wanderers might seem to be lost from another
amidst its walls. On this evening Mrs. Stanbury and Mrs. Trevelyan
had gone out as usual, but Priscilla had remained with Nora Rowley.
After a while Nora also got up and went through the window all alone.
Priscilla, having waited for a few minutes, followed her; and caught
her in a long green walk that led round the bottom of the orchard.
"What makes you so wretched?" she said.
"Why do you say I am wretched?"
"Because it's so visible. How is one to go on living with you all day
and not notice it?"
"I wish you wouldn't notice it. I don't think it kind of you to
notice it. If I wanted to talk of it, I would say so."
"It is better generally to speak of a trouble than to keep it to
oneself," said Priscilla.
"All the same, I would prefer not to speak of mine," said Nora.
Then they parted, one going one way and one the other, and Priscilla
was certainly angry at the reception which had been given to the
sympathy which she had proffered. The next day passed almost without
a word spoken between the two. Mrs. Stanbury had not ventured as yet
to mention to her guest the subject of the rejected lover, and had
not even said much on the subject to Mrs. Trevelyan. Between the two
sisters there had been, of course, some discussion on the matter. It
was impossible that it should be allowed to pass without it; but such
discussions always resulted in an assertion on the part of Nora that
she would not be scolded. Mrs. Trevelyan was very tender with her,
and made no attempt to scold her,--tried, at last, simply to console
her; but Nora was so continually at work scolding herself, that every
word spoken to her on the subject of Mr. Glascock's visit seemed to
her to carry with it a rebuke.
But on the second day she herself accosted Priscilla Stanbury. "Come
into the garden," she said, when they two were for a moment alone
together; "I want to speak to you." Priscilla, without answering,
folded up her work and put on her hat. "Come down to the green walk,"
said Nora. "I was savage to you last night, and I want to beg your
pardon."
"You were savage," said Priscilla, smiling, "and you shall have my
pardon. Who would not pardon you any offence, if you asked it?"
"I am so miserable!" she said.
"But why?"
"I don't know. I can't tell. And it is of no use talking about it
now, for it is all over. But I ought not to have been cross to you,
and I am very sorry."
"That does not signify a straw; only so far, that when I have been
cross, and have begged a person's pardon,--which I don't do as often
as I ought,--I always feel that it begets kindness. If I could help
you in your trouble I would."
"You can't fetch him back again."
"You mean Mr. Glascock. Shall I go and try?"
Nora smiled and shook her head. "I wonder what he would say if you
asked him. But if he came I should do the same thing."
"I do not in the least know what you have done, my dear. I only see
that you mope about, and are more down in the mouth than any one
ought to be, unless some great trouble has come."
"A great trouble has come."
"I suppose you have had your choice,--either to accept your lover or
to reject him."
"No; I have not had my choice."
"It seems to me that no one has dictated to you; or, at least, that
you have obeyed no dictation."
"Of course, I can't explain it to you. It is impossible that I
should."
"If you mean that you regret what you have done because you have been
false to the man, I can sympathise with you. No one has ever a right
to be false, and if you are repenting a falsehood, I will willingly
help you to eat your ashes and to wear your sackcloth. But if you are
repenting a truth--"
"I am."
"Then you must eat your ashes by yourself, for me; and I do not think
that you will ever be able to digest them."
"I do not want anybody to help me," said Nora proudly.
"Nobody can help you, if I understand the matter rightly. You have
got to get the better of your own covetousness and evil desires, and
you are in the fair way to get the better of them if you have already
refused to be this man's wife because you could not bring yourself to
commit the sin of marrying him when you did not love him. I suppose
that is about the truth of it; and indeed, indeed, I do sympathise
with you. If you have done that, though it is no more than the
plainest duty, I will love you for it. One finds so few people that
will do any duty that taxes their self-indulgence."
"But he did not ask me to marry him."
"Then I do not understand anything about it."
"He asked me to love him."
"But he meant you to be his wife?"
"Oh yes;--he meant that of course."
"And what did you say?" asked Priscilla.
"That I didn't love him," replied Nora.
"And that was the truth?"
"Yes;--it was the truth."
"And what do you regret?--that you didn't tell him a lie?"
"No;--not that," said Nora slowly.
"What then? You cannot regret that you have not basely deceived a man
who has treated you with a loving generosity?" They walked on silent
for a few yards, and then Priscilla repeated her question. "You
cannot mean that you are sorry that you did not persuade yourself to
do evil?"
"I don't want to go back to the islands, and to lose myself there,
and to be nobody;--that is what I mean. And I might have been so
much! Could one step from the very highest rung of the ladder to the
very lowest and not feel it?"
"But you have gone up the ladder,--if you only knew it," said
Priscilla. "There was a choice given to you between the foulest mire
of the clay of the world, and the sun-light of the very God. You have
chosen the sun-light, and you are crying after the clay! I cannot
pity you; but I can esteem you, and love you, and believe in you. And
I do. You'll get yourself right at last, and there's my hand on it,
if you'll take it." Nora took the hand that was offered to her, held
it in her own for some seconds, and then walked back to the house and
up to her own room in silence.
The post used to come into Nuncombe Putney at about eight in the
morning, carried thither by a wooden-legged man who rode a donkey.
There is a general understanding that the wooden-legged men in
country parishes should be employed as postmen, owing to the great
steadiness of demeanour which a wooden leg is generally found to
produce. It may be that such men are slower in their operations than
would be biped postmen; but as all private employers of labour demand
labourers with two legs, it is well that the lame and halt should
find a refuge in the less exacting service of the government. The
one-legged man who rode his donkey into Nuncombe Putney would reach
his post-office not above half an hour after his proper time; but he
was very slow in stumping round the village, and seldom reached the
Clock House much before ten. On a certain morning two or three days
after the conversation just recorded it was past ten when he brought
two letters to the door, one for Mrs. Trevelyan, and one for Mrs.
Stanbury. The ladies had finished their breakfast, and were seated
together at an open window. As was usual, the letters were given into
Priscilla's hands, and the newspaper which accompanied them into
those of Mrs. Trevelyan, its undoubted owner. When her letter was
handed to her, she looked at the address closely and then walked away
with it into her own room.
"I think it's from Louis," said Nora, as soon as the door was closed.
"If so, he is telling her to come back."
"Mamma, this is for you," said Priscilla. "It is from Aunt Stanbury.
I know her handwriting."
"From your aunt? What can she be writing about? There is something
wrong with Dorothy." Mrs. Stanbury held the letter but did not open
it. "You had better read it, my dear. If she is ill, pray let her
come home."
But the letter spoke of nothing amiss as regarded Dorothy, and did
not indeed even mention Dorothy's name. Luckily Priscilla read
the letter in silence, for it was an angry letter. "What is it,
Priscilla? Why don't you tell me? Is anything wrong?" said Mrs.
Stanbury.
"Nothing is wrong, mamma,--except that my aunt is a silly woman."
"Goodness me! what is it?"
"It is a family matter," said Nora smiling, "and I will go."
"What can it be?" demanded Mrs. Stanbury again as soon as Nora had
left the room.
"You shall hear what it can be. I will read it you," said Priscilla.
"It seems to me that of all the women that ever lived my Aunt
Stanbury is the most prejudiced, the most unjust, and the most given
to evil thinking of her neighbours. This is what she has thought fit
to write to you, mamma." Then Priscilla read her aunt's letter, which
was as follows:--
The Close, Exeter, July 31, 186--.
DEAR SISTER STANBURY,
I am informed that the lady who is living with you because
she could not continue to live under the same roof with
her lawful husband, has received a visit at your house
from a gentleman who was named as her lover before she
left her own. I am given to understand that it was because
of this gentleman's visits to her in London, and because
she would not give up seeing him, that her husband would
not live with her any longer.
"But the man has never been here at all," said Mrs. Stanbury, in
dismay.
"Of course he has not been here. But let me go on."
I have got nothing to do with your visitors, [continued
the letter] and I should not interfere but for the credit
of the family. There ought to be somebody to explain to
you that much of the abominable disgrace of the whole
proceeding will rest upon you, if you permit such goings
on in your house. I suppose it is your house. At any rate
you are regarded as the mistress of the establishment, and
it is for you to tell the lady that she must go elsewhere.
I do hope that you have done so, or at least that you
will do so now. It is intolerable that the widow of my
brother,--a clergyman,--should harbour a lady who is
separated from her husband and who receives visits from
a gentleman who is reputed to be her lover. I wonder
much that your eldest daughter should countenance such a
proceeding.
Yours truly,
JEMIMA STANBURY.
Mrs. Stanbury, when the letter had been read to her, held up both her
hands in despair. "Dear, dear," she exclaimed. "Oh, dear!"
"She had such pleasure in writing it," said Priscilla, "that one
ought hardly to begrudge it her." The blackest spot in the character
of Priscilla Stanbury was her hatred for her aunt in Exeter. She knew
that her aunt had high qualities, and yet she hated her aunt. She was
well aware that her aunt was regarded as a shining light by very many
good people in the county, and yet she hated her aunt. She could not
but acknowledge that her aunt had been generous to her brother, and
was now very generous to her sister, and yet she hated her aunt. It
was now a triumph to her that her aunt had fallen into so terrible
a quagmire, and she was by no means disposed to let the sinning old
woman easily out of it.
"It is as pretty a specimen," she said, "as I ever knew of malice and
eaves-dropping combined."
"Don't use such hard words, my dear."
"Look at her words to us," said Priscilla. "What business has she to
talk to you about the credit of the family and abominable disgrace?
You have held your head up in poverty, while she has been rolling in
money."
"She has been very good to Hugh,--and now to Dorothy."
"If I were Dorothy I would have none of her goodness. She likes some
one to trample on,--some one of the name to patronise. She shan't
trample on you and me, mamma."
Then there was a discussion as to what should be done; or rather
a discourse in which Priscilla explained what she thought fit to
do. Nothing, she decided, should be said to Mrs. Trevelyan on the
subject; but an answer should be sent to Aunt Stanbury. Priscilla
herself would write this answer, and herself would sign it. There was
some difference of opinion on this point, as Mrs. Stanbury thought
that if she might be allowed to put her name to it, even though
Priscilla should write it, the wording of it would be made, in some
degree, mild,--to suit her own character. But her daughter was
imperative, and she gave way.
"It shall be mild enough in words," said Priscilla, "and very short."
Then she wrote her letter as follows:--
Nuncombe Putney, August 1, 186--.
DEAR AUNT STANBURY,
You have found a mare's nest. The gentleman you speak of
has never been here at all, and the people who bring you
news have probably hoaxed you. I don't think that mamma
has ever disgraced the family, and you can have no reason
for thinking that she ever will. You should, at any rate,
be sure of what you are saying before you make such cruel
accusations.
Yours truly,
PRISCILLA STANBURY.
P.S.--Another gentleman did call here,--not to see Mrs.
Trevelyan; but I suppose mamma's house need not be closed
against all visitors.
Poor Dorothy had passed evil hours from the moment in which her
aunt had so far certified herself as to Colonel Osborne's visit to
Nuncombe as to make her feel it to be incumbent on her to interfere.
After much consideration Miss Stanbury had told her niece the
dreadful news, and had told also what she intended to do. Dorothy,
who was in truth horrified at the iniquity of the fact which was
related, and who never dreamed of doubting the truth of her aunt's
information, hardly knew how to interpose. "I am sure mamma won't let
there be anything wrong," she had said.
"And you don't call this wrong?" said Miss Stanbury, in a tone of
indignation.
"But perhaps mamma will tell them to go."
"I hope she will. I hope she has. But he was allowed to be there
for hours. And now three days have passed and there is no sign of
anything being done. He came and went and may come again when he
pleases." Still Dorothy pleaded. "I shall do my duty," said Miss
Stanbury.
"I am quite sure mamma will do nothing wrong," said Dorothy. But the
letter was written and sent, and the answer to the letter reached the
house in the Close in due time.
When Miss Stanbury had read and re-read the very short reply which
her niece had written, she became at first pale with dismay, and
then red with renewed vigour and obstinacy. She had made herself, as
she thought, quite certain of her facts before she had acted on her
information. There was some equivocation, some most unworthy deceit
in Priscilla's letter. Or could it be possible that she herself had
been mistaken? Another gentleman had been there;--not, however, with
the object of seeing Mrs. Trevelyan! So said Priscilla. But she had
made herself sure that the man in question was a man from London,
a middle-aged man from London, who had specially asked for Mrs.
Trevelyan, and who had at once been known to Mrs. Clegg, at the
Lessboro' inn, to be Mrs. Trevelyan's lover. Miss Stanbury was
very unhappy, and at last sent for Giles Hickbody. Giles Hickbody
had never pretended to know the name. He had seen the man and had
described him, "Quite a swell, ma'am; and a Lon'oner, and one as'd
be up to anything; but not a young 'un; no, not just a young 'un,
zartainly." He was cross-examined again now, and said that all he
knew about the man's name was that there was a handle to it. This was
ended by Miss Stanbury sending him down to Lessboro' to learn the
very name of the gentleman, and by his coming back with that of the
Honourable George Glascock written on a piece of paper. "They says
now as he was arter the other young 'ooman," said Giles Hickbody.
Then was the confusion of Miss Stanbury complete.
It was late when Giles returned from Lessboro', and nothing could
be done that night. It was too late to write a letter for the
next morning's post. Miss Stanbury, who was as proud of her own
discrimination as she was just and true, felt that a day of
humiliation had indeed come for her. She hated Priscilla almost as
vigorously as Priscilla hated her. To Priscilla she would not write
to own her fault; but it was incumbent on her to confess it to Mrs.
Stanbury. It was incumbent on her also to confess it to Dorothy. All
that night she did not sleep, and the next morning she went about
abashed, wretched, hardly mistress of her own maids. She must confess
it also to Martha, and Martha would be very stern to her. Martha had
pooh-poohed the whole story of the lover, seeming to think that there
could be no reasonable objection to a lover past fifty.
"Dorothy," she said at last, about noon, "I have been over
hasty about your mother and this man. I am sorry for it, and
must--beg--everybody's--pardon."
"I knew mamma would do nothing wrong," said Dorothy.
"To do wrong is human, and she, I suppose, is not more free than
others; but in this matter I was misinformed. I shall write and beg
her pardon; and now I beg your pardon."
"Not mine, Aunt Stanbury."
"Yes, yours and your mother's, and the lady's also,--for against her
has the fault been most grievous. I shall write to your mother and
express my contrition." She put off the evil hour of writing as long
as she could, but before dinner the painful letter had been written,
and carried by herself to the post. It was as follows:--
The Close, August 3, 186--.
DEAR SISTER STANBURY,
I have now learned that the information was false on which
my former letter was based. I am heartily sorry for any
annoyance I may have given you. I can only inform you
that my intentions were good and upright. Nevertheless, I
humbly beg your pardon.
Yours truly,
JEMIMA STANBURY.
Mrs. Stanbury, when she received this, was inclined to let the matter
drop. That her sister-in-law should express such abject contrition
was to her such a lowering of the great ones of the earth, that the
apology conveyed to her more pain than pleasure. She could not hinder
herself from sympathising with all that her sister-in-law had felt
when she had found herself called upon to humiliate herself. But
it was not so with Priscilla. Mrs. Stanbury did not observe that
her daughter's name was scrupulously avoided in the apology; but
Priscilla observed it. She would not let the matter drop, without
an attempt at the last word. She therefore wrote back again as
follows;--
Nuncombe Putney, August 4, 186--.
DEAR AUNT STANBURY,
I am glad you have satisfied yourself about the gentleman
who has so much disquieted you. I do not know that the
whole affair would be worth a moment's consideration, were
it not that mamma and I, living as we do so secluded a
life, are peculiarly apt to feel any attack upon our good
name,--which is pretty nearly all that is left to us. If
ever there were women who should be free from attack,
at any rate from those of their own family, we are such
women. We never interfere with you, or with anybody; and I
think you might abstain from harassing us by accusations.
Pray do not write to mamma in such a strain again, unless
you are quite sure of your ground.
Yours truly,
PRISCILLA STANBURY.
"Impudent!" said Miss Stanbury to Martha, when she had read the
letter. "Ill-conditioned, impudent vixen!"
"She was provoked, miss," said Martha.
"Well; yes; yes;--and I suppose it is right that you should tell me
of it. I dare say it is part of what I ought to bear for being an old
fool, and too cautious about my own flesh and blood. I will bear it.
There. I was wrong, and I will say that I have been justly punished.
There,--there!"
How very much would Miss Stanbury's tone have been changed had
she known that at that very moment Colonel Osborne was eating his
breakfast at Mrs. Crocket's inn, in Nuncombe Putney!