SHEWING HOW MISS STANBURY BEHAVED TO HER TWO NIECES.
[Illustration]
The triumph of Miss Stanbury when she received her niece's letter was
certainly very great,--so great that in its first flush she could not
restrain herself from exhibiting it to Dorothy. "Well,--well,--what
do you think, Dolly?"
"About what, aunt? I don't know who the letter is from."
"Nobody writes to me now so constant as your sister Priscilla. The
letter is from Priscilla. Colonel Osborne has been at the Clock
House, after all. I knew that he would be there. I knew it! I knew
it!"
Dorothy, when she heard this, was dumbfounded. She had rested her
defence of her mother and sister on the impossibility of any such
visit being admitted. According to her lights the coming of Colonel
Osborne, after all that had been said, would be like the coming of
Lucifer himself. The Colonel was, to her imagination, a horrible
roaring lion. She had no idea that the erratic manoeuvres of such
a beast might be milder and more innocent than the wooing of any
turtle-dove. She would have asked whether the roaring lion had gone
away again, and, if so, whether he had taken his prey with him,
were it not that she was too much frightened at the moment to ask
any question. That her mother and sister should have been wilfully
concerned in such iniquity was quite incredible to her, but yet she
did not know how to defend them. "But are you quite sure of it, Aunt
Stanbury? May there not be another mistake?"
"No mistake this time, I think, my dear. Any way, Priscilla says that
he is there." Now in this there was a mistake. Priscilla had said
nothing of the kind.
"You don't mean that he is staying at the Clock House, Aunt
Stanbury?"
"I don't know where he is now. I'm not his keeper. And, I'm glad to
say, I'm not the lady's keeper either. Ah, me! It's a bad business.
You can't touch pitch and not be defiled, my dear. If your mother
wanted the Clock House, I would sooner have taken it for her myself
than that all this should have happened,--for the family's sake."
But Miss Stanbury, when she was alone, and when she had read her
niece's three letters again and again, began to understand something
of Priscilla's honesty, and began also to perceive that there might
have been a great difficulty respecting the Colonel, for which
neither her niece nor her sister-in-law could fairly be held to
be responsible. It was perhaps the plainest characteristic of all
the Stanburys that they were never wilfully dishonest. Ignorant,
prejudiced, and passionate they might be. In her anger Miss Stanbury,
of Exeter, could be almost malicious; and her niece at Nuncombe
Putney was very like her aunt. Each could say most cruel things, most
unjust things, when actuated by a mistaken consciousness of perfect
right on her own side. But neither of them could lie,--even by
silence. Let an error be brought home to either of them,--so as to
be acknowledged at home,--and the error would be assuredly confessed
aloud. And, indeed, with differences in the shades, Hugh and Dorothy
were of the same nature. They were possessed of sweeter tempers than
their aunt and sister, but they were filled with the same eager
readiness to believe themselves to be right,--and to own themselves
to others to be wrong, when they had been constrained to make such
confession to themselves. The chances of life, and something probably
of inner nature, had made Dorothy mild and obedient; whereas, in
regard to Hugh, the circumstances of his life and disposition had
made him obstinate and self-reliant. But in all was to be found the
same belief in self,--which amounted almost to conceit,--the same
warmth of affection, and the same love of justice.
When Miss Stanbury had again perused the correspondence, and had come
to see, dimly, how things had gone at Nuncombe Putney,--when the
conviction came upon her mind that Priscilla had entertained a horror
as to the coming of this Colonel equal to that which she herself
had felt,--when her imagination painted to her all that her niece
had suffered, her heart was softened somewhat. She had declared to
Dorothy that pitch, if touched, would certainly defile; and she had,
at first, intended to send the same opinion, couched in very forcible
words, to her correspondents at the Clock House. They should not
continue to go astray for want of being told that they were going
astray. It must be acknowledged, too, that there was a certain
amount of ignoble wrath in the bosom of Miss Stanbury because her
sister-in-law had taken the Clock House. She had never been told, and
had not even condescended to ask Dorothy, whether the house was taken
and paid for by her nephew on behalf of his mother, or whether it
was paid for by Mr. Trevelyan on behalf of his wife. In the latter
case, Mrs. Stanbury would, she thought, be little more than an
upper servant, or keeper,--as she expressed it to herself. Such an
arrangement appeared to her to be quite disgraceful in a Stanbury;
but yet she believed that such must be the existing arrangement, as
she could not bring herself to conceive that Hugh Stanbury could keep
such an establishment over his mother's head out of money earned by
writing for a penny newspaper. There would be a triumph of democracy
in this which would vanquish her altogether. She had, therefore, been
anxious enough to trample on Priscilla and upon all the affairs of
the Clock House; but yet she had been unable to ignore the nobility
of Priscilla's truth, and having acknowledged it to herself she found
herself compelled to acknowledge it aloud. She sat down to think in
silence, and it was not till she had fortified herself by her first
draught of beer, and till she had finished her first portion of bread
and cheese, that she spoke. "I have written to your sister herself,
this time," she said. "I don't know that I ever wrote a line to her
before in my life."
"Poor Priscilla!" Dorothy did not mean to be severe on her aunt,
either in regard to the letters which had not been written, or to the
one letter which now had been written. But Dorothy pitied her sister,
whom she felt to be in trouble.
"Well; I don't know about her being so poor. Priscilla, I'll be
bound, thinks as well of herself as any of us do."
"She'd cut her fingers off before she'd mean to do wrong," said
Dorothy.
"But what does that come to? What's the good of that? It isn't
meaning to do right that will save us. For aught I know, the Radicals
may mean to do right. Mr. Beales means to do right--perhaps."
"But, aunt,--if everybody did the best they could?"
"Tush, my dear! you are getting beyond your depth. There are such
things still, thank God! as spiritual pastors and masters. Entrust
yourself to them. Do what they think right." Now if aught were known
in Exeter of Miss Stanbury, this was known,--that if any clergyman
volunteered to give to her, unasked and uninvited, counsel, either
ghostly or bodily, that clergyman would be sent from her presence
with a wigging which he would not soon forget. The thing had been
tried more than once, and the wigging had been complete. There was no
more attentive listener in church than Miss Stanbury; and she would,
now and again, appeal to a clergyman on some knotty point. But for
the ordinary authority of spiritual pastors and masters she shewed
more of abstract reverence than of practical obedience.
"I'm sure Priscilla does the best she can," said Dorothy, going back
to the old subject.
"Ah,--well,--yes. What I want to say about Priscilla is this. It is a
thousand pities she is so obstinate, so pig-headed, so certain that
she can manage everything for herself better than anybody else can
for her." Miss Stanbury was striving to say something good of her
niece, but found the task to be difficult and distasteful to her.
"She has managed for mamma ever so many years; and since she took it
we have hardly ever been in debt," said Dorothy.
"She'll do all that, I don't doubt. I don't suppose she cares much
for ribbons and false hair for herself."
"Who? Priscilla! The idea of Priscilla with false hair!"
"I dare say not;--I dare say not. I do not think she'd spend her
mother's money on things of that kind."
"Aunt Stanbury, you don't know her."
"Ah; very well. Perhaps I don't. But, come, my dear, you are very
hard upon me, and very anxious to take your sister's part. And
what is it all about? I've just written to her as civil a letter
as one woman ever wrote to another. And if I had chosen, I could
have,--could have,--h--m--m." Miss Stanbury, as she hesitated for
words in which to complete her sentence, revelled in the strength of
the vituperation which she could have poured upon her niece's head,
had she chosen to write her last letter about Colonel Osborne in her
severe strain.
"If you have written kindly to her, I am so much obliged to you,"
said Dorothy.
"The truth is, Priscilla has meant to be right. Meaning won't go
for much when the account is taken, unless the meaning comes from a
proper source. But the poor girl has done as well as she has known
how. I believe it is Hugh's fault more than anybody else's." This
accusation was not pleasant to Dorothy, but she was too intent just
now on Priscilla's case to defend her brother. "That man never ought
to have been there; and that woman never ought to have been there.
There cannot be a doubt about that. If Priscilla were sitting there
opposite to me, she would own as much. I am sure she would." Miss
Stanbury was quite right if she meant to assert that Priscilla had
owned as much to herself. "And because I think so, I am willing to
forgive her part in the matter. To me, personally, she has always
been rude,--most uncourteous,--and,--and,--and unlike a younger woman
to an older one, and an aunt, and all that. I suppose it is because
she hates me."
"Oh, no, Aunt Stanbury!"
"My dear, I suppose it is. Why else should she treat me in such a
way? But I do believe of her that she would rather eat an honest, dry
crust, than dishonest cake and ale."
"She would rather starve than pick up a crumb that was dishonest,"
said Dorothy, fairly bursting out into tears.
"I believe it. I do believe it. There; what more can I say? Clock
House, indeed! What matter what house you live in, so that you can
pay the rent of it honestly?"
"But the rent is paid--honestly," said Dorothy, amidst her sobs.
"It's paid, I don't doubt. I dare say the woman's husband and your
brother see to that among them. Oh, that my boy, Hugh, as he used
to be, should have brought us all to this! But there's no knowing
what they won't do among them. Reform, indeed! Murder, sacrilege,
adultery, treason, atheism;--that's what Reform means; besides every
kind of nastiness under the sun." In which latter category Miss
Stanbury intended especially to include bad printer's ink, and paper
made of straw.
The reader may as well see the letter which was as civil a letter
as ever one woman wrote to another, so that the collection of the
Stanbury correspondence may be made perfect.
The Close, August 6, 186--.
MY DEAR NIECE,
Your letter has not astonished me nearly as much as you
expected it would. I am an older woman than you, and,
though you will not believe it, I have seen more of the
world. I knew that the gentleman would come after the
lady. Such gentlemen always do go after their ladies.
As for yourself, I can see all that you have done, and
pretty nearly hear all that you have said, as plain as a
pike-staff. I do you the credit of believing that the plan
is none of your making. I know who made the plan, and a
very bad plan it is.
As to my former letters and the other man, I understand
all about it. You were very angry that I should accuse you
of having this man at the house; and you were right to be
angry. I respect you for having been angry. But what does
all that say as to his coming,--now that he has come?
If you will consent to take an old woman's advice, get rid
of the whole boiling of them. I say it in firm love and
friendship, for I am,--
Your affectionate aunt,
JEMIMA STANBURY.
The special vaunted courtesy of this letter consisted, no doubt, in
the expression of respect which it contained, and in that declaration
of affection with which it terminated. The epithet was one which
Miss Stanbury would by no means use promiscuously in writing to her
nearest relatives. She had not intended to use it when she commenced
her letter to Priscilla. But the respect of which she had spoken
had glowed, and had warmed itself into something of temporary love;
and feeling at the moment that she was an affectionate aunt, Miss
Stanbury had so put herself down in her letter. Having done such a
deed she felt that Dorothy, though Dorothy knew nothing about it,
ought in her gratitude to listen patiently to anything that she might
now choose to say against Priscilla.
But Dorothy was in truth very miserable, and in her misery wrote a
long letter that afternoon to her mother,--which, however, it will
not be necessary to place entire among the Stanbury records,--begging
that she might be informed as to the true circumstances of the case.
She did not say a word of censure in regard either to her mother or
sister; but she expressed an opinion in the mildest words which she
could use, that if anything had happened which had compromised their
names since their residence at the Clock House, she, Dorothy, had
better go home and join them. The meaning of which was that it would
not become her to remain in the house in the Close, if the house in
the Close would be disgraced by her presence. Poor Dorothy had taught
herself to think that the iniquity of roaring lions spread itself
very widely.
In the afternoon she made some such proposition to her aunt in
ambiguous terms. "Go home!" said Miss Stanbury. "Now?"
"If you think it best, Aunt Stanbury."
"And put yourself in the middle of all this iniquity and abomination!
I don't suppose you want to know the woman?"
"No, indeed!"
"Or the man?"
"Oh, Aunt Stanbury!"
"It's my belief that no decent gentleman in Exeter would look at you
again if you were to go and live among them at Nuncombe Putney while
all this is going on. No, no. Let one of you be saved out of it, at
least."
Aunt Stanbury had more than once made use of expressions which
brought the faintest touch of gentle pink up to her niece's cheeks.
We must do Dorothy the justice of saying that she had never dreamed
of being looked at by any gentleman, whether decent or indecent. Her
life at Nuncombe Putney had been of such a nature, that though she
knew that other girls were looked at, and even made love to, and that
they got married and had children, no dim vision of such a career
for herself had ever presented itself to her eyes. She had known
very well that her mother and sister and herself were people
apart,--ladies, and yet so extremely poor, that they could only
maintain their rank by the most rigid seclusion. To live, and work
unseen, was what the world had ordained for her. Then her call
to Exeter had come upon her, and she had conceived that she was
henceforth to be the humble companion of a very imperious old aunt.
Her aunt, indeed, was imperious, but did not seem to require humility
in her companion. All the good things that were eaten and drunk were
divided between them with the strictest impartiality. Dorothy's
cushion and hassock in the church and in the cathedral were the same
as her aunt's. Her bed-room was made very comfortable for her. Her
aunt never gave her any orders before company, and always spoke of
her before the servants as one whom they were to obey and respect.
Gradually Dorothy came to understand the meaning of this;--but her
aunt would sometimes say things about young men which she did not
quite understand. Could it be that her aunt supposed that any young
man would come and wish to marry her,--her, Dorothy Stanbury? She
herself had not quite so strong an aversion to men in general as that
which Priscilla felt, but she had not as yet found that any of those
whom she had seen at Exeter were peculiarly agreeable to her. Before
she went to bed that night her aunt said a word to her which startled
her more than she had ever been startled before. On that evening Miss
Stanbury had a few friends to drink tea with her. There were Mr. and
Mrs. Crumbie, and Mrs. MacHugh of course, and the Cheritons from
Alphington, and the Miss Apjohns from Helion Villa, and old Mr. Powel
all the way from Haldon, and two of the Wrights from their house
in the Northernhay, and Mr. Gibson;--but the Miss Frenches from
Heavitree were not there. "Why don't you have the Miss Frenches,
aunt?" Dorothy had asked.
"Bother the Miss Frenches! I'm not bound to have them every time.
There's Camilla has been and got herself a band-box on the back of
her head a great deal bigger than the place inside where her brains
ought to be." But the band-box at the back of Camilla French's head
was not the sole cause of the omission of the two sisters from the
list of Miss Stanbury's visitors on this occasion.
The party went off very much as usual. There were two whist tables,
for Miss Stanbury could not bear to cut out. At other houses than her
own, when there was cutting out, it was quite understood that Miss
Stanbury was to be allowed to keep her place. "I'll go away, and sit
out there by myself, if you like," she would say. But she was never
thus banished; and at her own house she usually contrived that
there should be no system of banishment. She would play dummy whist,
preferring it to the four-handed game; and, when hard driven, and
with a meet opponent, would not even despise double-dummy. It was
told of her and of Mrs. MacHugh that they had played double-dummy
for a whole evening together; and they who were given to calumny
had declared that the candles on that evening had been lighted very
early. On the present occasion a great many sixpenny points were
scored, and much tea and cake were consumed. Mr. Gibson never played
whist,--nor did Dorothy. That young John Wright and Mary Cheriton
should do nothing but talk to each other was a thing of course,
as they were to be married in a month or two. Then there was Ida
Cheriton, who could not very well be left at home; and Mr. Gibson
made himself pleasant to Dorothy and Ida Cheriton, instead of making
himself pleasant to the two Miss Frenches. Gentlemen in provincial
towns quite understand that, from the nature of social circumstances
in the provinces, they should always be ready to be pleasant at least
to a pair at a time. At a few minutes before twelve they were all
gone, and then came the shock.
"Dolly, my dear, what do you think of Mr. Gibson?"
"Think of him, Aunt Stanbury?"
"Yes; think of him;--think of him. I suppose you know how to think?"
"He seems to me always to preach very drawling sermons."
"Oh, bother his sermons! I don't care anything about his sermons now.
He is a very good clergyman, and the Dean thinks very much about
him."
"I am glad of that, Aunt Stanbury."
Then came the shock. "Don't you think it would be a very good thing
if you were to become Mrs. Gibson?"
It may be presumed that Miss Stanbury had assured herself that she
could not make progress with Dorothy by "beating about the bush."
There was an inaptitude in her niece to comprehend the advantages
of the situations, which made some direct explanation absolutely
necessary. Dorothy stood half-smiling, half-crying, when she heard
the proposition, her cheeks suffused with that pink colour, and with
both her hands extended with surprise.
"I've been thinking about it ever since you've been here," said Miss
Stanbury.
"I think he likes Miss French," said Dorothy, in a whisper.
"Which of them? I don't believe he likes them at all. Maybe, if they
go on long enough, they may be able to toss up for him. But I don't
think it of him. Of course they're after him, but he'll be too wise
for them. And he's more of a fool than I take him to be if he don't
prefer you to them." Dorothy remained quite silent. To such an
address as this it was impossible that she should reply a word. It
was incredible to her that any man should prefer herself to either of
the young women in question; but she was too much confounded for the
expression even of her humility. "At any rate you're wholesome, and
pleasant and modest," said Miss Stanbury.
Dorothy did not quite like being told that she was wholesome; but,
nevertheless, she was thankful to her aunt.
"I'll tell you what it is," continued Miss Stanbury; "I hate all
mysteries, especially with those I love. I've saved two thousand
pounds, which I've put you down for in my will. Now, if you and he
can make it up together, I'll give you the money at once. There's no
knowing how often an old woman may alter her will; but when you've
got a thing, you've got it. Mr. Gibson would know the meaning of a
bird in the hand as well as anybody. Now those girls at Heavitree
will never have above a few hundreds each, and not that while
their mother lives." Dorothy made one little attempt at squeezing
her aunt's hand, wishing to thank her aunt for this affectionate
generosity; but she had hardly accomplished the squeeze, when she
desisted, feeling strangely averse to any acknowledgment of such a
boon as that which had been offered to her. "And now, good night, my
dear. If I did not think you a very sensible young woman, I should
not trust you by saying all this." Then they parted, and Dorothy soon
found herself alone in her bedroom.
To have a husband of her own, a perfect gentleman too, and a
clergyman;--and to go to him with a fortune! She believed that two
thousand pounds represented nearly a hundred a year. It was a large
fortune in those parts,--according to her understanding of ladies'
fortunes. And that she, the humblest of the humble, should be
selected for so honourable a position! She had never quite known,
quite understood as yet, whether she had made good her footing in
her aunt's house in a manner pleasant to her aunt. More than once or
twice she had spoken even of going back to her mother, and things
had been said which had almost made her think that her aunt had been
angry with her. But now, after a month or two of joint residence, her
aunt was offering to her--two thousand pounds and a husband!
But was it within her aunt's power to offer to her the husband? Mr.
Gibson had always been very civil to her. She had spoken more to Mr.
Gibson than to any other man in Exeter. But it had never occurred to
her for a moment that Mr. Gibson had any special liking for her. Was
it probable that he would ever entertain any feeling of that kind
for her? It certainly had occurred to her before now that Mr. Gibson
was sometimes bored by the Miss Frenches;--but then gentlemen do get
bored by ladies.
And at last she asked herself another question,--had she any special
liking for Mr. Gibson? As far as she understood such matters
everything was blank there. Thinking of that other question, she went
to sleep.