NIDDON PARK.
As Hugh Stanbury went over to Lessboro', and from thence to Nuncombe
Putney, he thought more of himself and Nora Rowley than he did of Mr.
and Mrs. Trevelyan. As to Mrs. Trevelyan and Colonel Osborne, he felt
that he knew everything that it was necessary that he should know.
The man had been there, and had seen Mrs. Trevelyan. Of that there
could be no doubt. That Colonel Osborne had been wickedly indifferent
to the evil consequences of such a visit, and that all the women
concerned had been most foolish in permitting him to make it, was his
present conviction. But he did not for a moment doubt that the visit
had in itself been of all things the most innocent. Trevelyan had
sworn that if his wife received the man at Nuncombe Putney, he
would never see her again. She had seen him, and this oath would be
remembered, and there would be increased difficulties. But these
difficulties, whatever they might be, must be overcome. When he had
told himself this, then he allowed his mind to settle itself on Nora
Rowley.
Hitherto he had known Miss Rowley only as a fashionable girl living
with the wife of an intimate friend of his own in London. He had
never been staying in the same house with her. Circumstances had
never given to him the opportunity of assuming the manner of an
intimate friend, justifying him in giving advice, and authorising
him to assume that semi-paternal tone which is by far the easiest
preliminary to love-making. When a man can tell a young lady what
she ought to read, what she ought to do, and whom she ought to know,
nothing can be easier than to assure her that, of all her duties,
her first duty is to prefer himself to all the world. And any young
lady who has consented to receive lessons from such a teacher, will
generally be willing to receive this special lesson among others.
But Stanbury had hitherto had no such opportunities. In London Miss
Rowley had been a fashionable young lady, living in Mayfair, and he
had been,--well, anything but a fashionable young man. Nevertheless,
he had seen her often, had sat by her very frequently, was quite sure
that he loved her dearly, and had, perhaps, some self-flattering
idea in his mind that had he stuck to his honourable profession as a
barrister, and were he possessed of some comfortable little fortune
of his own, he might, perhaps, have been able, after due siege
operations, to make this charming young woman his own. Things were
quite changed now. For the present, Miss Rowley certainly could not
be regarded as a fashionable London young lady. The house in which he
would see her was, in some sort, his own. He would be sleeping under
the same roof with her, and would have all the advantages which such
a position could give him. He would have no difficulty now in asking,
if he should choose to ask; and he thought that she might be somewhat
softer, somewhat more likely to yield at Nuncombe Putney, than she
would have been in London. She was at Nuncombe in weak circumstances,
to a certain degree friendless; with none of the excitement of
society around her, with no elder sons buzzing about her and
filling her mind, if not her heart, with the glories of luxurious
primogeniture. Hugh Stanbury certainly did not dream that any
special elder son had as yet been so attracted as to have made a
journey to Nuncombe Putney on Nora's behalf. But should he on this
account,--because she would be, as it were, without means of defence
from his attack,--should he therefore take advantage of her weakness?
She would, of course, go back to her London life after some short
absence, and would again, if free, have her chance among the favoured
ones of the earth. What had he to offer to her? He had taken the
Clock House for his mother, and it would be quite as much as he could
do, when Mrs. Trevelyan should have left the village, to keep up that
establishment and maintain himself in London,--quite as much as he
could do, even though the favours of the "D. R." should flow upon
him with their fullest tides. In such circumstances, would it be
honourable in him to ask a girl to love him because he found her
defenceless in his mother's house?
"If there bain't another for Nuncombe," said Mrs. Clegg's Ostler to
Mrs. Clegg's Boots, as Stanbury was driven off in a gig.
"That be young Stanbury, a-going of whome."
"They be all a-going for the Clock House. Since the old 'ooman took
to thick there house, there be folk a-comin' and a-goin' every day
loike."
"It's along of the madam that they keeps there, Dick," said the
Boots.
"I didn't care if there'd be madams allays. They're the best as is
going for trade anyhow," said the ostler. What the ostler said was
true. When there comes to be a feeling that a woman's character is in
any way tarnished, there comes another feeling that everybody on the
one side may charge double, and that everybody on the other side must
pay double, for everything. Hugh Stanbury could not understand why he
was charged a shilling a mile, instead of ninepence, for the gig to
Nuncombe Putney. He got no satisfactory answer, and had to pay the
shilling. The truth was, that gigs to Nuncombe Putney had gone up,
since a lady, separated from her husband, with a colonel running
after her, had been taken in at the Clock House.
"Here's Hugh!" said Priscilla, hurrying to the front door. And Mrs.
Stanbury hurried after her. Her son Hugh was the apple of her eye,
the best son that ever lived, generous, noble, a thorough
man,--almost a god!
"Dear, dear, oh dear! Who'd have expected it? God bless you, my boy!
Why didn't you write? Priscilla, what is there in the house that he
can eat?"
"Plenty of bread and cheese," said Priscilla, laughing, with her hand
inside her brother's arm. For though Priscilla hated all other men,
she did not hate her brother Hugh. "If you wanted things nice to eat
directly you got here, you ought to have written."
"I shall want my dinner, like any other Christian,--in due time,"
said Hugh. "And how is Mrs. Trevelyan,--and how is Miss Rowley?"
He soon found himself in company with those two ladies, and
experienced some immediate difficulty in explaining the cause of his
sudden coming. But this was soon put aside by Mrs. Trevelyan.
"When did you see my husband?" she asked.
"I saw him yesterday. He was quite well."
"Colonel Osborne has been here," she said.
"I know that he has been here. I met him at the station at Exeter.
Perhaps I should not say so, but I wish he had remained away."
"We all wish it," said Priscilla.
Then Nora spoke. "But what could we do, Mr. Stanbury? It seemed so
natural that he should call when he was in the neighbourhood. We have
known him so long; and how could we refuse to see him?"
"I will not let any one think that I'm afraid to see any man on
earth," said Mrs. Trevelyan. "If he had ever in his life said a word
that he should not have said, a word that would have been an insult,
of course it would have been different. But the notion of it is
preposterous. Why should I not have seen him?"
"I think he was wrong to come," said Hugh.
"Of course he was wrong;--wickedly wrong," said Priscilla.
Stanbury, finding that the subject was openly discussed between
them, declared plainly the mission that had brought him to Nuncombe.
"Trevelyan heard that he was coming, and asked me to let him know the
truth."
"Now you can tell him the truth," said Mrs. Trevelyan, with something
of indignation in her tone, as though she thought that Stanbury had
taken upon himself a task of which he ought to be ashamed.
"But Colonel Osborne came specially to pay a visit to
Cockchaffington," said Nora, "and not to see us. Louis ought to know
that."
"Nora, how can you demean yourself to care about such trash?" said
Mrs. Trevelyan. "Who cares why he came here? His visit to me was a
thing of course. If Mr. Trevelyan disapproves of it, let him say so,
and not send secret messengers."
"Am I a secret messenger?" said Hugh Stanbury.
"There has been a man here, inquiring of the servants," said
Priscilla. So that odious Bozzle had made his foul mission known
to them! Stanbury, however, thought it best to say nothing of
Bozzle,--not to acknowledge that he had ever heard of Bozzle. "I am
sure Mrs. Trevelyan does not mean you," said Priscilla.
"I do not know what I mean," said Mrs. Trevelyan. "I am so harassed
and fevered by these suspicions that I am driven nearly mad." Then
she left the room for a minute and returned with two letters. "There,
Mr. Stanbury; I got that note from Colonel Osborne, and wrote to him
that reply. You know all about it now. Can you say that I was wrong
to see him?"
"I am sure that he was wrong to come," said Hugh.
"Wickedly wrong," said Priscilla, again.
"You can keep the letters, and show them to my husband," said Mrs.
Trevelyan; "then he will know all about it." But Stanbury declined to
keep the letters.
He was to remain the Sunday at Nuncombe Putney and return to London
on the Monday. There was, therefore, but one day on which he could
say what he had to say to Nora Rowley. When he came down to breakfast
on the Sunday morning he had almost made up his mind that he had
nothing to say to her. As for Nora, she was in a state of mind much
less near to any fixed purpose. She had told herself that she loved
this man,--had indeed done so in the clearest way, by acknowledging
the fact of her love to another suitor, by pleading to that other
suitor the fact of her love as an insuperable reason why he should
be rejected. There was no longer any doubt about it to her. When
Priscilla had declared that Hugh Stanbury was at the door, her heart
had gone into her mouth. Involuntarily she had pressed her hands to
her sides, and had held her breath. Why had he come there? Had he
come there for her? Oh! if he had come there for her, and if she
might dare to forget all the future, how sweet,--sweetest of all
things in heaven or earth,--might be an August evening with him among
the lanes! But she, too, had endeavoured to be very prudent. She
had told herself that she was quite unfit to be the wife of a poor
man,--that she would be only a burden round his neck, and not an aid
to him. And in so telling herself, she had told herself also that she
had been a fool not to accept Mr. Glascock. She should have dragged
out from her heart the image of this man who had never even whispered
a word of love in her ears, and should have constrained herself to
receive with affection a man in loving whom there ought to be no
difficulty. But when she had been repeating those lessons to herself,
Hugh Stanbury had not been in the house. Now he was there;--and what
must be her answer if he should whisper that word of love? She had an
idea that it would be treason in her to disown the love she felt, if
questioned concerning her heart by the man to whom it had been given.
They all went to church on the Sunday morning, and up to that time
Nora had not been a moment alone with the man. It had been decided
that they should dine early, and then ramble out, when the evening
would be less hot than the day had been, to a spot called Niddon
Park. This was nearly three miles from Nuncombe, and was a beautiful
wild slope of ground, full of ancient, blighted, blasted, but still
half-living oaks,--oaks that still brought forth leaves,--overlooking
a bend of the river Teign. Park, in the usual sense of the word,
there was none, nor did they who lived round Nuncombe Putney know
whether Niddon Park had ever been enclosed. But of all the spots in
that lovely neighbourhood, Priscilla Stanbury swore that it was the
loveliest; and, as it had never yet been seen by Mrs. Trevelyan or
her sister, it was determined that they would walk there on this
August afternoon. There were four of them,--and, as was natural, they
fell into parties of two and two. But Priscilla walked with Nora, and
Hugh Stanbury walked with his friend's wife. Nora was talkative, but
demure in her manner, and speaking now and again as though she were
giving words and not thoughts. She felt that there was something to
hide, and was suffering from disappointment that their party should
not have been otherwise divided. Had Hugh spoken to her and asked her
to be his wife, she could not have accepted him, because she knew
that they were both poor, and that she was not fit to keep a poor
man's house. She had declared to herself most plainly that that must
be her course;--but yet she was disappointed, and talked on with the
knowledge that she had something to conceal.
[Illustration: Niddon Park.]
When they were seated beneath an old riven, withered oak, looking
down upon the river, they were still divided in the same way. In
seating herself she had been very anxious not to disarrange that
arrangement,--almost equally anxious not to seem to adhere to it
with any special purpose. She was very careful that there should be
nothing seen in her manner that was in any way special,--but in the
meantime she was suffering an agony of trouble. He did not care for
her in the least. She was becoming sure of that. She had given all
her love to a man who had none to give her in return. As she thought
of this she almost longed for the offer of that which she knew she
could not have accepted had it been offered to her. But she talked
on about the scenery, about the weather,--descanting on the pleasure
of living where such loveliness was within reach. Then there came a
pause for a moment. "Nora," said Priscilla, "I do not know what you
are thinking about, but it is not of the beauty of Niddon Park." Then
there came a faint sound as of an hysterical sob, and then a gurgle
in the throat, and then a pretence at laughter.
"I don't believe I am thinking of anything at all," said Nora.
After which Hugh insisted on descending to the bank of the river,
but, as the necessity of re-climbing the slope was quite manifest,
none of the girls would go with him. "Come, Miss Rowley," said he,
"will you not show them that a lady can go up and down a hill as well
as a man?"
"I had rather not go up and down the hill," said she.
Then he understood that she was angry with him; and in some sort
surmised the cause of her anger. Not that he believed that she loved
him; but it seemed possible to him that she resented the absence of
his attention. He went down, and scrambled out on the rocks into
the bed of the river, while the girls above looked down upon him,
watching the leaps that he made. Priscilla and Mrs. Trevelyan called
to him, bidding him beware; but Nora called not at all. He was
whistling as he made his jumps, but still he heard their voices, and
knew that he did not hear Nora's voice. He poised himself on the edge
of a rock in the middle of the stream, and looked up the river and
down the river, turning himself carefully on his narrow foothold; but
he was thinking only of Nora. Could there be anything nobler than to
struggle on with her, if she only would be willing? But then she was
young; and should she yield to such a request from him, she would not
know what she was yielding. He turned again, jumping from rock to
rock till he reached the bank, and then made his way again up to the
withered oak.
"You would not have repented it if you had come down with me," he
said to Nora.
"I am not so sure of that," she answered.
When they started to return she stepped on gallantly with Priscilla;
but Priscilla was stopped by some chance, having some word to say to
her brother, having some other word to say to Mrs. Trevelyan. Could
it be that her austerity had been softened, and that in kindness she
contrived that Nora should be left some yards behind them with her
brother? Whether it were kindness, or an unkind error, so it was.
Nora, when she perceived what destiny was doing for her, would not
interfere with destiny. If he chose to speak to her she would hear
him and would answer him. She knew very well what answer she would
give him. She had her answer quite ready at her fingers' ends. There
was no doubt about her answer.
They had walked half a mile together and he had spoken of nothing but
the scenery. She had endeavoured to appear to be excited. Oh, yes,
the scenery of Devonshire was delightful. She hardly wanted anything
more to make her happy. If only this misery respecting her sister
could be set right!
"And you, you yourself," said he, "do you mean that there is nothing
you want in leaving London?"
"Not much, indeed."
"It sometimes seemed to me that that kind of life was,--was very
pleasant to you."
"What kind of life, Mr. Stanbury?"
"The life that you were living,--going out, being admired, and having
the rich and dainty all around you."
"I don't dislike people because they are rich," she said.
"No; nor do I; and I despise those who affect to dislike them. But
all cannot be rich."
"Nor all dainty, as you choose to call them."
"But they who have once been dainty,--as I call them,--never like
to divest themselves of their daintiness. You have been one of the
dainty, Miss Rowley."
"Have I?"
"Certainly; I doubt whether you would be happy if you thought that
your daintiness had departed from you."
"I hope, Mr. Stanbury, that nothing nice and pleasant has departed
from me. If I have ever been dainty, dainty I hope I may remain. I
will never, at any rate, give it up of my own accord." Why she said
this, she could never explain to herself. She had certainly not
intended to rebuff him when she had been saying it. But he spoke not
a word to her further as they walked home, either of her mode of life
or of his own.