MR. BROOKE BURGESS.
[Illustration]
The hour at which Mr. Brooke Burgess was to arrive had come round,
and Miss Stanbury was in a twitter, partly of expectation, and
partly, it must be confessed, of fear. Why there should be any fear
she did not herself know, as she had much to give and nothing to
expect. But she was afraid, and was conscious of it, and was out
of temper because she was ashamed of herself. Although it would be
necessary that she should again dress for dinner at six, she had put
on a clean cap at four, and appeared at that early hour in one of
her gowns which was not customarily in use for home purposes at that
early hour. She felt that she was "an old fool" for her pains, and
was consequently cross to poor Dorothy. And there were other reasons
for some display of harshness to her niece. Mr. Gibson had been at
the house that very morning, and Dorothy had given herself airs. At
least, so Miss Stanbury thought. And during the last three or four
days, whenever Mr. Gibson's name had been mentioned, Dorothy had
become silent, glum, and almost obstructive. Miss Stanbury had been
at the trouble of explaining that she was specially anxious to have
that little matter of the engagement settled at once. She knew that
she was going to behave with great generosity;--that she was going to
sacrifice, not her money only, of which she did not think much, but a
considerable portion of her authority, of which she did think a great
deal; and that she was about to behave in a manner which demanded
much gratitude. But it seemed to her that Dorothy was not in
the least grateful. Hugh had proved himself to be "a mass of
ingratitude," as she was in the habit of saying. None of the
Burgesses had ever shown to her any gratitude for promises made to
them, or, indeed, for any substantial favours conferred upon them.
And now Dorothy, to whom a very seventh heaven of happiness had been
opened,--a seventh heaven, as it must be computed in comparison with
her low expectations,--now Dorothy was already shewing how thankless
she could become. Mr. Gibson had not yet declared his passion, but he
had freely admitted to Miss Stanbury that he was prepared to do so.
Priscilla had been quite right in her suggestion that there was a
clear understanding between the clergyman and her aunt.
"I don't think he is come after all," said Miss Stanbury, looking
at her watch. Had the train arrived at the moment that it was due,
had the expectant visitor jumped out of the railway carriage into
a fly, and had the driver galloped up to the Close, it might have
been possible that the wheels should have been at the door as Miss
Stanbury spoke.
"It's hardly time yet, aunt."
"Nonsense; it is time. The train comes in at four. I dare say he
won't come at all."
"He is sure to come, aunt."
"I've no doubt you know all about it better than any one else. You
usually do." Then five minutes were passed in silence. "Heaven and
earth! what shall I do with these people that are coming? And I told
them especially that it was to meet this young man! It's the way I am
always treated by everybody that I have about me."
"The train might be ten minutes late, Aunt Stanbury."
"Yes;--and monkeys might chew tobacco. There;--there's the omnibus at
the Cock and Bottle; the omnibus up from the train. Now, of course,
he won't come."
"Perhaps he's walking, Aunt Stanbury."
"Walking,--with his luggage on his shoulders? Is that your idea of
the way in which a London gentleman goes about? And there are two
flies,--coming up from the train, of course." Miss Stanbury was
obliged to fix the side of her chair very close to the window in
order that she might see that part of the Close in which the vehicles
of which she had spoken were able to pass.
"Perhaps they are not coming from the train, Aunt Stanbury."
"Perhaps a fiddlestick! You have lived here so much longer than
I have done that, of course, you must know all about it." Then
there was an interval of another ten minutes, and even Dorothy was
beginning to think that Mr. Burgess was not coming. "I've given him
up now," said Miss Stanbury. "I think I'll send and put them all
off." Just at that moment there came a knock at the door. But there
was no cab. Dorothy's conjecture had been right. The London gentleman
had walked, and his portmanteau had been carried behind him by a boy.
"How did he get here?" exclaimed Miss Stanbury, as she heard the
strange voice speaking to Martha down-stairs. But Dorothy knew better
than to answer the question.
"Miss Stanbury, I am very glad to see you," said Mr. Brooke Burgess,
as he entered the room. Miss Stanbury courtesied, and then took
him by both hands. "You wouldn't have known me, I dare say," he
continued. "A black beard and a bald head do make a difference."
"You are not bald at all," said Miss Stanbury.
"I am beginning to be thin enough at the top. I am so glad to come to
you, and so much obliged to you for having me! How well I remember
the old room!"
"This is my niece, Miss Dorothy Stanbury, from Nuncombe Putney."
Dorothy was about to make some formal acknowledgment of the
introduction, when Brooke Burgess came up to her, and shook her hand
heartily. "She lives with me," continued the aunt.
"And what has become of Hugh?" said Brooke.
"We never talk of him," said Miss Stanbury gravely.
"I hope there's nothing wrong? I hear of him very often in London."
"My aunt and he don't agree;--that's all," said Dorothy.
"He has given up his profession as a barrister,--in which he might
have lived like a gentleman," said Miss Stanbury, "and has taken to
writing for a--penny newspaper."
"Everybody does that now, Miss Stanbury."
"I hope you don't, Mr. Burgess."
"I! Nobody would print anything that I wrote. I don't write for
anything, certainly."
"I'm very glad to hear it," said Miss Stanbury.
Brooke Burgess, or Mr. Brooke, as he came to be called very shortly
by the servants in the house, was a good-looking man, with black
whiskers and black hair, which, as he said, was beginning to be thin
on the top of his head, and pleasant small bright eyes. Dorothy
thought that next to her brother Hugh he was the most good-natured
looking man she had ever seen. He was rather below the middle height,
and somewhat inclined to be stout. But he would boast that he could
still walk his twelve miles in three hours, and would add that as
long as he could do that he would never recognise the necessity of
putting himself on short commons. He had a well-cut nose, not quite
aquiline, but tending that way, a chin with a dimple on it, and as
sweet a mouth as ever declared the excellence of a man's temper.
Dorothy immediately began to compare him with her brother Hugh, who
was to her, of all men, the most godlike. It never occurred to her to
make any comparison between Mr. Gibson and Mr. Burgess. Her brother
Hugh was the most godlike of men; but there was something godlike
also about the new comer. Mr. Gibson, to Dorothy's eyes, was by no
means divine.
"I used to call you Aunt Stanbury," said Brooke Burgess to the old
lady; "am I to go on doing it now?"
"You may call me what you like," said Miss Stanbury. "Only,--dear
me;--I never did see anybody so much altered." Before she went up to
dress herself for dinner, Miss Stanbury was quite restored to her
good humour, as Dorothy could perceive.
The dinner passed off well enough. Mr. Gibson, at the head of the
table, did, indeed, look very much out of his element, as though he
conceived that his position revealed to the outer world those ideas
of his in regard to Dorothy, which ought to have been secret for a
while longer. There are few men who do not feel ashamed of being
paraded before the world as acknowledged suitors, whereas ladies
accept the position with something almost of triumph. The lady
perhaps regards herself as the successful angler, whereas the
gentleman is conscious of some similitude to the unsuccessful fish.
Mr. Gibson, though he was not yet gasping in the basket, had some
presentiment of this feeling, which made his present seat of honour
unpleasant to him. Brooke Burgess, at the other end of the table,
was as gay as a lark. Mrs. MacHugh sat on one side of him, and
Miss Stanbury on the other, and he laughed at the two old ladies,
reminding them of his former doings in Exeter,--how he had hunted
Mrs. MacHugh's cat, and had stolen Aunt Stanbury's best apricot jam,
till everybody began to perceive that he was quite a success. Even
Sir Peter Mancrudy laughed at his jokes, and Mrs. Powel, from the
other side of Sir Peter, stretched her head forward so that she might
become one of the gay party.
"There isn't a word of it true," said Miss Stanbury. "It's all pure
invention, and a great scandal. I never did such a thing in my life."
"Didn't you though?" said Brooke Burgess. "I remember it as well
as if it was yesterday, and old Dr. Ball, the prebendary, with the
carbuncles on his nose, saw it too."
"Dr. Ball had no carbuncles on his nose," said Mrs. MacHugh. "You'll
say next that I have carbuncles on my nose."
"He had three. I remember each of them quite well, and so does Sir
Peter."
Then everybody laughed; and Martha, who was in the room, knew that
Brooke Burgess was a complete success.
In the meantime Mr. Gibson was talking to Dorothy; but Dorothy was
endeavouring to listen to the conversation at the other end of the
table. "I found it very dirty on the roads to-day outside the city,"
said Mr. Gibson.
"Very dirty," said Dorothy, looking round at Mr. Burgess as she
spoke.
"But the pavement in the High Street was dry enough."
"Quite dry," said Dorothy. Then there came a peal of laughter from
Mrs. MacHugh and Sir Peter, and Dorothy wondered whether anybody
before had ever made those two steady old people laugh after that
fashion.
"I should so like to get a drive with you up to the top of Haldon
Hill," said Mr. Gibson. "When the weather gets fine, that is. Mrs.
Powel was talking about it."
"It would be very nice," said Dorothy.
"You have never seen the view from Haldon Hill yet?" asked Mr.
Gibson. But to this question Dorothy could make no answer. Miss
Stanbury had lifted one of the table-spoons, as though she was going
to strike Mr. Brooke Burgess with the bowl of it. And this during
a dinner party! From that moment Dorothy turned herself round, and
became one of the listeners to the fun at the other end of the table.
Poor Mr. Gibson soon found himself "nowhere."
"I never saw a man so much altered in my life," said Mrs. MacHugh, up
in the drawing-room. "I don't remember that he used to be clever."
"He was a bright boy," said Miss Stanbury.
"But the Burgesses all used to be such serious, strait-laced people,"
said Mrs. MacHugh. "Excellent people," she added, remembering the
source of her friend's wealth; "but none of them like that."
"I call him a very handsome man," said Mrs. Powel. "I suppose he's
not married yet?"
"Oh, dear, no," said Miss Stanbury. "There's time enough for him
yet."
"He'll find plenty here to set their caps at him," said Mrs. MacHugh.
"He's a little old for my girls," said Mrs. Powel, laughing. Mrs.
Powel was the happy mother of four daughters, of whom the eldest was
only twelve.
"There are others who are more forward," said Mrs. MacHugh. "What a
chance it would be for dear Arabella French!"
"Heaven forbid!" said Miss Stanbury.
"And then poor Mr. Gibson wouldn't be any longer like the donkey
between two bundles of hay," said Mrs. Powel. Dorothy was quite
determined that she would never marry a man who was like a donkey
between two bundles of hay.
When the gentlemen came up into the drawing-room, Dorothy was seated
behind the urn and tea-things at a large table, in such a position as
to be approached only at one side. There was one chair at her left
hand, but at her right hand there was no room for a seat,--only room
for some civil gentleman to take away full cups and bring them back
empty. Dorothy was not sufficiently ready-witted to see the danger of
this position till Mr. Gibson had seated himself in the chair. Then
it did seem cruel to her that she should be thus besieged for the
rest of the evening as she had been also at dinner. While the tea
was being consumed Mr. Gibson assisted at the service, asking ladies
whether they would have cake or bread and butter; but when all that
was over Dorothy was still in her prison, and Mr. Gibson was still
the jailer at the gate. She soon perceived that everybody else was
chatting and laughing, and that Brooke Burgess was the centre of a
little circle which had formed itself quite at a distance from her
seat. Once, twice, thrice she meditated an escape, but she had not
the courage to make the attempt. She did not know how to manage it.
She was conscious that her aunt's eye was upon her, and that her aunt
would expect her to listen to Mr. Gibson. At last she gave up all
hope of moving, and was anxious simply that Mr. Gibson should confine
himself to the dirt of the paths and the noble prospect from Haldon
Hill.
"I think we shall have more rain before we are done with it," he
said. Twice before during the evening he had been very eloquent about
the rain.
"I dare say we shall," said Dorothy. And then there came the sound
of loud laughter from Sir Peter, and Dorothy could see that he was
poking Brooke Burgess in the ribs. There had never been anything so
gay before since she had been in Exeter, and now she was hemmed up in
that corner, away from it all, by Mr. Gibson!
"This Mr. Burgess seems to be different from the other Burgesses,"
said Mr. Gibson.
"I think he must be very clever," said Dorothy.
"Well;--yes; in a sort of a way. What people call a Merry Andrew."
"I like people who make me laugh and laugh themselves," said Dorothy.
"I quite agree with you that laughter is a very good thing,--in
its place. I am not at all one of those who would make the world
altogether grave. There are serious things, and there must be serious
moments."
"Of course," said Dorothy.
"And I think that serious conversation upon the whole has more
allurements than conversation which when you come to examine it is
found to mean nothing. Don't you?"
"I suppose everybody should mean something when he talks."
"Just so. That is exactly my idea," said Mr. Gibson. "On all such
subjects as that I should be so sorry if you and I did not agree. I
really should." Then he paused, and Dorothy was so confounded by what
she conceived to be the dangers of the coming moment that she was
unable even to think what she ought to say. She heard Mrs. MacHugh's
clear, sharp, merry voice, and she heard her aunt's tone of pretended
anger, and she heard Sir Peter's continued laughter, and Brooke
Burgess as he continued the telling of some story; but her own
trouble was too great to allow of her attending to what was going on
at the other end of the room. "There is nothing as to which I am so
anxious as that you and I should agree about serious things," said
Mr. Gibson.
"I suppose we do agree about going to church," said Dorothy. She knew
that she could have made no speech more stupid, more senseless, more
inefficacious;--but what was she to say in answer to such an
assurance?
"I hope so," said Mr. Gibson; "and I think so. Your aunt is a most
excellent woman, and her opinion has very great weight with me on all
subjects,--even as to matters of church discipline and doctrine, in
which, as a clergyman, I am of course presumed to be more at home.
But your aunt is a woman among a thousand."
"Of course I think she is very good."
"And she is so right about this young man and her property. Don't you
think so?"
"Quite right, Mr. Gibson."
"Because you know, to you, of course, being her near relative, and
the one she has singled out as the recipient of her kindness, it
might have been cause for some discontent."
"Discontent to me, Mr. Gibson!"
"I am quite sure your feelings are what they ought to be. And for
myself, if I ever were,--that is to say, supposing I could be in any
way interested--. But perhaps it is premature to make any suggestion
on that head at present."
"I don't at all understand what you mean, Mr. Gibson."
"I thought that perhaps I might take this opportunity of
expressing--. But, after all, the levity of the moment is hardly in
accordance with the sentiments which I should wish to express."
"I think that I ought to go to my aunt now, Mr. Gibson, as perhaps
she might want something." Then she did push back her chair, and
stand upon her legs,--and Mr. Gibson, after pausing for a moment,
allowed her to escape. Soon after that the visitors went, and Brooke
Burgess was left in the drawing-room with Miss Stanbury and Dorothy.
"How well I recollect all the people," said Brooke; "Sir Peter, and
old Mrs. MacHugh, and Mrs. Powel, who then used to be called the
beautiful Miss Noel. And I remember every bit of furniture in the
room."
"Nothing changed except the old woman, Brooke," said Miss Stanbury.
"Upon my word, you are the least changed of all,--except that you
don't seem to be so terrible as you were then."
"Was I very terrible, Brooke?"
"My mother had told me, I fancy, that I was never to make a noise,
and be sure not to break any of the china. You were always very
good-natured, and when you gave me a silver watch I could hardly
believe the extent of my own bliss."
"You wouldn't care about a watch from an old woman now, Brooke?"
"You try me. But what rakes you are here! It's past eleven o'clock,
and I must go and have a smoke."
"Have a what?" said Miss Stanbury, with a startled air.
"A smoke. You needn't be frightened; I don't mean in the house."
"No;--I hope you don't mean that."
"But I may take a turn round the Close with a pipe;--mayn't I?"
"I suppose all young men do smoke now," said Miss Stanbury,
sorrowfully.
"Every one of them; and they tell me that the young women mean to
take to it before long."
"If I saw a young woman smoking, I should blush for my sex; and
though she were the nearest and dearest that I had, I would never
speak to her;--never. Dorothy, I don't think Mr. Gibson smokes."
"I'm sure I don't know, aunt."
"I hope he doesn't. I do hope that he does not. I cannot understand
what pleasure it is that men take in making chimneys of themselves,
and going about smelling so that no one can bear to come near them."
Brooke merely laughed at this, and went his way, and smoked his pipe
out in the Close, while Martha sat up to let him in when he had
finished it. Then Dorothy escaped at once to her room, fearful of
being questioned by her aunt about Mr. Gibson. She had, she thought
now, quite made up her mind. There was nothing in Mr. Gibson that
she liked. She was by no means so sure as she had been when she was
talking to her sister, that she would prefer a clergyman to any one
else. She had formed no strong ideas on the subject of love-making,
but she did think that any man who really cared for her, would find
some other way of expressing his love than that which Mr. Gibson had
adopted. And then Mr. Gibson had spoken to her about her aunt's money
in a way that was distasteful to her. She thought that she was quite
sure that if he should ask her, she would not accept him.
She was nearly undressed, nearly safe for the night, when there came
a knock at the door, and her aunt entered the room. "He has come in,"
said Miss Stanbury.
"I suppose he has had his pipe, then."
"I wish he didn't smoke. I do wish he didn't smoke. But I suppose an
old woman like me is only making herself a fool to care about such
things. If they all do it I can't prevent them. He seems to be a very
nice young man--in other things; does he not, Dolly?"
"Very nice indeed, Aunt Stanbury."
"And he has done very well in his office. And as for his saying that
he must smoke, I like that a great deal better than doing it on the
sly."
"I don't think Mr. Burgess would do anything on the sly, aunt."
"No, no; I don't think he would. Dear me; he's not at all like what I
fancied."
"Everybody seemed to like him very much."
"Didn't they? I never saw Sir Peter so much taken. And there was
quite a flirtation between him and Mrs. MacHugh. And now, my dear,
tell me about Mr. Gibson."
"There is nothing to tell, Aunt Stanbury."
"Isn't there? From what I saw going on, I thought there would be
something to tell. He was talking to you the whole evening."
"As it happened he was sitting next to me,--of course."
"Indeed he was sitting next to you;--so much so that I thought
everything would be settled."
"If I tell you something, Aunt Stanbury, you mustn't be angry with
me."
"Tell me what? What is it you have to tell me?"
"I don't think I shall ever care for Mr. Gibson;--not in that way."
"Why not, Dorothy?"
"I'm sure he doesn't care for me. And I don't think he means it."
"I tell you he does mean it. Mean it! Why, I tell you it has all been
settled between us. Since I first spoke to you I have explained to
him exactly what I intend to do. He knows that he can give up his
house and come and live here. I am sure he must have said something
about it to you to-night."
"Not a word, Aunt Stanbury."
"Then he will."
"Dear aunt, I do so wish you would prevent it. I don't like him. I
don't indeed."
"Not like him!"
"No;--I don't care for him a bit, and I never shall. I can't help
it, Aunt Stanbury. I thought I would try, but I find it would be
impossible. You can't want me to marry a man if I don't love him."
"I never heard of such a thing in my life. Not love him! And why
shouldn't you love him? He's a gentleman. Everybody respects him.
He'll have plenty to make you comfortable all your life! And then why
didn't you tell me before?"
"I didn't know, Aunt Stanbury. I thought that perhaps--"
"Perhaps what?"
"I could not say all at once that I didn't care for him, when I had
never so much as thought about it for a moment before."
"You haven't told him this?"
"No, I have not told him. I couldn't begin by telling him, you know."
"Then I must pray that you will think about it again. Have you
imagined what a great thing for you it would be to be established for
life,--so that you should never have any more trouble again about a
home, or about money, or anything? Don't answer me now, Dorothy, but
think of it. It seemed to me that I was doing such an excellent thing
for both of you." So saying Miss Stanbury left the room, and Dorothy
was enabled to obey her, at any rate, in one matter. She did think of
it. She laid awake thinking of it almost all the night. But the more
she thought of it, the less able was she to realise to herself any
future comfort or happiness in the idea of becoming Mrs. Gibson.