HUGH STANBURY SMOKES ANOTHER PIPE.
Trevelyan was gone, and Bozzle alone knew his address. During the
first fortnight of her residence at St. Diddulph's Mrs. Trevelyan
received two letters from Lady Milborough, in both of which she
was recommended, indeed tenderly implored, to be submissive to
her husband. "Anything," said Lady Milborough, "is better than
separation." In answer to the second letter Mrs. Trevelyan told the
old lady that she had no means by which she could shew any submission
to her husband, even if she were so minded. Her husband had gone
away, she did not know whither, and she had no means by which she
could communicate with him. And then came a packet to her from her
father and mother, despatched from the islands after the receipt by
Lady Rowley of the melancholy tidings of the journey to Nuncombe
Putney. Both Sir Marmaduke and Lady Rowley were full of anger against
Trevelyan, and wrote as though the husband could certainly be brought
back to a sense of his duty, if they only were present. This packet
had been at Nuncombe Putney, and contained a sealed note from Sir
Marmaduke addressed to Mr. Trevelyan. Lady Rowley explained that it
was impossible that they should get to England earlier than in the
spring. "I would come myself at once and leave papa to follow," said
Lady Rowley, "only for the children. If I were to bring them, I
must take a house for them, and the expense would ruin us. Papa has
written to Mr. Trevelyan in a way that he thinks will bring him to
reason."
But how was this letter, by which the husband was to be brought to
reason, to be put into the husband's hands? Mrs. Trevelyan applied
to Mr. Bideawhile and to Lady Milborough, and to Stanbury, for
Trevelyan's address; but was told by each of them that nothing was
known of his whereabouts. She did not apply to Mr. Bozzle, although
Mr. Bozzle was more than once in her neighbourhood; but as yet she
knew nothing of Mr. Bozzle. The replies from Mr. Bideawhile and from
Lady Milborough came by the post; but Hugh Stanbury thought that duty
required him to make another journey to St. Diddulph's and carry his
own answer with him.
And on this occasion Fortune was either very kind to him,--or very
unkind. Whichever it was, he found himself alone for a few seconds
in the parsonage parlour with Nora Rowley. Mr. Outhouse was away at
the time. Emily had gone up-stairs for the boy; and Mrs. Outhouse,
suspecting nothing, had followed her. "Miss Rowley," said he, getting
up from his seat, "if you think it will do any good I will follow
Trevelyan till I find him."
"How can you find him? Besides, why should you give up your own
business?"
"I would do anything--to serve your sister." This he said with
hesitation in his voice, as though he did not dare to speak all that
he desired to have spoken.
"I am sure that Emily is very grateful," said Nora; "but she would
not wish to give you such trouble as that."
"I would do anything for your sister," he repeated, "--for your sake,
Miss Rowley." This was the first time that he had ever spoken a word
to her in such a strain, and it would be hardly too much to say that
her heart was sick for some such expression. But now that it had
come, though there was a sweetness about it that was delicious to
her, she was absolutely silenced by it. And she was at once not only
silent, but stern, rigid, and apparently cold. Stanbury could not but
feel as he looked at her that he had offended her. "Perhaps I ought
not to say as much," said he; "but it is so."
"Mr. Stanbury," said she, "that is nonsense. It is of my sister, not
of me, that we are speaking."
Then the door was opened and Emily came in with her child, followed
by her aunt. There was no other opportunity, and perhaps it was well
for Nora and for Hugh that there should have been no other. Enough
had been said to give her comfort; and more might have led to his
discomposure. As to that matter on which he was presumed to have come
to St. Diddulph's, he could do nothing. He did not know Trevelyan's
address, but did know that Trevelyan had abandoned the chambers in
Lincoln's Inn. And then he found himself compelled to confess that he
had quarrelled with Trevelyan, and that they had parted in anger on
the day of their joint visit to the East. "Everybody who knows him
must quarrel with him," said Mrs. Outhouse. Hugh when he took his
leave was treated by them all as a friend who had been gained. Mrs.
Outhouse was gracious to him. Mrs. Trevelyan whispered a word to him
of her own trouble. "If I can hear anything of him, you may be sure
that I will let you know," he said. Then it was Nora's turn to bid
him adieu. There was nothing to be said. No word could be spoken
before others that should be of any avail. But as he took her hand
in his he remembered the reticence of her fingers on that former day,
and thought that he was sure there was a difference.
On this occasion he made his journey back to the end of Chancery Lane
on the top of an omnibus; and as he lit his little pipe, disregarding
altogether the scrutiny of the public, thoughts passed through his
mind similar to those in which he had indulged as he sat smoking on
the corner of the churchyard wall at Nuncombe Putney. He declared to
himself that he did love this girl; and as it was so, would it not be
better, at any rate more manly, that he should tell her so honestly,
than go on groping about with half-expressed words when he saw her,
thinking of her and yet hardly daring to go near her, bidding himself
to forget her although he knew that such forgetting was impossible,
hankering after the sound of her voice and the touch of her hand, and
something of the tenderness of returned affection,--and yet regarding
her as a prize altogether out of his reach! Why should she be out
of his reach? She had no money, and he had not a couple of hundred
pounds in the world. But he was earning an income which would give
them both shelter and clothes and bread and cheese.
What reader is there, male or female, of such stories as is this, who
has not often discussed in his or her own mind the different sides of
this question of love and marriage? On either side enough may be said
by any arguer to convince at any rate himself. It must be wrong for a
man, whose income is both insufficient and precarious also, not only
to double his own cares and burdens, but to place the weight of that
doubled burden on other shoulders besides his own,--on shoulders that
are tender and soft, and ill adapted to the carriage of any crushing
weight. And then that doubled burden,--that burden of two mouths to
be fed, of two backs to be covered, of two minds to be satisfied, is
so apt to double itself again and again. The two so speedily become
four, and six! And then there is the feeling that that kind of
semi-poverty, which has in itself something of the pleasantness of
independence, when it is borne by a man alone, entails the miseries
of a draggle-tailed and querulous existence when it is imposed on a
woman who has in her own home enjoyed the comforts of affluence. As a
man thinks of all this, if he chooses to argue with himself on that
side, there is enough in the argument to make him feel that not only
as a wise man but as an honest man, he had better let the young lady
alone. She is well as she is, and he sees around him so many who have
tried the chances of marriage and who are not well! Look at Jones
with his wan, worn wife and his five children, Jones who is not yet
thirty, of whom he happens to know that the wretched man cannot look
his doctor in the face, and that the doctor is as necessary to the
man's house as is the butcher! What heart can Jones have for his work
with such a burden as this upon his shoulders? And so the thinker,
who argues on that side, resolves that the young lady shall go her
own way for him.
But the arguments on the other side are equally cogent, and so much
more alluring! And they are used by the same man with reference to
the same passion, and are intended by him to put himself right in his
conduct in reference to the same dear girl. Only the former line of
thoughts occurred to him on a Saturday, when he was ending his week
rather gloomily, and this other way of thinking on the same subject
has come upon him on a Monday, as he is beginning his week with
renewed hope. Does this young girl of his heart love him? And if so,
their affection for each other being thus reciprocal, is she not
entitled to an expression of her opinion and her wishes on this
difficult subject? And if she be willing to run the risk and to
encounter the dangers,--to do so on his behalf, because she is
willing to share everything with him,--is it becoming in him, a man,
to fear what she does not fear? If she be not willing let her say so.
If there be any speaking, he must speak first;--but she is entitled,
as much as he is, to her own ideas respecting their great outlook
into the affairs of the world. And then is it not manifestly God's
ordinance that a man should live together with a woman? How poor
a creature does the man become who has shirked his duty in this
respect, who has done nothing to keep the world going, who has been
willing to ignore all affection so that he might avoid all burdens,
and who has put into his own belly every good thing that has come to
him, either by the earning of his own hands or from the bounty and
industry of others! Of course there is a risk; but what excitement is
there in anything in which there is none? So on the Tuesday he speaks
his mind to the young lady, and tells her candidly that there will be
potatoes for the two of them,--sufficient, as he hopes, of potatoes,
but no more. As a matter of course the young lady replies that
she for her part will be quite content to take the parings for her
own eating. Then they rush deliciously into each other's arms and
the matter is settled. For, though the convictions arising from
the former line of argument may be set aside as often as need be,
those reached from the latter are generally conclusive. That such
a settlement will always be better for the young gentleman and the
young lady concerned than one founded on a sterner prudence is more
than one may dare to say; but we do feel sure that that country will
be most prosperous in which such leaps in the dark are made with the
greatest freedom.
Our friend Hugh, as he sat smoking on the knife-board of the omnibus,
determined that he would risk everything. If it were ordained that
prudence should prevail, the prudence should be hers. Why should he
take upon himself to have prudence enough for two, seeing that she
was so very discreet in all her bearings? Then he remembered the
touch of her hand, which he still felt upon his palm as he sat
handling his pipe, and he told himself that after that he was bound
to say a word more. And moreover he confessed to himself that he was
compelled by a feeling that mastered him altogether. He could not get
through an hour's work without throwing down his pen and thinking of
Nora Rowley. It was his destiny to love her,--and there was, to his
mind, a mean, pettifogging secrecy, amounting almost to daily lying,
in his thus loving her and not telling her that he loved her. It
might well be that she should rebuke him; but he thought that he
could bear that. It might well be that he had altogether mistaken
that touch of her hand. After all it had been the slightest possible
motion of no more than one finger. But he would at any rate know the
truth. If she would tell him at once that she did not care for him,
he thought that he could get over it; but life was not worth having
while he lived in this shifty, dubious, and uncomfortable state. So
he made up his mind that he would go to St. Diddulph's with his heart
in his hand.
In the mean time, Mr. Bozzle had been twice to St. Diddulph's;--and
now he made a third journey there, two days after Stanbury's visit.
Trevelyan, who, in truth, hated the sight of the man, and who
suffered agonies in his presence, had, nevertheless, taught himself
to believe that he could not live without his assistance. That it
should be so was a part of the cruelty of his lot. Who else was there
that he could trust? His wife had renewed her intimacy with Colonel
Osborne the moment that she had left him. Mrs. Stanbury, who had been
represented to him as the most correct of matrons, had at once been
false to him and to her trust, in allowing Colonel Osborne to enter
her house. Mr. and Mrs. Outhouse, with whom his wife had now located
herself, not by his orders, were, of course, his enemies. His old
friend, Hugh Stanbury, had gone over to the other side, and had
quarrelled with him purposely, with malice prepense, because he would
not submit himself to the caprices of the wife who had injured him.
His own lawyer had refused to act for him; and his fast and oldest
ally, the very person who had sounded in his ear the earliest warning
note against that odious villain, whose daily work it was to destroy
the peace of families,--even Lady Milborough had turned against him!
Because he would not follow the stupid prescription which she, with
pig-headed obstinacy, persisted in giving,--because he would not
carry his wife off to Naples,--she was ill-judging and inconsistent
enough to tell him that he was wrong! Who was then left to him but
Bozzle? Bozzle was very disagreeable. Bozzle said things, and made
suggestions to him which were as bad as pins stuck into his flesh.
But Bozzle was true to his employer, and could find out facts. Had
it not been for Bozzle, he would have known nothing of the Colonel's
journey to Devonshire. Had it not been for Bozzle, he would never
have heard of the correspondence; and, therefore, when he left
London, he gave Bozzle a roving commission; and when he went to
Paris, and from Paris onwards, over the Alps into Italy, he furnished
Bozzle with his address. At this time, in the midst of all his
misery, it never occurred to him to inquire of himself whether
it might be possible that his old friends were right, and that
he himself was wrong. From morning to night he sang to himself
melancholy silent songs of inward wailing, as to the cruelty of his
own lot in life;--and, in the mean time, he employed Bozzle to find
out for him how far that cruelty was carried.
Mr. Bozzle was, of course, convinced that the lady whom he was
employed to watch was--no better than she ought to be. That is the
usual Bozzlian language for broken vows, secrecy, intrigue, dirt, and
adultery. It was his business to obtain evidence of her guilt. There
was no question to be solved as to her innocency. The Bozzlian mind
would have regarded any such suggestion as the product of a green
softness, the possession of which would have made him quite unfit for
his profession. He was aware that ladies who are no better than they
should be are often very clever,--so clever, as to make it necessary
that the Bozzles who shall at last confound them should be first-rate
Bozzles, Bozzles quite at the top of their profession,--and,
therefore, he went about his work with great industry and much
caution. Colonel Osborne was at the present moment in Scotland.
Bozzle was sure of that. He was quite in the north of Scotland.
Bozzle had examined his map, and had found that Wick, which was the
Colonel's post-town, was very far north indeed. He had half a mind to
run down to Wick, as he was possessed by a certain honest zeal, which
made him long to do something hard and laborious; but his experience
told him that it was very easy for the Colonel to come up to the
neighbourhood of St. Diddulph's, whereas the lady could not go down
to Wick, unless she were to decide upon throwing herself into her
lover's arms,--whereby Bozzle's work would be brought to an end. He,
therefore, confined his immediate operations to St. Diddulph's.
He made acquaintance with one or two important persons in and about
Mr. Outhouse's parsonage. He became very familiar with the postman.
He arranged terms of intimacy, I am sorry to say, with the housemaid;
and, on the third journey, he made an alliance with the potboy at the
Full Moon. The potboy remembered well the fact of the child being
brought to "our 'ouse," as he called the Full Moon; and he was
enabled to say, that the same "gent as had brought the boy backards
and forrards," had since that been at the parsonage. But Bozzle
was quite quick enough to perceive that all this had nothing to do
with the Colonel. He was led, indeed, to fear that his "governor,"
as he was in the habit of calling Trevelyan in his half-spoken
soliloquies,--that his governor was not as true to him as he was to
his governor. What business had that meddling fellow Stanbury at St.
Diddulph's?--for Trevelyan had not thought it necessary to tell his
satellite that he had quarrelled with his friend. Bozzle was grieved
in his mind when he learned that Stanbury's interference was still
to be dreaded; and wrote to his governor, rather severely, to
that effect; but, when so writing, he was able to give no further
information. Facts, in such cases, will not unravel themselves
without much patience on the part of the investigators.