"I WOULDN'T DO IT, IF I WAS YOU."
Miss Stanbury at this time was known all through Exeter to be very
much altered from the Miss Stanbury of old;--or even from the Miss
Stanbury of two years since. The Miss Stanbury of old was a stalwart
lady who would play her rubber of whist five nights a week, and could
hold her own in conversation against the best woman in Exeter,--not
to speak of her acknowledged superiority over every man in that city.
Now she cared little for the glories of debate; and though she still
liked her rubber, and could wake herself up to the old fire in the
detection of a revoke or the claim for a second trick, her rubbers
were few and far between, and she would leave her own house on an
evening only when all circumstances were favourable, and with many
precautions against wind and water. Some said that she was becoming
old, and that she was going out like the snuff of a candle. But Sir
Peter Mancrudy declared that she might live for the next fifteen
years, if she would only think so herself. "It was true," Sir Peter
said, "that in the winter she had been ill, and that there had been
danger as to her throat during the east winds of the spring;--but
those dangers had passed away, and, if she would only exert herself,
she might be almost as good a woman as ever she had been." Sir Peter
was not a man of many words, or given to talk frequently of his
patients; but it was clearly Sir Peter's opinion that Miss Stanbury's
mind was ill at ease. She had become discontented with life, and
therefore it was that she cared no longer for the combat of tongues,
and had become cold even towards the card-table. It was so in truth;
and yet perhaps the lives of few men or women had been more innocent,
and few had struggled harder to be just in their dealings and
generous in their thoughts.
There was ever present to her mind an idea of failure and a fear lest
she had been mistaken in her views throughout her life. No one had
ever been more devoted to peculiar opinions, or more strong in the
use of language for their expression; and she was so far true to
herself, that she would never seem to retreat from the position she
had taken. She would still scorn the new fangles of the world around
her, and speak of the changes which she saw as all tending to evil.
But, through it all, there was an idea present to herself that
it could not be God's intention that things should really change
for the worse, and that the fault must be in her, because she had
been unable to move as others had moved. She would sit thinking of
the circumstances of her own life and tell herself that with her
everything had failed. She had loved, but had quarrelled with her
lover; and her love had come to nothing--but barren wealth. She had
fought for her wealth and had conquered;--and had become hard in the
fight, and was conscious of her own hardness. In the early days of
her riches and power she had taken her nephew by the hand,--and had
thrown him away from her because he would not dress himself in her
mirror. She had believed herself to be right, and would not, even
now, tell herself that she had been wrong; but there were doubts, and
qualms of conscience, and an uneasiness,--because her life had been
a failure. Now she was seeking to appease her self-accusations by
sacrificing everything for the happiness of her niece and her chosen
hero; but as she went on with the work she felt that all would be in
vain, unless she could sweep herself altogether from off the scene.
She had told herself that if she could bring Brooke to Exeter, his
prospects would be made infinitely brighter than they would be in
London, and that she in her last days would not be left utterly
alone. But as the prospect of her future life came nearer to her, she
saw, or thought that she saw, that there was still failure before
her. Young people would not want an old woman in the house with
them;--even though the old woman would declare that she would be no
more in the house than a tame cat. And she knew herself also too well
to believe that she could make herself a tame cat in the home that
had so long been subject to her dominion. Would it not be better that
she should go away somewhere,--and die?
"If Mr. Brooke is to come here," Martha said to her one day, "we
ought to begin and make the changes, ma'am."
"What changes? You are always wanting to make changes."
"If they was never made till I wanted them they'd never be made,
ma'am. But if there is to be a married couple there should be things
proper. Anyways, ma'am, we ought to know;--oughtn't we?"
The truth of this statement was so evident that Miss Stanbury could
not contradict it. But she had not even yet made up her mind. Ideas
were running through her head which she knew to be very wild, but
of which she could not divest herself. "Martha," she said, after a
while, "I think I shall go away from this myself."
"Leave the house, ma'am?" said Martha, awestruck.
"There are other houses in the world, I suppose, in which an old
woman can live and die."
"There is houses, ma'am, of course."
"And what is the difference between one and another?"
"I wouldn't do it, ma'am, if I was you. I wouldn't do it if it was
ever so. Sure the house is big enough for Mr. Brooke and Miss Dorothy
along with you. I wouldn't go and make such change as that;--I
wouldn't indeed, ma'am." Martha spoke out almost with eloquence, so
much expression was there in her face. Miss Stanbury said nothing
more at the moment, beyond signifying her indisposition to make up
her mind to anything at the present moment. Yes;--the house was big
enough as far as rooms were concerned; but how often had she heard
that an old woman must always be in the way, if attempting to live
with a newly-married couple? If a mother-in-law be unendurable, how
much more so one whose connection would be less near? She could keep
her own house no doubt, and let them go elsewhere; but what then
would come of her old dream, that Burgess, the new banker in the
city, should live in the very house that had been inhabited by the
Burgesses, the bankers of old? There was certainly only one way out
of all these troubles, and that way would be that she should--go from
them and be at rest.
Her will had now been drawn out and completed for the third or fourth
time, and she had made no secret of its contents either with Brooke
or Dorothy. The whole estate she left to Brooke, including the houses
which were to become his after his uncle's death; and in regard to
the property she had made no further stipulation. "I might have
settled it on your children," she said to him, "but in doing so I
should have settled it on hers. I don't know why an old woman should
try to interfere with things after she has gone. I hope you won't
squander it, Brooke."
"I shall be a steady old man by that time," he said.
"I hope you'll be steady at any rate. But there it is, and God must
direct you in the use of it, if He will. It has been a burthen to
me; but then I have been a solitary old woman." Half of what she had
saved she proposed to give Dorothy on her marriage, and for doing
this arrangements had already been made. There were various other
legacies, and the last she announced was one to her nephew, Hugh. "I
have left him a thousand pounds," she said to Dorothy,--"so that he
may remember me kindly at last." As to this, however, she exacted a
pledge that no intimation of the legacy was to be made to Hugh. Then
it was that Dorothy told her aunt that Hugh intended to marry Nora
Rowley, one of the ladies who had been at the Clock House during the
days in which her mother had lived in grandeur; and then it was also
that Dorothy obtained leave to invite Hugh to her own wedding. "I
hope she will be happier than her sister," Miss Stanbury said, when
she heard of the intended marriage.
"It wasn't Mrs. Trevelyan's fault, you know, aunt."
"I say nothing about anybody's fault; but this I do say, that it was
a very great misfortune. I fought all that battle with your sister
Priscilla, and I don't mean to fight it again, my dear. If Hugh
marries the young lady, I hope she will be more happy than her
sister. There can be no harm in saying that."
Dorothy's letter to her brother shall be given, because it will
inform the reader of all the arrangements as they were made up to
that time, and will convey the Exeter news respecting various persons
with whom our story is concerned.
The Close, July 20th, 186--.
DEAR HUGH,--
The day for my marriage is now fixed, and I wish with all
my heart that it was the same with you. Pray give my love
to Nora. It seems so odd that, though she was living for a
while with mamma at Nuncombe Putney, I never should have
seen her yet. I am very glad that Brooke has seen her, and
he declares that she is quite _magnificently beautiful_.
Those are his own words.
We are to be married on the 10th of August, a Wednesday,
and now comes my great news. Aunt Stanbury says that you
are to come and stay in the house. She bids me tell you so
with her love; and that you can have a room as long as you
like. _Of course you must come._ In the first place, you
must because you are to give me away, and Brooke wouldn't
have me if I wasn't given away properly; and then it will
make me so happy that you and Aunt Stanbury should be
friends again. You can stay as long as you like, but, of
course, you must come the day before the wedding. We are
to be married in the Cathedral, and there are to be two
clergymen, but I don't yet know who they will be;--not Mr.
Gibson, certainly, as you were good enough to suggest.
Mr. Gibson is married to Arabella French, and they have
gone away somewhere into Cornwall. Camilla has come back,
and I have seen her once. She looked ever so fierce, as
though she intended to declare that she didn't mind what
anybody may think. They say that she still protests that
she never will speak to her sister again.
I was introduced to Mr. Barty Burgess the other day.
Brooke was here, and we met him in the Close. I hardly
knew what he said to me, I was so frightened; but Brooke
said that he meant to be civil, and that he is going
to send me a present. I have got a quantity of things
already, and yesterday Mrs. MacHugh sent me such a
beautiful cream-jug. If you'll come in time on the 9th,
you shall see them all before they are put away.
Mamma and Priscilla are to be here, and they will come
on the 9th also. Poor, dear mamma is, I know, terribly
flurried about it, and so is Aunt Stanbury. It is so long
since they have seen each other. I don't think Priscilla
feels it the same way, because she is so brave. Do you
remember when it was first proposed that I should come
here? I am so glad I came,--because of Brooke. He will
come on the 9th, quite early, and I do so hope you will
come with him.
Yours most affectionately,
DOROTHY STANBURY.
Give my best, best love to Nora.