MRS. BROOKE BURGESS.
It may be doubted whether there was a happier young woman in England
than Dorothy Stanbury when that September came which was to make
her the wife of Mr. Brooke Burgess, the new partner in the firm of
Cropper and Burgess. Her early aspirations in life had been so low,
and of late there had come upon her such a succession of soft showers
of success,--mingled now and then with slight threatenings of storms
which had passed away,--that the Close at Exeter seemed to her to
have become a very Paradise. Her aunt's temper had sometimes been to
her as the threat of a storm, and there had been the Gibson marriage
treaty, and the short-lived opposition to the other marriage treaty
which had seemed to her to be so very preferable; but everything had
gone at last as though she had been Fortune's favourite,--and now
had come this beautiful arrangement about Cropper and Burgess, which
would save her from being carried away to live among strangers in
London! When she first became known to us on her coming to Exeter,
in compliance with her aunt's suggestion, she was timid, silent,
and altogether without self-reliance. Even they who knew her best
had never guessed that she possessed a keen sense of humour, a nice
appreciation of character, and a quiet reticent wit of her own, under
that staid and frightened demeanour. Since her engagement with Brooke
Burgess it seemed to those who watched her that her character had
become changed, as does that of a flower when it opens itself in its
growth. The sweet gifts of nature within became visible, the petals
sprang to view, and the leaves spread themselves, and the sweet scent
was felt upon the air. Had she remained at Nuncombe, it is probable
that none would ever have known her but her sister. It was necessary
to this flower that it should be warmed by the sun of life, and
strengthened by the breezes of opposition, and filled by the showers
of companionship, before it could become aware of its own loveliness.
Dorothy was one who, had she remained ever unseen in the retirement
of her mother's village cottage, would have lived and died ignorant
of even her own capabilities for enjoyment. She had not dreamed that
she could win a man's love,--had hardly dreamed till she had lived at
Exeter that she had love of her own to give back in return. She had
not known that she could be firm in her own opinion, that she could
laugh herself and cause others to laugh, that she could be a lady and
know that other women were not so, that she had good looks of her own
and could be very happy when told of them by lips that she loved. The
flower that blows the quickest is never the sweetest. The fruit that
ripens tardily has ever the finest flavour. It is often the same with
men and women. The lad who talks at twenty as men should talk at
thirty, has seldom much to say worth the hearing when he is forty;
and the girl who at eighteen can shine in society with composure, has
generally given over shining before she is a full-grown woman. With
Dorothy the scent and beauty of the flower, and the flavour of the
fruit, had come late; but the fruit will keep, and the flower will
not fall to pieces with the heat of an evening.
"How marvellously your bride has changed since she has been here,"
said Mrs. MacHugh to Miss Stanbury. "We thought she couldn't say boo
to a goose at first; but she holds her own now among the best of
'em."
"Of course she does;--why shouldn't she? I never knew a Stanbury yet
that was a fool."
"They are a wonderful family, of course," said Mrs. MacHugh; "but I
think that of all of them she is the most wonderful. Old Barty said
something to her at my house yesterday that wasn't intended to be
kind."
"When did he ever intend to be kind?"
"But he got no change out of her. 'The Burgesses have been in Exeter
a long time,' she said, 'and I don't see why we should not get on at
any rate as well as those before us.' Barty grunted and growled and
slunk away. He thought she would shake in her shoes when he spoke to
her."
"He has never been able to make a Stanbury shake in her shoes yet,"
said the old lady.
Early in September, Dorothy went to Nuncombe Putney to spend a week
with her mother and sister at the cottage. She had insisted on this,
though Priscilla had hinted, somewhat unnecessarily, that Dorothy,
with her past comforts and her future prospects, would find the
accommodation at the cottage very limited. "I suppose you and I,
Pris, can sleep in the same bed, as we always did," she said, with a
tear in each eye. Then Priscilla had felt ashamed of herself, and had
bade her come.
"The truth is, Dolly," said the elder sister, "that we feel so unlike
marrying and giving in marriage at Nuncombe, that I'm afraid you'll
lose your brightness and become dowdy, and grim, and misanthropic, as
we are. When mamma and I sit down to what we call dinner, I always
feel that there is a grace hovering in the air different to that
which she says."
"And what is it, Pris?"
"Pray, God, don't quite starve us, and let everybody else have
indigestion. We don't say it out loud, but there it is; and the
spirit of it might damp the orange blossoms."
She went of course, and the orange blossoms were not damped. She had
long walks with her sister round by Niddon and Ridleigh, and even as
far distant as Cockchaffington, where much was said about that wicked
Colonel as they stood looking at the porch of the church. "I shall be
so happy," said Dorothy, "when you and mother come to us. It will be
such a joy to me that you should be my guests."
"But we shall not come."
"Why not, Priscilla?"
"I know it will be so. Mamma will not care for going, if I do not
go."
"And why should you not come?"
"For a hundred reasons, all of which you know, Dolly. I am stiff,
impracticable, ill-conditioned, and very bad at going about visiting.
I am always thinking that other people ought to have indigestion, and
perhaps I might come to have some such feeling about you and Brooke."
"I should not be at all afraid of that."
"I know that my place in the world is here, at Nuncombe Putney. I
have a pride about myself, and think that I never did wrong but
once,--when I let mamma go into that odious Clock House. It is a bad
pride, and yet I'm proud of it. I haven't got a gown fit to go and
stay with you, when you become a grand lady in Exeter. I don't doubt
you'd give me any sort of gown I wanted."
"Of course I would. Ain't we sisters, Pris?"
"I shall not be so much your sister as he will be your husband.
Besides, I hate to take things. When Hugh sends money, and for
mamma's sake it is accepted, I always feel uneasy while it lasts, and
think that that plague of an indigestion ought to come upon me also.
Do you remember the lamb that came when you went away? It made me so
sick."
"But, Priscilla;--isn't that morbid?"
"Of course it is. You don't suppose I really think it grand. I am
morbid. But I am strong enough to live on, and not get killed by the
morbidity. Heaven knows how much more there may be of it;--forty
years, perhaps, and probably the greater portion of that absolutely
alone;--"
"No;--you'll be with us then,--if it should come."
"I think not, Dolly. Not to have a hole of my own would be
intolerable to me. But, as I was saying, I shall not be unhappy. To
enjoy life, as you do, is I suppose out of the question for me. But
I have a satisfaction when I get to the end of the quarter and find
that there is not half-a-crown due to any one. Things get dearer and
dearer, but I have a comfort even in that. I have a feeling that I
should like to bring myself to the straw a day." Of course there
were offers made of aid,--offers which were rather prayers,--and
plans suggested of what might be done between Brooke and Hugh; but
Priscilla declared that all such plans were odious to her. "Why
should you be unhappy about us?" she continued. "We will come and see
you,--at least I will,--perhaps once in six months, and you shall pay
for the railway ticket; only I won't stay, because of the gown."
"Is not that nonsense, Pris?"
"Just at present it is, because mamma and I have both got new gowns
for the wedding. Hugh sent them, and ever so much money to buy
bonnets and gloves."
"He is to be married himself soon,--down at a place called Monkhams.
Nora is staying there."
"Yes;--with a lord," said Priscilla. "We sha'n't have to go there, at
any rate."
"You liked Nora when she was here?"
"Very much;--though I thought her self-willed. But she is not
worldly, and she is conscientious. She might have married that lord
herself if she would. I do like her. When she comes to you at Exeter,
if the wedding gown isn't quite worn out, I shall come and see her. I
knew she liked him when she was here, but she never said so."
"She is very pretty, is she not? He sent me her photograph."
"She is handsome rather than pretty. I wonder why it is that you two
should be married, and so grandly married, and that I shall never,
never have any one to love."
"Oh, Priscilla, do not say that. If I have a child will you not love
it?"
"It will be your child;--not mine. Do not suppose that I complain.
I know that it is right. I know that you ought to be married and I
ought not. I know that there is not a man in Devonshire who would
take me, or a man in Devonshire whom I would accept. I know that I am
quite unfit for any other kind of life than this. I should make any
man wretched, and any man would make me wretched. But why is it so? I
believe that you would make any man happy."
"I hope to make Brooke happy."
"Of course you will, and therefore you deserve it. We'll go home now,
dear, and get mamma's things ready for the great day."
On the afternoon before the great day all the visitors were to come,
and during the forenoon old Miss Stanbury was in a great fidget.
Luckily for Dorothy, her own preparations were already made, so that
she could give her time to her aunt without injury to herself. Miss
Stanbury had come to think of herself as though all the reality of
her life had passed away from her. Every resolution that she had
formed had been broken. She had had the great enemy of her life,
Barty Burgess, in the house with her upon terms that were intended
to be amicable, and had arranged with him a plan for the division of
the family property. Her sister-in-law, whom in the heyday of her
strength she had chosen to regard as her enemy, and with whom even as
yet there had been no reconciliation, was about to become her guest,
as was also Priscilla,--whom she had ever disliked almost as much as
she had respected. She had quarrelled utterly with Hugh,--in such a
manner as to leave no possible chance of a reconciliation,--and he
also was about to be her guest. And then, as to her chosen heir, she
was now assisting him in doing the only thing, as to which she had
declared that if he did do it, he should not be her heir. As she went
about the house, under an idea that such a multiplicity of persons
could not be housed and fed without superhuman exertion, she thought
of all this, and could not help confessing to herself that her life
had been very vain. It was only when her eyes rested on Dorothy, and
she saw how supremely happy was the one person whom she had taken
most closely to her heart, that she could feel that she had done
anything that should not have been left undone. "I think I'll sit
down now, Dorothy," she said, "or I sha'n't be able to be with you
to-morrow."
"Do, aunt. Everything is all ready, and nobody will be here for an
hour yet. Nothing can be nicer than the rooms, and nothing ever was
done so well before. I'm only thinking how lonely you'll be when
we're gone."
"It'll be only for six weeks."
"But six weeks is such a long time."
"What would it have been if he had taken you up to London, my pet?
Are you sure your mother wouldn't like a fire in her room, Dorothy?"
"A fire in September, aunt?"
"People live so differently. One never knows."
"They never have but one fire at Nuncombe, aunt, summer or winter."
"That's no reason they shouldn't be comfortable here." However, she
did not insist on having the fire lighted.
Mrs. Stanbury and Priscilla came first, and the meeting was certainly
very uncomfortable. Poor Mrs. Stanbury was shy, and could hardly
speak a word. Miss Stanbury thought that her visitor was haughty,
and, though she endeavoured to be gracious, did it with a struggle.
They called each other ma'am, which made Dorothy uneasy. Each of them
was so dear to her, that it was a pity that they should glower at
each other like enemies. Priscilla was not at all shy; but she was
combative, and, as her aunt said of her afterwards, would not keep
her prickles in. "I hope, Priscilla, you like weddings," said Miss
Stanbury to her, not knowing where to find a subject for
conversation.
"In the abstract I like them," said Priscilla. Miss Stanbury did not
know what her niece meant by liking weddings in the abstract, and was
angry.
"I suppose you do have weddings at Nuncombe Putney sometimes," she
said.
"I hope they do," said Priscilla, "but I never saw one. To-morrow
will be my first experience."
"Your own will come next, my dear," said Miss Stanbury.
"I think not," said Priscilla. "It is quite as likely to be yours,
aunt." This, Miss Stanbury thought, was almost an insult, and she
said nothing more on the occasion.
Then came Hugh and the bridegroom. The bridegroom, as a matter of
course, was not accommodated in the house, but he was allowed to
come there for his tea. He and Hugh had come together; and for Hugh
a bed-room had been provided. His aunt had not seen him since he
had been turned out of the house, because of his bad practices, and
Dorothy had anticipated the meeting between them with alarm. It was,
however, much more pleasant than had been that between the ladies.
"Hugh," she said stiffly, "I am glad to see you on such an occasion
as this."
"Aunt," he said, "I am glad of any occasion that can get me an
entrance once more into the dear old house. I am so pleased to see
you." She allowed her hand to remain in his a few moments, and
murmured something which was intended to signify her satisfaction.
"I must tell you that I am going to be married myself, to one of the
dearest, sweetest, and loveliest girls that ever were seen, and you
must congratulate me."
"I do, I do; and I hope you may be happy."
"We mean to try to be; and some day you must let me bring her to you,
and shew her. I shall not be satisfied, if you do not know my wife."
She told Martha afterwards that she hoped that Mr. Hugh had sown his
wild oats, and that matrimony would sober him. When, however, Martha
remarked that she believed Mr. Hugh to be as hardworking a young man
as any in London, Miss Stanbury shook her head sorrowfully. Things
were being very much changed with her; but not even yet was she to be
brought to approve of work done on behalf of a penny newspaper.
On the following morning, at ten o'clock, there was a procession from
Miss Stanbury's house into the Cathedral, which was made entirely on
foot;--indeed, no assistance could have been given by any carriage,
for there is a back entrance to the Cathedral, near to the Lady
Chapel, exactly opposite Miss Stanbury's house. There were many
of the inhabitants of the Close there, to see the procession, and
the cathedral bells rang out their peals very merrily. Brooke, the
bridegroom, gave his arm to Miss Stanbury, which was, no doubt, very
improper,--as he should have appeared in the church as coming from
quite some different part of the world. Then came the bride, hanging
on her brother, then two bridesmaids,--friends of Dorothy's, living
in the town; and, lastly, Priscilla with her mother, for nothing
would induce Priscilla to take the part of a bridesmaid. "You might
as well ask an owl to sing to you," she said. "And then all the
frippery would be thrown away upon me." But she stood close to
Dorothy, and when the ceremony had been performed, was the first,
after Brooke, to kiss her.
Everybody acknowledged that the bride was a winsome bride. Mrs.
MacHugh was at the breakfast, and declared afterwards that Dorothy
Burgess,--as she then was pleased to call her,--was a girl very hard
to be understood. "She came here," said Mrs. MacHugh, "two years ago,
a plain, silent, shy, dowdy young woman, and we all said that Miss
Stanbury would be tired of her in a week. There has never come a time
in which there was any visible difference in her, and now she is one
of our city beauties, with plenty to say to everybody, with a fortune
in one pocket and her aunt in the other, and everybody is saying what
a fortunate fellow Brooke Burgess is to get her. In a year or two
she'll be at the top of everything in the city, and will make her way
in the county too."
The compiler of this history begs to add his opinion to that of
"everybody," as quoted above by Mrs. MacHugh. He thinks that Brooke
Burgess was a very fortunate fellow to get his wife.