He Knew He Was Right by Anthony Trollope (ebook reader with internet browser txt) 📖
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time; and till it does, I will shew it as little as may be possible.’
He felt that he had nothing more to say, and then he left her;
but he had gained nothing by the interview. She was still hard and
cold, and still assumed a tone which seemed to imply that she had
manifestly been the injured person.
Colonel Osborne, when he was left alone, stood for a few moments
on the spot, and then with a whistle, a shake of the head, and a
little low chuckle of laughter, rejoined the crowd.
MISS JEMIMA STANBURY, OF EXETER
Miss Jemima Stanbury, the aunt of our friend Hugh, was a maiden
lady, very much respected, indeed, in the city of Exeter. It is to
be hoped that no readers of these pages will be so un-English as
to be unable to appreciate the difference between county society
and town society, the society, that is, of a provincial town,
or so ignorant as not to know also that there may be persons so
privileged, that although they live distinctly within a provincial
town, there is accorded to them, as though by brevet rank, all the
merit of living in the county. In reference to persons so privileged,
it is considered that they have been made free from the contamination
of contiguous bricks and mortar by certain inner gifts, probably of
birth, occasionally of profession, possibly of merit. It is very
rarely, indeed, that money alone will bestow this acknowledged
rank; and in Exeter, which by the stringency and excellence of its
well-defined rules on such matters, may perhaps be said to take
the lead of all English provincial towns, money alone has never
availed. Good blood, especially if it be blood good in Devonshire,
is rarely rejected. Clergymen are allowed within the pale though
by no means as certainly as used to be the case; and, indeed, in
these days of literates, clergymen have to pass harder examinations
than those ever imposed upon them by bishops’ chaplains, before
they are admitted ad eundem among the chosen ones of the city of
Exeter. The wives and daughters of the old prebendaries see well to
that. And, as has been said, special merit may prevail. Sir Peter
Mancrudy, the great Exeter physician, has won his way in, not
at all by being Sir Peter, which has stood in his way rather than
otherwise, but by the acknowledged excellence of his book about
saltzes. Sir Peter Mancrudy is supposed to have quite a metropolitan,
almost a European reputation and therefore is acknowledged to belong
to the county set, although he never dines out at any house beyond
the limits of the city. Now, let it be known that no inhabitant of
Exeter ever achieved a clearer right to be regarded as ‘county,’
in opposition to ‘town,’ than had Miss Jemima Stanbury. There was
not a tradesman in Exeter who was not aware of it, and who did
not touch his hat to her accordingly. The men who drove the flies,
when summoned to take her out at night, would bring oats with them,
knowing how probable it was that they might have to travel far.
A distinct apology was made if she was asked to drink tea with
people who were simply ‘town’. The Noels of Doddescombe Leigh, the
Cliffords of Budleigh Salterton, the Powels of Haldon, the Cheritons
of Alphington—all county persons, but very frequently in the
city—were greeted by her, and greeted her, on terms of equality.
Her most intimate friend was old Mrs MacHugh, the widow of the
last dean but two, who could not have stood higher had she been
the widow of the last bishop. And then, although Miss Stanbury
was intimate with the Frenches of Heavitree, with the Wrights of
Northernhay, with the Apjohns of Helion Villa, a really magnificent
house, two miles out of the city on the Crediton Road, and with
the Crumbies of Cronstadt House, Saint Ide’s, who would have been
county people, if living in the country made the difference, although
she was intimate with all these families, her manner to them was
not the same, nor was it expected to be the same, as with those of
her own acknowledged set. These things are understood in Exeter so
well!
Miss Stanbury belonged to the county set, but she lived in a large
brick house, standing in the Close, almost behind the Cathedral.
Indeed it was so close to the eastern end of the edifice that a
carriage could not be brought quite up to her door. It was a large
brick house, very old, with a door in the middle, and five steps
ascending to it between high iron rails. On each side of the door
there were two windows on the ground floor, and above that there
were three tiers of five windows each, and the house was double
throughout, having as many windows looking out behind into a gloomy
courtyard. But the glory of the house consisted in this, that there
was a garden attached to it, a garden with very high walls, over
which the boughs of trees might be seen, giving to the otherwise
gloomy abode a touch of freshness in the summer, and a look of space
in the winter, which no doubt added something to the reputation
even of Miss Stanbury. The fact for it was a fact that there was
no gloomier or less attractive spot in the whole city than Miss
Stanbury’s garden, when seen inside, did not militate against this
advantage. There were but half-a-dozen trees, and a few square
yards of grass that was never green, and a damp ungravelled path on
which no one ever walked. Seen from the inside the garden was not
much; but, from the outside, it gave a distinct character to the
house, and produced an unexpressed acknowledgment that the owner
of it ought to belong to the county set.
The house and all that was in it belonged to Miss Stanbury herself,
as did also many other houses in the neighbourhood. She was the
owner of the ‘Cock and Bottle,’ a very decent second class inn
on the other side of the Close, an inn supposed to have clerical
tendencies, which made it quite suitable for a close. The choristers
took their beer there, and the landlord was a retired verger. Nearly
the whole of one side of a dark passage leading out of the Close
towards the High Street belonged to her; and though the passage be
narrow and the houses dark, the locality is known to be good for
trade. And she owned two large houses in the High Street, and a
great warehouse at St. Thomas’s, and had been bought out of land
by the Railway at St. David’s much to her own dissatisfaction, as
she was wont to express herself, but, undoubtedly, at a very high
price. It will be understood therefore, that Miss Stanbury was
wealthy, and that she was bound to the city in which she lived by
peculiar ties.
But Miss Stanbury had not been born to this wealth, nor can she
be said to have inherited from her forefathers any of these high
privileges which had been awarded to her. She had achieved them
by the romance of her life and the manner in which she had carried
herself amidst its vicissitudes. Her father had been vicar of
Nuncombe Putney, a parish lying twenty miles west of Exeter, among
the moors. And on her father’s death, her brother, also now dead,
had become vicar of the same parish—her brother, whose only son,
Hugh. Stanbury, we already know, working for the ‘D. R.’ up in
London. When Miss Stanbury was twenty-one she became engaged to
a certain Mr Brooke Burgess, the eldest son of a banker in Exeter
or, it might, perhaps, be better said, a banker himself; for at the
time Mr Brooke Burgess was in the firm. It need not here be told
how various misfortunes arose, how Mr Burgess quarrelled with the
Stanbury family, how Jemima quarrelled with her own family, how,
when her father died, she went out from Nuncombe Putney parsonage,
and lived on the smallest pittance in a city lodging, how her lover
was untrue to her and did not marry her, and how at last he died
and left her every shilling that he possessed.
The Devonshire people, at the time, had been much divided as to
the merits of the Stanbury quarrel. There were many who said that
the brother could not have acted otherwise than he did; and that Miss
Stanbury, though by force of character and force of circumstances
she had weathered the storm, had in truth been very indiscreet.
The results, however, were as have been described. At the period
of which we treat, Miss Stanbury was a very rich lady, living by
herself in Exeter, admitted, without question, to be one of the
county set, and still at variance with her brother’s family. Except
to Hugh, she had never spoken a word to one of them since her
brother’s death. When the money came into her hands, she at that
time being over forty, and her nephew being then just ten years old,
she had undertaken to educate him, and to start him in the world.
We know how she had kept her word, and how and why she had withdrawn
herself from any further responsibility in the matter.
And in regard to this business of starting the young man she had
been careful to let it be known that she would do no more than start
him. In the formal document, by means of which she had made the
proposal to her brother, she had been careful to let it be understood
that simple education was all that she intended to bestow upon him
‘and that only,’ she had added, ‘in the event of my surviving till
his education be completed.’ And to Hugh himself she had declared
that any allowance which she made him after he was called to
the Bar, was only made in order to give him room for his foot, a
spot of ground from whence to make his first leap. We know how he
made that leap, infinitely to the disgust of his aunt, who, when
he refused obedience to her in the matter of withdrawing from the
Daily Record, immediately withdrew from him, not only her patronage
and assistance, but even her friendship and acquaintance. This was
the letter which she wrote to him:
‘I don’t think that writing radical stuff for a penny newspaper is
a respectable occupation for a gentleman, and I will have nothing
to do with it. If you choose to do such work, I cannot help it;
but it was not for such that I sent you to Harrow and Oxford, nor
yet up to London and paid 100 pounds a year to Mr Lambert. I think
you are treating me badly, but that is nothing to your bad treatment
of yourself. You need not trouble yourself to answer this, unless
you are prepared to say that you will not write any more stuff for
that penny newspaper. Only I wish to be understood. I will have
no connection that I can help, and no acquaintance at all, with
radical scribblers and incendiaries.
JEMIMA STANBURY. The Close, Exeter, April 15, 186 .’
Hugh Stanbury had answered this; thanking his aunt for past favours,
and explaining to her or striving to do so that he felt it to be
his duty to earn his bread, as a means of earning it had come within
his reach. He might as well have spared himself the trouble. She
simply wrote a few words across his own letter in red ink: ‘The
bread of unworthiness should never be earned or eaten;’ and
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