He Knew He Was Right by Anthony Trollope (ebook reader with internet browser txt) 📖

Dorothy,’ said Martha.

Then Miss Stanbury could not restrain herself but descended the stairs,

moving as she had never moved since she had first been ill. ‘My bairn,’

she said; ‘my dearest bairn! I thought that perhaps it might be so.

Jane, another tea-cup and saucer upstairs.’ What a pity that she had

not ordered it before! ‘And get a hot cake, Jane. You will be ever so

hungry, my darling, after your journey.’

 

‘Are you glad to see me, Aunt Stanbury?’ said Dorothy.

 

‘Glad, my pretty one!’ Then she put up her hands, and smoothed down the

girl’s cheeks, and kissed her, and patted Martha on the back, and

scolded her at the same time for not bringing Miss Dorothy from the

station in a cab. ‘And what is the meaning of that little bag?’ she

said. ‘You shall go back for the rest yourself, Martha, because it is

your own fault.’ Martha knew that all this was pleasant enough, but then

her mistress’s moods would sometimes be changed so suddenly! How would

it be when Miss Stanbury knew that Brooke Burgess had been left behind

at Nuncombe Putney?

 

‘You see I didn’t stay to eat any of the lamb,’ said Dorothy, smiling.

 

‘You shall have a calf instead, my dear,’ said Miss Stanbury, ‘because

you are a returned prodigal.’

 

All this was very pleasant, and Miss Stanbury was so happy dispensing

her tea, and the hot cake, and the clotted cream, and was so intent

upon her little methods of caressing and petting her niece, that

Dorothy had no heart to tell her story while the plates and cups were

still upon the table. She had not, perhaps, cared much for the hot

cake, having such a weight upon her mind, but she had seemed to care,

understanding well that she might so best conduce to her aunt’s

comfort. Miss Stanbury was a woman who could not bear that the good

things which she had provided for a guest should not be enjoyed. She

could taste with a friend’s palate, and drink with a friend’s throat.

But when debarred these vicarious pleasures by what seemed to her to be

the caprice of her guests, she would be offended. It had been one of

the original sins of Camilla and Arabella French that they would

declare at her tea-table that they had dined late and could not eat

tea-cake. Dorothy knew all this and did her duty, but with a heavy

heart. There was the story to be told, and she had promised Martha that

it should be told tonight. She was quite aware, too, independently of

her promise, that it was necessary that it should be told tonight. It

was very sad very grievous that the dear old lady’s happiness should be

disturbed so soon; but it must be done. When the tea-things were being

taken away her aunt was still purring round her, and saying gentle,

loving words. Dorothy bore it as well as she could bore it well,

smiling and kissing her aunt’s hand, and uttering now and then some

word of affection. But the thing had to be done; and as soon as the

room was quiet for a moment, she jumped up from her chair and began.

‘Aunt Stanbury, I must tell you something at once. Who, do you think,

is at Nuncombe Putney?’

 

‘Not Brooke Burgess?’

 

‘Yes, he is. He is there now, and is to be here with you tomorrow.’

 

The whole colour and character of Miss Stanbury’s face was changed in a

moment. She had been still purring up to the moment in which this

communication had been made to her. Her gratification had come to her

from the idea that her pet had come back to her from love of her as in

very truth had been the case; but now it seemed that Dorothy had

returned to ask for a great favour for herself. And she reflected at

once that Brooke had passed through Exeter without seeing her. If he

was determined to marry without reference to her, he might at any rate

have had the grace to come to her and say so. She, in the fulness of

her heart, had written words of affection to Dorothy, and both Dorothy

and Brooke had at once taken advantage of her expressions for their own

purposes. Such was her reading of the story of the day. ‘He need not

trouble himself to come here now,’ she said.

 

‘Dear aunt, do not say that.’

 

‘I do say it. He need not trouble himself to come now. When I said that

I should be glad to see you, I did not intend that you should meet Mr

Burgess under my roof. I did not wish to have you both together.’

 

‘How could I help coming, when you wrote to me like that?’

 

‘It is very well, but he need not come. He knows the way from Nuncombe

to London without stopping at Exeter.’

 

‘Aunt Stanbury, you must let me tell it you all.’

 

‘There is no more to tell, I should think.’

 

‘But there is more. You knew what he thought about me, and what he

wished.’

 

‘He is his own master, my dear and you are your own mistress.’

 

‘If you speak to me like that you will kill me, Aunt Stanbury. I did

not think of coming, only when Martha brought your dear letter I could

not help it. But he was coming. He meant to come tomorrow, and he will.

Of course he must defend himself, if you are angry with him.’

 

‘He need not defend himself at all.’

 

‘I told them, and I told him, that I would only stay one night if you

did not wish that we should be here together. You must see him, Aunt

Stanbury. You would not refuse to see him.’

 

‘If you please, my dear, you must allow me to judge whom I will see.’

 

After that the discussion ceased between them for awhile, and Miss

Stanbury left the room that she might hold a consultation with Martha.

Dorothy went up to her chamber, and saw that everything had been

prepared for her with most scrupulous care. Nothing could be whiter,

neater, cleaner, nicer than was everything that surrounded her. She had

perceived while living under her aunt’s roof, how, gradually, small

delicate feminine comforts had been increased for her. Martha had been

told that Miss Dorothy ought to have this, and that Miss Dorothy ought

to have that; till at last she, who had hitherto known nothing of the

small luxuries that come from an easy income, had felt ashamed of the

prettinesses that had been added to her. Now she could see at once that

infinite care had been used to make her room bright and smiling only in

the hope that she would return. As soon as she saw it all, she sat down

on her bed and burst out into tears. Was it not hard upon her that she

should be forced into such ingratitude! Every comfort prepared for her

was a coal of hot fire upon her head. And yet, what had she done that

she ought not to have done? Was it unreasonable that she should have

loved this man, when they two were brought together? And had she even

dared to think of him otherwise than as an acquaintance till he had

compelled her to confess her love? And after that had she not tried to

separate herself from him, so that they two, her aunt and her lover,

might be divided by no quarrel? Had not Priscilla told her that she was

right in all that she was doing? Nevertheless, in spite of all this,

she could not refrain from accusing herself of ingratitude towards her

aunt. And she began to think it would have been better for her now to

have remained at home, and have allowed Brooke to come alone to Exeter

than to have obeyed the impulse which had arisen from the receipt of

her aunt’s letter. When she went down again she found herself alone in

the room, and she was beginning to think that it was intended that she

should go to bed without again seeing her aunt; but at last Miss

Stanbury came to her, with a sad countenance, but without that look of

wrath which Dorothy knew so well. ‘My dear,’ she said, ‘it will be

better that Mr Burgess should go up to London tomorrow. I will see him,

of course, if he chooses to come, and Martha shall meet him at the

station and explain it. If you do not mind, I would prefer that you

should not meet him here.’

 

‘I meant only to stay one night, aunt.’

 

‘That is nonsense. If I am to part with either of you, I will part with

him. You are dearer to me than he is. Dorothy, you do not know how dear

to me you are.’

 

Dorothy immediately fell on her knees at her aunt’s feet, and hid her

face in her aunt’s lap. Miss Stanbury twined round her fingers the soft

hair, which she loved so well because it was a grace given by God and

not bought out of a shop, and caressed the girl’s head, and muttered

something that was intended for a prayer. ‘If he will let me, aunt, I

will give him up,’ said Dorothy, looking up into her aunt’s face. ‘If

he will say that I may, though I shall love him always, he may go.’

 

‘He is his own master,’ said Miss Stanbury. ‘Of course he is his own

master.’

 

‘Will you let me return tomorrow just for a few days and then you can

talk to him as you please. I did not mean to come to stay. I wished him

good-bye because I knew that I should not meet him here.’

 

‘You always talk of going away, Dorothy, as soon as ever you are in the

house. You are always threatening me.’

 

‘I will come again, the moment you tell me. If he goes in the morning,

I will be here the same evening. And I will write to him, Aunt Stanbury,

and tell him that he is quite free, quite free, quite free.’

 

Miss Stanbury made no reply to this, but sat, still playing with her

niece’s hair. ‘I think I will go to bed,’ she said at last. ‘It is past

ten. You need not go to Nuncombe, Dorothy. Martha shall meet him, and

he can see me here. But I do not wish him to stay in the house. You can

go over and call on Mrs MacHugh. Mrs MacHugh will take it well of you

that you should call on her.’ Dorothy made no further opposition to

this arrangement, but kissed her aunt, and went to her chamber.

 

How was it all to be for her? For the last two days she had been

radiant with new happiness. Everything had seemed to be settled. Her

lover, in his high-handed way, had declared that in no important crisis

of life would he allow himself to be driven out of his way by the fear

of what an old woman might do in her will. When Dorothy assured him

that not for worlds would she, though she loved him dearly, injure his

material prospects, he had thrown it all aside, after a grand fashion,

that had really made the girl think that all Miss Stanbury’s money was

as nothing to his love for her. She and Priscilla and her mother had

been carried away so entirely by Brooke’s oratory as to feel for the

time that the difficulties were entirely conquered. But now the aspect

of things was so different! Whatever Brooke might owe to