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

you like,’

Priscilla had urged. But Dorothy was of opinion that she ought not to

stay. She said not a word about Brooke Burgess; but it may be that it

would have been matter of regret to her not to shake hands with him

once more. Brooke declared to her that had she not come back he would

have gone over to Nuncombe to see her; but: Dorothy did not consider

herself entitled to believe that.

 

On the morning of the last day Brooke went over to his uncle’s office.

‘I’ve come to say Goodbye, Uncle Barty,’ he said.

 

‘Goodbye, my boy. Take care of yourself.’

 

‘I mean to try.’

 

‘You haven’t quarrelled with the old woman have you? said Uncle Barty.

 

‘Not yet—that is to say, not to the knife.’

 

‘And you still believe that you are to have her money?’

 

‘I believe nothing one way or the other. You may be sure of this, I

shall never count it mine till I’ve got it; and I shall never make

myself so sure of it, as to break my heart because I don’t get it. I

suppose I’ve got as good a right to it as anybody else, and I don’t see

why I shouldn’t take it if it come in my way.’

 

‘I don’t think it ever will,’ said the old man, after a pause.

 

‘I shall be none the worse,’ said Brooke.

 

‘Yes, you will. You’ll be a broken-hearted man. And she means to break

your heart. She does it on purpose. She has no more idea of leaving you

her money than I have. Why should she?’

 

‘Simply because she takes the fancy.’

 

‘Fancy! Believe me, there is very little fancy about it. There isn’t

one of the name she wouldn’t ruin if she could. She’d break all our

hearts if she could get at them. Look at me and my position. I’m little

more than a clerk in the concern. By God I’m not so well off as a

senior clerk in many a bank. If there came a bad time, I must lose as

the others would lose, but a clerk never loses. And my share in the

business is almost a nothing. It’s just nothing compared to what it

would have been, only for her.’

 

Brooke had known that his uncle was a disappointed, or at least a

discontented man; but he had never known much of the old man’s

circumstances, and certainly had not expected to hear him speak in the

strain that he had now used. He had heard often that his Uncle Barty

disliked Miss Stanbury, and had not been surprised at former sharp,

biting little words spoken to reference to that lady’s character. But

he had not expected such a tirade of abuse as the banker had now poured

out. ‘Of course I know nothing about the bank,’ said he; ‘but I did not

suppose that she had had anything to do with it.’

 

‘Where do you think the money came from that she has got? Did you ever

hear that she had anything of her own? She never had a penny, never a

penny. It came out of this house. It is the capital on which this

business was founded, and on which it ought to be carried on to this

day. My brother had thrown her off; by heavens, yes had thrown her off.

He had found out what she was and had got rid of her.’

 

‘But he left her his money.’

 

‘Yes she got near him when he was dying, and he did leave her his money

—his money, and my money, and your father’s money.’

 

‘He could have given her nothing, Uncle Barty, that wasn’t his own.’

 

‘Of course that’s true it’s true in one way. You might say the same of

a man who was cozened into leaving every shilling away from his own

children. I wasn’t in Exeter when the will was made. We none of us were

here. But she was here; and when we came to see him die, there we found

her. She had had her revenge upon him, and she means to have it on all

of us. I don’t believe she’ll ever leave you a shilling, Brooke. You’ll

find her out yet, and you’ll talk of her to your nephews as I do to

you.’

 

Brooke made some ordinary answer to this, and bade is uncle adieu. He

had allowed himself to entertain a half chivalrous idea that he could

produce a reconciliation between Miss Stanbury and his uncle Barty; and

since he had been at Exeter he had said a word, first to the one and

then to the other, hinting at the subject but his hints had certainly

not been successful. As he walked from the bank into the High Street he

could not fail to ask himself whether there were any grounds for the

terrible accusations which he had just heard from his uncle’s lips.

Something of the same kind, though in form much less violent, had been

repeated to him very often by others of the family. Though he had as a

boy known Miss Stanbury well, he had been taught to regard her as an

ogress. All the Burgesses had regarded Miss Stanbury as an ogress since

that unfortunate will had come to light. But she was an ogress from

whom something might be gained and the ogress had still persisted in

saying that a Burgess should be her heir. It had therefore come to pass

that Brooke had been brought up half to revere her and half to abhor

her. ‘She is a dreadful woman,’ said his branch of the family, ‘who will

not scruple at anything evil. But as it seems that you may probably

reap the advantage of the evil that she does, it will become you to put

up with her iniquity.’ As he had become old enough to understand the

nature of her position, he had determined to judge for himself; but his

judgment hitherto simply amounted to this, that Miss Stanbury was a very

singular old woman, with a kind heart and good instincts, but so

capricious withal that no sensible man would risk his happiness on

expectations formed on her promises. Guided by this opinion, he had

resolved to be attentive to her and, after a certain fashion,

submissive; but certainly not to become her slave. She had thrown over

her nephew. She was constantly complaining to him of her niece. Now and

again she would say a very bitter word to him about himself. When he

had left Exeter on his little excursion, no one was so much in favour

with her as Mr Gibson. On his return he found that Mr Gibson had been

altogether discarded, and was spoken of in terms of almost insolent

abuse. ‘If I were ever so humble to her,’ he had said to himself, ‘it

would do no good; and there is nothing I hate so much as humility.’ He

had thus determined to take the goods the gods provided, should it ever

come to pass that such godlike provision was laid before him out of

Miss Stanbury’s coffers but not to alter his mode of life or put

himself out of his way in obedience to her behests, as a man might be

expected to do who was destined to receive so rich a legacy. Upon this

idea he had acted, still believing the old woman to be good, but

believing at the same time that she was very capricious. Now he had

heard what his Uncle Bartholomew Burgess had had to say upon the

matter, and he could not refrain from asking himself whether his

uncle’s accusations were true.

 

In a narrow passage between the High Street and the Close he met Mr

Gibson. There had come to be that sort of intimacy between the two men

which grows from closeness of position rather than from any social

desire on either side, and it was natural that Burgess should say a

word of farewell. On the previous evening Miss Stanbury had relieved

her mind by turning Mr Gibson into ridicule in her description to

Brooke of the manner in which the clergyman had carried on his love

affair; and she had at the same time declared that Mr Gibson had been

most violently impertinent to herself. He knew, therefore, that Miss

Stanbury and Mr Gibson had become two, and would on this occasion have

passed on without a word relative to the old lady had Mr Gibson allowed

him to do so. But Mr Gibson spoke his mind freely.

 

‘Off tomorrow, are you?’ he said. ‘Goodbye. I hope we may meet again;

but not in the same house, Mr Burgess.’

 

‘There or anywhere, I shall be very happy,’ said Brooke.

 

‘Not there, certainly. While you were absent Miss Stanbury treated me

in such a way that I shall certainly never put my foot in her house

again.’

 

‘Dear me! I thought that you and she were such great friends.’

 

‘I knew her very well, of course and respected her. She is a good

churchwoman, and is charitable in the city; but she has got such a

tongue in her head that there is no bearing it when she does what she

calls giving you a bit of her mind.’

 

‘She has been indulgent to me, and has not given me much of it.’

 

‘Your time will come, I’ve no doubt,’ continued Mr Gibson. ‘Everybody

has always told me that it would be so. Even her oldest friends knew

it. You ask Mrs MacHugh, or Mrs French, at Heavitree.’

 

‘Mrs French!’ said Brooke, laughing. ‘That would hardly be fair

evidence.’

 

‘Why not? I don’t know a better judge of character in all Exeter than

Mrs French. And she and Miss Stanbury have been intimate all their

lives. Ask your uncle at the bank.’

 

‘My uncle and Miss Stanbury never were friends,’ said Brooke.

 

‘Ask Hugh Stanbury what he thinks of her. But don’t suppose I want to

say a word against her. I wouldn’t for the world do such a thing. Only,

as we’ve met there and all that, I thought it best to let you know that

she had treated me in such a way, and has been altogether so violent,

that I never will go there again.’ So saying, Mr Gibson passed on, and

was of opinion that he had spoken with great generosity of the old

woman who had treated him so badly.

 

In the afternoon Brooke Burgess went over to the further end of the

Close, and called on Mrs MacHugh; and from thence he walked across to

Heavitree, and called on the Frenches. It may be doubted whether he

would have been so well behaved to these ladies had they not been

appealed to by Mr Gibson as witnesses to the character of Miss

Stanbury. He got very little from Mrs MacHugh. That lady was kind and

cordial, and expressed many wishes that she might see him again in

Exeter. When he said a few words about Mr Gibson, Mrs MacHugh only

laughed, and declared that the gentleman would soon find a plaister for

that sore. ‘There are more fishes than one in the sea,’ she said.

 

‘But I’m afraid they’ve quarrelled, Mrs MacHugh.’

 

‘So they tell me. What should we have to talk about here if somebody

didn’t quarrel sometimes? She and I ought to get up a quarrel for the

good of the public, only they know that I never can quarrel with

anybody. I never see anybody interesting enough to quarrel with.’ But

Mrs MacHugh said nothing about Miss Stanbury, except that she sent over

a message with reference to a rubber of whist for