He Knew He Was Right by Anthony Trollope (books you need to read .txt) 📕

Both her mother and her sister approved of her conduct. Mrs Stanbury’s

approval was indeed accompanied by many expressions of regret as to the

good things lost. She was fully alive to the fact that life in the

Close at Exeter was better for her daughter than life in their little

cottage at Nuncombe Putney. The outward appearance which Dorothy bore

on her return home was proof of this. Her clothes, the set of her hair,

her very gestures and motions had framed themselves on town ideas. The

faded, wildered, washed-out look, the uncertain, purposeless bearing

which had come from her secluded life and subjection to her sister had

vanished from her. She had lived among people, and had learned

something of their gait and carriage. Money we know will do almost

everything, and no doubt money had had much to do with this. It is very

pretty to talk of the alluring simplicity of a clean calico gown; but

poverty will shew itself to be meagre, dowdy, and draggled in a woman’s

dress, let the woman be ever so simple, ever so neat, ever so

independent, and ever so high-hearted. Mrs Stanbury was quite alive to

all that her younger daughter was losing. Had she not received two

offers of marriage while she was at Exeter? There was no possibility

that offers of marriage should be made in the cottage at Nuncombe

Putney. A man within the walls of the cottage would have been

considered as much out of place as a wild bull. It had been matter of

deep regret to Mrs Stanbury that her daughter should not have found

herself able to marry Mr Gibson. She knew that there was no matter for

reproach in this, but it was a misfortune, a great misfortune. And in

the mother’s breast there had been a sad, unrepressed feeling of regret

that young people should so often lose their chances in the world

through over-fancifulness, and ignorance as to their own good. Now when

she heard the story of Brooke Burgess, she could not but think that had

Dorothy remained at Exeter, enduring patiently such hard words as her

aunt might speak, the love affair might have been brought at some

future time to a happy conclusion. She did not say all this; but there

came on her a silent melancholy, made expressive by constant little

shakings of the head and a continued reproachful sadness of demeanour,

which was quite as intelligible to Priscilla as would have been any

spoken words. But Priscilla’s approval of her sister’s conduct was

clear, outspoken, and satisfactory. She had been quite sure that her

sister had been right about Mr Gibson; and was equally sure that she

was now right about Brooke Burgess. Priscilla had in her mind an idea

that if B. B., as they called him, was half as good as her sister

represented him to be—for indeed Dorothy endowed him with every virtue

consistent with humanity—he would not be deterred from his pursuit

either by Dolly’s letter or by Aunt Stanbury’s commands. But of this

she thought it wise to say nothing. She paid Dolly the warm and

hitherto unaccustomed compliment of equality, assuming to regard her

sister’s judgment and persistent independence to be equally strong with

her own; and, as she knew well, she could not have gone further than

this. ‘I never shall agree with you about Aunt Stanbury,’ she said. ‘To

me she seems to be so imperious, so exacting, and also so unjust, as to

be unbearable.’

‘But she is affectionate,’ said Dolly.

‘So is the dog that bites you, and, for aught I know, the horse that

kicks you. But it is ill living with biting dogs and kicking horses.

But all that matters little as you are still your own mistress. How

strange these nine months have been, with you in Exeter, while we have

been at the Clock House. And here we are, together again in the old

way, just as though nothing had happened.’ But Dorothy knew well that a

great deal had happened, and that her life could never be as it had

been heretofore. The very tone in which her sister spoke to her was

proof of this. She had an infinitely greater possession in herself than

had belonged to her before her residence at Exeter; but that possession

was so heavily mortgaged and so burthened as to make her believe that

the change was to be regretted.

At the end of the first week there came a letter from Aunt Stanbury to

Dorothy. It began by saying that Dolly had left behind her certain

small properties which had now been made up in a parcel and sent by the

railway, carriage paid. ‘But they weren’t mine at all,’ said Dolly,

alluding to certain books in which she had taken delight.’ She means to

give them to you,’ said Priscilla, ‘and I think you must take them.’

‘And the shawl is no more mine than it is yours, though I wore it two

or three times in the winter.’ Priscilla was of opinion that the shawl

must be taken also. Then the letter spoke of the writer’s health, and

at last fell into such a strain of confidential gossip that Mrs

Stanbury, when she read it, could not understand that there had been a

quarrel. ‘Martha says that she saw Camilla French in the street to-day,

such a guy in her new finery as never was seen before except on

May-day.’ Then in the postscript Dorothy was enjoined to answer this

letter quickly. ‘None of your short scraps, my dear,’ said Aunt

Stanbury.

‘She must mean you to go back to her,’ said Mrs Stanbury.

‘No doubt she does,’ said Priscilla; ‘but Dolly need not go because my

aunt means it. We are not her creatures.’

But Dorothy answered her aunt’s letter in the spirit in which it had

been written. She asked after her aunt’s health, thanked her aunt for

the gift of the books in each of which her name had been clearly

written, protested about the shawl, sent her love to Martha and her

kind regards to Jane, and expressed a hope that C. F. enjoyed her new

clothes. She described the cottage, and was funny about the cabbage

stumps in the garden, and at last succeeded in concocting a long

epistle. ‘I suppose there will he a regular correspondence,’ said

Priscilla.

Two days afterwards, however, the correspondence took altogether

another form. The cottage in which they now lived was supposed to be

beyond the beat of the wooden-legged postman, and therefore it was

necessary that they should call at the post-office for their letters.

On the morning in question Priscilla obtained a thick letter from

Exeter for her mother, and knew that it had come from her aunt. Her

aunt could hardly have found it necessary to correspond with Dorothy’s

mother so soon after that letter to Dorothy had been written had there

not arisen some very peculiar cause. Priscilla, after much meditation,

thought it better that the letter should be opened in Dorothy’s

absence, and in Dorothy’s absence the following letter was read both by

Priscilla and her mother.

‘The Close, March 19, 186-.

DEAR SISTER STANBURY,

After much consideration, I think it best to send under cover to you

the enclosed letter from Mr Brooke Burgess, intended for your daughter

Dorothy. You will see that I have opened it and read it as I was

clearly entitled to do, the letter having been addressed to my niece

while she was supposed to be under my care. I do not like to destroy

the letter, though, perhaps, that would be best; but I would advise you

to do so, if it be possible, without shewing it to Dorothy. I have told

Mr Brooke Burgess what I have done.

I have also told him that I cannot sanction a marriage between him and

your daughter. There are many reasons of old date, not to speak of

present reasons, also, which would make such a marriage highly

inexpedient. Mr Brooke Burgess is, of course, his own master, but your

daughter understands completely how the matter stands.

Yours truly,

JEMIMA STANBURY.’

‘What a wicked old woman!’ said Priscilla. Then there arose a question

whether they should read Brooke’s letter, or whether they should give

it unread to Dorothy. Priscilla denounced her aunt in the strongest

language she could use for having broken the seal. “Clearly entitled,”

because Dorothy had been living with her!’ exclaimed Priscilla. ‘She

can have no proper conception of honour or of honesty. She had no more

right to open Dorothy’s letter than she had to take her money.’ Mrs

Stanbury was very, anxious to read Brooke’s letter, alleging that they

would then be able to judge whether it should be handed over to

Dorothy. But Priscilla’s sense of right would not admit of this.

Dorothy must receive the letter from her lover with no further stain

from unauthorised eyes than that to which it had been already

subjected. She was called in, therefore, from the kitchen, and the

whole packet was given to her. ‘Your aunt has read the enclosure,

Dolly; but we have not opened it.’

Dorothy took the packet without a word and sat herself down. She first

read her aunt’s letter very slowly. ‘I understand perfectly,’ she said,

folding it up, almost listlessly, while Brooke’s letter lay still

unopened on her lap. Then she took it up, and held it awhile in both

hands, while her mother and Priscilla watched her. ‘Priscilla,’ she

said, ‘do you read it first.’

Priscilla was immediately at her side, kissing her. ‘No, my darling;

no,’ she said; ‘it is for you to read it.’ Then Dorothy took the

precious contents from the envelope, and opened the folds of the paper.

When she had read a dozen words, her eyes were so suffused with tears,

that she could hardly make herself mistress of the contents of the

letter; but she knew that it contained renewed assurances of her

lover’s love, and assurance on his part that he would take no refusal

from her based on any other ground than that of her own indifference to

him. He had written to Miss Stanbury to the same effect; but he had not

thought it necessary to explain this to Dorothy; nor did Miss Stanbury

in her letter tell them that she had received any communication from

him.‘shall I read it now?’ said Priscilla, as soon as Dorothy again

allowed the letter to fall into her lap.

Both Priscilla and Mrs Stanbury read it, and for awhile they sat with

the two letters among them without much speech about them. Mrs Stanbury

was endeavouring to make herself believe that her sister-in-law’s

opposition might be overcome, and that then Dorothy might be married.

Priscilla was inquiring of herself whether it would be well that

Dorothy should defy her aunt so much, at any rate, and marry the man,

even to his deprivation of the old woman’s fortune. Priscilla had her

doubts about this, being very strong in her ideas of self-denial. That

her sister should put up with the bitterest disappointment rather than

injure the man she loved was right but then it would also be so

extremely right to defy Aunt Stanbury to her teeth! But Dorothy, in

whose character was mixed with her mother’s softness much of the old

Stanbury strength, had no doubt in her mind. It was very sweet to be

so loved. What gratitude did she not owe to a man who was so true to

her! What was she that she should stand in his way? To lay herself down

that she might be crushed in his path was no more than she owed to him.

Mrs Stanbury