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

‘If she be not my enemy, I will,’ said he.

‘I have never been your enemy, Louis,’ said Nora, ‘and certainly I am

not now.’

‘She had better go,’ he said. ‘It is very little more that I expect of

any one in this world, but I will recognise no one as my friend who will

not acknowledge that I have been sinned against during the last two

years, sinned against cruelly and utterly.’ Emily, who was standing at

the bed-head, shuddered as she heard this, but made no reply. Nor did

Nora speak again, but crept silently out of the room and in half a

minute her sister followed her.

‘I feared how it would be,’ said Nora.

‘We can only do our best. God knows that I try to do mine.’

‘I do not think you will ever see him again,’ said Hugh to her in the

train.

‘Would you have had me act otherwise? It is not that it would have been

a lie. I would not have minded that to ease the shattered feelings of

one so infirm and suffering as he. In dealing with mad people I suppose

one must be false. But I should have been accusing her; and it may be

that he will get well, and it might be that he would then remember what

I had said.’

At the station near Monkhams she was met by Lady Peterborough in the

carriage. A tall footman in livery came on to the platform to shew her

the way and to look after her luggage, and she could not fail to

remember that the man might have been her own servant, instead of being

the servant of her who now sat in Lord Peterborough’s carriage. And

when she saw the carriage, and her ladyship’s great bay horses, and the

glittering harness, and the respectably responsible coachman, and the

arms on the panel, she smiled to herself at the sight of these first

outward manifestations of the rank and wealth of the man who had once

been her lover. There are men who look as though they were the owners

of bay horses and responsible coachmen and family blazons, from whose

outward personal appearance, demeanour, and tone of voice, one would

expect a following of liveries and a magnificence of belongings; but Mr

Glascock had by no means been such a man. It had suited his taste to

keep these things in abeyance, and to place his pride in the oaks and

elms of his park rather than in any of those appanages of grandeur

which a man may carry about with him. He could talk of his breed of

sheep on an occasion, but he never talked of his horses; and though he

knew his position and all its glories as well as any nobleman in

England, he was ever inclined to hang back a little in going out of a

room, and to bear himself as though he were a small personage in the

world. Some perception of all this came across Nora’s mind as she saw

the equipage, and tried to reflect, at a moment’s notice, whether the

case might have been different with her, had Mr Glascock worn a little

of his tinsel outside when she first met him. Of course she told

herself that had he worn it all on the outside, and carried it ever so

gracefully, it could have made no difference.

It was very plain, however, that, though Mr Glascock did not like

bright feathers for himself, he chose that his wife should wear them.

Nothing could be prettier than the way in which Caroline Spalding, whom

we first saw as she was about to be stuck into the interior of the

diligence at St. Michael, now filled her carriage as Lady

Peterborough. The greeting between them was very affectionate, and

there was a kiss in the carriage, even though the two pretty hats,

perhaps, suffered something. ‘We are so glad to have you at last,’ said

Lady Peterborough. ‘Of course we are very quiet; but you won’t mind

that.’ Nora declared that no house could be too quiet for her, and then

said something of the melancholy scene which she had just left. ‘And no

time is fixed for your own marriage? But of course it has not been

possible. And why should you be in a hurry? We quite understand that

this is to be your home till everything has arranged itself.’ There was

a drive of four or five miles before they reached the park gates, and

nothing could be kinder or more friendly than was the new peeress; but

Nora told herself that there was no forgetting that her friend was a

peeress. She would not be so ill-conditioned as to suggest to herself

that her friend patronised her and, indeed, had she done so, the

suggestion would have been false; but she could not rid herself of a

certain sensation of external inferiority, and of a feeling that the

superiority ought to be on her side, as all this might have been hers

only that she had not thought it worth her while to accept it. As these

ideas came into her mind, she hated herself for entertaining them; and

yet, come they would. While she was talking about her emblematic

beefsteak with Hugh, she had no regret, no uneasiness, no conception

that any state of life could be better for her than that state in which

an emblematic beefsteak was of vital importance; but she could not

bring her mind to the same condition of unalloyed purity while sitting

with Lady Peterborough in Lord Peterborough’s carriage. And for her

default in this respect she hated herself.

‘This is the beginning of the park,’ said her friend.

‘And where is the house?’

‘You can’t see the house for ever so far yet; it is two miles off.

There is about a mile before you come to the gates, and over a mile

afterwards. One has a sort of feeling when one is in that one can’t get

out, it is so big.’ In so speaking, it was Lady Peterborough’s special

endeavour to state without a boast facts which were indifferent, but

which must be stated.

‘It is very magnificent,’ said Nora. There was in her voice the

slightest touch of sarcasm, which she would have given the world not to

have uttered, but it had been irrepressible.

Lady Peterborough understood it instantly, and forgave it, not

attributing to it more than its true meaning, acknowledging to herself

that it was natural. ‘Dear Nora,’ she said not knowing what to say,

blushing as she spoke ‘the magnificence is nothing; but the man’s love

is everything.’

Nora shook herself, and determined that she would behave well. The

effort should be made, and the required result should be produced by

it. ‘The magnificence, as an adjunct, is a great deal,’ she said; ‘and

for his sake, I hope that you enjoy it.’

‘Of course I enjoy it.’

‘Wallachia’s teachings and preachings have all been thrown to the wind,

I hope.’

‘Not quite all. Poor dear Wally! I got a letter from her the other day,

which she began by saying that she would attune her correspondence to

my changed condition in life. I understood the reproach so thoroughly!

And, when she told me little details of individual men and women, and

of things she had seen, and said not a word about the rights of women,

or even of politics generally, I felt that I was a degraded creature in

her sight. But, though you laugh at her, she did me good and will do

good to others. Here we are inside Monkhams, and now you must look at

the avenue.’

Nora was now rather proud of herself. She had made the effort, and it

had been successful; and she felt that she could speak naturally, and

express her thoughts honestly. ‘I remember his telling me about the

avenue the first time I ever saw him, and here it is. I did not think

then that I should ever live to see the glories of Monkhams. Does it go

all the way like this to the house?’

‘Not quite; where you see the light at the end, the road turns to the

right, and the house is just before you. There are great iron gates,

and terraces, and wondrous paraphernalia before you get up to the door.

I can tell you Monkhams is quite a wonder. I have to shut myself up

every Wednesday morning, and hand the house over to Mrs Crutch, the

housekeeper, who comes out in a miraculous brown silk gown, to shew it

to visitors. On other days, you’ll find Mrs Crutch quite civil and

useful, but on Wednesdays, she is majestic. Charles always goes off

among his sheep on that day, and I shut myself up with a pile of books

in a little room. You will have to be imprisoned with me. I do so long

to peep at the visitors.’

‘And I dare say they want to peep at you.’

‘I proposed at first to shew them round myself, but Charles wouldn’t let

me.’

‘It would have broken Mrs Crutch’s heart.’

‘That’s what Charles said. He thinks that Mrs Crutch tells them that

I’m locked up somewhere, and that that gives a zest to the search. Some

people from Nottingham once did break into old Lady Peterborough’s

room, and the shew was stopped for a year. There was such a row about

it! It prevented Charles coming up for the county. But he wouldn’t have

got in; and therefore it was lucky, and saved money.’

By this time Nora was quite at her ease; but still there was before her

the other difficulty, of meeting Lord Peterborough. They were driven

out of the avenue, and round to the right, and through the iron gate,

and up to the huge front door. There, upon the top step, was standing

Lord Peterborough, with a billycock hat and a very old shooting coat,

and nankeen trousers, which were considerably too short for him. It was

one of the happinesses of his life to dress just as he pleased as he

went about his own place; and it certainly was his pleasure to wear

older clothes than any one else in his establishment. ‘Miss Rowley,’ he

said, coming forward to give her a hand out of the carriage, ‘I am

delighted that you should see Monkhams at last.’

‘You see I have kept you to your promise. Caroline has been telling me

everything about it; but she is not quite a complete guide as yet. She

does not know where the seven oaks are. Do you remember telling me of

the seven oaks?’

‘Of course I do. They are five miles off at Clatton farm, Carry. I

don’t think you have been near Clatton yet. We will ride there

tomorrow.’ And thus Nora Rowley was made at home at Monkhams.

She was made at home, and after a week or two she was very happy. She

soon perceived that her host was a perfect gentleman, and as such, a

man to be much loved. She had probably never questioned the fact,

whether Mr Glascock was a gentleman or not, and now she did not analyse

it. It probably never occurred to her, even at the present time, to say

to herself that he was certainly that thing, so impossible of

definition, and so capable of recognition; but she knew that she had to

do with one whose presence was always pleasant to her, whose words and

acts towards her extorted her approbation, whose thoughts seemed to her

to be always good and manly. Of course she had not loved him, because

she had