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

years; and now he’s to be here next week! Dear, dear! When I think

sometimes of all the hard words that have been spoken, and the harder

thoughts that have been in people’s minds, I often regret that the

money ever came to me at all. I could have done without it very well,

very well.’

‘But all the unpleasantness is over now, aunt.’

‘I don’t know about that. Unpleasantness of that kind is apt to rankle

long. But I wasn’t going to give up my rights. Nobody but a coward does

that. They talked of going to law and trying the will, but they

wouldn’t have got much by that. And then they abused me for two years.

When they had done and got sick of it, I told them they should have it

all back again as soon as I am dead. It won’t be long now. This Burgess

is the elder nephew, and he shall have it all.’

‘Is not he grateful?’

‘No. Why should he be grateful? I don’t do it for special love of him.

I don’t want his gratitude; nor anybody’s gratitude. Look at Hugh. I

did love him.’

‘I am grateful, Aunt Stanbury.’

‘Are you, my dear? Then show it by being a good wife to Mr Gibson, and

a happy wife. I want to get everything settled while Burgess is here.

If he is to have it, why should I keep him out of it whilst I live? I

wonder whether Mr Gibson would mind coming and living here, Dolly?’

The thing was coming so near to her that Dorothy began to feel that she

must, in truth, make up her mind, and let her aunt know also how it had

been made up. She was sensible enough to perceive that if she did not

prepare herself for the occasion she would find herself hampered by an

engagement simply because her aunt had presumed that it was out of the

question that she should not acquiesce. She would drift into marriage

with Mr Gibson against her will. Her greatest difficulty was the fact

that her aunt clearly had no doubt on the subject. And as for herself,

hitherto her feelings did not, on either side, go beyond doubts.

Assuredly it would be a very good thing for her to become Mrs Gibson,

if only she could create for herself some attachment for the man. At

the present moment her aunt said nothing more about Mr Gibson, having

her mind much occupied with the coming of Mr Brooke Burgess.

‘I remember him twenty years ago and more; as nice a boy as you would

wish to see. His father was the fourth of the brothers. Dear, dear!

Three of them are gone; and the only one remaining is old Barty, whom

no one ever loved.’

The Burgesses had been great people in Exeter, having been both bankers

and brewers there, but the light of the family had paled; and though

Bartholomew Burgess, of whom Miss Stanbury declared that no one had

ever loved him, still had a share in the bank, it was well understood

in the city that the real wealth in the firm of Cropper and Burgess

belonged to the Cropper family. Indeed the most considerable portion of

the fortune that had been realised by old Mr Burgess had come into the

possession of Miss Stanbury herself. Bartholomew Burgess had never

forgiven his brother’s will, and between him and Jemima Stanbury the

feud was irreconcileable. The next brother, Tom Burgess, had been a

solicitor at Liverpool, and had done well there. But Miss Stanbury knew

nothing of the Tom Burgesses as she called them. The fourth brother,

Harry Burgess, had been a clergyman, and this Brooke Burgess, Junior,

who was now coming to the Close, had been left with a widowed mother,

the eldest of a large family. It need not now be told at length how

there had been ill-blood also between this clergyman and the heiress.

There had been attempts at friendship, and at one time Miss Stanbury

had received the Rev. Harry Burgess and all his family at the Close but

the attempts had not been successful; and though our old friend had

never wavered in her determination to leave the money all back to some

one of the Burgess family, and with this view had made a pilgrimage to

London some twelve years since, and had renewed her acquaintance with

the widow and the children, still there had been no comfortable

relations between her and any of the Burgess family. Old Barty Burgess,

whom she met in the Close, or saw in the High Street every day of her

life, was her great enemy. He had tried his best so at least she was

convinced to drive her out of the pale of society, years upon years

ago, by saying evil things of her. She had conquered in that combat.

Her victory had been complete, and she had triumphed after a most

signal fashion. But this triumph did not silence Barty’s tongue, nor

soften his heart. When she prayed to be forgiven, as she herself

forgave others, she always exempted Barty Burgess from her prayers.

There are things which flesh and blood cannot do. She had not liked

Harry Burgess’ widow, nor, for the matter of that, Harry Burgess

himself. When she had last seen the children she had not liked any of

them much, and had had her doubts even as to Brooke. But with that

branch of the family she was willing to try again. Brooke was now

coming to the Close, having received, however, an intimation, that if,

during his visit to Exeter, he chose to see his Uncle Barty, any such

intercourse must be kept quite in the background. While he remained in

Miss Stanbury’s house he was to remain there as though there were no

such person as Mr Bartholomew Burgess in Exeter.

At this time Brooke Burgess was a man just turned thirty, and was a

clerk in the Ecclesiastical Record Office, in Somerset House. No doubt

the peculiar nature and name of the public department to which he was

attached had done something to recommend him to Miss Stanbury.

Ecclesiastical records were things greatly to be reverenced in her

eyes, and she felt that a gentleman who handled them and dealt with

them would probably be sedate, gentlemanlike, and conservative. Brooke

Burgess, when she had last seen him, was just about to enter upon the

duties of the office. Then there had come offence, and she had in truth

known nothing of him from that day to this. The visitor was to be at

Exeter on the following Monday, and very much was done in preparation

of his coming. There was to be a dinner party on that very day, and

dinner parties were not common with Miss Stanbury. She had, however,

explained to Martha that she intended to put her best foot forward.

Martha understood perfectly that Mr Brooke Burgess was to be received

as the heir of property. Sir Peter Mancrudy, the great Devonshire

chemist, was coming to dinner, and Mr and Mrs Powel from Haldon, people

of great distinction in that part of the county, Mrs MacHugh of course;

and, equally of course, Mr Gibson. There was a deep discussion between

Miss Stanbury and Martha as to asking two of the Cliffords, and Mr and

Mrs Noel from Doddiscombeleigh. Martha had been very much in favour of

having twelve. Miss Stanbury had declared that with twelve she must

have two waiters from the greengrocers, and that two waiters would

overpower her own domesticities below stairs. Martha had declared that

she didn’t care about them any more than if they were puppy dogs. But

Miss Stanbury had been quite firm against twelve. She had consented to

have ten for the sake of artistic arrangement at the table; ‘They

should be pantaloons and petticoats alternate, you know,’ she had said

to Martha and had therefore asked the Cliffords. But the Cliffords

could not come, and then she had declined to make any further attempt.

Indeed, a new idea had struck her. Brooke Burgess, her guest, should

sit at one end of the table, and Mr Gibson, the clergyman, at the

other. In this way the proper alternation would be effected. When

Martha heard this, Martha quite understood the extent of the good

fortune that was in store for Dorothy. If Mr Gibson was to be welcomed

in that way, it could only be in preparation of his becoming one of the

family.

And Dorothy herself became aware that she must make up her mind. It was

not so declared to her, but she came to understand that it was very

probable that something would occur on the coming Monday which would

require her to be ready with her answer on that day. And she was

greatly tormented by feeling that if she could not bring herself to

accept Mr Gibson should Mr Gibson propose to her, as to which she

continued to tell herself that the chance of such a thing must be very

remote indeed, but that if he should propose to her, and if she could

not accept him, her aunt ought to know that it would be so before the

moment came. But yet she could not bring herself to speak to her aunt

as though any such proposition were possible.

It happened that during the week, on the Saturday, Priscilla came into

Exeter. Dorothy met her sister at the railway station, and then the two

walked together two miles and back along the Crediton Road. Aunt

Stanbury had consented to Priscilla coming to the Close, even though it

was not the day appointed for such visits; but the walk had been

preferred, and Dorothy felt that she would be able to ask for counsel

from the only human being to whom she could have brought herself to

confide the fact that a gentleman was expected to ask her to marry him.

But it was not till they had turned upon their walk, that she was able

to open her mouth on the subject even to her sister. Priscilla had been

very full of their own cares at Nuncombe, and had said much of her

determination to leave the Clock House and to return to the retirement

of some small cottage. She had already written to Hugh to this effect,

and during their walk had said much of her own folly in having

consented to so great a change in their mode of life. At last Dorothy

struck in with her story.

‘Aunt Stanbury wants me to make a change too.’

‘What change?’ asked Priscilla anxiously.

‘It is not my idea, Priscilla, and I don’t think that there can be

anything in it. Indeed, I’m sure there isn’t. I don’t see how it’s

possible that there should be.’

‘But what is it, Dolly?’

‘I suppose there can’t be any harm in my telling you.’

‘If it’s anything concerning yourself, I should say not. If it concerns

Aunt Stanbury, I dare say she’d rather you held your tongue.’

‘It concerns me most,’ said Dorothy.

‘She doesn’t want you to leave her, does she?’

‘Well; yes; no. By what she said last I shouldn’t leave her at all in

that way. Only I’m sure it’s not possible.’

‘I am the worst hand in the world, Dolly, at guessing a riddle.’

‘You’ve heard of that Mr Gibson, the clergyman haven’t you?’

‘Of course I have.’

‘Well—. Mind, you know, it’s only what Aunt Stanbury says. He has never

so much as opened his lips to me himself, except to say, “How do you

do?” and that kind of thing.’

‘Aunt Stanbury wants you to marry him?’