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

THE ‘FULL MOON’ AT ST. DIDDULPH’S

The receipt of Mrs Trevelyan’s letter on that Monday morning was a

great surprise both to Mr and Mrs Outhouse. There was no time for any

consideration, no opportunity for delaying their arrival till they

should have again referred the matter to Mr Trevelyan. Their two nieces

were to be with them on that evening, and even the telegraph wires, if

employed with such purpose, would not be quick enough to stop their

coming. The party, as they knew, would have left Nuncombe Putney before

the arrival of the letter at the parsonage of St. Diddulph’s. There

would have been nothing in this to have caused vexation, had it not

been decided between Trevelyan and Mr Outhouse that Mrs Trevelyan was

not to find a home at the parsonage. Mr Outhouse was greatly afraid of

being so entangled in the matter as to be driven to take the part of

the wife against the husband; and Mrs Outhouse, though she was full of

indignation against Trevelyan, was at the same time not free from anger

in regard to her own niece. She more than once repeated that most

unjust of all proverbs, which declares that there is never smoke

without fire, and asserted broadly that she did not like to be with

people who could not live at home, husbands with wives, and wives with

husbands, in a decent, respectable manner. Nevertheless the

preparations went on busily, and when the party arrived at seven

o’clock in the evening, two rooms had been prepared close to each

other, one for the two sisters, and the other for the child and nurse,

although poor Mr Outhouse himself was turned out of his own little

chamber in order that the accommodation might be given. They were all

very hot, very tired, and very dusty, when the cab reached the

parsonage. There had been the preliminary drive from Nuncombe Putney to

Lessboro’. Then the railway journey from thence to the Waterloo Bridge

Station had been long. And it had seemed to them that the distance from

the station to St. Diddulph’s had been endless. When the cabman was

told whither he was to go, he looked doubtingly at his poor old horse,

and then at the luggage which he was required to pack on the top of his

cab, and laid himself out for his work with a full understanding that

it would not be accomplished without considerable difficulty. The

cabman made it twelve miles from Waterloo Bridge to St. Diddulph’s, and

suggested that extra passengers and parcels would make the fare up to

ten and six. Had he named double as much Mrs Trevelyan would have

assented. So great was the fatigue, and so wretched the occasion, that

there was sobbing and crying in the cab, and when at last the parsonage

was reached, even the nurse was hardly able to turn her hand to

anything. The poor wanderers were made welcome on that evening without

a word of discussion as to the cause of their coming. ‘I hope you are

not angry with us, Uncle Oliphant,’ Emily Trevelyan had said, with

tears in her eyes. ‘Angry with you, my dear for coming to our house!

How could I be angry with you?’ Then the travellers were hurried

upstairs by Mrs Outhouse, and the master of the parsonage was left

alone for a while. He certainly was not angry, but he was ill at ease,

and unhappy. His guests would probably remain with him for six or seven

months. He had resolutely refused all payment from Mr Trevelyan, but,

nevertheless, he was a poor man. It is impossible to conceive that a

clergyman in such a parish as St. Diddulph’s, without a private income,

should not be a poor man. It was but a hand-to-mouth existence which he

lived, paying his way as his money came to him, and sharing the

proceeds of his parish with the poor. He was always more or less in

debt. That was quite understood among the tradesmen. And the butcher

who trusted him, though he was a bad churchman, did not look upon the

parson’s account as he did on other debts. He would often hint to Mr

Outhouse that a little money ought to be paid, and then a little money

would be paid. But it was never expected that the parsonage bill should

be settled. In such a household the arrival of four guests, who were

expected to remain for an almost indefinite number of months, could not

be regarded without dismay. On that first evening, Emily and Nora did

come down to tea, but they went up again to their rooms almost

immediately afterwards; and Mr Outhouse found that many hours of

solitary meditation were allowed to him on the occasion. ‘I suppose

your brother has been told all about it,’ he said to his wife, as soon

as they were together on that evening.

‘Yes he has been told. She did not write to her mother till after she

had got to Nuncombe Putney. She did not like to speak about her

troubles while there was a hope that things might be made smooth.’

‘You can’t blame her for that, my dear.’

‘But there was a month lost, or nearly. Letters go only once a month.

And now they can’t hear from Marmaduke or Bessy,’ Lady Rowley’s name

was Bessy ‘till the beginning of September.’

‘That will be in a fortnight.’

‘But what can my brother say to them? He will suppose that they are

still down in Devonshire.’

‘You don’t think he will come at once?’

‘How can he, my dear? He can’t come without leave, and the expense

would be ruinous. They would stop his pay, and there would be all

manner of evils. He is to come in the spring, and they must stay here

till he comes.’ The parson of St. Diddulph’s sighed and groaned. Would

it not have been almost better that he should have put his pride in his

pocket, and have consented to take Mr Trevelyan’s money?

On the second morning Hugh Stanbury called at the parsonage, and was

closeted for a while with the parson. Nora had heard his voice in the

passage, and every one in the house knew who it was that was talking to

Mr Outhouse, in the little back parlour that was called a study. Nora

was full of anxiety. Would he ask to see them to see