He Knew He Was Right, Anthony Trollope [children's ebooks free online .TXT] 📗

‘The Duke,’ however,

had been as inexorable as his predecessor, and Sir Rowley, with his

large family, was too wise to remain to the detriment of his pocket. In

the meantime the clerks in the office, who had groaned in spirit over

the ignorance displayed in his evidence before the committee, were

whispering among themselves that he ought not to be sent back to his

seat of government at all.

 

Lady Rowley also was disappointed and unhappy. She had expected so much

pleasure from her visit to her daughter, and she had received so

little! Emily’s condition was very sad, but in her heart of hearts

perhaps she groaned more bitterly over all that Nora had lost, than she

did over the real sorrows of her elder child. To have had the cup at

her lip, and then not to have tasted it! And she had the solace of no

communion in this sorrow. She had accepted Hugh Stanbury as her

son-in-law, and not for worlds would she now say a word against him to

any one. She had already taken him to her heart, and she loved him. But

to have had it almost within her grasp to have had a lord, the owner of

Monkhams, for her son-in-law! Poor Lady Rowley!

 

Sophie and Lucy, too, were returning to their distant and dull

banishment without any realisation of their probable but unexpressed

ambition. They made no complaint, but yet it was hard on them that

their sister’s misfortune should have prevented them from going almost

to a single dance. Poor Sophie and poor Lucy! They must go, and we

shall hear no more about them. It was thought well that Nora should not

go down with them to Southampton. What good would her going do? ‘God

bless you, my darling,’ said the mother, as she held her child in her

arms.

 

‘Goodbye, dear mamma.’

 

‘Give my best love to Hugh, and tell him that I pray him with my last

word to be good to you.’ Even then she was thinking of Lord

Peterborough, but the memory of what might have been was buried deep in

her mind.

 

‘Nora, tell me all about it,’ said Lucy.

 

‘There will be nothing to tell,’ said Nora.

 

‘Tell it all the same,’ said Lucy. ‘And bring Hugh out to write a book

of travels about the Mandarins. Nobody has ever written a book about

the Mandarins.’ So they parted; and when Sir Marmaduke and his party

were taken off in two cabs to the Waterloo Station, Nora was taken in

one cab to Eccleston Square.

 

It may be doubted whether any old lady since the world began ever did a

more thoroughly Christian and friendly act that this which was now

being done by Lady Milborough. It was the end of July, and she would

already have been down in Dorsetshire, but for her devotion to this

good deed. For, in truth, what she was doing was not occasioned by any

express love for Nora Rowley. Nora Rowley was all very well, but Nora

Rowley towards her had been flippant, impatient, and, indeed, not

always so civil as a young lady should be to the elderly friends of her

married sister. But to Lady Milborough it had seemed to be quite

terrible that a young girl should be left alone in the world, without

anybody to take care of her. Young ladies, according to her views of

life, were fragile plants that wanted much nursing before they could be

allowed to be planted out in the gardens of the world as married women.

When she heard from Lady Rowley that Nora was engaged to marry Hugh

Stanbury, ‘You know all about Lord Peterborough, Lady Milborough; but it

is no use going back to that now is it? And Mr Stanbury has behaved so

exceedingly well in regard to poor Louis,’ when Lady Milborough heard

this, and heard also that Nora was talking of going to live by herself

in lodgings! she swore to herself, like a goodly Christian woman, as

she was, that such a thing must not be. Eccleston Square in July and

August is not pleasant, unless it be to an inhabitant who is interested

in the fag-end of the parliamentary session. Lady Milborough had no

interest in politics, had not much interest even in seeing the social

season out to its dregs. She ordinarily remained in London till the

beginning or middle of July, because the people with whom she lived

were in the habit of doing so, but as soon as ever she had fixed the

date of her departure, that day to her was a day of release. On this

occasion the day had been fixed and it was unfixed, and changed, and

postponed, because it was manifest to Lady Milborough that she could do

good by remaining for another fortnight. When she made the offer she

said nothing of her previous arrangements. ‘Lady Rowley, let her come

to me. As soon as her friend Lady Peterborough is at Monkhams, she can

go there.’

 

Thus it was that Nora found herself established in Eccleston Square. As

she took her place in Lady Milborough’s drawing-room, she remembered

well a certain day, now two years ago, when she had first heard of the

glories of Monkhams in that very house. Lady Milborough, as

good-natured then as she was now, had brought Mr Glascock and Nora

together, simply because she had heard that the gentleman admired the

young lady. Nora, in her pride, had resented this as interference, had

felt that the thing had been done, and, though she had valued the

admiration of the man, had ridiculed the action of the woman. As she

thought of it now she was softened by gratitude. She had not on that

occasion been suited with a husband, but she had gained a friend. ‘My

dear,’ said Lady Milborough, as at her request Nora took off her hat,

‘I am afraid that the parties are mostly over, that is, those I go to;

but we will drive out every day, and the time won’t be so very long.’

 

‘It won’t be long for me, Lady Milborough, but I cannot but know how

terribly I am putting you out.’

 

‘I am never put out, Miss Rowley,’ said the old lady, ‘as long as I am

made to think that what I do is taken in good part.’

 

‘Indeed, indeed it shall be taken in good part,’ said Nora ‘indeed it

shall.’ And she swore a solemn silent vow of friendship for the dear

old woman.

 

Then there came letters and telegrams from Chambery, Dijon, and Paris,

and the joint expedition in search of the cottage was made to

Twickenham. It was astonishing how enthusiastic and how loving the

elder and the younger lady were together before the party from Italy

had arrived in England. Nora had explained everything about herself; how

impossible it had been for her not to love Hugh Stanbury; how essential

it had been for her happiness and self-esteem that she should refuse Mr

Glascock; how terrible had been the tragedy of her sister’s marriage.

Lady Milborough spoke of the former subject with none of Lady Rowley’s

enthusiasm, but still with an evident partiality for her own rank,

which almost aroused Nora to indignant eloquence. Lady Milborough was

contented to acknowledge that Nora might be right, seeing that her

heart was so firmly fixed; but she was clearly of opinion that Mr

Glascock, being Mr Glascock, had possessed a better right to the prize

in question than could have belonged to any man who had no recognised

position in the world. Seeing that her heart had been given away, Nora

was no doubt right not to separate her hand from her heart; but Lady

Milborough was of opinion that young ladies ought to have their hearts

under better control, so that the men entitled to the prizes should get

them. It was for the welfare of England at large that the eldest sons

of good families should marry the sweetest, prettiest, brightest, and

most lovable girls of their age. It is a doctrine on behalf of which

very much may be said.

 

On that other matter, touching Emily Trevelyan, Lady Milborough frankly

owned that she had seen early in the day that he was the one most in

fault. ‘I must say, my dear,’ she said, ‘that I very greatly dislike

your friend, Colonel Osborne.’

 

‘I am sure that he meant not the slightest harm, no more than she did.’

 

‘He was old enough, and ought to have known better. And when the first

hint of an uneasiness in the mind of Louis was suggested to him, his

feelings as a gentleman should have prompted him to remove himself. Let

the suspicion have been ever so absurd, he should have removed himself.

Instead of that, he went after her into Devonshire.’

 

‘He went to see other friends, Lady Milborough.’

 

‘I hope it may have been so, I hope it may have been so. But he should

have cut off his hand before he rang at the door of the house in which

she was living. You will understand, my dear, that I acquit your sister

altogether. I did so all through, and said the same to poor Louis when

he came to me. But Colonel Osborne should have known better. Why did he

write to her? Why did he go to St. Diddulph’s? Why did he let it be

thought that that she was especially his friend. Oh dear; oh dear; oh

dear! I am afraid he is a very bad man.’

 

‘We had known him so long, Lady Milborough.’

 

‘I wish you had never known him at all. Poor Louis! If be had only done

what I told him at first, all might have been well. “Go to Naples, with

your wife,” I said. “Go to Naples.” If he had gone to Naples, there

would have been no journeys to Siena, no living at Casalunga, no

separation. But he didn’t seem to see it in the same light. Poor dear

Louis. I wish he had gone to Naples when I told him.’

 

While they were going backwards and forwards, looking at the cottage at

Twickenham and trying to make things comfortable there for the sick

man, Lady Milborough hinted to Nora that it might be distasteful to

Trevelyan, in his present condition, to have even a sister-in-law

staying in the house with him. There was a little chamber which Nora

had appropriated to herself, and at first it seemed to be taken for

granted that she should remain there at least till the 10th of August,

on which day Lady Peterborough had signified that she and her husband

would be ready to receive their visitor. But Lady Milborough slept on

the suggestion, and on the next morning hinted her disapprobation. ‘You

shall take them down in the carriage, and their luggage can follow in a

cab, but the carriage can bring you back. You will see how things are

then.’

 

‘Dear Lady Milborough, you would go out of town at once if I left you.’

 

‘And I shall not go out of town if you don’t leave me, What difference

does it make to an old woman like me? I have got no lover coming to

look for me, and all I have to do is to tell my daughter-in-law that I

shall not be there for another week or so. Augusta is very glad to have

me, but she is the wisest woman in the world, and can get on very well

without me.’

 

‘And as I am the silliest, I cannot.’

 

‘You shall put it in that way if you like it, my dear. Girls in your

position often do want assistance. I