Miss Stanbury perfectly understood that Martha was to come back by the train reaching Exeter at 7 p.m., and that she might be expected in the Close about a quarter-of-an-hour after that time. She had been nervous and anxious all day, so much so that Mr Martin had told her that she must be very careful. ‘That’s all very well,’ the old woman had said, ‘but you haven’t got any medicine for my complaint, Mr Martin.’ The apothecary had assured her that the worst of her complaint was in the east wind, and had gone away begging her to be very careful. ‘It is not God’s breezes that are hard to any one,’ the old lady had said to herself ‘but our own hearts.’ After her lonely dinner she had fidgeted about the room, and had rung twice for the girl, not knowing what order to give when the servant came to her. She was very anxious about her tea, but would not have it brought to her till after Martha should have arrived. She was half-minded to order that a second cup and saucer should be placed there, but she had not the courage to face the disappointment which would fall upon her, should the cup and saucer stand there for no purpose. And yet, should she come, how nice it would be to shew her girl that her old aunt had been ready for her. Thrice she went to the window after the cathedral clock had struck seven, to see whether her ambassador was returning. From her window there was only one very short space of pathway on which she could have seen her and, as it happened, there came the ring at the door, and no ambassador had as yet been viewed. Miss Stanbury was immediately off her seat, and out upon the landing. ‘Here we are again, Miss Dorothy,’ said Martha. Then Miss Stanbury could not restrain herself but descended the stairs, moving as she had never moved since she had first been ill. ‘My bairn,’ she said; ‘my dearest bairn! I thought that perhaps it might be so. Jane, another tea-cup and saucer up-stairs.’ What a pity that she had not ordered it before! ‘And get a hot cake, Jane. You will be ever so hungry, my darling, after your journey.’
‘Are you glad to see me, Aunt Stanbury?’ said Dorothy.
‘Glad, my pretty one!’ Then she put up her hands, and smoothed down the girl’s cheeks, and kissed her, and patted Martha on the back, and scolded her at the same time for not bringing Miss Dorothy from the station in a cab. ‘And what is the meaning of that little bag?’ she said. ‘You shall go back for the rest yourself, Martha, because it is your own fault.’ Martha knew that all this was pleasant enough, but then her mistress’s moods would sometimes be changed so suddenly! How would it be when Miss Stanbury knew that Brooke Burgess had been left behind at Nuncombe Putney?
‘You see I didn’t stay to eat any of the lamb,’ said Dorothy, smiling.
‘You shall have a calf instead, my dear,’ said Miss Stanbury, ‘because you are a returned prodigal.’
All this was very pleasant, and Miss Stanbury was so happy dispensing her tea, and the hot cake, and the clotted cream, and was so intent upon her little methods of caressing and petting her niece, that Dorothy had no heart to tell her story while the plates and cups were still upon the table. She had not, perhaps, cared much for the hot cake, having such a weight upon her mind, but she had seemed to care, understanding well that she might so best conduce to her aunt’s comfort. Miss Stanbury was a woman who could not bear that the good things which she had provided for a guest should not be enjoyed. She could taste with a friend’s palate, and drink with a friend’s throat. But when debarred these vicarious pleasures by what seemed to her to be the caprice of her guests, she would be offended. It had been one of the original sins of Camilla and Arabella French that they would declare at her tea-table that they had dined late and could not eat tea-cake. Dorothy knew all this and did her duty, but with a heavy heart. There was the story to be told, and she had promised Martha that it should be told tonight. She was quite aware, too, independently of her promise, that it was necessary that it should be told tonight. It was very sad very grievous that the dear old lady’s happiness should be disturbed so soon; but it must be done. When the tea-things were being taken away her aunt was still purring round her, and saying gentle, loving words. Dorothy bore it as well as she could bore it well, smiling and kissing her aunt’s hand, and uttering now and then some word of affection. But the thing had to be done; and as soon as the room was quiet for a moment, she jumped up from her chair and began. ‘Aunt Stanbury, I must tell you something at once. Who, do you think, is at Nuncombe Putney?’
‘Not Brooke Burgess?’
‘Yes, he is. He is there now, and is to be here with you tomorrow.’
The whole colour and character of Miss Stanbury’s face was changed in a moment. She had been still purring up to the moment in which this communication had been made to her. Her gratification had come to her from the idea that her pet had come back to her from love of her as in very truth had been the case; but now it seemed that Dorothy had returned to ask for a great favour for herself. And she reflected at once that Brooke had passed through Exeter without seeing her. If he was determined to marry without reference to her, he might at any rate have had the grace to come to her and say so. She, in the fulness of her heart, had written words of affection to Dorothy, and both Dorothy and Brooke had at once taken advantage of her expressions for their own purposes. Such was her reading of the story of the day. ‘He need not trouble himself to come here now,’ she said.
‘Dear aunt, do not say that.’
‘I do say it. He need not trouble himself to come now. When I said that I should be glad to see you, I did not intend that you should meet Mr Burgess under my roof. I did not wish to have you both together.’
‘How could I help coming, when you wrote to me like that?’
‘It is very well, but he need not come. He knows the way from Nuncombe to London without stopping at Exeter.’
‘Aunt Stanbury, you must let me tell it you all.’
‘There is no more to tell, I should think.’
‘But there is more. You knew what he thought about me, and what he wished.’
‘He is his own master, my dear and you are your own mistress.’
‘If you speak to me like that you will kill me, Aunt Stanbury. I did not think of coming, only when Martha brought your dear letter I could not help it. But he was coming. He meant to come tomorrow, and he will. Of course he must defend himself, if you are angry with him.’
‘He need not defend himself at all.’
‘I told them, and I told him, that I would only stay one night if you did not wish that we should be here together. You must see him, Aunt Stanbury. You would not refuse to see him.’
‘If you please, my dear, you must allow me to judge whom I will see.’
After that the discussion ceased between them for awhile, and Miss Stanbury left the room that she might hold a consultation with Martha. Dorothy went up to her chamber, and saw that everything had been prepared for her with most scrupulous care. Nothing could be whiter, neater, cleaner, nicer than was everything that surrounded her. She had perceived while living under her aunt’s roof, how, gradually, small delicate feminine comforts had been increased for her. Martha had been told that Miss Dorothy ought to have this, and that Miss Dorothy ought to have that; till at last she, who had hitherto known nothing of the small luxuries that come from an easy income, had felt ashamed of the prettinesses that had been added to her. Now she could see at once that infinite care had been used to make her room bright and smiling only in the hope that she would return. As soon as she saw it all, she sat down on her bed and burst out into tears. Was it not hard upon her that she should be forced into such ingratitude! Every comfort prepared for her was a coal of hot fire upon her head. And yet, what had she done that she ought not to have done? Was it unreasonable that she should have loved this man, when they two were brought together? And had she even dared to think of him otherwise than as an acquaintance till he had compelled her to confess her love? And after that had she not tried to separate herself from him, so that they two, her aunt and her lover, might be divided by no quarrel? Had not Priscilla told her that she was right in all that she was doing? Nevertheless, in spite of all this, she could not refrain from accusing herself of ingratitude towards her aunt. And she began to think it would have been better for her now to have remained at home, and have allowed Brooke to come alone to Exeter than to have obeyed the impulse which had arisen from the receipt of her aunt’s letter. When she went down again she found herself alone in the room, and she was beginning to think that it was intended that she should go to bed without again seeing her aunt; but at last Miss Stanbury came to her, with a sad countenance, but without that look of wrath which Dorothy knew so well. ‘My dear,’ she said, ‘it will be better that Mr Burgess should go up to London tomorrow. I will see him, of course, if he chooses to come, and Martha shall meet him at the station and explain it. If you do not mind, I would prefer that you should not meet him here.’
‘I meant only to stay one night, aunt.’
‘That is nonsense. If I am to part with either of you, I will part with him. You are dearer to me than he is. Dorothy, you do not know how dear to me you are.’
Dorothy immediately fell on her knees at her aunt’s feet, and hid her face in her aunt’s lap. Miss Stanbury twined round her fingers the soft hair, which she loved so well because it was a grace given by God and not bought out of a shop, and............