He Knew He Was Right - Anthony Trollope (rainbow fish read aloud txt) 📗

hidden behind an old oak. The driver, however, had

caught a glimpse of him as he was topping a hill, and having seen him

about on the previous day, and perceiving that he was dressed in a

decent coat and trousers, and that, nevertheless, he was not a

gentleman, began to suspect that he was somebody. There was a great

deal said afterwards about Bozzle in Mrs Clegg’s yard at Lessboro’; but

the Lessboro’ mind was never able to satisfy itself altogether

respecting Bozzle and his mission. As to Colonel Osborne and his

mission, the Lessboro’ mind did satisfy itself with much certainty. The

horse was hardly taken from out of Colonel Osborne’s fly in Mrs

Crocket’s yard when Bozzle stepped into the village by a path which he

had already discovered, and soon busied himself among the tombs in the

churchyard. Now, one corner of the churchyard was immediately opposite

to the iron gate leading into the Clock House. ‘Drat ‘un,’ said the

wooden-legged postman, still sitting on his donkey, to Mrs Crocket’s

ostler, ‘if there be’ant the chap as was here yesterday when I was a

starting, and I zeed ‘un in Lezbro’ Street thick very morning.’ ‘He

be’ant arter no good, that ‘un,’ said the ostler. After that a close

watch was kept upon the watcher.

 

In the meantime, Colonel Osborne had ordered his breakfast at the Stag

and Antlers, and had asked questions as to the position of the Clock

House. He was altogether ignorant of Mr Bozzle, although Mr Bozzle had

been on his track now for two days and two nights. He had determined,

as he came on to Nuncombe Putney, that he would not be shame-faced

about his visit to Mrs Trevelyan. It is possible that he was not so

keen in the matter as he had. Been when he planned his journey in

London; and, it may be, that he really tried to make himself believe

that he had come all the way to the confines of Dartmoor to see the

porch of Cockchaffington Church. The session in London was over, and it

was necessary for such a man as Colonel Osborne that he should do

something with himself before he went down to the Scotch grouse. He had

long desired to see something of the most picturesque county in

England; and now, as he sat eating his breakfast in Mrs Crocket’s

parlour, he almost looked upon his dear Emily as a subsidiary

attraction. ‘Oh, that’s the Clock House,’ he said to Mrs Crocket. ‘No,

I have not the pleasure of knowing Mrs Stanbury; very respectable lady,

so I have heard; widow of a clergyman; ah, yes; son up in London; I

know him, always writing books, is he? Very clever, I dare say. But

there’s a lady indeed, two ladies whom I do know. Mrs Trevelyan is

there, I think and Miss Rowley.’

 

‘You be’ant Muster Trevelyan, be you?’ said Mrs Crocket, looking at him

very hard.

 

‘No, I’m not Mr Trevelyan.’

 

‘Nor yet “the Colonel” they doo be talking about?’

 

‘Well, yes, I am a colonel. I don’t know why anybody should talk about

me. I’ll just step out now, however, and see my friends.’

 

‘It’s madam’s lover,’ said Mrs Crocket to herself, ‘as sure as eggs is

eggs.’ As she said so, Colonel Osborne boldly walked across the village

and pulled the bell at the iron gate, while Bozzle, crouching among the

tombs, saw the handle in his hand. ‘There he is,’ said Priscilla.

Everybody in the Clock House had known that the fly, which they had

seen, had brought ‘the Colonel’ into Nuncombe Putney. Everybody had

known that he had breakfasted at the Stag and Antlers. And everybody

now knew that he was at the gate, ringing the bell. ‘Into the drawing

room,’ said Mrs Stanbury, with a fearful, tremulous whisper to the girl

who went across the little garden in front to open the iron gate. The

girl felt as though Apollyon were there, and as though she were called

upon to admit Apollyon. Mrs Stanbury having uttered her whisper,

hurried way upstairs. Priscilla held her ground in the parlour,

determined to be near the scene of action if there might be need. And

it must be acknowledged that she peeped from behind the curtain,

anxious to catch a glimpse of the terrible man, whose coming to

Nuncombe Putney she regarded as so severe a misfortune.

 

The plan of the campaign had all been arranged. Mrs Trevelyan and Nora

together received Colonel Osborne in the drawing-room. It was

understood that Nora was to remain there during the whole visit. ‘It is

horrible to think that such a precaution should be necessary,’ Mrs

Trevelyan had said, ‘but perhaps it may be best. There is no knowing

what the malice of people may not invent.’

 

‘My dear girls,’ said the Colonel, ‘I am delighted to see you,’ and he

gave a hand to each.

 

‘We are not very cheerful here,’ said Mrs Trevelyan, ‘as you may

imagine.’

 

‘But the scenery is beautiful,’ said Nora, ‘and the people we are

living with are very kind and nice.’

 

‘I am very glad of that,’ said the Colonel. Then there was a pause, and

it seemed, for a moment, that none of them knew how to begin a general

conversation. Colonel Osborne was quite sure, by this time, that he had

come down to Devonshire with the express object of seeing the door of

the church at Cockchaffington, and Mrs Trevelyan was beginning to think

that he certainly had not come to see her. ‘Have you heard from your

father since you have been here?’ asked the Colonel.

 

Then there was an explanation about Sir Marmaduke and Lady Rowley. Mr

Trevelyan’s name was not mentioned; but Mrs Trevelyan stated that she

had explained to her mother all the painful circumstances of her

present life. Sir Marmaduke, as Colonel Osborne was aware, was expected

to be in England in the spring, and Lady Rowley would, of course, come

with him. Nora thought that they might probably now come before that

time; but Mrs Trevelyan declared that it was out of the question that

they should do so. She was sure that her father could not leave the

islands except when he did so in obedience to official orders. The

expense of doing so would be ruinous to him. And what good would he do?

In this way there was a great deal of family conversation, in which

Colonel Osborne was able to take a part; but not a word was said about

Mr Trevelyan.

 

Nor did ‘the Colonel’ find an opportunity of expressing a spark of that

sentiment, for the purpose of expressing which he had made this journey

to Devonshire. It is not pleasant to make love in the presence of a

third person, even when that love is all fair and above board; but it

is quite impracticable to do so to a married lady, when that married

lady’s sister is present. No more futile visit than this of Colonel

Osborne’s to the Clock House was ever made. And yet, though not a word

was spoken to which Mr Trevelyan himself could have taken the slightest

exception, the visit, futile as it was, could not but do an enormous

deal of harm. Mrs Crocket had already guessed that the fine gentleman

down from London was the lover of the married lady at the Clock House,

who was separated from her husband. The wooden-legged postman and the

ostler were not long in connecting the man among the tombstones with

the visitor to the house. Trevelyan, as we are aware, already knew that

Colonel Osborne was in the neighbourhood. And poor Priscilla Stanbury

was now exposed to the terrible necessity of owning the truth to her

aunt. ‘The Colonel,’ when he had sat an hour with his young friends,

took his leave; and, as he walked back to Mrs Crocket’s, and ordered

that his fly might be got ready for him, his mind was heavy with the

disagreeable feeling that he had made an ass of himself. The whole

affair had been a failure; and though he might be able to pass off the

porch at Cockchaffington among his friends, he could not but be aware

himself that he had spent his time, his trouble, and his money for

nothing. He became aware, as he returned to Lessboro’, that had he

intended to make any pleasant use whatever of his position in reference

to Mrs Trevelyan, the tone of his letter and his whole mode of

proceeding should have been less patriarchal. And he should have

contrived a meeting without the presence of Nora Rowley.

 

As soon as he had left them, Mrs Trevelyan went to her own room, and

Nora at once rejoined Priscilla.

 

‘Is he gone?’ asked Priscilla.

 

‘Oh, yes he has gone.’

 

‘What would I have given that he had never come!’

 

‘And yet,’ said Nora, ‘what harm has he done? I wish he had not come,

because, of course, people will talk! But nothing was more natural than

that he should come over to see us when he was so near us.’

 

‘Nora!’

 

‘What do you mean?’

 

‘You don’t believe all that? In the neighbourhood! I believe he came on

purpose to see your sister, and I think that it was a dastardly and

most ungentlemanlike thing to do.’

 

‘I am quite sure you are wrong, then altogether wrong,’ said Nora.

 

‘Very well. We must have our own opinions. I am glad you can be so

charitable. But he should not have come here to this house, even though

imperative business had brought him into the very village. But men in

their vanity never think of the injury they may do to a woman’s name.

Now I must go and write to my aunt. I am not going to have it said

hereafter that I deceived her. And then I shall write to Hugh. Oh dear;

oh dear!’

 

‘I am afraid we are a great trouble to you.’

 

‘I will not deceive you, because I like you. This is a great trouble to

me. I have meant to be so prudent, and with all my prudence I have not

been able to keep clear of rocks. And I have been so indignant with

Aunt Stanbury! Now I must go and eat humble-pie.’

 

Then she eat humble pie after the following fashion:

 

‘Dear Aunt Stanbury

 

After what has passed between us, I think it right to tell you that

Colonel Osborne has been at Nuncombe Putney, and that he called at the

Clock House this morning. We did not see him. But Mrs Trevelyan and

Miss Rowley, together, did see him. He remained here perhaps an hour.

 

‘I should not have thought it necessary to mention this to you, the

matter being one in which you are not concerned, were it not for our

former correspondence. When I last wrote, I had no idea that he was

coming nor had mamma. And when you first wrote, he was not even

expected by Mrs Trevelyan. The man you wrote about, was another

gentleman as I told you before. All this is most disagreeable, and

tiresome and would be quite nonsensical, but that circumstances seem to

make it necessary.

 

As for Colonel Osborne, I wish he had not been here; but his coming

would do no harm only that it will be talked about.

 

I think you will understand how it is that I feel myself constrained to

write to you. I do hope that you will spare mamma, who is disturbed and

harassed when she gets angry letters. If you have anything to say to

myself, I don’t mind it.

 

Yours truly,

 

Priscilla Stanbury.’

 

The Clock House,