That Mr. Brooke had hit on an undeniable argument,
did not tend to soothe Sir James. He put out
his hand to reach his hat, implying that he did not
mean to contend further, and said, still with some
heat—
“Well, I can only say that I think Dorothea
was sacrificed once, because her friends were too
careless. I shall do what I can, as her brother,
to protect her now.”
“You can’t do better than get her to Freshitt
as soon as possible, Chettam. I approve that
plan altogether,” said Mr. Brooke, well pleased
that he had won the argument. It would have been
highly inconvenient to him to part with Ladislaw at
that time, when a dissolution might happen any day,
and electors were to be convinced of the course by
which the interests of the country would be best served.
Mr. Brooke sincerely believed that this end could
be secured by his own return to Parliament: he
offered the forces of his mind honestly to the nation.
“`This Loller here wol precilen
us somewhat.’
`Nay by my father’s soule! that schal he
nat,’
Sayde the Schipman, `here schal he not preche,
We schal no gospel glosen here ne teche.
We leven all in the gret God,’ quod he.
He wolden sowen some diffcultee.”
Canterbury Tales.
Dorothea had been safe at Freshitt Hall nearly a week
before she had asked any dangerous questions.
Every morning now she sat with Celia in the prettiest
of up-stairs sitting-rooms, opening into a small conservatory—
Celia all in white and lavender like a bunch of mixed
violets, watching the remarkable acts of the baby,
which were so dubious to her inexperienced mind that
all conversation was interrupted by appeals for their
interpretation made to the oracular nurse. Dorothea
sat by in her widow’s dress, with an expression
which rather provoked Celia, as being much too sad;
for not only was baby quite well, but really when
a husband had been so dull and troublesome while he
lived, and besides that had—well, well!
Sir James, of course, had told Celia everything,
with a strong representation how important it was
that Dorothea should not know it sooner than was inevitable.
But Mr. Brooke had been right in predicting that Dorothea
would not long remain passive where action had been
assigned to her; she knew the purport of her husband’s
will made at the time of their marriage, and her mind,
as soon as she was clearly conscious of her position,
was silently occupied with what she ought to do as
the owner of Lowick Manor with the patronage of the
living attached to it.
One morning when her uncle paid his usual visit, though
with an unusual alacrity in his manner which he accounted
for by saying that it was now pretty certain Parliament
would be dissolved forthwith, Dorothea said—
“Uncle, it is right now that I should consider
who is to have the living at Lowick. After Mr.
Tucker had been provided for, I never heard my husband
say that he had any clergyman in his mind as a successor
to himself. I think I ought to have the keys
now and go to Lowick to examine all my husband’s
papers. There may be something that would throw
light on his wishes.”
