Doctor Thorne, Anthony Trollope [best book reader .txt] 📗

was now more than probable that that heir must be Mary

Thorne. His conviction became stronger and stronger that no human

efforts would keep Sir Louis in the land of the living till he

was twenty-five. Could he, therefore, wisely or honestly, in true

friendship to the squire, to Frank, or to his niece, take any steps

to separate two persons who loved each other, and whose marriage

would in all human probability be so suitable?

 

And yet he could not bring himself to encourage it then. The idea

of “looking after dead men’s shoes” was abhorrent to his mind,

especially when the man whose death he contemplated had been so

trusted to him as had been Sir Louis Scatcherd. He could not speak

of the event, even to the squire, as being possible. So he kept his

peace from day to day, and gave no counsel to Mary in the matter.

 

And then he had his own individual annoyances, and very aggravating

annoyances they were. The carriage—or rather post-chaise—of Dr

Fillgrave was now frequent in Greshamsbury, passing him constantly

in the street, among the lanes, and on the high roads. It seemed as

though Dr Fillgrave could never get to his patients at the big house

without showing himself to his beaten rival, either on his way

thither or on his return. This alone would, perhaps, not have hurt

the doctor much; but it did hurt him to know that Dr Fillgrave was

attending the squire for a little incipient gout, and that dear Nina

was in measles under those unloving hands.

 

And then, also, the old-fashioned phaeton, of old-fashioned old

Dr Century was seen to rumble up to the big house, and it became

known that Lady Arabella was not very well. “Not very well,” when

pronounced in a low, grave voice about Lady Arabella, always meant

something serious. And, in this case, something serious was meant.

Lady Arabella was not only ill, but frightened. It appeared, even to

her, that Dr Fillgrave himself hardly knew what he was about, that he

was not so sure in his opinion, so confident in himself, as Dr Thorne

used to be. How should he be, seeing that Dr Thorne had medically had

Lady Arabella in his hands for the last ten years?

 

If sitting with dignity in his hired carriage, and stepping with

authority up the big front steps, would have done anything, Dr

Fillgrave might have done much. Lady Arabella was greatly taken with

his looks when he first came to her, and it was only when she by

degrees perceived that the symptoms, which she knew so well, did not

yield to him that she began to doubt those looks.

 

After a while Dr Fillgrave himself suggested Dr Century. “Not that

I fear anything, Lady Arabella,” said he,—lying hugely, for he did

fear; fear both for himself and for her. “But Dr Century has great

experience, and in such a matter, when the interests are so

important, one cannot be too safe.”

 

So Dr Century came and toddled slowly into her ladyship’s room. He

did not say much; he left the talking to his learned brother, who

certainly was able to do that part of the business. But Dr Century,

though he said very little, looked very grave, and by no means

quieted Lady Arabella’s mind. She, as she saw the two putting their

heads together, already had misgivings that she had done wrong. She

knew that she could not be safe without Dr Thorne at her bedside, and

she already felt that she had exercised a most injudicious courage in

driving him away.

 

“Well, doctor?” said she, as soon as Dr Century had toddled

downstairs to see the squire.

 

“Oh! we shall be all right, Lady Arabella; all right, very soon. But

we must be careful, very careful; I am glad I’ve had Century here,

very; but there’s nothing to alter; little or nothing.”

 

There were but few words spoken between Dr Century and the squire;

but few as they were, they frightened Mr Gresham. When Dr Fillgrave

came down the grand stairs, a servant waited at the bottom to ask him

also to go to the squire. Now there never had been much cordiality

between the squire and Dr Fillgrave, though Mr Gresham had consented

to take a preventative pill from his hands, and the little man

therefore swelled himself out somewhat more than ordinarily as he

followed the servant.

 

“Dr Fillgrave,” said the squire, at once beginning the conversation,

“Lady Arabella, is, I fear, in danger?”

 

“Well, no; I hope not in danger, Mr Gresham. I certainly believe I

may be justified in expressing a hope that she is not in danger. Her

state is, no doubt, rather serious—rather serious—as Dr Century has

probably told you;” and Dr Fillgrave made a bow to the old man, who

sat quiet in one of the dining-room arm-chairs.

 

“Well, doctor,” said the squire, “I have not any grounds on which to

doubt your judgement.”

 

Dr Fillgrave bowed, but with the stiffest, slightest inclination

which a head could possibly make. He rather thought that Mr Gresham

had no ground for doubting his judgement.

 

“Nor do I.”

 

The doctor bowed, and a little, a very little less stiffly.

 

“But, doctor, I think that something ought to be done.”

 

The doctor this time did his bowing merely with his eyes and mouth.

The former he closed for a moment, the latter he pressed; and then

decorously rubbed his hands one over the other.

 

“I am afraid, Dr Fillgrave, that you and my friend Thorne are not the

best friends in the world.”

 

“No, Mr Gresham, no; I may go so far as to say we are not.”

 

“Well, I am sorry for it—”

 

“Perhaps, Mr Gresham, we need hardly discuss it; but there have been

circumstances—”

 

“I am not going to discuss anything, Dr Fillgrave; I say I am sorry

for it, because I believe that prudence will imperatively require

Lady Arabella to have Doctor Thorne back again. Now, if you would not

object to meet him—”

 

“Mr Gresham, I beg pardon; I beg pardon, indeed; but you must really

excuse me. Doctor Thorne has, in my estimation—”

 

“But, Doctor Fillgrave—”

 

“Mr Gresham, you really must excuse me; you really must, indeed.

Anything else that I could do for Lady Arabella, I should be most

happy to do; but after what has passed, I cannot meet Doctor Thorne;

I really cannot. You must not ask me to do so; Mr Gresham. And, Mr

Gresham,” continued the doctor, “I did understand from Lady Arabella

that his—that is, Dr Thorne’s—conduct to her ladyship had been

such—so very outrageous, I may say, that—that—that—of course, Mr

Gresham, you know best; but I did think that Lady Arabella herself

was quite unwilling to see Doctor Thorne again;” and Dr Fillgrave

looked very big, and very dignified, and very exclusive.

 

The squire did not ask again. He had no warrant for supposing that

Lady Arabella would receive Dr Thorne if he did come; and he saw

that it was useless to attempt to overcome the rancour of a man so

pig-headed as the little Galen now before him. Other propositions

were then broached, and it was at last decided that assistance should

be sought for from London, in the person of the great Sir Omicron

Pie.

 

Sir Omicron came, and Drs Fillgrave and Century were there to meet

him. When they all assembled in Lady Arabella’s room, the poor

woman’s heart almost sank within her,—as well it might, at such

a sight. If she could only reconcile it with her honour, her

consistency, with her high de Courcy principles, to send once more

for Dr Thorne. Oh, Frank! Frank! to what misery your disobedience

brought your mother!

 

Sir Omicron and the lesser provincial lights had their consultation,

and the lesser lights went their way to Barchester and Silverbridge,

leaving Sir Omicron to enjoy the hospitality of Greshamsbury.

 

“You should have Thorne back here, Mr Gresham,” said Sir Omicron,

almost in a whisper, when they were quite alone. “Doctor Fillgrave

is a very good man, and so is Dr Century; very good, I am sure. But

Thorne has known her ladyship so long.” And then, on the following

morning, Sir Omicron also went his way.

 

And then there was a scene between the squire and her ladyship. Lady

Arabella had given herself credit for great good generalship when she

found that the squire had been induced to take that pill. We have

all heard of the little end of the wedge, and we have most of us an

idea that the little end is the difficulty. That pill had been the

little end of Lady Arabella’s wedge. Up to that period she had been

struggling in vain to make a severance between her husband and her

enemy. That pill should do the business. She well knew how to make

the most of it; to have it published in Greshamsbury that the squire

had put his gouty toe into Dr Fillgrave’s hands; how to let it

be known—especially at that humble house in the corner of the

street—that Fillgrave’s prescriptions now ran current through the

whole establishment. Dr Thorne did hear of it, and did suffer. He had

been a true friend to the squire, and he thought the squire should

have stood to him more staunchly.

 

“After all,” said he himself, “perhaps it’s as well—perhaps it will

be best that I should leave this place altogether.” And then he

thought of Sir Roger and his will, and of Mary and her lover. And

then of Mary’s birth, and of his own theoretical doctrines as to pure

blood. And so his troubles multiplied, and he saw no present daylight

through them.

 

Such had been the way in which Lady Arabella had got in the little

end of the wedge. And she would have triumphed joyfully had not her

increased doubts and fears as to herself then come in to check her

triumph and destroy her joy. She had not yet confessed to any one

her secret regret for the friend she had driven away. She hardly yet

acknowledged to herself that she did regret him; but she was uneasy,

frightened, and in low spirits.

 

“My dear,” said the squire, sitting down by her bedside, “I want to

tell you what Sir Omicron said as he went away.”

 

“Well?” said her ladyship, sitting up and looking frightened.

 

“I don’t know how you may take it, Bell; but I think it very good

news:” the squire never called his wife Bell, except when he wanted

her to be on particularly good terms with him.

 

“Well?” said she again. She was not over-anxious to be gracious, and

did not reciprocate his familiarity.

 

“Sir Omicron says that you should have Thorne back again, and upon my

honour, I cannot but agree with him. Now, Thorne is a clever man, a

very clever man; nobody denies that; and then, you know—”

 

“Why did not Sir Omicron say that to me?” said her ladyship, sharply,

all her disposition in Dr Thorne’s favour becoming wonderfully damped

by her husband’s advocacy.

 

“I suppose he thought it better to say it to me,” said the squire,

rather curtly.

 

“He should have spoken to myself,” said Lady Arabella, who, though

she did not absolutely doubt her husband’s word, gave him credit

for having induced and led on Sir Omicron to the uttering of this

opinion. “Doctor Thorne has behaved to me in so gross, so indecent a

manner! And then, as I understand, he is absolutely encouraging that

girl—”

 

“Now, Bell, you are quite wrong—”

 

“Of course I am; I always am quite wrong.”

 

“Quite wrong