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

CHAPTER XXXIX

What the World Says about Blood

 

“Beatrice,” said Frank, rushing suddenly into his sister’s room, “I

want you to do me one especial favour.” This was three or four days

after Frank had seen Mary Thorne. Since that time he had spoken to

none of his family on the subject; but he was only postponing from

day to day the task of telling his father. He had now completed his

round of visits to the kennel, master huntsman, and stables of the

county hunt, and was at liberty to attend to his own affairs. So he

had decided on speaking to the squire that very day; but he first

made his request to his sister.

 

“I want you to do me one especial favour.” The day for Beatrice’s

marriage had now been fixed, and it was not to be very distant.

Mr Oriel had urged that their honeymoon trip would lose half its

delights if they did not take advantage of the fine weather; and

Beatrice had nothing to allege in answer. The day had just been

fixed, and when Frank ran into her room with his special request,

she was not in a humour to refuse him anything.

 

“If you wish me to be at your wedding, you must do it,” said he.

 

“Wish you to be there! You must be there, of course. Oh, Frank! what

do you mean? I’ll do anything you ask; if it is not to go to the

moon, or anything of that sort.”

 

Frank was too much in earnest to joke. “You must have Mary for one of

your bridesmaids,” he said. “Now, mind; there may be some difficulty,

but you must insist on it. I know what has been going on; but it is

not to be borne that she should be excluded on such a day as that.

You that have been like sisters all your lives till a year ago!”

 

“But, Frank—”

 

“Now, Beatrice, don’t have any buts; say that you will do it, and it

will be done: I am sure Oriel will approve, and so will my father.”

 

“But, Frank, you won’t hear me.”

 

“Not if you make objections; I have set my heart on your doing it.”

 

“But I had set my heart on the same thing.”

 

“Well?”

 

“And I went to Mary on purpose; and told her just as you tell me now,

that she must come. I meant to make mamma understand that I could not

be happy unless it were so; but Mary positively refused.”

 

“Refused! What did she say?”

 

“I could not tell you what she said; indeed, it would not be right if

I could; but she positively declined. She seemed to feel, that after

all that had happened, she never could come to Greshamsbury again.”

 

“Fiddlestick!”

 

“But, Frank, those are her feelings; and, to tell the truth, I could

not combat them. I know she is not happy; but time will cure that.

And, to tell you the truth, Frank—”

 

“It was before I came back that you asked her, was it not?”

 

“Yes; just the day before you came, I think.”

 

“Well, it’s all altered now. I have seen her since that.”

 

“Have you Frank?”

 

“What do you take me for? Of course, I have. The very first day I

went to her. And now, Beatrice, you may believe me or not, as you

like; but if I ever marry, I shall marry Mary Thorne; and if ever she

marries, I think I may say, she will marry me. At any rate, I have

her promise. And now, you cannot be surprised that I should wish

her to be at your wedding; or that I should declare, that if she is

absent, I will be absent. I don’t want any secrets, and you may tell

my mother if you like it—and all the de Courcys too, for anything I

care.”

 

Frank had ever been used to command his sisters: and they, especially

Beatrice, had ever been used to obey. On this occasion, she was well

inclined to do so, if she only knew how. She again remembered how

Mary had once sworn to be at her wedding, to be near her, and to

touch her—even though all the blood of the de Courcys should be

crowded before the altar railings.

 

“I should be so happy that she should be there; but what am I to do,

Frank, if she refuses? I have asked her, and she has refused.”

 

“Go to her again; you need not have any scruples with her. Do

not I tell you she will be your sister? Not come here again to

Greshamsbury! Why, I tell you that she will be living here while you

are living there at the parsonage, for years and years to come.”

 

Beatrice promised that she would go to Mary again, and that she would

endeavour to talk her mother over if Mary would consent to come. But

she could not yet make herself believe that Mary Thorne would ever

be mistress of Greshamsbury. It was so indispensably necessary that

Frank should marry money! Besides, what were those horrid rumours

which were now becoming rife as to Mary’s birth; rumours more horrid

than any which had yet been heard?

 

Augusta had said hardly more than the truth when she spoke of her

father being broken-hearted by his debts. His troubles were becoming

almost too many for him; and Mr Gazebee, though no doubt he was an

excellent man of business, did not seem to lessen them. Mr Gazebee,

indeed, was continually pointing out how much he owed, and in what

a quagmire of difficulties he had entangled himself. Now, to do Mr

Yates Umbleby justice, he had never made himself disagreeable in this

manner.

 

Mr Gazebee had been doubtless right, when he declared that Sir Louis

Scatcherd had not himself the power to take any steps hostile to the

squire; but Sir Louis had also been right, when he boasted that,

in spite of his father’s will, he could cause others to move in

the matter. Others did move, and were moving, and it began to be

understood that a moiety, at least, of the remaining Greshamsbury

property must be sold. Even this, however, would by no means leave

the squire in undisturbed possession of the other moiety. And thus,

Mr Gresham was nearly broken-hearted.

 

Frank had now been at home a week, and his father had not as yet

spoken to him about the family troubles; nor had a word as yet been

said between them as to Mary Thorne. It had been agreed that Frank

should go away for twelve months, in order that he might forget her.

He had been away the twelvemonth, and had now returned, not having

forgotten her.

 

It generally happens, that in every household, one subject of

importance occupies it at a time. The subject of importance now

mostly thought of in the Greshamsbury household, was the marriage of

Beatrice. Lady Arabella had to supply the trousseau for her daughter;

the squire had to supply the money for the trousseau; Mr Gazebee had

the task of obtaining the money for the squire. While this was going

on, Mr Gresham was not anxious to talk to his son, either about his

own debts or his son’s love. There would be time for these things

when the marriage-feast should be over.

 

So thought the father, but the matter was precipitated by Frank. He

also had put off the declaration which he had to make, partly from

a wish to spare the squire, but partly also with a view to spare

himself. We have all some of that cowardice which induces us to

postpone an inevitably evil day. At this time the discussions as

to Beatrice’s wedding were frequent in the house, and at one of

them Frank had heard his mother repeat the names of the proposed

bridesmaids. Mary’s name was not among them, and hence had arisen his

attack on his sister.

 

Lady Arabella had had her reason for naming the list before her son;

but she overshot her mark. She wished to show him how totally Mary

was forgotten at Greshamsbury; but she only inspired him with a

resolve that she should not be forgotten. He accordingly went to his

sister; and then, the subject being full on his mind, he resolved at

once to discuss it with his father.

 

“Sir, are you at leisure for five minutes?” he said, entering the

room in which the squire was accustomed to sit majestically, to

receive his tenants, scold his dependants, and in which, in former

happy days, he had always arranged the meets of the Barsetshire hunt.

 

Mr Gresham was quite at leisure: when was he not so? But had he been

immersed in the deepest business of which he was capable, he would

gladly have put it aside at his son’s instance.

 

“I don’t like to have any secret from you, sir,” said Frank; “nor,

for the matter of that, from anybody else”—the anybody else was

intended to have reference to his mother—“and, therefore, I would

rather tell you at once what I have made up my mind to do.”

 

Frank’s address was very abrupt, and he felt it was so. He was rather

red in the face, and his manner was fluttered. He had quite made up

his mind to break the whole affair to his father; but he had hardly

made up his mind as to the best mode of doing so.

 

“Good heavens, Frank! what do you mean? you are not going to do

anything rash? What is it you mean, Frank?”

 

“I don’t think it is rash,” said Frank.

 

“Sit down, my boy; sit down. What is it that you say you are going to

do?”

 

“Nothing immediately, sir,” said he, rather abashed; “but as I have

made up my mind about Mary Thorne,—quite made up my mind, I think it

right to tell you.”

 

“Oh, about Mary,” said the squire, almost relieved.

 

And then Frank, in voluble language, which he hardly, however, had

quite under his command, told his father all that had passed between

him and Mary. “You see, sir,” said he, “that it is fixed now, and

cannot be altered. Nor must it be altered. You asked me to go away

for twelve