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

is wished. Lunch is coming directly:” and

Frank rang the bell.

 

“Nothing, I thank you, Mr Gresham.”

 

“Do take a glass of sherry.”

 

“Nothing at all, I am very much obliged to you.”

 

“Won’t you let the horses get some oats?”

 

“I will return at once, if you please, Mr Gresham.” And the doctor

did return, taking with him, on this occasion, the fee that was

offered to him. His experience had at any rate taught him so much.

 

But though Frank could do this for Lady Arabella, he could not

receive Dr Thorne on her behalf. The bitterness of that interview had

to be borne by herself. A messenger had been sent for him, and he was

upstairs with her ladyship while his rival was receiving his congé

downstairs. She had two objects to accomplish, if it might be

possible: she had found that high words with the doctor were of

no avail; but it might be possible that Frank could be saved by

humiliation on her part. If she humbled herself before this man,

would he consent to acknowledge that his niece was not the fit bride

for the heir of Greshamsbury?

 

The doctor entered the room where she was lying on her sofa, and

walking up to her with a gentle, but yet not constrained step,

took the seat beside her little table, just as he had always been

accustomed to do, and as though there had been no break in their

intercourse.

 

“Well, doctor, you see that I have come back to you,” she said, with

a faint smile.

 

“Or, rather I have come back to you. And, believe me, Lady Arabella,

I am very happy to do so. There need be no excuses. You were,

doubtless, right to try what other skill could do; and I hope it has

not been tried in vain.”

 

She had meant to have been so condescending; but now all that was put

quite beyond her power. It was not easy to be condescending to the

doctor: she had been trying all her life, and had never succeeded.

 

“I have had Sir Omicron Pie,” she said.

 

“So I was glad to hear. Sir Omicron is a clever man, and has a good

name. I always recommend Sir Omicron myself.”

 

“And Sir Omicron returns the compliment,” said she, smiling

gracefully, “for he recommends you. He told Mr Gresham that I was

very foolish to quarrel with my best friend. So now we are friends

again, are we not? You see how selfish I am.” And she put out her

hand to him.

 

The doctor took her hand cordially, and assured her that he bore her

no ill-will; that he fully understood her conduct—and that he had

never accused her of selfishness. This was all very well and very

gracious; but, nevertheless, Lady Arabella felt that the doctor

kept the upper hand in those sweet forgivenesses. Whereas, she had

intended to keep the upper hand, at least for a while, so that her

humiliation might be more effective when it did come.

 

And then the doctor used his surgical lore, as he well knew how to

use it. There was an assured confidence about him, an air which

seemed to declare that he really knew what he was doing. These

were very comfortable to his patients, but they were wanting in Dr

Fillgrave. When he had completed his examinations and questions,

and she had completed her little details and made her answer, she

certainly was more at ease than she had been since the doctor had

last left her.

 

“Don’t go yet for a moment,” she said. “I have one word to say to

you.”

 

He declared that he was not the least in a hurry. He desired nothing

better, he said, than to sit there and talk to her. “And I owe you a

most sincere apology, Lady Arabella.”

 

“A sincere apology!” said she, becoming a little red. Was he going to

say anything about Mary? Was he going to own that he, and Mary, and

Frank had all been wrong?

 

“Yes, indeed. I ought not to have brought Sir Louis Scatcherd here: I

ought to have known that he would have disgraced himself.”

 

“Oh! it does not signify,” said her ladyship in a tone almost of

disappointment. “I had forgotten it. Mr Gresham and you had more

inconvenience than we had.”

 

“He is an unfortunate, wretched man—most unfortunate; with an

immense fortune which he can never live to possess.”

 

“And who will the money go to, doctor?”

 

This was a question for which Dr Thorne was hardly prepared. “Go to?”

he repeated. “Oh, some member of the family, I believe. There are

plenty of nephews and nieces.”

 

“Yes; but will it be divided, or all go to one?”

 

“Probably to one, I think. Sir Roger had a strong idea of leaving

it all in one hand.” If it should happen to be a girl, thought Lady

Arabella, what an excellent opportunity would that be for Frank to

marry money!

 

“And now, doctor, I want to say one word to you; considering the very

long time that we have known each other, it is better that I should

be open with you. This estrangement between us and dear Mary has

given us all so much pain. Cannot we do anything to put an end to

it?”

 

“Well, what can I say, Lady Arabella? That depends so wholly on

yourself.”

 

“If it depends on me, it shall be done at once.”

 

The doctor bowed. And though he could hardly be said to do so

stiffly, he did it coldly. His bow seemed to say, “Certainly; if you

choose to make a proper amende it can be done. But I think it is

very unlikely that you will do so.”

 

“Beatrice is just going to be married, you know that, doctor.” The

doctor said that he did know it. “And it will be so pleasant that

Mary should make one of us. Poor Beatrice; you don’t know what she

has suffered.”

 

“Yes,” said the doctor, “there has been suffering, I am sure;

suffering on both sides.”

 

“You cannot wonder that we should be so anxious about Frank, Dr

Thorne; an only son, and the heir to an estate that has been so very

long in the family:” and Lady Arabella put her handkerchief to her

eyes, as though these facts were in themselves melancholy, and not

to be thought of by a mother without some soft tears. “Now I wish

you could tell me what your views are, in a friendly manner, between

ourselves. You won’t find me unreasonable.”

 

“My views, Lady Arabella?”

 

“Yes, doctor; about your niece, you know: you must have views of some

sort; that’s of course. It occurs to me, that perhaps we are all in

the dark together. If so, a little candid speaking between you and me

may set it all right.”

 

Lady Arabella’s career had not hitherto been conspicuous for candour,

as far as Dr Thorne had been able to judge of it; but that was no

reason why he should not respond to so very becoming an invitation

on her part. He had no objection to a little candid speaking; at

least, so he declared. As to his views with regard to Mary, they were

merely these: that he would make her as happy and comfortable as he

could while she remained with him; and that he would give her his

blessing—for he had nothing else to give her—when she left him;—if

ever she should do so.

 

Now, it will be said that the doctor was not very candid in this;

not more so, perhaps, than was Lady Arabella herself. But when one

is specially invited to be candid, one is naturally set upon one’s

guard. Those who by disposition are most open, are apt to become

crafty when so admonished. When a man says to you, “Let us be candid

with each other,” you feel instinctively that he desires to squeeze

you without giving a drop of water himself.

 

“Yes; but about Frank,” said Lady Arabella.

 

“About Frank!” said the doctor, with an innocent look, which her

ladyship could hardly interpret.

 

“What I mean is this: can you give me your word that these young

people do not intend to do anything rash? One word like that from

you will set my mind quite at rest. And then we could be so happy

together again.”

 

“Ah! who is to answer for what rash things a young man will do?” said

the doctor, smiling.

 

Lady Arabella got up from the sofa, and pushed away the little table.

The man was false, hypocritical, and cunning. Nothing could be made

of him. They were all in a conspiracy together to rob her of her son;

to make him marry without money! What should she do? Where should

she turn for advice or counsel? She had nothing more to say to the

doctor; and he, perceiving that this was the case, took his leave.

This little attempt to achieve candour had not succeeded.

 

Dr Thorne had answered Lady Arabella as had seemed best to him on the

spur of the moment; but he was by no means satisfied with himself.

As he walked away through the gardens, he bethought himself whether

it would be better for all parties if he could bring himself to be

really candid. Would it not be better for him at once to tell the

squire what were the future prospects of his niece, and let the

father agree to the marriage, or not agree to it, as he might think

fit. But then, if so, if he did do this, would he not in fact say,

“There is my niece, there is this girl of whom you have been talking

for the last twelvemonth, indifferent to what agony of mind you may

have occasioned to her; there she is, a probable heiress! It may be

worth your son’s while to wait a little time, and not cast her off

till he shall know whether she be an heiress or no. If it shall turn

out that she is rich, let him take her; if not, why, he can desert

her then as well as now.” He could not bring himself to put his niece

into such a position as this. He was anxious enough that she should

be Frank Gresham’s wife, for he loved Frank Gresham; he was anxious

enough, also, that she should give to her husband the means of saving

the property of his family. But Frank, though he might find her rich,

was bound to take her while she was poor.

 

Then, also, he doubted whether he would be justified in speaking

of this will at all. He almost hated the will for the trouble and

vexation it had given him, and the constant stress it had laid on his

conscience. He had spoken of it as yet to no one, and he thought that

he was resolved not to do so while Sir Louis should yet be in the

land of the living.

 

On reaching home, he found a note from Lady Scatcherd, informing him

that Dr Fillgrave had once more been at Boxall Hill, and that, on

this occasion, he had left the house without anger.

 

“I don’t know what he has said about Louis,” she added, “for, to

tell the truth, doctor, I was afraid to see him. But he comes again

to-morrow, and then I shall be braver. But I fear that my poor boy is

in a bad way.”