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

CHAPTER XLII

What Can You Give in Return?

 

In spite of the family troubles, these were happy days for Beatrice.

It so seldom happens that young ladies on the eve of their marriage

have their future husbands living near them. This happiness was hers,

and Mr Oriel made the most of it. She was constantly being coaxed

down to the parsonage by Patience, in order that she might give her

opinion, in private, as to some domestic arrangement, some piece of

furniture, or some new carpet; but this privacy was always invaded.

What Mr Oriel’s parishioners did in these halcyon days, I will not

ask. His morning services, however, had been altogether given up, and

he had provided himself with a very excellent curate.

 

But one grief did weigh heavily on Beatrice. She continually heard

her mother say things which made her feel that it would be more than

ever impossible that Mary should be at her wedding; and yet she had

promised her brother to ask her. Frank had also repeated his threat,

that if Mary were not present, he would absent himself.

 

Beatrice did what most girls do in such a case; what all would do who

are worth anything; she asked her lover’s advice.

 

“Oh! but Frank can’t be in earnest,” said the lover. “Of course he’ll

be at our wedding.”

 

“You don’t know him, Caleb. He is so changed that no one hardly

would know him. You can’t conceive how much in earnest he is, how

determined and resolute. And then, I should like to have Mary so much

if mamma would let her come.”

 

“Ask Lady Arabella,” said Caleb.

 

“Well, I suppose I must do that; but I know what she’ll say, and

Frank will never believe that I have done my best.” Mr Oriel

comforted her with such little whispered consolations as he was able

to afford, and then she went away on her errand to her mother.

 

She was indeed surprised at the manner in which her prayer was

received. She could hardly falter forth her petition; but when she

had done so, Lady Arabella answered in this wise:—

 

“Well my dear, I have no objection, none the least; that is, of

course, if Mary is disposed to behave herself properly.”

 

“Oh, mamma! of course she will,” said Beatrice; “she always did and

always does.”

 

“I hope she will, my love. But, Beatrice, when I say that I shall be

glad to see her, of course I mean under certain conditions. I never

disliked Mary Thorne, and if she would only let Frank understand that

she will not listen to his mad proposals, I should be delighted to

see her at Greshamsbury just as she used to be.”

 

Beatrice could say nothing in answer to this; but she felt very sure

that Mary, let her intention be what it might, would not undertake to

make Frank understand anything at anybody’s bidding.

 

“I will tell you what I will do, my dear,” continued Lady Arabella;

“I will call on Mary myself.”

 

“What! at Dr Thorne’s house?”

 

“Yes; why not? I have been at Dr Thorne’s house before now.” And

Lady Arabella could not but think of her last visit thither, and the

strong feeling she had, as she came out, that she would never again

enter those doors. She was, however, prepared to do anything on

behalf of her rebellious son.

 

“Oh, yes! I know that, mamma.”

 

“I will call upon her, and if I can possibly manage it, I will ask her

myself to make one of your party. If so, you can go to her afterwards

and make your own arrangements. Just write her a note, my dear, and

say that I will call to-morrow at twelve. It might fluster her if I

were to go in without notice.”

 

Beatrice did as she was bid, but with a presentiment that no good

would come of it. The note was certainly unnecessary for the purpose

assigned by Lady Arabella, as Mary was not given to be flustered by

such occurrences; but, perhaps, it was as well that it was written,

as it enabled her to make up her mind steadily as to what information

should be given, and what should not be given to her coming visitor.

 

On the next morning, at the appointed hour, Lady Arabella walked down

to the doctor’s house. She never walked about the village without

making some little disturbance among the inhabitants. With the

squire, himself, they were quite familiar, and he could appear and

reappear without creating any sensation; but her ladyship had not

made herself equally common in men’s sight. Therefore, when she

went in at the doctor’s little gate, the fact was known through all

Greshamsbury in ten minutes, and before she had left the house, Mrs

Umbleby and Miss Gushing had quite settled between them what was the

exact cause of the very singular event.

 

The doctor, when he had heard what was going to happen, carefully

kept out of the way: Mary, therefore, had the pleasure of

receiving Lady Arabella alone. Nothing could exceed her ladyship’s

affability. Mary thought that it perhaps might have savoured less

of condescension; but then, on this subject, Mary was probably

prejudiced. Lady Arabella smiled and simpered, and asked after the

doctor, and the cat, and Janet, and said everything that could have

been desired by any one less unreasonable than Mary Thorne.

 

“And now, Mary, I’ll tell you why I have called.” Mary bowed her

head slightly, as much to say, that she would be glad to receive any

information that Lady Arabella could give her on that subject. “Of

course you know that Beatrice is going to be married very shortly.”

 

Mary acknowledged that she had heard so much.

 

“Yes: we think it will be in September—early in September—and that

is coming very soon now. The poor girl is anxious that you should be

at her wedding.” Mary turned slightly red; but she merely said, and

that somewhat too coldly, that she was much indebted to Beatrice for

her kindness.

 

“I can assure you, Mary, that she is very fond of you, as much so as

ever; and so, indeed, am I, and all of us are so. You know that Mr

Gresham was always your friend.”

 

“Yes, he always was, and I am grateful to Mr Gresham,” answered Mary.

It was well for Lady Arabella that she had her temper under command,

for had she spoken her mind out there would have been very little

chance left for reconciliation between her and Mary.

 

“Yes, indeed he was; and I think we all did what little we could

to make you welcome at Greshamsbury, Mary, till those unpleasant

occurrences took place.”

 

“What occurrences, Lady Arabella?”

 

“And Beatrice is so very anxious on this point,” said her ladyship,

ignoring for the moment Mary’s question. “You two have been so much

together, that she feels she cannot be quite happy if you are not

near her when she is being married.”

 

“Dear Beatrice!” said Mary, warmed for the moment to an expression of

genuine feeling.

 

“She came to me yesterday, begging that I would waive any objection I

might have to your being there. I have made her no answer yet. What

answer do you think I ought to make her?”

 

Mary was astounded at this question, and hesitated in her reply.

“What answer ought you to make her?” she said.

 

“Yes, Mary. What answer do you think I ought to give? I wish to ask

you the question, as you are the person the most concerned.”

 

Mary considered for a while, and then did give her opinion on the

matter in a firm voice. “I think you should tell Beatrice, that as

you cannot at present receive me cordially in your house, it will be

better that you should not be called on to receive me at all.”

 

This was certainly not the sort of answer that Lady Arabella

expected, and she was now somewhat astounded in her turn. “But,

Mary,” she said, “I should be delighted to receive you cordially if

I could do so.”

 

“But it seems you cannot, Lady Arabella; and so there must be an end

of it.”

 

“Oh, but I do not know that:” and she smiled her sweetest smile. “I

do not know that. I want to put an end to all this ill-feeling if I

can. It all depends upon one thing, you know.”

 

“Does it, Lady Arabella?”

 

“Yes, upon one thing. You won’t be angry if I ask you another

question—eh, Mary?”

 

“No; at least I don’t think I will.”

 

“Is there any truth in what we hear about your being engaged to

Frank?”

 

Mary made no immediate answer to this, but sat quite silent, looking

Lady Arabella in the face; not but that she had made up her mind as

to what answer she would give, but the exact words failed her at the

moment.

 

“Of course you must have heard of such a rumour,” continued Lady

Arabella.

 

“Oh, yes, I have heard of it.”

 

“Yes, and you have noticed it, and I must say very properly. When you

went to Boxall Hill, and before that with Miss Oriel’s to her aunt’s,

I thought you behaved extremely well.” Mary felt herself glow with

indignation, and began to prepare words that should be sharp and

decisive. “But, nevertheless, people talk; and Frank, who is still

quite a boy” (Mary’s indignation was not softened by this allusion

to Frank’s folly), “seems to have got some nonsense in his head. I

grieve to say it, but I feel myself in justice bound to do so, that

in this matter he has not acted as well as you have done. Now,

therefore, I merely ask you whether there is any truth in the report.

If you tell me that there is none, I shall be quite contented.”

 

“But it is altogether true, Lady Arabella; I am engaged to Frank

Gresham.”

 

“Engaged to be married to him?”

 

“Yes; engaged to be married to him.”

 

What was to say or do now? Nothing could be more plain, more decided,

or less embarrassed with doubt than Mary’s declaration. And as she

made it she looked her visitor full in the face, blushing indeed, for

her cheeks were now suffused as well as her forehead; but boldly,

and, as it were, with defiance.

 

“And you tell me so to my face, Miss Thorne?”

 

“And why not? Did you not ask me the question; and would you have me

answer you with a falsehood? I am engaged to him. As you would put

the question to me, what other answer could I make? The truth is,

that I am engaged to him.”

 

The decisive abruptness with which Mary declared her own iniquity

almost took away her ladyship’s breath. She had certainly believed

that they were engaged, and had hardly hoped that Mary would deny it;

but she had not expected that the crime would be acknowledged, or, at

any rate, if acknowledged, that the confession would be made without

some show of shame. On this Lady Arabella could have worked; but

there was no such expression, nor was there the slightest hesitation.

“I am engaged to Frank Gresham,” and having so said, Mary looked her

visitor full in the face.