Doctor Thorne - Anthony Trollope (historical books to read .txt) 📗

class="calibre1">Porlock, of course, would feel exactly the same about the governor;

but if the governor were to walk, I think Porlock would console

himself with the thirty thousand a year.”

 

“I don’t know what Porlock would do; he’s always quarrelling with my

uncle, I know. I only spoke of myself; I never quarrelled with my

father, and I hope I never shall.”

 

“All right, my lad of wax, all right. I dare say you won’t be tried;

but if you are, you’ll find before six months are over, that it’s a

very nice thing to master of Greshamsbury.”

 

“I’m sure I shouldn’t find anything of the kind.”

 

“Very well, so be it. You wouldn’t do as young Hatherly did, at

Hatherly Court, in Gloucestershire, when his father kicked the

bucket. You know Hatherly, don’t you?”

 

“No; I never saw him.”

 

“He’s Sir Frederick now, and has, or had, one of the finest fortunes

in England, for a commoner; the most of it is gone now. Well, when he

heard of his governor’s death, he was in Paris, but he went off to

Hatherly as fast as special train and post-horses would carry him,

and got there just in time for the funeral. As he came back to

Hatherly Court from the church, they were putting up the hatchment

over the door, and Master Fred saw that the undertakers had put at

the bottom ‘Resurgam.’ You know what that means?”

 

“Oh, yes,” said Frank.

 

“‘I’ll come back again,’” said the Honourable John, construing the

Latin for the benefit of his cousin. “‘No,’ said Fred Hatherly,

looking up at the hatchment; ‘I’m blessed if you do, old gentleman.

That would be too much of a joke; I’ll take care of that.’ So he

got up at night, and he got some fellows with him, and they climbed

up and painted out ‘Resurgam,’ and they painted into its place,

‘Requiescat in pace;’ which means, you know, ‘you’d a great deal

better stay where you are.’ Now I call that good. Fred Hatherly did

that as sure as—as sure as—as sure as anything.”

 

Frank could not help laughing at the story, especially at his

cousin’s mode of translating the undertaker’s mottoes; and then they

sauntered back from the stables into the house to dress for dinner.

 

Dr Thorne had come to the house somewhat before dinner-time, at Mr

Gresham’s request, and was now sitting with the squire in his own

book-room—so called—while Mary was talking to some of the girls

upstairs.

 

“I must have ten or twelve thousand pounds; ten at the very least,”

said the squire, who was sitting in his usual arm-chair, close to his

littered table, with his head supported on his hand, looking very

unlike the father of an heir of a noble property, who had that day

come of age.

 

It was the first of July, and of course there was no fire in the

grate; but, nevertheless, the doctor was standing with his back to

the fireplace, with his coat-tails over his arms, as though he were

engaged, now in summer as he so often was in winter, in talking, and

roasting his hinder person at the same time.

 

“Twelve thousand pounds! It’s a very large sum of money.”

 

“I said ten,” said the squire.

 

“Ten thousand pounds is a very large sum of money. There is no doubt

he’ll let you have it. Scatcherd will let you have it; but I know

he’ll expect to have the title deeds.”

 

“What! for ten thousand pounds?” said the squire. “There is not a

registered debt against the property but his own and Armstrong’s.”

 

“But his own is very large already.”

 

“Armstrong’s is nothing; about four-and-twenty thousand pounds.”

 

“Yes; but he comes first, Mr Gresham.”

 

“Well, what of that? To hear you talk, one would think that there was

nothing left of Greshamsbury. What’s four-and-twenty thousand pounds?

Does Scatcherd know what rent-roll is?”

 

“Oh, yes, he knows it well enough: I wish he did not.”

 

“Well, then, why does he make such a bother about a few thousand

pounds? The title-deeds, indeed!”

 

“What he means is, that he must have ample security to cover what he

has already advanced before he goes on. I wish to goodness you had

no further need to borrow. I did think that things were settled last

year.”

 

“Oh if there’s any difficulty, Umbleby will get it for me.”

 

“Yes; and what will you have to pay for it?”

 

“I’d sooner pay double than be talked to in this way,” said the

squire, angrily, and, as he spoke, he got up hurriedly from his

chair, thrust his hands into his trousers-pockets, walked quickly to

the window, and immediately walking back again, threw himself once

more into his chair.

 

“There are some things a man cannot bear, doctor,” said he, beating

the devil’s tattoo on the floor with one of his feet, “though God

knows I ought to be patient now, for I am made to bear a good many

things. You had better tell Scatcherd that I am obliged to him for

his offer, but that I will not trouble him.”

 

The doctor during this little outburst had stood quite silent with

his back to the fireplace and his coat-tails hanging over his arms;

but though his voice said nothing, his face said much. He was very

unhappy; he was greatly grieved to find that the squire was so soon

again in want of money, and greatly grieved also to find that this

want had made him so bitter and unjust. Mr Gresham had attacked him;

but as he was determined not to quarrel with Mr Gresham, he refrained

from answering.

 

The squire also remained silent for a few minutes; but he was not

endowed with the gift of silence, and was soon, as it were, compelled

to speak again.

 

“Poor Frank!” said he. “I could yet be easy about everything if it

were not for the injury I have done him. Poor Frank!”

 

The doctor advanced a few paces from off the rug, and taking his hand

out of his pocket, he laid it gently on the squire’s shoulder. “Frank

will do very well yet,” said the he. “It is not absolutely necessary

that a man should have fourteen thousand pounds a year to be happy.”

 

“My father left me the property entire, and I should leave it entire

to my son;—but you don’t understand this.”

 

The doctor did understand the feeling fully. The fact, on the other

hand, was that, long as he had known him, the squire did not

understand the doctor.

 

“I would you could, Mr Gresham,” said the doctor, “so that your mind

might be happier; but that cannot be, and, therefore, I say again,

that Frank will do very well yet, although he will not inherit

fourteen thousand pounds a year; and I would have you say the same

thing to yourself.”

 

“Ah! you don’t understand it,” persisted the squire. “You don’t know

how a man feels when he—Ah, well! it’s no use my troubling you with

what cannot be mended. I wonder whether Umbleby is about the place

anywhere?”

 

The doctor was again standing with his back against the

chimney-piece, and with his hands in his pockets.

 

“You did not see Umbleby as you came in?” again asked the squire.

 

“No, I did not; and if you will take my advice you will not see him

now; at any rate with reference to this money.”

 

“I tell you I must get it from someone; you say Scatcherd won’t let

me have it.”

 

“No, Mr Gresham; I did not say that.”

 

“Well, you said what was as bad. Augusta is to be married in

September, and the money must be had. I have agreed to give Moffat

six thousand pounds, and he is to have the money down in hard cash.”

 

“Six thousand pounds,” said the doctor. “Well, I suppose that is not

more than your daughter should have. But then, five times six are

thirty; thirty thousand pounds will be a large sum to make up.”

 

The father thought to himself that his younger girls were but

children, and that the trouble of arranging their marriage portions

might well be postponed a while. Sufficient for the day is the evil

thereof.

 

“That Moffat is a griping, hungry fellow,” said the squire. “I

suppose Augusta likes him; and, as regards money, it is a good

match.”

 

“If Miss Gresham loves him, that is everything. I am not in love with

him myself; but then, I am not a young lady.”

 

“The de Courcys are very fond of him. Lady de Courcy says that he is

a perfect gentleman, and thought very much of in London.”

 

“Oh! if Lady de Courcy says that, of course, it’s all right,” said

the doctor, with a quiet sarcasm, that was altogether thrown away on

the squire.

 

The squire did not like any of the de Courcys; especially, he did not

like Lady de Courcy; but still he was accessible to a certain amount

of gratification in the near connexion which he had with the earl and

countess; and when he wanted to support his family greatness, would

sometimes weakly fall back upon the grandeur of Courcy Castle. It

was only when talking to his wife that he invariably snubbed the

pretensions of his noble relatives.

 

The two men after this remained silent for a while; and then the

doctor, renewing the subject for which he had been summoned into the

book-room, remarked, that as Scatcherd was now in the country—he

did not say, was now at Boxall Hill, as he did not wish to wound the

squire’s ears—perhaps he had better go and see him, and ascertain

in what way this affair of the money might be arranged. There was

no doubt, he said, that Scatcherd would supply the sum required at

a lower rate of interest than that at which it could be procured

through Umbleby’s means.

 

“Very well,” said the squire. “I’ll leave it in your hands, then. I

think ten thousand pounds will do. And now I’ll dress for dinner.”

And then the doctor left him.

 

Perhaps the reader will suppose after this that the doctor had some

pecuniary interest of his own in arranging the squire’s loans; or, at

any rate, he will think that the squire must have so thought. Not in

the least; neither had he any such interest, nor did the squire think

that he had any. What Dr Thorne did in this matter the squire well

knew was done for love. But the squire of Greshamsbury was a great

man at Greshamsbury; and it behoved him to maintain the greatness of

his squirehood when discussing his affairs with the village doctor.

So much he had at any rate learnt from his contact with the de

Courcys.

 

And the doctor—proud, arrogant, contradictory, headstrong as he

was—why did he bear to be thus snubbed? Because he knew that the

squire of Greshamsbury, when struggling with debt and poverty,

required an indulgence for his weakness. Had Mr Gresham been in easy

circumstances, the doctor would by no means have stood so placidly

with his hands in his pockets, and have had Mr Umbleby thus thrown in

his teeth. The doctor loved the squire, loved him as his own oldest

friend; but he loved him ten times better as being in adversity than

he could ever have done had things gone well at Greshamsbury in his

time.

 

While this was going on downstairs, Mary was sitting upstairs with

Beatrice Gresham in the schoolroom. The old schoolroom, so called,

was now a sitting-room, devoted to the use