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

so; yes,” said Lady Arabella, “he is, I believe, a

very good young man, with an excellent disposition; but, doctor, his

position is very precarious; and he is just at that time of life when

every caution is necessary.”

 

To the doctor’s ears, Lady Arabella was now talking of her son as a

mother might of her infant when whooping-cough was abroad or croup

imminent. “There is nothing on earth the matter with him, I should

say,” said the doctor. “He has every possible sign of perfect

health.”

 

“Oh yes; his health! Yes, thank God, his health is good; that is a

great blessing.” And Lady Arabella thought of her four flowerets that

had already faded. “I am sure I am most thankful to see him growing

up so strong. But it is not that I mean, doctor.”

 

“Then what is it, Lady Arabella?”

 

“Why, doctor, you know the squire’s position with regard to money

matters?”

 

Now the doctor undoubtedly did know the squire’s position with regard

to money matters,—knew it much better than did Lady Arabella; but

he was by no means inclined to talk on that subject to her ladyship.

He remained quite silent, therefore, although Lady Arabella’s last

speech had taken the form of a question. Lady Arabella was a little

offended at this want of freedom on his part, and become somewhat

sterner in her tone—a thought less condescending in her manner.

 

“The squire has unfortunately embarrassed the property, and Frank

must look forward to inherit it with very heavy encumbrances; I

fear very heavy indeed, though of what exact nature I am kept in

ignorance.”

 

Looking at the doctor’s face, she perceived that there was no

probability whatever that her ignorance would be enlightened by him.

 

“And, therefore, it is highly necessary that Frank should be very

careful.”

 

“As to his private expenditure, you mean?” said the doctor.

 

“No; not exactly that: though of course he must be careful as to

that, too; that’s of course. But that is not what I mean, doctor; his

only hope of retrieving his circumstances is by marrying money.”

 

“With every other conjugal blessing that a man can have, I hope he

may have that also.” So the doctor replied with imperturbable face;

but not the less did he begin to have a shade of suspicion of what

might be the coming subject of the conference. It would be untrue to

say that he had ever thought it probable that the young heir should

fall in love with his niece; that he had ever looked forward to such

a chance, either with complacency or with fear; nevertheless, the

idea had of late passed through his mind. Some word had fallen from

Mary, some closely watched expression of her eye, or some quiver

in her lip when Frank’s name was mentioned, had of late made him

involuntarily think that such might not be impossible; and then, when

the chance of Mary becoming the heiress to so large a fortune had

been forced upon his consideration, he had been unable to prevent

himself from building happy castles in the air, as he rode slowly

home from Boxall Hill. But not a whit the more on that account was

he prepared to be untrue to the squire’s interest or to encourage a

feeling which must be distasteful to all the squire’s friends.

 

“Yes, doctor; he must marry money.”

 

“And worth, Lady Arabella; and a pure feminine heart; and youth and

beauty. I hope he will marry them all.”

 

Could it be possible, that in speaking of a pure feminine heart, and

youth and beauty, and such like gewgaws, the doctor was thinking of

his niece? Could it be that he had absolutely made up his mind to

foster and encourage this odious match?

 

The bare idea made Lady Arabella wrathful, and her wrath gave her

courage. “He must marry money, or he will be a ruined man. Now,

doctor, I am informed that things—words that is—have passed between

him and Mary which never ought to have been allowed.”

 

And now also the doctor was wrathful. “What things? what words?” said

he, appearing to Lady Arabella as though he rose in his anger nearly

a foot in altitude before her eyes. “What has passed between them?

and who says so?”

 

“Doctor, there have been love-makings, you may take my word for it;

love-makings of a very, very, very advanced description.”

 

This, the doctor could not stand. No, not for Greshamsbury and its

heir; not for the squire and all his misfortunes; not for Lady

Arabella and the blood of all the de Courcys could he stand quiet

and hear Mary thus accused. He sprang up another foot in height, and

expanded equally in width as he flung back the insinuation.

 

“Who says so? Whoever says so, whoever speaks of Miss Thorne in such

language, says what is not true. I will pledge my word—”

 

“My dear doctor, my dear doctor, what took place was quite clearly

heard; there was no mistake about it, indeed.”

 

“What took place? What was heard?”

 

“Well, then, I don’t want, you know, to make more of it than can be

helped. The thing must be stopped, that is all.”

 

“What thing? Speak out, Lady Arabella. I will not have Mary’s conduct

impugned by innuendoes. What is it that eavesdroppers have heard?”

 

“Dr Thorne, there have been no eavesdroppers.”

 

“And no talebearers either? Will you ladyship oblige me by letting me

know what is the accusation which you bring against my niece?”

 

“There has been most positively an offer made, Dr Thorne.”

 

“And who made it?”

 

“Oh, of course I am not going to say but what Frank must have been

very imprudent. Of course he has been to blame. There has been fault

on both sides, no doubt.”

 

“I utterly deny it. I positively deny it. I know nothing of the

circumstances; have heard nothing about it—”

 

“Then of course you can’t say,” said Lady Arabella.

 

“I know nothing of the circumstance; have heard nothing about it,”

continued Dr Thorne; “but I do know my niece, and am ready to assert

that there has not been fault on both sides. Whether there has been

any fault on any side, that I do not yet know.”

 

“I can assure you, Dr Thorne, that an offer was made by Frank;

such an offer cannot be without its allurements to a young lady

circumstanced like your niece.”

 

“Allurements!” almost shouted the doctor, and, as he did so, Lady

Arabella stepped back a pace or two, retreating from the fire which

shot out of his eyes. “But the truth is, Lady Arabella, you do not

know my niece. If you will have the goodness to let me understand

what it is that you desire I will tell you whether I can comply with

your wishes.”

 

“Of course it will be very inexpedient that the young people should

be thrown together again;—for the present, I mean.”

 

“Well!”

 

“Frank has now gone to Courcy Castle; and he talks of going from

thence to Cambridge. But he will doubtless be here, backwards and

forwards; and perhaps it will be better for all parties—safer,

that is, doctor—if Miss Thorne were to discontinue her visits to

Greshamsbury for a while.”

 

“Very well!” thundered out the doctor. “Her visits to Greshamsbury

shall be discontinued.”

 

“Of course, doctor, this won’t change the intercourse between us;

between you and the family.”

 

“Not change it!” said he. “Do you think that I will break bread in a

house from whence she has been ignominiously banished? Do you think

that I can sit down in friendship with those who have spoken of her

as you have now spoken? You have many daughters; what would you say

if I accused one of them as you have accused her?”

 

“Accused, doctor! No, I don’t accuse her. But prudence, you know,

does sometimes require us—”

 

“Very well; prudence requires you to look after those who belong

to you; and prudence requires me to look after my one lamb. Good

morning, Lady Arabella.”

 

“But, doctor, you are not going to quarrel with us? You will come

when we want you; eh! won’t you?”

 

Quarrel! quarrel with Greshamsbury! Angry as he was, the doctor felt

that he could ill bear to quarrel with Greshamsbury. A man past fifty

cannot easily throw over the ties that have taken twenty years to

form, and wrench himself away from the various close ligatures with

which, in such a period, he has become bound. He could not quarrel

with the squire; he could ill bear to quarrel with Frank; though he

now began to conceive that Frank had used him badly, he could not do

so; he could not quarrel with the children, who had almost been born

into his arms; nor even with the very walls, and trees, and grassy

knolls with which he was so dearly intimate. He could not proclaim

himself an enemy to Greshamsbury; and yet he felt that fealty to Mary

required of him that, for the present, he should put on an enemy’s

guise.

 

“If you want me, Lady Arabella, and send for me, I will come to you;

otherwise I will, if you please, share the sentence which has been

passed on Mary. I will now wish you good morning.” And then bowing

low to her, he left the room and the house, and sauntered slowly away

to his own home.

 

What was he to say to Mary? He walked very slowly down the

Greshamsbury avenue, with his hands clasped behind his back, thinking

over the whole matter; thinking of it, or rather trying to think

of it. When a man’s heart is warmly concerned in any matter, it

is almost useless for him to endeavour to think of it. Instead of

thinking, he gives play to his feelings, and feeds his passion by

indulging it. “Allurements!” he said to himself, repeating Lady

Arabella’s words. “A girl circumstanced like my niece! How utterly

incapable is such a woman as that to understand the mind, and heart,

and soul of such a one as Mary Thorne!” And then his thoughts

recurred to Frank. “It has been ill done of him; ill done of him:

young as he is, he should have had feeling enough to have spared me

this. A thoughtless word has been spoken which will now make her

miserable!” And then, as he walked on, he could not divest his mind

of the remembrance of what had passed between him and Sir Roger.

What, if after all, Mary should become the heiress to all that money?

What, if she should become, in fact, the owner of Greshamsbury? for,

indeed it seemed too possible that Sir Roger’s heir would be the

owner of Greshamsbury.

 

The idea was one which he disliked to entertain, but it would recur

to him again and again. It might be, that a marriage between his

niece and the nominal heir to the estate might be of all the matches

the best for young Gresham to make. How sweet would be the revenge,

how glorious the retaliation on Lady Arabella, if, after what had

now been said, it should come to pass that all the difficulties of

Greshamsbury should be made smooth by Mary’s love, and Mary’s hand!

It was a dangerous subject on which to ponder; and, as he sauntered

down the road, the doctor did his best to banish it from his

mind,—not altogether successfully.

 

But as he went he again encountered Beatrice. “Tell Mary I went to

her to-day,” said she, “and that I expect her up here to-morrow. If

she does not come, I shall be savage.”

 

“Do