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

the house, and had run upstairs imagining that some instant

haste was required, now stood before her mother rather out of breath,

holding her bonnet by the strings.

 

“Oh, mamma!” she exclaimed, “what on earth has happened?”

 

“My dear,” said the mother, “I cannot really explain to you what has

happened; but I must ask you to give me your positive assurance that

you will comply with my request.”

 

“You don’t mean that I am not to see Mary any more?”

 

“Yes, I do, my dear; at any rate, for the present. When I tell you

that your brother’s interest imperatively demands it, I am sure that

you will not refuse me.”

 

Beatrice did not refuse, but she did not appear too willing to

comply. She stood silent, leaning against the end of a sofa and

twisting her bonnet-strings in her hand.

 

“Well, Beatrice—”

 

“But, mamma, I don’t understand.”

 

Lady Arabella had said that she could not exactly explain: but she

found it necessary to attempt to do so.

 

“Dr Thorne has openly declared to me that a marriage between poor

Frank and Mary is all he could desire for his niece. After such

unparalleled audacity as that, even your father will see the

necessity of breaking with him.”

 

“Dr Thorne! Oh, mamma, you must have misunderstood him.”

 

“My dear, I am not apt to misunderstand people; especially when I am

so much in earnest as I was in talking to Dr Thorne.”

 

“But, mamma, I know so well what Mary herself thinks about it.”

 

“And I know what Dr Thorne thinks about it; he, at any rate, has been

candid in what he said; there can be no doubt on earth that he has

spoken his true thoughts; there can be no reason to doubt him: of

course such a match would be all that he could wish.”

 

“Mamma, I feel sure that there is some mistake.”

 

“Very well, my dear. I know that you are infatuated about these

people, and that you are always inclined to contradict what I say to

you; but, remember, I expect that you will obey me when I tell you

not to go to Dr Thorne’s house any more.”

 

“But, mamma—”

 

“I expect you to obey me, Beatrice. Though you are so prone to

contradict, you have never disobeyed me; and I fully trust that you

will not do so now.”

 

Lady Arabella had begun by exacting, or trying to exact a promise,

but as she found that this was not forthcoming, she thought it better

to give up the point without a dispute. It might be that Beatrice

would absolutely refuse to pay this respect to her mother’s

authority, and then where would she have been?

 

At this moment a servant came up to say that the squire was in his

room, and Lady Arabella was opportunely saved the necessity of

discussing the matter further with her daughter. “I am now,” she

said, “going to see your father on the same subject; you may be quite

sure, Beatrice, that I should not willingly speak to him on any

matter relating to Dr Thorne did I not find it absolutely necessary

to do so.”

 

This Beatrice knew was true, and she did therefore feel convinced

that something terrible must have happened.

 

While Lady Arabella opened her budget the squire sat quite silent,

listening to her with apparent respect. She found it necessary that

her description to him should be much more elaborate than that which

she had vouchsafed to her daughter, and, in telling her grievance,

she insisted most especially on the personal insult which had been

offered to herself.

 

“After what has now happened,” said she, not quite able to repress a

tone of triumph as she spoke, “I do expect, Mr Gresham, that you

will—will—”

 

“Will what, my dear?”

 

“Will at least protect me from the repetition of such treatment.”

 

“You are not afraid that Dr Thorne will come here to attack you? As

far as I can understand, he never comes near the place, unless when

you send for him.”

 

“No; I do not think that he will come to Greshamsbury any more. I

believe I have put a stop to that.”

 

“Then what is it, my dear, that you want me to do?”

 

Lady Arabella paused a minute before she replied. The game which she

now had to play was not very easy; she knew, or thought she knew,

that her husband, in his heart of hearts, much preferred his friend

to the wife of his bosom, and that he would, if he could, shuffle out

of noticing the doctor’s iniquities. It behoved her, therefore, to

put them forward in such a way that they must be noticed.

 

“I suppose, Mr Gresham, you do not wish that Frank should marry the

girl?”

 

“I do not think there is the slightest chance of such a thing; and I

am quite sure that Dr Thorne would not encourage it.”

 

“But I tell you, Mr Gresham, that he says he will encourage it.”

 

“Oh, you have misunderstood him.”

 

“Of course; I always misunderstand everything. I know that. I

misunderstood it when I told you how you would distress yourself if

you took those nasty hounds.”

 

“I have had other troubles more expensive than the hounds,” said the

poor squire, sighing.

 

“Oh, yes; I know what you mean; a wife and family are expensive, of

course. It is a little too late now to complain of that.”

 

“My dear, it is always too late to complain of any troubles when they

are no longer to be avoided. We need not, therefore, talk any more

about the hounds at present.”

 

“I do not wish to speak of them, Mr Gresham.”

 

“Nor I.”

 

“But I hope you will not think me unreasonable if I am anxious to

know what you intend to do about Dr Thorne.”

 

“To do?”

 

“Yes; I suppose you will do something: you do not wish to see your

son marry such a girl as Mary Thorne.”

 

“As far as the girl herself is concerned,” said the squire, turning

rather red, “I am not sure that he could do much better. I know

nothing whatever against Mary. Frank, however, cannot afford to make

such a match. It would be his ruin.”

 

“Of course it would; utter ruin; he never could hold up his head

again. Therefore it is I ask, What do you intend to do?”

 

The squire was bothered. He had no intention whatever of doing

anything, and no belief in his wife’s assertion as to Dr Thorne’s

iniquity. But he did not know how to get her out of the room. She

asked him the same question over and over again, and on each occasion

urged on him the heinousness of the insult to which she personally

had been subjected; so that at last he was driven to ask her what it

was she wished him to do.

 

“Well, then, Mr Gresham, if you ask me, I must say, that I think you

should abstain from any intercourse with Dr Thorne whatever.”

 

“Break off all intercourse with him?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“What do you mean? He has been turned out of this house, and I’m not

to go to see him at his own.”

 

“I certainly think that you ought to discontinue your visits to Dr

Thorne altogether.”

 

“Nonsense, my dear; absolute nonsense.”

 

“Nonsense! Mr Gresham; it is no nonsense. As you speak in that way,

I must let you know plainly what I feel. I am endeavouring to do

my duty by my son. As you justly observe, such a marriage as this

would be utter ruin to him. When I found that the young people were

actually talking of being in love with each other, making vows and

all that sort of thing, I did think it time to interfere. I did not,

however, turn them out of Greshamsbury as you accuse me of doing. In

the kindest possible manner—”

 

“Well—well—well; I know all that. There, they are gone, and that’s

enough. I don’t complain; surely that ought to be enough.”

 

“Enough! Mr Gresham. No; it is not enough. I find that, in spite

of what has occurred, the closest intimacy exists between the two

families; that poor Beatrice, who is so very young, and not so

prudent as she should be, is made to act as a go-between; and when

I speak to the doctor, hoping that he will assist me in preventing

this, he not only tells me that he means to encourage Mary in her

plans, but positively insults me to my face, laughs at me for being

an earl’s daughter, and tells me—yes, he absolutely told me—to get

out of his house.”

 

Let it be told with some shame as to the squire’s conduct, that his

first feeling on hearing this was one of envy—of envy and regret

that he could not make the same uncivil request. Not that he wished

to turn his wife absolutely out of his house; but he would have been

very glad to have had the power of dismissing her summarily from his

own room. This, however, was at present impossible; so he was obliged

to make some mild reply.

 

“You must have mistaken him, my dear. He could not have intended to

say that.”

 

“Oh! of course, Mr Gresham. It is all a mistake, of course. It will

be a mistake, only a mistake when you find your son married to Mary

Thorne.”

 

“Well, my dear, I cannot undertake to quarrel with Dr Thorne.” This

was true; for the squire could hardly have quarrelled with Dr Thorne,

even had he wished it.

 

“Then I think it right to tell you that I shall. And, Mr Gresham, I

did not expect much co-operation from you; but I did think that you

would have shown some little anger when you heard that I had been so

ill-treated. I shall, however, know how to take care of myself; and

I shall continue to do the best I can to protect Frank from these

wicked intrigues.”

 

So saying, her ladyship arose and left the room, having succeeded in

destroying the comfort of all our Greshamsbury friends. It was very

well for the squire to declare that he would not quarrel with Dr

Thorne, and of course he did not do so. But he, himself, had no wish

whatever that his son should marry Mary Thorne; and as a falling drop

will hollow a stone, so did the continual harping of his wife on the

subject give rise to some amount of suspicion in his own mind. Then

as to Beatrice, though she had made no promise that she would not

again visit Mary, she was by no means prepared to set her mother’s

authority altogether at defiance; and she also was sufficiently

uncomfortable.

 

Dr Thorne said nothing of the matter to his niece, and she,

therefore, would have been absolutely bewildered by Beatrice’s

absence, had she not received some tidings of what had taken place at

Greshamsbury through Patience Oriel. Beatrice and Patience discussed

the matter fully, and it was agreed between them that it would be

better that Mary should know what sterner orders respecting her

had gone forth from the tyrant at Greshamsbury, and that she might

understand that Beatrice’s absence was compulsory. Patience was thus

placed in this position, that on one day she walked and talked with

Beatrice, and on the next with Mary; and so matters went on for a

while at Greshamsbury—not very pleasantly.

 

Very unpleasantly and very uncomfortably did the months of May and

June pass