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

said this morning, are you?”

 

The doctor had forgotten the particular annoyance to which Sir Louis

alluded; and informed him that his mind might be at rest on any such

matter.

 

“I do believe you’d be glad to see me well; wouldn’t you, now?”

 

The doctor assured him that such was in very truth the case.

 

“Well, now, I’ll tell you what: I’ve been thinking about it a great

deal to-day; indeed, I have, and I want to do what’s right. Mightn’t

I have a little drop more of that stuff, just in a cup of coffee?”

 

The doctor poured him out a cup of coffee, and put about a

teaspoonful of brandy in it. Sir Louis took it with a disconsolate

face, not having been accustomed to such measures in the use of his

favourite beverage.

 

“I do wish to do what’s right—I do, indeed; only, you see, I’m so

lonely. As to those fellows up in London, I don’t think that one of

them cares a straw about me.”

 

Dr Thorne was of the same way of thinking, and he said so. He could

not but feel some sympathy with the unfortunate man as he thus spoke

of his own lot. It was true that he had been thrown on the world

without any one to take care of him.

 

“My dear friend, I will do the best I can in every way; I will,

indeed. I do believe that your companions in town have been too ready

to lead you astray. Drop them, and you may yet do well.”

 

“May I though, doctor? Well, I will drop them. There’s Jenkins; he’s

the best of them; but even he is always wanting to make money of me.

Not but what I’m up to the best of them in that way.”

 

“You had better leave London, Sir Louis, and change your old mode of

life. Go to Boxall Hill for a while; for two or three years or so;

live with your mother there and take to farming.”

 

“What! farming?”

 

“Yes; that’s what all country gentlemen do: take the land there into

your own hand, and occupy your mind upon it.”

 

“Well, doctor, I will—upon one condition.”

 

Dr Thorne sat still and listened. He had no idea what the condition

might be, but he was not prepared to promise acquiescence till he

heard it.

 

“You know what I told you once before,” said the baronet.

 

“I don’t remember at this moment.”

 

“About my getting married, you know.”

 

The doctor’s brow grew black, and promised no help to the poor

wretch. Bad in every way, wretched, selfish, sensual, unfeeling,

purse-proud, ignorant as Sir Louis Scatcherd was, still, there was

left to him the power of feeling something like sincere love. It may

be presumed that he did love Mary Thorne, and that he was at the time

earnest in declaring, that if she could be given to him, he would

endeavour to live according to her uncle’s counsel. It was only a

trifle he asked; but, alas! that trifle could not be vouchsafed.

 

“I should much approve of your getting married, but I do not know how

I can help you.”

 

“Of course, I mean to Miss Mary: I do love her; I really do, Dr

Thorne.”

 

“It is quite impossible, Sir Louis; quite. You do my niece much

honour; but I am able to answer for her, positively, that such a

proposition is quite out of the question.”

 

“Look here now, Dr Thorne; anything in the way of settlements—”

 

“I will not hear a word on the subject: you are very welcome to the

use of my house as long as it may suit you to remain here; but I must

insist that my niece shall not be troubled on this matter.”

 

“Do you mean to say she’s in love with that young Gresham?”

 

This was too much for the doctor’s patience. “Sir Louis,” said he,

“I can forgive you much for your father’s sake. I can also forgive

something on the score of your own ill health. But you ought to know,

you ought by this time to have learnt, that there are some things

which a man cannot forgive. I will not talk to you about my niece;

and remember this, also, I will not have her troubled by you:” and,

so saying, the doctor left him.

 

On the next day the baronet was sufficiently recovered to be able to

resume his braggadocio airs. He swore at Janet; insisted on being

served by his own man; demanded in a loud voice, but in vain,

that his liqueur-case should be restored to him; and desired that

post-horses might be ready for him on the morrow. On that day he

got up and ate his dinner in his bedroom. On the next morning he

countermanded the horses, informing the doctor that he did so because

he had a little bit of business to transact with Squire Gresham

before he left the place! With some difficulty, the doctor made him

understand that the squire would not see him on business; and it was

at last decided, that Mr Gazebee should be invited to call on him at

the doctor’s house; and this Mr Gazebee agreed to do, in order to

prevent the annoyance of having the baronet up at Greshamsbury.

 

On this day, the evening before Mr Gazebee’s visit, Sir Louis

condescended to come down to dinner. He dined, however, tête-à-tête

with the doctor. Mary was not there, nor was anything said as to her

absence. Sir Louis Scatcherd never set eyes upon her again.

 

He bore himself very arrogantly on that evening, having resumed the

airs and would-be dignity which he thought belonged to him as a man

of rank and property. In his periods of low spirits, he was abject

and humble enough; abject, and fearful of the lamentable destiny

which at these moments he believed to be in store for him. But it

was one of the peculiar symptoms of his state, that as he partially

recovered his bodily health, the tone of his mind recovered itself

also, and his fears for the time were relieved.

 

There was very little said between him and the doctor that evening.

The doctor sat guarding the wine, and thinking when he should have

his house to himself again. Sir Louis sat moody, every now and then

uttering some impertinence as to the Greshams and the Greshamsbury

property, and, at an early hour, allowed Joe to put him to bed.

 

The horses were ordered on the next day for three, and, as two, Mr

Gazebee came to the house. He had never been there before, nor had he

ever met Dr Thorne except at the squire’s dinner. On this occasion he

asked only for the baronet.

 

“Ah! ah! I’m glad you’re come, Mr Gazebee; very glad,” said Sir

Louis; acting the part of the rich, great man with all the power he

had. “I want to ask you a few questions so as to make it all clear

sailing between us.”

 

“As you have asked to see me, I have come, Sir Louis,” said the

other, putting on much dignity as he spoke. “But would it not be

better that any business there may be should be done among the

lawyers?”

 

“The lawyers are very well, I dare say; but when a man has so large a

stake at interest as I have in this Greshamsbury property, why, you

see, Mr Gazebee, he feels a little inclined to look after it himself.

Now, do you know, Mr Gazebee, how much it is that Mr Gresham owes

me?”

 

Mr Gazebee, of course, did know very well; but he was not going to

discuss the subject with Sir Louis, if he could help it.

 

“Whatever claim your father’s estate may have on that of Mr Gresham

is, as far as I understand, vested in Dr Thorne’s hands as trustee.

I am inclined to believe that you have not yourself at present any

claim on Greshamsbury. The interest, as it becomes due, is paid to

Dr Thorne; and if I may be allowed to make a suggestion, I would say

that it will not be expedient to make any change in that arrangement

till the property shall come into your own hands.”

 

“I differ from you entirely, Mr Gazebee; in toto, as we used to say

at Eton. What you mean to say is—I can’t go to law with Mr Gresham;

I’m not so sure of that; but perhaps not. But I can compel Dr Thorne

to look after my interests. I can force him to foreclose. And to tell

you the truth, Gazebee, unless some arrangement is proposed to me

which I shall think advantageous, I shall do so at once. There is

near a hundred thousand pounds owing to me; yes to me. Thorne is only

a name in the matter. The money is my money; and, by –-, I mean to

look after it.”

 

“Have you any doubt, Sir Louis, as to the money being secure?”

 

“Yes, I have. It isn’t so easy to have a hundred thousand pounds

secured. The squire is a poor man, and I don’t choose to allow a poor

man to owe me such a sum as that. Besides, I mean to invest it in

land. I tell you fairly, therefore, I shall foreclose.”

 

Mr Gazebee, using all the perspicuity which his professional

education had left to him, tried to make Sir Louis understand that he

had no power to do anything of the kind.

 

“No power! Mr Gresham shall see whether I have no power. When a man

has a hundred thousand pounds owing to him he ought to have some

power; and, as I take it, he has. But we will see. Perhaps you know

Finnie, do you?”

 

Mr Gazebee, with a good deal of scorn in his face, said that he had

not that pleasure. Mr Finnie was not in his line.

 

“Well, you will know him then, and you’ll find he’s sharp enough;

that is, unless I have some offer made to me that I may choose to

accept.” Mr Gazebee declared that he was not instructed to make any

offer, and so he took his leave.

 

On that afternoon, Sir Louis went off to Boxall Hill, transferring

the miserable task of superintending his self-destruction from the

shoulders of the doctor to those of his mother. Of Lady Scatcherd,

the baronet took no account in his proposed sojourn in the country,

nor did he take much of the doctor in leaving Greshamsbury. He again

wrapped himself in his furs, and, with tottering steps, climbed up

into the barouche which was to carry him away.

 

“Is my man up behind?” he said to Janet, while the doctor was

standing at the little front garden-gate, making his adieux.

 

“No, sir, he’s not up yet,” said Janet, respectfully.

 

“Then send him out, will you? I can’t lose my time waiting here all

day.”

 

“I shall come over to Boxall Hill and see you,” said the doctor,

whose heart softened towards the man, in spite of his brutality, as

the hour of his departure came.

 

“I shall be happy to see you if you like to come, of course; that is,

in the way of visiting, and that sort of thing. As for doctoring, if

I want any I shall send for Fillgrave.” Such were his last words as

the carriage, with a rush, went off from the door.

 

The doctor, as he re-entered the house, could not avoid smiling, for

he thought of Dr Fillgrave’s last patient at Boxall Hill. “It’s a

question to