Doctor Thorne - Anthony Trollope (e novels to read TXT) 📗

looking out to the north, lay Sir Louis Scatcherd, dying wretchedly. There, in the other big, best bedroom, looking out to the south, had died the other baronet about a twelvemonth since, and each a victim to the same sin. To this had come the prosperity of the house of Scatcherd!

And then Dr. Fillgrave went on to Greshamsbury. It was a long day’s work, both for himself and the horses; but then, the triumph of being dragged up that avenue compensated for both the expense and the labour. He always put on his sweetest smile as he came near the hall door, and rubbed his hands in the most complaisant manner of which he knew. It was seldom that he saw any of the family but Lady Arabella; but then he desired to see none other, and when he left her in a good humour, was quite content to take his glass of sherry and eat his lunch by himself.

On this occasion, however, the servant at once asked him to go into the dining-room, and there he found himself in the presence of Frank Gresham. The fact was, that Lady Arabella, having at last decided, had sent for Dr. Thorne; and it had become necessary that someone should be entrusted with the duty of informing Dr. Fillgrave. That someone must be the squire, or Frank. Lady Arabella would doubtless have preferred a messenger more absolutely friendly to her own side of the house; but such messenger there was none: she could not send Mr. Gazebee to see her doctor, and so, of the two evils, she chose the least.

“Dr. Fillgrave,” said Frank, shaking hands with him very cordially as he came up, “my mother is so much obliged to you for all your care and anxiety on her behalf! and, so indeed, are we all.”

The doctor shook hands with him very warmly. This little expression of a family feeling on his behalf was the more gratifying, as he had always thought that the males of the Greshamsbury family were still wedded to that pseudo-doctor, that half-apothecary who lived in the village.

“It has been awfully troublesome to you, coming over all this way, I am sure. Indeed, money could not pay for it; my mother feels that. It must cut up your time so much.”

“Not at all, Mr. Gresham; not at all,” said the Barchester doctor, rising up on his toes proudly as he spoke. “A person of your mother’s importance, you know! I should be happy to go any distance to see her.”

“Ah! but, Dr. Fillgrave, we cannot allow that.”

“Mr. Gresham, don’t mention it.”

“Oh, yes; but I must,” said Frank, who thought that he had done enough for civility, and was now anxious to come to the point. “The fact is, doctor, that we are very much obliged for what you have done; but, for the future, my mother thinks she can trust to such assistance as she can get here in the village.”

Frank had been particularly instructed to be very careful how he mentioned Dr. Thorne’s name, and, therefore, cleverly avoided it.

Get what assistance she wanted in the village! What words were those that he heard? “Mr. Gresham, eh⁠—hem⁠—perhaps I do not completely⁠—” Yes, alas! he had completely understood what Frank had meant that he should understand. Frank desired to be civil, but he had no idea of beating unnecessarily about the bush on such an occasion as this.

“It’s by Sir Omicron’s advice, Dr. Fillgrave. You see, this man here”⁠—and he nodded his head towards the doctor’s house, being still anxious not to pronounce the hideous name⁠—“has known my mother’s constitution for so many years.”

“Oh, Mr. Gresham; of course, if it is wished.”

“Yes, Dr. Fillgrave, it is wished. Lunch is coming directly:” and Frank rang the bell.

“Nothing, I thank you, Mr. Gresham.”

“Do take a glass of sherry.”

“Nothing at all, I am very much obliged to you.”

“Won’t you let the horses get some oats?”

“I will return at once, if you please, Mr. Gresham.” And the doctor did return, taking with him, on this occasion, the fee that was offered to him. His experience had at any rate taught him so much.

But though Frank could do this for Lady Arabella, he could not receive Dr. Thorne on her behalf. The bitterness of that interview had to be borne by herself. A messenger had been sent for him, and he was upstairs with her ladyship while his rival was receiving his congé downstairs. She had two objects to accomplish, if it might be possible: she had found that high words with the doctor were of no avail; but it might be possible that Frank could be saved by humiliation on her part. If she humbled herself before this man, would he consent to acknowledge that his niece was not the fit bride for the heir of Greshamsbury?

The doctor entered the room where she was lying on her sofa, and walking up to her with a gentle, but yet not constrained step, took the seat beside her little table, just as he had always been accustomed to do, and as though there had been no break in their intercourse.

“Well, doctor, you see that I have come back to you,” she said, with a faint smile.

“Or, rather I have come back to you. And, believe me, Lady Arabella, I am very happy to do so. There need be no excuses. You were, doubtless, right to try what other skill could do; and I hope it has not been tried in vain.”

She had meant to have been so condescending; but now all that was put quite beyond her power. It was not easy to be condescending to the doctor: she had been trying all her life, and had never succeeded.

“I have had Sir Omicron Pie,” she said.

“So I was glad to hear. Sir Omicron is a clever man, and has a good name. I always recommend Sir Omicron myself.”

“And Sir Omicron returns the compliment,” said she, smiling gracefully, “for he recommends you. He told Mr. Gresham that I was very foolish to quarrel with my best friend. So now we