The doctor bowed, and said that he was very sorry that she should have any cause for uneasiness about his young friend Frank.
“Indeed, I am very uneasy, doctor; and having, as I do have, such reliance on your prudence, and such perfect confidence in your friendship, I have thought it best to come and speak to you openly:” thereupon the Lady Arabella paused, and the doctor bowed again.
“Nobody knows so well as you do the dreadful state of the squire’s affairs.”
“Not so very dreadful; not so very dreadful,” said the doctor, mildly: “that is, as far as I know.”
“Yes they are, doctor; very dreadful; very dreadful indeed. You know how much he owes to this young man: I do not, for the squire never tells anything to me; but I know that it is a very large sum of money; enough to swamp the estate and ruin Frank. Now I call that very dreadful.”
“No, no, not ruin him, Lady Arabella; not ruin him, I hope.”
“However, I did not come to talk to you about that. As I said before, I know nothing of the squire’s affairs, and, as a matter of course, I do not ask you to tell me. But I am sure you will agree with me in this, that, as a mother, I cannot but be interested about my only son,” and Lady Arabella put her cambric handkerchief to her eyes.
“Of course you are; of course you are,” said the doctor; “and, Lady Arabella, my opinion of Frank is such, that I feel sure that he will do well;” and, in his energy, Dr. Thorne brandished one of the thigh-bones almost in the lady’s face.
“I hope he will; I am sure I hope he will. But, doctor, he has such dangers to contend with; he is so warm and impulsive that I fear his heart will bring him into trouble. Now, you know, unless Frank marries money he is lost.”
The doctor made no answer to this last appeal, but as he sat and listened a slight frown came across his brow.
“He must marry money, doctor. Now we have, you see, with your assistance, contrived to separate him from dear Mary—”
“With my assistance, Lady Arabella! I have given no assistance, nor have I meddled in the matter; nor will I.”
“Well, doctor, perhaps not meddled; but you agreed with me, you know, that the two young people had been imprudent.”
“I agreed to no such thing, Lady Arabella; never, never. I not only never agreed that Mary had been imprudent, but I will not agree to it now, and will not allow anyone to assert it in my presence without contradicting it:” and then the doctor worked away at the thigh-bones in a manner that did rather alarm her ladyship.
“At any rate, you thought that the young people had better be kept apart.”
“No; neither did I think that: my niece, I felt sure, was safe from danger. I knew that she would do nothing that would bring either her or me to shame.”
“Not to shame,” said the lady, apologetically, as it were, using the word perhaps not exactly in the doctor’s sense.
“I felt no alarm for her,” continued the doctor, “and desired no change. Frank is your son, and it is for you to look to him. You thought proper to do so by desiring Mary to absent herself from Greshamsbury.”
“Oh, no, no, no!” said Lady Arabella.
“But you did, Lady Arabella; and as Greshamsbury is your home, neither I nor my niece had any ground of complaint. We acquiesced, not without much suffering, but we did acquiesce; and you, I think, can have no ground of complaint against us.”
Lady Arabella had hardly expected that the doctor would reply to her mild and conciliatory exordium with so much sternness. He had yielded so easily to her on the former occasion. She did not comprehend that when she uttered her sentence of exile against Mary, she had given an order which she had the power of enforcing; but that obedience to that order had now placed Mary altogether beyond her jurisdiction. She was, therefore, a little surprised, and for a few moments overawed by the doctor’s manner; but she soon recovered herself, remembering, doubtless, that fortune favours none but the brave.
“I make no complaint, Dr. Thorne,” she said, after assuming a tone more befitting a De Courcy than that hitherto used, “I make no complaint either as regards you or Mary.”
“You are very kind, Lady Arabella.”
“But I think that it is my duty to put a stop, a peremptory stop to anything like a love affair between my son and your niece.”
“I have not the least objection in life. If there is such a love affair, put a stop to it—that is, if you have the power.”
Here the doctor was doubtless imprudent. But he had begun to think that he had yielded sufficiently to the lady; and he had begun to resolve, also, that though it would not become him to encourage even the idea of such a marriage, he would make Lady Arabella understand that he thought his niece quite good enough for her son, and that the match, if regarded as imprudent, was to be regarded as equally imprudent on both sides. He would not suffer that Mary and her heart and feelings and interest should be altogether postponed to those of the young heir; and, perhaps, he was unconsciously encouraged in this determination by the reflection that Mary herself might perhaps become a young heiress.
“It is my duty,” said Lady Arabella, repeating her words with even a stronger De Courcy intonation; “and your duty also, Dr. Thorne.”
“My duty!” said he, rising from his chair and leaning on the table with the two thigh-bones. “Lady Arabella, pray understand at once, that I repudiate any such duty, and will have nothing whatever to do with it.”
“But you do not mean to say that you will encourage this unfortunate boy to marry your niece?”
“The unfortunate boy, Lady Arabella—whom, by the by, I regard as a very fortunate young man—is your son, not mine. I shall take no steps about his marriage, either one way or the other.”
“You think it right, then, that your niece should throw herself in his way?”
“Throw herself in his way! What would you say if I came up to Greshamsbury, and spoke to you of your daughters in such language? What would my dear friend Mr. Gresham say, if some neighbour’s wife should come and so speak to him? I will tell you what he would say: he would quietly beg her to go back to her own home and meddle only with her own matters.”
This was dreadful to Lady Arabella. Even Dr. Thorne had never before dared thus to lower her to the level of common humanity, and liken her to any other wife in the country-side. Moreover, she was not quite sure whether he, the parish doctor, was not desiring her, the earl’s daughter, to go home and mind her own business. On this first point, however, there seemed to be no room for doubt, of which she gave herself the benefit.
“It would not become me to argue with you, Dr. Thorne,” she said.
“Not at least on this subject,” said he.
“I can only repeat that I mean nothing offensive to our dear Mary; for whom, I think I may say, I have always shown almost a mother’s care.”
“Neither am I, nor is Mary, ungrateful for the kindness she has received at Greshamsbury.”
“But I must do my duty: my own children must be my first consideration.”
“Of course they must, Lady Arabella; that’s of course.”
“And, therefore, I have called on you to say that I think it is imprudent that Beatrice and Mary should be so much together.”
The doctor had been standing during the latter part of this conversation, but now he began to walk about, still holding the two bones like a pair of dumb-bells.
“God bless my soul!” he said; “God bless my soul! Why, Lady Arabella, do you suspect your own daughter as well as your own son? Do you think that Beatrice is assisting Mary in preparing this wicked clandestine marriage? I tell you fairly, Lady Arabella, the present tone of your mind is such that I cannot understand it.”
“I suspect nobody, Dr. Thorne; but young people will be young.”
“And old people must be old, I suppose; the more’s the pity. Lady Arabella, Mary is the same to me as my own daughter, and owes me the obedience of a child; but as I do not disapprove of your daughter Beatrice as an acquaintance for h
er, but rather, on the other hand, regard with pleasure their friendship, you cannot expect that I should take any steps to put an end to it.”
“But suppose it should lead to renewed intercourse between Frank and Mary?”
“I have no objection. Frank is a very nice young fellow, gentleman-like in his manners, and neighbourly in his disposition.”
“Dr. Thorne—”
“Lady Arabella—”
“I cannot believe that you really intend to express a wish—”
“You are quite right. I have not intended to express any wish; nor do I intend to do so. Mary is at liberty, within certain bounds—which I am sure she will not pass—to choose her own friends. I think she has not chosen badly as regards Miss Beatrice Gresham; and should she even add Frank Gresham to the number—”
“Friends! why they were more than friends; they were declared lovers.”
“I doubt that, Lady Arabella, because I have not heard of it from Mary. But even if it were so, I do not see why I should object.”
“Not object!”
“As I said before, Frank is, to my thinking, an excellent young man. Why should I object?”
“Dr. Thorne!” said her ladyship, now also rising from her chair in a state of too evident perturbation.
“Why should I object? It is for you, Lady Arabella, to look after your lambs; for me to see that, if possible, no harm shall come to mine. If you think that Mary is an improper acquaintance for your children, it is for you to guide them; for you and their father. Say what you think fit to your own daughter; but pray understand, once for all, that I will allow no one to interfere with my niece.”
“Interfere!” said Lady Arabella, now absolutely confused by the severity of the doctor’s manner.
“I will allow no one to interfere with her; no one, Lady Arabella. She has suffered very greatly from imputations which you have most unjustly thrown on her. It was, however, your undoubted right to turn her out of your house if you thought fit—though, as a woman who had known her for so many years, you might, I think, have treated her with more forbearance. That, however, was your right, and you exercised it. There your privilege stops; yes, and must stop, Lady Arabella. You shall not persecute her here, on the only spot of ground she can call her own.”
“Persecute her, Dr. Thorne! You do not mean to say that I have persecuted her?”
“Ah! but I do mean to say so. You do persecute her, and would continue to do so did I not defend her. It is not sufficient that she is forbidden to enter your domain—and so forbidden with the knowledge of all the country round—but you must come here also with the hope of interrupting all the innocent pleasures of her life. Fearing lest she should be allowed even to speak of your son, to hear a word of him through his own sister, you would put her in prison, tie her up, keep her from the light of day—”
“Dr. Thorne! how can you—”
But the doctor was not to be interrupted.
“It never occurs to you to tie him up, to put him in prison. No; he is the heir of Greshamsbury; he is your son, an earl’s grandson. It is only natural, after all, that he should throw a few foolish words at the doctor’s niece. But she! it is an offence not to be forgiven on her part that she should, however unwillingly, have been forced to listen to them! Now understand me, Lady Arabella; if any of your family come to my house I shall be delighted to welcome them: if Mary should meet any of them elsewhere I shall be delighted to hear of it. Should she tell me to-morrow that she was engaged to marry Frank, I should talk the matter over with her, quite coolly, solely with a view to her interest, as would be my duty; feeling, at the same time, that Frank would be lucky in having such a wife. Now you know my mind, Lady Arabella. It is so I should do my duty—you can do yours as you may think fit.”
Lady Arabella had by this time perceived that she was not destined on this occasion to gain any great victory. She, however, was angry as well as the doctor. It was not the man’s vehemence that provoked her so much as his evident determination to break down the prestige of her rank, and place her on a footing in no respect superior to his own. He had never before been so audaciously arrogant; and, as she moved towards the door, she determined in her wrath that she would never again have confidential intercourse with him in any relation of life whatsoever.
“Dr. Thorne,” said she. “I think you have forgotten yourself. You must excuse me if I say that after what has passed I—I—I—”
“Certainly,” said he, fully understanding what she meant; and bowing low as he opened first the study-door, then the front-door, then the garden-gate.
And then Lady Arabella stalked off, not without full observation from Mrs. Yates Umbleby and her friend Miss Gushing, who lived close by.
CHAPTER XXVII
Miss Thorne Goes on a Visit
And now began the unpleasant things at Greshamsbury of which we have here told. When Lady Arabella walked away from the doctor’s house she resolved that, let it cost what it might, there should be war to the knife between her and him. She had been insulted by him—so at least she said to herself, and so she was prepared to say to others also—and it was not to be borne that a De Courcy should allow her parish doctor to insult her with impunity. She would tell her husband with all the dignity that she could assume, that it had now become absolutely necessary that he should protect his wife by breaking entirely with his unmannered neighbour; and, as regarded the young members of her family, she would use the authority of a mother, and absolutely forbid them to hold any intercourse with Mary Thorne. So resolving, she walked quickly back to her own house.
The doctor, when left alone, was not quite satisfied with the part he had taken in the interview. He had spoken from impulse rather than from judgement, and, as is generally the case with men who do so speak, he had afterwards to acknowledge to himself that he had been imprudent. He accused himself probably of more violence than he had really used, and was therefore unhappy; but, nevertheless, his indignation was not at rest. He was angry with himself; but not on that account the less angry with Lady Arabella. She was cruel, overbearing, and unreasonable; cruel in the most cruel of manners, so he thought; but not on that account was he justified in forgetting the forbearance due from a gentleman to a lady. Mary, moreover, had owed much to the kindness of this woman, and, therefore, Dr. Thorne felt that he should have forgiven much.
Thus the doctor walked about his room, much disturbed; now accusing himself for having been so angry with Lady Arabella, and then feeding his own anger by thinking of her misconduct.
The only immediate conclusion at which he resolved was this, that it was unnecessary that he should say anything to Mary on the subject of her ladyship’s visit. There was, no doubt, sorrow enough in store for his darling; why should he aggravate it? Lady Arabella would doubtless not stop now in her course; but why should he accelerate the evil which she would doubtless be able to effect?
Lady Arabella, when she returned to the house, allowed no grass to grow under her feet. As she entered the house she desired that Miss Beatrice should be sent to her directly she returned; and she desired also, that as soon as the squire should be in his room a message to that effect might be immediately brought to her.
“Beatrice,” she said, as soon as the young lady appeared before her, and in speaking she assumed her firmest tone of authority, “Beatrice, I am sorry, my dear, to say anything that is unpleasant to you, but I must make it a positive request that you will for the future drop all intercourse with Dr. Thorne’s family.”
Beatrice, who had received Lady Arabella’s message immediately on entering 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.”
“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 has 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.”
The Chronicles of Barsetshire Page 115