CHAPTER X
Sir Roger's Will
Dr Thorne left the room and went downstairs, being fully aware thathe could not leave the house without having some communication withLady Scatcherd. He was not sooner within the passage than he heardthe sick man's bell ring violently; and then the servant, passinghim on the staircase, received orders to send a mounted messengerimmediately to Barchester. Dr Fillgrave was to be summoned to come asquickly as possible to the sick man's room, and Mr Winterbones was tobe sent up to write the note.
Sir Roger was quite right in supposing that there would be some wordsbetween the doctor and her ladyship. How, indeed, was the doctor toget out of the house without such, let him wish it ever so much?There were words; and these were protracted, while the doctor'scob was being ordered round, till very many were uttered which thecontractor would probably have regarded as nonsense.
Lady Scatcherd was no fit associate for the wives of Englishbaronets;--was no doubt by education and manners much better fittedto sit in their servants' halls; but not on that account was she abad wife or a bad woman. She was painfully, fearfully, anxious forthat husband of hers, whom she honoured and worshipped, as it behovedher to do, above all other men. She was fearfully anxious as to hislife, and faithfully believed, that if any man could prolong it, itwas that old and faithful friend whom she had known to be true to herlord since their early married troubles.
When, therefore, she found that he had been dismissed, and that astranger was to be sent for in his place, her heart sank low withinher.
"But, doctor," she said, with her apron up to her eyes, "you ain'tgoing to leave him, are you?"
Dr Thorne did not find it easy to explain to her ladyship thatmedical etiquette would not permit him to remain in attendance on herhusband after he had been dismissed and another physician called inhis place.
"Etiquette!" said she, crying. "What's etiquette to do with it when aman is a-killing hisself with brandy?"
"Fillgrave will forbid that quite as strongly as I can do."
"Fillgrave!" said she. "Fiddlesticks! Fillgrave, indeed!"
Dr Thorne could almost have embraced her for the strong feeling ofthorough confidence on the one side, and thorough distrust on theother, which she contrived to throw into those few words.
"I'll tell you what, doctor; I won't let the messenger go. I'll bearthe brunt of it. He can't do much now he ain't up, you know. I'llstop the boy; we won't have no Fillgraves here."
This, however, was a step to which Dr Thorne would not assent. Heendeavoured to explain to the anxious wife, that after what hadpassed he could not tender his medical services till they were againasked for.
"But you can slip in as a friend, you know; and then by degrees youcan come round him, eh? can't you now, doctor? And as to thepayment--"
All that Dr Thorne said on the subject may easily be imagined. And inthis way, and in partaking of the lunch which was forced upon him, anhour had nearly passed between his leaving Sir Roger's bedroom andputting his foot in the stirrup. But no sooner had the cob begun tomove on the gravel-sweep before the house, than one of the upperwindows opened, and the doctor was summoned to another conferencewith the sick man.
"He says you are to come back, whether or no," said Mr Winterbones,screeching out of the window, and putting all his emphasis on thelast words.
"Thorne! Thorne! Thorne!" shouted the sick man from his sick-bed, soloudly that the doctor heard him, seated as he was on horseback outbefore the house.
"You're to come back, whether or no," repeated Winterbones, withmore emphasis, evidently conceiving that there was a strength ofinjunction in that "whether or no" which would be found quiteinvincible.
Whether actuated by these magic words, or by some internal process ofthought, we will not say; but the doctor did slowly, and as thoughunwillingly, dismount again from his steed, and slowly retrace hissteps into the house.
"It is no use," he said to himself, "for that messenger has alreadygone to Barchester."
"I have sent for Dr Fillgrave," were the first words which thecontractor said to him when he again found himself by the bedside.
"Did you call me back to tell me that?" said Thorne, who now realyfelt angry at the impertinent petulance of the man before him: "youshould consider, Scatcherd, that my time may be of value to others,if not to you."
"Now don't be angry, old fellow," said Scatcherd, turning to him,and looking at him with a countenance quite different from any thathe had shown that day; a countenance in which there was a show ofmanhood,--some show also of affection. "You ain't angry now becauseI've sent for Fillgrave?"
"Not in the least," said the doctor very complacently. "Not in theleast. Fillgrave will do as much good as I can do you."
"And that's none at all, I suppose; eh, Thorne?"
"That depends on yourself. He will do you good if you will tell himthe truth, and will then be guided by him. Your wife, your servant,any one can be as good a doctor to you as either he or I; as good,that is, in the main point. But you have sent for Fillgrave now; andof course you must see him. I have much to do, and you must let mego."
Scatcherd, however, would not let him go, but held his hand fast."Thorne," said he, "if you like it, I'll make them put Fillgraveunder the pump directly he comes here. I will indeed, and pay all thedamage myself."
This was another proposition to which the doctor could not consent;but he was utterly unable to refrain from laughing. There was anearnest look of entreaty about Sir Roger's face as he made thesuggestion and, joined to this, there was a gleam of comicsatisfaction in his eye which seemed to promise, that if he receivedthe least encouragement he would put his threat into execution. Nowour doctor was not inclined to taking any steps towards subjectinghis learned brother to pump discipline; but he could not but admit tohimself that the idea was not a bad one.
"I'll have it done, I will, by heavens! if you'll only say the word,"protested Sir Roger.
But the doctor did not say the word, and so the idea was passed off.
"You shouldn't be so testy with a man when he is ill," saidScatcherd, still holding the doctor's hand, of which he had again gotpossession "specially not an old friend; and specially again whenyou're been a-blowing of him up."
It was not worth the doctor's while to aver that the testinesshad all been on the other side, and that he had never lost hisgood-humour; so he merely smiled, and asked Sir Roger if he could doanything further for him.
"Indeed you can, doctor; and that's why I sent for you,--why I sentfor you yesterday. Get out of the room, Winterbones," he then said,gruffly, as though he were dismissing from his chamber a dirtydog. Winterbones, not a whit offended, again hid his cup under hiscoat-tail and vanished.
"Sit down, Thorne, sit down," said the contractor, speaking quite ina different manner from any that he had yet assumed. "I know you'rein a hurry, but you must give me half an hour. I may be dead beforeyou can give me another; who knows?"
The doctor of course declared that he hoped to have many ahalf-hour's chat with him for many a year to come.
"Well, that's as may be. You must stop now, at any rate. You can makethe cob pay for it, you know."
The doctor took a chair and sat down. Thus entreated to stop, he hadhardly any alternative but to do so.
"It wasn't because I'm ill that I sent for you, or rather let herladyship send for you. Lord bless you, Thorne; do you think I don'tknow what it is that makes me like this? When I see that poor wretch,Winterbones, killing himself with gin, do you think I don't knowwhat's coming to myself as well as him?
"Why do you take it then? Why do you do it? Your life is not likehis. Oh, Scatcherd! Scatcherd!" and the doctor prepared to pour outthe flood of his eloquence in beseeching this singular man to abstainfrom his well-known poison.
"Is that all you know of human nature, doctor? Abstain. Can youabstain from breathing, and live like a fish does under water?"
"But Nature has not ordered you to drink, Scatcherd."
"Habit is se
cond nature, man; and a stronger nature than the first.And why should I not drink? What else has the world given me forall that I have done for it? What other resource have I? What othergratification?"
"Oh, my God! Have you not unbounded wealth? Can you not do anythingyou wish? be anything you choose?"
"No," and the sick man shrieked with an energy that made him audibleall through the house. "I can do nothing that I would choose to do;be nothing that I would wish to be! What can I do? What can I be?What gratification can I have except the brandy bottle? If I go amonggentlemen, can I talk to them? If they have anything to say abouta railway, they will ask me a question: if they speak to me beyondthat, I must be dumb. If I go among my workmen, can they talk to me?No; I am their master, and a stern master. They bob their heads andshake in their shoes when they see me. Where are my friends? Here!"said he, and he dragged a bottle from under his very pillow. "Whereare my amusements? Here!" and he brandished the bottle almost in thedoctor's face. "Where is my one resource, my one gratification, myonly comfort after all my toils. Here, doctor; here, here, here!"and, so saying, he replaced his treasure beneath his pillow.
There was something so horrifying in this, that Dr Thorne shrank backamazed, and was for a moment unable to speak.
"But, Scatcherd," he said at last; "surely you would not die for sucha passion as that?"
"Die for it? Aye, would I. Live for it while I can live; and die forit when I can live no longer. Die for it! What is that for a man todo? Do not men die for a shilling a day? What is a man the worse fordying? What can I be the worse for dying? A man can die but once, yousaid just now. I'd die ten times for this."
"You are speaking now either in madness, or else in folly, to startleme."
"Folly enough, perhaps, and madness enough, also. Such a life as minemakes a man a fool, and makes him mad too. What have I about me thatI should be afraid to die? I'm worth three hundred thousand pounds;and I'd give it all to be able to go to work to-morrow with a hod andmortar, and have a fellow clap his hand upon my shoulder, and say:'Well, Roger, shall us have that 'ere other half-pint this morning?'I'll tell you what, Thorne, when a man has made three hundredthousand pounds, there's nothing left for him but to die. It's allhe's good for then. When money's been made, the next thing is tospend it. Now the man who makes it has not the heart to do that."
The doctor, of course, in hearing all this, said something of atendency to comfort and console the mind of his patient. Not thatanything he could say would comfort or console the man; but that itwas impossible to sit there and hear such fearful truths--for asregarded Scatcherd they were truths--without making some answer.
"This is as good as a play, isn't, doctor?" said the baronet. "Youdidn't know how I could come out like one of those actor fellows.Well, now, come; at last I'll tell you why I have sent for you.Before that last burst of mine I made my will."
"You had a will made before that."
"Yes, I had. That will is destroyed. I burnt it with my own hand, sothat there should be no mistake about it. In that will I had namedtwo executors, you and Jackson. I was then partner with Jackson inthe York and Yeovil Grand Central. I thought a deal of Jackson then.He's not worth a shilling now."
"Well, I'm exactly in the same category."
"No, you're not. Jackson is nothing without money; but money'll nevermake you."
"No, nor I shan't make money," said the doctor.
"No, you never will. Nevertheless, there's my other will, there,under that desk there; and I've put you in as sole executor."
"You must alter that, Scatcherd; you must indeed; with three hundredthousand pounds to be disposed of, the trust is far too much for anyone man: besides you must name a younger man; you and I are of thesame age, and I may die the first."
"Now, doctor, doctor, no humbug; let's have no humbug from you.Remember this; if you're not true, you're nothing."
"Well, but, Scatcherd--"
"Well, but doctor, there's the will, it's already made. I don't wantto consult you about that. You are named as executor, and if you havethe heart to refuse to act when I'm dead, why, of course, you can doso."
The doctor was no lawyer, and hardly knew whether he had any meansof extricating himself from this position in which his friend wasdetermined to place him.
"You'll have to see that will carried out, Thorne. Now I'll tell youwhat I have done."
"You're not going to tell me how you have disposed of your property?"
"Not exactly; at least not all of it. One hundred thousand I've leftin legacies, including, you know, what Lady Scatcherd will have."
"Have you not left the house to Lady Scatcherd?"
"No; what the devil would she do with a house like this? She doesn'tknow how to live in it now she has got it. I have provided for her;it matters not how. The house and the estate, and the remainder of mymoney, I have left to Louis Philippe."
"What! two hundred thousand pounds?" said the doctor.
"And why shouldn't I leave two hundred thousand pounds to my son,even to my eldest son if I had more than one? Does not Mr Greshamleave all his property to his heir? Why should not I make an eldestson as well as Lord de Courcy or the Duke of Omnium? I suppose arailway contractor ought not to be allowed an eldest son by Act ofParliament! Won't my son have a title to keep up? And that's morethan the Greshams have among them."
The doctor explained away what he said as well as he could. He couldnot explain that what he had really meant was this, that Sir RogerScatcherd's son was not a man fit to be trusted with the entirecontrol of an enormous fortune.
Sir Roger Scatcherd had but one child; that child which had been bornin the days of his early troubles, and had been dismissed from hismother's breast in order that the mother's milk might nourish theyoung heir of Greshamsbury. The boy had grown up, but had becomestrong neither in mind nor body. His father had determined to makea gentleman of him, and had sent to Eton and to Cambridge. Buteven this receipt, generally as it is recognised, will not make agentleman. It is hard, indeed, to define what receipt will do so,though people do have in their own minds some certain undefined, butyet tolerably correct ideas on the subject. Be that as it may, twoyears at Eton, and three terms at Cambridge, did not make a gentlemanof Louis Philippe Scatcherd.
Yes; he was christened Louis Philippe, after the King of the French.If one wishes to look out in the world for royal nomenclature, tofind children who have been christened after kings and queens, orthe uncles and aunts of kings and queens, the search should be madein the families of democrats. None have so servile a deference forthe very nail-parings of royalty; none feel so wondering an awe atthe exaltation of a crowned head; none are so anxious to securethemselves some shred or fragment that has been consecrated by theroyal touch. It is the distance which they feel to exist betweenthemselves and the throne which makes them covet the crumbs ofmajesty, the odds and ends and chance splinters of royalty.
There was nothing royal about Louis Philippe Scatcherd but hisname. He had now come to man's estate, and his father, finding theCambridge receipt to be inefficacious, had sent him abroad to travelwith a tutor. The doctor had from time to time heard tidings of thisyouth; he knew that he had already shown symptoms of his father'svices, but no symptoms of his father's talents; he knew that he hadbegun life by being dissipated, without being generous; and that atthe age of twenty-one he had already suffered from delirium tremens.
It was on this account that he had expressed disapprobation, ratherthan surprise, when he heard that his father intended to bequeaththe bulk of his large fortune to the uncontrolled will of thisunfortunate boy.
"I have toiled for my money hard, and I have a right to do as I likewith it. What other satisfaction can it give me?"
The doctor assured him that he did not at all mean to dispute this.
"Louis Philippe will do well enough, you'll find," continued thebaronet, understanding what was passing within his companion'sbreast. "Let a young fellow sow his wild oats while he is young, andhe'll be steady enou
gh when he grows old."
"But what if he never lives to get through the sowing?" thought thedoctor to himself. "What if the wild-oats operation is carried onin so violent a manner as to leave no strength in the soil for theproduct of a more valuable crop?" It was of no use saying this,however, so he allowed Scatcherd to continue.
"If I'd had a free fling when I was a youngster, I shouldn't havebeen so fond of the brandy bottle now. But any way, my son shall bemy heir. I've had the gumption to make the money, but I haven't thegumption to spend it. My son, however, shall be able to ruffle itwith the best of them. I'll go bail he shall hold his head higherthan ever young Gresham will be able to hold his. They are much ofthe same age, as well I have cause to remember;--and so has herladyship there."
Now the fact was, that Sir Roger Scatcherd felt in his heart nospecial love for young Gresham; but with her ladyship it might almostbe a question whether she did not love the youth whom she had nursedalmost as well as that other one who was her own proper offspring.
"And will you not put any check on thoughtless expenditure? Ifyou live ten or twenty years, as we hope you may, it will becomeunnecessary; but in making a will, a man should always remember hemay go off suddenly."
"Especially if he goes to bed with a brandy bottle under his head;eh, doctor? But, mind, that's a medical secret, you know; not a wordof that out of the bedroom."
Dr Thorne could but sigh. What could he say on such a subject to sucha man as this?
"Yes, I have put a check on his expenditure. I will not let his dailybread depend on any man; I have therefore left him five hundred ayear at his own disposal, from the day of my death. Let him make whatducks and drakes of that he can."
"Five hundred a year certainly is not much," said the doctor.
"No; nor do I want to keep him to that. Let him have whatever hewants if he sets about spending it properly. But the bulk of theproperty--this estate of Boxall Hill, and the Greshamsbury mortgage,and those other mortgages--I have tied up in this way: they shall beall his at twenty-five; and up to that age it shall be in your powerto give him what he wants. If he shall die without children beforehe shall be twenty-five years of age, they are all to go to Mary'seldest child."
Now Mary was Sir Roger's sister, the mother, therefore, of MissThorne, and, consequently, the wife of the respectable ironmonger whowent to America, and the mother of a family there.
"Mary's eldest child!" said the doctor, feeling that the perspirationhad nearly broken out on his forehead, and that he could hardlycontrol his feelings. "Mary's eldest child! Scatcherd, you shouldbe more particular in your description, or you will leave your bestlegacy to the lawyers."
"I don't know, and never heard the name of one of them."
"But do you mean a boy or a girl?"
"They may be all girls for what I know, or all boys; besides, Idon't care which it is. A girl would probably do best with it. Onlyyou'd have to see that she married some decent fellow; you'd be herguardian."
"Pooh, nonsense," said the doctor. "Louis will be five-and-twenty ina year or two."
"In about four years."
"And for all that's come and gone yet, Scatcherd, you are not goingto leave us yourself quite so soon as all that."
"Not if I can help it, doctor; but that's as may be."
"The chances are ten to one that such a clause in your will willnever come to bear."
"Quite so, quite so. If I die, Louis Philippe won't; but I thought itright to put in something to prevent his squandering it all before hecomes to his senses."
"Oh! quite right, quite right. I think I would have named a later agethan twenty-five."
"So would not I. Louis Philippe will be all right by that time.That's my lookout. And now, doctor, you know my will; and if I dieto-morrow, you will know what I want you to do for me."
"You have merely said the eldest child, Scatcherd?"
"That's all; give it here, and I'll read it to you."
"No, no; never mind. The eldest child! You should be more particular,Scatcherd; you should, indeed. Consider what an enormous interest mayhave to depend on those words."
"Why, what the devil could I say? I don't know their names; nevereven heard them. But the eldest is the eldest, all the world over.Perhaps I ought to say the youngest, seeing that I am only a railwaycontractor."
Scatcherd began to think that the doctor might now as well go awayand leave him to the society of Winterbones and the brandy; but, muchas our friend had before expressed himself in a hurry, he now seemedinclined to move very leisurely. He sat there by the bedside, restinghis hands on his knees and gazing unconsciously at the counterpane.At last he gave a deep sigh, and then he said, "Scatcherd, you mustbe more particular in this. If I am to have anything to do with it,you must, indeed, be more explicit."
"Why, how the deuce can I be more explicit? Isn't her eldest livingchild plain enough, whether he be Jack, or she be Gill?"
"What did your lawyer say to this, Scatcherd?"
"Lawyer! You don't suppose I let my lawyer know what I was putting.No; I got the form and the paper, and all that from him, and had himhere, in one room, while Winterbones and I did it in another. It'sall right enough. Though Winterbones wrote it, he did it in such away he did not know what he was writing."
The doctor sat a while longer, still looking at the counterpane,and then got up to depart. "I'll see you again soon," said he;"to-morrow, probably."
"To-morrow!" said Sir Roger, not at all understanding why Dr Thorneshould talk of returning so soon. "To-morrow! why I ain't so bad asthat, man, am I? If you come so often as that you'll ruin me."
"Oh, not as a medical man; not as that; but about this will,Scatcherd. I must think if over; I must, indeed."
"You need not give yourself the least trouble in the world about mywill till I'm dead; not the least. And who knows--maybe, I may besettling your affairs yet; eh, doctor? looking after your niece whenyou're dead and gone, and getting a husband for her, eh? Ha! ha! ha!"
And then, without further speech, the doctor went his way.
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