CHAPTER XLVI
Our Pet Fox Finds a Tail
Frank returned home, and his immediate business was of course withhis father, and with Mr Gazebee, who was still at Greshamsbury.
"But who is the heir?" asked Mr Gazebee, when Frank had explainedthat the death of Sir Louis rendered unnecessary any immediate legalsteps.
"Upon my word I don't know," said Frank.
"You saw Dr Thorne," said the squire. "He must have known."
"I never thought of asking him," said Frank, naively.
Mr Gazebee looked rather solemn. "I wonder at that," said he; "foreverything now depends on the hands the property will go into. Letme see; I think Sir Roger had a married sister. Was not that so, MrGresham?" And then it occurred for the first time, both to the squireand to his son, that Mary Thorne was the eldest child of this sister.But it never occurred to either of them that Mary could be thebaronet's heir.
Dr Thorne came down for a couple of days before the fortnight wasover to see his patients, and then returned again to London. Butduring this short visit he was utterly dumb on the subject of theheir. He called at Greshamsbury to see Lady Arabella, and was evenquestioned by the squire on the subject. But he obstinately refusedto say more than that nothing certain could be known for yet a fewdays.
Immediately after his return, Frank saw Mary, and told her all thathad happened. "I cannot understand my uncle," said she, almosttrembling as she stood close to him in her own drawing-room. "Heusually hates mysteries, and yet now he is so mysterious. He told me,Frank--that was after I had written that unfortunate letter--"
"Unfortunate, indeed! I wonder what you really thought of me when youwere writing it?"
"If you had heard what your mother said, you would not be surprised.But, after that, uncle said--"
"Said what?"
"He seemed to think--I don't remember what it was he said. But hesaid, he hoped that things might yet turn out well; and then I wasalmost sorry that I had written the letter."
"Of course you were sorry, and so you ought to have been. To say thatyou would never call me Frank again!"
"I didn't exactly say that."
"I have told him I will wait a fortnight, and so I will. After that,I shall take the matter into my own hands."
It may be well supposed that Lady Arabella was not well pleased tolearn that Frank and Mary had been again together; and, in the agonyof her spirit, she did say some ill-natured things before Augusta,who had now returned from Courcy Castle, as to the gross improprietyof Mary's conduct. But to Frank she said nothing.
Nor was there much said between Frank and Beatrice. If everythingcould really be settled at the end of that fortnight which was towitness the disclosure of the doctor's mystery, there would stillbe time to arrange that Mary should be at the wedding. "It shall besettled then," he said to himself; "and if it be settled, my motherwill hardly venture to exclude my affianced bride from the house."It was now the beginning of August, and it wanted yet a month to theOriel wedding.
But though he said nothing to his mother or to Beatrice, he did saymuch to his father. In the first place, he showed him Mary's letter."If your heart be not made of stone it will be softened by that," hesaid. Mr Gresham's heart was not of stone, and he did acknowledgethat the letter was a very sweet letter. But we know how the drop ofwater hollows stone. It was not by the violence of his appeal thatFrank succeeded in obtaining from his father a sort of half-consentthat he would no longer oppose the match; but by the assiduity withwhich the appeal was repeated. Frank, as we have said, had morestubbornness of will than his father; and so, before the fortnightwas over, the squire had been talked over, and promised to attend atthe doctor's bidding.
"I suppose you had better take the Hazlehurst farm," said he to hisson, with a sigh. "It joins the park and the home-fields, and I willgive you up them also. God knows, I don't care about farming anymore--or about anything else either."
"Don't say that, father."
"Well, well! But, Frank, where will you live? The old house is bigenough for us all. But how would Mary get on with your mother?"
At the end of his fortnight, true to his time, the doctor returned tothe village. He was a bad correspondent; and though he had writtensome short notes to Mary, he had said no word to her about hisbusiness. It was late in the evening when he got home, and it wasunderstood by Frank and the squire that they were to be with him onthe following morning. Not a word had been said to Lady Arabella onthe subject.
It was late in the evening when he got home, and Mary waited for himwith a heart almost sick with expectation. As soon as the fly hadstopped at the little gate she heard his voice, and heard at oncethat it was quick, joyful, and telling much of inward satisfaction.He had a good-natured word for Janet, and called Thomas an oldblunder-head in a manner that made Bridget laugh outright.
"He'll have his nose put out of joint some day; won't he?" said thedoctor. Bridget blushed and laughed again, and made a sign to Thomasthat he had better look to his face.
Mary was in his arms before he was yet within the door. "My darling,"said he, tenderly kissing her. "You are my own darling yet awhile."
"Of course I am. Am I not always to be so?"
"Well, well; let me have some tea, at any rate, for I'm in a fever ofthirst. They may call that tea at the Junction if they will; but ifChina were sunk under the sea it would make no difference to them."
Dr Thorne always was in a fever of thirst when he got home from therailway, and always made complaint as to the tea at the Junction.Mary went about her usual work with almost more than her usualalacrity, and so they were soon seated in the drawing-room together.
She soon found that his manner was more than ordinarily kind to her;and there was moreover something about him which seemed to make himsparkle with contentment, but he said no word about Frank, nor did hemake any allusion to the business which had taken him up to town.
"Have you got through all your work?" she said to him once.
"Yes, yes; I think all."
"And thoroughly?"
"Yes; thoroughly, I think. But I am very tired, and so are you too,darling, with waiting for me."
"Oh, no, I am not," said she, as she went on continually filling hiscup; "but I am so happy to have you home again. You have been away somuch lately."
"Ah, yes; well I suppose I shall not go away any more now. It will besomebody else's turn now."
"Uncle, I think you're going to take up writing mystery romances,like Mrs Radcliffe's."
"Yes; and I'll begin to-morrow, certainly with-- But, Mary, I willnot say another word to-night. Give me a kiss, dearest, and I'll go."
Mary did kiss him, and he did go. But as she was still lingering inthe room, putting away a book, or a reel of thread, and then sittingdown to think what the morrow would bring forth, the doctor againcame into the room in his dressing-gown, and with the slippers on.
"What, not gone yet?" said he.
"No, not yet; I'm going now."
"You and I, Mary, have always affected a good deal of indifference asto money, and all that sort of thing."
"I won't acknowledge that it has been an affectation at all," sheanswered.
"Perhaps not; but we have often expressed it, have we not?"
"I suppose, uncle, you think that we are like the fox that lost histail, or rather some unfortunate fox that might be born without one."
"I wonder how we should either of us bear it if we found ourselvessuddenly rich. It would be a great temptation--a sore temptation. Ifear, Mary, that when poor people talk disdainfully of money, theyoften are like your fox, born without a tail. If nature suddenlyshould give that beast a tail, would he not be prouder of it than allthe other foxes in the wood?"
"Well, I suppose he would. That's the very meaning of the story. Buthow moral you've become all of a sudden at twelve o'clock at night!Instead of being Mrs Radcliffe, I shall think you're Mr Aesop."
He took up the article which he had come to seek, and kissing heragain on
the forehead, went away to his bed-room without furtherspeech. "What can he mean by all this about money?" said Mary toherself. "It cannot be that by Sir Louis's death he will get any ofall this property;" and then she began to bethink herself whether,after all, she would wish him to be a rich man. "If he were veryrich, he might do something to assist Frank; and then--"
There never was a fox yet without a tail who would not be delightedto find himself suddenly possessed of that appendage. Never; let theuntailed fox have been ever so sincere in his advice to his friends!We are all of us, the good and the bad, looking for tails--for onetail, or for more than one; we do so too often by ways that aremean enough: but perhaps there is no tail-seeker more mean, moresneakingly mean than he who looks out to adorn his bare back with atail by marriage.
The doctor was up very early the next morning, long before Mary wasready with her teacups. He was up, and in his own study behind theshop, arranging dingy papers, pulling about tin boxes which he hadbrought down with him from London, and piling on his writing-tableone set of documents in one place, and one in another. "I think Iunderstand it all," said he; "but yet I know I shall be bothered.Well, I never will be anybody's trustee again. Let me see!" and thenhe sat down, and with bewildered look recapitulated to himself sundryheavy items. "What those shares are really worth I cannot understand,and nobody seems able to tell one. They must make it out amongthem as best they can. Let me see; that's Boxall Hill, and this isGreshamsbury. I'll put a newspaper over Greshamsbury, or the squirewill know it!" and then, having made his arrangements, he went to hisbreakfast.
I know I am wrong, my much and truly honoured critic, about thesetitle-deeds and documents. But when we've got that barrister inhand, then if I go wrong after that, let the blame be on my ownshoulders--or on his.
The doctor ate his breakfast quickly; and did not talk much to hisniece. But what he did say was of a nature to make her feel strangelyhappy. She could not analyse her own feelings, or give a reason forher own confidence; but she certainly did feel, and even trust, thatsomething was going to happen after breakfast which would make hermore happy than she had been for many months.
"Janet," said he, looking at his watch, "if Mr Gresham and MrFrank call, show them into my study. What are you going to do withyourself, my dear?"
"I don't know, uncle; you are so mysterious, and I am in such atwitter, that I don't know what to do. Why is Mr Gresham cominghere--that is, the squire?"
"Because I have business with him about the Scatcherd property. Youknow that he owed Sir Louis money. But don't go out, Mary. I want youto be in the way if I should have to call for you. You can stay inthe drawing-room, can't you?"
"Oh, yes, uncle; or here."
"No, dearest; go into the drawing-room." Mary obediently did as shewas bid; and there she sat, for the next three hours, wondering,wondering, wondering. During the greater part of that time, however,she well knew that Mr Gresham, senior, and Mr Gresham, junior, wereboth with her uncle, below.
At eleven o'clock the doctor's visitors came. He had expected themsomewhat earlier, and was beginning to become fidgety. He had so muchon his hands that he could not sit still for a moment till he had, atany rate, commenced it. The expected footsteps were at last heard onthe gravel-path, and a moment or two afterwards Janet ushered thefather and son into the room.
The squire did not look very well. He was worn and sorrowful, andrather pale. The death of his young creditor might be supposed tohave given him some relief from his more pressing cares, but thenecessity of yielding to Frank's wishes had almost more than balancedthis. When a man has daily to reflect that he is poorer than he wasthe day before, he soon becomes worn and sorrowful.
But Frank was well; both in health and spirits. He also felt as Marydid, that the day was to bring forth something which should end hispresent troubles; and he could not but be happy to think that hecould now tell Dr Thorne that his father's consent to his marriagehad been given.
The doctor shook hands with them both, and then they sat down. Theywere all rather constrained in their manner; and at first it seemedthat nothing but little speeches of compliment were to be made. Atlast, the squire remarked that Frank had been talking to him aboutMiss Thorne.
"About Mary?" said the doctor.
"Yes; about Mary," said the squire, correcting himself. It was quiteunnecessary that he should use so cold a name as the other, now thathe had agreed to the match.
"Well!" said Dr Thorne.
"I suppose it must be so, doctor. He has set his heart upon it, andGod knows, I have nothing to say against her--against her personally.No one could say a word against her. She is a sweet, good girl,excellently brought up; and, as for myself, I have always loved her."Frank drew near to his father, and pressed his hand against thesquire's arm, by way of giving him, in some sort, a filial embracefor his kindness.
"Thank you, squire, thank you," said the doctor. "It is very good ofyou to say that. She is a good girl, and if Frank chooses to takeher, he will, in my estimation, have made a good choice."
"Chooses!" said Frank, with all the enthusiasm of a lover.
The squire felt himself perhaps a little ruffled at the way in whichthe doctor received his gracious intimation but he did now show itas he went on. "They cannot, you know, doctor, look to be richpeople--"
"Ah! well, well," interrupted the doctor.
"I have told Frank so, and I think that you should tell Mary. Frankmeans to take some land into his hand, and he must farm it as afarmer. I will endeavour to give him three, or perhaps four hundred ayear. But you know better--"
"Stop, squire; stop a minute. We will talk about that presently. Thisdeath of poor Sir Louis will make a difference."
"Not permanently," said the squire mournfully.
"And now, Frank," said the doctor, not attending to the squire's lastwords, "what do you say?"
"What do I say? I say what I said to you in London the other day. Ibelieve Mary loves me; indeed, I won't be affected--I know she does.I have loved her--I was going to say always; and, indeed, I almostmight say so. My father knows that this is no light fancy of mine. Asto what he says about our being poor, why--"
The doctor was very arbitrary, and would hear neither of them on thissubject.
"Mr Gresham," said he, interrupting Frank, "of course I am well awarehow very little suited Mary is by birth to marry your only son."
"It is too late to think about it now," said the squire.
"It is not too late for me to justify myself," replied the doctor."We have long known each other, Mr Gresham, and you said here theother day, that this is a subject as to which we have been both ofone mind. Birth and blood are very valuable gifts."
"I certainly think so," said the squire; "but one can't haveeverything."
"No; one can't have everything."
"If I am satisfied in that matter--" began Frank.
"Stop a moment, my dear boy," said the doctor. "As your father says,one can't have everything. My dear friend--" and he gave his hand tothe squire--"do not be angry if I alluded for a moment to the estate.It has grieved me to see it melting away--the old family acres thathave so long been the heritage of the Greshams."
"We need not talk about that now, Dr Thorne," said Frank, in analmost angry tone.
"But I must, Frank, for one moment, to justify myself. I could nothave excused myself in letting Mary think that she could become yourwife if I had not hoped that good might come of it."
"Well; good will come of it," said Frank, who did not quiteunderstand at what the doctor was driving.
"I hope so. I have had much doubt about this, and have been sorelyperplexed; but now I do hope so. Frank--Mr Gresham--" and then DrThorne rose from his chair; but was, for a moment, unable to go onwith his tale.
"We will hope that it is all for the best," said the squire.
"I am sure it is," said Frank.
"Yes; I hope it is. I do think it is; I am sure it is, Frank. Marywill not come to you empty-handed. I wish for your sake--yes,
and forhers too--that her birth were equal to her fortune, as her worth issuperior to both. Mr Gresham, this marriage will, at any rate, put anend to your pecuniary embarrassments--unless, indeed, Frank shouldprove a hard creditor. My niece is Sir Roger Scatcherd's heir."
The doctor, as soon as he made the announcement, began to employhimself sedulously about the papers on the table; which, in theconfusion caused by his own emotion, he transferred hither andthither in such a manner as to upset all his previous arrangements."And now," he said, "I might as well explain, as well as I can, ofwhat that fortune consists. Here, this is--no--"
"But, Dr Thorne," said the squire, now perfectly pale, and almostgasping for breath, "what is it you mean?"
"There's not a shadow of doubt," said the doctor. "I've had SirAbraham Haphazard, and Sir Rickety Giggs, and old Neversaye Die, andMr Snilam; and they are all of the same opinion. There is not thesmallest doubt about it. Of course, she must administer, and allthat; and I'm afraid there'll be a very heavy sum to pay for the tax;for she cannot inherit as a niece, you know. Mr Snilam pointed thatout particularly. But, after all that, there'll be--I've got it downon a piece of paper, somewhere--three grains of blue pill. I'm reallyso bothered, squire, with all these papers, and all those lawyers,that I don't know whether I'm sitting or standing. There's readymoney enough to pay all the tax and all the debts. I know that, atany rate."
"You don't mean to say that Mary Thorne is now possessed of all SirRoger Scatcherd's wealth?" at last ejaculated the squire.
"But that's exactly what I do mean to say," said the doctor, lookingup from his papers with a tear in his eye, and a smile on hismouth; "and what is more, squire, you owe her at the present momentexactly--I've got that down too, somewhere, only I am so botheredwith all these papers. Come, squire, when do you mean to pay her?She's in a great hurry, as young ladies are when they want to getmarried."
The doctor was inclined to joke if possible, so as to carry off, asit were, some of the great weight of obligation which it might seemthat he was throwing on the father and son but the squire was by nomeans in a state to understand a joke: hardly as yet in a state tocomprehend what was so very serious in this matter.
"Do you mean that Mary is the owner of Boxall Hill?" said he.
"Indeed, I do," said the doctor; and he was just going to add, "andof Greshamsbury also," but he stopped himself.
"What, the whole property there?"
"That's only a small portion," said the doctor. "I almost wish itwere all, for then I should not be so bothered. Look here; these arethe Boxall Hill title-deeds; that's the simplest part of the wholeaffair; and Frank may go and settle himself there to-morrow if hepleases."
"Stop a moment, Dr Thorne," said Frank. These were the only wordswhich he had yet uttered since the tidings had been conveyed to him.
"And these, squire, are the Greshamsbury papers:" and the doctor,with considerable ceremony, withdrew the covering newspapers. "Lookat them; there they all are once again. When I suggested to Mr Snilamthat I supposed they might now all go back to the Greshamsburymuniment room, I thought he would have fainted. As I cannot returnthem to you, you will have to wait till Frank shall give them up."
"But, Dr Thorne," said Frank.
"Well, my boy."
"Does Mary know all about this?"
"Not a word of it. I mean that you shall tell her."
"Perhaps, under such very altered circumstances--"
"Eh?"
"The change is so great and so sudden, so immense in its effects,that Mary may perhaps wish--"
"Wish! wish what? Wish not to be told of it at all?"
"I shall not think of holding her to her engagement--that is, if--Imean to say, she should have time at any rate for consideration."
"Oh, I understand," said the doctor. "She shall have time forconsideration. How much shall we give her, squire? three minutes? Goup to her Frank: she is in the drawing-room."
Frank went to the door, and then hesitated, and returned. "I couldnot do it," said he. "I don't think that I understand it all yet. Iam so bewildered that I could not tell her;" and he sat down at thetable, and began to sob with emotion.
"And she knows nothing of it?" said the squire.
"Not a word. I thought that I would keep the pleasure of telling herfor Frank."
"She should not be left in suspense," said the squire.
"Come, Frank, go up to her," again urged the doctor. "You've beenready enough with your visits when you knew that you ought to stayaway."
"I cannot do it," said Frank, after a pause of some moments; "nor isit right that I should. It would be taking advantage of her."
"Go to her yourself, doctor; it is you that should do it," said thesquire.
After some further slight delay, the doctor got up, and did goupstairs. He, even, was half afraid of the task. "It must be done,"he said to himself, as his heavy steps mounted the stairs. "But howto tell it?"
When he entered, Mary was standing half-way up the room, as thoughshe had risen to meet him. Her face was troubled, and her eyes werealmost wild. The emotion, the hopes, the fears of that morning hadalmost been too much for her. She had heard the murmuring of thevoices in the room below, and had known that one of them was thatof her lover. Whether that discussion was to be for her good or illshe did not know; but she felt that further suspense would almostkill her. "I could wait for years," she said to herself, "if I didbut know. If I lost him, I suppose I should bear it, if I did butknow."--Well; she was going to know.
Her uncle met her in the middle of the room. His face was serious,though not sad; too serious to confirm her hopes at that moment ofdoubt. "What is it, uncle?" she said, taking one of his hands betweenboth of her own. "What is it? Tell me." And as she looked up into hisface with her wild eyes, she almost frightened him.
"Mary," he said gravely, "you have heard much, I know, of Sir RogerScatcherd's great fortune."
"Yes, yes, yes!"
"Now that poor Sir Louis is dead--"
"Well, uncle, well?"
"It has been left--"
"To Frank! to Mr Gresham, to the squire!" exclaimed Mary, who felt,with an agony of doubt, that this sudden accession of immense wealthmight separate her still further from her lover.
"No, Mary, not to the Greshams; but to yourself."
"To me!" she cried, and putting both her hands to her forehead, sheseemed to be holding her temples together. "To me!"
"Yes, Mary; it is all your own now. To do as you like best with itall--all. May God, in His mercy, enable you to bear the burden, andlighten for you the temptation!"
She had so far moved as to find the nearest chair, and there shewas now seated, staring at her uncle with fixed eyes. "Uncle," shesaid, "what does it mean?" Then he came, and sitting beside her, heexplained, as best he could, the story of her birth, and her kinshipwith the Scatcherds. "And where is he, uncle?" she said. "Why does henot come to me?"
"I wanted him to come, but he refused. They are both there now, thefather and son shall I fetch them?"
"Fetch them! whom? The squire? No, uncle; but may we go to them?"
"Surely, Mary."
"But, uncle--"
"Yes, dearest."
"Is it true? are you sure? For his sake, you know; not for my own.The squire, you know--Oh, uncle! I cannot go."
"They shall come to you."
"No--no. I have gone to him such hundreds of times; I will neverallow that he shall be sent to me. But, uncle, is it true?"
The doctor, as he went downstairs, muttered something about SirAbraham Haphazard, and Sir Rickety Giggs; but these great names weremuch thrown away upon poor Mary. The doctor entered the room first,and the heiress followed him with downcast eyes and timid steps. Shewas at first afraid to advance, but when she did look up, and sawFrank standing alone by the window, her lover restored her courage,and rushing up to him, she threw herself into his arms. "Oh, Frank;my own Frank! my own Frank! we shall never be separated now."
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