A Civil Contract

by Джорджетт Хейер

  “Well, it’s only right to warn you, my dearest brother, that she will very likely give you a piece of her mind!”

  Even that failed to strike terror into his heart; he only laughed, and said that at least she could not eat him, however much she might scold him.

  But although she told him that he had been behaving like a gaby, she did not scold, possibly because he said, as soon as he had dutifully kissed her hand: “You can’t think how thankful I am to see you, ma’am! I need advice, as I daresay you’ve guessed, and I’ve a notion I shall get better from you than from anyone else. You’ve seen for yourself how very far from well Jenny is. I don’t know whether she told you about the treatment she’s undergoing?”

  “She did,” responded her ladyship grimly. “I have no patience with such nonsense! Tea and toast indeed! A fine state of affairs when a healthy young woman is brought so low that she falls into fainting-fits! Between you all, she’s begun to fancy herself an invalid. I am not acquainted with Croft, but I have no opinion of him: none at all! I do not approve of newfangled ideas. My advice to you, my dear Lynton, is to remove Jenny to Fontley immediately. Let her busy herself with bringing the Priory back into order, which I judge her to be well capable of doing. That, I assure you, will be very much better for her than to sit moping in Grosvenor Street, with nothing to do but to wonder if she’ll die in childbed, like her mother! A pretty notion to have put into her head! When I see her ridiculous father I shall have something to say to him upon that score, I promise you!”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said, smiling a little. “I don’t doubt it! But there will be no occasion for you to see him. If I decide to follow your advice, I’ll tell him myself. I own, I’m strongly tempted to do so. I believe Jenny would be better at Fontley. But — ” He paused, and then said worriedly: “I think I ought to get another doctor to her before taking such a step. Croft wishes to keep her under his eye — hints at all manner of complications. I haven’t the knowledge to judge the case myself; I can’t even say that she was well before we came back to town: she has been unwell from the outset — though I thought she seemed to be going on a degree more prosperously at Fontley. I agree that it was a thousand pities Mr Chawleigh should have alarmed her with his forebodings, but how can I brush them aside on nothing but your advice, aunt, and my own wholly unskilled judgment? If she were to be taken suddenly ill — ? If she were to endure a difficult labour — ?”

  A just woman, Lady Nassington considered this dispassionately. “Very true,” she said. “I have frequently observed that you have a great deal of good sense, my dear Lynton. You cannot do better than to call upon Sir William Knighton for his opinion. I give you leave to say that you come to him on my recommendation. I have a high opinion of his skill. I venture to think you will be pleased with him.” She added dryly: “And if you should encounter any objection from Chawleigh, you may inform him that Sir William is one of the Prince Regent’s physicians. That, unless I mistake, which is not at all likely, will reconcile him to the change!”

  So, three days later, Jenny prepared to receive yet another doctor. Adam brought him up to her room, but he did not stay, as she had made him promise he would. He merely introduced Sir William to her, smiled reassuringly, and withdrew, leaving her with only Martha to protect her from this new ogre.

  But Sir William, whom the Prince Regent declared to be the best-mannered doctor he had ever known, was not at all ogreish. Within a very few minutes, Jenny’s prickles were laid, and Miss Pinhoe, at first standing, dragon-like, beside her chair, had retired into the background, and was endorsing the doctor’s utterances with wise nods. Usually inarticulate, Jenny found herself able to talk quite freely, telling this understanding listener far more about herself than she would have thought possible. When he took his leave, he said with his pleasant smile: “Well, do you know, Lady Lynton, I think your good father has refined a little too much on your mother’s misfortunes. I am going to tell his lordship that in my opinion he should take you into the country, and see to it that you have plenty of fresh milk, and cream, and good country-butter. How much I envy you! a beautiful place, Fontley Priory! I recall that I was once taken to visit it, on a Public Day. Goodbye: I shall hope to hear — indeed, I feel sure Ishall hear — of your happy delivery, ma’am!”

  She held out her hand to him, and when he took it, bowing, held it tightly, saying: “Thank you! I am so much obliged to you — I can’t tell you!” Her feelings choked her; she could only squeeze his hand fervently, and look speakingly up into his face.

  Sir William then went downstairs, to talk to Adam, over a glass of sherry. He did not utter one word in disparagement of Dr Croft: indeed, he referred to him as his distinguished colleague. He said that he had the greatest admiration for his skill, and could testify to some of his remarkable achievements in cases thought to be quite hopeless. But it sometimes happened — as no doubt his lordship had noticed in other fields — that men of genius were inclined to run amuck on what he ventured to call pet theories. In short, treatment which was admirable in some cases might well be deleterious in others. Perhaps Dr Croft, relying too much on the information given him by her ladyship’s parent, had not sufficiently considered the constitution of his patient’s mind. Possibly her ladyship’s very deep reserve had made it difficult for her to confide in him. For his part, Sir William believed that it was of paramount importance that ladies in delicate situations should be contented. He could discover no reason for supposing that complications would render her ladyship’s confinement perilous; but if my lord felt that the Family Practitioner might need advice and assistance he would be happy to furnish him with the name of an excellent accoucheur, resident in Peterborough.

  After that, the two gentlemen enjoyed a pleasant chat about Spain, which interesting country Sir William had visited in 1809, when, as his medical adviser, he had accompanied Lord Wellesley there, and by the time they shook hands on the doorstep Adam entertained quite as good an opinion of Sir William as did his Aunt Nassington.

  He went upstairs, to find Jenny radiant, and Lydia triumphant. Jenny stammered: “He says I am to go home! Not to lower myself any more! He says there’s nothing amiss with me but being blue-devilled! Oh, I am so much obliged to you for bringing him to see me!”

  Only one circumstance marred her joy: she was afraid Papa would be very angry, might even forbid her to leave London: did Adam think that if Papa saw Sir William Knighton himself he might consent to let her go?

  “Pooh!” said Lydia saucily. “Only let me talk to Papa Chawleigh!”

  “Lydia, you shouldn’t call him that! I know your mama wouldn’t like it!” said Jenny.

  “Well, that’s of no consequence, because she doesn’t know anything about it, and I shouldn’t think she ever would know. I am deeply attached to Papa Chawleigh, and he likes it! Shall I go to visit him in the City tomorrow, to tell him what has been decided?”

  “No, miss, you shall not!” replied Adam. He smiled at Jenny. “How soon can you be ready to leave town? Do you want this hoyden to go with us, or shall we send her back to Bath?”

  “No, indeed! Of course I want her! But Papa — ”

  “My dear, stop teasing yourself about your papa! I shall see him tomorrow, and tell him just what Knighton said to me.”

  “I don’t wish you to quarrel with him!” she blurted out

  “I won’t!” he promised.

  Knowing her father, she could not be satisfied; she tried to tell him that it would be wiser if she were to break the news to Mr Chawleigh herself; but he only laughed, and recommended her to turn her attention to all the shopping he was persuaded she must want to do before leaving town.

  He kept his word to her, and she never knew how great a strain had been imposed upon his temper, any more than the goggling clerks in the counting-house knew how vainly their employer’s too-audible fury had expended itself against the barrier of my lord’s good-breeding.

  When he entered the establishment from which Mr Chawleigh
directed his many commercial activities his appearance created a considerable stir. He had never before visited Mr Chawleigh at his place of. business, but there was no one within its portals who did not know that Miss Chawleigh had married into the cream of society, and very few who were not agog to obtain a glimpse of her lord.

  It was not until he handed in his visiting card, with a request that it should be taken to Mr Chawleigh, that he attracted any particular attention from the busy clerks in the counting-house, for although he was always dressed with propriety, and a certain military neatness, he flaunted none of the hall-marks of the Dandy, or the Corinthian. But the clerk who received his card contrived to allow one of his fellows a glimpse of it as he bore it off, and long before Mr Chawleigh had surged out of his private office to greet his son-in-law, the whisper that it was Miss Chawleigh’s husband had run round the large room.

  “Come in, my lord, come in!” Mr Chawleigh adjured him. “This is a surprise, and no mistake! And what brings you into the City, I wonder? Nothing amiss, is there?” he added, in a suddenly sharpened voice.

  “No, nothing at all, sir. It’s merely that I want to talk to you. Are you very busy, or can you spare me a few minutes?”

  “Ay, as many as you like! Step into my office, my lord — and see to it I’m not disturbed, Stickney!”

  He ushered Adam into his room, shooting a suspicious, side-long glance at him as he did so. He wondered if my lord had run into Dun territory, but it didn’t seem likely, for he had no expensive tastes, and, as far as could be discovered, he wasn’t a gamester either.

  “Now, what can I do for you, my lord?” he asked jovially, having seen Adam comfortably seated, and lowered his own massive form into the chair behind his desk.

  “Why, nothing, sir! I’ve come to talk to you about Jenny.”

  “Ay, have you? Well? You said there was naught amiss, so I take it she ain’t ill?”

  “No — that is to say, no worse than when you saw her last week. On the other hand, she’s not at all well, and she grows no better. I’ve never concealed from you that I don’t think Croft’s treatment the right one for her — ”

  “Much you know about it!” growled Mr Chawleigh. “Now look’ee, my lord! — ”

  “ — and so, yesterday, I brought in Sir William Knighton to see her.”

  “Oh, you did, did you? Never thought of consulting me, I collect?”

  “No,” agreed Adam tranquilly. “I knew what your opinion was, sir.”

  Mr Chawleigh’s colour began to rise. “I’ll thank you to tell me what right you’ve got to go calling in strange doctors to my Jenny without so much as a by your leave!”

  Adam regarded him rather quizzically. “My dear sir, will you not rather tell me what conceivable right anyone but me has to do so?”

  “I’ll tell you fast enough! I have!” declared Mr Chawleigh, glaring at him.

  “You’re mistaken, sir.”

  “Oh, I am, eh? We’ll see that! I’ll have you remember that I’m her father, my lord!”

  “Of course you are, and as her father you have every right to inform me of it, if you think she is not being treated as she should be. But you could hardly call in another doctor to her without first obtaining my permission, could you?” He smiled. “Come, sir, don’t let us quarrel over absurdities! Are you trying to persuade me that if I had told you I meant to call in Knighton you would have objected? You won’t do it!”

  Mr Chawleigh looked a little taken aback. “I don’t say that, but what I do say is that I don’t care for being ridden over rough-shod!”

  “Nor do I, Mr Chawleigh,” said Adam gently.

  Their eyes met, the one pair rather aloof, the other fierce under their craggy brows. Mr Chawleigh shifted in his chair, clenching one huge hand on its arm. “Oh! You don’t? Well.... So you brought in this Knighton — whoever he may be!”

  “He is one of the Regent’s doctors, and was strongly recommended to me by my Aunt Nassington.”

  “Oh, so she’s in it, is she? I might ha’ guessed as much!” exploded Mr Chawleigh. “Well, I’d like to give her ladyship a piece of my mind, and that’s a fact!”

  “And she wishes to give you a piece of hers,” said Adam. He smiled delightfully upon his fulminating father-in-law. “What a battle of giants it would be! I shouldn’t know which of you to lay my blunt on. My aunt was very much shocked, you know, to find Jenny just coming round from a fainting-fit.”

  “Fainting? Jenny?” Mr Chawleigh said quickly. “Eh, that won’t do! What has Croft to say to it?”

  “I didn’t inform him of it.”

  “Didn’t inform him? Are you going to tell me that you brought in this other fellow without Croft was there too? And he came? If that don’t beat the Dutch! Why, it’s unheard of! Doctors don’t do such — not the bang-up ones! Jenny was Croft’s patient, and you should have told Knighton so!”

  “I am afraid,” said Adam apologetically, “that by the time I saw Knighton Jenny had ceased to be Croft’s patient. He seemed so much inclined to take umbrage at my wishing for another opinion, and to be so entirely convinced of his own infallibility, that it was really quite useless for Jenny to continue with him, particularly when she didn’t like him.”

  “You didn’t like him, my lord!” Mr Chawleigh shot at him.

  “No, not at all.”

  “Ay! So I knew! If Jenny took against him, I’ll be bound it was your doing! I see what it is! You went and picked out a quarrel with him — ”

  “Picked out a quarrel with a doctor?” interrupted Adam, putting up his brows. “Good God!”

  Mr Chawleigh brought his fist down with a crash on the desk. “You may think to come the lord over me, but you’ll catch cold at it! I took care to choose the best for my Jenny, and by God, I’ll not have him turned off just because you don’t like him! It’s him as pays the fiddler that calls the tune, my lord!”

  Adam closely gripped his lips together, his eyes narrowed, and very hard. It was a moment or two before he could command himself, but he managed to do it, and to say, quite pleasantly: “Very true. Did you imagine that you were paying this piper, sir? Let me disabuse your mind of that misapprehension! I have settled Croft’s account as I shall settle Knighton’s, and the account of any other practitioner who may attend Jenny.”

  In a towering passion, Mr Chawleigh flung down his gauntlet. “Say you so? Well, it was me that engaged Croft, and it’s me that’ll dismiss him, if I see fit, and until I do see fit he’ll continue to attend Jenny, and so I shall tell him!”

  “I don’t think I should, if I were you, sir,” replied Adam, looking rather amused. “You’d be making a great cake of yourself, you know. I may not like Croft, but I am quite sure he would not be guilty of the impropriety of attending my wife without my consent. Don’t let us dispute on that head! After all, you can’t seriously wish Jenny to continue with a doctor who is doing her no good, and whom she dislikes into the bargain! My aunt said that between us all she had become nervous and depressed. That is also Knighton’s opinion. He recommends me to take her back to Fontley, and that, sir, is what I am going to do.”

  Mr Chawleigh’s colour had deepened to an alarming hue. So unaccustomed was he to meeting with opposition that he listened to this speech almost with incredulity. The last words, however, loosened his tongue, and the storm of his anger broke over Adam’s head with a violence which reached the ears of the clerks in the counting-house, and caused several of the more nervous individuals there to blench and tremble. No one could distinguish what the old Tartar was saying, but no one could doubt that he was giving my lord a rare trimming, and considerable sympathy was felt for the poor young gentleman.

  Adam listened to the tirade with outward calm. When in the grip of passion, it was not Mr Chawleigh’s habit to mince his words, nor did he hesitate to utter any insult which occurred to him, but only by the crease between his brows did Adam betray the effort it cost him to keep his own anger under control. There were a number of things
it would have given him much pleasure to have said to Mr Chawleigh, but he said none of them. It was wholly beneath him to brangle and brawl with the purple-faced vulgarian hurling abuse at him, and he had promised Jenny that he would not quarrel with her father. So he waited in rigid silence for the storm to blow itself out.

  Mr Chawleigh did not expect to meet with retort. On the other hand, to be listened to in unmoved silence was a new and disconcerting experience. By rights, this wispy son-in-law of his should be shaking in his shoes, possibly trying to stammer out excuses, certainly not sitting there, as cool as a cucumber, and looking for all the world as if he were watching a raree-show which didn’t amuse him above half. As his rage abated, something very like bewilderment entered into Mr Chawleigh. Ceasing to rail at Adam, he sat staring at him, breathing heavily, still scowling, but with so much surprise in his eyes that Adam very nearly burst out laughing.

  With the tickling of his ready sense of humour, much of Adam’s own anger died away. He felt suddenly sorry for this absurd creature, who had clearly supposed that he could brow-beat him into submission. He picked up his hat and gloves, and rose, saying, with a lurking smile: “Will you dine with us tomorrow, sir? We leave town on the day after, but it would distress Jenny very much not to take leave of you.”

  The veins swelled afresh in Mr Chawleigh’s face. “Dine with you?” he uttered, in choked accents. “Why, you — you — ”

  “Mr Chawleigh,” interrupted Adam, “I owe you a great deal, I have a great respect for you — indeed, I have a great regard for you! — but I’ve not the remotest intention of allowing you to rule my household! If that was what you wanted to do you should have chosen another man to be Jenny’s husband. Goodbye: may I tell Jenny to expect you tomorrow?”

  Mr Chawleigh strove with himself, finally enunciating ominously: “Ay! she may expect me all right and tight! But as for dining with you — I’ll be damned if I do!”