Dr Thorne (27 page)

On the present occasion, Dr Thorne of course felt that Dr Fillgrave had the whip-hand of him; and, with a sort of manly feeling on such a point, he conceived it to be most compatible with his own dignity to show, under such circumstances, more than his usual courtesy – something, perhaps, amounting almost to cordiality. He had been supplanted,
quoad
doctor, in the house of this rich, eccentric, railway baronet, and he would show that he bore no malice on that account.

So he smiled blandly as he took off his hat, and in a civil speech he expressed a hope that Dr Fillgrave had not found his patient to be in any very unfavourable state.

Here was an aggravation to the already lacerated feelings of the injured man. He had been brought thither to be scoffed and scorned at, that he might be a laughing-stock to his enemies, and food for mirth to the vile-minded. He swelled with noble anger till he would have burst, had it not been for the opportune padding of his frock-coat.

‘Sir,' said he; ‘sir:' and he could hardly get his lips open to give vent to the tumult of his heart. Perhaps he was not wrong: for it may be that his lips were more eloquent than would have been his words.

‘What's the matter?' said Dr Thorne, opening his eyes wide, and addressing Lady Scatcherd over the head and across the hairs of the irritated man below him. ‘What on earth is the matter? Is anything wrong with Sir Roger?'

‘Oh, laws, doctor!' said her ladyship. ‘Oh, laws; I'm sure it ain't my fault. Here's Dr Fillgrave in a taking, and I'm quite ready to pay him – quite. If a man gets paid, what more can he want?' And she again held out the five-pound note over Dr Fillgrave's head.

What more, indeed, Lady Scatcherd, can any of us want, if only we could keep our tempers and feelings a little in abeyance? Dr Fillgrave, however, could not so keep his; and, therefore, he did want something more, though at the present moment he could have hardly said what.

Lady Scatcherd's courage was somewhat resuscitated by the presence of her ancient trusty ally; and, moreover, she began to conceive that the little man before her was unreasonable beyond all conscience in his anger, seeing that that for which he was ready to work had been offered to him without any work at all.

‘Madam,' said he, again turning round at Lady Scatcherd, ‘I was never before treated in such a way in any house in Barsetshire – never – never.'

‘Good heavens, Dr Fillgrave!' said he of Greshamsbury, ‘what is the matter?'

‘I'll let you know what is the matter, sir,' said he, turning round again as quickly as before. ‘I'll let you know what is the matter.

I'll publish this, sir, to the medical world'; and as he shrieked out the words of the threat, he stood on tiptoes and brandished his eyeglasses up almost into his enemy's face.

‘Don't be angry with Dr Thorne,' said Lady Scatcherd. ‘Any ways, you needn't be angry with him. If you must be angry with anybody –'

‘I shall be angry with him, madam,' ejaculated Dr Fillgrave, making another sudden demi-pirouette. ‘I am angry with him – or, rather, I despise him'; and completing the circle, Dr Fillgrave again brought himself round in full front of his foe.

Dr Thorne raised his eyebrows and looked inquiringly at Lady Scatcherd; but there was a quiet sarcastic motion round his mouth which by no means had the effect of throwing oil on the troubled waters.

‘I'll publish the whole of this transaction to the medical world, Dr Thorne – the whole of it; and if that has not the effect of rescuing the people of Greshamsbury out of your hands, then – then – then, I don't know what will. Is my carriage – that is, post-chaise there?' and Dr Fillgrave, speaking very loudly, turned majestically to one of the servants.

‘What have I done to you, Dr Fillgrave,' said Dr Thorne, now absolutely laughing, ‘that you should determine to take my bread. out of my mouth? I am not interfering with your patient. I have come here simply with reference to money matters appertaining to Sir Roger.'

‘Money matters! Very well – very well; money matters. That is your idea of medical practice! Very well – very well. Is my post-chaise at the door? I'll publish it all to the medical world – every word – every word of it, every word of it.'

‘Publish what, you unreasonable man?'

‘Man! sir; whom do you call a man? I'll let you know whether I'm a man – post-chaise there!'

‘Don't 'ee call him names now, doctor; don't 'ee, pray don't ee,' said Lady Scatcherd.

By this time they had all got somewhat nearer the hall-door; but the Scatcherd retainers were too fond of the row to absent themselves willingly at Dr Fillgrave's bidding, and it did not appear that anyone went in search of the post-chaise.

‘Man! sir; I'll let you know what it is to speak to me in that style. I think, sir, you hardly know who I am.'

‘All that I know of you at present is, that you are my friend Sir Roger's physician, and I cannot conceive what has occurred to make you so angry.' And as he spoke, Dr Thorne looked carefully at him to see whether that pump-discipline had in truth been applied. There were no signs whatever that cold water had been thrown upon Dr Fillgrave.

‘My post-chaise – is my post-chaise there? The medical world shall know all; you may be sure, sir, the medical world shall know it all'; and thus, ordering his post-chaise, and threatening Dr Thorne with the medical world, Dr Fillgrave made his way to the door.

But the moment he put on his hat he returned. ‘No, madam,' said he. ‘No; it is quite out of the question: such an affair is not to be arranged by such means. I'll publish it all to the medical world – post-chaise there!' and then, using all his force, he flung as far as he could into the hall a light bit of paper. It fell at Dr Thorne's feet, who, raising it, found that it was a five-pound note.

‘I put it into his hat just while he was in his tantrum,' said Lady Scatcherd. ‘And I thought that perhaps he would not find it till he got to Barchester. Well, I wish he'd been paid, certainly, although Sir Roger wouldn't see him; ' and in this manner Dr Thorne got some glimpse of understanding into the cause of the great offence.

‘I wonder whether Sir Roger will see
me
,' said he, laughing.

‘H
A
! ha! ha! Ha! ha! ha!' laughed Sir Roger, lustily, as Dr Thorne entered the room. ‘Well, if that ain't rich, I don't know what is. Ha! ha! ha! But why did they not put him under the pump, doctor?'

The doctor, however, had too much tact, and too many things of importance to say, to allow of his giving up much time to the discussion of Dr Fillgrave's wrath. He had come determined to open the baronet's eyes as to what would be the real effect of his will, and he had also to negotiate a loan for Mr Gresham, if that might be possible. Dr Thorne therefore began about the loan, that being the easier subject, and found that Sir Roger was quite clearheaded as to his money concerns, in spite of his illness. Sir Roger was willing enough to lend Mr Gresham more money – six, eight, ten, twenty thousand; but then, in doing so, he should insist on obtaining possession of the title-deeds.

‘What! the title-deeds of Greshamsbury for a few thousand pounds?' said the doctor.

‘I don't know whether you call ninety thousand pounds a few thousands; but the debt will about amount to that.'

‘Ah! that's the old debt.'

‘Old and new together, of course; every shilling I lend more weakens my security for what I have lent before.'

‘But you have the first claim, Sir Roger.'

‘It ought to be first and last to cover such a debt as that. If he wants further accommodation, he must part with his deeds, doctor.'

The point was argued backwards and forwards for some time without avail, and the doctor then thought it well to introduce the other subject.

‘Well, Sir Roger, you're a hard man.'

‘No I ain't,' said Sir Roger; ‘not a bit hard; that is, not a bit too hard. Money is always hard. I know I found it hard to come by; and there is no reason why Squire Gresham should expect to find me so very soft.'

‘Very well; there is an end of that. I thought you would have done as much to oblige me, that is all.'

‘What! take bad security to oblige you?'

‘Well, there's an end of that.'

‘I'll tell you what; I'll do as much to oblige a friend as anyone. I'll lend you five thousand pounds, you yourself, without security at all, if you want it.'

‘But you know I don't want it; or, at any rate, shan't take it.'

‘But to ask me to go on lending money to a third party, and he over head and ears in debt, by way of obliging you, why, it's a little too much.'

‘Well, there's an end of it. Now I've something to say to you about that will of yours.'

‘Oh! that's settled.'

‘No, Scatcherd; it isn't settled. It must be a great deal more settled before we have done with it, as you'll find when you hear what I have to tell you.'

‘What you have to tell me!' said Sir Roger, sitting up in bed; ‘and what have you to tell me?'

‘Your will says your sister's eldest child.'

‘Yes; but that's only in the event of Louis Philippe dying before he is twenty-five.'

‘Exactly; and now I know something about your sister's eldest child, and, therefore, I have come to tell you.'

‘You know something about Mary's eldest child?'

‘I do, Scatcherd; it is a strange story, and maybe it will make you angry. I cannot help it if it does so. I should not tell you this if I could avoid it; but as I do tell you, for your sake, as you will see, and not for my own, I must implore you not to tell my secret to others.'

Sir Roger now looked at him with an altered countenance. There was something in his voice of the authoritative tone of other days, something in the doctor's look which had on the baronet the same effect which in former days it had sometimes had on the stone-mason.

‘Can you give me a promise, Scatcherd, that what I tell you shall not be repeated?'

‘A promise! Well, I don't know what it's about, you know. I don't like promises in the dark.'

‘Then I must leave it to your honour; for what I have to say must be said. You remember my brother, Scatcherd?'

Remember his brother! thought the rich man to himself. The name of the doctor's brother had not been alluded to between them since the days of that trial; but still it was impossible but that Scatcherd should well remember him.

‘Yes, yes; certainly. I remember your brother,' said he. ‘I remember him well; there's no doubt about that.'

‘Well, Scatcherd,' and, as he spoke, the doctor laid his hand with kindness on the other's arm, ‘Mary's eldest child was my brother's child as well.'

‘But there is no such child living,' said Sir Roger; and, in his violence, as he spoke he threw from off him the bedclothes, and tried to stand upon the floor. He found, however, that he had no strength for such an effort, and was obliged to remain leaning on the bed and resting on the doctor's arm.

‘There was no such child ever lived,' said he. ‘What do you mean by this?'

Dr Thorne would say nothing further till he had got the man into bed again. This he at last effected, and then went on with the story in his own way.

‘Yes, Scatcherd, that child is alive; and for fear that you should unintentionally make her your heir, I have thought it right to tell you this.'

‘A girl, is it?'

‘Yes, a girl.'

‘And why should you want to spite her? If she is Mary's child, she is your brother's child also. If she is my niece, she must be your niece too. Why should you want to spite her? Why should you try to do her such a terrible injury?'

‘I do not want to spite her.'

‘Where is she? Who is she? What is she called? Where does she live?'

The doctor did not at once answer all these questions. He had made up his mind that he would tell Sir Roger that this child was living, but he had not as yet resolved to make known all the
circumstances of her history. He was not even yet quite aware whether it would be necessary to say that this foundling orphan was the cherished darling of his own house.

‘Such a child is, at any rate, living,' said he; ‘of that I give you my assurance; and under your will, as now worded, it might come to pass that that child should be your heir. I do not want to spite her, but I should be wrong to let you make your will without such knowledge, seeing that I am possessed of it myself.'

‘But where is the girl?'

‘I do not know that that signifies.'

‘Signifies! Yes; it does signify a great deal. But, Thorne, Thorne, now that I remember it, now that I can think of things, it was – was it not you yourself who told me that the baby did not live?'

‘Very possibly.'