Dr Thorne (66 page)

‘I say, doctor,' said the baronet, ‘hadn't my man better come in and help? He's got nothing to do, you know. We should be more cosy, shouldn't we?'

‘Janet will manage pretty well,' said the doctor.

‘Oh, you'd better have Joe; there's nothing like a good servant at table. I say, Janet, just send that fellow in, will you?'

‘We shall do very well without him,' said the doctor, becoming rather red about the cheek-bones, and with a slight gleam of determination about the eye. Janet, who saw how matters stood, made no attempt to obey the baronet's order.

‘Oh, nonsense, doctor; you think he's an uppish sort of fellow, I know, and you don't like to trouble him; but when I'm near him, he's all right; just send him in, will you?'

‘Sir Louis,' said the doctor, ‘I'm accustomed to none but my own old woman here in my own house, and if you will allow me, I'll keep my old ways. I shall be sorry if you are not comfortable.'
The baronet said nothing more, and the dinner passed off slowly and wearily enough.

When Mary had eaten her fruit and escaped, the doctor got into one arm-chair and the baronet into another, and the latter began the only work of existence of which he knew anything.

‘That's good port,' said he; ‘very fair port.'

The doctor loved his port wine, and thawed a little in his manner. He loved it not as a toper, but as a collector loves his pet pictures. He liked to talk about it, and think about it; to praise it, and hear it praised; to look at it turned towards the light, and to count over the years it had lain in his cellar.

‘Yes,' said he, ‘it's pretty fair wine. It was, at least, when I got it, twenty years ago, and I don't suppose time has hurt it'; and he held the glass up to the window, and looked at the evening light through the ruby tint of the liquid. ‘Ah, dear, there's not much of it left; more's the pity.'

‘A good thing won't last for ever. I'll tell you what now; I wish I'd brought down a dozen or two of claret. I've some prime stuff in London; got it from Muzzle & Drug, at ninety-six shillings; it was a great favour, though. I'll tell you what now, I'll send up for a couple of dozen tomorrow. I mustn't drink you out of house, high and dry; must I, doctor?'

The doctor froze again immediately.

‘I don't think I need trouble you,' said he: ‘I never drink claret, at least not here; and there's enough of the old bin left to last some little time longer yet.'

Sir Louis drank two or three glasses of wine very quickly after each other, and they immediately began to tell upon his weak stomach. But before he was tipsy, he became more impudent and more disagreeable.

‘Doctor,' said he, ‘when are we to see any of this Greshamsbury money? That's what I want to know.'

‘Your money is quite safe, Sir Louis; and the interest is paid to the day.'

‘Interest, yes; but how do I know how long it will be paid? I should like to see the principal. A hundred thousand pounds, or something like it, is a precious large stake to have in one man's hands, and he preciously hard up himself. I'll tell you what, doctor – I shall look the squire up myself.'

‘Look him up?'

‘Yes; look him up; ferret him out; tell him a bit of my mind. I'll thank you to pass the bottle. D—— me, doctor; I mean to know how things are going on.'

‘Your money is quite safe,' repeated the doctor, ‘and, to my mind, it could not be better invested.'

‘That's all very well; d—— well, I dare say, for you and Squire Gresham –'

‘What do you mean, Sir Louis?'

‘Mean! why I mean that I'll sell the squire up; that's what I mean – hallo – beg pardon. I'm blessed if I haven't broken the water-jug. That comes of having water on the table. Oh, d—— me, it's all over me.' And then, getting up, to avoid the flood he himself had caused, he nearly fell into the doctor's arms.

‘You're tired with your journey, Sir Louis; perhaps you'd better go to bed.'

‘Well, I am a bit seedy or so. Those cursed roads of yours shake a fellow so.'

The doctor rang the bell, and, on this occasion, did request that Joe might be sent for. Joe came in, and, though he was much steadier than his master, looked as though he also had found some bin of which he had approved.

‘Sir Louis wishes to go to bed,' said the doctor; ‘you had better give him your arm.'

‘Oh, yes; in course I will,' said Joe, standing immovable about half-way between the door and the table.

‘I'll just take one more glass of the old port – eh, doctor?' said Sir Louis, putting out his hand and clutching the decanter.

It is very hard for any man to deny his guest in his own house, and the doctor, at the moment, did not know how to do it; so Sir Louis got his wine, after pouring half of it over the table.

‘Come in, sir, and give Sir Louis your arm,' said the doctor, angrily.

‘So I will, in course, if my master tells me; but, if
you
please, Dr Thorne' – and Joe put his hand up to his hair in a manner that had a great deal more of impudence than reverence in it – ‘I just want to ax one question: where be I to sleep?'

Now this was a question which the doctor was not prepared to answer on the spur of the moment, however well Janet or Mary might have been able to do so.

‘Sleep!' said he, ‘I don't know where you are to sleep, and don't care; ask Janet.'

‘That's all very well, master –'

‘Hold your tongue, sirrah!' said Sir Louis. ‘What the devil do you want of sleep? – come here,' and then, with his servant's help, he made his way up to his bedroom, and was no more heard of that night.

‘Did he get tipsy?' asked Mary, almost in a whisper, when her uncle joined her in the drawing-room.

‘Don't talk of it,' said he. ‘Poor wretch! poor wretch! Let's have some tea now, Molly, and pray don't talk any more about him tonight.' Then Mary did make the tea, and did not talk any more about Sir Louis that night.

What on earth were they to do with him? He had come there self-invited; but his connexion with the doctor was such, that it was impossible he should be told to go away, either he himself, or that servant of his. There was no reason to disbelieve him when he declared that he had come down to ferret out the squire. Such was, doubtless, his intention. He would ferret out the squire. Perhaps he might ferret out Lady Arabella also. Frank would be home in a few days; and he, too, might be ferreted out.

But the matter took a very singular turn, and one quite unexpected on the doctor's part. On the morning following the little dinner of which we have spoken, one of the Greshamsbury grooms rode up to the doctor's door with two notes. One was addressed to the doctor in the squire's well-known large handwriting, and the other was for Sir Louis. Each contained an invitation to dinner for the following day; and that to the doctor was in this wise:–

‘D
EAR
D
OCTOR
,

‘Do come and dine here tomorrow, and bring Sir Louis Scatcherd with you. If you're the man I take you to be, you won't refuse me. Lady Arabella sends a note for Sir Louis. There will be nobody here but Oriel, and Mr Gazebee, who is staying in the house. – Yours ever,

‘
F. N. GRESHAM

‘
Greshamsbury, July
, 185–

‘P.S. – I make a positive request that you'll come, and I think you will hardly refuse me.'

The doctor read it twice before he could believe it, and then ordered Janet to take the other note up to Sir Louis. As these invitations were rather in opposition to the then existing Greshamsbury tactics, the cause of Lady Arabella's special civility must be explained.

Mr Mortimer Gazebee was now at the house, and therefore it must be presumed, that things were not allowed to go on after their old fashion. Mr Gazebee was an acute as well as a fashionable man; one who knew what he was about, and who, moreover, had determined to give his very best efforts on behalf of the Greshamsbury property. His energy, in this respect, will explain itself hereafter. It was not probable that the arrival in the village of such a person as Sir Louis Scatcherd should escape attention. He had heard of it before dinner, and, before the evening was over, had discussed it with Lady Arabella.

Her ladyship was not at first inclined to make much of Sir Louis, and expressed herself as but little inclined to agree with Mr Gazebee when that gentleman suggested that he should be treated with civility at Greshamsbury. But she was at last talked over. She found it pleasant enough to have more to do with the secret management of the estate than Mr Gresham himself; and when Mr Gazebee proved to her, by sundry nods and winks, and subtle allusions to her own infinite good sense, that it was necessary to catch this obscene bird which had come to prey upon the estate, by throwing a little salt upon his tail, she also nodded and winked, and directed Augusta to prepare the salt according to order.

‘But won't it be odd, Mr Gazebee, asking him out of Dr Thorne's house?'

‘Oh, we must have the doctor, too, Lady Arabella; by all means ask the doctor also.'

Lady Arabella's brow grew dark. ‘Mr Gazebee,' she said, ‘you can hardly believe how that man has behaved to me.'

‘He is altogether beneath your anger,' said Mr Gazebee, with a bow.

‘I don't know: in one way he may be, but not in another. I really do not think I can sit down to table with Dr Thorne.

But, nevertheless, Mr Gazebee gained his point. It was now about a week since Sir Omicron Pie had been at Greshamsbury, and the squire had, almost daily, spoken to his wife as to that
learned man's last advice. Lady Arabella always answered in the same tone: ‘You can hardly know, Mr Gresham, how that man has insulted me.' But, nevertheless, the physician's advice had not been disbelieved: it tallied too well with her own inward convictions. She was anxious enough to have Dr Thorne back at her bedside, if she could only get him there without damage to her pride. Her husband, she thought, might probably send the doctor there without absolute permission from herself; in which case she would have been able to scold, and show that she was offended; and, at the same time, profit by what had been done. But Mr Gresham never thought of taking so violent a step as this, and, therefore, Dr Fillgrave still came, and her ladyship's
finesse
was wasted in vain.

But Mr Gazebee's proposition opened a door by which her point might be gained. ‘Well,' said she, at last, with infinite self-denial, ‘if you think it is for Mr Gresham's advantage, and if he chooses to ask Dr Thorne, I will not refuse to receive him.'

Mr Gazebee's next task was to discuss the matter with the squire. Nor was this easy, for Mr Gazebee was no favourite with Mr Gresham. But the task was at last performed successfully. Mr Gresham was so glad at heart to find himself able, once more, to ask his old friend to his own house; and, though it would have pleased him better that this sign of relenting on his wife's part should have reached him by other means, he did not refuse to take advantage of it; and so he wrote the above letter to Dr Thorne.

The doctor, as we have said, read it twice; and he at once resolved stoutly that he would not go.

‘Oh, do, do go!' said Mary. She well knew how wretched this feud had made her uncle. ‘Pray, pray go!'

‘Indeed, I will not,' said he. ‘There are some things a man should bear, and some he should not.'

‘You must go,' said Mary, who had taken the note from her uncle's hand, and read it. ‘You cannot refuse him when he asks you like that.'

‘It will greatly grieve me; but I must refuse him.'

‘I also am angry, uncle; very angry with Lady Arabella; but for him, for the squire, I would go to him on my knees if he asked me in that way.'

‘Yes; and had he asked you, I also would have gone.'

‘Oh! now I shall be so wretched. It is his invitation, not hers: Mr Gresham could not ask me. As for her, do not think of her; but do, do go when he asks you like that. You will make me so miserable if you do not. And then Sir Louis cannot go without you' – and Mary pointed upstairs – ‘and you may be sure that he will go.'

‘Yes; and make a beast of himself.'

This colloquy was cut short by a message praying the doctor to go up to Sir Louis's room. The young man was sitting in his dressing-gown, drinking a cup of coffee at his toilet-table, while Joe was preparing his razor and hot water. The doctor's nose immediately told him that there was more in the coffee-cup than had come out of his own kitchen, and he would not let the offence pass unnoticed.

‘Are you taking brandy this morning, Sir Louis?'

‘Just a little
chasse-café
,'
¹
said he, not exactly understanding the word he used. ‘It's all the go now; and a capital thing for the stomach.'

‘It's not a capital thing for your stomach; – about the least capital thing you can take; that is, if you wish to live.'

‘Never mind that now, doctor, but look here. This is what we call the civil thing – eh?' and he showed the Greshamsbury note. ‘Not but what they have an object, of course. I understand all that. Lots of girls there – eh?'

The doctor took the note and read it. ‘It is civil,' said he; ‘very civil.'

‘Well; I shall go, of course. I don't bear malice because he can't pay me the money he owes me. I'll eat his dinner, and look at the girls. Have you an invite too, doctor?'

‘Yes; I have.'

‘And you'll go?'

‘I think not; but that need not deter you. But, Sir Louis –'

‘Well! eh! what is it?'

‘Step downstairs a moment,' said the doctor, turning to the servant, ‘and wait till you are called for. I wish to speak to your master.‘ Joe, for a moment, looked up at the baronet's face, as though he wanted but the slightest encouragement to disobey the doctor's orders; but not seeing it, he slowly retired, and placed himself, of course, at the keyhole.