Doctor Thorne by Anthony Trollope (epub ebook reader .TXT) 📕

her, took her hand in

his. “It is better so, Lady Scatcherd; better so,” he repeated. “The

poor lad’s doom had been spoken, and it is well for him, and for you,

that it should be over.”

 

“They are both gone now,” said she, speaking very low; “both gone

now. Oh, doctor! To be left alone here, all alone!”

 

He said some few words trying to comfort her; but who can comfort

a widow bereaved of her child? Who can console a heart that has

lost all that it possessed? Sir Roger had not been to her a tender

husband; but still he had been the husband of her love. Sir Louis had

not been to her an affectionate son; but still he had been her child,

her only child. Now they were both gone. Who can wonder that the

world should be a blank to her?

 

Still the doctor spoke soothing words, and still he held her hand.

He knew that his words could not console her; but the sounds of his

kindness at such desolate moments are, to such minds as hers, some

alleviation of grief. She hardly answered him, but sat there staring

out before her, leaving her hand passively to him, and swaying her

head backwards and forwards as though her grief were too heavy to be

borne.

 

At last, her eye rested on an article which stood upon the table, and

she started up impetuously from her chair. She did this so suddenly,

that the doctor’s hand fell beside him before he knew that she had

risen. The table was covered with all those implements which become

so frequent about a house when severe illness is an inhabitant there.

There were little boxes and apothecaries’ bottles, cups and saucers

standing separate, and bowls, in which messes have been prepared with

the hope of suiting a sick man’s failing appetite. There was a small

saucepan standing on a plate, a curiously shaped glass utensil left

by the doctor, and sundry pieces of flannel, which had been used in

rubbing the sufferer’s limbs. But in the middle of the débris stood

one black bottle, with head erect, unsuited to the companionship in

which it was found.

 

“There,” she said, rising up, and seizing this in a manner that

would have been ridiculous had it not been so truly tragic. “There,

that has robbed me of everything—of all that I ever possessed; of

husband and child; of the father and son; that has swallowed them

both—murdered them both! Oh, doctor! that such a thing as that

should cause such bitter sorrow! I have hated it always, but now—Oh,

woe is me! weary me!” And then she let the bottle drop from her hand

as though it were too heavy for her.

 

“This comes of their barro-niting,” she continued. “If they had let

him alone, he would have been here now, and so would the other one.

Why did they do it? why did they do it? Ah, doctor! people such as us

should never meddle with them above us. See what has come of it; see

what has come of it!”

 

The doctor could not remain with her long, as it was necessary that

he should take upon himself the direction of the household, and give

orders for the funeral. First of all, he had to undergo the sad duty

of seeing the corpse of the deceased baronet. This, at any rate,

may be spared to my readers. It was found to be necessary that the

interment should be made very quickly, as the body was already nearly

destroyed by alcohol. Having done all this, and sent back his horse

to Greshamsbury, with directions that clothes for a journey might be

sent to him, and a notice that he should not be home for some days,

he again returned to Lady Scatcherd.

 

Of course he could not but think much of the immense property

which was now, for a short time, altogether in his own hands. His

resolution was soon made to go at once to London and consult the

best lawyer he could find—or the best dozen lawyers should such be

necessary—as to the validity of Mary’s claims. This must be done

before he said a word to her or to any of the Gresham family; but it

must be done instantly, so that all suspense might be at an end as

soon as possible. He must, of course, remain with Lady Scatcherd till

the funeral should be over; but when that office should be complete,

he would start instantly for London.

 

In resolving to tell no one as to Mary’s fortune till after he had

fortified himself with legal warranty, he made one exception. He

thought it rational that he should explain to Lady Scatcherd who was

now the heir under her husband’s will; and he was the more inclined

to do so, from feeling that the news would probably be gratifying to

her. With this view, he had once or twice endeavoured to induce her

to talk about the property, but she had been unwilling to do so. She

seemed to dislike all allusions to it, and it was not till she had

incidentally mentioned the fact that she would have to look for a

home, that he was able to fix her to the subject. This was on the

evening before the funeral; on the afternoon of which day he intended

to proceed to London.

 

“It may probably be arranged that you may continue to live here,”

said the doctor.

 

“I don’t wish it at all,” said she, rather sharply. “I don’t wish to

have any arrangements made. I would not be indebted to any of them

for anything. Oh, dear! if money could make it all right, I should

have enough of that.”

 

“Indebted to whom, Lady Scatcherd? Who do you think will be the owner

of Boxall Hill?”

 

“Indeed, then, Dr Thorne, I don’t much care: unless it be yourself,

it won’t be any friend of mine, or any one I shall care to make a

friend of. It isn’t so easy for an old woman like me to make new

friends.”

 

“Well, it certainly won’t belong to me.”

 

“I wish it did, with all my heart. But even then, I would not live

here. I have had too many troubles here to wish to see more.”

 

“That shall be just as you like, Lady Scatcherd; but you will

be surprised to hear that the place will—at least I think it

will—belong to a friend of yours: to one to whom you have been very

kind.”

 

“And who is he, doctor? Won’t it go to some of those Americans? I am

sure I never did anything kind to them; though, indeed, I did love

poor Mary Scatcherd. But that’s years upon years ago, and she is dead

and gone now. Well, I begrudge nothing to Mary’s children. As I have

none of my own, it is right they should have the money. It has not

made me happy; I hope it may do so to them.”

 

“The property will, I think, go to Mary Scatcherd’s eldest child. It

is she whom you have known as Mary Thorne.”

 

“Doctor!” And then Lady Scatcherd, as she made the exclamation, put

both her hands down to hold her chair, as though she feared the

weight of her surprise would topple her off her seat.

 

“Yes; Mary Thorne—my Mary—to whom you have been so good, who loves

you so well; she, I believe, will be Sir Roger’s heiress. And it was

so that Sir Roger intended on his deathbed, in the event of poor

Louis’s life being cut short. If this be so, will you be ashamed to

stay here as the guest of Mary Thorne? She has not been ashamed to be

your guest.”

 

But Lady Scatcherd was now too much interested in the general tenor

of the news which she had heard to care much about the house which

she was to inhabit in future. Mary Thorne, the heiress of Boxall

Hill! Mary Thorne, the still living child of that poor creature who

had so nearly died when they were all afflicted with their early

grief! Well; there was consolation, there was comfort in this. There

were but three people left in the world that she could love: her

foster-child, Frank Gresham—Mary Thorne, and the doctor. If the

money went to Mary, it would of course go to Frank, for she now knew

that they loved each other; and if it went to them, would not the

doctor have his share also; such share as he might want? Could she

have governed the matter, she would have given it all to Frank; and

now it would be as well bestowed.

 

Yes; there was consolation in this. They both sat up more than half

the night talking over it, and giving and receiving explanations. If

only the council of lawyers would not be adverse! That was now the

point of suspense.

 

The doctor, before he left her, bade her hold her peace, and say

nothing of Mary’s fortune to any one till her rights had been

absolutely acknowledged. “It will be nothing not to have it,” said

the doctor; “but it would be very bad to hear it was hers, and then

to lose it.”

 

On the next morning, Dr Thorne deposited the remains of Sir Louis in

the vault prepared for the family in the parish church. He laid the

son where a few months ago he had laid the father,—and so the title

of Scatcherd became extinct. Their race of honour had not been long.

 

After the funeral, the doctor hurried up to London, and there we will

leave him.