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

away. Beatrice and Mary occasionally met, drinking tea

together at the parsonage, or in some other of the ordinary meetings

of country society; but there were no more confidentially distressing

confidential discourses, no more whispering of Frank’s name, no more

sweet allusions to the inexpediency of a passion, which, according

to Beatrice’s views, would have been so delightful had it been

expedient.

 

The squire and the doctor also met constantly; there were

unfortunately many subjects on which they were obliged to meet. Louis

Philippe—or Sir Louis as we must call him—though he had no power

over his own property, was wide awake to all the coming privileges

of ownership, and he would constantly point out to his guardian the

manner in which, according to his ideas, the most should be made of

it. The young baronet’s ideas of good taste were not of the most

refined description, and he did not hesitate to tell Dr Thorne that

his, the doctor’s, friendship with Mr Gresham must be no bar to his,

the baronet’s, interest. Sir Louis also had his own lawyer, who gave

Dr Thorne to understand that, according to his ideas, the sum due

on Mr Gresham’s property was too large to be left on its present

footing; the title-deeds, he said, should be surrendered or the

mortgage foreclosed. All this added to the sadness which now seemed

to envelop the village of Greshamsbury.

 

Early in July, Frank was to come home. The manner in which the

comings and goings of “poor Frank” were allowed to disturb the

arrangements of all the ladies, and some of the gentlemen, of

Greshamsbury was most abominable. And yet it can hardly be said to

have been his fault. He would have been only too well pleased had

things been allowed to go on after their old fashion. Things were

not allowed so to go on. At Christmas Miss Oriel had submitted to be

exiled, in order that she might carry Mary away from the presence of

the young Bashaw, an arrangement by which all the winter festivities

of the poor doctor had been thoroughly sacrificed; and now it began

to be said that some similar plan for the summer must be suggested.

 

It must not be supposed that any direction to this effect was

conveyed either to Mary or to the doctor. The suggestion came from

them, and was mentioned only to Patience. But Patience, as a matter

of course, told Beatrice, and Beatrice told her mother, somewhat

triumphantly, hoping thereby to convince the she-dragon of Mary’s

innocence. Alas! she-dragons are not easily convinced of the

innocence of any one. Lady Arabella quite coincided in the propriety

of Mary’s being sent off,—whither she never inquired,—in order that

the coast might be clear for “poor Frank;” but she did not a whit the

more abstain from talking of the wicked intrigues of those Thornes.

As it turned out, Mary’s absence caused her to talk all the more.

 

The Boxall Hill property, including the house and furniture, had been

left to the contractor’s son; it being understood that the property

would not be at present in his own hands, but that he might inhabit

the house if he chose to do so. It would thus be necessary for Lady

Scatcherd to find a home for herself, unless she could remain at

Boxall Hill by her son’s permission. In this position of affairs the

doctor had been obliged to make a bargain between them. Sir Louis did

wish to have the comfort, or perhaps the honour, of a country house;

but he did not wish to have the expense of keeping it up. He was

also willing to let his mother live at the house; but not without

a consideration. After a prolonged degree of haggling, terms were

agreed upon; and a few weeks after her husband’s death, Lady

Scatcherd found herself alone at Boxall Hill—alone as regards

society in the ordinary sense, but not quite alone as concerned her

ladyship, for the faithful Hannah was still with her.

 

The doctor was of course often at Boxall Hill, and never left it

without an urgent request from Lady Scatcherd that he would bring his

niece over to see her. Now Lady Scatcherd was no fit companion for

Mary Thorne, and though Mary had often asked to be taken to Boxall

Hill, certain considerations had hitherto induced the doctor to

refuse the request; but there was that about Lady Scatcherd,—a kind

of homely honesty of purpose, an absence of all conceit as to her own

position, and a strength of womanly confidence in the doctor as her

friend, which by degrees won upon his heart. When, therefore, both he

and Mary felt that it would be better for her again to absent herself

for a while from Greshamsbury, it was, after much deliberation,

agreed that she should go on a visit to Boxall Hill.

 

To Boxall Hill, accordingly, she went, and was received almost as a

princess. Mary had all her life been accustomed to women of rank, and

had never habituated herself to feel much trepidation in the presence

of titled grandees; but she had prepared herself to be more than

ordinarily submissive to Lady Scatcherd. Her hostess was a widow, was

not a woman of high birth, was a woman of whom her uncle spoke well;

and, for all these reasons, Mary was determined to respect her, and

pay to her every consideration. But when she settled down in the

house she found it almost impossible to do so. Lady Scatcherd treated

her as a farmer’s wife might have treated some convalescent young

lady who had been sent to her charge for a few weeks, in order that

she might benefit by the country air. Her ladyship could hardly bring

herself to sit still and eat her dinner tranquilly in her guest’s

presence. And then nothing was good enough for Mary. Lady Scatcherd

besought her, almost with tears, to say what she liked best to eat

and drink; and was in despair when Mary declared she didn’t care,

that she liked anything, and that she was in nowise particular in

such matters.

 

“A roast fowl, Miss Thorne?”

 

“Very nice, Lady Scatcherd.”

 

“And bread sauce?”

 

“Bread sauce—yes; oh, yes—I like bread sauce,”—and poor Mary tried

hard to show a little interest.

 

“And just a few sausages. We make them all in the house, Miss Thorne;

we know what they are. And mashed potatoes—do you like them best

mashed or baked?”

 

Mary finding herself obliged to vote, voted for mashed potatoes.

 

“Very well. But, Miss Thorne, if you like boiled fowl better, with

a little bit of ham, you know, I do hope you’ll say so. And there’s

lamb in the house, quite beautiful; now do ‘ee say something; do ‘ee,

Miss Thorne.”

 

So invoked, Mary felt herself obliged to say something, and declared

for the roast fowl and sausages; but she found it very difficult to

pay much outward respect to a person who would pay so much outward

respect to her. A day or two after her arrival it was decided that

she should ride about the place on a donkey; she was accustomed to

riding, the doctor having generally taken care that one of his own

horses should, when required, consent to carry a lady; but there was

no steed at Boxall Hill that she could mount; and when Lady Scatcherd

had offered to get a pony for her, she had willingly compromised

matters by expressing the delight she would have in making a campaign

on a donkey. Upon this, Lady Scatcherd had herself set off in quest

of the desired animal, much to Mary’s horror; and did not return till

the necessary purchase had been effected. Then she came back with the

donkey close at her heels, almost holding its collar, and stood there

at the hall-door till Mary came to approve.

 

“I hope she’ll do. I don’t think she’ll kick,” said Lady Scatcherd,

patting the head of her purchase quite triumphantly.

 

“Oh, you are so kind, Lady Scatcherd. I’m sure she’ll do quite

nicely; she seems very quiet,” said Mary.

 

“Please, my lady, it’s a he,” said the boy who held the halter.

 

“Oh! a he, is it?” said her ladyship; “but the he-donkeys are quite

as quiet as the shes, ain’t they?”

 

“Oh, yes, my lady; a deal quieter, all the world over, and twice as

useful.”

 

“I’m so glad of that, Miss Thorne,” said Lady Scatcherd, her eyes

bright with joy.

 

And so Mary was established with her donkey, who did all that could

be expected from an animal in his position.

 

“But, dear Lady Scatcherd,” said Mary, as they sat together at the

open drawing-room window the same evening, “you must not go on

calling me Miss Thorne; my name is Mary, you know. Won’t you call me

Mary?” and she came and knelt at Lady Scatcherd’s feet, and took hold

of her, looking up into her face.

 

Lady Scatcherd’s cheeks became rather red, as though she was somewhat

ashamed of her position.

 

“You are so very kind to me,” continued Mary, “and it seems so cold

to hear you call me Miss Thorne.”

 

“Well, Miss Thorne, I’m sure I’d call you anything to please you.

Only I didn’t know whether you’d like it from me. Else I do think

Mary is the prettiest name in all the language.”

 

“I should like it very much.”

 

“My dear Roger always loved that name better than any other; ten

times better. I used to wish sometimes that I’d been called Mary.”

 

“Did he! Why?”

 

“He once had a sister called Mary; such a beautiful creature! I

declare I sometimes think you are like her.”

 

“Oh, dear! then she must have been beautiful indeed!” said Mary,

laughing.

 

“She was very beautiful. I just remember her—oh, so beautiful! she

was quite a poor girl, you know; and so was I then. Isn’t it odd that

I should have to be called ‘my lady’ now? Do you know Miss Thorne—”

 

“Mary! Mary!” said her guest.

 

“Ah, yes; but somehow, I hardly like to make so free; but, as I was

saying, I do so dislike being called ‘my lady:’ I always think the

people are laughing at me; and so they are.”

 

“Oh, nonsense.”

 

“Yes, they are though: poor dear Roger, he used to call me ‘my lady’

just to make fun of me; I didn’t mind it so much from him. But, Miss

Thorne—”

 

“Mary, Mary, Mary.”

 

“Ah, well! I shall do it in time. But, Miss—Mary, ha! ha! ha! never

mind, let me alone. But what I want to say is this: do you think I

could drop it? Hannah says, that if I go the right way about it she

is sure I can.”

 

“Oh! but, Lady Scatcherd, you shouldn’t think of such a thing.”

 

“Shouldn’t I now?”

 

“Oh, no; for your husband’s sake you should be proud of it. He gained

great honour, you know.”

 

“Ah, well,” said she, sighing after a short pause; “if you think it

will do him any good, of course I’ll put up with it. And then I know

Louis would be mad if I talked of such a thing. But, Miss Thorne,

dear, a woman like me don’t like to have to be made a fool of all the

days of her life if she can help it.”

 

“But, Lady Scatcherd,” said Mary, when this question of the title had

been duly settled, and her ladyship made to understand that she must

bear the burden for the rest of her life, “but, Lady Scatcherd, you

were speaking of Sir Roger’s sister; what became of her?”

 

“Oh, she did very well at