CHAPTER XXVII
Miss Thorne Goes on a Visit
And now began the unpleasant things at Greshamsbury of which we havehere told. When Lady Arabella walked away from the doctor's houseshe resolved that, let it cost what it might, there should be war tothe knife between her and him. She had been insulted by him--so atleast she said to herself, and so she was prepared to say to othersalso--and it was not to be borne that a de Courcy should allow herparish doctor to insult her with impunity. She would tell her husbandwith all the dignity that she could assume, that it had now becomeabsolutely necessary that he should protect his wife by breakingentirely with his unmannered neighbour; and, as regarded the youngmembers of her family, she would use the authority of a mother, andabsolutely forbid them to hold any intercourse with Mary Thorne. Soresolving, she walked quickly back to her own house.
The doctor, when left alone, was not quite satisfied with the part hehad taken in the interview. He had spoken from impulse rather thanfrom judgement, and, as is generally the case with men who do sospeak, he had afterwards to acknowledge to himself that he had beenimprudent. He accused himself probably of more violence than hehad really used, and was therefore unhappy; but, nevertheless, hisindignation was not at rest. He was angry with himself; but noton that account the less angry with Lady Arabella. She was cruel,overbearing, and unreasonable; cruel in the most cruel of manners, sohe thought; but not on that account was he justified in forgettingthe forbearance due from a gentleman to a lady. Mary, moreover, hadowed much to the kindness of this woman, and, therefore, Dr Thornefelt that he should have forgiven much.
Thus the doctor walked about his room, much disturbed; now accusinghimself for having been so angry with Lady Arabella, and then feedinghis own anger by thinking of her misconduct.
The only immediate conclusion at which he resolved was this, that itwas unnecessary that he should say anything to Mary on the subjectof her ladyship's visit. There was, no doubt, sorrow enough in storefor his darling; why should he aggravate it? Lady Arabella woulddoubtless not stop now in her course; but why should he acceleratethe evil which she would doubtless be able to effect?
Lady Arabella, when she returned to the house, allowed no grass togrow under her feet. As she entered the house she desired that MissBeatrice should be sent to her directly she returned; and she desiredalso, that as soon as the squire should be in his room a message tothat effect might be immediately brought to her.
"Beatrice," she said, as soon as the young lady appeared before her,and in speaking she assumed her firmest tone of authority, "Beatrice,I am sorry, my dear, to say anything that is unpleasant to you, but Imust make it a positive request that you will for the future drop allintercourse with Dr Thorne's family."
Beatrice, who had received Lady Arabella's message immediately onentering the house, and had run upstairs imagining that some instanthaste was required, now stood before her mother rather out of breath,holding her bonnet by the strings.
"Oh, mamma!" she exclaimed, "what on earth has happened?"
"My dear," said the mother, "I cannot really explain to you what hashappened; but I must ask you to give me your positive assurance thatyou will comply with my request."
"You don't mean that I am not to see Mary any more?"
"Yes, I do, my dear; at any rate, for the present. When I tell youthat your brother's interest imperatively demands it, I am sure thatyou will not refuse me."
Beatrice did not refuse, but she did not appear too willing tocomply. She stood silent, leaning against the end of a sofa andtwisting her bonnet-strings in her hand.
"Well, Beatrice--"
"But, mamma, I don't understand."
Lady Arabella had said that she could not exactly explain: but shefound it necessary to attempt to do so.
"Dr Thorne has openly declared to me that a marriage between poorFrank and Mary is all he could desire for his niece. After suchunparalleled audacity as that, even your father will see thenecessity of breaking with him."
"Dr Thorne! Oh, mamma, you must have misunderstood him."
"My dear, I am not apt to misunderstand people; especially when I amso much in earnest as I was in talking to Dr Thorne."
"But, mamma, I know so well what Mary herself thinks about it."
"And I know what Dr Thorne thinks about it; he, at any rate, has beencandid in what he said; there can be no doubt on earth that he hasspoken his true thoughts; there can be no reason to doubt him: ofcourse such a match would be all that he could wish."
"Mamma, I feel sure that there is some mistake."
"Very well, my dear. I know that you are infatuated about thesepeople, and that you are always inclined to contradict what I say toyou; but, remember, I expect that you will obey me when I tell younot to go to Dr Thorne's house any more."
"But, mamma--"
"I expect you to obey me, Beatrice. Though you are so prone tocontradict, you have never disobeyed me; and I fully trust that youwill not do so now."
Lady Arabella had begun by exacting, or trying to exact a promise,but as she found that this was not forthcoming, she thought it betterto give up the point without a dispute. It might be that Beatricewould absolutely refuse to pay this respect to her mother'sauthority, and then where would she have been?
At this moment a servant came up to say that the squire was in hisroom, and Lady Arabella was opportunely saved the necessity ofdiscussing the matter further with her daughter. "I am now," shesaid, "going to see your father on the same subject; you may be quitesure, Beatrice, that I should not willingly speak to him on anymatter relating to Dr Thorne did I not find it absolutely necessaryto do so."
This Beatrice knew was true, and she did therefore feel convincedthat something terrible must have happened.
While Lady Arabella opened her budget the squire sat quite silent,listening to her with apparent respect. She found it necessary thather description to him should be much more elaborate than that whichshe had vouchsafed to her daughter, and, in telling her grievance,she insisted most especially on the personal insult which had beenoffered to herself.
"After what has now happened," said she, not quite able to repress atone of triumph as she spoke, "I do expect, Mr Gresham, that youwill--will--"
"Will what, my dear?"
"Will at least protect me from the repetition of such treatment."
"You are not afraid that Dr Thorne will come here to attack you? Asfar as I can understand, he never comes near the place, unless whenyou send for him."
"No; I do not think that he will come to Greshamsbury any more. Ibelieve I have put a stop to that."
"Then what is it, my dear, that you want me to do?"
Lady Arabella paused a minute before she replied. The game which shenow had to play was not very easy; she knew, or thought she knew,that her husband, in his heart of hearts, much preferred his friendto the wife of his bosom, and that he would, if he could, shuffle outof noticing the doctor's iniquities. It behoved her, therefore, toput them forward in such a way that they must be noticed.
"I suppose, Mr Gresham, you do not wish that Frank should marry thegirl?"
"I do not think there is the slightest chance of such a thing; and Iam quite sure that Dr Thorne would not encourage it."
"But I tell you, Mr Gresham, that he says he will encourage it."
"Oh, you have misunderstood him."
"Of course; I always misunderstand everything. I know that. Imisunderstood it when I told you how you would distress yourself ifyou took those nasty hounds."
"I have had other troubles more expensive than the hounds," said thepoor squire, sighing.
"Oh, yes; I know what you mean; a wife and family are expensive, ofcourse. It is a little too late now to complain of that."
"My dear, it is always too late to complain of any troubles when theyare no longer to be avoided. We need not, therefore, talk any moreabout the hounds at present."
"I do not wish to speak of them, Mr Gresham."
"Nor I."
"But I hope you will not think me unreasonable if I am anxious toknow what you intend to do about Dr Thorne."
"To do?"
"Yes; I suppose you will do something: you do not wish to see yourson marry such a girl as Mary Thorne."
"As far as the girl herself is concerned," said the squire, turningrather red, "I am not sure that he could do much better. I knownothing whatever against Mary. Frank, however, cannot afford to makesuch a match. It would be his ruin."
"Of course it would; utter ruin; he never could hold up his headagain. Therefore it is I ask, What do you intend to do?"
The squire was bothered. He had no intention whatever of doinganything, and no belief in his wife's assertion as to Dr Thorne'siniquity. But he did not know how to get her out of the room. Sheasked him the same question over and over again, and on each occasionurged on him the heinousness of the insult to which she personallyhad been subjected; so that at last he was driven to ask her what itwas she wished him to do.
"Well, then, Mr Gresham, if you ask me, I must say, that I think youshould abstain from any intercourse with Dr Thorne whatever."
"Break off all intercourse with him?"
"Yes."
"What do you mean? He has been turned out of this house, and I'm notto go to see him at his own."
"I certainly think that you ought to discontinue your visits to DrThorne altogether."
"Nonsense, my dear; absolute nonsense."
"Nonsense! Mr Gresham; it is no nonsense. As you speak in that way,I must let you know plainly what I feel. I am endeavouring to domy duty by my son. As you justly observe, such a marriage as thiswould be utter ruin to him. When I found that the young people wereactually talking of being in love with each other, making vows andall that sort of thing, I did think it time to interfere. I did not,however, turn them out of Greshamsbury as you accuse me of doing. Inthe kindest possible manner--"
"Well--well--well; I know all that. There, they are gone, and that'senough. I don't complain; surely that ought to be enough."
"Enough! Mr Gresham. No; it is not enough. I find that, in spiteof what has occurred, the closest intimacy exists between the twofamilies; that poor Beatrice, who is so very young, and not soprudent as she should be, is made to act as a go-between; and whenI speak to the doctor, hoping that he will assist me in preventingthis, he not only tells me that he means to encourage Mary in herplans, but positively insults me to my face, laughs at me for beingan earl's daughter, and tells me--yes, he absolutely told me--to getout of his house."
Let it be told with some shame as to the squire's conduct, that hisfirst feeling on hearing this was one of envy--of envy and regretthat he could not make the same uncivil request. Not that he wishedto turn his wife absolutely out of his house; but he would have beenvery glad to have had the power of dismissing her summarily from hisown room. This, however, was at present impossible; so he was obligedto make some mild reply.
"You must have mistaken him, my dear. He could not have intended tosay that."
"Oh! of course, Mr Gresham. It is all a mistake, of course. It willbe a mistake, only a mistake when you find your son married to MaryThorne."
"Well, my dear, I cannot undertake to quarrel with Dr Thorne." Thiswas true; for the squire could hardly have quarrelled with Dr Thorne,even had he wished it.
"Then I think it right to tell you that I shall. And, Mr Gresham, Idid not expect much co-operation from you; but I did think that youwould have shown some little anger when you heard that I had been soill-treated. I shall, however, know how to take care of myself; andI shall continue to do the best I can to protect Frank from thesewicked intrigues."
So saying, her ladyship arose and left the room, having succeeded indestroying the comfort of all our Greshamsbury friends. It was verywell for the squire to declare that he would not quarrel with DrThorne, and of course he did not do so. But he, himself, had no wishwhatever that his son should marry Mary Thorne; and as a falling dropwill hollow a stone, so did the continual harping of his wife on thesubject give rise to some amount of suspicion in his own mind. Thenas to Beatrice, though she had made no promise that she would notagain visit Mary, she was by no means prepared to set her mother'sauthority altogether at defiance; and she also was sufficientlyuncomfortable.
Dr Thorne said nothing of the matter to his niece, and she,therefore, would have been absolutely bewildered by Beatrice'sabsence, had she not received some tidings of what had taken place atGreshamsbury through Patience Oriel. Beatrice and Patience discussedthe matter fully, and it was agreed between them that it would bebetter that Mary should know what sterner orders respecting herhad gone forth from the tyrant at Greshamsbury, and that she mightunderstand that Beatrice's absence was compulsory. Patience was thusplaced in this position, that on one day she walked and talked withBeatrice, and on the next with Mary; and so matters went on for awhile at Greshamsbury--not very pleasantly.
Very unpleasantly and very uncomfortably did the months of May andJune pass away. Beatrice and Mary occasionally met, drinking teatogether at the parsonage, or in some other of the ordinary meetingsof country society; but there were no more confidentially distressingconfidential discourses, no more whispering of Frank's name, no moresweet allusions to the inexpediency of a passion, which, accordingto Beatrice's views, would have been so delightful had it beenexpedient.
The squire and the doctor also met constantly; there wereunfortunately many subjects on which they were obliged to meet. LouisPhilippe--or Sir Louis as we must call him--though he had no powerover his own property, was wide awake to all the coming privilegesof ownership, and he would constantly point out to his guardian themanner in which, according to his ideas, the most should be made ofit. The young baronet's ideas of good taste were not of the mostrefined description, and he did not hesitate to tell Dr Thorne thathis, 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 gaveDr Thorne to understand that, according to his ideas, the sum dueon Mr Gresham's property was too large to be left on its presentfooting; the title-deeds, he said, should be surrendered or themortgage foreclosed. All this added to the sadness which now seemedto envelop the village of Greshamsbury.
Early in July, Frank was to come home. The manner in which thecomings and goings of "poor Frank" were allowed to disturb thearrangements of all the ladies, and some of the gentlemen, ofGreshamsbury was most abominable. And yet it can hardly be said tohave been his fault. He would have been only too well pleased hadthings been allowed to go on after their old fashion. Things werenot allowed so to go on. At Christmas Miss Oriel had submitted to beexiled, in order that she might carry Mary away from the presence ofthe young Bashaw, an arrangement by which all the winter festivitiesof the poor doctor had been thoroughly sacrificed; and now it beganto be said that some similar plan for the summer must be suggested.
It must not be supposed that any direction to this effect wasconveyed either to Mary or to the doctor. The suggestion came fromthem, and was mentioned only to Patience. But Patience, as a matterof course, told Beatrice, and Beatrice told her mother, somewhattriumphantly, hoping thereby to convince the she-dragon of Mary'sinnocence. Alas! she-dragons are not easily convinced of theinnocence of any one. Lady Arabella quite coincided in the proprietyof Mary's being sent off,--whither she never inquired,--in order thatthe coast might be clear for "poor Frank;" but she did not a whit themore 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 beenleft to the contractor's son it being understood that the propertywould not be at present in his own hands, but that he might inhabitthe house if he chose to do so. It would thus be necessary for LadyScatcherd to find a home for herself, unless she could remain atBoxall Hill by her son's permission. In this position of affairs thedoctor had been obliged to make a bargain between them. Sir Louis didwish to have the comfort, or perhaps the honour, of a count
ry house;but he did not wish to have the expense of keeping it up. He wasalso willing to let his mother live at the house; but not withouta consideration. After a prolonged degree of haggling, terms wereagreed upon and a few weeks after her husband's death, LadyScatcherd found herself alone at Boxall Hill--alone as regardssociety in the ordinary sense, but not quite alone as concerned herladyship, for the faithful Hannah was still with her.
The doctor was of course often at Boxall Hill, and never left itwithout an urgent request from Lady Scatcherd that he would bring hisniece over to see her. Now Lady Scatcherd was no fit companion forMary Thorne, and though Mary had often asked to be taken to BoxallHill, certain considerations had hitherto induced the doctor torefuse the request; but there was that about Lady Scatcherd,--a kindof homely honesty of purpose, an absence of all conceit as to her ownposition, and a strength of womanly confidence in the doctor as herfriend, which by degrees won upon his heart. When, therefore, both heand Mary felt that it would be better for her again to absent herselffor 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 aprincess. Mary had all her life been accustomed to women of rank, andhad never habituated herself to feel much trepidation in the presenceof titled grandees; but she had prepared herself to be more thanordinarily submissive to Lady Scatcherd. Her hostess was a widow, wasnot 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, andpay to her every consideration. But when she settled down in thehouse she found it almost impossible to do so. Lady Scatcherd treatedher as a farmer's wife might have treated some convalescent younglady who had been sent to her charge for a few weeks, in order thatshe might benefit by the country air. Her ladyship could hardly bringherself to sit still and eat her dinner tranquilly in her guest'spresence. And then nothing was good enough for Mary. Lady Scatcherdbesought her, almost with tears, to say what she liked best to eatand drink; and was in despair when Mary declared she didn't care,that she liked anything, and that she was in nowise particular insuch 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 triedhard 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 bestmashed or baked?"
Mary finding herself obliged to vote, voted for mashed potatoes.
"Very well. But, Miss Thorne, if you like boiled fowl better, witha little bit of ham, you know, I do hope you'll say so. And there'slamb in the house, quite beautiful; now do 'ee say something; do 'ee,Miss Thorne."
So invoked, Mary felt herself obliged to say something, and declaredfor the roast fowl and sausages; but she found it very difficult topay much outward respect to a person who would pay so much outwardrespect to her. A day or two after her arrival it was decided thatshe should ride about the place on a donkey; she was accustomed toriding, the doctor having generally taken care that one of his ownhorses should, when required, consent to carry a lady; but there wasno steed at Boxall Hill that she could mount; and when Lady Scatcherdhad offered to get a pony for her, she had willingly compromisedmatters by expressing the delight she would have in making a campaignon a donkey. Upon this, Lady Scatcherd had herself set off in questof the desired animal, much to Mary's horror; and did not return tillthe necessary purchase had been effected. Then she came back with thedonkey close at her heels, almost holding its collar, and stood thereat 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 quitenicely; 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 quiteas quiet as the shes, ain't they?"
"Oh, yes, my lady; a deal quieter, all the world over, and twice asuseful."
"I'm so glad of that, Miss Thorne," said Lady Scatcherd, her eyesbright with joy.
And so Mary was established with her donkey, who did all that couldbe expected from an animal in his position.
"But, dear Lady Scatcherd," said Mary, as they sat together at theopen drawing-room window the same evening, "you must not go oncalling me Miss Thorne; my name is Mary, you know. Won't you call meMary?" and she came and knelt at Lady Scatcherd's feet, and took holdof her, looking up into her face.
Lady Scatcherd's cheeks became rather red, as though she was somewhatashamed of her position.
"You are so very kind to me," continued Mary, "and it seems so coldto 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 thinkMary 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; tentimes 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! Ideclare 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! shewas quite a poor girl, you know; and so was I then. Isn't it odd thatI 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 wassaying, I do so dislike being called 'my lady:' I always think thepeople 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, MissThorne--"
"Mary, Mary, Mary."
"Ah, well! I shall do it in time. But, Miss--Mary, ha! ha! ha! nevermind, let me alone. But what I want to say is this: do you think Icould drop it? Hannah says, that if I go the right way about it sheis 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 gainedgreat honour, you know."
"Ah, well," said she, sighing after a short pause; "if you think itwill do him any good, of course I'll put up with it. And then I knowLouis 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 thedays of her life if she can help it."
"But, Lady Scatcherd," said Mary, when this question of the title hadbeen duly settled, and her ladyship made to understand that she mustbear the burden for the rest of her life, "but, Lady Scatcherd, youwere speaking of Sir Roger's sister; what became of her?"
"Oh, she did very well at last, as Sir Roger did himself; but inearly life she was very unfortunate--just at the time of my marriagewith dear Roger--," and then, just as she was about to commence somuch as she knew of the history of Mary Scatcherd, she rememberedthat the author of her sister-in-law's misery had been a Thorne, abrother of the doctor; and, therefore, as she presumed, a relative ofher guest; and suddenly she became mute.
"Well," said Mary; "just as you were married, Lady Scatcherd?"
Poor Lady Scatcherd had very little worldly knowledge, and did notin the least know how to turn the conversation or escape from thetrouble into which she had fallen. All manner of reflections began tocrowd upon her. In her early days she had known very little of theThornes, nor had she thought much of them since, except as regardedher friend the doctor; but at this moment she began for the firsttime to remember that she had never heard of more than two brothers inthe family. Who then coul
d have been Mary's father? She felt at oncethat it would be improper for to say anything as to Henry Thorne'sterrible faults and sudden fate;--improper also, to say more aboutMary Scatcherd; but she was quite unable to drop the matter otherwisethan abruptly, and with a start.
"She was very unfortunate, you say, Lady Scatcherd?"
"Yes, Miss Thorne; Mary, I mean--never mind me--I shall do it intime. Yes, she was; but now I think of it, I had better say nothingmore about it. There are reasons, and I ought not to have spoken ofit. You won't be provoked with me, will you?"
Mary assured her that she would not be provoked, and of course askedno more questions about Mary Scatcherd; nor did she think much moreabout it. It was not so however with her ladyship, who could notkeep herself from reflecting that the old clergyman in the Close atBarchester certainly had but two sons, one of whom was now the doctorat Greshamsbury, and the other of whom had perished so wretchedly atthe gate of that farmyard. Who then was the father of Mary Thorne?
The days passed very quietly at Boxall Hill. Every morning Mary wentout on her donkey, who justified by his demeanour all that had beensaid in his praise; then she would read or draw, then walk with LadyScatcherd, then dine, then walk again; and so the days passed quietlyaway. Once or twice a week the doctor would come over and drink histea there, riding home in the cool of the evening. Mary also receivedone visit from her friend Patience.
So the days passed quietly away till the tranquillity of the housewas suddenly broken by tidings from London. Lady Scatcherd received aletter from her son, contained in three lines, in which he intimatedthat on the following day he meant to honour her with a visit. He hadintended, he said, to have gone to Brighton with some friends; but ashe felt himself a little out of sorts, he would postpone his marinetrip and do his mother the grace of spending a few days with her.
This news was not very pleasant to Mary, by whom it had beenunderstood, as it had also by her uncle, that Lady Scatcherd wouldhave had the house to herself; but as there were no means ofpreventing the evil, Mary could only inform the doctor, and prepareherself to meet Sir Louis Scatcherd.
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