Doctor Thorne

by Anthony Trollope

  CHAPTER XLV

  Law Business in London

  On the Monday morning at six o'clock, Mr Oriel and Frank startedtogether; but early as it was, Beatrice was up to give them a cup ofcoffee, Mr Oriel having slept that night in the house. Whether Frankwould have received his coffee from his sister's fair hands had notMr Oriel been there, may be doubted. He, however, loudly assertedthat he should not have done so, when she laid claim to great meritfor rising in his behalf.

  Mr Oriel had been specially instigated by Lady Arabella to use theopportunity of their joint journey, for pointing out to Frank theiniquity as well as madness of the course he was pursuing; and he hadpromised to obey her ladyship's behests. But Mr Oriel was perhaps notan enterprising man, and was certainly not a presumptuous one. He didintend to do as he was bid; but when he began, with the object ofleading up to the subject of Frank's engagement, he always softeneddown into some much easier enthusiasm in the matter of his ownengagement with Beatrice. He had not that perspicuous, but notover-sensitive strength of mind which had enabled Harry Baker toexpress his opinion out at once; and boldly as he did it, yet to doso without offence.

  Four times before the train arrived in London, he made some littleattempt; but four times he failed. As the subject was matrimony, itwas his easiest course to begin about himself; but he never could getany further.

  "No man was ever more fortunate in a wife than I shall be," he said,with a soft, euphuistic self-complacency, which would have been sillyhad it been adopted to any other person than the bride's brother. Hisintention, however, was very good, for he meant to show, that in hiscase marriage was prudent and wise, because his case differed sowidely from that of Frank.

  "Yes," said Frank. "She is an excellent good girl:" he had said itthree times before, and was not very energetic.

  "Yes, and so exactly suited to me; indeed, all that I could havedreamed of. How very well she looked this morning! Some girls onlylook well at night. I should not like that at all."

  "You mustn't expect her to look like that always at six o'clocka.m.," said Frank, laughing. "Young ladies only take that trouble onvery particular occasions. She wouldn't have come down like that ifmy father or I had been going alone. No, and she won't do so for youin a couple of years' time."

  "Oh, but she's always nice. I have seen her at home as much almost asyou could do; and then she's so sincerely religious."

  "Oh, yes, of course; that is, I am sure she is," said Frank, lookingsolemn as became him.

  "She's made to be a clergyman's wife."

  "Well, so it seems," said Frank.

  "A married life is, I'm sure, the happiest in the world--if peopleare only in a position to marry," said Mr Oriel, gradually drawingnear to the accomplishment of his design.

  "Yes; quite so. Do you know, Oriel, I never was so sleepy in my life.What with all that fuss of Gazebee's, and one thing and another, Icould not get to bed till one o'clock; and then I couldn't sleep.I'll take a snooze now, if you won't think it uncivil." And then,putting his feet upon the opposite seat, he settled himselfcomfortably to his rest. And so Mr Oriel's last attempt for lecturingFrank in the railway-carriage faded away and was annihilated.

  By twelve o'clock Frank was with Messrs Slow & Bideawhile. MrBideawhile was engaged at the moment, but he found the managingChancery clerk to be a very chatty gentleman. Judging from what hesaw, he would have said that the work to be done at Messrs Slow &Bideawhile's was not very heavy.

  "A singular man that Sir Louis," said the Chancery clerk.

  "Yes; very singular," said Frank.

  "Excellent security, excellent; no better; and yet he will foreclose;but you see he has no power himself. But the question is, can thetrustee refuse? Then, again, trustees are so circumscribed nowadaysthat they are afraid to do anything. There has been so much saidlately, Mr Gresham, that a man doesn't know where he is, or what heis doing. Nobody trusts anybody. There have been such terrible thingsthat we can't wonder at it. Only think of the case of those Hills!How can any one expect that any one else will ever trust a lawyeragain after that? But that's Mr Bideawhile's bell. How can any oneexpect it? He will see you now, I dare say, Mr Gresham."

  So it turned out, and Frank was ushered into the presence of MrBideawhile. He had got his lesson by heart, and was going to rushinto the middle of his subject; such a course, however, was not inaccordance with Mr Bideawhile's usual practice. Mr Bideawhile got upfrom his large wooden-seated Windsor chair, and, with a soft smile,in which, however, was mingled some slight dash of the attorney'sacuteness, put out his hand to his young client; not, indeed, asthough he were going to shake hands with him, but as though the handwere some ripe fruit all but falling, which his visitor might takeand pluck if he thought proper. Frank took hold of the hand, whichreturned him no pressure, and then let it go again, not making anyattempt to gather the fruit.

  "I have come up to town, Mr Bideawhile, about this mortgage,"commenced Frank.

  "Mortgage--ah, sit down, Mr Gresham; sit down. I hope your father isquite well?"

  "Quite well, thank you."

  "I have a great regard for your father. So I had for yourgrandfather; a very good man indeed. You, perhaps, don't rememberhim, Mr Gresham?"

  "He died when I was only a year old."

  "Oh, yes; no, you of course, can't remember him; but I do, well: heused to be very fond of some port wine I had. I think it was '11;'and if I don't mistake, I have a bottle or two of it yet; but it isnot worth drinking now. Port wine, you know, won't keep beyond acertain time. That was very good wine. I don't exactly remember whatit stood me a dozen then; but such wine can't be had now. As for theMadeira, you know there's an end of that. Do you drink Madeira, MrGresham?"

  "No," said Frank, "not very often."

  "I'm sorry for that, for it's a fine wine; but then there's noneof it left, you know. I have a few dozen, I'm told they're growingpumpkins where the vineyards were. I wonder what they do with all thepumpkins they grow in Switzerland! You've been in Switzerland, MrGresham?"

  Frank said he had been in Switzerland.

  "It's a beautiful country; my girls made me go there last year. Theysaid it would do me good; but then you know, they wanted to see itthemselves; ha! ha! ha! However, I believe I shall go again thisautumn. That is to Aix, or some of those places; just for threeweeks. I can't spare any more time, Mr Gresham. Do you like thatdining at the _tables d'hote_?"

  "Pretty well, sometimes."

  "One would get tired of it--eh! But they gave us capital dinners atZurich. I don't think much of their soup. But they had fish, andabout seven kinds of meats and poultry, and three or four puddings,and things of that sort. Upon my word, I thought we did very well,and so did my girls, too. You see a great many ladies travellingnow."

  "Yes," said Frank; "a great many."

  "Upon my word, I think they are right; that is, if they can affordtime. I can't afford time. I'm here every day till five, Mr Gresham;then I go out and dine in Fleet Street, and then back to work tillnine."

  "Dear me! that's very hard."

  "Well, yes it is hard work. My boys don't like it; but I manage itsomehow. I get down to my little place in the country on Saturday. Ishall be most happy to see you there next Saturday."

  Frank, thinking it would be outrageous on his part to take up much ofthe time of the gentleman who was constrained to work so unreasonablyhard, began again to talk about his mortgages, and, in so doing, hadto mention the name of Mr Yates Umbleby.

  "Ah, poor Umbleby!" said Mr Bideawhile; "what is he doing now? I amquite sure your father was right, or he wouldn't have done it; but Iused to think that Umbleby was a decent sort of man enough. Not sogrand, you know, as your Gazebees and Gumptions--eh, Mr Gresham? Theydo say young Gazebee is thinking of getting into Parliament. Let mesee: Umbleby married--who was it he married? That was the way yourfather got hold of him; not your father, but your grandfather. Iused to know all about it. Well, I was sorry for Umbleby. He has gotsomething, I suppose--eh?"

  Frank sai
d that he believed Mr Yates Umbleby had something wherewithto keep the wolf from the door.

  "So you have got Gazebee down there now? Gumption, Gazebee & Gazebee:very good people, I'm sure; only, perhaps, they have a little toomuch on hand to do your father justice."

  "But about Sir Louis, Mr Bideawhile."

  "Well, about Sir Louis; a very bad sort of fellow, isn't he?Drinks--eh? I knew his father a little. He was a rough diamond, too.I was once down in Northamptonshire, about some railway business; letme see; I almost forget whether I was with him, or against him. But Iknow he made sixty thousand pounds by one hour's work; sixty thousandpounds! And then he got so mad with drinking that we all thought--"

  And so Mr Bideawhile went on for two hours, and Frank found noopportunity of saying one word about the business which had broughthim up to town. What wonder that such a man as this should be obligedto stay at his office every night till nine o'clock?

  During these two hours, a clerk had come in three or four times,whispering something to the lawyer, who, on the last of suchoccasions, turned to Frank, saying, "Well, perhaps that will do forto-day. If you'll manage to call to-morrow, say about two, I willhave the whole thing looked up; or, perhaps Wednesday or Thursdaywould suit you better." Frank, declaring that the morrow would suithim very well, took his departure, wondering much at the manner inwhich business was done at the house of Messrs Slow & Bideawhile.

  When he called the next day, the office seemed to be ratherdisturbed, and he was shown quickly into Mr Bideawhile's room. "Haveyou heard this?" said that gentleman, putting a telegram into hishands. It contained tidings of the death of Sir Louis Scatcherd.Frank immediately knew that these tidings must be of importance tohis father; but he had no idea how vitally they concerned his ownmore immediate interests.

  "Dr Thorne will be up in town on Thursday evening after the funeral,"said the talkative clerk. "And nothing of course can be done till hecomes," said Mr Bideawhile. And so Frank, pondering on the mutabilityof human affairs, again took his departure.

  He could do nothing now but wait for Dr Thorne's arrival, and sohe amused himself in the interval by running down to Malvern, andtreating with Miss Dunstable in person for the oil of Lebanon. Hewent down on the Wednesday, and thus, failed to receive, on theThursday morning, Mary's letter, which reached London on that day.He returned, however, on the Friday, and then got it; and perhapsit was well for Mary's happiness that he had seen Miss Dunstable inthe interval. "I don't care what your mother says," said she, withemphasis. "I don't care for any Harry, whether it be Harry Baker, orold Harry himself. You made her a promise, and you are bound to keepit; if not on one day, then on another. What! because you cannot drawback yourself, get out of it by inducing her to do so! Aunt de Courcyherself could not improve upon that." Fortified in this manner, hereturned to town on the Friday morning, and then got Mary's letter.Frank also got a note from Dr Thorne, stating that he had taken uphis temporary domicile at the Gray's Inn Coffee-house, so as to benear the lawyers.

  It has been suggested that the modern English writers of fictionshould among them keep a barrister, in order that they may be setright on such legal points as will arise in their little narratives,and thus avoid that exposure of their own ignorance of the laws,which, now, alas! they too often make. The idea is worthy ofconsideration, and I can only say, that if such an arrangement can bemade, and if a counsellor adequately skilful can be found to acceptthe office, I shall be happy to subscribe my quota; it would be but amodest tribute towards the cost.

  But as the suggestion has not yet been carried out, and as there isat present no learned gentleman whose duty would induce him to setme right, I can only plead for mercy if I be wrong allotting all SirRoger's vast possessions in perpetuity to Miss Thorne, alleging also,in excuse, that the course of my narrative absolutely demands thatshe shall be ultimately recognised as Sir Roger's undoubted heiress.

  Such, after a not immoderate delay, was the opinion expressed to DrThorne by his law advisers; and such, in fact, turned out to be thecase. I will leave the matter so, hoping that my very absence ofdefence may serve to protect me from severe attack. If under sucha will as that described as having been made by Sir Roger, Marywould not have been the heiress, that will must have been describedwrongly.

  But it was not quite at once that those tidings made themselvesabsolutely certain to Dr Thorne's mind; nor was he able to expressany such opinion when he first met Frank in London. At that timeMary's letter was in Frank's pocket; and Frank, though his realbusiness appertained much more to the fact of Sir Louis's death, andthe effect that would immediately have on his father's affairs, wasmuch more full of what so much more nearly concerned himself. "I willshow it Dr Thorne himself," said he, "and ask him what he thinks."

  Dr Thorne was stretched fast asleep on the comfortless horse-hairsofa in the dingy sitting-room at the Gray's Inn Coffee-house whenFrank found him. The funeral, and his journey to London, and thelawyers had together conquered his energies, and he lay and snored,with nose upright, while heavy London summer flies settled on hishead and face, and robbed his slumbers of half their charms.

  "I beg your pardon," said he, jumping up as though he had beendetected in some disgraceful act. "Upon my word, Frank, I beg yourpardon but--well, my dear fellow, all well at Greshamsbury--eh?" andas he shook himself, he made a lunge at one uncommonly disagreeablefly that had been at him for the last ten minutes. It is hardlynecessary to say that he missed his enemy.

  "I should have been with you before, doctor, but I was down atMalvern."

  "At Malvern, eh? Ah! so Oriel told me. The death of poor Sir Louiswas very sudden--was it not?"

  "Very."

  "Poor fellow--poor fellow! His fate has for some time been pasthope. It is a madness, Frank; the worst of madness. Only think ofit--father and son! And such a career as the father had--such acareer as the son might have had!"

  "It has been very quickly run," said Frank.

  "May it be all forgiven him! I sometimes cannot but believe in aspecial Providence. That poor fellow was not able, never would havebeen able, to make proper use of the means which fortune had givenhim. I hope they may fall into better hands. There is no use indenying it, his death will be an immense relief to me, and a reliefalso to your father. All this law business will now, of course, bestopped. As for me, I hope I may never be a trustee again."

  Frank had put his hand four or five times into his breast-pocket, andhad as often taken out and put back again Mary's letter before hecould find himself able to bring Dr Thorne to the subject. At lastthere was a lull in the purely legal discussion, caused by the doctorintimating that he supposed Frank would now soon return toGreshamsbury.

  "Yes; I shall go to-morrow morning."

  "What! so soon as that? I counted on having you one day in Londonwith me."

  "No, I shall go to-morrow. I'm not fit for company for any one. Noram I fit for anything. Read that, doctor. It's no use putting it offany longer. I must get you to talk this over with me. Just read that,and tell me what you think about it. It was written a week ago, whenI was there, but somehow I have only got it to-day." And putting theletter into the doctor's hands, he turned away to the window, andlooked out among the Holborn omnibuses. Dr Thorne took the letter andread it. Mary, after she had written it, had bewailed to herself thatthe letter was cold; but it had not seemed cold to her lover, nor didit appear so to her uncle. When Frank turned round from the window,the doctor's handkerchief was up to his eyes; who, in order to hidethe tears that were there, was obliged to go through a rather violentprocess of blowing his nose.

  "Well," he said, as he gave back the letter to Frank.

  Well! what did well mean? Was it well? or would it be well were he,Frank, to comply with the suggestion made to him by Mary?

  "It is impossible," he said, "that matters should go on like that.Think what her sufferings must have been before she wrote that. I amsure she loves me."

  "I think she does," said the doctor.

  "And it is out
of the question that she should be sacrificed; norwill I consent to sacrifice my own happiness. I am quite willing towork for my bread, and I am sure that I am able. I will not submitto-- Doctor, what answer do you think I ought to give to thatletter? There can be no person so anxious for her happiness as youare--except myself." And as he asked the question, he again put intothe doctor's hand, almost unconsciously, the letter which he hadstill been holding in his own.

  The doctor turned it over and over, and then opened it again.

  "What answer ought I to make to it?" demanded Frank, with energy.

  "You see, Frank, I have never interfered in this matter, otherwisethan to tell you the whole truth about Mary's birth."

  "Oh, but you must interfere: you should say what you think."

  "Circumstanced as you are now--that is, just at the presentmoment--you could hardly marry immediately."

  "Why not let me take a farm? My father could, at any rate, manage acouple of thousand pounds or so for me to stock it. That would notbe asking much. If he could not give it me, I would not scrupleto borrow so much elsewhere." And Frank bethought him of all MissDunstable's offers.

  "Oh, yes; that could be managed."

  "Then why not marry immediately; say in six months or so? I am notunreasonable; though, Heaven knows, I have been kept in suspense longenough. As for her, I am sure she must be suffering frightfully. Youknow her best, and, therefore, I ask you what answer I ought to make:as for myself, I have made up my own mind; I am not a child, nor willI let them treat me as such."

  Frank, as he spoke, was walking rapidly about the room; and hebrought out his different positions, one after the other, with alittle pause, while waiting for the doctor's answer. The doctor wassitting, with the letter still in his hands, on the head of the sofa,turning over in his mind the apparent absurdity of Frank's desire toborrow two thousand pounds for a farm, when, in all humanprobability, he might in a few months be in possession of almost anysum he should choose to name. And yet he would not tell him of SirRoger's will. "If it should turn out to be all wrong?" said he tohimself.

  "Do you wish me to give her up?" said Frank, at last.

  "No. How can I wish it? How can I expect a better match for her?Besides, Frank, I love no man in the world so well as I do you."

  "Then you will help me?"

  "What! against your father?"

  "Against! no, not against anybody. But will you tell Mary that shehas your consent?"

  "I think she knows that."

  "But you have never said anything to her."

  "Look here, Frank; you ask me for my advice, and I will give it you:go home; though, indeed, I would rather you went anywhere else."

  "No, I must go home; and I must see her."

  "Very well, go home: as for seeing Mary, I think you had better putit off for a fortnight."

  "Quite impossible."

  "Well, that's my advice. But, at any rate, make up your mind tonothing for a fortnight. Wait for one fortnight, and I then will tellyou plainly--you and her too--what I think you ought to do. At theend of a fortnight come to me, and tell the squire that I will takeit as a great kindness if he will come with you. She has suffered,terribly, terribly; and it is necessary that something should besettled. But a fortnight more can make no great difference."

  "And the letter?"

  "Oh! there's the letter."

  "But what shall I say? Of course I shall write to-night."

  "Tell her to wait a fortnight. And, Frank, mind you bring your fatherwith you."

  Frank could draw nothing further from his friend save constantrepetitions of this charge to him to wait a fortnight,--just oneother fortnight.

  "Well, I will come to you at any rate," said Frank; "and, ifpossible, I will bring my father. But I shall write to Maryto-night."

  On the Saturday morning, Mary, who was then nearly broken-hearted ather lover's silence, received a short note:--

  MY OWN MARY,

  I shall be home to-morrow. I will by no means release you from your promise. Of course you will perceive that I only got your letter to-day.

  Your own dearest,

  FRANK.

  P.S.--You will have to call me so hundreds and hundreds of times yet.

  Short as it was, this sufficed Mary. It is one thing for a young ladyto make prudent, heart-breaking suggestions, but quite another tohave them accepted. She did call him dearest Frank, even on that oneday, almost as often as he had desired her.