CHAPTER XXXI
The Small End of the Wedge
Frank Gresham was absent from Greshamsbury twelve months and a day: aday is always added to the period of such absences, as shown in thehistory of Lord Bateman and other noble heroes. We need not detailall the circumstances of his banishment, all the details of thecompact that was made. One detail of course was this, that thereshould be no corresponding; a point to which the squire found somedifficulty in bringing his son to assent.
It must not be supposed that Mary Thorne or the doctor were in anyway parties to, or privy to these agreements. By no means. Theagreements were drawn out, and made, and signed, and sealed atGreshamsbury, and were known of nowhere else. The reader must notimagine that Lady Arabella was prepared to give up her son, ifonly his love could remain constant for one year. Neither did LadyArabella consent to any such arrangement, nor did the squire. It wassettled rather in this wise: that Frank should be subjected to notorturing process, pestered to give no promises, should in no way bebullied about Mary--that is, not at present--if he would go away fora year. Then, at the end of the year, the matter should again bediscussed. Agreeing to this, Frank took his departure, and was absentas per agreement.
What were Mary's fortunes immediately after his departure must beshortly told, and then we will again join some of our Greshamsburyfriends at a period about a month before Frank's return.
When Sir Louis saw Frank Gresham standing by Mary's donkey, withhis arms round Mary's knees, he began to fear that there must besomething in it. He had intended that very day to throw himselfat Mary's feet, and now it appeared to his inexperienced eyes asthough somebody else had been at the same work before him. This notunnaturally made him cross; so, after having sullenly wished thevisitor good-bye, he betook himself to his room, and there drankcuracoa alone, instead of coming down to dinner.
This he did for two or three days, and then, taking heart of grace,he remembered that, after all, he had very many advantages over youngGresham. In the first place, he was a baronet, and could make hiswife a "lady." In the next place, Frank's father was alive and liketo live, whereas his own was dead. He possessed Boxall Hill in hisown right, but his rival had neither house nor land of his own. Afterall, might it not be possible for him also to put his arm roundMary's knees;--her knees, or her waist, or, perhaps, even her neck?Faint heart never won fair lady. At any rate, he would try.
And he did try. With what result, as regards Mary, need hardly betold. He certainly did not get nearly so far as putting his hand evenupon her knee before he was made to understand that it "was no go,"as he graphically described it to his mother. He tried once andagain. On the first time Mary was very civil, though very determined.On the second, she was more determined, though less civil; and thenshe told him, that if he pressed her further he would drive her fromhis mother's house. There was something then about Mary's eye, afixed composure round her mouth, and an authority in her face, whichwent far to quell him; and he did not press her again.
He immediately left Boxall Hill, and, returning to London, had moreviolent recourse to the curacoa. It was not long before the doctorheard of him, and was obliged to follow him, and then again occurredthose frightful scenes in which the poor wretch had to expiate,either in terrible delirium or more terrible prostration of spirits,the vile sin which his father had so early taught him.
Then Mary returned to her uncle's home. Frank was gone, and shetherefore could resume her place at Greshamsbury. Yes, she came backto Greshamsbury; but Greshamsbury was by no means the same place thatit was formerly. Almost all intercourse was now over between thedoctor and the Greshamsbury people. He rarely ever saw the squire,and then only on business. Not that the squire had purposelyquarrelled with him; but Dr Thorne himself had chosen that it shouldbe so, since Frank had openly proposed for his niece. Frank was nowgone, and Lady Arabella was in arms against him. It should not besaid that he kept up any intimacy for the sake of aiding the loversin their love. No one should rightfully accuse him of inveigling theheir to marry his niece.
Mary, therefore, found herself utterly separated from Beatrice. Shewas not even able to learn what Beatrice would think, or did think,of the engagement as it now stood. She could not even explain toher friend that love had been too strong for her, and endeavour toget some comfort from that friend's absolution from her sin. Thisestrangement was now carried so far that she and Beatrice did noteven meet on neutral ground. Lady Arabella made it known to MissOriel that her daughter could not meet Mary Thorne, even as strangersmeet; and it was made known to others also. Mrs Yates Umbleby, andher dear friend Miss Gushing, to whose charming tea-parties none ofthe Greshamsbury ladies went above once in a twelvemonth, talkedthrough the parish of this distressing difficulty. They would havebeen so happy to have asked dear Mary Thorne, only the Greshamsburyladies did not approve.
Mary was thus tabooed from all society in the place in which atwelvemonth since she had been, of all its denizens, perhaps themost courted. In those days, no bevy of Greshamsbury young ladieshad fairly represented the Greshamsbury young ladyhood if MaryThorne was not there. Now she was excluded from all such bevies.Patience did not quarrel with her, certainly;--came to see herfrequently;--invited her to walk;--invited her frequently to theparsonage. But Mary was shy of acceding to such invitations, and atlast frankly told her friend Patience, that she would not again breakbread in Greshamsbury in any house in which she was not thought fitto meet the other guests who habitually resorted there.
In truth, both the doctor and his niece were very sore, but theywere of that temperament that keeps all its soreness to itself. Marywalked out by herself boldly, looking at least as though she wereindifferent to all the world. She was, indeed, hardly treated. Youngladies' engagements are generally matters of profoundest secrecy, andare hardly known of by their near friends till marriage is a thingsettled. But all the world knew of Mary's engagement within a monthof that day on which she had neglected to expel Frank's finger fromher hand; it had been told openly through the country-side that shehad confessed her love for the young squire. Now it is disagreeablefor a young lady to walk about under such circumstances, especiallyso when she has no female friend to keep her in countenance,more especially so when the gentleman is of such importance in theneighbourhood as Frank was in that locality. It was a matter ofmoment to every farmer, and every farmer's wife, which bride Frankshould marry of those bespoken for him; Mary, namely, or Money. Everyyokel about the place had been made to understand that, by somefeminine sleight of hand, the doctor's niece had managed to trapMaster Frank, and that Master Frank had been sent out of the way sothat he might, if yet possible, break through the trapping. All thismade life rather unpleasant for her.
One day, walking solitary in the lanes, she met that sturdy farmer towhose daughter she had in former days been so serviceable. "God bless'ee, Miss Mary," said he--he always did bid God bless her when he sawher. "And, Miss Mary, to say my mind out freely, thee be quite gudeenough for un, quite gude enough; so thee be'st tho'f he were tensquoires." There may, perhaps, have been something pleasant in theheartiness of this; but it was not pleasant to have this heart affairof hers thus publicly scanned and talked over: to have it known toevery one that she had set her heart on marrying Frank Gresham, andthat all the Greshams had set their hearts on preventing it. And yetshe could in nowise help it. No girl could have been more staid anddemure, less demonstrative and boastful about her love. She had neveryet spoken freely, out of her full heart, to one human being. "Oh,Frank!" All her spoken sin had been contained in that.
But Lady Arabella had been very active. It suited her better that itshould be known, far and wide, that a nameless pauper--Lady Arabellaonly surmised that her foe was nameless; but she did not scruple todeclare it--was intriguing to catch the heir of Greshamsbury. None ofthe Greshams must meet Mary Thorne; that was the edict sent about thecountry; and the edict was well understood. Those, therefore, werebad days for Miss Thorne.
She had never yet spoken on the matte
r freely, out of her full heartto one human being. Not to one? Not to him? Not to her uncle? No, noteven to him, fully and freely. She had told him that that had passedbetween Frank and her which amounted, at any rate on his part, to aproposal.
"Well, dearest, and what was your answer?" said her uncle, drawingher close to him, and speaking in his kindest voice.
"I hardly made any answer, uncle."
"You did not reject him, Mary?"
"No, uncle," and then she paused;--he had never known her tremble asshe now trembled. "But if you say that I ought, I will," she added,drawing every word from herself with difficulty.
"I say you ought, Mary! Nay; but this question you must answeryourself."
"Must I?" said she, plaintively. And then she sat for the nexthalf hour with her head against his shoulder; but nothing more wassaid about it. They both acquiesced in the sentence that had beenpronounced against them, and went on together more lovingly thanbefore.
The doctor was quite as weak as his niece; nay, weaker. She hesitatedfearfully as to what she ought to do: whether she should obey herheart or the dictates of Greshamsbury. But he had other doubts thanhers, which nearly set him wild when he strove to bring his mind toa decision. He himself was now in possession--of course as a trusteeonly--of the title-deeds of the estate; more of the estate, muchmore, belonged to the heirs under Sir Roger Scatcherd's will than tothe squire. It was now more than probable that that heir must be MaryThorne. His conviction became stronger and stronger that no humanefforts would keep Sir Louis in the land of the living till hewas twenty-five. Could he, therefore, wisely or honestly, in truefriendship to the squire, to Frank, or to his niece, take any stepsto separate two persons who loved each other, and whose marriagewould in all human probability be so suitable?
And yet he could not bring himself to encourage it then. The ideaof "looking after dead men's shoes" was abhorrent to his mind,especially when the man whose death he contemplated had been sotrusted to him as had been Sir Louis Scatcherd. He could not speakof the event, even to the squire, as being possible. So he kept hispeace from day to day, and gave no counsel to Mary in the matter.
And then he had his own individual annoyances, and very aggravatingannoyances they were. The carriage--or rather post-chaise--of DrFillgrave was now frequent in Greshamsbury, passing him constantlyin the street, among the lanes, and on the high roads. It seemed asthough Dr Fillgrave could never get to his patients at the big housewithout showing himself to his beaten rival, either on his waythither or on his return. This alone would, perhaps, not have hurtthe doctor much; but it did hurt him to know that Dr Fillgrave wasattending the squire for a little incipient gout, and that dear Ninawas in measles under those unloving hands.
And then, also, the old-fashioned phaeton, of old-fashioned oldDr Century was seen to rumble up to the big house, and it becameknown that Lady Arabella was not very well. "Not very well," whenpronounced in a low, grave voice about Lady Arabella, always meantsomething serious. And, in this case, something serious was meant.Lady Arabella was not only ill, but frightened. It appeared, even toher, that Dr Fillgrave himself hardly knew what he was about, that hewas not so sure in his opinion, so confident in himself, as Dr Thorneused to be. How should he be, seeing that Dr Thorne had medically hadLady Arabella in his hands for the last ten years?
If sitting with dignity in his hired carriage, and stepping withauthority up the big front steps, would have done anything, DrFillgrave might have done much. Lady Arabella was greatly taken withhis looks when he first came to her, and it was only when she bydegrees perceived that the symptoms, which she knew so well, did notyield to him that she began to doubt those looks.
After a while Dr Fillgrave himself suggested Dr Century. "Not thatI fear anything, Lady Arabella," said he,--lying hugely, for he didfear; fear both for himself and for her. "But Dr Century has greatexperience, and in such a matter, when the interests are soimportant, one cannot be too safe."
So Dr Century came and toddled slowly into her ladyship's room. Hedid not say much; he left the talking to his learned brother, whocertainly was able to do that part of the business. But Dr Century,though he said very little, looked very grave, and by no meansquieted Lady Arabella's mind. She, as she saw the two putting theirheads together, already had misgivings that she had done wrong. Sheknew that she could not be safe without Dr Thorne at her bedside, andshe already felt that she had exercised a most injudicious courage indriving him away.
"Well, doctor?" said she, as soon as Dr Century had toddleddownstairs to see the squire.
"Oh! we shall be all right, Lady Arabella; all right, very soon. Butwe must be careful, very careful; I am glad I've had Century here,very; but there's nothing to alter; little or nothing."
There were but few words spoken between Dr Century and the squire;but few as they were, they frightened Mr Gresham. When Dr Fillgravecame down the grand stairs, a servant waited at the bottom to ask himalso to go to the squire. Now there never had been much cordialitybetween the squire and Dr Fillgrave, though Mr Gresham had consentedto take a preventative pill from his hands, and the little mantherefore swelled himself out somewhat more than ordinarily as hefollowed the servant.
"Dr Fillgrave," said the squire, at once beginning the conversation,"Lady Arabella, is, I fear, in danger?"
"Well, no; I hope not in danger, Mr Gresham. I certainly believe Imay be justified in expressing a hope that she is not in danger. Herstate is, no doubt, rather serious--rather serious--as Dr Century hasprobably told you;" and Dr Fillgrave made a bow to the old man, whosat quiet in one of the dining-room arm-chairs.
"Well, doctor," said the squire, "I have not any grounds on which todoubt your judgement."
Dr Fillgrave bowed, but with the stiffest, slightest inclinationwhich a head could possibly make. He rather thought that Mr Greshamhad no ground for doubting his judgement.
"Nor do I."
The doctor bowed, and a little, a very little less stiffly.
"But, doctor, I think that something ought to be done."
The doctor this time did his bowing merely with his eyes and mouth.The former he closed for a moment, the latter he pressed; and thendecorously rubbed his hands one over the other.
"I am afraid, Dr Fillgrave, that you and my friend Thorne are not thebest friends in the world."
"No, Mr Gresham, no; I may go so far as to say we are not."
"Well, I am sorry for it--"
"Perhaps, Mr Gresham, we need hardly discuss it; but there have beencircumstances--"
"I am not going to discuss anything, Dr Fillgrave; I say I am sorryfor it, because I believe that prudence will imperatively requireLady Arabella to have Doctor Thorne back again. Now, if you would notobject to meet him--"
"Mr Gresham, I beg pardon I beg pardon, indeed; but you must reallyexcuse me. Doctor Thorne has, in my estimation--"
"But, Doctor Fillgrave--"
"Mr Gresham, you really must excuse me; you really must, indeed.Anything else that I could do for Lady Arabella, I should be mosthappy to do; but after what has passed, I cannot meet Doctor Thorne;I really cannot. You must not ask me to do so; Mr Gresham. And, MrGresham," continued the doctor, "I did understand from Lady Arabellathat his--that is, Dr Thorne's--conduct to her ladyship had beensuch--so very outrageous, I may say, that--that--that--of course, MrGresham, you know best; but I did think that Lady Arabella herselfwas quite unwilling to see Doctor Thorne again;" and Dr Fillgravelooked very big, and very dignified, and very exclusive.
The squire did not ask again. He had no warrant for supposing thatLady Arabella would receive Dr Thorne if he did come; and he sawthat it was useless to attempt to overcome the rancour of a man sopig-headed as the little Galen now before him. Other propositionswere then broached, and it was at last decided that assistance shouldbe sought for from London, in the person of the great Sir OmicronPie.
Sir Omicron came, and Drs Fillgrave and Century were there to meethim. When they all assembled in Lady Arabella's room, the poorwoman's heart almost
sank within her,--as well it might, at sucha sight. If she could only reconcile it with her honour, herconsistency, with her high de Courcy principles, to send once morefor Dr Thorne. Oh, Frank! Frank! to what misery your disobediencebrought your mother!
Sir Omicron and the lesser provincial lights had their consultation,and the lesser lights went their way to Barchester and Silverbridge,leaving Sir Omicron to enjoy the hospitality of Greshamsbury.
"You should have Thorne back here, Mr Gresham," said Sir Omicron,almost in a whisper, when they were quite alone. "Doctor Fillgraveis a very good man, and so is Dr Century; very good, I am sure. ButThorne has known her ladyship so long." And then, on the followingmorning, Sir Omicron also went his way.
And then there was a scene between the squire and her ladyship. LadyArabella had given herself credit for great good generalship when shefound that the squire had been induced to take that pill. We haveall heard of the little end of the wedge, and we have most of us anidea that the little end is the difficulty. That pill had been thelittle end of Lady Arabella's wedge. Up to that period she had beenstruggling in vain to make a severance between her husband and herenemy. That pill should do the business. She well knew how to makethe most of it; to have it published in Greshamsbury that the squirehad put his gouty toe into Dr Fillgrave's hands; how to let itbe known--especially at that humble house in the corner of thestreet--that Fillgrave's prescriptions now ran current through thewhole establishment. Dr Thorne did hear of it, and did suffer. He hadbeen a true friend to the squire, and he thought the squire shouldhave stood to him more staunchly.
"After all," said he himself, "perhaps it's as well--perhaps it willbe best that I should leave this place altogether." And then hethought of Sir Roger and his will, and of Mary and her lover. Andthen of Mary's birth, and of his own theoretical doctrines as to pureblood. And so his troubles multiplied, and he saw no present daylightthrough them.
Such had been the way in which Lady Arabella had got in the littleend of the wedge. And she would have triumphed joyfully had not herincreased doubts and fears as to herself then come in to check hertriumph and destroy her joy. She had not yet confessed to any oneher secret regret for the friend she had driven away. She hardly yetacknowledged to herself that she did regret him; but she was uneasy,frightened, and in low spirits.
"My dear," said the squire, sitting down by her bedside, "I want totell you what Sir Omicron said as he went away."
"Well?" said her ladyship, sitting up and looking frightened.
"I don't know how you may take it, Bell; but I think it very goodnews:" the squire never called his wife Bell, except when he wantedher to be on particularly good terms with him.
"Well?" said she again. She was not over-anxious to be gracious, anddid not reciprocate his familiarity.
"Sir Omicron says that you should have Thorne back again, and upon myhonour, I cannot but agree with him. Now, Thorne is a clever man, avery clever man; nobody denies that; and then, you know--"
"Why did not Sir Omicron say that to me?" said her ladyship, sharply,all her disposition in Dr Thorne's favour becoming wonderfully dampedby her husband's advocacy.
"I suppose he thought it better to say it to me," said the squire,rather curtly.
"He should have spoken to myself," said Lady Arabella, who, thoughshe did not absolutely doubt her husband's word, gave him creditfor having induced and led on Sir Omicron to the uttering of thisopinion. "Doctor Thorne has behaved to me in so gross, so indecent amanner! And then, as I understand, he is absolutely encouraging thatgirl--"
"Now, Bell, you are quite wrong--"
"Of course I am; I always am quite wrong."
"Quite wrong in mixing up two things; Doctor Thorne as anacquaintance, and Dr Thorne as a doctor."
"It is dreadful to have him here, even standing in the room with me.How can one talk to one's doctor openly and confidentially when onelooks upon him as one's worst enemy?" And Lady Arabella, softening,almost melted into tears.
"My dear, you cannot wonder that I should be anxious for you."
Lady Arabella gave a little snuffle, which might be taken as a notvery eloquent expression of thanks for the squire's solicitude, or asan ironical jeer at his want of sincerity.
"And, therefore, I have not lost a moment in telling you what SirOmicron said. 'You should have Thorne back here;' those were his verywords. You can think it over, my dear. And remember this, Bell; if heis to do any good no time should be lost."
And then the squire left the room, and Lady Arabella remained alone,perplexed by many doubts.