Chapter XXI
‘MR MORGAN WAS looking grave. After a minute or two of humming and hawing, he said –
‘“I have been sent for to Miss Caroline Tomkinson, Mr Harrison. I am sorry to hear of this. I am grieved to find that there seems to have been some trifling with the affections of a very worthy lady. Miss Tomkinson, who is in sad distress, tells me that they had every reason to believe that you were attached to her sister. May I ask if you do not intend to marry her?”
‘I said, nothing was farther from my thoughts.
‘“My dear sir,” said Mr Morgan, rather agitated, “do not express yourself so strongly and vehemently. It is derogatory to the sex to speak so. It is more respectful to say, in these cases, that you do not venture to entertain a hope; such a manner is generally understood, and does not sound like such positive objection.”
‘“I cannot help it, sir; I must talk in my own natural manner. I would not speak disrespectfully of any woman; but nothing should induce me to marry Miss Caroline Tomkinson; not if she were Venus herself, and Queen of England into the bargain. I cannot understand what has given rise to the idea.”
‘“Indeed, sir; I think that is very plain. You have a trifling case to attend to in the house, and you invariably make it a pretext for seeing and conversing with the lady.”
‘“That was her doing, not mine!” said I, vehemently.
‘“Allow me to go on. You are discovered on your knees before her – a positive injury to the establishment, as Miss Tomkinson observes; a most passionate valentine is sent; and when questioned, you acknowledge the sincerity of meaning which you affix to such things.” He stopped, for in his earnestness he had been talking more quickly than usual, and was out of breath. I burst in with my explanations –
‘“The valentine I knew nothing about.”
‘“It is in your handwriting,” said he, coldly. “I should be most deeply grieved to – in fact, I will not think it possible of your father’s son. But I must say, it is in your handwriting.”
‘I tried again, and at last succeeded in convincing him that I had been only unfortunate, not intentionally guilty of winning Miss Caroline’s affections. I said that I had been endeavouring, it was true, to practise the manner he had recommended, of universal sympathy, and recalled to his mind some of the advice he had given me. He was a good deal hurried.
‘“But, my dear sir, I had no idea that you would carry it out to such consequences. ‘Philandering,’ Miss Tomkinson called it. That is a hard word, sir. My manner has been always tender and sympathetic; but I am not aware that I ever excited any hopes; there never was any report about me. I believe no lady was ever attached to me. You must strive after this happy medium, sir.”
‘I was still distressed. Mr Morgan had only heard of one, but there were three ladies (including Miss Bullock) hoping to marry me. He saw my annoyance.
‘“Don’t be too much distressed about it, my dear sir; I was sure you were too honourable a man, from the first. With a conscience like yours, I would defy the world.”
‘He became anxious to console me, and I was hesitating whether I would not tell him all my three dilemmas, when a note was brought in to him. It was from Mrs Munton. He threw it to me, with a face of dismay.
‘“My dear Mr Morgan – I most sincerely congratulate you on the happy matrimonial engagement I hear you have formed with Miss Tomkinson. All previous circumstances, as I have just been remarking to Miss Horsman, combine to promise you felicity. And I wish that every blessing may attend your married life.
‘“Most sincerely yours,
‘“JANE MUNTON.”
‘I could not help laughing, he had been so lately congratulating himself that no report of the kind had ever been circulated about himself. He said –
‘“Sir! this is no laughing matter; I assure you it is not.”
‘I could not resist asking, if I was to conclude that there was no truth in the report.
‘“Truth, sir! it’s a lie from beginning to end. I don’t like to speak too decidedly about any lady; and I’ve a great respect for Miss Tomkinson; but I do assure you, sir, I’d as soon marry one of her Majesty’s Life Guards. I would rather; it would be more suitable. Miss Tomkinson is a very worthy lady; but she’s a perfect grenadier.”
‘He grew very nervous. He was evidently insecure. He thought it not impossible that Miss Tomkinson might come and marry him, vi et armis. I am sure he had some dim idea of abduction in his mind. Still, he was better off than I was; for he was in his own house, and report had only engaged him to one lady; while I stood, like Paris, among three contending beauties. Truly, an apple of discord had been thrown into our little town. I suspected, at the time, what I know now, that it was Miss Horsman’s doing; not intentionally, I will do her the justice to say. But she had shouted out the story of my behaviour to Miss Caroline up Mrs Munton’s trumpet; and that lady, possessed with the idea that I was engaged to Mrs Rose, had imagined the masculine pronoun to relate to Mr Morgan, whom she had seen only that afternoon tête-à-tête with Miss Tomkinson, condoling with her in some tender deferential manner. I’ll be bound.
Chapter XXII
‘I WAS VERY cowardly. I positively dared not go home; but at length I was obliged to. I had done all I could to console Mr Morgan, but he refused to be comforted. I went at last. I rang at the bell. I don’t know who opened the door, but I think it was Mrs Rose. I kept a handkerchief to my face, and muttering something about having a dreadful toothache, I flew up to my room, and bolted the door. I had no candle; but what did that signify. I was safe. I could not sleep; and when I did fall into a sort of doze, it was ten times worse wakening up. I could not remember whether I was engaged or not. If I was engaged, who was the lady? I had always considered myself as rather plain than otherwise; but surely I had made a mistake. Fascinating I certainly must be; but perhaps I was handsome. As soon as day dawned, I got up to ascertain the fact at the looking-glass. Even with the best disposition to be convinced, I could not see any striking beauty in my round face, with an unshaven beard and a nightcap like a fool’s cap at the top. No! I must be content to be plain, but agreeable. All this I tell you in confidence. I would not have my little bit of vanity known for the world. I fell asleep towards morning. I was awakened by a tap at my door. It was Peggy: she put in a hand with a note. I took it.
‘“It is not from Miss Horsman?” said I, half in joke, half in very earnest fright.
‘“No, sir; Mr Morgan’s man brought it.”
‘I opened it. It ran thus:
‘“My dear Sir – It is now nearly twenty years since I have had a little relaxation, and I find that my health requires it. I have also the utmost confidence in you, and I am sure this feeling is shared by our patients. I have, therefore, no scruple in putting in execution a hastily formed plan, and going to Chesterton to catch the early train on my way to Paris. If your accounts are good, I shall remain away probably a fortnight. Direct to Meurice’s.
‘“Yours, most truly,
‘“J. MORGAN.
‘“P.S. – Perhaps it may be as well not to name where I am gone, especially to Miss Tomkinson.”
‘He had deserted me. He – with only one report – had left me to stand my ground with three.
‘“Mrs Rose’s kind regards, sir, and it’s nearly nine o’clock. Breakfast has been ready this hour, sir.”
‘“Tell Mrs Rose I don’t want any breakfast. Or stay” (for I was very hungry), “I will take a cup of tea and some toast up here.”
‘Peggy brought the tray to the door.
‘“I hope you’re not ill, sir?” said she, kindly.
‘“Not very. I shall be better when I get into the air.”
‘“Mrs Rose seems sadly put about,” said she; “she seems so grieved like.”
‘I watched my opportunity, and went out by the side door in the garden.
Chapter XXIII
‘I HAD INTENDED to ask Mr Morgan to call at the vicarage, and give his partin
g explanation before they could hear the report. Now, I thought that if I could see Sophy, I would speak to her myself; but I did not wish to encounter the Vicar. I went along the lane at the back of the vicarage, and came suddenly upon Miss Bullock. She coloured, and asked me if I would allow her to speak to me. I could only be resigned; but I thought I could probably set one report at rest by this conversation.
‘She was almost crying.
‘“I must tell you, Mr Harrison, I have watched you here in order to speak to you. I heard with the greatest regret of papa’s conversation with you yesterday.” She was fairly crying. “I believe Mrs Bullock finds me in her way, and wants to have me married. It is the only way in which I can account for such a complete misrepresentation as she had told papa. I don’t care for you, in the least, sir. You never paid me any attentions. You’ve been almost rude to me; and I have liked you the better. That’s to say, I never have liked you.”
‘“I am truly glad to hear what you say,” answered I. “Don’t distress yourself. I was sure there was some mistake.”
‘But she cried bitterly.
‘“It is so hard to feel that my marriage – my absence – is desired so earnestly at home. I dread every new acquaintance we form with any gentleman. It is sure to be the beginning of a series of attacks on him, of which everybody must be aware, and to which they may think I am a willing party. But I should not much mind if it were not for the conviction that she wishes me so earnestly away. Oh, my own dear mamma, you would never –”
‘She cried more than ever. I was truly sorry for her, and had just taken her hand, and began – “My dear Miss Bullock –” when the door in the wall of the vicarage-garden opened. It was the Vicar letting out Miss Tomkinson, whose face was all swelled with crying. He saw me; but he did not bow, or make any sign. On the contrary, he looked down as from a severe eminence, and shut the door hastily. I turned to Miss Bullock.
‘“I am afraid the Vicar has been hearing something to my disadvantage from Miss Tomkinson, and it is very awkward –” She finished my sentence – “To have found us here together. Yes, but as long as we understand that we do not care for each other, it does not signify what people say.”
‘“Oh, but to me it does,” said I. “I may, perhaps, tell you – but do not mention it to a creature – I am attached to Miss Hutton.”
‘“To Sophy! Oh, Mr Harrison, I am so glad; she is such a sweet creature. Oh, I wish you joy.”
‘“Not yet; I have never spoken about it.”
‘“Oh, but it is certain to happen.” She jumped with a woman’s rapidity to a conclusion. And then she began to praise Sophy. Never was a man yet who did not like to hear the praises of his mistress. I walked by her side; we came past the front of the vicarage together. I looked up, and saw Sophy there, and she saw me.
‘That afternoon she was sent away; sent to visit her aunt ostensibly; in reality, because of the reports of my conduct, which were showered down upon the Vicar, and one of which he saw confirmed by his own eyes.
Chapter XXIV
‘I HEARD OF Sophy’s departure as one heard of everything, soon after it had taken place. I did not care for the awkwardness of my situation, which had so perplexed and amused me in the morning. I felt that something was wrong; that Sophy was taken away from me. I sank into despair. If anybody liked to marry me they might. I was willing to be sacrificed. I did not speak to Mrs Rose. She wondered at me, and grieved over my coldness, I saw; but I had left off feeling anything. Miss Tomkinson cut me in the street; and it did not break my heart. Sophy was gone away; that was all I cared for. Where had they sent her to? Who was her aunt, that she should go and visit her? One day I met Lizzie, who looked as though she had been told not to speak to me, but could not help doing so.
‘“Have you heard from your sister?” said I.
‘“Yes.”
‘“Where is she? I hope she is well.”
‘“She is at the Leoms” – I was not much wiser. “Oh yes, she is very well. Fanny says she was at the Assembly last Wednesday, and danced all night with the officers.”
‘I thought I would enter myself a member of the Peace Society at once. She was a little flirt, and a hard-hearted creature. I don’t think I wished Lizzie good-by.
Chapter XXV
‘WHAT MOST PEOPLE would have considered a more serious evil than Sophy’s absence, befell me. I found that my practice was falling off. The prejudice of the town ran strongly against me. Mrs Munton told me all that was said. She heard it through Miss Horsman. It was said – cruel little town – that my negligence or ignorance had been the cause of Walter’s death; that Miss Tyrrell had become worse under my treatment; and that John Brouncker was all but dead, if he was not quite, from my mismanagement. All Jack Marshland’s jokes and revelations, which had, I thought, gone to oblivion, were raked up to my discredit. He himself, formerly, to my astonishment, rather a favourite with the good people of Duncombe, was spoken of as one of my disreputable friends.
‘In short, so prejudiced were the good people of Duncombe that I believe a very little would have made them suspect me of a brutal highway robbery, which took place in the neighbourhood about this time. Mrs Munton told me, à propos of the robbery that she had never yet understood the cause of my year’s imprisonment in Newgate; she had no doubt, from what Mr Morgan had told her, there was some good reason for it; but if I would tell her the particulars, she should like to know them.
‘Miss Tomkinson sent for Mr White, from Chesterton, to see Miss Caroline; and, as he was coming over, all our old patients seemed to take advantage of it, and send for him too.
‘But the worst of all was the Vicar’s manner to me. If he had cut me, I could have asked him why he did so. But the freezing change in his behaviour was indescribable, though bitterly felt. I heard of Sophy’s gaiety from Lizzie. I thought of writing to her. Just then Mr Morgan’s fortnight of absence expired. I was wearied out by Mrs Rose’s tender vagaries, and took no comfort from her sympathy, which indeed I rather avoided. Her tears irritated, instead of grieving me. I wished I could tell her at once that I had no intention of marrying her.
Chapter XXVI
‘MR MORGAN HAD not been at home above two hours before he was sent for to the vicarage. Sophy had come back, and I had never heard of it. She had come home ill and weary, and longing for rest: and the rest seemed approaching with awful strides. Mr Morgan forgot all his Parisian adventures, and all his terror of Miss Tomkinson, when he was sent for to see her. She was ill of a fever, which made fearful progress. When he told me, I wished to force the vicarage door, if I might but see her. But I controlled myself; and only cursed my weak indecision, which had prevented my writing to her. It was well I had no patients; they would have had but a poor chance of attention. I hung about Mr Morgan, who might see her, and did see her. But from what he told me, I perceived that the measures he was adopting were powerless to check so sudden and violent an illness. Oh! if they would but let me see her. But that was out of the question. It was not merely that the Vicar had heard of my character as a gay Lothario, but that doubts had been thrown out of my medical skill. The accounts grew worse. Suddenly, my resolution was taken. Mr Morgan’s very regard for Sophy made him more than usually timid in his practice. I had my horse saddled, and galloped to Chesterton. I took the express train to town. I went to Dr —. I told him every particular of the case. He listened; but shook his head. He wrote down a prescription; and recommended a new preparation, not yet in full use; a preparation of a poison, in fact.
‘“It may save her,” said he. “It is a chance, in such a state of things as you describe. It must be given on the fifth day, if the pulse will bear it. Crabbe makes up the preparation most skilfully. Let me hear from you, I beg.”
‘I went to Crabbe’s; I begged to make it up myself; but my hands trembled, so that I could not weigh the quantities. I asked the young man to do it for me. I went, without touching food, to the station, with my medicine and my prescription in my pocket. Ba
ck we flew through the country. I sprang on Bay Maldon, which my groom had in waiting, and galloped across the country to Duncombe.
‘But I drew bridle when I came to the top of the hill – the hill above the old hall, from which we catch the first glimpse of the town, for I thought within myself that she might be dead; and I dreaded to come near certainty. The hawthorns were out in the woods, the young lambs were in the meadows, the song of the thrushes filled the air; but it only made the thought the more terrible.
‘“What, if in this world of hope and life she lies dead!” I heard the church bells soft and clear. I sickened to listen. Was it the passing bell? No! it was ringing eight o’clock. I put spurs to my horse, down hill as it was. We dashed into the town. I turned him, saddle and bridle, into the stable-yard, and went off to Mr Morgan’s.
‘“Is she –?” said I. “How is she?”
‘“Very ill. My poor fellow, I see how it is with you. She may live – but I fear. My dear sir, I am very much afraid.”
‘I told him of my journey and consultation with Dr —, and showed him the prescription. His hands trembled as he put on his spectacles to read it.
‘“This is a very dangerous medicine, sir,” said he, with his finger under the name of the poison.
‘“It is a new preparation,” said I. “Dr — relies much upon it.”
‘“I dare not administer it,” he replied. “I have never tried it. It must be very powerful. I dare not play tricks in this case.”
‘I believe I stamped with impatience; but it was all of no use. My journey had been in vain. The more I urged the imminent danger of the case requiring some powerful remedy, the more nervous he became.