Dr Thorne - Anthony Trollope [203]
And then, also, the old-fashioned phaeton of old-fashioned old Dr Century was seen to rumble up to the big house, and it became known that Lady Arabella was not very well. ‘Not very well,’ when pronounced in a low, grave voice about Ladies Arabella, always means something serious. And, in this case, something serious was meant. Lady Arabella was not only ill, but frightened. It appeared, even to her, that Dr Fillgrave himself hardly knew what he was about, that he was not so sure in his opinion, so confident in himself, as Dr Thorne used to be. How should he be, seeing that Dr Thorne had medically had Lady Arabella in his hands for the last ten years?
If sitting with dignity in his hired carriage, and stepping with authority up the big front steps, would have done anything, Dr Fillgrave might have done much. Lady Arabella was greatly taken with his looks when he first came to her, and it was only when she by degrees perceived that the symptoms, which she knew so well, did not yield to him that she began to doubt those looks.
After a while Dr Fillgrave himself suggested Dr Century. ‘Not that I fear anything, Lady Arabella,’ said he – lying hugely for he did fear; fear both for himself and for her. ‘But Dr Century has great experience, and in such a matter, when the interests are so important, one cannot be too safe.’
So Dr Century came and toddled slowly into her ladyship’s room. He did not say much; he left the talking to his learned brother, who certainly was able to do that part of the business. But Dr Century, though he said little, looked very grave, and by no means quieted Lady Arabella’s mind. She, as she saw the two putting their heads together, already felt misgivings that she had done wrong. She knew that she could not be safe without Dr Thorne at her bedside, and she already felt that she had exercised a most injudicious courage in driving him away.
‘Well, doctor?’ said she, as soon as Dr Century had toddled downstairs to see the squire.
‘Oh! we shall be all right, Lady Arabella; all right, very soon. But we 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 Fillgrave came down the grand stairs, a servant waited at the bottom to ask him also to go to the squire. Now there never had been much cordiality between the squire and Dr Fillgrave, though Mr Gresham had consented to take a preventative pill from his hands, and the little man therefore swelled himself out somewhat more than ordinarily as he followed 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 I may be justified in expressing a hope that she is not in danger. Her state is, no doubt, rather serious – rather serious – as Dr Century has probably told you’; and Dr Fillgrave made a bow to the old man, who sat quiet in one of the dining-room armchairs.
‘Well, doctor,’ said the squire, ‘I have not any grounds on which to doubt your judgement.’
Dr Fillgrave bowed, but with the stiffest, slightest inclination which a head could possibly make. He rather thought that Mr Gresham had 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 then decorously rubbed his hands one over the other.
‘I am afraid, Dr Fillgrave, that you and my friend Thorne are not the best friends in the world.’
‘No, Mr Gresham, no; I may go so far as to say we are not.’
‘Well, I am