Dr Thorne - Anthony Trollope [214]
‘Well, I will confess, Mary was the traitor. But hadn’t I a right to be told, seeing how often I have brought you sugar-plums in my pocket? But I wish you joy with all my heart – with all my heart. Oriel is an excellent, good fellow.’
‘Is he not, doctor?’
‘An excellent, good fellow. I never heard but of one fault that he had.’
‘What was that one fault, Dr Thorne?’
‘He thought that clergymen should not marry. But you have cured that, and now he’s perfect.’
‘Thank you, doctor. I declare that you say the prettiest things of all my friends.’
‘And none of your friends wish prettier things for you. I do congratulate you, Beatrice, and hope you may be happy with the man you have chosen’; and taking both her hands in his, he pressed them warmly, and bade God bless her.
‘Oh, doctor! I do so hope the time will come when we shall all be friends again.’
‘I hope it as well, my dear. But let it come, or let it not come, my regard for you will be the same’: and then she parted from him also, and went her way.
Nothing was spoken of that evening between Dr Thorne and his niece excepting Beatrice’s future happiness; nothing, at least, having reference to what had passed that morning. But on the following morning circumstances led to Frank Gresham’s name being mentioned.
At the usual breakfast-hour the doctor entered the parlour with a harassed face. He had an open letter in his hand, and it was at once clear to Mary that he was going to speak to her on some subject that vexed him.
‘That unfortunate fellow is again in trouble. Here is a letter from Greyson.’ Greyson was a London apothecary, who had been appointed as medical attendant to Sir Louis Scatcherd, and whose real business consisted in keeping a watch on the baronet, and reporting to Dr Thorne when anything was very much amiss. ‘Here is a letter from Greyson; he has been drunk for the last three days, and is now laid up in a terribly nervous state.’
‘You won’t go to town again; will you, uncle?’
‘I hardly know what to do. No, I think not. He talks of coming down here to Greshamsbury.’
‘Who, Sir Louis?’
‘Yes, Sir Louis. Greyson says that he will be down as soon as he can get out of his room.’
‘What! to this house?’
‘What other house can he come to?’
‘Oh, uncle! I hope not. Pray, pray do not let him come here.’
‘I cannot prevent it, my dear. I cannot shut my door on him.’
They sat down to breakfast, and Mary gave him his tea in silence. ‘I am going over to Boxall Hill before dinner,’ said he. ‘Have you any message to send to Lady Scatcherd?’
‘Message! no, I have no message; not especially: give her my love, of course,’ she said, listlessly. And then, as though a thought had suddenly struck her, she spoke with more energy. ‘But, couldn’t I go to Boxall Hill again? I should be so delighted.’
‘What! to run away from Sir Louis? No, dearest, we will have no more running away. He will probably also go to Boxall Hill, and he could annoy you much more there than he can here.’
‘But, uncle, Mr Gresham will be home on the 12th,’ she said, blushing.
‘What! Frank?’
‘Yes. Beatrice said he was to be here on the 12th.’
‘And would you run away from him too, Mary?’
‘I do not know: I do not know what to do.’
‘No; we will have no more running away; I am sorry that you ever did so. It was my fault, altogether my fault; but it was foolish.’
‘Uncle, I am not happy here.’ As she said this, she put down the cup which she had held, and, leaning her elbows on the table, rested her forehead on her hands.
‘And would you be happier at Boxall Hill? It is not the place makes the happiness.’
‘No, I know that; it is not the place. I do not look to be happy in any place; but I should be quieter, more tranquil elsewhere than here.’
‘I also sometimes think that it will be better for us to take up our staves and walk away out of Greshamsbury; – leave it altogether, and settle elsewhere; miles, miles, miles away from here. Should you like that, dearest?’
Miles, miles, miles away from Greshamsbury! There was something in the sound that fell very