Dr Thorne - Anthony Trollope [297]
‘I don’t see it at all,’ she said. ‘If you make a point of it, or Frank, or Mr Gresham, I will go; but I can’t see any possible reason.’ The doctor, when so appealed to, would not absolutely say that he made a point of it, and Mary was tolerably safe as regarded Frank or the squire. If she went, Frank would be expected to go, and Frank disliked Courcy Castle almost more than ever. His aunt was now more than civil to him, and, when they were together, never ceased to compliment him on the desirable way in which he had done his duty by his family.
And soon after Christmas a visitor came to Mary, and stayed a fortnight with her: one whom neither she nor the doctor had expected, and of whom they had not much more than heard. This was the famous Miss Dunstable. ‘Birds of a feather flock together,’ said Mrs Rantaway – late Miss Gushing – when she heard of the visit. ‘The railwayman’s niece – if you can call her a niece – and the quack’s daughter will do very well together, no doubt.’
‘At any rate, they can count their money-bags,’ said Mrs Umbleby.
And, in fact, Mary and Miss Dunstable did get on very well together; and Miss Dunstable made herself quite happy at Greshamsbury, although some people – including Mrs Rantaway – contrived to spread a report, that Dr Thorne, jealous of Mary’s money, was going to marry her.1
‘I shall certainly come and see you turned off,’ said Miss Dunstable, taking leave of her new friend. Miss Dunstable, it must be acknowledged, was a little too fond of slang; but then, a lady with her fortune, and of her age, may be fond of almost whatever she pleases.
And so by degrees the winter wore away – very slowly to Frank, as he declared often enough; and slowly, perhaps, to Mary also, though she did not say so. The winter wore away, and the chill, bitter, windy, early spring came round. The comic almanacs give us dreadful pictures of January and February; but, in truth, the months which should be made to look gloomy in England are March and April. Let no man boast himself that he has got through the perils of winter till at least the seventh of May.
It was early in April, however, that the great doings were to be done at Greshamsbury. Not exactly on the first. It may be presumed, that in spite of the practical, common-sense spirit of the age, very few people do choose to have themselves united on that day. But some day in the first week of that month was fixed for the ceremony, and from the end of February all through March, Lady Arabella worked and strove in a manner that entitled her to profound admiration.
It was at last settled that the breakfast should be held in the large dining-room at Greshamsbury. There was a difficulty about it which taxed Lady Arabella to the utmost, for, in making the proposition, she could not but seem to be throwing some slight on the house in which the heiress had lived. But when the affair was once opened to Mary, it was astonishing how easy it became.
‘Of course,’ said Mary, ‘all the rooms in our house would not hold half the people you are talking about – if they must come.’
Lady Arabella looked so beseechingly, nay, so piteously, that Mary had not another word to say. It was evident that they must all come: the De Courcys to the fifth generation; the Duke of Omnium himself, and others in concatenation accordingly.
‘But will your uncle be angry if we have the breakfast up here? He has been so very handsome to Frank, that I wouldn’t make him angry for all the world.’
‘If you don’t tell him anything about it, Lady Arabella, he’ll think that it is all done properly. He will never know,2 if he’s not told, that he ought to give the breakfast, and not you.’
‘Won’t he, my dear?’ And Lady Arabella looked her admiration for this very talented suggestion. And so that matter was arranged. The doctor never knew, till Mary told him some year or so afterwards, that he had been remiss in any part of his duty.
And who was asked to the wedding? In the first