Kitabı oku: «Barrington. Volume 1», sayfa 5

CHAPTER V. DILL AS A DIPLOMATIST

Dr. Dill had knocked twice at the door of Miss Barrington’s little sitting-room, and no answer was returned to his summons.

“Is the dear lady at home?” asked he, blandly. But, though he waited for some seconds, no reply came.

“Might Dr. Dill be permitted to make his compliments?”

“Yes, come in,” said a sharp voice, very much with the expression of one wearied out by importunity. Miss Barrington gave a brief nod in return for the profound obeisance of her visitor, and then turned again to a large map which covered the table before her.

“I took the opportunity of my professional call here this morning – ”

“How is that young man, – is anything broken?”

“I incline to say there is no fracture. The flexors, and perhaps, indeed, the annular ligament, are the seat of all the mischief.”

“A common sprain, in fact; a thing to rest for one day, and hold under the pump the day after.”

“The dear lady is always prompt, always energetic; but these sort of cases are often complicated, and require nice management.”

“And frequent visits,” said she, with a dry gravity.

“All the world must live, dear lady, – all the world must live.”

“Your profession does not always sustain your theory, sir; at least, popular scandal says you kill as many as you cure.” “I know the dear lady has little faith in physic.”

“Say none, sir, and you will be nearer the mark; but, remember, I seek no converts; I ask nobody to deny himself the luxuries of senna and gamboge because I prefer beef and mutton. You wanted to see my brother, I presume,” added she, sharply, “but he started early this morning for Kilkenny. The Solicitor-General wanted to say a few words to him on his way down to Cork.”

“That weary law! that weary law!” ejaculated Dill, fervently; for he well knew with what little favor Miss Barrington regarded litigation.

“And why so, sir?” retorted she, sharply. “What greater absurdity is there in being hypochondriac about your property than your person? My brother’s taste inclines to depletion by law; others prefer the lancet.”

“Always witty, always smart, the dear lady,” said Dill, with a sad attempt at a smile. The flattery passed without acknowledgment of any kind, and he resumed: “I dropped in this morning to you, dear lady, on a matter which, perhaps, might not be altogether pleasing to you.”

“Then don’t do it, sir.”

“If the dear lady would let me finish – ”

“I was warning you, sir, not even to begin.”

“Yes, madam,” said he, stung into something like resistance; “but I would have added, had I been permitted, without any due reason for displeasure on your part.”

“And are you the fitting judge of that, sir? If you know, as you say you know, that you are about to give me pain, by what presumption do you assert that it must be for my benefit? What’s it all about?”

“I come on the part of this young gentleman, dear lady, who, having learned – I cannot say where or how – that he is not to consider himself here at an inn, but, as a guest, feels, with all the gratitude that the occasion warrants, that he has no claim to the attention, and that it is one which would render his position here too painful to persist in.”

“How did he come by this impression, sir? Be frank and tell me.”

“I am really unable to say, Miss Dinah.”

“Come, sir, be honest, and own that the delusion arose from yourself, – yes, from yourself. It was in perceiving the courteous delicacy with which you declined a fee that he conceived this flattering notion of us; but go back to him, doctor, and say it is a pure mistake; that his breakfast will cost him one shilling, and his dinner two; the price of a boat to fetch him up to Thomastown is half a crown, and that the earlier he orders one the better. Listen to me, sir,” said she, and her lips trembled with passion, – “listen to me, while I speak of this for the first and last time. Whenever my brother, recurring to what he once was, has been emboldened to treat a passing stranger as his guest, the choice has been so judiciously exercised as to fall upon one who could respect the motive and not resent the liberty; but never till this moment has it befallen us to be told that the possibility – the bare possibility – of such a presumption should be met by a declaration of refusal. Go back, then, to your patient, sir; assure him that he is at an inn, and that he has the right to be all that his purse and his want of manners can insure him.”

“Dear lady, I’m, maybe, a bad negotiator.”

“I trust sincerely, sir, you are a better doctor.”

“Nothing on earth was further from my mind than offence – ”

“Very possibly, sir; but, as you are aware, blisters will occasionally act with all the violence of caustics, so an irritating theme may be pressed at a very inauspicious moment. My cares as a hostess are not in very good favor with me just now. Counsel your young charge to a change of air, and I ‘ll think no more of the matter.”

Had it been a queen who had spoken, the doctor could not more palpably have felt that his audience had terminated, and his only duty was to withdraw.

And so he did retire, with much bowing and graciously smiling, and indicating, by all imaginable contortions, gratitude for the past and humility forever.

I rejoice that I am not obliged to record as history the low but fervent mutterings that fell from his lips as he closed the door after him, and by a gesture of menace showed his feelings towards her he had just quitted. “Insolent old woman!” he burst out as he went along, “how can she presume to forget a station that every incident of her daily life recalls? In the rank she once held, and can never return to, such manners would be an outrage; but I ‘ll not endure it again. It is your last triumph, Miss Dinah; make much of it.” Thus sustained by a very Dutch courage, – for this national gift can come of passion as well as drink, – he made his way to his patient’s presence, smoothing his brow, as he went, and recalling the medico-chimrgical serenity of his features.

“I have not done much, but I have accomplished something,” said he, blandly. “I am at a loss to understand what they mean by introducing all these caprices into their means of life; but, assuredly, it will not attract strangers to the house.”

“What are the caprices you allude to?”

“Well, it is not very easy to say; perhaps I have not expressed my meaning quite correctly; but one thing is clear, a stranger likes to feel that his only obligation in an inn is to discharge the bill.”

“I say, doctor,” broke in Conyers, “I have been thinking the matter over. Why should I not go back to my quarters? There might surely be some means contrived to convey me to the high-road; after that, there will be no difficulty whatever.”

The doctor actually shuddered at the thought. The sportsman who sees the bird he has just winged flutter away to his neighbor’s preserve may understand something, at least, of Dr. Dill’s discomfiture as he saw his wealthy patient threatening a departure. He quickly, therefore, summoned to his aid all those terrors which had so often done good service on like occasions. He gave a little graphic sketch of every evil consequence that might come of an imprudent journey. The catalogue was a bulky one; it ranged over tetanus, mortification, and disease of the bones. It included every sort and description of pain as classified by science, into “dull, weary, and incessant,” or “sharp lancinating agony.” Now Conyers was as brave as a lion, but had, withal, one of those temperaments which are miserably sensitive under suffering, and to which the mere description of pain is itself an acute pang. When, therefore, the doctor drew the picture of a case very like the present one, where amputation came too late, Conyers burst in with, “For mercy’s sake, will you stop! I can’t sit here to be cut up piece-meal; there’s not a nerve in my body you haven’t set ajar.” The doctor blandly took out his massive watch, and laid his fingers on the young man’s pulse. “Ninety-eight, and slightly intermittent,” said he, as though to himself.

“What does that mean?” asked Conyers, eagerly.

“The irregular action of the heart implies abnormal condition of the nervous system, and indicates, imperatively, rest, repose, and tranquillity.”

“If lethargy itself be required, this is a capital place for it,” sighed Conyers, drearily.

“You have n’t turned your thoughts to what I said awhile ago, being domesticated, as one might call it, in a nice quiet family, with all the tender attentions of a home, and a little music in the evening.”

Simple as these words were, Dill gave to each of them an almost honeyed utterance.

“No; it would bore me excessively. I detest to be looked after; I abhor what are called attentions.”

“Unobtrusively offered, – tendered with a due delicacy and reserve?”

“Which means a sort of simpering civility that one has to smirk for in return. No, no; I was bred up in quite a different school, where we clapped our hands twice when we wanted a servant, and the fellow’s head paid for it if he was slow in coming. Don’t tell me any more about your pleasant family, for they ‘d neither endure me, nor I them. Get me well as fast as you can, and out of this confounded place, and I ‘ll give you leave to make a vascular preparation of me if you catch me here again!”

The doctor smiled, as doctors know how to smile when patients think they have said a smartness, and now each was somewhat on better terms with the other.

“By the way, doctor,” said Conyers, suddenly, “you have n’t told me what the old woman said. What arrangement did you come to?”

“Your breakfast will cost one shilling, your dinner two. She made no mention of your rooms, but only hinted that, whenever you took your departure, the charge for the boat was half a crown.”

“Come, all this is very business-like, and to the purpose; but where, in Heaven’s name, did any man live in this fashion for so little? We have a breakfast-mess, but it’s not to be compared with this, – such a variety of bread, such grilled trout, such a profusion of fruit. After all, doctor, it is very like being a guest, the nominal charge being to escape the sense of a favor. But perhaps one can do here as at one of those ‘hospices’ in the Alps, and make a present at parting to requite the hospitality.”

“It is a graceful way to record gratitude,” said the doctor, who liked to think that the practice could be extended to other reminiscences.

“I must have my servant and my books, my pipes and my Spitz terrier. I ‘ll get a target up, besides, on that cherry-tree, and practise pistol-shooting as I sit here. Could you find out some idle fellow who would play chess or écarté with me, – a curate or a priest, – I ‘m not particular; and when my man Holt comes, I ‘ll make him string my grass-mat hammock between those two elms, so that I can fish without the bore of standing up for it. Holt is a rare clever fellow, and you ‘ll see how he’ll get things in order here before he’s a day in the place.”

The doctor smiled again, for he saw that his patient desired to be deemed a marvel of resources and a mine of original thought. The doctor’s smile was apportioned to his conversation, just as he added syrups in his prescriptions. It was, as he himself called it, the “vehicle,” without special efficacy in itself, but it aided to get down the “active principle.” But he did more than smile. He promised all possible assistance to carry out his patient’s plans. He was almost certain that a friend of his, an old soldier, too, – a Major M’Cormick, – could play écarté, though, perhaps, it might be cribbage; and then Father Cody, he could answer for it, was wonderful at skittles, though, for the present, that game might not be practicable; and as for books, the library at Woodstay was full of them, if the key could only be come at, for the family was abroad; and, in fact, he displayed a most generous willingness to oblige, although, when brought to the rude test of reality, his pictures were only dissolving views of pleasures to come.

When he took his leave at last, he left Conyers in far better spirits than he found him. The young fellow had begun to castle-build about how he should pass his time, and in such architecture there is no room for ennui. And what a rare organ must constructiveness be, when even in its mockery it can yield such pleasure! We are very prone to envy the rich man, whose wealth sets no limit to his caprices; but is not a rich fancy, that wondrous imaginative power which unweariedly invents new incidents, new personages, new situations, a very covetable possession? And can we not, in the gratification of the very humblest exercise of this quality, rudely approximate to the ecstasy of him who wields it in all its force? Not that Fred Conyers was one of these; he was a mere tyro in the faculty, and could only carry himself into a region where he saw his Spitz terrier jump between the back rails of a chair, and himself sending bullet after bullet through the very centre of the bull’s eye.

Be it so. Perhaps you and I, too, my reader, have our Spitz terrier and bull’s-eye days, and, if so, let us be grateful for them.

CHAPTER VI. THE DOCTOR’S DAUGHTER

Whether it was that Dr. Dill expended all the benevolence of his disposition in the course of his practice, and came home utterly exhausted, but so it was, that his family never saw him in those moods of blandness which he invariably appeared in to his patients. In fact, however loaded he went forth with these wares of a morning, he disposed of every item of his stock before he got back at night; and when poor Mrs. Dill heard, as she from time to time did hear, of the doctor’s gentleness, his kindness in suffering, his beautiful and touching sympathy with sorrow, she listened with the same sort of semi-stupid astonishment she would have felt on hearing some one eulogizing the climate of Ireland, and going rapturous about the blue sky and the glorious sunshine. Unhappy little woman, she only saw him in his dark days of cloud and rain, and she never came into his presence except in a sort of moral mackintosh made for the worst weather.

The doctor’s family consisted of seven children, but our concern is only with the two eldest, – a son and a daughter. Tom was two years younger than his sister, who, at this period of our story, was verging on nineteen. He was an awkward, ungainly youth, large-jointed, but weakly, with a sandy red head and much-freckled face, just such a disparaging counterpart of his sister as a coarse American piracy often presents of one of our well-printed, richly papered English editions. “It was all there,” but all unseemly, ungraceful, undignified; for Polly Dill was pretty. Her hair was auburn, her eyes a deep hazel, and her skin a marvel of transparent whiteness. You would never have hesitated to call her a very pretty girl if you had not seen her brother, but, having seen him, all the traits of her good looks suffered in the same way that Grisi’s “Norma” does from the horrid recollection of Paul Bedford’s.

After all, the resemblance went very little further than this “travestie,” for while he was a slow, heavy-witted, loutish creature, with low tastes and low ambitions, she was a clever, intelligent girl, very eagerly intent on making something of her advantages. Though the doctor was a general practitioner, and had a shop, which he called “Surgery,” in the village, he was received at the great houses in a sort of half-intimate, half-patronizing fashion; as one, in short, with whom it was not necessary to be formal, but it might become very inconvenient to have a coldness. These were very sorry credentials for acceptance, but he made no objection to them.

A few, however, of the “neighbors” – it would be ungenerous to inquire the motive, for in this world of ours it is just as well to regard one’s five-pound note as convertible into five gold sovereigns, and not speculate as to the kind of rags it is made of – were pleased to notice Miss Dill, and occasionally invite her to their larger gatherings, so that she not only gained opportunities of cultivating her social gifts, but, what is often a greater spur to ambition, of comparing them with those of others.

Now this same measuring process, if only conducted without any envy or ungenerous rivalry, is not without its advantage. Polly Dill made it really profitable. I will not presume to say that, in her heart of hearts, she did not envy the social accidents that gave others precedence before her, but into her heart of hearts neither you nor I have any claim to enter. Enough that we know nothing in her outward conduct or bearing revealed such a sentiment. As little did she maintain her position by flattery, which many in her ambiguous station would have relied upon as a stronghold. No; Polly followed a very simple policy, which was all the more successful that it never seemed to be a policy at all. She never in any way attracted towards her the attentions of those men who, in the marriageable market, were looked on as the choice lots; squires in possession, elder sons, and favorite nephews, she regarded as so much forbidden fruit. It was a lottery in which she never took a ticket It is incredible how much kindly notice and favorable recognition accrued to her from this line.

We all know how pleasant it is to be next to the man at a promiscuous dinner who never eats turtle nor cares for “Cliquot;” and in the world at large there are people who represent the calabash and the champagne.

Then Polly played well, but was quite as ready to play as to dance. She sang prettily, too, and had not the slightest objection that one of her simple ballads should be the foil to a grand performance of some young lady, whose artistic agonies rivalled Alboni’s. So cleverly did Polly do all this, that even her father could not discover the secret of her success; and though he saw “his little girl” as he called her, more and more sought after and invited, he continued to be persuaded that all this favoritism was only the reflex of his own popularity. How, then, could mere acquaintances ever suspect what to the eye of those nearer and closer was so inscrutable?

Polly Dill rode very well and very fearlessly, and occasionally was assisted to “a mount” by some country gentleman, who combined gallantry with profit, and knew that the horse he lent could never be seen to greater advantage. Yet, even in this, she avoided display, quite satisfied, as it seemed, to enjoy herself thoroughly, and not attract any notice that could be avoided. Indeed, she never tried for “a place,” but rather attached herself to some of the older and heavier weights, who grew to believe that they were especially in charge of her, and nothing was more common, at the end of a hard run, than to hear such self-gratulations as, “I think I took great care of you, Miss Dill?” “Eh, Miss Polly! you see I’m not such a bad leader!” and so on.

Such was the doctor’s “little girl,” whom I am about to present to my readers under another aspect. She is at home, dressed in a neatly fitting but very simple cotton dress, her hair in two plain bands, and she is seated at a table, at the opposite of which lounges her brother Tom with an air of dogged and sleepy indolence, which extends from his ill-trimmed hair to his ill-buttoned waistcoat.

“Never mind it to-day, Polly,” said he, with a yawn. “I’ve been up all night, and have no head for work. There’s a good girl, let’s have a chat instead.”

“Impossible, Tom,” said she, calmly, but with decision. “To-day is the third. You have only three weeks now and two days before your examination. We have all the bones and ligaments to go over again, and the whole vascular system. You ‘ve forgotten every word of Harrison.”

“It does n’t signify, Polly. They never take a fellow on anything but two arteries for the navy. Grove told me so.”

“Grove is an ass, and got plucked twice. It is a perfect disgrace to quote him.”

“Well, I only wish I may do as well. He’s assistant-surgeon to the ‘Taurus’ gun-brig on the African station; and if I was there, it’s little I ‘d care for the whole lot of bones and balderdash.”

“Come, don’t be silly. Let us go on with the scapula. Describe the glenoid cavity.”

“If you were the girl you might be, I’d not be bored with all this stupid trash, Polly.”

“What do you mean? I don’t understand you.”

“It’s easy enough to understand me. You are as thick as thieves, you and that old Admiral, – that Sir Charles Cobham. I saw you talking to the old fellow at the meet the other morning. You ‘ve only to say, ‘There’s Tom – my brother Tom – wants a navy appointment; he’s not passed yet, but if the fellows at the Board got a hint, just as much as, “Don’t be hard on him – “’”

“I ‘d not do it to make you a post-captain, sir,” said she, severely. “You very much overrate my influence, and very much underrate my integrity, when you ask it.”

“Hoity-toity! ain’t we dignified! So you’d rather see me plucked, eh?”

“Yes, if that should be the only alternative.”

“Thank you, Polly, that’s all! thank you,” said he; and he drew his sleeve across his eyes.

“My dear Tom,” said she, laying her white soft hand on his coarse brown fingers, “can you not see that if I even stooped to anything so unworthy, that it would compromise your whole prospects in life? You’d obtain an assistant-surgeoncy, and never rise above it.”

“And do I ask to rise above it? Do I ask anything beyond getting out of this house, and earning bread that is not grudged me?”

“Nay, nay; if you talk that way, I’ve done.”

“Well, I do talk that way. He sent me off to Kilkenny last week – you saw it yourself – to bring out that trash for the shop, and he would n’t pay the car hire, and made me carry two stone of carbonate of magnesia and a jar of leeches fourteen miles. You were just taking that post and rail out of Nixon’s lawn as I came by. You saw me well enough.”

“I am glad to say I did not,” said she, sighing.

“I saw you, then, and how that gray carried you! You were waving a handkerchief in your hand; what was that for?”

“It was to show Ambrose Bushe that the ground was good; he was afraid of being staked!”

“That’s exactly what I am. I ‘m afraid of being ‘staked up’ at the Hall, and if you ‘d take as much trouble about your brother as you did for Ambrose Bushe – ”

“Tom, Tom, I have taken it for eight weary months. I believe I know Bell on the bones, and Harrison on the arteries, by heart!”

“Who thanks you?” said he, doggedly. “When you read a thing twice, you never forget it; but it’s not so with me.”

“Try what a little work will do, Tom; be assured there is not half as much disparity between people’s brains as there is between their industry.”

“I’d rather have luck than either, I know that. It’s the only thing, after all.”

She gave a very deep sigh, and leaned her head on her hand.

“Work and toil as hard as you may,” continued he, with all the fervor of one on a favorite theme, “if you haven’t luck you ‘ll be beaten. Can you deny that, Polly?”

“If you allow me to call merit what you call luck, I’ll agree with you. But I ‘d much rather go on with our work. What is the insertion of the deltoid? I’m sure you know that!”

“The deltoid! the deltoid!” muttered he. “I forget all about the deltoid, but, of course, it’s like the rest of them. It’s inserted into a ridge or a process, or whatever you call it – ”

“Oh, Tom, this is very hopeless. How can you presume to face your examiners with such ignorance as this?”

“I’ll tell you what I’ll do, Polly; Grove told me he did it, – if I find my pluck failing me, I ‘ll have a go of brandy before I go in.”

She found it very hard not to laugh at the solemn gravity of this speech, and just as hard not to cry as she looked at him who spoke it At the same moment Dr. Dill opened the door, calling out sharply, “Where’s that fellow, Tom? Who has seen him this morning?”

“He’s here, papa,” said Polly. “We are brushing up the anatomy for the last time.”

“His head must be in capital order for it, after his night’s exploit. I heard of you, sir, and your reputable wager. Noonan was up here this morning with the whole story!”

“I ‘d have won if they ‘d not put snuff in the punch – ”

“You are a shameless hound – ”

“Oh, papa! If you knew how he was working, – how eager he is to pass his examination, and be a credit to us all, and owe his independence to himself – ”

“I know more of him than you do, miss, – far more, too, than he is aware of, – and I know something of myself also; and I tell him now, that if he’s rejected at the examination, he need not come back here with the news.”

“And where am I to go, then?” asked the young fellow, half insolently.

“You may go – ” Where to, the doctor was not suffered to indicate, for already Polly had thrown herself into his arms and arrested the speech.

“Well, I suppose I can ‘list; a fellow need not know much about gallipots for that.” As he said this, he snatched up his tattered old cap and made for the door.

“Stay, sir! I have business for you to do,” cried Dill, sternly. “There’s a young gentleman at the ‘Fisherman’s Home’ laid up with a bad sprain. I have prescribed twenty leeches on the part. Go down and apply them.”

“That’s what old Molly Day used to do,” said Tom, angrily.’

“Yes, sir, and knew more of the occasion that required it than you will ever do. See that you apply them all to the outer ankle, and attend well to the bleeding; the patient is a young man of rank, with whom you had better take no liberties.”

“If I go at all – ”

“Tom, Tom, none of this!” said Polly, who drew very close to him, and looked up at him with eyes full of tears.

“Am I going as your son this time? or did you tell him – as you told Mr. Nixon – that you ‘d send your young man?”

“There! listen to that!” cried the doctor, turning to Polly. “I hope you are proud of your pupil.”

She made no answer, but whispering some hurried words in her brother’s ear, and pressing at the same time something into his hand, she shuffled him out of the room and closed the door.

The doctor now paced the room, so engrossed by passion that he forgot he was not alone, and uttered threats and mumbled out dark predictions with a fearful energy. Meanwhile Polly put by the books and drawings, and removed everything which might recall the late misadventure.

“What’s your letter about, papa?” said she, pointing to a square-shaped envelope which he still held in his hand.

“Oh, by the way,” said he, quietly, “this is from Cob-ham. They ask us up there to dinner to-day, and to stop the night.” The doctor tried very hard to utter this speech with the unconcern of one alluding to some every-day occurrence. Nay, he did more; he endeavored to throw into it a certain air of fastidious weariness, as though to say, “See how these people will have me; mark how they persecute me with their attentions!”

Polly understood the “situation” perfectly, and it was with actual curiosity in her tone she asked, “Do you mean to go, sir?”

“I suppose we must, dear,” he said, with a deep sigh. “A professional man is no more the arbiter of his social hours than of his business ones. Cooper always said dining at home costs a thousand a year.”

“So much, papa?” asked she, with much semblance of innocence.

“I don’t mean to myself,” said he, reddening, “nor to any physician in country practice; but we all lose by it, more or less.”

Polly, meanwhile, had taken the letter, and was reading it over. It was very brief. It had been originally begun, “Lady Cobham presents,” but a pen was run through the words, and it ran, —

“Dear Dr. Dill, – If a short notice will not inconvenience you, will you and your daughter dine here to-day at seven? There is no moon, and we shall expect you to stay the night.

“Truly yours,

“Georgiana Cobham.

“The Admiral hopes Miss D. will not forget to bring her music.”

“Then we go, sir?” asked she, with eagerness; for it was a house to which she had never yet been invited, though she had long wished for the entrée.

“I shall go, certainly,” said he. “As to you, there will be the old discussion with your mother as to clothes, and the usual declaration that you have really nothing to put on.”

“Oh! but I have, papa. My wonderful-worked muslin, that was to have astonished the world at the race ball, but which arrived too late, is now quite ready to captivate all beholders; and I have just learned that new song, ‘Where’s the slave so lowly?’ which I mean to give with a most rebellious fervor; and, in fact, I am dying to assault this same fortress of Cobham, and see what it is like inside the citadel.”

“Pretty much like Woodstay, and the Grove, and Mount Kelly, and the other places we go to,” said Dill, pompously.

“The same sort of rooms, the same sort of dinner, the same company; nothing different but the liveries.”

“Very true, papa; but there is always an interest in seeing how people behave in their own house, whom you have never seen except in strangers’. I have met Lady Cobham at the Beachers’, where she scarcely noticed me. I am curious to see what sort of reception she will vouchsafe me at home.”

“Well, go and look after your things, for we have eight miles to drive, and Billy has already been at Dangan and over to Mooney’s Mills, and he ‘s not the fresher for it.”

“I suppose I ‘d better take my hat and habit, papa?”

“What for, child?”

“Just as you always carry your lancets, papa, – you don’t know what may turn up.” And she was off before he could answer her.