BUT though Dr. Burnet had been ’umble about his position at Steephill, and considered himself only as the physician of the servants’ hall, he was not invariably left in that secondary position. On this particular snowy evening, when master and horse and man were all eager to get home in view of the drifting of the snow, which was already very deep, and the darkness of the night, which made it dangerous, Lady Jane—who was alone at Steephill, i.e. without any house party, and enjoying the sole society of Sir John, her spouse, which was not lively—bethought herself that she would like to consult the doctor. She did not pretend that she had more than a cold, but then a cold may develop into anything, as all the world knows. It was better to have a talk with Dr. Burnet than not to say a word to anybody, and to speak of her cold rather than not to speak at all. Besides, she did want to hear something of old Tredgold, and whether Katherine was behaving well, and what chance there might be for Stella. The point of behaviour in Katherine about which Lady Jane was anxious was whether or not she was keeping her sister’s claims before her father—her conduct in other respects was a matter of absolute indifference to her former patroness.
“I have not been in Sliplin for quite a long time,” she said. “It may be a deficiency in me, but, you know, I don’t very much affect your village, Dr. Burnet.”
“No; few people do; unless they want it, or something in it,” the doctor said as he made out his prescription, of which I think eau sucrée, or something like it, was the chief ingredient.
“I don’t know what I should want in it or with it,” said Lady Jane with a touch of impatience. And then she added, modifying her tone, “Tell me about the Tredgolds, Dr. Burnet. How is the old man? Not a very satisfactory patient, I should think—so fond of his own way; especially when you have not Stella at hand to make him amenable.”
“He is not a bad patient,” said Dr. Burnet. “He does not like his own way better than most old men. He allows himself to be taken good care of on the whole.”
“Oh, I am glad to hear so good an opinion of him. I thought he was very headstrong. Now, you know, I don’t want you to betray your patient’s secrets, Dr. Burnet.”
“No,” he said; “and it wouldn’t matter, I fear, if you did,” he continued after a pause; “but I know no secrets of the Tredgolds, so I am perfectly safe——”
“That’s rather rude,” said Lady Jane, “but of course it’s the right thing to say; and of course also you know all about Stella and her elopement and the dreadful disappointment. I confess, for my own part, I did not think he could stand out against her for a day.”
“He is a man who knows his own mind very clearly, Lady Jane.”
“So it appears. And will he hold out, do you think, till the bitter end? Can Katherine do nothing? Couldn’t she do something if she were to try? I mean for those poor Somers—they are great friends of mine. He is, you know, a kind of relation. And poor Stella! Do tell me, Dr. Burnet, do you think there is no hope? Couldn’t you do something yourself? A doctor at a man’s bedside has great power.”
“It is not a power I would ever care to exercise,” Dr. Burnet said.
“Oh, you are too scrupulous! And when you consider how poor they are, doctor!—really badly off. Why, they have next to nothing! The pay, of course, is doubled in India, but beyond that—— Think of Charlie Somers living on his pay! And then there is, Stella the most expensive little person, accustomed to every luxury you can think of, and never used to deny herself anything. It is extremely hard lines for them, certain as they were that her father—— Oh, I can’t help thinking, Dr. Burnet, that Katherine could do something if she chose.”
“Then you may be quite at ease, Lady Jane, for I am sure she will choose—to do a hardness to anyone, let alone her sister——”
“Ah, Dr. Burnet,” cried Lady Jane, shaking her head, “it is so difficult to tell in what subtle forms self-interest will get in. Now there is one thing that I wish I could see as a way of settling the matter. I should like to see Katherine Tredgold married to some excellent, honourable man. Oh, I am not without sources of information. I have heard a little bird here and there. What a good thing if there was such a man, who would do poor little Stella justice and give her her share! Half of Mr. Tredgold’s fortune would be a very handsome fortune. It would make all the difference to—say, a rising professional man.”
Dr. Burnet pretended to make a little change in the prescription he had been writing. His head was bent over the writing-table, which was an advantage.
“I have no doubt half of Mr. Tredgold’s fortune would be very nice to have,” he said, “but unfortunately Miss Katherine is not married, nor do I know who are the candidates for her hand.”
“I assure you,” said Lady Jane, “if there was such a person I should take care to do everything I could to further his views. I have not seen much of Katherine lately, but I should make a point of asking her and him to meet here. There is nothing I would not do to bring such a thing about, and—and secure her happiness, you know. You will scarcely believe it, but it is the truth, that Katherine was always the one I liked best.”
What a delightful, satisfactory, successful lie one can sometimes tell by telling the truth. Dr. Burnet, who loved Katherine Tredgold, was touched by this last speech—there was the ring of sincerity in the words; and though Lady Jane had not in the least the welfare of Katherine in her head at this moment, still, these words were undoubtedly true.
He sat for some time making marks with the pen on the paper before him, and Lady Jane was so much interested in his reply that she did not press for it, but sat quite still, letting him take his time.
“Have you any idea,” he said, making as though he were about to alter the prescription for the third time, “on what ground Mr. Tredgold refused Sir Charles Somers, who was not ineligible as marriages go?” His extreme coolness, and the slight respect with which he spoke had a quite subduing influence upon Lady Jane. “Was it—for his private character, perhaps?”
“Nothing of the sort,” cried Lady Jane. “Do you know Charlie Somers is a cousin of mine, Dr. Burnet?”
“That,” said the doctor, “though an inestimable advantage, would not save him from having had—various things said about him, Lady Jane.”
“No,” she said with a laugh. “I acknowledge it. Various things have been said of him. The reason given was simply ludicrous. I don’t know if Charlie invented it—but I don’t think he was clever enough to invent it. It was something about putting money down pound for pound, or shilling for shilling, or some nonsense, and that he would give Stella to nobody that couldn’t do that. On the face of it that is folly, you know.”
“I am not so sure that it is folly. I have heard him say something of the kind; meaning, I suppose, that any son-in-law he would accept would have to be as wealthy as himself.”
“But that is absolute madness, Dr. Burnet! Good heavens! who that was as rich as old Tredgold could desire to be old Tredgold’s son-in-law? It is against all reason. A man might forgive to the girls who are so nice in themselves that they had such a father; but what object could one as rich as himself—— Oh! it is sheer idiocy, you know.”
“Not to him; and he, after all, is the person most concerned,” said Dr. Burnet, with his head cast down and rather a dejected look about him altogether. The thought was not cheerful to himself any more than to Lady Jane, and as a matter of fact he had not realised it before.
“But it cannot be,” she cried, “it cannot be; it is out of the question. Oh, you are a man of resource; you must find out some way to baffle this old curmudgeon. There must, there must,” she exclaimed, “be some way out of it, if you care to try.”
“Trying will not invent thousands of pounds, alas! nor can the man who has the greatest fund of resource but no money do it anyhow,” said Dr. Burnet sententiously. “There may be a dodge——”
“That is what I meant. There must be a dodge to—to get you out of it,” she cried.
“It is possible that the man whose existence you divine might not care to get a wife—if she would have him to begin with—by a dodge, Lady Jane.”
“Oh, rubbish!” cried the great lady, “we are not so high-minded as all that. I am of opinion that in that way anything, everything can be done. Charlie Somers is a fool and Stella another; but to a sensible pair with an understanding between them and plenty of time to work—and an old sick man,” Lady Jane laid an involuntary emphasis on the word sick—then stopped and reddened visibly, though her countenance was rather weather-beaten and did not easily show.
“A sick man—to be taken advantage of? No, I think that would scarcely do,” he said. “A sensible pair with an understanding, indeed—but then the understanding—there’s the difficulty.”
“No,” cried Lady Jane, anxiously cordial to wipe away the stain of her unfortunate suggestion. “Not at all—the most natural thing in the world—where there is real feeling, Dr. Burnet, on one side, and a lonely, sensitive girl on the other——”
“A lonely, sensitive girl,” he repeated. And then he looked up in Lady Jane’s face with a short laugh—but made no further remark.
Notwithstanding the safeguard of her complexion, Lady Jane this time grew very red indeed; but having nothing to say for herself, she was wise and made no attempt to say it. And he got up, having nothing further to add by any possibility to his prescription, and put it into her hand.
“I must make haste home,” he said, “the snow is very blinding, and the roads by this time will be scarcely distinguishable.”
“I am sorry to have kept you so long—with my ridiculous cold, which is really nothing. But Dr. Burnet,” she said, putting her hand on his sleeve, “you will think of what I have said. Let justice be done to those poor Somers. Their poverty is something tragic. They had so little expectation of anything of the kind.”
“It is most unlikely that I can be of any use to them, Lady Jane,” he said a little stiffly, as he accepted her outstretched hand.
Perhaps Lady Jane had more respect for him than ever before. She held his prescription in her hand and looked at it for a moment.
“I think I’ll take it,” she said to herself as if making a heroic resolution. She had really a little cold.
As for the doctor, he climbed up into his dog-cart and took the reins from the benumbed hands of Jim, who was one mass of whiteness now instead of the black form sprinkled over with flakes of white which he had appeared at the Cliff. It was a difficult thing to drive home between the hedges, which were no longer visible, and with the big snow-flakes melting into his eyes and confusing the atmosphere, and he had no time to think as long as he was still out in the open country, without even the lights of Sliplin to guide him. It was very cold, and his hands soon became as benumbed as Jim’s, with the reins not sensible at all through his big gloves to his chilled fingers.
“I think we should turn to the left, here?” he said to Jim, who answered “Yessir,” with his teeth chattering, “or do you think it should perhaps be to the right?”
Jim said “Yessir,” again, dull to all proprieties.
If Jim had been by himself he would probably have gone to sleep, and allowed the mare to find her own way home, which very likely she would have done; but Dr. Burnet could not trust to such a chance. To think much of what had been said to him was scarcely possible in these circumstances. But when the vague and confused glimmer of the Sliplin lights through the snow put his mind at rest, it cannot but be said that Dr. Burnet found a great many thoughts waiting to seize hold upon him. He was not perhaps surprised that Lady Jane should have divined his secret. He had no particular desire to conceal it, and though he did not receive Lady Jane’s offer with enthusiasm, he could not but feel that her friendship and assistance would be of great use to him—in fact, if not with Katherine, at least with other things. It would be good for him professionally, even this one visit, and the prescription for Lady Jane, not for Mrs. Cole, which must be made up at the chemist’s, would do him good. A man who held the position of medical attendant at Steephill received a kind of warrant of skill from the fact, which would bring other patients of distinction. When Dr. Burnet got home, and got into dry and comfortable clothes, and found no impatient messenger awaiting him, it was with a grateful sense of ease that he gave himself up to the study of this subject by the cheerful fire. His mind glanced over the different suggestions of Lady Jane, tabulating and classifying them as if they had been scientific facts. There was that hint about the old sick man, which she had herself blushed for before it was fully uttered, and at which Dr. Burnet now grinned in mingled wrath and ridicule. To take advantage of an old sick man—as being that old man’s medical attendant and desirous of marrying his daughter—was a suggestion at which Burnet could afford to laugh, though fiercely, and with an exclamation not complimentary to the intentions of Lady Jane. But there were other things which required more careful consideration.
Should he follow these other suggestions, he asked himself? Should he become a party to her plan, and get her support, and accept the privileges of a visitor at her house as she had almost offered, and meet Katherine there, which would probably be good for Katherine in other ways as well as for himself? There was something very tempting in this idea, and Dr. Burnet was not mercenary in his feeling towards Katherine, nor indisposed to do “justice to Stella” in the almost incredible case that it ever should be in his power to dispose of Mr. Tredgold’s fortune. He could not help another short laugh to himself at the absurdity of the idea. He to dispose of Mr. Tredgold’s fortune! So many things were taken for granted in this ridiculous hypothesis. Katherine’s acceptance and consent for one thing, of which he was not at all sure. She had evidently sent the Rector about his business, which made him glad, yet gave him a little thrill of anxiety too, for, though he was ten years younger than the Rector, and had no family to encumber him, yet Mr. Stanley, on the other hand, was a handsome man, universally pleasing, and perhaps more desirable in respect to position than an ordinary country practitioner—a man who dared not call his body, at least, whatever might be said of his soul, his own; and who had as yet had no opportunity of distinguishing himself. If she repulsed the one so summarily, would she not have in all probability the same objections to the other? At twenty-three a man of thirty-five is slightly elderly as well as one of forty-seven.
Supposing, however, that Katherine should make no objection, which was a very strong step for a man who did not in the least believe that at the present moment she had even thought of him in that light—there was her father to be taken into account. He had heard Mr. Tredgold say that about the thousand for thousand told down on the table, and he had heard it from the two ladies of the midge; but without, perhaps, paying much attention or putting any great faith in it. How could he table thousand for thousand against Mr. Tredgold? The idea was ridiculous. He had the reversion of that little, but ancient, estate in the North, of which he had been at such pains to inform Katherine; and he had a little money from his mother; and his practice, which was a good enough practice, but not likely to produce thousands for some time at least to come. He had said there might be a dodge—and, as a matter of fact, there had blown across his mind a suggestion of a dodge, how he might perhaps persuade his uncle to “table” the value of Bunhope on his side. But what was the value of Bunhope to the millions of old Tredgold? He might, perhaps, say that he wanted nothing more with Katherine than the equivalent of what he brought; but he doubted whether the old man would accept that compromise. And certainly, if he did so, there could be no question of doing justice to Stella out of the small share he would have of her father’s fortune. No; he felt sure Mr. Tredgold would exact the entire pound of flesh, and no less; that he would no more reduce his daughter’s inheritance than her husband’s fortune, and that no dodge would blind the eyes of the acute, businesslike old man.
This was rather a despairing point of view, from which Dr. Burnet tried to escape by thinking of Katherine herself, and what might happen could he persuade her to fall in love with him. That would make everything so much more agreeable; but would it make it easier? Alas! falling in love on Stella’s part had done no good to Somers; and Stella, though now cast off and banished, had possessed a far greater influence over her father than Katherine had ever had. Dr. Burnet was by no means destitute of sentiment in respect to her. Indeed, it is very probable that had Katherine had no fortune at all he would still have wished, and taken earlier more decisive steps, to make her aware that he wished to secure her for his wife; but the mere existence of a great fortune changes the equilibrium of everything. And as it was there, Dr. Burnet felt that to lose it, if there was any possible way of securing it, would be a great mistake. He was the old man’s doctor, who ought to be grateful to him for promoting his comfort and keeping him alive; and he was Katherine’s lover, and the best if not the only one there was. And he had free access to the house at all seasons, and a comfortable standing in the drawing-room as well as in the master’s apartment. Surely something must be made of these advantages by a man with his eyes open, neglecting no opportunity. And, on the other hand, there was always the chance that old Tredgold might die, thus simplifying matters. The doctor’s final decision was that he would do nothing for the moment, but wait and follow the leading of circumstances; always keeping up his watch over Katherine, and endeavouring to draw her interest, perhaps in time her affections, towards himself—while, on the other hand, it would commit him to nothing to accept Lady Jane’s help, assuring her that—in the case which he felt to be so unlikely of ever having any power in the matter—he would certainly do “justice to Stella” as far as lay in his power.
When he had got to this conclusion the bell rang sharply, and, alas! Dr. Burnet, who had calculated on going to bed for once in comfort and quiet, had to face the wintry world again and go out into the snow.