Dr Thorne (38 page)

You will see men labouring night and day to become bank directors; and even a bank direction may only be the road to ruin. Others will spend years in degrading subserviency to obtain a niche in a will; and the niche, when at last obtained and enjoyed, is but a sorry payment for all that has been endured. Others, again, struggle harder still, and go through even deeper waters: they make the wills for themselves, forge stock-shares, and fight with unremitting, painful labour to appear to be the thing that they are not. Now, in many of these cases, all this might have been spared had the men made adequate use of those opportunities which youth and youthful charms afford once – and once only. There is no road to wealth so easy and respectable as that of matrimony; that is, of course, provided that the aspirant declines the slow course of honest work. But then, we can so seldom put old heads on young shoulders!

In the case of Mr Moffat, we may perhaps say that a specimen was produced of this bird, so rare in the land. His shoulders were certainly young, seeing that he was not yet six-and-twenty; but his head had ever been old. From the moment when he was first put forth to go alone – at the age of twenty-one – his life had been one calculation how he could make the most of himself. He had allowed himself to be betrayed into no folly by an unguarded
heart; no youthful indiscretion had marred his prospects. He had made the most of himself. Without wit, or depth, or any mental gift – without honesty of purpose or industry for good work – he had been for two years sitting member for Barchester; was the guest of Lord de Courcy; was engaged to the eldest daughter of one of the best commoners' families in England; and was, when he first began to think of Miss Dunstable, sanguine that his re-election to Parliament was secure.

When, however, at this period he began to calculate what his position in the world really was, it occurred to him that he was doing an ill-judged thing in marrying Miss Gresham. Why marry a penniless girl – for Augusta's trifle of a fortune was not a penny in his estimation – while there was Miss Dunstable in the world to be won? His own six or seven thousand a year, quite unembarrassed as it was, was certainly a great thing; but what might he not do if to that he could add the almost fabulous wealth of the great heiress? Was she not here, put absolutely in his path? Would it not be a wilful throwing away of a chance not to avail himself of it? He must, to be sure, lose the De Courcy friendship; but if he should then have secured his Barchester seat for the usual term of a parliamentary session, he might be able to spare that. He would also, perhaps, encounter some Gresham enmity: this was a point on which he did think more than once: but what will not a man encounter for the sake of two hundred thousand pounds?

It was thus that Mr Moffat argued with himself, with much prudence, and brought himself to resolve that he would at any rate become a candidate for the great prize. He also, therefore, began to say his soft things; and it must be admitted that he said them with more considerate propriety than had the Honourable George. Mr Moffat had an idea that Miss Dunstable was not a fool, and that in order to catch her he must do more than endeavour to lay salt on her tail, in the guise of flattery. It was evident to him that she was a bird of some cunning, not to be caught by an ordinary gin, such as those commonly in use with the Honourable Georges of Society.

It seemed to Mr Moffat, that though Miss Dunstable was so sprightly, so full of fun, and so ready to chatter on all subjects, she well knew the value of her own money, and of her position as dependent on it: he perceived that she never flattered the countess,
and seemed to be no whit absorbed by the titled grandeur of her host's family. He gave her credit, therefore, for an independent spirit: and an independent spirit in his estimation was one that placed its sole dependence on a respectable balance at its banker's.

Working on these ideas, Mr Moffat commenced operations in such manner that his overtures to the heiress should not, if unsuccessful, interfere with the Greshamsbury engagement. He began by making common cause with Miss Dunstable: their positions in the world, he said to her, were very closely similar. They had both risen from the lower class by the strength of honest industry: they were both now wealthy, and had both hitherto made such use of their wealth as to induce the highest aristocracy of England to admit them into their circles.

‘Yes, Mr Moffat,' had Miss Dunstable remarked; ‘and if all that I hear be true, to admit you into their very families.'

At this Mr Moffat slightly demurred. He would not affect, he said, to misunderstand what Miss Dunstable meant. There had been something said on the probability of such an event; but he begged Miss Dunstable not to believe all that she heard on such subjects.

‘I do not believe much,' said she; ‘but I certainly did think that that might be credited.'

Mr Moffat then went on to show how it behoved them both, in holding out their hands half-way to meet the aristocratic overtures that were made to them, not to allow themselves to be made use of. The aristocracy, according to Mr Moffat, were people of a very nice sort; the best acquaintance in the world: a portion of mankind to be noticed by whom should be one of the first objects in life of the Dunstables and Moffats. But the Dunstables and Moffats should be very careful to give little or nothing in return. Much, very much in return, would be looked for. The aristocracy, said Mr Moffat, were not a people to allow the light of their countenance to shine forth without looking for a quid pro quo, for some compensating value. In all their intercourse with the Dunstables and Moffats, they would expect a payment. It was for the Dunstables and Moffats to see that, at any rate, they did not pay more for the article they got than its market value.

The way in which she, Miss Dunstable, and he, Mr Moffat, would be required to pay would be by taking each of them some
poor scion of the aristocracy in marriage; and thus expending all their hard-earned wealth in procuring high-priced pleasures for some well-born pauper. Against this, peculiar caution was to be used. Of course, the further induction to be shown was this: that people so circumstanced should marry among themselves; the Dunstables and the Moffats each with the other, and not tumble into the pitfalls prepared for them.

Whether these great lessons had any lasting effect on Miss Dunstable's mind may be doubted. Perhaps she had already made up her mind on the subject which Mr Moffat so well discussed. She was older than Mr Moffat, and, in spite of his two years of parliamentary experience, had perhaps more knowledge of the world with which she had to deal. But she listened to what he said with complacency; understood his object as well as she had that of his aristocratic rival; was no whit offended; but groaned in her spirit as she thought of the wrongs of Augusta Gresham.

But all this good advice, however, would not win the money for Mr Moffat without some more decided step; and that step he soon decided on taking, feeling assured that what he had said would have its due weight with the heiress.

The party at Courcy Castle was now soon about to be broken up. The male De Courcys were going down to a Scotch mountain. The female De Courcys were to be shipped off to an Irish castle. Mr Moffat was to go up to town to prepare his petition. Miss Dunstable was again about to start on a foreign tour in behalf of her physician and attendants; and Frank Gresham was at last to be allowed to go to Cambridge; that is to say, unless his success with Miss Dunstable should render such a step on his part quite preposterous.

‘I think you may speak now, Frank,' said the countess. ‘I really think you may: you have known her now for a considerable time; and, as far as I can judge, she is very fond of you.'

‘Nonsense, aunt,' said Frank; ‘she doesn't care a button for me.'

‘I think differently; and lookers-on, you know, always understand the game best. I suppose you are not afraid to ask her.'

‘Afraid!' said Frank, in a tone of considerable scorn. He almost made up his mind that he would ask her to show that he was not afraid. His only obstacle to doing so was, that he had not the slightest intention of marrying her.

There was to be but one other great event before the party broke up, and that was a dinner at the Duke of Omnium's. The duke had already declined to come to Courcy; but he had in a measure atoned for this by asking some of the guests to join a great dinner which he was about to give to his neighbours.

Mr Moffat was to leave Courcy Castle the day after the dinner-party, and he therefore determined to make his great attempt on the morning of that day. It was with some difficulty that he brought about an opportunity; but at last he did so, and found himself alone with Miss Dunstable in the walks of Courcy Park.

‘It is a strange thing, is it not,' said he, recurring to his old view of the same subject, ‘that I should be going to dine with the Duke of Omnium – the richest man, they say, among the whole English aristocracy?'

‘Men of that kind entertain everybody, I believe, now and then,' said Miss Dunstable, not very civilly.

‘I believe they do; but I am not going as one of the everybodies. I am going from Lord de Courcy's house with some of his own family. I have no pride in that – not the least; I have more pride in my father's honest industry. But it shows what money does in this country of ours.'

‘Yes, indeed; money does a great many queer things.' In saying this Miss Dunstable could not but think that money had done a very queer thing in inducing Miss Gresham to fall in love with Mr Moffat.

‘Yes; wealth is very powerful: here we are, Miss Dunstable, the most honoured guests in this house.'

‘Oh! I don't know about that; you may be, for you are a member of Parliament, and all that –'

‘No; not a member now, Miss Dunstable.'

‘Well, you will be, and that's all the same; but I have no such title to honour, thank God.'

They walked on in silence for a little while, for Mr Moffat hardly knew how to manage the business he had in hand. ‘It is quite delightful to watch these people,' he said at last: ‘now they accuse us of being tuft-hunters.'

‘Do they?' said Miss Dunstable. ‘Upon my word I didn't know that anybody ever so accused me.'

‘I didn't mean you and me personally.'

Oh! I'm glad of that.'

‘But that is what the world says of persons of our class. Now it seems to me that the toadying is all on the other side. The countess here does toady you, and so do the young ladies.'

‘Do they? if so, upon my word I didn't know it. But, to tell the truth, I don't think much of such things. I live mostly to myself, Mr Monat.'

‘I see that you do, and I admire you for it; but, Miss Dunstable, you cannot always live so,' and Mr Moffat looked at her in a manner which gave her the first intimation of his coming burst of tenderness.

‘That's as may be, Mr Moffat,' said she.

He went on beating about the bush for some time – giving her to understand how necessary it was that persons situated as they were should live either for themselves or for each other, and that, above all things, they should beware of falling into the mouths of voracious aristocratic lions who go about looking for prey – till they came to a turn in the grounds; at which Miss Dunstable declared her determination of going in. She had walked enough, she said. As by this time Mr Moffat's immediate intentions were becoming visible she thought it prudent to retire. ‘Don't let me take you in, Mr Moffat; but my boots are a little damp, and Dr Easyman will never forgive me if I do not hurry in as fast as I can.'

‘Your feet damp? – I hope not: I do hope not,' said he, with a look of the greatest solicitude.

‘Oh! it's nothing to signify; but it's well to be prudent, you know. Good morning, Mr Moffat.'

‘Miss Dunstable!'

‘Eh – yes!' and Miss Dunstable stopped in the grand path. ‘I won't let you return with me, Mr Moffat, because I know you were not coming in so soon.'

‘Miss Dunstable; I shall be leaving this tomorrow.'

‘Yes; and I go myself the day after.'

‘I know it. I am going to town and you are going abroad. It may be long – very long – before we meet again.'

‘About Easter,' said Miss Dunstable; ‘that is, if the doctor doesn't knock up on the road.'

‘And I had, had wished to say something before we part for so long a time. Miss Dunstable –'

‘Stop! – Mr Moffat. Let me ask you one question. I'll hear anything that you have got to say, but on one condition: that is, that Miss Augusta Gresham shall be by while you say it. Will you consent to that?'

‘Miss Augusta Gresham,' said he, ‘has no right to listen to my private conversation.'

‘Has she not, Mr Moffat? then I think she should have. I, at any rate, will not so far interfere with what I look on as her undoubted privileges as to be a party to any secret in which she may not participate.'

‘But, Miss Dunstable –'

‘And to tell you fairly, Mr Moffat, any secret that you do tell me, I shall most undoubtedly repeat to her before dinner. Good morning, Mr Moffat; my feet are certainly a little damp, and if I stay a moment longer, Dr Easyman will put off my foreign trip for at least a week.' And so she left him standing alone in the middle of the gravel-walk.

For a moment or two Mr Moffat consoled himself in his misfortune by thinking how he might best avenge himself on Miss Dunstable. Soon, however, such futile ideas left his brain. Why should he give over the chase because the rich galleon had escaped him on this, his first cruise in pursuit of her? Such prizes were not to be won so easily. Her present objection clearly consisted in his engagement to Miss Gresham, and in that only. Let that engagement be at an end, notoriously and publicly broken off, and this objection would fall to the ground. Yes; ships so richly freighted were not to be run down in one summer morning's plain sailing. Instead of looking for his revenge on Miss Dunstable, it would be more prudent in him – more in keeping with his character – to pursue his object, and overcome such difficulties as he might find in his way.