expressed himself with more than ordinary bitterness as to the folly—he had probably used some stronger word—of these London proceedings.
“Heavens!” said the countess, with much eager animation; “what can the man expect? What does he wish you to do?”
“He would like to sell the house in London, and bury us all here for ever. Mind, I was there only for ten weeks.”
“Barely time for the girls to get their teeth properly looked at! But Arabella, what does he say?” Lady de Courcy was very anxious to learn the exact truth of the matter, and ascertain, if she could, whether Mr Gresham was really as poor as he pretended to be.
“Why, he said yesterday that he would have no more going to town at all; that he was barely able to pay the claims made on him, and keep up the house here, and that he would not—”
“Would not what?” asked the countess.
“Why, he said that he would not utterly ruin poor Frank.”
“Ruin Frank!”
“That’s what he said.”
“But, surely, Arabella, it is not so bad as that? What possible reason can there be for him to be in debt?”
“He is always talking of those elections.”
“But, my dear, Boxall Hill paid all that off. Of course Frank will not have such an income as there was when you married into the family; we all know that. And whom will he have to thank but his father? But Boxall Hill paid all those debts, and why should there be any difficulty now?”
“It was those nasty dogs, Rosina,” said the Lady Arabella, almost in tears.
“Well, I for one never approved of the hounds coming to Greshamsbury. When a man has once involved his property he should not incur any expenses that are not absolutely necessary. That is a golden rule which Mr Gresham ought to have remembered. Indeed, I put it to him nearly in those very words; but Mr Gresham never did, and never will receive with common civility anything that comes from me.”
“I know, Rosina, he never did; and yet where would he have been but for the de Courcys?” So exclaimed, in her gratitude, the Lady Arabella; to speak the truth, however, but for the de Courcys, Mr Gresham might have been at this moment on the top of Boxall Hill, monarch of all he surveyed.
“As I was saying,” continued the countess, “I never approved of the hounds coming to Greshamsbury; but yet, my dear, the hounds can’t have eaten up everything. A man with ten thousand a year ought to be able to keep hounds; particularly as he had a subscription.”
“He says the subscription was little or nothing.”
“That’s nonsense, my dear. Now, Arabella, what does he do with his money? That’s the question. Does he gamble?”
“Well,” said Lady Arabella, very slowly, “I don’t think he does.” If the squire did gamble he must have done it very slyly, for he rarely went away from Greshamsbury, and certainly very few men looking like gamblers were in the habit of coming thither as guests. “I don’t think he does gamble.” Lady Arabella put her emphasis on the word gamble, as though her husband, if he might perhaps be charitably acquitted of that vice, was certainly guilty of every other known in the civilised world.
“I know he used,” said Lady de Courcy, looking very wise, and rather suspicious. She certainly had sufficient domestic reasons for disliking the propensity; “I know he used; and when a man begins, he is hardly ever cured.”
“Well, if he does, I don’t know it,” said the Lady Arabella.
“The money, my dear, must go somewhere. What excuse does he give when you tell him you want this and that—all the common necessaries of life, that you have always been used to?”
“He gives no excuse; sometimes he says the family is so large.”
“Nonsense! Girls cost nothing; there’s only Frank, and he can’t have cost anything yet. Can he be saving money to buy back Boxall Hill?”
“Oh no!” said the Lady Arabella, quickly. “He is not saving anything; he never did, and never will save, though he is so stingy to me. He is hard pushed for money, I know that.”
“Then where has it gone?” said the Countess de Courcy, with a look of stern decision.
“Heaven only knows! Now, Augusta is to be married. I must of course have a few hundred pounds. You should have heard how he groaned when I asked him for it. Heaven only knows where the money goes!” And the injured wife wiped a piteous tear from her eye with her fine dress cambric handkerchief. “I have all the sufferings and privations of a poor man’s wife, but I have none of the consolations. He has no confidence in me; he never tells me anything; he never talks to me about his affairs. If he talks to any one it is to that horrid doctor.”
“What, Dr Thorne?” Now the Countess de Courcy hated Dr Thorne with a holy hatred.
“Yes; Dr Thorne. I believe that he knows everything; and advises everything, too. Whatever difficulties poor Gresham may have, I do believe Dr Thorne has brought them about. I do believe it, Rosina.”
“Well, that is surprising. Mr Gresham, with all his faults, is a gentleman; and how he can talk about his affairs with a low apothecary like that, I, for one, cannot imagine. Lord de Courcy has not always been to me all that he should have been; far from it.” And Lady de Courcy thought over in her mind injuries of a much graver description than any that her sister-in-law had ever suffered; “but I have never known anything like that at Courcy Castle. Surely Umbleby knows all about it, doesn’t he?”
“Not half so much as the doctor,” said Lady Arabella.
The countess shook her head slowly; the idea of Mr Gresham, a country gentleman of good estate like him, making a confidant of a country doctor was too great a shock for her nerves; and for a while she was constrained to sit silent before she could recover herself.
“One thing at any rate is certain, Arabella,” said the countess, as soon as she found herself again sufficiently composed to offer counsel in a properly dictatorial manner. “One thing at any rate is certain; if Mr Gresham be involved so deeply as you say, Frank has but one duty before him. He must marry money. The heir of fourteen thousand a year may indulge himself in looking for blood, as Mr Gresham did, my dear”—it must be understood that there was very little compliment in this, as the Lady Arabella had always conceived herself to be a beauty—”or for beauty, as some men do,” continued the countess, thinking of the choice that the present Earl de Courcy had made; “but Frank must marry money. I hope he will understand this early; do make him understand this before he makes a fool of himself; when a man thoroughly understands this, when he knows what his circumstances require, why, the matter becomes easy to him. I hope that Frank understands that he has no alternative. In his position he must marry money.”
But, alas! alas! Frank Gresham had already made a fool of himself.
“Well, my boy, I wish you joy with all my heart,” said the Honourable John, slapping his cousin on the back, as he walked round to the stableyard with him before dinner, to inspect a setter puppy of peculiarly fine breed which had been sent to Frank as a birthday present. “I wish I were an elder son; but we can’t all have that luck.”
“Who wouldn’t sooner
