DISCUSSION.
Now Mrs. Fox, Doctor Jemmy's mother, was an enthusiastic woman. She was
twenty years younger than her husband, and felt herself fifty years his
senior (when genuine wisdom was needed) and yet in enterprise fifty
years junior. The velocity of her brain had been too much for the roots
of her hair, as she herself maintained, and her best friends could not
deny it. Except that the top of her head was snow-white, and she utterly
scorned to disguise it, she looked little older than her daughter
Christie, in some ways; though happily tougher. She was not too fat, and
she was not too thin; which is more than most people can tell
themselves, at the age of eight and forty. Into this ancient County
race, which had strengthened its roots by banking, she had brought a
fine vein of Devonian blood, very clearing for their complexions. She
had shown some disdain for mercantile views; until she began to know
better, when her father, and others of her landed lineage slipped down
the hilltop into bankruptcy, without any Free-trade, or even tenants'
superior rights, to excuse them. Then she perceived that mercantile
views are the only ones left to ensure a quiet man a fair prospect from
his own front windows. She encouraged her husband to cherish the Bank,
which at one time she had derided; and she quite agreed with him, that
no advances could save her own relations in their march downhill.
The elder James Fox, who like his father had refused a title--for
although they were not Quakers now, they held to their old
simplicity--Mr. James Fox of Foxden was a fine sample of the unmixed
Englishman. He had never owed a penny of his large fortune to any
unworthy trick of trade, or even to lucky gambling in stocks, or bitter
mortgages. Many people called him stubborn, and they were welcome to
take that view of it. In business that opinion served him well, and
saved a lot of useless trouble. But he himself knew well, and his wife
knew even better, that though he would never budge an inch, for claim,
or threat, or lawsuit, there was no man who gave a longer ell, when
drawn out by mercy, or even gentle equity.
But in the full vigour of his faculties, mental if not bodily--and the
latter had not yet failed him much--that mysterious blow descended,
which no human science can avert, relieve, or even to its own content
explain. One moment he was robust and active, quick with the pulse of
busy life, strong with the powers of insight, foresight, discrimination,
promptitude--another moment, and all was gone. Only a numb lump
remained, livid, pallid, deaf and dumb, sightless, breathless (beyond a
wheezy snore) incapable even of a dream or moan. And knowing all these
things, men are proud!
His strong heart, and firm brain, bore him through; or rather they
gradually shored him up; a fabric still upon the sands of time, but
waiting only for the next tidal wave.
Now the greatest physician, or metaphysician, that ever came into the
world, can tell us no more than an embryo could, what the relics of the
mind will be in such a case, or how far in keeping with its former self.
Thoroughly pious men have turned blasphemers; very hard swearers have
taken to sweet hymns; tempers have been changed from diabolical to
angelic; but the change more often has been the other way. Happily for
himself, and all about him, this fine old man was weakened only, and not
perverted from his former healthful self. His memory was deranged, in
veins and fibres, like an ostrich-plume draggled in a gale of wind and
rain; but he knew his old friends, and the favoured of his heart, and
before and above all, his faithful wife. He had fallen from his pride,
with the lapse of other powers; and to those who had known him in his
stronger days, his present gentleness was touching, and his gratitude
for trifles affecting; but notwithstanding that, he was sometimes more
obstinate than ever.
"I wonder why Chris stays away so long;" he said as he sat one fine day
upon the terrace, for he was ordered to stay out of doors as much as
possible, and his wife as usual sat beside him. "She is gone to nurse
Jemmy through a very heavy cold, as I understood you to say, my dear.
But my memory is not always quite clear now. But it must be some days
since I heard that; and I miss little Chrissy with her cheerful face.
You are enough of course, my dear Mary, and I very seldom think much of
anybody else. Still I long sometimes to see my little Chrissy."
"To be sure; and so do I. The house seems very sad without her;" replied
Mrs. Fox, as if it could be merry now. "We won't give her more than
another day or two. But we must remember, dear, how differently poor
Jemmy is placed from what we are in this comfortable house. Only one
old rough Devonshire servant; and everybody knows what they are--a woman
who would warm his bed, as likely as not, with a frying-pan, and make
his tea out of the rain water boiler."
"He has no one to thank for it but himself."
After this delivery, the father of the family shut his mouth, which he
still could do as well as ever, though one of his arms hung helpless.
"And I did hear that there was some disturbance there, something I think
about the clergyman, who is a great friend of Jemmy's;" Mrs. Fox spoke
this in all good faith, for Dr. Freeborn had put this turn upon a story,
which had found its way into the house; "and you know what our Chris is,
when she thinks any one attacks the Church--you may trust her for flying
to the rescue. At any rate so far as money goes."
"And money goes a long way, in matters eccles--you know what I mean--I
can't pronounce those long words now. Christie is too generous with her
good aunt's money. The trustees let her have it much too freely. I
should not be much surprised if they get a hundred pounds out of Chris,
at--let me see, what is the place called--something like a brooch or
trinket. Ah there, it's gone again!"
"You must not talk so much, my dear; and above all you must not try your
memory. It is wonderfully good, I am sure, thank God! I only wish mine
was half as good."
Now Mrs. Fox was quite aware that she had an exceedingly fine memory.
"Well, never mind;" resumed the invalid, after roving among all the
jewels he could think of. "But I should be very glad before I die, to
see Chrissy married to Sir Henry Haggerstone, a man of the highest
character, as well as a very fine estate. Has he said anything to you
about it lately?"
"No, father;" Mrs. Fox always called him "father," when a family council
was toward; "how could he while you--I mean why should he be in such a
hurry? Christie is a girl who would only turn against him, if he were to
worry her. She is a very odd child; she is not like her mother. A
little spice of somebody else, I think, who has always contrived to have
his own way. And she hates the idea of being a stepmother; though there
are only two little girls after all, and Chrissy's son would be the heir
of course. She says it is so frightfully unromantic, to marry a wealthy
widower. But talk of the--I am sure I beg his pardon--but here comes Sir
Henry himself, with Dr. Freeborn. You had better see the Doctor first,
my dear, while I take a turn with Sir Henry."
This gentleman was, as Mr. Fox had pronounced, of the very highest
character, wealthy moreover, and of pleasant aspect, and temper mild and
equable. Neither was his age yet gone fatally amiss; though a few years
off would have improved it, as concerning Christie; for he was not more
than thirty-three, or thirty-four, and scarcely looked that, for he led
a healthful life. But his great fault was, that he had no great fault;
nothing extreme in any way about him, not even contempt for "extreme
people." He had been at Oxford, and had learned, by reading for a first
class in classics (which he got) that virtue is a "habit of fore-choice,
being in the mean that concerns ourselves, defined by reason, and
according as the man of perception would define it."
Sir Henry was a man of very clear perception, and his nature was
well-fitted to come into definitions. He never did much thinking of his
own; for deeper minds had saved him all that trouble, and he was quite
content to accept the results. There was nobody who could lead him much,
and no one who could not lead him a little, when he saw a clear path to
go along. This was not altogether the man to enchant romantic
maidenhood.
Christie cared for him about as much as she would for a habit, that was
in a mean. Not that he was in any way a prig, or laid down the law to
any one. He had not kept up his Classics, for he had no real love for
them; and in those days, a man might get a first at Oxford, who could
scarcely scan a Latin hexameter, if he were exceptionally strong in
"Science"--then meaning Philosophy, before the age of "Stinks." To none
of these subjects did Christie pay heed--she did not care for the man;
and that was all about it.
"You are quite right, Mrs. Fox. I think exactly as you do;" this
gentleman was replying to the lady of the house, as they walked upon the
gentle slope towards the flower-garden; "there are no real Whigs, in the
present headlong days. Men, like your husband, and myself, who have
fancied ourselves in the happy mean, are either swept aside, or carried
down the deluge. For the moment there seems to be a slight reaction; but
it will not last. The rush will only be more headlong. And in private
life it is just the same. Individual rights are to be no more respected.
Everything belongs to everybody. I will tell you a little thing that
happened to myself, just as a specimen of the spirit of the age. A year
or two ago, I bought some old manorial rights, in a thinly peopled part
of Devonshire; in fact at the Western end of the great Blackdown Range,
a barren, furzy, flinty sort of place. By the by, not many miles away
from the place where your son has gone to live--Perlycross. I only
bought the manor to oblige a friend, who wanted a little ready money,
and to go there now and then perhaps for a little rough shooting, for
the country is beautiful, and the air very fine. Well, the manorial
rights included some quarries, or pits, or excavations of some sort,
where those rough scythe-stones are dug, such as you see lying on that
lawn. The land itself was actually part of the manor, from a time beyond
memory or record; but it seems as if strangers had been allowed to
settle on the hillside, and work these ancient quarries, and sell the
produce on their own account, only paying a small royalty to the manor,
every Martinmas, or about that time; not so much for the value of the
money, (though it would perhaps be considerable under a proper
computation) but as an acknowledgment of the ownership of the manor. But
I fear I am tiring you."
"Not at all, Sir Henry; I like any story of that sort. Our laws are so
very very queer."
"Sometimes they are. Well, my friend had not deceived me. He said that
this Whetstone money was very hard to get, and was so trifling that he
had let it go sometimes, when the people objected to paying it, as they
did after any bad season. Last Martinmas, the matter slipped my memory,
through domestic trouble. But this year, as the day approached, I sent
orders to a man, (a rough sort of Game-keeper, who lives near there, and
looks after the shooting and gravel and peat,) to give notice at the
pits that I meant to have my money. A very close corporation they seem
to have established, and have made their encroachments uncommonly
secure, being quite distinct in race, and character, dialect, and even
dress, I believe, from the settled people round them. Now what message
do you think they sent me?"
"Something very insolent, I have no doubt." Mrs. Fox did not call
herself even a Whig, but a downright determined Tory.
"This was it--my man got the schoolmaster to put it into writing, and I
happen to have it in my pocket. 'Not a penny will we pay this year. But
if you like to come yourself, and take a turn at the flemmer'--something
they use for getting out the stone--'we won't charge you anything for
your footing.'"
"Your footing on your own land! Well, that is very fine. What do you
mean to do, Sir Henry?"
"Grin, and bear it, I suppose, Mrs. Fox. You know what the tendency of
the time is, even in the Law-courts. And of course, all the Press would
be down upon me, as a monster of oppression, if I ventured to assert my
rights. And though I am out of the House ever since the 'Broom of
Reform' (as the papers call it) swept my two little seats away, I might
like to stand again some day; and what a Whetstone this would be for my
adversaries! And I hear that these people are not a bad lot, rough, and
uncivilized, and wonderfully jealous over the 'rights' they have robbed
me of; but among themselves faithful, and honest, and quiet, and sober,
which is the strangest thing of all in England. As for their message,
why they speak out plainly, and look upon their offer as a great
concession to me. And we in this more enlightened part must allow for
the manners of that neighbourhood. In fact this is such a perfect
trifle, after what they have been doing at Perlycross. If I were a
magistrate about there----"
"At Perlycross! What do you mean? Some little matter about the
clergyman? I want to know all about that, Sir Henry. It seems so
strange, that Christie never mentioned it."
Sir Henry perceived that he had "put his foot in it." Dr. Freeborn had
warned him that the "Sacrilege in Devon"--as the Somerset papers had
begun to call it--must be kept most carefully from the knowledge of his
patient, and from that of the lady also; for there was no saying how she
might take it. And now Mrs. Fox could not fail to find out everything.
He was ready to bite off his tongue, as ladies put it.
"Oh, ah--I was thinking of something--which had better not be referred
to perhaps. Not quite fit to be discussed, when one has the honour of
being with ladies. But about those very extraordinary people. I have
heard some things that are highly interesting, things that I am certain
you would like to hear----"
"Not half so much as I want to hear the story about the parish, where my
son lives, and my daughter is staying, and will not come back--for some
reason which we cannot make out. I must insist, Sir Henry, upon hearing
all that you know. I am not a young woman, and know the world pretty
well by this time. You will not offend me, by anything you say; but you
will, by anything you hide."
Sir Henry Haggerstone looked about, and saw that he was in for it. The
elderly lady--as some might call her--looked at him, with that pretty
doubt, which ladies so thoroughly understand how to show, and intend to
be understood without expression. The gentleman glanced at her; he had
no moustache to stroke--for only cavalry officers, and cads of the most
pretentious upturn, as yet wore ginger hackles--a relief still to come
in a downier age.
"My dear Mrs. Fox, there is nothing improper, from a lady's point of
view, I mean, in the very sad occurrence at Perlycross. It is a question
for the local authorities. And not one for me to meddle with."
"Then why did you speak of it? Either tell me all; or say that you
won't, and leave me to find out." The lady had the gentleman, the Tory
had the temporizer, on the nail.
"We are nothing in your hands;" he murmured, and with perfect truth;
for when the question comes to the pulling out of truth, what chance has
a man against a clever woman, ten times as quick as he is, and piercing
every glance?
"I am truly sorry that it has come to this;" Mrs. Fox did not sympathise
with his regret, but nodded, as if to say--"no cure now for that; for my
part, I am rather glad." "It was simply through terror of distressing
you, that all your best friends have combined, as I may say, at least
have thought it wiser----"
"Then they made a great mistake. And I am not at all thankful to any of
them. Let me sit down here. And now for all this frightful wonder! Is
Jemmy dead? Let me have the worst at once."
This was a sudden relief to Sir Henry, enabling him to offer immediate
comfort, and to whisper--"how could you imagine such a thing?"
"No my dear madam," he continued, having now the upper hand, and hers
beneath it, "I have the pleasure of assuring you that your noble son is
in the very best of health, and improving by his admirable knowledge of
medicine the health of all around him. It is acknowledged that he has
advanced the highest interests of the Profession."
"That he was sure to do, Sir Henry. And he has a copy of my dear
grandmother's recipe for the pounded cherry-stone elixir."
"With all the resources of modern science added, and his own trained
insight in their application. But the worst of it is, that these leading
intellects, as you must have experienced long ago, can never escape a
sad amount of narrow professional jealousy. Your son must have fallen
among those heavy-witted Devonshire doctors, like a thunderbolt--or
worse, a phenomenon come to heal their patients _gratis_."
"That would drive them to do anything--to poison him, if they had the
courage. For every one knows how they run up their bills."
Having brought the lady thus to the practical vein, Sir Henry (as gently
as possible, and as it were by the quarter drachm) administered the
sombre draught he was now bound to exhibit. Jemmy's dear mother took it
with a closeness of attention, and critical appreciation, seldom found
in the physical recipients in such cases. But to the administrator's
great surprise, her indignation was by no means vivid, in the direction
anticipated.
"I am heartily glad that I know this at last. I ought to have been told
of it long ago;" said Mrs. Fox, looking resolutely at Sir Henry
Haggerstone. "A very great mistake, and want of judgment on the part of
Dr. Freeborn. What a frightful risk to run--supposing my husband had
been told suddenly of this!"
"All has been done for the best, my dear madam. The great anxiety was to
keep it from him."
"And who was the proper one, to see to that? I should have thought, his
wife and constant nurse. Was it thought impossible that I should show
discretion? Clever men always make one great mistake. They believe that
no woman can command her tongue. If they had their own only half as well
controlled, there would not be a tenth part of the mischief in the
world."
"You are quite right there. That is a very great truth, and exceedingly
well expressed;" replied Sir Henry, not that he was impressed with it so
deeply, but that he wanted to appease the lady. "However, as regards Dr.
Freeborn's ideas, I really know very little; no doubt he thought it was
for your own good too, not to be burdened at such a time with another
great anxiety."
"He has taken too much upon himself. It would have been no great anxiety
to me. My son is quite capable of fighting his own battles. And the same
orders issued to my son and daughter! At last I can understand poor
Christie's letters--why she has been so brief, for fear of losing all
self-control, like her mother. Stupid, stupid, clever men! Why there is
infinitely less chance now of Mr. Fox ever knowing it. You may tell our
sapient doctor that. Perhaps I shall astonish him a little. I'll prove
to him that I can control my tongue, by never mentioning the subject to
him."
"Excuse me, Mrs. Fox, if I make one or two remarks. May I speak without
reserve, as an old friend of the family, and one who has had a great
deal to do with criminal--at least I mean to say with public
proceedings in this county?"
"To be sure, Sir Henry. I shall be much obliged by any suggestions you
may make."
"In the first place then, it is quite impossible to leave your son under
this imputation. I can quite understand how he has been impeded in
taking any steps for his own vindication, by his sense of duty towards
his father and yourself. In that respect, his behaviour has been most
admirable. He has absolutely done nothing; not even protested publicly,
and challenged any evidence against him, but been quite content to lie
at the mercy of any wicked slanderers. And for this there can be no
reason but one--that public proceedings would increase the stir, and
make it certain that the whole must come to his father's knowledge."
"To be sure, Sir Henry. There can be no other reason." The old friend of
the family was surprised at the tone in which Mrs. Fox uttered this
opinion.
"Of course not. And so it is all the more incumbent upon his family to
clear him. Let me tell you what I should do, if I were his father, in
sound health, and able to attend to business. Of course I am too young
to speak so"--he had suddenly remembered Christie--"but that you
understand; and you also admit that I am not likely to offer advice,
unless asked for."
"I beg you particularly to give it. You are a Magistrate of large, if
not long, experience. And I know that you are our true friend."
"That you may rely upon, Mrs. Fox. And you know how much I admire your
son; for enthusiasm is a rare gift now, and becoming rarer every year,
in these days of liberal sentiment. If the case were my own, I should
just do this. I should make application at once to the Court of King's
Bench, to have the matter sifted. It is no use shilly-shallying with any
County Authorities. A Special Commission has been granted in cases less
important. But without pressing for that, it is possible to get the
whole question investigated by skilled officers from head-quarters.
Those who bring the charge should have done it, and probably would have
done it, if they had faith in their own case. But they are playing a
deeper game; according at least to my view of the matter. They have laid
themselves open to no action. Your son lies helpless, and must 'live it
down;' as people say glibly, who have never had to do it. Is this a
thing you mean to allow?"
"You need scarcely ask me that, Sir Henry. But remember that I know
nothing of the particulars, which have been kept so--so amiably from my
knowledge."
"Yes. But I know them all--at least so far as they can be gathered from
the Devonshire Journals, and these are very careful what they say. In
spite of all the enemies who want to keep it going, the whole thing may
be brought to a point at once, by applying for a warrant in the Court of
King's Bench, with the proper information sworn. They would grant it at
once. Your son would appear, and be released of course on bail; for the
case is only one of misdemeanour. Then the proper officers would be sent
down, and the real criminals detected."
"A warrant against my Jemmy! Oh, Sir Henry, you can never mean that."
"Simply as a matter of form, Mrs. Fox. Ask your solicitors. They are the
proper people. And they should have been consulted long ago, and would
have been, but for this terrible disadvantage. I only suggest the
quickest way to bring the matter to an issue. Otherwise the doubt will
hang over your son, with his friends and his conscience to support him.
And what are these among so many?"
This was not altogether a counsel of perfection, or even of a very lofty
view; but unhappily we have to contend with a world neither perfect nor
very lofty. There was no other hole to be found in the plan, or even to
be picked by the ingenuity of a lady. But who that is worthy of that
name cannot slip round the corner gracefully, whatever is presented?
"I thank you so deeply, Sir Henry, for your very kind interest in this
strange matter," said Mrs. Fox, looking all gratitude, with a smile that
shone through tears; "and for your perfectly invaluable advice. You see
everything so distinctly, and your experience is so precious. To think
of my poor boy in such a position! Oh dear, oh dear! I really have not
the courage to discuss it any more. But a kind heart like yours will
make every allowance for the feelings of a mother."
Thus was Sir Henry neatly driven from the hall of council to the
carpeted chamber of comfort. But he knew as well as if the lady had put
it into so many words, that she meant to accept none of his advice. Her
reason, however, for so resolving was far beyond his perception, simple
as it was and natural.
Mrs. Fox had known little of the young doctor's doings, since he had
settled at Perlycross, having never even paid him a visit there, for her
husband was sore upon that subject. So that she was not acquainted with
the depth of Jemmy's regard for Sir Thomas, and had never dreamed of his
love for Inez; whereas she was strongly and bitterly impressed with his
lifelong ardour for medical research. The mother felt no indignant
yearning for prompt and skilled inquiry; because she suspected, in the
bottom of her heart, that it would prove her son the criminal.