“Mrs. Fuller, leave the room,” said Trevelyan. “I and the gentleman are engaged.”
“I see you be engaged, and I do beg pardon. I ain’t one as would intrude wilful, and, as for listening, or the likes of that, I scorn it. But if this gentleman be anything to you, Mr. Trevelyan—”
“I am his wife’s father,” said Sir Marmaduke.
“Like enough. I was thinking perhaps so. His lady was down here on Thursday—as sweet a lady as any gentleman need wish to stretch by his side.”
“Mrs. Fuller,” said Trevelyan, marching up towards her, “I will not have this, and I desire that you will retire from my room.”
But Mrs. Fuller escaped round the table, and would not be banished. She got round the table, and came closely opposite to Sir Marmaduke. “I don’t want to say nothing out of my place, sir,” said she, “but something ought to be done. He ain’t fit to be left to hisself—not alone—not as he is at present. He ain’t, indeed, and I wouldn’t be doing my duty if I didn’t say so. He has them sweats at night as’d be enough to kill any man; and he eats nothing, and he don’t do nothing; and as for that poor little boy as is now in my own bed upstairs, if it wasn’t that I and my Bessy is fond of children, I don’t know what would become of that boy.”
Trevelyan, finding it impossible to get rid of her, had stood quietly, while he listened to her. “She has been good to my child,” he said. “I acknowledge it. As for myself, I have not been well. It is true. But I am told that travel will set me on my feet again. Change of air will do it.” Not long since he had been urging the wretchedness of his own bodily health as a reason why his wife should yield to him; but now, when his sickness was brought as a charge against him—was adduced as a reason why his friends should interfere, and look after him, and concern themselves in his affairs, he saw at once that it was necessary that he should make little of his ailments.
“Would it not be best, Trevelyan, that you should come with me to a doctor?” said Sir Marmaduke.
“No;—no. I have my own doctor. That is, I know the course which I should follow. This place, though it is good for the boy, has disagreed with me, and my life has not been altogether pleasant;—I may say, by no means pleasant. Troubles have told upon me, but change of air will mend it all.”
“I wish you would come with me, at once, to London. You shall come back, you know. I will not detain you.”
“Thank you—no. I will not trouble you. That will do, Mrs. Fuller. You have intended to do your duty, no doubt, and now you can go.” Whereupon Mrs. Fuller did go. “I am obliged for your care, Sir Marmaduke, but I can really do very well without troubling you.”
“You cannot suppose, Trevelyan, that we can allow things to go on like this.”
“And what do you mean to do?”
“Well;—I shall take advice. I shall go to a lawyer—and to a doctor, and perhaps to the Lord Chancellor, and all that kind of thing. We can’t let things go on like this.”
“You can do as you please,” said Trevelyan, “but as you have threatened me, I must ask you to leave me.”
Sir Marmaduke could do no more, and could say no more, and he took his leave, shaking hands with the man, and speaking to him with a courtesy which astonished himself. It was impossible to maintain the strength of his indignation against a poor creature who was so manifestly unable to guide himself. But when he was in London he drove at once to the house of Dr. Trite Turbury, and remained there till the doctor returned from his round of visits. According to the great authority, there was much still to be done before even the child could be rescued out of the father’s hands. “I can’t act without the lawyers,” said Dr. Turbury. But he explained to Sir Marmaduke what steps should be taken in such a matter.
Trevelyan, in the meantime, clearly understanding that hostile measures would now be taken against him, set his mind to work to think how best he might escape at once to America with his boy.
LXX
Showing What Nora Rowley Thought About Carriages
Sir Marmaduke, on his return home from Dr. Turbury’s house, found that he had other domestic troubles on hand over and above those arising from his elder daughter’s position. Mr. Hugh Stanbury had been in Manchester Street during his absence, and had asked for him, and, finding that he was away from home, had told his story to Lady Rowley. When he had been shown upstairs all the four daughters had been with their mother; but he had said a word or two signifying his desire to speak to Lady Rowley, and the three girls had left the room. In this way it came to pass that he had to plead his cause before Nora’s mother and her elder sister. He had pleaded it well, and Lady Rowley’s heart had been well disposed towards him; but when she asked of his house and his home, his answer had been hardly more satisfactory than that of Alan-a-Dale. There was little that he could call his own beyond “The blue vault of heaven.” Had he saved any money? No—not a shilling;—that was to say—as he himself expressed it—nothing that could be called money. He had a few pounds by him, just to go on with. What was his income? Well—last year he had made four hundred pounds, and this year he hoped to make something more. He thought he could see his way plainly to five hundred a year. Was it permanent; and if not, on what did it depend? He believed
