Two, by Tricks: A Novel

by Edmund Yates

Her first trial was now at hand. In former days Dr. Whitaker would have been very little more to her than a higher kind of servant; for the insolent people among whom she had lived were in the habit of treating all those who were not of their own class, no matter how far superior to themselves in everything save the accident of birth, as persons who were necessary to their well-being, but who were in no wise to be encouraged by familiarity. Among the members of the medical profession, in which throughout the world are enrolled many of the kindest, the bravest, and most independent specimens of humanity, there are, of course, to be found some who, whatever their private opinion of such treatment as this may be, have not the courage to resent it. Dr. Whitaker was one of these; the great Pickwickian sentiment of shouting in accordance with the wishes of the largest number was carried out by him to its fullest extent, and his horror of peccant mortality, when it not merely did not interfere with, but absolutely helped, his professional practice, was formidable in its sternness. When the scandal about Lady Forestfield had first been made public, Dr. Whitaker had given many a patient ten minutes of grateful ease from pain by his admirably graphic account of the whole transaction, and had stamped himself for ever in their minds as a man of the finest feelings, by his indignant denunciation of the women who bring shame and sorrow into the homes of such men as 'my excellent friend and patient, Lord Forestfield.' Of course Dr. Whitaker's conduct in this matter had been reported to May--when does any one say anything derogatory of us that we do not immediately hear of it from some one else?--and she was consequently somewhat alarmed at the idea of their meeting. Her knowledge of the world was not sufficient to suggest to her that the doctor would probably also have heard of the condonation and quasi-reconciliation that had taken place, and that more especially as his noble friend and patient was in a dangerous condition, there could be now no harm, even to a man of his respectability, in holding out the olive-branch to May.

A short stout man Dr. Whitaker, with a bald head, a red face, and a small gray whisker; his manner was bustling and self-satisfied, he was always dressed in solemn black, and invariably wore creaking boots. Many years before, when, as a young man, he first set up for himself in practice, having emancipated himself from his father--a worthy man, who kept a chemist's shop, from which he would not retire, and of whom in consequence his son was horribly ashamed--Dr. Whitaker's manner had been very different. He had crept in and out of the smallest and most modest houses, taking care to make no noise and to give no offence; he had listened for hours to the monotonous complaints of old women in little lodgings for the sake of the five shillings a visit which he was enabled to charge them, and he had been humble, deferential, and presumably grateful to many upon whom he had long since ceased to look with anything like a sign of recognition. A man of the world Dr. Whitaker, whose success in life was assured.

With persons of rank, indeed, his manner remained very much the same as it had been in bygone days to persons in lodgings, and he accordingly entered the room as softly as the creaking boots would permit him, and marched straight up to Lady Forestfield with extended hand and grave bow.

'Even under these sad circumstances,' he said, 'I cannot omit the expression of my great pleasure at seeing you once more, Lady Forestfield, under this roof; which I venture to think, had you been well advised, you would never have quitted--'

'Pray give me news of Lord Forestfield,' said May, hurriedly interrupting him; 'you have seen him just now--is there any change in his condition?'

'No change whatever,' said Dr. Whitaker. 'His lordship is certainly not better, and I do not think he is worse; but there can be no denying that he is in a very critical state, as I ventured to inform your ladyship through the medium of Sir Nugent Uffington.'

'Do you think then, Dr. Whitaker,' said May in low earnest voice, 'that there is hope of his recovery?'

'I do not say that,' replied the doctor; 'your ladyship is aware of the old proverb which says that there must be hope while there is life; and though Lord Forestfield is in extreme danger, with human skill and attention, under Divine Providence' (Whitaker always spoke of this last as a kind of copartnership) 'we may pull him through. Your ladyship, I understand, intends to remain in the house, and in case there should be any sudden change I will give orders to the nurse, that you are warned in time.'

'I do not understand you,' said May. 'If there were any sudden change I should see it, I imagine, as soon as the nurse, whose watch I intend to share.'

'What!' cried Dr. Whitaker, in high key, for he was startled out of his composure and professional manner; 'you don't mean to tell me that you are actually thinking of nursing his lordship?'