While thoughts as above described were occupying the mind of his lordship, he drew nearer to the domain of Smatterton, and as the view of the castle and village opened upon him, he saw more lights in the cottages than usual at that time in the evening, and he heard at a little distance sounds of more than ordinary movements. And presently there came galloping towards him a servant from the castle. Thinking that it was a messenger sent for himself, he stopped the man to ask what was the matter. The man drew up his horse just for a moment, and in hurried accents replied that Dr Greendale had been taken seriously ill, and that the Earl had given orders to ride over to M—— to fetch his lordship’s own physician. Waiting for no further interrogations the messenger rode off as fast as before.
Will it be believed that at this moment one of the first and promptest thoughts that occurred to Lord Spoonbill was the idea, that should this illness terminate fatally, the event might facilitate his designs upon Penelope? Yet so it was. This was his first and strongest feeling. He had forgotten all the fatherly kindness of that good man. He was insensible to any impression from the numberless acts and words of friendship received from the pious and holy rector. Dr Greendale had been for many years an intimate friend of the family at the castle. The Earl, though a haughty man and of very strong aristocratic feelings, had never regarded the worthy rector with any other feeling than friendship and respect; and the Countess, though not insensible to the charms and fascinations of fashionable life, yet delighted in the moral repose and the sober beauties of the pastor’s character. The Earl and Countess did not condescend to visit at the rectory, but the doors of the castle were most cheerfully open for the doctor, and there was sincerity in their language, when the noble inhabitants of the mansion declared that a more welcome guest never crossed their threshold. There must have been something good and pre-eminently good in the character of a man who could thus as it were command the moral homage of minds in the highest walks of society. The doctor was not a man of fortune or of family. His respectability was altogether personal and individual. This good man had taken very especial notice of the heir of Smatterton, and had endeavoured, according to the best of his ability, to impress upon the mind of the young lord those principles which, in after-life, might become a blessing to him; and when he could not but observe with all his natural disposition to candor and charity, that there were bad principles at work within, he endeavoured to hope for the best, and in his pastoral admonitions to the youth he did not assume the sternness of the censor, but adopted the gentle insinuating language of a friend to a friend. He was grieved, indeed, when he saw that Lord Spoonbill was likely to become a frivolous character, but he was spared the bitter mortification of knowing that he was decidedly profligate.
Miserably degraded must have been the mind of Lord Spoonbill when intelligence of the good man’s illness reached him, that he could think only, or chiefly, of the vicious benefit likely to accrue from the fatal termination of that illness. There was indeed another thought in his lordship’s mind. He could not but notice the hurry in which the messenger seemed to be, and he was also struck with the obvious sensation which the illness of the rector had created in the village. And this thought was more powerfully impressed as he rode past a few cottages near the park-gate. He there heard the comments and commendations of the humblest of the humble, and the poorest of the poor. He heard the aged tremulously uttering their lamentations; these lamentations were perhaps rather selfish, but still they were such as did honour to him for whom they were expressed, if not to those by whom they were used. Then his lordship thought within himself of the power and efficacy of moral worth; and he himself began to be almost sorry; but his more degrading and vicious thoughts had the ascendancy; and he was fully resolved not to be moved or melted by the sorrows of ignorant rustics.
He rode up to the castle, and having dismounted he proceeded immediately to the magnificent saloon, in which the Earl was so fond of sitting even when alone. As Lord Spoonbill entered the apartment, the Earl raised his eyes from a book which he was reading, and said, “You are soon returned, Spoonbill; did you find Sir George’s company not very inviting? Or, have you left Crop to enjoy the sole benefit of the worthy baronet’s wit and humour?”
“I left the baronet taking his nap after dinner, and desired Crop to stay and amuse him with his backgammon when he should wake. My visits at Neverden, you know, are never long.”
The Earl was about to resume his book, when Lord Spoonbill added, “But pray, sir, what is this account I hear from one of your people about Dr Greendale? I hope the old gentleman is not seriously ill.”
By this interrogation the Earl seemed to be roused to a recollection of what might otherwise have passed away from his mind. Laying down his book, he said:
“Oh!—ay—right: I am very sorry to tell you that the poor man is very ill. That is, so I understand—I sent immediately for my physician, and I also said that, if it were necessary, I myself would go down to the rectory and see the good man. He will be a very great loss to the village. The poor people are very much attached to him, and I believe he is very conscientiously attentive to his duties. We must do all we can for him.”
“Certainly, we must. I am sure I should be extremely sorry to lose him. What is the nature of his complaint? I was at the rectory last night, and he seemed perfectly well.”
“They tell me,” replied the Earl, “that it is a fit of apoplexy, and that the poor man is in a state of total insensibility. I would certainly go down and see him, late as it is, if I thought it would do him any good. I shall hear what my physician says.”