The Challenge of Love. Victorian Romance Novel

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      The drawing-room of Prospect House reminded Wolfe of the conventional idea of heaven, in that it was full of much gold and of things that glittered. The pictures were all in gold frames, and the mirrors vied with the pictures. Lustres glittered on the great central chandelier and on the candlesticks upon the marble mantelpiece. The clock was a monstrous creation in gold. The turkey-red curtains were edged with gold braid and looped back with gold tasselled cords. Purplish red tapestry covered the sofa, ottoman, and chairs, the upholstering being finished off with red gimp and brass-headed nails. On the wall-paper yellow roses rambled through festoons of orange ribbons. The antimacassars were in red and yellow wool, and the carpet was not unlike a glorified antimacassar.

      Beside the fire sat a very regal little person in a huge crinoline, black bodice, and lace cap. Her round, puddy, exquisitely complacent face looked out from between clay-coloured ringlets and from under the lace, ribbons, and jet ornaments of the aforesaid cap. Her nose was a little beak, and her blue eyes protruded slightly and always retained the same hard, staring expression. Her mouth drooped at the corners over a dumpy and formless chin. As for her dress—it was of black silk, and rustled whenever she moved.

      Dr. Threadgold jumped up from mending the fire.

      “Ha—Mr. Wolfe. My dear, permit me to introduce Mr. Wolfe to you. Mr. John Wolfe—my wife, Mrs. Threadgold.”

      Wolfe’s bow did not equal the sententious dignity of the doctor’s introduction. Mrs. Threadgold gave the new assistant a very slight inclination of the head and went on with her knitting. She felt it to be part of her business in life to counteract the effects of her husband’s intense affability.

      “Draw up a chair, sir, and get warm. That’s right. Never mind the hearthrug.”

      “My dear Montague, I—must put in a word for the hearthrug, especially when the edge is all crumpled up.”

      Wolfe thrust the arm-chair a yard farther back. He caught Mrs. Threadgold’s eyes fixed upon the extreme length of his outstretched legs, and upon the muddy pair of boots that he had forgotten to change. A nervous man would have drawn up his legs and tucked his feet under the chair. Wolfe did not move.

      “Well, sir, and how do you like Navestock?” Threadgold’s spectacles beamed—“not much opportunity to judge yet, eh? We are quiet, humdrum people, but I think you will find us quite alive after our fashion. In politics, though, I am a bit of a Liberal.”

      “Montague, you know that you are nothing of the kind.”

      “My dear——”

      “Dr. Threadgold must have his facetiosities, Mr. Wolfe. The most eminent men are sometimes the most playful. I may inform you that Navestock is one of the most loyal and Conservative towns in the kingdom; as it should be, and as it will always be so long as Lord Blackwater is Lord of the Manor, the Brandons hold ‘Pardons,’ and the old families remain. I must say that the neighbourhood is a most aristocratic one, and that the gentry——”

      A gong sounded downstairs. Mrs. Threadgold ignored it.

      “That the gentry realise their responsibilities to the poor, without needing any impertinent, vulgar clamour on the part of low Radicals.”

      Dr. Threadgold pulled out his watch.

      “It is exactly one minute before the half hour, Montague.”

      “So it is, my dear.”

      “I think it right that a young man in Mr. Wolfe’s position should receive some instruction as to the character of the neighbourhood in which Dr. Threadgold is the leading physician and surgeon. I need not say that in a practice such as this——”

      The gong sounded a second time.

      “Good manners—and tact—are of great importance. Was that the gong, Montague?”

      “My dear, it was.”

      “Then we will go down to supper.”

      Mrs. Threadgold possessed the power of making nervous people lose their appetite and refuse with a fluster of self-consciousness the second helping that they so much desired. John Wolfe was as hungry as a man could be, and not being troubled with shyness, he listened gravely to Mrs. Threadgold’s tittle-tattle and kept on good terms with the round of roast beef at the end of the table. Threadgold helped him generously, for his good humour was not a surface virtue, and the doctor and his dining-room harmonized admirably. Everything was solid, comfortable, and opulent. Old portraits in oils hung upon the brown-papered walls. The sideboard was a fine piece of Sheraton, the chairs Hepplewhite, and upholstered with red brocade. The Turkey carpet claimed part of the prosperity of the practice.

      Mrs. Threadgold had an eye on Wolfe’s plate. She had been studying the new man, noticing the faded edges of his tie and the shiny buttons of his coat. Her observation dealt mainly with external details. She did not go below the surface, for to Mrs. Sophia Threadgold life was all surface, a matter of gilding, glass, fresh paint, pew cushions, silk, pasteboard, and fine linen. Wolfe impressed her as a raw gawk of a man who was inclined to be silent and sulky. He had come into her drawing-room with dirty boots, and eaten three helpings of cold beef, and these details were full of significance.

      It was an understandable impulse that drove her to talk about Sir Joshua Kermody, the senior physician at Guy’s, a gentleman with a fashionable consulting practice and a decision in the dieting of dukes and yet more distinguished persons.

      “Sir Joshua has often stayed a night with us here at Navestock. He and Dr. Threadgold were students together and great friends——”

      “O yes—I knew Kermody pretty well.”

      “One of the most perfect gentlemen I have ever met. I suppose you have often listened to Sir Joshua’s lectures, Mr. Wolfe?”

      “Yes, for one whole year.”

      “And you have followed him round the wards, too?”

      “Miles.”

      Mrs. Threadgold’s face showed some transient animation.

      “What an opportunity for you young men. Quite an education—in manners. I have often heard that medical students are such vulgar young fellows. Sir Joshua is just the one to provide them with a little polish. The hospital should be very proud of Sir Joshua.”

      Wolfe laid his knife and fork side by side and looked in his grave, penetrating way at Mrs. Threadgold. He knew old Kermody and his reputation, a man with the tastes and the manners of a Brummell, spruce, bland, and untrustworthy, obsolete in his knowledge, a man who had always refused to accept anything that was new. Kermody was one of the handsomest old snobs in London. He had grand manners and the heart of a cad.

      “We have plenty of good men at Guy’s, madam.”

      “I don’t doubt it, sir. Sir Joshua has often said that Dr. Threadgold would have been one of the leading physicians in London, if he had cared to stay there. I have no doubt that you will find Dr. Threadgold’s experience of infinite service to you. It is good for young men to sit at the feet of experience.”

      Wolfe’s eye caught the doctor’s.

      “That’s what I’ve СКАЧАТЬ