Mr. Carlton obeyed the call: but the case assumed an alarming aspect, and after a few days he suggested that another doctor should meet him in consultation, and mentioned Mr. John Grey. The farmer, Mr. Thrupp, went to the Greys’ residence, to request Mr. John’s attendance early on the following morning. Mr. John was out, but Mr. Stephen was in; and the farmer, knowing nothing of the prejudice against the latter, arranged that he should go instead of his brother. Mr. Carlton was considerably surprised to meet him; he said nothing in his presence, but he remained to say it after Mr. Stephen had departed. This was on the morning of the day when Lady Laura made her call upon her sister. Mr. Carlton was now on his way to the farm, unconscious that Frederick Grey, bearing down upon him, had just left it.
In point of fact, Frederick had been sent up by his father to inquire the result of certain remedies ordered at the consultation. On his arrival the farmer came out to speak with him.
“You are perhaps a relation of the Mr. Greys', sir?” said he, after replying to the inquiries of Frederick.
“I am Mr. Stephen Grey’s son. Why?”
Mr. Thrupp, a simple-looking man, scratched his head.
“Then perhaps you’ll be good enough to say, sir, that we’d rather the gentleman didn’t come again,” he resumed, bringing the words out with hesitation, for he did not much like to speak them. “It has so flustered my wife to hear that he sometimes sends out poison by mistake in his physic bottles, that his visit has done her more harm than good. She is a trifle better, and she thinks Dr. Carlton can get her round now by himself. If you’ll be just good enough to say so, sir, to Mr. Stephen Grey, with our thanks for his visit of this morning.”
The indignant red dyed Frederick Grey’s features. “Who in the world told you that calumny of my father?” he asked.
“No offence, sir,” returned the farmer, civilly; “I’m sure I don’t intend any personality, for we know nothing but what we hear. After the gentleman had left, the other one, Dr. Carlton, asked how we could think of calling him into the house; he said it might have cost us our lives sometime, for he was not particular as to the making up of his medicines, and one lady had died through it. The other brother, Mr. John, was quite a reliable gentleman, he said, and it was him he had told me to call in. I asked my next door neighbour whether it was true, and he said it was true that a lady did die after taking some physic sent by him. It gave my wife such a turn, sir, that we feared she was going—and perhaps you’ll please tell him, not meaning any offence, that we’d rather he didn’t come again.”
Frederick Grey quitted the farmer, his blood rising up against the injustice done his father, the malice (as he regarded it) of Mr. Carlton. It was on returning from this very unsatisfactory interview, and when Master Frederick was in this very unsatisfactory temper, that the two unhappily came in contact, meeting exactly opposite the gate of Lady Jane Chesney.
Lady Jane might be called a third party at the meeting. She had taken a turn on the path after the departure of Laura, and on nearing the gate again heard footsteps in the road, and looked out to see Mr. Carlton close to her on the one side and Stephen Grey’s son on the other. Not caring to be so much as seen by the surgeon, she stepped aside behind the hedge until he should have passed.
But they were not to pass so soon. Mr. Carlton was striding on with a half indifferent, half supercilious nod to the boy, when the latter, bold, fearless, and angry, placed himself right in his path.
“Don’t brush by me so quickly, if you please, Mr. Carlton. I’ll thank you to explain first what it is you have been saying at Thrupp’s farm about my father.”
Mr. Carlton stared at him, stared more especially at the address; and the supercilious expression deepened on his countenance.
“You are in a passion, I should think, young sir,” was the answer, delivered with stinging blandness.
“I and Mr. Stephen Grey can settle our own affairs without your aid.”
The tone turned Frederick half mad, and he forgot his prudence. “You are a wicked, designing man,” he burst forth. “You have been working in an underhand manner to drive my father from the place; not a day passes but you are secretly traducing him. Why don’t you do it openly before his face, Mr. Carlton? Why do you do it behind his back, when he can’t defend himself?”
“I don’t know what you mean,” said Mr. Carlton. “Stand aside, and let me pass.”
“You do know what I mean,” retorted the boy, keeping his place before Mr. Carlton, so that the surgeon could not pass. “He met you in consultation at Thrupp’s this morning, and the moment his back was turned, you set on to prejudice their minds against him; saying he was in the habit of sending out poisoned medicines, and it frightened the woman so, that they will not have him again. And this has been your game for months. How dare you continue to assert that my