were dashed to the ground, as he had saved very little from his income of a thousand a-year, which his situation under government yielded him, and as he died intestate, all his effects were sold, the proceeds of the sale divided between five of us—four sisters and myself—and when his affairs were wound up, we found ourselves each in possession of four hundred pounds. My sisters made up their minds at once to proceed to Australia, where an aunt of theirs was comfortably settled; but I preferred remaining in England, having no taste for life in the bush.
I was looking out for a situation as assistant to a country practitioner, when an old friend of my father’s informed me of something that he imagined would suit me. Sir Clement Trevanion of—well, we will say,—Monkton Bassett, was desirous of securing my services, as a painful disorder of long standing rendered it necessary that he should be constantly attended by a skilful medical man. Mr. Forrest (my informant) added:
“His present medical attendant, Mr. Simpson, whom I have known for years, is about to leave him, and has written to me to find somebody to take his place. You will receive five hundred a-year, have carriages and horses at your service, and only one patient to attend to. Not a bad beginning, eh?”
“It is so far beyond my hopes or expectations,” I replied, “that I shall only be too thankful to obtain it, if I have the chance.”
“You may make sure of it, my dear fellow,” was the reply. “Simpson’s recommendation is all-powerful with the baronet, and my recommendation is all that Simpson requires. I will write to him by the next post, and you will hear from him shortly, no doubt. Now I must be off. Will you dine with me to-morrow?”
“With pleasure,” I replied; and we parted.
In two days I had a letter from Mr. Simpson, settling everything satisfactorily, and a week afterwards I found myself in the presence of Sir Clement Trevanion, a tall, dark, unhealthy-looking man of about forty-seven years of age. He gave me a searching glance with his deeply-set eyes, and then received me graciously enough. Mr. Simpson, who had remained at Monkton Bassett, to initiate me into the method he had pursued in the treatment of his patient, had a long conversation with me, and from him I found that all was not couleur de rose at Monkton Bassett, as I had almost been sure would be the case.
Imprimis, I was never to range beyond the grounds without permission.
Secondly, I was to exercise a strict surveillance over my patient’s diet—a very disagreeable task.
Thirdly, I was to sleep in a room adjoining Sir Clement’s, that I might always be within call. The carriages and horses were to be at my service when I rode out with Sir Clement, who could not take horse-exercise.
“Apart from those little drawbacks,” said Mr. Simpson, noticing the gradual elongation of my face, as he gave me the above particulars, “my stay here has been pleasant enough. Besides, it is not for life, you know. I have now been with Sir Clement nine years, and with my savings intend to buy a practice. Why should you not do the same?”
“Be that as it may,” I replied, “I have accepted the situation, and mean to perform my duties conscientiously.”
“Ah! that’s right,” was the reply. “You’ll get on very well with Sir Clement, no doubt.”
I could see, however, that he was overjoyed to be emancipated from his thraldom. But he gave me many judicious hints respecting Sir Clement’s management, and much sound advice besides, for which I was, and still am very grateful.
Thus was I installed at Monkton Bassett.
The very day that Mr. Simpson left, the baronet gave me a sample of what I might expect. There was a fine haunch of venison on the table, and I, who officiated as carver, helped him to a slice of it. On the plate being placed before him, he said, sharply,
“Take it away. I cannot eat the lean of venison.”
“The fat is poison to you, Sir Clement,” I remonstrated, “and I am sure that Mr. Simpson—”
“Take it away,” thundered Sir Clement, “I’ll have none!”
And it was the same with almost every dish on the table. I began to fear that I should not “get on” very well with my patient, but while he was sulking, I began talking (having all the talk to myself, however), and fortunately happened to relate an anecdote which tickled his fancy. His brow relaxed, and after laughing heartily, he ate some boiled mutton which I recommended.
The evening passed pleasantly, Sir Clement drawing me out as much as possible to speak on various subjects. The next morning, after breakfast, I tried to persuade him to refrain from ordering for dinner anything injurious to him, but he cut me short by saying:
“I like to see a well-appointed table.”
“But, Sir Clement,” I urged, “surely you can order an excellent—nay a very sumptuous dinner, without subjecting yourself to the torments of Tantalus! And consider the unpleasant duty I have to perform, of prohibiting you from tasting what you would prefer.”
“Mr. Milburn!” said Sir Clement, abruptly, “I like to see certain dishes on my table, whether I partake of them, or not. There!”
Of course no more could be said, and for some time we had daily squabbles of a similar kind; but I discovered afterwards that Sir Clement pursued this course of contradiction, partly because it afforded him a pleasurable excitement, and partly to try the temper of his medical man. Mr. Simpson, it appeared, took refuge in silence, after a snappish reply or two, but I pursued a different method.
After a while he became more manageable, and one day, said:
“I like you very much, Milburn; much better than I did Simpson. He was a clever, conscientious man, but he certainly might have made himself more pleasant. However, perhaps he could not, therefore it was his misfortune not his fault, still, I am very glad that you do not resemble him.