“Fainting? Jenny?” Mr Chawleigh said quickly. “Eh, that won’t do! What has Croft to say to it?”
“I didn’t inform him of it.”
“Didn’t inform him? Are you going to tell me that you brought in this other fellow without Croft was there too? And he came? If that don’t beat the Dutch! Why, it’s unheard of! Doctors don’t do such — not the bang-up ones! Jenny was Croft’s patient, and you should have told Knighton so!”
“I am afraid,” said Adam apologetically, “that by the time I saw Knighton Jenny had ceased to be Croft’s patient. He seemed so much inclined to take umbrage at my wishing for another opinion, and to be so entirely convinced of his own infallibility, that it was really quite useless for Jenny to continue with him, particularly when she didn’t like him.”
“You didn’t like him, my lord!” Mr Chawleigh shot at him.
“No, not at all.”
“Ay! So I knew! If Jenny took against him, I’ll be bound it was your doing! I see what it is! You went and picked out a quarrel with him — ”
“Picked out a quarrel with a doctor?” interrupted Adam, putting up his brows. “Good God!”
Mr Chawleigh brought his fist down with a crash on the desk. “You may think to come the lord over me, but you’ll catch cold at it! I took care to choose the best for my Jenny, and by God, I’ll not have him turned off just because you don’t like him! It’s him as pays the fiddler that calls the tune, my lord!”
Adam closely gripped his lips together, his eyes narrowed, and very hard. It was a moment or two before he could command himself, but he managed to do it, and to say, quite pleasantly: “Very true. Did you imagine that you were paying this piper, sir? Let me disabuse your mind of that misapprehension! I have settled Croft’s account as I shall settle Knighton’s, and the account of any other practitioner who may attend Jenny.”
In a towering passion, Mr Chawleigh flung down his gauntlet. “Say you so? Well, it was me that engaged Croft, and it’s me that’ll dismiss him, if I see fit, and until I do see fit he’ll continue to attend Jenny, and so I shall tell him!”
“I don’t think I should, if I were you, sir,” replied Adam, looking rather amused. “You’d be making a great cake of yourself, you know. I may not like Croft, but I am quite sure he would not be guilty of the impropriety of attending my wife without my consent. Don’t let us dispute on that head! After all, you can’t seriously wish Jenny to continue with a doctor who is doing her no good, and whom she dislikes into the bargain! My aunt said that between us all she had become nervous and depressed. That is also Knighton’s opinion. He recommends me to take her back to Fontley, and that, sir, is what I am going to do.”
Mr Chawleigh’s colour had deepened to an alarming hue. So unaccustomed was he to meeting with opposition that he listened to this speech almost with incredulity. The last words, however, loosened his tongue, and the storm of his anger broke over Adam’s head with a violence which reached the ears of the clerks in the counting-house, and caused several of the more nervous individuals there to blench and tremble. No one could distinguish what the old Tartar was saying, but no one could doubt that he was giving my lord a rare trimming, and considerable sympathy was felt for the poor young gentleman.
Adam listened to the tirade with outward calm. When in the grip of passion, it was not Mr Chawleigh’s habit to mince his words, nor did he hesitate to utter any insult which occurred to him, but only by the crease between his brows did Adam betray the effort it cost him to keep his own anger under control. There were a number of things it would have given him much pleasure to have said to Mr Chawleigh, but he said none of them. It was wholly beneath him to brangle and brawl with the purple-faced vulgarian hurling abuse at him, and he had promised Jenny that he would not quarrel with her father. So he waited in rigid silence for the storm to blow itself out.
Mr Chawleigh did not expect to meet with retort. On the other hand, to be listened to in unmoved silence was a new and disconcerting experience. By rights, this wispy son-in-law of his should be shaking in his shoes, possibly trying to stammer out excuses, certainly not sitting there, as cool as a cucumber, and looking for all the world as if he were watching a raree-show which didn’t amuse him above half. As his rage abated, something very like bewilderment entered into Mr Chawleigh. Ceasing to rail at Adam, he sat staring at him, breathing heavily, still scowling, but with so much surprise in his eyes that Adam very nearly burst out laughing.
With the tickling of his ready sense of humour, much of Adam’s own anger died away. He felt suddenly sorry for this absurd creature, who had clearly supposed that he could brow-beat him into submission. He picked up his hat and gloves, and rose, saying, with a lurking smile: “Will you dine with us tomorrow, sir? We leave town on the day after, but it would distress Jenny very much not to take leave of you.”
The veins swelled afresh in Mr Chawleigh’s face. “Dine with you?” he uttered, in choked accents. “Why, you — you — ”
“Mr Chawleigh,” interrupted Adam, “I owe you a great deal, I have a great respect for you — indeed, I have a great regard for you! — but I’ve not the remotest intention of allowing you to rule my household! If that was what you wanted to do you should have chosen another man to be Jenny’s husband. Goodbye: may I tell Jenny to expect you tomorrow?”
Mr Chawleigh strove with himself, finally enunciating ominously: “Ay! she may expect me all right and tight! But as for dining with you — I’ll be damned if I do!”
“As you wish, but she’ll be disappointed.” He went to the door, but looked back, with his hand on the knob, to say: “Don’t rip up at her, will you? She’s more easily upset just now than you may know. But I don’t think you’ll wish to when you see how much her spirits have plucked up since Knighton told her she might go back to Fontley.”
He did not wait for a response, but went away, leaving Mr Chawleigh more at a loss than he had been since the days of his boyhood. The clerks eyed Adam covertly as he passed through the counting-house, and were almost as much astonished as their employer. He bore none of the signs of one who had passed through the furnace of the Tartar’s fury: his step was firm, his brow serene, and the smile which he bestowed on the youth who leaped to hold open the door for him was perfectly untroubled. “Well — !” breathed Mr Stickney. “I wouldn’t have credited it! Not in a hundred years I wouldn’t!”
Chapter XXI
The Lyntons left London two days later, if not with Mr Chawleigh’s blessing at least without any very serious manifestations of his disapproval. His fondness for Jenny restrained him from giving her anything but the mildest of scolds, and he found it impossible, in the face of her glowing looks, to cling to his belief that it was Adam and not she who wished to return to Fontley. What maggot had entered into her head he didn’t know; but it was plain that she was as eager to be off as ever she had been to escape from Miss Satterleigh’s seminary. He was inclined to take this in bad part, but Lydia was present to coax him out of his ill-humour, and although he was at first a trifle stiff with her it was not long before he was chuckling at her sallies, and telling her with obvious mendacity that she needn’t think to come over him with her bamboozling ways.
When Adam presently entered the room, the cloud returned to Mr Chawleigh’s brow. He still seethed with resentment, and responded to Adam’s greeting with only the curtest of nods, at the same time informing his daughter that he must be off. She begged him to stay, but he said that he had an engagement in the City. He embraced her with great heartiness, and Lydia too, but when he saw that Adam meant to conduct him to his carriage he told him roughly not to trouble himself. However, Adam paid no heed to this rebuff, but followed him downstairs, nodding dismissal to the footman who was waiting to help him to put on his greatcoat, and performing this office himself.