A great day for the doctors / [Charles Dickens].

  • Dickens, Charles, 1812-1870.
Date:
[1851]
Catalogue details

Licence: Public Domain Mark

Credit: A great day for the doctors / [Charles Dickens]. Source: Wellcome Collection.

Provider: This material has been provided by The Royal College of Surgeons of England. The original may be consulted at The Royal College of Surgeons of England.

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    it. If the course of her life, and the temper of her mind did not entitle her to peace within, he did not know who could hope for it. Somebody whispered that it would be dreadful if a shocking mortal disease should be seizing upon her: whereupon he, Mr. Gurney, observed that he thought he should have known if any such thing was to be apprehended. As far as a fit of indigestion went, he believed she suffered occasionally; but she did not herself admit even that. Dr. Eobinson, who was present, said that Mrs. Wharton’s friends might be quite easy about her health. She was not troubled with indigestion, nor with any other complaint. People could only go on to ask one another what could be the matter. One or two agreed that Mr. Gurney had made very skilful answers, in which he was much assisted by his curious customary gestures ; but that he had never said that he did not know of any trouble being on Mrs. Wharton’s mind. Soon after this, a like mysterious change appeared to come over the daughter ; but no disasters could be discovered to have hap- pened. No disease, no money losses, no family anxieties were heard of; and, by degrees, both the ladies recovered nearly their former cheerfulness and ease of manner,—nearly, but not altogether. They appeared somewhat subdued, in countenance and bearing; and they kept a solemn silence when some sub- jects were talked of, which often turn up by the Christmas fireside. It was years before the matter was explained. My mother was married by that time, and removed from her smoky native town, to a much brighter city in the south. She used to tell us, as we grew up, the story of Mrs. Wharton, and what she endured ; and we could, if we had not been ashamed, have gone on to say, as if we had still been little children, “ tell us again.” When we were going into the north to visit our grandparents, it was all very well to tell us of coal-waggons that we should see running without horses, or iron rails laid down in the roads ; and of the keelmen rowing their keel- boats in the river, and all at once kicking up their right legs behind them, when they gave the long pull; and of the glass-houses in the town, with fire coming out of the top of the high chimneys; and of the ever-burning mounds near the mouths of the coal-pits, where blue and yellow flames leaped about, all night, through the whole year round. It was all very well to think of seeing these things ; but we thought much more of walk- ing past old Mrs. Wharton house, and perhaps inducing Mr, Gurney to tell us, in his way, the story we had so often heard my mother tell in hers. The story was this. One Midsummer morning Mrs. Wharton was so absent at breakfast, that her daughter found all attempts at conversation to be in vain. So she quietly filled the cofiee-pot. which her mother had forgotten to do, and inlj the middle of the forenoon ordered dinner | which she found her mother had also for-j gotten. ^ They had just such a breakfasting] three times more during the next fortnight.] Then, on Miss Wharton crossing the hall, she '< met her mother in bonnet and shawl, about to I go out, so early as half-past nine. The cir-'i cumstance would not have been remarked,'t but for the mother’s confused and abashed' way of accounting for going out. She should ji not be gone long. She had only a little call; to make, and so on. The call was on Mr. Gurney. He had hardly done breakfast, when he was told that Mrs, Wharton wished | to speak with him alone. When he entered the study, Mrs. Wharton ' seemed to be as unready with her words as. himself; and when he shook hands with her,' he observed that her hand was cold. She ^ said she was well, however. Then came a pause during which the good pastor was shifting from one foot to the other, on the hearth-rug, with his hands behind him, though there was nothing in the grate but shavings. Mrs. Wharton, meantime, was putting her veil up and down, and her gloves on and ofii At last, with a constrained and painful smile, she said that she was really ashamed to say what she came to say, but she must say it; and she believed and hoped that Mr. Gurney had known her long enough to be aware that she was not subject to foolish fancies and absurd fears. “No one further from it,” he dropped, and now he fixed his eyes on her face. Her eyes fell under his, when she went on. “ For some time past, I have suffered from a most frightful visitation in the night.” “ Visitation ! What sort of visitation ? ” She turned visibly cold while she answered “ It was last Wednesday fortnight that I awoke in the middle of the night—that is be- tween two and three in the morning, when it was getting quite light, and I saw—” She choked a little, and stopped. “Well!” said Mr. Gurney, “What did you see ? ” “ I saw at the bottom of the bed, a most hideous—a most detestable face—^gibbering, and making mouths at me.” “ A face ! ” “ Yes; I could see only the face (except, indeed, a hand upon the bedpost), because it peeped round the bedpost from behind the curtain. The curtains are drawn down to the foot of the bed.” She stole a look at Mr. Gurney. He was rolling his head ;■ and there was a working about his mouth before he asked— “ What time did you sup that night ? ” “Now,” she replied, “you are not going to say, I hope, that it was nightmare. Most people would; but I hoped that you knew me better than to suppose that I eat such suppers as would occasion nightmare, or that I should not know nightmare from reality.”