CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
IN WHICH TOM PINCH AND HIS SISTER TAKE A LITTLE PLEASURE; BUT QUITE IN ADOMESTIC WAY, AND WITH NO CEREMONY ABOUT IT
Tom Pinch and his sister having to part, for the dispatch of themorning's business, immediately after the dispersion of the other actorsin the scene upon the wharf with which the reader has been already madeacquainted, had no opportunity of discussing the subject at that time.But Tom, in his solitary office, and Ruth, in the triangular parlour,thought about nothing else all day; and, when their hour of meeting inthe afternoon approached, they were very full of it, to be sure.
There was a little plot between them, that Tom should always come outof the Temple by one way; and that was past the fountain. Coming throughFountain Court, he was just to glance down the steps leading into GardenCourt, and to look once all round him; and if Ruth had come to meet him,there he would see her; not sauntering, you understand (on account ofthe clerks), but coming briskly up, with the best little laugh upon herface that ever played in opposition to the fountain, and beat it all tonothing. For, fifty to one, Tom had been looking for her in the wrongdirection, and had quite given her up, while she had been trippingtowards him from the first; jingling that little reticule of hers (withall the keys in it) to attract his wandering observation.
Whether there was life enough left in the slow vegetation of FountainCourt for the smoky shrubs to have any consciousness of the brightestand purest-hearted little woman in the world, is a question forgardeners, and those who are learned in the loves of plants. But, thatit was a good thing for that same paved yard to have such a delicatelittle figure flitting through it; that it passed like a smile from thegrimy old houses, and the worn flagstones, and left them duller, darker,sterner than before; there is no sort of doubt. The Temple fountainmight have leaped up twenty feet to greet the spring of hopefulmaidenhood, that in her person stole on, sparkling, through the dry anddusty channels of the Law; the chirping sparrows, bred in Templechinks and crannies, might have held their peace to listen to imaginaryskylarks, as so fresh a little creature passed; the dingy boughs, unusedto droop, otherwise than in their puny growth, might have bent down ina kindred gracefulness to shed their benedictions on her graceful head;old love letters, shut up in iron boxes in the neighbouring offices, andmade of no account among the heaps of family papers into which they hadstrayed, and of which, in their degeneracy, they formed a part, mighthave stirred and fluttered with a moment's recollection of their ancienttenderness, as she went lightly by. Anything might have happened thatdid not happen, and never will, for the love of Ruth.
Something happened, too, upon the afternoon of which the history treats.Not for her love. Oh no! quite by accident, and without the leastreference to her at all.
Either she was a little too soon, or Tom was a little too late--she wasso precise in general, that she timed it to half a minute--but no Tomwas there. Well! But was anybody else there, that she blushed so deeply,after looking round, and tripped off down the steps with such unusualexpedition?
Why, the fact is, that Mr Westlock was passing at that moment. TheTemple is a public thoroughfare; they may write up on the gates that itis not, but so long as the gates are left open it is, and will be; andMr Westlock had as good a right to be there as anybody else. But why didshe run away, then? Not being ill dressed, for she was much too neat forthat, why did she run away? The brown hair that had fallen down beneathher bonnet, and had one impertinent imp of a false flower clinging toit, boastful of its licence before all men, THAT could not have been thecause, for it looked charming. Oh! foolish, panting, frightened littleheart, why did she run away!
Merrily the tiny fountain played, and merrily the dimples sparkled onits sunny face. John Westlock hurried after her. Softly the whisperingwater broke and fell; as roguishly the dimples twinkled, as he stoleupon her footsteps.
Oh, foolish, panting, timid little heart, why did she feign to beunconscious of his coming! Why wish herself so far away, yet be soflutteringly happy there!
'I felt sure it was you,' said John, when he overtook her in thesanctuary of Garden Court. 'I knew I couldn't be mistaken.'
She was SO surprised.
'You are waiting for your brother,' said John. 'Let me bear youcompany.'
So light was the touch of the coy little hand, that he glanced down toassure himself he had it on his arm. But his glance, stopping foran instant at the bright eyes, forgot its first design, and went nofarther.
They walked up and down three or four times, speaking about Tom and hismysterious employment. Now that was a very natural and innocent subject,surely. Then why, whenever Ruth lifted up her eyes, did she let themfall again immediately, and seek the uncongenial pavement of the court?They were not such eyes as shun the light; they were not such eyesas require to be hoarded to enhance their value. They were much tooprecious and too genuine to stand in need of arts like those. Somebodymust have been looking at them!
They found out Tom, though, quickly enough. This pair of eyes descriedhim in the distance, the moment he appeared. He was staring about him,as usual, in all directions but the right one; and was as obstinatein not looking towards them, as if he had intended it. As it was plainthat, being left to himself, he would walk away home, John Westlockdarted off to stop him.
This made the approach of poor little Ruth, by herself, one of themost embarrassing of circumstances. There was Tom, manifesting extremesurprise (he had no presence of mind, that Tom, on small occasions);there was John, making as light of it as he could, but explaining at thesame time with most unnecessary elaboration; and here was she, comingtowards them, with both of them looking at her, conscious of blushing toa terrible extent, but trying to throw up her eyebrows carelessly, andpout her rosy lips, as if she were the coolest and most unconcerned oflittle women.
Merrily the fountain plashed and plashed, until the dimples, merginginto one another, swelled into a general smile, that covered the wholesurface of the basin.
'What an extraordinary meeting!' said Tom. 'I should never have dreamedof seeing you two together here.'
'Quite accidental,' John was heard to murmur.
'Exactly,' cried Tom; 'that's what I mean, you know. If it wasn'taccidental, there would be nothing remarkable in it.'
'To be sure,' said John.
'Such an out-of-the-way place for you to have met in,' pursued Tom,quite delighted. 'Such an unlikely spot!'
John rather disputed that. On the contrary, he considered it a verylikely spot, indeed. He was constantly passing to and fro there, hesaid. He shouldn't wonder if it were to happen again. His only wonderwas, that it had never happened before.
By this time Ruth had got round on the farther side of her brother, andhad taken his arm. She was squeezing it now, as much as to say 'Are yougoing to stop here all day, you dear, old, blundering Tom?'
Tom answered the squeeze as if it had been a speech. 'John,' he said,'if you'll give my sister your arm, we'll take her between us, and walkon. I have a curious circumstance to relate to you. Our meeting couldnot have happened better.'
Merrily the fountain leaped and danced, and merrily the smiling dimplestwinkled and expanded more and more, until they broke into a laughagainst the basin's rim, and vanished.
'Tom,' said his friend, as they turned into the noisy street, 'I have aproposition to make. It is, that you and your sister--if she will so farhonour a poor bachelor's dwelling--give me a great pleasure, and comeand dine with me.'
'What, to-day?' cried Tom.
'Yes, to-day. It's close by, you know. Pray, Miss Pinch, insist upon it.It will be very disinterested, for I have nothing to give you.'
'Oh! you must not believe that, Ruth,' said Tom. 'He is the mosttremendous fellow, in his housekeeping, that I ever heard of, for asingle man. He ought to be Lord Mayor. Well! what do you say? Shall wego?'
'If you please, Tom,' rejoined his dutiful little sister.
'But I mean,' said Tom, regarding her with smiling admiration; 'is thereanything you ought t
o wear, and haven't got? I am sure I don't know,John; she may not be able to take her bonnet off, for anything I cantell.'
There was a great deal of laughing at this, and there were diverscompliments from John Westlock--not compliments HE said at least (andreally he was right), but good, plain, honest truths, which no one coulddeny. Ruth laughed, and all that, but she made no objection; so it wasan engagement.
'If I had known it a little sooner,' said John, 'I would have triedanother pudding. Not in rivalry; but merely to exalt that famous one. Iwouldn't on any account have had it made with suet.'
'Why not?' asked Tom.
'Because that cookery-book advises suet,' said John Westlock; 'and ourswas made with flour and eggs.'
'Oh good gracious!' cried Tom. 'Ours was made with flour and eggs,was it? Ha, ha, ha! A beefsteak pudding made with flour and eggs! Whyanybody knows better than that. I know better than that! Ha, ha, ha!'
It is unnecessary to say that Tom had been present at the making of thepudding, and had been a devoted believer in it all through. But he wasso delighted to have this joke against his busy little sister and wastickled to that degree at having found her out, that he stoppedin Temple Bar to laugh; and it was no more to Tom, that he wasanathematized and knocked about by the surly passengers, than it wouldhave been to a post; for he continued to exclaim with unabated goodhumour, 'flour and eggs! A beefsteak pudding made with flour and eggs!'until John Westlock and his sister fairly ran away from him, and lefthim to have his laugh out by himself; which he had, and then camedodging across the crowded street to them, with such sweet temper andtenderness (it was quite a tender joke of Tom's) beaming in his face,God bless it, that it might have purified the air, though Temple Bar hadbeen, as in the golden days gone by, embellished with a row of rottinghuman heads.
There are snug chambers in those Inns where the bachelors live, and, forthe desolate fellows they pretend to be, it is quite surprising how wellthey get on. John was very pathetic on the subject of his dreary life,and the deplorable makeshifts and apologetic contrivances it involved,but he really seemed to make himself pretty comfortable. His rooms werethe perfection of neatness and convenience at any rate; and if he wereanything but comfortable, the fault was certainly not theirs.
He had no sooner ushered Tom and his sister into his best room (wherethere was a beautiful little vase of fresh flowers on the table, allready for Ruth. Just as if he had expected her, Tom said), than, seizinghis hat, he bustled out again, in his most energetically bustling, way;and presently came hurrying back, as they saw through the half-openeddoor, attended by a fiery-faced matron attired in a crunched bonnet,with particularly long strings to it hanging down her back; inconjunction with whom he instantly began to lay the cloth for dinner,polishing up the wine-glasses with his own hands, brightening the silvertop of the pepper-caster on his coat-sleeve, drawing corks and fillingdecanters, with a skill and expedition that were quite dazzling. Andas if, in the course of this rubbing and polishing, he had rubbed anenchanted lamp or a magic ring, obedient to which there were twentythousand supernatural slaves at least, suddenly there appeared a beingin a white waistcoat, carrying under his arm a napkin, and attended byanother being with an oblong box upon his head, from which a banquet,piping hot, was taken out and set upon the table.
Salmon, lamb, peas, innocent young potatoes, a cool salad, slicedcucumber, a tender duckling, and a tart--all there. They all came at theright time. Where they came from, didn't appear; but the oblong box wasconstantly going and coming, and making its arrival known to the man inthe white waistcoat by bumping modestly against the outside of the door;for, after its first appearance, it entered the room no more. Hewas never surprised, this man; he never seemed to wonder at theextraordinary things he found in the box, but took them out with a faceexpressive of a steady purpose and impenetrable character, and putthem on the table. He was a kind man; gentle in his manners, and muchinterested in what they ate and drank. He was a learned man, and knewthe flavour of John Westlock's private sauces, which he softly andfeelingly described, as he handed the little bottles round. He was agrave man, and a noiseless; for dinner being done, and wine and fruitarranged upon the board, he vanished, box and all, like something thathad never been.
'Didn't I say he was a tremendous fellow in his housekeeping?' criedTom. 'Bless my soul! It's wonderful.'
'Ah, Miss Pinch,' said John. 'This is the bright side of the life welead in such a place. It would be a dismal life, indeed, if it didn'tbrighten up to-day'
'Don't believe a word he says,' cried Tom. 'He lives here like amonarch, and wouldn't change his mode of life for any consideration. Heonly pretends to grumble.'
No, John really did not appear to pretend; for he was uncommonly earnestin his desire to have it understood that he was as dull, solitary, anduncomfortable on ordinary occasions as an unfortunate young man could,in reason, be. It was a wretched life, he said, a miserable life. Hethought of getting rid of the chambers as soon as possible; and meant,in fact, to put a bill up very shortly.
'Well' said Tom Pinch, 'I don't know where you can go, John, to be morecomfortable. That's all I can say. What do YOU say, Ruth?'
Ruth trifled with the cherries on her plate, and said that she thoughtMr Westlock ought to be quite happy, and that she had no doubt he was.
Ah, foolish, panting, frightened little heart, how timidly she said it!
'But you are forgetting what you had to tell, Tom; what occurred thismorning,' she added in the same breath.
'So I am,' said Tom. 'We have been so talkative on other topics that Ideclare I have not had time to think of it. I'll tell it you at once,John, in case I should forget it altogether.'
On Tom's relating what had passed upon the wharf, his friend was verymuch surprised, and took such a great interest in the narrative asTom could not quite understand. He believed he knew the old lady whoseacquaintance they had made, he said; and that he might venture to say,from their description of her, that her name was Gamp. But of whatnature the communication could have been which Tom had borne sounexpectedly; why its delivery had been entrusted to him; how ithappened that the parties were involved together; and what secret layat the bottom of the whole affair; perplexed him very much. Tom had beensure of his taking some interest in the matter; but was not prepared forthe strong interest he showed. It held John Westlock to the subject evenafter Ruth had left the room; and evidently made him anxious to pursueit further than as a mere subject of conversation.
'I shall remonstrate with my landlord, of course,' said Tom; 'though heis a very singular secret sort of man, and not likely to afford me muchsatisfaction; even if he knew what was in the letter.'
'Which you may swear he did,' John interposed.
'You think so?'
'I am certain of it.'
'Well!' said Tom, 'I shall remonstrate with him when I see him (hegoes in and out in a strange way, but I will try to catch him tomorrowmorning), on his having asked me to execute such an unpleasantcommission. And I have been thinking, John, that if I went down toMrs What's-her-name's in the City, where I was before, you know--MrsTodgers's--to-morrow morning, I might find poor Mercy Pecksniff there,perhaps, and be able to explain to her how I came to have any hand inthe business.'
'You are perfectly right, Tom,' returned his friend, after a shortinterval of reflection. 'You cannot do better. It is quite clear to methat whatever the business is, there is little good in it; and it is sodesirable for you to disentangle yourself from any appearance of willfulconnection with it, that I would counsel you to see her husband, if youcan, and wash your hands of it by a plain statement of the facts. I havea misgiving that there is something dark at work here, Tom. I will tellyou why, at another time; when I have made an inquiry or two myself.'
All this sounded very mysterious to Tom Pinch. But as he knew he couldrely upon his friend, he resolved to follow this advice.
Ah, but it would have been a good thing to have had a coat ofinvisibility, wherein to have watched little Ruth, when s
he was leftto herself in John Westlock's chambers, and John and her brother weretalking thus, over their wine! The gentle way in which she tried to getup a little conversation with the fiery-faced matron in the crunchedbonnet, who was waiting to attend her; after making a desperate rallyin regard of her dress, and attiring herself in a washed-out yellow gownwith sprigs of the same upon it, so that it looked like a tesselatedwork of pats of butter. That would have been pleasant. The grim andgriffin-like inflexibility with which the fiery-faced matron repelledthese engaging advances, as proceeding from a hostile and dangerouspower, who could have no business there, unless it were to deprive herof a customer, or suggest what became of the self-consuming tea andsugar, and other general trifles. That would have been agreeable. Thebashful, winning, glorious curiosity, with which little Ruth, whenfiery-face was gone, peeped into the books and nick-nacks thatwere lying about, and had a particular interest in some delicatepaper-matches on the chimney-piece; wondering who could have made them.That would have been worth seeing. The faltering hand with which shetied those flowers together; with which, almost blushing at her ownfair self as imaged in the glass, she arranged them in her breast, andlooking at them with her head aside, now half resolved to take them outagain, now half resolved to leave them where they were. That would havebeen delightful!
John seemed to think it all delightful; for coming in with Tom totea, he took his seat beside her like a man enchanted. And when thetea-service had been removed, and Tom, sitting down at the piano, becameabsorbed in some of his old organ tunes, he was still beside her at theopen window, looking out upon the twilight.
There is little enough to see in Furnival's Inn. It is a shady, quietplace, echoing to the footsteps of the stragglers who have businessthere; and rather monotonous and gloomy on summer evenings. What gave itsuch a charm to them, that they remained at the window as unconscious ofthe flight of time as Tom himself, the dreamer, while the melodies whichhad so often soothed his spirit were hovering again about him! Whatpower infused into the fading light, the gathering darkness; the starsthat here and there appeared; the evening air, the City's hum and stir,the very chiming of the old church clocks; such exquisite enthrallment,that the divinest regions of the earth spread out before their eyescould not have held them captive in a stronger chain?
The shadows deepened, deepened, and the room became quite dark. StillTom's fingers wandered over the keys of the piano, and still the windowhad its pair of tenants. At length, her hand upon his shoulder, and herbreath upon his forehead, roused Tom from his reverie.
'Dear me!' he cried, desisting with a start. 'I am afraid I have beenvery inconsiderate and unpolite.'
Tom little thought how much consideration and politeness he had shown!
'Sing something to us, my dear,' said Tom, 'let us hear your voice.Come!'
John Westlock added his entreaties with such earnestness that a flintyheart alone could have resisted them. Hers was not a flinty heart. Oh,dear no! Quite another thing.
So down she sat, and in a pleasant voice began to sing the ballads Tomloved well. Old rhyming stories, with here and there a pause for a fewsimple chords, such as a harper might have sounded in the ancient timewhile looking upward for the current of some half-remembered legend;words of old poets, wedded to such measures that the strain of musicmight have been the poet's breath, giving utterance and expression tohis thoughts; and now a melody so joyous and light-hearted, that thesinger seemed incapable of sadness, until in her inconstancy (oh wickedlittle singer!) she relapsed, and broke the listeners' hearts again;these were the simple means she used to please them. And that thesesimple means prevailed, and she DID please them, let the still darkenedchamber, and its long-deferred illumination witness.
The candles came at last, and it was time for moving homeward. Cuttingpaper carefully, and rolling it about the stalks of those same flowers,occasioned some delay; but even this was done in time, and Ruth wasready.
'Good night!' said Tom. 'A memorable and delightful visit, John! Goodnight!'
John thought he would walk with them.
'No, no. Don't!' said Tom. 'What nonsense! We can get home very wellalone. I couldn't think of taking you out.'
But John said he would rather.
'Are you sure you would rather?' said Tom. 'I am afraid you only say soout of politeness.'
John being quite sure, gave his arm to Ruth, and led her out.Fiery-face, who was again in attendance, acknowledged her departure withso cold a curtsey that it was hardly visible; and cut Tom, dead.
Their host was bent on walking the whole distance, and would not listento Tom's dissuasions. Happy time, happy walk, happy parting, happydreams! But there are some sweet day-dreams, so there are that put thevisions of the night to shame.
Busily the Temple fountain murmured in the moonlight, while Ruth laysleeping, with her flowers beside her; and John Westlock sketched aportrait--whose?--from memory.