The Mystery of Edwin Drood

  CHAPTER XVIII--A SETTLER IN CLOISTERHAM

  At about this time a stranger appeared in Cloisterham; a white-hairedpersonage, with black eyebrows. Being buttoned up in a tightish bluesurtout, with a buff waistcoat and gray trousers, he had something of amilitary air, but he announced himself at the Crozier (the orthodoxhotel, where he put up with a portmanteau) as an idle dog who lived uponhis means; and he farther announced that he had a mind to take a lodgingin the picturesque old city for a month or two, with a view of settlingdown there altogether. Both announcements were made in the coffee-roomof the Crozier, to all whom it might or might not concern, by thestranger as he stood with his back to the empty fireplace, waiting forhis fried sole, veal cutlet, and pint of sherry. And the waiter(business being chronically slack at the Crozier) represented all whom itmight or might not concern, and absorbed the whole of the information.

  This gentleman's white head was unusually large, and his shock of whitehair was unusually thick and ample. 'I suppose, waiter,' he said,shaking his shock of hair, as a Newfoundland dog might shake his beforesitting down to dinner, 'that a fair lodging for a single buffer might befound in these parts, eh?'

  The waiter had no doubt of it.

  'Something old,' said the gentleman. 'Take my hat down for a moment fromthat peg, will you? No, I don't want it; look into it. What do you seewritten there?'

  The waiter read: 'Datchery.'

  'Now you know my name,' said the gentleman; 'Dick Datchery. Hang it upagain. I was saying something old is what I should prefer, something oddand out of the way; something venerable, architectural, andinconvenient.'

  'We have a good choice of inconvenient lodgings in the town, sir, Ithink,' replied the waiter, with modest confidence in its resources thatway; 'indeed, I have no doubt that we could suit you that far, howeverparticular you might be. But a architectural lodging!' That seemed totrouble the waiter's head, and he shook it.

  'Anything Cathedraly, now,' Mr. Datchery suggested.

  'Mr. Tope,' said the waiter, brightening, as he rubbed his chin with hishand, 'would be the likeliest party to inform in that line.'

  'Who is Mr. Tope?' inquired Dick Datchery.

  The waiter explained that he was the Verger, and that Mrs. Tope hadindeed once upon a time let lodgings herself or offered to let them; butthat as nobody had ever taken them, Mrs. Tope's window-bill, long aCloisterham Institution, had disappeared; probably had tumbled down oneday, and never been put up again.

  'I'll call on Mrs. Tope,' said Mr. Datchery, 'after dinner.'

  So when he had done his dinner, he was duly directed to the spot, andsallied out for it. But the Crozier being an hotel of a most retiringdisposition, and the waiter's directions being fatally precise, he soonbecame bewildered, and went boggling about and about the Cathedral Tower,whenever he could catch a glimpse of it, with a general impression on hismind that Mrs. Tope's was somewhere very near it, and that, like thechildren in the game of hot boiled beans and very good butter, he waswarm in his search when he saw the Tower, and cold when he didn't see it.

  He was getting very cold indeed when he came upon a fragment ofburial-ground in which an unhappy sheep was grazing. Unhappy, because ahideous small boy was stoning it through the railings, and had alreadylamed it in one leg, and was much excited by the benevolent sportsmanlikepurpose of breaking its other three legs, and bringing it down.

  ''It 'im agin!' cried the boy, as the poor creature leaped; 'and made adint in his wool.'

  'Let him be!' said Mr. Datchery. 'Don't you see you have lamed him?'

  'Yer lie,' returned the sportsman. ''E went and lamed isself. I see 'imdo it, and I giv' 'im a shy as a Widdy-warning to 'im not to goa-bruisin' 'is master's mutton any more.'

  'Come here.'

  'I won't; I'll come when yer can ketch me.'

  'Stay there then, and show me which is Mr. Tope's.'

  'Ow can I stay here and show you which is Topeseses, when Topeseses ist'other side the Kinfreederal, and over the crossings, and round ever somany comers? Stoo-pid! Ya-a-ah!'

  'Show me where it is, and I'll give you something.'

  'Come on, then.'

  This brisk dialogue concluded, the boy led the way, and by-and-by stoppedat some distance from an arched passage, pointing.

  'Lookie yonder. You see that there winder and door?'

  'That's Tope's?'

  'Yer lie; it ain't. That's Jarsper's.'

  'Indeed?' said Mr. Datchery, with a second look of some interest.

  'Yes, and I ain't a-goin' no nearer 'IM, I tell yer.'

  'Why not?'

  ''Cos I ain't a-goin' to be lifted off my legs and 'ave my braces bustand be choked; not if I knows it, and not by 'Im. Wait till I set ajolly good flint a-flyin' at the back o' 'is jolly old 'ed some day! Nowlook t'other side the harch; not the side where Jarsper's door is;t'other side.'

  'I see.'

  'A little way in, o' that side, there's a low door, down two steps.That's Topeseses with 'is name on a hoval plate.'

  'Good. See here,' said Mr. Datchery, producing a shilling. 'You owe mehalf of this.'

  'Yer lie! I don't owe yer nothing; I never seen yer.'

  'I tell you you owe me half of this, because I have no sixpence in mypocket. So the next time you meet me you shall do something else for me,to pay me.'

  'All right, give us 'old.'

  'What is your name, and where do you live?'

  'Deputy. Travellers' Twopenny, 'cross the green.'

  The boy instantly darted off with the shilling, lest Mr. Datchery shouldrepent, but stopped at a safe distance, on the happy chance of his beinguneasy in his mind about it, to goad him with a demon dance expressive ofits irrevocability.

  Mr. Datchery, taking off his hat to give that shock of white hair of hisanother shake, seemed quite resigned, and betook himself whither he hadbeen directed.

  Mr. Tope's official dwelling, communicating by an upper stair with Mr.Jasper's (hence Mrs. Tope's attendance on that gentleman), was of verymodest proportions, and partook of the character of a cool dungeon. Itsancient walls were massive, and its rooms rather seemed to have been dugout of them, than to have been designed beforehand with any reference tothem. The main door opened at once on a chamber of no describable shape,with a groined roof, which in its turn opened on another chamber of nodescribable shape, with another groined roof: their windows small, and inthe thickness of the walls. These two chambers, close as to theiratmosphere, and swarthy as to their illumination by natural light, werethe apartments which Mrs. Tope had so long offered to an unappreciativecity. Mr. Datchery, however, was more appreciative. He found that if hesat with the main door open he would enjoy the passing society of allcomers to and fro by the gateway, and would have light enough. He foundthat if Mr. and Mrs. Tope, living overhead, used for their own egress andingress a little side stair that came plump into the Precincts by a dooropening outward, to the surprise and inconvenience of a limited public ofpedestrians in a narrow way, he would be alone, as in a separateresidence. He found the rent moderate, and everything as quaintlyinconvenient as he could desire. He agreed, therefore, to take thelodging then and there, and money down, possession to be had nextevening, on condition that reference was permitted him to Mr. Jasper asoccupying the gatehouse, of which on the other side of the gateway, theVerger's hole-in-the-wall was an appanage or subsidiary part.

  The poor dear gentleman was very solitary and very sad, Mrs. Tope said,but she had no doubt he would 'speak for her.' Perhaps Mr. Datchery hadheard something of what had occurred there last winter?

  Mr. Datchery had as confused a knowledge of the event in question, ontrying to recall it, as he well could have. He begged Mrs. Tope's pardonwhen she found it incumbent on her to correct him in every detail of hissummary of the facts, but pleaded that he was merely a single buffergetting through life upon his means as idly as he could, and that so manypeople were so constantly making away with so many other people, as torender it difficult for a b
uffer of an easy temper to preserve thecircumstances of the several cases unmixed in his mind.

  Mr. Jasper proving willing to speak for Mrs. Tope, Mr. Datchery, who hadsent up his card, was invited to ascend the postern staircase. The Mayorwas there, Mr. Tope said; but he was not to be regarded in the light ofcompany, as he and Mr. Jasper were great friends.

  'I beg pardon,' said Mr. Datchery, making a leg with his hat under hisarm, as he addressed himself equally to both gentlemen; 'a selfishprecaution on my part, and not personally interesting to anybody butmyself. But as a buffer living on his means, and having an idea of doingit in this lovely place in peace and quiet, for remaining span of life, Ibeg to ask if the Tope family are quite respectable?'

  Mr. Jasper could answer for that without the slightest hesitation.

  'That is enough, sir,' said Mr. Datchery.

  'My friend the Mayor,' added Mr. Jasper, presenting Mr. Datchery with acourtly motion of his hand towards that potentate; 'whose recommendationis actually much more important to a stranger than that of an obscureperson like myself, will testify in their behalf, I am sure.'

  'The Worshipful the Mayor,' said Mr. Datchery, with a low bow, 'places meunder an infinite obligation.'

  'Very good people, sir, Mr. and Mrs. Tope,' said Mr. Sapsea, withcondescension. 'Very good opinions. Very well behaved. Veryrespectful. Much approved by the Dean and Chapter.'

  'The Worshipful the Mayor gives them a character,' said Mr. Datchery, 'ofwhich they may indeed be proud. I would ask His Honour (if I might bepermitted) whether there are not many objects of great interest in thecity which is under his beneficent sway?'

  'We are, sir,' returned Mr. Sapsea, 'an ancient city, and anecclesiastical city. We are a constitutional city, as it becomes such acity to be, and we uphold and maintain our glorious privileges.'

  'His Honour,' said Mr. Datchery, bowing, 'inspires me with a desire toknow more of the city, and confirms me in my inclination to end my daysin the city.'

  'Retired from the Army, sir?' suggested Mr. Sapsea.

  'His Honour the Mayor does me too much credit,' returned Mr. Datchery.

  'Navy, sir?' suggested Mr. Sapsea.

  'Again,' repeated Mr. Datchery, 'His Honour the Mayor does me too muchcredit.'

  'Diplomacy is a fine profession,' said Mr. Sapsea, as a general remark.

  'There, I confess, His Honour the Mayor is too many for me,' said Mr.Datchery, with an ingenious smile and bow; 'even a diplomatic bird mustfall to such a gun.'

  Now this was very soothing. Here was a gentleman of a great, not to saya grand, address, accustomed to rank and dignity, really setting a fineexample how to behave to a Mayor. There was something in thatthird-person style of being spoken to, that Mr. Sapsea found particularlyrecognisant of his merits and position.

  'But I crave pardon,' said Mr. Datchery. 'His Honour the Mayor will bearwith me, if for a moment I have been deluded into occupying his time, andhave forgotten the humble claims upon my own, of my hotel, the Crozier.'

  'Not at all, sir,' said Mr. Sapsea. 'I am returning home, and if youwould like to take the exterior of our Cathedral in your way, I shall beglad to point it out.'

  'His Honour the Mayor,' said Mr. Datchery, 'is more than kind andgracious.'

  As Mr. Datchery, when he had made his acknowledgments to Mr. Jasper,could not be induced to go out of the room before the Worshipful, theWorshipful led the way down-stairs; Mr. Datchery following with his hatunder his arm, and his shock of white hair streaming in the eveningbreeze.

  'Might I ask His Honour,' said Mr. Datchery, 'whether that gentleman wehave just left is the gentleman of whom I have heard in the neighbourhoodas being much afflicted by the loss of a nephew, and concentrating hislife on avenging the loss?'

  'That is the gentleman. John Jasper, sir.'

  'Would His Honour allow me to inquire whether there are strong suspicionsof any one?'

  'More than suspicions, sir,' returned Mr. Sapsea; 'all but certainties.'

  'Only think now!' cried Mr. Datchery.

  'But proof, sir, proof must be built up stone by stone,' said the Mayor.'As I say, the end crowns the work. It is not enough that justice shouldbe morally certain; she must be immorally certain--legally, that is.'

  'His Honour,' said Mr. Datchery, 'reminds me of the nature of the law.Immoral. How true!'

  'As I say, sir,' pompously went on the Mayor, 'the arm of the law is astrong arm, and a long arm. That is the may I put it. A strong arm anda long arm.'

  'How forcible!--And yet, again, how true!' murmured Mr. Datchery.

  'And without betraying, what I call the secrets of the prison-house,'said Mr. Sapsea; 'the secrets of the prison-house is the term I used onthe bench.'

  'And what other term than His Honour's would express it?' said Mr.Datchery.

  'Without, I say, betraying them, I predict to you, knowing the iron willof the gentleman we have just left (I take the bold step of calling itiron, on account of its strength), that in this case the long arm willreach, and the strong arm will strike.--This is our Cathedral, sir. Thebest judges are pleased to admire it, and the best among our townsmen ownto being a little vain of it.'

  All this time Mr. Datchery had walked with his hat under his arm, and hiswhite hair streaming. He had an odd momentary appearance upon him ofhaving forgotten his hat, when Mr. Sapsea now touched it; and he clappedhis hand up to his head as if with some vague expectation of findinganother hat upon it.

  'Pray be covered, sir,' entreated Mr. Sapsea; magnificently plying: 'Ishall not mind it, I assure you.'

  'His Honour is very good, but I do it for coolness,' said Mr. Datchery.

  Then Mr. Datchery admired the Cathedral, and Mr. Sapsea pointed it out asif he himself had invented and built it: there were a few details indeedof which he did not approve, but those he glossed over, as if the workmenhad made mistakes in his absence. The Cathedral disposed of, he led theway by the churchyard, and stopped to extol the beauty of the evening--bychance--in the immediate vicinity of Mrs. Sapsea's epitaph.

  'And by the by,' said Mr. Sapsea, appearing to descend from an elevationto remember it all of a sudden; like Apollo shooting down from Olympus topick up his forgotten lyre; '_that_ is one of our small lions. Thepartiality of our people has made it so, and strangers have been seentaking a copy of it now and then. I am not a judge of it myself, for itis a little work of my own. But it was troublesome to turn, sir; I maysay, difficult to turn with elegance.'

  Mr. Datchery became so ecstatic over Mr. Sapsea's composition, that, inspite of his intention to end his days in Cloisterham, and therefore hisprobably having in reserve many opportunities of copying it, he wouldhave transcribed it into his pocket-book on the spot, but for theslouching towards them of its material producer and perpetuator, Durdles,whom Mr. Sapsea hailed, not sorry to show him a bright example ofbehaviour to superiors.

  'Ah, Durdles! This is the mason, sir; one of our Cloisterham worthies;everybody here knows Durdles. Mr. Datchery, Durdles a gentleman who isgoing to settle here.'

  'I wouldn't do it if I was him,' growled Durdles. 'We're a heavy lot.'

  'You surely don't speak for yourself, Mr. Durdles,' returned Mr.Datchery, 'any more than for His Honour.'

  'Who's His Honour?' demanded Durdles.

  'His Honour the Mayor.'

  'I never was brought afore him,' said Durdles, with anything but the lookof a loyal subject of the mayoralty, 'and it'll be time enough for me toHonour him when I am. Until which, and when, and where,

  "Mister Sapsea is his name, England is his nation, Cloisterham's his dwelling-place, Aukshneer's his occupation."'

  Here, Deputy (preceded by a flying oyster-shell) appeared upon the scene,and requested to have the sum of threepence instantly 'chucked' to him byMr. Durdles, whom he had been vainly seeking up and down, as lawful wagesoverdue. While that gentleman, with his bundle under his arm, slowlyfound and counted out the money, Mr. Sapsea informed the new settler ofDurdles'
s habits, pursuits, abode, and reputation. 'I suppose a curiousstranger might come to see you, and your works, Mr. Durdles, at any oddtime?' said Mr. Datchery upon that.

  'Any gentleman is welcome to come and see me any evening if he bringsliquor for two with him,' returned Durdles, with a penny between histeeth and certain halfpence in his hands; 'or if he likes to make ittwice two, he'll be doubly welcome.'

  'I shall come. Master Deputy, what do you owe me?'

  'A job.'

  'Mind you pay me honestly with the job of showing me Mr. Durdles's housewhen I want to go there.'

  Deputy, with a piercing broadside of whistle through the whole gap in hismouth, as a receipt in full for all arrears, vanished.

  The Worshipful and the Worshipper then passed on together until theyparted, with many ceremonies, at the Worshipful's door; even then theWorshipper carried his hat under his arm, and gave his streaming whitehair to the breeze.

  Said Mr. Datchery to himself that night, as he looked at his white hairin the gas-lighted looking-glass over the coffee-room chimneypiece at theCrozier, and shook it out: 'For a single buffer, of an easy temper,living idly on his means, I have had a rather busy afternoon!'