CHAPTER XX--A FLIGHT
Rosa no sooner came to herself than the whole of the late interview wasbefore her. It even seemed as if it had pursued her into herinsensibility, and she had not had a moment's unconsciousness of it.What to do, she was at a frightened loss to know: the only one clearthought in her mind was, that she must fly from this terrible man.
But where could she take refuge, and how could she go? She had neverbreathed her dread of him to any one but Helena. If she went to Helena,and told her what had passed, that very act might bring down theirreparable mischief that he threatened he had the power, and that sheknew he had the will, to do. The more fearful he appeared to her excitedmemory and imagination, the more alarming her responsibility appeared;seeing that a slight mistake on her part, either in action or delay,might let his malevolence loose on Helena's brother.
Rosa's mind throughout the last six months had been stormily confused. Ahalf-formed, wholly unexpressed suspicion tossed in it, now heavingitself up, and now sinking into the deep; now gaining palpability, andnow losing it. Jasper's self-absorption in his nephew when he was alive,and his unceasing pursuit of the inquiry how he came by his death, if hewere dead, were themes so rife in the place, that no one appeared able tosuspect the possibility of foul play at his hands. She had asked herselfthe question, 'Am I so wicked in my thoughts as to conceive a wickednessthat others cannot imagine?' Then she had considered, Did the suspicioncome of her previous recoiling from him before the fact? And if so, wasnot that a proof of its baselessness? Then she had reflected, 'Whatmotive could he have, according to my accusation?' She was ashamed toanswer in her mind, 'The motive of gaining _me_!' And covered her face,as if the lightest shadow of the idea of founding murder on such an idlevanity were a crime almost as great.
She ran over in her mind again, all that he had said by the sun-dial inthe garden. He had persisted in treating the disappearance as murder,consistently with his whole public course since the finding of the watchand shirt-pin. If he were afraid of the crime being traced out, would henot rather encourage the idea of a voluntary disappearance? He had evendeclared that if the ties between him and his nephew had been lessstrong, he might have swept 'even him' away from her side. Was that likehis having really done so? He had spoken of laying his six months'labours in the cause of a just vengeance at her feet. Would he have donethat, with that violence of passion, if they were a pretence? Would hehave ranged them with his desolate heart and soul, his wasted life, hispeace and his despair? The very first sacrifice that he representedhimself as making for her, was his fidelity to his dear boy after death.Surely these facts were strong against a fancy that scarcely dared tohint itself. And yet he was so terrible a man! In short, the poor girl(for what could she know of the criminal intellect, which its ownprofessed students perpetually misread, because they persist in trying toreconcile it with the average intellect of average men, instead ofidentifying it as a horrible wonder apart) could get by no road to anyother conclusion than that he _was_ a terrible man, and must be fledfrom.
She had been Helena's stay and comfort during the whole time. She hadconstantly assured her of her full belief in her brother's innocence, andof her sympathy with him in his misery. But she had never seen him sincethe disappearance, nor had Helena ever spoken one word of his avowal toMr. Crisparkle in regard of Rosa, though as a part of the interest of thecase it was well known far and wide. He was Helena's unfortunatebrother, to her, and nothing more. The assurance she had given herodious suitor was strictly true, though it would have been better (sheconsidered now) if she could have restrained herself from so giving it.Afraid of him as the bright and delicate little creature was, her spiritswelled at the thought of his knowing it from her own lips.
But where was she to go? Anywhere beyond his reach, was no reply to thequestion. Somewhere must be thought of. She determined to go to herguardian, and to go immediately. The feeling she had imparted to Helenaon the night of their first confidence, was so strong upon her--thefeeling of not being safe from him, and of the solid walls of the oldconvent being powerless to keep out his ghostly following of her--that noreasoning of her own could calm her terrors. The fascination ofrepulsion had been upon her so long, and now culminated so darkly, thatshe felt as if he had power to bind her by a spell. Glancing out atwindow, even now, as she rose to dress, the sight of the sun-dial onwhich he had leaned when he declared himself, turned her cold, and madeher shrink from it, as though he had invested it with some awful qualityfrom his own nature.
She wrote a hurried note to Miss Twinkleton, saying that she had suddenreason for wishing to see her guardian promptly, and had gone to him;also, entreating the good lady not to be uneasy, for all was well withher. She hurried a few quite useless articles into a very little bag,left the note in a conspicuous place, and went out, softly closing thegate after her.
It was the first time she had ever been even in Cloisterham High Streetalone. But knowing all its ways and windings very well, she hurriedstraight to the corner from which the omnibus departed. It was, at thatvery moment, going off.
'Stop and take me, if you please, Joe. I am obliged to go to London.'
In less than another minute she was on her road to the railway, underJoe's protection. Joe waited on her when she got there, put her safelyinto the railway carriage, and handed in the very little bag after her,as though it were some enormous trunk, hundredweights heavy, which shemust on no account endeavour to lift.
'Can you go round when you get back, and tell Miss Twinkleton that yousaw me safely off, Joe?'
'It shall be done, Miss.'
'With my love, please, Joe.'
'Yes, Miss--and I wouldn't mind having it myself!' But Joe did notarticulate the last clause; only thought it.
Now that she was whirling away for London in real earnest, Rosa was atleisure to resume the thoughts which her personal hurry had checked. Theindignant thought that his declaration of love soiled her; that she couldonly be cleansed from the stain of its impurity by appealing to thehonest and true; supported her for a time against her fears, andconfirmed her in her hasty resolution. But as the evening grew darkerand darker, and the great city impended nearer and nearer, the doubtsusual in such cases began to arise. Whether this was not a wildproceeding, after all; how Mr. Grewgious might regard it; whether sheshould find him at the journey's end; how she would act if he wereabsent; what might become of her, alone, in a place so strange andcrowded; how if she had but waited and taken counsel first; whether, ifshe could now go back, she would not do it thankfully; a multitude ofsuch uneasy speculations disturbed her, more and more as theyaccumulated. At length the train came into London over the housetops;and down below lay the gritty streets with their yet un-needed lampsa-glow, on a hot, light, summer night.
'Hiram Grewgious, Esquire, Staple Inn, London.' This was all Rosa knewof her destination; but it was enough to send her rattling away again ina cab, through deserts of gritty streets, where many people crowded atthe corner of courts and byways to get some air, and where many otherpeople walked with a miserably monotonous noise of shuffling of feet onhot paving-stones, and where all the people and all their surroundingswere so gritty and so shabby!
There was music playing here and there, but it did not enliven the case.No barrel-organ mended the matter, and no big drum beat dull care away.Like the chapel bells that were also going here and there, they onlyseemed to evoke echoes from brick surfaces, and dust from everything. Asto the flat wind-instruments, they seemed to have cracked their heartsand souls in pining for the country.
Her jingling conveyance stopped at last at a fast-closed gateway, whichappeared to belong to somebody who had gone to bed very early, and wasmuch afraid of housebreakers; Rosa, discharging her conveyance, timidlyknocked at this gateway, and was let in, very little bag and all, by awatchman.
'Does Mr. Grewgious live here?'
'Mr. Grewgious lives there, Miss,' said the watchman, pointing furtherin.
&nbs
p; So Rosa went further in, and, when the clocks were striking ten, stood onP. J. T.'s doorsteps, wondering what P. J. T. had done with hisstreet-door.
Guided by the painted name of Mr. Grewgious, she went up-stairs andsoftly tapped and tapped several times. But no one answering, and Mr.Grewgious's door-handle yielding to her touch, she went in, and saw herguardian sitting on a window-seat at an open window, with a shaded lampplaced far from him on a table in a corner.
Rosa drew nearer to him in the twilight of the room. He saw her, and hesaid, in an undertone: 'Good Heaven!'
Rosa fell upon his neck, with tears, and then he said, returning herembrace:
'My child, my child! I thought you were your mother!--But what, what,what,' he added, soothingly, 'has happened? My dear, what has broughtyou here? Who has brought you here?'
'No one. I came alone.'
'Lord bless me!' ejaculated Mr. Grewgious. 'Came alone! Why didn't youwrite to me to come and fetch you?'
'I had no time. I took a sudden resolution. Poor, poor Eddy!'
'Ah, poor fellow, poor fellow!'
'His uncle has made love to me. I cannot bear it,' said Rosa, at oncewith a burst of tears, and a stamp of her little foot; 'I shudder withhorror of him, and I have come to you to protect me and all of us fromhim, if you will?'
'I will,' cried Mr. Grewgious, with a sudden rush of amazing energy.'Damn him!
"Confound his politics! Frustrate his knavish tricks! On Thee his hopes to fix? Damn him again!"'
After this most extraordinary outburst, Mr. Grewgious, quite besidehimself, plunged about the room, to all appearance undecided whether hewas in a fit of loyal enthusiasm, or combative denunciation.
He stopped and said, wiping his face: 'I beg your pardon, my dear, butyou will be glad to know I feel better. Tell me no more just now, or Imight do it again. You must be refreshed and cheered. What did you takelast? Was it breakfast, lunch, dinner, tea, or supper? And what willyou take next? Shall it be breakfast, lunch, dinner, tea, or supper?'
The respectful tenderness with which, on one knee before her, he helpedher to remove her hat, and disentangle her pretty hair from it, was quitea chivalrous sight. Yet who, knowing him only on the surface, would haveexpected chivalry--and of the true sort, too; not the spurious--from Mr.Grewgious?
'Your rest too must be provided for,' he went on; 'and you shall have theprettiest chamber in Furnival's. Your toilet must be provided for, andyou shall have everything that an unlimited head chambermaid--by whichexpression I mean a head chambermaid not limited as to outlay--canprocure. Is that a bag?' he looked hard at it; sooth to say, it requiredhard looking at to be seen at all in a dimly lighted room: 'and is ityour property, my dear?'
'Yes, sir. I brought it with me.'
'It is not an extensive bag,' said Mr. Grewgious, candidly, 'thoughadmirably calculated to contain a day's provision for a canary-bird.Perhaps you brought a canary-bird?'
Rosa smiled and shook her head.
'If you had, he should have been made welcome,' said Mr. Grewgious, 'andI think he would have been pleased to be hung upon a nail outside and pithimself against our Staple sparrows; whose execution must be admitted tobe not quite equal to their intention. Which is the case with so many ofus! You didn't say what meal, my dear. Have a nice jumble of allmeals.'
Rosa thanked him, but said she could only take a cup of tea. Mr.Grewgious, after several times running out, and in again, to mention suchsupplementary items as marmalade, eggs, watercresses, salted fish, andfrizzled ham, ran across to Furnival's without his hat, to give hisvarious directions. And soon afterwards they were realised in practice,and the board was spread.
'Lord bless my soul,' cried Mr. Grewgious, putting the lamp upon it, andtaking his seat opposite Rosa; 'what a new sensation for a poor oldAngular bachelor, to be sure!'
[Picture: Mr. Grewgious experiences a new sensation]
Rosa's expressive little eyebrows asked him what he meant?
'The sensation of having a sweet young presence in the place, thatwhitewashes it, paints it, papers it, decorates it with gilding, andmakes it Glorious!' said Mr. Grewgious. 'Ah me! Ah me!'
As there was something mournful in his sigh, Rosa, in touching him withher tea-cup, ventured to touch him with her small hand too.
'Thank you, my dear,' said Mr. Grewgious. 'Ahem! Let's talk!'
'Do you always live here, sir?' asked Rosa.
'Yes, my dear.'
'And always alone?'
'Always alone; except that I have daily company in a gentleman by thename of Bazzard, my clerk.'
'_He_ doesn't live here?'
'No, he goes his way, after office hours. In fact, he is off duty here,altogether, just at present; and a firm down-stairs, with which I havebusiness relations, lend me a substitute. But it would be extremelydifficult to replace Mr. Bazzard.'
'He must be very fond of you,' said Rosa.
'He bears up against it with commendable fortitude if he is,' returnedMr. Grewgious, after considering the matter. 'But I doubt if he is. Notparticularly so. You see, he is discontented, poor fellow.'
'Why isn't he contented?' was the natural inquiry.
'Misplaced,' said Mr. Grewgious, with great mystery.
Rosa's eyebrows resumed their inquisitive and perplexed expression.
'So misplaced,' Mr. Grewgious went on, 'that I feel constantly apologetictowards him. And he feels (though he doesn't mention it) that I havereason to be.'
Mr. Grewgious had by this time grown so very mysterious, that Rosa didnot know how to go on. While she was thinking about it Mr. Grewgioussuddenly jerked out of himself for the second time:
'Let's talk. We were speaking of Mr. Bazzard. It's a secret, andmoreover it is Mr. Bazzard's secret; but the sweet presence at my tablemakes me so unusually expansive, that I feel I must impart it ininviolable confidence. What do you think Mr. Bazzard has done?'
'O dear!' cried Rosa, drawing her chair a little nearer, and her mindreverting to Jasper, 'nothing dreadful, I hope?'
'He has written a play,' said Mr. Grewgious, in a solemn whisper. 'Atragedy.'
Rosa seemed much relieved.
'And nobody,' pursued Mr. Grewgious in the same tone, 'will hear, on anyaccount whatever, of bringing it out.'
Rosa looked reflective, and nodded her head slowly; as who should say,'Such things are, and why are they!'
'Now, you know,' said Mr. Grewgious, '_I_ couldn't write a play.'
'Not a bad one, sir?' said Rosa, innocently, with her eyebrows again inaction.
'No. If I was under sentence of decapitation, and was about to beinstantly decapitated, and an express arrived with a pardon for thecondemned convict Grewgious if he wrote a play, I should be under thenecessity of resuming the block, and begging the executioner to proceedto extremities,--meaning,' said Mr. Grewgious, passing his hand under hischin, 'the singular number, and this extremity.'
Rosa appeared to consider what she would do if the awkward supposititiouscase were hers.
'Consequently,' said Mr. Grewgious, 'Mr. Bazzard would have a sense of myinferiority to himself under any circumstances; but when I am his master,you know, the case is greatly aggravated.'
Mr. Grewgious shook his head seriously, as if he felt the offence to be alittle too much, though of his own committing.
'How came you to be his master, sir?' asked Rosa.
'A question that naturally follows,' said Mr. Grewgious. 'Let's talk.Mr. Bazzard's father, being a Norfolk farmer, would have furiously laidabout him with a flail, a pitch-fork, and every agricultural implementavailable for assaulting purposes, on the slightest hint of his son'shaving written a play. So the son, bringing to me the father's rent(which I receive), imparted his secret, and pointed out that he wasdetermined to pursue his genius, and that it would put him in peril ofstarvation, and that he was not formed for it.'
'For pursuing his genius, sir?'
'No, my dear,' said Mr. Grewgi
ous, 'for starvation. It was impossible todeny the position, that Mr. Bazzard was not formed to be starved, and Mr.Bazzard then pointed out that it was desirable that I should standbetween him and a fate so perfectly unsuited to his formation. In thatway Mr. Bazzard became my clerk, and he feels it very much.'
'I am glad he is grateful,' said Rosa.
'I didn't quite mean that, my dear. I mean, that he feels thedegradation. There are some other geniuses that Mr. Bazzard has becomeacquainted with, who have also written tragedies, which likewise nobodywill on any account whatever hear of bringing out, and these choicespirits dedicate their plays to one another in a highly panegyricalmanner. Mr. Bazzard has been the subject of one of these dedications.Now, you know, I never had a play dedicated to _me_!'
Rosa looked at him as if she would have liked him to be the recipient ofa thousand dedications.
'Which again, naturally, rubs against the grain of Mr. Bazzard,' said Mr.Grewgious. 'He is very short with me sometimes, and then I feel that heis meditating, "This blockhead is my master! A fellow who couldn't writea tragedy on pain of death, and who will never have one dedicated to himwith the most complimentary congratulations on the high position he hastaken in the eyes of posterity!" Very trying, very trying. However, ingiving him directions, I reflect beforehand: "Perhaps he may not likethis," or "He might take it ill if I asked that;" and so we get on verywell. Indeed, better than I could have expected.'
'Is the tragedy named, sir?' asked Rosa.
'Strictly between ourselves,' answered Mr. Grewgious, 'it has adreadfully appropriate name. It is called The Thorn of Anxiety. But Mr.Bazzard hopes--and I hope--that it will come out at last.'
It was not hard to divine that Mr. Grewgious had related the Bazzardhistory thus fully, at least quite as much for the recreation of hisward's mind from the subject that had driven her there, as for thegratification of his own tendency to be social and communicative.
'And now, my dear,' he said at this point, 'if you are not too tired totell me more of what passed to-day--but only if you feel quite able--Ishould be glad to hear it. I may digest it the better, if I sleep on itto-night.'
Rosa, composed now, gave him a faithful account of the interview. Mr.Grewgious often smoothed his head while it was in progress, and begged tobe told a second time those parts which bore on Helena and Neville. WhenRosa had finished, he sat grave, silent, and meditative for a while.
'Clearly narrated,' was his only remark at last, 'and, I hope, clearlyput away here,' smoothing his head again. 'See, my dear,' taking her tothe open window, 'where they live! The dark windows over yonder.'
'I may go to Helena to-morrow?' asked Rosa.
'I should like to sleep on that question to-night,' he answereddoubtfully. 'But let me take you to your own rest, for you must needit.'
With that Mr. Grewgious helped her to get her hat on again, and hung uponhis arm the very little bag that was of no earthly use, and led her bythe hand (with a certain stately awkwardness, as if he were going to walka minuet) across Holborn, and into Furnival's Inn. At the hotel door, heconfided her to the Unlimited head chambermaid, and said that while shewent up to see her room, he would remain below, in case she should wishit exchanged for another, or should find that there was anything shewanted.
Rosa's room was airy, clean, comfortable, almost gay. The Unlimited hadlaid in everything omitted from the very little bag (that is to say,everything she could possibly need), and Rosa tripped down the great manystairs again, to thank her guardian for his thoughtful and affectionatecare of her.
'Not at all, my dear,' said Mr. Grewgious, infinitely gratified; 'it is Iwho thank you for your charming confidence and for your charming company.Your breakfast will be provided for you in a neat, compact, and gracefullittle sitting-room (appropriate to your figure), and I will come to youat ten o'clock in the morning. I hope you don't feel very strangeindeed, in this strange place.'
'O no, I feel so safe!'
'Yes, you may be sure that the stairs are fire-proof,' said Mr.Grewgious, 'and that any outbreak of the devouring element would beperceived and suppressed by the watchmen.'
'I did not mean that,' Rosa replied. 'I mean, I feel so safe from him.'
'There is a stout gate of iron bars to keep him out,' said Mr. Grewgious,smiling; 'and Furnival's is fire-proof, and specially watched andlighted, and _I_ live over the way!' In the stoutness of hisknight-errantry, he seemed to think the last-named protection allsufficient. In the same spirit he said to the gate-porter as he wentout, 'If some one staying in the hotel should wish to send across theroad to me in the night, a crown will be ready for the messenger.' Inthe same spirit, he walked up and down outside the iron gate for the bestpart of an hour, with some solicitude; occasionally looking in betweenthe bars, as if he had laid a dove in a high roost in a cage of lions,and had it on his mind that she might tumble out.