Chapter 13
If Joseph Willet, the denounced and proscribed of 'prentices, hadhappened to be at home when his father's courtly guest presented himselfbefore the Maypole door--that is, if it had not perversely chanced to beone of the half-dozen days in the whole year on which he was at libertyto absent himself for as many hours without question or reproach--hewould have contrived, by hook or crook, to dive to the very bottom of MrChester's mystery, and to come at his purpose with as much certainty asthough he had been his confidential adviser. In that fortunate case, thelovers would have had quick warning of the ills that threatened them,and the aid of various timely and wise suggestions to boot; for allJoe's readiness of thought and action, and all his sympathies and goodwishes, were enlisted in favour of the young people, and were staunch indevotion to their cause. Whether this disposition arose out of his oldprepossessions in favour of the young lady, whose history had surroundedher in his mind, almost from his cradle, with circumstances of unusualinterest; or from his attachment towards the young gentleman, intowhose confidence he had, through his shrewdness and alacrity, and therendering of sundry important services as a spy and messenger, almostimperceptibly glided; whether they had their origin in either of thesesources, or in the habit natural to youth, or in the constant badgeringand worrying of his venerable parent, or in any hidden little loveaffair of his own which gave him something of a fellow-feeling in thematter, it is needless to inquire--especially as Joe was out of the way,and had no opportunity on that particular occasion of testifying to hissentiments either on one side or the other.
It was, in fact, the twenty-fifth of March, which, as most peopleknow to their cost, is, and has been time out of mind, one of thoseunpleasant epochs termed quarter-days. On this twenty-fifth of March,it was John Willet's pride annually to settle, in hard cash, his accountwith a certain vintner and distiller in the city of London; to give intowhose hands a canvas bag containing its exact amount, and not a pennymore or less, was the end and object of a journey for Joe, so surely asthe year and day came round.
This journey was performed upon an old grey mare, concerning whom Johnhad an indistinct set of ideas hovering about him, to the effect thatshe could win a plate or cup if she tried. She never had tried, andprobably never would now, being some fourteen or fifteen years of age,short in wind, long in body, and rather the worse for wear in respect ofher mane and tail. Notwithstanding these slight defects, John perfectlygloried in the animal; and when she was brought round to the door byHugh, actually retired into the bar, and there, in a secret grove oflemons, laughed with pride.
'There's a bit of horseflesh, Hugh!' said John, when he had recoveredenough self-command to appear at the door again. 'There's a comelycreature! There's high mettle! There's bone!'
There was bone enough beyond all doubt; and so Hugh seemed to think, ashe sat sideways in the saddle, lazily doubled up with his chin nearlytouching his knees; and heedless of the dangling stirrups and loosebridle-rein, sauntered up and down on the little green before the door.
'Mind you take good care of her, sir,' said John, appealing from thisinsensible person to his son and heir, who now appeared, fully equippedand ready. 'Don't you ride hard.'
'I should be puzzled to do that, I think, father,' Joe replied, castinga disconsolate look at the animal.
'None of your impudence, sir, if you please,' retorted old John. 'Whatwould you ride, sir? A wild ass or zebra would be too tame for you,wouldn't he, eh sir? You'd like to ride a roaring lion, wouldn't you,sir, eh sir? Hold your tongue, sir.' When Mr Willet, in his differenceswith his son, had exhausted all the questions that occurred to him, andJoe had said nothing at all in answer, he generally wound up by biddinghim hold his tongue.
'And what does the boy mean,' added Mr Willet, after he had stared athim for a little time, in a species of stupefaction, 'by cocking hishat, to such an extent! Are you going to kill the wintner, sir?'
'No,' said Joe, tartly; 'I'm not. Now your mind's at ease, father.'
'With a milintary air, too!' said Mr Willet, surveying him from top totoe; 'with a swaggering, fire-eating, biling-water drinking sort of waywith him! And what do you mean by pulling up the crocuses and snowdrops,eh sir?'
'It's only a little nosegay,' said Joe, reddening. 'There's no harm inthat, I hope?'
'You're a boy of business, you are, sir!' said Mr Willet, disdainfully,'to go supposing that wintners care for nosegays.'
'I don't suppose anything of the kind,' returned Joe. 'Let them keeptheir red noses for bottles and tankards. These are going to Mr Varden'shouse.'
'And do you suppose HE minds such things as crocuses?' demanded John.
'I don't know, and to say the truth, I don't care,' said Joe. 'Come,father, give me the money, and in the name of patience let me go.'
'There it is, sir,' replied John; 'and take care of it; and mind youdon't make too much haste back, but give the mare a long rest.--Do youmind?'
'Ay, I mind,' returned Joe. 'She'll need it, Heaven knows.'
'And don't you score up too much at the Black Lion,' said John. 'Mindthat too.'
'Then why don't you let me have some money of my own?' retorted Joe,sorrowfully; 'why don't you, father? What do you send me into Londonfor, giving me only the right to call for my dinner at the Black Lion,which you're to pay for next time you go, as if I was not to be trustedwith a few shillings? Why do you use me like this? It's not right ofyou. You can't expect me to be quiet under it.'
'Let him have money!' cried John, in a drowsy reverie. 'What does hecall money--guineas? Hasn't he got money? Over and above the tolls,hasn't he one and sixpence?'
'One and sixpence!' repeated his son contemptuously.
'Yes, sir,' returned John, 'one and sixpence. When I was your age, Ihad never seen so much money, in a heap. A shilling of it is in caseof accidents--the mare casting a shoe, or the like of that. The othersixpence is to spend in the diversions of London; and the diversionI recommend is going to the top of the Monument, and sitting there.There's no temptation there, sir--no drink--no young women--no badcharacters of any sort--nothing but imagination. That's the way Ienjoyed myself when I was your age, sir.'
To this, Joe made no answer, but beckoning Hugh, leaped into the saddleand rode away; and a very stalwart, manly horseman he looked, deservinga better charger than it was his fortune to bestride. John stood staringafter him, or rather after the grey mare (for he had no eyes for herrider), until man and beast had been out of sight some twenty minutes,when he began to think they were gone, and slowly re-entering the house,fell into a gentle doze.
The unfortunate grey mare, who was the agony of Joe's life, flounderedalong at her own will and pleasure until the Maypole was no longervisible, and then, contracting her legs into what in a puppet would havebeen looked upon as a clumsy and awkward imitation of a canter, mendedher pace all at once, and did it of her own accord. The acquaintancewith her rider's usual mode of proceeding, which suggested thisimprovement in hers, impelled her likewise to turn up a bye-way,leading--not to London, but through lanes running parallel with the roadthey had come, and passing within a few hundred yards of the Maypole,which led finally to an inclosure surrounding a large, old, red-brickmansion--the same of which mention was made as the Warren in thefirst chapter of this history. Coming to a dead stop in a little copsethereabout, she suffered her rider to dismount with right goodwill, andto tie her to the trunk of a tree.
'Stay there, old girl,' said Joe, 'and let us see whether there's anylittle commission for me to-day.' So saying, he left her to browze uponsuch stunted grass and weeds as happened to grow within the length ofher tether, and passing through a wicket gate, entered the grounds onfoot.
The pathway, after a very few minutes' walking, brought him close to thehouse, towards which, and especially towards one particular window, hedirected many covert glances. It was a dreary, silent building, withechoing courtyards, desolated turret-chambers, and whole suites of roomsshut up and mouldering to ruin.
The terrace
-garden, dark with the shade of overhanging trees, had an airof melancholy that was quite oppressive. Great iron gates, disused formany years, and red with rust, drooping on their hinges and overgrownwith long rank grass, seemed as though they tried to sink into theground, and hide their fallen state among the friendly weeds. Thefantastic monsters on the walls, green with age and damp, and coveredhere and there with moss, looked grim and desolate. There was a sombreaspect even on that part of the mansion which was inhabited and keptin good repair, that struck the beholder with a sense of sadness; ofsomething forlorn and failing, whence cheerfulness was banished. Itwould have been difficult to imagine a bright fire blazing in the dulland darkened rooms, or to picture any gaiety of heart or revelry thatthe frowning walls shut in. It seemed a place where such things hadbeen, but could be no more--the very ghost of a house, haunting the oldspot in its old outward form, and that was all.
Much of this decayed and sombre look was attributable, no doubt, to thedeath of its former master, and the temper of its present occupant;but remembering the tale connected with the mansion, it seemed the veryplace for such a deed, and one that might have been its predestinedtheatre years upon years ago. Viewed with reference to this legend, thesheet of water where the steward's body had been found appeared to weara black and sullen character, such as no other pool might own; the bellupon the roof that had told the tale of murder to the midnight wind,became a very phantom whose voice would raise the listener's hair onend; and every leafless bough that nodded to another, had its stealthywhispering of the crime.
Joe paced up and down the path, sometimes stopping in affectedcontemplation of the building or the prospect, sometimes leaning againsta tree with an assumed air of idleness and indifference, but alwayskeeping an eye upon the window he had singled out at first. After somequarter of an hour's delay, a small white hand was waved to him for aninstant from this casement, and the young man, with a respectful bow,departed; saying under his breath as he crossed his horse again, 'Noerrand for me to-day!'
But the air of smartness, the cock of the hat to which John Willet hadobjected, and the spring nosegay, all betokened some little errandof his own, having a more interesting object than a vintner or even alocksmith. So, indeed, it turned out; for when he had settled with thevintner--whose place of business was down in some deep cellars hard byThames Street, and who was as purple-faced an old gentleman as if hehad all his life supported their arched roof on his head--when he hadsettled the account, and taken the receipt, and declined tasting morethan three glasses of old sherry, to the unbounded astonishment of thepurple-faced vintner, who, gimlet in hand, had projected an attack uponat least a score of dusty casks, and who stood transfixed, or morallygimleted as it were, to his own wall--when he had done all this, anddisposed besides of a frugal dinner at the Black Lion in Whitechapel;spurning the Monument and John's advice, he turned his steps towards thelocksmith's house, attracted by the eyes of blooming Dolly Varden.
Joe was by no means a sheepish fellow, but, for all that, when he gotto the corner of the street in which the locksmith lived, he could by nomeans make up his mind to walk straight to the house. First, he resolvedto stroll up another street for five minutes, then up another street forfive minutes more, and so on until he had lost full half an hour, whenhe made a bold plunge and found himself with a red face and a beatingheart in the smoky workshop.
'Joe Willet, or his ghost?' said Varden, rising from the desk at whichhe was busy with his books, and looking at him under his spectacles.'Which is it? Joe in the flesh, eh? That's hearty. And how are all theChigwell company, Joe?'
'Much as usual, sir--they and I agree as well as ever.'
'Well, well!' said the locksmith. 'We must be patient, Joe, and bearwith old folks' foibles. How's the mare, Joe? Does she do the four milesan hour as easily as ever? Ha, ha, ha! Does she, Joe? Eh!--What have wethere, Joe--a nosegay!'
'A very poor one, sir--I thought Miss Dolly--'
'No, no,' said Gabriel, dropping his voice, and shaking his head, 'notDolly. Give 'em to her mother, Joe. A great deal better give 'em to hermother. Would you mind giving 'em to Mrs Varden, Joe?'
'Oh no, sir,' Joe replied, and endeavouring, but not with the greatestpossible success, to hide his disappointment. 'I shall be very glad, I'msure.'
'That's right,' said the locksmith, patting him on the back. 'It don'tmatter who has 'em, Joe?'
'Not a bit, sir.'--Dear heart, how the words stuck in his throat!
'Come in,' said Gabriel. 'I have just been called to tea. She's in theparlour.'
'She,' thought Joe. 'Which of 'em I wonder--Mrs or Miss?' The locksmithsettled the doubt as neatly as if it had been expressed aloud, byleading him to the door, and saying, 'Martha, my dear, here's young MrWillet.'
Now, Mrs Varden, regarding the Maypole as a sort of human mantrap,or decoy for husbands; viewing its proprietor, and all who aided andabetted him, in the light of so many poachers among Christian men; andbelieving, moreover, that the publicans coupled with sinners in HolyWrit were veritable licensed victuallers; was far from being favourablydisposed towards her visitor. Wherefore she was taken faint directly;and being duly presented with the crocuses and snowdrops, divined onfurther consideration that they were the occasion of the languor whichhad seized upon her spirits. 'I'm afraid I couldn't bear the roomanother minute,' said the good lady, 'if they remained here. WOULD youexcuse my putting them out of window?'
Joe begged she wouldn't mention it on any account, and smiled feebly ashe saw them deposited on the sill outside. If anybody could have knownthe pains he had taken to make up that despised and misused bunch offlowers!--
'I feel it quite a relief to get rid of them, I assure you,' said MrsVarden. 'I'm better already.' And indeed she did appear to have pluckedup her spirits.
Joe expressed his gratitude to Providence for this favourabledispensation, and tried to look as if he didn't wonder where Dolly was.
'You're sad people at Chigwell, Mr Joseph,' said Mrs V.
'I hope not, ma'am,' returned Joe.
'You're the cruellest and most inconsiderate people in the world,' saidMrs Varden, bridling. 'I wonder old Mr Willet, having been a marriedman himself, doesn't know better than to conduct himself as he does. Hisdoing it for profit is no excuse. I would rather pay the money twentytimes over, and have Varden come home like a respectable and sobertradesman. If there is one character,' said Mrs Varden with greatemphasis, 'that offends and disgusts me more than another, it is a sot.'
'Come, Martha, my dear,' said the locksmith cheerily, 'let us have tea,and don't let us talk about sots. There are none here, and Joe don'twant to hear about them, I dare say.'
At this crisis, Miggs appeared with toast.
'I dare say he does not,' said Mrs Varden; 'and I dare say you do not,Varden. It's a very unpleasant subject, I have no doubt, though Iwon't say it's personal'--Miggs coughed--'whatever I may be forced tothink'--Miggs sneezed expressively. 'You never will know, Varden, andnobody at young Mr Willet's age--you'll excuse me, sir--can be expectedto know, what a woman suffers when she is waiting at home under suchcircumstances. If you don't believe me, as I know you don't, here'sMiggs, who is only too often a witness of it--ask her.'
'Oh! she were very bad the other night, sir, indeed she were, saidMiggs. 'If you hadn't the sweetness of an angel in you, mim, I don'tthink you could abear it, I raly don't.'
'Miggs,' said Mrs Varden, 'you're profane.'
'Begging your pardon, mim,' returned Miggs, with shrill rapidity, 'suchwas not my intentions, and such I hope is not my character, though I ambut a servant.'
'Answering me, Miggs, and providing yourself,' retorted her mistress,looking round with dignity, 'is one and the same thing. Howdare you speak of angels in connection with your sinfulfellow-beings--mere'--said Mrs Varden, glancing at herself in aneighbouring mirror, and arranging the ribbon of her cap in a morebecoming fashion--'mere worms and grovellers as we are!'
'I did not intend, mim, if you please, to give offence,' sa
id Miggs,confident in the strength of her compliment, and developing strongly inthe throat as usual, 'and I did not expect it would be took as such. Ihope I know my own unworthiness, and that I hate and despise myself andall my fellow-creatures as every practicable Christian should.'
'You'll have the goodness, if you please,' said Mrs Varden, loftily, 'tostep upstairs and see if Dolly has finished dressing, and to tell herthat the chair that was ordered for her will be here in a minute, andthat if she keeps it waiting, I shall send it away that instant.--I'msorry to see that you don't take your tea, Varden, and that you don'ttake yours, Mr Joseph; though of course it would be foolish of me toexpect that anything that can be had at home, and in the company offemales, would please YOU.'
This pronoun was understood in the plural sense, and included bothgentlemen, upon both of whom it was rather hard and undeserved, forGabriel had applied himself to the meal with a very promising appetite,until it was spoilt by Mrs Varden herself, and Joe had as great a likingfor the female society of the locksmith's house--or for a part of it atall events--as man could well entertain.
But he had no opportunity to say anything in his own defence, for atthat moment Dolly herself appeared, and struck him quite dumb with herbeauty. Never had Dolly looked so handsome as she did then, in all theglow and grace of youth, with all her charms increased a hundredfold bya most becoming dress, by a thousand little coquettish ways which nobodycould assume with a better grace, and all the sparkling expectation ofthat accursed party. It is impossible to tell how Joe hated that partywherever it was, and all the other people who were going to it, whoeverthey were.
And she hardly looked at him--no, hardly looked at him. And whenthe chair was seen through the open door coming blundering into theworkshop, she actually clapped her hands and seemed glad to go. But Joegave her his arm--there was some comfort in that--and handed her intoit. To see her seat herself inside, with her laughing eyes brighterthan diamonds, and her hand--surely she had the prettiest hand inthe world--on the ledge of the open window, and her little fingerprovokingly and pertly tilted up, as if it wondered why Joe didn'tsqueeze or kiss it! To think how well one or two of the modest snowdropswould have become that delicate bodice, and how they were lyingneglected outside the parlour window! To see how Miggs looked on witha face expressive of knowing how all this loveliness was got up, andof being in the secret of every string and pin and hook and eye, andof saying it ain't half as real as you think, and I could look quite aswell myself if I took the pains! To hear that provoking precious littlescream when the chair was hoisted on its poles, and to catch thattransient but not-to-be-forgotten vision of the happy face within--whattorments and aggravations, and yet what delights were these! The verychairmen seemed favoured rivals as they bore her down the street.
There never was such an alteration in a small room in a small time as inthat parlour when they went back to finish tea. So dark, so deserted,so perfectly disenchanted. It seemed such sheer nonsense to be sittingtamely there, when she was at a dance with more lovers than man couldcalculate fluttering about her--with the whole party doting on andadoring her, and wanting to marry her. Miggs was hovering about too; andthe fact of her existence, the mere circumstance of her ever having beenborn, appeared, after Dolly, such an unaccountable practical joke. Itwas impossible to talk. It couldn't be done. He had nothing left for itbut to stir his tea round, and round, and round, and ruminate on all thefascinations of the locksmith's lovely daughter.
Gabriel was dull too. It was a part of the certain uncertainty of MrsVarden's temper, that when they were in this condition, she should begay and sprightly.
'I need have a cheerful disposition, I am sure,' said the smilinghousewife, 'to preserve any spirits at all; and how I do it I canscarcely tell.'
'Ah, mim,' sighed Miggs, 'begging your pardon for the interruption,there an't a many like you.'
'Take away, Miggs,' said Mrs Varden, rising, 'take away, pray. I knowI'm a restraint here, and as I wish everybody to enjoy themselves asthey best can, I feel I had better go.'
'No, no, Martha,' cried the locksmith. 'Stop here. I'm sure we shall bevery sorry to lose you, eh Joe!' Joe started, and said 'Certainly.'
'Thank you, Varden, my dear,' returned his wife; 'but I know your wishesbetter. Tobacco and beer, or spirits, have much greater attractions thanany I can boast of, and therefore I shall go and sit upstairs and lookout of window, my love. Good night, Mr Joseph. I'm very glad to haveseen you, and I only wish I could have provided something more suitableto your taste. Remember me very kindly if you please to old Mr Willet,and tell him that whenever he comes here I have a crow to pluck withhim. Good night!'
Having uttered these words with great sweetness of manner, the goodlady dropped a curtsey remarkable for its condescension, and serenelywithdrew.
And it was for this Joe had looked forward to the twenty-fifth of Marchfor weeks and weeks, and had gathered the flowers with so much care, andhad cocked his hat, and made himself so smart! This was the end of allhis bold determination, resolved upon for the hundredth time, to speakout to Dolly and tell her how he loved her! To see her for a minute--forbut a minute--to find her going out to a party and glad to go; to belooked upon as a common pipe-smoker, beer-bibber, spirit-guzzler, andtosspot! He bade farewell to his friend the locksmith, and hastened totake horse at the Black Lion, thinking as he turned towards home, asmany another Joe has thought before and since, that here was an end toall his hopes--that the thing was impossible and never could be--thatshe didn't care for him--that he was wretched for life--and that theonly congenial prospect left him, was to go for a soldier or a sailor,and get some obliging enemy to knock his brains out as soon as possible.