Life And Adventures Of Martin Chuzzlewit

C >> Charles Dickens >> Life And Adventures Of Martin Chuzzlewit


'I mean,' said Jonas, stooping down over the body, 'that I never heard
you were his father, or had any particular reason to care much about
him. Halloa. Hold up there!'

But the boy was past holding up, or being held up, or giving any other
sign of life than a faint and fitful beating of the heart. After some
discussion the driver mounted the horse which had been least injured,
and took the lad in his arms as well as he could; while Montague and
Jonas, leading the other horse, and carrying a trunk between them,
walked by his side towards Salisbury.

'You'd get there in a few minutes, and be able to send assistance to
meet us, if you went forward, post-boy,' said Jonas. 'Trot on!'

'No, no,' cried Montague; 'we'll keep together.'

'Why, what a chicken you are! You are not afraid of being robbed; are
you?' said Jonas.

'I am not afraid of anything,' replied the other, whose looks and manner
were in flat contradiction to his words. 'But we'll keep together.'

'You were mighty anxious about the boy, a minute ago,' said Jonas. 'I
suppose you know that he may die in the meantime?'

'Aye, aye. I know. But we'll keep together.'

As it was clear that he was not to be moved from this determination,
Jonas made no other rejoinder than such as his face expressed; and they
proceeded in company. They had three or four good miles to travel; and
the way was not made easier by the state of the road, the burden by
which they were embarrassed, or their own stiff and sore condition.
After a sufficiently long and painful walk, they arrived at the Inn; and
having knocked the people up (it being yet very early in the morning),
sent out messengers to see to the carriage and its contents, and roused
a surgeon from his bed to tend the chief sufferer. All the service he
could render, he rendered promptly and skillfully. But he gave it as
his opinion that the boy was labouring under a severe concussion of the
brain, and that Mr Bailey's mortal course was run.

If Montague's strong interest in the announcement could have been
considered as unselfish in any degree, it might have been a redeeming
trait in a character that had no such lineaments to spare. But it was
not difficult to see that, for some unexpressed reason best appreciated
by himself, he attached a strange value to the company and presence of
this mere child. When, after receiving some assistance from the surgeon
himself, he retired to the bedroom prepared for him, and it was broad
day, his mind was still dwelling on this theme.

'I would rather have lost,' he said, 'a thousand pounds than lost the
boy just now. But I'll return home alone. I am resolved upon that.
Chuzzlewit shall go forward first, and I will follow in my own time.
I'll have no more of this,' he added, wiping his damp forehead.
'Twenty-four hours of this would turn my hair grey!'

After examining his chamber, and looking under the bed, and in the
cupboards, and even behind the curtains, with unusual caution (although
it was, as has been said, broad day), he double-locked the door by which
he had entered, and retired to rest. There was another door in the
room, but it was locked on the outer side; and with what place it
communicated, he knew not.

His fears or evil conscience reproduced this door in all his dreams. He
dreamed that a dreadful secret was connected with it; a secret which he
knew, and yet did not know, for although he was heavily responsible
for it, and a party to it, he was harassed even in his vision by
a distracting uncertainty in reference to its import. Incoherently
entwined with this dream was another, which represented it as the
hiding-place of an enemy, a shadow, a phantom; and made it the business
of his life to keep the terrible creature closed up, and prevent it
from forcing its way in upon him. With this view Nadgett, and he, and a
strange man with a bloody smear upon his head (who told him that he
had been his playfellow, and told him, too, the real name of an old
schoolmate, forgotten until then), worked with iron plates and nails to
make the door secure; but though they worked never so hard, it was all
in vain, for the nails broke, or changed to soft twigs, or what was
worse, to worms, between their fingers; the wood of the door splintered
and crumbled, so that even nails would not remain in it; and the iron
plates curled up like hot paper. All this time the creature on the other
side--whether it was in the shape of man, or beast, he neither knew nor
sought to know--was gaining on them. But his greatest terror was when
the man with the bloody smear upon his head demanded of him if he knew
this creatures name, and said that he would whisper it. At this the
dreamer fell upon his knees, his whole blood thrilling with inexplicable
fear, and held his ears. But looking at the speaker's lips, he saw that
they formed the utterance of the letter 'J'; and crying out aloud that
the secret was discovered, and they were all lost, he awoke.

Awoke to find Jonas standing at his bedside watching him. And that very
door wide open.

As their eyes met, Jonas retreated a few paces, and Montague sprang out
of bed.

'Heyday!' said Jonas. 'You're all alive this morning.'

'Alive!' the other stammered, as he pulled the bell-rope violently.
'What are you doing here?'

'It's your room to be sure,' said Jonas; 'but I'm almost inclined to ask
you what YOU are doing here? My room is on the other side of that
door. No one told me last night not to open it. I thought it led into a
passage, and was coming out to order breakfast. There's--there's no bell
in my room.'

Montague had in the meantime admitted the man with his hot water and
boots, who hearing this, said, yes, there was; and passed into the
adjoining room to point it out, at the head of the bed.

'I couldn't find it, then,' said Jonas; 'it's all the same. Shall I
order breakfast?'

Montague answered in the affirmative. When Jonas had retired, whistling,
through his own room, he opened the door of communication, to take out
the key and fasten it on the inner side. But it was taken out already.

He dragged a table against the door, and sat down to collect himself, as
if his dreams still had some influence upon his mind.

'An evil journey,' he repeated several times. 'An evil journey. But I'll
travel home alone. I'll have no more of this.'

His presentiment, or superstition, that it was an evil journey, did
not at all deter him from doing the evil for which the journey was
undertaken. With this in view, he dressed himself more carefully than
usual to make a favourable impression on Mr Pecksniff; and, reassured by
his own appearance, the beauty of the morning, and the flashing of
the wet boughs outside his window in the merry sunshine, was soon
sufficiently inspirited to swear a few round oaths, and hum the fag-end
of a song.

But he still muttered to himself at intervals, for all that: 'I'll
travel home alone!'



CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

HAS AN INFLUENCE ON THE FORTUNES OF SEVERAL PEOPLE. MR PECKSNIFF IS
EXHIBITED IN THE PLENITUDE OF POWER; AND WIELDS THE SAME WITH FORTITUDE
AND MAGNANIMITY


On the night of the storm, Mrs Lupin, hostess of the Blue Dragon, sat by
herself in her little bar. Her solitary condition, or the bad weather,
or both united, made Mrs Lupin thoughtful, not to say sorrowful. As she
sat with her chin upon her hand, looking out through a low back lattice,
rendered dim in the brightest day-time by clustering vine-leaves, she
shook her head very often, and said, 'Dear me! Oh, dear, dear me!'

It was a melancholy time, even in the snugness of the Dragon bar.
The rich expanse of corn-field, pasture-land, green slope, and gentle
undulation, with its sparkling brooks, its many hedgerows, and its
clumps of beautiful trees, was black and dreary, from the diamond panes
of the lattice away to the far horizon, where the thunder seemed to roll
along the hills. The heavy rain beat down the tender branches of vine
and jessamine, and trampled on them in its fury; and when the lightning
gleamed it showed the tearful leaves shivering and cowering together at
the window, and tapping at it urgently, as if beseeching to be sheltered
from the dismal night.

As a mark of her respect for the lightning, Mrs Lupin had removed her
candle to the chimney-piece. Her basket of needle-work stood unheeded
at her elbow; her supper, spread on a round table not far off, was
untasted; and the knives had been removed for fear of attraction. She
had sat for a long time with her chin upon her hand, saying to herself
at intervals, 'Dear me! Ah, dear, dear me!'

She was on the eve of saying so, once more, when the latch of the
house-door (closed to keep the rain out), rattled on its well-worn
catch, and a traveller came in, who, shutting it after him, and walking
straight up to the half-door of the bar, said, rather gruffly:

'A pint of the best old beer here.'

He had some reason to be gruff, for if he had passed the day in a
waterfall, he could scarcely have been wetter than he was. He was
wrapped up to the eyes in a rough blue sailor's coat, and had an
oil-skin hat on, from the capacious brim of which the rain fell
trickling down upon his breast, and back, and shoulders. Judging from a
certain liveliness of chin--he had so pulled down his hat, and pulled up
his collar, to defend himself from the weather, that she could only
see his chin, and even across that he drew the wet sleeve of his shaggy
coat, as she looked at him--Mrs Lupin set him down for a good-natured
fellow, too.

'A bad night!' observed the hostess cheerfully.

The traveller shook himself like a Newfoundland dog, and said it was,
rather.

'There's a fire in the kitchen,' said Mrs Lupin, 'and very good company
there. Hadn't you better go and dry yourself?'

'No, thankee,' said the man, glancing towards the kitchen as he spoke;
he seemed to know the way.

'It's enough to give you your death of cold,' observed the hostess.

'I don't take my death easy,' returned the traveller; 'or I should most
likely have took it afore to-night. Your health, ma'am!'

Mrs Lupin thanked him; but in the act of lifting the tankard to his
mouth, he changed his mind, and put it down again. Throwing his body
back, and looking about him stiffly, as a man does who is wrapped up,
and has his hat low down over his eyes, he said:

'What do you call this house? Not the Dragon, do you?'

Mrs Lupin complacently made answer, 'Yes, the Dragon.'

'Why, then, you've got a sort of a relation of mine here, ma'am,' said
the traveller; 'a young man of the name of Tapley. What! Mark, my boy!'
apostrophizing the premises, 'have I come upon you at last, old buck!'

This was touching Mrs Lupin on a tender point. She turned to trim
the candle on the chimney-piece, and said, with her back towards the
traveller:

'Nobody should be made more welcome at the Dragon, master, than any one
who brought me news of Mark. But it's many and many a long day and month
since he left here and England. And whether he's alive or dead, poor
fellow, Heaven above us only knows!'

She shook her head, and her voice trembled; her hand must have done so
too, for the light required a deal of trimming.

'Where did he go, ma'am?' asked the traveller, in a gentler voice.

'He went,' said Mrs Lupin, with increased distress, 'to America. He was
always tender-hearted and kind, and perhaps at this moment may be lying
in prison under sentence of death, for taking pity on some miserable
black, and helping the poor runaway creetur to escape. How could he ever
go to America! Why didn't he go to some of those countries where the
savages eat each other fairly, and give an equal chance to every one!'

Quite subdued by this time, Mrs Lupin sobbed, and was retiring to a
chair to give her grief free vent, when the traveller caught her in his
arms, and she uttered a glad cry of recognition.

'Yes, I will!' cried Mark, 'another--one more--twenty more! You
didn't know me in that hat and coat? I thought you would have known me
anywheres! Ten more!'

'So I should have known you, if I could have seen you; but I couldn't,
and you spoke so gruff. I didn't think you could speak gruff to me,
Mark, at first coming back.'

'Fifteen more!' said Mr Tapley. 'How handsome and how young you look!
Six more! The last half-dozen warn't a fair one, and must be done over
again. Lord bless you, what a treat it is to see you! One more! Well, I
never was so jolly. Just a few more, on account of there not being any
credit in it!'

When Mr Tapley stopped in these calculations in simple addition, he did
it, not because he was at all tired of the exercise, but because he was
out of breath. The pause reminded him of other duties.

'Mr Martin Chuzzlewit's outside,' he said. 'I left him under the
cartshed, while I came on to see if there was anybody here. We want to
keep quiet to-night, till we know the news from you, and what it's best
for us to do.'

'There's not a soul in the house, except the kitchen company,' returned
the hostess. 'If they were to know you had come back, Mark, they'd have
a bonfire in the street, late as it is.'

'But they mustn't know it to-night, my precious soul,' said Mark; 'so
have the house shut, and the kitchen fire made up; and when it's all
ready, put a light in the winder, and we'll come in. One more! I long
to hear about old friends. You'll tell me all about 'em, won't you; Mr
Pinch, and the butcher's dog down the street, and the terrier over the
way, and the wheelwright's, and every one of 'em. When I first caught
sight of the church to-night, I thought the steeple would have choked
me, I did. One more! Won't you? Not a very little one to finish off
with?'

'You have had plenty, I am sure,' said the hostess. 'Go along with your
foreign manners!'

'That ain't foreign, bless you!' cried Mark. 'Native as oysters, that
is! One more, because it's native! As a mark of respect for the land we
live in! This don't count as between you and me, you understand,' said
Mr Tapley. 'I ain't a-kissing you now, you'll observe. I have been among
the patriots; I'm a-kissin' my country.'

It would have been very unreasonable to complain of the exhibition of
his patriotism with which he followed up this explanation, that it was
at all lukewarm or indifferent. When he had given full expression to his
nationality, he hurried off to Martin; while Mrs Lupin, in a state of
great agitation and excitement, prepared for their reception.

The company soon came tumbling out; insisting to each other that the
Dragon clock was half an hour too fast, and that the thunder must have
affected it. Impatient, wet, and weary though they were, Martin and Mark
were overjoyed to see these old faces, and watched them with delighted
interest as they departed from the house, and passed close by them.

'There's the old tailor, Mark!' whispered Martin.

'There he goes, sir! A little bandier than he was, I think, sir, ain't
he? His figure's so far altered, as it seems to me, that you might wheel
a rather larger barrow between his legs as he walks, than you could have
done conveniently when we know'd him. There's Sam a-coming out, sir.'

'Ah, to be sure!' cried Martin; 'Sam, the hostler. I wonder whether that
horse of Pecksniff's is alive still?'

'Not a doubt on it, sir,' returned Mark. 'That's a description of
animal, sir, as will go on in a bony way peculiar to himself for a long
time, and get into the newspapers at last under the title of "Sing'lar
Tenacity of Life in a Quadruped." As if he had ever been alive in all
his life, worth mentioning! There's the clerk, sir--wery drunk, as
usual.'

'I see him!' said Martin, laughing. 'But, my life, how wet you are,
Mark!'

'I am! What do you consider yourself, sir?'

'Oh, not half as bad,' said his fellow-traveller, with an air of great
vexation. 'I told you not to keep on the windy side, Mark, but to let us
change and change about. The rain has been beating on you ever since it
began.'

'You don't know how it pleases me, sir,' said Mark, after a short
silence, 'if I may make so bold as say so, to hear you a-going on in
that there uncommon considerate way of yours; which I don't mean to
attend to, never, but which, ever since that time when I was floored in
Eden, you have showed.'

'Ah, Mark!' sighed Martin, 'the less we say of that the better. Do I see
the light yonder?'

'That's the light!' cried Mark. 'Lord bless her, what briskness she
possesses! Now for it, sir. Neat wines, good beds, and first-rate
entertainment for man or beast.'

The kitchen fire burnt clear and red, the table was spread out, the
kettle boiled; the slippers were there, the boot-jack too, sheets of
ham were there, cooking on the gridiron; half-a-dozen eggs were there,
poaching in the frying-pan; a plethoric cherry-brandy bottle was there,
winking at a foaming jug of beer upon the table; rare provisions were
there, dangling from the rafters as if you had only to open your mouth,
and something exquisitely ripe and good would be glad of the excuse for
tumbling into it. Mrs Lupin, who for their sakes had dislodged the
very cook, high priestess of the temple, with her own genial hands was
dressing their repast.

It was impossible to help it--a ghost must have hugged her. The Atlantic
Ocean and the Red Sea being, in that respect, all one, Martin hugged
her instantly. Mr Tapley (as if the idea were quite novel, and had never
occurred to him before), followed, with much gravity, on the same side.

'Little did I ever think,' said Mrs Lupin, adjusting her cap and
laughing heartily; yes, and blushing too; 'often as I have said that Mr
Pecksniff's young gentlemen were the life and soul of the Dragon, and
that without them it would be too dull to live in--little did I ever
think I am sure, that any one of them would ever make so free as you, Mr
Martin! And still less that I shouldn't be angry with him, but should be
glad with all my heart to be the first to welcome him home from America,
with Mark Tapley for his--'

'For his friend, Mrs Lupin,' interposed Martin.

'For his friend,' said the hostess, evidently gratified by this
distinction, but at the same time admonishing Mr Tapley with a fork
to remain at a respectful distance. 'Little did I ever think that! But
still less, that I should ever have the changes to relate that I shall
have to tell you of, when you have done your supper!'

'Good Heaven!' cried Martin, changing colour, 'what changes?'

'SHE,' said the hostess, 'is quite well, and now at Mr Pecksniff's.
Don't be at all alarmed about her. She is everything you could wish.
It's of no use mincing matters, or making secrets, is it?' added Mrs
Lupin. 'I know all about it, you see!'

'My good creature,' returned Martin, 'you are exactly the person who
ought to know all about it. I am delighted to think you DO know about
that! But what changes do you hint at? Has any death occurred?'

'No, no!' said the hostess. 'Not as bad as that. But I declare now that
I will not be drawn into saying another word till you have had your
supper. If you ask me fifty questions in the meantime, I won't answer
one.'

She was so positive, that there was nothing for it but to get the supper
over as quickly as possible; and as they had been walking a great many
miles, and had fasted since the middle of the day, they did no great
violence to their own inclinations in falling on it tooth and nail. It
took rather longer to get through than might have been expected; for,
half-a-dozen times, when they thought they had finished, Mrs Lupin
exposed the fallacy of that impression triumphantly. But at last, in
the course of time and nature, they gave in. Then, sitting with
their slippered feet stretched out upon the kitchen hearth (which was
wonderfully comforting, for the night had grown by this time raw and
chilly), and looking with involuntary admiration at their dimpled,
buxom, blooming hostess, as the firelight sparkled in her eyes and
glimmered in her raven hair, they composed themselves to listen to her
news.

Many were the exclamations of surprise which interrupted her, when she
told them of the separation between Mr Pecksniff and his daughters, and
between the same good gentleman and Mr Pinch. But these were nothing to
the indignant demonstrations of Martin, when she related, as the common
talk of the neighbourhood, what entire possession he had obtained
over the mind and person of old Mr Chuzzlewit, and what high honour he
designed for Mary. On receipt of this intelligence, Martin's slippers
flew off in a twinkling, and he began pulling on his wet boots with that
indefinite intention of going somewhere instantly, and doing something
to somebody, which is the first safety-valve of a hot temper.

'He!' said Martin, 'smooth-tongued villain that he is! He! Give me that
other boot, Mark?'

'Where was you a-thinking of going to, sir?' inquired Mr Tapley drying
the sole at the fire, and looking coolly at it as he spoke, as if it
were a slice of toast.

'Where!' repeated Martin. 'You don't suppose I am going to remain here,
do you?'

The imperturbable Mark confessed that he did.

You do!' retorted Martin angrily. 'I am much obliged to you. What do you
take me for?'

'I take you for what you are, sir,' said Mark; 'and, consequently, am
quite sure that whatever you do will be right and sensible. The boot,
sir.'

Martin darted an impatient look at him, without taking it, and walked
rapidly up and down the kitchen several times, with one boot and a
stocking on. But, mindful of his Eden resolution, he had already gained
many victories over himself when Mark was in the case, and he resolved
to conquer now. So he came back to the book-jack, laid his hand on
Mark's shoulder to steady himself, pulled the boot off, picked up his
slippers, put them on, and sat down again. He could not help thrusting
his hands to the very bottom of his pockets, and muttering at intervals,
'Pecksniff too! That fellow! Upon my soul! In-deed! What next?' and so
forth; nor could he help occasionally shaking his fist at the chimney,
with a very threatening countenance; but this did not last long; and he
heard Mrs Lupin out, if not with composure, at all events in silence.

'As to Mr Pecksniff himself,' observed the hostess in conclusion,
spreading out the skirts of her gown with both hands, and nodding
her head a great many times as she did so, 'I don't know what to
say. Somebody must have poisoned his mind, or influenced him in some
extraordinary way. I cannot believe that such a noble-spoken gentleman
would go and do wrong of his own accord!'

A noble-spoken gentleman! How many people are there in the world, who,
for no better reason, uphold their Pecksniffs to the last and abandon
virtuous men, when Pecksniffs breathe upon them!

'As to Mr Pinch,' pursued the landlady, 'if ever there was a dear, good,
pleasant, worthy soul alive, Pinch, and no other, is his name. But
how do we know that old Mr Chuzzlewit himself was not the cause of
difference arising between him and Mr Pecksniff? No one but themselves
can tell; for Mr Pinch has a proud spirit, though he has such a quiet
way; and when he left us, and was so sorry to go, he scorned to make his
story good, even to me.'

'Poor old Tom!' said Martin, in a tone that sounded like remorse.

'It's a comfort to know,' resumed the landlady, 'that he has his sister
living with him, and is doing well. Only yesterday he sent me back, by
post, a little'--here the colour came into her cheeks--'a little trifle
I was bold enough to lend him when he went away; saying, with many
thanks, that he had good employment, and didn't want it. It was the same
note; he hadn't broken it. I never thought I could have been so little
pleased to see a bank-note come back to me as I was to see that.'

'Kindly said, and heartily!' said Martin. 'Is it not, Mark?'

'She can't say anything as does not possess them qualities,' returned
Mr Tapley; 'which as much belongs to the Dragon as its licence. And now
that we have got quite cool and fresh, to the subject again, sir;
what will you do? If you're not proud, and can make up your mind to go
through with what you spoke of, coming along, that's the course for
you to take. If you started wrong with your grandfather (which, you'll
excuse my taking the liberty of saying, appears to have been the case),
up with you, sir, and tell him so, and make an appeal to his affections.
Don't stand out. He's a great deal older than you, and if he was hasty,
you was hasty too. Give way, sir, give way.'

The eloquence of Mr Tapley was not without its effect on Martin but he
still hesitated, and expressed his reason thus:

'That's all very true, and perfectly correct, Mark; and if it were a
mere question of humbling myself before HIM, I would not consider it
twice. But don't you see, that being wholly under this hypocrite's
government, and having (if what we hear be true) no mind or will of his
own, I throw myself, in fact, not at his feet, but at the feet of
Mr Pecksniff? And when I am rejected and spurned away,' said Martin,
turning crimson at the thought, 'it is not by him; my own blood stirred
against me; but by Pecksniff--Pecksniff, Mark!'