Barnaby Rudge: A Tale of the Riots of 'Eighty
Miggs calling him, on whom she stooped to cast a favourable eye, a
boy, should create surprise in any breast, it may be observed that she
invariably affected to regard all male bipeds under thirty as mere chits
and infants; which phenomenon is not unusual in ladies of Miss Miggs’s
temper, and is indeed generally found to be the associate of such
indomitable and savage virtue.
Miss Miggs deliberated within herself for some little time, looking hard
at the shop-door while she did so, as though her eyes and thoughts were
both upon it; and then, taking a sheet of paper from a drawer, twisted
it into a long thin spiral tube. Having filled this instrument with a
quantity of small coal-dust from the forge, she approached the door,
and dropping on one knee before it, dexterously blew into the keyhole as
much of these fine ashes as the lock would hold. When she had filled it
to the brim in a very workmanlike and skilful manner, she crept upstairs
again, and chuckled as she went.
‘There!’ cried Miggs, rubbing her hands, ‘now let’s see whether you
won’t be glad to take some notice of me, mister. He, he, he! You’ll have
eyes for somebody besides Miss Dolly now, I think. A fat-faced puss she
is, as ever I come across!’
As she uttered this criticism, she glanced approvingly at her small
mirror, as who should say, I thank my stars that can’t be said of
me!--as it certainly could not; for Miss Miggs’s style of beauty was of
that kind which Mr Tappertit himself had not inaptly termed, in private,
‘scraggy.’
‘I don’t go to bed this night!’ said Miggs, wrapping herself in a shawl,
and drawing a couple of chairs near the window, flouncing down upon
one, and putting her feet upon the other, ‘till you come home, my lad. I
wouldn’t,’ said Miggs viciously, ‘no, not for five-and-forty pound!’
With that, and with an expression of face in which a great number of
opposite ingredients, such as mischief, cunning, malice, triumph,
and patient expectation, were all mixed up together in a kind of
physiognomical punch, Miss Miggs composed herself to wait and listen,
like some fair ogress who had set a trap and was watching for a nibble
from a plump young traveller.
She sat there, with perfect composure, all night. At length, just upon
break of day, there was a footstep in the street, and presently she
could hear Mr Tappertit stop at the door. Then she could make out that
he tried his key--that he was blowing into it--that he knocked it on the
nearest post to beat the dust out--that he took it under a lamp to look
at it--that he poked bits of stick into the lock to clear it--that
he peeped into the keyhole, first with one eye, and then with the
other--that he tried the key again--that he couldn’t turn it, and what
was worse, couldn’t get it out--that he bent it--that then it was much
less disposed to come out than before--that he gave it a mighty twist
and a great pull, and then it came out so suddenly that he staggered
backwards--that he kicked the door--that he shook it--finally, that he
smote his forehead, and sat down on the step in despair.
When this crisis had arrived, Miss Miggs, affecting to be exhausted
with terror, and to cling to the window-sill for support, put out her
nightcap, and demanded in a faint voice who was there.
Mr Tappertit cried ‘Hush!’ and, backing to the road, exhorted her in
frenzied pantomime to secrecy and silence.
‘Tell me one thing,’ said Miggs. ‘Is it thieves?’
‘No--no--no!’ cried Mr Tappertit.
‘Then,’ said Miggs, more faintly than before, ‘it’s fire. Where is it,
sir? It’s near this room, I know. I’ve a good conscience, sir, and would
much rather die than go down a ladder. All I wish is, respecting my love
to my married sister, Golden Lion Court, number twenty-sivin, second
bell-handle on the right-hand door-post.’
‘Miggs!’ cried Mr Tappertit, ‘don’t you know me? Sim, you know--Sim--’
‘Oh! what about him!’ cried Miggs, clasping her hands. ‘Is he in any
danger? Is he in the midst of flames and blazes! Oh gracious, gracious!’
‘Why I’m here, an’t I?’ rejoined Mr Tappertit, knocking himself on the
breast. ‘Don’t you see me? What a fool you are, Miggs!’
‘There!’ cried Miggs, unmindful of this compliment. ‘Why--so
it--Goodness, what is the meaning of--If you please, mim, here’s--’
‘No, no!’ cried Mr Tappertit, standing on tiptoe, as if by that means
he, in the street, were any nearer being able to stop the mouth of Miggs
in the garret. ‘Don’t!--I’ve been out without leave, and something or
another’s the matter with the lock. Come down, and undo the shop window,
that I may get in that way.’
‘I dursn’t do it, Simmun,’ cried Miggs--for that was her pronunciation
of his Christian name. ‘I dursn’t do it, indeed. You know as well as
anybody, how particular I am. And to come down in the dead of night,
when the house is wrapped in slumbers and weiled in obscurity.’ And
there she stopped and shivered, for her modesty caught cold at the very
thought.
‘But Miggs,’ cried Mr Tappertit, getting under the lamp, that she might
see his eyes. ‘My darling Miggs--’
Miggs screamed slightly.
‘--That I love so much, and never can help thinking of,’ and it
is impossible to describe the use he made of his eyes when he said
this--‘do--for my sake, do.’
‘Oh Simmun,’ cried Miggs, ‘this is worse than all. I know if I come
down, you’ll go, and--’
‘And what, my precious?’ said Mr Tappertit.
‘And try,’ said Miggs, hysterically, ‘to kiss me, or some such
dreadfulness; I know you will!’
‘I swear I won’t,’ said Mr Tappertit, with remarkable earnestness. ‘Upon
my soul I won’t. It’s getting broad day, and the watchman’s waking
up. Angelic Miggs! If you’ll only come and let me in, I promise you
faithfully and truly I won’t.’
Miss Miggs, whose gentle heart was touched, did not wait for the oath
(knowing how strong the temptation was, and fearing he might forswear
himself), but tripped lightly down the stairs, and with her own fair
hands drew back the rough fastenings of the workshop window. Having
helped the wayward ‘prentice in, she faintly articulated the words
‘Simmun is safe!’ and yielding to her woman’s nature, immediately became
insensible.
‘I knew I should quench her,’ said Sim, rather embarrassed by this
circumstance. ‘Of course I was certain it would come to this, but there
was nothing else to be done--if I hadn’t eyed her over, she wouldn’t
have come down. Here. Keep up a minute, Miggs. What a slippery figure
she is! There’s no holding her, comfortably. Do keep up a minute, Miggs,
will you?’
As Miggs, however, was deaf to all entreaties, Mr Tappertit leant her
against the wall as one might dispose of a walking-stick or umbrella,
until he had secured the window, when he took her in his arms again,
and, in short stages and with great difficulty--arising from her being
tall and his being short, and perhaps in some degree from that peculiar
physical conformation on which he had already remarked--carried her
upstairs, and planting her, in the same umbrella and walking-stick
fashion, just inside her own door, left her to her repose.
‘He may be as cool as he likes,’ said Miss Miggs, recovering as soon
as she was left alone; ‘but I’m in his confidence and he can’t help
himself, nor couldn’t if he was twenty Simmunses!’
Chapter 10
It was on one of those mornings, common in early spring, when the year,
fickle and changeable in its youth like all other created things, is
undecided whether to step backward into winter or forward into summer,
and in its uncertainty inclines now to the one and now to the other, and
now to both at once--wooing summer in the sunshine, and lingering still
with winter in the shade--it was, in short, on one of those mornings,
when it is hot and cold, wet and dry, bright and lowering, sad and
cheerful, withering and genial, in the compass of one short hour, that
old John Willet, who was dropping asleep over the copper boiler, was
roused by the sound of a horse’s feet, and glancing out at window,
beheld a traveller of goodly promise, checking his bridle at the Maypole
door.
He was none of your flippant young fellows, who would call for a tankard
of mulled ale, and make themselves as much at home as if they had
ordered a hogshead of wine; none of your audacious young swaggerers, who
would even penetrate into the bar--that solemn sanctuary--and, smiting
old John upon the back, inquire if there was never a pretty girl in the
house, and where he hid his little chambermaids, with a hundred other
impertinences of that nature; none of your free-and-easy companions, who
would scrape their boots upon the firedogs in the common room, and
be not at all particular on the subject of spittoons; none of your
unconscionable blades, requiring impossible chops, and taking unheard-of
pickles for granted. He was a staid, grave, placid gentleman, something
past the prime of life, yet upright in his carriage, for all that, and
slim as a greyhound. He was well-mounted upon a sturdy chestnut cob, and
had the graceful seat of an experienced horseman; while his riding gear,
though free from such fopperies as were then in vogue, was handsome and
well chosen. He wore a riding-coat of a somewhat brighter green than
might have been expected to suit the taste of a gentleman of his years,
with a short, black velvet cape, and laced pocket-holes and cuffs, all
of a jaunty fashion; his linen, too, was of the finest kind, worked in a
rich pattern at the wrists and throat, and scrupulously white. Although
he seemed, judging from the mud he had picked up on the way, to have
come from London, his horse was as smooth and cool as his own iron-grey
periwig and pigtail. Neither man nor beast had turned a single hair; and
saving for his soiled skirts and spatter-dashes, this gentleman, with
his blooming face, white teeth, exactly-ordered dress, and perfect
calmness, might have come from making an elaborate and leisurely toilet,
to sit for an equestrian portrait at old John Willet’s gate.
It must not be supposed that John observed these several characteristics
by other than very slow degrees, or that he took in more than half a one
at a time, or that he even made up his mind upon that, without a great
deal of very serious consideration. Indeed, if he had been distracted in
the first instance by questionings and orders, it would have taken him
at the least a fortnight to have noted what is here set down; but it
happened that the gentleman, being struck with the old house, or with
the plump pigeons which were skimming and curtseying about it, or with
the tall maypole, on the top of which a weathercock, which had been out
of order for fifteen years, performed a perpetual walk to the music of
its own creaking, sat for some little time looking round in silence.
Hence John, standing with his hand upon the horse’s bridle, and
his great eyes on the rider, and with nothing passing to divert his
thoughts, had really got some of these little circumstances into his
brain by the time he was called upon to speak.
‘A quaint place this,’ said the gentleman--and his voice was as rich as
his dress. ‘Are you the landlord?’
‘At your service, sir,’ replied John Willet.
‘You can give my horse good stabling, can you, and me an early dinner (I
am not particular what, so that it be cleanly served), and a decent
room of which there seems to be no lack in this great mansion,’ said the
stranger, again running his eyes over the exterior.
‘You can have, sir,’ returned John with a readiness quite surprising,
‘anything you please.’
‘It’s well I am easily satisfied,’ returned the other with a smile,
‘or that might prove a hardy pledge, my friend.’ And saying so, he
dismounted, with the aid of the block before the door, in a twinkling.
‘Halloa there! Hugh!’ roared John. ‘I ask your pardon, sir, for keeping