Barnaby Rudge: A Tale of the Riots of 'Eighty
though he saw it. ‘Do you know the day is breaking?’
‘I know it,’ rejoined the other, ‘to my cost. I have been traversing
this iron-hearted town all night.’
‘You had better traverse it again,’ said the blind man, preparing to
descend, ‘till you find some lodgings suitable to your taste. I don’t
let any.’
‘Stay!’ cried the other, holding him by the arm.
‘I’ll beat this light about that hangdog face of yours (for hangdog it
is, if it answers to your voice), and rouse the neighbourhood besides,
if you detain me,’ said the blind man. ‘Let me go. Do you hear?’
‘Do YOU hear!’ returned the other, chinking a few shillings together,
and hurriedly pressing them into his hand. ‘I beg nothing of you. I will
pay for the shelter you give me. Death! Is it much to ask of such as
you! I have come from the country, and desire to rest where there are
none to question me. I am faint, exhausted, worn out, almost dead. Let
me lie down, like a dog, before your fire. I ask no more than that. If
you would be rid of me, I will depart to-morrow.’
‘If a gentleman has been unfortunate on the road,’ muttered Stagg,
yielding to the other, who, pressing on him, had already gained a
footing on the steps--‘and can pay for his accommodation--’
‘I will pay you with all I have. I am just now past the want of food,
God knows, and wish but to purchase shelter. What companion have you
below?’
‘None.’
‘Then fasten your grate there, and show me the way. Quick!’
The blind man complied after a moment’s hesitation, and they descended
together. The dialogue had passed as hurriedly as the words could be
spoken, and they stood in his wretched room before he had had time to
recover from his first surprise.
‘May I see where that door leads to, and what is beyond?’ said the man,
glancing keenly round. ‘You will not mind that?’
‘I will show you myself. Follow me, or go before. Take your choice.’
He bade him lead the way, and, by the light of the torch which his
conductor held up for the purpose, inspected all three cellars narrowly.
Assured that the blind man had spoken truth, and that he lived there
alone, the visitor returned with him to the first, in which a fire was
burning, and flung himself with a deep groan upon the ground before it.
His host pursued his usual occupation without seeming to heed him any
further. But directly he fell asleep--and he noted his falling into a
slumber, as readily as the keenest-sighted man could have done--he knelt
down beside him, and passed his hand lightly but carefully over his face
and person.
His sleep was checkered with starts and moans, and sometimes with a
muttered word or two. His hands were clenched, his brow bent, and his
mouth firmly set. All this, the blind man accurately marked; and as if
his curiosity were strongly awakened, and he had already some inkling
of his mystery, he sat watching him, if the expression may be used, and
listening, until it was broad day.
Chapter 19
Dolly Varden’s pretty little head was yet bewildered by various
recollections of the party, and her bright eyes were yet dazzled by a
crowd of images, dancing before them like motes in the sunbeams, among
which the effigy of one partner in particular did especially figure, the
same being a young coachmaker (a master in his own right) who had given
her to understand, when he handed her into the chair at parting, that
it was his fixed resolve to neglect his business from that time, and die
slowly for the love of her--Dolly’s head, and eyes, and thoughts, and
seven senses, were all in a state of flutter and confusion for which the
party was accountable, although it was now three days old, when, as
she was sitting listlessly at breakfast, reading all manner of fortunes
(that is to say, of married and flourishing fortunes) in the grounds of
her teacup, a step was heard in the workshop, and Mr Edward Chester
was descried through the glass door, standing among the rusty locks and
keys, like love among the roses--for which apt comparison the historian
may by no means take any credit to himself, the same being the
invention, in a sentimental mood, of the chaste and modest Miggs, who,
beholding him from the doorsteps she was then cleaning, did, in her
maiden meditation, give utterance to the simile.
The locksmith, who happened at the moment to have his eyes thrown upward
and his head backward, in an intense communing with Toby, did not see
his visitor, until Mrs Varden, more watchful than the rest, had desired
Sim Tappertit to open the glass door and give him admission--from which
untoward circumstance the good lady argued (for she could deduce a
precious moral from the most trifling event) that to take a draught of
small ale in the morning was to observe a pernicious, irreligious, and
Pagan custom, the relish whereof should be left to swine, and Satan, or
at least to Popish persons, and should be shunned by the righteous as
a work of sin and evil. She would no doubt have pursued her admonition
much further, and would have founded on it a long list of precious
precepts of inestimable value, but that the young gentleman standing by
in a somewhat uncomfortable and discomfited manner while she read
her spouse this lecture, occasioned her to bring it to a premature
conclusion.
‘I’m sure you’ll excuse me, sir,’ said Mrs Varden, rising and
curtseying. ‘Varden is so very thoughtless, and needs so much
reminding--Sim, bring a chair here.’
Mr Tappertit obeyed, with a flourish implying that he did so, under
protest.
‘And you can go, Sim,’ said the locksmith.
Mr Tappertit obeyed again, still under protest; and betaking himself to
the workshop, began seriously to fear that he might find it necessary to
poison his master, before his time was out.
In the meantime, Edward returned suitable replies to Mrs Varden’s
courtesies, and that lady brightened up very much; so that when he
accepted a dish of tea from the fair hands of Dolly, she was perfectly
agreeable.
‘I am sure if there’s anything we can do,--Varden, or I, or Dolly
either,--to serve you, sir, at any time, you have only to say it, and it
shall be done,’ said Mrs V.
‘I am much obliged to you, I am sure,’ returned Edward. ‘You encourage
me to say that I have come here now, to beg your good offices.’
Mrs Varden was delighted beyond measure.
‘It occurred to me that probably your fair daughter might be going to
the Warren, either to-day or to-morrow,’ said Edward, glancing at Dolly;
‘and if so, and you will allow her to take charge of this letter, ma’am,
you will oblige me more than I can tell you. The truth is, that while
I am very anxious it should reach its destination, I have particular
reasons for not trusting it to any other conveyance; so that without
your help, I am wholly at a loss.’
‘She was not going that way, sir, either to-day, or to-morrow, nor
indeed all next week,’ the lady graciously rejoined, ‘but we shall be
very glad to put ourselves out of the way on your account, and if you
wish it, you may depend upon its going to-day. You might suppose,’ said
Mrs Varden, frowning at her husband, ‘from Varden’s sitting there so
glum and silent, that he objected to this arrangement; but you must not
mind that, sir, if you please. It’s his way at home. Out of doors, he
can be cheerful and talkative enough.’
Now, the fact was, that the unfortunate locksmith, blessing his stars to
find his helpmate in such good humour, had been sitting with a beaming
face, hearing this discourse with a joy past all expression. Wherefore
this sudden attack quite took him by surprise.
‘My dear Martha--’ he said.
‘Oh yes, I dare say,’ interrupted Mrs Varden, with a smile of mingled
scorn and pleasantry. ‘Very dear! We all know that.’
‘No, but my good soul,’ said Gabriel, ‘you are quite mistaken. You are
indeed. I was delighted to find you so kind and ready. I waited, my
dear, anxiously, I assure you, to hear what you would say.’
‘You waited anxiously,’ repeated Mrs V. ‘Yes! Thank you, Varden. You
waited, as you always do, that I might bear the blame, if any came of
it. But I am used to it,’ said the lady with a kind of solemn titter,
‘and that’s my comfort!’
‘I give you my word, Martha--’ said Gabriel.
‘Let me give you MY word, my dear,’ interposed his wife with a Christian
smile, ‘that such discussions as these between married people, are much
better left alone. Therefore, if you please, Varden, we’ll drop the
subject. I have no wish to pursue it. I could. I might say a great deal.
But I would rather not. Pray don’t say any more.’
‘I don’t want to say any more,’ rejoined the goaded locksmith.
‘Well then, don’t,’ said Mrs Varden.
‘Nor did I begin it, Martha,’ added the locksmith, good-humouredly, ‘I
must say that.’
‘You did not begin it, Varden!’ exclaimed his wife, opening her eyes
very wide and looking round upon the company, as though she would say,
You hear this man! ‘You did not begin it, Varden! But you shall not say
I was out of temper. No, you did not begin it, oh dear no, not you, my
dear!’
‘Well, well,’ said the locksmith. ‘That’s settled then.’
‘Oh yes,’ rejoined his wife, ‘quite. If you like to say Dolly began it,
my dear, I shall not contradict you. I know my duty. I need know it,
I am sure. I am often obliged to bear it in mind, when my inclination
perhaps would be for the moment to forget it. Thank you, Varden.’ And
so, with a mighty show of humility and forgiveness, she folded her
hands, and looked round again, with a smile which plainly said, ‘If you
desire to see the first and foremost among female martyrs, here she is,
on view!’
This little incident, illustrative though it was of Mrs Varden’s
extraordinary sweetness and amiability, had so strong a tendency to
check the conversation and to disconcert all parties but that excellent
lady, that only a few monosyllables were uttered until Edward withdrew;
which he presently did, thanking the lady of the house a great many
times for her condescension, and whispering in Dolly’s ear that he would
call on the morrow, in case there should happen to be an answer to the
note--which, indeed, she knew without his telling, as Barnaby and his
friend Grip had dropped in on the previous night to prepare her for the
visit which was then terminating.
Gabriel, who had attended Edward to the door, came back with his hands
in his pockets; and, after fidgeting about the room in a very uneasy
manner, and casting a great many sidelong looks at Mrs Varden (who
with the calmest countenance in the world was five fathoms deep in
the Protestant Manual), inquired of Dolly how she meant to go. Dolly
supposed by the stage-coach, and looked at her lady mother, who finding
herself silently appealed to, dived down at least another fathom into
the Manual, and became unconscious of all earthly things.
‘Martha--’ said the locksmith.
‘I hear you, Varden,’ said his wife, without rising to the surface.
‘I am sorry, my dear, you have such an objection to the Maypole and old
John, for otherways as it’s a very fine morning, and Saturday’s not
a busy day with us, we might have all three gone to Chigwell in the
chaise, and had quite a happy day of it.’
Mrs Varden immediately closed the Manual, and bursting into tears,
requested to be led upstairs.
‘What is the matter now, Martha?’ inquired the locksmith.
To which Martha rejoined, ‘Oh! don’t speak to me,’ and protested in
agony that if anybody had told her so, she wouldn’t have believed it.
‘But, Martha,’ said Gabriel, putting himself in the way as she was
moving off with the aid of Dolly’s shoulder, ‘wouldn’t have believed
what? Tell me what’s wrong now. Do tell me. Upon my soul I don’t know.
Do YOU know, child? Damme!’ cried the locksmith, plucking at his wig in
a kind of frenzy, ‘nobody does know, I verily believe, but Miggs!’