Barnaby Rudge: A Tale of the Riots of 'Eighty
under singular circumstances, and upon a melancholy occasion. I hope you
are very well.’
At these words the young lady raised her eyes, which were filled with
tears; and seeing that her uncle indeed stood before them, and being
quite unequal to the trial of hearing or of speaking one word more,
hurriedly withdrew, and left them. They stood looking at each other, and
at her retreating figure, and for a long time neither of them spoke.
‘What does this mean? Explain it,’ said Mr Haredale at length. ‘Why are
you here, and why with her?’
‘My dear friend,’ rejoined the other, resuming his accustomed manner
with infinite readiness, and throwing himself upon the bench with a
weary air, ‘you told me not very long ago, at that delightful old
tavern of which you are the esteemed proprietor (and a most charming
establishment it is for persons of rural pursuits and in robust health,
who are not liable to take cold), that I had the head and heart of an
evil spirit in all matters of deception. I thought at the time; I
really did think; you flattered me. But now I begin to wonder at your
discernment, and vanity apart, do honestly believe you spoke the truth.
Did you ever counterfeit extreme ingenuousness and honest indignation?
My dear fellow, you have no conception, if you never did, how faint the
effort makes one.’
Mr Haredale surveyed him with a look of cold contempt. ‘You may evade an
explanation, I know,’ he said, folding his arms. ‘But I must have it. I
can wait.’
‘Not at all. Not at all, my good fellow. You shall not wait a moment,’
returned his friend, as he lazily crossed his legs. ‘The simplest thing
in the world. It lies in a nutshell. Ned has written her a letter--a
boyish, honest, sentimental composition, which remains as yet in
his desk, because he hasn’t had the heart to send it. I have taken a
liberty, for which my parental affection and anxiety are a sufficient
excuse, and possessed myself of the contents. I have described them
to your niece (a most enchanting person, Haredale; quite an angelic
creature), with a little colouring and description adapted to our
purpose. It’s done. You may be quite easy. It’s all over. Deprived of
their adherents and mediators; her pride and jealousy roused to the
utmost; with nobody to undeceive her, and you to confirm me; you will
find that their intercourse will close with her answer. If she receives
Ned’s letter by to-morrow noon, you may date their parting from
to-morrow night. No thanks, I beg; you owe me none. I have acted for
myself; and if I have forwarded our compact with all the ardour even you
could have desired, I have done so selfishly, indeed.’
‘I curse the compact, as you call it, with my whole heart and soul,’
returned the other. ‘It was made in an evil hour. I have bound myself
to a lie; I have leagued myself with you; and though I did so with a
righteous motive, and though it cost me such an effort as haply few men
know, I hate and despise myself for the deed.’
‘You are very warm,’ said Mr Chester with a languid smile.
‘I AM warm. I am maddened by your coldness. ‘Death, Chester, if your
blood ran warmer in your veins, and there were no restraints upon me,
such as those that hold and drag me back--well; it is done; you tell me
so, and on such a point I may believe you. When I am most remorseful
for this treachery, I will think of you and your marriage, and try to
justify myself in such remembrances, for having torn asunder Emma and
your son, at any cost. Our bond is cancelled now, and we may part.’
Mr Chester kissed his hand gracefully; and with the same tranquil face
he had preserved throughout--even when he had seen his companion
so tortured and transported by his passion that his whole frame was
shaken--lay in his lounging posture on the seat and watched him as he
walked away.
‘My scapegoat and my drudge at school,’ he said, raising his head
to look after him; ‘my friend of later days, who could not keep his
mistress when he had won her, and threw me in her way to carry off the
prize; I triumph in the present and the past. Bark on, ill-favoured,
ill-conditioned cur; fortune has ever been with me--I like to hear you.’
The spot where they had met, was in an avenue of trees. Mr Haredale not
passing out on either hand, had walked straight on. He chanced to turn
his head when at some considerable distance, and seeing that his late
companion had by that time risen and was looking after him, stood still
as though he half expected him to follow and waited for his coming up.
‘It MAY come to that one day, but not yet,’ said Mr Chester, waving his
hand, as though they were the best of friends, and turning away. ‘Not
yet, Haredale. Life is pleasant enough to me; dull and full of heaviness
to you. No. To cross swords with such a man--to indulge his humour
unless upon extremity--would be weak indeed.’
For all that, he drew his sword as he walked along, and in an
absent humour ran his eye from hilt to point full twenty times. But
thoughtfulness begets wrinkles; remembering this, he soon put it up,
smoothed his contracted brow, hummed a gay tune with greater gaiety of
manner, and was his unruffled self again.
Chapter 30
A homely proverb recognises the existence of a troublesome class of
persons who, having an inch conceded them, will take an ell. Not to
quote the illustrious examples of those heroic scourges of mankind,
whose amiable path in life has been from birth to death through blood,
and fire, and ruin, and who would seem to have existed for no better
purpose than to teach mankind that as the absence of pain is pleasure,
so the earth, purged of their presence, may be deemed a blessed
place--not to quote such mighty instances, it will be sufficient to
refer to old John Willet.
Old John having long encroached a good standard inch, full measure, on
the liberty of Joe, and having snipped off a Flemish ell in the matter
of the parole, grew so despotic and so great, that his thirst for
conquest knew no bounds. The more young Joe submitted, the more absolute
old John became. The ell soon faded into nothing. Yards, furlongs, miles
arose; and on went old John in the pleasantest manner possible, trimming
off an exuberance in this place, shearing away some liberty of speech
or action in that, and conducting himself in his small way with as much
high mightiness and majesty, as the most glorious tyrant that ever had
his statue reared in the public ways, of ancient or of modern times.
As great men are urged on to the abuse of power (when they need urging,
which is not often), by their flatterers and dependents, so old John was
impelled to these exercises of authority by the applause and admiration
of his Maypole cronies, who, in the intervals of their nightly pipes and
pots, would shake their heads and say that Mr Willet was a father of the
good old English sort; that there were no new-fangled notions or modern
ways in him; that he put them in mind of what their fathers were when
they were boys; that there was no mistake about him; that it would be
well for the country if there were more like him, and more was the pity
that there were not; with many other original remarks of that nature.
Then they would condescendingly give Joe to understand that it was
all for his good, and he would be thankful for it one day; and in
particular, Mr Cobb would acquaint him, that when he was his age, his
father thought no more of giving him a parental kick, or a box on the
ears, or a cuff on the head, or some little admonition of that sort,
than he did of any other ordinary duty of life; and he would further
remark, with looks of great significance, that but for this judicious
bringing up, he might have never been the man he was at that present
speaking; which was probable enough, as he was, beyond all question,
the dullest dog of the party. In short, between old John and old
John’s friends, there never was an unfortunate young fellow so bullied,
badgered, worried, fretted, and brow-beaten; so constantly beset, or
made so tired of his life, as poor Joe Willet.
This had come to be the recognised and established state of things; but
as John was very anxious to flourish his supremacy before the eyes of Mr
Chester, he did that day exceed himself, and did so goad and chafe his
son and heir, that but for Joe’s having made a solemn vow to keep
his hands in his pockets when they were not otherwise engaged, it is
impossible to say what he might have done with them. But the longest day
has an end, and at length Mr Chester came downstairs to mount his horse,
which was ready at the door.
As old John was not in the way at the moment, Joe, who was sitting in
the bar ruminating on his dismal fate and the manifold perfections of
Dolly Varden, ran out to hold the guest’s stirrup and assist him to
mount. Mr Chester was scarcely in the saddle, and Joe was in the very
act of making him a graceful bow, when old John came diving out of the
porch, and collared him.
‘None of that, sir,’ said John, ‘none of that, sir. No breaking of
patroles. How dare you come out of the door, sir, without leave? You’re
trying to get away, sir, are you, and to make a traitor of yourself
again? What do you mean, sir?’
‘Let me go, father,’ said Joe, imploringly, as he marked the smile upon
their visitor’s face, and observed the pleasure his disgrace afforded
him. ‘This is too bad. Who wants to get away?’
‘Who wants to get away!’ cried John, shaking him. ‘Why you do, sir,
you do. You’re the boy, sir,’ added John, collaring with one hand, and
aiding the effect of a farewell bow to the visitor with the other,
‘that wants to sneak into houses, and stir up differences between noble
gentlemen and their sons, are you, eh? Hold your tongue, sir.’
Joe made no effort to reply. It was the crowning circumstance of his
degradation. He extricated himself from his father’s grasp, darted an
angry look at the departing guest, and returned into the house.
‘But for her,’ thought Joe, as he threw his arms upon a table in the
common room, and laid his head upon them, ‘but for Dolly, who I couldn’t
bear should think me the rascal they would make me out to be if I ran
away, this house and I should part to-night.’
It being evening by this time, Solomon Daisy, Tom Cobb, and Long Parkes,
were all in the common room too, and had from the window been witnesses
of what had just occurred. Mr Willet joining them soon afterwards,
received the compliments of the company with great composure, and
lighting his pipe, sat down among them.
‘We’ll see, gentlemen,’ said John, after a long pause, ‘who’s the master
of this house, and who isn’t. We’ll see whether boys are to govern men,
or men are to govern boys.’
‘And quite right too,’ assented Solomon Daisy with some approving nods;
‘quite right, Johnny. Very good, Johnny. Well said, Mr Willet. Brayvo,
sir.’
John slowly brought his eyes to bear upon him, looked at him for a long
time, and finally made answer, to the unspeakable consternation of his
hearers, ‘When I want encouragement from you, sir, I’ll ask you for
it. You let me alone, sir. I can get on without you, I hope. Don’t you
tackle me, sir, if you please.’
‘Don’t take it ill, Johnny; I didn’t mean any harm,’ pleaded the little
man.
‘Very good, sir,’ said John, more than usually obstinate after his late
success. ‘Never mind, sir. I can stand pretty firm of myself, sir, I
believe, without being shored up by you.’ And having given utterance to
this retort, Mr Willet fixed his eyes upon the boiler, and fell into a
kind of tobacco-trance.
The spirits of the company being somewhat damped by this embarrassing
line of conduct on the part of their host, nothing more was said for a
long time; but at length Mr Cobb took upon himself to remark, as he rose