The Old Curiosity Shop
best of fathers besides, which Kit could and would corroborate she
knew, and so would little Jacob and the baby likewise if they were old
enough, which unfortunately they were not, though as they didn’t know
what a loss they had had, perhaps it was a great deal better that they
should be as young as they were; and so Kit’s mother wound up a long
story by wiping her eyes with her apron, and patting little Jacob’s
head, who was rocking the cradle and staring with all his might at the
strange lady and gentleman.
When Kit’s mother had done speaking, the old lady struck in again, and
said that she was quite sure she was a very honest and very respectable
person or she never would have expressed herself in that manner, and
that certainly the appearance of the children and the cleanliness of
the house deserved great praise and did her the utmost credit, whereat
Kit’s mother dropped a curtsey and became consoled. Then the good
woman entered in a long and minute account of Kit’s life and history
from the earliest period down to that time, not omitting to make
mention of his miraculous fall out of a back-parlour window when an
infant of tender years, or his uncommon sufferings in a state of
measles, which were illustrated by correct imitations of the plaintive
manner in which he called for toast and water, day and night, and said,
‘don’t cry, mother, I shall soon be better;’ for proof of which
statements reference was made to Mrs Green, lodger, at the
cheesemonger’s round the corner, and divers other ladies and gentlemen
in various parts of England and Wales (and one Mr Brown who was
supposed to be then a corporal in the East Indies, and who could of
course be found with very little trouble), within whose personal
knowledge the circumstances had occurred. This narration ended, Mr
Garland put some questions to Kit respecting his qualifications and
general acquirements, while Mrs Garland noticed the children, and
hearing from Kit’s mother certain remarkable circumstances which had
attended the birth of each, related certain other remarkable
circumstances which had attended the birth of her own son, Mr Abel,
from which it appeared that both Kit’s mother and herself had been,
above and beyond all other women of what condition or age soever,
peculiarly hemmed in with perils and dangers. Lastly, inquiry was made
into the nature and extent of Kit’s wardrobe, and a small advance being
made to improve the same, he was formally hired at an annual income of
Six Pounds, over and above his board and lodging, by Mr and Mrs
Garland, of Abel Cottage, Finchley.
It would be difficult to say which party appeared most pleased with
this arrangement, the conclusion of which was hailed with nothing but
pleasant looks and cheerful smiles on both sides. It was settled that
Kit should repair to his new abode on the next day but one, in the
morning; and finally, the little old couple, after bestowing a bright
half-crown on little Jacob and another on the baby, took their leaves;
being escorted as far as the street by their new attendant, who held
the obdurate pony by the bridle while they took their seats, and saw
them drive away with a lightened heart.
‘Well, mother,’ said Kit, hurrying back into the house, ‘I think my
fortune’s about made now.’
‘I should think it was indeed, Kit,’ rejoined his mother. ‘Six pound a
year! Only think!’
‘Ah!’ said Kit, trying to maintain the gravity which the consideration
of such a sum demanded, but grinning with delight in spite of himself.
‘There’s a property!’
Kit drew a long breath when he had said this, and putting his hands
deep into his pockets as if there were one year’s wages at least in
each, looked at his mother, as though he saw through her, and down an
immense perspective of sovereigns beyond.
‘Please God we’ll make such a lady of you for Sundays, mother! such a
scholar of Jacob, such a child of the baby, such a room of the one up
stairs! Six pound a year!’
‘Hem!’ croaked a strange voice. ‘What’s that about six pound a year?
What about six pound a year?’ And as the voice made this inquiry,
Daniel Quilp walked in with Richard Swiveller at his heels.
‘Who said he was to have six pound a year?’ said Quilp, looking sharply
round. ‘Did the old man say it, or did little Nell say it? And what’s
he to have it for, and where are they, eh!’
The good woman was so much alarmed by the sudden apparition of this
unknown piece of ugliness, that she hastily caught the baby from its
cradle and retreated into the furthest corner of the room; while little
Jacob, sitting upon his stool with his hands on his knees, looked full
at him in a species of fascination, roaring lustily all the time.
Richard Swiveller took an easy observation of the family over Mr Quilp’s
head, and Quilp himself, with his hands in his pockets, smiled in an
exquisite enjoyment of the commotion he occasioned.
‘Don’t be frightened, mistress,’ said Quilp, after a pause. ‘Your son
knows me; I don’t eat babies; I don’t like ‘em. It will be as well to
stop that young screamer though, in case I should be tempted to do him
a mischief. Holloa, sir! Will you be quiet?’
Little Jacob stemmed the course of two tears which he was squeezing out
of his eyes, and instantly subsided into a silent horror.
‘Mind you don’t break out again, you villain,’ said Quilp, looking
sternly at him, ‘or I’ll make faces at you and throw you into fits, I
will. Now you sir, why haven’t you been to me as you promised?’
‘What should I come for?’ retorted Kit. ‘I hadn’t any business with
you, no more than you had with me.’
‘Here, mistress,’ said Quilp, turning quickly away, and appealing from
Kit to his mother. ‘When did his old master come or send here last?
Is he here now? If not, where’s he gone?’
‘He has not been here at all,’ she replied. ‘I wish we knew where they
have gone, for it would make my son a good deal easier in his mind, and
me too. If you’re the gentleman named Mr Quilp, I should have thought
you’d have known, and so I told him only this very day.’
‘Humph!’ muttered Quilp, evidently disappointed to believe that this
was true. ‘That’s what you tell this gentleman too, is it?’
‘If the gentleman comes to ask the same question, I can’t tell him
anything else, sir; and I only wish I could, for our own sakes,’ was
the reply.
Quilp glanced at Richard Swiveller, and observed that having met him on
the threshold, he assumed that he had come in search of some
intelligence of the fugitives. He supposed he was right?
‘Yes,’ said Dick, ‘that was the object of the present expedition. I
fancied it possible--but let us go ring fancy’s knell. I’ll begin it.’
‘You seem disappointed,’ observed Quilp.
‘A baffler, Sir, a baffler, that’s all,’ returned Dick. ‘I have
entered upon a speculation which has proved a baffler; and a Being of
brightness and beauty will be offered up a sacrifice at Cheggs’s altar.
That’s all, sir.’
The dwarf eyed Richard with a sarcastic smile, but Richard, who had
been taking a rather strong lunch with a friend, observed him not, and
continued to deplore his fate with mournful and despondent looks.
Quilp plainly discerned that there was some secret reason for this
visit and his uncommon disappointment, and, in the hope that there
might be means of mischief lurking beneath it, resolved to worm it out.
He had no sooner adopted this resolution, than he conveyed as much
honesty into his face as it was capable of expressing, and sympathised
with Mr Swiveller exceedingly.
‘I am disappointed myself,’ said Quilp, ‘out of mere friendly feeling
for them; but you have real reasons, private reasons I have no doubt,
for your disappointment, and therefore it comes heavier than mine.’
‘Why, of course it does,’ Dick observed, testily.
‘Upon my word, I’m very sorry, very sorry. I’m rather cast down
myself. As we are companions in adversity, shall we be companions in
the surest way of forgetting it? If you had no particular business,
now, to lead you in another direction,’ urged Quilp, plucking him by
the sleeve and looking slyly up into his face out of the corners of his
eyes, ‘there is a house by the water-side where they have some of the
noblest Schiedam--reputed to be smuggled, but that’s between
ourselves--that can be got in all the world. The landlord knows me.
There’s a little summer-house overlooking the river, where we might
take a glass of this delicious liquor with a whiff of the best
tobacco--it’s in this case, and of the rarest quality, to my certain
knowledge--and be perfectly snug and happy, could we possibly contrive
it; or is there any very particular engagement that peremptorily takes
you another way, Mr Swiveller, eh?’
As the dwarf spoke, Dick’s face relaxed into a compliant smile, and his
brows slowly unbent. By the time he had finished, Dick was looking
down at Quilp in the same sly manner as Quilp was looking up at him,
and there remained nothing more to be done but to set out for the house
in question. This they did, straightway. The moment their backs were
turned, little Jacob thawed, and resumed his crying from the point
where Quilp had frozen him.
The summer-house of which Mr Quilp had spoken was a rugged wooden box,
rotten and bare to see, which overhung the river’s mud, and threatened
to slide down into it. The tavern to which it belonged was a crazy
building, sapped and undermined by the rats, and only upheld by great
bars of wood which were reared against its walls, and had propped it up
so long that even they were decaying and yielding with their load, and
of a windy night might be heard to creak and crack as if the whole
fabric were about to come toppling down. The house stood--if anything
so old and feeble could be said to stand--on a piece of waste ground,
blighted with the unwholesome smoke of factory chimneys, and echoing
the clank of iron wheels and rush of troubled water. Its internal
accommodations amply fulfilled the promise of the outside. The rooms
were low and damp, the clammy walls were pierced with chinks and holes,
the rotten floors had sunk from their level, the very beams started
from their places and warned the timid stranger from their
neighbourhood.
To this inviting spot, entreating him to observe its beauties as they
passed along, Mr Quilp led Richard Swiveller, and on the table of the
summer-house, scored deep with many a gallows and initial letter, there
soon appeared a wooden keg, full of the vaunted liquor. Drawing it off
into the glasses with the skill of a practised hand, and mixing it with
about a third part of water, Mr Quilp assigned to Richard Swiveller his
portion, and lighting his pipe from an end of a candle in a very old
and battered lantern, drew himself together upon a seat and puffed away.
‘Is it good?’ said Quilp, as Richard Swiveller smacked his lips, ‘is it
strong and fiery? Does it make you wink, and choke, and your eyes
water, and your breath come short--does it?’
‘Does it?’ cried Dick, throwing away part of the contents of his glass,
and filling it up with water, ‘why, man, you don’t mean to tell me that
you drink such fire as this?’
‘No!’ rejoined Quilp, ‘Not drink it! Look here. And here. And here
again. Not drink it!’
As he spoke, Daniel Quilp drew off and drank three small glassfuls of
the raw spirit, and then with a horrible grimace took a great many
pulls at his pipe, and swallowing the smoke, discharged it in a heavy
cloud from his nose. This feat accomplished he drew himself together
in his former position, and laughed excessively.
‘Give us a toast!’ cried Quilp, rattling on the table in a dexterous
manner with his fist and elbow alternately, in a kind of tune, ‘a
woman, a beauty. Let’s have a beauty for our toast and empty our
glasses to the last drop. Her name, come!’