The Old Curiosity Shop
in some one or other of their death-like faces, to the dwarf, and this
fancy would sometimes so gain upon her that she would almost believe he
had removed the figure and stood within the clothes. Then there were
so many of them with their great glassy eyes--and, as they stood one
behind the other all about her bed, they looked so like living
creatures, and yet so unlike in their grim stillness and silence, that
she had a kind of terror of them for their own sakes, and would often
lie watching their dusky figures until she was obliged to rise and
light a candle, or go and sit at the open window and feel a
companionship in the bright stars. At these times, she would recall
the old house and the window at which she used to sit alone; and then
she would think of poor Kit and all his kindness, until the tears came
into her eyes, and she would weep and smile together.
Often and anxiously at this silent hour, her thoughts reverted to her
grandfather, and she would wonder how much he remembered of their
former life, and whether he was ever really mindful of the change in
their condition and of their late helplessness and destitution. When
they were wandering about, she seldom thought of this, but now she
could not help considering what would become of them if he fell sick,
or her own strength were to fail her. He was very patient and willing,
happy to execute any little task, and glad to be of use; but he was in
the same listless state, with no prospect of improvement--a mere
child--a poor, thoughtless, vacant creature--a harmless fond old man,
susceptible of tender love and regard for her, and of pleasant and
painful impressions, but alive to nothing more. It made her very sad
to know that this was so--so sad to see it that sometimes when he sat
idly by, smiling and nodding to her when she looked round, or when he
caressed some little child and carried it to and fro, as he was fond of
doing by the hour together, perplexed by its simple questions, yet
patient under his own infirmity, and seeming almost conscious of it
too, and humbled even before the mind of an infant--so sad it made her
to see him thus, that she would burst into tears, and, withdrawing into
some secret place, fall down upon her knees and pray that he might be
restored.
But, the bitterness of her grief was not in beholding him in this
condition, when he was at least content and tranquil, nor in her
solitary meditations on his altered state, though these were trials for
a young heart. Cause for deeper and heavier sorrow was yet to come.
One evening, a holiday night with them, Nell and her grandfather went
out to walk. They had been rather closely confined for some days, and
the weather being warm, they strolled a long distance. Clear of the
town, they took a footpath which struck through some pleasant fields,
judging that it would terminate in the road they quitted and enable
them to return that way. It made, however, a much wider circuit than
they had supposed, and thus they were tempted onward until sunset, when
they reached the track of which they were in search, and stopped to
rest.
It had been gradually getting overcast, and now the sky was dark and
lowering, save where the glory of the departing sun piled up masses of
gold and burning fire, decaying embers of which gleamed here and there
through the black veil, and shone redly down upon the earth. The wind
began to moan in hollow murmurs, as the sun went down carrying glad day
elsewhere; and a train of dull clouds coming up against it, menaced
thunder and lightning. Large drops of rain soon began to fall, and, as
the storm clouds came sailing onward, others supplied the void they
left behind and spread over all the sky. Then was heard the low
rumbling of distant thunder, then the lightning quivered, and then the
darkness of an hour seemed to have gathered in an instant.
Fearful of taking shelter beneath a tree or hedge, the old man and the
child hurried along the high road, hoping to find some house in which
they could seek a refuge from the storm, which had now burst forth in
earnest, and every moment increased in violence. Drenched with the
pelting rain, confused by the deafening thunder, and bewildered by the
glare of the forked lightning, they would have passed a solitary house
without being aware of its vicinity, had not a man, who was standing at
the door, called lustily to them to enter.
‘Your ears ought to be better than other folks’ at any rate, if you
make so little of the chance of being struck blind,’ he said,
retreating from the door and shading his eyes with his hands as the
jagged lightning came again. ‘What were you going past for, eh?’ he
added, as he closed the door and led the way along a passage to a room
behind.
‘We didn’t see the house, sir, till we heard you calling,’ Nell replied.
‘No wonder,’ said the man, ‘with this lightning in one’s eyes,
by-the-by. You had better stand by the fire here, and dry yourselves a
bit. You can call for what you like if you want anything. If you
don’t want anything, you are not obliged to give an order. Don’t be
afraid of that. This is a public-house, that’s all. The Valiant
Soldier is pretty well known hereabouts.’
‘Is this house called the Valiant Soldier, Sir?’ asked Nell.
‘I thought everybody knew that,’ replied the landlord. ‘Where have you
come from, if you don’t know the Valiant Soldier as well as the church
catechism? This is the Valiant Soldier, by James Groves--Jem
Groves--honest Jem Groves, as is a man of unblemished moral character,
and has a good dry skittle-ground. If any man has got anything to say
again Jem Groves, let him say it TO Jem Groves, and Jem Groves can
accommodate him with a customer on any terms from four pound a side to
forty.
With these words, the speaker tapped himself on the waistcoat to
intimate that he was the Jem Groves so highly eulogized; sparred
scientifically at a counterfeit Jem Groves, who was sparring at society
in general from a black frame over the chimney-piece; and, applying a
half-emptied glass of spirits and water to his lips, drank Jem Groves’s
health.
The night being warm, there was a large screen drawn across the room,
for a barrier against the heat of the fire. It seemed as if somebody
on the other side of this screen had been insinuating doubts of Mr
Groves’s prowess, and had thereby given rise to these egotistical
expressions, for Mr Groves wound up his defiance by giving a loud knock
upon it with his knuckles and pausing for a reply from the other side.
‘There an’t many men,’ said Mr Groves, no answer being returned, ‘who
would ventur’ to cross Jem Groves under his own roof. There’s only one
man, I know, that has nerve enough for that, and that man’s not a
hundred mile from here neither. But he’s worth a dozen men, and I let
him say of me whatever he likes in consequence--he knows that.’
In return for this complimentary address, a very gruff hoarse voice
bade Mr Groves ‘hold his noise and light a candle.’ And the same voice
remarked that the same gentleman ‘needn’t waste his breath in brag, for
most people knew pretty well what sort of stuff he was made of.’
‘Nell, they’re--they’re playing cards,’ whispered the old man, suddenly
interested. ‘Don’t you hear them?’
‘Look sharp with that candle,’ said the voice; ‘it’s as much as I can
do to see the pips on the cards as it is; and get this shutter closed
as quick as you can, will you? Your beer will be the worse for
to-night’s thunder I expect.--Game! Seven-and-sixpence to me, old
Isaac. Hand over.’
‘Do you hear, Nell, do you hear them?’ whispered the old man again,
with increased earnestness, as the money chinked upon the table.
‘I haven’t seen such a storm as this,’ said a sharp cracked voice of
most disagreeable quality, when a tremendous peal of thunder had died
away, ‘since the night when old Luke Withers won thirteen times running
on the red. We all said he had the Devil’s luck and his own, and as it
was the kind of night for the Devil to be out and busy, I suppose he
was looking over his shoulder, if anybody could have seen him.’
‘Ah!’ returned the gruff voice; ‘for all old Luke’s winning through
thick and thin of late years, I remember the time when he was the
unluckiest and unfortunatest of men. He never took a dice-box in his
hand, or held a card, but he was plucked, pigeoned, and cleaned out
completely.’
‘Do you hear what he says?’ whispered the old man. ‘Do you hear that,
Nell?’
The child saw with astonishment and alarm that his whole appearance had
undergone a complete change. His face was flushed and eager, his eyes
were strained, his teeth set, his breath came short and thick, and the
hand he laid upon her arm trembled so violently that she shook beneath
its grasp.
‘Bear witness,’ he muttered, looking upward, ‘that I always said it;
that I knew it, dreamed of it, felt it was the truth, and that it must
be so! What money have we, Nell? Come! I saw you with money
yesterday. What money have we? Give it to me.’
‘No, no, let me keep it, grandfather,’ said the frightened child. ‘Let
us go away from here. Do not mind the rain. Pray let us go.’
‘Give it to me, I say,’ returned the old man fiercely. ‘Hush, hush,
don’t cry, Nell. If I spoke sharply, dear, I didn’t mean it. It’s for
thy good. I have wronged thee, Nell, but I will right thee yet, I will
indeed. Where is the money?’
‘Do not take it,’ said the child. ‘Pray do not take it, dear. For
both our sakes let me keep it, or let me throw it away--better let me
throw it away, than you take it now. Let us go; do let us go.’
‘Give me the money,’ returned the old man, ‘I must have it.
There--there--that’s my dear Nell. I’ll right thee one day, child,
I’ll right thee, never fear!’
She took from her pocket a little purse. He seized it with the same
rapid impatience which had characterised his speech, and hastily made
his way to the other side of the screen. It was impossible to restrain
him, and the trembling child followed close behind.
The landlord had placed a light upon the table, and was engaged in
drawing the curtain of the window. The speakers whom they had heard
were two men, who had a pack of cards and some silver money between
them, while upon the screen itself the games they had played were
scored in chalk. The man with the rough voice was a burly fellow of
middle age, with large black whiskers, broad cheeks, a coarse wide
mouth, and bull neck, which was pretty freely displayed as his shirt
collar was only confined by a loose red neckerchief. He wore his hat,
which was of a brownish-white, and had beside him a thick knotted
stick. The other man, whom his companion had called Isaac, was of a
more slender figure--stooping, and high in the shoulders--with a very
ill-favoured face, and a most sinister and villainous squint.
‘Now old gentleman,’ said Isaac, looking round. ‘Do you know either of
us? This side of the screen is private, sir.’
‘No offence, I hope,’ returned the old man.
‘But by G--, sir, there is offence,’ said the other, interrupting him,
‘when you intrude yourself upon a couple of gentlemen who are
particularly engaged.’
‘I had no intention to offend,’ said the old man, looking anxiously at
the cards. ‘I thought that--’
‘But you had no right to think, sir,’ retorted the other. ‘What the
devil has a man at your time of life to do with thinking?’
‘Now bully boy,’ said the stout man, raising his eyes from his cards
for the first time, ‘can’t you let him speak?’
The landlord, who had apparently resolved to remain neutral until he
knew which side of the question the stout man would espouse, chimed in
at this place with ‘Ah, to be sure, can’t you let him speak, Isaac
List?’