The Old Curiosity Shop
following with the candle; ‘it occurs to me that you must be in the
constant habit of airing your eye at keyholes, to know all this.’
‘I only wanted,’ replied the trembling Marchioness, ‘to know where the
key of the safe was hid; that was all; and I wouldn’t have taken much,
if I had found it--only enough to squench my hunger.’
‘You didn’t find it then?’ said Dick. ‘But of course you didn’t, or
you’d be plumper. Good night, Marchioness. Fare thee well, and if for
ever, then for ever fare thee well--and put up the chain, Marchioness,
in case of accidents.’
With this parting injunction, Mr Swiveller emerged from the house; and
feeling that he had by this time taken quite as much to drink as
promised to be good for his constitution (purl being a rather strong
and heady compound), wisely resolved to betake himself to his lodgings,
and to bed at once. Homeward he went therefore; and his apartments
(for he still retained the plural fiction) being at no great distance
from the office, he was soon seated in his own bed-chamber, where,
having pulled off one boot and forgotten the other, he fell into deep
cogitation.
‘This Marchioness,’ said Mr Swiveller, folding his arms, ‘is a very
extraordinary person--surrounded by mysteries, ignorant of the taste of
beer, unacquainted with her own name (which is less remarkable), and
taking a limited view of society through the keyholes of doors--can
these things be her destiny, or has some unknown person started an
opposition to the decrees of fate? It is a most inscrutable and
unmitigated staggerer!’
When his meditations had attained this satisfactory point, he became
aware of his remaining boot, of which, with unimpaired solemnity he
proceeded to divest himself; shaking his head with exceeding gravity
all the time, and sighing deeply.
‘These rubbers,’ said Mr Swiveller, putting on his nightcap in exactly
the same style as he wore his hat, ‘remind me of the matrimonial
fireside. Cheggs’s wife plays cribbage; all-fours likewise. She rings
the changes on ‘em now. From sport to sport they hurry her to banish
her regrets, and when they win a smile from her, they think that she
forgets--but she don’t. By this time, I should say,’ added Richard,
getting his left cheek into profile, and looking complacently at the
reflection of a very little scrap of whisker in the looking-glass; ‘by
this time, I should say, the iron has entered into her soul. It serves
her right!’
Melting from this stern and obdurate, into the tender and pathetic
mood, Mr Swiveller groaned a little, walked wildly up and down, and
even made a show of tearing his hair, which, however, he thought better
of, and wrenched the tassel from his nightcap instead. At last,
undressing himself with a gloomy resolution, he got into bed.
Some men in his blighted position would have taken to drinking; but as
Mr Swiveller had taken to that before, he only took, on receiving the
news that Sophy Wackles was lost to him for ever, to playing the flute;
thinking after mature consideration that it was a good, sound, dismal
occupation, not only in unison with his own sad thoughts, but
calculated to awaken a fellow-feeling in the bosoms of his neighbours.
In pursuance of this resolution, he now drew a little table to his
bedside, and arranging the light and a small oblong music-book to the
best advantage, took his flute from its box, and began to play most
mournfully.
The air was ‘Away with melancholy’--a composition, which, when it is
played very slowly on the flute, in bed, with the further disadvantage
of being performed by a gentleman but imperfectly acquainted with the
instrument, who repeats one note a great many times before he can find
the next, has not a lively effect. Yet, for half the night, or more,
Mr Swiveller, lying sometimes on his back with his eyes upon the
ceiling, and sometimes half out of bed to correct himself by the book,
played this unhappy tune over and over again; never leaving off, save
for a minute or two at a time to take breath and soliloquise about the
Marchioness, and then beginning again with renewed vigour. It was not
until he had quite exhausted his several subjects of meditation, and
had breathed into the flute the whole sentiment of the purl down to its
very dregs, and had nearly maddened the people of the house, and at
both the next doors, and over the way--that he shut up the music-book,
extinguished the candle, and finding himself greatly lightened and
relieved in his mind, turned round and fell asleep.
He awoke in the morning, much refreshed; and having taken half an
hour’s exercise at the flute, and graciously received a notice to quit
from his landlady, who had been in waiting on the stairs for that
purpose since the dawn of day, repaired to Bevis Marks; where the
beautiful Sally was already at her post, bearing in her looks a
radiance, mild as that which beameth from the virgin moon.
Mr Swiveller acknowledged her presence by a nod, and exchanged his coat
for the aquatic jacket; which usually took some time fitting on, for in
consequence of a tightness in the sleeves, it was only to be got into
by a series of struggles. This difficulty overcome, he took his seat
at the desk.
‘I say’--quoth Miss Brass, abruptly breaking silence, ‘you haven’t seen
a silver pencil-case this morning, have you?’
‘I didn’t meet many in the street,’ rejoined Mr Swiveller. ‘I saw
one--a stout pencil-case of respectable appearance--but as he was in
company with an elderly penknife, and a young toothpick with whom he
was in earnest conversation, I felt a delicacy in speaking to him.’
‘No, but have you?’ returned Miss Brass. ‘Seriously, you know.’
‘What a dull dog you must be to ask me such a question seriously,’ said
Mr Swiveller. ‘Haven’t I this moment come?’
‘Well, all I know is,’ replied Miss Sally, ‘that it’s not to be found,
and that it disappeared one day this week, when I left it on the desk.’
‘Halloa!’ thought Richard, ‘I hope the Marchioness hasn’t been at work
here.’
‘There was a knife too,’ said Miss Sally, ‘of the same pattern. They
were given to me by my father, years ago, and are both gone. You
haven’t missed anything yourself, have you?’
Mr Swiveller involuntarily clapped his hands to the jacket to be quite
sure that it WAS a jacket and not a skirted coat; and having satisfied
himself of the safety of this, his only moveable in Bevis Marks, made
answer in the negative.
‘It’s a very unpleasant thing, Dick,’ said Miss Brass, pulling out the
tin box and refreshing herself with a pinch of snuff; ‘but between you
and me--between friends you know, for if Sammy knew it, I should never
hear the last of it--some of the office-money, too, that has been left
about, has gone in the same way. In particular, I have missed three
half-crowns at three different times.’
‘You don’t mean that?’ cried Dick. ‘Be careful what you say, old boy,
for this is a serious matter. Are you quite sure? Is there no
mistake?’
‘It is so, and there can’t be any mistake at all,’ rejoined Miss Brass
emphatically.
‘Then by Jove,’ thought Richard, laying down his pen, ‘I am afraid the
Marchioness is done for!’
The more he discussed the subject in his thoughts, the more probable it
appeared to Dick that the miserable little servant was the culprit.
When he considered on what a spare allowance of food she lived, how
neglected and untaught she was, and how her natural cunning had been
sharpened by necessity and privation, he scarcely doubted it. And yet
he pitied her so much, and felt so unwilling to have a matter of such
gravity disturbing the oddity of their acquaintance, that he thought,
and thought truly, that rather than receive fifty pounds down, he would
have the Marchioness proved innocent.
While he was plunged in very profound and serious meditation upon this
theme, Miss Sally sat shaking her head with an air of great mystery and
doubt; when the voice of her brother Sampson, carolling a cheerful
strain, was heard in the passage, and that gentleman himself, beaming
with virtuous smiles, appeared.
‘Mr Richard, sir, good morning! Here we are again, sir, entering upon
another day, with our bodies strengthened by slumber and breakfast, and
our spirits fresh and flowing. Here we are, Mr Richard, rising with
the sun to run our little course--our course of duty, sir--and, like
him, to get through our day’s work with credit to ourselves and
advantage to our fellow-creatures. A charming reflection sir, very
charming!’
While he addressed his clerk in these words, Mr Brass was, somewhat
ostentatiously, engaged in minutely examining and holding up against
the light a five-pound bank note, which he had brought in, in his hand.
Mr Richard not receiving his remarks with anything like enthusiasm, his
employer turned his eyes to his face, and observed that it wore a
troubled expression.
‘You’re out of spirits, sir,’ said Brass. ‘Mr Richard, sir, we should
fall to work cheerfully, and not in a despondent state. It becomes us,
Mr Richard, sir, to--’
Here the chaste Sarah heaved a loud sigh.
‘Dear me!’ said Mr Sampson, ‘you too! Is anything the matter? Mr
Richard, sir--’
Dick, glancing at Miss Sally, saw that she was making signals to him,
to acquaint her brother with the subject of their recent conversation.
As his own position was not a very pleasant one until the matter was
set at rest one way or other, he did so; and Miss Brass, plying her
snuff-box at a most wasteful rate, corroborated his account.
The countenance of Sampson fell, and anxiety overspread his features.
Instead of passionately bewailing the loss of his money, as Miss Sally
had expected, he walked on tiptoe to the door, opened it, looked
outside, shut it softly, returned on tiptoe, and said in a whisper,
‘This is a most extraordinary and painful circumstance--Mr Richard,
sir, a most painful circumstance. The fact is, that I myself have
missed several small sums from the desk, of late, and have refrained
from mentioning it, hoping that accident would discover the offender;
but it has not done so--it has not done so. Sally--Mr Richard,
sir--this is a particularly distressing affair!’
As Sampson spoke, he laid the bank-note upon the desk among some
papers, in an absent manner, and thrust his hands into his pockets.
Richard Swiveller pointed to it, and admonished him to take it up.
‘No, Mr Richard, sir,’ rejoined Brass with emotion, ‘I will not take it
up. I will let it lie there, sir. To take it up, Mr Richard, sir,
would imply a doubt of you; and in you, sir, I have unlimited
confidence. We will let it lie there, Sir, if you please, and we will
not take it up by any means.’ With that, Mr Brass patted him twice or
thrice on the shoulder, in a most friendly manner, and entreated him to
believe that he had as much faith in his honesty as he had in his own.
Although at another time Mr Swiveller might have looked upon this as a
doubtful compliment, he felt it, under the then-existing circumstances,
a great relief to be assured that he was not wrongfully suspected.
When he had made a suitable reply, Mr Brass wrung him by the hand, and
fell into a brown study, as did Miss Sally likewise. Richard too
remained in a thoughtful state; fearing every moment to hear the
Marchioness impeached, and unable to resist the conviction that she
must be guilty.
When they had severally remained in this condition for some minutes,
Miss Sally all at once gave a loud rap upon the desk with her clenched
fist, and cried, ‘I’ve hit it!’--as indeed she had, and chipped a piece
out of it too; but that was not her meaning.
‘Well,’ cried Brass anxiously. ‘Go on, will you!’
‘Why,’ replied his sister with an air of triumph, ‘hasn’t there been