"Would you--now, would you like to know?" said Jeremiah with a pounce as if he had sprung upon her.
"If I cared to know, I should know already. Could I not have asked her any day?"
"Then you don"t care to know?"
"I do not."
Mr Flintwinch, having expelled a long significant breath said, with his former emphasis, "For I have accidentally--mind!--found out."
"Wherever she lives," said Mrs Clennam, speaking in one unmodulated hard voice, and separating her words as distinctly as if she were reading them off from separate bits of metal that she took up one by one, "she has made a secret of it, and she shall always keep her secret from me."
"After all, perhaps you would rather not have known the fact, any how?"
said Jeremiah; and he said it with a twist, as if his words had come out of him in his own wry shape.
"Flintwinch," said his mistress and partner, flashing into a sudden energy that made Affery start, "why do you goad me? Look round this room. If it is any compensation for my long confinement within these narrow limits--not that I complain of being afflicted; you know I never complain of that--if it is any compensation to me for long confinement to this room, that while I am shut up from all pleasant change I am also shut up from the knowledge of some things that I may prefer to avoid knowing, why should you, of all men, grudge me that belief?"
"I don"t grudge it to you," returned Jeremiah.
"Then say no more. Say no more. Let Little Dorrit keep her secret from me, and do you keep it from me also. Let her come and go, un.o.bserved and unquestioned. Let me suffer, and let me have what alleviation belongs to my condition. Is it so much, that you torment me like an evil spirit?"
"I asked you a question. That"s all."
"I have answered it. So, say no more. Say no more." Here the sound of the wheeled chair was heard upon the floor, and Affery"s bell rang with a hasty jerk.
More afraid of her husband at the moment than of the mysterious sound in the kitchen, Affery crept away as lightly and as quickly as she could, descended the kitchen stairs almost as rapidly as she had ascended them, resumed her seat before the fire, tucked up her skirt again, and finally threw her ap.r.o.n over her head. Then the bell rang once more, and then once more, and then kept on ringing; in despite of which importunate summons, Affery still sat behind her ap.r.o.n, recovering her breath.
At last Mr Flintwinch came shuffling down the staircase into the hall, muttering and calling "Affery woman!" all the way. Affery still remaining behind her ap.r.o.n, he came stumbling down the kitchen stairs, candle in hand, sidled up to her, twitched her ap.r.o.n off, and roused her.
"Oh Jeremiah!" cried Affery, waking. "What a start you gave me!"
"What have you been doing, woman?" inquired Jeremiah. "You"ve been rung for fifty times."
"Oh Jeremiah," said Mistress Affery, "I have been a-dreaming!"
Reminded of her former achievement in that way, Mr Flintwinch held the candle to her head, as if he had some idea of lighting her up for the illumination of the kitchen.
"Don"t you know it"s her tea-time?" he demanded with a vicious grin, and giving one of the legs of Mistress Affery"s chair a kick.
"Jeremiah? Tea-time? I don"t know what"s come to me. But I got such a dreadful turn, Jeremiah, before I went--off a-dreaming, that I think it must be that."
"Yoogh! Sleepy-Head!" said Mr Flintwinch, "what are you talking about?"
"Such a strange noise, Jeremiah, and such a curious movement. In the kitchen here--just here."
Jeremiah held up his light and looked at the blackened ceiling, held down his light and looked at the damp stone floor, turned round with his light and looked about at the spotted and blotched walls.
"Rats, cats, water, drains," said Jeremiah.
Mistress Affery negatived each with a shake of her head. "No, Jeremiah; I have felt it before. I have felt it up-stairs, and once on the staircase as I was going from her room to ours in the night--a rustle and a sort of trembling touch behind me."
"Affery, my woman," said Mr Flintwinch grimly, after advancing his nose to that lady"s lips as a test for the detection of spirituous liquors, "if you don"t get tea pretty quick, old woman, you"ll become sensible of a rustle and a touch that"ll send you flying to the other end of the kitchen."
This prediction stimulated Mrs Flintwinch to bestir herself, and to hasten up-stairs to Mrs Clennam"s chamber. But, for all that, she now began to entertain a settled conviction that there was something wrong in the gloomy house. Henceforth, she was never at peace in it after daylight departed; and never went up or down stairs in the dark without having her ap.r.o.n over her head, lest she should see something.
What with these ghostly apprehensions and her singular dreams, Mrs Flintwinch fell that evening into a haunted state of mind, from which it may be long before this present narrative descries any trace of her recovery. In the vagueness and indistinctness of all her new experiences and perceptions, as everything about her was mysterious to herself she began to be mysterious to others: and became as difficult to be made out to anybody"s satisfaction as she found the house and everything in it difficult to make out to her own.
She had not yet finished preparing Mrs Clennam"s tea, when the soft knock came to the door which always announced Little Dorrit. Mistress Affery looked on at Little Dorrit taking off her homely bonnet in the hall, and at Mr Flintwinch sc.r.a.ping his jaws and contemplating her in silence, as expecting some wonderful consequence to ensue which would frighten her out of her five wits or blow them all three to pieces.
After tea there came another knock at the door, announcing Arthur.
Mistress Affery went down to let him in, and he said on entering, "Affery, I am glad it"s you. I want to ask you a question." Affery immediately replied, "For goodness sake don"t ask me nothing, Arthur! I am frightened out of one half of my life, and dreamed out of the other. Don"t ask me nothing! I don"t know which is which, or what is what!"--and immediately started away from him, and came near him no more.
Mistress Affery having no taste for reading, and no sufficient light for needlework in the subdued room, supposing her to have the inclination, now sat every night in the dimness from which she had momentarily emerged on the evening of Arthur Clennam"s return, occupied with crowds of wild speculations and suspicions respecting her mistress and her husband and the noises in the house. When the ferocious devotional exercises were engaged in, these speculations would distract Mistress Affery"s eyes towards the door, as if she expected some dark form to appear at those propitious moments, and make the party one too many.
Otherwise, Affery never said or did anything to attract the attention of the two clever ones towards her in any marked degree, except on certain occasions, generally at about the quiet hour towards bed-time, when she would suddenly dart out of her dim corner, and whisper with a face of terror to Mr Flintwinch, reading the paper near Mrs Clennam"s little table: "There, jeremiah! Now! What"s that noise?"
Then the noise, if there were any, would have ceased, and Mr Flintwinch would snarl, turning upon her as if she had cut him down that moment against his will, "Affery, old woman, you shall have a dose, old woman, such a dose! You have been dreaming again!"
CHAPTER 16. n.o.body"s Weakness
The time being come for the renewal of his acquaintance with the Meagles family, Clennam, pursuant to contract made between himself and Mr Meagles within the precincts of Bleeding Heart Yard, turned his face on a certain Sat.u.r.day towards Twickenham, where Mr Meagles had a cottage-residence of his own. The weather being fine and dry, and any English road abounding in interest for him who had been so long away, he sent his valise on by the coach, and set out to walk. A walk was in itself a new enjoyment to him, and one that had rarely diversified his life afar off.
He went by Fulham and Putney, for the pleasure of strolling over the heath. It was bright and shining there; and when he found himself so far on his road to Twickenham, he found himself a long way on his road to a number of airier and less substantial destinations. They had risen before him fast, in the healthful exercise and the pleasant road. It is not easy to walk alone in the country without musing upon something. And he had plenty of unsettled subjects to meditate upon, though he had been walking to the Land"s End.
First, there was the subject seldom absent from his mind, the question, what he was to do henceforth in life; to what occupation he should devote himself, and in what direction he had best seek it. He was far from rich, and every day of indecision and inaction made his inheritance a source of greater anxiety to him. As often as he began to consider how to increase this inheritance, or to lay it by, so often his misgiving that there was some one with an unsatisfied claim upon his justice, returned; and that alone was a subject to outlast the longest walk.
Again, there was the subject of his relations with his mother, which were now upon an equable and peaceful but never confidential footing, and whom he saw several times a week. Little Dorrit was a leading and a constant subject: for the circ.u.mstances of his life, united to those of her own story, presented the little creature to him as the only person between whom and himself there were ties of innocent reliance on one hand, and affectionate protection on the other; ties of compa.s.sion, respect, unselfish interest, grat.i.tude, and pity. Thinking of her, and of the possibility of her father"s release from prison by the unbarring hand of death--the only change of circ.u.mstance he could foresee that might enable him to be such a friend to her as he wished to be, by altering her whole manner of life, smoothing her rough road, and giving her a home--he regarded her, in that perspective, as his adopted daughter, his poor child of the Marshalsea hushed to rest. If there were a last subject in his thoughts, and it lay towards Twickenham, its form was so indefinite that it was little more than the pervading atmosphere in which these other subjects floated before him.
He had crossed the heath and was leaving it behind when he gained upon a figure which had been in advance of him for some time, and which, as he gained upon it, he thought he knew. He derived this impression from something in the turn of the head, and in the figure"s action of consideration, as it went on at a sufficiently st.u.r.dy walk. But when the man--for it was a man"s figure--pushed his hat up at the back of his head, and stopped to consider some object before him, he knew it to be Daniel Doyce.
"How do you do, Mr Doyce?" said Clennam, overtaking him. "I am glad to see you again, and in a healthier place than the Circ.u.mlocution Office."
"Ha! Mr Meagles"s friend!" exclaimed that public criminal, coming out of some mental combinations he had been making, and offering his hand. "I am glad to see you, sir. Will you excuse me if I forget your name?"
"Readily. It"s not a celebrated name. It"s not Barnacle." "No, no," said Daniel, laughing. "And now I know what it is. It"s Clennam. How do you do, Mr Clennam?"
"I have some hope," said Arthur, as they walked on together, "that we may be going to the same place, Mr Doyce."
"Meaning Twickenham?" returned Daniel. "I am glad to hear it."
They were soon quite intimate, and lightened the way with a variety of conversation. The ingenious culprit was a man of great modesty and good sense; and, though a plain man, had been too much accustomed to combine what was original and daring in conception with what was patient and minute in execution, to be by any means an ordinary man. It was at first difficult to lead him to speak about himself, and he put off Arthur"s advances in that direction by admitting slightly, oh yes, he had done this, and he had done that, and such a thing was of his making, and such another thing was his discovery, but it was his trade, you see, his trade; until, as he gradually became a.s.sured that his companion had a real interest in his account of himself, he frankly yielded to it. Then it appeared that he was the son of a north-country blacksmith, and had originally been apprenticed by his widowed mother to a lock-maker; that he had "struck out a few little things" at the lock-maker"s, which had led to his being released from his indentures with a present, which present had enabled him to gratify his ardent wish to bind himself to a working engineer, under whom he had laboured hard, learned hard, and lived hard, seven years. His time being out, he had "worked in the shop"
at weekly wages seven or eight years more; and had then betaken himself to the banks of the Clyde, where he had studied, and filed, and hammered, and improved his knowledge, theoretical and practical, for six or seven years more. There he had had an offer to go to Lyons, which he had accepted; and from Lyons had been engaged to go to Germany, and in Germany had had an offer to go to St Petersburg, and there had done very well indeed--never better. However, he had naturally felt a preference for his own country, and a wish to gain distinction there, and to do whatever service he could do, there rather than elsewhere. And so he had come home. And so at home he had established himself in business, and had invented and executed, and worked his way on, until, after a dozen years of constant suit and service, he had been enrolled in the Great British Legion of Honour, the Legion of the Rebuffed of the Circ.u.mlocution Office, and had been decorated with the Great British Order of Merit, the Order of the Disorder of the Barnacles and Stiltstalkings.
"It is much to be regretted," said Clennam, "that you ever turned your thoughts that way, Mr Doyce."
"True, sir, true to a certain extent. But what is a man to do? if he has the misfortune to strike out something serviceable to the nation, he must follow where it leads him." "Hadn"t he better let it go?" said Clennam.