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Chapter 13
If Joseph Willet, the denounced and proscribed of 'prentices, had happened to be at home
when his father's courtly guest presented himself before the Maypole dooróthat is,
if it had not perversely chanced to be one of the half-dozen days in the whole year on
which he was at liberty to absent himself for as many hours without question or reproachóhe
would have contrived, by hook or crook, to dive to the very bottom of Mr Chester's mystery,
and to come at his purpose with as much certainty as though he had been his confidential adviser.
In that fortunate case, the lovers would have had quick warning of the ills that threatened
them, and the aid of various timely and wise suggestions to boot; for all Joe's readiness
of thought and action, and all his sympathies and good wishes, were enlisted in favour of
the young people, and were staunch in devotion to their cause. Whether this disposition arose
out of his old prepossessions in favour of the young lady, whose history had surrounded
her in his mind, almost from his cradle, with circumstances of unusual interest; or from
his attachment towards the young gentleman, into whose confidence he had, through his
shrewdness and alacrity, and the rendering of sundry important services as a spy and
messenger, almost imperceptibly glided; whether they had their origin in either of these sources,
or in the habit natural to youth, or in the constant badgering and worrying of his venerable
parent, or in any hidden little love affair of his own which gave him something of a fellow-feeling
in the matter, it is needless to inquireóespecially as Joe was out of the way, and had no opportunity
on that particular occasion of testifying to his sentiments either on one side or the
other. It was, in fact, the twenty-fifth of March,
which, as most people know to their cost, is, and has been time out of mind, one of
those unpleasant epochs termed quarter-days. On this twenty-fifth of March, it was John
Willet's pride annually to settle, in hard cash, his account with a certain vintner and
distiller in the city of London; to give into whose hands a canvas bag containing its exact
amount, and not a penny more or less, was the end and object of a journey for Joe, so
surely as the year and day came round. This journey was performed upon an old grey
mare, concerning whom John had an indistinct set of ideas hovering about him, to the effect
that she could win a plate or cup if she tried. She never had tried, and probably never would
now, being some fourteen or fifteen years of age, short in wind, long in body, and rather
the worse for wear in respect of her mane and tail. Notwithstanding these slight defects,
John perfectly gloried in the animal; and when she was brought round to the door by
Hugh, actually retired into the bar, and there, in a secret grove of lemons, laughed with
pride. 'There's a bit of horseflesh, Hugh!' said
John, when he had recovered enough self-command to appear at the door again. 'There's a comely
creature! There's high mettle! There's bone!' There was bone enough beyond all doubt; and
so Hugh seemed to think, as he sat sideways in the saddle, lazily doubled up with his
chin nearly touching his knees; and heedless of the dangling stirrups and loose bridle-rein,
sauntered up and down on the little green before the door.
'Mind you take good care of her, sir,' said John, appealing from this insensible person
to his son and heir, who now appeared, fully equipped and ready. 'Don't you ride hard.'
'I should be puzzled to do that, I think, father,' Joe replied, casting a disconsolate
look at the animal. 'None of your impudence, sir, if you please,'
retorted old John. 'What would you ride, sir? A wild *** or zebra would be too tame for
you, wouldn't he, eh sir? You'd like to ride a roaring lion, wouldn't you, sir, eh sir?
Hold your tongue, sir.' When Mr Willet, in his differences with his son, had exhausted
all the questions that occurred to him, and Joe had said nothing at all in answer, he
generally wound up by bidding him hold his tongue.
'And what does the boy mean,' added Mr Willet, after he had stared at him for a little time,
in a species of stupefaction, 'by cocking his hat, to such an extent! Are you going
to kill the wintner, sir?' 'No,' said Joe, tartly; 'I'm not. Now your
mind's at ease, father.' 'With a milintary air, too!' said Mr Willet,
surveying him from top to toe; 'with a swaggering, fire-eating, biling-water drinking sort of
way with him! And what do you mean by pulling up the crocuses and snowdrops, eh sir?'
'It's only a little nosegay,' said Joe, reddening. 'There's no harm in that, I hope?'
'You're a boy of business, you are, sir!' said Mr Willet, disdainfully, 'to go supposing
that wintners care for nosegays.' 'I don't suppose anything of the kind,' returned
Joe. 'Let them keep their red noses for bottles and tankards. These are going to Mr Varden's
house.' 'And do you suppose HE minds such things as
crocuses?' demanded John. 'I don't know, and to say the truth, I don't
care,' said Joe. 'Come, father, give me the money, and in the name of patience let me
go.' 'There it is, sir,' replied John; 'and take
care of it; and mind you don't make too much haste back, but give the mare a long rest.óDo
you mind?' 'Ay, I mind,' returned Joe. 'She'll need it,
Heaven knows.' 'And don't you score up too much at the Black
Lion,' said John. 'Mind that too.' 'Then why don't you let me have some money
of my own?' retorted Joe, sorrowfully; 'why don't you, father? What do you send me into
London for, giving me only the right to call for my dinner at the Black Lion, which you're
to pay for next time you go, as if I was not to be trusted with a few shillings? Why do
you use me like this? It's not right of you. You can't expect me to be quiet under it.'
'Let him have money!' cried John, in a drowsy reverie. 'What does he call moneyóguineas?
Hasn't he got money? Over and above the tolls, hasn't he one and sixpence?'
'One and sixpence!' repeated his son contemptuously. 'Yes, sir,' returned John, 'one and sixpence.
When I was your age, I had never seen so much money, in a heap. A shilling of it is in case
of accidentsóthe mare casting a shoe, or the like of that. The other sixpence is to
spend in the diversions of London; and the diversion I recommend is going to the top
of the Monument, and sitting there. There's no temptation there, siróno drinkóno young
womenóno bad characters of any sortónothing but imagination. That's the way I enjoyed
myself when I was your age, sir.' To this, Joe made no answer, but beckoning
Hugh, leaped into the saddle and rode away; and a very stalwart, manly horseman he looked,
deserving a better charger than it was his fortune to bestride. John stood staring after
him, or rather after the grey mare (for he had no eyes for her rider), until man and
beast had been out of sight some twenty minutes, when he began to think they were gone, and
slowly re-entering the house, fell into a gentle doze.
The unfortunate grey mare, who was the agony of Joe's life, floundered along at her own
will and pleasure until the Maypole was no longer visible, and then, contracting her
legs into what in a puppet would have been looked upon as a clumsy and awkward imitation
of a canter, mended her pace all at once, and did it of her own accord. The acquaintance
with her rider's usual mode of proceeding, which suggested this improvement in hers,
impelled her likewise to turn up a bye-way, leadingónot to London, but through lanes
running parallel with the road they had come, and passing within a few hundred yards of
the Maypole, which led finally to an inclosure surrounding a large, old, red-brick mansionóthe
same of which mention was made as the Warren in the first chapter of this history. Coming
to a dead stop in a little copse thereabout, she suffered her rider to dismount with right
goodwill, and to tie her to the trunk of a tree.
'Stay there, old girl,' said Joe, 'and let us see whether there's any little commission
for me to-day.' So saying, he left her to browze upon such stunted grass and weeds as
happened to grow within the length of her tether, and passing through a wicket gate,
entered the grounds on foot. The pathway, after a very few minutes' walking,
brought him close to the house, towards which, and especially towards one particular window,
he directed many covert glances. It was a dreary, silent building, with echoing courtyards,
desolated turret-chambers, and whole suites of rooms shut up and mouldering to ruin.
The terrace-garden, dark with the shade of overhanging trees, had an air of melancholy
that was quite oppressive. Great iron gates, disused for many years, and red with rust,
drooping on their hinges and overgrown with long rank grass, seemed as though they tried
to sink into the ground, and hide their fallen state among the friendly weeds. The fantastic
monsters on the walls, green with age and damp, and covered here and there with moss,
looked grim and desolate. There was a sombre aspect even on that part of the mansion which
was inhabited and kept in good repair, that struck the beholder with a sense of sadness;
of something forlorn and failing, whence cheerfulness was banished. It would have been difficult
to imagine a bright fire blazing in the dull and darkened rooms, or to picture any gaiety
of heart or revelry that the frowning walls shut in. It seemed a place where such things
had been, but could be no moreóthe very ghost of a house, haunting the old spot in its old
outward form, and that was all. Much of this decayed and sombre look was attributable,
no doubt, to the death of its former master, and the temper of its present occupant; but
remembering the tale connected with the mansion, it seemed the very place for such a deed,
and one that might have been its predestined theatre years upon years ago. Viewed with
reference to this legend, the sheet of water where the steward's body had been found appeared
to wear a black and sullen character, such as no other pool might own; the bell upon
the roof that had told the tale of *** to the midnight wind, became a very phantom
whose voice would raise the listener's hair on end; and every leafless bough that nodded
to another, had its stealthy whispering of the crime.
Joe paced up and down the path, sometimes stopping in affected contemplation of the
building or the prospect, sometimes leaning against a tree with an assumed air of idleness
and indifference, but always keeping an eye upon the window he had singled out at first.
After some quarter of an hour's delay, a small white hand was waved to him for an instant
from this casement, and the young man, with a respectful bow, departed; saying under his
breath as he crossed his horse again, 'No errand for me to-day!'
But the air of smartness, the *** of the hat to which John Willet had objected, and
the spring nosegay, all betokened some little errand of his own, having a more interesting
object than a vintner or even a locksmith. So, indeed, it turned out; for when he had
settled with the vintnerówhose place of business was down in some deep cellars hard by Thames
Street, and who was as purple-faced an old gentleman as if he had all his life supported
their arched roof on his headówhen he had settled the account, and taken the receipt,
and declined tasting more than three glasses of old sherry, to the unbounded astonishment
of the purple-faced vintner, who, gimlet in hand, had projected an attack upon at least
a score of dusty casks, and who stood transfixed, or morally gimleted as it were, to his own
wallówhen he had done all this, and disposed besides of a frugal dinner at the Black Lion
in Whitechapel; spurning the Monument and John's advice, he turned his steps towards
the locksmith's house, attracted by the eyes of blooming Dolly Varden.
Joe was by no means a sheepish fellow, but, for all that, when he got to the corner of
the street in which the locksmith lived, he could by no means make up his mind to walk
straight to the house. First, he resolved to stroll up another street for five minutes,
then up another street for five minutes more, and so on until he had lost full half an hour,
when he made a bold plunge and found himself with a red face and a beating heart in the
smoky workshop. 'Joe Willet, or his ghost?' said Varden, rising
from the desk at which he was busy with his books, and looking at him under his spectacles.
'Which is it? Joe in the flesh, eh? That's hearty. And how are all the Chigwell company,
Joe?' 'Much as usual, siróthey and I agree as well
as ever.' 'Well, well!' said the locksmith. 'We must
be patient, Joe, and bear with old folks' foibles. How's the mare, Joe? Does she do
the four miles an hour as easily as ever? Ha, ha, ha! Does she, Joe? Eh!óWhat have
we there, Joeóa nosegay!' 'A very poor one, siróI thought Miss Dollyó'
'No, no,' said Gabriel, dropping his voice, and shaking his head, 'not Dolly. Give 'em
to her mother, Joe. A great deal better give 'em to her mother. Would you mind giving 'em
to Mrs Varden, Joe?' 'Oh no, sir,' Joe replied, and endeavouring,
but not with the greatest possible success, to hide his disappointment. 'I shall be very
glad, I'm sure.' 'That's right,' said the locksmith, patting
him on the back. 'It don't matter who has 'em, Joe?'
'Not a bit, sir.'óDear heart, how the words stuck in his throat!
'Come in,' said Gabriel. 'I have just been called to tea. She's in the parlour.'
'She,' thought Joe. 'Which of 'em I wonderóMrs or Miss?' The locksmith settled the doubt
as neatly as if it had been expressed aloud, by leading him to the door, and saying, 'Martha,
my dear, here's young Mr Willet.' Now, Mrs Varden, regarding the Maypole as
a sort of human mantrap, or decoy for husbands; viewing its proprietor, and all who aided
and abetted him, in the light of so many poachers among Christian men; and believing, moreover,
that the publicans coupled with sinners in Holy Writ were veritable licensed victuallers;
was far from being favourably disposed towards her visitor. Wherefore she was taken faint
directly; and being duly presented with the crocuses and snowdrops, divined on further
consideration that they were the occasion of the languor which had seized upon her spirits.
'I'm afraid I couldn't bear the room another minute,' said the good lady, 'if they remained
here. WOULD you excuse my putting them out of window?'
Joe begged she wouldn't mention it on any account, and smiled feebly as he saw them
deposited on the sill outside. If anybody could have known the pains he had taken to
make up that despised and misused bunch of flowers!ó
'I feel it quite a relief to get rid of them, I assure you,' said Mrs Varden. 'I'm better
already.' And indeed she did appear to have plucked up her spirits.
Joe expressed his gratitude to Providence for this favourable dispensation, and tried
to look as if he didn't wonder where Dolly was.
'You're sad people at Chigwell, Mr Joseph,' said Mrs V.
'I hope not, ma'am,' returned Joe. 'You're the cruellest and most inconsiderate
people in the world,' said Mrs Varden, bridling. 'I wonder old Mr Willet, having been a married
man himself, doesn't know better than to conduct himself as he does. His doing it for profit
is no excuse. I would rather pay the money twenty times over, and have Varden come home
like a respectable and sober tradesman. If there is one character,' said Mrs Varden with
great emphasis, 'that offends and disgusts me more than another, it is a sot.'
'Come, Martha, my dear,' said the locksmith cheerily, 'let us have tea, and don't let
us talk about sots. There are none here, and Joe don't want to hear about them, I dare
say.' At this crisis, Miggs appeared with toast.
'I dare say he does not,' said Mrs Varden; 'and I dare say you do not, Varden. It's a
very unpleasant subject, I have no doubt, though I won't say it's personal'óMiggs coughedó'whatever
I may be forced to think'óMiggs sneezed expressively. 'You never will know, Varden, and nobody at
young Mr Willet's ageóyou'll excuse me, sirócan be expected to know, what a woman suffers
when she is waiting at home under such circumstances. If you don't believe me, as I know you don't,
here's Miggs, who is only too often a witness of itóask her.'
'Oh! she were very bad the other night, sir, indeed she were, said Miggs. 'If you hadn't
the sweetness of an angel in you, mim, I don't think you could abear it, I raly don't.'
'Miggs,' said Mrs Varden, 'you're profane.' 'Begging your pardon, mim,' returned Miggs,
with shrill rapidity, 'such was not my intentions, and such I hope is not my character, though
I am but a servant.' 'Answering me, Miggs, and providing yourself,'
retorted her mistress, looking round with dignity, 'is one and the same thing. How dare
you speak of angels in connection with your sinful fellow-beingsómere'ósaid Mrs Varden,
glancing at herself in a neighbouring mirror, and arranging the ribbon of her cap in a more
becoming fashionó'mere worms and grovellers as we are!'
'I did not intend, mim, if you please, to give offence,' said Miggs, confident in the
strength of her compliment, and developing strongly in the throat as usual, 'and I did
not expect it would be took as such. I hope I know my own unworthiness, and that I hate
and despise myself and all my fellow-creatures as every practicable Christian should.'
'You'll have the goodness, if you please,' said Mrs Varden, loftily, 'to step upstairs
and see if Dolly has finished dressing, and to tell her that the chair that was ordered
for her will be here in a minute, and that if she keeps it waiting, I shall send it away
that instant.óI'm sorry to see that you don't take your tea, Varden, and that you don't
take yours, Mr Joseph; though of course it would be foolish of me to expect that anything
that can be had at home, and in the company of females, would please YOU.'
This pronoun was understood in the plural sense, and included both gentlemen, upon both
of whom it was rather hard and undeserved, for Gabriel had applied himself to the meal
with a very promising appetite, until it was spoilt by Mrs Varden herself, and Joe had
as great a liking for the female society of the locksmith's houseóor for a part of it
at all eventsóas man could well entertain. But he had no opportunity to say anything
in his own defence, for at that moment Dolly herself appeared, and struck him quite dumb
with her beauty. Never had Dolly looked so handsome as she did then, in all the glow
and grace of youth, with all her charms increased a hundredfold by a most becoming dress, by
a thousand little coquettish ways which nobody could assume with a better grace, and all
the sparkling expectation of that accursed party. It is impossible to tell how Joe hated
that party wherever it was, and all the other people who were going to it, whoever they
were. And she hardly looked at himóno, hardly looked
at him. And when the chair was seen through the open door coming blundering into the workshop,
she actually clapped her hands and seemed glad to go. But Joe gave her his armóthere
was some comfort in thatóand handed her into it. To see her seat herself inside, with her
laughing eyes brighter than diamonds, and her handósurely she had the prettiest hand
in the worldóon the ledge of the open window, and her little finger provokingly and pertly
tilted up, as if it wondered why Joe didn't squeeze or kiss it! To think how well one
or two of the modest snowdrops would have become that delicate bodice, and how they
were lying neglected outside the parlour window! To see how Miggs looked on with a face expressive
of knowing how all this loveliness was got up, and of being in the secret of every string
and pin and hook and eye, and of saying it ain't half as real as you think, and I could
look quite as well myself if I took the pains! To hear that provoking precious little scream
when the chair was hoisted on its poles, and to catch that transient but not-to-be-forgotten
vision of the happy face withinówhat torments and aggravations, and yet what delights were
these! The very chairmen seemed favoured rivals as they bore her down the street.
There never was such an alteration in a small room in a small time as in that parlour when
they went back to finish tea. So dark, so deserted, so perfectly disenchanted. It seemed
such sheer nonsense to be sitting tamely there, when she was at a dance with more lovers than
man could calculate fluttering about herówith the whole party doting on and adoring her,
and wanting to marry her. Miggs was hovering about too; and the fact of her existence,
the mere circumstance of her ever having been born, appeared, after Dolly, such an unaccountable
practical joke. It was impossible to talk. It couldn't be done. He had nothing left for
it but to stir his tea round, and round, and round, and ruminate on all the fascinations
of the locksmith's lovely daughter. Gabriel was dull too. It was a part of the
certain uncertainty of Mrs Varden's temper, that when they were in this condition, she
should be gay and sprightly. 'I need have a cheerful disposition, I am
sure,' said the smiling housewife, 'to preserve any spirits at all; and how I do it I can
scarcely tell.' 'Ah, mim,' sighed Miggs, 'begging your pardon
for the interruption, there an't a many like you.'
'Take away, Miggs,' said Mrs Varden, rising, 'take away, pray. I know I'm a restraint here,
and as I wish everybody to enjoy themselves as they best can, I feel I had better go.'
'No, no, Martha,' cried the locksmith. 'Stop here. I'm sure we shall be very sorry to lose
you, eh Joe!' Joe started, and said 'Certainly.' 'Thank you, Varden, my dear,' returned his
wife; 'but I know your wishes better. Tobacco and beer, or spirits, have much greater attractions
than any I can boast of, and therefore I shall go and sit upstairs and look out of window,
my love. Good night, Mr Joseph. I'm very glad to have seen you, and I only wish I could
have provided something more suitable to your taste. Remember me very kindly if you please
to old Mr Willet, and tell him that whenever he comes here I have a crow to pluck with
him. Good night!' Having uttered these words with great sweetness
of manner, the good lady dropped a curtsey remarkable for its condescension, and serenely
withdrew. And it was for this Joe had looked forward
to the twenty-fifth of March for weeks and weeks, and had gathered the flowers with so
much care, and had cocked his hat, and made himself so smart! This was the end of all
his bold determination, resolved upon for the hundredth time, to speak out to Dolly
and tell her how he loved her! To see her for a minuteófor but a minuteóto find her
going out to a party and glad to go; to be looked upon as a common pipe-smoker, beer-bibber,
spirit-guzzler, and tosspot! He bade farewell to his friend the locksmith, and hastened
to take horse at the Black Lion, thinking as he turned towards home, as many another
Joe has thought before and since, that here was an end to all his hopesóthat the thing
was impossible and never could beóthat she didn't care for himóthat he was wretched
for lifeóand that the only congenial prospect left him, was to go for a soldier or a sailor,
and get some obliging enemy to knock his brains out as soon as possible.