الفصل الفصل 65 · 第65章

It was well for the small servant that she was of a sharp, quick

nature, or the consequence of sending her out alone, from the very

neighbourhood in which it was most dangerous for her to appear, would

probably have been the restoration of Miss Sally Brass to the supreme

authority over her person. Not unmindful of the risk she ran, however,

the Marchioness no sooner left the house than she dived into the first

dark by-way that presented itself, and, without any present reference

to the point to which her journey tended, made it her first business to

put two good miles of brick and mortar between herself and Bevis Marks.

When she had accomplished this object, she began to shape her course

for the notary’s office, to which--shrewdly inquiring of apple-women

and oyster-sellers at street-corners, rather than in lighted shops or

of well-dressed people, at the hazard of attracting notice--she easily

procured a direction. As carrier-pigeons, on being first let loose in

a strange place, beat the air at random for a short time before darting

off towards the spot for which they are designed, so did the

Marchioness flutter round and round until she believed herself in

safety, and then bear swiftly down upon the port for which she was

bound.

She had no bonnet--nothing on her head but a great cap which, in some

old time, had been worn by Sally Brass, whose taste in head-dresses

was, as we have seen, peculiar--and her speed was rather retarded than

assisted by her shoes, which, being extremely large and slipshod, flew

off every now and then, and were difficult to find again, among the

crowd of passengers. Indeed, the poor little creature experienced so

much trouble and delay from having to grope for these articles of dress

in mud and kennel, and suffered in these researches so much jostling,

pushing, squeezing and bandying from hand to hand, that by the time she

reached the street in which the notary lived, she was fairly worn out

and exhausted, and could not refrain from tears.

But to have got there at last was a great comfort, especially as there

were lights still burning in the office window, and therefore some hope

that she was not too late. So the Marchioness dried her eyes with the

backs of her hands, and, stealing softly up the steps, peeped in

through the glass door.

Mr Chuckster was standing behind the lid of his desk, making such

preparations towards finishing off for the night, as pulling down his

wristbands and pulling up his shirt-collar, settling his neck more

gracefully in his stock, and secretly arranging his whiskers by the aid

of a little triangular bit of looking glass. Before the ashes of the

fire stood two gentlemen, one of whom she rightly judged to be the

notary, and the other (who was buttoning his great-coat and was

evidently about to depart immediately) Mr Abel Garland.

Having made these observations, the small spy took counsel with

herself, and resolved to wait in the street until Mr Abel came out, as

there would be then no fear of having to speak before Mr Chuckster, and

less difficulty in delivering her message. With this purpose she

slipped out again, and crossing the road, sat down upon a door-step

just opposite.

She had hardly taken this position, when there came dancing up the

street, with his legs all wrong, and his head everywhere by turns, a

pony. This pony had a little phaeton behind him, and a man in it; but

neither man nor phaeton seemed to embarrass him in the least, as he

reared up on his hind legs, or stopped, or went on, or stood still

again, or backed, or went side-ways, without the smallest reference to

them--just as the fancy seized him, and as if he were the freest animal

in creation. When they came to the notary’s door, the man called out

in a very respectful manner, ‘Woa then’--intimating that if he might

venture to express a wish, it would be that they stopped there. The

pony made a moment’s pause; but, as if it occurred to him that to stop

when he was required might be to establish an inconvenient and

dangerous precedent, he immediately started off again, rattled at a

fast trot to the street corner, wheeled round, came back, and then

stopped of his own accord.

‘Oh! you’re a precious creatur!’ said the man--who didn’t venture by

the bye to come out in his true colours until he was safe on the

pavement. ‘I wish I had the rewarding of you--I do.’

‘What has he been doing?’ said Mr Abel, tying a shawl round his neck as

he came down the steps.

‘He’s enough to fret a man’s heart out,’ replied the hostler. ‘He is

the most wicious rascal--Woa then, will you?’

‘He’ll never stand still, if you call him names,’ said Mr Abel, getting

in, and taking the reins. ‘He’s a very good fellow if you know how to

manage him. This is the first time he has been out, this long while,

for he has lost his old driver and wouldn’t stir for anybody else, till

this morning. The lamps are right, are they? That’s well. Be here to

take him to-morrow, if you please. Good night!’

And, after one or two strange plunges, quite of his own invention, the

pony yielded to Mr Abel’s mildness, and trotted gently off.

All this time Mr Chuckster had been standing at the door, and the small

servant had been afraid to approach. She had nothing for it now,

therefore, but to run after the chaise, and to call to Mr Abel to stop.

Being out of breath when she came up with it, she was unable to make

him hear. The case was desperate; for the pony was quickening his

pace. The Marchioness hung on behind for a few moments, and, feeling

that she could go no farther, and must soon yield, clambered by a

vigorous effort into the hinder seat, and in so doing lost one of the

shoes for ever.

Mr Abel being in a thoughtful frame of mind, and having quite enough to

do to keep the pony going, went jogging on without looking round:

little dreaming of the strange figure that was close behind him, until

the Marchioness, having in some degree recovered her breath, and the

loss of her shoe, and the novelty of her position, uttered close into

his ear, the words--‘I say, Sir’--

He turned his head quickly enough then, and stopping the pony, cried,

with some trepidation, ‘God bless me, what is this!’

‘Don’t be frightened, Sir,’ replied the still panting messenger. ‘Oh

I’ve run such a way after you!’

‘What do you want with me?’ said Mr Abel. ‘How did you come here?’

‘I got in behind,’ replied the Marchioness. ‘Oh please drive on,

sir--don’t stop--and go towards the City, will you? And oh do please

make haste, because it’s of consequence. There’s somebody wants to see

you there. He sent me to say would you come directly, and that he

knowed all about Kit, and could save him yet, and prove his innocence.’

‘What do you tell me, child?’

‘The truth, upon my word and honour I do. But please to drive on--

quick, please! I’ve been such a time gone, he’ll think I’m lost.’

Mr Abel involuntarily urged the pony forward. The pony, impelled by

some secret sympathy or some new caprice, burst into a great pace, and

neither slackened it, nor indulged in any eccentric performances, until

they arrived at the door of Mr Swiveller’s lodging, where, marvellous

to relate, he consented to stop when Mr Abel checked him.

‘See! It’s the room up there,’ said the Marchioness, pointing to one

where there was a faint light. ‘Come!’

Mr Abel, who was one of the simplest and most retiring creatures in

existence, and naturally timid withal, hesitated; for he had heard of

people being decoyed into strange places to be robbed and murdered,

under circumstances very like the present, and, for anything he knew to

the contrary, by guides very like the Marchioness. His regard for Kit,

however, overcame every other consideration. So, entrusting Whisker to

the charge of a man who was lingering hard by in expectation of the

job, he suffered his companion to take his hand, and to lead him up the

dark and narrow stairs.

He was not a little surprised to find himself conducted into a

dimly-lighted sick chamber, where a man was sleeping tranquilly in bed.

‘An’t it nice to see him lying there so quiet?’ said his guide, in an

earnest whisper. ‘Oh! you’d say it was, if you had only seen him two

or three days ago.’

Mr Abel made no answer, and, to say the truth, kept a long way from the

bed and very near the door. His guide, who appeared to understand his

reluctance, trimmed the candle, and taking it in her hand, approached

the bed. As she did so, the sleeper started up, and he recognised in

the wasted face the features of Richard Swiveller.

‘Why, how is this?’ said Mr Abel kindly, as he hurried towards him.

‘You have been ill?’

‘Very,’ replied Dick. ‘Nearly dead. You might have chanced to hear of

your Richard on his bier, but for the friend I sent to fetch you.

Another shake of the hand, Marchioness, if you please. Sit down, Sir.’

Mr Abel seemed rather astonished to hear of the quality of his guide,

and took a chair by the bedside.

‘I have sent for you, Sir,’ said Dick--‘but she told you on what

account?’

‘She did. I am quite bewildered by all this. I really don’t know what

to say or think,’ replied Mr Abel.

‘You’ll say that presently,’ retorted Dick. ‘Marchioness, take a seat

on the bed, will you? Now, tell this gentleman all that you told me;

and be particular. Don’t you speak another word, Sir.’

The story was repeated; it was, in effect, exactly the same as before,

without any deviation or omission. Richard Swiveller kept his eyes

fixed on his visitor during its narration, and directly it was

concluded, took the word again.

‘You have heard it all, and you’ll not forget it. I’m too giddy and

too queer to suggest anything; but you and your friends will know what

to do. After this long delay, every minute is an age. If ever you

went home fast in your life, go home fast to-night. Don’t stop to say

one word to me, but go. She will be found here, whenever she’s wanted;

and as to me, you’re pretty sure to find me at home, for a week or two.

There are more reasons than one for that. Marchioness, a light! If

you lose another minute in looking at me, sir, I’ll never forgive you!’

Mr Abel needed no more remonstrance or persuasion. He was gone in an

instant; and the Marchioness, returning from lighting him down-stairs,

reported that the pony, without any preliminary objection whatever, had

dashed away at full gallop.

‘That’s right!’ said Dick; ‘and hearty of him; and I honour him from

this time. But get some supper and a mug of beer, for I am sure you

must be tired. Do have a mug of beer. It will do me as much good to

see you take it as if I might drink it myself.’

Nothing but this assurance could have prevailed upon the small nurse to

indulge in such a luxury. Having eaten and drunk to Mr Swiveller’s

extreme contentment, given him his drink, and put everything in neat

order, she wrapped herself in an old coverlet and lay down upon the rug

before the fire.

Mr Swiveller was by that time murmuring in his sleep, ‘Strew then, oh

strew, a bed of rushes. Here will we stay, till morning blushes. Good

night, Marchioness!’