Chapter Chapter 29 · 第29章

Unquestionably Mrs Jarley had an inventive genius. In the midst of the

various devices for attracting visitors to the exhibition, little Nell

was not forgotten. The light cart in which the Brigand usually made

his perambulations being gaily dressed with flags and streamers, and

the Brigand placed therein, contemplating the miniature of his beloved

as usual, Nell was accommodated with a seat beside him, decorated with

artificial flowers, and in this state and ceremony rode slowly through

the town every morning, dispersing handbills from a basket, to the

sound of drum and trumpet. The beauty of the child, coupled with her

gentle and timid bearing, produced quite a sensation in the little

country place. The Brigand, heretofore a source of exclusive interest

in the streets, became a mere secondary consideration, and to be

important only as a part of the show of which she was the chief

attraction. Grown-up folks began to be interested in the bright-eyed

girl, and some score of little boys fell desperately in love, and

constantly left enclosures of nuts and apples, directed in small-text,

at the wax-work door.

This desirable impression was not lost on Mrs Jarley, who, lest Nell

should become too cheap, soon sent the Brigand out alone again, and

kept her in the exhibition room, where she described the figures every

half-hour to the great satisfaction of admiring audiences. And these

audiences were of a very superior description, including a great many

young ladies’ boarding-schools, whose favour Mrs Jarley had been at

great pains to conciliate, by altering the face and costume of Mr

Grimaldi as clown to represent Mr Lindley Murray as he appeared when

engaged in the composition of his English Grammar, and turning a

murderess of great renown into Mrs Hannah More--both of which

likenesses were admitted by Miss Monflathers, who was at the head of

the head Boarding and Day Establishment in the town, and who

condescended to take a Private View with eight chosen young ladies, to

be quite startling from their extreme correctness. Mr Pitt in a

nightcap and bedgown, and without his boots, represented the poet

Cowper with perfect exactness; and Mary Queen of Scots in a dark wig,

white shirt-collar, and male attire, was such a complete image of Lord

Byron that the young ladies quite screamed when they saw it. Miss

Monflathers, however, rebuked this enthusiasm, and took occasion to

reprove Mrs Jarley for not keeping her collection more select:

observing that His Lordship had held certain opinions quite

incompatible with wax-work honours, and adding something about a Dean

and Chapter, which Mrs Jarley did not understand.

Although her duties were sufficiently laborious, Nell found in the lady

of the caravan a very kind and considerate person, who had not only a

peculiar relish for being comfortable herself, but for making everybody

about her comfortable also; which latter taste, it may be remarked, is,

even in persons who live in much finer places than caravans, a far more

rare and uncommon one than the first, and is not by any means its

necessary consequence. As her popularity procured her various little

fees from the visitors on which her patroness never demanded any toll,

and as her grandfather too was well-treated and useful, she had no

cause of anxiety in connexion with the wax-work, beyond that which

sprung from her recollection of Quilp, and her fears that he might

return and one day suddenly encounter them.

Quilp indeed was a perpetual night-mare to the child, who was

constantly haunted by a vision of his ugly face and stunted figure.

She slept, for their better security, in the room where the wax-work

figures were, and she never retired to this place at night but she

tortured herself--she could not help it--with imagining a resemblance,

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?’

‘Can’t I let him speak,’ sneered Isaac in reply, mimicking as nearly as

he could, in his shrill voice, the tones of the landlord. ‘Yes, I can

let him speak, Jemmy Groves.’

‘Well then, do it, will you?’ said the landlord.

Mr List’s squint assumed a portentous character, which seemed to

threaten a prolongation of this controversy, when his companion, who

had been looking sharply at the old man, put a timely stop to it.

‘Who knows,’ said he, with a cunning look, ‘but the gentleman may have

civilly meant to ask if he might have the honour to take a hand with

us!’

‘I did mean it,’ cried the old man. ‘That is what I mean. That is

what I want now!’

‘I thought so,’ returned the same man. ‘Then who knows but the

gentleman, anticipating our objection to play for love, civilly desired

to play for money?’

The old man replied by shaking the little purse in his eager hand, and

then throwing it down upon the table, and gathering up the cards as a

miser would clutch at gold.

‘Oh! That indeed,’ said Isaac; ‘if that’s what the gentleman meant, I

beg the gentleman’s pardon. Is this the gentleman’s little purse? A

very pretty little purse. Rather a light purse,’ added Isaac, throwing

it into the air and catching it dexterously, ‘but enough to amuse a

gentleman for half an hour or so.’

‘We’ll make a four-handed game of it, and take in Groves,’ said the

stout man. ‘Come, Jemmy.’

The landlord, who conducted himself like one who was well used to such

little parties, approached the table and took his seat. The child, in

a perfect agony, drew her grandfather aside, and implored him, even

then, to come away.

‘Come; and we may be so happy,’ said the child.

‘We WILL be happy,’ replied the old man hastily. ‘Let me go, Nell.

The means of happiness are on the cards and the dice. We must rise

from little winnings to great. There’s little to be won here; but

great will come in time. I shall but win back my own, and it’s all for

thee, my darling.’

‘God help us!’ cried the child. ‘Oh! what hard fortune brought us

here?’

‘Hush!’ rejoined the old man laying his hand upon her mouth, ‘Fortune

will not bear chiding. We must not reproach her, or she shuns us; I

have found that out.’

‘Now, mister,’ said the stout man. ‘If you’re not coming yourself,

give us the cards, will you?’

‘I am coming,’ cried the old man. ‘Sit thee down, Nell, sit thee down

and look on. Be of good heart, it’s all for thee--all--every penny.

I don’t tell them, no, no, or else they wouldn’t play, dreading the

chance that such a cause must give me. Look at them. See what they

are and what thou art. Who doubts that we must win!’

‘The gentleman has thought better of it, and isn’t coming,’ said Isaac,

making as though he would rise from the table. ‘I’m sorry the

gentleman’s daunted--nothing venture, nothing have--but the gentleman

knows best.’

‘Why I am ready. You have all been slow but me,’ said the old man. ‘I

wonder who is more anxious to begin than I.’

As he spoke he drew a chair to the table; and the other three closing

round it at the same time, the game commenced.

The child sat by, and watched its progress with a troubled mind.

Regardless of the run of luck, and mindful only of the desperate

passion which had its hold upon her grandfather, losses and gains were

to her alike. Exulting in some brief triumph, or cast down by a

defeat, there he sat so wild and restless, so feverishly and intensely

anxious, so terribly eager, so ravenous for the paltry stakes, that she

could have almost better borne to see him dead. And yet she was the

innocent cause of all this torture, and he, gambling with such a savage

thirst for gain as the most insatiable gambler never felt, had not one

selfish thought!

On the contrary, the other three--knaves and gamesters by their

trade--while intent upon their game, were yet as cool and quiet as if

every virtue had been centered in their breasts. Sometimes one would

look up to smile to another, or to snuff the feeble candle, or to

glance at the lightning as it shot through the open window and

fluttering curtain, or to listen to some louder peal of thunder than

the rest, with a kind of momentary impatience, as if it put him out;

but there they sat, with a calm indifference to everything but their

cards, perfect philosophers in appearance, and with no greater show of

passion or excitement than if they had been made of stone.

The storm had raged for full three hours; the lightning had grown

fainter and less frequent; the thunder, from seeming to roll and break

above their heads, had gradually died away into a deep hoarse distance;

and still the game went on, and still the anxious child was quite

forgotten.