Works of Charles Dickens (200+ Works) The Adventures of Oliver Twist, Great Expectations, A Christmas Carol, A Tale of Two Cities, Bleak House, David Copperfield & more (mobi)

by Charles Dickens

  'Walter will return to-morrow,' said Mrs. Captain Waters, mournfully breaking silence.

  Mr. Cymon Tuggs sighed like a gust of wind through a forest of gooseberry bushes, as he replied, 'Alas! he will.'

  'Oh, Cymon!' resumed Belinda, 'the chaste delight, the calm happiness, of this one week of Platonic love, is too much for me!' Cymon was about to suggest that it was too little for him, but he stopped himself, and murmured unintelligibly.

  'And to think that even this gleam of happiness, innocent as it is,' exclaimed Belinda, 'is now to be lost for ever!'

  'Oh, do not say for ever, Belinda,' exclaimed the excitable Cymon, as two strongly-defined tears chased each other down his pale face- -it was so long that there was plenty of room for a chase. 'Do not say for ever!'

  'I must,' replied Belinda.

  'Why?' urged Cymon, 'oh why? Such Platonic acquaintance as ours is so harmless, that even your husband can never object to it.'

  'My husband!' exclaimed Belinda. 'You little know him. Jealous and revengeful; ferocious in his revenge--a maniac in his jealousy! Would you be assassinated before my eyes?' Mr. Cymon Tuggs, in a voice broken by emotion, expressed his disinclination to undergo the process of assassination before the eyes of anybody.

  'Then leave me,' said Mrs. Captain Waters. 'Leave me, this night, for ever. It is late: let us return.'

  Mr. Cymon Tuggs sadly offered the lady his arm, and escorted her to her lodgings. He paused at the door--he felt a Platonic pressure of his hand. 'Good night,' he said, hesitating.

  'Good night,' sobbed the lady. Mr. Cymon Tuggs paused again.

  'Won't you walk in, sir?' said the servant. Mr. Tuggs hesitated. Oh, that hesitation! He DID walk in.

  'Good night!' said Mr. Cymon Tuggs again, when he reached the drawing-room.

  'Good night!' replied Belinda; 'and, if at any period of my life, I--Hush!' The lady paused and stared with a steady gaze of horror, on the ashy countenance of Mr. Cymon Tuggs. There was a double knock at the street-door.

  'It is my husband!' said Belinda, as the captain's voice was heard below.

  'And my family!' added Cymon Tuggs, as the voices of his relatives floated up the staircase.

  'The curtain! The curtain!' gasped Mrs. Captain Waters, pointing to the window, before which some chintz hangings were closely drawn.

  'But I have done nothing wrong,' said the hesitating Cymon.

  'The curtain!' reiterated the frantic lady: 'you will be murdered.' This last appeal to his feelings was irresistible. The dismayed Cymon concealed himself behind the curtain with pantomimic suddenness.

  Enter the captain, Joseph Tuggs, Mrs. Tuggs, and Charlotta.

  'My dear,' said the captain, 'Lieutenant, Slaughter.' Two iron- shod boots and one gruff voice were heard by Mr. Cymon to advance, and acknowledge the honour of the introduction. The sabre of the lieutenant rattled heavily upon the floor, as he seated himself at the table. Mr. Cymon's fears almost overcame his reason.

  'The brandy, my dear!' said the captain. Here was a situation! They were going to make a night of it! And Mr. Cymon Tuggs was pent up behind the curtain and afraid to breathe!

  'Slaughter,' said the captain, 'a cigar?'

  Now, Mr. Cymon Tuggs never could smoke without feeling it indispensably necessary to retire, immediately, and never could smell smoke without a strong disposition to cough. The cigars were introduced; the captain was a professed smoker; so was the lieutenant; so was Joseph Tuggs. The apartment was small, the door was closed, the smoke powerful: it hung in heavy wreaths over the room, and at length found its way behind the curtain. Cymon Tuggs held his nose, his mouth, his breath. It was all of no use--out came the cough.

  'Bless my soul!' said the captain, 'I beg your pardon, Miss Tuggs. You dislike smoking?'

  'Oh, no; I don't indeed,' said Charlotta.

  'It makes you cough.'

  'Oh dear no.'

  'You coughed just now.'

  'Me, Captain Waters! Lor! how can you say so?'

  'Somebody coughed,' said the captain.

  'I certainly thought so,' said Slaughter. No; everybody denied it.

  'Fancy,' said the captain.

  'Must be,' echoed Slaughter.

  Cigars resumed--more smoke--another cough--smothered, but violent.

  'Damned odd!' said the captain, staring about him.

  'Sing'ler!' ejaculated the unconscious Mr. Joseph Tuggs.

  Lieutenant Slaughter looked first at one person mysteriously, then at another: then, laid down his cigar, then approached the window on tiptoe, and pointed with his right thumb over his shoulder, in the direction of the curtain.

  'Slaughter!' ejaculated the captain, rising from table, 'what do you mean?'

  The lieutenant, in reply, drew back the curtain and discovered Mr. Cymon Tuggs behind it: pallid with apprehension, and blue with wanting to cough.

  'Aha!' exclaimed the captain, furiously. 'What do I see? Slaughter, your sabre!'

  'Cymon!' screamed the Tuggses.

  'Mercy!' said Belinda.

  'Platonic!' gasped Cymon.

  'Your sabre!' roared the captain: 'Slaughter--unhand me--the villain's life!'

  'Murder!' screamed the Tuggses.

  'Hold him fast, sir!' faintly articulated Cymon.

  'Water!' exclaimed Joseph Tuggs--and Mr. Cymon Tuggs and all the ladies forthwith fainted away, and formed a tableau.

  Most willingly would we conceal the disastrous termination of the six weeks' acquaintance. A troublesome form, and an arbitrary custom, however, prescribe that a story should have a conclusion, in addition to a commencement; we have therefore no alternative. Lieutenant Slaughter brought a message--the captain brought an action. Mr. Joseph Tuggs interposed--the lieutenant negotiated. When Mr. Cymon Tuggs recovered from the nervous disorder into which misplaced affection, and exciting circumstances, had plunged him, he found that his family had lost their pleasant acquaintance; that his father was minus fifteen hundred pounds; and the captain plus the precise sum. The money was paid to hush the matter up, but it got abroad notwithstanding; and there are not wanting some who affirm that three designing impostors never found more easy dupes, than did Captain Waters, Mrs. Waters, and Lieutenant Slaughter, in the Tuggses at Ramsgate.

  CHAPTER V--HORATIO SPARKINS

  'Indeed, my love, he paid Teresa very great attention on the last assembly night,' said Mrs. Malderton, addressing her spouse, who, after the fatigues of the day in the City, was sitting with a silk handkerchief over his head, and his feet on the fender, drinking his port;--'very great attention; and I say again, every possible encouragement ought to be given him. He positively must be asked down here to dine.'

  'Who must?' inquired Mr. Malderton.

  'Why, you know whom I mean, my dear--the young man with the black whiskers and the white cravat, who has just come out at our assembly, and whom all the girls are talking about. Young--dear me! what's his name?--Marianne, what IS his name?' continued Mrs. Malderton, addressing her youngest daughter, who was engaged in netting a purse, and looking sentimental.

  'Mr. Horatio Sparkins, ma,' replied Miss Marianne, with a sigh.

  'Oh! yes, to be sure--Horatio Sparkins,' said Mrs. Malderton. 'Decidedly the most gentleman-like young man I ever saw. I am sure in the beautifully-made coat he wore the other night, he looked like--like--'

  'Like Prince Leopold, ma--so noble, so full of sentiment!' suggested Marianne, in a tone of enthusiastic admiration.

  'You should recollect, my dear,' resumed Mrs. Malderton, 'that Teresa is now eight-and-twenty; and that it really is very important that something should be done.'

  Miss Teresa Malderton was a very little girl, rather fat, with vermilion cheeks, but good-humoured, and still disengaged, although, to do her justice, the misfortune arose from no lack of perseverance on her part. In vain had she flirted for ten years; in vain had Mr. and Mrs. Malderton assiduously kept up an extensive acquaintance among the young eligible bachelors of Camberwell, and even of Wandsworth and Bri
xton; to say nothing of those who 'dropped in' from town. Miss Malderton was as well known as the lion on the top of Northumberland House, and had an equal chance of 'going off.'

  'I am quite sure you'd like him,' continued Mrs. Malderton, 'he is so gentlemanly!'

  'So clever!' said Miss Marianne.

  'And has such a flow of language!' added Miss Teresa.

  'He has a great respect for you, my dear,' said Mrs. Malderton to her husband. Mr. Malderton coughed, and looked at the fire.

  'Yes I'm sure he's very much attached to pa's society,' said Miss Marianne.

  'No doubt of it,' echoed Miss Teresa.

  'Indeed, he said as much to me in confidence,' observed Mrs. Malderton.

  'Well, well,' returned Mr. Malderton, somewhat flattered; 'if I see him at the assembly to-morrow, perhaps I'll ask him down. I hope he knows we live at Oak Lodge, Camberwell, my dear?'

  'Of course--and that you keep a one-horse carriage.'

  'I'll see about it,' said Mr. Malderton, composing himself for a nap; 'I'll see about it.'

  Mr. Malderton was a man whose whole scope of ideas was limited to Lloyd's, the Exchange, the India House, and the Bank. A few successful speculations had raised him from a situation of obscurity and comparative poverty, to a state of affluence. As frequently happens in such cases, the ideas of himself and his family became elevated to an extraordinary pitch as their means increased; they affected fashion, taste, and many other fooleries, in imitation of their betters, and had a very decided and becoming horror of anything which could, by possibility, be considered low. He was hospitable from ostentation, illiberal from ignorance, and prejudiced from conceit. Egotism and the love of display induced him to keep an excellent table: convenience, and a love of good things of this life, ensured him plenty of guests. He liked to have clever men, or what he considered such, at his table, because it was a great thing to talk about; but he never could endure what he called 'sharp fellows.' Probably, he cherished this feeling out of compliment to his two sons, who gave their respected parent no uneasiness in that particular. The family were ambitious of forming acquaintances and connexions in some sphere of society superior to that in which they themselves moved; and one of the necessary consequences of this desire, added to their utter ignorance of the world beyond their own small circle, was, that any one who could lay claim to an acquaintance with people of rank and title, had a sure passport to the table at Oak Lodge, Camberwell.

  The appearance of Mr. Horatio Sparkins at the assembly, had excited no small degree of surprise and curiosity among its regular frequenters. Who could he be? He was evidently reserved, and apparently melancholy. Was he a clergyman?--He danced too well. A barrister?--He said he was not called. He used very fine words, and talked a great deal. Could he be a distinguished foreigner, come to England for the purpose of describing the country, its manners and customs; and frequenting public balls and public dinners, with the view of becoming acquainted with high life, polished etiquette, and English refinement?--No, he had not a foreign accent. Was he a surgeon, a contributor to the magazines, a writer of fashionable novels, or an artist?--No; to each and all of these surmises, there existed some valid objection.--'Then,' said everybody, 'he must be SOMEBODY.'--'I should think he must be,' reasoned Mr. Malderton, within himself, 'because he perceives our superiority, and pays us so much attention.'

  The night succeeding the conversation we have just recorded, was 'assembly night.' The double-fly was ordered to be at the door of Oak Lodge at nine o'clock precisely. The Miss Maldertons were dressed in sky-blue satin trimmed with artificial flowers; and Mrs. M. (who was a little fat woman), in ditto ditto, looked like her eldest daughter multiplied by two. Mr. Frederick Malderton, the eldest son, in full-dress costume, was the very beau ideal of a smart waiter; and Mr. Thomas Malderton, the youngest, with his white dress-stock, blue coat, bright buttons, and red watch-ribbon, strongly resembled the portrait of that interesting, but rash young gentleman, George Barnwell. Every member of the party had made up his or her mind to cultivate the acquaintance of Mr. Horatio Sparkins. Miss Teresa, of course, was to be as amiable and interesting as ladies of eight-and-twenty on the look-out for a husband, usually are. Mrs. Malderton would be all smiles and graces. Miss Marianne would request the favour of some verses for her album. Mr. Malderton would patronise the great unknown by asking him to dinner. Tom intended to ascertain the extent of his information on the interesting topics of snuff and cigars. Even Mr. Frederick Malderton himself, the family authority on all points of taste, dress, and fashionable arrangement; who had lodgings of his own in town; who had a free admission to Covent-garden theatre; who always dressed according to the fashions of the months; who went up the water twice a-week in the season; and who actually had an intimate friend who once knew a gentleman who formerly lived in the Albany,--even he had determined that Mr. Horatio Sparkins must be a devilish good fellow, and that he would do him the honour of challenging him to a game at billiards.

  The first object that met the anxious eyes of the expectant family on their entrance into the ball-room, was the interesting Horatio, with his hair brushed off his forehead, and his eyes fixed on the ceiling, reclining in a contemplative attitude on one of the seats.

  'There he is, my dear,' whispered Mrs. Malderton to Mr. Malderton.

  'How like Lord Byron!' murmured Miss Teresa.

  'Or Montgomery!' whispered Miss Marianne.

  'Or the portraits of Captain Cook!' suggested Tom.

  'Tom--don't be an ass!' said his father, who checked him on all occasions, probably with a view to prevent his becoming 'sharp'-- which was very unnecessary.

  The elegant Sparkins attitudinised with admirable effect, until the family had crossed the room. He then started up, with the most natural appearance of surprise and delight; accosted Mrs. Malderton with the utmost cordiality; saluted the young ladies in the most enchanting manner; bowed to, and shook hands with Mr. Malderton, with a degree of respect amounting almost to veneration; and returned the greetings of the two young men in a half-gratified, half-patronising manner, which fully convinced them that he must be an important, and, at the same time, condescending personage.

  'Miss Malderton,' said Horatio, after the ordinary salutations, and bowing very low, 'may I be permitted to presume to hope that you will allow me to have the pleasure--'

  'I don't THINK I am engaged,' said Miss Teresa, with a dreadful affectation of indifference--'but, really--so many--'

  Horatio looked handsomely miserable.

  'I shall be most happy,' simpered the interesting Teresa, at last. Horatio's countenance brightened up, like an old hat in a shower of rain.

  'A very genteel young man, certainly!' said the gratified Mr. Malderton, as the obsequious Sparkins and his partner joined the quadrille which was just forming.

  'He has a remarkably good address,' said Mr. Frederick.

  'Yes, he is a prime fellow,' interposed Tom, who always managed to put his foot in it--'he talks just like an auctioneer.'

  'Tom!' said his father solemnly, 'I think I desired you, before, not to be a fool.' Tom looked as happy as a cock on a drizzly morning.

  'How delightful!' said the interesting Horatio to his partner, as they promenaded the room at the conclusion of the set--'how delightful, how refreshing it is, to retire from the cloudy storms, the vicissitudes, and the troubles, of life, even if it be but for a few short fleeting moments: and to spend those moments, fading and evanescent though they be, in the delightful, the blessed society of one individual--whose frowns would be death, whose coldness would be madness, whose falsehood would be ruin, whose constancy would be bliss; the possession of whose affection would be the brightest and best reward that Heaven could bestow on man?'

  'What feeling! what sentiment!' thought Miss Teresa, as she leaned more heavily on her companion's arm.

  'But enough--enough!' resumed the elegant Sparkins, with a theatrical air. 'What have I said? what have I--I--to do with sentiments like these! Miss Malderto
n'--here he stopped short-- 'may I hope to be permitted to offer the humble tribute of--'

  'Really, Mr. Sparkins,' returned the enraptured Teresa, blushing in the sweetest confusion, 'I must refer you to papa. I never can, without his consent, venture to--'

  'Surely he cannot object--'

  'Oh, yes. Indeed, indeed, you know him not!' interrupted Miss Teresa, well knowing there was nothing to fear, but wishing to make the interview resemble a scene in some romantic novel.

  'He cannot object to my offering you a glass of negus,' returned the adorable Sparkins, with some surprise.

  'Is that all?' thought the disappointed Teresa. 'What a fuss about nothing!'

  'It will give me the greatest pleasure, sir, to see you to dinner at Oak Lodge, Camberwell, on Sunday next at five o'clock, if you have no better engagement,' said Mr. Malderton, at the conclusion of the evening, as he and his sons were standing in conversation with Mr. Horatio Sparkins.

  Horatio bowed his acknowledgments, and accepted the flattering invitation.

  'I must confess,' continued the father, offering his snuff-box to his new acquaintance, 'that I don't enjoy these assemblies half so much as the comfort--I had almost said the luxury--of Oak Lodge. They have no great charms for an elderly man.'

  'And after all, sir, what is man?' said the metaphysical Sparkins. 'I say, what is man?'

  'Ah! very true,' said Mr. Malderton; 'very true.'

  'We know that we live and breathe,' continued Horatio; 'that we have wants and wishes, desires and appetites--'

  'Certainly,' said Mr. Frederick Malderton, looking profound.

  'I say, we know that we exist,' repeated Horatio, raising his voice, 'but there we stop; there, is an end to our knowledge; there, is the summit of our attainments; there, is the termination of our ends. What more do we know?'