Hard Times

by Dickens, Charles

  fourth day, Rachael, with unabated confidence, but considering her

  despatch to have miscarried, went up to the Bank, and showed her

  letter from him with his address, at a working colony, one of many,

  not upon the main road, sixty miles away. Messengers were sent to

  that place, and the whole town looked for Stephen to be brought in

  next day.

  During this whole time the whelp moved about with Mr. Bounderby

  like his shadow, assisting in all the proceedings. He was greatly

  excited, horribly fevered, bit his nails down to the quick, spoke

  in a hard rattling voice, and with lips that were black and burnt

  up. At the hour when the suspected man was looked for, the whelp

  was at the station; offering to wager that he had made off before

  the arrival of those who were sent in quest of him, and that he

  would not appear.

  The whelp was right. The messengers returned alone. Rachael's

  letter had gone, Rachael's letter had been delivered. Stephen

  Blackpool had decamped in that same hour; and no soul knew more of

  him. The only doubt in Coketown was, whether Rachael had written

  in good faith, believing that he really would come back, or warning

  him to fly. On this point opinion was divided.

  Six days, seven days, far on into another week. The wretched whelp

  plucked up a ghastly courage, and began to grow defiant. 'Was the

  suspected fellow the thief? A pretty question! If not, where was

  the man, and why did he not come back?'

  Where was the man, and why did he not come back? In the dead of

  night the echoes of his own words, which had rolled Heaven knows

  how far away in the daytime, came back instead, and abided by him

  until morning.

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  CHAPTER V - FOUND

  DAY and night again, day and night again. No Stephen Blackpool.

  Where was the man, and why did he not come back?

  Every night, Sissy went to Rachael's lodging, and sat with her in

  her small neat room. All day, Rachael toiled as such people must

  toil, whatever their anxieties. The smoke-serpents were

  indifferent who was lost or found, who turned out bad or good; the

  melancholy mad elephants, like the Hard Fact men, abated nothing of

  their set routine, whatever happened. Day and night again, day and

  night again. The monotony was unbroken. Even Stephen Blackpool's

  disappearance was falling into the general way, and becoming as

  monotonous a wonder as any piece of machinery in Coketown.

  'I misdoubt,' said Rachael, 'if there is as many as twenty left in

  all this place, who have any trust in the poor dear lad now.'

  She said it to Sissy, as they sat in her lodging, lighted only by

  the lamp at the street corner. Sissy had come there when it was

  already dark, to await her return from work; and they had since sat

  at the window where Rachael had found her, wanting no brighter

  light to shine on their sorrowful talk.

  'If it hadn't been mercifully brought about, that I was to have you

  to speak to,' pursued Rachael, 'times are, when I think my mind

  would not have kept right. But I get hope and strength through

  you; and you believe that though appearances may rise against him,

  he will be proved clear?'

  'I do believe so,' returned Sissy, 'with my whole heart. I feel so

  certain, Rachael, that the confidence you hold in yours against all

  discouragement, is not like to be wrong, that I have no more doubt

  of him than if I had known him through as many years of trial as

  you have.'

  'And I, my dear,' said Rachel, with a tremble in her voice, 'have

  known him through them all, to be, according to his quiet ways, so

  faithful to everything honest and good, that if he was never to be

  heard of more, and I was to live to be a hundred years old, I could

  say with my last breath, God knows my heart. I have never once

  left trusting Stephen Blackpool!'

  'We all believe, up at the Lodge, Rachael, that he will be freed

  from suspicion, sooner or later.'

  'The better I know it to be so believed there, my dear,' said

  Rachael, 'and the kinder I feel it that you come away from there,

  purposely to comfort me, and keep me company, and be seen wi' me

  when I am not yet free from all suspicion myself, the more grieved

  I am that I should ever have spoken those mistrusting words to the

  young lady. And yet I - '

  'You don't mistrust her now, Rachael?'

  'Now that you have brought us more together, no. But I can't at

  all times keep out of my mind - '

  Her voice so sunk into a low and slow communing with herself, that

  Sissy, sitting by her side, was obliged to listen with attention.

  'I can't at all times keep out of my mind, mistrustings of some

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  one. I can't think who 'tis, I can't think how or why it may be

  done, but I mistrust that some one has put Stephen out of the way.

  I mistrust that by his coming back of his own accord, and showing

  himself innocent before them all, some one would be confounded, who

  - to prevent that - has stopped him, and put him out of the way.'

  'That is a dreadful thought,' said Sissy, turning pale.

  'It is a dreadful thought to think he may be murdered.'

  Sissy shuddered, and turned paler yet.

  'When it makes its way into my mind, dear,' said Rachael, 'and it

  will come sometimes, though I do all I can to keep it out, wi'

  counting on to high numbers as I work, and saying over and over

  again pieces that I knew when I were a child - I fall into such a

  wild, hot hurry, that, however tired I am, I want to walk fast,

  miles and miles. I must get the better of this before bed-time.

  I'll walk home wi' you.'

  'He might fall ill upon the journey back,' said Sissy, faintly

  offering a worn-out scrap of hope; 'and in such a case, there are

  many places on the road where he might stop.'

  'But he is in none of them. He has been sought for in all, and

  he's not there.'

  'True,' was Sissy's reluctant admission.

  'He'd walk the journey in two days. If he was footsore and

  couldn't walk, I sent him, in the letter he got, the money to ride,

  lest he should have none of his own to spare.'

  'Let us hope that to-morrow will bring something better, Rachael.

  Come into the air!'

  Her gentle hand adjusted Rachael's shawl upon her shining black

  hair in the usual manner of her wearing it, and they went out. The

  night being fine, little knots of Hands were here and there

  lingering at street corners; but it was supper-time with the

  greater part of them, and there were but few people in the streets.

  'You're not so hurried now, Rachael, and your hand is cooler.'

  'I get better, dear, if I can only walk, and breathe a little

  fresh. 'Times when I can't, I turn weak and confused.'

  'But you must not begin to fail, Rachael, for you may be wanted at

  any time to stand by Stephen. To-morrow is Saturday. If no news

  comes to-morrow, let us walk in the country on Sunday morning, and

  strengthen you for a
nother week. Will you go?'

  'Yes, dear.'

  They were by this time in the street where Mr. Bounderby's house

  stood. The way to Sissy's destination led them past the door, and

  they were going straight towards it. Some train had newly arrived

  in Coketown, which had put a number of vehicles in motion, and

  scattered a considerable bustle about the town. Several coaches

  were rattling before them and behind them as they approached Mr.

  Bounderby's, and one of the latter drew up with such briskness as

  they were in the act of passing the house, that they looked round

  involuntarily. The bright gaslight over Mr. Bounderby's steps

  showed them Mrs. Sparsit in the coach, in an ecstasy of excitement,

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  struggling to open the door; Mrs. Sparsit seeing them at the same

  moment, called to them to stop.

  'It's a coincidence,' exclaimed Mrs. Sparsit, as she was released

  by the coachman. 'It's a Providence! Come out, ma'am!' then said

  Mrs. Sparsit, to some one inside, 'come out, or we'll have you

  dragged out!'

  Hereupon, no other than the mysterious old woman descended. Whom

  Mrs. Sparsit incontinently collared.

  'Leave her alone, everybody!' cried Mrs. Sparsit, with great

  energy. 'Let nobody touch her. She belongs to me. Come in,

  ma'am!' then said Mrs. Sparsit, reversing her former word of

  command. 'Come in, ma'am, or we'll have you dragged in!'

  The spectacle of a matron of classical deportment, seizing an

  ancient woman by the throat, and hauling her into a dwelling-house,

  would have been under any circumstances, sufficient temptation to

  all true English stragglers so blest as to witness it, to force a

  way into that dwelling-house and see the matter out. But when the

  phenomenon was enhanced by the notoriety and mystery by this time

  associated all over the town with the Bank robbery, it would have

  lured the stragglers in, with an irresistible attraction, though

  the roof had been expected to fall upon their heads. Accordingly,

  the chance witnesses on the ground, consisting of the busiest of

  the neighbours to the number of some five-and-twenty, closed in

  after Sissy and Rachael, as they closed in after Mrs. Sparsit and

  her prize; and the whole body made a disorderly irruption into Mr.

  Bounderby's dining-room, where the people behind lost not a

  moment's time in mounting on the chairs, to get the better of the

  people in front.

  'Fetch Mr. Bounderby down!' cried Mrs. Sparsit. 'Rachael, young

  woman; you know who this is?'

  'It's Mrs. Pegler,' said Rachael.

  'I should think it is!' cried Mrs. Sparsit, exulting. 'Fetch Mr.

  Bounderby. Stand away, everybody!' Here old Mrs. Pegler, muffling

  herself up, and shrinking from observation, whispered a word of

  entreaty. 'Don't tell me,' said Mrs. Sparsit, aloud. 'I have told

  you twenty times, coming along, that I will not leave you till I

  have handed you over to him myself.'

  Mr. Bounderby now appeared, accompanied by Mr. Gradgrind and the

  whelp, with whom he had been holding conference up-stairs. Mr.

  Bounderby looked more astonished than hospitable, at sight of this

  uninvited party in his dining-room.

  'Why, what's the matter now!' said he. 'Mrs. Sparsit, ma'am?'

  'Sir,' explained that worthy woman, 'I trust it is my good fortune

  to produce a person you have much desired to find. Stimulated by

  my wish to relieve your mind, sir, and connecting together such

  imperfect clues to the part of the country in which that person

  might be supposed to reside, as have been afforded by the young

  woman, Rachael, fortunately now present to identify, I have had the

  happiness to succeed, and to bring that person with me - I need not

  say most unwillingly on her part. It has not been, sir, without

  some trouble that I have effected this; but trouble in your service

  is to me a pleasure, and hunger, thirst, and cold a real

  gratification.'

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  Here Mrs. Sparsit ceased; for Mr. Bounderby's visage exhibited an

  extraordinary combination of all possible colours and expressions

  of discomfiture, as old Mrs. Pegler was disclosed to his view.

  'Why, what do you mean by this?' was his highly unexpected demand,

  in great warmth. 'I ask you, what do you mean by this, Mrs.

  Sparsit, ma'am?'

  'Sir!' exclaimed Mrs. Sparsit, faintly.

  'Why don't you mind your own business, ma'am?' roared Bounderby.

  'How dare you go and poke your officious nose into my family

  affairs?'

  This allusion to her favourite feature overpowered Mrs. Sparsit.

  She sat down stiffly in a chair, as if she were frozen; and with a

  fixed stare at Mr. Bounderby, slowly grated her mittens against one

  another, as if they were frozen too.

  'My dear Josiah!' cried Mrs. Pegler, trembling. 'My darling boy!

  I am not to blame. It's not my fault, Josiah. I told this lady

  over and over again, that I knew she was doing what would not be

  agreeable to you, but she would do it.'

  'What did you let her bring you for? Couldn't you knock her cap

  off, or her tooth out, or scratch her, or do something or other to

  her?' asked Bounderby.

  'My own boy! She threatened me that if I resisted her, I should be

  brought by constables, and it was better to come quietly than make

  that stir in such a' - Mrs. Pegler glanced timidly but proudly

  round the walls - 'such a fine house as this. Indeed, indeed, it

  is not my fault! My dear, noble, stately boy! I have always lived

  quiet, and secret, Josiah, my dear. I have never broken the

  condition once. I have never said I was your mother. I have

  admired you at a distance; and if I have come to town sometimes,

  with long times between, to take a proud peep at you, I have done

  it unbeknown, my love, and gone away again.'

  Mr. Bounderby, with his hands in his pockets, walked in impatient

  mortification up and down at the side of the long dining-table,

  while the spectators greedily took in every syllable of Mrs.

  Pegler's appeal, and at each succeeding syllable became more and

  more round-eyed. Mr. Bounderby still walking up and down when Mrs.

  Pegler had done, Mr. Gradgrind addressed that maligned old lady:

  'I am surprised, madam,' he observed with severity, 'that in your

  old age you have the face to claim Mr. Bounderby for your son,

  after your unnatural and inhuman treatment of him.'

  'Me unnatural!' cried poor old Mrs. Pegler. 'Me inhuman! To my

  dear boy?'

  'Dear!' repeated Mr. Gradgrind. 'Yes; dear in his self-made

  prosperity, madam, I dare say. Not very dear, however, when you

  deserted him in his infancy, and left him to the brutality of a

  drunken grandmother.'

  'I deserted my Josiah!' cried Mrs. Pegler, clasping her hands.

  'Now, Lord forgive you, sir, for your wicked imaginations, and for

  your scandal against the memory of my poor mother, who died in my

  arms before Josiah was born. May you repent of it, sir, and live

  to
know better!'

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  She was so very earnest and injured, that Mr. Gradgrind, shocked by

  the possibility which dawned upon him, said in a gentler tone:

  'Do you deny, then, madam, that you left your son to - to be

  brought up in the gutter?'

  'Josiah in the gutter!' exclaimed Mrs. Pegler. 'No such a thing,

  sir. Never! For shame on you! My dear boy knows, and will give

  you to know, that though he come of humble parents, he come of

  parents that loved him as dear as the best could, and never thought

  it hardship on themselves to pinch a bit that he might write and

  cipher beautiful, and I've his books at home to show it! Aye, have

  I!' said Mrs. Pegler, with indignant pride. 'And my dear boy

  knows, and will give you to know, sir, that after his beloved

  father died, when he was eight years old, his mother, too, could

  pinch a bit, as it was her duty and her pleasure and her pride to

  do it, to help him out in life, and put him 'prentice. And a

  steady lad he was, and a kind master he had to lend him a hand, and

  well he worked his own way forward to be rich and thriving. And

  I'll give you to know, sir - for this my dear boy won't - that

  though his mother kept but a little village shop, he never forgot

  her, but pensioned me on thirty pound a year - more than I want,

  for I put by out of it - only making the condition that I was to

  keep down in my own part, and make no boasts about him, and not

  trouble him. And I never have, except with looking at him once a

  year, when he has never knowed it. And it's right,' said poor old

  Mrs. Pegler, in affectionate championship, 'that I should keep down

  in my own part, and I have no doubts that if I was here I should do

  a many unbefitting things, and I am well contented, and I can keep

  my pride in my Josiah to myself, and I can love for love's own

  sake! And I am ashamed of you, sir,' said Mrs. Pegler, lastly,

  'for your slanders and suspicions. And I never stood here before,

  nor never wanted to stand here when my dear son said no. And I

  shouldn't be here now, if it hadn't been for being brought here.

  And for shame upon you, Oh, for shame, to accuse me of being a bad

  mother to my son, with my son standing here to tell you so

  different!'

  The bystanders, on and off the dining-room chairs, raised a murmur

  of sympathy with Mrs. Pegler, and Mr. Gradgrind felt himself