Honouring each of these parties, as she severally addressed them, with an acid smile, Miss Charity presented “Mr Moddle.”
“I believe you have seen HIM before,” she pleasantly observed. “Augustus, my sweet child, bring me a chair.”
The sweet child did as he was told; and was then about to retire into a corner to mourn in secret, when Miss Charity, calling him in an audible whisper a “little pet,” gave him leave to come and sit beside her. It is to be hoped, for the general cheerfulness of mankind, that such a doleful little pet was never seen as Mr Moddle looked when he complied. So despondent was his temper, that he showed no outward thrill of ecstasy when Miss Pecksniff placed her lily hand in his, and concealed this mark of her favour from the vulgar gaze by covering it with a corner of her shawl. Indeed, he was infinitely more rueful then than he had been before; and, sitting uncomfortably upright in his chair, surveyed the company with watery eyes, which seemed to say, without the aid of language, “Oh, good gracious! look here! Won't some kind Christian help me!”
But the ecstasies of Mrs Gamp were sufficient to have furnished forth a score of young lovers; and they were chiefly awakened by the sight of Tom Pinch and his sister. Mrs Gamp was a lady of that happy temperament which can be ecstatic without any other stimulating cause than a general desire to establish a large and profitable connection. She added daily so many strings to her bow, that she made a perfect harp of it; and upon that instrument she now began to perform an extemporaneous concerto.
“Why, goodness me!” she said, “Mrs Chuzzlewit! To think as I should see beneath this blessed “ouse, which well I know it, Miss Pecksniff, my sweet young lady, to be a “ouse as there is not a many like, worse luck, and wishin” it were not so, which then this tearful walley would be changed into a flowerin” guardian, Mr Chuffey; to think as I should see beneath this indiwidgle roof, identically comin”, Mr Pinch (I take the liberty, though almost unbeknown), and do assure you of it, sir, the smilinest and sweetest face as ever, Mrs Chuzzlewit, I see exceptin” yourn, my dear good lady, and YOUR good lady's too, sir, Mr Moddle, if I may make so bold as speak so plain of what is plain enough to them as needn't look through millstones, Mrs Todgers, to find out wot is wrote upon the wall behind. Which no offence is meant, ladies and gentlemen; none bein” took, I hope. To think as I should see that smilinest and sweetest face which me and another friend of mine, took notice of among the packages down London Bridge, in this promiscous place, is a surprige in-deed!”
Having contrived, in this happy manner, to invest every member of her audience with an individual share and immediate personal interest in her address, Mrs Gamp dropped several curtseys to Ruth, and smilingly shaking her head a great many times, pursued the thread of her discourse:
“Now, ain't we rich in beauty this here joyful arternoon, I'm sure. I knows a lady, which her name, I'll not deceive you, Mrs Chuzzlewit, is Harris, her husband's brother bein” six foot three, and marked with a mad bull in Wellington boots upon his left arm, on account of his precious mother havin” been worrited by one into a shoemaker's shop, when in a sitiwation which blessed is the man as has his quiver full of sech, as many times I've said to Gamp when words has roge betwixt us on account of the expense—and often have I said to Mrs Harris, “Oh, Mrs Harris, ma'am! your countenance is quite a angel's!” Which, but for Pimples, it would be. “No, Sairey Gamp,” says she, “you best of hard-working and industrious creeturs as ever was underpaid at any price, which underpaid you are, quite diff'rent. Harris had it done afore marriage at ten and six,” she says, “and wore it faithful next his heart “till the colour run, when the money was declined to be give back, and no arrangement could be come to. But he never said it was a angel's, Sairey, wotever he might have thought.” If Mrs Harris's husband was here now,” said Mrs Gamp, looking round, and chuckling as she dropped a general curtsey, “he'd speak out plain, he would, and his dear wife would be the last to blame him! For if ever a woman lived as know'd not wot it was to form a wish to pizon them as had good looks, and had no reagion give her by the best of husbands, Mrs Harris is that ev'nly dispogician!”
With these words the worthy woman, who appeared to have dropped in to take tea as a delicate little attention, rather than to have any engagement on the premises in an official capacity, crossed to Mr Chuffey, who was seated in the same corner as of old, and shook him by the shoulder.
“Rouge yourself, and look up! Come!” said Mrs Gamp. “Here's company, Mr Chuffey.”
“I am sorry for it,” cried the old man, looking humbly round the room. “I know I'm in the way. I ask pardon, but I've nowhere else to go to. Where is she?”
Merry went to him.
“Ah!” said the old man, patting her on the check. “Here she is. Here she is! She's never hard on poor old Chuffey. Poor old Chuff!”
As she took her seat upon a low chair by the old man's side, and put herself within the reach of his hand, she looked up once at Tom. It was a sad look that she cast upon him, though there was a faint smile trembling on her face. It was a speaking look, and Tom knew what it said. “You see how misery has changed me. I can feel for a dependant NOW, and set some value on his attachment.”
“Aye, aye!” cried Chuffey in a soothing tone. “Aye, aye, aye! Never mind him. It's hard to hear, but never mind him. He'll die one day. There are three hundred and sixty-five days in the year—three hundred and sixty-six in leap year—and he may die on any one of “em.”
“You're a wearing old soul, and that's the sacred truth,” said Mrs Gamp, contemplating him from a little distance with anything but favour, as he continued to mutter to himself. “It's a pity that you don't know wot you say, for you'd tire your own patience out if you did, and fret yourself into a happy releage for all as knows you.”
“His son,” murmured the old man, lifting up his hand. “His son!”
“Well, I'm sure!” said Mrs Gamp, “you're a-settlin” of it, Mr Chuffey. To your satigefaction, sir, I hope. But I wouldn't lay a new pincushion on it myself, sir, though you ARE so well informed. Drat the old creetur, he's a-layin” down the law tolerable confident, too! A deal he knows of sons! or darters either! Suppose you was to favour us with some remarks on twins, sir, WOULD you be so good!”
The bitter and indignant sarcasm which Mrs Gamp conveyed into these taunts was altogether lost on the unconscious Chuffey, who appeared to be as little cognizant of their delivery as of his having given Mrs Gamp offence. But that high-minded woman being sensitively alive to any invasion of her professional province, and imagining that Mr Chuffey had given utterance to some prediction on the subject of sons, which ought to have emanated in the first instance from herself as the only lawful authority, or which should at least have been on no account proclaimed without her sanction and concurrence, was not so easily appeased. She continued to sidle at Mr Chuffey with looks of sharp hostility, and to defy him with many other ironical remarks, uttered in that low key which commonly denotes suppressed indignation; until the entrance of the teaboard, and a request from Mrs Jonas that she would make tea at a side-table for the party that had unexpectedly assembled, restored her to herself. She smiled again, and entered on her ministration with her own particular urbanity.
“And quite a family it is to make tea for,” said Mrs Gamp; “and wot a happiness to do it! My good young “ooman'—to the servant-girl— “p'raps somebody would like to try a new-laid egg or two, not biled too hard. Likeways, a few rounds o” buttered toast, first cuttin” off the crust, in consequence of tender teeth, and not too many of “em; which Gamp himself, Mrs Chuzzlewit, at one blow, being in liquor, struck out four, two single, and two double, as was took by Mrs Harris for a keepsake, and is carried in her pocket at this present hour, along with two cramp-bones, a bit o” ginger, and a grater like a blessed infant's shoe, in tin, with a little heel to put the nutmeg in; as many times I've seen and said, and used for candle when required, within the month.”
As the privileges of the side-table—besides including
the small prerogatives of sitting next the toast, and taking two cups of tea to other people's one, and always taking them at a crisis, that is to say, before putting fresh water into the tea-pot, and after it had been standing for some time—also comprehended a full view of the company, and an opportunity of addressing them as from a rostrum, Mrs Gamp discharged the functions entrusted to her with extreme good-humour and affability. Sometimes resting her saucer on the palm of her outspread hand, and supporting her elbow on the table, she stopped between her sips of tea to favour the circle with a smile, a wink, a roll of the head, or some other mark of notice; and at those periods her countenance was lighted up with a degree of intelligence and vivacity, which it was almost impossible to separate from the benignant influence of distilled waters.
But for Mrs Gamp, it would have been a curiously silent party. Miss Pecksniff only spoke to her Augustus, and to him in whispers. Augustus spoke to nobody, but sighed for every one, and occasionally gave himself such a sounding slap upon the forehead as would make Mrs Todgers, who was rather nervous, start in her chair with an involuntary exclamation. Mrs Todgers was occupied in knitting, and seldom spoke. Poor Merry held the hand of cheerful little Ruth between her own, and listening with evident pleasure to all she said, but rarely speaking herself, sometimes smiled, and sometimes kissed her on the cheek, and sometimes turned aside to hide the tears that trembled in her eyes. Tom felt this change in her so much, and was so glad to see how tenderly Ruth dealt with her, and how she knew and answered to it, that he had not the heart to make any movement towards their departure, although he had long since given utterance to all he came to say.
The old clerk, subsiding into his usual state, remained profoundly silent, while the rest of the little assembly were thus occupied, intent upon the dreams, whatever they might be, which hardly seemed to stir the surface of his sluggish thoughts. The bent of these dull fancies combining probably with the silent feasting that was going on about him, and some struggling recollection of the last approach to revelry he had witnessed, suggested a strange question to his mind. He looked round upon a sudden, and said:
“Who's lying dead upstairs?”
“No one,” said Merry, turning to him. “What is the matter? We are all here.”
“All here!” cried the old man. “All here! Where is he then—my old master, Mr Chuzzlewit, who had the only son? Where is he?”
“Hush! Hush!” said Merry, speaking kindly to him. “That happened long ago. Don't you recollect?”
“Recollect!” rejoined the old man, with a cry of grief. “As if I could forget! As if I ever could forget!”
He put his hand up to his face for a moment; and then repeated turning round exactly as before:
“Who's lying dead upstairs?”
“No one!” said Merry.
At first he gazed angrily upon her, as upon a stranger who endeavoured to deceive him; but peering into her face, and seeing that it was indeed she, he shook his head in sorrowful compassion.
“You think not. But they don't tell you. No, no, poor thing! They don't tell you. Who are these, and why are they merry-making here, if there is no one dead? Foul play! Go see who it is!”
She made a sign to them not to speak to him, which indeed they had little inclination to do; and remained silent herself. So did he for a short time; but then he repeated the same question with an eagerness that had a peculiar terror in it.
“There's some one dead,” he said, “or dying; and I want to knows who it is. Go see, go see! Where's Jonas?”
“In the country,” she replied.
The old man gazed at her as if he doubted what she said, or had not heard her; and, rising from his chair, walked across the room and upstairs, whispering as he went, “Foul play!” They heard his footsteps overhead, going up into that corner of the room in which the bed stood (it was there old Anthony had died); and then they heard him coming down again immediately. His fancy was not so strong or wild that it pictured to him anything in the deserted bedchamber which was not there; for he returned much calmer, and appeared to have satisfied himself.
“They don't tell you,” he said to Merry in his quavering voice, as he sat down again, and patted her upon the head. “They don't tell me either; but I'll watch, I'll watch. They shall not hurt you; don't be frightened. When you have sat up watching, I have sat up watching too. Aye, aye, I have!” he piped out, clenching his weak, shrivelled hand. “Many a night I have been ready!”
He said this with such trembling gaps and pauses in his want of breath, and said it in his jealous secrecy so closely in her ear, that little or nothing of it was understood by the visitors. But they had heard and seen enough of the old man to be disquieted, and to have left their seats and gathered about him; thereby affording Mrs Gamp, whose professional coolness was not so easily disturbed, an eligible opportunity for concentrating the whole resources of her powerful mind and appetite upon the toast and butter, tea and eggs. She had brought them to bear upon those viands with such vigour that her face was in the highest state of inflammation, when she now (there being nothing left to eat or drink) saw fit to interpose.
“Why, highty tighty, sir!” cried Mrs Gamp, “is these your manners? You want a pitcher of cold water throw'd over you to bring you round; that's my belief, and if you was under Betsey Prig you'd have it, too, I do assure you, Mr Chuffey. Spanish Flies is the only thing to draw this nonsense out of you; and if anybody wanted to do you a kindness, they'd clap a blister of “em on your head, and put a mustard poultige on your back. “Who's dead, indeed! It wouldn't be no grievous loss if some one was, I think!”
“He's quiet now, Mrs Gamp,” said Merry. “Don't disturb him.”
“Oh, bother the old wictim, Mrs Chuzzlewit,” replied that zealous lady, “I ain't no patience with him. You give him his own way too much by half. A worritin” wexagious creetur!”
No doubt with the view of carrying out the precepts she enforced, and “bothering the old wictim” in practice as well as in theory, Mrs Gamp took him by the collar of his coat, and gave him some dozen or two of hearty shakes backward and forward in his chair; that exercise being considered by the disciples of the Prig school of nursing (who are very numerous among professional ladies) as exceedingly conducive to repose, and highly beneficial to the performance of the nervous functions. Its effect in this instance was to render the patient so giddy and addle-headed, that he could say nothing more; which Mrs Gamp regarded as the triumph of her art.
“There!” she said, loosening the old man's cravat, in consequence of his being rather black in the face, after this scientific treatment. “Now, I hope, you're easy in your mind. If you should turn at all faint we can soon rewive you, sir, I promige you. Bite a person's thumbs, or turn their fingers the wrong way,” said Mrs Gamp, smiling with the consciousness of at once imparting pleasure and instruction to her auditors, “and they comes to, wonderful, Lord bless you!”
As this excellent woman had been formerly entrusted with the care of Mr Chuffey on a previous occasion, neither Mrs Jonas nor anybody else had the resolution to interfere directly with her mode of treatment; though all present (Tom Pinch and his sister especially) appeared to be disposed to differ from her views. For such is the rash boldness of the uninitiated, that they will frequently set up some monstrous abstract principle, such as humanity, or tenderness, or the like idle folly, in obstinate defiance of all precedent and usage; and will even venture to maintain the same against the persons who have made the precedents and established the usage, and who must therefore be the best and most impartial judges of the subject.
“Ah, Mr Pinch!” said Miss Pecksniff. “It all comes of this unfortunate marriage. If my sister had not been so precipitate, and had not united herself to a Wretch, there would have been no Mr Chuffey in the house.”
“Hush!” cried Tom. “She'll hear you.”
“I should be very sorry if she did hear me, Mr Pinch,” said Cherry, raising her voice a little; “for it is not in my nature to add to
the uneasiness of any person; far less of my own sister. I know what a sister's duties are, Mr Pinch, and I hope I always showed it in my practice. Augustus, my dear child, find my pockethandkerchief, and give it to me.”
Augustus obeyed, and took Mrs Todgers aside to pour his griefs into her friendly bosom.
“I am sure, Mr Pinch,” said Charity, looking after her betrothed and glancing at her sister, “that I ought to be very grateful for the blessings I enjoy, and those which are yet in store for me. When I contrast Augustus'—here she was modest and embarrased—'who, I don't mind saying to you, is all softness, mildness, and devotion, with the detestable man who is my sister's husband; and when I think, Mr Pinch, that in the dispensations of this world, our cases might have been reversed; I have much to be thankful for, indeed, and much to make me humble and contented.”
Contented she might have been, but humble she assuredly was not. Her face and manner experienced something so widely different from humility, that Tom could not help understanding and despising the base motives that were working in her breast. He turned away, and said to Ruth, that it was time for them to go.
“I will write to your husband,” said Tom to Merry, “and explain to him, as I would have done if I had met him here, that if he has sustained any inconvenience through my means, it is not my fault; a postman not being more innocent of the news he brings, than I was when I handed him that letter.”
“I thank you!” said Merry. “It may do some good.”
She parted tenderly from Ruth, who with her brother was in the act of leaving the room, when a key was heard in the lock of the door below, and immediately afterwards a quick footstep in the passage. Tom stopped, and looked at Merry.
It was Jonas, she said timidly.
“I had better not meet him on the stairs, perhaps,” said Tom, drawing his sister's arm through his, and coming back a step or two. “I'll wait for him here, a moment.”
Life And Adventures Of Martin Chuzzlewit Page 86