CHAPTER VIII
_Strongly Illustrative of the Position, that the Course of True Love is not a Railway_
The quiet seclusion of Dingley Dell, the presence of so many of thegentler sex, and the solicitude and anxiety they evinced in hisbehalf, were all favourable to the growth and development of thosesofter feelings which nature had implanted deep in the bosom of Mr.Tracy Tupman, and which now appeared destined to centre in one lovelyobject. The young ladies were pretty, their manners winning, theirdispositions unexceptionable; but there was a dignity in the air, atouch-me-not-ishness in the walk, a majesty in the eye of the spinsteraunt, to which, at their time of life, they could lay no claim, whichdistinguished her from any female on whom Mr. Tupman had ever gazed.That there was something kindred in their nature, something congenialin their souls, something mysteriously sympathetic in their bosoms,was evident. Her name was the first that rose to Mr. Tupman's lips ashe lay wounded on the grass; and her hysteric laughter was the firstsound that fell upon his ear when he was supported to the house. Buthad her agitation arisen from an amiable and feminine sensibility whichwould have been equally irrepressible in any case; or had it beencalled forth by a more ardent and passionate feeling, which he, of allmen living, could alone awaken? These were the doubts which racked hisbrain as he lay extended on the sofa: these were the doubts which hedetermined should be at once and for ever resolved.
It was evening. Isabella and Emily had strolled out with Mr. Trundle;the deaf old lady had fallen asleep in her chair; the snoring of thefat boy penetrated in a low and monotonous sound from the distantkitchen; the buxom servants were lounging at the side-door, enjoyingthe pleasantness of the hour, and the delights of a flirtation, onfirst principles, with certain unwieldy animals attached to the farm;and there sat the interesting pair, uncared for by all, caring fornone, and dreaming only of themselves; there they sat, in short, like apair of carefully-folded kid-gloves--bound up in each other.
"I have forgotten my flowers," said the spinster aunt.
"Water them now," said Mr. Tupman in accents of persuasion.
"You will take cold in the evening air," urged the spinster aunt,affectionately.
"No, no," said Mr. Tupman, rising; "it will do me good. Let meaccompany you."
The lady paused to adjust the sling in which the left arm of the youthwas placed, and taking his right arm led him to the garden.
There was a bower at the further end, with honeysuckle, jessamine, andcreeping plants--one of those sweet retreats which humane men erect forthe accommodation of spiders.
The spinster aunt took up a large watering-pot which lay in one corner,and was about to leave the arbour. Mr. Tupman detained her, and drewher to a seat beside him.
"Miss Wardle!" said he.
The spinster aunt trembled, till some pebbles which had accidentallyfound their way into the large watering-pot shook like an infant'srattle.
"Miss Wardle," said Mr. Tupman, "you are an angel."
"Mr. Tupman!" exclaimed Rachael, blushing as red as the watering-potitself.
"Nay," said the eloquent Pickwickian, "I know it but too well."
"All women are angels, they say," murmured the lady, playfully.
"Then what can _you_ be; or to what, without presumption, can Icompare you?" replied Mr. Tupman. "Where was the woman ever seen whoresembled you? Where else could I hope to find so rare a combinationof excellence and beauty? Where else could I seek to----Oh!" Here Mr.Tupman paused, and pressed the hand which clasped the handle of thehappy watering-pot.
The lady turned aside her head. "Men are such deceivers," she softlywhispered.
"They are, they are," ejaculated Mr. Tupman; "but not all men. Therelives at least one being who can never change--one being who would becontent to devote his whole existence to your happiness--who lives butin your eyes--who breathes but in your smiles--who bears the heavyburden of life itself only for you."
"Could such an individual be found?" said the lady.
"But he _can_ be found," said the ardent Mr. Tupman, interposing. "He_is_ found. He is here, Miss Wardle." And ere the lady was aware of hisintention, Mr. Tupman had sunk upon his knees at her feet.
"Mr. Tupman, rise," said Rachael.
"Never!" was the valorous reply. "Oh, Rachael!"--He seized her passivehand, and the watering-pot fell to the ground as he pressed it to hislips. "Oh, Rachael! say you love me."
"Mr. Tupman," said the spinster aunt, with averted head--"I can hardlyspeak the words; but--but--you are not wholly indifferent to me."
Mr. Tupman no sooner heard this avowal, than he proceeded to do whathis enthusiastic emotions prompted, and what, for aught we know (for weare but little acquainted with such matters) people so circumstancedalways do. He jumped up, and, throwing his arm round the neck of thespinster aunt, imprinted upon her lips numerous kisses, which aftera due show of struggling and resistance, she received so passively,that there is no telling how many more Mr. Tupman might have bestowed,if the lady had not given a very unaffected start and exclaimed in anaffrighted tone--
"Mr. Tupman, we are observed!--we are discovered!"
Mr. Tupman looked round. There was the fat boy, perfectly motionless,with his large circular eyes staring into the arbour, but without theslightest expression on his face that the most expert physiognomistcould have referred to astonishment, curiosity, or any other knownpassion that agitates the human breast. Mr. Tupman gazed on the fatboy, and the fat boy stared at him; and the longer Mr. Tupman observedthe utter vacancy of the fat boy's countenance, the more convincedhe became that he either did not know or did not understand anythingthat had been going forward. Under this impression, he said with greatfirmness--
"What do you want here, sir?"
"Supper's ready, sir," was the prompt reply.
"Have you just come here, sir?" inquired Mr. Tupman with a piercinglook.
"Just," replied the fat boy.
Mr. Tupman looked at him very hard again; but there was not a wink inhis eye, or a curve in his face.
Mr. Tupman took the arm of the spinster aunt, and walked towards thehouse; the fat boy followed behind.
"He knows nothing of what has happened," he whispered.
"Nothing," said the spinster aunt.
There was a sound behind them, as of an imperfectly suppressed chuckle.Mr. Tupman turned sharply round. No; it could not have been the fatboy; there was not a gleam of mirth, or anything but feeding, in hiswhole visage.
"He must have been fast asleep," whispered Mr. Tupman.
"I have not the least doubt of it," replied the spinster aunt.
They both laughed heartily.
Mr. Tupman was wrong. The fat boy, for once, had not been fast asleep.He was awake--wide awake--to what had been going forward.
The supper passed off without any attempt at a general conversation.The old lady had gone to bed; Isabella Wardle devoted herselfexclusively to Mr. Trundle; the spinster's attentions were reservedfor Mr. Tupman; and Emily's thoughts appeared to be engrossed by somedistant object--possibly they were with the absent Snodgrass.
_"He must have been fast asleep," whispered Mr. Tupman_]
Eleven--twelve--one o'clock had struck, and the gentlemen had notarrived. Consternation sat on every face. Could they have been waylaidand robbed? Should they send men and lanterns in every direction bywhich they could be supposed likely to have travelled home? or shouldthey----Hark! there they were. What could have made them so late?A strange voice too! To whom could it belong? They rushed into thekitchen whither the truants had repaired, and at once obtained rathermore than a glimmering of the real state of the case.
Mr. Pickwick, with his hands in his pockets and his hat cockedcompletely over his left eye, was leaning against the dresser, shakinghis head from side to side, and producing a constant succession ofthe blandest and most benevolent smiles without being moved thereuntoby any discernible cause or pretence whatsoever; old Mr. Wardle, witha highly-inflamed countenance, was grasping the hand of a strangegentl
eman, muttering protestations of eternal friendship; Mr. Winkle,supporting himself by the eight-day clock, was feebly invokingdestruction upon the head of any member of the family who shouldsuggest the propriety of his retiring for the night; and Mr. Snodgrasshad sunk into a chair, with an expression of the most abject andhopeless misery that the human mind can imagine, portrayed in everylineament of his expressive face.
"Is anything the matter?" inquired the three ladies.
"Nothing the matter," replied Mr. Pickwick. "We--we're--all right--Isay, Wardle, we're all right, an't we?"
"I should think so," replied the jolly host.--"My dears, here'smy friend, Mr. Jingle.--Mr. Pickwick's friend, Mr. Jingle, come'pon--little visit."
"Is anything the matter with Mr. Snodgrass, sir?" inquired Emily, withgreat anxiety.
"Nothing the matter, ma'am," replied the stranger. "Cricketdinner--glorious party--capital songs--old port--claret--good--verygood--wine, ma'am--wine."
"It wasn't the wine," murmured Mr. Snodgrass, in a broken voice. "Itwas the salmon." (Somehow or other, it never _is_ the wine, in thesecases.)
"Hadn't they better go to bed, ma'am?" inquired Emma. "Two of the boyswill carry the gentlemen up stairs."
"I won't go to bed," said Mr. Winkle, firmly.
"No living boy shall carry me," said Mr. Pickwick, stoutly;--and hewent on smiling as before.
"Hurrah!" gasped Mr. Winkle, faintly.
"Hurrah!" echoed Mr. Pickwick, taking off his hat and dashing it onthe floor, and insanely casting his spectacles into the middle of thekitchen.--At this humorous feat he laughed outright.
"Let's--have--'nother--bottle," cried Mr. Winkle, commencing in a veryloud key, and ending in a very faint one. His head dropped upon hisbreast; and, muttering his invincible determination not to go to hisbed, and a sanguinary regret that he had not "done for old Tupman" inthe morning, he fell fast asleep; in which condition he was borne tohis apartment by two young giants under the personal superintendence ofthe fat boy, to whose protecting care Mr. Snodgrass shortly afterwardsconfided his own person. Mr. Pickwick accepted the proffered arm of Mr.Tupman and quietly disappeared, smiling more than ever; and Mr. Wardle,after taking as affectionate a leave of the whole family as if he wereordered for immediate execution, consigned to Mr. Trundle the honourof conveying him up-stairs, and retired, with a very futile attempt tolook impressively solemn and dignified.
"What a shocking scene!" said the spinster aunt.
"Dis--gusting!" ejaculated both the young ladies.
"Dreadful--dreadful!" said Jingle, looking very grave; he wasabout a bottle and a half ahead of any of his companions. "Horridspectacle--very!"
"What a nice man!" whispered the spinster aunt to Mr. Tupman.
"Good-looking, too!" whispered Emily Wardle.
"Oh, decidedly," observed the spinster aunt.
Mr. Tupman thought of the widow at Rochester: and his mind wastroubled. The succeeding half-hour's conversation was not of a natureto calm his perturbed spirit. The new visitor was very talkative, andthe number of his anecdotes was only to be exceeded by the extentof his politeness. Mr. Tupman felt that as Jingle's popularityincreased, he (Tupman) retired further into the shade. His laughterwas forced--his merriment feigned; and when at last he laid his achingtemples between the sheets, he thought, with horrid delight, on thesatisfaction it would afford him to have Jingle's head at that momentbetween the feather-bed and the mattress.
The indefatigable stranger rose betimes next morning, and, althoughhis companions remained in bed overpowered with the dissipation ofthe previous night, exerted himself most successfully to promote thehilarity of the breakfast-table. So successful were his efforts, thateven the deaf old lady insisted on having one or two of his best jokesretailed through the trumpet; and even she condescended to observe tothe spinster aunt that "he" (meaning Jingle) "was an impudent youngfellow"; a sentiment in which all her relations then and there presentthoroughly coincided.
It was the old lady's habit on the fine summer mornings to repair tothe arbour in which Mr. Tupman had already signalised himself, in formand manner following: first, the fat boy fetched from a peg behind theold lady's bed-room door, a close black satin bonnet, a warm cottonshawl, and a thick stick with a capacious handle; and the old ladyhaving put on the bonnet and shawl at her leisure, would lean onehand on the stick and the other on the fat boy's shoulder, and walkleisurely to the arbour, where the fat boy would leave her to enjoy thefresh air for the space of half-an-hour; at the expiration of whichtime he would return and reconduct her to the house.
The old lady was very precise and very particular; and as this ceremonyhad been observed for three successive summers without the slightestdeviation from the accustomed form, she was not a little surprised onthis particular morning, to see the fat boy, instead of leaving thearbour, walk a few paces out of it, look carefully round him in everydirection, and return towards her with great stealth and an air of themost profound mystery.
The old lady was timorous--most old ladies are--and her firstimpression was that the bloated lad was about to do her some grievousbodily harm with the view of possessing himself of her loose coin.She would have cried for assistance, but age and infirmity had longago deprived her of the power of screaming; she, therefore, watchedhis motions with feelings of intense terror, which were in no degreediminished by his coming close up to her, and shouting in her ear in anagitated, and as it seemed to her, a threatening tone--
"Missus!"
Now it so happened that Mr. Jingle was walking in the garden close tothe arbour at this moment. He too heard the shout of "Missus," andstopped to hear more. There were three reasons for his doing so. Inthe first place, he was idle and curious; secondly, he was by no meansscrupulous; thirdly, and lastly, he was concealed from view by someflowering shrubs. So there he stood, and there he listened.
"Missus!" shouted the fat boy.
"Well, Joe," said the trembling old lady. "I'm sure I have been a goodmistress to you, Joe. You have invariably been treated very kindly. Youhave never had too much to do; and you have always had enough to eat."
This last was an appeal to the fat boy's most sensitive feelings. Heseemed touched, as he replied, emphatically--
"I knows I has."
"Then what can you want to do now?" said the old lady, gaining courage.
"I wants to make your flesh creep," replied the boy.
This sounded like a very bloodthirsty mode of showing one's gratitude;and as the old lady did not precisely understand the process by whichsuch a result was to be attained, all her former horrors returned.
"What do you think I see in this very arbour last night?" inquired theboy.
"Bless us! What?" exclaimed the old lady, alarmed at the solemn mannerof the corpulent youth.
"The strange gentleman--him as had his arm hurt--a kissin' andhuggin'----"
"Who, Joe? None of the servants, I hope?"
"Worser than that," roared the fat boy, in the old lady's ear.
"Not one of my grand-da'aters?"
"Worser than that."
"Worse than _that_, Joe!" said the old lady, who had thought thisthe extreme limit of human atrocity. "Who was it, Joe? I insist uponknowing."
The fat boy looked cautiously round, and having concluded his survey,shouted in the old lady's ear:
"Miss Rachael."
"What!" said the old lady, in a shrill tone. "Speak louder."
"Miss Rachael," roared the fat boy.
"My da'ater!"
The train of nods which the fat boy gave by way of assent, communicateda _blanc-mange_-like motion to his fat cheeks.
"And she suffered him!" exclaimed the old lady.
A grin stole over the fat boy's features as he said:
"I see her a kissin' of him agin."
If Mr. Jingle, from his place of concealment, could have beheld theexpression which the old lady's face assumed at this communication, theprobability is that a sudden burst of laughter would have betrayed hisclose vicin
ity to the summer-house. He listened attentively. Fragmentsof angry sentences such as, "Without my permission!"--"At her time oflife"--"Miserable old 'ooman like me"--"Might have waited till I wasdead," and so forth reached his ears; and then he heard the heels ofthe fat boy's boots crunching the gravel, as he retired and left theold lady alone.
It was a remarkable coincidence perhaps, but it was nevertheless afact, that Mr. Jingle within five minutes after his arrival at ManorFarm on the preceding night, had inwardly resolved to lay siege to theheart of the spinster aunt, without delay. He had observation enough tosee, that his off-hand manner was by no means disagreeable to the fairobject of his attack; and he had more than a strong suspicion that shepossessed that most desirable of all requisites, a small independence.The imperative necessity of ousting his rival by some means or other,flashed quickly upon him, and he immediately resolved to adopt certainproceedings tending to that end and object, without a moment's delay.Fielding tells us that man is fire, and woman tow, and the Princeof Darkness sets a light to 'em. Mr. Jingle knew that young men, tospinster aunts, are as lighted gas to gunpowder, and he determined toessay the effect of an explosion without loss of time.
Full of reflections upon this important decision, he crept from hisplace of concealment, and, under cover of the shrubs before mentioned,approached the house. Fortune seemed determined to favour his design.Mr. Tupman and the rest of the gentlemen left the garden by the sidegate just as he obtained a view of it; and the young ladies, he knew,had walked out alone, soon after breakfast. The coast was clear.
The breakfast-parlour door was partially open. He peeped in. Thespinster aunt was knitting. He coughed; she looked up and smiled.Hesitation formed no part of Mr. Alfred Jingle's character. He laid hisfinger on his lips mysteriously, walked in, and closed the door.
"Miss Wardle," said Mr. Jingle, with affected earnestness, "forgiveintrusion--short acquaintance--no time for ceremony--all discovered."
"Sir!" said the spinster aunt, rather astonished by the unexpectedapparition and somewhat doubtful of Mr. Jingle's sanity.
"Hush!" said Mr. Jingle, in a stage whisper;--"large boy--dumplingface--round eyes--rascal!" Here he shook his head expressively, and thespinster aunt trembled with agitation.
"I presume you allude to Joseph, sir?" said the lady, making an effortto appear composed.
"Yes, ma'am--damn that Joe!--treacherous dog, Joe--told the oldlady--old lady furious--wild--raving--arbour--Tupman--kissing andhugging--all that sort of thing--eh, ma'am--eh?"
"Mr. Jingle," said the spinster aunt, "if you come here, sir, to insultme----"
"Not at all--by no means," replied the unabashed Mr. Jingle;--"overheardthe tale--came to warn you of your danger--tender my services--preventthe hubbub. Never mind--think it an insult--leave the room"--and heturned as if to carry the threat into execution.
"What _shall_ I do?" said the poor spinster, bursting into tears. "Mybrother will be furious."
"Of course he will," said Mr. Jingle, pausing--"outrageous."
"Oh, Mr. Jingle, what _can_ I say?" exclaimed the spinster aunt, inanother flood of despair.
"Say he dreamt it," replied Mr. Jingle, coolly.
A ray of comfort darted across the mind of the spinster aunt at thissuggestion. Mr. Jingle perceived it, and followed up his advantage.
"Pooh, pooh! nothing more easy--blackguard boy--lovely woman--fat boyhorsewhipped--you believed--end of the matter--all comfortable."
Whether the probability of escaping from the consequences of thisill-timed discovery was delightful to the spinster's feelings, orwhether the hearing herself described as a "lovely woman" softened theasperity of her grief, we know not. She blushed slightly, and cast agrateful look on Mr. Jingle.
That insinuating gentleman sighed deeply, fixed his eyes on thespinster aunt's face for a couple of minutes, started melodramatically,and suddenly withdrew them.
"You seem unhappy, Mr. Jingle," said the lady, in a plaintive voice."May I show my gratitude for your kind interference by inquiring intothe cause, with a view, if possible, to its removal?"
"Ha!" exclaimed Mr. Jingle, with another start--"removal! remove _my_unhappiness, and your love bestowed upon a man who is insensible to theblessing--who even now contemplates a design upon the affections of theniece of the creature who--but no; he is my friend; I will not exposehis vices. Miss Wardle--farewell!" At the conclusion of this address,the most consecutive he was ever known to utter, Mr. Jingle appliedto his eyes the remnant of a handkerchief before noticed, and turnedtowards the door.
"Stay, Mr. Jingle," said the spinster aunt, emphatically. "You havemade an allusion to Mr. Tupman--explain it."
"Never!" exclaimed Jingle, with a professional (_i.e._ theatrical) air."Never!" and, by way of showing that he had no desire to be questionedfurther, he drew a chair close to that of the spinster aunt and satdown.
"Mr. Jingle," said the aunt, "I entreat--I implore you, if there is anydreadful mystery connected with Mr. Tupman, reveal it."
"Can I," said Mr. Jingle, fixing his eyes on the aunt's face--"Can Isee--lovely creature--sacrificed at the shrine--heartless avarice!" Heappeared to be struggling with various conflicting emotions for a fewseconds, and then said in a low deep voice--
"Tupman only wants your money."
"The wretch!" exclaimed the spinster, with energetic indignation. (Mr.Jingle's doubts were resolved. She _had_ money.)
"More than that," said Jingle--"loves another."
"Another!" ejaculated the spinster. "Who?"
"Short girl--black eyes--niece Emily."
There was a pause.
Now, if there were one individual in the whole world, of whom thespinster aunt entertained a mortal and deeply-rooted jealousy, it wasthis identical niece. The colour rushed over her face and neck, and shetossed her head in silence with an air of ineffable contempt. At last,biting her thin lips, and bridling up, she said--
"It can't be. I won't believe it."
"Watch 'em," said Jingle.
"I will," said the aunt.
"Watch his looks."
"I will."
"His whispers."
"I will."
"He'll sit next her at table."
"Let him."
"He'll flatter her."
"Let him."
"He'll pay her every possible attention."
"Let him."
"And he'll cut you."
"Cut _me_!" screamed the spinster aunt. "_He_ cut _me_;--_will_ he!"and she trembled with rage and disappointment.
"You will convince yourself?" said Jingle.
"I will."
"You'll show your spirit?"
"I will."
"You'll not have him afterwards?"
"Never."
"You'll take somebody else?"
"Yes."
"You shall."
Mr. Jingle fell on his knees, remained thereupon for five minutesthereafter: and rose the accepted lover of the spinster aunt:conditionally upon Mr. Tupman's perjury being made clear and manifest.
The burden of proof lay with Mr. Alfred Jingle; and he produced hisevidence that very day at dinner. The spinster aunt could hardlybelieve her eyes. Mr. Tracy Tupman was established at Emily's side,ogling, whispering, and smiling, in opposition to Mr. Snodgrass. Not aword, not a look, not a glance, did he bestow upon his heart's pride ofthe evening before.
"Damn that boy!" thought old Mr. Wardle to himself.--He had heard thestory from his mother. "Damn that boy! He _must_ have been asleep. It'sall imagination."
"Traitor!" thought the spinster aunt. "Dear Mr. Jingle was notdeceiving me. Ugh! how I hate the wretch!"
The following conversation may serve to explain to our readers thisapparently unaccountable alteration of deportment on the part of Mr.Tracy Tupman.
The time was evening; the scene the garden. There were two figureswalking in the side path; one was rather short and stout; the otherrather tall and slim. They were Mr. Tupman and Mr. Jingle. The stoutfigure commenced the dialog
ue.
"How did I do it?" he inquired.
"Splendid--capital--couldn't act better myself--you must repeat thepart to-morrow--every evening, till further notice."
"Does Rachael still wish it?"
"Of course--she don't like it--but must be done--avert suspicion--afraidof her brother--says there's no help for it--only a few days more--whenold folks blinded--crown your happiness."
"Any message?"
"Love--best love--kindest regards--unalterable affection. Can I sayanything for you?"
"My dear fellow," replied the unsuspicious Mr. Tupman, ferventlygrasping his "friend's" hand--"carry my best love--say how hard I findit to dissemble--say anything that's kind: but add how sensible I amof the necessity of the suggestion she made to me, through you, thismorning. Say I applaud her wisdom and admire her discretion."
"I will. Anything more?"
"Nothing; only add how ardently I long for the time when I may call hermine, and all dissimulation may be unnecessary."
"Certainly, certainly. Anything more?"
"Oh, my friend!" said poor Mr. Tupman, again grasping the hand of hiscompanion, "receive my warmest thanks for your disinterested kindness;and forgive me if I have ever, even in thought, done you the injusticeof supposing that you _could_ stand in my way. My dear friend, can Iever repay you?"
"Don't talk of it," replied Mr. Jingle. He stopped short, as ifsuddenly recollecting something, and said--"By-the-bye--can't spare tenpounds, can you?--very particular purpose--pay you in three days."
"I dare say I can," replied Mr. Tupman, in the fulness of his heart."Three days, you say?"
"Only three days--all over then--no more difficulties."
Mr. Tupman counted the money into his companion's hand, and he droppedit piece by piece into his pocket, as they walked towards the house.
"Be careful," said Mr. Jingle--"not a look."
"Not a wink," said Mr. Tupman.
"Not a syllable."
"Not a whisper."
"All your attentions to the niece--rather rude, than otherwise, to theaunt--only way of deceiving the old ones."
"I'll take care," said Mr. Tupman, aloud.
"And _I_'ll take care," said Mr. Jingle, internally; and they enteredthe house.
The scene of that afternoon was repeated that evening, and on the threeafternoons and evenings next ensuing. On the fourth, the host was inhigh spirits, for he had satisfied himself that there was no ground forthe charge against Mr. Tupman. So was Mr. Tupman, for Mr. Jingle hadtold him that his affair would soon be brought to a crisis. So was Mr.Pickwick, for he was seldom otherwise. So was not Mr. Snodgrass, forhe had grown jealous of Mr. Tupman. So was the old lady, for she hadbeen winning at whist. So were Mr. Jingle and Miss Wardle, for reasonsof sufficient importance in this eventful history to be narrated inanother chapter.
The Posthumous Papers of the Pickwick Club, v. 1 (of 2) Page 10