Much of this decayed and sombre look was attributable, no doubt, to the death of its former master, and the temper of its present occupant; but remembering the tale connected with the mansion, it seemed the very place for such a deed, and one that might have been its predestined theatre years upon years ago. Viewed with reference to this legend, the sheet of water where the steward's body had been found appeared to wear a black and sullen character, such as no other pool might own; the bell upon the roof that had told the tale of murder to the midnight wind, became a very phantom whose voice would raise the listener's hair on end; and every leafless bough that nodded to another, had its stealthy whispering of the crime.
Joe paced up and down the path, sometimes stopping in affected contemplation of the building or the prospect, sometimes leaning against a tree with an assumed air of idleness and indifference, but always keeping an eye upon the window he had singled out at first. After some quarter of an hour's delay, a small white hand was waved to him for an instant from this casement, and the young man, with a respectful bow, departed; saying under his breath as he crossed his horse again, “No errand for me to-day!”
But the air of smartness, the cock of the hat to which John Willet had objected, and the spring nosegay, all betokened some little errand of his own, having a more interesting object than a vintner or even a locksmith. So, indeed, it turned out; for when he had settled with the vintner—whose place of business was down in some deep cellars hard by Thames Street, and who was as purple-faced an old gentleman as if he had all his life supported their arched roof on his head—when he had settled the account, and taken the receipt, and declined tasting more than three glasses of old sherry, to the unbounded astonishment of the purple-faced vintner, who, gimlet in hand, had projected an attack upon at least a score of dusty casks, and who stood transfixed, or morally gimleted as it were, to his own wall—when he had done all this, and disposed besides of a frugal dinner at the Black Lion in Whitechapel; spurning the Monument and John's advice, he turned his steps towards the locksmith's house, attracted by the eyes of blooming Dolly Varden.
Joe was by no means a sheepish fellow, but, for all that, when he got to the corner of the street in which the locksmith lived, he could by no means make up his mind to walk straight to the house. First, he resolved to stroll up another street for five minutes, then up another street for five minutes more, and so on until he had lost full half an hour, when he made a bold plunge and found himself with a red face and a beating heart in the smoky workshop.
“Joe Willet, or his ghost?” said Varden, rising from the desk at which he was busy with his books, and looking at him under his spectacles. “Which is it? Joe in the flesh, eh? That's hearty. And how are all the Chigwell company, Joe?”
“Much as usual, sir—they and I agree as well as ever.”
“Well, well!” said the locksmith. “We must be patient, Joe, and bear with old folks” foibles. How's the mare, Joe? Does she do the four miles an hour as easily as ever? Ha, ha, ha! Does she, Joe? Eh!—What have we there, Joe—a nosegay!”
“A very poor one, sir—I thought Miss Dolly—”
“No, no,” said Gabriel, dropping his voice, and shaking his head, “not Dolly. Give “em to her mother, Joe. A great deal better give “em to her mother. Would you mind giving “em to Mrs Varden, Joe?”
“Oh no, sir,” Joe replied, and endeavouring, but not with the greatest possible success, to hide his disappointment. “I shall be very glad, I'm sure.”
“That's right,” said the locksmith, patting him on the back. “It don't matter who has “em, Joe?”
“Not a bit, sir. “—Dear heart, how the words stuck in his throat!
“Come in,” said Gabriel. “I have just been called to tea. She's in the parlour.”
“She,” thought Joe. “Which of “em I wonder—Mrs or Miss?” The locksmith settled the doubt as neatly as if it had been expressed aloud, by leading him to the door, and saying, “Martha, my dear, here's young Mr Willet.”
Now, Mrs Varden, regarding the Maypole as a sort of human mantrap, or decoy for husbands; viewing its proprietor, and all who aided and abetted him, in the light of so many poachers among Christian men; and believing, moreover, that the publicans coupled with sinners in Holy Writ were veritable licensed victuallers; was far from being favourably disposed towards her visitor. Wherefore she was taken faint directly; and being duly presented with the crocuses and snowdrops, divined on further consideration that they were the occasion of the languor which had seized upon her spirits. “I'm afraid I couldn't bear the room another minute,” said the good lady, “if they remained here. WOULD you excuse my putting them out of window?”
Joe begged she wouldn't mention it on any account, and smiled feebly as he saw them deposited on the sill outside. If anybody could have known the pains he had taken to make up that despised and misused bunch of flowers!—
“I feel it quite a relief to get rid of them, I assure you,” said Mrs Varden. “I'm better already. “ And indeed she did appear to have plucked up her spirits.
Joe expressed his gratitude to Providence for this favourable dispensation, and tried to look as if he didn't wonder where Dolly was.
“You're sad people at Chigwell, Mr Joseph,” said Mrs V.
“I hope not, ma'am,” returned Joe.
“You're the cruellest and most inconsiderate people in the world,” said Mrs Varden, bridling. “I wonder old Mr Willet, having been a married man himself, doesn't know better than to conduct himself as he does. His doing it for profit is no excuse. I would rather pay the money twenty times over, and have Varden come home like a respectable and sober tradesman. If there is one character,” said Mrs Varden with great emphasis, “that offends and disgusts me more than another, it is a sot.”
“Come, Martha, my dear,” said the locksmith cheerily, “let us have tea, and don't let us talk about sots. There are none here, and Joe don't want to hear about them, I dare say.”
At this crisis, Miggs appeared with toast.
“I dare say he does not,” said Mrs Varden; “and I dare say you do not, Varden. It's a very unpleasant subiect, I have no doubt, though I won't say it's personal'—Miggs coughed—'whatever I may be forced to think'—Miggs sneezed expressively. “You never will know, Varden, and nobody at young Mr Willet's age—you'll excuse me, sir—can be expected to know, what a woman suffers when she is waiting at home under such circumstances. If you don't believe me, as I know you don't, here's Miggs, who is only too often a witness of it—ask her.”
“Oh! she were very bad the other night, sir, indeed she were, said Miggs. “If you hadn't the sweetness of an angel in you, mim, I don't think you could abear it, I raly don't.”
“Miggs,” said Mrs Varden, “you're profane.”
“Begging your pardon, mim,” returned Miggs, with shrill rapidity, “such was not my intentions, and such I hope is not my character, though I am but a servant.”
“Answering me, Miggs, and providing yourself,” retorted her mistress, looking round with dignity, “is one and the same thing. How dare you speak of angels in connection with your sinful fellow-beings—mere'—said Mrs Varden, glancing at herself in a neighbouring mirror, and arranging the ribbon of her cap in a more becoming fashion—'mere worms and grovellers as we are!”
“I did not intend, mim, if you please, to give offence,” said Miggs, confident in the strength of her compliment, and developing strongly in the throat as usual, “and I did not expect it would be took as such. I hope I know my own unworthiness, and that I hate and despise myself and all my fellow-creatures as every practicable Christian should.”
“You'll have the goodness, if you please,” said Mrs Varden, loftily, “to step upstairs and see if Dolly has finished dressing, and to tell her that the chair that was ordered for her will be here in a minute, and that if she keeps it waiting, I shall send it away that instant. —I'm sorry to see that you don't take your tea, Varden, and that you don't take yours, Mr Joseph; though of c
ourse it would be foolish of me to expect that anything that can be had at home, and in the company of females, would please YOU.”
This pronoun was understood in the plural sense, and included both gentlemen, upon both of whom it was rather hard and undeserved, for Gabriel had applied himself to the meal with a very promising appetite, until it was spoilt by Mrs Varden herself, and Joe had as great a liking for the female society of the locksmith's house—or for a part of it at all events—as man could well entertain.
But he had no opportunity to say anything in his own defence, for at that moment Dolly herself appeared, and struck him quite dumb with her beauty. Never had Dolly looked so handsome as she did then, in all the glow and grace of youth, with all her charms increased a hundredfold by a most becoming dress, by a thousand little coquettish ways which nobody could assume with a better grace, and all the sparkling expectation of that accursed party. It is impossible to tell how Joe hated that party wherever it was, and all the other people who were going to it, whoever they were.
And she hardly looked at him—no, hardly looked at him. And when the chair was seen through the open door coming blundering into the workshop, she actually clapped her hands and seemed glad to go. But Joe gave her his arm—there was some comfort in that—and handed her into it. To see her seat herself inside, with her laughing eyes brighter than diamonds, and her hand—surely she had the prettiest hand in the world—on the ledge of the open window, and her little finger provokingly and pertly tilted up, as if it wondered why Joe didn't squeeze or kiss it! To think how well one or two of the modest snowdrops would have become that delicate bodice, and how they were lying neglected outside the parlour window! To see how Miggs looked on with a face expressive of knowing how all this loveliness was got up, and of being in the secret of every string and pin and hook and eye, and of saying it ain't half as real as you think, and I could look quite as well myself if I took the pains! To hear that provoking precious little scream when the chair was hoisted on its poles, and to catch that transient but not-to-be-forgotten vision of the happy face within— what torments and aggravations, and yet what delights were these! The very chairmen seemed favoured rivals as they bore her down the street.
There never was such an alteration in a small room in a small time as in that parlour when they went back to finish tea. So dark, so deserted, so perfectly disenchanted. It seemed such sheer nonsense to be sitting tamely there, when she was at a dance with more lovers than man could calculate fluttering about her—with the whole party doting on and adoring her, and wanting to marry her. Miggs was hovering about too; and the fact of her existence, the mere circumstance of her ever having been born, appeared, after Dolly, such an unaccountable practical joke. It was impossible to talk. It couldn't be done. He had nothing left for it but to stir his tea round, and round, and round, and ruminate on all the fascinations of the locksmith's lovely daughter.
Gabriel was dull too. It was a part of the certain uncertainty of Mrs Varden's temper, that when they were in this condition, she should be gay and sprightly.
“I need have a cheerful disposition, I am sure,” said the smiling housewife, “to preserve any spirits at all; and how I do it I can scarcely tell.”
“Ah, mim,” sighed Miggs, “begging your pardon for the interruption, there an't a many like you.”
“Take away, Miggs,” said Mrs Varden, rising, “take away, pray. I know I'm a restraint here, and as I wish everybody to enjoy themselves as they best can, I feel I had better go.”
“No, no, Martha,” cried the locksmith. “Stop here. I'm sure we shall be very sorry to lose you, eh Joe!” Joe started, and said “Certainly.”
“Thank you, Varden, my dear,” returned his wife; “but I know your wishes better. Tobacco and beer, or spirits, have much greater attractions than any I can boast of, and therefore I shall go and sit upstairs and look out of window, my love. Good night, Mr Joseph. I'm very glad to have seen you, and I only wish I could have provided something more suitable to your taste. Remember me very kindly if you please to old Mr Willet, and tell him that whenever he comes here I have a crow to pluck with him. Good night!”
Having uttered these words with great sweetness of manner, the good lady dropped a curtsey remarkable for its condescension, and serenely withdrew.
And it was for this Joe had looked forward to the twenty-fifth of March for weeks and weeks, and had gathered the flowers with so much care, and had cocked his hat, and made himself so smart! This was the end of all his bold determination, resolved upon for the hundredth time, to speak out to Dolly and tell her how he loved her! To see her for a minute—for but a minute—to find her going out to a party and glad to go; to be looked upon as a common pipesmoker, beer-bibber, spirit-guzzler, and tosspot! He bade farewell to his friend the locksmith, and hastened to take horse at the Black Lion, thinking as he turned towards home, as many another Joe has thought before and since, that here was an end to all his hopes—that the thing was impossible and never could be—that she didn't care for him—that he was wretched for life—and that the only congenial prospect left him, was to go for a soldier or a sailor, and get some obliging enemy to knock his brains out as soon as possible.
Chapter 14
Joe Willet rode leisurely along in his desponding mood, picturing the locksmith's daughter going down long country-dances, and poussetting dreadfully with bold strangers—which was almost too much to bear—when he heard the tramp of a horse's feet behind him, and looking back, saw a well-mounted gentleman advancing at a smart canter. As this rider passed, he checked his steed, and called him of the Maypole by his name. Joe set spurs to the grey mare, and was at his side directly.
“I thought it was you, sir,” he said, touching his hat. “A fair evening, sir. Glad to see you out of doors again.”
The gentleman smiled and nodded. “What gay doings have been going on to-day, Joe? Is she as pretty as ever? Nay, don't blush, man.”
“If I coloured at all, Mr Edward,” said Joe, “which I didn't know I did, it was to think I should have been such a fool as ever to have any hope of her. She's as far out of my reach as—as Heaven is.”
“Well, Joe, I hope that's not altogether beyond it,” said Edward, good-humouredly. “Eh?”
“Ah!” sighed Joe. “It's all very fine talking, sir. Proverbs are easily made in cold blood. But it can't be helped. Are you bound for our house, sir?”
“Yes. As I am not quite strong yet, I shall stay there to-night, and ride home coolly in the morning.”
“If you're in no particular hurry,” said Joe after a short silence, “and will bear with the pace of this poor jade, I shall be glad to ride on with you to the Warren, sir, and hold your horse when you dismount. It'll save you having to walk from the Maypole, there and back again. I can spare the time well, sir, for I am too soon.”
“And so am I,” returned Edward, “though I was unconsciously riding fast just now, in compliment I suppose to the pace of my thoughts, which were travelling post. We will keep together, Joe, willingly, and be as good company as may be. And cheer up, cheer up, think of the locksmith's daughter with a stout heart, and you shall win her yet.”
Joe shook his head; but there was something so cheery in the buoyant hopeful manner of this speech, that his spirits rose under its influence, and communicated as it would seem some new impulse even to the grey mare, who, breaking from her sober amble into a gentle trot, emulated the pace of Edward Chester's horse, and appeared to flatter herself that he was doing his very best.
It was a fine dry night, and the light of a young moon, which was then just rising, shed around that peace and tranquillity which gives to evening time its most delicious charm. The lengthened shadows of the trees, softened as if reflected in still water, threw their carpet on the path the travellers pursued, and the light wind stirred yet more softly than before, as though it were soothing Nature in her sleep. By little and little they ceased talking, and rode on side by side in a pleasant silence.
“The
Maypole lights are brilliant to-night,” said Edward, as they rode along the lane from which, while the intervening trees were bare of leaves, that hostelry was visible.
“Brilliant indeed, sir,” returned Joe, rising in his stirrups to get a better view. “Lights in the large room, and a fire glimmering in the best bedchamber? Why, what company can this be for, I wonder!”
“Some benighted horseman wending towards London, and deterred from going on to-night by the marvellous tales of my friend the highwayman, I suppose,” said Edward.
“He must be a horseman of good quality to have such accommodations. Your bed too, sir—!”
“No matter, Joe. Any other room will do for me. But come—there's nine striking. We may push on.”
They cantered forward at as brisk a pace as Joe's charger could attain, and presently stopped in the little copse where he had left her in the morning. Edward dismounted, gave his bridle to his companion, and walked with a light step towards the house.
A female servant was waiting at a side gate in the garden-wall, and admitted him without delay. He hurried along the terrace-walk, and darted up a flight of broad steps leading into an old and gloomy hall, whose walls were ornamented with rusty suits of armour, antlers, weapons of the chase, and suchlike garniture. Here he paused, but not long; for as he looked round, as if expecting the attendant to have followed, and wondering she had not done so, a lovely girl appeared, whose dark hair next moment rested on his breast. Almost at the same instant a heavy hand was laid upon her arm, Edward felt himself thrust away, and Mr Haredale stood between them.
Barnaby Rudge — A Tale Of The Riots Of Eighty Page 89