Chapter 6
Beyond all measure astonished by the strange occurrences which hadpassed with so much violence and rapidity, the locksmith gazed upon theshuddering figure in the chair like one half stupefied, and would havegazed much longer, had not his tongue been loosened by compassion andhumanity.
'You are ill,' said Gabriel. 'Let me call some neighbour in.'
'Not for the world,' she rejoined, motioning to him with her tremblinghand, and holding her face averted. 'It is enough that you have been by,to see this.'
'Nay, more than enough--or less,' said Gabriel.
'Be it so,' she returned. 'As you like. Ask me no questions, I entreatyou.'
'Neighbour,' said the locksmith, after a pause. 'Is this fair, orreasonable, or just to yourself? Is it like you, who have known me solong and sought my advice in all matters--like you, who from a girl havehad a strong mind and a staunch heart?'
'I have need of them,' she replied. 'I am growing old, both in years andcare. Perhaps that, and too much trial, have made them weaker than theyused to be. Do not speak to me.'
'How can I see what I have seen, and hold my peace!' returned thelocksmith. 'Who was that man, and why has his coming made this change inyou?'
She was silent, but held to the chair as though to save herself fromfalling on the ground.
'I take the licence of an old acquaintance, Mary,' said the locksmith,'who has ever had a warm regard for you, and maybe has tried to prove itwhen he could. Who is this ill-favoured man, and what has he to do withyou? Who is this ghost, that is only seen in the black nights and badweather? How does he know, and why does he haunt this house, whisperingthrough chinks and crevices, as if there was that between him and you,which neither durst so much as speak aloud of? Who is he?'
'You do well to say he haunts this house,' returned the widow, faintly.'His shadow has been upon it and me, in light and darkness, at noondayand midnight. And now, at last, he has come in the body!'
'But he wouldn't have gone in the body,' returned the locksmith withsome irritation, 'if you had left my arms and legs at liberty. Whatriddle is this?'
'It is one,' she answered, rising as she spoke, 'that must remain forever as it is. I dare not say more than that.'
'Dare not!' repeated the wondering locksmith.
'Do not press me,' she replied. 'I am sick and faint, and every facultyof life seems dead within me.--No!--Do not touch me, either.'
Gabriel, who had stepped forward to render her assistance, fell back asshe made this hasty exclamation, and regarded her in silent wonder.
'Let me go my way alone,' she said in a low voice, 'and let the hands ofno honest man touch mine to-night.' When she had tottered to the door,she turned, and added with a stronger effort, 'This is a secret, which,of necessity, I trust to you. You are a true man. As you have ever beengood and kind to me,--keep it. If any noise was heard above, make someexcuse--say anything but what you really saw, and never let a word orlook between us, recall this circumstance. I trust to you. Mind, I trustto you. How much I trust, you never can conceive.'
Casting her eyes upon him for an instant, she withdrew, and left himthere alone.
Gabriel, not knowing what to think, stood staring at the door with acountenance full of surprise and dismay. The more he pondered onwhat had passed, the less able he was to give it any favourableinterpretation. To find this widow woman, whose life for so many yearshad been supposed to be one of solitude and retirement, and who, in herquiet suffering character, had gained the good opinion and respect ofall who knew her--to find her linked mysteriously with an ill-omenedman, alarmed at his appearance, and yet favouring his escape, was adiscovery that pained as much as startled him. Her reliance on hissecrecy, and his tacit acquiescence, increased his distress of mind. Ifhe had spoken boldly, persisted in questioning her, detained herwhen she rose to leave the room, made any kind of protest, instead ofsilently compromising himself, as he felt he had done, he would havebeen more at ease.
'Why did I let her say it was a secret, and she trusted it to me!' saidGabriel, putting his wig on one side to scratch his head with greaterease, and looking ruefully at the fire. 'I have no more readiness thanold John himself. Why didn't I say firmly, "You have no right to suchsecrets, and I demand of you to tell me what this means," instead ofstanding gaping at her, like an old moon-calf as I am! But there's myweakness. I can be obstinate enough with men if need be, but women maytwist me round their fingers at their pleasure.'
He took his wig off outright as he made this reflection, and, warminghis handkerchief at the fire began to rub and polish his bald head withit, until it glistened again.
'And yet,' said the locksmith, softening under this soothing process,and stopping to smile, 'it MAY be nothing. Any drunken brawler trying tomake his way into the house, would have alarmed a quiet soul like her.But then'--and here was the vexation--'how came it to be that man; howcomes he to have this influence over her; how came she to favour hisgetting away from me; and, more than all, how came she not to say itwas a sudden fright, and nothing more? It's a sad thing to have, in oneminute, reason to mistrust a person I have known so long, and an oldsweetheart into the bargain; but what else can I do, with all this uponmy mind!--Is that Barnaby outside there?'
'Ay!' he cried, looking in and nodding. 'Sure enough it's Barnaby--howdid you guess?'
'By your shadow,' said the locksmith.
'Oho!' cried Barnaby, glancing over his shoulder, 'He's a merry fellow,that shadow, and keeps close to me, though I AM silly. We have suchpranks, such walks, such runs, such gambols on the grass! Sometimeshe'll be half as tall as a church steeple, and sometimes no biggerthan a dwarf. Now, he goes on before, and now behind, and anon he'llbe stealing on, on this side, or on that, stopping whenever I stop, andthinking I can't see him, though I have my eye on him sharp enough. Oh!he's a merry fellow. Tell me--is he silly too? I think he is.'
'Why?' asked Gabriel.
'Because he never tires of mocking me, but does it all day long.--Whydon't you come?'
'Where?'
'Upstairs. He wants you. Stay--where's HIS shadow? Come. You're a wiseman; tell me that.'
'Beside him, Barnaby; beside him, I suppose,' returned the locksmith.
'No!' he replied, shaking his head. 'Guess again.'
'Gone out a walking, maybe?'
'He has changed shadows with a woman,' the idiot whispered in his ear,and then fell back with a look of triumph. 'Her shadow's always withhim, and his with her. That's sport I think, eh?'
'Barnaby,' said the locksmith, with a grave look; 'come hither, lad.'
'I know what you want to say. I know!' he replied, keeping away fromhim. 'But I'm cunning, I'm silent. I only say so much to you--are youready?' As he spoke, he caught up the light, and waved it with a wildlaugh above his head.
'Softly--gently,' said the locksmith, exerting all his influence to keephim calm and quiet. 'I thought you had been asleep.'
'So I HAVE been asleep,' he rejoined, with widely-opened eyes. 'Therehave been great faces coming and going--close to my face, and then amile away--low places to creep through, whether I would or no--highchurches to fall down from--strange creatures crowded up together neckand heels, to sit upon the bed--that's sleep, eh?'
'Dreams, Barnaby, dreams,' said the locksmith.
'Dreams!' he echoed softly, drawing closer to him. 'Those are notdreams.'
'What are,' replied the locksmith, 'if they are not?'
'I dreamed,' said Barnaby, passing his arm through Varden's, and peeringclose into his face as he answered in a whisper, 'I dreamed just nowthat something--it was in the shape of a man--followed me--came softlyafter me--wouldn't let me be--but was always hiding and crouching, likea cat in dark corners, waiting till I should pass; when it crept out andcame softly after me.--Did you ever see me run?'
'Many a time, you know.'
'You never saw me run as I did in this dream. Still it came creeping onto worry me. Nearer, nearer, nearer--I ran faster--leaped--sprung outo
f bed, and to the window--and there, in the street below--but he iswaiting for us. Are you coming?'
'What in the street below, Barnaby?' said Varden, imagining thathe traced some connection between this vision and what had actuallyoccurred.
Barnaby looked into his face, muttered incoherently, waved the lightabove his head again, laughed, and drawing the locksmith's arm moretightly through his own, led him up the stairs in silence.
They entered a homely bedchamber, garnished in a scanty way with chairs,whose spindle-shanks bespoke their age, and other furniture of verylittle worth; but clean and neatly kept. Reclining in an easy-chairbefore the fire, pale and weak from waste of blood, was Edward Chester,the young gentleman who had been the first to quit the Maypole on theprevious night, and who, extending his hand to the locksmith, welcomedhim as his preserver and friend.
'Say no more, sir, say no more,' said Gabriel. 'I hope I would have doneat least as much for any man in such a strait, and most of all for you,sir. A certain young lady,' he added, with some hesitation, 'has done usmany a kind turn, and we naturally feel--I hope I give you no offence insaying this, sir?'
The young man smiled and shook his head; at the same time moving in hischair as if in pain.
'It's no great matter,' he said, in answer to the locksmith'ssympathising look, 'a mere uneasiness arising at least as much frombeing cooped up here, as from the slight wound I have, or from the lossof blood. Be seated, Mr Varden.'
'If I may make so bold, Mr Edward, as to lean upon your chair,' returnedthe locksmith, accommodating his action to his speech, and bending overhim, 'I'll stand here for the convenience of speaking low. Barnaby isnot in his quietest humour to-night, and at such times talking neverdoes him good.'
They both glanced at the subject of this remark, who had taken a seat onthe other side of the fire, and, smiling vacantly, was making puzzles onhis fingers with a skein of string.
'Pray, tell me, sir,' said Varden, dropping his voice still lower,'exactly what happened last night. I have my reason for inquiring. Youleft the Maypole, alone?'
'And walked homeward alone, until I had nearly reached the place whereyou found me, when I heard the gallop of a horse.'
'Behind you?' said the locksmith.
'Indeed, yes--behind me. It was a single rider, who soon overtook me,and checking his horse, inquired the way to London.'
'You were on the alert, sir, knowing how many highwaymen there are,scouring the roads in all directions?' said Varden.
'I was, but I had only a stick, having imprudently left my pistolsin their holster-case with the landlord's son. I directed him as hedesired. Before the words had passed my lips, he rode upon me furiously,as if bent on trampling me down beneath his horse's hoofs. In startingaside, I slipped and fell. You found me with this stab and an uglybruise or two, and without my purse--in which he found little enough forhis pains. And now, Mr Varden,' he added, shaking the locksmith by thehand, 'saving the extent of my gratitude to you, you know as much as I.'
'Except,' said Gabriel, bending down yet more, and looking cautiouslytowards their silent neighhour, 'except in respect of the robberhimself. What like was he, sir? Speak low, if you please. Barnaby meansno harm, but I have watched him oftener than you, and I know, little asyou would think it, that he's listening now.'
It required a strong confidence in the locksmith's veracity to lead anyone to this belief, for every sense and faculty that Barnaby possessed,seemed to be fixed upon his game, to the exclusion of all other things.Something in the young man's face expressed this opinion, for Gabrielrepeated what he had just said, more earnestly than before, and withanother glance towards Barnaby, again asked what like the man was.
'The night was so dark,' said Edward, 'the attack so sudden, and he sowrapped and muffled up, that I can hardly say. It seems that--'
'Don't mention his name, sir,' returned the locksmith, following hislook towards Barnaby; 'I know HE saw him. I want to know what YOU saw.'
'All I remember is,' said Edward, 'that as he checked his horse hishat was blown off. He caught it, and replaced it on his head, whichI observed was bound with a dark handkerchief. A stranger entered theMaypole while I was there, whom I had not seen--for I had sat apart forreasons of my own--and when I rose to leave the room and glanced round,he was in the shadow of the chimney and hidden from my sight. But, if heand the robber were two different persons, their voices were strangelyand most remarkably alike; for directly the man addressed me in theroad, I recognised his speech again.'
'It is as I feared. The very man was here to-night,' thought thelocksmith, changing colour. 'What dark history is this!'
'Halloa!' cried a hoarse voice in his ear. 'Halloa, halloa, halloa! Bowwow wow. What's the matter here! Hal-loa!'
The speaker--who made the locksmith start as if he had been somesupernatural agent--was a large raven, who had perched upon the top ofthe easy-chair, unseen by him and Edward, and listened with a politeattention and a most extraordinary appearance of comprehending everyword, to all they had said up to this point; turning his head from oneto the other, as if his office were to judge between them, and it wereof the very last importance that he should not lose a word.
'Look at him!' said Varden, divided between admiration of the bird and akind of fear of him. 'Was there ever such a knowing imp as that! Oh he'sa dreadful fellow!'
The raven, with his head very much on one side, and his bright eyeshining like a diamond, preserved a thoughtful silence for a fewseconds, and then replied in a voice so hoarse and distant, that itseemed to come through his thick feathers rather than out of his mouth.
'Halloa, halloa, halloa! What's the matter here! Keep up your spirits.Never say die. Bow wow wow. I'm a devil, I'm a devil, I'm a devil.Hurrah!'--And then, as if exulting in his infernal character, he beganto whistle.
'I more than half believe he speaks the truth. Upon my word I do,'said Varden. 'Do you see how he looks at me, as if he knew what I wassaying?'
To which the bird, balancing himself on tiptoe, as it were, and movinghis body up and down in a sort of grave dance, rejoined, 'I'm a devil,I'm a devil, I'm a devil,' and flapped his wings against his sides asif he were bursting with laughter. Barnaby clapped his hands, and fairlyrolled upon the ground in an ecstasy of delight.
'Strange companions, sir,' said the locksmith, shaking his head, andlooking from one to the other. 'The bird has all the wit.'
'Strange indeed!' said Edward, holding out his forefinger to the raven,who, in acknowledgment of the attention, made a dive at it immediatelywith his iron bill. 'Is he old?'
'A mere boy, sir,' replied the locksmith. 'A hundred and twenty, orthereabouts. Call him down, Barnaby, my man.'
'Call him!' echoed Barnaby, sitting upright upon the floor, and staringvacantly at Gabriel, as he thrust his hair back from his face. 'But whocan make him come! He calls me, and makes me go where he will. He goeson before, and I follow. He's the master, and I'm the man. Is that thetruth, Grip?'
The raven gave a short, comfortable, confidential kind of croak;--a mostexpressive croak, which seemed to say, 'You needn't let these fellowsinto our secrets. We understand each other. It's all right.'
'I make HIM come?' cried Barnaby, pointing to the bird. 'Him, who nevergoes to sleep, or so much as winks!--Why, any time of night, you may seehis eyes in my dark room, shining like two sparks. And every night, andall night too, he's broad awake, talking to himself, thinking what heshall do to-morrow, where we shall go, and what he shall steal, andhide, and bury. I make HIM come! Ha ha ha!'
On second thoughts, the bird appeared disposed to come of himself. Aftera short survey of the ground, and a few sidelong looks at the ceilingand at everybody present in turn, he fluttered to the floor, and wentto Barnaby--not in a hop, or walk, or run, but in a pace like that ofa very particular gentleman with exceedingly tight boots on, trying towalk fast over loose pebbles. Then, stepping into his extended hand,and condescending to be held out at arm's length, he gave vent to asuccession of sounds, not
unlike the drawing of some eight or ten dozenof long corks, and again asserted his brimstone birth and parentage withgreat distinctness.
The locksmith shook his head--perhaps in some doubt of the creature'sbeing really nothing but a bird--perhaps in pity for Barnaby, who bythis time had him in his arms, and was rolling about, with him, on theground. As he raised his eyes from the poor fellow he encountered thoseof his mother, who had entered the room, and was looking on in silence.
She was quite white in the face, even to her lips, but had whollysubdued her emotion, and wore her usual quiet look. Varden fancied as heglanced at her that she shrunk from his eye; and that she busied herselfabout the wounded gentleman to avoid him the better.
It was time he went to bed, she said. He was to be removed to his ownhome on the morrow, and he had already exceeded his time for sitting up,by a full hour. Acting on this hint, the locksmith prepared to take hisleave.
'By the bye,' said Edward, as he shook him by the hand, and looked fromhim to Mrs Rudge and back again, 'what noise was that below? I heardyour voice in the midst of it, and should have inquired before, but ourother conversation drove it from my memory. What was it?'
The locksmith looked towards her, and bit his lip. She leant against thechair, and bent her eyes upon the ground. Barnaby too--he was listening.
--'Some mad or drunken fellow, sir,' Varden at length made answer,looking steadily at the widow as he spoke. 'He mistook the house, andtried to force an entrance.'
She breathed more freely, but stood quite motionless. As the locksmithsaid 'Good night,' and Barnaby caught up the candle to light him downthe stairs, she took it from him, and charged him--with more haste andearnestness than so slight an occasion appeared to warrant--not to stir.The raven followed them to satisfy himself that all was right below,and when they reached the street-door, stood on the bottom stair drawingcorks out of number.
With a trembling hand she unfastened the chain and bolts, and turnedthe key. As she had her hand upon the latch, the locksmith said in a lowvoice,
'I have told a lie to-night, for your sake, Mary, and for the sake ofbygone times and old acquaintance, when I would scorn to do so for myown. I hope I may have done no harm, or led to none. I can't help thesuspicions you have forced upon me, and I am loth, I tell you plainly,to leave Mr Edward here. Take care he comes to no hurt. I doubt thesafety of this roof, and am glad he leaves it so soon. Now, let me go.'
For a moment she hid her face in her hands and wept; but resisting thestrong impulse which evidently moved her to reply, opened the door--nowider than was sufficient for the passage of his body--and motioned himaway. As the locksmith stood upon the step, it was chained and lockedbehind him, and the raven, in furtherance of these precautions, barkedlike a lusty house-dog.
'In league with that ill-looking figure that might have fallen from agibbet--he listening and hiding here--Barnaby first upon the spot lastnight--can she who has always borne so fair a name be guilty of suchcrimes in secret!' said the locksmith, musing. 'Heaven forgive me if Iam wrong, and send me just thoughts; but she is poor, the temptationmay be great, and we daily hear of things as strange.--Ay, bark away, myfriend. If there's any wickedness going on, that raven's in it, I'll besworn.'
Barnaby Rudge: A Tale of the Riots of 'Eighty Page 7