Chapter 34
Before old John had looked at the boiler quite twenty minutes, he gothis ideas into a focus, and brought them to bear upon Solomon Daisy'sstory. The more he thought of it, the more impressed he became witha sense of his own wisdom, and a desire that Mr Haredale should beimpressed with it likewise. At length, to the end that he might sustaina principal and important character in the affair; and might have thestart of Solomon and his two friends, through whose means he knew theadventure, with a variety of exaggerations, would be known to at leasta score of people, and most likely to Mr Haredale himself, bybreakfast-time to-morrow; he determined to repair to the Warren beforegoing to bed.
'He's my landlord,' thought John, as he took a candle in his hand, andsetting it down in a corner out of the wind's way, opened a casement inthe rear of the house, looking towards the stables. 'We haven't met oflate years so often as we used to do--changes are taking place in thefamily--it's desirable that I should stand as well with them, in pointof dignity, as possible--the whispering about of this here tale willanger him--it's good to have confidences with a gentleman of his natur',and set one's-self right besides. Halloa there! Hugh--Hugh. Hal-loa!'
When he had repeated this shout a dozen times, and startled every pigeonfrom its slumbers, a door in one of the ruinous old buildings opened,and a rough voice demanded what was amiss now, that a man couldn't evenhave his sleep in quiet.
'What! Haven't you sleep enough, growler, that you're not to be knockedup for once?' said John.
'No,' replied the voice, as the speaker yawned and shook himself. 'Nothalf enough.'
'I don't know how you CAN sleep, with the wind a bellowsing and roaringabout you, making the tiles fly like a pack of cards,' said John; 'butno matter for that. Wrap yourself up in something or another, and comehere, for you must go as far as the Warren with me. And look sharp aboutit.'
Hugh, with much low growling and muttering, went back into his lair;and presently reappeared, carrying a lantern and a cudgel, and envelopedfrom head to foot in an old, frowzy, slouching horse-cloth. Mr Willetreceived this figure at the back-door, and ushered him into the bar,while he wrapped himself in sundry greatcoats and capes, and so tied andknotted his face in shawls and handkerchiefs, that how he breathed was amystery.
'You don't take a man out of doors at near midnight in such weather,without putting some heart into him, do you, master?' said Hugh.
'Yes I do, sir,' returned Mr Willet. 'I put the heart (as you call it)into him when he has brought me safe home again, and his standing steadyon his legs an't of so much consequence. So hold that light up, if youplease, and go on a step or two before, to show the way.'
Hugh obeyed with a very indifferent grace, and a longing glance at thebottles. Old John, laying strict injunctions on his cook to keep thedoors locked in his absence, and to open to nobody but himself on painof dismissal, followed him into the blustering darkness out of doors.
The way was wet and dismal, and the night so black, that if Mr Willethad been his own pilot, he would have walked into a deep horsepondwithin a few hundred yards of his own house, and would certainly haveterminated his career in that ignoble sphere of action. But Hugh, whohad a sight as keen as any hawk's, and, apart from that endowment, couldhave found his way blindfold to any place within a dozen miles, draggedold John along, quite deaf to his remonstrances, and took his own coursewithout the slightest reference to, or notice of, his master. So theymade head against the wind as they best could; Hugh crushing the wetgrass beneath his heavy tread, and stalking on after his ordinary savagefashion; John Willet following at arm's length, picking his steps, andlooking about him, now for bogs and ditches, and now for such strayghosts as might be wandering abroad, with looks of as much dismay anduneasiness as his immovable face was capable of expressing.
At length they stood upon the broad gravel-walk before the Warren-house.The building was profoundly dark, and none were moving near it savethemselves. From one solitary turret-chamber, however, there shone aray of light; and towards this speck of comfort in the cold, cheerless,silent scene, Mr Willet bade his pilot lead him.
'The old room,' said John, looking timidly upward; 'Mr Reuben's ownapartment, God be with us! I wonder his brother likes to sit there, solate at night--on this night too.'
'Why, where else should he sit?' asked Hugh, holding the lantern to hisbreast, to keep the candle from the wind, while he trimmed it with hisfingers. 'It's snug enough, an't it?'
'Snug!' said John indignantly. 'You have a comfortable idea of snugness,you have, sir. Do you know what was done in that room, you ruffian?'
'Why, what is it the worse for that!' cried Hugh, looking into John'sfat face. 'Does it keep out the rain, and snow, and wind, the less forthat? Is it less warm or dry, because a man was killed there? Ha, ha,ha! Never believe it, master. One man's no such matter as that comesto.'
Mr Willet fixed his dull eyes on his follower, and began--by a speciesof inspiration--to think it just barely possible that he was somethingof a dangerous character, and that it might be advisable to get ridof him one of these days. He was too prudent to say anything, with thejourney home before him; and therefore turned to the iron gate beforewhich this brief dialogue had passed, and pulled the handle of the bellthat hung beside it. The turret in which the light appeared being atone corner of the building, and only divided from the path by one ofthe garden-walks, upon which this gate opened, Mr Haredale threw up thewindow directly, and demanded who was there.
'Begging pardon, sir,' said John, 'I knew you sat up late, and made boldto come round, having a word to say to you.'
'Willet--is it not?'
'Of the Maypole--at your service, sir.'
Mr Haredale closed the window, and withdrew. He presently appeared ata door in the bottom of the turret, and coming across the garden-walk,unlocked the gate and let them in.
'You are a late visitor, Willet. What is the matter?'
'Nothing to speak of, sir,' said John; 'an idle tale, I thought youought to know of; nothing more.'
'Let your man go forward with the lantern, and give me your hand. Thestairs are crooked and narrow. Gently with your light, friend. You swingit like a censer.'
Hugh, who had already reached the turret, held it more steadily, andascended first, turning round from time to time to shed his lightdownward on the steps. Mr Haredale following next, eyed his loweringface with no great favour; and Hugh, looking down on him, returned hisglances with interest, as they climbed the winding stairs.
It terminated in a little ante-room adjoining that from which they hadseen the light. Mr Haredale entered first, and led the way through itinto the latter chamber, where he seated himself at a writing-table fromwhich he had risen when they had rung the bell.
'Come in,' he said, beckoning to old John, who remained bowing at thedoor. 'Not you, friend,' he added hastily to Hugh, who entered also.'Willet, why do you bring that fellow here?'
'Why, sir,' returned John, elevating his eyebrows, and lowering hisvoice to the tone in which the question had been asked him, 'he's a goodguard, you see.'
'Don't be too sure of that,' said Mr Haredale, looking towards him as hespoke. 'I doubt it. He has an evil eye.'
'There's no imagination in his eye,' returned Mr Willet, glancing overhis shoulder at the organ in question, 'certainly.'
'There is no good there, be assured,' said Mr Haredale. 'Wait in thatlittle room, friend, and close the door between us.'
Hugh shrugged his shoulders, and with a disdainful look, which showed,either that he had overheard, or that he guessed the purport of theirwhispering, did as he was told. When he was shut out, Mr Haredale turnedto John, and bade him go on with what he had to say, but not to speaktoo loud, for there were quick ears yonder.
Thus cautioned, Mr Willet, in an oily whisper, recited all that hehad heard and said that night; laying particular stress upon his ownsagacity, upon his great regard for the family, and upon his solicitudefor their peace of mind and happiness. The story moved his a
uditor muchmore than he had expected. Mr Haredale often changed his attitude, roseand paced the room, returned again, desired him to repeat, as nearly ashe could, the very words that Solomon had used, and gave so many othersigns of being disturbed and ill at ease, that even Mr Willet wassurprised.
'You did quite right,' he said, at the end of a long conversation, 'tobid them keep this story secret. It is a foolish fancy on the part ofthis weak-brained man, bred in his fears and superstition. But MissHaredale, though she would know it to be so, would be disturbed by itif it reached her ears; it is too nearly connected with a subject verypainful to us all, to be heard with indifference. You were most prudent,and have laid me under a great obligation. I thank you very much.'
This was equal to John's most sanguine expectations; but he would havepreferred Mr Haredale's looking at him when he spoke, as if he reallydid thank him, to his walking up and down, speaking by fits and starts,often stopping with his eyes fixed on the ground, moving hurriedly onagain, like one distracted, and seeming almost unconscious of what hesaid or did.
This, however, was his manner; and it was so embarrassing to John thathe sat quite passive for a long time, not knowing what to do. At lengthhe rose. Mr Haredale stared at him for a moment as though he had quiteforgotten his being present, then shook hands with him, and opened thedoor. Hugh, who was, or feigned to be, fast asleep on the ante-chamberfloor, sprang up on their entrance, and throwing his cloak about him,grasped his stick and lantern, and prepared to descend the stairs.
'Stay,' said Mr Haredale. 'Will this man drink?'
'Drink! He'd drink the Thames up, if it was strong enough, sir,' repliedJohn Willet. 'He'll have something when he gets home. He's betterwithout it, now, sir.'
'Nay. Half the distance is done,' said Hugh. 'What a hard master youare! I shall go home the better for one glassful, halfway. Come!'
As John made no reply, Mr Haredale brought out a glass of liquor, andgave it to Hugh, who, as he took it in his hand, threw part of it uponthe floor.
'What do you mean by splashing your drink about a gentleman's house,sir?' said John.
'I'm drinking a toast,' Hugh rejoined, holding the glass above his head,and fixing his eyes on Mr Haredale's face; 'a toast to this house andits master.' With that he muttered something to himself, and drank therest, and setting down the glass, preceded them without another word.
John was a good deal scandalised by this observance, but seeing thatMr Haredale took little heed of what Hugh said or did, and that histhoughts were otherwise employed, he offered no apology, and went insilence down the stairs, across the walk, and through the garden-gate.They stopped upon the outer side for Hugh to hold the light while MrHaredale locked it on the inner; and then John saw with wonder (as heoften afterwards related), that he was very pale, and that his facehad changed so much and grown so haggard since their entrance, that healmost seemed another man.
They were in the open road again, and John Willet was walking on behindhis escort, as he had come, thinking very steadily of what he had justnow seen, when Hugh drew him suddenly aside, and almost at the sameinstant three horsemen swept past--the nearest brushed his shoulder eventhen--who, checking their steeds as suddenly as they could, stood still,and waited for their coming up.
Barnaby Rudge: A Tale of the Riots of 'Eighty Page 35