Chapter 41
From the workshop of the Golden Key, there issued forth a tinklingsound, so merry and good-humoured, that it suggested the idea of someone working blithely, and made quite pleasant music. No man who hammeredon at a dull monotonous duty, could have brought such cheerful notesfrom steel and iron; none but a chirping, healthy, honest-heartedfellow, who made the best of everything, and felt kindly towardseverybody, could have done it for an instant. He might have been acoppersmith, and still been musical. If he had sat in a jolting waggon,full of rods of iron, it seemed as if he would have brought some harmonyout of it.
Tink, tink, tink--clear as a silver bell, and audible at every pause ofthe streets' harsher noises, as though it said, 'I don't care; nothingputs me out; I am resolved to be happy.' Women scolded, childrensqualled, heavy carts went rumbling by, horrible cries proceeded fromthe lungs of hawkers; still it struck in again, no higher, no lower,no louder, no softer; not thrusting itself on people's notice a bit themore for having been outdone by louder sounds--tink, tink, tink, tink,tink.
It was a perfect embodiment of the still small voice, free fromall cold, hoarseness, huskiness, or unhealthiness of any kind;foot-passengers slackened their pace, and were disposed to linger nearit; neighbours who had got up splenetic that morning, felt good-humourstealing on them as they heard it, and by degrees became quitesprightly; mothers danced their babies to its ringing; still the samemagical tink, tink, tink, came gaily from the workshop of the GoldenKey.
Who but the locksmith could have made such music! A gleam of sun shiningthrough the unsashed window, and chequering the dark workshop with abroad patch of light, fell full upon him, as though attracted by hissunny heart. There he stood working at his anvil, his face all radiantwith exercise and gladness, his sleeves turned up, his wig pushed offhis shining forehead--the easiest, freest, happiest man in all theworld. Beside him sat a sleek cat, purring and winking in the light, andfalling every now and then into an idle doze, as from excess of comfort.Toby looked on from a tall bench hard by; one beaming smile, from hisbroad nut-brown face down to the slack-baked buckles in his shoes. Thevery locks that hung around had something jovial in their rust, andseemed like gouty gentlemen of hearty natures, disposed to joke on theirinfirmities. There was nothing surly or severe in the whole scene.It seemed impossible that any one of the innumerable keys could fit achurlish strong-box or a prison-door. Cellars of beer and wine, roomswhere there were fires, books, gossip, and cheering laughter--thesewere their proper sphere of action. Places of distrust and cruelty, andrestraint, they would have left quadruple-locked for ever.
Tink, tink, tink. The locksmith paused at last, and wiped his brow. Thesilence roused the cat, who, jumping softly down, crept to the door,and watched with tiger eyes a bird-cage in an opposite window. Gabriellifted Toby to his mouth, and took a hearty draught.
Then, as he stood upright, with his head flung back, and his portlychest thrown out, you would have seen that Gabriel's lower man wasclothed in military gear. Glancing at the wall beyond, there mighthave been espied, hanging on their several pegs, a cap and feather,broadsword, sash, and coat of scarlet; which any man learned in suchmatters would have known from their make and pattern to be the uniformof a serjeant in the Royal East London Volunteers.
As the locksmith put his mug down, empty, on the bench whence it hadsmiled on him before, he glanced at these articles with a laughing eye,and looking at them with his head a little on one side, as though hewould get them all into a focus, said, leaning on his hammer:
'Time was, now, I remember, when I was like to run mad with the desireto wear a coat of that colour. If any one (except my father) had calledme a fool for my pains, how I should have fired and fumed! But what afool I must have been, sure-ly!'
'Ah!' sighed Mrs Varden, who had entered unobserved. 'A fool indeed. Aman at your time of life, Varden, should know better now.'
'Why, what a ridiculous woman you are, Martha,' said the locksmith,turning round with a smile.
'Certainly,' replied Mrs V. with great demureness. 'Of course I am. Iknow that, Varden. Thank you.'
'I mean--' began the locksmith.
'Yes,' said his wife, 'I know what you mean. You speak quite plainenough to be understood, Varden. It's very kind of you to adapt yourselfto my capacity, I am sure.'
'Tut, tut, Martha,' rejoined the locksmith; 'don't take offence atnothing. I mean, how strange it is of you to run down volunteering, whenit's done to defend you and all the other women, and our own firesideand everybody else's, in case of need.'
'It's unchristian,' cried Mrs Varden, shaking her head.
'Unchristian!' said the locksmith. 'Why, what the devil--'
Mrs Varden looked at the ceiling, as in expectation that the consequenceof this profanity would be the immediate descent of the four-postbedstead on the second floor, together with the best sitting-room on thefirst; but no visible judgment occurring, she heaved a deep sigh, andbegged her husband, in a tone of resignation, to go on, and by all meansto blaspheme as much as possible, because he knew she liked it.
The locksmith did for a moment seem disposed to gratify her, but he gavea great gulp, and mildly rejoined:
'I was going to say, what on earth do you call it unchristian for?Which would be most unchristian, Martha--to sit quietly down and let ourhouses be sacked by a foreign army, or to turn out like men and drive'em off? Shouldn't I be a nice sort of a Christian, if I crept intoa corner of my own chimney and looked on while a parcel of whiskeredsavages bore off Dolly--or you?'
When he said 'or you,' Mrs Varden, despite herself, relaxed into asmile. There was something complimentary in the idea. 'In such a stateof things as that, indeed--' she simpered.
'As that!' repeated the locksmith. 'Well, that would be the state ofthings directly. Even Miggs would go. Some black tambourine-player,with a great turban on, would be bearing HER off, and, unless thetambourine-player was proof against kicking and scratching, it'smy belief he'd have the worst of it. Ha ha ha! I'd forgive thetambourine-player. I wouldn't have him interfered with on any account,poor fellow.' And here the locksmith laughed again so heartily, thattears came into his eyes--much to Mrs Varden's indignation, who thoughtthe capture of so sound a Protestant and estimable a private characteras Miggs by a pagan negro, a circumstance too shocking and awful forcontemplation.
The picture Gabriel had drawn, indeed, threatened serious consequences,and would indubitably have led to them, but luckily at that moment alight footstep crossed the threshold, and Dolly, running in, threw herarms round her old father's neck and hugged him tight.
'Here she is at last!' cried Gabriel. 'And how well you look, Doll, andhow late you are, my darling!'
How well she looked? Well? Why, if he had exhausted every laudatoryadjective in the dictionary, it wouldn't have been praise enough. Whenand where was there ever such a plump, roguish, comely, bright-eyed,enticing, bewitching, captivating, maddening little puss in all thisworld, as Dolly! What was the Dolly of five years ago, to the Dolly ofthat day! How many coachmakers, saddlers, cabinet-makers, and professorsof other useful arts, had deserted their fathers, mothers, sisters,brothers, and, most of all, their cousins, for the love of her! How manyunknown gentlemen--supposed to be of mighty fortunes, if not titles--hadwaited round the corner after dark, and tempted Miggs the incorruptible,with golden guineas, to deliver offers of marriage folded up inlove-letters! How many disconsolate fathers and substantial tradesmenhad waited on the locksmith for the same purpose, with dismal tales ofhow their sons had lost their appetites, and taken to shut themselves upin dark bedrooms, and wandering in desolate suburbs with pale faces,and all because of Dolly Varden's loveliness and cruelty! How manyyoung men, in all previous times of unprecedented steadiness, had turnedsuddenly wild and wicked for the same reason, and, in an ecstasy ofunrequited love, taken to wrench off door-knockers, and invert the boxesof rheumatic watchmen! How had she recruited the king's service, bothby sea and land, through rendering desperate his loving subjects be
tweenthe ages of eighteen and twenty-five! How many young ladies had publiclyprofessed, with tears in their eyes, that for their tastes she was muchtoo short, too tall, too bold, too cold, too stout, too thin, too fair,too dark--too everything but handsome! How many old ladies, takingcounsel together, had thanked Heaven their daughters were not like her,and had hoped she might come to no harm, and had thought she would cometo no good, and had wondered what people saw in her, and had arrived atthe conclusion that she was 'going off' in her looks, or had nevercome on in them, and that she was a thorough imposition and a popularmistake!
And yet here was this same Dolly Varden, so whimsical and hard to pleasethat she was Dolly Varden still, all smiles and dimples and pleasantlooks, and caring no more for the fifty or sixty young fellows who atthat very moment were breaking their hearts to marry her, than if somany oysters had been crossed in love and opened afterwards.
Dolly hugged her father as has been already stated, and having huggedher mother also, accompanied both into the little parlour where thecloth was already laid for dinner, and where Miss Miggs--a trifle morerigid and bony than of yore--received her with a sort of hystericalgasp, intended for a smile. Into the hands of that young virgin, shedelivered her bonnet and walking dress (all of a dreadful, artful,and designing kind), and then said with a laugh, which rivalled thelocksmith's music, 'How glad I always am to be at home again!'
'And how glad we always are, Doll,' said her father, putting back thedark hair from her sparkling eyes, 'to have you at home. Give me akiss.'
If there had been anybody of the male kind there to see her do it--butthere was not--it was a mercy.
'I don't like your being at the Warren,' said the locksmith, 'I can'tbear to have you out of my sight. And what is the news over yonder,Doll?'
'What news there is, I think you know already,' replied his daughter. 'Iam sure you do though.'
'Ay?' cried the locksmith. 'What's that?'
'Come, come,' said Dolly, 'you know very well. I want you to tell me whyMr Haredale--oh, how gruff he is again, to be sure!--has been away fromhome for some days past, and why he is travelling about (we know he IStravelling, because of his letters) without telling his own niece why orwherefore.'
'Miss Emma doesn't want to know, I'll swear,' returned the locksmith.
'I don't know that,' said Dolly; 'but I do, at any rate. Do tell me. Whyis he so secret, and what is this ghost story, which nobody is to tellMiss Emma, and which seems to be mixed up with his going away? Now I seeyou know by your colouring so.'
'What the story means, or is, or has to do with it, I know no more thanyou, my dear,' returned the locksmith, 'except that it's some foolishfear of little Solomon's--which has, indeed, no meaning in it, Isuppose. As to Mr Haredale's journey, he goes, as I believe--'
'Yes,' said Dolly.
'As I believe,' resumed the locksmith, pinching her cheek, 'on business,Doll. What it may be, is quite another matter. Read Blue Beard, anddon't be too curious, pet; it's no business of yours or mine, dependupon that; and here's dinner, which is much more to the purpose.'
Dolly might have remonstrated against this summary dismissal of thesubject, notwithstanding the appearance of dinner, but at the mentionof Blue Beard Mrs Varden interposed, protesting she could not find itin her conscience to sit tamely by, and hear her child recommended toperuse the adventures of a Turk and Mussulman--far less of a fabulousTurk, which she considered that potentate to be. She held that, in suchstirring and tremendous times as those in which they lived, it wouldbe much more to the purpose if Dolly became a regular subscriber to theThunderer, where she would have an opportunity of reading Lord GeorgeGordon's speeches word for word, which would be a greater comfort andsolace to her, than a hundred and fifty Blue Beards ever could impart.She appealed in support of this proposition to Miss Miggs, then inwaiting, who said that indeed the peace of mind she had derived from theperusal of that paper generally, but especially of one article of thevery last week as ever was, entitled 'Great Britain drenched in gore,'exceeded all belief; the same composition, she added, had also wroughtsuch a comforting effect on the mind of a married sister of hers, thenresident at Golden Lion Court, number twenty-sivin, second bell-handleon the right-hand door-post, that, being in a delicate state of health,and in fact expecting an addition to her family, she had been seizedwith fits directly after its perusal, and had raved of the Inquisitionever since; to the great improvement of her husband and friends. MissMiggs went on to say that she would recommend all those whose heartswere hardened to hear Lord George themselves, whom she commended first,in respect of his steady Protestantism, then of his oratory, then ofhis eyes, then of his nose, then of his legs, and lastly of his figuregenerally, which she looked upon as fit for any statue, prince, orangel, to which sentiment Mrs Varden fully subscribed.
Mrs Varden having cut in, looked at a box upon the mantelshelf, paintedin imitation of a very red-brick dwelling-house, with a yellow roof;having at top a real chimney, down which voluntary subscribers droppedtheir silver, gold, or pence, into the parlour; and on the door thecounterfeit presentment of a brass plate, whereon was legibly inscribed'Protestant Association:'--and looking at it, said, that it was to hera source of poignant misery to think that Varden never had, of all hissubstance, dropped anything into that temple, save once in secret--asshe afterwards discovered--two fragments of tobacco-pipe, which shehoped would not be put down to his last account. That Dolly, she wasgrieved to say, was no less backward in her contributions, betterloving, as it seemed, to purchase ribbons and such gauds, than toencourage the great cause, then in such heavy tribulation; and that shedid entreat her (her father she much feared could not be moved) not todespise, but imitate, the bright example of Miss Miggs, who flung herwages, as it were, into the very countenance of the Pope, and bruisedhis features with her quarter's money.
'Oh, mim,' said Miggs, 'don't relude to that. I had no intentions, mim,that nobody should know. Such sacrifices as I can make, are quite awidder's mite. It's all I have,' cried Miggs with a great burst oftears--for with her they never came on by degrees--'but it's made up tome in other ways; it's well made up.'
This was quite true, though not perhaps in the sense that Miggsintended. As she never failed to keep her self-denial full in MrsVarden's view, it drew forth so many gifts of caps and gowns and otherarticles of dress, that upon the whole the red-brick house was perhapsthe best investment for her small capital she could possibly have hitupon; returning her interest, at the rate of seven or eight per cent inmoney, and fifty at least in personal repute and credit.
'You needn't cry, Miggs,' said Mrs Varden, herself in tears; 'youneedn't be ashamed of it, though your poor mistress IS on the sameside.'
Miggs howled at this remark, in a peculiarly dismal way, and said sheknowed that master hated her. That it was a dreadful thing to live infamilies and have dislikes, and not give satisfactions. That to makedivisions was a thing she could not abear to think of, neither could herfeelings let her do it. That if it was master's wishes as she and himshould part, it was best they should part, and she hoped he might bethe happier for it, and always wished him well, and that he might findsomebody as would meet his dispositions. It would be a hard trial, shesaid, to part from such a missis, but she could meet any suffering whenher conscience told her she was in the rights, and therefore she waswilling even to go that lengths. She did not think, she added, that shecould long survive the separations, but, as she was hated and lookedupon unpleasant, perhaps her dying as soon as possible would be the bestendings for all parties. With this affecting conclusion, Miss Miggs shedmore tears, and sobbed abundantly.
'Can you bear this, Varden?' said his wife in a solemn voice, layingdown her knife and fork.
'Why, not very well, my dear,' rejoined the locksmith, 'but I try tokeep my temper.'
'Don't let there be words on my account, mim,' sobbed Miggs. 'It's muchthe best that we should part. I wouldn't stay--oh, gracious me!--andmake dissensions, not for a annual gold mine, and found in te
a andsugar.'
Lest the reader should be at any loss to discover the cause of MissMiggs's deep emotion, it may be whispered apart that, happening tobe listening, as her custom sometimes was, when Gabriel and his wifeconversed together, she had heard the locksmith's joke relative to theforeign black who played the tambourine, and bursting with the spitefulfeelings which the taunt awoke in her fair breast, exploded in themanner we have witnessed. Matters having now arrived at a crisis, thelocksmith, as usual, and for the sake of peace and quietness, gave in.
'What are you crying for, girl?' he said. 'What's the matter with you?What are you talking about hatred for? I don't hate you; I don't hateanybody. Dry your eyes and make yourself agreeable, in Heaven's name,and let us all be happy while we can.'
The allied powers deeming it good generalship to consider this asufficient apology on the part of the enemy, and confession of havingbeen in the wrong, did dry their eyes and take it in good part. MissMiggs observed that she bore no malice, no not to her greatest foe, whomshe rather loved the more indeed, the greater persecution she sustained.Mrs Varden approved of this meek and forgiving spirit in high terms,and incidentally declared as a closing article of agreement, that Dollyshould accompany her to the Clerkenwell branch of the association, thatvery night. This was an extraordinary instance of her great prudence andpolicy; having had this end in view from the first, and entertaininga secret misgiving that the locksmith (who was bold when Dolly was inquestion) would object, she had backed Miss Miggs up to this point, inorder that she might have him at a disadvantage. The manoeuvre succeededso well that Gabriel only made a wry face, and with the warning he hadjust had, fresh in his mind, did not dare to say one word.
The difference ended, therefore, in Miggs being presented with a gownby Mrs Varden and half-a-crown by Dolly, as if she had eminentlydistinguished herself in the paths of morality and goodness. Mrs V.,according to custom, expressed her hope that Varden would take a lessonfrom what had passed and learn more generous conduct for the time tocome; and the dinner being now cold and nobody's appetite very muchimproved by what had passed, they went on with it, as Mrs Varden said,'like Christians.'
As there was to be a grand parade of the Royal East London Volunteersthat afternoon, the locksmith did no more work; but sat down comfortablywith his pipe in his mouth, and his arm round his pretty daughter'swaist, looking lovingly on Mrs V., from time to time, and exhibitingfrom the crown of his head to the sole of his foot, one smiling surfaceof good humour. And to be sure, when it was time to dress him in hisregimentals, and Dolly, hanging about him in all kinds of gracefulwinning ways, helped to button and buckle and brush him up and get himinto one of the tightest coats that ever was made by mortal tailor, hewas the proudest father in all England.
'What a handy jade it is!' said the locksmith to Mrs Varden, who stoodby with folded hands--rather proud of her husband too--while Miggs heldhis cap and sword at arm's length, as if mistrusting that the lattermight run some one through the body of its own accord; 'but never marrya soldier, Doll, my dear.'
Dolly didn't ask why not, or say a word, indeed, but stooped her headdown very low to tie his sash.
'I never wear this dress,' said honest Gabriel, 'but I think of poor JoeWillet. I loved Joe; he was always a favourite of mine. Poor Joe!--Dearheart, my girl, don't tie me in so tight.'
Dolly laughed--not like herself at all--the strangest little laugh thatcould be--and held her head down lower still.
'Poor Joe!' resumed the locksmith, muttering to himself; 'I always wishhe had come to me. I might have made it up between them, if he had. Ah!old John made a great mistake in his way of acting by that lad--a greatmistake.--Have you nearly tied that sash, my dear?'
What an ill-made sash it was! There it was, loose again and trailingon the ground. Dolly was obliged to kneel down, and recommence at thebeginning.
'Never mind young Willet, Varden,' said his wife frowning; 'you mightfind some one more deserving to talk about, I think.'
Miss Miggs gave a great sniff to the same effect.
'Nay, Martha,' cried the locksmith, 'don't let us bear too hard uponhim. If the lad is dead indeed, we'll deal kindly by his memory.'
'A runaway and a vagabond!' said Mrs Varden.
Miss Miggs expressed her concurrence as before.
'A runaway, my dear, but not a vagabond,' returned the locksmith ina gentle tone. 'He behaved himself well, did Joe--always--and was ahandsome, manly fellow. Don't call him a vagabond, Martha.'
Mrs Varden coughed--and so did Miggs.
'He tried hard to gain your good opinion, Martha, I can tell you,' saidthe locksmith smiling, and stroking his chin. 'Ah! that he did. It seemsbut yesterday that he followed me out to the Maypole door one night, andbegged me not to say how like a boy they used him--say here, at home, hemeant, though at the time, I recollect, I didn't understand. "And how'sMiss Dolly, sir?" says Joe,' pursued the locksmith, musing sorrowfully,'Ah! Poor Joe!'
'Well, I declare,' cried Miggs. 'Oh! Goodness gracious me!'
'What's the matter now?' said Gabriel, turning sharply to her, 'Why, ifhere an't Miss Dolly,' said the handmaid, stooping down to look into herface, 'a-giving way to floods of tears. Oh mim! oh sir. Raly it's giveme such a turn,' cried the susceptible damsel, pressing her hand uponher side to quell the palpitation of her heart, 'that you might knock medown with a feather.'
The locksmith, after glancing at Miss Miggs as if he could have wishedto have a feather brought straightway, looked on with a broad starewhile Dolly hurried away, followed by that sympathising young woman:then turning to his wife, stammered out, 'Is Dolly ill? Have I doneanything? Is it my fault?'
'Your fault!' cried Mrs V. reproachfully. 'There--you had better makehaste out.'
'What have I done?' said poor Gabriel. 'It was agreed that Mr Edward'sname was never to be mentioned, and I have not spoken of him, have I?'
Mrs Varden merely replied that she had no patience with him, and bouncedoff after the other two. The unfortunate locksmith wound his sash abouthim, girded on his sword, put on his cap, and walked out.
'I am not much of a dab at my exercise,' he said under his breath, 'butI shall get into fewer scrapes at that work than at this. Every man cameinto the world for something; my department seems to be to make everywoman cry without meaning it. It's rather hard!'
But he forgot it before he reached the end of the street, and went onwith a shining face, nodding to the neighbours, and showering about hisfriendly greetings like mild spring rain.
Barnaby Rudge: A Tale of the Riots of 'Eighty Page 42