The Moonstone

by Wilkie Collins

  CHAPTER III

  The question of how I am to start the story properly I have tried tosettle in two ways. First, by scratching my head, which led to nothing.Second, by consulting my daughter Penelope, which has resulted in anentirely new idea.

  Penelope's notion is that I should set down what happened, regularly dayby day, beginning with the day when we got the news that Mr. FranklinBlake was expected on a visit to the house. When you come to fix yourmemory with a date in this way, it is wonderful what your memory willpick up for you upon that compulsion. The only difficulty is to fetchout the dates, in the first place. This Penelope offers to do for me bylooking into her own diary, which she was taught to keep when she wasat school, and which she has gone on keeping ever since. In answer to animprovement on this notion, devised by myself, namely, that she shouldtell the story instead of me, out of her own diary, Penelope observes,with a fierce look and a red face, that her journal is for her ownprivate eye, and that no living creature shall ever know what is init but herself. When I inquire what this means, Penelope says,"Fiddlesticks!" I say, Sweethearts.

  Beginning, then, on Penelope's plan, I beg to mention that I wasspecially called one Wednesday morning into my lady's own sitting-room,the date being the twenty-fourth of May, Eighteen hundred andforty-eight.

  "Gabriel," says my lady, "here is news that will surprise you. FranklinBlake has come back from abroad. He has been staying with his father inLondon, and he is coming to us to-morrow to stop till next month, andkeep Rachel's birthday."

  If I had had a hat in my hand, nothing but respect would have preventedme from throwing that hat up to the ceiling. I had not seen Mr. Franklinsince he was a boy, living along with us in this house. He was, out ofall sight (as I remember him), the nicest boy that ever spun a top orbroke a window. Miss Rachel, who was present, and to whom I madethat remark, observed, in return, that SHE remembered him as the mostatrocious tyrant that ever tortured a doll, and the hardest driver of anexhausted little girl in string harness that England could produce. "Iburn with indignation, and I ache with fatigue," was the way Miss Rachelsummed it up, "when I think of Franklin Blake."

  Hearing what I now tell you, you will naturally ask how it was that Mr.Franklin should have passed all the years, from the time when he wasa boy to the time when he was a man, out of his own country. I answer,because his father had the misfortune to be next heir to a Dukedom, andnot to be able to prove it.

  In two words, this was how the thing happened:

  My lady's eldest sister married the celebrated Mr. Blake--equally famousfor his great riches, and his great suit at law. How many years hewent on worrying the tribunals of his country to turn out the Duke inpossession, and to put himself in the Duke's place--how many lawyer'spurses he filled to bursting, and how many otherwise harmless peoplehe set by the ears together disputing whether he was right or wrong--ismore by a great deal than I can reckon up. His wife died, and two of histhree children died, before the tribunals could make up their minds toshow him the door and take no more of his money. When it was all over,and the Duke in possession was left in possession, Mr. Blake discoveredthat the only way of being even with his country for the manner inwhich it had treated him, was not to let his country have the honourof educating his son. "How can I trust my native institutions," was theform in which he put it, "after the way in which my native institutionshave behaved to ME?" Add to this, that Mr. Blake disliked all boys,his own included, and you will admit that it could only end in oneway. Master Franklin was taken from us in England, and was sent toinstitutions which his father COULD trust, in that superior country,Germany; Mr. Blake himself, you will observe, remaining snug in England,to improve his fellow-countrymen in the Parliament House, and to publisha statement on the subject of the Duke in possession, which has remainedan unfinished statement from that day to this.

  There! thank God, that's told! Neither you nor I need trouble our headsany more about Mr. Blake, senior. Leave him to the Dukedom; and let youand I stick to the Diamond.

  The Diamond takes us back to Mr. Franklin, who was the innocent means ofbringing that unlucky jewel into the house.

  Our nice boy didn't forget us after he went abroad. He wrote every nowand then; sometimes to my lady, sometimes to Miss Rachel, and sometimesto me. We had had a transaction together, before he left, whichconsisted in his borrowing of me a ball of string, a four-bladed knife,and seven-and-sixpence in money--the colour of which last I have notseen, and never expect to see again. His letters to me chiefly relatedto borrowing more. I heard, however, from my lady, how he got onabroad, as he grew in years and stature. After he had learnt what theinstitutions of Germany could teach him, he gave the French a turn next,and the Italians a turn after that. They made him among them a sort ofuniversal genius, as well as I could understand it. He wrote alittle; he painted a little; he sang and played and composed alittle--borrowing, as I suspect, in all these cases, just as he hadborrowed from me. His mother's fortune (seven hundred a year) fell tohim when he came of age, and ran through him, as it might be through asieve. The more money he had, the more he wanted; there was a hole inMr. Franklin's pocket that nothing would sew up. Wherever he went, thelively, easy way of him made him welcome. He lived here, there, andeverywhere; his address (as he used to put it himself) being "PostOffice, Europe--to be left till called for." Twice over, he made up hismind to come back to England and see us; and twice over (saving yourpresence), some unmentionable woman stood in the way and stopped him.His third attempt succeeded, as you know already from what my lady toldme. On Thursday the twenty-fifth of May, we were to see for the firsttime what our nice boy had grown to be as a man. He came of good blood;he had a high courage; and he was five-and-twenty years of age, by ourreckoning. Now you know as much of Mr. Franklin Blake as I did--beforeMr. Franklin Blake came down to our house.

  The Thursday was as fine a summer's day as ever you saw: and my lady andMiss Rachel (not expecting Mr. Franklin till dinner-time) drove out tolunch with some friends in the neighbourhood.

  When they were gone, I went and had a look at the bedroom which hadbeen got ready for our guest, and saw that all was straight. Then,being butler in my lady's establishment, as well as steward (at my ownparticular request, mind, and because it vexed me to see anybody butmyself in possession of the key of the late Sir John's cellar)--then,I say, I fetched up some of our famous Latour claret, and set it in thewarm summer air to take off the chill before dinner. Concluding to setmyself in the warm summer air next--seeing that what is good for oldclaret is equally good for old age--I took up my beehive chair to go outinto the back court, when I was stopped by hearing a sound like the softbeating of a drum, on the terrace in front of my lady's residence.

  Going round to the terrace, I found three mahogany-coloured Indians, inwhite linen frocks and trousers, looking up at the house.

  The Indians, as I saw on looking closer, had small hand-drums slung infront of them. Behind them stood a little delicate-looking light-hairedEnglish boy carrying a bag. I judged the fellows to be strollingconjurors, and the boy with the bag to be carrying the tools of theirtrade. One of the three, who spoke English and who exhibited, I mustown, the most elegant manners, presently informed me that my judgmentwas right. He requested permission to show his tricks in the presence ofthe lady of the house.

  Now I am not a sour old man. I am generally all for amusement, and thelast person in the world to distrust another person because he happensto be a few shades darker than myself. But the best of us have ourweaknesses--and my weakness, when I know a family plate-basket to beout on a pantry-table, is to be instantly reminded of that basket by thesight of a strolling stranger whose manners are superior to my own. Iaccordingly informed the Indian that the lady of the house was out; andI warned him and his party off the premises. He made me a beautiful bowin return; and he and his party went off the premises. On my side, Ireturned to my beehive chair, and set myself down on the sunny side ofthe court, and fell (if the truth must be owned), not exactly into asl
eep, but into the next best thing to it.

  I was roused up by my daughter Penelope running out at me as if thehouse was on fire. What do you think she wanted? She wanted to have thethree Indian jugglers instantly taken up; for this reason, namely, thatthey knew who was coming from London to visit us, and that they meantsome mischief to Mr. Franklin Blake.

  Mr. Franklin's name roused me. I opened my eyes, and made my girlexplain herself.

  It appeared that Penelope had just come from our lodge, where she hadbeen having a gossip with the lodge-keeper's daughter. The two girlshad seen the Indians pass out, after I had warned them off, followed bytheir little boy. Taking it into their heads that the boy was ill-usedby the foreigners--for no reason that I could discover, except thathe was pretty and delicate-looking--the two girls had stolen along theinner side of the hedge between us and the road, and had watched theproceedings of the foreigners on the outer side. Those proceedingsresulted in the performance of the following extraordinary tricks.

  They first looked up the road, and down the road, and made sure thatthey were alone. Then they all three faced about, and stared hard inthe direction of our house. Then they jabbered and disputed in theirown language, and looked at each other like men in doubt. Then theyall turned to their little English boy, as if they expected HIM to helpthem. And then the chief Indian, who spoke English, said to the boy,"Hold out your hand."

  On hearing those dreadful words, my daughter Penelope said she didn'tknow what prevented her heart from flying straight out of her. I thoughtprivately that it might have been her stays. All I said, however,was, "You make my flesh creep." (NOTA BENE: Women like these littlecompliments.)

  Well, when the Indian said, "Hold out your hand," the boy shrunk back,and shook his head, and said he didn't like it. The Indian, thereupon,asked him (not at all unkindly), whether he would like to be sent backto London, and left where they had found him, sleeping in an emptybasket in a market--a hungry, ragged, and forsaken little boy. This, itseems, ended the difficulty. The little chap unwillingly held out hishand. Upon that, the Indian took a bottle from his bosom, and poured outof it some black stuff, like ink, into the palm of the boy's hand. TheIndian--first touching the boy's head, and making signs over it in theair--then said, "Look." The boy became quite stiff, and stood like astatue, looking into the ink in the hollow of his hand.

  (So far, it seemed to me to be juggling, accompanied by a foolish wasteof ink. I was beginning to feel sleepy again, when Penelope's next wordsstirred me up.)

  The Indians looked up the road and down the road once more--and thenthe chief Indian said these words to the boy; "See the English gentlemanfrom foreign parts."

  The boy said, "I see him."

  The Indian said, "Is it on the road to this house, and on no other, thatthe English gentleman will travel to-day?"

  The boy said, "It is on the road to this house, and on no other, thatthe English gentleman will travel to-day." The Indian put a secondquestion--after waiting a little first. He said: "Has the Englishgentleman got It about him?"

  The boy answered--also, after waiting a little first--"Yes."

  The Indian put a third and last question: "Will the English gentlemancome here, as he has promised to come, at the close of day?"

  The boy said, "I can't tell."

  The Indian asked why.

  The boy said, "I am tired. The mist rises in my head, and puzzles me. Ican see no more to-day."

  With that the catechism ended. The chief Indian said something in hisown language to the other two, pointing to the boy, and pointing towardsthe town, in which (as we afterwards discovered) they were lodged. Hethen, after making more signs on the boy's head, blew on his forehead,and so woke him up with a start. After that, they all went on their waytowards the town, and the girls saw them no more.

  Most things they say have a moral, if you only look for it. What was themoral of this?

  The moral was, as I thought: First, that the chief juggler had heard Mr.Franklin's arrival talked of among the servants out-of-doors, and sawhis way to making a little money by it. Second, that he and his men andboy (with a view to making the said money) meant to hang about tillthey saw my lady drive home, and then to come back, and foretellMr. Franklin's arrival by magic. Third, that Penelope had heard themrehearsing their hocus-pocus, like actors rehearsing a play. Fourth,that I should do well to have an eye, that evening, on the plate-basket.Fifth, that Penelope would do well to cool down, and leave me, herfather, to doze off again in the sun.

  That appeared to me to be the sensible view. If you know anything ofthe ways of young women, you won't be surprised to hear that Penelopewouldn't take it. The moral of the thing was serious, according to mydaughter. She particularly reminded me of the Indian's third question,Has the English gentleman got It about him? "Oh, father!" says Penelope,clasping her hands, "don't joke about this. What does 'It' mean?"

  "We'll ask Mr. Franklin, my dear," I said, "if you can wait till Mr.Franklin comes." I winked to show I meant that in joke. Penelope took itquite seriously. My girl's earnestness tickled me. "What on earth shouldMr. Franklin know about it?" I inquired. "Ask him," says Penelope. "Andsee whether HE thinks it a laughing matter, too." With that partingshot, my daughter left me.

  I settled it with myself, when she was gone, that I really would ask Mr.Franklin--mainly to set Penelope's mind at rest. What was said betweenus, when I did ask him, later on that same day, you will find setout fully in its proper place. But as I don't wish to raise yourexpectations and then disappoint them, I will take leave to warn youhere--before we go any further--that you won't find the ghost of ajoke in our conversation on the subject of the jugglers. To my greatsurprise, Mr. Franklin, like Penelope, took the thing seriously. Howseriously, you will understand, when I tell you that, in his opinion,"It" meant the Moonstone.