The Moonstone

by Wilkie Collins

  CHAPTER IV

  The signing of the Will was a much shorter matter than I hadanticipated. It was hurried over, to my thinking, in indecent haste.Samuel, the footman, was sent for to act as second witness--and the penwas put at once into my aunt's hand. I felt strongly urged to say afew appropriate words on this solemn occasion. But Mr. Bruff's mannerconvinced me that it was wisest to check the impulse while he was in theroom. In less than two minutes it was all over--and Samuel (unbenefitedby what I might have said) had gone downstairs again.

  Mr. Bruff folded up the Will, and then looked my way; apparentlywondering whether I did or did not mean to leave him alone with my aunt.I had my mission of mercy to fulfil, and my bag of precious publicationsready on my lap. He might as well have expected to move St. Paul'sCathedral by looking at it, as to move Me. There was one merit about him(due no doubt to his worldly training) which I have no wish to deny.He was quick at seeing things. I appeared to produce almost the sameimpression on him which I had produced on the cabman. HE too uttereda profane expression, and withdrew in a violent hurry, and left memistress of the field.

  As soon as we were alone, my aunt reclined on the sofa, and thenalluded, with some appearance of confusion, to the subject of her Will.

  "I hope you won't think yourself neglected, Drusilla," she said. "I meanto GIVE you your little legacy, my dear, with my own hand."

  Here was a golden opportunity! I seized it on the spot. In other words,I instantly opened my bag, and took out the top publication. It provedto be an early edition--only the twenty-fifth--of the famous anonymouswork (believed to be by precious Miss Bellows), entitled THE SERPENT ATHOME. The design of the book--with which the worldly reader may not beacquainted--is to show how the Evil One lies in wait for us in all themost apparently innocent actions of our daily lives. The chapters bestadapted to female perusal are "Satan in the Hair Brush;" "Satan behindthe Looking Glass;" "Satan under the Tea Table;" "Satan out of theWindow"--and many others.

  "Give your attention, dear aunt, to this precious book--and you willgive me all I ask." With those words, I handed it to her open, at amarked passage--one continuous burst of burning eloquence! Subject:Satan among the Sofa Cushions.

  Poor Lady Verinder (reclining thoughtlessly on her own sofa cushions)glanced at the book, and handed it back to me looking more confused thanever.

  "I'm afraid, Drusilla," she said, "I must wait till I am a littlebetter, before I can read that. The doctor----"

  The moment she mentioned the doctor's name, I knew what was coming.Over and over again in my past experience among my perishingfellow-creatures, the members of the notoriously infidel professionof Medicine had stepped between me and my mission of mercy--onthe miserable pretence that the patient wanted quiet, and that thedisturbing influence of all others which they most dreaded, was theinfluence of Miss Clack and her Books. Precisely the same blindedmaterialism (working treacherously behind my back) now sought to rob meof the only right of property that my poverty could claim--my right ofspiritual property in my perishing aunt.

  "The doctor tells me," my poor misguided relative went on, "that I amnot so well to-day. He forbids me to see any strangers; and he ordersme, if I read at all, only to read the lightest and the most amusingbooks. 'Do nothing, Lady Verinder, to weary your head, or to quickenyour pulse'--those were his last words, Drusilla, when he left meto-day."

  There was no help for it but to yield again--for the moment only, asbefore. Any open assertion of the infinitely superior importance of sucha ministry as mine, compared with the ministry of the medical man, wouldonly have provoked the doctor to practise on the human weakness of hispatient, and to threaten to throw up the case. Happily, there are moreways than one of sowing the good seed, and few persons are better versedin those ways than myself.

  "You might feel stronger, dear, in an hour or two," I said. "Or youmight wake, to-morrow morning, with a sense of something wanting, andeven this unpretending volume might be able to supply it. You will letme leave the book, aunt? The doctor can hardly object to that!"

  I slipped it under the sofa cushions, half in, and half out, close byher handkerchief, and her smelling-bottle. Every time her hand searchedfor either of these, it would touch the book; and, sooner or later(who knows?) the book might touch HER. After making this arrangement, Ithought it wise to withdraw. "Let me leave you to repose, dear aunt; Iwill call again to-morrow." I looked accidentally towards the window asI said that. It was full of flowers, in boxes and pots. Lady Verinderwas extravagantly fond of these perishable treasures, and had a habit ofrising every now and then, and going to look at them and smell them. Anew idea flashed across my mind. "Oh! may I take a flower?" I said--andgot to the window unsuspected, in that way. Instead of taking away aflower, I added one, in the shape of another book from my bag, whichI left, to surprise my aunt, among the geraniums and roses. The happythought followed, "Why not do the same for her, poor dear, in everyother room that she enters?" I immediately said good-bye; and, crossingthe hall, slipped into the library. Samuel, coming up to let me out,and supposing I had gone, went down-stairs again. On the library tableI noticed two of the "amusing books" which the infidel doctor hadrecommended. I instantly covered them from sight with two of my ownprecious publications. In the breakfast-room I found my aunt's favouritecanary singing in his cage. She was always in the habit of feedingthe bird herself. Some groundsel was strewed on a table which stoodimmediately under the cage. I put a book among the groundsel. In thedrawing-room I found more cheering opportunities of emptying my bag. Myaunt's favourite musical pieces were on the piano. I slipped in two morebooks among the music. I disposed of another in the back drawing-room,under some unfinished embroidery, which I knew to be of Lady Verinder'sworking. A third little room opened out of the back drawing-room, fromwhich it was shut off by curtains instead of a door. My aunt's plainold-fashioned fan was on the chimney-piece. I opened my ninth book at avery special passage, and put the fan in as a marker, to keep the place.The question then came, whether I should go higher still, and try thebed-room floor--at the risk, undoubtedly, of being insulted, if theperson with the cap-ribbons happened to be in the upper regions of thehouse, and to find me out. But oh, what of that? It is a poor Christianthat is afraid of being insulted. I went upstairs, prepared to bearanything. All was silent and solitary--it was the servants' tea-time,I suppose. My aunt's room was in front. The miniature of my late dearuncle, Sir John, hung on the wall opposite the bed. It seemed to smileat me; it seemed to say, "Drusilla! deposit a book." There were tableson either side of my aunt's bed. She was a bad sleeper, and wanted, orthought she wanted, many things at night. I put a book near the matcheson one side, and a book under the box of chocolate drops on the other.Whether she wanted a light, or whether she wanted a drop, there was aprecious publication to meet her eye, or to meet her hand, and to saywith silent eloquence, in either case, "Come, try me! try me!" But onebook was now left at the bottom of my bag, and but one apartment wasstill unexplored--the bath-room, which opened out of the bed-room. Ipeeped in; and the holy inner voice that never deceives, whispered tome, "You have met her, Drusilla, everywhere else; meet her at the bath,and the work is done." I observed a dressing-gown thrown across a chair.It had a pocket in it, and in that pocket I put my last book. Can wordsexpress my exquisite sense of duty done, when I had slipped out of thehouse, unsuspected by any of them, and when I found myself in the streetwith my empty bag under my arm? Oh, my worldly friends, pursuing thephantom, Pleasure, through the guilty mazes of Dissipation, how easy itis to be happy, if you will only be good!

  When I folded up my things that night--when I reflected on the trueriches which I had scattered with such a lavish hand, from top to bottomof the house of my wealthy aunt--I declare I felt as free from allanxiety as if I had been a child again. I was so light-hearted that Isang a verse of the Evening Hymn. I was so light-hearted that I fellasleep before I could sing another. Quite like a child again! quite likea child again!

  So I passed that blissful nigh
t. On rising the next morning, how young Ifelt! I might add, how young I looked, if I were capable of dwelling onthe concerns of my own perishable body. But I am not capable--and I addnothing.

  Towards luncheon time--not for the sake of the creature-comforts, butfor the certainty of finding dear aunt--I put on my bonnet to go toMontagu Square. Just as I was ready, the maid at the lodgings in which Ithen lived looked in at the door, and said, "Lady Verinder's servant, tosee Miss Clack."

  I occupied the parlour-floor, at that period of my residence in London.The front parlour was my sitting-room. Very small, very low in theceiling, very poorly furnished--but, oh, so neat! I looked into thepassage to see which of Lady Verinder's servants had asked for me. Itwas the young footman, Samuel--a civil fresh-coloured person, with ateachable look and a very obliging manner. I had always felt a spiritualinterest in Samuel, and a wish to try him with a few serious words. Onthis occasion, I invited him into my sitting-room.

  He came in, with a large parcel under his arm. When he put the parceldown, it appeared to frighten him. "My lady's love, Miss; and I was tosay that you would find a letter inside." Having given that message, thefresh-coloured young footman surprised me by looking as if he would haveliked to run away.

  I detained him to make a few kind inquiries. Could I see my aunt, if Icalled in Montagu Square? No; she had gone out for a drive. Miss Rachelhad gone with her, and Mr. Ablewhite had taken a seat in the carriage,too. Knowing how sadly dear Mr. Godfrey's charitable work was in arrear,I thought it odd that he should be going out driving, like an idle man.I stopped Samuel at the door, and made a few more kind inquiries. MissRachel was going to a ball that night, and Mr. Ablewhite had arranged tocome to coffee, and go with her. There was a morning concert advertisedfor to-morrow, and Samuel was ordered to take places for a large party,including a place for Mr. Ablewhite. "All the tickets may be gone,Miss," said this innocent youth, "if I don't run and get them at once!"He ran as he said the words--and I found myself alone again, with someanxious thoughts to occupy me.

  We had a special meeting of the Mothers'-Small-Clothes-ConversionSociety that night, summoned expressly with a view to obtainingMr. Godfrey's advice and assistance. Instead of sustainingour sisterhood, under an overwhelming flow of Trousers whichquite prostrated our little community, he had arranged to takecoffee in Montagu Square, and to goto a ball afterwards!The afternoon of the next day had been selected for the Festival of theBritish-Ladies'-Servants'-Sunday-Sweetheart-Supervision Society. Insteadof being present, the life and soul of that struggling Institution, hehad engaged to make one of a party of worldlings at a morning concert!I asked myself what did it mean? Alas! it meant that our Christian Herowas to reveal himself to me in a new character, and to become associatedin my mind with one of the most awful backslidings of modern times.

  To return, however, to the history of the passing day. On finding myselfalone in my room, I naturally turned my attention to the parcel whichappeared to have so strangely intimidated the fresh-coloured youngfootman. Had my aunt sent me my promised legacy? and had it taken theform of cast-off clothes, or worn-out silver spoons, or unfashionablejewellery, or anything of that sort? Prepared to accept all, and toresent nothing, I opened the parcel--and what met my view? The twelveprecious publications which I had scattered through the house, on theprevious day; all returned to me by the doctor's orders! Well might theyouthful Samuel shrink when he brought his parcel into my room! Wellmight he run when he had performed his miserable errand! As to myaunt's letter, it simply amounted, poor soul, to this--that she dare notdisobey her medical man.

  What was to be done now? With my training and my principles, I never hada moment's doubt.

  Once self-supported by conscience, once embarked on a career of manifestusefulness, the true Christian never yields. Neither public nor privateinfluences produce the slightest effect on us, when we have once got ourmission. Taxation may be the consequence of a mission; riots may be theconsequence of a mission; wars may be the consequence of a mission: wego on with our work, irrespective of every human consideration whichmoves the world outside us. We are above reason; we are beyond ridicule;we see with nobody's eyes, we hear with nobody's ears, we feel withnobody's hearts, but our own. Glorious, glorious privilege! And how isit earned? Ah, my friends, you may spare yourselves the useless inquiry!We are the only people who can earn it--for we are the only people whoare always right.

  In the case of my misguided aunt, the form which pious perseverance wasnext to take revealed itself to me plainly enough.

  Preparation by clerical friends had failed, owing to Lady Verinder'sown reluctance. Preparation by books had failed, owing to the doctor'sinfidel obstinacy. So be it! What was the next thing to try? The nextthing to try was--Preparation by Little Notes. In other words, the booksthemselves having been sent back, select extracts from the books, copiedby different hands, and all addressed as letters to my aunt, were, someto be sent by post, and some to be distributed about the house on theplan I had adopted on the previous day. As letters they would excite nosuspicion; as letters they would be opened--and, once opened, might beread. Some of them I wrote myself. "Dear aunt, may I ask your attentionto a few lines?" &c. "Dear aunt, I was reading last night, and I chancedon the following passage," &c. Other letters were written for me by myvalued fellow-workers, the sisterhood at the Mothers'-Small-Clothes."Dear madam, pardon the interest taken in you by a true, though humble,friend." "Dear madam, may a serious person surprise you by saying afew cheering words?" Using these and other similar forms of courteousappeal, we reintroduced all my precious passages under a form which noteven the doctor's watchful materialism could suspect. Before the shadesof evening had closed around us, I had a dozen awakening letters formy aunt, instead of a dozen awakening books. Six I made immediatearrangements for sending through the post, and six I kept in my pocketfor personal distribution in the house the next day.

  Soon after two o'clock I was again on the field of pious conflict,addressing more kind inquiries to Samuel at Lady Verinder's door.

  My aunt had had a bad night. She was again in the room in which I hadwitnessed her Will, resting on the sofa, and trying to get a littlesleep.

  I said I would wait in the library, on the chance of seeing her. In thefervour of my zeal to distribute the letters, it never occurred to me toinquire about Rachel. The house was quiet, and it was past the hour atwhich the musical performance began. I took it for granted that she andher party of pleasure-seekers (Mr. Godfrey, alas! included) were all atthe concert, and eagerly devoted myself to my good work, while time andopportunity were still at my own disposal.

  My aunt's correspondence of the morning--including the six awakeningletters which I had posted overnight--was lying unopened on the librarytable. She had evidently not felt herself equal to dealing with a largemass of letters--and she might be daunted by the number of them, if sheentered the library later in the day. I put one of my second set ofsix letters on the chimney-piece by itself; leaving it to attract hercuriosity, by means of its solitary position, apart from the rest. Asecond letter I put purposely on the floor in the breakfast-room. Thefirst servant who went in after me would conclude that my aunt haddropped it, and would be specially careful to restore it to her. Thefield thus sown on the basement story, I ran lightly upstairs to scattermy mercies next over the drawing-room floor.

  Just as I entered the front room, I heard a double knock at thestreet-door--a soft, fluttering, considerate little knock. Before Icould think of slipping back to the library (in which I was supposedto be waiting), the active young footman was in the hall, answering thedoor. It mattered little, as I thought. In my aunt's state of health,visitors in general were not admitted. To my horror and amazement, theperformer of the soft little knock proved to be an exception togeneral rules. Samuel's voice below me (after apparently answering somequestions which I did not hear) said, unmistakably, "Upstairs, ifyou please, sir." The next moment I heard footsteps--a man'sfootsteps--approaching the drawing-room floor. Who could this fav
ouredmale visitor possibly be? Almost as soon as I asked myself the question,the answer occurred to me. Who COULD it be but the doctor?

  In the case of any other visitor, I should have allowed myself to bediscovered in the drawing-room. There would have been nothing out of thecommon in my having got tired of the library, and having gone upstairsfor a change. But my own self-respect stood in the way of my meeting theperson who had insulted me by sending me back my books. I slipped intothe little third room, which I have mentioned as communicating withthe back drawing-room, and dropped the curtains which closed the opendoorway. If I only waited there for a minute or two, the usual resultin such cases would take place. That is to say, the doctor would beconducted to his patient's room.

  I waited a minute or two, and more than a minute or two. I heard thevisitor walking restlessly backwards and forwards. I also heard himtalking to himself. I even thought I recognised the voice. Had I madea mistake? Was it not the doctor, but somebody else? Mr. Bruff, forinstance? No! an unerring instinct told me it was not Mr. Bruff. Whoeverhe was, he was still talking to himself. I parted the heavy curtains theleast little morsel in the world, and listened.

  The words I heard were, "I'll do it to-day!" And the voice that spokethem was Mr. Godfrey Ablewhite's.