CHAPTER VI.
MR. DINGWELL ARRIVES.
MESSRS. GOLDSHED and _Levi_ owned four houses in Rosemary Court, andMiss Sarah Rumble was their tenant. The court is dark, ancient, andgrimy. Miss Rumble let lodgings, worked hard, led an anxious life, andsubsisted on a remarkably light diet, and at the end of the year neverhad a shilling over. Her Jewish landlords used to pay her a visit nowand then, to receive the rent, and see that everything was right. Thesevisits she dreaded; they were grumbling and minatory, and enlivened byoccasional oaths and curses. But though it was part of their system tokeep their tenants on the alert by perpetual fault-findings and menaces,they knew very well that they got every shilling the house brought in,that Miss Rumble lived on next to nothing, and never saved a shilling,and was, in fact, _their_ underfed, overworked, and indefatigableslave.
With the uncomplaining and modest charity of the poor, Sarah Rumblemaintained her little orphan niece and nephew by extra labour atneedle-work, and wonderful feats of domestic economy.
This waste of resources Mr. Levi grudged. He had never done complainingof it, and demonstrating that it could only be accomplished by herholding the house at too low a rent; how else could it be? Why was sheto keep other people's brats at the expense of Messrs. Goldshed andLevi? What was the workhouse for? This perpetual pressure was a soretrouble to the poor woman, who had come to love the children as if theywere her own; and after one of Mr. Levi's minatory visits she often layawake sobbing, in the terror and yearnings of her unspeakable affection,whilst its unconscious objects lay fast asleep by her side.
From Mr. Levi, in his accustomed vein, Miss Rumble had received fullinstructions for the reception and entertainment of her new lodger, Mr.Dingwell. He could not say when he would arrive, neither the day nor thehour; and several days had already elapsed, and no arrival had takenplace. This evening she had gone down to "the shop," so designated, asif there had been but one in London, to lay out a shilling and sevenpence very carefully, leaving her little niece and nephew in charge ofthe candle and the house, and spelling out their catechism for next day.
A tapping came to the door; not timid, nor yet menacing; a sort ofdouble knock, delivered with a walking-cane; on the whole a sharp butgentlemanlike summons, to which the little company assembled there wereunused. The children lifted their eyes from the book before them, andstared at the door without answering. It opened with a latch, which,without more ado, was raised, and a tall, white-haired gentleman, with astoop, and a very brown skin, looked in inquisitively, and said, with asmile that was not pleasant, and a voice not loud but somewhat harsh andcold--
"Mrs. or _Miss_ Rumble hereabouts, my dears?"
"Miss Rumble; that's aunt, please, sir;" answered the little girl,slipping down from her chair, and making a courtesy.
"Well, _she's_ the lady I want to speak with, my love. Where _is_ she?"said the gentleman, glancing round the homely chamber from under hiswhite eyebrows with a pair of cold, gray, restless eyes.
"She's--she's"----hesitated the child.
"Not in bed, I see; nor in the cupboard" (the cupboard door was open)."Is she up the chimney, my charming child?"
"No, sir, please; she's gone to Mrs. Chalk's for the bacon."
"Mrs. Chalk's for the bacon?" echoed the gentleman. "Very good!Excellent woman! excellent bacon, I dare say. But how far away isit?--how soon shall we have your aunt back again?"
"Just round the corner, please, sir; aunt's never no time," answered thechild. "Would you please call in again?"
"Charming young lady! So accomplished! Who taught you your grammar? Sopolite--so _suspicious_. Do you know the meaning of that word, my dear?"
"No, sir, please."
"And I'm vastly obliged for your invitation to call again; but I findyour company much too agreeable to think of going away; so, if you allowme--and do shut that door, my sweet child; many thanks--I'll do myselfthe honour to sit down, if I may venture, and continue to enjoy youragreeable conversation, till your aunt returns to favour us with hercharming presence--and bacon."
The old gentleman was glancing from under his brows, from corner tocorner of this homely chamber; an uneasy habit, not curiosity; and,during his ceremonious speech, he kept bowing and smiling, and set downa black leather bag that he had in his hand, on the deal table, togetherwith his walking-cane, and pulled off his gloves, and warmed his handsat the tiny bit of fire. When his back was toward them the childrenexchanged a glance, and the little boy looked frightened, and on thepoint of bursting into tears.
"_Hish!_" whispered the girl, alarmed, for she could not tell whateffect the demonstration might have upon the stranger--"_quiet!_"--andshe shook her finger in urgent warning at Jemmie. "A _very_ nice gent,as has money for aunty--_there_!"
So the tears that stood in Jemmie's big eyes were not followed by anoutcry, and the gentleman, with his hat and outside wrapper on, stood,now, with his back to the little fire, looking, in his restless way,over the children's heads, with his white, cold eyes, and the samesmile. There was a dreamy idea haunting Lucy Maria's head that thisgentleman was very like a white animal she had seen at the SurreyZoological Gardens when her uncle had treated her to that instructiveshow; the same sort of cruel grin, and the same restless oscillationbefore the bars of its cage.
"Hey! so she'll be back again?" said he, recollecting the presence ofthe two children; "the excellent lady, your aunt, I mean. Superbapartment this is, but it strikes me, hardly sufficiently _lighted_,hey? _One_ halfpenny candle, however brilliant, can hardly do justice tosuch a room; pretty taper--very pretty--isn't it? Such nice mutton fat,my dear young lady, and such a fine long snuff--like a chimney, with aQuaker's hat on the top of it--you don't see such fine thingseverywhere! And who's this young gentleman, who enjoys the distinctionof being admitted to your salon; a page, or what?"
"It's Jemmie, sir; stand up, and bow to the gentleman, Jemmie."
Jemmie slipped down on the floor, and made a very alarmed bow, with hisgreat eyes staring deprecatingly in the visitor's face.
"I'm charmed to make your acquaintance. What grace and ease! It'sperfectly charming! I'm too much honoured, Mr. Jemmie. And soexquisitely got up, too! There's only one little toilet refinement Iwould venture to recommend. The worthy lady, Mrs. Chalks, whocontributes bacon to this house, and, I presume, candles--could, I daresay, also supply another luxury, with which you are not so wellacquainted, called _soap_--one of the few perfectly safe cosmetics. Praytry it; you'll find it soluble in water. And, ho? reading too! What haveyou been reading out of that exquisite little volume?"
"Catechism, please sir," answered the little girl.
"Ho, Catechism? Delightful! What a wonderful people we English are!" Thelatter reflection was made for his own entertainment, and he laughedover it in an undertone. "Then your aunt teaches you the art ofgodliness? You've read about Babel, didn't you?--the accomplishment ofgetting up to heaven is so nice!"
"Sunday school, sir, please," said the girl.
"Oh, it's _there_ you learn it? Well, I shall ask you only one questionin your Catechism, and that's the first--what's your name?"
"Lucy Maria."
"Well, Lucy Maria and Mr. Jemmie, I trust your theological studies mayrender you at last as pious as I am. You know how death and sin cameinto the world, and you know what they are. Sin is doing anything onearth that's pleasant, and death's the penalty of it. Did you ever seeany one dead, my sweet child--not able to raise a finger or an eyelid?rather a fix, isn't it?--and screwed up in a stenching box to be eatenby worms--all alone, under ground? _You_'ll be so, egad, and yourfriend, Jemmie, there, perhaps before me--though I'm an old boy.Younkers go off sometimes by the score. I've seen 'em trundled out infever and plague, egad, lying in rows, like plucked chickens in apoulterer's shop. And they say you have scarlatina all about you _here_,now; bad complaint, you know, that kills the little children. You neednot frighten yourselves though, because it _must_ happen, sooner orlater--die you _must_. It's the penalty, you know, because Eve once eat
an apple."
"Yes, sir."
"Rather hard lines on us, isn't it? She eat an apple, and sin, anddeath, and colic--I never eat an apple in consequence--_colic_ came intothe world, and cider, as a consequence--the worst drink ever invented bythe devil. And now go on and learn your Church Catechism thoroughly, andyou'll both turn into angels. Upon my life, I think I see the feathersbeginning to sprout from your shoulders already. You'll have wings, youknow, if all goes right, and tails for anything I know."
The little boy looked in his face perplexed and frightened--the littlegirl, answering his haggard grin with an attempted smile, showed alsobewilderment and dismay in her eyes. They were both longing for thereturn of their aunt.
Childish nature, which is only human nature without its scarf skin, isalways afraid of irony. It is not its power, but its treachery that isdreadful--the guise of friendship hiding a baleful purpose underneath.One might fancy the seasoned denizens of Gehenna welcoming,complimenting, and instructing new comers with these profound derisions.How children delight in humour! how they wince and quail under irony! Beit ever so rudely fashioned and clumsily handled, still it is to them aterrible weapon. If children are to be either ridiculed or rebuked, letit be honestly, in direct terms. We should not scare them with thisjocularity of devils.
Having thus amused himself with the children for a time, he unlocked hisleather bag, took out two or three papers, ordered the little girl tosnuff the candle, and pulled it across the table to the corner nexthimself, and, sitting close by, tried to read, holding the letter almostin the flame, screwing his white eyebrows together, and shifting hisposition, and that of the candle also, with very little regard to thestudious convenience of the children.
He gave it up. The red and smoky light tried his eyes too severely. So,not well pleased, he locked his letters up again.
"Cat's eyes--owls! How the devil they read by it passes mycomprehension. Any more candles here--hey?" he demanded with a suddensharpness that made the children start.
"Three, please sir."
"Get 'em."
"On the nail in the closet, please sir."
"Get 'em, d--n it!"
"Closet's locked, please sir. Aunt has the key."
"Ha!" he snarled, and looked at the children as if he would like to picka quarrel with them.
"Does your aunt allow you to let the fire out on nights like this--hey?You're a charming young lady, _you_--and this young gentleman, inmanners and appearance, everything the proudest aunt could desire; butI'm curious to know whether either one or the other is of the slightestearthly use; and secondly, whether she keeps a birch-rod in thatcloset--hey?--and now and then _flogs_ you--ha, ha, ha! The expense ofthe rod is trifling, the pain not worth mentioning, and soon over, butthe moral effects are admirable, better and more durable--take my wordfor it--than all the catechisms in Paternoster Row."
The old gentleman seemed much tickled by his own pleasantries, andlaughed viciously as he eyed the children.
"You did not tell me a fib, I hope, my dear, about your aunt? She's along time about coming; and, I say, do put a little coal on the fire,will you?"
"Coal's locked up, please sir," said the child, who was growing moreafraid of him every minute.
"'Gad, it seems to me that worthy woman's afraid you'll carry off thebricks and plaster. Where's the poker? Chained to the wall, I suppose.Well, there's a complaint called kleptomania--it comes with a sort ofirritation at the tips of the fingers, and I should not be surprised ifyou and your friend Jemmie, there, had got it."
Jemmie looked at his fingers' ends, and up in the gentleman's face, inanxious amazement.
"But there's a cure for it--essence of cane--and if that won't do, acapital charm--nine tails of a gray cat, applied under competentdirection. Your aunt seems to understand that disorder--it begins withan itching in the fingers, and ends with a pain in the back--ha, ha, ha!You're a pair of theologians, and, if you've read John Bunyan, no doubtunderstand and enjoy an allegory."
"Yes, sir, please, we will," answered poor Lucy Maria, in herperplexity.
"And we'll be very good friends, Miss Maria Louise, or whatever yourname is, I've no doubt, provided you play me no tricks and do preciselywhatever I bid you; and, upon my soul, if you don't, Til take the devilout of my pocket and frighten you out of your wits, I will--ha, ha,ha!--so sure as you live, into _fits_!"
And the old gentleman, with an ugly smile on his thin lips, and a frownbetween his white eyebrows, fixed his glittering gaze on the child andwagged his head.
You may be sure she was relieved when, at that moment, she heard heraunt's well-known step on the lobby, and the latch clicked, the dooropened, and Miss Rumble entered.
The Tenants of Malory, Volume 2 Page 6
