Life And Adventures Of Martin Chuzzlewit

by Charles Dickens

  He had scarcely said it when the door opened, and Jonas entered. His wife came forward to receive him; but he put her aside with his hand, and said in a surly tone:

  “I didn't know you'd got a party.”

  As he looked, at the same time, either by accident or design, towards Miss Pecksniff; and as Miss Pecksniff was only too delighted to quarrel with him, she instantly resented it.

  “Oh dear!” she said, rising. “Pray don't let us intrude upon your domestic happiness! That would be a pity. We have taken tea here, sir, in your absence; but if you will have the goodness to send us a note of the expense, receipted, we shall be happy to pay it. Augustus, my love, we will go, if you please. Mrs Todgers, unless you wish to remain here, we shall be happy to take you with us. It would be a pity, indeed, to spoil the bliss which this gentleman always brings with him, especially into his own home.”

  “Charity! Charity!” remonstrated her sister, in such a heartfelt tone that she might have been imploring her to show the cardinal virtue whose name she bore.

  “Merry, my dear, I am much obliged to you for your advice,” returned Miss Pecksniff, with a stately scorn—by the way, she had not been offered any—'but I am not his slave—”

  “No, nor wouldn't have been if you could,” interrupted Jonas. “We know all about it.”

  “WHAT did you say, sir?” cried Miss Pecksniff, sharply.

  “Didn't you hear?” retorted Jonas, lounging down upon a chair. “I am not a-going to say it again. If you like to stay, you may stay. If you like to go, you may go. But if you stay, please to be civil.”

  “Beast!” cried Miss Pecksniff, sweeping past him. “Augustus! He is beneath your notice!” Augustus had been making some faint and sickly demonstration of shaking his fist. “Come away, child,” screamed Miss Pecksniff, “I command you!”

  The scream was elicited from her by Augustus manifesting an intention to return and grapple with him. But Miss Pecksniff giving the fiery youth a pull, and Mrs Todgers giving him a push they all three tumbled out of the room together, to the music of Miss Pecksniff's shrill remonstrances.

  All this time Jonas had seen nothing of Tom and his sister; for they were almost behind the door when he opened it, and he had sat down with his back towards them, and had purposely kept his eyes upon the opposite side of the street during his altercation with Miss Pecksniff, in order that his seeming carelessness might increase the exasperation of that wronged young damsel. His wife now faltered out that Tom had been waiting to see him; and Tom advanced.

  The instant he presented himself, Jonas got up from his chair, and swearing a great oath, caught it in his grasp, as if he would have felled Tom to the ground with it. As he most unquestionably would have done, but that his very passion and surprise made him irresolute, and gave Tom, in his calmness, an opportunity of being heard.

  “You have no cause to be violent, sir,” said Tom. “Though what I wish to say relates to your own affairs, I know nothing of them, and desire to know nothing of them.”

  Jonas was too enraged to speak. He held the door open; and stamping his foot upon the ground, motioned Tom away.

  “As you cannot suppose,” said Tom, “that I am here with any view of conciliating you or pleasing myself, I am quite indifferent to your reception of me, or your dismissal of me. Hear what I have to say, if you are not a madman! I gave you a letter the other day, when you were about to go abroad.”

  “You Thief, you did!” retorted Jonas. “I'll pay you for the carriage of it one day, and settle an old score besides. I will!”

  “Tut, tut,” said Tom, “you needn't waste words or threats. I wish you to understand—plainly because I would rather keep clear of you and everything that concerns you: not because I have the least apprehension of your doing me any injury: which would be weak indeed—that I am no party to the contents of that letter. That I know nothing of it. That I was not even aware that it was to be delivered to you; and that I had it from—”

  “By the Lord!” cried Jonas, fiercely catching up the chair, “I'll knock your brains out, if you speak another word.”

  Tom, nevertheless, persisting in his intention, and opening his lips to speak again, Jonas set upon him like a savage; and in the quickness and ferocity of his attack would have surely done him some grievous injury, defenceless as he was, and embarrassed by having his frightened sister clinging to his arm, if Merry had not run between them, crying to Tom for the love of Heaven to leave the house. The agony of this poor creature, the terror of his sister, the impossibility of making himself audible, and the equal impossibility of bearing up against Mrs Gamp, who threw herself upon him like a feather-bed, and forced him backwards down the stairs by the mere oppression of her dead weight, prevailed. Tom shook the dust of that house off his feet, without having mentioned Nadgett's name.

  If the name could have passed his lips; if Jonas, in the insolence of his vile nature, had never roused him to do that old act of manliness, for which (and not for his last offence) he hated him with such malignity; if Jonas could have learned, as then he could and would have learned, through Tom's means, what unsuspected spy there was upon him; he would have been saved from the commission of a Guilty Deed, then drawing on towards its black accomplishment. But the fatality was of his own working; the pit was of his own digging; the gloom that gathered round him was the shadow of his own life.

  His wife had closed the door, and thrown herself before it, on the ground, upon her knees. She held up her hands to him now, and besought him not to be harsh with her, for she had interposed in fear of bloodshed.

  “So, so!” said Jonas, looking down upon her, as he fetched his breath. “These are your friends, are they, when I am away? You plot and tamper with this sort of people, do you?”

  “No, indeed! I have no knowledge of these secrets, and no clue to their meaning. I have never seen him since I left home but once— but twice—before to-day.”

  “Oh!” sneered Jonas, catching at this correction. “But once, but twice, eh? Which do you mean? Twice and once, perhaps. Three times! How many more, you lying jade?”

  As he made an angry motion with his hand, she shrunk down hastily. A suggestive action! Full of a cruel truth!

  “How many more times?” he repeated.

  “No more. The other morning, and to-day, and once besides.”

  He was about to retort upon her, when the clock struck. He started stopped, and listened; appearing to revert to some engagement, or to some other subject, a secret within his own breast, recalled to him by this record of the progress of the hours.

  “Don't lie there! Get up!”

  Having helped her to rise, or rather hauled her up by the arm, he went on to say:

  “Listen to me, young lady; and don't whine when you have no occasion, or I may make some for you. If I find him in my house again, or find that you have seen him in anybody else's house, you'll repent it. If you are not deaf and dumb to everything that concerns me, unless you have my leave to hear and speak, you'll repent it. If you don't obey exactly what I order, you'll repent it. Now, attend. What's the time?”

  “It struck eight a minute ago.”

  He looked towards her intently; and said, with a laboured distinctness, as if he had got the words off by heart:

  “I have been travelling day and night, and am tired. I have lost some money, and that don't improve me. Put my supper in the little off-room below, and have the truckle-bed made. I shall sleep there to-night, and maybe to-morrow night; and if I can sleep all day tomorrow, so much the better, for I've got trouble to sleep off, if I can. Keep the house quiet, and don't call me. Mind! Don't call me. Don't let anybody call me. Let me lie there.”

  She said it should be done. Was that all?

  “All what? You must be prying and questioning!” he angrily retorted. “What more do you want to know?”

  “I want to know nothing, Jonas, but what you tell me. All hope of confidence between us has long deserted me!”

  “Ecod, I should
hope so!” he muttered.

  “But if you will tell me what you wish, I will be obedient and will try to please you. I make no merit of that, for I have no friend in my father or my sister, but am quite alone. I am very humble and submissive. You told me you would break my spirit, and you have done so. Do not break my heart too!”

  She ventured, as she said these words, to lay her hand upon his shoulder. He suffered it to rest there, in his exultation; and the whole mean, abject, sordid, pitiful soul of the man, looked at her, for the moment, through his wicked eyes.

  For the moment only; for, with the same hurried return to something within himself, he bade her, in a surly tone, show her obedience by executing his commands without delay. When she had withdrawn he paced up and down the room several times; but always with his right hand clenched, as if it held something; which it did not, being empty. When he was tired of this, he threw himself into a chair, and thoughtfully turned up the sleeve of his right arm, as if he were rather musing about its strength than examining it; but, even then, he kept the hand clenched.

  He was brooding in this chair, with his eyes cast down upon the ground, when Mrs Gamp came in to tell him that the little room was ready. Not being quite sure of her reception after interfering in the quarrel, Mrs Gamp, as a means of interesting and propitiating her patron, affected a deep solicitude in Mr Chuffey.

  “How is he now, sir?” she said.

  “Who?” cried Jonas, raising his head, and staring at her.

  “To be sure!” returned the matron with a smile and a curtsey. “What am I thinking of! You wasn't here, sir, when he was took so strange. I never see a poor dear creetur took so strange in all my life, except a patient much about the same age, as I once nussed, which his calling was the custom-'us, and his name was Mrs Harris's own father, as pleasant a singer, Mr Chuzzlewit, as ever you heerd, with a voice like a Jew's-harp in the bass notes, that it took six men to hold at sech times, foaming frightful.”

  “Chuffey, eh?” said Jonas carelessly, seeing that she went up to the old, clerk, and looked at him. “Ha!”

  “The creetur's head's so hot,” said Mrs Gamp, “that you might heat a flat-iron at it. And no wonder I am sure, considerin” the things he said!”

  “Said!” cried Jonas. “What did he say?”

  Mrs Gamp laid her hand upon her heart, to put some check upon its palpitations, and turning up her eyes replied in a faint voice:

  “The awfulest things, Mr Chuzzlewit, as ever I heerd! Which Mrs Harris's father never spoke a word when took so, some does and some don't, except sayin” when he come round, “Where is Sairey Gamp?” But raly, sir, when Mr Chuffey comes to ask who's lyin” dead upstairs, and—”

  “Who's lying dead upstairs!” repeated Jonas, standing aghast.

  Mrs Gamp nodded, made as if she were swallowing, and went on.

  “Who's lying dead upstairs; sech was his Bible language; and where was Mr Chuzzlewit as had the only son; and when he goes upstairs alooking in the beds and wandering about the rooms, and comes down again a-whisperin” softly to his-self about foul play and that; it gives me sech a turn, I don't deny it, Mr Chuzzlewit, that I never could have kep myself up but for a little drain o” spirits, which I seldom touches, but could always wish to know where to find, if so dispoged, never knowin” wot may happen next, the world bein” so uncertain.”

  “Why, the old fool's mad!” cried Jonas, much disturbed.

  “That's my opinion, sir,” said Mrs Gamp, “and I will not deceive you. I believe as Mr Chuffey, sir, rekwires attention (if I may make so bold), and should not have his liberty to wex and worrit your sweet lady as he does.”

  “Why, who minds what he says?” retorted Jonas.

  “Still he is worritin” sir,” said Mrs Gamp. “No one don't mind him, but he IS a ill conwenience.”

  “Ecod you're right,” said Jonas, looking doubtfully at the subject of this conversation. “I have half a mind to shut him up.”

  Mrs Gamp rubbed her hands, and smiled, and shook her head, and sniffed expressively, as scenting a job.

  “Could you—could you take care of such an idiot, now, in some spare room upstairs?” asked Jonas.

  “Me and a friend of mine, one off, one on, could do it, Mr Chuzzlewit,” replied the nurse; “our charges not bein” high, but wishin” they was lower, and allowance made considerin” not strangers. Me and Betsey Prig, sir, would undertake Mr Chuffey reasonable,” said Mrs Gamp, looking at him with her head on one side, as if he had been a piece of goods, for which she was driving a bargain; “and give every satigefaction. Betsey Prig has nussed a many lunacies, and well she knows their ways, which puttin” “em right close afore the fire, when fractious, is the certainest and most compoging.”

  While Mrs Gamp discoursed to this effect, Jonas was walking up and down the room again, glancing covertly at the old clerk, as he did so. He now made a stop, and said:

  “I must look after him, I suppose, or I may have him doing some mischief. What say you?”

  “Nothin” more likely!” Mrs Gamp replied. “As well I have experienged, I do assure you, sir.”

  “Well! Look after him for the present, and—let me see—three days from this time let the other woman come here, and we'll see if we can make a bargain of it. About nine or ten o'clock at night, say. Keep your eye upon him in the meanwhile, and don't talk about it. He's as mad as a March hare!”

  “Madder!” cried Mrs Gamp. “A deal madder!”

  “See to him, then; take care that he does no harm; and recollect what I have told you.”

  Leaving Mrs Gamp in the act of repeating all she had been told, and of producing in support of her memory and trustworthiness, many commendations selected from among the most remarkable opinions of the celebrated Mrs Harris, he descended to the little room prepared for him, and pulling off his coat and his boots, put them outside the door before he locked it. In locking it, he was careful so to adjust the key as to baffle any curious person who might try to peep in through the key-hole; and when he had taken these precautions, he sat down to his supper.

  “Mr Chuff,” he muttered, “it'll be pretty easy to be even with YOU. It's of no use doing things by halves, and as long as I stop here, I'll take good care of you. When I'm off you may say what you please. But it's a d—d strange thing,” he added, pushing away his untouched plate, and striding moodily to and fro, “that his drivellings should have taken this turn just now.”

  After pacing the little room from end to end several times, he sat down in another chair.

  “I say just now, but for anything I know, he may have been carrying on the same game all along. Old dog! He shall be gagged!”

  He paced the room again in the same restless and unsteady way; and then sat down upon the bedstead, leaning his chin upon his hand, and looking at the table. When he had looked at it for a long time, he remembered his supper; and resuming the chair he had first occupied, began to eat with great rapacity; not like a hungry man, but as if he were determined to do it. He drank too, roundly; sometimes stopping in the middle of a draught to walk, and change his seat and walk again, and dart back to the table and fall to, in a ravenous hurry, as before.

  It was now growing dark. As the gloom of evening, deepening into night, came on, another dark shade emerging from within him seemed to overspread his face, and slowly change it. Slowly, slowly; darker and darker; more and more haggard; creeping over him by little and little, until it was black night within him and without.

  The room in which he had shut himself up, was on the ground floor, at the back of the house. It was lighted by a dirty skylight, and had a door in the wall, opening into a narrow covered passage or blind-alley, very little frequented after five or six o'clock in the evening, and not in much use as a thoroughfare at any hour. But it had an outlet in a neighbouring street.

  The ground on which this chamber stood had, at one time, not within his recollection, been a yard; and had been converted to its present purpose for use as an office. But the oc
casion for it died with the man who built it; and saving that it had sometimes served as an apology for a spare bedroom, and that the old clerk had once held it (but that was years ago) as his recognized apartment, it had been little troubled by Anthony Chuzzlewit and Son. It was a blotched, stained, mouldering room, like a vault; and there were water-pipes running through it, which at unexpected times in the night, when other things were quiet, clicked and gurgled suddenly, as if they were choking.

  The door into the court had not been open for a long, long time; but the key had always hung in one place, and there it hung now. He was prepared for its being rusty; for he had a little bottle of oil in his pocket and the feather of a pen, with which he lubricated the key and the lock too, carefully. All this while he had been without his coat, and had nothing on his feet but his stockings. He now got softly into bed in the same state, and tossed from side to side to tumble it. In his restless condition that was easily done.

  When he arose, he took from his portmanteau, which he had caused to be carried into that place when he came home, a pair of clumsy shoes, and put them on his feet; also a pair of leather leggings, such as countrymen are used to wear, with straps to fasten them to the waistband. In these he dressed himself at leisure. Lastly, he took out a common frock of coarse dark jean, which he drew over his own under-clothing; and a felt hat—he had purposely left his own upstairs. He then sat himself down by the door, with the key in his hand, waiting.

  He had no light; the time was dreary, long, and awful. The ringers were practicing in a neighbouring church, and the clashing of the bells was almost maddening. Curse the clamouring bells, they seemed to know that he was listening at the door, and to proclaim it in a crowd of voices to all the town! Would they never be still?

  They ceased at last, and then the silence was so new and terrible that it seemed the prelude to some dreadful noise. Footsteps in the court! Two men. He fell back from the door on tiptoe, as if they could have seen him through its wooden panels.

  They passed on, talking (he could make out) about a skeleton which had been dug up yesterday, in some work of excavation near at hand, and was supposed to be that of a murdered man. “So murder is not always found out, you see,” they said to one another as they turned the corner.