CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
TOM PINCH, GOING ASTRAY, FINDS THAT HE IS NOT THE ONLY PERSON IN THATPREDICAMENT. HE RETALIATES UPON A FALLEN FOE
Tom's evil genius did not lead him into the dens of any of thosepreparers of cannibalic pastry, who are represented in many standardcountry legends as doing a lively retail business in the Metropolis;nor did it mark him out as the prey of ring-droppers, pea andthimble-riggers, duffers, touters, or any of those bloodless sharpers,who are, perhaps, a little better known to the Police. He fell intoconversation with no gentleman who took him into a public-house, wherethere happened to be another gentleman who swore he had more money thanany gentleman, and very soon proved he had more money than one gentlemanby taking his away from him; neither did he fall into any other ofthe numerous man-traps which are set up without notice, in the publicgrounds of this city. But he lost his way. He very soon did that; and intrying to find it again he lost it more and more.
Now, Tom, in his guileless distrust of London, thought himself veryknowing in coming to the determination that he would not ask to bedirected to Furnival's Inn, if he could help it; unless, indeed, heshould happen to find himself near the Mint, or the Bank of England; inwhich case he would step in, and ask a civil question or two, confidingin the perfect respectability of the concern. So on he went, looking upall the streets he came near, and going up half of them; and thus,by dint of not being true to Goswell Street, and filing off intoAldermanbury, and bewildering himself in Barbican, and being constant tothe wrong point of the compass in London Wall, and then getting himselfcrosswise into Thames Street, by an instinct that would have beenmarvellous if he had had the least desire or reason to go there, hefound himself, at last, hard by the Monument.
The Man in the Monument was quite as mysterious a being to Tom as theMan in the Moon. It immediately occurred to him that the lonely creaturewho held himself aloof from all mankind in that pillar like some oldhermit was the very man of whom to ask his way. Cold, he might be;little sympathy he had, perhaps, with human passion--the column seemedtoo tall for that; but if Truth didn't live in the base of the Monument,notwithstanding Pope's couplet about the outside of it, where in London(thought Tom) was she likely to be found!
Coming close below the pillar, it was a great encouragement to Tom tofind that the Man in the Monument had simple tastes; that stonyand artificial as his residence was, he still preserved some rusticrecollections; that he liked plants, hung up bird-cages, was not whollycut off from fresh groundsel, and kept young trees in tubs. The Man inthe Monument, himself, was sitting outside the door--his own door: theMonument-door: what a grand idea!--and was actually yawning, as if therewere no Monument to stop his mouth, and give him a perpetual interest inhis own existence.
Tom was advancing towards this remarkable creature, to inquire the wayto Furnival's Inn, when two people came to see the Monument. They were agentleman and a lady; and the gentleman said, 'How much a-piece?'
The Man in the Monument replied, 'A Tanner.'
It seemed a low expression, compared with the Monument.
The gentleman put a shilling into his hand, and the Man in the Monumentopened a dark little door. When the gentleman and lady had passed out ofview, he shut it again, and came slowly back to his chair.
He sat down and laughed.
'They don't know what a many steps there is!' he said. 'It's worth twicethe money to stop here. Oh, my eye!'
The Man in the Monument was a Cynic; a worldly man! Tom couldn't ask hisway of HIM. He was prepared to put no confidence in anything he said.
'My gracious!' cried a well-known voice behind Mr Pinch. 'Why, to besure it is!'
At the same time he was poked in the back by a parasol. Turning roundto inquire into this salute, he beheld the eldest daughter of his latepatron.
'Miss Pecksniff!' said Tom.
'Why, my goodness, Mr Pinch!' cried Cherry. 'What are you doing here?'
'I have rather wandered from my way,' said Tom. 'I--'
'I hope you have run away,' said Charity. 'It would be quite spiritedand proper if you had, when my Papa so far forgets himself.'
'I have left him,' returned Tom. 'But it was perfectly understood onboth sides. It was not done clandestinely.'
'Is he married?' asked Cherry, with a spasmodic shake of her chin.
'No, not yet,' said Tom, colouring; 'to tell you the truth, I don'tthink he is likely to be, if--if Miss Graham is the object of hispassion.'
'Tcha, Mr Pinch!' cried Charity, with sharp impatience, 'you're veryeasily deceived. You don't know the arts of which such a creature iscapable. Oh! it's a wicked world.'
'You are not married?' Tom hinted, to divert the conversation.
'N--no!' said Cherry, tracing out one particular paving-stone inMonument Yard with the end of her parasol. 'I--but really it's quiteimpossible to explain. Won't you walk in?'
'You live here, then?' said Tom
'Yes,' returned Miss Pecksniff, pointing with her parasol to Todgers's;'I reside with this lady, AT PRESENT.'
The great stress on the two last words suggested to Tom that he wasexpected to say something in reference to them. So he said.
'Only at present! Are you going home again soon?'
'No, Mr Pinch,' returned Charity. 'No, thank you. No! A mother-in-lawwho is younger than--I mean to say, who is as nearly as possible aboutthe same age as one's self, would not quite suit my spirit. Not quite!'said Cherry, with a spiteful shiver.
'I thought from your saying "at present"'--Tom observed.
'Really, upon my word! I had no idea you would press me so very closelyon the subject, Mr Pinch,' said Charity, blushing, 'or I should not havebeen so foolish as to allude to--oh really!--won't you walk in?'
Tom mentioned, to excuse himself, that he had an appointment inFurnival's Inn, and that coming from Islington he had taken a few wrongturnings, and arrived at the Monument instead. Miss Pecksniff simperedvery much when he asked her if she knew the way to Furnival's Inn, andat length found courage to reply.
'A gentleman who is a friend of mine, or at least who is not exactly afriend so much as a sort of acquaintance--Oh upon my word, I hardlyknow what I say, Mr Pinch; you mustn't suppose there is any engagementbetween us; or at least if there is, that it is at all a settled thingas yet--is going to Furnival's Inn immediately, I believe upon a littlebusiness, and I am sure he would be very glad to accompany you, so asto prevent your going wrong again. You had better walk in. You will verylikely find my sister Merry here,' she said with a curious toss of herhead, and anything but an agreeable smile.
'Then, I think, I'll endeavour to find my way alone,' said Tom, 'for Ifear she would not be very glad to see me. That unfortunate occurrence,in relation to which you and I had some amicable words together, inprivate, is not likely to have impressed her with any friendly feelingtowards me. Though it really was not my fault.'
'She has never heard of that, you may depend,' said Cherry, gathering upthe corners of her mouth, and nodding at Tom. 'I am far from sure thatshe would bear you any mighty ill will for it, if she had.'
'You don't say so?' cried Tom, who was really concerned by thisinsinuation.
'I say nothing,' said Charity. 'If I had not already known what shockingthings treachery and deceit are in themselves, Mr Pinch, I might perhapshave learnt it from the success they meet with--from the success theymeet with.' Here she smiled as before. 'But I don't say anything. On thecontrary, I should scorn it. You had better walk in!'
There was something hidden here, which piqued Tom's interest andtroubled his tender heart. When, in a moment's irresolution, he lookedat Charity, he could not but observe a struggle in her face betweena sense of triumph and a sense of shame; nor could he but remark how,meeting even his eyes, which she cared so little for, she turned awayher own, for all the splenetic defiance in her manner.
An uneasy thought entered Tom's head; a shadowy misgiving that thealtered relations between himself and Pecksniff were somehow to involvean altered knowledge on hi
s part of other people, and were to give himan insight into much of which he had had no previous suspicion. And yethe put no definite construction upon Charity's proceedings. He certainlyhad no idea that as he had been the audience and spectator of hermortification, she grasped with eager delight at any opportunity ofreproaching her sister with his presence in HER far deeper misery; forhe knew nothing of it, and only pictured that sister as the same giddy,careless, trivial creature she always had been, with the same slightestimation of himself which she had never been at the least painsto conceal. In short, he had merely a confused impression that MissPecksniff was not quite sisterly or kind; and being curious to set itright, accompanied her as she desired.
The house-door being opened, she went in before Tom, requesting him tofollow her; and led the way to the parlour door.
'Oh, Merry!' she said, looking in, 'I am so glad you have not gone home.Who do you think I have met in the street, and brought to see you! MrPinch! There. Now you ARE surprised, I am sure!'
Not more surprised than Tom was, when he looked upon her. Not so much.Not half so much.
'Mr Pinch has left Papa, my dear,' said Cherry, 'and his prospects arequite flourishing. I have promised that Augustus, who is going that way,shall escort him to the place he wants. Augustus, my child, where areyou?'
With these words Miss Pecksniff screamed her way out of the parlour,calling on Augustus Moddle to appear; and left Tom Pinch alone with hersister.
If she had always been his kindest friend; if she had treated himthrough all his servitude with such consideration as was never yetreceived by struggling man; if she had lightened every moment of thosemany years, and had ever spared and never wounded him; his honest heartcould not have swelled before her with a deeper pity, or a purer freedomfrom all base remembrance than it did then.
'My gracious me! You are really the last person in the world I shouldhave thought of seeing, I am sure!'
Tom was sorry to hear her speaking in her old manner. He had notexpected that. Yet he did not feel it a contradiction that he should besorry to see her so unlike her old self, and sorry at the same timeto hear her speaking in her old manner. The two things seemed quitenatural.
'I wonder you find any gratification in coming to see me. I can't thinkwhat put it in your head. I never had much in seeing you. There was nolove lost between us, Mr Pinch, at any time, I think.'
Her bonnet lay beside her on the sofa, and she was very busy with theribbons as she spoke. Much too busy to be conscious of the work herfingers did.
'We never quarrelled,' said Tom.--Tom was right in that, for one personcan no more quarrel without an adversary, than one person can play atchess, or fight a duel. 'I hoped you would be glad to shake hands withan old friend. Don't let us rake up bygones,' said Tom. 'If I everoffended you, forgive me.'
She looked at him for a moment; dropped her bonnet from her hands;spread them before her altered face, and burst into tears.
'Oh, Mr Pinch!' she said, 'although I never used you well, I did believeyour nature was forgiving. I did not think you could be cruel.'
She spoke as little like her old self now, for certain, as Tomcould possibly have wished. But she seemed to be appealing to himreproachfully, and he did not understand her.
'I seldom showed it--never--I know that. But I had that belief in you,that if I had been asked to name the person in the world least likely toretort upon me, I would have named you, confidently.'
'Would have named me!' Tom repeated.
'Yes,' she said with energy, 'and I have often thought so.'
After a moment's reflection, Tom sat himself upon a chair beside her.
'Do you believe,' said Tom, 'oh, can you think, that what I said justnow, I said with any but the true and plain intention which my wordsprofessed? I mean it, in the spirit and the letter. If I ever offendedyou, forgive me; I may have done so, many times. You never injured oroffended me. How, then, could I possibly retort, if even I were sternand bad enough to wish to do it!'
After a little while she thanked him, through her tears and sobs, andtold him she had never been at once so sorry and so comforted, since sheleft home. Still she wept bitterly; and it was the greater pain to Tomto see her weeping, from her standing in especial need, just then, ofsympathy and tenderness.
'Come, come!' said Tom, 'you used to be as cheerful as the day waslong.'
'Ah! used!' she cried, in such a tone as rent Tom's heart.
'And will be again,' said Tom.
'No, never more. No, never, never more. If you should talk with old MrChuzzlewit, at any time,' she added, looking hurriedly into his face--'Isometimes thought he liked you, but suppressed it--will you promise meto tell him that you saw me here, and that I said I bore in mind thetime we talked together in the churchyard?'
Tom promised that he would.
'Many times since then, when I have wished I had been carried therebefore that day, I have recalled his words. I wish that he should knowhow true they were, although the least acknowledgment to that effect hasnever passed my lips and never will.'
Tom promised this, conditionally too. He did not tell her how improbableit was that he and the old man would ever meet again, because he thoughtit might disturb her more.
'If he should ever know this, through your means, dear Mr Pinch,' saidMercy, 'tell him that I sent the message, not for myself, but that hemight be more forbearing and more patient, and more trustful to someother person, in some other time of need. Tell him that if he could knowhow my heart trembled in the balance that day, and what a very littlewould have turned the scale, his own would bleed with pity for me.'
'Yes, yes,' said Tom, 'I will.'
'When I appeared to him the most unworthy of his help, I was--I know Iwas, for I have often, often, thought about it since--the most inclinedto yield to what he showed me. Oh! if he had relented but a little more;if he had thrown himself in my way for but one other quarter of an hour;if he had extended his compassion for a vain, unthinking, miserablegirl, in but the least degree; he might, and I believe he would, havesaved her! Tell him that I don't blame him, but am grateful for theeffort that he made; but ask him for the love of God, and youth, andin merciful consideration for the struggle which an ill-advised andunwakened nature makes to hide the strength it thinks its weakness--askhim never, never, to forget this, when he deals with one again!'
Although Tom did not hold the clue to her full meaning, he could guessit pretty nearly. Touched to the quick, he took her hand and said, ormeant to say, some words of consolation. She felt and understood them,whether they were spoken or no. He was not quite certain, afterwards,but that she had tried to kneel down at his feet, and bless him.
He found that he was not alone in the room when she had left it. MrsTodgers was there, shaking her head. Tom had never seen Mrs Todgers, itis needless to say, but he had a perception of her being the lady of thehouse; and he saw some genuine compassion in her eyes, that won his goodopinion.
'Ah, sir! You are an old friend, I see,' said Mrs Todgers.
'Yes,' said Tom.
'And yet,' quoth Mrs Todgers, shutting the door softly, 'she hasn't toldyou what her troubles are, I'm certain.'
Tom was struck by these words, for they were quite true. 'Indeed,' hesaid, 'she has not.'
'And never would,' said Mrs Todgers, 'if you saw her daily. She nevermakes the least complaint to me, or utters a single word of explanationor reproach. But I know,' said Mrs Todgers, drawing in her breath, 'Iknow!'
Tom nodded sorrowfully, 'So do I.'
'I fully believe,' said Mrs Todgers, taking her pocket-handkerchieffrom the flat reticule, 'that nobody can tell one half of what that pooryoung creature has to undergo. But though she comes here, constantly,to ease her poor full heart without his knowing it; and saying, "MrsTodgers, I am very low to-day; I think that I shall soon be dead," sitscrying in my room until the fit is past; I know no more from her. And,I believe,' said Mrs Todgers, putting back her handkerchief again, 'thatshe considers me a good friend too.'
Mrs Todgers might have said her best friend. Commercial gentlemen andgravy had tried Mrs Todgers's temper; the main chance--it was such avery small one in her case, that she might have been excused for lookingsharp after it, lest it should entirely vanish from her sight--had takena firm hold on Mrs Todgers's attention. But in some odd nook in MrsTodgers's breast, up a great many steps, and in a corner easy to beoverlooked, there was a secret door, with 'Woman' written on the spring,which, at a touch from Mercy's hand, had flown wide open, and admittedher for shelter.
When boarding-house accounts are balanced with all other ledgers, andthe books of the Recording Angel are made up for ever, perhaps there maybe seen an entry to thy credit, lean Mrs Todgers, which shall make theebeautiful!
She was growing beautiful so rapidly in Tom's eyes; for he saw that shewas poor, and that this good had sprung up in her from among the sordidstrivings of her life; that she might have been a very Venus in a minutemore, if Miss Pecksniff had not entered with her friend.
'Mr Thomas Pinch!' said Charity, performing the ceremony of introductionwith evident pride. 'Mr Moddle. Where's my sister?'
'Gone, Miss Pecksniff,' Mrs Todgers answered. 'She had appointed to behome.'
'Ah!' said Charity, looking at Tom. 'Oh, dear me!'
'She's greatly altered since she's been Anoth--since she's been married,Mrs Todgers!' observed Moddle.
'My dear Augustus!' said Miss Pecksniff, in a low voice. 'I verilybelieve you have said that fifty thousand times, in my hearing. What aProse you are!'
This was succeeded by some trifling love passages, which appeared tooriginate with, if not to be wholly carried on by Miss Pecksniff. At anyrate, Mr Moddle was much slower in his responses than is customarywith young lovers, and exhibited a lowness of spirits which was quiteoppressive.
He did not improve at all when Tom and he were in the streets, butsighed so dismally that it was dreadful to hear him. As a means ofcheering him up, Tom told him that he wished him joy.
'Joy!' cried Moddle. 'Ha, ha!'
'What an extraordinary young man!' thought Tom.
'The Scorner has not set his seal upon you. YOU care what becomes ofyou?' said Moddle.
Tom admitted that it was a subject in which he certainly felt someinterest.
'I don't,' said Mr Moddle. 'The Elements may have me when they please.I'm ready.'
Tom inferred from these, and other expressions of the same nature, thathe was jealous. Therefore he allowed him to take his own course; whichwas such a gloomy one, that he felt a load removed from his mind whenthey parted company at the gate of Furnival's Inn.
It was now a couple of hours past John Westlock's dinner-time; and hewas walking up and down the room, quite anxious for Tom's safety. Thetable was spread; the wine was carefully decanted; and the dinner smeltdelicious.
'Why, Tom, old boy, where on earth have you been? Your box is here. Getyour boots off instantly, and sit down!'
'I am sorry to say I can't stay, John,' replied Tom Pinch, who wasbreathless with the haste he had made in running up the stairs.
'Can't stay!'
'If you'll go on with your dinner,' said Tom, 'I'll tell you my reasonthe while. I mustn't eat myself, or I shall have no appetite for thechops.'
'There are no chops here, my food fellow.'
'No. But there are at Islington,' said Tom.
John Westlock was perfectly confounded by this reply, and vowed he wouldnot touch a morsel until Tom had explained himself fully. So Tom satdown, and told him all; to which he listened with the greatest interest.
He knew Tom too well, and respected his delicacy too much, to ask himwhy he had taken these measures without communicating with him first. Hequite concurred in the expediency of Tom's immediately returning to hissister, as he knew so little of the place in which he had left her, andgood-humouredly proposed to ride back with him in a cab, in which hemight convey his box. Tom's proposition that he should sup with themthat night, he flatly rejected, but made an appointment with him for themorrow. 'And now Tom,' he said, as they rode along, 'I have a questionto ask you to which I expect a manly and straightforward answer. Do youwant any money? I am pretty sure you do.'
'I don't indeed,' said Tom.
'I believe you are deceiving me.'
'No. With many thanks to you, I am quite in earnest,' Tom replied. 'Mysister has some money, and so have I. If I had nothing else, John, Ihave a five-pound note, which that good creature, Mrs Lupin, of theDragon, handed up to me outside the coach, in a letter begging me toborrow it; and then drove off as hard as she could go.'
'And a blessing on every dimple in her handsome face, say I!' criedJohn, 'though why you should give her the preference over me, I don'tknow. Never mind. I bide my time, Tom.'
'And I hope you'll continue to bide it,' returned Tom, gayly. 'For Iowe you more, already, in a hundred other ways, than I can ever hope topay.'
They parted at the door of Tom's new residence. John Westlock, sittingin the cab, and, catching a glimpse of a blooming little busy creaturedarting out to kiss Tom and to help him with his box, would not have hadthe least objection to change places with him.
Well! she WAS a cheerful little thing; and had a quaint, brightquietness about her that was infinitely pleasant. Surely she was thebest sauce for chops ever invented. The potatoes seemed to take apleasure in sending up their grateful steam before her; the froth uponthe pint of porter pouted to attract her notice. But it was all in vain.She saw nothing but Tom. Tom was the first and last thing in the world.
As she sat opposite to Tom at supper, fingering one of Tom's pet tunesupon the table-cloth, and smiling in his face, he had never been sohappy in his life.
Martin Chuzzlewit Page 39
