Our Mutual Friend, Page 28

  Chapter 11

  SOME AFFAIRS OF THE HEART

  Little Miss Peecher, from her little official dwelling-house, with itslittle windows like the eyes in needles, and its little doors like thecovers of school-books, was very observant indeed of the object of herquiet affections. Love, though said to be afflicted with blindness, isa vigilant watchman, and Miss Peecher kept him on double duty over MrBradley Headstone. It was not that she was naturally given to playingthe spy--it was not that she was at all secret, plotting, or mean--itwas simply that she loved the irresponsive Bradley with all theprimitive and homely stock of love that had never been examined orcertificated out of her. If her faithful slate had had the latentqualities of sympathetic paper, and its pencil those of invisible ink,many a little treatise calculated to astonish the pupils would have comebursting through the dry sums in school-time under the warming influenceof Miss Peecher's bosom. For, oftentimes when school was not, and hercalm leisure and calm little house were her own, Miss Peecher wouldcommit to the confidential slate an imaginary description of how, upona balmy evening at dusk, two figures might have been observed in themarket-garden ground round the corner, of whom one, being a manly form,bent over the other, being a womanly form of short stature and somecompactness, and breathed in a low voice the words, 'Emma Peecher, wiltthou be my own?' after which the womanly form's head reposed upon themanly form's shoulder, and the nightingales tuned up. Though all unseen,and unsuspected by the pupils, Bradley Headstone even pervaded theschool exercises. Was Geography in question? He would come triumphantlyflying out of Vesuvius and Aetna ahead of the lava, and would boilunharmed in the hot springs of Iceland, and would float majesticallydown the Ganges and the Nile. Did History chronicle a king of men?Behold him in pepper-and-salt pantaloons, with his watch-guard roundhis neck. Were copies to be written? In capital B's and H's most of thegirls under Miss Peecher's tuition were half a year ahead of every otherletter in the alphabet. And Mental Arithmetic, administered by MissPeecher, often devoted itself to providing Bradley Headstone with awardrobe of fabulous extent: fourscore and four neck-ties at two andninepence-halfpenny, two gross of silver watches at four pounds fifteenand sixpence, seventy-four black hats at eighteen shillings; and manysimilar superfluities.

  The vigilant watchman, using his daily opportunities of turning his eyesin Bradley's direction, soon apprized Miss Peecher that Bradley was morepreoccupied than had been his wont, and more given to strolling aboutwith a downcast and reserved face, turning something difficult in hismind that was not in the scholastic syllabus. Putting this and thattogether--combining under the head 'this,' present appearances and theintimacy with Charley Hexam, and ranging under the head 'that' thevisit to his sister, the watchman reported to Miss Peecher his strongsuspicions that the sister was at the bottom of it.

  'I wonder,' said Miss Peecher, as she sat making up her weekly report ona half-holiday afternoon, 'what they call Hexam's sister?'

  Mary Anne, at her needlework, attendant and attentive, held her arm up.

  'Well, Mary Anne?'

  'She is named Lizzie, ma'am.'

  'She can hardly be named Lizzie, I think, Mary Anne,' returned MissPeecher, in a tunefully instructive voice. 'Is Lizzie a Christian name,Mary Anne?'

  Mary Anne laid down her work, rose, hooked herself behind, as beingunder catechization, and replied: 'No, it is a corruption, MissPeecher.'

  'Who gave her that name?' Miss Peecher was going on, from the mere forceof habit, when she checked herself; on Mary Anne's evincing theologicalimpatience to strike in with her godfathers and her godmothers, andsaid: 'I mean of what name is it a corruption?'

  'Elizabeth, or Eliza, Miss Peecher.'

  'Right, Mary Anne. Whether there were any Lizzies in the early ChristianChurch must be considered very doubtful, very doubtful.' Miss Peecherwas exceedingly sage here. 'Speaking correctly, we say, then, thatHexam's sister is called Lizzie; not that she is named so. Do we not,Mary Anne?'

  'We do, Miss Peecher.'

  'And where,' pursued Miss Peecher, complacent in her little transparentfiction of conducting the examination in a semiofficial manner for MaryAnne's benefit, not her own, 'where does this young woman, who is calledbut not named Lizzie, live? Think, now, before answering.'

  'In Church Street, Smith Square, by Mill Bank, ma'am.'

  'In Church Street, Smith Square, by Mill Bank,' repeated Miss Peecher,as if possessed beforehand of the book in which it was written. Exactlyso. And what occupation does this young woman pursue, Mary Anne? Taketime.'

  'She has a place of trust at an outfitter's in the City, ma'am.'

  'Oh!' said Miss Peecher, pondering on it; but smoothly added, in aconfirmatory tone, 'At an outfitter's in the City. Ye-es?'

  'And Charley--' Mary Anne was proceeding, when Miss Peecher stared.

  'I mean Hexam, Miss Peecher.'

  'I should think you did, Mary Anne. I am glad to hear you do. AndHexam--'

  'Says,' Mary Anne went on, 'that he is not pleased with his sister, andthat his sister won't be guided by his advice, and persists in beingguided by somebody else's; and that--'

  'Mr Headstone coming across the garden!' exclaimed Miss Peecher, with aflushed glance at the looking-glass. 'You have answered very well, MaryAnne. You are forming an excellent habit of arranging your thoughtsclearly. That will do.'

  The discreet Mary Anne resumed her seat and her silence, and stitched,and stitched, and was stitching when the schoolmaster's shadow came inbefore him, announcing that he might be instantly expected.

  'Good evening, Miss Peecher,' he said, pursuing the shadow, and takingits place.

  'Good evening, Mr Headstone. Mary Anne, a chair.'

  'Thank you,' said Bradley, seating himself in his constrained manner.'This is but a flying visit. I have looked in, on my way, to ask akindness of you as a neighbour.'

  'Did you say on your way, Mr Headstone?' asked Miss Peecher.

  'On my way to--where I am going.'

  'Church Street, Smith Square, by Mill Bank,' repeated Miss Peecher, inher own thoughts.

  'Charley Hexam has gone to get a book or two he wants, and will probablybe back before me. As we leave my house empty, I took the liberty oftelling him I would leave the key here. Would you kindly allow me to doso?'

  'Certainly, Mr Headstone. Going for an evening walk, sir?'

  'Partly for a walk, and partly for--on business.'

  'Business in Church Street, Smith Square, by Mill Bank,' repeated MissPeecher to herself.

  'Having said which,' pursued Bradley, laying his door-key on the table,'I must be already going. There is nothing I can do for you, MissPeecher?'

  'Thank you, Mr Headstone. In which direction?'

  'In the direction of Westminster.'

  'Mill Bank,' Miss Peecher repeated in her own thoughts once again. 'No,thank you, Mr Headstone; I'll not trouble you.'

  'You couldn't trouble me,' said the schoolmaster.

  'Ah!' returned Miss Peecher, though not aloud; 'but you can troubleME!' And for all her quiet manner, and her quiet smile, she was full oftrouble as he went his way.

  She was right touching his destination. He held as straight a coursefor the house of the dolls' dressmaker as the wisdom of his ancestors,exemplified in the construction of the intervening streets, would lethim, and walked with a bent head hammering at one fixed idea. It hadbeen an immoveable idea since he first set eyes upon her. It seemed tohim as if all that he could suppress in himself he had suppressed, asif all that he could restrain in himself he had restrained, and the timehad come--in a rush, in a moment--when the power of self-command haddeparted from him. Love at first sight is a trite expression quitesufficiently discussed; enough that in certain smouldering natures likethis man's, that passion leaps into a blaze, and makes such head as firedoes in a rage of wind, when other passions, but for its mastery, couldbe held in chains. As a multitude of weak, imitative natures arealways lying by, ready to go mad upon the next wrong idea that may bebroached--in these times, general
ly some form of tribute to Somebodyfor something that never was done, or, if ever done, that was done bySomebody Else--so these less ordinary natures may lie by for years,ready on the touch of an instant to burst into flame.

  The schoolmaster went his way, brooding and brooding, and a sense ofbeing vanquished in a struggle might have been pieced out of his worriedface. Truly, in his breast there lingered a resentful shame to findhimself defeated by this passion for Charley Hexam's sister, though inthe very self-same moments he was concentrating himself upon the objectof bringing the passion to a successful issue.

  He appeared before the dolls' dressmaker, sitting alone at her work.'Oho!' thought that sharp young personage, 'it's you, is it? I know yourtricks and your manners, my friend!'

  'Hexam's sister,' said Bradley Headstone, 'is not come home yet?'

  'You are quite a conjuror,' returned Miss Wren.

  'I will wait, if you please, for I want to speak to her.'

  'Do you?' returned Miss Wren. 'Sit down. I hope it's mutual.' Bradleyglanced distrustfully at the shrewd face again bending over the work,and said, trying to conquer doubt and hesitation:

  'I hope you don't imply that my visit will be unacceptable to Hexam'ssister?'

  'There! Don't call her that. I can't bear you to call her that,'returned Miss Wren, snapping her fingers in a volley of impatient snaps,'for I don't like Hexam.'

  'Indeed?'

  'No.' Miss Wren wrinkled her nose, to express dislike. 'Selfish. Thinksonly of himself. The way with all of you.'

  'The way with all of us? Then you don't like ME?'

  'So-so,' replied Miss Wren, with a shrug and a laugh. 'Don't know muchabout you.'

  'But I was not aware it was the way with all of us,' said Bradley,returning to the accusation, a little injured. 'Won't you say, some ofus?'

  'Meaning,' returned the little creature, 'every one of you, but you.Hah! Now look this lady in the face. This is Mrs Truth. The Honourable.Full-dressed.'

  Bradley glanced at the doll she held up for his observation--which hadbeen lying on its face on her bench, while with a needle and thread shefastened the dress on at the back--and looked from it to her.

  'I stand the Honourable Mrs T. on my bench in this corner against thewall, where her blue eyes can shine upon you,' pursued Miss Wren, doingso, and making two little dabs at him in the air with her needle, asif she pricked him with it in his own eyes; 'and I defy you to tell me,with Mrs T. for a witness, what you have come here for.'

  'To see Hexam's sister.'

  'You don't say so!' retorted Miss Wren, hitching her chin. 'But on whoseaccount?'

  'Her own.'

  'O Mrs T.!' exclaimed Miss Wren. 'You hear him!'

  'To reason with her,' pursued Bradley, half humouring what was present,and half angry with what was not present; 'for her own sake.'

  'Oh Mrs T.!' exclaimed the dressmaker.

  'For her own sake,' repeated Bradley, warming, 'and for her brother's,and as a perfectly disinterested person.'

  'Really, Mrs T.,' remarked the dressmaker, 'since it comes to this, wemust positively turn you with your face to the wall.' She had hardlydone so, when Lizzie Hexam arrived, and showed some surprise on seeingBradley Headstone there, and Jenny shaking her little fist at him closebefore her eyes, and the Honourable Mrs T. with her face to the wall.

  'Here's a perfectly disinterested person, Lizzie dear,' said the knowingMiss Wren, 'come to talk with you, for your own sake and your brother's.Think of that. I am sure there ought to be no third party present atanything so very kind and so very serious; and so, if you'll remove thethird party upstairs, my dear, the third party will retire.'

  Lizzie took the hand which the dolls' dressmaker held out to her forthe purpose of being supported away, but only looked at her with aninquiring smile, and made no other movement.

  'The third party hobbles awfully, you know, when she's left to herself;'said Miss Wren, 'her back being so bad, and her legs so queer; so shecan't retire gracefully unless you help her, Lizzie.'

  'She can do no better than stay where she is,' returned Lizzie,releasing the hand, and laying her own lightly on Miss Jenny's curls.And then to Bradley: 'From Charley, sir?'

  In an irresolute way, and stealing a clumsy look at her, Bradley rose toplace a chair for her, and then returned to his own.

  'Strictly speaking,' said he, 'I come from Charley, because I left himonly a little while ago; but I am not commissioned by Charley. I come ofmy own spontaneous act.'

  With her elbows on her bench, and her chin upon her hands, Miss JennyWren sat looking at him with a watchful sidelong look. Lizzie, in herdifferent way, sat looking at him too.

  'The fact is,' began Bradley, with a mouth so dry that he had somedifficulty in articulating his words: the consciousness of whichrendered his manner still more ungainly and undecided; 'the truth is,that Charley, having no secrets from me (to the best of my belief), hasconfided the whole of this matter to me.'

  He came to a stop, and Lizzie asked: 'what matter, sir?'

  'I thought,' returned the schoolmaster, stealing another look at her,and seeming to try in vain to sustain it; for the look dropped as itlighted on her eyes, 'that it might be so superfluous as to be almostimpertinent, to enter upon a definition of it. My allusion was to thismatter of your having put aside your brother's plans for you, andgiven the preference to those of Mr--I believe the name is Mr EugeneWrayburn.'

  He made this point of not being certain of the name, with another uneasylook at her, which dropped like the last.

  Nothing being said on the other side, he had to begin again, and beganwith new embarrassment.

  'Your brother's plans were communicated to me when he first had them inhis thoughts. In point of fact he spoke to me about them when I waslast here--when we were walking back together, and when I--when theimpression was fresh upon me of having seen his sister.'

  There might have been no meaning in it, but the little dressmaker hereremoved one of her supporting hands from her chin, and musingly turnedthe Honourable Mrs T. with her face to the company. That done, she fellinto her former attitude.

  'I approved of his idea,' said Bradley, with his uneasy look wanderingto the doll, and unconsciously resting there longer than it hadrested on Lizzie, 'both because your brother ought naturally to be theoriginator of any such scheme, and because I hoped to be able to promoteit. I should have had inexpressible pleasure, I should have takeninexpressible interest, in promoting it. Therefore I must acknowledgethat when your brother was disappointed, I too was disappointed. I wishto avoid reservation or concealment, and I fully acknowledge that.'

  He appeared to have encouraged himself by having got so far. At allevents he went on with much greater firmness and force of emphasis:though with a curious disposition to set his teeth, and with a curioustight-screwing movement of his right hand in the clenching palm of hisleft, like the action of one who was being physically hurt, and wasunwilling to cry out.

  'I am a man of strong feelings, and I have strongly felt thisdisappointment. I do strongly feel it. I don't show what I feel; someof us are obliged habitually to keep it down. To keep it down. But toreturn to your brother. He has taken the matter so much to heart thathe has remonstrated (in my presence he remonstrated) with Mr EugeneWrayburn, if that be the name. He did so, quite ineffectually. As anyone not blinded to the real character of Mr--Mr Eugene Wrayburn--wouldreadily suppose.'

  He looked at Lizzie again, and held the look. And his face turned fromburning red to white, and from white back to burning red, and so for thetime to lasting deadly white.

  'Finally, I resolved to come here alone, and appeal to you. I resolvedto come here alone, and entreat you to retract the course you havechosen, and instead of confiding in a mere stranger--a person of mostinsolent behaviour to your brother and others--to prefer your brotherand your brother's friend.'

  Lizzie Hexam had changed colour when those changes came over him, andher face now expressed some anger, more dislike, and even a touch offear.
But she answered him very steadily.

  'I cannot doubt, Mr Headstone, that your visit is well meant. You havebeen so good a friend to Charley that I have no right to doubt it. Ihave nothing to tell Charley, but that I accepted the help to which heso much objects before he made any plans for me; or certainly before Iknew of any. It was considerately and delicately offered, and there werereasons that had weight with me which should be as dear to Charley as tome. I have no more to say to Charley on this subject.'

  His lips trembled and stood apart, as he followed this repudiation ofhimself; and limitation of her words to her brother.

  'I should have told Charley, if he had come to me,' she resumed, asthough it were an after-thought, 'that Jenny and I find our teacher veryable and very patient, and that she takes great pains with us. So muchso, that we have said to her we hope in a very little while to be ableto go on by ourselves. Charley knows about teachers, and I should alsohave told him, for his satisfaction, that ours comes from an institutionwhere teachers are regularly brought up.'

  'I should like to ask you,' said Bradley Headstone, grinding his wordsslowly out, as though they came from a rusty mill; 'I should like toask you, if I may without offence, whether you would have objected--no;rather, I should like to say, if I may without offence, that I wish Ihad had the opportunity of coming here with your brother and devoting mypoor abilities and experience to your service.'

  'Thank you, Mr Headstone.'

  'But I fear,' he pursued, after a pause, furtively wrenching at the seatof his chair with one hand, as if he would have wrenched the chair topieces, and gloomily observing her while her eyes were cast down, 'thatmy humble services would not have found much favour with you?'

  She made no reply, and the poor stricken wretch sat contending withhimself in a heat of passion and torment. After a while he took out hishandkerchief and wiped his forehead and hands.

  'There is only one thing more I had to say, but it is the mostimportant. There is a reason against this matter, there is a personalrelation concerned in this matter, not yet explained to you. It might--Idon't say it would--it might--induce you to think differently. Toproceed under the present circumstances is out of the question. Will youplease come to the understanding that there shall be another interviewon the subject?'

  'With Charley, Mr Headstone?'

  'With--well,' he answered, breaking off, 'yes! Say with him too.Will you please come to the understanding that there must be anotherinterview under more favourable circumstances, before the whole case canbe submitted?'

  'I don't,' said Lizzie, shaking her head, 'understand your meaning, MrHeadstone.'

  'Limit my meaning for the present,' he interrupted, 'to the whole casebeing submitted to you in another interview.'

  'What case, Mr Headstone? What is wanting to it?'

  'You--you shall be informed in the other interview.' Then he said, asif in a burst of irrepressible despair, 'I--I leave it all incomplete!There is a spell upon me, I think!' And then added, almost as if heasked for pity, 'Good-night!'

  He held out his hand. As she, with manifest hesitation, not to sayreluctance, touched it, a strange tremble passed over him, and his face,so deadly white, was moved as by a stroke of pain. Then he was gone.

  The dolls' dressmaker sat with her attitude unchanged, eyeing the doorby which he had departed, until Lizzie pushed her bench aside and satdown near her. Then, eyeing Lizzie as she had previously eyed Bradleyand the door, Miss Wren chopped that very sudden and keen chop in whichher jaws sometimes indulged, leaned back in her chair with folded arms,and thus expressed herself:

  'Humph! If he--I mean, of course, my dear, the party who is coming tocourt me when the time comes--should be THAT sort of man, he may sparehimself the trouble. HE wouldn't do to be trotted about and made useful.He'd take fire and blow up while he was about it.'

  'And so you would be rid of him,' said Lizzie, humouring her.

  'Not so easily,' returned Miss Wren. 'He wouldn't blow up alone. He'dcarry me up with him. I know his tricks and his manners.'

  'Would he want to hurt you, do you mean?' asked Lizzie.

  'Mightn't exactly want to do it, my dear,' returned Miss Wren; 'but alot of gunpowder among lighted lucifer-matches in the next room mightalmost as well be here.'

  'He is a very strange man,' said Lizzie, thoughtfully.

  'I wish he was so very strange a man as to be a total stranger,'answered the sharp little thing.

  It being Lizzie's regular occupation when they were alone of an eveningto brush out and smooth the long fair hair of the dolls' dressmaker, sheunfastened a ribbon that kept it back while the little creature was ather work, and it fell in a beautiful shower over the poor shoulders thatwere much in need of such adorning rain. 'Not now, Lizzie, dear,' saidJenny; 'let us have a talk by the fire.' With those words, she in herturn loosened her friend's dark hair, and it dropped of its own weightover her bosom, in two rich masses. Pretending to compare the coloursand admire the contrast, Jenny so managed a mere touch or two of hernimble hands, as that she herself laying a cheek on one of the darkfolds, seemed blinded by her own clustering curls to all but the fire,while the fine handsome face and brow of Lizzie were revealed withoutobstruction in the sombre light.

  'Let us have a talk,' said Jenny, 'about Mr Eugene Wrayburn.'

  Something sparkled down among the fair hair resting on the dark hair;and if it were not a star--which it couldn't be--it was an eye; andif it were an eye, it was Jenny Wren's eye, bright and watchful as thebird's whose name she had taken.

  'Why about Mr Wrayburn?' Lizzie asked.

  'For no better reason than because I'm in the humour. I wonder whetherhe's rich!'

  'No, not rich.'

  'Poor?'

  'I think so, for a gentleman.'

  'Ah! To be sure! Yes, he's a gentleman. Not of our sort; is he?' A shakeof the head, a thoughtful shake of the head, and the answer, softlyspoken, 'Oh no, oh no!'

  The dolls' dressmaker had an arm round her friend's waist. Adjusting thearm, she slyly took the opportunity of blowing at her own hair whereit fell over her face; then the eye down there, under lighter shadowssparkled more brightly and appeared more watchful.

  'When He turns up, he shan't be a gentleman; I'll very soon send himpacking, if he is. However, he's not Mr Wrayburn; I haven't captivatedHIM. I wonder whether anybody has, Lizzie!'

  'It is very likely.'

  'Is it very likely? I wonder who!'

  'Is it not very likely that some lady has been taken by him, and that hemay love her dearly?'

  'Perhaps. I don't know. What would you think of him, Lizzie, if you werea lady?'

  'I a lady!' she repeated, laughing. 'Such a fancy!'

  'Yes. But say: just as a fancy, and for instance.'

  'I a lady! I, a poor girl who used to row poor father on the river. I,who had rowed poor father out and home on the very night when I saw himfor the first time. I, who was made so timid by his looking at me, thatI got up and went out!'

  ('He did look at you, even that night, though you were not a lady!'thought Miss Wren.)

  'I a lady!' Lizzie went on in a low voice, with her eyes upon the fire.'I, with poor father's grave not even cleared of undeserved stain andshame, and he trying to clear it for me! I a lady!'

  'Only as a fancy, and for instance,' urged Miss Wren.

  'Too much, Jenny, dear, too much! My fancy is not able to get that far.'As the low fire gleamed upon her, it showed her smiling, mournfully andabstractedly.

  'But I am in the humour, and I must be humoured, Lizzie, because afterall I am a poor little thing, and have had a hard day with my bad child.Look in the fire, as I like to hear you tell how you used to do when youlived in that dreary old house that had once been a windmill. Look inthe--what was its name when you told fortunes with your brother that IDON'T like?'

  'The hollow down by the flare?'

  'Ah! That's the name! You can find a lady there, I know.'

  'More easily than I can make one of such material
as myself, Jenny.'

  The sparkling eye looked steadfastly up, as the musing face lookedthoughtfully down. 'Well?' said the dolls' dressmaker, 'We have foundour lady?'

  Lizzie nodded, and asked, 'Shall she be rich?'

  'She had better be, as he's poor.'

  'She is very rich. Shall she be handsome?'

  'Even you can be that, Lizzie, so she ought to be.'

  'She is very handsome.'

  'What does she say about him?' asked Miss Jenny, in a low voice:watchful, through an intervening silence, of the face looking down atthe fire.

  'She is glad, glad, to be rich, that he may have the money. She is glad,glad, to be beautiful, that he may be proud of her. Her poor heart--'

  'Eh? Her poor hear?' said Miss Wren.

  'Her heart--is given him, with all its love and truth. She wouldjoyfully die with him, or, better than that, die for him. She knows hehas failings, but she thinks they have grown up through his being likeone cast away, for the want of something to trust in, and care for, andthink well of. And she says, that lady rich and beautiful that I cannever come near, "Only put me in that empty place, only try how littleI mind myself, only prove what a world of things I will do and bear foryou, and I hope that you might even come to be much better than you are,through me who am so much worse, and hardly worth the thinking of besideyou."'

  As the face looking at the fire had become exalted and forgetful in therapture of these words, the little creature, openly clearing awayher fair hair with her disengaged hand, had gazed at it with earnestattention and something like alarm. Now that the speaker ceased, thelittle creature laid down her head again, and moaned, 'O me, O me, Ome!'

  'In pain, dear Jenny?' asked Lizzie, as if awakened.

  'Yes, but not the old pain. Lay me down, lay me down. Don't go out ofmy sight to-night. Lock the door and keep close to me.' Then turning awayher face, she said in a whisper to herself, 'My Lizzie, my poor Lizzie!O my blessed children, come back in the long bright slanting rows, andcome for her, not me. She wants help more than I, my blessed children!'

  She had stretched her hands up with that higher and better look, andnow she turned again, and folded them round Lizzie's neck, and rockedherself on Lizzie's breast.