Charles Dickens - Life And Adventures Of Martin Chuzzlewit

Tom understood him to say, what the devil did he want; but it was not easy to make out what he said; he spoke so indistinctly.

“I want nothing with you for myself,” said Tom; “I was asked, a moment since, to give you this letter. You were pointed out to me, but I didn't know you in your strange dress. Take it!”

He did so, opened it, and read the writing on the inside. The contents were evidently very brief; not more perhaps than one line; but they struck upon him like a stone from a sling. He reeled back as he read.

His emotion was so different from any Tom had ever seen before that he stopped involuntarily. Momentary as his state of indecision was, the bell ceased while he stood there, and a hoarse voice calling down the steps, inquired if there was any to go ashore?

“Yes,” cried Jonas, “I—I am coming. Give me time. Where's that woman! Come back; come back here.”

He threw open another door as he spoke, and dragged, rather than led, her forth. She was pale and frightened, and amazed to see her old acquaintance; but had no time to speak, for they were making a great stir above; and Jonas drew her rapidly towards the deck.

“Where are we going? What is the matter?”

“We are going back,” said Jonas. “I have changed my mind. I can't go. Don't question me, or I shall be the death of you, or some one else. Stop there! Stop! We're for the shore. Do you hear? We're for the shore!”

He turned, even in the madness of his hurry, and scowling darkly back at Tom, shook his clenched hand at him. There are not many human faces capable of the expression with which he accompanied that gesture.

He dragged her up, and Tom followed them. Across the deck, over the side, along the crazy plank, and up the steps, he dragged her fiercely; not bestowing any look on her, but gazing upwards all the while among the faces on the wharf. Suddenly he turned again, and said to Tom with a tremendous oath:

“Where is he?”

Before Tom, in his indignation and amazement, could return an answer to a question he so little understood, a gentleman approached Tom behind, and saluted Jonas Chuzzlewit by name. He has a gentleman of foreign appearance, with a black moustache and whiskers; and addressed him with a polite composure, strangely different from his own distracted and desperate manner.

“Chuzzlewit, my good fellow!” said the gentleman, raising his hat in compliment to Mrs Chuzzlewit, “I ask your pardon twenty thousand times. I am most unwilling to interfere between you and a domestic trip of this nature (always so very charming and refreshing, I know, although I have not the happiness to be a domestic man myself, which is the great infelicity of my existence); but the beehive, my dear friend, the beehive—will you introduce me?”

“This is Mr Montague,” said Jonas, whom the words appeared to choke.

“The most unhappy and most penitent of men, Mrs Chuzzlewit,” pursued that gentleman, “for having been the means of spoiling this excursion; but as I tell my friend, the beehive, the beehive. You projected a short little continental trip, my dear friend, of course?”

Jonas maintained a dogged silence.

“May I die,” cried Montague, “but I am shocked! Upon my soul I am shocked. But that confounded beehive of ours in the city must be paramount to every other consideration, when there is honey to be made; and that is my best excuse. Here is a very singular old female dropping curtseys on my right,” said Montague, breaking off in his discourse, and looking at Mrs Gamp, “who is not a friend of mine. Does anybody know her?”

“Ah! Well they knows me, bless their precious hearts!” said Mrs Gamp, “not forgettin” your own merry one, sir, and long may it be so! Wishin” as every one” (she delivered this in the form of a toast or sentiment) “was as merry, and as handsome-lookin”, as a little bird has whispered me a certain gent is, which I will not name for fear I give offence where none is doo! My precious lady,” here she stopped short in her merriment, for she had until now affected to be vastly entertained, “you're too pale by half!”

“YOU are here too, are you?” muttered Jonas. “Ecod, there are enough of you.”

“I hope, sir,” returned Mrs Gamp, dropping an indignant curtsey, “as no bones is broke by me and Mrs Harris a-walkin” down upon a public wharf. Which was the very words she says to me (although they was the last I ever had to speak) was these: “Sairey,” she says, “is it a public wharf?” Mrs Harris,” I makes answer, “can you doubt it? You have know'd me now, ma'am, eight and thirty year; and did you ever know me go, or wish to go, where I was not made welcome, say the words.” “No, Sairey,” Mrs Harris says, “contrairy quite.” And well she knows it too. I am but a poor woman, but I've been sought after, sir, though you may not think it. I've been knocked up at all hours of the night, and warned out by a many landlords, in consequence of being mistook for Fire. I goes out workin” for my bread, “tis true, but I maintains my independency, with your kind leave, and which I will till death. I has my feelins as a woman, sir, and I have been a mother likeways; but touch a pipkin as belongs to me, or make the least remarks on what I eats or drinks, and though you was the favouritest young for'ard hussy of a servantgal as ever come into a house, either you leaves the place, or me. My earnins is not great, sir, but I will not be impoged upon. Bless the babe, and save the mother, is my mortar, sir; but I makes so free as add to that, Don't try no impogician with the Nuss, for she will not abear it!”

Mrs Gamp concluded by drawing her shawl tightly over herself with both hands, and, as usual, referring to Mrs Harris for full corroboration of these particulars. She had that peculiar trembling of the head which, in ladies of her excitable nature, may be taken as a sure indication of their breaking out again very shortly; when Jonas made a timely interposition.

“As you ARE here,” he said, “you had better see to her, and take her home. I am otherwise engaged.”He said nothing more; but looked at Montague as if to give him notice that he was ready to attend him.

“I am sorry to take you away,” said Montague.

Jonas gave him a sinister look, which long lived in Tom's memory, and which he often recalled afterwards.

“I am, upon my life,” said Montague. “Why did you make it necessary?”

With the same dark glance as before, Jonas replied, after a moment's silence:

“The necessity is none of my making. You have brought it about yourself.”

He said nothing more. He said even this as if he were bound, and in the other's power, but had a sullen and suppressed devil within him, which he could not quite resist. His very gait, as they walked away together, was like that of a fettered man; but, striving to work out at his clenched hands, knitted brows, and fast-set lips, was the same imprisoned devil still.

They got into a handsome cabriolet which was waiting for them and drove away.

The whole of this extraordinary scene had passed so rapidly and the tumult which prevailed around as so unconscious of any impression from it, that, although Tom had been one of the chief actors, it was like a dream. No one had noticed him after they had left the packet. He had stood behind Jonas, and so near him, that he could not help hearing all that passed. He had stood there, with his sister on his arm, expecting and hoping to have an opportunity of explaining his strange share in this yet stranger business. But Jonas had not raised his eyes from the ground; no one else had even looked towards him; and before he could resolve on any course of action, they were all gone.

He gazed round for his landlord. But he had done that more than once already, and no such man was to be seen. He was still pursuing this search with his eyes, when he saw a hand beckoning to him from a hackney-coach; and hurrying towards it, found it was Merry's. She addressed him hurriedly, but bent out of the window, that she might not be overheard by her companion, Mrs Gamp.