2. The Old Curiosity Shop.
CHAPTER THE SIXTH.
LITTLE NELL stood timidly by, with her eyes raised to the countenance
of Mr. Quilp as he read the letter, plainly showing by her looks that
while she entertained some fear and distrust of the little man, she
was much inclined to laugh at his uncouth appearance and grotesque
attitude. And yet there was visible on the part of the child a painful
anxiety for his reply, and consciousness of his power to render it
disagreeable or distressing, which was strongly at variance with this
impulse and restrained it more effectually than she could possibly
have done by any efforts of her own.
That Mr. Quilp was himself perplexed, and that in no small degree,
by the contents of the letter, was sufficiently obvious. Before he had
got through the first two or three lines he began to open his eyes
very wide and to frown most horribly, the next two or three caused
him to scratch his head in an uncommonly vicious manner, and when
he came to the conclusion he gave a long dismal whistle indicative of
surprise and dismay. After folding and laying it down beside him, he
bit the nails of all of his ten fingers with extreme voracity; and
taking it up sharply, read it again. The second perusal was to all
appearance as unsatisfactory as the first, and plunged him into a
profound reverie from which he awakened to another assault upon
his nails and a long stare at the child, who with her eyes turned
towards the ground awaited his further pleasure.
“Halloa here!” he said at length, in a voice, and with a suddenness,
which made the child start as though a gun had been fired off at her
ear. “Nelly!”
“Yes, sir.”
“Do you know what's inside this letter, Nell?”
“No, sir!”
“Are you sure, quite sure, quite certain, upon your
soul?”
“Quite sure, sir.”
“Do you wish you may die if you do know, hey?” said the dwarf.
“Indeed I don't know,” returned the child.
“Well!” muttered Quilp as he marked her earnest look.
“I believe you. Humph! Gone already? Gone in four-and-twenty
hours! What the devil has he done with it, that's the mystery!”
This reflection set him scratching his head and biting his nails once
more. While
he was thus employed his features gradually relaxed
into what was with him a cheerful smile, but which in any other man
would have been a ghastly grin of pain, and when the child looked
up again she found that he was regarding her with extraordinary
favour and complacency.
“You look very pretty to-day, Nelly, charmingly pretty. Are you
tired, Nelly?”
“No, sir. I'm in a hurry to get back, for he will be anxious while I
am away.”
“There's no hurry, little Nell, no hurry at all,” said
Quilp. “How should you like to be my number two, Nelly?”
“To be what, sir?”
“My number two, Nelly, my second, my Mrs. Quilp,” said
the dwarf.
The child looked frightened, but seemed not to understand him,
which Mr. Quilp observing, hastened to make his meaning more
distinctly.
“To be Mrs. Quilp the second, when Mrs. Quilp the first is dead,
sweet Nell,” said Quilp, wrinkling up his eyes and luring her towards
him with his bent forefinger, “to be my wife, my little cherry-cheeked,
red-lipped wife. Say that Mrs. Quilp lives five year, or only
four, you'll be just the proper age for me. Ha ha! Be a good girl,
Nelly, a very good girl, and see if one of these days you don't come
to be Mrs. Quilp of Tower Hill.”
So far from being sustained and stimulated by this delightful
prospect, the child shrank from him in great agitation, and trembled
violently. Mr. Quilp, either because frightening anybody afforded
him a constitutional delight, or because it was pleasant to
contemplate the death of Mrs. Quilp number one, and the elevation of
Mrs. Quilp number two to her post and title, or because he was
determined from purposes of his own to be agreeable and good-humoured at
that particular time, only laughed and feigned to take no
heed of her alarm.
“You shall home with me to Tower Hill and see Mrs. Quilp that
is, directly,” said the dwarf. “She's very fond of you,
Nell, though not so fond as I am. You shall come home with me.”
“I must go back indeed,” said the child. “He told
me to return directly I had the answer.”
“But you haven't it, Nelly,” retorted the dwarf,
“and won't have it, and can't have it, until I have been home, so
you see that to do your errand, you must go with me. Reach me yonder
hat, my dear, and we'll go directly.” With that, Mr. Quilp
suffered himself to roll gradually off the desk until his short legs
touched the ground, when he got upon them and led the way from the
counting-house to the wharf outside, when the first objects that
presented themselves were the boy who had stood on his head and another
young gentleman of about his own stature, rolling in the mud together,
locked in a tight embrace, and cuffing each other with mutual heartiness.
“It's Kit!” cried Nelly, clasping her hand, “poor
Kit who came with me! Oh, pray stop them, Mr. Quilp!”
“I'll stop 'em,” cried Quilp, diving into the little
counting-house and returning with a thick stick, “I'll stop 'em.
Now, my boys, fight away. I'll fight you both. I'll take both of you,
both together, both together!”
With which defiances the dwarf flourished his cudgel, and dancing
round the combatants and treading upon them and skipping over
them, in a kind of frenzy, laid about him, now on one and now on
the other, in a most desperate manner, always aiming at their heads
and dealing such blows as none but the veriest little savage would
have inflicted. This being warmer work than they had calculated
upon, speedily cooled the courage of the belligerents, who scrambled
to their feet and called for quarter.
“I'll beat you to a pulp, you dogs,” said Quilp, vainly
endeavoring to get near either of them for a parting blow. “I'll
bruise you until you're copper-coloured, I'll break your faces till you
haven't a profile between you, I will.”
“Come, you drop that stick or it'll be worse for you,”
said his boy, dodging round him and watching an opportunity to rush in;
“you drop that stick.”
“Come a little nearer, and I'll drop it on your skull, you
dog,” said Quilp, with gleaming eyes; “a little
nearer—nearer yet.”
But the boy declined the invitation until his master was apparently a
little off his guard, when he darted in and seizing the weapon tried to
wrest it from his grasp. Quilp, who was as strong as a lion, easily
kept his hold until the boy was tugging at it with his utmost power,
when he suddenly let it go and sent him reeling backwards, so that
he fell violently upon his head. the success of this manoeuvre tickled
Mr. Quilp beyond description, and he laughed and stamped upon the
ground as at a most irresistible jest.
“Never mind,” said the boy, nodding his head and rubbing
it at the same time; “you see if ever I offer to strike anybody
again because they say you're an uglier dwarf than can be seen anywheres
for a penny, that's all.”
“Do you mean to say, I'm not, you dog?” returned Quilp.
“No!” retorted the boy.
“Then what do you fight on my wharf for, you villain?” said
Quilp.
“Because he said so,” replied to boy, pointing to Kit,
“not because you an't.”
“Then why did he say,” bawled Kit, “that Miss Nelly
was ugly, and that she and my master was obliged to do whatever his
master liked? Why did he say that?”
“He said what he did because he's a fool, and you said what you
did because you're very wise and clever—almost too clever to live,
unless you're very careful of yourself, Kit.” said Quilp, with
great suavity in his manner, but still more of quiet malice about his
eyes and mouth. “Here's sixpence for you, Kit. Always speak the
truth. At all times, Kit, speak the truth. Lock the counting-house, you
dog, and bring me the key.”
The other boy, to whom this order was addresed, did as he was told,
and was rewarded for his partizanship in behalf of his master, by a
dexterous rap on the nose with the key, which brought the water into
his eyes. Then Mr. Quilp departed with the child and Kit in a boat,
and the boy revenged himself by dancing on his head at intervals on
the extreme verge of the wharf, during the whole time they crossed
the river.
There was only Mrs. Quilp at home, and she, little expecting the
return of her lord, was just composing herself for a refreshing
slumber when the sound of his footsteps roused her. She had barely
time to seem to be occupied in some needle-work, when he entered,
accompanied by the child; having left Kit downstairs.
“Here's Nelly Trent, dear Mrs. Quilp,” said her husband.
“A glass of wine, my dear, and a biscuit, for she has had a long
walk. She'll sit with you, my soul, while I write a letter.”
Mrs. Quilp looked tremblingly in her spouse's face to know what this
unusual courtesy might portend, and obedient to the summons she
saw in his gesture, followed him into the next room.
“Mind what I say to you,” whispered Quilp. “See if
you can get out of her anything about her grandfather, or what they do,
or how they live, or what he tells her. I've my reasons for knowing, if
I can. You women talk more freely to one another than you do to us, and
you have a soft, mild way with you that'll win upon her. Do you
hear?”
“Yes, Quilp.”
“Go then. What's the matter now?”
“Dear Quilp,” faltered his wife. “I love the
child—if you could do without making me deceive her—”
The dwarf muttering a terrible oath looked round as if for some
weapon with which to inflict condign punishment upon his
disobedient wife. the submissive little woman hurriedly entreated
him not to be angry, and promised to do as he bade her.
“Do you hear me,” whispered Quilp, nipping and pinching
her arm; “worm yourself into her secrets; I know you can. I'm
listening, recollect. If you're not sharp enough, I'll creak the door,
and woe betide you if I have to creak it much. Go!”
Mrs. Quilp departed according to order, and her amiable husband,
ensconcing himself behind the partly opened door, and applying his
ear close to it, began to listen with a face of great craftiness and
attention.
Poor Mrs. Quilp was thinking, however, in what manner to begin or
what kind of inquiries she could make; and it was not until the door,
creaking in a very urgent manner, warned her to proceed without
further consideration, that the sound of her voice was heard.
“How very often you have come backwards and forwards lately to
Mr. Quilp, my dear.”
“I have said so to grandfather, a hundred times,”
returned Nell innocently.
“And what has he said to that?”
“Only sighed, and dropped his head, and seemed so sad and wretched
that if you could have seen him I am sure you must have cried; you
could not have helped it more than I, I know. How that door
creaks!”
“It often does.” returned Mrs. Quilp, with an uneasy
glance towards it. “But your grandfather—he used not to be so
wretched?”
“Oh, no!” said the child eagerly, “so different! We
were once so happy and he so cheerful and contented! You cannot think
what a sad change has fallen on us since.”
“I am very, very sorry, to hear you speak like this, my
dear!” said Mrs. Quilp. And she spoke the truth.
“Thank you,” returned the child, kissing her cheek,
“you are always kind to me, and it is a pleasure to talk to you. I
can speak to no one else about him, but poor Kit. I am very happy still,
I ought to feel happier perhaps than I do, but you cannot think how it
grieves me sometimes to see him alter so.”
“He'll alter again, Nelly,” said Mrs. Quilp, “and
be what he was before.”
“Oh, if God would only let that come about!” said the
child with streaming eyes; “but it is a long time now, since he
first began to—I thought I saw that door moving!”
“It's the wind,” said Mrs. Quilp, fainly. “Began to
—”
“To be so thoughtful and dejected, and to forget our old way ot
spending the time in the long evenings,” said the child. “I
used to read to him by the fireside, and he sat listening, and when I
stopped and we began to talk, he told me about my mother, and how she
once looked and spoke just like me when she was a little child. Then he
used to take me on his knee, and try to make me understand that she was
not lying in her grave, but had flown to a beautiful country beyond the
sky where nothing died or ever grew old—we were very happy once!”
“Nelly, Nelly!” said the poor woman, “I can't bear
to see one as young as you so sorrowful. Pray don't cry.”
“I do so very seldom,” said Nell, “but I have kept
this to myself a long time, and I am not quite well, I think, for the
tears come into my eyes and I cannot keep them back. I don't mind
telling you my grief, for I know you will not tell it to any one
again.”
Mrs. Quilp turned away her head and made no answer.
“Then,” said the child, “we often walked in the
fields and among the green trees, and when we came home at night, we
liked it better for being tired, and said what a happy place it was. And
if it was dark and rather dull, we used to say, what did it matter to
us, for it only made us remember our last walk with greater pleasure,
and look forward to our next one. But now we never have these walks, and
though it is the same house it is darker and much more gloomy than it
used to be, indeed!”
She paused here, but though the door creaked more than once, Mrs
Quilp said nothing.
“Mind you don't suppose,” said the child earnestly,
“that grandfather is less kind to me than he was. I think he loves
me better every day, and is kinder and more afectionate than he was the
day before. You do not know how fond he is of me!”
“I am sure he loves you dearly,” said Mrs. Quilp.
“Indeed, indeed he does!” cried Nell, “as dearly as
I love him. But I have not told you the greatest change of all, and this
you must never breathe again to any one. He has no sleep or rest, but
that which he takes by day in his easy chair; for every night and neary
all night long he is away from home.”
“Nelly!”
“Hush!” said the child, laying her finger on her lip and
looking round. “When he comes home in the morning, which is
generally just before day, I let him in. Last night he was very late,
and it was quite light. I saw that his face was deadly pale, that his
eyes were bloodshot, and that his legs trembled as he walked. When I had
gone to bed again, I heard him groan. I got up and ran back to him, and
heard him say, before he knew that I was there, that he could not bear
his life much longer, and if it was not for the child, would wish to
die. What shall I do! Oh! What shall I do!”
The fountains of her heart were opened; the child, overpowered by
the weight of her sorrows and anxieties, by the first confidence she
had ever shown, and the sympathy with which her little tale had been
received, hid her face in the arms of her helpless friend, and burst
into a passion of tears.
In a few minutes Mr. Quilp returned, and expressed the utmost
surprise to find her in this condtiion, which he did very naturally and
with admirable effect, for that kind of acting had been rendered
familiar to him by long practice, and he was quite at home in it.
“She's tired you see, Mrs. Quilp,” said the dwarf,
squinting in a hideous manner to imply that his wife was to follow his
lead. “It's a long way from her home to the wharf, and then she
was alrmed to see a couple of young scoundrels fighting, and was
timorous on the water besides. All this together has been too much for
her. Poor Nell!”
Mr. Quilp unintentionally adopted the very best means he could have
devised for the recovery of his young visitor, by patting her on the
head. Such an application from any other hand might not have
produced a remarkable effect, but the child shrank so quickly from
his touch and felt such an instinctive desire to get out of his reach,
that she rose directly and declared herself ready to return.
“But you'd better wait, and dine with Mrs. Quilp and me.”
said the dwarf.
“I have been away too long, sir, already,” returned Nell,
drying her eyes.
“Well,” said Mr. Quilp, “if you will go, you will,
Nelly. Here's the note. It's only to say that I shall see him to-morrow
or maybe next day, and that I couldn't do that little business for him
this morning. Good-bye, Nelly. Here, you sir; take care of her, d'ye
hear?”
Kit, who appeared at the summons, deigned to make no reply to so
needless an injunction, and after staring at Quilp in a threatening
manner, as if he doubted whether
he might not have been the cause of Nelly shedding tears, and felt more
than half disposed to revenge the fact upon him on the mere suspicion,
turned about and followed his young mistress, who had by this time taken
her leave of Mrs. Quilp and departed.
“You're a keen questioner, an't you, Mrs. Quilp?” said
the dwarf, turning upon her as soon as they were left alone.
“What more could I do?” returned his wife mildly?
“What more could you do!” sneered Quilp, “couldn't
you have done something less? Couldn't you have done what you had to do,
without appearing in your favourite part of the crocodile, you
minx?”
“I am very sorry for the child, Quilp,” said his wife.
“Surely I've done enough. I've led her on to tell her secret she
supposed we were alone; and you were by, God forgive me.”
“You led her on! You did a great deal truly!” said Quilp.
“What did I tell you about making me creak the door? It's lucky
for you that from what she let fall, I've got the clue I want, for if I
hadn't, I'd have visited the failure upon you, I can tell you.”
Mrs. Quilp being fully persuaded of this, made no reply. Her husband
added with some exultation,
“But you may thank your fortunate stars—the same stars that
made you Mrs. Quilp—you may thank them that I'm upon the old
gentleman's track, and have got a new light. So let me hear no more
about this matter now or at any other time, and don't get anything too
nice for dinner, for I shan't be home to it.”
So saying, Mr. Quilp put his hat on and took himself off, and Mrs
Quilp, who was afflicted beyond measure by the recollection of the
part she had just acted, shut herself up in her chamber, and
smothering her head in the bed-clothes bemoaned her fault more
bitterly than many less tender-hearted persons would have mourned a
much greater offence; for, in the majority of cases, conscience is an
elastic and very flexible article, which will bear a deal of stretching
and adapt itself to a great variety of circumstances. Some people by
prudent management and leaving it off piece by piece like a flannel
waistcoat in warm weather, even contrive, in time, to dispense with
it altogether; but there be others who can assume the garment and
throw it off at pleasure; and this, being the greatest and most
convenient improvement, is the one most in vogue.