CHAPTER 15 - I MAKE ANOTHER BEGINNING

Mr. Dick and I soon became the best of friends, and very often,

when his day's work was done, went out together to fly the great

kite. Every day of his life he had a long sitting at the Memorial,

which never made the least progress, however hard he laboured, for

King Charles the First always strayed into it, sooner or later, and

then it was thrown aside, and another one begun. The patience and

hope with which he bore these perpetual disappointments, the mild

perception he had that there was something wrong about King Charles

the First, the feeble efforts he made to keep him out, and the

certainty with which he came in, and tumbled the Memorial out of

all shape, made a deep impression on me. What Mr. Dick supposed

would come of the Memorial, if it were completed; where he thought

it was to go, or what he thought it was to do; he knew no more than

anybody else, I believe. Nor was it at all necessary that he

should trouble himself with such questions, for if anything were

certain under the sun, it was certain that the Memorial never would

be finished. It was quite an affecting sight, I used to think, to

see him with the kite when it was up a great height in the air.

What he had told me, in his room, about his belief in its

disseminating the statements pasted on it, which were nothing but

old leaves of abortive Memorials, might have been a fancy with him

sometimes; but not when he was out, looking up at the kite in the

sky, and feeling it pull and tug at his hand. He never looked so

serene as he did then. I used to fancy, as I sat by him of an

evening, on a green slope, and saw him watch the kite high in the

quiet air, that it lifted his mind out of its confusion, and bore

it (such was my boyish thought) into the skies. As he wound the

string in and it came lower and lower down out of the beautiful

light, until it fluttered to the ground, and lay there like a dead

thing, he seemed to wake gradually out of a dream; and I remember

to have seen him take it up, and look about him in a lost way, as

if they had both come down together, so that I pitied him with all

my heart.

While I advanced in friendship and intimacy with Mr. Dick, I did

not go backward in the favour of his staunch friend, my aunt. She

took so kindly to me, that, in the course of a few weeks, she

shortened my adopted name of Trotwood into Trot; and even

encouraged me to hope, that if I went on as I had begun, I might

take equal rank in her affections with my sister Betsey Trotwood.

'Trot,' said my aunt one evening, when the backgammon-board was

placed as usual for herself and Mr. Dick, 'we must not forget your

education.'

This was my only subject of anxiety, and I felt quite delighted by

her referring to it.

'Should you like to go to school at Canterbury?' said my aunt.

I replied that I should like it very much, as it was so near her.

'Good,' said my aunt. 'Should you like to go tomorrow?'

Being already no stranger to the general rapidity of my aunt's

evolutions, I was not surprised by the suddenness of the proposal,

and said: 'Yes.'

'Good,' said my aunt again. 'Janet, hire the grey pony and chaise

tomorrow morning at ten o'clock, and pack up Master Trotwood's

clothes tonight.'

I was greatly elated by these orders; but my heart smote me for my

selfishness, when I witnessed their effect on Mr. Dick, who was so

low-spirited at the prospect of our separation, and played so ill

in consequence, that my aunt, after giving him several admonitory

raps on the knuckles with her dice-box, shut up the board, and

declined to play with him any more. But, on hearing from my aunt

that I should sometimes come over on a Saturday, and that he could

sometimes come and see me on a Wednesday, he revived; and vowed to

make another kite for those occasions, of proportions greatly

surpassing the present one. In the morning he was downhearted

again, and would have sustained himself by giving me all the money

he had in his possession, gold and silver too, if my aunt had not

interposed, and limited the gift to five shillings, which, at his

earnest petition, were afterwards increased to ten. We parted at

the garden-gate in a most affectionate manner, and Mr. Dick did not

go into the house until my aunt had driven me out of sight of it.

My aunt, who was perfectly indifferent to public opinion, drove the

grey pony through Dover in a masterly manner; sitting high and

stiff like a state coachman, keeping a steady eye upon him wherever

he went, and making a point of not letting him have his own way in

any respect. When we came into the country road, she permitted him

to relax a little, however; and looking at me down in a valley of

cushion by her side, asked me whether I was happy?

'Very happy indeed, thank you, aunt,' I said.

She was much gratified; and both her hands being occupied, patted

me on the head with her whip.

'Is it a large school, aunt?' I asked.

'Why, I don't know,' said my aunt. 'We are going to Mr.

Wickfield's first.'

'Does he keep a school?' I asked.

'No, Trot,' said my aunt. 'He keeps an office.'

I asked for no more information about Mr. Wickfield, as she offered

none, and we conversed on other subjects until we came to

Canterbury, where, as it was market-day, my aunt had a great

opportunity of insinuating the grey pony among carts, baskets,

vegetables, and huckster's goods. The hair-breadth turns and

twists we made, drew down upon us a variety of speeches from the

people standing about, which were not always complimentary; but my

aunt drove on with perfect indifference, and I dare say would have

taken her own way with as much coolness through an enemy's country.

At length we stopped before a very old house bulging out over the

road; a house with long low lattice-windows bulging out still

farther, and beams with carved heads on the ends bulging out too,

so that I fancied the whole house was leaning forward, trying to

see who was passing on the narrow pavement below. It was quite

spotless in its cleanliness. The old-fashioned brass knocker on

the low arched door, ornamented with carved garlands of fruit and

flowers, twinkled like a star; the two stone steps descending to

the door were as white as if they had been covered with fair linen;

and all the angles and corners, and carvings and mouldings, and

quaint little panes of glass, and quainter little windows, though

as old as the hills, were as pure as any snow that ever fell upon

the hills.

When the pony-chaise stopped at the door, and my eyes were intent

upon the house, I saw a cadaverous face appear at a small window on

the ground floor (in a little round tower that formed one side of

the house), and quickly disappear. The low arched door then

opened, and the face came out. It was quite as cadaverous as it

had looked in the window, though in the grain of it there was that

tinge of red which is sometimes to be observed in the skins of

red-haired people. It belonged to a red-haired person - a youth of

fifteen, as I take it now, but looking much older - whose hair was

cropped as close as the closest stubble; who had hardly any

eyebrows, and no eyelashes, and eyes of a red-brown, so unsheltered

and unshaded, that I remember wondering how he went to sleep. He

was high-shouldered and bony; dressed in decent black, with a white

wisp of a neckcloth; buttoned up to the throat; and had a long,

lank, skeleton hand, which particularly attracted my attention, as

he stood at the pony's head, rubbing his chin with it, and looking

up at us in the chaise.

'Is Mr. Wickfield at home, Uriah Heep?' said my aunt.

'Mr. Wickfield's at home, ma'am,' said Uriah Heep, 'if you'll

please to walk in there' - pointing with his long hand to the room

he meant.

We got out; and leaving him to hold the pony, went into a long low

parlour looking towards the street, from the window of which I

caught a glimpse, as I went in, of Uriah Heep breathing into the

pony's nostrils, and immediately covering them with his hand, as if

he were putting some spell upon him. Opposite to the tall old

chimney-piece were two portraits: one of a gentleman with grey hair

(though not by any means an old man) and black eyebrows, who was

looking over some papers tied together with red tape; the other, of

a lady, with a very placid and sweet expression of face, who was

looking at me.

I believe I was turning about in search of Uriah's picture, when,

a door at the farther end of the room opening, a gentleman entered,

at sight of whom I turned to the first-mentioned portrait again, to

make quite sure that it had not come out of its frame. But it was

stationary; and as the gentleman advanced into the light, I saw

that he was some years older than when he had had his picture

painted.

'Miss Betsey Trotwood,' said the gentleman, 'pray walk in. I was

engaged for a moment, but you'll excuse my being busy. You know my

motive. I have but one in life.'

Miss Betsey thanked him, and we went into his room, which was

furnished as an office, with books, papers, tin boxes, and so

forth. It looked into a garden, and had an iron safe let into the

wall; so immediately over the mantelshelf, that I wondered, as I

sat down, how the sweeps got round it when they swept the chimney.

'Well, Miss Trotwood,' said Mr. Wickfield; for I soon found that it

was he, and that he was a lawyer, and steward of the estates of a

rich gentleman of the county; 'what wind blows you here? Not an

ill wind, I hope?'

'No,' replied my aunt. 'I have not come for any law.'

'That's right, ma'am,' said Mr. Wickfield. 'You had better come

for anything else.'

His hair was quite white now, though his eyebrows were still black.

He had a very agreeable face, and, I thought, was handsome. There

was a certain richness in his complexion, which I had been long

accustomed, under Peggotty's tuition, to connect with port wine;

and I fancied it was in his voice too, and referred his growing

corpulency to the same cause. He was very cleanly dressed, in a

blue coat, striped waistcoat, and nankeen trousers; and his fine

frilled shirt and cambric neckcloth looked unusually soft and

white, reminding my strolling fancy (I call to mind) of the plumage

on the breast of a swan.

'This is my nephew,' said my aunt.

'Wasn't aware you had one, Miss Trotwood,' said Mr. Wickfield.

'My grand-nephew, that is to say,' observed my aunt.

'Wasn't aware you had a grand-nephew, I give you my word,' said Mr.

Wickfield.

'I have adopted him,' said my aunt, with a wave of her hand,

importing that his knowledge and his ignorance were all one to her,

'and I have brought him here, to put to a school where he may be

thoroughly well taught, and well treated. Now tell me where that

school is, and what it is, and all about it.'

'Before I can advise you properly,' said Mr. Wickfield - 'the old

question, you know. What's your motive in this?'

'Deuce take the man!' exclaimed my aunt. 'Always fishing for

motives, when they're on the surface! Why, to make the child happy

and useful.'

'It must be a mixed motive, I think,' said Mr. Wickfield, shaking

his head and smiling incredulously.

'A mixed fiddlestick,' returned my aunt. 'You claim to have one

plain motive in all you do yourself. You don't suppose, I hope,

that you are the only plain dealer in the world?'

'Ay, but I have only one motive in life, Miss Trotwood,' he

rejoined, smiling. 'Other people have dozens, scores, hundreds.

I have only one. There's the difference. However, that's beside

the question. The best school? Whatever the motive, you want the

best?'

My aunt nodded assent.

'At the best we have,' said Mr. Wickfield, considering, 'your

nephew couldn't board just now.'

'But he could board somewhere else, I suppose?' suggested my aunt.

Mr. Wickfield thought I could. After a little discussion, he

proposed to take my aunt to the school, that she might see it and

judge for herself; also, to take her, with the same object, to two

or three houses where he thought I could be boarded. My aunt

embracing the proposal, we were all three going out together, when

he stopped and said:

'Our little friend here might have some motive, perhaps, for

objecting to the arrangements. I think we had better leave him

behind?'

My aunt seemed disposed to contest the point; but to facilitate

matters I said I would gladly remain behind, if they pleased; and

returned into Mr. Wickfield's office, where I sat down again, in

the chair I had first occupied, to await their return.

It so happened that this chair was opposite a narrow passage, which

ended in the little circular room where I had seen Uriah Heep's

pale face looking out of the window. Uriah, having taken the pony

to a neighbouring stable, was at work at a desk in this room, which

had a brass frame on the top to hang paper upon, and on which the

writing he was making a copy of was then hanging. Though his face

was towards me, I thought, for some time, the writing being between

us, that he could not see me; but looking that way more

attentively, it made me uncomfortable to observe that, every now

and then, his sleepless eyes would come below the writing, like two

red suns, and stealthily stare at me for I dare say a whole minute

at a time, during which his pen went, or pretended to go, as

cleverly as ever. I made several attempts to get out of their way

- such as standing on a chair to look at a map on the other side of

the room, and poring over the columns of a Kentish newspaper - but

they always attracted me back again; and whenever I looked towards

those two red suns, I was sure to find them, either just rising or

just setting.

At length, much to my relief, my aunt and Mr. Wickfield came back,

after a pretty long absence. They were not so successful as I

could have wished; for though the advantages of the school were

undeniable, my aunt had not approved of any of the boarding-houses

proposed for me.

'It's very unfortunate,' said my aunt. 'I don't know what to do,

Trot.'

'It does happen unfortunately,' said Mr. Wickfield. 'But I'll tell

you what you can do, Miss Trotwood.'

'What's that?' inquired my aunt.

'Leave your nephew here, for the present. He's a quiet fellow. He

won't disturb me at all. It's a capital house for study. As quiet

as a monastery, and almost as roomy. Leave him here.'

My aunt evidently liked the offer, though she was delicate of

accepting it. So did I.

'Come, Miss Trotwood,' said Mr. Wickfield. 'This is the way out of

the difficulty. It's only a temporary arrangement, you know. If

it don't act well, or don't quite accord with our mutual

convenience, he can easily go to the right-about. There will be

time to find some better place for him in the meanwhile. You had

better determine to leave him here for the present!'

'I am very much obliged to you,' said my aunt; 'and so is he, I

see; but -'

'Come! I know what you mean,' cried Mr. Wickfield. 'You shall not

be oppressed by the receipt of favours, Miss Trotwood. You may pay

for him, if you like. We won't be hard about terms, but you shall

pay if you will.'

'On that understanding,' said my aunt, 'though it doesn't lessen

the real obligation, I shall be very glad to leave him.'

'Then come and see my little housekeeper,' said Mr. Wickfield.

We accordingly went up a wonderful old staircase; with a balustrade

so broad that we might have gone up that, almost as easily; and

into a shady old drawing-room, lighted by some three or four of the

quaint windows I had looked up at from the street: which had old

oak seats in them, that seemed to have come of the same trees as

the shining oak floor, and the great beams in the ceiling. It was

a prettily furnished room, with a piano and some lively furniture

in red and green, and some flowers. It seemed to be all old nooks

and corners; and in every nook and corner there was some queer

little table, or cupboard, or bookcase, or seat, or something or

other, that made me think there was not such another good corner in

the room; until I looked at the next one, and found it equal to it,

if not better. On everything there was the same air of retirement

and cleanliness that marked the house outside.

Mr. Wickfield tapped at a door in a corner of the panelled wall,

and a girl of about my own age came quickly out and kissed him. On

her face, I saw immediately the placid and sweet expression of the

lady whose picture had looked at me downstairs. It seemed to my

imagination as if the portrait had grown womanly, and the original

remained a child. Although her face was quite bright and happy,

there was a tranquillity about it, and about her - a quiet, good,

calm spirit - that I never have forgotten; that I shall never

forget. This was his little housekeeper, his daughter Agnes, Mr.

Wickfield said. When I heard how he said it, and saw how he held

her hand, I guessed what the one motive of his life was.

She had a little basket-trifle hanging at her side, with keys in

it; and she looked as staid and as discreet a housekeeper as the

old house could have. She listened to her father as he told her

about me, with a pleasant face; and when he had concluded, proposed

to my aunt that we should go upstairs and see my room. We all went

together, she before us: and a glorious old room it was, with more

oak beams, and diamond panes; and the broad balustrade going all

the way up to it.

I cannot call to mind where or when, in my childhood, I had seen a

stained glass window in a church. Nor do I recollect its subject.

But I know that when I saw her turn round, in the grave light of

the old staircase, and wait for us, above, I thought of that

window; and I associated something of its tranquil brightness with

Agnes Wickfield ever afterwards.

My aunt was as happy as I was, in the arrangement made for me; and

we went down to the drawing-room again, well pleased and gratified.

As she would not hear of staying to dinner, lest she should by any

chance fail to arrive at home with the grey pony before dark; and

as I apprehend Mr. Wickfield knew her too well to argue any point

with her; some lunch was provided for her there, and Agnes went

back to her governess, and Mr. Wickfield to his office. So we were

left to take leave of one another without any restraint.

She told me that everything would be arranged for me by Mr.

Wickfield, and that I should want for nothing, and gave me the

kindest words and the best advice.

'Trot,' said my aunt in conclusion, 'be a credit to yourself, to

me, and Mr. Dick, and Heaven be with you!'

I was greatly overcome, and could only thank her, again and again,

and send my love to Mr. Dick.

'Never,' said my aunt, 'be mean in anything; never be false; never

be cruel. Avoid those three vices, Trot, and I can always be

hopeful of you.'

I promised, as well as I could, that I would not abuse her kindness

or forget her admonition.

'The pony's at the door,' said my aunt, 'and I am off! Stay here.'

With these words she embraced me hastily, and went out of the room,

shutting the door after her. At first I was startled by so abrupt

a departure, and almost feared I had displeased her; but when I

looked into the street, and saw how dejectedly she got into the

chaise, and drove away without looking up, I understood her better

and did not do her that injustice.

By five o'clock, which was Mr. Wickfield's dinner-hour, I had

mustered up my spirits again, and was ready for my knife and fork.

The cloth was only laid for us two; but Agnes was waiting in the

drawing-room before dinner, went down with her father, and sat

opposite to him at table. I doubted whether he could have dined

without her.

We did not stay there, after dinner, but came upstairs into the

drawing-room again: in one snug corner of which, Agnes set glasses

for her father, and a decanter of port wine. I thought he would

have missed its usual flavour, if it had been put there for him by

any other hands.

There he sat, taking his wine, and taking a good deal of it, for

two hours; while Agnes played on the piano, worked, and talked to

him and me. He was, for the most part, gay and cheerful with us;

but sometimes his eyes rested on her, and he fell into a brooding

state, and was silent. She always observed this quickly, I

thought, and always roused him with a question or caress. Then he

came out of his meditation, and drank more wine.

Agnes made the tea, and presided over it; and the time passed away

after it, as after dinner, until she went to bed; when her father

took her in his arms and kissed her, and, she being gone, ordered

candles in his office. Then I went to bed too.

But in the course of the evening I had rambled down to the door,

and a little way along the street, that I might have another peep

at the old houses, and the grey Cathedral; and might think of my

coming through that old city on my journey, and of my passing the

very house I lived in, without knowing it. As I came back, I saw

Uriah Heep shutting up the office; and feeling friendly towards

everybody, went in and spoke to him, and at parting, gave him my

hand. But oh, what a clammy hand his was! as ghostly to the touch

as to the sight! I rubbed mine afterwards, to warm it, AND TO RUB

HIS OFF.

It was such an uncomfortable hand, that, when I went to my room, it

was still cold and wet upon my memory. Leaning out of the window,

and seeing one of the faces on the beam-ends looking at me

sideways, I fancied it was Uriah Heep got up there somehow, and

shut him out in a hurry.

Read next: CHAPTER 16 - I AM A NEW BOY IN MORE SENSES THAN ONE

Read previous: CHAPTER 14 - MY AUNT MAKES UP HER MIND ABOUT ME

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