BOOK THE FIRST: POVERTY - CHAPTER 32 More Fortune-Telling

Maggy sat at her work in her great white cap with its quantity of

opaque frilling hiding what profile she had (she had none to

spare), and her serviceable eye brought to bear upon her

occupation, on the window side of the room. What with her flapping

cap, and what with her unserviceable eye, she was quite partitioned

off from her Little Mother, whose seat was opposite the window.

The tread and shuffle of feet on the pavement of the yard had much

diminished since the taking of the Chair, the tide of Collegians

having set strongly in the direction of Harmony. Some few who had

no music in their souls, or no money in their pockets, dawdled

about; and the old spectacle of the visitor-wife and the depressed

unseasoned prisoner still lingered in corners, as broken cobwebs

and such unsightly discomforts draggle in corners of other places.

It was the quietest time the College knew, saving the night hours

when the Collegians took the benefit of the act of sleep. The

occasional rattle of applause upon the tables of the Snuggery,

denoted the successful termination of a morsel of Harmony; or the

responsive acceptance, by the united children, of some toast or

sentiment offered to them by their Father. Occasionally, a vocal

strain more sonorous than the generality informed the listener that

some boastful bass was in blue water, or in the hunting field, or

with the reindeer, or on the mountain, or among the heather; but

the Marshal of the Marshalsea knew better, and had got him hard and

fast.

As Arthur Clennam moved to sit down by the side of Little Dorrit,

she trembled so that she had much ado to hold her needle. Clennam

gently put his hand upon her work, and said, 'Dear Little Dorrit,

let me lay it down.'

She yielded it to him, and he put it aside. Her hands were then

nervously clasping together, but he took one of them.

'How seldom I have seen you lately, Little Dorrit!'

'I have been busy, sir.'

'But I heard only to-day,' said Clennam, 'by mere accident, of your

having been with those good people close by me. Why not come to

me, then?'

'I--I don't know. Or rather, I thought you might be busy too. You

generally are now, are you not?'

He saw her trembling little form and her downcast face, and the

eyes that drooped the moment they were raised to his--he saw them

almost with as much concern as tenderness.

'My child, your manner is so changed!'

The trembling was now quite beyond her control. Softly withdrawing

her hand, and laying it in her other hand, she sat before him with

her head bent and her whole form trembling.

'My own Little Dorrit,' said Clennam, compassionately.

She burst into tears. Maggy looked round of a sudden, and stared

for at least a minute; but did not interpose. Clennam waited some

little while before he spoke again.

'I cannot bear,' he said then, 'to see you weep; but I hope this is

a relief to an overcharged heart.'

'Yes it is, sir. Nothing but that.'

'Well, well! I feared you would think too much of what passed here

just now. It is of no moment; not the least. I am only

unfortunate to have come in the way. Let it go by with these

tears. It is not worth one of them. One of them? Such an idle

thing should be repeated, with my glad consent, fifty times a day,

to save you a moment's heart-ache, Little Dorrit.'

She had taken courage now, and answered, far more in her usual

manner, 'You are so good! But even if there was nothing else in it

to be sorry for and ashamed of, it is such a bad return to you--'

'Hush!' said Clennam, smiling and touching her lips with his hand.

'Forgetfulness in you who remember so many and so much, would be

new indeed. Shall I remind you that I am not, and that I never

was, anything but the friend whom you agreed to trust? No. You

remember it, don't you?'

'I try to do so, or I should have broken the promise just now, when

my mistaken brother was here. You will consider his bringing-up in

this place, and will not judge him hardly, poor fellow, I know!'

In raising her eyes with these words, she observed his face more

nearly than she had done yet, and said, with a quick change of

tone, 'You have not been ill, Mr Clennam?'

'No.'

'Nor tried? Nor hurt?' she asked him, anxiously.

It fell to Clennam now, to be not quite certain how to answer. He

said in reply:

'To speak the truth, I have been a little troubled, but it is over.

Do I show it so plainly? I ought to have more fortitude and self-

command than that. I thought I had. I must learn them of you.

Who could teach me better!'

He never thought that she saw in him what no one else could see.

He never thought that in the whole world there were no other eyes

that looked upon him with the same light and strength as hers.

'But it brings me to something that I wish to say,' he continued,

'and therefore I will not quarrel even with my own face for telling

tales and being unfaithful to me. Besides, it is a privilege and

pleasure to confide in my Little Dorrit. Let me confess then,

that, forgetting how grave I was, and how old I was, and how the

time for such things had gone by me with the many years of sameness

and little happiness that made up my long life far away, without

marking it--that, forgetting all this, I fancied I loved some one.'

'Do I know her, sir?' asked Little Dorrit.

'No, my child.'

'Not the lady who has been kind to me for your sake?'

'Flora. No, no. Do you think--'

'I never quite thought so,' said Little Dorrit, more to herself

than him. 'I did wonder at it a little.'

'Well!' said Clennam, abiding by the feeling that had fallen on him

in the avenue on the night of the roses, the feeling that he was an

older man, who had done with that tender part of life, 'I found out

my mistake, and I thought about it a little--in short, a good

deal--and got wiser. Being wiser, I counted up my years and

considered what I am, and looked back, and looked forward, and

found that I should soon be grey. I found that I had climbed the

hill, and passed the level ground upon the top, and was descending

quickly.'

If he had known the sharpness of the pain he caused the patient

heart, in speaking thus! While doing it, too, with the purpose of

easing and serving her.

'I found that the day when any such thing would have been graceful

in me, or good in me, or hopeful or happy for me or any one in

connection with me, was gone, and would never shine again.'

O! If he had known, if he had known! If he could have seen the

dagger in his hand, and the cruel wounds it struck in the faithful

bleeding breast of his Little Dorrit!

'All that is over, and I have turned my face from it. Why do I

speak of this to Little Dorrit? Why do I show you, my child, the

space of years that there is between us, and recall to you that I

have passed, by the amount of your whole life, the time that is

present to you?'

'Because you trust me, I hope. Because you know that nothing can

touch you without touching me; that nothing can make you happy or

unhappy, but it must make me, who am so grateful to you, the same.'

He heard the thrill in her voice, he saw her earnest face, he saw

her clear true eyes, he saw the quickened bosom that would have

joyfully thrown itself before him to receive a mortal wound

directed at his breast, with the dying cry, 'I love him!' and the

remotest suspicion of the truth never dawned upon his mind. No.

He saw the devoted little creature with her worn shoes, in her

common dress, in her jail-home; a slender child in body, a strong

heroine in soul; and the light of her domestic story made all else

dark to him.

'For those reasons assuredly, Little Dorrit, but for another too.

So far removed, so different, and so much older, I am the better

fitted for your friend and adviser. I mean, I am the more easily

to be trusted; and any little constraint that you might feel with

another, may vanish before me. Why have you kept so retired from

me? Tell me.'

'I am better here. My place and use are here. I am much better

here,' said Little Dorrit, faintly.

'So you said that day upon the bridge. I thought of it much

afterwards. Have you no secret you could entrust to me, with hope

and comfort, if you would!'

'Secret? No, I have no secret,' said Little Dorrit in some

trouble.

They had been speaking in low voices; more because it was natural

to what they said to adopt that tone, than with any care to reserve

it from Maggy at her work. All of a sudden Maggy stared again, and

this time spoke:

'I say! Little Mother!'

'Yes, Maggy.'

'If you an't got no secret of your own to tell him, tell him that

about the Princess. She had a secret, you know.'

'The Princess had a secret?' said Clennam, in some surprise. 'What

Princess was that, Maggy?'

'Lor! How you do go and bother a gal of ten,' said Maggy,

'catching the poor thing up in that way. Whoever said the Princess

had a secret? _I_ never said so.'

'I beg your pardon. I thought you did.'

'No, I didn't. How could I, when it was her as wanted to find it

out? It was the little woman as had the secret, and she was always

a spinning at her wheel. And so she says to her, why do you keep

it there? And so the t'other one says to her, no I don't; and so

the t'other one says to her, yes you do; and then they both goes to

the cupboard, and there it is. And she wouldn't go into the

Hospital, and so she died. You know, Little Mother; tell him that.

For it was a reg'lar good secret, that was!' cried Maggy, hugging

herself.

Arthur looked at Little Dorrit for help to comprehend this, and was

struck by seeing her so timid and red. But, when she told him that

it was only a Fairy Tale she had one day made up for Maggy, and

that there was nothing in it which she wouldn't be ashamed to tell

again to anybody else, even if she could remember it, he left the

subject where it was.

However, he returned to his own subject by first entreating her to

see him oftener, and to remember that it was impossible to have a

stronger interest in her welfare than he had, or to be more set

upon promoting it than he was. When she answered fervently, she

well knew that, she never forgot it, he touched upon his second and

more delicate point--the suspicion he had formed.

'Little Dorrit,' he said, taking her hand again, and speaking lower

than he had spoken yet, so that even Maggy in the small room could

not hear him, 'another word. I have wanted very much to say this

to you; I have tried for opportunities. Don't mind me, who, for

the matter of years, might be your father or your uncle. Always

think of me as quite an old man. I know that all your devotion

centres in this room, and that nothing to the last will ever tempt

you away from the duties you discharge here. If I were not sure of

it, I should, before now, have implored you, and implored your

father, to let me make some provision for you in a more suitable

place. But you may have an interest--I will not say, now, though

even that might be--may have, at another time, an interest in some

one else; an interest not incompatible with your affection here.'

She was very, very pale, and silently shook her head.

'It may be, dear Little Dorrit.'

'No. No. No.' She shook her head, after each slow repetition of

the word, with an air of quiet desolation that he remembered long

afterwards. The time came when he remembered it well, long

afterwards, within those prison walls; within that very room.

'But, if it ever should be, tell me so, my dear child. Entrust the

truth to me, point out the object of such an interest to me, and I

will try with all the zeal, and honour, and friendship and respect

that I feel for you, good Little Dorrit of my heart, to do you a

lasting service.'

'O thank you, thank you! But, O no, O no, O no!' She said this,

looking at him with her work-worn hands folded together, and in the

same resigned accents as before.

'I press for no confidence now. I only ask you to repose

unhesitating trust in me.'

'Can I do less than that, when you are so good!'

'Then you will trust me fully? Will have no secret unhappiness, or

anxiety, concealed from me?'

'Almost none.'

'And you have none now?'

She shook her head. But she was very pale.

'When I lie down to-night, and my thoughts come back--as they will,

for they do every night, even when I have not seen you--to this sad

place, I may believe that there is no grief beyond this room, now,

and its usual occupants, which preys on Little Dorrit's mind?'

She seemed to catch at these words--that he remembered, too, long

afterwards--and said, more brightly, 'Yes, Mr Clennam; yes, you

may!'

The crazy staircase, usually not slow to give notice when any one

was coming up or down, here creaked under a quick tread, and a

further sound was heard upon it, as if a little steam-engine with

more steam than it knew what to do with, were working towards the

room. As it approached, which it did very rapidly, it laboured

with increased energy; and, after knocking at the door, it sounded

as if it were stooping down and snorting in at the keyhole.

Before Maggy could open the door, Mr Pancks, opening it from

without, stood without a hat and with his bare head in the wildest

condition, looking at Clennam and Little Dorrit, over her shoulder.

He had a lighted cigar in his hand, and brought with him airs of

ale and tobacco smoke.

'Pancks the gipsy,' he observed out of breath, 'fortune-telling.'

He stood dingily smiling, and breathing hard at them, with a most

curious air; as if, instead of being his proprietor's grubber, he

were the triumphant proprietor of the Marshalsea, the Marshal, all

the turnkeys, and all the Collegians. In his great self-

satisfaction he put his cigar to his lips (being evidently no

smoker), and took such a pull at it, with his right eye shut up

tight for the purpose, that he underwent a convulsion of shuddering

and choking. But even in the midst of that paroxysm, he still

essayed to repeat his favourite introduction of himself, 'Pa-ancks

the gi-ipsy, fortune-telling.'

'I am spending the evening with the rest of 'em,' said Pancks.

'I've been singing. I've been taking a part in White sand and grey

sand. I don't know anything about it. Never mind. I'll take any

part in anything. It's all the same, if you're loud enough.'

At first Clennam supposed him to be intoxicated. But he soon

perceived that though he might be a little the worse (or better)

for ale, the staple of his excitement was not brewed from malt, or

distilled from any grain or berry.

'How d'ye do, Miss Dorrit?' said Pancks. 'I thought you wouldn't

mind my running round, and looking in for a moment. Mr Clennam I

heard was here, from Mr Dorrit. How are you, Sir?'

Clennam thanked him, and said he was glad to see him so gay.

'Gay!' said Pancks. 'I'm in wonderful feather, sir. I can't stop

a minute, or I shall be missed, and I don't want 'em to miss me.--

Eh, Miss Dorrit?'

He seemed to have an insatiate delight in appealing to her and

looking at her; excitedly sticking his hair up at the same moment,

like a dark species of cockatoo.

'I haven't been here half an hour. I knew Mr Dorrit was in the

chair, and I said, "I'll go and support him!" I ought to be down in

Bleeding Heart Yard by rights; but I can worry them to-morrow.--Eh,

Miss Dorrit?'

His little black eyes sparkled electrically. His very hair seemed

to sparkle as he roughened it. He was in that highly-charged state

that one might have expected to draw sparks and snaps from him by

presenting a knuckle to any part of his figure.

'Capital company here,' said Pancks.--'Eh, Miss Dorrit?'

She was half afraid of him, and irresolute what to say. He

laughed, with a nod towards Clennam.

'Don't mind him, Miss Dorrit. He's one of us. We agreed that you

shouldn't take on to mind me before people, but we didn't mean Mr

Clennam. He's one of us. He's in it. An't you, Mr Clennam?--Eh,

Miss Dorrit?'

The excitement of this strange creature was fast communicating

itself to Clennam. Little Dorrit with amazement, saw this, and

observed that they exchanged quick looks.

'I was making a remark,' said Pancks, 'but I declare I forget what

it was. Oh, I know! Capital company here. I've been treating 'em

all round.--Eh, Miss Dorrit?'

'Very generous of you,' she returned, noticing another of the quick

looks between the two.

'Not at all,' said Pancks. 'Don't mention it. I'm coming into my

property, that's the fact. I can afford to be liberal. I think

I'll give 'em a treat here. Tables laid in the yard. Bread in

stacks. Pipes in faggots. Tobacco in hayloads. Roast beef and

plum-pudding for every one. Quart of double stout a head. Pint of

wine too, if they like it, and the authorities give permission.--

Eh, Miss Dorrit?'

She was thrown into such a confusion by his manner, or rather by

Clennam's growing understanding of his manner (for she looked to

him after every fresh appeal and cockatoo demonstration on the part

of Mr Pancks), that she only moved her lips in answer, without

forming any word.

'And oh, by-the-bye!' said Pancks, 'you were to live to know what

was behind us on that little hand of yours. And so you shall, you

shall, my darling.--Eh, Miss Dorrit?'

He had suddenly checked himself. Where he got all the additional

black prongs from, that now flew up all over his head like the

myriads of points that break out in the large change of a great

firework, was a wonderful mystery.

'But I shall be missed;' he came back to that; 'and I don't want

'em to miss me. Mr Clennam, you and I made a bargain. I said you

should find me stick to it. You shall find me stick to it now,

sir, if you'll step out of the room a moment. Miss Dorrit, I wish

you good night. Miss Dorrit, I wish you good fortune.'

He rapidly shook her by both hands, and puffed down stairs. Arthur

followed him with such a hurried step, that he had very nearly

tumbled over him on the last landing, and rolled him down into the

yard.

'What is it, for Heaven's sake!' Arthur demanded, when they burst

out there both together.

'Stop a moment, sir. Mr Rugg. Let me introduce him.' With those

words he presented another man without a hat, and also with a

cigar, and also surrounded with a halo of ale and tobacco smoke,

which man, though not so excited as himself, was in a state which

would have been akin to lunacy but for its fading into sober method

when compared with the rampancy of Mr Pancks.

'Mr Clennam, Mr Rugg,' said Pancks. 'Stop a moment. Come to the

pump.'

They adjourned to the pump. Mr Pancks, instantly putting his head

under the spout, requested Mr Rugg to take a good strong turn at

the handle. Mr Rugg complying to the letter, Mr Pancks came forth

snorting and blowing to some purpose, and dried himself on his

handkerchief.

'I am the clearer for that,' he gasped to Clennam standing

astonished. 'But upon my soul, to hear her father making speeches

in that chair, knowing what we know, and to see her up in that room

in that dress, knowing what we know, is enough to--give me a back,

Mr Rugg--a little higher, sir,--that'll do!'

Then and there, on that Marshalsea pavement, in the shades of

evening, did Mr Pancks, of all mankind, fly over the head and

shoulders of Mr Rugg of Pentonville, General Agent, Accountant, and

Recoverer of Debts. Alighting on his feet, he took Clennam by the

button-hole, led him behind the pump, and pantingly produced from

his pocket a bundle of papers. Mr Rugg, also, pantingly produced

from his pocket a bundle of papers.

'Stay!' said Clennam in a whisper.'You have made a discovery.'

Mr Pancks answered, with an unction which there is no language to

convey, 'We rather think so.'

'Does it implicate any one?'

'How implicate, sir?'

'In any suppression or wrong dealing of any kind?'

'Not a bit of it.'

'Thank God!' said Clennam to himself. 'Now show me.'

'You are to understand'--snorted Pancks, feverishly unfolding

papers, and speaking in short high-pressure blasts of sentences,

'Where's the Pedigree? Where's Schedule number four, Mr Rugg? Oh!

all right! Here we are.--You are to understand that we are this

very day virtually complete. We shan't be legally for a day or

two. Call it at the outside a week. We've been at it night and

day for I don't know how long. Mr Rugg, you know how long? Never

mind. Don't say. You'll only confuse me. You shall tell her, Mr

Clennam. Not till we give you leave. Where's that rough total, Mr

Rugg? Oh! Here we are! There sir! That's what you'll have to

break to her. That man's your Father of the Marshalsea!'

Read next: BOOK THE FIRST: POVERTY#CHAPTER 33 Mrs Merdle's Complaint

Read previous: BOOK THE FIRST: POVERTY#CHAPTER 31 Spirit

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