BOOK THE SECOND: RICHES - CHAPTER 17 Missing

The term of Mr Dorrit's visit was within two days of being out, and

he was about to dress for another inspection by the Chief Butler

(whose victims were always dressed expressly for him), when one of

the servants of the hotel presented himself bearing a card. Mr

Dorrit, taking it, read:

'Mrs Finching.'

The servant waited in speechless deference.

'Man, man,' said Mr Dorrit, turning upon him with grievous

indignation, 'explain your motive in bringing me this ridiculous

name. I am wholly unacquainted with it. Finching, sir?' said Mr

Dorrit, perhaps avenging himself on the Chief Butler by Substitute.

'ha! What do you mean by Finching?'

The man, man, seemed to mean Flinching as much as anything else,

for he backed away from Mr Dorrit's severe regard, as he replied,

'A lady, sir.'

'I know no such lady, sir,' said Mr Dorrit. 'Take this card away.

I know no Finching of either sex.'

'Ask your pardon, sir. The lady said she was aware she might be

unknown by name. But she begged me to say, sir, that she had

formerly the honour of being acquainted with Miss Dorrit. The lady

said, sir, the youngest Miss Dorrit.'

Mr Dorrit knitted his brows and rejoined, after a moment or two,

'Inform Mrs Finching, sir,' emphasising the name as if the innocent

man were solely responsible for it, 'that she can come up.'

He had reflected, in his momentary pause, that unless she were

admitted she might leave some message, or might say something

below, having a disgraceful reference to that former state of

existence. Hence the concession, and hence the appearance of

Flora, piloted in by the man, man.

'I have not the pleasure,' said Mr Dorrit, standing with the card

in his hand, and with an air which imported that it would scarcely

have been a first-class pleasure if he had had it, 'of knowing

either this name, or yourself, madam. Place a chair, sir.' The

responsible man, with a start, obeyed, and went out on tiptoe.

Flora, putting aside her veil with a bashful tremor upon her,

proceeded to introduce herself. At the same time a singular

combination of perfumes was diffused through the room, as if some

brandy had been put by mistake in a lavender-water bottle, or as if

some lavender-water had been put by mistake in a brandy-bottle.

'I beg Mr Dorrit to offer a thousand apologies and indeed they

would be far too few for such an intrusion which I know must appear

extremely bold in a lady and alone too, but I thought it best upon

the whole however difficult and even apparently improper though Mr

F.'s Aunt would have willingly accompanied me and as a character of

great force and spirit would probably have struck one possessed of

such a knowledge of life as no doubt with so many changes must have

been acquired, for Mr F. himself said frequently that although well

educated in the neighbourhood of Blackheath at as high as eighty

guineas which is a good deal for parents and the plate kept back

too on going away but that is more a meanness than its value that

he had learnt more in his first years as a commercial traveller

with a large commission on the sale of an article that nobody would

hear of much less buy which preceded the wine trade a long time

than in the whole six years in that academy conducted by a college

Bachelor, though why a Bachelor more clever than a married man I do

not see and never did but pray excuse me that is not the point.'

Mr Dorrit stood rooted to the carpet, a statue of mystification.

'I must openly admit that I have no pretensions,' said Flora, 'but

having known the dear little thing which under altered

circumstances appears a liberty but is not so intended and Goodness

knows there was no favour in half-a-crown a-day to such a needle as

herself but quite the other way and as to anything lowering in it

far from it the labourer is worthy of his hire and I am sure I only

wish he got it oftener and more animal food and less rheumatism in

the back and legs poor soul.'

'Madam,' said Mr Dorrit, recovering his breath by a great effort,

as the relict of the late Mr Finching stopped to take hers;

'madam,' said Mr Dorrit, very red in the face, 'if I understand you

to refer to--ha--to anything in the antecedents of--hum--a daughter

of mine, involving--ha hum--daily compensation, madam, I beg to

observe that the--ha--fact, assuming it--ha--to be fact, never was

within my knowledge. Hum. I should not have permitted it. Ha.

Never! Never!'

'Unnecessary to pursue the subject,' returned Flora, 'and would not

have mentioned it on any account except as supposing it a

favourable and only letter of introduction but as to being fact no

doubt whatever and you may set your mind at rest for the very dress

I have on now can prove it and sweetly made though there is no

denying that it would tell better on a better figure for my own is

much too fat though how to bring it down I know not, pray excuse me

I am roving off again.'

Mr Dorrit backed to his chair in a stony way, and seated himself,

as Flora gave him a softening look and played with her parasol.

'The dear little thing,' said Flora, 'having gone off perfectly

limp and white and cold in my own house or at least papa's for

though not a freehold still a long lease at a peppercorn on the

morning when Arthur--foolish habit of our youthful days and Mr

Clennam far more adapted to existing circumstances particularly

addressing a stranger and that stranger a gentleman in an elevated

station--communicated the glad tidings imparted by a person of name

of Pancks emboldens me.'

At the mention of these two names, Mr Dorrit frowned, stared,

frowned again, hesitated with his fingers at his lips, as he had

hesitated long ago, and said, 'Do me the favour to--ha--state your

pleasure, madam.'

'Mr Dorrit,' said Flora, 'you are very kind in giving me permission

and highly natural it seems to me that you should be kind for

though more stately I perceive a likeness filled out of course but

a likeness still, the object of my intruding is my own without the

slightest consultation with any human being and most decidedly not

with Arthur--pray excuse me Doyce and Clennam I don't know what I

am saying Mr Clennam solus--for to put that individual linked by a

golden chain to a purple time when all was ethereal out of any

anxiety would be worth to me the ransom of a monarch not that I

have the least idea how much that would come to but using it as the

total of all I have in the world and more.'

Mr Dorrit, without greatly regarding the earnestness of these

latter words, repeated, 'State your pleasure, madam.'

'It's not likely I well know,' said Flora, 'but it's possible and

being possible when I had the gratification of reading in the

papers that you had arrived from Italy and were going back I made

up my mind to try it for you might come across him or hear

something of him and if so what a blessing and relief to all!'

'Allow me to ask, madam,' said Mr Dorrit, with his ideas in wild

confusion, 'to whom--ha--To whom,' he repeated it with a raised

voice in mere desperation, 'you at present allude?'

'To the foreigner from Italy who disappeared in the City as no

doubt you have read in the papers equally with myself,' said Flora,

'not referring to private sources by the name of Pancks from which

one gathers what dreadfully ill-natured things some people are

wicked enough to whisper most likely judging others by themselves

and what the uneasiness and indignation of Arthur--quite unable to

overcome it Doyce and Clennam--cannot fail to be.'

It happened, fortunately for the elucidation of any intelligible

result, that Mr Dorrit had heard or read nothing about the matter.

This caused Mrs Finching, with many apologies for being in great

practical difficulties as to finding the way to her pocket among

the stripes of her dress at length to produce a police handbill,

setting forth that a foreign gentleman of the name of Blandois,

last from Venice, had unaccountably disappeared on such a night in

such a part of the city of London; that he was known to have

entered such a house, at such an hour; that he was stated by the

inmates of that house to have left it, about so many minutes before

midnight; and that he had never been beheld since. This, with

exact particulars of time and locality, and with a good detailed

description of the foreign gentleman who had so mysteriously

vanished, Mr Dorrit read at large.

'Blandois!' said Mr Dorrit. 'Venice! And this description! I

know this gentleman. He has been in my house. He is intimately

acquainted with a gentleman of good family (but in indifferent

circumstances), of whom I am a--hum--patron.'

'Then my humble and pressing entreaty is the more,' said Flora,

'that in travelling back you will have the kindness to look for

this foreign gentleman along all the roads and up and down all the

turnings and to make inquiries for him at all the hotels and

orange-trees and vineyards and volcanoes and places for he must be

somewhere and why doesn't he come forward and say he's there and

clear all parties up?'

'Pray, madam,' said Mr Dorrit, referring to the handbill again,

'who is Clennam and Co.? Ha. I see the name mentioned here, in

connection with the occupation of the house which Monsieur Blandois

was seen to enter: who is Clennam and Co.? Is it the individual of

whom I had formerly--hum--some--ha--slight transitory knowledge,

and to whom I believe you have referred? Is it--ha--that person?'

'It's a very different person indeed,' replied Flora, 'with no

limbs and wheels instead and the grimmest of women though his

mother.'

'Clennam and Co. a--hum--a mother!' exclaimed Mr Dorrit.

'And an old man besides,' said Flora.

Mr Dorrit looked as if he must immediately be driven out of his

mind by this account. Neither was it rendered more favourable to

sanity by Flora's dashing into a rapid analysis of Mr Flintwinch's

cravat, and describing him, without the lightest boundary line of

separation between his identity and Mrs Clennam's, as a rusty screw

in gaiters. Which compound of man and woman, no limbs, wheels,

rusty screw, grimness, and gaiters, so completely stupefied Mr

Dorrit, that he was a spectacle to be pitied.

'But I would not detain you one moment longer,' said Flora, upon

whom his condition wrought its effect, though she was quite

unconscious of having produced it, 'if you would have the goodness

to give your promise as a gentleman that both in going back to

Italy and in Italy too you would look for this Mr Blandois high and

low and if you found or heard of him make him come forward for the

clearing of all parties.'

By that time Mr Dorrit had so far recovered from his bewilderment,

as to be able to say, in a tolerably connected manner, that he

should consider that his duty. Flora was delighted with her

success, and rose to take her leave.

'With a million thanks,' said she, 'and my address upon my card in

case of anything to be communicated personally, I will not send my

love to the dear little thing for it might not be acceptable, and

indeed there is no dear little thing left in the transformation so

why do it but both myself and Mr F.'s Aunt ever wish her well and

lay no claim to any favour on our side you may be sure of that but

quite the other way for what she undertook to do she did and that

is more than a great many of us do, not to say anything of her

doing it as Well as it could be done and I myself am one of them

for I have said ever since I began to recover the blow of Mr F's

death that I would learn the Organ of which I am extremely fond but

of which I am ashamed to say I do not yet know a note, good

evening!'

When Mr Dorrit, who attended her to the room-door, had had a little

time to collect his senses, he found that the interview had

summoned back discarded reminiscences which jarred with the Merdle

dinner-table. He wrote and sent off a brief note excusing himself

for that day, and ordered dinner presently in his own rooms at the

hotel. He had another reason for this. His time in London was

very nearly out, and was anticipated by engagements; his plans were

made for returning; and he thought it behoved his importance to

pursue some direct inquiry into the Blandois disappearance, and be

in a condition to carry back to Mr Henry Gowan the result of his

own personal investigation. He therefore resolved that he would

take advantage of that evening's freedom to go down to Clennam and

Co.'s, easily to be found by the direction set forth in the

handbill; and see the place, and ask a question or two there

himself.

Having dined as plainly as the establishment and the Courier would

let him, and having taken a short sleep by the fire for his better

recovery from Mrs Finching, he set out in a hackney-cabriolet

alone. The deep bell of St Paul's was striking nine as he passed

under the shadow of Temple Bar, headless and forlorn in these

degenerate days.

As he approached his destination through the by-streets and water-

side ways, that part of London seemed to him an uglier spot at such

an hour than he had ever supposed it to be. Many long years had

passed since he had seen it; he had never known much of it; and it

wore a mysterious and dismal aspect in his eyes. So powerfully was

his imagination impressed by it, that when his driver stopped,

after having asked the way more than once, and said to the best of

his belief this was the gateway they wanted, Mr Dorrit stood

hesitating, with the coach-door in his hand, half afraid of the

dark look of the place.

Truly, it looked as gloomy that night as even it had ever looked.

Two of the handbills were posted on the entrance wall, one on

either side, and as the lamp flickered in the night air, shadows

passed over them, not unlike the shadows of fingers following the

lines. A watch was evidently kept upon the place. As Mr Dorrit

paused, a man passed in from over the way, and another man passed

out from some dark corner within; and both looked at him in

passing, and both remained standing about.

As there was only one house in the enclosure, there was no room for

uncertainty, so he went up the steps of that house and knocked.

There was a dim light in two windows on the first-floor. The door

gave back a dreary, vacant sound, as though the house were empty;

but it was not, for a light was visible, and a step was audible,

almost directly. They both came to the door, and a chain grated,

and a woman with her apron thrown over her face and head stood in

the aperture.

'Who is it?' said the woman.

Mr Dorrit, much amazed by this appearance, replied that he was from

Italy, and that he wished to ask a question relative to the missing

person, whom he knew.

'Hi!' cried the woman, raising a cracked voice. 'Jeremiah!'

Upon this, a dry old man appeared, whom Mr Dorrit thought he

identified by his gaiters, as the rusty screw. The woman was Under

apprehensions of the dry old man, for she whisked her apron away as

he approached, and disclosed a pale affrighted face. 'Open the

door, you fool,' said the old man; 'and let the gentleman in.'

Mr Dorrit, not without a glance over his shoulder towards his

driver and the cabriolet, walked into the dim hall. 'Now, sir,'

said Mr Flintwinch, 'you can ask anything here you think proper;

there are no secrets here, sir.'

Before a reply could be made, a strong stern voice, though a

woman's, called from above, 'Who is it?'

'Who is it?' returned Jeremiah. 'More inquiries. A gentleman from

Italy.'

'Bring him up here!'

Mr Flintwinch muttered, as if he deemed that unnecessary; but,

turning to Mr Dorrit, said, 'Mrs Clennam. She will do as she

likes. I'll show you the way.' He then preceded Mr Dorrit up the

blackened staircase; that gentleman, not unnaturally looking behind

him on the road, saw the woman following, with her apron thrown

over her head again in her former ghastly manner.

Mrs Clennam had her books open on her little table. 'Oh!' said she

abruptly, as she eyed her visitor with a steady look. 'You are

from Italy, sir, are you. Well?'

Mr Dorrit was at a loss for any more distinct rejoinder at the

moment than 'Ha--well?'

'Where is this missing man? Have you come to give us information

where he is? I hope you have?'

'So far from it, I--hum--have come to seek information.'

'Unfortunately for us, there is none to be got here. Flintwinch,

show the gentleman the handbill. Give him several to take away.

Hold the light for him to read it.'

Mr Flintwinch did as he was directed, and Mr Dorrit read it

through, as if he had not previously seen it; glad enough of the

opportunity of collecting his presence of mind, which the air of

the house and of the people in it had a little disturbed. While

his eyes were on the paper, he felt that the eyes of Mr Flintwinch

and of Mrs Clennam were on him. He found, when he looked up, that

this sensation was not a fanciful one.

'Now you know as much,' said Mrs Clennam, 'as we know, sir. Is Mr

Blandois a friend of yours?'

'No--a--hum--an acquaintance,' answered Mr Dorrit.

'You have no commission from him, perhaps?'

'I? Ha. Certainly not.'

The searching look turned gradually to the floor, after taking Mr

Flintwinch's face in its way. Mr Dorrit, discomfited by finding

that he was the questioned instead of the questioner, applied

himself to the reversal of that unexpected order of things.

'I am--ha--a gentleman of property, at present residing in Italy

with my family, my servants, and--hum--my rather large

establishment. Being in London for a short time on affairs

connected with--ha--my estate, and hearing of this strange

disappearance, I wished to make myself acquainted with the

circumstances at first-hand, because there is--ha hum--an English

gentleman in Italy whom I shall no doubt see on my return, who has

been in habits of close and daily intimacy with Monsieur Blandois.

Mr Henry Gowan. You may know the name.'

'Never heard of it.'

Mrs Clennam said it, and Mr Flintwinch echoed it.

'Wishing to--ha--make the narrative coherent and consecutive to

him,' said Mr Dorrit, 'may I ask--say, three questions?'

'Thirty, if you choose.'

'Have you known Monsieur Blandois long?'

'Not a twelvemonth. Mr Flintwinch here, will refer to the books

and tell you when, and by whom at Paris he was introduced to us.

If that,' Mrs Clennam added, 'should be any satisfaction to you.

It is poor satisfaction to us.'

'Have you seen him often?'

'No. Twice. Once before, and--'

'That once,' suggested Mr Flintwinch.

'And that once.'

'Pray, madam,' said Mr Dorrit, with a growing fancy upon him as he

recovered his importance, that he was in some superior way in the

Commission of the Peace; 'pray, madam, may I inquire, for the

greater satisfaction of the gentleman whom I have the honour to--

ha--retain, or protect or let me say to--hum--know--to know--Was

Monsieur Blandois here on business on the night indicated in this

present sheet?'

'On what he called business,' returned Mrs Clennam.

'Is--ha--excuse me--is its nature to be communicated?'

'No.'

It was evidently impracticable to pass the barrier of that reply.

'The question has been asked before,' said Mrs Clennam, 'and the

answer has been, No. We don't choose to publish our transactions,

however unimportant, to all the town. We say, No.'

'I mean, he took away no money with him, for example,' said Mr

Dorrit.

'He took away none of ours, sir, and got none here.'

'I suppose,' observed Mr Dorrit, glancing from Mrs Clennam to Mr

Flintwinch, and from Mr Flintwinch to Mrs Clennam, 'you have no way

of accounting to yourself for this mystery?'

'Why do you suppose so?' rejoined Mrs Clennam.

Disconcerted by the cold and hard inquiry, Mr Dorrit was unable to

assign any reason for his supposing so.

'I account for it, sir,' she pursued after an awkward silence on Mr

Dorrit's part, 'by having no doubt that he is travelling somewhere,

or hiding somewhere.'

'Do you know--ha--why he should hide anywhere?'

'No.'

It was exactly the same No as before, and put another barrier up.

'You asked me if I accounted for the disappearance to myself,' Mrs

Clennam sternly reminded him, 'not if I accounted for it to you.

I do not pretend to account for it to you, sir. I understand it to

be no more my business to do that, than it is yours to require

that.'

Mr Dorrit answered with an apologetic bend of his head. As he

stepped back, preparatory to saying he had no more to ask, he could

not but observe how gloomily and fixedly she sat with her eyes

fastened on the ground, and a certain air upon her of resolute

waiting; also, how exactly the self-same expression was reflected

in Mr Flintwinch, standing at a little distance from her chair,

with his eyes also on the ground, and his right hand softly rubbing

his chin.

At that moment, Mistress Affery (of course, the woman with the

apron) dropped the candlestick she held, and cried out, 'There! O

good Lord! there it is again. Hark, Jeremiah! Now!'

If there were any sound at all, it was so slight that she must have

fallen into a confirmed habit of listening for sounds; but Mr

Dorrit believed he did hear a something, like the falling of dry

leaves. The woman's terror, for a very short space, seemed to

touch the three; and they all listened.

Mr Flintwinch was the first to stir. 'Affery, my woman,' said he,

sidling at her with his fists clenched, and his elbows quivering

with impatience to shake her, 'you are at your old tricks. You'll

be walking in your sleep next, my woman, and playing the whole

round of your distempered antics. You must have some physic. When

I have shown this gentleman out, I'll make you up such a

comfortable dose, my woman; such a comfortable dose!'

It did not appear altogether comfortable in expectation to Mistress

Affery; but Jeremiah, without further reference to his healing

medicine, took another candle from Mrs Clennam's table, and said,

'Now, sir; shall I light you down?'

Mr Dorrit professed himself obliged, and went down. Mr Flintwinch

shut him out, and chained him out, without a moment's loss of time.

He was again passed by the two men, one going out and the other

coming in; got into the vehicle he had left waiting, and was driven

away.

Before he had gone far, the driver stopped to let him know that he

had given his name, number, and address to the two men, on their

joint requisition; and also the address at which he had taken Mr

Dorrit up, the hour at which he had been called from his stand and

the way by which he had come. This did not make the night's

adventure run any less hotly in Mr Dorrit's mind, either when he

sat down by his fire again, or when he went to bed. All night he

haunted the dismal house, saw the two people resolutely waiting,

heard the woman with her apron over her face cry out about the

noise, and found the body of the missing Blandois, now buried in

the cellar, and now bricked up in a wall.

Read next: BOOK THE SECOND: RICHES#CHAPTER 18 A Castle in the Air

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