I had gone to bed and fallen asleep when my guardian1 knocked at thedoor of my room and begged me to get up directly. On my hurryingto speak to him and learn what had happened, he told me, after aword or two of preparation, that there had been a discovery at SirLeicester Dedlock's. That my mother had fled, that a person wasnow at our door who was empowered to convey to her the fullestassurances of affectionate protection and forgiveness if he couldpossibly find her, and that I was sought for to accompany him inthe hope that my entreaties2 might prevail upon her if his failed.
Something to this general purpose I made out, but I was thrown intosuch a tumult3 of alarm, and hurry and distress4, that in spite ofevery effort I could make to subdue5 my agitation6, I did not seem,to myself, fully7 to recover my right mind until hours had passed.
But I dressed and wrapped up expeditiously8 without waking Charleyor any one and went down to Mr. Bucket, who was the personentrusted with the secret. In taking me to him my guardian told methis, and also explained how it was that he had come to think ofme. Mr. Bucket, in a low voice, by the light of my guardian'scandle, read to me in the hall a letter that my mother had leftupon her table; and I suppose within ten minutes of my having beenaroused I was sitting beside him, rolling swiftly through thestreets.
His manner was very keen, and yet considerate when he explained tome that a great deal might depend on my being able to answer,without confusion, a few questions that he wished to ask me. Thesewere, chiefly, whether I had had much communication with my mother(to whom he only referred as Lady Dedlock), when and where I hadspoken with her last, and how she had become possessed10 of myhandkerchief. When I had satisfied him on these points, he askedme particularly to consider--taking time to think--whether withinmy knowledge there was any one, no matter where, in whom she mightbe at all likely to confide11 under circumstances of the lastnecessity. I could think of no one but my guardian. But by and byI mentioned Mr. Boythorn. He came into my mind as connected withhis old chivalrous12 manner of mentioning my mother's name and withwhat my guardian had informed me of his engagement to her sisterand his unconscious connexion with her unhappy story.
My companion had stopped the driver while we held thisconversation, that we might the better hear each other. He nowtold him to go on again and said to me, after considering withinhimself for a few moments, that he had made up his mind how toproceed. He was quite willing to tell me what his plan was, but Idid not feel clear enough to understand it.
We had not driven very far from our lodgings13 when we stopped in aby-street at a public-looking place lighted up with gas. Mr.
Bucket took me in and sat me in an armchair by a bright fire. Itwas now past one, as I saw by the clock against the wall. Twopolice officers, looking in their perfectly14 neat uniform not at alllike people who were up all night, were quietly writing at a desk;and the place seemed very quiet altogether, except for some beatingand calling out at distant doors underground, to which nobody paidany attention.
A third man in uniform, whom Mr. Bucket called and to whom hewhispered his instructions, went out; and then the two othersadvised together while one wrote from Mr. Bucket's subdueddictation. It was a description of my mother that they were busywith, for Mr. Bucket brought it to me when it was done and read itin a whisper. It was very accurate indeed.
The second officer, who had attended to it closely, then copied itout and called in another man in uniform (there were several in anouter room), who took it up and went away with it. All this wasdone with the greatest dispatch and without the waste of a moment;yet nobody was at all hurried. As soon as the paper was sent outupon its travels, the two officers resumed their former quiet workof writing with neatness and care. Mr. Bucket thoughtfully cameand warmed the soles of his boots, first one and then the other, atthe fire.
"Are you well wrapped up, Miss Summerson?" he asked me as his eyesmet mine. "It's a desperate sharp night for a young lady to be outin."I told him I cared for no weather and was warmly clothed.
"It may be a long job," he observed; "but so that it ends well,never mind, miss.""I pray to heaven it may end well!" said I.
He nodded comfortingly. "You see, whatever you do, don't you goand fret15 yourself. You keep yourself cool and equal for anythingthat may happen, and it'll be the better for you, the better forme, the better for Lady Dedlock, and the better for Sir LeicesterDedlock, Baronet."He was really very kind and gentle, and as he stood before the firewarming his boots and rubbing his face with his forefinger16, I felta confidence in his sagacity which reassured17 me. It was not yet aquarter to two when I heard horses' feet and wheels outside. "Now,Miss Summerson," said he, "we are off, if you please!"He gave me his arm, and the two officers courteously18 bowed me out,and we found at the door a phaeton or barouche with a postilion andpost horses. Mr. Bucket handed me in and took his own seat on thebox. The man in uniform whom he had sent to fetch this equipagethen handed him up a dark lantern at his request, and when he hadgiven a few directions to the driver, we rattled19 away.
I was far from sure that I was not in a dream. We rattled withgreat rapidity through such a labyrinth20 of streets that I soon lostall idea where we were, except that we had crossed and re-crossedthe river, and still seemed to be traversing a low-lying,waterside, dense21 neighbourhood of narrow thoroughfares chequered bydocks and basins, high piles of warehouses22, swing-bridges, andmasts of ships. At length we stopped at the corner of a littleslimy turning, which the wind from the river, rushing up it, didnot purify; and I saw my companion, by the light of his lantern, inconference with several men who looked like a mixture of police andsailors. Against the mouldering23 wall by which they stood, therewas a bill, on which I could discern the words, "Found Drowned";and this and an inscription24 about drags possessed me with the awfulsuspicion shadowed forth25 in our visit to that place.
I had no need to remind myself that I was not there by theindulgence of any feeling of mine to increase the difficulties ofthe search, or to lessen26 its hopes, or enhance its delays. Iremained quiet, but what I suffered in that dreadful spot I nevercan forget. And still it was like the horror of a dream. A manyet dark and muddy, in long swollen27 sodden28 boots and a hat likethem, was called out of a boat and whispered with Mr. Bucket, whowent away with him down some slippery steps--as if to look atsomething secret that he had to show. They came back, wiping theirhands upon their coats, after turning over something wet; but thankGod it was not what I feared!
After some further conference, Mr. Bucket (whom everybody seemed toknow and defer29 to) went in with the others at a door and left me inthe carriage, while the driver walked up and down by his horses towarm himself. The tide was coming in, as I judged from the soundit made, and I could hear it break at the end of the alley30 with alittle rush towards me. It never did so--and I thought it did so,hundreds of times, in what can have been at the most a quarter ofan hour, and probably was less--but the thought shuddered31 throughme that it would cast my mother at the horses' feet.
Mr. Bucket came out again, exhorting32 the others to be vigilant33,darkened his lantern, and once more took his seat. "Don't you bealarmed, Miss Summerson, on account of our coming down here," hesaid, turning to me. "I only want to have everything in train andto know that it is in train by looking after it myself. Get on, mylad!"We appeared to retrace34 the way we had come. Not that I had takennote of any particular objects in my perturbed35 state of mind, butjudging from the general character of the streets. We called atanother office or station for a minute and crossed the river again.
During the whole of this time, and during the whole search, mycompanion, wrapped up on the box, never relaxed in his vigilance asingle moment; but when we crossed the bridge he seemed, ifpossible, to be more on the alert than before. He stood up to lookover the parapet, he alighted and went back after a shadowy femalefigure that flitted past us, and he gazed into the profound blackpit of water with a face that made my heart die within me. Theriver had a fearful look, so overcast36 and secret, creeping away sofast between the low flat lines of shore--so heavy with indistinctand awful shapes, both of substance and shadow; so death-like andmysterious. I have seen it many times since then, by sunlight andby moonlight, but never free from the impressions of that journey.
In my memory the lights upon the bridge are always burning dim, thecutting wind is eddying37 round the homeless woman whom we pass, themonotonous wheels are whirling on, and the light of the carriage-lamps reflected back looks palely in upon me--a face rising out ofthe dreaded38 water.
Clattering39 and clattering through the empty streets, we came atlength from the pavement on to dark smooth roads and began to leavethe houses behind us. After a while I recognized the familiar wayto Saint Albans. At Barnet fresh horses were ready for us, and wechanged and went on. It was very cold indeed, and the open countrywas white with snow, though none was falling then.
"An old acquaintance of yours, this road, Miss Summerson," said Mr.
Bucket cheerfully.
"Yes," I returned. "Have you gathered any intelligence?""None that can be quite depended on as yet," he answered, "but it'searly times as yet."He had gone into every late or early public-house where there was alight (they were not a few at that time, the road being then muchfrequented by drovers) and had got down to talk to the turnpike-keepers. I had heard him ordering drink, and chinking money, andmaking himself agreeable and merry everywhere; but whenever he tookhis seat upon the box again, his face resumed its watchful40 steadylook, and he always said to the driver in the same business tone,"Get on, my lad!"With all these stoppages, it was between five and six o'clock andwe were yet a few miles short of Saint Albans when he came out ofone of these houses and handed me in a cup of tea.
"Drink it, Miss Summerson, it'll do you good. You're beginning toget more yourself now, ain't you?"I thanked him and said I hoped so.
"You was what you may call stunned41 at first," he returned; "andLord, no wonder! Don't speak loud, my dear. It's all right.
She's on ahead."I don't know what joyful42 exclamation43 I made or was going to make,but he put up his finger and I stopped myself.
"Passed through here on foot this evening about eight or nine. Iheard of her first at the archway toll44, over at Highgate, butcouldn't make quite sure. Traced her all along, on and off.
Picked her up at one place, and dropped her at another; but she'sbefore us now, safe. Take hold of this cup and saucer, ostler.
Now, if you wasn't brought up to the butter trade, look out and seeif you can catch half a crown in your t'other hand. One, two,three, and there you are! Now, my lad, try a gallop45!"We were soon in Saint Albans and alighted a little before day, whenI was just beginning to arrange and comprehend the occurrences ofthe night and really to believe that they were not a dream.
Leaving the carriage at the posting-house and ordering fresh horsesto be ready, my companion gave me his arm, and we went towardshome.
"As this is your regular abode46, Miss Summerson, you see," heobserved, "I should like to know whether you've been asked for byany stranger answering the description, or whether Mr. Jarndycehas. I don't much expect it, but it might be."As we ascended47 the hill, he looked about him with a sharp eye--theday was now breaking--and reminded me that I had come down it onenight, as I had reason for remembering, with my little servant andpoor Jo, whom he called Toughey.
I wondered how he knew that.
"When you passed a man upon the road, just yonder, you know," saidMr. Bucket.
Yes, I remembered that too, very well.
"That was me," said Mr. Bucket.
Seeing my surprise, he went on, "I drove down in a gig thatafternoon to look after that boy. You might have heard my wheelswhen you came out to look after him yourself, for I was aware ofyou and your little maid going up when I was walking the horsedown. Making an inquiry48 or two about him in the town, I soon heardwhat company he was in and was coming among the brick-fields tolook for him when I observed you bringing him home here.""Had he committed any crime?" I asked.
"None was charged against him," said Mr. Bucket, coolly lifting offhis hat, "but I suppose he wasn't over-particular. No. What Iwanted him for was in connexion with keeping this very matter ofLady Dedlock quiet. He had been making his tongue more free thanwelcome as to a small accidental service he had been paid for bythe deceased Mr. Tulkinghorn; and it wouldn't do, at any sort ofprice, to have him playing those games. So having warned him outof London, I made an afternoon of it to warn him to keep out of itnow he WAS away, and go farther from it, and maintain a brightlook-out that I didn't catch him coming back again.""Poor creature!" said I.
"Poor enough," assented49 Mr. Bucket, "and trouble enough, and wellenough away from London, or anywhere else. I was regularly turnedon my back when I found him taken up by your establishment, I doassure you.
I asked him why. "Why, my dear?" said Mr. Bucket. "Naturallythere was no end to his tongue then. He might as well have beenborn with a yard and a half of it, and a remnant over."Although I remember this conversation now, my head was in confusionat the time, and my power of attention hardly did more than enableme to understand that he entered into these particulars to divertme. With the same kind intention, manifestly, he often spoke9 to meof indifferent things, while his face was busy with the one objectthat we had in view. He still pursued this subject as we turned inat the garden-gate.
"Ah!" said Mr. Bucket. "Here we are, and a nice retired50 place itis. Puts a man in mind of the country house in the Woodpecker-tapping, that was known by the smoke which so gracefully51 curled.
They're early with the kitchen fire, and that denotes goodservants. But what you've always got to be careful of withservants is who comes to see 'em; you never know what they're up toif you don't know that. And another thing, my dear. Whenever youfind a young man behind the kitchen-door, you give that young manin charge on suspicion of being secreted52 in a dwelling-house withan unlawful purpose."We were now in front of the house; he looked attentively53 andclosely at the gravel54 for footprints before he raised his eyes tothe windows.
"Do you generally put that elderly young gentleman in the same roomwhen he's on a visit here, Miss Summerson?" he inquired, glancingat Mr. Skimpole's usual chamber55.
"You know Mr. Skimpole!" said I.
"What do you call him again?" returned Mr. Bucket, bending down hisear. "Skimpole, is it? I've often wondered what his name mightbe. Skimpole. Not John, I should say, nor yet Jacob?""Harold," I told him.
"Harold. Yes. He's a queer bird is Harold," said Mr. Bucket,eyeing me with great expression.
"He is a singular character," said I.
"No idea of money," observed Mr. Bucket. "He takes it, though!"I involuntarily returned for answer that I perceived Mr. Bucketknew him.
"Why, now I'll tell you, Miss Summerson," he replied. "Your mindwill be all the better for not running on one point toocontinually, and I'll tell you for a change. It was him as pointedout to me where Toughey was. I made up my mind that night to cometo the door and ask for Toughey, if that was all; but willing totry a move or so first, if any such was on the board, I justpitched up a morsel56 of gravel at that window where I saw a shadow.
As soon as Harold opens it and I have had a look at him, thinks I,you're the man for me. So I smoothed him down a bit about notwanting to disturb the family after they was gone to bed and aboutits being a thing to be regretted that charitable young ladiesshould harbour vagrants57; and then, when I pretty well understoodhis ways, I said I should consider a fypunnote well bestowed58 if Icould relieve the premises59 of Toughey without causing any noise ortrouble. Then says he, lifting up his eyebrows60 in the gayest way,'It's no use menfioning a fypunnote to me, my friend, because I'm amere child in such matters and have no idea of money.' Of course Iunderstood what his taking it so easy meant; and being now quitesure he was the man for me, I wrapped the note round a little stoneand threw it up to him. Well! He laughs and beams, and looks asinnocent as you like, and says, 'But I don't know the value ofthese things. What am I to DO with this?' 'Spend it, sir,' saysI. 'But I shall be taken in,' he says, 'they won't give me theright change, I shall lose it, it's no use to me.' Lord, you neversaw such a face as he carried it with! Of course he told me whereto find Toughey, and I found him."I regarded this as very treacherous61 on the part of Mr. Skimpoletowards my guardian and as passing the usual bounds of his childishinnocence.
"Bounds, my dear?" returned Mr. Bucket. "Bounds? Now, MissSummerson, I'll give you a piece of advice that your husband willfind useful when you are happily married and have got a familyabout you. Whenever a person says to you that they are as innocentas can be in all concerning money, look well after your own money,for they are dead certain to collar it if they can. Whenever aperson proclaims to you 'In worldly matters I'm a child,' youconsider that that person is only a-crying off from being heldaccountable and that you have got that person's number, and it'sNumber One. Now, I am not a poetical62 man myself, except in a vocalway when it goes round a company, but I'm a practical one, andthat's my experience. So's this rule. Fast and loose in onething, fast and loose in everything. I never knew it fail. Nomore will you. Nor no one. With which caution to the unwary, mydear, I take the liberty of pulling this here bell, and so go backto our business."I believe it had not been for a moment out of his mind, any morethan it had been out of my mind, or out of his face. The wholehousehold were amazed to see me, without any notice, at that timein the morning, and so accompanied; and their surprise was notdiminished by my inquiries63. No one, however, had been there. Itcould not be doubted that this was the truth.
"Then, Miss Summerson," said my companion, "we can't be too soon atthe cottage where those brickmakers are to be found. Mostinquiries there I leave to you, if you'll be so good as to make'em. The naturalest way is the best way, and the naturalest way isyour own way."We set off again immediately. On arriving at the cottage, we foundit shut up and apparently64 deserted65, but one of the neighbours whoknew me and who came out when I was trying to make some one hearinformed me that the two women and their husbands now livedtogether in another house, made of loose rough bricks, which stoodon the margin66 of the piece of ground where the kilns67 were and wherethe long rows of bricks were drying. We lost no time in repairingto this place, which was within a few hundred yards; and as thedoor stood ajar, I pushed it open.
There were only three of them sitting at breakfast, the child lyingasleep on a bed in the corner. It was Jenny, the mother of thedead child, who was absent. The other woman rose on seeing me; andthe men, though they were, as usual, sulky and silent, each gave mea morose68 nod of recognition. A look passed between them when Mr.
Bucket followed me in, and I was surprised to see that the womanevidently knew him.
I had asked leave to enter of course. Liz (the only name by whichI knew her) rose to give me her own chair, but I sat down on astool near the fire, and Mr. Bucket took a corner of the bedstead.
Now that I had to speak and was among people with whom I was notfamiliar, I became conscious of being hurried and giddy. It wasvery difficult to begin, and I could not help bursting into tears.
"Liz," said I, "I have come a long way in the night and through thesnow to inquire after a lady--""Who has been here, you know," Mr. Bucket struck in, addressing thewhole group with a composed propitiatory69 face; "that's the lady theyoung lady means. The lady that was here last night, you know.""And who told YOU as there was anybody here?" inquired Jenny'shusband, who had made a surly stop in his eating to listen and nowmeasured him with his eye.
"A person of the name of Michael Jackson, with a blue welveteenwaistcoat with a double row of mother of pearl buttons," Mr. Bucketimmediately answered.
"He had as good mind his own business, whoever he is," growled70 theman.
"He's out of employment, I believe," said Mr. Bucket apologeticallyfor Michael Jackson, "and so gets talking."The woman had not resumed her chair, but stood faltering71 with herhand upon its broken back, looking at me. I thought she would havespoken to me privately72 if she had dared. She was still in thisattitude of uncertainty73 when her husband, who was eating with alump of bread and fat in one hand and his clasp-knife in the other,struck the handle of his knife violently on the table and told herwith an oath to mind HER own business at any rate and sit down.
"I should like to have seen Jenny very much," said I, "for I amsure she would have told me all she could about this lady, whom Iam very anxious indeed--you cannot think how anxious--to overtake.
Will Jenny be here soon? Where is she?"The woman had a great desire to answer, but the man, with anotheroath, openly kicked at her foot with his heavy boot. He left it toJenny's husband to say what he chose, and after a dogged silencethe latter turned his shaggy head towards me.
"I'm not partial to gentlefolks coming into my place, as you'veheerd me say afore now, I think, miss. I let their places be, andit's curious they can't let my place be. There'd be a pretty shinemade if I was to go a-wisitin THEM, I think. Howsoever, I don't somuch complain of you as of some others, and I'm agreeable to makeyou a civil answer, though I give notice that I'm not a-going to bedrawed like a badger74. Will Jenny be here soon? No she won't.
Where is she? She's gone up to Lunnun.""Did she go last night?" I asked.
"Did she go last night? Ah! She went last night," he answered witha sulky jerk of his head.
"But was she here when the lady came? And what did the lady say toher? And where is the lady gone? I beg and pray you to be so kindas to tell me," said I, "for I am in great distress to know.""If my master would let me speak, and not say a word of harm--" thewoman timidly began.
"Your master," said her husband, muttering an imprecation with slowemphasis, "will break your neck if you meddle75 with wot don'tconcern you."After another silence, the husband of the absent woman, turning tome again, answered me with his usual grumbling76 unwillingness78.
"Wos Jenny here when the lady come? Yes, she wos here when thelady come. Wot did the lady say to her? Well, I'll tell you wotthe lady said to her. She said, 'You remember me as come one timeto talk to you about the young lady as had been a-wisiting of you?
You remember me as give you somethink handsome for a handkercherwot she had left?' Ah, she remembered. So we all did. Well,then, wos that young lady up at the house now? No, she warn't upat the house now. Well, then, lookee here. The lady was upon ajourney all alone, strange as we might think it, and could she restherself where you're a setten for a hour or so. Yes she could, andso she did. Then she went--it might be at twenty minutes pasteleven, and it might be at twenty minutes past twelve; we ain't gotno watches here to know the time by, nor yet clocks. Where did shego? I don't know where she go'd. She went one way, and Jenny wentanother; one went right to Lunnun, and t'other went right from it.
That's all about it. Ask this man. He heerd it all, and see itall. He knows."The other man repeated, "That's all about it.""Was the lady crying?" I inquired.
"Devil a bit," returned the first man. "Her shoes was the worse,and her clothes was the worse, but she warn't--not as I see."The woman sat with her arms crossed and her eyes upon the ground.
Her husband had turned his seat a little so as to face her and kepthis hammer-like hand upon the table as if it were in readiness toexecute his threat if she disobeyed him.
"I hope you will not object to my asking your wife," said I, "howthe lady looked.""Come, then!" he gruffly cried to her. "You hear what she says.
Cut it short and tell her.""Bad," replied the woman. "Pale and exhausted79. Very bad.""Did she speak much?""Not much, but her voice was hoarse80."She answered, looking all the while at her husband for leave.
"Was she faint?" said I. "Did she eat or drink here?""Go on!" said the husband in answer to her look. "Tell her and cutit short.""She had a little water, miss, and Jenny fetched her some bread andtea. But she hardly touched it.""And when she went from here," I was proceeding81, when Jenny'shusband impatiently took me up.
"When she went from here, she went right away nor'ard by the highroad. Ask on the road if you doubt me, and see if it warn't so.
Now, there's the end. That's all about it."I glanced at my companion, and finding that he had already risenand was ready to depart, thanked them for what they had told me,and took my leave. The woman looked full at Mr. Bucket as he wentout, and he looked full at her.
"Now, Miss Summerson," he said to me as we walked quickly away.
"They've got her ladyship's watch among 'em. That's a positivefact.""You saw it?" I exclaimed.
"Just as good as saw it," he returned. "Else why should he talkabout his 'twenty minutes past' and about his having no watch totell the time by? Twenty minutes! He don't usually cut his timeso fine as that. If he comes to half-hours, it's as much as HEdoes. Now, you see, either her ladyship gave him that watch or hetook it. I think she gave it him. Now, what should she give ithim for? What should she give it him for?"He repeated this question to himself several times as we hurriedon, appearing to balance between a variety of answers that arose inhis mind.
"If time could be spared," said Mr. Bucket, "which is the onlything that can't be spared in this case, I might get it out of thatwoman; but it's too doubtful a chance to trust to under presentcircumstances. They are up to keeping a close eye upon her, andany fool knows that a poor creetur like her, beaten and kicked andscarred and bruised82 from head to foot, will stand by the husbandthat ill uses her through thick and thin. There's something keptback. It's a pity but what we had seen the other woman."I regretted it exceedingly, for she was very grateful, and I feltsure would have resisted no entreaty83 of mine.
"It's possible, Miss Summerson," said Mr. Bucket, pondering on it,"that her ladyship sent her up to London with some word for you,and it's possible that her husband got the watch to let her go. Itdon't come out altogether so plain as to please me, but it's on thecards. Now, I don't take kindly84 to laying out the money of SirLeicester Dedlock, Baronet, on these roughs, and I don't see my wayto the usefulness of it at present. No! So far our road, MissSummerson, is for'ard--straight ahead--and keeping everythingquiet!"We called at home once more that I might send a hasty note to myguardian, and then we hurried back to where we had left thecarriage. The horses were brought out as soon as we were seencoming, and we were on the road again in a few minutes.
It had set in snowing at daybreak, and it now snowed hard. The airwas so thick with the darkness of the day and the density85 of thefall that we could see but a very little way in any direction.
Although it was extremely cold, the snow was but partially86 frozen,and it churned--with a sound as if it were a beach of small shells--under the hoofs87 of the horses into mire88 and water. They sometimesslipped and floundered for a mile together, and we were obliged tocome to a standstill to rest them. One horse fell three times inthis first stage, and trembled so and was so shaken that the driverhad to dismount from his saddle and lead him at last.
I could eat nothing and could not sleep, and I grew so nervousunder those delays and the slow pace at which we travelled that Ihad an unreasonable89 desire upon me to get out and walk. Yieldingto my companion's better sense, however, I remained where I was.
All this time, kept fresh by a certain enjoyment90 of the work inwhich he was engaged, he was up and down at every house we came to,addressing people whom he had never beheld91 before as oldacquaintances, running in to warm himself at every fire he saw,talking and drinking and shaking hands at every bar and tap,friendly with every waggoner, wheelwright, blacksmith, and toll-taker, yet never seeming to lose time, and always mounting to thebox again with his watchful, steady face and his business-like "Geton, my lad!"When we were changing horses the next time, he came from thestable-yard, with the wet snow encrusted upon him and dropping offhim--plashing and crashing through it to his wet knees as he hadbeen doing frequently since we left Saint Albans--and spoke to meat the carriage side.
"Keep up your spirits. It's certainly true that she came on here,Miss Summerson. There's not a doubt of the dress by this time, andthe dress has been seen here.""Still on foot?" said I.
"Still on foot. I think the gentleman you mentioned must be thepoint she's aiming at, and yet I don't like his living down in herown part of the country neither.""I know so little," said I. "There may be some one else nearerhere, of whom I never heard.""That's true. But whatever you do, don't you fall a-crying, mydear; and don't you worry yourself no more than you can help. Geton, my lad!"The sleet92 fell all that day unceasingly, a thick mist came onearly, and it never rose or lightened for a moment. Such roads Ihad never seen. I sometimes feared we had missed the way and gotinto the ploughed grounds or the marshes93. If I ever thought of thetime I had been out, it presented itself as an indefinite period ofgreat duration, and I seemed, in a strange way, never to have beenfree from the anxiety under which I then laboured.
As we advanced, I began to feel misgivings94 that my companion lostconfidence. He was the same as before with all the roadsidepeople, but he looked graver when he sat by himself on the box. Isaw his finger uneasily going across and across his mouth duringthe whole of one long weary stage. I overheard that he began toask the drivers of coaches and other vehicles coming towards uswhat passengers they had seen in other coaches and vehicles thatwere in advance. Their replies did not encourage him. He alwaysgave me a reassuring95 beck of his finger and lift of his eyelid96 ashe got upon the box again, but he seemed perplexed97 now when hesaid, "Get on, my lad!"At last, when we were changing, he told me that he had lost thetrack of the dress so long that he began to be surprised. It wasnothing, he said, to lose such a track for one while, and to takeit up for another while, and so on; but it had disappeared here inan unaccountable manner, and we had not come upon it since. Thiscorroborated the apprehensions98 I had formed, when he began to lookat direction-posts, and to leave the carriage at cross roads for aquarter of an hour at a time while he explored them. But I was notto be down-hearted, he told me, for it was as likely as not thatthe next stage might set us right again.
The next stage, however, ended as that one ended; we had no newclue. There was a spacious99 inn here, solitary100, but a comfortablesubstantial building, and as we drove in under a large gatewaybefore I knew it, where a landlady102 and her pretty daughters came tothe carriage-door, entreating103 me to alight and refresh myself whilethe horses were making ready, I thought it would be uncharitable torefuse. They took me upstairs to a warm room and left me there.
It was at the corner of the house, I remember, looking two ways.
On one side to a stable-yard open to a by-road, where the ostlerswere unharnessing the splashed and tired horses from the muddycarriage, and beyond that to the by-road itself, across which thesign was heavily swinging; on the other side to a wood of darkpine-trees. Their branches were encumbered104 with snow, and itsilently dropped off in wet heaps while I stood at the window.
Night was setting in, and its bleakness105 was enhanced by thecontrast of the pictured fire glowing and gleaming in the window-pane. As I looked among the stems of the trees and followed thediscoloured marks in the snow where the thaw106 was sinking into itand undermining it, I thought of the motherly face brightly set offby daughters that had just now welcomed me and of MY mother lyingdown in such a wood to die.
I was frightened when I found them all about me, but I rememberedthat before I fainted I tried very hard not to do it; and that wassome little comfort. They cushioned me up on a large sofa by thefire, and then the comely107 landlady told me that I must travel nofurther to-night, but must go to bed. But this put me into such atremble lest they should detain me there that she soon recalled herwords and compromised for a rest of half an hour.
A good endearing creature she was. She and her three fair girls,all so busy about me. I was to take hot soup and broiled108 fowl,while Mr. Bucket dried himself and dined elsewhere; but I could notdo it when a snug109 round table was presently spread by the fireside,though I was very unwilling77 to disappoint them. However, I couldtake some toast and some hot negus, and as I really enjoyed thatrefreshment, it made some recompense.
Punctual to the time, at the half-hour's end the carriage camerumbling under the gateway101, and they took me down, warmed,refreshed, comforted by kindness, and safe (I assured them) not tofaint any more. After I had got in and had taken a grateful leaveof them all, the youngest daughter--a blooming girl of nineteen,who was to be the first married, they had told me--got upon thecarriage step, reached in, and kissed me. I have never seen her,from that hour, but I think of her to this hour as my friend.
The transparent110 windows with the fire and light, looking so brightand warm from the cold darkness out of doors, were soon gone, andagain we were crushing and churning the loose snow. We went onwith toil111 enough, but the dismal112 roads were not much worse thanthey had been, and the stage was only nine miles. My companionsmoking on the box--I had thought at the last inn of begging him todo so when I saw him standing113 at a great fire in a comfortablecloud of tobacco--was as vigilant as ever and as quickly down andup again when we came to any human abode or any human creature. Hehad lighted his little dark lantern, which seemed to be a favouritewith him, for we had lamps to the carriage; and every now and thenhe turned it upon me to see that I was doing well. There was afolding-window to the carriage-head, but I never closed it, for itseemed like shutting out hope.
We came to the end of the stage, and still the lost trace was notrecovered. I looked at him anxiously when we stopped to change,but I knew by his yet graver face as he stood watching the ostlersthat he had heard nothing. Almost in an instant afterwards, as Ileaned back in my seat, he looked in, with his lighted lantern inhis hand, an excited and quite different man.
"What is it?" said I, starting. "Is she here?""No, no. Don't deceive yourself, my dear. Nobody's here. ButI've got it!"The crystallized snow was in his eyelashes, in his hair, lying inridges on his dress. He had to shake it from his face and get hisbreath before he spoke to me.
"Now, Miss Summerson," said he, beating his finger on the apron,"don't you be disappointed at what I'm a-going to do. You know me.
I'm Inspector114 Bucket, and you can trust me. We've come a long way;never mind. Four horses out there for the next stage up! Quick!"There was a commotion115 in the yard, and a man came running out ofthe stables to know if he meant up or down.
"Up, I tell you! Up! Ain't it English? Up!""Up?" said I, astonished. "To London! Are we going back?""Miss Summerson," he answered, "back. Straight back as a die. Youknow me. Don't be afraid. I'll follow the other, by G--""The other?" I repeated. "Who?""You called her Jenny, didn't you? I'll follow her. Bring thosetwo pair out here for a crown a man. Wake up, some of you!""You will not desert this lady we are in search of; you will notabandon her on such a night and in such a state of mind as I knowher to be in!" said I, in an agony, and grasping his hand.
"You are right, my dear, I won't. But I'll follow the other. Lookalive here with them horses. Send a man for'ard in the saddle tothe next stage, and let him send another for'ard again, and orderfour on, up, right through. My darling, don't you be afraid!"These orders and the way in which he ran about the yard urging themcaused a general excitement that was scarcely less bewildering tome than the sudden change. But in the height of the confusion, amounted man galloped116 away to order the relays, and our horses wereput to with great speed.
"My dear," said Mr. Bucket, jumping to his seat and looking inagain, "--you'll excuse me if I'm too familiar--don't you fret andworry yourself no more than you can help. I say nothing else atpresent; but you know me, my dear; now, don't you?"I endeavoured to say that I knew he was far more capable than I ofdeciding what we ought to do, but was he sure that this was right?
Could I not go forward by myself in search of--I grasped his handagain in my distress and whispered it to him--of my own mother.
"My dear," he answered, "I know, I know, and would I put you wrong,do you think? Inspector Bucket. Now you know me, don't you?"What could I say but yes!
"Then you keep up as good a heart as you can, and you rely upon mefor standing by you, no less than by Sir Leicester Dedlock,Baronet. Now, are you right there?""All right, sir!""Off she goes, then. And get on, my lads!"We were again upon the melancholy117 road by which we had come,tearing up the miry sleet and thawing118 snow as if they were torn upby a waterwheel.
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guardian
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| n.监护人；守卫者，保护者 | |
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entreaties
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| n.恳求，乞求( entreaty的名词复数 ) | |
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tumult
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| n.喧哗；激动，混乱；吵闹 | |
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distress
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| n.苦恼，痛苦，不舒适；不幸；vt.使悲痛 | |
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subdue
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| vt.制服，使顺从，征服；抑制，克制 | |
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agitation
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| n.搅动；搅拌；鼓动，煽动 | |
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fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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expeditiously
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| adv.迅速地，敏捷地 | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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confide
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| v.向某人吐露秘密 | |
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chivalrous
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| adj.武士精神的；对女人彬彬有礼的 | |
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lodgings
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| n. 出租的房舍, 寄宿舍 | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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fret
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| v.(使)烦恼；(使)焦急；(使)腐蚀，(使)磨损 | |
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forefinger
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| n.食指 | |
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reassured
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| adj.使消除疑虑的；使放心的v.再保证，恢复信心( reassure的过去式和过去分词) | |
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courteously
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| adv.有礼貌地，亲切地 | |
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rattled
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| 慌乱的，恼火的 | |
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labyrinth
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| n.迷宫；难解的事物；迷路 | |
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dense
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| a.密集的，稠密的，浓密的；密度大的 | |
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warehouses
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| 仓库，货栈( warehouse的名词复数 ) | |
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mouldering
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| v.腐朽( moulder的现在分词 )；腐烂，崩塌 | |
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inscription
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| n.（尤指石块上的）刻印文字，铭文，碑文 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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lessen
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| vt.减少，减轻；缩小 | |
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swollen
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| adj.肿大的，水涨的；v.使变大，肿胀 | |
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sodden
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| adj.浑身湿透的；v.使浸透；使呆头呆脑 | |
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defer
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| vt.推迟，拖延；vi.(to)遵从，听从，服从 | |
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alley
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| n.小巷，胡同；小径，小路 | |
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shuddered
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| v.战栗( shudder的过去式和过去分词 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
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exhorting
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| v.劝告，劝说( exhort的现在分词 ) | |
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vigilant
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| adj.警觉的，警戒的，警惕的 | |
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retrace
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| v.折回；追溯，探源 | |
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perturbed
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| adj.烦燥不安的v.使（某人）烦恼，不安( perturb的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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overcast
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| adj.阴天的，阴暗的，愁闷的；v.遮盖，（使）变暗，包边缝；n.覆盖，阴天 | |
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eddying
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| 涡流，涡流的形成 | |
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dreaded
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| adj.令人畏惧的；害怕的v.害怕，恐惧，担心( dread的过去式和过去分词) | |
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clattering
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| 发出咔哒声（clatter的现在分词形式） | |
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watchful
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| adj.注意的，警惕的 | |
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stunned
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| adj. 震惊的，惊讶的 动词stun的过去式和过去分词 | |
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joyful
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| adj.欢乐的，令人欢欣的 | |
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exclamation
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| n.感叹号，惊呼，惊叹词 | |
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toll
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| n.过路(桥)费；损失，伤亡人数；v.敲(钟) | |
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45
gallop
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| v./n.(马或骑马等)飞奔；飞速发展 | |
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abode
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| n.住处，住所 | |
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ascended
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| v.上升，攀登( ascend的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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inquiry
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| n.打听，询问，调查，查问 | |
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assented
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| 同意，赞成( assent的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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50
retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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51
gracefully
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| ad.大大方方地；优美地 | |
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52
secreted
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| v.（尤指动物或植物器官）分泌( secrete的过去式和过去分词 )；隐匿，隐藏 | |
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53
attentively
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| adv.聚精会神地；周到地；谛；凝神 | |
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54
gravel
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| n.砂跞；砂砾层；结石 | |
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chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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morsel
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| n.一口，一点点 | |
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vagrants
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| 流浪者( vagrant的名词复数 )； 无业游民； 乞丐； 无赖 | |
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bestowed
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| 赠给，授予( bestow的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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premises
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| n.建筑物，房屋 | |
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eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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61
treacherous
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| adj.不可靠的，有暗藏的危险的；adj.背叛的，背信弃义的 | |
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poetical
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| adj.似诗人的；诗一般的；韵文的；富有诗意的 | |
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inquiries
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| n.调查( inquiry的名词复数 )；疑问；探究；打听 | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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margin
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| n.页边空白；差额；余地，余裕；边，边缘 | |
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kilns
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| n.窑( kiln的名词复数 )；烧窑工人 | |
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morose
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| adj.脾气坏的，不高兴的 | |
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propitiatory
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| adj.劝解的；抚慰的；谋求好感的；哄人息怒的 | |
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growled
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| v.（动物）发狺狺声， （雷）作隆隆声( growl的过去式和过去分词 )；低声咆哮着说 | |
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faltering
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| 犹豫的，支吾的，蹒跚的 | |
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privately
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| adv.以私人的身份，悄悄地，私下地 | |
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uncertainty
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| n.易变，靠不住，不确知，不确定的事物 | |
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badger
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| v.一再烦扰，一再要求，纠缠 | |
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meddle
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| v.干预，干涉，插手 | |
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grumbling
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| adj. 喃喃鸣不平的, 出怨言的 | |
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unwilling
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| adj.不情愿的 | |
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unwillingness
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| n. 不愿意，不情愿 | |
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exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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hoarse
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| adj.嘶哑的，沙哑的 | |
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proceeding
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| n.行动，进行，(pl.)会议录，学报 | |
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82
bruised
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| [医]青肿的，瘀紫的 | |
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83
entreaty
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| n.恳求，哀求 | |
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84
kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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density
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| n.密集，密度，浓度 | |
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86
partially
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| adv.部分地，从某些方面讲 | |
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hoofs
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| n.（兽的）蹄，马蹄( hoof的名词复数 )v.（兽的）蹄，马蹄( hoof的第三人称单数 ) | |
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mire
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| n.泥沼，泥泞；v.使...陷于泥泞，使...陷入困境 | |
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unreasonable
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| adj.不讲道理的，不合情理的，过度的 | |
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enjoyment
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| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
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beheld
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| v.看，注视( behold的过去式和过去分词 )；瞧；看呀；（叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现）哎哟 | |
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92
sleet
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| n.雨雪；v.下雨雪，下冰雹 | |
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93
marshes
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| n.沼泽，湿地( marsh的名词复数 ) | |
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misgivings
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| n.疑虑，担忧，害怕；疑虑，担心，恐惧( misgiving的名词复数 )；疑惧 | |
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95
reassuring
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| a.使人消除恐惧和疑虑的，使人放心的 | |
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96
eyelid
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| n.眼睑，眼皮 | |
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97
perplexed
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| adj.不知所措的 | |
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98
apprehensions
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| 疑惧 | |
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99
spacious
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| adj.广阔的，宽敞的 | |
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100
solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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101
gateway
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| n.大门口，出入口，途径，方法 | |
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102
landlady
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| n.女房东，女地主 | |
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103
entreating
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| 恳求，乞求( entreat的现在分词 ) | |
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104
encumbered
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| v.妨碍，阻碍，拖累( encumber的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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105
bleakness
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| adj. 萧瑟的, 严寒的, 阴郁的 | |
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106
thaw
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| v.（使）融化，（使）变得友善；n.融化，缓和 | |
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107
comely
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| adj.漂亮的，合宜的 | |
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108
broiled
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| a.烤过的 | |
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109
snug
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| adj.温暖舒适的，合身的，安全的；v.使整洁干净，舒适地依靠，紧贴；n.（英）酒吧里的私房 | |
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110
transparent
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| adj.明显的，无疑的；透明的 | |
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111
toil
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| vi.辛劳工作，艰难地行动；n.苦工，难事 | |
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112
dismal
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| adj.阴沉的，凄凉的，令人忧郁的，差劲的 | |
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113
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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114
inspector
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| n.检查员，监察员，视察员 | |
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115
commotion
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| n.骚动，动乱 | |
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116
galloped
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| （使马）飞奔，奔驰( gallop的过去式和过去分词 )； 快速做[说]某事 | |
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117
melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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118
thawing
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| n.熔化，融化v.（气候）解冻( thaw的现在分词 )；（态度、感情等）缓和；（冰、雪及冷冻食物）溶化；软化 | |
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