第 48 页

down the step-ladder and working into Bleeding Heart Yard, before he

seemed to be well out of the counting-house.

Throughout the remainder of the day, Bleeding Heart Yard was in

consternation, as the grim Pancks cruised in it; haranguing the

inhabitants on their backslidings in respect of payment, demanding his

bond, breathing notices to quit and executions, running down defaulters,

sending a swell of terror on before him, and leaving it in his wake.

Knots of people, impelled by a fatal attraction, lurked outside any

house in which he was known to be, listening for fragments of his

discourses to the inmates; and, when he was rumoured to be coming down

the stairs, often could not disperse so quickly but that he would be

prematurely in among them, demanding their own arrears, and rooting them

to the spot. Throughout the remainder of the day, Mr Pancks's What were

they up to? and What did they mean by it? sounded all over the Yard. Mr

Pancks wouldn't hear of excuses, wouldn't hear of complaints, wouldn't

hear of repairs, wouldn't hear of anything but unconditional money down.

Perspiring and puffing and darting about in eccentric directions, and

becoming hotter and dingier every moment, he lashed the tide of the yard

into a most agitated and turbid state. It had not settled down into calm

water again full two hours after he had been seen fuming away on the

horizon at the top of the steps.

There were several small assemblages of the Bleeding Hearts at the

popular points of meeting in the Yard that night, among whom it was

universally agreed that Mr Pancks was a hard man to have to do with; and

that it was much to be regretted, so it was, that a gentleman like Mr

Casby should put his rents in his hands, and never know him in his true

light. For (said the Bleeding Hearts), if a gentleman with that head of

hair and them eyes took his rents into his own hands, ma'am, there

would be none of this worriting and wearing, and things would be very

different.

At which identical evening hour and minute, the Patriarch--who had

floated serenely through the Yard in the forenoon before the harrying

began, with the express design of getting up this trustfulness in his

shining bumps and silken locks--at which identical hour and minute,

that first-rate humbug of a thousand guns was heavily floundering in the

little Dock of his exhausted Tug at home, and was saying, as he turned

his thumbs:

'A very bad day's work, Pancks, very bad day's work. It seems to me,

sir, and I must insist on making this observation forcibly in justice to

myself, that you ought to have got much more money, much more money.'

CHAPTER 24. Fortune-Telling

Little Dorrit received a call that same evening from Mr Plornish, who,

having intimated that he wished to speak to her privately, in a series

of coughs so very noticeable as to favour the idea that her father, as

regarded her seamstress occupation, was an illustration of the axiom

that there are no such stone-blind men as those who will not see,

obtained an audience with her on the common staircase outside the door.

'There's been a lady at our place to-day, Miss Dorrit,' Plornish

growled, 'and another one along with her as is a old wixen if ever I met

with such. The way she snapped a person's head off, dear me!'

The mild Plornish was at first quite unable to get his mind away from Mr

F.'s Aunt. 'For,' said he, to excuse himself, 'she is, I do assure you,

the winegariest party.'

At length, by a great effort, he detached himself from the subject

sufficiently to observe:

'But she's neither here nor there just at present. The other lady, she's

Mr Casby's daughter; and if Mr Casby an't well off, none better, it an't

through any fault of Pancks. For, as to Pancks, he does, he really does,

he does indeed!'

Mr Plornish, after his usual manner, was a little obscure, but

conscientiously emphatic.

'And what she come to our place for,' he pursued, 'was to leave word

that if Miss Dorrit would step up to that card--which it's Mr Casby's

house that is, and Pancks he has a office at the back, where he really

does, beyond belief--she would be glad for to engage her. She was a old

and a dear friend, she said particular, of Mr Clennam, and hoped for to

prove herself a useful friend to his friend. Them was her words. Wishing

to know whether Miss Dorrit could come to-morrow morning, I said I would

see you, Miss, and inquire, and look round there to-night, to say yes,

or, if you was engaged to-morrow, when?'

'I can go to-morrow, thank you,' said Little Dorrit. 'This is very kind

of you, but you are always kind.'

Mr Plornish, with a modest disavowal of his merits, opened the room door

for her readmission, and followed her in with such an exceedingly bald

pretence of not having been out at all, that her father might

have observed it without being very suspicious. In his affable

unconsciousness, however, he took no heed. Plornish, after a little

conversation, in which he blended his former duty as a Collegian with

his present privilege as a humble outside friend, qualified again by his

low estate as a plasterer, took his leave; making the tour of the prison

before he left, and looking on at a game of skittles with the mixed

feelings of an old inhabitant who had his private reasons for believing

that it might be his destiny to come back again.

Early in the morning, Little Dorrit, leaving Maggy in high domestic

trust, set off for the Patriarchal tent. She went by the Iron Bridge,

though it cost her a penny, and walked more slowly in that part of her

journey than in any other. At five minutes before eight her hand was on

the Patriarchal knocker, which was quite as high as she could reach.

She gave Mrs Finching's card to the young woman who opened the door, and

the young woman told her that 'Miss Flora'--Flora having, on her return

to the parental roof, reinvested herself with the title under which she

had lived there--was not yet out of her bedroom, but she was to please

to walk up into Miss Flora's sitting-room. She walked up into

Miss Flora's sitting-room, as in duty bound, and there found a

breakfast-table comfortably laid for two, with a supplementary tray

upon it laid for one. The young woman, disappearing for a few moments,

returned to say that she was to please to take a chair by the fire,

and to take off her bonnet and make herself at home. But Little Dorrit,

being bashful, and not used to make herself at home on such occasions,

felt at a loss how to do it; so she was still sitting near the door with

her bonnet on, when Flora came in in a hurry half an hour afterwards.

Flora was so sorry to have kept her waiting, and good gracious why did

she sit out there in the cold when she had expected to find her by the

fire reading the paper, and hadn't that heedless girl given her the

message then, and had she really been in her bonnet all this time, and

pray for goodness sake let Flora take it off! Flora taking it off in the

best-natured manner in the world, was so struck with the face disclosed,

that she said, 'Why, what a good little thing you are, my dear!' and

pressed her face between her hands like the gentlest of women.

It was the word and the action of a moment. Little Dorrit had hardly

time to think how kind it was, when Flora dashed at the breakfast-table

full of business, and plunged over head and ears into loquacity.

'Really so sorry that I should happen to be late on this morning of all

mornings because my intention and my wish was to be ready to meet you

when you came in and to say that any one that interested Arthur Clennam

half so much must interest me and that I gave you the heartiest welcome

and was so glad, instead of which they never called me and there I

still am snoring I dare say if the truth was known and if you don't like

either cold fowl or hot boiled ham which many people don't I dare say

besides Jews and theirs are scruples of conscience which we must all

respect though I must say I wish they had them equally strong when they

sell us false articles for real that certainly ain't worth the money I

shall be quite vexed,' said Flora.

Little Dorrit thanked her, and said, shyly, bread-and-butter and tea was

all she usually--

'Oh nonsense my dear child I can never hear of that,' said Flora,

turning on the urn in the most reckless manner, and making herself wink

by splashing hot water into her eyes as she bent down to look into the

teapot. 'You are coming here on the footing of a friend and companion

you know if you will let me take that liberty and I should be ashamed

of myself indeed if you could come here upon any other, besides which

Arthur Clennam spoke in such terms--you are tired my dear.'

'No, ma'am.'

'You turn so pale you have walked too far before breakfast and I dare

say live a great way off and ought to have had a ride,' said Flora,

'dear dear is there anything that would do you good?'

'Indeed I am quite well, ma'am. I thank you again and again, but I am

quite well.'

'Then take your tea at once I beg,' said Flora, 'and this wing of fowl

and bit of ham, don't mind me or wait for me, because I always carry in

this tray myself to Mr F.'s Aunt who breakfasts in bed and a charming

old lady too and very clever, Portrait of Mr F. behind the door and very

like though too much forehead and as to a pillar with a marble pavement

and balustrades and a mountain, I never saw him near it nor not likely

in the wine trade, excellent man but not at all in that way.'

Little Dorrit glanced at the portrait, very imperfectly following the

references to that work of art.

'Mr F. was so devoted to me that he never could bear me out of his

sight,' said Flora, 'though of course I am unable to say how long that

might have lasted if he hadn't been cut short while I was a new broom,

worthy man but not poetical manly prose but not romance.'

Little Dorrit glanced at the portrait again. The artist had given it a

head that would have been, in an intellectual point of view, top-heavy

for Shakespeare. 'Romance, however,' Flora went on, busily arranging Mr

F.'s Aunt's toast, 'as I openly said to Mr F. when he proposed to me

and you will be surprised to hear that he proposed seven times once in a

hackney-coach once in a boat once in a pew once on a donkey at Tunbridge

Wells and the rest on his knees, Romance was fled with the early days of

Arthur Clennam, our parents tore us asunder we became marble and stern

reality usurped the throne, Mr F. said very much to his credit that

he was perfectly aware of it and even preferred that state of things

accordingly the word was spoken the fiat went forth and such is life you

see my dear and yet we do not break but bend, pray make a good breakfast

while I go in with the tray.'

She disappeared, leaving Little Dorrit to ponder over the meaning of her

scattered words. She soon came back again; and at last began to take her

own breakfast, talking all the while.

'You see, my dear,' said Flora, measuring out a spoonful or two of some

brown liquid that smelt like brandy, and putting it into her tea, 'I am

obliged to be careful to follow the directions of my medical man though

the flavour is anything but agreeable being a poor creature and it may

be have never recovered the shock received in youth from too much giving

way to crying in the next room when separated from Arthur, have you

known him long?'

As soon as Little Dorrit comprehended that she had been asked this

question--for which time was necessary, the galloping pace of her new

patroness having left her far behind--she answered that she had known Mr

Clennam ever since his return.

'To be sure you couldn't have known him before unless you had been in

China or had corresponded neither of which is likely,' returned Flora,

'for travelling-people usually get more or less mahogany and you are not

at all so and as to corresponding what about? that's very true unless

tea, so it was at his mother's was it really that you knew him first,

highly sensible and firm but dreadfully severe--ought to be the mother

of the man in the iron mask.'

'Mrs Clennam has been kind to me,' said Little Dorrit.

'Really? I am sure I am glad to hear it because as Arthur's mother it's

naturally pleasant to my feelings to have a better opinion of her than

I had before, though what she thinks of me when I run on as I am certain

to do and she sits glowering at me like Fate in a go-cart--shocking

comparison really--invalid and not her fault--I never know or can

imagine.'

'Shall I find my work anywhere, ma'am?' asked Little Dorrit, looking

timidly about; 'can I get it?'

'You industrious little fairy,' returned Flora, taking, in another cup

of tea, another of the doses prescribed by her medical man, 'there's

not the slightest hurry and it's better that we should begin by being

confidential about our mutual friend--too cold a word for me at least

I don't mean that, very proper expression mutual friend--than become

through mere formalities not you but me like the Spartan boy with the

fox biting him, which I hope you'll excuse my bringing up for of all

the tiresome boys that will go tumbling into every sort of company that

boy's the tiresomest.'

Little Dorrit, her face very pale, sat down again to listen. 'Hadn't I

better work the while?' she asked. 'I can work and attend too. I would

rather, if I may.'

Her earnestness was so expressive of her being uneasy without her work,

that Flora answered, 'Well my dear whatever you like best,' and produced

a basket of white handkerchiefs. Little Dorrit gladly put it by her

side, took out her little pocket-housewife, threaded the needle, and