第 81 页

my brandy, and that she would trouble her to walk out. Both of these

expressions Mrs. Crupp considered actionable, and had expressed her

intention of bringing before a ‘British Judy’--meaning, it was supposed,

the bulwark of our national liberties.

My aunt, however, having had time to cool, while Peggotty was out

showing Mr. Dick the soldiers at the Horse Guards--and being, besides,

greatly pleased to see Agnes--rather plumed herself on the affair than

otherwise, and received us with unimpaired good humour. When Agnes laid

her bonnet on the table, and sat down beside her, I could not but think,

looking on her mild eyes and her radiant forehead, how natural it

seemed to have her there; how trustfully, although she was so young and

inexperienced, my aunt confided in her; how strong she was, indeed, in

simple love and truth.

We began to talk about my aunt’s losses, and I told them what I had

tried to do that morning.

‘Which was injudicious, Trot,’ said my aunt, ‘but well meant. You are

a generous boy--I suppose I must say, young man, now--and I am proud of

you, my dear. So far, so good. Now, Trot and Agnes, let us look the case

of Betsey Trotwood in the face, and see how it stands.’

I observed Agnes turn pale, as she looked very attentively at my aunt.

My aunt, patting her cat, looked very attentively at Agnes.

‘Betsey Trotwood,’ said my aunt, who had always kept her money matters

to herself. ‘--I don’t mean your sister, Trot, my dear, but myself--had

a certain property. It don’t matter how much; enough to live on. More;

for she had saved a little, and added to it. Betsey funded her property

for some time, and then, by the advice of her man of business, laid

it out on landed security. That did very well, and returned very good

interest, till Betsey was paid off. I am talking of Betsey as if she

was a man-of-war. Well! Then, Betsey had to look about her, for a new

investment. She thought she was wiser, now, than her man of business,

who was not such a good man of business by this time, as he used to

be--I am alluding to your father, Agnes--and she took it into her head

to lay it out for herself. So she took her pigs,’ said my aunt, ‘to a

foreign market; and a very bad market it turned out to be. First, she

lost in the mining way, and then she lost in the diving way--fishing up

treasure, or some such Tom Tiddler nonsense,’ explained my aunt, rubbing

her nose; ‘and then she lost in the mining way again, and, last of all,

to set the thing entirely to rights, she lost in the banking way. I

don’t know what the Bank shares were worth for a little while,’ said my

aunt; ‘cent per cent was the lowest of it, I believe; but the Bank was

at the other end of the world, and tumbled into space, for what I know;

anyhow, it fell to pieces, and never will and never can pay sixpence;

and Betsey’s sixpences were all there, and there’s an end of them. Least

said, soonest mended!’

My aunt concluded this philosophical summary, by fixing her eyes with a

kind of triumph on Agnes, whose colour was gradually returning.

‘Dear Miss Trotwood, is that all the history?’ said Agnes.

‘I hope it’s enough, child,’ said my aunt. ‘If there had been more

money to lose, it wouldn’t have been all, I dare say. Betsey would have

contrived to throw that after the rest, and make another chapter, I have

little doubt. But there was no more money, and there’s no more story.’

Agnes had listened at first with suspended breath. Her colour still came

and went, but she breathed more freely. I thought I knew why. I thought

she had had some fear that her unhappy father might be in some way to

blame for what had happened. My aunt took her hand in hers, and laughed.

‘Is that all?’ repeated my aunt. ‘Why, yes, that’s all, except, “And she

lived happy ever afterwards.” Perhaps I may add that of Betsey yet, one

of these days. Now, Agnes, you have a wise head. So have you, Trot, in

some things, though I can’t compliment you always’; and here my aunt

shook her own at me, with an energy peculiar to herself. ‘What’s to be

done? Here’s the cottage, taking one time with another, will produce

say seventy pounds a year. I think we may safely put it down at

that. Well!--That’s all we’ve got,’ said my aunt; with whom it was an

idiosyncrasy, as it is with some horses, to stop very short when she

appeared to be in a fair way of going on for a long while.

‘Then,’ said my aunt, after a rest, ‘there’s Dick. He’s good for a

hundred a-year, but of course that must be expended on himself. I would

sooner send him away, though I know I am the only person who appreciates

him, than have him, and not spend his money on himself. How can Trot and

I do best, upon our means? What do you say, Agnes?’

‘I say, aunt,’ I interposed, ‘that I must do something!’

‘Go for a soldier, do you mean?’ returned my aunt, alarmed; ‘or go to

sea? I won’t hear of it. You are to be a proctor. We’re not going to

have any knockings on the head in THIS family, if you please, sir.’

I was about to explain that I was not desirous of introducing that mode

of provision into the family, when Agnes inquired if my rooms were held

for any long term?

‘You come to the point, my dear,’ said my aunt. ‘They are not to be got

rid of, for six months at least, unless they could be underlet, and that

I don’t believe. The last man died here. Five people out of six would

die--of course--of that woman in nankeen with the flannel petticoat. I

have a little ready money; and I agree with you, the best thing we can

do, is, to live the term out here, and get a bedroom hard by.’

I thought it my duty to hint at the discomfort my aunt would sustain,

from living in a continual state of guerilla warfare with Mrs. Crupp;

but she disposed of that objection summarily by declaring that, on the

first demonstration of hostilities, she was prepared to astonish Mrs.

Crupp for the whole remainder of her natural life.

‘I have been thinking, Trotwood,’ said Agnes, diffidently, ‘that if you

had time--’

‘I have a good deal of time, Agnes. I am always disengaged after four

or five o’clock, and I have time early in the morning. In one way and

another,’ said I, conscious of reddening a little as I thought of the

hours and hours I had devoted to fagging about town, and to and fro upon

the Norwood Road, ‘I have abundance of time.’

‘I know you would not mind,’ said Agnes, coming to me, and speaking in

a low voice, so full of sweet and hopeful consideration that I hear it

now, ‘the duties of a secretary.’

‘Mind, my dear Agnes?’

‘Because,’ continued Agnes, ‘Doctor Strong has acted on his intention of

retiring, and has come to live in London; and he asked papa, I know,

if he could recommend him one. Don’t you think he would rather have his

favourite old pupil near him, than anybody else?’

‘Dear Agnes!’ said I. ‘What should I do without you! You are always my

good angel. I told you so. I never think of you in any other light.’

Agnes answered with her pleasant laugh, that one good Angel (meaning

Dora) was enough; and went on to remind me that the Doctor had been

used to occupy himself in his study, early in the morning, and in the

evening--and that probably my leisure would suit his requirements very

well. I was scarcely more delighted with the prospect of earning my own

bread, than with the hope of earning it under my old master; in short,

acting on the advice of Agnes, I sat down and wrote a letter to the

Doctor, stating my object, and appointing to call on him next day at

ten in the forenoon. This I addressed to Highgate--for in that place, so

memorable to me, he lived--and went and posted, myself, without losing a

minute.

Wherever Agnes was, some agreeable token of her noiseless presence

seemed inseparable from the place. When I came back, I found my aunt’s

birds hanging, just as they had hung so long in the parlour window of

the cottage; and my easy-chair imitating my aunt’s much easier chair in

its position at the open window; and even the round green fan, which my

aunt had brought away with her, screwed on to the window-sill. I knew

who had done all this, by its seeming to have quietly done itself; and I

should have known in a moment who had arranged my neglected books in the

old order of my school days, even if I had supposed Agnes to be miles

away, instead of seeing her busy with them, and smiling at the disorder

into which they had fallen.

My aunt was quite gracious on the subject of the Thames (it really did

look very well with the sun upon it, though not like the sea before the

cottage), but she could not relent towards the London smoke, which, she

said, ‘peppered everything’. A complete revolution, in which Peggotty

bore a prominent part, was being effected in every corner of my rooms,

in regard of this pepper; and I was looking on, thinking how little even

Peggotty seemed to do with a good deal of bustle, and how much Agnes did

without any bustle at all, when a knock came at the door.

‘I think,’ said Agnes, turning pale, ‘it’s papa. He promised me that he

would come.’

I opened the door, and admitted, not only Mr. Wickfield, but Uriah Heep.

I had not seen Mr. Wickfield for some time. I was prepared for a great

change in him, after what I had heard from Agnes, but his appearance

shocked me.

It was not that he looked many years older, though still dressed

with the old scrupulous cleanliness; or that there was an unwholesome

ruddiness upon his face; or that his eyes were full and bloodshot; or

that there was a nervous trembling in his hand, the cause of which I

knew, and had for some years seen at work. It was not that he had lost

his good looks, or his old bearing of a gentleman--for that he had

not--but the thing that struck me most, was, that with the evidences of

his native superiority still upon him, he should submit himself to that

crawling impersonation of meanness, Uriah Heep. The reversal of the

two natures, in their relative positions, Uriah’s of power and Mr.

Wickfield’s of dependence, was a sight more painful to me than I can

express. If I had seen an Ape taking command of a Man, I should hardly

have thought it a more degrading spectacle.

He appeared to be only too conscious of it himself. When he came in, he

stood still; and with his head bowed, as if he felt it. This was

only for a moment; for Agnes softly said to him, ‘Papa! Here is Miss

Trotwood--and Trotwood, whom you have not seen for a long while!’ and

then he approached, and constrainedly gave my aunt his hand, and shook

hands more cordially with me. In the moment’s pause I speak of, I saw

Uriah’s countenance form itself into a most ill-favoured smile. Agnes

saw it too, I think, for she shrank from him.

What my aunt saw, or did not see, I defy the science of physiognomy

to have made out, without her own consent. I believe there never was

anybody with such an imperturbable countenance when she chose. Her face

might have been a dead-wall on the occasion in question, for any light

it threw upon her thoughts; until she broke silence with her usual

abruptness.

‘Well, Wickfield!’ said my aunt; and he looked up at her for the first

time. ‘I have been telling your daughter how well I have been disposing

of my money for myself, because I couldn’t trust it to you, as you were

growing rusty in business matters. We have been taking counsel together,

and getting on very well, all things considered. Agnes is worth the

whole firm, in my opinion.’

‘If I may umbly make the remark,’ said Uriah Heep, with a writhe, ‘I

fully agree with Miss Betsey Trotwood, and should be only too appy if

Miss Agnes was a partner.’

‘You’re a partner yourself, you know,’ returned my aunt, ‘and that’s

about enough for you, I expect. How do you find yourself, sir?’

In acknowledgement of this question, addressed to him with extraordinary

curtness, Mr. Heep, uncomfortably clutching the blue bag he carried,

replied that he was pretty well, he thanked my aunt, and hoped she was

the same.

‘And you, Master--I should say, Mister Copperfield,’ pursued Uriah. ‘I

hope I see you well! I am rejoiced to see you, Mister Copperfield, even

under present circumstances.’ I believed that; for he seemed to relish

them very much. ‘Present circumstances is not what your friends would

wish for you, Mister Copperfield, but it isn’t money makes the man:

it’s--I am really unequal with my umble powers to express what it is,’

said Uriah, with a fawning jerk, ‘but it isn’t money!’

Here he shook hands with me: not in the common way, but standing at

a good distance from me, and lifting my hand up and down like a pump

handle, that he was a little afraid of.

‘And how do you think we are looking, Master Copperfield,--I should

say, Mister?’ fawned Uriah. ‘Don’t you find Mr. Wickfield blooming, sir?

Years don’t tell much in our firm, Master Copperfield, except in raising

up the umble, namely, mother and self--and in developing,’ he added, as

an afterthought, ‘the beautiful, namely, Miss Agnes.’

He jerked himself about, after this compliment, in such an intolerable

manner, that my aunt, who had sat looking straight at him, lost all

patience.

‘Deuce take the man!’ said my aunt, sternly, ‘what’s he about? Don’t be

galvanic, sir!’

‘I ask your pardon, Miss Trotwood,’ returned Uriah; ‘I’m aware you’re

nervous.’

‘Go along with you, sir!’ said my aunt, anything but appeased. ‘Don’t

presume to say so! I am nothing of the sort. If you’re an eel, sir,

conduct yourself like one. If you’re a man, control your limbs, sir!

Good God!’ said my aunt, with great indignation, ‘I am not going to be

serpentined and corkscrewed out of my senses!’

Mr. Heep was rather abashed, as most people might have been, by this

explosion; which derived great additional force from the indignant

manner in which my aunt afterwards moved in her chair, and shook her

head as if she were making snaps or bounces at him. But he said to me

aside in a meek voice:

‘I am well aware, Master Copperfield, that Miss Trotwood, though an

excellent lady, has a quick temper (indeed I think I had the pleasure

of knowing her, when I was a numble clerk, before you did, Master

Copperfield), and it’s only natural, I am sure, that it should be made