Still impassive, as behoves its breeding, the Dedlock town housecarries itself as usual towards the street of dismal grandeur.
There are powdered heads from time to time in the little windows ofthe hall, looking out at the untaxed powder falling all day fromthe sky; and in the same conservatory there is peach blossomturning itself exotically to the great hall fire from the nippingweather out of doors. It is given out that my Lady has gone downinto Lincolnshire, but is expected to return presently.
Rumour, busy overmuch, however, will not go down into Lincolnshire.
It persists in flitting and chattering about town. It knows thatthat poor unfortunate man, Sir Leicester, has been sadly used. Ithears, my dear child, all sorts of shocking things. It makes theworld of five miles round quite merry. Not to know that there issomething wrong at the Dedlocks' is to augur yourself unknown. Oneof the peachy-cheeked charmers with the skeleton throats is alreadyapprised of all the principal circumstances that will come outbefore the Lords on Sir Leicester's application for a bill ofdivorce.
At Blaze and Sparkle's the jewellers and at Sheen and Gloss's themercers, it is and will be for several hours the topic of the age,the feature of the century. The patronesses of thoseestablishments, albeit so loftily inscrutable, being as nicelyweighed and measured there as any other article of the stock-in-trade, are perfectly understood in this new fashion by the rawesthand behind the counter. "Our people, Mr. Jones," said Blaze andSparkle to the hand in question on engaging him, "our people, sir,are sheep--mere sheep. Where two or three marked ones go, all therest follow. Keep those two or three in your eye, Mr. Jones, andyou have the flock." So, likewise, Sheen and Gloss to THEIR Jones,in reference to knowing where to have the fashionable people andhow to bring what they (Sheen and Gloss) choose into fashion. Onsimilar unerring principles, Mr. Sladdery the librarian, and indeedthe great farmer of gorgeous sheep, admits this very day, "Why yes,sir, there certainly ARE reports concerning Lady Dedlock, verycurrent indeed among my high connexion, sir. You see, my highconnexion must talk about something, sir; and it's only to get asubject into vogue with one or two ladies I could name to make itgo down with the whole. Just what I should have done with thoseladies, sir, in the case of any novelty you had left to me to bringin, they have done of themselves in this case through knowing LadyDedlock and being perhaps a little innocently jealous of her too,sir. You'll find, sir, that this topic will be very popular amongmy high connexion. If it had been a speculation, sir, it wouldhave brought money. And when I say so, you may trust to my beingright, sir, for I have made it my business to study my highconnexion and to be able to wind it up like a clock, sir."Thus rumour thrives in the capital, and will not go down intoLincolnshire. By half-past five, post meridian, Horse Guards'
time, it has even elicited a new remark from the Honourable Mr.
Stables, which bids fair to outshine the old one, on which he hasso long rested his colloquial reputation. This sparkling sally isto the effect that although he always knew she was the best-groomedwoman in the stud, he had no idea she was a bolter. It isimmensely received in turf-circles.
At feasts and festivals also, in firmaments she has often graced,and among constellations she outshone but yesterday, she is stillthe prevalent subject. What is it? Who is it? When was it?
Where was it? How was it? She is discussed by her dear friendswith all the genteelest slang in vogue, with the last new word, thelast new manner, the last new drawl, and the perfection of politeindifference. A remarkable feature of the theme is that it isfound to be so inspiring that several people come out upon it whonever came out before--positively say things! William Buffycarries one of these smartnesses from the place where he dines downto the House, where the Whip for his party hands it about with hissnuff-box to keep men together who want to be off, with such effectthat the Speaker (who has had it privately insinuated into his ownear under the corner of his wig) cries, "Order at the bar!" threetimes without making an impression.
And not the least amazing circumstance connected with her beingvaguely the town talk is that people hovering on the confines ofMr. Sladdery's high connexion, people who know nothing and ever didknow nothing about her, think it essential to their reputation topretend that she is their topic too, and to retail her at second-hand with the last new word and the last new manner, and the lastnew drawl, and the last new polite indifference, and all the restof it, all at second-hand but considered equal to new in inferiorsystems and to fainter stars. If there be any man of letters, art,or science among these little dealers, how noble in him to supportthe feeble sisters on such majestic crutches!
So goes the wintry day outside the Dedlock mansion. How within it?
Sir Leicester, lying in his bed, can speak a little, though withdifficulty and indistinctness. He is enjoined to silence and torest, and they have given him some opiate to lull his pain, for hisold enemy is very hard with him. He is never asleep, thoughsometimes he seems to fall into a dull waking doze. He caused hisbedstead to be moved out nearer to the window when he heard it wassuch inclement weather, and his head to be so adjusted that hecould see the driving snow and sleet. He watches it as it falls,throughout the whole wintry day.
Upon the least noise in the house, which is kept hushed, his handis at the pencil. The old housekeeper, sitting by him, knows whathe would write and whispers, "No, he has not come back yet, SirLeicester. It was late last night when he went. He has been but alittle time gone yet."He withdraws his hand and falls to looking at the sleet and snowagain until they seem, by being long looked at, to fall so thickand fast that he is obliged to close his eyes for a minute on thegiddy whirl of white flakes and icy blots.
He began to look at them as soon as it was light. The day is notyet far spent when he conceives it to be necessary that her roomsshould be prepared for her. It is very cold and wet. Let there begood fires. Let them know that she is expected. Please see to ityourself. He writes to this purpose on his slate, and Mrs.
Rouncewell with a heavy heart obeys.
"For I dread, George," the old lady says to her son, who waitsbelow to keep her company when she has a little leisure, "I dread,my dear, that my Lady will never more set foot within these walls.""That's a bad presentiment, mother.""Nor yet within the walls of Chesney Wold, my dear.""That's worse. But why, mother?""When I saw my Lady yesterday, George, she looked to me--and I maysay at me too--as if the step on the Ghost's Walk had almost walkedher down.""Come, come! You alarm yourself with old-story fears, mother.""No I don't, my dear. No I don't. It's going on for sixty yearthat I have been in this family, and I never had any fears for itbefore. But it's breaking up, my dear; the great old Dedlockfamily is breaking up.""I hope not, mother.""I am thankful I have lived long enough to be with Sir Leicester inthis illness and trouble, for I know I am not too old nor toouseless to be a welcomer sight to him than anybody else in my placewould be. But the step on the Ghost's Walk will walk my Lady down,George; it has been many a day behind her, and now it will pass herand go on.""Well, mother dear, I say again, I hope not.""Ah, so do I, George," the old lady returns, shaking her head andparting her folded hands. "But if my fears come true, and he hasto know it, who will tell him!""Are these her rooms?""These are my Lady's rooms, just as she left them.""Why, now," says the trooper, glancing round him and speaking in alower voice, "I begin to understand how you come to think as you dothink, mother. Rooms get an awful look about them when they arefitted up, like these, for one person you are used to see in them,and that person is away under any shadow, let alone being God knowswhere."He is not far out. As all partings foreshadow the great final one,so, empty rooms, bereft of a familiar presence, mournfully whisperwhat your room and what mine must one day be. My Lady's state hasa hollow look, thus gloomy and abandoned; and in the innerapartment, where Mr. Bucket last night made his secretperquisition, the traces of her dresses and her ornaments, even themirrors accustomed to reflect them when they were a portion ofherself, have a desolate and vacant air. Dark and cold as thewintry day is, it is darker and colder in these deserted chambersthan in many a hut that will barely exclude the weather; and thoughthe servants heap fires in the grates and set the couches and thechairs within the warm glass screens that let their ruddy lightshoot through to the furthest corners, there is a heavy cloud uponthe rooms which no light will dispel.
The old housekeeper and her son remain until the preparations arecomplete, and then she returns upstairs. Volumnia has taken Mrs.
Rouncewell's place in the meantime, though pearl necklaces androuge pots, however calculated to embellish Bath, are butindifferent comforts to the invalid under present circumstances.
Volumnia, not being supposed to know (and indeed not knowing) whatis the matter, has found it a ticklish task to offer appropriateobservations and consequently has supplied their place withdistracting smoothings of the bed-linen, elaborate locomotion ontiptoe, vigilant peeping at her kinsman's eyes, and oneexasperating whisper to herself of, "He is asleep." In disproof ofwhich superfluous remark Sir Leicester has indignantly written onthe slate, "I am not."Yielding, therefore, the chair at the bedside to the quaint oldhousekeeper, Volumnia sits at a table a little removed,sympathetically sighing. Sir Leicester watches the sleet and snowand listens for the returning steps that he expects. In the earsof his old servant, looking as if she had stepped out of an oldpicture-frame to attend a summoned Dedlock to another world, thesilence is fraught with echoes of her own words, "who will tellhim!"He has been under his valet's hands this morning to be madepresentable and is as well got up as the circumstances will allow.
He is propped with pillows, his grey hair is brushed in its usualmanner, his linen is arranged to a nicety, and he is wrapped in aresponsible dressing-gown. His eye-glass and his watch are readyto his hand. It is necessary--less to his own dignity now perhapsthan for her sake--that he should be seen as little disturbed andas much himself as may be. Women will talk, and Volumnia, though aDedlock, is no exceptional case. He keeps her here, there islittle doubt, to prevent her talking somewhere else. He is veryill, but he makes his present stand against distress of mind andbody most courageously.
The fair Volumnia, being one of those sprightly girls who cannotlong continue silent without imminent peril of seizure by thedragon Boredom, soon indicates the approach of that monster with aseries of undisguisable yawns. Finding it impossible to suppressthose yawns by any other process than conversation, she complimentsMrs. Rouncewell on her son, declaring that he positively is one ofthe finest figures she ever saw and as soldierly a looking person,she should think, as what's his name, her favourite Life Guardsman--the man she dotes on, the dearest of creatures--who was killed atWaterloo.
Sir Leicester hears this tribute with so much surprise and staresabout him in such a confused way that Mrs. Rouncewell feels itnecesary to explain.
"Miss Dedlock don't speak of my eldest son, Sir Leicester, but myyoungest. I have found him. He has come home."Sir Leicester breaks silence with a harsh cry. "George? Your sonGeorge come home, Mrs. Rouncewell?"The old housekeeper wipes her eyes. "Thank God. Yes, SirLeicester."Does this discovery of some one lost, this return of some one solong gone, come upon him as a strong confirmation of his hopes?
Does he think, "Shall I not, with the aid I have, recall her safelyafter this, there being fewer hours in her case than there areyears in his?"It is of no use entreating him; he is determined to speak now, andhe does. In a thick crowd of sounds, but still intelligibly enoughto be understood.
"Why did you not tell me, Mrs. Rouncewell?""It happened only yesterday, Sir Leicester, and I doubted yourbeing well enough to be talked to of such things."Besides, the giddy Volumnia now remembers with her little screamthat nobody was to have known of his being Mrs. Rouncewell's sonand that she was not to have told. But Mrs. Rouncewell protests,with warmth enough to swell the stomacher, that of course she wouldhave told Sir Leicester as soon as he got better.
"Where is your son George, Mrs. Rouncewell?" asks Sir Leicester,Mrs. Rouncewell, not a little alarmed by his disregard of thedoctor's injunctions, replies, in London.
"Where in London?"Mrs. Rouncewell is constrained to admit that he is in the house.
"Bring him here to my room. Bring him directly."The old lady can do nothing but go in search of him. SirLeicester, with such power of movement as he has, arranges himselfa little to receive him. When he has done so, he looks out againat the falling sleet and snow and listens again for the returningsteps. A quantity of straw has been tumbled down in the street todeaden the noises there, and she might be driven to the doorperhaps without his hearing wheels.
He is lying thus, apparently forgetful of his newer and minorsurprise, when the housekeeper returns, accompanied by her trooperson. Mr. George approaches softly to the bedside, makes his bow,squares his chest, and stands, with his face flushed, very heartilyashamed of himself.
"Good heaven, and it is really George Rouncewell!" exclaims SirLeicester. "Do you remember me, George?"The trooper needs to look at him and to separate this sound fromthat sound before he knows what he has said, but doing this andbeing a little helped by his mother, he replies, "I must have avery bad memory, indeed, Sir Leicester, if I failed to rememberyou.""When I look at you, George Rouncewell," Sir Leicester observeswith difficulty, "I see something of a boy at Chesney Wold--Iremember well--very well."He looks at the trooper until tears come into his eyes, and then helooks at the sleet and snow again.
"I ask your pardon, Sir Leicester," says the trooper, "but wouldyou accept of my arms to raise you up? You would lie easier, SirLeicester, if you would allow me to move you.""If you please, George Rouncewell; if you will be so good."The trooper takes him in his arms like a child, lightly raises him,and turns him with his face more towards the window. "Thank you.
You have your mother's gentleness," returns Sir Leicester, "andyour own strength. Thank you."He signs to him with his hand not to go away. George quietlyremains at the bedside, waiting to be spoken to.
"Why did you wish for secrecy?" It takes Sir Leicester some timeto ask this.
"Truly I am not much to boast of, Sir Leicester, and I--I shouldstill, Sir Leicester, if you was not so indisposed--which I hopeyou will not be long--I should still hope for the favour of beingallowed to remain unknown in general. That involves explanationsn............