The Mystery of Edwin Drood - Charles Dickens (crime books to read txt) 📗

to the public eye, in contrast with his black suit—Mr. Grewgious still had some strange capacity in him of making on the whole an agreeable impression.

Mr. Grewgious was discovered by his ward, much discomfited by being in Miss Twinkleton’s company in Miss Twinkleton’s own sacred room. Dim forebodings of being examined in something, and not coming well out of it, seemed to oppress the poor gentleman when found in these circumstances.

‘My dear, how do you do? I am glad to see you. My dear, how much improved you are. Permit me to hand you a chair, my dear.’

Miss Twinkleton rose at her little writing-table, saying, with general sweetness, as to the polite Universe: ‘Will you permit me to retire?’

‘By no means, madam, on my account. I beg that you will not move.’

‘I must entreat permission to MOVE,’ returned Miss Twinkleton, repeating the word with a charming grace; ‘but I will not withdraw, since you are so obliging. If I wheel my desk to this corner window, shall I be in the way?’

‘Madam! In the way!’

‘You are very kind.—Rosa, my dear, you will be under no restraint, I am sure.’

Here Mr. Grewgious, left by the fire with Rosa, said again: ‘My dear, how do you do? I am glad to see you, my dear.’ And having waited for her to sit down, sat down himself.

‘My visits,’ said Mr. Grewgious, ‘are, like those of the angels— not that I compare myself to an angel.’

‘No, sir,’ said Rosa.

‘Not by any means,’ assented Mr. Grewgious. ‘I merely refer to my visits, which are few and far between. The angels are, we know very well, up-stairs.’

Miss Twinkleton looked round with a kind of stiff stare.

‘I refer, my dear,’ said Mr. Grewgious, laying his hand on Rosa’s, as the possibility thrilled through his frame of his otherwise seeming to take the awful liberty of calling Miss Twinkleton my dear; ‘I refer to the other young ladies.’

Miss Twinkleton resumed her writing.

Mr. Grewgious, with a sense of not having managed his opening point quite as neatly as he might have desired, smoothed his head from back to front as if he had just dived, and were pressing the water out—this smoothing action, however superfluous, was habitual with him—and took a pocket-book from his coat-pocket, and a stump of black-lead pencil from his waistcoat-pocket.

‘I made,’ he said, turning the leaves: ‘I made a guiding memorandum or so—as I usually do, for I have no conversational powers whatever—to which I will, with your permission, my dear, refer. “Well and happy.” Truly. You are well and happy, my dear? You look so.’

‘Yes, indeed, sir,’ answered Rosa.

‘For which,’ said Mr. Grewgious, with a bend of his head towards the corner window, ‘our warmest acknowledgments are due, and I am sure are rendered, to the maternal kindness and the constant care and consideration of the lady whom I have now the honour to see before me.’

This point, again, made but a lame departure from Mr. Grewgious, and never got to its destination; for, Miss Twinkleton, feeling that the courtesies required her to be by this time quite outside the conversation, was biting the end of her pen, and looking upward, as waiting for the descent of an idea from any member of the Celestial Nine who might have one to spare.

Mr. Grewgious smoothed his smooth head again, and then made another reference to his pocket-book; lining out ‘well and happy,’ as disposed of.

‘“Pounds, shillings, and pence,” is my next note. A dry subject for a young lady, but an important subject too. Life is pounds, shillings, and pence. Death is—’ A sudden recollection of the death of her two parents seemed to stop him, and he said in a softer tone, and evidently inserting the negative as an after-thought: ‘Death is NOT pounds, shillings, and pence.’

His voice was as hard and dry as himself, and Fancy might have ground it straight, like himself, into high-dried snuff. And yet, through the very limited means of expression that he possessed, he seemed to express kindness. If Nature had but finished him off, kindness might have been recognisable in his face at this moment. But if the notches in his forehead wouldn’t fuse together, and if his face would work and couldn’t play, what could he do, poor man!

‘“Pounds, shillings, and pence.” You find your allowance always sufficient for your wants, my dear?’

Rosa wanted for nothing, and therefore it was ample.

‘And you are not in debt?’

Rosa laughed at the idea of being in debt. It seemed, to her inexperience, a comical vagary of the imagination. Mr. Grewgious stretched his near sight to be sure that this was her view of the case. ‘Ah!’ he said, as comment, with a furtive glance towards Miss Twinkleton, and lining out pounds, shillings, and pence: ‘I spoke of having got among the angels! So I did!’

Rosa felt what his next memorandum would prove to be, and was blushing and folding a crease in her dress with one embarrassed hand, long before he found it.

‘“Marriage.” Hem!’ Mr. Grewgious carried his smoothing hand down over his eyes and nose, and even chin, before drawing his chair a little nearer, and speaking a little more confidentially: ‘I now touch, my dear, upon the point that is the direct cause of my troubling you with the present visit. Othenwise, being a particularly Angular man, I should not have intruded here. I am the last man to intrude into a sphere for which I am so entirely unfitted. I feel, on these premises, as if I was a bear—with the cramp—in a youthful Cotillon.’

His ungainliness gave him enough of the air of his simile to set Rosa off laughing heartily.

‘It strikes you in the same light,’ said Mr. Grewgious, with perfect calmness. ‘Just so. To return to my memorandum. Mr. Edwin has been to and fro here, as was arranged. You have mentioned that, in your quarterly letters to me. And you like him, and he likes you.’

‘I LIKE him very much, sir,’ rejoined Rosa.

‘So I said, my dear,’ returned her guardian, for whose ear the timid emphasis was much too fine. ‘Good. And you correspond.’

‘We write to one another,’ said Rosa, pouting, as she recalled their epistolary differences.

‘Such is the meaning that I attach to the word “correspond” in this application, my dear,’ said Mr. Grewgious. ‘Good. All goes well, time works on, and at this next Christmas-time it will become necessary, as a matter of form, to give the exemplary lady in the corner window, to whom we are so much indebted, business notice of your departure in the ensuing half-year. Your relations with her are far more than business relations, no doubt; but a residue of business remains in them, and business is business ever. I am a particularly Angular man,’ proceeded Mr. Grewgious, as if it suddenly occurred to him to mention it, ‘and I am not used to give anything away. If, for these two reasons, some competent Proxy would give YOU away, I should take it very kindly.’

Rosa intimated, with her eyes on the ground, that she thought a substitute might be found, if required.

‘Surely, surely,’ said Mr. Grewgious. ‘For instance, the gentleman who teaches Dancing here—he would know how to do it with graceful propriety. He would advance and retire in a manner satisfactory to the feelings of the officiating clergyman, and of yourself, and the bridegroom, and all parties concerned. I am—I am a particularly Angular man,’ said Mr. Grewgious, as if he had made up his mind to screw it out at last: ‘and should only blunder.’

Rosa sat still and silent. Perhaps her mind had not got quite so far as the ceremony yet, but was lagging on the way there.

‘Memorandum, “Will.” Now, my dear,’ said Mr. Grewgious, referring to his notes, disposing of ‘Marriage’ with his pencil, and taking a paper from his pocket; ‘although. I have before possessed you with the contents of your father’s will, I think it right at this time to leave a certified copy of it in your hands. And although Mr. Edwin is also aware of its contents, I think it right at this time likewise to place a certified copy of it in Mr. Jasper’s hand—’

‘Not in his own!’ asked Rosa, looking up quickly. ‘Cannot the copy go to Eddy himself?’

‘Why, yes, my dear, if you particularly wish it; but I spoke of Mr. Jasper as being his trustee.’

‘I do particularly wish it, if you please,’ said Rosa, hurriedly and earnestly; ‘I don’t like Mr. Jasper to come between us, in any way.’

‘It is natural, I suppose,’ said Mr. Grewgious, ‘that your young husband should be all in all. Yes. You observe that I say, I suppose. The fact is, I am a particularly Unnatural man, and I don’t know from my own knowledge.’

Rosa looked at him with some wonder.

‘I mean,’ he explained, ‘that young ways were never my ways. I was the only offspring of parents far advanced in life, and I half believe I was born advanced in life myself. No personality is intended towards the name you will so soon change, when I remark that while the general growth of people seem to have come into existence, buds, I seem to have come into existence a chip. I was a chip—and a very dry one—when I first became aware of myself. Respecting the other certified copy, your wish shall be complied with. Respecting your inheritance, I think you know all. It is an annuity of two hundred and fifty pounds. The savings upon that annuity, and some other items to your credit, all duly carried to account, with vouchers, will place you in possession of a lump-sum of money, rather exceeding Seventeen Hundred Pounds. I am empowered to advance the cost of your preparations for your marriage out of that fund. All is told.’

‘Will you please tell me,’ said Rosa, taking the paper with a prettily knitted brow, but not opening it: ‘whether I am right in what I am going to say? I can understand what you tell me, so very much better than what I read in law-writings. My poor papa and Eddy’s father made their agreement together, as very dear and firm and fast friends, in order that we, too, might be very dear and firm and fast friends after them?’

‘Just so.’

‘For the lasting good of both of us, and the lasting happiness of both of us?’

‘Just so.’

‘That we might be to one another even much more than they had been to one another?’

‘Just so.’

‘It was not bound upon Eddy, and it was not bound upon me, by any forfeit, in case—’

‘Don’t be agitated, my dear. In the case that it brings tears into your affectionate eyes even to picture to yourself—in the case of your not marrying one another—no, no forfeiture on either side. You would then have been my ward until you were of age. No worse would have befallen you. Bad enough perhaps!’

‘And Eddy?’

‘He would have come into his partnership derived from his father, and into its arrears to his credit (if any), on attaining his majority, just as now.’

Rosa, with her perplexed face and knitted brow, bit the corner of her attested copy, as she sat with her head on one side, looking abstractedly on the floor, and smoothing it with her foot.

‘In short,’ said Mr. Grewgious, ‘this betrothal is a wish, a sentiment, a friendly project, tenderly expressed on both sides. That it was strongly felt, and that there was a lively hope that it would prosper, there can be no doubt. When you were both children, you began to be accustomed to it, and it HAS prospered. But circumstances alter