Chapter XXXVIII

by Charles Dickens

　　Containing an Account of What Passed Between Mrs and Mrs. Bumble, and Mr.Monks at Their Nocturnal InterviewIt was a dull, close, overcast summer evening. The clouds, whichhad been threatening all day, spread out in a dense and sluggishmass of vapour, already yielded large drops of rain, and seemedto presage a violent thunder-storm, when Mr. and Mrs. Bumble,turning out of the main street of the town, directed their coursetowards a scattered little colony of ruinous houses, distant fromit some mile and a-half, or thereabouts, and erected on a lowunwholesome swamp, bordering upon the river.They were both wrapped in old and shabby outer garments, whichmight, perhaps, serve the double purpose of protecting theirpersons from the rain, and sheltering them from observation. Thehusband carried a lantern, from which, however, no light yetshone; and trudged on, a few paces in front, as though--the waybeing dirty--to give his wife the benefit of treading in hisheavy footprints. They went on, in profound silence; every nowand then, Mr. Bumble relaxed his pace, and turned his head as ifto make sure that his helpmate was following; then, discoveringthat she was close at his heels, he mended his rate of walking,and proceeded, at a considerable increase of speed, towards theirplace of destination.This was far from being a place of doubtful character; for it hadlong been known as the residence of none but low ruffians, who,under various pretences of living by their labour, subsistedchiefly on plunder and crime. It was a collection of merehovels: some, hastily built with loose bricks: others, of oldworm-eaten ship-timber: jumbled together without any attempt atorder or arrangement, and planted, for the most part, within afew feet of the river's bank. A few leaky boats drawn up on themud, and made fast to the dwarf wall which skirted it: and hereand there an oar or coil of rope: appeared, at first, toindicate that the inhabitants of these miserable cottages pursuedsome avocation on the river; but a glance at the shattered anduseless condition of the articles thus displayed, would have leda passer-by, without much difficulty, to the conjecture that theywere disposed there, rather for the preservation of appearances,than with any view to their being actually employed.In the heart of this cluster of huts; and skirting the river,which its upper stories overhung; stood a large building,formerly used as a manufactory of some kind. It had, in its day,probably furnished employment to the inhabitants of thesurrounding tenements. But it had long since gone to ruin. Therat, the worm, and the action of the damp, had weakened androtted the piles on which it stood; and a considerable portion ofthe building had already sunk down into the water; while theremainder, tottering and bending over the dark stream, seemed towait a favourable opportunity of following its old companion, andinvolving itself in the same fate.It was before this ruinous building that the worthy couplepaused, as the first peal of distant thunder reverberated in theair, and the rain commenced pouring violently down.'The place should be somewhere here,' said Bumble, consulting ascrap of paper he held in his hand.'Halloa there!' cried a voice from above.Following the sound, Mr. Bumble raised his head and descried aman looking out of a door, breast-high, on the second story.'Stand still, a minute,' cried the voice; 'I'll be with youdirectly.' With which the head disappeared, and the door closed.'Is that the man?' asked Mr. Bumble's good lady.Mr. Bumble nodded in the affirmative.'Then, mind what I told you,' said the matron: 'and be careful tosay as little as you can, or you'll betray us at once.'Mr. Bumble, who had eyed the building with very rueful looks, wasapparently about to express some doubts relative to theadvisability of proceeding any further with the enterprise justthen, when he was prevented by the appearance of Monks: w hoopened a small door, near which they stood, and beckoned theminwards.'Come in!' he cried impatiently, stamping his foot upon theground. 'Don't keep me here!'The woman, who had hesitated at first, walked boldly in, withoutany other invitation. Mr. Bumble, who was ashamed or afraid tolag behind, followed: obviously very ill at ease and withscarcely any of that remarkable dignity which was usually hischief characteristic.'What the devil made you stand lingering there, in the wet?' saidMonks, turning round, and addressing Bumble, after he had boltedthe door behind them.'We--we were only cooling ourselves,' stammered Bumble, lookingapprehensively about him.'Cooling yourselves!' retorted Monks. 'Not all the rain thatever fell, or ever will fall, will put as much of hell's fireout, as a man can carry about with him. You won't cool yourselfso easily; don't think it!'With this agreeable speech, Monks turned short upon the matron,and bent his gaze upon her, till even she, who was not easilycowed, was fain to withdraw her eyes, and turn them them towardsthe ground.'This is the woman, is it?' demanded Monks.'Hem! That is the woman,' replied Mr. Bumble, mindful of hiswife's caution.'You think women never can keep secrets, I suppose?' said thematron, interposing, and returning, as she spoke, the searchinglook of Monks.'I know they will always keep one till it's found out,' saidMonks.'And what may that be?' asked the matron.'The loss of their own good name,' replied Monks. 'So, by thesame rule, if a woman's a party to a secret that might hang ortransport her, I'm not afraid of her telling it to anybody; notI! Do you understand, mistress?''No,' rejoined the matron, slightly colouring as she spoke.'Of course you don't!' said Monks. 'How should you?'Bestowing something half-way between a smile and a frown upon histwo companions, and again beckoning them to follow him, the manhastened across the apartment, which was of considerable extent,but low in the roof. He was preparing to ascend a steepstaircase, or rather ladder, leading to another floor ofwarehouses above: when a bright flash of lightning streamed downthe aperture, and a peal of thunder followed, which shook thecrazy building to its centre.'Hear it!' he cried, shrinking back. 'Hear it! Rolling andcrashing on as if it echoed through a thousand caverns where thedevils were hiding from it. I hate the sound!'He remained silent for a few moments; and then, removing hishands suddenly from his face, showed, to the unspeakablediscomposure of Mr. Bumble, that it was much distorted anddiscoloured.'These fits come over me, now and then,' said Monks, observinghis alarm; 'and thunder sometimes brings them on. Don't mind menow; it's all over for this once.'Thus speaking, he led the way up the ladder; and hastily closingthe window-shutter of the room into which it led, lowered alantern which hung at the end of a rope and pulley passed throughone of the heavy beams in the ceiling: and which cast a dimlight upon an old table and three chairs that were placed beneathit.'Now,' said Monks, when they had all three seated themselves,'the sooner we come to our business, the better for all. Thewoman know what it is, does she?'The question was addressed to Bumble; but his wife anticipatedthe reply, by intimating that she was perfectly acquainted withit.'He is right in saying that you were with this hag the night shedied; and that she told you something--''About the mother of the boy you named,' replied the matroninterrupting him. 'Yes.''The first question is, of what nature was her communication?'said Monks.'That's the second,' observed the woman with much deliberation.'The first is, what may the communication be worth?''Who the devil can tell that, without knowing of what kind itis?' asked Monks.'Nobody better than you, I am persuaded,' answered Mrs. Bumble:who did not want for spirit, as her yoke-fellow could abundantlytestify.'Humph!' said Monks significantly, and with a look of eagerinquiry; 'there may be money's worth to get, eh?''Perhaps there may,' was the composed reply.'Something that was taken from her,' said Monks. 'Something thatshe wore. Something that--''You had better bid,' interrupted Mrs. Bumble. 'I have heardenough, already, to assure me that you are the man I ought totalk to.'Mr. Bumble, who had not yet been admitted by his better half intoany greater share of the secret than he had originally possessed,listened to this dialogue with outstretched neck and distendedeyes: which he directed towards his wife and Monks, by turns, inundisguised astonishment; increased, if possible, when the lattersternly demanded, what sum was required for the disclosure.'What's it worth to you?' asked the woman, as collectedly asbefore.'It may be nothing; it may be twenty pounds,' replied Monks.'Speak out, and let me know which.''Add five pounds to the sum you have named; give mefive-and-twenty pounds in gold,' said the woman; 'and I'll tellyou all I know. Not before.''Five-and-twenty pounds!' exclaimed Monks, drawing back.'I spoke as plainly as I could,' replied Mrs. Bumble. 'It's nota large sum, either.''Not a large sum for a paltry secret, that may be nothing whenit's told!' cried Monks impatiently; 'and which has been lyingdead for twelve years past or more!''Such matters keep well, and, like good wine, often double theirvalue in course of time,' answered the matron, still preservingthe resolute indifference she had assumed. 'As to lying dead,there are those who will lie dead for twelve thousand years tocome, or twelve million, for anything you or I know, who willtell strange tales at last!''What if I pay it for nothing?' asked Monks, hesitating.'You can easily take it away again,' replied the matron. 'I ambut a woman; alone here; and unprotected.''Not alone, my dear, nor unprotected, neither,' submitted Mr.Bumble, in a voice tremulous with fear: '_I_ am here, my dear.And besides,' said Mr. Bumble, his teeth chattering as he spoke,'Mr. Monks is too much of a gentleman to attempt any violence onporochial persons. Mr. Monks is aware that I am not a young man,my dear, and also that I am a little run to seed, as I may say;bu he has heerd: I say I have no doubt Mr. Monks has heerd, mydear: that I am a very determined officer, with very uncommonstrength, if I'm once roused. I only want a little rousing;that's all.'As Mr. Bumble spoke, he made a melancholy feint of grasping hislantern with fierce determination; and plainly showed, by thealarmed expression of every feature, that he did want a littlerousing, and not a little, prior to making any very warlikedemonstration: unless, indeed, against paupers, or other personor persons trained down for the purpose.'You are a fool,' said Mrs. Bumble, in reply; 'and had betterhold your tongue.''He had better have cut it out, before he came, if he can't speakin a lower tone,' said Monks, grimly. 'So! He's your husband,eh?''He my husband!' tittered the matron, parrying the question.'I thought as much, when you came in,' rejoined Monks, markingthe angry glance which the lady darted at her spouse as shespoke. 'So much the better; I have less hesitation in dealingwith two people, when I find that there's only one will betweenthem. I'm in earnest. See here!'He thrust his hand into a side-pocket; and producing a canvasbag, told out twenty-five sovereigns on the table, and pushedthem over to the woman.'Now,' he said, 'gather them up; and when this cursed peal ofthunder, which I feel is coming up to break over the house-top,is gone, let's hear your story.'The thunder, which seemed in fact much nearer, and to shiver andbreak almost over their heads, having subsided, Monks, raisinghis face from the table, bent forward to listen to what the womanshould say. The faces of the three nearly touched, as the twomen leant over the small table in their eagerness to hear, andthe woman also leant forward to render her whisper audible. Thesickly rays of the suspended lantern falling directly upon them,aggravated the paleness and anxiety of their countenances: which,encircled by the deepest gloom and darkness, looked ghastly inthe extreme.'When this woman, that we called old Sally, died,' the matronbegan, 'she and I were alone.''Was there no one by?' asked Monks, in the same hollow whisper;'No sick wretch or idiot in some other bed? No one who couldhear, and might, by possibility, understand?''Not a soul,' replied the woman; 'we were alone. _I_ stood alonebeside the body when death came over it.''Good,' said Monks, regarding her attentively. 'Go on.''She spoke of a young creature,' resumed the matron, 'who hadbrought a child into the world some years before; not merely inthe same room, but in the same bed, in which she then lay dying.''Ay?' said Monks, with quivering lip, and glancing over hisshoulder, 'Blood! How things come about!''The child was the one you named to him last night,' said thematron, nodding carelessly towards her husband; 'the mother thisnurse had robbed.''In life?' asked Monks.'In death,' replied the woman, with something like a shudder.'She stole from the corpse, when it had hardly turned to one,that which the dead mother had prayed her, with her last breath,to keep for the infant's sake.''She sold it,' cried Monks, with desperate eagerness; 'did shesell it? Where? When? To whom? How long before?''As she told me, with great difficulty, that she had done this,'said the matron, 'she fell back and died.''Without saying more?' cried Monks, in a voice which, from itsvery suppression, seemed only the more furious. 'It's a lie!I'll not be played with. She said more. I'll tear the life outof you both, but I'll know what it was.''She didn't utter another word,' said the woman, to allappearance unmoved (as Mr. Bumble was very far from being) by thestrange man's violence; 'but she clutched my gown, violently,with one hand, which was partly closed; and when I saw that shewas dead, and so removed the hand by force, I found it clasped ascrap of dirty paper.''Which contained--' interposed Monks, stretching forward.'Nothing,' replied the woman; 'it was a pawnbroker's duplicate.''For what?' demanded Monks.'In good time I'll tell you.' said the woman. 'I judge that shehad kept the trinket, for some time, in the hope of turning it tobetter account; and then had pawned it; and had saved or scrapedtogether money to pay the pawnbroker's interest year by year, andprevent its running out; so that if anything came of it, it couldstill be redeemed. Nothing had come of it; and, as I tell you,she died with the scrap of paper, all worn and tattered, in herhand. The time was out in two days; I thought something mightone day come of it too; and so redeemed the pledge.''Where is it now?' asked Monks quickly.'There,' replied the woman. And, as if glad to be relieved ofit, she hastily threw upon the table a small kid bag scarcelylarge enough for a French watch, which Monks pouncing upon, toreopen with trembling hands. It contained a little gold locket:in which were two locks of hair, and a plain gold wedding-ring.'It has the word "Agnes" engraved on the inside,' said the woman.'There is a blank left for the surname; and then follows thedate; which is within a year before the child was born. I foundout that.''And this is all?' said Monks, after a close and eager scrutinyof the contents of the little packet.'All,' replied the woman.Mr. Bumble drew a long breath, as if he were glad to find thatthe story was over, and no mention made of taking thefive-and-twenty pounds back again; and now he took courage towipe the perspiration which had been trickling over his nose,unchecked, during the whole of the previous dialogue.'I know nothing of the story, beyond what I can guess at,' saidhis wife addressing Monks, after a short silence; 'and I want toknow nothing; for it's safer not. But I may ask you twoquestions, may I?''You may ask,' said Monks, with some show of surprise; 'butwhether I answer or not is another question.''--Which makes three,' observed Mr. Bumble, essaying a stroke offacetiousness.'Is that what you expected to get from me?' demanded the matron.'It is,' replied Monks. 'The other question?''What do you propose to do with it? Can it be used against me?''Never,' rejoined Monks; 'nor against me either. See here! Butdon't move a step forward, or your life is not worth a bulrush.'With these words, he suddenly wheeled the table aside, andpulling an iron ring in the boarding, threw back a largetrap-door which opened close at Mr. Bumble's feet, and causedthat gentleman to retire several paces backward, with greatprecipitation.'Look down,' said Monks, lowering the lantern into the gulf.'Don't fear me. I could have let you down, quietly enough, whenyou were seated over it, if that had been my game.'Thus encouraged, the matron drew near to the brink; and even Mr.Bumble himself, impelled by curiousity, ventured to do the same.The turbid water, swollen by the heavy rain, was rushing rapidlyon below; and all other sounds were lost in the noise of itsplashing and eddying against the green and slimy piles. Therehad once been a water-mill beneath; the tide foaming and chafinground the few rotten stakes, and fragments of machinery that yetremained, seemed to dart onward, with a new impulse, when freedfrom the obstacles which had unavailingly attempted to stem itsheadlong course.'If you flung a man's body down there, where would it beto-morrow morning?' said Monks, swinging the lantern to and froin the dark well.'Twelve miles down the river, and cut to pieces besides,' repliedBumble, recoiling at the thought.Monks drew the little packet from his breast, where he hadhurriedly thrust it; and tying it to a leaden weight, which hadformed a part of some pulley, and was lying on the floor, droppedit into the stream. It fell straight, and true as a die; clovethe water with a scarcely audible splash; and was gone.The three looking into each other's faces, seemed to breathe morefreely.'There!' said Monks, closing the trap-door, which fell heavilyback into its former position. 'If the sea ever gives up itsdead, as books say it will, it will keep its gold and silver toitself, and that trash among it. We have nothing more to say,and may break up our pleasant party.''By all means,' observed Mr. Bumble, with great alacrity.'You'll keep a quiet tongue in your head, will you?' said Monks,with a threatening look. 'I am not afraid of your wife.''You may depend upon me, young man,' answered Mr. Bumble, bowinghimself gradually towards the ladder, with excessive politeness.'On everybody's account, young man; on my own, you know, Mr.Monks.''I am glad, for your sake, to hear it,' remarked Monks. 'Lightyour lantern! And get away from here as fast as you can.'It was fortunate that the conversation terminated at this point,or Mr. Bumble, who had bowed himself to within six inches of theladder, would infallibly have pitched headlong into the roombelow. He lighted his lantern from that which Monks had detachedfrom the rope, and now carried in his hand; and making no effortto prolong the discourse, descended in silence, followed by hiswife. Monks brought up the rear, after pausing on the steps tosatisfy himself that there were no other sounds to be heard thanthe beating of the rain without, and the rushing of the water.They traversed the lower room, slowly, and with caution; forMonks started at every shadow; and Mr. Bumble, holding hislantern a foot above the ground, walked not only with remarkablecare, but with a marvellously light step for a gentleman of hisfigure: looking nervously about him for hidden trap-doors. Thegate at which they had entered, was softly unfastened and openedby Monks; merely exchanging a nod with their mysteriousacquaintance, the married couple emerged into the wet anddarkness outside.They were no sooner gone, than Monks, who appeared to entertainan invincible repugnance to being left alone, called to a boy whohad been hidden somewhere below. Bidding him go first, and bearthe light, he returned to the chamber he had just quitted.