The Mystery of Edwin Drood (36 page)

 

  With a mournful shake of the head, as if
that would be quite a superfluous entreaty, Helena lovingly kissed her two
hands to her friend, and her friend's two hands were kissed to her; and then
she saw a third hand (a brown one) appear among the flowers and leaves, and
help her friend out of sight.

 

  The refection that Mr. Tartar produced
in the Admiral's Cabin by merely touching the spring knob of a locker and the
handle of a drawer, was a dazzling enchanted repast. Wonderful macaroons,
glittering liqueurs, magically-preserved tropical spices, and jellies of
celestial tropical fruits, displayed themselves profusely at an instant's
notice. But Mr. Tartar could not make time stand still; and time, with his
hard-hearted fleetness, strode on so fast, that Rosa was obliged to come down
from the bean-stalk country to earth and her guardian's chambers.

 

  “And now, my dear,” said Mr. Grewgious,
“what is to be done next? To put the same thought in another form; what is to
be done with you?”

 

  Rosa could only look apologetically
sensible of being very much in her own way and in everybody else's. Some
passing idea of living, fireproof, up a good many stairs in Furnival's Inn for
the rest of her life, was the only thing in the nature of a plan that occurred
to her.

 

  “It has come into my thoughts,” said Mr.
Grewgious, “that as the respected lady, Miss Twinkleton, occasionally repairs
to London in the recess, with the view of extending her connection, and being
available for interviews with metropolitan parents, if any—whether, until we
have time in which to turn ourselves round, we might invite Miss Twinkleton to
come and stay with you for a month?”

 

  “Stay where, sir?”

 

  “Whether,” explained Mr. Grewgious, “we
might take a furnished lodging in town for a month, and invite Miss Twinkleton
to assume the charge of you in it for that period?”

 

  “And afterwards?” hinted Rosa.

 

  “And afterwards,” said Mr. Grewgious,
“we should be no worse off than we are now.”

 

  “I think that might smooth the way,”
assented Rosa.

 

  “Then let us,” said Mr. Grewgious,
rising, “go and look for a furnished lodging. Nothing could be more acceptable
to me than the sweet presence of last evening, for all the remaining evenings
of my existence; but these are not fit surroundings for a young lady. Let us
set out in quest of adventures, and look for a furnished lodging. In the
meantime, Mr. Crisparkle here, about to return home immediately, will no doubt
kindly see Miss Twinkleton, and invite that lady to co-operate in our plan.”

 

  Mr. Crisparkle, willingly accepting the
commission, took his departure; Mr. Grewgious and his ward set forth on their
expedition.

 

  As Mr. Grewgious's idea of looking at a
furnished lodging was to get on the opposite side of the street to a house with
a suitable bill in the window, and stare at it; and then work his way
tortuously to the back of the house, and stare at that; and then not go in, but
make similar trials of another house, with the same result; their progress was
but slow. At length he bethought himself of a widowed cousin, divers times
removed, of Mr. Bazzard's, who had once solicited his influence in the lodger
world, and who lived in Southampton Street, Bloomsbury Square. This lady's
name, stated in uncompromising capitals of considerable size on a brass
door-plate, and yet not lucidly as to sex or condition, was BILLICKIN.

 

  Personal faintness, and an overpowering
personal candour, were the distinguishing features of Mrs. Billickin's
organisation. She came languishing out of her own exclusive back parlour, with
the air of having been expressly brought-to for the purpose, from an
accumulation of several swoons.

 

  “I hope I see you well, sir,” said Mrs.
Billickin, recognising her visitor with a bend.

 

  “Thank you, quite well. And you, ma'am?”
returned Mr. Grewgious.

 

  “I am as well,” said Mrs. Billickin,
becoming aspirational with excess of faintness, “as I hever ham.”

 

  “My ward and an elderly lady,” said Mr.
Grewgious, “wish to find a genteel lodging for a month or so. Have you any
apartments available, ma'am?”

 

  “Mr. Grewgious,” returned Mrs.
Billickin, “I will not deceive you; far from it. I HAVE apartments available.”

 

  This with the air of adding: “Convey me
to the stake, if you will; but while I live, I will be candid.”

 

  “And now, what apartments, ma'am?” asked
Mr. Grewgious, cosily. To tame a certain severity apparent on the part of Mrs.
Billickin.

 

  “There is this sitting-room—which, call it
what you will, it is the front parlour, Miss,” said Mrs. Billickin, impressing
Rosa into the conversation: “the back parlour being what I cling to and never
part with; and there is two bedrooms at the top of the “ouse with gas laid on.
I do not tell you that your bedroom floors is firm, for firm they are not. The
gas-fitter himself allowed, that to make a firm job, he must go right under
your jistes, and it were not worth the outlay as a yearly tenant so to do. The
piping is carried above your jistes, and it is best that it should be made
known to you.”

 

  Mr. Grewgious and Rosa exchanged looks
of some dismay, though they had not the least idea what latent horrors this
carriage of the piping might involve. Mrs. Billickin put her hand to her heart,
as having eased it of a load.

 

  “Well! The roof is all right, no doubt,”
said Mr. Grewgious, plucking up a little.

 

  “Mr. Grewgious,” returned Mrs.
Billickin, “if I was to tell you, sir, that to have nothink above you is to
have a floor above you, I should put a deception upon you which I will not do.
No, sir. Your slates WILL rattle loose at that elewation in windy weather, do
your utmost, best or worst! I defy you, sir, be you what you may, to keep your
slates tight, try how you can.” Here Mrs. Billickin, having been warm with Mr.
Grewgious, cooled a little, not to abuse the moral power she held over him.
“Consequent,” proceeded Mrs. Billickin, more mildly, but still firmly in her
incorruptible candour: “consequent it would be worse than of no use for me to
trapse and travel up to the top of the “ouse with you, and for you to say,
“Mrs. Billickin, what stain do I notice in the ceiling, for a stain I do consider
it?” and for me to answer, “I do not understand you, sir.” No, sir, I will not
be so underhand. I DO understand you before you pint it out. It is the wet,
sir. It do come in, and it do not come in. You may lay dry there half your
lifetime; but the time will come, and it is best that you should know it, when
a dripping sop would be no name for you.”

 

  Mr. Grewgious looked much disgraced by
being prefigured in this pickle.

 

  “Have you any other apartments, ma'am?”
he asked.

 

  “Mr. Grewgious,” returned Mrs.
Billickin, with much solemnity, “I have. You ask me have I, and my open and my
honest answer air, I have. The first and second floors is wacant, and sweet
rooms.”

 

  “Come, come! There's nothing against
THEM,” said Mr. Grewgious, comforting himself.

 

  “Mr. Grewgious,” replied Mrs. Billickin,
“pardon me, there is the stairs. Unless your mind is prepared for the stairs,
it will lead to inevitable disappointment. You cannot, Miss,” said Mrs.
Billickin, addressing Rosa reproachfully, “place a first floor, and far less a
second, on the level footing “of a parlour. No, you cannot do it, Miss, it is
beyond your power, and wherefore try?”

 

  Mrs. Billickin put it very feelingly, as
if Rosa had shown a headstrong determination to hold the untenable position.

 

  “Can we see these rooms, ma'am?”
inquired her guardian.

 

  “Mr. Grewgious,” returned Mrs.
Billickin, “you can. I will not disguise it from you, sir; you can.”

 

  Mrs. Billickin then sent into her back
parlour for her shawl (it being a state fiction, dating from immemorial
antiquity, that she could never go anywhere without being wrapped up), and
having been enrolled by her attendant, led the way. She made various genteel
pauses on the stairs for breath, and clutched at her heart in the drawing-room
as if it had very nearly got loose, and she had caught it in the act of taking
wing.

 

  “And the second floor?” said Mr.
Grewgious, on finding the first satisfactory.

 

  “Mr. Grewgious,” replied Mrs. Billickin,
turning upon him with ceremony, as if the time had now come when a distinct
understanding on a difficult point must be arrived at, and a solemn confidence
established, “the second floor is over this.”

 

  “Can we see that too, ma'am?”

 

  “Yes, sir,” returned Mrs. Billickin, “it
is open as the day.”

 

  That also proving satisfactory, Mr.
Grewgious retired into a window with Rosa for a few words of consultation, and
then asking for pen and ink, sketched out a line or two of agreement. In the
meantime Mrs. Billickin took a seat, and delivered a kind of Index to, or
Abstract of, the general question.

 

  “Five-and-forty shillings per week by
the month certain at the time of year,” said Mrs. Billickin, “is only
reasonable to both parties. It is not Bond Street nor yet St. James's Palace;
but it is not pretended that it is. Neither is it attempted to be denied—for
why should it?—that the Arching leads to a mews. Mewses must exist. Respecting
attendance; two is kep”, at liberal wages. Words HAS arisen as to tradesmen,
but dirty shoes on fresh hearthstoning was attributable, and no wish for a
commission on your orders. Coals is either BY the fire, or PER the scuttle.”
She emphasised the prepositions as marking a subtle but immense difference.
“Dogs is not viewed with favour. Besides litter, they gets stole, and sharing
suspicions is apt to creep in, and unpleasantness takes place.”

 

  By this time Mr. Grewgious had his
agreement-lines, and his earnest-money, ready. “I have signed it for the
ladies, ma'am,” he said, “and you'll have the goodness to sign it for yourself,
Christian and Surname, there, if you please.”

 

  “Mr. Grewgious,” said Mrs. Billickin in
a new burst of candour, “no, sir! You must excuse the Christian name.”

 

  Mr. Grewgious stared at her.

 

  “The door-plate is used as a
protection,” said Mrs. Billickin, “and acts as such, and go from it I will
not.”

 

  Mr. Grewgious stared at Rosa.

 

  “No, Mr. Grewgious, you must excuse me.
So long as this “ouse is known indefinite as Billickin's, and so long as it is
a doubt with the riff-raff where Billickin may be hidin”, near the street-door
or down the airy, and what his weight and size, so long I feel safe. But commit
myself to a solitary female statement, no, Miss! Nor would you for a moment
wish,” said Mrs. Billickin, with a strong sense of injury, “to take that
advantage of your sex, if you were not brought to it by inconsiderate example.”

 

  Rosa reddening as if she had made some
most disgraceful attempt to overreach the good lady, besought Mr. Grewgious to
rest content with any signature. And accordingly, in a baronial way, the
signmanual BILLICKIN got appended to the document.

 

  Details were then settled for taking
possession on the next day but one, when Miss Twinkleton might be reasonably expected;
and Rosa went back to Furnival's Inn on her guardian's arm.

 

  Behold Mr. Tartar walking up and down
Furnival's Inn, checking himself when he saw them coming, and advancing towards
them!

 

  “It occurred to me,” hinted Mr. Tartar,
“that we might go up the river, the weather being so delicious and the tide
serving. I have a boat of my own at the Temple Stairs.”

 

  “I have not been up the river for this
many a day,” said Mr. Grewgious, tempted.

 

  “I was never up the river,” added Rosa.

 

  Within half an hour they were setting
this matter right by going up the river. The tide was running with them, the
afternoon was charming. Mr. Tartar's boat was perfect. Mr. Tartar and Lobley
(Mr. Tartar's man) pulled a pair of oars. Mr. Tartar had a yacht, it seemed,
lying somewhere down by Greenhithe; and Mr. Tartar's man had charge of this
yacht, and was detached upon his present service. He was a jolly-favoured man,
with tawny hair and whiskers, and a big red face. He was the dead image of the
sun in old woodcuts, his hair and whiskers answering for rays all around him.
Resplendent in the bow of the boat, he was a shining sight, with a man-of-war's
man's shirt on—or off, according to opinion—and his arms and breast tattooed
all sorts of patterns. Lobley seemed to take it easily, and so did Mr. Tartar;
yet their oars bent as they pulled, and the boat bounded under them. Mr. Tartar
talked as if he were doing nothing, to Rosa who was really doing nothing, and
to Mr. Grewgious who was doing this much that he steered all wrong; but what
did that matter, when a turn of Mr. Tartar's skilful wrist, or a mere grin of
Mr. Lobley's over the bow, put all to rights! The tide bore them on in the
gayest and most sparkling manner, until they stopped to dine in some
everlastingly-green garden, needing no matter-of-fact identification here; and
then the tide obligingly turned—being devoted to that party alone for that day;
and as they floated idly among some osier-beds, Rosa tried what she could do in
the rowing way, and came off splendidly, being much assisted; and Mr. Grewgious
tried what he could do, and came off on his back, doubled up with an oar under
his chin, being not assisted at all. Then there was an interval of rest under
boughs (such rest!) what time Mr. Lobley mopped, and, arranging cushions,
stretchers, and the like, danced the tight-rope the whole length of the boat
like a man to whom shoes were a superstition and stockings slavery; and then
came the sweet return among delicious odours of limes in bloom, and musical
ripplings; and, all too soon, the great black city cast its shadow on the
waters, and its dark bridges spanned them as death spans life, and the
everlastingly-green garden seemed to be left for everlasting, unregainable and
far away.