Oliver Twist(雾都孤儿(孤星血泪))-39

Oliver Twist 387eyes, and softens down the temper,” said Mr. Bumble. “So cryaway.”As he discharged himself of his pleasantry, Mr. Bumble took hishat from a peg, and putting it on, rather rakishly on one side, as aman might, who felt he had asserted his superiority in a becomingmanner, thrust his hands into his pockets, and sauntered towardsthe door, with much ease and waggishness depicted in his wholeappearance.Now, Mrs. Corney that was, had tried the tears, becausestranger’s name, and thought in his impatience, he might supplythe blank.“I see you were not,” said the stranger; an expression ofsarcasm playing about his mouth; “or you would have known myname. You don’t know it. I would recommend you not to ask forit.”“I mean no harm, young man,” observed Mr. Bumblemajestically.“And have done none,” said the stranger.Another silence succeeded this short dialogue; which was againbroken by the stranger.“I have seen you before, I think?” said he. “You were differentlydressed at that time, and I only passed you in the street, but Ishould know you again. You were beadle here once; were younot?”“I was,” said Mr. Bumble, in some surprise; “porochial beadle.”“Just so,” rejoined the other, nodding his head. “It was in thatcharacter I saw you. What are you now?”“Master of the workhouse,” rejoined Mr. Bumble, slowly andimpressively, to check any undue familiarity the stranger mightCharles Dickens ElecBook ClassicsOliver Twist 388otherwise assume. “Master of the workhouse, young man!”“You have the same eye to your own interest, that you alwayshad, I doubt not?” resumed the stranger, looking keenly into Mr.Bumble’s eyes, as he raised them in astonishment at the question.“Don’t scruple to answer freely, man. I know you pretty well, yousee.”“I suppose, a married man,” replied Mr. Bumble, shading hiseyes with his hand, and surveying the stranger, from head to foot,in evident perplexity, “is not more averse to turning an honestpenny when he can, than a single one. Porochial officers are not sowell paid that they can afford to refuse any little extra fee, when itcomes to them in a civil and proper manner.”The stranger smiled, and nodded his head again, as much as tosay, he had not mistaken his man; then rang the “Fill this glassagain,” he said, handing Mr. Bumble’s empty tumbler to thelandlord. “Let it be strong and hot. You like it so, I suppose?” aNot too strong,” replied Mr. Bumble, with a delicate cough.“You understand what that means, landlord!” said the strangerdryly.The host smiled, disappeared, and shortly afterwards returnedwith a steaming jorum, of which, the first gulp brought the waterinto Mr. Bumble’s eyes.“Now listen to me,” said the stranger, after closing the door andwindow. “I came down to this place, today, to find you out; and, byone of those chances which the devil throws in the way of hisfriends sometimes, you walked into the very room I was sitting in,while you were uppermost in my mind. I want some informationfrom you. I don’t ask you to give it for nothing, slight as it is. Putup that, to begin with.”Charles Dickens ElecBook ClassicsOliver Twist 389As he spoke, he pushed a couple of sovereigns across the table,to his companion, carefully, as though unwilling that the clinkingof money should be heard without. When Mr. Bumble hadscrupulously examined the coins, to see that they were genuine,and had put them up, with much satisfaction in his waistcoatpocket, he went on:“Carry your memory back—let me see—twelve years, lastwinter.”“It’s a long time,” said Mr. Bumble. “Very good. I’ve done it.”“The scene, the workhouse.”“Good!”“And the time, night.”“Yes.”“And the place, the crazy hole, wherever it was, in whichmiserable drabs brought forth the life and health so often deniedto themselves—gave birth to puling children for the parish to rear;and hid their shame, rot ’em, in the grave!”“The lying-in room, I suppose?” said Mr. Bumble, not quitefollowing the stranger’s excited description.“Yes,” said the stranger. “A boy was born there.”“A many boys,” observed Mr. Bumble, shaking his headdespondingly.“A murrain on the young devils!” cried the stranger; “I speak ofone; a meek-looking, pale-faced boy, who was apprenticed downhere to a coffin-maker—I wish he had made his coffin, andscrewed his body in it—and who afterwards ran away to London,as it was supposed.”“Why, you mean Oliver! Young Twist!” said Mr. Bumble; “Iremember him, of course. There wasn’t an obstinater youngCharles Dickens ElecBook ClassicsOliver Twist 390rascal—”“It’s not of him I want to hear; I’ve heard enough of him,” saidthe stranger, stopping Mr. Bumble in the very outset of a tirade onthe subject of poor Oliver’s vices. “It’s of a woman; the hag thatnursed his mother. Where is she?”“Where is she?” said Mr. Bumble, whom the gin-and-water hadrendered facetious. “It would be hard to tell. There’s no midwiferythere, whichever place she’s gone to; so I suppose she’s out ofemployment, anyway.”“What do you mean?” demanded the stranger sternly.“That she died last winter,” rejoined Mr. Bumble.The man looked fixedly at him when he had given thisinformation, and although he did not withdraw his eyes for sometime afterwards, his gaze gradually became vacant and abstracted,and he seemed lost in thought. For some time, he appeareddoubtful whether he ought to be relieved or disappointed by theintelligence; but at length he breathed more freely; andwithdrawing his eyes, observed that it was no great matter. Withthat he rose, as if to depart.But Mr. Bumble was cunning enough; and he at once saw thatan opportunity was opened, for the lucrative disposal of somesecret in the possession of his better half. He well remembered thenight of old Sally’s death, which the occurrences of that day hadgiven him good reason to recollect, as the occasion on which hehad proposed to Mrs. Corney; and although that lady had neverconfided to him the disclosure of which she had been the solitarywitness, he had heard enough to know that it related to somethingthat had occurred in the old woman’s attendance, as workhousenurse, upon the young mother of Oliver Twist. Hastily calling thisCharles Dickens ElecBook ClassicsOliver Twist 391circumstance to mind, he informed the stranger, with an air ofmystery, that one woman had been closeted with the old harridanshortly before she died; and that she could, as he had reason tobelieve, throw some light on the subject of his inquiry.“How can I find her?” said the stranger, thrown off his guard;and plainly showing that all his fears (whatever they were) werearoused afresh by the intelligence.“Only through me,” rejoined Mr. Bumble.“When?” cried the stranger hastily.“Tomorrow,” rejoined Bumble.“At nine in the evening,” said the stranger, producing a scrap ofpaper, and writing down upon it, an obscure address by the waterside, in characters that betrayed his agitation; “at nine in theevening, bring her to me there. I needn’t tell you to be secret. It’syour interest.”With these words, he led the way to the door, after stopping topay for the liquor that had been drunk. Shortly remarking thattheir roads were different, he departed without more ceremonythan an emphatic repetition of the hour of appointment for thefollowing night.On glancing at the address, the parochial functionary observedthat it contained no name. The stranger had not gone far, so hemade after him to ask it.“What do you want,” cried the man, turning quickly round, asBumble touched him on the arm, “following me?”“Only to ask a question,” said the other, pointing to the scrap ofpaper. “What name am I to ask for?”“Monks!” rejoined the man; and strode hastily away.Charles Dickens ElecBook ClassicsOliver Twist 392Chapter 38Containing An Account Of What Passed BetweenMr. And Mrs. Bumble, And Mr. Monks, At TheirNocturnal Interview.It was a dull, close, overcast summer evening. The clouds,which had been threatening all day, spread out in a dense andsluggish mass of vapour, already yielded large drops of rain,and seemed to presage a violent thunder-storm, when Mr. andMrs. Bumble, turning out of the main street of the town, directedtheir course towards a scattered little colony of ruinous houses,distant from it some miles and a half, or thereabouts, and erectedon a low, unwholesome swamp, bordering upon the river.They were both wrapped in old and shabby outer garments,which might, perhaps, serve the double purpose of protectingtheir persons from the rain, and sheltering them from observation.The husband carried a lantern, from which, however, no light yetshone; and trudged a few paces in front as though—the way beingdirty—to give his wife the benefit of treading in his heavyfootprints. They went on, in profound silence; every now and then,Mr. Bumble relaxed his pace, and turned his head as if to makesure that his helpmate was following; then, discovering that shewas close at his heels he mended his rate of walking, andproceeded, at a considerable increase of speed, towards their placeof 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,Charles Dickens ElecBook ClassicsOliver Twist 393under various pretences of living by their labour, subsisted chieflyon plunder and crime. It was a collection of mere hovels—some,hastily built with loose bricks, others, of old worm-eaten ship-timber jumbled together without any attempt at order orarrangement, and planted, for the most part, within a few feet ofthe river’s bank. A few leaky boats drawn up on the mud, andmade fast to the dwarf wall which skirted it, and here and there anoar or coil of rope, appeared, at first, to indicate that theinhabitants of these miserable cottages pursued some avocationon the river; but a glance at the shattered and useless condition ofthe articles thus displayed, would have led a passer-by, withoutmuch difficulty, to the conjecture that they were disposed there,rather for the preservation of appearances, than with any view oftheir being actually employed.In the heart of this cluster of huts, and skirting the river, whichits upper storey overhung, stood a large building, formerly used asa manufactory of some kind. It had, in its day, probably furnishedemployment to the inhabitants of the surrounding tenements. Butit had long since gone to ruin. The rat, the worm, and the action ofthe damp, had weakened and rotted the piles on which it stood;and a considerable portion of the building had already sunk downinto the water; while the remainder, tottering and bending overthe dark stream, seemed to wait a favourable opportunity offollowing its old companion, and involving itself in the same fate.It was before this ruinous building that the worthy couplepaused, as the first peal of distant thunder reverberated in the air,and the rain commenced pouring violently down.“The place should be somewhere here,” said Bumble,consulting a scrap of paper he held in his hand.Charles Dickens ElecBook ClassicsOliver Twist 394“Hollo, there!” cried a voice from above.Following the sound, Mr. Bumble raised his head, and descrieda man looking out of a door, breast-high, on the second storey.“Stand still a minute,” cried the voice; “I’ll be with you directly.”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 carefulto say as little as you can, or you’ll betray us at once.”Mr. Bumble, who had eyed the building with very rueful looks,was apparently 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; whoopened 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,without any other invitation. Mr. Bumble, who was ashamed orafraid to lay behind, followed; obviously very ill at ease and withscarcely any of that remarkable dignity which was usually his chiefcharacteristic.“What the devil made you stand lingering there, in the wet?”said Monks, turning round, and addressing Bumble, after he hadbolted the door behind them.“We—we were only cooling ourselves,” stammered Bumble,looking apprehensively about him.“Cooling yourselves!” retorted Monks. “Not all the rain thatever fell, or ever will fall, will put as much of hell’s fire out, as aCharles Dickens ElecBook ClassicsOliver Twist 395man can carry about with him. You won’t cool yourself so easily;don’t think it!”With this agreeable speech, Monks turned short upon thematron, and bent his gaze upon her, till even she, who was noteasily cowed, was fain to withdraw her eyes, and turn themtowards the 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 name,” replied Monks. “So, by the samerule, if a woman’s a party to a secret that might hang or transporther, I’m not afraid of her telling it to anybody; not I! Do youunderstand, 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 frownupon his two companions, and again beckoning them to followhim, the man hastened across the apartment, which was ofconsiderable extent, but low in the roof. He was preparing toascend a steep staircase, or rather ladder, leading to another floorof warehouses above, when a bright flash of lightning streameddown the aperture, and a peal of thunder followed, which shookthe crazy building to its centre.Charles Dickens ElecBook ClassicsOliver Twist 396“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 silentfor a few moments; and then, removing his hands suddenly fromhis face, showed, to the unspeakable discomposure of Mr. Bumble,that it was much distorted, and discoloured.“These fits come over me, now and then,” said Monks,observing his alarm; “and thunder sometimes brings them on.Don’t mind me now; 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 dim light