Dombey and Son

Walter was busy and away all day, but came there every morning early to see Florence, and always passed the evening with her. Florence never left her high rooms but to steal downstairs to wait for him when it was his time to come, or, sheltered by his proud, encircling arm, to bear him company to the door again, and sometimes peep into the street. In the twilight they were always together. Oh blessed time! Oh wandering heart at rest! Oh deep, exhaustless, mighty well of love, in which so much was sunk!

The cruel mark was on her bosom yet. It rose against her father with the breath she drew, it lay between her and her lover when he pressed her to his heart. But she forgot it. In the beating of that heart for her, and in the beating of her own for him, all harsher music was unheard, all stern unloving hearts forgotten. Fragile and delicate she was, but with a might of love within her that could, and did, create a world to fly to, and to rest in, out of his one image.

How often did the great house, and the old days, come before her in the twilight time, when she was sheltered by the arm, so proud, so fond, and, creeping closer to him, shrunk within it at the recollection! How often, from remembering the night when she went down to that room and met the never-to-be forgotten look, did she raise her eyes to those that watched her with such loving earnestness, and weep with happiness in such a refuge! The more she clung to it, the more the dear dead child was in her thoughts: but as if the last time she had seen her father, had been when he was sleeping and she kissed his face, she always left him so, and never, in her fancy, passed that hour.

‘Walter, dear,’ said Florence, one evening, when it was almost dark. ‘Do you know what I have been thinking to-day?’

‘Thinking how the time is flying on, and how soon we shall be upon the sea, sweet Florence?’

‘I don’t mean that, Walter, though I think of that too. I have been thinking what a charge I am to you.’

‘A precious, sacred charge, dear heart! Why, I think that sometimes.’

‘You are laughing, Walter. I know that’s much more in your thoughts than mine. But I mean a cost.

‘A cost, my own?’

‘In money, dear. All these preparations that Susan and I are so busy with – I have been able to purchase very little for myself. You were poor before. But how much poorer I shall make you, Walter!’

‘And how much richer, Florence!’

Florence laughed, and shook her head.

‘Besides,’ said Walter, ‘long ago – before I went to sea – I had a little purse presented to me, dearest, which had money in it.’

‘Ah!’ returned Florence, laughing sorrowfully, ‘very little! very little, Walter! But, you must not think,’ and here she laid her light hand on his shoulder, and looked into his face, ‘that I regret to be this burden on you. No, dear love, I am glad of it. I am happy in it. I wouldn’t have it otherwise for all the world!’

‘Nor I, indeed, dear Florence.’

‘Ay! but, Walter, you can never feel it as I do. I am so proud of you! It makes my heart swell with such delight to know that those who speak of you must say you married a poor disowned girl, who had taken shelter here; who had no other home, no other friends; who had nothing – nothing! Oh, Walter, if I could have brought you millions, I never could have been so happy for your sake, as I am!’

‘And you, dear Florence? are you nothing?’ he returned.

‘No, nothing, Walter. Nothing but your wife.’ The light hand stole about his neck, and the voice came nearer – nearer. ‘I am nothing any more, that is not you. I have no earthly hope any more, that is not you. I have nothing dear to me any more, that is not you.’

Oh! well might Mr Toots leave the little company that evening, and twice go out to correct his watch by the Royal Exchange, and once to keep an appointment with a banker which he suddenly remembered, and once to take a little turn to Aldgate Pump and back!

But before he went upon these expeditions, or indeed before he came, and before lights were brought, Walter said:

‘Florence, love, the lading of our ship is nearly finished, and probably on the very day of our marriage she will drop down the river. Shall we go away that morning, and stay in Kent until we go on board at Gravesend within a week?’

‘If you please, Walter. I shall be happy anywhere. But – ’

‘Yes, my life?’

‘You know,’ said Florence, ‘that we shall have no marriage party, and that nobody will distinguish us by our dress from other people. As we leave the same day, will you – will you take me somewhere that morning, Walter – early – before we go to church?’

Walter seemed to understand her, as so true a lover so truly loved should, and confirmed his ready promise with a kiss – with more than one perhaps, or two or three, or five or six; and in the grave, peaceful evening, Florence was very happy.

Then into the quiet room came Susan Nipper and the candles; shortly afterwards, the tea, the Captain, and the excursive Mr Toots, who, as above mentioned, was frequently on the move afterwards, and passed but a restless evening. This, however, was not his habit: for he generally got on very well, by dint of playing at cribbage with the Captain under the advice and guidance of Miss Nipper, and distracting his mind with the calculations incidental to the game; which he found to be a very effectual means of utterly confounding himself.

The Captain’s visage on these occasions presented one of the finest examples of combination and succession of expression ever observed. His instinctive delicacy and his chivalrous feeling towards Florence, taught him that it was not a time for any boisterous jollity, or violent display of satisfaction; floating reminiscences of Lovely Peg, on the other hand, were constantly struggling for a vent, and urging the Captain to commit himself by some irreparable demonstration. Anon, his admiration of Florence and Walter – well-matched, truly, and full of grace and interest in their youth, and love, and good looks, as they sat apart – would take such complete possession of him, that he would lay down his cards, and beam upon them, dabbing his head all over with his pocket-handkerchief; until warned, perhaps, by the sudden rushing forth of Mr Toots, that he had unconsciously been very instrumental, indeed, in making that gentleman miserable. This reflection would make the Captain profoundly melancholy, until the return of Mr Toots; when he would fall to his cards again, with many side winks and nods, and polite waves of his hook at Miss Nipper, importing that he wasn’t going to do so any more. The state that ensued on this, was, perhaps, his best; for then, endeavouring to discharge all expression from his face, he would sit staring round the room, with all these expressions conveyed into it at once, and each wrestling with the other. Delighted admiration of Florence and Walter always overthrew the rest, and remained victorious and undisguised, unless Mr Toots made another rush into the air, and then the Captain would sit, like a remorseful culprit, until he came back again, occasionally calling upon himself, in a low reproachful voice, to ‘Stand by!’ or growling some remonstrance to ‘Ed’ard Cuttle, my lad,’ on the want of caution observable in his behaviour.

One of Mr Toots’s hardest trials, however, was of his own seeking. On the approach of the Sunday which was to witness the last of those askings in church of which the Captain had spoken, Mr Toots thus stated his feelings to Susan Nipper.

‘Susan,’ said Mr Toots, ‘I am drawn towards the building. The words which cut me off from Miss Dombey for ever, will strike upon my ears like a knell you know, but upon my word and honour, I feel that I must hear them. Therefore,’ said Mr Toots, ‘will you accompany me to-morrow, to the sacred edifice?’

Miss Nipper expressed her readiness to do so, if that would be any satisfaction to Mr Toots, but besought him to abandon his idea of going.

‘Susan,’ returned Mr Toots, with much solemnity, ‘before my whiskers began to be observed by anybody but myself, I adored Miss Dombey. While yet a victim to the thraldom of Blimber, I adored Miss Dombey. When I could no longer be kept out of my property, in a legal point of view, and – and accordingly came into it – I adored Miss Dombey. The banns which consign her to Lieutenant Walters, and me to – to Gloom, you know,’ said Mr Toots, after hesitating for a strong expression, ‘may be dreadful, will be dreadful; but I feel that I should wish to hear them spoken. I feel that I should wish to know that the ground was certainly cut from under me, and that I hadn’t a hope to cherish, or a – or a leg, in short, to – to go upon.’

Susan Nipper could only commiserate Mr Toots’s unfortunate condition, and agree, under these circumstances, to accompany him; which she did next morning.

The church Walter had chosen for the purpose, was a mouldy old church in a yard, hemmed in by a labyrinth of back streets and courts, with a little burying-ground round it, and itself buried in a kind of vault, formed by the neighbouring houses, and paved with echoing stones. It was a great dim, shabby pile, with high old oaken pews, among which about a score of people lost themselves every Sunday; while the clergyman’s voice drowsily resounded through the emptiness, and the organ rumbled and rolled as if the church had got the colic, for want of a congregation to keep the wind and damp out. But so far was this city church from languishing for the company of other churches, that spires were clustered round it, as the masts of shipping cluster on the river. It would have been hard to count them from its steeple-top, they were so many. In almost every yard and blind-place near, there was a church. The confusion of bells when Susan and Mr Toots betook themselves towards it on the Sunday morning, was deafening. There were twenty churches close together, clamouring for people to come in.

The two stray sheep in question were penned by a beadle in a commodious pew, and, being early, sat for some time counting the congregation, listening to the disappointed bell high up in the tower, or looking at a shabby little old man in the porch behind the screen, who was ringing the same, like the Bull in Cock Robin, with his foot in a stirrup. Mr Toots, after a lengthened survey of the large books on the reading-desk, whispered Miss Nipper that he wondered where the banns were kept, but that young lady merely shook her head and frowned; repelling for the time all approaches of a temporal nature.

Mr Toots, however, appearing unable to keep his thoughts from the banns, was evidently looking out for them during the whole preliminary portion of the service. As the time for reading them approached, the poor young gentleman manifested great anxiety and trepidation, which was not diminished by the unexpected apparition of the Captain in the front row of the gallery. When the clerk handed up a list to the clergyman, Mr Toots, being then seated, held on by the seat of the pew; but when the names of Walter Gay and Florence Dombey were read aloud as being in the third and last stage of that association, he was so entirley conquered by his feelings as to rush from the church without his hat, followed by the beadle and pew-opener, and two gentlemen of the medical profeesion, who happened to be present; of whom the first-named presently returned for that article, informing Miss Nipper in a whisper that she was not to make herself uneasy about the gentleman, as the gentleman said his indisposition was of no consequence.

Miss Nipper, feeling that the eyes of that integral portion of Europe which lost itself weekly among the high-backed pews, were upon her, would have been sufficient embarrassed by this incident, though it had terminated here; the more so, as the Captain in the front row of the gallery, was in a state of unmitigated consciousness which could hardly fail to express to the congregation that he had some mysterious connection with it. But the extreme restlessness of Mr Toots painfully increased and protracted the delicacy of her situation. That young gentleman, incapable, in his state of mind, of remaining alone in the churchyard, a prey to solitary meditation, and also desirous, no doubt, of testifying his respect for the offices he had in some measure interrupted, suddenly returned – not coming back to the pew, but stationing himself on a free seat in the aisle, between two elderly females who were in the habit of receiving their portion of a weekly dole of bread then set forth on a shelf in the porch. In this conjunction Mr Toots remained, greatly disturbing the congregation, who felt it impossible to avoid looking at him, until his feelings overcame him again, when he departed silently and suddenly. Not venturing to trust himself in the church any more, and yet wishing to have some social participation in what was going on there, Mr Toots was, after this, seen from time to time, looking in, with a lorn aspect, at one or other of the windows; and as there were several windows accessible to him from without, and as his restlessness was very great, it not only became difficult to conceive at which window he would appear next, but likewise became necessary, as it were, for the whole congregation to speculate upon the chances of the different windows, during the comparative leisure afforded them by the sermon. Mr Toots’s movements in the churchyard were so eccentric, that he seemed generally to defeat all calculation, and to appear, like the conjuror’s figure, where he was least expected; and the effect of these mysterious presentations was much increased by its being difficult to him to see in, and easy to everybody else to see out: which occasioned his remaining, every time, longer than might have been expected, with his face close to the glass, until he all at once became aware that all eyes were upon him, and vanished.

These proceedings on the part of Mr Toots, and the strong individual consciousness of them that was exhibited by the Captain, rendered Miss Nipper’s position so responsible a one, that she was mightily relieved by the conclusion of the service; and was hardly so affable to Mr Toots as usual, when he informed her and the Captain, on the way back, that now he was sure he had no hope, you know, he felt more comfortable – at least not exactly more comfortable, but more comfortably and completely miserable.

Swiftly now, indeed, the time flew by until it was the evening before the day appointed for the marriage. They were all assembled in the upper room at the Midshipman’s, and had no fear of interruption; for there were no lodgers in the house now, and the Midshipman had it all to himself. They were grave and quiet in the prospect of to-morrow, but moderately cheerful too. Florence, with Walter close beside her, was finishing a little piece of work intended as a parting gift to the Captain. The Captain was playing cribbage with Mr Toots. Mr Toots was taking counsel as to his hand, of Susan Nipper. Miss Nipper was giving it, with all due secrecy and circumspection. Diogenes was listening, and occasionally breaking out into a gruff half-smothered fragment of a bark, of which he afterwards seemed half-ashamed, as if he doubted having any reason for it.

‘Steady, steady!’ said the Captain to Diogenes, ‘what’s amiss with you? You don’t seem easy in your mind to-night, my boy!’

Diogenes wagged his tail, but pricked up his ears immediately afterwards, and gave utterance to another fragment of a bark; for which he apologised to the Captain, by again wagging his tail.

‘It’s my opinion, Di,’ said the Captain, looking thoughtfully at his cards, and stroking his chin with his hook, ‘as you have your doubts of Mrs Richards; but if you’re the animal I take you to be, you’ll think better o’ that; for her looks is her commission. Now, Brother:’ to Mr Toots: ‘if so be as you’re ready, heave ahead.’

The Captain spoke with all composure and attention to the game, but suddenly his cards dropped out of his hand, his mouth and eyes opened wide, his legs drew themselves up and stuck out in front of his chair, and he sat staring at the door with blank amazement. Looking round upon the company, and seeing that none of them observed him or the cause of his astonishment, the Captain recovered himself with a great gasp, struck the table a tremendous blow, cried in a stentorian roar, ‘Sol Gills ahoy!’ and tumbled into the arms of a weather-beaten pea-coat that had come with Polly into the room.

In another moment, Walter was in the arms of the weather-beaten pea-coat. In another moment, Florence was in the arms of the weather-beaten pea-coat. In another moment, Captain Cuttle had embraced Mrs Richards and Miss Nipper, and was violently shaking hands with Mr Toots, exclaiming, as he waved his hook above his head, ‘Hooroar, my lad, hooroar!’ To which Mr Toots, wholly at a loss to account for these proceedings, replied with great politeness, ‘Certainly, Captain Gills, whatever you think proper!’

The weather-beaten pea-coat, and a no less weather-beaten cap and comforter belonging to it, turned from the Captain and from Florence back to Walter, and sounds came from the weather-beaten pea-coat, cap, and comforter, as of an old man sobbing underneath them; while the shaggy sleeves clasped Walter tight. During this pause, there was an universal silence, and the Captain polished his nose with great diligence. But when the pea-coat, cap, and comforter lifted themselves up again, Florence gently moved towards them; and she and Walter taking them off, disclosed the old Instrument-maker, a little thinner and more careworn than of old, in his old Welsh wig and his old coffee-coloured coat and basket buttons, with his old infallible chronometer ticking away in his pocket.

‘Chock full o’ science,’ said the radiant Captain, ‘as ever he was! Sol Gills, Sol Gills, what have you been up to, for this many a long day, my ould boy?’

‘I’m half blind, Ned,’ said the old man, ‘and almost deaf and dumb with joy.’

‘His wery woice,’ said the Captain, looking round with an exultation to which even his face could hardly render justice – ‘his wery woice as chock full o’ science as ever it was! Sol Gills, lay to, my lad, upon your own wines and fig-trees like a taut ould patriark as you are, and overhaul them there adwentures o’ yourn, in your own formilior woice. ‘Tis the woice,’ said the Captain, impressively, and announcing a quotation with his hook, ‘of the sluggard, I heerd him complain, you have woke me too soon, I must slumber again. Scatter his ene-mies, and make ‘em fall!’

The Captain sat down with the air of a man who had happily expressed the feeling of everybody present, and immediately rose again to present Mr Toots, who was much disconcerted by the arrival of anybody, appearing to prefer a claim to the name of Gills.

‘Although,’ stammered Mr Toots, ‘I had not the pleasure of your acquaintance, Sir, before you were – you were – ’

‘Lost to sight, to memory dear,’ suggested the Captain, in a low voice.

‘Exactly so, Captain Gills!’ assented Mr Toots. ‘Although I had not the pleasure of your acquaintance, Mr – Mr Sols,’ said Toots, hitting on that name in the inspiration of a bright idea, ‘before that happened, I have the greatest pleasure, I assure you, in – you know, in knowing you. I hope,’ said Mr Toots, ‘that you’re as well as can be expected.’

With these courteous words, Mr Toots sat down blushing and chuckling.

The old Instrument-maker, seated in a corner between Walter and Florence, and nodding at Polly, who was looking on, all smiles and delight, answered the Captain thus:

‘Ned Cuttle, my dear boy, although I have heard something of the changes of events here, from my pleasant friend there – what a pleasant face she has to be sure, to welcome a wanderer home!’ said the old man, breaking off, and rubbing his hands in his old dreamy way.

‘Hear him!’ cried the Captain gravely. ‘’Tis woman as seduces all mankind. For which,’ aside to Mr Toots, ‘you’ll overhaul your Adam and Eve, brother.’

‘I shall make a point of doing so, Captain Gills,’ said Mr Toots.

‘Although I have heard something of the changes of events, from her,’ resumed the Instrument-maker, taking his old spectacles from his pocket, and putting them on his forehead in his old manner, ‘they are so great and unexpected, and I am so overpowered by the sight of my dear boy, and by the,’ – glancing at the downcast eyes of Florence, and not attempting to finish the sentence – ‘that I – I can’t say much to-night. But my dear Ned Cuttle, why didn’t you write?’

The astonishment depicted in the Captain’s features positively frightened Mr Toots, whose eyes were quite fixed by it, so that he could not withdraw them from his face.

‘Write!’ echoed the Captain. ‘Write, Sol Gills?’

‘Ay,’ said the old man, ‘either to Barbados, or Jamaica, or Demerara, that was what I asked.’

‘What you asked, Sol Gills?’ repeated the Captain.

‘Ay,’ said the old man. ‘Don’t you know, Ned? Sure you have not forgotten? Every time I wrote to you.’

The Captain took off his glazed hat, hung it on his hook, and smoothing his hair from behind with his hand, sat gazing at the group around him: a perfect image of wondering resignation.

‘You don’t appear to understand me, Ned!’ observed old Sol.

‘Sol Gills,’ returned the Captain, after staring at him and the rest for a long time, without speaking, ‘I’m gone about and adrift. Pay out a word or two respecting them adwenturs, will you! Can’t I bring up, nohows? Nohows?’ said the Captain, ruminating, and staring all round.

‘You know, Ned,’ said Sol Gills, ‘why I left here. Did you open my packet, Ned?’

‘Why, ay, ay,’ said the Captain. ‘To be sure, I opened the packet.’

‘And read it?’ said the old man.

‘And read it,’ answered the Captain, eyeing him attentively, and proceeding to quote it from memory. ‘“My dear Ned Cuttle, when I left home for the West Indies in forlorn search of intelligence of my dear-” There he sits! There’s Wal’r!’ said the Captain, as if he were relieved by getting hold of anything that was real and indisputable.

‘Well, Ned. Now attend a moment!’ said the old man. ‘When I wrote first – that was from Barbados – I said that though you would receive that letter long before the year was out, I should be glad if you would open the packet, as it explained the reason of my going away. Very good, Ned. When I wrote the second, third, and perhaps the fourth times – that was from Jamaica – I said I was in just the same state, couldn’t rest, and couldn’t come away from that part of the world, without knowing that my boy was lost or saved. When I wrote next – that, I think, was from Demerara, wasn’t it?’

‘That he thinks was from Demerara, warn’t it!’ said the Captain, looking hopelessly round.

‘ – I said,’ proceeded old Sol, ‘that still there was no certain information got yet. That I found many captains and others, in that part of the world, who had known me for years, and who assisted me with a passage here and there, and for whom I was able, now and then, to do a little in return, in my own craft. That everyone was sorry for me, and seemed to take a sort of interest in my wanderings; and that I began to think it would be my fate to cruise about in search of tidings of my boy, until I died.’

‘Began to think as how he was a scientific Flying Dutchman!’ said the Captain, as before, and with great seriousness.

‘But when the news come one day, Ned, – that was to Barbados, after I got back there, – that a China trader home’ard bound had been spoke, that had my boy aboard, then, Ned, I took passage in the next ship and came home; arrived at home to-night to find it true, thank God!’ said the old man, devoutly.

The Captain, after bowing his head with great reverence, stared all round the circle, beginning with Mr Toots, and ending with the Instrument-maker; then gravely said:

‘Sol Gills! The observation as I’m a-going to make is calc’lated to blow every stitch of sail as you can carry, clean out of the bolt-ropes, and bring you on your beam ends with a lurch. Not one of them letters was ever delivered to Ed’ard Cuttle. Not one o’ them letters,’ repeated the Captain, to make his declaration the more solemn and impressive, ‘was ever delivered unto Ed’ard Cuttle, Mariner, of England, as lives at home at ease, and doth improve each shining hour!’

‘And posted by my own hand! And directed by my own hand, Number nine Brig Place!’ exclaimed old Sol.

The colour all went out of the Captain’s face and all came back again in a glow.