David Copperfield, Charles Dickens [books to read for 13 year olds txt] 📗

‘The “Little Em’ly”.’

As he had continued to look steadily at me, I took it as a reminder that he objected to being extolled for his consideration. I could not help showing in my face how much it pleased me, but I said little, and he resumed his usual smile, and seemed relieved.

‘But see here,’ he said, looking before us, ‘where the original little Em’ly comes! And that fellow with her, eh? Upon my soul, he’s a true knight. He never leaves her!’

Ham was a boat-builder in these days, having improved a natural ingenuity in that handicraft, until he had become a skilled workman. He was in his working-dress, and looked rugged enough, but manly withal, and a very fit protector for the blooming little creature at his side. Indeed, there was a frankness in his face, an honesty, and an undisguised show of his pride in her, and his love for her, which were, to me, the best of good looks. I thought, as they came towards us, that they were well matched even in that particular.

She withdrew her hand timidly from his arm as we stopped to speak to them, and blushed as she gave it to Steerforth and to me. When they passed on, after we had exchanged a few words, she did not like to replace that hand, but, still appearing timid and constrained, walked by herself. I thought all this very pretty and engaging, and Steerforth seemed to think so too, as we looked after them fading away in the light of a young moon.

Suddenly there passed us - evidently following them - a young woman whose approach we had not observed, but whose face I saw as she went by, and thought I had a faint remembrance of. She was lightly dressed; looked bold, and haggard, and flaunting, and poor; but seemed, for the time, to have given all that to the wind which was blowing, and to have nothing in her mind but going after them. As the dark distant level, absorbing their figures into itself, left but itself visible between us and the sea and clouds, her figure disappeared in like manner, still no nearer to them than before.

‘That is a black shadow to be following the girl,’ said Steerforth, standing still; ‘what does it mean?’

He spoke in a low voice that sounded almost strange to Me.

‘She must have it in her mind to beg of them, I think,’ said I.

‘A beggar would be no novelty,’ said Steerforth; ‘but it is a strange thing that the beggar should take that shape tonight.’

‘Why?’ I asked.

‘For no better reason, truly, than because I was thinking,’ he said, after a pause, ‘of something like it, when it came by. Where the Devil did it come from, I wonder!’

‘From the shadow of this wall, I think,’ said I, as we emerged upon a road on which a wall abutted.

‘It’s gone!’ he returned, looking over his shoulder. ‘And all ill go with it. Now for our dinner!’

But he looked again over his shoulder towards the sea-line glimmering afar off, and yet again. And he wondered about it, in some broken expressions, several times, in the short remainder of our walk; and only seemed to forget it when the light of fire and candle shone upon us, seated warm and merry, at table.

Littimer was there, and had his usual effect upon me. When I said to him that I hoped Mrs. Steerforth and Miss Dartle were well, he answered respectfully (and of course respectably), that they were tolerably well, he thanked me, and had sent their compliments. This was all, and yet he seemed to me to say as plainly as a man could say: ‘You are very young, sir; you are exceedingly young.’

We had almost finished dinner, when taking a step or two towards the table, from the corner where he kept watch upon us, or rather upon me, as I felt, he said to his master:

‘I beg your pardon, sir. Miss Mowcher is down here.’

‘Who?’ cried Steerforth, much astonished.

‘Miss Mowcher, sir.’

‘Why, what on earth does she do here?’ said Steerforth.

‘It appears to be her native part of the country, sir. She informs me that she makes one of her professional visits here, every year, sir. I met her in the street this afternoon, and she wished to know if she might have the honour of waiting on you after dinner, sir.’

‘Do you know the Giantess in question, Daisy?’ inquired Steerforth.

I was obliged to confess - I felt ashamed, even of being at this disadvantage before Littimer - that Miss Mowcher and I were wholly unacquainted.

‘Then you shall know her,’ said Steerforth, ‘for she is one of the seven wonders of the world. When Miss Mowcher comes, show her in.’

I felt some curiosity and excitement about this lady, especially as Steerforth burst into a fit of laughing when I referred to her, and positively refused to answer any question of which I made her the subject. I remained, therefore, in a state of considerable expectation until the cloth had been removed some half an hour, and we were sitting over our decanter of wine before the fire, when the door opened, and Littimer, with his habitual serenity quite undisturbed, announced:

‘Miss Mowcher!’

I looked at the doorway and saw nothing. I was still looking at the doorway, thinking that Miss Mowcher was a long while making her appearance, when, to my infinite astonishment, there came waddling round a sofa which stood between me and it, a pursy dwarf, of about forty or forty-five, with a very large head and face, a pair of roguish grey eyes, and such extremely little arms, that, to enable herself to lay a finger archly against her snub nose, as she ogled Steerforth, she was obliged to meet the finger half-way, and lay her nose against it. Her chin, which was what is called a double chin, was so fat that it entirely swallowed up the strings of her bonnet, bow and all. Throat she had none; waist she had none; legs she had none, worth mentioning; for though she was more than full-sized down to where her waist would have been, if she had had any, and though she terminated, as human beings generally do, in a pair of feet, she was so short that she stood at a common-sized chair as at a table, resting a bag she carried on the seat. This lady - dressed in an off-hand, easy style; bringing her nose and her forefinger together, with the difficulty I have described; standing with her head necessarily on one side, and, with one of her sharp eyes shut up, making an uncommonly knowing face - after ogling Steerforth for a few moments, broke into a torrent of words.

‘What! My flower!’ she pleasantly began, shaking her large head at him. ‘You’re there, are you! Oh, you naughty boy, fie for shame, what do you do so far away from home? Up to mischief, I’ll be bound. Oh, you’re a downy fellow, Steerforth, so you are, and I’m another, ain’t I? Ha, ha, ha! You’d have betted a hundred pound to five, now, that you wouldn’t have seen me here, wouldn’t you? Bless you, man alive, I’m everywhere. I’m here and there, and where not, like the conjurer’s half-crown in the lady’s handkercher. Talking of handkerchers - and talking of ladies - what a comfort you are to your blessed mother, ain’t you, my dear boy, over one of my shoulders, and I don’t say which!’

Miss Mowcher untied her bonnet, at this passage of her discourse, threw back the strings, and sat down, panting, on a footstool in front of the fire - making a kind of arbour of the dining table, which spread its mahogany shelter above her head.

‘Oh my stars and what’s-their-names!’ she went on, clapping a hand on each of her little knees, and glancing shrewdly at me, ‘I’m of too full a habit, that’s the fact, Steerforth. After a flight of stairs, it gives me as much trouble to draw every breath I want, as if it was a bucket of water. If you saw me looking out of an upper window, you’d think I was a fine woman, wouldn’t you?’

‘I should think that, wherever I saw you,’ replied Steerforth.

‘Go along, you dog, do!’ cried the little creature, making a whisk at him with the handkerchief with which she was wiping her face, ‘and don’t be impudent! But I give you my word and honour I was at Lady Mithers’s last week - THERE’S a woman! How SHE wears! - and Mithers himself came into the room where I was waiting for her - THERE’S a man! How HE wears! and his wig too, for he’s had it these ten years - and he went on at that rate in the complimentary line, that I began to think I should be obliged to ring the bell. Ha! ha! ha! He’s a pleasant wretch, but he wants principle.’

‘What were you doing for Lady Mithers?’ asked Steerforth.

‘That’s tellings, my blessed infant,’ she retorted, tapping her nose again, screwing up her face, and twinkling her eyes like an imp of supernatural intelligence. ‘Never YOU mind! You’d like to know whether I stop her hair from falling off, or dye it, or touch up her complexion, or improve her eyebrows, wouldn’t you? And so you shall, my darling - when I tell you! Do you know what my great grandfather’s name was?’

‘No,’ said Steerforth.

‘It was Walker, my sweet pet,’ replied Miss Mowcher, ‘and he came of a long line of Walkers, that I inherit all the Hookey estates from.’

I never beheld anything approaching to Miss Mowcher’s wink except Miss Mowcher’s self-possession. She had a wonderful way too, when listening to what was said to her, or when waiting for an answer to what she had said herself, of pausing with her head cunningly on one side, and one eye turned up like a magpie’s. Altogether I was lost in amazement, and sat staring at her, quite oblivious, I am afraid, of the laws of politeness.

She had by this time drawn the chair to her side, and was busily engaged in producing from the bag (plunging in her short arm to the shoulder, at every dive) a number of small bottles, sponges, combs, brushes, bits of flannel, little pairs of curling-irons, and other instruments, which she tumbled in a heap upon the chair. From this employment she suddenly desisted, and said to Steerforth, much to my confusion:

‘Who’s your friend?’

‘Mr. Copperfield,’ said Steerforth; ‘he wants to know you.’

‘Well, then, he shall! I thought he looked as if he did!’ returned Miss Mowcher, waddling up to me, bag in hand, and laughing on me as she came. ‘Face like a peach!’ standing on tiptoe to pinch my cheek as I sat. ‘Quite tempting! I’m very fond of peaches. Happy to make your acquaintance, Mr. Copperfield, I’m sure.’

I said that I congratulated myself on having the honour to make hers, and that the happiness was mutual.

‘Oh, my goodness, how polite we are!’ exclaimed Miss Mowcher, making a preposterous attempt to cover her large face with her morsel of a hand. ‘What a world of gammon and spinnage it is, though, ain’t it!’

This was addressed confidentially to both of us, as the morsel of a hand came away from the face, and buried itself, arm and all, in the bag again.

‘What do you mean, Miss Mowcher?’ said Steerforth.

‘Ha! ha! ha! What a refreshing set of humbugs we are, to be sure, ain’t we, my sweet child?’ replied that morsel of a woman, feeling in the bag with her head on one side and her eye in the