David Copperfield, Charles Dickens [best historical fiction books of all time TXT] 📗

and a pride and a pleasure. I have no other claim upon my means; at least”⁠—here to my surprise she hesitated, and was confused⁠—“no, I have no other claim upon my means⁠—and you are my adopted child. Only be a loving child to me in my age, and bear with my whims and fancies; and you will do more for an old woman whose prime of life was not so happy or conciliating as it might have been, than ever that old woman did for you.”

It was the first time I had heard my aunt refer to her past history. There was a magnanimity in her quiet way of doing so, and of dismissing it, which would have exalted her in my respect and affection, if anything could.

“All is agreed and understood between us, now, Trot,” said my aunt, “and we need talk of this no more. Give me a kiss, and we’ll go to the Commons after breakfast tomorrow.”

We had a long chat by the fire before we went to bed. I slept in a room on the same floor with my aunt’s, and was a little disturbed in the course of the night by her knocking at my door as often as she was agitated by a distant sound of hackney-coaches or market-carts, and inquiring, “if I heard the engines?” But towards morning she slept better, and suffered me to do so too.

At about midday, we set out for the office of Messrs. Spenlow and Jorkins, in Doctors’ Commons. My aunt, who had this other general opinion in reference to London, that every man she saw was a pickpocket, gave me her purse to carry for her, which had ten guineas in it and some silver.

We made a pause at the toy shop in Fleet Street, to see the giants of Saint Dunstan’s strike upon the bells⁠—we had timed our going, so as to catch them at it, at twelve o’clock⁠—and then went on towards Ludgate Hill, and St. Paul’s Churchyard. We were crossing to the former place, when I found that my aunt greatly accelerated her speed, and looked frightened. I observed, at the same time, that a lowering ill-dressed man who had stopped and stared at us in passing, a little before, was coming so close after us as to brush against her.

“Trot! My dear Trot!” cried my aunt, in a terrified whisper, and pressing my arm. “I don’t know what I am to do.”

“Don’t be alarmed,” said I. “There’s nothing to be afraid of. Step into a shop, and I’ll soon get rid of this fellow.”

“No, no, child!” she returned. “Don’t speak to him for the world. I entreat, I order you!”

“Good Heaven, aunt!” said I. “He is nothing but a sturdy beggar.”

“You don’t know what he is!” replied my aunt. “You don’t know who he is! You don’t know what you say!”

We had stopped in an empty doorway, while this was passing, and he had stopped too.

“Don’t look at him!” said my aunt, as I turned my head indignantly, “but get me a coach, my dear, and wait for me in St. Paul’s Churchyard.”

“Wait for you?” I replied.

“Yes,” rejoined my aunt. “I must go alone. I must go with him.”

“With him, aunt? This man?”

“I am in my senses,” she replied, “and I tell you I must. Get me a coach!”

However much astonished I might be, I was sensible that I had no right to refuse compliance with such a peremptory command. I hurried away a few paces, and called a hackney-chariot which was passing empty. Almost before I could let down the steps, my aunt sprang in, I don’t know how, and the man followed. She waved her hand to me to go away, so earnestly, that, all confounded as I was, I turned from them at once. In doing so, I heard her say to the coachman, “Drive anywhere! Drive straight on!” and presently the chariot passed me, going up the hill.

What Mr. Dick had told me, and what I had supposed to be a delusion of his, now came into my mind. I could not doubt that this person was the person of whom he had made such mysterious mention, though what the nature of his hold upon my aunt could possibly be, I was quite unable to imagine. After half an hour’s cooling in the churchyard, I saw the chariot coming back. The driver stopped beside me, and my aunt was sitting in it alone.

She had not yet sufficiently recovered from her agitation to be quite prepared for the visit we had to make. She desired me to get into the chariot, and to tell the coachman to drive slowly up and down a little while. She said no more, except, “My dear child, never ask me what it was, and don’t refer to it,” until she had perfectly regained her composure, when she told me she was quite herself now, and we might get out. On her giving me her purse to pay the driver, I found that all the guineas were gone, and only the loose silver remained.

Doctors’ Commons was approached by a little low archway. Before we had taken many paces down the street beyond it, the noise of the city seemed to melt, as if by magic, into a softened distance. A few dull courts and narrow ways brought us to the skylighted offices of Spenlow and Jorkins; in the vestibule of which temple, accessible to pilgrims without the ceremony of knocking, three or four clerks were at work as copyists. One of these, a little dry man, sitting by himself, who wore a stiff brown wig that looked as if it were made of gingerbread, rose to receive my aunt, and show us into Mr. Spenlow’s room.

“Mr. Spenlow’s in Court, ma’am,” said the dry man; “it’s an Arches day; but it’s close by, and I’ll send for him directly.”

As we were left to look about us while Mr. Spenlow was fetched, I availed myself of the opportunity. The furniture of the room