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

married, and they called her the old maid. Accordingly, when I mentioned it, with the greatest precaution, to Mrs. Crewler⁠—”

“The mama?” said I.

“The mama,” said Traddles⁠—“Reverend Horace Crewler⁠—when I mentioned it with every possible precaution to Mrs. Crewler, the effect upon her was such that she gave a scream and became insensible. I couldn’t approach the subject again, for months.”

“You did at last?” said I.

“Well, the Reverend Horace did,” said Traddles. “He is an excellent man, most exemplary in every way; and he pointed out to her that she ought, as a Christian, to reconcile herself to the sacrifice (especially as it was so uncertain), and to bear no uncharitable feeling towards me. As to myself, Copperfield, I give you my word, I felt a perfect bird of prey towards the family.”

“The sisters took your part, I hope, Traddles?”

“Why, I can’t say they did,” he returned. “When we had comparatively reconciled Mrs. Crewler to it, we had to break it to Sarah. You recollect my mentioning Sarah, as the one that has something the matter with her spine?”

“Perfectly!”

“She clenched both her hands,” said Traddles, looking at me in dismay; “shut her eyes; turned lead-colour; became perfectly stiff; and took nothing for two days but toast-and-water, administered with a teaspoon.”

“What a very unpleasant girl, Traddles!” I remarked.

“Oh, I beg your pardon, Copperfield!” said Traddles. “She is a very charming girl, but she has a great deal of feeling. In fact, they all have. Sophy told me afterwards, that the self-reproach she underwent while she was in attendance upon Sarah, no words could describe. I know it must have been severe, by my own feelings, Copperfield; which were like a criminal’s. After Sarah was restored, we still had to break it to the other eight; and it produced various effects upon them of a most pathetic nature. The two little ones, whom Sophy educates, have only just left off detesting me.”

“At any rate, they are all reconciled to it now, I hope?” said I.

“Ye-yes, I should say they were, on the whole, resigned to it,” said Traddles, doubtfully. “The fact is, we avoid mentioning the subject; and my unsettled prospects and indifferent circumstances are a great consolation to them. There will be a deplorable scene, whenever we are married. It will be much more like a funeral, than a wedding. And they’ll all hate me for taking her away!”

His honest face, as he looked at me with a seriocomic shake of his head, impresses me more in the remembrance than it did in the reality, for I was by this time in a state of such excessive trepidation and wandering of mind, as to be quite unable to fix my attention on anything. On our approaching the house where the Misses Spenlow lived, I was at such a discount in respect of my personal looks and presence of mind, that Traddles proposed a gentle stimulant in the form of a glass of ale. This having been administered at a neighbouring public-house, he conducted me, with tottering steps, to the Misses Spenlow’s door.

I had a vague sensation of being, as it were, on view, when the maid opened it; and of wavering, somehow, across a hall with a weatherglass in it, into a quiet little drawing room on the ground floor, commanding a neat garden. Also of sitting down here, on a sofa, and seeing Traddles’s hair start up, now his hat was removed, like one of those obtrusive little figures made of springs, that fly out of fictitious snuffboxes when the lid is taken off. Also of hearing an old-fashioned clock ticking away on the chimneypiece, and trying to make it keep time to the jerking of my heart⁠—which it wouldn’t. Also of looking round the room for any sign of Dora, and seeing none. Also of thinking that Jip once barked in the distance, and was instantly choked by somebody. Ultimately I found myself backing Traddles into the fireplace, and bowing in great confusion to two dry little elderly ladies, dressed in black, and each looking wonderfully like a preparation in chip or tan of the late Mr. Spenlow.

“Pray,” said one of the two little ladies, “be seated.”

When I had done tumbling over Traddles, and had sat upon something which was not a cat⁠—my first seat was⁠—I so far recovered my sight, as to perceive that Mr. Spenlow had evidently been the youngest of the family; that there was a disparity of six or eight years between the two sisters; and that the younger appeared to be the manager of the conference, inasmuch as she had my letter in her hand⁠—so familiar as it looked to me, and yet so odd!⁠—and was referring to it through an eyeglass. They were dressed alike, but this sister wore her dress with a more youthful air than the other; and perhaps had a trifle more frill, or tucker, or brooch, or bracelet, or some little thing of that kind, which made her look more lively. They were both upright in their carriage, formal, precise, composed, and quiet. The sister who had not my letter, had her arms crossed on her breast, and resting on each other, like an idol.

“Mr. Copperfield, I believe,” said the sister who had got my letter, addressing herself to Traddles.

This was a frightful beginning. Traddles had to indicate that I was Mr. Copperfield, and I had to lay claim to myself, and they had to divest themselves of a preconceived opinion that Traddles was Mr. Copperfield, and altogether we were in a nice condition. To improve it, we all distinctly heard Jip give two short barks, and receive another choke.

“Mr. Copperfield!” said the sister with the letter.

I did something⁠—bowed, I suppose⁠—and was all attention, when the other sister struck in.

“My sister Lavinia,” said she, “being conversant with matters of this nature, will state what we consider most calculated to promote the happiness of both parties.”

I discovered afterwards that Miss Lavinia was an authority in affairs of the heart, by reason of there having anciently existed a certain Mr. Pidger, who