Complete Works of Wilkie Collins (136 page)

“You will?”

“I will, most certainly.”

There was a moment’s pause, and the blackguard and the gentleman looked one another straight in the face. It was the old, invariable struggle, between the quiet firmness of good breeding, and the savage obstinacy of bad; and it ended in the old, invariable way. The blackguard flinched first.

“If your servant lays a finger on me, I’ll thrash him within an inch of his life,” said Jubber, looking towards the door, and scowling as he looked. “But that’s not the point, just now — the point is, that I charge you with getting my deaf and dumb girl into your house, to perform before you on the sly. If you’re too virtuous to come to my circus — and better than you have been there — you ought to have paid the proper price for a private performance. What do you mean by treating a public servant, like me, with your infernal aristocratic looks, as if I was dirt under your feet, after such shabby doings as you’ve been guilty of — eh?”

“May I ask how you know that the child you refer to has been at my house to-day?” asked Doctor Joyce, without taking the slightest notice of Mr. Jubber’s indignation.

“One of my people saw that swindling hypocrite of a Peckover taking her in, and told me of it when I missed them at dinner. There! that’s good evidence, I rather think! Deny it if you can.”

“I have not the slightest intention of denying it. The child is now in my house.”

“And has gone through all her performances, of course? Ah! shabby! shabby! I should be ashamed of myself, if
I’d
tried to do a man out of his rights like that.”

“I am most unaffectedly rejoiced to hear that you are capable, under any circumstances, of being ashamed of yourself at all,” rejoined the rector. “The child, however, has gone through no performances here, not having been sent for with any such purpose as you suppose. But, as you said just now, that’s not the point. Pray, why did you speak of the little girl, a moment ago, as
your
child?”

“Because she’s one of my performers, of course. But, come! I’ve had enough of this; I can’t stop talking here all day; I want the child — so just deliver her up at once, will you? — and turn out Peck as soon as you like after. I’ll cure them both of ever doing this sort of thing again! I’ll make them stick tight to the circus for the future! I’ll show them — ”

“You would be employing your time much more usefully,” said Doctor Joyce, “if you occupied it in altering the bills of your performance, so as to inform the public that the deaf and dumb child will not appear before them again.”

“Not appear again? — not appear to-night in my circus? Why, hang me! if I don’t think you’re trying to be funny all of a sudden! Alter my bills — eh? Not bad! Upon my soul, not at all bad for a parson! Give us another joke, sir; I’m all attention.” And Mr. Jubber put his hand to his ear, grinning in a perfect fury of sarcasm.

“I am quite in earnest,” said the rector. “A friend of mine has adopted the child, and will take her home with him tomorrow morning. Mrs. Peckover (the only person who has any right to exercise control over her) has consented to this arrangement. If your business here was to take the child back to your circus, it is right to inform you that she will not leave my house till she goes to London to-morrow with my friend.”

“And you think I’m the sort of man to stand this? — and give up the child? — and alter the bills? — and lose money? — and be as mild as mother’s milk all the time? Oh! yes, of course! I’m so devilish fond of you and your friend! You’re such nice men, you can make me do anything! Damn all this jabber and nonsense!” roared the ruffian, passing suddenly from insolence to fury, and striking his fist on the table. “Give me the child at once, do you hear? Give her up, I say. I won’t leave the house till I’ve got her!”

Just as Mr. Jubber swore for the second time, Doctor Joyce rang the bell. “I told you what I should do, if you used oaths in my presence again,” said the rector.

“And
I
told
you
I’d kill the servant, if he laid a finger on me,” said Jubber, knocking his hat firmly on his head, and tucking up his cuffs.

Vance appeared at the door, much less pompous than usual and displaying an interesting paleness of complexion. Jubber spat into the palm of each of his hands, and clenched his fists.

“Have you done dinner down stairs?” asked Doctor Joyce, reddening a little, but still very quiet.

“Yes, sir,” answered Vance, in a remarkably conciliating voice.

“Tell James to go to the constable, and say I want him; and let the gardener wait with you outside there in the hall.”

“Now,” said the rector, shutting the door again after issuing these orders, and placing himself once more face to face with Mr. Jubber. “Now I have a last word or two to say, which I recommend you to hear quietly. In the first place, you have no right over the child whatever; for I happen to know that you are without a signed agreement promising you her services. (You had better hear me out for your own sake.) You have no legal right, I say, to control the child in any manner. She is a perfectly free agent, so far as you are concerned. — Yes! yes! you deny it, of course! I have only to say that, if you attempt to back that denial by still asserting your claim to her, and making a disturbance in my house, as sure as you stand there, I’ll ruin you in Rubbleford and in all the country round. (It’s no use laughing — I can do it!) You beat the child in the vilest manner last night. I am a magistrate; and I have my prosecutor and my witness of the assault ready whenever I choose to call them. I can fine or imprison you, which I please. You know the public; you know what they think of people who ill-use helpless children. If you appeared in that character before me, the Rubbleford paper would report it; and, so far as the interests of your circus are concerned, you would be a ruined man in this part of the country — you would, you know it! Now I will spare you this — not from any tenderness towards
you
— on condition that you take yourself off quietly, and never let us hear from you again. I strongly advise you to go at once; for if you wait till the constable comes, I will not answer for it that my sense of duty may not force me into giving you into custody.” With which words Doctor Joyce threw open the door, and pointed to the hall.

Throughout the delivery of this speech, violent indignation, ungovernable surprise, abject terror, and impotent rage ravaged by turns the breast of Mr. Jubber. He stamped about the room, and uttered fragments of oaths, but did not otherwise interrupt Dr. Joyce, while that gentleman was speaking to him. When the rector had done, the fellow had his insolent answer ready directly. To do him justice, he was consistent, if he was nothing else — he was bully and blackguard to the very last.

“Magistrate or parson,” he cried, snapping his fingers, “I don’t care a damn for you in either capacity. You keep the child here at your peril! I’ll go to the first lawyer in Rubbleford, and bring an action against you. I’ll show you a little legal law!
You
ruin me indeed! I can prove that I only thrashed the little toad, the nasty deaf idiot, because she deserved it. I’ll be even with you! I’ll have the child back wherever you take her to. I’ll show you a little legal law! (Here he stepped to the hall door.) I’ll be even with you, damme! I’ll charge you with setting on your menial servants to assault me. (Here he looked fiercely at the gardener, a freckled Scotch giant of six feet three, and instantly descended five steps.) Lay a finger on me, if you dare! I’m going straight from this house to the lawyer’s. I’m a free Englishman, and I’ll have my rights and my legal law! I’ll bring my action! I’ll ruin you! I’ll strip your gown off your back I’ll stop your mouth in your own pulpit!” Here he strutted into the front garden; his words grew indistinct, and his gross voice became gradually less and less audible. The coachman at the outer gate saw the last of him, and reported that he made his exit striking viciously at the flowers with his cane, and swearing that he would ruin the rector with “legal law.”

After leaving certain directions with his servants, in the very improbable event of Mr. Jubber’s return, Doctor Joyce repaired immediately to his dining-room. No one was there, so he went on into the garden.

Here he found the family and the visitors all assembled together; but a great change had passed over the whole party during his absence. Mr. Blyth, on being informed of the result of the rector’s conversation with Mrs. Peckover, acted with his usual impetuosity and utter want of discretion; writing down delightedly on little Mary’s slate, without the slightest previous preparation or coaxing, that she was to go home with him to-morrow, and be as happy as the day was long, all the rest of her life. The result of this incautious method of proceeding was that the child became excessively frightened, and ran away from everybody to take refuge with Mrs. Peckover. She was still crying, and holding tight by the good woman’s gown with both hands; and Valentine was still loudly declaring to everybody that he loved her all the better for showing such faithful affection to her earliest and best friend, when the rector joined the party under the coolly-murmuring trees.

Doctor Joyce spoke but briefly of his interview with Mr. Jubber, concealing much that had passed at it, and making very light of the threats which the fellow had uttered on his departure. Mrs. Peckover, whose self-possession seemed in imminent danger of being overthrown by little Mary’s mute demonstrations of affection, listened anxiously to every word the Doctor uttered; and, as soon as he had done, said that she must go back to the circus directly, and tell her husband the truth about all that had occurred, as a necessary set-off against the slanders that were sure to be spoken against her by Mr. Jubber.

“Oh, never mind me, ma’am!” she said, in answer to the apprehensions expressed by Mrs. Joyce about her reception when she got to the circus. “The dear child’s safe; and that’s all I care about. I’m big enough and strong enough to take my own part; and Jemmy, he’s always by to help me when I can’t. May I come back, if you please, sir, this evening; and say — and say? — ”

She would have added, “and say good-bye;” but the thoughts which now gathered round that one word, made it too hard to utter. She silently curtseyed her thanks for the warm invitation that was given to her to return; stooped down to the child; and, kissing her, wrote on the slate, “I shall be back, dear, in the evening, at seven o’clock” — then disengaged the little hands that still held fast by her gown, and hurried from the garden, without once venturing to look behind her as she crossed the sunny lawn.

Mrs. Joyce, and the young ladies, and the rector, all tried their best to console little Mary; and all failed. She resolutely, though very gently, resisted them; walking away into corners by herself, and looking constantly at her slate, as if she could only find comfort in reading the few words which Mrs. Peckover had written on it. At last, Mr. Blyth took her up on his knee. She struggled to get away, for a moment — then looked intently in his face; and, sighing very mournfully, laid her head down on his shoulder. There was a world of promise for the future success of Valentine’s affectionate project in that simple action, and in the preference which it showed.

The day wore on quietly — evening came — seven o’clock struck — then half-past — then eight — and Mrs. Peckover never appeared. Doctor Joyce grew uneasy, and sent Vance to the circus to get some news of her.

It was again Mr. Blyth — and Mr. Blyth only — who succeeded in partially quieting little Mary under the heavy disappointment of not seeing Mrs. Peckover at the appointed time. The child had been restless at first, and had wanted to go to the circus. Finding that they tenderly, but firmly, detained her at the Rectory, she wept bitterly — wept so long, that at last she fairly cried herself asleep in Valentine’s arms. He sat anxiously supporting her with a patience that nothing could tire. The sunset rays, which he had at first carefully kept from falling on her face, vanished from the horizon; the quiet luster of twilight overspread the sky — and still he refused to let her be taken from him; and said he would sit as he was all through the night rather than let her be disturbed.

Vance came back, and brought word that Mrs. Peckover would follow him in half an hour. They had given her some work to do at the circus, which she was obliged to finish before she could return to the Rectory.

Having delivered this message, Vance next produced a handbill, which he said was being widely circulated all over Rubbleford; and which proved to be the composition of Mr. Jubber himself. That ingenious ruffian, having doubtless discovered that “legal law” was powerless to help him to his revenge, and that it would be his wisest proceeding to keep clear of Doctor Joyce in the rectory’s magisterial capacity, was now artfully attempting to turn the loss of the child to his own profit, by dint of prompt lying in his favorite large type, sprinkled with red letters. He informed the public, through the medium of his hand-bills, that the father of the Mysterious Foundling had been “most providentially” discovered, and that he (Mr. Jubber) had given the child up immediately, without a thought of what he might personally suffer, in pocket as well as in mind, by his generosity. After this, he appealed confidently to the sympathy of people of every degree, and of “fond parents” especially, to compensate him by flocking in crowds to the circus; adding, that if additional stimulus were wanting to urge the public into “rallying round the Ring,” he was prepared to administer it forthwith, in the shape of the smallest dwarf in the world, for whose services he was then in treaty, and whose first appearance before a Rubbleford audience would certainly take place in the course of a few days.