But they were both happily relieved by the opportune appearance of Mike,the client with the fur cap and the habit of wiping his nose on his sleeve,whom I had seen on the very first day of my appearance within those walls.This individual, who,either in his own person or in that of some member of his family,seemed to be always in trouble (which in that place meant Newgate),called to announce that his eldest daughter was taken up on suspicion of shoplifting. As he imparted this melancholy circumstance to Wemmick, Mr. Jaggers standing magisterially before the fire and taking no share in the proceedings, Mike’s eye happened to twinkle with a tear.
“What are you about?” demanded Wemmick, with the utmost indignation.“What do you come snivelling here for?”
“I didn’t go to do it, Mr. Wemmick.”
“You did,” said Wemmick. “How dare you?You’re not in a fit state to come here,if you can’t come here without spluttering like a bad pen.What do you mean by it?”
“A man can’t help his feelings, Mr. Wemmick, ” pleaded Mike.
“His what?” demanded Wemmick, quite savagely. “Say that again!”
“Now look here my man,” said Mr. Jaggers,advancing a step, and pointing to the door.“Get out of this office. I’ll have no feelings here. Get out.”
“It serves you right,” said Wemmick, “Get out.”
So, the unfortunate Mike very humbly withdrew, and Mr.Jaggers and Wemmick appeared to have re-established their good understanding,and went to work again with an air of refreshment upon them as if they had just had lunch.
Chapter LII.
From Little Britain I went, with my check in my pocket,to Miss Skiffins’s brother, the accountant;and Miss Skiffins’s brother, the accountant,going straight to Clarriker’s and bringing Clarriker to me,I had the great satisfaction of concluding that arrangement.It was the only good thing I had done,and the only completed thing I had done,since I was first apprised of my great expectations.
Clarriker informing me on that occasion that the affairs of the House were steadily progressing, that he would now be able to establish a small branch-house in the East which was much wanted for the extension of the business, and that Herbert in his new partnership capacity would go out and take charge of it, I found that I must have prepared for a separation from my friend, even though my own affairs had been more settled. And now, indeed, I felt as if my last anchor were loosening its hold, and I should soon be driving with the winds and waves.
But there was recompense in the joy with which Herbert would come home of a night and tell me of these changes, little imagining that he told me no news, and would sketch airy pictures of himself conducting Clara Barley to the land of the Arabian Nights, and of me going out to join them (with a caravan of camels, I believe), and of our all going up the Nile and seeing wonders. Without being sanguine as to my own part in those bright plans, I felt that Herbert’s way was clearing fast, and that old Bill Barley had but to stick to his pepper and rum, and his daughter would soon be happily provided for.
We had now got into the month of March. My left arm,though it presented no bad symptoms, took,in the natural course,so long to heal that I was still unable to get a coat on.My right arm was tolerably restored; disfigured,but fairly serviceable.
On a Monday morning,when Herbert and I were at breakfast,I received the following letter from Wemmick by the post.
“Walworth. Burn this as soon as read. Early in the week,or say Wednesday, you might do what you know of,if you felt disposed to try it. Now burn.”
When I had shown this to Herbert and had put it in the fire—but not before we had both got it by heart—we considered what to do. For, of course my being disabled could now be no longer kept out of view.
“I have thought it over again and again,” said Herbert,“and I think I know a better course than taking a Thames waterman.Take Startop. A good fellow, a skilled hand,fond of us, and enthusiastic and honourable.”
I had thought of him more than once.
“But how much would you tell him, Herbert?”
“It is necessary to tell him very little.Let him suppose it a mere freak, but a secret one,until the morning comes:then let him know that there is urgent reason for your getting Provis aboard and away. You go with him?”
“No doubt.”
“Where?”
It had seemed to me,in the many anxious considerations I had given the point,almost indifferent what port we made for,—Hamburg,Rotterdam, Antwerp,—the place signified little,so that he was out of England.Any foreign steamer that fell in our way and would take us up would do.I had always proposed to myself to get him well down the river in the boat;certainly well beyond Gravesend,which was a critical place for search or inquiry if suspicion were afoot.As foreign steamers would leave London at about the time of high-water,our plan would be to get down the river by a previous ebb-tide,and lie by in some quiet spot until we could pull off to one.The time when one would be due where we lay,wherever that might be,could be calculated pretty nearly,if we made inquiries beforehand.
Herbert assented to all this,and we went out immediately after breakfast to pursue our investigations.We found that a steamer for Hamburg was likely to suit our purpose best,and we directed our thoughts chiefly to that vessel.But we noted down what other foreign steamers would leave London with the same tide, and we satisfied ourselves that we knew the build and colour of each. We then separated for a few hours: I, to get at once such passports as were necessary; Herbert, to see Startop at his lodgings. We both did what we had to do without any hindrance, and when we met again at one o’clock reported it done. I, for my part, was prepared with passports; Herbert had seen Startop, and he was more than ready to join.
Those two should pull a pair of oars, we settled,and I would steer; our charge would be sitter,and keep quiet; as speed was not our object,we should make way enough.We arranged that Herbert should not come home to dinner before going to Mill Pond Bank that evening; that he should not go there at all to-morrow evening, Tuesday; that he should prepare Provis to come down to some stairs hard by the house, on Wednesday, when he saw us approach, and not sooner; that all the arrangements with him should be concluded that Monday night; and that he should be communicated with no more in any way, until we took him on board.
These precautions well understood by both of us, I went home.
On opening the outer door of our chambers with my key,I found a letter in the box, directed to me;a very dirty letter, though not ill-written.It had been delivered by hand (of course,since I left home), and its contents were these:—
“If you are not afraid to come to the old marshes to-night or to-morrow night at nine, and to come to the little sluice-house by the limekiln, you had better come. If you want information regarding _your uncle Provis_, you had much better come and tell no one, and lose no time. _You must come alone_. Bring this with you.”
I had had load enough upon my mind before the receipt of this strange letter.What to do now, I could not tell. And the worst was,that I must decide quickly,or I should miss the afternoon coach,which would take me down in time for to-night.To-morrow night I could not think of going,for it would be too close upon the time of the flight.And again, for anything I knew,the proffered information might have some important bearing on the flight itself.
If I had had ample time for consideration,I believe I should still have gone.Having hardly any time for consideration,—my watch showing me that the coach started within half an hour,—I resolved to go. I should certainly not have gone,but for the reference to my Uncle Provis. That,coming on Wemmick’s letter and the morning’s busy preparation, turned the scale.