Charles Dickens : The Complete Novels (Best Navigation, Active TOC) (A to Z Classics). A to Z Classics

of screaming; she, therefore, watched his motions with feelings of intense horror which were in no degree diminished by his coming close up to her, and shouting in her ear in an agitated, and as it seemed to her, a threatening tone—

      ‘Missus!’

      Now it so happened that Mr. Jingle was walking in the garden close to the arbour at that moment. He too heard the shouts of ‘Missus,’ and stopped to hear more. There were three reasons for his doing so. In the first place, he was idle and curious; secondly, he was by no means scrupulous; thirdly, and lastly, he was concealed from view by some flowering shrubs. So there he stood, and there he listened.

      ‘Missus!’ shouted the fat boy.

      ‘Well, Joe,’ said the trembling old lady. ‘I’m sure I have been a good mistress to you, Joe. You have invariably been treated very kindly. You have never had too much to do; and you have always had enough to eat.’

      This last was an appeal to the fat boy’s most sensitive feelings. He seemed touched, as he replied emphatically—‘I knows I has.’

      ‘Then what can you want to do now?’ said the old lady, gaining courage.

      ‘I wants to make your flesh creep,’ replied the boy.

      This sounded like a very bloodthirsty mode of showing one’s gratitude; and as the old lady did not precisely understand the process by which such a result was to be attained, all her former horrors returned.

      ‘What do you think I see in this very arbour last night?’ inquired the boy.

      ‘Bless us! What?’ exclaimed the old lady, alarmed at the solemn manner of the corpulent youth.

      ‘The strange gentleman—him as had his arm hurt—a–kissin’ and huggin’—’

      ‘Who, Joe? None of the servants, I hope.’ ‘Worser than that,’ roared the fat boy, in the old lady’s ear.

      ‘Not one of my grandda’aters?’

      ‘Worser than that.’

      ‘Worse than that, Joe!’ said the old lady, who had thought this the extreme limit of human atrocity. ‘Who was it, Joe? I insist upon knowing.’

      The fat boy looked cautiously round, and having concluded his survey, shouted in the old lady’s ear—

      ‘Miss Rachael.’

      ‘What!’ said the old lady, in a shrill tone. ‘Speak louder.’

      ‘Miss Rachael,’ roared the fat boy.

      ‘My da’ater!’

      The train of nods which the fat boy gave by way of assent, communicated a blanc–mange like motion to his fat cheeks.

      ‘And she suffered him!’ exclaimed the old lady. A grin stole over the fat boy’s features as he said—

      ‘I see her a–kissin’ of him agin.’

      If Mr. Jingle, from his place of concealment, could have beheld the expression which the old lady’s face assumed at this communication, the probability is that a sudden burst of laughter would have betrayed his close vicinity to the summer–house. He listened attentively. Fragments of angry sentences such as, ‘Without my permission!’—‘At her time of life’—‘Miserable old ‘ooman like me’—‘Might have waited till I was dead,’ and so forth, reached his ears; and then he heard the heels of the fat boy’s boots crunching the gravel, as he retired and left the old lady alone.

      It was a remarkable coincidence perhaps, but it was nevertheless a fact, that Mr. Jingle within five minutes of his arrival at Manor Farm on the preceding night, had inwardly resolved to lay siege to the heart of the spinster aunt, without delay. He had observation enough to see, that his off–hand manner was by no means disagreeable to the fair object of his attack; and he had more than a strong suspicion that she possessed that most desirable of all requisites, a small independence. The imperative necessity of ousting his rival by some means or other, flashed quickly upon him, and he immediately resolved to adopt certain proceedings tending to that end and object, without a moment’s delay. Fielding tells us that man is fire, and woman tow, and the Prince of Darkness sets a light to ’em. Mr. Jingle knew that young men, to spinster aunts, are as lighted gas to gunpowder, and he determined to essay the effect of an explosion without loss of time.

      Full of reflections upon this important decision, he crept from his place of concealment, and, under cover of the shrubs before mentioned, approached the house. Fortune seemed determined to favour his design. Mr. Tupman and the rest of the gentlemen left the garden by the side gate just as he obtained a view of it; and the young ladies, he knew, had walked out alone, soon after breakfast. The coast was clear.

      The breakfast–parlour door was partially open. He peeped in. The spinster aunt was knitting. He coughed; she looked up and smiled. Hesitation formed no part of Mr. Alfred Jingle’s character. He laid his finger on his lips mysteriously, walked in, and closed the door.

      ‘Miss Wardle,’ said Mr. Jingle, with affected earnestness, ‘forgive intrusion—short acquaintance—no time for ceremony—all discovered.’

      ‘Sir!’ said the spinster aunt, rather astonished by the unexpected apparition and somewhat doubtful of Mr. Jingle’s sanity.

      ‘Hush!’ said Mr. Jingle, in a stage–whisper—‘Large boy—dumpling face—round eyes—rascal!’ Here he shook his head expressively, and the spinster aunt trembled with agitation.

      ‘I presume you allude to Joseph, Sir?’ said the lady, making an effort to appear composed.

      ‘Yes, ma’am—damn that Joe!—treacherous dog, Joe—told the old lady—old lady furious—wild—raving—arbour—Tupman—kissing and hugging—all that sort of thing—eh, ma’am—eh?’

      ‘Mr. Jingle,’ said the spinster aunt, ‘if you come here, Sir, to insult me—’

      ‘Not at all—by no means,’ replied the unabashed Mr. Jingle—‘overheard the tale—came to warn you of your danger—tender my services—prevent the hubbub. Never mind—think it an insult—leave the room’—and he turned, as if to carry the threat into execution.

      ‘What shall I do!’ said the poor spinster, bursting into tears. ‘My brother will be furious.’

      ‘Of course he will,’ said Mr. Jingle pausing—‘outrageous.’ ‘Oh, Mr. Jingle, what can I say!’ exclaimed the spinster aunt, in another flood of despair.

      ‘Say he dreamt it,’ replied Mr. Jingle coolly.

      A ray of comfort darted across the mind of the spinster aunt at this suggestion. Mr. Jingle perceived it, and followed up his advantage.

      ‘Pooh, pooh!—nothing more easy—blackguard boy—lovely woman—fat boy horsewhipped—you believed—end of the matter—all comfortable.’

      Whether the probability of escaping from the consequences of this ill–timed discovery was delightful to the spinster’s feelings, or whether the hearing herself described as a ‘lovely woman’ softened the asperity of her grief, we know not. She blushed slightly, and cast a grateful look on Mr. Jingle.

      That insinuating gentleman sighed deeply, fixed his eyes on the spinster aunt’s face for a couple of minutes, started melodramatically, and suddenly withdrew them.

      ‘You seem unhappy, Mr. Jingle,’ said the lady, in a plaintive voice. ‘May I show my gratitude for your kind interference, by inquiring into the cause, with a view, if possible, to its removal?’

      ‘Ha!’ exclaimed Mr. Jingle, with another start—‘removal! remove my unhappiness, and your love bestowed upon a man who is insensible to the blessing—who even now contemplates a design upon the affections of the niece of the creature who—but no; he is my friend; I will not expose his vices. Miss Wardle—farewell!’ At the conclusion of this address, the most consecutive he was ever known to utter, Mr. Jingle applied to