Dombey and Son. Чарльз Диккенс
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is called a limited independence, which she turned to the best account. Possibly her mincing gait encouraged the belief, and suggested that her clipping a step of ordinary compass into two or three, originated in her habit of making the most of everything.
‘I am sure,’ said Miss Tox, with a prodigious curtsey, ‘that to have the honour of being presented to Mr Dombey is a distinction which I have long sought, but very little expected at the present moment. My dear Mrs Chick – may I say Louisa!’
Mrs Chick took Miss Tox’s hand in hers, rested the foot of her wine-glass upon it, repressed a tear, and said in a low voice, ‘God bless you!’
‘My dear Louisa then,’ said Miss Tox, ‘my sweet friend, how are you now?’
‘Better,’ Mrs Chick returned. ‘Take some wine. You have been almost as anxious as I have been, and must want it, I am sure.’
Mr Dombey of course officiated, and also refilled his sister’s glass, which she (looking another way, and unconscious of his intention) held straight and steady the while, and then regarded with great astonishment, saying, ‘My dear Paul, what have you been doing!’
‘Miss Tox, Paul,’ pursued Mrs Chick, still retaining her hand, ‘knowing how much I have been interested in the anticipation of the event of to-day, and how trembly and shaky I have been from head to foot in expectation of it, has been working at a little gift for Fanny, which I promised to present. Miss Tox is ingenuity itself.’
‘My dear Louisa,’ said Miss Tox. ‘Don’t say so.’
‘It is only a pincushion for the toilette table, Paul,’ resumed his sister; ‘one of those trifles which are insignificant to your sex in general, as it’s very natural they should be – we have no business to expect they should be otherwise – but to which we attach some interest.’
‘Miss Tox is very good,’ said Mr Dombey.
‘And I do say, and will say, and must say,’ pursued his sister, pressing the foot of the wine-glass on Miss Tox’s hand, at each of the three clauses, ‘that Miss Tox has very prettily adapted the sentiment to the occasion. I call “Welcome little Dombey” Poetry, myself!’
‘Is that the device?’ inquired her brother.
‘That is the device,’ returned Louisa.
‘But do me the justice to remember, my dear Louisa,’ said Miss Tox in a tone of low and earnest entreaty, ‘that nothing but the – I have some difficulty in expressing myself – the dubiousness of the result would have induced me to take so great a liberty: “Welcome, Master Dombey,” would have been much more congenial to my feelings, as I am sure you know. But the uncertainty attendant on angelic strangers, will, I hope, excuse what must otherwise appear an unwarrantable familiarity.’ Miss Tox made a graceful bend as she spoke, in favour of Mr Dombey, which that gentleman graciously acknowledged. Even the sort of recognition of Dombey and Son, conveyed in the foregoing conversation, was so palatable to him, that his sister, Mrs Chick – though he affected to consider her a weak good-natured person – had perhaps more influence over him than anybody else.
‘My dear Paul,’ that lady broke out afresh, after silently contemplating his features for a few moments, ‘I don’t know whether to laugh or cry when I look at you, I declare, you do so remind me of that dear baby upstairs.’
‘Well!’ said Mrs Chick, with a sweet smile, ‘after this, I forgive Fanny everything!’
It was a declaration in a Christian spirit, and Mrs Chick felt that it did her good. Not that she had anything particular to forgive in her sister-in-law, nor indeed anything at all, except her having married her brother – in itself a species of audacity – and her having, in the course of events, given birth to a girl instead of a boy: which, as Mrs Chick had frequently observed, was not quite what she had expected of her, and was not a pleasant return for all the attention and distinction she had met with.
Mr Dombey being hastily summoned out of the room at this moment, the two ladies were left alone together. Miss Tox immediately became spasmodic.
‘I knew you would admire my brother. I told you so beforehand, my dear,’ said Louisa. Miss Tox’s hands and eyes expressed how much. ‘And as to his property, my dear!’
‘Ah!’ said Miss Tox, with deep feeling.
‘Im-mense!’
‘But his deportment, my dear Louisa!’ said Miss Tox. ‘His presence! His dignity! No portrait that I have ever seen of anyone has been half so replete with those qualities. Something so stately, you know: so uncompromising: so very wide across the chest: so upright! A pecuniary Duke of York, my love, and nothing short of it!’ said Miss Tox. ‘That’s what I should designate him.’
‘Why, my dear Paul!’ exclaimed his sister, as he returned, ‘you look quite pale! There’s nothing the matter?’
‘I am sorry to say, Louisa, that they tell me that Fanny – ’
‘Now, my dear Paul,’ returned his sister rising, ‘don’t believe it. Do not allow yourself to receive a turn unnecessarily. Remember of what importance you are to society, and do not allow yourself to be worried by what is so very inconsiderately told you by people who ought to know better. Really I’m surprised at them.’
‘I hope I know, Louisa,’ said Mr Dombey, stiffly, ‘how to bear myself before the world.’
‘Nobody better, my dear Paul. Nobody half so well. They would be ignorant and base indeed who doubted it.’
‘Ignorant and base indeed!’ echoed Miss Tox softly.
‘But,’ pursued Louisa, ‘if you have any reliance on my experience, Paul, you may rest assured that there is nothing wanting but an effort on Fanny’s part. And that effort,’ she continued, taking off her bonnet, and adjusting her cap and gloves, in a business-like manner, ‘she must be encouraged, and really, if necessary, urged to make. Now, my dear Paul, come upstairs with me.’
Mr Dombey, who, besides being generally influenced by his sister for the reason already mentioned, had really faith in her as an experienced and bustling matron, acquiesced; and followed her, at once, to the sick chamber.
The lady lay upon her bed as he had left her, clasping her little daughter to her breast. The child clung close about her, with the same intensity as before, and never raised her head, or moved her soft cheek from her mother’s face, or looked on those who stood around, or spoke, or moved, or shed a tear.
‘Restless without the little girl,’ the Doctor whispered Mr Dombey. ‘We found it best to have her in again.’
‘Can nothing be done?’ asked Mr Dombey.
The Doctor shook his head. ‘We can do no more.’
The windows stood open, and the twilight was gathering without.
The scent of the restoratives that had been tried was pungent in the room, but had no fragrance in the dull and languid air the lady breathed.
There was such a solemn stillness round the bed; and the two medical attendants seemed to look on the impassive form with so much compassion and so little hope, that Mrs Chick was for the moment diverted from her purpose. But presently summoning courage, and what she called presence of mind, she sat down by the bedside, and said in the low precise tone of one who endeavours to awaken a sleeper:
‘Fanny! Fanny!’
There was no sound in answer but the loud ticking of Mr Dombey’s watch and Doctor Parker Peps’s watch, which seemed in the silence to be running a race.
‘Fanny, my dear,’ said Mrs Chick, with assumed lightness, ‘here’s Mr Dombey come to see you. Won’t you speak to him? They want to lay your little boy – the baby, Fanny, you know; you have hardly seen him yet, I think – in bed; but they can’t till you rouse yourself a little. Don’t you think it’s time you roused yourself a little? Eh?’
She bent her ear to the bed, and listened: at the same time looking round at the bystanders, and holding up her finger.
‘Eh?’ she