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Barnaby Rudge: a tale of the Riots of 'eighty

Charles Dickens

Section 15 of 83 - Table of Contents
Chapter 14


Joe Willet rode leisurely along in his desponding mood, picturing the
locksmith's daughter going down long country-dances, and poussetting
dreadfully with bold strangers--which was almost too much to bear--when
he heard the tramp of a horse's feet behind him, and looking back, saw
a well-mounted gentleman advancing at a smart canter. As this rider
passed, he checked his steed, and called him of the Maypole by his name.
Joe set spurs to the grey mare, and was at his side directly.

'I thought it was you, sir,' he said, touching his hat. 'A fair evening,
sir. Glad to see you out of doors again.'

The gentleman smiled and nodded. 'What gay doings have been going on
to-day, Joe? Is she as pretty as ever? Nay, don't blush, man.'

'If I coloured at all, Mr Edward,' said Joe, 'which I didn't know I did,
it was to think I should have been such a fool as ever to have any hope
of her. She's as far out of my reach as--as Heaven is.'

'Well, Joe, I hope that's not altogether beyond it,' said Edward,
good-humouredly. 'Eh?'

'Ah!' sighed Joe. 'It's all very fine talking, sir. Proverbs are easily
made in cold blood. But it can't be helped. Are you bound for our house,
sir?'

'Yes. As I am not quite strong yet, I shall stay there to-night, and
ride home coolly in the morning.'

'If you're in no particular hurry,' said Joe after a short silence, 'and
will bear with the pace of this poor jade, I shall be glad to ride on
with you to the Warren, sir, and hold your horse when you dismount.
It'll save you having to walk from the Maypole, there and back again. I
can spare the time well, sir, for I am too soon.'

'And so am I,' returned Edward, 'though I was unconsciously riding fast
just now, in compliment I suppose to the pace of my thoughts, which were
travelling post. We will keep together, Joe, willingly, and be as good
company as may be. And cheer up, cheer up, think of the locksmith's
daughter with a stout heart, and you shall win her yet.'

Joe shook his head; but there was something so cheery in the buoyant
hopeful manner of this speech, that his spirits rose under its
influence, and communicated as it would seem some new impulse even to
the grey mare, who, breaking from her sober amble into a gentle trot,
emulated the pace of Edward Chester's horse, and appeared to flatter
herself that he was doing his very best.

It was a fine dry night, and the light of a young moon, which was then
just rising, shed around that peace and tranquillity which gives to
evening time its most delicious charm. The lengthened shadows of the
trees, softened as if reflected in still water, threw their carpet on
the path the travellers pursued, and the light wind stirred yet more
softly than before, as though it were soothing Nature in her sleep. By
little and little they ceased talking, and rode on side by side in a
pleasant silence.

'The Maypole lights are brilliant to-night,' said Edward, as they rode
along the lane from which, while the intervening trees were bare of
leaves, that hostelry was visible.

'Brilliant indeed, sir,' returned Joe, rising in his stirrups to get
a better view. 'Lights in the large room, and a fire glimmering in the
best bedchamber? Why, what company can this be for, I wonder!'

'Some benighted horseman wending towards London, and deterred from
going on to-night by the marvellous tales of my friend the highwayman, I
suppose,' said Edward.

'He must be a horseman of good quality to have such accommodations. Your
bed too, sir--!'

'No matter, Joe. Any other room will do for me. But come--there's nine
striking. We may push on.'

They cantered forward at as brisk a pace as Joe's charger could attain,
and presently stopped in the little copse where he had left her in the
morning. Edward dismounted, gave his bridle to his companion, and walked
with a light step towards the house.

A female servant was waiting at a side gate in the garden-wall, and
admitted him without delay. He hurried along the terrace-walk, and
darted up a flight of broad steps leading into an old and gloomy hall,
whose walls were ornamented with rusty suits of armour, antlers, weapons
of the chase, and suchlike garniture. Here he paused, but not long; for
as he looked round, as if expecting the attendant to have followed, and
wondering she had not done so, a lovely girl appeared, whose dark hair
next moment rested on his breast. Almost at the same instant a heavy
hand was laid upon her arm, Edward felt himself thrust away, and Mr
Haredale stood between them.

He regarded the young man sternly without removing his hat; with
one hand clasped his niece, and with the other, in which he held his
riding-whip, motioned him towards the door. The young man drew himself
up, and returned his gaze.

'This is well done of you, sir, to corrupt my servants, and enter my
house unbidden and in secret, like a thief!' said Mr Haredale. 'Leave
it, sir, and return no more.'

'Miss Haredale's presence,' returned the young man, 'and your
relationship to her, give you a licence which, if you are a brave man,
you will not abuse. You have compelled me to this course, and the fault
is yours--not mine.'

'It is neither generous, nor honourable, nor the act of a true man,
sir,' retorted the other, 'to tamper with the affections of a weak,
trusting girl, while you shrink, in your unworthiness, from her guardian
and protector, and dare not meet the light of day. More than this I will
not say to you, save that I forbid you this house, and require you to be
gone.'

'It is neither generous, nor honourable, nor the act of a true man to
play the spy,' said Edward. 'Your words imply dishonour, and I reject
them with the scorn they merit.'

'You will find,' said Mr Haredale, calmly, 'your trusty go-between in
waiting at the gate by which you entered. I have played no spy's part,
sir. I chanced to see you pass the gate, and followed. You might have
heard me knocking for admission, had you been less swift of foot,
or lingered in the garden. Please to withdraw. Your presence here is
offensive to me and distressful to my niece.' As he said these words,
he passed his arm about the waist of the terrified and weeping girl, and
drew her closer to him; and though the habitual severity of his manner
was scarcely changed, there was yet apparent in the action an air of
kindness and sympathy for her distress.

'Mr Haredale,' said Edward, 'your arm encircles her on whom I have set
my every hope and thought, and to purchase one minute's happiness for
whom I would gladly lay down my life; this house is the casket that
holds the precious jewel of my existence. Your niece has plighted her
faith to me, and I have plighted mine to her. What have I done that
you should hold me in this light esteem, and give me these discourteous
words?'

'You have done that, sir,' answered Mr Haredale, 'which must be undone.
You have tied a lover'-knot here which must be cut asunder. Take good
heed of what I say. Must. I cancel the bond between ye. I reject you,
and all of your kith and kin--all the false, hollow, heartless stock.'

'High words, sir,' said Edward, scornfully.

'Words of purpose and meaning, as you will find,' replied the other.
'Lay them to heart.'

'Lay you then, these,' said Edward. 'Your cold and sullen temper, which
chills every breast about you, which turns affection into fear, and
changes duty into dread, has forced us on this secret course, repugnant
to our nature and our wish, and far more foreign, sir, to us than you.
I am not a false, a hollow, or a heartless man; the character is yours,
who poorly venture on these injurious terms, against the truth, and
under the shelter whereof I reminded you just now. You shall not cancel
the bond between us. I will not abandon this pursuit. I rely upon your
niece's truth and honour, and set your influence at nought. I leave her
with a confidence in her pure faith, which you will never weaken, and
with no concern but that I do not leave her in some gentler care.'

With that, he pressed her cold hand to his lips, and once more
encountering and returning Mr Haredale's steady look, withdrew.

A few words to Joe as he mounted his horse sufficiently explained what
had passed, and renewed all that young gentleman's despondency with
tenfold aggravation. They rode back to the Maypole without exchanging a
syllable, and arrived at the door with heavy hearts.

Old John, who had peeped from behind the red curtain as they rode up
shouting for Hugh, was out directly, and said with great importance as
he held the young man's stirrup,

'He's comfortable in bed--the best bed. A thorough gentleman; the
smilingest, affablest gentleman I ever had to do with.'

'Who, Willet?' said Edward carelessly, as he dismounted.

'Your worthy father, sir,' replied John. 'Your honourable, venerable
father.'

'What does he mean?' said Edward, looking with a mixture of alarm and
doubt, at Joe.

'What DO you mean?' said Joe. 'Don't you see Mr Edward doesn't
understand, father?'

'Why, didn't you know of it, sir?' said John, opening his eyes wide.
'How very singular! Bless you, he's been here ever since noon to-day,
and Mr Haredale has been having a long talk with him, and hasn't been
gone an hour.'

'My father, Willet!'

'Yes, sir, he told me so--a handsome, slim, upright gentleman, in
green-and-gold. In your old room up yonder, sir. No doubt you can go in,
sir,' said John, walking backwards into the road and looking up at the
window. 'He hasn't put out his candles yet, I see.'

Edward glanced at the window also, and hastily murmuring that he had
changed his mind--forgotten something--and must return to London,
mounted his horse again and rode away; leaving the Willets, father and
son, looking at each other in mute astonishment.
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