Chroniclers are privileged to enter where they list, to come and go
through keyholes, to ride upon the wind, to overcome, in their soarings
up and down, all obstacles of distance, time, and place. Thrice blessed
be this last consideration, since it enables us to follow the disdainful
Miggs even into the sanctity of her chamber, and to hold her in sweet
companionship through the dreary watches of the night!
Miss Miggs, having undone her mistress, as she phrased it (which means,
assisted to undress her), and having seen her comfortably to bed in
the back room on the first floor, withdrew to her own apartment, in
the attic story. Notwithstanding her declaration in the locksmith’s
presence, she was in no mood for sleep; so, putting her light upon the
table and withdrawing the little window curtain, she gazed out pensively
at the wild night sky.
Perhaps she wondered what star was destined for her habitation when
she had run her little course below; perhaps speculated which of those
glimmering spheres might be the natal orb of Mr Tappertit; perhaps
marvelled how they could gaze down on that perfidious creature, man, and
not sicken and turn green as chemists’ lamps; perhaps thought of nothing
in particular. Whatever she thought about, there she sat, until her
attention, alive to anything connected with the insinuating ‘prentice,
was attracted by a noise in the next room to her own--his room; the room
in which he slept, and dreamed--it might be, sometimes dreamed of her.
That he was not dreaming now, unless he was taking a walk in his sleep,
was clear, for every now and then there came a shuffling noise, as
though he were engaged in polishing the whitewashed wall; then a gentle
creaking of his door; then the faintest indication of his stealthy
footsteps on the landing-place outside. Noting this latter circumstance,
Miss Miggs turned pale and shuddered, as mistrusting his intentions; and
more than once exclaimed, below her breath, ‘Oh! what a Providence it
is, as I am bolted in!’--which, owing doubtless to her alarm, was a
confusion of ideas on her part between a bolt and its use; for though
there was one on the door, it was not fastened.
Miss Miggs’s sense of hearing, however, having as sharp an edge as her
temper, and being of the same snappish and suspicious kind, very soon
informed her that the footsteps passed her door, and appeared to have
some object quite separate and disconnected from herself. At this
discovery she became more alarmed than ever, and was about to give
utterance to those cries of ‘Thieves!’ and ‘Murder!’ which she had
hitherto restrained, when it occurred to her to look softly out, and see
that her fears had some good palpable foundation.
Looking out accordingly, and stretching her neck over the handrail,
she descried, to her great amazement, Mr Tappertit completely dressed,
stealing downstairs, one step at a time, with his shoes in one hand
and a lamp in the other. Following him with her eyes, and going down a
little way herself to get the better of an intervening angle, she beheld
him thrust his head in at the parlour-door, draw it back again with
great swiftness, and immediately begin a retreat upstairs with all
possible expedition.
‘Here’s mysteries!’ said the damsel, when she was safe in her own room
again, quite out of breath. ‘Oh, gracious, here’s mysteries!’
The prospect of finding anybody out in anything, would have kept Miss
Miggs awake under the influence of henbane. Presently, she heard the
step again, as she would have done if it had been that of a feather
endowed with motion and walking down on tiptoe. Then gliding out as
before, she again beheld the retreating figure of the ‘prentice; again
he looked cautiously in at the parlour-door, but this time instead of
retreating, he passed in and disappeared.
Miggs was back in her room, and had her head out of the window, before
an elderly gentleman could have winked and recovered from it. Out he
came at the street-door, shut it carefully behind him, tried it with
his knee, and swaggered off, putting something in his pocket as he
went along. At this spectacle Miggs cried ‘Gracious!’ again, and then
‘Goodness gracious!’ and then ‘Goodness gracious me!’ and then, candle
in hand, went downstairs as he had done. Coming to the workshop, she saw
the lamp burning on the forge, and everything as Sim had left it.
‘Why I wish I may only have a walking funeral, and never be buried
decent with a mourning-coach and feathers, if the boy hasn’t been and
made a key for his own self!’ cried Miggs. ‘Oh the little villain!’
This conclusion was not arrived at without consideration, and much
peeping and peering about; nor was it unassisted by the recollection
that she had on several occasions come upon the ‘prentice suddenly,
and found him busy at some mysterious occupation. Lest the fact of Miss
Miggs calling him, on whom she stooped to cast a favourable eye, a
boy, should create surprise in any breast, it may be observed that she
invariably affected to regard all male bipeds under thirty as mere chits
and infants; which phenomenon is not unusual in ladies of Miss Miggs’s
temper, and is indeed generally found to be the associate of such
indomitable and savage virtue.
Miss Miggs deliberated within herself for some little time, looking hard
at the shop-door while she did so, as though her eyes and thoughts were
both upon it; and then, taking a sheet of paper from a drawer, twisted
it into a long thin spiral tube. Having filled this instrument with a
quantity of small coal-dust from the forge, she approached the door,
and dropping on one knee before it, dexterously blew into the keyhole as
much of these fine ashes as the lock would hold. When she had filled it
to the brim in a very workmanlike and skilful manner, she crept upstairs
again, and chuckled as she went.
‘There!’ cried Miggs, rubbing her hands, ‘now let’s see whether you
won’t be glad to take some notice of me, mister. He, he, he! You’ll have
eyes for somebody besides Miss Dolly now, I think. A fat-faced puss she
is, as ever I come across!’
As she uttered this criticism, she glanced approvingly at her small
mirror, as who should say, I thank my stars that can’t be said of
me!--as it certainly could not; for Miss Miggs’s style of beauty was of
that kind which Mr Tappertit himself had not inaptly termed, in private,
‘scraggy.’
‘I don’t go to bed this night!’ said Miggs, wrapping herself in a shawl,
and drawing a couple of chairs near the window, flouncing down upon
one, and putting her feet upon the other, ‘till you come home, my lad. I
wouldn’t,’ said Miggs viciously, ‘no, not for five-and-forty pound!’
With that, and with an expression of face in which a great number of
opposite ingredients, such as mischief, cunning, malice, triumph,
and patient expectation, were all mixed up together in a kind of
physiognomical punch, Miss Miggs composed herself to wait and listen,
like some fair ogress who had set a trap and was watching for a nibble
from a plump young traveller.
She sat there, with perfect composure, all night. At length, just upon
break of day, there was a footstep in the street, and presently she
could hear Mr Tappertit stop at the door. Then she could make out that
he tried his key--that he was blowing into it--that he knocked it on the
nearest post to beat the dust out--that he took it under a lamp to look
at it--that he poked bits of stick into the lock to clear it--that
he peeped into the keyhole, first with one eye, and then with the
other--that he tried the key again--that he couldn’t turn it, and what
was worse, couldn’t get it out--that he bent it--that then it was much
less disposed to come out than before--that he gave it a mighty twist
and a great pull, and then it came out so suddenly that he staggered
backwards--that he kicked the door--that he shook it--finally, that he
smote his forehead, and sat down on the step in despair.
When this crisis had arrived, Miss Miggs, affecting to be exhausted
with terror, and to cling to the window-sill for support, put out her
nightcap, and demanded in a faint voice who was there.
Mr Tappertit cried ‘Hush!’ and, backing to the road, exhorted her in
frenzied pantomime to secrecy and silence.
‘Tell me one thing,’ said Miggs. ‘Is it thieves?’
‘No--no--no!’ cried Mr Tappertit.
‘Then,’ said Miggs, more faintly than before, ‘it’s fire. Where is it,
sir? It’s near this room, I know. I’ve a good conscience, sir, and would
much rather die than go down a ladder. All I wish is, respecting my love
to my married sister, Golden Lion Court, number twenty-sivin, second
bell-handle on the right-hand door-post.’
‘Miggs!’ cried Mr Tappertit, ‘don’t you know me? Sim, you know--Sim--’
‘Oh! what about him!’ cried Miggs, clasping her hands. ‘Is he in any
danger? Is he in the midst of flames and blazes! Oh gracious, gracious!’
‘Why I’m here, an’t I?’ rejoined Mr Tappertit, knocking himself on the
breast. ‘Don’t you see me? What a fool you are, Miggs!’
‘There!’ cried Miggs, unmindful of this compliment. ‘Why--so
it--Goodness, what is the meaning of--If you please, mim, here’s--’
‘No, no!’ cried Mr Tappertit, standing on tiptoe, as if by that means
he, in the street, were any nearer being able to stop the mouth of Miggs
in the garret. ‘Don’t!--I’ve been out without leave, and something or
another’s the matter with the lock. Come down, and undo the shop window,
that I may get in that way.’
‘I dursn’t do it, Simmun,’ cried Miggs--for that was her pronunciation
of his Christian name. ‘I dursn’t do it, indeed. You know as well as
anybody, how particular I am. And to come down in the dead of night,
when the house is wrapped in slumbers and weiled in obscurity.’ And
there she stopped and shivered, for her modesty caught cold at the very
thought.
‘But Miggs,’ cried Mr Tappertit, getting under the lamp, that she might
see his eyes. ‘My darling Miggs--’
Miggs screamed slightly.
‘--That I love so much, and never can help thinking of,’ and it
is impossible to describe the use he made of his eyes when he said
this--‘do--for my sake, do.’
‘Oh Simmun,’ cried Miggs, ‘this is worse than all. I know if I come
down, you’ll go, and--’
‘And what, my precious?’ said Mr Tappertit.
‘And try,’ said Miggs, hysterically, ‘to kiss me, or some such
dreadfulness; I know you will!’
‘I swear I won’t,’ said Mr Tappertit, with remarkable earnestness. ‘Upon
my soul I won’t. It’s getting broad day, and the watchman’s waking
up. Angelic Miggs! If you’ll only come and let me in, I promise you
faithfully and truly I won’t.’
Miss Miggs, whose gentle heart was touched, did not wait for the oath
(knowing how strong the temptation was, and fearing he might forswear
himself), but tripped lightly down the stairs, and with her own fair
hands drew back the rough fastenings of the workshop window. Having
helped the wayward ‘prentice in, she faintly articulated the words
‘Simmun is safe!’ and yielding to her woman’s nature, immediately became
insensible.
‘I knew I should quench her,’ said Sim, rather embarrassed by this
circumstance. ‘Of course I was certain it would come to this, but there
was nothing else to be done--if I hadn’t eyed her over, she wouldn’t
have come down. Here. Keep up a minute, Miggs. What a slippery figure
she is! There’s no holding her, comfortably. Do keep up a minute, Miggs,
will you?’
As Miggs, however, was deaf to all entreaties, Mr Tappertit leant her
against the wall as one might dispose of a walking-stick or umbrella,
until he had secured the window, when he took her in his arms again,
and, in short stages and with great difficulty--arising from her being
tall and his being short, and perhaps in some degree from that peculiar
physical conformation on which he had already remarked--carried her
upstairs, and planting her, in the same umbrella and walking-stick
fashion, just inside her own door, left her to her repose.
‘He may be as cool as he likes,’ said Miss Miggs, recovering as soon
as she was left alone; ‘but I’m in his confidence and he can’t help
himself, nor couldn’t if he was twenty Simmunses!’