"Our Mutual Friend" was the last long complete novel Dickens
wrote, and, like all his books, it first appeared in monthly
parts. It was so published in 1864-65. After three numbers had
appeared, the author wrote: "I have grown hard to satisfy, and
write very slowly. Although I have not been wanting in
industry, I have been wanting in imagination." In his
"Postscript in Lieu of Preface," the author points out--in
answer to those who had disputed the probability of Harmon's
will--"that there are hundreds of will cases far more
remarkable than that fancied in this book." In this same
postscript Dickens also renewed his attack on Poor Law
administration, begun in "Oliver Twist." Though "Our Mutual
Friend" is not one of the greatest or most famous of Dickens's
works, for it is somewhat loosely constructed as a story, and
shows signs of laboured composition, it abounds in scenes of
real Dickensian character, and is not without touches of the
genius which had made its author the foremost novelist of his
time, and one of the greatest writers of all ages.
_I.--The Man from Somewhere_
It was at a dinner-party that Mortimer Lightwood, solicitor, at the
request of Lady Tippins, told the story of the Man from Somewhere.
"Upon my life," says Mortimer languidly, "I can't fix him with a local
habitation; but he comes from the place, the name of which escapes me,
where they make the wine.
"The man," Mortimer goes on, "whose name is Harmon, was the only son of
a tremendous old rascal, who made his money by dust, as a dust
contractor. This venerable parent, displeased with his son, turns him
out of doors. The boy takes flight, gets aboard ship, turns up on dry
land among the Cape wine; small proprietor, farmer, grower--whatever you
like to call it. Venerable parent dies. His will is found. It leaves the
lowest of a range of dust mountains, with a dwelling-house, to an old
servant, who is sole executor. And that's all, except that the son's
inheritance is made conditional on his marrying a girl, at the date of
the will a child four or five years old, who is now a marriageable young
woman. Advertisement and inquiry discovered the son in the Man from
Somewhere, and he is now on his way home, after fourteen years' absence,
to succeed to a very large fortune, and to take a wife."
Mortimer, being asked what would become of the fortune in the event of
the marriage condition not being fulfilled, replies that by a clause in
the will it would then go to the old servant above-mentioned, passing
over and excluding the son; also, that if the son had not been living,
the same old servant would have been sole residuary legatee.
It is just when the ladies are retiring that Mortimer receives a note
from the butler.
"This really arrives in an extraordinarily opportune manner," says
Mortimer, after reading the paper presented to him. "This is the
conclusion of the story of the identical man. Man's drowned!"
The dinner being over, Mortimer Lightwood and his friend Eugene Wrayburn
interviewed the boy who had brought the note, and then set out in a cab
to the riverside quarter of Wapping.
The cab dismissed, a little winding through some muddy alleys brings
then to the bright lamp of a police-station, where they find the
night-inspector. He takes a bull's-eye, and Mortimer and Eugene follow
him to a cool grot at the end of the yard. They quickly come out again.
"No clue, gentlemen," says the inspector, "as to how the body came into
river. Very often no clue. Steward of ship, in which gentleman came home
passenger, had been round to view, and could swear to identity. Likewise
could swear to clothes. Inquest to-morrow, and no doubt open verdict."
A stranger who had entered the station with Lightwood and Wrayburn
attracts Mr. Inspector's attention.
"Turned you faint, sir? You expected to identify?"
"It's a horrible sight," says the stranger. "No, I can't identify."
"You missed a friend, you know; or you missed a foe, or you wouldn't
have come here, you know. Well, then, ain't it reasonable to ask, who
was it?" Thus Mr. Inspector. "At least, you won't object to write down
your name and address?"
The stranger took the pen and wrote down, "Mr. Julius Handford,
Exchequer Coffee House, Palace Yard, Westminster."
At the coroner's inquest next day, Mr. Mortimer Lightwood watched the
proceedings on behalf of the representatives of the deceased; and Mr.
Julius Handford having given his right address, had no summons to
appear.
Upon the evidence before them, the jury found that Mr. John Harmon had
come by his death under suspicious circumstances, though by whose act
there was no evidence to show. Within eight-and-forty hours a reward of
one hundred pounds was proclaimed by the Home Office, and for a time
public interest in the Harmon Murder, as it came to be called, ran high.
_II.--The Golden Dustman_
Mr. Boffin, a broad, round-shouldered, one-sided old fellow in mourning,
dressed in a pea overcoat, and wearing thick leather gaiters, and gloves
like a hedger's, came ambling towards the street corner where Silas Wegg
sat at his stall. A few small lots of fruits and sweets, and a choice
collection of halfpenny ballads, comprised Mr. Wegg's stock, and
assuredly it was the hardest little stall of all the sterile little
stalls in London.
"Morning, morning!" said the old fellow.
"Good-morning to _you_, sir!" said Mr. Wegg.
The old fellow paused, and then startled Mr. Wegg with the question,
"How did you get your wooden leg?"
"In an accident."
"Do you like it?"
"Well, I haven't got to keep it warm," Mr. Wegg answered desperately.
"Did you ever hear of the name of Boffin? And do you like it?"
"Why, no," said Mr. Wegg, growing restive; "I can't say that I do."
"My name's Boffin," said the old fellow, smiling. "But there's another
chance for you. Do you like the name of Nicodemus? Think it over. Nick
or Noddy. Noddy Boffin, that's my name."
"It is not, sir," said Mr. Wegg, in a tone of resignation, "a name as I
could wish anyone to call _me_ by, but there may be persons that would
not view it with the same objections. Silas Wegg is my name. I don't
know why Silas, and I don't know why Wegg."
"Now, Wegg," said Mr. Boffin, "I came by here one morning and heard you
reading through your ballads to a butcher-boy. I thought to myself,
'Here's a literary man _with_ a wooden leg, and all print is open to
him! And here am I without a wooden leg, and all print is shut to me.'"
"I believe you couldn't show me the piece of English print that I
wouldn't be equal to collaring and throwing," Mr. Wegg admitted
modestly.
"Now I want some reading, and I must pay a man so much an hour to come
and do it for me. Say two hours a night at twopence-halfpenny. Half-a-
crown a week. What do you think of the terms, Wegg?"
"Mr. Boffin, I never did 'aggle, and I never will 'aggle. I meet you at
once, free and fair, with----Done, for double the money!"
From that night Silas Wegg came to read at Boffin's Bower--or Harmony
Jail, as the house was formerly called--and he soon learnt that his
employer was no other than the inheritor of old Harmon's property, and
that he was known as the Golden Dustman.
It was not long after Silas Wegg's appointment that Mr. Boffin was
accosted by a strange gentleman, who gave his name as John Rokesmith,
and proposed his services as private secretary. Mr. Rokesmith mentioned
that he lodged at one Mr. Wilfer's, in Holloway. Mr. Boffin stared.
"Father of Miss Bella Wilfer?"
"My landlord has a daughter named Bella."
"Well, to tell you the truth, I don't know what to say," said Mr.
Boffin; "but call at the Bower, though I don't know that I shall ever be
in want of a secretary."
So to the Bower came Mr. John Rokesmith, but not before the Boffins had
called at the Wilfers' and seen the young lady destined by old Harmon
for his son's bride.
"Noddy," said Mrs. Boffin, "I have been thinking early and late of that
girl, Bella Wilfer, who was so cruelly disappointed both of her husband
and his riches. Don't you think we might do something for her? Have her
to live with us? And, Noddy, I tell you what I want--I want society. We
have come into a great fortune, and we must act up to it. It's never
been acted up to, and consequently no good has come of it."
It was agreed that they should move into a good house in a good
neighbourhood, and that a visit should be paid to Mr. Wilfer at once.
Mrs. Wilfer received them with a tragic air.
"Mrs. Boffin and me, ma'am," said Mr. Boffin, "are plain people, and we
make this call to say we shall be glad to have the honour and pleasure
of your daughter's acquaintance, and that we shall be rejoiced if your
daughter will come to consider our house in the light of her home
equally with this."
"I am much obliged to you--I am sure," said Miss Bella, coldly shaking
her curls, "but I doubt if I have the inclination to go out at all."
"Bella," Mrs. Wilfer admonished her solemnly, "you must conquer this!"
"Yes, do what your ma says, and conquer it, my dear," urged Mrs. Boffin,
"because we shall be so glad to have you, and because you are much too
pretty to keep yourself shut up."
With that Mrs. Boffin gave her a kiss, which Bella frankly returned; and
it was settled that Bella should be sent for as soon as they were ready
to receive her.
"By the bye, ma'am," said Mr. Boffin, as he was leaving, "you have a
lodger?"
"A gentleman," Mrs. Wilfer answered, "undoubtedly occupies our first
floor."
"I may call him our mutual friend," said Mr. Boffin. "What sort of
fellow _is_ our mutual friend, now? Do you like him?"
"Mr. Rokesmith is very punctual, very quiet--a very eligible inmate."
The Boffins drove away, and Mr. Rokesmith, coming to the Bower,
extricated Mr. Boffin from a mass of disordered papers, and gave such
satisfaction that his services were accepted, and he took up the
secretaryship.
_II.--The Golden Dustman Deteriorates_
Miss Bella Wilfer was conscious that she was growing mercenary. She
admitted as much to her father. There were several other secrets she had
to impart beyond her own lack of improvement.
"Mr. Rokesmith has made an offer to me, pa, and I told him I thought it
a betrayal of trust on his part, and an affront to me. Mrs. Boffin has
herself told me, with her own kind lips, that they wish to see me well
married; and that when I marry, with their consent, they will portion me
most handsomely. That is another secret. And now there is only one more,
and it is very hard to tell it. But Mr. Boffin is being spoilt by
prosperity, and is changing for the worse every day. Not to me--he is
always the same to me--but to others about him. He grows suspicious,
hard, and unjust. If ever a good man were ruined by good fortune, it is
my benefactor."
Bella parted from her father, and returned to the Boffins, to find fresh
proofs of the deterioration of the Golden Dustman.
"Now, Rokesmith," Mr. Boffin was saying, "it's time to settle about your
wages. A man of property like me is bound to consider the market price.
If I pay for a sheep, I buy it out and out. Similarly, if I pay for a
secretary, I buy _him_ out and out. It's convenient to have you at all
times ready on the premises."
The secretary bowed and withdrew. Bella's eyes followed him to the door.
She felt that Mrs. Boffin was uncomfortable.
"Noddy," said Mrs. Boffin thoughtfully, "haven't you been a little
strict with Mr. Rokesmith to-night? Haven't you been just a little not
quite like your own old self?"
"Why, old woman, I hope so," said Mr. Boffin cheerfully. "Our old selves
wouldn't do here, old lady. Our old selves would be fit for nothing but
to be imposed upon. Our old selves weren't people of fortune. Our new
selves are. It's a great difference."
Very uncomfortable was Bella that night, and very uneasy was she as the
days went by, for Mr. Boffin made a point of hunting up old books that
gave the lives of misers, and the more enjoyment he seemed to get out of
this literature, the harder he became to the secretary. Somehow, the
worse Mr. Boffin treated his secretary, the more Bella felt drawn to the
man whose offer of marriage she had refused. The crisis came one morning
when the Golden Dustman's bearing towards Rokesmith was even more
arrogant and offensive than it had been before. Mrs. Boffin was seated
on a sofa, and Mr. Boffin had Bella on his arm.
"Don't be alarmed, my dear," he said gently. "I'm going to see you
righted."
Then he turned to his secretary.
"Now, sir, look at this young lady. How dare you come out of your
station to pester this young lady with your impudent addresses? This
young lady, who was far above _you_. This young lady was looking about
for money, and you had no money."
Bella hung her head, and Mrs. Boffin broke out crying.
"This Rokesmith is a needy young man," Mr. Boffin went on unmoved. "He
gets acquainted with my affairs and gets to know that I mean to settle a
sum of money upon this young lady."
"I indignantly deny it!" said the secretary quietly. "But our connection
being at an end, it matters little what I say."
"I discharge you," Mr. Boffin retorted. "There's your money."
"Mrs. Boffin," said Rokesmith, "for your unvarying kindness I thank you
with the warmest gratitude. Miss Wilfer, good-bye."
"Oh, Mr. Rokesmith," said Bella in her tears, "hear one word from me
before you go. I am deeply sorry for the reproaches you have borne on my
account. Out of the depths of my heart I beg your pardon."
She gave him her hand, and he put it to his lips and said, "God bless
you!"
"There was a time when I deserved to be 'righted,' as Mr. Boffin has
done," Bella went on, "but I hope that I shall never deserve it again."
Once more John Rokesmith put her hand to his lips, and then relinquished
it, and left the room.
Bella threw her arms round Mrs. Boffin's neck. "He has been most
shamefully abused and driven away, and I am the cause of it. I must go
home; I am very grateful for all you have done for me, but I can't stay
here."
"Now, Bella," said Mr. Boffin, "look before you leap. Go away, and you
can never come back. And you mustn't expect that I'm a-going to settle
money on you if you leave me like this, because I'm not. Not one brass
farthing."
"No power on earth could make me take it now," said Bella haughtily.
Then she broke into sobs over saying good-bye to Mrs. Boffin, said a
last word to Mr. Boffin, and ran upstairs. A few minutes later she went
out of the house.
"That was well done," said Bella when she was in the street, "and now
I'll go and see my dear, darling pa in the city."
_IV.--The Runaway Marriage_
Bella found her way to her father's office in the city. It was after
hours, and the little man was alone, having tea on a small cottage loaf
and a pennyworth of milk, for R. Wilfer was but a clerk on a small
income. He immediately fetched another loaf and another pennyworth of
milk, and then, before she could tell him she had left the Boffins, who
should come along but John Rokesmith. And John Rokesmith not only came
in, but he caught Bella in his arms, and she was content to leave her
head on his breast as if that were her head's chosen and lasting resting
place.
"I knew you would come to him, and I followed you," said Rokesmith. "You
_are_ mine."
"Yes, I am yours if you think me worth taking," Bella responded.
Then Bella's father had to hear what had happened, and said his daughter
had done well.
"To think," said Wilfer, looking round the office, "that anything of a
tender nature should come off here is what tickles me."
A few weeks later and Bella and her father went out early one morning
and took the steamer to Greenwich. And at Greenwich there was John
Rokesmith, and presently in a church John and Bella were joined together
in wedlock.
They had been married a year, and lived in a little house at Blackheath.
John Rokesmith went up to the city every day, and explained that he was
"in a China house." From time to time he would ask her, "Would you like
to be rich _now_, my darling?" and got for answer, "Dear John, am I not
rich?"
But for all that a change came in their affairs. For Mortimer Lightwood,
who had met Bella at the Boffins', seeing her walking with her husband,
recognised him as Julius Handford; and as Mr. Inspector had never
discovered what became of Mr. Julius Handford, he must needs pay Mr.
Rokesmith a visit. And then it turned out that John Rokesmith was not
only Julius Handford, but John Harmon himself, much to Mr. Inspector's
astonishment.
More surprises were to follow, for when John came home next day he told
Bella that he had left the China house, and was better off.
"We must have our headquarters in London now, my dear, and there's a
house ready for us."
And the house which John and Bella visited next day was none other than
the Boffins', and when they arrived, there were Mr. and Mrs. Boffin
beaming at them. Mrs. Boffin told Bella that John Rokesmith was John
Harmon, and how, remembering him as a small boy, she had guessed it
quite early. Then Mrs. Boffin admitted that John, despairing of winning
Bella's heart, and determined that there should be no question of money
in the marriage, he was for going away, and that Noddy said he would
prove that she loved him. "We was all of us in it, my beauty," Mrs.
Boffin concluded, "and when you was married there was we hid up in the
church organ by this husband of yours, for he wouldn't let us out with
it then, as was first meant. But it was Noddy who said that he would
prove you had a true heart of gold. 'If she was to stand up for you when
you was slighted,' he said to John, 'and if she was to do that against
her own interest, how would that do?' 'Do?' says John, 'it would raise
me to the skies.' 'Then,' says my Noddy, 'get ready for the ascent,
John, for up you go. Look out for being slighted and oppressed.' And
then he began. And how he did begin, didn't he?"
"It looks as if old Harmon's spirit had found rest at last, and as if
his money had turned bright again after a long rust in the dark," said
Mrs. Boffin to her husband that night.
"Yes, old lady."
The mystery of the Harmon murder is yet to be explained. John Harmon,
going on shore with a fellow passenger, who greatly resembled him, was
drugged and robbed of his money in a house near the river by this man.
But the robber, who had taken Harmon's clothes, was himself robbed and
thrown into the water, and Harmon recovered consciousness and made his
escape just at the time when the body of his assailant was recovered. In
this state of strange excitement he turned up at the police station,
and, unwilling to reveal his identity at the moment, passed himself off
as Julius Handford.
* * * * *