The Adelphi - SIX : Rosa Dartle, the Enigma

Next day Trotwood was in Highgate where the home of Steerforth stood.  Mrs Steerforth and Miss Rosa Dartle were pleased to see Trotwood Copperfield.  Instead of Littimer, a modest little parlour maid attended them.  Miss Dartle always kept a close watch of Trotwood and Steerforth.

All day, she seemed to pervade the whole house. The rustle of her dress was heard in their vicinity.  When they were in the lawn behind the house, her face passed from window to window.  When they were out for a walk, in the afternoon, Mrs Steerforth and her son were in the front. Miss Dartle closed her thin hand on Trotwood's arm like a spring, to keep him back, while Steerforth and his mother went on out of hearing, and then spoke, 'you have been a long time without coming here.  Is your profession really so engaging and interesting as to absorb your whole attention? 

Trotwood replied that he liked it well enough, but that he certainly could not claim so much for it.

'You mean it is a little dry? I always like to be put to right when I am wrong,' said Rosa Dartle.

'Well,' replied Trotwood, 'perhaps it was little dry.'

'Oh! That's the reason you want relief and change - excitement and all that,' said she.  'Ah! Very true! But isn't it a little - Eh - for him; I don't mean you?'

Her quick glance towards the spot where Steerforth was walking, with his mother leaning on his arm showed whom she meant. But Trotwood was quite lost and looked so.

'Miss Dartle,' returned Trotwood, 'pray, do not think -'

'I don't!' she said.  'Oh, dear me, don't suppose that I think anything! I am not suspicious.  I only ask your opinion.

'It is not the fact that I am accountable for Steerforth having been away from home longer than usual,' said Trotwood, 'if he has been which I really don't know at this moment, unless I understand it from you. I have not seen him this long while, until last night.'

'No?'

'Indeed, Miss Dartle, no.'

She looked full at Trotwood.  Her face grew sharper and paler, and the mark of the old wound lengthened out until it cut through the disfigured lip, and deep into nether lip, and slanted down the face.

'What's he doing?  In what Littimer is assisting him?  What is it, that leading him? Is it hatred, is it pride, is it anger, or is it love?'

'Miss Dartle, how shall I tell you, so that you will believe me, that I know of nothing in Steerforth different from what there was when I first met him.  There is nothing.  I hardly understand what you mean.'

She stood looking fixedly at Trotwood, a twitching or throbbing came into that cruel mark, as if by pain, and lifted up the corner of her lip, as if with scorn.  She put her hand to shade it, and said passionately, 'I swear you to secrecy about this!'

Mrs Steerforth was happy in her son's company, and her son was particularly attentive and respectful to her.  The resemblance between them was of interest to Trotwood, and he found what was haughty or impetuous in Steerforth was softened by age and sex in his mother to grace and dignity. Two shades of the same nature.  He recollected a discussion they had once at dinner.

'Oh, but do tell me, because I have been thinking about it all day, and I want to know,' said Miss Dartle.

'You want to know what, Rosa? returned Mrs Steerforth.  'Pray, Rosa, do not be mysterious.'

'Mysterious!' she cried, 'Oh! really? Do you consider me so?'

'Do I entreat you,' said Mrs Steerforth, 'speak plainly, in your own natural manner?'

'Oh! then this is not my natural manner?' she rejoined.  Now you must really bear with me, because I ask for information.  We never know ourselves.'

'It has become a second nature.' said Mrs Steerforth, without any displeasure; 'but I remember, - and so you must - I think, - when your manner was different, Rosa, when it was not guarded, and was more trustful.'

'I am sure you are right,' she returned, 'and so it is bad habits grown upon one! Really? Less guarded and more trustful? How can I have changed? I wonder! Well that's very odd! I must regain my former self.' 

'I wish you would,' said Mrs Steerforth, with a smile.

'Oh! I really will, you know!' she answered.  'I will learn frankness - let me see - from James.' There was some sarcasm in what Rosa Dartle said.

'You cannot learn frankness, Rosa,' said Mrs Steerforth quickly - 'in a better school.  

'That I am sure of,' said she with uncommon fervour.

Mrs Steerforth appeared to regret having been a little nettled; for she presently said, in a kind tone:

'Well Rosa, we have not heard what it is that you want to be satisfied about?'

'That I want to be satisfied about?' she replied with a provoking coldness. 'Oh! It was only weather people, who are like each other in their moral constitution, are in greater danger than people so circumstanced, supposing any serious cause of division arise between them, of being divided angrily and deeply?'

'I should say yes,' said Steerforth.

'Should you?' she retorted. 'Dear me! Supposing then, for instance, any unlikely thing will do - for supposition - and that you and your mother were to have a serious difference of opinion-'

'Dear Rosa,' interposed Mrs Steerforth, laughing-good naturedly, 'suggest some other supposition!  James and I know our duty to each other better, I pray Heaven!'

'Oh!' said Miss Dartle, nodding her head thoughtfully.  'To be sure.  That would prevent it? Why, of course it would.  Exactly.  Now I am glad to have been so foolish as to put the case, for it is very good to know that your duty to each other would prevent it!  Thank you very much.'

One other little circumstance connected with Miss Dartle, came into the memory of Trotwood.  Night before his departure from Highgate.

During the whole of this day Steerforth had been using his skill with ease to charm Rosa into a pleasant companion.  Her capricious mood began to change slowly.  It was indoctrinated in her to resent his captivating charm.  The wall of indoctrination began to melt. Her sharp glance softened and her smile become quite gentle.  They sat about the fire talking and laughing freely.  Miss Dartle was the first to leave the dining room.

'She is playing her harp,' said Steerforth looking at the drawing room.  'And nobody but my mother has heard her do that,' he continued.

She was alone before the harp when they entered the room.  Seeing them she tried to get up.

'Don't get up,' said Steerforth, 'my dear Rosa, don't!  Be kind once, and sing us an Irish song.'

'What do you care for an Irish song?' she returned.

'Much!' said Steerforth.  'Much more than for any other.  Here is Daisy, too, loves music from his soul.  Sing us an Irish song, Rosa! and let me sit and listen as I used to do.'

He did not touch her, or the chair from which she had risen, but sat himself near the harp.  She stood beside it for some little while, in a curious way, going through the motion of playing it with her right hand, but not sounding it.  At length she sat down, and drew it to her with sudden action, and played and sang.  Her touch or voice made the song most the unearthly.  There was something fearful in the reality of it.  It was as if it had never been written, or set to music, but sprung out of passion within her; which found imperfect utterance in the low sounds of her voice, and crouched again when all was still.  She leaned beside the harp again, playing it, but not sounding it, with her right hand.  

Steerforth had left his seat, and gone to her, and had said, 'Come, Rosa, for the future we will love each other very much!'  And she had struck him, and had thrown him off with the fury of a wild cat, and had burst out of the room.

'What is the matter with Rosa?' said Mrs Steerforth, coming in.

'She has been an angel, mother,' returned Steerforth, 'for a little while; and has run into the opposit extreme, since, by way of compensation.'

'You should be careful not to irritate her, James.  Her temper has been soured, remember, and ought not to be tried.'

Rosa did not come back, and no mention of her was made further.

Trotwood went to say goodbye to Steerforth, in his room, when he laughed about her, and asked if anyone had ever seen such a piece of incomprehensibility.

Trotwood had no answer.

'Oh, Heaven knows!' said Steerforth. 'She takes everything to a grindstone, and sharpened it.'

'Goodnight!' said Trotwood, 'my dear Steerforth! I shall be gone before you wake in the morning. Goodnight!'

He was unwilling to let him go; and stood holding out his friend, with a hand on each of his shoulders.

'Daisy,' he said with a smile, 'if anything should ever separate us, you must think of me at my best, old boy.  Come! let us make that bargain. Think of me at my best, if circumstances should ever part us!'

'You have no best to me, Steerforth,' said Trotwood, 'and no worst.  You are always equally loved, and cherished in my heart.'

The compunction for having wronged him, even by a shapeless thought, and the confession of having done so was rising in his lips. The reluctance to betray the confidence of Agnes, and the uncertainty to approach the subject with no risk, were hindering Trotwood, when Steerforth said, 'God bless you, Daisy and goodnight!'  They shook hands and parted.

Up in the dawn, and having dressed quietly, Trotwood looked into his room.  He was fast asleep; lying, easily, with his head upon his arm, as Trotwood often seen him at his school, and thus in the silent hour, Trotwood left his friend.

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