The Adelphi: Fourteen: The Death Of Mr Spenlow

Miss Betsey Trotwood had brought some little improvement in the domestic arrangements.  First of all she asserted herself against Mrs Crupp.  Mrs Crupp had stopped placing pitchers on the stairs because Miss Betsey would throw the pitchers out of the window and would prowl on the stairs up and down intermittently.  In this war of pitchers Mrs Crupp's arsenal of pitchers became empty and she withdrew herself from the presence of Miss Betsey.

Miss Betsey converted the pantry into a dressing-room for her nephew; purchased and embellished a bedstead for him.  Peggotty had the privilege of associating in these labours, although she retained her old awe towards Miss Betsey.  In spite of this she received many marks of encouragement and confidence of Miss Betsey, and soon they became best friends. On Saturdays Peggotty would go home to take care of the affairs of Ham.  On these occasions Trotwood would accompany her and she would promise him money.  

Trotwood would visit Dora every Saturday at Miss Mills house, as a ritual, though he had his own doubts about their future.

He had bought a book on stenography, at the cost of ten and sixpence.  After four months of training with dots and dash and strokes, Trotwood found that he was nowhere near his goal and sought the help of Traddles.

Traddles suggested a new scheme.  He would dictate speeches, at a pace, and with occasional stoppages.  Trotwood accepted the scheme.  Every night they had a sort of parliament in Buckingham Street, after Trotwood's return home from Doctor's home.  The scheme worked out and they continued it for a long time.

Traddles would let out a stream of invectives, as Mr Pitt, Mr Fox, Mr Sheradin, and so on, denouncing the profligacy and corruption, and the aunt and Mr Dick came out with interruptions.  Trotwood would sit with his notebook on his knee fagging after these proceedings and interruptions in strokes and dash and dots.

Often and often they pursued these exercises until the clock pointed to midnight and the candles were burning down.  After the end of every session of these exercises and when Traddles and aunt and Mr Dick would leave, Trotwood would go through his strokes and dots on his notebook.  Though a tedious job he followed it with consistency and perseverance.  He did it like a cart-horse.

One day, at Commons, Trotwood found Mr Spenlow in the doorway looking extremely grave, and talking to himself.  Instead of wishing him 'good morning' he coldly requested Trotwood to accompany him.  They reached upstairs on top of the coffee-room behind Commons. Miss Murdstone was there supported by a sideboard, on which were several inverted tumblers, knives and forks. She looked rigid.  Mr Spenlow shut the door and motioned him to a chair, and stood on the hearth-rug in front of the fire-place.

'Have the goodness to show Mr Copperfield,' said Mr Spenlow, 'what you have in your reticule, Miss Murdstone.'

Miss Murdstone opened her old reticule and produced the last letter written by Trotwood to Miss Spenlow.

'I believe that is your writing, Mr Copperfield?' said Mr Spenlow.

Hot and red Trotwood said, 'It is, sir!'

'I am not mistaken,' said Mr Spenlow as Miss Murdstone brought a parcel of letters from her reticule, tied down with blue ribbon, 'those are also from your pen, Mr Copperfield?'

Trotwood took them from her, desolately glancing at 'My ever dearest and own Dora', and blushed deeply and inclined his head.

'No, thank you!' said Mr Spenlow, coldly, as Trotwood mechanically offered them back to him.  'I will not deprive you of them.  Miss Murdstone, be so good to proceed!'

Miss Murdstone, after a moment's thoughtful survey of the carpet, delivered herself with much dry unction as follows:

'I must confess to having entertained my suspicions of Miss Spenlow, in reference to David Copperfield, for some time. I observed them both, when they first met; and the impression made upon me then was not agreeable.  The depravity of human heart is such -'

'You will oblige me ma'am,' interrupted Mr Spenlow, 'by confining yourself to facts.' 

Miss Murdstone cast down her eyes, shook her head as if protesting, and with a frowning dignity resumed:

'I have frequently endeavoured to find decisive corroboration of my suspicions, but without result.  I have therefore mentioned them to Miss Spenlow's father, looking severely at him - 'knowing how little disposition there usually in such cases to acknowledge the conscientious discharge of duty.'

Mr Spenlow seemed quite cowed down by the gentlemanly sternness of Miss Murdstone's manner, and deprecated her severity with a concialiatory little wave of his  hand.

'On my return to Norwood, after my brother's marriage,' pursued Miss Murdstone in a disdainful voice, 'and the return of Miss Spenlow from her visit to Miss Mills, the manner of Miss Spenlow gave me greater occasion for suspicion.  So I watched Miss Spenlow closely.'

Dora was unconscious of this dragon's eyes, thought Trotwood.

'Still,' resumed Miss Murdstone, 'I found no proof until last night.  It appeared to me that Miss Spenlow received too many letters from her friend Miss Mills, but Miss Mills being her friend with her father's full concurrence,' another telling blow at Mr Spenlow, 'it was not for me to interfere.  If I may not be permitted to allude to the natural depravity of the human heart, at least I must be permitted so far to refer to misplaced confidence.' 

Mr Spenlow apologetically murmered his assent.

'Last evening after tea,' pursued Miss Murdstone, 'I observed the little dog starting, rolling, growling about the drawing room, worrying something.  I said to Miss Spenlow, "Dora, What's that the dog had in his mouth? It's paper." Miss Spenlow immediately put her hand to her frock, gave a sudden cry, and ran to the dog. I interposed, and said, "Dora, my love, you must permit me." '

Oh Jip, miserable Spaniel, this wretchedness, then was your work!, thought Trotwood.

'Miss Spenlow endeavoured,' said Miss Murdstone, 'to bribe me with kisses, work-boxes and small articles of jewellery - that, of course I pass over.  The little dog retreated under the sofa, on my approaching him, and was with great difficulty dislodged by the fire-irons.  Even when dislodged, he still kept the letter in his mouth; and on my endeavour to take it from him, at the imminent risk of being bitten, he kept it between his teeth so precariously as to suffer himself to be held suspended in the air by means of the document.  At length I obtained possession of it.  After perusing it, I taxed Miss Spenlow with having many such letters in her possession; and ultimately obtained from her the packet which is now in David Copperfield's hand.'

Here she ceased, shutting her mouth.

'You have heard Miss Murdstone,' said Mr Spenlow, turning to Trotwood. 'I beg to ask Mr Copperfield, if you have anything to say in reply?'

The narrative by Miss Murdstone of Dora's efforts to hush up the event had impaired the little dignity of Trotwood.

'There is nothing I can say, sir,' returned Trotwood, except that all the blame is mine.  Dora-'

'Miss Spenlow, if you please,' said her father majestically.

'- was induced and persuaded by me,' Trotwood went on, swallowing that colder designation, 'to consent to this concealment, and I bitterly regret it.'

'You are very much to blame sir,' said Mr Spenlow, walking to and fro upon the hearth-rug, and emphasizing it with his whole body.  'You have done a stealthy and unbecoming action, hMr Copperfield.  When I take a gentleman to my house, no matter whether he is nineteen or twenty-nine or ninety, I take him there in a spirit of confidence.  If he abuses my confidence, he commits a dishonourable action, Mr Copperfield.' 

'Sir, I feel it now,' returned Trotwood, 'but I never thought so, before.  I love Miss Spenlow to that extent -'

'Nonsense!' said Mr Spenlow, reddening.  'Pray don't tell me to my face that you love my daughter, Mr Copperfield!'

'Could I defend my conduct if I did not, sir?'

'Can you defend your conduct, if you do, sir?' said Mr Spenlow, stopping short upon the hearth-rug.  'Have you considered your years, and my daughter's years, Mr Copperfield?  Have you considered what it is to undermine the confidence that should subsist between my daughter and myself? Have you considered my daughter's station in life, the projects I may contemplate for her advancement, the testamentary intentions I have with reference to her?  Have you considered anything, Mr Copperfield?'

'Very little sir, I am afraid,' answered Trotwood, speaking to him respectfully, 'but pray believe me, I have considered my own worldly position.  When I explained it to you, we were already engaged -'

'I beg,' said Mr Spenlow, as he energetically struck one hand upon the other, 'that you will not talk to me of engagement, Mr Copperfield!'

The otherwise immovable Miss Murdstone laughed contemptuously.

'When explained my altered position to you, sir,' began Trotwood, 'I hope it will improve.  Will you grant me time? We are both young, sir -'

'You are right,' interrupted Mr Spenlow, nodding his head a great many times, and frowning very much, 'you are both very young.  It's all nonsense.  Let there be an end of it. Take away those letters and throw them in fire.  Give me Miss Spenlow's letters to throw in the fire, and in future be restricted to Commons, we will make no mention of the past.  Come Mr Copperfield, you don't want sense, and this is the sensible course.'

Trotwood was very confused, he found he loved Dora to idolatry, and pursuing on it would be ridiculous.

'Very well, Mr Copperfield,' said Mr Spenlow, 'I must try my influence with my daughter. Do you decline to take those letters Mr Copperfield? For I had laid them on the table.'

'No.' Trotwood replied with profound respect.  'Only Miss Spenlow could decide it.'

'Very well!' said Mr Spenlow.  'I should not allow my child to be influenced by youthful folly.  In a little while it will weigh lighter than any feather.  But I might - I might - if this silly business were not completely relinquished altogether, be induced in some anxious moment to guard her from, and sorround her with protection against, the consequences of any foolish step in the way of marriage.'

There was a serenity, a tranquility, and a calm sunset air about him, which quite affected Trotwood.

'In the mean time,' continued Mr Spenlow adjusting his cravat with both hands, 'confer with Miss  Trotwood.  Take a week Mr Copperfield.' 

Trotwood submitted dejectedly, and came out of the room.  Miss Murdstone's heavy eyebrows followed him, as they followed little David, in the morning, in their parlour at Blunderstone, when he was leaving his beloved mother.

Trotwood confided everything to his aunt. 'Think it good, Trotwood. You were blind with love. Take a break now, and have a good sleep!' she said.

Next morning he went straight to the Commons.  He was surprised when he came within the sight of the office-door.  The ticket-porters were standing outside, talking together. Some of the half a dozen stragglers were gazing against the closed window.  Trotwood quickened his pace, and passing among them, wondering at their looks, went in hurriedly.

The clerks were there, but nobody was doing anything.  Old Tiffey, for the first time in his life, was sitting on somebody else's stool, and had not hung up his hat.

'This is a dreadful calamity, Mr Copperfield,' said he, as Trotwood entered.

'What is?' exclaimed the latter.  'What's the matter?'

'Don't you know?' cried Tiffey, and all the rest of them, coming round of him.

'No,' said Trotwood, looking from face to face.

'Mr Spenlow,' said Tiffey.

'What about him!'

'Dead!'

Trotwood thought that the office was reeling, and one of the cleks caught hold of him.  They sat him down a chair, untied his neck-cloth, and brought him some water.

'Dead?' said Trotwood.

'He dined in town yesterday, and drove down in the phaeton by himself,' said Tiffey, 'having sent his own groom home by the coach, as he sometimes did, you know -'

'Well?' 

'The phaeton went home without him.  The horses stopped at the slab- gate.  The man went out with a lantern.  Nobody in the carriage.'

'Had they run away?'

'They were not hot,' said Tiffey, putting on his glasses; 'no hotter, I understand, than they would have been, going down at the usual pace.  The reins had been broken, but they had been dragging on the ground.  The house was roused up directly, and three of them went out along the road.  They found him a mile off.'

'More than a mile off,' Mr Tiffey,' interposed a junior.

'Was it? I believe you are right,' said Tiffey - 'more than a mile off - not far from the church - lying partly on the roadside, and partly on the path, upon his face.  Whether he fell out in a fit, or got out, feeling ill before the fit came on - or even whether he was quite dead then, though there is no doubt he was quite insensible - no one appears to know.  If he breathed, certainly he never spoke.  Medical assistance was got as soon as possible, but it was quite useless.'

The event was a shock to everybody in Commons. His chair and table seemed to wait for him.  It was impossible to separate him from the place.  The people in the office talked about him with insatiable relish. The people who came in and went out gorged themselves with the subject. Trotwood yearned to talk to her alone, and be a comfort to her.

Trotwood wrote a letter to her and handed his aunt to be handed over to Miss Mills. He expressed his grief over the untimely death of Mr Spenlow.

Mr Jorkins came to the office a few days afterwards.  He and Tiffey were closeted together for some few moments, and then Tiffey looked out of the door and beckoned Trotwood in.

'Ha!' said Mr Jorkins, 'Mr Tiffey and myself, Mr Copperfield, are about to examine the desks, the drawers and other such repositories of the deceased, with the view of sealing up his private papers, and searching for a Will. There is no trace of any, elsewhere.  It may be as well for you to assist us if you please.'

After a thorough search of all the papers, the office papers and private papers being sealed up seperately, and were still going on quietly and dustily, when Mr Jorkins said to us, applying exactly the same words to his late partner as his late partner had applied to him:

'Mr Spenlow was very difficult to move from the beaten track.  You know what he was!  I am disposed to think he had made no will.'

'Oh, I know he had,' said Trotwood.

Both Mr Jorkins and Tiffey looked at him.

'On the very day I last saw him,' said Trotwood, 'he told me that he had, and that his affairs were long since settled.' 

Mr Jorkins and Tiffey shook their heads with one accord.

'That looks uncompromising,' said Tiffey. 

'Very uncompromising,' said Mr Jorkins.

'Surely you don't doubt -' began Trotwood.

'My good Mr Copperfield!' said Tiffey, laying his hand upon Trotwood's arm, and shutting up both his eyes as he shook his head, 'if you had been in the Commons as long as I have, you would know that there is no subject on which men are so inconsistent, and so little to be trusted.'

'Why, bless my soul, he made that very remark!' Trotwood replied persistently.

'I should call that almost final,' observed Tiffey.  'My opinion is - no will.'

Trotwood found that what Tiffey had said was true.  Mr Spenlow had never thought of making one, so far as his papers showed.  His affairs were in most disordered state.  It was difficult to make out what he owed or what he had paid, or what he died possessed.  By little and little, it came out, that, in the competition then running high in the Commons, he had spent more than his personal income, which was not a large one.  There was a sale of furniture and lease, at Norwood. Paying all the debts, the deceased wouldn't have a chance to entitle a thousand pounds for all his assets remaining.  Dora was unable to say anything on her future.  Mr Spenlow had two maiden sisters who lived at Putney, with whom he had least connection.

These two ladies now emerged, and proposed to take Dora to live at Putney.  Dora assented to this proposal, and so they went very soon after the funeral.

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