The Adelphi - Twelve: Agnes Brings An Opportunity.

Trotwood proposed to Mr Dick to come to Chandler's shop and take possession of the bed which Mr Peggotty had lately vacated.  The Chandler's shop in the Hungerford Market very much pleased Mr Dick.

Mrs Crupp had bitterly warned him that there wasn't room to swing a cat there, but, as Mr Dick observed, sitting down on the foot of the bed, 'You know, Trotwood, 'I don't want to swing a cat, I never do swing a cat. Therefore what does that signify to me!'

Trotwood tried to find out whether Dick had any idea as to the sudden change in the situation of his aunt. He had no idea, except what she said, 'Dick,I am ruined.'  And Dick answered, 'indeed!' To that his aunt praised him highly, which he was glad of. And then they had come and had had bottled porter and sandwiches on the road. Trotwood realised that Mr Dick was not fully aware of the station of his aunt.  So he explained to him that ruin meant distress, want and starvation.  His face turned pale, and tears rolled down his cheeks.

'What can we do, Trot?' said Dick.

'All we can do just now, Mr Dick is to keep cheerful countenance, and not let my aunt see that we are thinking about it.'

Miss Betsey, on the other hand was composed.  She was extremely gracious to Peggotty.  She was to have the bed of Trotwood, and he was to lie in the sitting-room, to keep guard over her.  She made a great point of being near the river, in case of a conflagration.

'Trot, my dear,' said his aunt, when she saw him making preparations for compounding her usual night-draught.

'No!' 'Not wine, my dear. Ale,' said Miss Betsey.

'But there is wine here, aunt.  And you always have it made of wine' said Trotwood.

'Keep that, in case of sickness,' said his aunt.  'We mustn't use it carelessly, Trot.  Ale for me.  Half a pint.' 

Trotwood went for the ale.  Peggotty and Mr Dick went to chandler's shop together.  Miss Betsey was walking up and down the room, crimping the boarders of her cap with her fingers when he returned.  Trotwood warmed the ale and made the toast.  When it was ready for her she was ready for it.

'My dear,' said his aunt, after taking a spoonful of it, it is a great deal better than wine.  Not half so bilious.'

Trotwood remained silent.

'Tut, tut, child.  If nothing worse than ale happens to us, we are well off.'

'I should think so, aunt,' said Trotwood.

Aunt went on with quiet enjoyment of drinking the warm ale with a 

tea-spoon, soaked strip of toast in the ale and ate.

'Trot,' said she, 'I don't care for strange faces in general, but I rather like that Barkis of yours, do you know!'

'It's better than hundred pounds to hear you say so,' said Trotwood.

'It's a most extraordinary world, observed Miss Betsey, rubbing her nose; 'how that woman ever got into it with that name, is unaccountable to me. It would be much more easy to be born a Jackson, or something of that sort.'

'Perhaps she thinks so too, it is not her fault,' said Trotwood.  'I suppose not,' returned Miss Betsey.  'However,  she is Barkis now. That's some comfort.  Barkis is uncommonly fond of you, Trot.'

'There is nothing she would leave undone to prove it.' said Trotwood.

'Nothing, I believe,' returned Miss Betsey.  'Here the poor fool has been begging and praying about handing over some of her money - because she has got too much of it.  A simpleton!'

Betsey's tears of pleasure were positively trickling down into the warm ale.

'She is the most ridiculous creature that ever was born,' said his aunt.  'I knew, from the first moment when I saw her with that poor dear blessed baby of mother of yours, that she was the most ridiculous of mortals.  But there are good points in Barkis!'

She was moved by her fondness towards Peggotty; but was shy of exhibiting it to her nephew; put her hand on her eyes; resumed her toast and her discourse.

'Ah! Mercy upon us!' she sighed.  'I know all about it, Trot.  Barkis and myself had quite a gossip while you were out with Dick.  I know all about it.  I don't know where these wretched girls expect to go, for my part.  I wonder they don't knock out their brains against - against 

mantlepieces,' said his aunt.

'Poor Emily!' said Trotwood.

'Oh, don't talk to me about poor,' returned Miss Betsey.  'She should have thought of that, before she caused so much misery!  Give me a kiss, Trot.  I am sorry for your early experience.'

As he bent forward, she put her tumbler on his knee to detain him, and said: 

'Oh, Trot, Trot!  And so you fancy yourself in love!  Do you?'

'Fancy, aunt!' replied Trotwood as he blushed.  'I adore her with my whole soul.'

'Dora, indeed!' returned his aunt.  'And you mean to say the little thing is very fascinating, I suppose?'

'My dear aunt,' replied Trotwood, 'no one can form the least idea what she is!'

'Ah, and not silly?' said Miss Betsey.

It had never entered Trotwood's head whether she was silly or not. He resented her question, but he was struck by it.

'Not light-headed?' said Miss Betsey.

'Light-headed, aunt!'  He could only repeat this daring speculation.

'Well, well!' said his aunt.  'I only ask.  I don't depreciate her.  Poor little couple! And you think you were formed for one another, and are to go through a party-supper-table kind of life, like two pretty pieces of confectionery, do you, Trot?'

He was quite touched by her gentle and kind question half playful and half sorrowful.

'We are young and inexperienced, aunt, I know,' replied Trotwood; 'and we think and say a good deal that is foolish.  But we love one another truly.  If I thought Dora could love ever anybody else, or cease to love me; or that I could ever love anybody else or cease to love her; I don't know what I should do.'

'Ah, Trot!' said his aunt, shaking her head, and smiling gravely, 'blind, blind, blind!'

'Someone that I know, Trot,' pursued his aunt, after a pause, 'though of a very pliant disposition, had an earnestness of affection in him that reminds me of poor Baby.  Earnestness is what that somebody must look for, to sustain him and improve him, Trotwood.'

'If you only knew the earnestness of Dora, aunt,' said Trotwood.

'Oh, Trot!' she said again, 'blind, blind!' and without knowing why, Trotwood felt a vague unhappy loss or want of something overshadow him like a cloud.

'I don't want two young creatures displeased with themselves or to make them unhappy.  But plainly speaking, it is only a girl and boy attachment, and very often girl and boy attachments come to nothing, still we will be serious about it, and hope for the better.  There's time enough for it to come to anything!'

This was not upon the whole very comforting to Trotwood, a rapturous lover.  But he found that his aunt was very tired, and so he put an end to his conversation.  He thanked for her affection and kindness; and bade her goodnight.

He was very miserable when he lay down.  He thought first about Mr Spenlow, then about Dora and his changed station in life after what happened to his aunt. He pondered over whether he could terminate the articlesship agreement and get half of the premium.  Trotwood had a sleepless night that day and he found that his aunt too had a sleepless night.

In the morning he saw the sun shining through the window.  He got up and dressed quietly.  Leaving Peggotty to look after his aunt, he headed to Roman bath, at the bottom of one of the streets out of the Strand.  He splashed cold water into his face, had a walk to Hampstead. He felt relieved soon, and came to the conclusion that he should seek the cancellation of articles and the premium recovered.  He got some breakfast on the Hampstead Heath, and walked back to Doctors' Commons, along the watered roads, and through a pleasant smell of summer flowers growing in the garden and carried into the town by hucksters on their heads.

He arrived at the office soon, loitered about the Commons, before old Tiffey, who was always first, came with his key.  Trotwood sat down in his shady corner, thinking about his aunt, until Mr Spenlow came in, crisp and curly.

'How are you, Copperfield?' said he.  'Fine morning.'

'Beautiful morning sir,' said Trotwood. 'Could I say a word to you before you go into court?'

'By all means,' said he, 'Come into my room.'

Trotwood followed him into his room, and he began putting on his gown, and touching himself up before a little glass he had, hanging inside the closet door.

'I am sorry to say,' said Trotwood, 'that I have some disheartening intelligence from my aunt.'

'No,' he said.  'Dear me! Not paralysis, I hope?'

'It has no reference to her health, sir.  She has met with some large losses.  In fact, she has very little left, indeed.'

'You astound me, Copperfield!' cried Mr Spenlow.

'Indeed, sir,' said Trotwood shaking his head.  'Her affairs are so changed, that I wished to ask you whether it would be possible- at a sacrifice on my part some portion of the premium, of course, to cancel my articles?' Trotwood presented this on the spur of the moment.

'To cancel your articles, Copperfield? Cancel?'

Trotwood was very open and firm.  It was a question of his subsistence.  It came as a bolt from the blue while he had been floating with love fever everywhere.

Mr Spenlow was thinking of his means, he would have happily accepted this offer.  But he had no means, he had been living in his bubble. So he said:

'I am extremely sorry to hear this, Copperfield, extremely sorry.  It is not usual to cancel articles for any such reason.  It is not a professional course of proceeding.  It is not a convenient precedent at all. Far from it.  At the same time -'

'You are very good, sir,' murmured Trotwood, anticipating a concession.

'Not at all.  Don't mention it,' said Mr Spenlow.  'At the same time, I was going to say, if it had been my lot to have my hands unfettered - if I had not a partner - Mr Jorkins -'

Trotwood's hopes were dashed in a moment, but he made another effort. 'Do you think, sir,' said he, 'if I were to mention it to Mr Jorkins -' 

Mr Spenlow shook his head discouragingly.  'Heaven forbid, Copperfield, he replied, that I should do any man injustice: still less Mr Jorkins.  But I know my partner, Copperfield.  Mr Jorkins is not a man to respond to a proposition of this peculiar nature.  Mr Jorkins is very difficult to move from the beaten track.  You know what he is!'

But, Trotwood knew nothing about him, except that he had originally been alone in business, and now lived by himself in a house near Montagu Square.  The house was fearfully in want of painting. He would come very late of a day, and would go very early.  He never appeared to have consulted about anything. He had a dingy little black-hole of his own upstairs, where no business was ever done, and where there was a yellow old cartridge-paper pad upon his desk, unsoiled by ink, and reported to be twenty years of age.

'Would you object to my mentioning it to him, sir?' asked Trotwood.

'By no means,' said Mr Spenlow.  'But I have some experience of Mr Jorkins, Copperfield.  I wish it were otherwise, for I should be happy to meet your views in any respect.  I cannot have the objection to your mentioning it to Mr Jorkins, Copperfield, if you think it worthwhile.'

Trotwood went up to Mr Jorkins's room and stated his case to Mr Jorkins.  He wanted to know whether Trotwood had mentioned this to Mr Spenlow. Then he wanted to know whether Mr Spenlow had said that Mr Jorkins should object this.  Then he said that he cannot advance Copperfield's request.  Then he said that he has an appointment at the Bank.  Then he rose in a great hurry and was ready to leave. At last Trotwood asked whether there was any way of arranging the matter.  Then while leaving the room he said he objects if Mr Spenlow objects.

'Personally he does not object, sir,' said Trotwood.

'Oh! Personally! repeated Mr Jorkins. 'Hopeless!  What you wish to be done can't be done.  I really have got an appointment at the Bank.'  With those words he ran away, and it was reported that the following three days he did not come to Commons.

Trotwood could not fully understand the economis of Messers Spenlow and Jorkins. But he fully understood that the recovery of the premium was out of question.

In a state of despondency he left the office, and went homeward.  A hackney-coach was coming after him, and it stopped at his very feet.  A fair hand was stretched out to him through its window. And the face of Agnes was smiling on him.

'Agnes!' he exclaimed joyfully.  'Oh, my dear Agnes, of all people in the world, what a pleasure to see you!'

'Is it, indeed?' she said in her cordial voice.

'I want to talk to you so much!' said he.  'It's such a lightening of heart, only to look at you.'

She was glad to come out of the coach, which smelt like a stable.  She took his arm, and they walked on together. Miss Betsey had written to Agnes of her setback. There had been a mutual liking between the two, starting from the days of Trotwood Copperfield's stay at Mr Wickfield's house.  She said that she was not alone, but her papa and Uriah Heep accompanied her.

'And now they are partners,' said Trotwood.

'Yes,' said Agnes, 'they have some business here; and I took advantage of their coming.  You must not think my visit friendly and disinterested.  I do not like papa go away alone with him.' 

'Does he exercise the same influence over Mr Wickfield?'

Agnes shook her head.  'There's such a change at home,' said she, 'that you would scarcely know the dear old house.  They live with us now.'

'They?' said Trotwood.

'Mr Heep and his mother.  He sleeps in your old room,' said Agnes looking up at his face.  'I keep my own little room,' she continued, 'where I used to learn my lessons.  How time goes!  You remember?  The little panelled room that opens from the drawing room?'

'Remember, Agnes?' said Trotwood, 'When I saw you for the first time, coming out at the door, with you a quaint little basket of keys hanging at your side?'

'It is just the same,' said Agnes, smiling.  'I am glad you think of it silently.  We were very happy.'

We were, indeed,' said Trotwood.

'I keep that room to myself still, but I cannot always desert Mrs Heep, you know.  And so,' said Ages quietly, 'I feel obliged to bear her company, when I prefer to be alone.  But I have no reason to complain of her.  If she tires me, sometimes, by her praises of her son, it is only natural in a mother.  He is a very good son to her.'

Trotwood looked at her when she said these words.  She was not conscious of Uriah's design.  

'The chief evil of their presence in the house,' said Agnes, is that I cannot be as near papa as I could wish - Uriah Heep being so much between us.

She asked him if he knew how the reverse in his aunt's circumstances had been brought about.  Trotwood told her that he had no intelligence of it yet.

At the Adelphi chambers, they found that Miss Betsey was excited, because she had a dispute with Mrs Crupp.  But she had enough time to cool off while he had been out.  The sight of Agnes very much enthralled her.  Agnes laid down her bonnet on the table and sat down beside her.

Trotwood initiated a discussion about his aunt's losses.  He also narrated his attempt in the morning to recover his premium. 

'That was injudicious, Trot,' she said, 'but well meant.  You are a young man now and I am proud of you.'

'Trot and Agnes,' she said, 'now let us look the case of Miss Betsey's losses.'

Agnes turned pale as she looked very attentively at Miss Betsey, and she, patting her cat, looked very attentively at Agnes.

'Betsey Trotwood, who had always kept her money matters to herself, had a certain property.  Enough to live on.  She saved a little, and added to it.  By the advice of her man of business, laid it out on landed securities.  That did well, and returned a very good interest, till Betsey was paid off.  Then she looked about for a new investment.  She thought she was wiser than her man of business, and took it to a foreign market, and a very bad market it turned out to be.  First she lost the mining way, and then she lost the diving way,' explained Miss Betsey, rubbing her nose.  'And then she lost the mining way again, and finally she lost the banking way.'

'Dear Miss Trotwood, is that all the history?' said Agnes.

'I hope it's enough child,' said his aunt.  If there had been more money to lose, it would have been lost.'

Agnes had listened to it with suspense. Trotwood thought that she had some fear that her unhappy papa might be in some way to blame for what had happened.  Miss Betsey took her hand in hers, and laughed.

'That's the story of my ruin,' said my aunt.  'Now Agnes,' she continued, 'you have a wise head. So you have too, Trot, in some things, but not in everything.'

'What is to be done?  Here's the cottage, that will bring seventy pounds a year.  Then there's Dick.  He is good for a hundred a year, but that must be expended on himself.  How can Trot and I do best, upon our means.  What do you say, Agnes?'

I say, aunt,' interposed Trotwood, 'I must do something.'

'Go for a soldier, do you mean?' returned his aunt, alarmed; or go to sea?  I won't hear of it.  You are to be a proctor.'

He was about to explain on it when Agnes asked if his rooms were held for any long term.

'You come to the point, my dear,' said Miss Betsey, 'they are not to be got rid of, for six months at least.  I have a little ready money, and the best thing we can do, is, to live the term out here, and get a bedroom hard by.'

'I have been thinking, Trotwood, said Agnes, that if you had time-'

'I have a good deal of time, Agnes. I am always disengaged after four or five o'clock, and I have time early in the morning,' said Trotwood.

I know you would not mind,' said Agnes, coming to him, and speaking in a low voice, so full of sweet and hopeful consideration, 'the duties of a secretary.' 

'Mind, my dear Agnes?'

'Because,'  continued Agnes, 'Doctor Strong has acted on his intention of retiring, and has come to live in London; and he asked papa, I know, if he could recommend one.  Don't you think he would rather have his favourite pupil near him, than anybody else?'

'Dear Agnes,' said Trotwood, 'what should I do without you!   You are always my good angel.  I told you so.  I never think of you in any other light.'

Agnes answered with a pleasant smile that Doctor had been used to occupy himself in his study, early in the morning and in the evening.  Trotwood found that his leisure would suit his requirements.

Trotwood wrote a letter to the Doctor

stating his purpose and promised to call on him next day at ten in the forenoon.

When Trotwood returned after posting the letter to Highgate, where Doctor Strong had been staying, Agnes was ready for leaving.  He found that the presence of Agnes had brought some changes in the place.  Betsey's birds with the cage was now hanging, just as they had hung in the parlour of Dover cottage, and his easy-chair was positioned at the open window, and the round green fan which Miss Betsey had brought from Dover was screwed on to the window sill, the books of Trotwood arranged in the old order of school days. 

A knock at the door, and Agnes knew that her papa was there.

Trotwood opened the door, and there stood Mr Wickfield and Uriah Heep.  Mr Wickfield appeared tired by age and wine and his dependence on Uriah was visible.  Both Mr Wickfield and Uriah Heep were familiar to Miss Trotwood, but Wickfield had not seen her for a long time.  Mr Wickfield approached her and gave his hand to Miss Trotwood; and then he shook hands with Trotwood.  Agnes tried to shrink from Uriah Heep.

'Well, Wickfield!' said Miss Betsey, 'I have been telling your daughter how well I have been disposing of my money for myself, because I couldn't trust it to you, as you were growing rusty in business.  We have been taking counsel together, and getting on very well, all things considered.  She is worth the whole firm, in my opinion'

'If I may umbly make the remark,' said Uriah Heep, with a writhe, I fully agree with Miss Betsey Trotwood, and should be only too happy if Miss Agnes was a partner.'

'You are a partner yourself, you know,' returned Miss Betsey, 'that's enough for you, I expect, how do you find yourself, sir?'

Mr Heep, clutching his blue bag uncomfortably, replied that he was well, and hoped that she was the same.

Then he shook hands with Trotwood, standing at a good distance, lifting his hand up and down like a pump handle.

'How do you think we are looking, Master Copperfield - I should say, Mister? fawned Uriah.  Don't you find Mr Wickfield blooming, sir?  Years don't tell much in our firm, Master Copperfield, except in rising up the umble, mother and me - and in developing,' he added as an afterthought, 'the beautiful, namely, Miss Agnes.'

He jerked about himself, after this comment, that Miss Betsey, who had sat looking straight at him, lost her patience.

'Deuce take the man' said she, 'what is he about? Don't be galvanic, sir!'

'I ask your pardon, Miss Trotwood,' returned Uriah, I am aware you are nervous.'

'Go along with you, sir! said Miss Betsey, anything but appeased.  Don't presumed to say so! I am nothing of the sort.  If you are an eel, conduct yourself so.  If you are a man control your limbs, sir, Good God!' 

Mr Heep rather abashed by this explosion, said to Trotwood in a meek voice, 'I am well aware, Master Copperfield, that Miss Trotwood has a quick temper, and it's only natural.  That it should be made quicker in the present circumstances.  I only called to say that if there was anything we could do, we should be really glad,' said Uriah with a sickly smile at his partner.

'Uriah Heep,' said Mr Wickfield in a monotonous way, 'is active in business, Trotwood.  What he says I quite concur in.  You know I had an old interest in you.  Apart from that, what Uriah says I quite concur in!'

'Oh what a reward it is!' said Uriah, drawing up one leg, at the risk of bringing down upon himself the ire of Miss Betsey, 'to be so trusted in!  But I hope I am able to do something to relieve him from the fatigues of business, Master Copperfield.' 

'Uriah Heep is a great relief to me,' said Mr Wickfield, in the small dull voice.  It's load off mind, Trotwood, to have such a partner.'

'You are not going papa,' said Agnes, anxiously.  'Will you not walk back with Trotwood and me?'

Uriah Heep left the place saying that he had some other preoccupation. 

Mr Wickfield and Agnes sat there with Trotwood for sometime, talking about their pleasant old Canterbury days.  Left to Agnes, Mr Wickfield soon became his former self.

Miss Betsey and Peggotty were in the inner room when Trotwood went for a walk with Mr Wickfield and Agnes.  They reached where Mr Wickfield and Agnes used to stay.  They dined together.  After dinner Agnes sat beside her papa and poured out his wine.  He took what she gave him and no more - like a child - and all the three sat together at a window as the evening gathered in.  When it was almost dark, Mr Wickfield lay on a sofa, Agnes pillowing his head and bending over him a little while; and when she came back to the window, it was not so dark, but Trotwood saw tears glittering in her eyes.

There was a beggar in the street, when Trotwood went down and as he turned his head towards the window, thinking of Agnes.  The beggar made him start by muttering suddenly, as if he were an echo in the morning: 'Blind! Blind! Blind!'

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