The Adelphi - Sixteen: Mr Peggotty In Search of Emily

That night, at the Adelphi on the Buckingham Street, Trotwood had a serious discussion with his aunt and Mr Dick.  His attempt to write a letter to Putney sisters, destroyed by the Mrs Heep in her secret mission, was resumed in their presence.

Miss Betsey did not wait to finish the letter, said him good night, and left. Mr Dick hang on till he was tired, and then left.

Next morning, Trotwood got it approved by his aunt, send it, and waited. 

It was a heavy settled fall, in great flakes, and it lay thick.  The noise of the wheels and tread of people were hushed.  Trotwood was walking along the St Martin's lane, winding down to the Strand.  On the steps of the church there was the stooping figure of a man.  He had put some burden on the smooth snow, to adjust it. He rose and came down towards Trotwood.  It was Mr Peggotty!

After a moment of surprise and silence, he said, 'Master Davy!' gripping Trotwood tight, 'it do my heart good to see you, sir. Well met, well met!'

'Well met, my dear old friend!' said Trotwood.

'I had thought of coming to you, but it was too late.  So I decided to come early in the morning before going away.'

'Again?' said Trotwood 

'Yes sir,' he said patiently shaking his head, 'I am away tomorrow.'

'Where are you going now?' Trotwood asked.

'Well!' he said shaking his snow out of his long air, 'I am going somewhere.'

In those days there was a side entrance to the stable yard, nearly opposite. Two or three public rooms opened out of the stable yard.  One of them empty, and a good fire burning, they went into it.

Trotwood saw him in the light of the fire.  His hair was long and ragged, face was burnt dark.  He was greyer, the lines in his face and forehead were deeper, but he looked very stronger.  As he sat down opposite to Trotwood at a table, with his back to the door, he grasped Trotwood warmly.

'I will tell you, Master Davy,' he said, 'where all I have been, and what all I have heard!'

Trotwood rang the bell for something hot to drink.  Mr Peggotty would have nothing other than ale.

'When she was a child,' he said, lifting up his head while we were left alone, 'she used to talk to me a deal about the sea, about the coasts where the sea gets dark blue and shining in the sun.  Her father being drowned made her think of it much.'

'A childish fancy,' replied Trotwood.

'When she was lost,' said Peggotty, 'I thought he would take her to countries.  I thought she would be a lady.  When I saw her mother I thought I was right.  I went across channel to France, and landed there.

'I found out an English gentleman as was in authority,' said Mr Peggotty, 'and told him that I was going to seek my niece.  He got me necessary papers that I must carry with, in my journey.  He would have given me money, but I was not in need of it. I went away through France.' 

'Alone, on foot?' said Trotwood.

'Mostly on foot,' he replied , 'sometimes in a cart along with people going to market; sometimes in empty coaches, on foot with a soldier or another, traveling to see his friends. In the town, in the inn I waited for somebody to come in, and searched, my little Emily among the people coming in and going out.

'I was familiar in the village.  They would often put their children - particularly their little girls upon my knee. And many a time you might have seen me sitting at their doors, when night was coming in, almost as if they were my darling children.  Oh, my darling!' 

Overpowered by sudden grief, he sobbed aloud.  Trotwood laid his trembling hand upon the hand he put before his face.  'Thank you sir, take no notice,' he said.

In a little while he took away his hand and put it on his breast, and went on with his story.

'They often walked with me,' he said, 'in the morning, may be a mile or two upon the road; and when we parted,  I would say, ''and I am very thankful to you! God bless you." They always seemed to understand, and answered pleasant.  At last I came to the sea.  It weren't hard for a seafaring man like me to work his way to Italy.  I got news of her being seen in Swiss Alps. I went there. I searched in the mountains.  But they were gone.  Some said there. Some said here. But I could found them nowhere.  And I travelled home.

'How long ago?' asked Trotwood.

'A matter of few days,' said Mr Peggotty, 'I sighted the boathouse after dark, and the light shining in its window, and saw Mrs Gummidge sitting alone by the fire.'

He took out from his pocket a bundle of papers and some bank notes, and laid them upon the table.

'This first one came before my journey,' he said selecting it from the rest. 

'This came to Mrs Gummidge,' he said, opening another, 'two or three months ago.' 

Looking at it for a few moments, he said, 'Be so good as read it, sir.'

Trotwood read it:

'Oh what will you feel when you see this writing, and know it comes from my wicked hand!  But try, try - not for my sake, but for uncle's goodness, let your heart soften to me!  Pray do relent towards a miserable girl, and write down on a bit of paper whether he is well, and what he said about me.  Say how he looks of a night when he comes home thinking that I was there, but missing me.  Oh, my heart is breaking when I think about it.  I am kneeling down to you, begging and praying you not to be as hard with me as I deserve.  But be so good and gentle, as to write down something of him and send it to me.  Listen to my agony and have mercy on me.  I think of him when I hear the wind blowing at night.  Pray for his happy home with my last breath!' 

Some money was enclosed in this last letter also. Five pounds.  It was untouched like the previous sum and he refolded it in the same way.

'Is that another letter in your hand?' asked Trotwood.

'It is money, sir,' said Mr Peggotty, unfolding it a little way.  'Ten pounds, you see.  And wrote inside, "from a true friend" like the first.  But the first was put underneath the door, and this came by the post, day before yesterday.  I am going to seek her at the post mark.'

It was a town on the Upper Rhine.  At Yarmouth, one foreign dealer who knew the country, had drawn a rude map on the paper, which he could very well understand.

'Ham works,' he said, 'as bold as a man can.  He has a good reputation. Everybody is ready to help him, and he is ready to help them.  But Peggotty says it has cut him deep.'

'Poor fellow,' said Trotwood.

He gathered up the letters, smoothed them with his hand, bundled them, and placed it tenderly into his breast.

'Master Davy,' he said, 'I shall leave early in the morning.'

 

He rose and Trotwood rose too, grasped each other by the hand again, before going out.

'I shall search and find her, wherever she is,' said he as he went out into the dark night. 

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