Though he was soon satisfied that he had dismissed the idea as romantic and unlikely—though possible, there was no denying—he could not help pursuing it so far as to entertain within himself a picture of what his condition would be, if he should discover such an imposture when he was grown old. Whether a man so situated would be able to pluck away the result of so many years of usage, confidence, and belief, from the impostor, and endow a stranger with it?
As his unusual emotion subsided, these misgivings gradually melted away, though so much of their shadow remained behind, that he was constant in his resolution to look closely after Richards himself, without appearing to do so. Being now in an easier frame of mind, he regarded the woman’s station as rather an advantageous circumstance than otherwise, by placing, in itself, a broad distance between her and the child, and rendering their separation easy and natural.
Meanwhile terms were ratified and agreed upon between Mrs. Chick and Richards, with the assistance of Miss Tox; and Richards being with much ceremony invested with the Dombey baby, as if it were an Order, resigned her own, with many tears and kisses, to Jemima. Glasses of wine were then produced, to sustain the drooping spirits of the family.
“You’ll take a glass yourself, Sir, won’t you?” said Miss Tox, as Toodle appeared.
“Thankee, Mum,” said Toodle, “since you are suppressing.”
“And you’re very glad to leave your dear good wife in such a comfortable home, ain’t you, Sir?” said Miss Tox, nodding and winking at him stealthily.
“No, Mum,” said Toodle. “Here’s wishing of her back agin.”
Polly cried more than ever at this. So Mrs. Chick, who had her matronly apprehensions that this indulgence in grief might be prejudicial to the little Dombey (“acid, indeed,” she whispered Miss Tox), hastened to the rescue.
“Your little child will thrive charmingly with your sister Jemima, Richards,” said Mrs. Chick; “and you have only to make an effort—this is a world of effort, you know, Richards—to be very happy indeed. You have been already measured for your mourning, haven’t you, Richards?”
“Ye—es, Ma’am,” sobbed Polly.
“And it’ll fit beautifully. I know,” said Mrs. Chick, “for the same young person has made me many dresses. The very best materials, too!”
“Lor, you’ll be so smart,” said Miss Tox, “that your husband won’t know you; will you, Sir?”
“I should know her,” said Toodle, gruffly, “anyhows and anywheres.”
Toodle was evidently not to be bought over.
“As to living, Richards, you know,” pursued Mrs. Chick, “why, the very best of everything will be at your disposal. You will order your little dinner every day; and anything you take a fancy to, I’m sure will be as readily provided as if you were a Lady.”
“Yes to be sure!” said Miss Tox, keeping up the ball with great sympathy. “And as to porter!—quite unlimited, will it not, Louisa?”
“Oh, certainly!” returned Mrs. Chick in the same tone. “With a little abstinence, you know, my dear, in point of vegetables.”
“And pickles, perhaps,” suggested Miss Tox.
“With such exceptions,” said Louisa, “she’ll consult her choice entirely, and be under no restraint at all, my love.”
“And then, of course, you know,” said Miss Tox, “however fond she is of her own dear little child—and I’m sure, Louisa, you don’t blame her for being fond of it?”
“Oh no!” cried Mrs. Chick, benignantly.
“Still,” resumed Miss Tox, “she naturally must be interested in her young charge, and must consider it a privilege to see a little cherub connected with the superior classes, gradually unfolding itself from day to day at one common fountain. Is it not so, Louisa?”
“Most undoubtedly!” said Mrs. Chick. “You see, my love, she’s already quite contented and comfortable, and means to say goodbye to her sister Jemima and her little pets, and her good honest husband, with a light heart and a smile; don’t she, my dear?”
“Oh yes!” cried Miss Tox. “To be sure she does!”
Notwithstanding which, however, poor Polly embraced them all round in great distress, and finally ran away to avoid any more particular leave-taking between herself and the children. But the stratagem hardly succeeded as well as it deserved; for the smallest boy but one divining her intent, immediately began swarming upstairs after her—if that word of doubtful etymology be admissible—on his arms and legs; while the eldest (known in the family by the name of Biler, in remembrance of the steam engine) beat a demoniacal tattoo with his boots, expressive of grief; in which he was joined by the rest of the family.
A quantity of oranges and halfpence thrust indiscriminately on each young Toodle, checked the first violence of their regret, and the family were speedily transported to their own home, by means of the hackney-coach kept in waiting for that purpose. The children, under the guardianship of Jemima, blocked up the window, and dropped out oranges and halfpence all the way along. Mr. Toodle himself preferred to ride behind among the spikes, as being the mode of conveyance to which he was best accustomed.
III
In Which Mr. Dombey, as a Man and a Father, Is Seen at the Head of the Home-Department
The funeral of the deceased lady having been “performed” to the entire satisfaction of the undertaker, as well as of the neighbourhood at large, which is generally disposed to be captious on such a point, and is prone to take offence at any omissions or shortcomings in the ceremonies, the various members of Mr. Dombey’s household subsided into their several places in the domestic system. That small world, like the great one out of doors, had the capacity of easily forgetting its dead; and when the cook had said she was a quiet-tempered lady, and the housekeeper had said it was the common lot, and the butler had said who’d have thought it,
