Charles Dickens, Bleak House: Ch. 57

[+] | [-] | reset

"No, no.  Don't deceive yourself, my dear.  Nobody's here.  But I've got it!"

The crystallized snow was in his eyelashes, in his hair, lying in ridges on his dress.  He had to shake it from his face and get his breath before he spoke to me.

"Now, Miss Summerson," said he, beating his finger on the apron, "don't you be disappointed at what I'm a-going to do.  You know me.  I'm Inspector Bucket, and you can trust me.  We've come a long way; never mind.  Four horses out there for the next stage up!  Quick!"

There was a commotion in the yard, and a man came running out of the stables to know if he meant up or down.

"Up, I tell you!  Up!  Ain't it English?  Up!"

"Up?" said I, astonished.  "To London!  Are we going back?"

"Miss Summerson," he answered, "back.  Straight back as a die.  You know me.  Don't be afraid.  I'll follow the other, by G—"

"The other?" I repeated.  "Who?"

"You called her Jenny, didn't you?  I'll follow her.  Bring those two pair out here for a crown a man.  Wake up, some of you!"

"You will not desert this lady we are in search of; you will not abandon her on such a night and in such a state of mind as I know her to be in!" said I, in an agony, and grasping his hand.

"You are right, my dear, I won't.  But I'll follow the other.  Look alive here with them horses.  Send a man for'ard in the saddle to the next stage, and let him send another for'ard again, and order four on, up, right through.  My darling, don't you be afraid!"

These orders and the way in which he ran about the yard urging them caused a general excitement that was scarcely less bewildering to me than the sudden change.  But in the height of the confusion, a mounted man galloped away to order the relays, and our horses were put to with great speed.

"My dear," said Mr. Bucket, jumping to his seat and looking in again, "—you'll excuse me if I'm too familiar—don't you fret and worry yourself no more than you can help.  I say nothing else at present; but you know me, my dear; now, don't you?"

I endeavoured to say that I knew he was far more capable than I of deciding what we ought to do, but was he sure that this was right?  Could I not go forward by myself in search of—I grasped his hand again in my distress and whispered it to him—of my own mother.

"My dear," he answered, "I know, I know, and would I put you wrong, do you think?  Inspector Bucket.  Now you know me, don't you?"

What could I say but yes!

"Then you keep up as good a heart as you can, and you rely upon me for standing by you, no less than by Sir Leicester Dedlock, Baronet.  Now, are you right there?"

"All right, sir!"

"Off she goes, then.  And get on, my lads!"

We were again upon the melancholy road by which we had come, tearing up the miry sleet and thawing snow as if they were torn up by a waterwheel.