Great Expectations

Chapter 23

Mr. Pocket said he was glad to see me, and he hoped I was not sorry

to see him. "For, I really am not," he added, with his son's smile,

"an alarming personage." He was a young-looking man, in spite of

his perplexities and his very grey hair, and his manner seemed

quite natural. I use the word natural, in the sense of its being

unaffected; there was something comic in his distraught way, as

though it would have been downright ludicrous but for his own

perception that it was very near being so. When he had talked with

me a little, he said to Mrs. Pocket, with a rather anxious

contraction of his eyebrows, which were black and handsome,

"Belinda, I hope you have welcomed Mr. Pip?" And she looked up from

her book, and said, "Yes." She then smiled upon me in an absent

state of mind, and asked me if I liked the taste of orange-flower

water? As the question had no bearing, near or remote, on any

foregone or subsequent transaction, I consider it to have been

thrown out, like her previous approaches, in general conversational

condescension.



I found out within a few hours, and may mention at once, that Mrs.

Pocket was the only daughter of a certain quite accidental deceased

Knight, who had invented for himself a conviction that his deceased

father would have been made a Baronet but for somebody's determined

opposition arising out of entirely personal motives - I forget

whose, if I ever knew - the Sovereign's, the Prime Minister's, the

Lord Chancellor's, the Archbishop of Canterbury's, anybody's - and

had tacked himself on to the nobles of the earth in right of this

quite supposititious fact. I believe he had been knighted himself

for storming the English grammar at the point of the pen, in a

desperate address engrossed on vellum, on the occasion of the

laying of the first stone of some building or other, and for

handing some Royal Personage either the trowel or the mortar. Be

that as it may, he had directed Mrs. Pocket to be brought up from

her cradle as one who in the nature of things must marry a title,

and who was to be guarded from the acquisition of plebeian domestic

knowledge.



So successful a watch and ward had been established over the young

lady by this judicious parent, that she had grown up highly

ornamental, but perfectly helpless and useless. With her character

thus happily formed, in the first bloom of her youth she had

encountered Mr. Pocket: who was also in the first bloom of youth,

and not quite decided whether to mount to the Woolsack, or to roof

himself in with a mitre. As his doing the one or the other was a

mere question of time, he and Mrs. Pocket had taken Time by the

forelock (when, to judge from its length, it would seem to have

wanted cutting), and had married without the knowledge of the

judicious parent. The judicious parent, having nothing to bestow or

withhold but his blessing, had handsomely settled that dower upon

them after a short struggle, and had informed Mr. Pocket that his

wife was "a treasure for a Prince." Mr. Pocket had invested the

Prince's treasure in the ways of the world ever since, and it was

supposed to have brought him in but indifferent interest. Still,

Mrs. Pocket was in general the object of a queer sort of respectful

pity, because she had not married a title; while Mr. Pocket was the

object of a queer sort of forgiving reproach, because he had never

got one.



Mr. Pocket took me into the house and showed me my room: which was a

pleasant one, and so furnished as that I could use it with comfort

for my own private sitting-room. He then knocked at the doors of

two other similar rooms, and introduced me to their occupants, by

name Drummle and Startop. Drummle, an old-looking young man of a

heavy order of architecture, was whistling. Startop, younger in

years and appearance, was reading and holding his head, as if he

thought himself in danger of exploding it with too strong a charge

of knowledge.



Both Mr. and Mrs. Pocket had such a noticeable air of being in

somebody else's hands, that I wondered who really was in possession

of the house and let them live there, until I found this unknown

power to be the servants. It was a smooth way of going on, perhaps,

in respect of saving trouble; but it had the appearance of being

expensive, for the servants felt it a duty they owed to themselves

to be nice in their eating and drinking, and to keep a deal of

company down stairs. They allowed a very liberal table to Mr. and

Mrs. Pocket, yet it always appeared to me that by far the best part

of the house to have boarded in, would have been the kitchen -

always supposing the boarder capable of self-defence, for, before I

had been there a week, a neighbouring lady with whom the family

were personally unacquainted, wrote in to say that she had seen

Millers slapping the baby. This greatly distressed Mrs. Pocket, who

burst into tears on receiving the note, and said that it was an

extraordinary thing that the neighbours couldn't mind their own

business.



By degrees I learnt, and chiefly from Herbert, that Mr. Pocket had

been educated at Harrow and at Cambridge, where he had

distinguished himself; but that when he had had the happiness of

marrying Mrs. Pocket very early in life, he had impaired his

prospects and taken up the calling of a Grinder. After grinding a

number of dull blades - of whom it was remarkable that their

fathers, when influential, were always going to help him to

preferment, but always forgot to do it when the blades had left the

Grindstone - he had wearied of that poor work and had come to

London. Here, after gradually failing in loftier hopes, he had

"read" with divers who had lacked opportunities or neglected them,

and had refurbished divers others for special occasions, and had

turned his acquirements to the account of literary compilation and

correction, and on such means, added to some very moderate private

resources, still maintained the house I saw.



Mr. and Mrs. Pocket had a toady neighbour; a widow lady of that

highly sympathetic nature that she agreed with everybody, blessed

everybody, and shed smiles and tears on everybody, according to

circumstances. This lady's name was Mrs. Coiler, and I had the

honour of taking her down to dinner on the day of my installation.

She gave me to understand on the stairs, that it was a blow to dear

Mrs. Pocket that dear Mr. Pocket should be under the necessity of

receiving gentlemen to read with him. That did not extend to me,

she told me in a gush of love and confidence (at that time, I had

known her something less than five minutes); if they were all like

Me, it would be quite another thing.



"But dear Mrs. Pocket," said Mrs. Coiler, "after her early

disappointment (not that dear Mr. Pocket was to blame in that),

requires so much luxury and elegance--"



"Yes, ma'am," I said, to stop her, for I was afraid she was going

to cry.



"And she is of so aristocratic a disposition--"



"Yes, ma'am," I said again, with the same object as before.



" - that it is hard," said Mrs. Coiler, "to have dear Mr. Pocket's

time and attention diverted from dear Mrs. Pocket."



I could not help thinking that it might be harder if the butcher's

time and attention were diverted from dear Mrs. Pocket; but I said

nothing, and indeed had enough to do in keeping a bashful watch

upon my company-manners.



It came to my knowledge, through what passed between Mrs. Pocket and

Drummle while I was attentive to my knife and fork, spoon, glasses,

and other instruments of self-destruction, that Drummle, whose

Christian name was Bentley, was actually the next heir but one to a

baronetcy. It further appeared that the book I had seen Mrs. Pocket

reading in the garden, was all about titles, and that she knew the

exact date at which her grandpapa would have come into the book, if

he ever had come at all. Drummle didn't say much, but in his

limited way (he struck me as a sulky kind of fellow) he spoke as

one of the elect, and recognized Mrs. Pocket as a woman and a

sister. No one but themselves and Mrs. Coiler the toady neighbour

showed any interest in this part of the conversation, and it

appeared to me that it was painful to Herbert; but it promised to

last a long time, when the page came in with the announcement of a

domestic affliction. It was, in effect, that the cook had mislaid

the beef. To my unutterable amazement, I now, for the first time,

saw Mr. Pocket relieve his mind by going through a performance that

struck me as very extraordinary, but which made no impression on

anybody else, and with which I soon became as familiar as the rest.

He laid down the carving-knife and fork - being engaged in carving,

at the moment - put his two hands into his disturbed hair, and

appeared to make an extraordinary effort to lift himself up by it.

When he had done this, and had not lifted himself up at all, he

quietly went on with what he was about.



Mrs. Coiler then changed the subject, and began to flatter me. I

liked it for a few moments, but she flattered me so very grossly

that the pleasure was soon over. She had a serpentine way of coming

close at me when she pretended to be vitally interested in the

friends and localities I had left, which was altogether snaky and

fork-tongued; and when she made an occasional bounce upon Startop

(who said very little to her), or upon Drummle (who said less), I

rather envied them for being on the opposite side of the table.



After dinner the children were introduced, and Mrs. Coiler made

admiring comments on their eyes, noses, and legs - a sagacious way

of improving their minds. There were four little girls, and two

little boys, besides the baby who might have been either, and the

baby's next successor who was as yet neither. They were brought in

by Flopson and Millers, much as though those two noncommissioned

officers had been recruiting somewhere for children and had

enlisted these: while Mrs. Pocket looked at the young Nobles that

ought to have been, as if she rather thought she had had the

pleasure of inspecting them before, but didn't quite know what to

make of them.



"Here! Give me your fork, Mum, and take the baby," said Flopson.

"Don't take it that way, or you'll get its head under the table."



Thus advised, Mrs. Pocket took it the other way, and got its head

upon the table; which was announced to all present by a prodigious

concussion.



"Dear, dear! Give it me back, Mum," said Flopson; "and Miss Jane,

come and dance to baby, do!"



One of the little girls, a mere mite who seemed to have prematurely

taken upon herself some charge of the others, stepped out of her

place by me, and danced to and from the baby until it left off

crying, and laughed. Then, all the children laughed, and Mr. Pocket

(who in the meantime had twice endeavoured to lift himself up by

the hair) laughed, and we all laughed and were glad.



Flopson, by dint of doubling the baby at the joints like a Dutch

doll, then got it safely into Mrs. Pocket's lap, and gave it the

nutcrackers to play with: at the same time recommending Mrs. Pocket

to take notice that the handles of that instrument were not likely

to agree with its eyes, and sharply charging Miss Jane to look

after the same. Then, the two nurses left the room, and had a

lively scuffle on the staircase with a dissipated page who had

waited at dinner, and who had clearly lost half his buttons at the

gamingtable.



I was made very uneasy in my mind by Mrs. Pocket's falling into a

discussion with Drummle respecting two baronetcies, while she ate a

sliced orange steeped in sugar and wine, and forgetting all about

the baby on her lap: who did most appalling things with the

nutcrackers. At length, little Jane perceiving its young brains to

be imperilled, softly left her place, and with many small artifices

coaxed the dangerous weapon away. Mrs. Pocket finishing her orange

at about the same time, and not approving of this, said to Jane:



"You naughty child, how dare you? Go and sit down this instant!"



"Mamma dear," lisped the little girl, "baby ood have put hith eyeth

out."



"How dare you tell me so?" retorted Mrs. Pocket. "Go and sit down in

your chair this moment!"



Mrs. Pocket's dignity was so crushing, that I felt quite abashed: as

if I myself had done something to rouse it.



"Belinda," remonstrated Mr. Pocket, from the other end of the table,

"how can you be so unreasonable? Jane only interfered for the

protection of baby."



"I will not allow anybody to interfere," said Mrs. Pocket. "I am

surprised, Matthew, that you should expose me to the affront of

interference."



"Good God!" cried Mr. Pocket, in an outbreak of desolate

desperation. "Are infants to be nutcrackered into their tombs, and

is nobody to save them?"



"I will not be interfered with by Jane," said Mrs. Pocket, with a

majestic glance at that innocent little offender. "I hope I know my

poor grandpapa's position. Jane, indeed!"



Mr. Pocket got his hands in his hair again, and this time really did

lift himself some inches out of his chair. "Hear this!" he

helplessly exclaimed to the elements. "Babies are to be

nutcrackered dead, for people's poor grandpapa's positions!" Then

he let himself down again, and became silent.



We all looked awkwardly at the table-cloth while this was going on.

A pause succeeded, during which the honest and irrepressible baby

made a series of leaps and crows at little Jane, who appeared to me

to be the only member of the family (irrespective of servants) with

whom it had any decided acquaintance.



"Mr. Drummle," said Mrs. Pocket, "will you ring for Flopson? Jane,

you undutiful little thing, go and lie down. Now, baby darling,

come with ma!"



The baby was the soul of honour, and protested with all its might.

It doubled itself up the wrong way over Mrs. Pocket's arm, exhibited

a pair of knitted shoes and dimpled ankles to the company in lieu

of its soft face, and was carried out in the highest state of

mutiny. And it gained its point after all, for I saw it through the

window within a few minutes, being nursed by little Jane.



It happened that the other five children were left behind at the

dinner-table, through Flopson's having some private engagement, and

their not being anybody else's business. I thus became aware of the

mutual relations between them and Mr. Pocket, which were exemplified

in the following manner. Mr. Pocket, with the normal perplexity of

his face heightened and his hair rumpled, looked at them for some

minutes, as if he couldn't make out how they came to be boarding

and lodging in that establishment, and why they hadn't been

billeted by Nature on somebody else. Then, in a distant, Missionary

way he asked them certain questions - as why little Joe had that

hole in his frill: who said, Pa, Flopson was going to mend it when

she had time - and how little Fanny came by that whitlow: who said,

Pa, Millers was going to poultice it when she didn't forget. Then,

he melted into parental tenderness, and gave them a shilling apiece

and told them to go and play; and then as they went out, with one

very strong effort to lift himself up by the hair he dismissed the

hopeless subject.



In the evening there was rowing on the river. As Drummle and

Startop had each a boat, I resolved to set up mine, and to cut them

both out. I was pretty good at most exercises in which countryboys

are adepts, but, as I was conscious of wanting elegance of style

for the Thames - not to say for other waters - I at once engaged to

place myself under the tuition of the winner of a prizewherry who

plied at our stairs, and to whom I was introduced by my new allies.

This practical authority confused me very much, by saying I had the

arm of a blacksmith. If he could have known how nearly the

compliment lost him his pupil, I doubt if he would have paid it.



There was a supper-tray after we got home at night, and I think we

should all have enjoyed ourselves, but for a rather disagreeable

domestic occurrence. Mr. Pocket was in good spirits, when a

housemaid came in, and said, "If you please, sir, I should wish to

speak to you."



"Speak to your master?" said Mrs. Pocket, whose dignity was roused

again. "How can you think of such a thing? Go and speak to Flopson.

Or speak to me - at some other time."



"Begging your pardon, ma'am," returned the housemaid, "I should

wish to speak at once, and to speak to master."



Hereupon, Mr. Pocket went out of the room, and we made the best of

ourselves until he came back.



"This is a pretty thing, Belinda!" said Mr. Pocket, returning with a

countenance expressive of grief and despair. "Here's the cook lying

insensibly drunk on the kitchen floor, with a large bundle of fresh

butter made up in the cupboard ready to sell for grease!"



Mrs. Pocket instantly showed much amiable emotion, and said, "This

is that odious Sophia's doing!"



"What do you mean, Belinda?" demanded Mr. Pocket.



"Sophia has told you," said Mrs. Pocket. "Did I not see her with my

own eyes and hear her with my own ears, come into the room just now

and ask to speak to you?"



"But has she not taken me down stairs, Belinda," returned Mr.

Pocket, "and shown me the woman, and the bundle too?"



"And do you defend her, Matthew," said Mrs. Pocket, "for making

mischief?"



Mr. Pocket uttered a dismal groan.



"Am I, grandpapa's granddaughter, to be nothing in the house?" said

Mrs. Pocket. "Besides, the cook has always been a very nice

respectful woman, and said in the most natural manner when she came

to look after the situation, that she felt I was born to be a

Duchess."



There was a sofa where Mr. Pocket stood, and he dropped upon it in

the attitude of the Dying Gladiator. Still in that attitude he

said, with a hollow voice, "Good night, Mr. Pip," when I deemed it

advisable to go to bed and leave him.