Chapter 17: Missing

Little Dorrit

by Charles Dickens

The term of Mr Dorrit's visit was within two days of being out,
and he was about to dress for another inspection by the Chief Butler
(whose victims were always dressed expressly for him), when one of
the servants of the hotel presented himself bearing a card. Mr
Dorrit, taking it, read:

'Mrs Finching.'

The servant waited in speechless deference.

'Man, man,' said Mr Dorrit, turning upon him with grievous
indignation, 'explain your motive in bringing me this ridiculous
name. I am wholly unacquainted with it. Finching, sir?' said Mr
Dorrit, perhaps avenging himself on the Chief Butler by
Substitute.

'ha! What do you mean by Finching?'

The man, man, seemed to mean Flinching as much as anything else,
for he backed away from Mr Dorrit's severe regard, as he replied, 'A
lady, sir.'

'I know no such lady, sir,' said Mr Dorrit. 'Take this card
away. I know no Finching of either sex.'

'Ask your pardon, sir. The lady said she was aware she might be
unknown by name. But she begged me to say, sir, that she had
formerly the honour of being acquainted with Miss Dorrit. The lady
said, sir, the youngest Miss Dorrit.'

Mr Dorrit knitted his brows and rejoined, after a moment or two,
'Inform Mrs Finching, sir,' emphasising the name as if the innocent
man were solely responsible for it, 'that she can come up.'

He had reflected, in his momentary pause, that unless she were
admitted she might leave some message, or might say something below,
having a disgraceful reference to that former state of existence.
Hence the concession, and hence the appearance of Flora, piloted in
by the man, man.

'I have not the pleasure,' said Mr Dorrit, standing with the
card in his hand, and with an air which imported that it would
scarcely have been a first-class pleasure if he had had it, 'of
knowing either this name, or yourself, madam. Place a chair, sir.'
The responsible man, with a start, obeyed, and went out on tiptoe.
Flora, putting aside her veil with a bashful tremor upon her,
proceeded to introduce herself. At the same time a singular
combination of perfumes was diffused through the room, as if some
brandy had been put by mistake in a lavender-water bottle, or as if
some lavender-water had been put by mistake in a brandy-bottle.

'I beg Mr Dorrit to offer a thousand apologies and indeed they
would be far too few for such an intrusion which I know must appear
extremely bold in a lady and alone too, but I thought it best upon
the whole however difficult and even apparently improper though Mr
F.'s Aunt would have willingly accompanied me and as a character of
great force and spirit would probably have struck one possessed of
such a knowledge of life as no doubt with so many changes must have
been acquired, for Mr F. himself said frequently that although well
educated in the neighbourhood of Blackheath at as high as eighty
guineas which is a good deal for parents and the plate kept back too
on going away but that is more a meanness than its value that he had
learnt more in his first years as a commercial traveller with a large
commission on the sale of an article that nobody would hear of much
less buy which preceded the wine trade a long time than in the whole
six years in that academy conducted by a college Bachelor, though why
a Bachelor more clever than a married man I do not see and never did
but pray excuse me that is not the point.'

Mr Dorrit stood rooted to the carpet, a statue of
mystification.

'I must openly admit that I have no pretensions,' said Flora,
'but having known the dear little thing which under altered
circumstances appears a liberty but is not so intended and Goodness
knows there was no favour in half-a-crown a-day to such a needle as
herself but quite the other way and as to anything lowering in it far
from it the labourer is worthy of his hire and I am sure I only wish
he got it oftener and more animal food and less rheumatism in the
back and legs poor soul.'

'Madam,' said Mr Dorrit, recovering his breath by a great
effort, as the relict of the late Mr Finching stopped to take hers;
'madam,' said Mr Dorrit, very red in the face, 'if I understand you
to refer to--ha--to anything in the antecedents of--hum--a daughter
of mine, involving--ha hum--daily compensation, madam, I beg to
observe that the--ha--fact, assuming it--ha--to be fact, never was
within my knowledge. Hum. I should not have permitted it. Ha.
Never! Never!'

'Unnecessary to pursue the subject,' returned Flora, 'and would
not have mentioned it on any account except as supposing it a
favourable and only letter of introduction but as to being fact no
doubt whatever and you may set your mind at rest for the very dress I
have on now can prove it and sweetly made though there is no denying
that it would tell better on a better figure for my own is much too
fat though how to bring it down I know not, pray excuse me I am
roving off again.' Mr Dorrit backed to his chair in a stony way, and
seated himself, as Flora gave him a softening look and played with
her parasol.

'The dear little thing,' said Flora, 'having gone off perfectly
limp and white and cold in my own house or at least papa's for though
not a freehold still a long lease at a peppercorn on the morning when
Arthur--foolish habit of our youthful days and Mr Clennam far more
adapted to existing circumstances particularly addressing a stranger
and that stranger a gentleman in an elevated station--communicated
the glad tidings imparted by a person of name of Pancks emboldens
me.'

At the mention of these two names, Mr Dorrit frowned, stared,
frowned again, hesitated with his fingers at his lips, as he had
hesitated long ago, and said, 'Do me the favour to--ha--state your
pleasure, madam.'

'Mr Dorrit,' said Flora, 'you are very kind in giving me
permission and highly natural it seems to me that you should be kind
for though more stately I perceive a likeness filled out of course
but a likeness still, the object of my intruding is my own without
the slightest consultation with any human being and most decidedly
not with Arthur--pray excuse me Doyce and Clennam I don't know what I
am saying Mr Clennam solus--for to put that individual linked by a
golden chain to a purple time when all was ethereal out of any
anxiety would be worth to me the ransom of a monarch not that I have
the least idea how much that would come to but using it as the total
of all I have in the world and more.'

Mr Dorrit, without greatly regarding the earnestness of these
latter words, repeated, 'State your pleasure, madam.'

'It's not likely I well know,' said Flora, 'but it's possible
and being possible when I had the gratification of reading in the
papers that you had arrived from Italy and were going back I made up
my mind to try it for you might come across him or hear something of
him and if so what a blessing and relief to all!'

'Allow me to ask, madam,' said Mr Dorrit, with his ideas in wild
confusion, 'to whom--ha--To whom,' he repeated it with a raised voice
in mere desperation, 'you at present allude?'

'To the foreigner from Italy who disappeared in the City as no
doubt you have read in the papers equally with myself,' said Flora,
'not referring to private sources by the name of Pancks from which
one gathers what dreadfully ill-natured things some people are wicked
enough to whisper most likely judging others by themselves and what
the uneasiness and indignation of Arthur--quite unable to overcome it
Doyce and Clennam--cannot fail to be.'

It happened, fortunately for the elucidation of any intelligible
result, that Mr Dorrit had heard or read nothing about the matter.
This caused Mrs Finching, with many apologies for being in great
practical difficulties as to finding the way to her pocket among the
stripes of her dress at length to produce a police handbill, setting
forth that a foreign gentleman of the name of Blandois, last from
Venice, had unaccountably disappeared on such a night in such a part
of the city of London; that he was known to have entered such a
house, at such an hour; that he was stated by the inmates of that
house to have left it, about so many minutes before midnight; and
that he had never been beheld since. This, with exact particulars of
time and locality, and with a good detailed description of the
foreign gentleman who had so mysteriously vanished, Mr Dorrit read at
large.

'Blandois!' said Mr Dorrit. 'Venice! And this description! I
know this gentleman. He has been in my house. He is intimately
acquainted with a gentleman of good family (but in indifferent
circumstances), of whom I am a--hum--patron.'

'Then my humble and pressing entreaty is the more,' said Flora,
'that in travelling back you will have the kindness to look for this
foreign gentleman along all the roads and up and down all the
turnings and to make inquiries for him at all the hotels and
orange-trees and vineyards and volcanoes and places for he must be
somewhere and why doesn't he come forward and say he's there and
clear all parties up?'

'Pray, madam,' said Mr Dorrit, referring to the handbill again,
'who is Clennam and Co.? Ha. I see the name mentioned here, in
connection with the occupation of the house which Monsieur Blandois
was seen to enter: who is Clennam and Co.? Is it the individual of
whom I had formerly--hum--some--ha--slight transitory knowledge, and
to whom I believe you have referred? Is it--ha--that person?'

'It's a very different person indeed,' replied Flora, 'with no
limbs and wheels instead and the grimmest of women though his
mother.'

'Clennam and Co. a--hum--a mother!' exclaimed Mr Dorrit.

'And an old man besides,' said Flora.

Mr Dorrit looked as if he must immediately be driven out of his
mind by this account. Neither was it rendered more favourable to
sanity by Flora's dashing into a rapid analysis of Mr Flintwinch's
cravat, and describing him, without the lightest boundary line of
separation between his identity and Mrs Clennam's, as a rusty screw
in gaiters. Which compound of man and woman, no limbs, wheels, rusty
screw, grimness, and gaiters, so completely stupefied Mr Dorrit, that
he was a spectacle to be pitied. 'But I would not detain you one
moment longer,' said Flora, upon whom his condition wrought its
effect, though she was quite unconscious of having produced it, 'if
you would have the goodness to give your promise as a gentleman that
both in going back to Italy and in Italy too you would look for this
Mr Blandois high and low and if you found or heard of him make him
come forward for the clearing of all parties.' By that time Mr Dorrit
had so far recovered from his bewilderment, as to be able to say, in
a tolerably connected manner, that he should consider that his duty.
Flora was delighted with her success, and rose to take her leave.

'With a million thanks,' said she, 'and my address upon my card
in case of anything to be communicated personally, I will not send my
love to the dear little thing for it might not be acceptable, and
indeed there is no dear little thing left in the transformation so
why do it but both myself and Mr F.'s Aunt ever wish her well and lay
no claim to any favour on our side you may be sure of that but quite
the other way for what she undertook to do she did and that is more
than a great many of us do, not to say anything of her doing it as
Well as it could be done and I myself am one of them for I have said
ever since I began to recover the blow of Mr F's death that I would
learn the Organ of which I am extremely fond but of which I am
ashamed to say I do not yet know a note, good evening!'

When Mr Dorrit, who attended her to the room-door, had had a
little time to collect his senses, he found that the interview had
summoned back discarded reminiscences which jarred with the Merdle
dinner-table. He wrote and sent off a brief note excusing himself
for that day, and ordered dinner presently in his own rooms at the
hotel. He had another reason for this. His time in London was very
nearly out, and was anticipated by engagements; his plans were made
for returning; and he thought it behoved his importance to pursue
some direct inquiry into the Blandois disappearance, and be in a
condition to carry back to Mr Henry Gowan the result of his own
personal investigation. He therefore resolved that he would take
advantage of that evening's freedom to go down to Clennam and Co.'s,
easily to be found by the direction set forth in the handbill; and
see the place, and ask a question or two there himself.

Having dined as plainly as the establishment and the Courier
would let him, and having taken a short sleep by the fire for his
better recovery from Mrs Finching, he set out in a hackney-cabriolet
alone. The deep bell of St Paul's was striking nine as he passed
under the shadow of Temple Bar, headless and forlorn in these
degenerate days.

As he approached his destination through the by-streets and
water- side ways, that part of London seemed to him an uglier spot at
such an hour than he had ever supposed it to be. Many long years had
passed since he had seen it; he had never known much of it; and it
wore a mysterious and dismal aspect in his eyes. So powerfully was
his imagination impressed by it, that when his driver stopped, after
having asked the way more than once, and said to the best of his
belief this was the gateway they wanted, Mr Dorrit stood hesitating,
with the coach-door in his hand, half afraid of the dark look of the
place.

Truly, it looked as gloomy that night as even it had ever
looked. Two of the handbills were posted on the entrance wall, one
on either side, and as the lamp flickered in the night air, shadows
passed over them, not unlike the shadows of fingers following the
lines. A watch was evidently kept upon the place. As Mr Dorrit
paused, a man passed in from over the way, and another man passed out
from some dark corner within; and both looked at him in passing, and
both remained standing about.

As there was only one house in the enclosure, there was no room
for uncertainty, so he went up the steps of that house and knocked.
There was a dim light in two windows on the first-floor. The door
gave back a dreary, vacant sound, as though the house were empty; but
it was not, for a light was visible, and a step was audible, almost
directly. They both came to the door, and a chain grated, and a
woman with her apron thrown over her face and head stood in the
aperture.

'Who is it?' said the woman.

Mr Dorrit, much amazed by this appearance, replied that he was
from Italy, and that he wished to ask a question relative to the
missing person, whom he knew.

'Hi!' cried the woman, raising a cracked voice. 'Jeremiah!'

Upon this, a dry old man appeared, whom Mr Dorrit thought he
identified by his gaiters, as the rusty screw. The woman was Under
apprehensions of the dry old man, for she whisked her apron away as
he approached, and disclosed a pale affrighted face. 'Open the door,
you fool,' said the old man; 'and let the gentleman in.'

Mr Dorrit, not without a glance over his shoulder towards his
driver and the cabriolet, walked into the dim hall. 'Now, sir,' said
Mr Flintwinch, 'you can ask anything here you think proper; there are
no secrets here, sir.'

Before a reply could be made, a strong stern voice, though a
woman's, called from above, 'Who is it?'

'Who is it?' returned Jeremiah. 'More inquiries. A gentleman
from Italy.'

'Bring him up here!'

Mr Flintwinch muttered, as if he deemed that unnecessary; but,
turning to Mr Dorrit, said, 'Mrs Clennam. She will do as she likes.
I'll show you the way.' He then preceded Mr Dorrit up the blackened
staircase; that gentleman, not unnaturally looking behind him on the
road, saw the woman following, with her apron thrown over her head
again in her former ghastly manner.

Mrs Clennam had her books open on her little table. 'Oh!' said
she abruptly, as she eyed her visitor with a steady look. 'You are
from Italy, sir, are you. Well?' Mr Dorrit was at a loss for any
more distinct rejoinder at the moment than 'Ha--well?'

'Where is this missing man? Have you come to give us
information where he is? I hope you have?'

'So far from it, I--hum--have come to seek information.'
'Unfortunately for us, there is none to be got here. Flintwinch,
show the gentleman the handbill. Give him several to take away.
Hold the light for him to read it.'

Mr Flintwinch did as he was directed, and Mr Dorrit read it
through, as if he had not previously seen it; glad enough of the
opportunity of collecting his presence of mind, which the air of the
house and of the people in it had a little disturbed. While his eyes
were on the paper, he felt that the eyes of Mr Flintwinch and of Mrs
Clennam were on him. He found, when he looked up, that this
sensation was not a fanciful one.

'Now you know as much,' said Mrs Clennam, 'as we know, sir. Is
Mr Blandois a friend of yours?'

'No--a--hum--an acquaintance,' answered Mr Dorrit.

'You have no commission from him, perhaps?'

'I? Ha. Certainly not.'

The searching look turned gradually to the floor, after taking
Mr Flintwinch's face in its way. Mr Dorrit, discomfited by finding
that he was the questioned instead of the questioner, applied himself
to the reversal of that unexpected order of things.

'I am--ha--a gentleman of property, at present residing in Italy
with my family, my servants, and--hum--my rather large establishment.
Being in London for a short time on affairs connected with--ha--my
estate, and hearing of this strange disappearance, I wished to make
myself acquainted with the circumstances at first-hand, because there
is--ha hum--an English gentleman in Italy whom I shall no doubt see
on my return, who has been in habits of close and daily intimacy with
Monsieur Blandois. Mr Henry Gowan. You may know the name.'

'Never heard of it.' Mrs Clennam said it, and Mr Flintwinch
echoed it.

'Wishing to--ha--make the narrative coherent and consecutive to
him,' said Mr Dorrit, 'may I ask--say, three questions?'

'Thirty, if you choose.'

'Have you known Monsieur Blandois long?'

'Not a twelvemonth. Mr Flintwinch here, will refer to the books
and tell you when, and by whom at Paris he was introduced to us. If
that,' Mrs Clennam added, 'should be any satisfaction to you. It is
poor satisfaction to us.'

'Have you seen him often?'

'No. Twice. Once before, and--' 'That once,' suggested Mr
Flintwinch.

'And that once.'

'Pray, madam,' said Mr Dorrit, with a growing fancy upon him as
he recovered his importance, that he was in some superior way in the
Commission of the Peace; 'pray, madam, may I inquire, for the greater
satisfaction of the gentleman whom I have the honour to-- ha--retain,
or protect or let me say to--hum--know--to know--Was Monsieur
Blandois here on business on the night indicated in this present
sheet?'

'On what he called business,' returned Mrs Clennam.

'Is--ha--excuse me--is its nature to be communicated?'

'No.'

It was evidently impracticable to pass the barrier of that
reply.

'The question has been asked before,' said Mrs Clennam, 'and the
answer has been, No. We don't choose to publish our transactions,
however unimportant, to all the town. We say, No.'

'I mean, he took away no money with him, for example,' said Mr
Dorrit.

'He took away none of ours, sir, and got none here.'

'I suppose,' observed Mr Dorrit, glancing from Mrs Clennam to Mr
Flintwinch, and from Mr Flintwinch to Mrs Clennam, 'you have no way
of accounting to yourself for this mystery?'

'Why do you suppose so?' rejoined Mrs Clennam.

Disconcerted by the cold and hard inquiry, Mr Dorrit was unable
to assign any reason for his supposing so.

'I account for it, sir,' she pursued after an awkward silence on
Mr Dorrit's part, 'by having no doubt that he is travelling
somewhere, or hiding somewhere.'

'Do you know--ha--why he should hide anywhere?'

'No.'

It was exactly the same No as before, and put another barrier
up. 'You asked me if I accounted for the disappearance to myself,'
Mrs Clennam sternly reminded him, 'not if I accounted for it to you.
I do not pretend to account for it to you, sir. I understand it to
be no more my business to do that, than it is yours to require
that.'

Mr Dorrit answered with an apologetic bend of his head. As he
stepped back, preparatory to saying he had no more to ask, he could
not but observe how gloomily and fixedly she sat with her eyes
fastened on the ground, and a certain air upon her of resolute
waiting; also, how exactly the self-same expression was reflected in
Mr Flintwinch, standing at a little distance from her chair, with his
eyes also on the ground, and his right hand softly rubbing his
chin.

At that moment, Mistress Affery (of course, the woman with the
apron) dropped the candlestick she held, and cried out, 'There! O
good Lord! there it is again. Hark, Jeremiah! Now!'

If there were any sound at all, it was so slight that she must
have fallen into a confirmed habit of listening for sounds; but Mr
Dorrit believed he did hear a something, like the falling of dry
leaves. The woman's terror, for a very short space, seemed to touch
the three; and they all listened.

Mr Flintwinch was the first to stir. 'Affery, my woman,' said
he, sidling at her with his fists clenched, and his elbows quivering
with impatience to shake her, 'you are at your old tricks. You'll be
walking in your sleep next, my woman, and playing the whole round of
your distempered antics. You must have some physic. When I have
shown this gentleman out, I'll make you up such a comfortable dose,
my woman; such a comfortable dose!'

It did not appear altogether comfortable in expectation to
Mistress Affery; but Jeremiah, without further reference to his
healing medicine, took another candle from Mrs Clennam's table, and
said, 'Now, sir; shall I light you down?'

Mr Dorrit professed himself obliged, and went down. Mr
Flintwinch shut him out, and chained him out, without a moment's loss
of time.

He was again passed by the two men, one going out and the other
coming in; got into the vehicle he had left waiting, and was driven
away.

Before he had gone far, the driver stopped to let him know that
he had given his name, number, and address to the two men, on their
joint requisition; and also the address at which he had taken Mr
Dorrit up, the hour at which he had been called from his stand and
the way by which he had come. This did not make the night's
adventure run any less hotly in Mr Dorrit's mind, either when he sat
down by his fire again, or when he went to bed. All night he haunted
the dismal house, saw the two people resolutely waiting, heard the
woman with her apron over her face cry out about the noise, and found
the body of the missing Blandois, now buried in the cellar, and now
bricked up in a wall.