The Mystery of Edwin Drood Read Online Free PDF Page A

mark goes round as
briskly as the bottle at a convivial party in the last century.
     
  On the afternoon of the day next after
the dinner of two at the gatehouse, the bell is rung with the usual fluttering
results.
     
  “Mr. Edwin Drood to see Miss Rosa.”
     
  This is the announcement of the
parlour-maid in chief. Miss Twinkleton, with an exemplary air of melancholy on
her, turns to the sacrifice, and says, “You may go down, my dear.” Miss Bud
goes down, followed by all eyes.
     
  Mr. Edwin Drood is waiting in Miss
Twinkleton's own parlour: a dainty room, with nothing more directly scholastic
in it than a terrestrial and a celestial globe. These expressive machines imply
(to parents and guardians) that even when Miss Twinkleton retires into the
bosom of privacy, duty may at any moment compel her to become a sort of Wandering
Jewess, scouring the earth and soaring through the skies in search of knowledge
for her pupils.
     
  The last new maid, who has never seen
the young gentleman Miss Rosa is engaged to, and who is making his acquaintance
between the hinges of the open door, left open for the purpose, stumbles
guiltily down the kitchen stairs, as a charming little apparition, with its
face concealed by a little silk apron thrown over its head, glides into the
parlour.
     
  “O! IT IS so ridiculous!” says the
apparition, stopping and shrinking. “Don't, Eddy!”
     
  “Don't what, Rosa?”
     
  “Don't come any nearer, please. It IS so
absurd.”
     
  “What is absurd, Rosa?”
     
  “The whole thing is. It IS so absurd to
be an engaged orphan and it IS so absurd to have the girls and the servants
scuttling about after one, like mice in the wainscot; and it IS so absurd to be
called upon!”
     
  The apparition appears to have a thumb
in the corner of its mouth while making this complaint.
     
  “You give me an affectionate reception,
Pussy, I must say.”
     
  “Well, I will in a minute, Eddy, but I
can't just yet. How are you?” (very shortly.)
     
  “I am unable to reply that I am much the
better for seeing you, Pussy, inasmuch as I see nothing of you.”
     
  This second remonstrance brings a dark,
bright, pouting eye out from a corner of the apron; but it swiftly becomes
invisible again, as the apparition exclaims: “O good gracious! you have had
half your hair cut off!”
     
  “I should have done better to have had
my head cut off, I think,” says Edwin, rumpling the hair in question, with a
fierce glance at the looking-glass, and giving an impatient stamp. “Shall I
go?”
     
  “No; you needn't go just yet, Eddy. The
girls would all be asking questions why you went.”
     
  “Once for all, Rosa, will you uncover
that ridiculous little head of yours and give me a welcome?”
     
  The apron is pulled off the childish
head, as its wearer replies: “You're very welcome, Eddy. There! I'm sure that's
nice. Shake hands. No, I can't kiss you, because I've got an acidulated drop in
my mouth.”
     
  “Are you at all glad to see me, Pussy?”
     
  “O, yes, I'm dreadfully glad. —Go and
sit down. —Miss Twinkleton.”
     
  It is the custom of that excellent lady
when these visits occur, to appear every three minutes, either in her own
person or in that of Mrs. Tisher, and lay an offering on the shrine of
Propriety by affecting to look for some desiderated article. On the present occasion
Miss Twinkleton, gracefully gliding in and out, says in passing: “How do you
do, Mr. Drood? Very glad indeed to have the pleasure. Pray excuse me. Tweezers.
Thank you!”
     
  “I got the gloves last evening, Eddy,
and I like them very much. They are beauties.”
     
  “Well, that's something,” the affianced
replies, half grumbling. “The smallest encouragement thankfully received. And
how did you pass your birthday, Pussy?”
     
  “Delightfully! Everybody gave me a
present. And we had a feast. And we had a ball at