Chapter 27

Chapter XI — Lower and Lower
THE FIGURE DESCENDED the great stairs, steadily, steadily; always verging, like a weight in deep water, to the black gulf at the bottom.

Mr Gradgrind, apprised of his wife’s decease, made an expedition from London, and buried her in a business-like manner. He then returned with promptitude to the national cinder-heap, and resumed his sifting for the odds and ends he wanted, and his throwing of the dust about into the eyes of other people who wanted other odds and ends — in fact resumed his parliamentary duties.

In the meantime, Mrs Sparsit kept unwinking watch and ward. Separated from her staircase, all the week, by the length of iron road dividing Coketown from the country-house, she yet maintained her cat-like observation of Louisa, through her husband, through her brother, through James Harthouse, through the outsides of letters and packets, through everything animate and inanimate that at any time went near the stairs. ‘Your foot on the last step, my lady,’ said Mrs Sparsit, apostrophising the descending figure, with the aid of her threatening mitten, ‘and all your art shall never blind me.’

Art or nature though, the original stock of Louisa’s character or the graft of circumstances upon it, — her curious reserve did baffle, while it stimulated, one as sagacious as Mrs Sparsit. There were times when Mr James Harthouse was not sure of her. There were times when he could not read the face he had studied so long; and when this lonely girl was a greater mystery to him, than any woman of the world with a ring of satellites to help her.

So the time went on; until it happened that Mr Bounderby was called away from home by business which required his presence elsewhere, for three or four days. It was on a Friday that he intimated this to Mrs Sparsit at the Bank, adding: ‘But you’ll go down tomorrow, ma’am, all the same. You’ll go down just as if I was there. It will make no difference to you.’

‘Pray, sir,’ returned Mrs Sparsit, reproachfully, ‘let me beg you not to say that. Your absence will make a vast difference to me, sir, as I think you very well know.’

‘Well, ma’am, then you must get on in my absence as well as you can,’ said Mr Bounderby, not displeased.

‘Mr Bounderby,’ retorted Mrs Sparsit, ‘your will is to me a law, sir; otherwise, it might be my inclination to dispute your kind commands, not feeling sure that it will be quite so agreeable to Miss Gradgrind to receive me, as it ever is to your own munificent hospitality. But you shall say no more, sir. I will go, upon your invitation.’

‘Why, when I invite you to my house, ma’am,’ said Bounderby, opening his eyes, ‘I should hope you want no other invitation.’