Edward Murdstone, by Frank Reynolds.
Edward Murdstone, as imagined by artist Frank Reynolds (1876-1853) for an edition of ‘David Copperfield’ published in Canada in 1910. ‘His regular eyebrows, and the rich white, and black, and brown, of his complexion’ mused Davy in retrospect ‘made me think him, in spite of my misgivings, a very handsome man.’
Part 1 of 2
AS my mother stooped down on the threshold to take me in her arms and kiss me, the gentleman said I was a more highly privileged little fellow than a monarch — or something like that; for my later understanding comes, I am sensible, to my aid here.
‘What does that mean?’ I asked him, over her shoulder.
He patted me on the head; but somehow, I didn’t like him or his deep voice, and I was jealous that his hand should touch my mother’s in touching me — which it did. I put it away, as well as I could.
‘Oh, Davy!’ remonstrated my mother.
‘Dear boy!’ said the gentleman. ‘I cannot wonder at his devotion!’
I never saw such a beautiful colour on my mother’s face before. She gently chid me for being rude; and, keeping me close to her shawl, turned to thank the gentleman for taking so much trouble as to bring her home.
Précis
After her husband died, Mrs Copperfield lavished all her affection on little Davy, her son; but there came a time when she returned home after a social engagement on the arm of Edward Murdstone. Even Davy noted her high spirits, but Edward’s proprietorial manner towards Davy’s mother gave offence, and the boy took a strong dislike to him. (58 / 60 words)
Part Two
The Church of St Mary at Blundeston, Suffolk.
“There was my mother, looking unusually pretty, I thought,” Davy tells us, “and with her a gentleman with beautiful black hair and whiskers, who had walked home with us from church last Sunday.” That would probably be St Mary’s church in Blundeston, the Suffolk village where Davy tells us he was born. The unusual rounded tower was built when Ethelred the Unready was on the throne, around 988, the year that St Dunstan of Canterbury died, and of the Baptism (conversion to Christianity) of Rus’.
SHE put out her hand to him as she spoke, and, as he met it with his own, she glanced, I thought, at me.
‘Let us say “good night”, my fine boy,’ said the gentleman, when he had bent his head—I saw him! — over my mother’s little glove.
‘Good night!’ said I.
‘Come! Let us be the best friends in the world!’ said the gentleman, laughing. ‘Shake hands!’
My right hand was in my mother’s left, so I gave him the other.
‘Why, that’s the Wrong hand, Davy!’ laughed the gentleman.
My mother drew my right hand forward, but I was resolved, for my former reason, not to give it him, and I did not. I gave him the other, and he shook it heartily, and said I was a brave fellow, and went away.
At this minute I see him turn round in the garden, and give us a last look with his ill-omened black eyes, before the door was shut.
Précis
In a clumsy attempt to placate Davy, Mr Murdstone offered him his hand. Davy pointedly gave him his left hand, not letting go of his mother’s hand, prompting reproof from her and laughter from Mr Murdstone. None of this improved Davy’s opinion of him, and as the visitor left his backward glance showed that Davy too had made an enemy. (60 / 60 words)
