The Strange Client by Charles Dickens

Tales from The Pickwick Papers by Charles Dickens

The Strange Client

 Cast
Narrator 1 and George Heyling – Jim Newberry
Narrator 2 and Mary Heyling – Lisa Nightingale
The Old Man, Father of Mary Heyling – Mike Ayris
Attorney - Mike Ayris

Text | Voice

Part 1

Narrator 1
In the Borough High Street near St George’s Church used to stand the smallest of our debtors’ prisons, the Marshalsea.  In later times, it became a very different place to the sink of filth and dirt that it once was.  However, even its improved condition held out little temptation to the extravagant, or consolation to the improvident.

In this part of London, the street was broad and the shops spacious. All the busy sounds of traffic resounded in it from morn to midnight.  The noise of passing vehicles and the footsteps of a perpetual stream of people. 

But the streets around were mean and close.  Poverty and debauchery lay festering in the crowded alleys.  Neglect and misfortune were pent up in the narrow prison.  An air of gloominess seemed to hang about the scene.

Narrator 2
Many years ago, these pavements were worn with the footsteps of a mother and child.  Day-by-day, as surely as the morning came, they presented themselves at the prison gate.  A whole hour too early, this was often after a night of restless misery and anxious thoughts.

Turning meekly away from the prison, this young mother would lead the child to the old bridge.  Raising him in her arms to show him the glistening water that was tinted with the light of the morning sun.  Attempting to interest his thoughts in the objects before him.

But she would quickly set him down.  And, hiding her face in the shawl, give vent to the tears that blinded her.  For no expression of interest or amusement lit up his thin and sickly face.  His recollections were few enough but they were all of one kind.  All connected with the poverty and misery of his parents.

The father and mother looked on this, and upon each other with thoughts of agony that they dared not breathe in words.   The healthy strong-made man, who could have borne almost any physical exertion, was wasting beneath the close confinement and unhealthy atmosphere of a crowded prison. 

Narrator 1 
Winter came and with it weeks of cold and heavy rain.  The poor girl had moved to a wretched apartment close to the spot of her husband’s imprisonment.  And, though the change had been necessary by their increasing poverty, she was happier now for being nearer him.  For two months, she and her little companion watched the opening of the gate as usual. 

But one day, for the first time, she failed to come.  Another morning arrived and she came.  Alone.  The child was dead.

It was plain to those who looked upon the mother’s altered face that death must soon close the scene of her adversity and trial.  Her husband’s fellow prisoners shrank from intruding on his grief and misery.  Leaving him alone in the small room he had previously shared with two companions.  She now shared it with him.  Lingering on.  Without pain – but without hope – her life ebbed slowly away.

Mary Heyling
(Sound of fainting) Ahhh!

Narrator 1
She had fainted one evening in her husband’s arms and he bore her to an open window to revive her with the air. 

Mary Heyling
(Weak) Set me down, George.  It is very hard to leave you.  But it is God’s will and you must bear it for my sake.  Oh, how I thank him for having taken our boy!  He is happy and in Heaven now.  What would he have done here without his mother?

George Heyling
(Desperate) You shall not die Mary, you shall not die.  Rouse yourself, my dear.  Pray, pray do.  You will revive yet.

Mary Heyling
Never again, George.  Let them lay me by my poor boy now.   You must promise me.  Promise that if you ever leave this dreadful place and should grow rich, you will have us removed.  Take us to some quiet country churchyard a long way off where we can rest in peace.  Dear George, promise me you will.

George Heyling
I do, I do!  Speak to me, Mary, another word, one look! 

Mary Heyling
Aaaah! (sound of a deep sigh).

Narrator 2
He ceased to speak.  For the arm that clasped his neck grew stiff and heavy.  Her lips moved and a smile played upon her face.  But the lips were pale, and the smile faded into a rigid and ghastly stare. 

He was alone in the world.   

That night, in the silence and desolation of his miserable room, the wretched man knelt down by the dead body of his wife.  He called on God to witness a terrible oath. 

George Heyling
From this hour, | devote myself to the revenge of your and my child’s death.  To the last moment of my life, my energies will be directed to this one cause.  My revenge will be protracted and terrible.  My hatred will be undying, as I hunt throughout the world for those who caused it.

Narrator 2
In that one night, the deepest despair and scarcely human passion made fierce ravages on his face and form.  His companions in misfortune shrank from him, afraid, as he passed by.

His eyes were bloodshot and heavy.  His face a deadly white.  And his body bent as if with age.  He had nearly bitten through his under-lip in the violence of mental suffering.  The blood which flowed from the wound trickled down his chin, staining his shirt and neckerchief.

No tear or sound of complaint escaped him.  But the unsettled look and disordered haste with which he paced up and down the yard told of the fever which was burning within him.   

Narrator 1
His wife’s body had to be removed from the prison without delay.  He received the communication with perfect calmness.  Nearly all the inmates had assembled to witness its removal.  The rude coffin was borne slowly forward on men’s shoulders. 

They reached the spot where the bereaved husband stood - and stopped.  He laid his hand upon the coffin.  Mechanically adjusted the pall which covered it.  And motioned them onwards.  The turnkeys in the prison lobby took off their hats as it passed through.  And in another moment, the heavy gate closed behind it. 

George Heyling looked vacantly at the crowd – and fell heavily to the ground.

Part 2

(Sounds - 30 to 45 seconds of chaotic sounds of fever and delirium reaching a crescendo & slowly subsiding as Narrator 2 starts)

Narrator 2
For many weeks after, in the wildest ravings of fever, neither the consciousness of his loss nor the terrible vow he had made ever left him for a moment.  When the fever eventually subsided, he awoke.  To find himself rich and free.  And to hear a tale of two fathers. 

First, his own father had been found dead in his feather bed of down.  This was the man who would have let him die in jail.  Who had let his wife and child die of want.  Those who were far dearer to him than his own existence. 

This father had decided to disinherit him and leave him a beggar.  But, proud of his own health and strength, he had put off the act of disinheritance until it was too late.  And now might be gnashing his teeth in the other world at the thought of the wealth his remissness had left him. 

Narrator 1
George Heyling awoke to this.  And to recollect the new purpose for which he lived.  Remembering that the main enemy now was a second father - his wife’s. 

He was the man who had first cast him in prison.  Who had spurned his own daughter and her child from the door when they sued at his feet for mercy. 

Narrator 2
Heyling caused himself to be carried from the scene of his loss and misery.  To a quiet residence on the sea-coast to restore his energies and meditate on his task.  And here was cast in his way the opportunity for his first, and most horrible revenge. 

It was summer time.  Wrapped in his gloomy thoughts, he was seated one calm evening.  At a wild and lonely spot that had struck his fancy during his daily ramblings.

Now and then he raised his head to watch the flight of a seagull.  Or gazed along the glorious, crimson path that began in the middle of the ocean.  This path seemed to lead right up to the verge where the sun was setting. 

Suddenly, this profound stillness was broken.   

Doubtful of having heard right, he listened.  And started to his feet hastening in its direction. 

The tale told itself at once.  Some scattered garments lay on the beach.  A human head was just visible above the waves a little distance from the shore.  And there was an old man wringing his hands in agony, running to and fro, shrieking for assistance. 

Old Man
(Desperate) Help, help!

Narrator 2
Heyling’s strength was now sufficiently restored.  He threw off his coat and rushed towards the sea, with the intention of plunging in and dragging the drowning man ashore. 

Old Man
Hasten here sir, in God’s name help, sir, help! – he is my only son sir and dying before his father’s eyes!

Narrator 2
At the first words of the old man, the stranger checked himself*.  Folding his arms, he stood perfectly motionless. 

Old Man
Great God! (Recoiling)  George Heyling!

Narrator 2
The stranger smiled and was silent. 

Old Man
Heyling!  My boy Heyling, my dear boy, look!  He is alive yet, save him.

Narrator 2
The stranger smiled again and remained immovable as a statue. 

Old Man
(Desperate) I have wronged you.  Be revenged.  Take my all, my life.  Cast me into the water at your feet and I will die without stirring hand or foot.  Do it, Heyling - but save my boy; he is so young to die!

George Heyling
(Grasping old man fiercely) Listen. I will have life for life - and here is one.  My child died a far more agonising and painful death than the one he is meeting: that young slanderer of his sister. You laughed at our sufferings then.  What do you think of them now?  See there!  See!

Narrator 2
As the stranger spoke, he pointed to the sea.  The last powerful struggle of the dying man agitated the rippling waves for a few seconds.  And then the place where he had descended into his early grave was indistinguishable from the surrounding water. 

Part 3

Narrator 1
Three years had elapsed from these events when a gentleman alighted from a private carriage at the door of a certain London attorney.  This attorney was well-known as a man of no great nicety in his professional dealings.  The gentleman requested a private interview with him on important business.   

Although not evidently past the prime of his life, the gentleman’s face was pale, haggard, and dejected.  Disease or suffering had done more to change his appearance than the mere hand of time could have achieved in twice the period of his entire life.

George Heyling
I wish you to undertake some legal business for me.

Narrator 2
The attorney bowed obsequiously and glanced at a large packet that the gentleman carried in his hand. 

George Heyling
This is no common business.  Nor have these papers reached my hands without long trouble and great expense.  As you will see, the man whose name they bear has borrowed large sums of money for many years.  There was a tacit understanding between him and his creditors that the loans should be renewed from time to time.  This understanding is nowhere expressed in writing. 

I have purchased all the debts for many times their nominal value. The man has sustained significant losses of late.  Were they to accumulate upon him at once, they would crush him to the earth.

Attorney
The whole amount is many thousands of pounds.

George Heyling
It is.

Attorney
What are we to do?

George Heyling
Do!  Put every engine of the law in force, every trick that ingenuity can devise.  Fair means and foul.  The open oppression of the law, aided by all the craft of its most ingenious practitioners. 

I would have him die a harassing and lingering death.  Ruin him, seize and sell his lands and goods.  Drive him from house and home.  And drag him forth a beggar in his old age.  To die in a common jail.

Attorney
But the costs, my dear sir, the costs of all this.  If the defendant be a man of straw, who is to pay the costs, sir?

George Heyling
(Excitedly) Name any sum and it’s yours.  Don’t be afraid to name it, man.  I shall not think it dear if you gain me my objective.

Narrator 2
The attorney named a large sum as the advance he required to secure himself against the possibility of loss.  But this was more with a view to ascertaining how far this client was really disposed to go.  The stranger wrote a cheque for the whole amount immediately.  And left.  The draft was duly honoured and the attorney began work in earnest for his strange client. 

For more than two years afterwards, George Heyling would sit whole days together in his office.  Poring over the papers as they accumulated.  Reading again the letters which flooded in.  As legal suit after legal suit was begun. 

Expressions of protest.  Prayers for a little delay.  Representations of certain ruin for the opposite party.  To all such applications for a brief indulgence, there was but one reply:
“The money must be paid.” Land, house, furniture – all were taken.  The old man himself would have been imprisoned had he not escaped the vigilance of the officers and fled. 

On being informed of this flight, Heyling’s fury was unbounded. He was only restored to comparative calmness by repeated assurances of the certainty of discovering the fugitive. 

Agents were sent in search of him in all directions.  Every strategy was resorted to for the discovery of his place of retreat.  But it was all in vain.  Half a year passed and he was still undiscovered.

One night, Heyling appeared unannounced at the attorney’s private residence.  Before the attorney could order the servant to admit him, he had rushed up the staircase and entered the drawing room, pale and breathless.  Having closed the door to prevent being overheard, he sank into a chair.

Attorney
Sir!

George Heyling
Hush!  I have found him at last.

Attorney
No!  Well done, my dear sir, well done.

George Heyling
He lies concealed in a wretched lodging in Camden Town.  Perhaps it is as well we did lose sight of him.  For he has been living alone there in the most abject misery.  And he is poor, very poor.

Attorney
Very good.  You will have the warrant made tomorrow of course?

George Heyling
Yes. Stay!  No!  Make it for the following day.  You are surprised at my wishing to postpone it?  I had forgotten – the next day is an important anniversary in his life.  Let it be done then.

Narrator 2
Heyling and the officers met on the appointed night.  He directed the driver of the hackney-coach to stop at the corner of the old Pancras Road.  The location of the parish workhouse.  They entered a small by-street called Little College Street.  This was a desolate enough place surrounded by little other than fields and ditches. 

Muffled in his cloak, Heyling stopped before the meanest-looking house and knocked gently on the door.  It was opened by a woman who dropped a curtsey of recognition.  Heyling whispered the officers to remain below.  Creeping gently upstairs, he opened and entered the door of the front room.

Now a decrepit old man, the object of his search and unrelenting hatred was sat at a bare wooden table - on which stood a miserable candle. 

Old Man
What now, what now?  What fresh misery is this?  What do you want here?

George Heyling
A word with you.

Narrator 2
As Heyling spoke he seated himself at the other end of the table, and throwing off his cloak and cap, disclosed his features. 

Old Man
(Seizure followed by long, intermittent, whispered, dying sounds as Heyling is speaking) Aaah!

George Heyling
This day six years ago I claimed the life you owed me for my child’s.  Beside the lifeless form of your daughter, old man, I swore to live a life of revenge. 

I have never swerved from my purpose for a moment.  And if I had, one thought of her uncomplaining, suffering look as she drooped away.  Or of the starving face of our innocent child would have nerved me to my task. 

My first act of requital you well remember. This is my last.  Tomorrow, I leave England.  Tonight, I consign you to the living death to which you devoted her.  A hopeless prison.

Old Man
(Final breath) “Aah.”

Narrator 2
Heyling raised his eyes and lifted the light to the old man’s face that was now slumped over the table.  Then he set it gently down and left the apartment.

George Heyling
You had better see to the old man...

Narrator 2
He said to the woman as he opened the door and motioned the officers to follow him into the street.

George Heyling
...I think he is ill.

Narrator 2
Beneath a plain gravestone in one of the most peaceful and secluded churchyards in Kent, wild flowers mingle with the grass.  This soft landscape forms the fairest spot in the garden of England.  Here lie the bones of a young mother and her gentle child. 

Narrator 1
But the ashes of the father do not mingle with theirs.  Nor did the attorney ever gain the remotest clue as to the subsequent history of his strange client.

END