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in Scotland。 I was a posthumous child。 My father’s eyes had closed
upon the light of this world six months； when mine opened on it。
There is something strange to me； even now； in the reflection that
he never saw me； and something stranger yet in the shadowy
remembrance that I have of my first childish associations with his
white grave…stone in the churchyard； and of the indefinable
compassion I used to feel for it lying out alone there in the dark
night； when our little parlour was warm and bright with fire and
candle； and the doors of our house were—almost cruelly； it
seemed to me sometimes—bolted and locked against it。
An aunt of my father’s； and consequently a great…aunt of mine；
of whom I shall have more to relate by and by； was the principal
magnate of our family。 Miss Trotwood； or Miss Betsey； as my poor
mother always called her； when she sufficiently overcame her
dread of this formidable personage to mention her at all （which
was seldom）； had been married to a husband younger than herself；
who was very handsome； except in the sense of the homely adage；
‘handsome is； that handsome does’—for he was strongly suspected
of having beaten Miss Betsey； and even of having once； on a
disputed question of supplies； made some hasty but determined
arrangements to throw her out of a two pair of stairs’ window。
These evidences of an incompatibility of temper induced Miss
Betsey to pay him off； and effect a separation by mutual consent。
He went to India with his capital； and there； according to a wild
legend in our family； he was once seen riding on an elephant； in
company with a Baboon； but I think it must have been a Baboo—
Charles Dickens ElecBook Classics
David Copperfield
or a Begum。 Anyhow； from India tidings of his death reached
home； within ten years。 How they affected my aunt； nobody knew；
for immediately upon the separation； she took her maiden name
again； bought a cottage in a hamlet on the sea…coast a long way off；
established herself there as a single woman with one servant； and
was understood to live secluded； ever afterwards； in an inflexible
retirement。
My father had once been a favourite of hers； I believe； but she
was mortally affronted by his marriage； on the ground that my
mother was ‘a wax doll’。 She had never seen my mother； but she
knew her to be not yet twenty。 My father and Miss Betsey never
met again。 He was double my mother’s age when he married； and
of but a delicate constitution。 He died a year afterwards； and； as I
have said； six months before I came into the world。
This was the state of matters； on the afternoon of； what I may
be excused for calling； that eventful and important Friday。 I can
make no claim therefore to have known； at that time； how matters
stood； or to have any remembrance； founded on the evidence of
my own senses； of what follows。
My mother was sitting by the fire； but poorly in health； and very
low in spirits； looking at it through her tears； and desponding
heavily about herself and the fatherless little stranger； who was
already welcomed by some grosses of prophetic pins； in a drawer
upstairs； to a world not at all excited on the subject of his arrival；
my mother； I say； was sitting by the fire； that bright； windy March
afternoon； very timid and sad； and very doubtful of ever coming
alive out of the trial that was before her； when； lifting her eyes as
she dried them； to the window opposite； she saw a strange lady
coming up the garden。
Charles Dickens ElecBook Classics
David Copperfield
My mother had a sure foreboding at the second glance； that it
was Miss Betsey。 The setting sun was glowing on the strange lady；
over the garden…fence； and she came walking up to the door with a
fell rigidity of figure and composure of countenance that could
have belonged to nobody else。
When she reached the house； she gave another proof of her
identity。 My father had often hinted that she seldom conducted
herself like any ordinary Christian； and now； instead of ringing the
bell； she came and looked in at that identical window； pressing the
end of her nose against the glass to that extent； that my poor dear
mother used to say it became perfectly flat and white in a moment。
She gave my mother such a turn； that I have always been
convinced I am indebted to Miss Betsey for having been born on a
Friday。
My mother had left her chair in her agitation； and gone behind
it in the corner。 Miss Betsey； looking round the room； slowly and
inquiringly； began on the other side； and carried her eyes on； like
a Saracen’s Head in a Dutch clock； until they reached my mother。
Then she made a frown and a gesture to my mother； like one who
was accustomed to be obeyed； to come and open the door。 My
mother went。
‘Mrs。 David Copperfield； I think；’ said Miss Betsey； the
emphasis referring； perhaps； to my mother’s mourning weeds； and
her condition。
‘Yes；’ said my mother； faintly。
‘Miss Trotwood；’ said the visitor。 ‘You have heard of her； I dare
say？’
My mother answered she had had that pleasure。 And she had a
disagreeable consciousness of not appearing to imply that it had
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David Copperfield
been an overpowering pleasure。
‘Now you see her；’ said Miss Betsey。 My mother bent her head；
and begged her to walk in。
They went into the parlour my mother had come from； the fire
in the best room on the other side of the passage not being
lighted—not having been lighted； indeed； since my father’s
funeral； and when they were both seated； and Miss Betsey said
nothing； my mother； after vainly trying to restrain herself； began
to cry。 ‘Oh tut； tut； tut！’ said Miss Betsey； in a hurry。 ‘Don’t do that！
Come； come！’
My mother couldn’t help it notwithstanding； so she cried until
she had had her cry out。
‘Take off your cap； child；’ said Miss Betsey； ‘and let me see you。’
My mother was too much afraid of her to refuse compliance
with this odd request； if she had any disposition to do so。
Therefore she did as she was told； and did it with such nervous
hands that her hair （which was luxuriant and beautiful） fell all
about her face。
‘Why； bless my heart！’ exclaimed Miss Betsey。 ‘You are a very
Baby！’
My mother was； no doubt； unusually youthful in appearance
even for her years； she hung her head； as if it were her fault； poor
thing； and said； sobbing； that indeed she was afraid she was but a
childish widow； and would be but a childish mother if she lived。 In
a short pause which ensued； she had a fancy that she felt Miss
Betsey touch her hair； and that with no ungentle hand； but；
looking at her； in her timid hope； she found that lady sitting with
the skirt of her dress tucked up； her hands folded on one knee；
and her feet upon the fender； frowning at the fire。
Charles Dickens ElecBook Classics
David Copperfield
‘In the name of Heaven；’ said Miss Betsey； suddenly； ‘why
Rookery？’
‘Do you mean the house； ma’am？’ asked my mother。
‘Why Rookery？’ said Miss Betsey。 ‘Cook