The weather has been wet and dreary here all week, so I decided I needed a little break from work today after arriving sopping wet yesterday. Why does it always seem to start raining (heavily) when I am walking to or from the bus stop? Even the book in my bookbag was damp. I had to leave it to dry out under a pile of heavy library books all day, so it wouldn't expand to twice its normal size (I don't like getting soaked in a heavy rain, but I dry off much better than a book does!). It was quite nice sleeping in this morning and listening to the rain beating down from the warmth of my bed and then getting to lazily read a few chapters before I even considered getting up. I'm within the last hundred pages of finishing both The Tenderness of Wolves and The Law and the Lady. Both have been excellent reads, and I am actually sorry to be so close to the end of both of them. I'll post more on them next week.
Last week I mentioned a passage in Charlotte Bronte's Shirley about needlework. Would you ever imagine Wilkie Collins would write about such a thing? He does in the Law and the Lady. I've heard people comment on Charles Dickens' most unusual characters, but Wilkie Collins is at least as good as creating very believable as well as extremely strange people in his novels. In the story Valeria Woodville is determined to clear her husband's name of a crime he did not commit. In one scene she talks with Eustace's old wheelchair-bound friend, Miserrimus Dexter.
"Good God—why?" he cried. "Stop! I am exciting myself. I mustn't do that. I must have all my wits about me; I mustn't wander. The thing is too serious. Wait a minute!"
An elegant little basket was hooked on to one of the arms of his chair. He opened it, and drew out a strip of embroidery partially finished, with the necessary materials for working, a complete. We looked at each other across the embroidery. He noticed my surprise.
"Women," he said, "wisely compose their minds, and help themselves to think quietly, by doing needle-work. Why are men such fools as to deny themselves the same admirable resource—the simple and soothing occupation which keeps the nerves steady and leaves the mind calm and free? As a man, I follow the woman's wise example. Mrs. Valeria, permit me to compose myself."
Gravely arranging his embroidery, this extraordinary being began to work with the patient and nimble dexterity of an accomplished needle-woman.
"Now," said Miserrimus Dexter, "if you are ready, I am. You talk—I work. Please begin."
I obeyed him, and began.
It's one thing to read about a woman of the time working with her needle and another thing entirely to see a man working on a piece of embroidery. Miserrimus is as colorful as his name. He is severely handicapped, having no legs, but a most attractive trunk and face. And in the story he often hops out of his chair and bounds around on his powerful arms. I'm afraid he's slightly off center mentally, but what he shares with Valeria will be instrumental in determining just whether Eustace is innocent or not! If you've not read Wilkie Collins, you really, really must. The Law and the Lady may not be one of his major works, but it's quite entertaining--especially on a cold, rainy day like today.