Free The Final Recollections of Charles Dickens by Thomas Hauser Page A

that?” August Rutledge demanded.
    â€œThe strengthening of England lies in the fusion of the classes, in the creation of a common understanding. A true aristocracy would be comprised of those who earn their place in it through hard work, intelligence, and virtue.”
    That brought Wingate into the conversation.
    â€œLife is a serious game,” he said. “Everybody is playing against you. Wealth must defend itself.”
    â€œRich and poor are equal as they lie dreaming in bed,” I countered. “Virtue shows quite as well in rags as it does in silk.”
    As I spoke those words, Cedric Baldwin made a show of yawning. “I am not a scholar,” he declared. “But I am a citizen of England. It is in vogue in some circles to talk about the plight of the poor. However, the work houses solve the problem.”
    For reasons unbeknownst to me, Catherine chose that moment to enter the conversation.
    â€œI think it best if church and charity care for the poor and leave the government to fighting wars and whatever else it does best.”
    Wingate smiled at me. “Your bride-to-be is as intelligent as she is beautiful.”
    â€œIt is possible that the flavour of sour grapes is in Mr. Dickens’s mouth,” Cedric Baldwin added.
    Then something totally unexpected happened.
    â€œI think that Mr. Dickens’s position is admirable,” Amanda snapped. “If you had been born to less wealth, perhaps you would feel differently about the matter.”
    There was fire in her eyes.
    â€œYou, sir,” she said, addressing Baldwin, “are a coal merchant. The men who toil in your mines and their families know a different world from yours. Their children are not taught to read. There is no hope for a better life. And those are the families where there are men living in the home and the men have work. There is far worse suffering in England.”
    â€œIt is of little importance to me how the poor live.”
    â€œPerhaps not. But it is of importance to them.”
    Throughout the conversation, the other wives had remained silent. Now Juliet Baldwin intervened.
    â€œThe poor would be less of a problem if there were fewer of them. They have no business being born. Theyhave boys who grow up bad and run wild in the streets, and girls who breed more children who, like their parents, should never have been born.”
    Amanda fixed a withering gaze upon her.
    â€œI am of the belief, Mrs. Baldwin, that the poor were made by a higher intelligence than yours.”
    The remembrance of Amanda and how she spoke in those moments remains with me to this day. She glowed more gloriously than fire.
    â€œLet us avoid these morsels of morality,” Wingate said, seeking to defuse the situation.
    â€œI will speak as I choose,” Amanda told her husband.
    â€œKeep a watch upon yourself.”
    â€œI shall not. The conditions of which Mr. Dickens speaks exist. And no nation that allows them to exist is fully civilised.”
    â€œIs that all?” Cedric Baldwin inquired with a note of levity in his voice.
    â€œYes, sir. That is all. And enough, too, I think. I would prefer not to regard you as hard-hearted.”
    â€œIt will all be the same and make no difference a hundred years from now,” Wingate said, continuing his efforts to move the conversation away from conflict. “In the graveyard, we are all alike.”
    His voice was such that it travelled from melodious to harsh as befitted his mood. Now it was at its most engaging. “I propose a toast to Mr. Dickens and his future bride. May this be the dawn of happy days for both of you.”
    The dinner ended soon after.
    â€œI like this sort of thing,” our host told us. “I hope all of you do not mind dining at another man’s expense.”
    â€œNot at all,” Baldwin offered.
    â€œThen I trust you will dine with us often.”
    All that was left was for Wingate to walk Catherine and