Bleak House - Charles Dickens (read this if txt) 📗
- Author: Charles Dickens
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that she felt it a part of her duty to him to be sparing of her
visits at our house. My guardian’s delicacy had soon perceived
this and had tried to convey to her that he thought she was right.
“Dear, unfortunate, mistaken Richard,” said I. “When will he awake
from his delusion!”
“He is not in the way to do so now, my dear,” replied my guardian.
“The more he suffers, the more averse he will be to me, having made
me the principal representative of the great occasion of his
suffering.”
I could not help adding, “So unreasonably!”
“Ah, Dame Trot, Dame Trot,” returned my guardian, “what shall we
find reasonable in Jarndyce and Jarndyce! Unreason and injustice
at the top, unreason and injustice at the heart and at the bottom,
unreason and injustice from beginning to end—if it ever has an
end—how should poor Rick, always hovering near it, pluck reason
out of it? He no more gathers grapes from thorns or figs from
thistles than older men did in old times.”
His gentleness and consideration for Richard whenever we spoke of
him touched me so that I was always silent on this subject very
soon.
“I suppose the Lord Chancellor, and the Vice Chancellors, and the
whole Chancery battery of great guns would be infinitely astonished
by such unreason and injustice in one of their suitors,” pursued my
guardian. “When those learned gentlemen begin to raise moss-roses
from the powder they sow in their wigs, I shall begin to be
astonished too!”
He checked himself in glancing towards the window to look where the
wind was and leaned on the back of my chair instead.
“Well, well, little woman! To go on, my dear. This rock we must
leave to time, chance, and hopeful circumstance. We must not
shipwreck Ada upon it. She cannot afford, and he cannot afford,
the remotest chance of another separation from a friend. Therefore
I have particularly begged of Woodcourt, and I now particularly beg
of you, my dear, not to move this subject with Rick. Let it rest.
Next week, next month, next year, sooner or later, he will see me
with clearer eyes. I can wait.”
But I had already discussed it with him, I confessed; and so, I
thought, had Mr. Woodcourt.
“So he tells me,” returned my guardian. “Very good. He has made
his protest, and Dame Durden has made hers, and there is nothing
more to be said about it. Now I come to Mrs. Woodcourt. How do
you like her, my dear?”
In answer to this question, which was oddly abrupt, I said I liked
her very much and thought she was more agreeable than she used to
be.
“I think so too,” said my guardian. “Less pedigree? Not so much
of Morgan ap—what’s his name?”
That was what I meant, I acknowledged, though he was a very
harmless person, even when we had had more of him.
“Still, upon the whole, he is as well in his native mountains,”
said my guardian. “I agree with you. Then, little woman, can I do
better for a time than retain Mrs. Woodcourt here?”
No. And yet—
My guardian looked at me, waiting for what I had to say.
I had nothing to say. At least I had nothing in my mind that I
could say. I had an undefined impression that it might have been
better if we had had some other inmate, but I could hardly have
explained why even to myself. Or, if to myself, certainly not to
anybody else.
“You see,” said my guardian, “our neighbourhood is in Woodcourt’s
way, and he can come here to see her as often as he likes, which is
agreeable to them both; and she is familiar to us and fond of you.”
Yes. That was undeniable. I had nothing to say against it. I
could not have suggested a better arrangement, but I was not quite
easy in my mind. Esther, Esther, why not? Esther, think!
“It is a very good plan indeed, dear guardian, and we could not do
better.”
“Sure, little woman?”
Quite sure. I had had a moment’s time to think, since I had urged
that duty on myself, and I was quite sure.
“Good,” said my guardian. “It shall be done. Carried
unanimously.”
“Carried unanimously,” I repeated, going on with my work.
It was a cover for his book-table that I happened to be
ornamenting. It had been laid by on the night preceding my sad
journey and never resumed. I showed it to him now, and he admired
it highly. After I had explained the pattern to him and all the
great effects that were to come out by and by, I thought I would go
back to our last theme.
“You said, dear guardian, when we spoke of Mr. Woodcourt before Ada
left us, that you thought he would give a long trial to another
country. Have you been advising him since?”
“Yes, little woman, pretty often.”
“Has he decided to do so?”
“I rather think not.”
“Some other prospect has opened to him, perhaps?” said I.
“Why—yes—perhaps,” returned my guardian, beginning his answer in
a very deliberate manner. “About half a year hence or so, there is
a medical attendant for the poor to be appointed at a certain place
in Yorkshire. It is a thriving place, pleasantly situated—streams
and streets, town and country, mill and moor—and seems to present
an opening for such a man. I mean a man whose hopes and aims may
sometimes lie (as most men’s sometimes do, I dare say) above the
ordinary level, but to whom the ordinary level will be high enough
after all if it should prove to be a way of usefulness and good
service leading to no other. All generous spirits are ambitious, I
suppose, but the ambition that calmly trusts itself to such a road,
instead of spasmodically trying to fly over it, is of the kind I
care for. It is Woodcourt’s kind.”
“And will he get this appointment?” I asked.
“Why, little woman,” returned my guardian, smiling, “not being an
oracle, I cannot confidently say, but I think so. His reputation
stands very high; there were people from that part of the country
in the shipwreck; and strange to say, I believe the best man has
the best chance. You must not suppose it to be a fine endowment.
It is a very, very commonplace affair, my dear, an appointment to a
great amount of work and a small amount of pay; but better things
will gather about it, it may be fairly hoped.”
“The poor of that place will have reason to bless the choice if it
falls on Mr. Woodcourt, guardian.”
“You are right, little woman; that I am sure they will.”
We said no more about it, nor did he say a word about the future of
Bleak House. But it was the first time I had taken my seat at his
side in my mourning dress, and that accounted for it, I considered.
I now began to visit my dear girl every day in the dull dark corner
where she lived. The morning was my usual time, but whenever I
found I had an hour or so to spare, I put on my bonnet and bustled
off to Chancery Lane. They were both so glad to see me at all
hours, and used to brighten up so when they heard me opening the
door and coming in (being quite at home, I never knocked), that I
had no fear of becoming troublesome just yet.
On these occasions I frequently found Richard absent. At other
times he would be writing or reading papers in the cause at that
table of his, so covered with papers, which was never disturbed.
Sometimes I would come upon him lingering at the door of Mr.
Vholes’s office. Sometimes I would meet him in the neighbourhood
lounging about and biting his nails. I often met him wandering in
Lincoln’s Inn, near the place where I had first seen him, oh how
different, how different!
That the money Ada brought him was melting away with the candles I
used to see burning after dark in Mr. Vholes’s office I knew very
well. It was not a large amount in the beginning, he had married
in debt, and I could not fail to understand, by this time, what was
meant by Mr. Vholes’s shoulder being at the wheel—as I still heard
it was. My dear made the best of housekeepers and tried hard to
save, but I knew that they were getting poorer and poorer every
day.
She shone in the miserable corner like a beautiful star. She
adorned and graced it so that it became another place. Paler than
she had been at home, and a little quieter than I had thought
natural when she was yet so cheerful and hopeful, her face was so
unshadowed that I half believed she was blinded by her love for
Richard to his ruinous career.
I went one day to dine with them while I was under this impression.
As I turned into Symond’s Inn, I met little Miss Flite coming out.
She had been to make a stately call upon the wards in Jarndyce, as
she still called them, and had derived the highest gratification
from that ceremony. Ada had already told me that she called every
Monday at five o’clock, with one little extra white bow in her
bonnet, which never appeared there at any other time, and with her
largest reticule of documents on her arm.
“My dear!” she began. “So delighted! How do you do! So glad to
see you. And you are going to visit our interesting Jarndyce
wards? TO be sure! Our beauty is at home, my dear, and will be
charmed to see you.”
“Then Richard is not come in yet?” said I. “I am glad of that, for
I was afraid of being a little late.”
“No, he is not come in,” returned Miss Flite. “He has had a long
day in court. I left him there with Vholes. You don’t like
Vholes, I hope? DON’T like Vholes. Dangerous man!”
“I am afraid you see Richard oftener than ever now,” said I.
“My dearest,” returned Miss Flite, “daily and hourly. You know
what I told you of the attraction on the Chancellor’s table? My
dear, next to myself he is the most constant suitor in court. He
begins quite to amuse our little party. Ve-ry friendly little
party, are we not?”
It was miserable to hear this from her poor mad lips, though it was
no surprise.
“In short, my valued friend,” pursued Miss Flite, advancing her
lips to my ear with an air of equal patronage and mystery, “I must
tell you a secret. I have made him my executor. Nominated,
constituted, and appointed him. In my will. Ye-es.”
“Indeed?” said I.
“Ye-es,” repeated Miss Flite in her most genteel accents, “my
executor, administrator, and assign. (Our Chancery phrases, my
love.) I have reflected that if I should wear out, he will be able
to watch that judgment. Being so very regular in his attendance.”
It made me sigh to think of him.
“I did at one time mean,” said Miss Flite, echoing the sigh, “to
nominate, constitute, and appoint poor Gridley. Also very regular,
my charming girl. I assure you, most exemplary! But he wore out,
poor man, so I have appointed his successor. Don’t mention it.
This is in confidence.”
She carefully opened her reticule a little way
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