Bleak House
by family sorrows—and that he would rather have that help from our
mother’s son than from anybody else.”
“Well, my dear George,” returns the other with a very slight shade
upon his open face, “if you prefer to serve in Sir Leicester
Dedlock’s household brigade—”
“There it is, brother,” cries the trooper, checking him, with his
hand upon his knee again; “there it is! You don’t take kindly to that
idea; I don’t mind it. You are not used to being officered; I am.
Everything about you is in perfect order and discipline; everything
about me requires to be kept so. We are not accustomed to carry
things with the same hand or to look at ’em from the same point. I
don’t say much about my garrison manners because I found myself
pretty well at my ease last night, and they wouldn’t be noticed here,
I dare say, once and away. But I shall get on best at Chesney Wold,
where there’s more room for a weed than there is here; and the dear
old lady will be made happy besides. Therefore I accept of Sir
Leicester Dedlock’s proposals. When I come over next year to give
away the bride, or whenever I come, I shall have the sense to keep
the household brigade in ambuscade and not to manoeuvre it on your
ground. I thank you heartily again and am proud to think of the
Rouncewells as they’ll be founded by you.”
“You know yourself, George,” says the elder brother, returning the
grip of his hand, “and perhaps you know me better than I know myself.
Take your way. So that we don’t quite lose one another again, take
your way.”
“No fear of that!” returns the trooper. “Now, before I turn my
horse’s head homewards, brother, I will ask you—if you’ll be so
good—to look over a letter for me. I brought it with me to send from
these parts, as Chesney Wold might be a painful name just now to the
person it’s written to. I am not much accustomed to correspondence
myself, and I am particular respecting this present letter because I
want it to be both straightforward and delicate.”
Herewith he hands a letter, closely written in somewhat pale ink but
in a neat round hand, to the ironmaster, who reads as follows:
Miss Esther Summerson,
A communication having been made to me by Inspector Bucket
of a letter to myself being found among the papers of a
certain person, I take the liberty to make known to you
that it was but a few lines of instruction from abroad,
when, where, and how to deliver an enclosed letter to a
young and beautiful lady, then unmarried, in England. I
duly observed the same.
I further take the liberty to make known to you that it
was got from me as a proof of handwriting only and that
otherwise I would not have given it up, as appearing to
be the most harmless in my possession, without being
previously shot through the heart.
I further take the liberty to mention that if I could have
supposed a certain unfortunate gentleman to have been in
existence, I never could and never would have rested until
I had discovered his retreat and shared my last farthing
with him, as my duty and my inclination would have equally
been. But he was (officially) reported drowned, and
assuredly went over the side of a transport-ship at night
in an Irish harbour within a few hours of her arrival from
the West Indies, as I have myself heard both from officers
and men on board, and know to have been (officially)
confirmed.
I further take the liberty to state that in my humble
quality as one of the rank and file, I am, and shall ever
continue to be, your thoroughly devoted and admiring
servant and that I esteem the qualities you possess above
all others far beyond the limits of the present dispatch.
I have the honour to be,
GEORGE
“A little formal,” observes the elder brother, refolding it with a
puzzled face.
“But nothing that might not be sent to a pattern young lady?” asks
the younger.
“Nothing at all.”
Therefore it is sealed and deposited for posting among the iron
correspondence of the day. This done, Mr. George takes a hearty
farewell of the family party and prepares to saddle and mount. His
brother, however, unwilling to part with him so soon, proposes to
ride with him in a light open carriage to the place where he will
bait for the night, and there remain with him until morning, a
servant riding for so much of the journey on the thoroughbred old
grey from Chesney Wold. The offer, being gladly accepted, is followed
by a pleasant ride, a pleasant dinner, and a pleasant breakfast, all
in brotherly communion. Then they once more shake hands long and
heartily and part, the ironmaster turning his face to the smoke and
fires, and the trooper to the green country. Early in the afternoon
the subdued sound of his heavy military trot is heard on the turf in
the avenue as he rides on with imaginary clank and jingle of
accoutrements under the old elm-trees.
CHAPTER LXIV
Esther’s Narrative
Soon after I had that conversation with my guardian, he put a sealed
paper in my hand one morning and said, “This is for next month, my
dear.” I found in it two hundred pounds.
I now began very quietly to make such preparations as I thought were
necessary. Regulating my purchases by my guardian’s taste, which I
knew very well of course, I arranged my wardrobe to please him and
hoped I should be highly successful. I did it all so quietly because
I was not quite free from my old apprehension that Ada would be
rather sorry and because my guardian was so quiet himself. I had no
doubt that under all the circumstances we should be married in the
most private and simple manner. Perhaps I should only have to say to
Ada, “Would you like to come and see me married to-morrow, my pet?”
Perhaps our wedding might even be as unpretending as her own, and I
might not find it necessary to say anything about it until it was
over. I thought that if I were to choose, I would like this best.
The only exception I made was Mrs. Woodcourt. I told her that I was
going to be married to my guardian and that we had been engaged some
time. She highly approved. She could never do enough for me and was
remarkably softened now in comparison with what she had been when we
first knew her. There was no trouble she would not have taken to have
been of use to me, but I need hardly say that I only allowed her to
take as little as gratified her kindness without tasking it.
Of course this was not a time to neglect my guardian, and of course
it was not a time for neglecting my darling. So I had plenty of
occupation, which I was glad of; and as to Charley, she was
absolutely not to be seen for needlework. To surround herself with
great heaps of it—baskets full and tables full—and do a little, and
spend a great deal of time in staring with her round eyes at what
there was to do, and persuade herself that she was going to do it,
were Charley’s great dignities and delights.
Meanwhile, I must say, I could not agree with my guardian on the
subject of the will, and I had some sanguine hopes of Jarndyce and
Jarndyce. Which of us was right will soon appear, but I certainly did
encourage expectations. In Richard, the discovery gave occasion for a
burst of business and agitation that buoyed him up for a little time,
but he had lost the elasticity even of hope now and seemed to me to
retain only its feverish anxieties. From something my guardian said
one day when we were talking about this, I understood that my
marriage would not take place until after the term-time we had been
told to look forward to; and I thought the more, for that, how
rejoiced I should be if I could be married when Richard and Ada were
a little more prosperous.
The term was very near indeed when my guardian was called out of town
and went down into Yorkshire on Mr. Woodcourt’s business. He had told
me beforehand that his presence there would be necessary. I had just
come in one night from my dear girl’s and was sitting in the midst of
all my new clothes, looking at them all around me and thinking, when
a letter from my guardian was brought to me. It asked me to join him
in the country and mentioned by what stage-coach my place was taken
and at what time in the morning I should have to leave town. It added
in a postscript that I would not be many hours from Ada.
I expected few things less than a journey at that time, but I was
ready for it in half an hour and set off as appointed early next
morning. I travelled all day, wondering all day what I could be
wanted for at such a distance; now I thought it might be for this
purpose, and now I thought it might be for that purpose, but I was
never, never, never near the truth.
It was night when I came to my journey’s end and found my guardian
waiting for me. This was a great relief, for towards evening I had
begun to fear (the more so as his letter was a very short one) that
he might be ill. However, there he was, as well as it was possible to
be; and when I saw his genial face again at its brightest and best, I
said to myself, he has been doing some other great kindness. Not that
it required much penetration to say that, because I knew that his
being there at all was an act of kindness.
Supper was ready at the hotel, and when we were alone at table he
said, “Full of curiosity, no doubt, little woman, to know why I have
brought you here?”
“Well, guardian,” said I, “without thinking myself a Fatima or you a
Blue Beard, I am a little curious about it.”
“Then to ensure your night’s rest, my love,” he returned gaily, “I
won’t wait until to-morrow to tell you. I have very much wished to
express to Woodcourt, somehow, my sense of his humanity to poor
unfortunate Jo, his inestimable services to my young cousins, and his
value to us all. When it was decided that he should settle here, it
came into my head that I might ask his acceptance of some
unpretending and suitable little place to lay his own head in. I
therefore caused such a place to be looked out for, and such a place
was found on very easy terms, and I have been touching it up for him
and making it habitable. However, when I walked over it the day
before yesterday and it was reported ready, I found that I was not
housekeeper enough to know whether things were all as they ought to
be. So I sent off for the best little housekeeper that could possibly
be got to come and give me her advice and opinion. And here she is,”
said my guardian, “laughing and crying both together!”
Because he was so dear, so good, so admirable. I tried to tell him
what I thought of him, but I could not articulate a word.
“Tut, tut!” said my guardian. “You make too much of it, little woman.
Why, how you sob, Dame Durden, how you sob!”
“It is with exquisite pleasure, guardian—with a heart full of
thanks.”
“Well, well,” said he. “I am delighted that you approve. I thought
you would. I meant it as a pleasant surprise for the little mistress
of Bleak House.”
I kissed him and dried my eyes. “I know now!” said I. “I have seen
this in your face a long while.”
“No; have you really, my dear?” said he. “What a Dame Durden it is to
read a face!”
He was so quaintly cheerful that I could not long be otherwise, and
was almost ashamed of having been otherwise at all. When I went to
bed, I cried. I am bound to confess that I cried; but I hope it was
with pleasure, though I am not quite sure it was with pleasure. I
repeated every word of the letter twice over.
A most beautiful summer morning succeeded, and after breakfast we
went out arm in arm to see the house of which I was to give my mighty
housekeeping opinion. We entered a flower-garden by a gate in a side
wall, of which he had the key, and the first thing I saw was that the
beds and flowers were all laid out according to the manner of my beds