Bleak House
“I would beg Miss Clare’s pardon and Mr. Carstone’s pardon,” resumed
our visitor, “if I were not reassured by seeing in the fair face of
the lady and the smile of the gentleman that it is quite unnecessary
and that they keep their distant relation at a comfortable distance.”
“Or he keeps us,” suggested Richard.
“By my soul,” exclaimed Mr. Boythorn, suddenly firing another volley,
“that fellow is, and his father was, and his grandfather was, the
most stiff-necked, arrogant imbecile, pig-headed numskull, ever, by
some inexplicable mistake of Nature, born in any station of life but
a walking-stick’s! The whole of that family are the most solemnly
conceited and consummate blockheads! But it’s no matter; he should
not shut up my path if he were fifty baronets melted into one and
living in a hundred Chesney Wolds, one within another, like the ivory
balls in a Chinese carving. The fellow, by his agent, or secretary,
or somebody, writes to me ‘Sir Leicester Dedlock, Baronet, presents
his compliments to Mr. Lawrence Boythorn, and has to call his
attention to the fact that the green pathway by the old
parsonage-house, now the property of Mr. Lawrence Boythorn, is Sir
Leicester’s right of way, being in fact a portion of the park of
Chesney Wold, and that Sir Leicester finds it convenient to close up
the same.’ I write to the fellow, ‘Mr. Lawrence Boythorn presents his
compliments to Sir Leicester Dedlock, Baronet, and has to call HIS
attention to the fact that he totally denies the whole of Sir
Leicester Dedlock’s positions on every possible subject and has to
add, in reference to closing up the pathway, that he will be glad to
see the man who may undertake to do it.’ The fellow sends a most
abandoned villain with one eye to construct a gateway. I play upon
that execrable scoundrel with a fire-engine until the breath is
nearly driven out of his body. The fellow erects a gate in the night.
I chop it down and burn it in the morning. He sends his myrmidons to
come over the fence and pass and repass. I catch them in humane man
traps, fire split peas at their legs, play upon them with the
engine—resolve to free mankind from the insupportable burden of the
existence of those lurking ruffians. He brings actions for trespass;
I bring actions for trespass. He brings actions for assault and
battery; I defend them and continue to assault and batter. Ha, ha,
ha!”
To hear him say all this with unimaginable energy, one might have
thought him the angriest of mankind. To see him at the very same
time, looking at the bird now perched upon his thumb and softly
smoothing its feathers with his forefinger, one might have thought
him the gentlest. To hear him laugh and see the broad good nature of
his face then, one might have supposed that he had not a care in the
world, or a dispute, or a dislike, but that his whole existence was a
summer joke.
“No, no,” he said, “no closing up of my paths by any Dedlock! Though
I willingly confess,” here he softened in a moment, “that Lady
Dedlock is the most accomplished lady in the world, to whom I would
do any homage that a plain gentleman, and no baronet with a head
seven hundred years thick, may. A man who joined his regiment at
twenty and within a week challenged the most imperious and
presumptuous coxcomb of a commanding officer that ever drew the
breath of life through a tight waist—and got broke for it—is not
the man to be walked over by all the Sir Lucifers, dead or alive,
locked or unlocked. Ha, ha, ha!”
“Nor the man to allow his junior to be walked over either?” said my
guardian.
“Most assuredly not!” said Mr. Boythorn, clapping him on the shoulder
with an air of protection that had something serious in it, though he
laughed. “He will stand by the low boy, always. Jarndyce, you may
rely upon him! But speaking of this trespass—with apologies to Miss
Clare and Miss Summerson for the length at which I have pursued so
dry a subject—is there nothing for me from your men Kenge and
Carboy?”
“I think not, Esther?” said Mr. Jarndyce.
“Nothing, guardian.”
“Much obliged!” said Mr. Boythorn. “Had no need to ask, after even my
slight experience of Miss Summerson’s forethought for every one about
her.” (They all encouraged me; they were determined to do it.) “I
inquired because, coming from Lincolnshire, I of course have not yet
been in town, and I thought some letters might have been sent down
here. I dare say they will report progress to-morrow morning.”
I saw him so often in the course of the evening, which passed very
pleasantly, contemplate Richard and Ada with an interest and a
satisfaction that made his fine face remarkably agreeable as he sat
at a little distance from the piano listening to the music—and he
had small occasion to tell us that he was passionately fond of music,
for his face showed it—that I asked my guardian as we sat at the
backgammon board whether Mr. Boythorn had ever been married.
“No,” said he. “No.”
“But he meant to be!” said I.
“How did you find out that?” he returned with a smile. “Why,
guardian,” I explained, not without reddening a little at hazarding
what was in my thoughts, “there is something so tender in his manner,
after all, and he is so very courtly and gentle to us, and—”
Mr. Jarndyce directed his eyes to where he was sitting as I have just
described him.
I said no more.
“You are right, little woman,” he answered. “He was all but married
once. Long ago. And once.”
“Did the lady die?”
“No—but she died to him. That time has had its influence on all his
later life. Would you suppose him to have a head and a heart full of
romance yet?”
“I think, guardian, I might have supposed so. But it is easy to say
that when you have told me so.”
“He has never since been what he might have been,” said Mr. Jarndyce,
“and now you see him in his age with no one near him but his servant
and his little yellow friend. It’s your throw, my dear!”
I felt, from my guardian’s manner, that beyond this point I could not
pursue the subject without changing the wind. I therefore forbore to
ask any further questions. I was interested, but not curious. I
thought a little while about this old love story in the night, when I
was awakened by Mr. Boythorn’s lusty snoring; and I tried to do that
very difficult thing, imagine old people young again and invested
with the graces of youth. But I fell asleep before I had succeeded,
and dreamed of the days when I lived in my godmother’s house. I am
not sufficiently acquainted with such subjects to know whether it is
at all remarkable that I almost always dreamed of that period of my
life.
With the morning there came a letter from Messrs. Kenge and Carboy to
Mr. Boythorn informing him that one of their clerks would wait upon
him at noon. As it was the day of the week on which I paid the bills,
and added up my books, and made all the household affairs as compact
as possible, I remained at home while Mr. Jarndyce, Ada, and Richard
took advantage of a very fine day to make a little excursion, Mr.
Boythorn was to wait for Kenge and Carboy’s clerk and then was to go
on foot to meet them on their return.
Well! I was full of business, examining tradesmen’s books, adding up
columns, paying money, filing receipts, and I dare say making a great
bustle about it when Mr. Guppy was announced and shown in. I had had
some idea that the clerk who was to be sent down might be the young
gentleman who had met me at the coach-office, and I was glad to see
him, because he was associated with my present happiness.
I scarcely knew him again, he was so uncommonly smart. He had an
entirely new suit of glossy clothes on, a shining hat, lilac-kid
gloves, a neckerchief of a variety of colours, a large hot-house
flower in his button-hole, and a thick gold ring on his little
finger. Besides which, he quite scented the dining-room with
bear’s-grease and other perfumery. He looked at me with an attention
that quite confused me when I begged him to take a seat until the
servant should return; and as he sat there crossing and uncrossing
his legs in a corner, and I asked him if he had had a pleasant ride,
and hoped that Mr. Kenge was well, I never looked at him, but I found
him looking at me in the same scrutinizing and curious way.
When the request was brought to him that he would go upstairs to Mr.
Boythorn’s room, I mentioned that he would find lunch prepared for
him when he came down, of which Mr. Jarndyce hoped he would partake.
He said with some embarrassment, holding the handle of the door,
“Shall I have the honour of finding you here, miss?” I replied yes, I
should be there; and he went out with a bow and another look.
I thought him only awkward and shy, for he was evidently much
embarrassed; and I fancied that the best thing I could do would be to
wait until I saw that he had everything he wanted and then to leave
him to himself. The lunch was soon brought, but it remained for some
time on the table. The interview with Mr. Boythorn was a long one,
and a stormy one too, I should think, for although his room was at
some distance I heard his loud voice rising every now and then like a
high wind, and evidently blowing perfect broadsides of denunciation.
At last Mr. Guppy came back, looking something the worse for the
conference. “My eye, miss,” he said in a low voice, “he’s a Tartar!”
“Pray take some refreshment, sir,” said I.
Mr. Guppy sat down at the table and began nervously sharpening the
carving-knife on the carving-fork, still looking at me (as I felt
quite sure without looking at him) in the same unusual manner. The
sharpening lasted so long that at last I felt a kind of obligation on
me to raise my eyes in order that I might break the spell under which
he seemed to labour, of not being able to leave off.
He immediately looked at the dish and began to carve.
“What will you take yourself, miss? You’ll take a morsel of
something?”
“No, thank you,” said I.
“Shan’t I give you a piece of anything at all, miss?” said Mr. Guppy,
hurriedly drinking off a glass of wine.
“Nothing, thank you,” said I. “I have only waited to see that you
have everything you want. Is there anything I can order for you?”
“No, I am much obliged to you, miss, I’m sure. I’ve everything that I
can require to make me comfortable—at least I—not comfortable—I’m
never that.” He drank off two more glasses of wine, one after
another.
I thought I had better go.
“I beg your pardon, miss!” said Mr. Guppy, rising when he saw me
rise. “But would you allow me the favour of a minute’s private
conversation?”
Not knowing what to say, I sat down again.
“What follows is without prejudice, miss?” said Mr. Guppy, anxiously
bringing a chair towards my table.
“I don’t understand what you mean,” said I, wondering.
“It’s one of our law terms, miss. You won’t make any use of it to my
detriment at Kenge and Carboy’s or elsewhere. If our conversation
shouldn’t lead to anything, I am to be as I was and am not to be
prejudiced in my situation or worldly prospects. In short, it’s in
total confidence.”
“I am at a loss, sir,” said I, “to imagine what you can have to
communicate in total confidence to me, whom you have never seen but
once; but I should be very sorry to do you any injury.”
“Thank you, miss. I’m sure of it—that’s quite sufficient.” All this
time Mr. Guppy was either planing his forehead with his handkerchief
or tightly rubbing the palm of his left hand with the palm of his
right. “If you would excuse my taking another glass of wine, miss, I
think it might assist me in getting on without a continual choke that
cannot fail to be mutually unpleasant.”
He did so, and came back again. I took the opportunity of moving well
behind my table.
“You wouldn’t allow me to offer you one, would you miss?” said Mr.