Bleak House
although he kept on muttering to himself in an angry manner and
calling Mrs. Rachael names.
After a little while he opened his outer wrapper, which appeared to
me large enough to wrap up the whole coach, and put his arm down into
a deep pocket in the side.
“Now, look here!” he said. “In this paper,” which was nicely folded,
“is a piece of the best plum-cake that can be got for money—sugar on
the outside an inch thick, like fat on mutton chops. Here’s a little
pie (a gem this is, both for size and quality), made in France. And
what do you suppose it’s made of? Livers of fat geese. There’s a pie!
Now let’s see you eat ’em.”
“Thank you, sir,” I replied; “thank you very much indeed, but I hope
you won’t be offended—they are too rich for me.”
“Floored again!” said the gentleman, which I didn’t at all
understand, and threw them both out of window.
He did not speak to me any more until he got out of the coach a
little way short of Reading, when he advised me to be a good girl and
to be studious, and shook hands with me. I must say I was relieved by
his departure. We left him at a milestone. I often walked past it
afterwards, and never for a long time without thinking of him and
half expecting to meet him. But I never did; and so, as time went on,
he passed out of my mind.
When the coach stopped, a very neat lady looked up at the window and
said, “Miss Donny.”
“No, ma’am, Esther Summerson.”
“That is quite right,” said the lady, “Miss Donny.”
I now understood that she introduced herself by that name, and begged
Miss Donny’s pardon for my mistake, and pointed out my boxes at her
request. Under the direction of a very neat maid, they were put
outside a very small green carriage; and then Miss Donny, the maid,
and I got inside and were driven away.
“Everything is ready for you, Esther,” said Miss Donny, “and the
scheme of your pursuits has been arranged in exact accordance with
the wishes of your guardian, Mr. Jarndyce.”
“Of—did you say, ma’am?”
“Of your guardian, Mr. Jarndyce,” said Miss Donny.
I was so bewildered that Miss Donny thought the cold had been too
severe for me and lent me her smelling-bottle.
“Do you know my—guardian, Mr. Jarndyce, ma’am?” I asked after a good
deal of hesitation.
“Not personally, Esther,” said Miss Donny; “merely through his
solicitors, Messrs. Kenge and Carboy, of London. A very superior
gentleman, Mr. Kenge. Truly eloquent indeed. Some of his periods
quite majestic!”
I felt this to be very true but was too confused to attend to it. Our
speedy arrival at our destination, before I had time to recover
myself, increased my confusion, and I never shall forget the
uncertain and the unreal air of everything at Greenleaf (Miss Donny’s
house) that afternoon!
But I soon became used to it. I was so adapted to the routine of
Greenleaf before long that I seemed to have been there a great while
and almost to have dreamed rather than really lived my old life at my
godmother’s. Nothing could be more precise, exact, and orderly than
Greenleaf. There was a time for everything all round the dial of the
clock, and everything was done at its appointed moment.
We were twelve boarders, and there were two Miss Donnys, twins. It
was understood that I would have to depend, by and by, on my
qualifications as a governess, and I was not only instructed in
everything that was taught at Greenleaf, but was very soon engaged in
helping to instruct others. Although I was treated in every other
respect like the rest of the school, this single difference was made
in my case from the first. As I began to know more, I taught more,
and so in course of time I had plenty to do, which I was very fond of
doing because it made the dear girls fond of me. At last, whenever a
new pupil came who was a little downcast and unhappy, she was so
sure—indeed I don’t know why—to make a friend of me that all
new-comers were confided to my care. They said I was so gentle, but I
am sure THEY were! I often thought of the resolution I had made on my
birthday to try to be industrious, contented, and true-hearted and to
do some good to some one and win some love if I could; and indeed,
indeed, I felt almost ashamed to have done so little and have won so
much.
I passed at Greenleaf six happy, quiet years. I never saw in any face
there, thank heaven, on my birthday, that it would have been better
if I had never been born. When the day came round, it brought me so
many tokens of affectionate remembrance that my room was beautiful
with them from New Year’s Day to Christmas.
In those six years I had never been away except on visits at holiday
time in the neighbourhood. After the first six months or so I had
taken Miss Donny’s advice in reference to the propriety of writing to
Mr. Kenge to say that I was happy and grateful, and with her approval
I had written such a letter. I had received a formal answer
acknowledging its receipt and saying, “We note the contents thereof,
which shall be duly communicated to our client.” After that I
sometimes heard Miss Donny and her sister mention how regular my
accounts were paid, and about twice a year I ventured to write a
similar letter. I always received by return of post exactly the same
answer in the same round hand, with the signature of Kenge and Carboy
in another writing, which I supposed to be Mr. Kenge’s.
It seems so curious to me to be obliged to write all this about
myself! As if this narrative were the narrative of MY life! But my
little body will soon fall into the background now.
Six quiet years (I find I am saying it for the second time) I had
passed at Greenleaf, seeing in those around me, as it might be in a
looking-glass, every stage of my own growth and change there, when,
one November morning, I received this letter. I omit the date.
Old Square, Lincoln’s Inn
Madam,
Jarndyce and Jarndyce
Our clt Mr. Jarndyce being abt to rece into his house,
under an Order of the Ct of Chy, a Ward of the Ct in this
cause, for whom he wishes to secure an elgble compn,
directs us to inform you that he will be glad of your
serces in the afsd capacity.
We have arrngd for your being forded, carriage free, pr
eight o’clock coach from Reading, on Monday morning next,
to White Horse Cellar, Piccadilly, London, where one of
our clks will be in waiting to convey you to our offe as
above.
We are, Madam, Your obedt Servts,
Kenge and Carboy
Miss Esther Summerson
Oh, never, never, never shall I forget the emotion this letter caused
in the house! It was so tender in them to care so much for me, it was
so gracious in that father who had not forgotten me to have made my
orphan way so smooth and easy and to have inclined so many youthful
natures towards me, that I could hardly bear it. Not that I would
have had them less sorry—I am afraid not; but the pleasure of it,
and the pain of it, and the pride and joy of it, and the humble
regret of it were so blended that my heart seemed almost breaking
while it was full of rapture.
The letter gave me only five days’ notice of my removal. When every
minute added to the proofs of love and kindness that were given me in
those five days, and when at last the morning came and when they took
me through all the rooms that I might see them for the last time, and
when some cried, “Esther, dear, say good-bye to me here at my
bedside, where you first spoke so kindly to me!” and when others
asked me only to write their names, “With Esther’s love,” and when
they all surrounded me with their parting presents and clung to me
weeping and cried, “What shall we do when dear, dear Esther’s gone!”
and when I tried to tell them how forbearing and how good they had
all been to me and how I blessed and thanked them every one, what a
heart I had!
And when the two Miss Donnys grieved as much to part with me as the
least among them, and when the maids said, “Bless you, miss, wherever
you go!” and when the ugly lame old gardener, who I thought had
hardly noticed me in all those years, came panting after the coach to
give me a little nosegay of geraniums and told me I had been the
light of his eyes—indeed the old man said so!—what a heart I had
then!
And could I help it if with all this, and the coming to the little
school, and the unexpected sight of the poor children outside waving
their hats and bonnets to me, and of a grey-haired gentleman and lady
whose daughter I had helped to teach and at whose house I had visited
(who were said to be the proudest people in all that country), caring
for nothing but calling out, “Good-bye, Esther. May you be very
happy!”—could I help it if I was quite bowed down in the coach by
myself and said “Oh, I am so thankful, I am so thankful!” many times
over!
But of course I soon considered that I must not take tears where I
was going after all that had been done for me. Therefore, of course,
I made myself sob less and persuaded myself to be quiet by saying
very often, “Esther, now you really must! This WILL NOT do!” I
cheered myself up pretty well at last, though I am afraid I was
longer about it than I ought to have been; and when I had cooled my
eyes with lavender water, it was time to watch for London.
I was quite persuaded that we were there when we were ten miles off,
and when we really were there, that we should never get there.
However, when we began to jolt upon a stone pavement, and
particularly when every other conveyance seemed to be running into
us, and we seemed to be running into every other conveyance, I began
to believe that we really were approaching the end of our journey.
Very soon afterwards we stopped.
A young gentleman who had inked himself by accident addressed me from
the pavement and said, “I am from Kenge and Carboy’s, miss, of
Lincoln’s Inn.”
“If you please, sir,” said I.
He was very obliging, and as he handed me into a fly after
superintending the removal of my boxes, I asked him whether there was
a great fire anywhere? For the streets were so full of dense brown
smoke that scarcely anything was to be seen.
“Oh, dear no, miss,” he said. “This is a London particular.”
I had never heard of such a thing.
“A fog, miss,” said the young gentleman.
“Oh, indeed!” said I.
We drove slowly through the dirtiest and darkest streets that ever
were seen in the world (I thought) and in such a distracting state of
confusion that I wondered how the people kept their senses, until we
passed into sudden quietude under an old gateway and drove on through
a silent square until we came to an odd nook in a corner, where there
was an entrance up a steep, broad flight of stairs, like an entrance
to a church. And there really was a churchyard outside under some
cloisters, for I saw the gravestones from the staircase window.
This was Kenge and Carboy’s. The young gentleman showed me through an
outer office into Mr. Kenge’s room—there was no one in it—and
politely put an arm-chair for me by the fire. He then called my
attention to a little looking-glass hanging from a nail on one side
of the chimney-piece.
“In case you should wish to look at yourself, miss, after the
journey, as you’re going before the Chancellor. Not that it’s
requisite, I am sure,” said the young gentleman civilly.
“Going before the Chancellor?” I said, startled for a moment.
“Only a matter of form, miss,” returned the young gentleman. “Mr.
Kenge is in court now. He left his compliments, and would you partake
of some refreshment”—there were biscuits and a decanter of wine on a
small table—“and look over the paper,” which the young gentleman
gave me as he spoke. He then stirred the fire and left me.
Everything was so strange—the stranger from its being night in the
day-time, the candles burning with a white flame, and looking raw and