We came home from Mr. Boythorn's after six pleasant weeks. We wereoften in the park and in the woods and seldom passed the lodgewhere we had taken shelter without looking in to speak to thekeeper's wife; but we saw no more of Lady Dedlock, except at churchon Sundays. There was company at Chesney Wold; and althoughseveral beautiful faces surrounded her, her face retained the sameinfluence on me as at first. I do not quite know even now whetherit was painful or pleasurable, whether it drew me towards her ormade me shrink from her. I think I admired her with a kind offear, and I know that in her presence my thoughts always wanderedback, as they had done at first, to that old time of my life.
I had a fancy, on more than one of these Sundays, that what thislady so curiously was to me, I was to her--I mean that I disturbedher thoughts as she influenced mine, though in some different way.
But when I stole a glance at her and saw her so composed anddistant and unapproachable, I felt this to be a foolish weakness.
Indeed, I felt the whole state of my mind in reference to her to beweak and unreasonable, and I remonstrated with myself about it asmuch as I could.
One incident that occurred before we quitted Mr. Boythorn's house,I had better mention in this place.
I was walking in the garden with Ada and when I was told that someone wished to see me. Going into the breakfast-room where thisperson was waiting, I found it to be the French maid who had castoff her shoes and walked through the wet grass on the day when itthundered and lightened.
"Mademoiselle," she began, looking fixedly at me with her too-eagereyes, though otherwise presenting an agreeable appearance andspeaking neither with boldness nor servility, "I have taken a greatliberty in coming here, but you know how to excuse it, being soamiable, mademoiselle.""No excuse is necessary," I returned, "if you wish to speak to me.""That is my desire, mademoiselle. A thousand thanks for thepermission. I have your leave to speak. Is it not?" she said in aquick, natural way.
"Certainly," said I.
"Mademoiselle, you are so amiable! Listen then, if you please. Ihave left my Lady. We could not agree. My Lady is so high, sovery high. Pardon! Mademoiselle, you are right!" Her quicknessanticipated what I might have said presently but as yet had onlythought. "It is not for me to come here to complain of my Lady.
But I say she is so high, so very high. I will not say a wordmore. All the world knows that.""Go on, if you please," said I.
"Assuredly; mademoiselle, I am thankful for your politeness.
Mademoiselle, I have an inexpressible desire to find service with ayoung lady who is good, accomplished, beautiful. You are good,accomplished, and beautiful as an angel. Ah, could I have thehonour of being your domestic!""I am sorry--" I began.
"Do not dismiss me so soon, mademoiselle!" she said with aninvoluntary contraction of her fine black eyebrows. "Let me hope amoment! Mademoiselle, I know this service would be more retiredthan that which I have quitted. Well! I wish that. I know thisservice would be less distinguished than that which I have quitted.
Well! I wish that, I know that I should win less, as to wages here.
Good. I am content.""I assure you," said I, quite embarrassed by the mere idea ofhaving such an attendant, "that I keep no maid--""Ah, mademoiselle, but why not? Why not, when you can have one sodevoted to you! Who would be enchanted to serve you; who would beso true, so zealous, and so faithful every day! Mademoiselle, Iwish with all my heart to serve you. Do not speak of money atpresent. Take me as I am. For nothing!"She was so singularly earnest that I drew back, almost afraid ofher. Without appearing to notice it, in her ardour she stillpressed herself upon me, speaking in a rapid subdued voice, thoughalways with a certain grace and propriety.
"Mademoiselle, I come from the South country where we are quick andwhere we like and dislike very strong. My Lady was too high forme; I was too high for her. It is done--past--finlshed! Receiveme as your domestic, and I will serve you well. I will do more foryou than you figure to yourself now. Chut! Mademoiselle, I will--no matter, I will do my utmost possible in all things. If youaccept my service, you will not repent it. Mademoiselle, you willnot repent it, and I will serve you well. You don't know howwell!"There was a lowering energy in her face as she stood looking at mewhile I explained the impossibility of my engagmg her (withoutthinking it necessary to say how very little I desired to do so),which seemed to bring visibly before me some woman from the streetsof Paris in the reign of terror.
She heard me out without interruption and then said with her prettyaccent and in her mildest voice, "Hey, mademoiselle, I havereceived my answer! I am sorry of it. But I must go elsewhere andseek what I have not found here. Will you graciously let me kissyour hand?"She looked at me more intently as she took it, and seemed to takenote, with her momentary touch, of every vein in it. "I fear Isurprised you, mademoiselle, on the day of the storm?" she saidwith a parting curtsy.
I confessed that she had surprised us all.
"I took an oath, mademoiselle," she said, smiling, "and I wanted tostamp it on my mind so that I might keep it faithfully. And Iwill! Adieu, mademoiselle!"So ended our conference, which I was very glad to bring to a close.
I supposed she went away from the village, for I saw her no more;and nothing else occurred to disturb our tranquil summer pleasuresuntil six weeks were out and we returned home as I began just nowby saying.
At that time, and for a good many weeks after that time, Richardwas constant in his visits. Besides coming every Saturday orSunday and remaining with us until Monday morning, he sometimesrode out on horseback unexpectedly and passed the evening with usand rode back again early next day. He was as vivacious as everand told us he was very industrious, but I was not easy in my mindabout him. It appeared to me that his industry was allmisdirected. I could not find that it led to anything but theformation of delusive hopes in connexion with the suit already thepernicious cause of so much sorrow and ruin. He had got at thecore of that mystery now, he told us, and nothing could be plainerthan that the will under which he and Ada were to take I don't knowhow many thousands of pounds must be finally established if therewere any sense or justice in the Court of Chancery--but oh, what agreat IF that sounded in my ears--and that this happy conclusioncould not be much longer delayed. He proved this to himself by allthe weary arguments on that side he had read, and every one of themsunk him deeper in the infatuation. He had even begun to haunt thecourt. He told us how he saw Miss Flite there daily, how theytalked together, and how he did her little kindnesses, and how,while he laughed at her, he pitied her from his heart. But henever thought--never, my poor, dear, sanguine Richard, capable ofso much happiness then, and with such better things before him--what a fatal link was riveting between his fresh youth and herfaded age, between his free hopes and her caged birds, and herhungry garret, and her wandering mind.
Ada loved him too well to mistrust him much in anything he said ordid, and my guardian, though he frequently complained of the eastwind and read more than usual in the growlery, preserved a strictsilence on the subject. So I thought one day when I went to Londonto meet Caddy Jellyby, at her solicitation, I would ask Richard tobe in waiting for me at the coach-office, that we might have alittle talk together. I found him there when I arrived, and wewalked away arm in arm.
"Well, Richard," said I as soon as I could begin to be grave withhim, "are you beginning to feel more settled now?""Oh, yes, my dear!" returned Richard. "I'm all right enough.""But settled?" said I.
"How do you mean, settled?" returned Richard with his gay laugh.
"Settled in the law," said I.
"Oh, aye," replied Richard, "I'm all right enough.""You said that before, my dear Richard.""And you don't think it's an answer, eh? Well! Perhaps it's not.
Settled? You mean, do I feel as if I were settling down?""Yes.""Why, no, I can't say I am settling down," said Richard, stronglyemphasizing "down," as if that expressed the difficulty, "becauseone can't settle down while this business remains in such anunsettled state. When I say this business, of course I mean the--forbidden subject.""Do you think it will ever be in a settled state?" said I.
"Not the least doubt of it," answered Richard.
We walked a little way without speaking, and presently Richardaddressed me in his frankest and most feeling manner, thus: "Mydear Esther, I understand you, and I wish to heaven I were a moreconstant sort of fellow. I don't mean constant to Ada, for I loveher dearly--better and better every day--but constant to myself.
(Somehow, I mean something that I can't very well express, butyou'll make it out.) If I were a more constant sort of fellow, Ishould have held on either to Badger or to Kenge and Carboy likegrim death, and should have begun to be steady and systematic bythis time, and shouldn't be in debt, and--""ARE you in debt, Richard?""Yes," said Richard, "I am a little so, my dear. Also, I havetaken rather too much to billiards and that sort of thing. Now themurder's out; you despise me, Esther, don't you?""You know I don't," said I.
"You are kinder to me than I often am to myself," he returned. "Mydear Esther, I am a very unfortunate dog not to be more settled,but how CAN I be more settled? If you lived in an unfinishedhouse, you couldn't settle down in it; if you were condemned toleave everything you undertook unfinished, you would find it hardto apply yourself to anything; and yet that's my unhappy case. Iwas born into this unfinished contention with all its chances andchanges, and it began to unsettle me before I quite knew thedifference between a suit at law and a suit of clothes; and it hasgone on unsettling me ever since; and here I am now, conscioussometimes that I am but a worthless fellow to love my confidingcousin Ada."We were in a solitary place, and he put his hands before his eyesand sobbed as he said the words.
"Oh, Richard!" said I. "Do not be so moved. You have a noblenature, and Ada's love may make you worthier every day.""I know, my dear," he replied, pressing my arm, "I know all that.
You mustn't mind my being a little soft now, for I have had allthis upon my mind for a long time, and have often meant to speak toyou, and have sometimes wanted opportunity and sometimes courage.
I know what the thought of Ada ought to do for me, but it doesn'tdo it. I am too unsettled even for that. I love her mostdevotedly, and yet I do her wrong, in doing myself wrong, every dayand hour. But it can't last for ever. We shall come on for afinal hearing and get judgment in our favour, and then you and Adashall see what I can really be!"It had given me a pang to hear him sob and see the tears start outbetween his fingers, but that was infinitely less affecting to methan the hopeful animation with which he said these words.
"I have looked well into the papers, Esther. I have been deep inthem for months," he continued, recovering his cheerfulness in amoment, "and you may rely upon it that we shall come outtriumphant. As to years of delay, there has been no want of them,heaven knows! And there is the greater probability of our bringingthe matter to a speedy close; in fact, it's on the paper now. Itwill be all right at last, and then you shall see!"Recalling how he had just now placed Messrs. Kenge and Carboy inthe same category with Mr. Badger, I asked him when he intended tobe articled in Lincoln's Inn.
"There again! I think not at all, Esther," he returned with aneffort. "I fancy I have had enough of it. Having worked atJarndyce and Jarndyce like a galley slave, I have slaked my thirstfor the law and satisfied myself that I shouldn't like it.
Besides, I find it unsettles me more and more to be so constantlyupon the scene of action. So what," continued Richard, confidentagain by this time, "do I naturally turn my thoughts to?""I can't imagine," said I.
"Don't look so serious," returned Richard, "because it's the bestthing I can do, my dear Esther, I am certain. It's not as if Iwanted a profession for life. These proceedings will come to atermination, and then I am provided for. No. I look upon it as apursuit which is in its nature more or less unsettled, andtherefore suited to my temporary condition--I may say, preciselysuited. What is it that I naturally turn my thoughts to?"I looked at him and shook my head.
"What," said Richard, in a tone of perfect conviction, "but thearmy!""The army?" said I.
"The army, of course. What I have to do is to get a commission;and--there I am, you know!" said Richard.
And then he showed me, proved by elaborate calculations in hispocket-book, that supposing he had contracted, say, two hundredpounds of debt in six months out of the army; and that hecontracted no debt at all within a corresponding period in thearmy--as to which he had quite made up his mind; this step mustinvolve a saving of four hundred pounds in a year, or two thousandpounds in five years, which was a considerable sum. And then hespoke so ingenuously and sincerely of the sacrifice he made inwithdrawing himself for a time from Ada, and of the earnestnesswith which he aspired--as in thought he always did, I know fullwell--to repay her love, and to ensure her happiness, and toconquer what was amiss in himself, and to acquire the very soul ofdecision, that he made my heart ache keenly, sorely. For, Ithought, how would this end, how could this end, when so soon andso surely all his manly qualities were touched by the fatal blightthat ruined everything it rested on!
I spoke to Richard with all the earnestness I felt, and all thehope I could not quite feel then, and implored him for Ada's sakenot to put any trust in Chancery. To all I said, Richard readilyassented, riding over the court and everything else in his easy wayand drawing the brightest pictures of the character he was tosettle into--alas, when the grievous suit should loose its holdupon him! We had a long talk, but it always came back to that, insubstance.
At last we came to Soho Square, where Caddy Jellyby had appointedto wait for me, as a quiet place in the neighbourhood of NewmanStreet. Caddy was in the garden in the centre and hurried out assoon as I appeared. After a few cheerful words, Richard left ustogether.
"Prince has a pupil over the way, Esther," said Caddy, "and got thekey for us. So if you will walk round and round here with me, wecan lock ourselves in and I can tell you comfortably what I wantedto see your dear good face about.""Very well, my dear," said I. "Nothing could be better." SoCaddy, after affectionately squeezing the dear good face as shecalled it, locked the gate, and took my arm, and we began to walkround the garden very cosily.
"You see, Esther," said Caddy, who thoroughly enjoyed a littleconfidence, "after you spoke to me about its being wrong to marrywithout Ma's knowledge, or even to keep Ma long in the darkrespecting our engagement--though I don't believe Ma cares much forme, I must say--I thought it right to mention your opinions toPrince. In the first place because I want to profit by everythingyou tell me, and in the second place because I have no secrets fromPrince.""I hope he approved, Caddy?""Oh, my dear! I assure you he would approve of anything you couldsay. You have no idea what an opimon he has of you!""Indeed!""Esther, it's enough to make anybody but me jealous," said Caddy,laughing and shaking her head; "but it only makes me joyful, foryou are the first friend I ever had, and the best friend I ever canhave, and nobody can respect and love you too much to please me.""Upon my word, Caddy," said I, "you are in the general conspiracyto keep me in a good humour. Well, my dear?""Well! I am going to tell you," replied Caddy, crossing her handsconfidentially upon my arm. "So we talked a good deal about it,and so I said to Prince, 'Prince, as Miss Summerson--""I hope you didn't say 'Miss Summerson'?""No. I didn't!" cried Caddy, greatly pleased and with thebrightest of faces. "I said, 'Esther.' I said to Prince, 'AsEsther is decidedly of that opinion, Prince, and has expressed itto me, and always hints it when she writes those kind notes, whichyou are so fond of hearing me read to you, I am prepared todisclose the truth to Ma whenever you think proper. And I think,Prince,' said I, 'that Esther thinks that I should be in a better,and truer, and more honourable position altogether if you did thesame to your papa.'""Yes, my dear," said I. "Esther certainly does think so.""So I was right, you see!" exclaimed Caddy. "Well! This troubledPrince a good deal, not because he had the least doubt about it,but because he is so considerate of the feelings of old Mr.
Turveydrop; and he had his apprehensions that old Mr. Turveydropmight break his heart, or faint away, or be very much overcome insome affecting manner or other if he made such an announcement. Hefeared old Mr. Turveydrop might consider it undutiful and mightreceive too great a shock. For old Mr. Turveydrop's deportment isvery beautiful, you know, Esther," said Caddy, "and his feelingsare extremely sensitive.""Are they, my dear?""Oh, extremely sensitive. Prince says so. Now, this has caused mydarling child--I didn't mean to use the expression to you, Esther,"Caddy apologized, her face suffused with blushes, "but I generallycall Prince my darling child."I laughed; and Caddy laughed and blushed, and went on'
"This has caused him, Esther--""Caused whom, my dear?""Oh, you tiresome thing!" said Caddy, laughing, with her prettyface on fire. "My darling child, if you insist upon it! This hascaused him weeks of uneasiness and has made him delay, from day today, in a very anxious manner. At last he said to me, 'Caddy, ifMiss Summerson, who is a great favourite with my father, could beprevailed upon to be present when I broke the subject, I think Icould do it.' So I promised I would ask you. And I made up mymind, besides," said Caddy, looking at me hopefully but timidly,"that if you consented, I would ask you afterwards to come with meto Ma. This is what I meant when I said in my note that I had agreat favour and a great assistance to beg of you. And if youthought you could grant it, Esther, we should both be verygrateful.""Let me see, Caddy," said I, pretending to consider. "Really, Ithink I could do a greater thing than that if the need werepressing. I am at your service and the darling child's, my dear,whenever you like."Caddy was quite transported by this reply of mine, being, Ibelieve, as susceptible to the least kindness or encouragement asany tender heart that ever beat in this world; and after anotherturn or two round the garden, during which she put on an entirelynew pair of gloves and made herself as resplendent as possible thatshe might do no avoidable discredit to the Master of Deportment, wewent to Newman Street direct.
Prince was teaching, of course. We found him engaged with a notvery hopeful pupil--a stubborn little girl with a sulky forehead, adeep voice, and an inanimate, dissatisfied mama--whose case wascertainly not rendered more hopeful by the confusion into which wethrew her preceptor. The lesson at last came to an end, afterproceeding as discordantly as possible; and when the little girlhad changed her shoes and had had her white muslin extinguished inshawls, she wa............