It happened that when I came home from Deal I found a note fromCaddy Jellyby (as we always continued to call her), informing methat her health, which had been for some time very delicate, wasworse and that she would be more glad than she could tell me if Iwould go to see her. It was a note of a few lines, written fromthe couch on which she lay and enclosed to me in another from herhusband, in which he seconded her entreaty with much solicitude.
Caddy was now the mother, and I the godmother, of such a poorlittle baby--such a tiny old-faced mite, with a countenance thatseemed to be scarcely anything but cap-border, and a little lean,long-fingered hand, always clenched under its chin. It would liein this attitude all day, with its bright specks of eyes open,wondering (as I used to imagine) how it came to be so small andweak. Whenever it was moved it cried, but at all other times itwas so patient that the sole desire of its life appeared to be tolie quiet and think. It had curious little dark veins in its faceand curious little dark marks under its eyes like faintremembrances of poor Caddy's inky days, and altogether, to thosewho were not used to it, it was quite a piteous little sight.
But it was enough for Caddy that SHE was used to it. The projectswith which she beguiled her illness, for little Esther's education,and little Esther's marriage, and even for her own old age as thegrandmother of little Esther's little Esthers, was so prettilyexpressive of devotion to this pride of her life that I should betempted to recall some of them but for the timely remembrance thatI am getting on irregularly as it is.
To return to the letter. Caddy had a superstition about me whichhad been strengthening in her mind ever since that night long agowhen she had lain asleep with her head in my lap. She almost--Ithink I must say quite--believed that I did her good whenever I wasnear her. Now although this was such a fancy of the affectionategirl's that I am almost ashamed to mention it, still it might haveall the force of a fact when she was really ill. Therefore I setoff to Caddy, with my guardian's consent, post-haste; and she andPrince made so much of me that there never was anything like it.
Next day I went again to sit with her, and next day I went again.
It was a very easy journey, for I had only to rise a little earlierin the morning, and keep my accounts, and attend to housekeepingmatters before leaving home.
But when I had made these three visits, my guardian said to me, onmy return at night, "Now, little woman, little woman, this willnever do. Constant dropping will wear away a stone, and constantcoaching will wear out a Dame Durden. We will go to London for awhile and take possession of our old lodgings.""Not for me, dear guardian," said I, "for I never feel tired,"which was strictly true. I was only too happy to be in suchrequest.
"For me then," returned my guardian, "or for Ada, or for both ofus. It is somebody's birthday to-morrow, I think.""Truly I think it is," said I, kissing my darling, who would betwenty-one to-morrow.
"Well," observed my guardian, half pleasantly, half seriously,"that's a great occasion and will give my fair cousin somenecessary business to transact in assertion of her independence,and will make London a more convenient place for all of us. So toLondon we will go. That being settled, there is another thing--howhave you left Caddy?""Very unwell, guardian. I fear it will be some time before sheregains her health and strength.""What do you call some time, now?" asked my guardian thoughtfully.
"Some weeks, I am afraid.""Ah!" He began to walk about the room with his hands in hispockets, showing that he had been thinking as much. "Now, what doyou say about her doctor? Is he a good doctor, my love?"I felt obliged to confess that I knew nothing to the contrary butthat Prince and I had agreed only that evening that we would likehis opinion to be confirmed by some one.
"Well, you know," returned my guardian quickly, "there'sWoodcourt."I had not meant that, and was rather taken by surprise. For amoment all that I had had in my mind in connexion with Mr.
Woodcourt seemed to come back and confuse me.
"You don't object to him, little woman?""Object to him, guardian? Oh no!""And you don't think the patient would object to him?"So far from that, I had no doubt of her being prepared to have agreat reliance on him and to like him very much. I said that hewas no stranger to her personally, for she had seen him often inhis kind attendance on Miss Flite.
"Very good," said my guardian. "He has been here to-day, my dear,and I will see him about it to-morrow."I felt in this short conversation--though I did not know how, forshe was quiet, and we interchanged no look--that my dear girl wellremembered how merrily she had clasped me round the waist when noother hands than Caddy's had brought me the little parting token.
This caused me to feel that I ought to tell her, and Caddy too,that I was going to be the mistress of Bleak House and that if Iavoided that disclosure any longer I might become less worthy in myown eyes of its master's love. Therefore, when we went upstairsand had waited listening until the clock struck twelve in orderthat only I might be the first to wish my darling all good wisheson her birthday and to take her to my heart, I set before her, justas I had set before myself, the goodness and honour of her cousinJohn and the happy life that was in store for for me. If ever mydarling were fonder of me at one time than another in all ourintercourse, she was surely fondest of me that night. And I was sorejoiced to know it and so comforted by the sense of having doneright in casting this last idle reservation away that I was tentimes happier than I had been before. I had scarcely thought it areservation a few hours ago, but now that it was gone I felt as ifI understood its nature better.
Next day we went to London. We found our old lodging vacant, andin half an hour were quietly established there, as if we had nevergone away. Mr. Woodcourt dined with us to celebrate my darling'sbirthday, and we were as pleasant as we could be with the greatblank among us that Richard's absence naturally made on such anoccasion. After that day I was for some weeks--eight or nine as Iremember--very much with Caddy, and thus it fell out that I sawless of Ada at this time than any other since we had first cometogether, except the time of my own illness. She often came toCaddy's, but our function there was to amuse and cheer her, and wedid not talk in our usual confidential manner. Whenever I wenthome at night we were together, but Caddy's rest was broken bypain, and I often remained to nurse her.
With her husband and her poor little mite of a baby to love andtheir home to strive for, what a good creature Caddy was! So self-denying, so uncomplaining, so anxious to get well on their account,so afraid of giving trouble, and so thoughtful of the unassistedlabours of her husband and the comforts of old Mr. Turveydrop; Ihad never known the best of her until now. And it seemed socurious that her pale face and helpless figure should be lyingthere day after day where dancing was the business of life, wherethe kit and the apprentices began early every morning in the ball-room, and where the untidy little boy waltzed by himself in thekitchen all the afternoon.
At Caddy's request I took the supreme direction of her apartment,trimmed it up, and pushed her, couch and all, into a lighter andmore airy and more cheerful corner than she had yet occupied; then,every day, when we were in our neatest array, I used to lay mysmall small namesake in her arms and sit down to chat or work orread to her. It was at one of the first of these quiet times thatI told Caddy about Bleak House.
We had other visitors besides Ada. First of all we had Prince, whoin his hurried intervals of teaching used to come softly in and sitsoftly down, with a face of loving anxiety for Caddy and the verylittle child. Whatever Caddy's condition really was, she neverfailed to declare to Prince that she was all but well--which I,heaven forgive me, never failed to confirm. This would put Princein such good spirits that he would sometimes take the kit from hispocket and play a chord or two to astonish the baby, which I neverknew it to do in the least degree, for my tiny namesake nevernoticed it at all.
Then there was Mrs. Jellyby. She would come occasionally, with herusual distraught manner, and sit calmly looking miles beyond hergrandchild as if her attention were absorbed by a youngBorrioboolan on its native shores. As bright-eyed as ever, asserene, and as untidy, she would say, "Well, Caddy, child, and howdo you do to-day?" And then would sit amiably smiling and takingno notice of the reply or would sweetly glide off into acalculation of the number of letters she had lately received andanswered or of the coffee-bearing power of Borrioboola-Gha. Thisshe would always do with a serene contempt for our limited sphereof action, not to be disguised.
Then there was old Mr. Turveydrop, who was from morning to nightand from night to morning the subject of innumerable precautions.
If the baby cried, it was nearly stifled lest the noise should makehim uncomfortable. If the fire wanted stirring in the night, itwas surreptitiously done lest his rest should be broken. If Caddyrequired any little comfort that the house contained, she firstcarefully discussed whether he was likely to require it too. Inreturn for this consideration he would come into the room once aday, all but blessing it--showing a condescension, and a patronage,and a grace of manner in dispensing the light of his high-shouldered presence from which I might have supposed him (if I hadnot known better) to have been the benefactor of Caddy's life.
"My Caroline," he would say, making the nearest approach that hecould to bending over her. "Tell me that you are better to-day.""Oh, much better, thank you, Mr. Turveydrop," Caddy would reply.
"Delighted! Enchanted! And our dear Miss Summerson. She is notqulte prostrated by fatigue?" Here he would crease up his eyelidsand kiss his fingers to me, though I am happy to say he had ceasedto be particular in his attentions since I had been so altered.
"Not at all," I would assure him.
"Charming! We must take care of our dear Caroline, Miss Summerson.
We must spare nothing that will restore her. We must nourish her.
My dear Caroline"--he would turn to his daughter-in-law withinfinite generosity and protection--"want for nothing, my love.
Frame a wish and gratify it, my daughter. Everything this housecontains, everything my room contains, is at your service, my dear.
