Bleak House, Charles Dickens [the beginning after the end novel read .txt] 📗

see the house, I looked back at it from

the window through my tears. My godmother had left Mrs. Rachael

all the little property she possessed; and there was to be a sale;

and an old hearth-rug with roses on it, which always seemed to me

the first thing in the world I had ever seen, was hanging outside

in the frost and snow. A day or two before, I had wrapped the dear

old doll in her own shawl and quietly laid her—I am half ashamed

to tell it—in the garden-earth under the tree that shaded my old

window. I had no companion left but my bird, and him I carried

with me in his cage.

 

When the house was out of sight, I sat, with my bird-cage in the

straw at my feet, forward on the low seat to look out of the high

window, watching the frosty trees, that were like beautiful pieces

of spar, and the fields all smooth and white with last night’s

snow, and the sun, so red but yielding so little heat, and the ice,

dark like metal where the skaters and sliders had brushed the snow

away. There was a gentleman in the coach who sat on the opposite

seat and looked very large in a quantity of wrappings, but he sat

gazing out of the other window and took no notice of me.

 

I thought of my dead godmother, of the night when I read to her, of

her frowning so fixedly and sternly in her bed, of the strange

place I was going to, of the people I should find there, and what

they would be like, and what they would say to me, when a voice in

the coach gave me a terrible start.

 

It said, “What the de-vil are you crying for?”

 

I was so frightened that I lost my voice and could only answer in a

whisper, “Me, sir?” For of course I knew it must have been the

gentleman in the quantity of wrappings, though he was still looking

out of his window.

 

“Yes, you,” he said, turning round.

 

“I didn’t know I was crying, sir,” I faltered.

 

“But you are!” said the gentleman. “Look here!” He came quite

opposite to me from the other corner of the coach, brushed one of

his large furry cuffs across my eyes (but without hurting me), and

showed me that it was wet.

 

“There! Now you know you are,” he said. “Don’t you?”

 

“Yes, sir,” I said.

 

“And what are you crying for?” said the gentleman, “Don’t you want

to go there?”

 

“Where, sir?”

 

“Where? Why, wherever you are going,” said the gentleman.

 

“I am very glad to go there, sir,” I answered.

 

“Well, then! Look glad!” said the gentleman.

 

I thought he was very strange, or at least that what I could see of

him was very strange, for he was wrapped up to the chin, and his

face was almost hidden in a fur cap with broad fur straps at the

side of his head fastened under his chin; but I was composed again,

and not afraid of him. So I told him that I thought I must have

been crying because of my godmother’s death and because of Mrs.

Rachael’s not being sorry to part with me.

 

“Confound Mrs. Rachael!” said the gentleman. “Let her fly away in

a high wind on a broomstick!”

 

I began to be really afraid of him now and looked at him with the

greatest astonishment. But I thought that he had pleasant eyes,

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