Chapter 30

Esther's Narrative

Richard had been gone away some time, when a visitor

came to pass a few days with us. It was an elderly lady. It

was Mrs Woodcourt, who, having come from Wales to stay

with Mrs Bayham Badger, and having written to my Guardian,

"by her son Allan's desire," to report that she had heard from him

and that he was well, "and sent his kind remembrances to all of

us," had been invited by my Guardian to make a visit to Bleak

House. She stayed with us nearly three weeks She took very

kindly to me, and was extremely confidential" title="a.极受信任的；心腹的">confidential; so much so that

sometimes she almost made me uncomfortable. I had no right, I

knew very well, to be uncomfortable because she confided in me,

and I felt it was unreasonable; still, with all I could do, I could not

quite help it.

She was such a sharp little lady, and used to sit with her hands

folded in each other, looking so very watchful while she talked to

me, that perhaps I found that rather irksome. Or perhaps it was

her being so upright and trim; though I don't think it was that,

because I though that quaintly pleasant. Nor can it have been the

general expression of her face, which was very sparkling and

pretty for an old lady. I don't know what it was. Or at least if I do,

now, I thought I did not then. Or at least-but it don't matter.

Of a night when I was going upstairs to bed, she would invite

me into her room, where she sat before the fire in a great chair;

and, dear me, she would tell me about Morgan ap Kerrig until I

was quite low-spirited! Sometimes she recited a few verses from

Crumlinwallinwer and the Mewlinwillinwodd (if those are the

right names, which I dare say they are not), and would become

quite fiery with the sentiments they expressed. Though I never

knew what they were (being in Welsh), further than that they were

highly eulogistic of the lineage of Morgan ap Kerrig.

"So, Miss Summerson," she would say to me with stately

triumph, "this you see, is the fortune inherited by my son.

Wherever my son goes, he can claim kindred with Ap Kerrig. He

may not have money, but he always has what is much better-

family, my dear."

I had my doubts of their caring so very much for Morgan ap

Kerrig, in India and China; but of course I never expressed them. I

used to say it was a great thing to be so highly connected.

"It is my dear, a great thing," Mrs Woodcourt would reply. "It

has its disadvantages; my son's choice of a wife, for instance, is

limited by it; but the matrimonial choice of the Royal family

limited in much the same manner."

Then she would pat me on the arm and smooth my dress, as

much as to assure me that she had a good opinion of me, the

distance between us notwithstanding.

"Poor Mr Woodcourt, my dear," she would say, and always with

some emotion, for with her lofty pedigree she had a very

affectionate heart, "was descended from a great Highland family,

the Mac Coorts of Mac Coort. He served his king and country as an

officer in the Royal Highlanders, and he died on the field. My son

is one of the last representatives of two old families. With the

blessing of Heaven he will set them up again, and unite them with

another old family."It was in vain for me to try to change the subject, as I used to

try-only for the sake of novelty-or perhaps because-but I need

not be so particular. Mrs Woodcourt never would let me change it.

"My dear," she said one night, "you have so much sense, and

you look at the world in a quiet manner so superior to your time of

life, that it is a comfort to me to talk to you about these family

matters of mine. You don't know much of my son, my dear; but

you know enough of him, I dare say, to recollect him?"

"Yes, ma'am. I recollect him."

"Yes, my dear. Now, my dear, I think you are a judge of

character, and I should like to have your opinion of him?"

"O, Mrs Woodcourt," said I, "that is so difficult."

"Why is it so difficult, my dear?" she returned. "I don't see it

myself."

"To give an opinion-"

"On so slight an acquaintance, my dear. That's true."

I didn't mean that; because Mr Woodcourt had been at our

house a good deal altogether, and had become quite intimate with

my Guardian. I said so, and added that he seemed to be very

clever in his profession-we thought-and that his kindness and

gentleness to Miss Flite were above all praise.

"You do him justice!" said Mrs Woodcourt, pressing my hand.

"You define him exactly. Allan is a dear fellow, and in his

profession faultless. I say it, though I am his mother. Still, I must

confess he is not without faults, love."

"None of us are," said I.

"Ah! But his really are faults that he might correct, and ought

to correct," returned the sharp old lady, sharply shaking her head.

"I am so much attached to you, that I may confide in you, my dear,as a third party wholly disinterested, that he is fickleness itself."

I said, I should have thought it hardly possible that he could

have been otherwise than constant to his profession, and zealous

in the pursuit of it, judging from the reputation he had earned.

"You are right again, my dear," the old lady retorted; "but I

don't refer to his profession, look you."

"O!" said I.

"No," said she. "I refer, my dear, to his social conduct. He is

always paying trivial attentions to young ladies, and always has

been ever since he was eighteen. Now, my dear, he has never

really cared for any one of them, and has never meant in doing

this to do any harm, or to express anything but politeness and

good nature. Still, it's not right, you know; is it?"

"No," said I, as she seemed to wait for me.

"And it might lead to mistaken notions, you see, my dear."

I supposed it might.

"Therefore I have told him, many times, that he really should

be more careful, both in justice to himself and in justice to others.

And he has always said, 'Mother, I will be; but you know me better

than anybody else does, and you know I mean no harm-in short,

mean nothing.' All of which is very true, my dear, but is no

justification. However, as he is now gone so far away, and for an

indefinite time, and as he will have good opportunities and

introductions, we may consider this past and gone. And you, my

dear," said the old lady, who was now all nods and smiles;

"regarding your dear self, my love?"

"Me, Mrs Woodcourt?"

"Not to be always selfish, talking of my son, who has gone to

seek his fortune, and to find a wife-when do you mean to seek your fortune and to find a husband, Miss Summerson? Hey, look

you! Now you blush!"

I don't think I did blush-at all events, it was not important if I

did-and I said, my present fortune perfectlycontented me, and I

had no wish to change it.

"Shall I tell you what I always think of you, and the fortune yet

to come for you, my love?" said Mrs Woodcourt.

"If you believe you are a good prophet," said I.

"Why, then, it is that you will marry some one, very rich and

very worthy, much older-five and twenty years, perhaps-than

yourself. And you will be an excellent wife, and much beloved, and

very happy."

"That is a good fortune," said I. "But, why is it to be mine?"

"My dear," she returned, "there's suitability in it-you are so

busy, and so neat, and so peculiarly situated altogether, that

there's suitability in it, and it will come to pass. And nobody, my

love, will congratulate you more sincerely on such a marriage than

I shall."

It was curious that this should make me uncomfortable, but I

think it did. I know it did. It made me for some part of that night

quite uncomfortable. I was so ashamed of my folly, that I did not

like to confess it even to Ada; and that made me more

uncomfortable still. I would have given anything not to have been

so much in the bright old lady's confidence, if I could have

possibly declined it. It gave me the most consistent" title="a.不一致的">inconsistent opinions of

her. At one time I thought she was a storyteller, and at another

time that she was the pink of truth. Now, I suspected that she was

very cunning; next moment, I believed her honest Welsh heart to

be perfectly innocent and simple. And, after all, what did it matter to me, and why did it matter to me? Why could not I, going up to

bed with my basket of keys, stop to sit down by her fire, and

accommodate myself for a little while to her, at least as well as to

anybody else; and not trouble myself about the harmless things

she said to me? Impelled towards her, as I certainly was, for I was

very anxious that she should like me, and was very glad indeed

that she did, why should I harp afterwards, with actual distress

and pain, on every word she said, and weigh it over and over again

in twenty scales? Why was it so worrying to me to have her in our

house, and confidential" title="a.极受信任的；心腹的">confidential to me every night, when I yet felt that it

was better and safer, somehow, that she should be there than

anywhere else? These were perplexities and contradictions that I

could not account for. At least, if I could-but I shall come to all

that by-and-bye, and it is a mere idleness to go on about it now.

So, when Mrs Woodcourt went away, I was sorry to lose her,

but was relieved too. And then Caddy Jellyby came down; and

Caddy brought such a packet of domestic news, that it gave us

abundant occupation.

First, Caddy declared (and would at first declare nothing else)

that I was the best adviser that ever was known. This, my pet said,

was no news at all; and this, I said, of course, was nonsense. Then

Caddy told us that she was going to be married in a month; and

that if Ada and I would be her bridesmaids, she was the happiest

girl in the world. To be sure, this was news indeed; and I thought

we never should have done talking about it, we had so much to say

to Caddy, and Caddy had to much to say to us.

It seemed that Caddy's unfortunate papa had got over his

bankruptcy-"gone through the Gazette," was the expression

Caddy used, as if it were a tunnel,-with the general clemency and commiseration of his creditors; and had got rid of his affairs in

some blessed manner, without succeeding in understanding them;

and had given up everything he possessed (which was not worth

much I should think, to judge from the state of the furniture), and

had satisfied every one concerned that he could do no more, poor

man. So, he had been honourably dismissed to "the office," to

begin the world again. What he did at the office, I never knew:

Caddy said he was a "Custom-House and General Agent," and the

only thing I ever understood about that business was, that when

he wanted money more than usual he went to the Docks to look

for it, and hardly ever found it.

As soon as her papa had tranquillised his mind by becoming

this shorn lamb, and they had removed to a furnished lodging in

Hatton Garden (where I found the children, when I afterwards

went there, cutting the horsehair out of the seats of the chairs, and

choking themselves with it), Caddy had brought about a meeting

between him and old Mr Turveydrop; and poor Mr Jellyby, being

very humble and meek, had deferred to Mr Turveydrop's

Deportment so submissively, that they had become excellent

friends. By degrees, old Mr Turveydrop, thus familiarised with the

idea of his son's marriage, had worked up his parental feelings to

the height of contemplating that event as being near at hand; and

had given his gracious consent to the young couple commencing

housekeeping at the Academy in Newman Street, when they

would.

"And your papa, Caddy. What did he say?"

"O! poor Pa," said Caddy, "only cried, and said he hoped we

might get on better than he and Ma had got on. He didn't say so

before Prince; he only said so to me. And he said, 'My poor girl,you have not been very well taught how to make a home for your

husband; but unless you mean with all your heart to strive to do it,

you had better murder him than marry him-if you really love

him.'"

"And how did you reassure him, Caddy?"

"Why, it was very distressing, you know, to see poor Pa so low,

and hear him say such terrible things, and I couldn't help crying

myself. But I told him that I did mean it with all my heart; and that

I hoped our house would be a place for him to come and find some

comfort in, of an evening; and that I hoped and thought I could be

a better daughter to him there, than at home. Then I mentioned

Peepy's coming to stay with me; and then Pa began to cry again,

and said the children were Indians."

"Indians, Caddy?"

"Yes," said Caddy. "Wild Indians. And Pa said,"-(here she

began to sob, poor girl, not at all like the happiest girl in the

world)-"that he was sensible the best thing that could happen to

them was, their being all Tomahawked together."

Ada suggested that it was comfortable to know that Mr Jellyby

did not mean these destructive sentiments.

"No, of course I know Pa wouldn't like his family to be

weltering in their blood," said Caddy; "but he means that they are

very unfortunate in being Ma's children, and that he is very

unfortunate in being Ma's husband; I am sure that's true, though

it seems unnatural to say so."

I asked Caddy if Mrs Jellyby knew that her wedding-day was

fixed.

"O! you know what Ma is, Esther," she returned. "It's

impossible to say whether she knows it or not. She has been told it often enough: and when she is told it, she only gives me a placid

look, as if I was I don't know what-a steeple in the distance," said

Caddy, with a sudden idea; "and then she shakes her head, and

says 'O Caddy, Caddy, what a teaze you are!' and goes on with the

Borrioboola letters."

"And about your wardrobe, Caddy?" said I. For she was under

no restraint with us.

"Well, my dear Esther," she returned, drying her eyes, "I must

do the best I can, and trust to my dear Prince never to have an

unkindremembrance of my coming so shabbily to him. If the

question concerned an outfit for Borrioboola, Ma would know all

about it, and would be quite excited. Being what it is, she neither

knows nor cares."

Caddy was not at all deficient in natural affection for her

mother, but mentioned this with tears, as an undeniable fact:

which I am afraid it was. We were so sorry for the poor dear girl,

and found so much to admire in the good disposition which had

survived under such discouragement, that we both at once (I mean

Ada and I) proposed a little scheme, that made her perfectly joyful.

This was, her staying with us for three weeks; my staying with her

for one; and our all three contriving and cutting out, and

repairing, and sewing, and saving, and doing the very best we

could think of, to make the most of her stock. My Guardian being

as pleased with the idea as Caddy was, we took her home next day

to arrange the matter; and brought her out again in triumph, with

her boxes, and all the purchases that could be squeezed out of a

ten-pound note, which Mr Jellyby had found in the Docks I

suppose, but which he at all events gave her. What my Guardian

would not have given her, if we had encouraged him, it would be difficult to say; but we thought it right to compound for no more

than her wedding-dress and bonnet. He agreed to this

compromise; and if Caddy had ever been happy in her life, she

was happy when we sat down to work.

She was clumsy enough with her needle, poor girl, and pricked

her fingers as much as she had been used to ink them. She could

not help reddening a little, now and then; partly with the smart,

and partly with vexation at being able to do no better: but she soon

got over that, and began to improve rapidly. So, day after day, she,

and my darling, and my little maid Charley, and a milliner out of

the town, and I, sat hard at work, as pleasantly as possible.

Over and above this, Caddy was very anxious "to learn

housekeeping," as she said. Now, Mercy upon us! the idea of her

learning housekeeping of a person of my vast experience was such

a joke, that I laughed, and coloured up, and fell into a comical

confusion when she proposed it. However, I said, "Caddy, I am

sure you are very welcome to learn anything that you can learn of

me, my dear;" and I showed her all my books and methods, and all

my fidgety ways. You would have supposed that I was showing her

some wonderful inventions by her study of them; and if you had

seen her, whenever I jingled my housekeeping keys, get up and

attend me, certainly you might have thought that there never was

a greater impostor than I, with a blinder follower than Caddy

Jellyby.

So, what with working and housekeeping, and lessons to

Charley, and backgammon in the evening with my Guardian, and

duets with Ada, the three weeks slipped fast away. Then I went

home with Caddy, to see what could be done there; and Ada and

Charley remained behind, to take care of my Guardian.When I say I went home with Caddy, I mean to the furnished

lodging in Hatton Garden. We went to Newman Street two or

three times, where preparations were in progress too; a good

many, I observed, for enchancing the comforts of old Mr

Turveydrop, and a few for putting the newly married couple away

cheaply at the top of the house; but our great point was to make

the furnished lodgingdecent for the wedding breakfast, and to

imbue Mrs Jellyby beforehand with some faint sense of the

occasion.

The latter was the more difficult thing of the two, because Mrs

Jellyby and an unwholesome boy occupied the front sitting-room

(the back one was a mere closet), and it was littered down with

waste paper and Borrioboolan documents, as an untidy stable

might be littered with straw. Mrs Jellyby sat there all day,

drinking strong coffee, dictating and holding Borrioboolan

interviews by appointment. The unwholesome boy, who seemed to

me to be going into a decline, took his meals out of the house.

When Mr Jellyby came home, he usually groaned and went down

into the kitchen. There he got something to eat, if the servant

would give him anything; and then feeling that he was in the way,

went out and walked about Hatton Garden in the wet. The poor

children scrambled up and tumbled down the house, as they had

always been accustomed to do.

The production of these devoted little sacrifices, in any

presentable condition, being quite out of the question at a week's

notice, I proposed to Caddy that we should make them as happy as

we could, on her marriage morning, in the attic where they all

slept; and should confine our greatest efforts to her mama and her

mama's room, and a clean breakfast. In truth, Mrs Jellyby required a good deal of attention, the lattice-work up her back

having widened considerably since I first knew her, and her hair

looking like the mane of a dustman's horse.

Thinking that the display of Caddy's wardrobe would be the

best means of approaching the subject, I invited Mrs Jellyby to