Bleak House by Charles Dickens (ebook reader that looks like a book TXT) 📕

Esther’s Narrative

We came home from Mr. Boythorn’s after six pleasant weeks. We were

often in the park and in the woods and seldom passed the lodge

where we had taken shelter without looking in to speak to the

keeper’s wife; but we saw no more of Lady Dedlock, except at church

on Sundays. There was company at Chesney Wold; and although

several beautiful faces surrounded her, her face retained the same

influence on me as at first. I do not quite know even now whether

it was painful or pleasurable, whether it drew me towards her or

made me shrink from her. I think I admired her with a kind of

fear, and I know that in her presence my thoughts always wandered

back, 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 this

lady so curiously was to me, I was to her—I mean that I disturbed

her thoughts as she influenced mine, though in some different way.

But when I stole a glance at her and saw her so composed and

distant and unapproachable, I felt this to be a foolish weakness.

Indeed, I felt the whole state of my mind in reference to her to be

weak and unreasonable, and I remonstrated with myself about it as

much 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 some

one wished to see me. Going into the breakfast-room where this

person was waiting, I found it to be the French maid who had cast

off her shoes and walked through the wet grass on the day when it

thundered and lightened.

“Mademoiselle,” she began, looking fixedly at me with her too-eager

eyes, though otherwise presenting an agreeable appearance and

speaking neither with boldness nor servility, “I have taken a great

liberty in coming here, but you know how to excuse it, being so

amiable, mademoiselle.”

“No excuse is necessary,” I returned, “if you wish to speak to me.”

“That is my desire, mademoiselle. A thousand thanks for the

permission. I have your leave to speak. Is it not?” she said in a

quick, natural way.

“Certainly,” said I.

“Mademoiselle, you are so amiable! Listen then, if you please. I

have left my Lady. We could not agree. My Lady is so high, so

very high. Pardon! Mademoiselle, you are right!” Her quickness

anticipated what I might have said presently but as yet had only

thought. “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 word

more. 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 a

young lady who is good, accomplished, beautiful. You are good,

accomplished, and beautiful as an angel. Ah, could I have the

honour of being your domestic!”

“I am sorry—” I began.

“Do not dismiss me so soon, mademoiselle!” she said with an

involuntary contraction of her fine black eyebrows. “Let me hope a

moment! Mademoiselle, I know this service would be more retired

than that which I have quitted. Well! I wish that. I know this

service 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 of

having such an attendant, “that I keep no maid—”

“Ah, mademoiselle, but why not? Why not, when you can have one so

devoted to you! Who would be enchanted to serve you; who would be

so true, so zealous, and so faithful every day! Mademoiselle, I

wish with all my heart to serve you. Do not speak of money at

present. Take me as I am. For nothing!”

She was so singularly earnest that I drew back, almost afraid of

her. Without appearing to notice it, in her ardour she still

pressed herself upon me, speaking in a rapid subdued voice, though

always with a certain grace and propriety.

“Mademoiselle, I come from the South country where we are quick and

where we like and dislike very strong. My Lady was too high for

me; I was too high for her. It is done—past—finished! Receive

me as your domestic, and I will serve you well. I will do more for

you than you figure to yourself now. Chut! Mademoiselle, I will—

no matter, I will do my utmost possible in all things. If you

accept my service, you will not repent it. Mademoiselle, you will

not repent it, and I will serve you well. You don’t know how

well!”

There was a lowering energy in her face as she stood looking at me

while I explained the impossibility of my engaging her (without

thinking it necessary to say how very little I desired to do so),

which seemed to bring visibly before me some woman from the streets

of Paris in the reign of terror.

She heard me out without interruption and then said with her pretty

accent and in her mildest voice, “Hey, mademoiselle, I have

received my answer! I am sorry of it. But I must go elsewhere and

seek what I have not found here. Will you graciously let me kiss

your hand?”

She looked at me more intently as she took it, and seemed to take

note, with her momentary touch, of every vein in it. “I fear I

surprised you, mademoiselle, on the day of the storm?” she said

with a parting curtsy.

I confessed that she had surprised us all.

“I took an oath, mademoiselle,” she said, smiling, “and I wanted to

stamp it on my mind so that I might keep it faithfully. And I

will! 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 pleasures

until six weeks were out and we returned home as I began just now

by saying.

At that time, and for a good many weeks after that time, Richard

was constant in his visits. Besides coming every Saturday or

Sunday and remaining with us until Monday morning, he sometimes

rode out on horseback unexpectedly and passed the evening with us

and rode back again early next day. He was as vivacious as ever

and told us he was very industrious, but I was not easy in my mind

about him. It appeared to me that his industry was all

misdirected. I could not find that it led to anything but the

formation of delusive hopes in connexion with the suit already the

pernicious cause of so much sorrow and ruin. He had got at the

core of that mystery now, he told us, and nothing could be plainer

than that the will under which he and Ada were to take I don’t know

how many thousands of pounds must be finally established if there

were any sense or justice in the Court of Chancery—but oh, what a

great IF that sounded in my ears—and that this happy conclusion

could not be much longer delayed. He proved this to himself by all

the weary arguments on that side he had read, and every one of them

sunk him deeper in the infatuation. He had even begun to haunt the

court. He told us how he saw Miss Flite there daily, how they

talked together, and how he did her little kindnesses, and how,

while he laughed at her, he pitied her from his heart. But he

never thought—never, my poor, dear, sanguine Richard, capable of

so much happiness then, and with such better things before him—

what a fatal link was riveting between his fresh youth and her

faded age, between his free hopes and her caged birds, and her

hungry garret, and her wandering mind.

Ada loved him too well to mistrust him much in anything he said or

did, and my guardian, though he frequently complained of the east

wind and read more than usual in the growlery, preserved a strict

silence on the subject. So I thought one day when I went to London

to meet Caddy Jellyby, at her solicitation, I would ask Richard to