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 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 be in
waiting for me at the coach-office, that we might have a little talk
together. I found him there when I arrived, and we walked away arm in
arm.

"Well, Richard," said I as soon as I could begin to be grave with
him, "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, strongly
emphasizing "down," as if that expressed the difficulty, "because one
can't settle down while this business remains in such an unsettled
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 Richard
addressed me in his frankest and most feeling manner, thus: "My dear
Esther, I understand you, and I wish to heaven I were a more constant
sort of fellow. I don't mean constant to Ada, for I love her
dearly--better and better every day--but constant to myself.
(Somehow, I mean something that I can't very well express, but you'll
make it out.) If I were a more constant sort of fellow, I should have
held on either to Badger or to Kenge and Carboy like grim death, and
should have begun to be steady and systematic by this 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 have taken
rather too much to billiards and that sort of thing. Now the murder'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. "My
dear Esther, I am a very unfortunate dog not to be more settled, but
how CAN I be more settled? If you lived in an unfinished house, you
couldn't settle down in it; if you were condemned to leave everything
you undertook unfinished, you would find it hard to apply yourself to
anything; and yet that's my unhappy case. I was born into this
unfinished contention with all its chances and changes, and it began
to unsettle me before I quite knew the difference between a suit at
law and a suit of clothes; and it has gone on unsettling me ever
since; and here I am now, conscious sometimes that I am but a
worthless fellow to love my confiding cousin Ada."

We were in a solitary place, and he put his hands before his eyes and
sobbed as he said the words.

"Oh, Richard!" said I. "Do not be so moved. You have a noble nature,
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 all this upon
my mind for a long time, and have often meant to speak to you, and
have sometimes wanted opportunity and sometimes courage. I know what
the thought of Ada ought to do for me, but it doesn't do it. I am too
unsettled even for that. I love her most devotedly, and yet I do her
wrong, in doing myself wrong, every day and hour. But it can't last
for ever. We shall come on for a final hearing and get judgment in
our favour, and then you and Ada shall see what I can really be!"

It had given me a pang to hear him sob and see the tears start out
between his fingers, but that was infinitely less affecting to me
than the hopeful animation with which he said these words.

"I have looked well into the papers, Esther. I have been deep in them
for months," he continued, recovering his cheerfulness in a moment,
"and you may rely upon it that we shall come out triumphant. As to
years of delay, there has been no want of them, heaven knows! And
there is the greater probability of our bringing the matter to a
speedy close; in fact, it's on the paper now. It will be all right at
last, and then you shall see!"

Recalling how he had just now placed Messrs. Kenge and Carboy in the
same category with Mr. Badger, I asked him when he intended to be
articled in Lincoln's Inn.

"There again! I think not at all, Esther," he returned with an
effort. "I fancy I have had enough of it. Having worked at Jarndyce
and Jarndyce like a galley slave, I have slaked my thirst for the law
and satisfied myself that I shouldn't like it. Besides, I find it
unsettles me more and more to be so constantly upon the scene of
action. So what," continued Richard, confident again 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 best
thing I can do, my dear Esther, I am certain. It's not as if I wanted
a profession for life. These proceedings will come to a termination,
and then I am provided for. No. I look upon it as a pursuit which is
in its nature more or less unsettled, and therefore suited to my
temporary condition--I may say, precisely suited. 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 the
army!"

"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 his
pocket-book, that supposing he had contracted, say, two hundred
pounds of debt in six months out of the army; and that he contracted
no debt at all within a corresponding period in the army--as to which
he had quite made up his mind; this step must involve a saving of
four hundred pounds in a year, or two thousand pounds in five years,
which was a considerable sum. And then he spoke so ingenuously and
sincerely of the sacrifice he made in withdrawing himself for a time
from Ada, and of the earnestness with which he aspired--as in thought
he always did, I know full well--to repay her love, and to ensure her
happiness, and to conquer what was amiss in himself, and to acquire
the very soul of decision, that he made my heart ache keenly, sorely.
For, I thought, how would this end, how could this end, when so soon
and so surely all his manly qualities were touched by the fatal
blight that ruined everything it rested on!

I spoke to Richard with all the earnestness I felt, and all the hope
I could not quite feel then, and implored him for Ada's sake not to
put any trust in Chancery. To all I said, Richard readily assented,
riding over the court and everything else in his easy way and drawing
the brightest pictures of the character he was to settle into--alas,
when the grievous suit should loose its hold upon him! We had a long
talk, but it always came back to that, in substance.

At last we came to Soho Square, where Caddy Jellyby had appointed to
wait for me, as a quiet place in the neighbourhood of Newman Street.
Caddy was in the garden in the centre and hurried out as soon as I
appeared. After a few cheerful words, Richard left us together.

"Prince has a pupil over the way, Esther," said Caddy, "and got the
key for us. So if you will walk round and round here with me, we can
lock ourselves in and I can tell you comfortably what I wanted to see
your dear good face about."

"Very well, my dear," said I. "Nothing could be better." So Caddy,
after affectionately squeezing the dear good face as she called it,
locked the gate, and took my arm, and we began to walk round the
garden very cosily.

"You see, Esther," said Caddy, who thoroughly enjoyed a little
confidence, "after you spoke to me about its being wrong to marry
without Ma's knowledge, or even to keep Ma long in the dark
respecting our engagement--though I don't believe Ma cares much for
me, I must say--I thought it right to mention your opinions to
Prince. In the first place because I want to profit by everything you
tell me, and in the second place because I have no secrets from
Prince."

"I hope he approved, Caddy?"

"Oh, my dear! I assure you he would approve of anything you could
say. You have no idea what an opinion 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, for you
are the first friend I ever had, and the best friend I ever can have,
and nobody can respect and love you too much to please me."

"Upon my word, Caddy," said I, "you are in the general conspiracy to
keep me in a good humour. Well, my dear?"

"Well! I am going to tell you," replied Caddy, crossing her hands
confidentially 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 the brightest
of faces. "I said, 'Esther.' I said to Prince, 'As Esther is
decidedly of that opinion, Prince, and has expressed it to me, and
always hints it when she writes those kind notes, which you are so
fond of hearing me read to you, I am prepared to disclose 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 the same to your papa.'"

"Yes, my dear," said I. "Esther certainly does think so."

"So I was right, you see!" exclaimed Caddy. "Well! This troubled
Prince 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. Turveydrop might break his
heart, or faint away, or be very much overcome in some affecting
manner or other if he made such an announcement. He feared old Mr.
Turveydrop might consider it undutiful and might receive too great a
shock. For old Mr. Turveydrop's deportment is very beautiful, you
know, Esther," said Caddy, "and his feelings are extremely
sensitive."

"Are they, my dear?"

"Oh, extremely sensitive. Prince says so. Now, this has caused my
darling child--I didn't mean to use the expression to you, Esther,"
Caddy apologized, her face suffused with blushes, "but I generally
call 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 pretty face
on fire. "My darling child, if you insist upon it! This has caused
him weeks of uneasiness and has made him delay, from day to day, in a
very anxious manner. At last he said to me, 'Caddy, if Miss
Summerson, who is a great favourite with my father, could be
prevailed upon to be present when I broke the subject, I think I
could do it.' So I promised I would ask you. And I made up my mind,
besides," said Caddy, looking at me hopefully but timidly, "that if
you consented, I would ask you afterwards to come with me to Ma. This
is what I meant when I said in my note that I had a great favour and
a great assistance to beg of you. And if you thought you could grant
it, Esther, we should both be very grateful."

"Let me see, Caddy," said I, pretending to consider. "Really, I think
I could do a greater thing than that if the need were pressing. 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, I believe,
as susceptible to the least kindness or encouragement as any tender
heart that ever beat in this world; and after another turn or two
round the garden, during which she put on an entirely new pair of
gloves and made herself as resplendent as possible that she might do
no avoidable discredit to the Master of Deportment, we went to Newman
Street direct.

Prince was teaching, of course. We found him engaged with a not very
hopeful pupil--a stubborn little girl with a sulky forehead, a deep
voice, and an inanimate, dissatisfied mama--whose case was certainly
not rendered more hopeful by the confusion into which we threw her
preceptor. The lesson at last came to an end, after proceeding as
discordantly as possible; and when the little girl had changed her
shoes and had had her white muslin extinguished in shawls, she was
taken away. After a few words of preparation, we then went in search
of Mr. Turveydrop, whom we found, grouped with his hat and gloves, as
a model of deportment, on the sofa in his private apartment--the only
comfortable room in the house. He appeared to have dressed at his
leisure in the intervals of a light collation, and his dressing-case,
brushes, and so forth, all of quite an elegant kind, lay about.

"Father, Miss Summerson; Miss Jellyby."

"Charmed! Enchanted!" said Mr. Turveydrop, rising with his
high-shouldered bow. "Permit me!" Handing chairs. "Be seated!"
Kissing the tips of his left fingers. "Overjoyed!" Shutting his eyes
and rolling. "My little retreat is made a paradise." Recomposing
himself on the sofa like the second gentleman in Europe.

"Again you find us, Miss Summerson," said he, "using our little arts
to polish, polish! Again the sex stimulates us and rewards us by the
condescension of its lovely presence. It is much in these times (and
we have made an awfully degenerating business of it since the days of
his Royal Highness the Prince Regent--my patron, if I may presume to
say so) to experience that deportment is not wholly trodden under
foot by mechanics. That it can yet bask in the smile of beauty, my
dear madam."

I said nothing, which I thought a suitable reply; and he took a pinch
of snuff.

"My dear son," said Mr. Turveydrop, "you have four schools this
afternoon. I would recommend a hasty sandwich."

"Thank you, father," returned Prince, "I will be sure to be punctual.
My dear father, may I beg you to prepare your mind for what I am
going to say?"

"Good heaven!" exclaimed the model, pale and aghast as Prince and
Caddy, hand in hand, bent down before him. "What is this? Is this
lunacy! Or what is this?"

"Father," returned Prince with great submission, "I love this young
lady, and we are engaged."

"Engaged!" cried Mr. Turveydrop, reclining on the sofa and shutting
out the sight with his hand. "An arrow launched at my brain by my own
child!"

"We have been engaged for some time, father," faltered Prince, "and
Miss Summerson, hearing of it, advised that we should declare the
fact to you and was so very kind as to attend on the present
occasion. Miss Jellyby is a young lady who deeply respects you,
father."

Mr. Turveydrop uttered a groan.

"No, pray don't! Pray don't, father," urged his son. "Miss Jellyby is
a young lady who deeply respects you, and our first desire is to
consider your comfort."

Mr. Turveydrop sobbed.

"No, pray don't, father!" cried his son.

"Boy," said Mr. Turveydrop, "it is well that your sainted mother is
spared this pang. Strike deep, and spare not. Strike home, sir,
strike home!"

"Pray don't say so, father," implored Prince, in tears. "It goes to
my heart. I do assure you, father, that our first wish and intention
is to consider your comfort. Caroline and I do not forget our
duty--what is my duty is Caroline's, as we have often said
together--and with your approval and consent, father, we will devote
ourselves to making your life agreeable."

"Strike home," murmured Mr. Turveydrop. "Strike home!" But he seemed
to listen, I thought, too.

"My dear father," returned Prince, "we well know what little comforts
you are accustomed to and have a right to, and it will always be our
study and our pride to provide those before anything. If you will
bless us with your approval and consent, father, we shall not think
of being married until it is quite agreeable to you; and when we ARE
married, we shall always make you--of course--our first
consideration. You must ever be the head and master here, father; and
we feel how truly unnatural it would be in us if we failed to know it
or if we failed to exert ourselves in every possible way to please
you."

Mr. Turveydrop underwent a severe internal struggle and came upright
on the sofa again with his cheeks puffing over his stiff cravat, a
perfect model of parental deportment.

"My son!" said Mr. Turveydrop. "My children! I cannot resist your
prayer. Be happy!"

His benignity as he raised his future daughter-in-law and stretched
out his hand to his son (who kissed it with affectionate respect and
gratitude) was the most confusing sight I ever saw.

"My children," said Mr. Turveydrop, paternally encircling Caddy with
his left arm as she sat beside him, and putting his right hand
gracefully on his hip. "My son and daughter, your happiness shall be
my care. I will watch over you. You shall always live with
me"--meaning, of course, I will always live with you--"this house is
henceforth as much yours as mine; consider it your home. May you long
live to share it with me!"

The power of his deportment was such that they really were as much
overcome with thankfulness as if, instead of quartering himself upon
them for the rest of his life, he were making some munificent
sacrifice in their favour.

"For myself, my children," said Mr. Turveydrop, "I am falling into
the sear and yellow leaf, and it is impossible to say how long the
last feeble traces of gentlemanly deportment may linger in this
weaving and spinning age. But, so long, I will do my duty to society
and will show myself, as usual, about town. My wants are few and
simple. My little apartment here, my few essentials for the toilet,
my frugal morning meal, and my little dinner will suffice. I charge
your dutiful affection with the supply of these requirements, and I
charge myself with all the rest."

They were overpowered afresh by his uncommon generosity.

"My son," said Mr. Turveydrop, "for those little points in which you
are deficient--points of deportment, which are born with a man, which
may be improved by cultivation, but can never be originated--you may
still rely on me. I have been faithful to my post since the days of
his Royal Highness the Prince Regent, and I will not desert it now.
No, my son. If you have ever contemplated your father's poor position
with a feeling of pride, you may rest assured that he will do nothing
to tarnish it. For yourself, Prince, whose character is different (we
cannot be all alike, nor is it advisable that we should), work, be
industrious, earn money, and extend the connexion as much as
possible."

"That you may depend I will do, dear father, with all my heart,"
replied Prince.

"I have no doubt of it," said Mr. Turveydrop. "Your qualities are not
shining, my dear child, but they are steady and useful. And to both
of you, my children, I would merely observe, in the spirit of a
sainted wooman on whose path I had the happiness of casting, I
believe, SOME ray of light, take care of the establishment, take care
of my simple wants, and bless you both!"

Old Mr. Turveydrop then became so very gallant, in honour of the
occasion, that I told Caddy we must really go to Thavies Inn at once
if we were to go at all that day. So we took our departure after a
very loving farewell between Caddy and her betrothed, and during our
walk she was so happy and so full of old Mr. Turveydrop's praises
that I would not have said a word in his disparagement for any
consideration.

The house in Thavies Inn had bills in the windows announcing that it
was to let, and it looked dirtier and gloomier and ghastlier than
ever. The name of poor Mr. Jellyby had appeared in the list of
bankrupts but a day or two before, and he was shut up in the
dining-room with two gentlemen and a heap of blue bags,
account-books, and papers, making the most desperate endeavours to
understand his affairs. They appeared to me to be quite beyond his
comprehension, for when Caddy took me into the dining-room by mistake
and we came upon Mr. Jellyby in his spectacles, forlornly fenced into
a corner by the great dining-table and the two gentlemen, he seemed
to have given up the whole thing and to be speechless and insensible.

Going upstairs to Mrs. Jellyby's room (the children were all
screaming in the kitchen, and there was no servant to be seen), we
found that lady in the midst of a voluminous correspondence, opening,
reading, and sorting letters, with a great accumulation of torn
covers on the floor. She was so preoccupied that at first she did not
know me, though she sat looking at me with that curious, bright-eyed,
far-off look of hers.

"Ah! Miss Summerson!" she said at last. "I was thinking of something
so different! I hope you are well. I am happy to see you. Mr.
Jarndyce and Miss Clare quite well?"

I hoped in return that Mr. Jellyby was quite well.

"Why, not quite, my dear," said Mrs. Jellyby in the calmest manner.
"He has been unfortunate in his affairs and is a little out of
spirits. Happily for me, I am so much engaged that I have no time to
think about it. We have, at the present moment, one hundred and
seventy families, Miss Summerson, averaging five persons in each,
either gone or going to the left bank of the Niger."

I thought of the one family so near us who were neither gone nor
going to the left bank of the Niger, and wondered how she could be so
placid.

"You have brought Caddy back, I see," observed Mrs. Jellyby with a
glance at her daughter. "It has become quite a novelty to see her
here. She has almost deserted her old employment and in fact obliges
me to employ a boy."

"I am sure, Ma--" began Caddy.

"Now you know, Caddy," her mother mildly interposed, "that I DO
employ a boy, who is now at his dinner. What is the use of your
contradicting?"

"I was not going to contradict, Ma," returned Caddy. "I was only
going to say that surely you wouldn't have me be a mere drudge all my
life."

"I believe, my dear," said Mrs. Jellyby, still opening her letters,
casting her bright eyes smilingly over them, and sorting them as she
spoke, "that you have a business example before you in your mother.
Besides. A mere drudge? If you had any sympathy with the destinies of
the human race, it would raise you high above any such idea. But you
have none. I have often told you, Caddy, you have no such sympathy."

"Not if it's Africa, Ma, I have not."

"Of course you have not. Now, if I were not happily so much engaged,
Miss Summerson," said Mrs. Jellyby, sweetly casting her eyes for a
moment on me and considering where to put the particular letter she
had just opened, "this would distress and disappoint me. But I have
so much to think of, in connexion with Borrioboola-Gha and it is so
necessary I should concentrate myself that there is my remedy, you
see."

As Caddy gave me a glance of entreaty, and as Mrs. Jellyby was
looking far away into Africa straight through my bonnet and head, I
thought it a good opportunity to come to the subject of my visit and
to attract Mrs. Jellyby's attention.

"Perhaps," I began, "you will wonder what has brought me here to
interrupt you."

"I am always delighted to see Miss Summerson," said Mrs. Jellyby,
pursuing her employment with a placid smile. "Though I wish," and she
shook her head, "she was more interested in the Borrioboolan
project."

"I have come with Caddy," said I, "because Caddy justly thinks she
ought not to have a secret from her mother and fancies I shall
encourage and aid her (though I am sure I don't know how) in
imparting one."

"Caddy," said Mrs. Jellyby, pausing for a moment in her occupation
and then serenely pursuing it after shaking her head, "you are going
to tell me some nonsense."

Caddy untied the strings of her bonnet, took her bonnet off, and
letting it dangle on the floor by the strings, and crying heartily,
said, "Ma, I am engaged."

"Oh, you ridiculous child!" observed Mrs. Jellyby with an abstracted
air as she looked over the dispatch last opened; "what a goose you
are!"

"I am engaged, Ma," sobbed Caddy, "to young Mr. Turveydrop, at the
academy; and old Mr. Turveydrop (who is a very gentlemanly man
indeed) has given his consent, and I beg and pray you'll give us
yours, Ma, because I never could be happy without it. I never, never
could!" sobbed Caddy, quite forgetful of her general complainings and
of everything but her natural affection.

"You see again, Miss Summerson," observed Mrs. Jellyby serenely,
"what a happiness it is to be so much occupied as I am and to have
this necessity for self-concentration that I have. Here is Caddy
engaged to a dancing-master's son--mixed up with people who have no
more sympathy with the destinies of the human race than she has
herself! This, too, when Mr. Quale, one of the first philanthropists
of our time, has mentioned to me that he was really disposed to be
interested in her!"

"Ma, I always hated and detested Mr. Quale!" sobbed Caddy.

"Caddy, Caddy!" returned Mrs. Jellyby, opening another letter with
the greatest complacency. "I have no doubt you did. How could you do
otherwise, being totally destitute of the sympathies with which he
overflows! Now, if my public duties were not a favourite child to me,
if I were not occupied with large measures on a vast scale, these
petty details might grieve me very much, Miss Summerson. But can I
permit the film of a silly proceeding on the part of Caddy (from whom
I expect nothing else) to interpose between me and the great African
continent? No. No," repeated Mrs. Jellyby in a calm clear voice, and
with an agreeable smile, as she opened more letters and sorted them.
"No, indeed."

I was so unprepared for the perfect coolness of this reception,
though I might have expected it, that I did not know what to say.
Caddy seemed equally at a loss. Mrs. Jellyby continued to open and
sort letters and to repeat occasionally in quite a charming tone of
voice and with a smile of perfect composure, "No, indeed."

"I hope, Ma," sobbed poor Caddy at last, "you are not angry?"

"Oh, Caddy, you really are an absurd girl," returned Mrs. Jellyby,
"to ask such questions after what I have said of the preoccupation of
my mind."

"And I hope, Ma, you give us your consent and wish us well?" said
Caddy.

"You are a nonsensical child to have done anything of this kind,"
said Mrs. Jellyby; "and a degenerate child, when you might have
devoted yourself to the great public measure. But the step is taken,
and I have engaged a boy, and there is no more to be said. Now, pray,
Caddy," said Mrs. Jellyby, for Caddy was kissing her, "don't delay me
in my work, but let me clear off this heavy batch of papers before
the afternoon post comes in!"

I thought I could not do better than take my leave; I was detained
for a moment by Caddy's saying, "You won't object to my bringing him
to see you, Ma?"

"Oh, dear me, Caddy," cried Mrs. Jellyby, who had relapsed into that
distant contemplation, "have you begun again? Bring whom?"

"Him, Ma."

"Caddy, Caddy!" said Mrs. Jellyby, quite weary of such little
matters. "Then you must bring him some evening which is not a Parent
Society night, or a Branch night, or a Ramification night. You must
accommodate the visit to the demands upon my time. My dear Miss
Summerson, it was very kind of you to come here to help out this
silly chit. Good-bye! When I tell you that I have fifty-eight new
letters from manufacturing families anxious to understand the details
of the native and coffee-cultivation question this morning, I need
not apologize for having very little leisure."

I was not surprised by Caddy's being in low spirits when we went
downstairs, or by her sobbing afresh on my neck, or by her saying she
would far rather have been scolded than treated with such
indifference, or by her confiding to me that she was so poor in
clothes that how she was ever to be married creditably she didn't
know. I gradually cheered her up by dwelling on the many things she
would do for her unfortunate father and for Peepy when she had a home
of her own; and finally we went downstairs into the damp dark
kitchen, where Peepy and his little brothers and sisters were
grovelling on the stone floor and where we had such a game of play
with them that to prevent myself from being quite torn to pieces I
was obliged to fall back on my fairy-tales. From time to time I heard
loud voices in the parlour overhead, and occasionally a violent
tumbling about of the furniture. The last effect I am afraid was
caused by poor Mr. Jellyby's breaking away from the dining-table and
making rushes at the window with the intention of throwing himself
into the area whenever he made any new attempt to understand his
affairs.

As I rode quietly home at night after the day's bustle, I thought a
good deal of Caddy's engagement and felt confirmed in my hopes (in
spite of the elder Mr. Turveydrop) that she would be the happier and
better for it. And if there seemed to be but a slender chance of her
and her husband ever finding out what the model of deportment really
was, why that was all for the best too, and who would wish them to be
wiser? I did not wish them to be any wiser and indeed was half
ashamed of not entirely believing in him myself. And I looked up at
the stars, and thought about travellers in distant countries and the
stars THEY saw, and hoped I might always be so blest and happy as to
be useful to some one in my small way.

They were so glad to see me when I got home, as they always were,
that I could have sat down and cried for joy if that had not been a
method of making myself disagreeable. Everybody in the house, from
the lowest to the highest, showed me such a bright face of welcome,
and spoke so cheerily, and was so happy to do anything for me, that I
suppose there never was such a fortunate little creature in the
world.

We got into such a chatty state that night, through Ada and my
guardian drawing me out to tell them all about Caddy, that I went on
prose, prose, prosing for a length of time. At last I got up to my
own room, quite red to think how I had been holding forth, and then I
heard a soft tap at my door. So I said, "Come in!" and there came in
a pretty little girl, neatly dressed in mourning, who dropped a
curtsy.

"If you please, miss," said the little girl in a soft voice, "I am
Charley."

"Why, so you are," said I, stooping down in astonishment and giving
her a kiss. "How glad am I to see you, Charley!"

"If you please, miss," pursued Charley in the same soft voice, "I'm
your maid."

"Charley?"

"If you please, miss, I'm a present to you, with Mr. Jarndyce's
love."

I sat down with my hand on Charley's neck and looked at Charley.

"And oh, miss," says Charley, clapping her hands, with the tears
starting down her dimpled cheeks, "Tom's at school, if you please,
and learning so good! And little Emma, she's with Mrs. Blinder, miss,
a-being took such care of! And Tom, he would have been at school--and
Emma, she would have been left with Mrs. Blinder--and me, I should
have been here--all a deal sooner, miss; only Mr. Jarndyce thought
that Tom and Emma and me had better get a little used to parting
first, we was so small. Don't cry, if you please, miss!"

"I can't help it, Charley."

"No, miss, nor I can't help it," says Charley. "And if you please,
miss, Mr. Jarndyce's love, and he thinks you'll like to teach me now
and then. And if you please, Tom and Emma and me is to see each other
once a month. And I'm so happy and so thankful, miss," cried Charley
with a heaving heart, "and I'll try to be such a good maid!"

"Oh, Charley dear, never forget who did all this!"

"No, miss, I never will. Nor Tom won't. Nor yet Emma. It was all you,
miss."

"I have known nothing of it. It was Mr. Jarndyce, Charley."

"Yes, miss, but it was all done for the love of you and that you
might be my mistress. If you please, miss, I am a little present with
his love, and it was all done for the love of you. Me and Tom was to
be sure to remember it."

Charley dried her eyes and entered on her functions, going in her
matronly little way about and about the room and folding up
everything she could lay her hands upon. Presently Charley came
creeping back to my side and said, "Oh, don't cry, if you please,
miss."

And I said again, "I can't help it, Charley."

And Charley said again, "No, miss, nor I can't help it." And so,
after all, I did cry for joy indeed, and so did she.

When the gang gets back to Bleak House from Casa Boythorn, Esther gets a really unexpected visit from...Hortense! Hortense spends a few minutes bad-mouthing Lady Dedlock, then asks Esther for a job. She says she'll do a lot of things to promote Esther's interests. Esther is all, but I really don't need a maid. Hortense gets mad - she doesn't seem to handle rejection very well - and storms off. Esther is sort of confused by the whole thing and tries to get over it. A little later Richard comes to visit. It seems he's not doing too hot at Kenge's law school. All he does is read about the Jarndyce case and get more and more delusional about how soon it's going to be resolved and how he and Ada are going to be rolling in dough. The next time Esther comes to London she confronts him about his various deficiencies. At first he kind of laughs it off, but then he breaks down and cries about how he is letting Ada down, but he can't help obsessing over the case to the exclusion of everything else. Esther is moved by the tears, but Richard is clearly not going to change anytime soon. He announces that instead of medicine or law, he wants buy a commission in the army. Esther meets up with Caddy, and while they are walking, Caddy asks Esther to come with her and Prince to tell his father and her mother about their engagement. They are totally freaked out about how these crazy parents are going to react, and Esther would be good moral support. Of course she says yes. Prince and Caddy get down on their knees in front of Mr. Turveydrop and fess up. He does a super-dramatic faint and calls for Prince to just kill him outright. He's really quite the drama queen, and Prince starts crying because he feels so bad. Esther sees right through Turveydrop, of course, but both Prince and Caddy just take him and his importance at his word. Prince tells his father that his comforts and delicacies and tastes will still be top priority, even after the marriage. This calms Turveydrop down and he generously offers for Caddy and Prince to live with him forever. Which is all nice and everything, but clearly it actually means that Mr. Turveydrop will live with the happy couple until he dies, since he has no independent source of income. Esther is sort of horrified, but Caddy and Prince are happy. Trying to get two for two, Caddy and Esther set off for the Jellyby house. The house has "for rent" signs in the window because Mr. Jellyby has been forced to declare bankruptcy. He sits silent with a bunch of lawyers going over documents. Mrs. Jellyby continues her African work without a care in the world. Caddy tells her she is engaged. Mrs. Jellyby has almost no response whatsoever. She is just about as indifferent as if Caddy were a totally random stranger. It's totally crushing and Caddy is hysterical, of course. Esther tries to comfort her as best as she can. Downstairs, Caddy and Esther play with Peepy and the other Jellyby kids, and Caddy starts feeling happier knowing that she will create a nice secondary home for them. When Esther goes home, there is a knock on her bedroom door...it's Charley! Charley announces that she is Esther's new maid - which is a gift from Mr. Jarndyce. Also, her brother Tom is now at school, and her baby sister Emma is being taken care of. All of this is also part of the gift from Jarndyce. Which is all wonderful and everything, but the kids will only get to see each other once a month. Does that sound way harsh to anyone else? Oh well. They both cry together from happiness.

Mr. Jarndyce and his wards end their visit with Boythorn and return to Bleak House. Mademoiselle Hortense fails to persuade Esther to hire her. Richard wants to abandon law and enter the army . Caddy Jellyby asks Esther to come to London and help her and Prince Turveydrop break the news of their engagement to Mrs. Jellyby and Turveydrop senior, both of whom consent. Mr. Jamdyce gives Charley Neckett to Esther as a helping maid.

This chapter creates artistic unity by returning to several characters, themes, and subplots already established. Failing to find new employment, Hortense acquires further reasons for being upset and unbalanced. The theme of Richard's restlessness and irresponsibility appears once more. The subplot of Caddy's adventures is continued, and Dickens again brings Charley Neckett into view.

"Esther's Narrative" Esther says they left Mr. Boythorn's after six weeks. They hadn't seen Lady Dedlock again, except at church. Esther has an idea that her presence is as vexing to Lady Dedlock as Lady Dedlock's is to her. Esther recounts an incident that occurred before she left Mr. Boythorn's house. One day, the Frenchwoman sends for Esther. She says how wonderful Esther is and tells her that she has quit her post as Lady Dedlock's servant. She asks Esther to hire her as a maid. Esther says she keeps no maid, and the matter is closed. Richard visits Bleak House regularly, but Esther worries that he is too fixated on the Jarndyce and Jarndyce lawsuit. During one visit, Esther asks if he feels settled, and Richard admits that he doesn't because he's in debt. He worries that he is hurting Ada by being so adrift. He's no longer interested in law and plans to enlist in the army. Esther meets up with Caddy Jellyby, who tells her that Prince Turveydrop respects her deeply. Caddy asks Esther to accompany her and Prince when they tell their parents of their engagement. At the Turveydrops, the elder Mr. Turveydrop accepts their news and graciously tells them that he will live with them and that they will provide him with his usual comforts. At the Jellybys' home, Caddy tries to tell Mrs. Jellyby her news, but Mrs. Jellyby is opening mail and pays little attention to her. She says she would be upset by the news if she wasn't so busy. That night, Charley arrives at Bleak House. Mr. Jarndyce has hired her to be Esther's maid. Esther and Charley are very happy

Esther's Narrative After six weeks at Boythorn's, Esther, Ada, and Mr. Jarndyce return to Bleak House. Hortense, the French maid, comes to see Esther, begging for a job as a lady's maid, but Esther turns her away, saying she keeps no maid. She tells Esther she took an oath when she threw away her shoes, and she will keep it. Richard is haunting the Chancery court, which grieves Mr. Jarndyce. Richard admits to Esther that he is in debt, but he still hopes for a settlement. Now, however, he would like to try the army, for he is sick of law. On a visit to Caddy Jellyby, she asks Esther to help Prince and her announce their engagement to their parents. Esther goes with Caddy to see the Turveydrops where Prince announces his engagement to his father. Mr. Turveydrop at first acts betrayed, but on hearing that both of them will serve him now, he is content. Mrs. Jellyby, however, acts completely indifferent when Caddy tells her the news. Mr. Jellyby is going bankrupt, but she has a new boy as a secretary to take Caddy's place. She regrets that Caddy did not accept Mr. Quale, the philanthropist. When Esther returns home, Mr. Jarndyce has a present for her: Charley Neckett is her new lady's maid!

Commentary on Chapter XXIII Esther is dismayed at the lack of parental support for Caddy. She remembers her one desire to be useful and win some love in her life. When she returns to Bleak House, she feels loved and welcomed home, and Charley tells her that she has been given to Esther as a gift of love from Mr. Jarndyce. Charley obviously suits Esther better than Hortense, the proud French woman. Hortense hints that she made some vow of revenge against Lady Dedlock for firing her. Richard continues to go down, step by step, into the Jarndyce pit, though warned.