The Ironmaster

Sir Leicester Dedlock has got the better, for the time being, of the
family gout and is once more, in a literal no less than in a
figurative point of view, upon his legs. He is at his place in
Lincolnshire; but the waters are out again on the low-lying grounds,
and the cold and damp steal into Chesney Wold, though well defended,
and eke into Sir Leicester's bones. The blazing fires of faggot and
coal--Dedlock timber and antediluvian forest--that blaze upon the
broad wide hearths and wink in the twilight on the frowning woods,
sullen to see how trees are sacrificed, do not exclude the enemy. The
hot-water pipes that trail themselves all over the house, the
cushioned doors and windows, and the screens and curtains fail to
supply the fires' deficiencies and to satisfy Sir Leicester's need.
Hence the fashionable intelligence proclaims one morning to the
listening earth that Lady Dedlock is expected shortly to return to
town for a few weeks.

It is a melancholy truth that even great men have their poor
relations. Indeed great men have often more than their fair share of
poor relations, inasmuch as very red blood of the superior quality,
like inferior blood unlawfully shed, WILL cry aloud and WILL be
heard. Sir Leicester's cousins, in the remotest degree, are so many
murders in the respect that they "will out." Among whom there are
cousins who are so poor that one might almost dare to think it would
have been the happier for them never to have been plated links upon
the Dedlock chain of gold, but to have been made of common iron at
first and done base service.

Service, however (with a few limited reservations, genteel but not
profitable), they may not do, being of the Dedlock dignity. So they
visit their richer cousins, and get into debt when they can, and live
but shabbily when they can't, and find--the women no husbands, and
the men no wives--and ride in borrowed carriages, and sit at feasts
that are never of their own making, and so go through high life. The
rich family sum has been divided by so many figures, and they are the
something over that nobody knows what to do with.

Everybody on Sir Leicester Dedlock's side of the question and of his
way of thinking would appear to be his cousin more or less. From my
Lord Boodle, through the Duke of Foodle, down to Noodle, Sir
Leicester, like a glorious spider, stretches his threads of
relationship. But while he is stately in the cousinship of the
Everybodys, he is a kind and generous man, according to his dignified
way, in the cousinship of the Nobodys; and at the present time, in
despite of the damp, he stays out the visit of several such cousins
at Chesney Wold with the constancy of a martyr.

Of these, foremost in the front rank stands Volumnia Dedlock, a young
lady (of sixty) who is doubly highly related, having the honour to be
a poor relation, by the mother's side, to another great family. Miss
Volumnia, displaying in early life a pretty talent for cutting
ornaments out of coloured paper, and also for singing to the guitar
in the Spanish tongue, and propounding French conundrums in country
houses, passed the twenty years of her existence between twenty and
forty in a sufficiently agreeable manner. Lapsing then out of date
and being considered to bore mankind by her vocal performances in the
Spanish language, she retired to Bath, where she lives slenderly on
an annual present from Sir Leicester and whence she makes occasional
resurrections in the country houses of her cousins. She has an
extensive acquaintance at Bath among appalling old gentlemen with
thin legs and nankeen trousers, and is of high standing in that
dreary city. But she is a little dreaded elsewhere in consequence of
an indiscreet profusion in the article of rouge and persistency in an
obsolete pearl necklace like a rosary of little bird's-eggs.

In any country in a wholesome state, Volumnia would be a clear case
for the pension list. Efforts have been made to get her on it, and
when William Buffy came in, it was fully expected that her name would
be put down for a couple of hundred a year. But William Buffy somehow
discovered, contrary to all expectation, that these were not the
times when it could be done, and this was the first clear indication
Sir Leicester Dedlock had conveyed to him that the country was going
to pieces.

There is likewise the Honourable Bob Stables, who can make warm
mashes with the skill of a veterinary surgeon and is a better shot
than most gamekeepers. He has been for some time particularly
desirous to serve his country in a post of good emoluments,
unaccompanied by any trouble or responsibility. In a well-regulated
body politic this natural desire on the part of a spirited young
gentleman so highly connected would be speedily recognized, but
somehow William Buffy found when he came in that these were not times
in which he could manage that little matter either, and this was the
second indication Sir Leicester Dedlock had conveyed to him that the
country was going to pieces.

The rest of the cousins are ladies and gentlemen of various ages and
capacities, the major part amiable and sensible and likely to have
done well enough in life if they could have overcome their
cousinship; as it is, they are almost all a little worsted by it, and
lounge in purposeless and listless paths, and seem to be quite as
much at a loss how to dispose of themselves as anybody else can be
how to dispose of them.

In this society, and where not, my Lady Dedlock reigns supreme.
Beautiful, elegant, accomplished, and powerful in her little world
(for the world of fashion does not stretch ALL the way from pole to
pole), her influence in Sir Leicester's house, however haughty and
indifferent her manner, is greatly to improve it and refine it. The
cousins, even those older cousins who were paralysed when Sir
Leicester married her, do her feudal homage; and the Honourable Bob
Stables daily repeats to some chosen person between breakfast and
lunch his favourite original remark, that she is the best-groomed
woman in the whole stud.

Such the guests in the long drawing-room at Chesney Wold this dismal
night when the step on the Ghost's Walk (inaudible here, however)
might be the step of a deceased cousin shut out in the cold. It is
near bed-time. Bedroom fires blaze brightly all over the house,
raising ghosts of grim furniture on wall and ceiling. Bedroom
candlesticks bristle on the distant table by the door, and cousins
yawn on ottomans. Cousins at the piano, cousins at the soda-water
tray, cousins rising from the card-table, cousins gathered round the
fire. Standing on one side of his own peculiar fire (for there are
two), Sir Leicester. On the opposite side of the broad hearth, my
Lady at her table. Volumnia, as one of the more privileged cousins,
in a luxurious chair between them. Sir Leicester glancing, with
magnificent displeasure, at the rouge and the pearl necklace.

"I occasionally meet on my staircase here," drawls Volumnia, whose
thoughts perhaps are already hopping up it to bed, after a long
evening of very desultory talk, "one of the prettiest girls, I think,
that I ever saw in my life."

"A PROTEGEE of my Lady's," observes Sir Leicester.

"I thought so. I felt sure that some uncommon eye must have picked
that girl out. She really is a marvel. A dolly sort of beauty
perhaps," says Miss Volumnia, reserving her own sort, "but in its
way, perfect; such bloom I never saw!"

Sir Leicester, with his magnificent glance of displeasure at the
rouge, appears to say so too.

"Indeed," remarks my Lady languidly, "if there is any uncommon eye in
the case, it is Mrs. Rouncewell's, and not mine. Rosa is her
discovery."

"Your maid, I suppose?"

"No. My anything; pet--secretary--messenger--I don't know what."

"You like to have her about you, as you would like to have a flower,
or a bird, or a picture, or a poodle--no, not a poodle, though--or
anything else that was equally pretty?" says Volumnia, sympathizing.
"Yes, how charming now! And how well that delightful old soul Mrs.
Rouncewell is looking. She must be an immense age, and yet she is as
active and handsome! She is the dearest friend I have, positively!"

Sir Leicester feels it to be right and fitting that the housekeeper
of Chesney Wold should be a remarkable person. Apart from that, he
has a real regard for Mrs. Rouncewell and likes to hear her praised.
So he says, "You are right, Volumnia," which Volumnia is extremely
glad to hear.

"She has no daughter of her own, has she?"

"Mrs. Rouncewell? No, Volumnia. She has a son. Indeed, she had two."

My Lady, whose chronic malady of boredom has been sadly aggravated by
Volumnia this evening, glances wearily towards the candlesticks and
heaves a noiseless sigh.

"And it is a remarkable example of the confusion into which the
present age has fallen; of the obliteration of landmarks, the opening
of floodgates, and the uprooting of distinctions," says Sir Leicester
with stately gloom, "that I have been informed by Mr. Tulkinghorn
that Mrs. Rouncewell's son has been invited to go into Parliament."

Miss Volumnia utters a little sharp scream.

"Yes, indeed," repeats Sir Leicester. "Into Parliament."

"I never heard of such a thing! Good gracious, what is the man?"
exclaims Volumnia.

"He is called, I believe--an--ironmaster." Sir Leicester says it
slowly and with gravity and doubt, as not being sure but that he is
called a lead-mistress or that the right word may be some other word
expressive of some other relationship to some other metal.

Volumnia utters another little scream.

"He has declined the proposal, if my information from Mr. Tulkinghorn
be correct, as I have no doubt it is. Mr. Tulkinghorn being always
correct and exact; still that does not," says Sir Leicester, "that
does not lessen the anomaly, which is fraught with strange
considerations--startling considerations, as it appears to me."

Miss Volumnia rising with a look candlestick-wards, Sir Leicester
politely performs the grand tour of the drawing-room, brings one, and
lights it at my Lady's shaded lamp.

"I must beg you, my Lady," he says while doing so, "to remain a few
moments, for this individual of whom I speak arrived this evening
shortly before dinner and requested in a very becoming note"--Sir
Leicester, with his habitual regard to truth, dwells upon it--"I am
bound to say, in a very becoming and well-expressed note, the favour
of a short interview with yourself and MYself on the subject of this
young girl. As it appeared that he wished to depart to-night, I
replied that we would see him before retiring."

Miss Volumnia with a third little scream takes flight, wishing her
hosts--O Lud!--well rid of the--what is it?--ironmaster!

The other cousins soon disperse, to the last cousin there. Sir
Leicester rings the bell, "Make my compliments to Mr. Rouncewell, in
the housekeeper's apartments, and say I can receive him now."

My Lady, who has heard all this with slight attention outwardly,
looks towards Mr. Rouncewell as he comes in. He is a little over
fifty perhaps, of a good figure, like his mother, and has a clear
voice, a broad forehead from which his dark hair has retired, and a
shrewd though open face. He is a responsible-looking gentleman
dressed in black, portly enough, but strong and active. Has a
perfectly natural and easy air and is not in the least embarrassed by
the great presence into which he comes.

"Sir Leicester and Lady Dedlock, as I have already apologized for
intruding on you, I cannot do better than be very brief. I thank you,
Sir Leicester."

The head of the Dedlocks has motioned towards a sofa between himself
and my Lady. Mr. Rouncewell quietly takes his seat there.

"In these busy times, when so many great undertakings are in
progress, people like myself have so many workmen in so many places
that we are always on the flight."

Sir Leicester is content enough that the ironmaster should feel that
there is no hurry there; there, in that ancient house, rooted in that
quiet park, where the ivy and the moss have had time to mature, and
the gnarled and warted elms and the umbrageous oaks stand deep in the
fern and leaves of a hundred years; and where the sun-dial on the
terrace has dumbly recorded for centuries that time which was as much
the property of every Dedlock--while he lasted--as the house and
lands. Sir Leicester sits down in an easy-chair, opposing his repose
and that of Chesney Wold to the restless flights of ironmasters.

"Lady Dedlock has been so kind," proceeds Mr. Rouncewell with a
respectful glance and a bow that way, "as to place near her a young
beauty of the name of Rosa. Now, my son has fallen in love with Rosa
and has asked my consent to his proposing marriage to her and to
their becoming engaged if she will take him--which I suppose she
will. I have never seen Rosa until to-day, but I have some confidence
in my son's good sense--even in love. I find her what he represents
her, to the best of my judgment; and my mother speaks of her with
great commendation."

"She in all respects deserves it," says my Lady.

"I am happy, Lady Dedlock, that you say so, and I need not comment on
the value to me of your kind opinion of her."

"That," observes Sir Leicester with unspeakable grandeur, for he
thinks the ironmaster a little too glib, "must be quite unnecessary."

"Quite unnecessary, Sir Leicester. Now, my son is a very young man,
and Rosa is a very young woman. As I made my way, so my son must make
his; and his being married at present is out of the question. But
supposing I gave my consent to his engaging himself to this pretty
girl, if this pretty girl will engage herself to him, I think it a
piece of candour to say at once--I am sure, Sir Leicester and Lady
Dedlock, you will understand and excuse me--I should make it a
condition that she did not remain at Chesney Wold. Therefore, before
communicating further with my son, I take the liberty of saying that
if her removal would be in any way inconvenient or objectionable, I
will hold the matter over with him for any reasonable time and leave
it precisely where it is."

Not remain at Chesney Wold! Make it a condition! All Sir Leicester's
old misgivings relative to Wat Tyler and the people in the iron
districts who do nothing but turn out by torchlight come in a shower
upon his head, the fine grey hair of which, as well as of his
whiskers, actually stirs with indignation.

"Am I to understand, sir," says Sir Leicester, "and is my Lady to
understand"--he brings her in thus specially, first as a point of
gallantry, and next as a point of prudence, having great reliance on
her sense--"am I to understand, Mr. Rouncewell, and is my Lady to
understand, sir, that you consider this young woman too good for
Chesney Wold or likely to be injured by remaining here?"

"Certainly not, Sir Leicester,"

"I am glad to hear it." Sir Leicester very lofty indeed.

"Pray, Mr. Rouncewell," says my Lady, warning Sir Leicester off with
the slightest gesture of her pretty hand, as if he were a fly,
"explain to me what you mean."

"Willingly, Lady Dedlock. There is nothing I could desire more."

Addressing her composed face, whose intelligence, however, is too
quick and active to be concealed by any studied impassiveness,
however habitual, to the strong Saxon face of the visitor, a picture
of resolution and perseverance, my Lady listens with attention,
occasionally slightly bending her head.

"I am the son of your housekeeper, Lady Dedlock, and passed my
childhood about this house. My mother has lived here half a
century and will die here I have no doubt. She is one of those
examples--perhaps as good a one as there is--of love, and attachment,
and fidelity in such a nation, which England may well be proud of,
but of which no order can appropriate the whole pride or the whole
merit, because such an instance bespeaks high worth on two sides--on
the great side assuredly, on the small one no less assuredly."

Sir Leicester snorts a little to hear the law laid down in this way,
but in his honour and his love of truth, he freely, though silently,
admits the justice of the ironmaster's proposition.

"Pardon me for saying what is so obvious, but I wouldn't have it
hastily supposed," with the least turn of his eyes towards Sir
Leicester, "that I am ashamed of my mother's position here, or
wanting in all just respect for Chesney Wold and the family.
I certainly may have desired--I certainly have desired, Lady
Dedlock--that my mother should retire after so many years and end
her days with me. But as I have found that to sever this strong bond
would be to break her heart, I have long abandoned that idea."

Sir Leicester very magnificent again at the notion of Mrs. Rouncewell
being spirited off from her natural home to end her days with an
ironmaster.

"I have been," proceeds the visitor in a modest, clear way, "an
apprentice and a workman. I have lived on workman's wages, years and
years, and beyond a certain point have had to educate myself. My wife
was a foreman's daughter, and plainly brought up. We have three
daughters besides this son of whom I have spoken, and being
fortunately able to give them greater advantages than we have had
ourselves, we have educated them well, very well. It has been one of
our great cares and pleasures to make them worthy of any station."

A little boastfulness in his fatherly tone here, as if he added in
his heart, "even of the Chesney Wold station." Not a little more
magnificence, therefore, on the part of Sir Leicester.

"All this is so frequent, Lady Dedlock, where I live, and among the
class to which I belong, that what would be generally called unequal
marriages are not of such rare occurrence with us as elsewhere. A son
will sometimes make it known to his father that he has fallen in
love, say, with a young woman in the factory. The father, who once
worked in a factory himself, will be a little disappointed at first
very possibly. It may be that he had other views for his son.
However, the chances are that having ascertained the young woman to
be of unblemished character, he will say to his son, 'I must be quite
sure you are in earnest here. This is a serious matter for both of
you. Therefore I shall have this girl educated for two years,' or it
may be, 'I shall place this girl at the same school with your sisters
for such a time, during which you will give me your word and honour
to see her only so often. If at the expiration of that time, when she
has so far profited by her advantages as that you may be upon a fair
equality, you are both in the same mind, I will do my part to make
you happy.' I know of several cases such as I describe, my Lady, and
I think they indicate to me my own course now."

Sir Leicester's magnificence explodes. Calmly, but terribly.

"Mr. Rouncewell," says Sir Leicester with his right hand in the
breast of his blue coat, the attitude of state in which he is painted
in the gallery, "do you draw a parallel between Chesney Wold and a--"
Here he resists a disposition to choke, "a factory?"

"I need not reply, Sir Leicester, that the two places are very
different; but for the purposes of this case, I think a parallel may
be justly drawn between them."

Sir Leicester directs his majestic glance down one side of the long
drawing-room and up the other before he can believe that he is awake.

"Are you aware, sir, that this young woman whom my Lady--my Lady--has
placed near her person was brought up at the village school outside
the gates?"

"Sir Leicester, I am quite aware of it. A very good school it is, and
handsomely supported by this family."

"Then, Mr. Rouncewell," returns Sir Leicester, "the application of
what you have said is, to me, incomprehensible."

"Will it be more comprehensible, Sir Leicester, if I say," the
ironmaster is reddening a little, "that I do not regard the village
school as teaching everything desirable to be known by my son's
wife?"

From the village school of Chesney Wold, intact as it is this minute,
to the whole framework of society; from the whole framework of
society, to the aforesaid framework receiving tremendous cracks in
consequence of people (iron-masters, lead-mistresses, and what not)
not minding their catechism, and getting out of the station unto
which they are called--necessarily and for ever, according to Sir
Leicester's rapid logic, the first station in which they happen to
find themselves; and from that, to their educating other people out
of THEIR stations, and so obliterating the landmarks, and opening the
floodgates, and all the rest of it; this is the swift progress of the
Dedlock mind.

"My Lady, I beg your pardon. Permit me, for one moment!" She has
given a faint indication of intending to speak. "Mr. Rouncewell, our
views of duty, and our views of station, and our views of education,
and our views of--in short, ALL our views--are so diametrically
opposed, that to prolong this discussion must be repellent to your
feelings and repellent to my own. This young woman is honoured with
my Lady's notice and favour. If she wishes to withdraw herself from
that notice and favour or if she chooses to place herself under the
influence of any one who may in his peculiar opinions--you will allow
me to say, in his peculiar opinions, though I readily admit that he
is not accountable for them to me--who may, in his peculiar opinions,
withdraw her from that notice and favour, she is at any time at
liberty to do so. We are obliged to you for the plainness with which
you have spoken. It will have no effect of itself, one way or other,
on the young woman's position here. Beyond this, we can make no
terms; and here we beg--if you will be so good--to leave the
subject."

The visitor pauses a moment to give my Lady an opportunity, but she
says nothing. He then rises and replies, "Sir Leicester and Lady
Dedlock, allow me to thank you for your attention and only to observe
that I shall very seriously recommend my son to conquer his present
inclinations. Good night!"

"Mr. Rouncewell," says Sir Leicester with all the nature of a
gentleman shining in him, "it is late, and the roads are dark. I hope
your time is not so precious but that you will allow my Lady and
myself to offer you the hospitality of Chesney Wold, for to-night at
least."

"I hope so," adds my Lady.

"I am much obliged to you, but I have to travel all night in order to
reach a distant part of the country punctually at an appointed time
in the morning."

Therewith the ironmaster takes his departure, Sir Leicester ringing
the bell and my Lady rising as he leaves the room.

When my Lady goes to her boudoir, she sits down thoughtfully by the
fire, and inattentive to the Ghost's Walk, looks at Rosa, writing in
an inner room. Presently my Lady calls her.

"Come to me, child. Tell me the truth. Are you in love?"

"Oh! My Lady!"

My Lady, looking at the downcast and blushing face, says smiling,
"Who is it? Is it Mrs. Rouncewell's grandson?"

"Yes, if you please, my Lady. But I don't know that I am in love with
him--yet."

"Yet, you silly little thing! Do you know that he loves YOU, yet?"

"I think he likes me a little, my Lady." And Rosa bursts into tears.

Is this Lady Dedlock standing beside the village beauty, smoothing
her dark hair with that motherly touch, and watching her with eyes so
full of musing interest? Aye, indeed it is!

"Listen to me, child. You are young and true, and I believe you are
attached to me."

"Indeed I am, my Lady. Indeed there is nothing in the world I
wouldn't do to show how much."

"And I don't think you would wish to leave me just yet, Rosa, even
for a lover?"

"No, my Lady! Oh, no!" Rosa looks up for the first time, quite
frightened at the thought.

"Confide in me, my child. Don't fear me. I wish you to be happy, and
will make you so--if I can make anybody happy on this earth."

Rosa, with fresh tears, kneels at her feet and kisses her hand. My
Lady takes the hand with which she has caught it, and standing with
her eyes fixed on the fire, puts it about and about between her own
two hands, and gradually lets it fall. Seeing her so absorbed, Rosa
softly withdraws; but still my Lady's eyes are on the fire.

In search of what? Of any hand that is no more, of any hand that
never was, of any touch that might have magically changed her life?
Or does she listen to the Ghost's Walk and think what step does it
most resemble? A man's? A woman's? The pattering of a little child's
feet, ever coming on--on--on? Some melancholy influence is upon her,
or why should so proud a lady close the doors and sit alone upon the
hearth so desolate?

Volumnia is away next day, and all the cousins are scattered before
dinner. Not a cousin of the batch but is amazed to hear from Sir
Leicester at breakfast-time of the obliteration of landmarks, and
opening of floodgates, and cracking of the framework of society,
manifested through Mrs. Rouncewell's son. Not a cousin of the batch
but is really indignant, and connects it with the feebleness of
William Buffy when in office, and really does feel deprived of a
stake in the country--or the pension list--or something--by fraud and
wrong. As to Volumnia, she is handed down the great staircase by Sir
Leicester, as eloquent upon the theme as if there were a general
rising in the north of England to obtain her rouge-pot and pearl
necklace. And thus, with a clatter of maids and valets--for it is one
appurtenance of their cousinship that however difficult they may find
it to keep themselves, they MUST keep maids and valets--the cousins
disperse to the four winds of heaven; and the one wintry wind that
blows to-day shakes a shower from the trees near the deserted house,
as if all the cousins had been changed into leaves.

Sir Dedlock is feeling a little better with his gout and so is hosting all his random poor cousins at Chesney Wold. One of them is the really old Volumnia, who lives on a small allowance he gives her and sometimes annoys him by visiting. Volumnia asks one evening about the very pretty Rosa. Lady Dedlock says that she is her "pet - secretary - messenger - I don't know what" . You know, just a pretty face that's nice to keep around. Meanwhile, Sir Dedlock is upset about the fact that Mrs. Rouncewell's son, the Ironmaster has been asked to run for a seat in parliament. This is craziness to Sir Dedlock, since Mr. Rouncewell is the son of a servant. He's way too low-born for any such high political office. Dedlock is really stressed about this. After Volumnia and all the other cousins go to bed, Sir Dedlock tells Lady Dedlock that Mr. Rouncewell is actually here right now to talk to them about Rosa. Mr. Rouncewell comes in and doesn't beat around the bush. Dedlock is all the more indignant because Rouncewell doesn't seem at all uncomfortable in their presence. The gist of Rouncewell's deal is: 1) Watt is in love with Rosa, but they are both too young to marry; 2) he's OK with them getting engaged; 3) if they do, Rouncewell wants to take Rosa away and put her in a school for a couple of years so she ends up being a little more equal in rank to his son. Sir Dedlock flips out at all of this. Really, really flips out. Rosa needs more schooling? Chesney Wold isn't good enough for her or Watt? And so on and so forth. Mostly Sir Dedlock is against anyone rising up from their born station in life. They have a big fight and Rouncewell leaves, saying that he'll try to get Watt to fall out of love. Good luck with that. Later Lady Dedlock gets Rosa to fess up that she loves Watt too, then promises to do whatever she can to make Rosa happy. She's suddenly all sweet and nice and maternal. Where on earth did that come from?

Sir Leicester Dedlock has many poor relations and is at present entertaining several of them at Chesney Wold. They include the spinster Volumnia Dedlock and Bob Stables. Sir Leicester and Volumnia are appalled that Mr. Rouncewell, the ironmaster , has been considered suitable "to go into Parliament." Mr. Rouncewell confers with Lord and Lady Dedlock on the subject of the prospective engagement between Rosa, the maid, and Rouncewell's son, Watt. Sir Leicester is offended when Rouncewell says that if the engagement takes place, he wants to give Rosa two years of additional schooling . Later, Lady Dedlocks seems to find comfort in Rosa and, at the same time, to become pensive or even distraught in her presence.

In his portraits of Sir Leicester's poor but proud relatives, Dickens mildly satirizes those who use their rich "connection" as the basis for building unreal attitudes or expectations. Satirized also is Sir Leicester's immense pride. The man keeps his mind proudly closed on the subject of change, on class distinctions, and on most everything else. Yet Dickens does not present the upstart, middle-class ironmaster to be greatly admirable either. The motif of Lady Dedlock's melancholy and distraction is picked up again and is emphasized in such a way as to keep the reader's curiosity about her very much alive.

"The Ironmaster" The narrator says that Sir Leicester Dedlock, great as he is, has poor relatives, all of whom are his cousins. Several of them visit Chesney Wold, which Sir Leicester Dedlock endures uncomplainingly. One cousin currently staying at Chesney Wold is Volumnia Dedlock, who is sixty years old and usually receives financial support from Sir Leicester Dedlock. The narrator also describes the Honourable Bob Stables, who makes food for livestock. All the poor cousins who visit revere Lady Dedlock. One evening, Volumnia mentions that she frequently sees a pretty girl on the stairs. Sir Leicester says it is Lady Dedlock's protegee, Rosa. Volumnia then compliments the housekeeper, Mrs. Rouncewell. Sir Leicester tells Volumnia that Mrs. Rouncewell has two sons. He says that Mr. Tulkinghorn told him that one of Mrs. Rouncewell's sons was invited into Parliament but declined. Sir Leicester says that Mr. Rouncewell is called an "ironmaster. He tells Lady Dedlock that this man has requested to speak with them about Rosa. Mr. Rouncewell comes in. He says that his son is in love with Rosa and wants to propose marriage. Mr. Rouncewell thinks they are much too young, but he says that if he does give his consent, Rosa must leave Chesney Wold. He explains that he isn't ashamed of Rosa's position there, but that he doesn't want his son to make an unequal marriage and would want to educate Rosa first. Sir Leicester is insulted, since Rosa has attended a school he supports. He tells Mr. Rouncewell that the decision is his to make. Mr. Rouncewell says he will try to get his son to forget about Rosa. Later, Lady Dedlock asks Rosa if she is in love. Rosa says yes and begins to cry. Lady Dedlock comforts her and suggests she isn't yet ready to leave Chesney Wold, and Rosa agrees. Lady Dedlock tells Rosa that she'll make her happy

The Ironmaster The Dedlocks are entertaining at their country estate and have invited all the cousins, including Volumnia Dedlock, an old woman from Bath, and the Honorable Bob Stables who would like a government job with no responsibility. These cousins are poor relations that Sir Leicester entertains every so often. Sir Leicester appreciates the loyalty of his housekeeper, Mrs. Rouncewell, because she upholds the honor due to the upper classes that, in his opinion, is declining. An example of this new ethic is the fact that Mrs. Rouncewell's son, an ironmaster, has been invited to run for Parliament. The ironmaster suddenly appears asking to see the Dedlocks. His son Watt wants to marry Rosa, Lady Dedlock's maid. Mr. Rouncewell is willing to go ahead with the engagement if the Dedlocks agree. Sir Leicester and Mr. Rouncewell bandy about some sentiments about the intermingling of the classes, for Rosa is beneath his son's rank. He is willing to overlook that if she is educated properly, for "unequal marriages" happen regularly in the middle class that he represents. The Dedlocks promise to let the girl make up her own mind. Lady Dedlock asks Rosa in private about her feelings for Watt. She tries to be motherly to the girl and says she will try to make Rosa happy "if I can make anybody happy on this earth" . All this time, the tapping is heard on Ghost's Walk.

Commentary on Chapter XXVIII This chapter highlights class differences and the ways in which the class structure is changing in England at this time. Sir Leicester likes the merry old England of the past with its great families and houses and servants who knew their places. The evidence that the country is running to wrack and ruin in his eyes is that his poor cousin, the Honorable Bob Stables, is unable to get a cushy government job with no responsibility. Once upon a time, it was rank that determined all things. Now, with a business and industrial economy, there are the successful Rouncewells, who are actually invited to stand for Parliament! Mrs. Rouncewell is the old-fashioned housekeeper, who is always aware of serving a great family. Her boys were raised at Chesney Wold. But this elder son became an industrialist, an engineer inventing power-looms, and is a solid middle-class man with power. The irony of this is too much for the baronet, especially when Mr. Rouncewell says the maid Rosa is beneath his son's class and will have to be educated to be raised enough to marry Watt. Class pride is something Sir Leicester has felt reserved for the upper class. Rouncewell however speaks of the "leveling" of the classes when he says that unequal marriages can be remedied by education. This is a new principle--- education superceding bloodline. Sir Leicester rejects that, but is polite to Rouncewell, who reminds him that the honor of the upper class is maintained by people like his mother, for there must be "high worth on two sides" . Sir Leicester considers this incident the "cracking of the framework of society, manifested through Mrs. Rouncewell's son" . The scene between Lady Dedlock and Rosa is telling, for we have never seen Lady Dedlock kind to anyone before. It is hinted that she is trying to be motherly, to connect to another human being, perhaps remembering something from the past. That past is revealed in the next chapter.


The Young Man

Chesney Wold is shut up, carpets are rolled into great scrolls in
corners of comfortless rooms, bright damask does penance in brown
holland, carving and gilding puts on mortification, and the Dedlock
ancestors retire from the light of day again. Around and around the
house the leaves fall thick, but never fast, for they come circling
down with a dead lightness that is sombre and slow. Let the gardener
sweep and sweep the turf as he will, and press the leaves into full
barrows, and wheel them off, still they lie ankle-deep. Howls the
shrill wind round Chesney Wold; the sharp rain beats, the windows
rattle, and the chimneys growl. Mists hide in the avenues, veil the
points of view, and move in funeral-wise across the rising grounds.
On all the house there is a cold, blank smell like the smell of a
little church, though something dryer, suggesting that the dead and
buried Dedlocks walk there in the long nights and leave the flavour
of their graves behind them.

But the house in town, which is rarely in the same mind as Chesney
Wold at the same time, seldom rejoicing when it rejoices or mourning
when it mourns, excepting when a Dedlock dies--the house in town
shines out awakened. As warm and bright as so much state may be, as
delicately redolent of pleasant scents that bear no trace of winter
as hothouse flowers can make it, soft and hushed so that the ticking
of the clocks and the crisp burning of the fires alone disturb the
stillness in the rooms, it seems to wrap those chilled bones of Sir
Leicester's in rainbow-coloured wool. And Sir Leicester is glad to
repose in dignified contentment before the great fire in the library,
condescendingly perusing the backs of his books or honouring the fine
arts with a glance of approbation. For he has his pictures, ancient
and modern. Some of the Fancy Ball School in which art occasionally
condescends to become a master, which would be best catalogued like
the miscellaneous articles in a sale. As "Three high-backed chairs, a
table and cover, long-necked bottle (containing wine), one flask, one
Spanish female's costume, three-quarter face portrait of Miss Jogg
the model, and a suit of armour containing Don Quixote." Or "One
stone terrace (cracked), one gondola in distance, one Venetian
senator's dress complete, richly embroidered white satin costume with
profile portrait of Miss Jogg the model, one Scimitar superbly
mounted in gold with jewelled handle, elaborate Moorish dress (very
rare), and Othello."

Mr. Tulkinghorn comes and goes pretty often, there being estate
business to do, leases to be renewed, and so on. He sees my Lady
pretty often, too; and he and she are as composed, and as
indifferent, and take as little heed of one another, as ever. Yet it
may be that my Lady fears this Mr. Tulkinghorn and that he knows it.
It may be that he pursues her doggedly and steadily, with no touch of
compunction, remorse, or pity. It may be that her beauty and all the
state and brilliancy surrounding her only gives him the greater zest
for what he is set upon and makes him the more inflexible in it.
Whether he be cold and cruel, whether immovable in what he has made
his duty, whether absorbed in love of power, whether determined
to have nothing hidden from him in ground where he has burrowed
among secrets all his life, whether he in his heart despises the
splendour of which he is a distant beam, whether he is always
treasuring up slights and offences in the affability of his gorgeous
clients--whether he be any of this, or all of this, it may be that my
Lady had better have five thousand pairs of fashionable eyes upon
her, in distrustful vigilance, than the two eyes of this rusty lawyer
with his wisp of neckcloth and his dull black breeches tied with
ribbons at the knees.

Sir Leicester sits in my Lady's room--that room in which Mr.
Tulkinghorn read the affidavit in Jarndyce and Jarndyce--particularly
complacent. My Lady, as on that day, sits before the fire with her
screen in her hand. Sir Leicester is particularly complacent because
he has found in his newspaper some congenial remarks bearing directly
on the floodgates and the framework of society. They apply so happily
to the late case that Sir Leicester has come from the library to my
Lady's room expressly to read them aloud. "The man who wrote this
article," he observes by way of preface, nodding at the fire as if he
were nodding down at the man from a mount, "has a well-balanced
mind."

The man's mind is not so well balanced but that he bores my Lady,
who, after a languid effort to listen, or rather a languid
resignation of herself to a show of listening, becomes distraught and
falls into a contemplation of the fire as if it were her fire at
Chesney Wold, and she had never left it. Sir Leicester, quite
unconscious, reads on through his double eye-glass, occasionally
stopping to remove his glass and express approval, as "Very true
indeed," "Very properly put," "I have frequently made the same remark
myself," invariably losing his place after each observation, and
going up and down the column to find it again.

Sir Leicester is reading with infinite gravity and state when the
door opens, and the Mercury in powder makes this strange
announcement, "The young man, my Lady, of the name of Guppy."

Sir Leicester pauses, stares, repeats in a killing voice, "The young
man of the name of Guppy?"

Looking round, he beholds the young man of the name of Guppy, much
discomfited and not presenting a very impressive letter of
introduction in his manner and appearance.

"Pray," says Sir Leicester to Mercury, "what do you mean by
announcing with this abruptness a young man of the name of Guppy?"

"I beg your pardon, Sir Leicester, but my Lady said she would see the
young man whenever he called. I was not aware that you were here, Sir
Leicester."

With this apology, Mercury directs a scornful and indignant look at
the young man of the name of Guppy which plainly says, "What do you
come calling here for and getting ME into a row?"

"It's quite right. I gave him those directions," says my Lady. "Let
the young man wait."

"By no means, my Lady. Since he has your orders to come, I will not
interrupt you." Sir Leicester in his gallantry retires, rather
declining to accept a bow from the young man as he goes out and
majestically supposing him to be some shoemaker of intrusive
appearance.

Lady Dedlock looks imperiously at her visitor when the servant has
left the room, casting her eyes over him from head to foot. She
suffers him to stand by the door and asks him what he wants.

"That your ladyship would have the kindness to oblige me with a
little conversation," returns Mr. Guppy, embarrassed.

"You are, of course, the person who has written me so many letters?"

"Several, your ladyship. Several before your ladyship condescended to
favour me with an answer."

"And could you not take the same means of rendering a Conversation
unnecessary? Can you not still?"

Mr. Guppy screws his mouth into a silent "No!" and shakes his head.

"You have been strangely importunate. If it should appear, after all,
that what you have to say does not concern me--and I don't know how
it can, and don't expect that it will--you will allow me to cut you
short with but little ceremony. Say what you have to say, if you
please."

My Lady, with a careless toss of her screen, turns herself towards
the fire again, sitting almost with her back to the young man of the
name of Guppy.

"With your ladyship's permission, then," says the young man, "I will
now enter on my business. Hem! I am, as I told your ladyship in my
first letter, in the law. Being in the law, I have learnt the habit
of not committing myself in writing, and therefore I did not mention
to your ladyship the name of the firm with which I am connected and
in which my standing--and I may add income--is tolerably good. I may
now state to your ladyship, in confidence, that the name of that firm
is Kenge and Carboy, of Lincoln's Inn, which may not be altogether
unknown to your ladyship in connexion with the case in Chancery of
Jarndyce and Jarndyce."

My Lady's figure begins to be expressive of some attention. She has
ceased to toss the screen and holds it as if she were listening.

"Now, I may say to your ladyship at once," says Mr. Guppy, a little
emboldened, "it is no matter arising out of Jarndyce and Jarndyce
that made me so desirous to speak to your ladyship, which conduct I
have no doubt did appear, and does appear, obtrusive--in fact, almost
blackguardly."

After waiting for a moment to receive some assurance to the contrary,
and not receiving any, Mr. Guppy proceeds, "If it had been Jarndyce
and Jarndyce, I should have gone at once to your ladyship's
solicitor, Mr. Tulkinghorn, of the Fields. I have the pleasure of
being acquainted with Mr. Tulkinghorn--at least we move when we meet
one another--and if it had been any business of that sort, I should
have gone to him."

My Lady turns a little round and says, "You had better sit down."

"Thank your ladyship." Mr. Guppy does so. "Now, your ladyship"--Mr.
Guppy refers to a little slip of paper on which he has made small
notes of his line of argument and which seems to involve him in the
densest obscurity whenever he looks at it--"I--Oh, yes!--I place
myself entirely in your ladyship's hands. If your ladyship was to
make any complaint to Kenge and Carboy or to Mr. Tulkinghorn of the
present visit, I should be placed in a very disagreeable situation.
That, I openly admit. Consequently, I rely upon your ladyship's
honour."

My Lady, with a disdainful gesture of the hand that holds the screen,
assures him of his being worth no complaint from her.

"Thank your ladyship," says Mr. Guppy; "quite satisfactory.
Now--I--dash it!--The fact is that I put down a head or two here of
the order of the points I thought of touching upon, and they're
written short, and I can't quite make out what they mean. If your
ladyship will excuse me taking it to the window half a moment, I--"

Mr. Guppy, going to the window, tumbles into a pair of love-birds, to
whom he says in his confusion, "I beg your pardon, I am sure." This
does not tend to the greater legibility of his notes. He murmurs,
growing warm and red and holding the slip of paper now close to his
eyes, now a long way off, "C.S. What's C.S. for? Oh! C.S.! Oh, I
know! Yes, to be sure!" And comes back enlightened.

"I am not aware," says Mr. Guppy, standing midway between my Lady and
his chair, "whether your ladyship ever happened to hear of, or to
see, a young lady of the name of Miss Esther Summerson."

My Lady's eyes look at him full. "I saw a young lady of that name not
long ago. This past autumn."

"Now, did it strike your ladyship that she was like anybody?" asks
Mr. Guppy, crossing his arms, holding his head on one side, and
scratching the corner of his mouth with his memoranda.

My Lady removes her eyes from him no more.

"No."

"Not like your ladyship's family?"

"No."

"I think your ladyship," says Mr. Guppy, "can hardly remember Miss
Summerson's face?"

"I remember the young lady very well. What has this to do with me?"

"Your ladyship, I do assure you that having Miss Summerson's image
imprinted on my 'eart--which I mention in confidence--I found, when I
had the honour of going over your ladyship's mansion of Chesney Wold
while on a short out in the county of Lincolnshire with a friend,
such a resemblance between Miss Esther Summerson and your ladyship's
own portrait that it completely knocked me over, so much so that I
didn't at the moment even know what it WAS that knocked me over. And
now I have the honour of beholding your ladyship near (I have often,
since that, taken the liberty of looking at your ladyship in your
carriage in the park, when I dare say you was not aware of me, but I
never saw your ladyship so near), it's really more surprising than I
thought it."

Young man of the name of Guppy! There have been times, when ladies
lived in strongholds and had unscrupulous attendants within call,
when that poor life of yours would NOT have been worth a minute's
purchase, with those beautiful eyes looking at you as they look at
this moment.

My Lady, slowly using her little hand-screen as a fan, asks him again
what he supposes that his taste for likenesses has to do with her.

"Your ladyship," replies Mr. Guppy, again referring to his paper, "I
am coming to that. Dash these notes! Oh! 'Mrs. Chadband.' Yes." Mr.
Guppy draws his chair a little forward and seats himself again. My
Lady reclines in her chair composedly, though with a trifle less of
graceful ease than usual perhaps, and never falters in her steady
gaze. "A--stop a minute, though!" Mr. Guppy refers again. "E.S.
twice? Oh, yes! Yes, I see my way now, right on."

Rolling up the slip of paper as an instrument to point his speech
with, Mr. Guppy proceeds.

"Your ladyship, there is a mystery about Miss Esther Summerson's
birth and bringing up. I am informed of that fact because--which I
mention in confidence--I know it in the way of my profession at Kenge
and Carboy's. Now, as I have already mentioned to your ladyship, Miss
Summerson's image is imprinted on my 'eart. If I could clear this
mystery for her, or prove her to be well related, or find that having
the honour to be a remote branch of your ladyship's family she had a
right to be made a party in Jarndyce and Jarndyce, why, I might make
a sort of a claim upon Miss Summerson to look with an eye of more
dedicated favour on my proposals than she has exactly done as yet. In
fact, as yet she hasn't favoured them at all."

A kind of angry smile just dawns upon my Lady's face.

"Now, it's a very singular circumstance, your ladyship," says Mr.
Guppy, "though one of those circumstances that do fall in the way of
us professional men--which I may call myself, for though not
admitted, yet I have had a present of my articles made to me by Kenge
and Carboy, on my mother's advancing from the principal of her little
income the money for the stamp, which comes heavy--that I have
encountered the person who lived as servant with the lady who brought
Miss Summerson up before Mr. Jarndyce took charge of her. That lady
was a Miss Barbary, your ladyship."

Is the dead colour on my Lady's face reflected from the screen which
has a green silk ground and which she holds in her raised hand as if
she had forgotten it, or is it a dreadful paleness that has fallen on
her?

"Did your ladyship," says Mr. Guppy, "ever happen to hear of Miss
Barbary?"

"I don't know. I think so. Yes."

"Was Miss Barbary at all connected with your ladyship's family?"

My Lady's lips move, but they utter nothing. She shakes her head.

"NOT connected?" says Mr. Guppy. "Oh! Not to your ladyship's
knowledge, perhaps? Ah! But might be? Yes." After each of these
interrogatories, she has inclined her head. "Very good! Now, this
Miss Barbary was extremely close--seems to have been extraordinarily
close for a female, females being generally (in common life at least)
rather given to conversation--and my witness never had an idea
whether she possessed a single relative. On one occasion, and only
one, she seems to have been confidential to my witness on a single
point, and she then told her that the little girl's real name was not
Esther Summerson, but Esther Hawdon."

"My God!"

Mr. Guppy stares. Lady Dedlock sits before him looking him through,
with the same dark shade upon her face, in the same attitude even to
the holding of the screen, with her lips a little apart, her brow a
little contracted, but for the moment dead. He sees her consciousness
return, sees a tremor pass across her frame like a ripple over water,
sees her lips shake, sees her compose them by a great effort, sees
her force herself back to the knowledge of his presence and of what
he has said. All this, so quickly, that her exclamation and her dead
condition seem to have passed away like the features of those
long-preserved dead bodies sometimes opened up in tombs, which,
struck by the air like lightning, vanish in a breath.

"Your ladyship is acquainted with the name of Hawdon?"

"I have heard it before."

"Name of any collateral or remote branch of your ladyship's family?"

"No."

"Now, your ladyship," says Mr. Guppy, "I come to the last point of
the case, so far as I have got it up. It's going on, and I shall
gather it up closer and closer as it goes on. Your ladyship must
know--if your ladyship don't happen, by any chance, to know
already--that there was found dead at the house of a person named
Krook, near Chancery Lane, some time ago, a law-writer in great
distress. Upon which law-writer there was an inquest, and which
law-writer was an anonymous character, his name being unknown. But,
your ladyship, I have discovered very lately that that law-writer's
name was Hawdon."

"And what is THAT to me?"

"Aye, your ladyship, that's the question! Now, your ladyship, a queer
thing happened after that man's death. A lady started up, a disguised
lady, your ladyship, who went to look at the scene of action and went
to look at his grave. She hired a crossing-sweeping boy to show it
her. If your ladyship would wish to have the boy produced in
corroboration of this statement, I can lay my hand upon him at any
time."

The wretched boy is nothing to my Lady, and she does NOT wish to have
him produced.

"Oh, I assure your ladyship it's a very queer start indeed," says Mr.
Guppy. "If you was to hear him tell about the rings that sparkled on
her fingers when she took her glove off, you'd think it quite
romantic."

There are diamonds glittering on the hand that holds the screen. My
Lady trifles with the screen and makes them glitter more, again with
that expression which in other times might have been so dangerous to
the young man of the name of Guppy.

"It was supposed, your ladyship, that he left no rag or scrap behind
him by which he could be possibly identified. But he did. He left a
bundle of old letters."

The screen still goes, as before. All this time her eyes never once
release him.

"They were taken and secreted. And to-morrow night, your ladyship,
they will come into my possession."

"Still I ask you, what is this to me?"

"Your ladyship, I conclude with that." Mr. Guppy rises. "If you think
there's enough in this chain of circumstances put together--in the
undoubted strong likeness of this young lady to your ladyship, which
is a positive fact for a jury; in her having been brought up by Miss
Barbary; in Miss Barbary stating Miss Summerson's real name to be
Hawdon; in your ladyship's knowing both these names VERY WELL; and in
Hawdon's dying as he did--to give your ladyship a family interest in
going further into the case, I will bring these papers here. I don't
know what they are, except that they are old letters: I have never
had them in my possession yet. I will bring those papers here as soon
as I get them and go over them for the first time with your ladyship.
I have told your ladyship my object. I have told your ladyship that I
should be placed in a very disagreeable situation if any complaint
was made, and all is in strict confidence."

Is this the full purpose of the young man of the name of Guppy, or
has he any other? Do his words disclose the length, breadth, depth,
of his object and suspicion in coming here; or if not, what do they
hide? He is a match for my Lady there. She may look at him, but he
can look at the table and keep that witness-box face of his from
telling anything.

"You may bring the letters," says my Lady, "if you choose."

"Your ladyship is not very encouraging, upon my word and honour,"
says Mr. Guppy, a little injured.

"You may bring the letters," she repeats in the same tone, "if
you--please."

"It shall be done. I wish your ladyship good day."

On a table near her is a rich bauble of a casket, barred and clasped
like an old strong-chest. She, looking at him still, takes it to her
and unlocks it.

"Oh! I assure your ladyship I am not actuated by any motives of that
sort," says Mr. Guppy, "and I couldn't accept anything of the kind. I
wish your ladyship good day, and am much obliged to you all the
same."

So the young man makes his bow and goes downstairs, where the
supercilious Mercury does not consider himself called upon to leave
his Olympus by the hall-fire to let the young man out.

As Sir Leicester basks in his library and dozes over his newspaper,
is there no influence in the house to startle him, not to say to make
the very trees at Chesney Wold fling up their knotted arms, the very
portraits frown, the very armour stir?

No. Words, sobs, and cries are but air, and air is so shut in and
shut out throughout the house in town that sounds need be uttered
trumpet-tongued indeed by my Lady in her chamber to carry any faint
vibration to Sir Leicester's ears; and yet this cry is in the house,
going upward from a wild figure on its knees.

"O my child, my child! Not dead in the first hours of her life, as my
cruel sister told me, but sternly nurtured by her, after she had
renounced me and my name! O my child, O my child!"

The Dedlocks are back in London for the winter. Sir Dedlock is enjoying chillaxing in his study. Lady Dedlock is bored as always. Tulkinghorn comes and goes with estate business. In reality, though, Tulkinghorn is constantly watching Lady Dedlock, and she is clearly scared by him. It's hard to know what his motives are. Duty? Hatred of the people he works for? The thrill of the hunt? One evening when Sir Dedlock is reading some article about how the country is going to the dogs to his wife, Guppy is announced. Guppy is there because, after he had written her many letters, Lady Dedlock finally agreed to see him. He's got a whole spiel prepared on a piece of paper and he does his best to be as lawyerly as possible. But we don't really have time for his slow style, so here are the highlights: Esther Summerson looks a lot like Lady Dedlock, so maybe she is related to her family somehow. Maybe if Guppy figures out that Esther is a Dedlock relation, then she can join the Jarndyce lawsuit and profit - and then have warmer feelings towards Guppy . Guppy has info from Mrs. Chadband - who used to be Esther's aunt's servant - that Esther's real name is Esther Hawdon. The law clerk named Nemo who died at Krook's was actually named Hawdon. After his death, a veiled lady paid Jo to take her around to sites associated with him - and Jo can be found right away to tell everyone about the pretty rings on her fingers. Guppy has a bunch of letters that Hawdon had on him when he died and can bring them to Lady Dedlock. Whoa. That's some craziness right there. Anyway, Lady Dedlock is clearly freaked out, though she's hiding it well. She tells Guppy to bring the letters. When he leaves she breaks into hysterics because... drum roll... the big secret reveal is coming up... OK, get ready now...everyone sitting down?...Esther is her daughter! Miss Barbary is her sister! Miss Barbary told Lady Dedlock that the baby died within hours of being born and then raised her in secret! What on earth? Who would be that kind of crazy?

At the approach of cold weather, the Dedlocks close Chesney Wold and move to their place in London. Their lawyer, Tulkinghorn, is a frequent visitor there, and, for Lady Dedlock, a discomfiting one. Guppy, the law clerk from Kenge and Carboy, has written her numerous letters requesting that he be allowed to visit her. Thus, one day she receives him, and he tells her that a long investigation has led him to believe that Lady Dedlock might have "a family interest" in knowing that the father of Esther Summerson was Captain Hawdon . After Guppy leaves, Lady Dedlock breaks into tears as she realizes that her daughter is alive. Her sister lied about the child's having died shortly after birth.

In this chapter, Lady Dedlock, one of the book's principal figures, learns a fact so momentous that all of her subsequent actions are bound to be highly significant. In this way, suspense is heightened.

"The Young Man" Chesney Wold is shut up, and the Dedlocks go to their house in town. Tulkinghorn visits frequently, and the narrator suggests that Lady Dedlock is afraid of him. One day, Mr. Guppy visits. Sir Leicester finds out that Lady Dedlock has told Guppy he can visit when he wants. He leaves Guppy and Lady Dedlock alone. Guppy has apparently written many letters to Lady Dedlock, and she has finally agreed to see him. He tells her that he works for Kenge and Carboy, which is connected to the Jarndyce and Jarndyce case, but that he isn't here about that. He says that if he had Jarndyce and Jarndyce matters to discuss, he would have gone to Tulkinghorn, with whom he is acquainted. This gets Lady Dedlock's attention. Guppy requests that Lady Dedlock not complain of this visit to Kenge and Carboy to Tulkinghorn, and she agrees. He then asks if Lady Dedlock knows Esther Summerson, and she says she met Esther last fall. Guppy asks if Esther reminded her of any of her relatives. Lady Dedlock says no but doesn't take her eyes off Guppy as he speaks. Guppy persists and says that he sees a strong resemblance between Esther and Lady Dedlock--he saw Lady Dedlock's portrait at Chesney Wold. Guppy then says that Esther's birth and upbringing are mysteries, and that he hopes to somehow prove that she is part of Lady Dedlock's family so that she can be made a party to Jarndyce and Jarndyce. He is doing all this to try to get Esther to reconsider his marriage proposal. He tells Lady Dedlock that he has found out that Esther's guardian before Mr. Jarndyce was a Miss Barbary. Lady Dedlock turns pale. She says she did once know a Miss Barbary, but that, to her knowledge, there was no family connection. Guppy says that although Miss Barbary said very little, she did tell Esther that her real name is Esther Hawdon. Lady Dedlock is shocked but covers it quickly. She says she never heard the name Hawdon. Guppy then says that the lodger who was found dead at Krook's was named Hawdon. After the death, a strange woman followed a young boy to Hawdon's grave. Guppy asks if Lady Dedlock would like to see the boy; she says no. He remarks on the boy's observation that the woman had many rings on her fingers. The narrator says that Lady Dedlock is wearing many diamond rings. Finally, Guppy says that Hawdon left behind some letters, which he will obtain tomorrow. If the letters connect Lady Dedlock to all of this, he will bring them to her. He leaves. Lady Dedlock falls to her knees. She realizes that Esther is her daughter, who her sister told her had died at birth

The death of Krook's lodger resurfaces in chapters 26, 27, and 29, as Dickens picks up the thread of the death and weaves it back into the story. In chapter 26, when Grandfather Smallweed approaches George for a fragment of the lodger's handwriting, the lodger gets a name--Captain Hawdon--and is revealed to be at the center of an as-yet-unexplained mystery, in which his handwriting is key. Tulkinghorn is part of the mystery, being one of the men who looking for the handwriting, as is Guppy, who has learned that the lodger and Esther shared the same last name. While some people are looking for the lodger's handwriting, Guppy claims to have it, in the form of a bundle of letters. The mystery of the lodger propels the story forward and complicates the relationships between characters. The third-person narrator adds a twist to the strange relationship between Lady Dedlock and Tulkinghorn in chapter 29, when he suggests that Lady Dedlock is afraid of Tulkinghorn. The narrator makes Tulkinghorn a more ominous character by describing him as feeling no remorse or pity and perhaps even being cold and cruel. Even though it seemed possible in previous chapters that Lady Dedlock and Tulkinghorn were involved in a secret love affair, their uncomfortable interactions now suggest that something more sinister is going on. By introducing these new layers to their relationship, the narrator foreshadows Tulkinghorn's eventual role in Lady Dedlock's life and suggests that Lady Dedlock may indeed have something to hide. When Guppy visits Lady Dedlock and craftily reveals his connection to Tulkinghorn, he succeeds in getting Lady Dedlock's attention. His own intimations take on a darker shade thanks to the narrator's previous descriptions of Tulkinghorn. Lady Dedlock's discovery that Esther is actually the daughter she believed dead is the first true climax of Bleak House and sets up the primary conflict and storyline of the second half of the novel. Lady Dedlock--who has seemed so cold, haughty, and privileged--suddenly becomes much more sympathetic. Not only does she have a secret that could destroy her reputation and social standing, but she suffered a traumatic loss long ago. For her, Esther has practically risen from the grave, and the revelation is so overwhelming that she falls to her knees. The newly established connection between Esther and Lady Dedlock complicates everything and makes us question how much the other characters really know. We know that Guppy is nosing around, for example, but we aren't sure how much he knows. The same can be said for the Frenchwoman, Mademoiselle Hortense. This may also explain why Lady Dedlock is so afraid of Tulkinghorn--unless she's hiding another secret that hasn't yet been revealed. The revelation that Esther is Lady Dedlock's daughter explains why Esther had such a strange, violent reaction when she first met Lady Dedlock at Chesney Wold. The revelation also changes the way we view Esther as a narrator. When we return to her narrative in chapter 30, we do so with knowledge that she is not yet privy to. And although Esther is narrating the story from a point in the future, she does so with a measured pacing. For now, we as readers have secret inside knowledge.

The Young Man The Dedlocks move to their London house for the winter. Lady Dedlock has come to fear Mr. Tulkinghorn who "pursues her doggedly" with "no touch of compunction, remorse, or pity" . The servant suddenly announces "The young man of the name of Guppy." Surprised, she receives him alone, as her husband leaves. Guppy has been writing to Lady Dedlock and now has a solid offer for her. He mentions that Esther Summerson looks like Lady Dedlock, and that his friend, Mrs. Chadband, who knew Esther as a girl has given him some information about Esther. He wants to clear the mystery of her birth because he loves her and has proposed to her, but admits she has refused him. Lady Dedlock smiles. He goes on that Mrs. Chadband worked for Miss Barbary. Lady Dedlock's face is pale. The little girl's name was Esther Hawdon, not Summerson. Lady Dedlock says, "My God!" Guppy goes on that the dead law-writer was Captain Hawdon, and that it is known she went in disguise to see his grave. Hawdon left a batch of letters, which he, Guppy, can retrieve and bring, if she is willing. Alone, she cries and sobs, "O my child." Her cruel sister had told her that the baby died, and had secretly taken and raised the child.

Commentary on Chapter XXIX Finally, some mysteries are solved and facts put together. Lady Dedlock had some kind of love affair with Hawdon and obviously still loves him. She was separated from her child by force, from her cruel sister, Miss Barbary. The love letters are the ones that Krook must have taken from Hawdon's room after his death before anyone else could find them. Krook was unable to read to ascertain their value, but Guppy somehow can get them from him. At this point, Lady Dedlock's secrets are being pursued separately by Guppy from the office of Kenge and Carboy, and Tulkinghorn, the Dedlock's attorney. Guppy seems to be ahead of Tulkinghorn at the moment. Guppy thinks knowing the secret of Esther's birth is a way to marriage. He thinks it is his ticket into Jarndyce and Jarndyce. It is interesting to learn that Esther looks like Lady Dedlock, for we are told repeatedly how beautiful she is, and we never hear mention of what Esther looks like. Esther would have us believe Ada is the beauty, and she is plain, but with three men after her, and a likeness to Lady Dedlock, we have to form our own opinion.