When our time came for returning to Bleak House again, we were
punctual to the day and were received with an overpowering welcome. I was
perfectly restored to health and strength, and finding my housekeeping keys laid
ready for me in my room, rang myself in as if I had been a new year, with a
merry little peal. "Once more, duty, duty, Esther," said I; "and if you are not
overjoyed to do it, more than cheerfully and contentedly, through anything and
everything, you ought to be. That's all I have to say to you, my dear!"
The first few mornings were mornings of so much bustle and business, devoted
to such settlements of accounts, such repeated journeys to and fro between the
growlery and all other parts of the house, so many rearrangements of drawers and
presses, and such a general new beginning altogether, that I had not a moment's
leisure. But when these arrangements were completed and everything was in order,
I paid a visit of a few hours to London, which something in the letter I had
destroyed at Chesney Wold had induced me to decide upon in my own mind.
I made Caddy Jellyby--her maiden name was so natural to me that I always
called her by it--the pretext for this visit and wrote her a note previously
asking the favour of her company on a little business expedition. Leaving home
very early in the morning, I got to London by stage-coach in such good time that
I got to Newman Street with the day before me.
Caddy, who had not seen me since her wedding-day, was so glad and so
affectionate that I was half inclined to fear I should make her husband jealous.
But he was, in his way, just as bad--I mean as good; and in short it was the old
story, and nobody would leave me any possibility of doing anything meritorious.
The elder Mr. Turveydrop was in bed, I found, and Caddy was milling his
chocolate, which a melancholy little boy who was an apprentice --it seemed such
a curious thing to be apprenticed to the trade of dancing--was waiting to carry
upstairs. Her father-in-law was extremely kind and considerate, Caddy told me,
and they lived most happily together. (When she spoke of their living together,
she meant that the old gentleman had all the good things and all the good
lodging, while she and her husband had what they could get, and were poked into
two corner rooms over the Mews.)
"And how is your mama, Caddy?" said I.
"Why, I hear of her, Esther," replied Caddy, "through Pa, but I see very
little of her. We are good friends, I am glad to say, but Ma thinks there is
something absurd in my having married a dancing- master, and she is rather
afraid of its extending to her."
It struck me that if Mrs. Jellyby had discharged her own natural duties and
obligations before she swept the horizon with a telescope in search of others,
she would have taken the best precautions against becoming absurd, but I need
scarcely observe that I kept this to myself.
"And your papa, Caddy?"
"He comes here every evening," returned Caddy, "and is so fond of sitting in
the corner there that it's a treat to see him."
Looking at the corner, I plainly perceived the mark of Mr. Jellyby's head
against the wall. It was consolatory to know that he had found such a
resting-place for it.
"And you, Caddy," said I, "you are always busy, I'll be bound?"
"Well, my dear," returned Caddy, "I am indeed, for to tell you a grand
secret, I am qualifying myself to give lessons. Prince's health is not strong,
and I want to be able to assist him. What with schools, and classes here, and
private pupils, AND the apprentices, he really has too much to do, poor fellow!"
The notion of the apprentices was still so odd to me that I asked Caddy if
there were many of them.
"Four," said Caddy. "One in-door, and three out. They are very good children;
only when they get together they WILL play-- children-like--instead of attending
to their work. So the little boy you saw just now waltzes by himself in the
empty kitchen, and we distribute the others over the house as well as we can."
"That is only for their steps, of course?" said I.
"Only for their steps," said Caddy. "In that way they practise, so many hours
at a time, whatever steps they happen to be upon. They dance in the academy, and
at this time of year we do figures at five every morning."
"Why, what a laborious life!" I exclaimed.
"I assure you, my dear," returned Caddy, smiling, "when the out- door
apprentices ring us up in the morning (the bell rings into our room, not to
disturb old Mr. Turveydrop), and when I put up the window and see them standing
on the door-step with their little pumps under their arms, I am actually
reminded of the Sweeps."
All this presented the art to me in a singular light, to be sure. Caddy
enjoyed the effect of her communication and cheerfully recounted the particulars
of her own studies.
"You see, my dear, to save expense I ought to know something of the piano,
and I ought to know something of the kit too, and consequently I have to
practise those two instruments as well as the details of our profession. If Ma
had been like anybody else, I might have had some little musical knowledge to
begin upon. However, I hadn't any; and that part of the work is, at first, a
little discouraging, I must allow. But I have a very good ear, and I am used to
drudgery--I have to thank Ma for that, at all events-- and where there's a will
there's a way, you know, Esther, the world over." Saying these words, Caddy
laughingly sat down at a little jingling square piano and really rattled off a
quadrille with great spirit. Then she good-humouredly and blushingly got up
again, and while she still laughed herself, said, "Don't laugh at me, please;
that's a dear girl!"
I would sooner have cried, but I did neither. I encouraged her and praised
her with all my heart. For I conscientiously believed, dancing-master's wife
though she was, and dancing-mistress though in her limited ambition she aspired
to be, she had struck out a natural, wholesome, loving course of industry and
perseverance that was quite as good as a mission.
"My dear," said Caddy, delighted, "you can't think how you cheer me. I shall
owe you, you don't know how much. What changes, Esther, even in my small world!
You recollect that first night, when I was so unpolite and inky? Who would have
thought, then, of my ever teaching people to dance, of all other possibilities
and impossibilities!"
Her husband, who had left us while we had this chat, now coming back,
preparatory to exercising the apprentices in the ball-room, Caddy informed me
she was quite at my disposal. But it was not my time yet, I was glad to tell
her, for I should have been vexed to take her away then. Therefore we three
adjourned to the apprentices together, and I made one in the dance.
The apprentices were the queerest little people. Besides the melancholy boy,
who, I hoped, had not been made so by waltzing alone in the empty kitchen, there
were two other boys and one dirty little limp girl in a gauzy dress. Such a
precocious little girl, with such a dowdy bonnet on (that, too, of a gauzy
texture), who brought her sandalled shoes in an old threadbare velvet reticule.
Such mean little boys, when they were not dancing, with string, and marbles, and
cramp-bones in their pockets, and the most untidy legs and feet--and heels
particularly.
I asked Caddy what had made their parents choose this profession for them.
Caddy said she didn't know; perhaps they were designed for teachers, perhaps for
the stage. They were all people in humble circumstances, and the melancholy
boy's mother kept a ginger-beer shop.
We danced for an hour with great gravity, the melancholy child doing wonders
with his lower extremities, in which there appeared to be some sense of
enjoyment though it never rose above his waist. Caddy, while she was observant
of her husband and was evidently founded upon him, had acquired a grace and
self-possession of her own, which, united to her pretty face and figure, was
uncommonly agreeable. She already relieved him of much of the instruction of
these young people, and he seldom interfered except to walk his part in the
figure if he had anything to do in it. He always played the tune. The
affectation of the gauzy child, and her condescension to the boys, was a sight.
And thus we danced an hour by the clock.
When the practice was concluded, Caddy's husband made himself ready to go out
of town to a school, and Caddy ran away to get ready to go out with me. I sat in
the ball-room in the interval, contemplating the apprentices. The two out-door
boys went upon the staircase to put on their half-boots and pull the in-door
boy's hair, as I judged from the nature of his objections. Returning with their
jackets buttoned and their pumps stuck in them, they then produced packets of
cold bread and meat and bivouacked under a painted lyre on the wall. The little
gauzy child, having whisked her sandals into the reticule and put on a
trodden-down pair of shoes, shook her head into the dowdy bonnet at one shake,
and answering my inquiry whether she liked dancing by replying, "Not with boys,"
tied it across her chin, and went home contemptuous.
"Old Mr. Turveydrop is so sorry," said Caddy, "that he has not finished
dressing yet and cannot have the pleasure of seeing you before you go. You are
such a favourite of his, Esther."
I expressed myself much obliged to him, but did not think it necessary to add
that I readily dispensed with this attention.
"It takes him a long time to dress," said Caddy, "because he is very much
looked up to in such things, you know, and has a reputation to support. You
can't think how kind he is to Pa. He talks to Pa of an evening about the Prince
Regent, and I never saw Pa so interested."
There was something in the picture of Mr. Turveydrop bestowing his deportment
on Mr. Jellyby that quite took my fancy. I asked Caddy if he brought her papa
out much.
"No," said Caddy, "I don't know that he does that, but he talks to Pa, and Pa
greatly admires him, and listens, and likes it. Of course I am aware that Pa has
hardly any claims to deportment, but they get on together delightfully. You
can't think what good companions they make. I never saw Pa take snuff before in
my life, but he takes one pinch out of Mr. Turveydrop's box regularly and keeps
putting it to his nose and taking it away again all the evening."
That old Mr. Turveydrop should ever, in the chances and changes of life, have
come to the rescue of Mr. Jellyby from Borrioboola-Gha appeared to me to be one
of the pleasantest of oddities.
"As to Peepy," said Caddy with a little hesitation, "whom I was most afraid
of--next to having any family of my own, Esther--as an inconvenience to Mr.
Turveydrop, the kindness of the old gentleman to that child is beyond
everything. He asks to see him, my dear! He lets him take the newspaper up to
him in bed; he gives him the crusts of his toast to eat; he sends him on little
errands about the house; he tells him to come to me for sixpences. In short,"
said Caddy cheerily, "and not to prose, I am a very fortunate girl and ought to
be very grateful. Where are we going, Esther?"
"To the Old Street Road," said I, "where I have a few words to say to the
solicitor's clerk who was sent to meet me at the coach- office on the very day
when I came to London and first saw you, my dear. Now I think of it, the
gentleman who brought us to your house."
"Then, indeed, I seem to be naturally the person to go with you," returned
Caddy.
To the Old Street Road we went and there inquired at Mrs. Guppy's residence
for Mrs. Guppy. Mrs. Guppy, occupying the parlours and having indeed been
visibly in danger of cracking herself like a nut in the front-parlour door by
peeping out before she was asked for, immediately presented herself and
requested us to walk in. She was an old lady in a large cap, with rather a red
nose and rather an unsteady eye, but smiling all over. Her close little
sitting-room was prepared for a visit, and there was a portrait of her son in it
which, I had almost written here, was more like than life: it insisted upon him
with such obstinacy, and was so determined not to let him off.
Not only was the portrait there, but we found the original there too. He was
dressed in a great many colours and was discovered at a table reading law-papers
with his forefinger to his forehead.
"Miss Summerson," said Mr. Guppy, rising, "this is indeed an oasis. Mother,
will you be so good as to put a chair for the other lady and get out of the
gangway."
Mrs. Guppy, whose incessant smiling gave her quite a waggish appearance, did
as her son requested and then sat down in a corner, holding her pocket
handkerchief to her chest, like a fomentation, with both hands.
I presented Caddy, and Mr. Guppy said that any friend of mine was more than
welcome. I then proceeded to the object of my visit.
"I took the liberty of sending you a note, sir," said I.
Mr. Guppy acknowledged the receipt by taking it out of his breast- pocket,
putting it to his lips, and returning it to his pocket with a bow. Mr. Guppy's
mother was so diverted that she rolled her head as she smiled and made a silent
appeal to Caddy with her elbow.
"Could I speak to you alone for a moment?" said I.
Anything like the jocoseness of Mr. Guppy's mother just now, I think I never
saw. She made no sound of laughter, but she rolled her head, and shook it, and
put her handkerchief to her mouth, and appealed to Caddy with her elbow, and her
hand, and her shoulder, and was so unspeakably entertained altogether that it
was with some difficulty she could marshal Caddy through the little folding-door
into her bedroom adjoining.
"Miss Summerson," said Mr. Guppy, "you will excuse the waywardness of a
parent ever mindful of a son's appiness. My mother, though highly exasperating
to the feelings, is actuated by maternal dictates."
I could hardly have believed that anybody could in a moment have turned so
red or changed so much as Mr. Guppy did when I now put up my veil.
"I asked the favour of seeing you for a few moments here," said I, "in
preference to calling at Mr. Kenge's because, remembering what you said on an
occasion when you spoke to me in confidence, I feared I might otherwise cause
you some embarrassment, Mr. Guppy."
I caused him embarrassment enough as it was, I am sure. I never saw such
faltering, such confusion, such amazement and apprehension.
"Miss Summerson," stammered Mr. Guppy, "I--I--beg your pardon, but in our
profession--we--we--find it necessary to be explicit. You have referred to an
occasion, miss, when I--when I did myself the honour of making a declaration
which--"
Something seemed to rise in his throat that he could not possibly swallow. He
put his hand there, coughed, made faces, tried again to swallow it, coughed
again, made faces again, looked all round the room, and fluttered his papers.
"A kind of giddy sensation has come upon me, miss," he explained, "which
rather knocks me over. I--er--a little subject to this sort of thing--er--by
George!"
I gave him a little time to recover. He consumed it in putting his hand to
his forehead and taking it away again, and in backing his chair into the corner
behind him.
"My intention was to remark, miss," said Mr. Guppy, "dear me-- something
bronchial, I think--hem!--to remark that you was so good on that occasion as to
repel and repudiate that declaration. You-- you wouldn't perhaps object to admit
that? Though no witnesses are present, it might be a satisfaction to--to your
mind--if you was to put in that admission."
"There can be no doubt," said I, "that I declined your proposal without any
reservation or qualification whatever, Mr. Guppy."
"Thank you, miss," he returned, measuring the table with his troubled hands.
"So far that's satisfactory, and it does you credit. Er--this is certainly
bronchial!--must be in the tubes-- er--you wouldn't perhaps be offended if I was
to mention--not that it's necessary, for your own good sense or any person's
sense must show 'em that--if I was to mention that such declaration on my part
was final, and there terminated?"
"I quite understand that," said I.
"Perhaps--er--it may not be worth the form, but it might be a satisfaction to
your mind--perhaps you wouldn't object to admit that, miss?" said Mr. Guppy.
"I admit it most fully and freely," said I.
"Thank you," returned Mr. Guppy. "Very honourable, I am sure. I regret that
my arrangements in life, combined with circumstances over which I have no
control, will put it out of my power ever to fall back upon that offer or to
renew it in any shape or form whatever, but it will ever be a retrospect
entwined--er--with friendship's bowers." Mr. Guppy's bronchitis came to his
relief and stopped his measurement of the table.
"I may now perhaps mention what I wished to say to you?" I began.
"I shall be honoured, I am sure," said Mr. Guppy. "I am so persuaded that
your own good sense and right feeling, miss, will-- will keep you as square as
possible--that I can have nothing but pleasure, I am sure, in hearing any
observations you may wish to offer."
"You were so good as to imply, on that occasion--"
"Excuse me, miss," said Mr. Guppy, "but we had better not travel out of the
record into implication. I cannot admit that I implied anything."
"You said on that occasion," I recommenced, "that you might possibly have the
means of advancing my interests and promoting my fortunes by making discoveries
of which I should be the subject. I presume that you founded that belief upon
your general knowledge of my being an orphan girl, indebted for everything to
the benevolence of Mr. Jarndyce. Now, the beginning and the end of what I have
come to beg of you is, Mr. Guppy, that you will have the kindness to relinquish
all idea of so serving me. I have thought of this sometimes, and I have thought
of it most lately--since I have been ill. At length I have decided, in case you
should at any time recall that purpose and act upon it in any way, to come to
you and assure you that you are altogether mistaken. You could make no discovery
in reference to me that would do me the least service or give me the least
pleasure. I am acquainted with my personal history, and I have it in my power to
assure you that you never can advance my welfare by such means. You may,
perhaps, have abandoned this project a long time. If so, excuse my giving you
unnecessary trouble. If not, I entreat you, on the assurance I have given you,
henceforth to lay it aside. I beg you to do this, for my peace."
"I am bound to confess," said Mr. Guppy, "that you express yourself, miss,
with that good sense and right feeling for which I gave you credit. Nothing can
be more satisfactory than such right feeling, and if I mistook any intentions on
your part just now, I am prepared to tender a full apology. I should wish to be
understood, miss, as hereby offering that apology--limiting it, as your own good
sense and right feeling will point out the necessity of, to the present
proceedings."
I must say for Mr. Guppy that the snuffling manner he had had upon him
improved very much. He seemed truly glad to be able to do something I asked, and
he looked ashamed.
"If you will allow me to finish what I have to say at once so that I may have
no occasion to resume," I went on, seeing him about to speak, "you will do me a
kindness, sir. I come to you as privately as possible because you announced this
impression of yours to me in a confidence which I have really wished to
respect--and which I always have respected, as you remember. I have mentioned my
illness. There really is no reason why I should hesitate to say that I know very
well that any little delicacy I might have had in making a request to you is
quite removed. Therefore I make the entreaty I have now preferred, and I hope
you will have sufficient consideration for me to accede to it."
I must do Mr. Guppy the further justice of saying that he had looked more and
more ashamed and that he looked most ashamed and very earnest when he now
replied with a burning face, "Upon my word and honour, upon my life, upon my
soul, Miss Summerson, as I am a living man, I'll act according to your wish!
I'll never go another step in opposition to it. I'll take my oath to it if it
will be any satisfaction to you. In what I promise at this present time touching
the matters now in question," continued Mr. Guppy rapidly, as if he were
repeating a familiar form of words, "I speak the truth, the whole truth, and
nothing but the truth, so--"
"I am quite satisfied," said I, rising at this point, "and I thank you very
much. Caddy, my dear, I am ready!"
Mr. Guppy's mother returned with Caddy (now making me the recipient of her
silent laughter and her nudges), and we took our leave. Mr. Guppy saw us to the
door with the air of one who was either imperfectly awake or walking in his
sleep; and we left him there, staring.
But in a minute he came after us down the street without any hat, and with
his long hair all blown about, and stopped us, saying fervently, "Miss
Summerson, upon my honour and soul, you may depend upon me!"
"I do," said I, "quite confidently."
"I beg your pardon, miss," said Mr. Guppy, going with one leg and staying
with the other, "but this lady being present--your own witness--it might be a
satisfaction to your mind (which I should wish to set at rest) if you was to
repeat those admissions."
"Well, Caddy," said I, turning to her, "perhaps you will not be surprised
when I tell you, my dear, that there never has been any engagement--"
"No proposal or promise of marriage whatsoever," suggested Mr. Guppy.
"No proposal or promise of marriage whatsoever," said I, "between this
gentleman--"
"William Guppy, of Penton Place, Pentonville, in the county of Middlesex," he
murmured.
"Between this gentleman, Mr. William Guppy, of Penton Place, Pentonville, in
the county of Middlesex, and myself."
"Thank you, miss," said Mr. Guppy. "Very full--er--excuse me-- lady's name,
Christian and surname both?"
I gave them.
"Married woman, I believe?" said Mr. Guppy. "Married woman. Thank you.
Formerly Caroline Jellyby, spinster, then of Thavies Inn, within the city of
London, but extra-parochial; now of Newman Street, Oxford Street. Much obliged."
He ran home and came running back again.
"Touching that matter, you know, I really and truly am very sorry that my
arrangements in life, combined with circumstances over which I have no control,
should prevent a renewal of what was wholly terminated some time back," said Mr.
Guppy to me forlornly and despondently, "but it couldn't be. Now COULD it, you
know! I only put it to you."
I replied it certainly could not. The subject did not admit of a doubt. He
thanked me and ran to his mother's again--and back again.
"It's very honourable of you, miss, I am sure," said Mr. Guppy. "If an altar
could be erected in the bowers of friendship--but, upon my soul, you may rely
upon me in every respect save and except the tender passion only!"
The struggle in Mr. Guppy's breast and the numerous oscillations it
occasioned him between his mother's door and us were sufficiently conspicuous in
the windy street (particularly as his hair wanted cutting) to make us hurry
away. I did so with a lightened heart; but when we last looked back, Mr. Guppy
was still oscillating in the same troubled state of mind.
|