Chapter 62

Another Discovery

I had not the courage to see any one that night. I had not even

the courage to see myself, for I was afraid that my tears might

a little reproach me. I went up to my room in the dark, and

prayed in the dark, and lay down in the dark to sleep. I had no

need of any light to read my Guardian’s letter by, for I knew it by

heart. I took it from the place where I kept it, and repeated its

contents by its own clear light of integrity and love, and went to

sleep with it on my pillow.

I was up very early in the morning, and called Charley to come

for a walk. We bought flowers for the breakfast-table, and came

back and arranged them, and were as busy as possible. We were

so early, that I had good time still for Charley’s lesson, before

breakfast; Charley (who was not in the least improved in the old

defective article of grammar) came through it with great applause;

and we were altogether very notable. When my Guardian

appeared, he said, “Why, little woman, you look fresher than your

flowers!” And Mrs Woodcourt repeated and translated a passage

from the Mewlinwillinwodd, expressive of my being like a

mountain with the sun upon it.

This was all so pleasant, that I hope it made me more like the

mountain than I had been before. After breakfast, I waited my

opportunity, and peeped about a little, until I saw my Guardian in

his own room—the room of last night—by himself. Then I made an

excuse to go in with my housekeeping keys, shutting the door after

me.

“Well, Dame Durden?” said my Guardian; the post had brought

him several letters, and he was writing. “You want money!”

“No, indeed, I have plenty in hand.”

“There never was such a Dame Durden,” said my Guardian,

“for making money last.”

He had laid down his pen, and leaned back in his chair looking

at me. I have often spoken of his bright face, but I thought I had

never seen it look so bright and good. There was a high happiness

upon it, which made me think, “he has been doing some great

kindness this morning.”

“There never was,” said my Guardian, musing as he smiled

upon me, “such a Dame Durden for making money last.”

He had never yet altered his old manner. I loved it, and him, so

much, that when I now went up to him and took my usual chair,

which was always put at his side—for sometimes I read to him,

and sometimes I talked to him, and sometimes I silently worked by

him—I hardly liked to disturb it by laying my hand on his breast.

But I found I did not disturb it at all.

“Dear Guardian,” said I, “I want to speak to you. Have I been

remiss in anything?”

“Remiss in anything, my dear!”

“Have I not been what I have meant to be, since—I brought the

answer to your letter, Guardian?”

“You have been everything I could desire, my love.”

“I am very glad indeed to hear that,” I returned. “You know,

you said to me, was this the mistress of Bleak House? And I said,

yes.”

“Yes,” said my Guardian, nodding his head. He had put his arm about me, as if there were something to protect me from; and

looked into my face, smiling.

“Since then,” said I, “we have never spoken on the subject

except once.”

“And then I said, Bleak House was thinning fast; and so it was,

my dear.”

“And I said,” I timidly reminded him, “but its mistress

remained.”

He still held me in the same protecting manner, and with the

same bright goodness in his face.

“Dear Guardian,” said I, “I know how you have felt all that has

happened, and how considerate you have been. As so much time

has passed, and as you spoke only this morning of my being so

well again, perhaps you expect me to renew the subject. Perhaps I

ought to do so. I will be the mistress of Bleak House when you

please.”

“See!” he returned gaily, “what a sympathy there must be

between us! I have had nothing else, poor Rick excepted—it’s a

large exception—in my mind. When you came in, I was full of it.

When shall we give Bleak House its mistress, little woman?”

“When you please.”

“Next month!”

“Next month, dear Guardian.”

“The day on which I take the happiest and best step of my life—

the day on which I shall be a man more exulting and more

enviable than any other man in the world—the day on which I give

Bleak House its little mistress—shall be next month, then,” said

my Guardian.

I put my arms round his neck and kissed him, just as I had done on the day when I brought my answer.

A servant came to the door to announce Mr Bucket, which was

quite unnecessary, for Mr Bucket was already looking in over the

servant’s shoulder. “Mr Jarndyce and Miss Summerson,” said he

rather out of breath, “with all apologies for intruding, will you

allow me to order up a person that’s on the stairs, and that objects

to being left there in case of becoming the subject of observation in

his absence? Thank you. Be so good as chair that there Member in

this direction, will you?” said Mr Bucket, beckoning over the

banisters.

This singular request produced an old man in a black skull-cap,

unable to walk, who was carried up by a couple of bearers, and

deposited in the room near the door. Mr Bucket immediately got

rid of the bearers, mysteriously shut the door, and bolted it.

“Now you see, Mr Jarndyce,” he then began, putting down his

hat, and opening his subject with a flourish of his well-

remembered finger, “you know me, and Miss Summerson knows

me. This gentleman likewise knows me, and his name is

Smallweed. The discounting line is his line principally, and he’s

what you may call a dealer in bills. That’s about what you are, you

know, ain’t you?” said Mr Bucket, stopping a little to address the

gentleman in question, who was exceedingly suspicious of him.

He seemed about to dispute this designation of himself, when

he was seized with a violent fit of coughing.

“Now, Moral, you know!” said Mr Bucket, improving the

accident. “Don’t you contradict when there ain’t no occasion, and

you won’t be took in that way. Now, Mr Jarndyce, I address myself

to you. I’ve been negotiating with this gentleman on behalf of Sir

Leicester Dedlock, Baronet; and one way and another I’ve been in and out and about his premises a deal. His premises are the

premises formerly occupied by Krook, Marine Store Dealer—a

relation of this gentleman’s, that you saw in his lifetime, if I don’t

mistake?”

My Guardian replied “Yes.”

“Well! You are to understand,” said Mr Bucket, “that this

gentleman he come into Krook’s property, and a good deal of

magpie property there was. Vast lots of waste paper among the

rest. Lord bless you, of no use to nobody!”

The cunning of Mr Bucket’s eye, and the masterly manner in

which he contrived, without a look or a word against which his

watchful auditor could protest, to let us know that he stated the

case according to previous agreement, and could say much more

of Mr Smallweed if he thought it advisable, deprived us of any

merit in quite understanding him. His difficulty was increased by

Mr Smallweed’s being deaf as well as suspicious, and watching his

face with the closest attention.

“Among them odd heaps of old papers, this gentleman, when he

comes into the property, naturally begins to rummage, don’t you

see?” said Mr Bucket.

“To which? Say that again,” cried Mr Smallweed, in a shrill

sharp voice.

“To rummage,” repeated Mr Bucket. “Being a prudent man,

and being accustomed to take care of your own affairs, you begin

to rummage among the papers as you have come into; don’t you?”

“Of course I do,” cried Mr Smallweed.

“Of course you do,” said Mr Bucket, conversationally, “and

much to blame you would be if you didn’t. And so you chance to

find, you know,” Mr Bucket went on, stooping over him with an air of cheerful raillery which Mr Smallweed by no means

reciprocated, “and so you chance to find, you know, a paper with

the signature of Jarndyce to it. Don’t you?”

Mr Smallweed glanced with a troubled eye at us, and

grudgingly nodded assent.

“And coming to look at the paper, at your full leisure and

convenience—all in good time, for you’re not curious to read it,

and why should you be!—what do you find it to be but a Will, you

see. That’s the drollery of it,” said Mr Bucket, with the same lively

air of recalling a joke for the enjoyment of Mr Smallweed, who still

had the same crestfallen appearance of not enjoying it at all; “what

do you find it to be but a Will?”

“I don’t know that it’s good as a will, or as anything else,”

snarled Smallweed.

Mr Bucket eyed the old man for a moment—he had slipped and

shrunk down in his chair into a mere bundle—as if he were much

disposed to pounce upon him; nevertheless, he continued to bend

over him with the same agreeable air, keeping the corner of one of

his eyes upon us.

“Notwithstanding which,” said Mr Bucket, “you get a little

doubtful and uncomfortable in your mind about it, having a very

tender mind of your own.”

“Eh? What do you say I have got of my own?” asked Mr

Smallweed, with his hand to his ear.

“A very tender mind.”

“Ho! Well, go on,” said Mr Smallweed.

“And as you’ve heard a good deal mentioned regarding a

celebrated Chancery will case, of the same name; and as you know

what a card Krook was for buying all manner of old pieces of furniter, and books, and papers, and what not, and never liking to

part with ’em, and always a going to teach himself to read; you

begin to think—and you never was more correct in your born

days—’Ecod, if I don’t look about me, I may get into trouble

regarding this will.’”

“Now, mind how you put it, Bucket,” cried the old man

anxiously, with his hand at his ear. “Speak up; none of your

brimstone tricks. Pick me up; I want to hear better. O Lord, I am

shaken to bits!”

Mr Bucket had certainly picked him up at a dart. However, as

soon as he could be heard through Mr Smallweed’s coughing, and

his vicious ejaculations of “O my bones! O dear! I’ve no breath in

my body! I’m worse than the chattering, clattering, brimstone pig

at home!” Mr Bucket proceeded, in the same convivial manner as

before.

“So, as I happen to be in the habit of coming about your

premises, you take me into your confidence, don’t you?”

I think it would be impossible to make an admission with more

ill-will, and a worse grace, than Mr Smallweed displayed when he

admitted this; rendering it perfectly evident that Mr Bucket was

the very last person he would have thought of taking into his

confidence, if he could by any possibility have kept him out of it.

“And I go into the business with you,—very pleasant we are

over it; and I confirm you in your well-founded fears, that you will-

get-yourself-in-to-a-most precious line if you don’t come out with

that there will,” said Mr Bucket, emphatically; “and accordingly

you arrange with me that it shall be delivered up to this present

Mr Jarndyce, on no conditions. If it should prove to be valuable,

you trusting yourself to him for your reward; that’s about where it is, ain’t it?”

“That’s what was agreed,” Mr Smallweed assented, with the

same bad grace.

“In consequence of which,” said Mr Bucket, dismissing his

agreeable manner all at once, and becoming strictly business-like,

“you’ve got that will upon your person at present time; and the

only thing that remains for you to do is, just to Out with it!”

Having given us one glance out of the watching corner of his

eye, and having given his nose one triumphant rub with his

forefinger, Mr Bucket stood with his eyes fastened on his

confidential friend, and his hand stretched forth ready to take the

paper and present it to my Guardian. It was not produced without

much reluctance, and many declarations on the part of Mr

Smallweed that he was a poor industrious man, and that he left it

to Mr Jarndyce’s honour not to let him lose by his honesty. Little

by little, he very slowly took from a breast-pocket a stained

discoloured paper, which was much singed upon the outside, and

a little burnt at the edges, as if it had long ago been thrown upon a

fire, and hastily snatched off again. Mr Bucket lost no time in

transferring this paper, with the dexterity of a conjuror, from Mr

Smallweed to Mr Jarndyce. As he gave it to my Guardian, he

whispered behind his fingers:—

“Hadn’t settled how to make their market of it. Quarrelled and

hinted about it. I laid out twenty pound upon it. First, the

avaricious grandchildren split upon him, on account of their

objections to his living so unreasonably long, and then they split

on one another. Lord! there ain’t one of the family that wouldn’t

sell the other for a pound or two, except the old lady—and she’s

only out of it because she’s too weak in her mind to drive a bargain.”

“Mr Bucket,” said my Guardian aloud, “whatever the worth of

this paper may be to any one, my obligations are great to you; and

if it be of any worth, I hold myself bound to see Mr Smallweed

remunerated accordingly.”

“Not according to your merits, you know,” said Mr Bucket, in

friendly explanation to Mr Smallweed, “Don’t you be afraid of

that. According to its value.”

“That is what I mean,” said my Guardian. “You may observe,

Mr Bucket, that I abstain from examining this paper myself. The

plain truth is, I have forsworn and abjured the whole business

these many years, and my soul is sick of it. But Miss Summerson

and I will immediately place the paper in the hands of my solicitor

in the cause, and its existence shall be made known without delay

to all other parties interested.”

“Mr Jarndyce can’t say fairer than that, you understand,”

observed Mr Bucket to his fellow visitor. “And it being now made

clear to you that nobody’s a-going to be wronged—which must be

a great relief to your mind—we may proceed with the ceremony of

chairing you home again.”

He unbolted the door, called in the bearers, wished us good

morning, and with a look full of meaning, and a crook of his finger

at parting, went his way.

We went our way too, which was to Lincoln’s Inn, as quickly as

possible. Mr Kenge was disengaged; and we found him at his table

in his dusty room, with the inexpressive-looking books, and the

piles of papers. Chairs having been placed for us by Mr Guppy, Mr

Kenge expressed the surprise and gratification he felt at the

unusual sight of Mr Jarndyce in his office. He turned over his double eyeglass as he spoke, and was more Conversation Kenge

than ever.

“I hope,” said Mr Kenge, “that the genial influence of Miss

Summerson,” he bowed to me, “may have induced Mr Jarndyce,”

he bowed to him, “to forego some little of his animosity towards a

Cause and towards a Court which are—shall I say, which take

their place in the stately vista of the pillars of our profession?”

“I am inclined to think,” returned my Guardian, “that Miss

Summerson has seen too much of the effects of the Court and the

Cause to exert any influence in their favour. Nevertheless, they are

a part of the occasion of my being here. Mr Kenge, before I lay this

paper on your desk and have done with it, let me tell you how it

has come into my hands.”

He did so shortly and distinctly.

“It could not, sir,” said Mr Kenge, “have been stated more

plainly and to the purpose, if it had been a case at law.”

“Did you ever know English law, or equity either, plain and to

the purpose?” said my Guardian.

“O fie!” said Mr Kenge.

At first he had not seemed to attach much importance to the

paper, but when he saw it he appeared more interested, and when

he had opened and read a little of it through his eyeglass, he

became amazed. “Mr Jarndyce,” he said, looking off it, “you have

perused this?”

“Not I!” returned my Guardian.

“But my dear sir,” said Mr Kenge, “it is a Will of later date than

any in the suit. It appears to be all in the Testator’s handwriting. It

is duly executed and attested. And even if intended to be

cancelled, as might possibly be supposed to be denoted by these marks of fire, it is not cancelled. Here it is, a perfect instrument!”

“Well!” said my Guardian. “What is that to me?”

“Mr Guppy!” cried Mr Kenge, raising his voice.—“I beg your

pardon, Mr Jarndyce.”

“Sir.”

“Mr Vholes of Symond’s Inn. My compliments. Jarndyce and

Jarndyce. Glad to speak with him.”

Mr Guppy disappeared.

“You ask me what is this to you, Mr Jarndyce. If you had

perused this document, you would have seen that it reduces your

interest considerably, though still leaving it a very handsome one,

still leaving it a very handsome one,” said Mr Kenge, waving his

hand persuasively and blandly. “You would further have seen,

that the interests of Mr Richard Carstone, and of Miss Ada Clare,

now Mrs Richard Carstone, are very materially advanced by it.”

“Kenge,” said my Guardian, “if all the flourishing wealth that

the suit brought into this vile court of Chancery could fall to my

two young cousins, I should be well contented. But do you ask me

to believe that any good is to come of Jarndyce and Jarndyce?”

“O really, Mr Jarndyce! Prejudice, prejudice. My dear sir, this is

a very great country, a very great country. Its system of equity is a

very great system, a very great system. Really, really!”

My Guardian said no more, and Mr Vholes arrived. He was

modestly impressed by Mr Kenge’s professional eminence.

“How do you do, Mr Vholes? Will you be so good as to take a

chair here by me, and look over this paper?”

Mr Vholes did as he was asked, and seemed to read it every

word. He was not excited by it; but he was not excited by anything.

When he had well examined it, he retired with Mr Kenge into a window, and shading his mouth with his black glove, spoke to him

at some length. I was not surprised to observe Mr Kenge inclined

to dispute what he said before he had said much, for I knew that

no two people ever did agree about anything in Jarndyce and

Jarndyce. But he seemed to get the better of Mr Kenge, too, in a

conversation that sounded as if it were almost composed of the

words, “Receiver-General,” “Accountant-General,” “Report,”

“Estate,” and “Costs.” When they had finished, they came back to

Mr Kenge’s table, and spoke aloud.

“Well! But this is a very remarkable document, Mr Vholes?”

said Mr Kenge.

Mr Vholes said, “Very much so.”

“And a very important document, Mr Vholes?” said Mr Kenge.

Again Mr Vholes said, “Very much so.” “And as you say, Mr

Vholes, when the Cause is in the paper next Term, this document

will be an unexpected and interesting feature in it,” said Mr

Kenge, looking loftily at my Guardian.

Mr Vholes was gratified, as a smaller practitioner striving to

keep respectable, to be confirmed in any opinion of his own by

such an authority.

“And when,” asked my Guardian, rising after a pause, during

which Mr Kenge had rattled his money, and Mr Vholes had picked

his pimples, “when is next Term?”

“Next Term, Mr Jarndyce, will be next month,” said Mr Kenge.

“Of course we shall at once proceed to do what is necessary with

this document, and to collect the necessary evidence concerning it;

and of course you will receive our usual notification of the Cause

being in the paper.”

“To which I shall pay, of course, my usual attention.”“Still bent, my dear sir,” said Mr Kenge, showing us through

the the outer office to the door, “still bent, even with your enlarged

mind, on echoing a popular prejudice? We are a prosperous

community, Mr Jarndyce, a very prosperous community. We are a

great country, Mr Jarndyce, we are a very great country. This is a

great system, Mr Jarndyce, and would you wish a great country to

have a little system? Now, really, really!”

He said this at the stair-head, gently moving his right hand as if

it were a silver trowel, with which to spread the cement of his

words on the structure of the system, and consolidate it for a thousand ages.

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