Bleak House by Charles Dickens (the top 100 crime novels of all time .txt) 📖

CHAPTER LI

Enlightened

 

When Mr. Woodcourt arrived in London, he went, that very same day,

to Mr. Vholes’s in Symond’s Inn. For he never once, from the

moment when I entreated him to be a friend to Richard, neglected or

forgot his promise. He had told me that he accepted the charge as

a sacred trust, and he was ever true to it in that spirit.

 

He found Mr. Vholes in his office and informed Mr. Vholes of his

agreement with Richard that he should call there to learn his

address.

 

“Just so, sir,” said Mr. Vholes. “Mr. C.‘s address is not a

hundred miles from here, sir, Mr. C.‘s address is not a hundred

miles from here. Would you take a seat, sir?”

 

Mr. Woodcourt thanked Mr. Vholes, but he had no business with him

beyond what he had mentioned.

 

“Just so, sir. I believe, sir,” said Mr. Vholes, still quietly

insisting on the seat by not giving the address, “that you have

influence with Mr. C. Indeed I am aware that you have.”

 

“I was not aware of it myself,” returned Mr. Woodcourt; “but I

suppose you know best.”

 

“Sir,” rejoined Mr. Vholes, self-contained as usual, voice and all,

“it is a part of my professional duty to know best. It is a part

of my professional duty to study and to understand a gentleman who

confides his interests to me. In my professional duty I shall not

be wanting, sir, if I know it. I may, with the best intentions, be

wanting in it without knowing it; but not if I know it, sir.”

 

Mr. Woodcourt again mentioned the address.

 

“Give me leave, sir,” said Mr. Vholes. “Bear with me for a moment.

Sir, Mr. C. is playing for a considerable stake, and cannot play

without—need I say what?”

 

“Money, I presume?”

 

“Sir,” said Mr. Vholes, “to be honest with you (honesty being my

golden rule, whether I gain by it or lose, and I find that I

generally lose), money is the word. Now, sir, upon the chances of

Mr. C.‘s game I express to you no opinion, NO opinion. It might be

highly impolitic in Mr. C., after playing so long and so high, to

leave off; it might be the reverse; I say nothing. No, sir,” said

Mr. Vholes, bringing his hand flat down upon his desk in a positive

manner, “nothing.”

 

“You seem to forget,” returned Mr. Woodcourt, “that I ask you to

say nothing and have no interest in anything you say.”

 

“Pardon me, sir!” retorted Mr. Vholes. “You do yourself an

injustice. No, sir! Pardon me! You shall not—shall not in my

office, if I know it—do yourself an injustice. You are interested

in anything, and in everything, that relates to your friend. I

know human nature much better, sir, than to admit for an instant

that a gentleman of your appearance is not interested in whatever

concerns his friend.”

 

“Well,” replied Mr. Woodcourt, “that may be. I am particularly

interested in his address.”

 

“The number, sir,” said Mr. Vholes parenthetically, “I believe I

have already mentioned. If Mr. C. is to continue to play for this

considerable stake, sir, he must have funds. Understand me! There

are funds in hand at present. I ask for nothing; there are funds

in hand. But for the onward play, more funds must be provided,

unless Mr. C. is to throw away what he has already ventured, which

is wholly and solely a point for his consideration. This, sir, I

take the opportunity of stating openly to you as the friend of Mr.

C. Without funds I shall always be happy to appear and act for Mr.

C. to the extent of all such costs as are safe to be allowed out of

the estate, not beyond that. I could not go beyond that, sir,

without wronging some one. I must either wrong my three dear girls

or my venerable father, who is entirely dependent on me, in the

Vale of Taunton; or some one. Whereas, sir, my resolution is (call

it weakness or folly if you please) to wrong no one.”

 

Mr. Woodcourt rather sternly rejoined that he was glad to hear it.

 

“I wish, sir,” said Mr. Vholes, “to leave a good name behind me.

Therefore I take every opportunity of openly stating to a friend of

Mr. C. how Mr. C. is situated. As to myself, sir, the labourer is

worthy of his hire. If I undertake to put my shoulder to the

wheel, I do it, and I earn what I get. I am here for that purpose.

My name is painted on the door outside, with that object.”

 

“And Mr. Carstone’s address, Mr. Vholes?”

 

“Sir,” returned Mr. Vholes, “as I believe I have already mentioned,

it is next door. On the second story you will find Mr. C.‘s

apartments. Mr. C. desires to be near his professional adviser,

and I am far from objecting, for I court inquiry.”

 

Upon this Mr. Woodcourt wished Mr. Vholes good day and went in

search of Richard, the change in whose appearance he began to

understand now but too well.

 

He found him in a dull room, fadedly furnished, much as I had found

him in his barrack-room but a little while before, except that he

was not writing but was sitting with a book before him, from which

his eyes and thoughts were far astray. As the door chanced to be

standing open, Mr. Woodcourt was in his presence for some moments

without being perceived, and he told me that he never could forget

the haggardness of his face and the dejection of his manner before

he was aroused from his dream.

 

“Woodcourt, my dear fellow,” cried Richard, starting up with

extended hands, “you come upon my vision like a ghost.”

 

“A friendly one,” he replied, “and only waiting, as they say ghosts

do, to be addressed. How does the mortal world go?” They were

seated now, near together.

 

“Badly enough, and slowly enough,” said Richard, “speaking at least

for my part of it.”

 

“What part is that?”

 

“The Chancery part.”

 

“I never heard,” returned Mr. Woodcourt, shaking his head, “of its

going well yet.”

 

“Nor I,” said Richard moodily. “Who ever did?” He brightened

again in a moment and said with his natural openness, “Woodcourt, I

should be sorry to be misunderstood by you, even if I gained by it

in your estimation. You must know that I have done no good this

long time. I have not intended to do much harm, but I seem to have

been capable of nothing else. It may be that I should have done

better by keeping out of the net into which my destiny has worked

me, but I think not, though I dare say you will soon hear, if you

have not already heard, a very different opinion. To make short of

a long story, I am afraid I have wanted an object; but I have an

object now—or it has me—and it is too late to discuss it. Take

me as I am, and make the best of me.”

 

“A bargain,” said Mr. Woodcourt. “Do as much by me in return.”

 

“Oh! You,” returned Richard, “you can pursue your art for its own

sake, and can put your hand upon the plough and never turn, and can

strike a purpose out of anything. You and I are very different

creatures.”

 

He spoke regretfully and lapsed for a moment into his weary

condition.

 

“Well, well!” he cried, shaking it off. “Everything has an end.

We shall see! So you will take me as I am, and make the best of

me?”

 

“Aye! Indeed I will.” They shook hands upon it laughingly, but in

deep earnestness. I can answer for one of them with my heart of

hearts.

 

“You come as a godsend,” said Richard, “for I have seen nobody here

yet but Vholes. Woodcourt, there is one subject I should like to

mention, for once and for all, in the beginning of our treaty. You

can hardly make the best of me if I don’t. You know, I dare say,

that I have an attachment to my cousin Ada?”

 

Mr. Woodcourt replied that I had hinted as much to him. “Now

pray,” returned Richard, “don’t think me a heap of selfishness.

Don’t suppose that I am splitting my head and half breaking my

heart over this miserable Chancery suit for my own rights and

interests alone. Ada’s are bound up with mine; they can’t be

separated; Vholes works for both of us. Do think of that!”

 

He was so very solicitous on this head that Mr. Woodcourt gave him

the strongest assurances that he did him no injustice.

 

“You see,” said Richard, with something pathetic in his manner of

lingering on the point, though it was off-hand and unstudied, “to

an upright fellow like you, bringing a friendly face like yours

here, I cannot bear the thought of appearing selfish and mean. I

want to see Ada righted, Woodcourt, as well as myself; I want to do

my utmost to right her, as well as myself; I venture what I can

scrape together to extricate her, as well as myself. Do, I beseech

you, think of that!”

 

Afterwards, when Mr. Woodcourt came to