Bleak House by Charles Dickens (the top 100 crime novels of all time .txt) đź“–
- Author: Charles Dickens
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coming after us, “you’ll find him in court. I left him there
resting himself a little. Good day, sir; good day, Miss
Summerson.” As he gave me that slowly devouring look of his, while
twisting up the strings of his bag before he hastened with it after
Mr. Kenge, the benignant shadow of whose conversational presence he
seemed afraid to leave, he gave one gasp as if he had swallowed the
last morsel of his client, and his black buttoned-up unwholesome
figure glided away to the low door at the end of the Hall.
“My dear love,” said Allan, “leave to me, for a little while, the
charge you gave me. Go home with this intelligence and come to
Ada’s by and by!”
I would not let him take me to a coach, but entreated him to go to
Richard without a moment’s delay and leave me to do as he wished.
Hurrying home, I found my guardian and told him gradually with what
news I had returned. “Little woman,” said he, quite unmoved for
himself, “to have done with the suit on any terms is a greater
blessing than I had looked for. But my poor young cousins!”
We talked about them all the morning and discussed what it was
possible to do. In the afternoon my guardian walked with me to
Symond’s Inn and left me at the door. I went upstairs. When my
darling heard my footsteps, she came out into the small passage and
threw her arms round my neck, but she composed herself directly and
said that Richard had asked for me several times. Allan had found
him sitting in the corner of the court, she told me, like a stone
figure. On being roused, he had broken away and made as if he
would have spoken in a fierce voice to the judge. He was stopped
by his mouth being full of blood, and Allan had brought him home.
He was lying on a sofa with his eyes closed when I went in. There
were restoratives on the table; the room was made as airy as
possible, and was darkened, and was very orderly and quiet. Allan
stood behind him watching him gravely. His face appeared to me to
be quite destitute of colour, and now that I saw him without his
seeing me, I fully saw, for the first time, how worn away he was.
But he looked handsomer than I had seen him look for many a day.
I sat down by his side in silence. Opening his eyes by and by, he
said in a weak voice, but with his old smile, “Dame Durden, kiss
me, my dear!”
It was a great comfort and surprise to me to find him in his low
state cheerful and looking forward. He was happier, he said, in
our intended marriage than he could find words to tell me. My
husband had been a guardian angel to him and Ada, and he blessed us
both and wished us all the joy that life could yield us. I almost
felt as if my own heart would have broken when I saw him take my
husband’s hand and hold it to his breast.
We spoke of the future as much as possible, and he said several
times that he must be present at our marriage if he could stand
upon his feet. Ada would contrive to take him, somehow, he said.
“Yes, surely, dearest Richard!” But as my darling answered him
thus hopefully, so serene and beautiful, with the help that was to
come to her so near—I knew—I knew!
It was not good for him to talk too much, and when he was silent,
we were silent too. Sitting beside him, I made a pretence of
working for my dear, as he had always been used to joke about my
being busy. Ada leaned upon his pillow, holding his head upon her
arm. He dozed often, and whenever he awoke without seeing him,
said first of all, “Where is Woodcourt?”
Evening had come on when I lifted up my eyes and saw my guardian
standing in the little hall. “Who is that, Dame Durden?” Richard
asked me. The door was behind him, but he had observed in my face
that some one was there.
I looked to Allan for advice, and as he nodded “Yes,” bent over
Richard and told him. My guardian saw what passed, came softly by
me in a moment, and laid his hand on Richard’s. “Oh, sir,” said
Richard, “you are a good man, you are a good man!” and burst into
tears for the first time.
My guardian, the picture of a good man, sat down in my place,
keeping his hand on Richard’s.
“My dear Rick,” said he, “the clouds have cleared away, and it is
bright now. We can see now. We were all bewildered, Rick, more or
less. What matters! And how are you, my dear boy?”
“I am very weak, sir, but I hope I shall be stronger. I have to
begin the world.”
“Aye, truly; well said!” cried my guardian.
“I will not begin it in the old way now,” said Richard with a sad
smile. “I have learned a lesson now, sir. It was a hard one, but
you shall be assured, indeed, that I have learned it.”
“Well, well,” said my guardian, comforting him; “well, well, well,
dear boy!”
“I was thinking, sir,” resumed Richard, “that there is nothing on
earth I should so much like to see as their house—Dame Durden’s
and Woodcourt’s house. If I could be removed there when I begin to
recover my strength, I feel as if I should get well there sooner
than anywhere.”
“Why, so have I been thinking too, Rick,” said my guardian, “and
our little woman likewise; she and I have been talking of it this
very day. I dare say her husband won’t object. What do you
think?”
Richard smiled and lifted up his arm to touch him as he stood
behind the head of the couch.
“I say nothing of Ada,” said Richard, “but I think of her, and have
thought of her very much. Look at her! See her here, sir, bending
over this pillow when she has so much need to rest upon it herself,
my dear love, my poor girl!”
He clasped her in his arms, and none of us spoke. He gradually
released her, and she looked upon us, and looked up to heaven, and
moved her lips.
“When I get down to Bleak House,” said Richard, “I shall have much
to tell you, sir, and you will have much to show me. You will go,
won’t you?”
“Undoubtedly, dear Rick.”
“Thank you; like you, like you,” said Richard. “But it’s all like
you. They have been telling me how you planned it and how you
remembered all Esther’s familiar tastes and ways. It will be like
coming to the old Bleak House again.”
“And you will come there too, I hope, Rick. I am a solitary man
now, you know, and it will be a charity to come to me. A charity
to come to me, my love!” he repeated to Ada as he gently passed his
hand over her golden hair and put a lock of it to his lips. (I
think he vowed within himself to cherish her if she were left
alone.)
“It was a troubled dream?” said Richard, clasping both my
guardian’s hands eagerly.
“Nothing more, Rick; nothing more.”
“And you, being a good man, can pass it as such, and forgive and
pity the dreamer, and be lenient and encouraging when he wakes?”
“Indeed I can. What am I but another dreamer, Rick?”
“I will begin the world!” said Richard with a light in his eyes.
My husband drew a little nearer towards Ada, and I saw him solemnly
lift up his hand to warn my guardian.
“When shall I go from this place to that pleasant country where the
old times are, where I shall have strength to tell what Ada has
been to me, where I shall be able to recall my many faults and
blindnesses, where I shall prepare myself to be a guide to my
unborn child?” said Richard. “When shall I go?”
“Dear Rick, when you are strong enough,” returned my guardian.
“Ada, my darling!”
He sought to raise himself a little. Allan raised him so that she
could hold him on her bosom, which was what he wanted.
“I have done you many wrongs, my own. I have fallen like a poor
stray shadow on your way, I have married you to poverty and
trouble, I have scattered your means to the winds. You will
forgive me all this, my Ada, before I begin the world?”
A smile irradiated his face as she bent to kiss him. He slowly
laid his face down upon her bosom, drew his arms closer round her
neck, and with one parting sob began the world. Not this world,
oh, not this! The world that sets this right.
When all was still, at a late hour, poor crazed Miss Flite came
weeping to me and told me she had given her birds their liberty.
Down in Lincolnshire
There is a hush upon Chesney Wold in these altered days, as there
is upon a portion of the family history. The story goes that Sir
Leicester paid some who could have spoken out to hold their peace;
but it is a lame story, feebly whispering and creeping about, and
any brighter spark of life it shows soon dies away. It is known
for certain that the handsome Lady Dedlock lies in the mausoleum in
the park, where the trees arch darkly overhead, and the owl is
heard at night making the woods ring; but whence she was brought
home to be laid among the echoes of that solitary place, or how she
died, is all mystery. Some of her old friends, principally to be
found among the peachy-cheeked charmers with the skeleton throats,
did once occasionally say, as they toyed in a ghastly manner with
large fans—like charmers reduced to flirting with grim death,
after losing all their other beaux—did once occasionally say, when
the world assembled together, that they wondered the ashes of the
Dedlocks, entombed in the mausoleum, never rose against the
profanation of her company. But the dead-and-gone Dedlocks take it
very calmly and have never been known to object.
Up from among the fern in the hollow, and winding by the bridle-road among the trees, comes sometimes to this lonely spot the sound
of horses’ hoofs. Then may be seen Sir Leicester—invalided, bent,
and almost blind, but of worthy presence yet—riding with a
stalwart man beside him, constant to his bridle-rein. When they
come to a certain spot before the mausoleum-door, Sir Leicester’s
accustomed horse stops of his own accord, and Sir Leicester,
pulling off his hat, is still for a few moments before they ride
away.
War rages yet with the audacious Boythorn, though at uncertain
intervals, and now hotly, and now coolly, flickering like an
unsteady fire. The truth is said to be that when Sir Leicester
came down to Lincolnshire for good, Mr. Boythorn showed a manifest
desire to abandon his right of way and do whatever Sir Leicester
would, which Sir Leicester, conceiving to be a condescension to his
illness or misfortune, took in such high dudgeon, and was so
magnificently aggrieved by, that Mr. Boythorn found himself under
the necessity of committing a flagrant trespass to restore his
neighbour to himself. Similarly, Mr. Boythorn continues to post
tremendous
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