The Solitary House (181 page)

As I naturally speculated on the object of these visits, and as I always associated something ludicrous with the visitor, it fell out that in laughing about Mr. Guppy I told my guardian of his old proposal, and his subsequent retraction. “After that,” said my guardian, “we will certainly receive this hero.” So, instructions were given that Mr. Guppy should be shown in when he came again; and they were scarcely given when he did come again.

He was embarrassed when he found my guardian with me, but recovered himself, and said, “How de do, sir?”

“How do you do, sir?” returned my guardian.

“Thank you, sir, I am tolerable,” returned Mr. Guppy. “Will you allow me to introduce my mother, Mrs. Guppy of the Old Street Road, and my particular friend, Mr. Weevle. That is to say, my friend has gone by the name of Weevle, but his name is really and truly Jobling.”

My guardian begged them to be seated, and they all sat down.

“Tony,” said Mr. Guppy to his friend, after an awkward silence. “Will you open the case?”

“Do it yourself,” returned the friend, rather tartly.

“Well, Mr. Jarndyce, sir,” Mr. Guppy, after a moment’s consideration, began, to the great diversion of his mother, which she displayed by nudging Mr. Jobling with her elbow, and winking at me in a most remarkable manner; “I had an idea that I should see Miss Summerson by herself, and was not quite prepared for your esteemed presence. But Miss Summerson has mentioned to you, perhaps, that something has passed between us on former occasions?”

“Miss Summerson,” returned my guardian smiling, “has made a communication to that effect to me.”

“That,” said Mr. Guppy, “makes matters easier. Sir, I have come out of my articles at Kenge and Carboy’s, and I believe with satisfaction to all parties, I am now admitted (after undergoing an examination that’s enough to badger a man blue, touching a pack of nonsense that he don’t want to know) on the roll of attorneys, and have taken out my certificate, if it would be any satisfaction to you to see it.”

“Thank you, Mr. Guppy,” returned my guardian. “I am quite willing—I believe I use a legal phrase—to admit the certificate.”

Mr. Guppy therefore desisted from taking something out of his pocket, and proceeded without it.

“I have no capital myself, but my mother has a little property which takes the form of an annuity”; here Mr. Guppy’s mother rolled her head as if she never could sufficiently enjoy the observation, and put her handkerchief to her mouth and again winked at me; “and a few pounds for expenses out of pocket in conducting business, will never be wanting, free of interest, which is an advantage, you know,” said Mr. Guppy, feelingly.

“Certainly an advantage,” returned my guardian.

“I
have
some connexion,” pursued Mr. Guppy, “and it lays in the direction of Walcot Square, Lambeth. I have therefore taken a ouse in that locality, which, in the opinion of my friends, is a hollow bargain (taxes ridiculous, and use of fixtures included in the rent), and intend setting up professionally for myself there, forthwith.”

Here Mr. Guppy’s mother fell into an extraordinary passion of rolling her head, and smiling waggishly at anybody who would look at her.

“It’s a six-roomer, exclusive of kitchens,” said Mr. Guppy, “and in the opinion of my friends, a commodious tenement. When I mention my friends, I refer principally to my friend Jobling, who I believe has known me,” Mr. Guppy looked at him with a sentimental air, “from boyhood’s hour?”

Mr. Jobling confirmed this with a sliding movement of his legs.

“My friend Jobling will render me his assistance in the capacity of clerk, and will live in the ouse,” said Mr. Guppy. “My mother will likewise live in the ouse when her present quarter in the Old Street Road shall have ceased and expired; and consequently there will be no want of society. My friend Jobling is naturally aristocratic by taste; and besides being acquainted with the movements of the upper circles, fully backs me in the intentions I am now developing.”

Mr. Jobling said “certainly,” and withdrew a little from the elbow of Mr. Guppy’s mother.

“Now, I have no occasion to mention to you, sir, you being in the confidence of Miss Summerson,” said Mr. Guppy, “(mother, I wish you’d be so good as to keep still) that Miss Summerson’s image was formerly imprinted on my art, and that I made her a proposal of marriage.”

“That I have heard,” returned my guardian.

“Circumstances,” pursued Mr. Guppy, “over which I had no control but quite the contrary, weakened the impression of that image for a time. At which time Miss Summerson’s conduct was highly genteel; I may even add, magnanimous.”

My guardian patted me on the shoulder, and seemed much amused.

“Now, sir,” said Mr. Guppy, “I have got into that state of mind myself, that I wish for a reciprocity of magnanimous behaviour. I wish to prove to Miss Summerson that I can rise to a height, of which perhaps she hardly thought me capable. I find that the image which I did suppose had been eradicated from my art, is
not
eradicated. Its influence over me is still tremenjous; and yielding to it I am willing to overlook the circumstances over which none of us have had any control, and to renew those proposals to Miss Summerson which I had the honour to make at a former period. I beg to lay the ouse in Walcot Square, the business, and myself before Miss Summerson for her acceptance.”

“Very magnanimous indeed, sir,” observed my guardian.

“Well, sir,” replied Mr. Guppy, with candour, “my wish is to
be
magnanimous. I do not consider that in making this offer to Miss Summerson, I am by any means throwing myself away; neither is that the opinion of my friends. Still, there are circumstances which I submit may be taken into account as a set off against any little drawbacks of mine, and so a fair and equitable balance arrived at.”

“I take upon myself, sir,” said my guardian, laughing as he rang the bell, “to reply to your proposals on behalf of Miss Summerson. She is very sensible to your handsome intentions, and wishes you good evening, and wishes you well.”

“Oh!” said Mr. Guppy, with a blank look. “Is that tantamount, sir, to acceptance, or rejection, or consideration?”

“To decided rejection, if you please,” returned my guardian.

Mr. Guppy looked incredulously at his friend and at his mother, who suddenly turned very angry, and at the floor, and at the ceiling.

“Indeed?” said he. “Then, Jobling, if you was the friend you represent yourself, I should think you might hand my mother out of the gangway, instead of allowing her to remain where she ain’t wanted.”

But Mrs. Guppy positively refused to come out of the gangway. She wouldn’t hear of it. “Why, get along with you,” said she to my guardian, “what do you mean? Ain’t my son good enough for you? You ought to be ashamed of yourself. Get out with you!”

“My good lady,” returned my guardian, “it is hardly reasonable to ask me to get out of my own room.”

“I don’t care for that,” said Mrs. Guppy. “Get out with you. If we ain’t good enough for you, go and procure somebody that is good enough. Go along and find ’em.”

I was quite unprepared for the rapid manner in which Mrs. Guppy’s power of jocularity merged into a power of taking the profoundest offence.

“Go along and find somebody that’s good enough for you,” repeated Mrs. Guppy. “Get out!” Nothing seemed to astonish Mr. Guppy’s mother so much, and to make her so very indignant, as our not getting out. “Why don’t you get out?” said Mrs. Guppy. “What are you stopping here for?”

“Mother,” interposed her son, always getting before her and pushing her back with one shoulder, as she sidled at my guardian, “
will
you hold your tongue?”

“No, William,” she returned; “I won’t! Not unless he gets out, I won’t!”

However, Mr. Guppy and Mr. Jobling together closed on Mr. Guppy’s mother (who began to be quite abusive), and took her, very much against her will, downstairs; her voice rising a stair higher every time her figure got a stair lower, and insisting that we should immediately go and find somebody who was good enough for us, and above all things that we should get out.

CHAPTER 65

BEGINNING THE WORLD

T
he term had commenced, and my guardian found an intimation from Mr. Kenge that the Cause would come on in two days. As I had sufficient hopes of the Will to be in a flutter about it, Allan and I agreed to go down to the Court that morning.
Richard was extremely agitated, and was so weak and low, though his illness was still of the mind, that my dear girl indeed had sore occasion to be supported. But she looked forward—a very little way now—to the help that was to come to her, and never drooped.

It was at Westminster that the Cause was to come on. It had come on there, I dare say, a hundred times before, but I could not divest myself of an idea that it
might
lead to some result now. We left home directly after breakfast, to be at Westminster Hall in good time; and walked down there through the lively streets—so happily and strangely it seemed!—together.

As we were going along, planning what we should do for Richard and Ada, I heard somebody calling “Esther! My dear Esther! Esther!” And there was Caddy Jellyby, with her head out of the window of a little carriage which she hired now to go about in to her pupils (she had so many), as if she wanted to embrace me at a hundred yards’ distance. I had written her a note to tell her of all that my guardian had done, but had not had a moment to go and see her. Of course we turned back; and the affectionate girl was in that state of rapture, and was so overjoyed to talk about the night when she brought me the flowers, and was so determined to squeeze my face (bonnet and all) between her hands, and go on in a wild manner altogether, calling me all kinds of precious names, and telling Allan I had done I don’t know what for her, that I was just obliged to get into the little carriage and calm her down, by letting her say and do exactly what she liked. Allan, standing at the window, was as pleased as Caddy; and I was as pleased as either of them; and I wonder that I got away as I did, rather than that I came off, laughing, and red, and anything but tidy, and looking after Caddy, who looked after us out of the coach-window as long as she could see us.

This made us some quarter of an hour late, and when we came to Westminster Hall, we found that the day’s business was begun. Worse than that, we found such an unusual crowd in the Court of Chancery that it was full to the door, and we could neither see nor hear what was passing within. It appeared to be something droll, for occasionally there was a laugh, and a cry of “Silence!” It appeared to be something interesting, for every
one was pushing and striving to get nearer. It appeared to be something that made the professional gentlemen very merry, for there were several young counsellors in wigs and whiskers on the outside of the crowd, and when one of them told the others about it, they put their hands in their pockets, and quite doubled themselves up with laughter, and went stamping about the pavement of the Hall.

We asked a gentleman by us, if he knew what cause was on? He told us Jarndyce and Jarndyce. We asked him if he knew what was doing in it? He said, really no he did not, nobody ever did; but as well as he could make out, it was over. Over for the day? we asked him. No, he said; over for good.

Over for good!

When we heard this unaccountable answer, we looked at one another quite lost in amazement. Could it be possible that the Will had set things right at last, and that Richard and Ada were going to be rich? It seemed too good to be true. Alas it was!

Our suspense was short, for a break-up soon took place in the crowd, and the people came streaming out looking flushed and hot, and bringing a quantity of bad air with them. Still they were all exceedingly amused, and were more like people coming out from a Farce or a Juggler than from a court of Justice. We stood aside, watching for any countenance we knew; and presently great bundles of paper began to be carried out—bundles in bags, bundles too large to be got into any bags, immense masses of papers of all shapes and no shapes, which the bearers staggered under, and threw down for the time being, anyhow, on the Hall pavement, while they went back to bring out more. Even these clerks were laughing. We glanced at the papers, and seeing Jarndyce and Jarndyce everywhere, asked an official-looking person who was standing in the midst of them, whether the cause was over. “Yes,” he said, “it was all up with it at last!” and burst out laughing too.

At this juncture, we perceived Mr. Kenge coming out of Court with an affable dignity upon him, listening to Mr. Vholes, who was deferential and carried his own bag. Mr. Vholes was the first to see us. “Here is Miss Summerson, sir,” he said. “And Mr. Woodcourt.”

“O indeed! Yes. Truly!” said Mr. Kenge, raising his hat to me with polished politeness. “How do you do? Glad to see you. Mr. Jarndyce is not here?”

No. He never came there, I reminded him.

“Really,” returned Mr. Kenge, “it is as well that he is
not
here today, for his—shall I say, in my good friend’s absence, his indomitable singularity of opinion?—might have been strengthened, perhaps; not reasonably, but might have been strengthened.”