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Rainer Maria Rilke - "Die Aufzeichnungen des Malte Laurid Brigge"

Caere Corporation, 1 800 535 7226. - "Scanned with OmniPage Professional OCR software"

Gregory Walker, Austin, Texas, - "American Hand Book of the Daguerreotype by Samuel D. Humphrey"

Frank T. Bullen - "The Cruise of the Cachalot"

Bleak House

C >> Charles Dickens >> Bleak House




He finds it as he speaks, "Esther Summerson."

"Oh!" says Mr. Bucket, pausing, with his finger at his ear. "Come,
I'll take YOU."

He completes his observations as quietly and carefully as he has
carried them on, leaves everything else precisely as he found it,
glides away after some five minutes in all, and passes into the
street. With a glance upward at the dimly lighted windows of Sir
Leicester's room, he sets off, full-swing, to the nearest coach-
stand, picks out the horse for his money, and directs to be driven
to the shooting gallery. Mr. Bucket does not claim to be a
scientific judge of horses, but he lays out a little money on the
principal events in that line, and generally sums up his knowledge
of the subject in the remark that when he sees a horse as can go,
he knows him.

His knowledge is not at fault in the present instance. Clattering
over the stones at a dangerous pace, yet thoughtfully bringing his
keen eyes to bear on every slinking creature whom he passes in the
midnight streets, and even on the lights in upper windows where
people are going or gone to bed, and on all the turnings that he
rattles by, and alike on the heavy sky, and on the earth where the
snow lies thin--for something may present itself to assist him,
anywhere--he dashes to his destination at such a speed that when he
stops the horse half smothers him in a cloud of steam.

"Unbear him half a moment to freshen him up, and I'll be back."

He runs up the long wooden entry and finds the trooper smoking his
pipe.

"I thought I should, George, after what you have gone through, my
lad. I haven't a word to spare. Now, honour! All to save a
woman. Miss Summerson that was here when Gridley died--that was
the name, I know--all right--where does she live?"

The trooper has just come from there and gives him the address,
near Oxford Street.

"You won't repent it, George. Good night!"

He is off again, with an impression of having seen Phil sitting by
the frosty fire staring at him open-mouthed, and gallops away
again, and gets out in a cloud of steam again.

Mr. Jarndyce, the only person up in the house, is just going to
bed, rises from his book on hearing the rapid ringing at the bell,
and comes down to the door in his dressing-gown.

"Don't be alarmed, sir." In a moment his visitor is confidential
with him in the hall, has shut the door, and stands with his hand
upon the lock. "I've had the pleasure of seeing you before.
Inspector Bucket. Look at that handkerchief, sir, Miss Esther
Summerson's. Found it myself put away in a drawer of Lady
Dedlock's, quarter of an hour ago. Not a moment to lose. Matter
of life or death. You know Lady Dedlock?"

"Yes."

"There has been a discovery there to-day. Family affairs have come
out. Sir Leicester Dedlock, Baronet, has had a fit--apoplexy or
paralysis--and couldn't be brought to, and precious time has been
lost. Lady Dedlock disappeared this afternoon and left a letter
for him that looks bad. Run your eye over it. Here it is!"

Mr. Jarndyce, having read it, asks him what he thinks.

"I don't know. It looks like suicide. Anyways, there's more and
more danger, every minute, of its drawing to that. I'd give a
hundred pound an hour to have got the start of the present time.
Now, Mr. Jarndyce, I am employed by Sir Leicester Dedlock, Baronet,
to follow her and find her, to save her and take her his
forgiveness. I have money and full power, but I want something
else. I want Miss Summerson."

Mr. Jarndyce in a troubled voice repeats, "Miss Summerson?"

"Now, Mr. Jarndyce"--Mr. Bucket has read his face with the greatest
attention all along--"I speak to you as a gentleman of a humane
heart, and under such pressing circumstances as don't often happen.
If ever delay was dangerous, it's dangerous now; and if ever you
couldn't afterwards forgive yourself for causing it, this is the
time. Eight or ten hours, worth, as I tell you, a hundred pound
apiece at least, have been lost since Lady Dedlock disappeared. I
am charged to find her. I am Inspector Bucket. Besides all the
rest that's heavy on her, she has upon her, as she believes,
suspicion of murder. If I follow her alone, she, being in
ignorance of what Sir Leicester Dedlock, Baronet, has communicated
to me, may be driven to desperation. But if I follow her in
company with a young lady, answering to the description of a young
lady that she has a tenderness for--I ask no question, and I say no
more than that--she will give me credit for being friendly. Let me
come up with her and be able to have the hold upon her of putting
that young lady for'ard, and I'll save her and prevail with her if
she is alive. Let me come up with her alone--a hard matter--and
I'll do my best, but I don't answer for what the best may be. Time
flies; it's getting on for one o'clock. When one strikes, there's
another hour gone, and it's worth a thousand pound now instead of a
hundred."

This is all true, and the pressing nature of the case cannot be
questioned. Mr. Jarndyce begs him to remain there while he speaks
to Miss Summerson. Mr. Bucket says he will, but acting on his
usual principle, does no such thing, following upstairs instead and
keeping his man in sight. So he remains, dodging and lurking about
in the gloom of the staircase while they confer. In a very little
time Mr. Jarndyce comes down and tells him that Miss Summerson will
join him directly and place herself under his protection to
accompany him where he pleases. Mr. Bucket, satisfied, expresses
high approval and awaits her coming at the door.

There he mounts a high tower in his mind and looks out far and
wide. Many solitary figures he perceives creeping through the
streets; many solitary figures out on heaths, and roads, and lying
under haystacks. But the figure that he seeks is not among them.
Other solitaries he perceives, in nooks of bridges, looking over;
and in shadowed places down by the river's level; and a dark, dark,
shapeless object drifting with the tide, more solitary than all,
clings with a drowning hold on his attention.

Where is she? Living or dead, where is she? If, as he folds the
handkerchief and carefully puts it up, it were able with an
enchanted power to bring before him the place where she found it
and the night-landscape near the cottage where it covered the
little child, would he descry her there? On the waste where the
brick-kilns are burning with a pale blue flare, where the straw-
roofs of the wretched huts in which the bricks are made are being
scattered by the wind, where the clay and water are hard frozen and
the mill in which the gaunt blind horse goes round all day looks
like an instrument of human torture--traversing this deserted,
blighted spot there is a lonely figure with the sad world to
itself, pelted by the snow and driven by the wind, and cast out, it
would seem, from all companionship. It is the figure of a woman,
too; but it is miserably dressed, and no such clothes ever came
through the hall and out at the great door of the Dedlock mansion.



CHAPTER LVII

Esther's Narrative


I had gone to bed and fallen asleep when my guardian knocked at the
door of my room and begged me to get up directly. On my hurrying
to speak to him and learn what had happened, he told me, after a
word or two of preparation, that there had been a discovery at Sir
Leicester Dedlock's. That my mother had fled, that a person was
now at our door who was empowered to convey to her the fullest
assurances of affectionate protection and forgiveness if he could
possibly find her, and that I was sought for to accompany him in
the hope that my entreaties might prevail upon her if his failed.
Something to this general purpose I made out, but I was thrown into
such a tumult of alarm, and hurry and distress, that in spite of
every effort I could make to subdue my agitation, I did not seem,
to myself, fully to recover my right mind until hours had passed.

But I dressed and wrapped up expeditiously without waking Charley
or any one and went down to Mr. Bucket, who was the person
entrusted with the secret. In taking me to him my guardian told me
this, and also explained how it was that he had come to think of
me. Mr. Bucket, in a low voice, by the light of my guardian's
candle, read to me in the hall a letter that my mother had left
upon her table; and I suppose within ten minutes of my having been
aroused I was sitting beside him, rolling swiftly through the
streets.

His manner was very keen, and yet considerate when he explained to
me that a great deal might depend on my being able to answer,
without confusion, a few questions that he wished to ask me. These
were, chiefly, whether I had had much communication with my mother
(to whom he only referred as Lady Dedlock), when and where I had
spoken with her last, and how she had become possessed of my
handkerchief. When I had satisfied him on these points, he asked
me particularly to consider--taking time to think--whether within
my knowledge there was any one, no matter where, in whom she might
be at all likely to confide under circumstances of the last
necessity. I could think of no one but my guardian. But by and by
I mentioned Mr. Boythorn. He came into my mind as connected with
his old chivalrous manner of mentioning my mother's name and with
what my guardian had informed me of his engagement to her sister
and his unconscious connexion with her unhappy story.

My companion had stopped the driver while we held this
conversation, that we might the better hear each other. He now
told him to go on again and said to me, after considering within
himself for a few moments, that he had made up his mind how to
proceed. He was quite willing to tell me what his plan was, but I
did not feel clear enough to understand it.

We had not driven very far from our lodgings when we stopped in a
by-street at a public-looking place lighted up with gas. Mr.
Bucket took me in and sat me in an armchair by a bright fire. It
was now past one, as I saw by the clock against the wall. Two
police officers, looking in their perfectly neat uniform not at all
like people who were up all night, were quietly writing at a desk;
and the place seemed very quiet altogether, except for some beating
and calling out at distant doors underground, to which nobody paid
any attention.

A third man in uniform, whom Mr. Bucket called and to whom he
whispered his instructions, went out; and then the two others
advised together while one wrote from Mr. Bucket's subdued
dictation. It was a description of my mother that they were busy
with, for Mr. Bucket brought it to me when it was done and read it
in a whisper. It was very accurate indeed.

The second officer, who had attended to it closely, then copied it
out and called in another man in uniform (there were several in an
outer room), who took it up and went away with it. All this was
done with the greatest dispatch and without the waste of a moment;
yet nobody was at all hurried. As soon as the paper was sent out
upon its travels, the two officers resumed their former quiet work
of writing with neatness and care. Mr. Bucket thoughtfully came
and warmed the soles of his boots, first one and then the other, at
the fire.

"Are you well wrapped up, Miss Summerson?" he asked me as his eyes
met mine. "It's a desperate sharp night for a young lady to be out
in."

I told him I cared for no weather and was warmly clothed.

"It may be a long job," he observed; "but so that it ends well,
never mind, miss."

"I pray to heaven it may end well!" said I.

He nodded comfortingly. "You see, whatever you do, don't you go
and fret yourself. You keep yourself cool and equal for anything
that may happen, and it'll be the better for you, the better for
me, the better for Lady Dedlock, and the better for Sir Leicester
Dedlock, Baronet."

He was really very kind and gentle, and as he stood before the fire
warming his boots and rubbing his face with his forefinger, I felt
a confidence in his sagacity which reassured me. It was not yet a
quarter to two when I heard horses' feet and wheels outside. "Now,
Miss Summerson," said he, "we are off, if you please!"

He gave me his arm, and the two officers courteously bowed me out,
and we found at the door a phaeton or barouche with a postilion and
post horses. Mr. Bucket handed me in and took his own seat on the
box. The man in uniform whom he had sent to fetch this equipage
then handed him up a dark lantern at his request, and when he had
given a few directions to the driver, we rattled away.

I was far from sure that I was not in a dream. We rattled with
great rapidity through such a labyrinth of streets that I soon lost
all idea where we were, except that we had crossed and re-crossed
the river, and still seemed to be traversing a low-lying,
waterside, dense neighbourhood of narrow thoroughfares chequered by
docks and basins, high piles of warehouses, swing-bridges, and
masts of ships. At length we stopped at the corner of a little
slimy turning, which the wind from the river, rushing up it, did
not purify; and I saw my companion, by the light of his lantern, in
conference with several men who looked like a mixture of police and
sailors. Against the mouldering wall by which they stood, there
was a bill, on which I could discern the words, "Found Drowned";
and this and an inscription about drags possessed me with the awful
suspicion shadowed forth in our visit to that place.

I had no need to remind myself that I was not there by the
indulgence of any feeling of mine to increase the difficulties of
the search, or to lessen its hopes, or enhance its delays. I
remained quiet, but what I suffered in that dreadful spot I never
can forget. And still it was like the horror of a dream. A man
yet dark and muddy, in long swollen sodden boots and a hat like
them, was called out of a boat and whispered with Mr. Bucket, who
went away with him down some slippery steps--as if to look at
something secret that he had to show. They came back, wiping their
hands upon their coats, after turning over something wet; but thank
God it was not what I feared!

After some further conference, Mr. Bucket (whom everybody seemed to
know and defer to) went in with the others at a door and left me in
the carriage, while the driver walked up and down by his horses to
warm himself. The tide was coming in, as I judged from the sound
it made, and I could hear it break at the end of the alley with a
little rush towards me. It never did so--and I thought it did so,
hundreds of times, in what can have been at the most a quarter of
an hour, and probably was less--but the thought shuddered through
me that it would cast my mother at the horses' feet.

Mr. Bucket came out again, exhorting the others to be vigilant,
darkened his lantern, and once more took his seat. "Don't you be
alarmed, Miss Summerson, on account of our coming down here," he
said, turning to me. "I only want to have everything in train and
to know that it is in train by looking after it myself. Get on, my
lad!"

We appeared to retrace the way we had come. Not that I had taken
note of any particular objects in my perturbed state of mind, but
judging from the general character of the streets. We called at
another office or station for a minute and crossed the river again.
During the whole of this time, and during the whole search, my
companion, wrapped up on the box, never relaxed in his vigilance a
single moment; but when we crossed the bridge he seemed, if
possible, to be more on the alert than before. He stood up to look
over the parapet, he alighted and went back after a shadowy female
figure that flitted past us, and he gazed into the profound black
pit of water with a face that made my heart die within me. The
river had a fearful look, so overcast and secret, creeping away so
fast between the low flat lines of shore--so heavy with indistinct
and awful shapes, both of substance and shadow; so death-like and
mysterious. I have seen it many times since then, by sunlight and
by moonlight, but never free from the impressions of that journey.
In my memory the lights upon the bridge are always burning dim, the
cutting wind is eddying round the homeless woman whom we pass, the
monotonous wheels are whirling on, and the light of the carriage-
lamps reflected back looks palely in upon me--a face rising out of
the dreaded water.

Clattering and clattering through the empty streets, we came at
length from the pavement on to dark smooth roads and began to leave
the houses behind us. After a while I recognized the familiar way
to Saint Albans. At Barnet fresh horses were ready for us, and we
changed and went on. It was very cold indeed, and the open country
was white with snow, though none was falling then.

"An old acquaintance of yours, this road, Miss Summerson," said Mr.
Bucket cheerfully.

"Yes," I returned. "Have you gathered any intelligence?"

"None that can be quite depended on as yet," he answered, "but it's
early times as yet."

He had gone into every late or early public-house where there was a
light (they were not a few at that time, the road being then much
frequented by drovers) and had got down to talk to the turnpike-
keepers. I had heard him ordering drink, and chinking money, and
making himself agreeable and merry everywhere; but whenever he took
his seat upon the box again, his face resumed its watchful steady
look, and he always said to the driver in the same business tone,
"Get on, my lad!"

With all these stoppages, it was between five and six o'clock and
we were yet a few miles short of Saint Albans when he came out of
one of these houses and handed me in a cup of tea.

"Drink it, Miss Summerson, it'll do you good. You're beginning to
get more yourself now, ain't you?"

I thanked him and said I hoped so.

"You was what you may call stunned at first," he returned; "and
Lord, no wonder! Don't speak loud, my dear. It's all right.
She's on ahead."

I don't know what joyful exclamation I made or was going to make,
but he put up his finger and I stopped myself.

"Passed through here on foot this evening about eight or nine. I
heard of her first at the archway toll, over at Highgate, but
couldn't make quite sure. Traced her all along, on and off.
Picked her up at one place, and dropped her at another; but she's
before us now, safe. Take hold of this cup and saucer, ostler.
Now, if you wasn't brought up to the butter trade, look out and see
if you can catch half a crown in your t'other hand. One, two,
three, and there you are! Now, my lad, try a gallop!"

We were soon in Saint Albans and alighted a little before day, when
I was just beginning to arrange and comprehend the occurrences of
the night and really to believe that they were not a dream.
Leaving the carriage at the posting-house and ordering fresh horses
to be ready, my companion gave me his arm, and we went towards
home.

"As this is your regular abode, Miss Summerson, you see," he
observed, "I should like to know whether you've been asked for by
any stranger answering the description, or whether Mr. Jarndyce
has. I don't much expect it, but it might be."

As we ascended the hill, he looked about him with a sharp eye--the
day was now breaking--and reminded me that I had come down it one
night, as I had reason for remembering, with my little servant and
poor Jo, whom he called Toughey.

I wondered how he knew that.

"When you passed a man upon the road, just yonder, you know," said
Mr. Bucket.

Yes, I remembered that too, very well.

"That was me," said Mr. Bucket.

Seeing my surprise, he went on, "I drove down in a gig that
afternoon to look after that boy. You might have heard my wheels
when you came out to look after him yourself, for I was aware of
you and your little maid going up when I was walking the horse
down. Making an inquiry or two about him in the town, I soon heard
what company he was in and was coming among the brick-fields to
look for him when I observed you bringing him home here."

"Had he committed any crime?" I asked.

"None was charged against him," said Mr. Bucket, coolly lifting off
his hat, "but I suppose he wasn't over-particular. No. What I
wanted him for was in connexion with keeping this very matter of
Lady Dedlock quiet. He had been making his tongue more free than
welcome as to a small accidental service he had been paid for by
the deceased Mr. Tulkinghorn; and it wouldn't do, at any sort of
price, to have him playing those games. So having warned him out
of London, I made an afternoon of it to warn him to keep out of it
now he WAS away, and go farther from it, and maintain a bright
look-out that I didn't catch him coming back again."

"Poor creature!" said I.

"Poor enough," assented Mr. Bucket, "and trouble enough, and well
enough away from London, or anywhere else. I was regularly turned
on my back when I found him taken up by your establishment, I do
assure you.

I asked him why. "Why, my dear?" said Mr. Bucket. "Naturally
there was no end to his tongue then. He might as well have been
born with a yard and a half of it, and a remnant over."

Although I remember this conversation now, my head was in confusion
at the time, and my power of attention hardly did more than enable
me to understand that he entered into these particulars to divert
me. With the same kind intention, manifestly, he often spoke to me
of indifferent things, while his face was busy with the one object
that we had in view. He still pursued this subject as we turned in
at the garden-gate.

"Ah!" said Mr. Bucket. "Here we are, and a nice retired place it
is. Puts a man in mind of the country house in the Woodpecker-
tapping, that was known by the smoke which so gracefully curled.
They're early with the kitchen fire, and that denotes good
servants. But what you've always got to be careful of with
servants is who comes to see 'em; you never know what they're up to
if you don't know that. And another thing, my dear. Whenever you
find a young man behind the kitchen-door, you give that young man
in charge on suspicion of being secreted in a dwelling-house with
an unlawful purpose."

We were now in front of the house; he looked attentively and
closely at the gravel for footprints before he raised his eyes to
the windows.

"Do you generally put that elderly young gentleman in the same room
when he's on a visit here, Miss Summerson?" he inquired, glancing
at Mr. Skimpole's usual chamber.

"You know Mr. Skimpole!" said I.

"What do you call him again?" returned Mr. Bucket, bending down his
ear. "Skimpole, is it? I've often wondered what his name might
be. Skimpole. Not John, I should say, nor yet Jacob?"

"Harold," I told him.

"Harold. Yes. He's a queer bird is Harold," said Mr. Bucket,
eyeing me with great expression.

"He is a singular character," said I.

"No idea of money," observed Mr. Bucket. "He takes it, though!"

I involuntarily returned for answer that I perceived Mr. Bucket
knew him.

"Why, now I'll tell you, Miss Summerson," he replied. "Your mind
will be all the better for not running on one point too
continually, and I'll tell you for a change. It was him as pointed
out to me where Toughey was. I made up my mind that night to come
to the door and ask for Toughey, if that was all; but willing to
try a move or so first, if any such was on the board, I just
pitched up a morsel of gravel at that window where I saw a shadow.
As soon as Harold opens it and I have had a look at him, thinks I,
you're the man for me. So I smoothed him down a bit about not
wanting to disturb the family after they was gone to bed and about
its being a thing to be regretted that charitable young ladies
should harbour vagrants; and then, when I pretty well understood
his ways, I said I should consider a fypunnote well bestowed if I
could relieve the premises of Toughey without causing any noise or
trouble. Then says he, lifting up his eyebrows in the gayest way,
'It's no use menfioning a fypunnote to me, my friend, because I'm a
mere child in such matters and have no idea of money.' Of course I
understood what his taking it so easy meant; and being now quite
sure he was the man for me, I wrapped the note round a little stone
and threw it up to him. Well! He laughs and beams, and looks as
innocent as you like, and says, 'But I don't know the value of
these things. What am I to DO with this?' 'Spend it, sir,' says
I. 'But I shall be taken in,' he says, 'they won't give me the
right change, I shall lose it, it's no use to me.' Lord, you never
saw such a face as he carried it with! Of course he told me where
to find Toughey, and I found him."

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