Chapter XLV. In Trust

by Charles Dickens

　　One morning when I had done jingling about with my baskets of keys,as my beauty and I were walking round and round the garden Ihappened to turn my eyes towards the house and saw a long thinshadow going in which looked like Mr. Vholes. Ada had been tellingme only that morning of her hopes that Richard might exhaust hisardour in the Chancery suit by being so very earnest in it; andtherefore, not to damp my dear girl's spirits, I said nothing aboutMr. Vholes's shadow.Presently came Charley, lightly winding among the bushes andtripping along the paths, as rosy and pretty as one of Flora'sattendants instead of my maid, saying, "Oh, if you please, miss,would you step and speak to Mr. Jarndyce!"It was one of Charley's peculiarities that whenever she was chargedwith a message she always began to deliver it as soon as shebeheld, at any distance, the person for whom it was intended.Therefore I saw Charley asking me in her usual form of words to"step and speak" to Mr. Jarndyce long before I heard her. And whenI did hear her, she had said it so often that she was out ofbreath.I told Ada I would make haste back and inquired of Charley as wewent in whether there was not a gentleman with Mr. Jarndyce. Towhich Charley, whose grammar, I confess to my shame, never did anycredit to my educational powers, replied, "Yes, miss. Him as comedown in the country with Mr. Richard."A more complete contrast than my guardian and Mr. Vholes I supposethere could not be. I found them looking at one another across atable, the one so open and the other so close, the one so broad andupright and the other so narrow and stooping, the one giving outwhat he had to say in such a rich ringing voice and the otherkeeping it in in such a cold-blooded, gasping, fish-like mannerthat I thought I never had seen two people so unmatched."You know Mr. Vholes, my dear," said my guardian. Not with thegreatest urbanity, I must say.Mr. Vholes rose, gloved and buttoned up as usual, and seatedhimself again, just as he had seated himself beside Richard in thegig. Not having Richard to look at, he looked straight before him."Mr. Vholes," said my guardian, eyeing his black figure as if hewere a bird of ill omen, "has brought an ugly report of our mostunfortunate Rick." Laying a marked emphasis on "most unfortunate"as if the words were rather descriptive of his connexion with Mr.Vholes.I sat down between them; Mr. Vholes remained immovable, except thathe secretly picked at one of the red pimples on his yellow facewith his black glove."And as Rick and you are happily good friends, I should like toknow," said my guardian, "what you think, my dear. Would you be sogood as to--as to speak up, Mr. Vholes?"Doing anything but that, Mr. Vholes observed, "I have been sayingthat I have reason to know, Miss Summerson, as Mr. C.'sprofessional adviser, that Mr. C.'s circumstances are at thepresent moment in an embarrassed state. Not so much in point ofamount as owing to the peculiar and pressing nature of liabilitiesMr. C. has incurred and the means he has of liquidating or meetingthe same. I have staved off many little matters for Mr. C., butthere is a limit to staving off, and we have reached it. I havemade some advances out of pocket to accommodate theseunpleasantnesses, but I necessarily look to being repaid, for I donot pretend to be a man of capital, and I have a father to supportin the Vale of Taunton, besides striving to realize some littleindependence for three dear girls at home. My apprehension is, Mr.C.'s circumstances being such, lest it should end in his obtainingleave to part with his commission, which at all events is desirableto be made known to his connexions."Mr. Vholes, who had looked at me while speaking, here emerged intothe silence he could hardly be said to have broken, so stifled washis tone, and looked before him again."Imagine the poor fellow without even his present resource," saidmy guardian to me. "Yet what can I do? You know him, Esther. Hewould never accept of help from me now. To offer it or hint at itwould be to drive him to an extremity, if nothing else did."Mr. Vholes hereupon addressed me again."What Mr. Jarndyce remarks, miss, is no doubt the case, and is thedifficulty. I do not see that anything is to be done, I do not saythat anything is to be done. Far from it. I merely come down hereunder the seal of confidence and mention it in order thateverything may be openly carried on and that it may not be saidafterwards that everything was not openly carried on. My wish isthat everything should be openly carried on. I desire to leave agood name behind me. If I consulted merely my own interests withMr. C., I should not be here. So insurmountable, as you must wellknow, would be his objections. This is not a professionalattendance. This can he charged to nobody. I have no interest init except as a member of society and a father--and a son," said Mr.Vholes, who had nearly forgotten that point.It appeared to us that Mr. Vholes said neither more nor less thanthe truth in intimating that he sought to divide theresponsibility, such as it was, of knowing Richard's situation. Icould only suggest that I should go down to Deal, where Richard wasthen stationed, and see him, and try if it were possible to avertthe worst. Without consulting Mr. Vholes on this point, I took myguardian aside to propose it, while Mr. Vholes gauntly stalked tothe fire and warmed his funeral gloves.The fatigue of the journey formed an immediate objection on myguardian's part, but as I saw he had no other, and as I was onlytoo happy to go, I got his consent. We had then merely to disposeof Mr. Vholes."Well, sir," said Mr. Jarndyce, "Miss Summerson will communicatewith Mr. Carstone, and you can only hope that his position may beyet retrievable. You will allow me to order you lunch after yourjourney, sir.""I thank you, Mr. Jarndyce," said Mr. Vholes, putting out his longblack sleeve to check the ringing of the bell, "not any. I thankyou, no, not a morsel. My digestion is much impaired, and I am buta poor knife and fork at any time. If I was to partake of solidfood at this period of the day, I don't know what the consequencesmight be. Everything having been openly carried on, sir, I willnow with your permission take my leave.""And I would that you could take your leave, and we could all takeour leave, Mr. Vholes," returned my guardian bitterly, "of a causeyou know of."Mr. Vholes, whose black dye was so deep from head to foot that ithad quite steamed before the fire, diffusing a very unpleasantperfume, made a short one-sided inclination of his head from theneck and slowly shook it."We whose ambition it is to be looked upon in the light ofrespectable practitioners, sir, can but put our shoulders to thewheel. We do it, sir. At least, I do it myself; and I wish tothink well of my professional brethren, one and all. You aresensible of an obligation not to refer to me, miss, incommunicating with Mr. C.?"I said I would be careful not to do it."Just so, miss. Good morning. Mr. Jarndyce, good morning, sir."Mr. Vholes put his dead glove, which scarcely seemed to have anyhand in it, on my fingers, and then on my guardian's fingers, andtook his long thin shadow away. I thought of it on the outside ofthe coach, passing over all the sunny landscape between us andLondon, chilling the seed in the ground as it glided along.Of course it became necessary to tell Ada where I was going and whyI was going, and of course she was anxious and distressed. But shewas too true to Richard to say anything but words of pity and wordsof excuse, and in a more loving spirit still--my dear devotedgirl!--she wrote him a long letter, of which I took charge.Charley was to be my travelling companion, though I am sure Iwanted none and would willingly have left her at home. We all wentto London that afternoon, and finding two places in the mail,secured them. At our usual bed-time, Charley and I were rollingaway seaward with the Kentish letters.It was a night's journey in those coach times, but we had the mailto ourselves and did not find the night very tedious. It passedwith me as I suppose it would with most people under suchcircumstances. At one while my journey looked hopeful, and atanother hopeless. Now I thought I should do some good, and now Iwondered how I could ever have supposed so. Now it seemed one ofthe most reasonable things in the world that I should have come,and now one of the most unreasonable. In what state I should findRichard, what I should say to him, and what he would say to meoccupied my mind by turns with these two states of feeling; and thewheels seemed to play one tune (to which the burden of myguardian's letter set itself) over and over again all night.At last we came into the narrow streets of Deal, and very gloomythey were upon a raw misty morning. The long flat beach, with itslittle irregular houses, wooden and brick, and its litter ofcapstans, and great boats, and sheds, and bare upright poles withtackle and blocks, and loose gravelly waste places overgrown withgrass and weeds, wore as dull an appearance as any place I eversaw. The sea was heaving under a thick white fog; and nothing elsewas moving but a few early ropemakers, who, with the yarn twistedround their bodies, looked as if, tired of their present state ofexistence, they were spinning themselves into cordage.But when we got into a warm room in an excellent hotel and satdown, comfortably washed and dressed, to an early breakfast (for itwas too late to think of going to bed), Deal began to look morecheerful. Our little room was like a ship's cabin, and thatdelighted Charley very much. Then the fog began to rise like acurtain, and numbers of ships that we had had no idea were nearappeared. I don't know how many sail the waiter told us were thenlying in the downs. Some of these vessels were of grand size--onewas a large Indiaman just come home; and when the sun shone throughthe clouds, maktng silvery pools in the dark sea, the way in whichthese ships brightened, and shadowed, and changed, amid a bustle ofboats pulling off from the shore to them and from them to theshore, and a general life and motion in themselves and everythingaround them, was most beautiful.The large Indiaman was our great attraction because she had comeinto the downs in the night. She was surrounded by boats, and wesaid how glad the people on board of her must be to come ashore.Charley was curious, too, about the voyage, and about the heat inIndia, and the serpents and the tigers; and as she picked up suchinformation much faster than grammar, I told her what I knew onthose points. I told her, too, how people in such voyages weresometimes wrecked and cast on rocks, where they were saved by theintrepidity and humanity of one man. And Charley asking how thatcould be, I told her how we knew at home of such a case.I had thought of sending Richard a note saying I was there, but itseemed so much better to go to him without preparation. As helived in barracks I was a little doubtful whether this wasfeasible, but we went out to reconnoitre. Peeping in at the gateof the barrack-yard, we found everything very quiet at that time inthe morning, and I asked a sergeant standing on the guardhouse-steps where he lived. He sent a man before to show me, who went upsome bare stairs, and knocked with his knuckles at a door, and leftus."Now then!" cried Richard from within. So I left Charley in thelittle passage, and going on to the half-open door, said, "Can Icome in, Richard? It's only Dame Durden."He was writing at a table, with a great confusion of clothes, tincases, books, boots, brushes, and portmanteaus strewn all about thefloor. He was only half dressed--in plain clothes, I observed, notin uniform--and his hair was unbrushed, and he looked as wild ashis room. All this I saw after he had heartily welcomed me and Iwas seated near him, for he started upon hearing my voice andcaught me in his arms in a moment. Dear Richard! He was ever thesame to me. Down to--ah, poor poor fellow!--to the end, he neverreceived me but with something of his old merry boyish manner."Good heaven, my dear little woman," said he, "how do you comehere? Who could have thought of seeing you! Nothing the matter?Ada is well?""Quite well. Lovelier than ever, Richard!""Ah!" he said, lenning back in his chair. "My poor cousin! I waswriting to you, Esther."So worn and haggard as he looked, even in the fullness of hishandsome youth, leaning back in his chair and crushing the closelywritten sheet of paper in his hand!"Have you been at the trouble of writing all that, and am I not toread it after all?" I asked."Oh, my dear," he returned with a hopeless gesture. "You may readit in the whole room. It is all over here."I mildly entreated him not to be despondent. I told him that I hadheard by chance of his being in difficulty and had come to consultwith him what could best be done."Like you, Esther, but useless, and so not like you!" said he witha melancholy smile. "I am away on leave this day--should have beengone in another hour--and that is to smooth it over, for my sellingout. Well! Let bygones be bygones. So this calling follows therest. I only want to have been in the church to have made theround of all the professions.""Richard," I urged, "it is not so hopeless as that?""Esther," he returned, "it is indeed. I am just so near disgraceas that those who are put in authority over me (as the catechismgoes) would far rather be without me than with me. And they areright. Apart from debts and duns and all such drawbacks, I am notfit even for this employment. I have no care, no mind, no heart,no soul, but for one thing. Why, if this bubble hadn't brokennow," he said, tearing the letter he had written into fragments andmoodily casting them away, by driblets, "how could I have goneabroad? I must have been ordered abroad, but how could I havegone? How could I, with my experience of that thing, trust evenVholes unless I was at his back!"I suppose he knew by my face what I was about to say, but he caughtthe hand I had laid upon his arm and touched my own lips with it toprevent me from going on."No, Dame Durden! Two subjects I forbid--must forbid. The firstis John Jarndyce. The second, you know what. Call it madness, andI tell you I can't help it now, and can't be sane. But it is nosuch thing; it is the one object I have to pursue. It is a pity Iever was prevailed upon to turn out of my road for any other. Itwould be wisdom to abandon it now, after all the time, anxiety, andpains I have bestowed upon it! Oh, yes, true wisdom. It would bevery agreeable, too, to some people; but I never will."He was in that mood in which I thought it best not to increase hisdetermination (if anything could increase it) by opposing him. Itook out Ada's letter and put it in his hand."Am I to read it now?" he asked.As I told him yes, he laid it on the table, and resting his headupon his hand, began. He had not read far when he rested his headupon his two hands--to hide his face from me. In a little while herose as if the light were bad and went to the window. He finishedreading it there, with his back towards me, and after he hadfinished and had folded it up, stood there for some minutes withthe letter in his hand. When he came back to his chair, I sawtears in his eyes."Of course, Esther, you know what she says here?" He spoke in asoftened voice and kissed the letter as he asked me."Yes, Richard.""Offers me," he went on, tapping his foot upon the floor, "thelittle inheritance she is certain of so soon--just as little and asmuch as I have wasted--and begs and prays me to take it, set myselfright with it, and remain in the service.""I know your welfare to be the dearest wish of her heart," said I."And, oh, my dear Richard, Ada's is a noble heart.""I am sure it is. I--I wish I was dead!"He went back to the window, and laying his arm across it, leanedhis head down on his arm. It greatly affected me to see him so,but I hoped he might become more yielding, and I remained silent.My experience was very limited; I was not at all prepared for hisrousing himself out of this emotion to a new sense of injury."And this is the heart that the same John Jarndyce, who is nototherwise to be mentioned between us, stepped in to estrange fromme," said he indignantly. "And the dear girl makes me thisgenerous offer from under the same John Jarndyce's roof, and withthe same John Jarndyce's gracious consent and connivance, I daresay, as a new means of buying me off.""Richard!" I cried out, rising hastily. "I will not hear you saysuch shameful words!" I was very angry with him indeed, for thefirst time in my life, but it only lasted a moment. When I saw hisworn young face looking at me as if he were sorry, I put my hand onhis shoulder and said, "If you please, my dear Richard, do notspeak in such a tone to me. Consider!"He blamed himself exceedingly and told me in the most generousmanner that he had been very wrong and that he begged my pardon athousand times. At that I laughed, but trembled a little too, forI was rather fluttered after being so fiery."To accept this offer, my dear Esther," said he, sitting downbeside me and resuming our conversation, "--once more, pray, prayforgive me; I am deeply grieved--to accept my dearest cousin'soffer is, I need not say, impossible. Besides, I have letters andpapers that I could show you which would convince you it is allover here. I have done with the red coat, believe me. But it issome satisfaction, in the midst of my troubles and perplexities, toknow that I am pressing Ada's interests in pressing my own. Vholeshas his shoulder to the wheel, and he cannot help urging it on asmuch for her as for me, thank God!"His sanguine hopes were rising within him and lighting up hisfeatures, but they made his face more sad to me than it had beenbefore."No, no!" cried Richard exultingly. "If every farthing of Ada'slittle fortune were mine, no part of it should be spent inretaining me in what I am not fit for, can take no interest in, andam weary of. It should be devoted to what promises a betterreturn, and should be used where she has a larger stake. Don't beuneasy for me! I shall now have only one thing on my mind, andVholes and I will work it. I shall not be without means. Free ofmy commission, I shall be able to compound with some small usurerswho will hear of nothing but their bond now--Vholes says so. Ishould have a balance in my favour anyway, but that would swell it.Come, come! You shall carry a letter to Ada from me, Esther, andyou must both of you be more hopeful of me and not believe that Iam quite cast away just yet, my dear."I will not repeat what I said to Richard. I know it was tiresome,and nobody is to suppose for a moment that it was at all wise. Itonly came from my heart. He heard it patiently and feelingly, butI saw that on the two subjects he had reserved it was at presenthopeless to make any representation to him. I saw too, and hadexperienced in this very interview, the sense of my guardian'sremark that it was even more mischievous to use persuasion with himthan to leave him as he was.Therefore I was driven at last to asking Richard if he would mindconvincing me that it really was all over there, as he had said,and that it was not his mere impression. He showed me withouthesitation a correspondence making it quite plain that hisretirement was arranged. I found, from what he told me, that Mr.Vholes had copies of these papers and had been in consultation withhim throughout. Beyond ascertaining this, and having been thebearer of Ada's letter, and being (as I was going to be) Richard'scompanion back to London, I had done no good by coming down.Admitting this to myself with a reluctant heart, I said I wouldreturn to the hotel and wait until he joined me there, so he threwa cloak over his shoulders and saw me to the gate, and Charley andI went back along the beach.There was a concourse of people in one spot, surrounding some navalofficers who were landing from a boat, and pressing about them withunusual interest. I said to Charley this would be one of the greatIndiaman's boats now, and we stopped to look.The gentlemen came slowly up from the waterside, speaking good-humouredly to each other and to the people around and glancingabout them as if they were glad to be in England again. "Charley,Charley," said I, "come away!" And I hurried on so swiftly that mylittle maid was surprised.It was not until we were shut up in our cabin-room and I had hadtime to take breath that I began to think why I had made suchhaste. In one of the sunburnt faces I had recognized Mr. AllanWoodcourt, and I had been afraid of his recognizing me. I had beenunwilling that he should see my altered looks. I had been taken bysurprise, and my courage had quite failed me.But I knew this would not do, and I now said to myself, "My dear,there is no reason--there is and there can be no reason at all--whyit should be worse for you now than it ever has been. What youwere last month, you are to-day; you are no worse, you are nobetter. This is not your resolution; call it up, Esther, call itup!" I was in a great tremble--with running--and at first wasquite unable to calm myself; but I got better, and I was very gladto know it.The party came to the hotel. I heard them speaking on thestaircase. I was sure it was the same gentlemen because I knewtheir voices again--I mean I knew Mr. Woodcourt's. It would stillhave been a great relief to me to have gone away without makingmyself known, but I was determined not to do so. "No, my dear, no.No, no, no!"I untied my bonnet and put my veil half up--I think I mean halfdown, but it matters very little--and wrote on one of my cards thatI happened to be there with Mr. Richard Carstone, and I sent it into Mr. Woodcourt. He came immediately. I told him I was rejoicedto be by chance among the first to welcome him home to England.And I saw that he was very sorry for me."You have been in shipwreck and peril since you left us, Mr.Woodcourt," said I, "but we can hardly call that a misfortune whichenabled you to be so useful and so brave. We read of it with thetruest interest. It first came to my knowledge through your oldpatient, poor Miss Flite, when I was recovering from my severeillness.""Ah! Little Miss Flite!" he said. "She lives the same life yet?""Just the same."I was so comfortable with myself now as not to mind the veil and tobe able to put it aside."Her gratitude to you, Mr. Woodcourt, is delightful. She is a mostaffectionate creature, as I have reason to say.""You--you have found her so?" he returned. "I--I am glad of that."He was so very sorry for me that he could scarcely speak."I assure you," said I, "that I was deeply touched by her sympathyand pleasure at the time I have referred to.""I was grieved to hear that you had been very ill.""I was very ill.""But you have quite recovered?""I have quite recovered my health and my cheerfulness," said I."You know how good my guardian is and what a happy life we lead,and I have everything to be thankful for and nothing in the worldto desire."I felt as if he had greater commiseration for me than I had everhad for myself. It inspired me with new fortitude and new calmnessto find that it was I who was under the necessity of reassuringhim. I spoke to him of his voyage out and home, and of his futureplans, and of his probable return to India. He said that was verydoubtful. He had not found himself more favoured by fortune therethan here. He had gone out a poor ship's surgeon and had come homenothing better. While we were talking, and when I was glad tobelieve that I had alleviated (if I may use such a term) the shockhe had had in seeing me, Richard came in. He had heard downstairswho was with me, and they met with cordial pleasure.I saw that after their first greetings were over, and when theyspoke of Richard's career, Mr. Woodcourt had a perception that allwas not going well with him. He frequently glanced at his face asif there were something in it that gave him pain, and more thanonce he looked towards me as though he sought to ascertain whetherI knew what the truth was. Yet Richard was in one of his sanguinestates and in good spirits and was thoroughly pleased to see Mr.Woodcourt again, whom he had always liked.Richard proposed that we all should go to London together; but Mr.Woodcourt, having to remain by his ship a little longer, could notjoin us. He dined with us, however, at an early hour, and becameso much more like what he used to be that I was still more at peaceto think I had been able to soften his regrets. Yet his mind wasnot relieved of Richard. When the coach was almost ready andRichard ran down to look after his luggage, he spoke to me abouthim.I was not sure that I had a right to lay his whole story open, butI referred in a few words to his estrangement from Mr Jarndyce andto his being entangled in the ill-fated Chancery suit. Mr.Woodcourt listened with interest and expressed his regret."I saw you observe him rather closely," said I, "Do you think himso changed?""He is changed," he returned, shaking his head.I felt the blood rush into my face for the first time, but it wasonly an instantaneous emotion. I turned my head aside, and it wasgone."It is not," said Mr. Woodcourt, "his being so much younger orolder, or thinner or fatter, or paler or ruddier, as there beingupon his face such a singular expression. I never saw soremarkable a look in a young person. One cannot say that it is allanxiety or all weariness; yet it is both, and like ungrowndespair.""You do not think he is ill?" said I.No. He looked robust in body."That he cannot be at peace in mind, we have too much reason toknow," I proceeded. "Mr. Woodcourt, you are going to London?""To-morrow or the next day.""There is nothing Richard wants so much as a friend. He alwaysliked you. Pray see him when you get there. Pray help himsometimes with your companionship if you can. You do not know ofwhat service it might be. You cannot think how Ada, and Mr.Jarndyce, and even I--how we should all thank you, Mr. Woodcourt!""Miss Summerson," he said, more moved than he had been from thefirst, "before heaven, I will be a true friend to him! I willaccept him as a trust, and it shall be a sacred one!""God bless you!" said I, with my eyes filling fast; but I thoughtthey might, when it was not for myself. "Ada loves him--we alllove him, but Ada loves him as we cannot. I will tell her what yousay. Thank you, and God bless you, in her name!"Richard came back as we finished exchanging these hurried words andgave me his arm to take me to the coach."Woodcourt," he said, unconscious with what application, "pray letus meet in London!""Meet?" returned the other. "I have scarcely a friend there nowbut you. Where shall I find you?""Why, I must get a lodging of some sort," said Richard, pondering."Say at Vholes's, Symond's Inn.""Good! Without loss of time."They shook hands heartily. When I was seated in the coach andRichard was yet standing in the street, Mr. Woodcourt laid hisfriendly hand on Richard's shoulder and looked at me. I understoodhim and waved mine in thanks.And in his last look as we drove away, I saw that he was very sorryfor me. I was glad to see it. I felt for my old self as the deadmay feel if they ever revisit these scenes. I was glad to betenderly remembered, to be gently pitied, not to be quiteforgotten.