deliberately putting away his handkerchief； and adjusting his frill；
“the law is so despotic here； that it interferes to prevent any of our
good English citizens from being troubled； even by a lady’s visits；
against his desire。 And； on his complaining that he is so troubled；
it takes hold of the troublesome lady； and shuts her up in prison
under hard discipline。 Turns the key upon her； mistress。”
Illustrating with the cellar key。
“Truly？” returns Mademoiselle； in the same pleasant voice。
“That is droll！ But—my faith！—still what does it matter to me！”
“My fair friend；” says Mr Tulkinghorn； “make another visit
here； or at Mr Snagsby’s； and you shall learn。”
“In that case you will send Me to the prison； perhaps？”
“Perhaps。”
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It would be contradictory for one in Mademoiselle’s state of
agreeable jocularity to foam at the mouth； otherwise a tigerish
expansion thereabouts might look as if a very little more would
make her do it。
“In a word； mistress；” says Mr Tulkinghorn； “I am sorry to be
unpolite； but if you ever present yourself uninvited here—or
there—again； I will give you over to the police。 Their gallantry is
great； but they carry troublesome people through the streets in an
ignominious manner； strapped down on a board； my good wench。”
“I will prove you；” whispers Mademoiselle； stretching out her
hand； “I will try if you dare to do it！”
“And if；” pursues the lawyer； without minding her； “I place you
in that good condition of being locked up in jail； it will be some
time before you find yourself at liberty again。”
“I will prove you；” repeats Mademoiselle in her former whisper。
“And now；” proceeds the lawyer； still without minding her；
“you had better go。 Think twice； before you come here again。”
“Think you；” she answers； “twice two hundred times！”
“You were dismissed by your lady； you know；” Mr Tulkinghorn
observes； following her out upon the staircase； “as the most
implacable and unmanageable of women。 Now turn over a new
leaf； and take warning by what I say to you。 For what I say； I
mean； and what I threaten； I will do； mistress。”
She goes down without answering or looking behind her。 When
she is gone； he goes down too； and returning with his cobweb…
covered bottle； devotes himself to a leisurely enjoyment of its
contents： now and then； as he throws his head back in his chair；
catching sight of the pertinacious Roman pointing from the
ceiling。
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Chapter 43
Esther’s Narrative
t matters little now； how much I thought of my living mother
who had told me evermore to consider her dead。 I could not
I
venture to approach her； or to communicate with her in
writing； for my sense of the peril in which her life was passed was
only to be equalled by my fears of increasing it。 Knowing that my
mere existence as a living creature was an unforeseen danger in
her way； I could not always conquer that terror of myself which
had seized me when I first knew the secret。 At no time did I dare
to utter her name。 I felt as if I did not even dare to hear it。 If the
conversation anywhere； when I was present； took that direction； as
it sometimes naturally did； I tried not to hear—I mentally counted；
repeated something that I knew； or went out of the room。 I am
conscious； now； that I often did these things when there can have
been no danger of her being spoken of； but I did them in the dread
I had of hearing anything that might lead to her betrayal； and to
her betrayal through me。
It matters little now how often I recalled the tones of my
mother’s voice； wondered whether I should ever hear it again as I
so longed to do； and thought how strange and desolate it was that
it should be so new to me。 It matters little that I watched for every
public mention of my mother’s name； that I passed and repassed
the door of her house in town； loving it； but afraid to look at it； that
I once sat in the theatre when my mother was there and saw me；
and when we were so wide asunder； before the great company of
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all degrees； that any link or confidence between us seemed a
dream。 It is all； all over。 My lot has been so blest that I can relate
little of myself which is not a story of goodness and generosity in
others。 I may well pass that little； and go on。
When we were settled at home again； Ada and I had many
conversations with my Guardian； of which Richard was the theme。
My dear girl was deeply grieved that he should do their kind
cousin so much wrong； but she was so faithful to Richard； that she
could not bear to blame him； even for that。 My Guardian was
assured of it； and never coupled his name with a word of reproof。
“Rick is mistaken； my dear；” he would say to her。 “Well； well！ we
have all been mistaken over and over again。 We must trust to you
and time to set him right。”
We knew afterwards what we suspected then； that he did not
trust to time until he had often tried to open Richard’s eyes。 That
he had written to him； gone to him； talked with him； tried every
gentle persuasive art his kindness could devise。 Our poor devoted
Richard was deaf and blind to all。 If he were wrong he would make
amends when the Chancery suit was over。 If he were groping in
the dark； he could not do better than do his utmost to clear away
those clouds in which so much was confused and obscured。
Suspicion and misunderstanding were the fault of the suit？ Then
let him work the suit out； and come through it to his right mind。
This was his unvarying reply。 Jarndyce and Jarndyce had
obtained such possession of his whole nature； that it was
impossible to place any consideration before him which he did
not—with a distorted kind of reason—make a new argument in
favour of his doing what he did。 “So that it is even more
mischievous；” said my Guardian once to me； “to remonstrate with
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the poor dear fellow； than to leave him alone。”
I took one of these opportunities of mentioning my doubts of Mr
Skimpole as a good adviser for Richard。
“Adviser？” returned my Guardian； laughing。 “My dear； who
would advise with Skimpole？”
“Encourager would perhaps have been a better word；” said I。
“Encourager！” returned my Guardian again。 “Who could be
encouraged by Skimpole？”
“Not Richard？” I asked。
“No；” he replied。 “Such an unworldly； uncalculating； gossamer
creature； is a relief to him； and an amusement。 But as to advising
or encouraging； or occupying a serious station towards anybody or
anything； it is simply not to be thought of in such a child as
Skimpole。”
“Pray； cousin John；” said Ada； who had just joined us； and now
looked over my shoulder； “what made him such a child？”
“What made him such a child？” inquired my Guardian； rubbing
his head； a little at a loss。
“Yes； cousin John。”
“Why；” he slowly replied； roughening his head more and more；
“he is all sentiment； and—and susceptibility； and—and
sensibility—and—and imagination。 And these qualities are not
regulated in him； somehow。 I suppose the people who admired
him for them in his youth； attached too much importance to them；
and too little to any training that would have balanced and
adjusted them； and so he became what he is。 Hey？” said my
Guardian； stopping short； and looking at us hopefully。 “What do
you think； you two？”
Ada glancing at me； said she thought it was a pity he should be
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an expense to Richard。
“So it is； so it is；” returned my Guardian； hurriedly。 “That must
not be。 We must arrange that。 I must prevent it。 That will never
do。”
And I said I thought it was to be regretted that he had ever
introduced Richard to Mr Vholes； for a present of five pounds。
“Did he？” said my Guardian； w
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