Penelope's Song
By Laura Schiller
Based on: Bleak House
Copyright: BBC/Charles Dickens
"Long as the day in the summertime,
Deep as the wine-dark sea,
I will keep your heart with mine
Until you come to me."
- Loreena McKennitt
When Esther's voice faltered one evening in the middle of a passage she had been reading out loud from the translated Odyssey, she looked up to find her housemates watching her with most disconcerting expressions of pity. She shut the book with an embarrassed little shrug.
"I'm sorry," she said. "I cannot read tonight."
"Are you tired, Esther?" asked Mr. Jarndyce.
"Oh, dear." Ada's blue eyes shimmered with concern. "We should not have kept you up so late - "
"No, no, I am quite well."
Esther blushed. In her haste to assure Ada that she was not to blame for her companion's lack of energy, she had inadvertently proved that her problem was not physical, but mental.
"It is nothing, only … only that the story distresses me. For all she knows, he is never coming back."
It was true. Esther had always been blessed, or perhaps cursed, with an active imagination; she could see the lonely queen of Ithaca as clear as day, working on her loom by candlelight, unpicking the bridal veil for a wedding she was desperate to avoid. Waiting twenty years for her one true love to come home from the sea.
It was only natural that a foolish little person such as Esther would be moved to tears. There was no reason for Mr. Jarndyce to run his hands through his silver hair, frowning under the influence of a sudden wind from the east. No reason for the smile to slide off Mr. Skimpole's face like water from a drainpipe. No reason for Ada to sigh and squeeze Esther's arm. Absolutely no reason at all – unless, of course, it was lingering concern from her battle with the smallpox three weeks ago. Perhaps it was only that.
"But he is coming back," said Ada. "We all know how the story ends."
Do we really? thought Esther, touching the book, which made her pockmarked hands look even more unfamiliar next to its smooth leather binding.
Knowing how unreasonable her two dear friends could be on the subject of her well-being, however, prevented her from saying this aloud. Instead she showed them a smile, wrapped her shawl around herself, and stood up from the sofa.
"Perhaps I am a little tired," she said. "I should go to bed. Goodnight, Guardian, sir," with a nod to each of the gentlemen. "Goodnight, Ada," leaning down to kiss the top of her friend's golden head.
"Good night, my dear," her Guardian called after her as she left the room.