Title: Bleak House ~ A Sequel, Or, A Birthday at Bleak House

Content: Esther Summerson-Woodcourt, Ada Clare-Carstone, John Jarndyce

Disclaimer: Bleak House was written by Charles Dickens

A/N: This is written in the style of Dickens and continues after the last chapter of the original novel. I had in mind both the wonderful 2005 BBC television drama, and the 1998 BBC Radio audio drama. The former starred Denis Lawson as John Jarndyce and the latter featured Michael Kitchen in the role. I enjoy both actors' performances.

(First posted on the Nothing Fancy Forum ~ in the Michael Kitchen, Other Roles, FF subforum, in October 2007, for the Birthday Challenge.)

Quotations are from Dickens' novel.

Chapter LXVIII

"They like me for his sake, as I do everything I do in life for his sake."

Esther Summerson, speaking of Mr. Woodcourt

It came about later in that year, which was the eighth year of my marriage, that my husband Mr. Woodcourt was called away to Scotland and was not expected to return from his business for two months. Hearing of these circumstances, my dear Ada and my former guardian, now her guardian, kindly invited me and the children to come to them during his absence. I confess I welcomed the chance to revisit my old sanctuary, for though my home was dear to me, it was dear for reasons that were both exquisitely intertwined and opposed.

The reader may recall that the house I lived in with my husband had been a gift to us, and had been decorated, before we took up residence, to resemble in every detail the old house to which I had added my little feminine influences and which I would quit upon my marriage. I did not fully appreciate, when my guardian had first shown me through it (for my heart was staggering at the implication of receiving its supposed dearest wish), but only after months of occupying the new house did I truly come to feel and, I hoped, to comprehend the devoted regard and deep love that had been lavished upon its creation. In short, the very walls, furniture and fittings announced unendingly to me the pure heart of the one who had so selflessly handed me over to a man who had never credited him as a rival.

I loved my husband; I was confident of his love for me, yet I soon came to see that my Allan's life was full already – he had filled his life, as a young man ought to do, with his work and his career, and regarded his home as a comfort to be enjoyed only after the daily fulfilment of his duties and obligations. He became ambitious to succeed, not only through untiring hard work for the patients he devotedly attended, but through improvements to his professional training and knowledge. Indeed, that was the purpose of his departure to Edinburgh.

I was content in my role; the arrival of the children brought delight to us both, and compensations to me. Yet amidst all the joys and distractions of motherhood I had found myself unexpectedly lonely. Mr. Woodcourt was not often there to listen to my trifling tales of nursery room triumphs and discoveries, nor to relate to me details of the many daily incidents that so absorbed him. As much as it had been in my power to do so, I had made his interests my interests, his concerns my concerns. This had brought me out into a much wider circle of people, where I found I was valued solely for and through my association with him and his work, in contrast to the direct estimation of my usefulness within my more quiet and intimate former household.

I did not crave attention, far from it; yet I was the uncomfortable recipient of much acclaim that was, I knew, merely reflected glory. And then, as I say, Allan began to travel to lectures and to demonstrations of the newest advancements in medical practice, and his work made increasing demands upon his time. In his absences I continued my humble service to the village folk, though always feeling my solitary arrival less welcome to them than when I came as his assistant.

Therefore it was with a grateful and yearning heart that I and my two little daughters accepted the invitation to old Bleak House and to the nurturing companionship of the two people whom I had earliest loved.

Chapter LXIX

"He had taken two or three undecided turns up and down…with a

good-natured vexation at once so whimsical and so lovable that I am sure

we were more delighted with him than we could possibly have expressed in any words."

We instantly settled into the familiar and congenial routines of those earlier days when we three had shared this house, yet it became apparent to me that there had occurred a gradual but material change in the relations between my friend and her guardian. This was to be expected; Ada had, however briefly, been a married lady and had borne a child. That Mr. Jarndyce should regard her more as a grown woman than as his girl ward was natural; yet there was still something more to be read in my darling's manner towards him. On a fine afternoon within the week, while our guardian led the children on an expedition to discover the new tortoise in the garden, we walked out together and I spoke to her.

"Ada, how is it with you and Mr. Jarndyce? You seem to have become closer; I sense a change in your manner towards each other…"

"Yes, lately I have felt it, too, Esther. Young Richard brings us together; Mr. Jarndyce is so fond of him and takes such an interest in his reading and his games, now that he is such a lively boy, that we seem to have an endless topic for our conversations. Oh, Esther, he is so good to us – you have seen how he carries the boy about on his shoulder! When he is with Richard I study him, and I cannot help but look upon him as the kindest father a little boy could have, and my heart–."

"Yes, dear Ada?"

"Oh, I dare not say it."

"Ada, we have been each other's secret-keeper. I have trusted you with my fondest hopes…"

"But, my dear Esther, I would not confide such a wish to one who might be pained to hear it."

"Me? What do you mean, Ada?"

"Esther, I know that you gave Mr. Jarndyce your promise, and that you gave it most willingly at the time…"

"That is true, and I would willingly have honoured that promise had not his keen perception discovered my inconstancy. Though he acted from the highest regard for my feelings, and put all his hopes aside, I cannot but believe that he was disappointed in me, that he found me lacking, and was glad to have escaped a tie to one so unworthy of him."

"Dearest Esther, forgive me, but what nonsense you talk! You may feel so within your own heart, but you do him wrong to assign such thoughts to one whose love for you is pure. He loves you, selflessly, still. And that is why – that is why he cannot love me."

"Oh, Ada, Ada, do not turn away. You love him! I am glad; no one deserves your love more than he does. But you are uncertain that he returns your affection in the same way?"

"I am certain that he does not. It is true that his regard, his manner towards me is changed from when I was his young ward – he is ever more solicitous of my opinions and asks for my suggestions on every little matter; he treats me as one on an equal footing, as one with some experience of life, rather than as one for whom he has the responsibility of nurturing and educating."

"And yet you are not content? You wish for more?"

"Esther, we have such talks, he and I!"

Here we sat down together upon a secluded bench.

"He has, in everything he cautioned us of, been proved correct and yet he expresses such compassion, such understanding of our old hopes and wishes, without the slightest hint of complacency. He never speaks of poor, dear Rick except to praise him, with such predictions of the certain success he would have achieved, but for his weakened heart, for so he calls it; Esther, he goes so far as to suggest that it was an underlying and undiscovered fault in his heart that affected–. Well, it is so like him to say it.

"He is so wise – he attempted to give us the benefit of his wisdom, yet now makes no judgement upon the sad result of our folly. Rather he commends us for the course we took because it has brought young Richard into the world, into his life. He says– he says he can never do enough to thank us for the blessing of that little boy."

Ada's tears flowed freely as she finished with a confession,

"I cannot help but love him with my whole heart."

"Then why do you not tell him, my darling?" I asked, drying her cheek with my handkerchief.

"He loves you, Esther, selflessly, nobly, with no regret. He loves you so – that he is happy to see you happy with another."

I bowed my head, knowing the truth of her words,

"…I felt, at the time he asked me to become mistress of Bleak House, that he meant to offer me some compensation for the loss of your companionship, Ada, and to provide me some definite standing in the world. I felt I understood him then, yet it was only later, gradually, that I came to truly comprehend the depth of his love for me. I think, Ada… I think that we were both, he and I, too reticent, too uncertain of deserving each other, or of pleasing each other; I know he made attempts to overcome that feeling between us, but when Mr. Woodcourt returned I – I suppose I felt that here was a man I could deserve, despite all my faults. That is not a very noble regard for a wife to have of her husband, is it, Ada?"

"You do… love Mr. Woodcourt, don't you, Esther?"

I rose slowly from our seat and Ada followed to continue our stroll,

"I do, indeed, most humbly and devotedly; yet, as you know, Ada, my experience of the society of men is very limited, and all my intimate acquaintance with the sex had solely been with our guardian. Therefore, as I came to know Allan better and better, after our wedding, I was surprised to learn how preoccupied he was with his own affairs and how secondary a role I would play in his life. Our guardian had always placed his home life first, and had regarded the demands of business as an intrusion upon more highly valued domestic occupations. With my husband… it is the opposite."

"Esther, I am sorry to hear it."

"No, no, my darling; I do not complain. He is a young man with his career to make; he loves me; I love him; I understand him; it is merely the difference to which I must – to which I do – become accustomed."

We had wandered in a gentle circumnavigation of the grounds, and now approached the gardens where we spied Mr. Jarndyce crossing the lawn, reciting a narrative, not in the least impeded by the burden of young Richard riding pick-a-back, with a little girl standing on each foot, holding tight to a leg and swinging forward in turns with his stride. Their squeals of piping laughter filled the air as the dramatic tale of a kindly giant (no doubt the children thought it autobiographical of the teller) rang out in a deep bass alternating with alto accents. Ada and I held each other as we, unseen, witnessed this demonstration of his genuine affection for and delight in our children.

"Oh, Esther! Do you recall our visit to little Bleak House three months before your first confinement? How affected he was by the sight of you, so round and blooming; I declare Allan was quite taken aback at his show of emotion."

"Allan was quite used to my new shape; to one who had only known my more slender form, it was undoubtedly a shock."

"It was not shock, my dearest, that brought tears to his eyes and caused the smile upon his lips to tremble as he greeted you. Thank goodness Emma had come in with the tea so promptly!"

A moment later our guardian caught sight of us, flushed and smiled sheepishly, and then warned his crew (for he had, apparently, transformed into a sailing ship at that instant) of the mysterious and enchanting creatures who had hove into view. Richard gave a cry as to the danger of sirens (which we protested to no avail), the crew of the lower decks appealed for salvation from the captain, who steered the ship, by the command of his little index finger, onto a less perilous course towards the hydrangeas. The sailing ship/giant obeyed, and Ada and I, spurned and banished from the game, took refuge in the sun room overlooking the garden.

tbc...