Chapter LXX
"…this caprice about the east wind was a fiction that he used to account for any disappointment
he could not conceal, rather than he would blame the real cause of it or disparage or depreciate any one."
One morning nearly a month later, as was his custom, our guardian distributed the post at the breakfast table, and smilingly handed over a letter to me that had arrived from Scotland. When I said I would put it by until a quieter moment presented itself, for the children had been with us and required our attention, he made no remark but had looked thoughtful. Ada exchanged a look with him, and remained silent, too.
When the children were occupied with their nursery tea, I retired to my room and opened the letter. In it Allan informed me that he was to be offered a situation connected with the university, that he was to be made assistant to one of the most prominent surgeons, that it was not yet quite confirmed, but he took this opportunity to prepare me for the accomplishment of the fact. He wrote that he knew I shared his regrets over leaving behind our dear friends, and that he expected me to be comforted by the knowledge of his making a great professional advancement, a success far beyond anything he had achieved in his quiet country practice. He added in a postscript that he intended to make an invitation to his mother to join us in our new establishment. I am ashamed to confess that my first feeling upon finishing the letter was undiluted dismay.
Not only dismay at the prospect of being taken so far away from my dearest friends, of leaving those friends, I flattered myself, lonelier for our going, but also dismay at the cool way in which he seemed to cast aside everything that my guardian had done for us, in pursuit of his ambitions.
I determined to say nothing of the news until the final word on our displacement was pronounced, and both Ada and Mr. Jarndyce were gracious enough not to enquire at first. But I could not long hide from them the state of my feelings, for their love aided their perception, and their sympathetic looks penetrated my outward composure. It was not many days before they brought me to the growlery for a quiet interview.
While relating the matter of the letter I was quite unable to conceal my unhappiness, though I did my best to show, through my tears, a proper wifely pride. Ada was as encouraging as she was capable of being, but had turned pale and, when called out to see to her son, quit the room with a handkerchief to her eye.
My guardian rose from his chair and came to sit by me on the little sofa.
"Esther, there is something more you wish to tell me, is there not?"
I, too, had made use of my handkerchief, and at his query the tears flowed anew. I glanced up almost fearfully into his wise and kindly face,
"Oh, I have such need of your advice and support…"
He laid his hand gently upon my arm as I hung my head and whispered,
"When I had read Allan's letter, I, myself, felt the wind shift to the east, something I had never felt in my married life, and it chilled me to the bone; it frightened me, guardian."
He put a forefinger under my chin to raise my eyes to his,
"Now, my dear girl, in this let me truly be thy friend and counsellor, for you know I used to be troubled by east winds. I am certain, Esther, that this is not an easterly but merely a changeable wind; it swirls up the settled dust of our lives, flusters the skirts of comfortable habit round our feet and trips us up. But after this little bluster you will find it westerly again, believe me, my dear."
He kissed my brow, and looked with a momentary frown towards the window, his old habit when wishing to avoid any mention or recognition of his generosity.
"Esther, in all truthfulness, if there were any question of repayment, he repays me tenfold by doing well, by prospering beyond the limits of the little beginning it was my great happiness to provide; he does me honour by his success, by the greater success he will achieve on the new path he now strikes out upon, and I bless him for the advantages this will shower upon his family, so much more than I could ever have offered. His initiative impresses and humbles me."
My guardian spoke further of the worldly amenities to be found in the great city in the north, and made everything sound like such an opportunity for us that my heart lifted a little, and I began to think myself quite foolish and sentimental. I imagined our future in a more positive and providential light and began to view it with a hopeful regard.
The solace of his words and wisdom sustained me for some days, and I did all I could to increase my sense of the advantageousness of the imminent change; yet each time I sat down at my writing desk to compose a reply to my husband's letter the words would not come. After a little time I found my appetite decreased, my nights disturbed with ill-omened dreams, and then found myself sleepless altogether. Late upon one evening, when the entire household had, I thought, been long abed, I left my chamber to seek some escape from the melancholy ruminations that afflicted me.
I had some vague notion that a dram of brandy might aid my sleep and had wandered dispiritedly to the drawing room. To my great surprise I spied my guardian there; he stood at the hearth, leaning an arm on the mantel where a forgotten glass rested, his eyes bent upon the last flickering flames and luminous embers of the fire. Whether he heard my footfall in the passage or my little gasp of shock as I gained the door I know not, but as I hesitated in the entryway he raised his head and, as if he had only awaited this appointment, held out his hand to me.
How I reached him I cannot say, but I was instantly in his arms, heaving tearless sobs of anguish upon his breast. He stroked my long, loosely-tied hair, kissed the top of my head again and again, and whispered sounds of comfort. When I had calmed a little he held his glass of whisky to my lips and bid me taste it. I regained my voice, and confessed miserably,
"I do not wish to go! I do not wish to be parted from you and Ada."
In a passion of guilty feeling, I ejaculated,
"God forgive me!"
To my astonishment I heard him chuckle softly as he assured me,
"My dear, you hardly need God's forgiveness for loving your friends too well."
"No, but for–."
He gave my shoulder a sudden squeeze,
"Hush! I'll not hear that and I'll never believe it! Come now, sit with me, Esther; you tremble with the cold."
It was not my seat in the old place beside his that he meant; instead he took me upon his knee in his own chair and held me gently.
"There now, little woman, your faery slippers are above the draughts." He settled my head against him and spoke softly,
"It is plain that you are still buffeted about by this changeable wind – it is a stronger gale than we thought – but it will not push you down or blast you from your true course. And you speak of being parted from us? When the whole Island is criss-crossed with iron ribbons! Instead of two hours by coach to Little Bleak House it will be but four hours by train to the north, and then you'll have such a bother to entertain us, and continually to find enough linens and dessert spoons and footstools that you will feel it a relief at last to wave us off again! Why, you shall only just settle into a few cherished days of peace when we shall all tumble in upon you once more! There now, there's a little glimmer of my Esther's smile…"
I had indeed tearfully smiled at his teasing jest; as he chucked me under the chin and I raised my eyes in loving gratitude to his, I saw a momentary breach in his composure, a shadow of the curious expression that used to come over his features in our earlier days. It passed in an instant and his sensible, cordial, sterling manner was restored. He continued to speak, wisely, tenderly, putting all before me more clearly and plainly than I had been able to perceive, so that I soon felt such calm serenity that I must have drifted into a doze in his embrace; otherwise I cannot explain how next I found myself tucked up in my own bed, the morning sun high and the birds having long since ceased their singing to commence their daily labours.
From that day on I felt my crisis had passed; our future was an eventuality to be regarded with only the normal anxiety such innovation inspires. I wrote my letter and was satisfied that it expressed nothing that could give Allan the slightest doubt of my contentment and pleasure with his news. Ada, too, had evidently received the benefit of our guardian's further counsel, for she began to talk cheerfully of plans for holiday visits and excursions to some of the finer natural sights – the lochs and mountains – and expressed curiosity to see the environs of the Queen and Prince Albert's newly purchased house, Balmoral.
tbc...