Chapter LXXVI
Sitting together in the drawing room after supper, I looked up from my work and my gaze rested upon my guardian's profile as he read his book, the reflection of the fire playing its light and shadows across his handsome features and catching the brilliance in his keen eye. I pondered his words to us earlier that day, in which he had likened himself to a devoted hound, and it struck me how unsatisfactory an allusion this was – he was no old dog whiling away his fading years in complacent ease!
Despite the silvered grey of his hair, he was yet upright, robust, vigorous and active; he was regularly dashing off to attend to the demands of business and the service of friends, with rarely a sign of fatigue, and he carried the children about with the strength and alacrity of a man half his age. An absent-minded pat on the head seemed hardly a fitting reward, or loving tribute, to one whose very presence enriched our lives with interest, confidence and joy. And yet, perhaps that was how he saw our little expressions of gratitude…
A new idea began to grow within my mind, and I determined to talk it out fully with Ada that very night. We found we were in complete agreement in our views on the matter, and equally ready to put things to rights with no undue delay: we felt that we had but one thing to do.
Before the clock struck eleven, Ada came to my room, where we took down each other's hair, brushed and smoothed the flowing tresses, hers bright gold and soft as silk, mine dark and as long as our chestnut mare's tail. Wearing only our nightdresses, barefoot we tiptoed up and down the steps, along the hall and passages, to the room where Mr. Jarndyce slept. It was not locked, and we silently slipped in and shut the door again. His window was open to the brisk October night and the pale full moon through the net curtains provided the only light; we crept to the bedstead, which stood in the middle of the floor for better exposure to the air.
He lay at rest in the centre of the bed, quite asleep, the covers drawn up to his shoulders and his iron-grey hair in no more tousled disarray than when he rubbed a hand through it in his moments of whimsical vexation. Knowing he would surely attempt to bolt ere we could persuade him of our proposal, stealthily we climbed up onto the bed and reclined upon the counterpane on either side of him, securing him in place between us. We two had been shivering a little, from the chill of the night air and owing to the thinness of our garments, but felt instantly warmed in his presence.
Gazing fondly upon his sleeping countenance, we smiled to each other and ventured a whispered conversation,
"Is he not handsome, Esther?"
"Most handsome, my love."
"I have always thought so; he has quite the most expressive mouth – how I have longed to kiss it."
"I have kissed it!"
"I know you have, imp! His brow is of the noblest form."
"And his nose has such character – a Roman nose, and yet not so austere."
"Oh, and his eyes, Esther!
"Do not mention his eyes now, Ada, or I shall lose all my courage and run away!"
"No, you won't, my love; he has never used them to look stern upon either one of us."
"It is not sternness that I fear from them."
"No, I know it. Their glance, so lively and so fond – quite turns my heart over. His eyes are the hue of a summer sky on the sweetest, warmest day that God could bless us with…"
"We have brought no candle in this dark hour, yet the room will be quite illuminated when he wakes and uncloses those brilliant orbs."
"Indeed, Esther. I hope we don't frighten him." She laid her hand softly on his breast.
"I daresay he may be a little startled." I laid my hand over his heart.
At our touch he stirred and his beautiful, kindly eyes opened. The instant he was aware of us he drew in a sharp breath, and attempted to sit up, but found himself inhibited.
"M-my dears, what is it – is there a fire? A thunder storm?"
He struggled upward a little and we pressed our hands soothingly on his shoulders,
"Nothing amiss, darling; do not be alarmed."
"We have come to speak to you on a certain matter."
"But, here? – Now? – At this time of night, my dears? Surely the morning will do?"
His eyes darted from one to the other, disconcerted, and his arms twitched to be freed from under the blankets.
"Do please forgive us, dearest John, but it cannot wait, and the darkness suits our purpose."
"Dark purposes? From my two bright angels?"
It seemed to me that his lips turned down in suppressed amusement, but I could not see by the dim moonlight.
"Do let me up, girls, this is not quite –!"
"Dear cousin, lie still; be content to listen for a moment. Now, Esther?"
"Will you listen, John, to our petition – our proposal, if you will?"
"If I will? It seems I am to be given no choice! My liberty–! This is most strange, my dears!"
His look did seem really rather alarmed now, and my confidence faltered. Ada saw this and rallied,
"Do please be still and listen to us, darling, or Esther will quite lose her courage; she will run away, and then I will lose my courage and feel quite to blame, and we both shall be too embarrassed in the light of day ever to be seen again."
He lay still then, and attempted to plead his way free,
"I would not wish to be the instigator of such distress, but really, my dears, must it be done in this way? You know any request you have in mind will be easily heard at the breakfast table, or in my study, by the fire in the drawing room, in the garden – even the growlery will not find me intractable, and this is so – well, my dears, so…intimate! M-my bedchamber! My very bed-!"
I ventured to respond softly, coaxingly, in a voice he had not heard from me before,
"As I have said, love, this suits our purpose…"
I ran my hand down the bed-clothes over his rising and falling breast. He bit his lip and looked up at us with the expression of a child fallen amongst strangers, uncertain his trust was well-placed.
"Very well; what is it you are so earnest to say to me?"
As we had agreed, I began to put the proposal to our guardian,
"Dearest John, you must know that we both love you deeply; never fear (for he had glanced longingly at the open window), we will not vex you with an enumeration of the reasons; it is an accomplished fact: we love you and hope always to deserve your love."
I looked for reassurance to Ada, and then continued,
"But there is a slight difficulty, a shadow encroaching on the brightness of our happiness here at Bleak House, and we have come to suggest a remedy."
"What shadow is that, my dears? I confess to not having noticed it."
"It is the matter of the mistress of Bleak House."
"Oh, but my dears, I thought that had been settled perfectly between you! Ada, you willingly gave over the keys to Esther, and she consults with you daily – I have seen how harmoniously you…"
He stopped as we smiled fondly at each other and at him, and he asked weakly,
"Is there some other aspect of the arrangement you wish to discuss…?"
"It is not the housekeeping we speak of, darling."
"No?"
"John, Bleak House has two mistresses."
"S-so it would appear." He replied in some trepidation.
"And, in truth, we are perfectly content with the arrangement."
"Well, I am very glad to hear it."
"But, dearest John, we have come to feel very strongly that, between us, we are cheating the master of Bleak House out of the full obligations and duties that he rightfully should expect from the mistress of his house."
"I am not conscious of such a fault, nor quite certain as to what… to what you might be…"
He swallowed and regarded us nervously.
After a momentary pause Ada and I turned in concert to face him, sitting up on the bed cross-legged like a pair of Indian fakirs.
We entreated him from either side with a barrage of alternating declarations, and his eyes darted side to side from face to face as we spoke.
"We both love you with our whole heart!"
"Neither could be happy depriving the other of any part of you that either might enjoy."
"We, neither of us, would have you break a solemn marriage vow."
"To either one of us."
"Nor would either of us breach a vow made to you before God."
"Therefore, John, no vows must be spoken."
"No promises declared or brought to light."
"Only this, dearest John –."
"That we love you as a wife loves her husband."
"And we know the duties and the joys of married love."
"And we wish to honour you with that love and that duty and that joy."
"We both wish it equally; we combine our loves into one and we offer this love to you."
Here Ada and I placed our hands together upon his breast.
"You once gave Esther to me, John; now I give Esther to you with my love."
"And, as you once gave Ada to be under my care, I give you Ada with my love. Take our united love, knowing that Ada offers her own and mine…"
"And Esther offers her own and mine."
He stared mutely down at our two hands, rising and falling with the motion of his breathing.
"You once wrote to me, guardian, that 'no new relation could enhance the tenderness in which you held me,' but I have experience of that new relation now, and you must bow to my greater knowledge in this: it will enhance that tenderness, I promise you!"
"Will it, my dear?" he asked faintly, a tear glistening in his eye.
"And I, darling John – I, too, have a little experience of that relation which only a wife and husband know; it is a glorious gift each gives to the other, and we both wish to share that gift with you, our beloved master."
"Do you, truly, my dears?" he whispered hoarsely, his eyes fixed upon our clasped hands.
"You shall have both our loves, whichever of us comes to you, whichever you go in to."
"Or both together!"
"Your joy is our joy."
"There is no sharing, no giving way one to the other –."
"For in this Ada shall be Esther and Esther shall be Ada."
We fell silent, gazing upon him with pure love and tenderness and in hopeful expectation of his reply.
His brow furrowed in deep consideration, his eyes lifted and passed from one of us to the other, and then closed in contemplation for a long moment. Ada and I feared we had shocked him deeply with our proposal and exchanged an anxious look. At last his brow smoothed and cleared, he unclosed his eyes and, showing us that he had never truly been our prisoner at all, but had merely consented to his imprisonment, he raised himself up, displacing us easily from our guard posts. He extracted his arms from under the bedclothes and, with some relief, having need of his old habit whilst pondering vexatious matters, he rubbed a hand over his silvered hair. He then leant back against the headboard and, with a serious but kindly look, held out his arms to us,
"Come; come, my dears; come rest upon me."
He drew us close and kissed the tops of our heads. I trembled, and Ada reached across his broad chest to lay her hand reassuringly on my shoulder, as I clasped her arm for courage.
"Your proposal, my dears…"
I felt him slowly shake his head and my heart sank,
"…displays an originality worthy of the term 'genius.' It is a remedy so perfectly suited to the problem, and yet so perfectly timed – for it could never have succeeded had it been proposed at any other time – that only a very foolish man indeed would not acknowledge its perfection and submit himself to the wisdom of it."
My own rapture was mirrored in Ada's glistening eyes.
"There are circumstances," he continued, "such as this, where a methodically reasoned and practical answer must be favoured over guidance sought through prayer and faith in providence. Therefore…"
He glanced meaningfully at each of us,
"…my little mistresses of Bleak House…" moving his arms to lift up the edge of the bedclothes, he smiled his invitation,
"…come, nest with me, my doves; let me be your husband and be you my wife, one wife in one united love, as you say."
With little soft cries of joy we scrambled under the sheets and lay pressed to either side of him, wonderfully warmed by the heat of his body, blissful together. He kissed each of us in turn, a deep, loving, eager kiss, and stroked our hair, which flowed down upon his breast in two mingled cascades of gold and chestnut.
He seemed to pause a moment, and mentioned in a quiet, conversational tone,
"There is yet one more circumstance that speaks in favour of this scheme, do you know, my loves?"
"What is that, darling husband?"
"Husband, what is it?" I echoed.
"Well, I fancy I heard the great clock in the hall chime midnight not so many minutes ago. And so, my dears… today… is… my birthday."
We smiled our mutual delight at this news, for in truth he had never before consented to reveal the date to us, no doubt for dread of being offered presents.
We answered with one voice,
"Oh, a happy birthday, darling husband! Many happy returns of the day!"
"Indeed, my little doves; a very happy birthday and wedding day!"
Mr. Jarndyce lavished his devoted attention upon us; Ada and I each took pleasure in pleasing him, in receiving pleasure from him, and thrilled in seeing him give and take pleasure with the other. And so there followed a sweet confusion of mouths, lips and tongues, of breasts and hips, of hands and limbs – and one proud, upstanding, indefatigable bedfellow, who unmistakably asserted his rightful place amongst us.
Our wedding night lasted well into early dawn, and when at last our husband drifted off into contented sleep, Ada and I reluctantly rose from the bridal bed. We retrieved our discarded nightdresses and folded his nightshirt over a chair. Obedient to the terms of our arrangement, which forbade any suspicion of scandal, we crept softly out of his chamber, and with arms entwined round each other's waist, kissed each other good-night and retired to our own rooms.
And so Bleak House soon came to be renamed, at least privately by us, its mistresses and master, Bliss House.
The End.
