Mr Tulkinghorn had always liked living across Lincoln's Inn. He liked the symmetry; he liked that it was all set out in a perfect square, with the High Chancellor's Court directly across from him. His home, like his life, was a square that began and ended with Chancery. He was aware that it was a little unusual; that most men did not live so close to a space of their profession. But those divisions did not exist for Mr Tulkinghorn. He was not married, he had no children and no living family. He did not hate his job. As a matter of fact, he did not love his job either. His profession was simply his life. It was everything who he was, and it was all he aspired to ever be.
Of course, if he would have said such a thing to someone they would have thought he was slightly demented. The problem with his profession was that no one really got it. People believed that solicitors simply drowned in the paperwork of unsolvable cases, permanently plagued by the thought 'I should have been a barrister instead'. But what they did not see was the knowledge and the power. They did not see that in the madness of a case like Jarndyce and Jarndyce it was only men like him that had the power. They did not see that Sir Leicester Dedlock was an ill fool who would not have survived without him. They did not see all the Tulkinghorns that had lived throughout history, quietly noticing and organizing everything around them, with the grace that only the law could grant. That was for Tulkinghorn the essence of his job, that was the essence of his life: the knowledge, the discovery, the order, and ultimately the control.
Perhaps it was because of this that Lady Deadlock's fainting had caught his attention in the way it did. He believed on principle that women were prone to fainting, particularly women accustomed to the lifestyle of Lady Deadlock. But the look in her eyes when she saw the writing alerted him immensely. Suddenly, this woman that was just as distant as he, was overcome with emotion and he did not know why. With that faint, he began seeing his status in life from a new, weaker perspective. Somehow this woman, whose only apparent emotion seemed to be boredom, had a secret she had managed to keep from him . And it could have just been a silly little thing (but were secrets ever silly little things?) or it could have tarnished the entire Dedlock name forever. He could not allow that to happen: he could not allow giving her that level of control. So, he began his investigations.
If he would have realized that the whole affair would have gotten him killed then perhaps he would have reconsidered his approach. But the idea of the whole thing ending in his own death would have been ludicrous to him. It should have been such an uncomplicated thing, really. Snagsby would have given him the address of the man (it would have been easy to conceal it as something mundane, simply the need for a trustworthy scribe). He would have gone to the man and he would have questioned him about Lady Dedlock. It should have been an easy thing to do: after all, Tulkinghorn could guarantee him a job that would pay well.
But, alas, the man had to go ahead and kill himself. Perhaps he might have done it because he knew of all the things that would happen because of his death. Perhaps, if Nemo had lived, then Mr. Tulkinghorn's life would have been spared. But Tulkinghorn also suspected, after learning the truth, that Nemo would have not said a word to him, making it impossible for him to discover anything. And in his last minutes, he thought that it had been a fair exchange: He had gotten the truth and he had paid for it with his life. He would have preferred, of course, to get both. But he had won the battle; he had found it all out, and he had been so clever about it!
She would have never been able to hold a candle against him. Yes, as was expected of her tittle, she had the funds that he simply did not have access too. But he had the law on his side. She might have been able to give money to the young boy, but he had Bucket by his side. He had Bucket, and Smallweed, and for a brief minute he'd had Hortense. Of course, he knew those people were not at all interested in making his acquaintance. But they respected him, and they were willing to help (because who on earth would think that he was doing something other than working?). And the lady? The lady was all alone. There was no one out there who trusted and respected her; she couldn't simply walk the streets of London and find a friend who would help her out. No, the lady needed to depend on her wallet. Unlike him, who had eyes everywhere and ears everywhere. It did not take him long to find out the truth: it had always even been a bit obvious. Perhaps the most shocking part about it was that the child still lived. And although it had taken him down some roads he did not want to walk on, it had all been so worth it. There had been nothing as satisfactory as sitting down in front of Lady Dedlock and flaunting his knowledge at her. You think I hadn't seen you he seemed to be saying you think you can pass by me. At the end of that conversation everything had been alright. Not only had he recovered his power, but he had duplicated it. With simply one word, he could have had the entire Dedlock family at his mercy. He knew he would never say a thing, not unless something extreme happened, but the words still played around on his lips and he rejoiced when he thought of what would happen.
But he had not realized the mistakes he'd been making along the way. He was so hypnotized by the whole affair, that he did not think about what he was doing. He didn't think much of the aggressive French woman; he also did not think much of Mr. George. They had simply been pawns in his game of chest, and he needed them to make sure they moved in the way he'd wanted to. He had forgotten that most other people did not function that way; he should have done things slowly, making sure that all the witnesses were for his cause and not against it.
But at least, he had the happiness of those last few moments. He had stopped Lady Deadlock's plan before she could even finish coming up with it. The lady would not take a single step outside of her household and would say nothing of the matter to her husband. That was all because of him. It was fair, that after such as satisfactory win, he'd have another major loss.
However, in the end, none of that mattered. He was dying and with his life the truth would be lost. Perhaps it should have bothered him more that the last efforts of his life would have gone to waste. But in the few minutes before his death Mr. Tulkinghorn did not think of that. Mr. Tulkinghorn did not think of Lady Deadlock, of Nemo, or of their bastard daughter. He did not think of Snagsby, of Detective Bucket, or of any other person that had been. In the last few minutes before his death, Mr. Tulkinghorn, solicitor to Sir Leicester Dedlock, could only think of how nice it was, that he had died in Lincoln's Inn.