Bleak House
A vast inheritance case poisons the lives of all it touches.
Page 1
London was choked with fog, but inside the High Court of Chancery, the air was merely thick with dust and delay. A case called Jarndyce and Jarndyce had been going on for so long that no one living knew how it began. Lawyers in wigs mumbled arguments. A lawyer rose. "My lord," he began, "in Jarndyce and Jarndyce." Another interrupted. "My lord, I must object in Jarndyce and Jarndyce." A third added, "My lord, the costs in Jarndyce and Jarndyce..." Sitting silently among them, a dark and watchful figure, was Mr. Tulkinghorn, lawyer to the Dedlock family. He was not there to speak, but to listen, gathering secrets like dust. The case droned on, a famous misery that consumed lives and fortunes, with no end in sight.
Page 2
Far from the city’s gloom, Esther Summerson, Ada Clare, and Richard Carstone arrived at Bleak House. They were wards of the court, and this was the home of their guardian, John Jarndyce. He met them in the hall, a kind man with bright blue eyes, his grey hair already ruffled with friendly energy. He took both of Esther’s hands in his. "Welcome, little woman. Welcome, my dears! This is your home now," he said, his voice warm. "You must not mind the house; it is a bit of a maze. And you must not mind me. I am a plain, simple man." He gestured around the cheerful, cluttered hall. "But I hope you will be happy here. We will not speak of Chancery here if we can help it!" For the first time, the three young people, who had only ever known uncertainty, felt they had found a true family.
Page 3
In the grand, silent halls of Chesney Wold, Lady Dedlock lived a life of fashionable boredom. She was a famous beauty, but her face was a perfect, practiced mask. One afternoon, the family lawyer, Mr. Tulkinghorn, visited her. He was a silent, watchful man who kept the family's secrets. He showed her a legal document. "This is a copy of an affidavit in the Jarndyce case," he explained in his dry voice. "The handwriting is rather remarkable." Lady Dedlock glanced at it, and her mask shattered. She went pale. "Who was this person who wrote this?" she asked, her voice sharp. "He was a law-writer, a nobody. He died of an overdose of opium," Tulkinghorn replied, watching her closely. "He called himself Nemo." Lady Dedlock swayed, her hand flying to her heart as she nearly fainted. The lawyer's suspicion was instantly aroused. He knew he had found a secret.
Page 4
Esther's duties often took her to the poorest parts of London. One day, guided by the young doctor Allan Woodcourt, she entered Tom-All-Alone's, a collapsing slum where the houses were ruins and the people were ghosts. Here they found a boy named Jo, who swept a muddy crossing for pennies. "Do you know of a law-writer who used to live here?" Esther asked him gently. "A man who called himself Nemo?" Jo nodded. "He's dead," the boy said simply. "They took him away. He was wery good to me, he was." Esther felt a strange pull of sympathy. "Can you show us where he is buried, Jo?" she asked. The boy nodded again and led them through the filth and ruin of the slum, to the gate of a grim pauper's graveyard, pointing with a skinny finger. "He's in there," Jo said. "Along with all the other ones."
Page 5
Slowly and silently, Mr. Tulkinghorn had gathered all the pieces of Lady Dedlock’s secret. He knew about her lover, Captain Hawdon, and he knew they had a child who had survived. He confronted her one evening in his dark, quiet office. "I have discovered your secret, my lady," he said, his voice as dry as dust. "I have no intention of sparing you." Lady Dedlock, her face pale but her eyes blazing with pride, stood before his desk. "Do your worst," she retorted, her voice low and furious. "You may tell my husband. You may tell the world. But you will not rule me." She turned and swept out of the room, leaving him alone. He sat for a long time by his fire, a glass of old wine at his side. Later that night, a single shot echoed through the quiet square. Mr. Tulkinghorn was found murdered in his chair.
Page 6
Sir Leicester hired the best detective in London to find the killer: Inspector Bucket. Mr. Bucket was a friendly-seeming man with sharp, clever eyes who noticed everything. He came to the Dedlocks’ London house and began to ask questions. His investigation eventually focused on Lady Dedlock's proud and fiery French maid, Mademoiselle Hortense. One evening, Bucket gathered the household in the drawing room. He walked slowly around the room, then stopped directly in front of the maid. "You had a grudge against your mistress," he said, his voice suddenly hard. "You hated Mr. Tulkinghorn for not giving you money. You followed him home." He raised a thick forefinger and pointed it directly at her face. "And I arrest you for the murder," he declared. Hortense let out a furious scream. "It is a lie! You are a devil!"
Page 7
John Jarndyce came to London, his heart heavy with worry for Richard Carstone. He found him in the busy courtyard of Lincoln's Inn, the very heart of the law. Richard looked thin and feverish, his clothes neglected. He was hurrying towards a solicitor's office when Jarndyce stepped into his path. "Richard, my dear boy, wait a moment!" he pleaded, laying a hand on his arm. Richard pulled away, his eyes avoiding his guardian's. "I have no time, sir," he said curtly. "My solicitor is waiting. It is a crucial day for the case." "This case is ruining you!" Jarndyce said, his voice full of pain. "Come away from this place." But Richard only shook his head and hurried on, swallowed up by the crowd of lawyers and clerks, a ghost haunted by a phantom fortune.
Page 8
One autumn evening, as Esther walked in the woods near the cottage where she was staying, a figure stepped from the shadows. It was Lady Dedlock. She lifted her veil, her face filled with an anguish Esther had never seen. She took Esther's hands, her own as cold as ice. "Do not be afraid of me," she whispered desperately. "I am your mother." Esther could only stare, speechless, as the proud, distant woman she had admired fell to her knees before her. "I was made to believe you died as a baby," Lady Dedlock cried, clinging to her. "I have lived in shame and secrecy all my life. Can you ever forgive me?" She begged Esther to keep her secret for the honor of her husband. Before Esther could properly reply, she kissed her daughter's hands, rose, and vanished back into the darkening woods.
Page 9
The Jarndyce case ended in nothing. The news killed Richard Carstone. At the same time, Inspector Bucket discovered Lady Dedlock had fled. He and Esther followed her through a snowstorm to a pauper's graveyard. "Look at the street mud," Bucket said quietly, holding up his lantern. "She has been here, trying to get in." Esther stared at the forbidding gate. "Can we not help her?" she whispered. Bucket moved the lantern's beam. "Too late, ma'am," he said grimly. "She must have been here for hours." A dark shape was huddled on the steps. It was Lady Dedlock. She had sunk down against the cold iron gate and died. Esther let out a cry as Bucket gently held her back from the sight.
Page 10
Years passed. The fog over London and the long shadow of the lawsuit were gone. Esther, her face scarred from an illness, was married to the kind doctor Allan Woodcourt. John Jarndyce had a new house built for them in Yorkshire, a cheerful home which they also called Bleak House. Here, their two daughters played in a garden full of flowers. One sunny afternoon, Esther went to her husband. "My dear," Allan said, taking her hand, "your goodness and your love have made this the brightest of homes." Nearby, John Jarndyce sat on a bench, watching them. "She is the same little woman she always was," he said fondly. Esther's life, which had begun in secret and sorrow, was at last full of light and love. The past was not forgotten, but it no longer had the power to harm.
About this story
- Audience: general readers
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