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before dinner。 Not a cousin of the batch but is amazed to hear
from Sir Leicester； at breakfast time； of the obliteration of
landmarks； and opening of floodgates； and cracking of the
framework of society； manifested through Mrs Rouncewell’s son。
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Not a cousin of the batch but is really indignant； and connects it
with the feebleness of William Buffy when in office； and really
does feel deprived of a stake in the country—or the pension list—
or something—by fraud and wrong。 As to Volumnia； she is handed
down the great staircase by Sir Leicester； as eloquent upon the
theme； as if there were a general rising in the North of England to
obtain her rouge…pot and pearl necklace。 And thus； with a clatter
of maids and valets—for it is one appurtenance of their cousinship；
that however difficult they may find it to keep themselves； they
must keep maids and valets—the cousins disperse to the four
winds of heaven； and the one wintry wind that blows today shakes
a shower from the trees near the deserted house； as if all the
cousins had been changed into leaves。
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Chapter 29
The Young Man
hesney Wold is shut up； carpets are rolled into great
scrolls in corners of comfortless rooms； bright damask
C
does penance in brown holland； carving and gilding puts
on mortification； and the Dedlock ancestors retire from the light of
day again。 Around and around the house the leaves fall thick—but
never fast； for they come circling down with a dead lightness that
is sombre and slow。 Let the gardener sweep and sweep the turf as
he will； and press the leaves into full barrows； and wheel them off；
still they lie ankle…deep。 Howls the shrill wind round Chesney
Wold； the sharp rain beats； the windows rattle； and the chimneys
growl。 Mists hide in the avenues； veil the points of view； and move
in funeral wise across the rising grounds。 On all the house there is
a cold； blank smell； like the smell of the little church； though
something dryer： suggesting that the dead and buried Dedlocks
walk there； in the long nights； and leave the flavour of their graves
behind them。
But the house in town； which is rarely in the same mind as
Chesney Wold at the same time； seldom rejoicing when it rejoices；
or mourning when it mourns； excepting when a Dedlock dies； the
house in town shines out awakened。 As warm and bright as so
much state may be； as delicately redolent of pleasant scents that
bear no trace of winter as hothouse flowers can make it； soft and
hushed； so that the ticking of the clocks and the crisp burning of
the fires alone disturb the stillness in the rooms； it seems to wrap
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those chilled bones of Sir Leicester’s in rainbow…coloured wool。
And Sir Leicester is glad to repose in dignified contentment before
the great fire in the library； condescendingly perusing the backs of
his books； or honouring the fine arts with a glance of approbation。
For he has his pictures； ancient and modern。 Some； of the Fancy
Ball School in which Art occasionally condescends to become a
master； which would be best catalogued like the miscellaneous
articles in a sale。 As； “Three high…backed chairs； a table and cover；
long…necked bottle （containing wine）； one flask； one Spanish
female’s costume； three…quarter face portrait of Miss Jogg the
model； and a suit of armour containing Don Quixote。” Or； “One
stone terrace （cracked）； one gondola in distance； one Venetian
senator’s dress complete； richly embroidered white satin costume
with profile portrait of Miss Jogg the model； one scimeter superbly
mounted in gold with jewelled handle； elaborate Moorish dress
（very rare）； and Othello。”
Mr Tulkinghorn comes and goes pretty often； there being estate
business to do； leases to be renewed； and so on。 He sees my Lady
pretty often； too； and he and she are as composed； and as
indifferent； and take as little heed of one another； as ever。 Yet it
may be that my Lady fears this Mr Tulkinghorn； and that he
knows it。 It may be that he pursues her doggedly and steadily；
with no touch of compunction； remorse； or pity。 It may be that her
beauty； and all the state and brilliancy surrounding her； only gives
him the greater zest for what he is set upon； and makes him the
more inflexible in it。 Whether he be cold and cruel； whether
immovable in what he has made his duty； whether absorbed in
love of power； whether determined to have nothing hidden from
him in ground where he has burrowed among secrets all his life；
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whether he in his heart despises the splendour of which he is a
distant beam； whether he is always treasuring up slights and
offences in the affability of his gorgeous clients—whether he be
any of this； or all of this； it may be that my Lady had better have
five thousand pairs of fashionable eyes upon her； in distrustful
vigilance； than the two eyes of this rusty lawyer； with his wisp of
neckcloth and his dull black breeches tied with ribbons at the
knees。
Sir Leicester sits in my Lady’s room—that room in which Mr
Tulkinghorn read the affidavit in Jarndyce and Jarndyce—
particularly complacent。 My Lady—as on that day—sits before the
fire with her screen in her hand。 Sir Leicester is particularly
complacent； because he has found in his newspaper some
congenial remarks bearing directly on the floodgates and the
framework of society。 They apply so happily to the late case； that
Sir Leicester has come from the library to my Lady’s room
expressly to read them aloud。 “The man who wrote this article；”
he observes by way of preface； nodding at the fire as if he were
nodding down at the man from a Mount； “has a well…balanced
mind。”
The man’s mind is not so well balanced but that he bores my
Lady； who； after a languid effort to listen； or rather a languid
resignation of herself to a show of listening； becomes distraught；
and falls into a contemplation of the fire as if it were her fire at
Chesney Wold； and she had never