Chapter 45

Chapter 45 — In Trust
One morning when I had done jingling about with my baskets of keys, as my beauty and I were walking round and round the garden I happened to turn my eyes towards the house, and saw a long thin shadow going in which looked like Mr Vholes. Ada had been telling me only that morning, of her hopes that Richard might exhaust his ardour in the Chancery suit by being so very earnest in it; and therefore, not to damp my dear girl’s spirits, I said nothing about Mr Vholes’s shadow.

Presently came Charley, lightly winding among the bushes, and tripping along the paths, as rosy and pretty as one of Flora’s attendants instead of my maid, saying, “O if you please, miss, would you step and speak to Mr Jarndyce!”

It was one of Charley’s peculiarities, that whenever she was charged with a message she always began to deliver it as soon as she beheld, at any distance, the person for whom it was intended. Therefore I saw Charley, asking me in her usual form of words, to “step and speak” to Mr Jarndyce, long before I heard her. And when I did hear her, she had said it so often that she was out of breath.

I told Ada I would make haste back, and inquired of Charley, as we went in, whether there was not a gentleman with Mr Jarndyce. To which Charley, whose grammar, I confess to my shame, never did any credit to my educational powers, replied, “Yes, miss. Him as come down in the country with Mr Richard.”

A more complete contrast than my guardian and Mr Vholes, I suppose there could not be. I found them looking at one another across a table; the one so open, and the other so close; the one so broad and upright, and the other so narrow and stooping; the one giving out what he had to say in such a rich ringing voice, and the other keeping it in in such a cold-blooded, gasping, fish-like manner; that I thought I never had seen two people so unmatched.

“You know Mr Vholes, my dear,” said my guardian. Not with the greatest urbanity, I must say.

Mr Vholes rose, gloved and buttoned up as usual, and seated himself again, just as he had seated himself beside Richard in the gig. Not having Richard to look at, he looked straight before him.

“Mr Vholes,” said my guardian, eyeing his black figure, as if he were a bird of ill omen, “has brought an ugly report of our most unfortunate Rick.” Laying a marked emphasis on most unfortunate, as if the words were rather descriptive of his connexion with Mr Vholes.

I sat down between them; Mr Vholes remained immovable, except that he secretly picked at one of the red pimples on his yellow face with his black glove.

“And as Rick and you are happily good friends, I should like to know,” said my guardian, “what you think, my dear. Would you be so good as to — as to speak up, Mr