Mr. Tulkinghorn takes out his papers, asks permission to place them on a golden talisman of a table at my Lady’s elbow, puts on his spectacles, and begins to read by the light of a shaded lamp.
“‘In Chancery. Between John Jarndyce–‘”
My Lady interrupts, requesting him to miss as many of the formal horrors as he can.
Mr. Tulkinghorn glances over his spectacles and begins again lower down. My Lady carelessly and scornfully abstracts her attention. Sir Leicester in a great chair looks at the file and appears to have a stately liking for the legal repetitions and prolixities as ranging among the national bulwarks. It happens that the fire is hot where my Lady sits and that the hand-screen is more beautiful than useful, being priceless but small. My Lady, changing her position, sees the papers on the table–looks at them nearer–looks at them nearer still–asks impulsively, “Who copied that?”
Mr. Tulkinghorn stops short, surprised by my Lady’s animation and her unusual tone.
“Is it what you people call law-hand?” she asks, looking full at him in her careless way again and toying with her screen.
“Not quite. Probably”–Mr. Tulkinghorn examines it as he speaks– “the legal character which it has was acquired after the original hand was formed. Why do you ask?”
“Anything to vary this detestable monotony. Oh, go on, do!”
Mr. Tulkinghorn reads again. The heat is greater; my Lady screens her face. Sir Leicester dozes, starts up suddenly, and cries, “Eh? What do you say?”
“I say I am afraid,” says Mr. Tulkinghorn, who had risen hastily, “that Lady Dedlock is ill.”
“Faint,” my Lady murmurs with white lips, “only that; but it is like the faintness of death. Don’t speak to me. Ring, and take me to my room!”
At what point are we most ourselves? When can we afford to reveal our secrets without fear of shame and disapprobation? When are we allowed to be on ‘holiday’ from duty? What happens when our ‘masks slip’?
So much of life may be concerned with character as a form of performance that the moments when we reveal something truly ‘real’ and authentic may be few and far between. And as this example shows, these moments can prove dangerous, if not self destructive as they can make us vulnerable to the predatory actions of others.
In Dickens’ novel Bleak House Lady Dedlock occupies a powerful place within society, married to a much older man whose wealth offers considerable privilege and luxury, as well as protective shield from her buried past where she had a sexual relationship out of wedlock, resulting in a child.
Here, in the extract above Dickens creates interest in Lady Dedlock’s character through a fatal ‘slip’ in her self control and composure. This ‘slip’ is noticed by the eagle eyed predatory lawyer Tulkinghorn whose desire to uncover the reason for Lady Dedlock’s interest in the law writer, eventually results in her death.
Slips are thus a from of incongruity. We reveal ourselves when we behave oddly or supposedly ‘out of character’. But of course which character do we reveal when we let down our guard? And can that guard ever be regained?
When Lady Dedlock’s studied ennui drops momentarily as she recognizes her ex lover’s hand writing, Tulkinghorn rightly realizes that something lies buried behind the composure. This, he determines to discover, and it provides one of the main dynamics of the narrative.
So secrets cast a shadow and maybe discovered when a character feels most safe. ‘Who copied that?’ asks Lady Dedlock. For a woman who shows NO interest in the world of legalities such a spontaneous question seems distinctly suspicious to Tulkinghorn, whose own death is ironically through a passionate bullet through his sterile heart! The most passionate thing ever to happen to him of course!
