My name is Miss Esther Summerson. If you have read Mr Charles Dickens' novel Bleak House you will have heard of me and the other principal characters in this text. His story is largely true but I blush to think how he exaggerated the goodness of my character beyond any benignity I can truly claim. I am writing this to shed light upon an aspect of the story which Mr Dickens seemed unwilling, out of delicacy to me, to bring to the fore.
If you haven't read Bleak House, you will not know that I was raised an orphan in a succession of charitable institutions, some good, some less so, until I was rescued by my present benefactor, Mr Jarndyce, to serve as a companion to his recent ward, Miss Ada Clare. I can never thank Mr Jarndyce enough for his generosity in trusting me to the companionship of Ada whom I loved on sight and whose welfare is ever at the forefront of my thoughts and actions. My tale begins in the fourth year of our domicile at Bleak House. I was then 21 and my darling Ada 20, and she had just become officially engaged to her cousin Richard Carstone, who was the other of the "wards in Jarndyce". My delight at this development was quite complete. I had witnessed the love growing between Ada and Richard from the day we three met and their blessed union, I felt, would be the culmination of all our good fortune, for it was planned that, after they married, I would live with them and continue in my happy role as companion and confidante to my darling Ada.
So it was that one night, a month or so prior to the wedding day, I was helping Ada with her evening toilette. I was brushing out her hair, a daily task I loved above all others, as she sat before the fire in her bedroom. The soft candlelight, together with the fire's glow, showed off all her delicate beauty. Here I must confess a tenderness for Ada not wholly platonic. The beauty of her body, as much as the warmth and generosity of her nature, played its own part in the tugging of my heart strings for her. Though modesty on her part had prevented me from seeing the full form of her beauty, I had stolen those glimpses of her nakedness that served to quicken the love I felt for her and make my own body vibrate with wanton tenderness. After some moments passed in comfortable silence my darling spoke to me with a certain urgency.
"Esther, my love, do you think I will make Richard a good wife - make him truly happy?" I smiled at her simpleness.
"My darling," I chided gently. "Richard could not love you more than he does and that alone will ensure his eternal happiness."
"Yes but.." and here I noticed a blush spread on her pretty cheek. "I know that a husband will expect certain ... favours. I have heard about ...well, certain physical intimacies that I know nothing about and I fear I may not respond in the correct way." She turned her face up to me showing she was on the verge of tears. I laid down the brush to kneel in front of her and take both her hands in mine.
"Oh my darling, do not fear," I crooned gently. "I'm sure your response will be everything he could wish." I could see my assurance was not convincing. "Now listen to me: when you are with Richard - I mean really close him - do you ever feel sensations in your person wholly different from those associated with other people?"
"Oh yes, Esther - truly I do. It is a rush of urgency - an agitation which I sometimes think will drown me in happiness."
"Well my darling, simply by giving expression to those feelings - and by embracing them - you will more than meet a husband's expectations."
"But Esther, forgive me if I seem to doubt you, but how can you be sure I will respond to him in the way a wife should, when I myself to do not even know what those responses should be?" Here I smiled at her, squeezing her hands with mine.
