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Faith Moore
Hello and welcome to Storytime for Grown Ups. I'm Faith Moore and this season we're reading the Woman in White by Wilkie Collins. Each episode I'll read a few chapters from the book, pausing from time to time to give brief explanations so it's easier to follow along. It's like an audiobook with built in notes. So brew a pot of tea, find a cozy chair and settle in. It's story time. Hi there. It's so great to be here with you. I'm always so happy to be here together with you. And reading this book is such a joy. It's so much fun. And I don't know about you, but I love, love being with Marian. I really like Marian as a character and I'm finding it very nice to be here with you in Marian's diary. Right. So that's exciting. We're going to talk about that in a little bit. Before we do, I have a quick announcement which is that after this episode I'm going to be going away. I'm going on vacation with my family. We're going to see some extended family that we haven't seen in a while. But that doesn't mean that I'm going to pause this show or anything like that. Don't, don't worry. I'm pre recording episodes now that I'm going to put out. So there won't be any break in the episodes. But it does mean that there won't be questions. I will still talk at the beginning of each episode. I will do a little conversation that I'm having, I guess with myself about what we've read. I'll talk about some of the things that are coming up and some of the character developments that that happen. So I will still do that. But I won't be reading questions for three episodes after this one. Those episodes, I will remind you that those episodes are pre recorded and that I'm away and I will let you know when I am coming back. So February 27th is going to be the first episode where I am back. So I'm here now and I will be gone for three episodes, then back on the 27th. And the only thing that you will really notice I think about that is A, that I will tell you about that, that these episodes are pre recorded, but B, that there won't be a question from you at the front of each episode. It'll just be like a little discussion that I do at the beginning and then we'll move into the chapters. But I did want to say you should still keep writing to me. Keep those questions and comments coming. The things that you say and ask might still be relevant even when I get back and we're still going along in the story. But also, I just want to know what you're thinking. And I will write back to you as usual. And so don't forget to write in it's always it's faithkmoore.com and click on Contact. Or you can scroll down and click on the link in the show notes. And while you're there, check out the other links while I'm gone. It would be amazing if you guys bought something from the Merch store or made a donation on the Buy me a coffee page or even signed up to be a part of our online community, which is called the Drawing Room. I would love to come back to those notifications. So check out those links. And of course, if you're enjoying the show, please tap those five stars, leave a positive review or just tell your friends it's amazing. Oh, and subscribe. Subscribe so that you get all those episodes automatically downloaded into your podcast player. So that's just a quick update. Nothing much is really going to change. You're still going to get all these episodes, but I will be away. Those episodes will be pre recorded and I'll be back with you in real time on the 27th, which is also the date of our next Storytime for Grown Ups. Tea time in the drawing room, which I hope you will join us for as well. All right, so last time we read the first of Marian Halcombe's narratives to chapter one of Holcomb's narrative. And today we are going to read chapter two of Holcomb's narrative. So let's do do a recap of what we read last time and then I have two questions to talk about today and then we'll move into the chapters. So here is the recap. All right, so where we left off, our new narrator is now Marian Halcombe and we're getting her narrative via her diary entries. So she tells us how Laura has decided that she can't break off her engagement with Sir Percival herself because her father arranged it for her and she loved and she trusted her father and now he's dead. But she's decided that she will tell Sir Percival that she's in love with someone else and then let him decide what to do. Marian is against this plan because she feels it's kind of none of Sir Percival's business and she thinks Laura should just break off the engagement herself since she's so unhappy. And also since Marian kind of has misgivings about Sir Percival, even though she can't really articulate why. But Laura goes through with this plan and she tells Sir Percival that she's in love with someone else, but that she hasn't done anything with him and she's not going to marry him even if Sir Percival lets her go. Sir Percival finds her honesty very appealing and says that he still wants to marry her and that he hopes that she will one day come to love him in time. So Laura locks away all of her drawing supplies and she gives Marian the key. And she puts a lock of her hair into Walter's sketchbook and tells Marian to give it to him if she dies before him and tell him that she loved him. At that point, Mr. Fairley says that they should just fix a date for the wedding so that the whole business can be taken care of and so he won't have to worry about it anymore. And Laura says that Sir Percy Percival can decide and he picks the original date of the end of the year. Marian decides to take Laura to visit some friends in Yorkshire for a change of scene to try to cheer her up. And she also helps Walter to find a job out of the country. It's an archaeological expedition to Honduras where he'll be sketching the finds for at least six months, maybe a year and a half. And Marian learns that he has indeed left the country after that. After some time in Yorkshire, Marian and Laura get a letter from Mr. Fairley asking them to come back to Limmeridge House suddenly. And Marian isn't sure why. And she wonders if the date of the marriage has been settled on and it's coming up somehow. Alright, our first question comes to us from John. John writes, we're seeing a different side of Laura all of a sudden. Yes, she's heartbroken over Walter, but it seems like maybe she's a stronger person than she originally seemed. But I also can't help thinking that she sort of stubborn and the better thing to do here would be to just call off the wedding. I can't quite get a handle on her. And the second one comes from Elizabeth. Elizabeth says, I hate Sir Percival. He acts all kind and nice, but he just wants Laura's money. So of course he's going to say it's fine that she loves someone else and still want to marry her. Right. Okay. So yes, we should definitely talk a bit about Laura this time. And I think the fact that we are now with Marian in her diary, which is interesting by the way. Because it doesn't give us a sense of where Marian is now. Like when Walter is compiling all of these letters. We know that Gilmore wrote his narrative after the fact, at Walter's request, after whatever is going to happen, happened. But these diary entries were written during this whole situation or actually at this point before it happened, since nothing has really happened yet. So we're getting now a kind of on the ground look at Marian and Laura's experience at the time. So it makes sense that Laura's character might come into focus a bit more. So we talked a while ago about how Laura has seemed a bit like a kind of non entity. We essentially labeled her our damsel in distress. And we sort of left our discussion of her at that. She was in essence, a plot device, right? She's the woman our hero is in love with. Which therefore is the reason he cares what happens to her. And also why we care what happens to her. And she's the one who, it seems like whatever is going to happen will happen too. And that was sort of that. But as John's letter is hinting at, it really isn't that. I think for us, from our sort of modern perspective, it's a bit hard to understand a woman like Laura. This always pure, always true, almost childlike sort of woman who's beautiful and sweet and might kind of swoon over onto the fainting couch at any moment. That doesn't seem like a real person to us, and probably it's not. But actually, Laura isn't that woman. Or at least she's not completely that. Not only that, Laura, as it turns out, has a kind of hidden strength, a hidden force of will that even Marian hadn't really been aware of. In fact, it may only just be something that is emerging now due to this crisis of whether or not she should marry Sir Percival when she doesn't love him. Here's what Marian says about this. She says for the first time in our lives, we had changed places. The resolution was all on her side, the hesitation all on mine. So Laura is suddenly being strong and resolute and sticking to her guns. But also, here's another quote. It says, through all the years of our close intimacy, this passive force in her character had been hidden from me, hidden even from herself, till love found it and suffering called it forth, right? So Laura is undergoing a change before our very eyes, right? At first she was a sort of cookie cutter Victorian heroine. The sort of stand in for the quote unquote perf woman. She was our damsel in distress. She was a plot device. But now, because of the adversity she's facing, she's starting to develop some additional character traits. And it's kind of scaring Marian because her beloved sister, this angelic creature, is changing. But she's changing because of total despair. As John says in his letter, Laura is resigning herself to a life married to a man she doesn't love. And it's almost like she's going to the gallows or something. Like. Like she's trying to be as brave and resol. Resolute and honorable as she goes to her execution, right? Not her marriage. And Marian feels that this isn't the right thing to do. Here's what Marian says. She says in parting with the little occupations and relics that reminded her of heart, right? She seems to have parted with all her tenderness and all her impressibility. Meaning she's just sort of going into this walled off mode where she's gonna put all her feelings aside and all her own wants and desires and just succumb to the marriage that was arranged for her by her father. So on the one hand, we could say that making Sir Percival choose whether to break off the engagement is sort of cowardly, right? We might feel like, just tell him it's off, right? He told you you could tell him. Why are you making a martyr of yourself for no reason? But on the other hand, Laura feels that she made a promise to her father and to Sir Percival and she's bound to keep her word, which I think we can also admire. And she does a really honorable and upstanding thing in telling Sir Percival what her actual problem is, right? She's coming clean. And she' totally honest and totally up front. Even though it's embarrassing and private. And I think that takes guts. And it also takes guts to stand firm and stick to her resolution when Sir Percival says that he still wants to marry her. Right? It takes guts to lock away all her drawing stuff and give Marian the sketchbook and go forward into the life she feels she's now bound to live. So there is a kind of quiet strength to Laura, I think. She's not a pushover. She's decided what she's going to do. And even if we don't necessarily agree that it's the right thing, she's sticking to it. Even in the face of her beloved sister saying maybe she shouldn't. And we could see this as childish, right? We could kind of see it as like a sort of stamping her foot and saying no just for the sake of no. But we could also feel that she's standing on principle and doing what she thinks is right, even though it's hard and even though her sister's telling her to take the easier way out. So I think that's worth knowing about Laura, you know, that she does have a sort of inner strength and an inner reserve that we didn't see before. Or maybe that wasn't even actually there before all this happened. But now I want to come back for a moment to Elizabeth's letter and talk about Sir Percival's reaction to what Laura says. One of the threads that we've been sort of following, of course, is can we trust Sir Percival? Is Sir Percival a good guy or a bad guy? And last time many of you had decided that he is in fact a murderer or he's going to be a murderer. But again, he handles this whole situation really, really well. If we didn't feel suspicious of him, we'd feel like he's a really great guy. I think, you know, the fact that Laura is open and honest with him makes him love her even more. So he's not jealous of this other guy. In fact, he's sort of swooning over Laura's integrity and her care for his feelings. He tells Marian later that he doesn't even care who the guy is. And he's just going to devote his life to trying to make Laura love him. I mean, come on, what's not to like, right? Except because we don't like him and we don't trust him. We see it all in a more sinister light, right? Like Elizabeth says in her letter, maybe he's just saying all this accepting stuff because he would marry Laura no matter what, because all he cares about is her money. Like if Laura had said that in fact, she did sleep with Walter, and she's going to be meeting up with him for secret trysts the whole time that she's married to Percival. I mean, then would Percival have said, oh, that's fine. I mean, if he had, then we would know for sure that all he cares about is her money. But at this point, she didn't say that because that's not true. She told him nothing at all has happened. And he told her that he really admires her honesty and he's now even more in love with her than before. So again, we still don't know. And Marian, just like Walter, is biased against Sir Percival, even though she really doesn't want to be. She really wants to like Sir Percival, but she kind of can't. And is that because she doesn't want Laura to have to marry a man she can never love. So in that sense, is it just because it's not Sir Percival in particular, it's just because she doesn't want Laura to be unhappy? Or is it because she feels there's something not quite right about Sir Percival specifically? Here's what she says. She says the one hope left is that his motives really spring, as he says they do, from the irresistible strength of his attachment to Laura. And she points out, as we've been talking about, that Sir Percival really hasn't actually even done anything wrong. Here's what she says about that. In this instance, as in every other ser, Percival has carried his point with the utmost possible credit to himself, in spite of everything that I can say or do. So again, the evidence still points to Sir Percival being a good guy. But we and Marian, we're all still worried. Laura has resigned herself to a loveless marriage and won't back down. Walter is now in Central America and totally beyond anyone's reach. And Laura and Marian are headed back to Limmeridge because it's seems like the actual date of the wedding has been decided on. So it really looks like Laura is going to go through with this. And the question of course now becomes what will happen to her once she does? All right, so as I say, I'm going to be away for a little while, but you'll get pre recorded episodes with pre recorded discussions in the front. And do keep writing to me. I absolutely want to hear from you. Don't stop. Even though I will get to them when I get back. Faith K. Moore.com Click on Contact. Send me all your questions and thoughts. Have a wonderful week and a half or so while I'm gone and I will see you again in real time on the 27th. All right, let's get started with Holcomb's narrative chapter two of the Woman in White by Wilkie Collins. It's story time 2. Limmeridge House, November 27th. My forebodings are realized. The marriage is fixed for the 22nd of December. The day after we left for Polesdean Lodge. Sir Percival wrote, It seems to Mr. Fairlie to say that the necessary repairs and alterations in his house in Hampshire would occupy a much longer time in completion than he had originally anticipated. The proper estimates were to be submitted to him as soon as possible and it would greatly facilitate his entering into definite arrangements with the workpeople people if he could be informed of the exact period at which the wedding ceremony might be expected. To take place. He could then make all his calculations in reference to time, besides writing the necessary apologies to friends who had been engaged to visit him that winter and who could not, of course, be received when the house was in the hands of the workmen. To this letter Mr. Fairlie had replied by requesting Sir Percival himself to suggest a day for the marriage, subject to Ms. Fairlie's approval, which her guardian willingly undertook to do his best to obtain. Sir Percival wrote back by the next post and proposed, in accordance with his own views and wishes, from the 1st, the latter part of December, perhaps the 22nd, or 24th, or any other day, that the lady and her guardian might prefer the lady not being at hand, to speak for herself. Her guardian had decided in her absence on the earliest day mentioned, 22nd December, and had written to recall us to Limmeridge in consequence. After explaining these particulars to me at a private interview yesterday, Mr. Fairlie suggested in his most amiable manner that I should open the necessary negotiations to day, meaning Mr. Fairlie wants Marian to discuss the wedding date with Laura and get her approval. Feeling that resistance was useless unless I could first obtain Laura's authority to make it, I consented to speak to her, but declared at the same time that I would on no consideration, undertake to gain her consent to Sir Percival's wishes. Mr. Fairlie complimented me on my excellent conscience, much as he would have complimented me if he had been out walking on my excellent constitution and seemed perfectly satisfied so far with having simply shifted one more family responsibility from his own shoulders to mine. This morning I spoke to Laura as I had promised. The composure, I may almost say, the insensibility which she has so strangely and so resolutely maintained ever since Sir Percival left us, was not proof against the shock of the news I had to tell her. She turned pale and trembled violently. Not so soon, she pleaded. Oh, Marian, not so soon. The slightest hint she could give was enough for me. I rose to leave the room and fight her battle for her at once with Mr. Fairlie. Just as my hand was on the door, she caught fast hold of my dress and stopped me. Let me go, I said. My tongue burns to tell your uncle that he and Sir Percival are not to have it all their own way. She sighed bitterly and still held my dress. No, she said faintly. Too late, Marian, too late. Not a minute too late, I retorted. The question of time is our question, and trust me, Laura, to take a woman's full advantage of it. I unclasped her hand for my gown while I spoke. But she slipped both her arms round my waist at the same moment and held me more effectually than ever. It will only involve us in more trouble and more confusion, she said. It will set you and my uncle at variance and bring Sir Percival here again with fresh causes of complaint. So much the better. I cried out passionately. Who cares for his causes of complaint? Are you to break your heart to set his mind at ease? No man under heaven deserves these sacrifices from us women, men. They are the enemies of our innocence and our peace. They drag us away from our parents love and our sister's friendship. They take us body and soul to themselves and fasten our helpless lives to theirs as they chain up a dog to his kennel. And what does the best of them give us in return? Let me go, Laura. I am mad when I think of it. The tears, miserable, weak women's tears of vexation and rage started to my eyes. She smiled sadly and put her handkerchief over my face to hide for me the betrayal of my own weakness, the weakness of all others which she knew that I most despised. Oh, Marion, she cried. You crying? Think what you would say to me if the places were changed and if those tears were mine. All your love and courage and devotion will not alter what must happen sooner or later. Let my uncle have his way. Let us have no more troubles and heart burnings that any sacrifice of mine can prevent. Say you will live with me, Marian, when I am married, and say no more. But I did say more. I forced back the contemptible tears that were no relief to me and that only distressed her, and reasoned and pleaded as calmly as I could. It was of no avail. She made me twice repeat the promise to live with her when she was married, and then suddenly asked a question which turned my sorrow and my sympathy for her into a new direction. While we were at Polesdene, she said, you had a letter, Marian. Her altered tone, the abrupt manner in which she looked away from me and hid her face on my shoulder, the hesitation which silenced her before she had completed her question, all told me, but too plainly to whom the half expressed inquiry pointed. I thought, Laura, that you and I were never to refer to him again. I said gently. You had a letter from him? She persisted. Yes, I replied, if you must know it. Do you mean to write to him again? I hesitated. I had been afraid to tell her of his absence from England or of the manner in which my exertions to serve his new hopes and projects had connected me with his departure. What answer could I make? He was gone where no letters could reach him for months, perhaps for years to come. Suppose I do mean to write to him again, I said at last. What then, Laura? Her cheek grew burning hot against my neck, and her arms trembled and tightened round me. Don't tell him about the 22nd, she whispered. Promise, Marion, pray. Promise you will not even mention my name to him when you write next. I gave the promise. No words can say how sorrowfully I gave it. She instantly took her arm from my waist, walked away to the window, and stood looking out with her back to me. After a moment she spoke once more, but without turning round, without allowing me to catch the smallest glimpse of her face. Are you going to my uncle's room? She asked. Will you say that? I consent to whatever arrangement he may think best. Never mind leaving me, Marian. I shall be better alone for a little while. I went out. If as soon as I got into the passage, I could have transported Mr. Fairlie and Sir Percival Glyde to the utmost ends of the earth by lifting one of my fingers, that finger would have been raised without an instant's hesitation. For once my unhappy temper now stood my friend. I should have broken down altogether and burst into a violent fit of crying, if my tears had not been all burnt up in the heat of my anger. As it was, I dashed into Mr. Fairlie's room, called to him as harshly as possible. Laura consents to the 22nd, and dashed out again without waiting for a word of answer. I banged the door after me, and I hope I shattered Mr. Fairlie's nervous system for the rest of the day. 28 this morning I read poor Hartright's farewell letter over again, a doubt having crossed my mind since yesterday whether I am acting wisely in concealing the fact of his departure from Laura. On reflection, I still think I am right. The allusions in his letter to the preparations made for the expedition to Central America all show that the leaders of it know it to be dangerous. If the discovery of this makes me uneasy, what would it make her? It is bad enough to feel that his departure has deprived us of the friend of all others to whose devotion we could trust in the hour of need, if ever that hour comes and finds us helpless. But it is far worse to know that he has gone from us to face the perils of a bad climate, a wild country, and a disturbed population. Surely it would be a cruel candour to tell Laura this without oppressing it a positive necessity for it. I almost doubt whether I ought not to go a step farther and burn the Letter at once for fear of its one day falling into wrong hands. It not only refers to Laura in terms which ought to remain a secret forever between the writer and me, but it reiterates his suspicion so obstinate, so unaccountable and so alarming that he has been secretly watched since he left Limerich. He declares that he saw the faces of the two strange men who followed him about the streets of London, watching him among the crowd which gathered at Liverpool to see the expedition embark. And he positively asserts that he heard the name of Anne Catherick pronounced behind him as he got into the boat. His own words were, these events have a meaning. These events must lead to a result. The mystery of Anne Catherick is not cleared up yet. She may never cross my path again. But if ever she crosses yours. Make better use of the opportunity, Miss Halcombe, than I made of it. I speak on strong conviction. I entreat you to remember what I say. These are his own expressions. There is no danger of my forgetting them. My memory is only too ready to dwell on any words of Hartright's that refer to Anne Catherick. But there is danger in my keeping the letter. The merest accident might place it at the mercy of strangers. I may fall ill. I may die. Better to burn it at once and have one anxiety the less it is burnt. The ashes of his farewell letter, the last he may ever write to me, lie in a few black fragments on the hearth. Is this the sad end to all that sad story? Oh, not the end, surely. Surely not the end. Already 29th, the preparations for the marriage have begun. The dressmaker has come to receive her orders. Laura is perfectly impassive, perfectly careless about the question of all others in which a woman's personal interests are most closely bound up. She has left it all to the dressmaker and to me. If poor Hartright had been the baronet and the husband of her father's choice, how differently she would have behaved, how anxious and capricious she would have been, and what a hard task the best of dressmakers would have found it to please her 30th, we hear every day from Sir Percival. The last news is that the alterations in his house will occupy from four to six months before they can be properly completed. If painters, paper hangers and upholsterers could make happiness as well as splendor, I should be interested about their proceedings in Laura's future home, as it is the only part of Sir Percival's last letter which does not leave me, as it found me, perfectly indifferent to all his plans and projects. Is the part which refers to the wedding tour he proposes. As Laura is delicate. And as the winter threatens to be unusually severe. To take her to Rome. And to remain in Italy until the early part of next summer. If this plan should not be approved, he is equally ready, Although he has no establishment of his own in town. To spend the season in London. In the most suitable furnished house that can be obtained for the purpose. Putting myself and my own feelings entirely out of the question. Which it is my duty to do and which I have done. I, for one, have no doubt of the propriety of adopting the first of these proposals. In either case, a separation between Laura and me is inevitable. It will be a longer separation in the event of their going abroad. Than it would be in the event of their remaining in London. But we must set against this disadvantage. The benefit to Laura on the other side of passing the winter in a mild climate. And more than that, the immense assistance in raising her spirits. And reconciling her to her new existence. Which the mere wonder and excitement of traveling for the first time in her life. In the most interesting country in the world must surely afford. So Marian is going to live with Laura after she's married. But first Laura must go on a honeymoon with Sir Percival. And it wouldn't be appropriate for Marian to come to that. So Marian feels that since they'll be separated either way. Laura should go to Italy. Because maybe she'll be distracted there and enjoy herself. And maybe start to feel comfortable with Sir Percival. She is not of a disposition to find resources. In the conventional gaieties and excitements of London. They would only make the first impression of this lamentable marriage. Fall the heavier on her. I dread the beginning of her new life more than words can tell. But I see some hope for her if she travels. None if she remains at home. It is strange to look back on this latest entry in my journal. And to find that I am writing of the marriage and the parting with Laura. As people write of a settled thing. It seems so cold and so unfeeling. To be looking at the future already in this cruelly composed way. But what other way is possible now that the time is drawing so near? Before another month is over our heads. She will be his Laura instead of mine. His Laura. I am as little able to realize the idea which those two words convey. My mind feels almost as dulled and stunned by it. As if writing of her marriage were like writing of her death. December 1st. A sad, sad Daya day that I Have no heart to describe at any length. After weekly putting it off last night, I was obliged to speak to her this morning of Sir Percival's proposal about the wedding tour in the full conviction that I should be with her wherever she went. The poor child for a child she is still in many things. Was almost happy at the prospect of seeing the wonders of Florence and Rome and Naples rivals. It nearly broke my heart to dispel her delusion and to bring her face to face with the hard truth. I was obliged to tell her that no man tolerates a rival, not even a woman rival in his wife's affections when he first marries, whatever he may do afterwards. I was obliged to warn her that my chance of living with her permanently under her own roof depended entirely on my not arousing Sir Percival's jealousy and distrust by standing between them at the beginning of their marriage in the position of the chosen depositary of his wife's closest secrets. Drop by drop I poured the profaning bitterness of this world's wisdom into that pure heart and that innocent mind while every higher and better feeling within me recoiled from my miserable task. So Marian had to break the news to Laura that she would have to go on the honeymoon with Sir Percival. Without Marian it is over. Now she has learnt her hard her inevitable lesson. The simple illusions of her girlhood are gone and my hand has stripped them off. Better mine than his. That is all my consolation. Better mine than his. So the first proposal. Is the proposal accepted? They are to go to Italy and I am to arrange with Sir Percival's permission for meeting them and staying with them when they return to England. In other words, I am to ask a personal favour for the first time in my life and to ask it of the man of all others to whom I least desire to owe a serious obligation of any kind. Well, I think I could do even more than that for Laura's sake. Second, on looking back, I find myself always referring to Sir Percival in disparaging terms. In the turn affairs have now taken, I must and will root out my prejudice against him. I cannot think how it first got into my mind. It certainly never existed in former times. Is it Laura's reluctance to become his wife that has set me against him? Have Hartright's perfectly intelligible prejudices infected me without my suspecting their influence? Does that letter of Anne Catherick still leave a lurking distrust in my mind in spite of Sir Percival's explanation and of the proof in my possession of the truth of it? I cannot account for the state of my own feelings. The one thing I am certain of is that it is my duty, doubly my duty now not to wrong Sir Percival by unjustly distrusting him. If it has got to be a habit with me always to write of him in the same unfavourable manner, I must and will break myself of this unworldly tendency, even though the effort should force me to close the pages of my journal till the marriage is over. I am seriously dissatisfied with myself. I will write no more to day December 16th. A whole fortnight has passed. So two weeks have passed since she last wrote in her diary, and I have not once opened these pages. I have been long enough away from my journal to come back to it with a healthier and better mind, I hope. So far as Sir Percival is concerned, there is not much to record of the past two weeks. The dresses are almost all finished and the new traveling trunks have been sent here from London. Poor dear Laura hardly leaves me for a moment all day. And last night, when neither of us could sleep, she came and crept into my bed to talk to me there. I shall lose you so soon, Marian, she said. I must make the most of you while I can. They are to be married at Limmeridge Church. And thank heaven not one of the neighbors is to be invited to the ceremony. Me. The only visitor will be our old friend Mr. Arnold, who is to come from Polesdene to give Laura away, her uncle being far too delicate to trust himself outside the door in such inclement weather as we now have. If I were not determined from this day forth to see nothing but the bright side of our prospects, the melancholy absence of any male relative of Laura's at the most important moment of her life would make me very gloomy and very distrustful of the future. But I have done with gloom and distrust. That is to say, I have done with writing about either the one or the other in this journal. Sir Percival is to arrive to morrow, he offered, in case we wished to treat him on terms of rigid etiquette, to write and ask our clergyman to grant him the hospitality of the rectory during the short period of his sojourn at Limmeridge before the marriage. Under the circumstances, neither Mr. Fairlie nor I thought it at all necessary for us to trouble ourselves about attending to trifling forms and ceremonies. Cronies. In our wild moorland country and in this great lonely house, we may well claim to be beyond the reach of the trivial conventionalities which hamper people in other places. I wrote to Sir Percival to thank him for his polite offer and to beg that he would occupy his old rooms just as usual at Limmeridge House 17th. He arrived to day looking, as I thought, a little worn and anxious, but still talking and laughing like a man in the best possible spirits. He brought with him some really beautiful presents in jewelry. Which Laura received with her best grace and outwardly at least, with perfect self possession. The only sign I can detect of the struggle it must cost her to preserve appearances at this trying time. Expresses itself in a sudden unwillingness on her part ever to be left alone. Instead of retreating to her own room as usual, she seems to dread going there. When I went upstairs today after lunch to put on my bonnet for a walk, she volunteered to join me. And again before dinner she threw the door open between our two rooms so that we might talk to each other while we were dressing. Keep me always doing something, she said. Keep me always in company with somebody. Don't let me think. That's all I ask now, Marian. Don't let me think. This sad change in her only increases her attractions for Sir Percival. He interprets it, I can see, to his own advantage. There is a feverish flush in her cheeks, a feverish brightness in her eyes, which he welcomes as the return of her beauty and the recovery of her spirits. She talked to day at dinner with a gaiety and carelessness so false, so shockingly out of her character, that I secretly longed to silence her and take her away. Sir Percival's delight and surprise appeared to be beyond all expression. The anxiety which I had noticed on his face when he arrived totally disappeared from it. And he looked, even to my eyes, a good 10 years younger than he really is. There can be no doubt, though some strange perversity prevents me from seeing it myself. There can be no doubt that Laura's future husband is a very handsome man. Regular features form a personal advantage to begin with, and he has them. Bright brown eyes, either in man or woman, are a great attraction, and he has them. Even baldness, when it is only baldness over the forehead, as in his case is rather becoming than not in a man. For it heightens the head and adds to the intelligence of the face. Grace and ease of movement, untiring animation of manner, ready pliant conversational powers. All these are unquestionable merits, and all these he certainly possesses. Surely Mr. Gilmore, ignorant as he is of Laura's secret, was not to blame for feeling surprised that she should repent of her marriage engagement. Anyone else in his place would have shared our good old friend's opinion. If I were asked at this moment to say plainly what defects I have discovered in Sir Percival, I could only point out two. One, his incessant restlessness and excitability, which may be caused naturally enough by unusual energy of character. The other, his short, sharp, ill tempered manner of speaking to the servants, which may be only a bad habit after all. No, I cannot dispute it and I will not dispute it. Sir Percival is a very handsome and a very agreeable man. There, I have written it down at last and I am glad it's over. 18th. Feeling weary and depressed this morning, I left Laura with Mrs. Vasey and went out alone for one of my brisk midday walks, which I have discontinued too much of late. I took the dry, airy road over the moor that leads to Todd's Corner. After having been out half an hour I was excessively surprised to see Sir Percival approaching me from the direction of the farm. He was walking rapidly, swinging his stick, his head erect as usual and his shooting jacket flying open in the wind when we met. He did not wait for me to ask any questions. He told me at once that he had been to the farm to inquire if Mr. Or Mrs. Todd had received any tidings since his last visit to Limmeridge of Anne Catherick. You found of course, that they had heard nothing, I said. Nothing whatever, he replied. I begin to be seriously afraid that we have lost her. Do you happen to know, he continued, looking me in the face very attentively, if the artist, Mr. Hartright, is in a position to give us any further information? He has neither heard of her nor seen her since he left Cumberland, I answered. Very sad, said Sir Percival, speaking like a man who was disappointed and yet, oddly enough looking at the same time like a man who was relieved. It is impossible to say what misfortunes may not have happened to the miserable creature. I am inexpressibly annoyed at the failure of all my efforts to restore her to the care and protection which she soaks urgently needs. This time he really looked annoyed. I said a few sympathizing words and we then talked of other subjects on our way back to the house. Surely my chance meeting with him on the moor has disclosed another favorable trait in his character. Surely it was singularly considerate and unselfish of him to think of Anne Catherick on the eve of his marriage and to go all the way to Todd's Corner to make inquiries about her when he might have passed the time so much more agreeably in Laura's society. Considering that he can only have acted from motives of pure charity. His conduct under the circumstances shows unusual good feeling and deserves extraordinary praise. Well, I give him extraordinary praise and there's an end of it. 19 more discoveries in the inexhaustible mine of Sir Percival's virtues. Today I approached the subject of my proposed sojourn under his wife's roof when he brings her back to England. I had hardly dropped my first hint in this direction before he caught me warmly by the hand and said I had made the very offer to him which he had been on his side most anxious to make to me. I was the companion of all others whom he most sincerely longed to secure for his wife. And he begged me to believe that I had conferred a lasting favour on him by making the proposal to live with Laura after her marriage exactly as I had always lived with her before it. When I had thanked him in her name and mine for his considerate kindness to both of us, we passed next to the subject of his wedding tour and began to talk of the English society in Rome to which Laura was to be introduced. He ran over the names of several friends whom he expected to meet abroad this winter. They were all English as well as I can remember, with one exception. The one exception was Count Fosco. So remember, Count Fosco is the Italian man which Laura's aunt Eleanor married, which caused Laura's father to cut Eleanor out out of the will. The mention of the Count's name and the discovery that he and his wife are likely to meet the bride and bridegroom on the Continent puts Laura's marriage for the first time in a distinctly favorable light. It is likely to be the means of healing a family feud. Hitherto, Madame Fosco has chosen to forget her obligations as Laura's aunt out of sheer spite against the late Mr. Fairlie for his conduct in the affair of the legacy. Now, however, she can persist in this course of conduct no longer. Sir Percival and Count Fosco are old and fast friends and their wives will have no choice but to meet on civil terms. Madame Fosco, in her maiden days was one of the most impertinent women I ever met. With capricious, exacting and vain to the last degree of absurdity. If her husband has succeeded in bringing her to her senses, he deserves the gratitude of every member of the family. And he may have mine. To begin with, I am becoming anxious to know the count. He is the most intimate friend of Laura's husband and in that capacity he excites my strongest interest. Neither Laura nor I have ever seen him. All I know of him is that his accidental presence years ago on the steps of the Trinita del Monte at Rome assisted Sir Percival's escape from robbery and assassination at the critical moment when he was wounded in the hand and might the next instant have been wounded in the heart. I remember also that at the time of the late Mr. Fairlie's absurd objections to his sister's marriage, the Count wrote him a very temperate and sensible letter on the subject, which, I am ashamed to say remained unanswered. This is all I know of Sir Percival's friend. I wonder if he will ever come to England. I wonder if I shall like him. My pen is running away into mere speculation. Let me return to sober matter of fact. It is certain that Sir Percival's reception of my venturesome proposal to live with his wife was more than kind. It was almost affectionate. I am sure Laura's husband will have no reason to complain of me if I can only go on as I have begun. I have already declared him to be handsome, agreeable, full of good feeling towards the unfortunate and full of affectionate kindness towards me. Really, I hardly know myself again in my new character of Sir Percival's warmest friend. 20th I hate sir Percival. I flatly deny his good looks. I consider him to be eminently ill tempered and disagreeable and totally wanting in kindness and good feeling. Last night the cards for the married couple were sent home. Laura opened the packet and saw her future name in print for the first time. Sir Percival looked over her shoulder familiarly at the new card which had already transformed Ms. Fairly into Lady Glyde, smiled with the most odious self complacency and whispered something in her ear. I don't know what it was. Laura has refused to tell me. But I saw her face turn to such a deadly whiteness that I thought she would have fainted. He took no notice of the change. He seemed to be barbarously unconscious that he had said anything to pain her. All my old feelings of hostility towards him revived on the instant. And all the hours that have passed since have done nothing to dissipate them. I am more unreasonable and more unjust than ever. In three words. How glibly my pen writes them in three words. I hate him. 21st. Have the anxieties of this anxious time shaken me a little at last? I have been writing for the last few days in a tone of levity which heaven knows is far enough from my heart and which it has rather Shocked me to discover on looking back at the entries in my journal. Perhaps I may have caught the feverish excitement of Laura's spirits for the last week. If so, the fit has already passed away from me and has left me in a very strange state of mind. A persistent idea has been forcing itself on my attention ever since last night that something will yet happen to prevent the marriage. What has produced this singular fancy? Is it the indirect result of my apprehensions for Laura's future? Or has it been unconsciously suggested to me by the increasing restlessness and irritability which I have certainly observed in Sir Percival's manner as the wedding day draws nearer and nearer? Impossible to say. I know that I have the idea, surely the wildest idea under the circumstances that ever entered a woman's head. But try as I may, I cannot trace it back to its source. This last day has been all confusion and wretchedness. How can I write about it? And yet I must write. Anything is better than brooding over my own gloomy thoughts. Kind Mrs. Vasey, whom we have all too much overlooked and forgotten of late, innocently caused us a sad morning. To begin with, she has been for months past secretly making a warm Shetland shawl for her dear pupil. A most beautiful and surprising piece of work to be done by a woman at her age and with her habits. The gift was presented this morning and poor warm hearted Laura completely broke down when the shawl was put proudly on her shoulders by the loving old friend and guardian of her motherless childhood. I was hardly allowed time to quiet them both, or even to dry my own eyes, when I was sent for by Mr. Fairlie to be favoured with a long recital of his arrangements for the preservation of his own tranquillity. On the wedding day, Dear Laura was to receive his present, a shabby ring with her affectionate uncle's hair for an ornament instead of a precious stone, and with a heartless French inscription inside about congenial sentiments and eternal friendship. Dear Laura was to receive this tender tribute from my hands immediately, so that she might have plenty of time to recover from the agitation produced by the gift Gift before she appeared in Mr. Fairlie's presence. Dear Laura was to pay him a little visit that evening and to be kind enough not to make a scene. Dear Laura was to pay him another little visit in her wedding dress the next morning, and to be kind enough again not to make a scene, Dear Laura was to look in once more for the third time before going away, but without harrowing his feelings by saying when she was Going away and without tears. In the name of pity. In the name of everything, dear Marian, that is most affectionate and most domestic and most delightfully, charmingly self composed. Without tears. I was so exasperated by this miserable, selfish trifling at such a time that I should certainly have shocked Mr. Fairlie by some of the hardest and rudest truths he has ever heard in his life. If the arrival of Mr. Arnold from Polesdean had not called me away to new duties downstairs. The rest of the day is indescribable. I believe no one in the house really knew how it passed. The confusion of small events, all huddled together, one on the other, bewildered everybody. There were dresses sent home that had been forgotten. There were trunks to be packed and unpacked and packed again. There were presents from friends far and near, friends high and low. We were all needlessly hurried, all nervously expectant of the morrow. Sir Percival especially was too restless now to remain five minutes together in the same place. That short, sharp cough of his troubled him more than ever. He was in and out of doors all day long and he seemed to grow so inquisitive on a sudden that he questioned the very strangers who came on small errands to the house. House. Add to all this the one perpetual thought in Laura's mind and mine that we were to part the next day and the haunting dread unexpressed by either of us and yet ever present to both that this deplorable marriage might prove to be the one fatal error of her life and the one hopeless sorrow of mine. For the first time in all the years of our close and happy intercourse, we almost avoided looking each other in the face. And we refrained by common consent from speaking together in private through the whole evening. I can dwell on it no longer. Whatever future sorrows may be in store for me, I shall always look back on this 21st of December as the most comfortless and most miserable day of my life. I am writing these lines in the solitude of my own room long after midnight, having just come back from a stolen look at Laura in her pretty little white bed. Bed. The bed she has occupied since the days of her girlhood. There she lay unconscious. That I was looking at her. Quiet, more quiet than I had dared to hope, but not sleeping. The glimmer of the night light showed me that her eyes were only partially closed. The traces of tears glistened between her eyelids. My little keepsake. Only a brooch lay on the table at her bedside with her prayer book and the miniature portrait of her father which she takes with her wherever she goes. I waited a moment, looking at her from behind her pillow as she lay beneath me with one arm and hand resting on the white coverlet, so still, so quietly breathing, that the frill on her nightdress never moved. I waited, looking at her as I have seen her thousands of times, as I shall never see her again, and then stole back to my room. My own love. With all your wealth and all your beauty. How friendless you are. The one man who would give his heart's life to serve you is far away, tossing this stormy night on the awful sea. Who else is left to you? No father, no brother, no living creature but the helpless, useless woman who writes these sad lines and watches by you for the morning in sorrow that she cannot compose, in doubt that she cannot conquer. Oh, what a trust is to be placed in that man's hands to morrow. If ever he forgets it, if ever he injures a hair of her head. 22 December. 7 o'clock. A wild, unsettled morning. She has just risen better and calmer now that the time has come than she was yesterday. 10 o'clock. She is dressed. We have kissed each other. We have promised each other not to lose courage. I am away for a moment in my own room, in the whirl and confusion of my thoughts, I can detect that strange fancy of some hindrance happening to stop the marriage still hanging above my mind. Is it hanging about his mind too? I see him from the window, moving hither and thither uneasily among the carriages at the door. How can I write such folly? The marriage is a certainty. In less than half an hour we start for the church. 11:00 it is all over. They are married. 3:00. They are gone. I am blind with crying. I can write no more. The first epoch of the story closes here. Thank you so much for listening. I'd love to know what you thought of the chapters. Is there anything you'd like me to clarify? Did something particularly interest you? Please go to my website, faithkmoore.com, click on Contact and send me your questions and thoughts. Or you can click on the link in the show notes to contact me. Me. I'll feature one or two of your entries at the start of the next episode. Speaking of links, don't forget to take a look at the other links in the show notes. You can learn more about me, check out our merch store or pick up one of my books. Before I go, I'd like to ask a quick favor. This is an independent podcast. It's produced, recorded and marketed by me. So I need your help. Spread the word about the show by posting about it on social media or texting a link to your friends. Subscribe, tap those five stars and leave a positive review wherever you're listening. If you are able to support the show financially, there's a link in the show notes to make a donation. I would really, really appreciate it. Alright everyone, story time is over. To be.