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The Woman in White: Halcombe 5

Storytime for Grownups

Mon Mar 03 2025

Summary

Storytime for Grownups: The Woman in White – Halcombe 5 Summary

Release Date: March 3, 2025

Episode Overview

In this engaging episode of Storytime for Grownups, host Faith Moore delves into Chapter Five of Wilkie Collins' classic novel, The Woman in White. Alongside co-host Kate, Faith not only narrates the chapters but also provides insightful commentary, fostering a deeper appreciation for the intricacies of classic literature. This episode seamlessly blends storytelling with thoughtful analysis, making it accessible and enjoyable for both seasoned readers and newcomers alike.

Community and Membership Updates

Faith begins by expressing gratitude to her listeners, especially those who participated in a recent interactive “Tea Time” discussion. Kate shares highlights from their vibrant conversation, which focused on the characters Sir Percival and Count Fosco, and speculated on their true intentions within the story. She emphasizes the value of community engagement, inviting listeners to join future Tea Times and become members of the online Drawing Room—a growing space for book enthusiasts to discuss literature and share ideas.

Book Progress and Listening Experience

Addressing listener queries about the book's length, Kate outlines the reading schedule, indicating that the journey through The Woman in White is expected to last until the end of May. This structured approach helps listeners gauge their progress and maintain engagement as they follow along. Faith reiterates the importance of subscribing, leaving reviews, and spreading the word to support the independent podcast, ensuring its continued growth and longevity.

Recap of Previous Chapters

Before diving into the new chapter, Kate provides a succinct recap of Chapter Four:

Scene Setting: Laura, Count Fosco, and Madame Fosco are in Sir Percival's study.
Conflict Introduction: Sir Percival pressures Laura to sign a document without reading it, leading to tension.
Suspicious Activity: Marian notices Count Fosco placing his own letter into the mailbag, raising doubts about their motives.
Cliffhanger: The uncertainty surrounding the authenticity of Marian’s letter sets the stage for further suspense.

Listener Engagement: Kate’s Insightful Question

Kate introduces a listener's question, reflecting on the evolving portrayal of Sir Percival and Count Fosco:

Quotation: "The whole conversation by the lake about murder was so uncomfortable... It feels like a game of whodunnit." ([07:31] Kate)
Discussion Points:
- The initial suspicion that Sir Percival might be a murderer due to his controlling behavior.
- Reassessment of Sir Percival’s intentions as his actions don't align with the previously assumed murderous plot.
- Contrast between Sir Percival’s possible motives for monetary gain versus actual criminal intent.
- The duality of Count Fosco’s character—protective yet potentially intrusive.

In-Depth Chapter 5 Summary

Faith narrates the fifth chapter, where the tension escalates as Laura confides in Marian about her troubled marriage to Sir Percival. Key events include:

Dinner Interaction: Count Fosco entertains guests with anecdotes, temporarily distracting from earlier tensions.
Secret Confession: Laura and Marian take a solitary walk by the lake, where Laura reveals the pain and manipulation she endures from Sir Percival.
Mysterious Encounter: The appearance of a shadowy figure near the boathouse heightens the suspense, leaving Laura and Marian unsettled.
Investigation: Marrying suspicions arise as Faith discovers inconsistencies in Count Fosco’s alibis, deepening the mystery.

Key Insights and Analysis

Faith and Kate dissect the complexities of the characters and plot:

Sir Percival's Transformation: Initially perceived as a potential villain, his actions in Chapter Five complicate this view, suggesting a more nuanced character driven by financial desperation rather than outright malice.
- Quote: "If his plan all along has been to murder her for his money, why would he go through all this business with the signature?" ([08:05] Kate)
Count Fosco’s Ambiguity: His seemingly protective stance contrasts with mysterious undertakings, making him a character of depth and unpredictability.
- Quote: "Count Fosco seems like he might be snooping around for some reason, which is sort of ominous." ([13:07] Kate)
Marian’s Perspective: Her growing distrust of Count Fosco over Sir Percival highlights the intricate web of alliances and enmities within the narrative.
- Quote: "Yes, I am more afraid of his interference than I am of Sir Percival's violence." ([14:20] Kate)

Notable Quotes

“Women can resist a man's love, a man's fame, a man's personal appearance, and a man's money, but they cannot resist a man's tongue when he knows how to talk to them.” ([17:21] Kate)
“The influence of all others that I dreaded most was actually the one tie which now held me to Laura in the hour of her utmost need.” ([15:03] Kate)
“Her cold blue eyes almost warmed as she spoke the words.” ([17:54] Kate)

Conclusion and Call to Action

Faith wraps up the episode by inviting listeners to share their thoughts and questions, fostering a collaborative and interactive listening experience. She encourages participation through her website and social media, emphasizing the importance of community support in sustaining the podcast. As she transitions into narrating Chapter Five, Faith ensures that both returning and new listeners remain engaged and eager for the unfolding mystery in The Woman in White.

Join the Conversation

To further immerse yourself in the discussion and share your insights:

Visit faithmoore.com and click on "Contact."
Engage with the community through the Drawing Room.
Support the podcast by subscribing, leaving reviews, and sharing with friends.

Stay tuned for the next episode, where Faith and Kate will continue unraveling the enigmatic threads of The Woman in White, deepening the intrigue and uncovering the secrets that lie ahead.

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Transcript

Faith Moore (0:00)

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 everyone. Welcome back.

Kate (0:44)

I just want to say thank you.

Faith Moore (0:45)

To those of you who were there.

Kate (0:47)

On Thursday in the drawing room for tea time. I had a lovely time chatting with all of you and we had a great discussion, discussion about the book and particularly about Sir Percival and Count Fosco and what we think is actually going on with those two and who the bad guy is going to turn out to be. It was a really great conversation. I love getting to chat with you. So thank you to those of you who were there. Thank you for supporting the show in that way and it's so much fun. And of course, if you weren't there.

Faith Moore (1:16)

If you missed it.

Kate (1:16)

If you'd like to join next time, I will announce the next date of.

Faith Moore (1:21)

The next tea time soon.

Kate (1:23)

It's going to be probably near the.

Faith Moore (1:24)

End of March in the evening on.

Kate (1:26)

A weekday, but I haven't scheduled it yet, but I will and I will announce it here. And if you're interested in becoming a.

Faith Moore (1:31)

Member, either to join the Tea Times.

Kate (1:33)

Or just to join the Drawing Room, which is our online community. It's a kind of place where we can chat, we can type to each other about, about the book and about books generally, and just ourselves. It's. It's a community and it's really growing and it's lovely to see. So if you'd like to be a part of that, you can just scroll down description of this episode and you'll find a link to the membership options and you can just kind of look at it and see if you'd like to sign up. And if you don't, that's completely fine because this show is still here. This is still the main room of the house and nothing is going to change about that. You will always get everything that this show has to offer, even if you don't sign up for those memberships. That's important to me and I hope that you will stick around regardless. So welcome. Regardless of what, what you're doing, where you are, whether you're a member or not, welcome. I'm so glad that you're here. Welcome to real Time to those of you who have just found yourself in a position to have to wait for episodes. I've gotten a couple of emails lately from people saying, ah, I've caught up. I was binging, I've caught up and now I have to wait for the next episode. I know it's bittersweet to find yourself in real time, but I really do think it's the best way to listen. So welcome to those of you. Welcome to those of you who have always been with us in real time. And welcome if you're listening sometime and we've already moved on into the future. Welcome to those of you who are still in the past. I'm happy that you're with us. Okay, one other Quick Housekeeping thing. I've been getting some questions, understandably, about how long is the book? You know, I always feel like when I'm reading a book, I like to feel the pages that are under my left hand, meaning the pages I've read, and the pages under my right hand, meaning the pages that are still to go. Because it kind of helps you get a sense of, okay, where am I in the story? Is this about to wrap up? Or are we ages and ages away from the end and there's still much more to go? So since you don't have the book in your hand, I know some of you do, some of you like to read along in an actual copy, but I think many of us don't have the book in our hands as we're listening, and so it can be hard to know. So it's reasonable to be asking, well.

Faith Moore (17:57)

Laura proposed a stroll in the grounds to enjoy the close of the long evening. It was necessary in common politeness to ask Madame Fosco to join us, but this time she had apparently received her orders beforehand, and she begged we would kindly excuse her. The Count will probably want a fresh supply of cigarettes, she remarked by way of apology, and nobody can make them to his satisfaction but myself. Her cold blue eyes almost warmed as she spoke the words. She looked actually proud of being the officiating medium through which her lord and master composed himself with tobacco smoke. Laura and I went out together alone. It was a misty, heavy evening. There was a sense of blight in the air. The flowers were drooping in the garden, and the ground was parched and dewless. The western heaven, as we saw it over the quiet trees was of a pale yellow hue, and the sun was setting faintly in a haze. Coming rain seemed near. It would fall probably with the fall of night. Which way shall we go? I asked. Towards the lake, Marion? If you like, she answered. You seem unaccountably fond, Laura. Of that dismal lake? No, not of the lake, but of the scenery about it. The sand and heath and the fir trees are the only objects I can discover in all this large place to remind me of Limmeridge. But we will walk in some other direction if you prefer it. I have no favorite walks at Blackwater park, my love. One is the same as another to me. Let us go to the lake. We may find it cooler in the open space than we find it here. We walked through the shadowy plantation in silence. The heaviness in the evening air oppressed us both, and when we reached the boathouse we were glad to sit down and rest inside. A white fog hung low over the lake. The dense brown line of the trees on the opposite bank appeared above it, like a dwarf forest floating in the sky. The sandy ground shelving downward from where we sat was lost mysteriously in the outward layers of the fog. The silence was horrible. No rustling of the leaves, no bird's note in the wood, no cry of water fowl from the pools of the hidden lake. Even the croaking of the frogs had ceased to night. It is very desolate and gloomy, said Laura, but we can be more alone here than anywhere else. She spoke quietly and looked at the wilderness of sand and mist with steady, thoughtful eyes. I could see that her mind was too much occupied to feel the dreary impressions from without which had fastened themselves already on mine. I promised Marian to tell you the truth about my married life instead of leaving you any longer to guess it for yourself. She began. That secret is the first I have ever had from you, love, and I am determined it shall be the last. I was silent, as you know, for your sake, and perhaps a little for my own sake as well. It is very hard for a woman to confess that the man to whom she has given her whole life is the man of all others who cares least for the gift. If you were married yourself, Marian, and especially if you were happily married, you would feel for me as no single woman can feel, however kind and true she may be. What answer could I make? I could only take her hand and look at her with my whole heart as well as my eyes would let me. How often she went on. I have heard you laughing over what you used to call your poverty. How often you have made me mock speeches of congratulation on my wealth. Oh, Marian, never laugh again. Thank God for your poverty. It has made you your own mistress and has saved you from the lot that has fallen on me. A sad beginning on the lips of a young wife. Sad in its quiet, plain spoken truth. The few days we had all passed together at Blackwater park had been many. Enough to show meto show anyone what her husband had married her for. Meaning Sir Percival married Laura for her money and for no other reason. You shall not be distressed, she said, by hearing how soon my disappointments and my trials began. Or even by knowing what they were. It is bad enough to have them on my memory. If I tell you how he received the first and last attempt at remonstrance that I ever made, you will know how he has always treated me. As well as if I had described it in so many words. So a remonstrance is like a protest.

Faith Moore (23:05)

The first time she ever protested against something Sir Percival did. And this story is going to show Marian more, more generally, the way that Sir Percival treats her. It was one day at Rome when we had ridden out together to the tomb of Cecilia Metella. The sky was calm and lovely and the grand old ruin looked beautiful. And the remembrance that a husband's love had raised it in the old time to a wife's memory made me feel more tenderly and more anxiously towards my husband than I had ever felt. Would you build such a tomb for me, Percival? I asked him. You said you loved me dearly before we were married. And yet since that time I could get no farther. Marian. He was not even looking at me. I pulled down my veil, thinking it best not to let him see that the tears were in my eyes. I fancied he had not paid any attention to me, but he had. He said, come away, and laughed to himself as he helped me onto my horse. He mounted his own horse and laughed again as we rode away. If I do build you a tomb, he said, it will be done with your own money. I wonder whether Cecilia Metella had a fortune and paid for hers. I made no reply. How could I, when I was crying behind my veil? Ah, you Light complexioned women are all sulky, he said. What do you want? Compliments and soft speeches? Well, I am in a good humor this morning. Consider the compliments paid and the speeches said. Men little know when they say hard things to us, how well we remember them and how much harm they do us. It would have been better for me if I had gone on crying. But his contempt dried up my tears and hardened my heart. From that time, Marian, I never checked myself again in thinking of Walter Hartright. I let the memory of those happy days when we were so fond of each other in secret come back and comfort me. What else had I to look to for consolation? If we had been together, you would have helped me to better things. I know it was wrong, darling, but tell me if I was wrong without any excuse I was obliged to turn my face from her. Don't ask me, I said. Have I suffered as you have suffered? What right have I to decide? I used to think of him, she pursued, dropping her voice and moving closer to me. I used to think of him when Percival left me alone at night to go among the opera people. I used to fancy what I might have been if it had pleased God to bless me with poverty and if I had been his wife. I used to see myself in my neat cheap gown sitting at home and waiting for him while he was earning our bread. Sitting at home and working for him and loving him all the better because I had to work for him. Seeing him come in tired and taking off his hat and coat for him and Marian pleasing him with little dishes at dinner that I had learned to make for his sake. Oh, I hope he is never lonely enough and sad enough to think of me and see me as I have thought of him and seen him. As she said those melancholy words, all the lost tenderness returned to her voice and all the lost beauty trembled back into her face face. Her eyes rested as lovingly on the blighted, solitary, ill omened view before us as if they saw the friendly hills of Cumberland in the dim and threatening sky. Don't speak of Walter any more, I.

Faith Moore (27:43)

It is true, she said. It is what I wanted to tell you today when we were talking in your room. My only secret when I opened my heart to him at Limmeridge was a harmless secret, Marian. You said so yourself. The name was all I kept from him, and he has discovered it. Meaning Sir Percival now knows that it was Walter that Laura is in love with. Before he only knew that she's loved someone else. I heard her, but I could say nothing. Her last words had killed the little hope that still lived in me. It happened at Rome, she went on, as wearily calm and cold as ever. We were at a little party given to the English by some friends of Sir Percival's, Mr. And Mrs. Markland. Mrs. Markland had the reputation of sketching very beautifully, and some of the guests prevailed on her to show us her drawings. We all admired them, but something I said attracted her attention particularly to me. Surely you draw yourself? She asked. I used to draw little once, I answered, but I have given it up. If you have once drawn, she said, you may take to it again one of these days. And if you do, I wish you would let me recommend you a master. I said nothing. You know why, Marian, and tried to change the conversation, but Mrs. Markland persisted. I have had all sorts of teachers, she went on, but the best of all, the most intelligent and the most attentive, was a Mr. Hartright. If you ever take up your drawing again, do try him as a master. He is a young man, modest and gentlemanlike. I am sure you will like him. Think of those words being spoken to me publicly in the presence of strangersstrangers who had been invited to meet the bride and bridegroom. I did all I could to control myself. I said nothing and looked down close at the drawings. When I ventured to raise my head again, my eyes and my husband's eyes met, and I knew by his look that my face had betrayed me. We will see about Mr. Hartright, he said, looking at me all the time, when we get back to England. I agree with you, Mrs. Markland. I think Lady Glyde is sure to like him. He laid an emphasis on the last words which made my cheeks burn and set my heart beating as if it would stifle me. Nothing more was said. We came away early. He was silent in the carriage driving back to the hotel. He helped me out and followed me upstairs as usual. But the moment we were in the drawing room, he locked the door, pushed me down into a chair and stood over me with his hands on my shoulders. Ever since that morning when you made your audacious confession to me at Limmeridge, he said, I have wanted to find out the match. And I have found him in your face to night. Your drawing master was the man, and his name is Hartright. You shall repent it and he shall repent it to the last hour of your lives. Now go to bed and dream of.

Faith Moore (31:36)

Don't. You're hurting me. I had caught her in my arms and the sting and torment of my remorse had closed them round her like a vice. Yes, my remorse. The white despair of Walter's face when my cruel words struck him to the heart in the summer house at Limmeridge rose before me in mute, unendurable reproach. My hand had pointed the way which led the man my sister loved step by step, far from his country and his friends. Between those two young hearts I had stood to sunder them forever, the one from the other and his life and her life lay wasted before me alike in witness of the deed. I had done this and done it for Sir Percival Glyde. For Sir Percival Glyde. I heard her speaking and I knew by the tone of her voice that she was comforting mei, who deserved nothing but the reproach of her silence. How long it was before I mastered the absorbing misery of my own thoughts, I cannot tell. I was first conscious that she was kissing me. And then my eyes seemed to wake on a sudden to their sense of outward things. And I knew that I was looking mechanically straight before me at the prospect of the lake. It is late, I heard her whisper. It will be dark in the plantation. She took my arm and repeated, marion, it will be dark in the plantation. Give me a minute longer, I said. A minute to get better in. I was afraid to trust myself to look at her yet, and I kept my eyes fixed on the view. It was late. The dense brown line of trees in the sky had faded in the gathering darkness to the faint resemblance of a long wreath of smoke. The mist over the lake below had stealthily enlarged and advanced on us. The silence was as breathless as ever. But the horror of it had gone, and the solemn mystery of its stillness was all that remained. We are far from the house, she whispered. Let us go back. She stopped suddenly and turned her face from me towards the entrance of the boathouse. Marion, she said, trembling violently, do you see nothing? Look. Where? Down there, below us. She pointed. My eyes followed her hand, and I saw it too. A living figure was moving over the waste of heath in the distance. It crossed our range of view from the boathouse and passed darkly along the outer edge of the mist. It stopped far off in front of us, waited, and passed on, moving slowly with the white cloud of mist behind it and above it. Slowly, slowly, till it glided by the edge of the boathouse and we saw it no more. We were both unnerved by what had passed between us that evening. Some minutes elapsed before Laura would venture into the plantation, and before I could make up my mind to lead her back to the house. Was it a man or a woman? She asked in a whisper as we moved at last into the dark dampness of the outer air. I am not certain. Which do you think it looked like? A woman. I was afraid it might be a man in a long cloak. It may be a man. In this dim light, it is not possible to be certain. Wait, Marian. I am frightened. I don't see the path. Suppose the figure should follow us? Not at all likely, Laura. There is really nothing to be alarmed about. The shores of the lake are not far from the village, and they are free to anyone to walk on by, day or night. It is only wonderful we have seen no living creature there before. We were now in the plantation. It was very dark, so dark that we found some difficulty in keeping the path. I gave Laura my arm, and we walked as fast as we could on our way back. Before we were halfway through, she stopped and forced me to stop with her. She was listening. Hush, she whispered. I hear something behind us. Dead leaves, I said to cheer her. Or a twig blown off the trees. It is summertime, Marian, and there is not a breath of wind. Listen. I heard the sound, too. A sound like a light footstep following us. No matter who it is or what it is, I said, let us walk on. In another minute, if there is anything to alarm us, we shall be near enough to the house to be heard. We went on quickly, so quickly that Laura was breathless by the time we were nearly through the plantation and within sight of the lighted windows. I waited a moment to give her breathing time. Just as we were about to proceed, she stopped me again and signed to me with her hand to listen once more. We both heard distinctly a long, heavy sigh behind us in the black depths of the trees. Who's there? I called out. There was no answer. Who's there? I repeated. An instant of silence followed, and then we heard the light fall of the footsteps again, fainter and fainter, sinking away into the darkness. Sinking, sinking, sinking, till they were lost in the silence. We hurried out from the trees to the open lawn beyond, crossed it rapidly, and without another word passing between us, reached the house. In the light of the hall lamp, Laura looked at me with white cheeks and startled eyes.