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 there. Welcome back. I'm so glad you're here. I'm having so much fun reading this book with you. I don't know, I hope you're having as much fun as I am. This book is so crazy and it's so, so filled with twists and turns and you never know what the heck is going on. And I love that. I love getting your emails with all of your different theories and your questions and so many of you are writing in to say, like, ah, I can't stand it. I can't take the suspense anymore. But that's great. That's exactly how we're supposed to be feeling. It's so fun, right? It's fun. I know some of you are like, I really just want to read ahead because I am so anxious about it. I get that. I really hope you don't read ahead and I hope that maybe there's a kind of reframing you can do in your mind if you're feeling that way. That that sense of, oh, no, I can't wait. What's going to happen is a good thing. It's good to be that invested in a book. It's great to be that invested in an old book. Right? A classic. A book that so many people think is this sort of dusty old book that is too old to care about and all these words are too complicated. You are so invested in an old dusty book that you cannot wait to find out what is going to happen next. That is a beautiful, wonderful thing. I'm thrilled that it is happening to you. So don't read ahead. Enjoy that feeling. Enjoy the fact that you are someone who understands the classics so well that you are freaking out because you've got to know what happens next. That's a great thing. Good for you. It's amazing. So thank you for being here. Thank you for being a part of it. I wanted to just let you know quickly that I have scheduled the next tea time, which happens over in our online community, which is called the Drawing Room. It's going to be Thursday, March 27th at 8pm Eastern. So in order to Join. You need to be a member. A Storytime for Grown Ups member in the drawing room. And it's very easy to do that. There's a link right in the show notes to click on and to find out more. You don't have to do anything by clicking on it. It doesn't magically take your money or anything like that, I promise. It just gives you more information about the various membership tiers that we have. And the Tea Times Tea Time is just a cozy chat that we have together. It's like a group phone call. We talk together. We've had two so far. They've been really fun and delightful. I. I actually get really moved when I hear your voice, you know, because we have all these email exchanges together and we've been corresponding and then suddenly there you are in real life talking to me. And the first time it happened, I got a little choked up. I was like, oh wow, look, there you are. You're real. It's fantastic. So I love getting to talk to you and I hope you guys do too. You guys get to talk to each other. It's really fun. Last time we had a great conversation about the book. Sometimes we talk about other things. So if you'd like to join that, just click the link in the show notes and learn more. You can sign up right there. And you can sign just for the Tea Times if you want, and then cancel your membership if it doesn't seem like something you want to do afterwards or stick around. If it sounded like fun and you had a good time, then, you know, stay around. So that's completely up to you. It's completely fine with me whatever you choose to do. And if you choose not to become a member and you just want to keep listening to the show, that's completely fine too. The show is what it is. I'm not taking anything away. I'm not putting anything behind a paywall. This show is what it is. It will stay what it is. So thank you for being a part of it in whatever way you choose to be a part of it. So I just wanted to let you know that that is scheduled March 27, 8pm Eastern. And I'll remind you again as it gets closer. Also, just speaking of those links that are in the show notes, check out the merch store. Woman in white merch is coming. It's not there yet, but it is coming. I'm working with the lovely Cynthia Angulo, who is my designer, and she's doing fantastic work and we're going back and forth on the design for that that should be in the store soon. And I'm working on a few other little odds and ends that are really fun and exciting, and I'll share those with you as they come out. But do take a look Merch store, if you're interested. Right now, there is the Storytime logo as well as a Jane Eyre design and a Pride and Prejudice design. And you can get it on all sorts of different things. So I hope you'll check that out if you're interested in representing the show that way. Other ways you can support the show, you can just make a donation. There's a link in the show notes for that. I accept teas. It's the page is called Buy me a coffee, but you'll be buying me a tea. And I accept that. That's really helpful. It allows me to speak, spend my time and energy on this show when it's making money instead of on something else. So that's an amazing way that you can support the show. But also there are lots of free ways you can subscribe. You can tap those five stars, you can leave a positive review and you can text a link to the show to your friends, your colleagues, your family members, or just spread the word, tell people. Tell people about this show. That's the best way that it can grow, and it is growing, and that's because of you. So thank you so much for doing that. And of course, write to me. That's another way that you can support the show. Faithkmore.com click on contacts or just scroll into the show notes. That's another one of those links to that contact page that's right there. So do that. Please send me your questions and thoughts. This show is nothing without your questions and thoughts that I get to read at the front of each episode. So speaking of that, let's get to it. I have two questions today and lots to talk about. So last time we read Holcomb's narrative, chapter seven. Today we're going to read Halcomb's narrative, chapter eight. So let's find out or remind ourselves of what we read last time and then we'll go into our questions. So here is the recap. All right, so where we left off, Marian and Laura embark on their plan to meet up with Anne Catherick again and hear her secret. Laura leaves the lunch table, and after some time goes by, Marian leaves and she heads to the boathouse. But when she gets there, she doesn't see Laura. Instead, she finds two sets of footprints, a woman's and a man's. And she follows them through a kind of roundabout path that leads them back to the house. When she gets there, she learns from the housekeeper that Laura came back very upset and that Sir Percival fired Laura's trusty maid. When Marian tries to go upstairs and see Laura, she finds that the big stupid serving woman that she met earlier is guarding Laura's door and she won't let her in. Marian is furious and she goes to find Sir Percival. She finds him with Count and Madame Fosco, and Sir Percival says that he's keeping Laura locked up and that he'll lock Marian up too if she's not careful. But Madame Fosco intervenes and says that she refuses to stay in a house where ladies are treated this way. And Fosco applauds her and he's ready to leave the house too. So this makes Sir Percival relent and Marian is allowed to go and see Laura. And Laura tells her that Count Fossil Fosco is a spy. And that is overheard by Madame Fosco, who had come upstairs under the pretext of delivering Marian's dropped handkerchief. After Madame Fosco is gone, Laura explains that she went to find Anne at the boathouse, but she wasn't there. She saw the word look written in the sand and then dug up a letter. And the letter was from Anne and it said that she'd been followed by an old fat man after they met the last time and. And he followed her as she ran away, but he couldn't catch her. It says that she still wants to tell Laura the secret about Sir Percival, but they have to find another and safer time. Laura and Marian both feel it was Count Fosco who followed her and that he told Sir Percival. Because while Laura was reading the letter, Sir Percival shows up. He says he's already read the letter and he demands that Laura tell him everything she does. But he seems to think that now she actually knows whatever this secret is and that she's hiding that from him. So he grabs her and he locks her up in the house. Marian says that they might be able to use the fact that he was kind of violent toward her as a way out of the marriage, or at least out of this situation. And Marian decides to use Fanny the maid to deliver a letter to Mr. Gilmore's partner and another letter to Mr. Fairlie asking for help. And they hope that maybe Laura can go stay with Mr. Fairley for a while while they work out what to do. They believe that whatever this secret is about Sir Percival must be true and that it would ruin him somehow if it got out. So we left Marian going to wr those letters and Laura locking herself into her room. All right. So as I say, I have two questions today. The first one comes from Elizabeth Bod. Elizabeth writes, reading this book is excruciating, like watching a train wreck in slow motion. It is literally giving me anxiety I never felt before. How very difficult it would have been to be a woman in this era with so little power. In other books like Pride and Prejudice, I always understood how limited women's options were. But on the other hand, they had all the balls and leisure activities, and it always sounded like a fairly pleasant life. Till we started reading this book, I didn't fully appreciate how very difficult a woman's situation could be. And the second is from Deli. She writes, I was hoping you could refresh my memory on Laura's will. I was lying awake in bed this morning thinking about the Woman in White. You can see how much this story has captivated me when it suddenly hit me that I'd been forgetting Madame Fosco's relation to the. I'd been so focused on Percival's money troubles and his desire for Laura's money that I'd forgotten Madame Fosco and thereby Count Fosco, could also benefit financially from Laura's death. But I don't remember how much she could get. I don't think it was enough to spy and murder for and whether she would receive it at Laura's death alone or after both Laura and Percival died. The Count's involvement is so mysterious, and I wondered if the will sheds a clue on how he might benefit from Laura's untimely death and why he might want Laura's money not to be consumed by Percival. Okay, so I do think this is a good time to just revisit the issue of women during this time period. You know, I said way back in the intro episode that Wilkie Collins advocated for the rights of women and was outspoken about his views on marriage and his sense that marriage was a kind of a bad deal for women because it essentially allowed everything that a woman owned and everything she was basically to be subsumed by her husband. And I think Elizabeth makes a really good point in her letter. You know, we often sort of idolize the lives of women in the past, you know, yes, we know they didn't have a lot of say over their lives and that they depended on the men around them for everything, and marriage was really their only option in life, etc. Etc. You know, we've talked about that a lot in previous books. But as Elizabeth says, we also kind of swoon over the balls and the dancing and the flirting and the courtship rituals, which feel so romantic to us, right? In this world of like, hookup culture or whatever. And many of us, myself included, many of us who choose to stay home and raise kids and keep house, we often look to these kind of old fashioned ways of life for inspiration, right? We want to sew our own clothes and bake our own bread and go out visiting and welcome our husbands home in the evening and sit around chatting with our other women friends and all of this. And there truly is something lovely about all of that. I don't want to run it down. There's a romance and a simplicity and a sense of order and purpose in a life like that. So none of this is to try to like, trash the world of the past or anything. But I think what Elizabeth is so right to point out, and also what I think Wilkie Collins is actively trying to show us through the plot of the Woman in White, is that it's all willing good to have this sort of setup when things are going well, right? When the husband is fair to the wife, when it's a love match, when everything is all above board, that's all well and good, but the minute something goes wrong, the minute you marry a thug, right, who's in debt and has some weird secret, the minute that happens, you suddenly realize how totally out of luck you are. You know, we haven't talked a lot about themes really in this book so far, the, the way we have in other books that we've read, because this book is so much about the plot, right? What is the crime going to be? Who is the bad guy? Will our main characters be okay, all of that. So it's less a thematic book and more a plot driven book. But there is a theme here, I think, about the powerlessness of women. Not in the modern sense, right? Not in the sense that, oh, women are the same as men and they should be allowed to do exactly what men do, that wouldn't have made much sense to anyone back then, I don't think, but rather in the sense that when women find themselves in a bad situation, the way that Laura and Marian have in the story, when that happens, there's really no recourse. So it's not that women's lives are inherently terrible in the past or anything, it's that when something went wrong, there really wasn't anything that they could do about it. And I think it's one of the wonderful things about this story that it doesn't ever preach at us. You know, Wilkie Collins doesn't sort of pop up from time to time in the book to give us, like, long speeches about the rights of women or anything. No. Instead, he just crafts a story that makes it clearer and clearer and clearer as we go along. How powerless and alone these women are. And it all flows organically out of the story he's created. You know, we've been talking for a while now about the way that Collins just keeps taking people away from Laura, right? People who might help her. First he sets it up so that Laura's beloved father is already dead. Then he gives her a totally negligent male guardian. Then he takes away Walter. Then he takes away Gilmore. Then he makes it so that Fosco, for whatever reason, is reading the outgoing mail and potentially the incoming mail, so that they can't reach out to friends or relatives or Mr. Curl, the other lawyer. And now in the last chapter, Laura's maid, Fanny, who is the last person who's truly loyal to them in the house. She's been dismissed. So this noose essentially is tightening and tightening and tightening around them. And we still don't really know why or what will happen when it finally pulls taut. And of course, the other thing that can happen to women when they are at the mercy of bad men is violence. And it's finally come to that in the last chapter, right, we learn that Sir Percival has discovered Laura's meeting with Anne Catherick and the fact that she knows that there is a secret. He thinks she actually knows the secret, even though she doesn't. And he grabs her and he yanks her through the plantation so hard that there is a bruise. And he threatens her with further violence if she won't tell him everything she knows about the secret. And of course, domestic violence was something that women were subjected to during time that this book was written. And it was certainly another danger that women faced. And within the context of the story, it's another danger that has cropped up right before, it was just, could Laura hold her own and not sign a paper that she hadn't read yet? Now it's, can she do that even under threat of violence? And even, can she just exist in the house under threat of violence? Since Sir Percival seems to feel that she knows this secret, whatever it is, when she doesn't know it? So he may be violent towards her and she has no way to stop him. She has nothing to tell him, right? And here again Is Percival acting like a thug, like a kind of petty criminal? Right. He's got these debts, and he wants them paid off so he doesn't have to go to jail. So he's yelling at his wife to sign this paper. He's got this weird secret, and he thinks Lauren knows what it is, and he's getting rough with her and threatening her with more violence. I would argue that he may not really have a plan. Like, all this time we've been wondering, what is Sir Percival's plan? What's he gonna do to her? Well, I. I would like to put forward now the idea that he doesn't actually have one, at least not at this point in the story. You know, right now, I think he's a man with a bunch of problems that all center in one way or another around his wife. He's got a bad temper, and he's not against violence, and that makes him dangerous. And dangerous specifically toward Laura, because the problems center around Laura. But generally, he doesn't really seem to have a grand plan in place. And given the way he's been acting, he doesn't really seem capable of making one. Right. The only reason he was able to wait for Laura at the boathouse and catch her with the note from Anne Catherick is because Fosco followed Laura to the boathouse and found out about the meeting that they were supposed to have and got Percival to go there. Right. Which brings me to Fosco, because Fosco, I think, is capable of making a grand plan. I don't know that he has made one at this point. You know, we're told he went to the boathouse not to spy on Laura, but to tell her that Percival wasn't going to force her to sign the document, and he just happen to catch the tail end of Laura's meeting with Anne. So he's not necessarily up to anything in particular right now, though he does seem to be reading Marian's letters. But of the two of them, right between Fosco and Percival, I would say that it's Fosco that is capable of making grand plans, not Percival. Based on what we know so far anyway. Which brings me to Deli's question, because the Count's involvement in all of this is super mysterious. And sometimes it really does look like he's trying to help Laura and Marian. And sometimes it looks like he's spying on them. So which is it? And I think revisiting whether or not the Foscos have any skin in the game, so to speak, is really A good idea. So here's the Madame Fosco is Laura's aunt, right? She was supposed to inherit £10,000 on the death of Laura's father. But because the father was so angry at Madame Fosco for marrying a foreigner, he cut her out of the will temporarily. The money went first to Laura and would only go to Madame Fosco on Laura's death. So the Fosco's. Because, of course, any money that goes to Madame Fosco is essentially Count Fosco's. So the Foscos would stand to inherit £10,000 in the event of Laura's death. The Foscos get this amount on Laura's death, regardless of whether Sir Percival is still alive. So Percival's situation with the £20,000 and the loan he wants to take out and everything doesn't have anything to do with. With the foscos. If the £20,000 gets diminished, the £10,000 is still there for the Foscos to get on Laura's death if they outlive her. But at this point, it doesn't really seem like the Count, or anyone for that matter, is like, plotting to kill Laura. And it really seems in a lot of ways that the Count is trying to help them. You know, he's horrified by the fact that Sir Percival has locked Laura in her room with Margaret Porcher as her jailer, essentially. And he intervenes on her behalf, right, by having his wife say that she's gonna leave the house if Percival doesn't let her out. And because he has so much sway over Percival, he wins him over. And Laura is free again because of Count Fosco. And here's what he tells Marian, right? He says it means, Ms. Halcombe, that lady Glyde is relieved from a gross indignity. And you, from the repetition of an unpardonable insult, suffer me to express my admiration of your conduct and your courage at a very trying moment. And he's also the one who made it so that Laura didn't have to sign away part of her fortune. So he really is objectively doing things that help Laura and Marian, Right? But he's also objectively doing things that kind of harm them, like sending Sir Percival to the boathouse and making it so that they can't get private letters out. So, again, he's an enigma. But also, as I was saying, between the two of them, if there's going to be some sort of grand plot, which there may not be, but if there is, my money would be on Fosco to Cook it up. Not Percival. Right. Percival might do something awful, but it feels like he'd do it kind of on the spur of the moment, like out of passion. And Fosco would bide his time. So all of this is to say that Laura and Marian are in danger. We're not entirely sure why or from what, but we know that they are. They're trapped in this house with these two men. There's the potential that they might actually be locked in. Right. Held prisoner. And they're doing everything they can. Right. Did you notice in the last chapter that Marian became a detective again and Laura even kind of helped her. Right. They were organizing how to meet Anne at the boathouse and not be detected. Marian was following the footprints and the piece of the shawl that she found in the trees. Laura was giving Marian all the details that she could think of so that Marian could write it all down. They're going to use Fanny to get letters out undetected. Right. So they're doing everything in their power that they can do. But as we were talking about at the beginning, they don't have a lot of power. So they're completely outmatched. So now they're trying to stage an escape, basically. Right. They want to use the fact that Percival is treating Laura badly to get Mr. Fairley to allow them to come to stay at Limmeridge, but which would at least get them out of this oppressive house. Right. If they can make Sir Percival feel that they'll out him for his bad behavior if he doesn't let them go. And if they can make Mr. Fairley feel that they'll make a big stink, basically, if he doesn't let them come to stay, then they might be able to get all these men to allow them to leave the house. So this is their jailbreak, essentially. Will they be able to accomplish it? And also, what is up with the secret that Anne has about Sir Percival and how is that going to come into the story? Right. So we've got to find out. We've got to keep reading. Let's do it. And don't forget to write to me. Faithkmoore.com click on Contact. Send me all your questions and thoughts. Tell me all of your anxieties and the ways that you can't wait to find out more. I love to hear from you, so please do get in touch. All right, let's get started with Halcombe's narrative, chapter eight of the Woman in White by Wilkie Collins. It's story time 8, June 19th. I had only got as far as the top of the stairs. When the locking of Laura's door suggested to me the precaution of also locking my own door and keeping the key safely about me while I was out of the room. My journal was already secured with other papers in the table drawer, but my writing materials were left out. These included a seal bearing the common device of two doves drinking out of the same cup, and some sheets of blotting paper, which had the impression on them of the closing lines of my writing in these pages, traced during the past night. A seal is a picture embossed in metal that you press into hot wax to close up a letter, and the blotting paper is paper you use to get excess ink off the paper before you fold it or close your journal up so it would have the impression of what she'd written on it, distorted by the suspicion which had now become a part of myself. Even such trifles as these looked too dangerous to be trusted without a guard. Even the locked table drawer seemed to be not sufficiently protected in my absence until the means of access to it had been carefully secured. As well, I found no appearance of anyone having entered the room while I had been talking with Laura. My writing materials, which I had given the servant instructions never to meddle with, were scattered over the table as usual. The only circumstance in connection with them that at all struck me was that the seal lay tidily in the tray with the pencils and the wax. It was not, in my careless habits, I am sorry to say, to put it there. Neither did I remember putting it there. But as I could not call to mind, on the other hand, where else I had thrown it down, and as I was also doubtful whether I might not for once have laid it mechanically in the right place, I abstained from adding to the perplexity with which the day's events had filled my mind by troubling it afresh about a trifle. I locked the door, put the key in my pocket, and went downstairs. Madame Fosco was alone in the hall, looking at the weather glass. A weather glass is a tool that was used at the time to predict the weather. It was a glass jar filled with a special liquid that rose and fell, and it was thought to predict what weather you would have. Still falling, she said, I'm afraid we must expect more rain. Her face was composed again to its customary expression and its customary colour. But the hand with which she pointed to the dial of the weather glass still trembled. Could she have told her husband already that she had overheard Laura reviling him in my company as a spy, My strong suspicion that she must have told him my irresistible dread, all the more overpowering from its very vagueness of the consequences which might follow. My fixed conviction, derived from various little self betrayals which women notice in each other, that Madame Fosco, in spite of her well assumed external civility, had not forgiven her niece for innocently standing between her and the legacy of £10,000. All rushed upon my mind together, all impelled me to speak in the vain hope of using my own influence and my own powers of persuasion for the atonement of Laura's offence. May I trust to your kindness to excuse me, Madame Fosco, if I venture to speak to you on an exceedingly painful subject? She crossed her hands in front of her and bowed her head solemnly, without uttering a word and without taking her eyes off mine for a moment. When you were so good as to bring me back my handkerchief, I went on. I am very, very much afraid you must have accidentally heard Laura say something which I am unwilling to repeat and which I will not attempt to defend. I will only venture to hope that you have not thought it of sufficient importance to be mentioned to the count. I think it of no importance whatever, said Madame Fosco, sharply and suddenly. But, she said, resuming her icy manner in a moment, I have no secrets from my husband, even in trifles. When he noticed just now that I looked distressed, it was my painful duty to tell him why I was distressed. And I frankly acknowledge to you, Miss Halcombe, that I have told him. I was prepared to hear it. And yet she turned me cold all over when she said those words. Let me earnestly entreat you, Madame Foscolet, me earnestly entreat the count to make some allowances for the sad position in which my sister is placed. She spoke while she was smarting under the insult and injustice inflicted on her by her husband, and she was not herself when she said those rash words. May I hope that they will be considerately and generously forgiven? Most assuredly, said the count's quiet voice behind me. He had stolen on us with his noiseless tread and his book in his hand from the library. When Lady Glyde said those hasty words, he went on. She did me an injustice which I lament and forgive. Let us never return to the subject, Miss Halcombe. Let us all comfortably combine to forget it from this moment. You are very kind, I said. You relieve me inexpressibly. I tried to continue, but his eyes were on me, his deadly smile that Hides. Everything was set hard and unwavering on his broad, smooth face. My distrust of his unfathomable falseness, my sense of my own degradation in stooping to conciliate his wife and himself so disturbed and confused me that the next words failed on my lips and I stood there in silence. I beg you on my knees, to say no more, Miss Halcombe. I am truly shocked that you should have thought it necessary to say so much. With that polite speech, he took my hand. Oh, how I despise myself. Oh, how little comfort there is even in knowing that I submitted to it for Laura's sake. He took my hand and put it to his poisonous lips. Never did I know all my horror of him till then. That innocent familiarity turned my blood as if it had been the vilest insult that a man could offer me. Yet I hid my disgust from him. I tried to smile. I, who once mercilessly despised deceit in other women, was as false as the worst of them. As false as the Judas whose lips had touched my hand. I could not have maintained my degrading self control. It is all that redeems me, in my own estimation, to know that I could not. If he had still continued to keep his eyes on my face. His wife's tigerish jealousy came to my rescue and forced his attention away from me. The moment he possessed himself of my hand, her cold blue eyes caught light. Her dull white cheeks flushed into bright color. She looked years younger than her age. In an instant count, she said, your foreign forms of politeness are not understood by Englishwomen. Pardon me, my angel. The best and dearest Englishwoman in the world understands them. With those words he dropped my hand and quietly raised his wife's hand to his lips in place of it. I ran back up the stairs to take refuge in my own room. If there had been time to think, my thoughts when I was alone again would have caused me bitter suffering. But there was no time to think. Happily, for the preservation of my calmness and my courage, there was time for nothing but action. The letters to the lawyer and to Mr. Fairlie were still to be written, and I sat down at once without a moment's hesitation to devote myself to them. There was no multitude of resources to perplex me. There was absolutely no one to depend on in the first instance but myself. Sir Percival had neither friends nor relatives in the neighbourhood whose intercession I could attempt to employ. He was on the coldest terms, in some cases on the worst terms, with the families of his own rank and station who lived near him. We two women had neither father nor brother to come to the house and take our parts. There was no choice but to write those two doubtful letters or to put Laura in the wrong and myself in the wrong and to make all peaceable negotiation in the future impossible by secretly escaping from Black Blackwater Park. Nothing but the most imminent personal peril could justify our taking that second course. The letters must be tried first, and I wrote them. I said nothing to the lawyer about Anne Catherick, because, as I had already hinted to Laura, that topic was connected with a mystery which we could not yet explain and which it would therefore be useless to write about to a professional man. I left my correspondent to attribute Sir Percival's disgraceful conduct, if he pleased, to fresh disputes about money matters, and simply consulted him on the possibility of taking legal proceedings for Laura's protection in the event of her husband's refusal to allow her to leave Blackwater park for a time and return with me to Limmeridge. I referred him to Mr. Fairlie for the details of this last arrangement. I assured him that I wrote with Laura's authority, and I ended by entreating him to act in her name to the utmost extent of his power and with the least possible loss of time. The letter to Mr. Fairlie occupied me. Next, I appealed to him on the terms which I had mentioned to Laura as the most likely to make him bestir himself. I enclosed a copy of my letter to the lawyer to show him how serious the case was, and I represented our removal to Limmeridge as the only compromise which would prevent the danger and distress of Laura's present position from inevitably affecting her uncle as well as herself. At no very distant time, when I had done and had sealed and directed the two envelopes, I went back with the letters to Laura's room to show her that they were written. Has anybody disturbed you? I asked when she opened the door to me. Nobody has knocked, she replied. But I heard someone in the outer room. Was it a man or a woman? A woman. I heard the rustling of her gown. A rustling? Like silk? Yes, like silk. Madame Fosco had evidently been watching outside. The mischief she might do by herself was little to be feared, but the mischief she might do as a willing instrument in her husband's hands was too formidable to be overlooked. What became of the rustling of the gown when you no longer heard it in the anteroom? I inquired. Did you hear it go past your wall along the passage? Yes. I kept still and listened and just heard it. Which way did it go towards your room. I considered again. The sound had not caught my ears, but I was then deeply absorbed in my letters, and I write with a heavy hand and a quill pen, scraping and scratching noisily over the paper. It was more likely that Madame Fosco would hear the scrapings of my pen than that I should hear the rustling of her dress. Another reason, if I had wanted one, for not trusting my letters to the post bag in the hall. Laura saw me thinking. More difficulties, she said wearily. More difficulties and more dangers. No dangers, I replied. Some little difficulty perhaps. I am thinking of the safest way of putting my two letters into Fanny's hands. You have really written them, then? Oh, Marian, run no risks. Pray, pray, run no risks. No, no, no fear. Let me see. What o'clock is it now? It was a quarter to six. There would be time for me to get to the village inn and to come back again before dinner. If I waited till the evening, I might find no second opportunity of safely leaving the house. Keep the key turned in the lock, Laura, I said. And don't be afraid about me. If you hear any inquiries made, call through the door and say that I am gone out for a walk. When shall you be back? Before dinner, without fail. Courage, my love. By this time to morrow you will have a clear headed, trustworthy man acting for your good. Mr. Gilmore's partner is our next best friend to Mr. Gilmore himself. A moment's reflection as soon as I was alone convinced me that I had better not appear in my walking dress. Until I had first discovered what was going on in the lower part of the house. I had not ascertained yet whether Sir Percival was indoors or out. The singing of the canaries in the library and the smell of tobacco smoke that came through the door, which was not closed, told me at once where the Count was. I looked over my shoulder as I passed the doorway and saw to my surprise that he was exhibiting the docility of the birds in his most engagingly polite manner to the housekeeper. He must have specially invited her to see them, for she would never have thought of going into the library of her own accord. The man's slightest actions had a purpose of some kind at the bottom of every one of them. What could be his purpose here? It was no time then to inquire into his motives. I looked about for Madame Fosco next and found her following her favorite circle round and round the fish pond. I was a little doubtful how she would meet me after the outbreak of jealousy of which I had been the cause so short a time since. But her husband had tamed her in the interval, and she now spoke to me with the same civility as usual. My only object in addressing myself to her was to ascertain if she knew what had become of Sir Percival. I contrived to refer to him indirectly, and after a little fencing on either side, she at last mentioned that he had gone out. Which of the horses has he taken? I asked carelessly. None of them, she replied. He went away two hours since on foot. As I understood it, his object was to make fresh inquiries about the woman named Anne Catherick. He appears to be unreasonably anxious about tracing her. Do you happen to know if she is dangerously mad, Miss Halcombe? I do not, Countess. Are you going in? Yes, I think so. I suppose it will soon be time to dress for dinner. We entered the house together. Madame Fosco strolled into the library and closed the door. I went at once to fetch my hat and shawl. Every moment was of importance if I was to get to Fanny at the inn and be back before dinner. When I crossed the hall again, no one was there, and the singing of the birds in the library had ceased. I could not stop to make fresh investigations. I could only assure myself that the way was clear and then leave the house with the two letters safe in my pocket. On my way to the village, I prepared myself for the possibility of meeting Sir Percival as long as I had him to deal with alone. I felt certain of not losing my presence of mind. Any woman who is sure of her own wits is a match at any time for a man who is not sure of his own temper. I had no such fear of Sir Percival as I had of the Count. Instead of fluttering, it had composed me to hear of the errand on which he had gone out. While the tracing of Anne Catherick was the great anxiety that occupied him, Laura and I might hope for some cessation of any active persecution at his hands. Meaning, while Sir Percival is thinking about Anne Catherick, he might leave Laura alone. For our sakes now as well as for Anne's, I hoped and prayed fervently that she might still escape him. I walked on as briskly as the heat would let me till I reached the cross road which led to the village, looking back from time to time to make sure that I was not followed by anyone. Nothing was behind me all the way but an empty country wagon. The noise made by the lumbering wheels annoyed me, and when I found that the wagon took the road to the village as well as myself. I stopped to let it go by and pass out of hearing. As I looked toward it more attentively than before, I thought I detected at intervals the feet of a man walking close behind it, the carter being in front by the side of his horses. The part of the cross road which I had just passed over was so narrow that the wagon coming after me brushed the trees and thickets on either side and I had to wait until it went by before I could test the correctness of my impression. Apparently that impression was wrong, for when the wagon had passed me the road behind it was quite clear. I reached the inn without meeting Sir Percival and without noticing anything more and was glad to find that the landlady had received Fanny with all possible kindness. The girl had a little parlour to sit in away from the noise of the tap room and a clean bedchamber at the top of the house. She began crying again at the sight of me and said, poor soul, truly enough that it was dreadful to feel herself turned out into the world as if she had committed some unpleasant unpardonable fault when no blame could be laid at her door by anybody, not even by her master who had sent her away. Try to make the best of it, Fanny, I said. Your mistress and I will stand your friends and will take care that your character shall not suffer. Now listen to me. I have very little time to spare and I am going to put a great trust in your hands. I wish you to take care of these two letters. The one with the stamp on it you are to put into the post when you reach London to morrow. The other directed to Mr. Fairley. You are to deliver to him yourself as soon as you get home. Keep both the letters about you and give them up to no one. They are of the last importance to your mistress's interests. Fanny, put the letters into the bosom of her dress. There they shall stop Miss, she said, till I have done what you tell me. Mind you are at the station in good time to morrow morning, I continued. And when you see the housekeeper at Limmeridge, give her my compliments and say that you are in my service until Lady Glyde is able to take you back. Back? We may meet again sooner than you think. So keep a good heart and don't miss the 7 o'clock train. Thank you miss. Thank you kindly. It gives one courage to hear your voice again. Please to offer my duty to my lady and say I left all the things as tidy as I could in the time. Oh dear, dear who will dress her for dinner to day? It really breaks my heart, Miss, to think of it. When I got back to the house I had only a quarter of an hour to spare to put myself in order for dinner and to say two words to Laura before I went downstairs. The letters are in Fanny's hands. I whispered to her at the door. Do you mean to join us at dinner? Oh, no, no, not for the world. Has anything happened? Has anyone disturbed you? Yes, just now. Sir Percival. Did he come in? No. He frightened me by a thump on the door outside. I said, who's there? You know, he answered. Will you alter your mind and tell me the rest? You shall, sooner or later. I'll wring it out of you. You know where Anne Catherick is at this moment. Indeed, indeed, I said. I don't. You do, he called back. I'll crush your obstinacy. Mind that. I'll wring it out of you. He went away with those words. Went away, Marian, hardly five minutes ago. He had not found Anne. We were safe for that night. He had not found her yet. You are going downstairs, Marion. Come up again in the evening. Yes, yes. Don't be uneasy if I am a little late. I must be careful not to give offence by leaving them too soon. The dinner bell rang and I hastened away. Sir Percival took Madame Fosco into the dining room and the count gave me his arm. He was hot and flushed and was not dressed with his customary care and completeness. Had he too been out before dinner and been late in getting back? Or was he only suffering from the heat a little more severely than usual? However this might be, he was unquestionably troubled by some secret annoyance or anxiety which with all his powers of deception he was not able entirely to conceal. Through the whole of dinner he was almost as silent as Sir Percival himself and he every now and then looked at his wife with an expression of furtive uneasiness which was quite new in my experience of him. The one social obligation which he seemed to be self possessed enough to perform as carefully as ever was the obligation of being persistently civil and attentive to me. What vile object he has in view I cannot still discover but be the design what it may Invariable politeness towards myself, invariable humility towards Laura, and invariable suppression at any cost of Sir Percival's clumsy violence have been the means he has resolutely and impenetrably used to get to his end ever since he set foot in this house. I suspected it when he first interfered in our favour on the day when the deed was produced in the library, and I feel certain of it now. When Madame Fosco and I rose to leave the table, the Count rose also to accompany us back to the drawing room. What are you going away for? Asked Sir Percival. I mean you, Fosco. I am going away because I have had dinner enough and wine enough, answered the Count. Be so kind, Percival, as to make allowances for my foreign habit of going out with the ladies as well as coming in with them. Nonsense. Another glass of claret won't hurt you. Sit down again like an Englishman. I want half an hour's quiet talk with you over our wine. A quiet talk, Percival, with all my heart. But not now, and not over the winelater in the evening, if you please. Later in the evening. Civil, said Sir Percival savagely. Civil behaviour, upon my soul, to a man in his own house. So it would have been normal for the men to stay behind for a while while the ladies went into the drawing room. So Percival is annoyed with the count that he's not doing that. I had more than once seen him look at the Count uneasily during dinner time and had observed that the Count carefully abstained from looking at him in return. This circumstance, coupled with the host's anxiety for a little quiet talk over the wine and the guest's obstinate resolution not to sit down again at the table, revived in my memory the request which Sir Percival had vainly addressed to his friend earlier in the day. Come out of the library and speak to him. The Count had deferred granting that private interview when it was first asked for in the afternoon, and had again deferred granting it when it was a second time asked for at the dinner table. Whatever the coming subject of discussion between them might be, it was clearly an important subject in Sir Percival's estimation, and perhaps, judging from his evident reluctance to approach it, a dangerous subject as well in the estimation of the count. These considerations occurred to me while we were passing from the dining room to the drawing room. Sir Percival's angry commentary on his friend's desertion of him had not produced the slightest effect. The Count obstinately accompanied us to the tea table, waited a minute or two in the room, went out into the hall and returned with the post bag in his hands. It was then 8 o'clock, the hour at which the letters were always dispatched from Blackwater Park. Have you any letter for the post, Miss Halcombe? He asked, approaching me with the bag. I saw Madame Fosco who was making the tea pause with the sugar tongs in her hand to listen for my answer. No, Count, thank you. No letters today. He gave the bag to the servant who was then in the room, sat down at the piano, and played the air of the lively Neapolitan street song La Mia Carolina twice over. His wife, who was usually the most deliberate of women in all her movements, made the tea as quickly as I could have made it myself, finished her own cup in two minutes and quietly glided out of the room. I rose to follow her example, partly because I suspected her of attempting some treachery upstairs with Laura, partly because I was resolved not to remain alone in the same room with her husband. Before I could get to the door, the count stopped me, and by a request for a cup of tea, I gave him the cup of tea and tried a second time to get away. He stopped me again, this time by going back to the piano and suddenly appealing to me on a musical question in which he declared that the honour of his country was concerned. I vainly pleaded my own total ignorance of music and total want of taste in that direction. He only appealed to me again with a vehemence which set all further protest on my part at defiance. The English and the Germans, he indignantly declared, were always reviling the Italians for their inability to cultivate the higher kinds of music. We were perpetually talking of our oratorios, and they were perpetually talking of their symphonies. Did we forget, and did they forget his immortal friend and countryman Rossini? What was Moses in Egypt but a sublime oratorio which was acted on the stage instead of being coldly sung in a concert room? What was the overture to Guillaume Tell but a symphony under another name? Had I heard Moses in Egypt, would I listen to this, and this and this, and say, if anything more sublimely sacred and grand had ever been composed by mortal man? And without waiting for a word of assent or dissent on my part, looking me hard in the face all the time, he began thundering on the piano and singing to it with loud and lofty enthusiasm, only interrupting himself at intervals to announce to me fiercely the titles of the different pieces of music. Chorus of the Egyptians in the plague of darkness, Ms. Halcombe. Recitativo of Moses with the Tables of the Law, Prayer of Israelites at the Passage of the Red Sea. Aha, aha. Is that sacred? Is that sublime? The piano trembled under his powerful hands, and the teacups on the table rattled as his big bass voice thundered out the notes and his heavy foot beat time on the floor. There was something horrible, something fierce and devilish in the outburst of his delight at his own singing and playing, and in the triumph with which he watched its effect upon me as I shrank nearer and nearer to the door. I was released at last, not by my own efforts, but by Sir Percival's interposition. He opened the dining room door and called out angrily to know what that infernal noise meant. The count instantly got up from the piano. Ah, if Percival is coming, he said, harmony and melody are both at an end. The muse of music, Miss Halcombe, deserts us in dismay, and I, the fat old minstrel, exhale the rest of my enthusiasm in the open air. He stalked out into the veranda, put his hands in his pockets, and resumed the recitativo of Moses sotto voce. In the garden I heard Sir Percival call after him from the dining room window, but he took no notice. He seemed determined not to hear. That long, deferred quiet talk between them was still to be put off, was still to wait for the Count's absolute will and pleasure. He had detained me in the drawing room nearly half an hour from the time when his wife left us. Where had she been, and what had she been doing in that interval? I went upstairs to ascertain, but I made no discoveries. And when I questioned Laura, I found that she had not heard anything. Nobody had disturbed her. No faint rustling of the silk dress had been audible, either in the anteroom or in the passage. It was then 20 minutes to 9. After going to my room to get my journal, I returned and sat with Laura, sometimes writing, sometimes stopping to talk with her. Nobody came near us and nothing happened. We remained together till 10 o'clock. I then rose, said my last cheering words, and wished her good night. She locked her door again after we had arranged that I should come in and see her the first thing in the morning. I had a few sentences more to add to my diary before going to bed myself. And as I went down again to the drawing room after leaving Laura for the last time that weary day, I resolved merely to show myself there, to make my excuses, and then to retire an hour earlier than usual for the night. Sir Percival and the Count and his wife were sitting together. Sir Percival was yawning in an easy chair. The Count was reading. Madame Fosco was fanning herself, strange to say, her face was flushed now. She who never suffered from the heat, was most undoubtedly suffering from it to night. I am afraid, Countess, you are not quite so well as usual. I said. The Very remark I was about to make to you, she replied. You are looking pale, my dear. My dear. It was the first time she had ever addressed me with that familiarity. There was an insolent smile too, on her face when she said the words, I am suffering from one of my bad headaches, I answered coldly, ah, indeed. Want of exercise, I suppose A walk before dinner would have been just the thing for you. She referred to the walk with a strange emphasis. Had she seen me go out? No matter if she had, the letters were safe now in Fanny's hands. Come and have a smoke, Fosco, said Sir Percival, rising with another uneasy look at his friend. With pleasure, Percival, when the ladies have gone to bed, replied the count. Excuse me, Countess, if I set you the example of retiring, I said. The only remedy for such a headache is mine is going to bed. I took my leave. There was the same insolent smile on the woman's face when I shook hands with her. Sir Percival paid no attention to me. He was looking impatiently at Madame Fosco, who showed no signs of leaving the room with me. The Count smiled to himself behind his book. There was yet another delay to that quiet talk with Sir Percival, and the Countess was the impediment this time. 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. 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. 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