Listener (3:10)

Usual from the heat.

Faith Moore (3:11)

And he asks if Marian has any letters to send. And then when Madame Fosco leaves the room, the Count keeps Marian in the room by asking her about music and playing a bunch of songs on the piano really loud. Finally, Marian gets away and goes to Laura's room. But Laura says that Madame Fosco hasn't been there. So Marian goes down to say goodnight. And now Madam Fosco seems overly hot. So Sir Percival again asked to speak with Count Fosco and Fosco says he will talk to him. But once the ladies have gone to bed, Marian says she's going to bed now because she has a headache, but Madame Fosco won't leave. So we left Marian heading up to bed while the Foscos and Sir Percival are still down in the drawing room. Okay, so as I say, I have two quick comments. I'm going to talk for a little bit, but not a lot. And then we're going to dive right into these chapters. So the first comment comes to us from Rebecca Holman. Rebecca writes, I agree with what you said about Sir Percival. I was trying to find a way to put language to it, but I think he's more of a crime of passion guy. The hold Count Fosco has on him is making me super uneasy. Even though he is technically protecting Laura and Marian right now. I think Marian's seal was moved by Madame Fosco. And the second comment comes from Jennifer Schuttel. Jennifer says, clearly Count Fosco was distracting Marian. Could Madame Fosco have run all the way to the village and back in half an hour? I'm positive it was Count Fosco following her earlier behind the cart. We may not understand their motives, but they are Definitely spying. Okay. So, yes, in the last chapter, it really did seem like Count and Madame Fosco were sort of operating in league with each other to spy on Laura and Marian. You know, one of the fun things about a book like this is that we are also the detective in a lot of ways.

Listener (4:59)

Right.

Faith Moore (4:59)

We've talked about how Walter and Marian and even Laura sometimes have been acting as detectives, trying to get to the bott bottom of these various mysteries that keep popping up. But the only people at this point in the story who know that a crime is going to be committed, the only people is us. Right? The reader. The characters in the story don't actually know it at this point unless some of them are planning to commit it. But even then, they don't know how it's all going to go down. So we actually know something that the characters don't, which is that some something is definitely going to happen. And that makes us detectives, too. We are trying to figure out what the crime is going to be, where it's going to come from, and whether or not our heroines will be able to get out of it. And because we have this vantage point that Laura and Marian don't have, we might start putting things together that they don't. Right. For example, as Rebecca and Jennifer are alluding to in their letters, we can put together the fact that Marian thought she saw someone following behind the cart as she went to town, with the fact that Fosco seemed overly hot and kind of disheveled at dinner. And we can deduce that Fosco was the one following her. We might not be right, but that's what I think we're meant to think. That's what Wilkie Collins wants us to think right now, from the evidence. Similarly, from the fact that Laura heard a dress rustling outside her door and the fact that Marian's seal was maybe moved, we can deduce that Madame Fosco was listening at their doors and maybe even tampering with their things for some reason. The fact that Fosco comes up to Marian with the mailbag tells us probably that he knows from Madame Fosco's spying that Marian was writing letters. But he also knows that she didn't put them in the post bag. So when he asks her if she has any letters, he's trying to figure out if she got her letters out of the house in some other way. And when she doesn't give him any letters for the bag, he realizes that.

Listener (6:58)

She must have done that.

Faith Moore (7:00)

So then we can look at Fosco's behavior with Marian in the drawing room.

Listener (7:03)

Where he's like playing all these pieces.

Faith Moore (7:05)

Of music and yelling at her about them. We can assume that he's trying to keep her distracted. And we can put that together with the fact that Madame Fosco comes back also seeming kind of overly hot and disheveled. And we can guess, as Jennifer does, that Madame Fosco maybe tried to go to the village and somehow, like intercept.

Listener (7:24)

Marian's letters or something.

Faith Moore (7:25)

You have to believe that there's some sort of conspiracy going on in order to put all those things together, right? Marian certainly suspects something. She suspects that Fosco and Madame Fosco are spying on them. And she's afraid that there's some unspecified danger that is coming for them in the house. But she's too close to the whole thing. And she doesn't have our certainty that something terrible is going to happen. So even though she's very suspicious of the Foscos, she doesn't come to the same conclusions that we do, necessarily. But all of us, right, we the readers and also Marian and Laura are now pretty convinced, I think, that the Foscos are up to something. It may not actually be the crime that's going to be committed, but they have some reason to want to know what Marian and Laura are up to. And they're in league with each other, right? And going to great lengths to figure it out. And adding to all this is the fact that Marian seems to feel that Madame Fosco is actually really angry about being cut out of the will. And that she holds that against Laura. Here's what Marian says. She says, 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, has not forgiven her niece for innocently standing between her and the legacy of £10,000. Okay, so Madame Fosco has a reason for hating Laura. And Count Fosco is a sort of wily, slippery, cunning sort of man. That's a bad combination. Percival wants money. Only Laura's signature can get him. And he has a secret that he's willing to lock people up for knowing. And he's got a terrible temper. That's not good either. And now Percival clearly wants to talk to Fosco about something alone. And Fosco keeps putting him off. Which is a perfect illustration, actually, of their two characters. Right? Percival is impatient and impetuous and quick to anger. And Fosco is deliberate and thorough, thoughtful, and absolutely cannot be ruffled And Marian has chosen which one of them she fears the most. Right. Even though Fosco has done several things that actually help Laura and Marian, Marian is convinced that Fosco is by far the more dangerous of the two. Here's what she says. She says 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. Meaning Percival is kind of out there in the open. I mean, yes, he has this secret, but essentially, if he's mad, you're gonna know it. If he wants something from you, you're gonna know it. And aside from this big secret that Anne knows, he's not that great at keeping secrets. I mean, handing Laura a paper that's very obviously all folded up and being like, here, sign this. It's not really that subtle, right? He could have talked kindly to her and given some reason why he needed her to sign. And he could have made her believe that he had pay back the loan or whatever. But instead he's like, sign this folded up paper that you can't see. Right. Nothing suspicious here. He's actually much more out in the open, much easier to read in a lot of ways than the Count is. And he can't control his temper. So the minute you cross him, he's yelling at you, and then you know where you stand. So in that respect, Marian is right. Fosco is more dangerous because he can deceive you much more easily. So we're still kind of essentially where we were before. Right. Marian and Laura are waiting to find out if their letters will make it to the lawyer and to Mr. Fairley and if they will help them escape Blackwater park and go back to Limmeridge. Percival wants to talk to Fosco about something, and Fosco feels like they can't talk about it until the ladies are all in bed. Which means it's something he doesn't want Laura and Marian to hear.

Listener (11:13)

Right.

Faith Moore (11:14)

And Madame and Count Fosco are very clearly up to something. We're just not sure what. So let's see if we can find out. Okay, let's read some more. And please don't forget to write to me. I really want to hear what you have to say after this chapter. So please, faithkmoore.com, click on contact or just scroll down into the show notes and click on the link that's there. Please get in touch. I absolutely want to hear your questions and your Thoughts. All right, let's get started with Halcomb's narrative, chapters nine through ten, and the postscript of the Woman in White by Wilkie Collins. It's story time. 9, June 19th. Once safely shut into my own room, I opened these pages and prepared to go on with that part of the day's record which was still left to right. For 10 minutes or more I sat idle with my pen in my hand, thinking over the events of the last 12 hours. When I at last addressed myself to my task, I found a difficulty in proceeding with it which I had never experienced before. In spite of my efforts to fix my thoughts on the matter in hand, they wandered away with the strangest persistency in the one direction of Sir Percival and the Count. And all the interest which I tried to concentrate on my journal centred instead in that private interview between them which had been put off all through the day and which was now to take place in the silence and solitude of the night. So whatever it is that Sir Percival has been trying to say to Count Fosco seems to Marian to be very important to her and Laura's safety. But she doesn't know why or what they want to talk about. In this perverse state of my mind, the recollection of what had passed since the morning would not come back to me, and there was no resource but to close my journal and to get away from it for a little while. I opened the door which led from my bedroom into my sitting room and having passed through, pulled it to again to prevent any accident in case of draft. With the candle left on the dressing table, my sitting room window was wide open and I leaned out listlessly to look at the night. It was dark and quiet. Neither moon nor stars were visible. There was a smell like rain in the still, heavy air and I put my hand out of window. No, the rain was only threatening. It had not come yet. I remained leaning on the window sill for nearly a quarter of an hour, looking out absently into the black darkness and hearing nothing except now and then, the voices of the servants or the distant sound of a closing door in the lower part of the house. Just as I was turning away wearily from the window to go back to the bedroom and make a second attempt to complete the unfinished entry in my journal. I smelt the odor of tobacco smoke stealing towards me on the heavy night air. The next moment I saw a tiny red spark advancing from the farther end of the house. In the pitch darkness I heard no footsteps and I could see nothing but the spark. It travelled along in the night past the window at which I was standing, and stopped opposite my bedroom window, inside which I had left the light burning on the dressing table. The spark remained stationary for a moment, then moved back again in the direction from which it had advanced. As I followed its progress, I saw a second red spark, larger than the first, approaching from the distance, the two men together in the darkness. Remembering who smoked cigarettes and who smoked cigars, I inferred immediately that the Count had come out first to look and listen under my window, and that Sir Percival had afterwards joined him. They must both have been walking on the lawn, or I should certainly have heard Sir Percival's heavy footfall, though the Count's soft step might have escaped me even on the gravel walk. I waited quietly at the window, certain that they could neither of them see me in the darkness of the room.

Listener (15:16)

What's the matter? I heard Sir Percival say in a low voice. Why don't you come in and sit down? I want to see the light out of that window, replied the Count softly. What harm does the light do?

Faith Moore (15:31)

It shows she is not in bed yet.

Listener (15:34)

She is sharp enough to suspect something.

Faith Moore (15:37)

And bold enough to come downstairs and listen if she can get the chance.

Listener (15:42)

Patience, Percival, patience. Humbug.

Faith Moore (15:47)

We are always talking of patience.

Listener (15:50)

I shall talk of something else presently. My good friend, you are on the.

Faith Moore (15:56)

Edge of your domestic precipice, and if.

Listener (15:59)

I let you give the women one other chance, on my sacred word of honour, they will push you over it. What the devil do you mean? We will come to our explanations, Percival, when the light is out of that window, and when I have had one.

Faith Moore (16:19)

Little look at the rooms on each.

Listener (16:22)

Side of the library and a peep at the staircase as well.

Faith Moore (16:28)

They slowly moved away, and the rest of the conversation between them, which had been conducted throughout in the same low tones, ceased to be audible. It was no matter. I had heard enough to determine me on justifying the Count's opinion of my sharpness and my courage before the red sparks were out of sight in the darkness. I had made up my mind that there should be a listener when those two men sat down to their talk, and that listener, in spite of all the Count's precautions to the contrary, should be myself. I wanted but one motive to sanction the act to my own conscience and to give me courage enough for performing it. And that motive I had Laura's honour, Laura's happiness, Laura's life itself might depend on my quick ears and my faithful memory. To night I had heard the Count say that he meant to examine the rooms on each side of the library and the staircase as well. Before he entered on any explanation with Sir Percival. This expression of his intentions Was necessarily sufficient to inform me that the library was the room in which he proposed that the conversation should take place. The one moment of time which was long enough to bring me to that conclusion. Was also the moment which showed me a means of baffling his precautions. Or, in other words, of hearing what he and Sir Percival said to each other. Without the risk of descending at all into the lower regions of the house. In speaking of the rooms on the ground floor, I have mentioned, incidentally, the veranda outside them. On which they all opened by means of French windows extending from the cornice to the floor. So a cornice is an ornamental molding just below the ceiling. So these are floor to ceiling windows, essentially, which open out onto a veranda. The top of this veranda was flat, the rainwater being carried off from it by pipes into tanks. Which helped to supply the house. On the narrow leaden roof which ran along past the bedrooms. And which was rather less, I should think, than three feet below the sills of the window, a row of flower pots was arranged with wide intervals between each pot, the whole being protected from falling in high winds by an ornamental iron railing along the edge of the roof. The plan which had now occurred to me. Was to get out at my sitting room window onto this roofto creep along noiselessly till I reached that part of it which was immediately over the library window. And to crouch down between the flower pots with my ear against the outer railing so Marian can get out of her own window onto the roof of the veranda. And if she crouches on the roof right above where the library windows are, she might be able to hear Sir.

Listener (19:04)

Percival and the Count talking.

Faith Moore (19:07)

If Sir Percival and the Count sat and smoked to night. As I had seen them sitting and smoking many nights before, with their chairs closed at the open window. And their feet stretched on the zinc garden seats which were placed under the veranda. Every word they said to each other above a whisperand no long conversation, as we all know by experience, can be carried on in a whisper. Must inevitably reach my ears. If, on the other hand, they chose tonight to sit far back inside the room, Then the chances were that I should hear little or nothing. And in that case I must run the far more serious risk. Of trying to outwit them downstairs. Strongly, as I was fortified in my resolution by the desperate nature of our situation, I hoped most fervently that I might escape this Last emergency. My courage was only a woman's courage, after all. And it was very near to failing me when I thought of trusting myself on the ground floor at the dead of night, within reach of Sir Percival and the Count. I went softly back to my bedroom to try the safer experiment of the veranda roof. First, a complete change in my dress was imperatively necessary for many reasons. I took off my silk gown to begin with, because the slightest noise from it on that still night might have betrayed me. I next removed the white and cumbersome parts of my underclothing. And replaced them by a petticoat of dark flannel. Over this I put my black traveling cloak and pulled the hood onto my head. In my ordinary evening costume, I took up the room of three men. At least in my present dress, when it was held close about me. No man could have passed through the narrowest spaces more easily than I. The little breadth left on the roof of the veranda. Between the flower pots on one side and the wall and the windows of the house on the other, made this a serious consideration. If I knocked anything down, if I made the least noise, who could say what the consequences might be? I only waited to put the matches near the candle before I extinguished it and groped my way back into the sitting room. I locked that door as I had locked my bedroom door, then quietly got out of the window and cautiously set my feet on the leaden roof of the veranda. My two rooms were at the inner extremity of the new wing of the house in which we all lived, and I had five windows to pass. Before I could reach the position it was necessary to take up immediately over the library. So she's outside on the roof of the veranda, and she has to pass by several windows which aren't her own windows, before she gets to where she wants to be to listen to the conversation. The first window belonged to a spare room which was empty. The second and third windows belonged to Laura's room. The fourth window belonged to Sir Percival's room. The fifth belonged to the Countess's room. The others, by which it was not necessary for me to pass. Were the windows of the Count's dressing room, of the bathroom, and of the second empty spare room. No sound reached my ears. The black, blinding darkness of the night was all around me when I first stood on the veranda, except at that part of it, which Madame Fosco's window overlooked. There, at the very place above the library to which my course was directed. There I saw a gleam of light The Countess was not yet in bed. It was too late to draw back. It was no time to wait. I determined to go on at all hazards and trust for security to my own caution and to the darkness of the night. For Laura's sake, I thought to myself as I took the first step forward on the roof, with one hand holding my cloak close round me and the other groping against the wall of the house. It was better to brush close by the wall than to risk striking my feet against the flower pots within a few inches of me on the other side. I passed the dark window of the spare room, trying the leaden roof at each step with my foot before I risked resting my weight on it. I passed the dark windows of Laura's room. God bless her and keep her to night. I passed the dark window of Sir Percival's room. Then I waited a moment, knelt down with my hands to support me, and so crept to my position under the protection of the low wall between the bottom of the lighted window and and the veranda roof. When I ventured to look up at the window itself, I found that the top of it only was open and that the blind inside was drawn down. While I was looking, I saw the shadow of Madame Fosco pass across the white field of the blind, then pass slowly back again. Thus far she could not have heard me, or the shadow would surely have stopped at the blind, even if she.

Listener (23:49)

Had wanted courage enough to open the.

Faith Moore (23:50)

Window and look out. I placed myself sideways against the railing of the veranda, first ascertaining by touching them, the position of the flower pots on either side of me. There was room enough for me to sit between them and no more. The sweet scented leaves of the flower on my left hand just brushed my cheek as I lightly rested my head against the railing. The first sounds that reached me from below were caused by the opening or closing, most probably, the latter, of three doors in succession, the doors, no doubt, leading into the hall and into the rooms on each side of the library which the Count had pledged himself to examine. The first object that I saw was the red spark again, travelling out into the night from under the veranda, moving away towards my window, waiting a moment, and then returning to the place from which it had set out.

Listener (24:42)

The devil take your restlessness. When do you mean to sit down?

Faith Moore (24:47)

Growled Sir Percival's voice beneath me.

Listener (24:50)

Oof, how hot it is.

Faith Moore (24:53)

Said the Count, sighing and puffing wearily. His exclamation was followed by the scraping of the garden chairs on the tiled pavement under the veranda. The welcome sound, which told me they were going to sit close at the window as usual. So far the chance was mine. The clock in the turret struck the quarter to 12. As they settled themselves in their chairs, I heard Madame Fosco through the open window yawning, and saw her shadow pass once more across the white field of the blind. Meanwhile, Sir Percival and the count began talking together below, now and then dropping their voices a little lower than usual, but never sinking them to a whisper. The strangeness and peril of my situation, the dread which I could not master of Madame Fosco's lighted window, made it difficult, almost impossible for me at first to keep my presence of mind and to fix my attention solely on the conversation beneath. For some minutes I could only succeed in gathering the general substance of it. I understood the count to say that the one window alight was his wife's, that the ground floor of the house was quite clear, and that they might now speak to each other without fear of accident. Sir Percival merely answered by upbraiding his friend with having unjustifiably slighted his wishes and neglected his interests all through the day. The Count thereupon defended himself by declaring that he had been beset by certain troubles and anxieties which had absorbed all his attention, and that the only safe time to come to an explanation was a time when they could feel certain of being neither interrupted nor overheard.

Listener (26:29)

We are at a serious crisis in our affairs, Percival, he said, and if we are to decide on the future at all, we must decide secretly to night.

Faith Moore (26:44)

That sentence of the Count's was the first which my attention was ready enough to master exactly as it was spoken. From this point, with certain breaks and interruptions, my whole interest fixed breathlessly on the conversation, and I followed it with word for word.

Listener (27:00)

Crisis, repeated Sir Percival. It's a worse crisis than you think. For I can tell you so, I should suppose, from your behavior for the last day or two, returned the other coolly. But wait a little before we advance. To what? I do not know. Let us be quite certain of what I do. No. Let us first see if I am right about the time that is past, before I make any proposal to you for the time that is to come. Stop till I get the brandy and water. Have some yourself. Thank you, Percival. The cold water.

Faith Moore (27:42)

With pleasure.

Listener (27:43)

A spoon and the basin of sugar. O Sucre, my friend. Nothing more.

Faith Moore (27:51)

Eau Sucre is French for sugar water.

Listener (27:55)

Sugar and water for a man of your age. There. Mix your sickly mess. You foreigners are all alike. Now listen Percival, I will put our position plainly before you, as I understand it. And you shall say if I am right or wrong. You and I both came back to this house from the continent with our affairs very seriously embarrassed.

Faith Moore (28:23)

Meaning both of them are in need of money. Cut it short.

Listener (28:27)

I wanted some thousands and you some hundreds. And without the money, we were both in a fair way to go to the dogs together. There's the situation. Make what you can of it. Go on.

Faith Moore (28:38)

So Sir Percival is thousands of pounds in debt.

Listener (28:40)

And Count Fosco is hundreds of pounds in debt. Well, Percival, in your own solid English words, you wanted some thousands and I wanted some hundreds. And the only way of getting them was for you to raise the money for your own necessity with a small margin beyond for my poor little hundreds. By the help of your wife. What did I tell you about your wife on our way to England? And what did I tell you again when we had come here and when I had seen for myself the sort of woman Miss Halcombe was? How should I know? You talked 19 to the dozen, I suppose, just as usual. Human ingenuity, my friend, has hitherto only discovered two ways in which a man can manage a woman. One way is to knock her down. A method largely adopted by the brutal lower orders of the people, but utterly abhorrent to the refined and educated classes above them. The other way, much longer, much more difficult, but in the end not less certain, is never to accept a provocation at a woman's hands. It holds with animals, it holds with children. And it holds with women who are nothing but children grown up. Quiet. Resolution is the one quality the animals, the children and the women all fail in. If they can once shake this superior quality in their master, they get the better of him. If they can never succeed in disturbing it, he gets the better of them. I said to you, remember that plain truth when you want your wife to help you to the money. I said, remember it doubly and trebly in the presence of your wife's sister, Miss Halcombe, have you remembered it not once in all.

Faith Moore (31:17)

The implications that have twisted themselves about.

Listener (31:21)

Us in this house. Every provocation that your wife and her sister could offer to you, you instantly accepted from them. Your mad temper. Lost the signature to the deed, lost the ready money set. Miss Halcomb writing to the lawyer for the first time. First time. Has she written again? Yes, she has written again.

Faith Moore (31:49)

Today a chair fell on the pavement of the Verandafell with a crash, as if it had been kicked down. It was well for me that the count's revelation roused Sir Percival's anger, as it did on hearing that I had been once more discovered, I started so that the railing against which I leaned cracked again. Had he followed me to the inn? Did he infer that I must have given my letters to Fanny when I told him I had none for the post bag? Even if it was so, how could he have examined the letters when they had gone straight from my hand to the bosom of the girl's dress?

Listener (32:25)

Thank your lucky star, I heard the.

Faith Moore (32:29)

Count say next, that you have me.

Listener (32:32)

In the house to undo the harm as fast as you do it. Thank your lucky star that I said no when you were mad enough to talk of turning the key today on Miss Halcombe, as you turned it in your mischievous folly on your wife. Where are your eyes? Can you look at Miss Halcombe and not see that she has the foresight and the resolution of a man? With that woman for my friend, I would snap these fingers of mine at the world. With that woman for my enemy, I, with all my brains and experience, I, Fosco, cunning as the devil himself, as you have told me hundreds of times, I walk in your English phrase upon eggshells. And this grand creature, I drink her health in my sugar and water. This grand creature who stands in the strength of her love and her courage, firm as a rock between us two, and that poor flimsy, pretty blond wife of yours, this magnificent woman whom I admire with all my soul, though I oppose her in your interests and in mine. You drive to extremities as if she was no sharper and no bolder than the rest of her sex. Percival, Percival, you deserve to fail, and you have failed. There was a pause. I write the villain's words about myself.

Faith Moore (34:26)

Because I mean to remember them, because I hope yet for the day when I may speak out once for all in his presence and cast them back.

Listener (34:34)

One by one in his teeth.

Faith Moore (34:36)

Sir Percival was the first to break the silence again.

Listener (34:39)

Yes, yes, bully and bluster as much as you like, he said sulkily. The difficulty about the money is not the only difficulty.

Faith Moore (34:48)

You would be for taking strong measures.

Listener (34:50)

With the women yourself if you knew as much as I do. We will come to that second difficulty all in good time, rejoined the count. You may confuse yourself, Percival, as much as you please, but you shall not confuse me.

Faith Moore (35:09)

Let the question of the money be settled first.

Listener (35:13)

Have I convinced your obstinacy?

Faith Moore (35:16)

Have I shown you that your temper.

Listener (35:18)

Will not let you help yourself? Or must I go back and as you put it in your dear, straightforward English bully and bluster a little more.

Faith Moore (35:30)

So Fosco is saying that the long and the short of it is that they need money. And they were going to get it from Laura by having her sign over some of her fortune. But because Percival can't keep his temper and manage his wife the way that Fosco manages his wife, they now don't have the money that they need.

Listener (35:46)

Pooh. It's easy enough to grumble at me. Say what is to be done? That's a little harder, is it? Bah. This is what is to be done. You give up all direction in the business from tonight. You leave it for the future in my hands only. I am talking to a practical British man. Huh. Well, practical. Will that do for you? What do you propose if I leave it all to you? Answer me first. Is it to be in my hands or not? Say it is in your hands. What then? A few questions, Percival. To begin with, I must wait a little yet to let circumstances guide me. And I must know in every possible way what those circumstances are likely to be. There is no time to lose.

Faith Moore (36:48)

I have told you already that Ms.

Listener (36:50)

Halcombe has written to the lawyer today for the second time. How did you find it out? What did she say? If I told you, Percival, we should only come back at the end to where we are now. Enough that I have found it out. And the finding has caused that trouble and anxiety which made me so inaccessible to you all through to day. Now, to refresh my memory about your affairs. It is some time since I talked them over with you. The money has been raised in the absence of your wife's signature by means of bills at three months. Raised at a cost that makes my poverty stricken foreign hair stand on end. To think of it when the bills are due. Is there really and truly no earthly way of paying them but by the help of your wife? None. What? Have you no money at the bankers? A few hundreds when I want as many thousands. Have you no other security to borrow upon? Not a shred. What have you actually got with your wife? At the present moment, nothing but the interest of her. £20,000. Barely enough to pay our daily expenses. What do you expect from your wife? 3,000 a year when her uncle dies? A fine fortune, Percival. What sort of man is the uncle? Old? No, neither old nor young. A good tempered, freely living man. Married? No, I think my wife told me. Not married? Of course not. If he was married and had a son, Lady Glyde would not be next.

Faith Moore (38:50)

Heir to the property.

Listener (38:51)

I'll tell you what he is. He's a maudlin, twaddling, selfish fool and bores everybody who comes near him about the state of his health. Men of that sort, Percival, live long and marry malevolently when you least expect it. I don't give you much, my friend, for your chance. Of the 3,000 a year. Is there nothing more that comes to you from your wife? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Absolutely nothing. Except in the case of her death. Aha. In the case of her death.

Faith Moore (39:33)

There was another pause. The count moved from the veranda to the gravel walk outside. I knew that he had moved by his voice.

Listener (39:43)

The rain has come at last, I heard him say.

Faith Moore (39:47)

It had come. The state of my cloak showed that it had been falling thickly for some time. The count went back under the veranda. I heard the chair creak beneath his weight as he sat down in it again.

Listener (40:00)

Well, Percival, he said, and in the case of Lady Glyde's death, what do you get then? If she leaves no children, which she is likely to do. Which she is not in the least likely to do. Yes. Why, then I get her £20,000 paid down. Paid down.

Faith Moore (40:29)

They were silent once more as their voices ceased. Madame Fosco's shadow darkened the blind again. Instead of passing this time it remained for a moment, quite still. I saw her fingers steal round the corner of the blind and draw it on one side. The dim white outline of her face looking out straight over me, appeared behind the window. I kept still, shrouded from head to foot in my black cloak. The rain, which was fast wetting me, dripped over the glass, blurred it and prevented her from seeing anything.

Listener (41:05)

More rain, I heard her say to herself.

Faith Moore (41:08)

She dropped the blind and I breathed again freely. The talk went on below me, the count resuming it this time.

Listener (41:17)

Percival, do you care about your wife? Fosco? That's rather a downright question. I am a downright man, and I repeat it. Why the devil do you look at me in that way? You won't answer me? Well then, let us say your wife dies before the summer is out. Drop it, Fosco. Let us say your wife dies. Drop it, I tell you. In that case you would gain £20,000 and you would lose. I should lose the chance of 3,000 a year? The remote chance, Percival. The remote chance only. And you want money at once. In your position the gain is certain, the loss doubtful. Speak for yourself as well as for me. Some of the money I want has been borrowed for you. And if you come to gain my wife's death would be £10,000 in your wife's pocket. Sharp as you are, you seem to have conveniently forgotten Madame Fosco's legacy. Don't look at me that way. I won't have it. But with your looks and your questions upon my soul, you make my flesh creep. Your flesh? Does flesh mean conscience in English? I speak of your wife death as.

Faith Moore (42:50)

I speak of a possibility.

Listener (42:53)

Why not? The respectable lawyers who scribble, scrabble your deeds and your wills look the deaths of living people in the face. Do lawyers make your flesh creep? Why should I? It is my business tonight to clear up your position beyond the possibility of mistake. And I have now done it. Here is your position. If your wife lives, you pay those bills with her signature to the parchment. If your wife dies, you pay them with her death.

Faith Moore (43:33)

As he spoke, the light in Madame Fosco's room was extinguished and the whole second floor of the house was now sunk in darkness. Talk, talk, grumbled Sir Percival.

Listener (43:46)

One would think to hear you that my wife's signature to the deed was got already. You have left the matter in my.

Faith Moore (43:54)

Hands, retorted the Count. And I have more than two months.

Listener (43:59)

Before me to turn round in meaning.

Faith Moore (44:02)

In two months the loans that Sir Percival took out will come due with interest. So Fosco's got two months to figure out how to get them out of this situation.

Listener (44:10)

Say no more about it, if you please. For the present, when the bills are due, you will see for yourself if my talk talk is worth something or if it is not. And now, Percival, having done with the money matters for to night, I can place my attention at your disposal if you wish to consult me on that second difficulty which has mixed itself up with your little embarrassments and which has so altered you for the worse that I hardly know you. Again speak, my friend, and pardon me if I shock your fiery national tastes by mixing myself a second glass of sugar and water. It's very well to say speak, replied.

Faith Moore (45:02)

Sir Percival in a far more quiet and more polite tone than he had yet adopted.

Listener (45:06)

But it is not so easy to know how to begin. Shall I help you?

Faith Moore (45:12)

Suggested the Count.

Listener (45:14)

Shall I give this private difficulty of yours a name?

Faith Moore (45:19)

What if I call it Anne Catherick?

Listener (45:24)

Look here, Fosco, you and I have known each other for a long time, and if you have helped me out of one or two scrapes before this, I have done the best I could.

Faith Moore (45:32)

To help you in return.

Listener (45:34)

As far as money would go. We have made as many friendly sacrifices on both sides as men could. But we have had our secrets from each other, of course, haven't we? You have had a secret from me, Percival. There is a skeleton in your cupboard.

Faith Moore (45:51)

Here at Blackwater park that has peeped.

Listener (45:54)

Out in these last few days at other people besides yourself. Well, suppose it has. If it doesn't concern you, you needn't be curious about it, need you? Do I look curious about it? Yes, you do. So. So my face speaks the truth then. What an immense foundation of good there must be in the nature of a man who arrives at my age and whose face has not yet lost the.

Faith Moore (46:25)

Habit of speaking the truth.

Listener (46:28)

Come, Glyde, let us be candid one with the other. This secret of yours has sought me. I have not sought it.

Faith Moore (46:40)

Let us say I am curious.

Listener (46:43)

Do you ask me, as your old friend, to respect your secret and to leave it once for all in your own keeping? Yes, that's just what I do ask. Then my curiosity is at an end. It dies in me from this moment. Do you really mean that? What makes you doubt me? I have had some experience, Fosco, of your roundabout ways. And I am not so sure that you won't worm it out of me after all.

Faith Moore (47:18)

So Anne Catherick is somehow wrapped up in Percival's troubles. But Vosco doesn't know why or what Anne has to do with Percival at all. So it's part of the situation that is Percival's alone. The chair below suddenly creaked again. I felt the trellis work pillar under me shake from top to bottom. The Count had started to his feet and had struck it with his hand in indignation.

Listener (47:41)

Percival, Percival.

Faith Moore (47:44)

He cried passionately.

Listener (47:46)

Do you know me no better than that? Has all your experience shown you nothing of my character? Yet I am a man of the antique type. I am capable of the most exalted acts of virtue when I have the chance of performing them. It has been the misfortune of my life that I have had few chances. My conception of friendship is sublime. Is it my fault that your skeleton has peeped out at me? Why do I confess my curiosity, you poor superficial Englishman? It is to magnify my own self control. I could draw your secret out of you if I liked. As I draw this finger out of the palm of my hand, you know I could. But you have appealed to my friendship. And the duties of friendship are sacred to me. See, I trample my base curiosity under my feet. My exalted sentiments lift me above it. Recognize them, Percival. Imitate them, Percival. Shake hands. I forgive you.

Faith Moore (49:05)

His voice faltered over the last Words faltered, as if he were actually shedding tears. Sir Percival confusedly attempted to excuse himself, but the Count was too magnanimous to listen to him.

Listener (49:18)

No, he said. When my friend has wounded me, I can pardon him without apologies. Tell me in plain words. Do you want my help? Yes. Badly enough. And you can ask for it without compromising yourself? I can try, at any rate. Try, then. Well, this is how it stands. I told you today that I had done my best to find Anne Catherick and failed. Yes, you did, Fosco. I am a lost man if I don't find her. Ha. Is it so serious as that?

Faith Moore (50:00)

A little stream of light traveled out under the veranda and fell over the gravel walk. The count had taken the lamp from the inner part of the room to see his friend clearly by the light of it.

Listener (50:12)

Yes, he said. Your face speaks the truth this time. Serious indeed. As serious as the money matters themselves. More serious. As true as I sit here. More serious.

Faith Moore (50:28)

The light disappeared again and the talk went on.

Listener (50:31)

I showed you the letter to my wife that Anne Catherick hid in the sand, Sir Percival continued. There's no boasting in that letter, Fosco. She does know the secret. Say as little as possible, Percival, in my presence. Of the secret, does she know it from you? No. From her mother. Two women in possession of your private mind. Bad, bad, bad. My friend, one question here before we go any farther. The motive of your shutting up the daughter in the asylum is now plain enough to me. But the manner of her escape is not quite so clear. Do you suspect the people in charge of her of closing their eyes purposely at the instance of some enemy who could afford to make it worth their while?

Faith Moore (51:21)

Meaning? Does Anne Catherick have some sort of accomplice who led her out of the.

Listener (51:25)

Asylum on purpose to hurt Ser Percival somehow? No. She was the best behaved patient they had. And like fools, they trusted her. She's just mad enough to be shut up and just sane enough to ruin me when she's at large. If you understand that. I do understand it. Now, Percival, come at once to the point and then I shall know what to do. Where is the danger of your position at the present moment? Anne Catherick is in this neighbourhood and in communication with Lady Glyde. There's the danger plain enough who can read the letter she hid in the sand and not see that my wife is in possession of the secret? Deny it as she may. One moment, Percival. If Lady Glyde does know the secret, she must know also that it is A compromising secret for you as your wife. Surely it is her interest to keep it. Is it? I am coming to that. It might be her interest if she cared two straws about me. But I happen to be an encumbrance in the way of another man. She was in love with him before she married me. She's in love with him now. An infernal vagabond of a drawing master named Hartright. My dear friend, what is there extraordinary in that? They are all in love with some other man who gets the first of a woman's heart. In all my experience, I have never yet met with the man who was number one. Number two, sometimes number three, four, five. Often number one. Never. He exists, of course, but I have not met with him. Wait. I haven't done yet. Who do you think helped Anne Catherick to get the start when the people from the madhouse were after her? Hartright. Who do you think saw her again in Cumberland?

Faith Moore (53:33)

Hartright.

Listener (53:35)

Both times he spoke to her alone. Stop. Don't interrupt me. The scoundrel's as sweet on my wife as she is on him. He knows the secret and she knows the secret. Once let them both get together again and it's her interest and his interest to turn their information against me. Gently, Percival, gently. Are you insensible to the virtue of Lady Glyde? That for the virtue of Lady Glyde? I believe in nothing about her but her money. Don't you see how the case stands? She might be harmless enough by herself, but if she and that vagabond Hartright. Yes. Yes, I see. Where is Mr. Hartright? Out of the country. If he means to keep a whole skin on his bones, I recommend him not to come back in a hurry. Are you sure he is out of the country? Certain. I had him watched from the time he left Cumberland to the time he sailed. Oh, I've been careful, I can tell you. Anne Catherick lived with some people at a farmhouse near Limmeridge. I went there myself after she had given me the slip and made sure that they knew nothing. I gave her mother a form of letter to write to Miss Halcombe, exonerating me from my bad motive in putting her under restraint. I've spent, I'm afraid to say how muchin trying to trace her. And in spite of it all, she turns up here and escapes me on my own property. How do I know who else may see her? Who else may speak to her? That prying scoundrel Hartright may come back without my knowing it. And May make use of her to morrow. Not he Percival.

Faith Moore (55:15)

While I am on the spot.

Listener (55:17)

And while that woman is in the neighbourhood. I will answer for our laying hands on her before Mr. Hartright. Even if he does come back. I see. Yes. Yes, I see. The finding of Anne Catherick is the first necessity. Make your mind easy about the rest. Your wife is here under your thumb. Ms. Halcombe is inseparable from her and is therefore under your thumb also. And Mr. Hartright is out of the country. This invisible Anne of yours is all we have to think of for the present. Have you made your inquiries? Yes. I have been to her mother. I have ransacked the village and all to no purpose. Is her mother to be depended on? Yes. She has told your secret once. She won't tell it again. Why not? Are her own interests concerned in keeping it as well as yours? Yes, deeply concerned. I am glad to hear it, Percival. For your sake. Don't be discouraged my friend. Our money matters as I told you leave me plenty of time to turn around in and I may search for Anne Catherick to morrow to better purpose than you. One last question before we go to bed. What is is When I went to the boat house to tell Lady Glyde that the little difficulty of her signature was put off. Accident took me there in time to see a strange woman parting in a very suspicious manner. From your wife. But accident did not bring me near enough to see this same woman's face plainly. I must know how to recognize our invisible Anne. What is she like? Like? Come, I will tell you in two words. She's a sickly likeness of my wife.

Faith Moore (57:28)

The chair creaked and the pillar shook.

Listener (57:31)

Once more the count was on his feet again, this time in astonishment. What?

Faith Moore (57:39)

He exclaimed eagerly.

Listener (57:41)

Fancy my wife after a bad illness with a touch of something wrong in her head. And there's Anne Catherick for you, answered Sir Percival. Are they related to each other? Not a bit of it. And yet so like. Yes, so like. What are you laughing about?

Faith Moore (58:02)

There was no answer and no sound of any kind. The count was laughing in his smooth silent internal way.

Listener (58:10)

What are you laughing about?

Faith Moore (58:12)

Reiterated Sir Percival?

Listener (58:15)

Perhaps my own fancies. My good friend. Allow me my Italian humor. Do I not come of the illustrious nation which invented the exhibition of punch?

Faith Moore (58:28)

Punch is a sort of humorous puppet.

Listener (58:31)

Well, well, well. I shall know Anne Catherick when I see her. And so enough for to night. Make your mind easy, Percival. Sleep my son, the sleep of the just. And see what I will do for you when daylight comes. To help us both. I have my projects and my plans here in my big head. You shall pay those bills and find Anne Catherick my sacred word of honour on it. You shall. Am I a friend to be treasured in the best corner of your heart? Or am I not? Am I worth those loans of money which you so delicately reminded me of? A little while, since whatever you do never wound me in my sentiments any more. Recognize them, Percival. Imitate them, Percival. I forgive you Again. I shake hands again. Good night.

Faith Moore (59:34)

Not another word was spoken. I heard the Count close the library door. I heard Sir Percival barring up the window shutters. It had been raining, raining all the time. I was cramped by my position and chilled to the bones when I first tried to move. The effort was so painful to me that I was obliged to desist. I tried a second time and succeeded in rising to my knees on the wet roof. As I crept to the wall and raised myself against it, I looked back and saw the window of the Count's dressing room gleam into light. My sinking courage flickered up in me again and kept my eyes fixed on his window as I stole my way back step by step past the wall of the house. The clock struck the quarter after one when I laid my hands on the windowsill of my own room. I had seen nothing and heard nothing which could lead me to suppose that my retreat had been discovered. 10, June 20. 8:00. The sun is shining in a clear sky. I have not been near my bed. I have not once closed my weary, wakeful eyes from the same window at which I looked out into the darkness of last night. I look out now at the bright stillness of the morning. I count the hours that have passed since I escaped to the shelter of this room by my own sensations. And those hours seem like weeks. How short a time. And yet how long to me since I sank down in the darkness here on the floor, drenched to the skin, cramped in every limb, cold to the bones. A useless, helpless, panic stricken creature. I hardly know when I roused myself. I hardly know when I groped my way back to the bedroom and lighted the candle and searched with a strange ignorance at first of where to look for them, for dry clothes to warm me. The doing of these things is in my mind. But not the time when they were done. Can I even remember when the chilled, cramped feeling left me and the throbbing heat came in its place? Surely it was before the sun rose. Yes, I heard the clock strike three. I remember the time by the sudden brightness and clearness, the feverish Strain and excitement of all my faculties which came with it. I remember my resolution to control myself, to wait patiently, hour after hour, till the chance offered of removing Laura from this horrible place without the danger of immediate discovery and pursuit. I remember the persuasion settling itself in my mind that the words those two men had said to each other would furnish us not only with our justification for leaving the house, but with our weapons of defence against them as well. I recall the impulse that awakened in me to preserve those words in writing exactly as they were spoken, while the time was my own and while my memory vividly retained them. All this I remember plainly. There is no confusion in my head yet. The coming in here from the bedroom with my pen and ink and paper before sunrise. The sitting down at the widely opened window to get all the air I could to cool me. The ceaseless writing faster and faster, hotter and hotter, driving on more and more wakefully, all through the dreadful interval before the house was astir again. How clearly I recall it. From the beginning by candlelight to the end on the page before this, in the sunshine of the new day. Why do I sit here still? Why do I weary my hot eyes and my burning head by writing more? Why not lie down and rest myself and try to quench the fever that consumes me in sleep? I dare not attempt it. A fear beyond all other fears has got possession of me. I am afraid of this heat that parches my skin. I am afraid of the creeping and throbbing that I feel in my head. If I lie down now, how do I know that I may have the sense and the strength to rise again? Oh, the rain, the rain. The cruel rain that chilled me last night. Nine o'clock. Was it nine struck or eight?

Listener (63:49)

Nine, surely.

Faith Moore (63:51)

I am shivering again, shivering from head to foot in the summer air. Have I been sitting here asleep? I don't know what I've been doing. Oh, my God.

Listener (64:01)

Am I going to be ill?

Faith Moore (64:03)

Ill at such a time as this? My head I am sadly afraid of. My head I can write, but the.

Listener (64:11)

Lines all run together.

Faith Moore (64:13)

I see the words. Laura, I can write.

Listener (64:17)

Laura and see I write it. Eight or nine.

Faith Moore (64:22)

Which was it?

Listener (64:24)

So cold, so cold.

Faith Moore (64:27)

Oh, that rain last night. And the strokes of the clock. The strokes I can't count, keep striking in my head. At this place the entry in the diary ceases to be legible. The two or three lines which follow contain fragments of words only mingled with blots and scratches of the pen. The last marks on the paper bear some resemblance to the first two letters. L& A of the name of Lady Glyde. On the next page of the diary, another entry appears. It is in a man's handwriting, large.

Listener (65:07)

Bold and firmly regular. And the date is June 21.

Faith Moore (65:13)

It contains these lines. Postscript by a sincere friend.

Listener (65:21)

The illness of our excellent Miss Halcombe has afforded me the opportunity of enjoying an unexpected intellectual pleasure. I refer to the perusal which I have just completed of this interesting diary.

Faith Moore (65:38)

There are many hundred pages.

Listener (65:40)

Here I can lay my hand on my heart and declare that every page.

Faith Moore (65:46)

Has charmed, refreshed, delighted me.

Listener (65:50)

To a man of my sentiments, it is unspeakably gratifying to be able to.

Faith Moore (65:56)

Say this admirable woman.

Listener (66:00)

I allude to Miss Halcombe. Stupendous effort. I referred to the diary. Yes, these pages are amazing. The tact which I find here, the discretion, the rare courage, the wonderful power of memory, the accurate observation of character, the easy grace of style, the charming outbursts of womanly feeling have all inexpressibly increased my admiration of this sublime creature, of this magnificent Marian. The presentation of my own character is masterly in the extreme. I certify with my whole heart to the fidelity of the portrait. I feel how vivid an impression I must have produced to have been painted in such strong, such rich, such massive colours, as I lament afresh the cruel necessity which sets our interests at variance and opposes us to each other under happier circumstances. How worthy I should have been of Miss Halcombe. How worthy Miss Halcombe would have been of me.

Faith Moore (67:19)

The sentiments which animate my heart assure me that the lines I have just.

Listener (67:24)

Written express a profound truth.

Faith Moore (67:28)

Those sentiments exalt me above all merely personal considerations.

Listener (67:33)

I bear witness in the most disinterested manner to the excellence of the stratagem by which this unparalleled woman surprised the private interview between Percival and myself, also to the marvelous accuracy of her report of the whole conversation from its beginning to its end. Those sentiments have induced me to offer.

Faith Moore (67:57)

To the unimpressionable doctor who attends on.

Listener (68:00)

Her my vast knowledge of chemistry and my luminous experience of the more subtle resources which medical and magnetic science have placed at the disposal of mankind. He has hitherto declined to avail himself of my assistance. Miserable man.

Faith Moore (68:18)

Finally, those sentiments dictate these grateful, sympathetic.

Listener (68:25)

Paternal lines which appear in this.

Faith Moore (68:29)

I close the book.

Listener (68:31)

My strict sense of propriety restores it, by the hands of my wife, to its place on the writer's table. Events are hurrying me away. Circumstances are guiding me to serious issues. Vast perspectives of success unroll themselves before my eyes.

Faith Moore (68:49)

I accomplish my destiny with a calmness.

Listener (68:52)

Which is terrible to myself. Nothing but the homage of my admiration is my own. I deposit it with respectful tenderness at the feet of Miss Halcombe I breathe.

Faith Moore (69:06)

My wishes for her recovery.

Listener (69:08)

I condole with her on the inevitable failure of every plan that she has formed for her sister's benefit. At the same time, I entreat her.

Faith Moore (69:19)

To believe that the information which I have derived from her diary will in.

Listener (69:23)

No respect help me to contribute to that failure. It simply confirms the plan of conduct which I had previously arranged. I have to thank these pages for awakening the finest sensibilities in my nature, nothing more to a person of similar sensibility.

Faith Moore (69:43)

This simple assertion will explain and excuse everything.

Listener (69:48)

Ms. Halcomb is a person of similar sensibility. In that persuasion I sign myself Fosco.

Faith Moore (70:02)

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. 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 continue.