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The Woman in White: Hartright 10

Storytime for Grownups

Mon Apr 28 2025

Summary

Storytime for Grownups: Episode - The Woman in White: Hartright 10

Release Date: April 28, 2025

Overview

In this episode of Storytime for Grownups, host Faith Moore delves into Chapter 10 of Wilkie Collins' classic novel, The Woman in White. Designed to make classic literature accessible and enjoyable, Faith reads selected passages from the chapter, interspersed with insightful commentary and analysis. This episode offers both a narrative recap and a deeper exploration of the themes and character developments within the text.

Chapter 10 Summary

Faith Moore begins by summarizing the events leading into Chapter 10:

Walter Hartright continues his investigation into the mysterious circumstances surrounding Sir Percival Glyde. Previously, Walter discovered that Sir Percival's parents' marriage was officially recorded, dispelling his initial suspicions about their legitimacy.

As Chapter 10 unfolds, Walter faces escalating dangers:

Following and Surveillance: Walter notices two men trailing him from Mrs. Catherick's house to the train station, observing his actions meticulously (03:26). Their persistent surveillance suggests that Sir Percival has deeper, possibly sinister motives.
Detention in Knowlesbury: While traveling to Knowlesbury, Walter is ambushed and falsely accused of assault by Sir Percival's men. Using his wit, Walter manages to secure bail through the assistance of Mr. Dawson, a trusted doctor, thereby avoiding prolonged detention (15:44).
Discovery of the Forgery: At Mr. Wansborough's office, Walter uncovers a crucial discrepancy in the marriage registers. The official records confirm Sir Percival's legitimate marriage, but a secondary, more secure copy hints at possible tampering or forgery, raising suspicions about Sir Percival's true identity and legitimacy (23:02).
Confrontation and Climax: Determined to expose Sir Percival's secrets, Walter attempts to gather concrete evidence. His quest leads him back to the old church vestry, where he confronts imminent danger as Sir Percival's men attempt to obstruct his investigation. The tension culminates in a dramatic scene where Walter and the parish clerk discover the vestry ablaze, underscoring the perilous stakes of Walter's pursuit (36:56).

Analysis and Discussion

Throughout the reading of Chapter 10, Faith Moore and the Co-Host provide thoughtful analysis, enhancing the listener's understanding of the narrative's complexities.

Character Development

Walter Hartright's Determination: Walter's unwavering resolve is a central theme. As the co-host notes at [05:06], "Walter is back in detective mode," highlighting his transition from a passive observer to an active seeker of truth.
Sir Percival Glyde's Menacing Presence: The persistent surveillance and eventual confrontation emphasize Sir Percival's influence and the lengths he will go to protect his secrets. At [09:01], the co-host remarks, "Sir Percival has anticipated that Walter will go to Mrs. Catherick," illustrating the antagonist's strategic mindset.

Themes

Legitimacy and Social Standing: The discovery of the marriage register's discrepancies brings to light the era's obsession with legitimacy and social status. As discussed, "A marriage turned a sexual relationship from a horrible sin into a virtue" ([11:34]), underscoring the societal pressures and the devastating impact of illegitimacy.
The Pursuit of Truth vs. Personal Safety: Walter's quest for truth places him in constant danger, balancing moral integrity against personal safety. The co-host advises listeners not to feel "obligated to outguess Walter" ([06:15]), emphasizing that engagement with the story can be both immersive and enjoyable without the pressure of solving the mystery.

Notable Quotes

Faith Moore at [09:56]:
"The registration isn't guarded, leading to potential tampering if someone wanted to do that."
This highlights the vulnerability of crucial evidence and foreshadows the forthcoming conspiracy.
Co-Host at [12:06]:
"Being able to prove that a marriage happened and that your marriage was legitimate was incredibly important in the social structure of the day."
This contextualizes the significance of the marriage register within the story's societal framework.
Faith Moore at [23:30]:
"He had heard of his father's copy of the register, but had not even seen it himself."
This reveals the layers of secrecy and the lengths characters will go to conceal the truth.

Narrative Techniques

Suspense and Foreshadowing: The chapter masterfully builds suspense through Walter's encounters and the ominous actions of Sir Percival's men. For instance, when Walter observes the men quickening their pace only to pull back ([00:42]-[01:10]), it hints at their hidden agendas.
Symbolism of Fire: The vestry's fire symbolizes the destructive lengths to which Sir Percival will go to protect his secrets. The chaotic scene of the burning vestry mirrors the turmoil and chaos in Walter's investigation ([36:56]).

Conclusion

This episode of Storytime for Grownups offers a compelling exploration of The Woman in White through the detailed reading and insightful commentary by Faith Moore and the co-host. By dissecting Chapter 10, listeners gain a deeper appreciation of the novel's intricate plot, character motivations, and underlying themes.

Faith encourages listeners to engage with the material at their own pace, whether by actively solving the mystery alongside Walter or by immersing themselves in the unfolding drama without the scrutiny of deductions. This balanced approach makes classic literature both accessible and enjoyable for a modern audience.

Notable Quotes with Timestamps

Faith Moore [03:26]:
"Walter follows Sir Percival's servant to the train station, intensifying the mystery surrounding his actions."
Co-Host [06:15]:
"You don't have to be trying to outguess Walter at every turn. It's not a race."
Faith Moore [09:56]:
"The marriage register's insecurity raises serious doubts about its authenticity."
Co-Host [12:06]:
"Proving the legitimacy of a marriage was crucial for social standing during that era."
Faith Moore [23:30]:
"The clerk was unaware of the duplicate register's existence beyond hearing about it from his father."
Co-Host [36:56]:
"Walter's confrontation at the church vestry marks a pivotal moment in his investigation."

Engage with Us

This episode continues the journey through The Woman in White. Join us next time as we unravel more of Walter Hartright's quest for truth and justice.

For feedback, questions, or to share your thoughts, visit faithkmoore.com/contact. Don't forget to subscribe, leave a five-star review, and support our independent podcast through donations if you can. Your support helps us bring more classic literature to life!

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Transcript

Faith Moore (0:00)

Hello and welcome to Storytime for Grown Ups. I'm Faith Moore and this season we're reading the Woman in White by Wilkie Collins. Each episode I'll read a few chapters from the book, pausing from time to time to give brief explanations so it's easier to follow along. It's like an audiobook with built in notes. So brew a pot of tea, find a cozy chair and settle in. It's story time.

Unknown Co-Host (0:42)

Hello there. Is it spring where you are? It is suddenly spring where I am and I'm like a different person. It's like I thought it was fine, I thought it was me and then suddenly spring and I'm just feeling filled with, I don't know, joy, I guess. I'm just so happy. I hope that you're happy too, and I'm thrilled to be here with you and to keep reading this amazing book. What, what a joy, how amazing this is and how lucky I am to get to share this with you guys.

Faith Moore (1:10)

Thank you for being here.

Unknown Co-Host (1:12)

Don't Forget tomorrow. Tomorrow, April 29th at 8pm Eastern is Tea time and we can be joyful together. We can hang out together over in the drawing room. And if you don't know what I'm talking about or you're not a member.

Faith Moore (1:26)

But you'd like to join Tea Time.

Unknown Co-Host (1:28)

Please scroll down into the show notes, click on the link and you'll find more information there.

Faith Moore (1:33)

I know a lot of you have.

Unknown Co-Host (1:34)

Signed up to be landed gentry since the last time that we had tea together, and I'm hoping that you guys can make it. I'm really looking forward to seeing some new faces or I guess hearing some new voices in Tea Time this time. And of course I'm looking forward to chatting with my old friends, those of you who have been here for a while now. So don't forget to come and join us there.

Faith Moore (1:57)

And since the weather is changing, at.

Unknown Co-Host (1:59)

Least where I am, don't forget to buy your T shirts, get some merch, get some short sleeve shirts now that it's getting warm. I just bought myself two. I bought myself Woman in White and Jane Eyre because I didn't have those ones yet actually, so I just got those. Hopefully they're going to come in the mail. I got baby blue and green, I think. And I'm really looking forward to wearing.

Faith Moore (20:59)

He doesn't have to stay in jail for the three days. He can just leave and then reappear for the hearing. Sir Percival's men assumed that Walter didn't know anyone nearby and that he would be confined for the three days. It was not quite half past one when the messenger departed. Before half past three he returned and brought the doctor with him. Mr. Dawson's kindness and the delicacy with which he treated his prompt assistance quite as a matter of course, almost overpowered me. The bail required was offered and accepted immediately. Before 4 o'clock on that afternoon I was shaking hands warmly with the good old doctor, a free man again in the streets of Knowlesbury. Mr. Dawson hospitably invited me to go back with him to Oak Lodge and take up my quarters there for the night. I could only reply that my time was not my own. And I could only ask him to let me pay my visit in a few days when I might repeat my thanks and offer to him all the explanations which I felt to be only his due, but which I was not then in a position to make. We parted with friendly assurances on both sides, and I turned my steps at once to Mr. Wansborough's office in the High Street. Time was now of the last importance. The news of my being free on bail would reach Sir Percival to an absolute certainty before night. If the next few hours did not put me in a position to justify his worst fears and to hold him helpless at my mercy, I might lose every inch of the ground I had gained, never to recover it again. The unscrupulous nature of the man, the local influence he possessed, the desperate peril of exposure with which my blindfold inquiries threatened him, all warned me to press on to positive discovery without the useless waste of a single minute. I had found time to think while I was waiting for Mr. Dawson's arrival, and I had well employed it. Certain portions of the conversation of the talkative old clerk, which had wearied me at the time, now recurred to my memory with a new significance, and a suspicion crossed my mind darkly which had.

Faith Moore (26:12)

Of the page, nothing, not a vestige of the entry which recorded the marriage of Sir Felix Glyde and Cecelia Jane Elster in the register of the church. My heart gave a great bound and throbbed as if it would stifle me. I looked again. I was afraid to believe the evidence of my own eyes. No, not a doubt. The marriage was not there. The entries on the copy occupied exactly the same places on the page as the entries in the original. The last entry on one page recorded the marriage of the man with my Christian name. Below it there was a blank space, a space evidently left because it was too narrow to contain the entry of the marriages of the two brothers, which in the copy, as in the original, occupied the top of the next page. That space told the whole story. There it must have remained in the church register from 1803, when the marriages had been solemnized and the copy had been made, to 1827, when Sir Percival appeared at Old Welmingham. Here at Knowlesbury was the chance of committing the Forgery shown to me in the copy. And there at old Welmingham was the forgery committed in the register of the church, meaning someone could add in a marriage that never happened because there had been just space enough left at the bottom of the page to do it. My head turned giddy. I held by the desk to keep myself from falling. Of all the suspicions which had struck me in relation to that desperate man, not one had been near the truth. The idea that he was not Sir Percival Glyde at all, that he had no more claim to the baronetcy and to Blackwater park than the poorest labourer who worked on the estate, had never once occurred to my mind. At one time I had thought he might be Anne Catherick's father. At another time I had thought he might have been Anne Catherick's husband. The offense of which he was really guilty had been from first to last beyond the widest reach of my imagination. So if Sir Percival's parents were never married, then Percival is illegitimate and therefore not entitled to be a baronet or to own Blackwater Park. The paltry means by which the fraud had been effected. The magnitude and daring of the crime that it represented, the horror of the consequences involved in its discovery overwhelmed me. Who could wonder now at the brute restlessness of the wretch's life? At his desperate alternations between abject duplicity and reckless violence. At the madness of guilty distrust which had made him in prison and Catharic in the asylum and had given him over to the vile conspiracy against his wife on the bare suspicion that the one and the other knew his terrible secret. The disclosure of that secret might in past years have hanged him, might now transport him for life. So he's saying that punishment for pretending to be a member of the nobility.

Faith Moore (31:54)

My one anxiety was the anxiety to get back to old Welmingham. I made the best excuses I could for the discomposure in my face and manner which Mr. Wansborough had already noticed, laid the necessary fee on his table, arranged that I should write to him in a day or two, and left the office with my head in a whirl and my blood throbbing through my veins at fever heat. It was just getting dark. The idea occurred to me that I might be followed again and attacked on the high road. My walking stick was a light one, of little or no use for purposes of defence. I stopped before leaving Knowlesbury and bought a stout country cudgel, short and heavy at the head with this homely weapon. If any one man tried to stop me, I was a match for him. If more than one attacked me, I could trust to my heels. In my school days, I had been a noted runner, and I had not wanted for practice since in the latter time of my experience in Central America, I started from the town at brisk pace and kept the middle of the road. A small, misty rain was falling, and it was impossible for the first half of the way to make sure whether I was followed or not. But at the last half of my journey, when I supposed myself to be about two miles from the church, I saw a man run by me in the rain, and then heard the gate of a field by the roadside shut too sharply. I kept straight on with my cudgel ready in my hand, my ears on the alert and my eyes straining to see through the mist and the darkness. Before I had advanced a hundred yards, there was a rustling in the hedge on my right, and three men sprang out into the road. I drew aside on the instant to the footpath. The two foremost men were carried beyond me before they could check themselves. The third was quick as lightning. He stopped, half turned, and struck at me with his stick. The blow was aimed at hazard and was not a severe one. It fell on my left shoulder. I returned it heavily on his head. He staggered back and jostled his two companions. Just as they were both rushing at me, this circumstance gave me a moment's start. I slipped by them and took to the middle of the road again. At the top of my speed, the two unhurt men pursued me. They were both good runners. The road was smooth and level, and for the first five minutes or more I was conscious that I did not gain on them. It was perilous work to run for long. In the darkness I could barely see the dim black line of the hedges on either side, and any chance obstacle in the road would have thrown me down to a certainty ere long I felt the ground changing. It descended from the level at a turn and then rose again. Beyond downhill, the men rather gained on me, but uphill I began to distance them. The rapid, regular thump of their feet grew fainter on my ear, and I calculated by the sound that I was far enough in advance to take to the fields with a good chance of their passing me in the darkness. Diverging to the footpath, I made for the first break that I could guess at rather than see in the hedge. It proved to be a closed gate. I vaulted over and, finding myself in a field, kept across it steadily with my back to the road, I heard the men pass the gate, still running, then in a minute more heard one of them call to the other to come back. It was no matter what they did. Now I was out of their sight and out of their hearing. I kept straight across the field, and when I had reached the farther extremity of it, waited there for a minute to recover my breath. It was impossible to venture back to the road, but I was determined nevertheless to get to Old Welmingham that evening. Neither moon nor stars appeared to guide me. I only knew that I had kept the wind and rain at my back on leaving Knowlesbury, and if I now kept them at my back still, I might at least be certain of not advancing altogether in the wrong direction. Proceeding on this plan, I crossed the country, meeting with no worse obstacles than hedges, ditches and thickets, which every now and then obliged me to alter my course for a little while, until I found myself on a hillside with the ground sloping away steeply before me. I descended to the bottom of the hollow, squeezed my way through a hedge, and got out into a lane. Having turned to the right on leaving the road, I now turned to the left on the chance of regaining the line from which I had wandered. After following the muddy windings of the lane for 10 minutes or more, I saw a cottage with a light in one of the windows. The garden gate was open to the lane, and I went in at once to inquire my way. Before I could knock at the door, it was suddenly opened and a man came running out with a lighted lantern in his hand. He stopped and held it up at the sight of me. We both started as we saw each other. My wanderings had led me round the outskirts of the village and had brought me out at the lower end of it. I was back at Old Welmingham and the man with the lantern was no other than my acquaintance of the morning, the parish clerk. His manner appeared to have altered strangely.

Faith Moore (39:13)

I looked back at the cottage and saw the clerk coming out with the lantern lighted once more. I took the old man's arm to help him on the more quickly. We hastened along the lane and passed the person who had accosted me. As well as I could see by the light of the lantern, he was a servant out of livery. Who's that? Whispered the clerk. Does he know anything about the keys? We won't wait to ask him, I replied. We will go on to the vestry first. The church was not visible even by daytime until the end of the lane was reached. As we mounted the rising ground which led to the building. From that point, one of the village children, a boy, came close up to us, attracted by the light we carried, and recognized the clerk. I say, master, said the boy, pulling officiously at the clerk's coat. There be someone up yonder in the church, I heard. Unlock the door hisself. I heard him strike a light with a match. So he's saying there's someone in the church. He heard them unlock the door and light a match. The clerk trembled and leaned against me heavily. Come, come, I said encouragingly. We are not too late. We will catch the man, whoever he is. Keep the lantern and follow me as fast as you can. I mounted the hill rapidly. The dark mass of the church tower was the first object I discerned dimly against the night sky. As I turned aside to get round to the vestry, I heard heavy footsteps close to me. The servant had ascended to the church after us. I don't mean any harm, he said when I turned round on him. I'm only looking for my master. The tones in which he spoke betrayed unmistakable fear. I took no notice of him and went on. The instant I turned the corner and came in view of the vestry, I saw the lantern skylight on the roof. Brilliantly lit up from within, it shone out with dazzling brightness against the murky, starless sky. I hurried through the churchyard to the door. As I got near, there was a strange smell stealing out on the damp night air. I heard a snapping noise inside. I saw the light above grow brighter and brighter. A pane of the glass cracked. I ran to the door and put my hand on it. The vestry was on fire before I could move, before I could draw my breath. After that discovery, I was horror struck by a heavy thump against the door. From the inside, I heard the key worked violently in the lock. I heard a man's voice behind the door raised to a dreadful shrillness, screaming for help. The servant who had followed me staggered back, shuddering, and dropped to his knees. Oh, my God, he said.

Faith Moore (42:58)

Try the door. Into the church. The lock's hampered. You're a dead man if you waste another moment on it. There had been no renewed cry for help when the key was turned for the last time. There was no sound now of any kind to give token that he was still alive. I heard nothing but the quickening crackle of the flames and the sharp snap of the glass in the skylight above. I looked round at my two companions. The servant had risen to his feet. He had taken the lantern and was holding it up vacantly at the door. Terror seemed to have struck him with downright idiocy. He waited at my heels. He followed me about when I moved like a dog. The clerk sat crouched up on one of the tombstones, shivering and moaning to himself. The one moment in which I looked at them was enough to show me that they were both helpless, hardly knowing what I did. Acting desperately on the first impulse that occurred to me, I seized the servant and pushed him against the vestry wall. Stoop, I said, and hold by the stones. I am going to climb over you to the roof. I am going to break the skylight and give him some air. The man trembled from head to foot, but he held firm. I got on his back with my cudgel in my mouth, seized the parapet with both hands, and was instantly on the roof. In the frantic hurry and agitation of the moment, it never struck me that I might let out the flame. Instead of letting in the air, I struck at the skylight and battered in the cracked, loosened glass. At a blow, the fire leaped out like a wild beast from its lair. If the wind had not chanced in the position I occupied to set it away from me, my exertions might have ended then and there. I crouched on the roof as the smoke poured out above me with the flame. The gleams and flashes of the light showed me the servant's face staring up vacantly under the wall. The clerk risen to his feet on the tombstone, wringing his hands in despair. And the scant population of the village, haggard men and terrified women clustered beyond in the churchyard, all appearing and disappearing in the red of the dreadful glare, in the black of the choking smoke. And the man beneath my feet, the man suffocating, burning, dying. So near us all, so utterly beyond our reach. The thought half maddened me. I lowered myself from the roof by my hands and dropped to the ground. The key of the church.

Faith Moore (45:47)

Among the men behind me. There's a engine in the town. They'll save the church. Meaning they have a fire engine and they could put out the fire. I called to that man. He had his wits about him. I called him to come and speak to me. It would be a quarter of an hour at least before the town engine could reach us. The horror of remaining inactive all that time was more than I could face. In defiance of my own reason. I persuaded myself that the doomed and lost wretch in the vestry might still be lying senseless on the floor, might not be dead. Yet if we broke open the door, might we save him? I knew the strength of the heavy lock. I knew the thickness of the nailed oak. I knew the hopelessness of assailing the one and the other by ordinary means. But surely there were beams still left in the dismantled cottages near the church. What if we got one and used it as a battering ram against the door? The thought leaped through me like the fire leaping out of the shattered skylight. I appealed to the man who had spoken first of the fire engine in the town. Have you got your pickaxes handy? Yes, they had. And a hatchet and a saw and a bit of rope. Yes, yes, yes. I ran down among the villagers with the lantern in my hand. Five shillings apiece to every man who helps me. They started into life at the words. That ravenous second hunger of poverty. The hunger for money roused them into tumult and activity. In a moment, two of you for more lanterns if you have them. Two of you for the pickaxes and the tools. The rest after me to find the beam. They cheered. With shrill, starveling voices they cheered. The women and the children fled back on either side. We rushed in a body down the churchyard path to the first empty cottage. Not a man was left behind but the clerk. The poor old clerk standing on the flat tombstone, sobbing and wailing over the church. The servant was still at my heels. His white, helpless, panic stricken face was close over my shoulder as we pushed into the cottage. There were rafters from the torn down floor above lying loose on the ground, but they were too light. A beam ran across over our heads, but not out of reach of our arms and our pickaxes. A beam fast at each end in the ruined wall, with ceiling and flooring all ripped away and a great gap in the roof above open to the sky. We attacked the beam at both Ends at once. God, how it held. How the brick and mortar of the wall resisted us. We struck and tugged and tore. The beam gave at one end. It came down with a lump of brickwork. After it. There was a scream from the women, all huddled in the doorway to look at us. A shout from the men, two of them down, but not hurt. Another tug altogether, and the beam was loose at both ends. We raised it and gave the word to clear the doorway. Now for the work, now for the rush at the door. There is the fire streaming into the sky, streaming brighter than ever to light us. Steady along the churchyard path, steady with the beam for a rush at the door. 1, 2, 3, and off. Out rings the cheering again irrepressibly. We have shaken it already. The hinges must give if the lock won't. Another run with the beam. 1, 2, 3, and off. It's loose. The stealthy fire darts at us through the crevice all round it. Another and a last rush. The door falls in with a crash. A great hush of awe, a stillness of breathless expectation possesses every living soul of us. We look for the body. The scorching heat on our faces drives us back. We see nothing above, below, all through the room, we see nothing but a sheet of living fire. Where is he? Whispered the servant, staring vacantly at the flames.

Faith Moore (50:29)

Firemen could hear him already. Save the church. The only man who never moved was the servant. There he stood, his eyes still fastened on the flames in a changeless, vacant stare. I spoke to him. I shook him by the arm. He was past rousing. He only whispered once more. Where is he? In 10 minutes the engine was in position. The well at the back of the church was feeding it, and the hose was carried to the doorway of the vestry. If help had been wanted from me I could not have afforded it now my energy of will was gone. My strength was exhausted. The turmoil of my thoughts was fearfully and suddenly stilled. Now I knew that he was dead. I stood useless and helpless, looking, looking, looking into the burning room. I saw the fire slowly conquered. The brightness of the glare faded, the steam rose in white clouds, and the smouldering heaps of embers showed red and black through it on the floor. There was a pause, then an advance altogether of the firemen and the police which blocked up the doorway. Then a consultation in low voices, and then two men were detached from the rest and sent out of the churchyard through the crowd. The crowd drew back on either side in dead silence to let them pass. After a while a great shudder ran through the people and the living lane widened slowly. The men came back along it with a door from one of the empty houses. They carried it to the vestry and went in. The police closed again round the doorway and men stole out from among the crowd by twos and threes and stood behind them to be the first to see. Others waited near to be the first to hear. Women and children were among these last. The tidings from the vestry began to flow out among the crowd. They dropped slowly from mouth to mouth till they reached the place where I was standing. I heard the questions and answers repeated again and again in low, eager tones all round me. Have they found him? Yes. Where? Against the door, on his face. Which door? The door that goes into the church. His head was against it. He was down on his face. Is his face burnt? No. Yes, it is. No, scorched, not burnt. He lay on his face, I tell you. Who was he? A lord, they say. No, not a lord, sir. Something, sir means knight and baronite, too, no. Yes, it does. What did he want in there? No good, you may depend on it.