Faith Moore (0:00)

Hello and welcome to Storytime for Grown Ups. I'm Faith Moore and this season we're reading the Woman in White by Wilkie Collins. Each episode I'll read a few chapters from the book, pausing from time to time to give brief explanations so it's easier to follow along. It's like an audiobook with built in notes. So brew a pot of tea, find a cozy chair and settle in. It's story time. Hi everyone. Oh my gosh, so many exciting things are happening. I can hardly stand it. One of them is that today, tonight, 8:00pm Eastern, is our first ever Storytime for Grown Ups Tea time over in the drawing room, our online community. That's one thing. We're reading this amazing, exciting, suspenseful, crazy book together. That's another thing. And also, I just added a new item to the Merch store. I'm really excited about it. It's a Pride and Prejudice design. So all you Pride and Prejudice fans there is now Pride and Prejudice merch in the Storytime for Grown Ups merch store. So I hope you'll check that out. There's a link in the show notes. Just scroll down to the description of this episode and you can click on the link to the merch store. You can find all of our merch. We've got the Storytime for Grown Ups logo. We've got Jane Eyre. And now we've got Pride and Prejudice. It's very exciting. Woman in White is coming soon and a few other things are also in the future. So keep an eye on that link. But I hope you'll click it now and just take a look at the Pride and Prejudice design. Even if you don't buy it, I hope you'll just look at it because I love it. It's beautiful. I'm very excited about it and I hope that you are too. But back to the tea time for just one second and then we'll get to that third thing, which is that we are reading this amazing, super fun exc book together. And let's get to it. But today, if you're listening in real time. So it's Thursday, January 30th, if you're listening in real time. Which means that today is our first ever Storytime for Grown Ups Tea time. The Tea Times happen over on our online community, which you can access by becoming a Storytime for Grown Ups member. And there is a link to that in the show notes as well. You can just click down. Clicking on it doesn't mean that you have to do anything. It just gives you more information, so you can just click on that and see what it's all about. The Tea Times are voiced voice chat. So it's kind of like a group phone call between me and you guys, other storytime fans. You'll get to talk to each other or to me, or you'll get to just listen. And that's completely fine, too. You don't have to feel anxious that you're going to have to talk or share anything or whatever. You can just listen. But you can also ask me questions. You can ask me anything. So it can be like an ama. You can chat with each other. You can talk to each other. We can just chat. I will come with some questions and some discussion topics, and I really hope that you will join us. I think it's going to be really fun. I'm excited. I'm excited to get to chat with you for the first time and I hope you'll come. In order to join, you have to be a member of the landed gentry. You have to be in that membership tier. So I hope you'll just click on the link for the memberships if this is of any interest to you and decide if you would like to do that. You can also sign up and then cancel if you try it and it wasn't what you wanted to do. I think you can do that. I mean, read the fine print, but I think that's fine. Just know, sign up for a month and decide if you wanted to keep going or not. That's okay. So I hope you'll join us. I hope you'll check it out and see what it's like and decide if you want to be a part of that community and join in the Tea Times or not. They're going to happen once a month. So after this one, I'll let you know the date of the next one. It'll be probably at the end of February, since this one is at the end of January. So, anyway, I hope to see you there. I'm really excited to get to sort of meet you all or chat with you all in a new way. So join us. All right, so last time we read Heart rate's narrative chapter 13. Today we're going to be reading Heart rate's narrative, chapters 14 through 15. So let's do a recap and then I have two related questions for today, and then we'll get into the chapters. So here is the recap. Okay, so where we left off, Walter hides in the graveyard and waits and Anne Catherick, who is the woman in white, Anne Catherick shows up with an old lady. The old lady says she's going to wait outside the graveyard. And so Anne goes in and she starts cleaning Mrs. Fairleigh's stone monument, her grave. Walter then comes out and reminds her of who he is. Anne is at first very scared and confused. But Walter gets her to explain that she has come to town with an old woman named Mrs. Clement, who is the person that she was going to go and see when Walter helped her in London. The friend that she was on her way to, Mrs. Clement, is someone that she knew from childhood who told her that she could come and find her anytime if she ever needed help. So she is taking care of Anne now and they have both come to Visit some of Mrs. Clement's friends at a nearby farm. Through talking to Anne, Walter discovers that Sir Percival Glyde, who is Laura Fairlie's fiance. So Sir Percival is in fact the baronet that Anne was so afraid of when she was talking to Walter before. And it turns out that the reason that she's so afraid of him and so angry with him is that he is the one who locked her up in the insane asylum. So Walter suggests that Anne should come back and talk to Laura face to face and explain what's going on with her and her problem with Sir Percival Glyde. But Anne won't do that and she's very agitated by this conversation and eventually she leaves with Mrs. Clement and Walter is basically just left behind in the graveyard. And that's where we left him. Okay, so our first question comes to us from Jennifer Schuttel. Jennifer writes, so all signs are pointing to Ser Percival Glyde being the Big Bad. But we still only have Walter and Anne's point of view. As you said last time, Walter is biased against him because of Laura, but so is Anne because he put her in the asylum. She clearly hates him for that, but we still don't know if that was justified. Anne is odd, but I can't imagine her being very dangerous to other people. There's still a lot we don't know. And the second one is from Rachel Clevenger. Rachel writes, going by that poorly executed conversation, in my opinion, with Katherick, I'm getting the feeling that heart rate may have inadvertently triggered a series of events that will soon lead to a very unhappy result. I'm hoping I'm wrong, but I'm getting nervous. Okay, So I think nervous is exactly the way that we're supposed to be feeling at this point. Right. Like last time we were talking about how Walter and Marion suddenly kind of turned into detectives and were going around trying to track down the solution to a mystery. And we talk, too, about how the mystery they were trying to solve is really only this tiny piece of the complete picture, the big mystery, the crime that we've been told will be committed. Because what Marian and Walter were trying to figure out was who wrote the anonymous letter. But of course, the anonymous letter isn't the crime. It's not the horrible thing that we've been told we need to hear about at all costs, right? The anonymous letter is just one of many events that have something to do with the crime time, though we don't know what exactly yet. But Marian and Walter solve the mystery that they were trying to solve, right? They wanted to know who wrote the anonymous letter, and they find out it was Anne. Okay, mystery solved. Except now another mystery presents itself, which is, why did Anne Catherick write the anonymous letter? But Walter solved that one too, right? Anne wrote it because she hates Sir Percival and loves Laura, since Laura is the daughter of Mrs. Fairley and she wanted to warn her against marrying a man that she thinks is evil. But that begs another question, which is, why does Anne hate Sir Percival? And Walter solves that one too, right? She hates him because he's the one that locked her in the asylum. And now we're like, wait, what? Why would this guy, who, according to Marian, is an upstanding and gentlemanly guy, a guy that Laura's beloved father felt would be a good husband for his beloved daughter, why would this guy lock a random person up in an asylum? And Walter doesn't get to the bottom of that one, right? That's what he's left with. Anne wrote the letter because she loves Laura for Mrs. Fairlie's sake and hates Sir Percival because he's the one that locked her in the asylum. And because he had her locked up and she didn't want to be locked up, Anne sees Sir Percival as evil and doesn't want Laura to marry an evil man. So the mystery that Walter set out to solve is solved. But now there's a new question. And the answer to this new question is even more important in terms of Laura's future happiness, right? Because the new question is Sir Percival a terrible villain who locks random women up in insane asylums for no reason whatsoever? Is he, as Jennifer is saying in her letter, our big bad? Or is Sir Percival a kind and benevolent gentleman who had Anne committed to the care of private doctors for her own good out of some act of kindness that we don't yet really understand. And it's kind of important that we know this before Laura marries him. Right? But how are we gonna find out? Because we, at this point, are Walter, right? Walter is our narrator, and we've been seeing everything through his eyes, but we're about to lose him. At least it seems very likely that we are. And who will our next narrator be? And will we be able to trust that person? And will that person even care whether Sir Percival is good or bad? But we care, right? Because we are now invested in this story. At least I hope that we are. And the story has presented to us that there is going to be some horrible cr. And so far, it has presented us with this one little tidbit, right? That Laura's future husband, Sir Percival, locked Anne Catherick in an asylum. And we also know that Sir Percival's about to enter the story. He's coming to Limmeridge. And unless we stay with Walter as he leaves the house, which could happen. Or unless our narrator is someone totally outside the narrative thus far, which could also happen. But unless those things are going to happen, we are about to meet Sir Percival in some capacity. And we, as the judge and the jury are probably feeling at this point that at the very least, he's got some explaining to do. But I want to come back just for a second to Rachel's comment that Walter's conversation with Anne was poorly executed. Because I think, in a way, it was in the sense that he didn't get all the information that he needed, right? That he came at the whole thing kind of sideways. He didn't push her to tell him everything he wanted to know. But I think all of that is really revealing about Walter, and I think it actually speaks well of him. You know, we've said a couple times now that we've essentially been told that Walter is our hero, right? His name is Hartright, he helps people, he behaves honorably in difficult situations, etc. Etc. Everything that we've said before. But here is another instance of him proving that his guiding personality trait is that he will always do what is right and good, even at the expense of his own needs. He really, really wants to understand what is going on here with Anne and Sir Percival and to find out what sort of a man this Percival guy is. And he says his motives are selfish because if Sir Percival is a bad guy, then Laura might not marry him. But he's also intensely protective of Laura, and he wants to make sure that she's safe and happy. But even Though he really, really wants to know what's going on. When he sees that Anne is becoming distraught by his questions, he stops. He leaves her alone. He doesn't ask her anymore. Because he's a good man, because he cares for the weak and the innocent. He is our hero. I mean, even the fact that he's worried about hiding himself in the graveyard in the first place speaks well of them, right? He says this is a quote after some little hesitation caused by natural reluctance to conceal myself, indispensable as that concealment was to the object in view I had resolved on entering the porch. He's reluctant to hide himself. He is a straightforward and honest and true guy. He doesn't want to conceal anything or be indirect or deceitful or trick anyone into anything. And that speaks well of him. But of course it might not make him the best detective, right? A detective sometimes has to use artifice or spy on people or trick people into confessing or something. But Walter actually isn't a detective. He's a drawing teacher that's not a detective. He became a sort of detective for a minute there because he had to, because he felt it was imperative that he make sure that Laura was going to be okay. But he's not really a detective. And I actually love that about him. I love that he's not the kind of hard boiled guy who is just out to catch the criminal or whatever. He's a regular guy who believes in doing the right thing. And it's also kind of neat in terms of the story because it means that he might make mistakes and he might not follow a lead all the way down to the ground. And his motives might be personal rather than professional and that will affect the story in ways that are different than if he were your typical detective in a detective novel, just going from clue to clue to clue, right? So now the question becomes, is Sir Percival our villain or is he just a regular guy who just happens to be marrying the woman that Walter loves? And I feel like either option is possible at this point. If he has a satisfying reason for why he had Anne Catherick committed to an asylum and how he even knows her and what he had to do with the whole situation, if he can explain that, then we really have nothing to hold against him. I mean, as Jennifer points out, Anne's mental state is dubious. We still don't really know if she's actually insane or if she's just sort of delayed in some way. It's possible she really is insane. And it's possible that Sir Percival has some connection to her and helped her to find private care, so we have to meet him and decide what we think. But for now we are still with Walter in his last day or so at Limmeridge House and really, it kind of feels like anything could happen, right? So let's find out what does. And don't forget to write to me. Write in with all your amazing and wonderful thoughts. I love them. You're never bothering me. Faithkmoore.com and click on Contact. Or just scroll right on down into the show notes and click on the link to that contact page and also check out the Merch store and also check out the membership options because you might want to join us tonight for tea time. I hope that I'll see some of you there. All right, let's get started with Heart Wright's narrative, chapters 14 through 15 of the Woman in White by Wilkie Collins. It's story time. 14 half an hour later I was back at the house and was informing Ms. Halcombe of all that had happened. She listened to me from beginning to end with a steady, silent attention, which in a woman of her temperament and disposition, was the strongest proof that could be offered of the serious manner in which my narrative affected her. My mind misgives me, was all she said when I had done. My mind misgives me sadly, about the future. The future may depend, I suggested, on the use we make of the present. It is not improbable that Anne Catherick may speak more readily and unreservedly to a woman than she has spoken to me. If Ms. Fairlie not to be thought of for a moment, interposed Miss Halcombe in her most decided manner. So Walter was suggesting that they let Anne Catherick speak to Ms. Fairlie. But Marian is saying no, that's out of the question. Let me suggest, then, I continued, that you should see Anne Catherick yourself and do all you can to win her confidence. For my own part, I shrink from the idea of alarming the poor creature a second time, as I have most unhappily alarmed her already. Do you see any objection to accompanying me to the farmhouse to morrow? None whatever. I will go anywhere and do anything to serve Laura's interests. What did you say the place was called? You must know it well. It is called Todd's Corner. Certainly. Todd's Corner is one of Mr. Fairlie's farms. Our dairymaid here is the farmer's second daughter. She goes backwards and forwards constantly between this house and her father's farm, and she may have heard or seen something which it may be useful to us to know. Shall I ascertain at once if the girl is downstairs? So the farm where Anne Catherick is staying is owned by Mr. Fairlie. And one of the servants at Limmeridge House is the daughter of the farmer. So Marian thinks it might be useful to speak to that daughter. She rang the bell and sent the servant with his message. He returned and announced that the dairymaid was then at the farm. She had not been there for the last three days and the housekeeper had given her leave to go home for an hour or two that evening. I can speak to her to Morrow, said Miss Halcombe when the servant had left the room again. In the meantime, let me thoroughly understand the object to be gained by my interview with Anne Catherick. Is there no doubt in your mind that the person who confined her in the asylum was Sir Percival Glyde? There is not a shadow of a doubt. The only mystery that remains is the mystery of his motive. Looking to the great difference between his station in life and hers, which seems to preclude all idea of the most distant relationship between them, it is of the last importance. Even assuming that she really required to be placed under restraint to know why he should have been the person to assume the serious responsibility of shutting her up. In a private asylum, I think you said. Yes, in a private asylum where a sum of money which no poor person could afford to give must have been paid for her maintenance as a patient. I see where the doubt lies, Mr. Hartright. And I promise you that it shall be set at rest whether Anne Catherick assists us to morrow or not. Sir Percival Glyde shall not be long in this house without satisfying Mr. Gilmore and satisfying me. My sister's future is my dearest care in life and I have influence enough over her to give me some power where her marriage is concernedin the disposal of it. Meaning if it turns out that there's something amiss about Sir Percival, Marian could convince Laura not to marry him. We parted for the night after breakfast the next morning. An obstacle which the events of the evening before had put out of my memory, interposed to prevent our proceeding immediately to the farm. This was my last day at Limmeridge House and it was necessary as soon as the post came in, to follow Miss Halcombe's advice and to ask Mr. Fairlie's permission to shorten my engagement by a month in consideration of an unforeseen necessity for my return to London. Fortunately, for the probability of this excuse so far as appearances were concerned, the post brought me two letters from London friends that morning I took them away at once to my own room and sent the servant with a message to Mr. Fairlie, requesting to know when I could see him on a matter of business. I awaited the man's return free from the slightest feeling of anxiety about the manner in which his master might receive my application. With Mr. Fairlie's leave or without it, I must go. The consciousness of having now taken the first step on the dreary journey which was henceforth to separate my life from Miss Fairlie's seemed to have blunted my sensibility to every consideration connected with myself. I had done with my poor man's touchy pride. I had done with all my little artist vanities. No insolence of Mr. Fairlie's, if he chose to be insolent, could wound me now. The servant returned with a message for which I was not unprepared. Mr. Fairlie regretted that the state of his health on that particular morning was such as to preclude all hope of his having the pleasure of receiving me. He begged, therefore, that I would accept his apologies and kindly communicate what I had to say in the form of a letter. Similar messages to this had reached me at various intervals during my three months residence in the house. Throughout the whole of that period, Mr. Fairley had been rejoiced to possess me, but had never been well enough to see me for a second time. The servant took every fresh batch of drawings that I mounted and restored back to his master with my respects, and returned empty handed with Mr. Fairlie's kind compliments. Best thanks and sincere regrets that the state of his health still obliged him to remain a solitary prisoner in his own room. A more satisfactory arrangement to both sides could not possibly have been adopted. It would be hard to say which of us, under the circumstances, felt the most grateful sense of obligation to Mr. Fairlie's accommodating nerves. I sat down at once to write the letter, expressing myself in it as civilly, as clearly and as briefly as possible. Mr. Fairlie did not hurry his reply. Nearly an hour elapsed before the answer was placed in my hands. It was written with beautiful regularity and neatness of character, in violet colored ink on note paper as smooth as ivory and almost as thick as cardboard. And it addressed me in these terms. Mr. Fairlie's compliments to Mr. Hartright. Mr. Fairlie is more surprised and disappointed than he can say in the present state of his health. By Mr. Hartright's application, Mr. Fairlie is not a man of business, but he has consulted his steward who is. And that person confirms Mr. Fairlie's opinion that Mr. Hartright's request to be allowed to break his engagement cannot be justified by any necessity whatever, excepting perhaps a case of life and death. If the highly appreciative feeling towards art and its professors, which it is the consolation and happiness of Mr. Fairlie's suffering existence to cultivate, could be easily shaken, Mr. Hartright's present proceeding would have shaken has not done so except in the instance of Mr. Hartright himself, having stated his opinion so far, that is to say, as acute nervous suffering will allow him to state anything. Mr. Fairley has nothing to add but the expression of his decision in reference to the highly irregular app. Application that has been made to him. Perfect repose of body and mind being to the last degree important in his case. Mr. Fairlie will not suffer Mr. Hartright to disturb that repose by remaining in the house under circumstances of an essentially irritating nature to both sides. Accordingly, Mr. Fairlie waives his right of refusal purely with view to the preservation of his own tranquillity and informs Mr. Hartright that he may go. I folded the letter up and put it away with my other papers. The time had been when I should have resented it as an insult. I accepted it now as a written release from my engagement. It was off my mind. It was almost out of my memory when I went downstairs to the breakfast room and informed Miss Halcombe that I was ready to walk with her to the farm. Has Mr. Fairlie given you a satisfactory answer? She asked as we left the house. He has allowed me to go, Miss Halcombe. She looked up at me quickly and then, for the first time since I had known her, took my arm of her own accord. No words could have expressed so delicately that she understood how the permission to leave my employment had been granted and that she gave me her sympathy, not as my superior, but as my friend. I had not felt the man's insolent letter, but I felt deeply the woman's atoning kindness. On our way to the farm, we arranged that Miss Halcombe was to enter the house alone and that I was to wait outside within call. We adopted this mode of proceeding from an apprehension that my presence, after what had happened in the churchyard the evening before, might have the effect of renewing Anne Catherick's nervous dread and of rendering her additionally distrustful of the advances of a lady who was a stranger to her. Miss Halcombe left me with the intention of speaking in the first instance to the farmer's wife, of whose friendly readiness to help her in any way she was well assured. While I waited for her in the near neighbourhood of the house, I had fully expected to be left alone for some time. To my surprise, however, little more than five minutes had elapsed before Miss Halcombe returned. Does Anne Catherick refuse to see you? I asked in astonishment. Anne Catherick is gone, replied Miss Halcombe. Gone? Gone with Mrs. Clements. They both left the farm at 8:00 this morning. I could say nothing. I could only feel that our last chance of discovery had gone with that. Them all that Mrs. Todd knows about her guests. I know, Miss Halcombe went on, and it leaves me as it leaves her in the dark. They both came back safe last night after they left you, and they passed the first part of the evening with Mr. Todd's family as usual. Just before suppertime, however, Anne Catherick startled them all by being suddenly seized with faintness. She had had a similar attack of a less alarming kind on the day she arrived at the farm. Farm? And Mrs. Todd had connected it on that occasion with something she was reading at the time in our local newspaper, which lay on the farm table, and which she had taken up only a minute or two before. Does Mrs. Todd know what particular passage in the newspaper affected her in that way? I inquired. No, replied Miss Halcombe. She had looked it over and had seen nothing in it to agitate any one. I asked leave, however, to look it over in my turn, and at the very first page I opened, I found that the editor had enriched his small stock of news by drawing upon our family affairs, and had published my sister's marriage engagement, among his other announcements copied from the London papers of marriages in High Life. I concluded at once that this was the paragraph which had so strangely affected Anne Catherick. And I thought I saw in it also the origin of the letter which she had sent to our house the next day. Anne Catherick had seen in the newspaper that Laura Fairlie was going to marry Sir Percival Glyde, and it was probably this that caused her to write to Laura. There can be no doubt in either case. But what did you hear about her second attack of faintness yesterday evening? Nothing. The cause of it is a complete mystery. There was no stranger in the room. The only visitor was our dairymaid, who, as I told you, is one of Mr. Todd's daughters, and the only conversation was the usual gossip about local affairs. They heard her cry out and saw her turn deadly pale. Without the slightest apparent reason, Mrs. Todd and Mrs. Clements took her upstairs and Mrs. Clements remained with her. They were heard talking together until long after the usual bedtime. And early this morning Mrs. Clements took Mrs. Tod aside and amazed her beyond all power of expression by saying that they must go. The only explanation Mrs. Todd could extract from her guest was that something had happened which was not the fault of any one at the farmhouse, but which was serious enough to make Anne Catherick resolve to leave Limmeridge immediately. It was quite useless to press Mrs. Clements to be more explicit. She only shook her head and said that for Anne's sake she must beg and pray that no one would question her. All she could repeat, with every appearance of being seriously agitated herself, was that Anne must go, that she must go with her, and that the destination to which they might both betake themselves must be kept a secret from everybody. I spare you the recital of Mrs. Todd's hospitable remonstrances and refusals. It ended in her driving them both to the nearest station more than three hours since. She tried hard on the way to get them to speak more plainly, but without success. And she set them down outside the station door, so hurt and offended by the unceremonious abruptness of their departure and their unfriendly reluctance to place the least confidence in her, that she drove away in anger without so much as stopping to bid them good bye. That is exactly what has taken place. Search your own memory, Mr. Hartright, and tell me if anything happened in the burial ground yesterday evening which can at all account for the extraordinary departure of those two women this morning. I should like to account first, Miss Halcombe for the sudden change in Anne Catherick which alarmed them at the farmhouse hours after she and I had parted, and when time enough had elapsed to quiet any violent agitation that I might have been unfortunate enough to cause. Did you inquire particularly about the gossip which was going on in the room when she turned faint? Yes. But Mrs. Todd's household affairs seemed to have divided her attention that evening with the talk in the farmhouse parlor. She could only tell me that it was just the news. Meaning, I suppose, that they all talked as usual about each other. The dairy maid's memory may be better than her mother's. I said it may be as well for you to speak to the girl, Miss Halcombe, as soon as we get back. So they're trying to figure out what it was that caused Anne Catherick to suddenly grow faint and then decide she had to flee the neighborhood. So maybe the dairy maid can remember what was being talked about in the room at the time. My suggestion was acted on. The moment we returned to the house, Ms. Halcombe led me round to the servants offices and we found the girl in the dairy with her sleeves tucked up to her shoulders, cleaning a large milk pan and singing blithely over her work. I have brought this gentleman to see your dairy, Hannah, said Miss Halcombe. It is one of the sights of the house and it always does you credit. The girl blushed and curtsied and said shyly that she hoped she always did her best to keep things neat and clean. We have just come from your father's, Miss Halcombe continued. You were there yesterday evening, I hear, and you found visitors at the house? Yes, miss. One of them was taken faint and ill, I am told. I suppose nothing was said or done to frighten her. You were not talking of anything very terrible, were you? Oh, no, miss, said the girl, laughing. We were only talking of the news. Your sisters told you the news at Todd's Corner, I suppose? Yes, miss. And you told them the news at Limmeridge House? Yes, miss. And I'm quite sure nothing was said to frighten the poor thing, for I was talking when she was taken ill. It gave me quite a turn, miss, to see it never having been taken faint myself. Before any more questions could be put to her, she was called away to receive a basket of eggs at the dairy door. As she left us, I whispered to Miss Halcombe, ask her if she happened to mention last night that visitors were expected at Limmeridge House. Miss Halcombe showed me by a look that she understood and put the question as soon as the dairy maid returned to us. Oh yes, miss, I mentioned that, said the girl simply. The company coming and the accident to the brindled cow was all the news I had to take to the farm. Did you mention names? Did you tell them that Sir Percival Glyde was expected on Monday? Yes, miss. I told him Sir Percival Glyde was coming. I hope there was no harm in it. I hope I didn't do wrong. Oh, no, no harm. Come, Mr. Hartright. Hannah will begin to think us in the way if we interrupt her any longer over her work. Okay. So we've learned that Anne grew faint and then ran away because she found out that Sir Percival, the man who locked her in the asylum from which she has now escaped, will be coming to town. We stopped and looked at one another the moment we were alone again. Is there any doubt in your mind now? Miss Halcombe. Sir Percival Glyde shall remove that doubt, Mr. Hartright, or Laura Fairlie shall never be his wife. 15. As we walked round to the front of the house, a fly from the railway approached us along the drive. So a fly is a kind of carriage. So a carriage is coming toward the house from the railway. Miss Halcombe waited on the doorsteps until the fly drew up and then advanced to shake hands with an old gentleman who got out briskly the moment the steps were let down. Mr. Gilmour had arrived. Okay, so remember, Mr. Gilmour is the lawyer who's going to draw up the terms of Laura's marriage agreement with Sir Percival. I looked at him when we were introduced to each other with an interest and a curiosity which I could hardly conceal. This old man was to remain at Limmeridge House after I had left it. It he was to hear Sir Percival Glyde's explanation and was to give Ms. Halcombe the assistance of his experience in forming her judgment. He was to wait until the question of the marriage was set at rest and his hand, if that question were decided in the affirmative, was to draw the settlement which bound Ms. Fairlie irrevocably to her engagement. Even then, when I knew nothing by comparison with what I know now, I looked at the family lawyer with an interest which I had never felt before in the presence of any man breathing who was a total stranger to me in external appearance. Mr. Gilmour was the exact opposite of the conventional idea of an old lawyer. His expression was florid, so florid means red or flushed, so his face is red and flushed. His white hair was worn rather long and kept carefully brushed. His black coat, waistcoat and trousers fitted him with perfect neatness. His white cravat was carefully tied and his lavender colored kid gloves might have adorned the hands of a fashionable clergyman without fear and without reproach. His manners were pleasantly marked by the formal grace and refinement of the old school of politeness, quickened by the invigorating sharpness and readiness of a man whose business in life obliges him always to keep his faculties in good working order. A sanguine constitution and fair prospects to begin with, with a long subsequent career of creditable and comfortable prosperity. A cheerful, diligent, widely respected old age. Such were the general impressions I derived from my introduction to Mr. Gilmour, and it is but fair to him to add that the knowledge I gained by later and better experience only tended to confirm them. So Mr. Gilmore seems like an intelligent, good natured, friendly sort of man. I left the old gentleman and Miss Halcombe to enter the house together and to talk of family matters undisturbed by the restraint of a stranger's presence. They crossed the hall on their way to the drawing room, and I descended the steps again to wander about the garden alone. My hours were numbered at Limmeridge House, and my departure the next morning was irrevocably settled. My share in the investigation, which the anonymous letter had rendered necessary, was at an end. No harm could be done to any one but myself if I let my heart loose again for the little time that was left me from the cold cruelty of restraint which necessity had forced me to inflict upon it, and took my farewell of the scenes which were associated with the brief dream time of my happiness and my love. I turned instinctively to the walk beneath my study window where I had seen her the evening before with her little dog, and followed the path which her dear feet had trodden so often till I came to the wicket gate that led into her rose garden. The winter bareness spread drearily over it now. The flowers that she had taught me to distinguish by their names, the flowers that I had taught her to paint from, were gone, and the tiny white paths that led between the beds were damp and green already. I went on to the Avenue of Trees place where we had breathed together the warm fragrance of August evenings, where we had admired together the myriad combinations of shade and sunlight that dappled the ground at our feet. The leaves fell about me from the groaning branches, and the earthy decay in the atmosphere chilled me to the bones. A little farther on and I was out of the grounds and following the lane that wound gently upward to the nearest hills. The old felled tree by the wayside side on which we had sat to rest was sodden with rain and the tuft of ferns and grasses which I had drawn for her nestling under the rough stone wall in front of us, had turned to a pool of water stagnating round an island of draggled weeds. I gained the summit of the hill and looked at the view which we had so often admired in the happier time. It was cold and barren. It was no longer the view that I remembered. The sunshine of her presence was far from me. The charm of her voice no longer murmured in my ear. She had talked to me on the spot from which I now look down of her father, who was her last surviving parent, and had told me how fond of each other they had been and how sadly she missed him still, when she entered certain rooms in the house and when she took up forgotten occupations and amusements with which he had been associated, was the view that I had seen while listening to those words, the view that I saw now. Standing on the hilltop by myself, I turned and left it. I wound my way back again over the moor and round the sand hills down to the beach. There was the white rage of the surf and the multitudinous glory of the leaping waves. But where was the place on which she had once drawn idle figures with her parasol in the sand? The place where we had sat together while she talked to me about myself and my home? While she asked me a woman's minutely observant questions about my mother and my sister and innocently wondered whether I should ever leave my lonely chambers and have a wife and a house of my own. Wind and wave had long since smoothed out the trace of her which she had left in those marks on the sand. I looked over the wide monotony of the seaside prospect and the place in which we two had idled away. The sunny hours was as lost to me as if I had never known it, as strange to me as if I stood already on a foreign shore. The empty silence of the beach struck cold to my heart. I returned to the house in the garden where traces were left to speak of her at every turn. On the west terrace walk, I met Mr. Gilmour. He was evidently in search of me, for he quickened his pace when we caught sight of each other. The state of my spirits little fitted me for the society of a stranger. But the meeting was inevitable, and I resigned myself to make the best of it. You are the very person I wanted to see, said the old gentleman. I had two words to say to you, my dear sir, and if you have no objection, I will avail myself of the present opportunity. To put it plainly, Miss Halcombe and I have been talking over family affairs, affairs which are the cause of my being here. And in the course of our conversation she was naturally led to tell me of this unpleasant matter connected with the anonymous letter and of the share which you have most creditably and properly taken in the proceedings so far. That share, I quite understand, gives you an interest which you might not otherwise have felt in knowing that the future management of the investigation which you have begun will be placed in safe hands. My dear sir, make yourself quite easy on that point. It will be placed in my hands. You are in every way, Mr. Gilmour, much fitter to advise and to act in the matter than I am. Is it an indiscretion on My part to ask if you have decided yet on a course of proceeding so far as it is possible to decide. Mr. Hartright, I have decided. I mean to send a copy of the letter accompanied by a statement of the circumstances to Sir Percival Glyde's solicitor in London with whom I have some acquaintance. The letter itself I shall keep here to shew to Sir Percival as soon as he arrives. The tracing of the two women I have already provided for by sending one of Mr. Fairlie's servants, a confidential parson to the station to make inquiries stories. The man has his money and his directions and he will follow the women in the event of his finding any clue. This is all that can be done until Sir Percival comes on Monday. I have no doubt myself that every explanation which can be expected from a gentleman and a man of honour he will readily give. Sir Percival stands very high, sir. An eminent position, a reputation above suspicion. I feel quite easy about results. Quite easy. I am rejoiced to assure you. Mr. Gilmore feels confident that Sir Percival will be able to explain everything. He's a well respected man and he's pretty much above suspicion as far as Mr. Gilmore is concerned. Things of this sort happen constantly in my experience. Anonymous letters, unfortunate woman, sad state of society. I don't deny that there are peculiar complications in this case. Case? But the case itself is most unhappily common. Common? I am afraid Mr. Gilmore, I have the misfortune to differ from you in the view I take of the case. Just so my dear sir, just so. I am an old man and I take the practical view. You are a young man and you take the romantic view. Let us not dispute about our views. I live professionally in an atmosphere of disputation, Mr. Hartright. And I am only too glad to escape from it as I am escaping here. We will wait for events. Yes, yes, yes. We will wait for events. Charming place this Good shooting. Probably not. None of Mr. Fairley's land is preserved I think. Charming place though. And delightful people. You draw and paint I hear Mr. Hartright. Enviable accomplishment. What style. Okay, so Walter is inclined to think badly of Sir Percival because he's the one that's going to marry Laura, the woman he loves. But Mr. Gilmour assumes that Sir Percival is completely blameless. And it's Anne Catherick that's suspicious. We dropped into general conversation or rather Mr. Gilmour talked and I listened. My attention was far from him and from the topics on which he discoursed so fluently. The solitary walk of the last two hours had wrought its effect on me. It had set the idea in my mind of hastening my departure from Limmeridge House. House. Why should I prolong the hard trial of saying farewell by one unnecessary minute? What further service was required of me by anyone? There was no useful purpose to be served by my stay in Cumberland. There was no restriction of time in the permission to leave which my employer had granted to me. Why not end it there and then? I determined to end it. There were some hours of daylight still left. There was no reason why my journey back to London should not begin. On that afternoon I made the first civil excuse that occurred to me for leaving Mr. Gilmore and returned at once to the house. On my way up to my own room, I met Miss Halcombe on the stairs. She saw by the hurry of my movements and the change in my manner that I had some new purpose in view, and asked what had happened. I told her the reasons which induced me to think of hastening my departure, exactly as I have told them. Here. No, no, she said earnestly and kindly. Leave us like a friend. Break bread with us once more. Stay here and dine. Stay here and help us to spend our last evening with you as happily as like our first evenings as we can. It is my invitation. Mrs. Veycy's invitation. She hesitated a little and then added Laura's invitation as well. I promised to remain. God knows I had no wish to leave even the shadow of a sorrowful impression with any one of them. My own room was the best place for me till the dinner bell rang. I waited there till it was time to go downstairs. I had not spoken to Ms. Fairlie. I had not even seen her all that day. The first meeting with her when I entered the drawing room was a hard trial to her self control and to mine. She too had done her best to make our last evening renew the golden bygone time, the time that could never come again. She had put on the dress which I used to admire more than any other. That she possessed a dark blue silk trimmed quaintly and prettily with old fashioned lace. She came forward to meet me with her former readiness. She gave me her hand with the frank, innocent good will of happier days. The cold fingers that trembled round mine, the pale cheeks with a bright red spot burning in the midst of them, the faint smile that struggled to live on her lips and died away from them while I looked at it, told me at what sacrifice of herself her outward composure was maintained. My heart could take her no closer to me. Me or I should have Loved her then as I had never loved her. Yet Mr. Gilmour was a great assistance to us. He was in high good humour and he led the conversation with unflagging spirit. Miss Halcombe seconded him resolutely and I did all I could to follow her example. The kind blue eyes whose slightest change of expression I had learnt to interpret so well, looked at me appealingly when we first sat down to table. Help my sister, the sweet, anxious face seemed to say. Help my sister and you will help me. We got through the dinner to all outward appearance at least happily enough. When the ladies had risen from table and Mr. Gilmore and I were left alone in the dining room, a new interest presented itself to occupy our attention and to give me an opportunity of quieting myself by a few minutes of needful and welcome silence. The servant who had been despatched to trace Anne Catherick and Mrs. Clements returned with his report and was shown into the dining room immediately. Well said, Mr. Gilmour. What have you found out? I have found out, sir, answered the man, that both the women took tickets at our station here for Carlisle. You went to Carlisle, of course, when you heard that? I did, sir, but I am sorry to say I could find no further trace of them. You inquired at the railway? Yes, sir. And at the different inns? Yes, sir. And you left the statement I wrote for you at the police station? I did, sir. Well, my friend, you have done all you could and I have done all I could, and there the matter must rest till further notice. We have played our trump cards, Mr. Hartright, continued the old gentleman when the servant had withdrawn. For the present at least, the women have outmanoeuvred us and our only resource now is to wait till Sir Percival Glyde comes here on Monday next. Won't you fill your glass again? Good bottle of port that sound substantial. Hold wine. I have got better in my own cellar, though. We returned to the drawing room, the room in which the happiest evenings of my life had been passed. The room which after this night I was never to see again. Its aspect was altered since the days had shortened and the weather had grown cold. The glass doors on the terrace side were closed and hidden by thick curtains. Instead of the soft twilight obscurity in which we used to sit, the bright radiant glow of lamplight now dazzled my eyes. All was changed indoors and out. All was changed. Miss Halcombe and Mr. Gilmore sat down together at the card table. Mrs. Vesey took her customary chair. There was no restraint on the disposal of their evening And I felt the restraint on the disposal of mine all the more painfully from observing it. I saw Miss Fairlie lingering near the music stand. The time had been when I might have joined her there. I waited irresolutely. I knew neither where to go nor what to do next. She cast one quick glance at me, took a piece of music suddenly from the stand, and came towards me of her own accord. Shall I play some of those little melodies of Mozart's which you used to like so much? She asked, opening the music nervously and looking down at it while she spoke. Before I could thank her, she hastened to the piano. The chair near it, which I had always been accustomed to occupy, stood empty. She struck a few chords, then glanced round at me, then looked back again at her music. Won't you take your old place? She said, speaking very abruptly and in very low tones. I may take it on the last night, I answered. She did not reply. She kept her attention riveted on the music, music which she knew by memory, which she had played over and over again in former times without the book. I only knew that she heard me. I only knew that she was aware of my being close to her by seeing the red spot on the cheek that was nearest to me fade out and the face grow pale all over. I am very sorry you are going, she said, her voice almost sinking to a whisper. Supper. Her eyes looking more and more intently at the music, her fingers flying over the keys of the piano with a strange, feverish energy which I had never noticed in her before. I shall remember those kind words, Miss Fairlie, long after to morrow has come and gone. The paleness grew whiter on her face, and she turned it farther away from me. Don't speak of tomorrow, she said. Let the music speak to us of tonight in a happier language than ours. Her lips trembled. A faint sigh fluttered from them, which she tried vainly to suppress. Her fingers wavered on the piano. She struck a false note, confused herself in trying to set it right, and dropped her hands angrily on her lap. Miss Halcombe and Mr. Gilmore looked up in astonishment from the card table at which they were placed. Even Mrs. Vaisey, dozing in her chair, woke at the sudden cessation of the music and inquired what had happened. You play at whist, Mr. Hartright? Asked Ms. Halcombe, with her eyes directed significantly at the place I occupied. I knew what she meant. I knew she was right, and I rose at once to go to the card table. As I left the piano, Miss Fairlie turned a page of the music and touched the keys again with a surer hand. I will play it, she said, striking the notes almost passionately. I will play it on the last night. Come, Mrs. Vasey, said Ms. Halcombe. Mr. Gilmore and I are tired of a cart. Come and be Mr. Hartright's partner at whist. The old lawyer smiled satirically. His had been the winning hand, and he had just turned up a king. He evidently attributed Ms. Halcombe's abrupt change in the card table arrangements to a lady's inability to play the losing game. The rest of the evening passed without a word or a look from her. She kept her place at the piano, and I kept mine at the card table. She played unintermittingly, played as if the music was her only refuge from herself. Sometimes her fingers touched the notes with a lingering fondness, a soft, plaintive, dying tenderness, unutterably beautiful and mournful to hear. Sometimes they faltered and failed her, or hurried over the instrument mechanically, as if their task was a burden to them, but still change and waver as they might in the expression they imparted to the music. Their resolution to play never faltered. She only rose from the piano when we all rose to say good night. Mrs. Vesey was the nearest to the door and the first to shake hands with me. I shall not see you again, Mr. Hartright, said the old lady. I am truly sorry you are going away. You have been very kind and attentive, and an old woman like me feels kindness and attention. I wish you happy, sir. I wish you a kind Good bye. Mr. Gilmore came next. I hope we shall have a future opportunity of bettering Our acquaintance, Mr. Hartright. You quite understand about that little matter of business being safe in my hands. Yes, yes, of course. Bless me. How cold it is. Don't let me keep you at the door. Bon voyage, my dear sir. Bon voyage, as the French say. Miss Halcombe followed half past seven to morrow morning, she said, then added in a whisper, I have heard and seen more than you think. Your conduct to night has made me your friend for life. Meaning she sees the way Walter is restraining himself and she admires him for it and appreciates it. Miss Fairlie came last. I could not trust myself to look at her when I took her hand, and when I thought of the next morning. My departure must be a very early one, I said, I shall be gone, Miss Fairlie, before you. No, no, she interposed hastily. Not before I am out of my room. I shall be down to breakfast with Marian. I am not so ungrateful, not so Forgetful of the past three months, her voice failed her. Her hand closed gently round mine, then dropped it. Suddenly, before I could say good night, she was gone. The end comes fast. To meet me comes inevitably. As the light of the last morning came at Limmeridge House. It was barely half past seven when I went downstairs, but I found them both at the breakfast table waiting for me in the chill air, in the dim light, in the gloomy morning silence of the house. We three sat down together and tried to eattried, to talk. The struggle to preserve appearances was hopeless and useless and I rose to end it. As I held out my hand, as Miss Halcombe, who was nearest to me, took it. Miss Fairlie turned away suddenly and hurried from the room. Better so, said Miss Halcombe when the door had closed. Better so for you and for her. I waited a moment before I could speak. It was hard to lose her without a parting word or a parting look. I controlled myself. I tried to take leave of Miss Halcombe in fitting terms, but all the farewell words I would fain have spoken dwindled to one sentence. Have I deserved that? You should write to me was all I could say. You have nobly deserved everything that I can do for you as long as we both live. Whatever the end is, you shall know it. Meaning? She'll keep him informed of what happens with the investigation into Sir Percival and his connection to Anne Catherick. And if I can ever be of help again at any future time, long after the memory of my presumption and my folly is forgotten. I could add no more. My voice faltered. My eyes moistened in spite of me. She caught me by both hands. She pressed them with the strong, steady grasp of a man. Her dark eyes glittered, her brown complexion flushed deep. The force and energy of her face glowed and grew beautiful with the pure inner light of her generosity and her pity. I will trust you. If ever the time comes, I will trust you as my friend and her friend, as my brother and her brother. She stopped, drew me nearer to her. The fearless, noble creature touched my forehead, sister like with her lips, and called me by my Christian name. God bless you, Walter, she said. Wait here alone and compose yourself. I had better not stay for both our sakes. I had better see you go. From the balcony upstairs, she left the room. I turned away towards the window where nothing faced me but the lonely autumn landscape. I turned away to master myself before I too left the room in my turn and left it forever. A minute passed. It could hardly have been more. When I heard the door Open again softly, and the rustling of a woman's dress on the carpet move towards me. My heart beat violently as I turned round. Miss Fairlie was approaching me from the farther end of the room. She stopped and hesitated when our eyes met and when she saw that we were alone. Then, with that courage which women lose so often in the small emergency and so seldom in the great, she came on nearer to me, strangely pale and strangely quiet, drawing one hand after her along the table by which she walked, and holding something at her side in the other which was hidden by the folds of her dress. I only went into the drawing room, she said, to look for this. It may remind you of your visit here and of the friends you leave behind you. You told me I had improved very much when I did it, and I thought you might like. She turned her head away and offered me a little sketch, drawn throughout by her own pencil puzzle, of the summer house in which we had first met. The paper trembled in her hand as she held it out to me, trembled in mine as I took it from her. I was afraid to say what I felt. I only answered, it shall never leave me. All my life long it shall be the treasure that I prize most. I am very grateful for it. Very grateful to you for not letting me go away without bidding you good bye. Oh, she said innocently. How could I let you go after we have passed so many happy days together? Those days may never return, Miss Fairlie. My way of life and yours are very far apart. But if a time should come when the devotion of my whole heart and soul and strength will give you a moment's happiness or spare you a moment's sorrow, will you try to remember the poor drawing master who has taught you? Miss Halcombe has promised to trust me. Will you promise, too? The farewell sadness in the kind blue eyes shone dimly through her gathering tears. I promise it, she said in broken tones. Oh, don't look at me like that. I promise it with all my heart. I ventured a little nearer to her and held out my hand. You have many friends who love you, Miss Fairlie. Your happy future is the dear object of many hopes. May I say at parting that it is the dear object of my hopes too? The tears flowed fast down her cheeks. She rested one trembling hand on the table to steady herself while she gave me the other. I took it in mine. I held it fast. My head drooped over it. My tears fell on it. My lips pressed it. Not in love. Oh, not in love at that last moment, but in the agony and the self abandonment of despair. For God's sake, leave me, she said faintly. The confession of her heart, secret burst from her in those pleading words. I had no right to hear them, no right to answer them. They were the words that banished me in the name of her sacred weakness, from the room. It was all over. I dropped her hand. I said, no more. More. The blinding tears shut her out from my eyes, and I dashed them away to look at her for the last time. One look as she sank into a chair, as her arms fell on the table, as her fair head dropped on them wearily. One farewell look, and the door had closed upon her. The great gulf of separation had opened between us. The image of Laura Fairlie was a memory of the past, already the end of Hartright's narrative 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 continued.