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- [00:00]
A
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. Welcome back.
- [00:43]
B
Oh, this already feels so cozy. I don't know about where you are, but it is freezing where I am.
- [00:50]
A
It is so cold.
- [00:52]
B
First it's snowed and then all the snow turned into ice and the wind is blowing like I don't even know. I kind of expect to see like the Wicked Witch of the west coming by. Things are flying past the window. Weird, like, flurries of snow are being kind of kicked off the tops of buildings and then whooshed down the street.
- [01:12]
A
It's nuts.
- [01:13]
B
But now we are warm and snug here together. Whether or not you are warm while you're listening to this, whether or not you are in fact snug, whether or not you are actually sitting in your cozy chair with your cup of tea, I always like to say that maybe this podcast can be your cozy chair and be your lovely cup of tea, regardless of where you are and what you're doing right now. So I hope that's true for you. It is true for me. I am snuggled up in my little closet where I record and it's nice and warm and I've got my little twinkly light and. And I'm ready to go. And this feels like the perfect book to be reading together on a cold and snowy night. Even though currently in the story, it is summer, it still feels like the kind of book that you want to read. Kind of snuggled up by the fire with people that you love. So we are here.
- [02:06]
A
Welcome.
- [02:07]
B
I'm so glad that you're here with me. I'm thrilled to be moving on to the next part of this story. This one is so good and I cannot wait to share it with you. Speaking of cozy places to hang out with people that you like, I just wanted to say thank you to those of you who have signed up for a Storytime for Grown Ups membership and have joined what I'm calling the Drawing Room, which is our new online community of Storytime fans. If you haven't checked that out already, if you missed the memo, there is a link in the show Notes that you can click and it's a membership so there are different tiers. The first one is $5 a month and there's another one that's 10. And it gives you access to, to an online community where you can gather together virtually and write messages to each other. People are already there. People have already started to check in and to write messages. So your friends are waiting for you. Friends are already there. The storytime for Grown Ups drawing room is for you. It is always tea time. You are always welcome there. And so check out that link if you're interested. If you join the $10 a month option, which I'm calling Landed Gentry, the.
- [03:17]
A
Concept here is that this is the.
- [03:19]
B
Drawing room of a fancy British Victorian country house and that you are all house guests. So the first level is $5 a month. You become a house guest, you gain.
- [03:28]
A
Access to the drawing room.
- [03:30]
B
But if you go on to the $10 a month option, you become landed gentry. And that gives you access to a secret channel, which is a voice channel. And that is where we'll be having what I'm calling tea time. Once a month we will have a voice chat, kind of like a phone call together, where you and I will be able to talk to each other and you'll be able to talk to me, but also to the other Landed gentry friends that are there with us having tea time.
- [03:59]
A
And I have just announced that the.
- [04:01]
B
First tea time, the first ever storytime for Grown ups tea time in the drawing room will be January 30th. That's a Thursday at 8pm Eastern time. So in the drawing room on the, on the Discord website, where the drawing room exists virtually, it is now up there as an event. So you can check that out and learn a little bit more about what that is and how that all works there. I will mention it again a couple of times before it happens and I will definitely let you know on the Thursday when it is happening because there will also be a storytime episode on that day. So I will make sure to remind you. But just to let you know, it will be Thursday, January 30th at 8pm and that will be if you are a member of the Landed Gentry. So feel free to check out that link if you'd like to upgrade your membership for that.
- [04:52]
A
You're.
- [04:52]
B
You can do that via that link as well. And if you'd like to join us at any level, I, I welcome you. I, I'm really excited about this. I think it's a really fun way for us to get to really come together in community in a way that we really haven't been able to yet. This feels like a community. All of you have been saying that. I feel that too often. Feel like I'm getting the benefit of it more than anyone else because I get to get all your emails and respond to them, and you only get to hear the ones that I choose to say. So this is a way for you guys to actually connect with each other if that's of interest to you. And if it's not, then forget it. Just stick around here with the podcast. The podcast is not changing. It is exactly what it is, and it will stay that way. So this is not a change, it's just an addition. We're adding more rooms to the house, so join us there if you're interested. Okay, so just a couple of quick things before I get to today's questions. I have three very short related questions that I'm going to read to you in just a moment. But before we do that, just two very quick things. I wanted to quickly mention that the chapter numbers for this part of the book are different in different editions, which is really annoying. And I'm saying this because I know that some of you buy the book or check it out of the library and read along with us, or read beforehand and then listen or whatever it is. And I think that's fantastic and great. So I want you guys to be aware so that you're not confused sometimes. The very first part, which we were calling Chapter one, that one, is sometimes called the Preamble. And then Chapter two, what we're calling Chapter two, is sometimes called Chapter One, but in other editions the Preamble is called Chapter one, and then the next chapter is called Chapter two, and that seems to be the way that it is mostly done. So that's what I decided to do. So we did chapters one, two, and three last time, with one being what is sometimes called the Preamble, which would make your chapter numbers be off by one. If you are in an edition that calls the Preamble the Preamble and then calls Chapter two, Chapter one. This will all be moot once we get into the part of the book that is not Walter Hartright's narrative, but is the next narrative after him, because then all the additions start with chapter one of the next person's narration. So it's not going to be a big deal. But I just wanted to let you know in case you're following along in a book and feeling very confused. Speaking of that, today we are going to be reading Hart Wright's narrative Chapters four, through five, assuming that the last chapter that we read was three.
- [07:23]
A
Which brings me to the other thing.
- [07:24]
B
I wanted to say, which is that some of you have been asking if I can tell you what chunks I've divided the book up into because we're not doing one chapter at a time because some chapters are very short and some are very long. And I think that's a fair question. Some of you like to read ahead or follow along or try remember what we did last time. And it's tricky if you don't know how I've divided the book up. So what I am going to do is in the show notes of each episode I'm going to just list what we'll be reading next time. So you'll find that there. Now you can scroll down to the show notes. Again, the show notes are just the description of this episode in your podcast player. You can scroll down and there you will find what we will be reading next time. I'm not going to put a whole list that would just clutter up the description, but I will put what the next times chapters will be and hopefully that feels helpful to those of you who are reading along or reading ahead or whatever it is that you're doing. So that is there now. And of course, as always, I do recommend that you check out those links. You can find our merch store. We've got lots of cool things for sale there with Storytime for Grown Ups designs on them. You can find that membership stuff and a whole bunch of other things are there. So please check out those links. And of course also the link to contact me is there and that's very important because I absolutely want you to contact me. I've been so interested enjoying your emails after the first episode. I'm so happy to be back in a book again and hearing from you all again. So thank you for that. So please do get in touch. I think you're going to want to get in touch with me after this episode. At least I hope you do. So faithkmore.com and click on Contact is the way to do that. But there's also a link in the show notes. All right, let's do a recap of what we read last time, which again was Heart Wright's narrative chapters one through three and then we'll get into our questions. So here is the recap.
- [09:15]
A
All right, so last time we met.
- [09:17]
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Walter Hartright, he's a drawing master and he is putting together this book as.
- [09:23]
A
A way of setting down a case.
- [09:24]
B
Which he says ought to have been heard in court, but wasn't because he didn't have the money to get it seen to.
- [09:32]
A
But he's going to tell his story. And when he gets to a place where someone else's testimony will be more helpful, he'll turn the story over to that person.
- [09:41]
B
So he begins the story, and he tells us about his friend Pesca, who's.
- [09:45]
A
This little Italian man who teaches Italian in the same sorts of places where Walter teaches drawing. And Walter once saved Pesca from drowning.
- [09:54]
B
And so Pesca now feels that he owes him a good deed in return. And he feels he's finally found that good deed by recommending Walter to a job teaching drawing to two young ladies in a country house in Cumberland. It's a really good job, but for some reason, Walter feels like he doesn't want to do it.
- [10:11]
A
But to appease his mother and sister.
- [10:13]
B
And also so as not to offend Pesca, Walter takes the job. So we left him as he was going to say goodbye to his mother and sister before going off to Cumberland for four months. All right, so as I say, I'm going to read three very short questions and comments today. The first one comes from Hannah R. Hannah writes, we don't know too much about Walter yet. I'm curious about his family's social status since the job offer seemed to be a big deal to them. The next one comes from Anne. She says, I love this.
- [10:45]
A
I laughed at Pesca's change in his.
- [10:47]
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Description of the gold man when he seemed to not delight in his recommendation of his friend. The effervescence of the Italian is a.
- [10:54]
A
Nice change from the staid English.
- [10:57]
B
It's too bad he is only a minor character looking forward to the drama that was foreshadowed. And the last one comes from Paula Fernandez. Paula writes, I think I am already hooked with this novel, especially with Walter's gnawing feeling about this teaching opportunity. Okay, so first of all, I included Anne's comment about Pesca because lots and lots of you have written in to say that you love Pesca. And I've also had many very kind comments about my Italian accent, which, as you know, I was very worried about. So thank you for your reassurance that it was okay and also that you liked Pesca, because I do, too, and that's why I wanted to do him justice. So I just included that part of Anne's comment. Because of that, I wanted to acknowledge that, yes, Pesca is wonderful and hilarious. And also to thank you for your kind words about my questionable Italian accent. But generally I think it makes sense here at the outset to take a kind of stock of what sort of story we find ourselves in right here at the beginning. And I chose these three questions because I think they hit all the beats that it makes sense to touc on after the first episode. So the first thing to just sort of point out is that this book has what is usually called a frame narrative. A frame narrative is a kind of a plot outside the actual plot of the story. And it's often the reason why the story is being told in some way. And so the frame narrative of the Woman in White is that everything that we are going to read about in the book really happened, and that we're going to hear it all set out for us as if we were listening to, like, testimony in court. And we're told that the reason that we're hearing it this way is because a crime has been committed, something has gone horribly wrong, but for some reason, most likely money, the crime was never brought to justice in the traditional sense, like in a court of law. So obviously this isn't true, and none of this did happen. This book is entirely fictional. But setting it up this way gives it an air of authenticity and it makes us feel a part of it, because we are now playing the part of the jury here, right? This is going to be like hearing testimony in a court case, and we get to be the judge and the jury. And the person who has put all of this testimony together is Walter Hartright. So he's our first narrator. We're gonna get to stick with him.
- [13:29]
A
For a while, but later we will.
- [13:31]
B
Have other narrators, because for whatever reason, we' know yet those people will be better suited to telling that part of the story when it happens. But for now, our narrator is Walter. Which brings us to Hannah's question. Who is Walter and what's his deal, basically? So we talked a lot about social class in our other books, right? It was particularly important in Pride and Prejudice, but it also came up quite a bit in Jane Eyre.
- [13:59]
A
So I'm not going to do, like.
- [14:00]
B
A full, full rundown of the Victorian social class system here, because all those past episodes are still available. And I know a lot of you have been going back and listening to the books you missed, which is fantastic. So there's tons in there about social class. But for our purposes, we can understand that Walter is a drawing master. That means that he teaches drawing and painting and like art generally to young men and women, probably mostly women. And because he has to work for a living, that places him in the middle class, we're told, told that his father was also a drawing master before him and that he was a very good drawing master and saved up a great deal of money. So now Walter's mother and sister have enough to live on if they aren't too extravagant. And Walter has the benefit of inheriting most of his father's pupils, so he's doing pretty well. But he's a very middle class guy. He's got to work for a living. The families of the people that he teaches are probably upper class. They're most likely landed gentry, or they might be sort of upper middle class, like Bingley from Pride and Prejudice, if you remember, or you were there with us for that. So these people, the people he works for, are most likely people who don't have to work for a living. And they're hiring this drawing teacher and an Italian teacher like Pesca and other sorts of teachers to give their children.
- [15:23]
A
Particularly their daughters, the kinds of accomplishments.
- [15:27]
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That would have made them very desirable.
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A
Wives in upper class society.
- [15:31]
B
So Walter is a middle class working guy who's used to being around upper class people, but in the role of a teacher. So in some ways he's actually sort of like Jane Eyre when she becomes a governess. But Walter has more security than Jane because his father left him some money and he has a family who could help him if he needed it.
- [15:52]
A
But one of the draws of the.
- [15:54]
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Job that Pesca has gotten for Walter is that Walter will be treated on terms of equality. So what that means is that he.
- [16:03]
A
Won'T be treated as a servant, he'll be treated like a gentleman of the house, like a guest.
- [16:08]
B
Right.
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A
So he'll be working.
- [16:10]
B
He's supposed to teach two young ladies how to paint with watercolors, apparently.
- [16:14]
A
But he'll have like a guest apartment.
- [16:17]
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He'll eat with the residents of the house instead of with the servants, he can ask the servants to do things for him, etc. Etc.
- [16:23]
A
Right.
- [16:24]
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He will be treated as a guest.
- [16:25]
A
Rather than as a servant, which wouldn't.
- [16:27]
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Necessarily have been the case for someone like him, but it's also completely acceptable as well, you know, like Jane Eyre, his position as a drawing master sort of straddles the line between servant and gentleman.
- [16:41]
A
And this job that Pesca has arranged.
- [16:43]
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For him is one in which it will be made expressly clear that Walter is a gentleman, a guest and not a servant. So basically, he's going to be going for four months to a fancy house, a country estate, much like Longbourn from Pride and Prejudice or Thornfield from Jane Eyre, if you read those books with us. So he'll be going there and he will be treated as a guest. And he'll be teaching two young ladies to paint. And also he'll be helping to restore some artwork that belongs to the master of the house, whose name is Mr. Fairley. So really, it's a very good job for someone like Walter. And the pay also seems to be very good.
- [17:19]
A
But.
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And Paula's comment alludes to this, for some reason, he feels like he doesn't want to go. And this is where I want to come back very briefly to the idea of the sensation novel, right? We talked about this in the intro episode, and that's still there, if you missed it. But essentially, the Woman in White is basically the kind of prime example of.
- [17:40]
A
The sensation novel, which was a genre.
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That was very popular at the time. And like I said before, it sets sort of disturbing or upsetting events in normal or domestic settings. It's kind of the precursor to the psychological thriller.
- [17:55]
A
But the thing is that the Woman.
- [17:57]
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In White is a kind of elevated example of this genre. The Woman in White is a great, great book. But there were a lot of truly terrible sensation novels. And many of them were kind of like, laughably bad. And they've been parodied in various places at various times. And one of the things that you will often find in a sensation novel generally is foreshadowing when it's done badly, right? It's often like every other line is like, all seemed well, but something terrible was about to happen. She was happy, but she was about to be very, very sad, right? He was a wealthy and proud, prosperous man. But, right, you get the idea when it's done badly like, that it becomes.
- [18:39]
A
Sort of ridiculous and silly.
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But when it is done well, it kind of inserts, like, a little thrill of suspense, a little thrill of uneasiness into what ought to be a kind of normal scene. And that's what's happening in this first chunk of the story that we read last time.
- [18:56]
A
And many of you picked up on it, right?
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This sense that even though Walter is being offered this really great opportunity at a time when he actually needs. Needs the money and doesn't have much else going on anyway.
- [19:07]
A
He has a sense that he shouldn't do it.
- [19:10]
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And that makes us wonder if he shouldn't do it, right? So this basically mundane scene of Walter at home with his family and his friend finding out some good news, essentially, it has just a little tinge of uneasiness to It. And then, of course, we get the very clear foreshadowing which is totally typical of a sensation novel and which is so delicious and juicy and fun, right? Walter says, here's a quote. Little did I think then, little did I think afterwards, when our pleasant holiday had drawn to an end, that the.
- [19:42]
A
Opportunity of serving me, for which my grateful companion so ardently longed, was soon.
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To come, that he was eagerly to.
- [19:50]
A
Seize it on the instant. And that by so doing, he was to turn the whole current of my.
- [19:55]
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Existence into a new channel and to alter me to myself. Almost past recognition, like, whoa, Right. Okay, so something is going to happen. It's going to be really big. It's going to change everything for Walter.
- [20:11]
A
And what that does to us, the.
- [20:14]
B
Reader, right, Is like I was saying, it inserts this strangeness, this uneasiness, this suspense into an otherwise very normal, potentially sort of boring thing. And we also get the promise of some sort of grand romance, right?
- [20:30]
A
I mean, here's another quote.
- [20:31]
B
It says, if I had not dived.
- [20:33]
A
For Professor Pesca when he lay underwater on his shingle bed, I should, in all human probability, never have been connected with the story which these pages will relate. I should never perhaps have heard even the name of the woman who has lived in all my thoughts, who has possessed herself of all my energies, who has become the one guiding influence that now directs the purpose of my life.
- [20:58]
B
So somehow, by taking this job, Walter is going to be changed utterly. His whole life will be set on another course, and he's going to meet.
- [21:07]
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A woman who has become the guiding.
- [21:09]
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Influence of his life, which could be a really good thing, right? But it sort of doesn't sound like it. Both because he's uneasy and doesn't want to take the job, so he's got.
- [21:19]
A
This sense of foreboding.
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B
And also because we know from the frame narrative that something at some point is going to go horribly wrong and some kind of crime is going to be committed such that we need to be reading these testimonies from these various people as if we were a judge or a jury. There's a melodrama to it, right? I mean, there's no doubt about that. And often melodrama is sort of ridiculous and laughable.
- [21:45]
A
But at least in my opinion, it's not laughable here.
- [21:49]
B
But it does make it sort of fun. Like we're all kind of sitting around the fire and someone's getting ready to tell us a spooky story. That kind of fun, right? We know we're safe and warm. We know we're with people we love and trust. We know the sun will rise and the day will dawn and we'll be safe and everything will be okay. But we're going to allow ourselves to.
- [22:08]
A
Be just a little bit scared, just.
- [22:10]
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A little bit unnerved. That's what this book is like to me, and that's what these little sensation elements do. It makes the suspense and the foreboding and the strangeness fun. It's thrilling, right? So let's see what's going to happen. Let's see what happens next. And please do write into me after this episode and tell me what you think. Ask your questions, give me your thoughts. Faith K. Moore.com and click on Contact. I would absolutely love to hear from you.
- [22:39]
A
All right, let's get started with Hartright's narrative. Chapters four through five of the Woman in White by Wilkie Collins it's story time four the heat had been painfully oppressive all day, and it was now a close and sultry night. My mother and sister had spoken so many last words and had begged me to wait another five minutes so many times that it was nearly midnight when the servant locked the garden gate behind me. I walked forward a few paces on the shortest way back to London, then stopped and hesitated. The moon was full and broad in the dark blue, starless sky, and the broken ground of the heath looked wild enough in the mysterious light to be hundreds of miles away from the great city that lay beneath it. The idea of descending any sooner than I could help into the heat and gloom of London repelled me. The prospect of going to bed in my airless chambers and the prospect of gradual suffocation seemed, in my present restless frame of mind and body, to be one and the same thing. I determined to stroll home in the purer air by the most roundabout way I could take, to follow the white winding paths across the lonely heath, and to approach London through its most open suburbs curb by striking into the Finchley Road, and so getting back in the cool of the new morning by the western side of the Regent's Park, I wound my way down slowly over the heath, enjoying the divine stillness of the scene and admiring the soft alternations of light and shade as they followed each other over the broken ground on every side of me. So long as I was proceeding through this first and prettiest part of my night walk, my mind remained passively open to the impressions produced by the view, and I thought but little on any subject. Indeed, so far as my own sensations were concerned, I can hardly say that I thought at all. But when I had left the heath and had turned into the by road, where there was less to see, the ideas naturally engendered by the approaching change in my habits and occupations gradually drew more and more of my attention exclusively to themselves. By the time I had arrived at the end of the road, I had become completely absorbed in my own fanciful visions of Limmeridge House, of Mr. Fairlie, and of the two ladies whose practice in the art of water colour painting I was soon to superintend. I had now arrived at that particular point of my walk where four roads met. The road to Hampstead, along which I had returned, the road to Finchley, the road to West End and the road back to London, I had mechanically turned in this latter direction and was strolling along the lonely high road, idly wondering, I remember, what the Cumberland young ladies would look like, when in one moment every drop of blood in my body was brought to a stop by the touch of a hand laid lightly and suddenly on my shoulder from behind me. I turned on the instant with my fingers tightening round the handle of my stick. There, in the middle of the broad, bright high road, there, as if it had that moment sprung out of the earth or dropped from the heaven, stood the figure of a solitary woman dressed from head to foot in white garments, her face bent in grave inquiry on mine, her hand pointing to the dark cloud over London. As I faced her, I was far too seriously startled by the suddenness with which this extraordinary apparition stood before me in the dead of night and in that lonely place to ask what she wanted. The strange woman spoke first. Is that the road to London? She said. I looked attentively at her as she put that singular question to me. It was then nearly 1 o'clock. All I could discern distinctly by the moonlight was a colourless youthful face, meager and sharp to look at about the cheeks and chin. Large, grave, wistfully attentive eyes, nervous, uncertain lips, and light hair of a pale brownish yellow hue. There was nothing wild, nothing immodest in her manner. It was quiet and self controlled, a little melancholy and a little touched by suspicion. Not exactly the manner of a lady and at the same time not the manner of a woman in the humblest rank of life. So this woman is clearly not a beggar, though she's not a highborn lady either. The voice, little as I had yet heard of it, had something curiously still and mechanical in its tone, and the utterance was remarkably rapid. She held a small bag in her hand and her dress, bonnet, shawl, and gown, all of white, was, as far as I could guess, certainly not composed of very delicate or very expensive materials. Her figure was slight and rather above the average height, her gait and actions free from the slightest approach to extravagance. This was all that I could observe of her in the dim light and under the perplexingly strange circumstances of our meeting. What sort of a woman she was and how she came to be out alone in the high road an hour after midnight, I altogether failed to guess. The one thing of which I felt certain was that the grossest of mankind could not have misconstrued her motive in speaking, even at that suspiciously late hour and in that suspiciously lonely place. Place, meaning she's clearly a respectable person who really does want to know the way to London, even though she's out so late at night. Did you hear me? She said, still quietly and rapidly and without the least fretfulness or impatience. I asked if that was the way to London. Yes, I replied. That is the way. It leads to St. John's Wood and the Regent's Park. You must excuse my not answering you before. I was rather startled by your sudden appearance in the road, and I am even now quite unable to account for it. You don't suspect me of doing anything wrong, do you? I have done nothing wrong. I have met with an accident. I am very unfortunate in being here alone so late. Why do you suspect me of doing wrong? She spoke with unnecessary earnestness and agitation and shrank back from me several paces. I did my best to reassure her.
- [29:36]
B
Pray, don't suppose that I have any.
- [29:38]
A
Idea of suspecting you, I said, or any other wish than to be of assistance to you if I can. I only wondered at your appearance in the road because it seemed to me to be empty the instant before I saw you. She turned and pointed back to a place at the junction of the road to London and the road to Hampstead, where there was a gap in the hedge. I heard you coming, she said, and hid there to see what sort of.
- [30:03]
B
Man you were before I risked speaking.
- [30:05]
A
I doubted and feared about it till you passed, and then I was obliged to steal after you and touch you. Steal after me and touch me? Why not call to me? Strange, to say the least of it. May I trust you? She asked. You don't think the worse of me because I have met with an accident. She stopped in confusion, shifted her bag from one hand to the other, and sighed bitterly. The loneliness and helplessness of the woman touched me. The natural impulse to assist her and to spare her Got the better of the judgment, the caution, the worldly tact which an older, wiser and colder man might have summoned to help him in this strange emergency. You may trust me for any harmless purpose, I said. If it troubles you to explain your strange situation to me, don't think of returning to the subject again. I have no right to ask you for any explanations.
- [31:04]
B
Tell me how I can help you.
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A
And if I can, I will. You are very kind, and I am very, very thankful to have met you. The first touch of womanly tenderness that I had heard from her trembled in her voice as she said the words, but no tears glistened in those large, wistfully attentive eyes of hers which were still fixed on me. I have only been in London once before, she went on more and more rapidly, and I know nothing about that side of it. Yonder. Can I get a fly or a carriage of any kind? So she wants to know essentially if she can catch a cab. Is it too late? I don't know. If you could show me where to get a fly, and if you will only promise not to interfere with me and to let me leave you when and how I please, I have a friend in London who will be glad to receive me. I want nothing else.
- [31:53]
B
Will you promise?
- [31:54]
A
She looked anxiously up and down the road, shifted her bag again from one hand to the other, repeated the words, will you promise? And looked hard in my face with a pleading fear and confusion that it troubled me to see. What could I do? Here was a stranger, utterly and helplessly at my mercy, and that stranger a forlorn woman. No house was near, no one was passing whom I could consult, and no earthly right existed on my part to give me a power of control over her, even if I had known how to exercise it. I trace these lines self distrustfully, with the shadows of after events darkening the very paper I write on. And still I say, what could I do? What I did do was to try and gain time by questioning her. Are you sure that your friend in London will receive you at such a late hour as this? I said, quite sure. Only say you will let me leave you when and how I please. Only say you won't interfere with me.
- [32:59]
B
Will you promise?
- [33:01]
A
As she repeated the words for the third time, she came close to me and laid her hand with a sudden gentle stealthiness on my bosom. A thin hand, a cold hand, when I removed it with mine, even on that sultry night, remember that I was young. Remember that the hand which touched me was a woman's. Will you Promise? Yes, one word. The little familiar word that is on everybody's lips every hour in the day. Oh, me. And I tremble now when I write it. We set our faces towards London and walked on together in the first still hour of the new day. I and this woman whose name, whose character, whose story, whose objects in life, whose very presence by my side at that moment were fathomless mysteries to me. It was like a dream. Was I Walter Hartright? Was this the well known, uneventful road where holiday people strolled on Sundays? Had I really left little more than an hour since the quiet, decent, conventionally domestic atmosphere of my mother's cottage? I was too bewildered, too conscious also of a vague sense of something like self reproach to speak to my strange companion for some minutes. It was her voice again that first broke the silence between us. I want to ask you something, she said suddenly. Do you know many people in London? Yes, a great many. Many men of rank and title. There was an unmistakable tone of suspicion in the strange question. I hesitated about answering it. Some, I said after a moment's silence. Many. She came to a full stop and looked me searchingly in the face. Many men of the rank of baronet. Too much astonished to reply, I questioned her in my turn. Why do you ask? Because I hope for my own sake there is one baronet that you don't know.
- [35:21]
B
Will you tell me his name?
- [35:23]
A
I can't. I daren't. I forget myself when I mention it. She spoke loudly and almost fiercely raised her clenched hand in the air and shook it passionately, then on a sudden controlled herself again and added in tones lowered to a whisper, tell me which of them you know. I could hardly refuse to humour her in such a trifle. And I mentioned three names. Two the names of fathers of families whose daughters I taught, one the name of a bachelor who had once taken me a cruise in his yacht to make sketches for him. Ah, you don't know him, she said with a sigh of relief.
- [36:04]
B
Are you a man of rank and title yourself?
- [36:07]
A
Far from it. I am only a drawing master. As the reply passed my lips a little bitterly perhaps, she took my arm with the abruptness which characterized all her actions. Not a man of rank and title, she repeated to herself. Thank God I might trust him. I had hitherto contrived to master my curiosity out of consideration for my companion, but it got the better of me. Now I am afraid you have some serious reason to complain of some man of rank and title, I said. I am afraid the baronet whose name you are unwilling to Mention to me has done you some grievous wrong. Is he the cause of your being out here at this strange time of night?
- [36:53]
B
Don't ask me.
- [36:55]
A
Don't make me talk of it, she answered. I am not fit now. I have been cruelly used and cruelly wronged. You will be kinder than ever if you will walk on fast and not speak to me. I sadly want to quiet myself if I can. We moved forward again at a quick pace, and for half an hour at least, not a word passed on either side. From time to time being forbidden to make any more inquiries, I stole a look at her face. It was always the same, the lips close shut, the brow frowning, the eyes looking straight forward eagerly and yet absently. We had reached the first houses and were close on the new Wesleyan College before her set features relaxed and she spoke once more. Do you live in London? She said. Yes. As I answered, it struck me that she might have formed some intention of appealing to me for assistance or advice, and that I ought to spare her a possible disappointment by warning her of my approaching absence from home. So I added, but tomorrow I shall be away from London for some time. I am going into the country. Where? She asked. North or south? North. To Cumberland. Cumberland? She repeated the word tenderly. Ah, I wish I was going there too. I was once happy in Cumberland. I tried again to lift the veil that hung between this woman and me. Perhaps you were born, I said, in the beautiful lake country. No, she answered. I was born in Hampshire, but I once went to school for a little while in Cumberland. Lakes? I don't remember any lakes. It's Limmeridge village and Limmeridge House I.
- [38:47]
B
Should like to see again.
- [38:49]
A
Limridge House is the house that Walter is going to teach drawing. It was my turn now to stop suddenly in the excited state of my curiosity. At that moment, the chance reference to Mr. Fairlie's place of residence on the lips of my strange companion staggered me with astonishment. Did you hear anybody calling after us? She asked, looking up and down the road affrightedly the instant I stopped. No, no. I was only struck by the name of Limmeridge House. I heard it mentioned by some Cumberland.
- [39:22]
B
People a few days since.
- [39:24]
A
Ah, not my people. Mrs. Fairlie is dead and her husband is dead, and their little girl may be married and gone away by this time. I can't say who lives at Limmeridge now, if any more are left there of that name. I only know I love them for Mrs. Fairlie's sake. She seemed about to say more, but while she was speaking. We came within view of the turnpike at the top of the Avenue Road. Her hand tightened round my arm and she looked anxiously at the gate before us. Is the turnpike man looking out? She asked. He was not looking out. No one else was near the place. When we passed through the gate the sight of the gas lamps and houses seemed to agitate her and to make her impatient. This is London, she said. Do you see any carriage I can get? I am tired and frightened. I want to shut myself in and be driven away. I explained to her that we must walk a little further to get to a cab stand. Unless we were fortunate enough to meet with an empty vehicle and then tried to resume the subject of Cumberland, it was useless. That idea of shutting herself in and being driven away had now got full possession of her mind. She could think and talk of nothing else. We had hardly proceeded a third of the way down the Avenue Road when I saw a cab draw up at a house a few doors below us. On the opposite side of the way, a gentleman got out and let himself in. At the garden door I hailed the cab and the driver mounted the box again. When we crossed the road, my companion's impatience increased to such an extent that she almost forced me to run. It is so late, she said. I am only in a hurry because it is so late. I can't take you, sir, if you're.
- [41:14]
B
Not going towards Tottenham Court Road, said the driver civilly when I opened the cab door.
- [41:19]
A
My horse is dead beat and I can't get him no further than the stable. Yes, yes, that will do for me. I'm going that way. I'm going that way. She spoke with breathless eagerness and pressed by me into the cab. I had assured myself that the man was sober as well as civil before I let her enter the vehicle. And now, when she was seated inside I entreated her to let me see her set down safely at her destination. So he's trying to get her to let him come with her so he knows she's arrived safely where she's going. No, no, no, she said vehemently. I'm quite safe and quite happy now. If you are a gentleman, remember your promise. Let me drive on till I stop him. Thank you. Oh, thank you, thank you. My hand was on the cab door. She caught it in hers, kissed it and pushed it away. The cab drove off at the same moment I started into the road with some vague idea of stopping it again. I hardly knew why, hesitated from dread of frightening and distressing her called at last. But not loudly enough to attract the driver's attention. The sound of the wheels grew fainter in the distance. The cab melted into the black shadows on the road. The woman in white was gone. Ten minutes or more had passed. I was still on the same side of the way, now mechanically walking forward a few paces, now stopping again absently. At one moment I found myself doubting the reality of my own adventure. At another, I was perplexed and distressed by an uneasy sense of having done wrong. Wrong which yet left me confusedly ignorant of how I could have done right. I hardly knew where I was going or what I meant to do next. I was conscious of nothing but the confusion of my own thoughts when I was abruptly recalled to myself, awakened, I might almost say, by the sound of rapidly approaching wheels close behind me. I was on the dark side of the road in the thick shadow of some garden trees, when I stopped to look round. On the opposite and lighter side of the way, a short distance below me, a policeman was strolling along in the direction of the Regent's Park. The carriage passed me, an open chaise driven by two men. Stop. Cried one. There's a policeman. Let's ask him. The horse was instantly pulled up a few yards beyond the dark place where I stood. Policemen. Cried the first speaker. Have you seen a woman pass this way? What sort of a woman, sir? A woman in a lavender colored gown. No, no, interposed the second man. The clothes we gave her were found on her bed. She must have gone away in the clothes she wore when she came to us in white.
- [44:06]
B
Policeman.
- [44:07]
A
A woman in white. I haven't seen her, sir. If you or any of your men meet the woman, stop her and send her in careful keeping to that address. I'll pay all expenses and a fair reward into the bargain. The policeman looked at the card that was handed down to him. Why are we to stop her, sir? What has she done? Done? She has escaped from my asylum, don't forget. A woman in white. Drive on five. She has escaped from my asylum. I cannot say with truth that the terrible inference which those words suggested flashed upon me like a new revelation. Some of the strange questions put to me by the woman in white after my ill considered promise to leave her free to act as she pleased, had suggested the conclusion either that she was naturally flighty and unsettled, or that some recent shock of terror had disturbed the balance of her faculties. But the idea of absolute insanity, which we all associate with the very name of an asylum, had, I can honestly declare, never occurred to me in connection with her so the woman in white didn't seem insane to Walter.
- [45:25]
B
She seemed odd, but not crazy.
- [45:27]
A
I had seen nothing in her language or her actions to justify it at the time. And even with the new light thrown on her by the words which the stranger had addressed to the policeman, I could see nothing to justify it now. What had I done? Assisted the victim of the most horrible of all false imprisonments to escape or cast loose on the wide world of London an unfortunate creature whose actions it was my duty and every man's duty mercifully to control? I turned sick at heart when the question occurred to me. And when I felt self reproachfully that it was asked. Too late. In the disturbed state of my mind, it was useless to think of going to bed. When I at last got back to my chambers in Clemens Inn, before many hours elapse, it would be necessary to start on my journey to Cumberland. I sat down and tried first to sketch, then to read. But the woman in white got between me and my pencil, between me and my book. Had the forlorn creature come to any harm? That was my first thought. Though I shrank selfishly from confronting it. Other thoughts followed on which it was less harrowing to dwell. Where had she stopped the cab? What had become of her now? Had she been traced and captured by the men in the chaise? Or was she still capable of controlling her own actions? And were we, too, following our widely parted roads towards one point in the mysterious future at which we were to meet once more? It was a relief when the hour came to lock my door, to bid farewell to London pursuits, London pupils and London friends, and to be in movement again towards new interests and a new life. Even the bustle and confusion at the railway terminus, so wearisome and bewildering at other times, roused me and did me good. My traveling instructions directed me to go to Carlisle and then to diverge by a branch railway which ran in the direction of the coast. As a misfortune to begin with, our engine broke down between Lancaster and Carlisle. The delay occasioned by this accident caused me to be too late for the branch train by which I was to have gone on immediately. I had to wait some hours, and when a later train finally deposited me at the nearest station to Limmeridge House, it was past ten and the night was so dark that I could hardly see my way to the pony chaise which Mr. Fairlie had ordered to be in waiting for me. The driver was evidently discomposed by the lateness of my arrival. He was in that state of highly respectful sulkiness, which is peculiar to English servants. We drove away slowly through the darkness in perfect silence. The roads were bad, and the dense obscurity of the night increased the difficulty of getting over the ground quickly. It was by my watch nearly an hour and a half from the time of our leaving the station before I heard the sound of the sea in the distance and the crunch of our wheels on a smooth gravel drive. We had passed one gate before entering the drive, and we passed another before we drew up at the house I was received by a solemn man servant out of livery, was informed that the family had retired for the night, and was then led into a large and lofty room where my supper was awaiting me in a forlorn manner at one extremity of a lonesome mahogany wilderness of dining table. I was too tired and out of spirits to eat or drink much, especially with the solemn servant waiting on me as elaborately as if a small dinner party had arrived at the house. House Instead of a solitary man, in a quarter of an hour I was ready to be taken up to my bedchamber. The solemn servant conducted me into a prettily furnished room, said, breakfast at 9:00, sir, looked all round him to see that everything was in its proper place, and noiselessly withdrew. What shall I see in my dreams to night, I thought to myself as I put out the candle, the woman in white, or the unknown inhabitants of this Cumberland mansion. It was a strange sensation to be sleeping in the house like a friend of the family and yet not to know one of the inmates even by sight. 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.