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. Welcome back. Are you still with us? I feel like we're getting so much information now that it might be a little overwhelming. So I hope you're still with us. I hope we're following along. We're going to talk about that. We're going to talk about the fact that we're getting a lot of information. I got many questions about it, but I'm going to read one and hopefully that's going to help us to kind of ground ourselves again in this story because there's a lot going on and we're feeling all the feels, but we're also getting a lot of information to process, so we're going to process that together. So I hope you're here for that. I hope you're sticking around. I'm so glad to be here with you. Thank you. Thank you for being here, for listening to Story Time for Grown Ups. I say this all the time, but this podcast is truly such a joy to make. It's a joy to create it, it's a joy to put it out into the world, and it's a joy to get your questions and comments and thoughts and emails in response. I really just feel so lucky to get to do this. So thank you. Thank you for all of those things. Thank you for all the ways that you support the show and for spending your time with Story Time for Grown Ups on Mondays and Thursdays or whenever it is that you listen. I'm so glad that you have found this show and that you're coming along with us on this journey of the Woman in White and hopefully many more journeys to come. Don't forget to subscribe so that you don't miss any of these episodes. 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And then of course we have to find out what happens next. So last time we read Heart Writes Narrative Chapters five and six. Today we're reading Hartright's Narrative Chapter seven. So let's go back and recap. We learned a lot last time. So let's talk about what we heard last time. And then as I say, I've got this one question and hopefully we can kind of re ground ourselves a little bit. So here is the recap. Okay, so where we left off, Walter has embarked on his investigation. The first thing he does is try to figure out if he can prove what day Laura left Blackwater park for London. So he goes to Hampshire and he sees Mr. Dawson. But Mr. Dawson doesn't know the exact date. Neither do the servants at the Porter's lodge of Blackwater park, including Margaret Porcher or the gardener There is a strange man at Blackwater park who turns out to be someone that Sir Percival has sent to tell him if Walter shows up. And also to try to cause Walter to do something that might get him arrested, to get Walter out of the way. But Walter doesn't fall into that trap and he leaves the estate. So Walter now sees that the only way to get Sir Percival to confess to what he's done is for Walter to find out this secret that Anne said she has, and hopefully to use that against Sir Percival. Since Anne is dead, Walter feels like the person most likely to have information about this is Anne's mother, Mrs. Catherick. But since Mrs. Catherick seems to be at least somewhat in league with Sir Percival, Walter decides to track down Anne's friend, Mrs. Clements, to try to learn as much as he can about Mrs. Catherick. First, Marian writes to the people at Todd's Corner to see if they know where Mrs. Clements is. And while they're waiting, Marian tells Walter Sir Percival's family history, which is that his father was an eccentric recluse with some sort of physical deformity. He and his wife lived in seclusion and rebuffed all attempts at society from the town, sometimes in ways that were pretty offensive to everyone. Eventually, they left the country and Sir Percival grew up abroad. His parents died when Sir Percival was still fairly young and eventually he came back to England. It was at that point that he made friends with Laura's father, Mr. Fairlie. Finally, Marian receives an answer to her letter from the people at Todd's Corner, which gives them an address for Mrs. Clements in London. And Walter tells us this is the moment when their luck changed and when whatever it is that he ends up doing began. So Walter goes to visit Mrs. Clements and find that she has no idea what happened to Anne and is still wondering where she is. Walter can't tell her that she's definitely dead without revealing the whole conspiracy. So he just tells her that he thinks she's probably not alive anymore and that he's trying to bring to justice some people who may have harmed her. So Mrs. Clements tells Walter that after they left Limmeridge, when they left so abruptly from Todd's Corner, they went to a very small town, but Anne was taken very ill there. When she was better, she insisted that they go to Blackwater park so she could talk to Laura. This was when Anne spoke to Laura and left her the letter at the boathouse. Right. Anne became ill again and couldn't go meet with Laura at the appointed time. So she sent Mrs. Clements instead. Mrs. Clements found a man who we know was Count Fosco waiting for her, who said that he was a friend of Laura's and that she'd told him to say that Anne should go to London and Laura would meet her there. Mrs. Clements said that Anne was too ill to travel, and Count Fosco said that he would come and give her some medicine. He did, and the medicine allowed Anne to be well enough to travel to London, which they did. Eventually, a woman who we know was Madame Fosco came and said she'd been sent by Laura and asked Mrs. Clemens to come with her so they could arrange a meeting between anne and Laura. Mrs. Clements went with her, but the woman left her in a carriage and never came back. When Mrs. Clements arrived back at her lodgings, Anne was gone. And that was the last that she saw of Anne. Okay, so today's question comes from Elizabeth. Elizabeth writes, wow, it feels like we're getting so much information all of a sudden. I'm kind of having a hard time keeping track of everything. I know you said we've entered a new phase of the story now, but I kind of miss the old phase. These sections where people tell Walter things that happened in the past and then Walter tells them to us feel a little overwhelming, like we're reading a police report or something. Can you help ground us a little? Okay, yes. This is entirely valid, and I'm really glad that Elizabeth wrote in to say this. So I am getting the sense from many of you that we're feeling a little bogged down with information at the moment. And that makes total sense. We're definitely, in fact, finding mode at the moment. And the wonderful but also slightly difficult thing is that the plot that was perpetrated against Laura, the crime, is actually pretty complicated. And not only that, we're not just dealing with the crime at this point, we're also trying to figure out Sir Percival's secret. So we're sort of going back in time to replay the crime. Right? The crime, meaning the fact that Laura and Anne were switched. So we're replaying the crime in these various ways to get at what exactly was done by whom and how. And Walter. Detective Walter, right. Was also trying to collect evidence to see if he could prove that Laura was actually still at Blackwater park when Anne died in London. But now we're also trying to collect information about Sir Percival's secret, not because it somehow pertains to the crime, except in the sense that it might have been the motive for the crime. Since Percival wanted to silence both Anne and Laura because he thought they both knew the secret. Right, but we're not trying to find out the secret because of the crime. We're trying to find it out so that we have some leverage against Sir Percival. Right. Basically, Walter has kind of decided, based on his chat with the lawyer, Mr. Curl, and his understanding of what all the various witnesses are able or not able to testify to, he's basically decided that there's no way to positively prove that Laura is Laura or that Count Fosco and Sir Percival orchestrated this switch. There's no actual evidence he can bring to show people what happened. So instead of that, he has got to get Sir Percival and or the Count to just confess. Right. And he sees that between the two of them, Sir Percival is the weak link because he's got this secret and that could be used to make him confess rather than have it become known to the world. So even though we've been saying that this book is kind of the precursor to the detective story, and Walter is very much our detective and operating very much in detective mode at the moment, the structure of this story is not actually your typical detective novel structure. Because in a detective novel like a modern one, let's say, you usually begin with a crime, right? Someone's been murdered, for example, and there are various pieces of evidence or clues, but you don't know who did it. So, like there's a weapon at the scene or some footprints or something, or maybe a neighbor says that they saw someone leaving through a window or whatever. And the plot of the story is following this evidence, plus more evidence that the detective gathers as he goes following it, to piece together a picture of what exactly happened, leading finally at the very end, to the revelation of who did it. Whodunit. Right. But that's not what we have here at all. And I think it's helpful to realize this because now we're in this kind of information gathering part of the book, as Elizabeth says. And by the way, there is more action to come, I promise. But it's true. We are gathering information at the moment and it can start to feel a little bit like, but wait, I can't keep track of all these details. How am I going to solve this case? How am I going to crack the case? Right. So I want to just point this out so that you can let yourself off the hook a little and kind of allow yourself to be swept away by the story again. Because even this information that we're learning is, in my opinion, anyway, it's Wildly entertaining. So you don't want to feel like someone that is studying for a test or something, like you're going to be questioned on this later and have to regurgitate all of this information. So my point here is that as opposed to the typical detective narrative, we actually know already who done it. Right? It was Sir Percival and the Count. They did it. We also, at this point, particularly after the last episode, basically know what happened. We learned last time that Fosco kind of ingratiated himself with Mrs. Clements, lured her and Anne to London, then lured Mrs. Clements away from the house so he could lure anne away without Mrs. Clements knowing, under the pretext of taking her to Laura. We know that Anne was then taken to Fosco's house in St. John's Wood, introduced as Laura, and died there. We don't yet know whether her death was actually murder or whether she died of her heart condition, but we know she died there and we know she was buried then as Lady Glyde. We know that Laura came from London and Count Fosco took her somewhere other than his house in St. John's Wood. He got her certified insane, drugged her and took her to the asylum as Anne. So that's it. That's the crime. Right. It was a switch. It allowed Sir Percival and Count Fosco to inherit Laura's money. It silenced Anne Catherick, who knew Percival's secret, and it silenced Laura, too, who Sir Percival thought knew the secret. So that's the crime. If this was a detective story, that would be the end, because the author would have organized it so that once we've learned all of that, the detective would have the evidence he needs to bring Sir Percival and Count Fosco down. But that's not what's happening here. In fact, at this point, it's kind of looking like the evidence of what happened during the crime is sort of irrelevant. Right. Walter has decided he can't prove any of it, so he's not going even try. He did his due diligence. He went to Blackwater and he tried to talk to people there, and he realized that, no, there's no way to prove that Laura wasn't in London at the time of her supposed death. So instead of trying to keep looking for that evidence, he's kind of like, okay, well, whatever about that, let's move on to another mystery and try to solve that. Let's try to solve the mystery of Sir Percival's secret, not because it will give us the evidence we need to solve our crime, but because it will give us some leverage against Sir Percival so that he will just confirm, confess on his own. And by the way, I'm not saying that no modern detective stories have these kinds of elements. I'm only saying that this story isn't exactly the sort of detective plot that we usually expect from a detective story. So we're. We're off on a new tangent now, right? Which might feel a little bit like, what? Wait, what? I thought we were solving the crime now we're talking about Sir Percival's backstory or whatever help. Right? I'm lost. But my point here is don't feel lost. Just go with it. Right? Think of the story not so much as a series of clues all leading to one conclusion. Think of it more as like a line of dominoes. Okay? So each event or revelation sets off the next action in the plot, right? Like Walter meets the woman in white on the road. That causes him to tell Marian about her. This causes Marian to find out about Anne Catherick. This causes them to know who sent the anonymous note to Laura. That causes Walter. Walter to be able to ask her about it when he sees her in the graveyard. What she tells him causes Walter and Marian to be suspicious of Sir Percival and on and on. Right? Or like Walter and Laura falling in love causes Laura to reveal that she can never love Sir Percival. This causes Percival to resent Laura. His resentment causes him to be more willing to throw her under the bus. Etc. Etc. Right? It's a series of dominoes. Each thing that happens isn't necessarily a clue to the next thing, but each thing that happens is a sort of. A sort of spark that detonates the next plot point. Right? Which is brilliant. I mean, it's brilliant writing. So let's see if we can kind of drop back into the actual story. Okay? Drop back into the experience and the lives of our heroes. Right? Rather than trying to kind of second guess Wilkie Collins at every turn. I mean, yes, make your guesses, develop your theories. Those are excellent and fun. And you should be doing that if you want to, but don't feel like you have to get it, whatever it is. Right. Collins will make it all clear to us eventually, I promise. All we have to do is follow the dominoes, okay? We have to watch them fall. And right now, the domino of there being no way to prove Laura's identity has hit the domino of using Sir Percival's secret to make him confess. Which has hit the domino of trying to figure out more about Sir Percival's past by talking first. To Mrs. Clements and then hopefully to Mrs. Catherick. But more than any of that, it's become a great kind of like noir situation. Right? Here's Walter, our detective, who at this point has become much more hard boiled, much more of a sort of street smart, modern day knight than he ever was before. We've got Walter being followed, right, Both on the streets of London and around Blackwater park, followed by hired thugs, essentially. Right, Hired by who? Hired by Sir Percival. They're his goons, essentially. So before a while ago, I was saying that Sir Percival is essentially a thug. And he is. But he's the main thug, the big thug, okay? And he's got all these little thugs, baby thugs, and they're tailing Walter. But Walter, hardboiled Walter, he is a match for them. Okay, here's what he says. He said, I had first learned to use this stratagem against suspected treachery in the wilds of Central America. And now I was practicing it again with the same purpose and with even greater caution in the heart of civil, civilized London. So this is his strategy to get away from these people that are tailing him. So he's got skills, ladies and gentlemen, he's got skills. He's not your average drawing master anymore. He knows how to take care of himself on the mean streets of London, but he's not totally hard boiled. He's not totally like simply after the truth because. And we love him for this. I think he's got skin in the game. He loves Laura, he loves Marian, like as a sister, basically. But still he has these two women to protect whom he cares about deeply. And he has the righteous anger of a man whose girl was stolen from him. Okay, here's what he. The vindictive motive had mingled itself all along with my other and better motives. And I confess, it was a satisfaction to me to feel that the surest way, the only way left of serving Laura's cause, was to fasten my hold firmly on the villain who had married her. Okay, so he's doing this for all the right reasons. But if it means totally annihilating the man who stole his girl, then great, essentially. So cue the smooth saxophone music, cue the corny voiceover monologue because we've gone noir. But more than that, we're in danger, right? That's what we need to hang on to. That's the fun, exciting part here. We're getting all this information, but it's not so we can pass some tests down the line. It's because we've got Our two heroines, Marian and Laura, holed up in this tiny apartment with only Walter to protect them if the Count or Sir Percival comes to call, and we've got Walter out there, Sir Percival following his every move from afar, trying to track down the leverage he needs before the Count or Percival or both come to take him out. It's exciting, you guys, so let's just go with it, okay? Let's drop back into this story because now we're going to try to find out the secret, right? So let's get back into it. And don't forget to write to me faithkmoore.com and click on Contact. Or just scroll into the Show Notes and click on that link. I absolutely love to hear from you. I want to know what you're thinking about right now. All right, let's get started with Hartright's narrative, Chapter seven of the Woman in White by Wilkie Collins. It's story time. 7. Thus far, the information which I had received from Mrs. Clements, though it established facts of which I had not previously been aware, was of a preliminary character only. It was clear that the series of deceptions which had removed Anne Catherick to London and separated her from Mrs. Clements had been accomplished solely by Count Fosco and the Countess. And the question whether any part of the conduct of husband or wife had been of a kind to place either of them within reach of the law might be well worthy of future consideration. Meaning it might eventually be worthwhile to try to figure out if they could use Mrs. Clements's testimony to prove that Count and Madame Fosco are guilty of something, namely leading Anne Catherick away from Mrs. Clements under false pretenses. But the purpose I had now in view led me in another direction than this. The immediate object of my visit to Mrs. Clements was to make some approach at least to the discovery of Sir Percival's secret. And she had said nothing as yet, which advanced me on my way to that important end. I felt the necessity of trying to awaken her recollections of other times, persons and events than those on which her memory had hitherto been employed. And when I next spoke, I spoke with that object directly in view. I wish I could be of any help to you in this sad calamity, I said. All I can do is to feel heartily for your distress. If Anne had been Your own child, Mrs. Clements, you could have shown her no truer kindness. You could have made no readier sacrifices for her sake. There's no great merit in that, sir, said Mrs. Clements, simply the poor thing was as good as my own child to me. I nursed her from a baby, sir, bringing her up by hand. And a hard job it was to rear her. It wouldn't go to my heart so to lose her if I hadn't made her first short clothes and taught her to walk. I always said she was sent to console me for never having chick or child of my own. And now she's lost. The old times keep coming back to my mind. And even at my age, I can't help crying about her. I can't indeed, sir. I waited a little to give Mrs. Clements time to compose herself. Was the light that I had been looking for so long glimmering on me far off as yet in the good woman's recollections of Anne's early life? Did you know Mrs. Catherick before Anne was born? I asked. Not very long, sir. Not about four months. We saw a great deal of each other in that time, but we were never very friendly together. Her voice was steadier as she made that reply. Painful as many of her recollections might be. I observed that it was unconsciously a relief to her mind to revert to the dimly seen troubles of the past after dwelling so long on the vivid sorrows of the present. Were you and Mrs. Catherick neighbors? I inquired, leading her memory on as encouragingly as I could. Yes, sir. Neighbors at Old Welmingham. Old Welmingham? There are two places of that name then, in Hampshire? Well, sir, there used to be in those days, better than three and 20 years ago. They built a new town about two miles off, convenient to the river. And Old Welmingham, which was never much more than a village, got in time to be deserted. The new town is the place they call Welmingham now. But the old parish church is the parish church still. It stands by itself, with the houses pulled down or gone to ruin all round it. I've lived to see sad changes. It was a pleasant, pretty place in my time. So the place where Mrs. Clements lived and where she was neighbors with Anne and Mrs. Catherick is a town that doesn't exist anymore. Except for the church, which is still there. Did you live there before your marriage, Mrs. Clements? No, sir. I'm a Norfolk woman. It wasn't the place my husband belonged to, either. He was from Grimsby, as I told you, and he served his apprenticeship there. But having friends down south and hearing of an opening, he got into business at Southampton. It was in a small way, but he made enough for A plain man to retire on and settled at Old Welmingham. I went there with him when he married me. We were neither of us young, but we lived very happily together. Happier than our neighbour. Mr. Catherick lived along with his wife when they came to Old Welmingham a year or two afterwards. Was your husband acquainted with them before that? With Catherick, sir, not with his wife. She was a stranger to both of us. Some gentleman had made interest for Catherick, and he got the situation of clerk at Welmingham Church, which was the reason for his coming to settle in our neighborhood. So Mrs. Catherick came to this town, Old Welmingham, because her husband got a job as the person who keeps the church records. He brought his newly married wife along with him, and we heard in course of time she had been lady's maid in a family that lived at Varneck hall near Southampton. Catherick had found it a hard matter to get her to marry him. In consequence of her holding herself uncommonly high, meaning she thought of herself as socially higher than him. He had asked and asked and given the thing up. At last, seeing she was so contrary about it. When he had given it up, she turned contrary just the other way, and came to him of her own accord, without rhyme or reason, seemingly. My poor husband always said that was the time to have given her a lesson. But Catherick was too fond of her to do anything of the sort. He never checked her either before they were married or after. He was a quick man in his feelings, letting them carry him a deal too far now in one way and now in another. And he would have spoilt a better wife than Mrs. Catherick if a better had married him. I don't like to speak ill of anyone, sir, but she was a heartless woman with a terrible will of her own, fond of foolish admiration and fine clothes, and not caring to show so much as decent outward respect to Catherick, kindly as he always treated her. So. This is Anne, Catherick's mother, that she's talking about now. My husband said he thought things would turn out badly when they first came to live near us, and his words proved true. Before they had been quite four months in our neighborhood, there was a dreadful scandal and a miserable breakup in their household. Both of them were in fault. I am afraid both of them were equally in fault. You mean both husband and wife? Oh, no, sir. I don't mean Catherick. He was only to be pitied. I meant his wife and the person. And the person who caused the scandal. Yes, sir. A gentleman born and brought up who ought to have set a better example. You know him, sir. And my poor dear Anne knew him only too well. Sir Percival Glyde. Yes, Sir Percival Glyde. My heart beat fast. I thought I had my hand on the clue. How little I knew then of the windings of the labyrinths which were still to mislead me. Did Sir Percival live in your neighbourhood at that time? I asked. No, sir. He came among us as a stranger. His father had died not long before in foreign parts, I remember. He was in mourning. He put up at the little inn over the river. They have pulled it down since that time where gentlemen used to go to fish. He wasn't much noticed when he first came. It was a common thing enough for a gentleman to travel from all parts of England to fish in our river. Did he make his appearance in the village before Anne was born? Yes, sir. Anne was born in the June month of 1827. And I think he came at the end of April or the beginning of May. Came as a stranger to all of you. A stranger to Mrs. Catherick as well as the rest of the neighbors. So we thought at first, sir. But when the scandal broke out, nobody believed they were strangers. I remember how it happened as well as if it was yesterday. Catherick came into our garden one night and woke us by throwing up a handful of gravel from the walk at our window. I heard him beg my husband, for the Lord's sake, to come down and speak to him. They were a long time together talking in the porch. When my husband came back upstairs, he was all of a tremble. He sat down on the side of the bed and he says to me, lizzy, I always told you that woman was a bad one. I always said she would end ill. And I'm afraid in my own mind that the end has come already. Catherick has found a lot of lace handkerchiefs and two fine rings and a new gold watch and chain hid away in his wife's drawer. Things that nobody but a born lady ought ever to have. And his wife won't say how she came by them. Does he think she stole them? Says I. No, says he. Stealing would be bad enough, but it's worse than that. She's had no chance of stealing such things as those. And she's not a woman to take them if she had. They're gifts, Lizzy. There's her own initials engraved inside the watch. And Catherick has seen her talking privately and carrying. Carrying on as no married woman. Should with that gentleman in mourning. Sir percival glyde. So Mr. Catherick thinks Mrs. Catherick is having an affair with Sir Percival. Don't you say anything about it. I've quieted Catherick for to night. I've told him to keep his tongue to himself and his eyes and his ears open, and to wait a day or two till he can be quite certain. I believe you are both of you wrong, says I. It's not in nature, comfortable and respectable as she is here, that Mrs. Catherick should take up with a chance stranger like Sir Percival Glyde. Aye, but is he a stranger to her? Says my husband. You forget how Catherick's wife came to marry him. She went to him of her own accord, after saying no over and over again when he asked her. There have been wicked women before her time, Lizzy, who have used honest men who loved them as a means of. Of saving their characters. And I'm sorely afraid this Mrs. Catherick is as wicked as the worst of them. Meaning maybe the reason that Mrs. Catherick suddenly said yes to marrying Mr. Catherick is that she'd slept with Sir Percival and was now pregnant and needed to be respectably married before anyone found out. We shall see, says my husband. We shall soon see. And only two days afterwards we did see. Mrs. Clements waited for a moment before she went on. Even in that moment I began to doubt whether the clue that I thought I had found was really leading me to the central mystery of the labyrinth. After all, was this common, too common story of a man's treachery and a woman's frailty the key to a secret which had been the lifelong terror of Ser Percival Glyde? So Walter thinks maybe this isn't actually the secret because it's bad, but this sort of thing happens, and for the man it's not that uncommon. So it's not so scandalous that he'd lock someone up in a mental hospital to keep it from coming out. Well, Sir Catherick took my husband's advice and waited, Mrs. Clements continued. And as I told you, he hadn't long to wait. On the second day he found his wife and Sir Percival whispering together, quite familiar, close under the vestry of the church. I suppose they thought the neighborhood of the vestry was the last place in the world where anybody would think of looking after that them. But however that may be, there they were. Sir Percival, being seemingly surprised and confounded, defended himself in such a guilty way that poor Catherick, whose quick Temper I have told you of already fell into a kind of frenzy at his own disgrace and struck Sir Percival. He was no match, and I am sorry to say it, for the man who had wronged him. And he was beaten in the cruellest manner before the neighbours who had come to the place on hearing the disturbance, could run in to part them. All this happened towards evening and before nightfall. When my husband went to Catherick's house, he was gone. Nobody knew where. So this seeming confirmation of the affair caused Mr. Catherick to run off and leave his wife. No living soul in the village ever saw him again. He knew too well by that time what his wife's vile reason had been for marrying him. Him. And he felt his misery and disgrace, especially after what had happened to him with Sir Percival too keenly. The clergyman of the parish put an advertisement in the paper, begging him to come back and saying that he should not lose his situation or his friends. But Catherick had too much pride and spirit, as some people said, too much feeling, as I think, sir, to face his neighbours again and try to live down the memory of his disgrace. Grace, My husband heard from him when he left England, and heard a second time when he was settled and doing well in America. He is alive there now, as far as I know. None of us in the old country, his wicked wife least of all, are ever likely to set eyes on him again. What became of Sir Percival? I inquired. Did he stay in the neighbourhood? Not he, sir. The place was too hot to hold him. He was heard at high words with Mrs. Catherick the same night when the scandal broke out. Meaning he and Mrs. Catherick had an argument, and the next morning he took himself off. And Mrs. Catherick? Surely she never remained in the village among the people who knew of her disgrace? She did, sir. She was hard enough and heartless enough to set the opinions of all her neighbors at flat defiance. She declared to everybody from the clergyman downwards that she was the victim of a dreadful mistake and that all the scandal mongers in the place should not drive her out of it as if she was a guilty woman. So Mrs. Catherick says that everyone got the whole thing wrong and she's innocent. She did not have an affair. All through my time she lived at old Welmingham. And after my time, when the new town was building and the respectable neighbors began moving to it, she moved too, as if she was determined to live among them and scandalize them to the very last. There she is now, and there she will stop in Defiance of the best of them to her dying day. But how has she lived through all these years? I asked. Was her husband able and willing to help her? Both able and willing, sir, said Mrs. Clements in the second letter he wrote to my good man, meaning to her husband. He said she had borne his name and lived in his home. And wicked as she was, she must not starve like a beggar in the street. He could afford to make her some small allowance, and she might draw for it quarterly at a place in London. Did she accept the allowance? Not a farthing of it, sir. She said she would never be beholden to Catherick for bit or drop if she lived to be a hundred. And she has kept her word ever since. When my poor husband died and left all to me, Catherick's letter was put in my possession with the other things. Things. And I told her to let me know if she was ever in want. I'll let all England know I'm in want, she said. Before I tell Catherick or any friend of Catherick's, take that for your answer and give it to him for an answer if he ever writes again. Do you suppose that she had money of her own? Very little, if any, sir. It was said and said. Truly, I am afraid that her means of living came privately from sir percival glyde. So Mrs. Catherick's money comes entirely from Sir Percival. After that last reply, I waited a little to reconsider what I had heard. If I unreservedly accepted the story so far, it was now plain that no approach, direct or indirect, to the secret had yet been revealed to me, and that the purpose of my object had ended again in leaving me face to face with the most palpable and the most disheartening failures. So Walter is convinced that this story about the affair is not the secret. But there was one point in the narrative which made me doubt the propriety of accepting it unreservedly and which suggested the idea of something hidden below the surface. I could not account to myself for the circumstance of the clerk's guilty wife voluntarily living out all her after existence on the scene of her disgrace. The woman's own reported statement that she had taken this strange course as a practical assertion of her innocence did not satisfy me. It seemed to my mind more natural and more probable to assume that she was not so completely a free agent in this matter as she had herself asserted in that case who was the likeliest person to possess the power of compelling her to remain at Welmingham. The person unquestionably from whom she derived the means of living. She had refused assistance from her husband. She had no adequate resources of her own. She was a friendless, degraded woman. From what source should she derive help but from the source at which report pointed Sir Percival Glyde. Reasoning on these assumptions and always bearing in mind the one certain fact to guide me, that Mrs. Catherick was in possession of the secret, I easily understood that it was Sir Percival's interest to keep her at Welmingham, because her character in that place was certain to isolate her from all communication with female neighbors and to allow her no opportunities of talking incautiously in moments of free intercourse with inquisitive bosom friends. Meaning Sir Percival makes it a condition of his paying her that she has to stay in this little town, because in that town no one would believe her if she told his secret because she's already in disgrace for having a child out of wedlock. But what was the mystery to be concealed? Not Sir Percival's infamous connection with Mrs. Catherick's disgrace, for the neighbours were the very people who knew of it, not the suspicion that he was Anne's father. For Welmingham was the place in which that suspicion must inevitably exist. If I accepted the guilty appearances described to me as unreservedly as others had accepted them. Them. If I drew from them the same superficial conclusion which Mr. Catherick and all his neighbours had drawn, where was the suggestion in all that I had heard of a dangerous secret between Sir Percival and Mrs. Catherick which had been kept hidden from that time to this meaning. Everyone knows, or thinks they know, about the affair between Sir Percival and Mrs. Catherick and about Anne being theoretically Percival's child. So that can't be the secret, because it's not a secret. Secret. And yet, in those stolen meetings, in those familiar whisperings between the clerk's wife and the gentleman in mourning, the clue to discovery existed beyond a doubt. Was it possible that appearances in this case had pointed one way, while the truth lay all the while unsuspected in another direction? Could Mrs. Catherick's assertion that she was the victim of a dreadful mistake by any possibility be true? Or assuming it to be false, could the conclusion which associated Sir Percival with her guilt have been founded in some inconceivable error? Had Sir Percival by any chance courted the suspicion that was wrong for the sake of diverting from himself some other suspicion that was right here, if I could find it, here was the approach to the secret hidden Deep under the surface of the apparently unpromising story which I had just heard, my next questions were now directed to the one object of ascertaining whether Mr. Catherick had or had not arrived truly at the conviction of his wife's misconduct. The answers I received from Mrs. Clements left me in no doubt whatever on that point. Mrs. Catherick had, on the clearest evidence, compromised her reputation while a single woman with some person unknown and had married to save her character. So it's a fact that Mrs. Catherick was pregnant before she married Mr. Catherick? It had been positively ascertained by calculations of time and place into which I need not enter, particularly that the daughter who bore her husband's name was not her husband's child. The next object of inquiry, whether it was equally certain that Sir Percival must have been the father of Anne, was beset by far greater difficulties. I was in no position to try the probabilities on one side or on the other, in this instance by any better test than the test of personal resemblance. So the only way that Walter can think of to see if Sir Percival was really Anne's father is to find out if they looked alike. I suppose you often saw Sir Percival when he was in your village? I said. Yes, sir, very often, replied Mrs. Clements. Did you ever observe that Anne was like him? She was not at all like him, sir. Was she like her mother, then? Not like her mother either, sir. Mrs. Catherick was dark and full in the face, not like her mother and not like her supposed father. I knew that the test, by personal resemblance was not to be implicitly trusted. But on the other hand, it was not to be altogether rejected. On that account, was it possible to strengthen the evidence by discovering any conclusive facts in relation to the lives of Mrs. Catherick and Sir Percival before they either of them, appeared at old Welmingham? When I asked my next questions, I put them with this view. When Sir Percival first arrived in your neighborhood, I said, did you hear where he had come from last? No, sir. Some said from Blackwater park, and some said from Scotland, but nobody knew. Was Mrs. Catherick living in service at Varneck hall immediately before her marriage? Yes, sir. And had she been long in her place? Three or four years, sir. I am not quite certain which. Did you ever hear the name of the gentleman to whom Varneck hall belonged at that time? Yes, sir. His name was Major Donthorne. Did Mr. Catherick, or did anyone else you knew ever hear that Ser Percival was a friend of Major Donthorne's? Or even see Ser Percival in the neighborhood of Varneck Hall. Katherick never did, sir, that I can remember. Nor anyone else either, that I know of. So Walter is trying to figure out if it's even possible that Sir Percival could have known Mrs. Catherick before she came to the village. And so far it looks like he couldn't have. I noted down Major Don Thorne's name and address on the chance that he might still be alive and that it might be useful at some future time to apply to him. Meanwhile, the impression on my mind was now decidedly adverse to the opinion that Sir Percival was Anne's father and decidedly favourable to the conclusion that the secret of his stolen interviews with Mrs. Catherick was entirely unconnected with the disgrace which the woman had inflicted on her husband's good name. So Walter thinks that it's very likely that Sir Percival is not Anne's father, even though Anne was illegitimate. I could think of no further inquiries which I might make to strengthen this impression. I could only encourage Mrs. Clements to speak next of Anne's early days and watch for any chance suggestion which might in this way offer itself to me. Me I have not heard yet, I said, how the poor child born in all this sin and misery came to be trusted, Mrs. Clements, to your care. There was nobody else, sir, to take the little helpless creature in hand, replied Mrs. Clements. The wicked mother seemed to hate it as if the poor baby was in fault from the day it was born. My heart was heavy for the child and I made the offer to bring it up as tenderly as if it was my own. Did Anne remain entirely under your care from that time? Not quite entirely, sir. Mrs. Catherick had her whims and fancies about it at times and used now and then to lay claim to the child, as if she wanted to spite me for bringing it up. But these fits of hers never lasted for long. Poor little Anne was always returned to me and was always glad to get back, though she led but a gloomy life in my house, having no playmates like other children to brighten her up. Up. Our longest separation was when her mother took her to Limmeridge. Just at that time I lost my husband and I felt it as well in that miserable affliction that Anne should not be in the house. She was between 10 and 11 years old then. Slow at her lessons, poor soul, and not so cheerful as other children, but as pretty a little girl to look at as you would wish to see. I waited at home till her mother brought her back and then I made the offer to take her with me to London. The truth being, sir, that I could not find it in my heart to stop at old Welmingham after my husband's death. The place was so changed and so dismal to me. And did Mrs. Catherick consent to your proposal? No, sir. She came back from the north harder and bitterer than ever. Folks did say that she had been obliged to ask Sir Percival's leave to go to begin with. And that she only went to nurse her dying sister at Limmeridge because the poor woman was reported to have saved money. Money? The truth being that she hardly left enough to bury her. These things may have soured Mrs. Catherick likely enough, but however that may be, she wouldn't hear of my taking the child away. She seemed to like distressing us both by parting us. All I could do was to give Anne my direction and to tell her privately if she was ever in trouble, to come to me. But years passed before she was free to come. Come. I never saw her again, poor soul, till the night she escaped from the Madhouse. You know, Mrs. Clements, why sir Percival shut her up? I only know what Anne herself told me, sir. The poor thing used to ramble and wander about it. Sadly, she said her mother had got some secret of Sir Percival's to keep and had let it out to her long after I left Hampshire. And when Sir Percival found she knew it, it he shut her up. But she never could say what it was. When I asked her. All she could tell me was that her mother might be the ruin and destruction of Sir Percival if she chose. Mrs. Catherick may have let out just as much as that and no more. I'm next to certain I should have heard the whole truth from Anne if she had really known it, as she pretended to do, and as she very likely fancied she did, poor soul. This idea had more than once occurred to my own mind. Mind, meaning Walter, has suspected that Ann didn't actually know the secret, but that Sir Percival just thought she did. I had already told Marian that I doubted whether Laura was really on the point of making any important discovery. When she and Anne Catherick were disturbed by Count Fosco at the boathouse. It was perfectly in character with Anne's mental affliction that she should assume an absolute knowledge of the secret on no better grounds than vague suspicions derived from hints which her mother had incautiously let drop in her presence. Sir Percival's guilty distrust would, in that case, infallibly inspire him with the false idea that Anne knew all from her mother, just as it had afterwards fixed in his mind the equally false suspicion that his wife knew all from Anne. The time was passing. The morning was wearing away. It was doubtful, if I stayed longer, whether I should hear anything more from Mrs. Clements that would be at all useful to my purp purpose. I had already discovered those local and family particulars in relation to Mrs. Catherick of which I had been in search, and I had arrived at certain conclusions entirely new to me, which might immensely assist in directing the course of my future proceedings. I rose to take my leave and to thank Mrs. Clements for the friendly readiness she had shown in affording me information. I am afraid you must have thought me very inquisitive, I said, I have troubled you with more questions than many people would have cared to answer. You are heartily welcome, sir, to anything I can tell you, answered Mrs. Clements. She stopped and looked at me wistfully. But I do wish, said the poor woman, you could have told me a little more about Anne. Sir, I thought I saw something in your face when you came in which looked as if you could. You can't think how hard it is not even to know whether she is living or dead. I could bear it better if I was only certain. You said you never expected we should see her alive again. Do you know, sir, do you know for truth that it has pleased God to take her? I was not proof against this appeal. It would have been unspeakably mean and cruel of me if I had resisted it. I am afraid there is no doubt of the truth, I answered gently. I have the certainty in my own mind that her troubles in this world are over. The poor woman dropped into her chair and hid her face from me. Oh, sir, she said. How do you know it? Who can have told you? No one has told me, Mrs. Clements. But I have reasons for feeling sure of it, reasons which I promise you shall know as soon as I can safely explain them. I am certain she was not neglected in her last moments. I am certain the heart complaint from which she suffered so sadly was the true cause of her death. You shall feel as sure of this as I do soon. You shall know before long that she is buried in a quiet country churchyardin, a pretty peaceful place which you might have chosen for her yourself. Dead, said Mrs. Clements. Dead. So young. And I am left to hear it. I made her first short frocks. I taught her to walk. The first time she ever said mother, she said it to me. And now I am left and Anne Is taken, did you say, sir? Said the poor woman, removing the handkerchief from her face and looking up at me for the first time. Did you say that she had been nicely buried? Was it the sort of funeral she might have had if she had really been my own child? I assured her that it was. She seemed to take an inexplicable pride in my answer, to find a comfort in it which no other and higher considerations could afford. It would have broken my heart, she said simply, if Anne had not been nicely buried. But how do you know it, sir? Who told you? I once more entreated her to wait until I could speak to her unreservedly. You are sure to see me again, I said, for I have a favour to ask when you are a little more composedperhaps in a day or two. Don't keep it waiting, sir, on my account, said Mrs. Clements. Never mind my crying. If I can be of use. If you have anything on your mind to say to me, sir, please say it now. I only wish to ask you one last question, I said. I only want to know Mrs. Catherick's address at welmingham. My request so startled Mrs. Clements that for the moment even the tidings of Anne's death seemed to be driven from her mind. Her tears suddenly ceased to flow and she sat looking at me in blank amazement. For the Lord's sake, sir, she said. What do you want with Mrs. Gatherick? I want this, Mrs. Clements, I replied. I want to know this secret of those private meetings of hers with Sir Percival Glyde. There is something more in what you have told me of that woman's past conduct and of that man's past relations with her than you or any of your neighbours ever suspected. There is a secret we none of us know between those two, and I am going to Mrs. Catherick with the resolution to find it out. Think twice about it, sir, said Mrs. Clements, rising in her earnestness and laying her hand on my arm. She's an awful woman. You don't know her as I do. Think twice about it. I am sure your warning is kindly meant, Mrs. Clements, but I am determined to see the woman, whatever comes of it. Mrs. Clements looked me anxiously in the face. I see your mind is made up, sir, she said. I will give you the address. I wrote it down in my pocketbook and then took her hand to say farewell. You shall hear from me soon, I said. You shall know all that I have promised to tell you. Mrs. Clements sighed and shook her head doubtfully. An old woman's advice is sometimes worth taking, sir, she said think twice before you go to Welmingham. 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. SA.