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Faith Moore
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. Thank you for being here with me. Thank you for taking this time, whatever you're doing, wherever you are, whether it's actually Thursday or some other day in the future from now. Thank you for taking this time to be with Storytime for Grownups and to listen to this podcast and this story, this book together with all of us out there in Storytime for Grownups Land. Thanks for being here. I'm so happy and excited to be here with you. And speaking of being together, I did want to remind you about the tea time that is coming up. It is next Tuesday, or this coming Tuesday, which is April 29th. It's at 8pm Eastern. And that is a way, another way for us to be together. It's a way for us to actually really get to be together in the sense that we talk to each other, which we don't really get to do on the show. You get to hear me talk and I get to interact with all of you via your emails. And of course you get to hear a very small fraction of the emails that I get because I read them here on the show. But this is a way for us to actually talk to each other in real time. Tea Time is our monthly voice chat that we have over in our online community, which is called the Drawing Room, which is short for Withdrawing room because it's where we withdraw after the show. The show is the main room of our lovely Victorian manor house, but we also have a drawing room where we can withdraw and chat after dinner about life, books, things that we are dying to know, questions that you have for me. And they're really fun and they happen once a month. And I just wanted to remind you that the next one is coming up on Tuesday, April 29th at 8pm Eastern. And if you are not yet a member and you would like to join one of those voice chats, either this one or one in the future, just scroll down into the show notes, click on the link to find out more about memberships, and decide if that's something that you would like to do. Regardless, the podcast is still here. It's going to continue to be exactly what it is, and you can listen to it for free without signing up for anything. So do that if that's all you want to do, or do a bit more if you want to do that. Either way, please make sure that you're subscribed. Please tap the five stars if you're enjoying this show. Leave a positive review if you have a couple of extra seconds and tell a friend. Tell a friend about the show because it will help the show to grow. And that's wonderful. We want to grow the show. That means we can do many more books to come. But also if you tell a friend and they start listening, then you can talk about this show and this book together with a person in real life. And that's just the best. And I love to hear from you guys when you say that you formed a book club around this show or that you chat with your colleague at work about this book or your mom or your daughter or whoever it is, that's fantastic and it's so much fun. So that's another good reason to tell a friend. So I hope that you will do that as we go along. All right, let's get into this episode. So last time we read Heart Rights Narrative, Chapter eight. Today we're reading Heart Rights Narrative, Chapter nine. I've got two comments that I'm going to talk about for a little bit and then we'll get into the chapters. But first, here is the recap. All right, so where we left off. When Walter comes back after visiting Mrs. Clements, he finds Laura very upset. Upset. She's upset because she's not making money and helping them in the way that Walter and Marian are. And she wants to. Walter tells her that she can make money from her drawings and that makes her feel better. But of course, her drawings aren't good enough, so he takes them, hides them, and gives her a share of his own earnings each week. But he feels hopeful that her desire to help is a step in the right direction in terms of her coming back to herself. Walter tells Marian that he's going to go to Welmingham to visit Mrs. Catherick and try to find out what Sir Percival's secret is. And Marian tells him that she's afraid for his safety. They arrange that Marian will write to him every day and if he doesn't hear from her, he'll come back immediately. So Walter takes the train to Welmingham and he finds Mrs. Catherick there. She's this very hard, kind of proud woman, and she immediately guesses that Anne is dead. Walter explains that he's trying to find out Sir Percival's secret and he hopes that he can help her to regain her social standing. Mrs. Catherick's social standing by revealing the secret because he knows that she didn't actually have an affair with Sir Percival the way everybody thinks. Mrs. Catherick says that she has already earned back her reputation and proves it by showing him that even the minister of the church bows to her when he's passing by. She says that she wants no part in whatever Walter is trying to do and she's dismissive of Sir Percival's rank and title. Walter brings up the fact that Mrs. Catherick was seen talking to Sir Percival in the church vestry, which seems to enrage Mrs. Catherick, as does Walter, mentioning that he knows that Sir Percival is not Anne's father and she asks him to leave. So then Walter leaves the house. Alright, so we've got two comments today. The first comes from Geoffrey Philip Griffith. Geoffrey writes, I'm glad Collins went ahead and mentioned why Walter decided not to use a disguise. I was thinking it would be prudent since Percival is as likely to have Mrs. Catherick watched as to have the lawyer watched. I pity her to be so proud and to have fought so long to have common courtesies returned. Sounds like she dropped a hint about Percival's mother. And the second one comes from Diane. Diane says Walter gave us a hint that things will be at least somewhat better by the end. We will see what that means. Okay, so not a whole lot of new information in the last episode in terms of the secret or the various backstories we've been getting from Walter for a while now. Though we did get a couple clues which I will talk about in a minute. But what I love about the last episode is how it kind of settled us back into the situation at hand. Right? That even though we're tracking down leads and trying to find some way to get Sir Percival to confess and learning about what happened during the switch of Laura and Anne and everything, even though we're getting this absolute onslaught of information, as we talked about a couple episodes ago, we can't forget that really what we're doing is trying to save our heroines, Laura and Marian. We're trying to restore Laura's identity, right, so that she can come out of hiding and not live in perpetual fear of being sent back to the madhouse. And if we can do that, we'll also allow Marian to come out of hiding and not have to do Menial work, Servants work. Right. Which, in the societal makeup of the day, would have been beneath her. We're trying to bring Sir Percival to justice for what he did to Laura. We're trying to bring Count Fosco to justice for what he did to Laura and to Marian. Marian won't be satisfied until Count Fosco is brought to justice. And we're hoping, though at this point, it's not clear how that could come about. We're hoping for some kind of happy ending for Walter and Laura. And it was easy to kind of lose track of this almost sort of small domestic situation that's at the very heart of this whole story. I mean, yes, we're dealing with dastardly plots and ruinous secrets and people following Walderdale, the street and everything, but at the heart of all of this is Laura and Marian and Walter all wanting to live happily ever after, somehow. And the last episode kind of reminded of this in a way. And Diane is right. We did get our very first inkling that perhaps, just maybe there actually will be a happy ending of some kind. Right. Walter asks us, am I looking forward to the happier time which my narrative has not yet reached? Which implies that there is a happier time that the narrative will eventually reach, but hasn't yet. Which I think is so wonderful because we have been starting to feel sort of bogged down with information, haven't we? You know, we've sort of lost track of what all this is for, in a way. And now Walter is reminding us that it's all for Laura. It's for Laura and for Marian. And honestly, that's who we really care about anyway. Right? And that really poignant scene at the beginning of the last episode where Laura suddenly wants to help them earn money. I mean, we used to feel that Laura was sort of helpless and childish, but compared to what she is now, she wasn't that at all. It kind of sets the Laura of the first half of the book in a different light. I think it reminds us by comparison that Laura, the Laura that Walter initially fell in love with, that Laura actually is a real person with inner strength and courage, capable of love and interest in the world and everything. And this thing that's been done to her, this thing that Walter is trying to make right, is a truly terrible thing. It has taken its toll on her in this awful way, which is that now she is reduced to the mental capacity of, like a child, essentially. And that's horrible. And we want to see that wrong righted and that crime avenged. But again, we have hope now, right? Both in that statement Walter makes about better times ahead and in the fact that Walter at least feels that Laura's kind of childish interest in helping them make money implies the first kind of stirrings of her mental powers coming back online. Basically, it's still very early days. She can't actually contribute the way that Walter and Marian can. And Walter and Marian have to essentially lie to her and tell her that, yes, she is helping make money, when really she's not yet. But Walter feels that her interest in helping is actually a good sign. So we remember what all of this is for. It's for Laura and for Marian. And we have hope that better times are ahead and that perhaps Laura will regain her mental faculties and go back to being a more adult sort of person, the way that she was before. And another thing that the last episode did for us was to remind us yet again that Walter is a good man. You know, we've been saying for a while, kind of joking almost, that Walter is our detective, and he is our detective. He's the only one we've got. But he isn't actually a detective. He's not doing this because it's his job. He's doing it because he cares deeply for Laura and also for Marian. And we got another reminder last time that first and foremost, Walter believes in truth and honesty and being straightforward. And he believes in those things above the sorts of things that a detective might do to get to the bottom of a case. Right? So, as Jeffrey points out in his letter, he very pointedly explains to us why he won't wear a disguise. Here's what he says. But there was something so repellent to me in the idea, something so meanly like the common herd of spies and informers in the mere act of adopting a disguise, that I dismissed the question from consideration almost as soon as it had arisen in my mind. Okay? Now, part of this, of course, is Wilkie Collins kind of explaining to us why he doesn't have Walter do something that would make things a lot easier for him so that Collins can have all of this stuff happen, like people recognizing him and following him and everything. You know, that wouldn't happen if he was in disguise. So it's partly that, but it's also to remind us that Walter, even more than being a detective, is a man, a good man, who cares about doing the right thing above everything else. So he's willing to lay down his life to bring Laura to justice. He believes that restoring her identity is the thing that God has called him to do. But he's not going to do anything at all to make that happen. Right. He will go about it in the way he goes about everything else. Straightforwardly and always following the laws of his own moral compassion. So I love that. Before we enter this next phase, this phase of going to Wilmingham and meeting Mrs. Catherick and trying to learn Sir Percival's secret. Before we enter this phase, we get this little domestic scene to remind us of what we're actually fighting for. And we get this very clear reminder of who Walter is. Which is kind of a reminder of who we are meant to be. Right. Since a good book makes you identify with the characters and the plot. So we remember that we are also good people who won't stoop to base or duplicitous means to get what we want. We are straightforward and honest as well. And that is good to remember. And then we plunge back in, right? We get to finally meet Mrs. Catherick, who is certainly a hard and a difficult woman. But also, as Geoffrey points out in his letter, is also, at least as far as we can tell at this point, kind of stuck in this horrible situation and trying to claw her way back to some semblance of a reputation. And there is a sort of courage to her, I think, a kind of hard, prickly resistance that we can maybe admire. Here's what she says to Walter. She says, you have been prying into my private affairs. You think you have found a lost woman to deal with. Who lives here on sufferance and who will do anything you ask for. For fear you may injure her in the opinions of the townspeople. I see through you and your precious speculation. I do. Right. You can really hear in that that she's been living all these years fighting against the suspicion that she had an affair with Sir Percival. And even though Walter doesn't actually think that she did, and therefore we don't think that she did, you can hear the way that she believes that everyone she talks to must assume it. So we can maybe have some sympathy for her in the sense that she has had to live with these false accusations. Although, of course, we don't know why she has had to do that. And as I alluded to at the beginning, we do get a couple clues from Mrs. Catherick. Basically, Walter's interview with her was kind of a bust, right? She didn't reveal Sir Percival's secret. And she didn't reveal who Anne's actual father is. But she did drop two hints. Okay? The first, as Geoffrey pointed out is that she seems to have some problem with Percival's mother. Okay? She said, here's a quote. Yes, indeed, a great family, especially by the mother's side, okay? And this is meant to be sort of sarcastic, implying that actually it wasn't a great family or that there was something wrong with the mother's family somehow. So we're not sure why or even if that might be a clue to the secret. But. But it was certainly worth noting. And the other thing that Mrs. Catherick let slip was that she seemed to become very frightened when Walter mentioned the vestry of the church. The vestry is the room where the vestments are kept, like the robes and the things that the priest would wear during a church service. So it's kind of like a sort of storage room attached to the church. And remember that Mrs. Clemens told Walter that Mrs. Catherick and Sir Percival were seen whispering together outside the vestry of the church. And so when Walter asks Mrs. Catherick about it, it's the first time that she shows any kind of fear. So again, what does this have to do with anything? We don't know. But it's also worth noting. So something about Sir Percival's mother and something about the vestry of the church at Old Welmingham are our only clues at this point to what Sir Percival's secret might be. So not allowed to go on. But on we must go. So let's get back to the chapters, okay? And of course, don't forget to write to me faithk moore.com and click on contact. Just scroll into the show notes, click on the link and find me there. I would love to know what you're thinking at this point. All right, let's get started with Hartright's narrative, chapter nine of the Woman in White by Wilkie Collins. It's story time. 9. I left the house feeling that Mrs. Catherick had helped me a step forward in spite of herself. Before I had reached the turning which led out of the square, my attention was suddenly aroused by the sound of a closing door behind me. I looked round and saw an undersized man in black on the doorstep of a house which, as well as I could judge, stood next to Mrs. Catherick's place of abode. Next to it, on the side nearest to me, the man did not hesitate a moment about the direction he should take. He advanced rapidly towards the turning at which I had stopped. I recognized him as the lawyer's clerk who had preceded me in my visit to Blackwater park and who had tried to pick a quarrel with me when I asked him if I could see the house. So this is the guy who seems to work for Sir Percival and seems to be keeping tabs on Walter. I waited where I was to ascertain whether his object was to come to close quarters and speak. On this occasion, to my surprise, he passed on rapidly, without saying a word, without even looking up in my face as he went by. This was such a complete inversion of the course of proceeding which I had every reason to expect on his part that my curiosity, or rather my suspicion, was aroused, and I determined on my side to keep him cautiously in view and to discover what the business might be in which he was now employed. Without caring whether he saw me or not, I walked after him. He never looked back, and he led me straight through the streets to the railway station. The train was on the point of starting, and two or three passengers who were late were clustering round the small opening through which the tickets were issued. I joined them and distinctly heard the lawyer's clerk demand a ticket for the Blackwater station. I satisfied myself that he had actually left by the train before I came away. There was only one interpretation that I could place on what I had just seen and heard. I had unquestionably observed the man leaving a house which closely adjoined Mrs. Catherick's residence. He had been probably placed there by Sir Percival's directions as a lodger in anticipation of my inquiries leading me sooner or later to communicate with Mrs. Catherick. He had doubtless seen me go in and come out, and he had hurried away by the first train to make his report at Blackwater park, to which place Sir Percival would naturally betake himself, knowing what he evidently knew of my movements in order to be ready on the spot. If I returned to Hampshire before many days were over, There seemed every likelihood now that he and I might meet whatever result events might be destined to produce. I resolved to pursue my own course straight to the end in view, without stopping or turning aside for Sir Percival or for anyone. The great responsibility which weighed on me heavily in London, the responsibility of so guiding my slightest actions as to prevent them from leading accidentally to the discovery of Laura's place of refuge was removed. Now that I was in Hampshire, I could go and come as I pleased at Welmingham. And if I chanced to fail in observing any necessary precautions, the immediate results at least would affect no one but myself. When I left the station, the winter evening was beginning to close in. There was little hope of continuing my inquiries after dark to any useful purpose in a neighbourhood that was strange to me. Accordingly, I made my way to the nearest hotel and ordered my dinner and my bed. This done, I wrote to Marian to tell her that I was safe and well and that I had fair prospects of success. I had directed her, on leaving home, to address the first letter she wrote to me, the letter I expected to receive the next morning to the post office, Welmingham, and I now begged her to send her second day's letter to the same address. I could easily receive it by writing to the postmaster if I happened to be away from the town when it arrived. The coffee room of the hotel, as it grew late in the evening, became a perfect solitude. I was left to reflect on what I had accomplished that afternoon as uninterruptedly as if the house had been my own. Before I retired to rest, I attentively thought over my Extraordinary interview with Mrs. Catherick from beginning to end, and had verified at my leisure the conclusions which I had hastily drawn in the earlier part of the day. The vestry of old Welmingham Church was the starting point from which my mind slowly worked its way back through all that I had heard Mrs. Catherick say, and through all that I had seen Mrs. Catherick do. @ the time when the neighbourhood of the vestry was first referred to in my presence by Mrs. Clements, I had thought it the strangest and most unaccountable of all places for Sir Percival to select for a clandestine meeting with the clerk's wife. Influenced by this impression, and by no other, I had mentioned the vestry of the church before Mrs. Catherick on Pure speculation. It represented one of the minor peculiarities of the story which occurred to me while I was speaking. I was prepared for her answering me confusedly or angrily, but the blank terror that seized her when I said the words took me completely by surprise. I had long before associated Sir Percival's secret with the concealment of a serious crime which Mrs. Catherick knew of, but I had gone no further than this. Now, the woman's paroxysm of terror associated the crime, either directly or indirectly with with the vestry and convinced me that she had been more than the mere witness of it. She was also the accomplice. Beyond a doubt, what had been the nature of the crime? Surely there was a contemptible side to it as well as a dangerous side, or Mrs. Catherick would not have repeated my own words, referring to Sir Percival's rank and power with such marked disdain as she had certainly displayed. It was a contemptible crime then and a dangerous crime and she had shared in it and it was associated with the Vestry of the Church. So Sir Percival committed a crime. Mrs. Catherick helped and it has something to do with the Vestry of the Church. The next consideration to be disposed of led me a step farther from this point. Mrs. Catherick's undisguised contempt for Sir Percival plainly extended to his mother as well. She had referred with the bitterest sarcasm to the great family he had descended from, especially by the mother's side. What did this mean? There appeared to be only two explanations of either his mother's birth had been low, meaning she wasn't one of the upper classes, or his mother's reputation was damaged by some hidden flaw with which Mrs. Catherick and Sir Percival were both privately acquainted. I could only put the first explanation to the test by looking at the register of her marriage and so ascertaining her maiden name and her parentage as a preliminary to further inquiries. If he looks up Sir Percival's parents marriage certificate he can find out what family the mother came from and whether she was lowborn. On the other hand, if the second case supposed were the true one, what had been the flaw in her reputation? Remembering the account which Marian had given me of Sir Percival's father and mother and of the suspiciously unsocial secluded life they both led, I now asked myself whether it might not be possible that his mother had never been married at all. Here again the register might, by offering written evidence of the marriage, prove to me at any rate that this doubt had no foundation in truth. So he's wondering if Sir Percival is illegitimate and feels that if he finds the marriage certificate he'll be able to rule that out. But where was the register to be found at this point I took up the conclusions which I had previously formed and the same mental process which had discovered the locality of the concealed crime now lodged the register also in the vestry of Old Welmingham Church. So he thinks the marriage documents might actually be in the church vestry. These were the results of my interview with Mrs. Catherick. These were the various considerations all steadily converging to one point which decided the course of my proceedings on the next day. The morning was cloudy and lowering but no rain fell. I left my bag at the hotel to wait there till I called for it and after inquiring the way, set forth on foot for Old Welmingham Church. It was a walk of rather more than two miles. The ground Rising slowly all the way on the highest point stood the church an ancient weather beaten building with heavy buttresses at its sides and a clumsy square tower in front. The vestry at the back was built out from the church and seemed to be of the same age. Round the building at intervals appeared the remains of the village which Mrs. Clements had described to me as her husband's place of abode in former years and which the principal inhabitants had long since deserted for the new town. Some of the empty houses had been dismantled to their outer walls some had been left to decay with time and some were still inhabited by persons evidently of the poorest class. It was a dreary scene and yet in the worst aspect of its ruin not so dreary as the modern town that I had just left. Here there was the brown breezy sweep of surrounding fields for the eye to repose on. Here the trees, leafless as they were still varied the monotony of the prospect and helped the mind to look forward to summer time and shade. As I moved away from the back of the church and passed some of the dismantled cottages in search of a person who might direct me to the clerk I saw two men saunter out after me from behind a wall. The tallest of the two, a stout muscular man in the dress of a gamekeeper was a stranger to me. The other was one of the men who had followed me in London on the day when I left Mr. Curll's office. I had taken particular notice of him at the time and I felt sure that I was not mistaken in identifying the fellow. On this occasion neither he nor his companion attempted to speak to me and both kept themselves at a respectful distance. But the motive of their presence in the neighbourhood of the church was plainly apparent. It was exactly as I had supposed. Sir Percival was already prepared for me. My visit to Mrs. Catherick had been reported to him the evening before and those two men had been placed on the look out near the church in anticipation of my appearance at old Welmingham. If I had wanted any further proof that my investigations had taken the right direction at last the plan now adopted for watching me would have supplied it. I walked on away from the church till I reached one of the inhabited houses with a patch of kitchen garden attached to it on which a labourer was at work. He directed me to the clerk's abode a cottage at some little distance off standing by itself on the outskirts of the forsaken village. The clerk was indoors and was just putting on his greatcoat. He was a cheerful Familiar, loudly talkative old man with a very poor opinion, as I soon discovered, of the place in which he lived and a happy sense of superiority to his neighbours in virtue of the general personal distinction of having once been in London. It's well you came so early, sir, said the old man, when I had mentioned the object of my visit. I should have been away in 10 minutes more. Parish business, sir, and a goodish long trot before it's all done for a man at my age. But bless you, I'm strong on my legs. Still, as long as a man don't give at his legs, there's a deal of work left in em. Don't you think so yourself, sir? He took his keys down while he was talking from a hook behind the fireplace and locked his cottage door behind us. Nobody at home to keep house for me, said the clerk, with a cheerful sense of perfect freedom from all family encumbrances. My wife's in the churchyard there and my children are all married. A wretched place this, isn't it, sir. But the parish is a large one. Every man couldn't get through the business as I do. It's learnin does it? And I've had my share and a little more. I can talk the Queen's English. God bless the Queen. And that's more than most of the people about here can do. You're from London, I suppose, sir? I've been in London a matter of five and 20 year ago. What's the news there now, if you please? Chattering on in this way, he led me back to the vestry. I looked about to see if the two spies were still in sight. They were not visible anywhere. After having discovered my application to the clerk, they had probably concealed themselves where they could watch my next proceedings in perfect freedom. The vestry door was of stout old oak studded with strong nails, and the clerk put his large heavy key into the lock with the air of a man who knew that he had a difficulty to encounter and who was not quite certain of creditably conquering it. I'm obliged to bring you this way, sir, he said, because the door from the vestry to the church is bolted on the vestry side. We might have got in through the church otherwise. This is a perverse lock if ever there was one. Yet it's big enough for a prison door. It's been hampered over and over again and it ought to be changed for a new one. I've mentioned that to the churchwarden 50 times over at least. He's always saying I'll see about it. And he never does see. Ah, it's a sort of lost corner, this place. Not like London, is it, sir? Bless you. We are all asleep here. We don't march with the times. After some twisting and turning of the key, the heavy lock yielded and he opened the door. The vestry was larger than I sort of supposed it to be, judging from the outside only it was a dim, moldy, melancholy old room with a low raftered ceiling round two sides of it. The sides nearest to the interior of the church ran heavy wooden presses, worm eaten and gaping with age. Hooked to the inner corner of one of these presses hung several surplices, all bulging out at their lower ends in irreverent looking bundle of limp drapery. Below the surplices on the floor stood three packing cases with the lids half off, half on and the straw profusely bursting out of their cracks and crevices in every direction. Behind them in a corner was a litter of dusty papers, some large and rolled up like architects plans, some loosely strung together on files like bills or letters. The room had once been lighted by a small side window, but this had been bricked up and a lantern skylight was now substituted for it. The atmosphere of the place was heavy and mouldy, being rendered additionally oppressive by the closing of the door which led into the church. This door also was composed of solid oak and was bolted at the top and bottom on the vestry side. We might be tidier, mightn't we, sir? Said the cheerful clerk. But when you're in a lost corner of a place like this, what are you to do? Why, look here now. Just look at these packing cases. There they've been for a year or more, ready to go down to London. There they are littering the place, and there they'll stop as long as the nails hold them together. I'll tell you what, sir, as I said before, this is not London. We are all asleep here, bless you, we don't march with the times. What is there in the packing cases? I asked. Bits of old wood carvings from the pulpit and panels from the chancel and images from the organ loft, said the clerk. Portraits of the twelve apostles in wood and not a whole nose among em. All broken and worm eaten and crumbling to dust at the edges. As brittle as crockery, sir, and as old as the church, if not older. And why are they going to London? To be repaired. That's it, sir, to be repaired and where they were past repair to be copied in sound wood. But bless you, the money Fell short and there they are waiting for new subscriptions and nobody to subscribe. It was all done a year ago, sir. Six gentlemen dined together about it at the hotel in the New Town. They made speeches and passed resolutions and put their names down and printed off thousands of prospectuses. Beautiful prospectuses, sir, all flourished over with Gothic devices and red ink, saying it was a disgrace not to restore the church and repair the famous carvings and so on. There are the prospectuses that couldn't be distributed and the architect's plans and estimates and the whole correspondence which set everybody at loggerheads and ended in a dispute all down together in that corner behind the packing cases. The money dribbled in a little at first, but what can you expect out of London? There was just enough, you know, to pack the broken carvings and get the estimates and pay the printer's bill. And after that, there wasn't a halfpenny left. There. The things are, as I said before, we have nowhere else to put them. Nobody in the New Town cares about accommodating us. We're in a lost corner and this is an untidy vestry. And who's to help it? That's what I want to know. My anxiety to examine the register did not dispose me to offer much encouragement to the old man's talkativeness. I agreed with him that nobody could help the untidiness of the vestry, and then suggested that we should proceed to our business without more delay. Ay, ay. The marriage register, to be sure, said the clerk, taking a little bunch of keys from his pocket. How far do you want to look back? Sir Marian had informed me of Sir Percival's age at the time when we had spoken together of his marriage engagement with Laura. She had then described him as being 45 years old. Calculating back from this and making due allowance for the year that had passed since I had gained my information, I found that he must have been born in 1804 and that I might safely start my search through the register from that date. I want to begin with the year 1804, I said. Which way after that, sir? Asked the clerk. Forwards to our time or backwards away from us? Backwards from 1804. He opened the door of one of the presses, the press from the side of which the surplices were hanging and produced a large volume bound in greasy brown leather. I was struck by the insecurity of the place in which the register was kept. The door of the press was warped and cracked with age, and the lock was of the smallest and commonest kind. I could have forced it easily with the walking stick I carried in my hand. Is that considered a sufficiently secure place for the register? I inquired. Surely a book of such importance as this ought to be protected by a better lock and kept carefully in an iron safe. Well, now, that's curious, said the clerk, shutting up the book again just after he had opened it, and smacking his hand cheerfully on the COVID Those were the very words my old master was always saying, years and years ago when I was a lad. Why isn't the register meaning this register here under my hand, why isn't it kept in an iron safe? If I've heard him say that once, I've heard him say it a hundred times. He was the solicitor in those days, sir, who had the appointment of vestry clerk to this church. A fine, hearty old gentleman, and the most particular man breathing as long as he lived. He kept a copy of this book in his office at Knowlesbury, and had it posted up regular from time to time to correspond with the fresh entries here. You would hardly think it, but he had his own appointed days, once or twice in every quarter, for riding over to this church on his old white pony to check the copy by the register with his own eyes and hands. How do I know, he used to say. How do I know that the register in this vestry may not be stolen or destroyed? Why isn't it kept in an iron safe? Why can't I make other people as careful as I am myself? Some of these days there will be an accident happen, and when the register's lost, then the parish will find out the value of my copy. He used to take his pinch of snuff after that and look about him as bold as a lord. Ah, the like of him for doing business isn't easy to find. Now you may go to London and not match him even there. Which year did you say, sir? 1800 and what? 1804, I replied, mentally resolving to give the old man no more opportunities of talking until my examination of the register was over. The clerk put on his spectacles and turned over the leaves of the register, carefully wetting his finger and thumb at every third page. There it is, sir, he said with another cheerful smack on the open volume. There's the year you want. As I was ignorant of the month in which Sir Percival was born, I began my backward search with the early part of the year. The register book was of the old fashioned kind, the entries being all made on blank pages in manuscript, and the divisions which separated them being indicated by Ink lines drawn across the page at the close of each entry. So this is a register of all the marriages that took place in the parish. They've all been recorded in this book by hand with a line under each one to separate it from the next one. I reached the beginning of the year 1804 without encountering the marriage, and then traveled back through December 1803 through November and October through. No, not through December. Also under the heading of that month in the year I found the marriage. I looked carefully at the entry. It was at the bottom of a page and was, for want of room, compressed into a smaller space than that occupied by the marriages above. The marriage immediately before it was impressed on my attention by the circumstance of the bridegroom's Christian name being the same as my own. The entry immediately following it on the top of the next page was noticeable in another way from the large space it occupied. The record in this case registering the marriages of two brothers at the same time. The register of the marriage of Sir Felix Glyde was in no respect remarkable except for the narrowness of the space into which it was compressed. At the bottom of the page, the information about his wife was the usual information given in such cases. She was described as Cecilia Jane Elster of Parkview Cottages, Knowlesbury, only daughter of the late Patrick Elster, Esquire, formerly of Bath. I noted down these particulars in my pocketbook, feeling as I did so both doubtful and disheartened about my next proceedings. The secret, which I had believed until this moment to be within my grasp, seemed now farther from my reach than ever. So since the marriage is there, Walters thought that maybe Sir Percival's secret was that he is illegitimate. Doesn't make sense. And his other guess that it was that the mother was low born. Also doesn't make sense. Now he sees that she came from a good family. What suggestions of any mystery unexplained had arisen out of my visit to the vestry? I saw no suggestions anywhere. What progress had I made towards discovering the suspected stain on the reputation of Sir Percival's mother? The one fact I had ascertained vindicated her reputation. Fresh doubts, fresh difficulties, fresh delays began to open before me in the interminable prospect. What was I to do next? The one immediate resource left to me appeared to be I might institute inquiries about Ms. Elster of Knowlesbury on the chance of advancing towards the main object of my investigation by first discovering the secret of Mrs. Catherick's contempt for Sir Percival's mother. So his only real Lead now is that he's got Sir Percival's mother's name. And if the secret has something to do with her reputation, then he can investigate her. Now, have you found what you wanted, sir? Asked the clerk as I closed the register book. Yes, I replied, but I have some inquiries still to make. I suppose the clergyman who officiated here in the year 1803 is no longer alive? No, no, sir. He was dead three or four years before I came here. And that was as long ago as the year 27. I got this place, sir, persisted my talkative old friend through the clerk before me. Leaving it. They say he was driven out of house and home by his wife, and she's living still down in the new town there. I don't know the rights of the story myself. All I know is I got the place. So now he's referring here to Mr. Catherick. Mr. Wansborough got it for me. The son of my old master that I was telling you of. He's a free, pleasant gentleman as ever lived. Rides to the hounds, keeps his pointers and all that. He's vestry clerk here now, as his father was before him. Did you not tell me your former master lived at Knowlesbury? I asked, calling to mind the long story about the precise gentleman of the old school. With which my talkative friend had wearied me before he opened the register book. Yes, to be sure, sir, replied the clerk. Old Mr. Wansborough lived at Knowlesbury. And young Mr. Wansborough lives there, too. You said just now he was vestry clerk like his father before him. I'm not quite sure that I know what a vestry clerk is. Don't you? Indeed, sir. And you come from London, too. Every parish church, you know has a vestry clerk and a parish clerk. The parish clerk is a man like me. Except that I've got a deal more learning than most of them. Though I don't boast of it. The vestry clerk is a sort of an appointment that the lawyers get. And if there's any business to be done for the vestry, why, there they are to do it. It's just the same in London. Every parish church there has got its vestry clerk. And you may take my word for it, he's sure to be a lawyer. Then young Mr. Wansborough is a lawyer, I suppose? Of course he is, sir. A lawyer in High Street, Knowlesbury. The old offices that his father had before him. The number of times I've swept those offices out and seen the old gentleman come trotting into business on his white pony, looking right and left all down the street and nodding to everybody. Bless you. He was a popular character. He'd have done in London. How far is it to Knowlesbury from this place? A long stretch, sir, said the clerk, with that exaggerated idea of distances, that vivid perception of difficulties in getting from place to place which is peculiar to all country people. Nigh on five mile, I can tell ye. So it's really not that far away. It was still early in the forenoon. There was plenty of time for a walk to Knowlesbury and back again to Welmingham. And there was no person probably in the town who was fitter to assist my inquiries about the character and position of Sir Percival's mother before her marriage than the local solicitor. So this guy who lives in the nearby town of Knowlesbury, where Sir Percival's mother was from, and is a lawyer who helps keep the parish register. And he might know more about Sir Percival's mother. Resolving to go at once to Knowlesbury on foot, I led the way out of the vestry. Thank you kindly, sir, said the clerk as I slipped my little present into his hand, meaning he tipped him. Are you really going to walk all the way to Knowlesbury and back? Well, you're strong on your legs too. What a blessing that is, isn't it? There's the road. You can't miss it. I wish I was going your way. 8th. Pleasant to meet with gentlemen from London in a lost corner like this. One hears the news. Wish you good morning, sir, and thank you kindly once more. We parted as I left the church behind me. I looked back and there were the two men again on the road below, with a third in their company, that third person being the short man in black whom I had traced to the railway the evening before. The three stood talking together for a little while, then separated. The man in black went away by himself towards Welmingham. The other two remained together, evidently waiting to follow me. As soon as I walked on. I proceeded on my way without letting the fellows see that I took any special notice of them. They caused me no conscious irritation of feeling at that moment. On the contrary, they rather revived my sinking hopes. In the surprise of discovering the evidence of the marriage, I had forgotten the inference I had drawn on first perceiving the men in the neighbourhood of the vestry. Their reappearance reminded me that Sir Percival had anticipated my visit to old Welmingham Church as the next result of my interview with Mrs. Catherick. Otherwise he would never have placed his spies there to wait for me smoothly and fairly. As appearances looked in the vestry, there was something wrong beneath them. There was something in the register book for aught I knew that I had not discovered yet. 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.