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. Mr. Fairley, what on earth is going on here? Hi, everyone. Welcome. Welcome back to Storytime for Grown Ups, where everything is going crazy and we're forced to listen to horrible men whine at us for an hour. What are you even still doing doing here? Whatever. I'm so glad that you still are here. I hope you're still with us. After last week listening to Mr. Fairley, I was tempted to do this entire intro in Mr. Fairley's voice. You know, like, don't forget to subscribe, tap the five stars. And I suppose if you have a couple of extra seconds, leave a positive review. But I won't. That would be horrible. I will not subject you to Mr. Fairley any longer. We're moving on. We're Moving on to Mrs. Mickelson, who, if you remember, is the housekeeper at Blackwater Park. She's the woman that helped Marian when the dog was shot. And she's been kind of around in the background. I think Count Fosco at one point was showing her his animals and birds. So she's been around, but we don't really know anything about her at all. And she is our next narrator, so that's going to be kind of interesting. She at least is at Blackwater park where Laura and Marian are. But before we do that, we should talk about the Mr. Fairly chapter and what it kind of told us and what it's even doing there, because it really is doing something. And I think we can talk about that. And we should. So please do subscribe. Please do tap the five stars and please do leave a positive review. If you're enjoying this show, send a link to the show to somebody that you think might like it. Let's invite everyone we can think of to talk about classic books together. Let's just talk about books all the time that be wonderful. So please do that and scroll into the description of this episode into the show notes and just check out the links that are there. You can visit the merch store and buy all kinds of cool designs. You can become a member. Don't forget, there is a tea time coming up next week. It's Thursday, March 27, at 8pm Eastern. And you have to be a member in order to join. So click that link and find out more and all kinds of other links. So do check those out, please. And of course, as always, get in touch faithkmoore.com click on contact or find the link in the show Notes with all those other links, and just click that. All right. Last time, of course, we read Mr. Fairley's narrative, and this time we're going to be reading Mrs. Mickelson's narrative, chapter one. So here is the recap of last time. Okay, so where we left off, Mr. Fairley was our narrator for this section, right? He was writing his narrative under duress because he's been told by Walter that he has to tell his part of the story, but because of his nerves, he really doesn't want to. He tells us that Laura's maid, Fanny, arrived at the house and said she had a letter from Marian that she would only give directly to him. So he let her in, and she told him that while she was at the inn waiting to take the train to Lymridge House, Madame Fosco visited her and told her that she had some important kind of additional messages for Marian. But after Fanny drank some tea that Madame Fosco poured for her, Fanny fainted. And when she woke up, Madame Fosco was gone. So Fanny is upset because she didn't hear these important messages and then can't pass them on. But she does give Mr. Fairlie the letter from Marian, which asks that Laura be allowed to come and stay at Linmeridge House. Mr. Fairlie writes back to ask Marian to come herself first so that he can figure out what to do, since he doesn't want Sir Percival coming to the house in a. In a rage if Laura comes without his permission. But Marian doesn't write back. And so a few days later, Mr. Fairley gets a letter from Mr. Gilmore's partner, the lawyer, who's concerned because he received a letter from Marian, but there was only a blank piece of paper inside. Remember, it was Fanny who mailed the letter from Marian. Right? And it wasn't blank. It actually was telling the lawyer about their problem at Blackwater park, but Fanny mailed it after Madame Fosco's visit. So Mr. Fairlie ignores this letter. And a few days after that, Count Fosco comes to visit, And Fosco tells Mr. Fairlie that Marian is gravely ill at Sir Percival's house, which is why she hasn't responded to Mr. Fairlie's. Letter. Fosco says that things between Laura and Sir Percival are really bad and that a separation is necessary. And he says that Marian is too ill to leave the house, but that Laura should leave at once. Fosco says he's recently acquired a house in London and that Laura can spend the night there on her way to Limmeridge, and that he and his wife will take care of her there and that her maid, Fanny can care for her when she arrives at Limmeridge. Mr. Fairlie feels that he doesn't want Laura to come and potentially bring Sir Percival after her in a rage. But he realizes that Laura would never travel without Marian and she'd never leave Marian's side if she's ill. So he agrees that she can come, assuming that she won't. He tells us that he had no idea what would happen next and it's not his fault at all. All right, so I have three comments. The first one comes from Amanda. Amanda writes, I love that Wilkie Collins follows such a suspenseful chapter with this one. We just want to know about Marian, only to have to listen to Mr. Fairley complain about creaky shoes, etc. Ha. Fosco knows Mr. Fairley is a pushover and easily gets what he wants. Ugh. The second comes from Marion. Marion writes, I know Mr. Fairley is meant to be an awful person, but he's also hysterically funny. Fellow introverts can sympathize with his desire to be left alone and wish we had his money and station in life to quietly indulge in our passions as he does. Unfortunately, his introversion is coupled with pessimism and hypochondria, but it provides wonderful comic relief in the midst of great tension. And the last one comes from Corinthia. She writes, the complete wickedness of the Count is so apparent in this chapter. He had his wife, the Countess, drug Laura's poor maid to steal the letter written for Laura's lawyer. All this trickery to remove any protection around these women. I feel so deeply for Marian. She is my hero in this novel. Mine too. Corinthia. Okay, so we've talked about at a couple of other points about the way in which even the structure of this book is suspenseful. Remember, we had that whole chapter about Laura's finances, and instead of boring us to death, it made us go, oh my gosh, Sir Percival's gonna kill her. Right? And then when we switched from Gilmore to Marian as the narrator and we saw that it was her diary instead of a narrative written after the fact, we thought, oh, my gosh, what if Marian is dead? And that's why she can't write a narrative. And now, after the most suspenseful of all the chapters we've had so far, when we know Marian is ill and that the Count is a bad guy, and he's got hold of Marian's journal and maybe even Marian herself. Now, at this point, Collins gives us Mr. Fairley as a narrator. It's brilliant. Why? Well, as Amanda points out, it's sort of the last thing we expected, right? Like, we're hoping to turn the page and get right back to Marian and Laura and see what's going on with them and what's going to happen now that Marian is sick and everything. And instead, we are not even at Blackwater Park. We are at Limmeridge, where nothing at all is happening. And our narrator is someone who literally doesn't care about what's going on with Laura and Marian. So it heightens the suspense. It heightens it in that way, because now we're like, but wait, what is actually happening? Take us back to Blackwater Park. But it's also brilliant, because in giving us a narrator who has no clue what's been going on in the story so far and actually really doesn't care either, in giving us a narrator like that, Collins can tell us things that have been happening at Blackwater park and with people we care about, like Laura and Marian and Fanny, Laura's maid, but he's telling them to us at a distance so that we have to guess at what's going on instead of just being told directly. And that heightens the suspense as well, because we're watching these things unfold through the eyes of someone who doesn't know what they mean and really doesn't care. So, for example, as Corinthia points out, Fanny's whole story about being visited by Madame Fusco at the inn and being told that Marian wanted to send her, like, additional messages, but that she didn't hear them because she fainted. That whole story means nothing to Mr. Fairley, and he has no interest in trying to figure out what the point of it all is. But to us, right? Coupled with the fact that Mr. Fairley later received a letter from the lawyer, Mr. Curl, telling him that Marian's letter to him was blank. So to us, this implies very strongly that Madame Fosco drugged Fanny's tea and then, while she was knocked out, read Marian's letters, replaced the one to Mr. Fairley unaltered, and removed the one to the lawyer and replaced it with a blank sheet of paper. This is another instance of us being the detectives here, right? We remember that on the same evening that Fanny was at the inn, Madame Fosco went out and then came back looking very hot and flustered. We also know that it's very unlikely, likely, that Marian would entrust Madame Fosco with private messages from herself to Fanny. We know that when Marian gave it to Fanny, the letter to Mr. Curl was a letter and not a blank piece of paper. And we now know that Count Fosco, and so by extension Madame Fosco, is actively working against Marian and Laura. So putting all of that together with the story that Fanny told to Mr. Fairley, we can deduce that Madame Fosco drugged Fanny and tampered with the letters. But. And this is the brilliant thing. And again, aspiring writers take note of this, okay? But because Mr. Fairley doesn't care about any of this, and because Mr. Fairley is actually the only person who knows it, no one who might actually help Marian and Laura is going to come to their aid. So now we know through Mr. Fairley that Marian's attempts to escape Blackwater park have been foiled. But Marian doesn't know it and Laura doesn't know it. And no one who could possibly help them knows it either. So due to the way that the story is being told, there is a realistic, believable reason that we, the reader, know something that none of the other pertinent characters know, and that creates suspense when we know something, the characters don't, and that something is bad. Right? Another thing we know from this chapter that our main characters don't know is that for some reason, Fosco actually wants, or seems to want Laura to come to Limmeridge. And this is brilliant, too, because now it tinges this thing that we've really wanted for Laura, this escape route back to Limmeridge House. It tinges it with possible menace. We know that Fosco is working against Laura and Marian. So why would Fosco want Laura to do the exact thing that we've been wanting her to do? We don't know. The only thing that we kind of suspect from what Fosco said to Mr. Fairley is that perhaps he's trying to separate Marian and Laura because he told Mr. Fairley that Laura should come, even though Marian is still too sick to travel. But why send Laura away and not Marian? So again, the suspense is heightened because the thing we've been hoping for all this time, Laura's escape to Limmeridge is suddenly potentially dangerous in some kind of unspecified way. But the final reason that this whole Mr. Fairly section is brilliant is, as Marian points out in her letter, the listener Marian, not the character Marian. The final reason this is also brilliant is that Mr. Fairley is funny. I don't know about you, but I actually laugh out loud in this section. I mean, yes, he's odious and awful and a totally terrible guardian for Laura. And he's completely thrown our main characters under the proverbial bus. But for all of that, he's hilarious. And we were needing a little hilarity right when things reach fever pitch. And it's so intense and we're, like, ready to tear our hair out or whatever, it makes sense to give us a little breather. It makes sense to temper all this suspense with a little humor. So even though we're still like, what is going to happen? Oh, my goodness, tell me now. We're also laughing. And that's really great storytelling, too. So we're done with Mr. Fairley as a narrator for now. He only gets one chapter at this point. And we're Moving on to Mrs. Mickelson, the housekeeper at Blackwater Park. And by the way, if you're feeling sort of bereft and missing Marian and missing Laura and wondering where they all are and are they okay, there's the genius of Wilkie Collins again. Of course we're feeling that way, Right? Where are our friends? We miss them. We feel homesick without them. We don't feel safe without them. Look at us, though. Look at the way this man from the 1800s, this long dead man in, like, fusty Victorian clothing, who suffered from gout and was, by all accounts, kind of strange. Look at the way that he has conjured these people and these situations for us so that we actually miss the creations of his mind. This is why books are important, you guys. This is why stories matter. Okay? But Mr. Fairley actually left us with something pretty ominous. Okay. Did you catch it? It was right at the end of his narrative. He said, the shocking circumstances which happened at a later period did not, I am thankful to say, happen in my presence. And he also said, I am not answerable for a deplorable calamity. Which it was quite impossible to foresee. Which tells us, right, that shocking circumstances and a deplorable calamity are coming. Which we kind of knew. We knew that there would be a crime. But this sort of tells us that we're almost there, right? We don't know what it's going to be still? We just don't know. But it's coming. The stage is set, so to speak. So let's get back to the story and hear from Mrs. Mickelson, who at least is actually at Blackwater Park. So maybe we'll get some news of Marian and Laura. At least we can hope. All right, let's get started with Mickelson's narrative. Chapter one of the Woman in White by Wilkie Collins. It's story time. The Story continued by Eliza Mickelson, Housekeeper at Blackwater park. One I am asked to state plainly what I know of the progress of Miss Halcombe's illness, and of the circumstances under which Lady Glyde left Blackwater park for London. The reason given for making this demand on me is that my testimony is wanted in the interests of truth. As the widow of a clergyman of the Church of England, reduced by misfortune to the necessity of accepting a situation meaning for money she had to become a housekeeper, but she was once married to a clergyman. I have been taught to place the claims of truth above all other considerations. I therefore comply with a request which I might otherwise, through reluctance to connect myself with distressing family affairs, have hesitated to grant. So she's going to write her testimony in the interest of truth, though otherwise she might not want to be connected to the events that took place. I made no memorandum at the time, and I cannot therefore be sure to a day of the date, but I believe I am correct in stating that Miss Halcombe's serious illness began during the last fortnight or 10 days in June. The breakfast hour was late at Blackwater park, sometimes as late as 10, never earlier than half past nine on the morning to which I am now referring. Miss Halcombe, who was usually the first to come down, did not make her appearance at the table after the family had waited a quarter of an hour. The upper housemaid was sent to see after her, and came running out of the room dreadfully frightened. I met the servant on the stairs and went at once to Miss Halcombe to see what was the matter. The poor lady was incapable of telling me. She was walking about her room with a pen in her hand, quite light headed, in a state of burning fever. Lady Glyde, being no longer in Sir Percival's service, I may without impropriety mention my former mistress by her name, instead of calling her My lady, was the first to come in from her own bedroom. She was so dreadfully alarmed and distressed that she was quite useless. The Count Fosco and his lady, who came upstairs Immediately afterwards were both most serviceable and kind. Her Ladyship assisted me to get Miss Halcombe to her bed. His lordship, the count remained in the sitting room, and having sent for my medicine chest, made a mixture for Miss Halcombe and a cooling lotion to be applied to her head, so as to lose no time before the doctor came. We applied the lotion, but we could not get her to take the mixture. Sir Percival undertook to send for the doctor. He despatched a groom on horseback for the nearest medical man, Mr. Dawson of Oak Lodge. Mr. Dawson arrived in less than an hour's time. He was a respectable elderly man, well known all around the country, and we were much alarmed when we found that he considered the case to be a very serious one. His lordship, the count, affably entered into conversation with Mr. Dawson and gave his opinions with a judicious freedom. Mr. Dawson not over courteously inquired if his lordship's advice was the advice of a doctor, and being informed that it was the advice of one who had studied medicine unprofessionally, replied that he was not accustomed to consult with amateur physicians. So Count Fosco's trying to give the doctor his own opinions of what should be done, but the doctor's having none of it. Since Fosco isn't actually a doctor himself. The count, with true Christian meekness of temper, smiled and left the room. Before he went out, he told me that he might be found in case he was wanted in the course of the day at the boat house on the banks of the lake. Why he should have gone there, I cannot say. But he did go, remaining away the whole day till 7 o'clock, which was dinner time. Perhaps he wished to set the example of keeping the house as quiet as possible. It was entirely in his character to do so. He was a most considerate nobleman. Miss Halcombe passed a very bad night, the fever coming and going and getting worse towards the morning instead of better. No nurse fit to wait on her being at hand in the neighbourhood. Her Ladyship, the Countess and myself undertook the duty relieving each other. Lady Glyde most unwisely insisted on sitting up with us. She was much too nervous and too delicate in health to bear the anxiety of Miss Halcombe's illness calmly. She only did herself harm without being of the least real assistance. A more gentle and affectionate lady never lived, but she cried and she was frightened. Two weaknesses which made her entirely unfit to be present in a sick room. Sir Percival and the Count came in the morning to make their inquiries. Sir Percival from distress, I presume, at his lady's affliction and at Miss Halcombe's illness appeared much confused and unsettled. In his mind, his lordship testified, on the contrary, a becoming composure and interest. He had his straw hat in one hand and his book in the other, and he mentioned to Sir Percival in my hearing that he would go out again and study at the lake. Let us keep the house quiet, he said. Let us not smoke indoors, my friend. Now Miss Halcombe is ill, you go your way and I will go mine. When I study, I like to be alone. Good morning, Mrs. Mickelson. Sir Percival was not civil enough, perhaps I ought in justice to say, not composed enough to take leave of me with the same polite attention. The only person in the house, indeed, who treated me at that time or any other on the footing of a lady in distressed circumstances was the count. He had the manners of a true nobleman. He was considerate towards everyone. Even the young person, Fanny by name, who attended on Lady Glyde, was not beneath his notice when she was sent away by Sir Percival. His lordship, showing me his sweet little birds at the time, was most kindly anxious to know what had become of her, where she was to go the day she left Blackwater park, and so on. It is in such little delicate attentions that the advantages of aristocratic birth always show themselves. I make no apology for introducing these particulars. They are brought forward in justice to his lordship, whose character, I have reason to know, is viewed rather harshly in certain quarters. A nobleman who can respect a lady in distressed circumstances can take a fatherly interest in the fortunes of a humble servant girl, shows principles and feelings of too high an order to be lightly called in question. I advance no opinions. I offer facts only. My endeavour through life is to judge, not that I be not judged. One of my beloved husband's finest sermons was on that text. I read it constantly in my own copy of the edition printed by subscription. In the first days of my widowhood, and at every fresh perusal, I derive an increase of spiritual benefit and edification. There was no improvement in Miss Halcombe, and the second night was even worse than the first. Mr. Dawson was constant in his attendance. The practical duties of nursing were still divided between the countess and myself. Lady Glyde persisting in sitting up with us, though we both entreated her to take some rest. My place is by Marion's bedside, was her only answer. Whether I am ill or well, nothing will induce me to lose sight of her. Towards midday I went downstairs to attend to some of my Regular duties. An hour afterwards, on my way back to the sick room, I saw the Count, who had gone out again early for the third time, entering the hall. To all appearance in the highest good spirits. Sir Percival at the same moment put his head out of the library door and addressed his noble friend with extreme eagerness. In these words, have you found her? His Lordship's large face became dimpled all over with placid smiles, but he made no reply in words. At the same time, Sir Percival turned his head, observed that I was approaching the stairs, and looked at me in the most rudely angry manner possible. Come in here and tell me about it, he said to the Count. Whenever there are women in a house, they're always sure to be going up or down stairs, my dear Percival, observed his lordship kindly. Mrs. Mickleson has duties. Pray recognize her admirable performance of them as sincerely as I do. How is the sufferer, Ms. Mickleson? No better, my lord, I regret to say. Sad, most sad, remarked the count. You look fatigued, Mrs. Mickelson. It is certainly time you and my wife had some help in nursing. I think I may be the means of offering you that help. Circumstances have happened which will oblige Madame Fosco to travel to London either to morrow or the day after. She will go away in the morning and return at night, and she will bring back with her to relieve you a nurse of excellent conduct and capacity who is now disengaged. The woman is known to my wife as a person to be trusted. Before she comes here, say nothing about her, if you please, to the doctor, because he will look with an evil eye on any nurse of my providing. When she appears in this house, she will speak for herself. And Mr. Dawson will be obliged to acknowledge that there is no excuse for not employing her. Lady Glyde will say the same. Pray present my best respects and sympathies to Lady Glyde. So Fosco's saying that Madame Fosco is going to go to London and bring back a professional nurse who will wait on Marian. Since it's becoming too much for Mrs. Mickelson and Madame Fosco to do alone, I expressed my grateful acknowledgments for his Lordship's kind consideration. Sir Percival cut them short by calling to his noble friend, using, I regret to say, a profane expression, to come into the library. And not to keep him waiting there any longer, I proceeded upstairs. We are poor, erring creatures, and however well established a woman's principles may be, she cannot always keep on her Guard against the temptation to exercise an idle curiosity. I am ashamed to say that an idle curiosity on this occasion got the better of my principles and made me unduly inquisitive about the question which Sir Percival had addressed to his noble friend at the library door. Who was the count expected to find in the course of his studious morning rambles at Blackwater Park? A woman, it was to be presumed, from the terms of Sir Percival's inquiry. I did not suspect the count of any impropriety. I knew his moral character too well. The only question I asked myself was, had he found her to resume? The night passed as usual without producing any change for the better in Miss Halcombe. The next day she seemed to improve a little. The day after that her ladyship the Countess, without mentioning the object of her journey to anyone in my hearing, proceeded by the morning train to London, her noble husband, with his customary attention accompanying her to the station. I was now left in sole charge of Miss Halcombe, with every apparent chance in consequence of her sister's resolution not to leave the bedside, of having Lady Glyde herself to nurse next. The only circumstance of any importance that happened in the course of the day was the occurrence of another unpleasant meeting between the doctor and the count. His lordship, on returning from the station, stepped up into Miss Halcombe's sitting room to make his inquiries. I went out from the bedroom to speak to him. Mr. Dawson and Lady Glyde being both with the patient at the time, the count asked me many questions about the treatment and the symptoms. I informed him that the treatment was of the kind described as saline and that the symptoms between the attacks of fever were certainly those of increasing weakness and exhaustion. So doctors at the time believed that giving a patient salt either orally or rectally or intravenously helped to restore oxygen to the blood. Just as I was mentioning these last particulars, Mr. Dawson came out from the bedroom. Good morning, sir, said his Lordship, stepping forward in the most urbane manner and stopping the doctor with a high bred resolution impossible to resist. I greatly fear you find no improvement in the symptoms to day. I find decided improvement, answered Mr. Dawson. You still persist in your lowering treatment of this case of fever? Continued his Lordship. I persist in the treatment which is justified by my own professional experience, said Mr. Dawson. Permit me to put one question to you on the vast subject of professional experience, observed the count. I presume to offer no more advice. I only presume to make an inquiry. You live at some distance, sir, from the gigantic centers of scientific activity, London and Paris. Have you ever heard of the wasting effects of fever being reasonably and intelligibly prepared by fortifying the exhausted patient with brandy wine, ammonia and quinine? Has that new heresy of the highest medical authorities ever reached your ears? Yes or no? When a professional man puts that question to me, I shall be glad to answer him, said the doctor, opening the door to go out. You are not a professional man, and I beg to decline answering you. Buffeted in this inexcusably uncivil way on one cheek, the count, like a practical Christian, immediately turned the other and said in the sweetest MANNER, Good morning, Mr. Dawson. If my late beloved husband had been so fortunate as to know his lordship, how highly he and the count would have esteemed each other. Her ladyship. The countess returned by the last train that night and brought with her the nurse from London. I was instructed that the person's name was Mrs. Rubelle. Her personal appearance and her imperfect English when she spoke informed me that she was a foreigner. I have always cultivated a feeling of humane indulgence for foreigners. They do not possess our blessings and advantages, and they are, for the most part, brought up in the blind errors of popery. Meaning that they're all Catholics, which Mrs. Mickelson disapproves of because her husband was a clergyman in the church of England. It has also always been my precept and practice, as it was my dear husband's precept and practice before me. See Sermon 29 in the collection by the late Reverend Samuel Mickelson, M.A. to do as I would be done by. On both these accounts, I will not say that Mrs. Rubell struck me as being a small, wiry, sly person of 50 or thereabouts, with a dark brown or creole complexion and watchful light grey eyes. Nor will I mention, for the reasons just alleged, that I thought her dress, though it was of the plainest black silk, inappropriately costly in texture and unnecessarily refined in trimming and finished. For a person in her position in life, I should not like these things to be said of me, and therefore it is my duty not to say them of Mrs. Rubell. Okay. So obviously Mrs. Mickelson really doesn't like this nurse, Mrs. Rubell, but is trying to imply that she's not judgmental. I will merely mention that her manners were not, perhaps unpleasantly reserved, but only remarkably quiet and retiring. That she looked about her a great deal and said very little, which might have arisen quite as much from her own modesty as from her distrust of her position at Blackwater. Park and that she declined to partake of supper, which was curious, perhaps, but surely not suspicious. Although I myself politely invited her to that meal in my own room. At the count's particular suggestionso like his lordship's forgiving kindness, it was arranged that Mrs. Rubelle should not enter on her duties until she had been seen and approved by the doctor. The next morning I sat up. That night Lady Glyde appeared to be very unwilling that the new nurse should be employed to attend on Miss Halcombe. Such want of liberality towards a foreigner on the part of a lady of her education and refinement surprised me. I ventured to say, my lady, we must all remember not to be hasty in our judgments on our inferiors, especially when they come from foreign parts. Lady Glyde did not appear to attend to me. She only sighed and kissed Miss Halcombe's hand as it lay on the counterpane. Scarcely a judicious proceeding in a sick room with a patient whom it was highly desirable not to excite. But poor Lady Glyde knew nothing of nursing Nothing whatever, I am sorry to say. The next morning Mrs. Rubell was sent to the sitting room to be approved by the doctor. On his way through to the bedroom, I left Lady Glyde with Miss Halcombe, who was slumbering at the time, and joined Mrs. Rubell with the object of kindly preventing her from feeling strange and nervous in consequence of the uncertainty of her situation. She did not appear to see it in that light. She seemed to be quite satisfied beforehand that Mr. Dawson would approve of her. And she sat calmly looking out of window, with every appearance of enjoying the country air. Some people might have thought such conduct suggestive of brazen assurance. I beg to say that I more liberally set it down to extraordinary strength of mind. Instead of the doctor coming up to us, I was sent for to see the doctor. I thought this change of affairs rather odd, but Mrs. Rubell did not appear to be affected by it in any way. I left her still calmly looking out of the window, and still silently enjoying the country air. Mr. Dawson was waiting for me by himself in the breakfast room. About this new nurse, Mrs. Mickelson, said the doctor. Yes, sir. I find that she has been brought here from London by the wife of that fat old foreigner who is always trying to interfere with me. Mrs. Mickelson, the fat old foreigner is a quack. This was very rude. I was naturally shocked at it. Are you aware, sir, I said, that you are talking of a nobleman? Pooh. He isn't the first quack. With a handle to his name, they're all counts. Hang em. He would not be a friend of Sir Percival Glyde's sir, if he was not a member of the highest aristocracy. Excepting the English aristocracy, of course. Very well, Mrs. Mickleson, call him what you like and let us get back to the nurse. I have been objecting to her already. Without having seen her, sir? Yes, without having seen her. She may be the best nurse in existence, but she is not a nurse of my providing. I have put that objection to Sir Percival as the master of the house. He doesn't support me. He says a nurse of my providing would have been a stranger from London also. And he thinks the woman ought to have a trial after his wife's aunt has taken the trouble to fetch her from London. There is some justice in that, and I can't decently say no. But I have made it a condition that she is to go at once if I find reason to complain of her. This proposal being one which I have some right to make as medical attendant. Sir Percival has consented to it. Now, Mrs. Mickelson, I know I can depend on you, and I want you to keep a sharp eye on the nurse for the first day or two. And to see that she gives Miss Halcombe no medicines but mine. This foreign nobleman of yours is dying to try his quack remedies, mesmerism included, on my patient. And a nurse who is brought here by his wife may be a little too willing to help him. So the doctor is asking Mrs. Mickelson to watch the nurse and make sure she doesn't give Marian any weird medicines. You understand? Very well then. We may go upstairs. Is the nurse there? I'll say a word to her before she goes into the sick room. We found Mrs. Rubelle still enjoying herself at the window when I introduced her to Mr. Dawson. Neither the doctor's doubtful looks nor the doctor's searching questions appeared to confuse her in the least. She answered him quietly in her broken English, and though he tried hard to puzzle her, she never betrayed the least ignorance so far about any part of her duties. This was doubtless the result of strength of mind, as I said before, and not of brazen assurance by any means. We all went into the bedroom. Mrs. Rebel looked very attentively at the patient, curtseyed to Lady Glyde, set one or two little things right in the room, and sat down quietly in a corner to wait until she was wanted. Her Ladyship seemed startled and annoyed by the appearance of the strange nurse. Remember her Ladyship, here is Laura. No one said anything for fear of rousing Miss Halcombe, who was still slumbering, except the doctor, who whispered a question about the night. I softly answered, much as usual, and then Mr. Dawson went out. Lady Glyde followed him, I suppose, to speak about Mrs. Rubelle. For my own part, I had made up my mind already that this quiet foreign person should keep her situation meaning. Mrs. Mickelson has decided that Mrs. Rubell will not be fired. She had all her wits about her and she certainly understood her business so far. I could hardly have done much better by the bedside myself. Remembering Mr. Dawson's caution to me, I subjected Mrs. Rubell to a severe scrutiny. At certain intervals for the next three or four days, I over and over again entered the room softly and suddenly. But I never found her out in any situation. Suspicious action. Lady Glyde, who watched her as attentively as I did, discovered nothing either. I never detected a sign of the medicine bottles being tampered with. I never saw Mrs. Rubelle say a word to the count, or the count to her. She managed, Miss Halcombe, with unquestionable care and discretion. The poor lady wavered backwards and forwards between a sort of sleepy exhaustion, which was half faintness and half slumbering, and attacks of fever, which brought with them more or less of wandering in her mind. Mrs. Rubell never disturbed her in the first case, and never startled her in the second by appearing too suddenly at the bedside in the character of a stranger. Honour to whom honour is due, whether foreign or English. And I give her privilege impartially to Mrs. Rubell. She was remarkably uncommunicative about herself, and she was too quietly independent of all advice from experienced persons who understood the duties of a sick room. But with these drawbacks, she was a good nurse, and she never gave either Lady Glyde or Mr. Dawson the Shadow of a reason for complaining of her. The next circumstance of importance that occurred in the house was the temporary absence of the count, occasioned by business which took him to London. He went away, I think, on the morning of the fourth day after the arrival of Mrs. Rubell. And at parting he spoke to Lady Glyde very seriously in my presence on the subject of miss Halcombe. Trust Mr. Dawson, he said, for a few days more, if you please. But if there is not some change for the better in that time, send for advice from London, which this mule of a doctor must accept in spite of himself. Offend Mr. Dawson, and save Miss Halcombe. I say this seriously, on my word of Honour and from the bottom of my heart. His lordship spoke with extreme feeling and kindness, but poor Lady Glyde's nerves were so completely broken down that she seemed quite frightened at him. She trembled from head to foot and allowed him to take his leave without uttering a word on her side. She turned to me when he had gone and said, oh, Mrs. Mickelson, I am heart broken about my sister and I have no friend to advise me. Do you think Mr. Dawson is wrong? He told me himself this morning that there was no fear and no need to send for another doctor. With all respect to Mr. Dawson, I answered, in your ladyship's place, I should remember the count's advice. Lady Glyde turned away from me suddenly, with an appearance of despair, for which I was quite unable to account. His advice, she said to herself, God help us, his advice. The count was away from Blackwater park as nearly as I remember a week. Sir Percival seemed to feel the loss of his lordship in various ways, and appeared also, I thought, much depressed and altered by the sickness and sorrow in the house. Occasionally he was so very restless that I could not help noticing it coming and going and wandering here and there and everywhere in the grounds. His inquiries about Miss Halcombe and about his lady, whose failing health seemed to cause him sincere anxiety, were most attentive. I think his heart was much softened if some kind clerical friend, some such friend as he might have found in my late excellent husband, had been near him at this time. Cheering Moral progress might have been made with Sir Percival. I seldom find myself mistaken on a point of this sort, having had experience to guide me in my happy married days. Her ladyship the Countess, who was now the only company for Sir Percival downstairs, rather neglected him, as I considered. Or perhaps it might have been that he neglected her. A stranger might almost have supposed that they were bent. Now they were left together alone, on actually avoiding one another. This, of course, could not be. But it did so happen nevertheless, that the Countess made her dinner at luncheon time, and that she always came upstairs towards evening, although Mrs. Rubelle had taken the nursing duties entirely off her hands. Sir Percival dined by himself, and William, the man out of livery, made the remark in my hearing that his master had put himself on half rations of food and on a double allowance of drink. Meaning Mrs. Mickelson heard from a servant that Sir Percival is drinking far too much. I attach no importance to such an insolent observation as this on the part of a servant. I reprobated it at the time, and I wish to be understood as reprobating it once more. On this occasion in the course of the next few days, Miss Halcombe did certainly seem to all of us to be mending a little our faith in Mr. Dawson revived. He appeared to be very confident about the case, and he assured Lady Glyde, when she spoke to him on the subject, that he would himself propose to send for a physician the moment he felt so much as the shadow of a doubt crossing his own mind. The only person among us who did not appear to be relieved by these words was the Countess. She said to me privately that she could not feel easy about Miss Halcombe on Mr. Dawson's authority, and that she should wait anxiously for her husband's opinion on his return. That return, his letters informed her, would take place in three days time. The Count and Countess corresponded regularly, every morning during his lordship's absence. They were in that respect, as in all others, a pattern to married people. Meaning that they're a model couple. On the evening of the third day, I noticed a change in Miss Halcombe, which caused me serious apprehension. Mrs. Rubell noticed it too. We said nothing on the subject to Lady Glyde, who was then lying asleep, completely overpowered by exhaustion, on the sofa in the sitting room. Mr. Dawson did not pay his evening visit till later than usual. As soon as he set eyes on his patient, I saw his face alter. He tried to hide it, but he looked both confused and alarmed. A messenger was sent to his residence for his medicine chest. Disinfecting preparations were used in the room, and a bed was made up for him in the house by his own directions. Has the fever turned to infection? I whispered to him. I'm afraid it has, he answered. We shall know better to morrow morning by Mr. Dawson's own directions. Lady Glyde was kept in ignorance of this change for the worse. He himself absolutely forbade her, on account of her health, to join us in the bedroom that night. She tried to resist. There was a sad scene. But he had his medical authority to support him and he carried his point. The next morning, one of the men servants was sent to London at 11 o'clock with a letter to a physician in town, and with orders to bring the new doctor back with him by the earliest possible train. Half an hour after the messenger had gone, the count returned to Blackwater Park. The Countess, on her own responsibility, immediately brought him in to see the patient. There was no impropriety that I could discover in her taking this course. His lordship was a married man. He was old enough to be Ms. Halcombe's father, and he saw her in the presence of a female relative, Lady Glyde's aunt. Mr. Dawson nevertheless protested against his presence in the room, but I could plainly remark the doctor as too much alarmed to make any serious resistance on this occasion. The poor suffering lady was past knowing any one about her. She seemed to take her friends for enemies. When the count approached her bedside, her eyes, which had been wandering incessantly round and round the room before, settled on his face with a dreadful stare of terror which I shall remember to my dying day. The count sat down by her, felt her pulse and her temples, looked at her very attentively, and then turned round upon the doctor with such an expression of indignation and contempt in his face that the words failed on Mr. Dawson's lips. And he stood for a moment pale with anger and alarm. Pale and perfectly speechless. His lordship looked at me. When did the change happen? He asked. I told him the time. Has Lady Glyde been in the room since? I replied that she had not. The doctor had absolutely forbidden her to come into the room on the evening before and had repeated the order again in the morning. Have you and Mrs. Rebel been made aware of the full extent of the mischief? Was the next question. We were aware, I answered, that the malady was considered infectious. He stopped me before I could add anything more. It is typhus fever, he said. So essentially he's saying it's a very bad, very dangerous type of bacterial infection. In the minute that passed, while these questions and answers were going on, Mr. Dawson recovered himself and addressed the count with his customary firmness. It is not typhus fever, he remarked sharply. I protest against this intrusion, sir. No one has a right to put questions here but me. I have done my duty to the best of my ability. The count interrupted him, not by words, but only by pointing to the bed. Mr. Dawson seemed to feel that silent contradiction to his assertion of his own ability, and to grow only the more angry under it. I say I have done my duty, he reiterated. A physician has been sent for from London. I will consult on the nature of the fever with him and with no one else. I insist on your leaving the room. I entered this room, sir, in the sacred interests of humanity, said the Count. And in the same interests. If the coming of the physician is delayed, I will enter it again. I warn you once more that the fever has turned to typhus, and that your treatment is responsible for this lamentable change. If that unhappy lady dies, I will give my testimony in a court of justice that your Ignorance and obstinacy have been the cause of her death. Before Mr. Dawson could answer, before the Count could leave us, the door was opened from the sitting room and we saw Lady Glyde on the threshold. I must and will come in, she said with extraordinary firmness. Instead of stopping her, the count moved into the sitting room and made way for her to go in. On all other occasions, he was the last man in the world to forget anything. But in the surprise of the moment, he apparently forgot the danger of infection from typhus and the urgent necessity of forcing Lady Glyde to take proper care of herself. To my astonishment, Mr. Dawson showed more presence of mind. He stopped her ladyship at the first step she took toward the bedside. I am sincerely sorry. I am sincerely grieved, he said. The fever may, I fear, be infectious. Until I am certain that it is not, I entreat you to keep out of the room. She struggled for a moment, then suddenly dropped her arms and sank forward. She had fainted. The Countess and I took her from the doctor and carried her into her own room. The count preceded us and waited in the passage till I came out and told him that we had recovered her from the swoon. I went back to the doctor to tell him by Lady Glyde's desire, that she insisted on speaking to him immediately. He withdrew at once to quiet her ladyship's agitation and to assure her of the physician's arrival in the course of a few hours. Those hours passed very slowly. Sir Percival and the Count were together downstairs and sent up from time to time to make their inquiries. At last, between 5 and 6 o'clock, to our great relief, the physician came. He was a younger man than Mr. Dawson, very serious and very decided. What he thought of the previous treatment I cannot say. But it struck me as curious that he put many more questions to myself and to Mrs. Rubell than he put to the doctor, and that he did not appear to listen with much interest to what Mr. Dawson said. Said while he was examining Mr. Dawson's patient, I began to suspect from what I observed in this way that the count had been right about the illness all the way through. And I was naturally confirmed in that idea when Mr. Dawson, after some little delay, asked the one important question which the London doctor had been sent for to set at rest. What is your opinion of the fever? He inquired. Typhus, replied the physician. Typhus fever. Beyond all doubt. That quiet foreign person, Mrs. Rubelle, crossed her thin brown hands in front of her and looked at me with a very significant smile. The Count himself could hardly have appeared more gratified if he had been present in the room and had heard the confirmation of his own opinion. After giving us some useful directions about the management of the patient and mentioning that he would come again in five days time, the physician withdrew to consult in private with Mr. Dawson. He would offer no opinion on Miss Halcombe's chances of recovery. He said it was impossible at that stage of the illness to pronounce one way or the other. The five days passed anxiously. Countess Fosco and myself took it by turns to relieve Mrs. Rubell. Ms. Halcombe's condition growing worse and worse and requiring our utmost care and attention. It was a terribly trying time. Lady glyde, supported, as Mr. Dawson said, by the constant strain of her suspense on her sister's account, rallied in the most extraordinary manner and showed a firmness and determination for which I should myself never have given her credit. She insisted on coming into the sick room two or three times every day to look at Miss Halcombe with her own eyes, promising not to go too close to the bed if the doctor would consent to her wishes. So far, Mr. Dawson very unwillingly made the concession required of him. I think he saw that it was hopeless to dispute with her. She came in every day and she self denyingly kept her promise. I felt it personally so distressing as reminding me of my own affliction during my husband's last illness to see how she suffered under these circumstances that I must beg not to dwell on this part of the subject any longer. It is more agreeable to me to mention that no fresh disputes took place between Mr. Dawson and the Count. His lordship made all his inquiries by deputy and remained continually in company with Sir Percival downstairs. On the fifth day the physician came again and gave us a little hope. He said the 10th day from the first appearance of the typhus would probably decide the result of the illness. And he arranged for his third visit to take place on that date. The interval passed as before, except that the count went to London again one morning and returned at night on the 10th day. It pleased a merciful providence to relieve our household from all further anxiety and alarm. The physician positively assured us that Miss Halcombe was out of danger. She wants no doctor now. All she requires is careful watching and nursing for some time to come. And that I see she has. Those were his own words. That evening I read my husband's touching sermon on recovery from sickness with more happiness and advantage in a spiritual point of view than I ever remember to have derived from it before. The effect of the good news on poor Lady Glyde was, I grieve to say, quite overpowering. She was too weak to bear the violent reaction and in another day or two she sank into a state of debility and depression which obliged her to keep her room. Rest and quiet and change of air afterwards were the best remedies which Mr. Dawson could suggest for her benefit. It was fortunate that matters were no worse, for on the very day after she took to her room, the count and the doctor had another disagreement. And this time the dispute between them was of so serious a nature that Mr. Dawson left the house. I was not present at the time, but I understood that the subject of dispute was the amount of nourishment which it was necessary to give to assist Miss Halcombe's convalescence after the exhaustion of the fever. Mr. Dawson, now that his patient was safe, was less inclined than ever to submit to unprofessional interference. And the count, I cannot imagine why, lost all the self control which he had so judiciously preserved on former occasions and taunted the doctor over and over again with his mistake about the fever when it changed to typhus. The unfortunate affair ended in Mr. Dawson's appealing to Sir Percival and threatening now that he could leave without absolute danger to Miss Halcombe to withdraw from his attendance at Blackwater park if the count's interference was not peremptorily suppressed. From that moment, Sir Percival's reply, though not designedly uncivil, had only resulted in making matters worse. And Mr. Dawson had thereupon withdrawn from the house in a state of extreme indignation at Count Fosco's usage of him and had sent in his bill the next morning. Meaning he's telling them how much they owe him for his services and ending his attendance on them. We were now therefore left without the attendance of a medical man, although there was no actual necessity for another doctornursing and watching. Being, as the physician had observed all that Miss Halcombe required, I should still, if my authority had been consulted, have obtained professional assistance from some other quarter for form's sake. The matter did not seem to strike Sir Percival in that light. He said it would be time enough to send for another doctor if Miss Halcombe showed any signs of a relapse. In the meanwhile, we had the count to consult in any minor difficulty, and we need not unnecessarily disturb our patient in her present weak and nervous condition by the presence of a stranger at her bedside. There was much that was reasonable, no doubt, in these considerations, but they left me a little anxious nevertheless. Nor was I quite satisfied in my own mind of the propriety of our concealing the doctor's absence, as we did from Lady Glyde. It was a merciful deception, I admit, for she was in no state to bear any fresh anxieties. But still it was a deception, and as such, to a person of my principles, at best a doubtful proceeding. So Laura doesn't know that at this point the only person who might administer medical intervention or medication to Marian is Count Fosco. A second perplexing circumstance, which happened on the same day and which took me completely by surprise, added greatly to the sense of uneasiness that was now weighing on my mind. I was sent for to see Sir Percival in the library. The Count who was with him when I went in immediately rose and left us alone together. Sir Percival civilly asked me to take a seat, and then, to my great astonishment, addressed me in these I want to speak to you, Mrs. Mickleson, about a matter which I decided on some time ago, and which I should have mentioned before, but for the sickness and trouble in the house. House? In plain words, I have reasons for wishing to break up my establishment immediately at this place, leaving you in charge, of course, as usual. So he wants to leave the house and move to another of his properties or somewhere else, leaving Mrs. Mickelson in charge of keeping this house in good order while he's gone, as usual. As soon as Lady Glyde and Miss Halcombe can travel, they must both have change of air. My friends Count Fosco and the Countess will leave us before that time to live in the neighbourhood of London. And I have reasons for not opening the house to any more company, with a view to economizing as carefully as I can. I don't blame you, but my expenses here are a great deal too heavy. In short, I shall sell the horses and get rid of all the servants at once. I never do things by halves, as you know, and I mean to have the house clear of a pack of useless people by this time to morrow. I listened to him perfectly aghast with astonishment. Do you mean, Sir Percival, that I am to dismiss the indoor servants under my charge without the usual month's warning? I asked. Certainly I do. We may all be out of the house before another month, and I am not going to leave the servants here in idleness with no master to wait on who is to do the cooking? Sir Percival, while you are still staying here, Margaret Porcher can roast and boil. Keep her what Do I want with a cook if I don't mean to give any dinner parties? The servant you have mentioned is the most unintelligent servant in the house, Sir Percival. Keep her, I tell you. And have a woman in from the village to do the cleaning and go away again. My weekly expenses must and shall be lowered immediately. I don't send for you to make objections, Mrs. Mickleson. I send for you to carry out my plans of economy. Dismiss the whole lazy pack of indoor servants to morrow. Except Porcher. She is as strong as a horse and will make her work like a horse. You will excuse me for reminding you, Sir Percival, that if the servants go to morrow, they must have a month's wages in lieu of a month's warning. Let them. A month's wages saves a month's waste and gluttony in the servants hall. This last remark conveyed an aspersion of the most offensive kind on my management. I had too much self respect to defend myself under so gross an imputation. Christian consideration for the helpless position of Miss Halcombe and Lady Glyde, and for the serious inconvenience which my sudden absence might inflict on them alone prevented me from resigning my situation on the spot. I rose immediately. It would have lowered me, in my own estimation to have permitted the interview to continue a moment longer. After that last remark, Sir Percival, I have nothing more to say. Your directions shall be attended to. Pronouncing those words, I bowed my head with the most distant respect and went out of the room. The next day the servants left in a body. Sir Percival himself dismissed the grooms and stablemen, sending them with all the horses but one to London. Of the whole domestic establishment, indoors and out, there now remained only myself, Margaret Porcher and the gardener. This last living in his own cottage and being wanted to take care of the one horse that remained in the stable. With the house left in this strange and lonely condition, with the mistress of it ill in her room, with Miss Halcombe still as helpless as a child, and with the doctor's attendance withdrawn from us in enmity, it was surely not unnatural that my spirits should sink and my customary composure be very hard to maintain. My mind was ill at ease. I wished the poor ladies both well again and I wished myself away from Blackwater Park. 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. 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