The next event that occurred was of so singular a nature that it
might have caused me a feeling of superstitious surprise, if my
mind had not been fortified by principle against any pagan
weakness of that sort. The uneasy sense of something wrong in the
family which had made me wish myself away from Blackwater Park,
was actually followed, strange to say, by my departure from the
house. It is true that my absence was for a temporary period
only, but the coincidence was, in my opinion, not the less
remarkable on that account.
My departure took place under the following circumstances--
A day or two after the servants all left I was again sent for to
see Sir Percival. The undeserved slur which he had cast on my
management of the household did not, I am happy to say, prevent me
from returning good for evil to the best of my ability, by
complying with his request as readily and respectfully as ever.
It cost me a struggle with that fallen nature, which we all share
in common, before I could suppress my feelings. Being accustomed
to self-discipline, I accomplished the sacrifice.
I found Sir Percival and Count Fosco sitting together again. On
this occasion his lordship remained present at the interview, and
assisted in the development of Sir Percival's views.
The subject to which they now requested my attention related to
the healthy change of air by which we all hoped that Miss Halcombe
and Lady Glyde might soon be enabled to profit. Sir Percival
mentioned that both the ladies would probably pass the autumn (by
invitation of Frederick Fairlie, Esquire) at Limmeridge House,
Cumberland. But before they went there, it was his opinion,
confirmed by Count Fosco (who here took up the conversation and
continued it to the end), that they would benefit by a short
residence first in the genial climate of Torquay. The great
object, therefore, was to engage lodgings at that place, affording
all the comforts and advantages of which they stood in need, and
the great difficulty was to find an experienced person capable of
choosing the sort of residence which they wanted. In this
emergency the Count begged to inquire, on Sir Percival's behalf,
whether I would object to give the ladies the benefit of my
assistance, by proceeding myself to Torquay in their interests.
It was impossible for a person in my situation to meet any
proposal, made in these terms, with a positive objection.
I could only venture to represent the serious inconvenience of my
leaving Blackwater Park in the extraordinary absence of all the
indoor servants, with the one exception of Margaret Porcher. But
Sir Percival and his lordship declared that they were both willing
to put up with inconvenience for the sake of the invalids. I next
respectfully suggested writing to an agent at Torquay, but I was
met here by being reminded of the imprudence of taking lodgings
without first seeing them. I was also informed that the Countess
(who would otherwise have gone to Devonshire herself) could not,
in Lady Glyde's present condition, leave her niece, and that Sir
Percival and the Count had business to transact together which
would oblige them to remain at Blackwater Park. In short, it was
clearly shown me that if I did not undertake the errand, no one
else could be trusted with it. Under these circumstances, I could
only inform Sir Percival that my services were at the disposal of
Miss Halcombe and Lady Glyde.
It was thereupon arranged that I should leave the next morning,
that I should occupy one or two days in examining all the most
convenient houses in Torquay, and that I should return with my
report as soon as I conveniently could. A memorandum was written
for me by his lordship, stating the requisites which the place I
was sent to take must be found to possess, and a note of the
pecuniary limit assigned to me was added by Sir Percival.
My own idea on reading over these instructions was, that no such
residence as I saw described could be found at any watering-place
in England, and that, even if it could by chance be discovered, it
would certainly not be parted with for any period on such terms as
I was permitted to offer. I hinted at these difficulties to both
the gentlemen, but Sir Percival (who undertook to answer me) did
not appear to feel them. It was not for me to dispute the
question. I said no more, but I felt a very strong conviction
that the business on which I was sent away was so beset by
difficulties that my errand was almost hopeless at starting.
Before I left I took care to satisfy myself that Miss Halcombe was
going on favourably.
There was a painful expression of anxiety in her face which made
me fear that her mind, on first recovering itself, was not at
ease. But she was certainly strengthening more rapidly than I
could have ventured to anticipate, and she was able to send kind
messages to Lady Glyde, saying that she was fast getting well, and
entreating her ladyship not to exert herself again too soon. I
left her in charge of Mrs. Rubelle, who was still as quietly
independent of every one else in the house as ever. When I
knocked at Lady Glyde's door before going away, I was told that
she was still sadly weak and depressed, my informant being the
Countess, who was then keeping her company in her room. Sir
Percival and the Count were walking on the road to the lodge as I
was driven by in the chaise. I bowed to them and quitted the
house, with not a living soul left in the servants' offices but
Margaret Porcher.
Every one must feel what I have felt myself since that time, that
these circumstances were more than unusual--they were! almost
suspicious. Let me, however, say again that it was impossible for
me, in my dependent position, to act otherwise than I did.
The result of my errand at Torquay was exactly what I had
foreseen. No such lodgings as I was instructed to take could be
found in the whole place, and the terms I was permitted to give
were much too low for the purpose, even if I had been able to
discover what I wanted. I accordingly returned to Blackwater
Park, and informed Sir Percival, who met me at the door, that my
journey had been taken in vain. He seemed too much occupied with
some other subject to care about the failure of my errand, and his
first words informed me that even in the short time of my absence
another remarkable change had taken place in the house.
The Count and Countess Fosco had left Blackwater Park for their
new residence in St. John's Wood.
I was not made aware of the motive for this sudden departure--I
was only told that the Count had been very particular in leaving
his kind compliments to me. When I ventured on asking Sir
Percival whether Lady Glyde had any one to attend to her comforts
in the absence of the Countess, he replied that she had Margaret
Porcher to wait on her, and he added that a woman from the village
had been sent for to do the work downstairs.
The answer really shocked me--there was such a glaring impropriety
in permitting an under-housemaid to fill the place of confidential
attendant on Lady Glyde. I went upstairs at once, and met
Margaret on the bedroom landing. Her services had not been
required (naturally enough), her mistress having sufficiently
recovered that morning to be able to leave her bed. I asked next
after Miss Halcombe, but I was answered in a slouching, sulky
way, which left me no wiser than I was before.
I did not choose to repeat the question, and perhaps provoke an
impertinent reply. It was in every respect more becoming to a
person in my position to present myself immediately in Lady
Glyde's room.
I found that her ladyship had certainly gained in health during
the last few days. Although still sadly weak and nervous, she was
able to get up without assistance, and to walk slowly about her
room, feeling no worse effect from the exertion than a slight
sensation of fatigue. She had been made a little anxious that
morning about Miss Halcombe, through having received no news of
her from any one. I thought this seemed to imply a blamable want
of attention on the part of Mrs. Rubelle, but I said nothing, and
remained with Lady Glyde to assist her to dress. When she was
ready we both left the room together to go to Miss Halcombe.
We were stopped in the passage by the appearance of Sir Percival.
He looked as if he had been purposely waiting there to see us.
"Where are you going?" he said to Lady Glyde.
"To Marian's room," she answered.
"It may spare you a disappointment," remarked Sir Percival, "if I
tell you at once that you will not find her there."
"Not find her there!"
"No. She left the house yesterday morning with Fosco and his
wife."
Lady Glyde was not strong enough to bear the surprise of this
extraordinary statement. She turned fearfully pale, and leaned
back against the wall, looking at her husband in dead silence.
I was so astonished myself that I hardly knew what to say. I
asked Sir Percival if he really meant that Miss Halcombe had left
Blackwater Park.
"I certainly mean it," he answered.
"In her state, Sir Percival! Without mentioning her intentions to
Lady Glyde!"
Before he could reply her ladyship recovered herself a little and
spoke.
"Impossible!" she cried out in a loud, frightened manner, taking a
step or two forward from the wall. "Where was the doctor? where
was Mr. Dawson when Marian went away?"
"Mr. Dawson wasn't wanted, and wasn't here," said Sir Percival.
"He left of his own accord, which is enough of itself to show that
she was strong enough to travel. How you stare! If you don't
believe she has gone, look for yourself. Open her room door, and
all the other room doors if you like."
She took him at his word, and I followed her. There was no one in
Miss Halcombe's room but Margaret Porcher, who was busy setting it
to rights. There was no one in the spare rooms or the dressing-
rooms when we looked into them afterwards. Sir Percival still
waited for us in the passage. As we were leaving the last room
that we had examined Lady Glyde whispered, "Don't go, Mrs.
Michelson! don't leave me, for God's sake!" Before I could say
anything in return she was out again in the passage, speaking to
her husband.
"What does it mean, Sir Percival? I insist--I beg and pray you
will tell me what it means."
"It means," he answered, "that Miss Halcombe was strong enough
yesterday morning to sit up and be dressed, and that she insisted
on taking advantage of Fosco's going to London to go there too."
"To London!"
"Yes--on her way to Limmeridge."
Lady Glyde turned and appealed to me.
"You saw Miss Halcombe last," she said. "Tell me plainly, Mrs.
Michelson, did you think she looked fit to travel?"
"Not in MY opinion, your ladyship."
Sir Percival, on his side, instantly turned and appealed to me
also.
"Before you went away," he said, "did you, or did you not, tell
the nurse that Miss Halcombe looked much stronger and better?"
"I certainly made the remark, Sir Percival."
He addressed her ladyship again the moment I offered that reply.
"Set one of Mrs. Michelson's opinions fairly against the other,"
he said, "and try to be reasonable about a perfectly plain matter.
If she had not been well enough to be moved do you think we should
any of us have risked letting her go? She has got three competent
people to look after her--Fosco and your aunt, and Mrs. Rubelle,
who went away with them expressly for that purpose. They took a
whole carriage yesterday, and made a bed for her on the seat in
case she felt tired. To-day, Fosco and Mrs. Rubelle go on with
her themselves to Cumberland."
"Why does Marian go to Limmeridge and leave me here by myself?"
said her ladyship, interrupting Sir Percival.
"Because your uncle won't receive you till he has seen your sister
first," he replied. "Have you forgotten the letter he wrote to
her at the beginning of her illness? It was shown to you, you read
it yourself, and you ought to remember it."
"I do remember it."
"If you do, why should you be surprised at her leaving you? You
want to be back at Limmeridge, and she has gone there to get your
uncle's leave for you on his own terms."
Poor Lady Glyde's eyes filled with tears.
"Marian never left me before," she said, "without bidding me good-
bye."
"She would have bid you good-bye this time," returned Sir
Percival, "if she had not been afraid of herself and of you. She
knew you would try to stop her, she knew you would distress her by
crying. Do you want to make any more objections? If you do, you
must come downstairs and ask questions in the dining-room. These
worries upset me. I want a glass of wine."
He left us suddenly.
His manner all through this strange conversation had been very
unlike what it usually was. He seemed to be almost as nervous and
fluttered, every now and then, as his lady herself. I should
never have supposed that his health had been so delicate, or his
composure so easy to upset.
I tried to prevail on Lady Glyde to go back to her room, but it
was useless. She stopped in the passage, with the look of a woman
whose mind was panic-stricken.
"Something has happened to my sister!" she said.
"Remember, my lady, what surprising energy there is in Miss
Halcombe," I suggested. "She might well make an effort which
other ladies in her situation would be unfit for. I hope and
believe there is nothing wrong--I do indeed."
"I must follow Marian," said her ladyship, with the same panic-
stricken look. "I must go where she has gone, I must see that she
is alive and well with my own eyes. Come! come down with me to
Sir Percival."
I hesitated, fearing that my presence might be considered an
intrusion. I attempted to represent this to her ladyship, but she
was deaf to me. She held my arm fast enough to force me to go
downstairs with her, and she still clung to me with all the little
strength she had at the moment when I opened the dining-room door.
Sir Percival was sitting at the table with a decanter of wine
before him. He raised the glass to his lips as we went in and
drained it at a draught. Seeing that he looked at me angrily when
he put it down again, I attempted to make some apology for my
accidental presence in the room.
"Do you suppose there are any secrets going on here?" he broke out
suddenly; "there are none--there is nothing underhand, nothing
kept from you or from any one." After speaking those strange words
loudly and sternly, he filled himself another glass of wine and
asked Lady Glyde what she wanted of him.
"If my sister is fit to travel I am fit to travel" said her
ladyship, with more firmness than she had yet shown. "I come to
beg you will make allowances for my anxiety about Marian, and let
me follow her at once by the afternoon train."
"You must wait till to-morrow," replied Sir Percival, "and then if
you don't hear to the contrary you can go. I don't suppose you
are at all likely to hear to the contrary, so I shall write to
Fosco by to-night's post."
He said those last words holding his glass up to the light, and
looking at the wine in it instead of at Lady Glyde. Indeed he
never once looked at her throughout the conversation. Such a
singular want of good breeding in a gentleman of his rank
impressed me, I own, very painfully.
"Why should you write to Count Fosco?" she asked, in extreme
surprise.
"To tell him to expect you by the midday train," said Sir
Percival. "He will meet you at the station when you get to
London, and take you on to sleep at your aunt's in St. John's
Wood."
Lady Glyde's hand began to tremble violently round my arm--why I
could not imagine.
"There is no necessity for Count Fosco to meet me," she said. "I
would rather not stay in London to sleep."
"You must. You can't take the whole journey to Cumberland in one
day. You must rest a night in London--and I don't choose you to
go by yourself to an hotel. Fosco made the offer to your uncle to
give you house-room on the way down, and your uncle has accepted
it. Here! here is a letter from him addressed to yourself. I
ought to have sent it up this morning, but I forgot. Read it and
see what Mr. Fairlie himself says to you."
Lady Glyde looked at the letter for a moment and then placed it in
my hands.
"Read it," she said faintly. "I don't know what is the matter
with me. I can't read it myself."
It was a note of only four lines--so short and so careless that it
quite struck me. If I remember correctly it contained no more
than these words--
"Dearest Laura, Please come whenever you like. Break the journey
by sleeping at your aunt's house. Grieved to hear of dear
Marian's illness. Affectionately yours, Frederick Fairlie."
"I would rather not go there--I would rather not stay a night in
London," said her ladyship, breaking out eagerly with those words
before I had quite done reading the note, short as it was. "Don't
write to Count Fosco! Pray, pray don't write to him!"
Sir Percival filled another glass from the decanter so awkwardly
that he upset it and spilt all the wine over the table. "My sight
seems to be failing me," he muttered to himself, in an odd,
muffled voice. He slowly set the glass up again, refilled it, and
drained it once more at a draught. I began to fear, from his look
and manner, that the wine was getting into his head.
"Pray don't write to Count Fosco," persisted Lady Glyde, more
earnestly than ever.
"Why not, I should like to know?" cried Sir Percival, with a
sudden burst of anger that startled us both. "Where can you stay
more properly in London than at the place your uncle himself
chooses for you--at your aunt's house? Ask Mrs. Michelson."
The arrangement proposed was so unquestionably the right and the
proper one, that I could make no possible objection to it. Much
as I sympathised with Lady Glyde in other respects, I could not
sympathise with her in her unjust prejudices against Count Fosco.
I never before met with any lady of her rank and station who was
so lamentably narrow-minded on the subject of foreigners. Neither
her uncle's note nor Sir Percival's increasing impatience seemed
to have the least effect on her. She still objected to staying a
night in London, she still implored her husband not to write to
the Count.
"Drop it!" said Sir Percival, rudely turning his back on us. "If
you haven't sense enough to know what is best for yourself other
people must know it foe you. The arrangement is made and there is
an end of it. You are only wanted to do what Miss Halcombe has
done for you---"
"Marian?" repeated her Ladyship, in a bewildered manner; "Marian
sleeping in Count Fosco's house!"
"Yes, in Count Fosco's house. She slept there last night to break
the journey, and you are to follow her example, and do what your
uncle tells you. You are to sleep at Fosco's to-morrow night, as
your sister did, to break the journey. Don't throw too many
obstacles in my way! don't make me repent of letting you go at
all!"
He started to his feet, and suddenly walked out into the verandah
through the open glass doors.
"Will your ladyship excuse me," I whispered, "if I suggest that we
had better not wait here till Sir Percival comes back? I am very
much afraid he is over-excited with wine."
She consented to leave the room in a weary, absent manner.
As soon as we were safe upstairs again, I did all I could to
compose her ladyship's spirits. I reminded her that Mr. Fairlie's
letters to Miss Halcombe and to herself did certainly sanction,
and even render necessary, sooner or later, the course that had
been taken. She agreed to this, and even admitted, of her own
accord, that both letters were strictly in character with her
uncle's peculiar disposition--but her fears about Miss Halcombe,
and her unaccountable dread of sleeping at the Count's house in
London, still remained unshaken in spite of every consideration
that I could urge. I thought it my duty to protest against Lady
Glyde's unfavourable opinion of his lordship, and I did so, with
becoming forbearance and respect.
"Your ladyship will pardon my freedom," I remarked, in conclusion,
"but it is said, 'by their fruits ye shall know them.' I am sure
the Count's constant kindness and constant attention, from the
very beginning of Miss Halcombe's illness, merit our best
confidence and esteem. Even his lordship's serious
misunderstanding with Mr. Dawson was entirely attributable to his
anxiety on Miss Halcombe's account."
"What misunderstanding?" inquired her ladyship, with a look of
sudden interest.
I related the unhappy circumstances under which Mr. Dawson had
withdrawn his attendance--mentioning them all the more readily
because I disapproved of Sir Percival's continuing to conceal what
had happened (as he had done in my presence) from the knowledge of
Lady Glyde.
Her ladyship started up, with every appearance of being
additionally agitated and alarmed by what I had told her.
"Worse! worse than I thought!" she said, walking about the room,
in a bewildered manner. "The Count knew Mr. Dawson would never
consent to Marian's taking a journey--he purposely insulted the
doctor to get him out of the house."
"Oh, my lady! my lady!" I remonstrated.
"Mrs. Michelson!" she went on vehemently, "no words that ever were
spoken will persuade me that my sister is in that man's power and
in that man's house with her own consent. My horror of him is
such, that nothing Sir Percival could say and no letters my uncle
could write, would induce me, if I had only my own feelings to
consult, to eat, drink, or sleep under his roof. Put my misery of
suspense about Marian gives me the courage to follow her anywhere,
to follow her even into Count Fosco's house."
I thought it right, at this point, to mention that Miss Halcombe
had already gone on to Cumberland, according to Sir Percival's
account of the matter.
"I am afraid to believe it!" answered her ladyship. "I am afraid
she is still in that man's house. If I am wrong, if she has
really gone on to Limmeridge, I am resolved I will not sleep to-
morrow night under Count Fosco's roof. My dearest friend in the
world, next to my sister, lives near London. You have heard me,
you have heard Miss Halcombe, speak of Mrs. Vesey? I mean to
write, and propose to sleep at her house. I don't know how I
shall get there--I don't know how I shall avoid the Count--but to
that refuge I will escape in some way, if my sister has gone to
Cumberland. All I ask of you to do, is to see yourself that my
letter to Mrs. Vesey goes to London to-night, as certainly as Sir
Percival's letter goes to Count Fosco. I have reasons for not
trusting the post-bag downstairs. Will you keep my secret, and
help me in this? it is the last favour, perhaps, that I shall ever
ask of you."
I hesitated, I thought it all very strange, I almost feared that
her ladyship's mind had been a little affected by recent anxiety
and suffering. At my own risk, however, I ended by giving my
consent. If the letter had been addressed to a stranger, or to
any one but a lady so well known to me by report as Mrs. Vesey, I
might have refused. I thank God--looking to what happened
afterwards--I thank God I never thwarted that wish, or any other,
which Lady Glyde expressed to me, on the last day of her residence
at Blackwater Park.
The letter was written and given into my hands. I myself put it
into the post-box in the village that evening.
We saw nothing more of Sir Percival for the rest of the day.
I slept, by Lady Glyde's own desire, in the next room to hers,
with the door open between us. There was something so strange and
dreadful in the loneliness and emptiness of the house, that I was
glad, on my side, to have a companion near me. Her ladyship sat
up late, reading letters and burning them, and emptying her
drawers and cabinets of little things she prized, as if she never
expected to return to Blackwater Park. Her sleep was sadly
disturbed when she at last went to bed--she cried out in it
several times, once so loud that she woke herself. Whatever her
dreams were, she did not think fit to communicate them to me.
Perhaps, in my situation, I had no right to expect that she should
do so. It matters little now. I was sorry for her, I was indeed
heartily sorry for her all the same.
The next day was fine and sunny. Sir Percival came up, after
breakfast, to tell us that the chaise would be at the door at a
quarter to twelve--the train to London stopping at our station at
twenty minutes after. He informed Lady Glyde that he was obliged
to go out, but added that he hoped to be back before she left. If
any unforeseen accident delayed him, I was to accompany her to the
station, and to take special care that she was in time for the
train. Sir Percival communicated these directions very hastily--
walking here and there about the room all the time. Her ladyship
looked attentively after him wherever he went. He never once
looked at her in return.
She only spoke when he had done, and then she stopped him as he
approached the door, by holding out her hand.
"I shall see you no more," she said, in a very marked manner.
"This is our parting--our parting, it may be for ever. Will you
try to forgive me, Percival, as heartily as I forgive YOU?"
His face turned of an awful whiteness all over, and great beads of
perspiration broke out on his bald forehead. "I shall come back,"
he said, and made for the door, as hastily as if his wife's
farewell words had frightened him out of the room.
I had never liked Sir Percival, but the manner in which he left
Lady Glyde made me feel ashamed of having eaten his bread and
lived in his service. I thought of saying a few comforting and
Christian words to the poor lady, but there was something in her
face, as she looked after her husband when the door closed on him,
that made me alter my mind and keep silence.
At the time named the chaise drew up at the gates. Her ladyship
was right--Sir Percival never came back. I waited for him till
the last moment, and waited in vain.
No positive responsibility lay on my shoulders, and yet I did not
feel easy in my mind. "It is of your own free will," I said, as
the chaise drove through the lodge-gates, "that your ladyship goes
to London?"
"I will go anywhere," she answered, "to end the dreadful suspense
that I am suffering at this moment."
She had made me feel almost as anxious and as uncertain about Miss
Halcombe as she felt herself. I presumed to ask her to write me a
line, if all went well in London. She answered, "Most willingly,
Mrs. Michelson."
"We all have our crosses to bear, my lady," I said, seeing her
silent and thoughtful, after she had promised to write.
She made no reply--she seemed to be too much wrapped up in her own
thoughts to attend to me.
"I fear your ladyship rested badly last night," I remarked, after
waiting a little.
"Yes," she said, "I was terribly disturbed by dreams."
"Indeed, my lady?" I thought she was going to tell me her dreams,
but no, when she spoke next it was only to ask a question.
"You posted the letter to Mrs. Vesey with your own hands?"
"Yes, my lady."
"Did Sir Percival say, yesterday, that Count Fosco was to meet me
at the terminus in London?"
"He did, my lady."
She sighed heavily when I answered that last question, and said no
more.
We arrived at the station, with hardly two minutes to spare. The
gardener (who had driven us) managed about the luggage, while I
took the ticket. The whistle of the train was sounding when I
joined her ladyship on the platform. She looked very strangely,
and pressed her hand over her heart, as if some sudden pain or
fright had overcome her at that moment.
"I wish you were going with me!" she said, catching eagerly at my
arm when I gave her the ticket.
If there had been time, if I had felt the day before as I felt
then, I would have made my arrangements to accompany her, even
though the doing so had obliged me to give Sir Percival warning on
the spot. As it was, her wishes, expressed at the last moment
only, were expressed too late for me to comply with them. She
seemed to understand this herself before I could explain it, and
did not repeat her desire to have me for a travelling companion.
The train drew up at the platform. She gave the gardener a
present for his children, and took my hand, in her simple hearty
manner, before she got into the carriage.
"You have been very kind to me and to my sister," she said--"kind
when we were both friendless. I shall remember you gratefully, as
long as I live to remember any one. Good-bye--and God bless you!"
She spoke those words with a tone and a look which brought the
tears into my eyes--she spoke them as if she was bidding me
farewell for ever.
"Good-bye, my lady," I said, putting her into the carriage, and
trying to cheer her; "good-bye, for the present only; good-bye,
with my best and kindest wishes for happier times."
She shook her head, and shuddered as she settled herself in the
carriage. The guard closed the door. "Do you believe in dreams?"
she whispered to me at the window. "My dreams, last night, were
dreams I have never had before. The terror of them is hanging
over me still." The whistle sounded before I could answer, and the
train moved. Her pale quiet face looked at me for the last time--
looked sorrowfully and solemnly from the window. She waved her
hand, and I saw her no more.
Towards five o'clock on the afternoon of that same day, having a
little time to myself in the midst of the household duties which
now pressed upon me, I sat down alone in my own room, to try and
compose my mind with the volume of my husband's Sermons. For the
first time in my life I found my attention wandering over those
pious and cheering words. Concluding that Lady Glyde's departure
must have disturbed me far more seriously than I had myself
supposed, I put the book aside, and went out to take a turn in the
garden. Sir Percival had not yet returned, to my knowledge, so I
could feel no hesitation about showing myself in the grounds.
On turning the corner of the house, and gaining a view of the
garden, I was startled by seeing a stranger walking in it. The
stranger was a woman--she was lounging along the path with her
back to me, and was gathering the flowers.
As I approached she heard me, and turned round.
My blood curdled in my veins. The strange woman in the garden was
Mrs. Rubelle!
I could neither move nor speak. She came up to me, as composedly
as ever, with her flowers in her hand.
"What is the matter, ma'am?" she said quietly.
"You here!" I gasped out. "Not gone to London! Not gone to
Cumberland!"
Mrs. Rubelle smelt at her flowers with a smile of malicious pity.
"Certainly not," she said. "I have never left Blackwater Park."
I summoned breath enough and courage enough for another question.
"Where is Miss Halcombe?"
Mrs. Rubelle fairly laughed at me this time, and replied in these
words--
"Miss Halcombe, ma'am, has not left Blackwater Park either."
When I heard that astounding answer, all my thoughts were startled
back on the instant to my parting with Lady Glyde. I can hardly
say I reproached myself, but at that moment I think I would have
given many a year's hard savings to have known four hours earlier
what I knew now.
Mrs. Rubelle waited, quietly arranging her nosegay, as if she
expected me to say something.
I could say nothing. I thought of Lady Glyde's worn-out energies
and weakly health, and I trembled for the time when the shock of
the discovery that I had made would fall on her. For a minute or
more my fears for the poor ladies silenced me. At the end of that
time Mrs. Rubelle looked up sideways from her flowers, and said,
"Here is Sir Percival, ma'am, returned from his ride."
I saw him as soon as she did. He came towards us, slashing
viciously at the flowers with his riding-whip. When he was near
enough to see my face he stopped, struck at his boot with the
whip, and burst out laughing, so harshly and so violently that the
birds flew away, startled, from the tree by which he stood.
"Well, Mrs. Michelson," he said, "you have found it out at last,
have you?"
I made no reply. He turned to Mrs. Rubelle.
"When did you show yourself in the garden?"
"I showed myself about half an hour ago, sir. You said I might
take my liberty again as soon as Lady Glyde had gone away to
London."
"Quite right. I don't blame you--I only asked the question." He
waited a moment, and then addressed himself once more to me. "You
can't believe it, can you?" he said mockingly. "Here! come along
and see for yourself."
He led the way round to the front of the house. I followed him,
and Mrs. Rubelle followed me. After passing through the iron
gates he stopped, and pointed with his whip to the disused middle
wing of the building.
"There!" he said. "Look up at the first floor. You know the old
Elizabethan bedrooms? Miss Halcombe is snug and safe in one of the
best of them at this moment. Take her in, Mrs. Rubelle (you have
got your key?); take Mrs. Michelson in, and let her own eyes
satisfy her that there is no deception this time."
The tone in which he spoke to me, and the minute or two that had
passed since we left the garden, helped me to recover my spirits a
little. What I might have done at this critical moment, if all my
life had been passed in service, I cannot say. As it was,
possessing the feelings, the principles, and the bringing up of a
lady, I could not hesitate about the right course to pursue. My
duty to myself, and my duty to Lady Glyde, alike forbade me to
remain in the employment of a man who had shamefully deceived us
both by a series of atrocious falsehoods.
"I must beg permission, Sir Percival, to speak a few words to you
in private," I said. "Having done so, I shall be ready to proceed
with this person to Miss Halcombe's room."
Mrs. Rubelle, whom I had indicated by a slight turn of my head,
insolently sniffed at her nosegay and walked away, with great
deliberation, towards the house door.
"Well," said Sir Percival sharply, "what is it now?"
"I wish to mention, sir, that I am desirous of resigning the
situation I now hold at Blackwater Park." That was literally how
I put it. I was resolved that the first words spoken in his
presence should be words which expressed my intention to leave his
service.
He eyed me with one of his blackest looks, and thrust his hands
savagely into the pockets of his riding-coat.
"Why?" he said, "why, I should like to know?"
"It is not for me, Sir Percival, to express an opinion on what has
taken place in this house. I desire to give no offence. I merely
wish to say that I do not feel it consistent with my duty to Lady
Glyde and to myself to remain any longer in your service."
"Is it consistent with your duty to me to stand there, casting
suspicion on me to my face?" he broke out in his most violent
manner. "I see what you're driving at. You have taken your own
mean, underhand view of an innocent deception practised on Lady
Glyde for her own good. It was essential to her health that she
should have a change of air immediately, and you know as well as I
do she would never have gone away if she had been told Miss
Halcombe was still left here. She has been deceived in her own
interests--and I don't care who knows it. Go, if you like--there
are plenty of housekeepers as good as you to be had for the
asking. Go when you please--but take care how you spread scandals
about me and my affairs when you're out of my service. Tell the
truth, and nothing but the truth, or it will be the worse for you!
See Miss Halcombe for yourself--see if she hasn't been as well
taken care of in one part of the house as in the other. Remember
the doctor's own orders that Lady Glyde was to have a change of
air at the earliest possible opportunity. Bear all that well in
mind, and then say anything against me and my proceedings if you
dare!"
He poured out these words fiercely, all in a breath, walking
backwards and forwards, and striking about him in the air with his
whip.
Nothing that he said or did shook my opinion of the disgraceful
series of falsehoods that he had told in my presence the day
before, or of the cruel deception by which he had separated Lady
Glyde from her sister, and had sent her uselessly to London, when
she was half distracted with anxiety on Miss Halcombe's account.
I naturally kept these thoughts to myself, and said nothing more
to irritate him; but I was not the less resolved to persist in my
purpose. A soft answer turneth away wrath, and I suppressed my
own feelings accordingly when it was my turn to reply.
"While I am in your service, Sir Percival," I said, "I hope I know
my duty well enough not to inquire into your motives. When I am
out of your service, I hope I know my own place well enough not to
speak of matters which don't concern me--"
"When do you want to go?" he asked, interrupting me without
ceremony. "Don't suppose I am anxious to keep you--don't suppose
I care about your leaving the house. I am perfectly fair and open
in this matter, from first to last. When do you want to go?"
"I should wish to leave at your earliest convenience, Sir
Percival."
"My convenience has nothing to do with it. I shall be out of the
house for good and all to-morrow morning, and I can settle your
accounts to-night. If you want to study anybody's convenience, it
had better be Miss Halcombe's. Mrs. Rubelle's time is up to-day,
and she has reasons for wishing to be in London to-night. If you
go at once, Miss Halcombe won't have a soul left here to look
after her."
I hope it is unnecessary for me to say that I was quite incapable
of deserting Miss Halcombe in such an emergency as had now
befallen Lady Glyde and herself. After first distinctly
ascertaining from Sir Percival that Mrs. Rubelle was certain to
leave at once if I took her place, and after also obtaining
permission to arrange for Mr. Dawson's resuming his attendance on
his patient, I willingly consented to remain at Blackwater Park
until Miss Halcombe no longer required my services. It was
settled that I should give Sir Percival's solicitor a week's
notice before I left, and that he was to undertake the necessary
arrangements for appointing my successor. The matter was
discussed in very few words. At its conclusion Sir Percival
abruptly turned on his heel, and left me free to join Mrs.
Rubelle. That singular foreign person had been sitting composedly
on the doorstep all this time, waiting till I could follow her to
Miss Halcombe's room.
I had hardly walked half-way towards the house when Sir Percival,
who had withdrawn in the opposite direction, suddenly stopped and
called me back.
"Why are you leaving my service?" he asked.
The question was so extraordinary, after what had just passed
between us, that I hardly knew what to say in answer to it.
"Mind! I don't know why you are going," he went on. "You must
give a reason for leaving me, I suppose, when you get another
situation. What reason? The breaking up of the family? Is that
it?"
"There can be no positive objection, Sir Percival, to that reason----"
"Very well! That's all I want to know. If people apply for your
character, that's your reason, stated by yourself. You go in
consequence of the breaking up of the family."
He turned away again before I could say another word, and walked
out rapidly into the grounds. His manner was as strange as his
language. I acknowledge he alarmed me.
Even the patience of Mrs. Rubelle was getting exhausted, when I
joined her at the house door.
"At last!" she said, with a shrug of her lean foreign shoulders.
She led the way into the inhabited side of the house, ascended the
stairs, and opened with her key the door at the end of the
passage, which communicated with the old Elizabethan rooms--a door
never previously used, in my time, at Blackwater Park. The rooms
themselves I knew well, having entered them myself on various
occasions from the other side of the house. Mrs. Rubelle stopped
at the third door along the old gallery, handed me the key of it,
with the key of the door of communication, and told me I should
find Miss Halcombe in that room. Before I went in I thought it
desirable to make her understand that her attendance had ceased.
Accordingly, I told her in plain words that the charge of the sick
lady henceforth devolved entirely on myself.
"I am glad to hear it, ma'am," said Mrs. Rubelle. "I want to go
very much."
"Do you leave to-day?" I asked, to make sure of her.
"Now that you have taken charge, ma'am, I leave in half an hour's
time. Sir Percival has kindly placed at my disposition the
gardener, and the chaise, whenever I want them. I shall want them
in half an hour's time to go to the station. I am packed up in
anticipation already. I wish you good-day, ma'am."
She dropped a brisk curtsey, and walked back along the gallery,
humming a little tune, and keeping time to it cheerfully with the
nosegay in her hand. I am sincerely thankful to say that was the
last I saw of Mrs. Rubelle.
When I went into the room Miss Halcombe was asleep. I looked at
her anxiously, as she lay in the dismal, high, old-fashioned bed.
She was certainly not in any respect altered for the worse since I
had seen her last. She had not been neglected, I am bound to
admit, in any way that I could perceive. The room was dreary, and
dusty, and dark, but the window (looking on a solitary court-yard
at the back of the house) was opened to let in the fresh air, and
all that could be done to make the place comfortable had been
done. The whole cruelty of Sir Percival's deception had fallen on
poor Lady Glyde. The only ill-usage which either he or Mrs.
Rubelle had inflicted on Miss Halcombe consisted, so far as I
could see, in the first offence of hiding her away.
I stole back, leaving the sick lady still peacefully asleep, to
give the gardener instructions about bringing the doctor. I
begged the man, after he had taken Mrs. Rubelle to the station, to
drive round by Mr. Dawson's, and leave a message in my name,
asking him to call and see me. I knew he would come on my
account, and I knew he would remain when he found Count Fosco had
left the house.
In due course of time the gardener returned, and said that he had
driven round by Mr. Dawson's residence, after leaving Mrs. Rubelle
at the station. The doctor sent me word that he was poorly in
health himself, but that he would call, if possible, the next
morning.
Having delivered his message the gardener was about to withdraw,
but I stopped him to request that he would come back before dark,
and sit up that night, in one of the empty bedrooms, so as to be
within call in case I wanted him. He understood readily enough my
unwillingness to be left alone all night in the most desolate part
of that desolate house, and we arranged that he should come in
between eight and nine.
He came punctually, and I found cause to be thankful that I had
adopted the precaution of calling him in. Before midnight Sir
Percival's strange temper broke out in the most violent and most
alarming manner, and if the gardener had not been on the spot to
pacify him on the instant, I am afraid to think what might have
happened.
Almost all the afternoon and evening he had been walking about the
house and grounds in an unsettled, excitable manner, having, in
all probability, as I thought, taken an excessive quantity of wine
at his solitary dinner. However that may be, I heard his voice
calling loudly and angrily in the new wing of the house, as I was
taking a turn backwards and forwards along the gallery the last
thing at night. The gardener immediately ran down to him, and I
closed the door of communication, to keep the alarm, if possible,
from reaching Miss Halcombe's ears. It was full half an hour
before the gardener came back. He declared that his master was
quite out of his senses--not through the excitement of drink, as I
had supposed, but through a kind of panic or frenzy of mind, for
which it was impossible to account. He had found Sir Percival
walking backwards and forwards by himself in the hall, swearing,
with every appearance of the most violent passion, that he would
not stop another minute alone in such a dungeon as his own house,
and that he would take the first stage of his journey immediately
in the middle of the night. The gardener, on approaching him, had
been hunted out, with oaths and threats, to get the horse and
chaise ready instantly. In a quarter of an hour Sir Percival had
joined him in the yard, had jumped into the chaise, and, lashing
the horse into a gallop, had driven himself away, with his face as
pale as ashes in the moonlight. The gardener had heard him
shouting and cursing at the lodge-keeper to get up and open the
gate--had heard the wheels roll furiously on again in the still
night, when the gate was unlocked--and knew no more.
The next day, or a day or two after, I forget which, the chaise
was brought back from Knowlesbury, our nearest town, by the ostler
at the old inn. Sir Percival had stopped there, and had
afterwards left by the train--for what destination the man could
not tell. I never received any further information, either from
himself or from any one else, of Sir Percival's proceedings, and I
am not even aware, at this moment, whether he is in England or out
of it. He and I have not met since he drove away like an escaped
criminal from his own house, and it is my fervent hope and prayer
that we may never meet again.
My own part of this sad family story is now drawing to an end.
I have been informed that the particulars of Miss Halcombe's
waking, and of what passed between us when she found me sitting by
her bedside, are not material to the purpose which is to be
answered by the present narrative. It will be sufficient for me
to say in this place, that she was not herself conscious of the
means adopted to remove her from the inhabited to the uninhabited
part of the house. She was in a deep sleep at the time, whether
naturally or artificially produced she could not say. In my
absence at Torquay, and in the absence of all the resident
servants except Margaret Porcher (who was perpetually eating,
drinking, or sleeping, when she was not at work), the secret
transfer of Miss Halcombe from one part of the house to the other
was no doubt easily performed. Mrs. Rubelle (as I discovered for
myself, in looking about the room) had provisions, and all other
necessaries, together with the means of heating water, broth, and
so on, without kindling a fire, placed at her disposal during the
few days of her imprisonment with the sick lady. She had declined
to answer the questions which Miss Halcombe naturally put, but had
not, in other respects, treated her with unkindness or neglect.
The disgrace of lending herself to a vile deception is the only
disgrace with which I can conscientiously charge Mrs. Rubelle.
I need write no particulars (and I am relieved to know it) of the
effect produced on Miss Halcombe by the news of Lady Glyde's
departure, or by the far more melancholy tidings which reached us
only too soon afterwards at Blackwater Park. In both cases I
prepared her mind beforehand as gently and as carefully as
possible, having the doctor's advice to guide me, in the last case
only, through Mr. Dawson's being too unwell to come to the house
for some days after I had sent for him. It was a sad time, a time
which it afflicts me to think of or to write of now. The precious
blessings of religious consolation which I endeavoured to convey
were long in reaching Miss Halcombe's heart, but I hope and
believe they came home to her at last. I never left her till her
strength was restored. The train which took me away from that
miserable house was the train which took her away also. We parted
very mournfully in London. I remained with a relative at
Islington, and she went on to Mr. Fairlie's house in Cumberland.
I have only a few lines more to write before I close this painful
statement. They are dictated by a sense of duty.
In the first place, I wish to record my own personal conviction
that no blame whatever, in connection with the events which I have
now related, attaches to Count Fosco. I am informed that a
dreadful suspicion has been raised, and that some very serious
constructions are placed upon his lordship's conduct. My
persuasion of the Count's innocence remains, however, quite
unshaken. If he assisted Sir Percival in sending me to Torquay,
he assisted under a delusion, for which, as a foreigner and a
stranger, he was not to blame. If he was concerned in bringing
Mrs. Rubelle to Blackwater Park, it was his misfortune and not his
fault, when that foreign person was base enough to assist a
deception planned and carried out by the master of the house. I
protest, in the interests of morality, against blame being
gratuitously and wantonly attached to the proceedings of the
Count.
In the second place, I desire to express my regret at my own
inability to remember the precise day on which Lady Glyde left
Blackwater Park for London. I am told that it is of the last
importance to ascertain the exact date of that lamentable journey,
and I have anxiously taxed my memory to recall it. The effort has
been in vain. I can only remember now that it was towards the
latter part of July. We all know the difficulty, after a lapse of
time, of fixing precisely on a past date unless it has been
previously written down. That difficulty is greatly increased in
my case by the alarming and confusing events which took place
about the period of Lady Glyde's departure. I heartily wish I had
made a memorandum at the time. I heartily wish my memory of the
date was as vivid as my memory of that poor lady's face, when it
looked at me sorrowfully for the last time from the carriage
window.