The Woman in White
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