The Woman in White (58 page)

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.