The Woman in White / Женщина в белом

I tried to look at her when she took my hand, but my eyes were dim. I tried to thank her, but my voice failed me.

“Listen to me,” she said. “There’s something I must tell you – something which will cause you great pain. You must leave Limmeridge House, Mr. Hartright, before more harm is done. It is my duty to say that to you.”

I felt terribly saddened by her words.

“I know I’m only a poor art teacher,” I began.

“You must leave us, not because you are a teacher of drawing.”

She waited a moment, turned her face full on me, and reaching across the table, laid her hand firmly on my arm.

“Not because you are a teacher of drawing,” she repeated, “but because Laura Fairlie is engaged to be married. Her future husband is coming here on Monday with his lawyer. Our family lawyer, Mr. Gilmore, is coming here too. The two lawyers are going to draw up the marriage settlement between Laura and her husband. Once they have arranged this, a date for the wedding can be fixed.”

The last word went like a bullet to my heart. I never moved and never spoke. Hopes! Betrothed, or not betrothed, she was equally far from me. Would other men have remembered that in my place? Not if they had loved her as I did.

The pang passed, and nothing but the dull numbing pain of it remained. I felt Miss Halcombe’s hand again, tightening its hold on my arm – I raised my head and looked at her. Her large black eyes were rooted on me, watching the white change on my face, which I felt, and which she saw.

“Crush it!^[30]” she said. “Here, where you first saw her, crush it! Don’t shrink under it like a woman. Tear it out; trample it under foot like a man! Are you yourself again?^[31]”

“Enough myself, Miss Halcombe, to ask your pardon and hers. Enough myself to be guided by your advice, and to prove my gratitude in that way, if I can prove it.”

“It is an engagement of honour, not of love; her father sanctioned it on his deathbed, two years ago. Till you came here she was in the position of hundreds of other women, who marry men without love, and who learn to love them (when they don’t learn to hate!) after marriage, instead of before. Your absence and time will help us all three.”

“Let me go today,” I said bitterly. “The sooner the better.^[32] But what reason shall I give to Mr Fairlie as to why I’m going?”

“No, not today,” she replied. “You must wait till tomorrow to explain tell Mr. Fairlie the sudden change in your plans. Wait until the post arrives tomorrow. Then tell Mr Fairlie you’ve received a letter from London and that you have to return there at once on urgent business.”

I had just agreed to this plan when we heard footsteps. It was Laura’s maid.

“Oh, Miss Marian,” said the girl. “Please can you come quickly to the house? Miss Laura is very upset by a letter she received this morning.”

“It must be the same letter the gardener brought,” said Marian worriedly.

We hurried back to the house.

“We have arranged all that is necessary, Mr. Hartright,” she said. “We have understood each other, as friends should, and we may go back at once to the house. To tell you the truth, I am worried about Laura.”

Her words felt like arrows shot into my heart. I could hardly move or speak.

“May I know who the gentleman engaged to Miss Fairlie is?” I asked at last.

She answered in a hasty, absent way —

“A gentleman of large property in Hampshire.”

Hampshire! Anne Catherick’s native place. Again, and yet again, the woman in white. There was a fatality in it.

“And his name?” I said, as quietly and indifferently as I could.

“Sir Percival Glyde.^[33]”

Sir Percival! I stopped suddenly, and looked at Miss Halcombe.

“Sir Percival Glyde,” she repeated, imagining that I had not heard her former reply.

“Knight, or Baronet?” I asked, with an agitation that I could hide no longer.

She paused for a moment, and then answered, rather coldly —

“Baronet, of course.”

Baronet! Suddenly I was reminded of the woman in white. She had asked me if I knew any baronets and had told me of one who was cruel and wicked. Not a word more was said, on either side, as we walked back to the house. Miss Halcombe hastened immediately to her sister’s room, and I went to my studio.

She was engaged to be married, and her future husband was Sir Percival Glyde. A man of the rank of Baronet, and the owner of property in Hampshire.

There were hundreds of baronets in England, and dozens of landowners in Hampshire. I had not the shadow of a reason for connecting Sir Percival Glyde with the words that had been spoken to me by the woman in white. And yet, I did connect him with them.

I had been engaged with the drawings little more than half an hour, when there was a knock at the door. It opened, on my answering; and, to my surprise, Miss Halcombe entered the room.

Her manner was angry and agitated. She caught up a chair for herself before I could give her one, and sat down in it, close at my side. Marian was holding a letter in her hand and looking extremely angry and upset.

“Mr. Hartright,” she said, “You saw me send the gardener on to the house, with a letter addressed, in a strange handwriting, to Miss Fairlie?”

“Certainly.”

“The letter is an anonymous letter – a vile attempt to injure Sir Percival Glyde in my sister’s estimation.^[34] You are the only person in the house who can advise me. Mr. Fairlie, in his state of health and with his horror of difficulties and mysteries of all kinds, is not the right man. The clergyman is a good, weak man, who knows nothing out of the routine of his duties; and our neighbours are just the sort of comfortable acquaintances. I’d like you to read it. Tell me what you think, Mr. Hartright.”

She gave me the letter. It began abruptly, without any preliminary form of address, as follows —

“Do you believe in dreams? I hope, for your own sake, that you do. See what Scripture^[35] says about dreams, and take the warning I send you before it is too late.

Last night I dreamed about you, Miss Fairlie. You were standing in a church, waiting to be married. You looked so pretty and innocent in your beautiful white silk dress, and your long white lace veil, that the tears came into my eyes.

Beside you stood the man who was going to be your husband. He was neither tall nor short – he was a little below the middle size. A light, active, high-spirited man – about five-and-forty years old. He had a pale face, and was bald over the forehead, but had dark hair on the rest of his head. His beard was shaven on his chin. His eyes were brown too, and very bright; his nose straight and handsome and delicate. Have I dreamt of the right man? You know best, Miss Fairlie and you can say if I was deceived or not.

He had a slight cough, and when he put his hand up to his month, I could see a thin red mark on the back of his hand.

I could see deep into this mans heart. It was as black as night, and on it were written, in the red flaming letters which are the handwriting of the fallen angel, ‘Without pity and without remorse. This man has done harm to many people, and he will do harm this woman by his side.’ Behind him, stood a devil laughing; and there behind you, stood an angel weeping. And I woke with my eyes full of tears and my heart beating – for I believe in dreams.

Believe too, Miss Fairlie – I beg of you, for your own sake, believe as I do. Joseph and Daniel^[36], and others in Scripture, believed in dreams. Inquire into the past life of that man, before you say the words that make you his miserable wife. Listen to my warning, Miss Fairlie, Miss Fairlie. Don’t marry this man. Your mother was my first, my best, my only friend.”

 

There the extraordinary letter ended, without signature of any sort.

“That is not an illiterate letter,” said Miss Halcombe, “I think it was written by a woman. What do you think, Mr. Hartright?”

“I think so too. It seems to me to be not only the letter of a woman, but of a woman whose mind must be – ”

“Deranged?” suggested Miss Halcombe.

I did not answer. While I was speaking, my eyes rested on the last sentence of the letter: “Your mother was my first, my best, my only friend.”

“We must use any chance of tracing the person who has written this,” I said, returning the letter to Miss Halcombe, “I think we ought to speak to the gardener again about the elderly woman who gave him the letter, and then to continue our inquiries in the village.”

“Sir Percival Glyde is anxious that the marriage should take place before the end of the year.”

“Does Miss Fairlie know of that wish?” I asked eagerly.

“She has no suspicion of it. Mr. Fairlie has written to London, to the family solicitor,^[37] Mr. Gilmore. Mr. Gilmore will arrive tomorrow, and will stay with us a few days. Mr. Gilmore is the old friend of two generations of Fairlies, and we can trust him, as we could trust no one else.”

“One of the paragraphs of the anonymous letter,” I said, “contains some sentences of personal description. Sir Percival Glyde’s name is not mentioned, I know – but does that description at all resemble him?”

“Accurately – even in stating his age to be forty-five – ”

Forty-five; and she was not yet twenty-one! That added to my blind hatred and distrust of him.

“There can be no doubt,” Miss Halcombe continued, “that every peculiarity of his personal appearance is thoroughly well known to the writer of the letter.”

“Even a cough that he is troubled with is mentioned, if I remember right?”

“Yes, and mentioned correctly.”

I felt the blood rush into my cheeks.

“But,” she said, “not a whisper, Mr. Hartright, has ever reached me, or my family, against Sir Percival.”

I opened the door for her in silence, and followed her out. She had not convinced me.

“We must find out more about the woman who gave this letter to the gardener,” said Marian. “Come on.”

We found the gardener at work as usual – but he couldn’t give us any more information to help us. The woman who had given him the letter had been wearing a long dark-blue coat and a scarf which covered her hair. She hadn’t spoken a word to him. After giving him the letter, she had hurried away in the direction of the village. That was all the gardener could tell us.

The village lay southward of the house. So to the village we went next.

We then went to the village and spent several hours asking people there if they had seen a strange woman that day, but nobody had. Three of the villagers did certainly assure us that they had seen the woman, but they were quite unable to describe her.

The course of our useless investigations brought us to the end of the village at which the schools established by Mrs. Fairlie were situated.

We entered the playground enclosure, and walked by the schoolroom window to get round to the door, which was situated at the back of the building. I stopped for a moment at the window and looked in.

The schoolmaster was sitting at his high desk, with his back to me. The pupils were all gathered together in front of him, with one exception. The one exception was a sturdy white-headed boy, standing apart from all the rest on a stool in a corner.

“Now, boys,” said the voice, “mind what I tell you.^[38] If I hear another word spoken about ghosts in this school, it will be the worse for all of you. There are no such things as ghosts, and therefore any boy who believes in ghosts believes in what can’t possibly be; and a boy who belongsto Limmeridge School, and believes in what can’t possibly be must be punished accordingly. Jacob^[39] has been punished, not because he said he saw a ghost last night, but because he is too impudent and too obstinate to listen to reason, and because he persists in saying he saw the ghost after I have told him that no such thing can possibly be.”

Marian and I looked at each other in astonishment.

“Go home all of you to dinner,” said the schoolmaster, “except Jacob. Jacob must stop where he is; and the ghost may bring him his dinner, if the ghost pleases.”

We asked him if he had seen any strangers in the village that morning, but he shook his head.

“That wicked boy has been frightening the whole school, Miss Halcombe, by declaring that he saw a ghost yesterday evening,” answered the master; “and he still persists in his absurd story, in spite of all that I can say to him.”

“You foolish boy,” said Marian, “why don’t you beg Mr. Dempster’s pardon, and hold your tongue about the ghost?”

“Eh! – but I saw a ghost yesterday evening,” persisted Jacob, with a stare of terror and a burst of tears.

“Nonsense! You saw nothing of the kind. Ghost indeed! Don’t tell lies,” said Marian angrily. “There are no such things as ghosts.”

“I beg your pardon, Miss Halcombe,” interposed the schoolmaster, “but I think you had better not question the boy.”

She turned with an air of defiance to little Jacob, and began to question him directly. “Come!” she said, “I want to know all about this. You naughty boy, when did you see the ghost?”

“Yesterday. It was just where a ghost ought to be – in the churchyard. Near the grave with the tall white cross,” replied Jacob.

“Oh! you saw it yesterday evening, in the twilight? And what was it like?”

“All in white – as a ghost should be,” answered the ghost-seer, with a confidence beyond his years.

Marian turned pale and looked me eagerly in the face.

“The woman in white!” she said. “And the grave with the tall white cross is my mother’s grave. What does she want with that? I go at once to the churchyard. Perhaps we can learn something more there.”

As soon as we were alone again, Miss Halcombe asked me if I had formed any opinion on what I had heard.

“A very strong opinion,” I answered; “the boy’s story, as I believe, has a foundation in fact.”

“You shall see the grave.”

“Miss Halcombe, what has happened in the schoolroom encourages me to continue the investigation.”

“Why does it encourage you?”

“Miss Halcombe, I believe, at this moment, that the fancied ghost in the churchyard, and the writer of the anonymous letter, are one and the same person.^[40]”

She stopped, turned pale, and looked me eagerly in the face.

“What person?”

“The schoolmaster unconsciously told you.^[41] When he spoke of the figure that the boy saw in the churchyard he called it ‘a woman in white.’”

“Not Anne Catherick?”

“Yes, Anne Catherick.”

She put her hand through my arm and leaned on it heavily.

“Mr. Hartright,” she said, “I will show you the grave, and then go back at once to the house. I had better not leave Laura too long alone. I had better go back and sit with her.”

We were close to the churchyard when she spoke. The church was a small building of grey stone, and was situated in a peaceful valley. The graves lay behind the church and rose a little way up the hillside.

There was a low stone wall all around the graves, and in one corner of the churchyard there was a group of trees, and among them was a tall white marble cross. Marian pointed to it.

“That cross marks my mother’s grave, I need go no farther with you,” said Miss Halcombe, pointing to the grave. “You will let me know if you find anything to confirm the idea you have just mentioned to me. Let us meet again at the house.”

She left me. I descended at once to the churchyard, and crossed the stile which led directly to Mrs. Fairlie’s grave. I looked attentively at the cross, and at the square block of marble below it, on which the inscription was cut. Then I noticed something strange. One half of the cross and the stone beneath had been marked and made dirty by the weather. But the other half was bright and clear as if somebody had cleaned the marble very recently. I looked closer, and saw that it had been cleaned – recently cleaned, in a downward direction from top to bottom.

The sun was beginning to go down and a cold wind started to blow. Dark storm clouds were moving quickly. In the far distance I could hear the noise of the sea. What a wild and lonely place this was.

Who had begun the cleansing of the marble, and who had left it unfinished? I found a hiding place among the trees and began to wait. I waited for about half an hour. The sun had just set when suddenly I saw a figure enter the churchyard and approach the grave hurriedly.

The figure was that of a woman. She was wearing a long coat of a dark-blue colour, but I could see a bit of the dress she wore underneath her coat. My heart began to beat fast as I noticed the colour – white.

The woman approached the grave and stood looking at it for a long time. Then she kissed the cross and took out a cloth from under her coat. She wet the cloth in the stream and started to clean the marble.

She was so busy with what she was doing that she didn’t hear me approach her. When I was within a few feet of her, I stopped.

She could sense that someone was behind her and stopped cleaning the marble, turning round slowly. When she saw me, she gave a faint cry of terror.

“Don’t be frightened,” I said. “Surely you remember me?”

I stopped while I spoke – then advanced a few steps gently – then stopped again – and so approached by little and little till I was close to her.

“You remember me?” I said. “We met very late, and I helped you to find the way to London. Surely you have not forgotten that?”

“You are very kind to me,” she murmured.

“I acted as your friend then, and I want to be your friend now. Please don’t be afraid.”

She stopped. She continued to look at me with a face full of fear. There was no doubt that it was the same strange woman – the woman I had met once.

“How did you come here?” she asked.

“Do you remember me telling you that I was going to Cumberland? Well, since we last met, I have been staying all the time at Limmeridge House.”

The woman’s sad pale face brightened for a moment.

“At Limmeridge House! Ah, how happy you must be there,” she said.

I looked at her. She smiled and I saw again the extraordinary likeness between her and Laura Fairlie. I had seen Anne Catherick’s likeness in Miss Fairlie. I now saw Miss Fairlie’s likeness in Anne Catherick. The great difference was that Laura’s face was full of joy and happiness, while this woman’s face was sad and frightened. What could it mean?

Anne Catherick’s hand laid on my shoulder.

“You are looking at me, and you are thinking of something,” she said. “What is it?”

“Nothing extraordinary,” I answered. “I was only wondering how you came here.”

“I came with a friend who is very good to me. I have only been here two days. Her tomb must be as white as snow. Is there anything wrong in that? I hope not. Surely nothing can be wrong that I do for Mrs. Fairlie’s sake?”

She was watching me.

“My name is Anne Catherick,” she said. “And I’ve come here to be close to my dear friend’s grave. Nobody looks after it – see how dirty it is. I must clean it.”

She picked up her cloth and started cleaning the marble.

“Are you staying in the village?” I asked her.

“No, no, not in the village,” she replied, “at a farm about three miles away. “Three miles away at a farm. Do you know the farm? They call it Todd’s Corner.^[42]”

I remembered the place perfectly – it was one of the oldest farms in the neighbourhood, situated in a solitary, sheltered spot.

“The people there are good and kind, and an elderly woman looks after me well.”

“And where have you come from?” I went on.

“I escaped,” she said. “I’ve run away and I’m not going back.”

I remember that she escapes from an Asylum – a place where mad people are kept.

“You don’t think I should go back there, do you?” she said, looking at me worriedly. “I’m not mad and I’ve done nothing wrong. I was shut up in the Asylum by a man who is very cruel.”

“Certainly not. I am glad you escaped from it – I am glad I helped you.”

“Yes, yes, you did help me indeed,” she went on. “It was easy to escape. They never suspected me as they suspected the others. I was so quiet, and so obedient, and so easily frightened. You helped me. Did I thank you at the time? I thank you now very kindly.”

“Had you no father or mother to take care of you?”

“Father? – I never saw him – I never heard mother speak of him. Father? Ah, dear! he is dead, I suppose.”

“And your mother?”

“I don’t get on well with her.^[43] We are a trouble and a fear to each other. Don’t ask me about mother.”

Suddenly she looked at me with a new expression. “How is Miss Fairlie?” she asked.

“I’m afraid Miss Fairlie was not very well or very happy this morning,” I said.

She murmured a few words, but they were spoken in such a low tone, that I could not even guess at what they meant.

“Miss Fairlie has received your letter this morning. You did write that letter, didn’t you, Anne?”

* * *

“How do you know?” she said faintly. “Who showed it to you?” The blood rushed back into her face. “I never wrote it,” she cried; “I know nothing about it!”

“Yes,” I said, “you wrote it, and you know about it. It was wrong to send such a letter, it was wrong to frighten Miss Fairlie. If you had anything to say that it was right and necessary for her to hear, you should have gone yourself to Limmeridge House – you should have spoken to the young lady with your own lips.”

Anne sank down on her knees with her arms round the cross, and made no reply.

“Miss Fairlie will keep your secret,” I went on, “and not let you come to any harm. Will you see her tomorrow at the farm? Will you meet her in the garden at Limmeridge House?”

“Oh!” Her lips murmured the words close on the grave-stone. “You know how I love your child! Oh, Mrs. Fairlie! Mrs. Fairlie! Tell me how to save her. Be my darling and my mother once more, and tell me what to do for the best.”

I heard her lips kissing the stone. I stooped down,^[44] and took the poor helpless hands tenderly in mine, and tried to soothe her.

It was useless. She snatched her hands from me, and never moved her face from the stone.

“I will talk of nothing to distress you,” I said.

“You want something,” she answered sharply and suspiciously. “Don’t look at me like that. Speak to me – tell me what you want.”

“I only want you to quiet yourself.”

“Why don’t you help me?” she asked, with angry suddenness.

“Yes, yes,” I said, “I will help you, and you will soon remember. I ask you to see Miss Fairlie tomorrow and to tell her the truth about the letter.”

“Ah! Miss Fairlie – Fairlie – Fairlie – ”

The mere utterance of the loved familiar name seemed to quiet her. Her face softened and grew like itself again.

“You need have no fear of Miss Fairlie,” I continued, “She knows so much about it already, that you will have no difficulty in telling her all. You mention no names in the letter; but Miss Fairlie knows that the person you write of is Sir Percival Glyde – ”

At the mention of Sir Percival’s name, she started to her feet, and a look of terrible hatred and fear came over the woman’s face. She screamed out, and my heart leaped in terror.

“What harm has he done you?” I asked.

“Sir Percival Glyde is the wicked man who shut me up in the Asylum!” she cried.

* * *

“I’m coming! I’m coming!” cried the voice from behind the clump of trees. In a moment more an elderly woman appeared.

“Who are you?” she cried. “How dare you frighten a poor helpless woman like that?”

She was at Anne Catherick’s side, and had put one arm around her, before I could answer. “What is it, my dear?” she said. “What has he done to you?”

“Nothing,” the poor creature answered. “Nothing. I’m only frightened.”

“Try to forgive me,” I said, when Anne Catherick took her friend’s arm to go away. “I will try,” she answered. “But you know too much – I’m afraid you’ll always frighten me now.”

“Good-night, sir,” said an old woman.

They moved away a few steps. I thought they had left me, but Anne suddenly stopped, and separated herself from her friend.

“Wait a little,” she said. “I must say good-bye.”

She returned to the grave, rested both hands tenderly on the marble cross, and kissed it.

“I’m better now,” she sighed, looking up at me quietly. “I forgive you.”

She joined her companion again, and they left the burial-ground.^[45]

Half an hour later I was back at the house, and was informing Miss Halcombe of all that had happened during my meeting with Anne Catherick. She listened to me from beginning to end with a steady, silent attention.

“I’m so worried about the future,” she said. “I don’t have a very good feeling about Laura’s marriage to Sir Percival. What shall we do now?”

“I have a suggestion,” I said. “We have to ask Anne Catherick a lot more questions, but I’m sure she will talk more openly to a woman than a man. If Miss Fairlie – ”

“No,” interposed Miss Halcombe, in her most decided manner.

“Let me suggest, then,” I continued, “that you should see Anne Catherick yourself. Tomorrow, why don’t you come with me to the farm where she’s staying? You can meet her there and talk to her.”

“I will go anywhere and do anything to serve Laura’s interests. What did you say the place was called?”

“You must know it well. It is called Todd’s Corner.”

“Certainly. Todd’s Corner is one of Mr. Fairlie’s farms. Our dairymaid here is the farmer’s second daughter. She goes backwards and forwards constantly between this house and her father’s farm, and she may have heard or seen something which it may be useful to us to know.”

“Very well,” agreed Marian. “And in the meantime, there’s something else we have to do. We need to find out why Sir Percival Glyde shut Anne Catherick up in the Asylum. The Asylum you have mentioned is a well-known private one and it’s very expensive. Why is Sir Percival Glyde paying all that money to keep Anne there? We need to know the answer to that question before Sir Percival can marry my sister. Laura’s happiness means everything to me.

I’ll write to our family lawyer, Mr Gilmore, and tell him what’s happened. He will advise me as to what to do.”

“There is not the shadow of a doubt. The only mystery that remains is the mystery of his motive”.

“I see where the doubt lies, Mr. Hartright. Sir Percival Glyde shall not be long in this house without satisfying Mr. Gilmore, and satisfying me.”

We parted for the night.

This was my last day at Limmeridge House, and it was necessary, as soon as the post came in, to follow Miss Halcombe’s advice, and to ask Mr. Fairlie’s permission to shorten my engagement by a month, in consideration of a necessity for my return to London.

After breakfast the next morning, when the post had come, I sent a polite note to Mr. Fairlie. I told him I had to return to London on urgent business and asked his permission to leave. I knew that my time at Limmeridge House was nearly at an end.

I sat down at once to write the letter, expressing myself in it as civilly, as clearly, and as briefly as possible. An hour later I received Mr. Fairlie’s reply.

“Dear Mr Hartright,

I’m sorry but I’m not feeling well enough to see you at the moment.

Please excuse me. My nerves are so very delicate.

I cannot possibly imagine what business you have in London which is more important than your business at Limmeridge House. I am really very disappointed in you. However as I do not wish to be upset by any more such requests from you, I will allow you to leave. My health is of the greatest importance. Therefore you may go.”

I folded the letter up, and put it away with my other papers. I didn’t feel any anger inwards Mr Fairlie, I was only glad to leave. I accepted it now as a written release from my engagement. Then I went downstairs to find Marian and tell her that I was ready to walk to the farmhouse with her to meet Anne Catherick.

“Has Mr. Fairlie given you a satisfactory answer?” Marian asked as we left the house.

“He has allowed me to go, Miss Halcombe.”

We had agreed to say nothing to Laura about my meeting with Anne in the churchyard, and what Anne had said about Sir Percival Glyde. It would only worry Laura and upset her.

On our way to Todd’s Corner we arranged that Marian would enter alone, and I would wait outside. I thought she would be a long time talking to Anne Catherick, but she went into the farmhouse and came out again in less than five minutes.

“Does Anne Catherick refuse to see you?” I asked in astonishment.

“Anne Catherick is gone,” replied Miss Halcombe.

“Gone?”

“Gone with Mrs. Clements,^[46] her elderly companion. They both left the farm at eight o’clock this morning.”

I could say nothing – I could only feel that our last chance of discovery had gone with them.

“The dairymaid just told me she left for the station at eight o’clock this morning.”

“Let’s ask the dairymaid some more questions,” I said.

We went back inside. Clearly the dairymaid had no idea why Anne Catherick had left so suddenly. She had been planning to stay at the farm for several more days, but the evening before she had suddenly become ill and fainted.

“Do you think anything happened to frighten her?” I asked.

“I don’t think so,” replied the girl. “I was only trying to cheer her up by telling her the local news. She looked so pale and sad sometimes that I felt sorry for her.

“And you told her the news at Limmeridge House?”

“I was telling her about Miss Fairlie and Limmeridge House as I thought she would be interested.”

“Did you tell her that visitors were expected at the house on Monday?” I said.

“Yes, sir. I told her that somebody was coming. She was taken ill after that.”

“Did you mention names? Did you tell them that Sir Percival Glyde was expected on Monday?”

“Yes, miss – I told them Sir Percival Glyde was coming. I hope there was no harm in it – I hope I didn’t do wrong.”

“Don’t worry, you did nothing wrong,” Marian said kindly.

We stopped and looked at one another the moment we were alone again.

“Is there any doubt in your mind, now, Miss Halcombe?”

The expression on Marian’s face was very serious.

“Sir Percival Glyde shall remove that doubt, Mr. Hartright – or Laura Fairlie shall never be his wife.”

* * *

As we walked round to the front of the house, a horse and carriage approached us along the drive. Mr. Gilmore had arrived.

I looked at him, when we were introduced to each other, with an interest and a curiosity which I could hardly conceal.

Mr. Gilmore’s complexion was florid – his white hair was worn rather long and kept carefully brushed – his black coat, waistcoat, and trousers fitted him very well – his white cravat was carefully tied. He had an air of kindness which was very pleasing.