The Worlds Greatest Books - Arthur Mee, J. A. Hammerton, Eds.
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Foiled in her appeal to Noel Vanstone, Magdalen determined to put in
train the plot she had long proposed to herself. She set out
deliberately to win the property of which she and her sister had been
despoiled, by winning the hand of Noel Vanstone. A letter from Frank
Clare had released her from her engagement, and with a bitter heart she
went down to Aldborough, in Suffolk, whither Noel Vanstone had removed
for his health.
In the character of the niece of Mr. Bygrave, which role Captain Wragge
adopted, she laid siege to the selfish affections of Noel Vanstone. Her
task proved ridiculously easy. Noel fell hopelessly in love with her,
and before many days were out proposed marriage. So far, everything had
worked smoothly, but at this point Mrs. Lecount's fears were aroused.
She determined to prevent the marriage at all costs, and used every
possible means to dissuade her master from having anything more to do
with the Bygraves, and the whole plot must have fallen to the ground had
it not been for the persistence and skilful diplomacy displayed by
Captain Wragge.
He arranged that Noel should visit Admiral Bartram, leaving Mrs. Lecount
behind to pack up. From Admiral Bartram's he was to proceed to London,
where he would be duly united to Magdalen. In order to secure the
non-interference of Mrs. Lecount, the captain sent her a forged letter,
summoning her at once to the death-bed of her brother at Zurich. But
Mrs. Lecount was not so easily disposed of as Captain Wragge had
imagined.
As soon as her master departed for Admiral Bartram's she took the
opportunity, when both Magdalen and the captain were out, to visit their
house. Readily persuading the simple-minded Mrs. Wragge, who had a
passion for clothes, to show her Magdalen's wardrobe, she discovered
there the skirt from which she had cut a piece on the occasion of the
girl's visit in the character of Miss Garth.
She was detected by Captain Wragge leaving the house, but, careless of
what the latter might think, she returned home in triumph. There she
found the letter summoning her to Zurich. There was no time to be lost;
she had to go. But before she set out she wrote a letter to Noel
Vanstone, disclosing the whole facts of the conspiracy.
Captain Wragge, positive in his own mind that Mrs. Lecount had
discovered everything, would have consulted Magdalen, but the girl was
in a condition which prevented her from taking any active part in the
affair. She wandered about Aldborough with a settled despair written
clearly on the beautiful features of her face. Her woe-begone appearance
attracted the attention of a certain Captain Kirke, and he carried away
with him on his ship the indelible memory of her beauty.
Captain Wragge had to depend solely on his own exertions. Waiting till
the housekeeper had left Aldborough, he discovered, by inquiries at the
post-office, that Mrs. Lecount had written to Noel Vanstone. That letter
must be stopped at all costs, and the captain acted boldly. The day was
Saturday. Obtaining a special licence, he hurried off to Admiral
Bartram's, before Mrs. Lecount's letter was delivered, and induced Noel
Vanstone to accompany him to London. At the same time he left behind him
several envelopes, addressed to "Captain Wragge," under cover of which
Admiral Bartram was to forward all correspondence which might arrive
after his departure. By this means, Mrs. Lecount's letter was prevented
from coming into the hands of her master, and two days later Magdalen
duly became the wife of Noel Vanstone.
Twelve weeks later, Noel Vanstone walked moodily about the garden of a
cottage he had taken in the Highlands. That morning Magdalen, without
even asking his permission, had set out for London to see her sister,
and her husband, his health greatly enfeebled, was left alone, weak and
miserable. He had a habit of mourning over himself, and as he rested,
looking over a fence, he sighed bitterly.
"You were happier with me," said a voice at his side.
He turned with a scream to see Mrs. Lecount. She told him how his wife
was Magdalen Vanstone, how she had married him simply from a desire to
recover the fortune of which she had been robbed by Michael Vanstone,
also suggesting that Magdalen intended to attempt his life.
Shivering with terror, Noel Vanstone became like wax in Mrs. Lecount's
hands. He at once agreed to draw up a new will at her dictation,
completely cutting off his wife. He bequeathed Mrs. Lecount L5,000, and
declared that he wished to leave the remainder to his cousin, George
Bartram. Such an arrangement, however, Mrs. Lecount foresaw, might be
fraught with those very dangers which she wished to avoid. George
Bartram was young and susceptible. It was conceivable that Magdalen,
robbed of the stake for which she had so boldly played, might, on her
husband's death, attempt to secure the prize by luring George Bartram
into a marriage. At the instigation of his housekeeper, Noel Vanstone
therefore bequeathed the residue of his estate absolutely to Admiral
Bartram. But this will was coupled with a letter addressed to the
admiral, secretly entrusting him to make the estate over to George under
certain circumstances. He was to be married to, or to marry within six
months, a woman who was not a widow. In the event of his not complying
with these conditions, which would prevent his marriage with Magdalen,
the money was to go to his married sister.
Having outwitted Magdalen, Mrs. Lecount's next object was to remove Noel
Vanstone down to London. In order that he might be strong enough to
travel, Mrs. Lecount prepared a favourite posset for him. Returning with
the fragrant mixture, she noticed him sitting at a table, his head
resting on his hand, apparently asleep.
"Your drink, Mr. Noel," she said, touching him. He took no notice. She
looked at him closer Noel Vanstone was dead.
_III.--The Darkest Hour_
In pursuance of her determination to discover the secret trust, Magdalen
secured a position as parlourmaid in Admiral Bartram's house. For days
she waited for an opportunity of examining the admiral's papers. At
night the admiral, who was addicted to sleep-walking, was guarded by a
drunken old sea-dog, called Mazey, and in the daytime she could do
nothing without being detected.
The secret trust lay heavily on the admiral's mind, and it became the
more unbearable when George Bartram came down and announced his
intention of marrying Norah Vanstone. George's married sister was dead,
and thus one of the two objects contemplated by the secret trust had
failed, and only a fortnight remained before the expiry of six months in
which George Bartram had to marry in order to inherit the fortune. The
admiral objected to the marriage with Norah Vanstone, but was at a loss
how to dissuade George from the match.
While this problem was occupying the admiral's attention, Magdalen at
last found the chance of examining her master's private apartments.
Mazey, under the influence of drink, had deserted his post, and, with a
basket of keys in her hands, Magdalen crept into the room where the
admiral kept his papers. Drawer after drawer she opened, but nowhere
could she find the secret trust.
Suddenly she heard a footstep, and turning round quickly, she saw coming
towards her, in the moonlight, the figure of Admiral Bartram. Transfixed
with terror, she watched him coming nearer and nearer. He did not seem
to see her, and as he almost brushed past her she heard him exclaim:
"Noel, I don't know where it's safe. I don't know where to put it. Take
it back, Noel."
Magdalen, realising that the admiral was walking in his sleep, followed
him closely. He went to a drawer in a cabinet and took out a folded
letter, and putting it down before him on the table, repeated
mechanically, "Take it back, Noel--take it back!"
Looking over his shoulder, Magdalen saw that the paper was the secret
trust. She watched the admiral replace it in another cabinet, and then
walk back silently to his bed. In another moment she had taken
possession of the letter, when a hand was suddenly laid on her wrist,
and the voice of old Mazey exclaimed, "Drop it, Jezebel--drop it!"
Dragging her away, old Mazey locked her in her room for the night; but
early the following morning relented, and allowed her to leave the
house.
Three weeks later Admiral Bartram died, and though Magdalen instructed
her solicitors to set up the secret trust, and though the house was
searched from top to bottom, the letter could not be found. In
consequence, the property passed to George Bartram, who, two months
later, married Norah Vanstone.
Magdalen gave up the struggle in despair, and not daring to return to
her people, sunk lower and lower until she reached the depths of
poverty. At last, in a wretched quarter in the East End, she came to the
end of her resources. Ill and almost dying, the people from whom she
rented her one miserable room determined to send her to the workhouse. A
crowd collected to watch her departure. She was just about to be carried
to a cab, when a man pushed his way through the crowd and saw her face.
That man was Captain Kirke, who had seen her at Aldborough. He at once
gave instructions for her to be taken back into the house, paid a sum
down for her proper treatment, and secured the services of a doctor and
a nurse. Every day he came to inquire after her, and when at last, after
weeks of suffering, her strength returned, it was he who brought Norah
and Miss Garth to her.
After the long separation the two sisters had much to tell one another.
Norah, who had bowed patiently under her misfortunes, had achieved the
very object for which Magdalen had schemed in vain. She had obtained,
through her marriage with George Bartram, the fortune which her father
had intended for her. Among other things which she related to Magdalen
was the account of how she had discovered the secret trust simply by
chance. By the discovery of this document, Magdalen became entitled to
half her late husband's fortune; for, the secret trust having failed,
the law had distributed the estate between the deceased's next of
kin--half to Magdalen and half to George Bartram. Taking the paper from
her sister's hands, Magdalen tore it into pieces.
"This paper alone gives me the fortune which I obtained by marrying Noel
Vanstone," she said. "I will owe nothing to my past life. I part with it
as I part with these torn morsels of paper."
* * * * *
To Captain Kirke, Magdalen wrote the complete story of all she had done.
She felt it was due to him that he should know all. She awaited the
inevitable result--the inevitable separation from the man she had grown
to love. When he had read it he came to her.
Near to tears, she waited to hear her fate.
"Tell me what you think of me! Tell me the truth!" she said.
"With my own lips?" he asked.
"Yes," she answered. "Say what you think of me with your own lips."
She looked up at him for the first time, and then, he stooped and kissed
her.
* * * * *
The Woman in White
Wilkie Collins' greatest success was achieved on the
appearance of "The Woman in White" in 1860, a story described
by Thackeray as "thrilling." The book attracted immediate
attention, Collins' method of unravelling an intricate plot by
a succession of narratives being distinctly novel, and
appealing immensely to the reading public.
_I.--The Woman Appears_
_The story here presented will be told by several pens. Let Walter
Hartright, teacher of drawing, aged twenty-eight, be heard first_.
I had once saved Professor Pesca from drowning, and in his desire to do
"a good something for Walter," the warm-hearted little Italian secured
me the position of art-master at Limmeridge House, Cumberland.
It was the night before my departure to take up my duties as teacher to
Miss Laura Fairlie and her half-sister, Miss Marian Halcombe, and
general assistant to Frederick Fairlie, uncle and guardian to Miss
Fairlie. Having bidden good-bye to my mother and sister at their cottage
in Hampstead, I decided to walk home to my chambers the longest possible
way round. In the after-warmth of the hot July day I made my way across
the darkened Heath. Suddenly I was startled by a hand laid lightly on my
shoulder. I turned to see the figure of a solitary woman, with a
colourless youthful face, dressed from head to foot in white garments.
"Is that the road to London?" she said.
Her sudden appearance, her extraordinary dress, and the strained tones
of her voice so surprised me that I hesitated some moments before
replying. Her agitation at my silence was distressing, and calming her
as well as I could, and promising to help her to get a cab, I asked her
a few questions. Her answers showed that she was suffering from some
terrible nervous excitement. She asked me if I knew any baronet--any
from Hampshire--and seemed almost absurdly relieved when I assured her I
did not. In the course of our conversation, as we walked towards St.
John's Wood, I discovered a curious circumstance. She knew Limmeridge
House and the Fairlies!
Having found her a cab, I bade her good-bye. As we parted she suddenly
seized my hand and kissed it with overwhelming gratitude. Her conveyance
was hardly out of sight when two men drove past in an open chaise, and
drawing up in front of a policeman, asked him if he had seen a woman in
white, promising a reward if he caught her.
"What has she done?" queried the policeman.
"Done!" exclaimed one of the men. "She has escaped from our asylum."
The day following this strange adventure I arrived at Limmeridge House,
and the next morning made the acquaintance of the household. Marian
Halcombe and Laura Fairlie, her half-sister, were, in point of
appearance, the exact reverse of each other. The former was a tall,
masculine-looking woman, with a masculine capacity for deep friendship.
The latter was made in a slighter mould, with charming, delicate
features, set off by a mass of pale-brown hair. Mr. Frederick Fairlie I
found to be a neurotic, utterly selfish gentleman, who passed his life
in his own apartments, amusing himself with bullying his valet,
examining his works of art, and talking of his nerves.
With the other members of the household I soon became on a friendly
footing. Miss Halcombe, when I told her of my strange adventure on
Hampstead Heath, turned up her mother's correspondence with her second
husband, and discovered there a reference to the woman in white, who
bore a striking resemblance to Miss Fairlie. Her name was Anne
Catherick. She had stayed for a short time in the neighbourhood with her
mother, and had been befriended by Mrs. Fairlie.
As the months went by I fell passionately and hopelessly in love with
Laura Fairlie. No word of love, however, passed between us, but Miss
Halcombe, realising the situation, broke to me gently the fact that my
love was hopeless. Almost from childhood Laura had been engaged to Sir
Percival Clyde, a Hampshire baronet, and her marriage was due to take
place shortly. I accepted the inevitable and decided to resign my
position. But before I set out from Limmeridge House, many strange
things happened.
Shortly before the arrival of Sir Percival Clyde to settle the details
of his marriage, Laura had an anonymous letter, warning her against the
union, and concluding with the words, "your mother's daughter has a
tender place in my heart, for your mother was my first, my best, my only
friend." Two days after the receipt of this letter I came upon Anne
Catherick, busily tending the grave of Mrs. Fairlie. With difficulty I
persuaded her to tell me something of her story. That she had been
locked up in an asylum--unjustly, it was clear--I already knew. She
confessed to having written the letter to Laura, but when I mentioned
the name of Sir Percival Glyde, she shrieked aloud with terror. It was
obvious that it was the baronet who had placed her under restraint.
The Fairlies' family solicitor, Mr. Gilmore, arriving next day, the
whole matter was placed before him. He decided to send the anonymous
letter to Sir Percival Glyde's solicitors and to ask for an explanation.
Before any reply was received, I had left Limmeridge House, bidding
farewell to the place where I had spent so many happy hours, and to the
girl I loved.
_II.--The Story Continued by Vincent Gilmore, of Chancery Lane,
Solicitor to the Fairlies_
I write these lines at the request of my friend, Mr. Walter Hartright,
to describe the events which took place after his departure from
Limmeridge House.
My letter to Sir Percival Glyde's solicitors regarding Anne Catherick's
anonymous communication was answered by the baronet in person on his
arrival at Limmeridge House. He was the first to offer an explanation.
Anne Catherick was the daughter of one of his old family servants, and
in consideration of her mother's past services he had sent her to a
private asylum instead of allowing her to go to one of the public
establishments where her mental condition would otherwise have compelled
her to remain. Her animus against Sir Percival was due to the fact that
she had discovered that he was the cause of her incarceration. The
anonymous letter was evidence of this insane antipathy.
My next concern with this history deals with the drawing up of Miss
Fairlie's marriage settlement. Besides being heiress to the Limmeridge
property, Miss Fairlie had personal estate to the value of L20,000,
derived under the will of her father, Philip Fairlie. To this she became
entitled on completing her twenty-first year. She had a life interest,
moreover, in L10,000, which on her death passed to her father's sister
Eleanor, the wife of Count Fosco, an Italian nobleman. In all human
probability the Countess Fosco would never enjoy this money, for she was
well advanced in age, while Laura was not yet twenty-one.
Regarding the L20,000, the proper and fair course was that the whole
amount should be settled so as to give the income to the lady for her
life, afterwards to Sir Percival for his life, and the principal to the
children of the marriage. In default of issue, the principal was to be
disposed of as the lady might by her will direct, thus enabling her to
make provision for her half-sister, Marian Halcombe. This was the fair
and proper settlement, but Sir Percival's solicitors insisted that the
principal should go to Sir Percival Glyde in the event of his surviving
Lady Glyde and there being no issue. I protested in vain, and this
iniquitous settlement, which placed every farthing of the L20,000 in Sir
Percival's pocket, and prevented Miss Fairlie providing for Miss
Halcombe, was duly signed.
_III.--The Story Continued by Marian Halcombe in a Series of Extracts
from Her Diary_
_Limmeridge House, November 9_. I have secured for poor Walter Hartright
a position as draughtsman on an expedition which is to start immediately
for central South America. Change of scene may really be the salvation
of him at this crisis in his life. To-day poor Laura asked Sir Percival
to release her from the engagement.
"If you still persist in maintaining our engagement," she said, looking
irresistibly beautiful, "I may be your true and faithful wife, Sir
Percival--your loving wife, if I know my own heart, never!"
"I gratefully accept your grace and truth," he said. "The least that
_you_ can offer is more to me than the utmost that I can hope for from
any other woman in the world."
_December_ 19. I received Sir Percival's consent to live with him as
companion to his wife in their new home in Hampshire. I was interested
to discover that Count Fosco, the husband of Laura's Aunt Eleanor, is a
great friend of Sir Percival's.
_December 22_, 11 _o'clock._ It is all over. They are married.
_Black-water Park, Hampshire, June_ 11. Six long months have elapsed
since Laura and I last saw each other. I have just arrived at her new
home. My latest news of Walter Hartright is derived from an American
paper. It describes how the expedition was last seen entering a wild
primeval forest.
_June_ 15. Laura has returned, and I have found her changed. The
old-time freshness and softness have gone. She is, if anything, more
beautiful. She refused to go into details on the subject of her married
life, and the fact that we have this forbidden topic seems to make a
difference to our old relations. Sir Percival made no pretence to be
glad to see me. They brought two guests with them, Count Fosco and his
wife, Laura's aunt. He is immensely fat, with a face like that of the
great Napoleon, and eyes which have an extraordinary power. In spite of
his size, he treads as softly as a cat. His manners are perfect. He
never says a hard word to his wife; but, none the less, he rules her
with a rod of iron. She is absolutely his slave, obedient to the
slightest expression of his eyes. He manages Sir Percival as he manages
his wife; and, indeed, all of us. He inquired to-day whether there were
any Italian gentlemen in the neighbourhood.
_June 16_. Merriman, Sir Percival's solicitor, came down to-day, and I
accidentally overheard a conversation which seems to indicate a
determination on Sir Percival's part to raise money on Laura's security,
to pay off some of his heavy debts.
_June 17_. Sir Percival tried to make Laura sign the document which had
been brought down by Merriman. On my advice, she refused to do so
without reading it. A terrible scene resulted, which was only stopped by
the intervention of Count Fosco. Sir Percival swore that Laura shall
sign it to-morrow. To-night, Laura and I fancied we saw a white figure
in the wood.
_June 18_. Laura has met Anne Catherick. It was she we saw in the wood
last night. She came upon Laura in the boat-house, and declared she had
something to tell her. "What is it you have to tell me?" asked Laura.
"The secret that your cruel husband is afraid of," she answered. "I once
threatened him with the secret and frightened him. You shall threaten
him with the secret and frighten him, too." When Laura pressed her, she
declared somebody was watching them and, pushing Laura back into the
boat-house, disappeared.
_June 19_. The worst has come. Sir Percival has discovered a message
from Anne Catherick to Laura, promising to reveal the secret, and
stating that yesterday she was followed by a "tall, fat man," clearly
the count. Sir Percival was furious, and locked Laura up in her bedroom.
Again the count has had to intervene on her behalf.
_Later_.--By climbing out on the roof of the verandah, I have overheard
a conversation between the count and Sir Percival. They spoke with
complete frankness--with fiendish frankness--to one another. Fosco
pointed out that his friend was desperately in need of money, and that,
as Laura had refused to sign the document, he could not secure it by
ordinary means. If Laura died, Sir Percival would inherit L20,000, and
Fosco himself obtain through his wife L10,000. Sir Percival confessed
that Anne Catherick had a secret which endangered his position. This
secret, he surmised, she had told to Laura; and Laura, being in love
with Walter Hartright--he had discovered this--would use it. The count
inquired what Anne Catherick was like.
"Fancy my wife after a bad illness with a touch of something wrong in
her head, and there is Anne Catherick for you," answered Sir Percival.
"What are you laughing about?"
"Make your mind easy, Percival," he said. "I have my projects here in my
big head. Sleep, my son, the sleep of the just."
I crept back to my room soaked through with the rain. Oh, my God, am I
going to be ill? I have heard the clock strike every hour. It is so
cold, so cold; and the strokes of the clock--the strokes I can't
count--keep striking in my head....
[At this point the diary ceases to be legible.]
_IV.--The Story Completed by Walter Hartright on His Return, from
Several Manuscripts_
The events that happened after Marian Halcombe fell ill while I was
still absent in South America I will relate briefly.
Count Fosco discovered Anne Catherick, and immediately took steps to put
into execution the plot he had hinted at. Wearing the clothes of Lady
Glyde, the unfortunate girl was taken to a house in St. John's Wood
where the real Lady Glyde was expected to stay when passing through town
on her way to Cumberland. Lady Glyde, on pretence that her half-sister
had been removed to town, was induced to visit London, where she was met
by Count Fosco, and at once placed in a private asylum in the name of
Anne Catherick. Her statement that she was Lady Glyde was held to be
proof of the unsoundness of her mind. Unfortunately for the count's
plans, the real Anne Catherick died the day before the incarceration of
Lady Glyde, but, as there was no one to prove the dates of these events,
both Fosco and Sir Percival regarded themselves as secure. With great
pomp the body of Anne Catherick was taken to Limmeridge and buried in
the name of Lady Glyde.
As soon as Marian Halcombe recovered, the supposed death of her
half-sister was broken to her. Recollecting the conversation she had
overheard just before she was taken ill, she had grave suspicions as to
the cause of Laura's death, and immediately instituted inquiries. In the
pursuit of these inquiries she visited Anne Catherick in the asylum, and
her joy in discovering Laura there instead of the supposed Anne
Catherick was almost overwhelming. By bribing one of the nurses, she
secured Laura's freedom, and travelled with her to Limmeridge to
establish her identity. To her disgust and amazement Frederick Fairlie
refused to accept her statement, or to believe that Laura was other than
Anne Catherick. Count Fosco had visited and prepared him.