THE STORY TOLD BY MARIAN HALCOMBE

Arrangements for a marriage

It was a sad day when Walter Hartright left us. Laura stayed in her room all day, and I felt sad and depressed. Poor Mr. Gilmore must have had a dull time, and the next morning, when Laura reappeared looking pale and ill, I thought he seemed rather anxious about her. I was anxious too. Laura is such a sensitive and loving person that it was no surprise to me to find that she had grown fond of Walter. Indeed, I have grown fond of him myself. But I honestly believe that time will cure Laura of these feelings.

Two days after Walter left, Sir Percival Glyde arrived. He is forty-five years old but seems younger. He is handsome and only a little bald, has perfect manners, and is pleasant, agreeable, and respectful. I really must try to like him.

In the afternoon, while Laura was out of the room, Sir Percival referred to Anne Catherick's letter.

I read Mr. Gilmore's letter to my lawyer,' he said, 'and I want to give you a full explanation. Mrs. Catherick, you see, worked for me and my family for many years. Her marriage was unfortunate, in that her husband deserted her, and her only child, a girl, became mentally ill and needed to be put in an asylum. So, in recognition of Mrs. Catherick's services, I agreed to pay the expenses of a private asylum for the girl. Unfortunately, the girl discovered this and consequently developed a hatred for me. She recently escaped from the asylum and I'm sure she wrote this letter because of her hatred for me. It's all very sad.'

Mr. Gilmore found this explanation perfectly satisfactory, and said so. He then looked at me for agreement, but I was struggling with a sense of unease that I could not explain, and hesitated before answering. Sir Percival noticed this at once.

'May I beg you» Miss Halcombe,' he said politely, to write to Mrs. Catherick to ask if these facts are true?'

I did not want to agree to this, but how could I refuse, without making the situation even more embarrassing than it already was? So I went to the desk, wrote a note, and gave it to him. Without looking at it, he put it in an envelope and wrote the address.

'Now that is done,' he said, 'may I ask if Anne Catherick spoke to Miss Fairlie, or to you?'

'No. She spoke to nobody except Mr. Hartright,' I replied.

'Ah, yes, the drawing teacher,' he said thoughtfully. 'And did you discover where Anne Catherick was staying?'

I described the farm to him.

'It is my duty to try to find her,' he continued. 'Tomorrow I will go to this farm and make enquiries.' Soon afterwards he left to go up to his room.

***

That evening and the next day Sir Percival took every opportunity to bring Laura into the conversation, but she hardly took any notice. He went to the farm to make his enquiries about Anne Catherick, but learnt nothing. Then on Wednesday a letter came from Mrs. Catherick - a short, business-like letter, thanking me for my note and saying that everything Sir Percival had told me was completely correct.

Why did I still have doubts? This, surely, was enough proof for anyone, but how I wished that Walter Hartright had been there to give his opinion! At .Sir Percival’s request I now had to give Laura his explanation of Anne Cathenck's letter. She listened quietly and showed no emotion, but I noticed that on the table near her hand was the little book of Hartright's drawings. T also had to tell her that the reason for Sir Percival's visit was to fix the day of their marriage.

'I'm afraid he will ask you to decide quite soon, Laura.' Oh no, Marian! I can't do that!' she said. 'Please ask him, beg him, to allow me more time. I promise to give him a final answer before the end of the year, but not yet, please, not yet.'

Sir Percival agreed to this request, and when Mr. Gilmore heard about it, he arranged to have a private talk with Laura.

'I have to return to London tomorrow,' he said to me, 'and I need to discuss the financial side of this marriage with Miss Fairlie before I go. As you know, she will inherit a great deal of money and property when she becomes twenty-one next March, and I must include all this in the marriage agreement in a way that reflects Miss Fairlie's own wishes, and is also acceptable to Sir Percival.'

He had the meeting with Laura the next morning, and in the afternoon he left for London, looking rather sad and thoughtful. Wondering what had been said, I hurried up to Laura's room. 'Oh, Marian, come in,' she said. 'I need to talk to you.' 'What is it, Laura? Is it about the marriage agreement?' 'No. I couldn't even bear to discuss that with Mr. Gilmore. I'm ashamed to say that all I could do was cry. He was very kind and good, Marian, and he said that he would look after everything for me. No, what I wanted to tell you was this. I cannot bear the situation any longer. I must end it.

Her eyes were bright and she spoke with great energy. I began to feel alarmed. 'What do you wish to do, Laura darling? Do you want to be released from your promise to marry Sir Percival?'

'No, she said simply. I cannot break my promise to my father. But I want to tell the truth, and I will confess to Sir Percival that I love someone else.

'Laura! He has no right to know that!' I said in amazement.

'I cannot deceive him, she said. 'I have thought it over carefully. After I have told him, let him do as he wishes.'

I looked into her innocent, loving eyes and could say nothing. I just put my arms around her, trying not to cry myself.

'May I speak to him tomorrow, in your presence, Marian?'

I held her tight and agreed - though I was not sure I was doing the right thing. Indeed, I was not sure of anything. I could not understand how I had failed to see how deeply she loved Walter Hartright. For the first time in my life I had made a mistake about her. Now I realized that she would love him all her life.

***

The first thing that happened the next morning did nothing to make me feel more cheerful. A letter arrived for me from poor Walter Hartright. He had decided to leave England and asked me if I could help him find employment abroad. I was then alarmed to read that since his return to London he had neither seen nor heard anything of Anne Catherick, but suspected he had been watched and followed by strange men. I was worried about his state of mind, so I immediately wrote to some friends in London to ask if they could help him find a suitable job in another country. Laura, of course, knew nothing about these letters.

Sir Percival did not join us for breakfast, but sent a message, saying he would meet us at eleven o'clock, as arranged. Laura seemed calm and unusually self-controlled. I had never seen her like this. It was almost as if love had created a new force in her character.

At exactly eleven Sir Percival knocked and entered, with anxiety and worry in every line of his face. This meeting would decide his future life, and he obviously knew it.

'You may wonder, Sir Percival,' said Laura calmly, 'if I am going to ask to be released from my promise to marry you. I am not going to ask this. I respect my father's wishes too much.'

His face relaxed a little, but I saw one of his feet nervously beating the carpet.

'No, if we are going to withdraw from our planned marriage, it will be because of your wish, Sir Percival, not mine.'

'Mine?' he said in great surprise. '"What reason could I have for withdrawing?'

'A reason that is very hard to tell you,' she answered. 'There is a change in me.'

His face went so pale that even his lips lost their colour. He turned his head to one side.

'What change?' he asked, trying to hide his nervousness.

'When the promise was made two years ago,' she said, 'my love did not belong to anyone. Will you forgive me, Sir Percival, if I tell you that it now belongs to another person?'

Her tears started to fall, and Sir Percival hid his face behind his hand, so that it was impossible to know what he was thinking. He made no answer, and my temper got the better of me.

'Sir Percival!' I said sharply. 'Have you nothing to say? You have already heard more than you have a right to hear.

'But I didn't ask for that right,' he said, avoiding my question.

'I wish you to understand,' Laura continued, 'that I will never see this person again, and that if you leave me, you only allow me to remain a single woman for the rest of my life. All I ask is that you forgive me and keep my secret.'

'I will do both those things,' he said. Then he looked at Laura, as if he was waiting to hear more.

'I think I have said enough to give you reason to withdraw from our marriage,' she added quietly.

'No. You have said enough to make it the dearest wish of my life to marry you he said, getting up and advancing towards her.

Laura gave a cry of surprise, but I had more than half expected this. Every word she had spoken had shown her honesty and her innocence, but these fine qualities had destroyed her own hopes of a release. Sir Percival understood very well the priceless value of a pure and true woman. Why would he give her up now?

'I will do everything I can to earn your love,' he said, 'and perhaps in time I will win it.'

'Never!' she answered, looking more beautiful than ever. 'I will be your true and loyal wife, but never your loving wife.'

'That is enough for me. I accept your loyalty and your truth,' he said, then raised her hand to his lips and silently left the room.

Laura sat without moving. I put my arm around her. At last she said, 'I must resign myself, Marian. If you write to Walter, don't tell him how unhappy I am. And if I die first, please say to him, say what I could never say myself- say I loved him!'

Then she threw herself on the sofa and cried as if her heart was breaking, until at last she fell asleep.

***

In the days that followed it seemed that nothing could prevent this miserable marriage from taking place. I tried to make Laura change her mind, but she was determined to keep her promise, and to do her duty. Mr. Fairlie was, of course, very' happy that the 'family worry' was now at an end and suggested that the sooner his niece got married the better. This made me very angry, but when I told Laura, I was surprised by her calm reply.

'My uncle is right. I have caused trouble and anxiety to everyone. Let Sir Percival decide on the day for our marriage.'

Sir Percival was delighted by this news, and he then left to prepare for the bride's reception at his house in Hampshire.

I thought that a change would do Laura good, so I arranged for us both to go and stay with some friends in Yorkshire. She passively agreed with my idea. I also wrote to Mr. Gilmore, telling him this marriage would now take place.

The next day I received a letter from Walter Hartright, saying that my friends had got him a job on an expedition to Central America. He was going to be the artist for the expedition. He was leaving on 2Ist November and would be away for six months. I could only hope that this was for the best.

Laura and I then departed for Yorkshire but after only nine days there we received a letter from Mr. Fairlie, calling us back to Limmeridge immediately. What could this mean, I wondered?

I found out as soon as we arrived. Mr. Fairlie and Sir Percival had agreed on 22nd December for the wedding, provided that Laura also agreed. Would I please persuade her, said Mr. Fairlie. His nerves were much too bad to talk to her himself.

I also found our old friend Mr. Gilmore, who had come to talk to Mr. Fairlie about the marriage agreement. He was leaving that day, and was anxious to speak to me alone before he left.

I am not at all happy about the financial arrangements in the agreement, Miss Halcombe,' he said, 'but there is nothing I can do about it. I know how fond you are of your sister and I think you ought to know why I am concerned.

'As you will know,' he went on, 'there are three parts to Miss Fairlie's inheritance. Firstly, on Mr. Fairlie's death, she will inherit the Limmeridge property and land, and the income from it. If she dies childless, this property will go to a cousin, but the income from it will go to her husband during his lifetime. If she has a son, everything — property and income — will go to the son. No problems there.

'Secondly, when Miss Fairlie reaches the age of twenty-one next March, she will receive the income from £I0,000. This £I0,000 will go to her aunt Eleanor, if Miss Fairlie dies before her aunt — which is not very likely. The reason Miss Fairlie's father did not leave the £I0, 000 to his sister Eleanor on his death was that he disapproved strongly of her marriage to a foreigner, even though the man was an Italian nobleman, Count Fosco.

'Yes, Laura has told me about that,' I said.

'Well,' Mr. Gilmore went on, 'there are no problems there either. But the third part of Miss Fairlie's inheritance is more difficult. Next March she will also inherit £20,000, which will be her own money completely. If she dies before her husband, the income from the £20,000 will go to Sir Percival for his lifetime, and the capital will go to their children. If there are no children to inherit the capital, Miss Fairlie can choose relations and friends to inherit the money when she dies. That's what I proposed, but Sir Percival’s lawyer did not accept it. He insists that if Sir Percival survives his wife and there are no children, Sir Percival should receive the capital. In that case, nothing will go to any other member of the family, including you, Miss Halcombe.

Mr. Gilmore sighed deeply, i protested strongly. I tried every argument I could, but nothing would change the lawyer's mind. I've discovered, you see, that Sir Percival is always in debt and always in need of cash. My last effort has been to come here, to try and persuade Mr. Fairlie to oppose this demand from Sir Percival's lawyer. I am sorry to say I have not succeeded. Mr. Fairlie wishes to avoid all responsibility for his niece's marriage arrangements. He says that his niece will not die before Sir Percival anyway, so what is there to worry about?'

Mr. Gilmore stood up to go and picked up his hat. 'I shall complete the agreement and send it in. I have no choice, I don't do it. Mr. Fairlie will find another lawyer who will. But I tell you.

Miss Hakombe, no daughter of mine should be married to any man alive under such an agreement as I am forced to make for Miss Fairlie.'

With that, he shook my hand, and without another word he went away to catch his train back to London.

After he had gone, I tried to be sensible. Mr. Fairlie was Laura's guardian and if he chose to accept this agreement, there was nothing I could do about it. It was just one more worry about this dreadful marriage. A more immediate worry was the date of the wedding. When I told Laura, she turned pale and trembled.

'Not so soon!' she cried. Oh Marian not so soon!

'Well, let me speak to Mr. Fairlie, then I said, ready to fight for her. 'I will try to change it.'

'No,' she said faintly. Too late Marian too late! It will only make more trouble. Please tell my uncle I agree.'

I think I would have cried if I had not been so angry. I rushed into Mr. Fairlie's room and shouted loudly, 'Laura agrees to the twenty-second' — and rushed out again, banging the door noisily. I hoped I had destroyed his nerves for the whole day.

***

After this the wedding preparations began. The dressmakers came and went all the time; there was packing, and planning, and all kinds of arrangements to make. We heard every day from Sir Percival. After the wedding he proposed to take Laura to Italy for six months. They would meet a number of Sir Percival's friends there, including his best and oldest friend, Count Fosco, whose wife, of course, was Laura's Aunt Eleanor. At least this marriage would bring Laura and her aunt together again, I thought. The Count himself sounded a most interesting person, and I rather hoped that I would meet him one day.

All too quickly the days passed. Sir Percival arrived, looking a little tired and anxious but talking and laughing like the happiest of men. The evening after he arrived he went off to the village to ask if anyone had any news of Anne Catherick. No one had heard anything, but I had to admit that it was good of him to continue to try to help her. I have decided to try and think better of him. After all, what reason do I have to distrust him? I am sure that I could like him if I really tried.

It is getting quite easy to like him. Today I spoke to him about the dearest wish of both Laura and myself- that I should be able to live with Laura after her marriage, just as I had always lived with her before. He agreed instantly and seemed delighted with the plan. I would be the ideal, the perfect companion for his wife, he said. Yes, I am beginning to like Sir Percival very much.

***

I hate Sir Percival! He has no sensitivity, no kindness, no good feeling. Last night he whispered something in Laura's ear - she has refused to tell me what it was - and her face turned white with misery. He took no notice at all, and all my suspicions of him have returned. Is he now showing his true character? He seems more restless and nervous than before, and is often sharp and bad-tempered. I have this strange idea that something might happen to prevent the marriage - and that he is afraid of that. A foolish thought. I must forget it.

As the day of our separation grows nearer, Laura cannot bear to have me out of her sight. I must be brave and cheerful, for her sake, but my fear will not go away. Will this marriage be the one terrible mistake of her life, and the one hopeless sorrow of mine?

***

It is the twenty-second. No more time for tears. Laura is dressed, and we leave for the church. By eleven o'clock they are married. By three o'clock they are gone. I am blind with crying and can write no more . . .

A document for signature

Six long, lonely months passed, and I had little to do but think of absent Friends. I received a cheerful letter from Walter Hartright after he arrived in Honduras, and just before he set off with the expedition into the forest. Since then, I have heard nothing. There was no news of Anne Catherick or Mrs. Clements. Poor Mr. Gilmore fell very ill and had to give up work, but his business is continued by his partner, Mr. Kyrle. Mrs. Vesey has moved to London to live with her sister, and Mr. Fairlie, I believe, is secretly delighted to have his house free of women.

Most of all, of course, I thought about Laura. Many letters came from her, but she said very little in them. She told neither me she was well, but hardly mentioned her husband, and wrote nor a word about Count Fosco, whom they had met in Austria, not Italy. I understood from her silence that she did not like him. All she said was that her Aunt Eleanor, Madame Fosco, was quieter and more sensible than she had used to be.

***

On IIth June I arrived at Blackwater Park, Sir Percival's family home in Hampshire. The waiting was nearly over, and how happy I was! The next day Laura and her husband would return home, together with Count Fosco and his wife, who were going to spend the summer at Blackwater.

In the morning the housekeeper, Mrs. Michelson, showed me round the house. It is very old, and much of it is dusty and unused; only one part of the enormous building is comfortable enough to live in.

Later I explored the gardens and the park. The gardens are small and not well kept, and there are so many trees that the house feels shut in by them. I found a path through the trees, which after half a mile brought me to a lake. It was a damp, lonely place. The still dark waters of the lake and the long shadows from the tall trees gave it a gloomy air. Near the lake there was an old boat-house with some seats in it, so I went in and sat down for a rest.

I am not a nervous person generally but when I heard the sound of quick breathing under my seat, I jumped to my feet in alarm. In fact, it was a dog— a small black and white dog, with a bullet wound in its side. I carried the poor creature back to the house and sent for Mrs. Michelson to help me.

When she came in and saw the dog lying on the floor, she cried out at once, 'Oh! That must be Mrs. Catherick's dog!'

'Whose?' I asked, amazed.

'Mrs. Catherick's. Do you know her? She came here to ask for news of her daughter.'

'When?'

'Yesterday. She'd heard that her daughter Anne had been seen in the neighborhood. But no one knew anything. I suppose the dog ran away into the woods and got shot by the park-keeper.*

I tried to make my voice sound politely interested. 'I suppose you've known Mrs. Catherick for some years?*

'Oh no, Miss Halcombe, I never saw her before. She lives at Welmingham, twenty-five miles away. I had heard of her, because of Sir Percival paying for her daughter to go to an asylum. But yesterday, Mrs. Catherick asked me not to mention her visit to Sir Percival. That was an odd thing to say, wasn't it, Miss?'

Odd, indeed! But then we had to turn our attention to the poor dog, which, despite our efforts, died a little while later. It was a sad thing to happen on my first day at Blackwater.

***

Later that evening the travellers returned. After my first happiness at meeting Laura, I felt there was strangeness between us and I realized she had changed. I was sure we would soon get back to normal, but she had lost her innocent openness. She was unwilling to talk about her married life, and I saw that there were no warm feelings between her husband and her. It wasn't long before she asked me about Walter - Have you heard from him? Is he well and happy?' - and it was clear to me that she loved him as deeply as ever.

As for Sir Percival, his manners are sharper and less pleasant. On meeting me be simply said, 'Hello, Miss Halcombe. Glad to see you again,' - and then walked past me. Little things seem to annoy him a great deal. For example, the housekeeper told him a man had called to speak to him a week ago but had left no name. Sir Percival demanded a description of the man, which poor Mrs. Michelson was unable to give, and Sir Percival stormed out of the room in great anger.

Laura was certainly right about Madame Fosco. Never have I seen such a change in a woman. As Eleanor Fairlie (aged thirty-seven), she wore bright clothes, was silly and foolish, and always talked nonsense. As Madame Fosco (aged forty-three), she wears only grey or black, and sits for hours in silence, doing needlework, rolling up cigarettes for the Count, or just looking at him with the eyes of a loyal dog.

And the man who has achieved this extraordinary change, the man who has tamed this wild Englishwoman? Yes, what can I say about the Count? He looks like a man who could tame anything. If he had married me, I would have made his cigarettes, as his wife does. I would have held my tongue when he looked at me, as she holds hers.

How can I explain the power, the attraction, the force that comes from this man? There are many unlikeable or unattractive things about him. For example, he is enormously fat; he seems to have false hair; he is at least sixty years old. He is lazy, jumps at the slightest sudden sound, and has a peculiar fondness for pet animals. He has brought with him a variety of birds and a whole family of white mice, which he often kisses and calls loving names, just as a child might do.

And yet and yet... He is fat, but moves lightly and easily, like a dancer. There is calmness and strength about his smooth, unlined face and his voice is persuasive, gentle, hard to resist. His knowledge of the English language is perfect and he is a well-known expert in chemical science. He speaks in baby language to his white mice, but he talks with intelligence and charm about books in every language, and brings to his conversation experience of life in half the capitals of Europe.

But it is his eyes that I shall always remember - his cold, clear, beautiful grey eyes, eyes which held such a frightening power that I shiver even now to think of it.

I could discover very little about his past from Sir Percival. I only learnt that he had not been to Italy for years; I wondered if this was for political reasons. It seemed he had saved Sir Percival from great danger in Rome once and they had been the closest of friends ever since. It was quite clear that Sir Percival was always anxious to please him and would never go against his wishes.

I wonder whether I am afraid of him too. I certainly never saw a man I would be more sorry to have as an enemy.

***

At lunchtime, a few days after they all returned, a man called Mr. Merriman arrived, asking to see Sir Percival urgently. Sir Percival had clearly not expected the visit and looked both alarmed and angry as he left the table.

Neither Laura nor I had any idea who Mr. Merriman was, but the Count told us he was Sir Percival’s lawyer. I wondered what had happened, as a lawyer does not usually travel from London to Hampshire unless sent for. Mr. Merriman must be the bringer of important news - either good or bad.

Count Fosco obviously read my thoughts and said softly to me, 'Yes, Miss Halcombe, something has happened.'

Later in the day I was coming from my room when I saw Sir Percival and his lawyer crossing the hall downstairs. They spoke quietly, but clearly enough for their words to reach my ears.

Yes, Sir Percival,' I heard the lawyer say, 'it all depends on Lady Glyde.

I immediately stopped when I heard Laura's name and, although I knew it was wrong, continued to listen.

'You understand, Sir Percival, Lady Glyde must sign her name in the presence of two witnesses. If this is done in a week's time, everything will be all right. If not, I may be able to get them to accept a document promising payment in three months. But how that money is to be obtained by then . . .

They went into the library and I heard no more, but it seemed that Sir Percival had a serious debt and that the solution to it depended on Laura. I immediately went to tell Laura what I had heard. She did not seem surprised.

'I was afraid of something like this she said, 'when I heard about that strange gentleman who called, without leaving his name. He had probably come to ask for his money. But don't worry, Marian. I won't sign anything that I might later regret.'

In the evening Sir Percival was unusually polite and pleasant to all of us. What did this mean? I thought I could guess-I was afraid Laura could guess- and I was sure Count Fosco knew. I saw Sir Percival looking at him for approval more than once during the evening. The Count was certainly aware of Sir Percival's financial problems.

The next morning Sir Percival asked Count Fosco, Laura, and myself if we would go to the library for a minute after lunch for a small business matter. Before lunch, however, we all went for a walk to the lake, stopping at the boat-house for a rest.

'Some people call the lake pretty,' said Sir Percival, pointing to the view. 'I call it ugly. It looks just the place for a murder, doesn't it? What do you think, Fosco?'

'My dear Percival the Count protested, 'the water is too shallow to hide a body. Only a fool would murder someone here. A wise man would choose somewhere else.

'Wise men do not murder,' said Laura, looking at him with dislike. 'I am sure you cannot give me an example of a wise man who has been a criminal.'

'My dear lady,' said the Count, 'it is impossible to give an example, because a wise man's crime is never found out.'

As he spoke, he was playing with his white mice in their little cage, and suddenly noticed that one of them was missing. A few seconds later he found the little animal under a seat, but also found something which seemed to shock him.

'Percival,' he said, 'come here. Look at this in the sand. Blood!

Everyone seemed alarmed, so I had to explain about the wounded dog I had found.

'Whose dog was it?' asked Sir Percival.

'The housekeeper said it was Mrs. Catherick's dog,' I replied, remembering too late that the visit was meant to be kept secret.

'What the devil was Mrs. Catherick doing here?

This question came with such rudeness and anger that I turned away. Count Fosco laid his hand on Sir PercivaPs arm.

'My dear Percival! Gently, gently!

To my great surprise, Sir Percival apologized to me, and Count Fosco then said, 'Why not question the housekeeper, Percival, since she seems to know all about it?

Sir Percival took the point, and immediately left us to return to the house.

The Count seemed fascinated by Mrs. Catherick and wanted to know all about her visit. I tried to say as little as possible, but Laura asked questions too, and in the end the Count knew as much as we did about Mrs. Catherick and her daughter Anne. I was quite sure, from his surprise at the story, that the Count had known nothing of Anne Catherick, and uneasily I wondered why Sir Percival had not told his closest friend.

When we went back to the house, Sir Percival came to greet us. I am sorry to say I have to leave you. I have to drive a long way and won't be back until tomorrow. First, though, I would like to finish that little business matter. Will you come into the library? It won't take a minute.'

In the library he got a document out of a cupboard and put it on the table. It was folded in such a way that all the writing was hidden and only the places to sign were visible.

Handing a pen to Laura, he said, 'Sign there. You and Fosco are to sign afterwards, Miss Halcombe.'

'What do you want me to sign?' Laura asked quietly.

'I have no time to explain. I have to leave. It's just business,' he said angrily. 'Women don't understand business. Just sign it.'

'But surely I ought to know what I am signing.'

'I see. So you're saying you don't trust me! Is that it? What kind of a wife is that?'

To help Laura, I said, 'I am afraid I cannot be a witness if she doesn't understand what she is signing.'

Sir Percival turned to me furiously. 'How dare you! You're a guest in my house and you take my wife's side against me!'

'Control your unfortunate temper, Percival,' said the Count, and I heard him whisper to him, 'you idiot!'

But Laura had put the pen down and moved to my side.

'Lady Clyde is right the Count then said. 'Let the signature wait until tomorrow.'

Sir Percival swore at him, but moved away from the table.

'All right, then,' he said, 'until tomorrow. Anyway, I have to go. But you will sign tomorrow or —' He gave his wife a cold, hard stare, and then went out.

As Laura and I moved to the door, the Count approached us. 'You have just seen Sir Percival at his worst,' he said. 'As his old friend, I apologize for him and promise he won't behave like that tomorrow.'

I had begun to realize that I could nor hope to remain at Backwater Park now without the influence and support of the Count, so I answered by thanking him warmly. Then I led Laura out and took her up to my room for a rest.

While we were there, she told me how cruel Sir Percival had been to her since their marriage and how unhappy she was. I tried to calm her and to find a solution to the problem of the signature. Suddenly I had the idea of writing to Mr. Gilmore's partner, Mr. Kyrle, and asking for his advice. In my letter I also asked him to get a messenger to bring the reply by one o'clock the next day. I then put the letter in the post-bag in the hall. Just at that moment Madame Fosco appeared and asked to speak to me in the garden. She spoke to me for a full half-hour about how much sympathy she had for me. I found this very odd indeed since she had shown very little interest in me before.

When I finally returned, I saw the Count also putting a letter in the post-bag. For some reason I decided to check my letter was properly closed, so I got it out of the bag. This was lucky, as I found the envelope had come open. How strange, I thought. Perhaps there had been something wrong with it...

Or perhaps . . .

No! There could be no other explanation.

An appointment by the lake

After dinner that evening, Laura and I went for a walk down to the lake. The atmosphere was gloomy and depressing, but at least we were alone.

'I want to have no secrets from you, Marian,' Laura said, 'but I'm sure you have already guessed what my married life is like. Sir Percival said such cruel things to me in Italy that I turned for comfort to my memories of those happy days with Walter Hartright. And I have to tell you, Marian; Sir Percival now knows that Walter is the man I loved.'

I stared at her, and what little hope I had left began to die.

'It was at a party in Rome. Some people from London said I should have drawing lessons and recommended a Mr.. Hartright. I could not control myself when I heard his name and my husband noticed. "So it was him, was it?" he said, with a horrible smile. "Well, we will see about Mr. Hartright. You will be sorry, and so will he, to the end of your lives." And Marian, he uses this knowledge like a whip to punish me, day in, day out.'

'Oh, Laura!' I said, putting my arms around her. This was my fault - yes, my fault! I remembered the white despair of Walter's face as I told him to leave, as I tore these two young hearts apart. And I had done this for Sir Percival Glyde.

For Sir Percival Glyde.

***

It was growing dark when we set out for home, and as we left Laura seized my arm. Marian look!

By the lake was a dark figure, half hidden by the evening mist rising off the water. We began to walk quickly.

'I'm sure it's following us, whispered Laura. 'Is it a man or a woman?' She was shaking with fear.

'It's hard to tell in this light I said, and then called out, 'Who's there? There was no answer.

We hurried back through the wood, and when we reached home, I sent Laura upstairs and went to find out where everyone was. The Count and his wife, the servants, the housekeeper - all were inside. The figure by the lake was no one from the house. So who could it have been?

The next day Laura discovered she had lost her bracelet and thought she must have dropped it near the lake. She went off to look for it while I waited for the messenger from Mr. Kyrle.

One o'clock came. By now I was so suspicious of everyone in the house that I decided to slip out and meet the messenger myself. Taking great care not to be seen, I went down to the main gate and a little way along the road. Soon a cab appeared. I stopped it and said, 'Are you going to Blackwater Park?'

A man put his head out and said, 'Yes, with a letter for Miss Halcombe.'

'You may give the letter to me,' I said. 'I am Miss Halcombe.'

I read the letter quickly.

Dear Miss Halcombe — your letter has caused me great anxiety. It seems very likely that Lady Clyde's signature is needed so that a loan of all or part of her £20,000 can be made to Sir Percival. This is almost certainly illegal, and Lady Glyde should not sign any document until I have examined it first.

Sincerely William Kyrle.

I read this very thankfully and told the messenger to say that I understood the letter. As I spoke these words, Count Fosco came round the corner and suddenly appeared in front of me. Completely taken by surprise, I stared at him speechlessly. The messenger drove away in his cab, and the Count took my arm to walk home with me.

He talked pleasantly of this and that, and asked no questions about letters or messengers, so I assumed he had found out everything. He must have read my letter, returned it to the post-bag, and now knew that I had received an answer. There was no point in trying to deceive him so I said nothing, and just tried to seem quite cool and calm.

Back at the house we found that Sir Percival had returned, in an even worse mood than before, it seemed. When I told him Laura was out looking for her bracelet, he growled,

'Bracelet or no bracelet, I shall expect to see her in the library in half an hour.'

I turned to go into the house, but behind me heard the Count saying to Sir Percival, 'May I have five minutes' talk with you, here on the grass?'

They walked off together and I went inside to the sitting room, to think over all that had happened. Before long, however, the door opened softly and the Count looked in.

'Good news, Miss Halcombe,' he said. 'The business of the signature is put off for the moment. I'm sure you are relieved.'

He went out before I had recovered from my amazement. There could be no doubt that this change was due to his influence. His discovery of my writing to London and receiving an answer had caused him to interfere. Now there was even more to think about but, exhausted by worry and the heat of the day, my eyes closed and I fell into a little sleep.

I woke to find Laura's hand on my shoulder.

'Marian! The figure at the lake. I've just spoken to her! It's Anne Catherick. Look, she found my bracelet.

Still half asleep, I stared at her stupidly. 'Anne Catherick?'

'Yes! I was searching in the boat-house,' Laura went on, and then a woman in a white dress came in and said quietly, "Miss Fairlie. I have your bracelet. Your mother would not want you to lose it." I jumped up, but her voice was so kind that I wasn't afraid. I asked her how she knew my mother. She said her name was Anne Catherick and asked me if I remembered as a little girl walking with her and my mother to the school in Limmeridge one day. I did remember. Suddenly I saw that we were like each other, but her face was pale and thin and tired. It was how my face might look after a long illness. "Why do you call me Miss Fairlie?" I asked, and she answered, "Because I love the name of Fairlie and hate the name of Glyde."

'Did she say anything about your husband?' I asked.

'She said that after she wrote the letter, she did not have the courage to stay in Limmeridge to try to prevent my marriage to him. She was afraid he would find her and shut her up in the asylum again. But she was not afraid any more because she was so ill she thought she was dying. Then, Marian, she said that she and her mother knew a secret that my husband was afraid of.'

'Yes? Go on!' I said eagerly. "What secret?'

'She was just going to tell me, when she thought she heard a noise outside. "We are not alone," she said, "someone is watching. Come here tomorrow at this time and I will tell you." Then she pushed me to one side and disappeared.'

'Oh, Laura, Laura, another chance lost! But you must keep the appointment tomorrow. It seems so important. I will follow you at a safe distance. She must not escape this time.'

We were silent for a time. Then Laura said anxiously, 'Why hasn't Sir Percival called us to the library to sign the document?'

'Oh yes! I forgot to tell you,' I said. 'Thanks to Count Fosco, the business of the signature has been postponed.'

But why? Laura said, amazed. 'If Sir Percival urgently needs money, how can it be postponed?'

'I heard Sir Percival's lawyer mention a second plan - to give a document promising payment in three months.'

'Oh, Marian!' she said. 'That would be such a relief.*

'Yes, it would. Let's hope that it's true.'

That evening Sir Percival was polite, even pleasant, especially to Laura. This must have been due to the Count's influence, and it worried me. What lay behind it? I was sure that Sir Percival’s sudden journey yesterday had been to Welmingham, to question Mrs. Catherick. What had he learnt? What were his plans? As the evening passed, I grew more and more uneasy, and I went to bed feeling very anxious about what the next day would bring.

***

I was not wrong to be anxious. The next day Laura and I arranged that after lunch she would go alone to the boat-house, and that I would follow a little later, taking great care that Anne Catherick did not see me, in case she was frightened by the appearance of another stranger.

Sir Percival had gone out earlier in the morning and did not appear even for lunch, so it was quite easy to put our plan into action. However, when I came quietly up to the back of the boat-house, I heard no voices, no sounds of movement, nothing. Soon I was searching inside the boat-house, and softly calling Laura's name. But no one answered and no one appeared. Outside, I searched the ground for signs, and found the footprints of two people in the sand — big footprints like a man's and small footprints, which I was sure were Laura's. There was also a little hole in the sand by the wall of the boat-house.

Desperate with worry, I hurried back to the house. The first person I met was Mrs. Michelson, the housekeeper.

'Do you know,' I asked, 'whether Lady Glyde has come in?'

'Yes, she has, Miss Halcombe. And I am afraid something unfortunate has happened. Lady Glyde ran upstairs in tears and Sir Percival has told me to dismiss her servant, Fanny.'

My heart sank. Fanny was Laura's personal servant from Limmeridge, and the only person in the house we both trusted.

I ran upstairs to Laura's room. Her door was shut, and there was one of Sir Percival's house servants standing in front of it.

'Move away I said. 'Don't you see that I want to go in?'

'But you mustn't go in,' she answered. I have my orders.'

Wild with anger, I turned and went downstairs to find Sir Percival. He was in the library with the Count and Countess.

'Am I to understand that your wife's room is a prison?' I asked, staring him full in the face.

'Yes, that is what you are to understand,' he answered.

'Take care how you treat your wife!' I shouted furiously. 'There are laws to protect women, and I will use those laws.'

Instead of answering me, he turned to the Count. The Count looked at me with his calm, cold, grey eyes. But it was the Countess who spoke.

'Thank you for your hospitality, Sir Percival,' she said suddenly. 'But I cannot remain in a house where ladies are treated as your wife and Miss Halcombe have been treated today!'

Sir Percival stared at her in shocked silence, knowing, as I did, she would not have said this without the Count's permission.

'I agree with my wife,' the Count said quietly.

Sir Percival swore then whispered angrily, 'All right, have your own way.' With these words he left the room.

'We have made the worst-tempered man in England see reason said the Count. 'Thanks to your courage, Miss Halcombe, this insulting situation is now ended.'

I tried to speak normally, but could not. The Count left the library then returned a few minutes later to say that Lady Glyde had the freedom of her own house again. Immediately I rushed upstairs to Laura's room. She was alone inside and I was in such a hurry that I did not close the door properly behind me.

'Marian! She said thankfully. 'How did you get here?

'It was the Count's influence, of course,' I said.

'That horrible man!' she cried. 'He's a miserable spy!'

Just then we heard a knock on the door. It was the Countess, bringing me a handkerchief I had dropped. Her face was white, and I saw in her eyes that she had been listening at the door.

'Oh, Laura,' I said when she had gone, 'you shouldn't have called the Count a spy. We shall both regret it.

'But he is a spy, Marian! There was someone watching me at the lake yesterday, and it was him. He told Sir Percival, who watched and waited all morning for me and Anne Catherick. But she didn't come - I found a note from her hidden in a hole in the sand. She said she'd been followed yesterday by a fat old man.

He hadn't caught her, but she was afraid to come back this afternoon. She hid this note very early in the morning, and said she would see me again soon to tell me Sir Percival's secret.'

'What happened to the note?' I said. 'Have you got it?

'No. While I was reading it, Sir Percival appeared. He took it from me and demanded to hear everything Anne Catherick had said. He held my arm so tightly! - Look see how he's bruised it. What could I do, Marian? I was helpless! I told him everything.'

I looked at the bruises on Laura's arm, and felt such furious hatred for Sir Percival that I dared not speak.

'But he didn't believe me,' Laura went on. 'He said he knew she had told me more and that he would lock me up until I had confessed the truth. Then he took me back to the house, gave orders for Fanny to leave, and locked me in my room. Oh, Marian, he was like a madman! What are we to do?'

'He is mad - mad with fear. He thinks you know his secret,' I said. 'I must act now to protect you — who knows how long I will be allowed to stay here? I thought hard for a few minutes. I will write two letters and give them to Fanny to take with her. . I can't trust the post-bag here any more. One for Mr. Kyrle telling him of your bruises and Sir Percival's violent behaviour.

'And who is the other letter for?' asked Laura anxiously.

'For Mr. Fairlie,' I said. Your lazy selfish uncle. I'll make him invite you for a visit to Limmeridge, without your husband.'

I left her then and went to my room to write the letters. Fanny had already gone and was staying the night in the little hotel in the village, before beginning the long journey to Cumberland the next day. I decided I had time before dinner to walk to the village and back, so I slipped quietly out of the house and set off.

From time to time I looked behind me. Was I being followed? Or was my imagination playing tricks on me? By now I was suspicious of everything - every tiny sound, ever)' shadow on the road, every breath of wind. Earlier, while writing the letters, I thought I had heard the rustle of a silk dress outside my door. I had even wondered if someone had been in my room, looking through the things in my desk. I hurried on, trying to put these thoughts out of my mind.

When I got to the little hotel, I saw Fanny in her room. She was very upset at leaving Laura, and started crying, but stopped when I told her that Lady Glyde and I needed her help.

'Here are two letters,' I said. 'Post the one addressed to Mr. Kyrle in London tomorrow, and deliver the other to Mr. Fairlie yourself when you get home to Limmeridge. Keep them safe!'

Fanny put the letters down the front of her dress. 'They'll stay there, miss,' she said, 'till I've done what you tell me.'

A conversation in the night

I arrived back at the house with only twenty minutes to get ready for dinner- and to slip into Laura's room to say that the letters were safely in Fanny's hands.

Laura looked pale. 'I'm not coming down to dinner,' she said. 'Sir Percival came to my door, shouting at me to tell him where Anne Catherick is.'

'At least that means he hasn't found her yet,' I said.

At dinner the Count looked hot and red in the face, and his clothes were a little untidy. Had he been out too, I wondered? He seemed troubled by some secret annoyance or anxiety, and was almost as silent as Sir Percival. At the end of the meal, when Madame Fosco and I left the table, the Count stood up too.

'Where are you going, Fosco?' Sir Percival said. 'Sit down and have another glass of wine. I want a quiet talk with you.'

'Not now, Percival. Later,' he answered.

Earlier in the day I had heard Sir Percival make the same request, and this was the second time the Count had postponed the talk. Why, I wondered? And what was it that Sir Percival wanted to discuss so urgently?

We went into the living room and Madame Fosco, usually so slow and deliberate in her movements drank her tea at great speed and then slipped quietly out of the room. I began to leave too, but the Count stopped me, first by a request for more tea, then by asking my opinion on some music, and then by playing several noisy Italian songs on the piano. Eventually, I escaped from him and went up to Laura's room. Had she seen or heard anything of Madame Fosco, I asked? No, she had not. We talked together till ten o'clock, and then I went downstairs again to say goodnight. Sir Percival, the Count and his wife were sitting together in the living room. I noticed that Madame Fosco's face was now hot and red. Where had she been, and what had she been doing? As I looked at her, she gave a little smile, as though at some private joke.

I said goodnight to everybody, and as I left the room, I heard Sir Percival say impatiently to the Count, 'Come outside and have a smoke, Fosco.'

'With pleasure, Percival, when all the ladies have gone to bed,' replied the Count.

Up in my room, I could not stop myself thinking about this private discussion between Sir Percival and the Count, postponed all day and now, it seemed, about to take place in the silence and loneliness of the night. After a while, I went from my bedroom into my sitting room, and closed the door between the rooms. It was dark, as no candles were lit, and I looked out of the open window for some time, down into the blackness of the garden. There was a smell like rain in the still, heavy air.

Suddenly I saw two red points of light advancing in the dark and stopping below my bedroom window, inside which a candle was burning. One red point was small, the other was big. The Count smoking a cigarette, and Sir Percival smoking a cigar, I think. They could not see me in the darkness of my sitting room, so I waited to hear what they said.

'Why don't you come in and sit down?' Sir Percival said.

'"Wait till we see that light go out,' replied the Count. When I know she's in bed, and I have checked the rooms on each side of the library, then we will talk.'

Such secrecy! I decided I must listen to this conversation, in spite of the Count's efforts to keep it private. The idea terrified me, but Laura's happiness - perhaps even her life - might depend on what I heard. How could I do it? I realized I could get out on to the flat verandah roof which ran past the bedrooms, about three feet below the windows. It was narrow, but there was room to move along it till I was above the library window. The Count and Sir Percival usually sat near the open window, smoking, and if they did, I would be able to hear them from above.

I went back to my bedroom, put on a long dark cloak with a hood, and put out the candle. Then, after a while, I returned to my sitting room and climbed out of the window on to the verandah roof. My heart began to beat very fast. I had to pass five windows — four were dark, but the fifth window was the Countess's room, and it looked out over the exact place above the library where I planned to sit. And there was still a light in it. I crept along the roof then went down on my hands and knees to pass her window. As I passed, I looked up - and saw her shadow' against the thin curtains at the window . . .

Stop breathing. Has she heard me? Will she look out? No, the shadow moves away, she's gone. Now I move to my position at the edge of the roof and begin to listen. Are they there, or have they gone elsewhere for their talk? Ah, I can hear the Count's voice.

'Miss Halcombe's light is out, the rooms next door arc empty, the only window with a light in is my wife's — so now we may talk. We are at a serious crisis in our affairs, Percival, and we must decide about the future tonight.

'It's a worse crisis than you think,' growls Sir Percival.

'Listen, Percival. This is our situation. We both came to this house in need of money and the only way of getting it was with the help of your wife. Now what did I tell you? I told you never to lose your temper with her, and especially never with her sister, Miss Halcombe. And have you remembered this? Not once. Your mad temper lost your wife's signature, lost the ready money, made Miss Halcombe write to the lawyer for the first time—'

First time! Has she written again?'

'Yes, she has written again today.'

What! How does he know that? Did he follow me to the hotel? But even if he did, he couldn't have seen the letters - they went straight from my hand to Fanny's dress. So how does he know?

'You're lucky,' the Count continues 'that you have me in the house to undo the harm that you do. Lucky that I said no when you were mad enough to make your wife a prisoner and keep her from Miss Halcombe. Can't you see that Miss Halcombe has the courage and understanding of a man? How I admire that woman! But she stands like a rock between us and that pretty little wife of yours. Now the money. We have obtained a loan - a horribly expensive loan — by signing a document promising to repay it in three months. When the time comes, is there really no way to repay the money except by the help of your wife?'

None.

'What money do you actually get from your wife at present?'

'Only the income from her twenty thousand pounds.'

'Do you expect any more from your wife?

'Absolutely nothing- except in the case of her death.'

'Aha! In the case of her death.'

A pause. It has begun to rain, and already I feel wet and cold.

Sir Percival again. 'If she leaves no children, I get her twenty thousand pounds.'

Percival! Do you care about your wife?'

Fosco! That's a very direct question

'Let's say your wife dies before the end of the summer—'

Forget it, Fosco!'

'You would gain twenty thousand pounds.'

'Speak for yourself as well as for me, Fosco. You would also gain - my wife's death would be ten thousand pounds in your wife's pocket.'

'Percival, here is the position. If your wife lives, you pay that debt with her signature on the document. If your wife dies, you pay the debt with her death.'

The light in Madame Fosco's room goes out, and the verandah roof is now sunk in darkness. The rain continues. I listen with every nerve in my body, memorizing word after word.

'Percival, you must now leave this matter in my hands. I have more than two months to find the solution, so let's not talk about it any more. Let me help you with your other difficulty - the difficulty that seems to have the name of Anne Catherick.'

'Look, Fosco, we may be friends, but we still have our secrets. This does not concern you. Please don't ask me about it.'

'My friend, I can respect a secret. So I won't ask you to tell me. But can I help you all the same?'

'If I don't find Anne Catherick, I'm a lost man. Both she and her mother know this - this secret. It could ruin me, Fosco. Anne Catherick has spoken to ray wife and I'm sure she's told her.' 'But as your wife, surely it's in her interest to keep it a secret?' If she loved me that would be true. But she's in love with someone she met before we married, a drawing teacher called Walter Hartright. And who helped Anne Catherick escape from the asylum? Hartright. Who saw her again in Cumberland? Hartright. He knows the secret, and my wife knows the secret. If they get together, they will use it against me.' 'Yes, yes, I see. Where is Mr. Hartright?' 'Out of the country. He sailed for America.' 'Don't worry, then. I will deal with him if he ever comes back. Depend on it. But first we must find Anne Catherick. What about her mother? Can she be trusted?'

'It's in her interest not to tell anyone the secret.' 'Good. Now, how will I recognize Anne Catherick?' 'Easily. She's the pale, sickly likeness of my wife.' A noise as a chair is pushed back. The Count has jumped to his feet and is walking about. He seems amazed.

'What!!! Are she and your wife related to each other?' 'Not at all.'

And yet so alike? Well, I will know her when I see her.' 'What the devil are you laughing about, Fosco?' Just a thought my good friend just a thought. But enough for tonight. You will pay the debt and find Anne Catherick. I promise you. You can put your mind at rest, Percival.'

Not another word is spoken. I hear the library door close. I am wet to the skin, stiff and aching with the cold. At first I can't move, but slowly, painfully, I creep back to my window and climb in. As I fall on the floor, I hear the clock strike a quarter past one. Time passes. Somehow I manage to get up and put on dry clothes. I am burning hot ~ and shivering with cold. I know I must write down what I have heard, so I find paper and pen and write without stopping. The fever rises in me, burning, burning I open the window for cool air . . Eight o'clock. Bright sunshine, which hammers at my eyes. My head aches, my bones ache, my skin burns, yet I cannot stop shivering. I lie down to sleep, my writing finished, and in my fever I see Count Fosco come into my room and read the pages I have written. He smiles. I am helpless - unable to move, speak, breathe . . . and I sink into the long, black night of illness...

Fever

While I lay unconscious in my illness, I knew nothing, of course, of the events happening around me. It was only much later that I learnt from other people what had happened.

When I eventually returned to Limmeridge, Fanny told me about the letters and the night she had left Blackwater. ^I 'You left me at about seven, miss, and at nine o'clock I had another visitor - the Countess! Yes, I was so surprised. But she was very kind. She saw that I was upset at leaving and insisted on having some tea with me. So I drank my tea, and five minutes later I fainted - for the first time in my life! When I woke up, it was about half an hour later. A lady from the hotel was looking after me as the Countess had had to go home. I checked the letters in my dress, miss, and they were both there, quite safe.

'And just as you told me, in London I posted the letter to Mr. Kyrle, and as soon as I got to Limmeridge, I delivered the other letter personally to Mr. Fairlie. I told him all about being dismissed by Sir Percival and everything, and what had happened at the hotel, but, well, he didn't seem very interested, miss.'

That last piece of information did not surprise me in the least. Had Laura's uncle ever been interested in anybody except himself? When I went to talk to him, he was full of excuses.

'My nerves, dear Marian, remember my nerves! Yes, of course I will tell you about the letters, but please don't get excited and go around banging doors! Try to stay calm.'

I suppose my letter about Laura upset you,' I said.

Of course it did, dear Marian! What was I to do? You told me Laura needed to escape from her husband and to come to Limmeridge. But suppose Sir Percival had come after her? Think of the noise, the arguments, the banging of doors! That's why I wrote to you, to beg you to come here first by yourself, to talk the matter over with me.

I never saw that letter, of course, as it arrived at Blackwater when I was unconscious with fever.

And Mr. Kyrle wrote to you as well, didn't he?' I said.

Yes. He wrote to say he had received an envelope addressed to him in your handwriting, but which contained only a plain piece of paper without a word on it. He had written to you about it, and had received no reply. Why he expected me to explain this mystery, I had no idea. And that's what I told him/

So helpful, I thought bitterly. But there was no point in saying anything. 'And were you surprised not to hear from me again?'

'Indeed I was, until my sister's foreign husband, that extraordinary Count Fosco, came to see me. Such a huge man!' said Mr. Fairlie, his eyes closing at the memory. 'But surprisingly-quiet on his feet. Anyway, he explained how ill you were, dear Marian, which was why you hadn't replied to my letter. I was extremely shocked and sorry to hear about your illness. But the Count did talk so much — I thought he would never leave!'

And he persuaded you to write to Laura,' I said, trying to keep my voice calm and quiet.

'Yes, he urged me - in fact, practically ordered me - to invite Laura here at once. She was too nervous and upset to be of any use to you in the sick-room, he said, and the situation with Sir Percival was growing more dangerous every day. There was no trouble with the journey, because he and his wife had just rented a house in London. So Laura could travel up to London, stay the night with them, and travel on to Cumberland the next day.'

'So you wrote the letter and gave it to him,' I said.

'Where was the harm in it? In any case, I never for a moment thought that Laura would leave you alone when you were so ill. And how was I to know what shocking event was about to take place? No one could possibly say that I was to blame . . .'

***

I know now exactly who was to blame, but it took quite a time to put all the different pieces of information together. When I first began to be aware of my surroundings again during my recovery', I knew nothing, of course, about the letters. I knew only that I was not in my usual bedroom and there was a foreign lady looking after me. I had no idea who she was and she would not answer any of my questions. So I was very relieved a few days later when the familiar face of Mrs. Michelson appeared.

'Oh, Mrs. Michelson,' I said, Tm so glad to see you. Please tell me what's been happening.'

'You had typhus fever, Miss Halcombe. You've been very ill. But you're getting stronger now, I'm happy to say.

'Typhus! No wonder I feel so weak. And my sister. Lady Glyde - I do hope she didn't catch the infection?'

'No, no, she didn't.'

Mrs. Michelson would not look me in the face, and I began to feel worried. Was she afraid to tell me something?

'Is my sister ill? Please, Mrs. Michelson, I must know!'

'No, she's not ill. But . . . but she's not here. She went away yesterday to London, and is going on to Limmeridge today.

I stared at her Laura gone? I could not believe it. What did it mean? Had something terrible happened? I remembered the conversation I heard during the night on the verandah roof, and my heart filled with fear.

'And Sir Percival . . .?' I could not finish my question.

'Sir Percival left the house last night, to go abroad/ she said. 'The Count and Countess have gone to London, and the servants have all been dismissed, except for a cook and the gardener. You and I are the only people living in the house, Miss Halcombe.'

The shock of this news was so great that I felt faint. Mrs. Michelson hurried to fetch me a glass of water.

'Oh, Miss Halcombe, I'm sorry,' she said. 'Try not to worry. You must rest now, and try to sleep a little.'

Later, when I felt stronger, we talked again. 'Tell me everything you can remember, from the day I fell ill I begged Mrs. M

Date: 2015-12-24; view: 1347