CHAPTER V

von Wilkie Collins

My hand fell away from the curtain. But please, don’t think—oh, don’t think—that the overwhelming embarrassment of my situation was the only thing on my mind! My concern for Mr. Godfrey was so strong that I didn’t even stop to wonder why he wasn’t at the concert. No! All I could think about were the shocking words he had just spoken. He would do it today. He had said it with such grim determination. But what, oh what, would he do? Would it be something even more disgraceful than what he had already done? Would he turn his back on his beliefs? Would he abandon us at the Mothers’-Small-Clothes? Had we seen the last of his angelic smile in the committee room? Had we heard the last of his unmatched eloquence at Exeter Hall? The mere thought of such terrible possibilities connected to such a man stirred me so deeply that I felt I might burst from my hiding place and plead with him, in the name of all the Ladies’ Committees in London, to explain himself—when I suddenly heard another voice in the room. It cut through the curtains; it was loud, bold, and completely lacking in any feminine charm. It was Rachel Verinder.

“Why did you come up here, Godfrey?” she asked. “Why didn’t you go into the library?”

He chuckled softly and replied, “Miss Clack is in the library.”

“Clack in the library!” She immediately settled onto the ottoman in the back drawing room. “You’re right, Godfrey. We’d better stay here.”

Just moments before, I had been in a fever of uncertainty, unsure of what to do next. Now, I felt a chilling clarity. There was no way I could show myself after what I had just heard. Retreating—except into the fireplace—was equally out of the question. A martyrdom awaited me. In fairness to myself, I quietly adjusted the curtains so I could see and hear. And then I faced my martyrdom with the spirit of an early Christian.

“Don’t sit on the ottoman,” Rachel continued. “Get a chair, Godfrey. I prefer to talk to people when they’re facing me.”

He took the nearest seat, a low chair that was far too small for his tall frame. I had never seen him look so awkward.

“Well?” she prompted. “What did you tell them?”

“Just what you told me, dear Rachel.”

“That my mother wasn’t feeling well today? And that I didn’t want to leave her to go to the concert?”

“Those were the exact words. They were disappointed to miss you at the concert, but they completely understood. Everyone sent their love and expressed their hope that Lady Verinder would be feeling better soon.”

“You don’t think it’s serious, do you, Godfrey?”

“Not at all! I’m quite sure she’ll be fine in a few days.”

“I think so too. I was a bit scared at first, but I believe that as well. It was very kind of you to make my excuses to people who are almost strangers to you. But why didn’t you go with them to the concert? It seems unfair that you should miss the music too.”

“Don’t say that, Rachel! If you only knew how much happier I am—here, with you!”

He clasped his hands and looked at her. In that position, he turned slightly in my direction. Can words even capture how sick I felt when I saw the same heart-wrenching expression on his face that had once captivated me when he was advocating for the destitute at Exeter Hall?

“It’s hard to break bad habits, Godfrey. But please try to stop with the compliments—do it for my sake.”

“I’ve never given you a compliment, Rachel, in my life. Successful love might sometimes use flattery, I admit. But hopeless love, my dear, always speaks the truth.”

He moved his chair closer and took her hand when he said “hopeless love.” There was a brief silence. He, who could enchant anyone, had undoubtedly enchanted her too. I thought I finally understood the words he had spoken alone in the drawing room: “I’ll do it today.” Alas! Even the strictest propriety could hardly have missed that he was doing it now.

“Have you forgotten what we agreed on, Godfrey, when you spoke to me in the country? We agreed to be cousins and nothing more.”

“I break that agreement every time I see you, Rachel.”

“Then don’t see me.”

“Completely pointless! I break the agreement every time I think of you. Oh, Rachel! How kindly you told me just the other day that my place in your heart was higher than it had ever been! Am I mad to build my hopes on those sweet words? Am I mad to dream of a future when your heart might soften toward me? Don’t tell me I am! Let me keep that delusion, my dear! I need that to hold on to, to comfort me, if I have nothing else!”

His voice shook as he pressed a white handkerchief to his eyes. Exeter Hall again! The only thing missing to complete the scene was an audience, cheers, and a glass of water.

Even her hardened nature seemed to soften. I noticed her lean a little closer to him, and I detected a new tone of interest in her next words.

“Are you really sure, Godfrey, that you feel that way about me?”

“Sure! You know who I was, Rachel. Let me tell you who I am now. I’ve lost all interest in life except for you. Something has changed in me that I can’t explain. Would you believe it? My charitable work has become unbearable. When I see a Ladies’ Committee now, I wish I could be anywhere else in the world!”

If there’s any example of betrayal that matches such a confession, I can’t recall it from anything I’ve read. I thought of the Mothers’ Small Clothes. I thought of the Sunday Sweetheart Supervision. I thought of the countless other societies that relied on this man as their foundation. I thought of the struggling female boards that drew their very existence from Mr. Godfrey—yes, that same Mr. Godfrey who had just called our good work a “nuisance” and declared he’d rather be at the ends of the earth than be in our company! My young female friends would understand my frustration when I say it took all my self-control not to let my indignation show. Still, I must admit, I didn’t miss a word of the conversation. Rachel spoke next.

“You’ve made your confession,” she said. “I wonder if my confession would cure you of your unhappy attachment to me?”

He flinched. I admit I did too. We both thought she was about to reveal the mystery of the Moonstone.

“Would you think, looking at me,” she continued, “that I’m the most miserable girl alive? It’s true, Godfrey. What greater misery is there than to feel degraded in your own eyes? That’s my life now.”

“My dear Rachel! You can’t possibly have any reason to speak of yourself like that!”

“How do you know I don’t?”

“Can you even ask me that? I know because I know you. Your silence, dear, has never lowered you in the eyes of your true friends. The disappearance of your precious birthday gift may seem strange; your unexplained connection to that event may seem even stranger—”

“Are you talking about the Moonstone, Godfrey?”

“I thought you were referring to—”

“I wasn’t referring to anything of the sort. I can hear about the loss of the Moonstone, no matter who discusses it, without feeling degraded. If the story of the diamond ever comes to light, it will be clear that I took on a terrible responsibility; it will be known that I kept a dreadful secret—but it will also be clear as day that I did nothing shameful! You’ve misunderstood me, Godfrey. It’s my fault for not being clearer. No matter the cost, I will be clearer now. Imagine if you weren’t in love with me. Imagine if you were in love with another woman?”

“Yes?”

“Imagine discovering that this woman was utterly unworthy of you. Imagine being convinced that it would be disgraceful to waste another thought on her. Imagine that just the idea of marrying her made you blush with embarrassment.”

“Yes?”

“And suppose, despite all that, you couldn’t tear her from your heart? Suppose the feelings she stirred in you (back when you believed in her) were feelings you couldn’t hide? How can I express this? How can I make a man understand that a feeling which horrifies me can also be a feeling that captivates me? It’s the breath of my life, Godfrey, and it’s the poison that kills me—both at once! Go away! I must be out of my mind to talk like this. No! You can’t leave me—you can’t take away a misunderstanding. I need to defend myself. Remember this! He doesn’t know—he never will know what I’ve told you. I will never see him again—I don’t care what happens—I will never, never, never see him again! Don’t ask me his name! Don’t ask me anything else! Let’s change the subject. Are you a good enough doctor, Godfrey, to tell me why I feel like I’m suffocating? Is there a form of hysteria that expresses itself in words instead of tears? I suppose so! What does it matter? You’ll get over any trouble I’ve caused you easily enough now. I’ve fallen to my rightful place in your eyes, haven’t I? Don’t pay attention to me! Don’t pity me! For God’s sake, just go away!”

She suddenly turned around and slammed her hands against the back of the ottoman. Her head fell onto the cushions, and she broke down in tears. Before I could process the shock of her outburst, I was completely taken aback by Mr. Godfrey’s unexpected actions. Can you believe he dropped to both knees at her feet? Yes, I swear it! And, modesty aside, he wrapped his arms around her next. It was as if he had shocked her into silence with just two words.

“Noble creature!”

That was it! But he delivered it with one of those passionate bursts that had made him famous as a public speaker. She sat there, either completely stunned or utterly captivated—I couldn’t tell which—without even trying to push his arms away. As for me, I was so confused about what I should do that I ended up doing nothing at all. Should I close my eyes or cover my ears? I couldn’t decide, so I just held the curtain in place, peeking through it, all while battling a fit of suppressed hysteria. It’s a well-known fact that when you’re trying to contain your emotions, you need to hold onto something.

“Yes,” he said, his voice dripping with the charm of his evangelical style, “you are a noble creature! A woman who speaks the truth for its own sake—a woman willing to sacrifice her pride rather than betray an honest man who loves her—is the most precious treasure of all. When such a woman marries, if her husband earns her respect and affection, he gains enough to elevate his entire life. You’ve spoken, my dear, about your place in my heart. Just imagine what that place is—when I beg you on my knees to let me care for your wounded heart. Rachel! Will you honor me, will you bless me, by becoming my wife?”

At that moment, I would have definitely chosen to cover my ears if Rachel hadn’t encouraged me to keep listening by responding with the first sensible words I’d ever heard from her.

“Godfrey!” she exclaimed. “You must be out of your mind!”

“I’ve never spoken more reasonably, my dear—both for your sake and mine. Think about the future for a moment. Is your happiness worth sacrificing for a man who has no idea how you feel about him and whom you’ve resolved never to see again? Isn’t it your duty to yourself to move on from this doomed attachment? Can you really find forgetfulness in the life you’re living now? You’ve tried that life, and you’re already growing weary of it. Surround yourself with nobler interests than the miserable concerns of the world. A heart that loves and honors you; a home with peaceful responsibilities and joyful duties that will gently draw you in day by day—try the comfort that can be found there! I’m not asking for your love; I’ll be content with your affection and respect. Let everything else be entrusted to your husband’s devotion and to Time, which heals even the deepest wounds.”

She was already starting to waver. Oh, what kind of upbringing must she have had! How differently I would have acted in her position!

“Don’t tempt me, Godfrey,” she said. “I’m already miserable enough and reckless enough as it is. Don’t push me to become even more wretched and reckless!”

“One question, Rachel. Do you have any personal objections to me?”

“I! I’ve always liked you. After what you’ve just said, I would have to be completely heartless not to respect and admire you as well.”

“Do you know many wives, my dear Rachel, who respect and admire their husbands? Yet they seem to get along just fine. How many brides walk down the aisle with hearts that would stand up to scrutiny from the men who marry them? And yet, somehow, it doesn’t end badly—marriage tends to carry on. The truth is, women often enter marriage as a refuge, far more often than they’re willing to admit, and they find that marriage justifies their faith in it. Look at your own situation again. At your age, with your beauty, is it really possible for you to condemn yourself to a life of singleness? Trust my understanding of the world—nothing is less likely. It’s just a matter of time. You might marry another man years from now. Or you might marry the man who is now at your feet, who values your respect and admiration above the love of any other woman in the world.”

“Easy there, Godfrey! You’re planting ideas in my head that I’ve never considered before. You’re tempting me with a new possibility when all my other options seem closed off. I’m telling you again, I’m desperate enough as it is. If you say another word, I might just marry you on your own terms. Take the hint and go!”

“I won’t even get up from my knees until you say yes!”

“If I say yes, you’ll regret it, and I’ll regret it, when it’s too late!”

“We’ll both look back on this day with gratitude, darling, when I pressed you and you finally gave in.”

“Do you really believe as confidently as you speak?”

"You can decide for yourself. I’m speaking from what I’ve seen in my own family. What do you think of our household at Frizinghall? Do my parents live unhappily together?"

"Not at all, at least from what I can see."

"When my mother was younger, Rachel—this isn’t a secret in the family—she loved a man who didn’t deserve her. She married my father out of respect and admiration, but nothing more. You’ve seen the outcome for yourself. Isn’t there something to be learned from it for you and me?"

"You won’t rush me, Godfrey?"

"My time is yours."

"You won’t ask for more than I can give?"

"My angel! I only want you to give me yourself."

"Take me!"

In those two words, she accepted him.

He was overwhelmed with a surge of unholy joy. He pulled her closer until their faces were almost touching. And then—No! I can’t bring myself to describe what happened next. Let me just say that I tried to close my eyes before it happened, but I was a moment too late. I had expected her to resist. Instead, she gave in. For anyone with a sense of decency, there’s nothing more to say.

Even my own innocence began to understand how the conversation was heading. They were so in sync at that point that I fully expected them to walk off together, arm in arm, to get married. However, judging by Mr. Godfrey’s next words, there was one more minor formality to address. He took a seat—this time without being invited—on the ottoman beside her. "Shall I speak to your dear mother?" he asked. "Or will you?"

She declined both options.

"Let’s keep this a secret from my mother until she’s feeling better, Godfrey. Please go now and come back this evening. We’ve been alone together long enough."

She stood up and, for the first time, glanced toward the small room where I was enduring my own torment.

"Who drew those curtains?" she exclaimed. "The room is stuffy enough without blocking the air like that."

As she moved toward the curtains, just as it seemed I would be discovered, the voice of the young footman echoed from the stairs, halting everything on both our sides. His voice was filled with alarm.

"Miss Rachel! Where are you, Miss Rachel?"

She quickly stepped back from the curtains and rushed to the door.

The footman entered the room, his usual rosy complexion drained. "Please come downstairs, Miss! My lady has fainted, and we can’t bring her around."

In an instant, I was left alone, free to head downstairs unnoticed.

Mr. Godfrey hurried past me in the hall, rushing out to fetch the doctor. "Go in and help them!" he instructed, pointing toward the room. I found Rachel on her knees by the sofa, her mother’s head resting on her lap. One look at my aunt’s face—knowing what I knew—was enough to confirm the terrible truth. I kept my thoughts to myself until the doctor arrived. It wasn’t long before he came in. He first sent Rachel out of the room, then informed the rest of us that Lady Verinder had passed away. For anyone looking for signs of hardened skepticism, it might be worth noting that he showed no remorse when he looked at me.

Later, I peeked into the breakfast room and the library. My aunt had died without opening any of the letters I had sent her. I was so shocked by this that it didn’t occur to me until days later that she had also died without giving me my small inheritance.